#gods forbid there be a happy monument somewhere

[aethernoise]

The sightseeing log states that Hidden Tear was a shrine for honoring the dead and having funeral ceremonies. Years ago I rejected that lore and declared it a shrine included in a traditional lovers' pilgrimage as well as the site of many historical weddings.

[l0rd-0f-the-lies]

*paps* It's all good M'Thude! Now.. Prompts.. Hhmm. Virgils reaction to Janus now being accepted into the "Light Sides"? Or.. Remus and Roman dealing with the fallout of the events that just transpired? Oh.. How about everyone's internal monologue upon hearing Deceit say his name? 🤗

(Disclaimer: I haven't written fic in, several years. Apologies in advance. I also can't figure out how to add a read more, unfortunately.)

Chosen Prompt: Roman and Remus deal with the fallout after SVSR

Pairings: None

Warnings: Angst, but with a happy ending. Some very minor actions that could be considered harmful to the self (digging fingers into arms/shoulders).

Roman didn't want to be in his room any more. His knees had been digging into the pacing worn carpet for far too long already, his fingertips were forming indents on his elbows, and he was tired of staring at the monuments to projects past that glared down at him, menacing reminders of when he was Thomas's ... when the others valued his ideas. Yeah, that. He also just, wanted to be somewhere the others wouldn't go looking, if they bothered to. Patton had already come by to 'check' on him, and had been forced to tell his peace to Roman's door as the prince had refused to get up to answer it. Apparently the parental side felt that Janus hadn't really meant what he'd said, and that there'd been a misunderstanding. He'd apologized for not speaking up during their... disagreement, something about not trying to take sides, and had declared that "You boys will make up in no time, I just know it," before sighing and walking off again, seeming to accept that he wouldn't be invited inside. Yeah, Roman had mentally scoffed, he's so sure. They'll just be buddy buddy in no time... It shouldn't even matter. It shouldn't.

It did.

Wiping yet again at his face, the fanciful side closed his eyes in order to avoid the judgemental gaze of his own decor, consumed by the whirl of thoughts clogging his head. Where could he go? The imagination was far too obvious, if he went to the subconscious it's likely a Function would rat him out, the only other place would be someone else's... But no. None of them would want to see him right now, nor would he want them to see him like this. The only person who might not judge his disheveled state, who wouldn't care how good or bad he might actually be... Is the only one who he really had no right to ask that of, with all the distance he'd placed between them. And yet... the thought wouldn't leave him. Maybe... maybe he would understand, whether Roman felt he deserved it or not. And so, with a deep exhale, the prince sunk down, eyes closing as he Travelled.

He rose up slowly, still settled on his knees as he reappeared, the press of hardwood harsh against them. It made sense, he supposed. Wood was easier to clean up, should... unsavory things spill on it. Eyes taking in his new surroundings, quickly flicking away from things better left unacknowledged, he almost missed the dark lump settled on his brother's bed. It was quiet, so quiet, and that terrified Roman more then if he'd triggered some sort of trumpet launched fireworks booby trap. Remus was -never- quiet, or at least, he'd never been when Roman was around.

"R-remus?" He winced as his voice cracked, vocal cords worn out from crying for so long. "What are you-" His words cut short as the lump sniffled, a loud, snotty sounding snort came from the lump, causing Roman to grimace. Tissues were invented for a reason, not that that'd matter to Remus. "Are you cr- Are you ok?" He amends, it hadn't even occured to him that Remus may be dealing with something himself.

"Just peachy. Like that giant one those kids gobble-gobbled up. Not that you care, of course." It wasn't as if Roman had ever made much effort to seek out his company in recent years, much less made any move to comfort him. No, usually he'd be the first to insult him, remind him of his 'dark side' status. So quick to remind everyone how much better he was then his 'twisted' sibling. Not that he was the cause of this particular cry session. Not directly. No, that honor didn't belong to him today.

The Duke's response caused Roman to wince, glancing down and at least having the decency to look sorry, not that Remus could see it, steadfastly facing the far wall rather then turning over. "I, I do actually." He voiced without stopping to consider why. His heart pounded harshly as the reality that his brother probably wouldn't believe him suddenly hit him, driving him to forget his own reason for coming here for the moment. Instead the crushing need to apologize was swarming, cloying his eyes once more. "I know I haven't, sometimes, and I'm sorry. I, I haven't been very fair to you, recently, and I'm so, so sorry Remus. Please, talk to me? What happened?" He forced himself to stand, knees pulsing painfully in protest after being kept in the same position for so long. Shuffling forward slowly, reminiscent of someone trying to avoid spooking a semi feral cat, he settles on the edge of Remus's bed, hands fidgeting in his lap as he debates reaching towards his sibling.

