#but it was a pivotal moment in my childhood when she told me that she would rather have been born a boy

[bunnyinatree]

Last night, I had a dream where I dreamt that my childhood best friend came out as trans and then, when I saw her in the same dream, she actually did! :D As soon as she said that she was trans, I was so elated that I couldn't hear anything else she said afterward, so I had to approach her later and ask, "Hey, what pronouns are you using now?" And when she replied, "They/them," I was delirious with joy, like, "OMG, bestie, me too!! 😍😍"

[nebuladreamerrr]

Holaaa can I request another Mbappe imagine where you’re married to Kylian but somehow his family never noticed that you don’t drink. While you’re at his parent’s house and his mom offers you wine you told her no thanks. And she got a mini heart attack thinking you were announcing that you’re pregnant😂

I hope you like it, sweetheart ❤️❤️❤️

Problematic beverage| Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

Summary: To commemorate you and Kylian's last night in France you decide to have a farewell dinner, but one drink will set off alarm bells among all the guests.

Warnings: English is not my first language, and I am not a doctor so some medical information might be wrong. 

As I indulged in a tranquil shower and meticulously selected my attire for the upcoming occasion, a sense of gratitude washed over me knowing that the celebration would be held at my mother-in-law's residence. While venturing out to explore new culinary delights with Kylian was a beloved pastime, today, the allure of a cozy night at home held greater appeal.

Since the morning, I had been grappling with slight abdominal discomfort, but it was the violent expulsion of my breakfast that sent alarm bells ringing. A sigh escaped my lips, a reflexive response to the familiar discomfort that had plagued me since childhood. From a young age, I had endured sporadic bouts of stomach pain, often coinciding with stressful events like ballet competitions or pivotal exams.

My mother, recognizing the pattern of discomfort over time and the occasional severity of the pain, decided to seek medical advice. It was then confirmed by the doctor that I was suffering from chronic pancreatitis. Fortunately, this diagnosis did not thwart my aspirations nor impede my plans. Nevertheless, there were limitations imposed by my condition, one of them being the prohibition of alcohol consumption.

I vividly recall the bewildered expression on my face when the doctor delivered the news that alcohol was off-limits due to its potential exacerbation of my condition. Despite having never partaken in revelry or imbibed alcohol, I comprehended its central role in youthful socialization. I anticipated feeling excluded and feared it would hinder my ability to forge friendships. However, fortune smiled upon me as I found companions who reveled in diverse activities, such as leisurely picnics punctuated by impromptu art sessions and beach outings adorned with sunset photography. While occasional forays into nightlife did occur, they were infrequent. Moreover, my aversion to alcohol transcended mere medical necessity; it stemmed from a profound apprehension regarding its transformative effects on individuals, a sentiment that prompted a steadfast commitment to abstention.

I crossed paths with Kylian at a charity gala where young French athletes, each with an inspiring tale to share, were invited to engage with children and organize activities, with the proceeds earmarked for various charitable causes. His speech resonated deeply with me, capturing both his pride and underlying sense of unease at being in the spotlight. His exact words, etched in my memory, were: "It's in these moments that I often feel out of place because, despite many of you seeking wisdom from me, it's I who must truly learn from all of you and your resilience in the face of adversity." Fortunately, I also captured his attention. When my presentation concluded, he couldn't resist approaching me, ostensibly to delve deeper into my world as we leisurely meandered through the buffet arrayed by the gala's organizers.

His heart nearly skipped a beat when I declined his offer of wine, yet my reassuring smile assuaged his concern as I disclosed my health condition, explaining the potential ramifications of alcohol consumption. Eager to learn more about me, Kylian exhibited a genuine interest in every facet of my life: from my ballet classes and training regimen to the nuances of my medication routine and anything remotely connected to me. Thus, a swift friendship blossomed between us, evolving into a profound romantic bond over the course of just a few months—a connection I wouldn't trade for anything in this world.

Four years ago, when we embarked on our relationship, we were both young and full of energy. Kylian, in particular, made the most of his free time by hanging out with friends, often leading to lively gatherings. Despite this, Kylian maintained a sense of discipline and restraint when it came to alcohol consumption. Instances of indulgence were typically reserved for national festivities or significant triumphs for his team or the national squad. However, everything changed when he met me. Suddenly, I became his top priority.

Kylian's transformation was profound. He meticulously documented all of my medications in a calendar, ensuring that I adhered to my prescribed regimen. If he couldn't be present when I needed to take my medication, he set an alarm to remind me. Additionally, he curtailed his social outings significantly, and on many occasions, he refused to attend events if I couldn't accompany him. When we did venture out together, our excursions were brief, as Kylian was adamant about not subjecting me to any discomfort.

On our wedding day, Kylian solemnly declared that his every decision would revolve around me, promising never to take any action that didn't prioritize my well-being above all else.

Thankfully, my illness never prevented me from attending any of Kylian's games. He cherished my presence, considering me his "lucky charm." It was through these matches that I had the pleasure of meeting my in-laws, whom Kylian introduced me to after one such game. As the Ligue 1 season progressed, so did my relationship with his parents, and I couldn't help but feel blessed by the bond we shared. Kylian's parents took immense pride in their son's career, and when I mentioned my occasional ballet performances, they eagerly pledged their attendance at my next show. This promise was fulfilled a few months ago when I took to the stage, greeted by the sight of my partner and his parents in the audience.

The decision to depart from France proved to be a challenging ordeal for both of us. It was a place that held significance for each of us individually; for Kylian, it was where he found trust and unwavering support, particularly during his darkest moments. Likewise, for me, it served as the backdrop for my personal and artistic growth, particularly in my beloved pursuit of ballet. However, I was acutely aware that leaving France would entail a narrowing of job prospects, given that few other nations accorded dance, especially ballet, the same level of priority.

Thus, when Kylian broached the idea of a modest gathering to mark the conclusion of a significant chapter in our lives, I couldn't help but feel a surge of anticipation. Initially slated to unfold at a private restaurant in the heart of Paris, a venue Kylian frequented with his friends and where he once celebrated his maiden PSG paycheck, the plans swiftly shifted. Sensing my discomfort on the eve of the event, Kylian promptly altered course, opting instead to host the gathering at his mother's residence—a more proximate locale to our abode. Here, I could seek respite in the guest room if my discomfort intensified, shielded from any prying eyes or unwelcome scrutiny.

With a sense of urgency, I hastened to complete my preparations, summoning Kylian to assist with the delicate task of fastening the gray satin dress adorning my frame. His admiring whistle upon beholding me in the garment, accompanied by the endearing epithet "my beautiful woman," served to ignite a flutter of warmth within me, intensified by the tender kiss planted upon my collarbone.

As we stepped into my mother-in-law's abode, she greeted me with an exuberant embrace, sharing how she had procured my favorite appetizers and guiding me toward the others, while Kylian grumbled behind me, visibly "irritated" by his mother's preference for embracing me first. In response, I couldn't resist playfully sticking out my tongue.

Upon crossing the threshold onto the terrace, Kylian's friends extended warm welcomes. Kylian, ensuring my comfort and safety, opted to leave me engaged in a delightful conversation with Melissa and his mother.

"How are you, y/n? I was genuinely concerned when Kylian mentioned you weren't feeling well," Fayza remarked, her tone laden with worry.

"I've been better, but thankfully, at the moment, my discomfort is limited to stomach issues, so things are more or less manageable for now," I responded, seeking to allay their concerns.

"Well, y/n, do tell us. Have you managed to secure a place with any academy or instructor for your inaugural performance in Spain?" Melissa inquired eagerly.

"I've reached out to several, but I've had to turn down many options because they weren't the right fit for me. They seemed more interested in my relationship with Kylian than my craft. However, in recent days, I've connected with one that genuinely seemed invested in me, so let's hope this one pans out."

"Sweetheart, can I get you a glass of wine while you continue telling us about the move?" Fayza asked, retrieving a bottle from an ice bucket.

"No, it's okay. I can't have wine because of my condition," I replied with a smile, which quickly faded when I noticed everyone falling silent and Fayza dropping the bottle to the floor.

"When were you planning on telling us?" Ethan teased his brother.

"Telling us what, exactly?" Kylian asked, attempting to lock eyes with me for an explanation, but my cluelessness only heightened his concern.

"That y/n is pregnant," Fayza blurted out, barely able to overcome her shock.

"What?!" Kylian and I exclaimed, unable to shake off our bewilderment at his family's confusion.

"Yes, it all makes sense now: y/n's frequent vomiting, her occasional dizziness, her abdominal discomfort, and her abstaining from alcohol," Melissa exclaimed excitedly, envisioning her children having a cousin to play with.

"What? No, no, there's been a misunderstanding. I can't drink because of my illness, and Kylian and I... no, we're not planning for a baby right now," I explained nervously, seeking Kylian's confirmation of my statement.

"Exactly, as she said, for now, we won't know for three weeks," Kylian chimed in, attempting to lighten the mood with a joke, but his attempt fell flat when met with my glare of disapproval.

Gradually, the atmosphere returned to normal as Fayza apologized to both of us for her reaction. It wasn't that she didn't want grandchildren; she simply thought we had chosen to keep it a secret and would find out through the media when her son was abroad.

And so, we savored our final evening together, cherishing the memories to bring comfort in times of homesickness. However, Kylian couldn't help but hope that the next time we entered that house, it would be to announce a pregnancy.

[flyingwargle]

clara's vault: storm (jeanlisa)

it begins as a gentle staccato against the window, a rhythm that melts into the background and becomes remixed with flitting papers, the scratch of a quill, the shifting stacks from one end of the desk to the other. by the time jean notices how the slight rainfall has increased to a tempest, it’s already well into the night.

she leans back into her chair, unaware of how dark her office has become. the lack of visibility doesn’t affect her, accustomed to working by candlelight. the lamps at the corners were specially crafted to emulate daylight conditions for nights like these. although they save her eyesight, it also makes her lose track of time too easily.

the wind howls outside and rattles the glass panel. jean stands to peer outside, unable to discern anything beyond her reflection. she pulls the curtains closed at the same time knocks sound on her door. it opens without invitation, a familiar voice prompting her to pivot around. “i had a feeling that you were still here.”

lisa approaches her desk, hands occupied with a tray. she places it on the coffee table, hugged by bookshelves in the corner of the room, and begins to prepare tea. jean joins her, hovering. “what about yourself?”

“do you really think i would leave my lovely jean by herself, in the middle of a storm?” she looks up with a wiry smile. ever since they’ve joined hands to become partners, rather than dance around one another, lisa has gotten bolder with her declarations. jean smiles back, glad to follow her lead.

once the tea is poured between both cups, they sit and take a moment to indulge. their shoulders brush against one another, still respectful, yet inviting at the same time. jean leans against her, grateful for her warmth. the library is often cool to preserve the ancient texts among the shelves, but lisa, despite her scant outfit, runs warmer than most. jean, on the other hand, is often cold, even if the fire runs continuously for days on end.

storms are infrequent. in her childhood, she was told that the weather is connected to the anemo archon, and how it reflects his emotions – if he were content, there would be sun. if he were saddened, there would be rain. if he were furious, there would be a tempest. on days when the weather changed drastically, it meant that barbatos was drunk and couldn’t control himself.

her eyes drift toward the window. she wonders if he has shelter tonight – surely angel’s share wouldn’t cast him out, if he arrived before the downpour. diluc tolerated him, but he was not heartless. speaking of which, her thoughts turn toward kaeya, aware of his negative connections with storms. it is fortunate that he found a partner to keep him company, ward off those memories, and replace them with shared warmth.

“what are you thinking about?” lisa asks, bringing her out from her thoughts. jean gives her a smile.

“i was wondering if the other knights are safe. none of them stayed overnight, did they?”

“not that i’m aware off. all the lights were off, except for your office. i imagine that they’re all cozy in bed, huddled under blankets.” lisa sighs, lowers her cup onto the table. “if only we were in the same position as them.”

“if you’d like to walk back in this rain…”

“oh, no, never. i was merely teasing. besides, i came prepared.” she stands and kneels in front of the bookshelf to open the bottom drawer, returning with a folded wool blanket. “i left this here for nights like these.”

with their tea finished, the couple removes their shoes and gloves to cuddle on the couch. lisa tosses her hat on top of their accessories and rests her head on jean’s shoulder. their hands find one another, and jean rubs a gentle thumb over her girlfriend’s soft skin. “you really didn’t have to wait for me,” she murmurs. “i didn’t even notice that there was a storm.”

“that’s exactly why i stayed, aside from the fact i lost track of time reading a scripture. i am a scholar, after all,” lisa reminds her, though her tone is light with tease. jean gives a soft laugh, leans her head against hers.

warmth begins to envelop her, along with a wave of exhaustion. her perpetual lack of sleep is beginning to entice her, and she feels her eyes begin to droop. lisa hums, a low, quiet tune that jean recognizes as a song she used to sing while comforting barbara after waking from a nightmare. it’s a common lullaby known throughout the continent.

coupled with the rain, cocooned in comfort, with her loved one at her side, jean easily falls asleep, lulled by her own exhaustion, reassured that she will still be held when she wakes next.

[swordbisexual]

💕⭐ 💕 hiiiii

Hey hi hello!

Ok, so since I get to pick a fic to ramble about, I'm going with All That You Held Sacred Falls Down And Does Not Mend, because it's got background Vissenta Lore both in fic and outside of it, and this was me working at some Forgotten Realms lore tie-ins I've had kicking around while I was at it!

First of all, I realize that while there's a handful of folks following me who know all about Vissenta, my oldest and most special and most favorite girl, not everyone does. She's an OC I developed a lot over the course of writing about her in the context of The Arcana, and among the things that really defined her were that I gave her a connection to Death and an affinity for swords (queen of swords, to continue the tarot theme). She had some juicy "born leader of a religious/death cult" trauma built in, too, and a mentor/father figure (Reynaud, who she calls Old Fox) who grappled with his own faith in Death and what on earth a child's role could be in being a figurehead.

So, obviously, Vissenta ended up slotting pretty well into being the Dark Urge. (Much better than as a cleric of Kelemvor, which I'd thought about at first; the fondness for swords are what had me pivot to paladin.)

This fic actually began when I started thinking: what if Vissenta was an origin companion? Well, she'd be a paladin in service of Kelemvor, obviously, an acolyte who believed that it was her born duty to serve as a Doomguide. That she has a physical resemblance to Kelemvor Lyonsbane was just a fun bonus, really, and that seemed fun. So I started writing this with the intent of it being her origin character timeline.

Well, what if the cleric who raised her thought that she was born of divine means because of her resemblance to Kelemvor? And then the Dark Urge came back into play, because there's nothing quite like almost having it right, and the tragedy of being wrong.

The feeling I was going for was like a fairy tale within a fable: Reynaud tells a story, which he hopes will tell another story, and here we are being told the story of how it all went wrong. It's laid the foundation for Vissenta's character and her story, I think, along with the seeds of the possibility of her redemption in how she delivers his final rite.

Stylistically, Reynaud has always been one of my more introspective characters. In the stories I have on my drive that I wrote about him, in a doomed city that I created around Vissenta's childhood, he has a poetic streak, and keeps journals recording histories and myths. This was very much in the same vein. Just for a fun bonus, I've dug up some of Vissenta being strange and unusual and unsettling Reynaud as a child, from that particular universe:

Vissenta was undeniably human, and undeniably a pain in his ass, half the time. She’d come traipsing down to the chapel, ostensibly to supplement her education, though why the Oracle needed education in the ways of the Church made little sense to Reynaud. The moment she spotted the first streak of gray in his hair, she’d crowed with delight. “You really are an old fox now!” “I’m not much older than your sisters,” he’d said, gruffly, trying to conceal any sort of familial affection he felt for this incorrigible adolescent who, he reminded himself, bore a mark of power. “And younger than your father.” “Still older than me,” she’d retorted, before she grew suddenly somber as she stared out at the churchyard beyond the chapel’s back door. These turns of mood were far from unusual, and Reynaud almost found them comforting. When Vissenta’s eyes clouded over in thought, when she turned on a dime from giggling to glowering, he was able to rise above his doubts, to rise above thinking of her as anything but the power of the Lady made flesh. He’d followed the line of her stare to the gleaming white marble mausoleum that stood stark and shining above the weathered, tumbled markers scattered about the rest of the graveyard. When she spoke again, it was soft, tremulous, and he was reminded all over that she may very well just be the child she appeared to be. “Do you want to see something?” Immediately discomfited, but intensely curious, Reynaud followed Vissenta to the mausoleum. There was room for several names on the brass plate door, but the sole one inscribed upon it - Catarina - served as a reminder of questions long unanswered. “Your mother?” Vissenta’s fingers traced lightly over the letters, and she shook her head. “No. Something else I found.” And with that, the churchyard faded away.

[comfy-whumpee]

The First Bird 2

Continued from yesterday’s piece. CN: BBU, religion.

