#I'm actually furious with myself at how long it's taken me to get around to posting these. It should not have taken this long.

[existentialcrisis-24-7]

Winx Season 1 Outfits

This was finished in February. It took me half a year to post this, and I'm procrastinating something else rn too.

Season 2 Outfits

Anyway! My reasoning or whatever

The biggest factor for picking these outfits were "What would they realistically pack with them to go to magical boarding school?".

Tecna's outfit is because there is no way that in season 1, she would wear anything not from Zenith. She's used to the fabric and sewing style that is common there, and the fear of Bad Textures™️ is enough for her to have the second-biggest wardrobe on Day 1.

Nearly the entirety of Musa's wardrobe consists of old merch from her mam and dad, hand-me-downs, and whatever second-hand clothes she could afford. She's had many years of experience making them look good and like an active choice, though. She has one of the smallest amount of clothes.

Flora went with comfort, much like Tecna, but they both have very different definitions of comfort. She didn't really think to pack much "nice" clothes under the assumption that she wouldn't be too close to her dorm mates and wouldn't be going out much. Her wardrobe is nearly entirely pastels, and it's a pretty average size, all things considered.

Stella's outfit is that of someone who's done this already and, if she has to do it again, is at least going to look fabulous doing so. She's the only one who regularly wears jewellery, and she wears the sunglasses nearly everywhere (she's sensitive to light, but most just take it as her trying to look cool). She, naturally, has the biggest wardrobe. An outfit for every occasion, including some of her own designs.

Bloom's outfit is nice, but thrown together last second. After agreeing to go to Alfea, she didn't have much time to pack and has the smallest wardrobe along with Musa. (I mentioned in some previous post about giving her a bomber jacket (I believe this was the sketch version of this), and she will get one, just not right now.)

Extra info: Alfea gives students an allowance. It isn't much in the grand scheme of things, but it's enough to get Bloom and Musa a few more clothes down the road.

[08melancholie]

Honeysuckle and Whiskey. — Micah Bell/OC

CHAPTER 4 — Interrogation.

words: 3,060 | AO3 LINK — MASTERLIST

(Chapter 1 "Colter and Gang Rivalry." or Masterlist for tags and summary.)

warning: Implied Grooming and Pedophilia

To say she got more glances thrown at her than the day she first came would be an understatement.

Every single person who passed by stared. At Melody; her bare neck and shoulder; her burn mark. The smell still lingered in the air, so everyone who passed by got a whiff and—as far as she's seen so—it hasn't been pleasant to anyone.

Arthur walked past her as always, quick glance and nod before walking away. This time, he did a double take when he smelled that foul, rotten smell of burnt flesh. He just stared; at Melody, at Dutch's tent, at Melody—back and forth a few, quick times. "Oh hell," he mutters hoarsely before nodding quietly and walking into Dutch' tent without even knocking.

Arthur walked out after a few seconds, furious. He was angrily yelling incoherencies at Dutch, who followed close behind like a lost dog. It was a breakfast and a show for mostly everyone, especially Melody. Hell, she'd even admit it was worth it, getting burned by the bastard.

A few hours passed and people were still looking. Arthur walked up to Melody about an hour after storming away from Dutch and kneeled with a bowl of stew in hand. "Did Dutch send you to torture me with that? 'Cause tell him it ain't gonna work, I've lost all feeling in my stomach." Melody says as she watches him blow on the spoon he brought. Instead of putting it up to his mouth, he puts a hand under the spoon and inches it to her lips. She's rightfully taken aback, furrowing her eyebrows at him and the spoon before her lips. "What?" She manages out, raising one of the creased eyebrows.

"Just eat. I'm pissed off with 'im." Melody doesn't complain, pursing her lips over the spoon and finally tasting the smell that's been torturing her for a week before. "Oh damn, Arthur—compliments to the chef." She never knew why she was the way she was; cocky and snarky, having to make a comment to everything. Her words were a little loud since the actual camp cook turned with shock. He flushes a little before turning away, and Melody definitely feels embarrassment creep up her face, which reddens as much as the stew before her.

"Oh, he'll never forget that. A compliment on his food from an O'Driscoll." Arthur chuckles out of his stern, pissed state and puts another spoonful to Melody's mouth. She complies and finishes the food with him, rest of it in a somewhat comfortable silence, until Melody breaks it. "There is not a word in the English language that can explain how happy that made me." She huffs, finally feeling that nice, satisfied feeling in her stomach she's missed.

Arthur puts the bowl away and brings a mug of water to her lips next. "I bet." He sighs as he places the mug away once she's had a drink. "This ain't.. ain't what we do." He looks down at her neck with guilt, instead of the actual man that should be feeling it. "Dutch, he... it goes against what he stands for."

"Nobody to blame but myself, I riled him up by talking to you... while teasing him with my glances to make sure he saw." Melody admits, sighing. "My mistake."

"You are playing with the devil sweetheart." He chuckles again, shaking his head at her.

She purses her lips in thought. "How are you so comfortable with me? It feels really weird, no?" She asks, cocking her head aside slightly.

"I guess.." He bites the inside of his cheek whilst thinking. "I guess it seemed like the better approach, yeah? We talk like we're long time friends." He comments, and Melody nods in agreement. "Dutch just.. he hates Colm, and he hates O'Driscolls, and your almost.. belittling actions like never speaking to 'im and then going around talkin' to me with ease, it angers him beyond what he can control." She furrowed her eyebrows at him. "I'm not saying what he did is justified!" He throws his hand in the air. "Just.. it's hard for him, having an O'Driscoll here."

"Why not let me go then?" She asks stupidly, and he cocks his head at her with a 'really?' expression. "He likes where we're staying now, and we don't wanna risk moving in case you reveal our location." He explains.

Melody chuckles at his response lowly. Her eyes meet his but are soon distracted by Dutch' gaze on the two of them. "There he is again. Why does he just stare like that?" She asks quietly, making Arthur snicker. "I wouldn't know, sweetheart. I'll leave you two to it then." He stands up with the dishes in hand, revealing a lot more of Dutch after his broad body moves away from Melody's vision. "No, c'mon—you traitor! Don't leave me here with him!" She pleads with Arthur quietly as he chuckles, walking away.

He flicks the cigar residue off the tip of it, still looking but less emotionless; there's guilt in his eyes. Melody looks back at him, still angered but somewhat scared as her gaze flicks between his cigar and himself. He notices, turning away and smoking the rest with his back turned to Melody, hiding the culprit of today's camp gossip from her. What a gentleman.

How do the consequences of your own actions taste, Dutch Van der Linde?

Later in the same day, Melody tries looking around for Arthur—as it seems they're getting along fine—to ask him about buttoning her shirt up as she's started to feel cold, but he seems to be out on a job with a few other members. Soon, Melody sees a woman passing by with a child and decides to take her chances. So, she inhales deeply. "Excuse me?" It immediately catches her attention. "I'm sorry to bother, I.. could you button up my shirt? My hands are tied, I won't do anything." Melody asks sincerely, and the woman looks around quickly.

"Stay there, Jack." She quickly says before kneeling to Melody's level. "That's.. gnarly. I.." She starts talking as she does the buttons of Melody's shirt up. "I understand. Don't feel bad, I provoked him." Melody says, quietly and lowly. She swears she can see her fighting a smile, just a little. "Well don't do that anymore, or else he might burn you as a whole. The audacity of that man.." She scoffs, getting up and brushing her dress. Seems Arthur isn't the only one against this method of Dutch's. Melody's gaze follows her as she stands. "Thank you, Miss..?"

"Abigail." She smiles lowly before walking away. "Thank you, Miss Abigail." Melody nods at her and she nods back, walking off with the boys’ hand intertwined with her own. That felt so nice, and she truly wasn't scared to approach and be near her, as Melody noticed some people are. It's strange, but a good strange.

Melody hasn't gotten any attention from many of the members, mainly just Arthur and Mary-Beth who both help her, in their own ways. She's lost track of the time; maybe a month and a half by now? She's not sure. Dutch has stopped speaking to her, fully. He'll throw an occasional glance her way, but that's it.

Arthur on the other hand, is truly Melody's rock. She still doesn't fully trust him; it could be their plan to make her comfortable with a few members so that she'll talk. He often brings her a drink when changing the gauze on her leg and taking care of the wounds on her wrists, now having to do so with the cigar burn too.

"It's taking so long to even heal a little." Melody comments, watching Arthur rub his thumb gently over the dark burn mark. "I ain't sure. It looks bad, that I'll admit." He moves his hand away and helps her drink from the mug. "Listen.." She start, gathering the courage to speak her mind after a week of building it up as he sets the mug down and listens in.

"What's.. the plan? I'm just sitting here and nobody is doing anything at all. I just feel like I'm in... purgatory or somethin'." Melody explains as he nods in agreement, chuckling at the comparison.

He sighs, readjusting his hat. "Dutch ain't wanna talk about it. 'Bout you specifically. Now, I ain't know what he wants with you anymore but I'm tryin' to make it easier on 'ya." He explains, looking up into the sky while doing so.

"Well.. would it mean anything at all to at least lessen the grip on my wrists? I ain't going nowhere without a bullet in the skull, anyways." He looks at Melody with a raised eyebrow. "Nice try, girl. No, but I'll try to ask him about it." He stands up slowly. "If you talked.." At his words, before he can even finish, Melody returns his same look he gave her before he even voice his proposition. "Right." He nods and stands, walking away.

CW: Implied Grooming and Pedophilia

It's been a few hours of Arthur and another man in Dutch's tent, talking. Melody knows it's about her, it's pretty obvious. As she's staring at the canvas of Dutch's tent, the third man who went in with Dutch earlier emerges, walking up to her. He's got blonde, unkempt hair and a pretty abnormal style to his beard; a horseshoe moustache that spreads to cover his lower cheeks. His blue eyes are the next thing to catch Melody's attention; bright despite being a blueish-grey tone, and shiny. His lashes are pure white; it's the first time she's seen someone like him, so unique-looking. She watches him walk up to her, somewhat sour expression on his face. "An O'Driscoll and a foreigner? Great." The comment is very loud, he doesn't seem to care about her hearing—unlike most people here that whisper about it. And Melody does find it quite rude; her accent isn't that prominent, come on! "Dutch has a proposition for 'ya."

She looks up and sighs, here it comes again. "I'm not gonna rat on anyone. Not Colm or his men, their location-" He interrupts her with a scowl as he talks. "No—just listen, damn it." His eyebrows crease in obvious annoyance, looking down at her in clear disinterest to being the one to speak to her. "It's just a few questions, to see if you're worth keeping around." He says firmly.

She thinks it over; not keeping around, as in killing her off. Amazing offer, moron. "What type of questions?" She decides to entertain the offer, why not?

"Like I know," He scoffs, turning back to the tent. "he'll come out in a moment." He mumbles and leans on the tree Melody is tied to, huffing and crossing his arms over his chest, occasionally looking down at her distastefully. Okay, asshole.

Per his word, Dutch and Arthur approach soon enough. Arthur is the first to speak, with all three men looking down at Melody. "Okay, listen here, sweetheart." He kneels and places his hat to his chest. "A few questions—nothing too personal or telling. We won't ask about Colm's whereabouts or nothin'; we just need to know a few, simple things about you." He explains, with Dutch nodding his head silently behind him. "How do you feel about that?"

Seems they're finally getting tired of having Melody just sit around and rot away. "Depends on the questions." Too brave for her own good—per usual—Melody stares mostly at Dutch and the guilt etched into his face and form, even if some time has passed and mostly everyone else has forgotten all about it.

The blonde one speaks up at that. "Seriously, Dutch? 'Ya lettin' an O'Driscoll parade you around?" He creases his eyebrows together, and Dutch simply looks at him, gesturing for the cowboy to step back and let Arthur and himself do the talking. The man scowls again, glaring at Melody before leaning back on the tree with another scoff.

"When the shootout happened at your last hideout, when we took you; why did every start running and where was Colm?" Arthur speaks up, looking intently at Melody for her answer. She hesitates to answer, biting her lip and slightly furrowing her eyebrows. But with no other choice—other than being shot and taken care of, for good—she complies with them, surprisingly.

"It wasn't the actual plan;" She starts explaining, a pang of guilt catching up very quickly as she realizes she's really about to start talking. "we weren't expecting it and when we were outnumbered, they just ran. Colm hid in his—well, our cabin." She continues, looking at the ground as she speaks. "The biggest one?"

Arthur listens closely and nods. "Yes.. I know which one. Why wasn't he there, though?" He asks.

"I'm not actually sure—he was supposed to stay there while we took care of you guys." She replies with a small shrug. From their unsure faces, Melody sees it's not enough and quickly continues. "I guess he slipped away, seeing how outnumbered we were." That puts them at bay, and they continue asking questions.

Dutch is the next to kneel. "You corrected yourself to 'our cabin' when talking; why are you in the same cabin as Colm? What is he to you?" He asks and Melody turns to him next. She waits a few seconds before answering; what is he to her? Is it even explainable? She's quietly staring between the two outlaws, unable to explain our relationship myself.

She exhales sharply. "I'm a.. long time member. We're a bit close." First lie down; not many left, probably

"Are you sure?" Dutch speaks up again, more stern. "Dutch, I don't-" Arthur starts, getting cut off by Dutch in an instant. "Why are you lying to us?" He glared into Melodys' eyes with frustration. "You get a second try; what is your relation to Colm?" He's getting more and more frustrated quickly—talk about waking up on the wrong side of the bed.

Now, Melody feels frustrated as well, at his attitude. She gets more and more worried as she eyes his expression, she's seen it before; the very man they're speaking about. She looks to the ground again, and her chest rises and falls quicker as she starts spilling her words out. "He picked me up when I was young—it happened very suddenly and he just decided that.. well.. were 'together'?" She quickly spews, slurring on a few words in fear. "That's the honest truth, I promise you. Don't..." She trails off when her head raises back up to them, wide eyes staring down at her—all three men shocked.

Arthur is the first to speak, placing his hat onto his head and rising to his feet. "Bastard.." His lips are slightly parted, looking down at Melody. "how old is you, girl?"

Melody gulps, now also wide-eyed from their own reactions to the information. "Uh, I'm twenty-six." Their eyes seem to widen even more at that, and Arthur mutters under his breath. "Jesus Christ.. that's twenty-eight years, I.." Arthur's stomach churns and he just walks off abruptly, headed in a random direction. The air is so, so thick it could be cut with a knife as Dutch bores his eyes into Melody, one hand over his mouth as he also stands. Seems the questioning is getting cut short. Dutch looks at the only other cowboy left, who is standing up straight and staring down himself. "Can somebody please say something, why is he so.. disturbed?" Melody speaks up with a stammer to her voice, fully confused herself. Dutch can't speak either, still staring at the blonde one—like a silent plea for him to continue the interrogation. "Micah, please." Dutch looks away and paces after Arthur, walking the same direction as him.

"Dutch! Come on!" The man calls out but Dutch's steps don't falter, until he's crossed a corner and moved from both of the people's views. Melody can only silently follow after Dutch, before looking to the man—whose name is Micah. The cowboy huffs and places one hand on his hip, the other coming up to pinch the bridge of his scrunched nose. He slowly turns to the girl on the floor, narrowing his eyes at her as his hand joins the other on his hip. "I.." He finds himself just as lost. It definitely isn't guilt; he barely knows her and she isn't the only victim of Colm, that's for sure. "I won't ask much," He lowers himself to crouch down, hands slipping off his hips to rest his forearms on his knees, with him towering only slightly over her. "just'a few things." Melody nods slowly, and they both stare into each other's eyes for a moment, for Micah to break the silence. "Yeah.. 'kay.. we know Colm has many locations all 'round, but would you tell us how many?"

Melody hesitates. It doesn't seem too personal, and they can't exactly pin-point where he is from just that information. And so, she gives in. "About.. six I know of." She says. Micah nods and makes a mental note of it, going on. "And.. is there a main location he keeps himself at? Don't gotta tell us where, just... is there one?" He seems rather careful about how he asks his questions, not wanting Melody to shut herself off and not answer any questions if one ticks her off.

She nods slowly, contemplating the question again. "Uh, yeah. There's one." She mumbles, biting her cheek quite nervously. "That's all I can give you." She immediately follows up.

"That's fine," Micah stands tall again, hands finding his gun belt. "it's enough for us, probably." He replies rather quickly, as if in a hurry to get away. "I'll speak to Dutch, see if he has anythin' else he needs from 'ya." He turns on his heels and leaves without another word, walking off towards wherever Dutch and Arthur found themselves heading. And so, she's alone again; on the floor, confused and somewhat worried. Was it enough for them? Did she say something wrong, did they believe her at all? She isn't sure, but there's a churning in her stomach that's worrying her.

She hopes she choose right.

Kudos on AO3 heavily appreciated! Finally, I've introduced Micah to the story, and I'm sure that was what we were waiting for 😭 It's been a hot minute but finally, new chapter is out :3

[karriethemechtech]

[I've got a few from the OC Asks Meme post, if you please!

🟠🟢⚪️🪩

Enjoy! -@mechwarrior-rose]

Oh hey there! Almost missed this one, sorry bout that--been a busy day in the shop haha

🟠 - What do I hide about myself from others? ...isn't the point of hiding it that I don't talk? Or maybe I've got it wrong. All joking aside, I'm actually kind of insecure about my whole life situation right now. I feel kind of like I stumbled around in life until I got here, and now somehow I'm leading a kinda-failing mercenary company and generally struggling along. I wonder what my life would've been like if I never joined up with the MAF...not that you heard any of that from me, got it?

🟢- What's a weakness of mine that's really a strength? What's a strength of mine that's really a weakness? You'd be surprised how useful being a stubborn SoB actually helps you with mercenary work. "Do no harm, take no shit" might not work when your line of work is dealing death, but at the end of the day, you're the one with the giant mech, right? Hehe. You'd also be surprised how little being a mechtech helps me being a MechWarrior. More of the opposite; if I get too in my own head about what's going on, all the sorts of minutiae, I stop focusing on the right things, get all flustered...I start making mistakes. I'm lucky to have survived taking a PPC to the cockpit...and I've got the scars to prove it. So yeah; put me down as "distractable."

⚪️- A moment in my life I felt the most vulnerable? Aforementioned PPC to cockpit. I kept going for a little while longer, somehow, but the second shot blew my mech's left leg clean off and I blacked. Woke up in the medbay, surrounded by a bunch of coworkers who I thought were going to be furious with me...not to mention everyone probably having seen me. Medically that is. And they were furious. And not all of them were...lets say the tolerant sort of trans folks like myself. There's a reason I didn't ask to be taken on for a second job with the Dark Wolf Company. ('Course, they went under not too long after--something about salary disputes when the commanding officer died)

🪩- An achievement of mine I feel is worth celebrating? Honestly now that I figured out how old this damn Awesome is, getting it back in working order. And full of clan-spec parts, too. You should see her on the battlefield, not exactly sophisticated but oh man...fun to pilot is an understatement.

Shoot--you and the Old Bird know how to get me talking. I really need to learn how to keep my mouth shut! Thanks for dropping me a comms line, though.

[tealbeats-archived]

There's a soft scoff that leaves him; eye rolling as she speaks—like a disobedient child uninterested in what was being told to him. Sure, she could have done this a long time ago, but how was he supposed to know that she wouldn’t? In Ezreal’s mind, this could have happened regardless of whose Influence had part in it—this was his fate—it had to be. Living under a Nemesis, the doubts ( he thought ) his so called friends had placed in him—Nothing else made sense. Like this, it felt like he actually belonged somewhere—Thresh made sure of that—at least, Ezreal thought so.

“You’re the one that said you wanted me to understand.” His words are sharp as he snaps at her—the deep, echoed reverb behind his voice seeming to grow in volume from the sudden short temper—so unlike him, and yet familiar; the tone similar to the way they had fought before he had left and started avoiding her. His tongue clicks lightly against his teeth in idle thought—the way he carried himself not relaxed like it used to be—instead it was much too tense; as if he would explode at any moment from some sort of pressure. “This is me understanding. I went off to try and understand, to get advice—to figure out how I could come home without dreading being around you.” His nose wrinkles again—agitated; so, so agitated. A short fuse ready to ignite—he used to have more patience before, didn’t he? It didn’t matter.

The shadows shift a little more violently before they decide to calm down, Ezreal letting out a deep exhale in hopes to try and calm himself—but the conversation was not going as planned. And if continued to crumble, then she would be his enemy, too. He didn’t need all of these ties to his old life. No, he was trying to salvage this as a courtesy to her—they were on the same side, now. It should be easy—so why was it so much more difficult then he thought it was?

Ezreal knew better���of course he did. His genius was unparalleled by most—but he grew bored, generally. Doubtful. Concerned about his choices, his wants, his needs. To fit in, to be good, to be what people expected of him. He had enough--Enough of the expectations of others, enough of the pain brought upon him ( perhaps self inflicted by his own worries and thoughts ). He should have been stronger then to allow himself to become this--whatever this was, but youngers mind was made up. This was who he was now.

He liked the change.

"So why not be happy, huh? Now I'm not afraid of you, because I get it. I really get it. I'm better off this way." He muses, a brow cocking upwards in curiosity. Twisted? Nothing was twisted...Everything felt so clear to him. "He's not a stranger. He's the only one that was willing to listen to me. I chose this path, this was all ME, not anybody else--"

Animosity bubbled within him, but he paused as she moved around the island. The worry in her voice causes something to shift--the shadows move softly, this time--almost showing the half of his face that it covered before moving back when she grabbed onto his clawed, shadowed hand which once again pulsated with a purple light as a cry for help--Yuuto's silhouette apparent if one looked deep enough into it. He almost rips it away from her, but refrains, glancing away as if he was thinking... "I'm not changing." The deep echo returns, loud and nearly furious, as if she insulted him to his very core. A step back is taken from her, gaze formed into a piercing glare before he laughs--Not gentle and sweet as it once was, but teetering on the edge of insanity; the grin upon his features unsettling to most.

