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jarofstyles · 4 years

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Teacher’s Pet

A/N: As requested, here is the first part of our professor!harry series. As usual, this we put our little twist on things and we hope that you enjoy! - n+d

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pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

warning: smut, mutual masturbation, use of sex toys

word count: 6.2k

While Harry tried not to show favoritism in his courses, it was hard not to be caring towards the students that showed effort but struggled. That was the case with little Y/N. She was young, pretty, had a bit of an edge to her. From what he had noticed she was kind and often let people borrow pens and once gave a diabetic classmate her muffin when she saw he was a bit pale and taking his blood sugar.

He wasn’t everyone’s favorite professor. He was a tough grader, had a bit of a resting ‘bitch’ face, and he wasn’t necessarily warm and fuzzy. It wasn’t what Harry wanted at all— but it had to be done so that the students wouldn’t just see him as a peer. He had learned that early in. He had to be strict and get respect or he would be stuck with slackers or people who thought he would ‘do them a solid’ as one student had tried to ask with a fist bump. But when it came to sweet students with dyed hair, a devastated little pout, and even watery eyes, he knew he would have to say something.

‘If you would like some help, please come to my office any time after 4. I would be happy to assist in figuring out the material.’

It was written next to a poor grade. He could tell that she had potential— she just wasn’t getting it. He also worried about her word usage. If what he thought of was correct, it would make sense why she was struggling.

School was never one of Y/N’s strong suits. From the beginning of her school career she struggled with getting the hang of concepts and her teachers grew a distaste for her because they thought she wasn’t trying. Y/N was a hard worker though, she did genuinely try, but her best was never enough. A few teachers pointed out that she might have a learning disability, but her parents denied that ever being a case. Her other siblings, both older and younger, were able to grasp concepts easily and were all incredible book smart in addition to being talented outside of school. It seemed that Y/N was just the bad apple of the bunch. Her parents would joke, but of course it hurt. She didn’t even want to go to college originally, but her parents forced her to at least try and get a degree so she wouldn’t be a low life. Y/N only agreed because they said they’d keep paying for her band. Of course, you can only really go to college if you pass though and Y/N wasn’t doing too well.

Professor Styles had always intimidated her, but he just took his job seriously. She could tell by the way he talked about everything that he was passionate about making sure people understood the deeper meaning behind these books and Y/N could appreciate that. It was just a shame that she struggled so much in his class. There were students that excelled in his classes and he was always giving them praise, little surprised smiles and nods, a small ‘good job’ or ‘correct, yes’ here and there. Y/N found herself wanting to try harder in his classes just to get a praise out of him, but she was too nervous to raise her hand even when she did know the answer. This was her third time getting a not so passing grade in this class and Y/N was growing more and more frustrated. She understood the material, or she felt like she did, but whenever it came to reading and remembering, she found herself getting stuck. Little frustrated tears formed in her eyes but she blinked them away, thinking she wasn’t going to muster up the courage to see him today.

But she did.

He had a soft spot for the students that he helped. It was human nature to care for those you spent time with. It wasn’t like how he thought about Y/N though. Okay— he knew it was bad. But he was intrigued by her. Why? He wasn’t able to pinpoint exactly what it was. Maybe her edgy look, maybe it was because she was seemingly submissive and every time he caught her eye she looked like a deer in headlights. She stares at him a lot, he could notice that. But he likes it. So he was pleasantly surprised when she came to his office, looking skittish but also curious. She needed help and he would offer it to her.

“Y/N, it’s nice to see you.” Harry adjusted his glasses and sat up straighter, putting the final mark on a test before looking back up at her with a gentle smile. He had to approach with caution, she already looked like she was going to shit herself. “I’m glad you got my note and weren’t offended. But I was wondering if you’d like some help.” He didn’t say what because he wanted her to tell him what exactly she was struggling with.

Y/N was very nervous, mostly because she didn’t like asking for help from anyone. She didn’t like to seem unintelligent in front of men, especially when they were as attractive as Professor Styles. All the girls on campus talked about how hot he was, how his dominance was a turn on and how none of them were properly able to focus in class. At least they were getting passing grades.

“Hi, professor...” Y/N said softly and closed the door behind her before taking a seat. “I, um... I’m not really good with asking for help.” She explained, pushing a few pieces of hair behind her ear before fixing her septum piercing. Y/N was playing with the hem of her skirt, one of her fingers playing with the fishnet stockings she had on. “I feel like I understand when you’re explaining it and then I go and take the test and it’s like I can’t remember anything you said. But I’m not good at academics anyway so...” Y/N let out a sad chuckle. Her self confidence was pretty low in all aspects, it was a shame because she was a pretty girl. She didn’t seem to think so, hence why she dressed up. At least her clothes she could control.

“Now, don’t say that.” Harry tutted. “I’m sure that’s not true. I bet you just have a different way of learning. If you understand verbally, but freeze when it’s written, that may be the case.” He hummed, flipping through the last work she had handed in. “My question is... it isn’t meant to offend you at all. But do you find difficulty in reading itself?” He approached it gently. You’d be surprised how many adults realize later on in life that they have dyslexia. They were labeled as not the smartest but he was because it took so long for them to understand because the words and numbers get jumbled up. “I’m asking because I notice in your writings, you spell things in a unique way. Or it seems the letters are flipped. This isn’t to embarrass you so please don’t be upset— we just need to figure out why it is that you struggle with the tests.” He leaned forward on his desk, licking over his bottom lip. She was beautiful. In that way when women didn’t know they were beautiful. He wished he could see more of her body— fuck, not going there. Absolutely not. Even though technically it wasn’t like he would be fired, seeing as half the damn staff fucks students. It was always that forbidden element. Either way, he was far too much for this sweet thing to handle. “I would like to help you if you would let me do so.”

Y/N felt really anxious, bouncing her leg to try and keep her composure. She didn’t think she was smart. She wasn’t good at math, wasn’t good at science, she was decent at English but even that seemed to be difficult now that she was reading classics that were barely in modern English. She just decided that learning wasn’t for her.

“I’m not a reader, no.” She shook her head, Y/N found herself having trouble focusing for a long time and when it came to reading words get jumbled up and she struggled a lot. Especially when she started thinking about it too much. Of course Y/N was embarrassed even though he said he wasn’t trying to embarrass her. It was more just her feeling incompetent. She didn’t like making eye contact with him for too long because she felt like he was staring straight into her soul. She was a bit shy and timid when it came to new people. She appreciated that he wasn’t judging her though. “I don’t know what you could do to help, but if you’d like to try we can? I—I don’t want to waste your time.”

“There’s no wasting time if it helps improve your learning, yeah? Please don’t think of yourself like that. You are an important person, just as important as my other students. I want you to succeed.” Harry promised. It kind of broke his heart that she was so sure that her time with him would be wasted. It made him sad that she felt that way. Why? “How about we set up a time... let’s say two days a week? I have time around now, so 4:15 to 5 where I can help you.” He normally wouldn’t do it for most but he wasn’t going to let her suffer. A passion project, so to speak. “I don’t know your schedule but I would be here during that time normally. I basically live in this office anyways.” He smiled in a joking way. “We can work on understanding first what was wrong and then we can have time to work on the new material.”

Y/N nodded her head in agreement, but it did make her worry. Of course she could only try her best but she was so used to failing that she wasn’t sure how much harder she could try. She was barely passing her other classes and frankly she was thinking about dropping out all together. Maybe she was the lowlife her parents made her out to be?

“Can do... Monday’s and Thursday’s..” Y/N told him, “if that’s okay, I have band practice on Wednesday’s.” She wasn’t sure why’s she told him but part of it was to show that she wasn’t just a stupid girl that she did have some talent or at least she thought she did. “It’s um... it’s really nice of you to do this, thank you.” She told him genuinely, though she was terrified of letting him down. He seemed so cool. He wasn’t like this in his classes, he seemed much more approachable this way. Maybe in another life they could have been friends or more than that... no, he probably wasn’t into girls like her. She needed a cigarette.

“Of course. You have my email if you need to reschedule.” But he could see right through her. Of course he could. “But... if you’re nervous, tell me. I can soothe the worries. I’ll be awfully disappointed if you don’t show up and don’t let me know.” He knew she was skittish. He didn’t want her to back out and not take the time to try at the very least. “Let’s just work on it a day at a time. I hope to see you soon.”

When she walked out, he was ashamed to say he was entranced by her ass. He was such a bastard for thinking about a student like that. So bad. But it didn’t stop him from seeing her eyes when he fucked his fist later that night.

----

The next couple of days left Y/N worried. Coming out of professor Styles’ office had left her feeling on edge, wondering if it was even worth trying. She felt like nothing would save her at this point but this was going to be her last attempt. If it didn’t work out she’d just drop out and couch surf. But she didn’t want to have to do that, her kitty Jinx would have to find a new home and that was something she certainly didn’t want. It was Monday and Y/N didn’t go to her classes today, feeling like it was justified because she was meeting with Professor Styles today.

If she was going to work on herself she wanted to be in the best shape possible, so she smoked some weed in the morning to get her day off right and got her things together before getting her skateboard and making her way to his office.

Harry was pleased when she actually showed up at his office. He was half expecting her to drop his class with how terrified she had seemed the past time, and he was curious to see how she had thought about what her grades and his revisions on her test. He had worn a dark red button up today with suspenders, his blazer off and hair a tiny bit messy. His glasses hung off the end of his nose while he looked up at her with surprise, before a smile came on his face.

“Y/N! I’m very glad to see you’ve come.” He hummed, sitting up and leaning back in his chair. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable on the couch. Would you like a water?” He had a mini fridge in his office. Without listening to an answer, he pulled one out anyways and handed it to her, rounding the desk so he seemed less scary. The desk was a position of power. One he loved, but also didn’t want to take advantage of when Y/N obviously was terrified of it. “Alright. So... you’ve seen my revisions?” He sat on the other arm chair across from the couch, glasses pushed up now with his copy of her paper. “Good. What do you think about your mistakes? Were they because you didn’t understand the material, or didn’t know what to say in paper?”

Y/N gave him a small smile, setting her skate board up against the side wall before taking a seat on the couch. No amount of weed could have calmed her down, she wasn’t even that high anymore it was just the residual feeling. Right now, she was more concerned about having to tell him what was going on inside her mind when she was working on assignments.

“I—I um... both?” She felt a blush creeping in on her cheeks. “I tried to like... watch videos about it, cause whenever I try to read I just get frustrated.” Y/N explained fiddling with the paper. She didn’t like this feeling, it was obvious that it was something that made her emotional which was why she didn’t really talk about it. She let out a breath, looking over what she wrote and seeing all the red pen. It made her want to crawl up into a ball despite how nice he was being. He was trying and so she would also try her best to keep it together. “I find it really hard to focus..”

“I don’t doubt that you do, Y/N. I’m thinking that maybe this isn’t something to do with your focus, but maybe it’s with your reading? You could learn differently than other people and that's absolutely alright.” Harry felt poorly that she was so sad and embarrassed about it. “Look at me.” When she didn’t respond he was trying a different tactic. Soft but very obviously meaning business. “There we are. Now, this doesn’t mean you’re stupid or unable to learn or do well in my class. You just may need to learn differently.” He stood up and grabbed a book from his shelf. “So this book— I got it online. It has some illustrations in it, and I find they’re pretty self explanatory. Maybe this will help you understand it better. Having an image opposed to words in your mind.” He handed it to her. She didn’t need to know he had bought it himself.

Y/N glanced up at him as he told her to look at him, seeing his face go much softer but his eyes still held that same intensity. She followed his with her eyes as he went to get the book. It was much thicker than the others due to all the illustrations but of course it made her feel like a little kid again. She just wished she could be normal.

“Okay...” She said softly, willing to try anything at this point. Of course she was nervous about going forward with his class seeing as she knew things would only get more difficult. Y/N gave him a small thank you as she looked through the book but part of her felt like it wasn’t going to work. No one was determined in helping her learn, they never have been. She’d always gotten very poor, passing grades because she assumed teachers felt bad for her or knew her siblings and assumed maybe she was just the rebellious one. “Sometimes I feel like I do better on the essays, cause I feel like I get it... but I end up getting better grades on the tests than the essays and it’s... disheartening.” She explained with a small frown, “cause I guess on the tests a lot of the time.”

He furrowed his brows, listening to what Y/N had to say. It made sense if she had dyslexia that she would be frustrated and upset with learning altogether but it was important to her and him as well, that she was able to do what she was meant to do. Whatever it was she had wanted.

“I think you should outline your essays more. Each body paragraph, with reasoning and thought. Come up with 4 to 6 reasons for each, word them how it makes sense to you, and write it that way. The structure taught isn’t the only way to do it.” He explained. Writing down on a piece of notebook paper an example of how she could do it. “I know it must be very frustrating— especially if it’s been years that you’ve had to deal with this. I understand. But I do have faith that you’re able to do this. You are intelligent, Y/N. You just have to figure out the right way to show it.”

Y/N let out a sigh, swallowing thickly as he gave her some advice on how to structure her essays in a way that would make more sense. She would try her best, especially with knowing that he was going to be grading things knowing what her situation was. Y/N was going to try her best to sound smart or collected, but she will admit she hadn’t been paying attention for years.

She pulled out a folder of her English work, pulled out the notes she had taken and the lay out for her essays and bit the inside of her lip. Y/N handed it to him and immediately went to pay with her own fingers. Observing him as he looked through what she had done previously.

“I—I try my best, I really do.. but anytime I get the courage to try it just gets worse and I go back to not trying at all because at least then I know I’m failing cause I’m doing it on purpose and not cause I’m stupid.” Y/N was trying to share her feelings to try and make him understand. “‘s really intimidating being in class with people who pick up information easily and I end up just tuning out cause it’s too fast for me to follow... and I don’t want to be that one girl that holds up the whole class with a stupid question.”

“You aren’t. If you have a question that you aren’t comfortable asking in front of everyone, you are always welcome to email me or come to my office at any time I’m here.” Harry promised. Poor girl. Jesus, what happened to her to make her self esteem like this? “You are very capable. Very much a smart girl. You need to tap into different areas of your brain. I promise, we can get your grade up together, alright?” He felt softness and fondness because he knew that sometimes professors weren’t the most understanding. Granted, he was only like this towards students that came for help— and oddly, even more so towards her, but still. “You don’t have to stop trying. You just need a different approach and we can help you find the right one. Do you like movies?” He suddenly remembered that. At her confused look, he continued. “Movies are scripts. Books. Visual. Do you find it easy to follow along with movies?”

She found it hard to believe him because no one really called her smart, ever. Y/N gave him a small smile and nodded her head, pushing pieces of hair away from her face before nodding and realizing she reversed the work she’d just done. He was a very nice man, it was clear that he was committed to helping her and it was definitely appreciated. She just didn’t know why he believed in her so much when no one else did?

“Well yeah... I can follow conversation and stuff.” Y/N let out a small chuckle, sniffling a bit before she continued. “I think another problem is I get too confused about things like.. the deeper meaning stuff in books. Like the themes and whatever you call it. Cause in my head I know what I think it means but then it’s meant to mean something else and then I think I just didn’t understand correctly.” Y/N was definitely more of a creative. She didn’t like following set rules, she liked going with the flow and following her own thing. It worked when it came to her music, she was able to focus then. But she taught herself guitar.

“I think that you need to first take the book at face value. Don’t look for the hidden meanings the first time you read because it will confuse you more.” Harry cleared his throat. She smelled really good. Like peaches and citrus. He wondered if her bed smelled like that, but stronger.

“Tell me some things you like.” He leaned back into the seat. “Things you think we can connect to projects. You said you’re in a band? Have a band?” He remembered that from last time. At her nod he continued. “You can find a song or make a playlist of songs that connect your head to the book. Say... Romeo and Juliet. Hmm.. check yes Juliet, We The Kings. If you’ve heard of that. You can find songs that help you remember.”

“Yeah, I’m in a band.” Y/N nodded her head a bit at him, “it’s like a indie punk thing...” She wasn’t sure what kind of music he listened to but he seemed young enough to think that indie music was good. Who knows, maybe he was one of those jazz guys with all the sweaters he wears. Y/N wasn’t one to judge though. The check yes Juliet reference made her chuckle, remembering middle school and highschool momentarily. He couldn’t be that much older then. “Yeah, I know that song.” She giggled and shook her head, “but yeah, I understand.” She spoke and took note of that in her mind. Y/N didn’t know how she was meant to explain to him that she spent the rest of her free time doing drugs. Tripping and writing music, hanging out with her kitty. That’s about it. Skating, going out in nature. Fucking. She definitely was a bit of a nympho. She assumed it was because of her need for attention.

“Okay. That’s good then. Use that to try and correlate.” He had felt weird watching her leave the room, seemingly in a better mood than she had been before but still nervous. It didn’t help that he hadn��t gotten laid and didn’t really want to have sex with someone else right now. God, if only he could spread her open and dip his cock into her soft cunt. That’s something he was dreaming of.

He thought about it the next night too. So, with his bored and needy thoughts, he went home and did his chores he needed to do, before he went to lay in his bed with his laptop. To be honest. Most porn didn’t do it for him. He much preferred erotic writing or even more so, cam girls. Sex workers deserved support and he always tipped well, though rarely talking in any of them. He was scrolling down the alternative tab when he found what he was looking for. Tattoos and plump lips, tits for a profile photo and a tongue sticking out. Interesting— and she was live.

He just never expected the exact woman in his head to be placed on the screen, smoke coming from her mouth.

Fuck.

Y/N wasn’t exactly sure how she thought about starting camming but it all sort of just fell into place. She started off just selling her nudes and videos for attention and money but then she realized that people would pay really good money to watch live stuff. It’s a good thing too because Y/N loved being watched. Her cams were usually regularly scheduled, but other times they were spontaneous because she was really horny. bbybunnie was her username, most people just called her pet names though, never by her actual name for obvious security reasons. She had quite the following too. People seemed to love her content. She was fun and bubbly and she felt like she put in a great show both literally and physically. Y/N had just done a bong rip, having her windows open to let the smoke out. She didn’t like smoking around Jinx so she’d let her in once she was properly stoned. She was dressed in a black crop top that said princess on it in gothic font, fishnets, and little black panties.

“Been really stressed lately with college and stuff...” Y/N answered a previous question as to what she’d been up to. “Working on assignments in stuff but it gets hard.” She pouted, turning her head when she heard Jinx scratching at the door. “One second.” She giggled and went to grab Jinx, leaving the door open so she could roam. “Here she is, say hi to everyone.” Y/N cooed in a baby voice. It was quite the sight. An alternative girl all soft with her cat, just starting the broadcast. Her vibrator was clearly in frame, already plugged in. A subscriber bought a heavy duty one for her.

And Harry should have clicked off. Right away, he should have exited the screen and said ‘gotta go’ because this was his student. His student he tutored and had fucking come on here to jerk off to a look alike. But he couldn’t. Not finally getting a look at her body. Soft and curved and delicious. Her tits strained the tank top and little tiny panties, some fishnets. Jesus fucking Christ. He let out an audible moan as he watched her sit back on the bed, talking back and forth with some of the comments.

He wasn’t sure what made him comment.

DaddyH: you look beautiful. I love the fishnets.

She did. And he loved them. A lot of the comments were dirtier but not to the point he could see it turning a woman on. He didn’t get an associates in sexology for nothing.

Y/N was pretty good with responding to comments, they were paying after all, but a lot of them were much nicer than most would think. Her community was used to her streams taking a bit to get going because she liked to get super horny, so once she was properly high she usually talked with her comments about things she’s been fantasizing about and what they’d like to see her do.

DaddyH. He was new.

“Hi daddyh, thank you! You’re new aren’t you?” Y/N said with an excited smile, she liked newcomers. It meant someone was interested in her. “Well we’ve got a special show on our hands then.” Her viewers loved when new people came because the shows were always better. She was visibly hornier. She shifted a little bit so she was leaning farther back on her pillows, bringing her legs up and out so she was spreading like a little butterfly. Of course the panties kept things covered but not much. Y/N pulled them up so they were tight on her, “Gotta get me real wet first, yeah?” She hummed, “love knowing you’re watching me... love when you tell me what you like...” It was strategic to talk dirty as if she was talking to one specific person.

Fuck shit motherfucker. Fuck.

Harry didn’t even see her pussy fully yet and he was nearly drooling. What the fuck had he done in what past life to get this type of luck? He wasn’t sure but he did know that whatever he did, he was thankful. He got a good look at her, her lusty eyes. He was a dirty talker. He loved to sex— fuck the English teacher in him. He loved making women a mess of whines and slick and speaking their darkest fantasies into their ears as the writhe underneath him. Y/N would be a fun one to play with. For sure.

DaddyH: you could play over the panties. They’re cute.

He had a thing for panties and fishnets, and she was going right to his kinks.

“But that’s no fun.” Y/N pouted at the comment, wiggling her panties a little bit so she could rub against her clit some. She let out a tiny moan and hummed, letting her hands move up her body to squeeze her tits through her shirt. She was properly eye fucking the camera too, teasing as she started to pull up her shirt. “I’m frustrated, daddy...” Usually she waited till she got a certain number of tips before she took her clothes off, but she was only a few dollars away so she pulled off her shirt revealing that she wasn’t wearing a bra. The tightness of the tank top kept them up, but these men seemed to love natural tits. Her hand slipped down to start rubbing over her clit over top her panties, letting out little breathy moans of pleasure. “Really want to be fucked...” She explained, “Wanna be full...” Y/N pouted and quickened her pace.

“Bent over a desk.”

Harry had a big oak desk he could bend her over and absolutely destroy her. If that’s something she would want. Harry would wreck her. His hand palmed Over his cock as he took her in and looked at her tits. He was an everything man but tits? He could happily suck on hers for an hour and make marks all over, just to listen to her mewl and feel her on his tongue. He squeezed over his sweatpants, feeling himself heat up as he watched her. She was topless, his student. His student was topless and rubbing her clit over tiny little panties, giving a pout and looking at the camera too fucking similar to the way she looked at him in his office today. And while his rational mind knew he wouldn’t be able to look at her the same— he would want to fuck her even more than he had— he couldn’t stop watching.

It was clear that Y/N’s interactions with Harry had spilt over into her mind while she was getting into it. It was that intense stare that he had, his ringed hands, of course there was also the tone of his voice. How he asked her to look at him that one time. She could only imagine him asking her much rougher and in a deeper voice.

“Daddy...” She whimpered out, teasing her own self over her panties as she read over the comments. Y/N giggled are some, loving he praise if men calling her cute and telling her she was pretty and her moans were turning them on. She went and took off her panties cause she really couldn’t take it anymore, revealing her fishnet covered cunt. “Want a better view, hmm?” Y/N smirked, moving to rip them right over the crotch so everyone could see. “I’m so fuck wet for you... look..” She said all excited, pulling her fingers back to show the strings of wetness on her fingers.

Harry was in heaven. Truly. Or hell, because he wasn’t able to be the one ripping the fishnets up and fucking her in them. Her thighs looked soft and delicate and probably so easily bruised. He could do some incredible work down there.

DaddyH: Lick it clean, sweetheart. I know it’s sweet.

There was no way she wasn’t so sweet that his teeth would fill with cavities. No way. He wanted her taste all over his tongue. He was a very giving dom, very much eager to make his lovers cum again and again and again so long as they complied with his soft rules. It wasn’t difficult.

Y/N’s stomach filled with warmth as she read over the comment, bringing her fingers to her mouth and sucking on them properly as if they were a cock. She was starting to like the Daddyh character. He was so sweet and polite in his choice of words, paid well. What was there not to like? She removed her fingers from her mouth giggling a little bit as she decided to show off some more. Y/N pushed the laptop back a bit, turning so they could see her ass and how she arched her back for them relieving that she’d had a butt plug in the whole time. Sleek and black with a little gem at the end. A lot of the things she had were gifts from subscribers. She had an Amazon wishlist specifically set up for them as well as a regular P.O. Box that then routed to her home. She had tons of back up fishnets, some used ones she sold online as well. Lots of other things. She quite enjoyed it.

When did she put that in? Harry needed to know. Was she wearing that when she was sat on his fucking couch? He would surely lose his goddamn mind if that was the case.

He tipped her $50, asking the question he needed the answer to.

DaddyH: Have you been wearing that all day, pretty girl?

The idea of her squirming in class occurred to him. And then the idea of a little vibrator inside of her that he had the remote to, pressing it on to see her reactions. He would buy her one, fuck. He would buy this girl anything if it meant getting to see her squirm and hear her beg him to let her cum.

Y/N wiggled her bum a bit, turning on her back again with a hum. “I’ve been wearing it all day...” She nodded, reaching over for her vibrator because she really couldn’t wait anymore. Everyone who streamed her knew she was impatient, sometimes if they paid a good amount she’d wait and tease herself first but she was needy today. She just kept thinking about professor Styles. “‘m so needy... been so horny lately, might be on for a while.” Y/N blushed, “or I’ll film some special requests on my onlyfans...” She smirked because she knew she would get lots of money for men begging her to stay but loads for custom content too. Y/N turned the vibrator on it’s lowest setting, starting to move it down on to her cunt where she let out a pleaser sigh. “I wanna cum so bad... just wanna cum.” She pleaded, reading to see what everyone was saying. Y/N turned it up a few notches, letting out a content sigh as she moved it over a specific spot. The feeling was indescribable and the noises that left her just showed how relieved she was.

Harry nearly fell over. Her ass was stuffed when she sat on his couch— and it wasn’t from his cock. Harry particularly loved anal, it was a very hot thing to him and the fact she hadn’t been warming his cock like that was near criminal. Truly.

“Sweet Jesus.” He breathed, finally taking himself out of his pants. Spitting thick on to the head, he spread it over his cock and waited for her to continue. She had an onlyfans? He would be subscribing and buying content. He didn’t give a fuck. He wanted it and it would be the best way to keep her close but far. He was watching how her legs trembled and her mouth fell open at the feeling, her body arching into the buzzing of the vibrator. Oh, how he would hold it against her and finger her until she squirted all over the bed and make her clean it up with her tongue. He was a sexual man but kinky more than anything. The idea of it all... it was so hot and wrong and taboo and it was even better in his cock’s mind that she was a no go zone. Made it hotter.

DaddyH: you’ve got such a pretty pussy. How many times can you cum?

Y/N read his comment and let out a whine, turning up the vibrator a few settings higher once again so she could get even closer to her brink of orgasm. “Let’s find out.” She breathed out and continued to crank up the settings. The closer she got the more she thrashed and bucked her hips both up and away from the vibrator. She was very enjoyable to watch she’s been told, specifically because she just couldn’t keep her mouth shut and that she was willing to take a lot. Y/N must have sat there for a few hours just making herself cum over and over again, both with the vibrator and the dildo she had. Once she was all fucked out, 5 orgasms deep, she just laid there and watched the comments roll in. She giggled at a few, breathing heavily as she slowly walked herself down from the blissful headspace she was in. “Thank you, I’m feeling so much better...” Y/N cooed, giving them a smile. “Have a good day or night!” And with that she’d logged off, happy that she had made a new regular.

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

[part 2]

A/N: bet you weren’t expecting that huh? 😈 and yes!! punk!y/n - n + d

let us know what you think!

masterlist

#writing #harry styles smut #professor!harry #professor!h #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction

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supercorpkid · 4 years

Text

This is why you don't socialize.

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader

Word count: 2780.

“You know we just have to make, like, a volcano or something stupid like that, right?” Jamie asks you while you two walk to L Corp after school.

“I know, but what’s the fun in that?” You stop at a street food truck to buy something. “Do you want one?” Jamie agrees with her head. “Can I have five hot dogs, please?”