@neuro-whump​​, @rosesareviolentlyread​​, @whumper-in-training​, @mylifeisonthebookshelf​, @pumpkin-spice-whump​, @whumpsday​, @firewheeesky​, @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question​

-

Together in the garden, Avis weeded the flowerbed and Paris lay on the grass, listening to her talk. Avis told them about her childhood, lingering over fun and bright anecdotes and skipping the unhappy times. Paris was obviously fascinated, and two windows had opened to listen, she was pretty sure. It was nice, in some way, to only talk about the shenanigans at school and the silly games she had made up, and not the absence of her parents or their insistence on hiring staff instead of meeting her needs.

 "I made this little bird box at school, just by gluing together wood, but I was so proud of it. I painted it green so it wouldn't stand out and be a good hiding spot for them, and I filled it with all the softest flower petals I could find, and seeds to eat and some twigs. I asked for it to be put in the tree by my window. I must have watched that thing for hours at a time. In the end, a squirrel came and stole everything I'd put in it. I was furious."

 "I like green," Paris volunteered, looking at the grass. It was almost at eye level and they moved a finger through it as if studying how it parted around them.

 "Me too. I like blue better though." Avis took the lead-in and pivoted to a new story. "When I was thirteen I declared war on pink. It was silly of me, but a lot of people that I didn't like liked pink, so I decided it was my enemy. I had a pink bedroom before then but I got everything thrown out and replaced with blue things, which was treated like the opposite of pink in a lot of places. I realised eventually that it was silly to pretend I didn't like something just because of other people."

 Paris hummed politely.

 "I had a teacher back then who did Maths, but everyone knew he should have been teaching PE - that's sports. He used to do push-ups to show off. We thought it was cool at the time, but I remember him going to the office after a while and being told to stop. I think they didn't like him showing off to a bunch of kids to feel cool."

 Paris didn't reply for a moment longer. Then they sat up and looked her way. "Nobody talks to me like you."

Some rescues Avis had met used honesty like a rapier, thrusting to try and connect. Some used it like a club, to wield their lives in challenge. Paris seemed to have a goddamn sniper rifle. Shot to the heart, every time.

 "Is that a good thing or a bad thing, how I talk?"

 "Good. You're nice to listen to."

 "I'm glad. If you want me to stop talking, you can tell me."

 "Mm."

 "And if you want to talk instead, you can too."

 Paris lifted their hand free of the grass. There were faint muddy stains on their fingers. Avis was pretty sure they had never had mud stains before, judging by the way they were staring in awe. It was almost joyous to be there while Paris discovered all of these tiny things, and loved each of them.

 "I would just talk about Sir," they said.

 "You can if you want. I don't mind." She knew the others would, but screw the others. Avis was only here to help, not to make things worse.

 Paris put their hand back on the soil. Then they lay down, iridescent in the sun. "Sir is a photographer. He makes nature photos a lot. He has an unparalleled eye for beauty in all its forms." They were audibly quoting something. "And I was - that."

 A photographer buying his own model. If only that had been all.

 "I went to lots of places," Paris added distantly. "Some of them were on the plane. I had to be beautiful in all the places we went to. He had a book for them all that he said he would make a real book.

 "I think I would get dizzy," Avis said honestly.

 Paris lifted their hands again, turning them in the butter-yellow light of the afternoon sun. "I didn't get dizzy. He made a book about me before. Paris is the most beautiful man in the world, and the heart of fashion, and now the most irresistible model working today. That's what Sir said."

 Of course. Because any compliment to Paris must have really been a compliment to himself. Avis knew that kind of man. She shifted their focus. "What did it feel like, being in a book?"

 Paris dropped their hand, eyes closing. "I was beautiful. I had lots of outfits and I was always outside. I liked making the book in Paris."

 For a minute, Avis simply trowelled at the soil, digging down to the roots of a stubborn weed. Then she offered, "I like being outside too."

 "Sir said I shouldn't be in the sun too much. He said it would make my skin age."

 "Not if you're careful not to spend too long," Avis assured them. Their looks were still a priority, it seemed. Was that for safety's sake as well?

 "It's okay. I have a skincare routine."

 Avis made a noise of understanding, and after a moment, branched into a story about dropped pennies in the rain

 -

 When Avis went back into the kitchen, Dinah was washing up at the sink overlooking the garden. She stepped aside to give Avis space to access the side sink for handwashing. As Avis lathered her fingers, Dinah said in her usual soft voice, "Is it, it warm today?"

 Dinah always spoke as though she was desperate to go unheard. Avis moved slightly to look at her, then back again, while she worked the suds between her joints. "It is in my book. But where I live is pretty cold, so you might not agree with me."

 "Oh, okay." She looked out of the window at the garden. She didn't seem too pleased.

 Avis rinsed and stepped back, picking up a kitchen towel to dry her hands. A minute passed.

 "Does Paris, does, does Paris touch you?" Dinah asked anxiously.

 Avis tried to show no reaction as she picked up a bowl from the drying rack. "No."

 Dinah looked at the soap water around her hands. She picked up a pot lid and ran the brush around it. "They, they touched me. When I talked to them."

 What was she meant to say to that without assumptions? "Hmm."

 Another minute or two passed. Dinah scrubbed in slow circles, making the metal lid sing faintly. When she spoke again, it was quietly enough that Avis had to strain to hear. "It was scary."

 Avis took a slow breath. She'd said these words so many times it felt meaningless, but to Dinah, maybe it would matter. "I'm sorry that happened to you. They shouldn't have scared you."

 "Ray says they can't help it. He says Romantics always do that. And Bryony says what they said in training. Romantics don't, um, they're not like the rest of us." She turned worried eyes to Avis. "My Mistress had one, though. He was, he was nice to me."

 Avis waited for whatever she was building up to. She dried bowl after bowl.

 "I don't, don't - don't want to be mean. To, to Paris. But I c-can't tell if they…if they want to. Touch. Me." By the time she finished her face was burning, and she covered it with her elbow, shoulders hunching in shame.

 "That's alright," Avis said softly. She was being asked for advice. "You shouldn't have to watch out for that. If Paris does things that make you uncomfortable, it's okay to try and keep yourself safe from that. It doesn't mean they're a bad person."

 Unless Avis was a worse judge of character than anyone had ever pointed out to her, she was confident she could promise that much, at least.

 The phrasing seemed to resonate with Dinah, who nodded firmly. "They're not, not a bad person. But they - they use people to feel safe. Ray said that we should pity them, not hate them."

 "Does that help?"

 "It does. Thank you, thank you, Avis."

 Avis smiled and stepped away. As she left the kitchen and stepped out into the sun again, she felt the beams breaking across her frown. Love the sinner, hate the sin? She'd heard that before. What was it about Romantics?

 Paris was still lying in the sun, eyes closed. Avis crouched and nudged them gently on the shoulder. "Hey, Paris. It's not a good idea to fall asleep in the sun."

 They opened their eyes. They didn't look like they'd been sleeping, but it was hard to tell with how their gaze never focused on one thing.

 "Hey," Avis repeated, more softly. "Sorry for disturbing you. If you want to lie out here for longer you need to get sunblock on."

 Paris blinked muzzily. "I had a parasol."

 Instinctively, Avis knew they didn't mean in the shelter. "In an hour or two, the house will cast a shadow on the garden if you still want to be outside. Or we can get the windows in your room open. There are lots of options."

 "Okay." They sat up. Without looking, they ran a hand over their hair and perfectly realigned it to tumble gracefully over their shoulders. "I would like to open the windows."

 "Sounds like a plan."

 -

 Avis was sitting in the living room half-watching American TV and writing notes when she heard the conversation. It was Dinah, the young and nervous rescue who she had guessed was newest to the shelter. She had knocked on Ray's bedroom door, and of course, he had opened it to her.

 "Pastor Ray?" she asked. She always addressed him this way, and sometimes Avis swore she heard the girl say Master instead. Ray told her not to worry about titles, but she did it anyway.

 "What can I do for you?" he asked her, when she didn't volunteer her reason for visiting.

 “Um…" Avis could picture her shifting from foot to foot. "I was, I was thinking about what you said about your prayer for us. About um, about sin. That we are all, we all sin, and we have to - we have sins from people before us."

 "That's right," Ray confirmed gently. "Does that bother you? It doesn't make you bad, let me make that clear."

 "No, I - I was thinking…" Pause, shift, shift. "What if, if before I was – me. Before I was a pet. What if that person sinned? Would it still be, um, be me?"

 Avis steered clear of the religious stuff, her own marginally Protestant upbringing well removed from Ray's faith. But she couldn't deny she was curious about the question too. She inched closer to the doorway to listen.

 Ray took a moment. He started carefully. "That was a very brave thing to ask me about, Dinah. Thank you for letting me know your worries. I want to remind you again that you are not bad. When I talk about doing right by the Lord, that's not to do with being a pet. That's to do with who you are inside, and you're more than that."

 Avis smiled. She hoped Dinah took that in, even just a little. She was still staying in the box, even though the box was gone.

 "The sins we have are from people who came before us, like you said. The first man and woman sinned, and that act is something we all carry. That's why we have to work to be virtuous. And again, I said virtuous, not good. I say that because I want you to remember it's different. It's about the teachings of Jesus that you've been learning."

 "I remember," Dinah said quietly.

 "I'm glad. Jesus loves every one of us. He is looking out for us and wishes us the best. Even when you felt alone and scared, He was with you. He was with the person who came before you, as well, though maybe she didn't know he was. Her sins are no different from anyone else's. You may have the same immortal soul, but you can still strive for virtue and by God's grace you will succeed."

 There was another pause as Dinah considered this, but she asked tentatively, "So I can still go to Heaven?"

 "Anyone can, by turning their life around."

 Hell was the ultimate punishment, Avis supposed, even without having been in a living one. She wondered if Dinah was more interested in escaping that than actually following the Bible.

 "I'm glad. Thank you, Pastor Ray." She did sound relieved.

 "God never gives us more than we can handle," Ray reminded her, one of his favourite sayings. "You are stronger than you know.

 She sounded warmer, this time. "Thank you. I'll go leave you be now."

 His voice warmed too, fond of all his rescues. "Pray tonight if you still need guidance. But you're working hard, Dinah. I see that, and so does He."

 The great Handler in the sky, Avis thought cynically. But Dinah was happy. She thanked Ray again, and went back upstairs. Doors closed again, and the house was silent.

[myhauntedsalem]

19 Parents Share The Creepiest Things Their Kids Have Ever Said

Kids say the darnedest things, but they also come out with ridiculously creepy things as well. When Reddit asked ‘what is the creepiest thing your child has ever said?’ Parents of the internet came forward with their stories and boy, they didn’t disappoint.

Here are nineteen of the most disturbing, chill inducing stories shared.  All we ask is for you to try and suppress the urge to lock your children in a cupboard after reading these.

1. “Daddy Its A Monster… We Should Bury It.”

My 3 year old daughter stood next to her new born brother and looked at him for awhile then turned and looked at me and said, “Daddy its a monster… we should bury it.”

2. “The Man Who Crawls On The Floor And Stands By My Bed.”

My co-worker’s four year old daughter always thought that the rattling of the water pipes in the kitchen cupboards were “white wolves” and the sound always scared her. One day she was sitting at the kitchen table and she said, “Mom. The white wolves aren’t bad… they’re our friends!”

Her mom encouraged the idea by saying, “Yes! The white wolves are protecting us. They are our friends.” Then her daughter added in, “They’re our friends, but not the man who crawls on the floor and stands by my bed”.

3. “Good Bye Dad.”

I was tucking in my two year old. He said “Good bye dad.” I said, “No, we say good night.” He said “I know. But this time its good bye.”

Had to check on him a few times to make sure he was still there.

4. “It’s The Closest I Can Get To Seeing Her Dead.”

He’s not my kid, but my godson is extremely creepy. He likes to stand in his little sister’s doorway while she naps and watches her sleep. I ask him why and he says, “it’s the closest I can get to seeing her dead.” He also likes to shove her fist in his mouth as far as it can go because he wants to “know what suffocating is like, just in case.” I’m pretty sure he’d be a serial killer if it wasn’t for Mario Kart.

5. “The Man With The Snake Neck.”

While changing my daughter in front of the open closet door. She kept looking around me and laughing. I asked her what was so funny. She said, “the man.” To which I replied, “what man?” She then pointed at the closet and said, “the man with the snake neck.” I turn around and nothing was there.

I’m afraid to look into the history of my house to see if anyone hung themselves in the closet. At least she wasn’t scared.

6. You Will Die Soon

Not to me, but to his grandmother.

He was cuddling with her and being very sweet (he was about 3 at the time). He takes her face in his hands, and brings his face close to hers, then tells her that she’s very old, and will die soon.

Then he makes a point of looking at the clock.

7. “I Want To Peel All Your Skin Off.”

I was sound asleep, and at around 6am I was woken up by my 4 year old daughters face inches from mine. She looked right into my eyes and whispered, “I want to peel all your skin off”.

The backstory here is I had been sunburned the previous week, and was starting to peel. In my sleep addled state however, it was pretty terrifying for a few seconds. I didn’t know if I was dreaming, or what was going on.

8. “When You Die, I’m Going To Eat You.”

My sons were about 2 and 4 when their pet goldfish died. I attempted to use the situation as an opportunity to discuss death and mortality. After I finished my explanation, my four year looked up at me with his big, blue eyes and asked, “Mommy, someday, will you die?” My heart filled with love and a little sadness, knowing this was one of those pivotal moments when the first bit of childhood innocence was lost,and I told him yes, someday, mommy will die.

“Good,” he said with a totally deadpan expression, and walked out of the room.

Later when we were about to flush the fish, he asked if we could eat him instead. I said no, we don’t eat pets because we love them, and he said, “When you die, I’m going to eat you.”

9. “Carson Is Gone, I Am Rick.”

When my son was little he, maybe 3, he used to do this weird crawl where he would slide his forehead along the floor. That was pretty creepy in itself. Then one night he crawled across the hallway into my room like that and stood up a few inches from my face and made a weird meow sound. He got into bed with me and went to sleep.

Another time he was freaking out about a monster in the basement so we went down and saw nothing, of course, and as I turned out the light and headed upstairs and he said “Hes right behind us now.” I might have peed a little.

Possibly the creepiest thing he did was one day I scolded him for misbehaving so he hid his head under his blanket. I pretended I couldn’t find him by saying “Where is my little Carson?” He slowly lowered the blanket and with a dead evil stare said, “Carson is gone, I am Rick.” I’m certain he’s possessed. We never knew any Ricks, as far I can remember. Still don’t. Never figured out where he picked up the name.

10. “I Died And Now I’m Here.”

Getting my two and a half year old daughter out of the bath one night, my wife and I were briefing her on how important it was she kept her privates clean. She casually replied “Oh, nobody ‘scroofs’ me there. They tried one night. They kicked the door in and tried but I fought back. I died and now I’m here.” She said this like it was nothing.

My wife and I were catatonic.

11. Baby Brother

“So I shouldn’t throw him in the fire?”

3 year old daughter holding her baby brother for the first time.

12. The Pretty Girl At The Cottage

My 3 year old nephew was at my cottage. He’s asked me numerous times about the “girl over there” while pointing at one of the back bedrooms. The place is small, and there is definitely nobody there so I just dismiss it as a really active imagination (he has lots of imaginary friends).

Then some friends are visiting and they have a daughter around the same age. She has never met my nephew. Twice in the one day she asked about the “pretty girl” while pointing at the exact same room. Definitely caught me out and I didn’t know what to think.

Then at Christmas my family was over at my place and my nephew points at a picture of my wife and asks if she is coming to visit us here or does she just stay at the cottage. My wife died ten years ago. Personally I don’t really believe in paranormal stuff so it’s probably just my logical brain putting together a bunch of kids ramblings but it definitely got my attention.

13. “He’s Behind You Now.”

“Go back to sleep, there isn’t anything under your bed”.

“He’s behind you now”.

Still haven’t gotten over that one and shiver at the memory.

14. “He’s Coming For You. You Better Hide.”

While not something my own child has said, my younger cousin (around 5 at the time) once drew a picture of a a black monster, looked up at me, and said “He told me to draw this. He’s coming for you. You better hide.”

15. “You Will Put Me Down, Down, Down In The Hole.”

I have a three year old who says some pretty strange stuff….

Last night: “Mommy.. the man, the very big man with big yellow eyes is looking at you.”

I look.. nothing. I tell him there is no man and he is make-believe. My son laughs, “Oh he is hiding now.” — 2 minutes later, “Oh no Mommy, you made him very mad. Now he says he will come when you are sleeping.”

Few weeks ago he tells me, “I’m not going to be four. I’m going to die. And you will put me down, down, down in the hole.” I tell him that isn’t true, and who told him that. He gets quiet and goes, “The man told me. But I will be scared, so after three night-nights you die too and come with me.”

Sheesh. As if I didn’t have bad dreams already.

16. “Daddy, I Love You So Much That I Want To Cut Your Head Off.”