"This IS who i am! I'm a better version of myself, don't you get it!?"

"If you don't like it, well...Guess you're my enemy like the rest of 'em, huh?"

@withinchains cont.

She seemed angry—a response that he had expected from her with how he had been treating her. Avoiding her, saying things to her out of anger that a child shouldn’t be saying to his caregiver—his mother—and perhaps he had regretted them at the time. Perhaps he still does. He had reacted out of anger; out of fear—she was the only parent he knew. She had taken the boy from an orphanage at such a young age and raised him—raised him very well—and yet he was so obsessed with the fact that she wasn’t who he thought she was ( in his mind ) and that had bred a fear in him that he didn’t matter. How many times had she always been there for him? How many times had she helped him get out of a situation where he needed help? Every time—you couldn’t count it one hand. She was his mother—she loved him and he loved her, but Ezreal threw all of that away because of his insecurities and his fears and his emotional baggage that came from wearing his heart in his sleeve his entire life. The insecurities that he was only there for her image, that eventually he would have become this way because of her instead—

He was wrong. But it was much too late for him to have that revelation.

Those thoughts and those worries didn’t matter to him anymore. Nothing that had involved who he was prior to this really mattered. His so called friends, his mother, his life as a Star Guardian—he’d throw it all away for his new purpose, if he had to. Only one person—one being; the being that had turned him into this—mattered. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t come and see his mother. They were on the same side, now. Perhaps they could fix this after all. And if not, he wouldn’t care; his personality twisted into something sinister and much more dark from the pure, kindhearted boy he used to be. He was warped into something that one thought Ezreal would never become.

The clawed, shadowed hand curled and he pressed his chin against it, resting it against the arm of the seat he sat in, watching her carefully—listening to her carefully despite the eyes that flickered in his shadows, blinking and shifting before settling on her briefly. They closed; the shadowed half just that, now—wispy shadows that moved like a vigorous flame.

“Changed a lot more then that. Why’re you ignoring the elephant in the room? Last I figured, wasn’t this what you wanted? For me to see your side of things? To understand?” There’s a glint in his normal, purple eye—once baby blue in colour and filled with innocence and purity—now darkened and hardened—spiteful and malicious. The pulsating of light in his arm continues before he shakes it rather violently—angry, almost; causing it to stop for now, wrinkling his nose briefly before bringing his attention back to her.

“I over reacted, y’know. I shouldn’t have done what I did—Shouldn’t have avoided you, shouldn’t have been so harsh. I just didn’t get it, Morg—can’t you understand that?” It almost like a half assed apology, the way it comes out. Ezreal rises from his seat and steps towards her, the island the only think between them as he leans forward. He wants her to look at him—To see what he has become; to show her that this is what had happened in his time away. That this is who he was now, regardless of her influence.

“I met someone. Made things real clear about everything. Who I am, how people treat me. Turns out, I’m better off like this. You don’t look so thrilled.” He snorts, tilting his head softly to the side. “I thought you’d like to see me like this. Thought you’d be happy that I’m home, y’know?”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“Mom?”

[wanderinginksplot]

One-Shot: Sev + Motto

Sev x gn!reader fic, features the rest of Delta Squad as supporting characters.

Word Count: 1400 or so

Warnings: reader receives minor injuries (burns) on a mission

---

"Play di’kutla games, win di’kutla prizes."

If you had heard Sev say it once, you had heard him say it a thousand times.

Working with Delta Squad was normally fine. Honestly, it was outright entertaining on a regular basis. As an expert in untraceable comms, you were often partnered with commando squads. Infiltrating enemy planets was a norm in your job, and you made sure the squads could communicate with each other and nearby GAR ships regardless of which side controlled the planetside communications systems.

Delta was one of your favorite groups. Fixer was direct and to-the-point, efficient beyond all else. Scorch was side-splittingly funny, even in the middle of an intense battle. Sev was funny as well, though his humor was darker and full of wickedly clever observations. Boss was a natural leader, and he never felt the need to throw his authority around to make a point. More importantly, Delta Squad accepted you as one of their own, and your work with them was seamless in a way it wasn’t among other commando squads.

Of course, that also meant that you were subject to the same treatment as any other member of Delta Squad.

“Watch your fingers!” Fixer warned. “Heat gloves are standard issue for a reason.”

“Does it look like I have time to put on gloves?” you demanded. “Focus on covering me, and I’ll get this done.”

Two minutes, forty-seven seconds later, you had finished setting up the tower and taken a major step toward establishing communications on the Separatist-controlled planet. You would never admit it to Fixer, but you had thoroughly burnt several of your fingers on the superheated durasteel of the communication diverter’s inner core.

Crawling back through the brush to avoid enemy detection was awful. It may not have been so bad, but the burns were scattered across both of your hands and they were already beginning to blister.

You made it back in good time, despite the injuries you were trying to hide. Boss and Scorch had been the other team, going to plant detonators in the appropriate spots. Despite the comparative complexity of your task, you and Fixer were the first ones back. Sev was there to greet you, scowling at the pair of you.

“Took you long enough,” he grumbled.

“Excuse me, are we not the first team to finish?” you asked, satisfaction clear in your voice.

“Yeah, but if you had been faster, we would have an update on Boss and Scorch by now,” Sev countered. “You know how Scorch gets around too many thermal dets. He may have blown himself up by now and we missed it.”

“Considering how many detonators he had, I’m sure we would have seen the explosion from here,” Fixer told him.

You laughed at the solid point - half because Fixer was funny when he wanted to be and half to release the anxiety and adrenaline of a successfully completed stealth mission.

Fixer leveled an unimpressed look at you. “Besides, some of us could spend this time treating the injuries we’re trying to hide.”

“You got hurt?” Sev asked, frowning at you. From any other squad, it might have sounded like concern, but you immediately spotted it for what it was: a vague irritated belief that you would slow them down.

"Barely," you snorted. "Minor burns, nothing to worry about."

"Until the blisters pop and leave you open to infection," Fixed countered, already taking over the observation post Sev had been manning. "Oh-Seven, take care of it, please? I'm not up to playing medic right now."

"Oh, so I have to?" Sev griped.

You stood up, throwing a look of disgust at the pair. "I think I'll patch myself up, thanks."

You had barely cracked open Delta Squad's first aid kit when heavy footsteps warned that someone had followed you. You ignored Sev's red-streaked armor as he stepped up behind you, focusing instead on spreading bacta gel across the tender burns on your hands.

"Here, just- Would you let me do that?" Sev asked impatiently, taking the gel from your hands.

"I could do it myself," you told him, a little pointlessly, since he had already taken over.

"I know you could, but it'll be faster if you let me."

Sev had removed his helmet, and he had the stubborn set to his jaw that warned that he wasn't going to let this go. Rather than waste both of your time, you rolled your eyes and stuck out your hands. He knelt in front of you, the kit open beside him, and started to apply the bacta gel.

He worked in silence for a few minutes, callused fingers oddly gentle against your skin, until you couldn't take it anymore. "Go ahead, say it."

"Say what?" Sev asked, looking up at you with a frown on his scarred face.

"What you always say," you explained with a frown of your own. "Come on, it's basically your motto."

"I don't have a motto," Sev told you slowly. "I'm not some idiot with a motto. I'm not Scorch."

"Okay, but you can't think of a single phrase you repeat often?" You pressed. "Especially when someone gets hurt doing something you think is stupid?"

"Not really," Sev denied, clearly puzzling it over.

You watched him, aghast at the idea that you had been making up his insulting phrase. As he turned his attention back to your burns, you caught a glimmer in his eye and you nudged him with your foot.

"That's not funny, Sev!" you tried your best to sound furious, but the way you were laughing detracted from the effect. Sev chuckled along with you. "I thought I was going insane!"

"I wouldn't say it to you," Sev said, finishing the last bandage.

You stared at him. "Yeah, of course not. It isn't like you've said it to me multiple times in past missions."

"Well, those, you actually had done something stupid and you got what you deserved," he told you mercilessly. "But this time, you got hurt trying to complete a mission."

"Yeah, but I wasn't wearing the proper gear," you countered.

Sev didn't look impressed, picking up one of your carefully bandaged hands as he spoke. "I know burns, and heat gloves wouldn't have saved you here. Maybe the burns would have been less intense, but we would also be picking melted synthweave out of your hands."

You squeezed Sev's hand since it was still wrapped around your own. "Thanks for making me feel better, Sev, and for taking care of my hands."

"Well, I have to make sure my favorite comm specialist is willing to work with us again," Sev told you, helping you to your feet.

You had never taken a step away, and from your position standing close to Sev, you stared up with a dumb grin spreading across your face. "I'm your favorite comm specialist?"

"You're my favorite anything specialist," he told you and you beamed at him. To your complete shock, he returned your smile, his handsome face glowing with the quiet happiness of the moment.

You began to speak, though you had no idea what you planned to say. Unfortunately - or fortunately - you were interrupted by the arrival of Sergeant Boss and Scorch. Delta Squad's leader was supporting Scorch, who limped along making exaggerated noises of pain.

"Scorch, what happened? Are you okay?" you asked, horrified that he had been hurt.

"I didn't bring enough fuse," Scorch answered, immediately dropping his pained attitude - though his limp didn't change a bit. "Had to run from the site and I twisted my ankle."

"Well, play di'kutla games, win di'kutla prizes," Sev told him sourly as you shot him a disbelieving grin.

"Yeah, yeah," Scorch muttered. "This team doesn't appreciate my talents."

"Talents," Fixed scoffed.

"Of course!" Scorch replied, sounding offended. "It takes talent to get hurt this often and not die."

"The Kaminoans may have bred us for tenacity, but I don't think that's what they had in mind," Boss told him. "There's something to be said for learning from your mistakes."

"Isn't anyone on my side?" Scorch complained, eyeing you pointedly.

You sighed, but threw him some sympathy anyway. "I'm on your side, Scorch. I'm glad you're okay."

Fixer cut short Scorch's gloating. "That's only because you weren't the only one who was injured doing something stupid today."

Scorch gave you a commiserating nod. "Did Sev give you the speech, too?"

You glanced up at Sev. The scarred commando was watching you as he tried to bite back a smile. You shot him a subtle wink and said, "Yeah, something like that."

---

A/N - dedicated to myself, because I say "Play stupid games, win stupid prizes" way too often for someone who is usually the one playing the stupid game. Feel free to visit my masterlist for other one-shots and series, or make a request!

[littlesniggy]

Hi! How are you doing? I'm the anon who asked for the underage character and yes, obv I wasn't thinking about any nsfw since he is underage ^^ So can I ask you a scenario for Dellinger x fem reader? His reaction when a stranger try to flirt with her, and she's clearly uncomfortable with the situation

Thank you, hope you're having a nice day :3

Hey Anon! Thank you so much for requesting for Dellinger. First time writing for him and I think I'm not quite sure how he'd behave just yet but it's not too shabby either. I hope you enjoy it! Dellinger is a little shit but we all know this. If you are in a relationship with him, be prepared for a lot of questionable things lol.

Warning: maybe mention of blood, mild swearing

Pairing: Dellinger x female reader

Word count: 1.6k

You two haven’t been dating for long yet and it was your very first relationship. To think it would be with someone like Dellinger surprised even you. Especially since you had no idea he would actually feel the same way about you in the first place. He was like an odd-ball: either hit or miss and luckily for you it was a total hit. It had taken all your courage to tell him how you felt; you’ve always been on good terms and had a lot for fun together, even if you not always agreed with the way he loved to torture his enemies (or even his allies).

“You like me, Y/n? Of course, you do!” he laughed and put his arm around your shoulder, looking at you with an excited yet shit eating grin. “You’re fun to hang around, too! Wanna be my girl?” and that’s how you two started dating. It’s been challenging from time to time, peculiarly when it came to other boys looking at you. You never thought of him as being the jealous type but in hindsight you could’ve presumed as much; he didn’t like to share his stuff, he got mad when he wasn’t the center of attention, let alone when he got ignored, and he loved showing his things off to others. So, it was only natural for him to be protective over you.

“Ne, Y/n! Where you going? Why aren’t you asking if I want to come with you?” you heard his voice behind you, close to your ear. You jumped a little in surprise at his words, turning around to look at his naturally hungry looking eyes and the same old grin on his lips. “I didn’t think you would want to come with me. Told you I’d go to town and look for this book I’ve wanted for a long time. Remember? Your answer when I first asked you yesterday was: “As long as it’s not book with pictures of people getting tortured or some magical book where I can summon a gigantic beast, I’m out.”. Ring any bells?” you quoted him, crossing your arms in front of your chest, grinning at the young man in front of him.

“I’ve changed my mind. Let’s go!” and with that he grabbed your hand and lead the way. Stunned, you followed your boyfriend, wondering what has gotten into him all of a sudden. But you’d get your answer sooner than later…

At the book store you had chosen to look for the wanted item were a lot of people; women, man, children, toys – it seemed like everyone from this kingdom was here today and you could barely look at any of the books, let alone move forward to the section where you assumed the book to be. Surprisingly, Dellinger didn’t complain once; he had his hands crossed behind his head and was even whistling! What was wrong with him today?

A sudden shove had you bump into some guy standing next to you. “Oh, I’m sorry.” You apologized and lifted your hands as well as a sign you didn’t mean to. “Oh, no worries. It’s not too often a pretty young lady tries to flirt with me.” He laughed and you chuckled awkwardly. “Oh, I wasn’t trying to-“

“I’m just joking. I know you it was an accident.” He winked at you. Relieved you gave him a genuine smile, apologized once more and tried to make your way over to your destination.

“That was a weird guy, right?” you mumbled. When you were given no response, you turned around and saw – no one; at least no one you knew. “Dellinger?” you called out but couldn’t make him out in the crowd. With a shrug, you moved on, assuming he’d probably gotten annoyed and was now waiting outside or doing God-knows-what.

While looking at the different book titles in hopes of finding the one you felt as if someone was looking at you intently, and it made your body shiver. An uneasy feeling became more and more present in the pits of your stomach. As a consequence, you decided to slowly turn around and be prepared to find some old creepy man eye your body.

You were relieved to see it was not an old man but your relief turned into concern when the guy watching you turned out to be the same guy from earlier. He was holding a book in his hand and acted all surprised to see you here as well, smiling at you and putting the book away. From where you stood you couldn’t get a clear look on the title but you were pretty sure he wasn’t actually reading this book.

“And here we meet again. One could think you’re following me.” He said this cheesy line and you wanted to vomit but didn’t dare to upset him. Where was Dellinger anyway? He was always over you when anyone even seemed to be interested in you in the slightest. And now, that someone was actually flirting with you, he was nowhere to be found.

“It seems more like you are following me.” You said in a polite yet distant tone. “What makes you think that?” he asked, crooking his head to the side. You pointed behind him to the book shelf where he had put the book. “Cause either, you have a baby on the way and need some last-minute advice from a book since the section over there is for parents to be or, which is much likelier, you just pretended to read it.” You said, putting the book you were holding back in its place again. Your eyes flashed over the spines of several books but it seemed like you had no luck in finding the wanted one here.

“I guess you got me.” He admitted. You turned your gaze over to him again, seeing him practically stare at you. There was a silence after this for a while and it made you feel even more uncomfortable. What did he want?

“Well, is there anything I can help you with then? Since you made all this effort to follow me?” Please say no and just leave, you thought to yourself.

“Would you go on a date with me?” he straight out asked and put you on the spot. You weren’t the best at turning people down but in all fairness, it rarely happened anyways. “I…I have a boyfriend.” You said, sounding not very convincing.

“You don’t have to lie to me. Don’t be shy, I won’t bite. Besides, ever since I first saw you, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Please, give me one chance to prove myself to you.”

Anxiety took over more and more and you stepped a step back, bringing some more distance between the two of you. “No, really. I’m in a relationship.” And what do you mean ever since you first saw me? That was five minutes ago…”

“Maybe it’s not the first time I’ve seen you. I’m just saying; please give me one chance and I swear I won’t disappoint you.” He tried again, trying to reach for your hand, a warm smile on his lips that creeped you the fuck out.

All of a sudden, there was a different hand grabbing his and the guy winced a little. “Ouch, what the-“ but he was cut off when he looked at a maniacally grinning Dellinger, showing off his sharp teeth. “Didn’t you hear what she said? She’s taken.” He chuckled, his grip almost crushing his wrist. “Let go, man! Damn, it hurts! What’s your problem?!” he complained, trying to pry his hand off of his wrist. “What my problem is? I really, reeeeally want to tear you apart and see drown in your own blood.” A high-pitched giggle accentuated his threat and the guy’s face turned white, finally recognizing the young, flamboyant officer of the Donquixote family in front of him.

“I give you ten seconds to get out of here and never show your face in front of her or me again, understood?” he whispered, his eyes glowing red, hoping the guy would defy him. But he was way too scared and took the first chance Dellinger gave him to get out of there.

You watched the guy run for his life before you hooked your arm into his, smiling up at him. “Thanks.” You said. “How dare he try anything like this.” Dellinger cursed. “You shouldn’t have left me here in the first place. Where did you go?” you demanded to know. Your boyfriend’s grin became wider and realization slowly hit you.

“You knew what was going on.” You stated dryly and he couldn’t suppress the small giggles. “Did you also know he had seen me before?” your suspicions were confirmed with his next sentence. “Ever since we went to this stupid café two weeks ago.” You weren’t overly excited hearing this from him. “Did you also know he would come here today?”

“You know I hate book stores. Might as well make the whole thing fun to me.” He chimed, already pulling you out of the store.

“I can’t believe you! So, instead of telling me about this, you just watch him flirt with me and ask me out? And now you even let him get away with it?” your voice grew louder and louder, almost furious at his little stunt. Your anger, however, vanished within the next second.

“Who said I’d let him get away…?” If death had a name, it would most certainly be Dellinger. This boy will rip the other guy’s guts out and eat every single piece of him. This little game was just to fuel his anger and get the revenge you both deserved.

[cocosstories]

Loki One Shot

Hi! Can you do a loki x reader one shot where loki didn't die in infinity war cos reader saved him and he's starting to like her afterwards

Everything had happened so quickly. One moment you and the rest of the population of Asgard were on the ship, praising Thor, the new King, for saving everyone, the next the ship was overrun by Thanos and his 'children'.

You were born and raised on Asgard, your family nowhere noble in the least but favored by Odin and Frigga nonetheless and made to be aids to the throne.

Even with you being a bit younger than them, you grew up with Thor and Loki, learning from them and getting in trouble along side them just as much.

While everyone praised Thor for his accomplishments as well as expecting him to ascend to the throne one day, your eye was always on Loki.

"There is just something about him."

You would say to your friends when they would tease you about being in love with him, you always playing it off as admiration, which was true enough.

You were nowhere near as powerful as Loki but your powers were impressive nonetheless.

When you were no older than three years old, you began to show promise in the world of precognition. In other words, you could see the future.

Loki had always been impressed by your talents, even coming to you when he needed help with one of schemes.

As you got older, your feelings for him only deepened, even after everything he had done, you just couldn't shake it.

And now, here you were, your home destroyed, taking refuge on a ship that was now being taken over by a force set on distruction.

"There are two more stones on earth, find them my children and bring them to me on Titan."

"Father we will not fail you."

"If I might interject, if you're going to Earth, you might want a guide. I do have a bit of experience in that arena."

Loki walked from behind some wreckage where the two of you had been hidden.

"If you consider failure experience."

"I consider experience, experience. Almighty Thanos, I Loki, Prince Of Asgard, Odinson, the rightful king of Jotunheim, god of mischief, do hearby pledge to you, my undying fidelity."

As Loki spoke,  you saw the dagger appear in his hand just out of view to Thanos.

As Loki lunged the blade towards Thanos' neck, he was stopped by the newest stone he has collected.

"Undying? You should choose your words more carefully"

Thanos grabs Loki's arm, twisting it so the dagger falls out of his hand to the ground. He then grabs Loki by the neck, lifting him off the ground as Loki struggles helplessly to break free.

"You...will never be...a God."

Were the last words he says before Thanos crushes his neck, killing him and throwing him down in front of Thor who is being held.

Your mind comes back to the present just as Loki begins to offer his services to Thanos.

Rembering what is about to happen, you carefully make a move from your hiding spot and towards Loki.

Just as the dagger appears in his hand, you rush forward and take it from him, startling both Loki and Thanos equally.

Before Thanos can go after you or him, Loki grabs your hand and teleports off the ship and to what you can only guess is a safehouse of some kind, somewhere on Earth.

"Why would you do that? What were you thinking? He would have killed you!"

As soon as you had reached your destination, Loki was yelling at you, furious at you for ruining his master plan.

"No Loki, he would have killed you! I saw it happen. With even just the two stones he has, he is more powerful than any other being in any galaxy! You would never have gotten the blade near his skin and I couldn't just let you die!"

You screamed back at him, your emotions uncontrollable as the premonition from before replays in your mind again.

"So you risked your life to save mine? Why? Why would you do something so incredibly careless and stupid? You know what I have done. If Thanos would have killed me it would have been retribution for everything I have done in the past. I was willing to give my life to at least try and save everyone else. Why did you stop me?"

For the first time in a long time you saw something only very few people had seen in Loki before, sincerity.

"How is it stupid and careless to save someone you love?"

The last word came out as a whisper, you finally admitting what you had spent so long trying to deny.

"What?"

His head shoots up to to look at you.

"When you have faked your death before, each time I mourned, kicked myself for not saying the one thing I longed to say to you. But in the back of my mind, I had always had hope that you would come back, that it was another trick and it always was."

