#anyway i wish i could help her but telling her to 'trust less' and 'never truly rely on other people' sounds horrible and cringe and edgy af

[widevibratobitch]

moments like this when im really glad im a sad little cynic who always considers the worst possible outcome and never lets herself truly get comfortable and trust the good things in her life to stay there and builds her life around trying to soften the blows of the eventual disappointments just waiting around the corner lol never leaving my edgy teenager era peace and love

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 3; ghoap x reader) masterlist

-

“What is this anyway—‘bring your girlfriend to work’ day?”

She’s snarky as ever, but with an agitated edge. Nerves prickling when Johnny holds her jacket out for her to slip her arms into. Even that makes her snap—something about not being a toddler that Johnny needs to help dress, but by then his head is in the clouds. In another place altogether. 

The prospect of getting to parade his new girl around leaves him giddy, fox-like grin hard to squash. He doesn’t suppress anything, finds it hard to push things down. When he does, it’s often unconscious. 

She doesn’t like the way he savours her anxiety like a fine wine, sniffs it from the top of her head and groans out his breath, cackling when she tries to stomp on his foot to make him go away. He dances away with her coat, light and nimble on his feet because he’s used to ducking and weaving for her affection. 

“The guys wanna meet ye,” he repeats for the umpteenth time. It’s surprising how many times he’s had to say it. 

“Why? Haven’t they ever met a girl before?” she gripes, swallowing now, her stomach probably cramping and poor bonnie lass, Johnny thinks. His poor, pretty girl is trying to put on a brave face when he knows she prefers being in the backroom of her little flower shop, snipping off stalks and tying pretty bows around pretty bouquets. He wishes he could keep her back there forever—put a lock on the door and come only to smother her in kisses and gorge himself on every inch of her—but there’s a whole wide world demanding his attention. 

“Aye, hen, never a lass as cute and sweet as ye,” he crows, ducking a hand that punches through the sleeve of her jacket in his direction. 

In the car, he drops the facade. Loses his teasing edge. It’s a violent removal, like jolting awake to the sound of someone sawing away at a catalytic converter. If his smile is saccharine, it’s really only a smokescreen concealing the apprehension bubbling away in his belly. 

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel on the drive back to base. Heart in his throat, choking his words and rendering him quiet for once in his life. He hears Ghost’s voice in his head, a low rumbling laugh, tectonic plates shifting beneath his feet. These days, his voice acts as a lodestar, the thing steering Johnny home. 

Months ago, it was the only thing between him and annihilation, the ice cold maelstrom dragging him deeper into its maw. Guiding him through the valley of death. The wound in his arm still aches in the first light of day. His sleep is still wracked by dreams of running down alleys and ducking into houses, the rain pattering against the window panes ominous, a ticking clock, each step having to be precise, calculated, each movement quieter than quiet, fading into the shadows, a cool heart and mind bested by agony from the bulletwound in his shoulder.

And then—Ghost’s voice, low and soothing in his ear, shattering the pain. Ghost’s voice in his ear telling him where to go, how to survive. 

It’s hard to explain. Johnny’s tried. It’s like talking in circles when he opens his mouth and tries to get it out. I trust him with everything in me. He could do anything to me, anything. 

He is no less capable, no less competent. His rank demands respect, and he takes what’s due to him. Since Las Almas, he’s worked across a medley of other teams, even solo a time or two. It changes nothing. He still wakes in a sweat, chasing that voice. It takes him back into the real world. The days burn into the fringes of a memory that he is always living.

“Should I know anyone’s name before we get there?”

Her voice breaks through the noise in his head this time. It’s every bit as precious. 

“What d’ye mean, hen?” he asks, clucking his tongue. Sweats a bit when he realizes how far down the motorway they are now, how long it’s been since he checked out, lost in his thoughts. One hand rests loose on her leg, fingers spread wide and thumb gliding up and down her outer thigh, the other still holding the wheel. 

The pinched look has mostly fallen off from her face, but there’s still a tremble in her lower lip when she says, “Well, I don’t know any of your friends. I wouldn’t introduce you to my friends without telling you their names first.”

“No’ my friends, hen—we’re coworkers.”

She looks over at him from the corner of her eye. “I’m friends with my coworkers.”

Johnny shrugs. “It’s no’ the same with guys. Couldnae tell you fuck all about any of them except their names, to be honest.”

“Oh, don’t give me that—you’re not friends with a single one of them? No one?”

No hunger without resistance. His mouth goes bone dry. He’d be wise to learn that. 

He swallows. “Maybe a few.”

No transaction without accountability. Ghost saves his life and now Johnny has to pay that debt back tenfold. Sinking into the crease of Simon’s voice late at night, clutching it to his chest. Breathing it out. Maybe they are friends. 

He’s a bit show-offy at the base gates, dangling his ID card out the window pinched between two fingers. The civilian guard on duty just waves him on, scanning it only for the sake of the logs. His tires spin in the dirt when he guns it down the stretch of road leading into the base, windows still all the way down. Her hair whips around in the wind until she gathers it all up in her fist and shrieks at him to roll the windows up. 

Johnny enjoys showing off. That’s a core aspect of who he is, his charm. Braggadocious, confident in the way he looks, his physical prowess, his lot in life—so why would that change with his girl? He holds her close with an arm around her waist when he drags her through the rec centre, the building closest to where they parked. 

He gets lost in conversation for longer than expected. Pure gloating about the girl he’s managed to bag. Cooing in her ear when he feels her get a bit uneasy, still timid around the other guys despite having him at her side. He supposes that’s fair. She’s more comfortable around the women on base, a bit freer with her greeting and questions, but there’s still a pinch in her brow that never smooths all the way over.

It takes a while to find anyone that he knows. There are plenty of sergeants and corporals that he’s worked with before, familiar faces and names, but Johnny still glances around the room while they make light conversation with his girl, searching. Looking for something familiar, something that’ll reel him in, make him perk up like a dog catching a scent. 

They cross Gaz in a random hallway on the way to the comm centre, hardly recognizable at first with the darker stubble of his beard grown out. He must’ve just come back from wherever he’d been shipped off to the month previous, no time to shave or clean up. He even smells of old sweat when Johnny leans in for a hug. 

“Is this—?” Gaz glances over at her just once while the question dangles in the air. He looks back over at Johnny. 

They lock eyes. A silent exchange of meaning. 

“Aye,” Johnny nods, steering her in front of him with both hands on her shoulders, showing his girl off like a kid with a new toy. Eyes glinting like, don’t say a word. “Brought her in to meet everyone.”

A molasses slow smile spreads across Gaz’s face. It’s clear why men like him always get the girl. Johnny’s hands tighten on her shoulders. “Nice to meet you—thought John would hide you away forever.”

She glances up at him through her lashes. “You talked about me?”

Gaz shakes his head. “Not as much as you’d think. Took Ghost ages to get it out of him.”

Johnny flushes. “Did no’. Jus’ ‘cause I don’ blab about everything under the fuckin’ sun doesnae mean—”

“John says you’re a florist,” Gaz interrupts, turning the conversation back to her. Her lips split up into a mischievous little grin, delighted at the turnabout, probably delighted at seeing Johnny stumble over his words.

Something about her teasing grin gets his dick hard. More points to the rapidly disintegrating belief that he doesn’t have a humiliation kink. He leans forward, pressing it into her ass, delighted himself when she shoots him a dirty look over her shoulder but doesn’t pull away. 

“So, where’s everybody?” Johnny asks casually, trying not to make it too obvious who he’s referring to. The look Gaz gives him is unimpressed. He keeps running into that brick wall, his thoughts written out on his forehead, obvious to everyone around him. 

“Everyone?” Gaz repeats sceptically. 

“Aye.” His voice is tight, warning. “Everyone.”

“Ghost’s actually on his way here now, I think. We got called over to HQ—s’where I was headed, actually.”

“I dinnae say anything about Ghost, now did I—,” Johnny grumbles, but the words dissolve in his mouth when the man in question comes into the room. 

Sometimes, Johnny has the pleasure of seeing Ghost round a corner. The split second pleasure of being the observer, of dragging his eyes up and over, his chest bursting with a light like dawn cresting behind mountains and splitting the sky. In the field, he’s often deprived of that; becomes used to experiencing the phenomenon of Ghost melting out of the shadows, sometimes scaring the daylights out of him. 

It’s what happens now though. Glancing up on a whim only to see a man round the corner of the hallway leading out of the rec centre, shirt stretched out maddeningly over his arms and chest, muscles bulging like he just came from the gym, still pumped. The shirt’s a little threadbare, something old and worn, and Johnny’s seen it a million and a half times he figures; it leaves so little to the imagination that he’s joked about Ghost busting it at the seams from time to time, only to be met with a steady, aloof stare. 

There’s something to be said about how he’s drawn to people who refuse to scratch him behind the ears until he’s more than proven himself. He works tirelessly for Ghost’s approval, for his girl’s approval. Dogs with their bones, tigers with their stripes. 

He has a balaclava pulled over his face, just a simple black one this time, the underside of his eyes darkened by eyeblack hastily scrubbed off the night before, probably. His eyes scan the crowd, locking on Johnny and Gaz almost instantly. It’s the mark of a good soldier—he doesn’t flounder in the dark. Always finds his target, like a sixth sense for knowing when he’s being watched. 

Ghost course-corrects upon noticing them, crossing the room in a handful of seconds. The curt, “Johnny,” he gets is a bounty, a treasure. He grins back when Ghost glances down at the girl at his side. “That your bird?” 

“Told ye I’d bring her in—s’long as everyone’s on their best behaviour, of course.”

Gaz snorts. “Good luck with that.”

Ghost must cock an eyebrow because he can see the fabric of his mask shift. “Pretty.”

He can’t help the way he preens at that. Tucked away by his side again, Johnny can feel his girl squirm, but he pays it no mind. She’s shy—he’s known that from day one, from the first time she stumbled out from the back of the flower shop and scrunched her nose up at his attempts at flirting. 

Admiration is a smooth, buttery feeling. It keeps him aloft while another couple of servicemen take interest in their conversation and come over, Johnny’s girl at the centre of everyone’s attention. He’d be pricklier about it if he didn’t have a firm hand on her waist, keeping her pressed to his side. 

He soaks up the attention. Drinks it up when someone asks his girl a question and Johnny answers for her or pinches her cheek when she manages to pipe up before him. He knows he’ll get read the riot act when he takes her back home later, but he might be able to convince her to ride him while berating him for talking over her. Might beg her to slap him and spit in his mouth—say it’s the only way he’ll learn his lesson.

Dirty dog.

It strikes him that maybe he’s picked up some bad habits in recent months. He’s never been one to overthink, to worry and fret. Yet, he toils in it now, shovels coals into the furnace of it and gives it life. 

His shoulders go slack, the tension finally ebbing out of him. No longer dogged by the incessant fear that his girl is going to run away, bolt at the first loud noise, or that someone’s going to pluck her up out of his arms. She seems comfortable if anything. 

He’s been overthinking all of this, wrapped up in his head. He can breathe out, unclench. 

When Ghost shifts to stand closer to them, he glances over because that’s where his gaze always goes these days. Seeking Ghost out, finding him in a crowd; looking for his North Star wherever he is, wherever he goes. 

Only to watch in mute horror as, in plain sight, not trying to be discreet or hide it from anyone, Ghost gropes his girlfriend’s ass in front of everyone on base. Just reaches out a big hand and fondles her ass, digging his fingers into the cheek. She freezes, back ramrod straight as she stares ahead, eyes going a bit blank. 

He fails whatever test this is, mouth too dry for any words to come out. Humiliation burns him from the inside out. Another sergeant that he’s worked with before frowns, glancing over at Johnny. Neither of them say a word. 

Ghost tilts his head, staring down at his hand on her ass like he’s contemplating its plushness. Admiring it. With how Johnny stands on one side and Ghost the other, the two of them bracket her, like the soft centre of their trio; nowhere for her to go, a handler on either side. That’s wrong though. Ghost is not her handler—Johnny hardly is, more of a self-appointed one. 

Still he—

He lets it happen.

Contention dies a bloody death in his mouth, massacred. Mangled. He lets Ghost sink his fingers into his girlfriend’s backside and hum a little under his breath before finally pulling his hand away. The others look at him, waiting for Johnny’s reaction with bated breath. A reaction that never comes because it gets strangled in Johnny’s throat. 

“Nice meeting the bird,” Ghost finally says, voice a decibel lower, rough enough to scrape. “Gaz and I’ve got shit to do now. Be ready on the tarmac by oh-seven-hundred tomorrow, Johnny.” 

He grips Johnny by the shoulder before heading off, like he didn’t just grope Johnny’s girlfriend. Like he didn’t just reach down and grab a handful of her ass like it was his to feel up. And Johnny just nods. A placid, docile thing under Ghost’s hand, bobbing his head like a doll. 

Then Ghost leaves, Gaz trailing after him, looking back about a half dozen times to see if Johnny will suddenly follow them until he’s forced to job to catch up to Ghost, the man already yards away, longer legs carrying him fast out of the building. 

They don’t talk on the drive back to her apartment, the inside of the car tense and uncertain. Johnny walks her to the door when he lets her off, but it’s a formality, a chaste kiss at the door instead of the rough fuck that he’d envisioned to send her off. Despite the hard set of her jaw, she doesn’t lambast him like Johnny expected. The silence is worse though, haunting when she shuts the door in his face. 

The drive back to base after the drop off is agonizing in a whole new way. Still pent up, cock heavy in his pants, and fingers drumming over the steering wheel twice as fast now. What do I do, what do I do, what do I do? What he wants to do is turn around at the closest gap between both sides of the motorway and speed all the way back, knock on her door until his knuckles blister and bleed, until she opens the door and lets him in, lets Johnny push her to the floor in the entryway and spread her legs, welcoming him in. 

Until she lets him fit his fingers into the marks left behind by Ghost’s hand. 

Cold fire rising up off his bones, and then something hot. And wet. 

The next day at breakfast in the mess, one of the guys says something like, “If Ghost was into my girl, that’s the last you’d see of me and her,” and his mind goes blank and he goes over the table.

[grimdarling69]

Another Dan and ellie deaged p2

Dick wasn't unaccustomed to getting calls at five a.m., but he wished it had happened less. He reached his hand out from the haphazardly placed blanket and fumbled for his ringing phone. Finally finding it, he quickly answered to the call. I swear if this is an arkham breakout, it better be the goddamn joker. He will be very upset if Tim just calls him in for condiment king.

"Hello?" He says sleepily. He winces and rubs his eyes away from the bright light of the phone.

"Dick. I need your help, Damian got spooked somehow and ran away. I'm pursuing him but i can't get him to stop."

His heart drops. Immediately awake, he jumps up from the bed and tries to find the suit pieces he threw around when he crashed last night.

"What happened?" I found myself asking, hoping this was just a misunderstanding. "I don't really know. We were down in the cave, and I guess he knocked a tool off and woke me up. I asked him what he was doing, but he didn't answer me and just ran to the bikes."

He could hear the slight panic in Tim's voice. "I'll call him."Wait -" I hang up.

I quickly dialed Babs number. If Damian left as fast as tim says he did, he probably didn't have his phone. I glance at the windows, one of my gloves is placed on the seal. Rain is still coming down hard. Thunder rumbling distantly.

"This better be goddamn joker." Me and Babs always thinking the same thing, I think fondly.

"Damian ran away, and I need you to connect me to his comms."On it now. I'm calling in the others just in case."

A click is heard, and I can hear slight wind and heavy breathing through my own comms. I hang up the call.

"Dami?" I ask hesitantly. His baby brother son was out there alone in the rain.

I hear a sharp intake of breath, but he doesn't speak. I quickly throw open the windows after grabbing my last glove. Skillfully and methodically climbing down. Throwing myself on my bike. Come on, Dami, answer me.

"Whatever is going on, you can tell me, okay? I'll help you no matter what. I promise." He meant every word.

The bike starts, and I race down the streets in chase of the tracker. I just need to make it to Gotham in time.

__________

Bruce was no stranger from his kids running away. They'd all done it at least once. It never got any better whether they were running from him or others didn't change it. He just had to remember they always came back.

Alfred watches off to the side. Making sure if i start to go down, he could catch me. I won't. A few broken ribs and a sprained ankle won't stop me. He had gotten the call in his bedroom. Alfred had finally wrangled him into sleeping when the call came through.

"Bruce. Damian fled the nest. Dick and Tim are in pursuit, but i don't think he's stopping anytime soon." Her tone heavy but focused.

He had quickly made his way down to the cave. Alfred had stopped momentarily to wake up his other son. He would be down soon.

I start to make my way to my suit, but I'm quickly thwarted.

"Master Bruce. You will be no help with might i remind you of five broken ribs, a sprained ankle, and a stab wound." Alfred told him stepping in front.

"My son is out there. i need to find him."he said with a deep voice heavy with memories. He knew Alfred was right he would only be a hindrance. He could walk off his injuries they were barely flesh wounds, but he wasn't good with emotions. He had plenty of arguments with his kids about it before. Whatever scared Damian into running, he couldn't help him.

Duke's footsteps sounded out behind him. He walked past, gancing at him concerned but determination on his face. He turned around and limped back to the batcomputer. He just had to trust his sons to bring their brother home.

‐---------

Jason was no stranger to long nights. He hadn't even made it to his safe house anyway, too busy with the storm, making sure all the alley kids had a warm and dry place to sleep for the night.