“I don’t want to have fun. It’s a school science fair. Normal people make potato clocks.” Jamie goes back to the subject and you agree with your head.

“Normal people can’t make robot dogs or a time machine.” You wink at her then goes back to pay for the hot dogs. “Thank you.” You give her one and you two resume walking. “Come on, we can make anything you can imagine. And we have an entire lab for that, so think big. Bigger than you’ve ever thought.”

“Fine, ok.” Jamie is still in the first bite of her hot dog and you already ate two. “How about we make a mind reader?”

“Ok.” It’s actually not a bad idea. It will make things easier for you because of the thought blocker.

“What’s going on here? Is this a field trip or something?” Jamie asks looking at five people in the lobby that look way too young to work there. But they are wearing lab coats and they all have IDs.

“I don’t know.” You mumble and look at the receptionist. “Hey Aly, I brought my cousin with me today. Did mom hire some new people?”

“Yes, those are the new interns.” Aly points and you agree with your head. You make your way inside so you can go to the labs, when you see that Jamie is not following you.

“Jamie! Let’s go!” You yell and she finally looks back at you. She follows you to the elevator and as soon as the doors close and you two are alone she starts talking.

“That intern with the blue shirt is way too cute.” She says and you roll your eyes. “Honestly, you never help me with anything. You are practically the boss here. You could just go and make him hang out with me or something.”

“You’re crazy. I don’t even work here.” You say opening the door to your lab and she looks inside.

“You don’t work here and yet you have this lab all to yourself.” She rolls her eyes, throwing her backpack close to yours and walking to one of the computers. “Come on, little Danvers, you’re going to have your fun with this project, let me have my fun.”

“Ok, fine.” You agree with your head. And make your way back to the door. “Don’t break anything. I’ll be right back.”

You go to the lobby again. You’re not sure what you’re going to say, but you know you have to try something or Jamie won’t let you work on your project for the science fair. You get close to the interns and you don’t even have to introduce yourself, because all of them know exactly who you are.

“Oh my God, you’re Lena Luthor’s daughter.” One girl says and you smile embarrassed. “Your mom is a legend! Are you smart like her?”

“Not like her. So, um, what are your names?” You ask and they all introduce themselves. The guy Jamie was looking is called Luke. “Ok, do you all have assignments?”

“Get coffee, don’t touch anything you can break, and try to learn something.” The five of them say almost at the same time and you laugh.

“Great! Oh, um, Luke right?” You point at him and he agrees with his head. “I could use some muscles at my lab, if you don’t mind helping?”

“Oh no, not at all!” He says and you wave goodbye to the others and go back to the elevator with him on your tail. “So, you have your own lab?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“You must be pretty smart then.” Luke gives you a smile and you shrug as your answer. You don’t say anything else. “So, what are you making?”

“Oh, my cousin and I have to work on something for the school science fair.” The elevator doors open and you make your way to the lab. “I think you’re going to like her, actually.”

“Oh, really? Why is that?”

“She’s pretty.” You smile and he laughs like he can’t believe you just said that.

“Well, if she is anything like you.”

You squint your eyes at him. Poor thing, thinks flattery will get him places. Honestly Jamie can do much better.

“Ok, here we are.” You walk in and Jamie stands up quickly to greet him. “Jamie, Luke. Luke, Jamie.”

It’s a confusion of ‘hey’, ‘hi’, ‘hello’ and ‘how are you?’ after that and you just wait until they’re both done smiling and flirting.

“So, you mentioned you needed muscles?” He turns back at you and you agree.

“That box is kind of heavy, and we’re just two weak little girls.” You say ironically, and you look at Jamie who hides a smile. He picks up the box and puts in the middle of your table. After that you just focus on work while they talk and kind of flirt with each other.

You’re almost done with the math when Luke goes to your side to see what you’re working on. Apparently, they already ran out of things to say. You try to explain to him what you’re doing, but you find out he is majoring in chemistry, so this is not really his area of expertise.

“Hey girls!” Lena opens the door to your lab, making Luke jump on his seat and Jamie scream in surprise. “Did I come in at a bad time?” She looks at you, then she arches her brow to the boy next to you. You haven’t seen this look too many times, but Lena looks like she is really suspicious. You shrug.

“We’re just working on the science fair project.” You explain and she comes closer.

“And you are?” Lena asks Luke, while staring him right into his soul. You roll your eyes thinking this is very lame and unnecessary.

“Luke! I mean, I-I work here? As an intern? I was just hired.” He says visibly scared, and you hear his heartbeat going crazy. Lena doesn’t answer, so he adds. “Please, don’t fire me.”

“Fire you?” She gives him a smirk. “Why would I fire you? I don’t believe you were doing anything wrong.” Her face goes back to a frown. “Were you, Luke?”

“No! No ma’am. Not at all.” He stands up from the chair. “I should-I have to go!” He stumbles his way to the door. “Nice to meet you, girls.”

“Goodbye Luke.” Lena is the one who answers and you look at Jamie whose eyes are as big as they can get. Lena goes back to you when the door closes behind him. “What was an intern doing here?”

“He came to help with the box.” Jamie says pointing at the box in front of her. “It was heavy.”

“Heavy?” Lena smirks again. “You mean to tell me that, that scrawny looking boy could carry this box, and my half Kryptonian daughter couldn’t?”

Jamie doesn’t answer. You also don’t say anything and Lena seems to understand that it had nothing to do with the box. She doesn’t push any further. She asks what you are working on, and helps you a little. But Lena can’t stay long, she lets you and Jamie work and go back to her own work.

“Do you think she will fire him?” Jamie asks you after Lena leaves and you shake your head.

“No, of course not.” You grab a few things inside the box. “Ok, let's put this together quickly, I’m hungry.”

“I’ve known you for sixteen years, and I’ve never seen you not hungry.” She laughs and you stick your tongue out at her. “Just don’t go so fast, if you finish today, we won’t have a reason to come here tomorrow.”

“It’s my lab, I always have a reason to come here.” You furrow your brows and Jamie rolls her eyes.

“My God, you’ll be single forever.” She takes the prototype out of your hands and makes her way to the door. “Come on, let’s go eat something. We’ll work on that later.”

You follow her because one: in your life you’ve learned not to argue with Jamie when she has an idea, and two: you can’t say no to food.

The next day, Jamie insists on cancelling the training with Alex, and her excuse is that you guys couldn’t finish the project on the day before. It’s true, you didn’t finish, because she didn’t let you, but you know she is making things a little harder than they actually are, just so she can go back to L Corp and see Luke.

You are not even inside L Corp yet when you see him. He was on a coffee run, judging by the number of cups he is currently balancing on his hands.

“Hi Luke.” Jamie puts her hair behind her ear, and uses her sweet voice.

“Oh. Hi. Hey.” He looks up like he is looking for something and you mimic his actions.

“You ok in there? Did you lose something in the sky?” You ask with a smile and he looks back to you.

“No! Nothing. I should really get going to give these to-well, yeah, um.” He nods. “Ok, bye.”

“Wow, your mom really scared him yesterday, didn’t she?” Jamie says furrowing her brows and you shake your head agreeing.

“C’mon. We have a lot to do.” You go to your lab and start working again. Jamie is “helping”. You gave her the shell and she is painting it to make it more stylish, or whatever. With your superspeed is a lot easier finishing things in record time. “Ok, I think I’m done. Do you want to try it?”

“Sure. Do it on me.” Jamie looks at you and you point the device at her, you put one earphone and turn it on. “God, I sure hope this works, I don’t want to have to do a volcano by myself like a five-year-old.”

“Don’t worry, you won’t.” You look at her and smile. “It works.”

“No way!” Jamie jumps excitedly, snatching it out of your hands. “Let me try.”

“It works. It always works. Should we get celebratory donuts?”

“Oh, dear God, stop thinking about food.” Jamie makes her way to the door. “Come on, let’s see what other people are thinking.”

“I don’t think this is appropriated.” You say following her.

“Then why would we even make this in the first place?” You can’t disagree with that, so you go to the lobby, and both you and Jamie take turns listening to other people’s thoughts and laughing.

“Hey, hey. Luke is over there. Go listen to his thoughts.”

“No. I have to see if he agrees to it first. Wait.” You go to him. “Hey Luke, our device is ready, can I test it on you?”

“What-You-I-ON ME?.” He freezes with his eyes wide open, and you furrow your brows. “Ok-No-Yeah-Ok.”

“Ok, you’re being really weird, Luke.” You say and you point your device at his face. “Just stand still and I’ll see if it works.”

It works. You know it works. You’ve tested with everyone on L Corp already, but Jamie needs to know if he likes her, so you have to do this. You turn on, and hear his thoughts loud as if he was saying them to you.

“Oh God, oh God. I don’t know what to do. If I stay here and Mrs. Luthor sees me with her daughter, she might fire me. But if her daughter tells her mom I didn’t want to help, she can also fire me. Or worse, she can ask Supergirl to follow me again. Supergirl won’t kill me, will she? No. The Supers don’t kill. She just might fly me to the other side of the Earth and leave me there. Shit, oh shit. I hope this device doesn’t work.”

“Weird.” You look at him pretending you’re not shocked with all the revelations. “I don’t think it’s working. I have to check my math. Thanks for your help, Luke!”

“Yeah, sure!” He squeaks looking relieved and you march into the elevator, but instead of going to the last floor down, you go to the last floor up. You lower your glasses and you see Lena is in her office alone, working on her computer.

“Hey, mom!” You open the door before her assistant announces you.

“Oh, hey babygirl.” She smiles at you and stops typing. “Weird seeing you up here these days.”

“I know. We usually meet downstairs.” You sit on the chair in front of her. “So, where do you usually intimidate people? Downstairs or here in your office?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You threatened to fire Luke if he went around me again.” You point out with a smile.

“I did no such thing.” Lena crosses her arms, crosses her legs, and stares back at you with her most serious expressions. You two have a staring contest for a few seconds. You squint your eyes at her. She mimics you right after. You give her a little nod.

“Oh, this?” You point at the device on your hands. “I’m glad you’ve noticed. This is a mind reader. A simple variation of the unwelcome thought blocker. You see, I only had to change a few variables here and there. It’s for the school science fair.” You smile pointing the device at her. “Jamie’s idea, actually. And it works perfectly, wouldn’t you know.”

“Don’t you dare.” Lena says when she sees your mischievous smile and your finger hovering the power button.

“Then don’t lie.” You don’t lower the device until she sighs, looking defeated.

“I simply pointed out that you’re too young. He is a college student, much too old for you!” She says, breaking her CEO pose, and going into mom mode.

“And because of that you had momma follow him around National City.”

“I did not!” Lena defends herself immediately and you squint your eyes, not believing. “I told your momma that there was a guy at your lab, and she made the decision to follow him, herself. Not my fault she wanted to see for herself.”

“Why?”

Lena doesn’t answer, but you don’t need much to deduct it alone. You throw yourself back in the chair, feeling outraged.

“You think I like him.” You say matter-of-factly, but you expect her to deny this information anyway.

But she doesn’t. She doesn’t confirm nor deny, but her silence says too much. You can see it in her face. It’s absurd.

“You do! Dear Rao, you think I like him! And momma thinks that too.” You cross your arms to show her how upset you’re with this information. She looks at you posture, acknowledging it.

“And you don’t?” A single eyebrow is raised and you laugh.

“Don’t give me the eyebrow, young lady.” You try to mimic her tone of voice, and she smiles at that. “And I don’t. For your information is Jamie who likes him. She is the one who made me invite him to the lab, and she’s the one who’s making me pretend I couldn’t have finished the device in a day, so she can come back here to flirt.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah! That means you and Supergirl just terrified a boy for no reason!” You laugh at her, who looks way too worried to laugh with you, well aware of the fact that he is probably really terrified right now. “I can’t believe you and momma thought I liked him. Rao, you two think too little of me.” You stand up and make your way to the door. “That scrawny looking boy, really?”

“Well, in my defense…” Lena says and you wait by the door for what she has to say for herself. A few seconds go by with no defense, and you can see she’s working very hard on an excuse. “I have none.”

“Yeah you don’t.” You laugh, feeling proud of finally leaving your mom wordless. “Next time, maybe just ask me?”

“Sorry. I think we just got a little jealous.” Lena says, making you roll your eyes.

“A little? Supergirl literally followed him around the city.” You want to seem upset, but you actually laugh at that. “I’m not saying it isn’t hilarious, just unnecessary.”

It’s hilarious and kind of cute, but you’re not going to let them know that, in case they decide to do it again any time soon.

#supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor #supercorp #kara x lena #supercorp fanfic #supercorpfamily #kara x reader #lena x reader #supercorp daughter #reader insert

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lovelyirony · 4 years

Note

Title: I wish i could forget you

Tony Stark was not supposed to be in the car when Howard and Maria Stark attended a Christmas holiday party for another company. In fact, Hydra had wanted him to stay home.

Unfortunately, Tony had ticked off Howard a bit too much, and so here he was in a tuxedo that was a bit too big, uncomfortably shiny shoes, and a temper that was close to blowing.

Thank god they were almost home.

When a car crashes, one almost can’t believe it. Tony can see the outside blurring, and he can hear glass crunching, and he hears things that he really doesn’t want to hear. He is fairly sure that Maria screamed.

A metal arm.

Huh.

Well, not the most typical. He also doesn’t think that the man knows he’s here.

Howard and Maria Stark are killed. Tony feels like shit because he couldn’t do anything. His forehead is bleeding and he didn’t want to move out of fear for himself, which seems selfish, but also maybe a survival instinct?

God, his bow-tie is still constricting air flow.

Once the man turns, Tony realizes that he wasn’t the target. They probably had no idea he was in the car, whoever “they” were.

He gets out of the car. The car door creaks, and the man whips around.

His eyes widen.

“You--what?”

The voice is surprisingly American.

Surprisingly? He’s not sure why it’s surprising, it’s not like an American can’t kill just look at history, but still, Kind of surprising.

"What, wasn’t supposed to be here?” Tony rasps out. He realizes now that he’s basically sent himself a death sentence as the man surges forward.

“What are you doing here?”

His eyes are piercing. Also very, very familiar with some photographs that Peggy has on her mantle and her desk.

James “Bucky” Barnes. Son of a bitch.

“What are you doing alive?” Tony asks. “I thought you were lost in a ravine in Europe somewhere.”

“What--huh?”

“Ravine. In Europe. You know who you are, right? Is this some kind of sick...what did they do to you?”

“I do not know what you are talking about.”

His eyes get cold again.

“Who are you?”

“I am the Asset.”

It is now that Tony realizes that every single shitty sci-fi book is probably right, and his disdain of “wacky science” and “magic” have all been for nothing, because here is Bucky Barnes, who apparently has no idea who he is.

Then Tony gets knocked on his ass. His body slams against the icy road, and Barnes is rushing towards a motorcycle.

And he’s alone. He can’t breathe, all the wind knocked out of his chest. He thinks he broke a couple of ribs.

No one believes him. At all. SHIELD brushes it aside.

“There’s no way Barnes could be alive. You were probably just seeing things,” they tell him. “Would you like us to find you a therapist?”

“No,” Tony says, and they ask why. He laughs, sipping on his water. “SHIELD has so much loyalty to itself, I’m afraid I’d be compromised.”

“Therapists aren’t supposed to divulge any information,” Nick Fury adds carefully. “And we’re a secret-keeping bunch. Nothing goes out that comes in.”

“Unless, of course, it’s necessary,” Tony drawls, staring at Fury. God, the leather outfit...that’s weird. “Then I’m out in the open, Nicky. And what fun is that unless I get to show off an outfit in full-coverage?”

“...I’ll have an agent escort you home. We’ll have guards overnight.”

“Don’t bother.”

“And why is that? Think you can handle it by yourself?”

“Fury, my family has made a career out of thinking a lot of things. You’re not being as detrimental as you think.”

He finger-waves, grinning and winking at agents on the way out.

Now comes paranoia. This is welcome, actually, because it’s allowing him to work up new security measures and hack into various security cameras around the world to see if he can find Barnes.

It’s like he’s a ghost. And fuck, maybe Fury was right. Tony doesn’t like that, but that may be it.

Merry fucking Christmas.

Years go by, and Tony keeps a tiny ear to any news about mysterious deaths that can’t be explained. A man that glows in lamp-light, has no identity. He’s not sure if it could be Barnes. God knows he’s no longer seventeen, and Barnes--it if it was Barnes--would be way older. He should’ve been an old man in 1991, but he wasn’t.

It kind of reminds him of the conspiracy theory that Walt Disney was kept cryogenically frozen, which is just ridiculous, because as far as he’s concerned, you’d need a bit more to you than just regular skin and bones.

And this is where it hits him.

Barnes was experimented on when he was captured by Hydra. Peggy told him that Rogers told her that he was repeating his dog tag number over and over, as if someone was trying to take him over.

Yeah, you’d need a bit more.

Like a fucking super soldier serum.

This then delves into Tony realizing that if Barnes is flash-frozen, then...well, could Rogers have survived? He always thought his dad was crazy, but a broken clock is right twice a week or however the hell that saying goes. He never used it, he wasn’t a broken clock.

(He was broken, but he’s not going to compare himself to a clock. Perhaps Model-T.)

They find Rogers. Tony realizes Howard did his math completely wrong for years, and probably never let anyone look at it because he was a World Super Genius. And a Colossal Dick.

Steve Rogers is one tough cookie to crack. Tony chips off some of the ice and puts it in a glass of scotch.

“Do you really think that’s the most appropriate thing to do?” Phil Coulson asks.

He’s shocked, but mainly because Tony has seen his Cap collection, and that man has so many limited edition cards and lunchboxes that it’s a bit crazy. But at least he knows how to decorate with it and not have it look like an absolute nutjob swept into his house and did it all in red-white-and-blue.

“Phil, my darling, when have I ever done anything the appropriate way?” Tony asks. He stares at the face that’s emerging out of the ice. “Besides, what else are you going to do with this ice, hm? Besides melt it all off?”

Steve is a miracle. Every scientist on earth wants to poke and prod at him.

Tony breaks him out of SHIELD in a week, because he swears to shit if one more scientist asks to take blood samples “to see how going under Arctic temperatures affects the bloodstream” (and also take DNA for cloning) he’s going to lose it.

Fury yells at him for two hours.

Steve flips Fury off from the couch, where he’s been channel-surfing for the better part of three hours.

“You’ve already corrupted him,” Fury scowls. “Rogers, we need to talk--”

“He’s retired,” Tony says.

(Steve is not, technically. Hasn’t said anything. But Tony is putting him on mandatory retirement for at least a year.)

“What’s...what the ever-loving fuck is that?” Steve asks.

An infomercial. For an automated chair. Mostly used for old people.

Tony grins.

“You wanna see how fast I can launch you out of one?”

“I’m going to say yes. Professionally.”

Ten miles an hour, and Steve goes flying across the room into a pile of pillows.

It’s not the end-all solution. God knows Steve calls him “Howard” and asks where a lot of nasty food is, and sometimes can’t tell the difference between what his brain is seeing and what is actually there.

But Tony gets him help. And Steve goes to art school.

It’s all very funny, actually. Steve rants about “modern art” and how “if he could kill any concept it would be abstract expressionism, what the fuck.”

Tony buys and then donates a Rothko in his honor.

Steve fumes, but finds it hilarious.

Then, there’s the attack on New York.

Norse god of mischief decides to end New York, blah blah blah.

Captain America reappears, everyone loses their shit, and Tony almost dies.

Then he gets four other roomies besides Steve, and he has to make a chore chart. Ugh.

Barnes reappears in France. Tony gets a fairly good image, and Natasha stills.

“You know about Winter Soldier?”

“Barnes? Yeah.”

“You know who he is?”

“James Barnes. At least, I think. He tried to kill me, wasn’t very successful at it.”

Steve overhears.

This leads to a chain of events that ends in Steve not coming to family dinner because he’d rather sit in his room and listen to Green Day or Glenn Miller or whatever the hell gets him even more upset.

“Listen, Steve, I’m sorry. But up until this picture? I was only about sixty percent sure I wasn’t full of beans.”

“Why is that the phrase you use?”

“What, full of beans? Bruce says I have to work on my cursing. Apparently, children are impressionable. Who knew?”

It’s not a total success. Steve still doesn’t like that Tony didn’t outright tell him, but Tony isn’t going to tell Steve that he has the mental stability of a single cashew.

So begins the hunt for Barnes. Which actually isn’t too bad.

He’s in DC. Not for any political clean-up, unfortunately. He’s trying to kill Fury. Tony doesn’t know why, at least until he looks up Pierce, who’s technically, mostly retired from SHIELD.

And yet still uses most resources that technically? He needs more than one authorization from multiple people.

God, people are getting bad at covering their tracks. Used to be harder to catch and see if someone was doing dirty deals.

(Okay, not like he can talk because Obie was...well, no use in discussing that now. He needs to focus.)

Nat and Steve are bad at lying. This kind of surprises him, because Steve is usually a successful liar. He’s convinced Clint that it’s not him who keeps eating his peanut-butter-fudge ice cream, but Thor.

And Natasha used to be Natalie Rushman. Then again, Tony was poisoned during that one, so that might just be on him.

Helicarriers go in the water.

Tony’s working on making sure most of the information doesn’t reach the general public, although he can’t stop it all.

Barnes falls off the face of the earth, and Steve wants to go on another treasure hunt.

“Let him come to us, or figure himself out.”

“This isn’t a college kid going backpacking in Europe for a year,” Nat snaps. “He’s...you know who he is, who he was, and what he can do.”

“Counterpoint: we don’t know if he secretly really wanted to see traditional decoration of Ukrainian Easter eggs,” Tony says. “God knows that I want to learn more about that.”

“Is everything a joke to you?”

"Only on federally mandated holidays,” Tony says with a shrug. “But let him be. Steve, it’s one thing that he didn’t kill you. It’s another thing that he hauled you up from the Potomac. I’m not sure I would’ve done that because who goes up alone to a helicarrier?”

“Historically nobody,” Natasha says. “Most people don’t have any helicarriers.”

“God, this situation sucks,” Tony says. “What if. We potentially. Ignore all of it and have spinach and artichoke dip? Hm?”

“With toasted bread?”

“I’m not an animal, Steve.”

“Your penchant for four a.m. coffee while you don’t realize you’re singing songs from the seventies says otherwise,” he responds.

“Well well well, if it isn’t the punishment of you getting the aux taken away for a week,” Tony taunts.

“Oh, come on!” Steve whines.

“Nope, just you having to listen to more of Bruce’s questionable tastes.”

“Fuck.”

Barnes comes stateside. The only reason Tony knows this is because Jarvis says that he may have spotted Barnes, but he’s not sure.

“J, you’re the most advanced system in the world, not to mention my son, and you like to hack into the Pentagon for funsies.”

“All of that could not have prepared me for this.”

Barnes is wearing a neon green tank top that is advertising Coco Beach in Florida.

“Can I laugh? Or is that sad?”

“Multitask, Sir.”

“Oh, true.”

Barnes is not in New York. Tony has to near-about put an electric fence around the whole state so that Steve doesn’t go on a road trip.

Hell, Tony doesn’t even trust him to go to coffee alone, but that’s a bit much.

“We have to wait,” Tony says.

Sam Wilson is a godsend. Also the funniest man Tony knows.

He is also emotionally healthy and very perceptive, so he has been noticing that Tony is nervous.

Because how do you face the man who killed your parents? Technically?

“Are you talking to your therapist?” Sam asks. “Just thinking you should.”

“Sam, we’re working on my issues from 2007. Believe it or not, it will be taking a full year.”

“I don’t like that I can never tell if you’re serious.”

“I know you remember the tabloids from 2007, I wrote a mesh vest. Clearly, I need so much help.”

Sam snorts.

“Maybe. Hey, I’ll catch you later. Clint and I are gonna go try and find some questionable shirts to crop.”

“Did his little protege convince you? Bishop, right?”

“Kate, yeah. She’s convinced our public image will go viral or something. Good luck with helping Steve and Nat with your super-soldier hunt.”

“Thanks. Let me know if you find a shirt with my face on it. I want it.”

Sam snorts.

“Will do.”

Bucky Barnes comes to New York in early May. The springtime is slowly but surely fading off, sun approaching more and more. Tony is enjoying coffee on a veranda, and then suddenly his waiter is nowhere to be found and he’s not entirely sure if his visitor takes credit or debit.

“Can I help you?”

“Maybe. Depends on if you’re gonna kill me or not.”

“I think Steve would be a bit broken up about it.”

“Do you care what he thinks?”

“On this situation? Yes. When it comes to culinary choices? No.”

There’s a ghost of a smile on his face. Tony’s trying extremely hard not to remember shattered glass and a motorcycle on ice.

“Can we, uh, table this conversation? For later. Espresso and all that, plus the added bonus of our shared history, so...”

“Shared history?”

“You don’t remember?” Tony asks. Bucky shakes his head. “Ah. Then this is truly a comedy of errors. Maybe. Um. Listen, I, uh...I gotta go. You need to talk to Nat or Steve or hell, maybe even Thor. Is Thor a good option?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Barnes, I can’t exactly face you right now.”

And then he jumps off a balcony.

A fucking balcony.

Jesus H. Christ, his therapist is gonna be so excited for their next session.

The suit wraps itself around him, and he can finally breathe, and he’s thinking about calling Pepper and see if she would like to schedule him a vacation for maybe anywhere but New York and Iowa.

“Why not Iowa?” Pepper asks. “They have good antique stores. I’ve gotten quite a few good finds for clothes.”

“I can do shopping retail literally anywhere else, absolutely not.”

“Spoilsport. Steve know you’re leaving?”

“I didn’t even really tell Steve what happened with my parents.”

“Oh, your therapist called. She sounded concerned, but also intrigued.”

“It’s because Sally almost became an employee of NASA and still has a soft spot for aerodynamics.”

“What exactly did you do when faced with Barnes?”

“Check the front tabloid page tomorrow, just tell everyone I’m out of town.”

“Got it. And Tony?”

Her voice is soft.

“Yes, dear?”

He can feel her rolling her eyes. Affectionately, of course, but rolling all the same.

“Be safe, and come back. You know Rhodey and I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

A week is spent in Malibu. He really is thinking about selling this place. But for now, it suffices.

Steve texts him.

bucky’s back. holy shit

be back in a week. radio silence.

got it. no more messages from me. thor tells me to tell you that he broke the sink

:((((

And that’s it. He’s sitting in the house for a week, has already called Sally once and explained how his suit works, and then listened to her talk about how “his reliance on the suit to help him escape unfavorable situations is not exactly the healthiest but also none of my clients have had to face someone who is of weird standing.”

It’s no secret that Tony doesn’t like Howard Stark. Who would’ve liked that sorry excuse for a father, a man who was so cold-hearted the Arctic looked like a tropical paradise?

Maria was...Maria was different.

She wasn’t a good mother. No, she was never a good mother. But she tried, and she didn’t deserve her fate.

And then there was the question of Bucky Barnes. Who wasn’t Bucky when he was there, but still so damn recognizable.

It’s kind of like when there’s a movie about a famous person, and another person plays them. Like Tom Hanks, essentially. Bucky played whoever the fuck they get Tom Hanks to play and it’s similar: you see the resemblance, but it’s not it.

So yeah.

There’s also the little tidbit that things get complicated when you involve personal feelings and rationality, and really? Tony misses New York. A lot. And he’s not going to let someone else overtake his life just because he’s uncomfortable.

So he flies back to New York.

He’s in a bad way, Barnes is.

“He remembered you,” Steve says. “What he did.”

“Ah, there’s that.”

“He doesn’t have to be here,” Natasha says. “I have a couple of SHIELD safe houses to choose from.”

“None would be adequate to house something like me,” comes the response.