Remus scrunches his face, forcibly stuffing another wave of tears down as the seemingly genuine words meet his ears, as the bed dips, telling him his brother had taken a seat. "What happened," he grits out, quite literally grinding his teeth together, "is you and Jan decided to drag -me- into your little cat fight." The sound of a shaky inhale can be heard from him, before he slowly turns over, red, watery eyes locking onto Roman's with an unreadable expression. "Well, he did the dragging. But you just rolled right with it, let it cut you real good, didn't ya? God forbid you get compared to the horror that is -me-, right?" He bit out, anger flaring, propping himself on an elbow and a knee to sit up. "You're just here because you got compared to your 'evil twin', and obviously that means Tommy thinks you're just as bad as me, right?" His eyes watered dangerously, threatening to spill over once more. "Doesn't feel so good, does it? Being called the evil one?"

Roman sat frozen, eyes growing wide the more Remus spoke, the more hurt and anger filled the air between them. "I-" He clenched his fingers together tightly, squeezing. "I-" He stuttered out, so much for royal eloquincy. He throws his hands up, frustrated with his inability to form a response to the unexpected, raw pain in his brother's words. What did one even say to that? It had never crossed his mind that his opinion, all of their opinions really, of his brother would actually hurt him. Remus, of all people, seemed the type to -enjoy- being referred to as sinister, wicked, and yes, evil. Or, Roman supposed, that's what he'd always assumed. "I thought you liked being called that?"

Remus seemed to deflate, sighing more to himself then anything and collapsing back against his pillows again. "That's what you choose to focus on?" He asks, again more to himself then anything, before sighing a second time, eyes losing some of their heat. "It can be fun, sometimes. Winding people up until they say it. But only because they think it anyway. Even, even if -you- had said it, I probably wouldn't care. I may have even laughed. But... but Jan, Dee knows. He knows I don't really like it. Especially in comparison to you. He, he's told me before, that I'm not. Not the evil twin. Not a mistake. Not bad, just different. And then... Then he says that. Because he knows it will hurt you, knows it's one of those things you're so fucking insecure about, and don't think I haven't noticed. You have more of those then a dragon's lair does skulls. And I know, I -know- he was hurt, near devastated really, and was just reaching for the lowest, easiest one of those to dig into, to stab at -you- with, but..." He exhales slowly, salty tracks making their way down his face. "But that doesn't mean it didn't -hurt-. Doesn't mean there isn't a chance he really thinks it, no matter -what- he says otherwise. He's Deceit, right?" He huffs bitterly, wrapping his arms around himself and digging his fingers into his shoulders, anger and hurt shimmering in his gaze. Under that though, is something Roman is so, so familiar with. He sees it in the mirror far too often, when his thoughts get the better of him. Deep seated insecurity, shining and broken. It doesn't belong on his twin's face, he finds himself thinking, leaning forward and hovering a hand over Remus, ensure if the other wants to be touched right now.

"I... I didn't know." He says quietly, rushing to finish his thought as he realizes he's said that out loud. "But- but that doesn't make it okay." Roman swallows, trying to quickly comes to terms with his rapidly shifting opinion of his brother after the deeply personal admittance from him, the word 'mistake' ringing uncomfortably in his head. Suddenly, he's no longer seeing a villian, just a hurting, lonely kid, same as him. Just someone who doesn't deserve to feel this way about things they have no control over, never had a choice about. "He's right, and I wish, I wish I had thought of it that way sooner. You -aren't- evil Remus, maybe, maybe you never were. You're just, so different from me, and we were so young when I first started calling you that, but I shouldn't have judged you so harshly. You can be a bit much, but you didn't choose what pieces you got, what role you filled. It doesn't make you a villian. It never should have." He's near about to cry again himself, seeing the hurt he'd helped to cause suffocating his sibling like this. He rests his palm on Remus's arm, squeezing reassuringly. "And I'm sure that De-" He cuts himself off, "that Janice, agrees. He may be a liar, but what does he get out of telling you that you aren't really the bad guy? He knows you aren't evil, Re. It's like you said, he just went for the easiest jab, something he knew I'm afraid of. That I -was- afraid of."

And yeah, Roman hadn't known what response to that he'd expected, but it certainly wasn't the long pause followed by a string of steadily growing giggled. "What did I say? Remus? Are you al-" His question is interrupted by a rough wheeze from the side in question, punctuated by even more giggles before he manages to answer.

