#and i came to the conclusion that my answer is actually judgment

[crowswarm]

👻

[shellofhappiness]

I’m sorry I came at you too aggressively, I just get frustrated for whatever reason when I see people kind of.. diminish their relationship? Like truly I just want to get behind why so many people believe their relationship was an unrequited one of sorts?

Hey, it's okay! I actually wasn't expecting to get any kind of response back, so I'm very pleased! I'm humble enough to admit in retrospect that there was also quite a bit of bite in my tone when initially replying to you, but since you got back to me making a clear effort to be more considerate and explain where you were coming from, I'll do my best to go about my perspective in a way that's less emotionally-charged! That aside, I sincerely hope you've been well since our last interaction. No hard feelings, water under the bridge! 🤍

This is mostly me going off the top of my head about why exactly it’s not uncommon to see people bring up the concept that Dylan didn’t care as much for Eric ( From my perspective, I think the better way to word this point is “Eric cared more for Dylan” rather than “Dylan didn’t care as much for Eric,” because it removes the negative connotation. ), so forgive me if I forget any notable details and such! Despite that, I'll still be providing sources for what I can.

First, I want to clarify that “unrequited” may not have been the most ideal word to use in my original post, and I apologize for the confusion that caused. I firmly agree that during their last year(s) together, EH and DK were the closest people in each other’s lives. They both obviously cared about NBK and subsequently, each other, blurring the lines between them and their act of requiem. They, together, were NBK, their own final solution to every single hardship they had ever faced, both separately and by each other’s side, all coming to a conclusion that could start and end with their hands, all in their own control.

I used the word “unrequited” to describe just how much it meant to Eric in particular. It both meant their entire lives to them, quite literally, but to Eric, from what we can gather, just a liiittle bit more that it was the two of them specifically than his partner in crime. For Eric, it was the act of going NBK in a symbolic sense, but for Dylan, his desire stemmed from the cruel reality of committing a national tragedy and then kicking the bucket. I think this shows well in what we know of the basement tapes. Eric is emotional and the certitude sets in, but he knows this is what he wants. Dylan is more emotionally withdrawn, mostly expressing anger at everyone who has wronged him. Now, I don’t want to neglect the argument that it could be DK used aggressive behavior as a mask to hide the dread he felt overall throughout filming. I’m not foolish enough to deny there wasn’t any of that from his end, but who knows why exactly he acted the way he did and how it could’ve contrasted off the record? 

Dylan was Eric’s final answer the entire time, contrasting Dylan who settled for Eric. I completely understand how using the word “settle” could come off as a diminishment of their bond, but it’s the best word I can think to use when we take into account that Dylan originally fantasized about constructing some kind of doomsday with their mutual friend, Zach ( Who Dylan was notably closer too / sought out more, & who Eric had a sudden disdain for up until before judgment day … jealousy? Heheh, just playing. ).

Dylan frequently wrote about Zach in what we have of his writings. We know it’s Zach because the first censored mention of him in his journal matches the time frame of when Zach started dating Devon. Other pages of him mentioning and lamenting Zach’s redirection of attention towards him in favor of his own life are here, here, and arguably here. While Eric is brought up a few off-hand times in his writing, showing he did truly consider the bond they had, it was never anything in-depth like how he wrote for Zach or his Halcyon Girl. If anything, I think the word “unrequited” would better be described for Zach and Dylan’s friendship, being that Dylan was the one who would make more of the effort to see & interact with him, while Zach went with the flow, hardly making the effort to reach out in comparison. This can be seen in pretty much anything you read about Zack’s recount of his time with him. While this is more minor, I still think it’s interesting that DK even wrote down Zach’s birthday on his school planner, to emphasize how much he meant to him ( He did not write down Eric’s birthday though, for anyone curious. ). 

"I have always been interested in the body language between Zack and Dylan in the video in the auditorium. Zack actively walks away from Dylan and almost acts aloof around him, during a time in which Dylan still trusted and cared for Zack deeply." Absolutely. To the point I couldn't actually identify Zack during the first times I was watching this video. I was told by the research community that Dylan and Zack were best friends so what I was seeing on the screen didn't match at all what I had read. I didn't see friends there, I was seeing a boy avoiding the sound tech boy as if the latter had the plague. Dylan's body language in that video is also very interesting, the way he seems lost on that stage or defends himself in a very Dantean way when another student touches the sleeve of his duster.

thanks for your reply! i agree with you completely, he brushes dylan off and even makes an effort to look away from him. dylan kinda follows him around but zack is acting like he’s too busy and milling about. he kinda gave me “how guys act when they think girls are looking” lol it’s just fascinating to me because supposedly he and zack called each other every night and played quake; and dylan felt so strongly toward zack, almost possessive. but then…zack was encouraging yoshi to take dylan’s place and talking poorly about him everywhere else. that’s not a friend to me. it’s possible dylan sensed this and it only drove him closer to eric, who he felt “got” him and his motives

Here’s a discussion I found on Reddit that covers the friendship between Zach and Dylan which gives some important perspective on the two of them! The ending of the second person’s reply really stands out to me, it’s something profound not just anyone would consider.

Unrelated, but while digging for information, I found Zach’s senior yearbook quote which is so funny. Literal lifelong trauma was behind this easy statement before he even knew what was coming. 😭

Here are two ( one, two ) really good posts from The Everlasting Contrast that discuss the concept of DK & EH not being as close as people make them out to seem. While I don’t agree with them 100%, they still address the more notable points and ideas on why people have come to the conclusion that we’re discussing, better than what I could paraphrase!

Another reason I could think as to why people have this idea is because of Sue Klebold. Now, I know a lot of people hold contempt against her, rightfully so to a certain extent, but she was still his mother at the end of the day, and what she said should be taken into account whether we respect her or not. I am waaayy too burnt out to find any exact quotes from her book or interviews, but I’m sure we’re all familiar with the narrative she pushed that Eric was an extremely troubled boy and Dylan felt bad for him, so he befriended him out of pity at the expense of him having to bear some of his violent outbursts or questionable tendencies… I don’t know, man. I don’t care at the moment either! I recall in an interview, she referenced a section in her book where she mentioned that Dylan would complain about Eric to her behind his back about how he was out of touch he was, but don’t take my word for it. Even if Dylan said this to his mom to get her off his back about Eric, it still implies some kind of ulterior motive to paint your friend in a bad light for your advantage. He could’ve been more respectful, but once again, who knows? It’s one of the more complicated facets of Dylan’s self that people avoid delving into because it goes entirely against the whole “Sunshine Boy” image Sue perpetuates. 

Now, this is a lot less significant than the things I brought up previously, but another instance that came to me with the idea of Eric “caring” more, is the preparation they wrote down for NBK. Dylan only has a few pages ( one, two, three, four, five, six.), two of them being outfit mockups, while Eric jot down everything he could think of & consider relating to it ( one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, even more unlinked! ). I know it can be argued that DK did a better job leaving no traces of evidence, including the hypothetical he had written more down and thrown it away before they followed through with their plans, but it’s just another interesting little thing to consider.

This was very much rushed towards the end, I apologize … Despite that, I think I brought up everything that could answer your question! So, if you want to look more into it for yourself, you know what leads to follow. ^.^ I might come back and edit this post later down the line to be more formal, considerate, and even personal, but for now, this will do. I hope I provided some sort of aid to your inquiries … until we meet again!

[trekwiz]

@janusfranc15

The answers to these questions are really complicated. I don't see a real way to provide an honest and nuanced answer without a wall of text.

My realization of Christianity's "unpleasantness" has a lot of different origins, at different parts of my life.

The first realization is one you've probably had yourself: the Christian god claims that being gay is immoral ("sin" isn't more nuanced than that), and when I started to understand that I am gay, I knew I had not made a choice or engaged in behavior subject to moral judgment.

The underlying claim made as much sense as if the Christian god decided that brown hair was a sin. "Fun" fact: being left-handed was considered a sin, too, and involved physical punishment for it. Christians just like hating people for frivolous reasons.

There are no positive conclusions to make from those facts: if the Christian god existed, then it knew it was making false statements--if it were truly omniscient, then it was also making false statements that it knew would lead to significant suffering and death. This necessarily means that if the Christian god exists, it's an evil being unworthy of worship, and completely devoid of moral value.

The other alternative is that it didn't know it got this wrong. This necessarily suggests that this creature is not a god, or that the beliefs were determined by people who had no knowledge of a god.

Personally, I think it makes more sense that there isn't a god, than it being a malevolent god that wants to sow chaos but won't actually reveal itself, or an advanced creature that just happened to be a fraud.

It was hard to avoid that Christians themselves embraced the lie suggesting that being gay is a sin. I grew up in the 90s. There was no such thing as marriage equality. Sex was still illegal. And my first sex ed class came with this disclaimer, "you can anonymously ask any questions you want by writing it on these note cards and leaving it at my desk. But don't ask any questions about being gay because we won't be covering that."

Even before the internet, it wasn't a secret that this kind of behavior was Christian in nature. Christians controlled the community standards to a ridiculous extent.

I had an experience in college that made me deeply uncomfortable at the time, but in hindsight, provided a lot of insight.

I had come out as a freshman; I'd also become active in the Multicultural Student Affairs organization, including Allies.

The college put together a community panel to explain why equal rights are important; because of my participation in related organizations, I was asked to speak. The panel was well received and we got a lot of thoughtful questions: importantly, there was zero tolerance for bigotry, and they made the event safe.

The campus Christian organization (the progressive, "I prefer to be called a believer in Jesus than a Christian" kind) was offended that this was a specifically pro-equality panel and demanded to hear a counterpoint; they wanted someone to say we didn't deserve rights.

The college said no, that's stupid. (Ok, not literally, but you get the point.) So they decided to hold their own event with their own speaker to talk about, "theo-logic".

It was a Catholic priest who talked about how gay sex is sin because you can't do it while facing each other. ...no, I'm not joking; he had hand gestures to describe frot and how it isn't possible. He also talked about how we didn't deserve rights, and should be considered lesser.

I was proud of my campus community, though: though the audience was a fraction of the size of the real panel, the room was packed with allies who wanted to shut it down. For every Christian in the room, there had to be at least 6 good people.

We argued. We heckled. We called out the stupid arguments. The Christians were pissed that they were embarrassed at their own event.

I was the only one who acknowledged being gay. The part that stuck with me: when it ended, this creepy priest came up to me and said, "I've always wanted to do this." And hugged me.

Aside from being something that happened to me, it's also the perfect analogy for the Christianity I know: it says you're inferior in one breath while pretending to be friendly in the other, so you'll be seen as the aggressor when you question how they treat you. It's a tactic to trivialize the harm they do.

Aside from the fact that there are no secular arguments against being LGBT--and really, how could there be, any more than there could be secular arguments against having brown eyes?--all pro-fascist protests involved slogans like, "god hates ____". There has never been ambiguity that the movement against human rights is a Christian movement.

For a while, I allowed myself to be argued into believing it's just a few bad Christians, and not the religion. I honestly regret that, because it's just propaganda.

It was Christians--the "good ones"--who chipped away at the propaganda for me over the years.

Every, "I wish Christians would stop doing this to us" was met with, "stop saying these things about my religion. It's only fake Christians who are hateful. Jesus never condoned hate. Real Christians aren't like that."

And then the same person making this argument would always end up sharing support for homophobic laws. Or nonsense articles about trans people destroying sports. I have yet to find someone complaining about fake Christians who didn't participate in the hate they were disavowing.

I've had other progressive Christian friends who let the mask slip in other ways. One earnestly said that she didn't think my sin of being gay was any worse than her sin of having an abortion, which she strongly believed should be illegal. 🙃

Another was supposedly an ex-Satanist who believed, "I don't like being called a Christian because they have done some very evil things in the world. I'm a believer in Jesus, but even that's hard to say sometimes because I know a lot of blood has been spilled in his name by Christians."

He started the conversation because I had complained about new laws related to Christofascism. He spent the rest of the conversation using my anxiety as a means of conversion.

"Yeah, Christians are horrible. But Jesus was great, don't you think? I think you'd have really liked him. He'd be disappointed in how Christians act in the world. You should look into his message." He even tried to "relate" to me by saying how hard it was for him to come out as a Christian. 🙃

These are just a couple anecdotes that really stuck with me. But they're representative of what I've seen from Christians in general. It's the used car salesman vibe; they're compelled to sell you their bullshit, and they're not going to let you call out its flaws.

If you get the chance, look through the notes on the post that spurred these questions. I intentionally mirrored common, popular Christian arguments about gay people; they all have real, current laws they refer to. The responses from Christians show more concern with PR for the religion than the underlying behaviors that were called out. I expected it, but it might be eye opening for you.

It was also startling to me that we made recent strides in equality, and lost so much of it overnight. It looked like public perception was turning around and society was getting its heads out of its collective asses about LGBT people.

Then Trump became president and just. Enticed the fascist infestation back into the open. With distinctly Christian messaging. The cake lawsuit wasn't secular. The fraudulent wedding website design lawsuit wasn't secular. The Proud Boys engaging in armed intimidation at LGBT events is terrorism, and it's not secular.

This was Christianity deciding that nearing equality couldn't be tolerated and they had to claw it back. They'll never be haply in a world where we're equal; they'll lay low for a little while and then revoke our rights. Again. At some point we have to call out that cycle and refuse to let them repeat it.

Whenever you hear the words "family friendly", you need to know it's a Christian catchphrase. It was created by Christian groups who wanted to ensure we wouldn't be seen on TV. It's directly related to the bad faith arguments about "grooming."

It's an attempt to make Christian arguments look secular, as a way of getting their religion into the law. It's basically a "get out of a first amendment violation for free card." They've demonstrated recently that they have no intention of being good people; that we will always have to be subjected to these awful false and damaging beliefs.

This return of fascist thought also brought me to a new realization: fascism is built in to the very core of Christianity.

It's not controversial to say that a fascist government includes an authoritarian leader that cannot be questioned, special privileges for the most loyal including privileges against being punished for committing crimes, lesser rights for marginalized people, extreme nationalism, and genocide for outsiders. Those are key defining characteristics of fascism.

This is how Christianity--all of it--is structured. You cannot question the existence of Jesus/god or his "benevolence": that is the single worst crime in the religion. You must do what he says otherwise you're punished for eternity; he's a "loving" authoritarian leader who would only do that to those who "deserve the punishment". You know, evil people like lefties and LGBT people. 🙄

It's most obvious in Catholicism, but church leaders can break the law in the most horrific ways (child sexual abuse being a very common one among all Christian clergy), but their standing in the church never falls. As long as they are loyal, they just get shifted around. This is an obscene special privilege.

But if you're just a member of the congregation? You will be vilified for breaking even minor laws. There are different sets of rules for the masses and the loyal leaders.

While Christianity is tied to nationalism in the US, it does also have its own internal equivalent. Those people who think it's horrible that I flipped the script and asked Christianity to confront its own words? It's the same kind of unquestioning allegiance, that trivializes and refuses to fix serious institutional flaws, which defines nationalism.

And Christianity has never met a genocide it didn't want to take part in. Even if you're too close to it to acknowledge that this is what Christians are doing to LGBT people, there is an unbroken history of it around the world. If you've read about the bodies found at Canadian Christian schools, you know it's not just the distant past.

But even today, the "soft" form of missionary work is intended to commit genocide. The whole goal of doing things like providing water to impoverished countries is to show how great Christians are, so the locals will decide their own way of life is inferior and abandon it. It's intended to destroy cultures; even if it's not always waged as war and torture, the goal hasn't changed. They've just made genocide look polite.

I don't believe it's possible for a religion to have a world view that's deeply tied to fascism, and be capable of having denominations that aren't evil in some way. Seeing that kind of fascist structure as normal will inevitably poison how you see other people and the world around you.

Which ties in to your next question. If you discount the damage a fascist religion does to the way a person thinks, I'm still certain there aren't any decent denominations.

There are a few reasons. The biggest one is that most Christians will say they're part of a progressive denomination. But it should be apparent that it's impossible: if most Christians are good people in denominations that aren't hateful, how do that minority of bad Christians keep getting anti-LGBT laws on the books?

Evangelicals are the loudest and most visible, but they alone don't have that kind of voting power. Just like it's obvious that it's not just Catholics who are behind abortion bans. They're a visible enemy, but they are not the totally of the threat. The underlying belief is widespread enough among Christians that it doesn't immediately guarantee their loss at the ballot box. They vote together when it comes to voting against our lives.

There are plenty of "I support you, I don't think being gay sends you to hell" Christians who still vote for Christian candidates who do believe that way. It's not a deal breaker for these people, because it's still tacitly a part of their religious beliefs even when they pretend it's not.

It's also compounded by the PR provided by the "nice ones." Think back to my comment about how closely the culture mirrors nationalism: If a Christian attacks a gay couple with a knife and you point out that Christianity was a motivating factor, you will absolutely hear from the "nice ones".

They will tell you that not all Christians are like that; that it's a "loving" religion, and it's horrible to paint them all with the same brush. That you're just as bad as the attacker for acknowledging that it was a Christian-motivated crime.

But it's necessary to acknowledge that the attacker was motivated by his religion. How do you stop attacks like that without considering why they happen? Could it have been prevented by church leaders if they spoke differently? Did other members of his church accidentally encourage him by agreeing with his mindset? Would the attack have been prevented if he didn't get specific, false and hateful messaging from his religion?

He learned that his perspective was correct from somewhere. It didn't happen in a vacuum, and the religion's contribution is an important fact. But people in the "good denominations" never allow any analysis of the cause, because they don't want it to result in a scenario where they have to change their harmful behaviors. They care more about the perception of their religion than the actual pain and suffering of its targets.

Until they stop serving as PR for the abstract "bad ones", no, there really can't be a good denomination. They all share responsibility for their contribution to ongoing homophobia and transphobia in our society--regardless of whether they're actively encouraging it, or "only" shielding the reputations of those who do.

And even if you find one that's not encouraging LGBT-phobia, and refuses to do PR for those who do, I come back to that experience in college. How do you know this group isn't just being nice to your face, but dehumanizing you and acting against your human and civil rights behind the closed curtain of the voting booth?

The fascist structure and the religion's refusal to admit that being gay or trans isn't a sin points to that latter scenario being more likely.

I hope that answers your questions, but I can clarify anything if it doesn't.