Barnes looks remarkably shitty, as if he hasn’t slept in eighty years. And maybe he hasn’t.

“Jail would be more fitting.”

Tony rolls his eyes.

“You are literally the most dramatic person ever, and Bruce threatened to take over the government because Thor ate the last croissant. Put those on the grocery list, Steve

“We’re not gonna throw you in jail,” he continues on. “Not because you happened to be used as a goddamned Swiss army knife. I have issues, sure, but I’m not going to be going all Hannibal Lecter or whatever.”

“Who the hell is that?”

“Cannibal. I realized that that’s a terrible comparison, please forgive me.”

“Why a cannibal?”

“Couldn’t think of anything else but Anthony Hopkins, the actor. My mistake. Point is, we’re gonna have to go through some channels, and I’m introducing you to BARF, as well as a new person who’s gonna rock your world.”

“I’m pretty much well-acquainted with vomit.”

“No, not that,” Tony says. “Although we can cover that through my 2005 edition of partying if we really wanna dig up some old magazine interviews. No, I’m introducing you to something that’s going to change your life.”

After that, Tony doesn’t have much to do with Bucky’s life.

He serves as a permanent guilt trip, nothing says “well, shit” much like being a permanent guilt trip.

Sally tells him that they should talk it out. Do all that “and how do you feel?” questioning that makes his skin crawl and his eyes ascend to the ceiling.

I mean yeah, they share a living space. Tony has seen Bucky laugh and smile with Sam, talk with Bruce about a really interesting article about regeneration of plant cells or whatever, and Bucky enjoys videochatting with Wakandan royalty.

(It also helps that Shuri is blunt as ever, but so blisteringly smart. He’s reading her paper on regeneration of nanotechnology, and it just...it’s the Pieta of research, that paper.)

But he never speaks to Bucky. Well, he does. But it’s more along the lines of “hey Barnes” and “how are you?” which aren’t exactly the Most Thought Provoking Statements Ever Made.

Summer comes swiftly, and about near with a vengeance. Tony’s dealing with a heat wave and trying to figure out if going outside is even worth it, and then he and Bucky are alone in the kitchen.

Tony was debating getting a couple of popsicles from the freezer. Bucky is considering sabotaging Clint’s smoothie that was supposed to be special for tonight, but that he’ll most likely forget.

“Hey,” Bucky says. “Um, can we talk?”

Shit.

He’s been avoiding this, officially, for a month. Potentially more if you’re going to count a few choice events that have been brought up by his psyche.

“Sure thing, buttercup. What are we talking about. Economy, world crises, the great debate on financial advice?”

“Isn’t the third thing just the economy?”

“We can break it down over coffee.”

“Mm, maybe another time. No, I’m talking about us. About how I--I kind of ruined your life.”

Tony blinks.

“You didn’t ruin my life. If my life was ruined you’d be hit with so many lawsuits that I could make the rest of your life look like the third circle of Hell, or wherever it is that people go nowadays in Dante’s eyes. No, you didn’t ruin my life.”

“I still killed your parents.”

“If you hadn’t, someone else would’ve. Believe me, there were about fifteen others in line. Sometimes, myself included.”

“You can’t not take me seriously,” Bucky stresses. “I still did a terrible thing. I just want to make sure you know that you’re being too kind.”

“I most certainly am not,” Tony says. “Being too kind would have me feeding you grapes.”

Bucky’s face blanks.

“Don’t. I...I don’t wanna take advantage of your hospitality. I don’t want to remind you of what happened.”

“You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t wanted,” Tony says. “Believe me. And if you want to leave, you’re free to leave. I don’t want to make you feel like you need to stay here.”

“I...I want to make it up to you.”

“Then use BARF and review it,” Tony says. “I’m serious. I need user feedback, and you’re the best candidate for it. Also, please try to convince Steve to wear neon yellow. I just want to see if he’ll do it.”

Steve wears neon yellow. Tony laughs so hard he cries.

Bucky smiles.

It’s a nice smile, really. It’s wide and happy and wow. That’s all worth it.

And then BARF. Bucky just gives user feedback, nothing else. Tony doesn’t want to know anything else, but they start talking more.

Tony finds out that Bucky’s been doing crosswords to catch up on current events, and he’s bought taped recordings of World Series games.

He loves antique stores. He visits them and brings home little trinkets that he remembers in his own house, or what he remembered. He watched old commercials from the fifties and sixties, laughed as he remembered the Sears catalogs that would come in the mail.

“Me an’ my sisters would beg my mom for new clothes from the catalog, and she never would. Always sewed our pants and skirts so damn well, I probably could’ve used them for the next ten years.”

Tony laughs.

“Well, I can’t promise I can sew. But I could give you some armor that could last you twenty years, if you want. Steve told me you’re thinking about doing some distance missions.”

“Just observation, no armor required.”

“Sometimes it’s the simple missions that get the worst hits,” Tony says. “Believe me, I know how it goes. So, do you want some armor?”

Bucky smiles.

“Sure.”

“I’ll need feedback.”

“I’ll give it all I’ve got.”

Bucky is a goddamned dream to design for. He knows exactly what he needs, what areas are most likely to be pierced, and also has a flair for the dramatic: he requests an Iron Man helmet be embroidered on the back.

“You’re really just trying to be sweet on me, aren’t you?” Tony teases.

“My master plan to gain your fortune,” Bucky teases right back. “I’ll waste it all on champagne pools and the worst-looking but most expensive shoes I can find.”

Tony laughs.

“Sugar, that’d be incredible if you could spend all of my money on that. I’d commend you.”

Bucky smiles, and it shouldn’t be as nice of a smile as it is, but here Tony is with his opinions and his concerning thought that maybe he wants to see more of Bucky.

In the morning, there begins a routine. Tony is always up at eight o’clock. It’s a rare lull in Avenger-morning-routines: Nat, Steve, and Bruce are all done, and Thor and Clint won’t be in until ten o’clock at the earliest.

(What can he say? Thor’s a god and Clint...well. He needs a lot of beauty sleep.)

Tony makes coffee, and Bucky makes them both breakfast. Says that officially, it’s to test and make sure that his prosthetic is still performing under optimal conditions.

(They both know that’s not it.)

Tony always says he pours too much water, makes enough for two cups.

Steve calls them out on it.

“You two are being weird,” he says. “And not like Thor and Bruce trying to reenact that one show about ghosts and unsolved things.”

“That’s their form of courtship, don’t be fucking rude,” Clint remarks. Natasha snorts.

“What, us being weird?” Tony asks, pouring a bit more coffee into Bucky’s mug. He always uses too much creamer and then won’t finish his coffee unless there’s more. “Why do you say that?”

“It’s because you both do couple shit,” Bruce says, breezing into the kitchen. “Also, Steve, lovely to see that you have volunteered to be the next guest on Avengers: Unsolved. We’re planning on using you as a guilt-trip in order to access files about aliens.”

“Truth will be found!” Thor adds. “But also, yes. Bucky, I thought you were taking him on a date to the art museum on Saturday.”

Bucky turns red. So does Tony. It really is quite inconvenient.

“I mean, we could go on a date there,” Tony says. “If you’re okay with that.”

“You’re doing this in public?” Natasha asks, eyebrows raised. “Hm. Would not have called that.”

“You owe me fifteen dollars,” Bucky says. “Not you Tony, quit looking at me like that. Yes, it will be a date on Saturday, I’ll wear a nice shirt. Nat said that I couldn’t do anything that surprised her.”

“Technically, Tony surprised me.”

“I thought dates were mutual events, hm? Fifteen dollars. I’ll use it to buy the best bouquet in New York.”

“The best bouquet costs over a thousand dollars,” Thor answers.

“Not questioning how you know that, but I’m scared of you,” Bucky says. “Then I will get the best fifteen-dollar-bouquet in New York.”

Tony snorts, smiling.

“I guess I’ll spray a bit of my perfume on my pillow then, soldier.”

“I’ll pick you up at noon sharp,” Bucky says, grinning. He finishes his coffee. “We’ll make fun of Steve’s art exhibit together.”

#lovelyirony writes #holy shit this was longer than expected #thank you to angel for this inspiration #winteriron #avengers as a family #personally i like the fact that thor and bruce are doing avengers unsolved and have to force different avengers on #natasha romanoff #bruce banner #thor #bucky barnes #tony stark #howard stark #maria stark #sally the therapist

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nite-shay · 4 years

Text

His Hero Part 4 (Kirishima Eijirou x Reader)

A/N: I don’t know if I’m completely happy about this chapter. I’m trying to get better with witting panic/anxiety/non-humor, so hopefully, next time, it’ll be a little better. Also, sorry for the long time off and just sporadic posting. Works been hell, but now that we’ll hopefully *grain of salt* were getting more people hired, I’ll have more motivation and time to write

Warnings: Panic/anxiety , references to sex and/or sexual acts (nothing descriptive but suggestive) so I guess 18+? IDK how this works :/ If yer too young, offended by sex , sexual acts, sexual reference or don’t know where babies come from, please don’t read.

Word count: 3K

Other then that, please enjoy! :D

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4

*****

Kirishima didn’t protest when Fat sent him home for the day.

‘Go home. Clear your head. Call me if you need anything.’

Honestly, he barely heard his mentor’s words. He just sat there staring at the screen. Watching, pausing, rewinding, and watching again. Over and over again. It wasn’t until Fat picked him up and carried him to the door, did he finally get the memo.

Yeah... he didn’t need to be here right now...

The trip home was nothing but a blur, and honestly, he remembered nothing about it. His body was on autopilot as his mind tried to wrap the possibility that he might have a kid.

A kid… A son… Your son… His son? But… How? Err… Wait!

Ok, he knows the ‘how’ of how kids are made.

Better phrasing, how could this have happened!? He was always careful with anyone he was with! Err, not that was a really long list or anything. Typically, he was only intimate with someone he’s known for a while, and when he was, he’d use a condom, or they were on the pill.

Oh fuck. How could he have let this happen!?!?

Calm down. Calm down.

Maybe he was just overthinking everything? It could just be a coincidence. Sure, he and the kid have some similarity, but hey, there’s like, billions of people on the planet! So some are bound to look alike! That doesn’t necessarily mean they’re related, right? Total chance! That’s it! It’s that stuff we learned in school. Static? No, that’s not right; that was in science. The other thing was in math...Statistics! Yeah, that’s it!

So what if the kid has red eyes? His best bud Katsuki does too!

The sharp teeth? Look no further than his gym bro Tetsu! Hell, depending on the quirk, it can be a super common trait!

The quirk being exactly like his... well, ok, that was… odd. And yeah, he hasn’t run into any with his quirk specifically, but, big but, it doesn’t mean there isn’t someone out there with his quirk!

Or maybe it’s not his quirk! Maybe its a similar one! Really, really, reeeealllly similar.

Total coincidence! Anyone can have those traits!

He just… happens to have all of them… just like the kid… whose mother he just happened to have slept with… around six years ago…

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!

The room suddenly felt like it was closing in on him. The air got thinner, making it harder for him to breathe. He jumped off the couch and started pacing. He’s had issues with anxiety for years, and one thing he did learn, when he got like this, he needed to move.

Breath and walk. Breath and walk. Breath and….wait! The kid can’t be more than five! He slept with you six years ago! Ha! The time doesn’t match up! So he can’t be his kid!

His legs felt like jello as the waves of panic finally came to a halt, and took a deep, much-needed deep breath.

He wasn’t a father.

This was a good thing. A great thing!

He doesn’t have a kid. The time frame didn’t add up. He was in the clear.

He should feel happy. Relief. Ecstatic!

So why did he feel like he just got punched in the gut?

He sighed as he made his way to his fridge in search of something to calm his nerves. Beer isn’t his typical drink of choice, but he was glad he kept a few on hand in moments like this. Since he was single and didn’t have a roommate, his place was the place of choice for ‘bro’s night.’

Though sometimes, there was nothing like a cold one to just chill after a long hard day.

He grabbed one of the glass bottles by the neck, activated his quirk, and flicked the lid off with his thumb. Cool little party trick he learned a few years back.

As he tilted the drink back, he took a long hard swallow and let his mind wander. The beer of choice today was one Katsuki preferred. It was good, smooth going down, and less alcohol content. Which was fine. Ochaco, even after giving birth, still couldn’t stand the smell of alcohol. Pregnancy wasn’t a subject Kirishima knew a lot about, but he knew enough to respect it.

He’d seen her hauling ass many adays to the toilet of the slightest whiff of something she didn’t like.

Then the cravings came along, which prompted a few late-night trips to the store by Katsuki or himself if his bro was at work.

He chuckled as he thought about the few times Katsuki had said something to piss her off and sent him over to the redhead’s place for the night. Only to call him back a little while later in tears because of mood swings.

Towards the end was rough, though. She’d been put on bed rest and was in a lot of pain. Katsuki took fewer shifts during that time to stay home and help ease her in any way he could.

Damn, she went through all that for, what almost a year? Maybe not quite a year, but it had to be close.

Was it nine or maybe ten months?

His brain came to a screeching halt, mid-swallow as he started calculating.

Beer spewed out of his mouth and nose as he tried to breathe and swallow at the same time.

The nine months adds almost a year! *Cough* Meaning the kid’s age would make sense! *Cough Cough*

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! It can’t be true, can it? He… He’d used protection… hadn’t he?

His mind raced as he thought back to that night six years ago.

It was Izuku’s birthday and his girlfriend, future wife Melissa, rented out a small private Terence at a hotel to celebrate. It was small, maybe fifteen people max: just some friends, family, and a few colleges of the green-haired hero.

He was having a few drinks while chatting with Denki and Hanta when he first saw you. That was when he first saw you… You were chatting with your Melissa and Izuku, and damn… he couldn’t stop staring at you. You were so beautiful, and the way you tried to hide your angelic smile every time you laughed made his heart skip a beat.

Eventually, his two friends figured out just what or who had caught his attention. Which brought on a relentless amount of teasing. It took about twenty minutes, a few beers, and an angry blonde for him to finally make his way over to you.

Katsuki, at some point, approached his childhood friend, then proceeded to yell at him for some reason or another. Even on his birthday, the guy couldn’t catch a break. Now that he thought about it, it was over something All Might related. Something about a suit and which version was from what era? You were looking rather uncomfortable (Melissa was used to this) at the aggressive (mainly Katsuki) debate. That’s where he came in. With the help of Ochaco and Melissa, he finally got the two distracted enough to send them to opposite corners of the party.

And then, he was left all alone with you.

He was so nervous that he even stumbled through his own name. Luckily, he played off his nervousness by making light of his two friends. To his surprise, you took his jokes in stride and even had a few comebacks of your own.

The two of you must have talked for over an hour! Just one conversation after another. He’d never met anyone like you before. You were just so loving, kind, and just… wow!

Then things start to get a little fuzzy.

He remembered talking, drinking, joking, more talking, and more drinking.

A weird memory of a drunk Denki yelling, “I swear to drunk I’m not God!” before face planting into the punch bowl.

Then while everyone’s attention was on Denki, the two of you snuck away and back to his room.

A makeout session on the elevator leads to the two of you missing his floor and shocking an elderly housekeeping lady. That was embarrassing but didn’t seem to stop the two of you.

Then things get really, really blurry, but somehow the two of you made it back to his room without any other incidents.

While the rest of his memories were bits and pieces, but he… did remember the most of the ‘activates,’ and it’d been consensual, and yeah… he’d definitely used protection! That much he remembered!

The next thing he knew, it was the next morning, where he woke up alone, with a hangover, and felt better than he had in awhile.

Too bad that feeling didn’t get to last. His phone rang not long after he woke up. It’d been work, a villain was causing trouble, and they needed him asap.

He showered, dressed, grabbed his stuff, and left.

Then… he’d gotten hurt… bad…

Ended up in the hospital for nearly a week.

After he got out, he, well, had an interesting voicemail and charge on his credit card.

He blushed hard as he remembered the hotel’s message regarding the ‘damages’ done to the room. In particular, the ones done to the sheets and headboard. They even sent him pictures!

Damn, he couldn’t believe he lost control of his quirk like that. He hadn’t done that since… well, since his ‘first time.’ That was so embarrassing. Thankfully, he didn’t think he’d hurt you in the process. Of all the pictures and list of damages, blood-stained sheets weren’t listed. Maybe that’s why he never worked up the courage to reach out to you. Even if he didn’t hurt you, he might have scared you...

Wait….

He lost control of his quirk.

Oh… OH SHIT! Realization dawned on him.

Even if he had put a condom on, his quirk might have damaged it!

Then that means… there is a chance he's the father of your son!

FFFFFUCCCCKK!!!!

But wait.

If he really was your son… why haven’t you contacted him?

His footsteps slowed until he came to a standstill.

You would have told him if he was, wouldn’t you?

Granted, the two of you never exchanged numbers, and we’ll it’s not like he did much to reach out to you either, but… You would have known he’s friends with Izuku, so you knew a way to contact him.

Two-way street, buddy. He internally lashed himself.

Between racking his brain and scolding himself, he didn’t hear the knock on his door until the visitor started pounding.

“Oi! Shifty hair! Answer the damn door!” A loud, brash voice that could only belong to one person yelled through the abused door.

Katsuki? Why was he here?

Kirishima hurried over to the door before the blonde got too impatient and blew it down… again. He took a deep breath and put on his brightest and cheerful grin before opening the door to greet his grumpy best friend.

“Oh hey, Bakubro, what’s up?”

“Don’t bro me! Why the hell am I getting called from your boss to check up on you?” He growled.

“Fat called you?” That was a surprise.

“Yeah, he did. Had to switch my patrol around and everything.” He brushed past the redhead, letting himself in. Kirishima sighed as he shut the door behind them.

“I’m really sorry about that. Not sure wh-”

“Don’t start that bullshit with me.” Those fierce red eyes locked on to him. “And drop that fake ass smile. Always hated when you did that shit.” He mutters.

Damn, Fat just had to go and call him of all people.

If it’d been anyone else, anyone at all, he could play this off. A bright grin, crack a joke or two, maybe a few reassuring words, and he could send them on their way.

But not him. No, not Katsuki. Most people wouldn’t in a million years think the aggressive blonde could show anything other than anger. And yeah, the guy was rough around the edges, and he wasn’t the best with words. But nonetheless, here he was.

And sometimes, that’s all that mattered.

Fuck.

“So why am I here?” Katsuki wasn’t backing down, so Kirishima took a deep breath.

“What did Fat tell you?” While his smile didn’t waver, he felt his stomach belly flop to the floor.

“Bastard would spill it, just said you’d need me right and to get over here. Now what the fuck is going on?” While he still sounded angry, there was an underline concern in his tone that most people tend to miss.

Who would have known that would be the thing to make him crack? Well, obviously, Fatgum knew, hence why he sent the blonde over. The great explosive hero was one of the few people that could blow a hole right through his hardened armor.

Both figuratively and literally.

With tears in his eyes, he dropped his bright grin and let the damn of emotion bust. He explained everything that had happened. The robbery, the hospital, you, your son, the night he first met you, the security footage, everything! Hell, he was sure he went into a little too much detail when he described you and that night.

The blonde just stood there shell shocked as he tried to absorb the word vomit hurled at him.

“S-so, yeah… I might… have a…” he couldn’t finish. He just let the silence hang between them.

“You… dumbass.” He sighed quietly, running his hand through his hair before looking him right in the eyes. While his best friend was known far and wide to have a temper, when shit got real, it was eerie how calm and focused he was. “Are you sure he’s your?”

“I-I don’t know. I mean-”

“Have you talked to the mother?”

“N-No!”

“Have you talked to anyone about this?” He pressed. “Does anyone else think you’re the father?”

“No! Well, Fat might, but that’s cause he was with me when I put the piece together. But I haven’t told or asked anyone else about this. Honestly, other than the mother, I don’t even know who else to go-” The redhead piped up. Something flashed in his friend’s eyes, and for a moment, he looked like he was ready to commit murder. Fuck was he made? He hadn’t come to him about this yet!? Of course, he was! He was finding this out because his boss called him, not because he had called him! Some friend he is... “I was totally going to call you about this! I swear! You’re my best friend. This just happened so suddenly!”

“I know you would, Ei. Chill.” The blonde’s features soften for a second, soothing the redhead some. But he could tell Katsuki was trying to keep his temper in check. “I’m not mad at you but, I’ll ask again. Does anyone else know about this?”

“Honestly, I have no idea. I only found out about this today, and I haven’t had any contact with (Y/N) since the other day and well at Izuku’s birthday party.”

“Ok. Stay here for a bit. You need to calm down. We need more information first. If he isn’t your kid, you’re losing your shit for nothing. And if he is... well,” He paused, “Cross that bridge when you come to it.” He pushed the hero towards the couch and made him sit down. “I need to make a phone call.”

Kirishima blinked as his best friend made his way towards his front door. “NOW SIT THERE. SHUT UP AND CALM DOWN!”

*SLAM*

This was a new level of anger for the blonde. He couldn’t stand seeing the redhead like this. He felt even worse, leaving him alone like this. The damn guy lived off socialization with others, so for him to be facing this alone.

Yeah... it really pissed him off.

The blonde stomped his way back to his apartment, which was just a few doors down. He did need to make a phone call; he hadn’t been lying. But it was a call, that big, dense red rock didn’t need to hear.

Fuck. He couldn’t believe this. Did shitty hair really have a kid?

Katsuki made his way inside his home. The home he shared with not only his wife but his newborn daughter.

Fuck. He has a kid… and he never even knew.

As he made his way through the foyer and into the living room, something caught his eye. Something black, orange, green, and tiny laid on top of a basket of unfolded laundry. It was the custom design onesie Momo had gotten for their daughter as a baby shower gift. The custom design was made to look like his hero costume. While he scoffed at the thing initially, he made sure that she wore home from the hospital.

Well, tried. About halfway through the hospital parking lot, she decided now was the best time to need a diaper and outfit change.

Little brat. He smirked.

If you’d ask him a few years ago what he thought of kids, he would have brushed it off, not really caring about it. His hero career was his focus. He needed no had to be number one.

But now that he has a little one of his own, he realized there was more to life than being number one. Was he still going to do it? You bet your ass, but now that he has his wife and his child that climb to the top well, he couldn’t dream of making it there without them.

He couldn’t imagine a world without her. Let alone a world where he didn’t realize she existed.

He whipped out his phone and thumbed through his contacts.

Especially if someone knew about them.

He took a deep breath and hit send.

Someone close to not only the kid but himself.

And still not tell him.

He knows. There’s no way in hell that precipitative little shit doesn’t know!

One ring. Two rings. Three rings.

“K-Kacchan. This is a surprise. You never call. Is everything-” Katsuki cut him off.

“We need to talk. Now.”

****

Links: Part 1, Part 2 , Part 3, Part 4

Thanks for the read! If you want see the other stuff I’ve done, click the link bellow!

MasterList

Tags: @hot-pocket01 , @simpforeveryone , @remember-happy-things

39 notes · View notes

msotherworldly · 3 years

Text

The Black Rain: Chapter One

In my previous posts, I mentioned my series in progress, The Children of Pandora, and how it was technically a multi-protagonist project. While Eradica is the main protagonist of the books, Insula and Rowan also have their own occasional books. The chapter below is the first in Rowan’s story - like The Blue Door, it’s still in need of editing.

If this whole multi-protagonist business sounds confusing, check out my earlier posts. You’ll be introduced to the characters, their stories, and my comparison to Narnia on how this functions.

CHAPTER ONE: THE POSTCARD

The afternoons when I could be alone were the best, because they were also a relief. Outside, clambering over the rusty playground and dodging around the scattered beer cans, the children played. The place, with a few stunted shrubs for it’s fence, was filled with litter: there was a discarded tire, a few cardboard boxes, and some dirty clothes. The children used them as their toys, but I had my own toys to play with.

From the window, I could see the mountains. They partially blocked a watery sun, which already fought a swath of cloud. I didn’t know that day would seem bright, when compared with the ones to come. I didn’t know a lot of things, such as what Dad looked like.

I only knew his handwriting. I turned the postcard over. The writing was spidery and small, but I had looked it over at least once a day for the past three years. I flipped it over to the picture on the front: palm trees swayed in the wind, casting long blue shadows over the fancy cars and the newly paved roads. There were green hills, and a beach side resort with shirtless old men and grinning, skinny twenty year olds, most of them blonde. I had bought into a myth of my own making: if you stayed in the sun long enough, it turned blonde...but you had to live where it was hottest.

At eight, that myth seemed flimsy. I curled a strand of brown hair around my finger, which was also brown, but sort of gold.

The Palm Tree Place, where Dad lived, was like something from a dream. It was funny how it made me deeply happy and deeply sad at the same time.

“What are you doing up here?” a voice hissed. Ms. Brocklehurst ambled into the room. A Seagull Anthromorph, she was a confusion of frayed feathers and pinstripe clothes. Her skirt was bunched around her knees, and her jacket was too loose on her thin frame. Glasses slid down her sharp, dirty beak.

“I was just-”

“If you don’t get down, I’ll switch you good.” Ms. Brocklehurst’s beady eyes narrowed. “Actually, I think I will anyways. You’ve already disobeyed me, haven’t you?”

“Please, I was only-”

“Bend over.” Ms. Brocklehurst took a cane down from the wall. “Now.”

A lump formed in my throat. Hot tears spewed from my eyes. Mom always said I was a baby. What was the word she used? Ingrate? That’s what I am.

The pain thudded over my back, and I screamed. That was bad, but I couldn’t help it: it whistled through the air. It hit harder. It bit. I screamed louder. My eyes were glued to the floor. A piece of it peeled away.

Whoosh, whap, whoosh, whap. The sounds were so gentle, but they felt so hard. I tried not to count the hits. That always made me hope, and that made it worse somehow.

The next hit didn’t come. I remained bent over. Snot streamed from my nose. The floor was a blurry mess, like a painting.

I heard the cane being hung up. That was such a happy sound. I heard a stomp of taloned feet, squeezed between black shoes.

“Down, or I’ll give you another set.”

My back burned as I straightened myself. My whole body ached; my legs stung, and it was hard to move. I was stiff.

I shuffled past worn beds with identical gray coverlets. The walls were gray; everything was. It matched the cobwebs that hung in the corners. It matched the rickety stairs that had been brown, but were now rotting and bleached from too many days of sun exposure.

I stopped at the foot of the playground. I realized I was still holding the postcard. I shoved it into my pocket. I wore a pair of jeans that were always sliding down. My pink hoodie was baggier, or I was just too skinny.

I saw Emma Ruth skipping along a hopscotch she had made from snapped twigs. I wandered over to her, smiling.

“Hi, Emma.”

“Hi, freak.”

“Can I play?”

“Sure. Just don’t touch me. I don’t want to catch your freak bug.”

I hopped along behind her. I felt oddly cheerful. It was one day at a time, right? Also, nobody was hitting me. That was always a plus.

“Do you ever think about your parents?”

“Don’t talk to me.”

“Maybe they’ll come back for you. Or maybe a rich man will come here and adopt us all. And he’ll check back in to get any new children that come in. And then Brocklehurst will sell the place to him. He’d be a billionaire, and he would make his money selling children’s clothes. But he’d buy all our clothes for free!”

“You’re really stupid, aren’t you?” Emma hopped along behind me. We went in a circle. “That stuff only happens in storybooks.”

“My dad wrote to me right before I came here. It was his only letter, but he told me how palm trees grew. He talked about coconut milk and-”

Emma shoved me to the ground. My head hit the edge of the playground box, and pinpricks of light, golden and white, flashed across my eyes.

Emma looked big, though she was only a tiny girl in a dress, red and white and checkered like a picnic blanket. She crossed her arms, her blue eyes growing small. “Just leave me alone, freak.”

