#i am a constant worrier

[youtube-fucker]

And that's everything, yippee!!! If you enjoyed watching what I made and want to play it then, uh… sorry you're gonna have to wait a while. Some spells aren't made yet and selling is busted and will crash, and like I said, I'm not that good of a programmer (a lot of stuff was copy-pasted)… HOWEVER I do have a second mod planned that WILL be playable before being fully completed because I'll most likely make a full demo for it! If there's enough interest in THAT one, I may make a second blog to just post about it, including updates, asks for opinions (I'm gonna be making some new sound-based things), and other silly little things (and maybe also cries for help if need be). The next mod does have a name, unlike this one, and will be called "Undertale Yellow: Dual Justice" (yes, I do mean with a UA sound and not an OO sound, but OO can make sense under certain circumstances). The naming convention will be made clearer either when the demo is posted and/or if I make that second blog. Which ever comes first. HOWEVER, I do have a leetol thing to share that I finished during this event. Be nice because it probably isn't fully finished yet, but I think it sounds good!

Teehee~ I am quite proud of it. Feel free to give feedback, I need to improve in the music making field heavily for this mod (is making three, technically five, songs for it)

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Actually… if… if I can be transparent for a moment… I had never thought that I would have any form of impact in my life. Even since I was young, I had basically accepted that I would likely die in obscurity; a nobody barely remembered. But… ever since I found this AU, I know that won't happen. I may die relatively unknown, but I'll die knowing that I made people happy; that I was able to affect someone. When I was young, I would always make plans-little more than childish delusions-about making something game related. Those plans always fell through. And now one of them is close to fruition. I've finally accomplished one of my childhood dreams. If I hadn't sent my first anon about how a human Clover and monster Clover would react to meeting; if it had been answered directly and not with some philosophical bit, I wouldn't be here now. It's crazy to think about how, if just one tiny, tiny thing had been different, then your life would be so wildly different. Our choices define us, especially tiny ones at random moments. Those ones are the ones that can make the biggest impacts. So… I guess what I'm trying to say is… I'm so glad that this happened to me, that I was able to not end up how I thought I might have. That I was able to have such a positive impact on others. Not just with this, but for other things as well. If I had never started interacting with this AU, I wouldn't have met some of my closest friends. At least, not in the way I have. There were some that I had seen around, but never really interacted with. This silly little creature has allowed me to grow so much and improve in ways I never thought possible. Heck, I probably never would have even discovered my talent for pixel art if it weren't for this! I literally only started just to make them walk for fun! And now I've made a whole ass mod that I honestly wasn't even sure if I would publish or not at first! I just… I just have a lot to owe to this game and this AU. Thank you, Undertale Yellow. And thank you Ray. I love you (platonic) both. I'm sure I will never, EVER, forget this.

That's… that's all I got. Originally I was gonna have a poll about if I should make that second blog, but I literally started to cry writing that so I don't think now would be a good time, haha. So I guess… have this little thing I made as a sort of poster. You guys can tell me if you'd want that second blog or not. I just… I think I might need to take a hot second to just. let myself feel emotional and vulnerable… (asks will be off until I get home from school) I eagerly look forward to when both this mod and the next mod are finished, and to see how people react to it!

[flawseer]

Your thoughts on the wof characters have been really interesting and I'd love to hear your take on Starflight (your assignment of him being the 'designated sufferer' of arc one is both hilarious and tragically accurate). I've always liked him, cowardly though he is he still acts when he really needs to and the dynamic between him and Tsunami is super fun (the whole outwardly combative but inwardly just wishing to be as strong/as smart as the other).

I like Starflight and I relate to him a lot, as a fellow chronic worrier who annoys his friends with constant blathering about stuff only I find interesting, and often finding myself paralyzed in the face of decisions.

It’s funny how the story puts forward a black dragon, which in media are usually portrayed as mysterious, ambiguously malevolent harbingers of doom, and makes him into this adorable dork.

He’s also the plot’s chew toy, which I am at times less enthusiastic about. Especially when jokes are made at the expense of his misfortune.