[highwaytothedangerzone502]

Ghost Story - Chapter 52

Pairing: Rooster x Female OC

Word Count: 2351

Warnings: None

Summary: No one will miss a ghost. It'd been a running joke for as long as anyone could remember, something Ghost herself started, and she always said it with a smile on her face or with mirth in her voice. The untouchable stealth pilot in every sense of the word, no one could've predicted the depth of her turmoil over recent events, nor the extremes she would go to in order to protect the man she loved, not even those closest to her. Now, all that was left of the young aviator for Maverick, Hangman, and Rooster were the memories of the past, which would slowly fade with time. She'd come into their lives and made an unforgettable impression, and then, like a ghost, she was gone... Then again, ghosts can't die a second time.

Notes: None

Chapter Songs: My Little Girl Daddy's Little Girl

****

Ghost

"Do it," Hangman said, leaning forward on the table. "Like a bandaid. Just rip it off."

"Do it, although maybe not as violently as a bandaid," Rooster countered, giving his wingman a skeptical sideways glance, "test the waters, like unwrapping a taped ankle or something."

"You know you need to do it when Bradshaw and I agree on something."

"Don't use logic against me," Ghost snapped lightly, massaging the sides of her temple. It was only ten in the morning, and she'd woken up barely an hour ago, but she was still exhausted, still unable to sleep well due to the concussion. "Mav's not even home right now; he's at the warehouse. And what do I even do? Waltz on in there and say: hey, Maverick. I think my mom lied to me my whole life about who my dad was, and I think it's actually you instead of Nathan Winchester. I came to this conclusion with super circumstantial evidence that makes sense to me and a couple of others, but there's still no physical proof." 

"Yeah, that sounds good to me."

"You may be the best of the best in the Navy, but not when it comes to this."

"I beg to differ, but I won't argue since your concussion is clouding your judgment."

Ghost opened her mouth to make a sarcastic retort when the doorbell rang. "Saved by the bell," she muttered, getting up to answer it. Opening the door revealed Penny with a dish in hand. "Hey! Come in, come in."

Ghost moved aside, allowing Penny entry. With a bright smile, she strode in and said, "Thought I'd bring you a mac n' cheese casserole for dinner tonight."

"Thank you!" Ghost replied, mouth watering when she got a whiff of the still-warm dish as Penny walked by her. 

"What are you kids up to?"

Hangman grinned and, in a joking tone, replied, "Wondering if Mav might be Ghost's dad since they're so much alike."

A flicker of emotion flashed across Penny's face, so brief that it would've been easily missed by most who stood or sat far away, like the boys, but Ghost didn't. She saw it.

"I can see it," Penny remarked, recovering swiftly. "What made you come up with that idea?"

"I caught my mom in some lies," Ghost admitted, sighing dejectedly. "They alter the timeline of when she knew Maverick, and, well, if they're true, it would mean she didn't meet my dad until she was already pregnant with me, and Mav was the only guy she dated before him, so that would mean-" 

"Pete is your dad," Penny finished, setting the dish down on the counter. "I'm guessing you haven't talked to him about this?"

"No. I was trying to figure that out with these two, one of whom was no help-"

"Bradshaw's usually useless," Hangman said. Rooster whacked him violently on the shin with one of his crutches. "Ow!"

"Children, behave," Ghost chastised, pointing a firm finger at both of them. She turned back to Penny. "I don't know how I'd bring it up. I want to, but to do it tactfully without scaring him-"

"Pete wouldn't be scared. If you want my opinion, he would be thrilled to have you as a daughter, but he won't know until you tell him. Maybe he could help you figure out for sure if you are."

Ghost fiddled with her dog tags. "You really think so?"

"I do. And I'm always right. He's at his warehouse, but maybe don't tell him you're coming. He may start panicking over what it could be about, and he's worrying enough about you and Rooster as it is."

Hangman opened his mouth to speak, but Rooster cut in and warned, "If you're about to make another smart-ass comment-"

"I wasn't! I wouldn't. I was going to offer you a ride," Hangman protested, pursing his lips before adding, "and be the helpful one in this situation."

Hangman moved out of range before Rooster could whack him again. Ghost sighed yet again, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Boys, please, behave, or I'll drive myself."

"You can't drive with your concussion."

"If I can escape enemy territory with a punctured lung and concussion, I'll take my risk driving on the open road so I don't have to deal with you two. Now, when do we want to go?"

"We'll do it now before you chicken out," Hangman said, grabbing his keys from the counter. "Come on."

Rooster stood, saying, "Ghost, as much as I love your apartment, I'm also very tired of sitting around and doing nothing. I'm coming with you two."

"That means I'll have to leave you in the car with Hangman while I'm talking to Mav," Ghost pointed out, wagging her finger at the two men. "I don't trust you two not to kill each other."

"I'll behave," Rooster promised. Hangman echoed the sentiment, and against her better judgment, Ghost relented. She grabbed a thermal grocery bag and stuffed the casserole in it, figuring they'd be at the warehouse for a while and would need food. After Penny left, the trio climbed into Hangman's truck. Rooster took the back to stretch out his injured leg. Ghost settled into the passenger seat and closed her eyes, trying to block out the bright sun since wearing sunglasses hurt her head after only a few minutes. Rooster and Hangman had a surprisingly civil conversation with only a few humorous jabs at each other, but Ghost stayed quiet, and they let her, recognizing she needed to be alone with her thoughts. 

She was really doing this. She was really going to confront Maverick about her parentage. Ghost would finally have an answer to the question lingering over her like a dark cloud since the crash. Would Penny be right? Would Maverick be thrilled to have her as a daughter if she was, in fact, his? Or had Penny said that to simply be supportive? Oh, God, should she be doing this?

Ghost's mind ran a mile a minute, including the epiphany: It's too late to turn around now. I have to do this. Don't panic. It'll be fine... if I can survive a mid-air crash, commandeer an enemy plane, eject twice in the same day, and die and come back, then I can do this. God help me. Mom, if you're listening, I'll need your help too...

"We're here," Hangman announced. Ghost groggily opened her eyes. "Ah, Sleeping Beauty is finally awake!"

"How long was I out?" Ghost mumbled, wincing at the sunlight.

Hangman adjusted her sun visor to block the light from her reaching her eyes. "Most of the trip. You ready?"

"No. Not at all, but we're here, so just be on standby in case I need to get out of here if he doesn't take it well."

"You've got this," Rooster assured, reaching from behind the seat and gently squeezing her good shoulder. "We'll be here when and if you need us."

"All right. I'll come get you when I'm done. Try not to kill each other while I'm away." Ghost got out of the car before she could convince herself otherwise. Hands shoved into her jacket pockets, she slowly walked to the hangar entrance and stepped inside. She could hear the slight clanking of metal from the other side of the P-51, giving away her target's location.

Deep breath, Ghost. Deep breath. I've got this. "Mav?"

The clanking stopped, and Maverick's head poked around the side of the plane, genuine bewilderment on his face. "Ghost!"

"Surprise?" she said sheepishly. "Sorry to barge in on you like this. I hope-"

He rushed over to her, looking up and down with concern. "Are you okay? Is Rooster okay? Wait, how did you get here? Did you drive?"

"We're fine, we're both fine," Ghost said reassuringly, "and Hangman drove me. Rooster's in the truck with him right now."

A smile tugged on the corners of his lips. "You sure they're not going to kill each other?"

"Not really."

"Is-is there a reason you've relegated them to the truck?"

"I, uh, I needed to talk to you. In private. Hangman was just my ride, and Rooster joined because he was going stir-crazy. I guess they're kind of my moral support too. I'm rambling. Um-" Ghost backed away from Maverick and started pacing back and forth, letting the words out in a chaotic jumble- "I don't know where to begin with this, so I'm just going to go for it. When Rooster and I were stranded in enemy territory, we started talking, and I don't even remember how we got to that point in the conversation, but we did, and it was about my mom, and I learned that she lied to me my whole life about when she knew you. It wouldn't have been a big deal had it been a year after she said she met you, but it was the year before, which means Mom met my dad when she was already pregnant with me, and the only other guy she ever mentioned before Dad was you and-" 

Ghost stopped and faced Maverick. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. She felt on the verge of hyperventilating from nerves, and her body shook from anxiety, but she'd come this far. She had to finish. Taking a deep breath, Ghost said, "This is going to sound crazy, and who knows, maybe I am, and I read into too much circumstantial evidence, but I think- I think you might be my-"

"Dad?" Maverick finished softly, strangely unfazed by the news Ghost to be earth-shattering. Unless...

"Yeah... do- do you know about this already?"

Maverick nodded. "I wanted to tell you-"

"How long have you known?" Ghost interrupted, trepidation settling in her bones. If he'd known for a short time, that was one thing. But what if he'd known for a long time? What if he'd known since she was born? If that was the case, why hadn't he said anything? The only feasible answer Ghost could produce was that Maverick didn't want her knowing, most likely because he didn't want a kid outside of Bradley. The idea made Ghost's heart drop.

"I only learned right before the mission," Maverick admitted, fiddling with the wrench. "I debated telling you beforehand but didn't want to risk distracting you from the mission with the news. You grew up with Nathan Winchester as your dad, and while me being your biological dad doesn't change that, it's still not necessarily an easy pill to swallow. I also wasn't sure you'd want me to-" Maverick dropped his gaze to the wrench in his hands- "I wasn't sure you'd want me to be your dad now."

Ghost smiled sympathetically at him. "I didn't say anything sooner because I wasn't sure you wanted me to be your daughter..."

"Had I known Charlie was pregnant with you, I would've- I would've been there for you," Maverick said, his voice cracking. "I wish I had been."

"I know you would've," Ghost replied, taking a hesitant step forward. As much as she would've liked for Maverick to have been there for her since she was born, a realization dawned on her, and it might be the only thing that could wipe away Mav's guilt over the situation. "But if you had been, it would've taken you away from Bradley, and I don't want this to come across as- as insensitive, but he needed you more than I did. I had Mom and Dad; Bradley needed you and Carole. And hey, we both turned out all right in the end, I think."

"You turned out better than 'all right.' I am lucky to have such an amazing daughter as you. I may not have been there for you growing up, but I want to be there for you now and in the future if you'll let me."

Tears welled in Ghost's eyes. Nodding vigorously, she rushed forward and threw her arms around Maverick's neck. She'd felt so alone ever since Charlie died despite knowing she had so many people surrounding her, but with Maverick's confirmation that he was, in fact, her dad and that he wanted to be her dad, that loneliness evaporated in an instant. Ghost had lost what she thought was her entire family: her mom, her sister, and her dad. Now, for once, Ghost felt she had finally gained something. She'd found a new dad and couldn't be happier.

Maverick didn't let her go until Ghost pulled away. She noticed his cheeks had tears rolling down them. He wiped them off and said, "You have no idea how stressed I've been trying to figure out how to tell you this or if I should tell you at all. It's why I came out here- to think it all over and come up with an action plan."

"Penny suggested you'd take it well, and Hangman essentially made me do it now before I chickened out," Ghost confessed sheepishly. She thought back to her earlier conversation with Penny and realized something. "She knew, didn't she? "

"Yeah, Penny knew. She's the one who suggested I come out here. I felt bad leaving her after just asking her to marry me, but she insisted."

"Well, now, when we return, we can celebrate with everyone, and your mind won't be preoccupied with your 'dad' status."

"She said something similar."

"Great minds think alike. On a different note-" Ghost peered over her shoulder at Hangman's truck- "are you okay if I go get them? I'm kind of worried that Rooster might've shoved his crutch down Hangman's throat. They've been at it all morning."

"I guess it's better than shoving it up the other end," Maverick joked, causing both of them to grin. "But yeah, go get them. I don't want my son getting arrested for aggravated assault."

"Agreed. I'll be right back!" Ghost turned on her heel to fetch the boys, but Maverick called out for her. "Yeah, Mav?"

"I love you, Kid," he said sincerely.

Warmth spread through her veins. "I love you, too, Dad."

****

Tags: @supernaturaldawning @shanimallina87 @polikszena @lgg5989 @callsign-milano @bradshawsandbridgetons @harper1666 @shadeops21 @double-j @copaceticwriter @rotating-obsessions @sharkprestige @thedarkinmansfield @lapilark @mickeyluvs @starshipfantasy @bennypears00 @avabobava @the-navistar-carol @getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth @carmellasworld @0hb0llocks @nicangelinee @summ3rlotus @3picklesinajar @magentamistress @the-other-hawkeye @elisha-chloe @emilymarie105 @persephone11110 @luckyladycreator2 @boogdleyboo @k0k3 @bibissparkles @lilmonstrjedi @stinkyrat09 @cocoag19 @suburbzchick @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @goodstuff28 @georgiasimpson95 @horselovers2016 @tanithpriad125 @davidshawnsown @sowolfstudentme @agagafafa @callmemana @sec17 @brxklyn15 @h0ppy0the0sheep @tomanybandstolove @abigailannz @mini-bee-bee @super-btstrash-posts @midnightmagpiemama

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[aylaaescar]

23-30 for Zevran/Perry?

welp this is almost a month late skdfjgsg ty Karolina!! someday I will answer things quicker

23. What was their first impression of each other?

"The Grey Warden dies here!" vs the Grey Warden who's supposed to die here and is thoroughly unimpressed by how clumsy the bait is, and mostly just wants to get this latest attack on her life over with already. she's got other stuff to do, guys.

conversationally, though, Perry thought that Zevran was friggin suspicious haha, but she still let him live and join her anyway because it's a Blight, they need all the help they can get. on Zevran's end, I imagine he thought of her as formidable and beautiful, but also pretty haughty from her demeanor.

24. How did they fall for each other?

I'm gonna interpret this as "when did they first realize" bc all my answers would be boring otherwise ("it happened over time") skdfgjsg. Zev first realized he was in love with her after the Landsmeet was called, when they were discussing plans for the future in their shared room in Eamon's manor, and Perry was excitedly talking about changes to the Circle she'd like to make if she went back. Perry just kind of... came to the conclusion one night on the road? just a sudden spark of clarity. "oh. I love him."

25. Who said "I love you" first?

who first said the actual three words themself? Perry. who didn't say the three words exactly but still poured out their heart anyway and also proposed? Zevran.

26. How are they with PDA?

I think they're pretty average about it?? whatever that might look like?? Perry greatly enjoys grossing Sidane out by acting all lovey-dovey with Zev in their presence (sweet vengeance for all the years of them being her annoying older sibling, you see), but on their own, I feel like they just do normal couple stuff. holding hands, kisses, hugs, stuff like that. they're not shy about their relationship, but both of them prefer to keep the bigger stuff and more tender displays in private.

27. What interests do they share? For interests they don't share, do they ever participate anyway?

being judgmental of other people and people watching. fashion. sparring. potion/poison brewing. Zev doesn't share Perry's passion for architecture, but he'll still listen attentively to her talk about it anyway.

28. How are they with money? Does one do more of the financial supporting?

okay so a couple years outside the Circle? Perry is great with finances. she's a fast learner and good at math, it'll be easy for her. initially coming out of the Circle, though? Perry is not clever with finances at all since she'd literally never had to pay for anything before. Alistair had to do some coaching for her. so at the very beginning, I'd say Zev is the one who has the better head with finances (though Perry is the one earning that money, what with a hard day's work of looting money off of darkspawn corpses. do you think the darkspawn have capitalism?)

29. Where is their relationship lacking? What could they do to improve it?

time spent together, maybe? out of my three Wardens who romance Zev, Perry is the one who's away from him the most, I think; she's the Commander of the Grey in addition to being the court's Chancellor, and Zevran has his own fight against the Crows. that said, though, they still spend plenty of time with each other and live together. they just have periods where they're apart for a few months and have to communicate by letter. this improves over the years, and ofc they're still together while Perry is off searching for a cure to the Blight.

30. Where is their relationship the strongest?

their faith and confidence in each other, I think. Perry and Zevran just get each other and firmly love and trust each other. for her part, Perry trusts that Zev is honest with her, that he's loyal and wouldn't do anything to hurt her. on Zevran's end, he knows that Perry is a brilliant and determined person who's been held back in the Circle and hates being underestimated. they believe in each other more than most people have believed in them separately before.

[creat0r-cat]

Wilford Warfstache x reader - Problems

(Y/n) sat on a bench and checked her phone for the upteenth time, hoping to find some message from her boyfriend explaining why he hadn't arrived for their date. Her lock screen, showing the two of them smiling on the cart of a Ferris wheel, remained bare, not showing any new messages. Such a waste of a happy memory.

Tears began to obstruct (Y/n)'s vision. How many times had this happened before? How many times did she sit at a table or wait outside of a building for a man who would fail to show up? 

(Y/n) knew he was toxic and that she should just dump him and save what was left of her heart, but she couldn't bring herself to pull through with the impending break up. He was one of the only people who would actually put up with her weirdness. She should've just walked away.

The (Y/n) and her boyfriend had been dating since highschool, so all together they've been in a relationship for about 7 years. She expected him to propose any day now, but instead of a ring she didn't even get a phone call or a text. He had been pulling away since their freshman year of college. (Y/n) blamed it on exams and their jobs, but now she realized he just didn't care. 

As she came to this conclusion she began to cry. (Y/n) pulled up her messaging app and texted him. 

(Y/n): I hate you

To her suprise, he texted back a few seconds later. 

(Bf/n): What do you mean?

(Y/n): This is the sixth time in a row you've stood me up on a date. I hate you and I'm breaking up with you

(Bf/n): Come on baby, don't be like that

(Bf/n): We can work this out

She blocked his number before she could give a second thought. 

"Are you okay, miss. You seem rather upset." A slightly slurred voice behind her asked. (Y/n) turned around and was surprised to see a tall black haired man with a pink mustache looking at her expectantly. 

"M-me?" 

"Yes you." He said, booping her on the nose. "What's a cute bean like you doing with a frown and tears on your face? And the way you’re dressed up, are you here for a date?" (Y/n) blushed and looked down. "My boyfriend stood me up. He was supposed to meet me here two hours ago and won’t reply to any of my texts or calls. It's not the first time he’s done this either so I broke up with him. I guess I'm just a bit upset." 

The strange man sat down beside her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Well that's understandable, but don't waste tears on a jerk like him. If he didn't care about you, then you don't have to care about him. He just isn't worth it and you deserve better." 

Some more tears spilled down (Y/n)'s cheeks and dropped onto the back of her hands. “That’s easy for you to say. He and I were in a relationship for over five years so I can’t just automatically get over him. It’s just not that simple.”

“I understand that. Love is a difficult thing. It makes you blind and at times clouds your judgment.” Explained the man as he turned (Y/n)’s face to look at him. “But when love is lost it doesn’t mean you can’t find it again.” 

