#I wish I had gotten a signed copy of one of his books when I saw him read in 2019

[chaussetteblanche]

the truth

pairing : sierra six x f!reader

summary : sierra is hired to protect you after your publish a controversial book going against multiple governments and something goes wrong during the night

words count : about 1.7k

warnings : canon-typical violence, swearing

notes : might make this into a series, idk

The sound of gunshots downstairs pulled you from your peaceful trance. You hurriedly put your book down and, as quietly as possible, slipped out of the warm and soapy water of your bath. Watery footprints followed you as you went to pull your robe on and grab the gun hidden in the bathroom. In all your years in the field, you’d come to know your way around the weapon and even though you hated using it, you weren’t opposed to it if it meant saving your life. Just as you were around to run into the safe room, as you had been instructed by Six, someone barged into your bedroom. You fell to your knees behind the bathtub, feeling the bruises and your heart hammering inside your chest

—————————

You thought back to how you had gotten yourself in this situation. It had all started months ago, when you’d published your first book. 

Being a journalist with purely political interests and works, you were quite well known around the journalism and political world. Your honesty and carelessness of consequences made you popular amongst the public and you were often invited to talk-shows. You had often been warned about what your wrote. Your boss was always worried about your safety and had insisted that you follow self-defense courses. But no one was safe when rightfully accusing nations of corruption and illegal projects.  You were never really safe, and you knew it.

After spending seven years on an ongoing project, you finally published your first book : The Truth. You denounced the corruption of the European Parlement, the illegal projects of the government of the United States and the unpunished crimes of multiple other nations. All accompanied by pictural and written proof, signed and delivered by yours truly.

The reception of your book had been a catastrophe, as you had expected. No one, save for your publisher, knew about your project. It had been a shock to the whole world. Suddenly, your assistant was getting calls from all kinds of governments and organizations requesting meetings and such. You never answered. 

You didn’t realize how serious it all was until your publisher, a close friend of yours, was brutally murdered in his apartment one night. It had been a shock to you and no matter how much you wished you could have prevented it, you couldn’t. The Truth was out and nothing could stop it as it sold millions of copies worldwide. 

The day after you publisher had been killed, you were in the kitchen making an omelet when someone violently knocked at your door. You whirled around, spatula at the ready when your door was broken down and a dozen of men dressed in black suits swarmed your apartment. Without thinking, you threw a raw egg at the man the closest to you and reached for your pan, brandishing in front of you as one would a sword. 

« Who are you ?! What is this ?! » you cried, ignoring the man wiping off egg next to you. A blond man with dazzling blue eyes stepped through the cloud. You noted the way his lips twitched upwards when he saw the egg on his colleague. With a single finger, he gently pushed down your frying pan until it hung by your side.

« We’re CIA. » His badge flashed in your face. « We’re here to keep you safe. We’re bringing you to a safe house. Pack a bag. We leave as soon as we can. »

You had done as you had been told and packed a bag. In the big black SUV, you turned to the man who had addressed you previously. 

« Where are we going ? »

When the man didn’t answer, the man sitting on your left took pity of you. 

« We’re heading to a safe house. Your apartment isn’t safe for you anymore. »

« Oh. » You thought for a moment. « And why are you protecting me ? What’s in it for you ? I didn’t hold back on the USA chapter. » The blond man’s lips twitched again. 

« I can’t tell you that. Someone will meet you and explain everything. »

True to his words, once you’d arrived at the safe-house, a huge villa right in the middle of Nowheresville, you were greeted by a woman in a burgundy suit. 

« Hi, I’m Suzanne. » You shook her hand even though you already knew who she was. Just like you had a guess about who the blond man worked for. You knew the process, but we’re shocked to find yourself at its centre.

« Y/N, » you introduced yourself. After preparing both of you a coffee, Suzanne sat down on the opposite end of the table and joined her hands. 

« I’ll answer your questions now, »

« Why are you protecting me ? What do you want from me ? » you asked immediately. The blond man, who hadn’t left your side and was now standing near the door, made a small sound, but played it off as a cough. By the time your eyes landed in him, he was staring out into the hallway.

« Your knowledge is useful to us. We know you didn’t put everything you know into that book. And we’d like to put your and your abilities to good use. » Suzanne spoke in a way that made you believe she’d practiced exactly what she was going to say, or that she’d said it multiple times before.

« Putting my abilities to use, what does that mean ? »

« It means we’re offering you a contract, Y/N. We’ll keep you alive and you will give us information on what we ask. When the whole scandal will have blown over, we’d like you to work for us, gathering intel and such. »

You scoffed. « And here I was thinking you were offering protection by some kind of moral compass, but I guess your priorities lie elsewhere. » Silence. « And so I guess that you don’t care about all the illegal stuff, right ? Because I think we both known I didn’t stay within the law to learn what I learned. » Suzanne shook her head. After a moment of silence, during which Suzanne seemed to really enjoy her coffee, you finally nodded. « Fine. I’ll take the deal. » You were no good to anyone dead. Knowing you wouldn’t survive when there was a price on your head, you decided this was the best option.

Since then, it had only been you and Six in that big house. You thought maybe you’d become friends, but he proved to be quite difficult regarding that aspect. He wasn’t particularly talkative and even though his eyes betrayed his feelings most of the time, you still had trouble reading him. 

—————————

You tried your best to keep your breathing silent as the man slowly trudged around the admittedly large bathroom. You gave yourself away when you gasped after he shot at the bathtub. White porcelain flew, a piece slicing your cheek. Hands barely shaking, your raised your weapon to retaliate but the man was too quick for you. 

His arms were around your neck in a second and you desperately tried to elbow him in the stomach as you struggled for breath. He chuckled and pulled your gun out of your grip. Thinking quickly, you rammed your hand into his crotch. He doubled over, groaning in pain and effectively setting you free. You scrambled to get your gun but he kicked your ankles and you fell to the floor with a thud. Your head hit the marble with a dull sound and your vision blurred for a moment. You coughed and winced as he stood over you.

« Bitch, » he snarled as he slapped you across the face. Your head flew to the side and you saw stars, feeling your lip burst. 

« Though you could get away, huh? A bit too optimistic if you ask me, doll, » he taunted, leaning over you. Panicked, you looked around you and took ahold of your gun. Before he could register what was happening, you’d uncocked the safety and aimed at his shoulder. You didn’t want to kill him, you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you did. You took the shot and he screamed, falling to the ground. Red painted your silk robe as you scrambled to your feet. You raced down the stairs with shaky legs, running straight into Six. He wrapped an arm around you and let out a small breath. Little did you know he’d been through all the men in the house, hoping, praying you were in the safe room.

His face was bloodied and you were pretty sure his T-shirt was wet with blood in the middle. He pulled back, keeping his large gun in one hand, and examined your face. 

« Are you okay ? » he asked, pushing his fingers under your jaw to tilt your head to the side. His eyes scanned the rest of your body and his brows furrowed when he saw the blood on your robe. 

« It- It’s not mine, » you stammered, holding on to his bulletproof vest. He hummed, a low noise in his throat. Suddenly, he stepped in front of you and pointed his gun at the man leaning on the handrail at the top of the stairs, clutching his bloody shoulder with one hand and his gun with the other. Unconsciously, your grip on your own weapons tightened.

« Did he do this to you ? » Six asked over his shoulder passively. His eyes never left the man. You nodded once. 

« Look away. » 

You did as he told you, turning to look the other way, one hand still holding on to the back of his vest. You gritted your teeth as several gunshots rang out. You heard the sound of a body rolling down the stairs and shuddered. 

Six turned back around, his larger body shielding your from the traumatic view. 

« Let’s go. »

He guided you out of the house, shielding you as much as he could of the horrid sights. When you finally reached the car, he hurriedly ushered you inside before getting into the drivers’ seat.

Once you had arrived at another safe house, Six pulled you to the bathroom. You pulled yourself up on the counter with wobbly arms and Six steadied you by the hips. You licked your lips, wincing as you tasted copper, and leaned back against the mirror behind you. Six pulled out a first—aid kit and started rummaging through it. 

He started cleaning up the cut on your lip and you did your best not to grimace in pain. Even though he was being particularly gentle, everything hurt.

« Did you do that to him ? » he asked as he applied a numbing cream to your bottom lip. You waited for him to pull away. You hated the way you reveled in the way he stared at your lips for a few more seconds.

« Yeah, » you croaked. « I shot him in the shoulder. » Six cracked a semblance of a smile and you chuckled.

« Good girl, » his deep voice praised. Your knees felt weak and you were thankful to be sitting down. You giggled.

« Did you hit your head ? » Six asked, seeing your unusual behavior. He examined the crown of your head with his fingers, lightly pressing. You hissed in pain when he touched a particularly sensitive spot.

« Yeah. »

« Follow my finger. » You did as he ordered and followed his finger from left to right, right to left, up to down and down to up.

« You’re gonna be okay. »

[braveclementine]

Chapter 19

Warnings: 18+ readers only, angst, somewhat suicidal thoughts

Copyright: I do not own any Marvel characters or locations. However, I do own my OC: Elizabeth Y/L/N (created so you don't get Y/N and Y/S/N consistently mixed up. I do not condone any copying of this.

LOKI WASN'T DRUNK. HE HADN'T BEEN drunk the entire time, but he'd pretended because it gave him the advantage to be alert when they didn't think he was.

The first time he had laid his eyes upon Y/N's sister, his first and immediate thought had been one he had to banish immediately. But that didn't stop him from keeping an eye on her.

He wasn't technically a second, but he'd grown up under the guise of being a second child. So he knew the favoritism that Y/N had received versus the way Elizabeth must have been treated. But he didn't realize it would carry on to soulmates.

He watched Tony, Stephen, Steve, and James give everything to Y/N and almost nothing to Elizabeth, not even scraps. And even the bird had stopped paying attention to her, now that the strippers were in front of him.

He wished he could've approached her, he almost had when the piece of human filth had approached her.

He could almost sense her loneliness, but didn't dare do anything more than look at Hogun and wish that he hadn't gotten the idiot drunk.

And then the next time he'd looked, Elizabeth had been gone. He hadn't really thought there was anything to be worried about, but he couldn't help but feel that something was wrong.

That she was supposed to be sitting there at that table.

Alone.

So he'd stood up. He'd gone downstairs and searched the larger part of the club for her, and had even stepped out front to see if she was sitting on the benches. He'd even transformed into a girl so that he could search the dingy women's bathroom.

But there was nothing.

And so he'd finally stepped out to the parking lot and he couldn't see her either. He wondered if maybe she'd decided to walk home, or maybe she'd asked Happy to drive her back to the tower. Happys car wasn't out here either.

He turned to go back into the building. Maybe he'd missed her when he was searching one of the rooms. A glint of familiar metal caught his eye and he turned to stare at the two knives that had been dumped into the bush.

He snapped his fingers, making the broken light above the building light up to life, illuminating the sidewalk and bush. The knives he'd given Elizabeth were there, one clean, one covered in red blood. Now that he could see, the sidewalk also had large splotches of blood.

His knives. He picked them up. Their names- Skjønnhet and Nåde- engraved onto the Asgaridian blades. He couldn't help but sign them. Beauty and Grace. The first words that had come to his mind when he thought about Elizabeth.

Blood ran down thickly, surrounding the jewels and leaking off the handle onto his fingers. The blood was fresh.

He thought almost for a moment of going back into the club, telling them, but it would do no good. They were drunk as skunks and couldn't contribute anything useful in this state.

Rhodey.

He transported himself back to Avengers tower, straight into the living room. To his luck, Rhodey had been there, a single beaker of bourbon there, mostly untouched. Rhodey himself had been to immersed in the mystery novel he'd been reading to drink anything. But he did jump when Loki appeared.

"Loki! What the hell man!"

"Please tell me she's here." Loki said, ignoring him.

"Who?" Rhodey asked, looking at the knives in Lokis' hands and then immediately setting the books aside. "Whose hurt? Wanda, Nat-"

"Elizabeth. I gave these to Elizabeth." Loki said. "I stopped watching her for two minutes and she was gone. I went looking for her and these were all I could find."

"And you didn't tell the others?" Rhodey asked in a cautionary voice that really already told Loki that Rhodey knew why Loki hadn't told the others.

"All of them are drunk." Loki sighed. "Admittedly, Hogun and Thor were my fault, I spiked their drinks, but the others were on their own."

Rhodey sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "Elizabeth hasn't come back, no."

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., I need you to track down Elizabeth now. Start at the strip club Stark took us too." Loki commanded.

"I can show you video feed, but you will have to be in Mr. Starks lab." F.R.I.D.A.Y. said. "Of which only Mr. Rhodes has access to out of the two of you."

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., its an emergency. Elizabeth is missing and we're the only ones that can help her. Can't you override your securities just this once?" Rhodey asked, already moving for the elevators.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. was silent the entire time they were in the elevator and Loki's hand clenched around the knife. He loosened his grip in order to not cut himself and tamper the blood.

The elevator doors opened up and the lab was in front of them as they walked down the hallway.

And then F.R.I.D.A.Y. spoke. "Alright Mr. Rhodes. Clearances have been overridden. Mr. Laufeyson is now allowed in Mr. Stark's lab. I've already pulled up CTV footage from outside the strip club. It's waiting for you. If you drop the blood into a vial on Mr. Banner's desk, I can scan the DNA."

"Thank you F.R.I.D.A.Y." Rhodey said as he pushed the doors open. "Somehow, someway, I owe you one."

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

ELIZABETH SURVEYED THE CELL THAT she was sitting in. There was a urinal in the corner and a water fountain next to it. The outer rim of both metal appliances were rimmed with orangey-brown rust. She had woken up on a bed, the mattress underneath her hard, but not uncomfortable. There had been a heavy comforter in the same desolate gray colour that had provided warmth. There was no window. There was a single heavy iron door with no holes.

That was it.

She could hear machinery noises, whirring, humming, sometimes banging or whistling. There were no people from the sounds of it, or animals.

She was wearing the same thing from last night, though she was barefoot and both of her knives were gone.

Loki's knives.

She wondered if she'd killed the Korean man that had drugged her. She must not have, if she was here. Otherwise someone would've found her.

Or would they have?

Maybe she waited a long time on the sidewalk until backup for this place came. She wondered how long she waited.

Probably a while.

She touched her shoulder where the tattoo still was filled with colour for Steve.

It wasn't like they cared about her.

Not even Sam.

She sighed and then went still as there was a terrible screeching noise, like a bolt being turned in a lock and her door was swung open on squeaky hinges.

The man standing there was tall and dark, with a snake tattoo curling around his shoulders. The colours were faded, as though he'd once had a soulmate and they'd died.

"Let's go." He commanded.

She stood, figuring it would be a waste not to, and followed him out of the cell.

The floor beneath her bare feet was freezing cold, sending goosebumps all the way up her bare legs. The man led her through a series of winding hallways, down long corridors, and even up a couple of flights of stairs before she was brought to a large room that was a tastefully decorate office.

The man sitting behind the desk was good looking, she supposed. Fair hair and green eyes. Light skin, thin, and fit. He wore a suit and there were no visible soulmate marks.

"Hello Miss Y/L/N." He said. Everything in the room was made of a light brown oak wood. Books shoved haphazardly on the shelves, maps and drawings posted to the backboard behind his chair. Notes littered his desk. "Please, have a seat."

She sat in the chair, staring at the man. He was eyeing her with a look of intelligence and so she asked, "You're TYPHON?"

"You know the name?"

"My sister was talking with Natasha about you. You're trying to give people powers. Or that's what you're spoken goal is. I doubt you'd actually give power if you could." She said.

"I suppose you're right on most fronts." He agreed. "I suppose you're wondering why you're here."

"Not really. I'm guessing it's because I've got a couple of Avengers for soulmates." She stated.

He smirked. "For the most part, though we're only interested in one."

"Which one?"

"Steve Rogers."

"And you're using me to get to him?" Elizabeth asked, feeling the irony weigh in.

"Exactly."

Elizabeth smiled and then began to laugh. She laughed so hard that she was hysterical and she laughed so hard that she was crying. All the time, the man stared at her with fascination and a bit of confusion.

"What is so funny?" He finally asked.

Elizabeth wiped her eyes, feeling more melancholy than the laughter entertained. "It's just my luck. The one Avenger you want is the last one that would come for me."

"He's your soulmate."

"He rejected me. He doesn't want me."

The astonishment on his face was worth the words. He looked so taken aback, he looked so shock that he actually sputtered his next words out, "B-but he's Captain America!"

Elizabeth's smile was bitter. "I suppose you'll kill me now that you know I'm useless?"

"Did any of them accept you?" He asked, trying to take in her soulmarks.

Elizabeth was quiet for a moment, thinking. "No. None of them. The one that did accept me isn't an Avenger. They didn't want me."

The man sat back heavily in his chair, putting his fingers to his forehead and then opened his eyes. "You could be lying."

"You can check my soulmarks if you want." Elizabeth shrugged. "They're all on my shoulders and arms. Black and white even though I've known them for almost two months now. The only one coloured is the one that isn't an Avenger. And Steve Rogers' is still coloured because he never touched me."

"Bloody fucking hell." The man groaned. "I thought they doted on their soulmate."

"That's my sister." Elizabeth said before she could stop herself, biting her tongue at the bitter tone. At least it was her here and not her sister. If her sister had been here and been killed, they would've been heart broken. At least this way, the only person hurt by her death was Hogun and her father.

"Damn." The man sighed.

"So, can you just kill me quickly?" Elizabeth asked softly. "And preferably painlessly? Send the coffin back to the Tower so that my father can bury me under the apple trees?"

The man stared at her curiously. "You're not afraid of death?"

"I'm terrified." Elizabeth said, a tear falling down her face. "But this is what I know is going to happen. It always happens this way. I'm no use to you, so you'll kill me."

The man stared at her for a moment. Then he stuck his hand out over the desk. "I'm Virtus Auctor. I think we have something we should discuss."

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

"WHAT?" TONY ASKED SLOWLY AS THE crowd of newly awakened Avengers sat in the living room. Most of them had already doused medicine created by Bruce for hangovers. Fury was already alert, eyes narrowed as Rhodey and Loki explained the entire situation.

"I don't understand." You said softly, rubbing your temples. You swore it was the last time you got drunk. "How did they get her?"

Loki turned, letting the video play. Elizabeth burst through the door and into the forest. You couldn't hear anything, but she had curled into a ball and Wanda put a hand over her face. Then there was the man and she had walked back. He had snuck up on her and she must've heard him, because she had turned to him. He stuck her with a needle. She stuck him with a knife. They both fell and two other people rushed out and dragged both of them in a black van.

"Why'd she leave?" Sam asked.

"Her claustrophobia." Wanda said.

"She has claustrophobia?" You asked in surprise. "I didn't know that."

"I don't think anyone but me did." Wanda said. "It doesn't seem like something she advertises."

"It wasn't something she had to deal with until she came here." Hogun said. Out of everyone, he was the one who looked the worst. The colour had been drained from him face and he looked tense and sick. "Not on the farm where everything was open. She hates this city, but she would never have told any of you that. Mostly because none of you talk to her for her to tell you that."

"How do you know she hates the city?" Tony asked defensively.

"Because me and her were going to leave for the farm today." Hogun replied. "She asked me yesterday in the car if we could go back to the farm. She was homesick and everything about the city makes her feel terrible."

"She should have said something." You replied irritably. Why hadn't she said anything? You always made sure people knew if you liked or didn't like something. God knows you'd complained about the farm a thousand times to your father and mothers' faces.

"Who took her?" Nat asked.

"TYPHON, who else?" Loki said.

"They clearly took her because of you guys." Wanda said, motioning to Tony, Stephen, Steve, Bucky, and Sam. "They'll want you to guys to show up and save her."

"But they won't." Loki said lightly and Rhodey shot him a warning look. Loki ignored it. "They don't care."

"I care abo-" Sam started angrily.

"Yes, I saw how much you cared when you were eyeing the strippers last night." Loki replied coolly, glaring at him.

Sam snapped his jaw shut, flush flying to his cheeks.

Steve crossed his arms and said. "Well, it doesn't matter. It's our job to find her and bring her back safely-"

"Says the guy who hasn't even touched her once." Rhodey muttered under his breath.

"What I choose to do with my soulmate is completely unrelated to this. This is a kidnapping mission and we'll follow through with making sure we bring her home." Steve snapped back.

The tension was to much. It was making you dizzy.

"Look, Wanda is right." Clint said with a shrug. "They took her to get to you guys. So you lot are going to have to sit it out."

"Which they'll have no problem doing." Loki said.

"Are you purposely trying to goad them into a fight?" You snapped at Loki. "Just find my fucking sister alright? All of you! I don't care if you've rejected her bond or accepted it or whatever. I want my sister back. Now!"

Your eyes were brimmed with tears and you glared at all of them. Then you brushed past the lot of them, smacking Steve's hand out of the way as you headed for the elevator. Yes, your soulmates were yours.

But your sister was family.

⬅️➡️

[renyen808]

Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The TV Show We (and Disney) Needed

Back when I was a child, I had a difficult time reading. In fact, I loathed it. I never understood why we had to read in the first place, it seemed extremely tedious to me. It had gotten so bad to the point where it became obvious that I just did not want to read. It wasn’t until my parents signed me up for this reading thing at my elementary school, where after hours, like dinner time, they would give us a book to read. I wasn’t a fan of this because why the hell would I want to be reading at 7 pm on a Wednesday night? Yes, you read that correctly, a Wednesday! The first session, they made us read a book from an author in Hawai’i. They wrote a children’s book and they made us read it, which I didn’t because it never interested me. So, the next Wednesday comes around and I just expect it to be the same. Just give me my copy of the book that I am never going to read again and I’ll call it a day. But that didn’t happen. For the first time, I actually found a book I was interested in: The Lightning Thief. 

(Credit: Goodreads)

Everything about Percy entrapped me in this mystical world of Greek Gods, monsters, and half-bloods. I was never like this before, reading page after page just to know what happens next. Along with that, since I started reading them when I was twelve, it was a great way to see myself in these different characters, feeling the triumph and betrayal throughout every twist and turn of their adventure.

I read all of Percy Jackson and the Olympians and The Heroes of Olympus throughout my time in school, and also watched the movies, but, while watching the movies, I was disappointed to find that it wasn’t like how I imagined it. They changed aspects of the story that didn’t need changing and in doing so, kinda destroyed the magic that made it so great. Grover was a kind hearted boy and while I like Brandon T. Jackson, I didn’t buy him as Grover. Sure he was a great friend to Percy, but he wasn’t Grover to me. Logan Lerman was the perfect Percy, just the wrong time for him. And do not get me started on Alexandra Daddario as Annabeth, she was the worst offender of the three in my opinion. Them changing every aspect of the story just made me super upset, and do not get me started on that second movie (Love you Blackjack). The point is, as a Percy Jackson fan, we needed better, we deserved it!

(Credit: Wikipedia)

During 2020, I finally got my wish when they announced that the show was greenlit. Everyone around the world rejoiced as we finally got our chance. Once that happened, everyone started to wonder about who would be casted as the titular character. Then, April 2022, Walker Scobell was announced. At this point, I haven’t watched the Adam Project or anything that he has done, but after watching it, I was stunned, I was like, ‘That’s Percy…’ Then, Leah Sava Jeffries and Aryan Simhadri were casted as Annabeth and Grover and the world lit on fire in the community.

(Credit: Polygon)

As a woman of color myself, not African American, but Asian, I was ecstatic to see Jeffries take on Annabeth. I’m the type of person that cares more about if they embody the soul of the character than the appearance. Daddario may have looked like Annabeth, but Jeffries IS Annabeth. There are still portions of the community that cannot wrap their head around that the beloved daughter of Athena is a different race, but I don’t care. It is especially prominent in this Facebook group (yes, I still use Facebook) I am a part of to share my love for Percy Jackson. I try to surround myself with like minded people, and sometimes, a few of the racist ones just come through.