Stormy nights were the worst for alley kids. He hated them when he ws on the streets. The cold rain freezing your clothes to you, the cold rain soaking your shelters, the cold rain ruining any halfway edible food. He's seen a lot of kids get sick from the rain and die. If you were sick, you had to hide. If others found out you were sick, they'd leave you in a heartbeat. It caused a lot of fights with Bruce in the early days. He hid his injuries or sick days in case Bruce finally saw how weak he was and threw him out.

"Damian fled the nest. The rest of the batboys are already heading out after him." Oracle spoke into his comms.

The Batboys. What O had recently started calling Dickhead, Timbo, Duke, Demon brat and him ever since the batgirls left to Hong Kong together.

Demon brat, his obligation in the league. When he left, he'd assumed he'd never see him again, or if he did, it'd be from opposite sides. Sometimes, it felt a lot like opposite sides regardless.

Jason revved up his bike again he was mostly done with his people anyway. He would have to have some of his trustworthy men on the lookout for stragglers.

He pulled up his tracker to Damian. He winded through the streets following it.

---------

Crack

Thunder sounded out. Dick had hated the rain ever since... He just hated it. It was worse, so with Dami out there all alone. He didn't even know what had scared him enough to run. Damian would never run just cause what he knocked a tool over? That didn't sound like his brother son. Something else must have happened. He just had to figure out what.

"Nightwing. Report." Bruce growled into the comms suddenly. His throat felt dry. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't speak.

"SHIT!" A crashing sound loud enough to echo on the comms could be heard. Tim, dami, please be alright. He was just now reaching the Gotham border. Just hold on, I think desperately.

"Red Robin, what's happening on your end." Bruce demanded.

"Red Robin is fine. Damian deployed the bike sludge. He had to grapple backward to avoid the sludge. I think his leg is broken."

"Be careful, Signal, one wrong move with your powers, and you could light that right on up." Jason attempted to banter. Jason and his bad habit of deflecting by using humor. Something he's gotten in trouble because of before.

"We are on the warehouse that we busted yesterday with that drug deal across from Gotham Bridge. We lost sight of him." Duke ignored Jason's comment and carried on.

"Damian has stopped near gotham bridge hurry. Cameras aren't looking good."

"Oracle. Report, what do you see?" He can hear Bruce's gravelly voice tinged with desperation. Please don't do what I think you're going to do.

"I think he might jump."

The silence was suffocating.

Click.

Damians comms came back online.

"Damian?" Bruce's voice sounded distorted and echoes to his ears.

"Dami, can you hear me?" He knew he could.

"Yes."

"Master Damian, please come home." Alfred didn't beg, but he swore he could hear it in his voice.

"We can help you. Damian, don't do whatever you're planning. Please." Jason's voice was desperate.

" Please, Damian, listen to us. Let us help you."he was begging at this point, but he couldn't care less.

"I'm sorry Richard, but I don't think you can."

Click.

Crack

Lightning broke the illusion of quiet peace. The rain thundering just as loud against the ground.

-------

Jason drove as fast as he could, but by the time he and dick made it, the bike was the only thing left of his brother.

"Damian!" Dick tried jump off after him. "Dick! Stop!" "Let me go! I have to save him. Please..." His voice was thick and course. His brother's mask was starting to peel from the wetness.

"I know. I know..." He collapsed to the ground, taking his brother with him.

The headlight flickered ominously in the heavy rain.

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (17 - Idiot Hope)

Chapter Summary: She followed you slowly—cautiously—and you couldn’t help but feel disappointed. She’s so guarded around you, and you couldn’t even be angry about it. Once, this could have been different. Once, it would’ve been easy. And you couldn’t blame her. Not after everything you did.

After Lagos--Wanda wasn't yours to comfort, but that didn't mean you didn't want to try.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3.4k+ | Chapter Tags: Slight angst, hurt/comfort

A/N: We're not yet there, but we'll be--soon enough ;) I wanted a chapter dedicated to the aftermath of what Wanda did in Lagos // More author's notes here. GIF credits to the owner. Let me know is this is yours!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“That wasn’t her fault.”

The meeting room was a powder keg.

“She made a call, Steve, and people died,” Tony said, as if Wanda wasn’t sitting just several feet away from where he stood, holding up the Sokovian Accords like it was some sort of holy relic. “It’s irrelevant whether she had a choice in the matter or none.”

You stayed silent in your swivel, watching the argument unfold like a spectator at a match you didn’t care enough to bet on. The Sokovian Accords—the debate over who got to control the Avengers—you could’ve cared less. You didn’t follow protocol anyway. You barely tolerated the existing ones. Another layer of red tape wasn’t going to change how you operated. It was just another rule to break, another system to work around.

But your disinterest didn’t mean you weren’t paying attention.

Wanda sat at the edge of the table, so rigid you couldn’t tell if she was still breathing. She hadn’t said a word since the meeting started even as Stark was essentially throwing her under the bus. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, her knuckles pale. Her eyes stayed fixed on the table, but the furrow in her brow told you she wasn’t just tuning out the conversation. She was absorbing every word.

Everyone knew why the Accords were front and center today. Everyone knew who this conversation was really about.

“She made the best call she could under impossible circumstances,” Steve argued. He might be the most straight-laced person you’ve ever met, but you couldn’t help but admire the passion he brought to defending others time and time again. “You think she wanted this to happen?”

“No,” Tony raised his voice, something he rarely did. “But that doesn’t absolve her—or us. We’re walking weapons, Rogers. All of us. And if we don’t have oversight—if we don’t have accountability—this is going to keep happening.”

“And you think signing a piece of paper is going to change that?” Steve challenged.

Sam chose this moment to put his two cents. “Steve’s right. We’ve made tough calls before, and we’ll make them again. That’s the job. What happened in Lagos—yeah, it’s a tragedy, but you can’t legislate every choice we make in the field. It’s not realistic.”

Rhodey shook his head. “It’s not legislating every choice, Wilson. It’s setting boundaries. We have to answer to someone, or we’ll lose what little trust we’ve got left with the world.”

“Answer to who?” Sam retorted.“A bunch of bureaucrats who’ve never set foot on a battlefield? Who don’t know what it’s like to make life-and-death decisions in seconds? They’re not going to understand what we do out there.”

“They don’t have to understand it. They just have to believe we’re not a threat. And right now, we don’t look good,” Natasha replied.

For a fleeting moment, you wished Clint’s retirement had been delayed, just long enough to hear his take on all this. Everyone had something to say, but you were so busy watching Wanda from the corner of your eye that none of them reached your ears. You kept waiting for the moment she’d crack. You didn’t know why, exactly. Maybe because you knew what it felt like to carry the weight of everyone else’s mistakes. Maybe because you wanted to be there when she couldn’t hold it in anymore.

Then Vision spoke.

“I must agree with Tony,” he began. You expected him to waver, to soften it somehow because Wanda was right there. But no. He wasn’t apologetic. He wasn’t unsure. He looked at everyone like the answer was obvious, like he couldn’t understand why they were still debating.

Across the room, Wanda went impossibly still. “I need some air,” she said suddenly, pushing her chair back with a scrape that made you squirm. She didn’t wait for anyone’s permission, didn’t look at anyone as she walked out. Not even Vision.

You told yourself to stay seated. You told yourself this wasn’t your problem—that you didn’t care. And yet, before you could stop yourself, you were already out of your chair, already moving.

—

You found her outside the meeting room, leaning against the wall, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her breathing was shallow, her eyes red-rimmed but dry. She didn’t look at you as you approached, but you stopped a few paces away, giving her space that said I don’t want to crowd you, but I’m here if you want to talk.

“That wasn’t your fault,” you said, the words barely leaving your mouth before you wanted to snatch them back. Steve had already told her. Hell, everyone in that room had tried to tell her. And now you were just the next in line, parroting the same hollow sentiment.

She snorted, a low, bitter sound that wasn’t quite laughter but wasn’t not laughter either.

“You did what you could,” you continued. “Nobody else would’ve—”

“Don’t,” she interrupted. “Don’t try to make me feel better about it. I don’t need that.”

You lowered your head, respecting her wishes, but you didn’t walk away. There were moments when words didn’t help when nothing you could say could ease the burden she carried. This was one of those times, and you knew it. So you stayed. If words weren’t the answer, then maybe action was. 

And then an idea came to you. Perhaps…there was something you could show her. Something that might remind her of the ripple effects of her choices, the lives she’d touched without even realizing it.

“Will you come with me? I want to show you something.”

She gave you a look that was equal parts skepticism and exhaustion, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I… I don’t have it in me right now,” she murmured, her voice cracking under the strain. “I’m so tired.”

“It’ll be worth it,” you said, offering her a small, hopeful smile. “I promise.”

You could feel your pulse drumming in your ears, blood rushing to your head, making you dizzy. If she came with you, it would be the first time in months the two of you were alone, just you and her. And if she didn’t? If she stayed here, stewing in her guilt over Lagos, letting it eat her alive—well, you couldn’t bear that either.

After a long pause, she pushed herself off the wall and straightened, albeit reluctantly. She didn’t say another word as she followed you out of the building, trailing behind like someone preparing for disappointment but going along anyway.

The ride to the Bronx was quiet. 

Wanda stared out the window, her reflection in the glass looking just as weary as the woman beside you. You kept your mouth shut, even though a thousand questions burned in your throat. Things like how her combat training was coming along, if she’d found it useful in her last mission. You wanted to tell her about this new Eastern restaurant you’d stumbled upon, one you were sure she’d love. 

You pathetically craved small talk with Wanda, but you bit it all back, reminding yourself this wasn’t that.

This wasn’t two friends on a road trip. This was business. A teammate encouraging another. Nothing more, you told yourself, even if it felt like a lie.

When you finally pulled up in front of the small, unassuming building, she frowned.

“What’s this?” she asked, her voice wary and low.

“You’ll see,” you replied, stepping out and holding the door open for her. 

She followed you slowly—cautiously—and you couldn’t help but feel disappointed. She’s so guarded around you, and you couldn’t even be angry about it. Once, this could have been different. Once, it would’ve been easy. And you couldn’t blame her. Not after everything you did.

Once inside the building, Wanda found herself in a narrow hallway. A small reception desk was tucked off to the side, and above it, the ceiling was adorned with simple decorations—little drawings that looked like they’d been done by children. The faint scent of crayons and cleaning solution teased your noses.

“Where are we?” Wanda whispered distractedly as her eyes wandered, taking in the surroundings.

Before you could answer, a woman behind the reception desk looked up and smiled warmly when she saw you. “It’s good to see you again, Y/N,” she said. “The kids will be so happy.”

“Kids?” Wanda echoed. 

You smiled at the woman and asked, “The playroom?”

She nodded, pointing down the hall. “Just straight ahead. You know the way.”

Wanda trailed after you, her arms crossed tightly over her chest again. “I don’t know what you think this is going to do,” she said.

“Just trust me,” you replied, confident that she could really trust you on this thing. “I think you’ll understand in a minute.”

When you opened the door to the playroom, the most joyful sounds greeted you. Children of all ages were scattered all over the room—some playing with toys, others chasing each other with giggles and squeals. A few heads turned at your arrival, their faces lighting up when they saw you.

“Miss Y/N!” one of the older boys called out, running up to you with an excited grin. You knelt to greet him, exchanging a few kind words before standing again and glancing back at Wanda. 

She lingered in the doorway, her posture uncertain, as though she wasn’t sure she belonged here. For a moment, despite the few years she had on you, she looked almost childlike—vulnerable, hesitant, and quietly yearning for the same thing these children sought.

“A lot of them came here after losing everything—some from Sokovia. They’re waiting for families now. Some of them already have new homes,” you told Wanda as you walked to a nearby bulletin board covered in photographs—smiling children with their adoptive families, snapshots of bright, hopeful futures. Gently, you unpinned a polaroid of a little girl with dark hair and a radiant smile, holding it carefully in your hand.

“She’s from Sokovia,” you said softly, handing the photo to Wanda. “Her family didn’t make it through the attack. But she did. Because of you.”

Wanda stared at the photo, her eyebrows drawn tight in concentration. You couldn’t quite tell what was going through her head. Her thumb skimmed the edges, but she didn’t say a word—her lips were pressed into a thin line, and you caught the slight hitch in her throat as she swallowed hard.

“She has a family now,” you continued, “she goes to school, plays soccer, and dreams about becoming a doctor someday. Her life… everything she’s doing now… none of it would’ve been possible if not for what you and Pietro did. If you hadn’t warned us, if you hadn’t made the choice to defect from…”

You let the sentence trail off, leaving the rest unsaid. Wanda’s fingers curled slightly around the photo, her eyes still locked on the little girl.

Oh, Wanda, you thought to yourself. You’re a good person stuck with impossible choices.

“Her home was destroyed,” Wanda said after a long silence. You noticed the way she said her home, not our home. Sokovia was hers too, but it was like calling it that hurt too much, so she’d pushed herself out of the equation. “We couldn’t save it.”

“No, we couldn’t,” you agreed, not sugarcoating it. “But you gave her a chance for a new home. And that matters.”

She gave you back the photo. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough,” she whispered, so softly you almost didn’t catch it.

It was never going to be enough. That was the reality of this work. The Avengers could save millions by the time it was all over, rewrite the course of history with every battle fought—and still, it wouldn’t be enough. There would always be someone you failed to reach. Blood on your hands that no amount of victory could wash away.

Because the truth was, no matter how many you saved, the ones you lost would always outlive them in your memory.

But this wasn’t the right time to tell Wanda all that. You wanted to give her hope. You wanted to give her everything.

“Maybe not for you—not yet,” you accused. “But for her? For all of them?” You gestured to the room, where a group of children were now gathered around a train set that one of the volunteers just finished putting together. “It’s more than enough.”

For a moment, she didn’t say anything. Then, slowly, she exhaled, her shoulders dropping a fraction as though some of the weight had finally started to ease. She looked up at you, her eyes glassy but clearer than they’d been when you found her outside the meeting room.

“Why are you showing me this?” Wanda asked.

“Because I wanted you to see what I see,” you said simply. “You’re not just the sum of your mistakes, Wanda. You’re the sum of everything you’ve done—the good and the bad. And I think you need to be reminded of the good.”

You weren’t entirely sure where those words came from. Maybe you’d been holding onto them for a while, turning them over in your mind every time you watched Wanda. But as they left your mouth, you realized how much you meant them. This wasn’t just something to make her feel better—it was what you truly believed.

You swore you caught the faintest hint of pink dusting her cheeks, and your heart soared at the sight of it.

Wanda’s fingers twitched, and that familiar red aura you’d come to know shimmered to life around her hands. The idle train set shuddered, then sprang into motion as if summoned by unseen magic—Wanda’s magic. The little engine emitted a soft hum as it began to circle the track, its wheels turning smoothly. 

“Look! It’s moving!” one of the kids shouted, pointing at the train as it chugged along the tracks. The children erupted in cheers and applause, their faces glowing with surprise and delight. 

You couldn’t help but smile, and when you glanced at Wanda, she was smiling too—so naturally, so effortlessly in a way you hadn’t seen in far too long. The second she caught you looking, her smile faltered, slipping away as her hands dropped to her sides, almost as if embarrassed to have been caught.

You smirked, mouthing a quiet ‘thank you’.

Wanda hesitated, then let her smile return, smaller this time but still very real.

—

The ride back to the compound was not as suffocating as it had been earlier. Wanda, still reserved, sat with her arms crossed loosely, her gaze focused out the window. Every so often, she’d comment on something as you drove by—the faded mural on the side of an old diner, the ridiculous neon sign for a pawn shop that flickered in broad daylight. Her voice was soft, almost unsure, but it was something. And after so much silence, even these small remarks were satisfying.

By the time you pulled up to the compound, dusk was setting in. You parked the car and Wanda stepped out first, stretching her legs after the long ride. You followed, grabbing your things from the backseat before stepping onto the gravel.

That’s when you saw him.

Vision stood at the entrance, hands folded neatly behind his back. A crease between his brows. His lips pressed a fraction too tight.

If he weren’t the most logical, even-keeled person in the compound—possibly in the entire world—you might’ve thought he looked jealous. Seeing his girlfriend with her former object of affection might’ve rattled him, after all.

“Wanda,” Vision said as you both approached. “May I speak with you?”

Wanda froze mid-step, her foot hovered as if she couldn’t decide whether to keep moving or stay rooted in place. She turned halfway, glancing over her shoulder at you. Like she wanted you to give her a reason to walk away or a sign to stay.

You gave her a small, sad smile and quietly excused yourself. This wasn’t your place. Whatever this was, it wasn’t for you to meddle with. Determined to get inside without further fuss, you moved past them, eyes forward, when Vision spoke.

“Y/N,” Vision said, though his eyes never left Wanda.

You stopped for a second, muttering, “Vision,” under your breath before continuing without another glance.

In the kitchen, you dumped your bag on the counter and grabbed a glass from the cabinet, filling it from the tap. The water was cold, sharp against the dryness in your throat. You leaned against the counter, staring into the empty glass like it might give you answers.

It didn’t. It never did.

—

Later that night, a knock dragged you out of your book—your third this week. You couldn’t even remember the last sentence you’d read.

Foolishly, you hoped it was Wanda. Some naïve part of you clung to the idea that after the moment you shared this afternoon, she’d come to you. Initiate something for once. You knew better, but hope’s an idiot, always has been.

That idiot hope was short-lived though when you answered and discovered who was on the other side of the door.

The last person you expected to show up.

“Y/N? May I have a word with you?” Vision asked, though it didn’t sound exactly like a request.