"Did- did you say -Janice-? You still think it's -Janice-?" Remus wheezes out, managing a giddy smile as he cackles.

"Y-yes?" His brother hesitantly responds, both looking & sounding unsure. "I, that -is- his name, isn't it? ...You even called him Jan!" Roman suddenly recalls, looking bewildered and nearly offended.

Remus's laughter only grows stronger at that, before he dramatically wipes a tear from his eye, clutching his stomach as he manages to wind down the cackles enough to speak. "Ro, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but you are dumb as a box of rocks."

"Hey!"

"It's Janus. Or as I like to call him, Jaynus." This sets off another round of chuckling from the more chaotic twin. "Ya know, as in the -Roman- god, Janus? With a u and an s? Has two fudgin' faces just like dear double Dee's logo?" If ever a grin could be described as shit eating, that was Remus's expression right now.

Roman, at this point, was bright red, embarrassment tinting his skin. "I- I knew that!" He cries, puffing up his chest and placing his fists on his hips. All it took was a skeptical, unimpressed look from his brother and he was deflating, admitting defeat with the lowering of his arms. "Ok, so maybe I didn't! But how was I supposed to know? Mythology is the nerd's thing, not mine!"

"Clearly." Remus teased, sitting up properly and moving to settle beside his brother. His grin slowly faded, replaced by a serious expression that absolutely didn't belong on his face. He clears his throat, but doesn't go on, trying to decide on what he wanted to say as his brother's gaze settled on him questioningly.

"Remus?" He asks, his own expression fading as he takes note of this. "Everything ok?"

"With me? I feel... a lot better. Probably too much. I may have to set something on fire just to get the jitters out later. But what about -you-?" He asks, inquisitive gaze locking with his twins.

"Me? What about me?" Roman scrunches his face in confusion, the quick shifts of their conversation leaving him a bit disoriented as to what his brother meant.

"What about you, what? Don't give me that, I saw how you looked when you first rose up. You came here because you were upset too, and not just about Jan's jab."

Roman unconsciously flinches at the reminder, the ghosts of the looks the other's had given him, at Thomas's lie, because Janus had confirmed it was a lie, hadn't he, clawing at his chest. "I, I'm fine." His voice sounds weak even to his own ears. The look from his brother leaves him grasping at straws. "We literally just established you aren't evil, so what he said doesn't matter, ok? I'm fine."

"You're avoiding what I really mean, Ro." Remus raises his eyebrows, slowly settling a hand on Roman's shoulder, arm tensed as if convinced his brother would pull away. "I'm talking about what -you- said. About not being-"

"What about it?" Roman chokes out, forcing himself not to throw Remus's hand off as he cuts him off. "I know I'm not evil, since you aren't, but... But I'm not the hero either. I'm not -his- hero. I get it, really, I do." He glares down at his boots, expression closing off again.

"Yes, you are."

"W-what?" He's sure he's heard wrong.

"I said, you are. Of course you're his hero Roman, making a few mistakes doesn't change that. Don't be an idiot."

He feels a treacherous bead of hope bubble in his chest, but no, he can't- "But Janus-"

Remus's brow furrowed, his fingers squeezing the other's shoulder to get him to look at him again. "Janus nodded. You assumed he meant Thomas was lying, but you know what they say about -ass-umptions, bro. Thomas was telling the truth."

"What?"

Remus just rolls his eyes, sighing. "He was telling the truth. Janus was agreeing with Thomathy when he nodded. You are that dork's hero, like it or not, and I don't see that changing anytime soon."

Roman doesn't respond, stilling as he processes this. And then-

"Oh damnit. Come here Count Cry-ula." Remus gripes, no real heat to it as he pulls his brother to him, hugging him tight in a way he hasn't since childhood.

Roman manages to laugh wetly through what was probably the second dozen round of tears that night, hugging back like it's the only chance he'll get. "R-really? You aren't, just saying that to make me feel better?"

"Do I -seem- like the feel better side to you?" His brother snorts, a few tears of his own making another run for it. "Yes, really. He loves you Roman, and even if we're all so emotionally backed up it's about to come out the other end, the others do too."

And for the first time that night, he believes it. The hope is so big now, bubbling brightly in his chest, overflowing and spilling freely down his face as he buries it into his twin's shoulder, a bright laugh managing to escape him as his heart swells. They don't hate him. -Thomas- doesn't hate him. Maybe... Maybe things will be okay after all, both twins think, and they laugh together as they cry, the sound a perfect harmony.