As you can see, I loved the series. From the moment I heard Scobell’s voice, I knew the series was built with so much love. I always felt drawn to Percy, being from Hawai’i, the ocean is special to me. I always found his snark and humor relatable, since I am similar with my friends and family. I also was drawn to Annabeth with her no nonsense attitude, along with being a strong female character. Also, cannot forget Grover, the literal glue of the group. The quest would have gone completely wrong if not for him. Scobell, Jeffries, and Simhadri all played their roles to perfection. They are truly the Golden Trio come to life. 

(Credit: Town and Country Magazine)

I need to also call attention to all the different actors and actresses who played supporting roles throughout the series. Virginia Kull’s masterful performance as Sally, showing just how difficult it can be on the mortal parents of a demigod child. Glynn Turman as the perfect Chiron, showing a sense of care and concern as Percy’s mentor. Jason Mantzoukas’ performance as Mr. D is a standout, with him completely capturing what it means to be the punished director of Camp Half-Blood. Megan Mullally was an amazing Alecto, bringing a sense of fear immediately into Percy’s life. Timm Sharp played an amazing Gabe Ugliano, showcasing a different way that Gabe could be portrayed for an audience today. Adam Copeland, also known as Edge in the WWE, plays Ares, a terrifying force in the book that Copeland captures perfectly. Also want to shout out Nick Boraine, the voice of Kronos, who brings a sinister feel to the series, showing he is the big bad of this story.

(Credit: PopBuzz)

I wanted to make a separate paragraph for the last supporting character: Luke Castellan. Luke is played by Charlie Bushnell, who really sold me as a demigod feeling betrayed by the gods. Just from his acting in Episodes 2 and 8 solidified to me that this is how Luke is. Granted, the confrontation scene is not as sinister as it is in the book, I believe that the TV series did it better, where Annabeth is there in person to see the betrayal happen. I mean, that is literally her brother betraying her, I cannot imagine what she is going through. Bushnell really sold it as Luke honestly, showing he’s an upset demigod who believes the gods have turned their backs on them. He made use of his time on screen, and I cannot wait to see him in future installments as our big bad.

(Credit: IGN)

Overall, this series is what we all deserved! I understand that people are upset that it was not completely faithful to the books, and that is a valid argument, but I will say this: if you want a faithful adaptation, read the books and recreate it in your head. Nothing will ever be a perfect copy of another, not with humans around. I think instead of nitpicking the differences and inconsistencies between the two, we should embrace the changes. Embrace the fact that this was even created in the first place and be grateful for it. Embrace the fact that we have a great TV show, but god forbid they forget about the scorpion that Luke poisons Percy with. The books, movies, the TV show, they’re all interpretations of the same idea, and we all have different thoughts about the idea, that at the end of the day, at least one person will be a hater. Anyway, with millions of views each episode, I’m sure season two is coming, and with that my boy Blackjack!

[pinkierre]

bookshop owner pierre x english teacher charles | piarles drabble for darling @softiecharlie

[She got what was coming to her because she sucks.] 

Pierre chuckles at the comment Charles had scribbled into the margins of the book he had borrowed. 

When Charles asked him for a copy of his favourite book, Pierre was slightly hesitant. They’ve been friends for so long now, and you’d think as a bookshop owner (Pierre) and English teacher (Charles) they’d have exchanged so many books over the years. But for some reason, Pierre’s only read all the things Charles had ever recommended, but it’s never been the other way around.

Until now. 

Charles�� handwriting is messy and barely legible. He’s tried to cram way too many words per line, trying to keep his pen strokes off of the words of the actual story. It’s endearing to Pierre.

He can just see Charles, sitting at his desk at work, a pen between his teeth as he thinks up his commentary on the text he’s reading. 

It’s been a while since Pierre read this particular book, so he was due a reread anyway, and Charles’ comments are making it a whole new experience. 

[That’s cute.] 

Pierre makes mental notes on the things his friend comments on. Maybe it’s dumb, but the commentary is giving him ideas and plans to put into execution when Pierre can finally muster up the courage to tell Charles how he really feels. 

He’s sucked in now. It’s a Friday afternoon and business is slow, so he’s propped up behind the till and nose deep tucked inside of the pages. 

[The MC finally makes the right choice, oh my, I’ve been waiting for this.] 

Pierre has made it two thirds into the book now, starting only this morning. He keeps getting interrupted by clients who want to buy stacks of books, so he’s definitely complaining, but he wants to go back to the story of one of his favourite books, narrated by his favourite human. Though each happy customer brings a smile to his face. [This is how I feel about you, Pierre.]

His hearts skips a beat as he lets the words sink in. His finger frantically goes back through the line of words that precede the narration. 

“It’s as if everything falls into place whenever I see his face.” 

Pierre feels his body temperature rise what feels like a million degrees. Could it be…? No, no, it couldn’t… Charles couldn’t possibly feel the same… 

Or maybe he does. Maybe, with the direction their friendship has taken over the past few months. It wasn’t only Pierre who made the hugs longer, the hands linger and the eyes locked on each other. It is a two-way street as they say.

With a heart rate of well over 160bpm he reads on. The notes becoming more and more like full-on declarations of love. 

It’s been a while since Pierre has managed to burn through a book at this speed. The store should’ve closed two hours ago, but he hasn’t even gotten up to change the sign in the door. Thankfully, no one’s come in to disturb him. 

He turns to the last page and his breath hitches once again. 

[I love you x]

It’s at that moment that he feels his phone buzz in his pocket. He fishes it out and is greeted by a picture of Charles smiling up at him. He feels his face morph into a smirk as he answers the call. 

“Hey, I’ve just finished the book. Want to grab dinner?” 

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

Daisy, my love. Can you believe it? I finally wrote your amazing prompt into a drabble. I would've loved to expand on this I just didn't have the timeframe for it unfortunately. But I definitely wanted to write you something for your birthday, so here it is! Happy birthday, darling! I wish you the bestest day! I have said it before, but you really are amazing, both as a person and as an artist. Your writing, whether poems or stories is absolutely amazing. I love you!!!!!

[mischivarien]

Part 2 of the Steve angst I wrote last week:) I couldn't just let this sit as angst so I had to give some comfort..

Ao3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/47785066

"Keep the spirit high and your heart in love. keep on movin' "

Steve can just barely hear James Taylor, or even the instrumentals over the ringing in his ears.

He knows if he listens to past-him, and follows through with the promise of asking for help when he's ready, he would be perfectly fine by now- well. As perfect as one can be without hearing or seeing and a messed up body.

He knows he's ready for help and wants to seek out the help. He just doesn't know how.

How to ask Joyce for a ride to the audiologist. How to ask Eddie to read the books he wants to desperately read to him. How to ask Mrs. Sinclair what she does for her migraines. How to ask Claudia to drop him off at the hospital when she leaves for her shift as a nurse, so that he can finally look into medication for his nerves and muscle spasms.

How to ask Mrs. Wheeler to take the kids places, even if she doesn't want to, so that he doesn't crash the car. How to ask Robin, and maybe Phil, to come with him to the optometrist so he can pick out frames. How to ask Hopper to help him get to Mindy's Bookstore because he started shaking too bad to even try to continue driving.

He doesn't know how.

He's tried multiple times. When it was late and the kids were at the Wheeler's for their campaign instead of Eddie's trailer, or Steve's dining table -they like to switch where they're playing for scenery purposes. He's tried when he was driving down a road on the other side of town, where he wasn't as familiar with the signs, and couldn't read them, or when Joyce offered to drive Steve anywhere since he's always driving the kids around.

He's tried. But he's just too tired.

He just wishes he could make all of the pain go away. Wishes he didn't wait so long to be ready for help. Wishes he didn't sit in the pain for so long.

It started with Eddie. He offers to drive Steve and the kids to the arcade "since they're already here and he's been looking to drive somewhere anyways, relax Steve". Then, continuing to offer rides whenever Steve thinks he's the one that needs to be behind the wheel, like he can sense the dread Steve feels, and he probably can.

Then it's Mrs. Wheeler offering to take the kids to the pool, to Steve's, and to take them home. He knows that he's not being replaced, and that the kids won't leave him because he's no longer their chauffeur.

He just has this feeling that everyone knows something he doesn't. He just can't figure it out, not with all the pain he's in.

Suddenly, Mrs. Sinclair is dropping off her ql teas and notebooks full of tips for pains and aches, mainly for head pains and minor injuries "don't worry, dear. I've gotten new copies and too many teas at home to fit into my cupboards. I just want them here because I remember the kids talking about the teas you have" before offering a kind smile and heading to her car to leave.

He uses the books, which help a lot, actually. And the teas. And when the teas inevitably run out, a Sinclair will pop up at his door offering more, along with a mostly believable excuse.

Now Phil is asking for him and Robin to come with him to get new frames for his glasses and " why not get our eyes checked while we're there" leading to Steve walking out of the boiling with a new pair of glasses settled on his nose a week later and another check up in three months.

He can see things better now, but Eddie still ends up offering to read to him, insisting " if I read it, you'll get the full experience, different voices and all guaranteed"

Claudia suddenly needs a buddy for her drives to the hospital, arguing that "oh, you're not that busy at 6 AM, honey." Which leaves Steve to do nothing between the arrival and the beginning Eddie and Max's PT check ups that happen a few times a week, which are at noon. So, he schedules appointments to see his doctors.

He eventually gets a prescription that helps regulate his movements and a strong pain medication to help his migraines along with what Mrs. Sinclair gave him.

Hopper starts coming over before his patrols and always asking if he's " busy at all today? Do you have a ride, and to where? Are you working today?" Before having him climb into his patrol car because "two sets of eyes are better than one" even though Steve doesn't technically count as a full set of eyes anymore.

Then Joyce is heading up to Indianapolis for a few errands and "why don't you tag along, Steve? I'm sure you can find something that'll be fun, or interesting while I run around. Give yourself a break from running after the kids for a bit" and he can't say no to her. So, he goes to the audiologist up there and gets fitted for a hearing aid after getting checked, getting told to either come back in a few weeks or have them delivered to his house, up to him.

The kids even started helping him whenever they're around. Doing dishes. Picking up all the bedding and trash from sleepovers. Helping pay for some things.

He still doesn't know how to ask for help, but maybe he doesn't have to yet. He has people who are willing to help him.

He's glad he was ready for help.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

reading update: april

let's go babyyyyyyy!!!!! WHAT have I been reading?

Cursed Bunny (Bora Chung, trans. Anton Hur 2022)

I added this short story collection to my TBR because I saw a reviewer call the first story the grossest thing they had ever read in their life, and you know what? that really was the grossest thing I've ever read in my life. I shan't even describe it because I'm eating and I don't want to ruin my lunch. but Chung writes a fascinating collection of sinister stories that dance across genre and offer up something strange to look at each time; do not let the awful poop baby scare you away.

White Noise (Don DeLillo, 1985)

I had no plans to read this book and in fact did not even know about it until a colleague told me about reading it for a class and then generously lent me her copy. it's an extremely clever book and also a maddening on that I wouldn't recommend to anybody; the ways in which DeLillo builds his commentary on class and consumerism and The Unbearable Shallowness Of It All is so deft and also made me feel like I personally was going insane. just pages and pages of brilliantly constructed drivel that means nothing and says so much. I think if the average booktokker had to explain this book they would explode and I should probably be on a watchlist for enjoying it.

Lunar Love (Lauren Kung Jessen, 2023)

this is hands down my favorite of romance novels I've read so far this year, because the protagonist, Olivia, it batshit fucking crazy. she's not supposed to be, we're probably supposed to just find her a little uptight and lovably neurotic, but she's absolutely unwell and reminded me of nothing so much as an early season Rebecca Bunch from Crazy Ex-Girlfriend. I spent the entire book waiting for her to attack someone or commit arson, because if you interpret the Chinese zodiac even a little wrong this woman goes fucking apeshit. tl;dr Olivia works for a matchmaking company based on the Chinese zodiac and truly, sincerely believes that real love cannot exist between people whose animal signs are incompatible; every time this worldview is challenged she has a fresh breakdown about it. the romance is whatever, the dialogue is nothing, and there isn't even any sex, but when I have to rank all twelve romance novels I read this year I strongly suspect Luna Love will be #1 because I support women's wrongs.

Shubiek Lubiek (Deena Mohamed, 2023)

a GORGEOUS (and massive) graphic novel about a world very similar to ours, with one little difference: magic wishes are real, and there's a tightly controlled industry surrounding who gets to use them and what they can wish for. Mohamed beings with an Egyptian shopkeeper, Shokry, currently trying to be rid of three very powerful wishes; what follows are three interconnecting stories of the people who buy Shokry's wishes and how their wishes complicate their lives. Mohamed beautifully balances magic and social commentary, examining every level of how wishes impact society. we see everything from a poor woman imprisoned in an effort to pressure her to sign over a wish to the government to an affluent but deeply depressed teen living in a gated community filled with pet dinosaurs, ending with a story about Shokry himself grappling with how to use the final wish to help a friend. reader, it did make me sob.

My Solo Exchange Diary Vol. 2 (Nagata Kabi, trans. Jocelyne Allen 2016)

there's not much I can say here that will be meaningfully different from what I said about Vol. 1 back in February. Nagata's memoir manga has just gotten to be such a little ray of sunshine for me; seeing her ongoing growth and struggles, the very relatable nonlinear progress, is affirming and devastating in equal measure. this volume in particular becomes much harsher with the benefit of hindsight - seeing her briefly hospitalized and struggling with drinking much more painful reading the book and knowing that her next release will be entirely centered around alcoholism and a much more serious hospital visit. for the love of god I just want this woman to be okay.

Mind of My Mind (Octavia E. Butler, 1977)

I would just like to say that I'm SO glad I decided to read the Patternist books in order of story chronology instead of release date, because if I had read this without spending all of Wild Seed getting to know what Doro's whole deal is I would have been lost at sea. as is, I will be upfront and say Mind of My Mind hasn't been my favorite of Butler's books - it feels like more of a supplemental text than anything, a bit of bonus content to explain the wider world of the Patternists that I know is coming, without the outstanding grace of Wild Seed. but I DO love some unhinged cult behavior, and goddamn does Butler deliver on that front. these telepaths are completely willing to go full cult after, like, two weeks of cohabiting against their will, and frankly I love that level of dysfunction for them.

Priory of the Orange Tree (Samantha Shannon, 2019) - after years of avoiding this fucking behemoth of a book I finally read it, and I'm delighted to report that it's... pretty good? it's fine. it's still unforgivably long and the prose frequently feels a little artless, but if you like a dense-ass fantasy book filled with people who have silly names debating the politics of dragons and magic gemstones in made-up places then you will have a blast. personally I love that shit, so I can wholeheartedly endorse.

Her Body and Other Parties (Carmen Maria Machado, 2017)

I've been rereading Machado's short story collection at a snail's pace, and having finally finished I'm delighted to say: this shit still fucks! I feel like I almost understood "The Resident" this time; definitely more than I ever have before. I'll get it some of these days!

My Alcoholic Escape From Reality (Nagata Kabi, trans. Jocelyne Allen 2019)

oh look, it's the much sadder memoir manga that I said was coming! I gave up all pretense of trying to pace myself this month and grabbed the next volume of Nagata's story from the library pretty much immediately; oddly, the first and fourth seem to be the only ones they have. seeing Nagata's slide back into alcoholism was rough, of course, but I was extremely impressed by the way she managed to so thoroughly translate the pain and tedium of her long hospital stay and pancreatitis diagnosis onto the page. her illustrations of food as she adjusted to her new diet were especially delightful; I felt like I could really feel the joy of discovering new treats that were safe to eat right alongside her. much is made in this book about Nagata's desire to branch out into fiction manga alongside her memoirs, and I'm curious to learn where that part of her career has gone.

[shiny-jr]

you’re my favorite (I)

Warning: Probably a pinch of yandere in this post but nothing extreme. Gender-neutral reader.

Characters: Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Cater Diamond, Trey Clover, Riddle Rosehearts.

Summary: What happens if you are one of the character’s favorite fictional character of all time? The students of night raven college are but fictional characters, but in their eyes you are only a character of someone else’s figment of imagination. However, they can’t help but adore you either way. So imagine their surprise when the infamous magicless student they meet one day, turns out to be a carbon copy of the character they love so much. 

Note: This post will only contain students from Heartslabyul. If I see this does well and I get inspiration, or I just get bored of writing for my original ideas, I’ll come back and write more parts. Anyways, I hope you enjoy! 

HEARTSLABYUL 

Ace Trappola 

When he was a child, Ace would often sneak into his older brother’s bedroom, bypassing the do not enter signs plastered on the door, in search of the stash of goodies. The young redhead knew his sibling hid candies, snacks, and comic books. Ace was a clever little mischievous kid, so he could often guess where the treasures were hidden and manage to get his grubby little hands on them. Among the usual goodies he found, were comics, one of which became his favorite. Yeah, he liked the superheroes in comics, but this one was different and entertained him as a child, yet he had no idea as to why. 

It was a comic book about a normal person who found a magic fire-breathing cat that led them on a quest. It was the one comic Ace refused to give back, so he kept the book hidden in his pillow case. He read the comic front to back, over dozens of times, and he never ever got the urge to throw it away. He couldn’t pinpoint while he liked it so much. Maybe he thought the cat was funny, or the main character was stupidly endearing. As a child, he drew the main character multiple times and his mom even bought him a t-shirt of the character (although he won’t admit it). Even as he grew older, he kept the comic. Overtime it had gotten old, victim to time, as it’s cover of the main character and cat no longer shined like brand new, there were bent pages, and one corner was torn. Yet, whenever he got bored, or needed a good smile and laugh, he opened the comic book and read about his favorite character and their cat. 

Now, can you imagine his shock when he was sitting at the orientation ceremony and it’s interrupted by a fire-breathing cat and an average-looking person brought in by the Headmaster? His eyes widened as he immediately recognized the gray fur and blue flames of the trouble-making cat, and the feline’s owner looking at the magic mirror with eyes of wonder. Immediately the drawn image of the cat and the person came to mind as he watched these two cause havoc (well, it was mostly the cat but the person didn’t do much to help). The character he had obsessed over as a child, it was like they were right in front of him. He had to speak to them–– 

Deuce Spade 

In his youth, Deuce had a few troubles. Sure, as a younger child he was pretty innocent, but as he entered his teen years and began to hang out with the wrong type of people, he became more of a problem. The one thing that could keep him fairly calm, was an old movie he had on DVD. He discovered the film when he was a child, watching television with his mother. It was a live-action movie of racers, something that led him to his interest in magic wheels. However, racing wasn’t the only thing he liked about the movie. There was a side character he really adored, the child of one of the racers who had a gray pet cat. 

The movie was about the gang of racers competing in street races and eventually making it to official races. Yes, he loved the movie, but he wished he saw more of that side character with the cat more than just two or three scenes. Whenever he was angry about something, he would play the movie. Sometimes his own mother would play the movie in the living room, in hopes that maybe her rebellious son would calm down and join her in enjoying the film he loved. You can bet that when he heard news of a sequel, he was one of the first in line to grab a ticket. When the same actor returned to portray his favorite character, now older as well, in not two but five scenes, he was elated! Whenever the character he adored appeared on the big screen, he broke out into the biggest grin. Of course he looked up the actor, but they were vain and haughty nothing like the caring and supportive character they portrayed. 

Imagine his shock when on his first day at school, he saw his redhead classmate run by, being chased by a familiar gray cat and an even more familiar person. He was so starstruck that he nearly let the redhead get away! But when things finally calmed down, his jaw dropped as he got a closer look at the person arguing with the redhead. They looked exactly like them, they acted exactly like them, they even sounded like them! Realizing his mouth was actually open in shock, he instantly closed it before opening it again to speak to them–– Oh, the cat ran off? Well, he’ll help and just save the introductions for later!

Cater Diamond 

Ah, yes, his two older sisters that forced him to do many things he didn’t like. For example, whenever it was movie night, they would always choose the movies because two would out vote one. To be honest, movies about magical princesses who could sing and befriend wild animals weren’t really his thing. However, there was one movie his sisters often picked that he enjoyed. It was about a magicless person going on an adventure with a fire-breathing cat. Heck, even his mom planned his seventh birthday party to be themed off the main character from that movie he loved! 

He won’t lie, that character was his first fictional crush when he was little. Action figures, plushies, shirts, blankets, posters, lunch boxes, he had it all, a whole collection. When he got his first phone, he had them set as his wallpaper, he had a charm of them, and even his phone case was modeled after their appearance. Eventually, as he got older, his obsession did settle down and he outgrew almost all the merchandise, but he does remember every little fact he learned about them. A lot of the time he’ll sit down and rewatch the movie, getting the feeling of nostalgic happiness as he does so. In his dorm room he does have one of their plushies and one figurine still, displayed to see everyday. Even on some of his many alternate accounts where he remains largely anonymous, he has some fan art of them cropped as his profile picture. He’s not focused so much on the cat, but rather on the main character themself. He always thought they were so sweet and adorable and clumsy! 

Cater heard the rumors of a magicless student wandering campus, but he didn’t get a good look at them during the chaos at the orientation ceremony. While painting the roses, he noticed students walking by, freshmen by the looks of it. And among them was a funny-looking cat with someone that nearly made him spill red paint all over the grass. To say he was starstruck, would be an understatement, he was absolutely stunned. It felt so unreal, how were they a real person? They looked just like the fictional character from the movie, the similarities were crazy! Tempted to drop everything and rush over like a fan meeting a celebrity, he refrained. It’s alright, it’s okay, just play it cool. Don’t wanna scare them off, right~? Right!

Trey Clover 

Every Saturday, after helping out at the bakery, there was a new episode for this cartoon show that would play on television. When he didn’t finish helping on time, he would simply switch on the tv in the corner of the room, watching the series as he worked to complete his chores. Every week, he made sure to never miss an episode, whether he be watching it alone, while working, or with Che’nya. The show wasn’t even entirely unique or action-packed, it was fairly simple but still enjoyable.

The show was an animated series with only three seasons, surrounding an average person and their pet cat. The conflict? It varied each episode. Each episode had its own lesson to teach. The story remained in a modern setting, a student in a school with friends and classmates, yet it remained interesting. It went on for about three or four years, before being denied anymore seasons. Yes, he was disappointed at the news that there would be no more new episodes, but he couldn’t do anything about it. As a child, Trey would rewatch the episodes aired on replay, finding himself admiring the main character. They were normal, they didn’t stand out in any particular way, it was something he could relate to. Yet, whatever trouble they got into, they always managed to find a way out and come up with a solution. He admired them for that.

Of course he grew up, but the character and series always held a spot dear to him. When Cater began to describe the magicless human they saw, he shook it off as mere coincidence. The details he gave made it seem like this new student was exactly like his favorite character from the show he watched as a kid, even the name was similar, but that couldn’t be. It was ridiculous. So when he saw them sitting in the cafeteria with two freshmen and a gray cat, he froze. When Cater suggested the idea of joining them and the extrovert went forward to butt into their conversation, Trey wasted no time in smiling welcomingly and asking to take the seat beside them before anyone else could take it.

Riddle Rosehearts 

For his entire childhood, the content Riddle had access to were all limited and restricted. Story books for kids? Practically non-existent. Comic books? Ridiculous! Those weren’t real books. Fiction chapter books? What a waste of time! The only books approved were textbooks, and big ones. Which is why when Che’nya and Trey first introduced a fiction series they were reading, Riddle was apprehensive. What was the point of it? There was nothing to learn! No equations, no magic spells, no history, it was pure fiction written for children! Which is exactly what a young isolated boy might have needed. 