You leaned against the doorframe casually. “Sure.”

Vision stepped inside without waiting for your permission. He stopped in the middle of the room, looking around like he was checking for an audience. He seemed…nervous. Weird to think about Vision being nervous. He was usually so self-assured—and you envied that about him sometimes.

“I spoke with Wanda,” he started. Straight to business.

“Okay.” You didn’t bother inviting him to elaborate. You figured he would anyway.

“She mentioned you took her to an orphanage. In the Bronx.”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

That made you laugh, a quick, dry sound. “Why not?”

“It seemed to have an impact on her,” Vision said.

“That was the point.”

He seemed to be in deep thought, and it was unusual seeing him this way— It wasn’t like him to take this long, to seem unsure, unable to source the answer from his extensive library.

“What were you hoping to achieve?” he finally asked.

You let out another laugh, softer this time. “Jesus, Vision. You think I had some big master plan? She needed to get out of her own head for a while. That’s it. I took her somewhere that might remind her she’s not just… everything she thinks she’s messed up.”

“She hasn’t been herself,” Vision said, as if you hadn’t noticed.

“No kidding.”

He clasped his hands tighter, the nerves bleeding into his posture now, stiffer than usual. “I want to help her,” he said. “But I don’t understand what she needs.”

“Maybe she doesn’t either,” you said, following it with a heavy sigh. You knew that one too well, the feeling of walking around like a locked door with no key.

Vision looked down, just for a second. “I fear time may not be enough.”

You stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out what he wanted from you. He had Wanda. He had every right—every opportunity—to ask her how she was feeling, to figure out if she was okay, or if taking her to that Sokovian restaurant she loved might lift her spirits. Instead, he was here, asking you for advice—yet again.

“You don’t think I know that?” you said finally. “You’re not the only one who gives a damn about her.”

Vision didn’t seem at all bothered by you admitting you cared about Wanda. It took a few seconds before you realized what you’d just admitted. Out loud. To someone else. For the very first time.

You cared about Wanda.

“I know,” Vision said evenly. “And that’s why I came to you. You’ve always understood her in a way I haven’t been able to.”

That stopped you short. You looked away, jaw tightening. Understood her? He didn’t know what he was talking about. And yet… part of you wanted it to be true.

“She’s your girlfriend,” you said, feeling like you had to wrestle the words out of your mouth. “You know her better than anyone.”

That seemed to snap Vision out of whatever fantasy he’d built of you holding all the answers to his Wanda-shaped puzzle. 

“Thank you for your time,” he said. “And for what you did for Wanda today.” And with that, Vision turned and left.

You shut the door slowly, leaning your forehead against the cool surface before drawing out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. It didn’t matter if Vision was wrong. You’d still care. You’d still keep showing up, doing what you could.

Because this Idiot Hope? It wasn’t stamped out after all. It was still there, clawing its way to the surface every time she looked your way, even if it was just for a second—hoping she’d look a little longer.

[jubileebloom]

lots of characters have been targeted by gravity falls fans's thirst for angst but I feel like I've never really seen Soos involved, at least not as much.

anyway. thinking about Soos and his family.

Abuelita's wonderful, sure, and she tries her hardest to be a parental figure to Soos. but she's still his grandmother. sometimes he feels guilty for wishing he had a parent again. Abuelita dedicated her life to raising him, but it's just... not the same.

then he gets something of a parental figure after getting hired by the local scam artist. Soos can tell he has a good heart buried somewhere under his contempt for rules and sentimentality and his business built on fleecing people. heck, Stan's taught him how to box, and let him hang around at the Mystery Shack after hours when he didn't feel like walking back home and Abuelita couldn't pick him up just yet, back before he could drive himself. which Stan also had a role in.

then the kids show up. Soos quickly becomes fond of them. they didn't need to fight an epic time battle to endear themselves to him, but they do it anyway, because they love him, because they're family. and it's almost enough for him to let go of the first person he thought of as a father. almost.

he turns against the second person he thought of as a father. for the kids.

and probably by next summer, Stan's softened up a bit. even that first summer, he was always soft for the kids. Soos can't blame Stan for that; he's soft for them too. but as much as he hates to admit it, he's jealous of Dipper and Mabel. they'll spend the rest of their childhood with a Stan in their lives who's less afraid to wear his heart on his sleeve and scoop them up into a bear hug. and he can't help but wish he could have gotten that side of Stan when he was still small enough to be held like that.

sure, he's glad that Stan trusts him with the Shack, glad that he can give back to Abuelita by moving her in with him, glad to have Dipper and Mabel back for the summer to do more dumb things together, but there's always going to be a piece missing. and he's not sure it can ever really be patched over.

[its-time-to-write]

chapter 8

I wish I could explain to you the absolute feat it was to complete these chapters. I’ve been having a TIME lol but like,,, not a bad time? Just a busy one. I’ll probably be gone for a bit (but who actually knows) since I’ve got a few end-of-year projects that have been taking up my time and brain. And I don’t recall if I mentioned before, but I’m on a 2-year medication that causes SUCH bad brain fog. anyway. That’s enough over sharing. Here’s the rest of were you sent by someone?

table of contents

i’m not pretending in the way you are

It becomes a routine, Jamie coming over. It doesn’t help that Madeline (the fucking traitor) vaguely endorses the whole thing after girl’s night at Keeley’s. 

“I genuinely think he’s trying,” she says. “He goes to therapy, for fuck’s sake. That’s got to mean something.”

“Fuck you,” you reply good-naturedly and Madeline just poses for another selfie with Clare. 

But she’s right. He is trying, trying in a way he didn’t when you were together. He’s almost reliable, although you’d never say it to his face. He shows up with flowers, doesn’t push boundaries, and more often than not he makes dinner. 

And he’s fucking brilliant with Clare. It’s almost unfair how good he is, with no practice whatsoever. She loves him, smiles whenever she can see him and giggles when he holds her.

You take her to a game, once. Madeline comes too, wearing an oversized Rojas kit and a miniskirt. You just wear a red shirt and jeans, but Bean has a Tartt onesie. You see Keeley Jones from afar and barely dodge having to talk to her. Jamie finds you after the match and Madeline takes a picture of the three of you. Jamie has his arms wrapped around you and you’re smiling. It’s a real smile too, and the picture ends up on your fridge. You’re not sure how because you definitely didn’t put it there, but Madeline and Jamie are there often enough that it could have been either one of them. 

Most dinners devolve into fierce arguments between Jamie and Madeline about who love Clare the most, but you aren’t complaining. She’s sleeping through the night now, so you let them argue while glued to your computer.

Jamie has taken to holding your hand whenever he can manage it. He always was one for physical touch, and it’s nice. He hasn’t made a move beyond that and you’re not ready for that but whatever you have right now is working.

Georgie visits, and that’s strange. You’d only met her twice before, and now she’s in your house holding Clare while Jamie sits on the couch next to them. It feels like intruding almost, the way they all have the same face and the same smile, so you disappear upstairs. They won’t notice, you’re positive, but there’s a tap on the door to your room and instead of looking up to see Jamie, it’s Georgie. She comes in and sits at the end of your bed at your invitation and says, “Are you all right, love?”

You smile, the one you use for photographs. Not fake, but not real either. “Of course,” you reply. “I’m glad you could come meet Clare. You’re welcome back any time.”

Georgie squints. “It must be strange for you,” she says, “going from being all alone to having the other side of Clare’s family. It was hard enough for me when Simon came ‘round, much less Jamie. And Jamie was older, too, so the poor baby was always worried Simon was going to leave.”

You nod. You’re quite familiar with the story. You still aren’t sure Jamie trusts Simon, but maybe he wouldn’t trust anyone with his mum.

Which begs the question, do you really trust anyone with Clare? Jamie’s been lovely for a whole month, but a month isn’t long enough to really tell. You wonder if the threat of him leaving will always loom over your head.

“Jamie called me, you know,” Georgie says. “It was right after he met Clare. He wanted to know how to un-fuck up everything and I told him he might not be able to. He was a right little shit, I heard. I just told him what I would have liked when I was in your shoes, but I know it doesn’t magically fix everything.”

And that… that makes sense. Not that Jamie couldn’t have figured out how to make things better on his own, but he did it almost perfectly. It makes sense why everything he did seemed to anticipate all your needs. He’d asked someone who’d been in your shoes, and hadn’t gotten the help she might have wanted. 

“He loves you, you know,” Georgie continues. She doesn’t seem to feel the need to pressure you to speak, which is good because you don’t have much to say. “I mean, he really, truly, spectacularly loves you. He speaks about you in all of our conversations, always going on about how amazing you are at your job and as a mum.” That’s interesting. You hadn’t known Jamie spoke to Georgie about you, much less what he might have said. You know Georgie can be many things, but she isn’t a liar. 

She hesitates for a moment. “You don’t have to treat me like your mum, but I’d like to treat you as my daughter. I always hoped Jamie would choose someone who’d make him want to be better. He’s a sweet thing, he is, but he gets funny in the head sometimes, you know what I mean?”

You smile. “Jamie? Funny in the head? Say it isn’t so.”

Georgie laughs. “Ah, that Clare is going to have quite the sense humor between the two of you I’m sure. You’ll have to come ‘round up north when you can manage it. I know Simon would be absolutely delighted to meet you both.”

Your eyes flicker. That’s a big step. A very permanent, potentially painful step.

Georgie catches it and leans forward. “Love, I’m not just here because of the baby. I’m here because you’re someone Jamie cares about. Simon and I want to be a support system for you.” She smiles. “And of course, we don’t want to step on your toes. James’s parents were always trying to take Jamie, and I fucking hated it.”

You hear footsteps on the stairs and Jamie appears with Clare. “Oi,” he says, “you lot having a chat about me?”

“No,” you and Georgie chorus and Jamie just squints. “Fucking lying, you are. Can always tell.”

You hold your arms out for Clare. At this rate, the kid won’t be on the floor long enough to learn how to crawl.

“Cruel,” Jamie continues, and you roll your eyes. So dramatic, he is. “Anyway, came up to see if you’d like to go out to eat tonight. I can’t do the fuckin’ dishes. I need a break.”

“Lazybones,” Georgie says, and it’s different now than it was downstairs. It feels like family.

—

Georgie’s been gone a week and you’ve been roped into dinner at Jamie’s with Roy Kent and Keeley fucking Jones.

Thank fucking god Madeline’s there as well with her on-again off-again boy toy who’s probably her soulmate and who she will most likely marry when she’s in her forties because otherwise you’d lose your fucking shit.

It’s a strange dinner without the fact that you can’t stomach Keeley, because Roy fucking hates Jamie.

You’re pretty sure he tolerates you, and he definitely likes Clare because he holds her most of the night before you put her down in her room to sleep. 

The feeling’s mutual, because she cries the moment you take her from him.

You say, “You’re good with kids,” and Roy just shrugs.

Back at the dinner table, Madeline’s had to dig her nails into your thigh. She’s definitely going to leave crescent fingernail marks, but if it stops you from being rude, you won’t wiggle away.

Jamie’s oblivious. He just seems happy not to be alone in his giant, far too quiet house. It’s a relatively uneventful evening, although you’re not the biggest fan of the way Keeley tells stories about Jamie like he belongs to her, somehow. Or like you don’t exist.

By the time she and Roy leave, you’re exhausted. The last thing you want to do is wake Clare, drive her home, and try to get her to sleep again.

Madeline and Isaiah (aforementioned boy toy) leave soon after, and you call, “Use protection!” as they walk down the steps.

“Worked well for you, did it?” Isaiah asks and you flip him off, but you aren’t mad. Like you said, you’re relatively certain he’s Madeline’s soulmate and he’s been around long enough that he’s allowed to joke like that.

The door finally closes behind them and you’re ready to collapse. You turn to find Jamie with a similar expression and without conscious effort, you make your way into his arms.

You close your eyes and sigh as you rest your cheek on his chest.

He asks, “You tired?” and you nod. “Want to spend the night? Can make up the room next to Clare’s. Won’t take long.”

You shake your head, and you feel him deflate a little. “I don’t want the room next to Clare’s.”

Jamie pulls away a bit to gauge your expression. “You mean-?”

You nod. “I hate sleeping alone. It’s cold and stupid.”

Jamie says, “Hm,” and uses one hand to brush hair away from your face. Your gaze flicks to his lips for a moment, but he definitely sees it. You have just enough time to say, “We’re not having sex,” before he’s kissing you, and you think that maybe forgiving him isn’t such a terrible idea after all. 

But you’re too tired to explore that idea further so when he breaks away to get some air, you pull him upstairs and to his room where you both collapse on the bed and fall asleep intertwined.

[yumelatte]

Of All The Things, I Became A Priestess In Amphoreus - Chapter Two

The Way To The Male Lead's Heart Is By Thanking Him

In which you wake up to find yourself being a priestess in an otome game, and Phainon is the knight commander at the temple.

Phainon’s the true male lead; you’re not the female lead, but it sure feels like it.

Otome Isekai AU

AO3 Link

Masterlist

<- Previous Chapter | 2: The Way To The Male Lead's Heart Is By Thanking Him | Next Chapter ->

A warm feeling on your skin brought back your senses as your eyes fluttered open—vision adjusting to the bright daylight. One of your hands came up to shield your face from the intense sensation before registering the scratchy texture of the plants beneath you. 

You were lying in the middle of a wheat field with white clouds streaking across the cyan sky. Faint wind tousled the loose strands of your hair, and you closed your eyes again to take in the warm light and refreshing breeze. 

Relaxing.

That was all you could think of as you laid there—wishing the feeling would never end. You didn’t know how you got here, but you weren’t bothered by it that much. 

“Hi!” 

Startled by the unexpected feminine voice, you immediately sat up in the direction the sound came from. 

With a hand covering her mouth, a pink-haired girl decorated with bows quickly apologized for scaring you. “Haha, did I scare you? Sorry! I had to get your attention, somehow.” 

Her outfit consisted of a dark dress accented with a lighter color, and her shoulders were exposed to the environment. 

She didn’t look harmful in the slightest; however, looks can be deceiving…

You decided to give her the benefit of the doubt, but opted to proceed with caution. “Who are you?” 

The unfamiliar girl thought for a moment before replying, “Mmm… Someone who’s not your enemy. If anything, we have a common enemy.” 

Your expression twisted into one of incredulousness. There was no way you made an enemy out of someone when you hadn't even left the temple yet. “Enemy? I don’t have one.” 

She smiled mischievously as if she knew something you didn’t, and all of a sudden, she was making you doubt yourself a little.

“Actually, you have many… but that’s okay! I’m here to help with that.” 

You were less than convinced—unsure if you should trust this mysterious person you just met in Kephale knows where.

You didn’t have enemies, right? You thought about your time at the temple. You had kept to yourself, and the only contact you had with other people was through your clinic. Then again… you had rejected people in need of help before—the ones afflicted with wounds on their souls. Maybe you did have enemies…

She was less than thrilled with your silence—patience wearing thin at your reluctance. 

“You don’t believe me?” 

“Of course not!” She expected you to just accept her blindly just like that? You had only just met her!

But then her next sentence shook you to your core. 

Her bright blue eyes darkened as she said your name with absolute certainty, “Outlander, there are things I can’t tell you, but I need your help as much as you need mine.” 

Now, you definitely shouldn’t trust her. 

Fearing you had been caught in your lies, you froze and couldn’t speak—not until she spoke again. 

Sighing defeatedly, she gave you her name, “Cyrene… my name.” 

You didn’t remember a Cyrene in the game, but you didn’t get very far, so you had to just roll with it. 

“Okay, nice to meet you… Cyrene. You already know my name and more about me, I guess…” She had an unfair advantage over you in this first meeting. 

Her thumb and index finger touched as she made the gesture of zipping her mouth shut and fingers untouching as she metaphorically threw away the pull tab. “Your secret is safe with me.” Turning away from you, she muttered in her next words, “Not like I can tell anybody anyways…”

You couldn’t hear what she had said. “Huh?” 

“Nothing! Just know that I’ll always have your best interests in mind.” Her lips were upturned into a slight smile as she looked back at you. 

The wind picked up its pace—fluttering Cyrene’s pink hair and dress and rustling the wheat field. “I don’t have much time. We’ll talk again soon.”

With her parting words, the world of warm sunshine and beautiful painted clouds disappeared from you as you opened your eyes once more—suddenly gaining awareness of your current surroundings. 

You had woken up in your bed. Sliding a hand down your face, you tried to process what you had just seen in your dreams.  

…That girl, Cyrene, had known your name, but that was not all. It wasn’t enough that she knew your name because the priestess you were occupying had the same name as you—she knew of your true identity. 

She had called you Outlander. And it was true—you didn’t belong here. How did you get here in this world in the first place? Maybe she was the key in all of this. You decided to trust her for now. She had said she needed your help as much as you needed hers. But you also wondered what she needed help with? She had also said you both had a common enemy. Who was it? 

Ugh, too many questions for your newly awoken self. What a headache—you’ll think about this later. 

Because it was a new day, you had something else to worry about.

Stretching your arms, you let out a big yawn as your blurry vision adjusted to the morning light. Your eyes swept beside you; the plain bed across from yours was empty and tidy. 

Lydia must have been at the morning ceremony already. Ever since the first time she had prevented you from being late, she had woken you up that whole week. After seeing you being able to rise by yourself, she had stopped waking you up and let you sleep in for a little longer. Morning ceremony had a brief grace period before it began, which you were thankful for. You had never been an early riser, but you had no choice in this world. 

