#and partly because i think i would cry real tears if i had to sacrifice someone despite fully knowing theyre nonsentient npc characters

[puppyeared]

beep beep im a sheep

speeddraw below the cut (audio warning)

song: "Cult of Dionysis" by The Orion Experience

[dilfbane]

It Gets Better(A Silky Pearl)

Summary: It’s been a long time since things have gotten this bad. Loki, returned from his latest mission, lets you know that, with help and support, you can overcome the worst of things, and makes sure you know that he’ll be there with you to get you through it, each and every day. 

Pairing: Loki/Female Reader

Warnings: Reader in this fic struggles with eating disorders. Thoughts and feelings related to these(specifically to anorexia and bulimia), are made throughout the fic, especially those that, in my personal experience, people with these disorders experience. I cannot stress enough that this will be discussed/referenced/talked about, sometimes explicitly(Though not graphically) and sometimes implicitly, so please be aware of that and know that it’s OK to take care of yourself and skip this one if that would be triggering to you! 

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: I want to preface this by saying that there are a LOT of people, both here and on AO3, who have made some amazing Loki/reader oneshots where the reader is struggling with mental health and/or physical health issues, that really provide a sense of warmth and fluff and support to people who may be going through those things themselves, and I’ve taken a lot of comfort in those fics over the course of the pandemic(I’ll be shouting out a couple of them in the tags!). I want to acknowledge that these exist, and that they’re awesome and have partly inspired my own writing, before talking about this little project I’m embarking on. 

Because, while I have gotten a lot of comfort out of many of those pieces of writing, there are definitely some things which I feel like aren’t talked about as much in pieces like these which I have gone through, and which a lot of other people have gone/are going through, and…. I figured that maybe I could take a crack at trying to provide that hit of fluff for people dealing with those things, if I can, and hopefully use my own experience with them to do it in as respecful and accurate a way as possible. 

All that being said, the first oneshot in this little project is going to be dealing with a pretty heavy subject, that being eating disorders. The reader in this fic does struggle with eating disorders - specifically anorexia and bulimia. I will not be actively describing anything too graphic about these disorders in this fic, except to highlight through implication and some sparse details that this is what’s happening here, as well as show some of the inner thought processes of the reader, but there definitely is enough in here to show that that’s what’s going on, so if anyone would be triggered by that, please take care of yourselves and give this one a pass! Also, I will further disclaim that there are many types of eating disorders, and everyone’s experience with them is different. In this oneshot, I wrote based off what I know to have been true during the time in my life when I struggled with the same conditions, and I really tried to make the fluff and support as kind and encouraging as I possibly could. If for ANY REASON there’s something that I did badly at, or something that’s disrespectful, anyone reading this may feel more than free to let me know and I’ll do my best to fix it! I don’t want this fic to be a place where anyone feels hurt or disrespected, that isn’t my intention at all, and if I make a mistake in that regard for any reason whatsoever, I would really appreciate knowing so that I can correct it!

Anyways, after that extremely lengthy A/N, just… please know, if you’re going through something like this, that you’re not alone, that help does exist and is out there, and that you are seen and heard. And take this Loki fluff, because honestly, there can never be too much of that in the world! 

You know that he worries about you. Even before his latest, three-week mission, you know that he worried about you. In the mornings, as you pour your coffee, you watch him watch you with careful nonchalance, gaze boring into the back of your head, slight furrow creasing his eyebrows, frown pulling small at his lips. He dresses early, because he wakes early; it is a battle, most mornings, for you to get out of bed. And so what, if you take your coffee with more creamer than is necessarily normal - it has to last you a long time, this coffee. You need the sugar of it, to get you to that clean pain. It is sharper, more real, than any scalpel, any knife that Loki keeps concealed by his armor; all that fine Asgardian leather, green and supple and him. It gives you back the control that you lack. Lets you be the person that you would be. 

It’s not that you’re afraid of your body, but you are ashamed by it; cannot fathom, even now with his gaze on you, that Loki could love somebody so dreadfully overweight. 

Today, though - Today, you had thought, you had hoped, that it might be different. You don’t know why you have that hope, but it brims up in you; a physical need, a visible yearning, for you to be enough for once. Someone that Loki can stand to look at. Someone that Loki can love. He is looking at you now like he’s seeing you for the first time, and you flinch from the frown that creases his piercing gaze, unable to bear how it roves up the planes of your body; silhoutted in the light coming in through the window, you can feel each ounce of fat that stretches over your sinew, cartilage. (You know that Loki hates your body - He traces it sometimes like he’s probing you, trying to find where your bones are. You wish that you could call him on it, and know that you never could). 

You stand at the counter, and turn from him; rummage in the cabinet for your coffee mug with shaking fingers; you almost feel like they’re rubber. Blue and cold, like his Jotun skin, but you know that it isn’t enough. Pins and needles prick at them - you can almost convince yourself that it’s only your guilt and shame, but you cannot hide from the pain suffusing Loki’s voice when he speaks. 

“Darling,” He says, on a shaky breath, “We need to talk about this.” 

“I know -” You tell him - you know that you can’t run from this, anymore. He knows how you look, how nothing you do is fixing it. And now, he’s going to leave you. “I know, Loki - I tried, Loki, I’m so sorry -“ 

The agony that wells up in you threatens to overwhelm your ability to speak, and you feel your knees buckle the second before you fall. Your kneecaps slam against the cupboard underneath the sink, your head hitting the edge of the counter as you slide down hard to the floor. It hurts. But every part of your body hurts, these days. It’s as constant as your worthlessness. And something else, too - 

He is there, on the floor with you, in less time than it takes place to blink, pulling you hard and desperate into his arms; you don’t understand why, and you try to wrench yourself from him, sobs bubbling up and spilling out from your tightly shut eyes. You can feel the bruises starting to form on you, a lump throbbing at your temple. 

“Love,” He is saying, “Y/N, sweetheart, come back to me. Come back to me, darling, please.” He is stroking your hair; you feel his fingers at its strands, thin and brittle. God, you think, how pathetic you are - you can’t even keep yourself pretty for him, for this god and all the sacrifices that he’s made. You cry harder, unable to stop your own wailing. When you finally do, you’re exhausted - it takes everything out of you. 

“Loki,” You say, on a wretched whine, “I’m so cold.” 

“Hush,” He says, “You’re alright. You’ll be warm soon - We’ll sort it, darling, I promise.” 

You don’t know how to tell him that it isn’t something you can sort, but somehow you know, deep in your heart, that Loki understands. Still, his voice is so sweet, and the shudders that wrack you begin to halt in the steady hold of his embrace; the tender brush of his fingers over your skin. You feel like you can look at him, now, so you do it, sucking your bottom lip into your teeth to steel yourself for the cruel things you’re certain he’ll start with. But Loki’s gaze isn’t angry at you, not full of fury or disgust. They sparkle with unshed tears and concern, emerald in the daylight. It takes you a moment too long to realize all that pain, all that worry, is for you; when you do, though, you flinch away. Feel Loki’s fingers drop from your hairline to your cheek, then your chin, tilting your head up so that you can’t run and hide. 

“I’m losing you, love,” Loki says. His voice is low, and steeped in sorrow. It is his turn to look down, with guilt and shame, and you feel a pang blossom, raw and red, in your heart. He sighs, and straightens his shoulders. He is filled with some new resolution, some new determination you can’t wince away from. 

“I need to know,” Loki tells you, “How long this has been going on. I need to - I need you to tell me why, love. I can’t bear to see you like this.” 

“I can’t,” You say, blinking back a fresh torrent of tears, “Tell you why. It’s not - I can’t - I don’t know.” 

But you know, and Loki does, too. It’s the god of lies, holding you - of course he can tell that you’re lying. It is something other, and runs deep, this bone-y reluctance. A complex game of mental gymnastics. How could you ever tell Loki about the control that it gives you, the desperation with which you used all your calorie-counting and aching restraint to regain the love that you lost? The nights bent over toilet bowls; the way that, sometimes, you empty stomach made you dig your nails hard into your palms ’til they bled, to stop yourself from crying out at the pain. And he loves you - the part of you that craves his affection, that yearns to burrow fast and fierce into Loki’s embrace and spill all your secrets to him, makes sure to remind you of that.

“Y/N,” Says Loki, soft and tender, yet infused with a note so harsh that you would wince, if you could. “You can tell me anything. You need to.” 

You notice things, now, in the face of his determination. You notice that Loki is looking at you like he’s in physical pain, and that there’s something sticky and red on the pads of the fingers that brushed up against your head. 

“I’m bleeding,” You say. It comes out soft, horrified. 

The frown that creases Loki’s face would bring you to your knees, if you weren’t there already. 

“It’s just - a thing that I do,” You tell him, too ashamed to look at his face as you reveal it. “You don’t have to worry about it.” 

“That’s not enough for me, love.” 

Loki’s lips are pursed tight, and the wound in his eyes has hardened to steel. The you part of your body - the fleeing part, the one who knows how to survive - seizes its’ chance and you duck out of his embrace, with far more strength than you had possessed in what felt like, potentially, years. Scrambles, backwards, like a cornered animal, over the tile floor, before heaving itself up to standing. It faces Loki, and its’ breath comes in stabbing-sharp. It is hard to remember that you have to call it ‘myself’. You feel older than you were, yesterday, and you cannot, quite, get air to come into your lungs. That’s not enough for me, you hear your lover say, ringing in your ears like a hyena’s howl. 

You’re not enough for me, love. Your fingers spasm, clutching the sides of the kitchen table white-knuckled. You wonder, fleetingly, what Loki would do if you died. The thought makes you cry out in pain, a whimper ripping out from a throat rubbed fingernail-raw, but Loki does not move to stand. 

“Come back to me,” He tells you, spiked with sorrow and need. And, perhaps for the first time, you admit it - to yourself, as much as to him. 

“I don’t - I don’t think I know how.” 

He smiles the smiole of someone who’s seen his own pain, faced his own lashing demons, and you pause to take him in fully, this god who says that he loves you, the man he is trying to be. You catch on hixs eyes, those bright emerald coins, his hair like the feathers of crows. His high, pale cheekbones, and his silver-tongue cut like glass. The pads of his fingertips, slender and cold, tender and fierce on your skin or the hilt of a dagger. You breathe in the smell of him, parchment and iron; peppermint tea and the smoke from a lorn, crimson fire. Wet leaves, after a rain. You feel your resolve start to waver. 

“Well,” He says, all thoughtful, all trickster, “Sitting down, I believe, would be a good place to begin.” 

The teasing lilt of his voice - an act that he is putting on, and all for you, always for you - cajoles you, coaxing you to lever your elbows and slide back down onto the floor, your weary legs feeling unimaginably grateful. Loki shoots you a new smile now, light and proud. He beckons you, with a cock of his head and a slim, fond gesture, to him - Of a sudden, the tiles beneath you seem like a desert, an ocean. You feel the weight of your emptiness. It laughs at you, its’ white teeth filed and barred. In your head, your failure is heavy; a hot and cackling creature with seven-foot claws pressing down on your chest, restricting your matchstick limbs. You are lost to the unyielding insistence of it, trapped in the maw of its cage, and Loki’s words, when they come, sound as far away as the shores of a country ancient and foreign. 

“I was hardly gone,” He is saying, but you cannot answer him. “How could it have gotten this bad?” 

It is that - that sadness, that fear in your lover - that breaks you, and you take the thing at a clumsy, terror-steeped sprint, not caring how wretched you look, so long as you can reach him - So long, you finally let yourself think, as there is something left of you for Loki to hold in his arms. Your body hurts worse than anything. You feel every scrape and bruise and chill on it; the pins and knives working at oxygen-starved nerves, and the gnawing clamp of your hunger, a brand pressing into your gut; and you know that Loki can’t save you. But maybe, just maybe, you can find some way to save yourself. And his fingers are there, going up to your hair, thumb rubbing at a hollow cheek and catching the salty dirge of an errant tear. 

“It gets better, you know,” Loki tells you. He gets you onto his lap; you feel his heartbeat under your palms where you clutch tightly at his shirt to hold yourself up. A steady, thrumming proof that he is alive. And when he says it, you get the sense that, somehow, you’ve always know it, this whispered secret he’s weaving into your soul. “If you get proper help for it. If you want it to.” 

He speaks casually, but there is a weight to his words. Miraculously - you’re not quite so sure how - you find yourself able to meet them. 

“I want it to,” You tell him. “I didn’t, before - “ And here his eyes widen, and he shakes his head like you’ve shot him - “But I do. I want to -“ 

“Alright, love,” He tells you, running a soothing hand down over your side, past the hard planes of your collarbone, “Alright. It’s okay. You’re such a strong person- It’s going to be hard, for awhile, but I know that you can get through this. I’ll be right here with you, darling. Right here, by your side.” 

“You will?” You ask him, voice cracking, hardly daring to hope that despite all this, he would stay. He chuckles, sadly, as if your thinking it hurts him, and he is deadly serious when he tells you,

“Y/N, of course I will.” 

Somehow, though he’s the god of lies, you don’t doubt his words for an instant. You nod, and the nodding takes effort. Yet you are certain he understands what you mean. 

“So,” Says Loki, “Can you - Tell me about this?” 

You have to think, for a minute. Can you tell Loki about this? You know that he’s telling the truth, that he isn’t going to leave you. Still, you’ve never been this vulnerable with him before, not even in bed, and the fear in you won’t be put to rest so easily. You shake in his hold, and realize, with a frigid shock, how you must look to him - how badly you are hurting him, and how badly you’re hurting yourself, by keeping your feelings inside yourself and leaving your body to rot. You know, now, that Loki will  help you through this - that he will be there, kind touches skirting the bad days; warm, mischevious smirks smoothing the wrinkles of your persistent self-doubts. There was a time when you needed to do this - there will, probably, still be days when you feel like you need to do this, to get a firm hold over your life, and keep the jackals at bay. There are other words to keep yourself safe, though. Loki’s breath in the dark is more home to you than anything you’ve ever had, and his open waiting, here in the daylight, makes you brave enough to speak. 

“Maybe… Over lunch?” You offer. You bite your lip and hold out the query, a silky pearl in your hand. For one moment, Loki seems to consider; after all, he is the trickster, and a man not given to acting rashly, or stripping the drama from his complicated schemes. If this is a scheme, you think that you might forgive him - Later, when his lips are on your frame, when you’re there with him, again. His lips twitch into a grin so affectionate and proud that you know- you know - that if you seek proper care and really want to get better, you’ll get through the days that feel like walking on broken glass. You’ve done so much for me, that grin tells you. Let me do this for you.

He reaches out, and takes the pearl. You hardly recognize the man who rained hell down on New York, who snorts and jabs with sarcasm at every word that comes out of Iron Man’s mouth. 

“Breakfast?” He counters, shooting a pointed glance at the microwave clock. It is a dare and a promise - a challenge, but never a trick. It tastes like honey on your tongue. 

“Fine,” You say, “But you’ll have to cook.” Some kind of joy is creeping its way into you. Your voice, you find, barely trembles. 

“Midgardians,” Lok says, with an eye-roll - a friendly, loving glint in his eyes that refuses to fade. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who burns water.” The joke prods your tender, new understanding, reassures you that he is still Loki; that he isn’t going to treat you differently, like a child, just because you’re suffering. The smile comes full onto you, and you wriggle, stretching your arms over your head and yawning, exaggerated for effect to add to the banter. 

“I never said that I couldn’t cook,” You tell Loki, “Just wanted you to do it.” 

“Mm,” He says, “And what will you be doing, then, while I cook?” 

You chew at your lip, and choose to answer before your nerves make you panic. 

“Finding the right words,” You admit, laying the truth bare to him. 

His hands are wending through your hair now, and his lips are unberarably gentle on yours. He tastes like embers and ink. That sweet, slightly metalic tang that you’ve come to associate with his magic; cinnamon, tinged with steel. He kisses you for a second or two, before pulling away,  but you could live in those seconds - Unfold it, like a blanket, and let the care of it warm your thin, freezing bones, if Loki weren’t here to show you that, with the right help, you can learn how to do it yourself. 

“Finding the right words,” Loki muses, vaulting himself up to stand in a movement that’s unfairly graceful. “I’d much prefer yours, to be honest.” 

He holds a hand out, and you take it, letting him pull you up. The floor, underneath you, feels solid. The sun is coming through the clouds, and out there in the wide world you can hear bird-song, the low, sugared sway of the breeze. There is something else there, too: 

You let it wrap its tendrils around you, and you decide that it’s hope. 

[plethora-of-imagines]

Gag Gift

AN: This time the trope I am playing with is gag gifts! 

Word Count: 1661

Warnings: caning, mentions of fisting, minor humiliation

Description: Missy doesn’t seem to understand what a gag gift is... or does she?

Tag List: @c-s-stars @queerconfusionthings @how-masterful @truthbehindthemysteries

The freezing rain outside was relentless. Rushing towards the doors of Missy’s TARDIS you found yourself praying to whatever merciful entities existed in the universe that the doors were unlocked. You had wrongly assumed that because it was winter there would be snow. Soft, surprisingly dry in comparison, snow. You felt like a drowned cat. Hair stuck to your face, chilled to the bone, and very unhappy with your current situation.

You hadn’t bothered to zip your coat up. A mistake on your part. You had hoped that you could keep the book you bought for Missy dry by covering it with your jacket. You had managed to keep the book relatively dry from what you could tell but at the sacrifice of your own clothes becoming soaked.  Focusing on keeping the one side of your jacket wrapped around the book in your grasp, leaving the rest of the jacket to blow around in the wind. You should have crossed both sides of your coat around yourself and the book. Then you might have remained dry. At least no one was around to witness your insanity.

You burst through the TARDIS doors as they teased you by opening with ease. Stumbling into the TARDIS and right into Missy’s face. Feeling her breath on your lips. Gasping wordlessly at how close she was to you in your soaked and disheveled state.

“Well hello there, poppet,” her wicked smile warned you to prepare for her to say something that would emotionally destroy you in some manner. “You do know that your shirt is deliciously see-through, your nipples look particularly cold today too.”

Well, making your entire face blush a bright red was one way to help you warm up from the chill... You tightly wrapped your coat around yourself to hide your soaked clothing from sight.

“Well, I feel very cold all over so you aren’t wrong.”

“Yes, I assumed as much. You’re dripping all over my console room floor too, and not in an entertaining manner.”

“Sorry, Missy,” you answered thoroughly, reprimanded even as you knew there was nothing you could have really done to prevent this.

Ignoring your embarrassment at exposing yourself again you removed your coat and shoes, placing the parcel you had purchased on the small table Missy had added next to the coat rack just for the small odds and ends you collected on trips. You awkwardly stood near the entrance, waiting for Missy or the TARDIS to show you some mercy and bring you a towel. You didn’t want to wander the halls in search of a bathroom for one and leave an obnoxious trail of water for you to clean up.

Missy took pity on your shivering body after a few minutes throwing a towel at you. Taking off your sopping wet clothes you left them in a pile near the doors for a lack of a better place for them. The towel wrapped around you and tucked into itself to help it stay in place on its own. You finally entered the console room properly now that you were naked underneath your towel and no longer likely to get water all over the floor. 

Padding to Missy’s side to ask what she wanted from you. She seldom waited up for you in the console room when you went on trips by yourself, unless- of course- she had a reason for wanting to see you right when you got back from your excursion. 

“Did you need me for something Missy?”

“No, not particularly need,” you waited for her to continue. “I have a gift for you, poppet, that I would like for you to open.”