The fiction chapter book was about a normal student doing silly shenanigans with a talking cat, all the while balancing school-life. It was a simple book, nothing extraordinary, but perhaps that’s what caused Riddle to become attached to the main character and their story. The main character was normal. They had friends, they could drink and eat what they wanted when they wanted, they could go outside and play, they could spend their day doing something other than study for hours on end. It was all things Riddle couldn’t do, they were things Riddle longed to do as a child. Perhaps that’s why he found comfort in the book, and it was a temporary relief from stuffing his mind to the brim with knowledge and facts. Trey and Che’nya gave him the three books of the series, before Riddle was found out. When he was banned from seeing his two friends, he found comfort in the books he was given, he found comfort in the main character especially. 

During the orientation ceremony and lunch, he paid no mind to the magicless student hanging around the two troublesome freshmen. However, the sight of the cat when he was capturing it, did make him recall the stories he used to read in his youth. When he finally took notice of the magicless student attending the Unbirthday Party, he nearly choked on his tea. A gray cat and an average student... Just like the stories he used to read. But such a thing was ridiculous! How could they be real if they were just made from someone’s imagination? Still, seeing the main character, brought him an unexplainable feeling of momentary peace. He would confront them, and figure out whether they were the real thing or not.

[tuliprry]

cloudburst 2

summary: preschool teacher!harry x special education teacher!yn; y/n and harry met while working together at a preschool, y/n is engaged but her fiancé has been distancing himself from y/n, making her spend more time with harry, wishing she was marrying him instead

warnings: mention of miscarriage, cheating, swearing, death, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it)

word count: 3.3k

part 1

it was 3am when tony got home, to his luck, y/n was in joey’s bedroom, dead asleep after mixing her sleeping pills with a shot of tequila to make sure she’s at least sleeping the whole night, joey in the other hand was tossing and turning, pickles, the tabby cat that belonged to the two sisters, was clearly bothered by joey’s lack of stillness, getting comfortable in between y/n’s legs. when joey heard the door she could feel her blood boil, she knew it had to be her sister to say something and yell but god she wanted to slap him and tell him to leave so badly.

but she didn't.

it was now morning, y/n yawned and rubbed her eyes, looking at her sister still dead asleep, she got up carefully to not wake joey nor pickles up, covering joey up after leaving the bed. the house was silent and her bed unmade, she assumed tony didn't sleep home and that hurt her heart, how her husband to be just completely changed his behaviour and she didn't know who she was marrying anymore. regardless, y/n got ready for work putting on black sweatpants that matched the black sweatshirt and her hair up in a ponytail, this wasn't usual for y/n, she likes dressing cute or finding clothes that would get the children happy like bunnies or cats, but today was just one of those days that y/n felt like a cloud was over her head and her head only.

as she got to school harry was already there, his moustache was more fluffy than usual and his hair messy and some curls covering part of his face, he is wearing a colourful knitted pullover and black jeans with his usual worn out beige from time trainers, his eyes immediately sparkled when he saw her, “good morning!” he says with a smile, “i got you something”, he hands her a paper bag with a red bow to her, “but my birthday isn’t for another 2 weeks harry”, y/n stated, “i know, i just um.. well, i know you love lang leav so i got a signed copy of lullabies for you” and it’s true, harry had searched he entire internet on how to get a signed copy of y/n’s favourite book for her, “oh my god harry… and you wrote me a note?”, “oh god don’t read it” but she did.

“y/n, thank you for being one of my best friends and always covering me up when i fall asleep on my desk. you’re the most special person i’ve ever met.

love,

harry”

“thank you harry… this is really special… like major special, i think this might be the best gift i’ve ever gotten after joey finding our cat pickles cosied up in waterstones” y/n embraced harry, “sometimes i wish i was marrying you instead” she whispered against his body, “did you say something?” harry questioned, “no, no.. sorry”, he heard it though, he heard it and for half a second he felt it in his heart… that he actually had a chance at y/n’s heart. their day went on as usual, divided the class in groups and focused mainly on art today, finger painting and shapes. for a moment y/n was at peace, her, harry and a bunch of sweet kids. when the classes ended, macy’s mum walked in with a frown on her face and walked up immediately to harry, that to every effect was macy’s teacher, “hello mr styles, i need to have a word with you and ms y/l/n if you don’t mind.” she was assertive, tall and looked like she was close enough to murder both harry and y/n. “oh yes of course, is everything okay with macy?.. um y/n can you come here”, y/n got up from her chair and walked towards them, keeping an eye on little macy that was sitting, waiting for her mum to grab her hand and leave. “so, my daughter tells me you two are together? is this true? because it’s very serious if you’re kissing in front of my daughter.” macy’s mum almost yells, “excuse me? as we told macy yesterday, we hugged because one of my special education students has a fear of hugging and i was showing him it was okay plus mr. styles is my friend and as we told macy friends hug each other, right macy?” y/n is the kindest person people will meet but she always knows when to speak up for herself and especially speak up for her students, “right ms y/l/n! keith hug u too”, the little girl speaks, “keith is a little boy in the autism spectrum that loves hugging his family but feared hugging me even though he wanted to. so no mr. styles and i are not in a relationship and if we were it would have been approved by the school”, harry has a stupid smirk on his face, proud of y/n for speaking the truth. “oh jesus i’m so sorry, macy just really made it sound inappropriate”, “she has a big imagination” harry adds.

back at home, as y/n steps foot in her bedroom she sees tony removing his tie, "oh.. hey", he says, looking in the mirror, "can we talk tony?", y/n requested as she sat down next to him in bed, "sure? i don't have much time i need to change for drinks with my boss”, tony replied, "listen, i don't know what changed, but i need you to be honest with me here tony, you barely spend anytime home, you barely touch my food when i cook, you don't touch me, we haven't had sex in two months, at first you said i was still fragile but what's the excuse now? you don't kiss me, you don't tell me you love me, you have stopped giving ideas for our wedding day.. do you even want to get married?" y/n snapped, she had those words stuck in her throat for a while now, "y/n.." tony sighs, "couldn't you have waited for me to come back from work?", the dismissal in his voice almost sends y/n through the fucking roof. "excuse me? who do you think you're talking to, antonio? i'm not some client you're upset with for some stupid reason i'm supposedly your future wife!" y/n hates raising her voice, but she's yelling at this point, “c'mon. let's talk after dinner.", his words sound even colder now, "no. let's talk now! look me in my fucking eyes." tony had never seen y/n like this and deep down he feared what she could do next. "y/n vamos a tener calma por favor (let's be calm please)", "don't tell me to calm down! i won't calm down until you tell me what the fuck changed!", "JESUS CHRIST I'M FUCKING SOMEBODY ELSE! THERE ARE YOU FUCKING HAPPY Y/N? AND NOT JUST THIS GIRL BUT MULTIPLE OTHERS BECAUSE YOU LOOKED HORRIBLE AFTER THE MISCARRIAGE-", "get out", "y/n!", "don't bother coming back."

the house was silent for awhile, joey had heard everything from the other room but was too scared to approach y/n and worse, seeing her sister like that, joey swallowed her tears and gently pushed the door of y/n's room, y/n is sitting in bed cutting up all of tony's clothes, not even crying, just destroying everything of tony's that happened to cross her eyes. "in any other moment i'd tell u you should have done this sooner but.. um.. do you want to talk.. about it?" joey sits next to her sister, "he cheated on me... multiple times", y/n agonised, she was saying words she would never expect to say, especially about the man she was marrying in less than 4 months, "i couldn't even defend myself.. i just told him to get out", that's when the tears started forming in y/n's eyes, dreading that she had to go and live her life after finding out her soon-to-be-husband had multiple affairs, the house became silent again, joey, for the first time in her life, had no words to say to her sister and was just resting her head on y/n's, hoping silence would be the perfect answer on a moment like this. “joey… i’m gonna catch some air.. if you don’t mind” but y/n found herself following her usual route to school, almost unconsciously looking for harry, in the moment she didn’t want anyone else nor talk to anybody else, just him.

y/n didn't care anymore, she could feel her feet moving towards harry as his lips moved, he was worried about her but she couldn't answer or even think of an answer, she simply didn't care about keeping her decorum and being a good fiancé anymore, she likes harry, she knows she does. it's almost all in slow motion for y/n, the 20 seconds it took her to walk towards harry felt like 5 minutes, and the way their lips crashed felt like an eternity, but this time to both of them. harry's hands placed on y/n's lower back, and their tongues intertwined as one, harry's moustache was a good add-on to the kiss, y/n thought, it tickled but in a good way, harry's brain was almost empty, he couldn't actually process what was happening right on his desk but he didn't care either, he had been living this moment in his mind for such a long time he doesn't really give a fuck if it's a mistake or not, he has the woman of his dreams wrapped around him, all his.

"y/n." harry interrupted the kiss, his mouth opened as he hesitated in his next words, "as much as i'm enjoying this you... you're getting married-" y/n put her indicator over his mouth, shushing him, "harry.. i want this.. please" y/n whispered, "tony has been cheating on me and i'm done pretending i'm not into you and i don't crave you, i'm done pretending i don't wish i was marrying you instead", both of them remained silent after her statement, harry's thumb caressed y/n's cheek in disbelief, disbelief that she got cheated on, disbelief that she was there in front of him confessing some type of love for him, "harry... i'm sorry if i look like i'm using you that's totally not what i want, i can leave if you want" y/n added, "no. god no. please stay... with me"

our couple kept kissing, kissing like it’s the end of the world and they want to enjoy their last few minutes together, y/n's legs wrapped around harry's waist, he stood tall, one hand holding y/n and the other trying to find the keys of the nurse's office, they honestly had so much tension between them they could do it right there, but even in the middle of so much lust they hadn't forgotten where they were, in their workplace, where a kid who forgot a pencil or a parent picking a forgotten jacket could walk in at any moment. harry's eyes lit up as y/n suggested minutes before "we can always do it in the nurse's office" leading them to here.

harry finally reached the key handing it to y/n, he grabbed a condom as well putting him in the left back pocket of his black jeans. "good lord i don't think i can make it to the office" harry exclaimed, he could feel his briefs squeezing his cock, grunting and sighing with his forehead against y/n's.

the nurse's office is silent, the walls are painted in a light blue with multiple cartoon drawings sticked to the walls, as well as drawing's made to the school's nurse, harry tenderly placed y/n on top of one of the beds in the room, locking the door behind him. "y/n...are you sure you want to do this?" harry questioned, to harry consent was key, but this time even more considering they were quite literally homewrecking. "fuck me harry, please", her eyes were filled with lust, her hands now unbuttoning the white top she has on, as well as unzipping the midi light purple silk skirt, "such an eager girl aren't you? fuck, such nice tits" his lips immediately met y/n's neck leaving love bites all over her cleavage, her skirt fell to the ground, leaving her pussy barely covered by a sheer white lace, harry's hands travel all over her body stopping near the already so wet area, as his fingers placed directly on her clit she couldn't help but whimper, "is this good" harry's voice was slightly deeper than usual still caring but somewhat assertive, y/n couldn't pronounce any words already, harry's fingers attached to her clit, rubbing and pinching, she cried out an almost inaudible "yes" in the middle of the gasps and moans, "couldn't hear you sweet pea, what did you say? can't continue if you don't talk to me." he removed his fingers from the white lace making y/n cry one more time, the loss of touch worked wonderfully as a motivation for y/n to speak, “that was so good, please don’t stop” y/n purred, grabbing harry's hand, placing it exactly where he left off. "good girl" he crooned removing his hand right after, "actually... let me take care of you in other ways", he got on his knees pulling y/n's legs apart, having a perfect look of her pussy, glistening and swollen, sending shivers down in his spine and almost making him cream in his pants like an impatient teenager. before smoothly removing her panties, harry's lips were attached to her inner thighs, from little pecks to leaving marks all over, the white mesh hadn't even hit the floor when his fingers started stroking y/n's clit once more, his tongue joined not long after, running up and down on y/n's very wet entrance. "fuck, you taste like heaven", harry admired the image in front of him yet he was not able to detach his mouth from her juices more than a few seconds, his tongue swirled inside her like it was his last meal, y/n gripped onto harry's hair, pulling and tugging it, "harry.. harry" she cried out, "oh fuck", y/n's legs were shaking, she could feel her climax closer than before, "harry i'm gonna cum" she panted, feeling her pussy clench as harry continued to lick her folds and gently biting her clit. "oh princess... look at the mess you made" his fingers brushed against the already very sensitive cunt, "such a pretty mess... let me clean it up, yeah?", that almost made y/n cum again, "harry... harry please let me cum on your cock" she pleaded, placing her weight on her elbows so she can clearly see his face, "god fuck! yeah let me um grab that condom", he got up trying to take the packet from his pocket, "no.. no i need to feel you harry", the words ring in his ears, he drops his jeans on the floor and quickly takes his briefs off, ramming into y/n's pussy, kissing her to muffle the moans coming from the both of them. they still don't know what went through their heads, and harry's thrusts inside y/n made them forget even more the world out side the room they're in, y/n's pussy clenching around harry's length, "harry i'm gonna cum again", quiet moans echoed in the room, "fuck sweets i'm so close too", he grunts as he fills her up, none of them had such a aggressive, carnal, fervent affair like this one, so full of intimacy and honey flavoured words yet so mad and potent in the sweet turbulent heated and urgent moment, nothing else mattered to them.

they're getting dressed, harry can't stop himself from staring and interrupting y/n just to steal one more kiss, "you know it's funny, the only other time i had sex in a nurse's office was in my first year of university" y/n giggles, followed by harry buttoning the rest of her top, "really? that's a weird coincidence!" he said with a tone of surprise in his voice, "on my senior year i also had sex in a nurse's office.. she was likely from your class, she was a freshman i believe", "trying to make me jealous, mr styles?" y/n gave him a little peck, "is it working?" he smiled now buttoning his shirt, "but for real, she was a freshman and we were at this guy's off campus house.. bryan something, god she never even told me her real name, said it was aimee and then said it was a lie but she wanted something she could have fun and not get attached to it” he buttons the last button and then looks at a horrified y/n, “what? i didn’t mean to upset you i was 21 back then”, he says worriedly, “no.. harry.. god.. i.. i once told a guy my name was aimee and it was my first time and i wanted to get it over with and then my friend niall banged on the door and we both burst out laughing-“, “y/n.. you look very different”, “god harry stop how did we end up in the same situation again”, harry grabs her chin, “let’s say it was destiny” he whispers kissing y/n passionately.

harry drove y/n home, the ride was filled with giggles and reminiscing their affair from their uni days, they couldn't explain why they didn't recognise each other but it felt too much like a sign from universe, bringing them together again. "we're here", harry gets closer to give y/n a kiss and she stops him, "joey is for sure observing us from the window, i'm sorry" her voice trembles, "no.. don't be sorry. i'll see you tomorrow?" he asks knowing her answer but she still nods, whispering a goodbye followed by a smile.

"y/n!" joey exclaims running to the door to hug her older sister, "was that harry? why didn't he come in? i made coffee!" she says pointing to the alone mug in the kitchen, "oh um.. he just drove me home" y/n placed her bag on one of the hooks right next to the door, "i thought you left to catch some air.. you went to school?" joey rubbed y/n's back, not imagining what could possibly be going through her sister's mind, y/n started tearing up, "oh y/n it's okay tony was a jerk! you're better off without him", the younger sister says trying to ease y/n, "joey i fucked harry" y/n blurs out, she has never been good at keeping secrets from joey, especially now that they spend 99% of their free time together, "i'm a girl with a broken engagement that fucked her co-worker that happens to be one of her best friends, i'm horrible joey" y/n's crying made her sniffle in between words, some understandable and others completely inaudible, "wow.. wow let's go back, you fucked harry?" joey's eyes widened, "and i liked it", joey let a small laugh out, "i knew you liked him”, she remains with a silly smile on her lips, “and you’re not horrible, you kinda paid tony back.. by fucking your really hot co-worker/friend… please let me grab you a mug i really need to know what happened in that school, you fucked in the classroom?” joey questions semi horrified.

“no..no we did it in the nurse’s office”

“oh that’s interesting”

“and there’s more”

“more?? maybe i don’t want to know..”

please tell me if u want to be added to taglist!

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[padfootdaredmetoo]

A Tommy head canon

If he has a s/o who likes reading he has them read to him when he is stressed or wants calmed or just wants to relax with his s/o

he likes stories by Arthur Conan Doyle, Robert Louis Stevenson, Daniel Defoe , stories about far away lands, crime and exciting events

he likes his s/o playing with his hair, having his s/o sit on his lap or cuddled in bed together in private.

when he gets wealthy he makes his s/o a private library and fills it with his s/o favourite books, and some of his too. there is a comfy sofa in the library where they read in private together when Tommy is not working.

his s/o gets him reading more and it helps him in business, crime and politics.

he gets his s/o first editions, even signed copies.

Agatha Christie. Charles Dickens. Jane Austen. Victor Hugo. Jules Verne. William Shakespeare. Beatrix Potter. Lewis Carroll. Edgar Rice Burroughs. Brontë Sisters. Jonathan Swift. George Eliot. Louisa May Alcott. Leo Tolstoy. Rudyard Kipling. Oscar Wilde. James Joyce. Bram Stoker

Whatever book his s/o wanted he’d find it

When they had a child, Tommy loved seeing his s/o reading to their little one, knitting and sewing dolls, animals and other things from their stories. Tommy is sure their child has one of each character from Beatrix Potter’s books

Tommy usually gets interrupted by their toddler later on in his home office, stumbling in with a book and sewn toy in hand. He can’t say no and he ends up reading the book with his child.

His s/o usually finds Tommy and their child from birth through the years, asleep together and an open book lying forgotten

Dear Anon,

I simply adore this. Thank you for sharing it with me! Here is a little blurb that I thought up while reading that.

Date a girl who reads. That's advice he'd give to his son one day.

The life Tommy chose was on an easy one. He didn't have the time on his hands to do things a usual husband would do.

The evenings with you were blissful, he never sat in his study alone. You were always close by working on something. Most nights he would give up, coming to sit next you on the couch in front of the fire. You would come and curl up in his lap, silently hand him the book.

This was a part of their life that needed no words, he took up from the top of the page. His other hand tangling in your hair.

This act of love was what saved them after the war.

He was wishing he'd died in the depths of those tunnels, facing you as this empty void, knowing you'd pledged your precious life to his for better or worse. This was definitely worse, perhaps the worst.

But you weren't that soft girl he'd kissed goodbye either.

You'd taken up writing for the papers. You wrote all sorts of columns under a mans name. You and Polly had started women's book club that served a purpose of making a dark time lighter as well as sharing what little they had. Tommy assumed that during the war time they must have gotten up to no good more than once as they were as feared as the Blinders in most circles.

Her desk was placed in the living room, covered in books and papers. Top drawer was filled with letters they had sent back and forth. Tommy was someone to envy during that time. You would always send him a letter about what was happening, most of it bleak and depressing, but then you would send something you'd figured would help him sleep better at night. All sorts of wicked fantasy's, never about anyone specific, he often traded them for things. A thought you found hilarious, your naughty stories carried all over the world in the pockets of lonely soldiers.

You had to step into your own during that time, you were fierce and most people found you entirely disagreeable. While he was a shell of the man he once was, you were almost too bright to look at. You were so much like Polly now, and the two of them ran a tight ship.

They ran it in such a way that ensured people were taken care of, built up a reputation for the family that was easy push farther.

But he was afraid to sleep next to you, so he just didn't come to bed. A fantastic idea that only lasted two nights. The look in your eyes made him physically sick.

You were sitting on the couch in the living room, book in your hands. He shuddered internally when he thought of what you must think he was up to.

"Don't worry Thomas, you're not the only one who got used to running on no sleep. I can keep this up for days." Your glare hit him hard. He thought of shrugging it off, that was an easier path, but there was a twinge of hurt in your eyes that put him in line.

"I thrash. When I sleep. I don't want to hurt you." The words burned, he hated them almost as much as he hated himself.

"You won't thrash when your next to me." She said, glimmers of that soft girl shining through.

"Yes I will and -"

"You won't because you'll know your next to me. I don't care even if you do hurt me. But it certainly doesn't explain why you won't touch me when your awake." Your eyes were wet, the whole weight of the world seemed to be crashing down on them. A world they both worked hard to come back to and know that they are here they cant enjoy it. Or at least he cant. "What is she like?" You were properly broken now. Fuck. He sat down on the couch next to you finally.

"There isn't anyone else, love." He pulled you in close to him. "I just don't know how to be now that it's all over." He whispered, enjoying the way you griped him tightly. He cleared his throat.

"Now what are you working on, eh?" He picked up the book, feeling you shift to curl up with your head in his lap. He started to read, feeling the tension leave your slender frame.

That was how they made it back to each other. It was slow, page by page, night by night. He would forever be grateful that you had gifted him that time to come back you.

[potionsprefect]

Diagnostic Principles Heist

Pairings: Ethan Ramsey x Victoria Clarke

Word count: 1.8k

Summary: Victoria has a very important mission to complete

Rating: Teen

Category: Fluff, Angst

The sooner he was out of the apartment the better. That’s what Victoria kept saying to herself as she watched Landry pack his stuff.

She quite frankly never wanted to see his face again after this, even if they crossed paths at work, she would happy take a longer route to get to somewhere in the hospital if it meant not running into him.

However, Victoria wasn’t going to be petty if it came to treating patients together. She would be civil for the sake of the patient. She would work to find the problem and that would be it.

It had been a turbulent few days. Landry’s actions had gotten Victoria suspended from the hospital, she had sought to try and recruit fellow doctors to back her campaign. But perhaps the best bit of all, was finally falling into Ethan’s arms the night before.

Going all the way with him was like a dream come true, she had been wanting it for so long, since that night in Miami. She was hoping that it would be the start of something new for them.

Victoria was pulled out of her thoughts by the returning form of Landry as he came out of his room, arms full of stuff. He packed them away in his box and then went back to his room. Victoria looked at the remaining stuff on the floor and noticed his copy of Ethan’s book amongst them.

The same book Ethan thought belonged to Victoria, the same book he signed with her in mind.

Without a second thought, Victoria picked the book up and hid it behind a pillow on the sofa. She sat back, idly scrolling through her phone as Landry reappeared, none the wiser.

Victoria tried to hide the smile that was slowly forming on her face. Landry was about to have a big surprise when he unpacked his boxes.

Victoria was filling in a chart by the nurses station when she saw a figure approach her out of the corner of her eye.

“Haven’t you left for Mass Kenmore yet?” Victoria looked up.

Landry paused for a second before schooling his thoughts. “Since you’re the only one who wants to talk to me, I thought you were the best person to approach.”

Victoria scoffed. “Wants to talk is an overstatement. What do you want?”

“I think I left something at the… your apartment. Can I come over after work to look for it?”

Victoria knew what he was looking for. She was surprised it had taken him this long to realise it was missing.

Luckily she had already completed the next part of her plan. All he had to do was realise.

“Sure. But I can’t promise that the others won’t be there. And that they won’t be angry.”

“That’s fine. I expect nothing less. I think I know where it is so I’ll be as quick as possible.” Landry said before he hurried away.

“Doctor Clarke! A word in my office now please.” Another voice said from behind her.

Victoria turned round and saw Ethan already striding down the corridor, no doubt knowing that she would follow him.

And follow him was what Victoria did. She got many sympathetic glances from her colleagues, all ones wishing her good luck for the bollocking she was about to endure. But what they didn’t know was that Victoria knew she wasn’t about to be shouted at.