You stopped to take a deep breath, trying and failing to keep your emotions in check as you speak.

"What I saw tonight, it would have been real, you wouldn't have come back. You would have just been gone and I couldn't let it happen. I love you Loki. I have always loved you."

Realization hit him like a bullet as every single question as to why you constantly came to his defense or helped with was of his schemes was now answered.

He wonders how he could have missed it. How could the truth that was so clearly in front of him, be so lost on him?

You had always been there. Always ready to drop everything to help him.

You were never seen in any sort of romantic relationship, never even showed interest in one. Not that you weren't perused, you actually had many suitors in your time, all of which you had turned down without even a true answer as to why.

It had always intrigued Loki and now he knew the truth.

You watched as your revelation swirls in Loki's head.

As the minutes pass, you begin to plan your escape route, wanting nothing more than to run away and never look back.

"Y/N, wait."

Just as you reach the door, Loki grabs your arm.

"Loki, just forget I said anything ok? You are the Prince Of Asgard and who am I? No one. If it weren't for my parents being aids to the thrown, you wouldn't even know me. You wouldn't even.."

He stops you, taking your face in his hands.

"I wouldn't be alive. You aren't no one, Y/N. Not to me."

With that, he kisses you.

It was gentle but the passion behind it was felt through your whole body.

"Loki..."

The kiss ends and you look into his eyes, searching for an answer to the question you can't quite get out.

"I should have seen it before. I should have known. I'm so sorry it took me this long. I love you too, Y/N."

You smile with happy tears as he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him, kissing you again.

[lokis-army-77]

If You Please

Chapter eleven

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3560

This is technically a reader insert but without the (y/n) and all that. She also has no name mentioned so feel free to imagine as you please.

Follow the reader through the events of the Captain America movies and experience her love for Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: none

Note: Honestly, this chapter reads a little weird to me but my friend who helps me edit said it was fine. IDK going from the 40s to 2012 is weird when trying to write.

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Masterlist

Seven months had gone by since Steve and I had been unfrozen. This new world I suddenly woke up in was exhausting. Everything had changed from the simplest thing like manners to complicated things like technology.

Days after waking up, we had been sent to a place called “The Retreat” so we could catch up on the seventy years we had missed out on. There was so much that we took to writing everything down in small notebooks, so we could remember.

I caught onto using the new technology quicker than Steve since I had worked with Howard Stark for several years. Being able to adapt to strange and new tech on the fly was a requirement when working with him.

After those few weeks there, we were both moved into two separate government apartments located in New York. I wish I could say that it got easier with time, but it didn’t. Instead of going to hang out with Steve or actually trying to make acquaintances with anyone, I just stayed in my room, locked away from everything. Coping with being in the future was the easy part, learning to live without everyone I ever knew was hard.

I hadn't known peaceful sleep in a long time. Every time I closed my eyes I am met with nightmares. The softness of the mattress had made it feel like I would fall through at any moment, back into the ice. To try and combat this I pushed my bed into the far corner of the room and made a cot directly under the frame. It felt safer to lay on the hard floor in the dark. The nightmares still came through, sometimes they were battles, sometimes they were of the plane crashing, but most of the time they were about losing Bucky. Every time I woke up in a cold sweat and never went back to bed. I just stared unblinking at the metal that made the bed frame.

One night after a particularly taxing dream I decided to take a walk. It was three in the morning, so I wouldn't have to deal with a lot of people. I changed out of my pajamas into some of the clothes I had been provided. The clothes of the future were tighter than in the forties. It had taken me a while to get used to the feeling of fabric clinging to my legs and upper body. The outside world was quiet except for the occasional car passing by. I kept my eyes to the ground, not really caring where I ended up. I only looked up when I was almost run over by another late-night walker. Peering from left to right, my eyes fixed on an old faded sign hanging above me. The letters were just barely readable and said in large letters ‘Boxing gym’. With another survey of the area, I realized where I was. This was the gym that Bucky used to take Steve when teaching him self-defense. I had tagged along a couple of times before I had joined the SSR, I was surprised it was still here. I smiled weakly and turned to the door. The light inside was on, it couldn’t hurt to see if they were open. The door creaked open and I slipped in quietly. The sound of someone working out came down the long brick hallway. Hesitantly I made my way to the open doors that led to the sparring room.

Stopping just past the threshold, to my surprise, I spotted Steve, who was busy punching the life out of a punching bag. I walked through the small office and around the boxing rings before I stopped again and leaned against one of the columns a few feet away from where Steve stood. I watched him for a while before he landed a hard punch on the bag and it flew off into the distance. I started clapping slowly and he turned around in shock.

“Good job, you broke the bag, but you do know you’re gonna have to pay for that right?”

“Hey kid, I haven’t seen you in a while. I came by your apartment but you didn’t answer.”

“I know Stevie, I just haven't felt up to company since we got back to New York. I hope you can forgive me.” He looked at me with sad eyes and took three long steps in my direction. His arms came out to engulf me in a hug.

“It’s okay, I understand. Promise you’ll tell me if something's wrong, okay?” I nodded into his chest and he squeezed me tighter.

“I couldn't sleep, I guess you couldn't either.”

“No, too many thoughts.” He let go of me and went to get two more punching bags. He hung them up a few feet away from one another before turning to me and asking if I wanted to join. Pretty soon we were both laughing together if it felt almost like we were back home before everything happened. That was until the same dark-skinned man from that day seven months ago showed up. I later learned he was Nick Fury, director of SHIELD.

“I’m glad to find you both here.” He stated.

“Are you here with a mission, Sir?” Steve asked.

“I am.”

“Is this to try and get us back out in the world?” I asked.

“No, I'm trying to save it.” he thrust out an open manila folder. I grabbed it slowly and brought it to where Steve and I could both look at it. The blue cube that had evaporated Johann Schmidt was in the photograph pinned to the first page. In large bold letters beside the pictures spelled out TESSERACT. We slowly walked to a nearby bench and sat down.

“That's HYDRA’s secret weapon. I thought it fell into the ocean that day,” I whispered.

“Howard fished it out of the water when they went looking for you both. He thought what we think, that this cube could be an unlimited sustainable energy source.” Fury informed us.

“Who took it from you?” Steve questioned.

“He’s called Loki, he’s not from around here. We have a lot we're gonna need to catch you both up on if you agree to help. This world has gotten stranger than you already know.”

“I doubt anything could surprise us anymore, right Stevie?”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“Ten bucks says you’re both wrong.” Fury bet. We both got up from our seats and handed the file back. Steve went and grabbed another bag from the floor and I just headed straight for the door.

“There are debriefing packets at your apartments, read through them and get back to me by tomorrow afternoon. And before you leave, is there anything we should know about the tesseract?”

“You should have left it in the ocean.” Steve and I said at once before walking out of the gym. Once we were outside on the sidewalk we hugged and said our goodbyes for the moment and then went our separate ways.

The walk home felt longer than the walk to the gym, but this gave me time to think about what I wanted to do. Whether I wanted to go on this mission, or if I just wanted to lay low and live my life. By the time I walked through my front door I had almost made my decision, but I was waiting to read the file before I decided for good. With a quick look through the minimal information provided I sighed and threw the papers down onto my kitchen counter. Shaking my head I murmured to myself.

“No, I am not doing this. This cube is not worth it.” Rubbing my eyes I went back to my room and crawled under the bed, not caring that I was still in jeans and a t-shirt. I was not going to walk blindly into anything dealing with that cube again. I lost my fiance and everyone I have ever known because of that stupid blue thing, I'm not going to go anywhere near it again. I laid there quietly for a while before I eventually drifted off into a restless sleep.

The next morning I woke up with a start, almost hitting my head on the bed above me. Furious honking made its way from the street into my room. One thing I definitely missed from the past was how quiet it once was at seven a.m.

Along with the decision to not join the mission, I had also made up my mind about leaving New York. This had been a long decision in the making and the talk with Fury last night was enough to make the choice for me. I couldn't live in this city anymore. The places I used to hang out at were still here, but they had been renovated so many times that they were unrecognizable. Everywhere I turned It was like I was walking through a strange alternate reality. I saw glimpses of the past, like ghosts around every corner, it was worse when it was a place Bucky and I frequented.

When I had gotten back from the Retreat I made the mistake of going to mine and Steve’s old apartment. It had been torn down to construct a bookstore, along with several other retail shops. I broke down in the street when I saw it, waves upon waves of emotions crashed into me. All the memories I had there with Steve, mom, and Bucky had no place to live now other than in my mind. The next mistake I made was to go down the next few blocks to Bucky’s apartment he shared with his mom and sister, Rebecca. It was no longer there either, a bakery stood in its place. I turned and left before the onslaught of tears came. After that day I thought it would be best to go somewhere else, somewhere I had no memories.

I crawled out from under the bed and slowly moved to the bathroom to start getting ready for the long day to come. Once I had showered and gotten dressed I sat myself down on the living room sofa, looking wearily at the telephone on the end table. Hesitantly I picked up the receiver and dialed the number that had been in the tesseract briefing file. It rang twice before Nick Fury answered.

“Mr. Fury, I’m calling to tell you that I won’t be joining your team for whatever mission you have going on. I just want to lay low and rebuild my life and live it quietly without interruption.” I let out a long breath.

“Well, that’s unfortunate. Was really hoping to have you fight with us. If you change your mind, you know where to contact me. Goodbye Agent Rogers.” He hung up quickly after that, not giving me a chance to tell him goodbye as well. The next call was going to be the hard one, I had to tell Steve my plans. I dialed his number slowly as I raised the receiver to my ear. It didn’t even have time to get through the first ring before Steve picked up.

“Hello?” He asked on the other end.

“Hey, it’s me.”

“What’s up kid. Have you called Fury about joining the mission? I called about an hour ago letting them know I’d help.” He sounded a little enthusiastic.

“That’s actually what I’m calling about. I’m not sure how you’ll feel about this but I’m not going to help with the mission.”

“Oh,” he sounded surprised. “Why not? I thought you’d want to help get rid of that thing once and for all.”

“It’s not that, I want nothing more than for the tesseract to be gone for good. I just don’t think I can be a part of it, I don’t want this thing to take over my life if we can’t get rid of it. This brings me to another important thing I need to tell you. I can’t stay here in New York, so I’m moving to DC.” He was quiet for a while after I had said that, the only thing I could hear coming from his side was his breath. I grew more anxious by the minute waiting for him to say something.

“What do you mean you’re moving? Why can’t you stay here with me?”

“Don’t be selfish.” I snapped.

“I’m not being selfish, you are.” he raised his voice. I huffed through my nose, getting annoyed.

“I can’t stay here any longer. I have no idea what it is like for you, but for me, being in this city is torture. I see ghosts from the past every time I leave my house. I can’t go anywhere without seeing him, and every time I see him, I break down. I never got to say goodbye and that day plays over and over in my head. Steve, I’m being tormented with nightmares to the point where I have barely gotten five hours of sleep in the past week. I need to get out of here whether you like it or not.” Tears had started to stream down my face as I yelled into the phone.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I could have helped you, I still can help you if you let me. If you leave I can’t keep you safe, I can’t protect you like I’m supposed to.” He was using his soft “grown-up” voice he always used with me when I was younger to try and calm me down but the tears kept streaming down my cheeks at a rapid pace.

“I can protect myself, we did take the same serum,” I choked out. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to bother you with my problems, I can deal with them myself. Plus you have your own things to deal with, you don’t need to help me with mine.” My head was starting to hurt now and my cheeks and neck itched with quickly drying tears.

“Fine. The only way I will be okay with you leaving is if you promise to call me at least twice a week and you let me help you move.” I gave a strained laugh and nodded, even if he couldn't see it.

“Okay, it’s a deal. I actually already have an apartment lined up, so you can come over and help me pack everything up whenever you want to. I’m going to try and be out of New York by the end of next week.”

“I’ll be right over.” I laughed as I told him that I’d be waiting. I laid the receiver back down in its spot and stood up to go to the bathroom. I stared at myself in the mirror, thinking. I was glad my relationship with Steve could handle an argument, understand one another, then go right back to normal, I don’t think we would be this close if it couldn't. I blinked back a few stubborn tears and bent down to grab a rag from the sink cabinet, I dampened it in warm water then wiped the dried tears from my face. The warm water felt wonderful on my skin.

Over the next week and a half, Steve and I boxed up what few belongings I had and packed them and the furniture into a moving truck. I didn’t own a car so the moving truck would be my transportation to DC. One of the many things SHIELD had us do was take a modern driving test, which wasn’t hard, just a few more signs to remember and more gadgets in the car than there used to be, I ended up passing with flying colors.

By Friday morning we had everything ready to go. Steve would follow me on his motorcycle and I would drive the truck the whole three and a half hours to my new apartment.

We stopped several times on the way down, mainly so Steve didn’t have to sit on the bike for the whole three hours straight. We also stopped for lunch. All in all the trip took us about five hours, with traffic added. We made it to my new home just after two and we started moving my belongings in immediately.

Admittedly the apartment was way too big for just me but I liked the extra space, it was different from the tiny two-bedroom apartment I had grown up in. The first thing I made sure to unpack and put up was the bed. I still hadn't told Steve I wasn’t actually sleeping in the bed, but he didn’t need to know that. After that clothes were sorted through and put in their respective places. With our enhanced strength and stamina, we had the whole place relatively furnished in just under two hours. We stopped for dinner when everything had been brought up from the moving truck.

The day went by fast with us talking and laughing like we used to, it was a good change of pace from my usual aimlessly roaming around my apartment alone. But, all good things have to come to an end and Steve had to leave. He pulled me into a tight hug, almost crushing me, and wouldn’t let go until I pinky promised to call him several times a week. I just laughed and promised him I would. I was sad watching him walk down the hallway to the stairs.

I turned back into my apartment and closed the door, locking it behind me. I stared at the box littering the floor and decided to get to work unpacking the rest of what we hadn’t gotten earlier.

Most of my belongings I found in thrift stores and antique shops around the city. It may have been the twenty-first century now, but that wasn’t stopping me from making my home a comfortable, familiar space. If you walked in from the outside world, you would have thought you had been transported to the past with how much authentic 1940s and before things I had littered about. Some things had been saved from the apartment we lived in in the forties. I learned a few weeks before we came back from the retreat that Peggy had been the one to put everything in storage after they had failed to find Steve and me in the ice. I had gone through all of it and took out what I wanted to take with me and Steve had done the same. I was thankful Peggy had done what she did, otherwise, everything would have been lost to time.

That night as I tried to sleep, I realized it was a little easier to relax. DC was a whole lot quieter than New York, there was no honking or yelling every two seconds to keep me awake. I was left alone in almost complete silence, which for others may be worse than being bombarded with noise, but I didn’t mind. I fell asleep almost an hour after laying down for the night and had a restless sleep. I woke up many times in the night covered in sweat, but I couldn't remember the dreams, anything I could remember dissipated as soon as I opened my eyes.

I woke up again very early the next morning, the clock on my wall said it was four forty-five. It was still dark out, but I could hear birds starting to chirp. I crawled out from under the bed frame and went to put on some exercise clothes. Running always helped to clear my mind after not being able to get any sort of rest. The run itself didn’t take long, even though it was seven miles, any normal person would be exhausted but I had barely broken a sweat. I did get to see some nice places, taking a route around the zoo, to the National Cathedral, and then back around to the Dupont Circle neighborhood, where my apartment was. The sun was just starting to come up as I made my way back into my building.

Although I had just moved in the day before, I was ready to start finding some sort of job. The money SHIELD was giving me to help assimilate back into the world comfortably was appreciated, but I wanted to make my own way in life without their help. Finding a job was going to be harder than it used to be, but I did have expertise in several areas. Upon being unfrozen, along with the driving tests, SHIELD created a new resume for me. I had degrees in history pertaining to the 1940s, World War II, and several of the New Deal programs, with a specialty in the SSR. I was also given a Veteran ID, although I don’t really know how that one works because I definitely was not a part of the apparent ongoing fighting in Afghanistan. I still looked twenty-four, I doubt anyone would believe it.

Anyway, I had interviews lined up for today at the Smithsonian, and hopefully, the resume that SHIELD created and my knowledge would be enough to land a job. I had already figured that I would be volunteering at the local VFW. I knew I could find people there to relate to and hopefully be able to make some friends.

Tag List: @ginger-swag-rapunzel @underc0vercryptid-reads @geek-and-proud @intothesoul @leyannrae @starkleila

[garblegox]

• Humpty Dumpty Elegy 3 | five books on ☠DEATH🌼 •

The group held a vote on whether to kick Mr. Dumpty out for a year.

Yes won.

I wasn't in on the deliberation, behind the scenes. I'm not a big wig; didn't even get a vote. But I know three big things tipped the scales: Our safety, the perversion, and content violations in chat.

Once we had all taken off our pity goggles, we started to wonder why we overlooked all the murder-suicide commentary. We also thought, in horror, about the reactions of our loved ones, girlfriends, or wives, if we exposed them to Humpty's antics.

A few long-time regulars on the discord were becoming noticeably more absent since he joined. One said a year ago that he wouldn't tolerate Humpty Dumpty's bullshit. He meant it, and he made his point through his actions from the start.

We wanted our other friends back. Friends we'd known for many more years; who actually participate in games with the group; who are gregarious and entertaining; Friends that haven't designated the entire group to be their therapist.

Not everyone had bad memories of Humpty. Because some never logged on when he was in voice chat.

It's officially an elegy.

We all feel gross. Our admin, despite all the negative testimonies, including his own, felt that booting Dumpty was a bitter pill to swallow. He's only ever banned people for egregious, obvious, suicide-by-admin type behavior. But he also felt a bit ashamed for letting people in his group be exposed to such an individual.

In a way, we could hold ourselves responsible for not being more firm in enforcing our boundaries. Five "no"s, and one "yes", means "yes". Five "no"s, a "yes", and a "man, Humpty, you're really a piece of shit, you know that?" also means "yes" just the same. I know how to say "no". And with Humpty, I didn't do my best.

But again, we were never actual therapists, and Humpty rarely acted like a friend. What kind of friend makes you have to consult with books by FBI agents on establishing firm boundaries? Nutty fuckin douchebag friends. I did appreciate him buying me Doom, though. That felt genuinely nice before he cracked a whip at me about it.

This time, I'm gonna try to be far more respectful. He is a human. He is lonely. He does have a lot to learn. And I get no pleasure from his exile. Maybe relief, but no schadenfreude.

Before, I was writing from the perspective of someone at the end of their rope. After experimenting with every level of intensity, trying to get these points across, the only level I hadn't tried was the furious, "Okay fuckhead, you're dead to me. If you don't want to do it the easy way, we'll do it the humiliating way" level of intensity.

It's been fun. But my anger has only one thing left to do, and that's diminish. I got a lot of books for Humpty Dumpty to read, and it's going to be hard to keep the fire hot.

My overall goal is still to share books with people, and to learn from the finest anti-model I've ever met. I told Dump about what I was writing, the reason why, and the fact that I was trying to eviscerate him. He chuckled at me and never got around to reading it, which kind of emboldened me to crank up the spice.

Now that he's cut off, there's a far greater chance he revisits this series. I'll focus on making it actually readable for him too, and not a massive diarrhea cannon aimed at his face. I'll sound like how I spoke to him pre-Twelve Days of Christmas, when I was in investigation mode; When I had hope for him. I got into this mess via sympathy.

"I'm going to kill myself" was Hump's #1 catch phrase. I still reckon he stole it from Wednesday for attention, but whatever, lets just humor him. I don't want that to happen. And if he was ever tempted to really do it, it might be after getting swept off into the goatscape.

So, as we kick off our more namaste-like, Dumpty-free future, let's begin with my favorite books about DEATH. Books a suicidal cat might dig. I know I did.

• #1 Man's Search For Meaning by Viktor Frankl •

Cried like a silly bitch at work, the other day, thanks to this book. I re-listened to it on my phone, and you'd think I spent the whole shift slicing onions.

I'm blessed with coworkers whom I can joke about it with. In the kitchen, we have two types of conversations on line: peep-to-peep chatter; or shouting from one corner of the room to the other, as a sort of performance to make front of house laugh.

Our favorite hits include shouting about: Familial trauma or neglect, sleep disrupting insecurities, suicidal thoughts, political cynicism, nihilistic bile, and the last thing we had a good fuckin cry about. Like a half dozen Statlers and Waldorfs, heckling existence itself.

This one produced some rare tears, though. Tears of awe. This feels like one of those, "Read-every-few-years-for-the-rest-of-my-life" type books.

Known as "the third school of Viennese psychology," Viktor Frankl's "Logotherapy" was first put to the test when he survived three years, in four different Nazi concentration camps. From, "logos" meaning, "meaning" or "reason", logotherapy focusses on the existential meaning of a patient's existence.

Frankl would often ask patients, after they spilled out all their woes, "So, why haven't you killed yourself, yet?" It wasn't rhetorical, he wasn't just trying to be hilarious, the "why" was the point of his entire practice.

"One who has a why to live can bear almost any how" -- Friedrich Nietzsche (aka Frick Nitzels)

Viktor witnessed what happened to a person when their meaning was lost. A man, who lived to see March 31st, the day he prophesized would be his liberation, died two days later when it became clear his dream wouldn't come true. First, he went catatonic, then came typhus. Death by April Fools.

Meanwhile, another man, who prayed to god to transmute all of his suffering into protection for his loved ones in other camps, took every measure of sadism and misery with a steady return of hope. That's not masochism, that's alchemy.

I discussed with Humpty the importance of how he constructs a narrative around his life. That he cultivates nihilism at his own peril. That his big strong brain only has access to half of the truth, if he only focusses on the objective ones. Psychology has a reductionism problem, where mechanical focus on clinical diagnoses reduces people to barely animals.