You stepped out of your warm and comfy haven to get the day started. As you changed your sleeping clothes into the white shawl and priestess robes, you expected this day to be like any other one—average and uniformed. After getting ready and making sure you were presentable, you made haste in arriving at the morning ceremony. Lydia spotted you as you appeared in the large room, and she waved you down. You walked in her direction and thanked her for saving you a seat. There was still some time before the priest leading the sermon would appear, so you chatted with your roommate. 

“No problem, you can return the favor by going with me somewhere on our break!” Lydia had a shy smile gracing her face. 

One of your eyebrows raised in confusion, “What?” 

“Remember what you said last time?” Lydia was fiddling with her fingers as she talked. “About thanking Sir Phainon with cookies.” 

Of course, you remembered that conversation; you just didn’t think she would follow through with it. 

“You’re serious?” 

“You gave me the idea, so don’t be surprised that I was going to do it!” Lydia pouted, offended that you didn’t think she would have the guts. “Come with me, please… I’m going to do it, but I need your support.” 

She wasn’t wrong, and you couldn’t fault her for wanting to thank Phainon. He had saved her life, so it was only a matter of time before she found the courage to show him her gratitude… But did she need to drag you into this? Weighing your options, you thought about your attempts in staying away from the head knight. You had worked really hard to not attract Phainon’s attention. You didn’t want to undo all your hard work… but as long as he doesn’t see you, it should be fine, right? 

“Okay, I’ll come and support you,” You watched as Lydia’s eyes lit up, “from a distance.” Her bright expression morphed into one of confusion. 

Lydia said your name inquisitively, “Do you have something against Sir Phainon?” 

Without missing a beat, you replied, “No.” 

Lydia hummed, studying you for a moment before letting you off the hook. “As long as you’re there for me.”

You could tell she wanted to ask more, but you were glad she wasn’t pushing her curiosity. If she had pushed for more information, you weren’t sure what you would have said. 

Imagine if you said that you’ve been trying to avoid our resident knight commander because you didn’t want to get close to him. You could imagine Lydia going, ‘Oh, why do you not want to get close to him?’ You would say, ‘The funny thing is that I do, but I’m saving my future self from the heartbreak that would inevitably happen.’  She would say, ‘What do you mean by that?’ And your response would be, ‘Well, Phainon has someone that is destined to be with him in the near future, and I didn’t want to get in the way of that.’ She would probably laugh and say that you were being silly. 

Yeah, there was no way you could admit the truth to her; it sounded so unbelievable. 

Too absorbed into your conversation with Lydia, you hadn’t noticed the priest coming in. It was only when the priest loudly cleared his throat that you stopped talking. The priest’s noise silenced the chattering room immediately and gained everyone’s attention.

“I’ll meet you at your clinic on our break.” Lydia quickly whispered to you as the morning ceremony commenced. You gave her a quick nod as your answer, and focused your eyes ahead—Lydia doing the same. 

After the morning ceremony and some breakfast, you headed towards the place you always went to in your daily routine—the clinic. When you got into the room, you didn’t see your fellow healer at his neat desk. Not thinking much of it, you settled in your chair at your own not-so-tidy desk. 

Zayne will probably come in soon. 

With only yourself to keep company, Cyrene’s earlier words echoed in your head. There was an enemy that was threatening your very existence. Scratching your head, you racked your brain for any memory that could help in identifying what was looming over you, but nothing came to mind. What was the plot to the game you were playing again? 

…Ah, you couldn’t remember! When you were playing, your attention had been on Phainon—not on the story. Honestly, how did they expect you to absorb the plot when Phainon was right there in front of your face? 

His charming looks should be illegal… 

A translucent pink box suddenly appeared before you, and your eyes widened at the out-of-place display. It looked like the text box that provided description and dialogue in the game. Narrowing your eyes, you watched as white text filled up the empty space.

[ Hi again! I told you we would talk soon (*'▽'*) ]

This must be Cyrene, and she must have thought adding that cute emoji at the end would make her seem less threatening. 

…It was working.

Looking around the room, you wondered if anybody else could see this even though there was no one in the area but you. 

As if knowing what you were thinking, the white text from before vanished and new ones took its place. 

[ Don’t worry. Only you can see this (*ゝω・*) ]

[ But you’re going to have to speak aloud to communicate with me,

so maybe talk to me discreetly or else people might think you’re crazy (；・▽・)  ]

Now that you know you could talk to Cyrene outside the dream realm, you were determined to get your questions answered. She had said she couldn’t tell you about some information, but you deserved at least some answers if you were going to help her. 

“You said you needed my help as much as I needed yours. What did you mean by that?” 

[ Like I said, we have a common enemy. If this enemy were to perish, we would both have what we want. ]

“And what is it that I want?” 

[ You want to go back to your home world, right? ]

If you were being honest, you never thought about getting back to the place that you were originally from before. Living in Amphoreus wasn’t so bad, after all… Did you want to go back? Not really. You had nothing waiting for you back in your world. At least in Amphoreus, you could help cure people, and you had a decent lifestyle. 

The reason you had been playing an otome game was to escape reality. The real world was cruel and unforgiving, and you were kind of glad to wake up in a new world even if you were basically starting from scratch. It was painful, tiring, and lonely living in your times. Your job had been working you to the bone, and you barely had any free time. With no time to yourself, you couldn’t socialize and create connections with other people. You couldn’t even enjoy and finish the game with what little time you had. 

You had a tendency to learn quickly, so adjusting to Amphoreus wasn’t too difficult for you even if you did complain about it. So, no—you didn’t want to go back to your home world. Curse whoever had put you here, but also bless whoever had given you a new life. 

“Honestly, I don’t really want to go back…” 

[ Huh? Σ(°ロ°) Then I don’t know what you want… but I really do need your help! What do you want? I can help if it's within my abilities. ]

What did you want? Well, the only logical answer would be…

“A guide.”

[ ? ]

“I need someone to guide me through Amphoreus. As you know, I’m not from here, so there are some things I’m not sure about. I’m positive you’re familiar with this land, right?” 

[ …Well, you’re not wrong. If I become your guide, you’ll help me out as well? ]

“Deal,” you paused, thinking for a moment. How can you help her, though? She seems awfully confident in your abilities, but all you could do was heal people. You didn’t have any experience in combat. Who is the enemy, and how capable are they? “But you have to tell me what I’m up against.” 

[ …Um, I can’t do that. Just know I’m going to prepare you thoroughly. Also, you’ll need to receive help from someone else. ]

Why is she being so vague? What kind of harm would happen if she told you in more details? 

“Who is this someone else? And don’t say you can’t tell! If you do, I won’t go along with you anymore.” 

[ Phainon. ]

Hold on, did she say Phainon? The man you were trying to avoid this whole time? Oh Kephale, did it really have to be him…

“Does it really have to be him?” 

[ Yes, it does. You have the healing capabilities to support him in his superior fighting. You have something against the kind and reliable knight commander? ]

The way she was describing him bothered you. “You know him?” 

[ You could say that… ]

“Does he know you? Also, you’re communicating with me this way, but like… do you have a physical form?” 

[ …It’s complicated. That’s why I need your help. ]

Letting out a deep sigh, you were left with more questions than answers. But why Phainon? You had made it your second life’s goal to ignore him, and Cyrene had to ruin it by making you recruit him. 

“It’s not like I have a grudge against him. Actually, it’s what I don’t have…” Trailing off, you didn’t finish your response. The more you thought about it, the more you were feeling like you were the main character. Side characters didn’t have mysterious figures appearing in their dreams and urging them to save them, right? And certainly, they didn’t have said figures also tracking you outside the dreams… but there was no way you were the main character, right? You shook your head to banish that dangerous thought from you. Fine, if she wanted you to come into contact with him, you would do so—you would only have the bare minimum interaction with him. 

[ What don’t you have? I’m not following. ]

“Forget it. I’ll do what you asked, and get Phainon to accompany me. Can I ask how I’m going to convince him?” 

[ You don’t have to worry about that. Something is coming soon that will tie yours and Phainon’s paths together. ]

…She’s making it sound like you were fated to him. 

Before you could get another word in, Zayne stepped into the clinic, giving you a slight nod in acknowledgement. For a brief moment, you had forgotten about being inside the room because your conversation with Cyrene felt more important. 

Despite his sudden appearance, the floating pink box before you didn’t disappear. Zayne had already made himself comfortable in his chair, and he continued business like nothing was ordinary. 

[ Best not to talk with me anymore unless you want him to think you’re crazy, haha (ᵕ — ᴗ —) ]

You couldn’t argue with that. With no more dialogue from Cyrene, the translucent pink screen vanished from your view. 

And so, you and Zayne sat in silence while waiting for clients to come in. 

True to her words, Lydia found you during her break. Her head peeked through the doorway as her eyes searched for you. You were stretching out your limbs because sitting in one place for too long was tiring. After being in the clinic for quite some time, it was time for a break. Lydia’s eyes met yours, and you gestured for her to wait outside while you wrapped up whatever you were doing.

You walked past Zayne’s desk and notified him that you were going on a small break. He didn’t look away from his papers as he told you to enjoy it. 

Walking outside the clinic, you saw Lydia waiting by the entrance. She had a blue bag tied neatly with a white ribbon in her hand. 

Head tilting towards the item, you asked curiously, “Those are the cookies?” 

Lydia nodded eagerly. “Yes, I made them earlier at the start of my break. I hope they’re good enough for Sir Phainon.” She started walking in the direction of the knight’s training grounds, and you followed after her.

“You’re the best baker in the area. Of course, he’ll like them. Speaking of which, since I’m supporting you and all… when will I get some?” Everyone in the temple welcomed her pastries and enjoyed them very much. She was a talented baker, and if she wasn’t serving Kephale as a priestess, you were sure she would be running her own bakery. Lydia loved to make sweets on special occasions, so to be on the receiving end would be a great honor. 

“You get my baking all the time because you’re always offering to be my taste tester. You’re making it sound like I never give you anything.” Lydia accused you with no real harm. 

Mustering the saddest puppy eyes you could give her, you looked at her. “Yeaaah, but it’s been a while since the last time…”

“...Fine, I’ll make you something tomorrow. Today is Sir Phainon’s turn.” Lydia stopped mid-step as if she realized something. “I’m going to see Sir Phainon…” 

You were confused on why she paused her walking all of a sudden. “I thought that was already established?” 

She turned towards you, and you could see that she was shaking a little. Nervousness, maybe? “I’m actually going to see him! Thanking him and everything!”

“Don’t start backing out now, Lydia. You already made the cookies, and we’re already almost there at the training grounds.” If she backed out now, you were going to yell at her. 

“I swear I’m not! I just have to gather my nerves together…” Lydia closed her eyes and shook her head to calm herself down. 

While she was doing that, you turned your head slightly, and you noticed that the library entrance was nearby. You had said you would support her from a distance. The library’s balcony had an excellent view overlooking the knight’s training grounds, and you were guilty of staring at them when they were doing drills, sometimes when studying about Amphoreus. 

Lydia would have to brace herself for the battlefield alone while you cheered her on from the sideline. 

“Okay, I’m going to the balcony in the library. I’ll be cheering for you there!” You placed a hand on your forehead to salute her. 

Lydia composed herself. “What? You’re going to be that far?” 

“It’s not even that far. Trust me, I can see you and Phainon just fine. And I know you’ll be just fine when talking to him. He’s way too nice for any other outcome.” 

“...If you say so… Okay, I’m going to make the rest of the journey by myself. Can we meet here again after it’s been done?” 

“Sure.” 

You and Lydia parted ways—you heading inside the library and her heading to where Phainon should be. 

When you arrived on the balcony, you saw the faint figures of knights on the field, and Lydia slowly approaching them. You didn’t see the head knight anywhere though. 

From your point of view, the training knights quickly noticed her and greeted her—probably asking why she was there. Lydia covered her face in an attempt to hide her flustered expression as she explained she was there to see Phainon. The knights’ shoulders shook with laughter, but they were not unkind. One of the knights pointed at the building behind them and made a move to go there. You guessed he was fetching their boss for Lydia. 

After a moment, you saw the familiar snowy white hair emerging from the building and following the man that went to get him. Phainon looked confused when he spotted the priestess waiting with the group of knights that were supposed to be on drills. Once he reached them, he greeted Lydia and waved the knights away. They dispersed and went back to their own businesses, but threw curious looks towards the pair. 

You watched as Lydia abruptly shoved the cookie bag in her hands before Phainon’s surprised face, and that’s when something caught your attention. It was a small thing—miniscule and subtle but it was there. 

As the exchange was going on, you were unable to witness it because you were distracted by what you had noticed. 

There was something floating above his head; however, you couldn’t tell what it was from where you were. You moved closer to the railing to see if you could make it out clearer, but it didn’t help. Using the railing as leverage, you stepped on it with one foot and leaned forward while squinting your eyes in Phainon’s direction. You didn’t realize you kept trying to get closer until it was too late. 

[ Hey! What are you doing? You’re about to fall! ( ˶°ㅁ°) !! ] 

The translucent pink box flashed before your eyes, but the warning was too slow. 

In a panic, you slipped, and gravity was pulling you towards the floor below. 

You closed your eyes and braced for impact. 

So, this was how you died? 

Not even from a battle? It was because of your own stupid mistake that had you dying. 

What happens if you die in Amphoreus? Do you cease to exist here even if you weren’t born here? 

That thought terrified you.

You should’ve been more careful, but you really wanted to know what that thing above Phainon’s head was. 

But with no feeling or the sound of the hard ground, you slowly opened your eyes to see ones of a pretty blue and uniquely patterned. 

You didn’t feel the ground, you felt something different—the feeling of Phainon’s hands on you was foreign, and your skin prickled at the contact. One of his arms was under your legs, and another was on your back. You stared up at him while he bored his gaze into yours. 

Time felt like it slowed down at this moment, and it gave you a chance to look up. 

A white circle, with a grey heart sitting slightly on top of it, had the number ‘2’ and a percentage sign beside it. 

That was new and weird; you hadn’t seen that from all the other times you’ve encountered him before. Should you be worried? The only thing that changed was that you had Cyrene as your guide now. You need to ask her about that later. 

You faintly heard your name being called along with your title. Realizing that you were looking at Phainon for too long, you snapped out of your daze.

“Priestess? Are you alright?” His worried voice filled the air. 

“Fine...” Removing your eyes from him, you turned your head to see that you had an audience—the knights from earlier and Lydia, all looking at you and Phainon with worried eyes. You felt heat creeping up your neck to your cheeks at their stares. With a shaky and quiet voice, you directed it at the man you were in the arms of. “...Can you… put me down now?” 

Phainon’s eyes widened as if he just realized he was still holding you. “Oh, sorry. Here.” He quickly and gently let you down. 

Noticing the curious looks that his knights were giving the two of you, Phainon reassured them that everything was okay and ordered them to get back to their drills. Again, they listened to him and scattered, but they hung around closer. 

Lydia rushed to your side and swept her eyes over you to see if you were injured. “Oh, thank Kephale you’re okay! I noticed you leaning a bit too much over the railing for some reason, so I shouted your name. Thank Kephale for Sir Phainon’s reaction time too! I thought you were smarter than that.” 

Embarrassed at your stupid display, you apologized. “Sorry for worrying you, Lydia. I was… distracted. Won’t happen again.” You looked back at Phainon. 

He already had his attention on you, and his striking eyes met yours. 

Phainon had caught you and saved you from death, at worst. Thanking him should count as a bare minimum interaction you set for yourself with him. 

“Thank you for catching me, Phainon. Um, I don’t have tasty cookies to give you like Lydia, but I hope you can appreciate my verbal thanks.” You gave him a quick bow before coming back up. 

Your curiosity was piqued as the number above his head was raised by one—turning the ‘2%’ from earlier to ‘3%.’ 

“I appreciate your thanks, but you don’t have to thank me, Priestess. If a life is in danger, I would try my best to save it. It’s only right.” Phainon smiled slightly, but it faltered as if he registered what you had said. “...But you were watching us?”

“It’s not like that!” You turned to Lydia. “She asked me to come with her to support her in thanking you.” 

Lydia’s eyes sheepishly flickered between you and Phainon. “It’s true, Sir Phainon. I didn’t think I could go by myself.”

Phainon had his arms crossed as he studied you—looking at you but directing his question at Lydia. “Didn’t you go by yourself anyways because she was supporting you from here?” 

Lydia spoke up with no hesitation. “But I knew she was there, so I felt more confident!” 

“Hah,” Phainon laughed into his hand and scratched his cheek with furrowed eyebrows. “I’m not some scary monster… I’m human just like everyone else. You guys don’t have to be scared of approaching me…”

Feeling guilty for your behavior lately, you said sadly, “...We know.” 

For Lydia, she was nervous because Phainon was her hero, and to meet your hero was a nerve-wracking experience. 

For you, you didn’t think that Phainon had noticed you, but maybe you were wrong. 

There was an awkward silence lingering in the air as nothing else was said. 

Lydia suddenly perked up. “Ah, I forgot the archbishop asked me to help with preparations for the upcoming banquet. I’ll be going now. I hope you enjoy the cookies, Sir Phainon. I worked hard in making sure they were of good quality.” She said goodbye to you as well before heading back inside the temple. 

As you and Phainon watched her leave, you thought you should leave too. You needed to head back to the clinic and relieve Zayne of his duties, so he could also take a break. “I should go too. Zayne must be exhausted in the clinic.” 