A mean picture came into my mind: Emma’s dress on fire, her face as she screamed. I brushed the picture away. How could I have a thought like that? How awful! It wasn’t Emma’s fault I was weird. What if I could give it to her? I guess I’d be afraid too. I didn’t want to hurt Emma. The meanness was gone, leaving behind cold.

And she’s sad too. We all are. We’re in the same boat.

A bell rang. Children rushed past me. I stood up. My butt was damp. I realized the grass was wet, glinting in the gray-gold light. It must have rained. I wiped my hands on my jeans; the palms were stained green.

I was sure I would have hated school, even if it was a nice one. Math just didn’t make sense, though the other children seemed to get it, and science was sort of creepy. I only really liked art and language.

Ms. Brocklehurst passed out our papers. We had been tasked with essays. As usual, mine was covered in red circles, red underlines, and red comments. These said things like, “Do you hate commas, or are you just dumb?” There was also, “My brother could write better than you, and he’s illiterate.”

The comments might have bothered me, but Emma Ruth’s paper looked like it was dripping with blood. I know it’s mean, but it’s kind of awesome, too.

We were asked to write short stories. This was the part I liked. I flew into another tale about a lost prince and the king who had sent him away because dragons were looking for him. He lived alone in a cottage, but he could see the castle from his window, surrounded by palm trees. The king drank coconuts for breakfast, ate pineapple for lunch, and dined on mangoes and watermelon in the evening.

Emma snickered. “You’re writing that story again?”

“I like it.”

“You don’t have much of an imagination, do you?”

I blushed. “It makes me happy. I wasn’t going to publish it or anything.”

“I hope not. Otherwise people will be vomiting everywhere because it’s so bad.”

“You’re just unhappy because your stories get picked on too.”

“Excuse me? You don’t know anything, freak.”

My face was on fire, and shame coated my stomach. “I didn’t mean...but I understand, Emma. I like your stories. I’m glad they have happy endings.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“No! My favourite was the one with the golden haired Elf. I’d run away with him in a heartbeat, though I probably would make us move somewhere warmer than in the story.”

Emma stood up. Her chair scraped over the floor. She raised her fists. “Keep talking.”

“Okay.” I didn’t understand sarcasm. “Um, I liked the one with the blue Dragon, too, and how it had green polka dots. I probably wouldn’t date him, but he was really cool.”

Emma’s fist connected with my lip. It felt dull, the pain spreading in a blanket through my whole jaw. I fell to the floor. The chair caught my elbow, and I yelped. I could still hear the wet thud in my head; the moment replayed itself through my spinning head. I pressed my cheek to the floor. It was cold, and felt good on my hot skin.

“What in the name of Genitrix-”

“She made fun of me!” As I rolled onto my back, Emma pointed to me. “She made fun of my story!”

Ms. Brocklehurst glared at me. She slapped a long ruler in her hand, before trotting forward. She stood over me. “Up! What are you, a dog?”

I scrabbled to my feet. I sank into my chair. I wanted to cry that it wasn’t fair, but what good did that do? I pressed my lips together, keeping the tears in.

“Put your hands out.”

She’s just doing her job. I spread my fingers out over the desk. Below them lied my sketch of the prince. He had brownish gold skin, brown hair, and eyes that were so dark they were almost black. His lips were full, his nose wide and hooked. He looked just like me, except that his hair was cut short, almost a buzz.

Mine hung down my back in a lank ponytail. The prince also has a shower everyday. He bathes on the beach, and waits for the king to collect him.

The ruler came down with a slam. It was louder than the cane, but less painful. Even as I teared up, I couldn’t help thinking how funny that was. My fingers wrinkled back, bending at the knuckles. She hit me three times. That was easy to count.

Addition is the only math I like. I felt dazed. My stomach growled. Was it the hunger or the pain? But subtraction sucks. I only like the math where numbers get bigger.

Ms. Brocklehurst stocked to the front. I resumed my story, like nothing had happened. Because nothing did. She’s doing her job. She thought I was being mean, and that’s okay. So she was wrong. So what? If I had been mean, I would have deserved it. I glanced at Emma. She’s just scared, is all.

A second voice, the one I thought of as The Meanie, answered me. Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better.

I will. There’s no need to be gloomy all the time, or nasty. Gloom settled in the pit of my stomach. Despair clutched my heart like a hand. My chest sank on the inside. My eyes stung.

“Not fair,” I whispered. I glanced at Emma again. “I’m sorry.”

“Huh?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to be mean.”

Emma furrowed her brow. She returned to her writing, shaking her head. All around me, pencils scratched. I wanted to read all the stories. Weren’t they all good in their own way?

A delightful idea came to me. I had to struggle through math first, and the equations made me weep—literally. I was dreading algebra when I got older. That was when math stopped making sense for everybody.

When class was over, I rushed to enact my plan. It was like clockwork: the kids tossed their last stories into the recycling bin. They dumped out their books.

I knelt by the blue plastic container as they filed out. When the last kid, a Dog with Rottweiler markings named Jimmy, trotted out, I shoved my arms, elbow deep, into the paper. I plucked tales and drawings from the mix. I ordered them carefully, clicking them against the floor to make them straight.

When I had collected them all, I had a fat, albeit unbound, book in my arms. I scurried up the stairs, ecstatic over my treasure. I didn’t have any books to read, but now I could read everyone’s stories.

I flipped through the papers, knees pulled to my chest. I sat on my bed. I felt like a jeweler, surrounded by gleaming rubies and emeralds.

I found Emma’s story, and put it at the front. The heroine (who always looked like Emma, with blue eyes and blonde curls) was falling in love with a Bear this time. She took half a page to describe his bulging muscles and glossy fur.

She’s going to be a great romance writer someday! The story made me happy and warm all over. I decided it was my new favourite.

I put my story at the back. It wasn’t that good, and I knew how it went. When I had read through all the stories, including mine, I pulled out the postcard again. Even though I loved Emma’s tales, this would always be my favourite thing to read.

I closed my eyes, smiling. I sank into sleep. In my dreams, I saw the palm trees, and a sign with the postcard’s address: Similo, Sapphire Crest, Calidi, Queen Street, 4321.

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zodiyack · 4 years

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Home

Requested by @maniaisbliss: So you think you could possibly do a modern reader x tommy? Where she travels back in time or something?

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Female!Modern!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, tinnnny bit of OOC Tommy during the begging (ideka), angst, fluff,

Note: I tried writing it like if they just met, but I was out of ideas, until today when sudden inspiration hit and this was created. My apologies for the lateness! I’m so sorry if this is not what you wanted! (I started writing this at 11:30 pm and finished at 12:13 am, so this time I have a reason for saying “sorry if this sucks” 😅)

Taglist: @captivatedbycillianmurphy @stydia-4-ever @matth1w @redspaceace @jenepleurepasbaby @simonsbluee, @peakysputain

Masterlist | Peaky Blinders Masterlist

Tommy smirked. How did he get himself into this mess? A girl comes from the future, he seduces her, then falls for her, and now is praying, with some form of faith he knows he doesn’t even have, that she may never be presented with an opportunity to return to the future.

He turned, eyes falling along her body, clothed in only a semi-see-through gown, as the sun danced along her skin. It was quite the sight. One he wished he could wake up to every single day. Her hair not kept in the professional do, instead free and what one would call, wild. He admired the vulnerability she allowed him to see, and the fact that he was the one she allowed to see such a thing.

His hand traced her soft skin, “Good morning, love.”

“Morning, Tommy. Any meetings today?”

Thomas almost chuckled at the face of the sleepy woman in front him, very obviously still half asleep and struggling to keep her eyes open. “Just one. At ten I believe. A family meeting.”

She groaned. Definitely awake now.

“Relax,” the chuckle broke free, “you’ll be able to attend one as soon as I put a ring on your finger.”

Y/n paused, then turned to Tommy with wide eyes and a mouth that rested slightly ajar. “What?”

“Damn, did I not inform you of my plan to marry you? How unfortunate. I went out and bought this ring for n-”

“Tommy!!” She smiled, eyes still wide with shock, as he held the box with a quirked eyebrow. “Holy shit! Thomas! You didn’t have to-”

“Oh, but I assure you, I did.” He stood and walked to her side of the bed, lifting her and spinning her before placing a soft kiss to her lips. Her arms wrapped around his neck and matching smiles snuck onto their faces. “So, will you, Y/n L/n, marry me?”

“Of course! Yes!” She pulled away as he set her down, and allowed him to slide the ring onto her finger. Y/n walked back to their bed, frowned at the timing on his pocket watch, “Tommy...you did say ten, right?”

“Yes- why?”

“Thomas, it’s a couple minutes past ten! You best hurry!” She laughed and kissed her fiancé goodbye, waving before she shut the door.

“Thomas. Nice of you to join us.”

“Yes, well, I had some business to finish.” John snorted at Tommy’s response, his dirty mind elsewhere, before Esme gave him a small glare.

“I’m serious, Thomas.”

“Good God Esme, do you ever loosen up? Perhaps plan on hopping off Tommy’s back while you’re at it?” Pol had enough with Esme, as, most of the time, usual. “Anyways, Tom, we need to discuss some stuff with the betting shops. So-”

“No. My business first.”

“Esme-”

“No, John, let her say what she has to say.” Thomas was intrigued, caught by the fire in Esme’s eyes. Whatever she had to say, he was interested.

“Y/n. It’s about Y/n.” He froze, eyes narrowing, but nodded for her to continue. Esme smirked a little when she saw Tommy’s jaw clenching. “You proposed to her. As you told us you were going to, am I wrong?”

“No, you’re quite correct, but I don’t see what the meaning of this is.”

“She’s from the future. One day, there’s going to be a way for her to go back home. We all know that,” she looked around the room, raising her shoulders as if it were a fact everyone indeed knew. “Meaning, she gets a chance at going home, and who’s to say she won’t take it? She’ll leave you here, in the 1900s, alone, while she goes back to the future and probably marries some other rich man.”

Tommy clenched his fist and cursed under his breath.

“Tom, don’t listen to her. We’ve all seen it, Y/n loves you, a lot.” Ada tried to comfort her brother.

“No, no, Esme’s right though.” Linda interjected, much to everyone’s dismay. “Even if she does love him, the future is her home. She doesn’t belong here.”

“Arthur, control your wife, please!”

He couldn’t take it, it was bubbling up inside. Esme’s words. Then Linda’s. Polly sped over to Tommy and tried to calm him. She rubbed his back and asked him if he was alright, but her voice became quieter, drowned out by the words repeated in varieties such as mutters, shouts, and more.

Why hadn’t he thought of it before? She was from the future, and he was in what was his present time.

His breathing became off. Anger. Then hurt. Then regret. He needed her. Her reassurance. Her comfort. He just needed to know that they were wrong without actually needing to ask.

Finally, there was only a couple more days until the wedding was to take place. Tommy had gotten the care that needed, many nights ago. When he returned with such worry, Y/n almost thought he’d gone bonkers. She held him close to her that night, and promised him she’d never let anything come between them.

Word had gotten out. Specifically, word of Y/n’s way home spread to the Shelby family. The people who were involved in the accidental time-travel requested that the Shelby family meet them by a water well near the edge of what Tommy was sure to be the middle of nowhere. They wanted Y/n to be the only person there, to take her back to the future and never return again.

It would be wrong for Tommy not to tell her. And so he did. He wished he had another choice, but he wanted her to be happy. He pulled her aside, told her the news, and left her to decide on her own.

She met them at the car and climbed into the back. Y/n held a frown on her face. Though happy to go home, she felt something was... wrong, in a way. They neared the said well and Tommy helped her out.

“Y/n...” His hands rested on her waist. “We could stall, ya know?”

“Tommy- don’t make this harder than it already is...”

“’M sorry...” He pulled her in for one last kiss, allowing his tears to fall, finally. She was going home, he should be happy for her, but a part of him wanted to order his brothers to destroy whatever was going to be Y/n’s transportation home. “Stay safe for me, alright?”

She nodded and pecked his lips again, wiping away her tears. “Don’t die...promise?”

A small smile appeared on his face, “I promise.”

He watched her turn and walk into the fog. Tommy tried to study the actions between the two and Y/n; he could see their silhouettes, but not them completely. He squinted, watching the taller of the pair point to somewhere out of Tommy’s view.

He couldn’t hear anything, but he knew they were talking.

“Come, Miss L/n, we’re bringing you home.”

Y/n’s thoughts finally clicked. The memories of the events during her time in the 1900s raced past each other, showing her glimpses of things. Things she’d possibly miss. Tommy’s proposal. The wedding that was supposed to be in a number of days. Something she’d definitely miss. Somebody she’d definitely miss.

“I am home.”

“What?!”

“I’m staying.”

The female, shorter figure of the two, questioned Y/n, “You accidentally stumbled into one of our experiments, causing you to be zapped or whatever into the 1900s, then we spend a long time creating a way to bring you back, let’s not forget all the science and math that took, with our education at stake, and you want to stay?”

Y/n nodded, “Precisely.” She turned back to the car, racing as fast as she could, crossing her fingers with the hope that he hadn’t left.

Tommy was just about to turn around, walk back to the car, go to the betting shop, face defeat, admit Esme was right, but he noticed one of the silhouettes running at him. The figure became more prominent, the familiar view reaching his line of sight.

“Y/n? W-” She cut him off by jumping into his arms and connecting their lips. He spun her around, like the morning he asked her to marry him, and smiled into the kiss. They pulled away, breathless, but he continued to hold her. “I thought you were going home?”

“You are my home, silly.”

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drawlfoy · 4 years

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The Wonders of Ohio P.4

masterlist - find parts 1, 2, and 3 here

request guidelines

did you miss me :P

pairing: draco x reader

requested: by prepubescent me

summary: american high school student y/n y/l/n’s senior year gets turned upside down when her family hosts a british exchange student that’s clearly keeping some secrets.

warnings: language and drug use mentions

a/n: hi everyone...i know that this has been a long time coming but. here she is. i finally finished this after the draft sat for over 6 months...here she is though! i’m excited weeee

tags tags tags

word count: 2k

music recs: hate candidate by BLOODHYPE, archie, marry me by alvvays

“No, no,” Y/N interrupted, gently pushing Draco’s hands away from his locker. “It’s right to the number, left past the next number once, and right straight to the last number. You twist it right to reset it...no, like this...”

“This is pathetic, I don’t even need to put anything in a box in the wall,” Draco snarled, his gray eyes flaming.

“It’s really not that deep,” she said, snorting at his attitude. “Do they not have locks in England?”

Instead of answering, he huffed dramatically and scowled. “Open it up for me, will you? It’s not worth my time to learn.”

“You’re going to be here for a whole year, you know.” Y/N’s remark contradicted with her actions as she reapproached the locker and twisted out the combination. “But how can I say no to you, ever the gentlemen?”

She held out a hand out expectantly as he stared at her, his eyes full of confusion.

“Your phone,” she said.

“My...my what?”

“I know, it’s weird, but they prohibit phones in orientation. Something about bonding or whatever. Just give it here, and we’ll keep it in here. If it goes off in any of the activities they’ll take it from you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Okay, okay, I respect that attitude.” Y/N smirked, patting him on the shoulder as he flinched away from her. “Just don’t be mad at me when they confiscate it until 2.”

He stared at her for a few seconds longer before clearing his throat and nodding.

<^>

The speeches at the beginning were always the longest part--the unnecessary dramatization of the importance of high school, the faux motivation mantras, the “love yourself” bits ironically being performed by some of the most insufferable members of the ASB--and Y/N was ready to get it over with, Draco seemed to feel the same way, as every time she looked at him, he looked another shade of uninterested.

She tried poking fun at the performances a couple times to see his reaction, and surprisingly enough, it was slightly well received.

“You see the redhead down there?” she whispered to him, gesturing towards the current speaker with her chin. He gave her a tight nod in response. “That’s Heather, our ASB president. She’s a total tool. Spews all this ‘vaping in the bathrooms isn’t cool!’ shit but one time I walked in on her doing lines in the performance wing bathrooms. She’s crazy, I’m telling you.”

Draco seemed amused at this, resting his cheek in his palm and watching her intently. “Lines?”

“Cocaine.”

“Cocaine?”

“You know what? I’m gonna quit while we’re ahead. I don’t want to be the one to corrupt you.”

Draco scoffed. “You’re worried about corrupting me?”

“Well, yeah,” she said. “I’m not the one who doesn’t know what cocaine is.”

He sniffed at this, turning his attention back to Heather’s mind-numbing anti-bullying presentation that was clearly put together moments before. Silence ensued for the next few moments before Draco sucked in a breath and turned to look at her. “What’s an ASB?”

“Oh, you should be so glad that you have to ask that,” Y/N stage whispered. “It’s student government. It’s an acronym for something. I never cared enough to remember it. The elections are super corrupt--it’s basically a popularity contest. They don’t do anything either...I don’t even know why it exists anyways.”

“So I take it you’re not popular?”

“By choice, I’ll have you know,” Y/N pointed out. “I just made friends with the people I had stuff in common with. We all just happened to not be big fans of putting vodka in our Hydroflasks and the like...What I mean by that is that we aren’t big partiers.” She was quick to clarify when she saw the confusion on Draco’s face.

He didn’t seem to understand any more of what she had said, or at least didn’t show any interest in it, scooting away a few inches from her and turning his head back to Heather’s speech.

The presentation ended within another 10 minutes, much to Y/N’s delight. One had been enough for her--two orientations was pushing it.

Maybe that’s why all the ASB kids are so awful she thought to herself as they made they way to Draco’s first class on the schedule. If I had to be here every year, I’d probably be a grade A rat as well.

“How’d they put you in AP Physics C?” Y/N asked him as they walked into the science lab. “I’m in your same period...and I had to take two years of physics before that to be qualified to take it. Did you take a Physics A level or something? Is that what they call it?”

Draco blinked twice. “Er...sure. My professors told me that I was skilled in Arithmancy, if that’s what you mean..?”

“Arithmancy? Is that just a fancy word for math?” she pressed. “I thought you guys just called it maths.”

“You could say so.”

Before she could push for any more answers, someone behind them cleared their throat. Y/N spun around, her face lighting up when she saw who it was.

“Mr. Whitacre!” she exclaimed.

“Y/N, my least favorite student,” he greeted, a cheeky smile concealed by a rather bushy black beard. “I’m surprised they haven’t kicked you out of orientation. Haven’t you head? This is supposed to be an event for new students...not jaded old souls such as yourself.”

“Oh, you know me.” She rested one of her hands on a lab table, raising an eyebrow. “I just couldn’t stay away from the thrilling suggestion of physics.”

“Sure. And you are...”

Draco just stared at him for a few seconds with a disgusted expression until Y/N elbowed him in the side, hard. “You’ll have to excuse Draco. He’s still going through jet lag. Aren’t you, Draco?”

Y/N sent him a death glare until he wiped the expression off his face and uttered an awkward, “Er, yeah.”

The rest of orientation was just as uncomfortable and unnatural as Draco’s introduction to Mr. Whitacre. Y/N was surprised to see that they had a very similar schedule as Draco seemed entirely clueless to what the subjects even were. She mentioned her concerns to him briefly, but he seemed entirely unbothered.

“It can’t be any harder than school back home,” he told her in his prim and proper voice, prompting a small smile to grow across Y/N’s face.

“Oh, I’m sure,” she said, her voice hardly containing her sarcasm.

The rest of the morning was spent toiling around each of the empty classrooms and memorizing room numbers so Draco wouldn’t be lost come Thursday morning. Y/N wasn’t having an entirely terrible time, as, much to her surprise, Draco wasn’t a complete dickwad. There were moments where he actually had something interesting or worthy to say, and when he didn’t look like he just stepped in something disgusting, she enjoyed the walks between classes. By the end of 5th period, she had concluded that Draco could make absolutely anything sound beautiful in his accent.For once, they were both being entirely civil to each other, and Y/N found herself wishing that the school day went on a bit longer. At least...until the walk to French.

“Excuse me,” a voice carried over Y/N’s as she was in the middle of telling Draco some particularly hot gossip from last year. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

Heather stood to their left, leaning coolly on the wall of lockers, her right shoulder just subtly dropped in their direction.

“Hey Heather,” Y/N greeted. “This is Draco. He’s our exchange student this year.”

“Hello.” Draco’s voice was stiffer than usual.

She smiled, her lips stretching out over perfectly straight white teeth. “Hi Draco! Listen, I know it can be hard here at first, especially if you haven’t grown up around here, but I swear we’re all super friendly.” She held out her hand, smiling even wider. Y/N hardly managed to hold back a laugh as Draco took it and limply shook it like one would fondle a dead fish.

Heather’s face remained just as cheery. “I just want to say that, as ASB president, it’s my job to make sure you feel like you fit in. Let me give you my snapchat, so if you ever need anything, I’m just one snap away.”

“Oookay, thank you Heather,” Y/N interrupted, wrapping her fingers around Draco’s sleeve and pulling. “I’ll give it to him tonight if he wants it. We have to find French now.” She couldn’t tell if it was just her imagination, but she swore that she could see Draco send her a slightly grateful look.

“AP French? Quelle coïncidence! I’m headed there too.”

No matter how briskly she dragged Draco along, Heather was able to catch up and chatter away, asking him about life in the UK and how he found Americans. She couldn’t help but allow a little smirk when he answered, telling her “a little annoying, quite frankly.”

French was even more insufferable than she was expecting it to be. The strict teacher, M. Smith (despite being more American than everyone in the room, yes, he did insist on being called Monsieur), coupled with the weird, forlorn glances Heather kept sending Draco made Y/N feel crushingly uncomfortable. With the way that Draco was fidgeting, she could guess that he felt the same way.

Suddenly, 2 couldn’t come soon enough.

<^>

“So, what’d you think?” Y/N asked as they made their way back to Y/N’s car. She toyed with her lanyard, turning and twisting the keys until they couldn’t twist anymore.

Draco stepped over to the passenger side door, waiting for her to press unlock. “Your friend Heather is very friendly.”

“She’s not my friend, Draco, I already told you that.”

“She certainly comes up to talk to you a lot for someone who isn’t your friend.”

She shifted into drive and began pulling out of the parking lot. “It’s an American thing. And plus, she wouldn’t be talking to me if I didn’t have a pretty boy with an accent living with me.”

Draco froze up, sending her a weird sideways look.

“Don’t be so overdramatic, kiddo,” she continued. “American girls go crazy for British accents. Trust me. There’s going to be so many girls throwing themselves at you come tomorrow that you won’t even know what to do with yourself.”

Y/N tried to keep the bitterness from creeping into her tone as she told Draco this. It wasn’t like she liked him or anything--no way--it was just frustrating to know that the moment he stepped foot on the school grounds tomorrow, he would be snapped up into a flurry of admirers. These few days had felt like she was keeping a delicate, sophisticated secret in the guest room in the hall over, but it was time for her to snap out of it.

“The feeling certainly isn’t mutual,” he finally said. Y/N could see that his head was rested against the window as he looked out into the trees as they passed by a particularly wooded area. “American accents give me a migraine.”

“Funny, me too.”

“But you have one.”

“Your point? Pass me the Advil.”

“The...the what?”

Y/N sucked in a deep breath and tried to keep herself from bursting out into a cackle. “Paracetamol, maybe? I think that’s the British version.”

“Er...I’m sorry?” Draco had moved his head from its resting place on the window to send her a confused look.

“Forget about it.”

The drive back was silent for the rest of the way. Upon arriving, Draco made a beeline for his room and made no indication of wanting to come back out, so Y/N spent the rest of the evening ironing out her physics problem sets and getting her backpack ready for school.

My last first day she thought to herself as she zipped her binders and pencil pouch up, a hint of nostalgia threatening to choke her up for a moment.

The entire situation felt eerie and strange. All her life, she’d been waiting to get out of school so she could go to college and meet new friends and have her fun life experiences, and now it was all beginning to happen. She tried to imagine how Draco must’ve been feeling in that moment and could hardly manage to come up with anything she could relate to. He’d been uprooted from his home, his family, his life, all to move to fucking Ohio of all places to finish out school. Y/N would feel a twinge of pity if he wasn’t such a prick.

Which, by the way, now that she really thought of it, was perhaps becoming overshadowed by all the little things she noticed about him. Obviously, he was very pretty, but there was something else just magnetizing about him that she’d never seen before in a person. The way in which he carried himself, the regal manner he spoke in, the delicate and practiced motions of his hands whenever he did anything menial--it all added up to paint Draco as the picture of elegance. She came to the realization that she’d never met anyone quite like him before as she was getting into bed and turning her lights off. He seemed so incredibly detached from reality, but decidedly so, that she couldn’t help but feel fascinated with it all.

And he was all hers to figure out for the next 9 months.

final a/n: huhhhh isn’t that funny that i actually came out with a different fic than i said i would? i think i want to do that quarantine thing a little bit later and make it a series. i’ve planned that i want to finish mirror, mirror in the coming weeks and then transfer to writing the “one shot” that was scheduled to be posted today as a series as well as this. exciting stuff to come!

#draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #draco #draco malfoy #draco x you #draco x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco x oc #draco malfoy x oc

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daniyasocspace · 4 years

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FAMILY AFFAIR PART 1/?

Summary: Jaeyoung's older brother has been spiraling downwards and the leader is put in a difficult position of balancing his duties as a leader, brother and boyfriend.

Warnings: Swearing, Drugs, Alcohol, Suicidal Ideation

Characters: Jaeyoung, Hana (Mentioned - @starlightoffical)

He thought everything had been sorted but once again, his father was calling with the urgent plea for Jaeyoung to help his older brother. Daewon had been spiraling downwards for the last year and a half since he caught his fiancée cheating with his - former - best friend. Two people he had trusted with his life, who he had been friends with since high school, who both stabbed him in the back in the worst way.

Jaeyoung had left Hana's apartment in a hurry, guilt pooling inside him; she was struggling too, and leaving her during a vulnerable moment had him feeling terrible.

As he started his car and pulled into the busy street, he dialed Daewon's cellphone number, cursing as it rang and rang. "God dammit, Dae!" He smacked his steering wheel in frustration. He then tried their younger sisters number, who answered immediately. "Naeun, have you been in contact with Dae recently?"

"Yes! He's a complete mess! I want to slap those two monsters for doing this to him! I can't take seeing him like this anymore, Oppa. Mother and Father are trying their best but he's so stubborn and distant now."

Jaeyoung took a deep breath, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. "I'm on my way to see him. I'll let you know how things go when I've left." Jaeyoung hangs up and pulls into the parking lot of Daewon's apartment minutes later.

"You! He is causing trouble again! He's disturbing the other tenants!" The landlord - a strict ahjumma who wasn't a fan of Daewon in the slightest, immediately confronted Jaeyoung as soon as he entered the lobby. With how disruptive his older brother could be, she still hadn't evicted him. Mostly due to the fact that their family was paying double the rent for him to continue living here, otherwise Daewon would have ended up in the streets by now.

"I am so sorry. I will go take care of him. I apologize for any troubles he's cost." Jaeyoung bows multiple times before rushing to the elevator, lunching the button for the fourth floor.

As soon as the door opens, he hears a loud crash of glass and angry voices. When he stepped out, Daewon was in the face of a slightly younger looking man, who looked terrified as he clutched a delivery bag to his chest.

"You fucking... jackass. I should... fucking cut your dick... off right here, right... now." Daewon's words were slurred, his face red and sweaty from all the alcohol he bad consumed. He could barely stand straight.

The delivery boy shrunk back, whimpering. "Please...Pease don't hurt me! I've only come to deliver food, sir." Jaeyoung rushed over, stepping between the two, apologizing profusely to the delivery man.