For some people, their neurology is perfectly sound. Not an imbalance in sight. Their lives? Ship-shape & Bristol; Ivan Ilyich approved; all rites passed; A G R E E A B L E. But how do they feel to be alive? Like the biggest bag of worthless shit.

Why? What makes some people seemingly impervious to psychiatric intervention? Because not all psychiatrists think "the meaning of life" is a scientific topic, and therefore not their role to discuss. Which means you can spend a lot of time learning about psychology, and never learn a single subjective truth.

This is why self-diagnosis is so risky. Where is any of this bullshit I'm writing about on Web MD?

So start here. Evaluate self-help by more logotheraputic standards. Ask, "does this even acknowledge the importance of meaning in my life, or help me pursue it?"

This is my favorite shit to summon tears with. I'm not fully sure why. But if I need tears on queue: "I am here- I am here-..." and I'm away. Same at work, as while I write this now. Makes me wonder what madness even means.

• #2 The Road To Character by David Brooks •

What does Dumpty value?

Not dating fat or ugly women; Getting the negative attention of Japanese videogame developers on Twitter; Being seen as the brother of a girl who isn't his biological sister, or in his family at all; $750 Shadow The Hedgehog statues; Not being a "normie"; and many other purely worthless things.

He's where I started wondering if chronic depression might be a philosophical issue for some people, as opposed to a contextual or neurochemical one. The man will never improve till he wraps his head around the idea of intrinsic values.

There's zero hope of Humpty living a happy life without a moral compass. Sadly for him, he's not a real psychopath, who can easily find all the eudaimonia he wants, just at other people's expense, guilt free. He's a dull narcissist, whose fate is just a crescendo of greater and greater solitude; a deeper and more empty abyss, till annihilation.

This is a book I read early, in my journey to deconfuckulate my brain, and it played a major role in most of my Humpty-scolding, largely without me recognizing it. Upon re-reading, I was surprised to find it influenced my decision to read 4 other books over the years. Including Man's Search For Meaning, and Culture And Anarchy (BANGER) by Matthew Arnold.

Btw Matthew Arnold is the guy who gave us the modern usage of "philistine." I'll be writing more about him, because his book is as applicable today as it was seven generations ago. That book is 2 Yosemite Sam guns/2 Yosemite Sam guns, bang bang bang.

Maybe you're like me, and "moralist" sounds like an insult. Well, Brooks isn't here to scold anyone or be a nerdy little bitch. Don't let anyone fool you, this isn't religious or conservative propaganda, it's another contribution to logotherapy. Take it from a pathologically anti-authoritarian douchebag like myself.

He gives a couple handy binaries to help organize your priorities. "Adam I vs Adam II" virtues, or "Resume vs Eulogy" virtues.

The Adams refer to how in Genesis, Adam displayed two different sets of virtues at different times. Adam I is practical, marketable, flexible, conditional, and Hellenistic. While Adam II is spiritual, self-contained, disciplined, unconditional, and Hebraistic.

Adam I is a great object, but a vacuous subject. Adam II puts little value in the objective world, in favor of a richer subjective one. Not everyone is in a rush to hire Adam II for a job, but everyone's coming to his funeral to pay their respects. Spending time around Adam II is mind expanding, and spiritually enriching.

You see the orange of that cover? That's the yolk I've been trying to get into Humpty's empty fucking shell the whole time. But little did I know I'm just a stupid normie, trying to argue against the axiom that life is meaningless. Am I really that cruel for calling Humpty empty? He's the only motherfucker I know to be like "Yeah, sonder is bliss, but leave me out of it. I'm an ant, not a hill, in this useless head of mine."

We could hold modern psychology responsible for a lot of this. When people dropped faith, and abandoned priests, they created a vacuum in their hearts. I think you can fill it with a multitude of things, without going back to church. But to fill it with psychology exclusively is a disastrous mistake. If you want dogma, just go back to church. Way better chance of turning out friendly.

When Humpty asked for help, what did he have in mind? He claimed he was continuously improving, just by being in our presence. But I know "improve" has nothing to do with eulogy virtues, coming from him. It's why I became convinced he was just looking for attention. The sweetness of a spotlight.

Everyone in the group has got eulogy virtues, and the kind of worries that'd fill Adam II's heart with the warmest sympathy. Wednesday is someone who has exhausted all conventional strategies for fighting depression; all the neurochemical and contextual battlefronts have been braved by him. But the real victories have been existential; A change in philosophy. (Plus, our frontal lobes grew in. If you're under 25 look forward to that shit. It's nice. 👍👍👍👍)

There's no such thing as building character through osmosis. Brooks, like many others in this series, see it as a painful reconstruction project. Parts of you need to be dismantled, examined, and often thrown away. This is why this series is so heinously mean. Humpty is the only one that can humble himself; For me to do it is just humiliating. I tried to lead this horse to this water, and this horse stomped it into a mud puddle.

Another thicc scoop of logotherapy, with a stoic cherry on top. I said that it got me to read four other books, but really it's a bibliography of more than a dozen great authors we should all read before we die. From Mary Ann Evans to Montagne. He makes St Augustine sound like Iceberg Slim. Bestseller for a reason.

• #3 Denial Of Death by Ernest Becker •

Hey, I was just wondering if it'd be cool if I could just be immortal and unforgotten forever? At least for a few millennia. I'm thinking Giza pyramids level longevity. Should be easy. I like a good bite-sized goal.

A lot of people will tell you that the reason they, or anyone else, do anything is to get laid. That at the nucleus of all their heroism, striving, and anxiety, is sex. But why is sex so important? Because we're mortal. The real nucleus is death. The one bone our subconscious chews away on, day and night.

This is where "monkey brain" doesn't apply. Death anxiety is a unique byproduct of human intelligence. It's based on our ability to treat abstract symbols as if they were as concrete as the things they symbolize. A banknote, representing cold hard gold glows in the hand of its owner, like real precious metal; a man wearing a hat, that signifies his leadership over 50 armed men, can be as threatening alone with his hat as he is with his all his men in tow; And looking at the corpse of another human is a glimpse at one's own future. As if your death were mine too.

Every bit of psychological progress is just a wobbly house of cards if you built it before grappling with death. It's the "worm at the core of our pretentions to happiness."

We've all heard the story, someone reaches the tippity-tip-tap-top of the hippity-hip-hap-heap and what do they do? They stoop, put their chin to their fist, furrow their brow, and bum everyone the fuck out with an unsolicited existential crisis.

Because you ain't a pyramid you silly bitch. You a poopy worm.

This book though, in all seriousness, is all seriousness. When I read this I was like "FINALLY! Freudian psychology without all the awkward erections!" See, Freud was 95% right, but his dogmatic obsession with orgasms left his work in need of some decryption.

This book is where we all stop pretending we're any different from Humpty Dumpty. When we act out, we're lashing against our fear of death; fear of heroism; fear of success. When we reach to great heights, we're grasping at immortality.

Lets be straight up, Humpty's not stupid. He can give you a crystal clear description of objective facts, plus secondary and tertiary details. That brain of his is firing on all cinderblocks. The problem is, the neurotic are people who see things with perfect clarity, rather than confusion.

Humpty knows he's mortal. He knows heroism is just a reflex, to either uselessly distract yourself from death, or futilely attempt to negate it. He knows success will just leave him with one last thing to do: die, and be forgotten.

But he doesn't handle those facts, lets say, gracefully. His solipsism has him convinced he came up with all these notions himself. Anyone who appears to grasp them, AND put them towards a happy life, must not grasp them properly.

A little stupidity could do Dumpty some good. Or as Ernest calls it, "legitimate foolishness". The religious call it, "faith". His biggest fears are, making a fool of himself, and buying into comforting lies. He won't talk to women because of course they're going to reject him; He won't join a meatspace community because of course they don't want an autist, or an independent thinker; Of course he won't spend time on self-help, it's either redundant, or futile.

Maybe he's right, because you know, each "of course not" has a long flowchart of if-thens and either-ors behind it, that he spent DAYS ruminating on. Instead of one moment, where he tests his pessimistic hypotheses. Testing would be foolish, when you consider the prior arithmetic.

If Humpty looks even a little foolish, people instantly spot his autism and then he's DOOMED.

He's such a god that he can predict the future, but not withstand it. And such a worm that life is a joke, but too sacred to play with it.

You think "worm" is an insult. But most people don't even live up to a worm's standards; worms leave the world around them a better place. All they do is enrich. I bet if we didn't have worms, plants and fungi would officially cancel this "terrestrial animal" project they've been experimenting with for a while.

For want of a worm, the dirt was lost. For want of a dirt, the food was lost. For want a food, the poop was lost. For want of a poop, life was lost. For want of a life, the Earth was lost. For want of a Earth, God was lost. And all for the want of some shit little worms.

• #4 The Worm At The Core by Sheldon Solomon, Jeff Greenberg, and Tom Pyszczynski •

Giving myself only a month to discuss this was HUBRIS. Good fuckin JESUS god! Then again, the work has all been done, I'm just trying to waft some air from these books at people's noses. It's gloomy, but this is the bread isle for the existentially starving. Virgin Mary toast, by tha loaf.

All that stuff back there? Ernest Becker? Not a scientist, that guy. It was one of those dirty rotten philosophy books. Eew! If you ask any traditional scientist nowadays, what they think about the importance of philosophy, a heartbreaking percentage think it's obsolete. Which to me, means a heartbreaking percentage of scientists are arrogant brainless fuckin' tumors.

When Denial Of Death dropped in '73, it garnered a ton of hype. It inspired a lot of art. But the scientific community abandoned it like a mamma bird, ditching her nest of chicks because they carry a foreign smell. They felt a little cucked by Kierkegaard, the pre-Freudian post-Freudian. And they'll never be outshone by a theologian. Not willingly.

But there were still scientists looking to bring Becker's work into the realm of the empirical. People like our authors here. Data, studies, models of predictability, nice science shit. The result? TMT, or "Terror Management Theory." Sounds so metal.

It's a treatment lane. Some people are mentally ill due to life circumstances, genetics, physical sickness, etc. For which, there are drugs, CBT, and lifestyle adjustments. One illness can be the result of many different influences, and can thus be treated by many different things.

One drastically overlooked influence however is existential dread. Yes, it can kill you.

Drugs won't change your relationship with mortality. All they can do is take away the physical manifestations of our inner conflict. But they don't answer questions once and for all. With the exception to psychedelics, which I highly recommend. A psychedelic near-death experience is a good time. Try experiencing a little eternity, and tell me you long to live forever.

You're longing for the scariest thing IN THE UNIVERSE!

Cognitive behavioral therapy is great for misbehavior. But behaving like a content person, when you're not, doesn't make you a content person. It's painful, like bone tinnitus. It doesn't answer important subjective questions. Doesn't wipe away the oily film of the absurd.

Lifestyle adjustments are great, but again, it's all extrinsic. Perfect in the meantime, as you're working on coming to terms with your mortality. But your lifestyle will adjust itself anyway, as your fear of death diminishes. It's one way you know its coming along. However I'd never assume I'm over my fear, rather that I'm just artfully dancing around the topic in my head. Once again, an art, not a science.

Do I have a healthy relationship with death? I think I do. Sadly, I think it has a lot to do with my parents, a healthy dosage of dying pets and peers, and most importantly, 3 catastrophic nightmare psilocybin trips. Things I can't share with others; All non-fungible experiences.

The shroom inhibitions were another big reason I gave up on Humpty. You gotta be humbled, you gotta be scared, you need to practice your death before you die. You can't just manage death terror with sarcasm, and catatonic pessimism. He needed to see what the fuck a "monkey brain" can really do.

Our generation has made such a mockery of suicide. All the yapping about it is becoming profane. Whether we play that card for laughs, or just to hear another person beg us to keep on living, we play it as often as we can. Why? Why cry so much god damn wolf?

I think it's a "proximal defense" against terror. We construct what they call proximal and distal defenses against death's effect on our emotions.

Distal defenses are like a roof over your head, and mortal terror is like the rain. Distal defenses do most of the work, keeping subconscious thoughts under control, long before they emerge onto the surface. But when the rain gets through our roof, our proximal defenses play the role of a bucket, catching individual leaks.

Humpty's roof is rusty, corrugated swiss cheese. He thinks the scheme of things is all a sham. Group oriented values are the values of a sheep. He's abandoned all hope of having kids, and has sour-graped on the topic entirely. The rain gets in with full force.

His bucket? He turned it upside down, painted "suicide" on the side, and now wears it on his head. He's soaked up to the neck, shivering, and laughing from the dark. You won't fire him, he'll quit. Everything in his life has been pure fate, except for his death. That'll be his creation.

• #5 The Myth Of Sysyphus by Albert Camus •

Camus and I are perfect examples of the fact that being super handsome and cool doesn't make your life happy or more meaningful. Don't worry 'bout it. 'Sno big deal.

I'm barely smart enough to read shit like this. I re-read everything before I write about it, and I re-re-re-read this one. Felt like an Aesop Rock song, where I'm carried along by isolated little lines and phrases that blow my mind. And only after repeated exposure, do I start to get the thread from start to finish.

The point is, Sisyphus is a bad muthafucka. Don't pity the man, he's a hero. Life is an absurd Sisyphean bunch of goofishness. This book focusses on the question of suicide, in the face of this reality. The rock is going to roll back down hill. Why push it up?

I might be mistaken, but I'm pretty sure all four of the previous books have referenced sexy ass Albert Camus. That wasn't intentional, but it's pretty neat. If this book feels like it's really tearing your mental asshole open, try easing into it with the other ones. I'm still loosening up for Kierkegaard. The one guy all five books can't stop slobberin' on about.

One thing I liked about Humpty was that he recognized the absurd, and it consumed him too. We shared the same harrowing passion. I think he had a bitchboy response to the issue, but to be engaged with it at all was something I respected deeply within him.

In a way, a "normie" is someone who has either never grappled with absurdity, or lives to avoid it at all costs. We share a disdain for people like that. Especially the avoiders. Humpty wants what Camus calls "living without appeal"

That is, appeal to a god, an ideology, a fiction, or hope. Anything that would insult his genuine gift of lucidity. His atheism, individualism, rationalism, and cynicism are virtues of his. I got no books on abandoning any of those things. But they're a heavy ballast, and they can sink you if you're reckless. An issue that really only effects the smartest people, to toot all our horns. Hey you, give yourself a toot!

Honestly, I've probably spent more time telling Humpty he needs Jesus, than I've said he needs Camus. Because I think he's too Dunning-Kreuger to take him seriously. If something resembles a stupid movie, TV show, or game he likes, he'll consider himself already schooled on the topic. And there's plenty of flippant absurdist media out there to distract him from that good-good shit.

Albert gives 3 examples of living an "absurd life" without appeal. An actor, a seducer (Don Juan), or a conqueror. It should be noted that Humpty is quite deliberately none of these things, and Wednesday is dying to be all three at once. The act of wearing a mask in social settings is extremely degrading, in his opinion; he says women reject him, but he wouldn't dare approach them anyhow, for love is short-lived and exceptional; And he knows everything conquerable is re-conquerable. The point is, you ain't gonna make Humpty look stupid, by fooling him into carrying that rock anywhere.

He also discusses Dostoyevsky's character, Kirilov. A man who committed "logical suicide". After grappling with the absence of god, and his lack of spiritual purpose, Kirilov sought revolt, freedom, and passion through taking his own life. This is the character I think Humpty most resembles.

It's as if Dumpty has the myth backwards in his head. At the top of the hill is death, and at the bottom of the hill is life. Like death is the burden he shoulders, and life is the inevitable retrograde from all his hard work. He can kill himself, or millions of others, and the worms will eat, nutrients will flow. Life will flourish like nothing happened. Fed only sooner in his haste.

This book has drastically improved my attitude at work. Few jobs are more blatantly Sisyphean than cooking food and washing dishes. And I think few cooks handle it with as positive an outlook as me.

Granted, I can't wait to leave. It's also one of the few jobs where you just get burned every day. The palms of my hands are a permanent strawberry bubblegum colour, while the backs are a ghostly pale mick beige; I'll fucking destroy you in a game of hot potato. But in the meantime, I'm proud to carry my daily rock with dignity.

In fact, inspired by the masterpiece, Holes, I like to think of my work like Madam Zeroni's pig. When I'm carrying a 50lb flour bag down four flights of stairs twice a day, or dumping 180lbs of canola oil into their fryers to start the morning (240 if it's dump day), I hear her spooky ass voice in my head. I watch my body get stronger, and I feel some squaring of my debt to the universe. Whatever it takes to be Sisyphus with a smile.

I guess Humpty was looking to be my rock. I was hoping he'd find his own.

• End bit •

(Oops, this was late. Real dickfuck move from someone trying to give life advice. Although I get a free pass thanks to Atomic Habits, so long as I don't fuck up twice in a row. Considering the massive topic, the drastic change in direction, and waiting 15 days to start writing... well I don't have any valid excuses either way. Just gotta not do it again. Okay? Capeesh? Prick?)

It's amazing how quickly the worst memories began to fade the second I didn't have Humpty Dumpty around to resent. It helps that he's a pretty textbook case of himself, and there are countless other people like him to remind me of our time together.

You gotta wonder, "what kind of hyper-demanding asshole friend expects one to read this many books?" honestly I never expected that. I thought Humpty came to Wednesday and I, believing we had knowledge to share, and I spent close to two years, thoughtfully trying to inject lessons from our reading/life into conversations with Humpty. Not only did he breeze by them with zero feedback, he often chose to argue with us directly.

It's not like he's just never been exposed to these things, but would have loved to be. He's always been bent on disproving them.

This series had a different aim, just before I turned on Dumpty. I called it "Books My Dumbass Friends Need To Read." I used the same five books, with 5 different write-ups, posted it, and after all the fun of writing it, it felt completely wrong.

I've been teasing my other friends for a long time, that they all gotta read some of this shit, instead of just getting the sparknotes from me. These books have patched up issues for me that my friends continue to grapple with, and one of the only tools I know of to fix them is a nice book.

(and shrooms)

But my heart wasn't lashing out at them at all. For a number of big reasons. First, they all read books, unlike Humpty. It's what makes book recommendations possible in the first place, and why I don't need to blog at them. They're all bonafide seekers, who are finding happiness at respectable paces. I learn from them just as well. God bless em. Second, none of them use the group as an emotional barf bag. We all expect ourselves to bring something to the table to REWARD people for giving us attention.

I was furious with Humpty Dumpty. I was tired of wasting the group's time, interviewing him about his made up psychoses. Hours on this fucking piece of shit, who'd move the goalpost to a new fantasy dimension of cum and shit and sarcastic scoffs the second you got an eye on his shadow's true form. I needed to put this iceberg of wasted patience far from our boat.

I might replace my anti-model with a role-model. My boy Wednesday. Hump Day, not Humpty Dumpty. He got two different eyes, he seen so much death, and he knows the future. He's Odin. He's Moondog. The Witcher to my Dandelion. The warrior to my poet.

We'll see. I'm gonna be vague about him. Then again I've been super vague about Humpty.

Toning down the venom is a must, though. These aren't books for pieces of shit. They're books so robust even pieces of shit can put them to full use. Albeit, maybe with the help of a jail sentence. Humpty Dumpty is a nauseatingly relatable human being. He's not of a different form from us, but of a different scale.

Oh boy! Next month I bring you 5 more of these dirty little whores! You had better fucking like reading! Oooooh SHIT!

[whosaskingwrites]

Fickle Love (Akaashi x Reader x Bokuto)

A/N: So this was supposed to be for Akaashi's birthday...whoops. But its here now lmao ngl I just kinda wrote with no idea in mind and this is what ended happening so yeah. Hope you enjoy and happy late birthday to Akaashi 💞

Details: 7.8 pages 2,758 words

Date: December 8th, 2020

Warnings: Mentions of poly relationships I guess, angst if you squint, Gn! Reader not really a warning but I didn't know where else to put it

Theme: Akaashi wasn't the best when it came to love. Having a habit of ignoring you and burying himself in work. Leading you to turn to Bokuto which leads to some revelations and a question for Akaashi.

Love was a fickle thing Akaashi knew. People fell in and out of love all the time so he never trusted love. He didn't want love he wanted to avoid it. Avoid the heartbreak he was positive would follow. But instead he met you a bright-eyed student in his class. It took almost nothing for you to mesh yourself into his life completely and making yourself comfortable like you belonged there.

It took even less time for you to weasel your way into his heart and make yourself comfortable. Only a year after you'd met and he asked you out deciding that love may not have been as fickle as he thought.

Four years later and he knew he had been wrong love was indeed fickle and his proof was in the sight across the street from him. There you stood hands clasped around Bokuto's as he kissed your cheek. He waved before running off and Akaashi rushed home preparing for the worst.

A few hours later you slipped through the door "Keiji? I'm home!" You called hearing the soft pads of feet come up to you. Love was fickle he knew you were going to lie when he asked his next question "Hey Y/n. What did you do today?" You suprised him though. Only after you'd gotten over the shock of being called Y/n and not darling.

"I went to lunch with Bokuto today," You said happily slipping off your coat and hanging it up. He certainly didn't expect you to be honest about what you did today. He loosened up a tad bit in response "Oh? Why?" You laughed at his question "Bo needs contact with us you know that. But you haven't been answering his calls so we went shopping and I filled him in on how you were. Afterwards I treated him to lunch as a thank you," You smiled up at him eyes bright with nothing hidden.

"Yeah? Did you guys hold hands so he wouldn't lose you?" He joked and you shook your head "He grabbed my hands at the end of lunch because I promised him I'd bring you next time," you had laughed remembering the incident. Relief flooded him then no of course you weren't cheating on him that'd be insane. You were as loyal as Bokuto was plus he couldn't keep a secret to save his life and neither could you. He relaxed as he realized how wrong he was to assume something.

