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chleem · 2 days ago

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Is it casual now?/extra II

One shot; college students drew x reader

Summary: “Baby, no attachments.” yet, you’re at his childhood home, laughing with his parents, bonding with his siblings.

Genre: situation-ship, smut, fluff, angst,

Warnings: swearing, sex, light read, etc

⋆.˚ this is entirely fictional, if uncomfortable then don't read

⋆.˚ official one shot, extra I

♡⸝⸝ "fucked you in the bathroom, when we went to dinner"

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Where you going?”

You ask, as Drew stands up. The warmth of his hands caressing your thighs is gone, now running through his hair. “Bathroom,” he mumbles, barely meeting your eyes. He walks off, without another glance back at the table.

His sour mood is evident, by not only you, but all of your friends.

To be fair, he didn’t even want to come tonight. He pleaded desperately for you to stay in with him, offering things to you that was ridiculous. Such as, doing your laundry for a month (he doesn’t even do his own).

But you haven’t hung out with all your friends in a long time, and you missed them. So, tonight was non-negotiable with Drew.

And he gave up with trying to reason with you, hence, why he decided to join you here, at the nice restaurant. He didn’t even make an effort to engage nicely with them, chuckling under his breath at random times and answering questions with short answers. Whenever you were talking, he would purposely distract you by touching you under the table, making it awkward for you and your friends.

Drew knows your friends don’t like him; that’s why he’s sour. That’s also why he shows up to these hangouts, just to rub it in their faces.

“Why did you invite him?” Lucy groans, after Drew was out of eye sight. Your five other friends of this group nod too, all letting out groans of frustration. “Hello, earth to y/n, we. Don’t. Like. Him.”

“He insisted on joining,” you shrug, forcing a smile.

“Um, you could’ve insisted on him not joining,” Janet, another friend adds on.

Your friend group was filled with weird people with different opinions, but one thing they’ve collectively agreed on was: they hate Drew. ‘Hate’ is a strong word, but that was the only way to describe their feelings towards Drew.

They’ve expressed it a lot of times, so it’s become numb to you.

“Are you guys finally together though?” Gary asks, sitting beside you.

Oh. Every time they see you, they ask this question.

“Of course not,” Lucy answers for you, sending you a cocky grin. One you always disliked, because it made you feel small. “Classmates, huh?”

“A really bad label,” Stacy adds on. Yeah, as if you didn’t already know.

Great. Now it’s just your whole friend group judging you for being with Drew. Again. The last thing you needed from them.

“I visited his parents,” you aggressively say, stabbing into your food. Hopefully that will convince them Drew is a better person that what they think, right?

Wrong. They all ‘tsk’ in a disappointed manner, shaking their heads. “And…still classmates?”

“Well, he said I was his best friend,” you stuff the food in your mouth, “To his family.”

“He probably had to,” Josh speaks up this time, “and wow, is that the first time he called you his friend?”

You don’t miss the sarcasm in his voice, and you send him a glare. He raises his hands in defense, the table laughs.

You don’t find the humor in this situation. Why were they so judgmental towards the relationship with Drew? It’s not like he’s the biggest jackass ever. You’ve seen every side there is to Drew, they just don’t know him like you do. “Can you guys cut it off?” You say, not trying to hide the annoyance in your voice.

“We’re just joking,” Janet laughs, glancing around, “besides, we’re worried for you.”

You chew and swallow the food in your mouth, sending her an unappreciative smile, “‘worried’ for me?”

“Yes, he’s obviously not… well, in love with you,” Janet continues, “we don’t want you with someone who clearly doesn’t care for you.”

“He cares for me,” you defend, furrowing your eyebrows at them. You look around the table, seeing your friends glance down at their food, afraid to meet your eyes. “He cares for me.”

“Sure he does,” Stacy bitterly agrees with you. That tone pisses you off. “Maybe privately, he does, but what about in public? Starting off with the most basic, labels.”

You hate how right your friends are. As rude and mean they’re being, deep down, you know they’re right. The ‘no attachments’ thing is bullshit, especially when nothing about the two of you is casual.

Five, no close to six months, nothing about that is causal.

“That…doesn’t matter,” you murmur. Wrong; it mattered a lot, to everyone and to you. You just hated to admit you weren’t as chill or casual as Drew was, how he made everything romantic seem friendly with you.

When you look around, everyone is now staring at you pitifully.

You didn’t like that. That pity stare. There’s nothing to be pity of. Bunch of people around the world right now might be having situation-ships too. Nothing to pity. Nothing to be ashamed of.

Yeah. That’s what you keep brainwashing yourself to believe.

‘The girl that he bangs on his couch’. Yeah. Nothing to be ashamed of.

Your phone on the table lights up, and it reads bathroom. now.

Drew. “Um, excuse me,” you stand up, excusing yourself to the bathroom.

As you slowly get up and walk away, your friends weren’t very careful with the volume of their voice. You hear one of them calling you a loser, still hanging around just for a good dick to suck.

That must be Janet. Her lonely ass must be jealous.

But part of you knew she wasn’t wrong. You were a loser. The biggest loser to exist. The loser of losers, if that even is a thing.

Casual. Your friends succeeded once again, in making you doubt everything with Drew.

——

“Really boring, right?”

Drew pulls you in by the waist, a lazy smile on his lips as he stares down at you. He leans against the sink, making you stand between his legs.

This restaurant had two bathrooms, each with their own sink inside. So, Drew took full advantage of that.

“Hmm,” you hum carelessly. You didn’t want agree with him; you tried to make this evening nice, but his attitude towards your friends just weren’t helping. You keep your gaze around the collar of his jacket, not wanting to meet his eyes.

“Something wrong?” He asks, playfulness still hinted in his words. His hand rub circles around your waist, as he tries to make eye contact with you, bending his head down to your level.

You advert your gaze even more, now focusing on the bracelet around his wrist. Now that you think about it, he always has this on, since the day you got it for him.

Was that casual to do? To keep the bracelet on at all times.

“Look at me, would you?” Drew’s tone turns serious, and he pinches the side of your waist harshly.

You flinch, finally looking up at him. You meet his blue eyes, a mix of concern and something else that you can’t read. His raised eyebrows tell you that he wants you to talk, to tell him what’s on your mind.

Should you? But, where do you even start? With his attitude tonight, or with your friend’s comments? Or with this whole casual thing, which is basically the beginning to it all.

Your lips pout on its own, resting your hands around his wrist. “That was uncalled for,” you murmur, looking down at his bracelet again.

“What was?” Drew’s pinch one your waist is more soft this time, wanting to get the words out of you.

“Doing that,” you say, playing with his chained bracelet. Shit. You’re gonna say it. You’re gonna call him out for his behavior. “Being rude to my friends.”

A scoff escapes Drew. He then brings his hand up to your face, forcing you to look up at him. Like second nature, you lean your face into the palm of his hand, waiting for him to explain himself. “Babe, your friends were the rude ones.”

The feeling inside your stomach is indescribable. The nickname sends you butterflies, but the words that follow don't.

“How?” You ask, crossing your arms.

He licks his lips, squinting his eyes at you. “It was so fucking obvious.”

“Was it?”

“Yes- yes, it was,” Drew straightens his posture, taking his hands off you. The warmth of him is gone, now with the presence of a man trying to explain his reasonable case of being bratty. “They asked loaded questions to me this whole night.”

You furrow your eyebrows, thinking hard to the stuff they asked Drew. Shit. They were. Your friends didn’t even trying to hide their discontent with him tonight.

“They hate me,” he adds on, “C’mon, I leave the table for like, a few minutes, and they talked shit, right?”

The way he looks at you; he challenges you to disagree with him. But you couldn’t; he was right. Your friends hate him, making you constantly doubt whatever this was with Drew.

“Wasn’t all shit,” you lie, sending him the smallest smile ever.

Drew makes the ‘tsk’ sound, shaking his head as he gives you a tired smile. “What they say then?” He asks, leaning back against the sink again.

His eyes look at you in anticipation, biting down on his lips.

You do not want to tell him what they said. It was rude, and although it was about Drew, it affected you more than it should have. The seeds of doubt are always planted by your friends, they never put you at ease with this relationship.

You give him a lazy smile, snaking your arms around his neck. You lean in close to him, a seductive look in your eyes. “Does it matter? They talk shit, all they ever do.”

Drew’s lips slightly part, and he glances quickly down at your lips. A smile appears, “I see what you’re doing. You’re distracting me.”

You shrug lightly, before planting a small kiss on his jaw. “Is it working?”

You hear a chuckle escape from him, and his hand wraps around the back of your head. His eyes keep bouncing between your lips and eyes, smiling from ear-to-ear, “annoyingly so, you minx.”

Without another comment, Drew kisses you, soft and slow.

You return the kiss, escalating into a whole make-out session.

You hate how your body reacts to him; feeling a pool of wetness form between your legs. Fuck.

Something pokes against your lower stomach, and you pull away from Drew. You glance down; he’s erected. “Shit,” you curse, as his hands slide down your body. He squeezes your ass, burying his face into your neck as he breathes the skin there.

“I…I can’t go back to the table like this,” he murmurs, referring to his erection.

You watch as his back rises and falls, through the sink mirror. Even with this thick white jacket he has on, you can tell his breathing has sped up. Your lips form a straight line, running your hands through his short hair.

In the bathroom? Right in the middle of dinner? It was highly inappropriate.

Wrapping your hands around his face, you pull him up to meet his eyes. He looks at you pleadingly, lips parted with drool on the corner of his lips.

Fuck. How is one suppose to say no to that look? He looked as if he physically needed you; needed you to calm the… ‘growing’ in his pants.

“Ten minutes,” you tell him, which immediately lights the spark in his eyes. He looks like a puppy! You smile at that thought, as he straightens himself, switching your positions.

“Ten minutes? Enough for two rounds,” he teases, lifting you to sit on the sink.

“No! One round,” you say, which gets cut off by Drew kissing you again. As much fun as two rounds sound, the longer you linger in here, the more obvious it is that the two of you are fucking.

He groans into your mouth, spreading your legs to stand between them. His hands move fast into your dress, slipping your underwear off. The cold surface of the sink hits your thighs and pussy, adding to the heat growing within you.

Drew trails his kisses down your neck, as your hands work on undoing his belt.

You moan when he sucks on the sweet-spot around your neck, the belt dropping onto the floor with a hard thud. “Drew…” you moan out, messy hands tugging his hair as he continues to form hickeys around your neck.

You want to run your hands around his stomach, chest, abs. But the jacket he has on prevents that, being zipped up the whole way. This jacket looked great on him, but would look better on the floor.

Your hands fidget with the zipper, tugging with no luck of it moving.

Drew pulls away from your neck, a chuckle escaping, “babe, gently.”

His hands overlaps yours, guiding you to pull the jacket zipper down. It reveals that he isn’t wearing anything inside; a feast to your eyes. “Is that why you refused to take this off?” You ask, referring to before the dinner started.

“I was invited last minute,” he shrugs the jacket off, as if it wasn’t his fault for the improvised outfit.

“Right, but you weren’t invited,” you remind him, when he insisted on joining you when you were leaving, throwing on a random outfit nearby. You were busy putting your heels on, so you couldn’t see the moment when he got dressed. You didn’t even know he owned a jacket like this.

“Mmhm,” his mind was elsewhere, attaching his lips to yours again. Sloppy and more lustful this time, as your hands wander around his body. It’s hot under your touch; his abs flexing as you run your hands over them.

His hand grips onto your thigh, before moving closer to your heat.

When the warmth of his fingers hit your pussy, you moan loudly into his mouth.

“Shit,” he chuckles, “we’re in public, babe.”

The tip of your ears heat up too, from the embarrassment and realization that you’re in public, most likely having people hear you from the other side of the door. “Sorry,” you murmur, burying your face into his neck.

Drew sticks two fingers into your hole, and starts thrusting at a faster speed than usual. Your breathing becomes uneven, as you try to tone down your moans.

Drew wasn’t having it easy either, as you hear low grunts escaping him. “Fuck,” he curses, adding another digit, “you’re tight tonight.”

“Just fuck me already,” you manage to say, hands gripping on his biceps. Surely, this was enough foreplay, right?

He chuckles again, this time at your impatience. He pulls his fingers out of you, his hands going to the back pocket of his jeans.

The familiar gold packaging comes out, and his hands skillfully rip them open.

“…couldn’t put on a shirt but bought a condom with you?” Laughter escapes you, as you watch him unzip his pants.

He glances up at you, and when he sees you smiling ear-to-ear, he can’t help but match you, “wasn’t gonna show up totally unprepared, right?”

You laugh again; what an unbelievable guy. “Shirt’s optional but condom a must. Got it.”

Drew lets his pants and boxers hang around his knees, his cock standing proud. The sight immediately wipes the smile off your lips, gulping as you imagine it stuffed inside you.

“The chances of fucking you wherever and whenever is high,” Drew says, wrapping the condom around his dick.

He looks up at you, seeing your gaze fixed on his hard cock. A smirk helps themselves to his lips, as his hands tug on your waist. An idea flashes in his mind as he looks over your shoulder, at the big sink mirror.

“Get off,” his voice brings you back, looking at him with confused eyes now. “C’mon, trust me.”

You let him bring you back onto the ground, before flipping you over. You see both your reflections in the mirror, your back hitting his chest, his dick poking your upper ass.

When you meet his eyes through the mirror, you understand where this was going.

“Watch yourself while I destroy your fucking pussy, hmm?”

Oh. Oh. Was it possible to be turned on by words?

Drew lifts up your dress, revealing your wet core. You hold onto the sink for support, grip getting tighter when you feel Drew’s tip against your entrance.

Then, he slips in, going deep until it’s completely nestled inside you.

“Fuck,” you moan, glancing up at Drew. He sends you a smirk, enjoying this too. His hand goes to your stomach, and he lifts you backward, resting against his chest again.

“Grip my hair, and keep your eyes open, alright?” His voice drops low, one hand moving to knead your breasts.

You nod, bringing your hands behind you; one tugging gently around his hair, another around his arm that’s supporting you.

He starts to thrust into you, rather roughly and fast. “Shit,” you moan, the sensation sending you to outer space. With his thick cock slamming into you, his hands roaming your body, your hands running through his short hair, it feels euphoric.

Your eyes can barely stay open, as you look at the reflection in the mirror. Drew leaves a trail of sloppy kisses along your shoulder, which sends goosebumps to your skin.

You watch as one of his hand slips between your thighs, starting to massage your pussy. “Fuck,” you moan, louder than you should be. You couldn’t help it, the pleasure was extraordinary.

He kisses your earlobe, “i’know baby, but keep it down, alright?”

“Y-yeah,” it barely comes out, as the thrusts and massages to your core intensifies. The familiar knot in your stomach forms, informing you that you’re close. “Drew…”

His pace doesn’t stop, and when you lean your head back on his shoulder, he goes harder, “close?”

You nod with any energy left, and Drew uses his free hand to lift your face up again. He kisses your cheek, “use your words.”

You flutter your eyes open, looking at the two of you in the mirror. It was extremely hot, to see Drew filling you up, his hands all around you. The mirror starts to fog up a little, with all the grunting and pressure filling in here.

“I’m coming,” you force out, and meet Drew’s gaze in the mirror. His blue eyes meet yours, seething with lust.

You clench around him, your hand going around Drew’s, which is massaging your pussy. He stops massaging, and he intertwines your hands together. The stickiness doesn’t bother you; why should it?

“Fuck,” he groans, his thrusts to your g-spot growing sloppy.

You tilt your head sideways, and you give him a quick kiss, which sends you over the edge. Your orgasm explodes inside of you, cum dripping out and over Drew’s cock.

Body giving up, you lean completely against Drew, as he helps himself to his. His cock twitches, and you feel the familiar hot liquid filling up.

Both of you are breathing heavily, euphoria radiating off your bodies. Fuck. This might just be one of the best fucks you’ve had with Drew. But in a public restroom? Who would’ve thought.

“You’re so hot,” he compliments, before planting a small kiss on the side of your face.

You giggle at that stupid comment, looking at him through the mirror; He’s got a playful smile on his lips, looking at you with smitten eyes. “You’re great with your words.”

He chuckles, his hands tapping against the side of your waist, signaling you to move. You use the energy left inside of you, helping him slip out. Leaning against the sink, you watch as Drew grabs tissues to wipe your core, then throwing his condom away.

After that, he grabs your underwear on the floor. You get yourself dressed, him doing the same thing.

“Look, only…only seven minutes passed,” Drew comments with a sly smile on his lips, showing you his watch.

You roll your eyes, your lips betraying you by forming a smile. “Cocky much?”

He puts his jacket back on, the last piece of clothing. “Well, you've definitely enjoyed the taste of it.”

You hit his chest playfully, his remark sending butterflies to your stomach. He laughs, zipping his jacket only halfway. Your eyebrows furrow at his exposed chest that pierces through the top; and you reach for the zipper.

Drew stays in place, and you feel his gaze on the top of your head, his hot breath hitting you. You ignore the tension that pulls; when you’re done, you pat his chest, “all done, buddy.”

“‘Buddy’?” There’s a hint of amusement in his tone, eyes squinting down at you.

You send him a soft smile, seeing him glance down at your lips. “What?”

“Call me buddy one more time,” his hands wrap around your waist, and he leans closer to you, “and you’ll get it.”

His dirty and challenging tone sends shivers down your spine, something you find yourself liking a bit too much. The pit of your stomach yells at you at how hypocritical Drew was being right now, but you ignore it.

And just because it’s fun, you lean into his ear, and whisper, “best buddy ever.”

Tickles are sent to the side of your body, making you jump and melt into his arms. You laugh uncontrollably; Drew knew you were ticklish, using it to his full advantage.

“Stop! Stop!” You yell between laughter, your legs ready to give up.

“Don’t call me that then,” he stops tickling you, grip on you tight to make sure you don’t fall. He kisses the tears of laughter from the corner of your eyes, “I don’t like it.”

“Noted,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around his neck. You glance down at his lips, and he does the same to yours.

Drew gives you the look; he wants to kiss you.

And you let him, closing your eyes and feeling his lips against yours.

Is it still casual if you kissed me like it’s the last time you ever will? You hate how this thought appears in your mind again, haunting you.

You pull away, the pressure of it getting overwhelming. “Let’s head back, yeah?”

“We have to?” His eyes stay glued to your lips. “You know, We could…we could just leave.”

You furrow your eyebrows at him, “no!”

“Say you got plans tomorrow morning,” he shrugs, “I’ll say it for you, if you can’t-”

You cross your arms, looking up at him. “Why would I leave early?”

Drew parts his lips, and he brings his hand up to your elbow. He rubs the area there in soft circles, a playful look in his eyes, “…grab some froyo?”

You drop your arms, looking at him disappointedly. When he saw that, he hurriedly adds, “and I got errands to run. Really.”

You contemplate in your mind about this; ditching this dinner to hang out privately with Drew? Yeah, that sounded like something fun. It must be better than staying awkwardly, having your friends judge Drew.

Casual. Casual, casual, casual. Some casual froyo with Drew, and maybe ending up with sex in his dorm room.

Yeah. Seemed like things people whose ‘casual’ would do.

“Fine. You’re treating me though,” you unlock the door, walking out the bathroom.

“I always treat you,” you hear him murmur behind you, following closely behind as you two walk back to the table.

You interrupt the conversation they’re having, grabbing your purse from your seat. They look at your questionably, before their gaze lands sourly on Drew behind you. “i’ve got something, tomorrow morning, so we’re heading off,” you try sounding apologetic, “sorry to leave this early.”

“Oh, um, okay,” Lucy glances between the two of you, “text us when you get home.”

“Yeah, sorry,” you apologize again, before your friends wave goodbye to you. You don’t miss the hateful looks they leave on Drew, as they tell you to take care until the next time you guys meet.

After that, you and Drew leave the restaurant, letting the doorman do his job of getting a taxi.

A warmth around your hand catches you by surprise; Drew holds your hand, pulling you closer to him. You look down at the holding of hands; then back up at him. He’s staring down at his phone, scrolling through his insta feed.

Holding hands. Something very casual to do, apparently.

“What are you watching?” You ask, leaning on his shoulder.

He laughs, showing you the screen. It’s a video of a monkey pointing towards the glass, which has different play-doughs lined along it.

You don’t get the humor in it, but you smile, because it makes Drew smile.

The two of you stand there, watching different posts on his phone until the taxi arrives.

Your mind finds it strange how ‘casual’ you two are.

Because, in the bottom of your heart, you weren’t so sure if this was casual anymore. Along the way, the lines of ‘no attachment’ seemed to have blurred. Blurred to the point of no return.