He never shouted at her.

As much as she wanted him to take her to a secluded part of the hospital and let him have his way with her, she knew it wasn’t going to happen. They had to keep their distance, stay professional at all times. It was beginning to make Victoria sad.

But maybe, just maybe this once she could have a little fun. Not give him the impression that she desperately wanted him.

Victoria found herself in his office. As Ethan shut the door behind him, he locked it, a move that made Victoria raise an eyebrow.

“You only lock your office when you’re trying to hide something. Or someone in this case.” Victoria chuckled.

Ethan tried to school his features but there was no hiding the amusement in his eyes. “You looked like you were having a difficult conversation, I thought I’d help you out.”

“Well thank you but I am more than grown up enough to handle my own problems.” Victoria folded her arms. “But that doesn’t explain why you locked your office door.”

“One word. Interns. But forget that. Why was he talking to you?”

Victoria sighed. She knew he would get the truth out of her eventually. “He said he left something at my apartment. He wants to come over after work to retrieve it. And I know exactly what he’s looking for.” Victoria smirked.

Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Dear God please tell me you didn’t do anything illegal.”

“Why? Would you bail me out?”

“No because hopefully it would serve as a form of punishment.”

“Well unless you call me stealing his most prized possession a crime then I think I’ll just about survive.” Victoria shrugged.

“What have you done?”

“Nothing less than he deserves. Let’s just say he’s about to get a taste of his own medicine. And he won’t be able to find a cure for it because he won’t have his trusty diagnostic principles book.” Victoria said.

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t.”

“I did. And you’re not going to do anything about it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good. Now can I unlock the door and leave? We have to keep a distance remember. Like you said.”

Ethan threw her the keys and Victoria unlocked the door. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Well that wouldn’t be fun would it?” Victoria winked as she threw the keys back to Ethan and left the room.

Ethan shook his head with an amused smile, and sat back down at his desk. He opened up the tab he had quickly closed as Victoria had approached his office. It wouldn’t be his office for much longer.

Ethan stared at the words on the screen.

Your contribution to the outbreak in the Amazon would be most appreciated.

He had some thinking to do.

*The Day Before*

Paying the extra delivery fee was worth it if she meant she got a laugh out of this. It was nothing less than he deserved.

Victoria took the book out of the packaging and opened the front cover. She remembered where Ethan had signed it, she got out a black felt pen and had the original copy beside her so she could mimic his handwriting as best she could.

She thought about what to write instead, she didn’t want to be nasty, that wasn’t her but she could be a little sarcastic.

As carefully as she could she wrote Did you honestly expect to get off lightly with this? and then signed Ethan’s name at the bottom. With a smile Victoria shut the book.

Victoria quietly slipped into Aurora’s room and placed the book on one of her shelves before shutting the door behind her.

All he had to do was realise.

Victoria was anticipating his arrival, all the gang were sat in the living room, she was expecting them to explode when they saw him.

“There’s no way that’s real.” Bryce laughed as they watched TV.

“I don’t know, I think he pulled it off.” Rafael replied.

“Why are we watching this?” Jackie asked.

“Because you lost the remote battle.” Elijah laughed.

There was a knock at the door. Victoria pulled herself together. “I’ll get it.” She got up off the sofa. Victoria opened the door to find Landry on the other side.

“What is he doing here?” Sienna said from across the room.

“It’s fine. He says he left something here, he’s just here to retrieve it.” Victoria said as she let Landry inside.

“You’re a better person than me.” Jackie mumbled.

Landry headed straight to his old room, not looking at any of the others.

“He better not touch any of my stuff.” Aurora said.

Victoria chuckled. “Don’t worry. He knows exactly what he’s looking for.”

Landry emerged from his old room, book in hand and headed out the door without another word.

“You’re welcome by the way!” Victoria shouted before she shut the front door.

“Was that all he came for? His most prized possession?” Jackie chuckled.

“Yep. Except maybe he should’ve checked it was the right copy.” Victoria grinned as she headed over to the shared bookshelf and pulled out the original copy. They all sat up intrigued.

“Is that…” Sienna trailed off.

Victoria flipped open the cover to reveal the original signature. They had all been shown it. They knew what it looked like.

“I have never been so proud of you.” Bryce laughed.

“Do you think he’ll notice?” Rafael asked.

“Who cares if he does. He deserves everything he gets.” Jackie shrugged.

Victoria felt her phone vibrating in her pocket and saw Ethan’s name flash across the screen. She headed into her bedroom and shut the door before answering.

“This still isn’t keeping distance you know that.” Victoria said.

There was a small chuckle on the other end of the line. “I’m willing to break it for one phone call.”

“You surprise me.”

“I wouldn’t say that’s a bad thing. I wanted to check you were okay.” Ethan said.

“Wow you really must care about me.” Victoria smiled.

“I do, and I hope you know that I always will.”

“Enough to call and check on me but not enough to be seen with me.” Victoria sighed.

There was a pause. “Victoria.” Ethan sighed.

“I know Ethan. We want each other but we can’t have each other. I get it. I’ll just have to live with it.”

Deciding that the subject needed changing Ethan then said. “Did you know who get his book back?”

Victoria laughed. “Technically it wasn’t his book, just a copy but yes he did. And if he opens the front cover he’s about to get a surprise.”

Ethan laughed too. “I hope that’s the last time you do something like that.”

“Same here. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.” Victoria said. She hung up the phone taking a deep breath.

It hurt being able to talk to him like that and not actually be with him. She wanted nothing more. And it was made worse by Landry’s comments. About how he favoured her compared to the rest of their cohort. It just simply wasn’t true. If he hadn’t said such things, maybe Ethan’s mind would be different.

In an office at Edenbrook Hospital, a doctor was sat at his desk staring at his laptop screen.

He was going to tell her, he had to. It would break her heart just as much as it broke his heart he had to tell her before everyone else found out. He couldn’t not warn her, he wouldn’t do that to her.

The reply had been sent, there was no going back now.

I couldn't not write a fic like this without adding my favourite couple in there 😌

And did Landry ever find out his book was a fake? What do you think? 🤔

Tagging in reblog

[chevrolangels]

happy birthday, dean

For his birthday, Dean gets glasses.

“Merry fucking birthday to me,” he mutters to himself as he sinks into the exam room chair, strangely nervous as he waits for the opte-whatever to come in the room. 

He’s never liked doctors, especially one that pokes around your eyes, but hey—that’s the downside when you shut God away for good. Garth was nice enough to fix up Dean’s teeth for free, but they had to mock up a fake insurance card for this visit. Charlie (Real Charlie, after Jack brought her back) hooked him up with a sweet new fake ID, which is why ‘Neal Moriarty’ is getting his first ever eye exam.

“Mr. Moriarty?”

Dean sits up, twisting the ring on his finger. It’s a habit he’s picked up when he’s on edge. 

The lady smiles, adjusting glasses of her own.

“I’m Dr. Chow, I’ll be helping you out today.” She glances at the clipboard in her hands. “I see you’re 42, never been to the optometrist before?”

Optometrist—right, that’s it.

“Yep,” Dean says, with a sheepish grin. “Never had the need, but uh—figured it was time.”

She sits down, noting some things down before smiling again.

“Well, let’s see if we can get you set up.”

About thirty minutes later, Dean’s leaving the optometrist with a brand new set of glasses. The frames are nice, a sort of brown with specks (tortoiseshell, the lady told him) with a slightly round shape. It’s a weird adjustment, having something constantly sitting on his face—but Dean can finally see.

He feels like he’s in a brand new world. No more squinting, no more struggling to see the road signs. Driving back home, he swears he can see every leaf on every tree, every detail crisp and clear. 

Christ. He hadn’t realized how blind he really was.

Dean drops his keys in the bowl they keep on the side table on the way in, calling out his return. 

Sam’s reaction is expected. He teases him, calls him old man, then gets all serious and tells Dean they really do look good. Dean calls him a bitch, just to hear him snort and throw back ‘jerk’ in reply. 

He heads to the war room, where Cas is reading by the light of the lamp, his brow pinched as his eyes whiz back and forth, lightning fast. 

Dean clears his throat, fiddling with his ring again.

“Hey, Cas.”

Cas looks up, smiling.

“Dean.”

Then he blinks, up and out of his chair and moving towards Dean. He stops just in front of him, eyes wide.

“You got your new glasses,” he says, sounding almost breathless.

Dean shrugs, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Yup.”

Cas just stares at him.

Dean swallows, shifting his weight. 

“So, uh…what’s the verdict?”

Instead of answering, Cas takes Dean’s face in his hands and kisses him. 

They part after a moment, and Dean blinks, thoroughly dazed.

Cas brushes a thumb over his cheek.

“I think they look wonderful on you, Dean,” he says, voice low and husky.

“Damn,” Dean says, chuckling. “Shoulda gotten these way sooner.”

Cas just nods, smiling as he drinks in the full picture. 

Then, with a glance over his shoulder, he takes Dean’s hand, tugging him towards their room.

“Come on.”

Dean raises an eyebrow.

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“Cas, it’s like three in the afternoon—”

“I don’t care.”

“Wow.” Dean grins, but lets himself be pulled along. “You really like them don't you?”

Cas shuts the door behind them, kissing Dean once more before pushing him back on the bed.

“You’re leaving those on,” he says, as he unbuttons his shirt.

~

Afterwards, Cas slips into a slight doze, his cheek plastered to Dean’s side. Now that reading doesn’t give him a headache, Dean thumbs through a paperback as he waits for the angel currently using him as a pillow to wake up.

Cas stirs, eyes fluttering open.

“Sorry,” he says, wiping at his eyes. “I didn’t realize I was that tired.”

“It’s okay,” Dean says softly. “I know you stayed up late with Jack last night.”

Cas hums in agreement.

“He does have an odd schedule.”

Then he sits up fully, just looking at Dean again. Dean sets down the book.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Cas says with a smile. “Just admiring.”

“Don’t say anything sappy, or you’ll make me fog up my glasses again,” Dean teases. 

“I rather liked that,” Cas murmurs, leaning in.

“You dog,” Dean says back, but accepts Cas’s lips as they meet his. They kiss for a moment, lazy and slow. 

Cas pulls back, stroking at his cheek.

“But you’re happy, right?” He asks, his eyes earnest. “They help?”

“Oh, yeah.” Dean lifts the book. “It’s awesome. Don’t have to squint at this chicken scratch anymore.”

Cas smiles, all soft.

“I’m glad.”

Sam hammers on the door.

“People are starting to get here so you better be out and dressed in five minutes or I'm sending Eileen in, naked or not!” He yells.

Dean huffs a laugh, and Cas smirks, giving him a quick peck before pushing himself up.

“Sounds like we’re being summoned.”

~

Later, after hugs from Jody and Donna and all the girls, they do gifts. It’s mostly practical stuff, for his Baby and for the now-occasional hunt. Claire teases him about his glasses for a solid ten minutes, then hands him an impeccably wrapped gift (“Patience helped, okay?”) which turns out to be a copy of Caddyshack II. She appropriately ignores Dean misting up and accepts his bear hug. 

Garth and Bess bring homemade pie, and Charlie taps into the bunker system to put on a pretty impressive playlist. Rowena drops by towards the end of the night, with a bottle of scotch nearly as old as Dean. 

Sam sticks a candle in the pie and Eileen brings it to Dean, starting the chorus while everyone joins in. Dean looks around at his family, everyone he loves, and lastly at Cas, who’s standing at his side, looking at him with such a profound love in his eyes that Dean feels a swell of emotion in his chest. Cas leans in, squeezing Dean’s shoulder before reaching out and readjusting his glasses.

“Make a wish,” he whispers. 

Dean looks back at the candle. 

He closes his eyes, and does. 

[chipper-smol]

Hollow Knight Telephone Round Two: Pale Jester Chain 2

Prompt: PJ finds his way into Lemm’s shop and begins ruminating about all the different relics with surprising accuracy and knowledge (much to Lemm’s annoyance and confusion)

By @werewolforeos

Lemm was alone, as usual. He dusted off the king’s idols so the illustrious stone regained its shine. He froze as the door to his ‘shop’ creaked, and the bell jingled- please don’t be another caffeine-wanting bug, he thought, turning around to greet the customer.

The masked bug was taller than he was, though not by much- most of its height came from its horns, eight tall spikes resembling a crown. Yet despite this regal feature, it dressed in a fool’s clothes- Lemm could almost imagine the bells attached to the cape’s ends, which luckily were absent. And all its clothes shone with a deep crimson.

“How can I help you?” Lemm muttered, eyeing the stranger’s staff. “Oh, mind that shelf, would you?”

“Oh! A friendly face in these caverns! My, my! What an unexpected surprise!” The bug replied with a too-jolly attitude. Lemm decided he did not like this bug. “Why, I was merely exploring this city- it’s quite hectic outside, no?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Lemm replied. “My shop here is safe, at least. It’s quite calm up here. Have you seen those husks?”

“Yes, yes. Quite the sad fate they have been left with- blinded by those unsightly orange lumps, yet stuck in their daily rituals all the same.” The stranger brought up his hands to his face, in a mocking display of shock. “Oh, heavens! We have yet to introduce ourselves to each other!”

Lemm rolled his eyes. “Name’s Lemm. Don’t have much else to say on that matter, but what’s yours, stranger?”

“Ah- they call me Jester, back up there. You have a nice name, Lemm!” A shiver went up Lemm’s spine as Jester spoke his name- he ignored it, it’s probably just the breeze. “So, Lemm! What do you do up here? It’s quite the nice shop~!” said the Jester, picking up a wanderer’s journal.

“Ah- hands off, please. The knowledge stored on these antiques is priceless.” Lemm tapped Jester on the hands. “I buy these relics of this old kingdom, for the sake of history and preservation. I’ve got many journals to decipher- so if you don’t mind, unless you have any relics for me…?”

“Ah, no, I do not have anything you might be interested in. Though,” the Jester mused, “Perhaps I might be able to assist in deciphering the script? It seems familiar to me.”

Lemm scoffed. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Tell you what, if you can decipher a full journal, I might part with it once I’ve copied it down somewhere.” “That sounds like a challenge to me~! Challenge accepted, shopkeep.”

Lemm gave the Jester a journal he’d deciphered already, to test how well he knew the old script of Hallownest. Putting his finger to the script, the Jester seemed lost in thought, as though looking at an old memory. “This is a passage about those blue cocoons, is it not? They call it Lifeblood.” Lemm blinked.

“That is… correct. But, could you translate the whole passage? I’m curious as to what your skills are.”

“The swirling blue liquid relieves pain, but if too much is taken at once, the Lifeblood seems to take over. We must carefully ration the amount given to the hospitals. Signed… Lurien, the Watcher.”

...That was, way too fast. “Hmm. I’m not convinced. Another.” Lemm trades the journal in the Jester’s hands for another.

“The circus was in town today,” the Jester reads aloud, “and I got to see Marissa’s show! Her voice is so soothing- it reminds me of my dreams.��� Lemm was silent. This is ridiculous.

“Hm? Did I make a mistake?”

“Oh, no. I was lost in thought about- these signs here,” Lemm lies. “I hadn’t yet translated this passage, and had not seen this combination written as one word yet.”

“Oh! You’re looking at ‘plague’ there, shopkeep.” Cogs whirred as Lemm processed this information- these journals talk about many things, how did this Jester decipher these so quickly? And does he know things Lemm does not?

“These icons next to each other- ‘sick’ and ‘many’. Many sick make a plague, no?”

“Yes, yes. That does make sense. And here…”

“That’s a shopping list,” the Jester waved it away. “Honeydew, boofly meat, it seems as though this one was quite rich. Though it’s not that important,” he claims, “as those letters from the Watcher you’ve got there seem much more interesting to me.”

You’ve got to be kidding me, everything he’s said has been correct. Even the ones I hadn’t yet gotten to. Just who is this bug, exactly?

The Jester strided over to Lemm’s undeciphered journals, focusing on a specific grouping. “I hereby request the addition of a chamber for Lexi, my butler, inside my Spire. He wishes to stay as he works, and…” Jester pauses as he grabs the next passage. “I believe it would be a good idea to have him with me as I prepare for slumber. Hm, a little fruity, aren’t we, Watcher?”

Lemm just stood there, dumbfounded. “Er. I. Okay.” This is a lot more information than I expected to get in five minutes. Ignoring him, the Jester continued to rummage through the relics, stumbling across a stray king’s idol.

“Hey! Those were ordered to date and time!”

“And now they are not. Is there any issue there? If it is, you can always order them again.”

Lemm definitely did not like this bug. “Excuse me? You waltz into my shop, damage my collection, and strut about like you own the place with your knowledge of the signs used in Hallownest’s prime. Who do you think you are?” “That is irrelevant. I do wonder… where did you find this statuette?”

“A wanderer comes by every so often with many relics, and cleans out my geo stash. I mean- that’s irrelevant. Why do you care?”

Holding the idol at an arm’s length, the Jester tilted his head, studying the way it was sculpted. “This one was found in the resting grounds. I can smell the lavender,” he muses. “I’m surprised they had one of these there- the moths didn’t take kindly to that King. I suppose that’s understandable, given what he did to them.”

“Moths?”

“Yes, yes. Quite a long time ago, they lived in the lands Hallownest was built upon. Did you never get an education?”

Lemm blinks. “Well, I had school, but-”

“Shopkeep, this is something all bugs used to know. Did they scrap it out of the history books? ...Of course he would, that King would do anything for validation. I’m sure the guilt is eating him up from the inside.”

“Jester. The king is dead. Has been for a while. Have you not seen the state of decay this kingdom is in?”

“Ah, no. That Wyrm is still alive somewhere- I’m sure of it.” The Jester moved back to the door, holding his staff in one hand, and journals in the other three. “I do wonder,” he muttered under his breath,”why are these so familiar? Ah, Lemm, was it? Would you mind if I took these outside?”

Before Lemm could express indignance, the door opened once more- standing in it a drenched wanderer, who often stopped by to supply Lemm with his many relics. The pale white mask they donned looked up at the crimson Jester, an unreadable expression behind it. The wanderer gripped the handle of their nail- sharpened, coiled, pure. They recognized the Jester, and they did not particularly like him, Lemm thought. At least Lemm wasn’t alone in disliking his clown schtick. That being said, the Jester still held some relics- if a fight broke out, they could get damaged. Lemm quietly pried open the hands of the Jester.

“Ohoho! We meet again, little one! Do tell me about your excursions down here, won’t you?” The Jester was met with silent scorn. The shop was rife with tension, though the Jester seemed oblivious to it.

“Er, pardon me, but mayhaps you two should take this… outside.”

The wanderer stared at the Jester for another moment, before breaking their gaze away, and briskly walking towards Lemm. They rummaged in their pockets, producing another pair of journals, a Hallownest seal, and an arcane egg. The Jester giggled, the wanderer quickly turning their head towards him, and then sprinting back into the endless rain of the City of Tears before Lemm could give the wanderer the geo they were due.

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By @couch-cat

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By @arandoskeleartist

(audio file working on being uploaded)

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By @uncurdled-bean-curd

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By @the-trans-anon

Lemm was going to have a stroke.

He’d been having a perfectly fine day going through his relics without any annoyances running around, when a strange bug he’d never seen before entered his shop. The bug didn’t seem to have any relics to share, saying he was just exploring, and had been about to leave when he noticed one of Lemm’s king idols.

“What’s that?” The bug asked, reaching for the idol.

Lemm quickly yanked it out of his reach, not thrilled with the idea of someone manhandling his relics. “It’s an idol of the Pale King. The King himself was rarely seen so the bugs of Hallownest worshiped these in his stead.”

“Lies!” Before he could blink, the bug had grabbed the idol and jumped back towards the door. He held the idol up above their head, admiring it.

“Clearly it’s a tiny statue of me! Can you not see the resemblance?” He asked, looking towards Lemm and pressing the idol against his mask, eyes alight with mirth.

Lemm was about to snap at the bug to give him back the idol for gods sake it’s a historical artifact not a toy- when he too started to notice the similarities between the idol and the strange bug. Both had similar horns rising up as a crown, though the bug’s horns were much more curved than the King’s, and their masks looked nearly identical save for the black lines running down the bug’s face. The main difference was their clothing, with most of the King’s imagery in white and the bug’s clothes in a bright, fiery red. The more he looked, the more clear their uncanny resemblance became.

“...Are you related to the Pale King?” Lemm asked, feeling a headache start to form.

The bug looked confused, then put down the idol. “ Ah no, I’m afraid I simply jest my friend. Though we have similar names, I have never heard of your “Pale King” before. Though I have to say,” He looked back at the idol “your king was quite the looker.”

“Wait, what do you mean you have similar names? What’s your name?!”  

The bug looked about ready to answer, before he froze and looked up at the ceiling. “Ah, my apologies my friend. It appears the Master is in need of me.”

“The Master??!”

“May we meet again.” The strange bug bowed, and raced out of the shop.

“Wait! You can’t just say something like that and leave who does that!? Come back here!” Lemm ran after the bug, but he was nowhere to be found. “Shit.” He sighed, before deciding to look around for any sign of the bug. That bug had to have some kind of connection with the King, and like hell he was going to pass up a chance to get information about the reclusive Pale King. He needed to talk to that bug.

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By @lesiasmadness

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By @redcynder1234

Lemm angrily grumbled at the tiny hands that dragged him halfway across the kingdom. He had tried to fight the smaller vessel off back in the city of tears. When they had suddenly barged into his little relic shop, seeming urgent as he tried to drag the grumpy old bug out of his shop. Lemm had tried to wave them away, but the smaller bug had quite a lot of determination to show them something then and there, at least no husks dare tread in their path as they traveled. The infection may be gone for sure, but husks of former bugs sometimes still lingered around, it was nerve wracking for sure, but lemm was safe in his shop where he could get lost in his work for hours on end. However now with the little shadow dragging him out of the safety of his home, He was a little on edge.

Finally as it seemed the little ghost had dragged them to their location they pointed upwards. Looking up, lemm grumbled seeing an old rusty chain leading up an old well. “Absolutely not.” He growled out. Even as the small vessel flapped their monarch wings to start and climb the chain. Hearing his response however they stopped and looked down before pulling out something from their cloak. One hand on the chain they waved a king's idol in the air. “Yes you’ve been waving that thing at me through this entire journey! I still don’t understand why you’ve dragged me halfway across hallownest.” He barked angrily. If only the little vessel could speak. He assumed they couldn't speak a few visits back as they sold old trinkets at his shop but lemm never could be sure. It really felt like they were speaking sometimes.

The vessel seemed to wave and point it up desperately before disappearing up the well. “Ey! Little squirt! Come back here!” He barked up the shaft angrily. However when no shadow came to retrieve him he just grumbled angrily. “Stupid, familiar looking…” Lemm mumbled under his breath as he climbed up the chain. If his curiosity about what they wanted wasn't so persistent he would have turned straight back around and headed back to the city of tears. Plus, kings idols were a rare find and he wanted to get his hands on as many as he could.

As he scrambled over the ledge of the well, his old carapace not liking the climb in the slightest, he looked around. He remembered hearing about the town of dirtmouth. By its size alone lemm could tell the town must have been a lively and successful one before the infection's grip controlled and destroyed the place. It was sad, maybe to anyone other than lemm at the moment. Grumpy and tired he saw the cloaked vessel padding towards two pinky almost red tinted tents. “Little pest… just doing to leave me behind!” He barked angrily as he followed after the vessel. Nothing left to do this far into this journey but to follow the little gremlin. Plus, in case there were any more infected lingering about, he rather have another soul that could fight them off then be left to fend them off himself. He only knew how to work with small pliers and knives, not nails and needles.