A friend of mine’s child told him “Daddy, I love you so much that I want to cut your head off and carry it around so I can see your face whenever I want.”

17. The Bad Man

Why are you crying?

“Bad man”

What bad man?

“There.” Points behind me at a dark corner of the room

Lamp on bookshelf next to said darkened corner falls off as soon as I turn to look.

She slept in our bed that night

18. Ham Can’t Scream

When I was a waitress, I watched a little girl (4ish) stab her plastic fork into her sandwich repeatedly, saying “die die die die die die”. When I asked her what she was doing (her mom was in the bathroom for a minute), she replied with a straight face, “I like to kill things, but mom says I shouldn’t. So I picked the ham because it can’t scream.”

19. Satan Wants To Meet You

A few months ago I asked me brother and his wife if their kids ever did any creepy. They both immediately looked at each other and seemed surprised that I had asked.

Apparently the last few couple of weeks they would hear my niece talking to herself in her bedroom. They assumed it was just her playful imagination so they didn’t give it much thought. One day however my brother asked her who she kept talking to, she said it was her new best friend Satan who visits her at her window every day. Her window is close to the ground so they were seriously concerned that there was someone actually going up to her window and kept a closer eye on her for the next few days.

Every single time they would hear her talking he would go outside to her windows but never found anyone. They began asking her more about his new friend and apart from his name being Satan she mentioned that he follows her everywhere she goes and that he promised her he will bring her a cake one day.

At a late cookout at my parents a week before they mentioned that, she took her mom outside to the backyard and pointed at the pitch black backyard and told her that her friend Satan was there and he wanted to meet her also. That made chills run down my spine since I was at that cookout also. After that they made her promise she wouldn’t talk to Satan anymore.

[acacia-may]

Ooo may I ask for 7, 24, and 30 for Vanessa and maybe your OC Altan please 🥰?

Aww thank you Lyra! I adore Vanessa and will gladly take any and all opportunities to ramble about her, and I'm flattered that you'd like to know more about Altan. I'd be delighted to answer these for you!

Questions for this Character Ask Game

(Warnings: some mentions of Vanessa's childhood trauma, the Forest of Witches arc, and related nightmares. Some mentions of the House Vaude drama, related trauma, and strained relationship between Finral and Langris)

Vanessa Enoteca

7. A quote of them that you remember

This is a hard one because Vanessa has so many amazing moments, but I think I'll go with the two that came to mind immediately. (1) I love the moment where she tells the Queen of Witches, "You and I have no bonds." Recognizing that the Black Bulls are the family she always wanted and that she doesn't need Her Majesty's "love" to be happy is such a pivotal moment in her character development, and it honestly still gives me chills every time I watch or read it. (2) An anime addition, but I love that encouraging little speech she gives Finral before he faces Langris in the Royal Knight's Exam (I won't type out the whole thing but it ends with something like "You're not going to lose to him so easily anymore. Go show him how awesome you are--and I don't just mean the hair!"). Vanessa just has such a gift in building up her friends and encouraging them, and she believes in them even when they don't believe in themselves. I love that scene because it is a real reflection of that.

24. What do you think is a secret they have that they never told anyone?

In general, I think a lot of what happened to her in her childhood is a big secret for Vanessa. Vanessa is the type of person who really tries to bury her pain and focus on the positive and/or on other people's problems even when she, herself, is hurting. She had told very few of her friends about her childhood in the Forest of Witches, prior to the arc that took place there, and even then, I think she only told them bits and pieces of the story.

Since she doesn't want her squad family to worry about her, she's never told them that her past still comes back to haunt her, mainly in her nightmares and fears of enclosed, crammed spaces. Though they had gotten less frequent, she does have still nightmares about her childhood and also about the events in the Forest of Witches arc/losing her friends, and when they get particularly bad, she will sleep by candlelight because she is afraid of waking up back in that cage and her tower.

30. The funniest scene they had?

Vanessa has such a great sense of humor, and I loved any time she affectionately teased her friends. There are some great moments between her, Noelle, and Asta on their first outing to the castle town of Kikka for instance, and her friendship with Magna especially has always made me laugh from their first appearance where they're poking fun at each other's vices. The scene that came to mind immediately read this prompt is also from Episode 80 in the Royal Knight's Exam (can you tell that's my one of my favorite episodes?) though. There's a moment where Magna asks if she'll do his hair too, and Vanessa teases him that there's no way. It's all in good fun, and Luck gets some great lines where he chimes in and teases Magna too. It's cute and makes me laugh every time.

Altan Vaude (OC)

[A/N: Altan loves his auntie very much so he would be so happy to know he has been included as part of the same ask as her 💖]

7. A quote of them that you remember

Poor Altan. I've barely written about him, so he hasn't gotten to say much yet. He has appeared in some of my wips though, and there's an exchange between him and his Papa that I really like so I'll share that here:

Langris had to admit, he was happy for the temporarily distraction from poor Finesse and her failing health. His palms started to sweat again at the thought, and he began to wring his hands before Altan’s tiny fingers curled around one of them.

“Is Mama alright?” he asked.

“She’s just not feeling well,” Langris explained—trying to shake the worst-case-scenarios out of his own head.

“Should we go pick some flowers for her?” he asked with a kindness that brought a smile to Langris’ face. No words could describe how relieved he was that his son took after his gentle, kindhearted mother rather than a disagreeable misanthrope like him. The hard-lines in Langris’ face softened, and he even managed a slight smile.

24. What do you think is a secret they have that they never told anyone?

Altan is shy, but he's not particularly secretive on purpose. If asked about himself, he will share and actually answer instead of deflecting questions and playing 3D chess, smoke and mirrors mind-games like his dad used to do. It just isn't easy for him to freely offer such information without being asked about himself since he doesn't particularly like the spotlight. He tends to be pretty open with his family and closest friends though so he doesn't have too many secrets from them.

He does have one big secret, however which is that, by the time he's in his teens, Altan actually knows a lot about what went on between his father and uncle and how strained their relationship was in the past. Finral and Langris had long ago agreed to let bygones be bygones and decided not to tell their children about how much bad blood used to exist between them. Altan, however, kind of put a lot of pieces together and knows that his father made a lot of mistakes when he was younger, especially in regards to his relationship with his brother. He doesn't ever really bring it up, however, because he knows that his father has a lot of fear that learning all of that would change the way his son saw him, and he doesn't want to open those old wounds for his dad. However, the realization doesn't change much for Altan--he has forgiven his father and thinks what is important is that his dad learned from his mistakes and tried to better going forward, and in fact, he thinks that is a very admirable thing. Someday when Altan is a grown man, his father sits him down to tell him the truth, and it is such a moving moment for Langris when Altan just smiles at him and says he has known for a long time and it doesn't change anything.

30. The funniest scene they had?

Altan gets roped into all kinds of shenanigans thanks to his much more rambunctious cousins and friends, but he himself doesn't usually cause too much trouble or chaos on his own. However, he did participate in a prank of his dad once. When Altan wanted to get his hair cut by his aunt, the extended family decided to pull a bit of a prank on him and sent Altan home wearing a wig of a ridiculously awful haircut. Langris was so relieved when it was revealed just to be a wig, and they actually got him to laugh which made Altan very happy.

[voiceofentrepreneurlife]

Branch Basics CEO interview

Growing up, Marilee Nelson aspired to become a doctor and never imagined she would end up selling cleaning products. “I don’t even think of it that way,” she explains. “I see our products as a means to further our mission. However, I experienced two unexpected catastrophic events in my life that had no viable medical solutions or positive prognosis.

“I was pre-med,” Nelson recalls. “I had a challenging childhood, battling earaches, asthma, allergies, severe hormone disruption, and unexplained fevers. My parents took me from one doctor to another, trying to find answers. My mother was diagnosed with cancer when I was 12, which inspired me to pursue medicine.

After enduring 28 years of relentless health issues—challenges that her son would later face as well—Marilee Nelson initiated a “positive rebellion to save [her] son.” She turned away from the Standard American Diet (SAD) and began to see “food as medicine.” This shift led to immediate improvements, even allowing her to avoid what was deemed a “necessary” kidney transplant. She had also been firmly told that pregnancy would be impossible for her, but that’s a story for another time…

Nelson was deeply into the food-as-medicine movement and even became a medicinal chef, operating a health resort in Montego Bay, Jamaica. Upon returning to the U.S. in Texas, she learned firsthand about the detrimental effects of pesticides on the immune system. Her son, Douglas, developed extreme sensitivity to various environmental toxins, including chemicals, pesticides, mold, volatile organic compounds, and electromagnetic radiation. It seemed that everything posed a potential risk to his health.

Doctors referred to Douglas as a “bubble boy,” labeling him as “catastrophically chemically injured, with irreversible damage to his brain and immune system.” Nelson remarked, “I realized that Douglas was a case study for observing how the body and mind react to chemical exposures and how they respond when those triggers are removed.”

The Nelson family adopted an intensive detox regimen, believing it to be the best—and only—way to “cure” Douglas of his numerous interconnected immune disorders.

A pivotal moment occurred when Nelson discovered Bau-biologie, or “Building Biology,” which examines how different types of buildings—both “green” and conventional—impact occupant health, particularly focusing on bedroom hygiene. In Bau-biologie, she found the insightful answers she had been seeking, ultimately earning certification as a Bau-Biologist and Bau-Bio Inspector.

From her experiments with immune system-friendly home cleaning products, Three Branches Healthy Living was founded in 2012. The Minneapolis-based company eventually evolved into Branch Basics (“Safe cleaning made simple”) with the partnership of two other women, Allison Evans and Kelly Love.

Branch Basics is committed to providing a range of home and healthcare goods intended for novices, basic users, and “elevated” clients, with the tagline “From mess to clean, we’ll take care of everything in between.”

The flagship product, Branch Basics Concentrate, is a white-labeled nontoxic cleaner that is 100% bio-based, biodegradable, Certified Made Safe, EWG-Verified, Cruelty-Free Verified, and independently tested to ensure it is not an irritant to the skin or eyes.Read More-https://voiceofentrepreneur.life/

[matchluv]

Being unhappy is the new normal. 

As a society, we’ve generalized the term “depression.” We joke about death lightheartedly: “I’m so depressed,” “I want to kill myself,” “I would rather die.” How has our society come to be one where we want to be, and even argue over, who is the busiest, the most stressed out, the one that has the most problems? 

But, after all, we have burdens pushed upon ourselves from such a young age - schoolwork, expectations, social life. Yet we worry more about making unhappiness go away, rather than truly finding happiness. Are we really living life or just trying to slowly delay the inevitable, impending doom that is death? 

***

Our house ran every day like clockwork, always busy and always moving. 

When I was little and we first moved to **, my parents were determined to fill every block of time I had and I did it all. My days became monotonous, each nothing more than a faint memory. My life was consumed by: Mondays, piano; Tuesday, violin; Wednesdays, writing class; Thursdays, ballet; repeat, none of which I particularly enjoyed. I spent the rest of my time reading or doing my homework. Nothing had meaning. I looked at this time as a filler, but a filler for what, exactly? 

I treated life as if it was a sprint rather than a marathon.

Yet, most of my hobbies stuck with me. People told me I was talented, and it became my self-worth. I was nothing without my music. 

During dinner, after the usual “how was your day” s, my mom would tell stories about her childhood. This was one of the few times our busy life paused; my mom would wear a relaxed smile on her face as opposed to yelling at us. My mom had always felt distant. We were locked in a constant stalemate; she never understood me and I never understood her. But during these times, I felt at home. 

“I don’t know how to study for math though!”, “But so many people are smarter than me,” “I’m not good at sports like you”; I knew what my mom would say every time but I didn’t want these moments to end. She told us of her life growing up: going to boarding school, being valedictorian, top of her class, athletic and overachieving. So, being the eldest child, I was expected to perform well academically and live up to my mom’s reputation.

***

I was always called the “teacher's pet” in elementary school. My parents constantly compared me to others: my friends, classmates, peers. Without any self-confidence, my happiness stemmed from praise and compliments. I got perfect grades on all of my assignments, I gave the graduation speech, and I was far ahead of the school curriculum. My peers gave me nicknames as well: “the calculator,” “computer,” and “the smart one”. I managed to keep my perfect record up to sixth grade, but after that, everything fell apart. My grades were slipping far beyond my control. 

If my work wasn’t perfect, I didn’t want to do it. I would barely put effort into the things I didn’t think I was good at. Everything used to come naturally to me, and now that they didn’t, I gave up. I would dread reading any form of feedback; making one mistake and doubting my capabilities sent me spiraling into a rabbit hole of self-depreciation. I procrastinated nearly all of my assignments until everything started piling up. 

Yet, on top of it all, I told myself to not care. I repressed my feelings the way you would boil water in a kettle until I simply could not bear it anymore. 

I wasn’t normal anymore, I didn’t feel like myself. I felt broken. My life was shattering in front of me into pieces, faster than I could pick them up and glue them back together. 

***

I don’t remember how I changed. There wasn’t one singular, storybook pivotal moment. It was my friends, the feeling of a fresh start, and a newfound motivation to live life, and ironically, also my parents. They were and will always be my greatest supporters. 

I’ve realized that being normal is as impossible as striving for perfection. We, innately, associate difference with “bad” and are scared to change. Instead, I’ve started searching for the small things that make me happy: going for a walk in the park, studying at a cafe, having a picnic.

I never quit piano or violin, they still gave me comfort within my chaotic schedule, but I’ve realized true happiness shouldn’t come from being normal. It's feeling satisfied with life and enjoying every single moment.

thanks for reading!

about me :3

grade: 8th

name: kiki

[ameliora-j]

twin flame ii // gw x reader

words: 2k

warnings: angst. like a LOT. bestfriend breakup, mention of blood

a/n: this one is significantly shorter than the first,, sry besties :)

part one | part three | part four

your heart twisted itself in pained knots, increasing the pounding of your head tenfold. it had been this way for days now. christmas with the weasleys came and went and the tension between you and george was thick. you could barely even look at each other without passing hard glares. you had all planned to go to the field at the back of the burrow and play quidditch, and you were currently tasked with collecting george. you knocked gently on the twins’ door before opening it. “hi georgie,” you beamed.

“hello butterfly,” he spat the nickname bitterly and you were taken aback. you ignored the twinge of pain in your chest as you stepped further into the room.

“um… we’re all gonna go and play quidditch. if you wanna join,” you offered a smile. “i need my broom partner,” you had never learned how to fly a broom. you figured life should be lived on the ground, the way merlin intended it to be.

“no thanks,” he grumbled.

“c’mon georgie, we’re the dream team!” you persisted.

“why don’t you ask charlie to be apart of your dream team. seems he’s already replaced me with everything else in your life,” the last part was muffled, not intended for your ears, but you still heard it. you furrowed your brows slightly before answering.

“don’t be silly georgie, i can’t play quidditch without my partner. you can’t break up the dream team,” you pushed, ignoring your confusion.

“yn, i’d really rather not watch you eye-fuck my brother. go ask him to be on your team. or better yet, learn to fly a broom. it’s truly not that hard of a task, even a simpleton such as yourself should be able to catch on quickly,” he seethed.

your heart skipped a beat as it sunk to your stomach and tears pooled at your bottom lash line. you nodded once and pivoted on your heel to leave the room. you sniffled quietly as you closed the door to his room and went downstairs. “george?” fred asked as you came into view.

“he doesn’t wanna play,” you murmured half heartedly as you pushed passed the group of people to go outside. you released a sigh as you plunked yourself down onto the grass, lying back and throwing your arms over your eyes as you forced yourself to keep your tears at bay.

“hey, ynn, c’mon you can fly with me,” charlie offered with a smile as he held a strong arm out to you.

“nah, ‘s okay charlie. i’ll watch with fleur and hermione,” you murmured softly.

charlie’s brows furrowed slightly. you had never called him ‘charlie.’ it was always ‘char char.’ “you okay?” he asked and you simply nodded in response. he released a sigh as he jogged to the center of the field where his other siblings, and harry, were at.

“what happened mon amour?” fleur asked you softly.

“he called me stupid,” you sniffled. “said i replaced him with charlie but i didn’t,” you whimpered softly as you confided in the two girls sat on your sides. “he hates me. this was a stupid plan. ‘m just gonna go home,” you sobbed softly, causing fleur to pull your head to her lap as she trekked her fingers through your hair.

“i’m sorry, yn. i didn’t know he would react like this,” hermione spoke softly.

“not your fault, mione,” you murmured half heartedly as you stood and wiped your eyes. “‘m gonna go home,” you released a shaky breath as you pushed yourself to stand.

you dusted your bottom off as you walked back into the burrow. you waved your wand, packing your stuff neatly in your bag before you wrote a note, thanking molly and arthur and left it on the counter. you grabbed your bag and headed to the fireplace, throwing the floo powder and taking yourself to your childhood home.

“hey yn!” your older brother greeted. “thought you were spending break with the weasleys?” he asked, confused.