[mattmurdocksscars]

Okay, I need to get this out and put it somewhere so it’s not just bottled up and this way yall can kinda understand my behavior the past few days. Gonna put this shit under a read more though so continue at your own discretion. 

I work at a hospital. Yall pretty much know that. I also work in a current COVID hotspot. My hospital has 42 beds, 16 of which are in a maternity ward. So that leaves 26 beds. Of those 26 beds, 22 of them are Covid patients. We do not have a single vent left, nor does our parent hospital 45 minutes away. When I came in to work Thursday, they were literally considering constructing a field hospital in our parking lot because the patients are still coming in and we have no where to put them. And yet, they’re still continuing to do surgeries despite the fact that we could use the preoperative area as a covid unit. It’s already been outfitted for it, they just need to stop surgery. 

There are two major cities to the north and south of us: Savannah and Jacksonville. Both are in similar states as us, in that they don’t have available beds or vents. That means that there are no critical care beds within a 100 mile radius of us. Let that sink in. Even if, God forbid, someone were to get in a major car accident and needed to be in critical care, there would be no where for them to go. 

And yet, my county is sending kids back to school next week. We still have people who think the virus is a hoax. We still have people who refuse to wear a mask. I haven’t seen my parents in two weeks because I don’t want to be around my dad because I don’t want to listen to his bullshit about how this isn’t that serious. 

We have a 46 year old on the vent in ICU. No prior health issues. They’re literally fighting for their life because of this virus. We have an elderly couple as well and the family just withdrew care on the wife and the husband signed a DNR for himself. We broke the no visitors rule so the family could say goodbye. 

I don’t know how to convince people to fucking care. I also don’t know how I’m supposed to just sit there and let them talk shit. I am tired. I am angry. I am sad.

All this means is that every day is a drain, in every way. Physically because of the workload. Mentally and emotionally because of the nature of everything happening.

On top of all this, my best friend had that surgery on Wednesday. She was supposed to spend one night in ICU and be moved to a regular room the next day....She’s still in ICU and has been running a high grade fever since Thursday, because she developed pancreatitis on top of everything else. She said she talked to the chaplain today and that absolutely terrifies me. She’s not a super religious person so for her to have spoken to a chaplain...it’s not a good sign. I am 16+ hours away from her right now and if something goes wrong...I don’t know that I would make it in time to say goodbye. 

Which brings me to my last point. We are bracing for a potential hurricane to skirt us over the next couple of days. It’s supposed to be right off our coast sometime Monday. Hopefully all we will get is some rain and wind, nothing too severe. But it would make travel very difficult if I did need to make the trip north to see her. We’ve been issued a Tropical Storm Watch so far, but we’ll see how it progresses as we get closer. If they were to close the airports, I would have to drive. Which I would do in a fucking heartbeat for her, but it means it would take me so much longer to get to her. 

So yeah. This is what I’m currently dealing with. It’s a lot. I know it is. Every day I get out of bed, it’s a struggle to keep it together. The weight on my shoulders feels monumental and it literally hurts to breathe some days because of the stress. But I’m hanging in there, I’m doing my best. Trying to do things that make me happy and give me a mental break. All I can do at this point.

[trewhitttesean1992]

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[venusparker]

dinner date ↬ p.p

prompt: “i know your mom hates me” (either one of them) for tom holland, thanks 

warnings: cursing, fluff 

notes: i did a whole answer to this anon on why i choose not to write about real people as themselves rather than their characters that they play! but thank you for this request :) please send in more and i hope you enjoy 

Peter rarely left Queens, unless it was important like the “retreat” to Berlin, or Aunt May wanted to take them on vacation. Usually, he stayed in his neighborhood, not too far from everything he grew up with and around. It was pitiful (Ned’s words, not his), but it was nice and he hadn’t ever really felt the need to go out as himself to just eat somewhere fancy in Times Square or Manhattan.

Tonight, however, was different. 

He had never felt more uncomfortable in his own apartment. He was frantic, cleaning every crook and crevice, wishing that he somehow had the power to turn his kitchen into a gourmet fine dining area—maybe that would be more impressive. 

 It was dinner night. The dinner night that Peter had spent weeks stressing over, constantly babbling about it to May and Ned, and really, even Tony Stark—because he was that nervous and needed someone to talk to. He would constantly trip over himself, more than usual, trying to get his mind off it and calm down, struggling to keep his chill. 