Wings of Night and Sea

Starflight’s and Tsunami’s friendship is very engaging because, in a sense, both of them complete each other. For each, emulating the other serves as their last resort when faced with a personal crisis. Whenever Tsunami encounters a situation she cannot overcome with her usual blunt and direct approach, she asks herself how Starflight would resolve the situation. When Starflight becomes overwhelmed and too scared to move, his mind conjures an image of the strongest, bravest, most unstoppable thing he knows, which is Tsunami. Though either would be reluctant to openly admit it to each other, they both rely on each other’s strengths to cover their own weaknesses.

Through this you get the sense that, while their opposite personalities annoy each other to no end—if you locked both of them in a room for three hours, they’d be strangling each other when you open the door again—at their core they have only the deepest respect for each other. It becomes especially apparent when you realize that both of their stories in their respective books have them compare themselves to the other unfavorably.

If these two ever did a DBZ-style fusion dance, the result would likely be one of the most capable and balanced characters in their series.

Starflight's misfortune

CW: Discussion of blindness

One thing I have noticed (and have alluded to a lot in previous posts) is that the plot really likes to kick Starflight in the teeth. His own story arc puts him through the wringer, but he is not even safe in the two arcs past that, where he is largely out of focus. Most of the things that happen to him in arc 1 seem to occur for the sake of the story, but past that... it sometimes feels to me like the world has it in for this guy.

I started writing a list of every bad thing that happens to Starflight over all three arcs, but it got way too long, so now I’m just going to talk about a few select things instead.

One thing that stands out to me is that every other protagonist in arc 1 gets a specific moment. That kind of scene where they enter their tribe’s biome for the first time or connect with a particular part of their culture/physiology, and are overcome with a sudden burst of euphoria or deep resonance with their own nature. Clay gets it when he submerges himself in mud for the first time and then later again when he finds his siblings, Tsunami when she sees and smells the ocean, Glory when she’s in the rainforest and feels the sun, and Sunny when they go through the magic tunnel and end up in the desert. Starflight is the only arc 1 protagonist who doesn’t get a moment like this; when he enters his tribe’s home for the first time it’s a giant craphole that makes him feel upset. It only gets worse from there.

Then there is the big one; the misfortune that happens to him at the end of his book. I struggle to talk about this because... uh... How do I put this?

I opened this post by saying I relate to Starflight on a personal level. I wouldn’t consider myself as studious or well-read as him, so it’s not a direct comparison, but I do like to draw, write and dabble in visual artistry. This is a major part of my life; how I define myself as a person and what I think makes me “me”. The thing about this though is that all of this is tied up into one thing: my sense of sight.

It follows then that what ends up happening to Starflight is the realization of the one thing I fear the most. Thinking about the possibility of losing ones sight is deeply, personally horrifying to me. It messes me up internally just to consider it happening to me.

This, the subject of becoming blind, is a very difficult topic for any story to properly engage with. There are many pitfalls you can fall into and come off as insensitive, or ignorant. The way Wings of Fire deals with this subject is to... well... it doesn’t really. Starflight is blinded and then the story skips over most of his reaction to it because the next POV character gets separated from the group while they sort it out.

In a way, this is a good thing. I don’t know how this series—which often rushes through these really uncomfortable, harrowing events—would be able to show a realistic reaction to this development. Like, losing ones sight would be a horrifying prospect for anyone, but for Starflight especially this completely uproots not only his entire life, but his sense of identity. Everything he likes doing, everything he is and wants to be in life is rendered virtually impossible by this.

Consider who Starflight is. He is a thinker, and a worrier who is always inside his own head. He dreads and fears, he seeks out worst case scenarios, I daresay he is inclined towards pessimism. Whenever his neuroticism gets him too stressed, or emotional, or worried, he has one immediate response: bury his nose in a scroll. When he arrives in a new place, he usually asks where the scrolls are at. When he is under threat of being abducted or attacked, his first instinct is to go grab his scrolls to keep them safe. Like with me and drawing, reading is how he unwinds, how he balances himself. It is what keeps him sane and functional through dealing with adversity (and he's Starflight, so he deals with a lot of adversity).