“It’s not the holidays yet Missy,” you didn’t question her. She obviously knew that it was not the holidays yet. Keeping your curiosity contained to a statement of fact was the safer option.

“Yes, well it’s more of a gag gift than an actual gift. FIgured I would keep your cries of laughed separate from your crying over how “sweet and thoughtful” I am. Wouldn’t want to dehydrate you over the holidays.”

“Alright then, I suppose I am already thoroughly watered by the weather outside so tears of laughter can’t cause any real harm at the moment.”

Missy rolled her eyes at you before she shoved a wrapped box into your chest with enough force to make you exhale in surprise. 

You took care in unwrapping the gift, partly just to frustrate her by making her wait to see your reaction. The paper was shiny, with little raindeers prancing along in lines. The box revealed inside was discreet. Matte black with not identifiable labels, giving you no hints as to what was contained inside. Honestly, you had no idea as to what Missy would consider to be a gag gift. With your luck, it would be the body of some random person that she had shrunk.

Lifting the lid of the box revealed, a literal gag. Missy bought you a gag, as a gag gift.

You burst into laughter. You didn't know why the concept was so funny to you, it just was. Missy taking the idea of a gag gift so literally. Sucking in gulps of air your laughter reduced to giggles you whipped the tears from your eyes so that you could clearly see.

The gag was of impressively high quality. The ball was soft, yet firm. It seemed very bite-able for a lack of a better description. Three little pin-sized holes in the ball to allow for you to breathe if you panicked and forgot to breathe through your nose. The leather strap that would hold it in place was made of colored leather, purple of course to match Missy's personal aesthetic.

You let your fingers trail along it. It was an incredibly high-quality gag. You really wanted to use it, now.

"Missy as much as I love this, I don't think you quite understand how gag gifts are supposed to work."

"Now what possible issue could you find with a gag gift that is an actual gag. The object is right in the concept's name. A - gag- gift, a gag that is gifted to someone. You can't tell me I'm wrong, poppet!"

"I mean you do have a point. But normally gag gifts are just something funny that no one ever ends up using!"

"And the problem is?"

"Missy, I very much want to use this gag gift."

"I still don't see that being a real problem," Missy was smiling at you in a manner that reminded you of a smug cat.

You rolled your eyes at Missy’s antics.

"If you don't start being thankful poppet I'll have to shove that gag in your mouth and give you a solid canning right here in the console room until your eyes are leaking like a faucet."

"I-"

Your stuttered words were cut off by Missy shoving the gag into your open mouth with force. Ripping away your towel and throwing it across the room. This had all been planned, hadn't it? Missy just wanted an excuse to playfully torment you.

"So ungrateful," Missy complained as she secured the gag in place.

You tried to protest through the gag, muffled noises barely making it past the spaces between your mouth and the gag. Spaces that only existed because you hadn't yet accepted your position and bit down around the ball gag.

"The lip on you today, poppet. After I was so kind as to get you an early holiday gift," she was purposely ignoring your attempts to backtrack. "I suppose I will have to increase your punishment."

She tapped her fingers against her chin as she considered what to do to you. You watched enthralled. She was always so dynamic and interesting to watch.

"I know," she smiled cruelly with eager sparks in her eyes. "I'll give each hand an opportunity to try and fist you."

She shoved you towards the console. Immediately you obeyed her wordless command and assumed your position at the console. You didn't dare protest and increase your punishment. You couldn’t help but be nervous. Missy had never managed to fist you, no matter how much she really wanted to. You doubted that it would happen this time either, but her attempts would be as intense as they ever were.

Bent over the console, hands gripping the handles near the center. Handles you were almost certain had been placed there just for situations like this where she wanted you bent over the console. Legs spread shoulder-width apart. You could feel the nobs and dials digging into your skin. It was an uncomfortable position but you didn’t dare shift too much in discomfort. Not when you were about to be caned.

You trembled in anticipation of the first strike. When it hit its mark against your bare ass you screamed. Barely a whimper found its way past the gag. Missy had clearly spent a lot of money on a quality gag for her joke. Though you were beginning to suspect that it was more of a trap than a joke.

"Not a peep? I must not be hitting hard enough... My apologies, poppet, I'll make sure to correct that mistake so that you can learn to be thankful."

You could already feel yourself dripping at her words. She laughed as she watched your arousal dripping onto the floor.

"You're going to have quite the large puddle to lick up by the time your punishment is over! You are such a pain slut and size bitch after all, aren't you poppet?"

You would feel your cheeks flushing as she belittled you. You found yourself eager for this faux punishment that would serve to test out the new gag. If this was Missy's gag gift you couldn't wait to see what her more serious gifts would be. They promised a very good time if this one was an accurate example of her level of thought into her gifts.

[notaparty-trick]

All Those Senseless Scars - Chapter 3

By @notaparty-trick​ for @asyouleft​

@friendly-neighborhood-exchange​

Rating: T

Relationships: Tony Stark & Peter Parker, May Parker & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, May Parker, Pepper Potts, Michelle Jones, Ned Leeds

Summary: There is a rule to the way Peter lives now. He didn’t know it at first, but he learnt it.

It’s simple.

To earn what he needs to survive, he has to make sacrifices. 

--- 

Peter Parker's life is derailed when he's kidnapped and kept in a white-tiled room with nothing: no windows, no cameras, no food, no water, no phone, nobody else. Only his own thoughts keep him from losing his mind. If he asks for anything, he must take punishment. Tony Stark will stop at nothing to bring him home.

Archive Of Our Own link here

  “What would you like?”

Peter tried not to cry. “Blanket.” 

He’d warred back and forth all night, worrying himself to pieces over the possibility of a little extra warmth. Asking for it felt like admitting nobody would come to rescue him. But his fingers and toes were blue.

“Please don’t hurt me,” he found himself begging as he was thrust onto the floor on his stomach, jarring his misshapen hand. Though he knew it was utterly useless, the words spilled forth from a well of fear in his mind without filter. “I didn’t do anything, I just wanna go home. Please.”

At the first smack of the whip against his back, the breath was driven from his lungs.

Peter gasped in a shuddering breath, writhing at the unbearable burning sensation that immediately enveloped him. 

The second had him moaning in agony.

The third, fourth, fifth, had him pleading.

“Stop, please, don’t touch me,” he sobbed. “I - I don’t want the blanket.”

The sixth followed all the same.

Peter remembered the History class where he’d seen on the page of his textbook the image of ‘Whipped Peter’, the awful scarring across his back, like something had eaten into him.

He cried at the irony of that name.

His skin broke at the tenth lash. He screamed.

---

“God, oh, God, oh - shit!”

“May, don’t take his hand. He’ll crush it.”

“C’mon, baby boy. You’re strong. You got this.”

“Hurts,” Peter hiccups, bracing himself for the agony of the wound cleaning substance against his ruined back.

“I know, kid. Just a little while longer.”

A team of nurses has him on his side, hospital gown untied to reach the web of welts at his back, restraining him so his reflexive flinches don’t worsen his injuries. His heart pounds. 

“O- oh, crap,” he falters, pulling at the burns on his face as he screws it up instinctually. The shower he’d been assisted in taking just hours ago has been made superfluous by the sweat that’s breaking out all over him, brought on partly by the sheer torture of the procedure and partly by recollections of being held down and made to cry out in pain in his box.

“Deep breaths,” Tony reminds him softly from where he and May are crouched right beside him, inches away but forbidden from touching him until his wounds are cleaned and re-dressed. 

Peter obliges, pushing out a rasping breath. His vision is too blurry to make out Mister Stark’s expression. 

The burn arrives again, too quickly, too overwhelmingly, and he jerks against the hands keeping him in place. “No, sto’, too much!”

“We’re very nearly finished, Peter--”

Mister Stark rises from his seat in an instant. “He told you to stop.”

The pain recedes, leaving a residual sting, and a few shuffling footsteps sound behind Peter. He drags his face across the mattress of his bed, hoping to scrub away the tear tracks there but mostly just increasing the throbbing in his nose.

Then a calloused hand is in his hair, a softer one gracing a thumb over his forearm, and he sags in relief.

“You’re okay, Pete, you’re okay,” comes Tony’s low murmur, but he’s not.

“Th’nk you,” he breathes all the same.

“Nobody does anything without your consent, okay?” There again is the fierce yet uneven tone that Peter can’t decipher while the phantom lash of the whip still rings with harsh clarity in the back of his mind.

“’m good now. Jus’… get it over with.”

“You can keep taking a break.”

“No, I gotta do i’.”

Almost the moment the comforting hands leave him, the pain ramps up again, albeit only for a few seconds before a clean dressing is applied.

Peter knows what comes next.

A plastic tub held in a stand is wheeled to a stop beside the burned side of his face, lukewarm water tossing a washcloth back and forth inside. The nurse who had positioned it wrings out the cloth a little, steadies a gloved hand on an unharmed section of his head, and gingerly presses the wet cloth to the dressing just as Peter lets out a forcefully measured exhale.

He feels his flesh melting.

No. He shuts out the memory with gritted teeth.

This isn’t even the worst part. The worst part is after the dressing has been soaked enough that it peels off, when the cream is washed off and replaced. 

Peter had stupidly presumed that the moment he staggered through the door of the Compound would be the moment his pain would end.

This time, he can’t even move his face, although every nerve in his body begs him to turn away from the razor blades of the washcloth against his raw skin.

“Mff!” he cries instead, his empty hand fisting in the sheets.

“Good job,” he hears May coaxing over his outbursts. “You’re doing amazing, baby.”

The truth is far from her reassurances. He’s whimpering like an idiot. Pain is a thousand times harder to cope with now, and with a superhero side gig like his, it scares him to contemplate how much harder it might become now.

If he ever heals enough to get out of bed, that is.

As the new dressing is being prepared, a morbid part of him speaks. “I w’nna see my face.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Tony’s head fall forward into his hands. “Kiddo.”

“Show me,” he insists with all the shaky determination he can muster.

Both May and Mister Stark’s heads remained bowed as Tony taps a few times on his phone to enable the camera app and angles it towards Peter’s face.

Peter’s horrifying, ravaged, broken face.

He hadn’t even noticed that a patch of his hair had been singed off by the blowtorch and a further area shaved to a blunt stubble to bare the flayed brown edges of half-healed scalds. Like a disease that’s taken over his features, scraps of angry red, fragile pink and near-white mark the skin of his chin all the way up past his forehead. The dark pools of his eyes only point out more severely the bright, unnatural colours that ring them. Flecks of blood stand out at the palest areas.

Unable to articulate the gaping well of dismay that tears into him at the sight of himself, Peter lets out a sound between an exhale and a sob.

“You look just fine,” May rushes to tell him.

“Plus, you have super healing, remember? It’ll clear up real fast.”

At Mister Stark’s remark, Peter meets the eye of the man he gained the scars to see, simply staring at him. Tony’s face drops its false veneer of encouragement.

He doesn’t blame Mister Stark, not at all. He had no idea. But the more primal part of him, the part that boils over with rage, with shame, with despair, wants desperately to blame someone.

His disfigurement is the price of his freedom. It’s not fair. Not one other person in the room with him now has had to pay for the return of their own autonomy.

Except…?

The hot, stinging trail of a liquid down his cheek startles him out of his rumination. “S’mthin’ on my face.”

“Hey, he’s - yeah.” Mister Stark frowns even more deeply as a nurse dabs at Peter’s face with gauze. “It just comes out? That’s alright?”

“Wha'?”

“You’re bleeding a little, kid.”

“It’s nothing out of the ordinary,” the nurse assures them.

Peter feels nauseous.

When the medical team finally leaves him alone, he trades trembling exhaustion for the murky arms of sleep, passing out in a mess of IV lines and broken limbs and sweat.

May is the first to sit back in her chair with a vehement, “Shit.”

Tony realises he’s forgotten to breathe again in the way he seems to regularly forget basic human functions at the moment. Dragging in a pained breath, he shakes out his twitching hands and echoes, “Shit.”

Above their weary heads whine artificial squares of light. Tony blinks against their harshness, the white behind his eyelids recalling a light with the harshness of the sun against the kid’s cheekbone.

“When I became Peter’s guardian,” begins May quietly, “I knew he had a number of health conditions. I knew there would be hospital visits, examinations - I knew I’d have to see him suffer. But I never - I had no idea. Never this . This was never a thought, this… why do you think they did it?”

“It was because of me, I think,” grits Tony, eyes fixed on the floor.

“Tony - what?”

“When I - God.” The words are razor-edged, nauseating, painful to force out. “They brought him out to me, and then they - he looked like he knew what was coming. That’s when they burnt him.”

Curling into herself, May presses the back of her hand to her mouth. “Fuck.”

“He said - he told us he took punishment, right? And then they’d let him have things? Food, water, a blanket--”

“You,” May finishes for him, sombre.

Tony screws his hand into a fist and brings it down jarringly on his knee. “I was such an idiot. Just waltzed on in there - no plan - no backup - no thought of what they might do to the kid.”

May’s expression begins to change then, morphing into a look she’s seen directed at Peter countless times, the look reserved for flareups of self-sacrificial complexes. “Tony, you--”

“I couldn’t have known, sure. But I could’ve. That’s the thing.” 

These thoughts have plagued him from the moment he declared the kid missing. 

A pail of filthy water, his face jerked forward to meet it. Yinsen’s face inches from a glowing lump of coal. Sweat rising from his temples as he was screwed into a hulking metal suit that could have been his salvation or his downfall. And most of all, hand-trembling, muscle-knotting, mind-melting terror. Terror that the kid has lived with for twenty-one days. 

“I’ve been through it, May. I know what they do, the twisted way they think, and I could have thought about his safety for a second instead of barging in there at the cost of--” he jerks a shoulder in Peter’s direction, his beaten, gauze-swathed body collapsed heavily atop his mattress. 

“You barged in because you were desperate,” May counters with fiery sincerity, tearing her gaze from the kid to search for Tony’s eyes. “Because you love him. You had a chance to get him out and you couldn’t pass it up.”

Tony gestures to Peter again, failing to paper over the breaks in his voice as he says, “That isn’t love.”

“But you didn’t do that to him.”

“It sure feels like I did.”

Both of them are aware of the sudden shift in the tone of their conversation; with a hardening of her face that Tony has seen a less intimidating version of on Peter’s face, she flattens her tone and pins him with her gaze. Tony doesn’t dare to interrupt the point she begins to make. “Okay, I can’t - it’s time to cut the bullshit, Tony. I will not have you wallowing right now. I cannot handle it while my kid is still like this.”

Almost unbidden, her gaze strays again to Peter - Tony wonders if she’s worrying about the same things he is. Will he ever heal completely?

“We are going to be strong for him, okay?” she continues as if she’d never faltered. “Forget about the things we could have done or changed. You’ll forget about the way you came to get him, forget about passing out on him. I’ll forget that I let my sixteen-year-old child beat up criminals and didn’t consider that one day somebody with a grudge might choose to act on it.”

“There’s no way that was your--”

“That’s easy to think when it’s not you. And it’s not the point.” 

May is filled with a grief-stricken, worn-down kind of wisdom just then. It flows from fidgeting fingers and lashes clumped together by old tears; it grips Tony and doesn’t let him forget the words being spoken to him. 

“The point is that our kid is in a bad way, and we’re gonna be his pillars of strength. He is not going to worry one bit about how we’re feeling for once in his life. We’re gonna co-parent the shit out of this awful situation, and all three of us are gonna come out the other end, so help me God. I would prefer not to have to drag you behind me too.”

For a moment, Tony simply sits in stunned silence, marvelling at the fortitude of May Parker.

“How are you like this?” he says eventually, speaking his mind. “Why can’t I emulate your - what would Peter call it? Boss-ass parenting?”  

“Because - and I’m just making an observation here - you flail around with your emotions and don’t know what the hell to do with them.” 

The dry remark is punctuated by a laugh. 

Abruptly, the intense sincerity of moments before gives way to Tony’ favourite coping mechanism: joking uselessly about anything and everything that comes his way. The levity eases the hearts of them both.

Raising his eyebrows, he sits back in the hard hospital chair and replies, “That’s bold of you to say.”

“So you acknowledge that I’m right.”

“Well, my own dad was more of an advocate for not having any emotions, so I feel like I’m doing alright.”

May just offers him an affirmative smile.

---

“Sure you aren’t better off in the chair?”

“I’m fine, mom,” retorts Peter good-naturedly. “Besides, if I get tired, you can carry me back.”

There’s the sassy kid Tony loves.

Still, it’s not easy to watch said kid wobbling at a snail’s pace out of his room in the MedBay, his walking stick the only thing keeping from splattering across the floor.

“C’mon, bud, you’re killing me. At least lean on me.”

“No. I’d rather look like a grandpa than an invalid.”

Tony ends up dawdling uselessly behind the kid as he makes his determined, sluggish way towards the elevator.

It’s difficult to look at the kid and simply see Peter Parker anymore, searching past the arm casts and stitches and dressings and hospital gown and - although Tony hates to admit that it fazes him - the patchwork of burns across his face. He loves his kid to bits, no matter how messed up his face is. It’s the knowledge that, even unintentionally, Peter has them because of him, that makes him falter every time he lifts his eyes to meet the kid’s.

But scars be damned, the look on his face when they make it outside and the sun falls across him is unbeatable.

Ever the motormouth, the kid is silent for once, a sigh purging itself from his chest instead as he squints into the dappled light. It eases just a few of the million knots pulling at Tony’s own sternum.

“How are you feeling, kiddo?” he eventually works up the courage to ask.

“Pretty boss, actually, for not keeling over yet. Didn’t think I’d make it all the way here.”

“I actually meant…”

“Oh. Right.” Instantly, a little of the childlike joy withdraws from Peter’ demeanour, and Tony kicks himself.

There’s another long stretch of comfortable silence while the kid, still gazing out at the open grassland, collects his thoughts, mouth opening and closing minutely. Tony has learned to allow space for this grace period rather than interrupt the kid as he so often used to do, finding that when he let Peter talk in his own time, work past his stammering, he’d come out with some really surprising stuff. Profound. Intelligent. Sweet.

“I guess I’ve felt worse. But, uh, I’ve felt better. It’s just… the world is still here, but it feels like it should have… changed.”

It’s a vague statement, but Tony understands. Staggering out of the shattered remains of his suit, finding the Afghanistan desert around him as undulating and brutally hot as ever, he found himself baffled that the landscape hadn’t undergone the same trauma as him. The rest of the world was no worse for wear while he’d been torn to shreds. He’d felt that the desert itself was mocking him.

“And that’s what I’m scared of most, I think. Everyone’s - you know, they’re just going about their lives like normal and I have another thing weighing me down. Most people don’t freak out when they’re asked, like, a normal question. But it’s questions that get me. That’s all they said to me. They’d ask me what I wanted, and if I agreed to have anything… that was it.

“They wanted - they were trying to make me break, I think. So either I’d… I don’t know, drive myself crazy in there, or refuse everything else they offered me until I… maybe. I don’t know. And I’d forget there were people outside who wanted me with them.”

Tony smiles solemnly.

“I never forgot. I didn’t wanna let go. But it’s like - it was almost easier in there.”

There’s a lifetime of suffering etched into the look that Peter fixes Tony with then, tinged with something that might just be guilt.

“I know that sounds… weird--”

“Not weird at all. I felt that too.”