What do I wear, what do I say, oh, God, do I shake their hands?

Peter was a mess. He had known you for years, ever since school started, and he was one of your best friends—so why was he so sweaty? You were his girlfriend, one of the best friends he ever had, and it was as though he were meeting you for the first time. 

He runs a hand through his hair before sighing and going over to the bathroom mirror to fix it again. It’s natural curl is showing from how much he’d been tugging at it anxiously, and he’s surprised his lip hadn’t yet bled from how much he’d bitten it. 

“Peter,” Aunt May says, rolling her eyes at him and he gives her a distracted glance, “You look fine and [Y/N]’s parents will absolutely adore you. And with that adorable face? Who wouldn’t?” 

“Oh, God,” Peter groaned, closing his eyes in embarrassment, “Please don’t say anything weird or mortifying. And definitely do not offer to show them baby pictures.” 

Aunt May clicked her tongue as they both walked back to the living room, Peter bouncing off the hardwood floors. “Shame, guess I’ll have to put away all the albums again.” 

The doorbell suddenly rings and Peter is dashing towards the door, his black sweater clinging onto his body for dear life. He goes to open it, but then pauses and takes a minute to register himself. Okay, Peter: be cool, be cool, don’t open the door too quick or else you’ll look like you’ve been waiting and that’s creepy.  

He opens it slowly and sees you and your parents standing there. He instantly smiles as you gaze up at him and for a moment he forgets that he’s two seconds away from fully shitting his pants. He lets you all in as he watches Aunt May introduce herself to your parents.

“Wow, you clean up nice,” you compliment teasingly, grinning. You stayed back and Peter closed the door, shaking his head at you. 

“Babe, that hurts, why do you sound so shocked?” He asks in mock disbelief and you two walk over to the table. 

Both of you are whispering and you know it’s because he’s apprehensive. He wants to impress your parents, dazzle them, let them know that he’s perfect for you and that he’ll treat you right—but he doesn’t know how. You can tell by the expression on his face. 

“Babe? Huh, you must be getting confident, Parker,” You tell him and his cheeks are pink instantly. 

“Peter,” your mother says suddenly when Aunt May seats all of you and brings out the food Peter begged her to order from the five-star Italian delivery restaurant. “It’s good to see that you’re okay.” 

Your eyes widen and Peter lifts a brow. “Pardon?”

“After the Washington Monument incident,” you add on quickly, glancing at your boyfriend. You turn to your parents, “Peter wasn’t there, thankfully. Remember, I told you I wasn’t either. We weren’t together in the same room, of course. I was on the ground with MJ, and yeah…” 

Everyone begins eating and Peter shifts awkwardly in his seat. He doesn’t know what to say. He wants to charm your parents with his wit and intellect, but nothing is coming out. And if something did, it’d only be his stammers. 

“So, what’s been going on at school?” Aunt May asks, encouraging to clear the air. “[Y/N], your mom and dad told me about the volunteering you’ve been doing for service hours.” 

You bite your tongue. Your parents loved to brag about you whenever they weren’t complaining. Peter lit up, turning to you, practically throwing you his undivided attention. 

“School’s been great, really. After we won nationals, Flash just keeps bragging about how he rightfully deserved that trophy,” you start, and Peter looks at you and laughs. 

“Flash couldn’t have won it even if he tried.” 

“Easy for you to say, you weren’t even there,” you point out, rolling your eyes playfully. “You were off playing—” 

“Playing what?” Your Dad joined in and you bit your lip at his authoritative tone. 

He had the voice whenever he talked to Peter, or any boy that even looked at you for that matter. Your dad was probably the biggest ball of sunshine that ever existed, and to see him try and act like the bad cop to your mom’s good cop was ridiculous. 

“Um, I was out…playing—” Peter stutters and you quickly rush in to save him. 

“Zelda!” 

The whole table looks to you and while Aunt May gives Peter confused look, your parents do the same to you. You bit a bite out of some pasta and took a sip of water, your hand finding Peter’s under the table. He squeezed and you shrugged at your parents. 

“Peter wasn’t feeling well, which was unexpected, and he didn’t go to nationals. So he just played Zelda in his hotel room,” you reassured, lying through your teeth. 

Who knows how your parents would react if you told them you were dating the masked hero by the name of Spider-Man? Sure, they probably wouldn’t believe you and laugh at your attempt to make your geeky (your dad’s words) boyfriend sound cooler, but on the off-chance they took you seriously—you’d probably never be allowed to see Peter again. At least not in the way you wanted. 