Phainon couldn’t let this opportunity pass when you were there with him. He needed to know why you’ve been avoiding him, and who knows when the next time he could see you again. “Can I speak with you for a moment before you go?” 

Surprised by his words, you looked at him and nodded—wondering what he wanted to say. 

With a frown, he confronted you. “I noticed you’ve been purposely avoiding me. Have I done something wrong?” 

Crap, he had noticed your little avoidance act, and who gave him the right to look like such a cute puppy? Was he that saddened by you not acknowledging him? If you felt bad before, now you just feel like the worst. 

Lying through your teeth, you said, “It’s not like I’m avoiding you on purpose…and you didn’t do anything wrong!” Nervously, you continued, “I just think I shouldn’t involve myself with you…” Wait, that sounded so bad. You frantically tried to reassure him, “Oh, that came out wrong! I mean I’m nobody special, and you have better people to associate with.” 

“You think you’re unimportant?” Phainon was surprised at the way you were downplaying yourself. You really thought you were nobody special? He knew other people, including him, thought the opposite. “I’ve asked the people here about you, and they all believe you do great work.” 

You don’t doubt that for a second, but he was not helping you. “Yeah, but if I do great work, you probably do outstanding work.” 

Phainon chuckled, “Doesn’t mean you can’t be around me.” Ah, so that was why you’ve been acting like he didn’t exist. You were worried about not being good enough to talk to him. He needed to make sure you knew that you were on equal footing as him. “Let’s not compare our achievements. Also, our roles here should not matter. The only thing that matters is how we act around one another.” His hand found a place on his neck—rubbing it nervously. “I thought you were avoiding me because I did something wrong, but to hear that it wasn’t the case makes me glad.”

He had a point, and you were running out of things to say. You couldn’t admit the real reason why you had been trying to steer clear of his path. And well, you couldn’t even really do that anymore because of what you had discussed with Cyrene. 

“Fine, you’re right,” you conceded. “I’m sorry for making it seem like I was purposely ignoring you. You won’t have to feel like that again.” Not by your choice. Remember, bare minimum only! “If I see you, I’ll make sure to say hi to you.” 

Satisfied with your answer, Phainon genuinely smiled at you with bright eyes and said eagerly, “I’ll see you around, Priestess.” 

Your heart quickened at the sight of him looking at you like that and sounding like he actually looked forward to seeing you in the future. 

All you could think of was that you were screwed as you saw the number above his head increase by one more—3% into 4%.

[merrybloomwrites]

I Hear Them Calling (Chapter 4)

Story Summary: Alpha Harry Styles and omega Y/N Y/L/N meet under less than ideal circumstances. Overtime their paths will cross and they will be drawn to one another in ways they never expected.

Chapter Summary: After battling the symptoms of touch deprivation for weeks, Y/N sees Harry again in Chicago and he helps her deal with the worst of it.

Previous Chapters: Prologue ; Chapter 1 ; Chapter 2 ; Chapter 3

Word Count: 4.9k

Y/N POV

“You haven’t had a nightmare in 4 days?” Rachel asks.

“Nope!” You reply happily, taking a sip of your iced caramel latte. You and Rachel both have a free afternoon and decided to meet at a local cafe. You feel so much better than you had for the last few weeks that you felt confident to order a different drink. No tea that reminds you of Sarah, no hot chocolate that makes you think of Harry.

“And you’re not using those coping mechanisms you mentioned?”

“Haven’t needed them in days.”

“And you’re still not going to tell me what they were?” You blush at this question, embarrassed by the truth.

“No, that secret may come with me to the grave,” you joke.

Rachel looks at you, slightly worried and says, “It was safe right? You weren’t like, drugging yourself to sleep were you?”

“Oh God no!” You reply with a laugh. “Nothing like that, I swear.” Though you think to yourself that Harry’s scent in its direct form would probably be so delicious that it would act like a drug to you.

“Okay, I trust you,” Rachel says. “So, have you heard from Harry?”

You sigh, slightly disappointed by the answer you have to give. “Not since the night of the concert. I’m sure he’s been busy.”

“Maybe you should text him first.”

“And maybe you are out of your mind. No way. And before you say anything, it has nothing to do with the fact that I'm the girl or he’s the alpha or any of that sexist bullshit. It has everything to do with the fact that he’s Harry Styles.” You whisper the last part, aware that you’re in public and anyone around could hear the conversation.

“So what if he’s Harry Styles?”

“What would I even text him?”

“You could start with ‘Hi, how are you?’”

“Very funny. I mean, I guess I could. Maybe. I’ll give it a couple more days.”

“Waiting for him to leave the area?”

“Something like that,” you reply.

“Speaking of procrastinating things,” Rachel says teasingly, “have you called your doctor yet? To find out why that alpha knew you’re an omega even though you’re on suppressants and scent blockers?”

“Okay, that I did not procrastinate on. I called her but I can’t get an appointment until November.”

“Seriously?”

“Yea. I mean there aren’t a lot of doctors who specialize in omegas, so they’re always booked. Anyway, she said that my body has probably just developed a resistance to the pills. She’ll try to change my regimen after the appointment and told me to use the spray on neutralizers until then.”

“That sucks.”

“It does. I am so not looking forward to changing meds. It takes awhile to find the right combo and then there’ll be all new side effects. But it’ll be worth it.”

“I wish omegas didn’t have to hide who they are.”

“Me too. But that’s just how it is now.”

From there the conversation turns to lighter topics until you part ways to continue your day.

Another week passes and you still haven’t heard from Harry. On top of that the bad dreams come back, along with the restlessness, and chills. You’ve started using the old coping mechanisms again, which barely work this time around.

The morning after his final show in New York City, your social media is flooded with videos of him receiving his banner at Madison Square Garden. If there was any time to reach out to him, now was it. He said he wanted to be friends, right? A friend would absolutely congratulate him on this achievement.

It still takes you forever to type out the message, and ever longer to find the courage to press send. It’s nearly noon by the time you text Harry, “Congrats on the banner!”

It’s a simple sentence, just four words, and you still find a way to overthink everything for the two hours it takes Harry to reply. You’re taking a walk, grateful once again that you work on your own schedule and can take a break when you need one. And right now, you need one. Because you texted a celebrity and he still hasn’t answered and you for sure made a complete fool of yourself.

You stop dead in your tracks when your phone buzzes and Harry’s name appears on your screen.

From Harry Styles: Thank you! Can’t believe I got such an honor. How are you? What are you up to?

There’s a bench nearby and you sit to reread his message five times before replying.

To Harry Styles: You deserve it! I’m good, just out for a walk. How about you?

The next message comes in much faster.

From Harry Styles: I’ve been doing well. Took it easy this morning, currently enroute to Texas for the next shows.

You can’t help but feel disappointed that he’s no longer just a city away. You know it’s silly, but it was nice that he was so close by.

To Harry Styles: Enjoy Texas!

From Harry Styles: Thank you! Have you ever been?

To Harry Styles: Once, in college. Went to San Antonio with some friends.

From Harry Styles: That’s a great city, love the river walk there!

And so, you and Harry Styes became friends who text each other about random things. You talk throughout his flight to Texas, and sporadically over the next couple of weeks. It never gets very deep, all surface level conversations, but it’s nice. You feel like you’re getting to know the real him, and he’s getting to know who you are as well.

The texts from Harry are the high points. The low points are, unfortunately, very low. The hot chocolate, and roses, and forest smelling candles are no longer helping you. Bad dreams happen almost every night, you’re constantly cold, and there’s an itch under your skin that just won’t go away. The voice in the back of your brain is telling you it’s touch deprivation, but you refuse to admit that to yourself. You’ve never needed an alpha, and you refuse to depend on one now. So no, you do NOT have touch deprivation.

You’re checking your email, and you see that there are still spots open for a job training opportunity in Chicago. You rarely go to these, but it’s been a while, and you think maybe it would be good to go. There are always new types of data software, and you found the last two training courses you attended to be pretty informative.

Looking at the dates you notice the course is the following Thursday and Friday. In Chicago. You also notice that Harry will be doing shows there at the same time. You don’t admit that’s what seals the deal for you, but it totally is.

After registering and setting up your flight and hotel reservation you send a text to Harry. You casually mention that you’ll be in Chicago the following weekend. You’re surprised when your phone starts to ring, and Harry’s name is on the screen.

You answer the phone and he’s first to speak, saying, “You’re gonna be in Chicago?”

“I am!” you reply, matching his excitement.

“Can you come to my shows?”

“Which days are they again?” You ask this to try and seem like less of a stalker.

“I’ve got one Thursday, Friday and Saturday. You’re welcome to come to as many of those as you want,” he answers.

“I think Thursday is an all-day thing, so I won’t be able to come to that one. The training ends with dinner on Friday evening so I think I could make it just in time for the concert.”

“Ok great, and Saturday?”

“I am free all-day Saturday. My flight back home is Sunday afternoon.”

“Wonderful. I’ll have tickets for you for those two shows. That is, if you want to come of course.”

“Harry, I absolutely want to come.”

“Then the tickets are yours. All the details will come from Jada. I’d be a mess without that girl.”

“You paying her well?” you ask jokingly.

“She’s compensated handsomely, I promise,” he replies with a laugh.

“Happy to hear it.”

“I uhm- it sounds like you won’t be able to come before the show Friday, correct?”

“Unfortunately, no. I’ll probably get there right before you go on.”

“Forgive me if this sounds forward, but would you want to hang out after? It would have to be at the hotel, I can’t really be out in the city after a concert.”

“Totally understand that. And yea, I’d love to hang out after.”

“Great! I’m staying at the Nobu Hotel.”

You quickly look it up and see that your hotel is close by.

“No way!” you reply. “I’m at the Crowne Plaza like, two blocks away.”

“Well, that’s convenient. I’ll make sure there’s a car to take you to Nobu after the show Friday if that works for you?”

“Yea that would be great. I’d love to hang out!” You cringe, hoping that didn’t come off too strong.

“I’d love to hang out as well. Listen I have to go to sound check for tonight’s show. I’ll text you soon. And look out for the email from Jada, it’ll have all the info you need.”

***

Harry POV

“You’re extra happy today,” Elin says as Harry bounces around the venue smiling so big that both dimples are showing.

“I am!” He replies. “Thanks for noticing!”

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” Sarah asks. “Because it’s definitely not how this sound check is going.” She has a point there. No less than a dozen things have gone wrong since they started, leading them to take a break while the sound techs work out a few problems.

“Just talked to a friend who will be in town next week.”

“Oh I see,” Mitch says. “So Y/N will be here?”

“Yes, and she’ll be coming to the shows Friday and Saturday. I can’t wait to see her!”

“Aw, someone’s got a crush,” Pauli says.

Harry ignores the teasing from his band members and says, “Honestly I’ve been a bit worried about her. I’ve just had this feeling that keeps getting worse.”

“Why do you think it has to do with Y/N?” NyOh asks.

“I mean, I don’t know for sure. But we’ve talked on the phone a couple times, and she always sounds exhausted.”

“I’m sure she’s alright,” Sarah says reassuringly.

“I know, I just can’t help it.”

“I completely get that,” Sarah replies softly, looking towards her mate.

“Fixed it!” One of the sound techs calls out, effectively cutting off the conversation as Harry and the band get back to work.

***

Y/N POV

The next week passes in what feels like slow motion. Every hour drags on. Your apartment building hasn’t switched from air conditioning to heat yet, so you’re constantly wearing layers of warm clothes and burrowing under blankets. The itch under your skin only gets worse, spreading to new areas each day until there’s a maddening tingle throughout your whole body.

Amelia drops you off at the airport Wednesday afternoon. You know she can tell that something is wrong, but you don’t offer an explanation, so she doesn’t pry for details.

You put on your mask before walking into the terminal. It’s a habit leftover from the pandemic, and also a great way to block out the potential strange scents. Alphas and omegas might be rare, but there’s always a chance a few will be around in such a crowded place. You’re extra sensitive to smells at the moment due to the touch deprivation that you’ve finally admitted you have. But it’s mild. Totally manageable. Not a problem.

The plane ride and subsequent train trip and walk to the hotel is exhausting. You stop and grab some food on the way. After checking in you immediately eat your quick meal, take a hot shower, and crawl into bed.

You’re almost asleep when your phone digs with an incoming text. You’ve already texted your family and friends letting them know you’re at the hotel, so you’re annoyed that someone is interrupting your sleep.

That is, until you see who the message is from. Harry’s name pops up with a text asking if you made it safely to Chicago. You practically melt at how sweet it is that he’s checking in on you. You send a quick reply before immediately falling asleep.

The first day of the training session is typical- informative, but boring. Harry’s show is still going when you get back to the hotel, so you watch on a livestream. You’re still exhausted and fall asleep before it’s over.

Waking up the next morning is difficult. Your body feels heavy, like your bones are filled with lead. The chills seem worse than ever and you’re grateful you packed yourself a heavy sweater to wear that day. Not only is it warm, but it covers up the marks from where you’ve been scratching at the skin on your arms due to the incessant itching.

You have trouble concentrating on the training throughout the day. There was one alpha there, and he was somehow in every single session you attended. He didn’t have a bad scent per se, but his presence alone became overwhelming.

By the time the sessions are over, you feel exhausted. You debate skipping dinner altogether but know you at least need some food before you can start your walk to the United Center. The alpha, whose name you’ve learned is Andy, sits next to you at dinner. He seems nice enough, you don’t feel threatened by him, but you still want to finish dinner and get away from him as quickly as possible.

Once dessert is over you grab your bag, ready to escape. Andy stops you before you go, asking for your number. Without thinking you quickly say, “I have a boyfriend,” and hastily leave the restaurant.

You’re not far from the venue, only a few blocks away, and you’re so out of it that you barely notice where your legs are taking you. It only takes fifteen minutes to get there, but you’re on edge the whole time. Glancing at your watch you see that it’s just before 8PM, meaning Harry should still be backstage.

You’re tired, and dizzy, and a little fuzzy, but knowing you’re so close to seeing Harry again has you moving faster than you thought possible. You’ve even built up a slight sweat, and you feel warm for the first time in weeks causing you to roll up the sleeves of your sweater.

As you approach the building you hear your name being called. You turn to see Jada running up to you.

 “I didn’t think you’d be here so early! Glad I was talking to one of the security guards, you walked right past the entrance,” she says.

You smile as she hands you your VIP badge and leads you inside.

“Harry has a few minutes before he needs to finish getting ready. He’ll be glad you made it before he goes on, I know he’s been dying to see you,” Jada says, causing you to blush.

“Well, I can’t wait to see him either,” you reply.

She knocks on a door which opens a second later. The first person you see is Mitch, who gives you a hug as he says, “Hey kid, good to see you again.”

“You too!” you answer, somewhat surprised by the warm greeting.

Sarah’s there too, pulling you in to a hug next. The moment her arms wrap around your shoulders, you’re overcome with a wave of dizziness. Black spots flash in your vision and you blink rapidly to try and clear them.

“You okay, love?” she asks as she lets go and takes a step back.

After a couple deep breaths you answer, “I’m good. Practically ran here from dinner, still catching my breath I guess.”

Harry, who’s been quietly watching you quickly walks to the fridge and grabs a water bottle. You reach out your hand so he can pass it to you, and see his eyes focus on your arm. There’s no way he missed the angry red scratch marks there, but you immediately pull your sleeves back down to hide them anyway.

“Can we have a moment?” Harry asks, causing Mitch, Sarah, and Jada to promptly exit and close the door behind them. He motions to the couch, and you’re reminded of the last time the two of you were in his dressing room together.

Like the last time, you sit next to each other, but he seems to be giving you more space. This confuses you. If he’s so excited to see you, why didn’t he greet you with a hug like everyone else? And why is he so far away now? And why does he seem so serious instead of happy?

“Y/N, I have a question, and it’s kind of personal, but I’d like you to answer honestly,” he starts.

“Okay,” you reply, taken aback by this turn of events.

He’s quiet for a moment, seeming to think of exactly what he wants to ask. Finally, he settles on, “Where did those scratches come from?”

“My arms were itchy,” you reply. Not a lie, though probably not the full truth he’s looking for.

“And the dizziness? Cause I don’t think it was from your walk. You seemed fine until Sarah touched you. Until an alpha touched you.”

You know what he’s getting at. He’s no dummy. Just minutes after seeing you he’s figured out what you’ve been hiding for weeks. Hiding from everyone, including yourself.

He watches you, and you know he’s waiting for an answer. But you can’t think of one to give him. So, he continues, “Y/N, I think you have touch deprivation. Is that fair to say?”

You let out a shuddery breath and nod. “Yea, that’s fair to say.”

“It seems pretty severe.”

You finally decide to open up, saying, “It’s been getting worse the past couple weeks. I don’t think my meds are working anymore, and the soonest doctors appointment I could get still isn’t for a couple weeks.”

“I’m worried you’re close to a drop. Like, any minute now. Or that you’ll go under if I touch you. You realize that you were close with Sarah, right? That if you’d stayed in contact with her, or if she’d released any pheromones you’d be in a full drop right now?”

Part of you wants to snark back, yell at him for going full alpha male and acting like he knows your body better than you. But the problem is, he’s right. It’s been so long since the last time you dropped that you forgot what it’s like. You forgot what the signs are.

But now that he’s pointed out the obvious, you really start to feel it. He sees as you deflate, starting to fold in on yourself. His hand reaches out, wanting to comfort you in some way, but he can’t. He can’t risk sending you into a drop, not when he has a show to do in just twenty minutes.