“You - what?” It takes a few moments, but the knowledge he hadn’t thought to turn over in his mind presents itself to him eventually and he gapes. “Mister Stark. Oh my God. You didn’t - I didn’t think about - you too?”

“Come to me with all your kidnapping queries,” Tony jokes flatly. Peter just widens his eyes.

The ensuing pause is tense. It’s broken by the appearance of a car near the entryway where they stand and a flinch at Tony’s side.

“What are they doing here?” the kid breathes, stricken.

Tony peers over at the opening car doors. “Who?”

He recognizes the kid’s friends, although he likes to pretend he doesn’t.

“It’s just Ted and Emma,” he says deliberately, but it doesn’t draw a laugh or even an acknowledgement from Peter, who appears frozen in place. “What, did you guys fall out over Snapchat? I thought they were nice.”

Swallowing fiercely, Peter turns on his heel and makes a swaying break for the doors.

“Kid!” Although at first he expects to have to run after him, Tony finds the kid is still so slow on his feet that he hardly has to move to address him. There’s no way he’ll even be through the foyer by the time his friends have reached - and after all he’d said about the people he loves getting him through his time in captivity, Tony had assumed he’d be a lot more excited to reunite with them.

It’s when Peter clumsily brings his cast-clad forearm up to cover his face that Tony makes sense of his reaction.

“They’re gonna see me, Mister Stark,” pleads the kid, hints of swollen red protruding from behind his wavering arm.

Although it twists at Tony’s heart to see the kid in such a vulnerable state and encourage him to remain in it, a more earnest chemical that sparks in his veins compels him to stand firm. “Yeah, they are, and it’s gonna be fine.”

“Peter!” comes an enthused shout from the approaching figures.

Stilling in indecision, Peter fixes his eyes on his walking stick, his white-knuckled grip on the handle. Tony simply waits for him to make a choice.

Ned makes it for him, sprinting over like lightning but halting abruptly a few feet in front of the kid, who eyes him with a face tautened by fear.

Tony sees Ned take in Peter’s appearance from top to toe. 

MJ joins him then, her deadpan veneer crumbling into horror-struck vulnerability as she beholds the brokenness of the once-mighty boy before her.

Peter ducks his head, hiding his expression behind a curtain of half-shaved hair. “I know,” he croaks.

There’s no reply for a long time. Then, as if he physically can’t contain his outburst any longer, Ned blurts, “ OhmyGodImissedyousomuchI’msogladyou’renotdead.”

Jerking his head back towards his friend a little, Peter lets out a bark of laughter that he surprises himself with.

Tears rapidly filling his eyes, Ned says, “Can I hug you?”

Peter opens his broken arm gingerly. “Don’t cry, dude,” he replies as Ned approaches with overly-hesitant steps, “Gonna make me cry, and when I cry it’s all over.”

The moment of embrace is heralded by a shared damp inhale from them both. Ned settles his arms softly around Peter, who sinks into the embrace, unable to raise his arms to reciprocate but making up for it by burying his face in the shoulder of his friend.

“Spider-Man trouble?” Ned questions him.

Faintly, Tony hears the kid mumble, “Sort of. It was just… they took me. Some bad guys.”

“You could have just told us, you dumbnut,” chips in Michelle, a telltale falter in the undertone of her own words, and goes to join the hug, looping her slender arms around both Peter and Ned. 

Tony can’t help but smile at the sight. The kid does have good friends.

“Didn’t want you to freak out,” mutters Peter. 

Ned pulls away a little with a frown. “We were freaked out enough,” he insists fervently, “We could take it.”

“He was freaked out to the max,” MJ adds, her trademark smirk ghosting her face for a moment. “I was cool about it.”

The kid isn’t comforted, however; Tony catches the gossamer-like glint of a tear racing down the unharmed side of his face. “It’s not just - I’m, I’m all screwed up now.”

“You’re fine. You’re still Peter.” 

Michelle draws him back into the hug, three sets of teenage arms interlinking, comforting one another, all plagued by suffering yet lifting one another up. A string of shaky sniffing noise emanates from where Tony can only guess Peter’s head is nuzzled, but it doesn’t worry him. In fact, he’s comforted by them. He knows the kid, can pick apart the different ways he releases emotion, and these tears signify relief.

It’s almost a minute before the group embrace is broken. Peter raises his head, face paler than when it had disappeared, and says, “Sorry - uh, guys, I gotta sit down.” Tony is baffled to find he’ll let Ned and MJ wrap their arms around him and help him back towards the doors although he’d been so adamant that Tony wasn’t permitted to do the same.

It leaves him idling by the entrance as they retreat, forgotten by the trio of single-track teenage minds heading towards Peter’s hospital room, but he finds himself remarkably unbothered. In fact, his heart is set at rest to such an extent at the sight of the three of them that he waits to follow them back to the MedBay, instead wandering a few steps further from the entrance of the Compound and inhaling the dewy scent of the day.

He’s just glad to see Peter healing.

---

The walking stick is only in active use for roughly a week before the kid’s back and ribs are well on their way to healing and he’s progressed to solid foods, beginning to gain the weight he’d dropped while captive. Usually, his healing might work at a faster rate, but malnutrition got him good. The freaky super-healing of old days resetting bones and staunching minor wounds after the kid’s patrols is only just now making a re-appearance, now the hollowness of Peter’s face is filling with colour again, now wiry muscle is re-threading itself along limbs that had looked fragile enough to snap with bare hands, now there is a hint of a spark punctuating his irises.

Tony, on the other hand, feels like he’s coming out of all this the worse for wear. The damn kid is going to give him a medical condition one day, he’s convinced. If he hasn’t already.

Recovery isn’t linear, it’s a hot mess. Tony knows this well. 

Peter cries in his assisted shower, then laughs uncontrollably for a straight minute at a meme MJ sent him while Tony is still drying his hair. He makes requests with distrust, then disquiet, then false confidence. He lets in visitors at last, lighting up from the inside out as he reunites with Pepper and Happy and Rhodey and hobbles out to the SI team that had helped find him to ramble out profuse thanks, then physically wilting when he returns to his room. His casts are sawed off. His hair begins to grow back. He eats his first meal. He cries at dinner. He has a nightmare. He begs to return to school, then begs not to the next morning. He stops writing halfway through a sheet of catchup Physics questions and stands at the Compound’s balcony blankly until Tony fetches him down. He remains blank and unresponsive for three days and nights before bursting back to life in a fit of tremors and tears and panic, then sags back in the arms of Tony and May and sleeps for a solid sixteen hours.

Now, he lies atop a jumble of cushions on the roof of the Compound, Tony at his side, and watches darkness bleed into the sky’s canopy.

Silence pervaded their walk towards the spot, and it pervades now. The gradual brightening of the crescent moon tells more for the moment than Tony’s words could, setting the tips of Peter’s eyelashes alight, spilling a pale wash of light across the fields that fold out from the two of them as if made by their hands.

It’s Peter who breaks the silence. “What’s gonna happen next?”

“What do you want to happen?”

“I don’t… I’m not sure, I guess.” Folding his arms tightly around himself so the ragged old fleece he’s wearing bunches upwards to warm his neck, Peter turns on his side a little, his eyes flickering upwards to meet Tony’s. “Everything was so simple when it was just me and my box. It sucked, but I knew what would happen. And before then, there was no reason to - to think about my life. It just happened. Now, I’m… scared. That if I don’t get it right I’m gonna stay like this, all screwed up, forever.”

The way in which Tony's face screws up at his declaration is overwhelmingly fond. “Peter, everyone's screwed up. Especially superheroes. We volunteer to deal with the blood and guts of the world, there's gotta be something wrong with us."

The kid lets out an abrupt giggle.

"But - you know what? No matter what, no matter how screwed up you feel, nothing's gonna stop you from being my kid. Nothing in the world - no, the universe.”

The truth having been dispensed, Tony sets back his shoulders against the cushions and notes the outlines of clouds dissipating into the captivating gloom of the night. While the kid makes no audible response, his stillness speaks.

“And if you don’t know what you wanna do, May and I can help you out. We’re in your corner.” A deprecating smile breaks out across his face. “I remember leaving Afghanistan, flying back to a world full of people waiting to see Tony Stark’s next move. They needed me to make a plan, crack a joke, do something.”

“What did you do first?”

“I asked for a cheeseburger,” he huffs.

Peter lets out a peal of laughter. It’s carefree in the way Tony only hoped it might return to when he saw the kid beaten and exhausted on the floor of the Compound’s entryway. “Must’ve tasted pretty awesome,” he says with a shrug.

“No, kid, it sucked.”

Peter swivels to study him.

“It sucked so bad that it brought me back to reality.”

“And… what was reality like?”

“In 2008? Reality kind of sucked too.” He pushes away thoughts of Obadiah’s leering face. They’re of no use to him now. “But - it’s crazy, because I think it took the kidnapping for me to figure that out. Not that I’m glad it happened. But… silver lining, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” is all Peter says, the furrow in his brow revealing that he’s deep in thought. Tony waits for him, pressing absentmindedly at his left temple where a low-grade headache buzzes. The night air, the peace of the moment, are helping to ease it.  

Eventually, Peter blinks harshly and says, “I think I wanna start patrolling again soon.”

“You do?”

Tony will admit that his blood chills at the admission. It’s the simple fear of a repeat of everything they’re still working to overcome.

“As much as it kind of terrifies me… yeah, I do. I, it’s - helping people, it’s my thing.” Peter smiles at Tony, the burnt side of his face still struggling to sustain the lifting of his mouth but conveying the earnest hope of the expression nonetheless. “It’s what makes my reality good. I mean, it’s - it’s hard, and it hurts, and I see people who are at their worst and people who know no better than lashing out, but I also--” 

The kid sobers in an instant.

“Did I ever tell you about the guy I met?” he asks quietly. “At the, uh, at the Queensboro Bridge?”

Tony shakes his head.

“He was standing right on the edge and he - yeah. I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I had to do something. I just - swung by and sat a little way away. He swore something awful at me at first, and I… I was so close to just getting up and leaving. I was sure he wanted me to - to leave, I mean - but I didn’t. Maybe two hours later, he just, he just turned around, walked away from the edge, and got back down onto the sidewalk. He let me walk him home. He didn’t jump. Because I was there. And that was just - you know, wow. I always think about that, that one time someone kept living because I was there to help them. I’m not giving up the chance to do that again, a million times if I can. It’s… it’s my responsibility, I guess, and it also just so happens that I love doing it. It’s my real superpower.” He nods at that, a small, tight, affirming motion. Spreading his arms so they hover above him, oversized against the distant backdrop of the stars, he raises his voice: “So, like, why should bad guys be able to get in the way of it? Screw that.”

“Screw that,” echoes Tony, at a loss for further comment. 

He won’t be keeping Peter away from patrolling any time soon. Not when the kid has a sermon like that to back him up.

A chill runs through him at the rippling of a current of breeze along the length of the roof; it jolts a bittersweet memory into his mind. 

“I wasn’t alone in Afghanistan, did you know that?”

“No.”

“I woke up to a man in the cave with me. His name was Yinsen. He…”

“Is this the last act of defiance of the great Tony Stark?”

As easily as Tony forgets on some days, on others he remembers so deeply that he can still smell the dust and smoke and sweat and fear in that cave.

“With his last words, he told me not to waste my life. He was my Spider-Man.” He throws out a grin, returned instantly by the kid, who has his cheek pillowed on an arm to watch him. “And look at me now, right? If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be here today. Definitely wouldn’t be worrying my ass off about you all the live-long day.”

Tony sticks a hand out of his own bulky sweater and ruffles the kid’s hair, anticipating the kid’s swerve and messing with the curls until they’re irredeemably rumpled. Peter lets his lower lip protrude; Tony just laughs at him.

“So… you’re not wasting your life?” hesitates the kid, shuffling a little closer. There’s a more profound meaning behind the question, one that tugs at Tony’s heartstrings in a million different ways.

He fixes Peter with a level gaze. “Not one second of it.”

As if his words have put his mind at rest, the kid flops onto his back, exhaling in a sigh. He doesn’t bother to fix his hair, leaving it tufting away from his head in countless haphazard cowlicks.

The ensuing inhale Tony hears issue from the kid’s throat holds a new, darker note.

“Mister Stark, what happened to the Oscorp guys?”

“You don’t need to worry about them,” Tony asserts firmly.

“Mister Stark.”

“I made sure they’d never think about taking you again.”

Peter rolls away to the side at that: just a little, but enough to let Tony know that his words have unsettled him. He’d done it for the kid, as much as he knew that it wouldn’t be received positively. Perhaps he’d really done it for himself, then. His own peace of mind, certainly, and relief from the pressure of fury behind his ribs.

All he can think now, however, is that he can’t lose the atmosphere he and the kid have cultivated here, the peace, the honesty.

Turning himself to angle his body towards the kid, he begins, “You know, Pete, I - I really want you to know that you can call me. Any time. None of the crap I pulled before you took down Toomes. I’ll be your Spider-Man. If that sounds… good.”

As hesitant as he’d been, Peter’s furtive smile shows he appreciates the sentiment. He sniffs away the dampness of the evening and says, “That sounds really good.”

“When you get back out there, it’s gonna be tough, I can guarantee. Tough as anything. Nobody can really know what you went through. But I’ll be there, and--”

“I get it, Mister Stark.” The kid’s nose scrunches then in that unique, wonky way of his when he’s amused.

“What did I say about interrupting when I’m being nice?” Tony retorts, affecting offense.

Peter pays the words little heed, instead shifting until he’s tucked against Tony’s side and shyly nudging his head into the nook between his shoulder and neck.

At first, Tony’s stunned into stillness. He and Peter have never been very physically intimate in the past although Tony knows the kid derives a lot of comfort from it: he’s placed hands on his shoulders, squeezed once in a while, steered him one way or another with a hand at his back, even tucked strands of hair away from his eyes once or twice, but the hug barrier has rarely been broken. When he puts his hands on Peter, thoughts of flying fists and broken glass overtake his motor functions, drawing him away.

Perhaps it’s these years of wrestling back and forth that make the simplicity of Peter’s current closeness so breathtaking.

“Thank you,” breathes Peter.

The words encompass a thousand instances of gratefulness. He always forgets the way the kid can do that with a single sentence of thanks.

Tony slowly lets his arm curl around the kid’s shoulders. Far above them, a star pierces the blanket of the night with increased potency.

Caring his throat, he hums, wondering how to bring up the strange thought that’s crossed his mind. “Actually, I also wanted to… a couple of days ago, I found this - you know what, forget it. I said nothing.”

“That’s mean!” Tilting his head so he’s gazing up at Tony from just beneath his chin, he pleads, “Tell me what it is.”

“It’s stupid and sappy--”

“I love stupid and sappy. Please, Mister Stark.”

And there arrive the wide baby browns Tony can’t resist.

“Damn puppy eyes,” he mutters, fishing in the pocket of his pants for his phone.

“They still work?”

Frowning, Tony looks away from the glow of the phone display to find a startling amount of uncertainty in Peter’s demeanour.

“What are you talking about, Pete?” he exclaims, letting his genuine disbelief temper his tone. Before the memories can flood in, he lifts his free hand and brushes it gently across the kid’s patchwork cheek. “‘Course they still work. As long as your head is on your neck, you’ll be able to sway me.”

There’s a faint smile from Peter, but it’s not convincing enough for Tony. He continues: “You look great, by the way.”

The kid ducks his head, huffing out a nervous laugh. 

“Still Peter Parker. Still adorable.”

“I’m not adorable,” argues the kid weakly, casting about, “I’m…”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “You're adorable.”

“Okay,” Peter concedes with little reluctance.

Scrolling through his music app until he finds what he was looking for, Tony blows out a breath, feeling nerves unexpectedly rearing their head.

“It’s a song?”

“Yeah. I heard it first while you were out there. Made me think of you. Well, get ready for the sap.”

He presses play.

A soft guitar melody begins the song, slow strumming patterns flooding the rooftop and settling peace across both the figures lying there.

Lying in my bed I hear the clock tick and think of you

Turning in circles, confusion is nothing new

Flashback to warm nights

Almost left behind

Suitcase of memories

Time after...

Peter’s knee settles against Tony’s as he winds himself further around him. The warmth at Tony’s side is elating and calming all at once; he wonders why he was so scared to do this before.

Sometimes you picture me, I’m walking too far ahead

You’re calling to me, I can’t hear what you’ve said

And you say go slow

I fall behind

The second hand unwinds…

An alien but wholly welcome silence descends upon his mind, halting the constant whirring and worrying. Watching Peter’s eyes slide shut on his shoulder, he imagines the kid is experiencing the same thing. There’s a small, confidential smile curling across his face; it’s a thank you of its own.

If you’re lost, you can look and you will find me

Time after time

If you fall, I will catch you, I’ll be waiting

Time after time

Peter’s head bobs in a way that somehow communicates that he understands why Tony connected to these lyrics. They say what he can’t.

Tony is filled with overwhelming affection, so all-encompassing it spills from his chest and fills the Compound, the surrounding forest, the sky itself, for the small boy at his side who has grown an unfathomable amount since the day he first set eyes on a kid in a onesie running around Queens.

---

One month later

Standing before the long mirror in the corner of his bedroom, Peter studies himself and the bundle of bright red-and-blue fabric he holds.

The suit appears innocuous bunched up in his newly-healed hands that way, but it holds more power than he'd before been aware of: in the eyes of some, the power to condemn him. The power to regard him as a test subject.

It had happened out of nowhere , his danger sense knocking him off guard with a sudden blare that pricked viciously at the back of his neck. Then--

BANG

The gunshot sent him scrambling the length of the block to reach the source, slipping and almost crashing to the ground with the misplaced momentum of a haphazardly slung string of webbing. Sprinting the last few steps, he rounded the street corner and came across a woman with a gun to her head, flanked by a gang of four masked people.

"Spider-Man! Help, get me out of here--"

"Shut up!" thundered the gang member who had her pulled against his chest. "And you--" he tilted his pistol momentarily in Peter's direction "--put your fucking hands up! Don't try anything!"

As much time as Peter spent rescuing small animals from the perils of New York City traffic and halting the occasional robbery, he wasn't unfamiliar with the city's more ugly crimes. This was a textbook mugging. In fact, it felt almost... too familiar.

Peter raised his hands for the moment, although he had no intention of keeping them there. The gun was his primary concern, however, and until he had a guarantee he'd be able to keep it a good distance away from the scared lady's brains he was eager to play it safe.

His hurried strategization proved in vain, as did the quip half-formed on his tongue, when a sharp sting in the side of his neck compelled him to turn sharply to the side.

Nothing.

Groping at his neck, he closed his hand around a needle.

The drug hit him instantly, knocking his sense of balance and clouding his vision so severely he hadn't a hope of getting to the hostage.

Or was she even a hostage? Had any of it been real?

"Woah, what the hell," he remarked with alarmingly numb lips. The ground rose up to meet him in the way it always does in movies: the screen fades to black, the music halts - but his senses remained dulled to a blurry grey.

Shedding his t-shirt, Peter clears his throat in a preparatory gesture before twisting around to see the half-healed welts across his back. The angry red swelling that had once ringed each mark has softened to a slightly heightened pink which rings long white lines, forty of them still there but receding.

They're kind of cool, he thinks abruptly. They show that he's still around. That he is strong.

He shucks off his pants then steps into the suit with a deep breath.

Then came the hands, what felt like dozens of them to Peter's wandering mind, gripping, running up and down his suit, searching for something.