“But who would love me? I’m weird. It’s a miracle I ever got into a relationship in the first place.” My consoler smirked. “You’re weird? Just look at me. I’m a grown man with a pink mustache and an accent even I can’t recognize, and I’m from America! I don’t think you can get much weirder than that.” (Y/n) laughed softly, though it was almost coughed out because she was nearly choking on her tears. 

“Who told you that you couldn’t be loved because you were weird?” He asked suddenly, making (Y/n) go silent again. The man frowned, not asking again but seeming to understand the unsaid answer. “What if I were able to prove that wrong?” She looked toward him again in confusion. “What?

“I won’t force you to do anything you aren’t comfortable with. It’s just a suggestion and I know this sounds crazy, but since you’re already dolled up, why don’t we have a little fun? Y’know.. two weirdos making town?” (Y/n) smirked, wiping the last of her tears away. “Sounds fun, but I don’t even know you. How do I know you aren’t just gonna end up kidnapping and killing me or something like that?” 

The man stuck out his hand with a wink. “The name’s Wilford Warfstache and I’ll do my best to not kidnap, kill, or something-like-that you while we’re out together.” (Y/n) laughed, a real laugh this time. “Alright then, Wilford. I’ll trust you just this once. Don’t screw this up for me okay? The name’s (Y/n) (L/n) by the way.” 

“I’ll probably screw it up in some way without even trying, just you watch, (Y/n).” 

(Y/n) knew it was a little crazy and probably incredibly stupid to trust this man whom she just met, but she needed a bit of sunshine today, and he seemed to be chock full of it. Wilford took her hand in his and led her through town to a quaint little diner. It had a kind of 70’s vibe to it but it was delightful and her new date looked like he felt right at home. 

“How do you seem to fit this environment so well?” She asked, looking at him curiously from across the table. “Well, I suppose everyone fits a certain day and age. Mine just happens to be as crazy as me. But what about you? Where do you think you fit in?” (Y/n) thought about it for a minute before deciding. “I think I fit in with the [year of choice (1970-2022)] people. I just feel more comfortable in those clothes and styles.”

When (Y/n) was thinking about the question, Wilford gazed at her. He had to admit, she was incredibly cute. It was nice to have someone else like him in the world. Even if she wasn’t exactly the same, it brought him comfort knowing that he wasn’t entirely alone. After Celine died disappeared, he had felt so empty and alone. He loved her with everything he was and she had fallen through his fingers like sand. But now he had a second chance. 

Someone who would give him a chance. 

Maybe it would take some time, and the two of them would likely only start off as friends, but Wilford knew (Y/n) was the woman who could finally fill the hole Celine had left behind. He could feel it in his mustache. 

As they waited for their food to arrive and even after it did, the two made small talk and learned more about each other. Wilford apparently was a television host and lived in a big house with his many brothers. How many brothers? Well, he didn’t answer that. (Y/n) told him about her own life. How she was a(n) [(older/younger/middle) sister of (number) / only child) and how she had a stable job as a (job description). Wilford listened eagerly, seeming to hang off of every word in anticipation. 

(Y/n) was happy that he would even listen. That was more than she ever got from her now ex-boyfriend. And it turned out that she and Wilford had a lot in common. It was nice knowing that there was someone else like her out there. Wilford was right. Just because she lost one relationship, it didn’t mean she couldn’t have another.

When they left the restaurant, the time was only half past one. They had the whole rest of the afternoon to goof off. As more time passed, (Y/n) almost forgot about her ex and was focused on having fun with her new friend. Wilford knew how to cheer her up and he was awfully good at it.  

Over time however, she began to notice how sad he looked. Yes, he smiled, but it wasn’t completely genuine. (Y/n) decided to try cheering him up. She took him to a carnival that was in town, something she had planned to do on her date in the first place. She wanted to make sure he was okay so she led him to one of the first rides that caught her eye, and somewhere they could speak in private. (Y/n) led him to the Ferris wheel and they sat opposite of each other in the car.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, looking at him in concern. “What?” He seemed confused. “Something’s bothering you. I can tell. What’s up?” Wilford looked down, his fluffy black hair falling slightly in front of his face, obscuring it from view. “I didn’t realize you were the observing type. Sorry if my attitude is bothering you?” (Y/n) shook her head. “Not at all. You helped me when I was upset. Why shouldn’t I help you?” He smiled a little, seeming to appreciate that. “Thank you, but I don’t want to annoy you with my problems.” 

(Y/n) leaned over and took his hand in hers. “You won’t annoy me. I promise. You can tell me what’s going on if you want to.” Wilford looked up and into her eyes. When was the last time someone had willingly listened to him? Yes, he had held meetings with his brothers and forced them to hear out his ideas, but here was (Y/n) asking and pleading for him to let out his pain. 

Tears came to his eyes and they slipped out before he could potentially stop them. The Ferris wheel car stopped at the top, rocking back and forth gently for a few seconds before becoming still. Wilford began to speak, his breathing burdened and choked. 

“I can’t accurately remember the last time I had this much fun with someone. I mean, I remember bits of exciting parties and events I’ve been to with my brothers and a few friends, though I can’t necessarily call them my friends. It’s just that.. well.. the last girl I took out on a kind of date is gone. She never broke up with me, but she’s gone. I know Celine is dead, but I don’t want to accept it. Before you, she was the last person to really treat me like a sane human being. But I’m not. I’m not sane. I’ve done so many horrible things in my life and, because of how I am, people don’t take me seriously. And who can blame them? I’m Wilford Motherloving Warfstache the pink mustached weirdo! Or have I switched names I’ve forgotten my real one? I don’t know anymore..”

(Y/n) was a bit overwhelmed by this new information, but took pity on the poor man. She walked over to his side of the car and gave him a large hug. He let out a choked sob and clung to her like a child with his mother. “I’m so sorry..” He whimpered into her shoulder. “I’ve ruined everything. I was supposed to cheer you up and here I am dampening the mood.” 

“You’ve made me so happy, Wilford. I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me. I’m so sorry that your card hand of life is so awful. I’m sorry that Celine is gone. She sounds wonderful and I have no doubt that even in death she still loves you so much. You deserve such good things and even though you don’t see it now, know that it’ll get better. Don’t give up on yourself just yet.” 

Wilford looked up at her, his eyes slightly red and puffy, but slowly returning to their normal state. “Y-you really mean that?” (Y/n) smiled and leaned forward, kissing his forehead gently. “Every single word.” He hugged her again and breathed a rattled sigh of relief. “Thank you. Thank you so much, (Y/n). You don’t realize how much that means to me.” 

“We weirdos have to stick together, don’t we?” she asked, giggling as he smiled and booped her on the nose, just like he did when they first met. “That’s true. Thanks for the reminder, gumdrop.” He wiped the last of his tears away and the Ferris wheel car continued in descent until it reached the bottom and the door opened for the two of them. 

“Well, shall we?” Wilford offered his hand out and she took it, the two of them exiting the ride and joining the crowd outside.

All hints of sadness were gone as they enjoyed their evening. After many roller coasters, booth games, unhealthy but delicious food, and prizes later, they left the carnival and headed toward their car. The sun was going down, bathing the world in a beautiful orange color. Wilford had his arm around (Y/n)’s shoulder as they walked together, laughing and holding bags of cotton candy and some stuffed animals. It was the perfect evening.

“Hey, (Y/n)! Babe, is that you?” She recognized that voice and she turned toward it. There, running toward her, was her ex, (Bf/n). “What are you doing here?” She asked while Wilford glared at the new man. “What am I doing here? Where have you been? I’ve been looking all over the place for you! And who the heck is that? Are you seriously so sad after “breaking up with me” that you’ll take random street bums out?” 

Wilford wasn’t just glaring at (Bf/n) now, he was getting up in his chest. “I beg your pardon. I have a name y’know, and at least this “random street bum” is actually able to keep a date rather than blow it off. Also, she did actually dump you. Get your facts right.” (Y/n) watched this go down and she wasn’t sure if she should step in or not. 

(Bf/n) growled angrily. “I wasn’t talking to you, freak. Listen, (Y/n). I’m going to make it up to you. You don’t have to go and tear up your reputation anymore than you do already by going out with this 80’s screw up. He doesn’t even actually care about you anyway, weirdo.” 

As he reached to take hold of her arm, she slapped his hand away and glared at him. “First of all, he has a 70’s style. Second of all, you have no right to demand that I go with you. You’re a toxic person who doesn’t deserve me. I deserve much better than you, and Wilford is that better. I’m over you. And, yes, I’m weird. Get over it.” 

(Bf/n) looked like he was going to blow a blood vessel. “Why you little-” He tried to grab her again, only to back away as Wilford pointed a pistol in his direction. “Don’t you dare lay a hand on her. I will shoot whether you ask me to or not.” 

“You’re crazy..” (Y/n)’s ex whimpered as he held his hands in the air, surrendering.

“I get that a lot.” Said Wilford with a sneer. “(Y/n) get away from him.” pleaded (Bf/n), but she didn’t do as she was told and instead clung to Wilford’s arm. “The thing is, I feel safer with him than I do with you so.. no.” 

She took Wilford’s hand in hers and walked away and over to their car. “Ah yes. Our victory chariot!” She said, laughing and sliding into the passenger’s seat. (Bf/n) didn’t move from his spot and instead just stared at the two of them as they drove away. Wilford was shocked that (Y/n) didn’t freak out that he had a gun.

“Hey, was that pistol loaded?” She asked, looking at him as they stopped at a red light. “Uh.. yeah. I always carry around a loaded pistol.” She shrugged and leaned back in her chair. “Cool. Guns are fun.” Wilford couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah. Yeah they are.” 

The rest of the ride was filled with a comfortable silence as he drove her home, (Y/n) pointing out the way. When they arrived, (Y/n) turned back to look at him in worry. “I just realized that we drove my car all the way here. How are you gonna get back to your house?” Wilford smiled and winked. “It’s not that far, just a snap and poof away.” 

“Are you sure? Do you need to call someone so they can pick you up?” 

“Nope! Don’t worry, sweetie.”

(Y/n) blushed and shrugged. “Alright. Whatever you say. Thanks again for this evening. It was amazing.” Her new date gave her a mustache covered grin as he bowed. “It was my pleasure.”

A thought occurred to her suddenly and she shuffled nervously. “Do you, maybe, want to do this again sometime? Y’know, without the exes and stuff like that?” 

That was an offer Wilford hadn’t expected to receive, but he was delighted to agree. He felt so happy. Happier than he had been in a long time. “Alright then,” Said (Y/n) giving him a kiss on the cheek and turning back to enter her house. “See you around Wilford!” 

At the sound of a snap, she turned around to see a small cloud of pink smoke and glitter fade into thin air. “Woah. I guess it really was a snap and a poof away.” She knew he was a bit crazy, but honestly, so was she. That day, both of them had met the person who made them feel whole again. And they were both weirdos with problems. 

Who else would they have been?

[shipskicksandgiggles]

Title: Lucky Number 13

Pairing: Harley Keener x Peter Parker

Summary:

Warnings: none

A/N: sorry, 13 is my lucky number, so here's this

AO3 Link

~~~

One

“It’s going to be a good day. I’m calling it right now.”

Rhodey placed a cup of coffee in his hands. “Is it now?”

Tony slid a plate of breakfast across the counter. “Harley, it’s Friday the 13th.”

Harley grinned. “Exactly. It’s my lucky day.”

Two

“Where’s the meeting?”

“It is on the-” Pepper checked her notes and shuddered. “It’s on the 13th floor.”

“Most buildings don’t have a 13th floor,” Harley mentioned. 

“Well, it’s a bad omen, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think so,” Harley said. “I think it means we’re going to nail this.”

She gave him a weird look, but straightened her posture. “You know what? Yeah we are.”

Three

Harley scribbled on his tablet as quickly as the woman spoke. If he was able to work out the potential investment outcome before Pepper could make a snap judgment, they might not have to turn her down. 

Finally, the woman came to her conclusion. “We know starting at $13,000 is low, and you have no reason to take on something that won’t make a substantial addition in your profit, but please consider us on merit alone?”

“I agree, your merit is valuable, but if you really want this deal…” Pepper trailed off as Harley whispered in her ear and showed the calculations. She nodded, and he stepped back. “…you wouldn’t be so unsure of yourself. You have yourself a deal, Doctor Fray. Watch for an email with an SI tag within the next week.”

“Oh my god, thank you,” the woman gasped. “Thank you, so much.”

“It’s risky,” Pepper mumbled as they walked back into the elevator. 

“Calculated risks are exactly that: calculated. Not to mention I ran a background check on the company, and they’re legit. Can you take me to school? I don’t want to be late.”

Four

“And here we are, 15 minutes early.”

“The clock on the car is slow, we’re actually 13 minutes early.”

Pepper patted his cheek affectionately. “You are a strange child. Go on, make some friends. Your dad is picking you up later.”

“Thanks Pep! See you later!”

He stepped out of the car and dragged his school bag with him. His friends should be there by now, and he was looking forward to his last day of school before the weekend. 

Five

“Did you get the answer to number 13?”

“On the stats homework?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, hold on.” Harley shuffled through his bag and pulled out a blue binder. “Is it the problem on mutual exclusion?”

Ned nodded miserably. “I don’t know why it’s not clicking.”

“It happens, don’t worry about it. Just think about a venn diagram. What doesn’t go in the middle.”

He watched him try to work it out for a second before jotting down an answer and checking it against Harley’s. “Huh.”

“You got it?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Is Harley saving your math grade again?” Peter dropped his lunch across the table from them. 

“When is he not?”

“Like you don’t need my help in English, Parker.”

“Watch your mouth or I won’t tutor you in Spanish anymore. You still good to give me a lift to work later?”

“Dad’s driving me home, so sure. He probably won’t kick you out of the car if you give me shit again.” The bell rang, and Harley tossed his trash in the nearest bin. “I’ll come walk you from your last hour. You’ve got history right?”

“Just meet me at my locker. I can walk myself back.”

They parted ways, and before Harley had a chance to ask why Peter didn’t want him to come to his last hour, Ned answered. “He doesn’t want to give Flash any more ammunition than he already has.”

“Noted.” 

The gears were already turning in Harley’s head. 

Six

Room 313. Astronomy. 

It was a small class. Not many people cared about stars at a school designed for more traditional STEM fields, but it was Harley’s favorite class of the day. 

He sat in his usual seat next to MJ, and snuck a look at her notebook.

“Mind your business, Keener.”

“Never, Jones.”

“Any reason you’re wearing a suit today?”

“Had to work this morning.”

“And yet you’re still in an uncharacteristically good mood.”

“It’s my lucky day. I thought you’d agree.”

“I just like Friday the 13th because it freaks everyone else out.”

“There’s my MJ.”

“Yo Keener!”

Harley paused and let out a long sigh before turning away from Michelle. “What, Eugene?”

“Is there any reason you look like more of a bitch than usual today?”

“Is there any reason you’re more of an asshole?”

Flash made a face at him. “Let me guess, another day of ‘working’ for Stark Industries?”

“Well you know me, it’s not work if it doesn’t take any effort. Helps that I love it.”

“Christ, you’re awful.”

“I actually think I’m quite lovely,” Harley snarked. 

“Fuck off,” Flash scoffed. 

He turned back to MJ and rolled his eyes. “Anyways, speaking of good luck, Peter has history last period, right?” 

Seven

Because Harley’s chemistry teacher didn’t really want to be there on Friday afternoons either, he let the class out a few minutes early. That’s how he ended up in front of Peter’s history class at 2:13pm. 

He stood off to the side of the door, just out of sight, but he popped his head around the corner and caught Peter’s gaze, who rolled his eyes at his antics. Unfortunately, this meant Flash noticed him too. 

When the class let out, he saw Peter rush to shove his notebook in his bag. He ducked into the classroom and leaned against the desk in front of his. 

“I told you I’d meet you at our lockers.”

“And I told you I’d walk you back from class. You’re on my way anyways.”

Peter sighed. “I wish you hadn’t.”

“Aww, does Penis Parker need a bodyguard? That’s cute.” Flash Thompson needed to learn a lesson in minding his own business. 

“Actually, I do,” Harley told him. 

“You need a bodyguard?” Flash scoffed. “Sure, I can’t imagine what you would be like if someone hit your pretty face.” 

“You think I’m pretty?” He acted touched. “I just need a body to act as a guard so I don’t hurt people who aren’t worth the effort.”

Flash rolled his eyes. “You’re a bitch, Keener.”

“You’re an ass, Thompson. Ready to go, darlin’?” 

Peter gave him half a smile and took the arm Harley extended. “Jerk.”

“You love it,” Harley winked. 

Eight

-list of lives I've broken reach from here to hell // Bad luck wind been blowing at my back // I pray you don't look at me, I pray I don't look back

“What the hell are you listening to?”

“That’s no way to greet your dear old dad.” Rhodey unlocked the car doors and popped the trunk. 

“Exactly, you’re old, which means you shouldn’t subject us to your taste in music. Seriously, what is this?” Harley didn’t even wait for an answer before he grabbed his phone. “Thirteen by Johnny Cash? Really?”

“It’s just what came on,” he shrugged. “ And I wanted to be on theme. Anyways, you love my taste in music, don’t lie.” 

“Whatever man. Change it please.”

“As you wish, your Highness. How are you, Peter?”

“Hi Colonel Rhodes! I’m good.”

“Good, back to the Tower then?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll change the music back if you two are quiet for the rest of the ride.”

“Deal” they chorused. After all, it wasn’t too far of a drive. 

Nine

“Are you working on chem?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I’m stuck. Come help?”

It was fairly common that before either of them did any lab work, they would work on any homework they had left. 

Peter pushed his chair away from his own desk. “Where?”

“There,” Harley pointed at a formula. “Something isn’t fitting right.”

“I think you’re missing an element,” Peter said, squinting at it. “You totally are. Try again, add your favorite element.”

“How on earth does mercury fit in with this?” Harley asked, baffled. “The chemical properties would probably cause it to react in a way that-”

“Hey, super genius,” Peter interrupted. “Your favorite element. Atomic number 13.”

Harley paused. “Aluminum? Really?” He looked back down at his notebook. “Would you look at that? Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Ten

“What are you working on?”

Homework tucked away in his school bag, Harley was absorbed in one of his side projects until Peter started him out of his reverie. 

“Birthday present for Abbie. She turns 13 next month.”

“She’s officially going to be a teenager. How’s that feel?”

He set down his screwdriver and looked up at Peter. “It feels like I’m getting old. She’s my baby sister, she’s not allowed to grow up.”

“I know, I’m sorry. Whatever you make her is going to be great, I know it.

Eleven

“How long do you think Manhattan is?”

Peter gave him a weird look. “Why do you want to know?”

“Curiosity mostly. I can have JARVIS check.”

“Manhattan is approximately 13 miles in length, sir,” JARVIS answered. 

“What are you thinking?” Peter asked. 

“Ironlad vs Spider-Man. Want to race?”

"Oh you're on."

Twelve

Tony greeted them in the living room. “We’re having a movie night if you want to join us.”

“He’s trying to make me watch 13 Going On 30 kids! Save me!” Rhodey called from the couch.”

“Really, pops?” Harley asked, unimpressed. “That’s your 13 themed movie?”

“Thank you, Harley,” his dad said. “I keep saying we should watch Ocean's 13.”

“How did it get worse?”

“Are you not watching Friday the 13th because it’s too obvious or…?” Peter trailed. 

“None of us really like horror movies,” Harley shrugged. “Could I offer a compromise?”

“Sure,” Tony allowed. “I don’t know how you could possibly get better than 13 Going On 30, but whatever.”

“Apollo 13?”

“Oh, I love that movie,” Peter said. 

“In all fairness, we haven’t seen it in forever. I think we’re due a rewatch.”

Tony gasped dramatically. “My own husband turned against me in my hour of need. How dare you?”

Rhodey gave him an unimpressed look. “Just get your popcorn and sit down, dumbass. Take your seats, boys, the movie is about to begin.”

Thirteen

It was late, but Harley was laying upside down on his bed while Peter sat in his desk chair. The movie had ended a while ago, but neither of them wanted to turn in for the night. 

“Can you explain it again? I don’t get it.”

Peter sighed. “You need to give me a number between one and fifty, and I’ll read off whichever prompt that number aligns with.”

“Do I even need to tell you a number?”

“I bet I can guess. Alright, so number 13… Actually, this is a stupid game, let’s do something else.”

“This was your idea dude, come on, just read the thing.”

“Fine, fine. ‘Look at the person to your right and tell them what song they remind you of, and then listen to that song as well’.”

“You know what? You’re right, this is a stupid game.”

“Harley, you made me read the prompt. Just answer the question. I’ll answer it too if it makes you feel more comfortable. That way we can both listen to something and no one has to suffer in silence. Deal?”

“I’ll take it.”

“Alright, send me a link to your song when you have it.”

Harley hesitated between two songs. Finally, he took a deep, shuddering breath, and chose. 

He sent it to Peter. 

“I’ll go find my spare set of headphones while you find your song,” he said, getting up and walking to one of his shelves. 

“Don’t bother, I have mine with me.” Peter pulled his earbuds out of his pocket. “Just sent yours through.”

“Great, thanks.” He connected his headphones and clicked on the song. 

Don’t you hear me? I’m talking to you. Across the water, across the deep blue ocean, under the ocean sky, oh my-

Harley glanced up at Peter before looking back down at his phone just so he could gauge his reaction. He knew he picked a risky song, but it was about time he took a risk. 

Peter needed to hear it. 

Finding that song without Peter’s influence was a miracle. He was always the one who liked sci-fi books. Hitchhikers was his favorite. 

Still, Harley loved that song, it always made him think of Peter. 

You make it easier when life gets hard. I’m lucky I’m in love with my best friend-

His eyes shot back up. What? This song reminded Peter of him?

There was almost a whole minute after Harley’s song ended before Peter’s did. Harley knew because he counted the seconds, holding his breath. 

“Are you making fun of me?” Peter asked. “Because honestly, I’m flattered, and this song is… Harley? Are you okay?”

“Are you in love with me?” Harley asked quietly. Breathlessly. He could feel his face burning. 

Peter’s mouth opened but no sound came out. 

“It’s a yes or no question Peter. Because if you’re not, and if you’re mocking me, you’d better knock it off.”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes I’m in love with you.”

Harley stared at him for a moment. “Holy fucking shit.”

“I’m sorry. If that freaks you out, I can-”

Harley launched himself off the bed and dragged Peter up out of his chair. 

“Oh my god, please don’t hit me.”

“Don’t be an idiot. Can I kiss you?”

“What?”

“Can I kiss you?” Harley repeated. “Because I really want to kiss you right now.”

“Okay.”

Kissing Peter felt like coming home. 

When they came apart, Harley let out a hysterical giggle. 

“What now?”

He looked at Peter with a smile. “It really is my lucky day.”

[thehollowprince]

Let's talk about Wrongslide...

I've EXPRESSED before my disappointment (and anger) at Rockslide's death back during the X OF SWORDS event in 2020. And to add insult to injury, ever since his death at the hands of Summoner, we barely saw him... or, whoever was resurrected in his place.

In the most recent issue of X-Men: RED, we finally got to see this character, Wrongslide, as the kids call him, and he was no longer the barely-coherent, child-like character that was brought back. He spoke, and not only spoke, but spoke eloquently and showed that there was an actual character under the recognizable outer image.

Not to mention a self-awarness that we sometimes don't get from long established characters.

We have what is basically a new character (for all intents and purposes) openly acknowledging that his very presence causes emotional harm to those who knew Santo, not because of anything he did purposefully, but because or his resemblance to their friend.

The only other time I can recall something similar happening within the X-Books was when it came to Madelyne Pryor and the fact that she's a clone of Jean Grey. Most recently, in the early pages of Zeb Wells' HELLIONS run, where while not openly acknowledged, it was heavily implied that the reason the Quiet Council decided to not resurrect Maddie had to do with her appearance and how it made Jean and Scott feel. Nothing at all like what we've seen with Wrongslide, where we do get the former, but we also get acknowledgement from Wrongslide himself, as well as his thoughts on the matter.

And it makes me glad that we're finally talking about Death in an age of mutant immortality, recent events during the Hellfire Gala and the Eve of Judgment Day notwithstanding.

I was just as excited about the prospect of resurrection for mutants when Hickman took over the X-Office, if for no other reason than to see characters that were killed off for the shock value of it, characters that had so much potential and were now suddenly back on the board and ready to go. But along with that, we now had the moral quandary of "what next?"

What happens when death is meaningless?

We saw glimpses of it Si Spurrier's WAY OF X, with Kurt worried about what immortality was doing to mutants, particularly the children, with them treating it like a joke or a thrill. I'm glad for the conversation started in that book and I'm glad for the continuation of that conversation here. Not just with Wrongslide, but with Magneto on the Great Ring and Storm and the Galactic Council. While I was all for Storm telling off Orbis Stellaris, he did have a political point to counterweight the philosophical point.

What happens if your leaders can't die?

And as Magneto pointed out, he didn't want to end up like Moira, cracking under the weight of all those years and becoming an immortal despot.

Wrongslide answered those questions, the conversation flowing between all three parts (Magneto and the Great Ring, Storm and the Galactic Council ans Wrongslide and Sunspot) before the natural conclusion to the question of Death was said out loud.

It is life.

What is the purpose of life if it doesn't end? Do they all become like Sinister or Moira, obsessed with whatever they set their minds toward? I hope not. Personally, I love this whole issue (i love this whole run), because it acknowledges that life ends and starts again. And I love that Wrongslide openly says it.

I also love Berto's panicked expression

Overall, I love Wrongslide's take on the whole situation, particularly his specific circumstances where his progenitor died in Otherworld, thus paving the way for this lovely person we've now received. It offers a new perspective on death and life in a time where a lot of Marvel characters have "conquered" death.

And it brings me to my point (a point finally emerges), which is that the entire commentary of this issue reflects Marvel comics (really all comics) as a whole. We often mourn a character, not only when they die, but when they transfer from one writer to another, from one artist to another. We mourn the version of them that we've come to love, but they're just transitioning to the next stage of their "life", which will happen again, sooner or later.

There have been a number of characters that have changed hands where I've been either happy or sad at the new person controlling their strings. Quentin Quire, Akihiro, Betsy Braddock, Sabertooth, hell, even Sinister, have all gone from characters that I never particularly liked to characters I look forward to seeing. And that wouldn't have happened if they hadn't "died" and switched to a new creator.

It's like Tarot said during the X OF SWORDS event when Storm drew the Desth Card:

"Do not be afraid. This is not the card of failure and decay, but of the natural harvest. The season before can never come again. Metamorphosis."

So if there's a character you don't particularly like lately, whether it's how they're written or how they're drawn, just be patient and wait until their next Metamorphosis.

When all is said and done, even though I am still devastated by Rockslide's death and their (Marvel) general lack of dealing with it on an emotional level, I do enjoy this new incarnation and look forward to seeing him on Arakko in future issues of X-Men: RED as hinted at by Berto.

[oreoambitions]

I think we're alone now for supercorp! :)

If you'd asked Lena this time yesterday whether there was anything she wasn't prepared to do for friendship, she'd have said no. Certainly there was nothing she wasn't prepared to do for Andrea, best friend and roommate, social mentor, fellow genius entrepreneur-to-be. But if you ask Lena today, she'll tell you there's precisely one thing she's not willing to do for friendship, no not even for Andrea, not even if the fate of the world depends on it, and that's hiking.

Specifically backpacking. More specifically, multi day backpacking trips with a gaggle of fellow undergraduates who want to behave like they're hiking the PCT and not trundling down some 60 miles of backwater footpaths just a few hours away from NCU in what was allegedly supposed to be an attempt to form long lasting social bonds but which appears to be in fact a thinly disguised mating ritual. This, in retrospect, is something that Lena should have seen coming. But she was blinded by friendship -  or perhaps by Andrea's pouty face - and so here they are some 16 miles from civilization and Lena has come to the conclusion that hiking is in fact literal hell.

By which she means that everything is burning. Her legs are burning. Her lungs are burning. Her throat is burning. Her lips are chapped and there is a distinctly red tinge to her cheeks which is either going to be a whole new generation of freckles or else it's the beginning of a skin cancer which will lead her to an untimely death and leave the Luthor legacy in Lex's questionably capable hands.

But more than any of those things it's Lena's pride which feels burnt to crisp, and it's the fault of the woman marching along in front of her like none of this is the slightest physical inconvenience. The woman who turns around and, walking backwards without missing a step, fixes Lena with a goofy smile.

"Hey Grumpy," she says, "You doing okay?"

Lena doesn't have the breath in her lungs to protest that Grumpy isn't her name, so she fixes the energetic woman in front of her with a deadpan stare and hopes that's going to do the trick. Ahead of them, Tech Support is talking too loudly about something that would be mildly interesting to Lena if they were, say, chatting over beers in a building with air conditioning and not courting death and mosquitos in the middle of nowhere and calling it fun.

"You need to take a break?"

Potsticker. That's the name Lena knows this woman by. Because everyone agreed ahead of time to go by trail names, and it's ridiculous, and Lena hates it, not only because she somehow got saddled with Grumpy, but because her eyes fall to those lips, those shoulders, and she wants to think some kind of semi-horny thought, and here's the thing: it's difficult to have semi-horny thoughts about someone whose name evokes the image of Chinese takeout. Lena tears her eyes away from long fingers wrapped securely around a backpack strap and tries to arrange her expression into something other than pure exhausted despair.

"I'm good," she gets out. "It's just. A lot."

And it is. Tech Support and Playboy are both vying for Andrea's attention, which is not in and of itself particularly strange since Andrea always seems to have a half dozen boys wrapped around her finger, but it is... annoying. Annoying because Andrea's trail name is Blowjob and it makes Lena uncomfortable in a way she can't quite put her finger on. And Potsticker's sister, Shades, has been falling all over a woman who has been unironically going by Daddy since she met up with them at the trailhead yesterday. Lena isn't sure if that's a sex thing or a gender thing and at this point she's afraid to ask.

Potsticker squints up the trail at their gaggle of hikers and smiles. Somewhere ahead, Dreamer is shouting about stopping to crack a beer, and Short Stuff is shouting something back about needing to check the GPS. 

"They're a little... rowdy," Potsticker admits. "Probably not what you picture when you think of a wilderness trip. But they'll grow on you."

Privately Lena thinks not. "Undergrad is where you make the best friends of your life, that's what Andrea told me," Lena huffs.

"Blowjob?"

"I spend all my time in the lab. Trying to graduate early. Two degrees. Lot of ground to cover. World isn't going to change itself. Not for the better, anyway. So we thought. Join a hiking group. NCU has a. Group for-"

Lena almost smacks into Potsticker where she's halted right in the middle of the trail. "I think we should take a break," Potsticker says.

"But the others-"

"Do you trust me?"

The answer to that question is an easy and obvious no. Lena didn't know any of these people a week ago and they're all going by assumed and frankly borderline obscene names and now that she thinks of it there's no way to be sure that any of these people actually attend NCU in the first place. But Potsticker is standing there in that tanktop with those deep blue eyes and her head cocked to the side and "no" doesn't feel like an appropriate answer.

So Lena says, "Of course."

"You want me to get your water off your pack for you?"

They stand together wordlessly in the middle of the trail, Lena taking sips from the HydroFlask she's schlepped all the way out there and Potsticker nibbling on the water valve looped through her pack straps. After a long moment, Potsticker cocks her head to one side again.

"You hear that?" she asks.

Lena listens. The wind brushes through the tops of the trees and nearby an insect is buzzing. The roar of the river they followed for some time this morning has long since faded into nothingness. "I don't hear anything," Lena says.