“yeah,” you murmured despondently as you walked up to your room.

“okay?” his brows furrowed slightly. when you got to your room, you took out a pair of sweatpants and a gryffindor sweatshirt that you stole from george’s wardrobe and forced yourself to shower.

the water was hot. boiling even. you should have flinched at the heat. screamed. cried. something. but you didn’t. you couldn’t. you were uncomfortably numb. so you just stood there, unmoving, staring at the shower wall as the scorching hot water fell over your body. your breaths came out irregularly as you stood there. your body was screaming for you to get out. to turn down the heat of the water. to do something to stop the pain of the burns. but your mind told you that you deserved this. you needed to feel something other than the pain twisting around in your chest.

by the time you stepped out, your skin was tinted with a slight pinkish color. you took a ragged breath in as you dried yourself off and pulled on the sweatpants and sweatshirt. you didn’t even bother brushing through your hair as you pulled up the hoodie and tied the strings tightly. you whimpered soft as your tears made a trail on the floor on your trek back to your room. you crawled out of your window and climbed up to the roof. you ended up falling asleep on your roof, exhausted from the weight of your tears.

~~

you spent the rest of your christmas break—and longer—at your own home. you didn’t return untill fred had owled you telling you had three more days of paid vacation for the year. you flooed to your shared apartment with the twins and changed into your uniform, brushing through the knots in your hair that had accumulated over the days you laid in bed, sulking. you walked down the stairs into the shop as you pulled your hair into a ponytail and took your post at the till. “sorry ‘m late,” you murmured to fred, who appeared to be filling in for you at the present moment.

“you okay, bunny?” fred asked as he slid over so you could take over. you could only manage a despondent hum as you began working.

“thank you for shopping with weasley’s wizard wheezes, were you able to find everything okay today?” you asked the young wizard at the counter with a smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

that’s basically how the rest of your day went. forcing your tears back everytime george had to speak to you and being only half present with the customers instead of your usual lively self. when the day had ended and george locked the doors, you walked into the twins’ office and handed fred an envelope. “what’s this, bunny?” he asked you.

“my two weeks,” you murmured softly.

“you’re quitting?” he asked with raised brows.

“yeah,” you murmured. “found a job uh… closer to home. my brothers will be by to collect my stuff tomorrow,” you told him. “‘m gonna go pack,” you didn’t let fred say more as you quickly turned on your heel and walked back up to the apartment. “sorry,” you murmured as you bumped into george on your way up. he only gave you a distracted grunt in response.

as you walked up the stairs, you heard the argument brew between fred and george on your behalf. “fix her!” fred demanded.

“i didn’t do anything!” george defended.

“you broke her,” fred pushed back.

“she’s fine,” you could practically hear george roll his eyes.

“she’s quitting.” fred deadpanned.

“what?” george asked, shock lacing his tone.

“and she’s moving back with her brothers. so go and fix her. make this right,” you decided to end your eavesdropping here and rushed upstairs and into george’s room, where all your things were kept. you knelt on the floor as you took out your suitcases. you were halfway done when you heard the door creak open.

“butterfly?” your heart twisted and tears stung the backs of your eyes at the nickname you hadn’t heard in over a week. “whatcha up to?” he asked.

“packing,” you murmured softly, but he heard. and boy did he miss your voice like hell.

“for what?” he asked curiously as he sat on his bed.

“‘m moving back home. got a new job,” never once did you look up from your task, for you knew if you did, you would break.

“where at, butterfly?” he knelt on the floor in front of you as he began to help you fold your clothes.

“some muggle bookstore. ‘s close to the house,” your murmurs could barely be heard over the loud thumping of both of your hearts. however, george picked up on every word. he grasped your hands in his, effectively stopping your progress. “george please,” you whispered.

“look at me, butterfly,” he demanded softly.

“george,” you repeated a little bit louder.

“look at me. and tell me this will make you happy. and i will let you walk out that door.” you didn’t. you couldn’t. you knew that this isn’t what you wanted as well as he did. “you can’t, right? because it won’t,” he pointed out.

“i can’t be here, george. i don’t want to be,” you told him, still refusing to meet his gaze.

“why? because of me? because i will leave. yn, if that’s what it takes to make you happy, then i will walk out of that door and go back to live with mum. you only ever have to see me in a professional setting. and i’ll communicate with you through fred at work,” he spoke seriously.

“i don’t want that, george. and neither do you,” you told him.

“i don’t, but if it makes you happy then that’s what you’ll get,” he told you.

“no george!” you shouted.

“then what do you want?!” he shouted back.

“you george!” you yelled, finally meeting his gaze. “i want you! i’ve only ever wanted you but you’re too fucking stupid to see what’s right in front of you! i mean merlin’s beard george i’ve been in bloody love with you since fifth fucking year but you’re never seen it!” you finally released all the emotions you’ve been holding in for years. “i just wanted you,” you whispered softly, your voice cracking as tears fell.

you pushed yourself to stand from the floor and waved your wand, packing the rest of your stuff as you grabbed your suitcase. “butterfly, i-“ you quickly cut him off.

“don’t, george.” there was acrimony written all over your tone. “i don’t want your pity.” you sniffled and hastily wiped your eyes. you passed fred on your way out.

“yn?” he asked softly.

“bye fred,” you murmured softly. “i changed my mind. my resignation is effective immediately. i won’t be in tomorrow.”

“yn wait,” fred called.

“please don’t,” you shook your head. “d-don’t try and get me to stay. please just… just leave me alone,” you sniffled.

“i’m sorry…” he spoke softly. you just shook your head and wiped your tears away as you flicked your wand to apparate back home. when you landed on the road a few miles away from your house, you let out a wail of agony. your arm had splinched during the apparition process. you took a deep breath and pushed yourself through it. you knew this was a bad idea. every wizarding book in history advised against it. even a muggle would know not to. but you pushed past the thoughts to apparate into your living room.

“yn!” your older brother shouted as he saw you, blood pouring from your splinched right arm. you were only able to take two steps before you fell to the floor of your living room. you let out a soft groan and a whine of agony before closing your eyes, letting the feelings consume you. the pain in your arm cancelled out the pain in your chest as you let darkness overcome you, falling into the void, listening to the frantic screaming voices of your siblings.

stupid feelings. stupid boys. stupid george weasley. stupid twin flame.

twin flame. it’s almost laughable now. what a lie.

tags: @i-love-scott-mccall @ellerosie2332 @rmvb24 @astralpcrker @daisybloommm @maybeisthemoon @moonliightbabes @stormi-ames @jochim322 @coninl @melonoptimist @lunajoyce3 @clairdemoony @mangoberry99 @imclueless @enya-2004 @prongsyy @lol-whoandwhat-is-dis @burnfleur @anything444ourmoony @horrorxweasley @alicecullens-gf @theincredibledeadlyviper @georgeweasleyshoe3697 @narwhalebaby

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[holocene-sims]

next // previous

june 11, 2021 2:10 p.m. newcrest counseling center

[margot] i think her cheating on you is the closest reminder you’ve had to your childhood in a very long time and it drove you to repeat old patterns. i know we haven’t gotten very far into the conversation about your childhood itself because it’s extraordinarily painful for you but you’ve told me a lot about your adulthood. we both know that your physical and mental health problems come from your childhood and that your poor coping mechanisms come from a place of trying to quiet your hurt. you just said it yourself a moment ago. and last time i saw you, you did make a few references between päivi and your childhood.

[margot] so here’s how it seems in my eyes. when you were growing up, your parents failed to do their job as parents by proving for your needs and you were grossly abused by your mother. she would hit you, scream at you, say the worst things imaginable right to your face...and then she would make you feel like a fool when you finally lashed out in return, didn’t she? and what did päivi do? she failed to meet your needs as your partner by meeting hers outside of your relationship and she tried to suppress your feelings when you expressed them. she hit you, she screamed at you, she said things that should never be spoken…

[margot] it is not a surprise that you might find comfort in what you used to comfort yourself a long time ago. päivi’s actions were the perfect formula to put you right back in the darkest periods of your life. she mirrored the abuse that you suffered through and it made you feel the exact same way.

[grant] totally makes sense but somehow i think this just makes me feel worse.

[margot] why do you say that?

[grant] sorry we're just repeating the same conversation from last time. but i've worked really hard to get better and i feel like an idiot for still being able to go back there so easily. i shouldn’t be able to do that with no problem.

[margot] you’re not an idiot. the unfortunate thing is just that trauma will show up in every part of your life and in some sense, it will appear for an eternity. in the right circumstances, anyone and everyone can slip back into the thick of it. that doesn’t mean it won’t get better, though, or that you haven’t already! obviously, you have gotten better! you’re sober, you admitted in the last few months that you needed real professional help and medication for your mental health, and you’re alive. and guess what else? you stood up for yourself against päivi. maybe you did slip back into old habits and darker times but you defended yourself in a way you were never able to in the past.

[margot] you continue to get better and you always will because you care to. if you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be upset that you relapsed. if you didn’t care, you might still be in the relapse instead of stopping it early like you did. if you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be here.

[margot] i'm pivoting angles here, but i think you should ponder for a moment about who you were when you suffered through the trauma that affects you today. who were you? you were a...?

[grant] a child. i was a child. just...a kid.

[margot] don’t you think that kid might be very proud of the person sitting here today?

[grant] i, um…

[margot] and don’t you love that kid? or feel bad for them? or want them to be happy? or all of the above?

[grant] yes. of course i do.

[margot] there are a million reasons to not feel like an idiot and to forgive yourself for a temporary thing, but the number one reason is because that child is still you.

[grant] right.

[margot] when we grow up, especially in hostile conditions, we lose track of our past selves. we learn to detach from who we were as a child to protect ourselves, to distance ourselves from the pain and from the missed opportunities of our childhoods. if you remember that child, the one who suffered and created your maladjusted adult self, you can restore a sense of empathy and love for yourself and re-parent them, and you’ll heal who you are in the present.

[margot] when you were a kid, what did you think about the future?

[grant] that it–oh jesus christ, i don’t want to cry again already–um, that it didn’t exist. i thought i'd be stuck in that house with my parents forever or that i wouldn’t exist anymore and i'd just disappear out of nowhere. i didn’t dare dream of anything for myself beyond childhood. i couldn't. not until i was much older.

[margot] you gave yourself the future you never imagined. forget for a moment all of the bad things that have ever happened and remember all the good things you’ve experienced beyond your childhood. and then remember that child again. remember what it felt like to be them.

[margot] i don’t think they would ever hold the bad against you. so you shouldn’t either. i think they would be immensely proud of the life you have given them. and as i said, that child is still you. everything you gave to the past version of yourself was given to your current real self, too, and nothing is changed or destroyed by the bad or by temporary relapses or whatever else troubles you. you are still in a better place than long ago and you have a future beyond this future.

[margot] you said you were reevaluating things. so reevaluate your life if you’d like, but not without this framework. so if you see this period after the end of your relationship as a time of renewal, think of it as the start of another future. the next one has even greater potential to be exactly what you want it to be. when you work on yourself and free yourself from where trauma bonds you and controls you, you have all the power to create a version of you and your life that you want. you’ve done it before and you can do it again now.

[margot] besides, if you need any further evidence why you should forgive yourself and keep going: every time you choose to value yourself and your future, you’re rebelling against what your mother wanted you to do. she wanted you to feel worthless and to feel like you have no future and like you’re fundamentally broken. the way you feel about all this–like you’ve ruined something, like you have no worth, and i assume like your life has come to a halt again–is the echo of her words. don’t let those thoughts drive you because they were never yours and never correct in the first place.

[grant] you’re right. no, you’re right about everything.

[margot] would you like a tissue?

[grant] please. thank you.

[hartofhearts]

Why Tifa is the only person, living or dead, who can resolve Cloud’s crisis

Alternate title: “What really happened in the Lifestream”

Of course the Lifestream scene has been discussed to death within the fandom. While some consider it one of the greatest triumphs of the Cloud/Tifa relationship and the game in general, others are quick to diminish its events and Tifa’s role. “Oh, any other childhood friend character who knew Cloud could do the job.” “Oh, Cloud only needed Tifa as moral support, he could have figured everything out himself.” “Oh, Aerith (maybe +Zack) could have done it by accessing her Cetra/time machine/empath/Planet powers.”

The Lifestream sequence is extraordinarily dense with many subtle visual cues, so there’s a lot to untangle and interpret. But no matter how you slice it, any take which downplays or eliminates Tifa is fundamentally missing the point of this scene, both for the plot and for Cloud’s character arc.

A lot of the confusion stems from a fundamental misunderstanding of what actually needs to happen in the Lifestream and why. Thus, using specific details from the sequence, I’d like to present my take on the following:

Part 1: What Cloud needs to accomplish in the Lifestream to advance the plot

Part 2: Why Tifa is the only person, living or dead, who can resolve Cloud’s crisis, where we will discuss fun things such as:

Why Tifa is the the focus of his greatest flaw

What Tifa’s presence in the Lifestream accomplishes

Part 3: Why those “Tifa-less” fan theories just can’t work

This is a very long ride so let’s get to it!

Part 1: What Cloud needs to accomplish in the Lifestream to advance the plot

Many fans think that all Cloud needs to accomplish in the Lifestream is prove to himself that he existed before the Nibelheim incident. This seems to make sense, as Cloud’s mental break at Northern Crater was due him losing faith that he was truly Cloud Strife of Nibelheim, right?

But that isn’t the only thing that needs to happen. Consider this: Ex-SOLDIER Cloud does believe that he is Cloud Strife of Nibelheim for almost the entirety of the game’s first half. However, Ex-SOLDIER Cloud couldn’t correctly remember the Nibelheim incident back at Kalm, and he occasionally exhibits alarming behavior (his headaches, his attempts on Aerith’s life). So the goal of the Lifestream sequence is not to restore Cloud to this previous flawed state, but... to accomplish something more. Accomplish something that will resolve the aforementioned issues by strengthening him against Jenova’s influence.

There are two ways to strengthen Cloud against the influence of the Jenova hivemind:

Rebuild Cloud’s sense of self by identifying and accepting his personal weakness -- without writing a whole other post, individuals injected with Jenova cells are susceptible to influence by the Jenova hivemind if they have a weak sense of self and weak will; thus, Cloud needs to fully understand and accept who he truly is, weaknesses and all, in order to withstand further Jenova tampering

Establish the truth of the Nibelheim incident -- until then, silver-tongued Sephiroth/Jenova will always be able to cast doubt on Cloud’s existence using the discrepancies between Cloud’s and Tifa’s memories

And wouldn’t you know it, but the Lifestream sequence does end up accomplishing all three of these things. It:

Proves that Cloud Strife of Nibelheim existed before the Nibelheim incident

Rebuilds Cloud’s sense of self by identifying and accepting his personal weakness

Establishes the truth of the Nibelheim incident

Something to note re: #3 - Establishes the truth of the Nibelheim incident: this is actually extremely challenging to do, as the truth lies solely within Cloud, but is blocked due to his own mental weakness. This is why the Lifestream sequence begins with Cloud trying and failing to correctly remember the Nibelheim incident: while he superficially does want to understand the truth of the incident, deep down he does not want to acknowledge his personal failings that are on full display in the true memory. It is only after Cloud accepts his personal weakness that he is able to face the full truth, failings and all.

So really, #2 - Rebuild Cloud’s sense of self by accepting his personal weakness is the most pivotal portion of the Lifestream sequence, as this empowers Cloud on a personal level and also allows him to remember the Nibelheim incident correctly. And as it happens, this is the portion that only Tifa can help with.

Part 2: Why Tifa is the only person, living or dead, who can resolve Cloud’s crisis

We’ve just discussed how rebuilding Cloud’s sense of self by helping him accept his personal weakness is one of the most important goals of the Lifestream sequence--and now I’d like to explain how this can only be accomplished with Tifa’s help and no one else’s.

>> Tifa is the focus of Cloud’s greatest weakness

I think that every fan, including non-shippers and anti-Tifa fans, will agree that Cloud is insecure and has a desperate need for acceptance. But because he needs to resolve and accept this greatest weakness, his shame, the real question is... when did it become pathological? What is it focused on, and what makes it his tragic flaw? The answers will give us a hint as to what Cloud needs to come to terms with his true self.

This is shown to us in the Mt. Nibel memory--the day Tifa’s mother died. And it is actually explicitly told to us by a very important entity...

...A blacked out, silhouetted version of Cloud that casually climbs out of his slack adult form. This silhouetted version of Cloud represents the deep dark secrets about himself that Cloud has hidden away for so long, and it tells us what exactly is on its mind. 

Let’s review everything Deep Dark (DD) Cloud says:

Young Cloud: I began to think I was different... That I was different from those immature kids. That then... maybe... DD: Just maybe, they would invite me in. I thought that might happen, so I hung around...

...

DD: That night I called Tifa out to the well... I thought to myself Tifa would never come... that she hated me.

...