"Im sorry," He said suddenly while you tilted your head in confusion. "What for?" You had asked before Akaashi leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. "I forgot to give you your welcome home kiss," He rolled off casually hiding the fear he'd felt earlier. This fear had only continued to grow as the days went on but it was his fault anyway.

_______________________________________________________

"Keiji are you free today?" "No I'm busy," "Oh...Okay," 

"Keiji we haven't gone on a date in weeks!" "Im not stopping you from going out somewhere," "I want to go out with you though,"

"Keiji-" "Im busy Y/n,"

Two weeks this cycle continued as you walked to Akaashi's at home office. Two taps against the door and you opened it "Kei-" His eyes snapped up frustration was on his face but he took a breath before it faded. "What?" You sighed turning to leave again "...Im going out to lunch with Kotaro again. He says hi by the way," You left the room quickly and Akaashi blinked 'Kotaro?' Surely you meant Bokuto but there was no way you two were on a first name basis it'd only been a few days since the last lunch.

His eyes landed on the calender and he froze what had only been a few days to him was actually two weeks but still too short for a first name basis. You'd only know Bokuto for a few months and he'd known the male for years and still never used his first name.

He sighed returning to his work. He'd question you when you got back from lunch he didn't have the time to right now. Nor did he know your location so going to find you was like a needle in a haystack. A very big bustling city of a haystack and the needle being you with a slightly bigger needle in the shape of a volleyball player next to you.

He continued work for a few hours before his office door was thrown open. He expected many things when he looked up but he didn't expect Bokuto. But what got him was the fact that Bokuto was furious it was a look he'd never seen before on him. The glare he had on his face was enough to make Akaashi freeze. 

He knew Bokuto was typically happy like a dog but right now he felt fearful since now he staring down an angry German Shepard who was defending their owner. It was silent for a long moment before Bokuto spoke. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Akaashi felt his blood turn to ice at the tone Bokuto used.

"W-what?" He cursed silently at his own stutter Bokuto would latch onto the weakness he showed. "Whats today Akaashi?" Bokuto had asked in that same icy tone. It was so razor sharp and cold that Akaashi was convinced the room cooled and ten degrees.

"...Its December 1st Bokuto-san," He elected to answer the question instead of ask why Bokuto didn't call him Keiji. Based on the mood Bokuto was displaying he didn't expect to be called Keiji. However supplying the date only seemed to rile him up more as his glare sharpened.

Akaashi shivered involuntarily at it "Are you forgetting something?" He barked out and it was then that Akaashi realized Bokuto hadn't blinked yet. "No," he was confident in the answer. Your birthday wasn't until b/d and his was in four days. Bokutos had already passed but said male wouldn't have been mad at him. Sad maybe but not mad.

"Oh really? Then tell me why Y/n is at my place crying because you forgot that today is your anniversary," Bokuto had stepped towards him in anger and Akaashi took in involuntarily step back in fear. "They're at your place?" Akaashi asked and Bokutos jaw clenched.

"Yeah. And they are going to stay there until you sort yourself out," Bokuto growled turning and slamming the door closed with enough force to crack it. Akaashi stood frozen for a few extra moments trying to regain his composure after being afraid. He shook his head as he processed Bokuto's last sentence.

No you'd always come back to him, even if a fight had broken out between him and you, you would always come back. You had to come back he was your fiancé and the wedding was going to be in the upcoming w/f/s/s so he continued to work shaking off his encounter with Bokuto that had manage to worm a tiny bit of fear back into his heart.

__________________________________________________

Akaashi didn't fully leave his office again until December 5th. He'd left it plenty of times before then but only for something quick eat or the bathroom or something to drink. In these moments he never bothered to look around the place but now on his birthday he did.

He expected to be greeted by your sparkling voice like you had done for the past four years but instead the house was silent. "Y/n?" He called out walking around the house was still perfectly clean. The last time he could recall hearing you was on the first with the vacuum running and the patter of your feet running around.

Since then he realizes the house had been silent except for his movements. As he walked into the dining room something glinted on the table in the early morning light. When he turned to look he froze there was your engagement ring. The thin band of silver sat there almost mockingly on a yellow sticky note.

He picked up the note and written on it were a few simple words. 'They aren't coming home - Bokuto' his brain filled in the missing words Bokuto had told him a few days ago "Not until I fix myself," he mumbled thumbing at the sticky in his hands. He knew what Bokuto meant he'd been borderline ignoring you for weeks to work.

Thoughts of your anniversary had left his mind but he didn't think it was that bad until right now. Forgetting had been the final nail in the coffin for you but he still had a chance. You weren't gone forever just temporarily misplaced. He rushed to shower and go buy flowers his brain running a mile a minute trying to figure out how to get you back and apologize.

He felt nervous and he was unsure of why until he remembered where you had taken up residence. Bokuto had never been scary to him, just a bright ball of happiness but the fear Bokuto had instilled in him a few days ago had lingered, and he was about to walk right into the lion's den.

__________________________________________________

He couldn't see you as he approached the door. Maybe you were tucked away upstairs or in a place the windows didn't show but he'd seen Bokuto. The male was pacing clearly on edge and definitely dangerous but Akaashi would have to face him sooner or later so with a shaking hand he knocked.

Only half a second later the door swung open and Bokuto stood there mouth set in a hard line. Akaashi fought to supress the shiver that wanted to trail up his spine. "Is Y/n here?" He asked and once again cursed himself for sounding so meek. It was just Bokuto he wouldn't hurt him the man couldn't even hurt a fly! Although that sentiment didn't hold much when he felt like he was staring down the loaded barrel of a gun.

"Yes," Bokuto answered after a few beats of silence. His eyes raked over Akaashi's form judging him and seeing if he was ready to have Y/n back. "Can I see them? I'd like to talk," He was definitely playing with fire when Bokuto looked back up at his eyes. "About what?" He asked lowly Akaashi noted that Bokuto was staying quiet which meant you had to be downstairs. "I'd like to apologize for ignoring them and forgetting our anniversary," Bokuto nodded once before swinging the door closed.

He blinked in mild suprise "Bo-Bokuto-san?" He questioned wondering where he went wrong that warranted the door being closed. He was about to knock again when the door opened revealing you. Your h/c hair was slightly messy and e/c eyes half lidded in sleep.

What Akaashi didn't like was the MSBY jersey that swallowed you figure. The number 12 emblazoned on the front and long enough to cover your thighs. He couldn't tell if you were wearing pants but he hoped you did. You never walked around his house like this unless it was after a fun night but he couldn't assume things. Not now and he especially couldn't accuse you of cheating when Bokuto was on the staircase right behind you.

He could see that the golden eyed male was poised to attack when the conversation would start heading south. You tilted your head in confusion "Hello Akaashi," You had mumbled and he did flinch then. No pet names or his first name no, you had decided on formal. "Hi darling," He whispered the pet name but you merely shook your head.

"Why are you here?" The genuine confusion on your face made Akaashi feel a lot worse about everything. "Im here to apologize and seeing as its my birthday id like my present from you to be going on one date with me," He said slowly "Please," was tacked on as an afterthought. You turned your head eyes meeting Bokuto's and Akaashi hated the jealousy that crawled up his spine when his eyes softened.

"Um actually Akaashi I wanted to talk to you about something," Your hands had balled into fists tightly gripping the hem of the shirt you wore. A nervous habit you had whenever something scared you. He felt his heart drop in response to those words and you shook your head. "No no! It's nothing bad- well I guess that depends on how you feel about it," You were quick to try and sooth him and Akaashis heart swelled at the fact that right now even if you weren't getting along you still worried about him.

He didn't even realize you had led him inside until he was on the couch. His eyes trailed over you figure as you sat across from him. The shirt rode up enough exposing part of your thigh and Akaashi could see the hem of a pair of shorts. They followed their path until his eyes rested on the new gold band around your ring finger. It was decorated in a series of small gems that were the same blue as his eyes and he took a deep breath.

"What is it?" He lightly questioned when the silence began suffocating him. Bokuto was behind him somewhere he felt the stare being burned into his back. The second this conversation possibly turned south Bokuto was ready to jump in. "Well...I was wondering how you felt about the two of us becoming um...three of us?" You looked down afterwards hands nervously ringing together.

"...three of us?" He wanted more clarification were you implying a kid or something else? You hummed meeting his eyes before they flickered to the male that was behind him 'oh' it pieced itself together then. You were implying a poly relationship with him and Bokuto. He must have been quiet for too long since your hands began rubbing at your sides.

He scrambled for an answer he knew he was unbothered by it but this was...The two of you were only a few months away from getting married and you wanted to add Bokuto into the mix? Now of all times? He took a shuttering breath as he thought.

"Well...I guess I have to call the restaurant and tell them to change the reservation for three people then," he offered a small smile and your head whipped up. "Really?" You whispered and he could only supply a nod. 

"Yeah now when I'm busy with work the both of you can harass me into taking a break," it was a poor attempt at a joke but you had laughed anyway. He heard a chuckle from behind him as well and he breathed out a sigh of relief. "Keiji are you sure? I don't wanna make you uncomfortable or anything...," you trailed off and he smiled "im sure but are you sure about Bokuto? Hes a little chaotic," He asked "Hey!" Bokuto had an immediate reaction to the accusation.

You laughed reaching out and taking his hand "So is it a fancy dinner place?" You asked as Bokuto came over to take your free hand. He watched your thumb move back and forth across Bokutos hand a comforting gesture and he noticed the minute shake of Bokuto's hand. Unconsciously he reached out with his free hand and took Bokuto's which seemed to startle him slightly as wide gold eyes met his.

Akaashi gave a light squeeze and Bokuto settled with a sigh. "Its the restaurant I originally proposed at so yeah I'd go with fancy," he answered after a second. "You're making me get dressed up for your birthday dinner? Despicable really," you dramatically sighed and he found himself laughing. "Well I suppose we don't have to go since you've already given me the best present I could ask for today," He smiled tilting his head to the side and looking at Bokuto who was sitting cross-legged on the floor with a look of concern on his face.

"You alright Bo?" He looked up at the unfamiliar nickname eyes meeting Akaashi's once again. "M'fine just...I don't own a suit," He said quietly. The silence that stretched afterwards for a long moment before you broke it. "Kotaro what do you mean you don't own a suit you're a professional athlete!" "It wasn't an issue until now!" He shouted back love was fickle yes but as he watched you and Bokuto interact he knew

It was fickle but he wouldn't trade it in for anything.

[cosmicbash]

Hey, So I'm having a bad week and would really like an outed Kells and Em fic, it could be as angsty or fluffy as you want, I just need a happy ending. A little joy from a situation like that would be really nice right now, Thanks P.S. I've been reading your writing for a while and I think they're really great!! I hope you keep having Inspiration to do so!!!

Sorry I'm so late replying to this!! Ive had a shitty busy week myself and i feel horrible its taken me so long!!

I feel like instagram would be Em and Kelly's downfall. Just because the younger rapper is constantly on it, posting little snippets to interact with his fans, going Live, and of course posting pictures.

Slip ups are inevitable once he and Marshall start spending more and more time together.

Because Colson can't just cut back, when he does that fans start speculating. Questioning why exactly he's suddenly getting more secretive or searching through what he does share with a fine tooth comb to spot a new mystery girlfriend.

So Colson continues posting away on instagram and filming his lives, even when he and Marshall are together. Ignoring the headshakes and looks the older rapper shoots his way everytime he's on live laughing it up.

At first it's awkward, Marshall and him keep alternating who's going to duck into the bathroom or step out for coffee. But eventually they get used to it and comfortable enough that Colson can walk around their hotel room filming while Marshall naps on the couch.

The blonde even gets cheeky enough to start teasing his partner, like snapping photos of their shared brunches, or taking after sex selfies that always get Marshall hiding under the blankets or kicking him.

Really Colson should have seen it coming. You can only fly so close to the sun before you get burned afterall.

The mistakes start piling up soon enough.

Marshall accidentally yelling to ask him something when he's recording a live, Colson walking a bit too close to the couch and flashing the hoodie clad rappers back, the bottom of Marshall's AA necklace in the back of a breakfast shot, and more minor incidents that branch out from there.

At first Colson can just brush the unfamilar voice and thankfully covered up body as one of his assitants or friends. But as soon as that necklace peek gets out the internet does its thing and speculation over a possible collab strikes up.

The assumption being he gave everyone the glimpse on purpose.

Of course he's relieved the public isn't immediately jumping to the crazy possibility of them banging. Even though thats exactly what theyre doing. But him and Marshall AREN'T actually making any music together, and neither of them has publicly squashed their beef. Afterall, what better cover than pretending to still hate eachother?

But now that's all out the window. Colson's lack of an immediate excuse and rapid deletion of the photo just convincing the media their theories are correct.

Paul is of course furious, reaming both of them out over the phone about how they better get on a track together or figure out some new cover. And Diddy, well Diddy rarely comes off his self made throne to speak to Colson, let alone acknowledge most of his success, but the rapper actually does inquire to him about the whole spectacle. And Colson can't help but find himself wishing he had a guy like Paul who knew about them and could just simply yell at him because he still has no idea what to even say.

They settle on quiet ambiguous statements from their labels about how the two of them are working towards mending their beef and that a collaboration isn't exactly out of the question at this moment.

It works. For about a month or two, mostly due to them being apart yet again. The major hype dies down and Colson avoids any and all questions relating to Marshall in his lives and on twitter. The two of them are able to breathe a sigh of relief as temporary as it may be.

Until the next time they make time to see eachother. Colson's got a small charity event in Detroit that he plans on using as an excuse to linger around the city and steal some much needed time with his secret boyfriend.

Of course all eyes are on them yet again, questioning whether the young rapper might also be stopping in to work in some music with his rival.

With paparazzi tailing him more than ever it's impossible for him to just go to Marshall's place like he'd planned. Instead forcing him into renting a suite and wasting most of the day stressing over just how the hell he's supposed to sneak Marshall in with the bastards sitting outside the building like hawks. The other rapper isn't exactly helping either, just sending his usual cryptic texts telling Colson not worry about it but never expanding on what his plan is either.

By the time the blonde finally finishes his busy day and drags himself back to the room he has fully accepted that their rendezvous is not going to happen. Marshall had stopped texting him more than two hours ago and he wasn't about to act even more like a spoiled child by blowing the man's phone up. Colson's just given up. He can't even muster the energy to give the paparazzi outside his hotel more then an annoyed comment about how his life doesn't revolve around collaborations and the finger before slipping inside.

Marshall's presence in his hotel room, already stripped down to his night tee and briefs almost looks like a mirage. But when he shuts the door and crosses the room to bury his face in the other man's neck he smells like ivory soap and that woodsy beard oil the blonde bought him and Colson can't help but hug him closer.

He's so relieved to see him he doesn't even snark back at Marshall's muffled comment that he looks like shit.

The moment is sweet and Colson honestly should have realized it was just the calm before the storm but he's too caught up in complaining about the media and basking in his partner's soft agreements to care.

Before taking off to take his shower he hands Marshall over his phone, suggesting the brunette look through the mess his instragram comment section has become, all the questions and posts he's been tagged in over that little picture and their statements. Because why not? They would inevitably end up laying against eachother in bed scrolling through them all together anyway, at least this way Marshall can get a headstart.

And Marshall does actually swipe through them for a bit, spending more time admiring some of his partners pretty posts than he does reading the never ending stream of comments. The rapper rarely gets on the app himself except to post the occasional merch drop and promo. Social media isn't his forte, and it's not like he could follow Colson's account anyway. Navigating the app and searching for his boyfriends account was too much work when he could just asks for selfies over text.

Thats why when Marshall finishes his browsing and begins backing out of a post back to Colson's homepage he doesn't even care to pay much attention to what he's tapping. The flash of black and loading wheel that lights up the screen completely missed when he tosses it across the bed in lieu of playing around on his own phone.

The livestream he accidentally starts mainly films a blank ceiling through the rest of Colson's shower. The occasional creak and shift on the bed from Marshall's weight and blare of music from his own phones speakers all anyone tuning in can hear.

It doesn't take a brain surgeon for fans to realize the Live has been started unknowingly, but thats not going to stop any of them from filing in.

Maybe if Colson hadn't set his phone to silent the string of text messages might have alerted Marshall to his mistake. But the older rapper relaxes back on the bed less than a foot away blissfully unaware until Colson finally exits the bathroom.

Neither of them notice the phone when Marshall sits up and scoots to the edge of the bed, his body briefly flickering past the frame. They don't see the explosion of comments flying past the screen while they talk and Colson shoves the other man back onto the bed again. Bouncing the phone high enough to almost flip it if fate didn't decide to just scoot it closer to their tangling bodies.

Colson's whole upper body and face is in frame from then on. His cheeks flushed and smile cocky while he straddles his unseen partner. Marshall's fingertips peeking onto the screen where they're tickling the skin covering his ribs.

Its not until after Marshall's sat back up and begun peppering kisses down the front of his throat that he finally catches sight of his half blanket covered phone. An amused accusation about the other rapper trying to sneakily film them prompting Marshall to scoff and reach out for it.

"Probably just the app, shits always opening up to the camera on my phone-"

The rush of comments speeding past the screen and the unmistakeable red dot next to LIVE has Marshall freezing. His wide eyed face fully on screen for 10 seconds before Colson finally pries the phone from his hands to see whats got him so spooked.

Instead of panic, anger is what rushes through Colson's veins. A slew of curses leaving his mouth, before he finally manages to end the live. Phone promptly flying out of his hand against the wall afterwards.

The blonde wants to scream and thrash around. And thats what he does, fingers tearimg at his hair in frustration.

It takes Marshall's fingers softly prying them down for Colson to finally open his eyes again. The utterly terrified look on his partner's face chasing away his residual rage. "Fuck Colson I'm sorry-" its not the first time he's heard Marshall apologize, but it is the first time the man has ever done it while looking so scared of his response.

All the months he'd spent dreaming about his rival making such an expression have nothing on the real thing. And that smug powerful feeling he'd imagined was completely absent now. Just an uncomfortable knot seizing up his chest in it's place.

"I'm not--" his own voice feels tight. Tears threatening to bubble up in his eyes while the reality of the whole situation continues to wash over him. "I'm not mad at you, alright?"

He's mad at the media, at his fans, the rap industry, everything that makes him feel like this little slip up and intimate moment of theirs going viral will ruin their lives.

Colson's sick of hiding who he is and who he's with. Its utter bullshit. Its 2019 for chrissakes, who gives a shit who's banging who? They both make bad ass music either way and liking dick shouldn't change that.

Pushing up off of Marshall, Colson moves to climb off the bed. His hopefully not smashed phone across the room his current focus. But the older rapper snags his wrist and wont let him take more than one step.

And thats when Colson realizes just why Marshall looks so terrified. The man's worried that this is it, that he's going to just leave.

Run away from their problems and abandon the relationship they've been cultivating. Just go full scorched earth.

And that hurts.

So instead the blonde softens his expression and climbs back into bed, onto the other man's lap to hug him tightly. "Fuck Marsh--" He's not about to let the media ruin another relationship. "I love you."

The responding hug is so tight it hurts but Colson doesn't stop. "I fucking love you."

They're falling back onto the bed, legs tangling and Colson's teeth grinding while he rubs his face along the older rapper's shoulder. "I love you"

He doesn't even know what else to say. Now that the words are out it's all his tongue can shape.

"Colson-" Marshall's warm palms are cupping his face, pulling him back so they can stare at eachother

"I love you-" that one hurts the most, maybe because they're eye to eye and just looking at Marshall's soft expression and the possibility of losing it makes him want to crumble. "Please-"

He chokes back a wet sound in the back of his throat before they kiss. Pressing as close as he can, practically trying to glue their mouths together permanently.

Marshall's afraid to lose him just as much. They're idiots for ever thinking it might be a possibilility.

The media can get blown, and so can the industry and their so called fans. The cats out of the bag now and theirs no turning back. If they don't like them together than tough shit. They've both dragged themselves up out of the pits before, this will be no different.

Except, this time they have eachother to lean on.

"I love you to you cornball."

(((Ffffff this sat in my drafts cuz I got distracted by work and life. Im so fucking sorry anon!!!)))

((Also! Thank you anon! For the compliments! Im glad you enjoy my works!))

[ma-gic-gay]

Leaving a former assassin turned mob boss alone with his thoughts and anger about his... Whatever him and Carly are, since that seems to change every ten minutes going through what she went through, is a stupid idea. Especially for two hours.

It's either that or confront the fact they've kissed and had sex in the same 24 hours.

Not exactly the most friendly things to do.

This is exactly what he's not supposed to be thinking about, yet it's what he's thinking about while he's sitting in a chair at the hospital.

Turns out that when he's not doing illegal things, he can actually have time to think and not freak out about the cops finding out what happened. Time to think about them and how he doubts they'll ever go back to normal. A one night stand is one thing, a kiss after you get kidnapped and raped is a completely other thing.

Go figure, the one person who he could willingly discuss this with is the same person who he can't right now.

Maybe talking about this with Sam would work?

Nope, scratch that. Even though she's moved on from their relationship, they're not that close of friends and really only hang out for their kids sake.

If this was a year ago, he'd say he should go to Sonny, since he can't go to Carly about it. But then again, if it was a year ago or if Sonny hadn't vanished, been presumed dead long enough for even Carly to believe it (which meant he, by extension, believed it finally as well), last night never would've happened. Not in a million-

Alright maybe it would've happened but he doubts it. After all, a year ago, he was with Sam and Carly was with Sonny.

Does this count as a betrayal, sleeping with her? Not like conceiving a child on his biological brother's grave with the woman who's the reason he's dead. Or knowing that your best friend is in love with someone but sleeping with her anyways out of horniness.