"Oh, little brother! You're...back again...Yah, cool...Fuck off now." Daewon reached a shaky arm out, attempting to shove Jaeyoung but instead ended up stumbling over himself. Jaeyoung caught him before he could fall, grunting as he draped the older boy over his shoulder and guided him down the hall and back into his apartment.

"Sit down and take a deep breath," Jaeyoung pointed to the sofa. Daewon snorted, falling onto the couch with a grunt. "Y-you know I'm fine, littl b-brother." He insists, words slurred.

Jaeyoung goes to grab a bottle of water from the kitchen before joining him again, sitting next to the older boy. As he hands him the bottle, he notices a bottle of pulls dumped over onto the coffee table. "What are these, hyung? What were you going to do with these?" He asked, a frantic look on his face.

Daewon slurps up some water, laughing as he looks at the pills. "I was g-going to down them all, the u-usual game, you know?" He laughs again. "Naeun called just as i-i was about to swallow 'em all! Haha!"

Jaeyoung bites the inside of his cheek, shaking his head as he scoops up the pills and shoves them into his jacket pocket. The name on the name on the bottle wasn't his brothers, which concerned Jaeyoung even more.

Daewon was 28 years old, so no longer a young boy. He wasn’t a bad person by any means but he was struggling very badly - his break up had hit him hard, considering him and his ex-fiancée had been together sophomore year of college. As a hopeless romantic, she had been the one for him and he could not picture himself with anyone else. To catch who he thought was his one true love in bed with his (now former) best friend since childhood, it was too much for him to handle. Their family was trying their best to support and help him but it was getting harder and harder, each day.

"What is wrong today, Hyung? I thought you were getting better?" Jaeyoung had started to feel exasperated by his older brothers antics. He worried so much for him - much like the rest of their family - and it weighed heavily on him, making it difficult to balance his new life as a rookie idol and boyfriend, on top of family business related things.

“That traitor got her pregnant now! Fucking twins, little brother! You know how much that hurts me? You know how bad I wanted children and she always turned it down, saying motherhood wasn’t for her and now she’s happily flaunting her fucking ultrasound pictures all over SNS! I loved her so much. I waited, thinking maybe some day she’d have a change of heart. I was always patient with her.” He looked much more alert and sounded more coherent as she spilled everything out, tears pouring from his eyes now.

“Jesus Christ, Dae.” Jaeyoung murmured, wrapping him in a hug. “I’m sorry, Hyung. You really don’t deserve any of this, but you cannot continue down this path. What about Mom and Dad? Little Mihi ? You’re her favorite brother out of the two of us. How do you think she would feel if she were to lose her favorite person in the whole world?”

Mihi was only twelve and had such a bright future ahead of her. Losing her favorite Oppa would certainly be an earth shattering moment for her. She was Daewon’s little gummy bear, as he always called her. She always looked up to him and he had practically raised her when their parents were far too busy with work.

Daewon froze, a flash of realization in his eyes as Jaeyoung’s words hit him. “How is she doing? I miss her so much, brother.”

“She’s great, from what Naeun and Haneul tell me. She’s excelling at science and math, as to be expected from the prodigy of the family.” Jaeyoung laughs softly, a fond smile on his face. He was proud of their baby sister and how smart she was for her age.

The two talked more and after forcing him to drink more water to help sober up, Daewon eventually started to nod off and Jaeyoung stayed by his side for a couple of hours, just to make sure he got enough rest and didn’t try anything silly.

(To Be Continued...)

#peachykocnet #kumokocnet #aeskocnet #kpop!oc #kpop oc coed group #idol!oc #kpop roleplay #kpop oc group #kpop #koc #oc!idolgroup #kpop oc gg #kpop oc bg #kpop fake company #kpop!au #kpop!rp #2FOLD!

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mor-beck-more-problems · 4 years

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O, the Iron-y || Morgan & Cece

Timing: Last Night

Parties: @thebickedwitchoftherest & @mor-beck-more-problems

Summary: Witchy roommates unite when Morgan needs help identifying what, exactly, happened to the body she found with Kaden.

Contains: discussions of violence

“You know, someday when people aren’t getting murdered right and left, or at least when I’m not coping with so much trauma, we really need to get back to our trashy TV nights,” Morgan sighed from her spot on the floor. It had been a long time since she’d played corpse on the floor with herself, but the sight of that body had really done a number on her. Sure, she’d killed, but not like this. Not for pleasure or power or trophies or...whatever the hell was behind this. Morgan couldn’t imagine anything awful enough to just push someone into becoming so cruel. To treat supernaturals like bloody litter on the side of the street. “You could come to my place, if you wanted. The TV is so huge, you could practically see every pore on the bachelorette’s face.” She sighed again. Her enthusiasm wasn’t quite there even if she meant every word. She craned her head back to see the little witch at work. “I hope it’s a given, but thank you again, for doing this for me. How’s it going with those samples I gave you?”

Cece was leaning against the counter, staring down at Morgan and glancing every so often at her computer. From what Cece knew about the body, this didn’t seem like anything normal. Testing for normal drugs in the system could prove to be a complete waste of time. But even magic was rooted in some science. Sometimes over the counter drugs were used to create some of the most powerful spells. It all depended on the imagination, and the stamina. Finding out what she could about the body from a logical, scientific perspective could influence her findings. “That sounds amazing. The only thing that could make that show funnier is by focusing on every imperfection they have. Plus, I’ll feel like a Kardashian watching it from a rich person tv.” She tossed a glance back to the screen. Still loading in the results. “I should be thanking you. You gave me something to do on an otherwise boring night.” She also ended up back at work, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. “I’m running some normal tests first. Trying to see if anything sticks out. It can help me try to determine the clearly supernatural shit that went down. What can you tell me about the body?”

“Figuring age is hard with fae, I think, but she was an undergrad at the university. Maybe nineteen or twenty. Um, you’ve actually got...pretty much all that’s left of her. I found her with a friend just...abandoned. I’m assuming some warden is taking trophies, or...fuck, I don’t know. Having fun. Taking out some human supremacist bullshit on…” Morgan grimaced and forced herself to breathe slowly. Three months dead, almost, and it was still the first thing she wanted to do. Just breathe. Just bring the world back into the right rhythm, the right meter. “I mean, of all the ways you could possibly hurt a fae--” She shook her head, shuddering. “It was like an acid attack, only it must have been iron, right? Those are the weird, stiff pieces on the body, right? I mean, those burns, they’re everywhere. How much time did they spend planning this?” But there’s gotta be...I don’t know, some kind of underground Hunters R’ Us out there, right? Some signature that can be traced back to something specific, right? Or at least, I don’t know, if we know how, maybe someone can be like, oh yeah, my buddy goes around flinging iron at kids with wings. Great guy, why’re you mad?” She breathed again, realizing she was getting worked up again. She wasn’t going to help anyone like that, least of all whoever the body had been.

“ All that’s left of them.” It hadn’t been a question so much as a disappointed statement. Cece was concerned by what had been left of the victim. Cece had limited knowledge of Fae, but she knew enough to know that cold iron wasn’t their friend. For this girl, it looked like whoever did this really hadn’t like her. But Cece knew enough about the world to know that may not necessarily be true. Some people hunted them from some sense of duty, or for sport. People didn’t need a motive to be sick fucks. At least have the decency to make it quick. “Yeah, looks like iron burns,” Cece nodded, “They could have drugged her first. Made her easier to capture. I should know in a couple minutes.” Morgan was getting worked up over the murder. As far as Cece knew, this had just been a body Morgan stumbled across. But that seemed to be how Morgan operated. She cared a lot for everyone. “It’s hard to tell, honestly. A lot of the hunters I’ve known follow a code, but there are just as many that do it for fun. But I know there are hunters in town. From the looks of it, they were responsible for this. But I can’t promise I’ll be able to narrow it down based on some tox screen results.” She didn’t have any better answers or anything to offer Morgan at the moment besides her smile and the knowledge that she would help Morgan with whatever her next steps were. Cases like these were hard to explain and even harder to solve. Normally, justice may go unsolved. Cece didn’t have much to say in the way of justice, but she did know she could help a friend out. “And what do we do? If we found out who did it?”

Morgan grimaced and held her stomach tighter. “I’ll never understand that. I’ve done some shitty and questionable things, but this...it was slow and awful. They wanted her to suffer.” At least when she killed it hadn’t been torture. That counted for something; that was different. “We...I don’t know. Find out why. Make them answer to...someone, for what they did. Maybe she had family, or maybe...I don’t know. But I am so tired of supernaturals getting hurt and killed and forgotten. It’s bullshit. We’re people just as much as anyone else, but we’re the ones collared and thrown into cages or hunted like pests or living like who we are is something to be ashamed of or tortured and thrown where-the-hell-ever. How are we supposed to live like this, with humans, hunters, getting to hurt us for free whenever they want? Someone has to pay and I’m just...I’m tired of it. Don’t you ever get tired of hiding, Cece? I’d give up my body regrowing to have enough magic to make whoever did this pay.”

For what it was worth, Cece agreed with Morgan. As far as magic went, Cece had lived a pretty open life. The coven kept itself secret for sure, but she still was able to learn and grow with other magic users by her side. Things turned dark and for the worst, sure but at least she wasn’t hunted for it. This girl, this body was fucked. She had been targeted, hunted and tortured before they let her die. “Before we fall down that rabbit hole, you should figure out exactly what you want them to answer to. For people like them, justice isn’t clear cut. There’s no proving something like this in court. So, make sure we know exactly what we’re getting into before we decide what should be done with them.” How else did Cece lay this out to her? If Morgan wanted them eradicated from the planet, Cece was there. She had seen too many bodies like this. Leftovers from the coven, hell even herself. “It’s exhausting. Lucky for us, I’ve still got the magic for both of us.” Something flashed across her screen and she turned to look at it. “I can’t find any logical explanation as to what caused the metal to melt into her skin like that. But I’m pretty damn sure I have a theory.” Cece sighed, wishing that it had been something simple. “Can you go into my bag? Front pocket. There’s a container with a power that looks like soot. Grab that for me and sprinkle it onto the pieces of metal. I want to test something.”

Morgan knew what she wanted, if she could only admit it out loud. She wanted the hunter who did this to suffer as much as their prey had. She wanted them to fear for their lives, for their humanity, to feel the panic and indignity that she’d felt that day in the woods. She wanted them to die. A life for a life, that was the math of alchemy. And maybe she didn’t have the magic in her anymore, but she could still work her will on the world if she tried hard enough. Morgan reached for her snack pyrex and took out a chunk of muscle (deer thigh, if she remembered correctly) and started to chew slowly as she did as Cece asked. It wasn’t so bad this time now that she knew what to expect, or now that she had packed enough for a whole other meal with her. She unscrewed the lid and ran her fingers through the substance. It was so fine, it barely felt like anything, but there was a familiar sheen to it, some familiar flecks she remembered being quizzed on by her mother. It was used to detect and identify magic in a number of spells. Morgan’s brow furrowed. “You sure about this?” She asked. But Cece seemed sure enough, so, bracing herself, she sprinkled the powder over Coraline Adams’ body. The dust settled and, as her mother had trained her to memorize, a dark indigo smoke began to rise from the body.

“No,” Morgan said, backing away. “No, that’s...shit…” dust spilled from the tin and down her leg. She set it down clumsily before she spilled any more. “A witch did this?”

It hadn’t been Cece’s favorite theory. She had been keeping hope out for some type of explanation. Evidence of extreme heat, iron pills being found in the girl’s system. Something that still felt human, despite how monstrous the crime was. But the thought had been there in the back of her mind. The unexplainable could usually be explained through magic. Had her theory that a witch had been involved been at the back of Cece’s mind this whole time? Sure. She had still had her fingers crossed for the hunter theory. It was better than this alternative. More than the fact itself, Morgan’s reaction to it was what had made Cece so unhappy. She had needed to believe it was a hunter it seemed. It was hard to accept that what was once your own kind could be capable of this evil. Cece had seen it before, taken part in it. That didn’t mean she liked seeing it affect Morgan. “And worse than that, an alchemist.” Cece specified, creeping down to get a better look at the wounds. No doubt about it, the very field that Cece and Morgan had specialized in had caused this. The metal had been almost fused with the skin itself, probably while the girl had been alive. From what Cece knew about Fae and iron, the pain that would have caused would be immeasurable. It was cruel, inhumane. “At the very least, a witch was involved. Whether it was still because of hunter’s or not I can’t be sure. But we’re definitely looking for an alchemist in town. And someone with enough experience with human anatomy to know how to do this.”

“Alchemy,” Morgan repeated slowly. “They used…alchemy.” The iron hadn’t come from a stick. They hadn’t been beaten or pressed against something. The alchemist had turned the fae’s body into iron. The burns on Coraline’s face had come from a touch. “The components of the human body aren’t that complicated,” she murmured. “If you’re just trying to hurt, you don’t even need to do it well. You could just ramp up the hydrogen and nitrogen and start a combustion, or you could simulate the state of hypothermia in a few seconds, you could fill the bloodstream with sand or wear down the elasticity so it falls off, and it’s messy but if you’re just trying to kill someone or hurt them long enough to get away, it’s comparably minimal energy, but to do this...to force a body to do something like this takes practice. I mean, do you know how to do this?” She looked at Cece, completely abashed. “It’s a fucking alchemist,” she whispered again, covering her eyes and walking away from the body before she gave into the pull. “I hate this. I hate this so much. I--fuck. Thank you, Cece. I wouldn’t have guessed this, I don’t know what I would’ve done. I...I don’t know. You don’t talk to any witches in town, right?”

Morgan knew the specifics. Knew how dark their own line of magic could be. How fucked up their abilities were given a bit of anger and a rush of power. Cece studied Morgan’s anger, wondering why she herself couldn’t feel that same outrage. Had the coven desensitized her to things this much? That the closest Cece could feel for contempt was because Morgan was angry? Not for the actual body of the murdered woman that sat near them? Regardless, Morgan was angry enough for the both of them and Cece wanted to do something about that. “I could. If I wanted to.” Cece admitted. Because Morgan wasn’t wrong. This would be easy enough to do with some focus, and easy to fuck up if someone was angry enough. Passion was always a wild factor in magic. It altered it, spread lines thin and made spells harder to control. But this… “These marks are controlled. You can tell that whoever was doing this was being careful. Taking their time. It’s real fucked. And not in a good way.” Morgan questioned whether or not Cece knew any other witches. She did, but not like this. “Not any that could do this.” She didn’t know any that specialized in alchemy, and she didn’t know any that would murder someone this horrifically.

Morgan hadn’t really expected Cece to have the answer fresh out of the ether, but it would have been wonderfully easy. They could just march up to whoever’s door right then and there, demand an explanation, demand something. Sure, all witches didn’t get along, that was obvious. Some were awful. But knowing it was an alchemist shook her in a different way. Of all the things this alchemist could make, everything they could do with their magic, and they chose to destroy a fae like this. A kid. What reason could be good enough for this? What cause, what fucking spell could justify something like this. “If you, um...if you can wrap her up for me, I can take her back to my friend’s place. Figure out if there’s anyone in town who can, I don’t know, bury her or something, I guess. I...thank you, Cece, really. If you get in trouble for this I...I don’t know. I do wanna make this up to you, okay? Soon as I figure this out…”

It wasn’t hard to tell that Morgan was shaken by all of this. She had been acting strangely since she reached out to Cece, and things only got worse and worse the more they found out about it. Whatever this was, whoever did this. They needed to be stopped. That was Cece’s role now, right? Through a thick coating of irony that wasn’t long on her, she was now helping the police catch murderers and stop crimes. So this, although outside of the system and breaking so many policies that Regan’s head would pop clean off if she had been working here, was the right thing to do, right? “I got this. Seriously. Don’t worry about me. This isn’t my first rodeo.” Cece finger-gunned at Morgan, throwing in a dramatic “Yeehaw” for the dramatic effect. Someday the two could talk more about Cece’s time in the coven. Right now, considering the situation, that time didn’t seem right. “I can’t say that I know much about Fae, but I know a lot of them have their own traditions. I’d recommend reaching out to anyone you know that may be able to help out. Give her the burial she deserves and what not.” Morgan sounded like her brain was running a mile a minute, thinking too far beyond their current conversation. “Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll think of something you can do to make it up to me, got it? Now off you go, you’ve got an alchemist to find.”

#wr cece #wr chatzy #wr cece chatzy #o the iron-y #wr #wickedswriting

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goliath-de-senfina-sango · 4 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Danny Phantom Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Danny Fenton Additional Tags: thoughts on powers Summary:

Danny's thoughts on his powers

Just a little Thing I did. Danny can have a little introspection, as a treat.

Danny Fenton was used to being invisible, as doing so on purpose was something one does when one’s parents are the town crazies. (one need not know that said crazies aren’t run out of town because their nuclear reactor several levels down is what powers the town in the first place). Cool kids like Dash, Kwan, Paulina, Star, and Valerie had practically no reason to even acknowledge he existed beyond when he came out - and maybe it still kinda stung when Dash asked if his parents had done experiments on him to make him into a boy but Valerie and Sam had both punched him at the same time and he apologized afterward so that was whatever. No one else from any of the cliques round school had a good reason to talk to him - their parents likely talked about his and most kids avoided the kids of the people their parents talked so poorly about.

Being invisible in the metaphorical was easy. Being invisible in the literal sense, however, was both easier and harder. It was easier because Danny’s slightest mortification, the tiniest hint of embarrassment, could trigger his ability to slide past the visible spectrum of light. He could still see but that wasn’t visible light and when he focused on a person he could see stripes and lines like a tiger on them and it was disturbing. It was harder though because doing that took up energy, and apparently, his lack of much ghostly power meant that his body substituted with calories. Danny hadn’t realized how undernourished he was until Agatha berated him for being skin and bones both before and after her rampage.

So, he practiced his invisibility and accepted her offers of ghostly food, even if it raised the hairs on the back of his neck - the replacement for the microwave had accidentally animated some hotdogs and Danny found this out after he’d taken a bite of one, so he was used to the contamination he supposed. The shift in diet along with the practice of consciously becoming invisible helped a lot.

When he was invisible, Danny could see so very much. He wasn’t sure, really, if he was sidestepping visible light because he could still see all the normal colors just, more . They were more intense than they’d ever been and he felt really warm when he turned invisible, so maybe that wasn’t what he thought it was. Instead of moving out of Light’s way he was absorbing it into himself, so completely that the human eye couldn’t spot him.

He knew for a fact that when he turned intangible he was sliding out of the way, off-scale, in a direction that most people would claim didn’t exist. The weird thing was that once he started practicing it, at Sam’s insistence so that he didn’t feel too weird about being half-ghost and also so that he didn’t fall through things too often, it became a reflex all on its own. Sure, he wasn’t tripping because his foot clipped through the floor like a Bethesda character anymore, but when something was about to hit him he didn’t flinch the way most people did. Instead of going left, right or down, Danny phased, slipping just past where any material object could touch him. If his parents’ research was to be trusted at all then he was doing exactly that, moving along a dimensional axis other than length, width, and depth. But then could his parents’ research be trusted if they said all ghosts are evil? Is Danny evil now?

The math and science behind those powers wasn’t something that was beyond Danny, but knowing the numbers and understanding how it feels to do those things were two whole different ball parks. Knowing why you were sinking into the floor didn’t make it any less terrifying to think that you were falling and you’d be buried if you didn’t stop. Knowing why and how you were invisible didn’t make it all that easier to simply unvanish or anything. But flight? Danny understood flight.

Flying was the first power that came to Danny with no muss, no fuss, no real struggle beyond running out of energy to fly and coming back down when he was done flying. Being in the air was as natural as breathing it as far as Danny was concerned, and he wasn’t entirely sure why that was. Was it the gravity inverters he and his family had worked on for so long that he could build them in his sleep? Was it his love of space and the fact that flying in space would be amazing? In the end, Danny didn’t care why. He could fly like a bird - better than a bird, or even a plane really - and that was the most amazing power of all.

#Danny Phantom #drabble #Danny Fenton #powers #Rexy Writes

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readingsbylibramc · 4 years

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birth chart reading for @falsepigeon

hello! welcome to your reading. I’m gonna give you a quick overview of what I’m going to analyze about your natal chart. feel free to ask me anything if something isn’t clear, of course. you’ll find out your dominants’ influence on your persona, your physical appearance, impression on others and the way you approach the world; your ego, identity, the real you; your reactions, your desires, inner emotions; your way of expressing your feelings, your mind and ideas; your desires and approach to love; your energy tank, instincts and temperament; in-depth analysis of each house with their rulers and analysis of heavy aspects; love life + soulmates/karmic partners interpretation; your relationship with your friends; your family life; your approach to career and work in general + possible jobs suggestion; your style, fashion sense analysis; life purpose and past life description; basic transits’ analysis to describe your current mood and, last but not least, your secret skills, how to make the most out of your soul and manifest what you desire based on your birth chart.

🦋 chart shape, dominants

your chart is a seesaw shape. your life focuses on different ideals and interests, often constrasting between each other. from one side, this gives you the ability to be adaptable and find solutions easily. on the other hand, you may struggle with balance; for example, you might find yourself dedicating your life to your relationships, neglecting your ego or viceversa. you need to learn how to harmonize these energies.

your dominant planets are mercury, uranus and pluto. you're an extremely intelligent and creative person with amazing problem-solving skills. you're very talkative and witty, and also extremely charismatic too. it's hard not to listen to you. you may experience lots of transformations in your life, you may make major changes to your lifestyle, but they'll help you gain more confidence and happiness to live more peacefully.

your dominant sign is gemini. you are a very intelligent individual, you are thirsty for knowledge and you also have great communication skills. you have a witty sense of humor, you're able to make everyone feel at ease with your sympathy. people may say you're two-faced, but in reality you just act in the most appropriate way based on the situation you're in. you despise boredom, you're very experimental in your life, but others may mistake this trait for flakiness.

your dominant element is air. in your life, you adore seeking for knowledge of any kind. you may be interested in studying different subjects, from those you study at school like science, maths, literature etc. to more unconventional ones, such as astrology, psychology, criminology and so on. you enjoy interacting with people; even if you’re not that sociable, you’ll still be interested in their point of view and their ideals, as you see it as a way to expand your own mind. you’re also interested in vintage, and you may have a retro aesthetic or just like history in general.

🌎 ascendant in scorpio, 13° / 2nd decan ruled by pluto and neptune

your scorpio rising makes you quite pessimistic; you see the world as a place full of dangers and malice, hence it’s hard for you to trust people. this may be translated through fear; you’re either scared of other people, and hence you look more vulnerable, or maybe you’re the one who prefers to look intimidating to avoid problems. I don’t think you look unapproachable, though. there are other placements in your chart that say the opposite, so I imagine you project an image of yourself that makes you look quite naive. you can sense others’ emotions very well, so they have no secrets for you. you can perceive any single emotion in people just by looking in their eyes. while this is good, as you understand who’s best for you and you’re aware of the dangers you may face, scorpio risings tend to take advantage of this and be a little manipulative. this awareness of the world makes you look mysterious and secretive, as if you always know something more than others (and you probably do). pluto is also the planet of transformation, and you might experience a lot of rebirths throughout your life, both physically and emotionally. you might lose/have lost a big amount of weight, for example, which makes you look like a different person. or maybe, you like dying your hair of a different colour, giving you a different vibe. you wish you could be softer and show your inner emotions more easily, as scorpio is a water sign. the thing is, since it’s a fixed sign, it’s hard for you to be flexible and adapt to changes. when they happen, they’re usually out of your control as they’re literally life-changing. physically, I see you having a square face with high cheekbones. overall, your bones are very prominent and you’re naturally skinny. your eyes are extremely magnetic, and they could also be quite big and/or round. you might have either very pale skin, or just an olive skintone. sometimes, even a mix of both. your hair, eyebrows and lashes are very thick and dark too. you're at least of average height, and you could have something smaller on your face, like a small nose, eyes, lips etc. you could also have long legs, arms and fingers.

scorpio ascendant opposite taurus venus: this aspect makes you more sociable and prone to interact with people. you’re also most probably very attractive, people are naturally drawn to you. the downside of this placement is that you may suffer from self-esteem issues, as you really care about others’ impression of you. maybe you’re a little bit clumsy too. it’s easy for you to gain popularity, but be careful as it’s not always good. popularity brings scandals too, so people you see in your everyday life could possibly start gossips around you. the good thing about this aspect is that you emanate loyalty, so you usually attract and choose loyal and trust-worthy partners. this placement may also bring issues and problems in marriage with your future partner, even though I don’t think it’s your case. your venus is well-placed, so I don’t think there’ll be serious problems.

🌞 sun in gemini, 14° / 2nd decan ruled by mercury and venus

with your sign in the mutable sign of gemini, you are a very light-hearted, chill individual. you're very bright and bubbly, you have amazing communication skills and also an entertaining sense of humor that is able to light up the room. you're very sociable, you like interacting with others, even though I assume that with your heavy scorpio energy in your chart, you could find it slightly harder to let this side of you out, especially with people you don't feel comfortable with. since gemini is a mutable sign, you most likely have tons of interests and hobbies, they're so many that you find it hard to keep up with all of them, despite being extremely good at multi-tasking. in fact, you're particularly intelligent and thirsty for knowledge. you like learning about everything, you love looking and being smart. it's your way to feel empowered and proud of yourself. you always need freshness in your daily life, you cannot stand boredom. because of that, you may often change your ideas, your hobbies, your favourite singer, etc. sometimes, you could even apply this to friends and lovers, and people may consider you unloyal or not much serious because of that. in addition, you get easily very anxious and stressed, to the point that you may seem dramatic to others. you may also get scared easily, even though you try to stay collected thanks to your libra moon who wants to be well-seen.

gemini sun conjunct gemini mercury: you express your ego and identity through your words and ideas. you’re very opinionated and you protect strongly your beliefs. after all, you probably came up with your ideals after thinking deeply about them, you were too precise to be wrong. you’re also probably an avid reader, and you could do well in writing yourself, as you’re able to properly convey your ideals with your words. also, your heavy air dominance makes you naturally good at writing books, poetry or even philosophical quotes. your mind is very active, and you feel comfortable letting all your thoughts out. it’s actually a way to relieve stress. you also have a wide vocabulary, and you’re capable of making a formal speech if you have to. you have a memorable way of speaking, as your words are very sharp. it’s hard for you to be ignored for your intellect.

gemini sun conjunct gemini mars: with this placement, you may be even more straight-forward than the typical gemini. you are very impulsive and honest above all, you say things as they are. you don't get hurt easily, you're able to be very brave when you want to, and even if you do get emotionally hurt, you know how to stand up for yourself again. you strive to achieve your goals and make your dreams come true, you're an hard-worker. some may call you impatient, and you may actually be, but in reality you just can't wait for things to happen. for example, let's suppose you're going to the mall to buy the playstation you always wanted. you'd start only thinking and talking about that playstation until you actually get it in your hands. you get easily excited. also, this is another placement that indicates that is hard not to notice you. you have a very strong charisma that makes others stare. you strive to be the number #1 at whatever you do, you're a serious competitor and you'd do anything to win and achieve your goals.

gemini sun opposite sagittarius pluto: probably during your childhood you couldn't make your own decisions. you might have been highly influenced by someone in your family, probably your father, and hence now you feel the need to have everything under control. maybe too much. you despise authority, you may even be quite rebellious. maybe your parents have tried to convince you following their religion, ideals etc., without giving you freedom. or perhaps, they are overprotective and avoid to make you have experiences. I imagine that getting rid of your control issues, which are caused by this sense of not being in control of your life, may be the first step to finally heal your wound, which is somehow linked to the relationship with your friends and casual partners in your everyday life. start trusting others more, and don't be afraid of being 'fooled'. you're totally capable of understanding when someone is trying to hurt you, follow your intuition. even though it may be hard, even painful, it'll be the key to transform and overcome saturn's lessons to achieve your goals.