He was in deep shit; although he was nowhere near coherent enough to fight off the invaders with his lead-heavy limbs, he knew that for sure. These guys had him in their lap - literally. The possibilities of what might happen to Peter ran through his mind in quick, delirious procession, so vividly reasonable that they brought bile to the back of his throat.

He let out a quiet groan, the only act of protestation he could muster. It only drew a laugh from the hands. 

"They hit him hard, didn't they?"

"Not hard enough." It was the voice of the woman he'd rushed to save just moments ago. "Supposed to knock him out."

"Just hit him with another. It can't kill him, right?"

"Got a smaller chance than what's gonna happen once we get him to Norman."

Another furtive, ugly laugh.

A whizzing noise alerted him to the decompression of his suit. 

"Fucking finally."

He was pulled back and forth, limp as a ragdoll, as the million hands worked his suit off him, his last shred of protection slipping off his immobile legs and leaving him in his boxers.

"Oh, Christ. He's... young."

"Still Spider-Man. We do our job."

Tapping the spider emblem on his chest, Peter watches as the fabric rushes inwards to meet his skin, as he transforms from boy to superhero.

Though he'd managed to hide the lash marks by changing in corners after gym class, there was nothing he could do to conceal the fading burns on his face.

Peter greets the shining, reddened skin there with a mixture of solemnity and strange fondness. He no longer needs dressings, just time, and acceptance of his new appearance. His hair will grow out again. The marks will fade further and further until they're a part of him.

The hands seized him again and dragged him back down the street he'd entered so quickly, so blindly. His sluggish heart begun a weak chorus of hammering. Torn between utter panic and complete lethargy, his body rebelling against his screaming danger sense, he found to his dismay that the drugs began to win. A screech of tires; he was lifted onto a metal floor.

Oh, God, he remembers thinking vaguely. Mister Stark had better come for me.

The ensuing cacophony of voices was too multitudinous for him to pick out. The second needle in his neck, however, was keenly picked up by his pleading, aching danger sense. The awareness of the fact that a second dose of drugs was about to enter his bloodstream did nothing to prevent his vision fading to black, noise halting. End scene.

He passes out among the million hands and wakes up to white tiles.

Brushing gloved hands habitually through the errant locks of hair lying across his forehead, he watches himself one last time, tries to connect the dots between the suit Mister Stark had re-made for him, the invisible stitching, the black arrow-lines dividing bold red and blue, the graceful shape of the suit around him culminating at his neck in a neat seam, and the scarred skin that grows from that seam and forms the face of Peter Parker, Spider-Man.

"Peter Parker," he repeats under his breath, "Spider-Man."

He'll admit that the murky flashes of the past that mar his mind now scare him a little. Although he hadn't known it the first time he'd stepped into this suit, he makes himself both strong and vulnerable when he's in it. His heart hadn't stopped beating in his box, but it had come close, whether from thirst or hunger or pain or blood loss or sheer loneliness; and yet now it beats a tattoo against his tender ribs as if making up for any doubts of its fervour, beating and beating and beating.

But there's more than one reason why he's donned the suit today.

Peter slips the mask over his head and vaults over the windowsill, emerging into the brilliantly warm light of the golden hour that lays in delicate streaks across the patchwork of rooftops that make up the puzzle of Queens. He's warmed from the inside out by the light. Shooting a web, taking a leap, he swings, revelling in the cool wind, the airy momentum of his movement.

The glass doors of the Compound cast blinding, enchanting reflections of the sinking sun, but if Peter squints he can make out a familiar form waiting for him in the entry.

Letting go of his web line, he twists backwards in the air, arcing into a backflip just for the hell of it, before dropping to his feet outside the doors.

The first thing he notices is Tony's smile. It's an indulgent thing, packed so full of fondness that Peter feels the excess settling in his own expression, and lit up by the golden light.

Spreading his arms, Peter nods at himself, making a beckoning motion as if encouraging praise from a cheering crowd, then turns on the spot so Mister Stark can see every inch of the suit and know that Peter's decision to wear it again is very deliberate. Through the glass, there's a silent laugh from his mentor. Peter hasn't seen him so unapologetically happy since the day he was taken.

Dropping the goofy act, he pulls off his mask and watches the face across the glass brighten further still. Peter unconsciously brings up a hand to his old burns, a flicker of a reflection showing him the ragged skin for a moment before being swallowed up by the vast glory of the sun. Tony just quirks the corners of his mouth, the affection in his eyes unwavering.

Peter steps through the glass door, throwing out a blade of refracted light that pierces nothing but the safe haven of nature around him, and meets him inside.

[silverlysilence]

Destinations Better Left Forgotten

Okay, this was an AU I’ve had rattling around in the back of my mind for some time now and I finally decided to just get it down.  Please tell me what you think because this is something I might come back to.  There is a lot of potential for further world building and it’s different enough from both fandoms that it is unique.

Jack gazed through the thick-doubled plated glass window of his compartment, not seeing the scenery at all. The white stone walls and gleaming stained-glass windows had long since passed, giving way to lush green fields full of crops and dotted with large majestic trees that towered over the lands. The tracks even went through the pastures where a heard of wild horses ran alongside train and keen eyes caught sight of a small regal foal in the mix, the white of her main only outdone by the glimmering purity of her golden horn.  

But as the day wore on and night creep closer, the lands they crossed faded.  The colorful wildflowers gave way to weeds and the greenery washed away to wilting yellows and then barren browns.  The chirping of songbirds turned to screeches of scavengers and more than a few red eyes gave the steam engine a second look.  However, with the wards freshly renewed, even the foolhardiest of monsters thought twice at the power emanating from the train.

Many of the passengers had rushed to the side and stare out the windows in awe as they passed by a gaggle of giants who’d rethought their plan to ambush the train and instead chose to turn tail.  It was the closest most of the people had ever gotten to a monster without fearing for their lives. Jack, for his part, had enjoyed listening to the children chatter on in excitement, unaware of the very real danger they could have been in if the fraying wards hadn’t been updated hours prior.

Regardless of how the luxury train’s amenities were and the attentive catering of their staff, they were far from the safest travel as they’d advertised.  Something the conductor was well aware of and despite his many pleas to the higherups for funds to update the wards and various safety enchantments throughout the compartments, they’d spent the money on charms that made the gas lamps burn different colors and expanding spells to increase the room sizes of their VIP compartments, one of which Jack was upgraded to.

The conductor had taken only look at his fine silk robes, embroidered with the finest silver thread and adorned with sapphires and had pulled him aside.  His economy seating was given away to a grateful woman and her granddaughter in favor of the luxurious sleeper cabin, all in exchange for a renewing the wards.  

Jack would have done it for free, he intended to when he took one look at the despicable deteriorating state of the ward the luxury line boasted as the best protection money could offer and knowing where they were headed, he didn’t want to put the lives of the people on board at risk.  Any other time, he would have reported the infraction to the magistrate and charged the company an exorbitant price for the services.  However, the Crown had already paid his guild an exorbitant fee in advance for their services and booked the first available train out for them. Going so far as to pay an extra fee to get the job done quickly and with such a hefty sum, he could not be the cause of any type of delay.

He’d already tried getting out of this particular assignment, but he was the only one available on such short notice.  Not only that, but Manny, the current Master of the Guild, had assigned him the mission. Jack couldn’t say no to him. Not after the man had taken a chance on a no named peasant and brought him into the folds of one of the most revered guilds in the lands that people had killed for just to get a chance at an opportunity to join.

Maybe, if he had been a little bit more open and honest with the master, Manny would have found someone else.  But Jack had never told a soul of his past, not even when it meant the difference between becoming a part of the guild or not.  He had held firm when Guardian North had questioned him and it was his resolve not to give in despite the alternative that gained him permeant membership in the guild.

If Master Manny or any of the head Guardians knew they were sending him back to the very place which gave him the nightmares that terrorized him most nights, they would never forgive themselves.

Burgess.  A hardy settlement that had managed to survive for decades in spite of being near the Dark Forest.  The people there were strong-willed—they had to be living where they did—and very superstitious.  There were those there that had kind hearts, but the kindness usually bled out of them—sometimes literally—over the years.

As a child, Jack saw the place as home.  Life was hard, but he and his family made due.  His sister and he had been out foraging through the nearby woods with his father, a supposed safe zone when a monster attacked. It clung to the shadows but razor-sharp teeth and claws tore viciously into flesh.  His father had held it off, screaming for Jackson to take his sister and run which he did.  Never looking back.

However, they’d fled across the frozen pond and while the ice was thick enough to hold their weight, it splintered underneath the weight of the large creature came after them. Jack didn’t know what happen, one moment he was pushing his sister forward, the next he was cold—cold—cold and water filling his lungs.  He vaguely recalled seeing icy blue eyes as he sunk further into the water then nothing.

He awoke on the side of the bank, frozen to the core and shivering and yet, alive.  The pond was destroyed, spears of jagged ice splintering up and outwards as if something exploded from beneath before freezing solid an instant later.  There were black fragments of what looked to be sand from a distance—Jack had not attempted a closer look in fear of what he might find the sand to actual be—encased in the ice and blood.

Jack had taken a good long look at the ice before pulling himself to his feet and making the journey back to the settlement.  Shivering all the way from the cold and the fear that his home had become a desolate battlefield in his absence. He should have been more worried for himself because as soon as he stepped foot in what would be his former home, all eyes turned on him and the whispers started.

He had stood there, not knowing what to do until his mother and sister made their way to the front of the gathered crowd.  Flee had made to run for him but his mother had held her back, horror on her face.  For when Jackson had left the settlement that morning with his father and sister, his hair and eyes had been that of earthly tones, but now standing before them was a boy as pale as the night, hair white like the moon and eyes of glaciers.

Jack didn’t know how he survived the next three months in the settlement.  Whispers followed him everywhere, his mother exiled him from the house but completely from the property in fear.  Instead, he lived out in his father’s tiny storage shed and feed scraps.  Though, to be fair, there wasn’t that much food to be had as the Dark Forest creatures grew ever bolder, creeping closer than they’d ever come before to the settlement.

The whispers became louder and fear gripped the people.  It was only when the whispers stopped when he strolled through town that the hairs on the back of his neck began to rise.  Something was coming.  Something big and he shouldn’t have been taken by surprised as he’d been when the lynch mob had come for him.

The people of Burgess were superstitious after all, and he’d come back from a watery grave with the hues of winter right as the monsters became more brazen.  It was not hard to figure out what their intentions were when he saw the rope and chains.  Jackson had fought tooth and nail, but he was a mere boy and they were many.

Tears had stained his faces, mixing with blood as they bond him with chains and rope to a stake near the edge of the Dark Forest.  His sobs muffled by the filthy gag that had been brutishly tied, pulling out more than several strands of hair.  Not a single one looked back as they left him there.  

A blood sacrifice to appease the monster in hopes of leaving the rest of them alone.

Jackson hadn’t known how long he sat there, crying well into the moonless night but his eyes never left the forest’s edge, which was why he immediately noticed movement as the most dangerous of monsters crept forth.

That was the night Jackson Overland died.

“I see you haven’t moved for quite some time,” a rough voice drew glacier eyes away from the darkened horizons and towards the cabin’s opened door where a tall man casually leaned up against the frame as if he owned the place.  Unlike the delicate silks that draped across his body, the man before him wore thick dark leathers well-worn and scarred from use.  A trained eye such as his could easily identify the various inauspicious trinkets and gems as the weapons and arsenal they were.  If it wasn’t for the black markings partly hidden by auburn hair on his forehead he knew was there and the unnatural shade of vibrant green eyes, Jack might have thought he was just another hunter.  

“Lord Haddock,” Jack nodded to the man as a pair of pretty ladies in their finest attire slow meandered down the corridor.  Their light giggles and hushed whispers a clear indication they were listening in and more likely than not had been following the lord for some time.  “Please do come in.”

The lord didn’t grace him with a response. Instead, he crossed the threshold with one large step and slid the door close, drawing the curtains closed for good measure before taking a seat. Vivid green eyes narrowed as they took in his paler than normal features and slightly trembling hands before darting over towards the small cart still laden with untouched food.

Jack saw the look and attempted to deflect.  “Hiccup—”

“You didn’t eat,” the lord shut him down before he could get any further.  Grabbing a cup, Hiccup poured the now room temperature cocoa and held the delicate china out to Jack.  After a moment, steam began to rise from the cup and the white-haired man finally relented, taking the now hot cup with both hands to prevent his trembling from spilling any of the exotic beverage and bringing it to his lips.

“Thank you.”

Hiccup didn’t say anything as he poured a second cup and stared the liquid down until it was boiling, only then did he drink.

“You need to eat, renewing the wards took a lot of energy,” the lord spoke once Jack finally finished his cocoa and his hands were no longer trembling.

“I wasn’t hungry, what with the giants still being as close as they are,” Jack shrugged, setting the cup aside.

“You don’t need to worry about them, they’ve been taken care of,” Hiccup grinned, revealing two sharp fangs. In an instant, the lord was across the cabin and in Jack’s space, a rough thumb trailing down the sharp lines of his cheek causing eyes blue eyes to flutter shut.  “After all, my pretty little gem, the prized piece of my hoard, is on this gods’ forsaken piece of garbage and I wouldn’t want any harm to come to him now. Even if he won’t allow me to rain fire down on the pathetic excuses for fleshbags that tossed aside such a precious treasure.”

“Hiccup, no.  They tried to sacrifice me once, but they won’t be able to again.”

“You’re right.  They can’t, after all, dragons only accept virgin sacrifice and you far from qualify anymore,” Hiccup smirked.

“And who’s fault is that?” Jack glared up into eager green eyes with no effect.  The red flush that spread from his face down his neck only made those vivid eyes darken as dark black plates appeared a crossed the lord’s cheeks. “Damn horny dragon.”

Hiccup sealed the distance between their lips, ravishing the white-haired man’s mouth and thoroughly exploring the moist cavern with his tongue, only pulling away when air became an issue. “Just for you, my pretty little gem, just for you.”

Not sure if i got this across correctly, but the world I envisioned is like a combination of D&D with its fantasy elements, RWBY with the dark creatures running about and the need for Guilds and hunters to keep the people protected, and Fullmetal Alchemist..

This also stems from the fact that dragons have hoards and Jackson is a precious gem that needs to be loved and draped with the finest of things because his dragon won’t see him in anything less than the best.  If his gem wants to learn magic from the best Guild out there, Hiccup will make it happen damnit, even if they don’t realize he’s one of the creatures they’re supposed to be hunting down.  But hey, it’s not his fault the fleshbags haven’t figured out dragons can do more than breath fire. 

[lixuagi]

The Cure for Death - chapter 3

MC makes a fool of herself. Again.

For a few seconds, time seems to have stopped. Nobody knows what to do. -..-Specifically you, 069. Throw the kid in the well. He doesn’t deserve more than the others.- the panic pervades the little boy again and, this time, Julian too. -I can’t do that, sir– -DO IT! Or you’re going to have to sacrifice yourself.- all of this is happening because of me. It’s all my fault. –Come on, No.069. Or maybe you don’t want to change the opinion that the “saviour” of Vesuvia has of you? Don’t think that I didn’t notice your intentions. Romantic instinct manifests itself so quickly in you beasts… it’s repulsive.- Valdemar’s grin is so wide that it almost reaches their cheekbones. -So? Nothing, no reaction? All right. Those who are silent agree, after all. You’re both going to be killed. I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty, as opposed to you cowards.- I’m paralyzed as I watch the Questor grab the little boy by the arm. I thought it was all a farce of theirs. They didn’t look so cruel when they made me wear my uniform. Now I wish I never put it on. My goal is to save people, and not just regarding medical matters. I have to do something. I move towards them before Julian can put his life at even greater risk. -No! Leave the boy alone, please! Let him go back to his family!- I throw myself at their feet, clutching a flap of their coat tightly. -Oh? And why should I do that?- they stop their pace, while the little one kicks and squirms, but this does not seem to loosen their grip at all. –It’s my fault, not theirs! I’m the one who needs to pay. Please.- the last words are a whisper choked with despair. Julian quickly approaches, ready to stop me: -MC, no!– -Wait, 069. She could offer me an interesting exchange.- interrupts the Quaestor. -Go on.- -You can do what you want of me. You can fire me, or… or kill me, if that’s what’s needed to save that child and Julian. Take my life, too. I could never forgive myself for being the cause of the death of an innocent.- not again… -… Very well.- they open their hand, releasing the hostage. What?! No! You are crossing the line!- Julian’s cries are totally ignored. Valdemar’s focus is solely on my person, as they ponder how I should pay. –Everybody, get back to your work. Immediately.- this order, after a few seconds of shock, is executed promptly. –No. 069, bring our dear patient to the exit.- -But what will you do with MC?- -Oh, you’re really interested in her. This interest is going to be the next thing I’m going to destroy if you keep showing it like that. Now go, and don’t irritate me any further.- Julian is tempted to, but eventually he obeys, coming to the conclusion that it is better  for everyone’s safety. I remain on my knees, covered by the long shadow of my superior. After a few seconds in which they relish my total resignation, they decide that they’re is full of it. -Get up. I’m not going to hurt you. I need you whole and alive.- I put my hands on the ground, giving me a weak push to get back on my feet. –What are you going to do to me?- -On your rest hours you will allow me to study you.- it seems a fairly innocuous request compared to their previous threats. I nod, without even trying to explain to them that magic is a phenomenon that cannot be studied scientifically. Depriving them of this option could lead to more stringent measures. –Now go to your office. Judging by the state you were in after treating another infected patient, you should be close to fainting by now. And that’s not convenient.- they stretch a hand towards me and I instinctively back off. They look at me like I’ve done something incomprehensible and they let a key dangle from their fingers. I relax my shoulders and take it, being careful to avoid any other contact. We both have gloves, but they don’t help me feel safer from them. I quickly walk through the clinic, and  slip into the room marked with my number, under dozens of astonished glances that I have carefully avoided. I close the door behind me and slump onto it, finally letting free the tears I held before. With one hand I rummage in my bag until I come into contact with the smooth surface of the amulet, which I promptly clench to my chest. I almost feel like I’m hearing Asra’s voice. “MC, inhale and exhale. Inhaaale. And exhale. That’s it, just like that.” But when I look around, there’s no one there. It’s just memories. Instead of my best friend, there’s a bare cot. I’m struggling, overwhelmed by exhaustion. The absence of windows makes me lose the perception of time, and soon my vision darkens completely as I sink into sleep.

.

My dreams are confused, a mixture of blurred images and mingled voices. Slowly, I focus. I’m at an elegant dance, in a salon lit by crystal chandeliers and decorated with golden festoons. The music is distorted, slowed down, but around me the participants in their glitzy outfits don’t seem to notice. I, too, dance with them, dragged by an invisible force. Suddenly everything stops. The flames of the candles perish, and only the costumes and masks remain, slumped to the ground. The cold penetrates my bones. Something else pushes me. My eyes meet the empty ones of an animal skull, partly covered by a funeral ashy veil. The figure terrifies me more than it should as I start to shout, but from my lips no sound comes out. I can’t control my body or my will, as the gloomy mask gets smaller and smaller. It’s not it who’s walking away, it’s me, I notice as my back slams into a marble pillar. I can’t get away from it, I’m forced to stick to it, held still by invisible arms. I was sure that I was wearing a dress, but I feel a tickle on the nude of my ankles. Forcing me to lower my head is almost impossible, but I manage to succeed. A beetle is climbing my calf. It’s ruby-colored, it shines with it, as if it were filled with blood. It stops its march on my thigh, then sinks its little tusks in it. I let out a cry of pain, it hurts much more than I expected, the bite burns a lot and I feel the poison that the creature injected me propagate all over my leg. There comes another sting, this time on my hand. The exoskeletons that climb on my skin instantly become a myriad, and each of them wants its portion. A particularly painful wound tarnishes my view of vermillion.