Maybe he's still a little bit mad about those things.

Or a lot bit mad.

Thinking of all the times Sonny's betrayed him is definitely not helping the fact that anger is just about the only emotion he's feeling right now. Notably, that comes with the exception of confused and that one's only because he's seriously confused about what the hell him and Carly are right now.

Just thinking about what she must be going through right now... It makes him so furious he could take someone out for even mentioning the word. Or something negative even in the slightest bit about her.

That last part might be a telltale sign he needs to do an evaluation of his feelings for her but after this. Probably should right now, but he doesn't want to.

Even the mention of what happened to her, which is spreading through the hospital like wildfire (whoever spread that information first is on his shit list and that is not a good place to be), makes his blood boil.

Cyrus did that to her, he decided to treat her like an object. Like she's some disposable thing, that after he had his fun with her she'll be killed to hurt his business competitor. And the fact that he'd managed to scare her, that he'd managed to do something so difficult he thought it would never happen again unless something happened to one of her kids or him. That part makes him want his head on a stick outside his front door.

And the only reason he did it is to hurt Jason, to make him feel hopeless and in despair and angry and hurt. The only reason she went through that is because of him. That's the worst part, for him, that he's responsible for her going through that, that it's his fault. Even though he knows that's not how it went down, that he's not responsible for Cyrus's actions or her kidnapping and rape, that's sure as hell what it feels like. It feels like everything's getting blurry, like the lines he had drawn in his life are bleeding into each other.

Keep her safe, that was always his number one rule. Even if it meant getting hurt himself (which it normally did), keeping her safe has always been his priority. It's why he tries, unsuccessfully, to shelter her from the mob.

When she needed him, really needed him, he couldn't do that for her. He wasn't there when she needed him the most, when she needed him to save her and get her out of that situation.

No matter how you frame it, what he's doing is beating himself up for something that he knows to be his fault. Maybe if he'd been there, sent someone else to deal with Florence and stayed at the house with her, he wouldn't be dealing with this right now. Maybe then, she wouldn't have been kidnapped and raped.

"Jason?" Britt asks him, noticing he's zoned out. "She's fine. Carly's not pregnant and we gave her a pill just in case to prevent against it. She doesn't have HIV or any other STD's, I ran a full test. As far as I can tell, her uterine health is great right now."

"Thanks, for the update," he thanks her, remembering where he is. "Can I, uh, can I go see her?"

"Yeah, the sedative wore off and she's been complaining and crying for a few minutes. She's in room 3115," she tells him, noting the relief and pain on his face. "You doing okay?"

"What matters right now is whether Carly's okay or not." Jason answers her quickly and his feet take him to the room she's in, somehow. He doesn't even know this hospital that well.

That's new.

"I woke up a few minutes ago and they told me they were looking for you, where were you?" Carly asks, aggravated.

"I was in the lobby," he tells her, wiping away her tears as they come. There's a look of relief on her face through everything, which doesn't surprise him in the slightest.

"Why didn't they let you in before the sedative wore off? I thought I'd been taken again, I was yelling for you," the blonde complains.

"Apparently I'm a hard guy to find."

"You have seven black shirts, seven pairs of blue jeans which you haven't replaced since the 90s, and a leather jacket. That's pretty much all you ever wear. I can't remember the last time you wore a suit. Or a shirt with any color in it at all. How hard could it be to find you?"

"You're just saying that because you always know where I am. It's a sixth sense of yours."

"True. Maybe it's time to spice up your wardrobe with some colorful shirts. We could start with blue and then ease into colors like yellow or white eventually," she suggests cheerfully.

"Carly," he warns. "I like my clothes."

"I know you do, but you need more variety in your life, Jason," Carly argues.

"You keep life interesting enough, trust me," he assures her. "I'm sorry for what happened to you tonight, you know that, right? It's my fault, if I'd gotten there sooner or I hadn't left you alone, this never would've happened."

"No, it's not. Cyrus would've gotten me another way, or he might've gone and snatched one of your kids. Danny, Scout, Jake, they don't deserve that. Neither did I, but if that happened to one of your kids? You wouldn't be able to live with yourself and he could've killed them easier. At least with me, I'm alive. Severely traumatized, but alive," Carly says, hugging him gently as to not hurt herself.

"Yeah but if I'd been there to protect you-"

"Then he would've gotten to you another way or waited until you went to sleep or went back to your dull apartment where the only piece of decor is a moss bowl. I'm a target, alright? We've known this for years, and what happened to me is not your fault. It's as much my fault as it is yours. No one deserves what he did to me, not even that dirt bag himself, and you cannot blame yourself."

"He did this to you as a way to hurt me!"

"And if Sonny were still around it would've been as a way to hurt Sonny. He hates me, alright? Cyrus hates me so much he wanted to hurt me, just as bad as he wanted to hurt you. It's not your fault that he's a monster." She attempts to help him see that it's not his fault, but he doesn't.

"The only reason you know about this business is me. Practically every bad thing you've gone through, Carly, is because of me by extension," he tells her, feeling a tear slip out of his eyes.

"You didn't force me to be a part of the business, Jason. Hell, it was your worst nightmare. I made that choice for myself, to marry Sonny and, when he died, helping you run his territory. I knew the risks and I did it for me, for you, for my family."

"For me?" Jason asks, confused. "How do I factor in?"

"How do you factor in? You're my family and you needed help. Of course I was going to help you! Even when you tried to talk me out of it," the blonde continues, smiling widely.

"That help could've come with Max or Milo or someone else."

"And there's a reason it came in the shape of me. You trust me more than them, even with this business," she smiles.

To be continued when school ends because FUCK IT'S BACK NO

@ryleighjosephine

[helloalycia]

cheater [three] | kara danvers

summary: Kara catches on to the way you're distancing yourself from her and tries to get to the bottom of it.

warning/s: none (I think?).

author's note: This is the final part to the mini imagine so I hope you like it! I'll be posting a lena one tomorrow :)

part one | part two | masterlist | wattpad

A few weeks had passed since Anna had spoken to me, and in those few weeks, I had become more aware of how I was treating those I cared about. Specifically, Kara.

I still hung out with her and spoke to her, obviously, but I was cautious as to how much of myself I was giving out. I didn't want to appear reliant, clingy or annoying towards her. She didn't deserve that and I didn't want to risk her leaving me because of it. We still went out for lunch and hung out at each other's flats, but it was less frequent than usual. Anytime I thought I was inputting my opinion into her life, I drew back. If we were hanging out, I cut it a little shorter. I didn't want her to feel trapped.

I thought it was going well, really well actually. I thought I was doing it right, having her as a friend without suffocating her with my apparent power to over-care. But then she confronted me about it and I knew I'd screwed up.

I was photocopying something when she approached me, cornering me in against the photocopier.

"Hey," I greeted her, smiling politely before realising she wasn't smiling back. "What's up?"

"I'm hoping you can tell me," she said, crossing her arms.

"I don't understand."

She sighed, her blue eyes staring back at me with confusion. "Did I do something wrong? Have I upset you somehow? Are you angry at me?"

I immediately shook my head, stepping forward to place a hand on her crossed arms. "Kara, no, of course not! What's made you think that?"

She breathed out through her nose, uncrossing her arms. "You've been very withdrawn recently. I feel like I may have offended you somehow."

I pursed my lips, feeling my face go warm. "You haven't... I don't understand. Things are good between us. We hang out. We talk."

"Barely," she added. "You seem off with me. Distant."

I tried to laugh it off. "Kara, I don't get it. I'm fine!"

Her blue eyes darkened as she searched my expression curiously. "No, you aren't... I'm not leaving until you tell me what's wrong."

I gave her a knowing, albeit, nervous look. "Kara."

She shook her head, jaw locked with certainty. I tried to walk away, but she blocked my exit by stepping in front of me. I tried to side step her, but she simply followed, cornering me in with the photocopier.

"Kara, this is stupid and you know it," I complained, no longer joking now.

"What's stupid is how you've been acting lately," she said, just as seriously. "What is going on with you?"

I upheld her stare, determined not melt under her gaze and give in. I tried again to get out of that corner, but she was too quick and way stronger than me, so she stopped me every time. I sighed, feeling my stomach twist uncomfortably.

"It's not a big deal," I said quietly, avoiding her eyes.

"What isn't?"

I chewed the inside of my cheek nervously, before realising I had no other choice but to tell her the truth. I couldn't lie to Kara – she'd see right through me.

"Anna spoke to me a few weeks ago," I said, in a nonchalant way, hoping Kara would realise it wasn't an issue. "She told me she loved me still and wanted to get back together."

Kara's expression faltered as she widened her eyes with surprise. "What?"

"It was dumb on her part," I explained, feeling a sudden urge to let Kara know I wasn't interested. "I've moved on."

Kara pursed her lips with concentration as I continued.

"I reminded her that she cheated on me and she basically told me why," I said, giving a small smile to hopefully refute the pain that was returning in my heart. "I am apparently too loving to those I care about."

"What?"

I breathed out slowly, losing my smile. "She said I was too good. Too perfect. Too caring. I was too suffocating and so I pushed her away. It's dumb because I know I shouldn't care what she says, but it stuck with me."

Kara had an unreadable expression and I began to feel guilty.

"Look, Kara, I'm really sorry," I said, meeting her eyes. "I never wanted to make you feel like you were doing something wrong. I just, I thought that if I backed off a little... you know, gave you some space. Cared a little less. That you might stay around. I didn't... I didn't want to risk pushing you away like I did with Anna. I'm... I'm really sorry..."

I waited for a response, verbally or even a hint of an expression, but she simply stared at me with frozen eyes. I genuinely thought I'd screwed up, that she was fed up of my shit and was ready to call it a day with our friendship. Instead, she said nothing and stormed off angrily.

"Kara!" I called after her, before following her down the hall.

She was quick, as she manoeuvred around everybody, eyes searching the offices for somebody, I didn't know who. I kept calling her, trying to catch up to her but bumping into several colleagues instead. What was she up to?

"You!"

I saw as she found who she was looking for – Anna – and widened my eyes, realising what would happen.

"You are the most selfish, egotistical, manipulative woman I have ever met!" she yelled, storming towards Anna and getting in her face. "How dare you make Y/N question her relationships, our friendship!"

"What the hell are you talking about, Danvers?" Anna growled, pushing Kara back.

Kara seemed furious as I finally reached them. People were beginning to take notice of the two angry women and I managed to step between them before things escalated further.

"Woaaaaah, Kara, calm down," I said, blocking her vision of Anna and instead trying to get her to look at me. "Kara."

"You didn't deserve her." Kara glared daggers to Anna just before I managed to drag her away.

Reluctantly, Kara followed as I led her to a deserted conference room – anywhere to get away from Anna and what I was sure would soon be a fist fight if I hadn't stepped in.

"Kara, what the they hell?!" I shouted after closing the door.

Kara's jaw was clenched with anger as she shook her head. "I never liked her! She's always thought she was the best! That she could have anything she wanted!"

"Kara!"

"She hurt you!" she yelled, finally meeting my eyes. "It's her fault, all of this!"

My mouth closed as I breathed out through my nose, trying to find some way to argue her point, but she was right.

"She cheated because she's a horrible person, not because you care too much," she said with certainty. "One of the best things about you, Y/N, is that you care as much as you do. You make people feel seen and you make them feel good. And that isn't a bad thing at all!"

I felt embarrassed as she spoke, mostly because when she said it, it seemed right. Like I couldn't question it at all and that everything I thought about myself was false. Kara always sounded so certain that one couldn't help but want to believe her.

"She is hurting you even when you let her go," she said, swallowing hard. "She never deserved you, Y/N. And I hate that she's made you doubt yourself."

I didn't think Kara cared this much, yet she seemed so invested and it made me feel good, to know I had someone who actually cared.

"She never deserved you," she stated, her eyes glassy. "I'm sorry for shouting and getting angry, but she never did."

"Kara..."

Seeing her this upset made me feel guilty, and also hurt. I didn't think it would have this much of an effect on her.

"You're a great person, Y/N, one of the best I know. And you deserve someone who can see that. Someone like..." She paused, locking her jaw as she glanced at the ceiling before meeting my eyes. "Someone like me."

It took me a moment to realise what she'd said, and when I made sense of it, I was taken aback.

"Someone... someone like you?"

"Yes," she said, blue eyes softening as each second passed.

I felt my heart beating quickly the longer she stared, and it only intensified when she stepped closer to me, enough for me to feel the warmth of her skin.

Her eyes darted to my lips very obviously and I found myself drawn to hers, wanting to feel them against mine. She raised her hand, pressing it to my cheek, causing me to look her in the eyes again.

"How long?" I got out, feeling stupid for not realising sooner.

She licked her lips. "A long time."

I didn't know what to say, how to respond to that. It made sense though, now that I thought about it. Especially with how protective she'd been over me when it came to Anna. I thought it was her being a good friend, but it was a lot more than that.

Her other hand rested on my waist, sending shivers up my spine, before she moved closer and pressed her lips against mine. I closed my eyes and let her, resting a hand on her chest and returning the kiss.

I didn't realise how much I'd wanted to kiss her until now when it was actually happening. She was gentle yet passionate and I knew that she'd been bottling this up for awhile now, since she was kissing me like she was afraid it would be the first and last.

We pulled away soon enough, to my dismay, and I found myself staring into her pools of blue, attempting to puzzle together the confusion that was my brain.

"I think...," she spoke gently, her breath tickling my lips because of how close we still were. "I think that you deserve better than her. That you deserve me. And I'm here. If you want me."

I was still catching my breath as she looked between my eyes, calm and collected. I didn't know what to say – everything was happening quickly, too quick for me to keep up.

"And if you don't, which it seems you don't," she continued, stepping back and smiling awkwardly, "I can be your friend. Though that might be a little strange now."

I watched as she backed up awkwardly, nearing the door.

"Kara, that's not it," I spoke, earning her attention. "I don't– I don't know what to say. This happened quite fast and... I'm still trying to acknowledge the fact that you, well, you like me."

"I didn't mean to confuse you," she said, pressing her lips together as she nodded. She opened the door and glanced at me. "I'll go. Sorry if this messed things up. I just couldn't hold it in any longer and you deserved to know the truth."

I watched as she smiled once more before leaving. I tried to think of something to say to stop her, but I was still tongue-tied. And then she was gone.

***

I knocked on Kara's door and waited impatiently for her to answer. I could barely keep still, all of my thoughts wanting to burst out of my head. I had so much to say to her and I was never good with my words, but I didn't have time to write this down – I had to let her know how I felt.

She finally answered the door and seemed confused, but she smiled nonetheless.

"Hey, Y/N..."

"I should have come sooner, but my mind has only just decided to co-operate with my heart, so I'm here now," I explained, knowing it didn't quite make sense when I said it aloud.

She nodded slowly, still staring at me with furrowed eyebrows. She stood to the side, signalling for me to come in and I did, glad to not be stood in the same spot.

When she closed the door, I spun around and breathed out.

"You want a drink?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, no, I just need to tell you this," I said, cutting straight to the point. "You've helped me through a lot, and it probably would have taken a lot longer for me to be okay after everything that happened with Anna if it wasn't for you."

Kara nodded, looking like she wanted to speak, but thankfully, she let me continue.

"I care about you a lot, Kara. I do. I don't want to lose you, not now that I know what it's like to have you in my life. I thought that the way I cared about you was platonic. But then you told me everything you did and you kissed me and it was... it was perfect." I breathed out slowly. "I don't want to lose that."

"Why do you keep saying that?" Kara finally spoke up, shaking her head. "Why do you think I'm going to leave?"

I chewed on my lower lip as I glanced at my shoes. "As I said yesterday, I tend to care too much and evidently, that makes people want to leave. Or in my case, cheat."

"And as I said yesterday, that's completely false," she said, grabbing my hand and squeezing it gently. "I would never do that to you."

"I'm not saying you will," I said, shaking my head. "I just, I don't want you to think that... god this doesn't make sense..." I groaned to myself. "I know what I want to say, but it makes no sense."

"Tell me what you're scared of," she said sternly, eyes glued to mine with a look of determination. "Tell me exactly what you're thinking, Y/N."

I avoided her eyes as I tensed my jaw nervously. "You're not like her... I know you're not." I rolled my eyes at how silly I sounded. "But I overthink. And I can't help but wonder if it'll happen again. We might get together and it might be great, but then I'll do something wrong and you'll get tired. And I don't think... I don't think I could take that. Especially if it meant losing you."

"Y/N, are you going to look at me?"

I reluctantly raised my head to meet her eyes.

"Do you remember when we first met?" she asked, her blue eyes sparkling beautifully.

I wondered what relevance that had, but I nodded. "Yeah... you showed me around when I first got the reporter job. You were Miss Grant's assistant back then."

She smiled reminiscently. "Exactly. And do you remember when we first properly hung out?"

I nodded. "You asked if I wanted to get coffee together because we had the same break."

"Yep. And what about when we exchanged numbers?"

"Kara, I don't understand wha–"

"Just answer," she said, giving me a knowing look. "I have a point."

"Okay... you asked me to add your number when you said you couldn't find your phone and I rang it off mine. It was under your desk."

"And do you really think I misplaced my phone under my desk?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

I pulled a face. "Well... now that you say it aloud, it sounds kinda dumb."

"Uh-huh. Now, what about the first time we hung out outside of work?" she asked, smiling at me adorably now.

I was growing agitated, mostly confused at what her point was. Nonetheless, I answered. "We were tracking down some contacts for an article and finished pretty late. You asked me if I wanted Potstickers at a place you know."

"Okay, I know you wanna slap me for all these questions, so I'll cut to the point," she said with an amused smile. "One more question though. Do you know what all of those instances have in common?"

I sighed. "No idea, Kara."

She began to play with my fingers between her hands as she chuckled. "It was me who asked you everything. I initiated our friendship always. I always wanted to hang out. One may argue that I am the clingy one in our friendship."

She was smiling knowingly, but I was still confused.

"What?"

She laughed at my expression. "Your fear? Of being the overly-caring one? Of pushing me away because you're too involved? It's been proven wrong by the likes of me. It's impossible for me to leave because I'm the one who doesn't leave you alone. I'm the one who wants to be around you."

I realised what she was saying and didn't know how to respond. Once again, Kara Danvers had a way of sounding right and making me feel wrong. I had no choice but to believe her words.

"That time I asked you to go out with me for coffee? That was when I began to like you," she admitted. "And the time I asked you to get Potstickers, that was when I fell in love with you. Which, by the way, is another thing you should consider. I'm in love with you, Y/N. And I know you probably don't feel the same, but you should know. Because that means I loved you first, which means, once again, I'm being super clingy."

I felt my lips lifting into a suppressed smile as she watched me confidently, a comforting smile on her lips.

"I'm here, if you want me," she said seriously, though her eyes were gentle as they stared through mine. "I promise you won't lose me."

I breathed out, feeling my eyes go blurry a little. Her revelation had made me a lot more emotional than I thought, but it was good. My heart was swelling with adoration, the first in a long, long time.

"Well, firstly, fuck you for making me cry," I said, letting go of her hand to wipe the corners of my eyes. She laughed as I met her eyes again. "Secondly, you're the only person I've ever met to say things as sweet as those. Thank you."

"I meant every word," she promised.

I cracked a small smile. "Thirdly... you really fancied the shit out of me back when we first met, didn't you?"

She rolled her eyes playfully, but her cheeks were turning pink; it was my turn to laugh.

"What do you say to giving us a shot?" she said, staring at me, a hint of hope in her expression.

I nodded. "I want to make this work. I actually fancy the shit out of you, too, Kara."

Her smile widened into a grin, making her eyes squint up adorably.

"I think it's my turn to initiate something," I joked, before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her lips.

I knew that I would always worry about my relationships, second-guess genuine actions and hesitate over little things – it was inevitable after what Anna did to me – but one thing I was certain of was Kara. It would work out, despite my fears. She reassured me always.

I trusted her.  

[ewansumfuk]

oop ok our boi lincoln six echo needs some love: reader shelters him at their home after he escapes & he's constantly asking questions about what everything is & then asks "what's kissing?" & it's awkward but reader explains & then they wake up to hear knocking at their bedroom door that night & it's lincoln who kisses them. & wherever you want to go from there bc i'm not fussy. thank yoooou!! ❤️

Lincoln always deserves some love!

—

Kissing

—

Ever since Lincoln had come into your life, you’d found yourself questioning things you’d always taken for granted. Why did you have to rinse the dishes before you put them in the dishwasher? Why did your videophone have a docking station and handheld if it needed to be projected anyway? Why did people who didn’t have time to go grocery shopping end up in the grocery store being rude to everyone?

“Why do you blow-dry your hair if the humidity is going to make it puff up anyway?” he asked one morning, as you struggled to get it done before you had to run out the door. His cheeky grin when you turned to glare at him was almost worth getting a mouthful of hair. “It’s an honest question!”

“It would be worse if I went out with wet hair,” you said, with a tone of finality and matter-of-factness you didn’t truly feel. You quickly put the dryer away when your hair was just dry enough to warrant leaving the house for work, and Lincoln cleared the way for you to get to the door. He followed you, as he always did, and before he reached out to give you an affectionate hug goodbye you could see he had another question building on his tongue. You sighed and gave him a fond smile. “What is it, Link? I’m running kind of behind.”

It was obviously something he was a little embarrassed to ask about, which clued you in that it must’ve been something he read in one of the many books you’d given him since he came to stay with you. Something simple and seemingly insignificant because it was considered part of every day life that he obviously hadn’t experienced yet. You’d told him time and again that you didn’t expect him to know everything; it was only natural he’d have questions and you were always going to want to help him as much as you could. You couldn’t imagine anything worse than being mocked for something you couldn’t help.