YC: This was the day... DD: Tifa's mother... T: The day Mom died...

...

DD: I don't remember the path I walked. Tifa missed her step. I ran to her... but didn't make it in time. Both of us fell off the cliff. Back then, I only scarred my knees but...

...

DD: Tifa was in a coma for seven days. We all thought she wouldn't make it. If only I could've saved her... I was so angry... Angry at myself for my weakness. Ever since then, I felt Tifa blamed me... I got out of control... I'd get into fights not even caring who it was.

(fade to black)

DD: That was the first time I heard about Sephiroth. If I got strong like Sephiroth, then everyone might...

(return to the nexus/Cloud’s mind)

DD: If I could just get stronger... Then even Tifa would have to notice me...

Many fans fixate on DD Cloud’s very first line (”just maybe, they would invite me in”), and I understand why--not only is the first satisfying eureka moment in the Lifestream, but it’s also deeply relatable. Who hasn’t felt like an outsider and wanted acceptance and approval? These same players then attribute all of Cloud’s motivations to this relatable feeling. “Cloud had a deep inferiority complex and wanted to prove himself to the world and that’s why he pretends to be the super coolest SOLDIER ever.”

But that interpretation completely ignores the other 90% of what DD Cloud says. The other 90% of Cloud’s shame is wrapped up in Tifa. “Tifa’s mom died... I tried to save Tifa, but I got off relatively unscathed while she suffered terrible injuries... Tifa must have hated me... I thought Tifa wouldn’t come to the well because she hated me... I wanted to be like Sephiroth so Tifa would notice me...” Even if a little bit of Cloud’s motivations are attributable to the contempt of the townspeople, the vast majority of it is focused on Tifa--would she always hate him? Would she ever notice him? Could he ever be worthy of her? DD Cloud’s dialogue reveals that Cloud’s shame and tragic flaw is completely centered on his need for Tifa’s approval. Perhaps only his pedestaled perception of Tifa, but Tifa all the same.

The "Cloud wants to impress all the kids” interpretation also ignores what the cinematography of this scene is telling us. The “big takeaway” of the Nibelheim memory and DD Cloud’s reveal is the single sentence that DD Cloud speaks after the memory is over and lights turn back on and they’re back at the nexus--the sentence that he “took away” from the previous scene. And look! It’s this one!

DD: If I could just get stronger... Then even Tifa would have to notice me...

THIS. THIS IS IT. This is the root of Cloud’s shame and explains his pathological need to misremember himself as a SOLDIER and thus misremember the Nibelheim incident at all costs: he was ashamed at his inability to rescue Tifa and Mt. Nibel, so he swore to himself that he would get stronger to earn her notice. Cloud needs to be strong so Tifa will notice him; thus, Cloud creates an illusionary world where he misremembers his own identity and the Nibelheim incident in a way that makes him a strong man that is finally worthy of her. 

This is the personal weakness that Cloud needs to resolve in the Lifestream with Tifa’s help: he needs to learn that it is okay to not be the strong man, because Tifa will accept him regardless.

(And, sidebar, Cloud’s need for Tifa’s approval is not just some fleeting childhood dream in the distant past--even in present day, Ex-SOLDIER Cloud can’t bear to remember how he failed to be a stronger man for Tifa, because even in the present day, Tifa’s opinion of him is all that counts.)

>> What Tifa’s presence in the Lifestream accomplishes

While the above proves how Cloud’s personal weakness (his tragic flaw) revolves around Tifa and his feelings for her... we now need to answer, why does Cloud need Tifa to be in the Lifestream with him to work through these feelings? And this, I believe, comes down to two, very subtle, shown-not-told points:

Cloud’s honesty depends on Tifa’s presence, as Cloud’s need for Tifa to understand his feelings is greater than his need to hide his painful weaknesses from himself

Cloud draws strength from “his important person” (no matter how you want to define her: his main motivation, the person he’s been in love with forever...) accepting him and providing moral support

Let’s work through these in order.

REASON #1 -  Cloud’s honesty depends on Tifa’s presence, as Cloud’s need for Tifa to understand his feelings is greater than his need to hide his painful weaknesses from himself

This one is very easy to miss, but is illustrated in two key ways. First, did you know that DD Cloud speaks early on in the Lifestream, even before the Mt. Nibel memory? His two lines are:

T: Now that you mention it, why did you want to join SOLDIER in the first place? I always thought it was a sudden decision you made... DD: ...I was devastated. ...I wanted to be noticed. Adult Cloud: ...I was devastated. ...I wanted to be noticed. I thought if I got stronger I could get someone to notice... T: Someone to notice you...? ...who? DD: Who...? ...You know who! ...You, that's who. AC: You... T: ...Me? Why!? YC: Tifa... did you forget... about those days?

Those two lines are definitely DD Cloud’s; in the earlier photos, we see that DD Cloud’s speech bubbles don’t have a background box. These new two lines are similarly background box-less. Moreover, these lines cannot be attributed to Adult Cloud or Young Cloud. See the below comparison photos:

DD vs. Adult Cloud’s vs. Young Cloud’s speech bubbles:

What’s very interesting is the tone of the second line (”Who...? ...You know who! ...You, that's who”); this is the only exclamation that Cloud uses in the entire sequence until all the revelations of the Nibelheim Incident re-memory. DD Cloud is startled into indignance that Tifa has no idea that he’s been trying to impress her all along. (DD Cloud is like, “Tifa, the past 12 years of my life were entirely motivated by you, are you telling me that literally none of this has gotten through to you!!?”) Even if DD Cloud were dormant and hidden this entire time, the ignominy of Tifa not understanding the effort he made for her for 12 years is just too much for him to suffer through silently. 

The significance of this moment is actually incredible: the Deep Dark Secret that Cloud has been hiding from this entire time, the Deep Dark Secret that Cloud would rather die/go comatose than acknowledge... this Deep Dark Secret indignantly reveals itself just because Tifa apparently doesn’t know about it! Cloud’s need for Tifa to understand his Deep Dark Secret is even greater than Cloud’s need to be honest with himself to prevent his clone coma. 

And this becomes a trend that continues up to the Mt. Nibel memory--Cloud is reluctant to revisit these memories, and only does so because he wants Tifa to understand his feelings. Almost every other line we see Cloud’s reluctance, his disbelief at Tifa’s cluelessness, and him forcing himself to open up so Tifa can know what he’s been obsessing over for 12 years. See the dialogue yourself (my notes in square brackets):

YC: Tifa...... did you forget...... about those days? [Cloud’s disbelief that Tifa doesn’t know]

...

YC:  It's important to me... I hate to say it but... It's a very important memory... [Cloud’s reluctance to revisit the memory]  Do you want to see it? Come on, hurry. [Cloud’s need for Tifa to see]

...

AC: ...a sealed up secret... wish... Tender memories... no one can ever know... [Cloud’s reluctance to revisit the memory]

YC: Do you know where this window goes to, Tifa? [Cloud’s disbelief that Tifa doesn’t know]  Fine... I'll go. [Cloud’s need for Tifa to see]

Again, this is a tremendous moment. Cloud is only motivated to honesty for Tifa’s benefit, and takes each reluctant step towards the truth because Tifa is right next to him with all her cluelessness. In his desire to be honest for Tifa, Cloud ends up being honest for himself as well... Tifa’s presence is the only reason why Cloud can be honest to himself in the Lifestream. If not for her, Cloud never would have broached those painful memories and never would have resolved his crisis.

One last thing I want to highlight is that Cloud wouldn’t open up like this for anyone. Reread this line: “Tender memories... no one can ever know.”  If anyone else was in the Lifestream with Cloud--or if it was just Cloud by himself--DD Cloud would never have felt the need to express himself. He would have stayed hidden, preferring for Cloud and the others to forever perceive him as the super cool SOLDIER instead of a “weak man” who couldn’t even save the girl he loved back on Mt. Nibel or fulfill his promise to her.

REASON #2 - Cloud draws strength from Tifa (the object of his shame/his fellow Nibelheim survivor/the person he’s been trying to win the attention of forever/the person he’s loved for 12 years) accepting him and providing moral support

This one is the most subtle as it’s mostly shown and the dialogue is not explicit, but the scene simply does not work without it. It is thanks to Tifa’s support that Cloud is brave enough to correctly remember the Nibelheim incident. 

After DD Cloud says his final line in the nexus, he looks away from Tifa. 

Can’t even make eye contact with her, even though he was able to back in the Mt. Nibel memory. He must think that now that all the cards are on the table, Tifa will reject him in some way. Maybe she will heap on the blame for failing to save her at Mt. Nibel, or be disgusted that he dared try to win her notice, but whatever it is, he expects some kind of rejection. But... that’s not what happens. Instead, Tifa implicitly absolves him of any guilt or shame by apologizing to him instead.

DD: If I could just get stronger... Then even Tifa would have to notice me...

T: So that was it... Sorry, Cloud. If I had only remembered more clearly what happened, I could have done something sooner...

...

So not only does Tifa fail to reject Cloud, but she also implies that Cloud is completely faultless, as she would have corrected the townspeople’s misconceptions about Cloud if she’d only known. Tifa plainly supports Cloud and does not blame him for Mt. Nibel.

Moreover, she continues to encourage Cloud after this moment. Soon after, Tifa exclaims:

T: Hang in there Cloud! Just a little longer! You've almost found the real you!

It’s only after Tifa’s words of encouragement that both Adult Cloud and DD Cloud merge into one another. This is a powerful moment; it shows that Adult Cloud hasn’t lost those deep, sealed away feelings, but has finally made peace with them. Cloud’s deep dark feelings are still a part of him but no longer hold him back; he no longer needs to misremember himself as a strong man for Tifa because Tifa accepts him as he is.

The game then explicitly shows Tifa and Cloud behaving with a togetherness that we haven’t seen the entire game--these two have finally overcome the distance between them and are able to tackle the world as a team. Cloud can finally be brave because he knows Tifa won’t leave his side.

And the game shows us this. First, Tifa, Adult Cloud, and DD Cloud all resolutely hold their fists up in unison (so ‘90s shounen anime, I love it):

Then they run into the Nibelheim memory together, side by side, literally in lockstep--look how every foot step is in sync:

This is different from previous memories, where one is always following the other or doing different things. What it shows us is that after Cloud comes clean about his shame and Tifa accepts him as he is, the two are closer together than ever before. Cloud feels brave enough to properly remember the Nibelheim incident when he has Tifa with him. 

And it’s telling that the very first moment Cloud tries to remember is...

...the memory of Tifa being injured. Not the memories of him stabbing Sephiroth (or being stabbed by him), not the memories of Zack being injured, not the memory of Cloud putting on his helmet to hide his shame. If he were still afraid of Tifa’s disappointment, Cloud would not choose to relive this as his very first memory. Yet Cloud picks a painful moment that includes Tifa, trusting that they can work through it as a team. I know I keep on saying it, but it’s the truth: Cloud is empowered to fully face his deepest shame and weakness because he knows that the real Tifa accepts him as he is and will stay by his side.

Part 3: So what does this mean for those “alternate fan theories?”

Phew! That was a lot. Let’s recheck our notes on what the Lifestream scene needs to accomplish:

Prove that Cloud Strife of Nibelheim existed before the Nibelheim incident

Rebuild Cloud’s sense of self by identifying and accepting his personal weakness

Establish the truth of the Nibelheim incident

Given what we just discussed, any substitute for Tifa would accomplish some, but not all of the above three points.

So for those fans who say...

>> “Cloud could have done it all by himself” - did... did you miss the giant floating confused Cloud?? He was trying and failing to figure it out by himself because he couldn’t bear to be honest, even for his own sake. What ultimately turns the tide is Cloud’s need to express his true feelings to Tifa, and how it outweighs his need to hide his weakness from himself; thus, without Tifa’s presence, Cloud cannot be honest with himself and cannot resolve his identity crisis. 

And PS, when Tifa says, “Cloud found himself on his own,” she’s referring to Cloud’s choice to reveal his weakness to her, and Cloud’s bravery at confronting the Nibelheim incident afterwards. She’s not saying “oh I didn’t need to be there at all and Cloud really just needed a couple extra minutes and I was basically scenery lol.” She’s complimenting Cloud for the radical honesty/personal strength that allowed him to finally express his true thoughts to her and thus to himself. 

Verdict: Cloud gets half points for #2 (accept personal weakness) and #3 (remember Nibelheim) because ultimately he’s the one who decides to reveal the truth of those moments. Cloud gets 0 points for #1 (prove his existence) because he still needed to double-check with someone who knew him as a child.

>> “any childhood friend could have helped Cloud” - sure, that childhood friend could help accomplish #1 (prove his existence), but as we previously discussed, Cloud is only motivated to be honest with himself when he realizes that Tifa doesn’t know the extent of his feelings for her. If he never that Tifa was clueless, then Cloud would have kept the Mt. Nibel memory locked away from himself and everyone else. 

Verdict: A Nibelheim rando would be able to accomplish #1 (prove his existence) but would fail to accomplish #2 (accept personal weakness) or #3 (remember Nibelheim)--Tifa is needed for DD Cloud to come clean, and Tifa’s unique role allows her to support Cloud while he works to remember the truth of the Nibelheim incident.

>> “Aerith (+Zack) could have taken care of it” - sure, Aerith (+Zack) could have shown Cloud the truth of #1 (prove his existence) and #3 (remember Nibelheim), because they both could observe the truth of those events.

But how could they help Cloud with #2 (accept personal weakness), when Cloud has been trying to hide his weakness all along and would probably feel even worse in comparison to these two shining beacons of excellence? And there’s some proof to this line of thinking; in CC, Cloud explicitly does not want to share his feelings for Tifa with Zack; and in OG, Cloud arguably tries to preserve the hero fantasy of being the Coolest SOLDIER Ever for Aerith. I can’t imagine Cloud wanting to share these “tender feelings that no one can ever know”/his love-induced weakness with anyone except for the object of those tender feelings. So #2 is still allllll Tifa, baby.

Verdict: Aerith (+Zack) could take care of #1 and #3, but they could never get Cloud to open up about #2--and even if they did, they were not the “victims” of “Cloud’s failure,” so their forgiveness/acceptance would mean nothing to Cloud and would not help him accept his own weakness.

Final thoughts:

>> Fun theory, but Cloti isn’t essential for it... the sequence still works even if Cloud’s tragic flaw is a raging inferiority complex.

There’s a difference between something technically working vs. what the game actually shows us. Yes, it could work if Cloud has a generic inferiority complex that has nothing to do with Tifa... but the game’s explanation of Cloud’s psyche (DD Cloud’s dialogue) spends >90% of its wordcount on Tifa. This argument essentially works if you throw out >90% of what the game was trying to tell you. Cloud’s entire inner world revolves around Tifa and stuffing your fingers in your ears and loudly saying lalalala does not change that.

>> But didn’t Cloud choose to hide his face because he wanted to hide his failure from everyone in town, not just Tifa, which would prove it was just a generic inferiority complex?

Sure, Cloud says:

C: I... never made it as a member of SOLDIER. I even left my hometown telling everyone I was going to join, but... I was so embarrassed. I didn't want to see anyone.

Off that line alone, one would think that he is ashamed to show his face to anyone in his hometown.

But the game shows us that Cloud specifically decided to hide when he saw Tifa.

Look how this baby is prepared to stroll into town with his Chocobo head free in that Nibelheim breeze. Not what you’d expect someone to do if they’re trying to hide from everyone, right?

But as soon as Cloud notices Tifa, he runs offscreen and puts his helmet back on while Zack can only shrug a “you do you” in reply.

It’s Tifa that Cloud couldn’t bear to disappoint. Not the rest of the town.

>> That final “resolution” moment after the Mt. Nibel incident is a little weak, isn’t it? There’s nothing explicitly saying that Tifa accepted Cloud and that’s why he’s able to shake off his shame and remember the Nibelheim incident properly.

It’s true that so much of this is implicit (the absence of Tifa berating Cloud, Tifa wishing she could have helped Cloud more back then), or shown-not-told (Tifa and Cloud raising their fists in unison, Tifa and Cloud running in unison). The OG script also jumps right to Tifa’s exclamation that the Mt. Nibel memory proves Cloud is a real person, not really lingering on Tifa accepting Cloud or anything. To be honest, the biggest reason why I even put together this theory is because 1 + 1 ≠ 4, but somehow that’s what happens in the Lifestream if we remove this shame/acceptance aspect. Also... how unsatisfying and uncharacteristic is it for Cloud to just feel ashamed that he failed to save Tifa, then for that shame to be resolved during the Nibelheim incident re-memory with a “oh it’s not that bad, at least you saved her during the Nibelheim incident so that mitigates it”? Or for it to not be resolved at all?

If Cloud was so deeply ashamed that he’d prefer to become a potato instead of face these memories, then I can’t imagine that facing the memories with zero support from Tifa would help him feel confident enough to tackle the Nibelheim re-memory. I highly suspect that this scene will be expanded upon in the Remake to explicitly highlight Tifa’s acceptance, resulting in Cloud’s readiness to expose his true memories to Tifa and himself.