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word count: 4.1k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: goddamn, i would fall for this toxic relationship too T_T

sry for not posting lately, i got very busy lately! i promise you, flashing lights 6 & not a big deal pt4 is coming sooooon. but hope you enjoyed this extra, and also, thx for blowing up the halloween special, was NOT expecting that. thank you sm! your lovely comments inspire me to write these fics!

btw, watched obx s4, and the ending broke me T_T like tffff

#drew starkey #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey x reader #fiction #angst #drew starkey x you #fluff #smut #oneshot #situationships #light reading

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lucentloo · 2 days ago

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Gift Giving

Summary: Spencer and reader share the love language of gift giving, however, Spencer seems to get reader gifts that she feels like she shouldn’t have since she can’t afford the same for him.

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Wc: 1740

Content Warnings: Female reader, somewhat poor reader, not feeling good enough, gift giving love language for both Spencer and reader, no y/n, first fic ever, there might be swearing but I doubt it, season 6/7 Spencer, reader works in a restaurant, that should be all (If I’ve missed any please tell me)

a/n: I'm sorry if this sucks really bad but it's my first time writing and I thought I'd give it a try, thank you for reading and if you have any tips for me to get any better please share, have a nice day/night!

You’re staring at the small box on your counter as you hold the phone to your ear waiting for Spencer to pick up. The case he's working on is a crazy one though so you don't have much hope. You wait a few more seconds before giving up and stopping the call. The box on the counter is black with a pristine white ribbon tied and a bow on top. This is the third gift this month from your boyfriend and he doesn’t even have a reason.

You chew your lip as your eyes narrow at the box as if your glare could make it disappear from your kitchen. But alas, it stays exactly where it is.

You don't hate the gifts, in fact gift giving is one of your love languages, you just feel so guilty that you can’t give Spencer anything back. You’ve tried to buy him something nice one time but that left you without food for a week and you couldn’t do that again without starving yourself.

With a sigh you grab the box with the silver necklace and make your way to your bedroom to get ready for bed. After you shower and get into your pajamas (Spencer's hoodie and fuzzy socks) you climb into bed and contemplate what to do.

Ever since you were little you were always the kid with the worst birthday present at parties, or you were never the wished upon secret santa at christmas. You don’t have enough money to lavish your love on Spencer like you wish you did. It made you feel bad whenever you got something knowing you couldn’t get him anything like it in return.

You turn on your side and try to push away that persistent feeling that you’re not doing enough, that Spencer deserves someone who can afford to love him. Eventually you grow too tired to think anymore and slip your eyes shut. Sleep comes easier than it should that night and you’re only woken by your alarm early in the morning.

Spencer was worried.

He usually feels at ease with you and knows he can trust you to take care of yourself when he’s gone. However, this week you’ve barely seen him let alone your own bed. Anytime Spencer calls to hang out or take you out on a date he’s interrupted by a, “sorry handsome I’ve picked up the night shift,” or, “I’m filling in for Sandy since she’s out for the day, sorry baby,” and he can’t seem to find a time, day or night, that you’re available.

So he comes up with the only solution. He’s going to your work to forcefully pull you away from your job and take you to his apartment. When he gets there he’s surprised to see that the restaurant is quiet and not bustling like usual. He only spots two people eating at a table and one server walking around. That server isn’t you.

Spencer walks up to the server, Kate, and asks if you’re on break.

Kate looks at Spencer in surprise. “Um no, she left a few minutes ago to go home. The boss made her, apparently she’s been here for, like, three days straight.” she says the last part in a whisper like she’s gossiping to her friend in her high school cafeteria.

Spencer nods and whispers a quick “Thank you” before going back out to the parking lot. He knew he saw your car when he drove in here and decides to check the employees parking, just for reassurance.

Sure enough when he got there he saw your car parked right in front of the back entrance. The car was on and it looked like it was ready to go at any minute. Spencer furrowed his brows as he got closer and looked through your window. There you were, in your car with your uniform still on, sleeping like a baby.

Spencer smiled despite his concern, admiring your peaceful state in the quiet of the night. He doesn’t want to wake you from your sleep knowing it’s probably the most you’ve gotten all week but he needs to make sure you’re okay.

Spencer knocks on your window and gives a slight chuckle when you jump up in shock. He smiles awkwardly and gives a little wave as you look at him with hard eyes that turn soft when you realize who it is. You unlock the door and step out with a stretch. You yawn before slumping against Spencer.

“Hey baby, why are you sleeping in your car?” Spencer asks softly. He’s trying not to wake you up too much as he wraps his arms around your waist to keep you upright. His heartbeat soothes you enough to let you stay in the drowsy state you find yourself in. Spencer feels you lean more weight on him as your arms encircle his slender form.

“Got off work and felt too tired to drive home.” It was hard to understand you since your face was pressed against Spencer's chest but he heard you well enough to look down at you in concern. He held onto you tighter as he sighed before bending down to pick you up.

“Let’s get you home sweet girl,” Spencer whispers into your ear as you shut your eyes again and fall back asleep.

When you wake up the next morning the first thing you register is Spencer's arms around your torso and his breaths blowing down your neck. You groan and shield your eyes from the sun that shines through the curtain and turn your body until you’re cuddled up into Spencer's hold. Your face is pushed into his chest to better hide yourself from the light.

Spencer shifts slightly and you feel his hand start rubbing up and down the expense of your back. You take a breath in and you’re immediately comforted by the familiar smell of Spencer. He somehow still smells like coffee despite just waking up and he’s got the lingering smell of his cologne that he wore the night before.

You pull back slowly to look into at him with a small smile before recognition flashes through your eyes. “I’m not at work,” you whisper to Spencer, “I had an early shift today, Spence, baby, I need to be at work.” You try to untangle yourself from Spencer’s tight hold on you but don’t succeed. “Spencer, I'm not joking. I need to leave.”

Spencer shakes his head. “No.”

You look at him, not amused. “No?”

Spencer shakes his head again as his arms hold you impossibly tighter. “No.”

You sigh and stop struggling. Finally looking into his eyes you see the confusion and concern that’s directed at you. And damn does that make you feel guilty. The little seed that was planted at the beginning of the week just keeps growing and growing.

Spencer seems to sense the conflict you feel and kisses the top of your head. “I need you to take a break and tell me what’s going on. You’ve been distant and short with me, and I miss you, I want to see you.” Spencer whispers the confession in the silent room and it makes you tear up a little.

Your head lowers as you try to hide yourself under his blanket. The embarrassment floods through you as guilt eats your inside whole. “I’m sorry,” is all you can manage to say to him.

Spencer hums in acknowledgment before sitting up and bringing you with him. He sits you on his lap so you’re facing him and he lifts your chin so he can peer into your eyes. “Baby, there’s no need to say sorry, just tell me what's going on in that head of yours, hm?”

You take a shaky breath in before slowly letting it out to keep your tears at bay. The attempt seems futile though as you can’t seem to hold it together. “I can’t get you anything nice.” You say in a whimper as small sobs escape your lips and you hide your face in his neck.

Spencer’s lips turn down in concern as he thinks about what you just said. His thumb draws small circles on your waist as he contemplates how to go about this. “What do you mean sweetie? You give me nice things all the time.” Spencer tries to point out the things you’ve given him in the past - cookies, a new tie, the pen he uses every day - but it just makes you feel even worse. Those are things that shouldn’t even be considered gifts, let alone nice ones.

“No, n-no, you always get me these necklaces and, and books, and things that I could never afford.” Your sobs interrupt your speech slightly but It doesn’t deter you. “I just want to repay you, give you something nice for a, a change but instead I wo-worry you.” You burst into tears again as you squeeze Spencer tighter.

“Woah, woah, okay, hey, it’s okay. Baby I don’t need those kinds of gifts, I just need you. Is that why you were overworking yourself?” Spencer asks in a worried tone. His lips find the top of your head again as you nod your head against his neck. You hear him sigh before pulling back slightly. You raise your head to look at him and he wipes your tears away when he cups your cheek.

“Your health and happiness come way before an object I don’t even need.” He says in a stern yet soft voice. You lower your head to hide your face but he moves his head as well to keep eye contact. “Hey, I’m being serious, I don’t want you to work yourself crazy just to afford a gift. You’re way too important to me.” Spencer whispers the last part before giving you a soft kiss.

You sigh after the kiss and look up at Spencer. “But that’s how I show my love, I don’t see you a lot so I like to give you gifts.” Spencer smiles as his thumb strokes your cheek.

“So keep giving me cookies and pens, they really do make my day.” Spencer goes in for another kiss that has you smiling more than you have in days.

“Okay,” You whisper against his mouth.

Spencer kisses your cheek, then nose, then your other cheek, then your eyebrows, he does this until you’re a giggling mess. “I love you so much.” He finally says as he kisses your lips again.

“I love you too.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #x reader #female reader #hurt/comfort #criminal minds

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alchemistc · 3 days ago

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911 was always in my periphery bc of how popular Buck x Eddie is on Tumblr and Ao3. I didn't really want to watch a cable network procedural drama, especially one that came off as so unserious. I could also see how such invested shipping by a lot of fans who are young and think it’s ok to demand things from the cast and crew would inevitably become a toxic cesspool. I stand by that assessment of the show based on the behavior of the fandom these last months, as well as the overall quality of the writing and how often good story lines just get dropped or undermined.

However, I heard about Buck coming out. Over the summer, I was going through a lot and feeling aimless, so I finally started watching the show. And I liked Buck and Tommy, but what I really loved was the quality of the fan works they inspired. At the end of the day, I never really had real expectations of high quality television from a show like 911; that’s not what it’s for.

Despite this, what really affected me last night—which was also the first episode I bothered watching live ever because of how terrible this last week has been—wasn’t even how badly it was executed or the fact that they broke up. But how unnecessarily and viciously cruel the whole thing felt?

What was the point of showing Tommy as a caring, supportive, present partner in the previous episode if it was going to lead to an unceremonious break up? What was the point of showing his yearning for connection and family only to see him throw it all away? Why have him say such wonderful things about Buck moments before questioning the commitment of their relationship after six months together? What was the point of Buck getting that speech from Josh and bringing up marriage and moving in together and that Tommy had been a transformative relationship when it was going to end with him being dumped? It just felt so horribly cruel to see a character bare his tender heart and see it get stomped on. He looked so sad at the end.

Up till the very end of the episode, I was actually really enjoying it. Their acting was so good from heart eyes to heartbreak, and the show seemed to understand Tommy’s reaction to Buck getting hit on by those women would cause friction. It even made sense to me that Tommy would recoil at the prospect of moving in together because Buck clearly hasn’t come to terms with being queer yet (sir, you haven’t researched the Kinsey scale? You?) And Tommy is also clearly afraid to reach for the connections he wants and the seeming inevitability of his heart being broken and is masking that with nonsense about Buck needing to play the field and the biphobia present wherein. It was such an interesting depth to his character! I thought the break up speech was so well-acted, and I was so ready for the conversation they were going to have that would address it and let them move on together stronger. To see Buck learn from Josh and see the scars Tommy was unintentionally revealing in that moment and address them.

And then the credits started rolling and I felt like I got punched in the gut.

It was definitely the straw that broke the camel’s back for me, with the election and other personal stuff really stressing me out this week. Last night, I felt sick and unable to sleep, and I spent the morning bawling my eyes out. It feels like one of the few things I really looked forward to had been snatched away for the shock factor. I believe the interviews are the definite death knell, but even if you don’t follow the interviews, it was just a cruel way to end the episode. Even if this ends up being a temporary roadblock or they “fix” it, it’ll always leave a bad taste in my mouth.

Anyway, I’m upset that I let a show I always knew wasn’t very good affect me this much, and I regret spending months of my life on it. But the reason I wanted to send this ask was because my real hyperfixation these last few months was never the show itself; it was always the Bucktommy fandom. Reading some of the most beautiful fanfiction, including yours, these deep and intense character studies or au’s or future fics that show more love to these characters than the show does. The stunning art, the lovingly rendered gifs, the startlingly funny and insightful writing. The fandom has been my real love, and I hope that despite this huge blow, people like you will continue being so immensely creative and artistic for this ship.

I’m sorry this has been so long and vent-y, but I wanted to send you this ask because you’re one of my favorite fic authors, and I’ve been following your posts since last night and you’re still responding to anonymous asks. I’ve always been stealth in the fandom to avoid certain parts of it, so didn’t want this on my own blog. If you do publish it, I hope the other authors and artists and creators who have made my life better get to see it too <3 And that they don’t regret the time and passion and love they’ve poured into the last few months. I have appreciated it, if nothing else.

Hi.

First of all, please don't apologize for the length of this.

Everything you pointed out were exactly the reasons people joined this fandom. Everything you listed here is EXACTLY the reason it left such a bad taste in our mouth.

I'm sorry I won't be more eloquent in this post, because this is such a kind and thoughtful and lovely summation of all the things I've been hearing and seeing and feeling.

The point of all that, if we are to believe Lou (which I do, and honestly props to him for being as gracious as he was in those post-mortems: fucking TWO exit interviews for a guest star? wtf abc), WAS to pull the rug out from under the audience. It WAS to end it all on a shocker of heartbreak. They filmed the bulk of Tommy's S8 scenes AFTER the breakup. It is absolutely vicious and cruel and meant to make people talk about it. The engagement they are getting right now is to some extent WHAT THEY WANTED. I went straight to my notes after work and I can't be fucked to check the insta or FB to see if they've posted anything new and/or what the comment count is on the 8x06 posts but THIS IS THE INTENDED RESULT. Broken hearts, upset people, an increasingly toxic fandom crowing.

That's where I'm at. I think that's where a lot of people have landed. And it's so disheartening to see something that really genuinely drew people in because it was handled so gently and kindly at first just be ripped away and the door shut on it.

And honestly if they close the mid season OR open or close 8B on a premise that includes one of them being injured and the other having a Realization™️ I won't trust this team to do it genuinely or truly. Even the breakup would have held so much potential for me, but not like this.

Anyway. I'm sorry you're feeling so disappointed. I am grieving the missed potential of literally every plot they built up this season for every character and if I do watch it won't be live and I will likely have very little trust for it's potential. There has been So Much wasted potential.

And I want to say thank you. Even if you lurked, even if you disengage now, the creators who made those works made them out of love and they wanted to share them and the community around it all has been lovely to see. Thank you.

Some of us will still be hanging around building the world that could have been. I hope, if you feel up to peeking at that sandbox, that you feel welcome to go play in it or even just clap from the sidelines.

♥️

#bucktommy #catie for ts #truly sincerly thank you for loving bucktommy while it lasted #and thank you for putting all of my scattered thoughts into ine place #appreciate you ♥️

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rose-maidenn · 19 hours ago

Text

Pac : Let's get insights on your purpose for the next 5 months !

nov-dec-jan-feb-mar

using safe passage tarot from "Agatha all along"

Pile 1-2-3

Hey guys hope you're doing well , chose the Pile that calls to you intuitively, know that I'm not gonna sugarcoat things because I want your best . Hope you enjoy this

For more see masterlist and paid readings

Pile 1 :

You are represented by the king of wands a very charismatic person , you attract people who are looking for growth and you are someone who always wins in all fields you exactly know where to play the cards right to win . Alternatively for the other part of the group king of wands can mean someone who's nose is kind of everywhere they're at too many different things not giving one thing the change to reach the full potential.

What's missing is an ending !!! Ending to certain things relationships, people , in order to reach something new you have to let the old things go which is something you have to learn . You need stronger boundaries , more self worth and less attachment issues .

The lessons you have learnt is represented by the queen of wands it is about social settings I feel like you're someone who easily becomes friends with everyone and that's a good networking skill. You could also be someone who is very creative and starts at everything their heart calls for .

Your path ahead is represented by death , it calls for an ending ending of doubts , bad thought patters , old beliefs and relationships let shit go and see what happens .

Your Obstacles is represented by chariot I feel in this case it's about you staying in the same zone and resisting change it's like an ouroburos moving but in the wrong places and wrong circles , cut the string , your comfort zone is killing you honey

O of wands in this case is like don't wait around for anyone not even about being ready yourself just do what you need to do end the things that you need to you can't drag this anymore dear, this could also be about drug addiction or addiction in general .

Your destination is magician yay ! You know how if you just let shit go the magic happens so will it happen for you. Just let it go let people be , only work for yourself, give yourself all, heal and you will know you're powerful, you don't need a guru you're the star itself.

Thank you for reading, if you liked this and would like personal insights or a longer read to book click here .

Pile 2 :

You are represented by four of cups , you are someone who wants what they want and won't settle for anything. I sense a stern energy . Alternatively you might be someone who is extremely bored these days and just wants to lay .

What is missing is justice , you need to work hard rn for your dreams , but in the write direction I won't say you never worked hard but somehow in the wrong way , you might have a retrograde Saturn. You need to find what can do justice to yourself as you owe yourself everything and you are worth everything.

The path behind is represented by page of wands , your reading is like you were a very enthusiastic person once but now you have lost the zing for life . You have a great influx of ideas why don't you use them dear.

Path ahead is represented by the empress , clearly you are to start working on these ideas start the creative project take the leap. Focus on letting your creativity flow , your intuition knows , your soul knows.

The Obstacles is represented by eight of coins is that you need to learn dedication and working on something even if it takes time be it studying , art or relationships you are called to enjoy the journey and not just the victory.

Represented by ace of wands in this case I think you should avoid working on something new until you finish the old , you need to give one thing commitment and mastery then you will reach your destination

Represented by the king of cups. Mature and passionate about what they do . This infact represents a chance that you might become the best at what you wanna do . You might become a professor a teacher or a guide to people if you choose to follow this path .

Thank you for reading, if you liked this and would like personal insights or a longer read to book click here .

Pile 3 :

You are represented by six of coins a very beautiful earthy loving energy of gratitude and kindness , you give without thinking anything part of why you are blessed with more .

Ten of swords is what is missing in my deck it's literally a person cutting off a hand honey someone is using you , the awareness and discernment on who deserves your time money and energy is the thing that is missing .

You have learnt that people will be who they are despite giving your all so why don't you apply that in new relationships keep the knowledge but also use it . Alternatively this could be about relationship and someone leaving you in the past who was toxic.

The path ahead is represented by the fool , you're in the start of a new journey you have endless possibilities you can now leap into new and have faith that universe will do the best for you.

Your Obstacles are represented by death , you're ruminating on a past relationship too much which is making you work extra even for the bare minimum you have to work to stay in your queen energy don't do too much it's not worth it .

You must overcome the queen of wands I think this is a toxic person who was in your life you said you stupid shit that didn't align with you and now you have taken their words literally , recognize who this is maybe a family member a friend or a youtuber guru idk they have flowery energy but they're unhealed

Your destination is represented by the two of cups yay a union this can be the union of your logic and intuition. Masculine and feminine energie or a new relationship:) all in all an energy of balance and love .

Thank you for reading, if you liked this and would like personal insights or a longer read to book click here .

#pac tarot #pac reading #pick a photo #pick a pile #pick a picture #pick a card #tarot community #tarot blog #tarot reading #tarot cards #tarot #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #intuitive readings #intuitive tarot reader #agatha all along #witchblr #diviniation

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 18 hours ago

Text

Chapter 14: Don't Be A Bundt Cake

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV

Summary: When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you never expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team. (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy, Protective Ben/Soldier Boy, Miscommunication Trope

Word Count: 13.1K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), Swearing, Mentions of Sex, Sexual Innuendo, Talks of Death, DENIAL, Idiots in Love, Pining by the Reader (and SB, but he won't admit it) Depressing Thoughts, Mentions of sexual assault/rape (not detailed at all, really just in passing) Talks about weed, Sexist comments, Ben makes derogatory comments, Threatening Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

A/N: I am so sorry this one took me a bit longer. The writers block was fighting me the whole way, but we are very closely nearing the end of this series and the moment the reader and Ben stop being so stinkin' stubborn.

Reader POV

You lean your forehead against the cool window, watching the world flash by in a flurry of color. The wooded forests had vanished hours ago and all that was left were the yellowed sprawling fields of corn and grain and family farms that were laid sporadically along the interstate. Each one a little world that caught the flecks of golden sunlight as the sun began to peak above the horizon.

The bus rolled smooth and steady over the weathered pavement towards it's destination and was filled with an odd assortment of people young and old. There was man with a brightly colored parrot that had been singing "It's A Small World After All" since you left NYC, a woman with a little boy playing with an iPad and who refused to turn down the volume no matter how many times his mother asked him to, a group of teenagers a few seats up that continued to pass around a flask, and due to how far back you were sitting on the bus an uncomfortable smell emanated from the bathroom each time the door was opened.

But you didn't notice any of it.

The only thing on your mind were the events that happened almost twenty hours ago. They continued to circle your mind, playing over and over again like a perverted cassette tape making you sink further into the worn cloth covered seat at the back of the bus. The images were haunting, some new and some old, but all the more still horrible to re-live.

The song "Nights In White Satin" floating into the backseat of your family's car, the flash of unnatural light you knew was never lightning, the caskets at your parent's funeral covered in flowers that were much to pretty to lay on something so morbid, Elijah's body succumbing to the poppies that ripped him apart, the proud sneer on your brother's face when he admitted to killing your parents, Darren's broken and bloodied body strewn in pieces over the street with the creature standing over him with a dripping red maw, the ruined building that housed "Please Don't Die" reduced to nothing more than rubble, and the look on Ben's face when you turned your back on him and fled the scene.