“You’re right,” you finally say. “I didn’t realize it. I thought I was handling it, that I could make it to my doctor’s visit and get new soothers and I’d be okay. I just don’t know what to do if I don’t have meds that work.”

“I’d like to help you, if you’ll let me.”

You finally meet his eyes and see that he’s completely serious.

After a moment you nod and reply, “Okay.”

“Okay? You’ll let me help?”

“Yes. I don’t know what else to do. And uhm, I trust you. You’re a good person, Harry. A good alpha.”

He smiles at your words before glancing at the clock and saying, “I have to finish getting ready in a minute. I’d still like to hang out after the concert. I think it might be healthy for you to do a drop with me there, if you’re comfortable with that?”

“I mean, I don’t like dropping. It’s only happened to me twice before and I was alone each time, so they weren’t good experiences. But maybe it will be different if you’re there?”

“I can help you through it, if you’ll let me.”

“What would you do to help? Like, how do alphas help omegas through that?”

“It depends on what you consent to but ah, I would hold you, help you get the touch your omega needs. Most alphas will scent the omega. It lets them know that they’re not alone, that someone is there protecting them, keeping them safe while they can’t do so themselves. I’d also release calming pheromones to keep your omega relaxed.”

“Okay. I’m okay with all of that. I’d like that,” you answer. Truthfully you’re a bit nervous. Harry Styles has just offered to hold you, to scent you for goodness sakes. That’s incredibly intimate. But you’ve felt so awful for weeks, and there are still weeks to go before you can get new soothers. And this is kind of a dream come true.

“Do you want to stay here for the concert? You can hang in here or go to the VIP box. Or you can head to the hotel now and take it easy if you’d like,” he says.

“I’ll stay in here if that’s alright,” you reply.

“It’s more than alright,” he answers. “And if at any point you want to get out of here just text Jada. She can arrange a ride back to my hotel and I’ll meet you there after the show. Or if you change your mind she can get you a ride back to your hotel too.”

“Thank you, Harry. For everything.”

“Of course. I know I don’t know you all that well, but I care about you. Anyway, I uhm, need to get dressed so I’m just gonna step into the bathroom for a moment.”

“I can go in the hall for a minute, get out of your way-”

“Nonsense. You’re not in the way. I’ll be right back.”

Harry finishes getting ready, and you make yourself comfortable on the couch. A couple of people come in, touching up his hair and make-up and before you know it he’s heading to the stage.

You watch on the screen in the room for the first few songs. After a while Jada joins you and you ask if you can watch from the VIP section for a bit. It goes well until Harry and the band take a break. You’d been so focused on the music that you were distracted from everything else around you.

But now all you can hear are all the other people, and it’s overwhelming. It becomes difficult to breathe, and you start to see dark spots once again.

You turn to Jada, and she immediately leads you back to the dressing room.

“Do you want to wait for Harry, or do you want to leave now?” she asks.

“I think I should go,” you reply.

“To your hotel, or his?”

“Harry’s, please.”

“Okay, wait here, I’ll get the car and come back for you in a minute.”

You sit back on the couch, seeking out Harry’s scent to calm you, but it’s barely noticeable.

Jada comes back and you follow her to the car. It’s a quiet ride to the hotel, and once there, she goes with you to the suite.

His room is on the top floor. It’s big, basically a full apartment, and you stay in what seems to be the living room. Jada sits on the couch with you, and you say, “I feel like you have more important things to do than babysit me.”

She laughs and says, “It’s not babysitting. I like hanging out with you. And you’re a priority to Harry. Which makes you a priority to me.”

The two of you lapse into a comfortable silence for a while until Jada’s phone buzzes. “Shows over,” she says. “Harry’s just getting changed and then he’ll be here soon. He said you can borrow some of his clothes if you want to get comfy.”

You hesitate and she adds, “I have no problem going through his stuff. I can grab you some clothes if you want.” You laugh at that and nod.

A short while later you’ve changed into a pair of Harry’s sweatpants, as well as a t-shirt and hoodie. They smell like him, and you shamelessly inhale the scent you’ve been craving for weeks. The suite door opens, and Harry walks in, looking incredibly cozy in his own pair of sweats.

“Thank you, Jada,” he says. “Get some rest, you’ve earned it.”

“Night guys,” she says as she leaves the room.

You’re left alone with Harry. It feels different, here in his hotel room, surrounded by his belongings, while you’re wearing his clothes.

“You left early,” he says.

“Sorry,” you reply.

“Don’t be. I’m just worried as to why you left.”

“I was just overwhelmed. Needed some quiet.”

“I understand. Y/N, are you ready for this? You still seem on the edge of a drop.”

“I’m ready.”

“And have you changed your mind about anything? Or is it okay if I hold and scent you through this?”

You pause for a moment, scared at how vulnerable you’re about to be. “I haven’t changed my mind. I want you to do that. I trust you.”

He takes a step towards you. “Thank you, for trusting me. We’ll probably be more comfortable in the bed.”

“Lead the way,” you say.

It’s awkward at first, the two of you sitting next to each other in his bed, backs resting against the headboard.

He turns to you and says, “Can I hold you now?”

You nod, and his arms wrap around you, pulling you until you’re tucked under his chin and resting against his chest.

Everything starts to get fuzzy, and you feel yourself losing consciousness. It’s an unsettling feeling, but you know that Harry is there to help you through this.

The last thing you hear before it all goes black is Harry calmly saying, “I’ve got you. Let go. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

Harry can’t describe the helplessness he feels as you go limp in his arms. He doesn’t allow himself to stress, or panic, knowing that his emotions will impact you. Instead, he takes some calming breaths and thinks through everything he knows he needs to do in this situation.

He hears you whimper quietly as you start to shiver, and he doesn’t hesitate to soothe you. It takes some maneuvering, but soon you’re both laying down in the bed. He tucks his nose into your neck and begins to scent you, releasing calming pheromones until you relax.

It continues this way for the next couple of hours. Harry holds you, and scents you, his nose rubbing against the gland in your neck. During one moment when you seem particularly distressed he can’t help but place kisses there to soothe you faster.

Finally, you start to stir. It takes longer than Harry had anticipated, so he’s relieved when your eyes meet his after hours of being closed.

“Hey there,” he says with a soft smile.

“Hi,” you answer groggily. “How long?”

“Couple hours. Your inner omega needed the rest. Now you need some too. Go to sleep, I’ve got you.”

It’s the same words he said before you dropped. You wish you could hear that all the time. No one has cared for you before, not like this. It feels good, but you remind yourself not to get used to it. Still, you curl into his embrace, enjoying every moment of contact with Harry that you can get.

The next thing you know, it’s late morning. You’re still cuddling against Harry, and his deep breaths indicate he’s still sleeping.

You feel amazing. You’re nice and warm, your mind is clear, and the constant itch and restlessness are nonexistent. You’re extremely grateful, but at the same time, you’re annoyed that you need to depend on another person just to feel normal. But you don’t dwell on that. Because Harry is starting to stir next to you.

“Hey,” he says when your eyes meet his. “How do you feel? Sleep okay?” God, you could melt at the gravelly sound of his morning voice.

“I’m good. Feel better than I have in a long time. And according to that clock, I slept wonderfully.” The two of you laugh, seeing that it’s nearly noon.  

“I was hoping to treat you to a nice breakfast, but I guess I missed the window on that,” Harry says, continuing to laugh with you. “I do still have plenty of time before I need to be at the arena. Would you like to spend the afternoon with me exploring Chicago?”

“I’d love to,” you reply. His face breaks out in a huge smile before he leans down, once again running his nose along your scent gland. You go limp at the feeling, happily submitting to him.

You don’t think about the fact that this is temporary. That you leave to fly home tomorrow afternoon. That you’ll be without his alpha scent once again.

Instead, you think about the hours you have ahead of you, hours to spend with Harry. Nothing could be more perfect.  

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

AN: Thank you so much for reading! This was one of the scenes I imagined when I first thought of the story and I'm so happy that it's finally shared with you all!

Taglist: @akkatz @pandeebearstyles @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite@theekyliepage@numafarawayglxy @booberry019-blog @hillzrry@ssareidbby @gem1712 @acesofspadess@houseofdilfs@shaquille-0atmeal-1@kissitnhekitchen @amateurduck @poguestyleskye@n0vaj3an@snwells@drunk-teens-doing-drugs ; @fdl305@creativelyeva@daphnesutton@selluequestrian@lovingfurypanda @stardream14 @tbsloneely@eversincehs1@boomitsallie1@rose-garden-dreamz @fictionalmensblog @buckybarnessimpp

[homestuckreplay]

You Can’t Just Rename Somebody Else’s Pet????

(page 1684-1706)

A lot going on in these pages, including kids meeting in person, possible(?) information on how Sburb gates work, Dave’s dream self, and Rose’s surprising interest in a pro basketball player.

First, there’s a Pesterlog between John and gallowsCalibrator, where after she quite literally got him killed she’s only ‘kind of giving [him] the creeps!’ (p.1684). And then he enters the second gate (or, what GC calls the second gate) on her instructions, despite how disastrously things went the last time he accepted her help. I think John believes in forgiveness and second chances – he must do, to have been friends with Dave so long. He also doesn’t wish actual harm on anyone he actively knows, nothing worse than a prank, so it’s hard for him to imagine other people having that mindset, which also explains how Dave later tricks him into giving him the captcha code for Rose’s journals. Finally, while John springs into action in immediately life-threatening situations, he might not have much regard for his life in the abstract given his general disconnect from it. This version of John didn’t experience going into the denizen’s palace and being slaughtered – so it feels more like a video game threat than an actual threat.

Google LOWAS is a fun new interactive feature and something we haven’t seen before: it tells us absolutely nothing new about the world, but does give a different and cool perspective. Parts of it look exactly like a fungus under a microscope, it’s got the same soft fluffy ridges that fan out like branches, although that could be the effect of a filter or Photoshop effect on an actual landmass. The Gate 2 flash animation fakeout is less successful, partly because I’m blessed and haven’t experienced the ‘waiting game’ where server overload makes it take forever for a flash to load, and partly because the lack of ‘[S]’ and the current update pace makes this unlikely to be a flash anyway,

I really like how John’s gone from being incredibly homestuck to being the biggest trailblazer of all the kids, and the one who’s going to the most places. He’s got a rocketpack and has explored all around LOWAS, he’s now hitting up LOLAR, and pretty soon he’ll be on his way to the Veil. I think that’s another reason he trusted GC again: he wants to try things out and to explore after a lifetime of restrictions. She’s giving him the tools to do that, and even though he’s hesitant to trust her specifically, the concept is irresistible.

KIDS PHYSICALLY IN THE SAME PLACE TIMELINE: John and Jade p.1049, Rose and John p.1690, Dave and Rose p.1704

But what a scary situation to suddenly be thrust into a possible in-person social encounter with an online friend you never really expected to meet in person. That’s the sort of thing someone needs days of notice to mentally prepare for (in my experience). That and the total destruction of her walls (and the genetic code; certainly that’ll take some time to reconstruct) explain why he’s so hesitant and uncertain to do anything else in the room, even look at his own gift. Rose pretty much said she was going to knit something for him (p.442) and the tiny glimpse we get here confirms that, but gives no further clues.

John talks to Davesprite, and then asks to talk to ‘the real dave’ (p.1692), which is a fucking slap in the face. Davesprite is arguably the realer Dave, as he’s spent more time being Dave, and current Dave can only exist because of him. It probably sucks to be Davesprite and to see the other version of yourself succeeding and messing around with his friends, after spending four months grieving and suffering and having that go basically unacknowledged. Current Dave claims he ‘wouldn’t give a shit’ (p.1692), but he actually has no way of knowing that without going through Davesprite’s life changing experiences. I guess I’d like to see Davesprite go off and have an arc of his own instead of just being current Dave’s companion, but given how sprites are designed to serve players, I don’t know how likely that is.

TG: the progression of gates is like this whole round robin thing TG: cycling through each planet TG: gate 2 on your planet leads to gate 2 on roses TG: then you build up to gate 3 above her house which leads somewhere else on her planet TG: you look for gate 4 somewhere there TG: which leads to gate 4 above my house (p.1692)

ok so if Davesprite is right here, the progression of gates would look something like this.

which, if true, would mean that John ended up fighting the denizen on Jade’s planet, therefore completing her quest instead of his own. This doesn’t super track to me given how customized the quests and lands seem to be for each player, tying into their titles and domains. Also, Dave went through Gate 5 onto LOHAC (p.1641), his own land, which doesn’t fit the progression. Jade never entering the Medium in the dark timeline means her gates would never appear in the Medium, but there’s no reason to think John’s gates would disappear if he died (but who knows).

A few possible explanations. One, Davesprite is wrong, and for some reason this is information even sprites don’t have. Two, Davesprite is lying, and for some reason Skaia wants to hide this from players or Davesprite is fighting against his sprite programming to conceal this from John. Three, there will be a later reveal surrounding the gates and how they work that’ll make all of this irrelevant anyway. Or, four – I’ve talked about Homestuck becoming less about concrete and predictable mechanics and more about loose concepts and themes as it’s gone on, so, this could be basically unimportant to the story because we’re not actually going to see the kids go through these gates. John is heading to the Veil soon (p.1667) so breaking the expected progression, Jack Noir has glitched the session, and the game is about to go off the rails. The gate system is being used to serve the story right now and allow for some important beats in Rose’s room, but will be irrelevant as the story goal is to hack, change or escape the game, not to follow its rules.

KIDS’ DREAM SELVES REVEALED: 4/4 (+ Bonus[?] Lil Cal)

I really like how Rose is drawn in this panel (p.1697), like she’s mid-jump, very fluid and graceful. The bisexual Derse tower in the background is fun too.

Dave’s dream room, on the other hand, is an absolute disaster. All the kids’ rooms feature clutter and accessories from their waking rooms, but not everything from their waking rooms – for example, there’s no sight of the totem lathe in Rose’s dream room (p.1655). Dave’s is a perfect mirror except for the wall decorations, including cruxtruder, toilet, crows, dead things, and trailing wires. Rose would say this mirrors his cluttered and chaotic mind. I think this is connected to Dave already being awake and not knowing it – his mind doesn’t shut down even when he’s asleep, there’s this background noise constantly keeping him agitated and restless, so he can probably get a full eight hours and wake up feeling like he hasn’t slept at all.

Of course he’s drawn Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff on his walls. I’d guess he came up with the idea while his actual world self was asleep, maybe even draws the comics while asleep given that even his dream self is terminally online, and then the ideas return to his waking self because his two selves are connected, he just hasn’t realized until now. Cal’s presence in Dave’s dream room is like an even creepier analog to the Jack Noir harlequin doll in John’s room, but that was an inanimate doll. Cal is moving around and has an actual dream self with a tiny nightgown, which might be confirmation that he’s partially sentient, or is somehow a part of Sburb. It’s also a great explanation for what Dave has previously told us about his dreams.

TG: oh man i wish lil cal wouldnt look at me like that TG: with those dead eyes jesus TG: sometimes i dream that hes real and hes talking to me and i wake up in a cold sweat and basically flip the fuck out (p.419)

KIDS FALLING ASLEEP AT INOPPORTUNE MOMENTS: 4/4 COMPLETE!

‘"April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain." -American sports legend, Charles Barkley’ (p.307)

I gotta say, if there was one part of Homestuck I didn’t expect to be explained in some way, it was these misattributed quotes. Rose thought about this quote (which is originally from T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land) on her journey to confront her mom downstairs, and now John finds a book of poetry on her shelf written by Charles Barkley, suggesting that in this universe, Rose is not misattributing the quote.

I’m usually more interested in football and baseball so I don’t know this guy at all, but I looked up Charles Barkley and he does seem to have had an impressive career, and an interesting life outside of sports too. He was among the first group of Black students at his elementary school and was openly supportive of a teammate with HIV as early as 1991, as well as speaking out in support of queer communities on lots of occasions. He also broke a bunch of basketball records despite being seen early on as too short and fat to play, appeared in Space Jam, named his daughter after a mall (which I’ve been to), and has written a couple books for real, although none of them are called This Ocean Charles. He has some controversies for sure, but there’s far worse people to reference in a webcomic. Or perhaps two webcomics, as I guess the quote on the front cover implies Barkley is the basketball player featured in Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff #6 and #10.