Posticker nods. "Exactly. I think we're alone now." And then, hastily, "I know where we're going though; we aren't lost. Alex - Shades - and I, we've done this trail a hundred times. Usually just us. But she's got this thing going with Sam, and Sam likes to do the hiking groups, so. What I'm saying is, it's a lot for me too. I come out here for the quiet. The group is nice; they really do grow on you. But it's... they're out here for something else. It's a more social experience."

"We were looking for a social experience," Lena says. Her eyes are drawn suddenly, intensely, to the rim of her water bottle. "Just not... just..."

"You weren't looking for 60 miles of frat party."

"That's a little on the nose."

"Look me in the eye and tell me that I'm wrong."

Lena looks her in the eye. No words come out. Potsticker is suddenly very close, or maybe Lena is suddenly too aware of her proximity.

"That might be what Andrea came out here for," Lena says. "And there's no shame in that. But I think if I had known I would have stayed home. I'm not- I don't think Andrea and I are looking for the same things."

"And what are you looking for?"

Lena is definitely not imagining it; Potsticker is absolutely getting closer to her and it's absolutely on purpose. And those deep blue eyes have fallen to Lena's mouth and Lena, who has spent the last 24hrs annoyed with her best friend for flirting with everything on the trail with a male pronoun, who is out here actively complaining about how she came looking for community and found a wilderness matchmaking service, is seriously considering whether it's hygienic or legal to rail someone right here in the middle of the trail.

Lena clears her throat. "I am, against my better judgment, going to kiss you now," she announces. "And I'd really like it if before I did you could give me something to call you that isn't so... greasy."

Potsticker laughs. She ducks her head to capture Lena's mouth and for a long, glorious moment, grease is the furthest thing from Lena's mind. It's a clumsy kiss, and the backpacks are not conducive to really holding one another, and it mostly hurts when Potsticker brushes a thumb over Lena's cheek because of that damn sunburn. But Lena smiles anyway.

It’s another 6 miles before she realizes that Potsticker never gave up her name.

///

Thank you for the prompt, Anon! 

Shout-out to @mrsluthordanvers for Sam's trail name

[redinkrain]

Beautiful madness.

1.

Waverly left the Vera-Vaughn-Greenwood manor moments later, promising Abby to reach out as soon as her daughter was in safety and that she gathered some more information on the artifact Abigael was looking for.

It let an odd feeling in the Demon Overlord mind, like a blur she couldn’t quite figured out. After a lifetime of loneliness, hatred and resentment, here she was, making plan with her long lost sister to burglarize the only antique allowing her to restore Macy’s fire power. A step closer to her long journey to redemption.

Will she even get there someday?

Lost in her own torturous thoughts, the British Lady didn’t hear the witch that changed her whole perspective, talking to her.

“Abby?” Mel repeated, a concerned frown marking her face.

No answer. So the witch held out her hand and took one of Abigael’s in her own trying again “Abby, are you okay?”

It worked. The Demon Overlord seemed to get out of her hypnotic state, looking at their joined hands. Eyes fascinated; like it was the most precious thing in the world. Suddenly something must have clicked in her because in a movement of panic she brutally let go of Mel’s hand and took two steps back.

“Have this unannounced pregnancy made you lost your mind as well as your memory? What about theallergy, Mel?” Abby asked in an irritated tone but the concern was crystal clear for the Vera sister.

Mel voice was soft when she simply replied “Shush it, demon spawn!”.She then closed the distance between them and took both of Abigael’s hands in hers. “See? Baby and I are good! Don’t worry.” Her smile grew some more at Abby’s awe.

“But- How?” it was so quiet that Mel almost missed it.

“I’m not really sure, but it must be the baby.”

Abigael said nothing. Eyes glued to their hands as their fingers intertwined. They stayed silent for some times. Abby didn’t dare to move an inch, a bit scared that the moment might end. For her part, Mel attentively observed The Demon Overlord’s expression the entire time. She would be lying if she said that nothing in her was liking the way Abby was looking so adoringly at their joined hands. But then, their eyes locked and Abigael had that same look on her face than the one she had when Mel asked her if she was doing this just to make amends with Macy. They were telling more than what Abby was actually able or willing to say. In that instant, everything around them ceased to exist. They were so close that Mel’s round belly touched the half-demon half-witch front. Abby wouldn’t do anything unless she was certain of Mel’s consent and for now she wouldn’t ask…

Minutes passed by and still, they were looking at each, like it was the first time they actually saw one another. Without fuss. Without judgment. Mel’s heartbeat went crazy, she couldn’t clearly figured out what it was that made her breathless, but she let herself be lost in those hazel eyes that she learned to appreciate more than she should have.

Stuck, neither of the two women knew how to act around each other in this private moment, so Abby decided to crack a snarky remark to ease whatever was going on.

“Careful there Potion Princess, one might think that you want to steal a kiss from The Demon Overlord!” Abigael said on that tone that drove Mel mad. So she rolled her eyes in exasperation, but kept her hands firmly in the British Lady ones. Then a smirk appeared on her lips when she just retorted to that flirty comment with a sultry tone.

“What if it’s exactly what I want to do?”

She then started to caress Abby’s knuckles softly while The Demon Overlord lost her voice once again. She just kept those eyes on Mel’s, more piercing than ever. And Mel finally get what Abigael meant by “I care deeply about her” when the truth serum kicked in at her trial… Just like that, her heart stopped beating at the realization. Abigael didn’t care about her in a weird frenemy way. No. It was deeper. She cared about her in a romantic way. Everything kind of fell in place. “Our child”resonated in her head. How could she missed it? The change in the woman behavior before her, how she just stopped having one night stands and orgy with Susans. Yes, plural. How didn’t she saw it sooner? How her relationship with Abigael Jameson-Caine had grown and how close they had become.

After all, a few hours back, she confessed to the woman how scared of failing her baby she was. And in all of her softness Abigael find the right words to wipe away her doubts. She didn’t laugh, didn’t used this knowledge to make a sarcastic comment. She just comforted her.

And now Mel’s mind went crazy. Loaded with questions she didn’t wanted to acknowledge till now. What did she felt for the half-witch half-demon herself?

She cared about her, a lot. A lot more than she thought she actually did. But Ruby. Mel loved Ruby. They had been through so much and still, they were together. Stronger than ever. That was what the witch was thinking. What she was feeling. And yet, she couldn’t stopped herself to wonder who was the baby’s other mother?

Abigael kept her lips sealed at first, but after some times she titled her head slightly to the side a bit worried about Mel’s own thoughts.

“Are you alright Angry Spice?” gently tightening the hands in hers.

Mel took one last look in The Demon Overlord’s eyes and give her a small smile before letting go of her grip on Abigael, who already missed the contact she craved.

“Yeah. I’m a bit tired I guess with, you know, the baby, the demon, meeting your sister.” It wasn’t a lie, she was kind of exhausted of the day, but it wasn’t the entire truth.

“If I had known about your impromptu pregnancy Mel, I would not have come bothering you asking for your assistance when danger was involved. I swear.” The hybrid stated embarrassed.

“I know Abby. As you said at the door earlier, my sisters and I are usually the ones running to you for help. I’m glad you came and trusted me enough to introduce me to your sister and let me help you.” The Latina responded. “And, for what it worth, I’m proud of you Abby.”

“It worth more than you know.” Abigael smiled with her eyes. “I should go and let you rest then. You are, after all, bearing a tiny human in that belly of yours. Thank you again, for you help. I’ll see you Potion Princess”.

The Demon Overlord started phase-shifting when Mel gently wrapped her fingers around Abigael’s left wrist. She blocked her power and waited patiently for Mel to pursue what she had on her mind.

“Thank you for the crib and for those things you said about me having what it takes to be a good mom.” Mel really appreciated this reassurance the hybrid provided her.

“Well, you have nothing to thank me for. It’s all you Melanie.” She winked at the Vera witch and disappeared in a dark smoke.

Mel stayed in the middle of the room, closed her eyes, and let out a breath she didn’t remember holding back.

*****************

That night, Mel hadn’t slept a minute. Sure, when her sisters came home and told her all about The Whispering Evil, her freak out level went high. But if she was being honest with herself (which she usually is) her mind was preoccupied by all the questions she had about a certain brunette. “Ugh! Damn you Abigael Jameson-Caine!” she muffled in her pillow. She decided to go to the kitchen and for a drink, maybe that Valerian tea Waverly highly recommended her.

Then cup in hands, the witch sat on the couch in the living room. The one Abby slept on, when her demonic form tried to get rid of her. Sighing for thinking yet again of The Demon Overlord, the Vera witch took her phone and looked at the time. 3:00 AM. “How fitting!” she exhaled. She quickly taped a text to her girlfriend. Thirty minutes later, Ruby still hadn’t responded. “I guess some have less troubles to find sleep than others” Mel spoke a bit bored. Before she could changed her mind and against her better judgment, the witch decided to text Abigael.

3:33 AM – Potion Princess : Are you awake?

A minute later, dots appeared on Mel’s screen indicating that the hybrid was typing.

3:34 AM – Demon Spawn : No. I am actually asleep.

Mel rolled her eyes and cracked a smile at this response.

3:35 AM – Potion Princess : So… How are you able to answer my text if you’re asleep?

3:35 AM – Demon Spawn : My subconscious is especially productive at this time of night.

3:35 AM – Demon Spawn : I had some business to attend actually. Why are you awake?

3:36 AM – Potion Princess : Business? In the middle of the night? I can’t sleep.

3:36 AM – Demon Spawn : The perks of being The Demon Overlord if I may say. Is everything alright? Is our baby keeping you up that late?

The witch scrutinized her screen for a good minute, particularly those two words “our baby”. Again, Mel’s heart just stopped beating in her chest and she felt her cheeks burning. She debated with herself on how to answer properly.

3:38 AM – Potion Princess : Well, you’re the one that claimed the title… So, suck it up and deal with it! ;). Our baby uh? How did you come by this conclusion? But no, it’s not the baby that keeps me from sleeping. I just got a lot on my mind I guess.

Abby’s text was nothing but fast.

3:38 AM – Demon Spawn : You’re so sarcastic at this hour of the night. It’s quite delightful. Is there something you want to talk about? Maybe I can be of some sorts of assistance?

Mel didn’t missed how Abigael just eluded a part of her text.

3:40 AM – Potion Princess : You should go to bed. It’s late and your day was longer than mine apparently...

3:40 AM – Demon Spawn : Nonsense.

And just like that, Abigael appeared in the middle of the Vera-Vaughn-Greenwood living room, wearing a black trousers and a garnet satin shirt with a cleavage that left not much to imagination. Her hair were impeccable (as usual), and she wear those discrete gold hearings. She was still wearing her make-up. Mel glanced at her guest a little too long to go unnoticed by Abigael who just smirked at her when sitting next to the witch.

“So Velma Dinkley, what in that little head of yours prevents you to fall asleep?” Abby asked softly.

Melanie Vera rarely panicked at the thought of talking about feelings. Not with her sisters. Not with Harry. Not with Ruby. Ruby her girlfriend if she hadn’t mentioned it. But now, in front of one Abigael Jameson-Caine, she would gladly take off in a heartbeat. Also, she knew that if she wasn’t having this conversation, she’ll be self-deprived of sleep for the rest of her life. So, here she was…

“You, actually.” She confessed when meeting the half-demon half-witch eyes.

Abigael’s smirk was so infuriating, Mel already knew what was coming for her next.

“Having naughty thoughts about us?” Abby couldn’t bring herself to not take the bait on this one which just made her host rolled her eyes even more exasperatedly.

“Abby! Can you stop please. I’m trying to have a serious conversation here.” the Latina said. Because having this particular talk at almost 4 in the morning was the responsible thing to do. Good job, Mel.

The British Lady took one look into the Vera sister eyes to know that this conversation was important to her. So, she clenched her jaw, and silently promised herself to do her best.

“I apologize. What about me, Potion Princess?” She asked curiously facing the Charmed One.

“We never spoke about what you said during the trial…” Damn it! She completely sucked at starting this topic.

“Oh, you mean when Perky Peanut gave me truth serum against my will and so forced me to answer truthfully at questions I would have rather lied about?” A hint of resentment was obvious in her tone.

Mel put a hand on Abigael’s forearm to soothe her. It seemed to work, because the hybrid closed her eyes for a second before pursuing.

“I imagine you want to have a conversation about what I said about you, isn’t it?” She didn’t dare to look at Mel.

“Yes.” the witch whispered. “Did you meant what you said?”

Abby laughed at that. It wasn’t a full laugh, but still, the Latina hadn’t heard her guest laughed a lot.

“Mel, you do know how truth serum works, right?” The British Lady furrowed her brow in question.

“Yeah I do, but you know what I meant.” Melanie replied as if the question was crystal clear.

“So, what you truly asked was if I still mean it right now?” Really, she guessed her best.

The witch only nodded in approval.

“Well, in all honesty, it is a question that is hard to answer to.” The Demon Overlord observed Mel’s reaction.

“How come?” Mel simply asked, when she could heard the frantic beating of her heart in her chest.

Abigael gave her a small smile, one that would be imperceptible for a stranger.

“I do not know any words that would reflect what you mean to me, Melanie.” Again, the witch heart skipped a beat at the use of her first name. “I do not know when neither do I know how you became such an important part of my life but every chance I get to spend time with you I learn to know why.” She paused to gather her thoughts. “So yes, Melanie Vera, I care deeply about you. More than I ever cared about anyone to this day. Really, I just want you to be healthy, to be happy.” Mel sat still, incapable of breathing, too struck by Abby’s confession, by the vulnerability that she was showing to her. Speechless. “And, don’t be mistaken, I expect nothing from you. I would not dream of it. I know my place and how unworthy I am to ever be a part of your happiness. I woul-”.

The half-demon half-witch was cut off by a pair of lips on her own. Surprised, she closed her eyes and kissed Mel back. It was gentle, like caressing velour for the first time. They were both afraid that the moment was in fact a dream. Then the witch place a final peck on Abby’s lips before retreating.

“Sorry, I didn’t asked for you consent.” Mel whispered.

“For this? You always have it.” Abby replied softly. “Will my answer be of any help?”

“I’m sure it will. Thank you for being honest.” The Vera sister replied, even though she wanted to say more.

“Alright, I leave you to it then. Have a good night, Melanie.” The British Lady focused on Mel’s eyes.

“Goodnight, Abigael. And again, thank you.” The which said just before a cloud of dark smoke made her guest disappeared.

Mel didn’t slept better after that. Her lips haunted by Abby’s and the taste of her tongue against hers.

It’s 8 AM sharp when she got a text from Ruby. And then, a storm was raging within the witch heart.

[sleepy-exe]

Mechanic AU - 1

Kyoutani x f!reader

Part 1 | Part 2 >>

Summary: Y/n spends her days working as a mechanic for Keishin’s garage and her nights with her roommate and dog. Judgmental looks are easily ignored, but some things don’t escape her attention.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings/Genre: sfw, 18+ regardless/minors dni, some sexism but otherwise none

a/n: wow about fucking time eh? I’m finishing up part 2 soon, but will probably update my other fic first. Part 2 is not in the garage I swear the entire fic does not take place with Y/n at work

Part 1: She’s A Mechanic

You were used to the stares. The disapproving looks from customers not expecting a woman working in the shop. Not on their cars at least. And if they weren’t showing their displeasement, then the staring usually indicated surprise. Surprise to see you under the hood of their van or returning the keys to their truck with oil and dirt smeared on your clothing, hands, and sometimes face. No, they would have thought you’d be the one setting up their appointment or ringing up their total.

At this point in your career as a woman mechanic, you don't pay much attention to the staring. It’s nothing new to you, and you’re sure it's something you’ll always see. Anymore, you’re mostly amused by the change in their expressions once they realize you are plenty capable of your job. How a look of shock replaces their judgemental gaze after watching you complete services on their vehicles with ease.

But when you walk up to the owner of the Subaru WRX STI you just finished servicing, a brooding man dressed in all black with piercings littering his ears and a hint of eyeliner around dark eyes, you can’t help but feel like his scowl isn’t exactly aimed at you. Well, technically it seems he’s glowering at his phone as he taps away at the screen.

His car‘s in for brakes and tires, but when you picked up the keys Kiyoko mentioned there were concerns over an overheating issue that the man believed to be happening randomly. After completing the brake job and installing new tires, you played around with the car until you could find what the issue might be. A couple of test drives and searching for possible answers later, you came to the conclusion that the A/C system seems to sometimes pull too much power making the engine overheat in response. Unfortunately, A/C work isn’t something you do and are not comfortable working with, and the only mechanic in the shop that does work on that is on vacation.

You approach the angry looking blond with a smile on your face, rubbing a rag over any grease left on your hands. “Hey! Kyoutani-san?” The car’s owner is leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a boot up on the wall as well, even though there is seating available. Phone in hand had his full attention, at least until now. Thumbs freeze on the screen and brown eyes flicker up to yours.

“Kyoutani,” the man nearly growls back. He slides the phone into a pocket of his black jeans, scowl unwavering.

Ignoring his imposing demeanor, you tuck your rag through a belt loop at your hip, smile never fading. “Ah, gotcha. Anywho, the brakes and tires on the WRX are all taken care of. I checked out the overheating issue you brought up, that is a bit strange. I believe it actually has to do with your A/C, it might be drawing too much power - think an electrical issue of sorts. I, myself, don’t work on A/C, but it's something you’re gonna wanna have taken care of if that’s something you want to keep working. In the meantime, try not to use it - looks to me like when it does cause overheating, it happens fast. Could be a sensor or switch, maybe. If you have someone you prefer to go to for that sort of thing, great! If not, we have someone who does it, but he won’t be in until Tuesday.”

A barked laugh pulls your attention to another customer. An older man sitting in the corner of the waiting room, giving you a look meant to shame you. Something you've seen plenty of before. “Wait now, you’re a mechanic? I wouldn’t want you working on my car.”

This shit again..

Your eyebrows furrow at him, but you quickly recover. Displaying a bright smile, “Yeah-“

“I bet she’s a hell of a lot better than you could possibly be,” Kyoutani snarls.

Wide-eyed, you glance between the two quietly for a moment. The other man snapped his mouth shut and turned his head away. You cock a brow and look back to the blond. “Well, uh.. Sawamura is the only one we have right now that works on anything A/C, but like I said, he won't be back until Tuesday. But if you have someone else, that’s fine. Just get it looked at.” You shoot the older man a quick glare, then direct Kyoutani to follow you out the door. “If there’s anything else I can help you with, let me know. Otherwise, I’ll direct you to Shimizu.”

Kyoutani follows you out of the waiting room to where Kiyoko should be stationed behind a counter, but she isn’t there when you walk in. Lips pursed, you look awkwardly about the room for a second then look his way again. “Ah, she should be back any minute.. Also, uh, sorry about that. Some people just have to butt in and make comments.” You give him a grin sheepishly.

“He shouldn’t have said anything.” Hands pressed into the pockets of his leather jacket and a scowl still on his face, he barely looks at you.

“Mm, well, thanks.” You resist the urge to rub your neck with your hands being less than clean at the moment. Instead, you shove them in your pants pockets - the plus side to having found only men’s uniforms, usable pockets! “It’s not often that a customer speaks up for me. Appreciate it.”

As Kiyoko enters and makes her way back behind the counter, you wave a hand her way. “Ah! There she is.”

You head over to make sure Kiyoko has everything she needs for the transaction, then turn back to Kyoutani with a warm smile. “Well, I hope you have a good rest of your day, Kyoutani.” With a sharp nod in his direction, you spin on your heel and head back to the garage.

Entering the garage you’re greeted with the harsh sound of lug nuts being fired off a tire being reinflated on the tire machine and connecting with the ceiling. Your head snaps to the machine where Tanaka stood cackling like an idiot, leaning forward with his hands on his knees.

He wheezes between laughs. “Did you- Ah, man!”

You groan, walking over and smack the back of his head. “Dude, if Keishin catches you again-“

“Ow!” He rubs his head. “The hell, Y/n?!”

“Don't the hell me,” you grumble.

Tanaka and you are good friends and you love working with him. So much so that you hope he continues working here; assuming he never gets fired. He’s great at what he does, that isn’t an issue, but he’s always doing dumb shit like this that pisses off your boss. He especially gets into trouble when Noya is around.

“Yo! Y/n!” The two of you turn to the sound of Takinoue calling for you. “Want the next one or want to go to lunch now?”

Before you can answer, Tanaka interrupts, “Yuusuke, what about me?!”