“Peter has a tendency of being unpredictable,” Aunt May jokes with your parents and they actually laugh, making you think that this whole thing is actually going well. 

Your heart would break if it didn’t, but right now you could only hope for the best. 

Luckily, the adults became enveloped into their own conversation, bonding over how insatiable and complicated raising teenagers was. Apart from your father’s daggers at Peter (which were, at most, simply warning glares), you and him were unnoticed. You just couldn’t leave the dinner table. 

“Crap, crap, crap,” Peter repeats over to you, “I think I’m going to pass out if your dad asks me another question. He’s so scary! You told me he was a huge nerd. Why’d you lie?” 

You scoffed and hit him lightly on the chest (gaining another head-shake from your father).

“Peter, he literally gushes about the Avengers and Spider-Man all the time. He’s just not exactly comfortable with me dating so young. Not everyone is as cool as your aunt.” 

“Please never call her cool again, her ego might blow through the roof,” Peter tells you and you chuckle. “But seriously, I think they hate me. They’re going to forbid you from seeing me and—yup, your mom? I know your mom hates me.” 

“Yeah, okay, sure. That’s why she says that you’re handsome and smart all the time, right?” You confess to him, “Trust me, they like you.” 

“Are you sure? Because I can clean up nicer, you know, and I can be funnier—I have a couple jokes that Ned and I have been working on—” 

“Peter, stop! If you do tell a joke that was made up by you and Ned, then my parents will really hate you.” 

He licks his lips nervously and huffs, “Gee, thanks.” 

“They could never hate you, Peter. You’re…you. You’re adorable and sweet and kind. You’re our friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. I mean, that’s pretty awesome,” you say, smiling at him. “Just don’t break my heart, Parker. Or else, they’ll have your head on a pike.” 

He blushes. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

His phone suddenly rings, interrupting everyone’s conversation. He pulls out his phone and both of you can see the caller ID. 

Happy Hogan.

“[Y/N]…” He whispers, ignoring the stares he’s getting from May and your mother and father.

You nod, “Peter, go. Just come back in one piece.”

He takes the call and goes to his room, leaving you alone at the table with three adults. You awkwardly take a bite out of Peter’s untouched dinner roll, chewing hesistantly. 

“Thank you for having me over for dinner, Aunt May,” you acknowledge, trying to steer the topic away from the elephant in the room. 

“What happened, is everything alright?” Your mom asks and Aunt May looks annoyed and disappointed. Your dad is picking at his food.

“Yeah, everything’s alright!” You said truthfully. You were more than okay with Peter’s frequent disappearances; it’s not like he couldn’t just refuse to help out and use his abilities for the common good. All you wanted was for him to be alive at the end of the day.

“Remember I told you about the Stark Internship he has,” you continued, watching your mom’s face light up with recollection of the memory. “"I told Dad about it too, but I don’t know if he was actually listening.”

Your dad looks up, “I wasn’t.”

May shakes her head. “I am so sorry, [Y/N]. I’ve talked to him about this whole internship thing and he just—do you want me to talk to him right now?” 

You almost jump up. “No! No, it’s fine. Completely. Mom, Dad, we should get going now anyways, right? You both have work tomorrow and I’ve got homework. Thank you so much, May, I hope we can come over another time.”

Aunt May sighs, but lets the Peter thing go. “Of course, sweetheart! Come over anytime you like! And [Y/PARENTS’/N], it was glad to meet the both of you for the first time!”

You wait as your mom and dad return her affections, thanking her and giving her a small friendly hug. Despite you displaying full support, May still flashed you an apologetic and sympathetic look as she hugged you goodbye and shut the door. You couldn’t blame her; she still had yet to find out that the boy who she practically raised as her own son was constantly running into imminent danger. 

As you walk to the car, thinking of how your boyfriend was currently saving lives and helping people, your mom gives you a concerned look.

“Do you know what that was about?” She questions and you take a moment to respond.

Peter in his suit flashes through your mind, and you shake your head.

“Nope. Not a clue.” 

[nyangibun]

Little Wolf: Part VI

@jonsa-countdown

PART I | PART II | PART III | PART IV | PART V - AO3 LINK

PART VI: REINCARNATION

The cool breeze coming in from the open window helped alleviate some of the stuffiness of the small nursery. Jon would have to buy a fan for Chloe when it got hotter. He read somewhere that children at her age were more vulnerable in the heat. At least the room looked much nicer now with the blue and yellow chest of drawers and white painted walls. Sansa even had one of her friends come in and paint cartoon clouds and fairytale creatures on the wall overlooking Chloe’s crib.