For some reason that particular image seemed to cling on to you and refused to fade. You'd never seen him look that way, almost… helpless and a little fearful. In all the time you'd known him, Ben had never looked at you that way. Sure you'd seen him proud, angry, cocky, lustful, mischievous, but never fearful. And you were sure that it wasn't an emotion that he was used to feeling, but that begged the question… why?

Why was he looking at me like that? Why wouldn't he let me go? And what was he afraid of?

The creature curled in your lap snorts something in it's sleep, turning it’s head further into the cradle of your elbow to shut out the brilliant early morning sunlight. It was now the size of a toaster and had warranted several odd looks whenever you got off to change buses, but you didn't care.

You weren't sure about anything anymore. Everything your brother confessed to you made you feel like you were living a lie and the revelation of exactly what your powers could do- take life from plants to heal yourself, create whatever the hell it was on your lap, and speak to plants… it scared you.

You thought for so long that you knew everything about your powers, that you were in control, but now you weren't sure.

You felt different, as if something had unlocked deep down that you couldn't shut up again.

You'd felt different after you killed Elijah, but this was more alive, weaving and twisting in the pit of your stomach. You felt more connected to the earth, to the world outside the bus even though you were divided by glass and metal. You could feel the energy that thrummed through the body of the creature on your lap, bending to your will, the life force of the plants it was formed from molding with you, becoming a part of you.

You felt so different than the person you had been before Darren entered the shop, so uncertain, and there was only one place you wanted to be when you felt like this… home. You couldn't wait to run up the worn front steps of your grandmother's house and into her arms. She always knew what to say in times like this.

And you desperately needed the comfort of her embrace.

The phone in your pocket buzzes again and you flip the screen to see the ridiculous selfie Annie and you had taken on Halloween last year. The one that you'd both spent dressed up as the two brothers from your favorite paranormal tv show. It wasn't the first time she'd called. Annie had called and texted you more times than you could count over the past twenty hours but you didn't answer her. You didn’t want to.

It was the first time that you didn't want to talk to her, but talking to her meant that you'd have to re-live all of it again and you were clawing at the last shred of sanity you had left to keep it together.

The overwhelming waves of emotion kept pummeling you, dragging you deeper beneath the white surf. Each one brought the memories of what happened surging over you and were followed by everything that Darren said to you. Years of taking care of Darren and doing whatever he wished were tearing at your soul, years of giving up little things in your life to make him happy, and years of taking care of a man who you thought cared about you, but hated you enough to kill your parents and try to kill you too.

It made your skin crawl. Each time your brother told you that he loved you was an even bigger lie and now that you knew the truth and saw him for what he was, it felt like you were drowning. The darkness that ebbed just on the edge was begging you to leap into the abyss, but you were resisting the best you could.

The tears had stopped falling miles ago, but you couldn't stop the memories or the emotion that formed a cold ball in the pit of your stomach.

A sigh works it's way up and you pull your legs on the seat underneath you, jostling the creature on your lap that raises it's head for a moment to blink it's black eyes at you sleepily.

It was surprisingly docile right now, especially considering that twenty hours ago it had ripped your brother to shreds. In fact it seemed to understand how upset you were and had spent the better part of the last twenty hours rubbing it's head against your arm as if trying to bring you some comfort. It was settled on your lap, the weight of it a comfort, almost like a weighted plushy that gave you something to focus on.

"It's alright buddy." You whisper, scratching him under his chin. "We're almost home."

The phone in your jacket pocket buzzes again, but when you pull it out to turn it off, you catch a glimpse of the screen, and you hesitate. Because this time it's not Annie who's calling, it’s Ben.

The picture that flashes on the screen under the contact name "Gramps" is the picture of Mr. Fredrickson from Up. It always made you smile whenever he called you and you saw the picture because Ben did often remind you of him. He was certainly just as grumpy as Mr. Fredrickson and just as out of touch, but you thought it was cute.

Your thumb hovers over the answer button and you think about talking to him.

But what would I say?

You weren't sure what to say to him, or why you wanted to speak to him so badly, why you wanted him to be sitting here on the bus with you as you went home, and why you wanted him to hold you against his chest while you allowed yourself to break, but you did. You wanted to feel his awkward shoulder pat and his awkward version of hand holding and you wanted to hear him try to tell you to "buck up" or whatever he thought that a comforting word should be.

He's really not the best at that.

You smile to yourself at the memory of how he tried to comfort you back at the hospital, but the longer you sit there and look down at the picture on the screen the worse you feel.

Maybe that scared you more than your newfound powers, how much you were realizing that you needed him, how much you depended on him when things got too much for you to bear. The memory of him appearing as soon as you needed him back at the shop, another of him grabbing Darren and throwing him into the street as soon as Darren insulted you comes in a flash, and finally followed by the memory of Ben carrying you out of Elijah's office while you curled into his chest. You couldn't remember too much from that moment, in fact you'd thought that Ben had kissed you on top of your head, but you ascribed that to the haze of pain you'd been in from your broken arm.

What you did remember was how wonderfully warm he was after you'd been trapped in that damn freezer and how nice it felt to be in his arms. Another memory of Ben sleeping on the couch at the hospital bubbles up and you feel something in your chest begin to crack open. And you try your best to tell yourself the same thing that you always do when you feel like Ben might care more about you that he was letting on.

Ben doesn't want that. He's made it perfectly clear. He doesn't want a relationship. He's only wants one night, that's why he goes out with all those women-

You hesitate, thumb still hovering over the answer button as you do, the memory of the week you'd spent at the apartment with him flickering in the back of your mind. The week where he refused to leave you alone in the apartment, where he refused to do any jobs for Butcher, where he took care of you the best way he could, when he sat with you on the couch and made you laugh with his ridiculous movies, and the week where he hadn't had one date.

Your finger itched to answer the phone, but you couldn't, because you didn't want to feel this way about Ben, not when he'd told you countless times that you kept romanticizing him, not when he told you that he didn't want a relationship, and not when you could feel yourself beginning to fall for someone you thought was the wrong man.

For just a moment you tried to pretend that it was different, that he was different, but you didn't want to. It only made it hurt more.

The phone stops ringing, but the pit in your stomach still gapes open at you and for the first time in twenty hours you feel tears begin to fall. You didn't know why you were crying about this, why the thought of not picking up Ben's phone call seemed to hurt more than everything that had happened, but something made it hurt.

The bus driver announces over the overhead that you're reaching your final destination as he takes the exit for your hometown. The familiar buildings that line the streets are sheathed in a honeyed glow from the sun, the long shadow of the bus darkening them momentarily as it rumbles down the small streets to the bus station.

When it rumbles to a stop at the bus station you wait for everyone else to get off, trying to summon the strength to stand, and swipe the back of your hand across your face to rid yourself of the remaining tears.

The bus station was about a thirty minute walk from your grandmother's house, and you still hadn't called her. You didn't know what to say, didn't know how to tell her that Darren was dead and that he was the reason why your parents were dead.

The creature crawls up your body to drape it's warm body over the back of your neck as you stand. It wasn't bothering to hide, besides the people in your hometown already thought that you were odd because you were a supe and you'd always welcomed it. You give him a scratch on top of his head and his warm tongue flicks on the bottom of your earlobe as if thanking you before it curls further into the side of your neck, seeking warmth.

The first few steps on solid ground are shaky, but you find the strength while taking in a deep cleansing breath of the outside world, letting the gentle warmth of the sun and the tickle of the autumn breeze pull at your coat. You hadn't stopped at your apartment before coming here, instead you had stumbled your way to the bus station covered in dust, flecked in blood, and demanded the first ticket back to Illinois. It was lucky that the next bus was leaving immediately, because you didn’t want to spend another second in NYC, not when all you wanted was to be home.

Plus you were worried that someone had recorded what exactly happened outside the plant shop and you didn't want to get arrested.

It was self defense anyway. Maybe Jake would represent me in court.

The thought of Jake makes you twinge. You hadn't checked to see if he was alright before you ran from the scene. Not to mention you'd destroyed the shop he'd put all his life savings into after he stopped being a lawyer.

Oh fuck, what if he sues me? He can't exactly sue Darren…

You hear someone call your name and you open your eyes.

Your grandmother is standing in front of the same baby blue pickup truck that she'd had longer than you've been alive, wearing a long multicolored skirt and a pressed white blouse tucked elegantly into it. Her silver hair is loose and long, curling over her shoulders in gentle waves. She looks the same way she looked one week ago when she left, and you've never seen anything so beautiful in your life.

You're running before you can stop yourself, crumbling into her warm embrace, with more tears streaking down your face, but she doesn't mind.

"Shh. It's alright honey." She whispers, rubbing her hand over your back, her embrace steady and surprisingly strong. "Let's go home."

Her home is the same as it's always been. A two story Victorian house painted in a happy yellow shade, with a white wrap around porch and two white rocking chairs sitting empty on the front porch. You'd spent more nights than you could count rocking silently beside her with a crochet project in your lap listening to the rain fall and soak the world outside, while the plants sang praises with every gentle bend beneath the heavy droplets.

You could barely remember the home you spent in your early years with your parents, not when you'd spent most of your childhood spending the night here and after your parents died living here permanently. There was still a large oak tree were a wooden swing swung in the slight breeze on the left side of the yard, a gardenia bush that stretched as high as the second story on the right side of the house and brushed it's soft leaves against the sunshine colored outer walls, a garden filled with both flowering plants and herbs that perked up on both sides of the front yard as you walked up the path, and a cobblestone path that Annie and you had spent hours of your shared childhood covering in chalk art.

Neither of you were good, but when the rain would fall and smudge the clean lines, you'd jump in the puddles that pooled along the walkway singing the lyrics to ABBA's "Cassandra" not quite understanding what it meant.

Standing here outside your house made you miss Annie and feel worse about not calling or texting her back, but you didn't feel like talking about what happened and you were sure that Butcher filled her in. The only thing that you wanted was to collapse in your bedroom upstairs and curl under the comforters.

Despite everything the house was a welcome sight, but at the same time it was different. You could feel the plants calling out to you, asking for you, bending towards you just to touch your shoes as you walked by. You'd never felt so connected with them before, not even when you were in your apartment or working at the shop. It was overwhelming.

And although a part of you was frightened by it, another part of you rejoiced in it. You didn't feel alone, didn't feel weak, and you knew that you never would ever again.

The creature nuzzled into the side of your neck with a sigh, soaking up the sun's healing rays as you walked up the front steps with your grandmother following behind you silently. She hadn't spoken since she picked you up at the bus station and you hadn't supplied anything in the ten minute car ride back to her house.

You didn't know where to start and you were still trying to process everything yourself.

The inside of her house was just as cozy and warm as it was the day you moved out. There were photos of your parents and you covering the walls (Darren's had been placed in the closet long ago), half-finished knitting projects sorted in different baskets on both the dining room table and the living room coffee table, spools of yarn were strewn over the couch sorted by color, and the fresh smell of gardenia wafted through the open windows on the breeze.

It was home. This was what you'd been missing the moment everything began to crash over you, but as you stood there in the familiar living room it felt like something was missing. Something tugged at the back of your mind, but you couldn't put your finger on it.

There was something or rather someone that should be here, but you didn't know what or who. And your mind supplied Annie, but you weren't sure that's who you meant.

"Let's have some tea." Your grandmother says from behind you and you feel her soft hands come down on your shoulders to steer you through the familiar creative chaos and into the large kitchen at the back of the house.

The kitchen isn't spared from the madness, it rarely was. There are boxes upon boxes of cookies in different stages of being packaged all over the counter, dirty bowls and a measuring cup stacked in the sink, and a large opened bag of chocolate chips spilling over the flour covered kitchen island.

It wasn't unusual to find the kitchen or the house in a state of chaos, your grandmother always said that a house should look lived in and that the mess was part of the fun of any major project as long as you were responsible enough to clean it up.

"Bake sale?" You ask as you sit down in the breakfast nook, uttering the first words that you'd said to another human being in twenty hours.

The next breath that you inhale was supposed to be cleansing, but you can still feel a weight pressing down on your chest, the same one that settled in the moment everything happened with Darren.

You contemplate again how you're going to tell her that Darren is dead and was the reason why your parents died.

Damn it Darren.

"Mhmm." She hums, filling the well used red kettle. "Annie's mother practically cornered me in the supermarket yesterday and begged me to make cookies. I love Annie, but her mother needs someone to pull that stick out of her ass. It's been up there for so long that I'm sure it's rotten."

The creature crawls down from your shoulders and down your arm to sniff at one of the chocolate chip cookies nearest you. It hadn't eaten since…

Darren.

You wince slightly at the thought and hope that you hadn't created something that needed and craved human flesh. The last thing you wanted to unleash on the world was Audry two especially in the wake of Homelander.

Truthfully you were waiting for the guilt at killing your brother to come, but it never had and you wondered if it ever would.

Probably not. He deserved that, he killed our parents, he tried to kill me, he tried to kill Ben.

The thought of Ben again makes a lump form in the back of your throat. You didn't know what was happening to you only that you felt guilty for leaving him like that, for yelling at him to let you go, and just vanishing on him when he probably thought that you were going back to the apartment.

He doesn't know where I am. Maybe that's why he tried to call, because he got back to the apartment and couldn't find me there and he was worried. You press your lips together. Yeah. Worried. Right.

"Honey?" Your grandmother says in a soothing voice

You look up from the box of chocolate chip cookies that you didn't remember picking up. Even the creature is looking at you with an expression that you can only explain as worry.

"Yeah?" Your voice shakes slightly.

She's leaning back against the counter, arms crossed over her chest, head tilted slightly to the side, her beautiful grayed hair pulled up in an elegant bun, but in her eyes you can see genuine concern. "Fuck." She sighs after a minute.

You blink in surprise. It was the first time that you'd ever heard her say that word in your entire life.

"I shouldn't have left." She breathes. "I told Ben to look out for you. I told him, that little bastard was bound to show up again and what did he do? He left you at that plant shop alone with no protection!"

You'd only seen her really angry a handful of times in your lifetime. Like you, your grandmother often had a gentle disposition and didn't get angry unless the situation called for it.

I mean, Darren admitted to killing our parents and then got fucking ripped apart. But how does she know about any of that? I haven't told her…

"How did you know that he left me there? Did Ben call you?" You ask putting down the box of cookies.

An odd expression crosses her face, as if she's contemplating something. "No." She hesitates again. "I saw it."

"No." Your grandmother hesitates. "I saw it."

"You saw it?" You repeat, confused.

What's going on?

"Too late of course, but I'm a little rusty. I was able to warn Ben that Darren was coming back. That's how he got there so quickly or rather-" She shrugs sheepishly. "He got there in time to make sure that Darren didn't get you to forgive him. Which you shouldn't have at all, but I know he's always had a talent for manipulating you."

"What?"

Is she saying what I think she's saying?

Instead of explaining further your grandmother walks out of the kitchen, leaving the kettle behind on the stove and you in a state of utter confusion.

Is she saying that she can see the future? Because that would mean that she's a supe and there's only one supe in history that I know of that can do that. A supe that no one has seen in over forty years.

You can hear her open the door to the closet under the stairs and the sound of her sifting through all the junk that the two of you had shoved in there over the years instead of finding the right place to put it.

When she comes back into the kitchen, she's holding a giant cardboard file box that you'd never paid attention to each time you opened the closet to find something. Your eyes shift from the box to her still not comprehending exactly what she was saying.

"I probably should have told you this a while ago, but…" She trails off and nods her head at the box before turning back to the kettle on the stove that has begun to scream. "I kept putting it off."

The box is old, worn at the edges, and theres a musty black fabric beneath a collection of yellowed photographs. You pull out the one on top to examine it.

Ben is standing there in his full Soldier Boy regalia outside of Vought tower and the woman standing next to him is Soothsayer. The outfit she wore was familiar, a black-skin tight suit with a blind fold tied over her eyes.

Soothsayer was a supe who could see the future and who was apart of Payback, a supe that had vanished a year before the mission in Nicaragua and no one knew where she went. There were rumors that she'd died and that she'd been a Russian spy, but you'd never believed them. You'd heard Butcher talk about how he tried to find her when he was trying to figure out what happened to Soldier Boy, but he never had. Said that the trail went cold.

But now you knew where she went, because she was standing directly in front of you.

She's Soothsayer? Holy fuck that's why Ben kept accusing her of cheating in the poker game because he knew that she could see the future.

"You were Soothsayer?" You gasp. "But why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you tell me?"

She continues to measure the tea leaves. "I didn't tell anyone."

"Grandpa didn't know? But he was alive when you were a supe?"

Your grandfather had never spoken about a history with supes that you remember.

"No." She turns to look at you, a hurt expression crossing over her face for a minute. "Well, I know that I said I was going to have tea, but if we're going to talk about this I'm going to need something a little bit stronger."

Your grandmother opens a cabinet under the stove an pulls out an enormous bottle of scotch. Truth be told you'd never seen her drink more than just a glass of wine, to see her like this was about as shocking as seeing a polar bear sunning itself on a Florida beach.

"Do you still want the blueberry tea or do you need something a little stronger?" She looks back over her shoulder at you as she pulls down a glass for herself.

"I think I need something stronger." You answer honestly.

Learning about everything Darren had done was one thing, but finding out that your grandmother used to be a famous supe and that she never told you about it was another thing. It was like looking at another person. You'd always loved your grandmother's gentle way, her care for her community and her family soft, but now you weren't sure you really knew who she was.

She sits down across from you and hands you a glass of the amber colored liquid. There's a heavy silence that hangs between the two of you as she tries to find a way to start. The photo of her and Ben is laying on top of what you realize is her uniform inside the box and she smiles down at the photo, just a little twitch at the corner of her lips.

"I met Ben when I was twenty three years old." She begins taking a sip from the glass. "Legend 'discovered' me. I had the injection of Compound V maybe two years before that, not when I was born, but I hadn't gotten popular. Other powers were much more flashy and by then there were so many heroes coming out of the woodwork that someone with the ability to see the future didn't seem as marketable."

There's something reflected in her blue eyes, the same eyes your father had, that you can't place. "I had just moved to New York, I had no money, and the way I was getting it was by pretending to be a fortune teller and betting on some sports events on the side. It wasn't hard to prove that I could see the future, the past was more difficult, but Legend somehow stumbled into my shop and figured out that I was a supe. And he didn't think I was too bad looking so he helped me get big."

"You pretended to be a fortune teller?"

She snorts into her glass. "Mhmm. People really will believe anything if they're desperate enough and back then there was so much turmoil going on with Russia that people were scared and wanted to feel comforted. My job provided some of that."

"But why did you walk away from it if you were such a big hero." You ask. "Everyone knew your name, you were-"

Your grandmother raises an eyebrow at you and you fall silent so she can continue. "When I got onto Payback that's when everything exploded for me, the films, the commercials, the ridiculous ads." She sighs. "That's also when I met Ben."

You take a sip from the glass in front of you, sputtering slightly. It was stronger than you were expecting. "And you two were-"

Please don't say dating, please don't say dating, please don't say…

"Friends. Just friends." Diana sits back against the back of the breakfast nook, sinking into the navy blue pillows. "But he is almost as charming now as he was then."

You cringe at the thought of Ben coming on to a younger version of your grandmother.

She taps her glass with her index finger deep in thought. "But I think that I was the only person that Ben actually talked to, the only person that he was comfortable being around."

"What do you mean?" You ask confused. "Didn't he talk to Countess and to Legend?"

Her expression hardens at the mention of Countess's name. "He didn't talk to her the way he talked to me. Ben is difficult, he always has been and I think that most of the people he meet him write him off as this asshole with a chauvinistic look on the world, but he's not. At least, not all the time. There are so many people that he's met that are never willing to take a chance on him. To trust that there is really something beneath all of that bravado."

It was what you had been thinking for the past week, that there was more to Ben than he was willing to let people see, but you were slowly realizing that Ben was letting you see those parts. In the quiet moments at your shared apartment when he sat with you while you read or made you laugh or walked you to and from work you saw another side of Ben that you never saw when he was around anyone else. The guilt rises again when you think of how you ran from him, how you turned your back and left him standing there to clean up your mess.

I shouldn’t have done that, but it was all just so overwhelming and I didn't want to talk to anyone.

"I think that Ben is the most loyal friend I ever had. No one ever seems to believe me when I say that. That we were just friends, but nothing happened between us."

"You didn't date? Or sleep together?" You ask cautiously. It was difficult to imagine Ben being friends with a woman and not having a sexual relationship with her.

Well. We're friends, but that's different.

The last thing you wanted to think about was Ben and your grandmother having sex.

I would need so much therapy after that. You sigh. Yeah, because after all the shit I've been through and found out about my life in the last twenty hours, the knowledge that Ben fucked my grandmother is what's going to push me over the edge.