“It’s alright, whatever it is—” you started, and he cut you off with a blurted question.

“What is kissing?”

You blinked, for a moment not sure if you heard correctly. But the look on his face told you that you had, and you glanced at your phone for the time as you struggled to come up with an answer that would encompass the whole concept.

“Um, well...it’s kind of...deliberately touching your lips to something?” you said, wishing you sounded more sure of yourself. You hated to sound like you weren’t sure of an answer, because it was sure to send Lincoln down a rabbit hole of Google questions that usually ended up leaving him more traumatized than not. “Like, you can kiss just about anything, but most people kiss one another. On the cheek or the forehead or the lips or something like that. It’s a sign of affection between two people who really care about one another. Understand?”

He still seemed to be a bit unsure, but he nodded for you and drew you in for a hug, which you reciprocated happily.

“I’ll see you tonight. Just email me if you have any more questions today!” You gave him a quick wave as you headed out the door and promptly forgot about any interest he had in kissing as you went about your day.

That night when you arrived home he seemed to have forgotten about it, too. You prepared dinner together—he was getting to be a bit better than you with this whole cooking thing, which you weren’t sure was a pleasant or unpleasant surprise—and sat down to watch a movie after. He was quite fond of the Fast and Furious movies and had unintentionally gotten you interested as well—though you were loathe to admit it. By the time you separated for bed, the whole question of kissing was far from either of your minds.

...or so you thought.

It was probably close to one in the morning when you heard Lincoln knocking at your bedroom door. You hadn’t actually been asleep yet—you’d kept telling yourself you would after another few minutes of scrolling through your social media—so you were a bit surprised you hadn’t heard him coming. Still, you got out of bed and opened your door.

“Is everything alright, Link? You have another nightmare?” you asked, voice soft. He tended to have them from time to time, but you’d made it clear that he was welcome to wake you up if he needed to talk, or to just be with someone else for a little while.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just staring down at you. Unlike that morning, where he’d been anxious and a bit embarrassed, he seemed almost... assessing. Like he was deciding which way was the best to go about what he wanted. Just as you were about to ask him again if he was okay, his head dipped down and he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Link...?” Your cheeks were rapidly turning pink and you blinked up at him with wide eyes. He must’ve seen something in your expression that he liked, because he smiled and leaned down again to press a kiss to your cheek. “What are you...?”

“Kissing,” he said softly, and his voice sounded husky and low and you almost choked at how immediately the heat rose in your stomach at the sound. “Like you said this morning. It’s a sign of affection for someone you care about.”

Oh. Right. This morning.

“I—I don’t think I explained myself well enough....” you said, trailing off when he moved to kiss your other cheek and you felt your face burning even more.

He shook his head, eyes bright with mischief and affection, and he lifted a hand to cup your cheek before he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. For someone who hadn’t known what kissing was this morning, he was doing very, very good at it, you thought. You couldn’t help melting a bit into the touch, letting out a soft little sound against his lips. Where had he learned to kiss like this?

“I did a bit of research after you left the house today,” he murmured softly against your lips, and you realized that you’d voiced your question out loud. “There’s a lot more to kissing than I thought there was. So many things that go with it. Touching...” His hand slid around your waist. “...and something called nuzzling...” He touched his nose to yours. “And biting, which was very interesting...”

You let out a bit of a squeak, turning even redder. “Oh, I knew your curiosity was going to kill me someday...” You closed your eyes and swallowed a bit, and you put a hand over the one he was using to cup your cheek. “Lincoln, I...I don’t think you understand. This isn’t something you really do with friends. It’s for...for people you want more than that with.”

“But I do,” he said, and it was just as matter-of-fact as your answer about the hair dryer had been that morning—even more so, because you were suddenly sure he very much meant it. “I want so much more than that. I don’t...I don’t understand all of what I feel, but I understand that much. Do you...want that, too?”

He was so earnest that it made your eyes sting, and you reached up to card your fingers through his hair. Absolutely nothing got past that brilliant mind of his, and you cursed that place he’d been stuck in a thousand times over for trying to stifle him. “Oh, Link...of course I do. C’mere.”

You drew him down into another kiss, tugging him into your room so you could shut the door behind you.

[heyyyharry]

Chapter 9: Three’s A Crowd

(from the Flatmate Trilogy: Two Hearts, One Home)

…in which Harry learns a big lesson, and Y/N cannot tolerate his assistant.

Word count: 6.4k

Chapter 8: The Assistant - Y/N helps out a friend, and Harry also helps out a “friend”.

Wattpad link

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"Hi, I'm Kierra. I'm here to see Harry."

Y/N was taken aback when the girl pushed right past her to enter her living room. They had never met officially, but the walls in this flat were thin. You couldn't pretend like you didn't know someone after you'd heard all the sounds they'd made during sex. Now Y/N couldn't even look at this girl without blushing.

"H-Harry's at a group study. He'll be back at five, I think," Y/N mumbled, eyes on Kierra who had made herself comfortable on the couch.

Idling for a moment at the door, Y/N decided that it'd be rude to retreat to her room, so she ended up sitting down with her flatmate's guest. She always got nervous around the girls Harry brought back to their place, probably because she'd never seen herself as their equal. They always had more than one thing she lacked, and the thought of not being good enough was intimidating to her. She was jealous of their beauty and their confidence, but she couldn't hate them. They weren't responsible for her insecurities.

That was why each time she met one of them, she subconsciously tried to look for at least one quality that she found pleasant about the girl. Only then would she feel slightly better about herself. It didn't always work though. Most of the girls Harry had brought home were mean to Y/N. She couldn't figure out why, but they probably assumed Harry treated her differently because...he liked her. Oh, she could only wish. Deep down, she had always known he treated her differently because she wasn't his type. He would never be interested in her sexually or even romantically.

"Those are cute," Kierra spoke, breaking Y/N's train of thoughts as she poined to the blue tie-dye window curtains. "They weren't here the last time I came over."

Smiling bashfully, Y/N tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and her hand quickly returned to her knees. "They...they're mine."

"You made them yourself?"

"Yeah, the ones in my room are purple, but Harry likes blue so..."

Kierra pressed her lips into a faint smile. The silence took over for a few seconds before she spoke again, "were you two friends before moving in together?"

"No." Y/N giggled. "We hadn't known each other until then. It's a long story but...Harry tells it better than me so you can ask him..."

"Can't. He doesn't like talking about himself." Kierra gave her a shrug.

Y/N could see it in the girl's eyes that she was disappointed. This gave her a different view on Kierra and those before her. Maybe they were equals after all. They wanted someone they could never have. Still, Y/N didn't know if she'd rather be herself or Kierra, to have him but never really have him, or to never get to have him at all. Either way, it probably hurt just the same.

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Hugging her knees to her chest, Y/N sat in silence on the couch as her dreary eyes shifted between Niall and Layla.

"I am telling the truth," Niall said. "I've warned him and he didn't listen!"

Layla raised her voice, "warned him?! You should've stopped him?! Gosh, men are dumb!"

Y/N agreed, men were dumb. However, she'd better stay quiet because everything she said now would only add fuel to the fire. In this moment of chaos, ironically, she felt truly at peace. She watched her two friends keep on shouting. Their mouths were moving but they didn't make any sound. And they were in slow motion, almost like a music video without the music.

This took her back to her childhood years. Whenever her parents got into a fight right in front of her and her siblings, she would pretend that they were in a music video, so she wouldn't feel scared. Like she and Harry, her parents rarely fought. Her mother could be problematic yet her father loved that woman more than anything in the world. So Y/N hated whenever they raised their voices with each other. They claimed to be so in love but when things got bad, where did all the love go?

Now that she was older and wiser, she had learned that fighting didn't always go counter to love. Sometimes two people argued because they loved each other too much, and refused to let go even when it was the easy way out. Had it not been for those fights, her parents' marriage probably wouldn't have lasted this long. So maybe Y/N needed to be at home shouting at her husband, not hiding at her best friend's place like this.

"You should've told me everything! You're a liar just like Harry!"

"I'm nothing like Harry, I report everything to you! Who tells their wife about their co-worker getting hair extensions? I do!"

"Guys, I'm going home." Y/N's statement ended the argument in a heartbeat.

"You sure?" Layla asked in concern as Y/N rose from the couch.

"Yeah." Y/N nodded with a smile. "We'll be fine, don't worry."

Layla and Niall seemed doubtful of their friend's decision, still, they let her go. They walked her to their front door and kept reminding her not to throw a tantrum when she spoke to Harry. It was weird coming from someone as bad-tempered as Layla, but then they actually got a point. Y/N kept that advice in mind as she took a taxi home alone. She told herself to stay calm and think this through, for the spoken words could leave permanent damages. Still, a part of her wanted nothing more than to shout at him to release her frustration.

Soon she had arrived home. She took a deep breath before pulling out the key card from her pocket. But right before she could enter, the door swung open. Her husband burst out, frozen completely when he saw her face. He looked as if he'd seen a ghost. He was pallid, his eyes were round and expressionless, his mouth parted and his chin trembling. They exchanged a silent look before he spotted the barrel bag she was holding. She'd planned to spend one night away from him. And now she was glad she'd changed her mind.

Harry frantically grabbed her like she was the last thing in this world that could keep him sane. He panted the words "I'm sorry" into her neck, repeatedly and desperately. Maybe just a second ago, he'd thought his apology would never be accepted again. He'd thought that she'd left him for good.

Y/N hadn't seen him this scared since she returned the promise ring in that hotel in New York. And her heart ached just from thinking Harry wasn't afraid of anything, but losing her.

"Let's go inside and we'll talk," she said, pushing him away though she wanted nothing more than to stay in his arms right now. Her eyes were cold while his were filled with fear and anxiety.

He stepped back into their living room, watching her intensely to search for a sign that they would be okay. "Please hear me out," he said as she closed the door and put down the bag. "I can explain."

"Sure you can. You always have a lot to say, but never when you should."

Harry's eyes quickly shifted to the floor. It was funny how he had just asked for a chance to explain, and when he'd got it, he didn't know where to start.

"I almost stayed at Layla's tonight," Y/N went on, not wanting to waste their time by waiting for him. "Then I realized marriage didn't work that way, so I came back. And I want to hear everything from you. Niall has told me what he knew, and I've also made my own assumptions from the video. But now I want to hear your own version of the story."

"She was gonna send it to me," he finally spoke, his head hung low. "B-but she saved your name as Mrs. Styles so she sent it to you by accident."

"And you believe her?"

He didn't answer. That was how she knew he did. He believed what Kierra had told him.

"It seems to me that...you believe in everyone..." She said with a faint laugh. "Everyone. Except for me."

"No, I—"

"You didn't think I could handle it, was that you lied? Was that why I was always the last to know?"

Again, silence.

Despite all the things she'd told herself on the taxi ride home, she couldn't stay calm anymore.

"Why don't you say something?!" She screamed at him. She was furious. Still, he was just standing there like a statue, his eyes stayed glued to the floor. The frustration building up in her chest made her burst into tears. "You can't just keep doing this, Harry! This isn't the first time, I've forgiven you too many times before. I was always one of the lasts to know when something big happened. Olivia coming back, your internship in Japan, your dad offering you his company, you accepting your dad's offer and relocating an entire business, you hiring your ex to be your new assistant, and now you possibly having a child with another woman, then you going to see this child and staying to play happy family with them! I've always had to find out from another person, this time from a video that woman 'accidentally' sent to me. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Nothing."

His answer left her dumbfounded. Her mouth snapped shut, her shoulders were tight as her breath burst in and out.

"I don't want to defend myself because I know I'm wrong." He slowly lifted his face to meet her eyes at last, and then, with a sigh, he began, "when...when I discovered that I might be the father, I was...terrified. Not because of the responsibilities that would come along with that, but because...I realized I-I never deserved you."

Seeing his fingers gathered into fists and his knuckles turning white, she wanted to hold him and tell him he was the only one who deserved her. But her limbs were numb and her feet were rooted to the floor. Now she could do nothing but listen.

He swallowed hard. "I told myself...if I kept pretending like my past before you hadn't existed then everything would've been okay. But I always knew I couldn't pretend forever. Maybe that's why I'm so afraid of you leaving me. Maybe at one point, you'll see that I'm not good enough and you'll regret all the years you've wasted on me." He thought for a few seconds and exhaled sharply. "I told myself hiding these truths from you was protecting you. But all along I've been protecting myself from you realizing you'd be better off without me."

He stopped to wait for her reply. And when he got nothing, he stepped forward and cupped her face. This time she didn't push him away. She couldn't. His fingers were shaking as tears shone in his eyes, and it hurt her so much to see him like this. My God, she truly loved him. Her love for him was so massive that all of his mistakes, his stupid, careless, childish mistakes, could not make her love him any less.

He didn't let her go. Her silence urged him to go on, his voice was strained and fragile, "you have every right to be angry at me. Scream at me if you want to, give me the cold shoulders, the silent treatment, anything, just...don't leave me. Tell me how to fix this, and I'll do anything. Just please don't give up on me."

He ran his thumb across her flushed cheek to wipe away a single tear making its way down. His lashes fluttered as his brows knitted. He continued, "I came home, and you weren't here, the closet was opened, some of your clothes were gone. I-I thought I lost you, and I was so scared."

For all those years they'd lived under the same roof, Y/N rarely heard Harry say that he was scared. It might've resulted from him growing up trying to protect the women in his life, since his father had not been there for them. Now standing before her, he had accepted that he also needed protection.

Sighing, Y/N stepped forward and pressed herself against his chest. The love of her life automatically embraced her. "We don't do that in this household," she murmured, one hand stroking the back of his head. "We don't leave."

She felt his muscles relaxed as he gave her a slight nod and a 'thank you'. But his grip hadn't loosened one bit, for a part of him still feared she might change her mind. Still, she pulled away. They were eye-to-eye again, and her hands were on his shoulders, his on her lower back.

"But you need to stop this," she said. "Stop trying to protect me from the truth. I'm an adult and I can handle anything. And stop worrying that some bad news will make me stop loving you. Nothing will. I chose you because I'd known who you were, even before you did. I fell in love with my best friend and I never looked back, not when Olivia showed up, not when you were in another country for months, not when my parents hated me for being with you. Of all the mistakes I've made in my life, you are not one of them."

He nodded, sighing in contentment as she combed her fingers through his hair. She held his gaze, her eyes were much more tender now. "You lie to me one more time and I'll leave for good, got it?"

"Got it," he spoke softly. "Thank you."

She frowned, taking a deep breath. "I want to sleep alone tonight, just to clear my head. Is it okay?"

"Y-yeah, sure, I'll sleep in the guest room," Harry said quickly. Though he wasn't thrilled about sleeping alone, he believed giving her some space could be a good idea for now.

Y/N shut her eyes as she gently brushed their noses together and walked past him toward their bedroom. She felt his eyes watching her go, and something came to her mind as she stopped halfway, turning back to look at him.

"Were you disappointed that the kid wasn't yours?"

"Of course not," he answered right away though the question was unexpected.

"Really?" Her one-word question was filled with doubt.

He sucked in a breath and flashed her a reassuring smile. "Yes. I only asked Kierra to take a photo because...because I knew how much you loved kids. I wanted to show it to you after I've explained everything...I don't know why she recorded a video."

Y/N said nothing more. He wasn't sure if she still believed him after all the secrets he'd kept; however, he was glad she'd come forward instead of keeping it to herself.

"Goodnight," was all she said before going to their room. The door fell shut, the flat fell back to silent, but the thoughts in his head were deafening. How could he go to sleep?

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Harry was appalled when Kierra asked him where Y/N was. Just like all the other girls he'd been with, Kierra had never shown any interest in getting to know his 'boring' flatmate, or the fact that he was living with a girl he'd claimed to have nothing to do with. But the first thing she noticed today when she entered his living room was that Y/N wasn't here. 

"She's probably babysitting the kid upstairs," he said, thinking the girl would just move on to a different topic, but he was wrong.

"She told me she was making a Halloween costume for that kid."

He widened his eyes at her. "You've talked to her?"

"Yeah, the other day I came over to see you. I had to wait for too long so I left."

"Oh right, she did mention that." He nodded, pointing to the tie-dyed curtains. "Y/N made those. I told her it was a waste of time and she didn't listen. But I think I'm kind of in love with how they look now. She's very good at this stuff."

"Yeah, I see." Kierra giggled. "That's why I asked her to make me a Halloween costume, I'm gonna be a sexy nurse. Can you believe she agreed to do it for free?"

The girl probably expected a different reaction so her face fell as she saw how upset he was. "What? You don't look happy." She smirked. "Role-playing is so hot don't you think?"

Harry let go of a sigh and removed her hands from his chest. "You can't just ask my flatmate to make you clothes for free, Kierra."

"She said she'd be happy to do it."

"She'd say anything to make everyone happy, she's Y/N!"

"Okay, chill! I'll tell her I don't need it anymore. Are we good?"

He stayed quiet for a bit and nodded. "Thank you."

The silence gradually sank back in, adding more weight to Harry's heavy thoughts. Maybe he'd overreacted a bit. To be honest, he couldn't explain it himself. He always felt the need to protect for Y/N even when she wasn't around, for he thought she could never do it herself. It almost became a hard-to-change habit.

"She's a sweet girl," Kierra spoke after a while.

"She is," he agreed, not adding anything else.

Still, the girl continued, "she's so shy though, she needs to go out more."

"That's just how she is." Harry shrugged, trying not to show how annoyed he was. She was getting on his nerves with all this talk about Y/N. "She hates crowds, there's nothing wrong with that. But I hope I can convince her to go with me to that Halloween party."

Kierra was taken aback, and Harry was too. He couldn't believe he was careless and stupid enough to say that aloud. He had no control over his words, thoughts, and actions when it came to Y/N. Though she wasn't here, it was her fault that Kierra knew way too much.

"You two are going together?" Kierra asked, looking slightly puzzled.

He stuck out his bottom lip and gave her another shrug. "I haven't asked her but...Yeah...she needs to go out more, right?"

"Right." The girl pressed her lips into a forceful smile, and then she changed the subject.

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"Linen or beige?"

"That's the same color!"

Harry's response made Layla growl. At this point, she'd already run out of patience.

"Are you fucking color blind?" She almost shoved her phone into his face, pointing to each of the two photos aligned side by side. "This is linen. This is beige. Pick one!"

"Uhm...linen I guess?"

With a sigh of relief, she gave him a solid nod. "Okay, beige then."

"Are you serious?"

"What?" She shrugged. "I don't trust your and Niall's opinion so it's easier to go for the opposite."

Breathing into his palm, Harry checked his watch for the third time since Layla entered his office. She'd promised it'd only take around five minutes of his time, but now it's been fifteen and she had only finished choosing the wedding tablecloths. She didn't care how bored he seemed and went ahead to show him two different types of flowers and told him to pick one.

"Ahh, I don't know. Whatever Niall chose."

"I didn't come all the way here to hear what Niall thinks, asshole."

"Fine." He rolled his eyes and pinched his forehead. "White roses. Classic."

"They're Gardenias!"

"Look like roses to me." He chuckled at the look on her face. "Did Niall also choose them?"

"Yes." She shot him a glare. "But at least my baby's an intellectual who knows the difference between roses and Gardenias."

"Lucky you," he teased, only to receive a middle finger in response. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be at your store? It's not even lunch hour yet."

The girl gave him a proud smile as she put her phone away. Thank God, he thought.

"Unlike you, I pay people to work so I don't have to," she said, making him chuckle. "But fine, I'll leave. You can get back to work now."

"Wait," he stopped her before she could walk away. "Has Y/N told you anything lately?"

Layla pursed her lips. "Nope. I thought you two had gone back to normal. It's been several days since the secret child thing, right?"

"Well, yeah, she finally let me sleep in our room two nights ago. But well, I mean, she tries to act like everything has gone back to normal, but it doesn't feel that way to me. She wasn't even home when I woke up this morning. Something's still off."

"Give her time." Layla waved him off. "She's probably still upset. I wouldn't blame her though. Your crazy neighbor threatened her that one day she'd find your assistant sucking your dick, and now the girl you used to fuck is your assistant. How convenient is that?"

"That's bullshit. You know I love her more than anything in the world."

"I know." Layla snorted as she rolled her eyes. "You love her too much sometimes that you forget love comes with trust. By the way, if I were you, I'd fire that bitch."

"I can't just fire an employee for no reason, Layla."

"No reason? Well, first off," she raised a finger, "if you just want a hot assistant for the aesthetic of your office, I'd be happy to fill her shoes, because this bitch is shit at her job. She didn't even stop me when I walked straight in here."

"She knows you, Layla."

"No, bitch, she didn't even see me. She was on the phone with a friend talking about a bikini wax. And if that's not a good enough reason to fire her, she's also obsessive, has no respect for people's personal space and she hates your wife."

"You don't have proof that she sent that video to mess with Y/N."

"Yeah, I fucking do." Layla nodded quickly, crossing her arms. "She literally told me back in uni that she hated Y/N. She knew Y/N had feelings for you, so she asked the poor girl to make a sexy Halloween costume for her just so she could strut around in it and flirt with you when Y/N was around. How's that as proof?"

Harry's expression dulled for a moment before he could speak. "Are you serious?"

"Oh God, how oblivion could you be?!" Layla exclaimed. She sat up straight, placed a hand on her chest, and took a deep breath to keep herself from exploding. "Look, I love you—"

"You do?"

"And I will mess up your perfectly symmetrical face if you interrupt me again."

"Sorry."

"Where was I? Oh, right. I love you, but you could be really stupid sometimes. You're overprotecting Y/N from anything but the things and the ones that actually hurt her. This Kierra bitch is just another Rose in your life, pun intended. She's a psychopath who deserves no sympathy. Like my family marriage counselor used to say, 'three's a crowd, and any problem that arises from a third person is always much harder to fix'. And that man was a genius. Most of my parents' arguments were about another woman and now they're divorced, and me, the product of that failed marriage, is miserable."