“What about you!” Takinoue shoots a hand in the air pointing a finger at the lug nuts now wedged in the ceiling. “Looks like you’re pretty occupied right now!”

You laugh as the two blicker. As much as they claim to like each other, they yell and argue like an old married couple. You slap your hands on their shoulders. “I’m not hungry, boys. I’ll take the next one, then lunch.”

Turning away, you only make it a few steps towards the door and stop. “Hey Ryuu,” you draw, looking at the ceiling then to your friend and coworker. “Those aren’t from the car you're working on.. are they?”

“What,” Tanaka sputters, “Pssh! No! They’re extras.”

“Extras..” Your eyes narrow. ‘Extras’ as in from a box of new lug nuts you're sure, but..

You look back up at the surely damaged ceiling.

No. Not my problem.

Leaving the two to get the next car instead of worrying about the damage Tanaka has done, you head back to Kiyoko. Leaning over the counter on your tiptoes, you crane your neck to see the computer screen. There are two cars up next and since you’re the first one over here, you get first pick out of the two. One car is in for a list of things. The other, a Toyota Corolla, just needs an oil change and tire rotation. Picking the easier route, you grab the keys to the Corolla which had a pink pompom and what looked like a child’s craft attached to the keychain.

The voice of a young girl catches your attention while you look over the service list one last time before heading out for the car. You look over your shoulder in the direction the voice came from.

“Mommy!” A small girl points in your direction, eyes wide and bouncing on her toes next to where her mother is standing. “Is she fixing cars like grandpa?”

The mother places a hand over the girl’s hand. “It’s rude to point.” She glances your way with a smile. “She might.”

You hide your grin behind your hand and turn to the girl. “Yup, I fix cars.” Reaching a hand out, you jingle keys in front of you. “And if you have the car to these, I’m working on it now.”

The girl gasps and snaps her head to her mother. “Those are your keys! Right? Right?”

She hums an agreement with a nod, brushing stray hairs out of the child’s face.

“Can I help! Grandpa lets me help!”

“He lets you bring him tools.” The woman shook her head. “We don’t want to bother her while she’s working.”

“Hmm, well.. It isn’t safe in the garage, so you can’t go in there to help.” You give the mother a wink and a smile. “But the garage doors are open.. Anywho! I have to get back to work fixing those cars, huh?”

With a wave you turn to leave the building.

Making your way through the parking lot clicking a button on the key fob, you quickly found the red Toyota Corolla the keys go to and hopped in. You back the car into the garage so the front will face the garage door, opposed to just pulling in as usual. That way if the mother and child come by they will kind of be able to see what’s going on. Once you have the car parked in the garage and get everything ready, you get the tire rotation out of the way before getting to work on the oil change.

At this point you're ready to drain the old, dirty oil. While operating the lift your attention is focused on the car lifting in the air high enough for you to walk under, but not so high that you can't reach what you need. Eyes on the Corolla, you fail to catch Takinoue walking your direction.

“Car’s backwards,” he says with a chuckle as he walks to the minicar he’s been working on.

“Ha. I had no clue. How’d that happen,” voice monotone, you roll your eyes. Grabbing a few sockets and walking under the car, you look up to find where the oil plug and filter are located on this particular model and nudge an oil drain pan in the right direction when you spot the bolt you are looking for. You find the right size socket on your second try and then trade the other sockets for a socket wrench.

Lefty loosey..

Popping the socket over the oil plug, you give the wrench a few hard tugs, but it’s on tight. You give it a few more tries before stepping back and grabbing a large wrench from your workbench to hook around the handle of your socket wrench, giving yourself more leverage and a better advantage against the over-torqued bolt. With the oil plug loose enough, you opt to use your hand to unscrew it the rest of the way, allowing dirty oil to run free from the vehicle and into the oil drain pan.

The voice of the young girl catches your ear. “Eww!!”

Turning to the girl you could see her pointing towards the car with a hilariously disgusted look on her face. Her mother standing next to her, phone in one hand and her daughter’s hand in the other.

“Heh, yeah. Pretty gross,” you say while grinning at her. You throw the mother a smile as well.

Wiping your fingers clean of any oil that got on them, you grab the new oil filter for the Corolla and look at a book the shop keeps with information on what filters go with what cars. It’s a useful tool itself, giving you numbers for oil filters, air filters, and so on for any car built in the last 25 plus years - even the import cars. You confirm once again that you do in fact have the correct filter and head back under the car.

“It looks like it's peeing,” the girl watches the remaining oil leave the car.

You quietly giggle at her. “Ah, yeah?” You glance at the dark oil, noting that it’s about finished draining, and move to the new filter, rubbing a little oil around the o-ring. “Well, I don’t think pee’s supposed to look like that.”

You miss the girl nodding fiercely.

Setting the new filter aside, you return to the car again, this time reaching for the oil filter. Thankfully whoever installed it didn’t crank it down like the oil plug. As you loosen the filter dark oil spills out and over your hand and into the drain pan below. You let some of the oil drain before completely removing the filter and dumping it below, dropping it in the drain pan for now.

“Almost done!” You announce to the girl, pulling the rag hanging from a belt loop to wipe your arm down before grabbing the oil plug and returning it to the empty oil pan, being sure not to over-torque it. You install the new oil filter and wipe your hands off again.

“See!” Moving everything out from under the car, you move to the lift and press a button to slowly lower the car back to the ground. You call out, “Going down!”

Under the hood, you toss a fender cover over the front of the car before removing the oil cap and replacing it with a funnel. You look over your shoulder to the mother. “I already checked everything earlier after I- Oh! I already rotated your tires too.”

“Everything’s fine?” The mother asks as she picks up her daughter, sitting her on her hip.

You grab the new oil for her car. “Yup, all good! Though you’ll probably need a new air filter next time.”

Leaning lightly against the car, you pour oil into the funnel, careful not to spill any when you pull back. Checking the dipstick you confirm you added the right amount of oil, then remove the funnel and check that you’ve replaced the dipstick and oil cap nice and snug.

“Okay! I’m gonna start ‘er up.” You move to the side of the car and realize the lift arms are still under the car. Kicking them out of the way, you return to the driver’s side to pop in the door and start the car, letting the new oil circulate for a moment and checking for leaks before turning off the engine again.

Making your way back to the front of the car, you see the girl giggling in her mother’s arms. You look everything over and check the oil level one last time before pulling the fender cover off the car and over your shoulder, throwing the hood down.

“Alright, why don’t you two go back inside and Shimizu will get you all taken care of. I’ll bring her your keys in just a minute.” You give the woman and her child a warm smile.

The woman nods and turns away. Her daughter waves at you from her mother’s arms as she’s carried away. You, of course, return the wave before turning away as well.

You quickly grab your tools and carry them back to your workbench, throwing them roughly where they belong.

“Look who’s all smiley.”

You glance to your left to see Takinoue standing next to you. “What?”

He points a finger at your face. “You. Didn’t realize you liked kids so much.”

You huff out a laugh and grab a clean rag off your station. “When a little girl shows interest in something like this?” You rest your palms on the bench, looking over your dirty station and dirty hands. “In something people will try to convince her she can’t do? I can’t not show her that she can if she wants to.”

You push off the bench and head for the red Toyota to park in the lot so you can return the keys.

Takinoue watches as you walk away, speaking too quietly for you to hear, “Hits close to home, huh.”

Part 2 >>

[eliemo]

Silence Speaks

Summary: Virgil can't get out of bed. Days like this are nothing new, he just doesn't know how his new family will react to him being so pathetic.

TWs: Depression, depressive episode, brief death mention, self-hatred, temporary nonverbal episode

Notes: Found this fic in my drafts from a few months ago, so I cleaned it up to post since LB and Permafrost are taking a bit. Enjoy <3

Virgil knew it was going to be one of those days when the third hour passed with no change.

Everything was too much. His chest hurt, every breath was just too much work, all he wanted was to sink into the blankets and sleep the rest of his life away. He’d been staring blankly at the wall since he’d woken up, curled up on his side with tears pooling in his eyes. He couldn't get up, couldn’t get back to sleep, couldn’t even call out to ask for help.

It had been a while since he’d had a day like this, when just the thought of getting out of bed made him sick,

They’d used to be more frequent, back when Virgil was alone and shut out, hated and scorned by the people he just wanted to protect. The resentment took its toll, and sometimes he couldn’t find a reason to get out of bed.

It wasn’t supposed to happen anymore. He was supposed to be over this. He was supposed to be better.

He had everything he’d ever wanted. He had his family, Thomas listened to him, and he wasn’t just needed- he was wanted.

He was wanted. He knew he was. Sometimes it was just...hard to convince himself of that, despite the overwhelming amount of kindness he’d been given for months now, the reassurances and patient understanding that felt too good to be true.

But now here he was again, unmoving in the dark of his own room, closed off like the brooding villain he was trying so hard not to be anymore.

God, he didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be anywhere. He didn’t want to be awake, he didn’t want to go back to sleep, and he didn’t want to get up and go downstairs.

He just...didn’t want to do this anymore.

Why couldn’t he just disappear?

Virgil thought he could hear voices downstairs, but nothing was really registering through the fog settling around his head. His room was pitch dark, the curtains pulled tightly shut, leaving it impossible to tell how much time had passed.

He thought it might have been a few hours by now, and he hoped everyone would just continue on with their day and leave him here forever, trapped in his own body with a brain stuck trying to sabotage his happiness. He’d fade away on his own, and they’d forget about him, never bothering to even question his absence.

Virgil knew better than to really believe that. A year ago he could have gotten away with it, he could lock himself up in the dark for days and nobody would care. They’d probably celebrate.

Now...now they would notice he wasn’t coming down for breakfast. He had a job to do, he had people who actually cared. Virgil couldn’t just lay here, pathetic and useless. He was letting himself waste away and fail everyone who had taken a chance on him. They’d given him so much. He couldn’t undo all that progress because he was feeling a little sad.

But he couldn’t get up. He couldn’t. It would be so much easier if he could just die.

Virgil still wasn’t sure how much time had passed, laying there wide awake without the energy to move a single inch, but suddenly a knock on the door sliced through the haze around his brain.

More tears gathered in his eyes, frustration and dread making his chest unbearably heavy. He didn’t want to be ridiculed and yelled at right now. He wasn’t ready to be forced out of bed, selfish as it was to want to stay here.

A few seconds passed before the door creaked open, light spilling in from the hall, the faint smell of coffee wafting into the room.

“Virgil?”

That was Logan, even though Virgil couldn’t bring himself to turn his head to look. The logical side’s voice was comforting and familiar, but he wasn’t sure he could handle his blunt judgment right now.

He’d think Virgil was ridiculous, his refusal to leave his room illogical and stupidly selfish. He’d made everyone worry for nothing. Anxiety was just being lazy again.

“Virgil, it’s almost eleven,” Logan said, and Virgil kind of wished he could just die right here and now. Death would get him out of being lectured. “You need to wake up and eat something. You missed breakfast.”

Virgil still couldn’t move, but his breath caught in his throat at the reminder. He knew he was being stupid, and he knew he was behind schedule, but the thought of food just made him feel nauseous.

He heard footsteps, carefully tracking Logan’s movements as he came closer and listened as he carefully set down what was probably a mug of coffee on the dresser.

“Virgil?” he called, and it was getting harder and harder to see as more tears built up. “Are you awake?”

Virgil still couldn’t bring himself to answer, even as Logan moved around to the side of the bed. Virgil didn’t glance up to his face, but there was no way Logan couldn’t tell that the anxious side’s eyes were open and aware.

He tensed, waiting for anger and judgment, or even just an annoyed huff. He waited to be told that it was easy to get out of bed and Virgil was just being difficult, that he needed to stop being so pathetic or they had no reason to keep showing him so much kindness.

He needed to be useful, or they wouldn’t want him around anymore.

But Logan was suddenly kneeling down to his level, eyes kind and worried behind his glasses.

“Are you alright?” he asked, frowning when Virgil just clenched his jaw in response. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Virgil couldn’t force words to form no matter how badly he wanted to, and to his dismay a few tears slipped free, trailing down his jaw and seeping into the pillow.

Logan’s expression softened, but the concern in his eyes only grew. He reached forward, slow and careful, and somehow Virgil managed to move just enough to latch desperately onto his hand.

He didn’t have the energy to choke out any apologies, although he was almost certain Logan was about to demand one.

“That is alright,” the logical side said instead. “You do not have to talk. Do you think you can manage a nod or headshake?”

Virgil forced himself to respond with the tiniest of movements, even though just reaching up to take Logan’s hand had felt like running a marathon.

“Alright,” he said gently. “Are you feeling ill?”

Virgil wished he was just sick. That would be so much easier to explain. Being sick was fixable, and it wouldn’t look like he was just making excuses to be lazy.

But he didn’t see the point in lying, and he certainly didn’t have the energy to deal with even more anger if he was found out. He managed a small shake of his head, even as Logan reached up with his free hand to carefully feel his forehead. He had to force himself not to lean into the touch.

“Are you in pain?”

Yes. Everything hurt so bad and he wanted it to stop. His chest felt like someone was sitting on it, his head felt like something was pounding at the back of his skull, and every bone in his body felt heavy and useless.

But he couldn’t say that, because he knew it was all in his head. It wasn’t real.

He shook his head again, choking on a small sob, and something like realization dawned in the other side’s eyes.

“I see,” Logan said. “Is this...just a bad day, then?”

Logan had finally figured it out, because of course he had. Virgil being stupid and useless probably wasn’t a difficult conclusion to come to, anyway.

He nodded, tense and staring at nothing as he waited for Logan to rip his hand away and demand Virgil grow up and stop wasting everyone’s time. Or maybe he’d just roll his eyes and leave, closing the door and locking Anxiety back in the dark where he belonged.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Logan said, and to Virgil’s surprise his hold only tightened. “Are you able to get out of bed?”

More tears welled up at the question, dread rising in his chest. Because he couldn’t imagine even standing up right now, but of course he couldn’t expect to be able to get away with that. Logan was being polite about it, but they had a schedule to stick to.

“It’s alright if the answer is no,” Logan continued. “I have no intention of forcing you. I only thought it might be easier to take care of you today if you’re set up on the couch.”

Wait...what? Take care of him?

Logan seemed to sense his confusion, and the hand that wasn’t currently being held hostage moved to run gently through his hair, smiling sadly at Virgil’s barely audible whimper.

“If you’re more comfortable here you can stay. But I know being left alone with your thoughts is not always...ideal. We can keep you company in the living room if you like. If you’re overstimulated, the lights will be kept dim, and the noise to a minimum.”

Virgil hesitated, trying to figure out if Logan was joking- or if this was some kind of cruel trick to teach him a lesson. They didn’t need to do anything. He didn’t deserve it. And he wasn’t sick, he was just being a baby.

Logan was suddenly cupping Virgil’s cheek, wiping tears away with his thumb. “There is nothing to be ashamed of, Virgil. Would you like help sitting up?”

And Virgil felt ridiculous, because he had no real reason to feel so weighed down, but he gave another timid nod.

Logan didn’t even hesitate before moving to help, a steadying hand against Virgil’s back as he guided him up to lean against the headboard. He didn’t complain, didn’t lecture Virgil about how inconsiderate he was being, just silently assisted and pulled away when he was done.

Again Virgil wanted to apologize, but the words got stuck in his throat, buried deep beneath the fatigue.

“There is no need for an apology,” Logan said, and Virgil wondered when he’d become so predictable. “If you aren’t able to walk, I’m sure Roman would be more than happy to carry you to the couch. I only need your permission to inform him and Patton of what is happening.”

Virgil wasn’t sick or injured, he was competent enough to get himself out of bed and down the stairs. People were busy, and he was already being awful by forcing Logan to stay.

But just the thought of getting out of bed and walking out of his room was enough to make him want to bury himself under the covers and dissolve into sobs. He curled in on himself and eyed Logan warily, hoping that was enough of an answer.

“Alright,” Logan said, squeezing Virgil’s hand. “I’ll go get him, just wait here a moment.”

Logan squeezed Virgil’s hand, and he’d known the logical side long enough to know the smile he sent was nothing but genuine.

Virgil felt cold when Logan pulled his hand away and moved off the bed, but being unable to talk meant he couldn’t call him back as he disappeared through the door.

He let out a shaky breath and pulled his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. He squeezed teary eyes shut as he rested his chin on his knees.

It couldn’t have been more than five minutes before Virgil heard footsteps in the hallway, his bedroom door creaking open as the creative side cautiously stepped inside the doorway with a small frown.

Virgil tensed, because if anyone was going to make fun of him for this it would be Roman- well meaning but so brash and over the top at times- and he could already picture Roman’s mocking laughter, his exasperation as he tried to just drag Virgil out of bed, his—

“Hey there,” Roman called, softer than Virgil could ever remember him sounding. “Feeling under the weather today, Stormcloud?”

Virgil shrugged, hunching his shoulders and staring at his own hands. From the look in the Prince’s eyes, it was clear he understood.

“That’s ok,” he said, ducking his head to meet Virgil’s eyes as he smiled and made his way to the bed. “Bad days happen, Doom and Gloom. You just have to ask for help.”

Virgil let out a pitiful whine, the closest he could get to telling Roman that he couldn’t. Even if he could, he didn’t know how. He’d never been able to ask for help before. The Prince’s smile turned sad, and he slowly lowered himself on the bed beside Virgil.

“I know,” Roman said, and Virgil watched as he opened his arms in a quiet invitation, looking so ridiculously hopeful. “But we’re here now.”

Virgil broke. What little walls he’d still been holding up crumbling at the Prince’s simple words, and he choked on a sob, vision blurring with the tears he finally allowed to fall. He collapsed forward into Roman’s chest, shuddering when strong arms wrapped around and pulled him close.

Roman didn’t speak, and he didn't force Virgil to even try, just held him tight and rocked them both on the edge of the bed, the Prince’s chin hooked over Virgil’s head, almost cocooning him in safety.

Roman held him, strong but gentle all the same, letting Virgil cry into the Prince’s shirt as long as he needed, hushing him through violent sobs. He didn’t rush him, didn’t tease or berate him, just kept him close and safe.

“I’m here,” he said when Virgil had quieted down a bit. “Is it ok if I take you downstairs now? Logan and Pat are worried about you.”

Virgil nodded with his face still buried in Roman’s chest, breath catching in his throat when the Prince carefully maneuvered them both towards the end of the bed. He kept one arm wrapped firmly around Virgil’s back, the other hooking under his knees.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered when Virgil clutched desperately at the back of his shirt, squeezing his eyes shut as Roman stood from the bed, Virgil secure in his hold. “We’ve all got you, Virge.”

Virgil kept his eyes closed, breaths coming out as nothing more than pitiful, hiccuping sobs. He didn’t want to be here, he didn’t want to talk to anyone, look at anyone, or be seen by anyone. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to exist today.

But Roman’s embrace made him forget that for just a moment. The memory of Logan’s comfort and the promise of Patton’s care made it just a little more bearable.

It was all a blur, Virgil barely able to focus on the world around him, overwhelmed and so so exhausted. The curtains in the living room were drawn, keeping the room comfortably dim, and Patton and Logan moved quietly, keeping everything blissfully peaceful.

Roman set him down on the couch, letting Virgil curl up on his side and pull the nearest blanket over him, taking a moment to run his fingers through the anxious side’s hair.

Patton kneeled beside him, searching his watery eyes for silent permission before leaning in to kiss Virgil’s forehead with a soft smile.

“Hey kiddo,” he said, just as loving as Logan and Roman had been. “You want your old dad to make you some hot chocolate?”

Virgil blinked, not sure how to respond to that. It sounded nice, but...but he was already convincing them enough. They were all busy, and probably annoyed and—

“It’s not an issue, honey,” Patton assured, like he could sense Virgil’s internal panic. “We didn’t have much planned for today. You can relax.”

He had his suspicions that Logan had actually just changed their schedule in favor of keeping an eye on Virgil while he rested, but he wasn’t exactly in the place to ask questions, as panicked as the thought made him. He’d make it up to them tomorrow.