"No." She shakes her head with a small smile. "About a week after I met Ben, I was running late to a movie shoot and I stepped off the crosswalk without looking. There was a car coming and I didn't see it. Ironic isn't it?" She laughs at herself. "I can see the future and I didn't see a car coming, but your grandfather did and he grabbed the back of my jacket and yanked me onto the sidewalk, saved my life. And the second my eyes locked with his I saw our future. I saw our wedding, our first house, I saw our son take his first steps and I saw how much I would love him and how much he would love me." She clears her throat for a minute, her fingers tighten on the glass, and her gaze drops to the wedding ring on her left hand. “The future is never set in stone, it’s fluid. It morphs and shapes with your decisions, but in the future I saw, I was so happy. And I didn’t want to lose that.”

Your grandfather had passed a few years ago, but you knew it weighed on her everyday. She had spent the week after he died in her room not saying anything to anyone. And sometimes she'd look out the window into the backyard with an odd expression, but you knew that meant she was thinking of him.

Growing up you'd seen how in love the two of them were, more so than your parents. Seen the flowers your grandfather always brought home just because he was thinking of her, watched him do little things around the house without being asked, saw how they never walked away angry from one another, and seen the soppy expression he'd get when he watched your grandmother move around the kitchen baking with a grace that you'd never possessed.

You reach across the table to touch her hand and she takes it gratefully.

"I didn't want to tell him that I was a supe, and at the beginning I thought I could balance it all, but then Ben started dating Countess." She takes another sip from her glass. "She hated me."

"What? Why?" You ask. The creature crawls across the table to sniff at the glass in front of you, before it snorts and falls into your lap, curling into a ball.

"Countess was a bitch." Your grandmother says mirthlessly, her expression hardening. "She wanted to possess Ben completely. Only loved how famous he was, how popular it made her, and he threw himself at her feet, in his own way, not understanding that love didn’t look that way. He’s never had a good example of it in his life. And she never understood that Ben and I were just friends. By then I had been dating your grandfather for a few months and things were getting serious. It was about a year before everything that happened in Nicaragua."

She presses her lips together as if remembering what happened to Ben there. "She was jealous, possessive, and she came to me one night. Ben was out of town for a film so she knew we wouldn’t be interrupted. She threatened to tell your grandfather who I really was and threatened to kill him.” Her jaw sets. “My powers were never really as offensive as hers were. And she said that Ben wouldn’t ever protect me over her because he loved her and would do anything to make her happy. So I left and I never looked back.”

And here I thought I couldn't hate Countess any more than I did for what she did to Ben.

“You didn’t talk to him ever again?” You wonder out loud.

She left without telling him goodbye?

“There was the occasional phone call. Sometimes Ben would ask me to see who was going to win a ball game or something so he could make a few bucks. He stopped by to say hi a few times because he was in the neighborhood. One time he brought your father a baseball glove that was way too big for a one year old.” She snorts, the memory flashing in her eyes. “I always thought Ben would be a good dad some day. But I think seeing your father was when Ben realized how much he wanted to have kids. And I think seeing the way your grandfather treated me made him start to feel conflicted about Countess. But he respected that I walked away, he saw that I was happy.”

“But what about Nicaragua?"

A dark look crosses her face followed by something that looks suspiciously like guilt. “I saw what they were going to do to him.”

“What? But why didn't you tell him what they were planning? Why didn't you-"

"I tried." She snaps, shoulders tense, but then they drop. "I called Ben, but Stan answered. By then your father was turning two, your grandfather had opened up his practice, and Stan threatened me, he knew where we were and knew everything about us. So I kept my mouth shut and I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

You could feel your heart breaking for her.

Ben was her best friend and she had to sit by and watch them do that to him. She saw what they were going to do and they were going to kill her for it, kill my family for it.

The anger that surges in your chest makes the creature in your lap stir and grow a few inches, but you tamp it down before it gets bigger than a small dog.

“Does Ben know?” You ask her to distract yourself.

You didn't want Ben to hate your grandmother for this, didn't want him to hate her for something that wasn't her fault.

She nods. “Yes. I told him everything.”

“When?”

“The moment I saw him in your hospital room. I couldn’t keep it in any longer. I wasn't expecting him to be there, but it all poured out of me. I was so surprised to see him there. I hadn't seen a future where he came back."

“Was he mad?”

I mean… he didn't seem mad when I woke up, not to mention he was upset when she left to come back to Illinois.

“Not at me.” She shakes her head. “He knew how much I wanted a normal life and how much I loved your grandfather. He doesn’t blame me for any of it.”

“Good. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

The glass in front of you is still more than half-full but you don't want to risk another sip of what you're sure is gasoline packaged to look like Scotch. Your grandmother reaches to pour herself another glass.

“I didn’t want to until you were ready.”

“And when would that be?”

Your grandmother shrugs. “Maybe on my deathbed.”

You weren't angry for her not telling you, more surprised, but now that you knew everything about her it was hard to see her the same way you had.

You snort. “And no one knew?”

“Your dad figured it out.”

“How? When?”

“The moment you made that strawberry plant grow from your high chair.” She shakes her head with a smile. “It skipped a generation. Don’t know why, but you got it all somehow.”

“I was never injected?”

“No. That was a lie your father created. He knew that your grandfather didn't know and he knew that I didn't want your grandfather to know."

“Darren thought I was.”

“I know.”

At the mention of your brother's name, you watch her expression harden and she takes another swig from the glass in front of her, not flinching as the liquid goes down her throat.

“Did you see everything that happened?” You ask in a small voice.

You still weren't 100% sure how it was her powers worked, but you figured that she was able to see some of what Darren did and what he said.

“Yes.”

“You heard everything Darren said?"

“Yes.”

You chew the inside of your cheek for a minute hoping that she didn't take it as hard as you did. “Did you know that he killed them?”

“No.” She breathes, rolling the glass between her hands for a moment. “The night they died, I got a vision a few minutes before the car ran off the road. I was the one who called the police and who told them where to look, but I never saw that it was Darren or that it was anyone causing the accident. All I saw was the three of you in the car. I should have known.” Her voice breaks.

“It’s not your fault.” You squeeze her hand.

“And it’s not yours either.” She squeezes your hand back.

The memories are beginning to float up from the recesses of your mind and your teeth clench together as you try to keep them at bay.

“I know.” You breathe. The memory of the ruined shop flashes through your head. “I didn’t know that I could do something like that.” You gently touch your healed right arm and glance at the creature that is nibbling on the edge of the cardboard box with its sharp splinter-like teeth. “I feel so different and I don’t know how to go back to the way I was.”

“I don’t think you ever will.”

"Really?"

The thought was unwelcome. You were hoping that all of this was going to blow over, but you knew it wouldn't. Your powers had changed. There was an energy that thrummed in your veins now, stretching out of the house to the plants that grew in the garden. You could feel them all if you concentrated.

She frowns. “When you told me that you were working for Butcher I was worried about you getting involved in the supe world. I didn’t want that life for you, didn’t want you to suffer the way I did-“

“Was it really that bad?"

“Not all the time, just at the end. But I think that’s why I loved your grandfather so much. Because he was different than all the supes. He was down to earth, not just normal but-“ She shrugs. “I think Compound V does something to our minds, makes them more susceptible and when you’re surrounded by people using their powers and thinking that they’re gods it’s easy to lose who you are. I was glad I left when I did."

“Great." You huff, thinking about how your powers had grown exponentially since you killed your brother. It was scaring you to think that you would reach a point where you acted like Homelander, where you saw yourself as a god and killed anyone who stood in your way.

As tired as the stereotype of you only being able to make the flowers grow, you liked doing that. You liked healing plants, tending to them, and helping them grow. For you it had never been about using your powers the way that you had to kill Elijah and your brother and had always been about spreading a little more joy and love like your grandmother did with her kindness in her community.

Your mind flashes back to the first night that Ben stayed with you in your apartment and he'd asked you why you worked for Butcher and told you that he thought you "didn't fit."

Before you hadn't. You knew that. You weren't intimidating to look at or fueled by revenge or had a bone to pick with supes. You'd joined because you thought it was the right thing to do and because you wanted to be closer with Annie. She had been so involved in the supe world and you'd felt like you were losing your best friend. When in reality being at "Please Don't Die" was the only thing that felt natural for you.

You could feel yourself changing and you weren't sure that you wanted to and you weren't sure if you were changing for the better. Deep down you still felt like you, despite everything Darren had revealed, but your powers were greater than you'd thought they could be.

“No.” She squeezes your hand pulling you out of your head. “I don’t see you losing yourself in this.”

“You’ve seen-“ Your eyes widen.

“The future yeah.” Her lips twitch up at the ends in a smile. “It is what I do.”

“That’s so weird.”

You hadn't meant to say it, but you really didn't want to know too much about your future.

Well, not all that much. Maybe just a little.

“You of all people have no right to judge what’s weird. Not with Godzilla sitting in your lap.”

"Godzilla" yawns, flashing a mouthful of his pointy teeth, before settling back down on your thighs.

You smile for the first time in twenty hours, but then it drops. “I don’t like losing control. I thought I knew who I was but now I don’t-“ The emotions were bubbling up again, chest tightening, and lungs beginning to gasp for air. “I don’t know who I am anymore or what I am or what I can do and-“

“There’s nothing wrong with not being in control.”

“But what if I hurt someone? What if I kill-“ You body shakes as you think about all the important people in your life, Annie, Hughie, Butcher, Kimiko, MM, Frenchie- and then your mind stutters on Ben.

“Your powers are growing and there’s nothing to be afraid of or ashamed of. If you’re afraid of them it won’t get easier for you. You have to embrace the fear to see the lights that line the path through it.”

"I killed Darren, I killed Elijah-"

"Not because you lost control. You did it because you were protecting yourself and protecting your friends."

"But-"

"Who is it that you're scared of hurting? Annie?" Her expression turns sympathetic. "Annie is a supe and understands what it's like to lose control. None of us are in control all the time and it's ridiculous to believe that you won't lose control at least once."

Your throat clenches tightly, because when she asked the question you didn't see Annie's face, you saw Ben's. You knew that it was probably ridiculous to worry about hurting a guy with a nuclear reactor stuffed in his chest or a guy who'd been through every torture known to man, but you were. And you weren't entirely sure if you meant hurting him with just your powers.

Tears crest and fall down your cheeks as you sit there, throat thickening. "I don't want to hurt Ben."

"He's a little more indestructible than us sweetie." She cracks a smile, but you can't smile back and you don't answer because you're unsure how to.

She sits back against the breakfast nook and sighs, examining your face and slowly realizes what you mean. "Ben is complicated. He always has been. I like to think that most of it, is his father's fault. Has he told you anything about him?"

You shake your head.

"He was a dick. Made Ben think that he was a disappointment his whole life. I don't think that Ben has had someone love him unconditionally since his mother died. And loving Countess only made it worse for him. Her love was jealous, possessive, and I don't think that he's really come to terms with what real love should look like." She lets out a breath, tapping her index finger against the glass. "I never saw him as more than a friend, but I do love him. It's not a crime to love him."

"I don't love him." You say it immediately.

"Why not?"

"What?" You sputter. "I don't know what you're-"

"Tell me why you don't love him." Your grandma says methodically, as if she's trying to talk you through it.

"Because I-" The pressure was back in the back of your throat and you couldn't quite meet her eye. "Because-" You scramble for the answer, trying your darndest to keep your heart from clenching in your chest. "I want what you and grandpa had, what Annie and Hughie have, and what my parents had. A strong relationship with someone who sees all my flaws, the little parts, and the darkness and still choses to fall in love with me anyway. I don't want just one night I want every night. I want something real and Ben has said countless times that he-"

"So you've talked about it with Ben?" She raises an eyebrow.

"Only because he kept trying to sleep with me and I told him that I didn't want to have sex with him." You reply exasperated.

"You don't?"

"Gran!"

"What? He's attractive."

"It doesn't matter. None of it does. Because Ben has said that he doesn't have relationships, that he doesn't care about feelings, or emotions." Saying the words that Ben had told you countless times made something inside begin to shrivel up and die. "And I do. And I don't want to manipulate him into being something he's not or force him into a relationship that's doomed from the beginning. Ben is Ben. He's not changing or-"

"He has." She interrupts.

"What?"

"The Ben I saw in your hospital room is not the one I knew." She says it so matter of fact that makes it hard to breathe. "And neither was the one that I saw in your apartment when I stayed with you. I mean he is in essence Ben, but-"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"He is changing. Not completely, but he's acting differently than when he was with Countess. I mean, I saw all the things he did for her. The way he was around her."

"Why does that matter?"

"Because he loved her."

The words make your heart seize in your chest. "Ben doesn't love me. He's my roommate and my friend-" It was the same thing that you kept telling yourself on repeat to beat back the other feelings that you hadn't quite identified yet. "And he's told me that he doesn't want a relationship and that I should try to meet other people."

That last part was a lie, but you honestly didn't know where she was going with this conversation or why it was getting so hard to breathe.

"Have you thought that maybe Ben doesn't want to love you because he's scared?"

"He doesn't love me and Ben isn't afraid of anything."

"He is. It might not look the same way on him as it does on everyone else, but if you pay close enough attention you can catch it." She hesitates. "And I think if you pay attention to you, you'll see what it is that you're afraid of too."

What does she mean? What the hell am I afraid of? Ben isn't afraid of anything, he's practically shouted that from the mountaintops like Julie Andrews.

"I already told you what I'm afraid of."

"I'm not talking about you hurting someone honey. There's something else that you refuse to admit to yourself because you're scared." She smiles sadly at you. "You should though, because when you embrace it, what comes after is really beautiful." There's a far off look in her eyes and you realize that she'd seen something further ahead that she wasn't letting on.

"And it's all I want for you. To be happy." Your grandmother stands from the other side of the booth "I think you need some rest. You drove all night long and I doubt you got any sleep. And I have to package all of these before Annie's mother calls down the four horsemen of the Apocalypse on me."

"Wait-"

"Please sweetie." She lays her hand down on your arm. "I think you'll feel a little better about all of this when you've had some rest." Her fingers raise to push back some of the hair that's fallen forward into your eyes. "Hmm?"

You didn't want to rest, you wanted to talk about this, but you knew better than to argue with her. Not to mention she was right, you hadn't slept.

"And when you wake up I'll make your favorite for dinner, alright?" She smiles, but there's something behind it that you can't place.

"Okay."

And this time you don't argue with her. You go up the worn staircase that you have your entire life and collapse onto your bed, wondering exactly what it was she saw your future hold, and what it is that you won't admit to yourself.

Soldier Boy POV

There was no light in the apartment save from the burning red tip of Ben's blunt and the bluish glow emanating from the tv that caught the dips and sharp edges of his face. But it was nothing more than background noise.

His hand absentmindedly stroked along Bean's back, his eyes focused on the ceiling above the couch. He hadn't moved in hours. It had been over twenty four hours since everything that happened at the plant shop, since you'd summoned a creature from the depths of the store, since Darren had thrown Ben through the plate glass windows of the bakery, and since Ben had last seen you.

He didn't understand why you hadn't let him take you back to the apartment and why it was that you had to leave. Ben hadn't liked the feeling that stabbed him in the chest when you turned your back on him and ran away. He'd felt the urge to comfort you the way he'd watched Hughie do for Annie in the car a week ago, but you hadn't let him.

Instead all he'd done is stood there and watched you run, still covered in dust, rubble, and blood. Worse was you hadn't let him check you for injuries and Ben hated the thought that you were hurt somewhere and he didn't know where you were.

You were so much more fragile than he was. He was realizing that more every day, was acutely aware of it after everything that happened with Elijah. Honestly, sitting there in the hospital with you laying there asleep with nothing that he could do, but wait for you to wake up had been agony. Not to mention that looking at the bruises around your throat, over your eye, and the bright green cast only made him feel worse. He'd never felt so helpless in his entire life and he hated it. Because Ben wasn't some helpless damsel in distress, he was a man and a man shouldn't wait on anyone or feel out of control, or at least, that's what he told himself.

Ben hears someone walk down the hallway outside the apartment and he perks up to listen, hoping that it's you finally coming home. Ben's mind stutters on the word "home." He'd lived many places in his life, apartments that felt more like way-stations, and the drafty cold mansion back in Philadelphia where he grew up, but neither felt like home. And although he hated how small your apartment was, it was the first place that Ben liked living in. He was starting to understand the word home.

But the feet keep moving past the apartment and Ben sinks into the couch cushions. Even Bean seems to be disappointed. "It's alright buddy." Ben mutters. "She'll come back."

But he wasn't sure.

Ben also wasn't used to feeling this way. It was close to the way that he felt when he went to Boston and was sitting in that damn hotel room waiting for something to happen and he still didn't understand what it meant. He didn't understand why he couldn't stand it that you weren't back yet. It made him feel like a woman waiting for her husband to get home from work when he told her that he was "running late." He'd tried to distract himself by looking at some possible prospects on Tinder, but just like the week after you'd come home from the hospital and just like the date he had in Boston, no one held any appeal.

His mind was awake and roaming around, pacing back and forth. The blunt was supposed to help, but it hadn't.

His phone chirps and Ben picks it up to look at the screen, but it's not you, it's Jake.

Jake: I know that I'm not your favorite person, but thank you for what you did.

Ben huffs and turns his phone face down on the couch once more. "What a fucking pussy."

When you left Ben had realized that Jake was still inside the building and as much as he wanted race after you, he understood that you'd be even more upset if you'd killed Jake. So Ben had tromped back through the building and found him trapped beneath some rubble. Jake was okay, just unconscious, but Ben had carried him out and put him on the sidewalk before he high tailed it out of there. The last thing that he wanted was to be caught with a shredded body outside a ruined building.

I didn't do it for him. I did it for her. Ben thinks to himself, looking down at the text message.

As much as he hated the thought of saving your future boyfriend, he didn't want to see what it did to you if you found out that you killed Jake, so he'd done it to avoid watching you cry again.

Ben didn't understand why he hated watching you cry.

Women cry. They're damn emotional all the time. He tries to reason with himself taking a puff from the blunt pinched between his thumb and forefinger. And she fucking cries way too much.

The image of you crying outside of the shop in the wake of everything that happened pricks something under his ribcage. Fuck.

Ben didn't feel remorse for what happened, well, the only thing he regretted was not getting there sooner and getting to fuck Darren up himself. When Diana had called him to tell him that Darren was coming, Ben had practically ripped the apartment door off in his haste to get back to you. He hadn’t wanted to leave you at the plant shop, but Butcher had told Ben, that he had a possible location for Darren, but it came up empty and Ben had been at Butcher's apartment chewing him out for sending him on a fucking wild goose chase.

It only made Ben more angry to allow Darren to speak to you, but he was trying to let you handle it even though he wanted to handle him. But it had brought him an unholy amount of joy to throw Darren in front of that minivan and to watch that creature tear him apart while the final whitish blue pulses of electricity jumped and crackled down the street making the streetlights shower sparks everywhere.

But Ben was more upset that Darren had been able to land a few hits on you before you killed him.

Ben remembered the giant lizard that crawled out of what was left of "Please Don't Die" and felt his lips quirk up into a smile. As much as he hated the entire situation, Ben couldn't help but feel a little surge of pride at what you'd done to your brother. He'd never seen you look so powerful standing there in the street, your eyes glowing a brilliant green, arms outstretched, and the ground trembling around you as the world begged to be unleashed.

Of course he'd been just as surprised as you were at the fact that you'd healed your broken arm. He wasn't sure if you'd noticed it yet, but you looked different too. There weren't as many lines on your face and your hair was more springy, the few silver hairs that Ben had noticed in passing were no longer there.

He wasn't sure what that meant, but there was something that felt suspiciously like hope tingling in his stomach, hope that you weren't as fragile anymore and hope that it meant you wouldn't die.

When Diana had told Ben that her husband had died, he saw the pain in her eyes when she said it, saw her relieving the memory, and for some reason as soon as she said that he was dead, the first thing Ben thought about was you. Ben hadn't considered his inability to age as much in the past, hadn't cared about outliving anyone before. Seeing Countess as an older woman had made him more aware of it. Looking at the woman who he once thought he loved, had showed him what that was like. Not that he had a problem with daring older women, Ben always thought that women really did get better with age, but it was what came next that Ben wasn't fond of.

And for some reason thinking that one day he'd wake up and see the marks of age on your face or one day he'd wake up and he wouldn't be able to annoy you or hear you yell at him made his chest tight.

Ben takes another hit of his blunt. The longer he sat there the more then unnatural feeling stirred in the pit of his stomach, thrumming through his veins, the feeling that he was trying to avoid. He thought that the joint would calm him down, but he found himself jumping at every creak and footstep in the apartment building, perking up each time and hoping that it was you coming home.

He didn't know where you were. You hadn't answered any of his texts or calls and Ben was ashamed at how many times that he had tried to call you.

Get a fucking grip. He'd thought to himself when he typed out another text message to send you, stopping himself from sending it.