"I'm really sor—"

She put up a hand to stop him. "Save your sympathy for Y/N. Want my advice? Fire that crazy bitch and make up with your wife."

Just like that, she clicked her fingers in front of his face and picked up her handbag to go. He watched in confusion as she stopped at the door.

"You don't have to thank me for saving your marriage by the way," she said with a cheeky grin. "Just bring me the most expensive wedding gift you could find."

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"Miss, where do you think you're going?"

Y/N looked at the redhead she'd never seen in her life, though confused, she asked, "is Mr. Styles in his office?"

"Have you got an appointment?"

You've got to be kidding me.

"I'm his wife."

The girl squealed so loud that everyone turned to look at her at once. With her face all red, she quickly apologized for her behavior and almost knocked over her own coffee when she bumped into her desk. Where did he find this kid? Y/N thought while keeping a straight face so the girl wouldn't feel more embarrassed.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry Mrs. Styles," she said fast. "Mr. Styles is having lunch with a client. I don't know if he'll come back to the office after."

"Thanks." Y/N sighed. "But I'm sorry, who are you?"

"I'm his assistant, Marie," the redhead said with a beam. "I just started today."

"What happened to Kierra?" Y/N's eyes narrowed with confusion.

"She got transferred to a different department. Uhm...HR, I think. I don't know much, today's only my first day," Marie said while fidgeting with the buttons on her blouse.

Y/N couldn't help but wonder, why had her husband replaced someone as experienced as Kierra with someone entirely opposite, like Marie here? Still, she said nothing more than wishing Marie good luck and a good day before making her way back to the lift.

As she walked past some employees enjoying their pizza for lunch, she wondered to herself if she should get something to eat before calling Harry. But the warm feeling suddenly rising in her chest sent her straight to the ladies' room.

She stumbled like a drunkard to one stall. She kept swallowing, but it didn't go away, and she could already taste it at the back of her mouth. With each step, her throat clenched and ached more and more. Hot tears spilled from her eyes when she dropped on her knees and emptied her stomach in the toilet bowl.

Yup, she was definitely sick.

But why?

She'd been eating fine and exercising regularly for the past month, but she felt like her health was getting worse. Her body had turned on her this morning when she woke up with nausea clawing at her throat. She hated being sick, but she hated skipping an important workday more. So she'd left the flat before Harry woke up to make sure he couldn't convince her to stay at home.

But then, for the entire morning in the office, she missed him terribly. She sat at her desk, constantly thinking about how she hadn't got a chance to kiss him goodbye. And then she almost she burst into tears. This wasn't like her at all, and she blamed her being ill for her acting out of character. She couldn't wait until she got to see him. She needed to see him right away. However, with her condition, maybe she should just go back home and call it a day.

Y/N flushed the toilet and dragged her heavy feet to a sink to wash her hands and mouth. That was when an employee entered the room, looking shocked to make eye contact with her in the mirror.

"Kierra," Y/N spoke, throwing on a smile. "Hi."

She thought it was a must to always be polite to her husband's employees, even the special cases like Kierra here. But this woman didn't need her politeness. Kierra walked straight to a different sink to reapply her lipstick. The only interaction she'd made with Y/N so far had been that cold stare when she first entered.

"I heard you got transferred to HR," Y/N said, looking at the girl who paid no attention to her. "It must be fun. The manager is a sweet lady."

"Just stop faking it, all right?"

"Sorry?"

Kierra put the lipstick back in her purse before turning to face Y/N. "I know you talked Harry into getting a new assistant. So don't pretend to be the girl next door here. I'm not buying that crap anymore."

"Wow." Y/N scoffed, raising both hands in the air. "I have nothing to do with any of my husband's decisions in his company."

"Clearly." Kierra rolled her eyes as she placed a hand on her hip. "You just never grow up. You're still as insecure as you used to be."

"Excuse me?!"

"You were scared of how much Harry enjoyed being around me and my baby girl that you had to find a way to get rid of me."

Y/N laughed wryly, shaking her head as she said, "was that why you sent me the video? To show me that I'm the one who's scared?"

"No, I did it to piss you off." Kierra gave her a shrug. "He came to me first, hoping that my baby was his. It's not his fault that you can't get pregnant."

"How do you—"

"Oh, everyone knows." She smirked. "This rumor has been circling around for a while now, but judging from your reaction, I suppose it's not a rumor after all?"

Y/N's face contorted as the realization hit her like a train. "So you heard the rumor and purposely applied for the job, then you made him think the baby was his to get his attention."

"No, I was just lucky. Maybe we were meant to meet again." The bitch gave Y/N a cold, hard, plastic smile. "You know, the day you and I had our first conversation, I was actually there to tell him that I was pregnant. I thought the baby was his. If he hadn't been so crazy about you back then, maybe I would've stayed and let him believe he was the father. But if he was really the father of my baby girl, would he have chosen you over a real family?"

"Okay, you're obviously sick in the head," Y/N said as she picked up her bag, but Kierra stopped her at once.

"If I were you, I'd work harder to fix my marriage."

That's it, Y/N thought to herself as she turned around, her eyes glinted with rage. The fear was obvious in Kierra's expression as Y/N stepped forward and stopped when their faces were inches apart.

"My husband is a CEO," she said with a straight face, "and your husband doesn't exist. So don't lecture me on how to fix my healthy marriage, when you can't even fix your life. The next time I catch you trying to sabotage our happiness will be the last day you show your face in this company. You understand me?"

Kierra blanched at those words, her mouth fell open. But Y/N didn't have time to wait for a nonexistent response or comeback. She turned her heels and walked out with her head held high. Layla was right, she thought, smiling smugly. This feels fantastic!

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Harry was working late again.

He'd been dead in front of his laptop to prepare for the important meeting tomorrow. This was a meeting that would change the future of this company. Just one more day, he thought to himself, one more day, and he'd go home early and take Y/N out on romantic dates like he used to. She surely would love that. After all, the only reason he was working hard was for her and their future. Everything he did was for her. One more day, and he'd have his old life back.

Those lovely fantasies kept him motivated and concentrated. It was only until his mother called to ask about him and Y/N that he realized how late it was and he should probably head home.

Strange. It was usually the thought of going home to his wife that made him sigh in relief, but now he was gripping the steering wheel, anxious as he could be. Maybe he'd been over-analyzing everything. Maybe it wasn't even that bad. Maybe she'd been having some bad days at work. Maybe she still wanted him. He reassured himself with those thoughts as he stepped into their flat.

The living room was dimly lit by the soft light leaking through the gap beneath the kitchen door. His wife should've been in bed by now. Lately, she had overworked herself, thinking he hadn't noticed, but he had. So what was she still doing in the kitchen at nearly two in the morning?

"Baby?" Harry spoke as he stepped in to find a sight he could never have expected.

Y/N was sitting on the floor in her white silk gown, the fridge was open and she was eating the leftovers as if she'd been starved for days. He laughed, shaking his head when she looked up like a deer in front of headlights. Her eyebrows furrowed as she spoke with her mouth full, "you're home early."

Oh, the sarcasm. He'd missed that.

"Sorry, darling. I got held back at work. But just for today, I promise."

"I hate you." She took another spoon of chocolate cake into her mouth and turned away like an angry little girl.

Beaming, Harry put down his laptop bag to join his wife on the floor. He sat with his legs crossed and his chin on his knuckles. "My assistant told me you came to my office today," he said, his eyes bored into her.

She gave him a slight pout. "Yeah, but you weren't there."

"Did something happen, love?"

"No...I just...I just missed you. That's all." Her voice went quieter toward the end, for she was shy to admit that she'd come to his office because she'd missed him. Little did she know, hearing that made him happier than ever.

He stroked her hair and threw on a soft smile. "If you miss me, you can always call me. I'll drop whatever I'm doing to talk to you."

"I know, but I wanted to see you." Then she put down the empty plate and wiped her hand and mouth with a paper towel. Her eyes had never left his. "Did you miss me?" She asked bashfully.

He nodded fast and picked up her hand to press it to his lips. "All the time."

"Good." Her mouth twitched as she stroked his chin with a thumb. "I like your new assistant. Sweet girl, a bit clumsy though."

"She'll get the hang of it," he said. "I was gonna tell you in person, but you'd already found out."

"It's okay." She pressed her lips together, looking slightly amused. "Kierra didn't seem so happy about it though."

Her comment left him surprised. "You talked to Kierra?"

"Yup, she's batshit crazy. She threatened me, too."

"She threatened you?!"

"It's okay—"

"No, it's not! I'll fire her for that!"

Harry, though mad, was now even more confused when instead of agreeing with him, his wife just burst out laughing. Before he could question her reaction, she pulled him in for a sweet kiss on the mouth and a few others all over his face.

"I wish nothing more than to get rid of her, but her daughter doesn't deserve an unemployed mother." She ran her fingers through his hair now that she was straddling his lap. "But don't worry. She won't bother us again."

"You sound sure." He arched an eyebrow.

"Because I am," she said happily. "All this drama only makes me realize how much we love each other. We should only focus on the two of us from now on, building our own family, living the life we've been dreaming of since college. No one else is allowed to change that."

He chuckled. "Three's a crowd, yeah?"

"Yeah." She nodded. "I hate crowds."

Slowly, Harry leaned in to kiss her again and then pressed their foreheads together, smiling contently.

"Oh, wait," She pulled back as her eyebrows snapped together. "One last question about Kierra."

"Go ahead, love," he said, laughing.

"If she hadn't left, would you...would you have fallen in love with her?"

To her surprise, he cracked up. "That's an easy question. Of course not. Why?"

"She was so good at pretending like she wasn't a shit person that I actually liked her. I assumed you would've fallen for her, given more time."

"Nope," he asserted, lips curved into a smile. "I was already in love then. How could I have fallen for someone else?"

"You were in love with me?" Her face lit up.

"No, with our handsome gay neighbor Ben. Of course I was in love with you, Y/N! Why was that even a question?!"

The couple immediately dissolved into laughter Harry held her to his chest and kissed her forehead. He felt so much joy at this moment that he didn't want to ever leave this kitchen floor. But then sadness clouded her face again, and her voice nearly cracked as she spoke, "I love you so much it hurts sometimes."

"Aww, babe—"

"I'm sorry I didn't kiss you goodbye this morning. I got sick, and had to leave for work before you found out, so you couldn't convince me to stay at home."

"You were sick?" He felt her forehead with the back of his hand, his expression hardened.

"I still am, I think. I-I threw up twice today, and now I can't stop eating and I even start crying for no reason," Y/N said tiredly as she scooted closer to nuzzle her nose against his neck. She even grabbed his hand and intertwined their fingers, as if she couldn't get enough of him. Harry loved these intimate gestures, he loved how clingy she was now, but a part of him still found it concerning because she'd never been so needy.

"Also, the smell of pizza makes me wanna vomit," she quickly added. "Maybe I should see a doctor tomorrow. It might be food poisoning."

"Baby?"

"Hmm?"

"I don't...uhm...I don't think..."

"What?" She pulled back a bit to study his face.

He squeezed the hand that was holding his and looked deep into her eyes. "I don't think it's food poisoning."

That was when realization dawned on her face.

"I'm...pregnant?"

[exobyharu]

PCY - One Shot

Image source to follow. I just Googled it like this

“You just freaking downgraded me!”

Summary: PCY knows that he’s being a five -year-old for treating you like a guy. But what’s a man to do when the girl he likes is taken? Here’s a friendly little back and forth with PCY a few days after you break up with your boyfriend.

⏰10:01 AM

🌏A deserted mall parking lot, but only because it’s not open yet

🌞The kind of sunny that makes PCY squint.

👥YN, Park Chanyeol, Byun Baekhyun (mentioned), YBN (your ex-boyfriend) (mentioned)

Notes: It’s been forever! But I’m still alive! There’s a little mention of implied violence, but it’s all just cute, really. Sorry I take too long! 

Words: ~2,100

💙💙💙

“Or you can quit telling me how to live my life, Chanyeol,” you complain, putting your phone down because you finally spot Chanyeol getting down their company car in his glorious failure of a disguise – a white cap and facemask, worn under a hoodie with the word BALENCIAGA spelled in angry bold letters across his broad back. For an idol who has spent years in the limelight, you would think that the guy had grown wiser in his choice of outfits for public places like, this instance, a mall parking lot. Even that middle-aged woman raking leaves across the entrance gives him a second look.

Who wouldn’t?

Because there is no need to walk like that – with a slight upward tilt in his head, one hand pressing a phone to his ear and the other on his hip, strutting confidently with smooth, long strides. You make a mental note to remind him that the pavement is no catwalk. It’s almost mesmerising, watching a real-life supermodel approach you, looking fresh even when his eyes are squinting hard against the mid-morning sun.

About three meters away, his voice is distinctly Chanyeol, but just a bit huskier than usual as if he is dying to put on a show. Too bad there seems to be no one else watching but you.

“It’s real! You’re here!“ he calls out anyway, extending a clenched fist – a move that you recognise is reserved for his male friends. You stare at the fist bump that never happened, knowing well what he would say if you take his bait. Something along the lines of: For a man, your hands are small, or How’s my brother in a woman’s body? or That’s my little YN-niee! which is always followed by Yah! I really wish you were born a guy!

So you stare at his hand, not sharing the level of his excitement. Shit just happened. You have too little energy to deal with Chanyeol’s fantasies of you as his younger brother. When he notices your lack of enthusiasm, his outstretched hand goes for your head and attempts to mess your hair up instead. “You must be desperate to waste money. The mall does not open in an hour.”

Just desperate to get out of my head, really.

On a regular day, you would hate even the wind for ruining your hair. But this time, his hands are surprisingly gentle. You make an effort to ignore how it feels and snap back at him, anyway. “It’s called Retail Therapy. You just don’t understand the joy of buying yourself new clothes because you never have to.”

He proudly concurs with a smug raise of his brows. “That’s true. I never have to.” It’s that attitude of his that always earns him a slap to his arm. But his fingers are playfully combing through your hair now, and you do not exactly hate the feeling. So you just let him, hoping nobody with a camera on his person ever sees this happening.

“Meanwhile, may I comment that the whole look you went for this morning is aptly low profile,” you tell him for the sake of saying something.

But what you say makes him tug at his training pants reflexively. “These?”

When he removes his cap, pulls down his mask, and appraises his outfit, you realise that he had just overlooked your sarcasm.

“Uh-huh. It totally pleads Don’t Stalk Me, Dispatch. I'm Not Park Chanyeol, I Promise.”

He chuckles. “It’s protection,” he reasons, completely getting rid of the cap and mask.

“Protection? From what? The sun?”

This time, it is you, genuinely not picking up on the joke – or pun – either way, you know that he spends quite a lot of time with his good friend Baekhyun who gives equally horrible punch lines. You have met the guy a few times and you are sure that the baffled look you had on your face is the exact same one you’re giving Chanyeol at the moment.

He seems to enjoy it. It takes him a few seconds to explain. “It’s protection from you.”

From me?

“Excuse you, but I’m the one who needs protecting!” You argue and it makes him grin from ear to ear. You realise that you had just given him the reaction he was hoping to get.

“No, you don’t,” he insists, “Based on last night’s phone call, you’re upset over your boyfriend. And do you know what you do when you’re upset, in general?”

“What?” Frankly, you know that you do a lot of things.

“You flail your arms around and hit people!” Chanyeol exclaims, and then he stretches his arms out and flaps them, trying to imitate how you’re supposed to look. It’s ridiculous how he is making it appear worse than it actually is. “You and your little man paws! Hitting innocent people all because your boyfriend made you cry again! It’s about time–””

“Yah! For the final time, Chanyeol, I am not a man! Also, must I tell you, he’s not my boyfriend anymore!”

“Shut it! You are one of us so that makes you a – wait, you… He… What?” There’s a bit of a delay, but in a snap, his energy drops, his eyes grow wide and your first point is now obviously abandoned.

“It’s what I said,” you clarify reluctantly. “And, my main point right now, please stop treating me like a guy, already!”

Chanyeol’s not hearing any of what you just said. His eyes remain on yours, searching for any hint of a lie.

He does not find one. “You’re saying… That YBN is not?? …Anymore?”

Again, the same reaction. It’s the same words, the same tone, the same look of caution and concern – it’s always the same questions every time you tell somebody new. All the repetitive explaining is starting to become more painful than the breakup itself. You hate it more than you can express. It makes you lose it for a moment and yell at your friend with careless regard for your surroundings. “You understood the first time! Why does everyone want me to spell it out?!”

That is when you realise that he is right. Your hands have a mind of their own.

“Yah! Yah! That’s what I’m talking about!” Chanyeol whines, using his forearm to fend off a jab that you were about to give him. Just as he had predicted. “Watch out because people around here will know who you’re hitting. Do that a few more times and you’ll be exposed. My fans won’t like it!”

You roll your eyes at his sudden mood shift after confirming your breakup. There’s no way you’re missing Chanyeol’s smile that is starting to inch in. He never really liked YBN. Now that you’ve broken up with the guy, you can already hear the satisfaction dripping in his voice when he delivers his much anticipated I told you so because this time, he’s right. You grumble, exceptionally annoyed, because of how right he is.

“Anywaaaay, back to why I need protecting…  You’re right. He nearly hit me.”

And you wonder why Chanyeol’s pretty slow on the uptake this morning. He takes two seconds.

“What!?” Finally, his eyes nearly bug out of their sockets. He takes another second to shake his head from disbelief and then asks again. “He what?!”

This morning, Chanyeol’s a freaking cartoon. His aggravated expression seems out of place, given how much he has been confronting you about your now-ex-boyfriend’s alleged tendency towards violence. He saw it coming. Why is he so surprised? Your eyes roll.

“Relaaaaax. I’m more capable than I look. I started training for–”

“Stop that!” he interrupts, dismissing all humour from the situation. “He hit you?!” And he’s angry, possibly even more furious than your father had been. You certainly don’t remember doing anything that warranted any scolding. But here he is, getting all worked up while you stand your ground with hands in your pockets because you are starting to pick on your nails. Despite your nerves, you try to remain as calm as you could, and you are determined to make him realise that you’re not the enemy here.

“You’re not listening to me, Chanyeol! I said he nearly, and by nearly, I mean he missed. He punched the wall behind my face instead.”

You say it with a convincing smile, but Chanyeol still does not respond. He inhales sharply and looks up the sky, pulling his hair – what he does whenever he could not get his point across.

“But I’m kinda proud of myself, so thanks for asking twice,” you continue, still grinning at him and trying to keep it cool. You’re not about to just watch him blow up. Not now and certainly not here. An angry Chanyeol is not a fun Chanyeol. So you let the silence ensue as you watch him, whose eyes are still closed and is obviously putting in the effort, himself.  

He fails.

“Fucking hell. Who hits a woman!?” All of a sudden, he starts to furiously rub his face against his palms until his nose turns pink. “Does he know who he’s messing with? Have you seen how small he stands beside me? I could crush him with–”

“Park Chanyeol!” You yell at him this time, because it is the only way to snap him out of it. “He messed with me. Not you. And I’ll remind you that you’re my dad’s student, not my bodyguard!”

“But I am also your friend!”

That had done it. He yells even louder, causing a dog to bark in the distance. It brings him back to the present, as you notice him consciously steal a side glance at the parking entrance, making sure nobody has come to watch the show.

When he sees that nobody’s there, he grumbles something incoherent. I’m a special friend, it sounded very much like. But he shakes his head again and promptly rephrases that. “Look, I am your good friend, first of all! I can’t believe you just freaking downgraded me!”

That you did. But that’s only because you think he’s getting too involved in this. You’ve let it go.

Why couldn’t he?

“You see, this is why I didn’t get to join your family’s dinner last Friday. Also, this is why I didn’t tell you over the phone! Look at you!”

He does. He realises that his hands are now impulsively clenched into fists at his sides, and his feet, apart, and planted to the ground as if he is preparing for a fight. With you.

“Calm down a little? I had enough testosterone when I told my dad about it last night,” you explain. You’re not about to let yourself get another round of scolding. This morning is all about recovery. “I promise I’m okay and I’ll feel even better when I get to shop for things I like!”

Your false eagerness seems to exasperate him even more. “Again, that’s a waste of money. You’ll surely buy clothes you won’t wear again!”

“How am I supposed to… Give me alternatives then!” you demand. He’s got way too much opinions any way.

But Chanyeol accepts his chance and then he goes, “Hm,” full of scrutiny, as if he has something better in mind. It turns out that he actually does. And by better, he means better by his standards. “How about I teach you how to throw a proper punch?”

“You mean, boxing?”

He nods.

And you think hell no. You eye him suspiciously, peering at him from under his cap that he had just placed on your head. “If this about making me a man, I swear to–”

“Come on, just come on! I’ll make it fun!” His mood seems to shift for good this time. “We can tape his face on the punching bag and you can pretend to be hitting him!”

“Nice try, but that only hurts my hands. It’ll make no difference,” you tell him, even though a part of you considers the idea an entertaining way to get over yourself already.

“It will, I promise. I’ll fund your next shopping spree if I don’t convince you.”

The suggestion gets you thinking even more. It’s not a bad deal, is it? You bite the bullet and Chanyeol sees that he’s got the upper hand. You both smile. “Any more benefits?” you ask. And his response comes as a reflex. “That, and I’ll make sure your punches reach him through me.”

“Park Chanyeol!”

“Hahaha! I’m just kidding!” Chanyeol promises, playfully holding his fists out in front of you. You don’t quite miss that devious smirk. “Or am I?”

💙💙💙

- end -