[poohkeepsee]

I was going through my AO3 bookmarks, and I wanted to organize them a little bit. These are my Dean/Cas canon-ish fic recs.

season 5

canticles  by  2street2car Words: 10,311     Chapters: 1

“But you know something? If I couldn’t get you laid, at least I gave you a good first date.”feat: footsies at a Ruby Tuesday, stargazing, the recreation of an iconic "Dirty Dancing" scene (no, not that one—the other one), and practicing for When You're With A Girl.

FTBYAM MY BELOVED

post season 6

Someone Who's Feeling For Me  by  ellispark  Words: 45,876     Chapters: 1

Dean sees her for the first time in nearly six years in some no-name town in Idaho, and it's panic at first sight.

Lisa Braeden, the one woman Dean ever actually had a shot at a real life with, back from where he buried her in his mind. And her hand is on Cas's arm like it's no big deal, like it belongs there. Cas, Dean's dorky, sweet, badass, angelic best friend, and he's just standing there next to Lisa and not moving her hand away.

Dean feels the jealousy rising, and it's not directed where he expected it to be. Because it takes this exact moment for Dean to realize he's in love with his best friend. He's in love with his best friend, and Lisa is looking at Cas like he's the best thing since automatic rifles, and Dean is utterly fucked.

post bunker

Sun Can't Set Until Nine  by  LeverDrift Words: 67,939     Chapters: 16

Cas moves into the bunker as his powers start to fail. Dean doesn’t know if the arrangement is as permanent as he wants it to be. He's also not sure why he keeps dreaming about his friend. All he knows is that he wants Cas to stay. Overall warnings: canon-typical miscommunication & Dean having self-hatred issues.

Life Skills  by  ilovehowyouletmefall           Words: 26,052     Chapters: 3

After Metatron steals Castiel's grace, and Cas comes to live in the bunker, Dean spends a lot of time with him, sharing all of his favourite things. Dean can't help it if sharing things with Cas just makes everything better. Besides, it's Dean's job as Cas' friend to introduce him to the joys of human life. To teach him how to be human.  And if one of the experiences they end up sharing is sex with women, well... that's just part of Dean's job as Cas' friend too, right? The desire is triangulated, the rituals are intricate.

Sam Stole My Boyfriend  by  sobsicles    Words: 8,445     Chapters: 1

“Dude, you’ve been staring at me a lot lately, like even enough that Sam noticed. More than usual. So, like, what’s up?” Dean pauses, purses his lips and reconsiders. “What did I do?”

Cas knows that would be a perfect time to confess to Dean what exactly happened and what he was thinking. Maybe, Dean had some insight into the situation or even some kind of comfort to offer. But, the longer that he sat there, he realized that he could not tell Dean absolutely anything. So instead, for the first time, Cas fumbled.

“Um,” Cas mutters and abruptly stands. “Freckles?”

Dean blinked up at him as Cas pivoted and left the room. There was only one remaining option he had and unfortunately, it involved Sam.

Aching in the Absence of You  by  sobsicles Words: 95,090     Chapters: 10

Brittle and battle-worn, Cas looks at him over coffee one morning and says, "I need to go," and Dean instantly knows that he's not coming back.

He's not really sure how he knows it, but he does. It settles into the pit of his stomach, curling hot and tight like something he instinctively wants to tear out with his bare hands. He takes a breath, and it gets stuck in his throat, hitching there. It hurts, hurts, hurts when he finally exhales.

"Yeah," Dean says, "of course you do," and he nods jerkily as he looks down at his phone. He doesn't say goodbye. He doesn't look up from the screen when Cas gets up and leaves the room. He doesn't finish his coffee, or move for a long time.

By nightfall, Cas is gone.

'Communication'  by  JustAnotherSamlicker Words: 11,656

The same story told from two perspectives.

Dean bought a house and he and Cas fix it up.

Is Dean moving out? Is Cas moving in?

Should they just talk to each other already? (Yes they should)

Build a Home  by  domesticadventures Words: 20,102

After they save the world, Dean expects Cas to come back to the bunker with them.

He doesn't

season 10

The Most Important Thing  by  NorthernSparrow Words: 94,462     Chapters: 14

Jimmy Novak remembers nothing of the last six years. Reunited with his troubled daughter Claire, he's struggling to raise her on his own. The most important thing is to make Claire happy. But why does he keep having these dreams of wings, and of two men in a black car? (Canon-divergent from S10E11, when we first met Claire again and Dean was still struggling with the Mark of Cain. Takes places several months later).

season 12

Heroes for Ghosts  by  pantheon_of_discord Words: 42,922     Chapters: 7

Canon-divergent from 12.08

After Sam and Dean are arrested, Castiel is left alone and scrambling to find them. He knows they’re locked away in a government facility, and he’s still able to hear their prayers, but no matter how he tries Castiel can’t seem to track them. He chases leads and even attempts to hunt on his own, but Mary is AWOL, Crowley refuses to help, and Castiel’s options are running out.

Weeks pass, Castiel’s hope dwindles, and through it all Dean prays, keeping them connected. His voice is comforting, frustrating, and occasionally annoying, but in his solitude Castiel comes to cherish it. But then one day, without warning, Dean stops praying, and Castiel is forced to confront some uncomfortable truths about his feelings.

season 13

i want to do with you (what spring does with cherry trees)  by  sobsicles   Words: 74,173     Chapters: 8

Dean keeps going back.

When he arrives, it's always to blooming flowers and a windmill in the background, not too far from a brook, the sun painting the plains.

He likes it there. He likes to stand in front of the makeshift urn and check that it's still where he put it, switching out the flowers when they wilt. He likes to listen to the sound of birds chirping, insects singing, the faint sound of water trickling in the distance. He likes to turn his face up and feel the sun on his skin, wondering if Cas would do the same if he were here, somehow knowing that he would.

He likes to talk.

There's never a response, but Dean feels the breeze rustle through his hair and watches the flowers bob when bees come to them and stares as the windmill keeps turning, turning, turning. And he imagines that Cas is replying—the windmill is the tilted head, the bobbing flowers are a gentle smile, the breeze is whatever words Dean wants to hear at the time.

Sometimes, it's almost like he's there.

Trial and Tribulations of Raising a Nephilim  by  Sickandtiredofyou Words: 14,910   Chapters: 6

Dean has far too much on his plate, losing his mom, his best friend and now being a single parent to a newborn nephilim.

In which Jack is an actual newborn instead of a teenager.

post season 13

dumbassery, denial, doing (the three d's to the destination)  by  sobsicles           Words:     108,427     Chapters:     4

Freedom is just one adjustment after the next.

Cas hums again. "I think you already have. It's been months since everything settled. All that's left to do is...get used to it, and perhaps—" His voice stalls out, uncharacteristically, and his gaze roams Dean's face with intensity. When he speaks next, his tone is a little raw. "Perhaps what one does with peace is...whatever they want."

"What if I don't even know what that is?" Dean grumbles, arching an eyebrow in challenge. "'Cause I know damn well you don't just mean good food and a good bed and time in Baby, not simple wants like that. You mean—ya know, the big things, the wants we didn't get to have before."

"Yes," Cas agrees. "If you're not sure, figure it out."

"Easier said than done."

Reasons to read this:

Dean reads a story that ends like despair and his reaction is FUCK THAT

Cas wears Dean's hoodie

Jack is a toddler

The Jack and Claire sibling energy we deserve

Eileen being awesome and pulling pranks with Dean while Sam thinks she's an angel

Sam knows

YOUR HONOR THEY'RE IN LOVE

First Date  by  aeli_kindara Words: 8,968    Chapters: 1

“We should go on a date. You and me.”

Castiel wishes he could see Dean’s face. He wishes he had any idea what to say.

“I’m asking you out, Cas.”

Also known as the Dean Winchester makes the first move fic.

season 14

Broken Road  by  thegeminisage Words:     109,629     Chapters:     7

A 14.13 Lebanon rewrite. When Dean uses a wish-granting pearl to try and kill the archangel Michael before he can escape the cage in Dean's head, they instead wind up with a newly-resurrected John Winchester.

It's been more than a decade since John died, and a lot has changed: Mary is alive, Sam and Dean have what passes for a proper home in the Men of Letters Bunker, and they're living with angels. John doesn't know angels are real, he doesn't know about the fragile new relationship between Dean and Castiel, and most of all, he doesn't know that Dean said yes to Michael, or that Dean's plan to defeat Michael would send him to a fate worse than death.

Now Dean must contend with both his father asking questions he can't answer, and his loved ones learning about the darker truths of his childhood, all while constantly battling the archangel trapped inside him. But Dean coming to terms with his history may be the difference between this being the beginning of a journey—or the end.

post season 15

fools and pilgrims  by  lagaudiere Words: 31,904     Chapters: 2

Claire shows up at the bunker a day before Dean was planning to leave, with her hair cut short and a fresh tattoo on her left arm under a bandage. Chuck is dead, Jack has given up his godlike powers, and Cas is back from the Empty, which doesn't make it any easier for Dean to talk to him. Suddenly finding himself in a world without monsters, supernatural forces, or any need for hunters, Dean's solution is to go on a road trip. Claire tags along.

Dean-Claire mirror fic post Despair

what's missing is found (our souls can exhale now)  by  sobsicles Words: 27,403

It's not the first time Claire has ever gone missing. It is, however, the first time Kaia panics about it. Dean's dragged into the mess, but he soon finds that it's the best thing that could have happened to him.

canon(?) au  (Hunters and Men of Letters)

Dean Winchester's Secret (Angel) Boyfriend  by  reluctantabandon, Winter_of_our_Discontent Words: 11,191     Chapters: 1

Dean Winchester isn't exactly a team player. So when he starts mentioning a new Hunting partner, Ellen and Jo Harvelle aren't sure whether they should be worried or relieved.

But they're starting to get the feeling there's something important Dean's not telling them about Cas...

Shot Through The Heart  by  peanutbutterjelly-pie (Aleakim) Words: 11,191     Chapters: 1

Dean is a hunter.

Castiel is a Man of Letters.

And even though they have to work together on a regular basis, there is not much sympathy between them. Castiel thinks Dean too brash and reckless while Dean in return sees nothing more in the other man than a rude asshole with an obsessive love for books and a truly terrible fashion sense.

But fate clearly has a funny way of throwing those two together over and over again.

And somewhere along the way feelings change into something neither of them would have expected.

[suituuup]

Potential angsty prompt? Beca gets a phone call about her mom dying. Chloe offers to go to the funeral with her even though Beca is reluctant. When they get there, Chloe realizes how shitty of a parent Beca’s mom really was.

through thick and thin

rated: T

word count: 2,600

ao3 link

*

“Bec?” Chloe calls out as she steps inside their apartment, dropping her keys in the bowl by the entrance. She shuts the door and shrugs off her coat, venturing further inside on a search for her girlfriend. 

Unsurprisingly, Beca is hauled up in her office, headphones on her ears as she messes with her mixing program. 

“Babe?” 

Beca’s chair pivots, and she lowers her headphones, smiling softly. “Hey.” 

Stepping closer, Chloe leans down to press a kiss to Beca’s lips, smiling against them when Beca reaches up to cup her jaw, keeping her there for a beat longer. “Any special request for dinner?” 

“Nope. I’ll be there in a sec to help you.” 

“I’ve got it, you can keep working.” 

After peering in the fridge for options, Chloe decides to heat up the lasagna leftovers, washing the salad and making a vinaigrette while it’s in the oven. Soft footsteps make her look up, and she smiles as Beca kisses her cheek on her way to the fridge. 

“So um, I need to fly back to Seattle tomorrow,” Beca blurts in the middle of dinner. 

She’s been quieter than usual, pushing her food around in her plate instead of eating it. Chloe was about to ask her what was wrong when Beca spoke up. 

“How come?” 

Beca clears her throat, shifting in her chair. “My aunt called earlier today, um, it’s my mom. She died this morning.” 

Chloe’s eyes widen in shock. “What?” She sets her fork down, pushing her plate away. “Oh my god, baby…” She’s about to go around the island to hug Beca, but Beca is already on her feet, carrying her plate to the sink. 

“So um, yeah. I should be back on Sunday.” 

“Bec…” Chloe murmurs, crossing the kitchen and wounding an arm around her fiancée’s waist. She props her chin on Beca’s shoulder. “I’ll call my boss and ask for a couple days off.” 

“That’s really not necessary, Chlo. I’ll be fine on my own.” 

Beca doesn’t talk much about her mother; Chloe knows their relationship was strained, without ever finding out the reason behind it. But still, she just died, and Beca will surely need someone to lean on. 

“Baby, I don’t think--”

But Beca pulls away before she can finish her sentence. “My head is killing me, I think I’m gonna go lie down.”

Chloe watches her go, her heart feeling heavy and torn as to what to do. She cleans up the kitchen to give Beca some time to herself, then heads down the hall with a steaming mug of Beca’s favorite herbal tea. Beca’s curled up on her side with her back to the door when she steps inside their bedroom, and Chloe rounds the bed, setting the mug on the bedside table. 

She sits down on the edge of the mattress, bracing a hand over Beca’s upper arm. 

“M’sorry I snapped,” Beca mumbles, glancing up at her. 

“It’s okay. Do you want me to pack your bag? What time is your flight leaving?”

“Eleven, I think.” Beca shifts to sit up, Chloe’s hand falling to her lap. “My aunt asked me to speak.”

“You don’t have to if it’s too hard,” Chloe murmurs, tilting her head to the side. 

“That’s the thing; it’s not hard. It’s…” Beca sighs. “I don’t feel anything. And I should, right? She was my mom. I should be sad or something. She just…” Beca’s jaw clenches, her eyes shutting for a moment. Chloe slides her hand into hers in wordless encouragement. “We never got along. She had an alcohol problem when I was a kid, and I never really had the whole love and affection kids are supposed to get from their mom. But she was still my mom.” Beca inhales sharply. “But then... I told her about you. About us. The summer after Worlds, after we got together. I think she was shocked that I was with a woman, but the things she said, Chlo…” she shakes her head, puffing out a breath. “She told me to leave. That was the last thing she said to me. Our relationship was strained ever since I went to live with my dad and Sheila, but it crumbled that day.” Beca’s eyes find Chloe, a mixture of hurt and uncertainty swirling in them. “I don’t have anything nice to say about her, because I don’t think she was a good person. Even in the rare times she was sober, she was just-- she brought people down.” She swallows, squeezing Chloe’s hand. “Does that make me heartless?”

Chloe shakes her head, lifting their joined hands to press a lingering kiss to Beca’s knuckles. “No. Absolutely not. And you don’t have to speak if you don’t want to. In fact, you don’t even have to go if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t, but there’s a shit ton of stuff that needs to be dealt with and I can’t let my aunt handle everything.”

“I can help with that,” Chloe says. “You don’t have to go by yourself.” 

Beca sighs. “You’re gonna regret coming… her side of the family isn’t fun.” She skims her thumb over Chloe’s knuckles. “But I guess it would suck less if you were by my side.”

Beca has always had trouble showing her vulnerable side, so Chloe knows that’s the closest she’ll get to I need you. 

“Okay. I’ll call the airline.” She leans in to peck Beca’s lips. “Right after I draw you a bath.”

Beca groans. “I don’t deserve you.” She chases Chloe’s lips in another short kiss. “You’re joining me, right?” 

“You bet.”

They land in Seattle just after one the next day. Beca’s aunt picks them up from the airport and drives them to Beca’s childhood house. Chloe’s never been there, and she can’t quite suppress her amazement when she first steps inside Beca’s old bedroom. 

“The Spice Girls, huh?” She asks with a shit-eating grin, tilting her chin towards the poster hanging above Beca’s bed. 

“Shut up,” Beca mutters, rolling her eyes. “I’m surprised she kept my room as is.” She walks to her dresser, picking up a picture of herself as a toddler, with her mom and dad. Seemingly catching herself, Beca sets it back down, clearing her throat. “I need to sort through everything. What’s trash and what can be given away.”

“You’re not keeping anything?”

Beca shakes her head. “No. I already took what mattered to me the day she told me to leave.”

They spend the rest of the afternoon packing Beca’s childhood things into boxes and make a trip to the dump for the things that need to be thrown away. 

Around six, they head to Beca’s aunt’s for dinner. 

“I’m sorry if this is awkward,” Beca mumbles as she reaches up to ring the doorbell. “Hopefully it won’t drag on.” 

“Beca, Chloe,” Annie greets with a small smile as she opens the door. “Come on in.”

They’re led to the dining room, where Beca’s uncle Jerry is already sat. “Hey there, Beca.”

“Hey uncle Jerry,” Beca says with a nod, then points to Chloe. “This is my girlfriend Chloe.”

She doesn’t miss the way her aunt and uncle glance at each other, and her skin crawls in discomfort. 