But he'd been so desperate to hear from you that he'd actually gone to talk to Annie who seemed upset that she couldn't get ahold of you either. When Hughie and Annie had seen how upset Ben had been, Hughie had laid his hand on Ben's arm and told him not to worry. Ben had yelled at him that he "wasn't fucking worried and to mind his own business" and had shaken off Hughie's comforting hand before stomping out of the shared apartment.

No one else seemed to be as concerned about finding you. Butcher, MM, and Frenchie were all deeply involved in trying to figure out the cover-up for what happened outside the plant shop. By some miracle no one had caught a picture of your face, but there was little they could do about Darren's body that had been strewn across the street. Annie was having to deal with the repercussions at work, trying to handle what the news was calling a "super villain threat."

Personally, Ben thought that since they froze Homelander, the Seven looked weak and Ben believed that the superhero team that represented America shouldn't look weak. Of course before Ben had also thought that they looked like a bunch of pussies and again felt himself sink deeper into the couch when he thought about what his supposed son had become.

He shakes off the feelings he has about it and his thoughts turn back inevitably to you.

Ben wasn't used to thinking about someone as much as he thought of you, but each time he settled back into the apartment and you weren't there he was hyperaware of how quiet it was.

Maybe I should call Diana. She might know where she is.

As soon as Ben thinks that, his phone begins to ring, but Ben doesn't bother to look at who it is before he answers it.

"Hello?" Ben huffs out a breath of smoke that hangs in the air in front of his face, catching in the bluish light coming from the television.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" The voice on the other side of the line yells at him.

"Di?"

"Yes it's me. Who did you think it was? Santa Clause?" Your grandmother snarks.

"Why are you calling me and why the fuck are you so mad? What did I do?" Ben answers slightly annoyed.

As much as you got under his skin, your grandmother had been the same way. He actually thought that it was amusing that even before he figured out that she was your grandmother that he had often compared you to her in his mind. You had the same mannerisms, the same defiant and stubborn attitude that drove Ben up the wall, and you were just as beautiful as she was.

Ben was okay with admitting that he was attracted to you. To him that felt normal, it was the other feelings that he was conflicted about, the ones that he'd never felt before stirring in his chest that made him feel "too emotional" and "woman-like."

Truthfully, Ben was sure that if your grandmother had given him a shot that maybe he would have felt that way about her too. She was the only person that Ben actually trusted in the 80's, the only person that was brave enough to call him out on all his shit. You did that now. But he liked her husband also, so Ben was content with letting her go. He liked how happy that Henry, your grandfather, had made her. He knew that she wasn't happy as a supe and seeing her so happy and in love made Ben feel something that was close to happiness.

And it was seeing the way the two of them were together made Ben wonder if what he had with Countess was the same thing. Because he did have feelings about her that were different, but each time he went to visit Diana and saw your father playing on her lap he felt that there was something missing in his life.

It was the same way that he thought something was missing when you weren't in the apartment, but Ben hadn't realized that yet.

"Because I don't understand what the hell you're doing!" Diana replies and Ben honestly doesn't know why she's angry with him.

"About what?"

"My granddaughter."

Ben sits up the blunt in his fingertips forgotten. "Is she there with you?"

"Yes." Her voice softens for a moment.

Ben relaxes and leans back onto the couch, sighing in relief. "Good. That's good." Relief swelled in his chest when he thought about you staying with her, safe.

That's what she meant when she said that she wanted to go home. Home is with her grandmother. Ben stopped the next thought before he could go there.

The thought that home wasn't with him.

Ben was trying not to think about that or think about you hating him. He didn't think you did, well, didn't think you did anymore. At first it really was touch and go, but now he was almost eighty percent sure after you'd told him more than once that you weren't afraid of him and didn’t hate him that you sometimes wanted him around.

"No, not good."

"What do you mean? Is she okay?" Ben's grip on the phone tightens so hard that he's sure that he hears the screen cracking.

"No."

"What happened?" Ben's voice is a growl, the feelings of relief evaporating as soon as they had begun to bloom in his chest. He mentally calculated how long it would take him to get to you.

"Her entire life fucking fell apart and where are you? Not here!"

Oh. Ben relaxed a little bit.

"I don't need to be there." He says on an exhale of smoke.

"Yes you do!" Diana presses.

"No, I don't. She a big girl she doesn't need me there, she's-" Ben takes a puff from the joint.

“If you were any denser you’d be a Bundt cake Benjamin!” She says exasperated.

"What the fuck are you talking about doll? I am not-"

“Let me guess." She interrupts and Ben can imagine her tapping her foot. He hated when she did that. "You’re moping around smoking a blunt on the couch probably with a glass of something that you're hoping to numb whatever the hell it is you're feeling."

Ben's eyes shift to the bottle of whiskey on the coffee table that he hadn't touched in a few minutes.

“I’m not fucking moping and stop spying on me!” He snaps back at Diana.

He hated how well she knew him. She was his best friend in the 80's through all the shit, she had seen him at his worst and at his best too many times to count.

“I don’t have to use my powers to know what you’re doing. I know you Ben.”

"Sorry to disappoint you sweetheart.” Ben grits his teeth, temper flaring hot. “But if you know me as well as you fucking say you do then you then you know that this is-“

“You avoiding your feelings by acting aloof and brooding like a fucked up version of Mr. Darcy.” She interrupts.

She certainly hasn't changed.

“I am not avoiding-“

“She needs you here Ben.” Diana stamps her foot, the same way you do when Ben pisses you off, and Ben can hear it.

“She doesn’t need me! She said that she wanted to go home, that she didn’t want to be here with me! I tried to-“ Ben shouts back standing up. It was the exact thing that he'd been thinking for the past twenty four hours, that you didn’t need him and that you didn't want to be any where near him.

That last thought made an uncomfortable sensation prickle in his gut when he thought it, because all it did was remind him of how you acted when the two of you first met, when you didn't want him to live with you and tried your darndest to make him go away.

He didn’t want to and he wasn't sure why that was.

“Try harder.” Diana interrupts him again and frankly it was pissing him off.

Ben clenches his jaw. “I think that you’ve confused me with someone else baby.”

“Don’t you 'baby' me Benjamin! We both know that you’re doing what you always do when things get hard for you.”

“And what’s that?”

“You pretend not to care and shut out everyone who tries to care for you. Not to mention you drown yourself in drugs, booze, and women.”

“She doesn’t care about me!” He spits.

“She does!” Diana snaps back. “And believe it or not she needs you here and she wants you here.”

"But-"

"Ben please." It was the first time that he'd heard Diana sound softer and almost pleading since the conversation started. "Don't do this to her. She's worth more than Countess and all those other women you've fallen into bed with."

"Do you really think I don't know that?" He roars. The answer surprises himself. "Do you think I don't know that she's different?"

Wait what?

"If you know that, then why aren't you here?"

He hesitates.

Everything you said to him the night of the party comes roaring back. You looking beautiful in a dress that made his throat tight, and you telling him that you just wanted to be friends and that you understood that he wasn't the type of guy to have relationships. He didn't understand why it stung a bit when you said that, but it had.

Ben thinks about the week that the two of you spent together after Diana went home, when he tried his best to take care of you, distract you from everything that happened with his movies, and would sit with you and try to make you laugh. He'd never wanted to take care of someone before.

Not to mention he kind of liked the way you laughed. He wouldn’t admit that to anyone, but each time you did, it made him want to laugh too. That had never happened to him before. But he wanted to make you laugh to forget everything that happened with Elijah. His fist clenches when he thinks of exactly what Elijah tried to do to you and it makes him feel so mad that he feels close to spontaneously combusting. Ben might not be the best role model when it came to women, but he couldn’t imagine the type of man who would force himself on someone else.

It had made him angry when he thought that you were suggesting that he would try something when he first moved in, because he wasn't that type of man.

Ben was trying to be better for you. He wasn't admitting that, but he really was trying to be better. He didn't understand why. You'd told him countless times that you didn’t want to be with him, that you wanted to be with someone else like Jake.

Ben frowns when he thinks about the man he'd pulled from the rubble of the shop. And again thinks to himself that you should be with someone different, someone who was a supe and could understand you. Ben had seen how difficult it was for Diana when she was keeping her supe life a secret from your grandfather and he didn't want you to have to do that with someone.

"Because I'm not-" Ben begins to say, but he holds his tongue. It was too honest, too raw, too unlike him to admit this to anyone.

Because I'm not this guy. Because I'm not the one she wants. Because I'm not some knight on a white horse. Because she's everything right with the world and I'm just a fucking asshole who sleeps on her couch.

"Ben." Diana breathes and he can practically hear her pinching the bridge of her nose. "In all the years I've known you, you've never done what you did for her with anyone else. You carried her out of that warehouse, you stayed with her in the hospital even after she woke up, you took care of her when she came home, you protected her from Darren. You can't ignore all those things."

"I'm not ignoring them. She's my friend." The word sours in his mouth as he says it. "And she would have done the same thing for me." He knew it was true.

She's a good person and she wouldn't let me chase her away if any of that shit happened to me and I told her to leave me alone.

"Yes she would. Because she cares about you." Diana sighs.

"She doesn't."

"Why don't you believe me?"

"Because she's told me what she wants!" Ben shouts so loudly he can feel the room shaking. "She wants to be friends-“

"Because she doesn't think that you want a relationship you nitwit!"

"I don't." Ben spits the words before he can stop them, but as he does something tightens at the base of his throat.

"How is it that it's been forty fucking years and you're still able to dance on the grave of my last nerve?"

Ben chuckles. "I missed you too sweetheart."

She sighs into the phone again making it crackle in Ben's ear. "She needs you.” Diana repeats. “And I think you need her too.”

His temper was flaring again, the thoughts that his father pressed into him surging up before he can stop the words. “I don’t need anyone. I’m Sol-“

“If you say that you’re Soldier Boy, I’m going to reach through this phone and slap you silly.” She snaps. “And you do need her, but you’re still just too stubborn to admit it.”

“I-“

“Ben I know that everything that happened with Countess was fucked up, but my granddaughter she-“ Diana pauses before she changes the thought. “You say that you know she’s different, but right now you’re treating her the same way you treat all those other women.”

“I’m not-“

“My granddaughter has decided you’re important to her and once that’s happened it’s hard to make her let go. You saw the way she was with Darren and that guy was a manipulative asshole. Imagine what she thinks of you.”

“I-“

“Stop making excuses!”

“You didn’t even hear what I was going to say!” Ben shouts.

“And I don’t need to! Think what you want Ben but if you’d stop acting so stubborn and so ridiculously blind to what’s right in front of you. I promise that what comes next is worth the risk.”

“Don’t go all fucking mystical on me doll.”

“And don’t go all macho- no feelings asshole on me! So stop being so damn stubborn, get on a plane and get your ass here.” She retorts. “Don’t fuck this up Benjamin because if you do I’ll fuck you up.”

The line goes dead.

Ben sat there for a minute in the silence still holding the phone up to his ear, listening to what your grandmother said to him ring around in his head for a second.

No one ever spoke to him that way. In fact, Ben had never allowed anyone to speak to him the way that she did, well, not until you came along. You reminded him so much of her that it was astounding and he wasn't going to admit that maybe it's why he liked being around you so much.

Ben frowns at what Diana said, thinking about the unusual feelings that were swirling in the pit of his stomach. He felt wrong and the feelings were odd for him. He hadn't felt anything remotely like this ever in his life, not even for Countess.

And although Ben refused to be afraid of anything, the feelings he was having scared him. He didn’t understand and he wasn't sure that he wanted to. He wasn't sure that he wanted to see where this ended up. He felt like he was in too deep.

As much as he wanted to go to you like Diana ordered him to, he wasn't sure that he should. Something was holding him back, digging it's heels in and refusing to budge.

But why do I feel like-

His phone rings and he doesn't look at the caller ID when he picks up, expecting it to be Diana again, yelling at him.

"Di I-"

But it's not Diana.

"Hello Ben. It's nice to hear your voice again." The familiar voice says, sounding calm and collected.

"What the fuck do you want?" Ben snarls.

"I thought it was time the two of us had a chat.”

A/N: At this point Diana is really just trying to give both Ben and the reader the kick in the pants they need. And yes I know another cliffhanger, but you know you love it. 🤭😉 We are quickly reaching the end of this series, but that means the confession scene is coming and I am so excited about it!!

As always thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, likes, and comments are not required, but are always appreciated. I love hearing what y'all think! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series let me know. 😊

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starberry-cupcake · 3 days ago

Text

Welcome back!! I hope you're doing well and, if not, I hope my silly ramblings can make your day somewhat better, like the wildcats used to say: we're all in this together ♥

previously, in harrowcita del 9:

this happened

for those of you recently tuning in, this is the tag of all the ramblings

also, I'm officially in the sixth house now, palmolive can't stop me

CHAPTER 46

we're back inside the emperor's bolthole, which is infested

this is what happens when you have a lyctor orgy without the proper protection

gideon is doing her very best to fight the infestation of herald bees swarming and attacking her

she's in harrow's feeble small kitten baby body, so she's dying a lot

I'm gonna try to represent this visually

gideon keeps apologizing to harrow for getting her bits chewed off and her insides pouring out

and puts emphasis on things she wants harrow to remember

"I saw it eat your thumb—these details are important, so keep up with me—and your thumb was back in the next half minute"

"Child, that bee smashed you"

"I touched your intestines, which is usually what, fourth date"

me:

so, gideon takes off harrow's excess bones, which are no use to her, and goes further into the emperor's infested bolthole, where she finds mercygirl

mercygirl thinks gideon is harrow at first and, turns out, she was the one who stabbed her

these lyctors istg

can't trust any of them

mercygirl thinks harrow should be grateful that she stabbed her

and she was aware that harrow had "stuffed the soul of the cavalier in the back of her brain"

NOW WE'RE GONNA GET INTO SOME TERRITORY THAT MAKES ME GO ABSOLUTELY BERSERK, SO BEAR WITH ME

I NEED TO GET MY NOTES BACK FROM MY PREVIOUS RECAPS FOR THIS

she asks what happened with gideon's eyes and, as we have seen in the previous gideon-centric chapter, gideon's eyes are in harrow's face atm, if memory serves

"You're not her—she isn't driving you—but you have her eyes. Why? When they showed me your corpse I didn't think to check the eyes"

"I thought I knew what you were, though I didn't want to believe it..."

now listen, we're starting to tie some loose ends and some of those loose ends are linked very closely to my previous theories

I have been considering the Commander Wake is Gideon's Mom and Has a Personal Connection To Gideon The First and Is The One Connected With The Harrow Notes In Canaan AU for a while now

I need to link the specific recaps where I said this because I need to be transparent about where my brain was at

Evidence A, Evidence B, Evidence C, Evidence D

there's probably more but those are pretty clear

I swear to god if I was right about this I'm gonna screencap my own recap and put it here when the time comes

I've been marinating this one for months

I actually forgot how much of that I had written down in the recaps until I re-read them

mercygirl says that she thought the commander was a bad girl workaholic who put business before family, that she made her "the dolls" and she must have "played silly buggers with the emission" and that "gideon was on her tail"

"And then Gideon ruined everything. Then the commander ruined everything. Then you ruined everything. This could have been over eighteen years ago"

apparently gideon the first was "obsessed" with the commander, which accounts for some of the notes harrow read

I'LL GET BACK TO THAT WHEN WE GET TO THE SLEEPER, MY THEORIES CONTINUE

mercygirl starts calling gideon all sorts of names, including mutant, and keeps being bothered about her eyes

"Lipochrome. Recessive. You are the evidence. He lied to us...and you are all the proof I needed" "Cytherea would have known as soon as she looked at you"

is gideon the first gideon's dad??????? I mean, I always though he might have Something with the mom but my money was on gideon being made through science rather than Traditional Means

I mean, having lyctor genes in some way would account for gideon being a demigod, something I said with those words when I was reading gideon

also, remember when not!dulcinea told gideon she was prettier than the other gideon?? because I've never forgotten

mercygirl confirms that gideon the first was sent to kill gideon's mom

who, according to mercygirl, would have hated to be called a mom

mamá luchona intensifies

all of which aligns with my theory very nicely so far

she calls gideon more names, including "abomination, you heresy, you failed ambition nineteen years too late"

gideon reacts not wanting mercygirl to touch her instinctively

man, my theories are RIGHT THERE to be fully connected I'm BITING THE DESK

but there's no time for any more talk because mercygirl is trying to kill gideon in harrow's body

but she is stopped

she is shot

by not!dulcinea

but I don't think this is not!dulcinea, I previously mentioned her maybe being used by someone, not sure if it's possession or being used or what's going on but I don't think this is her

I thought about gideon the first being the one to do it but if he wanted harrow dead, I'm not sure he'd save gideon now

not!dulcinea says "with a tone that wasn't" hers: "goodbye"

gideon ends the chapter with "what the fuck is going on?"

CHAPTER 47

we're back at canaan au and it's time to perform an exorcism

harrow has a new note

I've been connecting those notes to gideon's mom possibly commander wake (as linked above)

the latest note continues to add to my theory

"end of the line. falling. oxygen can't last the distance and won't redirect power from the payload. instead I will make you watch every moment as I get the last privilege you cannot enjoy you bygone son of a bitch. I hope you're both as sorry as I am."

I still think this is gideon's mom because that's how she died, I mean, she got to the ninth in a suit without air and gideon still had some, allegedly

I've been thinking that one of the two people involved in the situationship triangle described in the notes was gideon the first, and that maybe the other was dr reverend emperor john

he's the most likely to be a bygone son of a bitch, so maybe I'm right

so, if harrow connects the notes with the spirit that's haunting her

and I'm connecting them to gideon's mom....

what if it's her that's haunting harrow?????

I mean, Waker

I NEED TO STOP GETTING INTO THEORY TANGENTS

anyway, all of the ghoulie ghostie friends are getting together for a sleepover exorcism

I didn't use this when I should have, back when the different aus were going by, but here it is

real!dulcinea says "Pal always said I'd be the death of him. And I was..."

he died being a weenie but he's not all the way dead, so it's fine

harrow questions why everyone wants to help her but everyone's totally fine with all this, for different reasons

real!dulcinea is "horny for revenge" (that's a tshirt for the seventh girlies right there)

protozoa is there because duty is his full personality

abby is really grateful to be asked to help (she also really likes tombs, very lara croft of her)

magnus loves his wife

ortus wants a redemption arc and now has a polycule

martita is behaving better than judith

abby asks harrow if there's anything she can remember from the slasher waker sleeper to try to pinpoint who tf it is

there's a suit, blood, a gun and gideon's sword, which is the only thing harrowcita recognizes and doesn't know where it comes from

my money is on gideon's mom, commander wake, probably also the woman in the shuttle poster that harrow saw but didn't recognize back when she met camilla

I'M PUTTING MORE CHIPS IN MY BETS EVEN IF I GET NO MORE INFO RN

harrow is very interested in how abby and magnus make it work as a married couple who are also a necro and a cav

I wonder why she's so interested

anyway, everything goes to shit on the exorcism

like, it goes really, really badly

group project off the rails bad

I mean, they didn't even have blood

apparently the spirit is also tethered to an object out there (the sword??????? possibly?????)

and she (she's a SHE) is pretty much invincible and shooting everyone and performing parkour while she's at it

harrow says camilla would be impressed, which is the highest praise

the sleeper waker slasher potentially gideon's mom (but not sure because it hasn't been confirmed yet) calls harrow by her name, but in a way that sounds like she's never said it before

she says it like a curse, which maybe means she knows, to some degree, how harrow was made????

she's basically doing whatever she wants over here, shooting ghosts, punching ghosts, throwing them around, regenerating, not bleeding, pulling guns out of thin air

I mean, ok, we got it, calm down lady

where was this energy when it was time to kill the emperor

she says there's "no magic" there and that "she's been doing this for years"

she wants harrow, so she can kill her and use her body to "finish it"

WHICH MAYBE MEANS KILLING THE EMPEROR???

OH MAN I DO WANT THAT TO HAPPEN

BUT NOT AT THE COST OF HARROW

also, mrs potentially gideon's mom, even if harrow dies, there's also gideon in the body right now so, it's a bit crowded atm

maybe find another way to kill the emperor

use not!dulcinea instead, if you can get the current tenant to leave

the chapter ends with: "ortus cleared his throat"

MAN, I HOPE HE DROPS SOME POETRY LINES, WE SURELY NEED THAT

and that's it for today!!!!!things are certainly heating up in the emperor's bolthole!!!! see you soon for the next installment, fingers crossed for my theories!!!

#luly reacts to tlt #tlt #tlt spoilers #harrow the ninth #harrow the ninth spoilers #long post

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thestrangestthlng · 2 days ago

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Thoughts and prayers rants...

So, now that I've had almost 48 hours to marinate on this and cycled through my emotions, I am in a much better headspace to talk on the whole 9-1-1 of it all.

But this bears repeating: We fell in love with Tommy because he made Buck fall in love with Evan.