🌙 moon in libra, 15° / 2nd decan ruled by venus and uranus

the most independent and open-minded libra decan. in life, you strive for equality and fairness. for example, you don’t want to give less than someone else, you would feel guilty about it. at the same time, you don’t want to be the one that gives more either; you’re afraid that people could take advantage of you. therefore, balance is what you find the most pleasant. ironically, you struggle to keep the same balance in yourself, though. you may appear a bit emotionally cold, as you don’t feel comfortable showing your true self due to your secrecy. you come off as kind of analytical, but you’re actually very romantic. you wish the world was just filled with love and peace, and you that you didn’t have to worry about malice or anything of that type. you hate vulgarity, and you try to be as kind as possible with your words, even though you may be too straight-forward and fail at that. you're most likely an extrovert, or at least you may know a lot of people. yet, you have troubles actually creating close bonds with others. you basically have more acquaintances than friends. you’re a nice mediator, you know how to get along with others and make others get along.

🗣 mercury in gemini, 7° / 1st decan ruled by mercury

mercury is in its natural place in gemini, your whole chart flows very well! you have great problem-solving skills, you are extremely intelligent and astute. when you were younger, you probably used to be the winner at games like hide-and-seek. this placement also enhances your thirst for knowledge of any kind, you want to learn at least a little about anything, from science to foreign cultures. yet, since you want to learn so many things all at once, you may lack precision and be a little bit superficial. on the other hand, you're a fast learner, but since you lack water in your chart I assume that you may rely more on logic than intuition, which is both good and bad. you may often find people predictable, but in reality you're just ahead of them. you're also very open-minded, even though you may be too logical at times, meaning that you're quite stubborn when it comes to certain topics. you're not like your sister sign is sagittarius who's up to believe everything. yet, it's easy for you to be flexible in your day-to-day life, you don't have to follow a schedule to have everything under control, even though you may often suffer from stress and headaches due to this lack of organization. you may have a very youthful and positive voice, you just give off good vibes, you know?

gemini mercury conjunct gemini mars: this placement makes you slightly more aggressive with your words. in fact, it makes you look more assertive and almost bossy. you could often attack people with words when you get angry, and you can get quite provocative too. while you are quick-minded and it's hard for you to be tricked, you have a very sharp tongue that could hurt others. other people may not understand your sense of humor for example, and they could get offended. you love debates and expressing your opinions, as you take a lot of pride in your thoughts. yet, may also take things very personally, you get defensive extremely easily, and that makes it hard to have a healthy discussion with you as you're very fiery. you could often get into arguments.

gemini mercury opposite sagittarius pluto: you may become a bit manipulative. you probably don’t even realize it, though, as you have the ability to make people do what you want them to do. you probably love being right, especially during arguments, and you always manage to be so thanks to your communication skills. your words are like knives for others, they can truly cut deep through their ego. you’re direct and blunt, as you just say what you have in mind with no filters. you can develop a provocative attitude without even realizing it, which can obviously cause you conflicts. you need to be more careful about how you communicate your ideas, otherwise you could seriously damage other people’s self-esteem. on the other hand, if you acknowledge your flaws and work on them, this can actually turn into diplomacy. take advantage of your interest in your inner self to find out how to be a bit more gentle in choosing your words.

❤️ venus in taurus, 6° / 1st decan ruled by venus

you seek long-lasting relationships. you're very romantic, and this fixed influence gives you high standards for your partner, you stay back from players. you look for someone you can always count on, and that is willing to support you through thick and thin. it may take you a while to find someone worth to be your lover, but once you find them, you'll always be loyal to them as long as they're respectful. they're your most precious possession, hence you're very jealous and protective of them. if it becomes unhealthy for both you and your partner, it's surely an issue you have to solve, maybe together. you're also the type who likes to be spoiled by their lover, and wants to make lovely gifts as well. these gifts don't have to be expensive, even homemade things are fine. for example, you may melt at the thought of your significant other to take their time and do something exclusively for you, like baking a cake or writing a poem. little gestures that show you their love. in a potential partner, you also care about how they present themselves. I'm not necessarily talking about conventional beauty, but more on a self-care side. you like people who smell good, have a nice fashion sense and maybe people that are quite conceited too (obviously not to the point of narcissism).

taurus venus conjunct aries saturn: as I've already mentioned above, you're a very affecionate and loyal partner. yet, due to this placement, there could be some insecurity around your love affairs. you may be too cold in relationships, it could be that you have troubles showing your love and affection for others. or perhaps, you're afraid of being in a relationship, and hence you may directly avoid them or break-up all of a sudden. you could literally jump into relationships, resulting in you getting hurt from time to time. because of this, with this placement marriage is usually delayed. it could be hard for you to find your true love, but it'll surely come. you could possibly date people more dominant / older than you, and I'd recommend you to get married after your saturn return, which is around your 27/28s. little side-note, you may often date karmic partners, aka partners from your past lives, so you may often experience this 'I’ve already seen you before’-vibe in your new encounters and relationships, and you’ll always learn something from all your relationships.

☄️ mars in gemini, 8° / 1st decan ruled by mercury

you’re driven by the sense of intelligence. your intellect is your greatest strenght, it’s your energy tank. you’re interested in a bunch of things, and hence you may have troubles staying focused on one thing at the time. you probably have tons of hobbies, and you may end up not being much precise since you have tons of things that you have and want to do. you can’t stand boredom, you need your day-to-day life to be exciting and, above all, offer you something new to learn and / or experience. you probably fancy being very active: you go out often, you workout, you may also be the type to love partying and things like that. you’re extremely witty and curious, and you want to live your life to the fullest. you may often change your style, your opinions, maybe even your personality, and that could make you seem confusing and / or unreliable.

gemini mars opposite sagittarius pluto: with this placement, I assume that when you were younger you were some sort of victim. you could have been bullied, for example, you used to be insecure about the way you looked and were. you could have felt different from others, and they took advantage of that to make you feel even more insecure. or maybe, it was a parent, or every authoritative figure in your life, that restricted you from following your own ideals. because of that, now you constantly feel the need to prove yourself. you probably tend to accumulate a lot of anger all together, which you need to let all out or you could explode. you could find comfort in physical ways to relieve stress, like punching bags, slamming doors, etc. or perhaps, when you're angry you just get overwhelmed by all of your emotions. you may cry, scream, even throw up in certain cases. on the other hand, you are extremely magnetic and attractive to others, you naturally draw people towards you. you're also extremely passionate in whatever you do, you put your whole heart in doing things you love. you're very hard-working and determined to achieve your goals, and I find this beneficial considering that your gemini energy tends to make one superficial. with this aspect, you're probably more dedicated than the common gemini.

🏡 houses, interceptions

your 1st house is in scorpio. you fulfill your ego when you deal with intense situations that satify your needs. that is, you find strenght in getting out of your comfort-zone. even though you may be afraid of it. you’re an enigma: you know everything about others, but others know nothing about you. it’s your way to protect yourself from eventual enemies, as you’re prone to have a few of them throughout your life. pluto is also here; your scorpio energy is enhanced even more in this way, and since it's opposite mars you may usually come off as aggressive or too impulsive. you indeed come off as someone very fiery, and you may be when you get angry, but deep down your libra energy just wants calm and peace. physically, you may also have stronger features: you could have a strong jawline, a wide forehead, a distinctive nose and thinner lips. chiron is also here: your deepest insecurity is your appearance, your identity. it may be that when you were younger, you used to struggle a lot with your appearance. you could have been bullied, or perhaps you could have suffered from an eating disorder. luckily, this placement can get better. in fact, you can gain wisdom from this wound of yours; you can heal others who have self-worth issues once you start loving yourself.

your 2nd house is in sagittarius. you tend to overindulge in 2nd house matters, hence you may spend too much money, you could overeat, or even overestimate your own skills. you could have an exaggerated vision of yourself; maybe, you’re too confident, or perhaps it’s the opposite. that is, you underestimate your worth way too much. since you spend so much, you may find yourself lacking money from time to time, therefore be careful to how you spend them. the ruler of the 2nd house is in the 5th house: you can make money through creative outlets; that is, you could work as an artist, an actor, a comedian, a singer, a dancer, a stylist... anything that allows you to express your personal taste and have fun. you could also increase your self-esteem in this way, being able to express your pleasures and having fun increase your self-confidence.

your 3rd house is in capricorn. you enjoy listing and talking about your duties and goals. you’re the type to write down your tasks in your agenda, e.g. tidying up your room, feeding your plants etc. the problem with this placement is that you may struggle to take action, and procrastinate. or maybe, you could do the opposite and overwork yourself. no inbetween. also, when you were a child you probably started speaking later than other kids, or you speak so fast that you end up stuttering. uranus and neptune are also placed in this house: you could have 'unexpected' siblings, meaning that probably your mother didn't expect to have one of her children. also, you may have a very dreamy and melodic voice, even though it could sometimes be hard for others to understand you since it's also quite nasal. the ruler of the 3rd house is in the 6th house: your job may involve communication, you'll most probably interact with other people in your future career. or maybe, you might write stuff, hence you could be a writer, a journalist, etc. possibly, you would do well as a therapist too. you may also communicate through artistic outlets, hence you could be an actess, a singer, etc. also, you could often have to do short trips to reach your college / work place, perhaps in a bus for example.

your 4th house is in aquarius. when you were young, you probably didn’t feel at ease with yourself. you might have been the outcast, that one kid that stood out in the daycare. you probably didn’t have many friends either, and it could have been painful for you. even though you enjoyed playing, drawing and watching your favorite cartoons alone, you're very sociable, and you've probably always felt the need to be surrounded by others. you find emotional comfort and security in your home, in your parents and in just family in general. you used to be very attracted to arts when you were a kid, and you kept this love with you while growing up. maybe, you were the type of child to lie to your parents. with the ruler of the 4th house in the 3rd, you probably feel comfortable and secure in your home enviroment, especially with your siblings. you may actually feel more attached to them than to your parents. also, your parents could be very successful academically speaking, and you may still live in your birth city / country.

your 5th house is in pisces. you have a variety of talents and creativity, but that may possibly be covered from you at first. you’d do very well at stuff that involves art and drawing. in love, you’re attracted to artsy people; if they’re into art, singing, dancing etc. they’re your ideal of soulmate. you may be very fond of children, and you wish to have at least one in the future. with jupiter here, you find joy and comfort in your hobbies, so it's extremely important for you to nurture your artistic needs and talents. actually, your creative talents are actually the key for you to achieve the best success and joy. you may have lots of children too, and they'll bring happiness to your life. the ruler of the 5th house is in the 3rd house: your hobbies include communication of any sort. you could write poetry, books... possibly, you could be interested in foreign languages and you may also communicate in more indirect ways, hence through photography, dancing, videos... especially since your 3rd house is ruled by neptune, the planet of images.

your 6th house is in aries. you work hard to be the number #1 in what you care about, especially if your goals involve school, work, health etc. your days are usually quite busy, and you may tend to overwork yourself. you also have venus and saturn here in the same house. I consider this a positive placement! having one of the most beneficial planet in the same house with saturn, the most malefic planet, makes you feel way less saturn's limitations. in fact, this placement usually makes it hard for you to be healthy, both physically and emotionally, and you may have the tendency to overwork yourself. you could even have bad luck at work, but thanks to venus this energy is mitigated, and you may actually find pleasure in working. this is another placement that indicates that you'll work in a creative, artistic field. possibly, you may also work with beauty. with the ruler of the 6th being in the 7th house, you'll most likely meet your future spouse at your work place. you could pursue the same career, they could be a customer of yours... or perhaps, you could meet them in your everyday life, and hence if you attend college you could meet them there, or perhaps in a gym, at the supermarket, on the bus, etc. any place that you frequent daily.

your 7th house is in taurus. in a marriage you seek security, both emotional and financial. you want a loyal partner that would never do anything to hurt you, and that has a wealthy job as well. intimacy and trust also matter a lot for you in a long-term relationship. mercury and mars are also placed in this house: you want a partner that is basically very similiar to you. they need to be open-minded and intelligent, they need to stimulate you mentally. but still, they also need to know how to stand up for themselves, you need someone that can compete with you, you're always up for a good challenge. yet, this could eventually cause power struggles between you two, and the marriage could possibly become overwhelming, so beware of that. take advantage of your libra moon and try to balance your feelings with those of your future spouse.

your 8th house is in gemini. you may frequently find yourself thinking and studying occult/taboo topics, such as paranormal events, thrillers, tarots, astrology etc. you’re interested in finding out the truth, not only among your peers but in the whole world. you have a desire that all the malice that is hiding behind the government etc. gets exposed, even though you may be so interested in them that you could get used to it and end up overlooking them. the ruler of the 8th house is in the 7th house: as I've already mentioned above, your future spouse will most likely be your soulmate! that is, you've already met them in a past life of yours, you'll feel naturally attracted to each other. your spouse will allow you to gain more self-esteem and security in yourself, they'll help you embrace your identity. also, you could marry someone very sexual.

your 9th house is in cancer. someone close, important and intimate with you may teach you the biggest lessons in your life. you could also live abroad with your family, or become a teacher in a daycare/primary school. you could also be very close with your teachers, you may have a very close relationship with some of them, or perhaps someone in your life is actually a teacher / professor. with the ruler of the 9th house being in the 11th house, your friends may be very supportive and open-minded, just like you. they could feel like family to you, and they could possibly come from abroad. perhaps, they're from a different religion / culture from yours, or they can speak more than one language. possibly, you may as well meet them in college, school and / or university too.

your 10th house is in leo. you want to be recognized and stand out. you may want to be a celebrity, or at least you want to be the one people look up to in your work place. you probably prefer being in charge rather than working under a boss, and you may want to work in a creative field, perhaps you could even mix an hobby of yours with your work life. with the ruler of the 10th house being in the 8th house, you may be known for your successful career, maybe you may actually get popular easily. this is a beneficial placement for people that want to be recognized/famous, as you naturally have the celebrity vibe and charisma to you. you may also prefer working alone rather than in groups or in an association. you could earn lots of money from your job, even though I don't see you being totally independent. you may work under a boss for example, or perhaps you get successful thanks to others' support, for example you could have some fans that help you boost your career.

your 11th house is in virgo. this placement, together with your heavy scorpio influence, makes you very picky with friends. you may frequent and feel happy with different people, but you only call friends a few of them. you also have friends with similiar ideals and approach to yours, hence it’s easy for you to get along as you see eye to eye. the moon is also placed in this house; your friends feel like family to you, you're extremely attached to them and you may actually live with them in some time of your life, perhaps in the same dorm or directly in an apartment. they'll nurture you and help you become more mature, or perhaps you could even still be friends with some high school or childhood mates of yours. the ruler of the 11th house is in the 7th house: you may marry a friend of yours. perhaps, at first you and your future spouse won't even like each other, you'll just be common friends, but then you will eventually develop things for each other.

your 12th house is in libra. you find beauty in neptunian topics, such as astrology, spirituality, dreams, art etc. you may actually be quite skilled at things that involve beauty and aesthetics. you may also be afraid of being judged, especially for your interests and/or physical appearance, or even afraid of love and relationships. the ruler of the 12th house is in the 6th house: since in your chart the 6th house is linked to your marriage and hobbies, your future spouse may also be a soulmate of yours. you may often dream about them, or perhaps you dream about real-life events. you could also possibly work in a spiritual field, for example you could be a therapist, an astrologer, a fortune teller, a yoga instructor, etc. or perhaps your job will include helping others. you could become a doctor, a lawyer, or even help others in more artistic ways. you could become a singer that heals people through their musica and lyrics, for example, or a writer... you'd also do amazing as an actor or comedian.

❤️ love life, soulmates

in love, you attract taurus, libra, pisces, sagittarius, virgo, scorpio. your future spouse is probably going to have prominent virgo/gemini/3rd or 6th house placements, as well as some scorpio/aries/8th house dominance too. they may be very intense, magnetic and sexy, but also extremely possessive and jealous. they’ll also be very intelligent and philosophical. you may meet them at work, and they’ll be a big boost for your self-esteem and reputation. you could also meet them during a short trip, hence on a bus, on a train etc. your children are probably going to have prominent pisces or sagittarius placements, or at least they’ll have pisces/water traits: they’ll be spiritual, calm, artistic and sleepy, yet they may also develop a rebel/emo attitude during their teenage years. they will also be very attached to their family, especially to you, and they'll be very open-minded and curious.

👶🏻 family life

your mother is probably a very caring person that knows how to stand up for herself when she has to, but she may struggle to do that. in fact, she looks very emotionally detached and possibly moody, unpredictable. she also has very strong beliefs that you inherited from her. your father could have been a bit more egotistic than your mother. he was probably very self-centered, and lacked empathy. there could have been many misunderstandings with him. if you have siblings, they probably have prominent capricorn / pisces / aquarius placements in their chart. you'll probably start loving each other more as time goes and you grow up. in the worst case, your mother might have had a miscarriage, or maybe they were stillborn. also, as I’ve already mentioned before, you and your family may live abroad, or least in a different city from your native one.

📊 career

you'd do best at a career that involves creativity and possibly fame. more specifically, you need to able to express your feelings through creative outlets. that means that you would become extremely successful as a writer / poet, singer, musician, dancer, actress, artist, photographer... possibly, even a stylist, as you may express your emotions and ideals through certain clothes designs. what matters is that it allows you to express your feelings in some way, that is creative and that also lets you feel praised and important, you don't want to go overlooked for your work. actually, there are quite a lot of placements in your chart that could indicate that you have the potential to be famous, or at least that you know how to handle recognition. you could also work in contact with celebrities, and hence you could be a make-up artist, a stylist, a hairdresser...

👗 fashion sense, style analysis

with your heavy venus presence, I'm sure you're very elegant. even if you're just wearing a sweatshirt with pants, you still manage to make it look so expensive and particular. you may like pastel, light colours, or even earthy shades like kaki, brown etc. you prefer using comfortable clothes, but you definitely know how to dress up when you have to. you might also be very fond of accessories, like jewellery and bags. you may also enjoy buying designer clothes, but even if they're cheaper, you want them to be of a nice quality. you may also enjoy going thrift shopping, as you may like wearing 'timeless' items, such as white shirts, blazers, coats, classic heels... basically, versatile clothes that are a must in your wardrobe, as they've always been trendy. you could also love oversized fits, as well as 80s/90s aesthetic.

👁 past life, life purpose

in your past existence, you were very in touch with your home, self, and probably marriage too. overall, your past life was very peaceful, especially when it comes to your family. this lifetime, though, you need to focus on letting the world know who you are. you have to build a reputation for your name and feel satisfied with your career, while still taking care of your family.

🤔 major transits interpretation / sept 15th

transit mars is currently conjunct your aries saturn, making this aries energy double. you may be extremely defensive and aggressive lately, you may often argue with others, especially with people you live with or someone from your family or that is above you, perhaps your parents or even a teacher. uranus is also transiting your 6th house, and it's going to conjunct saturn in some time. I'd keep an eye on this placement, as it can manifest as a sudden health problem, perhaps even a surgery, so try to be as healthy as possible. after all, transits are just potential, you can perfectly try to avoid them.

🧿 manifest what you want, secret skills

your secret skills revolve around finances and just security in general. with a positive attitude, you may attract material luck: money, clothes, houses… everything that you desire. since you’re a logical person, I assume the most efficient way for you to manifest through the LOA is writing! take a notebook and just write down positive affirmations, such as 'I have the car of my dreams’ etc. you may also write them on post-its and glue them around your house, so that you can accelerate the progress. you can also try to idealize your wish before trying to manifest it. for example, if you want a new sweatshirt, try to imagine yourself wearing it. you could also go into a shop and actually try that sweatshirt it on; being in contact with it will boost the law of attraction even more.

this is the end! thank you again for purchasing a reading, hope it resonated with you :)

#astrology #birth chart

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nikxation · 5 years

Text

This Is the End of Us I Swear

Summary: It’s been a month since the science fair accident, and for both Stan and Ford, moving on has proved harder than either of them would have thought. Decisions are made, words are said, and in the end, both of them just do what they think will make everything right again.

Based on Glendale by Clans and this art by @julientel.

Tags: 10k, Canon Compliant, Hurt No Comfort, Based on a song, based on fanart, Pre-college, post-science fair, Stangst, might write a second fix-it chapter one day, seriously this is just pain, (more warnings listed in notes before fic on AO3)

Link to AO3

~ ~ ~

The sun is just setting behind the horizon, the sky’s final rays of colored light fading into the black. Small pinpricks of light peak between the clouds, the last of the neon lights on the boardwalk finally flickering out. The streetlights themselves are only a few minutes from waking up and chasing the growing darkness back into the alleyways. The occasional car chugs down the street, the asphalt crunching under its tires. It’s quiet, even in the Pines residence where Ford, having spent the majority of his day packing, just barely manages to shove his favorite advanced calculus book into the last moving box and tape it shut.

Ten boxes are all he was allowed. Sure, he did the math, and he knew they could fit fifteen in the car if they were very careful about how everything was stacked and how full the boxes themselves were. Eighteen if Ma just stayed home instead of insisting on coming to see him off to his new home for, God forbid, the next four years. Eighteen boxes would be plenty space to fit everything he would need plus maybe some non-essentials like changes of clothing. Hell, he could fit a significant number of textbooks in fifteen boxes if he was very careful about maximizing every micrometer of space.

Pa limited him to ten, no arguments. Ma insisted on packing six of them herself, leaving him with only four boxes for his essentials.

A tragedy, to be sure.

The entire day was spent weighing the pros and cons of each combination of textbooks until he reached what he knew was the best option given his limiting circumstance.

It’s still heartbreaking looking at all the texts still lining his shelves and knowing they probably won’t last for long in Pa’s house, probably to be sold or trashed within the week.

He hoists the last box up, grunting at the weight because of course textbooks are heavy, but he never really considers how much fifty pounds is until he’s staggering across the room awkwardly with it in his arms. Fifty pounds isn’t a lot, is it? It always seemed effortless when Stan would bench twice that—

The box thwumps on the carpeted floor at the bedroom door, stacked with the other nine, all ready to be packed into the car come tomorrow morning.

It was strange how vacant the room had felt after the first box had been packed. Not so long ago, every square inch was covered with knick-knacks and pictures and life. But the more he took and packed, the more barren it felt. With every random item he uncovered from days long gone by, the more it felt like setting aside some small part of him to either be forgotten again or left behind. A subtle nostalgia, a longing tinged with an inseparable bitterness he only wishes he could forget or move past.

And now that the packing is finally done… Well…

There’s something to be said for a half empty room.

Well, half of a half, if the empty bottom bunk is anything to go by.

A three-quarters empty room, so to speak.

He stares at the bare mattress on the bottom bunk for a moment, stains and tears on full display since its sheets were ripped away and stored in some remote closet of the house just under a month ago. It’s almost as jarring as the empty room, has been since the day Ma came in empty-handed and left with a bundle of cloth and a wobble to her voice. He usually tries to avoid looking at it for long. It makes something uncomfortable twist in his gut, something that he tells himself is betrayal because he’s afraid if he thinks about it for too long, he’ll realize it’s something else, something he doesn’t think he can handle.

He gives the box of textbooks a soft kick to line it up with the others before turning back and climbing up onto his bunk.

He really ought to stop thinking about the room as only half his.

There are a few graphs and diagrams pinned up on the wall next to his bunk that he thinks he could fit inside his bookbag to take along with him, so he starts the methodical task of unpinning it all. The wall is thoroughly covered in layers, some pins holding up multiple pages, some tables hiding in the back that he’d forgotten about. It’s a stroll through memory lane in the same way that the rest of this day has been.

He pulls out a pin holding up a resistor band diagram, but something behind it slips out behind the bedrail and slides straight to the floor. He huffs, considering leaving it but then immediately deciding that’s a bad idea, since he’s not entirely sure what it is and it might be something important. So he clambers back down from his bunk, fully prepared the shimmy himself under the bed to find whatever it is that fell.

It didn’t go straight to the floor like he thought it did. Instead, it landed on Sta—the bottom bunk. Facedown, probably the size of a four-by-six photograph, a bit worn around the corners.

It’s probably not as important as he initially thought.

The moment he flips the paper is a rude awakening, digging up deeply entrenched memories of hot days on the beach and splinter-covered hands and sun-burnt shoulders and tales of treasure and adventure. It’s a small spark of warmth in his chest, a sun beating down an a pair of boys climbing around the shambles of an old boat, the hot sand between their toes, the reflection of the sun off the crashing waves blinding them, the raucous screams of the seagulls drowned out by their laughter.

He forgot he still had this picture.

It’s strange, the exact memories it brings back. Like him bartering with an old sailor for a rusty anchor while Stan snuck around and grabbed a throw ring. Or Stan crawling inside the hollow boat and coming out with at least three different kinds of bugs caught in his hair. Or Ma finding out about their newest project and insisting on taking a picture of them with it. Stan taking his hand and hoisting him up onto the deck before clambering up to the highest point on the boat and posing like it’s where he belonged. A breeze grabbing the makeshift sail not even seconds after the picture was taken, shaking the boat enough for Stan to lose his balance and fall back into the sand, sputtering with laughter while a worried Ford hopped off the boat and helped him back up.

He smiles at the softness of it all, at the comfort and freedom of happier times. Simpler times. Times before colleges and science fair projects and grandiose expectations and disappointments. Back when their biggest concerns were having enough sunscreen and being home in time for dinner. Before it all fell apart.

He glances from the dilapidated boat in the picture out to the rebuilt one just barely visible in the darkness outside the window, docked down at the pier. It’s only a day’s worth of work away from being ready to sail. Just need to seal off a few small leaks in the hull and patch the tear in the sail. Leaps and bounds further along than the remains of the boat in the picture. A decade of afterschool work culminating in an empty, almost-finished boat bobbing on the waves.

He hasn’t set foot on the pier since the incident.

It’s all so different now.

He hates that he almost misses him.

He tells himself it’s just the adjustment period. Eighteen years of falling asleep to someone else’s snoring only to be replaced with sudden, deafening silence. Eighteen years of four people sitting at the dinner table now becoming three, the other side of the table empty and left unset. Eighteen years of someone at your side leaving a gaping hole in their place when they’re gone.

It has to be an adjustment period.

Because how could he miss the person that betrayed him?

That stabbed him in the back and ruined his future, all in the name of treasure-hunting?

He couldn’t.

He can’t.

Pa keeps telling him that he’s going places, that he’s got a bright future ahead of him, that his brother was just dragging him down. He tells him that he wishes he’d kicked him out sooner, then all of this would have been avoided.

Couldn’t just screw up his own life. Had to go and screw up yours too.

Pa tells him to forget and move on. To go back to his room and keep studying.

And he tries. He really does, because that has to be the right thing to do. That has to be the best way forward.

He should hate him.

And part of him does.

Part of him recoils at the mention of his name, some seed of anger burning red-hot when the fond memories give way to thoughts of broken science fairs projects and shattered trust. It coils and churns in his stomach, fueled by the acceptance letter to Backupsmore and his father’s disappointed scowl when that’s the only acceptance letter that arrives and the random items still hiding around the room that don’t belong to him and the name mix-up at graduation and the folder of maps and guides still on the bookshelf of that damn boat…

Part of him is angry. Rightfully so.

And yet…

The photo creases slightly in his hand.

His insides burn, and he tells himself it’s anger because the other thing, the thing that he pretends doesn’t exist, remembers how desperate and alone Stan looked that night out on the sidewalk with a bag on his shoulder and his hand raised up towards the window. It remembers and it remembers and it remembers. And it burns.

It has to be anger, because at least that makes sense, and at least that doesn’t keep him up at night staring at the ceiling and hating how quiet the room is.