Virgil couldn’t quite look Patton in the eyes, but the parental side seemed so eager to help, and...hot chocolate didn’t sound terrible. He gave a hesitant nod, chest loosening a bit at the way Patton positively beamed.

Patton hurried into the kitchen, only to come back less than five minutes later with the biggest mug Virgil had ever seen, overflowing with marshmallows and whipped cream. Roman perched on the arm of the couch, close enough to keep running his fingers through Virgil’s hair.

“Just rest, Virgil,” Logan said, smiling when Virgil took his hot chocolate with unsteady hands. “We can put on a movie if you like. Or we can leave you alone if you’re overwhelmed.”

Virgil bit his lip, a few stray tears still running down his cheeks and dripping onto the couch. It was a bad day, not his first and definitely not his last but it wasn’t the worst he’d ever had. It was already getting a little better.

He took a steady breath, raising his head to meet Logan’s eyes, mustering what little energy he had to force his voice to work again, the words small, breathy and ragged, but clear all the same.

“Stay? Please?”

Logan smiled, Roman scooted closer, and Patton gave Virgil’s forehead another kiss. They gathered around him on the couch, similar to how they usually ended up after a bad panic attack.

Roman and Logan ended up on either side of him, while Patton let Virgil put down his mug for a second to wrap his arms around the moral side’s waist, relishing in the warmth of one of Patton’s hugs.

There had been more days like this than Virgil could count, everything weighing down on him until he just wanted to disappear. He’d never...had this before. He’d always been alone, locking himself away until he could face his own existence again.

This time his family was on all sides, Patton holding him tightly, Logan taking his hand, Roman still playing with his hair, reminding him that it would be ok soon. He had a reason to fight through it.

Virgil couldn’t bring himself to thank them, not out loud again, but he knew they understood.

[essektheylyss]

It is fascinating that Essek’s identity is wrapped in both his religious upbringing and his scientific agnosticism and it feels so real to me that I struggle to even convey it. Contrasting this episode with some of his comments in 91 and 97, you can see the conflict between these, especially now that they’ve uncovered these findings in the Aeorian ruins.

He describes the Dynasty’s religious beliefs at their dinner as being “based on myth and intepretation” and “based on assumption, on existing scripture written by individuals hundreds and hundreds of years ago.” And really his concern is that the religious aspect is in fact a distraction—“these artifacts, I theorize, have nothing to do with a divine being but are just perhaps artifacts designed in the Age of Arcanum that have been misread.”

He does mention that the Luxon seems to be some kind of entity, or at least refers to it as such, but he actually suggests what Caleb does later—theorizing that the beacons are not divine at all, and are in fact only Age of Arcanum artifacts, and as such believes that because they are distracted with worship, “only the surface has been scratched of what’s possible.”

And he reiterates that in his confession as well! “There are so many mysteries around these beacons, around dunamis, what it’s capable of.” He truly doesn’t know what’s beyond the applications of what he’s studying are, and he really doesn’t know anything about them beyond what is mythologized and what power they have already uncovered.

Now, contrast that to 124:

Veth: “The beacon's design? As in these things were made by man? I thought they were gifted by a god or something.”

Essek: “I do not believe that they are made by anyone but the Luxon. They are of the Luxon. But they've been around since the Luxon's been in Exandria, which is the beginning. So it is possible that there may be one or more beacons that they uncovered long before we did. And if that's the case, that brings the Dynasty that much closer to bringing the Luxon together. So this is very much important. And these are only recent findings.”

Which is a very different tune from his ideas at dinner! And this was behind closed doors, where he was willing to speak openly of dealings with the Assembly, naming Ludinus and Trent out loud, so it does not seem to be a charade to appease those in the Dynasty who may overhear his sacrilege.

It makes me wonder what findings they actually have—to me it sounds like perhaps what they have uncovered in Aeor is evidence that these beacons are far older than the Age of Arcanum, that they may date to the origins of Exandria itself—which aligns with the Luxon creation myth as described in EGTW:

“According to the teachings of the Kryn and the Umavi who scribe their faith, it is believed that long before the gods of Exandria came to shape this world, there was a time when a single Light came from the dark nothingness. Other lights came into being around them, settling as the stars in the cosmos. This one Light, however, resisted the force that beckoned them to burn like their star-fated brethren. This one Light wanted to understand what they were and chose to wander alone, choosing a different path. This choice led to endless stretches of lonely dark, the voices of the stars silent to the Light that walked away. Lonely, they wandered until they found a cold, dark rock: a world. The Light grew fond of this rock, seeing it as lonely as they were, and embraced it. They sparked a fire within, crackling the surface and giving fiery life to the cold world.”

But he also touches on the other part of this myth—that the Luxon can be reassembled! And still Essek doesn’t describe why, really, and I’m very interested if he is merely striving for something, anything, that will make things make sense* or if there’s evidence pushing him to this conclusion that they’ve found in the ruins.

Even here, he doesn’t describe what he believes will happen when the Dynasty assembles the beacons—I want to contrast two parts of EGTW here:

The ending of the Origins of the Luxon section says:

“This act exhausted the Light, and they fell into a deep slumber within the core of the world, awaiting a time where the children of their own mind would learn from life to life, through eons of struggle and self-reflection, until the knowledge had matured enough to reassemble them, awaken them, and the children could grant the answer to the question the Light had sought from the very beginning: what are they and what was their purpose?”

Meanwhile, the Kryn Dynasty section in chapter two says:

“It is believed that once all the beacons are brought together, the Luxon will be summoned from their slumber to ask their children the great question and impart the truth. It is said that at this time, the Luxon will take those who entered the consecution and abandon this lesser world to start a new world elsewhere.”

First of all, one of these suggests that the point of assembling these beacons is to receive an answer and also leave this world, while the other suggests that they will be asked to give an answer. Is this something Essek thinks he can achieve? Second of all, it is interesting because we know he himself is not consecuted (though he lied to the Nein that he was—which is another giant mystery because hey Matt, what the fuck) and is therefore not in fact what the Dynasty would consider among the “children” of the Luxon. But he believes that this is important in some way. Why is it important to him, given he doesn’t seem to believe he will be accepted again in the Dynasty even with a victory here, given that he is not one of these children?**

It just feels very real to his experience—that he adjusts even his view of his family’s religion when presented with new information, that he is open to change in many regards, that he is warring with a want to believe (cue X-Files theme) because he has grown up so isolated within an entire society that he disagreed with. It’d be natural to want to find proof that perhaps your mother was right, that not everyone around you was clouded—that you were in fact the one who was wrong in this regard as well.

And perhaps this goes along with another viewpoint he has recently adopted: “I have been clouded in my judgment many times for a lot of my life.” Is it possible he has leaned further into the religion in an internal sort of penance and shame for his arrogance? I have no idea. But I’m hoping once we dive into Aeor, we come across some of this iconography he referenced, so maybe he can shed some further Light on the matter.

*I’ve written in the past that Essek, former gifted kid as he is, really never suggests a goal or motivation beyond just achievement. There’s interest in climbing the political ladder, of course, but even that feels hollow given he is seeking some kind of nebulous idea of what applications could be uncovered—applications that he can only theorize about, especially given the one potential application we know of, time travel, seems to be something that, up until recently, he believed rather dangerous to attempt. Which is in itself another question—was there further confirmation of that being possible as well?

**It’s been suggested that perhaps Essek underwent consecution and it didn’t stick but he believes himself consecuted, which I do not ascribe to for a few reasons that I won’t get into, but it’s worth mentioning here.

[mooifyourecows]

if you have any advice to spare id much appreciate it: i am an extremely socially anxious person and im in university now and my prime worry has always been that i won't be able to make friends. ive had bad experiences in middle/high school with unfriendly peers and being lonely for basically a year, but my uni classmates and peers are genuinely so sweet and they try to include me or call out to me and it makes me happy but also just constantly somewhat on edge and anxious. i still feel like a complete outsider and that they're inviting me out of pity, but i won't actually be able to be friends with them. they all clearly have a fun, inside-jokey, close friendship with one another and i feel like an intruder. i don't know what to do because i really wanted to grow out of being socially anxious and i feel like an embarrassing schoolkid who's just known for being shy and just never grows past that. i feel guilty for my classmates too, because i don't want to be the awkward catalyst between them. im just really stuck and cry every time i get back to my dorm when the social event is over and i know that's entirely on me. my classmates are trying to help me get out and trying to socialize with me and i just clam up and get fidgety and scared. do you have any tips on....socializing? or tamping down being anxious?

i really relate to you Anon! i'm also super socially anxious and don't do well in groups of people, especially when I'm not very close with any of them.

i know when you're anxious like that, it's pretty normal to think that you're a weirdo or you don't fit in or they can't possibly like you, but those are just your own insecurities projecting themselves into what you THINK are other people's opinions.

think about if you were one of them, seeing you from the outside. wouldn't you try to genuinely bring this other person into your group so that you can become friends and they can feel included? or would you be looking at them like "wow they're so weird and off putting, i'm just going to invite them out of pity but not actually want them around."

you WOULDN'T think that, would you? because most people are kind. most people are always on the hunt for new friends, even when they're shy and anxious and struggle to work out social situations. most people WANT to see you step out of your shell and feel comfortable around them

take advantage of the opportunities they're giving you to spend time with them. they're inviting you because they want you to come and participate! in the very least, show that you are interested in hanging out with them so that they don't mistake your anxiety with you just not wanting to hang out, because after a while they might get the idea that you're not interested and stop inviting you. not because they don't like you, but because they don't want to put you in a position where you're agreeing to things you don't want to do out of a sense of obligation or something

if you feel comfortable enough to do it, go ahead and let someone in the group who you like know that you have anxiety! i used to think that i had to keep all of my mental issues a secret, because it was such a shameful thing to admit or the people i admit it to would just mock me for feeling the way i do (i have a mean judgmental family so that fear definitely comes from a real place) but you're in university! if you let them know, "sorry if i'm really quiet and awkward, i have anxiety that i've been trying to control by making new friends" then i pretty much guarantee you'll get at LEAST one person who will understand. and it could answer some of their questions too. like maybe they've wondered why you're quiet or awkward around them and came to the conclusion that you don't like them or something but with this new knowledge "oh they're anxious! then maybe they don't dislike us after all!"

i know this is all still very scary and difficult to do. i can give advice until the cows come home but i'm pretty awful at following said advice myself.

social interactions are HARD. so so hard. i've struggled with them my entire life and really only managed to form relationships with people who did the hard work of pursuing that friendship with me while i just kinda awkwardly relaxed into it over a period of time. even now, i start sweating when i think about how to make small talk with the cashier at walmart. my partner brought his friend home to play videogames the other week and when they showed me a clip of their playing that they thought was funny, i awkwardly said "aw cute" and had to go lie down to recover from the embarrassment of calling something like a motorcycle racing game "cute". 🤦‍♂️

We gotta take a step out of our head, babe. Not every encounter is a life or death situation, no matter how hard your anxiety tries to convince you it is.

Cut yourself some slack! Making friends is hard and I envy the people who can do it easily. surely they have some sort of super power because wow, amazing, superb

But also, if you struggle so much with your social anxiety and you're not yet seeing a therapist, i highly recommend you find one! there's a possibility that your anxiety could be treated in some way. there might be a medication that works really well with you or even just talking to a professional will give you a new perspective to act as the starting point of you becoming a social butterfly absolutely drowning in friends

i know it's difficult. and scary. but your classmates are throwing you a rope! grab it and crawl your way up to those friendships, Babe. they're not doing it out of pity or obligation. they're doing it because they want you to feel comfortable and less alone. have a little faith in humanity. people are so much kinder and more inclusive than you know 🖤

any time you get some thoughts like "they probably hate me. they probably make fun of me behind my back. they probably only invite me because they feel bad for me" just go ahead and ask yourself "would I be thinking that about someone else in the group?" if you wouldn't, then they probably aren't thinking that about you 🌈

you can do it! I believe in you!

cut yourself some slack, you're doing AMAZING and i'm proud of you 🖤🥰

[emachinescat]

Mama Bear

A Tales of Arcadia Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat @whumptober2021 day 3 - Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones But... ("who did this to you?")

Summary: After Jim’s fight with Draal, his mom sees his bruises, and Mama Bear is unleashed. Post-Win, Lose, or Draal.

Whumpee: Jim

Words: 2,603

Note: This fic was inspired by what Barbara said in 1x13 about Jim coming home from school covered in bruises. As is my way, I took the idea and ran with it.

TW: none

Barbara Lake had always considered herself incredibly lucky that her son turned out as well as he did. It wasn’t her own doing, she was sure of that – she always did the best she could, but being a single mom meant she’d had to work extra shifts to support her small family and never felt like she was there enough.

No, Jim was just a really good kid.

Not many moms could boast that their sixteen-year-old son could cook better than they could, let alone that they made gourmet lunches and dinners (and breakfasts, on most weekends), not just willingly, but happily. And not many moms could brag that their sixteen-year-old son did the dishes or kept the house clean or put aside his own wants and dreams to take care of his overworked mother. Who got up early to leave flowers on their bedside table after a long night at work, or who tucked them in after they fell asleep on top of the covers, still in their scrubs, because they’d been too exhausted to do anything else.

Barbara tried not to brag too much about Jim. She knew that he did have a social life of his own, and as far as she could tell, he was fairly well liked at school and she didn’t want to embarrass him if any of his friends found out just how much he doted on his mother. But sometimes she couldn’t help it, and she’d find herself rambling to her beautician or the nurses at the hospital or sometimes even a long-suffering patient about how her son was one-of-a-kind. He didn’t get into trouble at school, didn’t fight, didn’t skip school, and almost never missed curfew.

Until one day, he did.

It wasn’t even like it was a gradual change. There was no slow fade. She didn’t watch him slowly descend into bad grades or late nights or midnight calls about museum break-ins. There were no signs. He went to bed one day, the same as ever, and then suddenly he was getting into trouble at school, getting into fist fights, missing curfew, breaking into museums in the dead of night. Not only that but his grades – which had always been slightly higher than average – had plummeted, and he’d developed dark circles under his eyes like he never slept and sometimes he moved around like he was an eighty-year-old man and though his good nature and kind heart remained, it seemed strained at times. He still did sweet things for her, but not as often.

At first, she’d thought he was burning the proverbial candle at both ends and his lack of sleep was taking a toll on his mental and physical health. As a doctor, she’d seen firsthand what lack of sleep could do to a person. Their entire personality would change, or fizzle out, and their judgment would be severely impaired.

But then she’d seen the bruises and her sleep-loss theory flew out of the window.

***

Two weeks ago

Barbara thought boundaries and independence were a valuable part of a child’s development, so she always knocked before she entered Jim’s room. Of course, if he were gone, she wouldn’t bother.

On this particular day – one of her rare days off – she was sure he wasn’t home. She hadn’t heard him come in, hadn’t seen his bike propped up against the side of the house or in the garage. The container of store-bought chocolate chip cookies (she had neither the time nor skill to bake them herself) she’d left out for him hadn’t been touched. For all appearances, Jim hadn’t gotten home from school yet.

And so, she didn’t knock as she approached his bedroom door with a laundry basket propped on her hip. Jim always did his own laundry, but she’d seen how tired and overworked he’d been lately and wanted to ease his burden however she could.

The sight that greeted her when she nudged open the door and flipped on the light was one that would stick with her, tattooed onto her mind’s eye, for the rest of her life.

Jim was asleep on top of his unmade bed. It looked like he’d gotten halfway undressed and then decided to forgo comfort for sleep, and lay on his stomach in only his jeans. One shoe was on, the other halfway under the bed. But what arrested her attention so violently was the great rainbow of bruises arching across his back and stretched around his side, disappearing beneath his stomach where he lay on the bed.

She couldn’t help herself. A horrified shriek escaped her, and Jim sprung up so quickly it made her head spin. The panicked look in his eyes did not escape her notice, nor did the way he made a desperate reach for his pocket, like he was trying to grab something – trying to defend himself? When he saw who was in his room, and that they were alone, and that there was no danger, the raw fear faded, though a hint of panic remained.

“Mom!” he squawked, crossing his arms across his chest like that would be enough to hide the dizzying array of green, purple, yellow, and black that blanketed his chest. She noticed with surprise the lean muscles of his arms. Jim had always been fit, but never strong. He’d never said anything about a gym and he’d never been serious about sports, but she filed this information away for later and focused on the problem at hand.

Her stomach twisted as her doctor’s eyes traveled slowly, deliberately down her son’s bare torso. The bruises were worse on his stomach and chest, something she hadn’t thought possible, and she realized with horror that some of them were days, maybe weeks, older than others. This – whatever this was – was not an isolated incident.

Rage like she’d never felt before, like the protective energy of all mothers who had come before her collected into one finely-honed sword, pierced her soul as she came to the only conclusion that made any logical sense: Someone had done this to her son.

When she spoke, she barely recognized her own voice, cold as the furthest depth of the ocean, shaking with unmitigated fury.

“Who did this to you?”

Jim’s answer didn’t surprise her, but she also didn’t believe it for a second. “No one. It… was an accident.” She watched, lips crammed together in an impossibly thin line, teeth grinding against one another, her hands trembling with a righteous anger she had no outlet for, as Jim slowly reached out for the shirt he’d left in a heap at the end of the bed, the other arm still wrapped protectively around his torso. She didn’t stop him. She would absolutely be examining his injuries fully before the evening was done, but for now, she’d seen enough. The sight of her son’s bruised flesh would burn in her memory forever, more clearly than when she saw it right in front of her.

Skittishly, like a cat caught sniffing around back alley garbage cans, he snatched up the shirt and swiftly pulled it over his head. He couldn’t hide the flinch as he raised his arms to pull the fabric over his head. As he did so, she got the full view of his torso, and the wild, impossible thought flitted through her mind that it almost looked like some giant hand had wrapped around his body and squeezed. The image, however nonsensical, sent waves of nausea crashing through her. Her anger swelled again, and the crest of it burst forth, no longer containable, and the only person she could release it on was the one who was actively lying to her.

“James Lake, Jr. – do you think I’m an idiot?!”

Jim froze, his hands stilling completely as he adjusted the neck of his tee. He had never heard his mother direct such cold fury at anyone, let alone himself. “W-what? Of course not, Mom. I just–”

“You expect me to believe that you accidentally hurt yourself this badly? That you woke up one morning and you were covered in bruises? Jim, I’m a doctor. I see people come in for less than this. I wouldn’t be surprised if you have fractured ribs.” Now the anger was giving way to panic. “And don’t think that I haven’t noticed that some bruises are newer than others. This isn’t something that just ‘happened’ and it’s not an accident. So tell me. Who – the – hell – did this to my son?”