So, first and foremost, I've decided that canon stopped for me at 8x05. lol. I am going to continue with my BT train like that shit show didn't happen. And for me, for a while, I am going to let the show end there. I will go back, probably after the hiatus, but not how I was. I do love all the characters on this show (some more than others) and I still want to be able to see their journey, but I need a break from that manipulation stunt. I'm still going to share all the positive BT stuff I see and all the beautiful Lou content I see.

Secondly, now that I am over the initial hurt of the breakup, I'm just mad. We were manipulated intentionally with 8x05 for us to feel worse when the break up happened. That was unnecessary. And that was cruel. And I know that a lot of this is because it was the icing on a shit week. Emotions were already raw due to the election and it was reallllllyyyy bad timing for this, but that doesn't make the way they did it okay, just that it can explain why there was such a strong reaction for many of us, on top of the completely justified anger.

Breakups happen, and that's okay. If it was the end of Tommy's time on the show, that's okay. I am a Buck girlie and I always will be. But... the breakup was reductive, stereotypical, and just poor storytelling. I get they want to leave doors open a crack, because you never truly know, but turning him into an OOC stereotypical biphobic gay man is disgusting. You had this beautiful thing and you shat on it. I am going to do another post about my personal relationship with groundbreaking storylines next.

That was a miscommunication. That was a breakup where someone chases after you and is like wtf actually just happened. It felt like whiplash, because that is not how breakups are formulated in media. You know how else you could have written him out of the story?

At the date (and the basketball tickets are actually a really sweet touch when you think about it) Tommy could have told Buck that he got a job offer in another city or state or that his parents are ill and he has to go home to take care of them and asked Buck to go with him. At the apartment, it could have been buck telling him that as much as he could see a future with him, he can't go with him.

Would it have sucked? Yes. But it wouldn't have induced this amount of rage.

For over six months Lou and BTs have been at the receiving amount of a ton of vitriol. And that's not to say that there weren't antagonizers on this side of the fence or that BTs never did anything wrong, but this isn't a both sides bullshit piece. People can suck everywhere, but only one "side" harassed an actor and his family with death threats, he read about the "stoning" calls, used slurs on a regular basis. All of this persisted for months for it to turn out that he was the only one who seemed to give a shit about the story and it's representation. There honestly doesn't seem like there would have been anyone better for it.

You know what's ironic? It was the Buddie's hate and vitriol that pulled me into fandom and made me love Tommy and then Lou. When they would run their mouths, I would look into it and I found a man who genuinely seems like (he is still someone we don't know) a wonderfully kind, sweethearted, genuine man. He looks like a bundle of light and his smile can warm even the coldest hearts. So their vitriol made me a fan. So thanks BoBs.

Buck and Tommy wasn't just about Buck's queerness and definitely not about "wanting to see two white men kiss". It was about our love for Buck. We saw him happier and more fulfilled than he's ever been. We see his life being lived and full of love and stuff and joy.

Again:

We fell in love with Tommy because he made Buck fall in love with Evan.

And you know what, not matter how reductive and all the phobics that breakup was, they can never take that away from us.

#we fell in love with tommy because he made buck fall in love with evan #bucktommy #tevan #tommy kinard #evan buckley #911 abc #the writing on this episode was complete ass as far as this was concerned #honestly #911 discourse #also stay the fuck out of our tags if you dont like what were saying

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copperbadge · 6 hours ago

Note

hey sam, totally understand if you don't want to get into this, but i'm curious how you interpret your tarot reading for the year in light of the election results?

So, I have two replies to this, but I do want to say despite responding that I really I appreciate the permission not to respond. Especially because this is going to be a form of non-response, but only because of extenuating circumstances. I know that I'm never required to respond to an ask, but I always feel bad if I don't, so it's helpful to know the asker understands.

First -- I could go back and look at the reading and look at the world and see what there is to be seen, but...that's fun when it's like "Oh, the reading predicted Dracula Daily, how interesting". It's not really as fun when we're talking about deeply unsettling and dangerous political events. And I'm not sure I'm in a headspace for it, being honest. The reading itself feels like it aged poorly, although some of its advice is still sound.

Second, and honestly to me more relevant, is the fact that I've found this specific spread is not really ideal for this purpose. As a personal reading, Four Royal Advisors seems fine, especially if you're trying to just take a vague look at the future rather than predict the course of a coming year. When I've tried doing the "new year's" reading for the coming year, it always seemed to stall out in autumn and not cover the full year. So I don't know if it would have any particular insight after Halloween in any case.

On the plus, I do have a new reading that is specifically designed to be a "coming year" reading and to cover the full year, so hopefully this month and certainly before New Year's I'll be debuting that and trying it for next year. I'm a little concerned about what it might tell us, but I think we're all rather concerned for the future, so that feels normal.

#tarot #four royal advisors #politics

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luvyeni · 16 hours ago

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𝐀 𝐕𝐈𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 ! ㅤ ㅤ𓂃 ㅤ박성훈

CHAPTER SEVEN. close proximity ... 「 materialist 」

ㅤ୨ৎ no one in your friend group couldn't understand why you and sunghoon stopped being friends after freshman year of college; they all chalked it up as for reasons only you and he knew about , you and sunghoon couldnt get along, and when he threatened to tell your brother something your deepest darkest secret you called him a virgin who couldn't read to your 24k fans and the name spread throughout the campus…

ㅤ𓂃 🎞️. chapter warnings. language, suggestive thoughts ( both of them are horribly down bad for each other ) word count. 1725

tapping your foot impatiently on the ground as you waited for the boy to answer the phone. “noona?” you scoffed. “don't noona me won , he's an hour late.”

“i know , i know he was caught up at work , he said he was on the way now.” your brother said , trying not to piss you off even more. “i told you i wasn't gonna wait , i didn't even want to do this.” you said. “yeah well now you don't have to worry about groceries.” he said. “i don't need the money won.” you never needed the extra money. “yeah well i figured you didn't since you were doing so well at the salon.” you hummed , you hated lying to him but you knew he'd judge; not to mention tell your parents. “i can always get a job.” he said.

“i told you, pay attention to school, i got you , im not struggling won.” you said. “just need him to hurry up , what if i needed to do something.” you questioned. “noona , you have his number , call him.” you scoffed. “it will be a cold day in hell before i ever call him , you'd have to be dying.”

“so me dying will get you to be cool again?” he said. “no , but i’d be good at your funeral , for your sake.” he gasped , you smiled. “rude , you two used to be inseparable , until you randomly called him a virgin who couldn't read.” you sighed , you never told him what happened , the real reason you and sunghoon stopped being friends. “i still don't understand.”

“understand what won?” you asked. “why you said that , it was so sudden , what happened?’ he curiously asked. “won some people change , things just change , we just drifted apart when we started college , do you still talk to anyone else from highschool ?” you asked. “besides the guys? no.”

“exactly.” you said. “yeah but the — won drop it , just call him and tell him to get his ass over here.” he whined. “fine why are you so mean.” you rolled your eyes hanging up. you hated how overbearing your brother could be sometimes; you loved but sometimes you questioned who was the oldest and who was the youngest.

it had been a while since you and sunghoon had been alone; most of the time the two of you hung out is when you hung out with the guys and even then it would always end in you and him being pulled away from each other , red in the face from anger.

if anyone was to see you guys and you told him you and him used to be closer than you and jake , they'd think you were crazy; but believe it or not you and sunghoon were super close until everything changed that one month before your second year of college…

there was a knock on the door that brought you from your thoughts; you looked at the time a hour and a half , that's how late he was. you were pissed; getting up from your couch, making your way over to the door. “who is it?”

sunghoon rolled his eyes. “unless you planned on having a guy over, who else would it be.” you scoffed. “yeah well , the dumbass that was supposed to be here is an hour late.” he hit the door harder. “open the door yn.” you unlocked the door , cracking it open. “give me the money.” you held your hand out. “you serious?” he said. “you want to be tutored right?”

he cursed , pulling out his phone; he typed in a few things, before turning it towards you. “happy?” you slammed the door in his face , he sighed; hearing the deadbolt unlock, the door finally opening. “never will i be happy about this.” you walked away , allowing him inside you home. “take your dirty shoes off.”

“if you're not happy then why are you doing this then?” he asked. “because of my brother.” he followed behind you. “you could fail for all i care , that just means you'd probably have to drop out and at least i wouldn't have to see you anymore.” you pushed the door open to your room. “yeah whatever.” he dropped his bag on the floor. “let's get this over with i have things to do later.”

“sure those girls who are constantly blowing up your phone can wait.” he watched you go around the room collecting all the books you'd need. “you sound like you're jealous.”

“of you? no, but i do feel bad for those girls , must be such a disappointment.” you didn't see his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “sit.” you pointed to the floor. “you're not sitting on my bed.”

upon sitting down he noticed the camera point at your bed. “filming something before i got here is a bit shameless , is that why i can't sit on the bed yet , cause you haven't changed the sheets.” you scoffed. “you wish you fucking pervert.” he watched you get up from the bed , pulling the camera off the tripod. “i didn't pay you 200 dollars to fuck around , i need help.” he said. “so help me.”

“i took the liberty in asking your teachers what you needed help in, and looks like i hit the jackpot , you suck at everything.” you said. “so help me , im paying you for a reason.” he said. “try opening the damn book.” he huffed , pulling out a textbook. “seriously are you dumb?” you picked up the book. “what that's the book.”

“yeah from last year , that's why you don't understand anything, you're reading the wrong fucking book.” you snatched it from him, throwing it in the trash. “i have to pay for those books, you know , i don't have extra cash like that.” you sighed , handing him the extra book you kept in case you yeojin lost the original. “keep it , use that one.” he took the book from you, watching you as you sat down. “now open it.”

three hours and four different books later; you were ready for him to go, even when you were close and and would study together , you hardly got any work done , and now that you two weren't close anymore his presence irritated you; but in some sick and twisted way , turned you on. the close proximity, and you both being alone ; and you not having any in a while outside of jake and that wasn't real , it was acting. and here he sat , in all his irritable but sexy glory— it made you mad.

“we're done , we took all the notes you will need , study that on your own , you fail not my problem.” you stood up from the bed , stretching; he looked up from the books , your shirt lifting revealing your stomach. “excuse me pervert.” you pulled your shirt down. “why are you still here?”

he stood up; looking at you once more, your tight tank top accentuating the curves that he not only saw on camera; but had the pleasure of seeing a few times in the past. “you're such a narcissist , not everyone is always staring at you , not everyone is a fan of you.” you scoffed. “but you are.” you mumbled , but he heard you. “such a bitch.”

he looked down for a quick second , then back at you. “you can seriously go now.” you said. “tell me do you always leave your toys around or is this some sick perverted thing you do to company.” you looked down and to your horror , one of the many toys you owned was laying on the floor. “get the fuck out now!” you shouted , kicking it under the bed. “calm down , im going after i use the bathroom , is this anyway to treat your guest?” he smirked walking out of the room. “you aren't a wanted guest!” you shouted back in response.

how could that have happened; you sat on the bed , yanking at your hair. “so embarrassing.” you screeched. “i’m gonna kill jungwon.” you flopped down on the bed , your phone buzzing beside you. “oh sunoo.” you cried out , picking up the device , think you'd be able to cry to your friend — except it wasn't your phone; it was sunghoons phone, he must've left it before going to the bathroom.

you were inclined to put it down , nothing inside that man's phone interested you; well at first. kingsteve.12.08 you knew that name from anywhere. “what are you doing?”

once he got to the bathroom; he shut the door with a sigh. the look on your face when he discovered your sex toy; the redness of your cheeks. “fuck.” he gripped the sink, he just had to find it. why did he have to find it? because now he couldn't get the picture of you using it out of his head. “i have to get out of here.” he said to himself, fearing what he might do if he didn't.

he made his way back to your room, ready to leave; but the smirk on your face made him curious. “what are you doing?” he said , his eyes going down to your hand , which held his phone. “using your english name was smart , i would've gotten that , but im surprised you used your birthday , because i know that.” soon his phone was pointing directly at him, his profile pulled up on the screen. “not only do you watch my content , you're my top subscriber.”

“give me that right fucking now.” he said. “now yn.” you scoffed. “this is just fucking great; now if you tell him this i just show him this and guess what?” sunghoon reached for the phone , but you pulled back. “try explaining that.”

he grabbed your wrist; you pulled your wrist. “let me go.” you yanked your arm, his eyes low , you gulp. “i said fucking let me go.” both of your faces red , anger? arousal who knows; but one thing is for sure , you both had to separate before you both did something you regret or one of you murdered each other , and with how big he was , he definitely had the upper hand on both ends.

snatching his phone away; pushing you down on the bed, putting it away. he picked his bag off the ground. “i really hate you yang yn.” he gritted through his teeth.

“right back at you park sunghoon.”

「 previous - next 」

「 TAGLIST. 」 @soobieboo @sakiimeo @i03jae @byulbbini @yoontonyy @yaorzu-blog @niniissus @xcosmi @dinonuguaegi @who-tf-soddhi @stqrrgirle @insommni4 @sophiq@navikki11 @usahanami @heelovesmeknot @txpxwxk @nikiswifiee @jae-no @jiiyen @tasnemluvs @kkamismom12 @17ericas

#enhypen ff #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen smau #enhypen x female reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen fic #park sunghoon smau #park sunghoon social media au #park sunghoon fic #park sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x female reader #sunghoon fic #sunghoon smau

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fanboyoff1 · 1 day ago

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Landoscar College Fic (2.4k words)

Inspired by this post. It was supposed to be a little drabble but it spiraled

@complementaryhalves Hope I did it justice. It’s not really a meet-cute since they both know of each other (or maybe that counts, idk how meet-cutes work) but I tried my best lol

Oscar really needs to set a second alarm.

He’s several months into college, so you’d think he’d have figured out a good sleep schedule by then. Unfortunately, that has not happened, and Oscar wakes up to sun on his face.

“Ughhh,” he groans, rolling over and pulling his sheets up over his head. It takes him a few seconds to realize there’s no annoying beeping that usually greets him in the morning.

“Shit.” He grabs his phone from the bedside table and jolts up when he reads 8:25 on his lockscreen. “Shitshitshit.”

He tosses his sheets to the side, the old mattress creaking loudly as he stands, rushing because his bus is literally about to leave. Why did he sign up for early classes? Why, why, why? Even his professor Mr. Webber told him it was a bad idea once he’d heard about it, but he’d insisted that it would be fine.

Right now, it’s definitely not fine though. He brushes his teeth at lightning-speed in the communal bathroom, and throws on a navy blue sweatshirt and pants, nearly forgetting his watch. He’ll get a bagel or something for breakfast at school.

Thankfully, he likes to pack his backpack the day before, so all he has to do is put it over his shoulders, rushing down the stairs and out the door into the parking lot to see… His bus rolling away down the road without him.

Oscar drops his hands down from his backpack straps to his side in defeat. He curses the ground and his stupid clock under his breath, kicking at a loose rock. What is he gonna do now?

Well, he could call Logan, ask if he can give him a ride. Or maybe Charles drove today? He glances across the parking lot, but there are around three other cars that look just like Charles’, so that won’t be very helpful.

He’s about to pull his phone out when he hears a car pull out of the lot, wheels making a grainy sound against the asphalt. Oscar quickly backs away from the middle of the road and goes back to his quiet crisis.

“Hey, you need a ride?”

Oscar looks up to see the car that had been leaving stopped in front of him. The person behind the voice is a handsome guy with dark curly hair and tan skin, sitting behind the wheel with one hand dangling out the window. There’s a small flicker of recognition in Oscar’s brain, he must have seen the boy around campus before.

The driver seems to have taken Oscar’s silence as hesitancy, starting to talk again. “I-um, I saw your bus fuck off into the distance, and I figured you could use some help. I live right over there.” He points vaguely to another one of the student campus buildings behind them.

Oscar opens his mouth to politely decline immediately, but stops himself. Does he really for certain have another way to get to school? He remembers how he knows this guy now, he’s friends with Charles. Anyone who’s friends with Charles gets an automatic thumbs up from him, but being in a car with them…

“Yeah, I could use a ride,” he finds himself saying, not totally sure the words are coming from his mouth. The curly haired guy seems equally surprised, but masks it quickly. “O-okay. Just come over to the passenger seat.”

Oscar walks out in front of the car, and opens the door. Any move to sit down is paused by the fact that there’s a football in the seat. The boy turns when Oscar opens the door, looking through his eyelashes at him, and his eyes are really blue from up close. A bit of green too- okay, stop analyzing his eyes, he tells himself.

The driver- Oscar decides to coin him Car Guy- notices Oscar’s predicament and grabs the football, promptly chucking it into the backseat and patting the now empty seat for Oscar, who sits.

He twists his body to face the back of the car. “Do you think you damaged anything with that throw?” he asks, trying to find the football amongst the clutter of the car. There’s a few random clothes, a cardboard box on the right.

“Eh, it’s fine,” Car Guy says with a wave of his hand. Oscar turns back to the front, buckling up. Car Guy notices what he’s doing and buckles up himself with a guilty smile. Oh God, Oscar’s totally going to die.

“Just college campus, I assume?” Car Guy asks, adjusting his rear-view mirror that has a car freshener and a necklace hanging from it. The necklace has a big 4 hanging by the end.

“Yeah,” Oscar sets his backpack down between his legs, and braces when Car Guy starts to drive away. However, he actually seems like an okay driver, despite that seatbelt incident that may haunt Oscar’s nightmares.

After a few streets, he chills out enough to get a proper look at who’s driving him. He has a Texas Bulls shirt on, a hoodie under it, and to top it all off, a green letterman jacket with the number 4 on it. Huh. 4 again. Maybe the number 4 has some kind of significance to him.

He’s really pretty as well, especially up close. His long lashes, his freckles, his hair that looks like it's attempting to be a mullet.

Don’t you dare fall for a jock Oscar, he tells himself. Because that’s what he has to be, right? He has a Bulls shirt, a sporty jacket, and a freaking football in the passenger seat. There’s nothing else he could be.

And he’s still terrified about a stranger driving him somewhere, pretty or not. He takes out his phone and pulls up his messages, finding his last conversation with Dad 2.0 (an inside joke the two of them have.) He frantically texts Charles, asking, ‘Is curly haired boy a serial killer??’

A moment later, he gets a response back, a lot of question marks. Oscar sighs, running his hand through his hair and trying not to let his thoughts spiral into how he may or may not be getting kidnapped.

# # #

Lando’s trying to be cool. He really is. But Oscar’s in his car. He wants to squeal and kick his feet and giggle.

He’s had a crush on the Australian-born boy for a while now, ever since he’d seen him actually. They’d just been passing by each other while walking across campus, but it felt like a world-changing event for Lando (okay, he may be overreacting just a little, but have you seen the man?!)

Once he learned that Oscar was friends with Charles, he came out to his friend as bi and proceeded to spend his entire time with Charles ranting about how pretty Oscar was, or what Oscar was wearing today, or could he get some pictures of Oscar pretty-please?

Needless to say, the Monegasque was tired of his pining fairly quickly. “I don’t understand why you do not just talk to him,” he’d said one day during their lunch break.

“I can’t just talk to him, Charles.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s weird!”

“How? It’s just talking,” Charles had retorted, biting into his protein bar. “You can say it’s because you are both friends with me or something. There are ways.”

“Well, it- it’s complicated.” Charles raised an eyebrow. “I don’t have a good argument for that Charles, but just know that you’re wrong.”

So Lando had just watched Oscar from a distance (not in a creepy way or anything, just in an adoration way.) Until this morning, when he saw Oscar miss the bus, which was admittedly a little funny, he’d gotten the courage to ask if he wanted a ride. He hadn’t been expecting him to say yes, but he was ecstatic that he had.

Now they’re in the car together, and Lando’s tongue feels like lead whenever he attempts to make small talk. Oscar’s aggressively texting someone, and Lando has had to stop himself multiple times from looking at Oscar instead of the road.

Oscar sighs, running his hand through his swoopy hair. Now’s his chance. “Everything okay?” he asks, drumming a finger against the steering wheel as he waits behind a stop sign.

“Hmm?” Oscar looks up, raising his eyebrows, and Lando might die on the spot. “Oh, yeah, everything’s fine. I was just texting a friend. You know Charles, right?”

“Leclerc?”

“Yeah,” Oscar says, letting out a breathy laugh. “I was gonna ask him to drive back and pick me up but… Well I don’t know if you know this, but Charles likes to jog to school sometimes. I wasn’t sure if he had today or not.”

Lando barely processes what he’s said, which feels extremely rude even in his head. But Oscar’s smiling and it looks so cute, and the way his voice changes as he’s trying to stifle a laugh is addicting. “Oh, I think I’ve heard him talk about jogging to class sometimes. One time he texted me at like 6 am, I was so confused when he told me he was at school already.”

Oscar laughs again, and Lando tries to stop the butterflies growing in his stomach. “Ha, yeah, he’s like that. I think he just likes to be early.”

“I know, but 6 am??”

“I’m not defending him!” Oscar says, throwing his hands in the air, the two of them laughing together. Lando feels joy spread through his chest, because Oscar seems more comfortable, he’s smiling and laughing and blushing and he looks so cute.