It’s what he tells himself.

But even then, he still hates that hot coal of resentment in his chest, a heavy weight still dragging him further and further down. He hates feeling this way. He hates how, no matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to forget and move on. Hates it with every fiber of his being.

It’s in the past so why won’t it just stay there?

The pier lights finally kick on, bathing the dock and the Stan O War in flickering fluorescent white. It’s a shadow looming on the waves, still docked peacefully as if nothing ever happened, as if the whole world wasn’t just flipped on its axis. As if everything was still alright.

Simpler times.

Distantly, he wonders if that boat was ever really his dream, or if he was just happy to be living it with Stan. He knows there was one point when he did want it, can remember it the same way he remembers the sand between his fingers and the taste of the sea air. But then they told him he was smart and that he had a future and that he could go to college and that he could change the world.

Somewhere along the line, his priorities changed. And Stan refused to see it, to accept it.

It’s been almost a month, and that boat is still just sitting there, a reminder of everything that went wrong, of how empty everything suddenly feels, of the remnants of a future left for him, and he hates it, hates Stan. He has to, right?

He has to.

The weight sinks lower in his chest and burns and burns and burns.

He’s angry. He has to be.

And it’s Stan’s fault.

Him and that stupid b—

Something… clicks in his head. Like a moment of clarity, suddenly telling him exactly what he needs to do, that it’ll make everything better. Make everything even.

He doesn’t think about it too hard.

He just shoves the picture in his pocket and leaves the room, making a quick stop by the kitchen on his way out the front door.

~ ~ ~

The treasure-hunting business has been… lackluster, to say the least. Apparently, gold is some kind of “rare metal”, which really throws a wrench into his whole get-rich-quick scheme.

Stan’s been driving since sunset, the window rolled down so he can taste that familiar salty ocean breeze as he makes his way down the coast, the wind pulling at his hair and roaring in his ear as he sails down the highway. The north end of the state had been a complete bust. With the help of his totally-legally-acquired, not-at-all-stolen metal detector, he’d only managed to scrounge up a couple dollars’ worth of coins, a few cheap wedding rings that he pawned, and a surprising number of fake teeth. All in all, he barely had enough money to feed himself and keep gas in the Stanleymobile, and even that was pushing it at times. So now he’s heading south to try out the bottom half of the state.

Not that he’s hesitant to leave New Jersey altogether or anything.

As if staying in the state will make his circumstances seem a little less real, a little less permanent.

The sign welcoming him to Glass Shard Beach whizzes by, momentarily caught in his headlights before disappearing into the encroaching darkness behind him.

It’s been a month, and he still has a hard time believing everything that happened actually… happened. There’s this part of it that still feels unreal, like it happened years ago or just to someone else altogether. It feels like he’s driving home instead of through what used to be his home. Like he should be pulling up to the pawn shop and heading upstairs, giving the cat a pet while Ma shoots him a devilish smirk as she works the person on the phoneline, Pa silently reading the newspaper in his chair, the floorboards creaking in a familiar pattern as he heads up to their bedroom, Ford reading some textbook on his bunk, laughing at whatever ridiculous story Stan has to share from boxing practice before they head down to the beach to work away the last of the sunlight fixing up the Stan O War.

When he finds himself on an all-too-familiar road by the boardwalk, it’s almost second nature to slow down as the Pines Pawn sign rolls into view. He knows he should just drive past without a second glance, because screw them all. But at the same time, he’s almost… curious? And maybe that home-sick part of him is saying just one peek wouldn’t hurt anything, and then he’d be on his way again, off to make his fortune, make them rue the day or whatever.

He ignores the hunger pains in his gut as he slows the car to a crawl on his way past, peering out the passenger window cautiously, ready to nail the gas and book it out of there if he’s spotted.

Ma is sitting in the upstairs window like always, phone up to her ear while she twirls the cord and the sucker on the other end of the line around her little finger. Pa is downstairs cashing out the pawn shop, counting down the money in the drawer for probably the third time of the night. Everything looks… normal. Peaceful. Not a thing out of place or out of the ordinary.

His chest aches when he realizes almost nothing seems to have changed since he left.

He isn’t entirely sure he expected anything different, but seeing it in-person still hurts more than it has any right to.

Their His The bedroom light is on, but the room is empty. From this angle he can barely make out the mostly bare walls and bunks, leaving him wondering if Ford already left for college.

Or wherever he ends up going, since Stan really screwed that one up for him, didn’t he?

There’s a chance he’s still in town.

His stomach churns at the thought of seeing his twin again. As hurt as he is by everything, as much as the memory of Ford closing those curtains stings, he still misses him. He misses that feeling of always having someone at his side, through thick and thin. He misses feeling wanted.

Though, if Pa’s words are anything to go by, then maybe he was wrong about that feeling from the start.

He takes it all in for one last second, telling himself that this is it, he’s not coming back, this is the last time. He keeps telling himself that for another second. And then another. And another.

It’s not until Pa pauses from counting the money that he finally startles back into gear and pulls off before the old man looks out the window, barreling down the street way over the speed limit because, suddenly, it’s the very last place he wants to be.

How bad would it look if Pa saw him sitting out here?

He’d look stupid. He’d look like even more of a failure, as if he was too scared to leave, as if he just came crawling back like a dog with its tail between its legs in defeat. He’d be admitting they’re right about him. He’d be giving up.

Would they even let him come back?

He shakes the thought off.

It’s been a month, and he’s not done yet. He’s on his way to success yet, he can feel it. Pretty soon, he’ll be rolling in all the cash Pa could ever hope for, and then he can rub it in their faces, make them regret ever kicking him out and abandoning him.

He’ll show them.

His stomach growls again, dragging him back to reality for the moment. He only has a dollar and some spare change in his wallet, which won’t buy him very much food-wise. And the owners of the local convenience store have known him for as long as he can remember and know to watch out for his “tendencies”.

He’s going to need supplies.

It’s almost completely dark now, the moon barely a sliver in the sky, the saltwater spray from the ocean coming off the boardwalk as he coasts alongside it. Out on the water, a barge stands barely lit, far out on the waves, a pinprick of light on an otherwise dark and desolate sea.

It gives him an idea.

~ ~ ~

Ford still remembers the day they first pulled the Stan O War out of that cave, the memory a spotlight in the fog of distant and long-forgotten days.

They’d spent a good hour trying to scrounge up enough rope to haul it out, one of them always stationed right outside the cave to make sure no one went in and claimed their find. And when they finally got the rope, it took them another hour to figure out the best way to tie it up and pull, breaking off a few more chunks of the decrepit boat than either of them would care to admit. But once they got it moving, it was, well, smooth sailing from there. There was a bucket of paint, he doesn’t remember where they got it, but he remembers the debate they had before finally settling on the name and painting it on the side. He remembers the terrible sun burns they both had that night, and how Ma had to cover them in almost half a bottle of aloe. It didn’t even come close to stopping them from going out again the next night. And the night after that.

The first year or so, it had been their own personal playground. They’d play pirates or adventurers, taking turns coming up with monsters to fight or treasures to find (or, in Stan’s case, hot mermaids to win over). The little half-boat had been their home away from home, a safe haven for them and only them.

Then they actually started rebuilding it.

Suddenly, what had been a call to adventure was now becoming a reality. The dream to go out and explore the unexplored and find the unfindable was finally looking like it was coming true. All with his twin at his side.

Building that boat gave him some of his favorite memories.

And then things changed.

Dreams changed.

And now he’s sitting on the deck alone, the soft splashing of waves and the gentle knocking of the hull against the dock the only sounds outside his own thoughts swirling in his head.

He was resolute when he first left the house, sure of what he had to do. But the walk here gave the doubt time to settle in, made the weight in his pocket seem impossibly heavier.

It doesn’t make any sense.

It should be easy, but…

He remembers when they sanded the deck, how they had to choose between the electric sander or the water-proofing epoxy because Stan’s part-time job at the gym couldn’t cover both. The subsequent weeks were spent sanding the entire boat by hand with the little hand radio buzzing in the background. He gently runs his hand across the glossy wood, remembering the splinters and cuts they both got every day. They’d always been so sure it would be worth it.

Was it?

Ford had considered building something to make the process easier, their own homemade electric sanders. But Stan had talked him out of it. Said it would come out so much nicer if they did it themselves, that it can’t take that much longer to do it by hand, right?

Stan always liked doing things the hard way.

Well, that’s not true. He found shortcuts wherever he could, cut every corner possible to get to where he needed to go. That’s why he always managed to almost make it through school with straight Cs.

But things that he cared about, things that meant something to him, he always took his time on, took the extra minute to be careful with.

Too bad he didn’t care too much about your future, then.

His nails scrape against the deck, his shoulders drawing together around him.

He still can’t for the life of him figure out why Stan did it, what drove him to sabotage his entire future. It couldn’t have been an accident. Stan would have warned him. He would have come clean before the science fair. It had to be on purpose.

Right?

It had to be on purpose.

Because Stan has to care about his treasure-hunting and his own dreams more than he cares about his brother’s.

Because if he’s wrong, then…

Then Stan…

That stone in his chest sinks a little deeper, burns a little hotter.

He shoves himself to his feet, steadying himself against the railing as the boat sways slightly underfoot.

He has to be right.

Because he’s not sure if he can live with being wrong.

And no matter how much his chest hurts, he guesses the result was the same no matter if he meant it or not. Because either way, he’s going to some worthless school where he’s going to have to work ten times harder just to get anywhere in the world.

And Stan…

Stan was going to leave home anyways. Stan had no plans on staying anywhere near Glass Shard Beach and is probably already hundreds of miles away doing absolutely fine. This was just a hiccup for him. Ruining Ford’s life was nothing more than a speedbump. He got kicked out, but he was probably a month away from leaving anyways.

Ford had his dream stolen from him.

And Stan—

Carefully, he climbs up onto the railing of the boat and steps back onto the dock, digging his hand down into his pocket.

This boat is Stan’s dream. Not his.

He pulls out the matchbook he grabbed from the kitchen, fingers fumbling at he pulls out a single match.

An eye for an eye, right?

He strikes it, the matchstick catching with a hot spark. The single flame is warm in his fingers, dancing side to side in the light ocean breeze, the cheap wood already burning down, blackening and curling in on itself in the heat.

He ruined you.

He deserves this.

Before he can second-guess himself again, he tosses the match onto the deck.

~ ~ ~

Stan’s thinking about those food rations they stored in the hull of the boat, trying to map out how many days he can make them last if he’s careful.

He smells the smoke moments before he pulls into the parking lot at the top of the boardwalk.

Barely gets the car turned off before he sees the flames and starts running.

The boat is already halfway gone, the fire spreading across the entire deck and making its way up the mast, panic settling into his bones as he books it towards the pier.

There’s a shadow of a person standing in front of it, and all he can manage is to scream something, he can’t even remember what, and the person startles and then runs. By the time Stan makes it down to the pier, the person is already halfway down the beach, and there’s no chance at catching them, so he turns his attention to the boat.

I can save it.

I can fix this.

There are sirens in the distance. He can barely hear them over the crackle and roar of the flames. There’s a bucket on the deck of the only other boat docked, so he grabs it. Gets to work.

There’s so much of that span of time that’s a blur, a sequence of repeated motions all a backdrop to his frantic thoughts.

Lay on the dock to reach the water.

I can do this. I can do this.

Scoop as much as you can into the bucket.

How could this happen? Did that person standing here have anything to do with it?

Stand up.

What if I can’t save it?

Pour it on the flames.

He’ll never forgive me.

Repeat.

Never.

Everything’s a rush. The fire spreads across the entire deck, no matter his efforts. No matter how much water he heaves onto it, it just keeps growing, spreading, the smoke burning his lungs the way cigarettes never could, stinging his eyes, heat radiating through the air around him.

He keeps working.

I have to save it.

I need to save it.

If I save it, maybe he’ll forgive me.

The wood creaks and snaps over the sound of the flames, charred and crumbling. But he keeps working.

If I can’t, he’ll never forgive me.

Useless. Worthless. Mistake.

It’ll be the end of us.

Bucketful after bucketful, flames creeping to the top of the mast, the sails turning to ash, everything crumbling and burning right before his eyes and there’s nothing he can do to stop it but keep working.

He’s getting another scoop of water, and the bucket slips from his fingers, getting pulled down beneath the surface faster than he can react. It disappears into the black waters, pulling a curse from him.

I can still do this.

He’ll start scooping with his hands, if that’s what it takes.

But then someone grabs him, and it’s the first time he realizes how close the sirens are. They pull him away from the flames. Instinct kicks in. He’s kicking and screaming to let him go, he needs to do this, he can’t let it burn down, he can’t let it disappear, it’s all he has left, let him go—

A group of people run by in the flickering darkness as the other person keeps dragging him back, and something in his brain finally connects the sirens to the people around him, some of the panic settling into relief when he sees the long water hose the ones running down the pier are carrying.

Because there’s this inkling of hope that it’s not all lost. That it’ll be salvageable.

And then they’re blasting water at it, and his blood runs cold.

It’s almost an instant reaction, the twist in his gut at the sound of cracking wood as the mast bends to the side under the force of the water, then snaps completely and splashes into the waves.

And then he’s screaming at them, begging them to stop because can’t they see they’re making it worse? They’re destroying it. They need to stop. He needs to make them stop.

He’s flailing against the arms holding him back, throwing blind punches even though nothing’s connecting, and his insides feel more and more hollow the more steam they fill the air with and the more the boat creaks and groans.

Something finally connects, and the arms let him go, and then he’s running again, every pound of his feet on the dock lost in the hiss of the water battling the flames, battering the boat.

He hasn’t made it far when a resounding crack splinters through the air, freezing his feet in place.

Through the swirling mist, he sees the entire boat list forward, quickly taking on water. His feet are rooted in place as, within a span of seconds, the entire front half of the boat is submerged. And the back snaps in half. Falls into the waves behind it.

He doesn’t feel his knees hit the wood dock.

What’s left of the Stan O War sinks beneath the waves, a few broken boards the only things marring the surface of the otherwise now undisturbed sea.

And just like that, it’s gone.

It’s just… it’s just gone.

And he doesn’t even have the barest hope that there’s any way to bring it back.

Hands grab him again and pull him back up, but it’s all numb, the voices around him hollow and muffled, a million miles gone. He can’t look away, gaze locked on splintered wood and ash, eyes burning from the smoke and the saltwater that might be seawater, might not.

It doesn’t feel real.

It can’t be real.

Because if it is…

His throat catches, seawater rolling off his cheeks in rivulets, leaving trails in the ash and soot covering his face.

Because if it is, then I really did ruin his life, and there’s nothing I can do to fix it.

Something inside him breaks at that, crumbles, the hands on his shoulders finally turning him away from the wreckage.

His insides collapse into themselves, and it’s all he can do to stop the rest of himself from following suit, to keep himself walking away from the very last semblance of hope he had to fix everything.

This is the end of us.

~ ~ ~

Ford’s running as fast as he can, his lungs heaving with every step, sand and glass shards kicking out behind him, the roar of the flames dying out the further and further he gets. It isn’t until they fade into the sounds of the waves lapping against the shore that his legs finally give out and send him to his hands and knees under the weight of what he just did.

He’d stood there watching as the fire caught, watching as the epoxy coat on the deck bubbled and charred until the wood underneath finally started to burn. He watched, waiting for that feeling of relief as the fire spread, the air getting warmer and warmer, the smoke slowly getting thicker and thicker. He thought he’d feel better about it, thought it’d cut the final string tying him and his brother together and finally let him be free of him. But instead, the fire inside him just fizzled out as the flames crept higher and higher. And he kept waiting and waiting, hoping for something new and better and good to take its place inside him, to feel the vindication he’d sorely been hoping for when he finally tossed the match on-board.

Nothing came.

There was only a distant voice, yelling at him to put the goddamn fire out what are you doing? And that had sent him running, because common sense reminded him that arson is a crime, and something about the voice clawed at his insides so deeply that he was afraid to realize why. So, he ran. And he ran and ran and ran, hoping in vain that at some point the weight pushing him further and further into the ground would lift, would let him breathe. That maybe some of the fire would come back, or something, anything but this emptiness, this detachment.

The first law of thermodynamics states that energy is neither created nor destroyed, only transferred.

He wonders if that’s why that fire inside him died the higher the flames got on the boat, leaving nothing but ashes behind. Or, he wonders, if this is one thing that science can’t solve.

He doesn’t have an answer for any of it.

He’s on his hands and knees, the fire flickering in the distance, all his anger spent and gone and leaving him numb and cold and feeling something heavier than gravity pulling him towards the center of the earth.

His arms tremble under it, tears stinging his eyes.

How did Stan do it?

There are sirens in the distance, his chest shuddering with every breath of briny air.

He wants to feel satisfied with what he did, but instead it just feels like he scraped out his insides, tearing himself to ribbons and swearing he was doing it to someone else, like he’s ripping open the same poorly healed scars over and over again, hoping he’ll finally heal whole for once. Telling himself that it didn’t matter that it was also years of his own life spent working on that boat, that it still meant something to him. What mattered was that it meant something to Stan. He shouldn’t feel a damn thing.

But Stan’s not here to feel anything; it’s just him.

Just him.

Alone.

How was Stan able to do it so easily?

Every moment, the guilt tears at him more and more, and he swears it can’t get any worse, it just can’t. But then he remembers exactly why he lit that match, and it makes something vile turn over in his stomach because how could he do that to his own brother? How could he ever do that to someone he’s supposed to care about? And then every moment feels like a new low, some fundamental boundary shredded by a blinding moment of anger. An utter betrayal that cuts him to the core when he realizes its consequence, some combination of shame and remorse gripping his throat and squeezing when he remembers how he wanted Stan to feel.

The light behind him dies off, the last flames flickering in the distance, dancing off the glass shards scattered in the sand around him before disappearing into the darkness.

How was Stan able to completely ruin him and not feel a damn thing?

None of it makes sense. A voice that sounds eerily like Pa tells him it’s because Stan is useless, a con, some punk that only cares about himself and doesn’t give a shit about any of them. But that doesn’t settle right in him, doesn’t feel like the boy that yelled at the bullies that threw rocks at them and blew off a date to drive him to a science convention out of town and came into their room after an argument with their Pa with a swollen eye and pretended it was nothing. It doesn’t sound right, but neither does that same person ruining his one chance at a future and then playing it off as no big deal.

It doesn’t make sense.

It doesn’t make sense that Stan would do this to him. It doesn’t make sense that burning the boat down hurts so badly. That he suddenly feels more alone than he ever has, crouched on that beach and surrounded by a black sea and an empty boardwalk and knowing that has nothing to do with the hollow feeling inside his chest, aching like it’s lost some vital piece of itself.

It doesn’t feel fair.

This was supposed to help.

Instead, all he’s left with are tarnished memories and an amalgamation of confusing emotions that all just boils down to pain, pure and simple.

He shouldn’t have done it.

Hell, he regrets coming out here at all.

It feels like hours before the wailing sirens finally go quiet, and he shakily pushes himself to his feet, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand as he begins the long walk home, the pack of matches left behind lying in the sand.

~ ~ ~

There are little things that Stan never really thought to miss after he left. Little, every-day moments that aren’t necessarily significant, but still fall somewhere in the realm of normalcy and routine and fill some little gap in his life. Gaps that are small enough to not notice once they’re empty.

The flipping of book pages late at night. The small bit of light filtering in the window from the streetlights outside. The way the boxing mat moves and yields underfoot. The shift of his gloves when he throws a punch because they’ve always been slightly too big. The feel of sanded wood dust between his fingers. Hauling the toolbox out to the Stan O War every day to work. The smell of the shop the day after Pa gets the floors waxed. The tinkle of the bell on the door when someone walks in.

That last one ushers in the thought of the rest.

Hearing that bell when he cautiously walks into the pawn shop the next morning, it makes him wonder about all the other little things he’s forgotten to remember, forgotten to miss.

“What part of ‘you’re not welcome here’ did you not understand?”

Or just simply forgotten on purpose.

“Nice to see you too, Pops,” he says, aimlessly glancing around the shop, feigning interest in the various wares (most of which were here when he got kicked out left). Mostly, it’s just an attempt to avoid looking at the man standing behind the counter.

“If you think you can just come crawling back here after—”

“I’m not,” Stan says, his voice hard. “Just had to come and make sure Ford’s okay before I head back out of town.”

“Course he’s okay,” Filbrick says. Stan can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief that Ford wasn’t somehow tangled up in the fire. That he’s alright. That he maybe doesn’t know about it yet. “No thanks to you.” Stan bristles.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

Do they know he was there? Do they know he couldn’t stop it?

“It means he barely managed to get a scholarship to some run-down nothing school thanks to what you—"

“I’m not talking about the science fair! I’m talking about—”

The backdoor of the shop, the one that leads up to the apartment, opens. The tell-tale creak rings another bell in the back of his head, some other forgotten detail of his life that he’s not entirely sure what to do with. He turns at the sound and immediately locks eyes with a distorted reflection of himself.

“What do you want?” Ford’s knuckles white where they grip a backpack slung over his shoulder, but he seems almost confused, his brow ever so slightly furrowed. The door clicks closed behind him, seeming impossibly loud in the now-silent room.

“Hey, um.” The look throws him off, considering he was expecting hate or anger or even an immediate dismissal. Then again, maybe confusion makes sense too. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Why wouldn’t I be okay now that you’re gone?

He doesn’t think that’s what he meant, but it doesn’t make the comment sting any less.

“There was a fire,” he says slowly, “down at the pier.”

It’s almost imperceptible, the way Ford’s eyes widen ever so slightly at that. Stan knows he’s the only one that would ever notice it, even if it’s not entirely the response he would expect.

He’s not sure what he would expect at this point.

“Pa, there are still a few boxes upstairs,” Ford says, watching Stan for another second before turning to the man still behind the counter. “They’re a bit too heavy for me. Would you mind bringing them down? I’ll watch the shop.”

Pa doesn’t have to have his glasses off for Stan to know the exact looks he’s giving them: a judgmental squint, probably aimed more at him than Ford, a quite calculation running through his head before he grunts out that he’ll be back in five minutes. He gives Ford a semi-awkward pat on the shoulder before heading upstairs, the door clicking shut behind him.

Ford faces back towards him the moment the door closes, his arms crossed in front of his chest, hands tucked in his elbows. His eyes are glancing around, refusing to meet his own.

“You, uh, going somewhere?” Stan asks, not entirely sure how to break the silence that settled back over them.

“Why are you here, Stan?” Ford’s still not looking at him, his voice tighter than it was just a minute ago, yet somehow impossibly exhausted, detached.

“I just… I was driving through and happened to go by the pier last night. The Stan O War was on fire.” He watches for a reaction, waiting to see if Ford knew, if he cared. But there’s nothing. No waver in his expression, not even some acknowledgement of what he said. Just his eyes still looking anywhere else in the room. “Just wanted to see if you were nearby, make sure you weren’t hurt or—”

“I’m fine.”

“Do you know what hap—”

“No.”

“And you weren’t anywhere near—”

“I’m fine.”

The silence settles again, the air tense and uncomfortable between them. There’s an enormous elephant in the room. More like a couple, if he’s being completely honest. Neither of them seem willing to address them. It only makes the atmosphere seem that much heavier.

“It’s been a while, huh?” Stan says, not able to stand the quiet any longer. “Over a month by now, right?”

“Twenty-seven days.” He states it plainly, like one of those facts from a textbook. Cold and detached and simple.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure. That sounds about right.”

Ford’s eyes seem to have settled, his gaze locked on something behind him, just to the side of his head. Enough to see him without having to look at him.

He won’t even look—

“Basically an eternity for us, huh?” Stan says, an awkward laugh forcing its way out. “Don’t think we ever went more than an hour without seeing each other before and now—”

“Was there something else you wanted to say to me, or was that it?”

“I…” It takes him aback, the iciness in Ford’s tone, the way his arms pull closer to his chest just the slightest bit. “What?”

“You came here to check on me?” Ford asks, his voice so flat it barely registers as a question. “That’s it?”

“I mean, yeah I guess?” Ford’s still not looking at him, and it just sinks something deep into his chest, leaving him floundering to say the right thing. “I was worried, you know?” It doesn’t feel like enough. Must hate me for not saving it. “But I tried to save the boat and everything. By the time I got there, there wasn’t much I could do.” He sees it, Ford’s arms tensing as he clenches his fists, his teeth grinding down. He’s saying the wrong things and he knows it, so he switches gears. “Look, I mean, I get if you’re mad at me for not stopping it. But the hull still seemed partly intact. I can, like, stay in town a while and help you fix her if you want. Not that you probably don’t hate me now, but I’ll stay out of your way and—"

“Get out.”

That ache in his chest drops like a weight, and suddenly he’s drowning.

“W-what?”

“I have nothing left to say to you, Stanley.” His fists fall to his sides, shoulders squaring back, his eyes still locked behind him. “So get out, and don’t make me say it again.”

It’s a slap in the face, one that stings all the way down to his core. He knows this is going badly. Doesn’t take a genius to see that.

Isn’t this what you expected when you walked in that door?

But he can’t let it end. Not like this. Shouldn’t it matter that it was an accident and he did everything he could? Shouldn’t it matter that he didn’t mean to hurt him?

“I came here to try to fix things,” Stan says, but Ford just blinks at the wall behind him, swallows.

“I don’t want you to.”

There are a million questions buzzing through his head, “when”s and “why”s and “how”s colliding and fracturing all while he sinks further and further down. He tries to grip back onto that anger from the first night, the night they threw him out onto the concrete with next to nothing and he swore the world would never see him coming. He tries to grab onto that righteous fury again, but it just slips through his fingers, lost in the backache from sleeping in his car and the suffocating silence and the stomach pains from so many days with barely enough money for food. Instead he just finds himself longing for everything that was, for the smell of Ma’s cooking and Pa’s annoyed grunts when they came in late at night and the jingle of the pawn shop bell and most of all—

“Please Ford,” Stan says. “I miss us. I can’t let everything get thrown away just over some stupid mistake! Just let me try to fix this.”

“A ‘stupid mistake’?” Ford scoffs, lowering his head with a shake. “Your ‘stupid mistake’ ruined everything. You ruined my life, Stan. There’s nothing left to fix.”

“But it was all an accident!” he says. “I didn’t mean to bump the table, and the boat was on fire when I got there. And I know, I know there’s nothing I can do about your college, so at least let me try to fix the Stan O War for you, and then maybe—”

“Would you shut up about the stupid boat already!” It’s practically a shout, the first time he’s raised his voice like that at him, his fists visibly shaking and his eyes locked on his shoes. Stan takes a small step back.

“W-what did I do wrong?”

“What did you do wr— are you kidding me?” And for the first time, Ford meets his eyes. Stan expects to see seething anger there, bubbling fury that shakes his entire frame as it threatens to boil over. He expects flames. But instead, he’s met with a detached coldness, solid ice that pierces down to the bone. “All you ever cared about was that stupid boat and your stupid treasure hunting! Did you ever stop to think about what I wanted? No, you didn’t.”

“I thought we wanted the same thi—”

“I let you drag me into your dumb, idiotic dreams that are never going anywhere. But not anymore. I’m done, Stan. I’m not letting you—you— hang on my coattails anymore. I’ve got a future ahead of me and I’m through with letting you keep me from it. There’s nothing left to fix because there is no more ‘us’. Get it? So just leave already.”

Every word stings, cutting deeper and deeper until Ford finally seems to take a breath, and Stan’s left feeling like the entire weight of the ocean is crushing into his chest.

Is that really how he felt?