[presidentbungus]

spy had a long string of accidents leading up to his departure. coming home bruised and bleeding, or with police lights on his tail. men showing up at the house at night. maybe scout's ma sees spy teaching her boys what to do if they think they're being followed and something just breaks in her heart a little bit

spy's flaky, and dangerous, and as much as he seems to try he's still the man she sits at home next to the phone worried sick over when he mysteriously disappears every few weeks. one time he vanishes for three months--three--a few days after the birth of his son, his son, and when he has the nerve to show up at three AM begging for forgiveness (and waking up all her boys while he's at it), she snaps. there's an ultimatum: give up the job, or leave, because she loves spy to death but she ain't gonna lose her children for him. spy tells her it's all he knows how to do.

she tells him she loves him, more than anyone else she's ever loved. she just can't trust him

when the sun rises the next morning spy is gone and it's almost like he was never there at all, and she supposes he made his choice, didn't he. selfishly she imagines him crawling back in a few weeks, tail tucked between his legs, apologizing profusely--i thought i could make it without you but I couldn't, and I'm sorry, and I just want to live with you and be with you and grow the fuck up and

but he never does. obviously he never does, and it's probably for the best, and it crushes her. and she knows it's probably not true, but she can't help but think that maybe it was like she always feared; disposable, fleeting, nothing. she has no way of knowing that spy is spending every day in bunkers and ballrooms thinking about her and regretting leaving, or maybe regretting her in the first place--for letting his guard down, for getting attached like he swore he never would. it was the best thing he's ever done but now he gets to know he'll never have it again. and, really, the worst part of it all is he knows he probably could, if he set aside some of his pride and gave up on the unforgiving work that leaves him less fulfilled every day anyway, but he also knows he won’t. he just won’t, and there’s a thousand reasons, but it’s impossible to put into words and at the end of the day he knows the only thing that’s stopping him is just himself.

he’s horrible. they both know he’s horrible and they both wish so desperately he could change that—that he was willing to change that.

and when he starts work at a backwater mercenary company in the worst part of the united states for—well, even he isn’t really sure, but he sees scout for the first time and suddenly he knows. it’s just so obvious.

and suddenly, he is entirely unwilling to distance himself any further from what very well may be his last chance for redemption—so he doesn’t run, which surprises even himself, after so long. but the more he desperately looks inside for anything whatsoever the more he realizes he is entirely unwilling to approach the man that, more obvious by the way, he left of his own volition a little over two decades ago.

he knows this strange limbo, this block of figurative amber, can’t last forever. he hopes.

so he waits. and he waits. and he waits.

[wu-sisyphus-gang]

Glynda: “You’re back. And the beast?”

Jaune: “Monster is slain. Bangarang.” *snaps his fingers so that he ends up pointing distantly at the ground*

Glynda: “You look tired. You should get some rest.”

Jaune: “Can’t. I have to help team CMAD with their serial killer mission."

Glynda: “Why?”

Jaune: “Why do I have to help them or what help do I have to give?”

Glynda: “Well, both at once I suppose.”

Jaune: “The killer came up into my network about a week ago. It’s sort of my responsibility to keep an eye out for people like this.”

Glynda: “Your network?”

Jaune: “My criminal contacts in the city. I have the name and semblance of the killer.”

Glynda: “That’s most useful.”

Jaune: “That’s what I strive for. I wake up everyday and say ‘oh, if only I could be most useful today.’”

Glynda: *narrows her eyes then offers a dismissive half shrug*"Ozpin often wished to be able to tap into those elements for this very reason but couldn’t figure out how to get started. I mean, it’s nice to say you want to build trust and contacts like that and quite another to go out and succeed at it.”

Jaune: “They want you to kill people for them sometimes. And sometimes you have to kill some people just to put the fear in ‘em. Or torture people. Whatever.”

Glynda: “Should you be telling me this?”

Jaune: “I mean, what are you gonna do about it? What is anybody gonna do about it? Besides, I thought it was ‘most useful.’”

Glynda: “Maybe not what you have to give up to make it happen. That’s perhaps why Ozpin never succeeded.”

Jaune: “You have to have a hard stomach. And at any rate I need to be able to see my sisters coming or, god forbid I even say this, my Mother? Could you imagine her rolling up on us?”

Glynda: “I don’t really want to. Would she?” 

Jaune: “She mostly acts through intermediaries when she can. I can… feel her? Her location? All the time. So I’d know if she was moving around at all. Instead she just hangs out on one of the kingdomless continents. Ayan. So she stays far away from any kingdom and acts from the shadows.”

Glynda: “I don’t know how concerning that is. How concerned should I be?”

Jaune: “Somewhere between one and ten. Depending on how much thought you want to give it. Just don’t think about it very much. That’s what I do. And I’m… mostly fine?”

Glynda: *shakes her head at him. Gentle but firm denial* 

Jaune: “Well, I’m as ‘okay’ as could be expected?”

Glynda: “I don’t think so."

Jaune: “Exactly how ‘okay’ am I supposed to be?” 

Glynda: “Well ideally with a one being the worst and a ten being the best you’d be at a ten, Jaune."

Jaune: “I’m like a five. A hard five. That passes muster.”

Glynda: “A hard five which way?” 

Jaune: “Yeah, fair cop. Good point.”

Glynda: “I wasn’t even making a point."

Jaune: “Well you made it anyway."

Glynda: "Go to bed, Jaune. Your serial killer can wait. What? Are you excited to add to your little collection?”

Jaune: “Am I more or less messed up if I say ‘yes?’” 

Glynda: “You’re just a mixed up kid.”

Jaune: “I mean… yeah. I knew that. But am I more or less fucked if I say I want to add her sniper rifle to my collection?”

Glynda: “You know her weapon?”

Jaune: “Answer the question.”

Glynda: “I… I would say that you’re more mixed up than less. Not everyone has a collection of weapons from serial killers they’ve stopped. Not everyone thinks about adding to it. You are more mixed up than not. You’ve got to really be at least a four out of ten. Admit that to me.”

Jaune: “It’s really probably at most a three.”

Glynda: “Go to bed.”

Jaune: “I’ll go to bed. After I send team CMAD my dossier so they're not going in blind. I think she’s too dangerous for them or hee police to take on. If they find her, sure, good enough. But I really don’t think they should fight her.”

Glynda: “You can’t coddle them.”

Jaune: “I’m tryin’ not to but there’s a serial killer on the loose and they have some real power.”

Glynda: “What about you?”  

Jaune: “What about me?”

Glynda: "You’re a serial killer serial killer.” 

Jaune: “What? I’m not a… serial killer.”

Glynda: “Don’t emphasize ‘serial.’ It doesn’t do anyone any favors.”

Jaune: “Mass murderer? Sure. Spree killer? Probably. But I don’t do it for psychological gratification.”

Glynda: “Don’t emphasis ‘psychological!’ You need to find a sweet girl to look after you. Help put you back together. If you even like girls that is. I didn’t mean to imply anything.”

Jaune: “I like girls. I’ve got team RWBY.”

Glynda: “They’re not here. What’s wrong with Miss Gainsborough?”

Jaune: “You mean besides the fact she’s my student? Off limits, remember? Besides, she’s seen a little into how fucked I am and probably shouldn’t want any of that mess.”

Glynda: “What if she does anyway?” 

Jaune: “I think I would know by now? I'd like to believe I would. But I don't really understand girls. Just throw me at a monster or serial killer or something and let me worry about that. Girls are complicated and hard and complicated."

Glynda: "Not really."

Jaune: "Girls like games and hints and teasing around."

Glynda: "Do you think I'd play games?"

Jaune: "I think you're probably an exception and not the rule. You and Weiss both."

Glynda: "Miss Schnee?"

Jaune: "Yeah. I mean, I think so. She doesn't like games or hints or playing around with her feelings either. I think that's why she barely tolerated me when we went to school here."

Glynda: "You were attracted to her? In your time as a student?"

Jaune: "Still am. That hasn't really changed. She was my first real crush. I had fake memories of crushes before that but I really woke up for the first time at Beacon after I was set loose. And then I met Weiss. Beautiful. Smart. Way out of my league. We're not even playing the same ball game." I ran a hand through my hair and felt the grime there. 

Glynda: "Good for you." 

Jaune: "Why?"

Glynda: "I think that's healthy. I'd be a shade more concerned if you really weren't attracted to anybody and you had nothing to strive for. Not that there's anything wrong with being asexual. But it's important to have personal goals for yourself and not just professional ones."

Jaune: "I'd love to impress her. Still. I'm just not really sure how. You know? In her time as the heiress or whatever she probably had all sorts of guys appeal to her so she's pretty much seen it all. I have no moves to make that she hasn't seen somebody else do better than I can. And I doubt my little collection of mass murderer trophies would make her stop and think in a good way."

Glynda: "Have you tried not appealing to her at all. Maybe you should just be honest with yourself and her and let your personality impress her."

Jaune: "I'm a schizoaffective loser."

Glynda: "You're not a loser just because you're schizoaffective."

Jaune: "I know that. I’m not stupid. I have totally separate reasons for why I'm a loser. I'm not funny and my personality isn't particularly pleasant to be around."

Glynda: "You have charm. You can be funny. Not exactly cracking jokes or something similar but you have a certain dry humor. Use that to impress her. Plus you've become surprisingly competent."

Jaune: "Well, thanks. I'll just use all those assets when I see her again and blow her away. Anyways. I'm safe. I'm back. My mission was a success and I thought you'd like to know that." I pulled my scroll from my side pocket and started tapping away and putting together what information I had on Cerise Genfield for CMAD. "Let's see if we can't wrangle ourselves up a serial killer. Yee-haw. I always did love outlaw justice. It's super fake. And it's basically all the murder with none of the guilt ."

Glynda: "Do you really think that?"

Jaune: "A little."

Glynda: "Go to sleep. Let the police and team CMAD track her down."

Jaune: "I hear you. I'm off to bed." 

[white-flwrs]

one of my favourite authors released a book yesterday and i spent the night reading it. this post contains spoilers for Ann Liang’s I am Not Jessica Chen !!!

———

i don't think i've ever read a story told through the eyes of a more relatable female main character. this review contains spoilers AKA my fav lines / lines that i FELT deep in my soul

“One day, ten years from now, I’ll be at a party and everyone will be chatting and someone will casually bring up their classes at Harvard and someone else will gush over how smart they are, and in that moment I’ll feel so insignificant I’ll want to vanish.” [Ch. 11, Pg. 81]

“all I can think is: that’s it? This, right now, is the culmination of all those sleepless nights, every test I cried over, every extra hour I spent studying when I could have been driving down to the coast, eating dinner with my family, going to the mall with my friends, visiting the cherry orchards or swimming in the lake in the high heat of summer. This is as good as life will ever be? (...) Then there’s Harvard itself—all I could think about was doing the work and getting in, but it’s hitting me now that I’ll have to keep working once classes begin. I’ll have to prove myself all over again to new classmates and new professors. I just feel so exhausted at the idea, like I’ve been running as fast as I can toward a mountain in the horizon, and it always looks within reach, but I’ll never actually get there. Everything exhausts me these days.” [Ch. 8, Pg. 63,64]

i personally did not achieve anything of that level but FELT?!?!?!

“Because Jessica must have learned at some point that at the first sign of anything less than perfect, her mother would react like this.” [Ch. 8, Pg. 58]

this line broke my heart. mostly bc i know how it hurts to be made to feel like anything less than perfect is not worthy of support or praise.

“They’re so good they’re an afterthought. They’re so good they might as well not exist, except to be used as evidence that success is possible, that the system is perfectly sound, that anyone who struggles can only blame themselves.” [Ch. 17 Pg. 114]

i've never been considered a model student myself (too disruptive, apparently), but this line still broke my heart.

last but not least

“But I . . . I can’t make myself do it. I can’t . . . I can’t change the wish—” “Why not?” “I just can’t.” “That’s not an excuse!” My heart is in freefall. “I don’t need to explain myself.” “I deserve an explanation,” he says fiercely. “Just tell me why. Please. It’s driving me mad—” “Aaron, drop it.” “You can’t just avoid the subject forever. Why—” “Because I hate myself too much.” [Ch. 15 Pg. 102]

it really does hurt to compare yourself to every single person you see because every one of these people seem to have it better than you and you just can't help but tear yourself down internally and hate every piece of you but if anyone praises you or claims that you're doing well or are "smart" or says that they envy you, you simply cannot trust their words because there is NO WAY...

———

anyways pic of my 6h solo reading date:

[like-a-bantha]

Lost/Loss

Summary: Everything changed after Eriadu. Hunter becomes withdrawn, and you can't help but worry about him. You do what you can to show him you're there for him.

Pairing: Hunter/GN Reader (No Y/N, no descriptions of reader's appearance)

Rating: T

Warnings: Angst, mentions of major character death

Word Count: 1.7k

AO3 | Masterlist

One week of radio silence. Our contact was supposed to get back to us five days ago with intel on Hemlock and his captives. Instead, we’ve sat around on Pabu tensely awaiting a holocall that we’re beginning to lose hope in receiving.

Phee was kind enough to offer us room in her home, and free reign of her holotable, to act as a sort of base. It’s been quieter since we were last gathered around this table. The usual boisterous laughter and interrupted rants replaced with worried silence broken every so often by a sea breeze that no longer carries the joyous sound of Omega and Lyana playing just outside. That mission, Hemlock, the Empire, took so much from us; it’s taken an incredible amount of effort from Hunter, Wrecker, and I to not allow these forces working against us to take our hope on top of it all.

Echo and Rex referred us to this contact not long ago, someone who they’d worked closely with during the war, someone they trust. I commed Echo. Hunter advised against it, said it wasn’t worth it, that all we could do now was wait. I snuck out to the Marauder to use the long distance com anyways. Of course, the conversation was brief, and he has as much information as we do. Sit tight. Waiting game. All that.

“How’re they holding up?” His voice low, even with the volume adjusted to its highest setting. He’d mentioned returning to Coruscant last time we spoke, it must be the middle of the night there. We always did have terrible sleeping schedules.

“Not well, but I mean…” I trail off, we both know the reason, we both hold some foolish hope that not saying it will make it less true, “They miss you.”

“But you don’t?” There’s that sass, that glint of normalcy I’ve both craved and feared these past two months.

A laugh escapes me as if on instinct, it sounds foreign, “Nah, thought I’d never shake you. So clingy.”

“You’re one to talk, you do realize it’s 0100 here?”

This, our shared brand of humor and sarcasm, too, feels so distant to me now. Slowly, it comes back to me, “Oh, I’m so sorry, did I wake you up? Were you sleeping?” 

“Like a baby.” His warm chuckle crackles through the com speaker, and mine through his. The silence that follows is warm, easing his way into broaching the question, “I take it he’s distancing himself again?”

I sigh, a deep sigh only brought about by reality, “I get it, I really do — and, honestly as bad as it sounds, I wish I didn’t because this kriffing hurts — but withdrawing like this, I don’t know why he can’t see it’s only making the feeling worse.”

“Have you told him that?”

“‘Course. He just says something about how we can’t give up and stares at the holotable. I don’t want to give up, I can’t give up, I just hate seeing him like this.” 

Echo hums, but just as he begins to respond, static and unintelligible voices play loudly through the speaker. “I’m sorry, I’ve gotta go. Good luck.”

I nod, wiping at my misty eyes as I reach for the switch to end the transmission, “Be safe. Talk soon.”

Silence. Mournful, somber silence echoes through the lonely hull of the once lively ship. Everywhere my gaze falls sits a piece of their history, our history; one of Tech’s unfinished projects, a drawing of the ship Omega had called extra credit, Echo’s favorite brand of instant caf. Unable to withstand the weight of these memories, I decide to take my leave and the silence follows me back to the cottage.

I return to a rare sight: an empty house. No Wrecker sitting at the kitchen counter disassembling and reassembling explosives. No Phee asking him to take it outside. No Hunter hovering over the holotable awaiting a call. No com to tell me to hurry back, mustn’t have been an emergency.

I make my way over to the holotable, fingertips gliding across its rounded edge as I approach Hunter’s usual seat. When I pull out the chair, I’m met with a sight that would normally make me laugh. His shredded scarf that he’s grown so attached to, destroyed on our last mission to gather intel, along with his prized bandana that appears to have shrunken in the wash. The best I can muster is a bemused huff, taking the bundle of abused fabric into my arms as I sit. Suddenly, I’m struck with an idea. It could be a very stupid idea, of course, but a very good idea doesn’t always equate to a very smart idea. It’s a perspective thing and seeing as the only perspective available at the moment is my own, I figure I may as well get to it before more perspectives show up.

After careful work, I neatly fold remaining fabric and stash it in my pack with my tools; as the designated mender of the group, I know firsthand there is no such thing as too many fabric patches. Returning to the table, finished product tucked delicately in my vest pocket, approaching voices grow louder and louder.

“I’m telling you, it looks good! Stop fussing, leave it… yeah, like that,” Phee’s voice nears the door, and I’m sure I hear Hunter grumbling about something. The door whooshes open and my eyes widen with surprise. When I meet Phee’s gaze, she seems to silently plead for backup, “You’re back! What do you think?”

She gestures to an unamused Hunter, visibly fighting the urge to fidget with the hat he’s wearing. It doesn’t look bad on him, very few things would, but he doesn’t exactly look comfortable. Unwilling to hold the spotlight any longer, he grabs the floppy brim and removes it from his head, tossing the garment onto the table as he takes the seat next to me. Unable to help myself, I lean forward with a smile and run a hand through his slightly disheveled hair.

“That bad, huh?” Phee sighs, Wrecker following closely behind as she heads for the kitchen.

“I liked it,” The glee still empty from his voice, even at something that would’ve garnered one of his trademark laughs a few months ago.

“Me, too, big guy.” Phee sets a crate of groceries on the countertop. Wrecker’s taken to cooking. Though he’s been much quieter these days, Wrecker seems like himself again when he’s preparing a meal.

Hunter’s gaze is locked on the table, silences between us were never tense like this. When he speaks, he doesn’t look at me. “How’s Echo.”

It isn’t a question, more of a remark, maybe even an I told you so if I really read into it. I answer it like a question anyway, “Good, but no word from the contact.”

He hums. The silence that follows deems the told you so unnecessary.

I reach into my vest pocket. Now’s as good a time as any. “I made you something.”

He hums again, gaze flicking away from the table for half a second in question. Right now, that’s probably the best I’ll get. I place an open palm on the table before him. After a moment's hesitation he rests his hand atop mine, palm up, and I look to his eyes as I delicately drape a band of maroon fabric with thin gold stripes across his fingers.