It had been just over four months since the funeral. Time didn’t seem to care for the grieving; it continued to tick on blind to those it left behind. Sometimes Jon still felt trapped in his tiny flat in Barcelona, perpetually reliving that phone call over and over again, unable to hear anything other than, ‘Jon, they’re gone. Robb, Margaery. It was a car crash’ for four long months. How easy it had been for a minute to completely alter the course of his life.

But looking at Chloe in his arms, was it so awful for him to feel like this was where he was always meant to be? Nothing had ever felt as easy as loving her. It hadn’t even been a question when Jon was told about the will. He would adopt Chloe; he would raise her as if she was his own, and that was simply it. From that moment on, nothing in Jon’s life mattered as much as this little girl’s happiness.

The door creaked open, forcing both Jon and Chloe to look up. Sansa stood, showered in the morning sunlight, wearing a too-big-for-her jumper that Jon suspected was Robb’s and a pair of black trousers. Her hair was down, longer than he’d ever seen it, and she was beautiful. It didn’t matter that he’d known her twenty years. Jon would never stop thinking she was beautiful.

“Morning,” he said, smiling tentatively. Things had been strained between them for awhile now. He wasn’t sure why either, but there was an ocean of history between them and neither of them were willing to cross it. Jon wanted to, but he’d drowned before and it wasn’t an experience he’d like to relive.

Sansa trailed her hand along the doorframe as she swept her eyes around the room. “I heard you singing earlier.”

Oh. Warmth spread quickly from his neck up to his cheeks. “Sorry. You weren’t home so I thought –”

“She really liked it.” She moved to stand before them, brushing back one of Chloe’s stray curls. “Even if…” Sansa paused, glanced up to meet Jon’s eyes, and smiled. “Even if her daddy is an awful singer.”

The gesture was small, but he knew it meant a whole lot more for Sansa. Losing Robb had torn her up more than she was willing to show. Where Arya screamed and cried and threw furniture around her flat, Sansa’s grief was quiet. She internalised everything, more than she should, more than she needed to. But this was monumental for her. For him too.

“I’m a far better singer than you at least,” Jon said easily, trying to downplay her words, even if it made his heart swell in a way he hadn’t felt in over a year. “I still remember the karaoke catastrophe of Arya’s eighteenth.”

Sansa’s face pinched together. “Well, whose bright idea was it to bring absinthe to the party!”

He laughed and raised his free hand. “Your brother and Theon’s. Don’t blame me. I had nothing to do with that.”

She huffed and tossed her hair over her shoulder before bending over to pluck Chloe from his arms. She cradled the little girl and kissed her all over her face until Chloe started squealing with laughter. “Who’s my little wolf? Are you?” Sansa landed a big smooch to Chloe’s nose. “Oh, I think you are. Yes, my lil’ Chloe.”

Jon watched them and felt both affection and fear rear up inside of him. He had loved Sansa once, more than he had ever loved anyone else, and being here and raising Chloe with her was dredging up old feelings he suspected never truly went away. If he knew running away to Spain would be such a futile endeavour, he might have stayed and tried to fight for her. But Jon had to remind himself that she didn’t want him in the same way. She didn’t reply to his letter for a reason and he wasn’t going to bring it up. Neither of them needed their past to complicate this arrangement.

“Have you had breakfast yet?” Sansa asked suddenly, as she balanced Chloe on her hip. “I can cook us up something.”

“I think it’s more brunch than breakfast now,” he said, as he stood up to face her. “Let me help.”

With Sansa carrying Chloe, he went and grabbed some of the little girl’s favourite toys to bring to her playpen downstairs. Thankfully, Sansa’s house had an open floor plan that allowed them both to be in the kitchen while still being able to watch Chloe.

It was the kind of Sunday he never thought he’d ever have. Being here with Sansa, listening to Chloe’s laughter and basking in a rare bout of sunshine, Jon was content. He’d never had anyone to come home to before. When he was growing up, his mum was always working double shifts to pay the bills. And as Jon got older, there were the odd flatmates here and there, but they were strangers under the same roof. It never bothered him. His job made sure he worked unpredictable hours, and after a gruelling shift, all Jon wanted was to spend time by himself. Since he moved in with Sansa, he found that he needed to be near them, to know that they were in the next rooms safe and sound, to sleep. Just their presence was enough for him.