“Have a seat, girls, I’ll bring out the dish.” 

Chloe sits down next to Beca, casting her uncle a polite smile when she catches him looking at her. Beca and her aunt exchange small talk about Beca’s career over the first fifteen minutes, before Annie’s focus shifts to Chloe.

“And what do you do, Chloe?”

“I’m a vet, ma’am.”

“Oh, how fun!” The older woman gushes. “Well you’re such a good friend for being there for Beca through such a challenging time.” 

Beca clears her throat. “Chloe’s my girlfriend, aunt Annie. We’re living together as a couple. Surely mom told you that.” 

Annie purses her lips, setting her wine glass down. “She simply said you were going through a… phase.” 

Beca scoffs, her eyes rolling through the ceiling before she stabs a piece of carrot a bit too hard. “Of course she did.”

“Beca honey, your mom just wanted you to be happy. She loved you.”

“Telling me she doesn’t want to see me anymore isn’t my definition of loving your own child.” 

“She was hoping it would make realize this…” she motions between Beca and Chloe with her fork, as though unable to say it aloud. “Is not something that would last. That you’d come to your senses and go back to dating men.” 

“Fuck this,” Beca mutters, throwing her napkin on the table. “You’re really no better than her.”

The way Annie’s eyes darken shakes Chloe to the core. “Beca, that is not an appropriate way to talk about your dead mother!” 

Beca ignores it, pushing to her feet. “We’ll see you at the funeral tomorrow.”

Chloe follows her girlfriend towards the exit, catching her arm as Beca walks towards the driver’s side. “Gimme the keys, I’ll drive.”

Thankfully Beca doesn’t put up a fight and nods, handing Chloe the keys and wordlessly slipping in the passenger seat. Chloe backs out of the driveway and takes a right, driving for a couple minutes before pulling up on the side of the road when it seems like Beca is on the verge of a panic attack.

She unbuckles herself and twists in her seat, resting a hand over Beca’s back as Beca leans forward, struggling to breathe. 

“It’s okay, let it out, baby.”

A sob wretches itself from Beca’s throat and Chloe’s heart cracks as Beca breaks down, fat tears rolling down her face. 

“Breathe,” Chloe reminds her, rubbing soothing circles over her jacket. “Inhale, exhale.” 

It takes Beca a few minutes to calm down. She sniffles, wiping her cheeks with the hem of her sleeves. “God, I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, babe,” Chloe murmurs, reaching out to tuck Beca’s hair behind her ear. “They’re the ones in the wrong here.” 

Beca nods, puffing out a breath. “Can we leave right after the service tomorrow?” She croaks out. “You think— we could drive down to your parents’? We haven’t seen them in a while.”

“Of course.” Chloe smiles. “They’ll love that.” 

Beca has been a part of the family ever since Chloe introduced her just over three years ago, and Chloe’s pretty sure they love Beca more than her. 

(she secretly loves how obsessed they are with her girlfriend.) 

The funeral unfolds as it should the next morning, and a service is held in Beca’s childhood home shortly after. Chloe helps however she can, putting aside her irritation towards Beca’s aunt so things can run as smoothly as possible, because Beca doesn’t need any more drama. 

“Babe?” Chloe calls out as she makes it to the top of the stairs. Everyone’s left save for Annie and Jerry, and Beca disappeared a while ago. She finds Beca leaning against her empty bedroom door frame and wraps an arm around her waist from behind, propping her chin on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Beca whispers, inhaling sharply. “Just… memories.” She turns around, looping her arms around Chloe’s neck and pecking her lips. She looks like she’s been crying, but Chloe doesn’t bring it up. “Thank you for coming with me.”

“Of course.” She rubs her nose against Beca’s sweetly. “You ready to go? If we leave now we should be on time for dinner. Mama Beale is making her famous salmon risotto.”

Beca hums. “Sounds amazing.” 

She hits the lights and shuts the door behind her, linking her fingers with Chloe’s as they head out of the house. 

The first half of the ride is spent in silence, Beca’s playlist drifting through the speakers on low volume while Beca stares out the window, absentmindedly stroking Chloe’s knuckles back and forth with the pad of her thumb as they hold hands over the console. 

“Sometimes I’m terrified of having kids,” she blurts out, cutting through Chloe’s thoughts. “I didn’t have any role model growing up and part of me is scared that being a shitty parent is like-- a genetic thing.” 

Chloe’s head shakes, and she glances away from the road for a second to cast her a soft smile. “It’s not, babe.” 

“The rational part of me knows that, but I can’t completely shut down those thoughts that I’m bound to screw up. But then I think of you and-- how I’m the best version of myself when you’re around and I know our kids -- whenever we decide to have them, seriously there’s no rush -- will have the same effect.” 

These moments -- the ones where Beca cracks herself open -- are still rare despite the trust she holds in her heart for Chloe, and they never fail to bring tears to her eyes. Especially when it deals with an important subject that they’ve never brought up before, one that is very dear to Chloe, as she’s always wanted to be a mother. 

“You’re serious about wanting kids?” She asks, unable to completely tame the emotion leaking in her voice. 

“Yeah. Someday. You know, when you and I married and in a good place with our careers.” 

Chloe’s heart trips at the imagery, and a wide smile breaks across her features. “Okay,” she croaks out, squeezing Beca’s hand. “Sounds like a great plan.” 

They make it to the house a little over an hour later, and Chloe’s mom wraps Beca up in a warm embrace as soon as they make it across the threshold. 

“What a lovely surprise,” Alice gushes as she waves them in after hugging her daughter next. 

“Thank you for having us last notice,” Beca says, smiling genuinely for the first time in the last couple days. “What’s up Mike?” She asks when they step inside the kitchen, where Chloe’s dad is setting the table. 

“Hey!” Mike exclaims, a beaming grin stretching across his features. “You guys have a seat. Beer?” 

“Please,” Beca sighs, shrugging off her coat and scarf and draping them over her chair before easing down on it. She smiles and leans against Chloe’s lips when she kisses her temple, quietly thanking Chloe’s dad as he sets a chilled bottle of local beer down in front of her. “Smells great, Alice.” 

“Fresh salmon caught by Mike yesterday,” Chloe’s mom informs them as she sets the dish down in the centre of the table. 

“Going back tomorrow, if you wanna join,” Mike states, his tone teasing as Beca is not really one for the outdoors. 

“You know what? Count me in,” Beca says, surprising everyone at the table. “I think I could use some fresh air.” She glances at Chloe. “I’ll need spare clothes, did not plan a fishing trip when I packed.” 

Chloe chuckles. “Sure thing, babe. Can I convince you to go for a hike as well?” 

“Let’s not push it, Beale,” Beca mutters, smirking. “But I won’t say no to a walk to the beach tomorrow morning before breakfast.” 

It’s a Beale tradition to go on a morning beach walk after both Thanksgiving and Christmas, holidays which Beca spent in Oregon the last two years. 

After a delicious dinner and helping out with the dishes, they head up to Chloe’s bedroom just after ten. 

“And you made fun of me for liking the Spice Girls,” Beca quips as she slides under the covers, eyeing the Pussycat Dolls poster hanging on Chloe’s opposite wall. 

Chloe giggles. “I had a huge crush on Nicole Scherzinger.” 

“Can’t blame you.” Beca sobers up, curling up close to Chloe and cupping her cheek tenderly. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” She kisses Beca softly, holding her waist under the covers. “Turn around, I’m the big spoon tonight.” 

Beca chuckles and does as she’s told without objection, lacing their fingers. “Night, Chlo.” 

“Goodnight, baby.” 

[con-fection]

ASHES TO ASHES | jim moriarty x reader | 6/13

word count: 3.4k 

It's strangely easy to get used to James Moriarty. Adapting to his needs is a necessity, and yet, you find that you barely have to change at all.

You slip into his routine fairly quickly. Despite your initial panic, and the feeling that the whole place was a prison, you're able to push that behind you. It's easy to become the person he demands of you, solely because that person is yourself.

There's no way for you to discern what this whole plan is leading up to, but for now, you've managed to gather a few pieces of the puzzle. They don't quite form a whole, unbroken image yet, but you can understand what they're going to comprise.

There is something that Moriarty has that he's very, very proud of. He's going to unveil it to the world, and you've been assured that every single major criminal is going to scramble to get their hands on it. This thing, whatever it may be, has a great deal of power, apparently.

Initially, you'd been inclined to believe that it was some sort of weapon of mass destruction. Moriarty had told you that it had the potential to be one, and you believed him. He was a great many things, and not many of them good, but you didn't think he was a liar. Not to you, anyway.

However, the more he talked about it, the more you began to suspect that this prized weapon over the masses was actually a farce. It was absolutely the kind of thing he would delight in, tricking everybody into competing for his attention. He never explicitly said it, but you did have an inkling that his 'weapon' was more of a party trick that would lead to destruction but not actually cause any on its own.

The second aspect that you were sure of was that something was going to happen to some kids. The thought of it alone churned your stomach, and his words about innocence remained emblazoned on the back of your eyelids, haunting you whenever you close your eyes. Thankfully, you had persuaded Moriarty not to kill them, but rather just to hurt them. Which would probably be very traumatising, and it did make you wince just thinking about it, but at least the kids would be sent to therapy rather than the morgue.

And somehow, despite all of this - the kidnapping, the being forced into his plans - there was a part of you that remained thankful to him.

Moriarty was a monster, there was no denying that. He liked to hurt others for his entertainment, and he ran a criminal enterprise, consulting with the worst offenders on the planet.

But, he had saved you. By now, Sherlock Holmes would have found you in your hotel room and you would be awaiting trial.

This wasn't freedom, but it was more than you'd ever had.

"Cinderella," You hear Moriarty's lilting irish voice call out, down the hallway from your bedroom. It's still early, you think, and unless you'd overslept, then he was coming to fetch you rather early.

You'd already been awake, though you were lounging around rather than actually doing anything, already dressed in some of the fine clothes from the wardrobe, just waiting for breakfast or a summons from the consulting criminal, which were usually delivered by one of his henchmen.

The door swings open - it doesn't even make a click, and you're left to speculate whether it had even been locked at all.

Moriarty saunters in, grinning. It's a habit of his, to dress impeccably - for today, he's donned a navy blue suit, probably Westwood, which you've discovered he's rather fond of. "Today, we're having an exercise in trust."

You look at him confusedly, not quite understanding. "Like... team bonding?"

"Oh, precisely. Since we're a team, and all."

"We're only a team because -"

Moriarty cuts you off jovially. "Because I kidnapped you and you joined me against your will. Yada yada yada. Yes, let's move passed that. 'S hardly relevant. C'mon, Cinderella. We have places to be."

"We're leaving the house?" You immediately perk up, jumping up and stalking towards him, simultaneously excited and predatory. You're willing to pounce on and devour any opportunity for freedom.

"Yes, yes we are. To get to know each other better."

---

Standing before your house, reduced to rubble, was not your idea of 'team bonding'. Even then, calling yourselves a team was probably an exaggeration. He had all of the power, and you just had to tag along for the ride.

You hadn't really ever anticipated seeing it again in person.

The entire place was blackened and crumbling. It's an overly nice day, the kind where the sky is blue and it's warm, but there's a gentle cool breeze that keeps you grounded. The entire street looks lovely, thriving in the warm weather, but this house, your home, was now a blight on the street, a dark contrast to how happy the rest of the world seemed. Verona's car had been removed, probably even destroyed by now, and there had been some minor clean up done in the garden, with lots of the loose, fallen tiles from the roof having been gathered up.

There's obnoxiously yellow crime scene tape everywhere, cordoning off the house and some of the surrounding areas.

It was just the shell of what it had once been.

It was different, seeing it in person. On the TV, it hadn't even seemed real - it was just another thing for you to celebrate. The last time you were here, it was burning. This ashen, blackened, warped skeleton of your childhood home is a potent reminder of how far you've come, of what you've sacrificed for a freedom you're struggling to obtain.

Moriarty nudges you. There's some of his men on the street, standing tall and stoic - ever silent and ever watching, their presence is likely to prevent you from attempting an escape. He's since put on some sunglasses and keeps pivoting his head slightly to look between you and the charred remains of your childhood home.

"Well...?" He asks, questioningly.

"I really, really don't see how this is meant to build trust." You say, rather numbly. It had felt a lot better when the place was still ablaze. Now that the Archer family were dead and their presence removed from the house, it almost feels like a shame that it had to burn at all.

Almost. But not quite.

It's still a monument to your power, to your ability to maim and destroy. You don't feel half as distant when you remember their suffering, the way that the girls had bled out like pigs when you slit their throats and nearly hacked their heads off.

"Mmh, maybe not yet. I just wanted to see what you had done." Moriarty admits with a shrug. "Look at all you've accomplished, and think how much we could do together."

"I don't want to burn the whole world." You tell him, for the first time looking away from the ashes of the house and up at him. "I want to rule it."

Moriarty grins wildly. "That's the spirit, Cinderella. I can give you the world, you know. All the freedom you want. You just have to stand at my side."

"Isn't that what I'm doing right now?"

"Well yes, it is."

The birds are still singing, chirping happily to one another and diving in the air, flapping their wings. It's rather comforting to know that it hasn't changed - that the parts you like have remained intact, even as you'd rained hellfire down upon this place. There wasn't such birdsong in London, and you had missed it.

"Why me?" You have to ask - you've asked so many times and you can never be satisfied with the answer.

"Sherlock was interested in you. At first, you were in my way. And now?" He raises an eyebrow at you. "Now you're the way forward, Cinderella."

It feels like you've come to some sort of pivotal moment. Here, under the sun and staring at the house you had burnt down, Moriarty doesn't feel so much like a captor. Rather, you're beginning to feel that comradery, that stirring of companionship. The two of you weren't exactly alike, no. But you didn't have to be.

"I'm not sorry I did it." You say, staring at the rubble that you had reduced your childhood home to.

"No, I know." He shrugs. "It'd be awfully boring if you were. Remorse is a bit ordinary, don't you think?"

You don't bother answering his questions. Rather, you close your eyes, and let yourself listen to the soft chirps, hoots and calls from the songbirds darting through the trees. When you're not looking at how damaged the house is, it's easy for you to imagine the hazy days of your youth - watching the birds with your mother, running around the garden whilst your father chased you.

"I'd missed the music, though." You admit. "London doesn't have such pretty songbirds. I always enjoyed waking up to them."

Silently, Jim absorbs the information. He's content to look between you, basking gloriously in the sun, bathed in light, and the destruction you had inflicted on those who sought to subdue you. Both were beautiful sights.

You didn't want to be a mirror image of James Moriarty, and you never would. That wasn't what he wanted, either.

Despite the armed guards behind you, you do, for the first time, feel free.

This isn't a scrap of impure, tainted freedom like back at the hotel. This is the real thing - this is feeling weightless, untethered.

There had been a great many variations of Cinderella written. You had admired them all. Perhaps in this version, Cinderella wasn't the only twisted one. Maybe she burns the house down, but she finds kinship in the prince anyway. Perhaps Prince Charming throws his ball to find victims, rather than wives.

That would be a happily ever after that you could enjoy. There could be no need for lies when you were capable of understanding each other completely. Depravity was a universal craving, and one you knew well, whether it was driven by desperation or not.

---

Today is a very important day, or so you have been told.

This is the day when these fragments of plots come to fruition. Moriarty's men mill about the mansion faster than usual, talking to each other in hushed, rapid voices when they would normally be silent. It very much sets you on edge.

When you enter Moriarty's study that morning, he's sat at his desk and he's not dressed the way he normally is. There's no striking blue Westwood suit or something similar. He's dressed casually - he's even wearing a hat.

You can't quite mask your confusion.

"Launch day, Cinderella." He clicks his tongue at you chidingly, like he's disappointed, or as if you even had the opportunity to forget.

"Yeah, I know." You bite out, annoyed that he would presume it could slip your mind. "Just... what are you wearing?"

You much prefer his pretentious luxury suits to this - a boring, beige blazer and a black cap. It just doesn't look like him. It doesn't look like Moriarty. It looks like a random civilian man that would probably ask you for directions around London. It peturbs you that he doesn't look quite like himself.

Then, you're subsequently even more distressed by your own distress.

You've rather established that you've come to view Moriarty as more of a partner or mentor figure than as a captor. Here is the most free you've ever felt, and you owe your freedom to him. Naively, you hadn't planned post-murder, and by now, you would have been caught.

Moriarty has become almost familiar, and you don't like seeing that familiarity vanish.

"I'm a tourist!" He proclaims, gesturing to his outfit. "Aw, don't you like it?"

"Well, no." You say, rather flatly. "It doesn't look like you."

Moriarty creeps up from behind his desk, stalking over to tower over you and look down at you, his dark eyes staring at you intensely. "It's not forever, Cinderella. Just for one night."

"And you're presenting the thing to the world like this?" You ask dubiously, once more running your eyes over him and trying not to wince. It just doesn't sit right seeing him dressed as something he's not - seeing him downplay himself and disguise as a regular person.