.

I wake up and immediately snap to my seat, sweating and panting. I put my hands all over my body in search of any insect, the nightmare seemed so real that I could swear it really was. Fortunately, there is no trace of the creatures. I look for a clock, I could have either slept ten minutes or ten hours, but as I peer every corner of my dark room I notice a figure sitting at the foot of my bed. -Ah!- I jolt backwards, slamming my back against the wall. -Don’t worry No. 100, it’s me.- the more I blink, the more I focus on the Quaestor. Even if I was blind, the slightly hoarse and gloomy voice is impossible not to recognize. -For all the Arcana, Valdemar!-  I hug my knees to my chest, like I was trying to cover myself. Then I remember I never undressed and I try to assume a vaguely relaxed pose. -Why, yes, it’s me. I heard a noise from your room and suspecting that you and No. 069 had decided to secretly meet, I decided to come in.- I blush. Then why are they sitting on my bed? -Then I felt something was disturbing your sleep and I decided to try and watch you. It might be a feature that peoplewith your power share.- I’m shocked, I hope that they didn’t really read my mind to answer me. In doubt, I shout “I find you very sexy, Quaestor!” in my head, in an attempt to cause some kind of reaction. But that doesn’t happen and I feel incredibly stupid. I notice that they have a notebook in their hands where they have already taken, like any good doctor, unreadable notes. -Speaking of Julian, I mean… 069. It’s not what you think…- I mumble, while my cheeks are already starting to redden. Valdemar tilts their head in their strange mechanical manner, puzzled. Hmm? Could you explain yourself better, young nurse?- -I mean…- I keep my eyes down, torturing my fingers. I don’t care about him that way. We just met. I just liked talking to someone. I find it… reassuring.- Maybe opening me up a little bit more might soften them. And most of all, I don’t want Julian to be penalized because of me again. -Oh, you young people and your strange rituals. If that’s the case, are you implying that you don’t find me reassuring?- their thin lips stretch into a smile that’s not  friendly at all. I know the game they’re playing. Come on, MC, try to find something… nice in them. I scrutinize them carefully, unconsciously approaching my face to theirs, an action to which they do not react. As green as they are, they have a smooth skin. And their face is perfectly symmetrical. No, no. That’s not reassuring. Red irises, sharp teeth. Damn, everything about them screams “danger”! However, their face is so different from the norm that it is harmonious. If I were a demon, and I had a specific standard of beauty, I think the Quaestor would reflect it. -So?- they insist, by now my answer is making too much of a wait. Quick, say something that might be a good enough answer! I think my brain short-circuited, because the first thing I spit is, -It’s not like that, you’re very pretty.- and with that, I dug my own pit. As soon as I realize what I said, I cover my face with my hands, stammering apologies to profusion: -Sorry, I did not mean to…! I mean… I… ah! – they grab my wrists, carrying my arms on my lap. -This reaction is nothing short of interesting, let me observe it.- and this said, they proceed to embarrass me even more by approaching dangerously. The bastard is perfectly aware of their actions. -I’ve seen a lot of people in my life. Yet… farce or not, you retain a strange purity. Like a body immersed in formaldehyde, the years pass but…- they squint, occasionally batting the long eyelashes. -I have to admit, it’s a strange compliment…- I mutter turning my face, unable to sustain that penetrating gaze. When they decide they have put me in awe enough, they reassemble themselves, straightening their back and carrying their hands behind them. -Do you often speak in your sleep?- they ask, their head perpetually tilted. -No, as far as I know.- even if morally the Quaestor and I are polarly opposed, I trust their medical knowledge. Maybe one day they could, with some strange serum, make my energy infinite or share my power with others. It wouldn’t hurt to have someone with my same abilities next to me. Thinking about it, that question evokes something, it is undoubtedly a déjà-vu. Yes, I remember now. Shortly after the “accident” nightmares tormented me incessantly, sometimes even as a wake-up call. I was screaming in the middle of the night. I was repeating “sorry, I’m sorry” looped. Asra was always very scared and worried too much. I rub my forearm, I don’t have anyone here to take such care of me. Not that I need it, but I find certain attentions essential. A human cannot live without love. Maybe Valdemar isn’t human, that would explain their bizarre appearance and macabre behavior. -Now that I think about it, it happens to me in times of great stress.- -I wouldn’t have done that,- the doctor tells me, voice as flat as a summer lake. -What?- -I would never have been so reckless as to kill a healthy person and an employee of mine who is just as much healthy. That would have been just another futile and instinctive action.- astonished, I elaborate their words. That’s a nice reassurance. They may be sadistic, but they certainly wouldn’t do something counterproductive. -At most I would have dissected the child later to see what mutations your magic had caused to his organs.- I burst into laughter, taking it as a joke. -What’s wrong with you?- oh yes, stress is making me laugh more than I should. When I can calm down, my eyes are shiny. -You know, you have a special sense of humor, but I think the more I’m going to stay here, the more I’m going to understand it!- I smile, relieved. They would like to tell me that they were not joking at all, but for some reason, maybe even unknown to them, they do not. -Your emotions vary very quickly.- and with this they pin something on the notebook. I let the smile hover over my lips for a while longer. –No.100, I’d like you to answer a few questions now.- I barely stiffen up, immediately going back to feeling only a figure in a sea of death. An experiment, a freak show. I can’t ask them to call me by name, how could I phrase that? It wouldn’t be professional. -I noticed that your stress level increases very easily. It’s no good. For accurate answers we will simulate a relaxing situation. For example, I’ll call you by name.- what? No, that’s not possible. “Doctor, I find you very, very sexy, please examine me from head to toe.” No reaction. Either we’re extremely in tune and I’m not realizing it, or they’re very good at hiding the fact that they are a mind-reader. Yet my attempts to frame them have no effect! Let’s try something else… “Say that I can stop calling you Quaestor and that… I can call you Val.” The doctor’s face rises from the notebook to address me directly. -It should be optimal, like this. Maybe omit formal terms like “Quaestor”, but never do that in a work environment. Only during the study.- they didn’t say anything like, “Oh, call me Val,” though, so I’m probably making it up, I  have to be. -All right, doctor.- -Hm… still too rigid. Just Valdemar. I repeat, it’s just a simulation—and with that I’m standing up. I’ve had enough, this is the ultimate proof! -Oh, my God! You, I mean, you’ve heard everything!- -Are you delirious, MC?- -You heard that I think you’re… – I shut up, the confusion on the doctor’s face would be hilarious in another context. -I don’t understand.- -Stop pretending, damn it! I’ve been thinking about things and you’ve said them out loud!- -I call those coincidences.- they scrutinize me like I’m a psychopath. -It’s happened too many times for them to be coincidences!- -Either you’re predictable or maybe, and it’s just a theory, I’ve spent so much time studying behavior that even the desires and thoughts of others are not a mystery to me?- -… oh.- I slowly sit down. I still can’t believe it. I managed to make a fool of myself again. Who knows what opinion they have of me, after all my anomalous attitudes today. -Pure curiosity, what have you thought of me before, MC?- I do not know if it makes me blush more the question itself or hear my name uttered so melodically by such a contradictory and authoritarian figure. -Oh, I. Nothing… I really like your headgear.- -Excessive compliments are indicative of lying, and you’re a bad liar.- they aren’t wrong. I hope they don’t press more on the subject. -… going forward with the analysis. Have you ever suffered from particular pathologies…- I squint, focusing on him. I only have to try one last time. Think of something that would upset anyone, that would generate an emotion in any mind-reader, think, think…

“BOO!” … no reaction. On one hand I am relieved, on the other I am now sure that I’m a very stupid person.

[almostrealdudes]

hi yes big fan of rami big fan of until dawn could you please do one where you haven’t seen josh since they rescued from the mines and when you guys reunite he kisses you and since he was a wendigo he’s a little rougher but you’re into it? thank you.

A/N: hi! i really enjoyed writing this, i hope you enjoy it too! my boy Josh always deserves some extra love out herePairing: Josh Washington x fem!S/OWarnings: noneWord count: 1k

I’ve waited for this moment for so long. Our winter gathering felt like such a long time ago, yet it hurt like it happened yesterday. I think I started going grey these last few months. First, they told me Josh was left in the mines and was probably dead, and at that moment I felt myself dying. Then they told me they found him, and I felt myself returning to life. And then they told me that he… wasn’t the person we all knew anymore, and I just felt my body going numb. 

This emotional rollercoaster was good on no one. Especially his parents. I think their hearts weren’t ready for another heartbreak after their daughters’ death, so they closed themselves away. I was the only one who was visiting Josh on his recovery. It was rough: he became someone capable of conversation months after treatment. He recognized me even later. Our friends were sending their best wishes, but no one ever came. They all were afraid to mentally go back to that time, they wanted to forget. I partly understood them, but I don’t think I will be ever to fully forgive them. All I wanted as to see Josh, my Josh, again, in one piece. I knew it would take a lot of time until he talks as much as he used to. Until he smiles. Until he laughs. But I knew I would sacrifice everything it would take me, everything I had at all for this change to eventually happen. 

I wanted to meet Josh at the hospital, but he refused. He said he would take a taxi and come right to my place. It was the only place he could go to and honestly, it was the only place I wanted to see him at. When he texted me that he was getting closer, I felt my heart go off in a fit of insanity. I stood in front of the front door to my apartment and refused to move a muscle. When I heard steps on the stairs, my breath hitched. I jerked to the doorknob and opened it while he was still a floor below and took a step back. I waited. I saw his shadow contemplating the last few steps before he reached my floor. And then our eyes met. 

I can’t tell how long we stood like this. We were scared. Josh was scared I would disappear, and I was scared it all wasn’t real. Then he slowly entered the apartment and approached me. His face read so many emotions at once: he was scared, terrified, he was sad, after all, he’s been through, he couldn’t let himself go this instant, he was afraid it was all some kind of illusion. I gently caressed his cheek with my fingers. One side of his face was wrapped in a bandage; I guess he didn’t want to scare anyone on his way here. And I guess he didn’t want to meet there, because he would’ve needed to stay strong until the moment we got home, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to.

“You’re home,” I whispered, not even realizing whether it was a question or a statement. Josh parted his lips to say something in return, but all that came out was a suppressed, aching sob that made him squeeze his eyes and sent tears flowing down his face. I wrapped my hands around his neck, and we slowly lowered ourselves onto the floor. His hands were holding me so tightly, so desperately, I could feel his own feelings resonating inside of me. I didn’t notice when I started crying. But when I did, it was one of the ugliest cries I’ve had.

“I missed you so, so much,” he pressed his nose into my neck, whispering brokenly, “I don’t wanna leave again, I don’t, please don’t make me. Stay with me, please, please stay.” 

“You’re not leaving, you’re never leaving again, Josh, I swear, I will always be with you, always.” I lulled him in my arms, not managing to believe that he was finally here, with me, within a hand’s reach. I stroke his back and kissed his temples, and pressed my forehead against his, doing everything in my powers to make him feel safe. It slowly started working: I felt his body relax a bit, as his crying softened and then disappeared completely. Josh moved away to look into my eyes again. His eyes were puffy and red, and his face was still painted with pain. God, the suffering he went through. 

I looked at the bandages covering the side of his face. 

“Does it hurt?” 

“Not really.” 

“Can I take it off?” 

“If you want to,” he answered after a long silence. My fingers reached to the back of his head and untied the knot. I slowly unwrapped the bandages and set them away on the floor. 

His left cheek was crossed with a big scar that went all the way from the corner of his lips to his ear. It wasn’t an open wound, at least not anymore. At least not physically. But it was a reminder; of pain, heartbreak, loss, and fear. A reminder that would take a lot of time not to be forgotten but gotten used to and gotten over. And I wanted to be with Josh every step of the way. 

“What do they say,” I said quietly, willing to defuse the situation a little, “scars adorn a man?” 

“What, you like me more now?” he huffed. It wasn’t a smile, just a tint of it, and it wasn’t sincere. But I would take anything right now, and it was enough. 

“I’ve always loved you the same endless amount,” I said quietly, cupping his face. 

“I love you too. So much,” he echoed back, closing his eyes. 

I moved closer to him, softly touching his lips with mine. We were barely touching each other when Josh suddenly jerked forward and pressed himself on me, almost biting my mouth with his kiss, making me fall back a little. He was chewing on my lips, not leaving me a chance to catch a breath. He was kissing me as he wanted to eat me, there was something new in him, something wild, almost animalistic. It must’ve been his wendigo past. 

Not being able to hold my breath anymore, I pushed him away just bit for our lips to separate and started gasping for air like I was just saved from drowning. Josh snapped out of it glanced away guilty. 

“I’m sorry, I—I don’t know what that was. It’s—I’m sorry.” 

“That was… unexpected,” I said breathing heavily. “But… very nice. I think—I think we’re gonna have a lot of fun with this.” 

He glanced back at me, surprised, but after seeing my face a small fade of another smile glimpsed at the corners of his lips, an echo of the lewd, flirtatious and funny Josh that I knew. I smiled reassuringly. 

“It’s gonna be alright, Josh. You’re with me now. We will get through this and everything will be alright.” 

Everything will be just fine.

[couragehopelovefaith]

3x20...I have only three questions. The first one: How are I and all of us supposed to manage to wait for the next week after this magnificent episode? I didn’t even have the patience to wait for this one! I was at Uni and I just had to watch a couple of reaction videos (muted, but still). Plus, as you can see, I have already fell into Tumblr-rabbit hole and shared some pics. 

The second: I know that this was meant to be only season finale. So how the hell can Freeform be such a dick and end this show at this point? There were supposed to come so many amazing storylines after this! And the last one; Am I supposed to stay alive after the next weeks’ two hour finale and accept that this show will be over in seven days (because I surely won’t)?

At first, I have many things to say about Jordan and Maia-situation that I sure as hell (no pun intented) did not see coming. Not many people like Jordan and it's understandable because of everything he did to Maia. But like Maia said, this is her new reality and she has accepted the past and herself. I always knew that he stole the cure for Maia and it was lovely and poetic that he gave her that chance and sacrificed himself for her, but he did not deserve this. Maia has already more or less lost her family, almost her entire pack, and now Jordan? And she did not even get the chance to say goodbye? It was kind of fitting that his funeral were in front of Jade Wolf. I love Maia’s badassness  and am sure that she will be an amazing alpha. But even though I have always said that a happy ending does not always need a soulmate to be included, she would’ve deserved love after everything. And what the heck is the deal with Preator? Just tell me, please. I’m sure it turns out to be just as backstabbing as Clave, and it makes me so angry already. Luke, don’t fall for it!

I imagine this episode was a blessing for Sizzy-fans - but still not enough, since there - still! - was no kiss. If I should connect one couple with the term “slow burn”, this one is the first one that comes to my mind. The way Izzy was worried about Simon and protected him - beautiful. 

In my dreams, I hoped either Izzy or Maryse would tell Magnus about the proposal. Once again, they were the whole fandom in this situation. The scene between Maryse and Magnus was everything I hoped for and more. It was so touching that Maryse immediately thought that she had done or said something wrong and showed Magnus her sincere love. Character-developement at its best. Harry killed that scene. He did not even have to say anything in the end: you could just see the bewilderness, sorrow, happiness and hatred for Asmodeus. Give this man Oscar already!

Evil - partly - got what it deserved. Even though I had many things to say about Asmodeus, his savageness towards Lorenzo made me cheer for him. Now Lorenzo’s appearance really reflects his soul! The thought of him as Magnus’ pet brings me a huge amount of satisfaction. The way Magnus said: “Did I forget to say “please”?” implied to their earlier discussion when Magnus went to ask his magic back...savage, like I said. What I liked about that scene was that you could see that a tiny part of Magnus was tempted by that much power, but he was almost instantly a little bit guilty about it. And that scene between him and Asmodeus.. wow. So amazing. Magnus has feared for his whole life that he would end up like his father, and now he finally separated himself from him - both physically and mentally. That is never black and white, since It's his father after all. Something about this scene reminded me of the scene from 2x04 (?) when Magnus sent Camille to Idris. I thought that he would send him to Edom, but the thought of him in eternal limbo is so much better. YES!

You can judge me if you want, but a part of me feels really sad for Jonathan. He had been prisoned and no one really taught him what real love is. He doesn’t know how to show love in the right way. So he really thinks whatever he is doing is not enough. And now, when the rune doesn’t work anymore, the good influence he gained from Clary is gone and he thinks he has lost his princess forever. I am really proud that Clary stayed true to her limits (denying the kiss) and still expressed her support to her brother. I am also partly irritated for the Jace’s words: “You are not Morgernstern.” Yes, she is. Realizing that and accepting also the dark parts in herself has been of the biggest things on her journey. But she is ALSO Fairchild and Fray - she is all of them. If she had gone all the way down to “Oh my god, I would have never…it was all Jonathan and Lilith, they influenced on me”-road, I would have cringed so much. So I am really happy she admitted her responsiblity in this situation. Clace-kiss and love confessions were their best this season.

The fight scenes, especially between Clary and Izzy, were really epic. Stabbing Clary with the soul sword… I had chills for the whole scene! I also loved these little scenes: the sexy bickering between Jonathan and Seelie Queen, Meliorn coming to help (he really didn’t say anything to Izzy, though?), Jace and Alec fighting together, “We are Lightwoods” (which reminds me of “We are Lightwoods, we break the noses and take responsibility for it)… and Aline and Helen! <3 I clapped for that little scene so hard! And Alec’s reaction to that was PURE GOLDEN. He was like a proud, gay big brother, smirking knowingly in the background. I am so pissed that they did not show them making out and Alec finding them, though. 

Let me tell you... if Matt and Harry won’t get some awards for this season, I will start a riot. *haha* I don’t even know what to say. A part of me is furious that Magnus had to - once again - sacrifice himself to save everyone (since, like he said: ruling Edom would be his worst nightmare), but those scenes were so beautiful I cannot stay mad. The way Alec interrupted his soulmate with a kiss because he missed him so much…his certainty that everything would be okay, because their love is so strong...his tears and collapsing… </3 And the way Magnus was joking to make everyone feel better... My heart couldn’t take it. Like someone here said, the proposal scene was so Malec. With everything that is going on, the long and lingering promises and kisses would’ve felt out of place. You could still feel their love and connection, maybe even more this way. I was laughing and crying and screaming and cheering and... if you are watching abnormallyadam’s reactions, you could picture some of my reactions quite well. It would’ve been a torture to wait after this episode, but I would’ve taken it with my head held high if we just got another season.

I am not ready for the next week. Not in the slightest. Can I just pretend that this show will go on and on until... forever? I would be all in for that. Shadowhunters forever.

[whydoyouwantmyname]

Imagine How Violet Sending you away changed you.....

Part one 

Part two

Part three

Part four

part five

part six

“Tate! Tate!” Violet stood in her room, knowing he would show up as soon as his name left her mouth. When he appeared, she could see that he had clearly been crying, and before she could tell him she understood his actions, Tate cut her off.

“Why did you send her away?” His voice cracking as new tears appeared.