The vessel seemed to be approaching a small crowd that had formed outside the tents. They had been there before the two entered town, but lemm could already tell from a distance they were all… scared? More weary if anything. As he got closer the little ghost had turned, waving the small king's idol wildly while pointing through the crowd. “Give me that.” He snapped while snatching the king's brand from their hands. “I swear if you really wanted to sell it to me you could have done it in the city of tears, instead of dragging me halfway across the kingdom!” He snapped angrily. Making sure it hadn’t been damaged he fetched a bag of geo from under his cloak and dropped it without even looking at the vessel. “You're lucky I'm not taking half of that for dragging me her- OW.” He barked when ghost suddenly yanked his beard. “I swear-“ he growled as he looked down, wavinging the vessel's hand away from his beard. However the vessel was glaring into his soul and pointing. Angrily he huffed and looked up, before his eyes widened. Huh? That was impossible!?!

Looking down at the idol in his hands he looked up. The normal silver cloak was gone, replaced with red jester clothes. His crown of thorns was bent in such a painful looking way it almost made lemm cringe at the thought; and yet as lemm held up the king's idol he could see the similarities. Far too close similarities to be a coincidence. However there was no way the king of hallownest was some low-life jester doing gags and tricks to please the normal class's eye. Especially to a dead kingdom. Yet thinking this could be the king's brother was almost laughable. The king was a wyrm if the small amount of text he deciphered was true. And wyrms were giant beasts that could kill anything in its path. Then who was this look-a-like in front of them? That must be why the vessel had dragged them here, they may be curious themselves but since lemm was such a history nut he would know more. Could have still told him that before dragging him here.

As the jester bowed and the small crowd nervously clapped. Seeming to be more doing it to please someone then actually liking the show. He paused as the jester disappeared back into the pink tents. He knew the vessel was still standing beside them, watching the relic keeper curiously. Lemm knew he shouldn't enter the tent and ask such a question, but so many questions could be solved about this kingdom if this stupid look-a-like statue was this strange jester. The pale king hidden right under everyone's noses. Yet it still felt wrong in some way but he couldn't figure out why.

Lemm didn't understand what caused him to head towards the menacing face-looking tents; but he headed inside their pink tinted curtains. He didn't know what he expected, but it wasn't the tent to be almost pitch black except for small lanterns hanging up around the place. He expected at least a little of the outside world's lights to cut through the fabric. Sure it wasn't bright already in dirtmouth, but the sheets had looked almost see through before, now they looked like solid walls keeping the relic keeper inside. A shiver ran down his back as he almost instantly regretted his decision. He was a relic seeker, not an explorer that went out and actually found the relics to study. However it was a bit too late to turn back now.

Walking down the hallway he saw another bug standing there. Playing a spooky tone upon the accordion in their hands. Lemm wished he could have just snuck around the bug but they noticed him before he got too close. “Mrmm… Sorry, but the master does not want visitors at the moment...” Lemm gulped softly. “Actually I am uh… here to see your jester I believe. I wanted to praise them for the wonderful show.” The lie came out of his mouth a bit smoother than he intended. Yet it seemed the other paused before nodding forward. “Mrmm… Continue then… but do not linger.” they simply stated. Lemm quickly nodded and passed by, making sure the king's idol was safely out of sight from the other bug's eyes. Once passed he calmed down a bit. The hallway led to a pretty large room, silken ropes hanging from just about everywhere above his head. Somewhere tied together, some were almost touching the ground. They were so long, but lemm had to admit it was a pretty sight. Something white suddenly appeared from above, it was the jester alright, carefully twisted around the silken fabric. Was he dancing? It kinda appeared like it. “H-hello?” lemm wasn't one for conversation but it felt a little awkward just watching the other. The other quickly looked down, a mask upon the other's face made the relic seeker shiver. However the others voice didn't sound nearly as threatening as he expected it to be. “Ah! Greetings down there, what brings you to the grimm kin’s tent.” He called down. Carefully sliding down the silken ropes to hang upside down in front of the relic seeker. Lemm nervously took a step back before stealing himself. “I wanted to ask you a question.” The jester tilted his head curiously. Carefully righting himself and wrapping his legs around the silken ropes to keep himself suspended in mid hair.

“Oh?” He hummed curiously “What question do you have for a little jester like me?” he spoke. Lemm gulped nervously before speaking. “Do… were… I….” how does he just ask someone if they were a king?! “Were you a king before?” He blurted out in her strange panic. The jester seemed to pause before bursting out laughing. Lemm huffed even if he knew how stupid that must of just sounded. “I’m serious!” He barked out, feeling a bit flustered. As the jester calmed he wiped a single tear that had formed in the mask's eye. “A funny joke for sure little bug, but there would be no way that I could be a king. I would probably put buzzsaws and little traps as far as the eye could see.” he snickered to himself as he joked, but lemm just huffed. “I am serious-” he barked again but the jester interrupted him “Then your answer is obviously no my small bug.” he chuckled “I could never be a king of something.” He chuckled. “Either way, I don't think you should be back here. If the master finds out you're here he may be quite mad.” The pale jester said with another chuckle. Lemm huffed angrily. “You look like the ruler that used to rule here--” “--That's enough.” the jester spoke with a huff. “I understand a joke but pushing it makes it unfunny.” the other huffed.

Lemm growled. “I’m not joking! I already said that.” he barked “You look like the king of his land, look-!” He held up the king idol that he had hidden in his cloak. The jester paused. If lemm continued to speak he didn't hear it, He focused on the idol in there hand. It made the jester feel strange, like there was something scratching at the back of their head but just couldn't figure out what was causing it. Like a memory long compressed and lost to time. Maybe it was better that they were suppressed but…. Flashes of memories went through his head. Bright white images with blurred faces. Hissing he took a step back before his head cleaned and something warm brushed his shoulder. Looking up he noticed grimm standing over him, his eyes seemed kind and light hearted but the jester could sense the small bit of anger in them.

The jester watched Grimm calmly lead the other outside the tents. Their words didn't fully register to him however as the two left. The strange symbol still was imprinted in his mind but the memories that had come along with them were gone. Strange, but it may be better for such things to stay hidden in his memory, but the jester was still curious. When grimm appeared beside him again through a burst of red smoke he seemed calm, but his red eyes shined in worry. “Ah yes I'm ok.” he chuckled nervously. “Just got a bit of a headache.” he said “What a strange bug.” he spoke, looking towards the entrance to the tent. Grimm only softly hummed “Indeed… Come, we have plenty still to do while we're here.” The jester paused before nodding, following grimm back into the tent.

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By @darkautodraws 

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By @daikoski​ 

The Pale Jester always had a knack for dancing.

—Or perhaps, certain kinds of it.

He’d discovered one time when indulging on a slower song from Brumm, that he had a knack for ballroom dancing of all things! But such a thing isn’t commonplace for his kind of performance, no, he much prefers storytelling accompanied with a fun little jig of sorts. Ballroom dancing—especially with the audience he tends to have—seems to be something a little too formal and delicate.

Which is why he finds himself taking on the endeavor of trusting seemingly delicate, flowing silks with the entirety of himself. Ahh, yes, that of aerial dancing! He notes them as seemingly delicate, as they’re more than capable of securing far more weight than originally thought, but also... he’s very sharp.

—Of course, he’s not so clumsy now to go and let his claws tear straight through the silk now, nor would he allow the plates of his body to catch on it either. Not like that one time, when he had first been trying to pitch the choreography to this performance...

Now that had been something. The clicking tear of threads being pulled apart and the swoop of his stomach as he plummeted before quickly catching himself with his tail, something of a boisterous, abrupt laugh escaping him.

“You’re not trying to escape from a web, are you? Try not to cut yourself down little Fool!” Divine had jeered affectionately, and he could have easily preened from the spark of laughter that ignited the rest of the Troupe before lowering himself.

(... he also most certainly tries to pad the sharp ridges of his body a little more ever since that incident, but that’s besides the point.)

Ah, but that’s beside the point. Such a joyous thing it is, to inspire such a reaction in others, even if it’s from a

slipup like that. Perhaps it’s even better when it is. (Aer all, the Jester in fact would like to think he uses his foolishness to endear

himself to others, not dolt around.)

The tent is empty as of now, though that’s no concern. The Grimmkin will flood the audience the moment he does so much as enter the stage—no, he’s searching for the more unfamiliar-yet-not guests to come in, if at all. Perhaps the little wanderer, the shadow? Or maybe even one of the town folks bold enough to come by? Oh, or the princess warrior! Though her kind are truly experts in silk, and he finds himself unsure of how she’ll take his performance. (It is due to her influence that he felt himself particularly inclined to this song and dance aer all.)

Ah, he should probably do some last checks on the rigging, make sure they’re steady and all that. That, and check on his costume, too.

“C’mon Jester, don’t tell me your talons are going all stiff on ya!” comes the snicker of a Grimmkin trying to goad him on, and he laughs, before launching into a sprightly comical bow, tail flicking. Actually, he feels as nimble as possible, thank you very much!

“Of course not, dear friend! I’m simply waiting to greet our beloved guests—” and speak and she will come, the familiar rubied-red cloak catches his eye, and he immediately pats and dismisses the ‘kin to greet the spider. “And here one comes now!”

“Hello, hello! Welcome, Little Hornet—” there’s a bit of distaste that shines through her expression at his thoughtless nickname, and he would reel it in had he not

already said it, instead opting to tuck the information away for next time, “—you’re just in time for this next performance! Sit down, sit down, make yourself comfortable!”

She’s ushered to her seat, which is something on the front rows amongst the many grimmkin. Idly he notes that neither of her siblings are attending, though he has no complaints.

This one’s less of a personal performance and more for all the Troupe to see, so he won’t be able to converse with her until aer. She comes here most oen to ask questions, aer all. A no-nonsense type of bug she is, and it’s only customary he’ll allow such aer a performance, and she seems to know the same. Nonetheless, he bites back a bark of amusement at the way she glowers at the chatty Grimmkin, a little bit crowded as it is.

Lights snap on, beaming bright and warm, and the show begins.

Distantly, he can hear the beginning notes of Brumm’s accordion, and ah, what a perfect guide he always is! The familiar haunting call sends a thrill through the Jester, and it’s with that he begins his performance.

He wonders briefly if aerial silk dancing has ever been seen within Hallownest. Perhaps so, perhaps not; he only learned due to the Troupe aer all, and Grimm hadn’t really shared where he had learned such an art either...

The whisper of silk that he coils around his hand is taut, strong and secure the more he loops it. It’s with quick, tight motions and a graceful swoop that he suspends himself right upside down, sharp mandibles pulling back into a pleased smile from behind his mask. That was a satisfying maneuver.

There’s a split second of concern regarding his costume—the fabric of his wings just do not seem to be cooperating this time around, but alas, it simply feels right to have them there!

The more he spends within the air, the more inclined, the more fond he becomes in fitting such an image. It feels even better when the silks are pulled and he’s practically in arms reach to the ceiling.

Though the Jester isn’t quite sure how to describe it; a certain kind of fun exhilaration, a familiar twinge in his chest at being lied to such a height—he’d first noticed it through the use of mere ropes and cranks, to trapezing and other such elevated storytelling (Ha! Perhaps if he finds more joyous stories to share, he could workshop that into a joke to tell Hornet...) to now dancing with aerial silks.

He lets himself be guided and pulled along, to sway and twirl with the call of the music and the warmth of the Heart with practiced ease and elegance. But of course; he’s more than prepared for this, and with each swoop and dip his smile widens more and more.

When the curtains close and all the Grimmkin have seen fit to disappear off to do whatever it is their hearts desire, the Jester remains lingering on the stage. To clean up mainly, but it is to keep a keen eye on the nimble princess as well. He watches as she simply hops up and makes her way down towards him, and he perks up in attention.

There’s some attempt at niceties, just polite, pleasant conversation on his part, to which she kind of shuts down aer a moment.

“Why the new performance?” Ahh, so some curiosity was piqued!

The Jester hums thoughtfully, letting the silks hold his weight up as he rocks too far back on his legs. It brushes whisper-so against him.

“Perhaps for no specific reason in particular, other than to further expand my capabilities as a jester!” He somewhat not-answers.

She doesn’t respond, instead opting to give him a very narrow eyed look, suspicion and more, and he feels compelled to continue.

“Well, perhaps not nothing. Hypothetically... if this old soul noticed a certain spiderling’s interest in acrobatics—and this is hypothetical, of course!” Hands up in the air as if in surrender yet jestful, he laughs, “and wished to, say, partake in something similar in an attempt to perhaps bond with her...?”

A pause and a beat. “Had it been to your liking, young one?”

He lets the words linger in the air, before dropping his hands down to tug at the silks once more. He wishes to be honest, so even though he feels... uncertain, telling her that, he doesn’t regret it.

Hornet’s expression does... something. It’s tiny—miniscule, even, and perhaps had it been anyone else but him, that faint little tell might have gone unseen. but he does see it, and he recognizes it quickly as some sort of conflicted emotion, a tension that he’s brought upon her.

It seems she very much teeters on something colder, fists gripping at the edge of her cloak before she almost quietly ekes out, “It had been fine.”

The Jester brightens up—why, from such a grumpy young princess like her, that could very well be the highest praise!

...Though it’s best he does not push further, nor goad her on either. Enjoyable their dances can be (with such strong, violent intent from her too!) he’s already finished his own performance, and she’s certainly due to rest sometime soon, nor would he want to upset her more in the first place.

And much to his surprise, she continues, “Such as... that part when you had dropped suddenly... I thought you were certain to fall and crack your mask in half.” Something of a surprised chuckle is pulled from him, and he hums. “Where you were supported by only one silk. It looked... dire.”

It’s vague enough that he can’t really pinpoint what part of the act she was talking about, but it brings forth words to his tongue, but just which ones?

Yes, just what was that phrase... right!

“That part! I was practically hanging by a thread, was I not?”

(So, he hadn’t been able to workshop that ‘elevated’ joke in time... but such is the way!)

By the Heart... he could consider this another job well-done, couldn’t he? No snapping, harsh remarks on the little spiderlings end, no such invasive shenanigans from any of the other grimmkin—the mischief they could get up to!

“It most certainly felt as though I had been too. These silks simply do not part when you want them to! I very nearly cocooned myself at one point!” He muses. A quick

recovery he always is, but it is still such a wrenching moment when there’s even the slightest miss of a cue.

“Tell me, I’ve never had the honour to learn or witness the art of silk in action. I can consider my act something akin to it, though it’s quite incomparable to that of a spider, and I find myself curious! Are there ever such... shenanigans like that?”

Perhaps it’s his curiosity as a now-performer, to find enjoyment in the silliness and mistakes along the way; a perfect performance starts from somewhere aer all, and he finds himself wishing to know more. Hornet probably knows what he’s doing—making good use of that ‘bonding attempt’ that he so mentioned earlier, and...

Is it in poor taste to joke around like this? She is one of the few weavers le... he wonders oandedly, when Hornet lets out something that sounds like a scoff-laugh.

“You would be surprised. Although we in particular favoured silk to be used in tapestries and story keeping rather than dance, it wouldn’t be... uncommon for a mishap to happen in a more verbose storytelling. Such as a silk shroud meant to mimic the silhouette of a corpse creeper ending up on the audience rather than the speaker themself...”

She does not specify if the one accidentally tossing a silken hunter on their audience is her, from her early days of practicing weaving, or anyone else... but she does look a little more relaxed, even if by a pinch. (And if he looked ever closer, maybe even a little embarrassed? It’s tiny, and far off, but maybe...)

(For some reason, he has a feeling he would have been too. Just a little bit.)

Hornet is about to speak more, unprompted (much to his delight), when she halts. One beat, two beats, and then looks at him.

“...you’ve never learned?” It's a small enough question that he nearly misses it. So like a whisper, edged with a sharp venomous hiss, and when the Jester is able to recollect himself from the sudden shock, he’s tuned back in only to see her cold regard and the turn of her back, needle gripped tighter, for she never goes anywhere without it.

“So now you’re curious.”

...Pardon?

He doesn’t give the reaction she wants, if the (hurt? angry?) scoff she gives at his bewilderment is not enough of a tell, then it’s the way she rolls her eyes before looking askance.

“...I will be taking my leave now.” She mutters something more about ‘he never learned about the weavers’ ... ‘not even of their culture?’ but the last bits of it are lost as she disappears from sight completely.

...

That... had not gone well? Or did it? It most certainly feels as though it did, but now their conversation has been cut short without him being able to give so much as a farewell. But he lets her leave. Not that he would stop her, especially knowing she’ll stop by sometime again, but he simply... watches.

She had been upset, in the beginning, and then the end. Upset at him. (Isn’t the first time.) (That’s one, aching pain in his chest today.)

...

The curtains have fallen, and as of now it’s time he recuperates for the next performance.

...That, or dust off that lantern of his to go and gather more flames for the Heart. The Troupe Master had allowed him to forgo such responsibilities in favour of honing his aerial dance aer all. Even with permission, he can feel the faint call of the flames, the flicker-spark as they burn deep within the depths of this poor, dilapidated kingdom.

(Or is it the call of the Heart pulling him away from his encounter with Hornet?)

(The enthralling change in attention is enough to jarr him just a little bit out of his thoughts, though he’s unsure if that’s what he wants or not. Distraction or focus?)

Deliberately, he redirects his thoughts to the spiderling, to their interactions.

...As a whole, it seems today has le him with very different emotions.

She had been testy at first, as always, but it seemed like he managed to converse pleasantly for her, even for just an exchange. And then she’s up and gone in not a moment later.

...There was an uncertain edge to her, when he had told her of his reasons for practicing such dance. The faintest scrunch of her fangs, as if trapped between pulling back into a snarling hiss or an uncertain smile. Or that if she did feel hostile, it was as though she was in polite company and couldn’t afford to be as such.

(And he knows very well that she does not quite see him as polite company, so why does she refrain as such other than habit?)

She was never one to hide her distaste towards him, but that had been something... different. What, he isn’t sure, but... odd, for such a small detail to stick out to him like that.

Ah, haha! But of course he recognized such a tell, not when he has the exact same quirk! Conflicted between strict decorum and honesty, where he’d much rather be honest and forthright than needlessly tense, as he’s so oen teased by his beloved—!

—His... beloved? No name follows that, and although it would be a complete term of endearment

as is, it doesn’t... feel complete. His beloved... one who knows him, knows his face despite the mask upon it

now...? His...

...Odd.

(...Here’s another chest pang.)

There’s a harsh little wheeze of a sour note, and the Jester perks up to see Brumm approaching, fiddling with the instrument before kicking into a slower, soer melody. He hadn’t realized he'd been standing there still, center of the stage, still with hands entangled in the silks, still very much not cleaning up or resting.

“Hello there, friend!” He greets, receiving only a nod in response and a curious look.

“Mrmm... Did something happen? Had it not gone well?” Straight to the point as always, too...

“I...” he falters, and for a second he feels terribly improper for such an obvious display of weakness, before continuing, “I do believe it couldn’t have gone any better!”

And it’s true! There isn’t much in his opinion that could be improved other than the few minute details, but of course, he is always striving to grow! Simply, everything had felt so right, he has no current complaints for himself!

Which is why... how odd it is that he feels so... down. This is by far one of his best performances yet, but that encounter with Hornet... it leaves him feeling tense. She had, while not the main reason he wished to learn such a dance, had been an influential part of it at least...

Because he cares for her like a... like a daughter. (Though that feels a touch too much, considering the fact she is the princess-protector of this fallen kingdom, and how terrible it is that she is to bear the responsibilities of the once so revered king...)

...So maybe a niece instead?

(Perhaps niece would work better—he can’t go and become too fond of the come and goers who eventually leave, just as how the Troupe will part from these ruins eventually too. But alongside that, there was an amusing term he had learned a few kingdoms back from a grub who had claimed him as their... ‘cool uncle’ in feeling!)

(Truthfully, he had never really learned the semantics of family lines like that—never needed to anyways. Taking up the mantle as a Jester of no-one but the

Troupe leaves him snapping up little bits of information from the many different places they’ve visited.)

(And here he is, subconsciously trying to claim a familial title for himself when he’s the last person someone would want as family.)

...

“I had believed perhaps this would be a more successful performance than my usual song and dance.” he admits, jovial tone a little lacking, far less overplayed than it usually is.

“Though I haven’t the faintest idea why... I thought perhaps it would make her happier that I do something she could potentially partake in. Aer all, I had never........”

Sharp words echo in his mind. ‘You've never?’

..........He had never what? The same phrase worms itself way into his mind again, this time from his own tongue. The things he has never done, but... what? Why is it that he feels inclined, feels like he needs, with all of his foolish heart, to make up for something he isn't aware of? Of strings le undone, of time he had owed but had never given...

There’s something tugging at him faintly, trying to unmoor itself from the deepest parts of his mind yet shrouded in the familiar, now comforting mist of blazing warmth and flame. He tries to prod at the thought a little further, before the feeling escapes him.

(Or perhaps the flame that so carefully protects his mind, so caringly had swept it up, crisping it with its bright beauty and letting it smolder into ashes so that these vague thoughts may no longer cling to him.)

He had never......

......Well, he’s never done many things! What he does now though is what’s more important than ever, and if he so desires to try and chip at all the ‘nevers’, what better way to do it than travelling with the dear Troupe?

Unconsciously, he tugs at the hanging silks. Something to fiddle with if anything.

(His head feels foggy again, chest tight. That’s three aching pains today. Or more? He can’t tell.)

Then there’s the low voice of his dear friend, and the Jester tunes into what Brumm is saying. “...Have you shown Master your new performance?” He doesn’t see, or rather, he can’t see the solemn looks of the musician, can only hear the little ‘hrmm...’ that vibrates from his voicebox.

The song he’s playing comes to an end, and he draws the last note out, long and mournful.

“Ah, but of course. Though I must say I haven’t performed it for him officially other than in practice—it would do me well to hone my skills further! You don't suppose he's free currently?” Brumm is offering a distraction, he’s aware, but nonetheless, he wouldn’t turn down a moment with the Troupe Master when he’s been nothing but kind during pain days like this.

“He should be. I shall inform him then.” He inclines his head. “...Take care.”

Brumm bids him a gentle farewell, soon disappearing into the depths of the tent and leaving the Jester to his thoughts.

So.

...Thrice. Thrice, that those aching pains have visited him within this same hour, and he frowns. Thrice, and he doesn’t have an inkling as to how and where they could have come and gone, nothing but a lingering phantom sensation in his chest.

(He had talked about it with Brumm one time, when they were both musing over the ambiguity of their characters; life before the Troupe, faded and gone, just as with everyone else. Life with the Troupe, all that they’ve known, but a satisfactory life it is.)

Where little weird memory aches aren’t impossible, or even uncommon, but are well taken care of. Soothed even, by the Heart.

Ah yes, the Heart. It’s taken the entire Troupe under its care, hasn’t it? They’re all here with the gied masks that brands them as one with the Heart, they’re here for a reason.

And the comfort that so fills him is something overwhelming, bright and unrelenting, such is the way of a flame within the dark. It washes over the last of the tugging memory pains, and he lets it. Lets it singe and smolder, lets it drape its curtain of red over his mind, so that the ache in his chest will disappear.

All of the lingering worries, all the doubts are held alo by a bare thread— —and the Heart snips through it with ease, and the Fool is at peace.

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

By @cloudcryptid

[verymuchimmortalcat]

The Chronicles of Marinette Wayne

For Bio dad Bruce Month Day 22: Library/Books

ao3

@maribat-bdbwm ​

Marinette had first come to live with him when she had been five and had just lost her mother. The only reason she was coming to stay with them had been Dick, who was much more excited at the prospect of a younger sister than Bruce was about another child and a grieving one at that.