“Oh my gosh, I have this selfie of Charles he sent to me when he was on a run,” Oscar turns on his phone and started to scroll through his photos, eyebrows furrowed in determination. His hair droops down on his face, and Lando fights the urge to reach out and push it back.

After a minute or so, Oscar bursts out laughing. “Did you find it?” Lando asks. Oscar nods, shoulders shaking, and holds his phone out for Lando to see. It's perfect timing, they're stopped at a red light, so Lando turns his head to inspect the picture.

Charles has a headband and glasses on with no shirt. He must have been running when he took the picture, everything’s blurry and the background is just a mass of green and gray. The most noticeable thing is his face. He’s trying to wink, but it’s more like a squint, and his eyebrows are high up on his forehead. He looks partially like he ate something sour, and like he’s getting chased by a wild animal.

Lando snorts, and Oscar pulls the phone back. “I know right? Apparently, he took the photo and sent it to me without checking what it looked like, so now I have this treasure saved in my phone forever.”

# # #

They spend the rest of the car ride in silence, and Oscar regrets thinking Car Guy was someone scary or a jerk. He seems really sweet and funny. And he’s attractive. But that’s besides the point.

Charles had been blowing up Oscar’s phone ever since his vague text about Car Guy, most of it consisting of ‘who the hell are you with’ and ‘answer your phone, you’re freaking me out.’ Oscar replies to his flurry of messages with nvm. It's fine. I’ll explain later

“Is this a good place to drop you off?” Car Guy asks him, and Oscar’s head jolts up. He parked just a few minutes away from his first class.

“Oh yeah, this is perfect,” Oscar grabs his backpack and opens the car door. “Thanks for this,” he says, turning back.

“No problem,” Car Guy says with a smile. He’s got a little gap between his front teeth. “See you around?”

Oscar gives him a thumbs-up and steps out, walking down the winding sidewalk to Mr. Webber’s class in room 222.

Epilogue

Oscar still needed another alarm. He just kept forgetting. And now he was running late again, this time far too late to even try to catch the bus.

He sits on the parking lot curb, about to call Charles (he’d taken his car today,) when a familiar voice calls out to him.

“Dude, you really need to wake up earlier.”

Oscar gives Car Guy a withering glare. He leans back in his car in response, a look of barely concealed fear in his eyes. “Well, do you want a ride or not?”

Oscar sighs and stands, getting in the passenger seat. “No football this time,” Car Guy says with a grin. Oscar can’t help but smile back.

This car ride is a lot less talkative than the last one, a playlist of Taylor Swift and Miley Cyrus from Car Guy’s phone playing loudly. Oscar puts on an excellent act of pretending his ears aren’t bleeding from the music.

“Thanks again,” he says once they arrive at his stop. He gets his backpack and is about to leave when Car Guy speaks up.

“Hey um, I was wondering if maybe you could repay me by going on a date? With me?”

Oscar blinks once, twice. Car Guy obviously takes this the wrong way, his face reddening. “Never mind. Just… forget I said anything.”

“No,” Oscar says. “I don’t want to forget that. I’d love to go on a date with you.”

“Really?” Car Guy says, his eyes lighting up. “Okay, here’s my number.” He reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out a folded Sticky-Note, pressing it into Oscar’s hand. Oscar wonders if he feels the electricity when their fingers touch too.

“Uh, this is gonna sound weird,” Oscar says, rubbing the back of his neck. “But can I get your name?”

“Oh. OH. My name’s Lando.”

“Lando,” Oscar says, testing the word on his tongue. “I’m Oscar.”

“I kinda already knew that,” Lando giggles, and now it’s Oscar turn to blush. “You look cute when you blush.” His face gets a thousand times more red.

“OkIgottagoI’lltextyoubye,” he says, almost stumbling out of the car. Once Lando’s car drives away though, he allows himself a bit of a victory dance, before walking to class with a skip in his step and only one word in his mind. Lando, Lando, Lando.

Okay I kinda hate it 😭 But I don’t really wanna work on it more, so *tosses fanfic at the Tumblr gods and runs*

#lando norris #oscar piastri #f1 #landoscar #f1 fanfic

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unhingedangstaddict · 1 day ago

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Currently working on my own fix-it fic but man this shit is harder than I thought it'd be- I keep crying and then getting distracted reading other fix-it fics. Thought I'd share this snippet to hopefully motivate myself to keep going???

Hen was starting to wonder if maybe Tommy was out for a run when she heard a faint ‘oh shit’ from inside the house. She banged on the door again. “Come on Kinard! I know you’re in there!” She called out. If Tommy’s neighbors thought she was crazy, oh well, too bad. Hen really didn’t care.

Finally the door was opened by Tommy. His hair was a mess- sticking up as though he’d been running his hands through it far too much-, he had deep dark bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, his eyes were puffy from crying, and frankly, he looked like shit. “What do you want, Hen?” Tommy rasped. Whether his voice was hoarse due to dehydration or yelling and/or crying was unclear.

“To talk about what happened last night.” Hen crossed her arms.

“You mean you’re here to yell at me for what I did?" Tommy guessed. He hadn't forgotten the thinly veiled shovel talk from Hen and Karen months back at the medal ceremony- he wasn't surprised Hen was here now. “Trust me I hate myself for it enough. There’s nothing you can say that I haven’t already thought about myself.”

“No. I’m here to try and understand what even happened. According to Eddie, Buck wasn’t making very much sense last night. Eddie would’ve come himself to check on you but he’s got Buck right now. Eddie’s worried about you and frankly, I am too.”

Tommy sighed deeply and stepped aside to let Hen into the house.

Soon they were sitting at Tommy’s kitchen table with mugs of coffee in hand.

“So are you gonna tell me what happened or are you just gonna keep having that staring contest with your coffee?” Hen questioned.

“He asked me to move in with him.” Tommy admitted quietly.

“Okay,” Hen said slowly, waiting for Tommy to explain further why he was upset by it. Beyond the obvious matter of Buck leasing his loft apartment and Tommy owning his house, Hen wasn’t sure what the issue was.

“For a split second, I thought about saying yes.” Tommy confessed. “Then I returned to reality and realized I had to end it.”

“But why?” Hen questioned.

“Even if it was only for a second, Hen, I was ready to, what? Sell my house and more than half my stuff to move in with him? I’m not even mad about that part- I’m upset with myself for considering it. I’ve been in Evan’s position before, first gay relationship, lovesick, you think it’s gonna last forever. And I’ve been the first for guys before too. Like I told Evan last night, I know how it ends. And I guess I’d rather break my own heart than wait around for Evan to do it.”

“If you’ve been so sure all this time that it could never work, why did it take until now for you to call things off?” Hen questioned.

“I think from the start I knew I was playing with fire. After the last guy I was a first for, I told myself I wasn’t going to do it anymore. Then I met Evan, and he was just so magnetic, I couldn’t stay away even if I wanted to. I couldn't say no to him. I think I always knew my heart would get broken, and I guess I was okay with that all this time, until last night when I realized I love him, and I knew I had to cut myself off before I reached a point of no return.” Tommy explained. “I mean, I’m a fucking a mess right now and I was the one who called it off. I don’t know if I would’ve been able to survive him ending it.”

“Did you really just figure out last night that you love him?” Hen asked.

“I guess I sorta loved him from the start but last night was different, Hen. I’m in love with him, like well and truly love him, in a way I’ve never felt before, about anyone.” Tears filled Tommy’s eyes. “And I’m just his first. And as badly as I want it, I know I don’t get to be his last.”

“What makes you so sure you can’t be his last?” Hen wondered.

“Because I’m not the forever guy." Tommy shrugged slightly as a tear finally escaped and slid down his cheek. "At best I’m the close-to-but-never-quite-enough guy."

#bucktommy #tevan #fix it fic #tommy kinard #evan buckley #hen wilson #s8e6 fix it #wip

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featherandferns · 1 day ago

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my thoughts on the rudy/madison discourse and obx 4 generally (spoilers):

I watch obx 4 for the characters. I appreciate the actors, find their behind the scenes moments entertaining at times, and indulge in the occasional interview or Instagram post, but I do not 'follow' the actors. My fanfics are about JJ Maybank as a character, not Rudy Pankow. I appreciate Rudy Pankow's attraction, especially when playing JJ's character, but writing fanfic about Rudy himself (or any other actor) is, for me, uncomfortable. That isn't to shame anybody who does write or read such content, it just makes me personally feel uncomfortable.

All this to say: I don't care about the drama. I don't care about why Rudy left the show, whether this was his decision or the writer's. I think Rudy's girlfriend seems lovely, but I am highly aware neither myself nor anybody else knows her. Rudy is a grown man. He's in his twenties. He can decide who he does and does not want to date, and who he does and does not want to spend his time with, both on and off set. An Instagram post Rudy made on his story on Canadian Thanksgiving I think summed it up perfectly: he loves his girlfriend, and if people can't get behind that, then get out.

Furthermore, Madison and Rudy do not owe anybody anything. I don't find interest or want to engage in the toxic debate of the 'he said, she said'. They're all adults, they all have their own lives, this is all between them. The speculation and pressure from fans is cruel and uncalled for. They don't owe anybody insight into their private lives. Maybe they aren't friends anymore - that's okay! People drift apart, people fall out. Yes, it's sad to see the change from season 1 in terms of dynamics, but a lot can happen behind the scenes. That's life! Also, I don't like the comparison between Rudy and Madison, and Madison and Chase. People saying 'but the actual ex-couple can work together fine' are forgetting that every situation is different! I had an ex-boyfriend at an old job; I was pissed at him for a few months but civil at work, and then I got over it and he apologised and we became actual friends about a year after the break-up. However, I have other ex-friends and ex-lovers who I could not ever tolerate or be near, and I can't imagine what it would have been like having to work with them after a falling out. If this is the case for Rudy and Madison, that's a really tough thing to navigate! Give them grace - yes they're actors, but they're humans too! The bottom line is: it's their life, leave them alone.

Following on from that, stop placing blame! We don't know why Rudy left the show. There's all different opinions and sources about who said what, who did what, who is the 'bad guy'. Nobody knows the truth but the three involved and, as I said before, they owe this to nobody to disclose.

I think Rudy leaving the show, whilst sad, is a fair decision. OBX began filming in 2019. You do a lot of growing from there and, especially with changes in writing, you can want a change. I think actors can sometimes be too tethered to their characters and it limits their future work abilities, because nobody can picture them as anything other than that character. You can still have successful careers because of this (think Camila Mendes and Riverdale; Matt Le Blanc and Friends; Ellen Pompeo and Meredith Grey), but Rudy clearly wants to explore other areas and other characters, like theatre and Indie movies. Good for him! We should support him! I don't love this 'I'm sorry we couldn't save you from your actor, JJ' stuff, because Rudy gave his heart and soul to that character and that performance. He doesn't deserve to be punished because he craves a change. It's the same as any other job/career; we all want a change sometimes.

The writers and show creators have been getting a lot of backlash too. Here's my thoughts on season 4: was it their best season? No. Did it do some of the other seasons and previous plotlines/character development justice? No. Did JJ have to die? Not necessarily. However, it is easy to lose sight of the small picture when you have increased demand and increased budgets. Netflix like 'bigger and better'. When people are given more creative freedom, sometimes things can veer off course. We can forget the original character motivations, dreams and desires by getting caught up in the spectacle. The only show I've ever seen that really keeps the characters true and consistent, whilst developing, and never forgetting a plot point, is Bojack Horseman. To me, that is the only show. It's a shame, yes, that it veered so far from season 1's aesthetic, but that's how it is.

As a fellow creator, I feel it's cruel sending so much blatant hate to the writers and creators for making the show. If Rudy did want to leave, they had to find a way to make this work for JJ. Yes, I've seen some say 'he didn't have to die' but I sort of disagree. JJ is too loyal and attached to his friends to just 'go off' on his own to somewhere else. That would also be out of character. I think the way he died, and the build-up and plot points that didn't get resolved prior to his death, is a little annoying. I don't like how it wasn't in Kildare, in his home, and in a different country. But hey - that's just me.

I know, that if I took so much time and energy and money, working and building something that I am proud of just, just to receive so much black-and-white hate, I'd be crushed. Constructive criticisms and opinions are good - we can be upset about a character dying - but saying 'fuck you' and 'we hate you' is a bit mean, in my opinion. The time and energy and work gone into this season is astounding. The travelling and set design is incredible! I mean, the shop is the most awesome thing I've ever seen!

I also respect that they killed JJ. I'm not saying I wanted him to die. I'm saying, it pisses me off when shows give plot-armour to the main characters. It lowers the stakes. You know they're going to be fine because they're always fine (think the majority of Stranger Things - there's a really good video essay about that here btw that articulates this point a bit better). JJ's death was shocking and upsetting, that's how a death (in a show, at least) should be, but it means hey, there are real stakes here. It's not fair he died! He didn't deserve to die! But he did, oh my God. It takes guts to kill of a beloved, main character. I agree, JJ was my favourite part of the show, but I respect the choice, personally.

I liked season 4. It wasn't as good as season 1, I wish they stayed more grounded and didn't start so many plot points without resolving any/all of them, but I liked it. It was entertaining. The acting was pretty decent, though the chemistry and acting when Rudy and Madison had scenes together was a little disappointing (again, I don't want to point blame at a certain individual; it's hard to have good on-screen chemistry, especially when you don't feel like it matches your character's true motivations).

Was it unrealistic at times? Yes, but OBX usually is haha. It's a show about finding EL DORADO at this point, like I can accept that they let Sarah and JJ get swept into the sea during a storm and come out fine, without a single earring out of place. Sure, whatever, I'll take it (so unrealistic, 90% would drown and you'd at least shed your clothes to help you swim and stay afloat but WHATEVER. Also put your life jackets on guys wtf it's a STORM).

I wish there was more development on the plots, done by having less plots at once, and more conclusions for JJ before his death. I felt as though we were building up to a big blow-out/resolution with Pogues which never really came. Also, don't love how they handled JJ and his biological dad. I don't think he'd be that willing to trust a random man who abandoned him so easy. Yes, he's reluctant, but COME ON. JJ has the biggest trust issues. I just don't buy it. Also, explain, please, how Luke went from being so wonderful and gentle with JJ to full on abusive? Just a bit of explanation would be nice, please. Not a huge fan of the pregnancy plotline but hey, sure, whatever.

So, yes, that's my thoughts on everything: leave the actors alone; the writers have balls for killing JJ but that isn't necessarily a bad thing; give people grace; treat people with kindness; I'm going to keep writing for JJ; and season 4 altogether gets a 6/10 from me.

I'm open to different opinions, further thoughts, or just general musings/ideas. I hope this doesn't upset or offend anyone, I'm not trying to spark drama or shame a certain person or people: these are just my thoughts and views! So, I won't be participating in any 'who's the bad guy' discourse surrounding the actors. I'm just here for JJ and the Pogues. Take care of yourselves and spread positivity in this crazy, difficult time <3 and, of course, rest in peace, JJ Maybank <3

P.S. These are my season-by-season ratings: season 1 - 10/10; season 2 - 8/10; season 3 - 6/10; season 4 - 6/10.

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peterman-spideyparker · 2 days ago

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The Great War (Babe Part 2) (Matt Murdock x fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! At the risk of forgetting to post part two, I'm doing it now! Like I mentioned in the first post, it's only a part two if you want it to be--you can just have read Babe and leave it at that, but this is just more idea to go with it that I couldn't stop my brain from working on. Enjoy! :)

Summary: It's been almost a month since you left Matt. Everything hurts, and you're doing what you can to get through. Foggy calls, and it turns out Matt's not doing much better. For the first time, you have no idea what your future with Matt Murdock looks like.

Listening rec: The Great War by Taylor Swift

Warnings: ANGST, Matt and reader are separated (Matt cheated), they’re both heartbroken at the situation, swearing, fighting/shouting/anger, throwing, Matt grabs reader (NO VIOLENCE, but the Devil of Hell's Kitchen pokes out), depression (mention of the word "borderline suicidal" in reference to season three Matt), Matt being reckless, lots of crying, drinking

Other Characters: Foggy Nelson

Word Count: 2,820

Before you can even say a feeble hello, Foggy is already speaking. “Matt’s devastated,” he breathes.

You’re hurt. Offended, even. You left because of what he did in California, and he has the audacity to feel sorry for himself? “And I’m not?” you say, probably with more venom than appropriate. “Goodbye, Foggy.”

“Wait, hold on!” You don’t know why you don’t hang up, but you stay on the line. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t the right way to start this. How have you been?”

“I’m awful, Foggy. My marriage is done, my heart hurts, I’ve lost the man I love . . . I’ve never been worse.”

“(Y/N) . . . I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Fog. All this is between me and Matt. It’s why you called, I’m guessing? Get all the answers for what exactly happened between us?”

“That’s between you guys. It’s none of my business or anyone’s. I’ve already ripped Matt a new one for doing what he did, and so did Karen and Frank, but he’s . . .” He stops and lets out a sigh. “Do you remember hearing from Maggie what Matt was like after Midland Circle? Despondent, depressed, borderline suicidal?”

Of course you remember, how could you ever forget? You’ve never seen him like that in your life. But the term “borderline suicidal” makes a pit grow in your stomach as you straighten up.

“He hasn’t tried to—?” you start to ask.

“No, no, that was shitty wording on my part. But Matt’s not himself. It’s like watching a hollow corpse with a temper move about. He either doesn’t care at all, or a little thing will set him off. He’s being reckless on patrol, he’s drinking more than he usually does. I’ve been covering for him at the office, but . . . You need to talk to him.”

You close your eyes, tears rolling down your cheek. “I can’t, Foggy.”

“(Y/N)—.”

“He broke my heart, and I broke his in return. I stomped on it. I love him and I hurt him. If I talked to him . . . That’s salt on the wound for both of us.” More tears stream down your face as you think about it. “We both vowed not to hurt one another. H-He hurt me, but he wanted to fix it. I hurt him and don’t have that same courage to try.”

“Try now,” Foggy pleads. “Try now, help one another. Even if it’s for the last time.”

“O-Okay,” you say before you can realize it.

Foggy breathes a sign of relief. “Come to the loft.”

The loft. The scene of the crime.

You breathe a quiet confirmation before you hang up, taking time to mentally prepare yourself before you grab your purse and leave your sister’s place to talk Matt off whatever ledge he’s currently perched on.

It’s a short trip, and Foggy meets you in the lobby of Matt’s building. He pulls you in for a long hug, and you actively tell yourself not to cry.

“He’s that bad, huh?” you sniffle.

“Yeah,” Foggy sighs. “I’ve never been for him like this before. It’s like he’s not the same person.”

“I know what you mean,” you say quietly. “I haven’t felt like myself since that day.”

Foggy looks at you with a crestfallen expression, and you give him one more hug before you make your way up to the loft.

Your key still works—you’re afraid if you knock, he won’t let you in. Hell, he probably heard you turn the block on your way here and wouldn’t answer out of anger or annoyance. Your stomach churns when you see Matt sitting in the chair. He’s in sweats, his posture is curved, his hair is disheveled, and he’s growing a thick beard. Beer bottles are on the table in front of him mixed with trash.

“Matt?” you breathe, but he remains unmoved. As you move closer toward him, he sits there like a statue, not caring to look your way. “Matt, it’s me.” Still, he doesn’t gaze your way.

Putting your purse in its usual spot, you make your way over to him in the chair, gently cupping his face in your hands to tilt him up toward you. You suck in a small breath when you see the bruises and cuts on his cheeks, nose, and chin. If this is what his face looks like, you can only imagine the other injuries that his clothes are hiding.

“Matt,” you breathe. “What happened?”

He just closes his eyes in shame, starting to turn. You don’t let him, though, bringing his face back to center.

“Matty,” you plea. “Matt, talk to me, sweetheart.”

“You’re not my sweetheart anymore,” he finally says, and it burns like acid. You deserve it—you gave it just as good to him when he came back from California. “And I’m not yours.”

“We didn’t sign any papers yet,” you breathe, trying to lighten the mood as you hold back your own tears. “So, legally, I am.”

Matt peels back from my touch like he’s getting out of an itchy sweater. Okay, you deserve it. You deserve all of it.

“Matt—.”

“You left,” he spits. “You left just like everyone else, even when you swore you wouldn’t.”

You sit back on your heels. It hurts, but it’s the truth. “I did.” He turns back toward you like he’s shocked you actually admitted it. “I didn’t try to hear you out, and I’m sorry. I should’ve. It was . . .”

He turns toward you, ice in his blind gaze. You’ve never seen Matt like, this, and as he starts to slowly rise from his chair, it’s the first time you can say that you’ve ever been afraid of him.

You spring to your feet as well, trying to at least keep things on the same level posture wise.

“Now you’re trying to make things better?” he growls low. “You’re the one that tore it up in front of us. I wanted to stop the breakage, but you readied the wrecking ball. This shit is your mess. It’s like this because of you.”