He had found you crying in the kitchen, Constance trying to comfort you, as Moria just ignored the whole scene behind her. Tate’s heart broke as he took a seat beside you, placing a hand on your back. Constance glaring as you lifted your head and leaned into him, his arms wrapping around you as he gently kissed the top of your head.

“I think it is time you left Constance.” He calmly said over your sobs, causing the woman to slowly raise and leave through the back door, and then he addressed Moria, “I hope you will not take this the wrong way, but if you could please...”

“I will, but before I do, I just want you to know this is all your fault. If it wasn’t for you and your twisted behav...”

“GET OUT MORIA!” You pulled away and screamed through the tears, before burying your head into Tate’s shoulder, your hands hiding your face as he tightened his embrace. She was gone in an instance.

“She sent me away.” You finally whimpered, “I showed her, and she sent me away.”

“What?” His heart breaking at the pain he had indirectly caused you. He never wanted to hurt you, he only wanted to protect the relationship he held with Violet.

Your response to him was your silence, you couldn’t even fathom a answer as you cried, unaware that Tate also wept with you.

Then he heard her calling him, however he wasn’t going to answer, until...

“Go, see what she wants.” You whispered, pulling back slightly, and wiping the running eyeliner from your face.

“I don’t want to...”

“Tate, all I want is your happiness, so please go to her, and accept her forgiveness for hiding the truth from her.” Your hands wiping his own tears, before you added, “I will go play with Beau, I will be fine, I promise.”

“I love you.” He whispered to you before he rose to go to Violet

“I love you too.”

“She is supposed to be my friend, and she lied to me.” Violet replied

“I told her too, it isn’t her fault...”

“You mean just like you lied to me about being dead?” She snapped

“Now that is totally different.”

“No it isn’t.”

“Oh so I was supposed to just look at you and say, “Hey I’m Tate, I’m dead, wanna hook up?”

“Listen, I am not sending her away forever, I just need some space. So how about you and me just play some more games, and forget about this whole shit show.” She lied.

“She is...”

“Tate, I love you.”

With those words, Tate dropped the whole subject, his love for her overtaking his mind, as his frustration with her decision disappeared.

You sat on the front porch, cigarette in hand as Constance approached you.

“Mother.” You greeted as she took a seat beside you, lighting her own cigarette as you exhaled.

“Daughter.”

“What brings you to the murder house today?” You exhaled as she leaned back and looked at you.

“Lawrence is in jail, for the murder of Travis.”

“Don’t you find it odd that all your lovers are either trapped in this house, or in prison because of this house.”

“Your father is...”

“You really think I don’t know that you killed Daddy in this house along with Moria?” You asked with a smile as she marveled at the intelligence you have.

“Does your brother...”

“No. I didn’t tell him that Daddy was dead. It would hurt him too much.”

“Has he ever shown himself to you?”

“Never. I have asked before, but he never does.” You put the cigarette out on the step, and mimicked her position as you looked out at the street.

“She still hasn’t asked you back, has she?”

“No. She has been spending more time with Tate, which is all I could ever ask for.”

“We all know how this is going to end though [Y/N]. We have to be prepared to...”

“She seems to be looking past the fact that Tate has his own issues, and is being open and inviting to him. That is all I have ever wanted for Tate, and if it means I have to sacrifice my own friendship with her, then I will do it.”

“I am sorry I was a shit mother.” She whispered, “You took on so much responsibility as a child, you raised your older brother, and your younger siblings, you cared so much for them you put them above yourself. Even in death, you can not stand letting their feelings and desires fall behind your own.”

“I am a shit sister.” You replied, “All of us a dead, my brother is a murderer, my other brother is still scared to mess up, my little sister is dead, and Addie....” your eyes started to water, “If I had just heard her at the fucking door when she knocked, if I had ignored Violet, and stayed downstairs, Addie would still be here.”

“Don’t you ever say that again, you beautiful soul. You are the best thing to ever happen to the Langdon family, and you are the most genuine sister.” She put a hand on your knee, and continued, “I never want you to believe that lie ever again.”

“Yes Mother.” You replied as she removed her hand, “Now what do you say we figure out something else to do, other then destroy what’s left of our lungs?”

“Sure Mother.” You smiled, before you both went to the basement.

Weeks later you sat in the parlor, head leaning back against the couch as the puffs of grey smoke danced around above you. For the days were lonely for most of the day, Tate hadn’t spoken to you, at request of the girl who you betrayed, and the other ghost wouldn’t talk to you because of the horrible things your brother did, the fact that you even defended him made you a enemy. The only one who would still speak to you was Beau, Rosie, and your mother, but Beau never left the attic, Rosie didn’t want to come out of hiding, and your mother.... Well Ben and Moria haven’t been the nicest to her, so her visits were limited.

As you watched the smoke spread out above you, you felt the couch slightly dip beside you. A delicate hand brushed against your face as she wiped away tears you didn’t know you made.

“Don’t cry Dearest, Life is too short...”

“Nora, I don’t want to hear it, not today.”

“Tate has betrayed me.”

“Join the club, I am sure all the other ghosts will love to have a new addition to the I hate Tate Langdon club.” Your response was dry

“He won’t give me my baby.” She slowly breathed out, as you lolled your head to one side.

“Nora.” You whispered, as she looked at you, “I don’t give a fucking shit. He is just saying that because of Violet, and his blind love for her, but chances are, one of those babies ain’t gonna even make it through the birth, so you will get your baby. Tater tot is just trying to scare ya.”

“Why would he do that?” She whispered

“Because the world is cruel, and he doesn’t realize just how much the world changed him before he died.”

That’s when you heard the protests of a young girl, and the rebuttals of a desperate man, leaning up and looking past Nora you saw Ben dragging Violet out of the house, panic rising in you as he slammed the door.

“Shit.” You hissed as you rushed to the door, knowing she can’t leave. As you hurried towards the gate you tried to make a excuse, and quickly made yourself seen, “Hey Violet, are you ready to... oh Hello, you must be Mr. Harmon.”

“Who are you?” Ben’s face twisted, as Violet’s filled with rage.

“Oh I am Tiffany Robertson.” You answered, “Violet and I have to work on a school project today, it is due Monday and right now is the only time we both had free to work on it.”

“Well I am sorry bu....”

“Dad, please, this is a really important grade, and Tiffany is right, we can only work on it today. I will see Mom when she gets back.”

“You promise.”

“Promise.”

“Okay, nice to meet you Tiffany.” Ben loaded himself in the car as you started towards Violet, who was looking at you with slight disgust.

“What the fuck was that?” She hissed as you both started towards the house, but when she looked beside her, you were gone.

“You will never believe what just happened!” She exclaimed to Tate as she shut the door, and looked at her boyfriend who was typing away on the laptop.

“Your dad knows you aren’t in the car, and there is no explanation to why...”

“Your sister convinced him to not make me go.” She snapped, causing Tate to look at her in confusion, “I told her to go away, and she fucking....”

“Saved your ass.” Tate snapped

“Disregard my wishes.” She slumped into the bed next to him, and laid flat on her back

“Well if you ask me, She did what any best friend should, and saved your ass from having to explain to your parents that this whole house is haunted, and that you are dead.” He whispered, “So maybe you should just be thankful that she did.”

You walked back in the parlor and found Nora was gone, but Moria had filled the space, dusting away as she hummed to you.

“Silly girl, always protecting the ones you love, even when they don’t want you too.” She hummed as you flopped back down on the couch.

“Well what was I supposed to do, just let her expose all of us to her family as the undead?”

“No honey, that is what you are telling yourself, but we know the real root cause of you doing it. You don’t want Violet to tell her parents that Tate is dead, and have them google his sickening past.”

“Moria, my mother might as well have shot you in both of your eyes.” You slowly rose from the couch and started towards the attic, knowing that she was partly right.

“You can’t be here!” Billie yelled as Tate exposed himself in the kitchen doorway, both Violet’s and Constance’s eyes falling on the boy. You stood between the two, refusing to expose yourself to the three who stood in the room with you, however ready to lunge at her for trying to cast him away.

“I just want to...”

“You have done enough, to your mother, to Violet, to everyone in this house.” Billie hissed before turning her eyes towards the empty space, “I can’t even imagine the pain you must feel towards him, so young, so beautiful, taken so young by your selfless act of love for a monster.”

“I am not...”

“Go away Tate. I will tell you how you can help later.” You replied, Tate looking at you with dark eyes as he slowly slipped away.

“The best help he can give us is letting us outcast him too.” She whispered, as Constance took her hand, muttering some nonsense to Violet, who was glaring at the empty space next to her, as you looked at Billie with the same cold eyes that your brother just gave you.

Later she was alone at the table, cigarette in hand, as Violet and Constance searched for the few valuable items she needed. You slowly pulled the chair out across from her, lighting your own cigarette as you whispered, “How did you know I was listening earlier?”

“I could feel your energy, compared to the others in this house, your’s feels very warm, however I feel the regret that you carry for recent events.”

“Why won’t you let Tate help you?”

“He is cold, suffocating almost. I could hear all the ghosts protest when he tried to enter, the whole energy of the house screaming murder, and disloyalty. When he entered the room all the warmth of the room seemed to vanish, except for one spot. Where you were standing.”

“Bullshit.” You hissed as you leaned back in the chair.

“Only someone pure could resist his darkness, someone who loved unconditionally, I heard you send him away, I heard the love towards him that you feel, and I felt the ache you felt doing it, and felt it deepen when Violet flared at you. I know all about you [Y/N], I know how you died, and I know what he took from you, and I know how he made you....”

“You don’t know shit lady. If you did you would let my brother help.” You pushed away from the table, and started storming towards the kitchen door, however her words refusing to stop you as she called, “You know what your brother truly is. You know that he is burdened with the darkness of this house’s energy, and that this house altered who he was. You can’t pretend to deny it forever.”

[intergalacticwartimespace]

Scorpio Rising Chapter 2

Author: @intergalacticwartimespace  (somelikeithoth on a03!)

Title: Scorpio Rising

Pairings: Poe/Finn, Rey/Rose, minor Finn/Rose

Summary:  Poe has a panic attack after an unpleasant conversation with Finn triggers a wave of emotion he hadn't realized he hadn't been feeling. Afterward, General Leia asks Poe to lead a memorial service for those killed by the Dreadnought and on Crait. Leia can see Poe is struggling but she struggles herself how to connect with him when she and her son are partly responsible for his pain.

TW:  Panic Attacks, nightmares, memorial services/funerals.

A/N: I have a busy day tomorrow so I am posting chapter 2 early so that I don't forget. Ahhh more angst. I really need to write a fluffy fic for how angsty this is going to be. It's gonna get worse before it gets better, but I promise a happy ending. There is a nice dose of Damerey friendship solidarity. Enjoy & leave a comment if you have anything to say! I am looking for a beta for this fic, so if you or someone you know is interested, let me know.

The emotions came quicker than Poe could possibly feel them. Poe walked quickly through the halls of the base, each step becoming harder to calculate. The lights seemed too bright and everything in his vision field distorted like a fish eye lense. His feet felt out of step and his whole body tingled. Finally Poe made it to the cool outside night air. Poe staggered off base and sat beside a large durasteel supply crate in the grass. Poe’s heart raced and his veins flowed with ice. The tears just kept coming.

I’m dreaming, I must be dreaming. Poe pulled his knees to his chest and buried his head in his knees, squeezing his eyes shut. Kylo Ren was in his brain, right there. He remembered the moment Kylo got it out of him. He hadn’t been strong enough. Shame threatened to swallow him whole right then. It’s my fault, it was all my fault. None of this would have happened if I hadn’t given up the base.

“Fuck,” Poe sobbed. “ Fuck , it’s my fault.” His chest heaved. I shouldn’t even be feeling this way, he thought. I can handle rejection and this has nothing to do with Finn-

Finn. He remembered with a certain clarity the moment Finn removed his stormtrooper helmet. “ This is a rescue. ” He remembered Finn wearing his jacket, and the careful way that he had tucked the blanket under Rose’s chin. Finn was so good . But for a split second, Poe thought it might have been better if he had never been rescued at all. So many less people would have died at his hand. Rose’s sister would still be here.

Poe Dameron did not want to be Poe Dameron anymore. It turns out that being the best pilot in the galaxy weighed heavy on one’s shoulders. All he wanted was to sleep, to just sleep and forget and not wake up.

Distantly he heard BB-8’s trademark warble calling out for him. [ Poe, Master-Poe; where are you? Don’t make me alert the general. ]

Poe huffed and stood up. He quickly wiped snotty tears on his shirt and wrung out his hands. He couldn’t let BB-8 see him like this. Slowly he walked to his droid.

“I’m over here buddy,” Poe knelt down and hugged his droid.

[ Poe… ]

“I’m fine, buddy. Let’s go to bed.”

[ Poe does not seem ‘fine.’ ] His eyes were red and his hair was a mess. His hands trembled and his voice quaked. [ Was Master-Poe having a panic attack? ]

“I’ll postpone your matienience if you keep this you yourself,” Poe offered.

After some careful consideration, the droid beeped, [ Deal. ] BB-8 happily rolled back to base.

Poe fell asleep quickly once back in his quarters, exhausted from his crying fit. He slept peacefully for a few hours when he was awoken by the sound of his door sliding open.

He tried to lift his head and call out but no words came. A tall black figure stood in the doorway. For several minutes the figure stood, unmoving, and Poe could not break his stare. He tried to move, to do anything, but his body wasn’t responding. The black figure took several slow steps towards him. He was at his bedside now, but Poe still could not see his face. He heard a click. Kylo Ren’s lightsaber roared to life. Leia Organa's son raised his arm ready to strike.

Poe was awoken by his own tongue-tied shout. It took a few moments for his eyes to focus. He was facing the wall of his bunk but he could sense something standing beside him. He was afraid of what he might find if he turned his head.

[ General-Leia wants to see you right away, Master-Poe. ] BB-8 beeped helpfully. Poe groaned and flopped onto his back. He did not want to fight with Leia.

“General,” Poe stood at attention. “You wanted to see me?”

“At ease, Captain.” Leia smiled at him, and though Poe had relaxed, there was an uneasy tension. He could not meet her eyes more than a few seconds at a time. “Please sit. There is something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Poe obeyed, taking a seat at across from Leia at her desk. Poe looked past her at the Rebel flag hanging on the duracrete wall behind her.

“Now that we have settled into the new base, I was thinking it was time we honored our dead.” Poe nodded. “I was hoping you would say a few words.”

Poe didn’t respond.

“Poe?”

“I don’t want to.”

She sighed. “Poe, Crait happened. The Dreadnaught happened. It’s time to cut our losses and move on.” Leia said.

“All due respect,” Poe said bitterly, “But if I recall you criticized my choices, and now you want me to memorialize them?”

“Poe.” Leia said sternly. His jaw tightened. He did not want to fight with Princess Leia, his mothers oldest friend.

“Fine.” Poe said. “May I leave?”

Leia inhaled. There was still so much more to say. So much she still needed to apologize for. But this was so much bigger than one fight. War, was complicated and messy, and she needed to find words that were enough for that. “Poe. I,” she paused.

Poe would rather be anywhere else but here. Leia knew this. It was easy to talk through the most logical action when you weren’t holding up the roof and knee-deep in it, like Poe had done on her behalf so many times. It was easy to call off an attack from the safety of the bridge when your best friends weren’t dying in real time around you.

“You may.” As Poe got up to leave, Leia shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. Surrogate sons were no easier than biological sons, Leia had discovered.

Later in the day, Poe contemplated his new task while he repaired old equipment on the previously abandoned rebel base. He was laying on his back underneath inside a dusty durastele cabinet, rewiring colorful circuits. It was not unusual for the general to ask the impossible of him. It’s just that if you do the impossible once, he had found, they don’t stop asking. Poe was tired. Broken like a scratched holovid, replaying the same scenes over, and over, and over again, ad nauseum. His conversation with Leia skipped in his head, superimposed on images of that week.

Kylo Ren, her son, had tortured him; an abuse that had left him on his side. And she protected him. Of course, she had. It was a bitter reminder who was Leia’s true son. She had slapped him, humiliated him, and finally shot him. Maybe he half deserved it, he wondered.

He zapped himself on one of the wires. An expletive escaped his mouth. He couldn’t say he was surprised that had happened. It seemed the Force’s way of reminding him of his place. He hadn’t forgotten; it was so shameful to say that Leia had in any way been inadequate. War was a profound sacrifice. Parenthood was a profound sacrifice.

But goddamn his mother and his father, this life that they had set him up for. He half loathed them, and fully loved them for it. He wanted to so badly to be able to blame someone, blame his mother for leaving him behind, for leaving him looking for mothers in inappropriate, authoritative positions. But he couldn’t blame her. Whether she lived or died, Poe would have likely still found his way to the resistance; that’s just the kind of person he was. He probably would have loved Leia just as fiercely because that’s just the kind of woman she was.

Poe swore again, and this time not because the wires had shocked him. The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, after all.

The next afternoon, Poe had tasked Rey with helping him search the basement of the old Rebel base for supplies for the memorial. Lights flickered in damp tunnels underneath the base. BB-8 quietly rolled alongside them, projecting a shining light. “So do you know where this supply closet is?” Rey asked. She idly kicked a pebble as Poe ducked his head into a room, he and BB-8 giving it a once over.

“Leia said it would be somewhere in one of these rooms,” Poe called from inside the room.

“Right. How is that, by the way, you and Leia? Finn told me what happened on the bridge.” Poe stepped out into the hallway again and gave her a dead-eye stare. “Oookay, forget I asked.”

Rey brushed her fingers over cobwebbed walls. These halls bore too much resemblance to the one she had found Luke Skywalker’s lightsaber in.

“Have you ever held a memorial before?” Rey changed the subject.  Poe shook his head. “I spoke at my mothers funeral.”

Blast, she thought. “ Oh, Poe. I’m sorry. I didn’t know that you had…” It suddenly made sense, his relationship with Leia. She was clearly more to him than a commanding officer.

“S’okay Rey, you didn’t know.” He said with a weakly reassuring smile. He clapped her on the shoulder. “We’re at war. Everybody’s lost somebody.”

Rey pressed her lips together. “I know. I mean- My parents, they left me on Jakku.” Rey said.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Rey.” he said.

“Were you close with your mother?” Rey asked as she ducked her head into another room. Then, “Poe, I think this is it.” Her hands fumbled in the dark and found an exposed lightswitch. The fluorescent lights flickered over head. They were in a medium sized room with aluminum shelves lining the walls. On the largest shelf on the far wall, a stack of Rebel flags sat folded. On the shelf above them, several scraped up helmets left over from the Rebel Alliance sat covered in dust. Poe stepped forward and picked one up, dusting it off.

“I learned how to fly on my mother's knee.” He said, placing the helmet on Rey’s head. It was too large for her and fell to one side. Poe bopped her on the head, which only exaggerated the tilt. “There. Fits like a glove.” Poe grinned, and Rey grinned back. Rey didn’t know what a brother, or a friend, for that matter was supposed to feel like, but she thought that Poe must be pretty close to the real thing.

Rey and Poe had, with the help of BB-8, dragged crates of helmets and flags to the main hall of the base. At the front of the large room, Poe arranged the crates in a horizontal line, one for each of the transports and main fleets that had been taken out by the First Order.  Traditionally, Poe had said, that a kind of battlefield cross would have been made for each fallen member of the resistance. However, it was glaringly obvious that they didn't have nearly enough resources for the kind of large-scale loss they had suffered. Rey was unsure of what to expect for a Resistance memorial service. But as she helped Poe set up for it the afternoon of, she couldn't shake the weighty feeling of tradition and ritual. Rey watched as with great reverence Poe draped the Rebel flag over each crate, the Rebel insignia hanging in front. Then, Poe took a helmet and placed one atop each draped crate.