When Bruce had first been contacted about having a biological daughter who had just lost her mother, he had thought it would be better to send her to someone like the Kents. Someone who would provide her with a stable family where she could lead a happy life. But then Dick had found out when Bruce had gone to Alfred for advice and had convinced him to bring her to the manor. Had convinced him that letting her go now might affect her in the future, and he wasn’t wrong (not that Bruce had considered how it might affect her since it would definitely look like he hadn’t wanted her, he just wasn’t sure if he was the best candidate) but the life they lead wasn’t one he wanted to drag a five-year-old into. When he had voiced that thought Dick had retorted with, “well, you’re not planning to put her in a cape and let her fight the rogues, are you?”

Of course not, he had no intention of doing that. She was five for heaven’s sake, and so the matter had been decided. She would live with them.

 .oOo.

 Marinette had warmed up to both Dick and Alfred almost instantaneously. Bruce spent what time he was at home hovering around her uncertainly. She spoke to him occasionally but not a lot. He had learnt (from her, he’d done an extensive background check and looked into all the details of her upbringing prior to this) that she liked pink, her favourite food was chocolate chip cookies and that she had a favourite soft toy that she always slept with. But even though she spoke to him she was never as open with him as she was with Dick or Alfred. It took her a week before she came to him willingly instead of him talking to her.

It had been shortly after he had returned from patrol. The door to his room had opened and tear-filled blue eyes stared at him, he could see her clinging on to her soft toy. He got up and walked towards her, she was still lingering in the doorway. Kneeling to reach her height he asks softly, “nightmare?”

She nods, tears still streaming down her face.

He looks at her unsure of what to do.

“Would you like to go back to sleep?” he asks quietly.

She shakes her head vehemently.

He still is unsure of what to do. Acting on a random whim he stands and picks her up. She clings to him and he definitely doesn’t marvel over how she fits perfectly in his arms.

He takes her to the library and picks out The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, sitting on his favourite armchair he seats her on his lap and starts to read to her, “Once there were four children whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy…”

 .oOo.

 Alfred finds the two of them passed out in the armchair the next morning. The crick in his neck and the lecture he gets from Alfred about how an armchair is not the proper place for either of them to sleep are worth it when Marinette comes to him that night with the book in hand asking about, “Mr. Tumus”

“Mr. Tumnus,” he corrects her gently.

She nods in agreement and repeats, “Mr. Tumus.”

 .oOo.

 Him reading to her becomes an event. She drags Dick into it too, whenever he isn’t with his Teen Titans in New York that is. Alfred provides them with milk and cookies and he reads to Marinette and Dick every night before patrol. They stop once she falls asleep and either him or Dick take her up to bed before patrol.

About a year after they start this routine, he returns from patrol to find a crying Marinette in his room. She just cries harder once she sees him. He holds her until she falls asleep resolving to talk to her in the morning.

He takes her to the cave the next morning, after breakfast, with Dick and tells her about Batman and Robin. When they head back to the manor she heads to her room and doesn’t come out before sundown (Alfred took her lunch to her room and had somehow talked her into eating). He spends the whole day worrying about if telling her was the wrong thing to do. She had lost her mother mere months before, she shouldn’t have to worry about her other parent too. She comes down for dinner and after dinner she still drags them to the library. She doesn’t fall asleep like she usually does, instead when he completes a chapter Marinette asks the two of them to wait, runs out and returns, panting, a few minutes later with something colourful in her hand. She then hands it to both him and Dick it’s a thread with beads on it. She hands Dick two of these, one has red, green and yellow beads and the other is purple, black and yellow, and his has blue, purple and black.

She grins up at the two of them and says cheerfully, “lucky charms. Dick’s is like Robin and yours is Batman.”

“And the other one?” Dick asks

“Batgirl,” she exclaims cheerfully.

Bruce as always is amazed at her never-ending optimism, kindness and hopefulness. Dick offers her a sunshine smile of his own, hugs her and says, “Thank you Sunshine.”

Once she lets go of Dick she looks at him with her big blue eyes, and Bruce ruffles her hair and gives her a smile and tells her he’ll carry it with him at all times. She smiles wider (something Bruce wasn’t aware was possible) and says goodnight before skipping back to her room.

 .oOo.

 Barbara convinces Dick to bring Marinette to the library after he gives her the lucky charm. The two of them leave the manor dressed in casual clothes and treat it almost like a mission to go and come back without causing any news scandals.

When they return Marinette’s carrying the entire Chronicles of Narnia series and pestering Dick about visiting Barbara again.

He points out that they already have the Chronicles of Narnia in the manor library, Marinette opens the book to a random page shows it to him and says, “but look this one has pretty pictures.”

He reads from the newly acquired illustrated copies that night.

 .oOo.

 As Dick starts to pull away more and Bruce tries to get him back, the tension in the house is high on good days. They don’t spend as often reading in the library anymore. He still reads to Marinette after nightmares, but Marinette no longer pulls them all to read while they have cookies and milk.

And then Dick leaves. He still visits Marinette, takes her out or Barbara will drop by and take her to the library. But he doesn’t spend any time in the manor other than to speak to Alfred. But there’s no longer a Batman and Robin. Gotham has Batman and Blüdhaven, Nightwing.

Marinette no longer comes to him with her copy of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe after nightmares,

 .oOo.

 When he first brings Jason home, Marinette had decided to spend the day with Dick in Blüdhaven. When Alfred brings her back the next morning, she’s shocked but she decides she’s going to be his friend. She takes him on a tour of the manor. Bruce trails behind the two, unsure of what to do, before he’s called away by an emergency at WE.

When he returns the two of them aren’t in either of their rooms, the several sitting rooms or the media room.

Alfred is the one who finds him during his search for the two and says, “I would check the library Master Bruce. It seems the young Master Jason has a love of literature.”

Sure enough, that’s where he finds the two. On the armchair that he had used that very first night, the both of them being tiny enough to fit in one seat, curled up and reading. Not wanting to disturb the two he steps back quietly. The two of them come as soon as Alfred calls them for dinner, and Jason’s certainly more animated than he had been the day before.

 .oOo.

 Marinette talks Dick into visiting, Bruce is simply glad to see his son back temporarily even if Dick refuses to talk to Bruce. He forms a tentative friendship with Jason. Bruce finds the three of them in the library before he leaves for patrol, Marinette’s reading The Magician’s Nephew out loud while the two of them sit next to her with milk and cookies in hand. His heart warms at the sight, he wishes he could take a picture but he doesn’t want to disturb them. Footage from the security cameras will have to do.

 .oOo.

 When Barbara’s shot, Marinette’s there everyday that Barbara’s fine with visitors. The rest of them accompany her as often as they can. Even as things slowly return to some what normal, Marinette spends nearly half her time with Barbara.

And then Jason dies. Marinette spends more time outside than at the Manor, or so Alfred says. And Bruce, well he isn’t really sure anymore.

He sends Marinette to Paris for her own safety. He’d met and befriended a nice couple during his travels and they had agreed to let his daughter stay with them for a while.

Marinette doesn’t care about his reasons, when she leaves for Paris she takes all her things but leaves the illustrated set of the Chronicles of Narnia that he had bought for her as a birthday gift after she and Dick had first visited Barbara.

 .oOo.

 Shortly after Robin hits the streets once again, Tim comes over to the Batcave in a panic one night. Rambling about an unsigned package that was just books and a slip of paper with a number on it. He had wanted to check it for any possible signs of danger. Bruce had agreed, it was definitely a strange thing and with the lives they lead no one could really tell for sure.

And then Bruce sees the books and tells Tim there’s nothing to worry about. It’s a new set of the Chronicles of Narnia. There’s a charm hanging from one of the books. She’s gotten better at making them since she was five.

He sighs and says, “The number’s safe. Call her, she’ll probably explain better than I can.”

He doesn’t join Tim, Marinette hasn’t spoken to him since she was sent to Paris and he doesn’t know what to say to her now.

 .oOo.

 There’s a supervillain in Paris, someone new, something about rock monsters. He takes Clark and Diana to check it out. He sent Marinette there so she could be safe, not so that she ends up in another city infested with villains.

When he gets there, there are two children. The girl feels really familiar, the way she speaks when she talks to the flying butterfly head is really familiar but before Bruce can worry too much about it the fight is done and the two kids are swarmed by the press. Before they can move from where they are, the girl- Ladybug says something to her partner and swings out. The next thing he knows she’s standing in front of him and the anger is visible on her face, “Get out. Get out of Paris right now.”

“We’re here to hel-” Clark starts to say when she cuts him off.

“Not you, I want Batman out of this city right now,” she repeats glaring at him. He knows those eyes. They’re the eyes he looks at every day in the mirror. The eyes he shares with his daughter.

“Marine-”

She doesn’t let him continue, “Uncle Clark and Aunt Diana can stay for a while if they can keep their emotions in check but they’ll have to leave too. I want you to leave now.”

He can see Clark and Diana reeling and slowly figuring out what’s happening. Ignoring the two of them he asks, “how?”

She laughs, not the tinkling cheerful sound that he had heard in the manor but a bitter sound, and Bruce wishes he could fix this.

“I was given the miraculous and now I’ve promised to protect this city. Why, regretting your decision to send me here?”

Yes. Very much so. But the words wouldn’t come out of his mouth, and he watches silently as she turns and leaves.

Bruce can feel the weight of Clark and Diana’s gazes. Shrugging off their questions he heads to the nearest teleporter.

His only child that hadn’t wanted this life had been pushed into it.

 .oOo.

 Tim and Marinette have kept in contact. He’s caught several of their conversations, though he’s never joined one.

It’s been nearly a year since he saw her in Paris. And then Tim’s dad tells him he can’t be Robin and that he can’t contact the hero community anymore. Two days later, Ladybug shows up in Gotham worried out of her mind. Stephanie’s the one who finds her and brings her to the cave. When she first starts talking to him, he’s so relieved to speak to her again that he misses out on a bit but the gist of what she said would be, “did something happen to Tim?”

He can tell she’s annoyed with what happened with Jack Drake. But before she can speak, Nightwing walks into the cave to find a detransformed Marinette. And before Marinette can figure out what’s happening, Dick has engulfed her in a hug and Marinette’s laughing. Bruce smiles as he returns to the Batcomputer, it’s been a really long time since he’s heard her laugh.

 .oOo.

 Marinette stays for the next week. She’d apparently panicked and told everyone she had a family emergency and wouldn’t be back for the week. Bruce was glad that she still considered them family, especially after that disastrous conversation in Paris.

She spends time with Barbara, Stephanie and Cassandra. Apparently, Stephanie and Cass already knw her and have spoken to her a few times. She spends some time with him, speaks more to him than she has in the past two years after he sent her to Paris.

On her last day in Gotham, he finds her and Cass in the library. She’s sitting with Cass on the armchair and she and Cass are reading Prince Caspian. They must’ve been here the whole week if she’s gotten to that far. The idea of reading those books in the wrong order is like sacrilege to Marinette.

She returns to Paris when the week ends, but has now added him to her semi-regularly contacted people.

 .oOo.

 Marinette pulls away again after Stephanie dies. From what Tom and Sabine tell him, she’s spending what time she’s not in school, with Alya. Bruce knows that Alya Cesaire knows that Marinette is Ladybug, realises she’s throwing herself into superheroing. Bruce wishes she’d inherited some of his better habits.

She doesn’t visit again for a while. Not until the attack on Titans Tower, and even then he doesn’t see her. He doesn’t know if anyone did.

But when he’s in the library to check something for a case he realises all of Jason’s favourite books that Marinette had with her were back in place.

He doesn’t mention it to anyone.

 .oOo.

 Darkseid happens. When he returns from the time stream, things are different from how he left them.

The whole family comes to the manor, after he returns. They’re all telling stories over dinner. Stephanie speaks of a little girl who idolises batgirl. Dick carries out an over dramatic reproduction of one of his and Damian’s patrols, while Damian complains about how inaccurate it is. Jason’s laughing at the two of them. Cass and Marinette coax Tim into talking about the whole Mr. Sarcastic mess. Dick looks gleeful as everyone rips into Tim’s momentary lapse in a sense of style, before Tim brings up Dick’s first Nightwing suit as a defence. Barbara points out the lack of pants in the first two robin costumes, and the others laugh (Damian grins) while Dick and Jason splutter in indignance. Marinette (who people tend to forget spent a good chunk of time with Dick when she was younger) describes in an exaggerated manner some of Gabriel’s, he’s missed quite a lot, worst akuma costumes and marvels over how he managed to create them while also being a world-renowned fashion designer.

As all of them continue to talk happily, Bruce slips out of the dining room. They deserve a break, but someone still needs to take care of Gotham.

Gotham has unnaturally less crime today, still takes him time to finish his patrol though. Unnaturally less crime in Gotham is still more crime than what most other cities face.

He heads to the library to grab a book to read before he sleeps. There’s a light on in the far corner of the library. When Bruce heads there he finds a large plate with crumbs on it with a few empty or half-finished glasses of milk next to the plate. His children are scattered around. They’ve pushed back the seats and have mostly spread themselves on the carpet. Marinette curled up between Dick and Jason and still reading from the practically ancient copy of the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, Jason’s reading one of his classics. Damian’s sitting on Dick’s other side and is animatedly talking about one of his pets while Dick listens to him attentively. Tim and Barbara are going over something on her laptop at the table, and Stephanie and Cass are curled up against each other and talking quietly. Cass is the first to see him and smiles at him and beckons him to join them. Picking a book off the shelf he joins them on the floor.

When Alfred finds them there the next morning, having gotten used to finding them asleep in the library several times over the years, he just sighs and tells them that breakfast is ready and if they’d like hot food, they’d have to get off the floor. All of them scramble up and as they leave the library, he can hear them starting to plot on how to get Alfred to join them the next time.

[jenomark]

➔Pairing: Haechan x Reader (Female)  ➔Other Members/ Characters: -.- ➔Genre: Fluff ➔Warnings: Angst | Mentions of death | Cursing ➔Word count: 6,865

➔Summary: He was always yours, even before you wrote a book about him, even before he disappeared from your life after high school, and even before he broke his promise. 

➔Request: can I request a drabble of haechan friends to lovers? 🥺

➔ I hope you don’t mind that I turned this into a longer story that is more on the fluff side. I felt really inspired to do so. Thanks for sending in the request! 💚

You

  You hated school. Not because you weren’t serious about your studies. You liked the subjects well enough. You liked eating lunch at a table, a little package of apple slices, and a chocolate milk that always tasted like the carton it was in. You liked hanging up your coat in the coat closet, little rain droplets dripping on the wooden floor when the weather was bad. You liked your teachers and how they would encourage your love of reading. You liked all the things to like except one: school hours meant time away from him.

  Him. He pulled your hair sometimes when he was bored. You cried once, your mother saying something sexist about how he must like you. Your father never paid attention, just kept watching the television. You wondered if all boys were that stupid. He also made fun of the way your nose would wiggle when you talked. He had a smart comment for everything. He thought he was smarter than you, even. There weren't many nice things to say right off the top of your head, but you loved him anyway.

 During the school year, the school hours especially, you never talked to him. He was off parading around with his squad of friends, each one more pigheaded than the last. They’d act like they didn’t care about school in the schoolyard, but all of them got decent grades. Sometimes they would pick on others boys, the principal telling others that that’s just what boys did. Sometimes he would raise his hand in class and answer the right question, and even though you sat next to each other in class, he’d never look at you. 

  Your school life was a little different. You were off spending time hovering by doorways, wishing the days would end until you could see him again. You looked at him from the corner of your eye, a question of whether you truly knew him or not always on your tongue. You didn’t spend time pretending other people were your friends, because your best friend had always been him.

  After school felt like a different time zone. Neither of you took your time with homework. You would rush, a telltale sign being poorly erased letters and crumpled papers shoved into bookbags. Usually, he would walk to your house and meet you in the tent in the backyard, talking long before he reached the entrance. He always talked about his day as if you weren’t in it. He liked to talk a lot.

“I don’t want to hear it.” you would say. “I don’t know why you’re friends with those people.”

 You were both at an age where you were figuring stuff out. You fought a lot, with him storming out of your backyard tent and walking home, and you resisting the urge to follow him. There was always a phone call from his concerned mother, eased by your own mother reassuring her that you’d both work out your differences soon. You’d been best friends since you were even younger, clinging to each other only when other people weren’t looking. It was too late to make a clean break.

 Summers were your favorite because you had him all to yourself. At that age, you weren’t aware that keeping him was holding him back from other things. You were all too happy to lounge on a beach with him, watching him get stuck in the sand and laughing at him until your stomach hurt. To you, it was the purest form of love. 

 Time made things weird, as it does. The summers you used to love started fading out. He no longer came on family trips. Instead, he went to summer camps with other thirteen-year-old boys. He would come back boasting about being taught to shave his face by the older kids, and then he would show you his new skills. Even though you were disinterested, you always watched him intensely, thinking that if he let you in to this one valuable piece of information, he would open the door to the rest. He never did.

  Gradually, after-school hangouts were taken away from you, too. Your father’s only contribution to any conversation was to say that your best friend would be more interested in girls now. Even as your parents left you alone, the words of  “But I’m a girl!” leaving your lips until the last light was shut off, you never really understood what it meant. In fact, it wasn’t until he flirted with someone else in front of your face that you got the hint. You were a girl, but he never thought of you that way. And he would rather spend his time after school walking to someone else’s house.

 None of that was as bad as high school was. Up until then, you’d been clutching at straws to make the friendship what it once was. You made the tent bigger to accommodate his growing frame. You offered to pay for movies if he’d come alone, and you would even sit through the boring ones just for him. On the rare chance that you’d guilt trip him into staying a little longer with you, it was enough to keep you enduring. When high school truly hit, the studying took up most of your time. The scraps that were left were spent having family time, or visiting schools your mother wanted you to attend after high school.

 Though he no longer ignored you in school, things had gotten harder. He was dating often, sweeping girls off their feet with his wild, charming sense of humor. It was hard for them not to get jealous of you. Though you weren’t around much, the bond you both shared was obvious to everyone who watched the pair of you together. He never really wanted to choose between his childhood best friend and someone he was seeing, but the choice was always very apparent to you. 

“Maybe you should date, too,” he had said.

  You shut it down quickly, appalled that he would even suggest a thing. When you realized your dismissal must have hurt his feelings, you backtracked.

“Do you have anyone in mind?” you asked.

 His smile made you feel like you were on top of the world. Of course he had someone to introduce to you. Thus, the double date was born. You could tag along with him and his girlfriend, with a friend of his you eventually started dating. It wasn’t the most ideal situation, but it had rekindled something in your friendship you didn’t know you’d been missing.

 He had even come around to your house more. You came home from a study group one time to see him in your childhood tent, his long legs sticking out of it. He bent his body forward, holding up a bag of snacks you recognized.

“You still sit in here?” he asked.

You sat down next to him, the plastic of the tent hitting you in the forehead. “When I need to think.”

“You have a brain?”

“Funny.” you said. “Why are you here?”

  He got a far away look in his eyes, like he did whenever he was truly going to say something stupid. There were times he spoke philosophically, because deep down, he was never the stupid little boy you said he was.

“Life is moving too fast,” he said. “Remember when we were kids and it moved so slow? I would suffer waiting for summer.”

“I remember it vividly.” you said. “Are you feeling nostalgic?”

  He ate some of the snacks, offering you some. When you didn’t take it, he pulled on your hair a little bit. It pulled you to wherever he was at, back in time to when things felt much easier than they were. High school was ending, and you were all walking down different paths, none of them leading back to this tent.

“I want you to promise me something.” he said. “After high school, I want us to always be best friends. This last year has made me realize how much I missed you.”

 You wanted to tell him how much you missed him, to take his hand and hold it in yours. There was something in you that couldn’t do it. You just kept chewing, waiting for him to keep talking. 

“Let’s promise to call each other at least once a day when we’re adults.” he said, getting this excited look in his eyes. He felt more like the real Haechan right then than he ever had in the past five years.

“Promise.” you said, holding out your pinky and getting ready to kiss your thumb.

  Haechan linked his pinky with yours, his thumb connecting to your thumb. You leaned down to kiss it at the same time, your faces coming closer to each other than they had in a long time.

  Sadly, after high school, the promise was never kept. The image of him walking away from your backyard was the last time you saw him in any place you called home.

                                                          ~♡~

  You held the phone away from your ear because it was too hot. In your other hand, you held a cold, strawberry smoothie, the condensation dripping down your fingers. The sidewalks were busy, so it was tricky trying to weave in and out of the people, all while holding an unfinished manuscript for the next book you were writing. Years of dodging kids in school hallways made you a pro. As you were about to collide with a delivery man, you spun around gracefully and avoided disaster. After taking a sip of smoothie, you brought the phone closer to your ear.

“Do people still do book signings for physical copies?” you asked. “I thought everything was about selfies now. I definitely don’t look good with the flash on.”

“Of course.” your agent told you over the phone. “I don’t think anyone over the age of existence does. How old are you?”

“Twenty-four.” you said.

 Your agent on the other end sighed. “You’re too young to be worried about any of this. I’ll book you for the signing and people will come, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

 You wanted to rattle off all the reasons you were freaking out over it, but you were in public. You took another sip of smoothie and looked at the manuscript tucked against your body. Twenty-four and published, with your book rising in the charts, and a second book underway. You shouldn’t be so scared to have human interactions with strangers who enjoy your work, and yet...

“Okay.” you said, closing your eyes for a moment.” Okay, you can do it. I don’t know why I get like this. Seriously, you’re the best.”

“I know. I know.” your agent said. “Take a bath and relax. Call me later.”

  You hung up and threw your phone in the deep recesses of your bag. Your one hand was wet, and you didn’t want it touching the papers, so you tucked them deeper against your body and kept on walking.

                                                        ~♡~

“A book signing. Can you believe it?” you said into the phone. There was no answer on the other end, not even a little static. You walked a little slower on the sidewalk, letting the outside world disappear from your vision. You took a deep breath. “I sold so many copies, mom. I know you would be proud of me.”

  The message ended with a beep. You left the phone on your ear and stopped walking. You stood still, wondering if one day calling your mother and leaving messages on her old cell phone would eventually make you feel better. She died shortly after you graduated from high school, and the phone number was the only part of her still kept alive. You called it whenever you felt a little lost, or on days when you had exciting news to share.

  Feeling a tightness in your chest, you turned off your phone and dropped it into your bag. You were almost home, but you felt like you weren’t ready to face your apartment again. You found it so funny that your professional life was so full and booked, but your personal life was so hollow and empty.

  You turned away, thinking that you could retrace your steps and find yourself on a street with a cafe still open. You would gladly sit at that table and write, watching strangers living their lives, each one stuffed to the brim of character. Men that tried hitting on women who were disinterested, the click-clacking of their heels walking away from potential danger. Mothers with their children, each child holding a mushy, spit-covered ice cream cone. There was always someone who didn’t belong in the crowd, someone your eyes glossed over, and someone who brought up memories of someone you used to know. It was your favorite pastime: watching people who weren’t watching you. You smiled at the thought of getting to live those many lives, when you remembered that there was always a writing deadline to attend to.

  Another time, you thought, before taking the remaining steps to your apartment and looking through the darkened glass front door. Maybe you would take up your agent's suggestion of taking a bath.

 Feeling a little more jolly, you walked up the steps and let yourself in. You stopped to check your mailbox (empty), stopped to check your phone messages one last time (also empty), and lastly, checked your surroundings. When you were sure no one was around, you walked up the steps, feeling tired both mentally and physically. When you reached the top of the hallway, you stopped.

“Haechan.” you said, his name too quiet for him to hear.