Hunter’s expression is unreadable, regarding the gift silently. I bite my tongue, attempting to hold in any preemptive apologies in fear that I may have overstepped. My flat expression shifts only when I see his eyes begin to well up, before the first sorry can push past the floodgates he turns to me with the faintest smile. A smile I haven’t seen in too long. His grip tightens around the bandana as he rushes to pull me into a tight hug. Instantly, my arms wrap around him, tears forming in my own eyes. “I love it,” his voice low, he places a kiss on my temple, “thank you.”

“I’m sorry I can’t do more.” My voice comes out a whisper, all of the words I hold back seem louder. “We’re going to get them back, Hunter.”

“Not without a fight.” He says grimly, holding me tighter, as if he’ll lose me the second he lets go.

“I know,” I pull back to look into his eyes, my hand coming up to cup his tattooed cheek, “but we fight as a team. We can’t keep bottling all of this up, we need to take care of each other, ourselves.”

Hunter rests his forehead against mine as he sighs, “You’re right.”

“I know. How’re you feeling?” He shuts his eyes as my thumb gently ghosts back and forth over his cheekbone.

He thinks for a moment before releasing me, opening his palm to look at the bandana in his hand. “Lost,” he turns the garment over, examining the back, “Loss. I couldn’t protect them. You, Wrecker, Phee, you’re all I’ve got now and I’m afraid I won’t be able to protect you either.”

“Tech protected us. Omega, too. I think it’s cruel to put that duty solely on yourself, Hunter. It’s an impossible weight to carry on your own,” A tear falls from my eye, quickly sliding down my cheek before landing on my pant leg, “please, let me carry some.”

“Giving it away doesn’t sound easy, either.” His own tears threaten to spill over, I hope I never get used to the subtle, somber shake in his voice, “But I’d like to try.”

When he looks up with a sad, weary smile, I can’t help but lean forward and place a small kiss to his lips. I begin to withdraw, but Hunter’s palm cups my cheek and pulls me back in for a longer, gentler and tearful kiss. This time, the silence that follows is peaceful as he rests his forehead against mine once more.

His loose hair falls around his face and I accidentally pull a few strands into my mouth as I inhale. He chuckles a bit as I pull away, a sound I’ve missed dearly. I can’t help but let out a small laugh of my own, reaching up to once again run a hand through his curls, “It’s gotten so long.”

Hunter smiles, turning the bandana over once more before presenting it to me, “Do the honors?”

With a smile and a nod, I take the cloth from his grasp, delicately wrapping the fabric around his head and tying a single knot.

“It’s perfect,” He places a soft kiss to my knuckles, taking my hand in his, “thank you.”

The holotable chirps. Incoming transmission.

A/N: Someone pointed out Hunter's hair looks longer, plus the new bandana, I just had to get this out of my system. Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think, comments mean the world to me! <3

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Just started Medjed arc of P5R; here are my current thoughts on the characters I know so far:

Joker: Look, I know people say he's a "self-insert" but I really, really see a few very distinct personality traits in him. He's lost in thought a lot. He zones out. He's really goal-driven. He's clever. He's a risk-taker. He's wary of consequences. He takes a little while to trust people, especially adults. He's suspicious and easily annoyed. He's on your side. He wants to help. He's a snarky little shit. His compassion is as much his defiance as his bitter disdain. He's hesitant. He's confident. He's bluffing. His respect is earned. His assistance isn't. He's free. He's chained. He's larger than life. He's a dumbass dork of a teenager. Incredibly fun character to play as, 10/10. I love that you can actually see him becoming more confident as time goes on. His dialogue options also become sillier/snarkier/more teasing as he becomes closer with people. It's just fun. I have a lot more thoughts on him but I'm going to stop here. I'd love to do a bit of an analysis on him once I finish the game - I'd like to go back through his main story dialogue options and his idle and specific scene animations. Plus, they seriously popped off with his character design. There's so much I could say about that alone.

Ryuji: Ryuji, my beloved. I wish you were less horny in uncomfortable ways in some scenes - I think, as well as Atlus not knowing what teenage girls are like, they also have not... spoken to people raised by single mothers, or mothers who got out of an abusive relationship... but anyways, asides from that, I love Ryuji. I think his desire for popularity makes a lot of sense - he's only ever stood out in a bad way. He just wants to be liked, you know? And he doesn't think he's enough the way he is. He's trying his best. I need him to shut up so bad but also I hope he never shuts up, you know. He's genuinely so funny, and he's the most ride or die of anyone. Ryuji gets angry on everyone's behalf when they can't muster up their own anger yet. Everyone say thank you, Ryuji.

Morgana: I do not get the hate for this not-cat; he's so funny to me. He's becoming a little more aligned to the thieves' morality, which is probably for the best since at the beginning he was definitely down with accidental murder and totally open about his pragmatism. He actually encourages this in Joker. It's just funny. I love my emotional support not-cat bestie who sits in my desk at school then tells me to go strike shady deals with random people in back alleys. You can definitely see a change in Morgana though; he's becoming more excited about helping people for the sake of it (like Joker, he too has gained purpose), but he's also becoming more insecure.

Ann: She remains my favourite of the Thieves. If Ryuji is the original drive and Morgana the original method, then she is the original conviction. The strength to stand with victims. The desire to force those who hurt others to understand the feelings of said victims. She has the rawest fucking lines at the end of the Kamoshida arc. She loves Shiho so much, and I really feel like her and Joker are on the same page when it comes to things deeper than their surface level interests. Get you a friend like Ann fr. It's a shame that later scenes have her mostly just getting mad at the guys when they uhhh... act like horny guys towards her. Feels bad man, especially because I love the aspect of her character that wants to be more comfortable with her sexuality and have that be on her terms. <- That's really cool, actually! Why couldn't we do more with that...? As a note though, I seriously love her admiration towards female cartoon villains and that one mean girl model. I think that's so funny and also such a mood. I do not believe for one second that Ann is straight. I hope she becomes the sexy and confidant morally-ambiguous thief of her dreams, and also that she gets a girlfriend. It's what she deserves.

Yusuke: He's so dramatic. Do you expect me not to love him? I really loved his conflict during Madarame's arc - those revelations were absolutely brutal, and Yusuke really handled things well, all things considered. Again, like Ann, there were some raw lines in there. But then, of course, the slump on the other end, when the adrenaline wears off. That Yusuke's painting only showed the dark side of desire tells me that he is still grappling with the effects of all these reveals. He has a lot to process.

Makoto: I just think she's so cute. Her design is adorable. She's such a sweetheart. On the flip side though, while I don't find her as intimidating as the game seems to, I definitely would not want her mad at me. While, as I mentioned before, I found the lead up to her joining the thieves to be a little janky, the actual moment was great. I love that she has a support system now. She really needed that. I hope there are more scenes with her in group settings tbh. While I'm enjoying her one-on-one dynamics with Ryuji and Ann, I do feel like she doesn't really... gel with the group as well as, say, Yusuke did. I think they need to drag her out to more activities lol.

Sojiro: I still don't know yet? He seems like the tough love sort. I do enjoy getting to learn random coffee trivia from him, and it seems like he cares in a kind of gruff way. He also gets a lot of suspicious people coming by. Guess I'll find out more later.

Maruki: Again, I don't know much still. He's endearing and dorky. That salt bae thing still lives rent-free in my head. I feel his frustration with not being able to help more. I get it man. I will say though, the fact that we get to see scenes with the thieves and Maruki, with no Joker present, is... odd.

Kasumi: I... I don't know how to feel. She's too nice. She's too polite. All of her scenes are so weirdly convenient. I like her just fine, but there's something seriously off. I almost feel like she's an outlier on purpose, like she doesn't blend into the world. Unlike Maruki, who is new to Royal but blends into the story quite nicely, Kasumi really stands out, to the point it kind of feels like that was the intention. She is adorable, though, I won't deny that, and I do want her to succeed and all, I just... hm. I don't know how to feel about her.

Akechi: I could fix him (smack him upside the head). <- okay but seriously, he is so obviously suspicious, he so obviously knows about Joker, he's such a smarmy little shit. I would despise him irl, but he's absolutely the funniest character in the game right now. Everything he says has me either cackling or my jaw dropping at the fucking audacity. He's also really interesting to me. Love a character whose every line means three things rolled into one. He feels dangerous and weirdly endearing at the same time. What the hell is his problem (affectionate + derogatory).

Yoshida: YOSHIDA MY ABSOLUTE BELOVED. I love him so far. He's my favourite confidant right now. He just makes me so happy man I love him so much. Yoshida takes the hard road and he's got the conviction, but you need support from people to really turn your life around. Hey, that's kind of what the game is about, yeah?

Takemi: Oh I love her confidant so far. I don't know that she's one of my favourites, character-wise, but I was especially taken with her dedication to that medicine, and Joker's response to her saying that she doesn't suit everyone coming to her for medical help by countering her with an "it suits you". Very sweet. I'm getting close to finishing her confidant; I just need to level up charm.

Mishima: I'm almost done his confidant too! I actually enjoy Mishima's character. I feel like his downward spiral made a lot of sense, and I like that he's both helpful and made me feel a bit uncomfortable. I especially like that he's pulling himself out of that fame mentality by himself, without his heart being changed. We just gave his shadow something to think on.

Kawakami: Idk how I feel about this, but the perks are good. I'm curious about her though.

Sae: She seems dedicated to her job. Forming a confidant with her during the interrogation was something I did not expect and had me going "ohohoho". But man, some of the stuff she says to Makoto is way out of line... I'm glad she's at least aware as soon as it leaves her mouth, and I cannot imagine the constant stress and scrutiny she's under but... still. Girl. :/

Iwai: I'm going to properly start his confidant soon. He's cool. I feel like he's not nearly as scary as he makes himself out to be.

Ohya: Don't know much about her so far, but she's a disaster, and I will always enjoy a good disaster woman.

Lala: SHE'S PERFECT. I wish there was a mechanic where you could get advice from Lala-chan. She's looking out for everybody. She's good. :)

Chihaya: She told me I'm gonna die... :(

[legokingfisher]

Who wantss to help me come up with a ship name for mudshock+geode because. I have many (sort of uncoordinated) DR mudshock+geo thoughts if yall want em. Spoilers ahead btw

Vivid scene in my mind that’s making me wish I could write: Nya reassuring Cole she is not upset that he has fallen for someone new since the merge. Bc he may have this fear that she and Jay will just think that this means he moved on or forgot about them or sth. But Nya makes sure he knows she trusts him and knows he still loves her n Jay.

And also her telling Cole that like… her only issue with Geo is that she doesn’t know him. But she can get to know him. And in fact she wants to, because she feels that if Cole can love someone and vouch for someone, then surely they’re good. And yeah. Geo is so so good..

You cannot tell me Cole didn’t talk abt his husband and wife nonstop to Geo n Bonzle n the finders in the land of lost things. bc they are his World. And of course the rest of the ninja+buddies. And it’s partially one of the things that has Geo falling for him because ohghhhh that’s a man who loves and protects so strongly so brightly so fiercely, this is someone so steady and nurturing.

I also just think Nya would like Geo. They would be buddies i think. Dr please let them interact I’m begging… they can share a spouse because I said so

Geo being a bit… intimidated? By Nya at first? If that makes sense? Like. He is secretly afraid she’s like jealous or sees him as in her way or fears he’s somehow keeping Cole from her. But then they hang out more and he’s like oh no wait she’s cool as fuck just blunt and not always great at articulating herself.

Bonding via sparring please (let Nya and Geo spar 2024) (let Cole and Nya spar they missed each other so fucking badddd it would be gay as hell)

And of course of course of course Nya and Cole wondering when their wife (Jay) will return from the war (being a missing person)

They’re both barely holding it together but I think Nya less so/worse because she’s had her brother taken from her and things are sorta compounding. Obviously Kai mattered to Cole as well but like dude Kai n Nya are like dipper and mabel levels of tight so it’s hitting her noticeably and. Cole is doing his best to comfort n ease her mind or distract, bc he likes to be people’s shoulder to lean on, but he’s falling apart at the seams himself. At which point I see Geo feeling rather helpless and like he can’t help them. He tries though.

But anyway. On a lighter note. Suit Jay when two buff hot people he’s never seen in his life scoop him up and take him home saying you’re all married and this is the way things are supposed to be: okay yessir yes ma’am 🫡 can’t complain. Nice arrangement 👁️👁️ fine by me 👁️👁️

[cinnbar-bun]

hi luna :))) *rubs hands together* 💕

can i request some hcs (fluff) of hot pants crushing on reader. like how she is when she has romantic feelings!

(i think you write for pt7 i sprinted to the ask box so delete if you dont anyways bye ilyy)

AAAA Bambi ofc <3 happy late birthday sorry i did this later but yk better late than never!!! Honestly, HP beating me in an alley would totally fix me.

Hot Pants Falling in Love

Rating: SFW

Word Count: ~1.1k

Notes: Mentions of HP's backstory, GN!reader, no spoilers for SBR, some mentions of death/angst (this is HP) but overall pretty fluffy.

Hot Pants is not someone who generally tries to get close to others. She’s on her own mission for salvation, and she’s willing to do it by any means necessary. 

In the beginning of you two meeting, she acts harsh and blunt, as usual. It’s honestly a miracle she didn’t threaten to hang you, but that’s not really a bad thing. 

You two spend a lot of time together during the race and slowly grow closer, something she wasn’t intending or expecting. She was just trying to do her job and find the Corpse Parts. 

Not that she’d admit that- out loud or to her own self. She holds you higher in her head than Johnny or Gyro, but she still views it as just a working relationship. One where you’re both using the other to collect the parts and stop Valentine. 

Nothing more, nothing less, she thinks (deludes) to herself. 

She will straight up refuse to acknowledge these feelings. In no way shape or form is Hot Pants going to admit she’s falling in love with her partner. No way. 

That extra worry she has that’s only reserved for you? Well, of course she’d worry when her trusted partner is injured or hurt. You work so well with her, it’d be a shame for you to be put out of commission. 

The fact she feels the need to share her food with you? Don’t be foolish, how can you race properly when you haven’t eaten much? Now hurry, you need to go to another location. 

The annoyance she feels when Johnny, Gyro, Diego- or frankly anyone else- is taking up your attention and time? You’re her partner, and it’d be annoying to have to deal with you splitting your time or going off to them instead. 

As you can see, Hot Pants is not exactly one to ponder these thoughts too hard. She believes them to be just about business, and that your relationship to her is just a professional one. Nothing else, no other things involved. 

She hasn’t had experiences with love and romance, so she just doesn’t know how to process these feelings. She’ll occasionally have a split second awakening where she’ll think, I do like their presence, then choke it down with a for racing, of course. 

Hot Pants is also not helping her case because despite you being the closest to her and being the one she curries more favor with, she also acts extra stern with you. 

Everyone is seeing those mixed messages where she glares at Gyro for telling you a joke before she barks at you that you need to get your shit together. 

Or when she gives you a part of her sandwich then shoves it in your hand and lectures you on why you planned so poorly. You need to think ahead for these matters, damn it. She won’t be around every time to save your ass. 

Although… she wishes she could be. 

There’s a certain dread that creeps over her when she thinks or looks at you, and it’s entirely self-inflicted. She refuses to acknowledge the notion or why she could be feeling this way towards you, specifically, but she knows that you’re the one she feels this way to. 

It would only be on a random night under the stars where you’re sleeping and she’s on lookout duty, contemplating and ruminating over her life, where she’d be forced to understand the thoughts she’d been denying for so long. 

Hot Pants won’t even make a fuss or put up much of a fight at that time, instead quietly looking into the fire and admitting to herself the truth. 

Ah… I do like them. I like them a lot more than I should. 

She’s obviously guilty over what happened to her brother, but she wonders if she is worthy of having your attention. Does she deserve to be happy with someone after all she’s done? (The answer is yes, of course)

Daily life after that night stays kind of the same. Although, you might catch Hot Pants avoiding your gaze or talking softer to you sometimes. Not always, again, she will try to mask it with her harshness and continue her lectures. 

But now she’s even more determined to make sure you don’t get hurt or, god forbid, die on this race. She will not have you get hurt if it’s the last thing she does. 

She already admits she’s willing to put her life on the line for the sake of the corpse parts and her salvation, but you also get added there, too. She won’t acknowledge this to even herself, but if push came to shove, she’d have no regrets sacrificing her life for you. 

In a way, she’d hope you could be the one to continue the mission for her. She trusts you immensely, and would like to believe that if you got the parts, you could be free and saved. 

All this to say, Hot Pants’s feelings are more subtle and internal. And although she likes to act as if she does not have such feelings or ideas in her head, truthfully, she’s a whole well of them. She thinks too much, feels too much, and loves you too much. 

You’ve complicated her already busy head while also providing with her the only amount of peace and quiet in her mind. You make her feel a bundle of contradictions that she can’t help but act out on. 

She hates you, but she loves you like nothing else. She is worried for you and wants to shield you, but thinks you’re one of the strongest people out there. She wants to get angry and upset at you, but she can’t find it in her to continue that kind of behavior. 

You’d pretty much have to be the one to confess first for her, because no way is she ever going to get over her self-doubts and worries to tell you those feelings. Hot Pants is dedicated, this woman is more likely to go hundreds of years never saying a word about it because in her head, your current relationship is fine enough as it is (your presence is really all she needs) and she’d rather not spoil it with her own desires she deems unworthy to have. 

But one thing is for certain… a Hot Pants in love is a very protective Hot Pants, who would do almost anything for you. You need to just say the word and she’d do it, even if she pretends it is a bother or a waste of time.