Last night especially had been tough. His team spent hours searching for a missing boy and then very nearly lost him in the loch when the boy fell in. These jobs were always challenging. No one ever wanted to deal with the anxious and terrified parents – and god forbid if something were to go wrong. But that was simply a part of the job. You couldn’t save everyone. It was a lesson you had to learn early on. Since becoming a parent himself, however, Jon now felt those fears as if they were his own. The very thought that that boy could have been Chloe made his heart speed faster than a freight train. It didn’t matter that she was only ten months old; none of it mattered. In the dark of night, it was her life that had been on the line and nothing had ever terrified him more.

“Jon?” Sansa covered his hand with her own. Lost in his revery, he didn’t realise how tight he was gripping the wooden ladle. His knuckles had turned white and there was cold sweat matting his curls to his forehead. Sansa peeled the ladle from him and placed it on the counter beside her. The back of her palm came to rest over his head. “Are you poorly? Did you catch something last night?”

He shook his head and hated himself when he leaned into her touch. “We were searching for a boy,” he confessed. “And the entire time I kept thinking, what if this is Chloe? What if I lose her too?” He choked back a sob. “I never thought being a parent would be easy, but this fear – it’s horrible.”

Sansa exhaled slowly, a shuddering sound. He could tell she was imagining the scenario too. He could see it in the way she tensed and the slight crease between her brows. Even after all this time, Jon knew her. That should give him some semblance of comfort, but there was still so much distance between them.

“We’ll protect her as best as we can,” she said, thinking through her words one by one. “We can’t shield her from everything, but we’ll try. That’s all we can do.” Sansa hesitated before she took his hand again. “And I know you, Jon. If she was out there, you wouldn’t sleep till you brought her back home. Safe and sound.”

“You put too much faith in me,” Jon snorted.

“Because you’re the best person I know.” She smiled so earnestly it took his breath away.

He moved closer to her, holding onto her hand as if it was his lifeline. To his surprise, Sansa didn’t move away. “Sansa, I –”

“I’m sorry,” she said at the same time.

Jon inclined his head in confusion. “What are you sorry for?”

“My behaviour,” Sansa admitted, looking chagrined. She dropped his hand and pulled her hair to one side to plait it. She was nervous. “I’ve been distant with you the past month and you don’t deserve that.”

Of course he’d noticed, but Jon had come to expect that from her. They hadn’t exactly left things on good terms when he moved to Spain. Distance was practically a given when it came to them these days. As much as it pained him, he understood too.

“Yeah, I figured it was because of…”

“It was,” she cut in. “And it wasn’t. I don’t know, Jon. I guess I got jealous –”

His pulse sped up, hope flaring through him.

“But it’s selfish of me to expect you to devote your entire life to just Chloe and me,” Sansa finished. “If you wanted to date or something, that’d be… It wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

And just like that, it was gone. Jon shook his head, trying to force a smile when his heart felt like lead in his chest. “Sans, I don’t want to date. My entire life right now is you and Chlo.”

“I don’t want you to give up your life for us either. You shouldn’t have to –”

“Are you going to date?” he asked, wondering if this was why she brought it up.

Sansa blinked, perplexed and surprised. “No. Of course not.”

“Okay, then we don’t date,” Jon said firmly. “And we focus on Chloe.”

“No dating,” she repeated, nodding, and then smiling at him. “Okay. That’s… That’s okay.” She made to turn around when she faltered. “Actually, there’s one other thing.” Sansa pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth. Another tell. She was still nervous about something. “I don’t know if I have any right to ask, but what happened between us last year, can we just forget about it? I want to go back to us. You were my best friend, Jon.”

Forget?

“You were there for me when Petyr began harassing me at work. You were there through everything,” Sansa continued, oblivious to the warring emotions inside of him. “I just want us to be that close again, but I’ll understand if it’s not what you want.”

It’s not, but what he wanted wasn’t what she wanted and he’d rather have Sansa in his life as a friend than nothing at all. He had nothing for over a year and it’d been hell.

“Sans, you’re still my best friend,” he chose to say instead – the truth yet so far from what he really wished he could tell her.

It almost didn’t matter though, because when Sansa threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly and burying her face into his neck, it was like finally coming home.

“I told Chloe that we were starting a new life,” she whispered, her breath tickling his neck. “That this would be our rebirth. Shedding away our past and beginning fresh.” She nosed the collar of his shirt. “I think this is ours too, Jon.”

He didn’t answer. He just held her and hoped to god he was making the right decision.

For him; for her; and for Chloe.

Jon really couldn’t afford to mess this up again.