With the stage set for the memorial, Poe left for his barracks to go over once more what he had planned to say. This was not to say that he something planned at all. What could he possibly say?

The thing about war in intergalactic space is that while there were often casualties, there were not often bodies. In his more halcyon, hopeful days, Poe liked to believe that if we were vaporized in war, then whatever weird, vague, nebulous shit we were made of would join with the Force or some Luke Skywalker shit like that.

Now, however, Poe questions what an “instant” death really means. He wonders about the nature of matter and if we really are greater than the sum of our parts. Nihilism never looked good on him, but he isn’t quite sure this whole Force thing means anything. Maybe we are all fighting for nothing, delaying nothing, he thinks. But he has to believe anyway because if it really is all for nothing, if Rose’s sister died for nothing, that might be worse than not knowing.

After setting up the display, Poe returned to his room on base to prepare for the service. When he entered the room Poe didn't bother flicking on the lights; he knew just what he would see. Bed sheets hung halfway off the bed in a tangled mess, a small pile of dirty clothes at the foot of the bed. Poe's usually fairly neat desk was strewn with loose papers, garbage, and spare parts for BB-8. The trash overflowed. Poe's holo-communicator blinked on the nightstand next to his bed. In the dim light of the early evening, Poe went to his closet and rifled through a basket of clothes. Poe picked up a grey button up shirt and sniffed it. Deciding that it met the bare minimum requirements, he swapped it with his other shirt. Poe quickly ducked into the bathroom, raking his fingers through his curly dark hair, but he couldn’t be bothered to do much more than that. It was good enough; appearances hardly mattered when everyone else feels like shit. Poe yanked on his jacket and went out the door.

Quietly the Resistance filed into the hall that evening. Rey and BB-8 had made quick work of setting up enough chairs for everyone in two columns. Poe paced about nervously greeting members of the Resistance. He played the part of ‘fearless leader,’ but inside he felt sheepish.  Leia wore one of her glorious robes. She graciously walked from person to person, shaking the hands of low-level Resistance members, offering condolences, sharing memories. ‘ She truly is royalty,’ Poe thought. It occurred to Poe then that Leia had lost someone dear to her too.

The ceremony started on time, though Poe wished he could have delayed it just another moment. Quietly Leia took a seat behind the small tribute Rey and Poe had arranged.  Rey sat in the first row, BB-8 seated next to her on the inner edge of the aisle. Beside her sat Finn. Rose cast her eyes downward as she walked into the room. She sat beside Finn. Finn gently placed an arm around her shoulder, but she shrugged it off. Finn placed his hands in his lap, fidgeting.  There was a chasm between them.

Leia climbed to the podium to give an outline of the evening's plans. "We are gathered here to mourn our dead. After a few remarks from Captain Dameron, we will leave time for those who wish to spend a moment. Afterwards, there will be refreshments. We also invite anyone who is struggling at this time to visit the medbay for counseling." Someone in the audience scoffed. "Captain Dameron, the time is yours." Though Poe was a few steps from the podium, the journey seemed to take an eternity. Perhaps for those who did not know him well, Poe seemed to be coping, but the way he carried himself was louder than silence.

Grimly, Poe looked over the audience. Leia and Admiral Holdo were in the back of his mind. He is dangerous. He is volatile. And goddamn he has no right to be here. Finn looked to Rey. Rey merely shrugged. Poe had not told her what he had planned for the memorial, but something told her this was not it. In the silence, one could hear three things: BB-8 quietly whirring, a few idle coughs, and several sniffles and choked sobs. Rey silently communicated with Poe the best she could. She wasn't exactly sure how the Force worked in a lot of ways, especially regarding mind reading and such, but she hoped and prayed that her thoughts were loud enough for Poe to hear. 'You can do this.'

Finally, Poe lifted his head and cleared his throat.

'Reckless flyboy.'

“I know that this has been a hard few days, hell, it's been a hard few months... There has been more than enough to go around lately." then Poe laughed uncomfortably. Rose did not look up when Poe began speaking.  

"There will be more to come. But listen to me,” Poe raised a finger, and nervously licked his lips. “I was aboard the ship of the First Order. These bastards don't care about anything. They will do what they must to get what they want. They are cynical and calculating. I know the odds are stacked against us…” Poe clasped his hands, he started and stopped again. Finally, he said, “This loss hurts. It hurts because it matters."

Rose finally raised her head, but Poe could not hold her gaze for more than a few seconds. He looked to Finn. Finn’s gaze held steady. "Don’t let the First Order take that away from you. If we are to have a fighting chance, you cannot become like them. You must refuse to join them. This hurt is the difference between us and them. On the memory of those taken from us, every night we survive, even if it is just one more day, it is total victory again and again. If you make it to midnight tonight, you can make it tomorrow.” Poe said the words with shaky confidence. He believed them, yeah, he had to believe his own words because the survival of the resistance depended on it, but even they could not fix the bottom line: He can’t look Rose in the eye because he got her sister killed and he’s in love with her boyfriend.

Poe returned to his seat at the front next to the general. Leia stood and dismissed the mourners. Poe sat hands clasped in his lap, head down low. He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You did good, Poe,” Leia said. Poe said nothing. She seemed so much older than she had weeks ago. Poe looked past her and saw Rey smiling gently at him; Finn comforted Rose. Poe could hardly be mad at him, Finn was a good man.  A tear missed his cheek and hit the floor.

Poe felt like a walking wound.

After the memorial service, the majority of the rebels shuffle to the mess hall for supper. Leia watched as Poe slunk away from the group and walked lonely down the hall to his quarters. Not even his faithful droid was with him.

The walls seemed to close around him as he walked. Leia felt an ocean of distance from where he needed her to be. From the back of his head, Poe looks so much like her, Leia thinks. She knows this is hardly the life Shara Bey would have chosen for her son, after all, she sacrificed for a better world for him.

But watching Poe walk down the back of the hall, his head of dark curls and the way he carried himself each gifts from his mother, Leia can’t help but feel that Poe is so himself that in past lives and future lives, it would always end the same: He would get himself killed fighting for a cause that he believed in.

Leia wondered now if her old friend could see her son now. Shara do you know you have a beautiful son? She wondered.

[mannanoo]

Arcana Weekly Music-When She Loved Me

**This is really long and tumblr won't let me put a read more in so be prepared**

Asra reflects on his time with Kalya as she grows closer to Nadia.

***

When somebody loved me, everything was beautiful

Every hour we spent together lives within my heart

Asra remember how Kalya’s eyes would light up the room with each compliment. How her smile could make the rain clouds disappear in lieu of clear blue skies. He remembers how the laugh sounded like chime bells ringing in harmony. How she could somehow warm even the coldest of places and people, managing to make visiting the Counts chambers a much more pleasant experience despite his previous laments of the lack of a cure in his bedridden state.

And when she was sad, I was there to dry her tears

And when she was happy so was I

When she loved me

He remembers the tears that seemed to flow eternally, how tear tracks had been tattooed onto her cheeks. Her tears staining her eyes red, an homage to the plague. How her hands were red to match and her clothes were darkened with soot. He remembers how her words sliced through him like a hot knife, her voice sounding as though it had been shattered and stuck together again haphazardly. How quickly he was to pull her away from the commotion, away from the scorching lights. He remembers how his scarf had fallen victim to this cruel event, being stained with her ashened tears, not that he cared. How could he when she was there, the one thing that made him happy and could brighten the city with a single smile, was breaking down in front of him, as though made from the fragile glass used for the potion vials in the shop. He could see the scratches at the now faint fire rune on her forearm, how her ignis aspect pendant had been ripped from her neck, leaving faint red marks on her neck. But it didn’t matter. All he could make out were the broken apologies and tears that couldn’t be more against her characterization, against her bright, cheerful and stubbornly “I’m-right-even-if-I’m-wrong” persona. And whatever she needed to do, whatever she needed him to do to rectify or deceive, he would do. He would do anything for her, even if it broke his own heart, just so he could see her smile once again.

Through the summer and the fall, we had each other, that was all

Just she and I together, like it was meant to be

Asra watched over her. That was all he could do. If he tried to remind her of who he was, who she was, it was too much for either of them to handle. He was the one who caused this. He was the one who took her memories and not a day goes by that that he wishes he hadn’t if only for her to know who he was to her. But he keeps it to himself. Keeps those happy memories of frivolous days, days of forgotten shop responsibilities and sleepless nights spent in blissful harmony, locked away behind a barricade of mental blocks. Because, if she shed another tear due to his own foolishness, then Asra doubted he would ever be able to forgive himself. If he was the one to cause her pain, sleepless nights spent in terror and days of shop responsibilities repeated over and over in paranoia and guilt, then he doubts Kalya would be able to forgive him. He has no doubt in his mind that she would be repulsed by his selfish nature, barring him from the shop and her heart. So he keeps it away, resolving to start fresh. Begin their relationship from the start, build it up brick by painful brick until she remembered or rejected him. But he would continue to mourn his loss each time he looked at her, if only to keep her smiling.

And when she was lonely, I was there to comfort her

And I knew that she loved me

It was the first time she had woken in a cold sweat, petrified by night terrors she could not remember but had felt oh so real that she had truly felt lonely since waking up without her memories and only the heart-broken magicians face above her. Since her arrival to the shop, Asra had made use of the pillows in the back room as a place to sleep, so that is where she headed. Taking two steps at a time, not even bothering to check the drab state she was in, Kalya burst into the backroom of the shop where Asra was sat staring into the arcana, and threw herself onto the floor beside him, curled up to hide herself as much as possibly, only reaching a hand out to grip the wraps loose around his waist. He sat shocked, dropping his hand of cards to take in her sudden silent arrival to his side. He opened his mouth to question her until her state of being sunk in. He slowly closed his mouth and lay backwards slightly, gently laying a hand on the one gripping his wraps like a lifeline and his other hand gently weaving his fingers and calming magic into her thick hair. His fingertips gently started massaging the back of her neck silently, the tension slowly seeping from her muscles until she was breathing softly, asleep once again that night. Asra waited a few moments, making sure she was asleep before he bowed his head, gently kissing her crown, murmuring a short spell, banishing any of those forgotten memories away before lying down himself, Faust curled around his hand kept on Kalya’s hair.

So the years went by, I stayed the same

But she began to drift away, I was left alone

Asra watched her relearn her spells, her magic that she had crafted and taught him. Watched as she grew stronger, mentally, physically, emotionally and magically. Watched from a distance on his never ending trips to the oasis. He watched as she grew closer to him, but also to others. To Nadia. To Julian. To Portia. Watched as she grew to believe them as family, as more than a friend to Nadia. Watched as she grew apart from him, partly his own fault for his many seemingly endless trips away from her. But he still kept quiet, even as the loneliness and anxiety clawed at the edges of his mind, trying to break down those walls he had built up so long ago, not wanting to ruin and reverse the efforts she had made, the sacrifices he had made for her happiness and peace of mind. He watched as she changed and grew as a person, rebuilding herself unknowingly to the wonderful, fiery thaumaturge he had grown to love all the years ago. He stayed back and helped her. Helped her when Julian left her alone at the docks, helped her when the Count appeared to her in his chambers while investigating his death, helped her understand Portia, helped her find new perspective on the palace, helped ease her mind as memories tried to resurface. Helped her relationships with everyone else grow while his relationship with her was put on pause and left on the side-lines.

Still I waited for the day, when she’d say

“I will always love you.”

It was a few weeks before the masquerade when Asra heard the shop door being slammed open and he had barely managed to turn around before a pair of arms wrapped around his neck and her felt tears staining his scarf. It was a few moments before he recognised the mass of blonde hair and quickly wrapped his arms around Kalya’s shoulders, letting her cry into his collarbone. It was only after a few moments when her cries had turned from the reminiscent wails of a tortured animal into quiet hiccupping sobs that he realised she was speaking through her tears. He strained to understand her woeful words, only making out desperate apologies and “I love you"s. Asra gently pulled her away from where her face was hidden at the base of his neck to cup her cheeks, looking her in the eyes. It was in that moment when he saw the sparkling glint of pure recognition and remembrance that he realised her memories had returned. He smiled ruefully at her and brushed her cheeks with his thumbs, catching drops of tears, sparkling like citrines in the shops warm lights.

“You have nothing to apologize for my dear.” He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

“But I left you alone, and you couldn’t say anything and I went off and I went with Julian and Nadia and Portia and I left you alone all the time.” Her response came out in one breath and before she could continue, Asra placed a finger on Kalya's lips gently.

“If I believed for one second that everything would be the same and that you would continue to stay by my side through all of this then I would’ve been a fool. Not when I stayed away from you first in fear of hurting you. I love you too much to put you through any more heartbreak.”

“But I loved you and you loved me. I still love you but I also love Nadia and Julian and Portia and I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“You don’t have to decide. I certainly don’t mind and I doubt Nadia, Julian or Portia will. They’ll understand just as much as I do. You have too big a heart to just love one person.” Her response was silence as her last few tears fell. She closed her eyes and leaned into his palm, holding onto his wrists to keep herself grounded, to keep touching him was to make sure this wasn’t a messed up dream the deep recesses of her mind had conjured up. She slowly opened her eyes again and looked at him, smiling subtly.

“I love you Asra. I'm not sure it’s the same way I did back then, but I definitely love-” Asra sat up sharply, eyes wide and full of unshed tears. He slowly took in his surroundings, the red sand beneath his feet and the purple and pink array of colours in the sky. His short laugh was hollow as the tears started falling and he raised one arm to cover his eyes.

“Just another dream Faust. How could I ever think it would be that easy?”

Lonely and forgotten, never thought she'd look my way

Then she smiled at me and held me, just like she used to do

Like she loved me, when she loved me

Asra watched her dancing around the room, laughing happily, layers of red and gold silks and shot taffeta swirling around her legs as she was twirled around the floor in Nadia's arms. She hadn’t noticed him leaning up against the wall watching until she was spun into Julian’s arms and towards Asra at the side of the room. She smiled brightly at him, twirling herself out of Julian’s embrace, only stopping when she was close enough to grab Asra's hands and pull him away from the wall to dance with her. He laughed along with her as she wrapped herself in his embrace, still spiralling and stepping to the music.

“What’s this all about Kalya? I was quite happy watching.”

“Because you need to join in Asra. These are your friends, your family as well as mine. You should be celebrating! Lucio's gone for good and Julian's free and we caught Lucio's murderer! You should be celebrating, this is a happy occasion Asra!” she laughed, spinning them wildly and Asra could see the small sparks of magic flying out from her fingertips as she spun out from his embrace. From this close up, he noticed the shifting colours in the fabric of her dress, and the magic that seemed to have been woven into it, showering golden sparks of magic with every turn. He smiled to himself, pulling her back into his arms with a sharp tug on her hand. She laughed as she stumbled back into his embrace, her arms falling around his neck as she struggled to keep herself balanced in the unfamiliar shoes she had been gifted by Nadia. Asra drew in a sharp breath as he remembered how she used to hold onto his like this whenever she started to become tipsy after drinking Julian under the table when he used to challenge her at the previous masquerades. Remembered how she would always announce loudly how much she loved him as soon as she started to get slightly tipsy. How she would drunkenly and sloppily kiss at his face until she found his lips, laughing before she could give him a proper kiss. Kalya looked up at him, hearing the small gasp but he just smiled at her and shook his head lightly.

“Don’t worry, just didn’t expect you to fall that hard onto me.”

“It’s your own fault Asra!” he laughed and pulled her closer to him as they spun around the room.

When somebody loved me, everything was beautiful

Every hour we spent together, lives within my heart

He continued watching over her as time continued on. Watched from the side-lines as she continued to grow her family until even Muriel could be seen gently smiling at her antics whenever they all got together every weekend. He smiled and joined in with their capers, thinking 'This is how it’s supposed to be'. Even if he was the only one that remembered the past, he was fine with that. Even if it meant that he wasn’t the one to give her all the love she deserved, even if he wasn’t the one receiving her unlimited and blinding love. He could be the one to remember for all of them how life used to be and how their life now mimicked the past. Asra sighed, before finally letting go of all of the past memories he had been clinging onto as he watched Kalya curl up underneath Nadia's arm as the sun started to set behind the silhouettes of the tree line and into the dark purples and reds that had been painted through the clouds, simulating the silks that adorned her body.

“I think that's my cue to leave you two alone for the night. I'll head back to the shop.” Asra slowly started getting up before he felt a gust of wind push him back down. He looked up and saw Kalya with her arm dangling down off the chaise lounge, glaring at him.

“You said you were staying in the palace Asra. If you even try leaving I'll get Talo to drag you back by the ankles.” Asra looked down at the Lynx curled by her feet at the end of the chaise. His ear twitched at the mention of his name and he raised his head, staring Asra down silently until he laughed and bowed lowly and sarcastically.

“And who am I to refuse the Viscountess of her generous offer to stay within the palace?” he laughed again when he saw her bristle at her new title before picking up his bag from beside him. “I suppose I shall see the two of you in the morning then for breakfast. Good night my dears.” He heard a laugh from Kalya as he skirted around the chaise, as far away as his could from Talo while also being able to retrieve Faust from where she had coiled around the lynx's ears. He could faintly hear Nadia mutter to Kalya as he left, unable to completely understand her words, but able to understand enough from the giggle it roused from her new love.

Asra smiled to himself as he walked through the hallways to his honorary chambers as Faust slithered up his arm to rest her head on his shoulder.

Happy?

“Yes Faust. She certainly is happy isn’t she.” He responded, the image of their matching golden rings shining in the setting sun next to each where their hands had been laced together the entire day.

Happy? She insisted and he laughed quietly, more to himself than his familiar.

“Yes Faust. I am happy.

When she loved me.

[okimargarvez]

METEOROLOGY- Snow

Original title: Meteorology.

Prompt: climatic metaphors, phases of love.

Warning: none.

Genre: drama, romantic, comedy, angst, family, friendship.

Characters: Luke Alvez, Penelope Garcia, BAU team, Phil (Luke’s partner), Phil’s wife, Roxy, Derek Morgan.

Pairing: Garvez, Phil x Lucille.

Note: Multichapter.

Legend: 💏😘😈👓🔦🐶❗👨‍👩‍👧‍👦💍🎈.

Song mentioned: Via con me, Paolo Conte.

Meteorology- Masterlist

MY OTHER GARVEZ STORIES

This story is over! 😊 I hope that you liked it!

SNOW

The snow has five main features. It's white. So, it's a poem. A poetry of great purity. It freezes the nature and protects it. So, it's a paint. The most delicate paint of winter. It constantly transforms. So, it's a calligraphy. [...] It's slippery. So, it's a dance. [...] It mutates into water. So, it's music. In spring it turns rivers and streams in the symphonies of white notes. (Maxence Fermine)

 When he saw you, asleep in an uncomfortable position on the couch, he believed that you were a hallucination. He had to approach and touch you, to convince himself that it was not his mind played tricks on him. But at the exact moment when he touched you, you immediately awakened. What were you doing here? Oh, yes, you had decided to wait for him to return from the case in Nebraska. One of the first things you did was come in with his account to find out where he was. All data received were in fact stored on the tablet automatically in the computer of the oracle of the BAU (aka you) and you didn't take long to figure out that your entire system, your babies were back in the hands of Kevin.