"I'll be wearing a crown when they catch me, don't you worry."

Involuntarily, your eyes widen and you're suddenly grasping at his shirt and looking up into his eyes beseechingly, desperate for answers. "You're going to get caught?" You sound aghast, disbelieving and you feel like you've been wronged - like this is a betrayal.

Moriarty scoffs, but he doesn't pry you from his body. Rather, he simply lets you cling to him. "Not for long. Today, I'm going to get caught stealing the crown jewels."

Your jaw drops open and you fist your hands into his shirt even tighter, pulling so hard you're practically chest-to-chest with each other - with Moriarty staring down at you and you gazing up at him. "The crown jewels."

"Then Pentonville Prison, and the Bank of England, too." He says, grinning.

Really, Moriarty's power and influence shouldn't shock you. He's got loads of people here on strings, following his orders and doing his bidding. They scurry about the mansion in a frenzy, completely obedient to him.

"And you're... going to get caught?"

Moriarty brings one of his hands up to stroke just the top of your head, playing with your hair comfortingly. "Not for long. I'll be out of there before you know it. In the meantime, you'll have jobs to do. Is that okay, Cinderella? You'll play along, won't you?" He croons softly.

"I will." You don't feel half as reluctant as you should.

"Good." Moriarty says, proudly. "That's what matters. You're more than welcome to visit me in jail, though I doubt I'll be there for very long."

There's a knock at the door, and that's when you realise just how close you and he are. Your hands are still fisted in his shirt, he's stroking your hair - and he's so devastatingly close, and there's a pang in your stomach but it's not pain, it's pure feeling.

The loud knocking persists, and reluctantly, you step away, dropping your hands from his body and missing the feel of his hand tangled in your hair.

"Come in, then." Moriarty calls out, looking darkly at the nameless employee of his that enters the study.

"Sir, it's time to go."

Moriarty casts you one last look, his dark eyes roaming over your body, seemingly trying to memorise you - like this moment is something he doesn't want to forget.

You've slotted into his life so well - you're a somewhat unwilling and ungrateful accomplice, but he still very much appreciates you despite that. He finds that, knowing he will be absent for potentially days at a time, he wants to emblazon the very image of you onto the back of his eyelids, so that you're always waiting for him in the darkness.

"Well, Cinderella. Until we meet again." He says, softly.

In the next instant, he's walking out, swiftly followed by his men, and you're left alone in his study, with more questions than answers.

---

There were a great, great many rooms in this mansion. Your time was often divided between your bedroom and Moriarty's study. But today, you were lounging around on some expensive white couch, watching TV intently.

You would constantly be changing news channels, waiting for the story to break. You had seen bits and pieces of dreary, repetitive soap operas, listened to fragments of sports shows, and even made your way through half a nature documentary before anything happened.

You would bite at your lip nervously, fiddle with your hands and pull on your hair. You were nervous, frighteningly so. Naturally, there were a few expected concerns flitting around your mind, like what happens to you if Moriarty actually does go to prison, or what would happen if something goes wrong, or what if he turns you in.

But, there are a few that you hadn't anticipated. There's a twisting, nauseating feeling in your stomach. It's like there's some terrible beast writhing around in your gut, eviscerating any organs it comes into contact with and leaving you a whimpering, anxious mess.

You are worried for him.  

And you're not just worried about what may happen to you - you're actually concerned for him. As much as Moriarty may be a murderer and a criminal, you're those things too, and he's the only person that you have to depend on.

There is nobody else in your life. Nobody but him.

Your parents are long since dead and buried, and the three members of your step-family slain by your own hands. You had come to London alone, friendless and without a plan. He had been the one to secure your freedom, to give you this.

And then, the news channels all practically explode.

" - there has been a break in at the Bank of England. Reportedly, the vault has opened, though how much, or if anything has been stolen remains unknown to us at this time."  

Hastily, you turn the channel over, constantly darting between news sources, hoping for any new information. All of their voices are blaring, and blurring together, but they're not saying what you want them to.

"We can officially report that prisoners at the Pentonville Prison have been - "

And most importantly,

"Following a series of break-ins that include places such as the Bank of England and Pentonville Prison, it has been reported that the Tower of London has been breached, and the Crown Jewels were removed. A suspect has been taken into custody."

"...all broken into by the same man! James Moriarty."

There it is. The news lady finishes her spiel, and the screen flashes up a video. You can't tell whether it's live or not, but it's Moriarty, and he's being arrested, thrown into the back of a police vehicle with his hands cuffed behind his back.

"Oh my god," You breathe, and you have to remind yourself that this is all part of the plan. Moriarty always intended for this to happen.

It does, however, feel awfully perturbing to see him like that. It's like he's tumbled from his pedestal, and been stripped of everything that made him unique. It's pitiful, seeing him cuffed and arrested like he's some common criminal. There is absolutely nothing common about Moriarty, and you doubt there ever has been.

So, this was his weapon. The ability to enter the Bank of England, Pentonville Prison, the Tower of London and who knows where else. If these places were vulnerable to his influence, then surely anywhere was. And that was probably the point. He was showing off - it didn't matter to him whether he was arrested or not.

There was probably a contingency plan for that, too.

This was all meant to happen - this was all part of his design, and you just had to trust in it.

Trust. Wasn't that a funny thing. You frown as you mull it over - trusting in him was probably a dangerous move, but he was the only person you have to trust in, and he had saved you from a fate much worse than this. You would have to believe in him - that everything would work out just fine.

Never in recent years had you been in a position where you had to depend on another person. You had always been the one flitting about, clearing up the mess, taking the abuse and festering in your own anger.

You should be the one in handcuffs - you would have been by now. But you're not, you're here, and Moriarty is the one imprisoned. Perhaps it is time to fight tooth and nail for the freedom of somebody other than yourself.

He would get out. One way or another, Jim Moriarty would make sure that he got free. After all, the game hadn't ended yet, and there were still plans to be fulfilled.

His absence was tangible in the house. There wasn't really anybody else around for you to interact with - his men certainly didn't care to, and you were rather awkward when it came to the realm of social interaction.

All that was left to do was wait, and trust.

[wizardofahz]

High School Reunion

A/N: Midvale is coincidentally set around the time Alex’s 10-year high school reunion would’ve been, so that’s when this is set.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Alex heads down to the beach.

Spending the night in her childhood bed and the emotional release of her conversation with Kara had been nice, but leftover pent up energy is making her restless. A difficult run in the sand should help.

It does at first. It’s been a while since she’s run on a beach. All her energy is spent on reacquainting herself with the lack of solid footing, the way the sand deforms under her feet, how much harder her muscles have to work to extract her feet and carry them forward.

Not long after she falls into a steady rhythm, Alex spots two women walking ahead of her. They’re going in the same direction as her, but she passes them easily.

The monotony of her physical movements allows her mind to wander. Inevitably her thoughts return to Maggie. Actually, no, not Maggie but the coming out journey she had helped along. Alex’s self-realization may have come in National City, but the signs had started here in Midvale.

Vicki hadn’t been her only crush, she’s sure. Over the past year, other memories have come back to Alex, puzzle pieces falling into place with a startling new clarity. Alex wonders how many she’s forgotten. Her mother hadn’t been surprised when Alex came out to her. Maybe she remembers more.

Eventually Alex decides to head back. At this point, she can run half the way and use the last half as a cool down walk.

The two women from before are still walking in the same direction. Alex glances at them, prepared to give a courtesy nod, but recognition stops that plan in its tracks.

It’s Josie.

And Vicki.

Crap.

After Kenny’s death, the friend bubble that had shattered so quickly around Alex hadn’t lasted much longer for Josie.

Except Vicki.

Vicki had been so unfailingly kind to and well-liked by everyone that she had the unique ability to stand up for anyone regardless of social status. And so she did for Kenny, Josie, and Alex.

Until Alex had screwed that up.

Alex hopes they won’t recognize her. She really doesn’t need this reunion now of all times.

No such luck.

“Alex?” Josie says as Alex nears.

Alex skids to a stop, momentum carrying her past Josie and Vicki, so they all have to turn to see one another.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Josie continues.

Feeling more off-kilter than just her sudden stop can explain, Alex says, “I-- Josie, hi. Come to what?”

“The reunion.”

Josie’s words ring a distant bell though Alex doesn’t know how. She doesn’t really keep in touch with anyone from high school, though she sees the occasional update on social media. Maybe her mom mentioned it on a phone call. Either way, Alex has a vague recollection of hearing that her 10-year high school reunion is being held sometime around now. Apparently exactly now.

That also explains Vicki. From a brief moment of weakness when Alex googled her, she knows Vicki hasn’t lived in Midvale since she left for college either.

Vicki alternates between averting her gaze and shooting Alex odd looks. Once upon a time, Alex would’ve known what those looks meant.

“Oh, that’s this weekend?” Alex says. “Umm, I’m actually not here for that, just coincidence really.”

“Well, even if you hadn’t planned on going, since you're here, why don’t you drop by the reunion anyway?" Josie offers. “I’m sure we’ll be well-stocked with booze if nothing else.”

“I’ll think about it,” Alex says, her version of ‘thanks but no thanks.'

Josie seems to understand. “Either way, I’m glad we ran into each other. I wanted to say thank you and I’m sorry. The whole thing with Mr. Bernard...” She grimaces and shudders. “The more time passes, the grosser it feels. Thanks for ending it.”

“Just glad I could help,” Alex says. Maybe if Vicki wasn’t here, she’d ask how Josie is doing. But Vicki is here, which means Alex would very much like to be anywhere else. “I should finish my run before I cool down. See you around?”

Josie nods, looking a little lighter. “See you.”

Alex takes one last glance at Vicki.

The odd expression now looks like jealousy.

... 

Alex watches the waves crash into the rocks below.

As the water recedes, she hears the shuffle of someone approaching.

There are very few people who know about her hideout. It’s not the sort of place people find by chance. The rocky cliff face is sloped but occasionally steep. Getting to her particular little hole in the wall requires knowing that sometimes the best way across is going down then up.

Her father is MIA. Her mom wouldn’t know to come looking for her now. This area is remote enough that Kara typically flies, which only leaves--

Alex sighs.

“I’m not in the mood to fight,” she says.

“Me neither,” comes Vicki’s voice moments before she appears. “I thought you’d be here.”

“Shouldn’t you be with Josie?” Alex wishes she could sound calmer, neutral at least, but her voice comes out reeking of resentment. “Doing... whatever, walking? Something?”

“I’ll see her tonight,” Vicki says evenly, and Alex’s resentment grows. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Vicki tilts her head towards the empty space beside Alex, asking if she can sit. The cave can probably fit three or four people, but given the giant elephant in the room, the prospect of two seems cramped.

Alex nods anyway.

An uncomfortable silence settles between them until Vicki clears her throat.

“I wish I knew what to say sorry for,” Vicki says.

Confusion proves a preferable alternative to discomfort. “Why would you be sorry?” Alex asks.

“You know, when we were kids, I remember hearing a lot about heartbreak,” Vicki says, and Alex’s own heart convulses in her chest. “No one ever told me you could feel it as deeply with friends.”

Friends. Right.

“I missed you, you know?” Vicki continues. “In college and even now, whenever I learn something interesting but super nerdy, I think, ‘Alex would love this.’”

“Ouch?” Alex says--she's a nerd but is she that nerdy--but she knows what Vicki means. When reading feel-good stories on the internet, she often thinks that Vicki would do something like that.

Vicki smiles, a subtle quirk of the mouth. “Watching you with Josie just now... it seemed so easy. I wish I could remember why we fought. If I said something stupid or insensitive... I remember it was after your dad died and then Kenny.”

“What? No!” Alex says immediately. “At least I don’t think so. To be honest, I also have no idea what we were fighting about.” Then because she feels guilty about Vicki’s guilt, she adds, “I did sort of have an epiphany last year about why though.”

“Last year? That’s random.”

“Not really.” Alex's face is burning now. She wishes the cave was bigger, provided at least a facade of an escape. But then again, maybe with an escape, she wouldn’t be bringing herself to having this conversation. “I, umm, I came out last year. I guess I’m coming out again now. To you. But I-- last year I came out for the first time, and it sort of made me think about things, and I didn’t realize it at the time, but I think I had a crush on you, and I didn’t know how to deal with it.”

Vicki looks stunned, and Alex immediately regrets saying anything. All of her coming out experiences until now had been positive, but now Maggie’s story about her and Elisa is rattling around her head. Alex racks her brains, trying to remember if Vicki said anything in high school that even hinted at homophobia.

An even more panicked thought runs through her head. Alex is pretty sure she’s the stronger of the two of them. If someone is getting pushed out of this cave, it’s not her.

“You know what,” Alex says quickly, desperately retreating from that terrible thought. “We can forget I said anything.”

“No, I… Thanks for sharing. I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to,” Vicki says.

Relief floods through Alex’s body. It’s not enough to calm her pounding heart and twisting stomach, but it provides a moment of clarity. She’d been talking a mile a minute and given Vicki less than half a second to respond before she went into panic mode.

“To be honest, I think I’m more surprised that you had a crush on me specifically,” Vicki continues. “You’re such a perfectionist. That you of all people could think that I was worth crushing on... It’s kind of flattering.” She’s quick to clarify, “Not in a weird way!”

Alex laughs, shaky but sincere. “Well if it helps, I don’t have a crush on you anymore.”

Vicki nudges her leg against Alex’s. “My turn to say, ‘Ouch.’”

Silence settles between them again. Alex wishes she could say this one is less awkward than the previous, but they still have ten years of distance between them.

Again, Vicki is the one to break the silence. “So what brings you to Midvale since it’s not the reunion?”

“I’ve been going through--” Alex lets out a weary sigh “--something. I don’t want to talk about it, but Kara thought it’d be a good idea to get away from National City for the weekend.”

Vicki respects Alex’s wishes and pivots. “And how is Kara? Seemed like Supergirl also had it rough for a while.”

Alex thinks she could rival Kara’s super speed with how quickly she turns to Vicki. “What? Why would you--”

“I’ve never said anything to anyone,” Vicki says with her hands up, “but I grew up with you. It’s kind of obvious.”

“No.” Alex sinks her head into her hands. “You can’t know.”

“I think it’s kind of amazing,” Vicki continues, oblivious to the panic once again coursing through Alex’s veins, “you two saving the world together.”

“You don’t understand,” Alex chokes out. “Do you remember Rick Malverne?”

Alex knows she’s breaking confidentiality by saying this, but she needs Vicki to understand the scope of the problem. If Alex missteps, it won’t be a great solution, but J’onn can wipe Vicki too.

Vicki’s brow furrows in thought before saying, “He liked you, right? Used to carry your backpack or something?”

“He also figured out that Kara is Supergirl, so if he knew, and you know, then how many other people in this town know?”

“Okay, uhh, even if other people do, no one is going to--”

“Earlier this year, he kidnapped me.” 

“Oh my God.”

“He wanted his father freed from prison, so he went after me, said that if Kara didn’t break him free, he’d kill me. Nearly did too. But the point is that I can’t do that to Kara again.”

“What about you though? Are you okay?”

Alex looks down at the water below. The tide is rising much like the water in the tank. Alex shakes her head to wash the memories away.

“I’m fine.”

Vicki looks at her skeptically.

“I’m fine enough.”

“Well, if it helps, when I said it’s obvious, I meant to me.”

Alex shakes her head. “He knew because of that day on the beach. You know, when Kara saved that woman and her baby from the car? Our whole class was out there.”

“Yeah, but Rick moved away not long after, right? That’s one of his last memories of Kara, and it left an impression. No, hear me out. Everyone else who was there remembers her as that weird kid they picked on or avoided for years afterward. I’m pretty sure at this point the ‘weird kid Kara’ reputation is not the good kind of weird you’d expect to find in a superhero--no offense to her. It’s obvious to me because I know you, and especially in senior year after everything with Kenny, Sheriff Collins, and Josie, spending time with you meant spending time with Kara. I got to see her for the good kind of special that she is.”

“I don’t know.” Alex rubs her temples. She wishes it was that simple, but she doesn’t think it is.

“You know,” Vicki says playfully, sending off alarm bells in Alex’s head, “one way you can make sure is to come to the reunion tonight.”

Alex rolls her eyes. “I’d rather be kidnapped again.”

“Want me to sleuth around?” Vicki offers. “I may not be a super spy or whatever it is you do, but I’ve got skills.”

“No, we have other ways of dealing with this.” Alex makes a mental note to talk to J’onn. “And I was serious about the ‘you can’t know’ part. At the very least, you’re going to have to sign a lot of confidentiality documents.”

“Fair enough. Do I go to your office or something? Does that mean we’ll get to spend time together again? This has been nice.”

“We have another field office closer to where you live, not that I know where you live,” Alex adds quickly, but to her relief Vicki just laughs. “So, umm, maybe we could do something non-business related sometime?”

“I’d like that.”