   Sitting outside your door, a hood over his head, sat the boy who used to pull on your ponytail. Only now, the figure in all-black clothes, a little 5 o’clock shadow on his face, the one that looked up at you like he didn’t recognize you, pulled at your heartstrings. 

                                                           ~♡~

  You liked to remember Haechan often, especially considering the main character of your book was written with him in mind. Well, you changed his name in the book and made him a lot cooler, but the core of him was the same. Both men were the epicenter of your whole world, even though one of them had left years ago. 

 Looking at him sitting on your floor transported you back in time. Briefly, your mind tried to convince yourself that you were seeing a ghost from the past. But, when he got up from the floor, approaching you cautiously, and he paused for a second before reaching out his arms to hug you, your fingertips knew what your brain didn’t: he was real.

  “Why are you here?” you blurted, pulling away from him, your body regretful that you had let him go.

“I don’t get a hello?” he asked.

  You raised your eyebrows, the surprise on your face real. You were struggling with words, which annoyed you as a writer. All you could do was look at his face and how much it had changed over the last few years. He was a man now. He was a little taller, and the baby fat on his cheeks was gone. He still couldn’t dress right, and the old confidence faded, but he was still as handsome as ever. When he smiled to show that he was joking, you couldn’t stop looking at his teeth.

“How did you find out where I live?” you asked.

“Your dad.” he said.

 Haechan didn’t so much as give his apologies for missing your mother’s funeral, and he had the good graces not to bring her up at all. You felt grateful, saving the pain of both things for another time. 

“I don’t talk to him much anymore.” you said. “He only comes by to give me old things he thinks I want.”

  Not knowing what to do with the piece of information, Haechan shoved his hands into his pockets. You hated how awkward it felt being in front of him. The silence outside of your apartment was magnified by your deep breathing. 

“Are you here because of my book?” you asked.

Puzzled, Haechan blinked. “Book? I didn’t read your book.”

  You adjusted your bag in your hands and thought of something to say. Before you could speak, Haechan motioned to the bag he brought sitting in front of your apartment door. You looked at it, the big black boulder holding no significance to you.

“I was actually just passing through town. I was wondering if you could let me stay a night.” he said.

Him

  He said he hated the apples, even though they were his favorite fruit. He put them on your lunch tray when you weren’t looking, because if you’d seen him do it, you would have made a fuss. Then, he’d get up from your table and go back to wherever his other friends were, because that was what was expected of him. But his eyes always went back to your table to make sure you were eating well, and he would try his best to remember the way you’d smile when you looked down and saw what he had left behind.

 He hated school. It was full of adults who tried to change him. Laugh a little less, they said. Don’t be a clown. Don’t make too much trouble. There was never any room for dreamers or troublemakers, never any kind of future for those who didn’t have plans by the time they were pulled from the womb. Behave and listen. Listen and learn, or we’ll call your parents. He had heard it all by the time he was thirteen, and he hated every bit of it.

 Not you, though. You never tried to change him. You let him go on his way, even though he knew you felt like he was abandoning you. You were the only person he trusted most days, and in the tent in your backyard, he had felt most like himself. 

“I don’t want to hear it.” you had said once. You were angry, he could see it in the way you tried not to say what you wanted to say. “I don’t know why you’re friends with those people.”

 He hadn’t known, either. They liked the way he made them laugh, and he liked the attention they gave him. They were different, in the way that they didn’t remind him that friendships were temporary, that everyone you know might someday disappear. He was terrified of that, of the idea that good things didn’t last.

“Are you jealous?” he asked.

 He wanted the words to sting. He knew you were jealous, and he knew you would never admit to it. He would have been jealous, too, if the roles were reversed. He wanted nothing more than for you to admit that you cared about him, that you loved him, or to rouse any kind of feeling in you at all. Those words spawned a fight that made it hard for either of you to bounce back from. He pulled and picked at you until you were deteriorating in front of his eyes. Choice words were said, and though the wounds healed as you both grew older, neither of you really forgot the beginning of the end.

 Summer came and went, time never slowing down for anybody. The hatred  burning in his heart subsided as he grew into himself more, though he never really learned how to savor the moments as they happened. He was always reaching for more, stuffing his greedy face full of anything that could keep him content.

   His phone calls to you melted down to just one call per week. He didn’t stop by the tent as much, didn’t ask to catch up on homework. He was drifting through school, using the passage of time to measure the length of girls legs, and how they’d move in his direction any time he smiled.

“Maybe you should date, too,” he had said.

 His bright idea didn’t rub off on you. You didn’t smile, didn’t look at him the excited way he looked at you. When you shut it down so quickly, he wondered if your rejection had something to do with him. He was trying really hard to keep your friendship alive, even catching up in the hallways before class to make sure you were taking care of yourself.

“Do you have anyone in mind?” you asked, a simple smile appearing and disappearing before he could blink.

 Introducing you to one of his friends, in hindsight, wasn’t the best idea. He’d had better, but he could hardly take it back. You looked happy when his friend's attention was on you. You were radiant. And it was the perfect set-up. You both could double date and spend time together, just like the old days, even making both of your dates uncomfortable by how close of a bond you had together.

  When the jealousy arrived in a perfect little handbasket, he was sure it was payback for treating you differently, as he was getting to know himself more. He burned whenever he saw you with the other boy, whenever you reached out for his hand, your lips quivering for a kiss. He would stay up late at night in a restless fit, his mind taking turns convincing himself that you were losing your virginity every waking moment. 

 “You’re spending a lot of time at my house.” you had said to him on more than one occasion. 

“Do you mind?” he asked. “I can go home, if you want.”

“No.” you said quickly, your eyes sparkling.

 He wanted to kiss you then. It was a fleeting , special moment, and it hovered in the air between you both from that moment forward. He thought maybe he was imagining it, but he had been close to many girls, and no one looked at him the way you did.

 Sitting in your tent, his legs stretched out of it because he was too big, he thought back to every time you made his heart do backflips in his chest. Ever since you were small, he had feelings for you. In fact, his parents used to joke that the two of you would end up together one day, maybe have a wedding in the backyard,  your inside jokes written into your vows.

 Hearing leaves crunching underfoot, he sat up.  “You still sit in this thing?” he asked.

You sat down next to him, the plastic of the tent hitting you in the forehead. “When I need to think.”

“You have a brain?”

“Funny.” you said. “Why are you here?”

 He wasn’t sure why. He had been taking a walk and found himself there, his feet knowing exactly where to go. He had been thinking too hard about life after high school, and about what kind of man he wanted to be.

“Life is moving too fast,” he said. “Remember when we were kids and it moved so slow? I would suffer waiting for summer.”

“I remember it vividly.” you said. “Are you feeling nostalgic?”

  He ate some of the snacks, offering you some. When you didn’t take it, he pulled on your hair a little bit. Getting you to eat properly was important to him. If he wasn’t around to remind you to take care of yourself, how would you survive the rest of life without him?

“I want you to promise me something.” he said. “After high school, I want us to always be best friends. This last year has made me realize how much I missed you.”

 When he felt like he was going to cry, he shoved more food into his face. He was watching you out of the corner of his eye, wondering if he should continue. When you remained quiet, he began again.

“Let’s promise to call each other at least once a day when we’re adults.” he said, getting this excited look in his eyes. He felt more like the real Haechan right then than he ever had in the past five years.

“Promise.” you said, holding out your pinky and getting ready to kiss your thumb.

  Haechan linked his pinky with yours, his thumb connecting to your thumb. You leaned down to kiss it at the same time, your faces coming closer to each other than they had in a long time. It would be so easy to seal the deal with a real kiss, one that had been years in the making. But he didn’t, and neither did you.

“I have to go.” he said, getting to his feet. “You’re going to keep your promise, right?”

“Have I ever broken a promise to you?” you asked.

                                                       ~♡~ 

  He was raised not to comment on the state of other people’s homes, good or not. Looking around yours, he wanted so badly to tell you how well you were doing for yourself, and how proud of you he was. He looked around, his fingers itching to touch the pretty ceramic birds on an end table, to run a fingertip on a dustless counter and hold it up to the light. 

“You can put your bag down over here.” you said, motioning to a spot beside the couch. “My couch isn’t much, but it is comfortable.”

 You were a little awkward, your eyes unable to connect with his. He could see your mind waiting to defend yourself against the little jabs old Haechan would have made about your space. When he didn’t, you didn’t let your shoulders relax. He moved further inside your apartment, and to your confusion, he said it was a nice place, and that he would be happy to sleep wherever. 

 Compared to your nerves, he was quite calm. He felt like he had walked into a time machine and transported himself into the backyard again. It was like nothing had changed at all. You still looked the same, with nicer clothes that looked more expensive than the average persons. It looked like you went to the hair salon to ask for an “adult” haircut, but your baby face made it hard to take you seriously. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” 

Haechan shrugged. “Sure.”

  When you didn’t ask if he was hungry, Haechan made himself comfortable on the couch. You sat on an opposite chair, folding your hands in your lap. You kept looking around the room nervously, as if you were scared to be alone with a stranger. It hurt him a little bit, but he was mature enough to let it slide.

“Thank you for letting me stay.” he said.

“It’s fine.”

Haechan sighed. “This is much harder than I thought it would be.”

“What is?” you asked, touching your fingers to your neck.

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

  You got up from your chair as if you’d been electrocuted. “I forgot I need to make a phone call. I will be right back. Don’t touch anything.” 

  Haechan watched you as you grabbed your bag and left the room. Never one to keep still, an old habit that never died, he got up and looked around. He came across the room you entered and saw that the door was ajar. He didn’t listen to the conversation, just grabbed little pieces of it regarding a book signing to take place the next day.

“So soon?” he heard you ask the person on the other end of the phone.

 Haechan walked away, his attention set on the fireplace. On top of it sat a bunch of picture frames, one of which he was in. Haechan stared at it for a long time, his eyes tracing the outline of the little boy he used to be. In the picture, the two of you were hanging onto each other. You were maybe eight years old, ice cream running down your chin, and a blissful ignorance only a child can carry on your sweet face.

 He didn’t know where things had gone wrong. The two of you should have been friends forever. It just made sense. He reached out to touch his fingers to the photo but reeled back when he saw your face in the reflection.

“My mother took that photo.” you said, appearing behind him.

He nodded. “I remember.” 

 The air was heavy. He wanted to apologize for not going to her funeral. He had been out of the country during that time, but he should have called you. He could have written a letter, he could have done anything else but ignore it. 

“I was scared.” Haechan said, the words surprising himself.

You held up a hand, as if you didn’t want to talk about it, but Haechan continued, “I loved her, too.”

 You turned your back and went into the kitchen. Quietly, Haechan followed. He wasn’t going to bring it up anymore. He sensed your sadness because it brewed in his chest, too. He sat on a stool as you got yourself a cup and poured cold water from a pitcher into it. 

“How was your trip?” you asked, your voice shaky.” Are you still traveling?”

 Since he left high school, Haechan felt aimless. He needed to explore the world in an attempt to further his education surrounding himself. He had traveled to many countries and met many people that changed him. Disappearing was never the plan, but it was addicting to not have phone calls, or to adhere to schedules. 

“I’m seeing where it goes.” he said. 

  You took a sip of water and never stopped looking at him. When you were done, you placed it on the counter. “I guess I should ask the million dollar question.”

Haechan leaned back in his stool, “Hit me with what you got.”

“Why are you here?” you asked.

“I didn’t want to pay for a hotel.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’m not a liar.”

“Haechan, I’ve known you all my life.” you said. “Lying is your calling.”

“I wanted to see you.”

You inhaled and exhaled slowly. “Stop lying to me.”

“I’m not lying.” he said. “I’ve never lied to you.”

  The bitterness was morphing your face. He could tell you were thinking back to the promise, about how broken it had made you. After he left, he heard from his parents that you called his house often to ask where he had gone. You wrote him letters that were undelivered. You nearly followed him halfway across the world until your mother got sick. 

“Okay.” he said. “It wasn’t a lie when I made that promise. I had every intention of being with you until we were old and wrinkly.”

“Please.” you said. “You knew what you were going to do before you did it. You booked the plane ticket two weeks in advance. You were with me at graduation. You kissed me.”

  He remembered the kiss well. He had thought about it often on his travels, remembering the way your velvety lips felt, and how he never wanted to stop kissing you. The kiss made sense. It was the one thing time had every permission to slow down. 

“I know.” he said.

  He kissed you. You didn’t kiss him. He was happy about graduating. He was riding the high of the plane ticket, of the unknown waiting for him. He was scared it was the last chance he had to show you his feelings. When you kissed him back and it felt so good, he was then scared that he would never have the guts to leave. 

  You continued speaking, each word obliterating his thoughts, “ You want to think going away was just some spontaneous thrill, Haechan, but it fucking wasn’t. You could have told me it was what you wanted. I would have understood. You didn’t have to leave without saying goodbye. You didn’t have to-”

 You couldn’t say the words, so he finished them for you. “-leave. I know. I’m sorry. This isn’t an excuse, but I...didn’t want to lose you.”

  The words felt stupid as soon as he said them. You held your hand up to your head and said you had a headache. Haechan took the time to excuse himself and use the bathroom, locking himself away to figure out what he really thought was going to happen when he showed up at your door to get you back.

You 

  You collapsed onto your couch. The last hour felt like a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings. You were older and more equipped to handle confrontation, but there was something about seeing Haechan that made you want to curl in your mother’s lap like a child. You bit down on your thumb and thought of the ways you could ask him to leave your private space. There was a hotel down the street that was relatively cheap. 

  You looked at the photo on the fireplace. The little boy staring back at you had no idea one day he would break your heart into a million pieces. He was still a little unsure of himself, his smile unknowingly gearing up to be mischievous in a few years time. You thought of the grown man in the bathroom, and how the years had passed, but he still felt the same. A part of you wanted to pinch his cheek and wrap your arms around him like you would when you were young. An even bigger part of you wanted to kiss him to see if the feelings still lingered, even though you already knew the answer to that.

  Moving your foot, you accidentally nudged his backpack. You looked down at it. It was worn in places, with band buttons adorning the front. One of the zippers was open and the edge of something was sticking out. You looked at your closed bathroom door and back to the backpack before gathering up your courage and unzipping it slowly. 

  Digging your hand inside, you pulled out a corner of his underwear. With a quick “Ew”, you shoved it back inside. Your knuckle touched against something hard. You wrapped your hand around it and unearthed it to see that it was your book. You pulled it out even more and audibly gasped. 

“You liar.” you whispered.

 Hearing the toilet flush, you panicked and pulled the book all the way out and shoved it underneath your couch pillow. Quickly, you zipped his backpack and sat back, crossing one leg over the other. When Haechan came out, he hardly looked at you.

“Coming here was a bad idea,” he said. “I don’t know what I expected.”

You stood up. “Wait.”

  Haechan didn’t hear you. He grabbed his bag and threw it over his shoulder. You could see that his face was wet where he had thrown water on it. He didn’t make eye contact with you, just waved his hand and apologized for being an inconvenience. 

“Leaving again?” you said.

  Haechan stopped moving. He turned back. “I thought about you every day I was gone. Every day. And every day, my next thought was that I didn’t deserve you.”

 You didn’t know what to say, so you said nothing at all. For a beat or two, you both stared, your eyes searching each other's. You could see every age of Haechan since you’d known him on his face, from the adorable child to the handsome adult. 

  You let Haechan leave this time. He closed the door with a soft click, his presence feeling like a fever dream. Mindlessly, you sat back down on your couch, and only remembered the book still laying there after some time.

 You took your book and placed it on your lap. It was so worn that some of the pages were slipping out of the binding. You opened it carefully and flipped through the pages, the margins filled up with black pen ink. Haechan had written down his input on most pages with things like:

Am I really like this? There is no way this guy is cooler than me.

You know? You’re actually kind of funny. 

Your mother was better than us all.

  You closed the book with a snap and felt the tears falling. You put your head down and tried to feel everything all at once.

                                                         ~♡~

  Your agent walked next to you, her stride slowing to match yours. She didn’t outright say you looked like shit, though it was the truth. Your eyes were a little red, your cheeks were puffy, and you kept itching your neck all throughout the night until there were red scratch marks all on your skin.

 She held open the door to the bookstore “Are you nervous?”

“Am I nervous?” you asked. “I’m shitting myself. I don’t think anyone is going to show up, but with my life, I’m pretty sure I can deal with the embarrassment.”

 Your agent rattled on and on about how special you were to people. She dragged you throughout the two story bookstore, pulling you harder when you tried stalling. You mostly blocked out her words to save your sanity. You didn’t love when people tried buttering you up.

“Just over in this section.” she said. “It starts in twenty minutes, so don’t expect many people right away.”

  When you both turned the corner, there was a sizable line leading up to a table stacked with new books. When the people saw you, they gawked. Some clapped, which made your face turn as hot as your neck. 

“I can’t do this.” you whispered.

  Your agent directed you to a chair, holding you down by your shoulders, so you wouldn’t run away. You took a sip of cold water sitting by your side.

“They’re all here for you.” she said. “Smile and try to be happy.”

“I’ll try.” you said, but when someone smiled at you in front of the line, you felt yourself returning a genuine smile.

 Twenty minutes passed by faster than you wished. When the first person approached the table, you tried to remember your school teachers who believed in you. You recalled all the people who inspired your stories, making a mental bid to thank them for making the first signing so sweet. 

“I really love how you write.” someone had said. Hearing those words made you feel touched. You tried your hardest not to tear up, signing your sloppy signature as best you could.

“Thank you.” you said, the gratitude you felt hopefully being translated well.

  You signed for a long time, the line growing and growing as time passed. Some people came with their own dog-eared books, others with fresh copies. They asked what your upcoming book was about, which made you excited to finish writing it. 

“There isn’t a set ending quite yet, but I’m writing like crazy!” you said.

  You looked down at a book before you and smiled, your fingers touching the pages softly. You signed it and handed it back, giving the fan a smile that reached your eyes. When your eyes locked with his, you felt the world move. Staring back at you was Haechan.

“I would have given you my own copy to sign.” he said. “But I seem to have misplaced it.”

 There was a knowing smile on his face that made you feel flushed all over. He took the signed book back and tucked it underneath his arm. Since yesterday, he looked freshly showered in a similar black t-shirt and jeans. His hair was carefully laid flat on his head like he cared what he looked like in public. He looked handsome, and his cheeks were definitely not puffy.

“Why didn’t you just tell me you read the book?” you asked. 

“You and I both know I don’t make the best choices.” he said. 

  You smiled faintly. There was pain in the smile he returned. You wanted so badly to reach across the table and smooth away the lines on his forehead.

“I know this isn’t the best place.” he said, turning around to look at the line behind him. “But I came here to tell you the truth of why I was outside of your door yesterday.”

“Okay.” you said, your attention no longer on those people.

Haechan continued. “You see, I’m not traveling anymore. “

“You’re not?” you asked. “Then, what are you doing?”

“I’m coming home.”  

 You didn’t know what he expected of you, but he looked a little deflated when you held out your hand. He looked at the book under his arm and back at your hand, his smile unsure. He took the book out and placed it gently into the palm of your hand. You placed the book back onto the table and opened to the space where you had signed your name.

“I’m not going to ask for promises anymore.” you said. “I’ve always asked you for too much. For now, I would just like to tell you something.”

In the book, just below your name, you signed “I love you, Haechan.”

  Before you could even close the book, Haechan came around the table and brought you into a big hug that certainly felt like home. 

[alldayangst]

love someone for loving you (Peter Parker)

All of my fics are LGBT and PoC friendly. Soulmate and uni AU.

PAIRING: Peter Parker x reader, Brad Davis x reader (for like, a second)

Warnings: Makeout sessions. Characters drink but they’re of age to do so in this fic. Peter says ACAB and if you disagree with that & can’t have a mature convo about it, then this isn’t the blog for you. This fic isn’t all the way accurate to the MCU timeline. Harry [Osborn] and MJ live in Queens. Betty, Flash, Ned, Brad, Peter and reader all attend NYU in Brooklyn.

Thank you for reading if you make it all the way to the end! Word count: 4.2K words.

Happy reading!

“You’re so fucking hot, y’know that?” You were making out with Brad in your dorm room, with the lights off. Brad was a nice enough guy. Had taken you out on a few dates. Told you your hair was pretty. Said he’d like to get to know you more. But you’re not as eager to take things further because something in your heart just knows he’s not your soulmate. And you’d like to wait a little while for the novelty to wear off before you did something you regretted and entered a relationship you’d known was doomed from the start. “So fucking hot.” Brad kissed along your neck, big sloppy wet ones that left saliva trails from his lips to your neck. 

You didn’t like that kind. 

And that was another reason you knew you and Brad weren’t destined, because your soulmate would just know what you like, know you like the back of their hand. Right? Right.

It’s then that Brad tries to take your jumper off, but your soulmate tattoo is on your ribcage, and in this world, letting someone see your soulmate tattoo is probably makes you more vulnerable than getting naked in front of them. You try to pull your jumper down, but Brad doesn’t get the hint and tries again. You place your hands on his chest. “Not today, Brad.”

You don’t see Brad again. And maybe Brad was your soulmate because he led you to Peter. But Peter definitely wasn’t your soulmate, and I’ll tell you why you know that.

“Y/N!” Betty waved as you stumbled back into the party, shoes placed on improperly and no part of you subtle to what you’d been doing with Brad in your room just a few minutes ago. “Not you out of your room so early!” Your room door slammed behind you as Brad left your room, jacket in hand.

“Didn’t get any?” Betty made a fake pout at you, smoke breezing past her face as you stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do as you found yourself in a circle with two of Betty’s friends she’d had yet to introduce you to. Sometimes, you wished Betty was your soulmate, but Betty made it clear before you signed the lease that you weren’t her type and truly, you couldn’t see yourself being anything more than friends. And you were the best of friends. Meaning she’d always be the first to comment heart eyes under your pictures and tell you to get that outfit because your booty was doing the thang in that pair of trousers. 

Things would just be easier, if they were easy.

But things weren’t handed on a silver plate for you like they were for others; where they’d been friends with their soulmates since childhood, or lived up the street from them or their soulmate saved their life or something else blindly obvious. And, desperate to find the gold in the treasure chest, you moved upstate to school at NYU. Because great minds and all that. You stood in perfect silence for a minute, chaos never ceasing to happen around you, before Betty decided to make the strangers next to her strangers no more. One shook your hand and said, “I’m Ned.” Oh. So this is who Betty had been raving about? Betty grimaced and placed her hands together to plead with you not to expose her consuming infatuation with her new boyfriend. In a bid to divert the focus, Betty patted the back of the slightly taller one next to Ned, with wispy brown hair and eyes like fresh, raw cocoa. “I’m Peter, nice to meet you.” He shook your hand.

“I’m Y/N, it’s nice to meet you guys.” You sway your attention back to Ned with a smirk on your face, Betty clutching her solo cup a little too hard, her inner monologue begging you to knock it off. You knew Betty was going to get you back for this, but you needed somewhere else to fixate your gaze since you weren’t sure you could trust yourself not to ogle at Peter. With Brad’s saliva on your neck and having only known him for all of twenty seconds, you weren’t sure if Peter would take to any romantic advances. You weren’t even sure if he’d met his soulmate. “So, I’ve heard a lot about you, Ned.”

“All good I hope.” Ned replies and the room glints with his boyish grin.

“Well-” You didn’t get to finish your sentence, and it was probably for the better. Betty grabbed Ned’s arm, vodka making tiny puddles on the floor, with a huge fake smile plastered on her face. In turn, that only gave you a great, genuine smile, loving to tease your friend. “Baby! We should go to another side of the party!”