A small, ridiculous surge of satisfaction bubbled up inside of her as she watched Jim’s mouth fall open. He’d never heard his mother utter a word stronger than darn before. She’d always been very careful about the language she used in front of him. But his condition released something feral inside of her, and it was honestly a bit of a shock that nothing stronger came out.

She watched his face, saw the conflict in his eyes, knew with even more surety that he was hiding something big from her and trying to decide if he was going to answer truthfully. Well, tough luck. He wasn’t leaving his bedroom until he answered her question.

He must have seen this in her eyes, for after a moment, he dropped his gaze. Heavily, he sat down on the foot of his bed and stared down at his hands. “Mom, I… can’t. I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

At this, the fear took center stage again, and Barbara fell to her knees in front of her son, cupping his face in her hands. The tears she’d been holding back with such determination threatened to fall at the way he unconsciously leaned into her touch. His eyes closed briefly, and for a moment he was a child again, sniffling from a scraped knee and being comforted by his mother. That moment ended all too quickly, because his scraped knee was actually a bruised and battered torso, and he wasn’t a child anymore, and he was in trouble.

“Jim. Whatever is going on, I promise, I won’t be angry. But someone is hurting you. You can’t deny that. What is happening to my son?” She tried not to speculate – dared not speculate – but so many possibilities chased themselves through her head, each one worse than the last. Bullies? Abusive teacher? Drugs?

He sat for a moment, a slumped, defeated statue with too much weight on his young shoulders – Young Atlas, Walter’s voice echoed in her mind. She saw the exact moment when he made his decision. He squared his shoulders, set his jaw, and met her eyes once more. Something brewed within those beautiful blue depths, but what it was she couldn’t say. Was it regret? Guilt? Fear?

“It really was an accident,” he finally said, voice slow and measured.

“Jim, really–!”

“I’m telling the truth, Mom!” he insisted so fervently that she was tempted to believe him. Almost.

“Do you hear how ridiculous you sound?” she demanded. “What kind of ‘accident’–”

“A Vespa one,” Jim blurted, and his eyes flickered down to his hands in shame. “I… a friend gave me a ride on his Vespa. I was on the back and got thrown off and rolled halfway down the embankment before a tree caught me right in the ribs.”

Fresh panic wormed its way into Barbara’s mind at Jim’s confession. As horrible as it was, part of her desperately wanted to believe him. If he had been in a vehicle accident, then no one had been deliberately hurting her child. It was just his own irresponsibility and stupidity.

“When did this happen?”

A beat. Then, sheepishly, “... yesterday.”

But – “What about the older bruises, Jim? Did you get into two Vespa accidents?”

“Paintball,” Jim answered without missing a beat. “We had a whole thing a few months back. Guys versus girls. And I got hit. A lot.”

Barbara recalled clearly the size and location of the older bruises that had peeked out from underneath the fresh, reaching ones. They could have easily been from punches or kicks, but it was feasible that the bruises could have come from being shot at close-range by a paintball gun.

Deep down, something still nagged at her. But Jim’s explanation was a siren’s call and she was so tired of swimming.

“Do you promise me you’re telling the truth?” The gaze she fixed on him one would have withered a succulent.

Without hesitation, Jim answered, his voice clear, strong, and insistent. “Yes.”

Relief flooded through her, and she squashed the last remaining doubts, perhaps a bit too eagerly. “In that case, you are grounded.”

Jim’s eyes widened. “What, really? You promised you wouldn’t be angry!?”

“I’m not angry, I’m disappointed. Let’s see, you know how I feel about both paintball and those Vespas and yet you went behind my back and nearly got yourself killed. You’ve been lying to me, Jim, keeping secrets. Is this why you’ve not been sleeping? Why you’ve been so distant?” It didn’t explain why he’d been getting into more trouble than usual, but right now she would take what she could get.

The slightest of hesitations. “Yeah.”

She considered, eyes burning into him, for a long moment, then she sighed, the sound of every evil thing escaping Pandora’s box, and she clapped her hands together briskly. “Okay, come on.”

Jim cocked his head to the side. “Where are we going?”

“The hospital.”

Jim groaned. “Mom, I’m okay. I’m just bruised.”

“I’m not taking any chances, mister. You could have fractured ribs. You should have been rushed to the hospital as soon as the accident happened. Who is this friend, anyway? Why didn’t he take you to the E.R.?”

Jim scratched the side of his neck. “You wouldn’t know him,” he evaded, and Barbara made a promise to herself to revisit this point later. “And we were afraid we’d get into trouble…”

“Well, you did, kiddo. Now, get up. We’re going to the hospital, you’re getting x-rays, and then we’re getting ice cream.”

Jim blinked up at her. She wondered if he realized his arm was curled protectively around his ribs as he slowly eased himself off the bed. “Ice cream? I thought I was grounded.”

“You’re hurt, Jim, and I’m your mother. I’m not a monster.” A soft smile pulled at the corners of Jim’s mouth at her words, and not wanting him to get too comfortable, she added, “You are grounded, though. Absolutely. You’re not going anywhere after school for at least two weeks. And depending on the x-rays, you might not be leaving your bed for a while, either.”

“Mooom.”

“Don’t you ‘mom’ me. Now, put your other shoe on. Let’s hussle. I want you looked at as soon as possible.”

What she didn’t see as she turned to leave the room was the heavy curtain of guilt being drawn over Jim’s face.

Later, she’d drive him home with a diagnosis of two cracked ribs and deep bruising across 80 percent of his torso and a bottle of muscle relaxers for the pain. They’d get ice cream and he would mope about bedrest and she would try to cheer him up (but not too much; he was still grounded, after all). But behind the pain of his injuries lurked a deeper, fierer ache that no balm could soothe, no medication could ease.

With every lie, he could feel the chasm widen between him and his mother, and it hurt more than a few broken ribs and bruises ever could.

[oingo233]

Rapture is a Boy (3)

Summary: Remus and you have always had a playful, loving relationship but his behavior around the full moon leads you to assume the worst. A huge fight ends with the two of you heartbroken. Will Remus reveal the truth behind his behavior?  And will you still love him afterwards or has he truly lost you forever?

Young Remus Lupin x Reader

Warning: angst, cuss words, self-doubt, angst, cheating, angst (but not as much as there will be later mwhahaha)  

Authors note: I try to keep my writing(self inserts) gender, body type, ethnicity and house neutral/not specified.  If I ever slip up please let me know so that I can change it.

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight

Word Count: 3k

                                                     Part Three

                           ****After All This Time, There is No Love****

The common room walls seemed to pulse with the vibrations of the song, every ear in the room being invaded with music, cheers, laughter, and somewhere for some odd reason, screaming.  Screams of joy of course. The party was alive and everyone had large smiles and butterbeer slipping through giggles or being shared through a kiss. This party would surely be talked about in the weeks to come.

But I was having a harder time of letting loose, and it would seem Lily is too.  For our very reason for throwing the party could not make it, so what the hell was the point?  Remus was off studying, James was off studying, so we had no lips to lock with our own, no body to dance and grip to, no one to have fun with in the way we wanted to tonight.  Lily was sipping on a butterbeer, staring at the portrait with me, hoping they’d walk through.

“Ladies...” A hufflepuff named Paul collided into our sides, looping his arms around our shoulder.  Lily to his right, I to his left.  He was staring drunkenly at the portrait with us, his eyes going large and then small, as if he was searching for something. “What are we doing?” He chuckles to himself.

“I mmmeann seriousllyy, if-if you’re waiting for a snnog anny onne here will step up.  Lilyy that is, she’s sinngle. I’d snnog you though (y/n) but Remmuss might tear mee apart-a-apart me.” He slurs, leaning in close to my face. “Pre,’ He mutters to himself “pretty,” he laughs again and saunters off, swaying his hips to the music, declaring he’ll chug another jug of butterbeer. I look at Lily and she stares back at me, mouth open and my own fighting a smile. Before we know it, we’re cackling like the bunch of witches/wizards we are.

“This is the worst, mission failed! M’ sorry Remus couldn’t make it,” Lily says, huffing hair out of her drink.  The fire burning only brought out the red of her hair, she looked apart of the flame herself.  I see why James was in love with her, she got her wits, charm, beauty, and kindness. So why would he miss this time to be with her?  Does Peter really need the whole lot of them?  

“mmmh,” I agree wordlessly, “M’ sorry James couldn’t.” She sighs into her drink, cheeks burning and she looks up at me.

“Me too.” She mumbles. I’m taken aback to say the very least.  I was always just teasing, I mean I had a hunch sure, but for her to really admit it. Well, I’m not proud to say that I stood there like a daft cow for roughly 5 minutes before she groaned and bumped her shoulder into mine. Hiding her smile and embarrassment with a final swig of her drink.  

“I- you- James?” Is all I can seem to get out of me, shock makes ya useless it seems.  She nods slowly.

“Yes, I thought you knew already.” She shrugs, turning towards the raging crowd of drunk witches and wizards.  

“Well, yeah..” I shrug just as cooly and she laughs, pushing me with her arm again.

“Stop, you did not because Remus doesn’t know, and you tell him everything.” She points out, but soon regrets it as my smile grows wickedly large.

“(y/n)!” But I was already half way through the portrait, muttering to myself just loud enough for her to hear.

“Remus! Remus, I’ve got to tell Remus!” I’m laughing hysterically as she chases me through the corridors, our robes trailing behind us like a little sea of black rolling by our angles.

“No! Please, don't!” She yells after me, both of us out of breath by the time we reach the same corridor as the library.  “I’ll hex you...” She glares at me as we walk swiftly up to the library doors.  Now, of course I would never ever snitch such a thing to anyone.  This is Lily’s long kept secret and when I had my unrequited love for Remus she didn’t go blabbering it to him or anyone else, so of course I would return the favor of silence.  My plan was to simply lead her to James, where they can now confess their undying love for one another after the secrets already out.  But she didn’t know this.

“You won’t hex me Lily dear, you’re not that against James knowing.  Why don’t you tell Remus yourself, or better yet, James!’’ I exclaim, smiling to myself for my own genius.  God, Remus will be in more of a shock than I, all the boys will, no one more than James. She tilts her head in disappointment directed at me, we raise our hands and together we open the doors.

We are first greeted with an indifferent glance in our direction from Pince.  We smile at her and nod our heads in her direction, then walk slowly (as in I’m matching Lily’s pace which is practically the march of dread) to the table the marauders usually sit. The table has all of our names scratched into the bottom.

I wish Lily would walk faster because I was bouncing to see Remus, he quickly apologized to me once again for being dismissive and it led to quite the kiss (or two) and left us with some unfinished business.  We turned the corner of a large bookshelf and where we were expecting to see the boys, we instead saw no one at all.

“Where are they?” I ask Lily, she shrugs beside me, just as confused.  Though her shoulders are slumped with either relief or disappointment, from the look on her face I can tell it is a mix of both. “Come,” I say wrapping my arm around her shoulder, “They’re bound to be here somewhere, yeah?”  She mumbled back a yeah to me, and together we searched the entirety of the library.

But it was a waste of time.  Hardly anyone was there, and certainly not the loud (yes, even when they study) boys we came here for.

But we did find someone of interest, walking back along the corridors we found someone perched by the window, staring out towards the forbidden forest, towards the shrieking shack. Lucy. Lucy is girl by the window. She looked worried.

I swallowed my pride and my anger. It’s irrational, I told myself, my emotions talking, not fact. I did all of this just to take two step towards her and ask a simple question.  But the answer was anything but.

“Are you okay? And before you lie to us, you should know that we genuinely are good listeners and I like to think quite non-judgmental and-” Though I swallowed so much, I could not swallow my stress ranting, the one that spawns when I am put in uncomfortable situations, such as this one. A curse truly. But thankfully Lily cuts me off.

“Yes, so uhm... are you?” Lily asks.  Lucy doesn’t even turn to us, she bites her lip and continues to stare out the window.  We almost go to ask again, thinking she hadn’t heard us.  But she starts speaking, her gaze never leaving the shack before her.

“I guess it’s always good to talk about our problems,” She laughs to herself, “Remus tells me that, says bottling things up only make it worse.  I’m worried about him actually.  Remus, do you know hi-” Her words fall short as she turns around and sees the expression on my face.  Remus.  She is worried about Remus, my boyfriend.  Why was she worried? Why was he not in the library where he said he would be?  What does Lucy know that I do not? 

Why does she care about Remus enough to sit and stare out of a window for hours? I quickly came back the conclusion that Remus was lying to me, about where he was, and who he loves. He has been cheating on me.

I stager backwards and Lily grasps my hand in hers, giving it a squeeze. 

“Are you two friends?” She asks, without venom or even a quiver in her lip, but I felt like my world was crashing down. I was thankful she asked the question because I wouldn’t have been as composed.

“Yes, er- sort of, closer than friends actually” She smiles to herself like she just said the sweetest thing. But it was just another stab to the heart, another hand constricting my throat.  Not very convincing Lucy, I think to myself. Lily squeezes my hand again and goes to lead us away but Lucy begins to speak again.

“You’re (y/n) right?” She knows me. She knows me?  I nod numbly and Lily quickly says goodbye for us, and rushes us away. She partly carries me through the portrait, I trail lamely behind her, not able of thought. She trudges us up the stairs to her bed where she promptly lets me sit and breakdown.

“Lily...” I don’t get to finish the sentence before she pulls me in for a hug, I didn’t realize how hard I was crying until my sobs made our shoulders hit into one another. She hugs me tighter, running her hands through my hair.  Shhhsing me softly, and whispering sweet things in my ear.

“I love him, I love him so much,” I cry out, fisting her shirt in my hands. I think I feel her wipe away a tear of her own. God, I must be such a mess to make Lily herself cry. But I am a mess.  I feel as though my very home has been taken away from me.  This boy I gave my heart to, this boy I gave my very own body and love to, was giving it all to someone else.  I confided in him, I trusted him, hell I’d even die for him.  But he was playing me, he was using me. I have been loving a stranger.

“He doesn’t love me...”Is all I can mumble to myself again and again, rocking in Lily's embrace. We lay there until sleep takes us. None of the girls wake us up whether I belonged in Lily's bed or not, they noticed the way my face seemed blotchy and I was frowning in my sleep.  But more than that they saw the tired look in Lily’s expression, and the rage hidden deep within.

I woke up to the sound of rustling clothes, and parchment.  The sound of the girls dormitory coming alive, and everyone preparing for the schools day ahead.  I didn’t want to wake up.  I wanted to lie there until I grew the strength to face my worst fear.  Until I grew the confidence to walk out there, to love myself again when I felt anything other than beautiful or good. I felt disgusting, what was wrong with me that would make Remus feel the need to be with another?  No, I didn’t want to get up until I was healed, until time would reverse itself completely.

But nonetheless I got up, because Lily was worried and Lily was watching and Lily was there to hold my hand and reassure me that I was wonderful, and worthy of love.  That it was Remus.  My Remus.  Lucy’s Remus, it doesn’t matter.  I love him, I still do.  After all that happened, I wish love was something I could tear from me and leave behind, but it was at first a beautiful flower in my heart and now it is just a dead weed stuck in cracks.  I will never be able to get it out.

Lily silently sits me on the edge of the bed. She fixes my hair for me, and wipes at my cheeks, and gives me a tissue.  I blow into it, she throws it out.  She kisses my cheek and waits for me to get dressed.  

At last, we make our way through the sea of students and staff to the great hall.  The laughter of fellow students makes the lump in my throat all that much larger.  My hands begin to shake and so Lily holds it within her own.

“Look at me love,” She says, “Remus does not deserve ya after the shite he pulled.  Ya need to talk to him love, you need to break up with him yeah?  Feel the freedom in your new single life and get out there.  Paul said he’d snog ya, yeah?” I know she was trying to make me feel better, and it almost worked.  Almost.  But I was still very much in love with him, I don’t know if I can move on.  After knowing Remus so intimately, how could I?  Nonetheless I swallow my despair and nod slowly to her.  She lets go of my hands and we walk straight to the Gryffindor table.  Straight to the boys.

My heart swallowed itself whole when I caught sight of Remus.  He looked tired, exhausted even.  His skin pale, and he looked in pain.  The other boys didn’t look any more alive, but they were laughing with one another, though in a more sedated way.  Remus was in his own world, reading a muggle book I gave him a while ago.  He promised he’d tell me all about it and that we’d find a way to watch the muggle movies when we can.  We never will.

My sadness is suddenly replaced with an intense anger.  With rage and hurt I walk right up to the table, I stand behind Remus. The other boys look up at Lily and me with easy smiles, but they drop as they soon further dissect our appearance and with it our mood. Sirius goes to wolf whistle as if he was excited by the fact one of the boys were about to get hounded into, but Lily raises a hand and stops all sound at the boys part of the table.

I clear my throat.  He is still reading, he smiles to himself as he reaches a rather humorous part of the book.  

“Remus,” I call, my voice sickly sweet, it seems to shock Lily. She begins to walk back, not wanting to be in the middle of the spitfire.  But the boys seems to soak in the scene with amusement. Remus hums in response, and puts his thumb near the edge like he does when he is about to finish a line and then close the book, but I was above waiting now.

“Could you Remus, for 5 seconds perhaps give me more attention when I speak to you than some fucking book.  It’s like I’m talking to a godamn wall!’‘ I lose my temper near the end, and now half of the table was staring at us.  Remus doesn’t even bother to mark the page, he places the book down and whips around to me with wide eyes. The boys no longer looking humored at all, everyone is giving me odds looks.  I’ve never once acted this way with Remus, all our previous arguments were resolved rather quickly.

“Great,” I smile too big at him, then turn to the boys. Every word dripping sarcasm and fake calm. Remus only frowns more, his eyes darting across my face and than to Lily searching for an answer.

“Now, could you all leave us be or are you going to be obnoxious flies on said wall while I speak to my boyfriend for the little amount of time I have managed to grab his attention?” I grit out every word, as if fighting my anger, I did not mean to be so hurtful but I am very hurt myself.  Did the rest of boys know about Remus cheating?  Instead of leaving, they stare at me in shock, after some time of staring James goes to ask why I am being so rude but I cut him off.

“You know what?” My voice cracks, I am losing my resolve.  With every second I spend staring deeper into Remus’s eyes my anger fades into sadness.  A great sea of sadness.  “Never mind, I am being rude. All of you can continue to ignore me completely, Remus, my love,” My voice cracks once again and I will my anger to come back so that I may do what I have to next.  “You keep reading that book of yours and for the love of god don’t stop for anything, I mean don’t ever stop because what on earth could be of a more pressing matter?  And boys, keep your sweet asses locked in place because I do always forget how much of fucking arseholes the whole lot of you are!” Remus stands up abruptly and caresses my forearm, he wishes for us to talk somewhere more privately but I jump back at his touch.   

My lips curl up in a snarl “We’re over Remus!  You cheat!  You fucking liar!”  I yell loud enough for the whole of Gryffindor table to hear, my anger has run from me completely and now nothing is left but Remus’s eyes staring deep into mine.  

His eyes, as they well up with tears and dart around the room.  His eyes growing red and defensive at all the people looking back at him. His eyes meeting mine once more, his mouth falling open and closing again.  He goes to speak, but at last, I watch as he can’t hold the tears back anymore. He rubs aggressively at his eyes, and rushes out of the great hall.  His friends racing after him, not before Sirius shoots me a dirty look and James questions Lily with his eyes.  

And then it was done. The students begin to whisper behind hands and poke their fingers in our direction.  The great hall filling up once again with chatter and gossip, I feel the color drain from my face and every feeling I previously had becomes overtaken with grief.  It is over.  I have lost him.  After all this time, there is no love.

Lily catches me before I fall.  She is now the one to rush me through the doors of the great hall, but we are stopped short.  Stopped by the sound of horrible, horrible sobs and 3 boys trying their hardest to silence them.  To comfort him. No pain in that moment would come to compare to the miserable feeling I’d carry around after that night.  After seeing him lying there, body racked with sobs because of me.

Sirius looks up, he looks as though he is in pain as he bounces his leg and runs a hand through his hair.  He looks around, anywhere but his broken friend.  But then our eyes meet.  

He begins to walk over to us, Lily stands as my guard.  But nothing could protect me from the onslaught that is an angry Sirius Black...

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