Now you start to get mad. “Oh, just me? Any breakage that was the breakage that you started. Those images and videos were circulating for two whole days before you came home. I didn’t hear a single word from you—a ‘good morning’ or ‘I’m boarding my plane’ or otherwise. You just showed up here expecting it to all be fine—.”

“You don’t get to assume in this,” he grits, the space between you dangerously nonexistent as one of his hands tightly grab on to your wrist.

“Yes, I can. There’s two people in this mess. I’m saying what it seemed like on my end,” you say, your heart thundering in your chest. Matt wouldn’t hurt you—he’d never do that. But with how his hand is on your arm and the mood he seems to have been in since you left, you’re not entirely confident in that statement anymore.

“You never really knew a damn thing about me, did you?” he frowns. “You just kept a version of Matt Murdock in your head and lived with it this entire time, huh?”

“Maybe I did. Because this isn’t the Matt Murdock I came over to talk to. This is the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. So, if you’re gonna let the Devil out, let him out on me, Murdock. Do your worst.”

“Get the fuck out of here,” he threatens, the muscle in his jaw feathering as he clenches his teeth.

“No. I came here to talk, and that’s what we’re gonna—.”

Before you know it, his hand is off your wrist, wrapping around the neck of a beer bottle before he whizzes it past your head like a threat. You flinch, moving to cover your head before the bottle leaves his hand, and you remain curled as the glass hits something behind you, knocking it over as they both crash to the ground. You slowly turn to see what was caught in the crosshairs—the beer bottle had hit a picture frame, knocking it down off the side table and breaking it. You can tell by the shifts in his body language he immediately regrets it, his shoulders slumping as tears start to sting your eyes. You notice he starts to take a step toward you out of the corner of your eye, but you’re on the move toward the broken picture frame. One of the pictures from our wedding.

Huh, you think. How fitting.

You lower yourself to your knees, carefully picking it up and looking at how your faces were beaming with nothing but joy, how you held onto one another with love . . . and now how it’s the opposite. How you’re broken. You wouldn’t look at him the day you left, and he won’t look at you know. You curl over the photo, freely weeping on the pile of glass. You just want it things to go back to normal.

You hear Matt pad softly over to you, squatting as if he wants to put a hand on your back to soothe you, but he backs away to let you cry. Tears pour out of you like a geyser, a constant flow down your cheeks as you sit alone in the living room. Maybe it was an accident that he hit the picture, but his senses are so sharp . . . maybe he did want to hit it. Maybe he was trying to prove a point. Maybe he wanted to show you that by you leaving, you were the one who put the final nail in the coffin of your marriage.

Maybe he really doesn’t want you anymore. Maybe he stopped wanting you before he went to Los Angeles. Maybe he stopped wanting you a long time ago.

You’re still crying when you hear Matt come back over toward you. Through your limited vision, you watch him clean up the broken glass from the bottle and the frame. It takes him a few trips, but it’s eventually all cleaned up. He leaves again before walking back toward you, holding out a box of tissues. With a shaking hand, you grab one and wipe at your nose, desperately trying to calm yourself.

“This is my favorite picture of us from our wedding,” you sniffle. “This is what I would grab if I could only take one thing from the loft in an emergency. This would be it. And now . . .”

You can’t finish your sentence, just weeping uncontrollably in your little ball on the floor over your two deepest treasures—this photo and your marriage. Shattered.

“Angel . . .” Matt says so softly, so tenderly, you almost forget that your life has essentially imploded.

“This is all my fault,” you cry, spiraling, trying to trace it all back to you, your actions. The big explosive things all seem to have their root in something you can place back to yourself. Matt slept with someone else, but it goes back to something you did— you had a short attention span and a bit of a short fuse before he left because a bunch of shit at work that kept piling up, and you knew he was frustrated . . . how much he hates planes. You egged him on. You did nothing to help, and when he left to go to California, he found someone who understood him in a way you couldn’t. You need an answer for this, and that seems to be it.

“This is my favorite picture of us, and it’s all my fault,” you sniffle, repeating what you said earlier, your chest burning from the tears and hyperventilation.

“It’s just a picture—,” he starts to say softly.

“It’s not just a picture,” you weep. “This, us, it’s all my fault. We’re broken because of me. This is all my fault.”

You hear Matt pad softly over to you, squatting down and taking the picture from your hands, putting it on the arm of a nearby chair before pulling you in for a hug. All you can do is sob against his shoulder as he holds onto you.

“This isn’t because of you,” he tries to soothe, sounding like he’s about to cry as well. “It . . . It was my poor judgement, it was my shortcomings that did this. You’re in the flaming wreckage, and it’s not fair.”

“I just want things how they were,” you sniffle. “I want to come home. I want us to be okay.”

Matt’s silence is terrifying. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt rage like that. Darkness like that,” he says softly. You feel a tear fall from his cheek to the top of you head. “Shit, I grabbed you . . . Fuck, I’m so sorry. I-I would never—(Y/N), please—.”

“I . . . I,” you start. He’d never hurt you. For all his anger, for all his strength, Matt would never hurt you. But when you’re facing off with the man that patrols the streets? The man that brought down Wilson Fisk not once, but twice? You just didn't know.

“I scared you.” Tears are flowing down his cheek. “I could hear your heart race . . . I knew you were scared and for a moment, and I didn’t care. It’s like I wanted you to be scared, and I liked it. I was glad you were scared of me.” He sounds disgusted with himself. “You really thought I was going to hit you.”

“I did. For a moment,” you admit. It catches in your throat, but there’s no use in lying if you’re trying to fix this.

Is that what you came over to do? To fix this?

He lets out a long breath, slumping to the floor. “What happened to us?”

“I . . . I don’t know,” you say. And it’s the truth. You don’t really know how you got to this point. Yes, you know why you walked out, but it’s like there were the small hairline fractures in glass—so fine that you couldn’t see them—and then a hammer came down on it and a million little pieces was left in its wake. But how he sounds . . . you know that tone. When it’s been a rough night on patrol, it coats his words like sap—he’s going into a dark headspace, and when he gets too far in, it’s hard to get him out, and you need to get him out. You move around to carefully sit next to Matt, putting a hand on his forearm. You can feel a thick bandage on his arm before you can process that he winces, so you move to slide your hand in his.

“I know you’d never hurt me,” you breathe. “I know you’d never lay a hand on me like that.”

“But I did, though. If I added more pressure, I could’ve snapped your worst. It would have been easy for me to do.” You see him swallow the lump forming in his throat, his own self-hatred inflating at a dangerous rate. “I was full of rage. You were scared of me.”

“I’m scared of all of this,” you admit, your voice small. “What’s happening to us. How it’s effecting you and me. We’re . . . We’re not ourselves. I-I don’t recognize either of us. I don’t like it. I want things back how they were.”

“But they can’t go back.” He sounds broken, hollow—just how you feel.

“Are . . . Are we too far gone?” you ask just above a whisper, terrified of the answer.

“I don’t want us to be.”

You hang your head. “I haven’t been sleeping,” you admit. “It doesn’t feel right without you, your arms around me.”

He places a gently hand on your chin, lifting your face up and wiping tears off of your cheeks before pulling you in for a hug. It feels like warmth. Like love. “I can’t sleep in the bed. It smells like you, and with you gone . . . I just patrol all night.”

It’s like when you think your heart can’t break any more, it does. “I still feel so upset, but, I feel hollow more than anything. Like part of me is missing.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too. I-I’m so sorry.” He kisses the top of your head. “I should’ve listened, I shouldn’t have left like that, but I was just so upset. I couldn’t be around you without feeling like screaming or crying or both.”

“We . . . We can get through this. Can’t we?”

You think about it. Is this something you can do? You’ve been through worse— you’ve seen him near death more times than you would like, you’ve seen how the toll of Daredevil and the stress of being an attorney wear him down. Even the debate on how we should bring up our children should you choose to have them strained you both. But your happiness, your life together, it’s bigger than your low points. It has to be.

It has to be.

Right?

Permanent Taglist: @majesticavenger @steampowerednightvaler @themusingsofmany @just-the-hiddles @toozmanykids @dangertoozmanykids101 @clints-worldavengers @theburningbookshop @itwasthereaminuteago @peter1ismybrother @hellskitchens-whore @dpaccione @catnip987 @blackhawkfanatic

Matt Murdock Taglist: @two-unbeatable-beaters @loves0phelia

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arget-star · 3 days ago

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By Any Other Name

Sakura Haruka x F!Reader

A/N: Alright SO. I know I am primarily a Fire Emblem blog. however, Wind Breaker took over my life in the span of like a week and I could not get this thought out of my head and well. here we are. Not beta read, this is my first xreader fic i've ever posted. i hope you enjoy!

tags: fluff, a tiny bit of blood, feelings

wc: 2k

about: You met Sakura about six months ago, and have essentially wormed your way into his little walled off heart. He comes home to your now (mostly) shared little apartment, battered and bloody after saving a girl who looked like you

You’re not living together.

That’s what Sakura says, despite the fact you stay over four nights out of the week, and somewhere in the six months you’ve been dating, half your stuff has ended up in his ramshackle little apartment. “You deserve better than a leaky faucet”, he’d said, cheeks red and nose scrunched in a scowl. You’d merely laughed, kissing his forehead before replying, “It adds to the charm.” And that was that.

You’re not living together. So why does he hope you’ll be there, curled up on that cheap little couch you’d insisted on bringing over, that lovely smile on your face as you greet him?

Those assholes must’ve hit his head harder than he realized. Sakura grits his teeth, an arm banded around his throbbing torso as he wobbles along the sidewalk. Weaklings, all of them. Acting tough solely because they have nothing better to do with their time. Seriously, it’s just plain pathetic.

He spits out a glob of blood into the nearby bushes. He doesn’t remember biting his cheek; maybe he’d ground his teeth against it after taking a particularly nasty kick while dodging someone else’s punch. Wasn’t he past his body locking up, his muscles moving with all the speed of a turtle?

The girl had been clutching the long strap of her purse with all her meager might while surrounded by leering thugs. The type of guys who coast by on looks rather than action. Intimidation instead of respect. At least now he’s able to articulate—better yet, understand—what pisses him off so badly about guys like that. Sakura would’ve leapt in regardless, but then he caught sight of her underneath the lamplight, and her shade of hair matched yours. The purse even had a keychain dangling from it, the charms jingling in faint alarm.

She wasn’t you, obviously. You were already home, had probably cooked something simple yet delicious and were keeping it warm until he arrived.

So he froze, mismatched eyes wide as a new type of fear unfurled within his chest, and then all hell broke loose. He knew how to protect someone in a fight, finally, and while the poor girl flattened herself against the side of a nearby building as he sent the idiots flying, his attention still kept flicking to her. He kept thinking what he’d do if it was you, and on one such slip of his concentration, that bastard’s boot came out of nowhere.

He’ll have to report this to Umemiya in the morning, and tell you all about it tonight, and—

Sakura looks up. He’s nearly there; the derelict building doesn’t seem so foreboding, especially once he catches sight of the warm yellow light on in his apartment. Maybe, just maybe, things won’t be so bad after all.

The doorknob wiggles. You carefully place your bookmark inside your book, sitting up properly in your seat. Sakura’s home a bit later than usual—he probably got stuck eating at Café Pothos with everyone else. Good. You’re grateful he has so many friends, even if he acts like a cat who fell into a puddle of water about it.

“Welco—Sakura!” Your book tumbles from your hands in your haste to stand up. He stands in the doorway while you catalogue his injuries as if in slow motion. Blood drips down the left side of his face from a cut above his eyebrow. His nose is bleeding, too, running down his chin and staining his white shirt red. His knuckles are raw. It’s subtle; yet he sways, quickly placing his right hand against the wall to brace himself. The motion is enough to jolt you from your surprise.

You’re at his side in a blink. His reaction is sluggish; lips parting in belated surprise when you loop his right arm around your shoulders. Normally, he reads your movements almost before you make them, bracing himself for whatever contact you’re about to subject him to so he’s never caught off guard. But slowly, like water eroding rock, he’d learned that he can let his guard down around you, even at his most vulnerable.

Especially then.

“‘M fine,” he mutters out of reflex. You only scoff, walking him over to the couch with a small huff of effort. “Just a small fight.”

Carefully, you help ease him down onto the cushions, releasing your hold only once he’s settled. “A small fight?” You echo, disbelief in your tone. There’s no reprimand or ridicule, just a healthy doubt. He doesn’t know exactly when he stopped looking for the irritation he’s so used to hearing. Leaning his head back, he sighs. “Some guys were causin’ trouble. A new gang, I think. Trying to rob a girl—” he cuts off abruptly, and you watch his cheeks turn a brilliant shade of red, nearly blending in with the dried blood caking his skin. Sakura immediately looks away; he misses the knowing glint entering your expression.

Spinning on your heel, you head for the kitchen. The faucet doesn’t leak as badly now, after you’d finagled a temporary fix with determination and a healthy amount of internet research. He deserves more than a crappy sink, even if he won’t admit it. “You were by yourself?” You ask, opening the drawer and removing a towel. (Yet another item that had miraculously wound up in his space one day. When Sakura confronted you, you’d shrugged, then asked what he wanted for dinner.)

Sakura watches you for a moment, ignoring how something deep within his chest settles as you run the towel under cool water. It’s a familiar scene, enough that he no longer feels the urge to yell and raise his fists in defense. “Yeah. Nothin’ I couldn’t handle on my own.”

Strange. Suo-chan and Nirei-chan always shadow Sakura. Unless Sakura is going home—they haven’t invaded his space since the day they’d discovered him sick on the floor. Now, especially, Sakura would rip their heads off if they came snooping around while you were home. The faucet shuts off. You wring out the towel once, twice, then pad back over to the couch.

“I never doubted that, Grade Captain,” you tease, arranging yourself so you’re sitting on your knees. Drops of water drip down your wrist and onto the cushions below. His blush deepens, and you don’t bother hiding your smile. “Now hold still.”

“Shaddup,” he mumbles without heat. Instinct makes him shift back an inch; he’s always taken care of himself, alone. Sick, bruised, bloodied—he proved time and again he didn’t need anyone else. Then you breezed into his life, upending his entire world with your musical laughter and patient touch.

This is far from the first time you’ve patched him up. He no longer hisses and rages and scowls, a teenage version of a toddler’s temper tantrum, yet neither can he completely disregard a lifetime of gut reactions to others extending a hand in his direction.

You never minded when his hackles rose. You understood him, remaining endlessly understanding while he let his fear run its course. The damp rag hovers in the space between you and him. Sakura zeros in on the blue material instead of your face.

“Ready?”

That’s another thing. You ask him about things. Wait for his brain to catch up with non-dangerous situations. It’s weird, and scary, and wonderful.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be gentle.”

“You always are.”

The smile you give him is radiant. Your free hand cups his less bloody cheek, keeping him steady, while you tenderly press the rag to his chin. He hisses out a breath through clenched teeth.

It’s quiet, as you slowly clean him up, beyond the soft scrap of material against skin. There’s a rhythm to your movements. Sakura finds it soothing, despite the circumstances. You both study each other; Sakura, like you’re a puzzle he’s still trying to solve, and you, like he’s something precious.

His golden eye truly is beautiful. He told you others have compared it to twilight, but you think it’s more akin to burnished gold. Rare, and infinitely treasured. He closes it, keeping it safe from harm as you run the now pink-tinged cloth over his browbone. A shame, you think, he keeps himself so locked away.

The slight pressure leaves his face. You move back, giving him room to breathe, holding the rag loosely in your hand. His eye opens again, a coin glinting in a riverbank.

“There,” you say, unfolding yourself from the couch, brushing your thumb across his cheek before you release him completely. “I’ll be back with the first aid supplies.”

Sakura just nods. He never says the words thank you; but you hear it in the way he lets you take care of him, how he takes your hands so reverently in his once your all finished, cradling you like he’s afraid you’ll snap in half if he squeezes too hard.

You’re opening the cabinet underneath the sink when he speaks again. “She looked like you.”

He says it so quietly, you nearly miss it. You freeze, half-bent down to reach for the ridiculous amounts of bandages and antiseptic bottles stashed neatly in their respective baskets. (Another thing you’d changed one day, much to Sakura’s initial chagrin, until he’d stumbled home covered in half a dozen cuts on the rare day you weren’t waiting for him, and found everything he needed without cursing his lack of organization.)

Mechanically, you grab the necessary materials. You’d assumed as much, based on his reaction when you told you the cause of his current state. A shudder runs down your spine as you imagine what the other guys must look like, lying defeated in the street. Sakura doesn’t fight just on behalf of someone else—at least, that what helps him sleep at night, though you know his tune has changed after all his experiences with Bofurin. For him to fight on your behalf, however tangentially related, makes your heart flutter.

Kotoha will practically jump for joy when you tell her.

For now, you let this newfound knowledge settle into your skin, your fluttering heart, smiling to yourself as you exit the bathroom, arms loaded with supplies. “Did she, now?”

Sakura’s sitting upright, head down, once again avoiding your gaze. His fingernails dig into the fabric of his school pants. Beneath the curtain of two-toned hair, you can see the blush sitting high on his cheeks. It’s a miracle they’re not permanently stained pink.

“Y-yeah. I knew she wasn’t you, but for a moment…I need to teach you how to defend yourself. I can’t patrol everywhere, and I’m not the strongest yet. Anyone from Furin will keep you safe, but if we’re not around—”

This is new. You swallow, setting the first aid supplies down on the tatami, sitting down with your legs crisscrossed. (One day, you’ll convince him to buy a table, but there’s only so much furniture you can squeeze in such a tiny place.)

“Sakura,” you say, but he doesn’t hear you.

“—I need to know you can take care of yourself until I get there—”

“Sakura.”

“—and send them all flyin’—”

“Haruka.”

That shocks him into silence. He inhales, then looks up sharply, lips curling into the angry snarl you know so well. It’s his only defense mechanism, beyond his fists, and he’d never raise those at you. (That thing lodged within his chest stirs again. No one’s called him by his given name in years. It feels right, that here, in this space you two have created together, you should use it.)

He’s quite the sight, half patched-up and spluttering mad. One eye darkens like a storm at sea; the other kindles into molten gold, ready to burn any who get in his way.

You’re surprised, too. But you didn’t know what else to do. He’s never spiraled like this before, and it hits you that for perhaps the first time, he was genuinely scared for someone else. You shake your head, breaking eye contact, and reach for the gauze. “I’m sorry, Sakura. I should have asked before using your first name.”

Your fingers shake only a little when you grab the nearest antiseptic, flipping open the cap with your thumb. He watches it all, struck dumb. He doesn’t want an apology. He wants you to say it again, but he doesn’t know how to ask.

All of the fight leaks out of him. His shoulders slump forward. Haruka. Haruka. You hadn’t said it in disgust, or fear, or hatred. If he had to guess, you sounded concerned. Haruka. “I liked hearin’ you say it,” he replies.

A laugh bubbles out of you, born from nervous relief. You nearly spill antiseptic all over you instead of the gauze. “Really? May I call you Haruka, then? Not all the time…just here.” Rising to your knees, you crawl over to him, taking one battered hand in your soft one.

His throat tightens. An odd pressure builds behind his eyes. “Fine.”

“This’ll sting,” you murmur in warning, almost like an afterthought. “You can use mine, too. If you want.”

Sakura’s about to respond, tell you he’ll do it if it’ll make you happy (and make his own heart beat a little faster), but then the gauze descends onto his split knuckles. It’s not like eating a kick to the face; it barely registers in comparison.

Maybe it’s the emotions he’s kept bottled up since the fight. Maybe it’s the fact you called him Haruka and the world didn’t explode. Both things, he assumes, and that’s why your healing touch hurts worse than a dozen roundhouse kicks.

It fades, after that first bright burst.

Neither of you say anything again while you continue your ministrations. Once his knuckles are taken care of, you move on to his face, tenderly smoothing his bi-colored bangs off his forehead to ensure no strands get caught underneath the small bandage you apply to the cut above his eyebrow.

The entire time, he replays this strange evening over and over again in his head. It all leads back to you, caring for him, using his first name like it’s nothing when it in fact means everything. He hates himself, a little bit, for not being better at this.

For your part, your focus on him turns clinical. You can deal with the emotional part of it later. When you’ve finished with the last bandage, you stare at him a moment. Take in this boy who pushed away the entire world when it wrote him off, the very same boy who harbors no malice in his heart, just kindness hidden by anger.

You press a soft kiss to his lips, then slide away before he can reciprocate. He splutters again, blush back in place, and it’s such a Sak—Haruka thing to do, you bite back a laugh.

“Are you ready to eat, Haruka? You get hungry after a good fight.”

He offers you a rare smile in return.

#sakura haruka x reader #sakura haruka #wind breaker #sakura wind breaker #char writes #i suck at titles bro rip me #i am truly obsessed with this show sakura has bewitched me #also i realized AFTER i wrote this in a fever dream that i may have fudged the layout of sakura's apt a bit. shrugs #.sakura haruka

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