“What about Peter?” Ned’s voice was getting lost in the jungle of party goers. “Peter can come.” Peter turned to go follow his friend, but not before mumbling a low, “See you around, Y/N.”, snaking his arms around your back, pulling you in for a quick hug. “See you around, Peter.” 

He didn’t reply. Peter could only give you a thin lipped smile, packaged with a lazy half-nod before he was absorbed by the population around him, just as his friend was. And you cursed yourself that night for not taking your chances and saying more.

History was an 8am class, your only class in the morning. You woke with a a dull ache in your head and a dark mark on your neck that lasted longer than your relationship with the guy that gave it to you. The last thing you wanted was to run into Brad. But destiny offered you the next best thing.

“Oh. Hi, Flash.” You attempted to cover your face with your copy of Romeo & Juliet - if your soulmate was here, the last person you wanted them to see you with was Flash Thompson. Flash was walking backwards as you were walking forwards, unamused by his efforts to corner you. “Can we talk, Y/N?” Flash was Brad’s best friend, so you knew you were in for trouble.

“Can’t Brad speak to me himself? His mouth was working last night.”

“I can see that Y/N. Nice hickey.” You cringed, and Flash could tell he was running out of time to bemuse you. “Brad doesn’t want to bother you if you’re not interested-”

“Oh, so you decide to bother me instead.” You remark, and hop over a couple of steps so Flash had to awkwardly speed up.

“I just wanted to ask where you and him stood. Like, are you breaking up with him? I thought you had a pretty good thing going on.” His pace started to slow again as you slowly ascended up some of the last sets of steps. “I mean, seriously Y/N? What if you guys were soulmates? I wouldn’t wanna give up so easily.”

“That’s true.” You looked down at your sneakers. You hated this version of the world you lived in. Everything was driven by concepts, whether it be the concept of soulmates or the concept of time that left your campus filled with students five years older than they really were, or the concept of good and evil that spawned superheroes who you weren’t sure did more damage to the world than they gave back.

Overall, the concept of fate was once you had to always wrestle with. And you thought that maybe yours was standing at the top of the steps to rescue you from this conversation, ready to make Brad feel the trip of the guilt he and his friend tried to make you feel for not feeling the same way. “Y/N! We have class, c’mon!” Peter waved his goggles at the top of the steps, a knowing smile on his face as Flash looked up at him and glared. 

Peter just had to steal his thunder on a sunny day.

You ran to meet Peter at the top of the steps. “Thank you for bailing me out. You’re a hero.”

Peter was startled. “Who, what, when, where, me?” He scratched the back of his neck and gave you an uncomfortable, stammered loop of laughter. “Hero? Not me. I’m just good ol’ Peter.”

You chuckled as you breathed out another ‘thank you’ and returned the hug Peter had left un-exchanged last night. “I’m guessing you have bio?”

“Guilty as charged. So what’s your major?”

“English Lit.”

“Oo, how long are you planning to work at Starbucks?” Peter remarked as he held to the main door open for you. “Peter?” He hummed in response. “Fuck you.”

You sat next to Betty in History, the professor droning on about something that made you question why you continued to take History, but as your best friend snatched your book from you, you were reminded. “Star crossed lovers, eh?” Betty skimmed through the fights and the love scenes that all culminated to the uncertainty whether Romeo and Juliet were even supposed to be together. 

“Seems like you and Ned these days, huh.” You couldn’t believe that it had taken Betty three months to allow you to meet Ned, nevermind his cute friend. Ever since the ‘boyfriend’ label had been slapped on their little love affair a month and a half ago, you were beginning to see less and less of your best friend. It felt like two people paying for a single household, and with your lease ending in a short time, you worried Betty would almost evaporate from your life completely.

“Almost.” Betty tried to keep it hush, sheepishly grinning, but gave in completely in record time. “We said we’re gonna show each other our tattoos tonight!” She squealed, another student shushing her from the row above.

“Woah, that’s big!” It genuinely felt as if the wind had been knocked out of you. You realised you’d never gotten as far as Ned and Betty without either you or you partner showing your soulmate tattoo; and when they were never the same, you broke it off. “What if they’re not the same?”

“They will be.” Betty smiled. “I’m sure of it.”

Two loners getting together was never a recipe for success. Betty had given over your number to Ned, who handed it over to Peter, who’d texted you asking for you to come over: ‘wanna make it up to me for this morning at the steps? my bestie is with your bestie, so u wanna get pizza? do you like pineapple?’ 

Sure enough, you were over at Ned & Peter’s within ten minutes, Peter swinging the door open dressed in a tight red and blue top, a hoodie sparsely covering it, with an overexcited greeting of “Mi casa es su casa!”

The energy wasn’t returned. Not just yet. You had to be sure of something first. “Don’t tell me that there’s an American flag top under that hoodie.” Peter looks down at his Spidey suit which he’d completely forgotten he had on between scaling the ceiling in anxious anticipation of your text back. “Having such a boner for the USA is kind of a turn off.”

Peter started cussing under his breath and quickly turned to zip his hoodie all the way up. When he turns back to you, it’s word vomit. “I’m not saying I don’t love this country, I mean, I love Queens. I mean-”

You raise your eyebrows, curious to see where Peter would go with this. “The NYPD fucking hates me,”

“And what would they want with your little ass?” You walk into the apartment. He’d never admit it, but Peter kind of likes the way you bust his balls. It puts him on the spot, makes him want to tell the truth to you about who he really is.

“I mean, I can’t really say-”

“OK. I don’t wanna be an accessory to anything so,” You laugh. “I won’t push. ACAB.” There’s a thud that follows you closing the door. 

“I agree. ACAB.”

A few hours pass with Peter and he’s beginning to unravel. He shows you the photos he’s taken over the years, several of them featuring a fair haired boy you’d never seen around campus before. “Is he your soulmate?”

Peter nearly chokes on the coffee he’d prepared for himself. “No. Harry? In his dreams.” He sets his mug down. “No, uh, that’s my friend. He lives back home in Queens.”

“You say back home like Queens isn’t a 10 minute drive from where we are.”

“Yeah. But it’s not right here.” You weren’t sure if you’d bruised Peter’s feelings, so you move onto another photo. There’s a polaroid that makes a thin pile with another on the table.

It’s the New York City skyline, from all the way up.

“How’d you get a photo from all the way up here?” Peter grabs the photo underneath it, but not before you catch a glimpse. The glossy paper is adorned with an image of a beautiful girl, black necklace around her neck, the scribbles underneath her photo reading ‘MJ, Pre-blip’.

You think this girl is too gorgeous to just be a friend.

But judging by the way Peter reacted when you suggested Harry was the same, you kept quiet. He didn’t want you to see it anyway. 

“I’m really sticky and I climb up walls.” Peter being Peter is relieved he told you the truth, even if you didn’t know it.

“You’re weird, kid.” You thought you were being smooth, but you couldn’t help the way you look at his lips like they hold the answer to every question you’d had in your life.

“Uh-huh. But you like a bit of weird. Maybe Brad was too square for you.”

“Huh?”

“Huh.”

And then when you and Peter kiss, you suddenly understand what poets mean when they call your lips jigsaw puzzles, because yours and Peter’s slot perfectly together. And you get why there’s all these love songs on the radio, and you feel the Earth shift in your mind and you just know this is the unmistakeable indicator that Peter is your soulmate. Another reason you and Peter are destined, when he goes to kiss your neck, it’s like soft little hot touches. 

You liked that kind. 

And a soulmate would just know that, know you like the back of their hand. Right? Right.

Peter rests his forehead on your own, lips swollen. “I don’t want to go anywhere, don’t wanna do anything you don’t wanna do.”

You and Peter cuddle for the rest of the night on his sofa, Ned and Betty doing the same on yours. And the novelty picks back up like clockwork.

“Peter? What if we aren’t soulmates?” you groaned, Peter’s hand on your head, keeping you snug to his chest. You and Peter had been dating close to two months now, Ned and Betty moving to five. In any other relationship, you would’ve called this phase The Ticking Time Bomb. You toyed with the black dahlia that sat perfectly between his pecs. Peter had been to Queens last week. He’d retrieved his necklace from the girl in the photo, MJ. She was an old friend, he said. Him and her? Not meant to be. Maybe in another life, he’d say. Another timeline. Then he’d gesture between the two of you. This. This is meant to be. Us.

Peter shrugged. “What if we weren’t?” Peter had an almost permanent bandage on his ribcage, exactly where your soulmate tattoo was. Where and how Peter got injured was a mystery to you, and he’d never dare tell you no matter how much you pushed. It almost made you wonder if he was keeping any more secrets from you.

You propped yourself up, both hands on his chest. 

“I couldn’t move back in with Betty. She and Ned are soulmates, they need their privacy.”

“Who said you’d ever to move back in with Betty?”

“I couldn’t afford to live by myself, Peter. Not everyone had a Stark internship in high school.”

“Who said you’d have to move out at all?”

“If we’re not soulmates-” Peter moved your hands from his chest and wrapped them around your waist, pulling you in for a loving kiss. “What have I told you? You and me, we’re meant to be. Us.”

But you didn’t have the tattoos to prove it. 

You and Betty were sitting in History class, ignoring the professor’s droning as per usual. Betty had this beaming smile on her face and you were sure if she didn’t say what was on her mind soon, she was going to explode all over someone’s Henry VIII’s notes.

“Betty?”

“Yeah?” She shrieked with scarlet cheeks.

“Spill.”

Betty let out a breath. “Well, since you insisted.” You couldn’t help but smile at your best friend. “I think Ned might propose tonight!”

“I feel like you should be taking me out to dinner before you dump all this load on me.”

Betty’s eyes glazed over, obviously too excited to contain her emotions. “What about you and Peter? The tattoos must match up since you’ve stayed around this long.”

“Actually, I-”

Betty makes an O face at you, which told you she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “C’mon. You haven’t played I’ll Show You Mine if you Show Me Yours?” Betty was in awe. “Y/N! You must really like him.” 

You did really like Peter. That was the issue. You weren’t ready to feel jaded if your tattoos didn’t match up like they all inevitably did in the past. You felt something different for Peter. Betty was right. That was why you stuck around this long. “Hey Betty, is my old room still my room if things between me and Peter don’t work out?”

“Of course, Y/N! I’m here for you til’ the end of the line.” Betty pulled you into a great, big hug.

“OK. Session dismissed.” Your professor echoed. “Everyone can go. Y/N and Betty, stay after please.”

You’d gotten kicked off of History, which was bittersweet. Seeing as History was Betty’s major, your professor had to keep her there - but he was sure ‘she’d flourish once you two were separated.’  

You and Betty walked out of the main entrance, Ned and Peter both waiting for you under the shelter at the top of the steps. Seasons had changed. It was far from the summer day Peter had to spotted you on the way to class. “We’re gonna run in, drink some cocoa. We’ll catch you guys later.” Ned shivered as Betty re-engulfed him in his jacket she’d been holding for the scent. 

Love was weird, but you wanted so bad to be a part of it.

You turned to Peter beside you. “And what are we gonna do?”

“Swinging.”

“Peter, I don’t swing. I’m perfectly happy in our relationship.”

Peter held onto your waist, your head nuzzled into his neck, not daring to look down at the city below you. This was the first time you’d ever experienced something like this, no doubt, but Peter was getting a strange sense of deja vu.

“Y/N!” You didn’t move from your place in his neck, but he knew you could hear him. “I love you. I trust you.”

“You’re-” You didn’t trust yourself to speak. “Fucking.” You opened one eye just to be sure you weren’t dreaming. “Spiderman!”

“I’m something more important: your boyfriend.”

Leave it to Peter Parker to get all sappy with you in the middle of the sky. 

You opened both your eyes now. “What about my soulmate?”

“What?” Startled, Peter lost controls of his webs for a moment, and knocked his rib on the side of a building. Luckily for you, you were lower to the ground.

‘Injury detected,’ Peter’s AI, Karen, stated.

“Yeah, I know, Karen.” Peter stated.

“Is it right there, babe?” Peter nodded, sat on the concrete, and pressed the spider in the middle of his suit. You watched as it became loose.

Your eyes flickered to the bandage on his ribcage. Maybe you had your answers as to how Peter always seemed to be hurt, but you needed your ultimate answer. And it was behind the bandage. “Right here, are you sure babe?”

You were on edge. You weren’t sure what you’d do if fate didn’t allow this to be true. For the sake of your heart.

So you peeled back the bandage.

And you found nothing there but a series of bruises. Your heart was crushed. “Nothing, Peter. There’s nothing there.” You had tears in your eyes, and before long you were ugly crying. This wasn’t a case of the novelty wearing off. This was a case of the novelty being broken down ‘til it can’t function no more.

“That’s a good thing baby, maybe I just need to go to a hospital.”

“No, I mean it Peter! There’s nothing there!” You pull up your heart to reveal a half full shirt printed on your body twenty one years ago, this exact heart only belonging to one other person in the world. But it wasn’t Peter. Even though he had just told you he loved you. “Fuck!” Your voice became incomprehensible, drowned out in tears and squeaks of sorrow. “I’m so sorry, but we can’t see each other any more. T-there is someone out there for me. You need to understand.”

And, unsure if your legs would take you all the way, you made your journey to Betty.

When you made it to Betty’s, she stood in the doorway with a rock on her finger. You couldn’t see that, though, through your tear blurred vision.

“Oh, poor baby.” She immediately embraced you, with Ned circling to your side to group hug you. You sniff into her shoulder. “He’s not-we’re not-”

“My darling.” She pauses. “I’m hoping you got the first month’s rent.” She laughed and you laughed before she pulled you back in her embrace and allowed you to feel what you needed to feel.

It’s often underestimated how miserable you need to be in order to cry yourself to sleep. You didn’t even know you did until you woke in your old room, your old band poster replaced by a calendar titled ‘Ned and Betty Forever’ and you laughed because Ned and Betty hadn’t even known each other longer than than six calendar months.

And you missed your windowsill on which you’d perch and overlook the breathtaking view of Brooklyn, and the even more awe-inspiring view of NYU students hurling after one too many, especially after yours and Betty’s parties.

“Do you guys even clean this room?” You called out. “You got a serious case of cobwebs.”

Peter lowered himself to meet your view. You were about to draw the blinds on him, only to realise Betty and Ned had gotten them removed whilst you were living with Peter.

“Hear me out.”

“I have no choice.” You chew on the flesh of your cheek. “You took a while to find me.”

“You left me for dead.”

It was hard to beat that one.

“Peter, if you have something to say, say it.”

“I’m sorry.” he’s swinging upside down, side to side and it slightly amuses you to think he’s getting dizzy if the last three months were at your expense. “I know how much this soulmate bullshit means to you, and I kept you longer than you would’ve liked. I’m also sorry ‘cause I knew I wasn’t your soulmate from the start.”

You gasp.

“But I wouldn’t in a billion years say that either you or I belong to someone else. MJ is my soulmate, yes. I love her with all my heart, but I believe destiny can change in the same world where people disappear for five years. MJ moved on. I’ve moved on. Who cares about a stupid tattoo? People go to parlours and give themselves their own all the time. People get them removed all the time. I’m getting my black dahlia erased.” Your face softens a little bit at that, you guard slightly down, but you refuse to wave a white flag without first making your point.

You rubbed your rib cage. “I care.”

“Y/N, you’re smarter than to deny what you feel. You’re an English major, studying Romeo and Juliet. You understand the world better than I do, and I’ve been to 600 different versions of it. You have a heart half full on your ribcage and I have half a flower on my foot. Tell me, would a rose by any other name smell as sweet?” 

You know the answer’s the same one Betty gave Ned tonight when he got down on one knee, the same response you’d give Peter if he was to ask you the same question, what you’d tell anyone if they queried if you’d go through what you went with Peter all over again.

You pull down his mask, and look deep into both of Peter’s eyes, and still him from swinging. “Love someone for loving you for a change.”

And you don’t have to say it, Ned and Betty hiss it out for you not so subtly from the windowsill in the livingroom. “Yes!”

So when you and Peter kiss, it’s not about novelties or concepts, fate or tomorrow, it’s just the beautiful bliss that is love, in this moment.

The unmistakable indicator that you and Peter are meant to be.

Fin.

Credit for the gif goes to: @/tomhollandnet

Masterlist

Upcoming Works

[aitarose]

YELLOW DAISIES (A. MIYA) pairing: miya atsumu x fem!reader

synopsis: atsumu miya, japan’s most entitled player, the person that strangers resented for unprecedented boasting and confidence—a facade as there was only one person who knew the real him.

word count: 1.6k

genre: established relationship, fluff, time skip

warnings: slight angst, asshole!atsumu?, hospital, mentions of death

notes: i’m only on episode two of season four so i’ve literally never heard this man speak a word, but i wrote this for some reason asjdfkl

↳ DIRECTORY

He was revolutionary—that was what flashed in bright lights in the media, magazines, and news when the name Miya Atsumu came into the picture. It was an honorable title, one that he’d earned from his years of experience, years of effort to become the best player he could possibly be. 

Fans of the game couldn’t help but admire his ambition, his confidence when it came to setting—when it came to being on the court. There was nowhere else he seemed to fit, no where else that deemed worthy of a man like him.

He was simply made to play volleyball, he was put on the planet to coordinate the team and help lead them to their respective victories. The drive he had was envious, admirable even to professionals that were years ahead of him in experience. 

But there was a catch, just as there always seemed to be a catch when things appear too perfect or other-worldly, as Miya Atsumu was considered the most egocentric man in all of Japan. 

Yes, his talent was astonishing and his looks trumped some of the most handsome men in the world, but he was a complete and utter narcissist to the public eye. A complete asshole in all senses of empathy. 

He was perhaps an enigma. A man that no one person could quite figure out. A total mystery to everyone but those close to him—to everyone but his twin-brother and the few teammates that he considered friends.

And it wasn’t that the public wanted to hate him, they wanted nothing more than to find a redeeming quality, something that would save his reputation—the ignorant reputation that he’d somehow managed to build himself over the course of his professional career.

Tabloids constantly had new headlines to publish, weekly reports on whatever star-born attitude Atsumu had acted on in public, during games, or even in the safety of the team’s after parties—parties that he’d rarely be found at.

The most common hate train would be the look he’d give the camera every time he so much as scored a point mid-match. The cocky, full of himself gaze to the viewers watching at home, as if to say that he was the real King of the Court. 

Holding up his hands in the shape of a heart, Atsumu would smile with a smug grin, teeth flashing white and sticking his tongue out dramatically. He’d hold the position for a few seconds, making sure that the camera got a good take of his face, before returning to the adrenaline rush of the game.

It was as if he became an even better player after his boastful routine, focusing on the game as if it was life or death, as if he would be ruined if they were to lose a single point—frightening the other team with one glance, one look forcing them to crumble underneath their own dead weight.

With his rare intimidating attitude, the Black Jackals had little to nothing to worry about when it came to their setter. He was reliable, always there to pick up the slack when all odds seemed to be against them—when the books refused to read in their favor.

And his teammates absolutely loved him, they knew him better than nearly anyone other than Osamu. When microphones and interviewers shoved misguided questions in their faces, they’d always defend him, as they were more than just players on the same side of the court—they were practically brothers.

So, when it’d be time to stay after the game to greet the fans, give them kisses on the cheek while the camera cemented their meeting in history, his friends paid no mind to how quickly Atsumu would rush out of the building. They’d pay no attention to how he’d refuse to entertain his fans, only stopping for one girl—one girl who’d offered him a bouquet of bright yellow daisies. 

“Thank you.” He’d mutter, nodding his head at the young girl before stalking off, ignoring how she fawned over the beauty of his facial features, obsessing over the way he’d just so much as acknowledged her existence. 

Pulling out of the stadium’s parking lot was always a big hassle, with the media and paparazzi awaiting his exit, video cameras taping his every move and step he took. There was zero privacy for him, every one of his secrets always seeming to be on film.

But Atsumu didn’t care, he didn’t mind running over a few parking cones, forcing the photographers to jump out of his car’s way, back onto the sidewalk where they belonged. He had absolutely no disregard for their safety according to the new’s titles.

As well as no respect to traffic laws. Speeding limits was a thing of the past in his mind, always going about twenty miles over, whether that was on a highway or neighborhood street. His life ran on double time, needing to be in a rush, a rush away from his duties.

His sports car headed north on the daily, never straying from its path, in pursuit of the same destination every day—every time he had the chance to escape the responsibilities of being a world-known athlete.

And though the world liked to act as if they knew everything about him, as if he was an open book whose chapters were updated every week, no one knew why Atsumu would spend so much time at the international hospital. Why he’d enter the building in the evenings and leave at dawn.

Even today, after the loss of a championship match, he wore the brightest smile on his face while holding a massive bouquet of yellow daisies—the flower that’d always accompany him through the blank grey walls of the healing center.

The grin would stay plastered, the expression reading ingenuity as he’d walk through the automatic doors, taking a final glance back to make sure that no one had followed him, before letting the facade crumble—before he let it dissolve into a somber frown. 

“Looking beautiful as always.” Atsumu laughed, waltzing up to the front desk, greeting his favorite worker as she rolled her eyes, passing him the check in sheet with a pointed look. “How’s my girl doing?”

The woman behind the counter took a deep breath, inspecting his signature to ensure that he hadn’t signed in the wrong place, before looking up to respond to his question—the same question that he asked her every day.

“Waiting for you.” She said, gesturing that everything was alright and he could proceed to the dual elevators that carried him to the top floor, the floor in which permanent residents stayed. “She’s up there waiting, just like she always is.”

Blowing the clerk a joking kiss, Atsumu carried on, holding the bouquet with a death grip, picking at the flowers to make sure that they looked their absolute best—that they deserved to be held in his favorite girl’s hands. 

Standing in the elevator, his heart dropped at each ding. It was a sound that he had never gotten used to, one that haunted him as he slept, taunting him as if to say that the minutes were counting down—the minutes losing their value, the minutes he had left with her decreasing. 

Despite how much he loathed the noise, how he wished he could shut it all off, make time stop just so he could have an infinite amount of moments by her side—he knew that life would come to the point in which he’d hear that sound one last time. A point in which he’d leave the building and never have a reason to return. 

As he approached the room he knew all too well, Atsumu brought his hand up to a light knock on the door, giving her a little heads up that he was there, that he didn’t forget about her even though he’d maintained his constant routine for months now. 

“Is that the famous Miya Atsumu I hear?” Y/N’s melodious voice called out, knowing all too well that her beloved boyfriend had arrived to harass her. Her already enlarged heart grew bigger at the sight of his brown eyes and golden hair that she’d always try to spot on the court.

While the world admired him for his physical beauty, she knew him for the beauty inside. The beauty that she was so blessed to see, the real personality that was reserved for her and her alone—not even Osamu had seen him so gentle, so caring. 

“Yer favorites,” he held out the bouquet to her in a regal manner, presenting it as if she were a queen and it was her crown. His dramatics sent her into a fit of giggles, accepting the flowers with a scoff as he rose up to press a soft kiss on her awaiting lips. 

“I saw you.” She whispered, pulling him down to meet her smile once more, relishing in the feeling of their love connecting. It was a feeling that she was addicted to, one that she longed for whenever he was away. “I saw you and the stupid little heart that you flash me on television.”

Atsumu helped her move over on the hospital bed, making enough room for him to lay down beside her as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, his head resting on top of hers. “Stupid? You sound like the rest of ‘em.”

“No one would be calling it stupid if they knew what it meant.” He pinched her cheeks, puckering her lips to a pout and kissing her over and over again. “If they knew I only do it because I want my girl to be proud of me.”

He sighed, holding her as if she would disappear if he let go, his fear of losing her of greater importance than any public opinion or false story. His fears being valid and reasonable as neither of them knew how much time they had left—how much time they had left to be totally and completely in love. 

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