He thought the boat, all of it, was their dream. He thought it was the future they both wanted the moment it was possible. That’s what Ford had said up until the science fair. Was he wrong? Did he really make Ford this miserable? Did he really hate him from the beginning? Were they really—

“I didn’t—”

“And you know what?” Ford says, voice shaking, bordering on hysterical. “I’m glad you couldn’t put out the fire, because I was the one who started it in the first place!” Stan swears he feels his heart stop in his chest, something in the back of his throat seizing. “So at least this once you didn’t screw up something for me.”

“Y-you burned—?”

“And it was the best decision I ever made,” he says. “Dumb adventures, treasure hunting, that boat, you. I’ve moved on. It’s all behind me now. I have a future ahead of me. So just leave me alone and, for once in your goddamn life, get out of my way.”

It’s all your fault. All your fault.

He’ll never forgive you.

Never.

This is the end—

“Stanford, I’m sor—”

“Get out.”

“Sixer please—”

“I said get out!”

The shout dies as fast as it escapes Ford’s lips, but it leaves Stan’s ears ringing. He’s stuck in place, the world revolving around him and Ford glaring holes through his skull and everything feeling all too real and not quite real enough as that ache in his chest claws at his insides, tears him apart.

It’s too quiet.

It’s too quiet, but his head is buzzing, and there’s no way this is real, but it is. It’s more real than the day he got kicked out.

It’s too quiet, and his insides are screaming that this is wrong, this is his nightmares come to life, that it can’t of all fallen apart that easily, that it can’t be over, that this can’t be the end.

But it is.

And it hits him with a sudden, startling clarity.

All the derision and hate from his father, he never saw it in Ford. But maybe it’s always been there, and he was just fooling himself by thinking otherwise. Telling himself that if no one else wants him, then his twin, the brother he’s quite literally spent his entire life with, would have to care about him. That he must be willing to go to the ends of the Earth at his side, together against the world, forever and ever.

He never realized “forever” only lasted until the end of high school. That maybe he was more alone than he ever thought.

The shock subsides, but it leaves something bitter in the back of his throat, the rock lodged in his chest twisting like a knife, the very last shred of hope he had of fixing things between them withering and dying.

He takes a step back and grits his teeth through it.

Because none of this changes the fact that he’s still going to make his millions. That he’s still going to rub it in their faces. That he’s going to make them regret ever kicking him out and doubting him and thinking he’s nothing but a waste of space, a walking mistake.

He tells himself for the hundredth time that he doesn’t need them.

That he’ll be fine on his own.

Because if that’s how he really feels, then—

“Fine,” Stan says, straightening his back and swallowing down the pain scraping its way up his throat. “If that’s what you want, fine. I’ll never bother you again.” And he turns on his heel, the bell jiggling as he yanks the door open, sunlight and ocean air barreling in. “Have a nice life, Stanford.”

And he walks.

~ ~ ~

Stan’s not sure how he made it to the car, let alone how he already made it this far down the highway. It’s all a blur, thoughts and memories lost to the tears already streaming down his face. He wipes at them with his arm, but more and more come to replace them, dripping down his cheeks, his chin, onto his shirt. He feels hollow, like someone scooped out his guts and left him to rot, but the tears just keep coming and coming, the knot in his throat slowly getting tighter and tighter.

All it takes is a sign whizzing by outside.

Leaving Glass Shard Beach.

Thanks for visiting!

It’s like a dam breaking, the agony and the hurt and the betrayal and the anger all coming up in a rush that he tries so hard to choke back down, to bury like he’s always done, like he was always taught to do. But it’s like holding back a hurricane inside his chest, and there’s nothing he can do to stop the sobs that force their way through and catch in his throat, tears falling heavier than raindrops and threatening to drown him.

It’s really over.

It’s really the end.

He bites down on his lip to try to keep it in, but more just keeps bubbling up.

He knows he shouldn’t be crying like this. Not here, not now. Hell, not ever. He’s the strong one.

One of what?

It’s not supposed to hurt this much, to feel like such an utter rejection, to be impossibly worse than the first time a month twenty-seven days so long ago. He’s supposed to be tougher than this. He’s supposed to take any punch, any pain the world throws at him, and grin back with bloody teeth and not a care in the world. This shouldn’t—

And then he’s angry, angry that Ford would do this to him, would treat him like garbage after everything they’ve gone through. He’s angry that his brother tossed him to the side the moment he got a better offer. He’s angry that one mistake cost him everything he ever knew, and Ford just closed the damn curtains. He’s angry that Ford decided to burn down the boat, their his dream, everything inside of it that he could have used or sold to keep himself alive. He’s so angry at Ford, at his dad, at that dumb school, at all of it.

Somehow, he’s the angriest at himself for going back and hoping things would be different.

He’s angry that he was dumb enough to think he still had a brother.

“Stupid,” he says between strangled sobs, his throat constricting around the word.

He’s angry that he’s still crying over something he can’t change.

He’s angry that, even after everything that happened, he still feels guilty for hitting that table.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Every word is punctuated with his hand smacking the steering wheel, each one harder than the last. As if it’ll get the anger out. As if it’ll make him feel more in-control again. As if it will make it all hurt just a little less if his hand stings a little more.

“Stupid Ford.” Smack. “With his stupid school.” Smack. “And his stupid project.”

His palm is tingling.

It’s nothing in comparison.

Did he ever care about any of it in the first place?

Was all of it a lie?

That angers boils, a tight pressure behind his ribcage that still feels suspiciously like devastation, like heartbreak, but he tells himself its anger because then at least hitting something should make it go away.

So he wails on the steering wheel, cursing every god under the sun and everything and everyone that ever wronged him. And it feels good at first, giving the hurt somewhere else to go for the time being. Venting the frustration and the pain and the wrongness of it all. So he curses and he screams and he punches that damn steering wheel until his hands feel raw, and he’s yelling at Ford for starting that damn fire and Ford for hating him all this time and Ford for pretending he wanted a brother and himself for believing it and himself for wanting it and himself for hoping and dreaming and thinking he was finally going to get to be happy when of course that’s horse-shit because why would anything ever turn out alright for him and Ford for still getting everything he ever wanted and himself for still feeling proud at that and Ford for thriving while he’s barely surviving and— and—

He’s better off without you.

His throat hurts, and he’s still choking back sobs through it all, tears soaking his cheeks. His hand connects with the steering wheel one more time, but it’s almost hesitant, tired. He can feel himself crumpling inwards, everything caving in, as if now that everything he ever had is gone, there’s nothing left holding the last pieces of him together, the last bit of anger draining out and leaving him nothing in its wake.

He’d be better off if you—

A car horn wails, but he knows it wasn’t him, and he blinks up through blurry eyes to see another car heading right towards him.

It must be some kind of instinct that has him yanking the wheel to the side. The car jerking back across the median. Off the side of the road. Everything jolting as he slams the brake on the shoulder. The tires squealing before everything finally stops.

There’s a long moment, as the blare of the other car’s horn fades into the distance, tears still streaming freely, when all he can do is sit there. He doesn’t know how his brain can simultaneously feel like it’s full of cotton and full of bees, his heart slamming in his chest.

His hands are trembling as he fumbles the car into park.

And then the moment breaks like shattered glass.

“Shit,” he breathes, his voice wobbling, still wet with the tears dropping from his chin. His hands find the steering wheel, squeezing the fake leather until his knuckles turn white so that they’ll just stop shaking. “Shit, shit, shit.”

He tells himself he’s angry. He tells himself, because the other thing is more than he can handle right now. More than he think he’ll ever be able to handle.

Should have just driven by when you had the chance.

Maybe he’d hoped he could fix things. Maybe he’d hoped Ford would forgive him. Maybe he figured there was no way he could make things worse anyways.

Maybe maybe maybe maybe maybe

Maybe he was wrong.

And just maybe when he’d thought he couldn’t get any lower than rock-bottom, he’d gone and dug himself a deeper hole.

He supposes that’s what he gets for hoping.

It wasn’t supposed to go this way.

But it did. And it went to hell, just like everything else you touch.

He knows he’s a screw-up in every meaning of the word, but he never thought he’d manage to mess up the one thing in this world that actually mattered.

He never thought he’d lose—

He can’t even finish the thought, because that makes it true, and he’s not sure he’ll be able to handle that, either.

Shouldn’t have gone back.

Shouldn’t have—

He rests his forehead on the steering wheel and just tries to breathe, one stuttering breath after another.

He tells himself the water still spilling down his cheeks is rain or ocean brine or something other than what it is.

He tells himself it’s just anger.

He tells himself he doesn’t need any of them.

He tells himself things will be better one day.

He tells himself a lot of things.

But just below the surface, he’s well aware that every single one of them is a lie.

So he just sits there on the side of the road, alone, and… tries to breathe.

He just tries to breathe.

~ ~ ~

He’s already turned around long before the bell on top of the pawn shop door rings to announce Stan’s exit, has already slammed the door to the apartment behind him. He takes the stairs two at a time, and he faintly swears there’s something wrong with his legs, some slight wobble, something wrong with more than that.

He doesn’t think about it too hard.

When he comes into the living room, Ma is sitting on her window perch, watching him, and he tries not to register the hurt in her creased brow, the slight tug downwards in her lips. Pa is in his armchair, face hidden behind the newspaper. He doesn’t even look up when Ford comes in.

He makes a beeline to their the his bedroom, his eyes following the familiar treaded path in the carpet to the stairs. That way he can’t see Ma’s disappointment, Pa’s—

“Son,” Pa says, voice gruff. The word is a command, one that stops Ford in his tracks with his foot on the first worn stair, his spine going rigid. He hears Pa flip the page of his newspaper, the beat of silence stretching for far too long before— “I’m impressed. Glad you finally got up the nerve to kick that no good, low life—"

He doesn’t remember the rest, only the sound of the bedroom door clicking closed behind him as he breathes out a long, low sigh. The wood door is hard against his back as leans his whole weight into it, his mind buzzing numbly, the thoughts in his own head still blissfully absent, hopefully left behind in the pawn shop until they dissipate and stay forgotten.

He has too much to do now. Too much to worry about.

He can’t afford to think about certain things too hard.

His chest feels tight, so he takes a deep breath in, closing his eyes to feel the air filling his lungs. He never changed out of his clothes from last night, the smoke still embedded in the fabric of his shirt. He can still taste it in the back of his throat, bitter and raw.

He pushes himself off the door, aiming towards the center of the room, determined to do one last check to make sure he got everything of value. But something catches his attention when he moves, giving him pause. There’s something in his front pocket, bending and slightly pressing into his leg. Confused, he reaches in, fingers gripping and pulling out the piece of paper, smooth to the touch and thick enough that it—

…

Something twists harshly in his gut, something that registers as guilt.

He tells himself not to think about it too hard, but the thoughts still drift up from the shop below like smoke. Every word, every glare, every bit of cruelty replaying and overlapping and reverberating in his head like some discordant canon. The utterly destroyed look on Stan’s face seared into his memory. The taste of acid on his tongue as the words trapped inside his head finally spilled out.

He only ever cared about the boat. Not about you.

Not about you.

Only his treasure-hunting.

You were just convenient.

He tells himself not to think about it. To move on.

If that’s what you want, fine. I’ll never bother you—

He stuffs the picture back in his pocket, trying to forget the pair of twins smiling up at him, standing proudly on the remains of an old boat, carefree and naïve.

There’s just too much to do, too much to worry about right now.

He tells himself it’s all for the best anyways.

He swallows past the lump in his throat and moves to pick up the last packed box, purposely turning away from the empty bunk bed as he heads out of the room.

For the best.

The door closes behind him with a soft click.

He doesn’t look back.

#pinesbrosfallswrites #stan pines #stanford pines #stangst #gravity falls fanfiction #fanficiton #my writing #don't let the beginning fool you #it's all downhill from here #(also i resent tumblr for taking away my linebreaks)

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revancheofthecommas · 4 years

Text

Quarantine Education

Well it looks like this quarantine is going to be lasting for a little longer than anticipated.

I’m going to do my best in this post to give some tips on working with, and entertaining, your kids at home, keeping in mind I teach 5-year-olds. (Warning: this is going to be long)

For starters, use your knowledge of your kids and your own work schedule to help establish a routine time for schoolwork. For instance, younger kids tend to learn best in the early morning, between 9-11, while older kids tend to learn best a little later in the morning, between 10-12. All kids, at least in my experience, tend to have a harder time paying attention for the hour after lunch. However, all kids are different, and might have different learning times they prefer. Keep in mind, kids also need at least 30 minutes of exercise a day. My 5-year-olds always do best when they have 30 minutes in the morning and 30 minutes in the afternoon.

Most of my 5-year-olds are focused on becoming Kindergarten-ready, so some of the skills you can work on include:

· Identifying all uppercase & lowercase letters

· Identifying all uppercase & lowercase letter sounds

· Identifying & producing rhyming words

· Identifying digraphs: ch, sh, th, wh, & qu

· Being able to write own name

· Identifying author & illustrator of a book

· Identifying beginning, middle, and end of a book

· Being able to attempt to predict the next event in a story

· Identifying sight words (and being able to use them in a sentence if ready): I, a, and, are, can, for, go, have, he, here, is, like, me, my, of on, play, said, see, she, that, the, they, to, was, with, you (to name a few)

· Being able to illustrate a picture and come up with a story

· Being able to sound out basic letter sounds to write words

· Being able to count up to 100

· Being able to identify numbers up to 20

· Being able to write numbers up to 20

· Being able to skip count by 2’s, 5’s, and 10’s

· Being able to distinguish between more than or less than

· Identifying basic 2D and 3D shapes

· Identifying colors

· Be able to do simple addition and subtraction problems up to 10 (20 if they are ready)

As far as actual learning time, my biggest piece of advice would be to have fun with it. You don’t need to keep it super formal, instead focus on catering to your kids’ individual interests and the things they need to work on.

For instance, if your kid enjoys basketball, pogo-sticking, or jumping on the trampoline, use that as a time to have them practice counting. You can also find and print out lots of color by the number pages online just by googling it, which helps with number identification, color identification, and fine motor skills. Something as simple as building with Legos can also be really important for fine motor skills. Even Lego video games can be fun!

You can also find so much by going on Pinterest and looking around.

When it comes to reading, don’t make it a chore for your kid. Make it fun, and if you’re bored of reading the same book all the time, pick out 3 books you wouldn’t mind reading and have them pick from those (it gives them choice, but also keeps you sane). However, don’t let them be a passive listener, engage them in the story, ask them questions, have them give you their interpretation of events, and give predictions for what might happen next. Also, just because they’re young doesn’t mean they won’t enjoy listening to chapter books, especially if they’re funny. My 5-year-olds LOVE the Junie B. Jones books (they get very upset if we run out of time for our chapter in the afternoon).

When it comes to writing, do not overcorrect. It’s more important that they be doing their best to focus on sounds than writing everything the exact right way. A good, fun way to pass the time might be to have your kids write letters to the friends that they miss, but maybe stick to one a day. They could draw a picture and think of what they want say and you can then help them sound it out. That doesn’t mean it’ll come out perfect. They might say, “I miss playing soccer with you.” and it looks more like “i mis pawng sokr with yu.” and that’s okay, as long as they’re working on phonetic spelling.

The most important thing you can do as a parent is try to help them learn, because they’ll appreciate it. They don’t need to be working all day long, and you have the opportunity to make the learning fun and meaningful to your kid/kids.

If you have access to technology –

Some great learning Youtube channels to check out (Important side note: PLEASE DO NOT let your child on Youtube or even YoutubeKids unsupervised, these sights are NOT well-monitored):

Heidi Songs (this is where I get all of my sight word songs I use in class from)

Sesame Street (it’s still great)

Ryan’s World (mostly entertainment but also has a lot of good family projects and lessons in there)

SciShow Kids

CrashCourse Kids

For older kids:

SciShow

CrashCourse (broken down by subject area)

Khan Academy (math & science)

Some great free apps to download:

123 Numbers – Count & Tracing

Math Kids – Add, Subtract, Count

Colors & Shapes – Learn Color

Animal Math Games for Kids

Teaching Number Lines

Math Blaster

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#education #bored #kids #Kindergarten

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bigskydreaming · 5 years

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I dont want to intrude on your convo with your friend but I've been reading all your posts about your changelings verse since you started making them. Is the Alicia you mentioned next to Boyd in the poart about the changeling market meant to be Boyd's little sister from TW? What's her change, if you don't mind telling??

LOL no worries, and you’re not intruding, I don’t mind comments or weighing in on any post I make ever, unless its specifically under a cut and I’m like ‘plz dont reblog Im gonna delete this in ten minutes anyway, IM JUST HAVING A MOMENT OKAY’ lolol.

So yeah, you’re fine, and if you follow me because of TW which you obvsly know well enough to recognize Alicia’s name, you probably know how much I love exploring minor or barely ever used characters, haha. Alicia Boyd is no exception and I have a ridiculous number of headcanons and places I’ve used her in various unposted WIPs considering that she made all of one appearance on the show and it was a hallucination/flashback. BUT WHATEVER.

Anyway, Alicia’s Change is one of my faves, and given that she’s such a barely there presence in TW, she’s a character I’m pretty comfortable keeping just as she is in my TW changeling headcanons, when writing the official ‘to be published’ stuff in this ‘verse.

All Changelings’ physical changes and magic are in some way related to their personalities and individual traits, even if that connection isn’t immediately obvious. And even though the Changelings are supernatural in origin, given that their magic reflects who they are and who they are is a product of a 21st century modern society, I wanted some of them to have changes and magic that seems in some ways almost sci-fi or technology based, even while still definitively being magic at its source.

So for no particular reason other than just its my head, I’ll headcanon what I want, I’ve always pictured Alicia as a STEM girl, very much into science and math, and her change and magic ties into that.

Basically, she looks just like she did before she was Changed, so she’s a fourteen year old black girl who’s just a slightly older version of the character we saw briefly on TW….except for the fact that she’s at all times surrounded by what appear to be like…ghostly versions of herself.

Like, at any given time there’s a half dozen to a dozen different versions of herself, totally intangible and somewhat faded/transparent like a photo that hasn’t been fully developed….and they’re all ‘orbiting’ her, for lack of a better term….kinda like the electrons of an atom orbit it.

And these other versions of herself all look slightly different upon closer inspection - different hairstyles, clothing, a couple have glasses, etc….and some appear like they’re floating in mid-air, others like their feet are sinking into the ground….and most of them usually look like they’re just hovering or flickering around Alicia like half-formed images or ghosts that are all moving, doing something - whether appearing like they’re talking, walking, fighting, reading, any number of things….and all of them seemingly paying no attention to what’s going on around Alicia here and now, if they’re even aware of it.

Which they are though, because the thing is, these ‘satellite versions of herself’ are all alternate versions of herself existing currently in other parallel universes where the Change still occurred and they all ended up with the same magic as this Alicia.

So essentially, there are between ten and sixteen versions of Alicia, spread across an equivalent number of parallel universes….who are all Changelings with the exact same magic….which connects them all.

Just like they appear like ghostly images of this Alicia here, this Alicia appears as one of the ghostly images hovering around each of the other versions of herself in their realities.

And despite them always looking like they’re doing their own thing for the most part and oblivious to anything happening in a different reality, that’s just a matter of them learning after a loooot of practice and trial and error, how to primarily just focus on their main reality and only keep a vague/back of their mind awareness trained on what’s happening with the other versions of herself via their magical connection.

Whenever something big happens to one of them though, no matter which reality, like if one of them is in danger, the others can immediately stop what they’re doing in their home realities and pay attention to the one who’s actively in danger….because all the Alicias can communicate with each other, share knowledge and life experiences and skills with each other, and so whenever one of them really needs the others, the others can all focus on them and come to their aid or support them in a variety of ways, even without being physically present.

And some of these parallel universes are more similar than others, and some of them are just sliiiiightly out of sync with the others….like one of the Alicias lives in a universe that for the most part is almost identical to this Alicia’s universe….except its timeline is like, thirty seconds ahead of this one’s.

Meaning while its not foolproof, due to the very very minor differences in realities resulting in the people in each reality making slightly different choices….that 30 seconds ahead Alicia tends to for the most part be able to give this Alicia a 30 seconds heads up to any unexpected danger.

And there’s a bunch of other ways their magic is helpful too….each of the Alicias’ has their own fields of study…remember since Changeling magic reflects the person, the fact that these Alicias all have the same magic is because all of these versions of her are precocious little science and math prodigies in some way….but they all have slightly different interests and scientific and mathematic pursuits they’ve applied themselves towards or decided to study in earnest. Which means any one of them can at any time draw on the knowledge possessed by one of the others due to studying a specific field that the other one doesn’t know a ton about. Or they can just talk to each other directly, ask each other questions about something, or use themselves as a sounding board or to bounce ideas off of each other.

So sometimes Alicia will just stop in the middle of talking to other Changelings in town here to be like hang on a sec, I need to get this….and appear to just be talking to one of her own flickering reflections in the middle of the sidewalk, while anyone who knows her well is pretty used to this and just chills like someone waiting for a friend to finish up on the phone after she had to take an urgent call, lol.

And since the Alicias don’t have to be in the same or similar physical space to still appear as satellites of each other Alicia in her home reality, one Alicia can be physically present at one side of town and really need something like….from a book she left at home on the other side of town. And one of the other Alicias is usually bound to be at home and by focusing on her, Alicia can just ask her to read from her own book what this Alicia needs to know, or like, check something online, or solve a problem real quick for her and give her the answer while she focuses on doing something else urgent at the same time, etc.

Then there’s the fact that some of the Alicias have a lot of self-defense training and teach the others some tricks, and a couple are very practiced with a variety of weapons they can pass along expertise about….one Alicia excels at picking locks, which comes in handy as this Alicia, along with about five of the others, is kinda like….the Nancy Drew of their respective Bordertowns, the pint-sized, precocious PI that other Changelings often turn to despite her age, because Alicia (all the Alicias, really) is damn good at what she does.

Also via their connection to each other’s realities, when they focus they can basically see what’s going on around one of the others, so for instance, when this one is in danger or running from someone or something like that, and a few of the others are safe and sound at home, they can just focus solely on her and everything going on around her, and its like Alicia has preternatural awareness of her surroundings then, because she’s got five or six other versions of herself flickering around her head and at her back like ghostly shadows…and all of them are shouting instructions to her or to look out for this or that or turn here, etc. So there’s basically six pairs of eyes looking out for her and keeping her apprised of everything that’s going on in her vicinity at the moment.

That really comes in handy.

Everyone can see the other versions of herself that are most present via her connection at any given moment, given that that’s the nature of her physical Change, but since its her magic specifically, only she can actually hear the other versions of her or interact with them….with very rare exceptions. None of them have quite figured out yet how the connection totally works, in the sense that some of them are in sharper focus at times than others, like, there’s always some connection between all of them, but at different times some feel further away and are harder to communicate or interact with than others. And they’re not sure if that’s because like, their different universes are engaged in some kind of movement or orbit or rotation relative to each other, or if there’s some other reason for it, but a few of them are always working on that particular puzzle at any given moment, lol.

But on a related note, on three separate occasions, when one of the Alicias in one reality was in extreme danger, another Alicia was able to temporarily ‘jump into the driver’s seat’ of that Alicia’s body, via their connection….one time was when one of the skilled fighters jumped into one of the Alicias who was being attacked by someone she’d followed during one of her investigations and turned out to be more dangerous than she’d expected….another time one of the other Alicias jumped into the body of an Alicia who’d been knocked unconscious in an accident and the other Alicia was able to assume control of her body and get her out of danger until she woke up and it bumped the other one back into her own body….and then the third time, one of the Alicias saw that this Alicia was about to get hit by a car that she didn’t see coming, and the alternate Alicia tried to warn her by projecting through their connection as hard as she could, to look out….and somehow accidentally jumped fully into this Alicia’s body and threw her(self) out of the way, before almost immediately being slingshotted back into her own body.

Except none of them have figured out how to do anything like that on command, despite it vexing a number of them. They just know it most likely has something to do with the intensity of a life or death threat or situation making it possible…even though it doesn’t always seem to happen, so they try not to rely on it.

And on one particularly memorable occasion that none of them have the faintest clue why or how it happened, eight of them went from flickering around this Alicia like satellite ghosts….to manifesting physically around her in this reality in their own bodies, and shocking the hell out of the guy trying to intimidate her, who was not at all prepared for the teen girl to suddenly be just one of a literal crowd of nine girls all staring him down. So he turned tail and ran, and they all almost instantly winked back into their home realities and returned to just being afterimage-esque glimpses of them still orbiting around her.

None of them have any idea how that happened or why, let alone how to make it happen again, which irritates the crap out of most of them because ugh, screw magic, there has to be a logical explanation for at least the mechanism of this, damn you supernatural forces with no coherent consistency!

(All the Alicias rant quite often about their inability to pin down firm rules for a lot of Changeling magic and how and why it operates the way it does. Big fans of logic, the Alicias. Not so much the bafflement).

Sooooo….she’s a LOT of fun to write, even though she’s very challenging to…maneuver around, narratively speaking, if that makes sense, lol….but like, yeah, I have a blast writing her.

The main Alicia, the one who’s always front and center, is snarky but never in a mean-spirited way. More like….her mind is always twenty steps ahead of everyone around her, sometimes literally, lol, and so she rolls her eyes a lot and sometimes makes a show of being exasperated that she has to slow down and wait for everyone to catch up, but its not because of “oh I think everyone but me is so stupid” or anything like that, its usually just….pure impatience on her part.

The second she figures something out she wants to go, go, go, move on to wherever that leads. She winds up getting in various less than totally safe situations purely because she doesn’t want to stop and grab someone to go along with her when checking something out, but also just because the nature of her magic means she’s never truly completely on her own, and she sometimes forgets to factor that in, or remember that her other selves aren’t usually physically present and able to help her out of a jam.

She’s so used to their presences that every so often she just genuinely forgets that they’re not right there in the room with her, which has caused some confusion to more than one person when meeting her for the first time and realizing those silent movie-style images of her are actually real and she’s actually communicating with them, not just talking to thin air.

Fortunately, she’s smart and capable in her own right, so when you multiply that by a factor of twelve to fifteen similar minds all attuned to all of their best interests….there’s very few situations she isn’t capable of getting out of on her own. Not that this makes her big brother facepalm any less when she blithely handwaves off a recent escapade as no big deal and something she has no idea why he’s getting so worked up about.

(I mean, she does totally get his concerns and isn’t lacking in self-awareness, its just that she’s also committed to giving him gray hairs before he’s forty. She is, among other things, still a little sister after all.)

Due to her many alternate selves, and the vast array of personality differences between each of them, that many of her close friends are at least aware of by proxy, given that even though they can’t hear her other selves, they’ve all heard her casually talk about them often enough to know them in a sense as well….

Anyway, so a lot of Changelings have nicknames based on their Changes or magic, and she’s no exception. She goes by her own name and just introduces herself as Alicia, but its not uncommon to hear others address her as or reference her as ‘Sybil.’

When asked how she feels about that name, she tends to just shrug and stare off into the distance contemplatively. “I don’t know,” she’ll say at last. “Part of me loves it, and part of me hates it.”

And then she’ll just grin as everyone around her just groans, because she’s just Like This, and just looooves being literal in little ways like that - given that she’s literally acknowledging that half of her alternates feel the one way, and the other half feel the other way.

Another common line of hers is something like “Hey, I’m only problematic on Thursdays,” or “that wasn’t me, that was Alicia Number Nine, its not my fault she hates you.”

Her magic is just weird enough and behaves just erratically and unexpectedly enough, that its hard to be entirely sure when she’s just bullshitting you and when she might actually be telling the truth and some weird power snafu had one of the other Alicias in her body the last time you interacted with her and she was short with you.

There’s never a dull moment with her.

#changelings 'verse

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