Hack it was a breeze. But this time you had left no trace, so he hadn't noticed that the legal owner had returned. You had followed all developments until they given at your ex the information that the unsub had been taken. Probably it was the awareness of knowing him was safe, already on the jet, to give yourself permission to close your eyes for a few minutes ... and collapse into nothing.

-Penelope!- he exclaimed when was sure that you were really here. He didn't ask you what the hell you were doing there, without even warn him. He doesn't seem angry, just happy because you were back. He doesn’t given to you the time to talk, to begin to justify yourself, trying to explain the reasons behind your behavior. He was immediately knelt at your feet, taking your hands with his. -It's not true that I want children only for my mother. I want them from you, only you. I love you, baby, I love you so much and I'm astonished not to be dead without you. Although it's only been a few months. I don't want play tough guy, make you believe that I don't missed you a single moment, or however I don’t want to deny having felt a strange pleasure, I don't know whether it's the correct term, perhaps a relief whenever that I could not think about you, ‘cause I felt better ... but at once I felt guilty. If love is to suffer so, then I don't care, I'll feel pain until I up dead.- Did he have done such a long speech before, apart from the day that he had proposed you? Maybe for your wedding. It's more that's kind of your thing, to shoot in rapid fire sentences without it having necessarily a logical sense.

-Luke ... - you had try, but he hasn't given you even one second to speak.

-Please, let me finish. If you're reached the point of having to run away from your husband, it was partly my fault. I want to carry my own share of responsibility. I'm serious. I want to believe that if you have come back here, it's because you decided to give me another chance... - at this point you had to interrupt him necessarily, although sharply.

You've standing up. -Please Luke, stop! Stop being so sweet and understanding. It makes me feel even more guilty. But the worst is that I know it's not a tactic, you're really such. And I don't know if I deserve you, but you love me and until you love me I'll continue to use this privilege.- now it was he who attempted to overlap your thoughts with his own, but you have continued wholeheartedly. -I left because I realized that I desperately needed to find someone to vent the frustration of not being able to have a child, when I felt it was my right. And you were there, available. innocent and ready for sacrifice like a little lamb.- you shook your head. -But I couldn't allow it. I couldn't allow myself to dumping on you everything, besides knowing that you were hurting too, that it's impossible to have a baby alone, it takes two people... and since I saw your baby picture, yes, we were together only a few months, I did nothing but wait the moment when I would have given birth to something equally gorgeous.- he has smiled, but his eyes were even more watery of yours. -And when I realized I couldn't do it, I don't know, everything has lost interest in me. Even your love.- you have confessed, having decided to be totally, even brutally honest with him, because he could understands who was the woman he married, both in colorful shades and black streaks. -And I'll never forgive myself. Never. But I can't deny the past. I wouldn't even if I could. I can only say ... - you have hesitated. -I... I knew, even before escaping, there was a chance to think about adoption. But I was too selfish to take it in consideration.- you have pointed the finger at his chest. -Your altruism, the fact that you let me choose for themselves whether to continue in my error, or come to my senses, saved me. And if you want it too, I ... - this time he's brilliantly managed to stop you, placing his lips on yours. In that moment you realized it's been more than sixty days from the last time he did it.

And abstinence is being felt. The hands of both roam, explore, monitor and record the changes. Luke has lost weight. You can feel his ribs. It's you that have reduce him such this, but knowing it doesn't stopped you; what you've destroyed in him, you'll have to rebuilding it, indeed, you'll both it.

Clothes and various clothing was flying around the room, but before he could slip inside you, you have notice something. Another absence. -Roxy - you have whispered with a groan. And he has stopped.

-What?- but only with the brain. Hormones continue to push his body against yours.

-Where is she?- panic in your voice. -Please, tell me that nothing happened for my fault. I couldn't bear it, seriously. No, no, no! - and then you were already crying, stark naked, into chest of your husband, naked as you.

-In the first week and for few days she didn't eat.- he starts telling at you, confirming your suspicions. -But then she recovered, although she never ceased to wait you. Now it's with Jessica. I couldn't leave her alone, while I was away for a case. She can no longer bear to be alone, without someone to stay whit her.- relief rapidly replacing anguish. Your lungs hurt, when you have begun again to breathe. -Want us to go and pick her up? If you want, I call her and I could tell ...- you have shaken your head.

-No, I can wait until tomorrow morning. Where were we?- his precise thrusts wipe out every tear and every sign of cried that you no longer couldn't consume. For all time your fingers have been intertwined, almost you would fear that without this contact your act may seem like just a tangle of animal instincts too long repressed.

The only thing that have comes out from your lips is his name. -Luke.- for all occasions you declined to pronounce it, for every time you decided to deny him this small joy.

And this night you conceived your child.

 It wasn’t snowing that night when you have arrived late at work, because you have making love with her until you both collapse exhausted on the sheet, and then you get ready in a hurry. But when your colleagues have seen Penelope, everything was forgotten. More or less. And everything is back to normal, or nearly so.

Because your wife is not immediately returned to work, actually, you've taking few days too. And you have made a very important decision. Prentiss was the first to know. You've announced it when you went to her office to ask her permission to skip the next case. With your work you never know when you'll have time to think about it seriously and you both were certain that postponing, you would end up archive it forever. -Penelope and I decided to adopt child.- you can't describe even today the face of your boss while she has hearing you say such a thing.

But shock has quickly turned in joy. -I'm so happy for you! Have you said anything to the others?- you shook your head and you have go outside, so instantly you been proven wrong. JJ and Tara are embracing your woman and even Spencer seemed to have eyes a bit watery.

-I'm sorry.- she told you when was able to break free. You have put your arm around her shoulder while you were dating from the building.

-You haven't to be apologize for sharing our joy with the people that we truly love.- she has nodded and you remained silent all the way, clearly feeling the weight of what you'll were making.

Even during that week, you spent visiting websites and then real centers, talking to three thousand experts to get an impression of ​​what you have to expect, even in those days it's never snowed, not even an inch. After all it was late spring, and a snowfall would have seemed really bizarre.

But you had thought about snow several times. Because when she left you, your heart was covered with a thick layer of ice, but as soon as she returned everything was melted. Because her skin was milky as that particular state of the water, and in the country from which her great-grandparents had emigrated centuries before, snowfall is routine. Then, because she was, in all aspects, fluffy and soft as snow.

From the first step, you both have felt the anxiety of not being up to the task. Hundreds of other couples like you aspire to your own desire, plus you have no power of choice. It was social workers to process your data and combine them with those of the many children who needed a house and especially love. Of course, the fact that you worked for the FBI could be an incentive, but also play against you. You were forced often to stay away even weeks and she couldn't bring an innocent soul in her bunker, surrounded by gruesome images, video by the killers to preserve a memory and 911 calls by next victims. It was not an ideal climate to raise a child.

But you always knew that Penelope would be a fantastic mother. With her innate ability to put always others in first place, let alone with a fragile and vulnerable creature.

At best, the one on which you could have doubts were you. You didn't even know how you have to hold a baby! -But we don't adopt a newborn! - your wife complained once, rational any more than you are totally terrified.

But in the end who was right, was you. You did well to get scared and wonder if you'll ever been able to change a diaper or take a bath without boil the poor creature in your arms. Then month after the return of Penelope, exactly on the day when you were informed that you were considered eligible and therefore you could take the next step, she fainted right in the social worker's office, who took care of your request, and it took a while to bring her back to consciousness. The next morning, she vomited. -Maybe it was something that I ate... - it was her consideration, but you were not yet convinced. Sure, you didn't dared to hope ...

When she fainted a second time you took her to hospital immediately. And there they have said. -Congratulations, you're having a baby.- not even at that moment it was snowing.

One of the first things you did was go visit the grandparents that your child would never have known. -Mom, are you happy? I know you'll watch over them- Penelope certainly notice that you have spoken in the plural and she has shaken your hands stronger. -like you would have done if you was still here.- just after you have announced the great news to the team. And then, another roundup of hugs and pats on the back for you, so that in the evening your shoulder blades hurt. But was such a pleasurable pain!

Then you were forced to come to terms with reality and also to say it to Debra, the woman of the custodial system. There was no need to talk about it among yourselves. Even before you declared a willingness to continue to provide a family even to someone less fortunate, you know that she felt the same way. But Debra couldn't imagine it. -Oh, congratulations, Penelope. I'm happy for you guys. I haven't known you for so long, but it was enough to understand that you'll both be wonderful parents.- her tone, however, was not exactly cheerful, indeed, sad. An expression that you know very well. -What a pity. I was sure that Melody would be happy with you. Patience.- but you have no left  her to believe that last month had been just a waste of her time.

-No, you have not understood. We haven't changed idea.- you shook Penelope's hand. -We want to still adopt child; the only difference is that he or she will have a little brother to play with. It's a problem?- it took a lot more than some nice phrase, to convince her that this was your final decision.

 It was definitely worth it, you think, looking at the sleeping bodies on the couch in various positions.

A blond head, whose hair make you a little 'tickle, is lean on your chest; you don't move your arm since an hour, for fear of waking her. Although you should, because tomorrow is a day like any other (so fabulous for you) and they will have to go to school and you at work. Not far from your wife, and completely lying on her stomach, his face buried in her breasts, a small creature with dark hair as yours, just a little 'more curls, who has already turned one year old.

Curled up on the armchair there is your dog, not so young, and between its paws a wad of completely white fur, homage and further gift from heaven, which was found the day that Melody has entered officially part of your life.

White ... white as the snow that now yes, falls relentless and closed off the city for a while. But now the circulation is restored, so yes, tomorrow they will go to school and you both at work ...

But now ... now you don't necessarily think about it, you can still soak up a few minutes in the heat from the crackling wood stove and your family. In a moment you will start to bring the little monsters each in their beds, give a pat to the old lady and her playmate, and finally you'll lay your lips on Penelope's, lingering a bit too much, until she opens her eyes and she'll smiles, like a gift.

You don't know if perfection exists, but in this little picture away from all evil, you feel pretty close on this.

 There is a happy climate, at atmosphere despair, positive and negative, one serene and one stormy, a fertile climate and an unproductive, a peaceful and a polemic climate, a climate of confidence and one of certainty. (Luca Mercalli)

[hearteyesmag-blog]

HWYKIYNT?

all contributors to the magazine have written a small blurb on what COIN’s album, How Will You Know If You Never Try?, means to them.

Ashleigh Haddock // Co-head of Social Media

COIN’s sophomore album, ‘How Will You Know If You Never Try,’  means so much to me. Not only the music, but the entire album reminds me of all the friends and memories I’ve made. Without this album, I don’t think I would have any of those things. I wouldn’t have met my best friends. I wouldn’t be writing this right now! For instance, one of the songs from the album, ‘Heart Eyes,’ directly inspired the name of this magazine. Without this masterpiece of an album, this magazine wouldn’t exist. My friends and I wouldn’t be sharing our experiences with the world. My absolute favorite song from the album is “Don’t Cry, 2020” I love one particular lyric, “years go by whether you want them to,” just because I find it extremely relatable and nostalgic. It’s a scary feeling watching yourself change and grow up, but, as Chase Lawrence sings, “it’s all gonna be alright.” I never knew I could feel such happiness and belongingness while listening to an album. Now, I think I will forever strive to live by COIN’s motto and album name, HWYKIYNT, because how will I know if I never try? Thank you so much Chase, Ryan, Zach, and Joe.

Gabrielle Yost // Founder

'How Will You Know If You Never Try' is not only the sophomore album written by my favorite band; it is also a quote I now live by. A domino effect, that has not only changed me, but also the lives of artists around me giving us a platform to create and show our ideas to the world whereas otherwise we wouldn't have the courage to do so. My whole life, I've been too shy to put out anything for fear it won't be good enough; I've kept the music I’ve been writing hidden. COIN has given me this life motto and the confidence to pursue those dreams that I never thought would be possible. Through the never ending support from the boys of COIN and my lovely friends, in the near future, I will be releasing an EP. I have never been so inspired in my life. Big and exciting things are coming. Thank you, COIN. HWYKIYNT amen.

Jiselle Santos // Co-head of Production Management

With the release of the album ‘How Will You Know If You Never Try’  by COIN, the album title itself makes you think about how to embark into the unknown. Following COIN’s journey for the last two years from the release of their self-titled album, opening for some of my favorite bands, to just recently headlining their own tour this spring and releasing this album, this band has truly grown in ways that I can’t put into words. The new album name describes how one should take that chance to do what they want and not let fear get to you. In a way, this album relates to how I’ve been trying to handle the many major changes that have happened in my life in the last two years. I like to say I grow with the music I listen to because it reminds me of memories that I either tend to treasure or even regret, and this album resonated with my experiences. However, being able to grow with the music you listen to and life continues to move forward, you develop some of the best relationships along the way. I'm quite thankful for all the friendships I formed along the way because of music and that’s something couldn't have pictured or said more than two years ago. Taking the chances I needed to, risking and sacrificing your wants and needs, experiencing life as it comes at you, because in the end, you should live that life you want to live - that’s what this album means to me.

Peyton Rhodes // Head of Writing and Editing

The phrase, “how will you know if you never try,” is one that I have struggled to fully grasp. At first, it seemed trite and obvious. However, as I began to face massive opportunities and change in my own personal life, the phrase took on a new glow. An example? This magazine. My dream has been to be a music journalist, but fear of failure, of bad pay, of limited job opportunity has kept me from pursuing that dream actively. When the idea for this magazine became a reality, the same fear plagued me - What if no one read it? What if no one cared? What if I took on too much work, considering the full school year approaching? And then I thought: how will I know if I never try? The simple phrase moved me so deeply in that moment that I decided to pour myself into this project. Recently, a quote from an interview with Chase Lawrence along the same lines nearly brought me to tears: “Missed opportunity: No! Try: yes!” Do not let the profundity of this miss you. Go for every opportunity you have. Pursue every dream you can. Let no one stand in your way. Above all, do not let fear be your guide. How will you know if you never try?

Victoria Taglione // Co-head of Social Media

COIN’s album title “How Will You Know If You Never Try” could not relate more perfectly to my life. Just thinking about the phrase makes me feel like I can magically take on the world, or take a smaller step like trying a new Starbucks drink. From the moment this album was released, I couldn't turn it off even if I tried. These songs relate and mean more than any group of songs have in a while, such as the tracks “Don’t Cry 2020,” “Hannah,” and Feeling”. One minute I feel completely lifted from every stress and worry, and then the next minute I feel extremely empowered to focus on my life and my dreams only. Later in the album, I’m taken back to the amazing memories I will always have of the of the COIN sign lit up, Chase’s back to the crowd, waiting to be hit with the “I’m feeling you, can you feel it too” lyrics that would make me insanely jump for a good amount of time. Without this album, I wouldn't be writing this for you, Heart Eyes Magazine wouldn't be real, and I wouldn't have made the incredible friends I have today. HWYKIYNT has brought so much more than I could have ever imagined, and I'm immensely grateful to COIN for bringing me these new opportunities into my life. A phrase that will always be with me: How Will You Know If You Never Try?

Ky Kasselman // Co-head of Production Management

On April 7, 2017, my life changed forever. I had spent the past five months working tirelessly for my on campus job as an event planner to book and coordinate my very first concert, and I had the privilege of doing business with my favorite band, COIN. Those five months were filled with blood, sweat, and tears, but in the end I put on an event that I was incredibly proud of with the added bonus of getting to hang out with and do hospitality for COIN all weekend. Through this experience and the encouragement of this band that I can now call my friends, I realized that this is what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. COIN released “How Will You Know If You Never Try” and the phrase immediately stuck with me. I would not have known that I wanted to pursue event planning if I hadn’t have taken a chance on these guys. The album speaks volumes to me, as it came out not even a month after my show. “Hannah,” the song that belts the album title, immediately became my favorite track on the album, and I could not get the iconic phrase out of my head. While jamming to my other favorite tracks like “Lately II,” I feel the same freedom that I felt on that April night watching everything I had dreamed of come to fruition. This band, the friends I have made through it, and the people who have supported me these past few months are making my dreams a reality, as I am heading to grad school soon to continue this journey. It’s permanently marked on my heart and my skin, thanks to Ryan and Chase, so I will never forget. HWYKIYNT, amen.

Caleigh Wells // Head of Interviews and Submissions

How Will You Know If You Never Try?: An album, a song lyric, and now, a mantra. This phrase now sits in the back of my mind as I embark on my personal journey through life. With the new chapter of college looming in the future, I often turn to this question to push me to new heights, and to overcome new obstacles that I would previously be too afraid to challenge. I have always been known to be afraid of change, to be afraid of breaking out of my shell and trying new things. However, now I use this phrase, this album name, this song lyric, as if Chase was saying it to me personally, as I face a new challenge. How will I know the outcome unless I try? How will I achieve success unless I push myself beyond the limits of my fears? It’s taking the jump without fearing the fall. The song “Hannah”, which contains the famous lyric, as well as the album as a whole, never fails to boost my spirits, and I can confidently say this album has influenced me as the person I am, and the person I will become.

Madi Mize // Co-head of Social Media

HWYKIYNT. This phrase, or a variation of it, is something we’ve all heard before, but the actual meaning didn't really hit me until recently. I have always struggled with not taking risks because I am deathly afraid of failure. Consequently, this results in me missing a lot of great opportunities. I’ve been better about it lately (thanks, COIN), but I'll probably always struggle with it. HWYKIYNT the album: brilliant, incredible, showstopping, spectacular, etc. In all seriousness, this album is probably my favorite of the year so far. My favorite song is definitely Heart Eyes. The reason that it is my favorite is partly because it is such a beautiful sounding song, and because I feel like I can relate to the meaning so well. In an interview with Hollywood Life, Chase broke down the meaning to each song, and when I read what he said about Heart Eyes, I immediately teared up. Chase said “It’s about this girl who sees the best in everyone, and will go past herself to do anything to  make anyone better, even at her own expense. Her heart is bigger than her eyes. She'll sacrifice anything…but you have to take time for yourself, or else you’re just going to wither away.”, and that hit me like a ton of bricks. The next time I listened to the song, I sobbed, which was bad because i was driving. Would not recommend. This band means so much to me, and it’s not just because of the music. The people that I have met, getting to see COIN live, the interactions that I have had after the shows with the guys themselves, it all makes me feel very happy.

Sydney King // Head of Photography

For me, COIN’s sophomore album “How Will You Know If You Never Try?” has opened up a lot of cool doors in my life, such as becoming a more social person, being more adventurous and thinking outside of the box. I’ve also met some of the greatest friends because of this band through this second album. Ryan and Chase even wrote out “HWYKIYNT?” for me to get tattooed because it means that much to me! Although I have been a dedicated fan of COIN since their debut album, “COIN,” I feel like their fan base has grown so much over the past year and I have met so many talented, incredible people who I now call some of my best friends. If it weren’t for COIN and their music, I don’t think I would be the person I am today. A big shout out to Chase, Ryan, Zach, and Joe and their amazing tunes!

Jared Elliott // Head of Graphic Design

The words “how will you know if you never try” never really spoke to me until COIN set the phrase as the title for their sophomore album. I think for us as teenagers, this phrase is so important. As we grow there’s always a fear of failure. We can be so held back by our own selves a lot of the times. This phrase is almost, liberating. Being sixteen, I have a lot to learn and do. How Will You Know If You Never Try? will soundtrack my teenage years. The good. The bad. It will be there with all of it