Then this happens to him, and suddenly the one thing that makes this poor, battered boy happy, the one thing that never hurts him, is taken away forever. If I was in his place, if I learned I was suddenly blind, I would fall apart. I would cry, then scream, then cry AND scream and probably flail around in a panic. Clay would have to hold me down and restrain me so I don’t end up falling off the platform in a frenzied fit. Or worse.

So yeah, I get why the plot had to look away. Seeing this happen to Starflight—him going through this kind of anguish and then sinking into quiet despair as his world crumbles around him—would have been heartbreaking. In the end, we go on Sunny’s solo adventure and when she returns Starflight is already conveniently past the screaming fit phase and has adjusted to his new life circumstances—enough to talk and joke as if nothing happened. He then goes on to dedicate himself to bringing the wonders of literature to other blind dragons, which is a noble goal and good trajectory for his character—even if it’s a bit abrupt and I would have liked to SEE him do that instead of just being told.

Anyway.

This next one isn’t as notable because it doesn’t happen TO him, but I want to point it out to back up my claim that Starflight Ls can and will happen even in story arcs that have very little to do with him. In book 6 Moonwatcher and Darkstalker have a conversation where they discuss the concept of Nightwing powers and how they relate to the moons. The story very pointedly draws attention to the fact that Starflight nearly was born under three full moons and would have become the most powerful Nightwing of his generation if his inept caretakers had not decided to hatch him underground. While I don’t think getting these powers would have been good for Starflight in the long run, it is a bit sad considering he spent most of his childhood thinking he was born wrong because he didn’t have powers, and then Morrowseer further gaslit him about it throughout the arc.

And then we don't talk about what happens in arc 3. I am not the right person to discuss it.

My take on Starflight

I was asked to give my take on the character, so...

I already went into how I think he’s very introspective and prone to worrying. I see him as an introvert, which is something he has in common with Glory, and contrast him with Sunny, Clay, and especially Tsunami. He enjoys reading but also other activities where he gets to use his brain. He likes puzzles; I imagine he got very excited when they had to figure out the murder plot in book 2, or when he caught Blister in a lie. If he had a computer it would be full of adventure and puzzle games, and he’d hog the resident DS to play the Professor Layton series all the time.

When they found the academy, it is implied he teaches a literacy course and gives out writing assignments. That is right up his alley, but I’ve always felt he also has strong math/natural science teacher vibes. There should logically be a numbers class at that school and I can’t imagine any other character who would be more suited to teach it.

If I were asked where I would make changes to his story, I guess I would nix the part where he and Fatespeaker hook up in book 5. I have nothing against their relationship, it’s actually grown a lot on me over time. But I never liked how it started. Starflight gets rejected by Sunny and then immediately hooks up with Fatespeaker. This is really undignified for her because it takes their potentially intriguing romantic relationship and turns her into Starflight’s “rebound chick”. You really need to give yourself some time to move on from your previous attraction; rushing like this creates doomed relationships.

The original story implies that about half a year passes between the end of arc 1 and the start of arc 2. I like to pretend this gap is actually a bit longer, by like 2 or 3 years. It gives the old protagonists a bit more time to settle into the roles they’ll occupy during the next arc, and makes it more plausible to me that they could build and outfit an entire school, write the curriculum, designate roles, etc..

In that time, with things being more calm now, Starflight has opportunity to get lost in his own thoughts again. It turns out, now that the dangers of the war are no longer distracting him, he finds it difficult to cope with his blindness and sinks into a depression.

While this happens, Fatespeaker is there with him. She sees his condition worsening by the day, but refuses to give up on him. She reads to him; they talk, and they bond. Though serious self-searching and hard work, together they manage to pull out of the darkness eventually. This is how their relationship starts, and it’s also how Starflight gets the idea to invent the dragon-equivalent of braille.

Somewhere during that time, I also imagine Glory has Tamarin escorted to Jade Mountain so she can help Starflight adjust to his new situation and learn how to navigate his life without needing to rely on others. Perhaps this is what motivates Tamarin to attend the academy later.

What else is there to say? Hmm...

I think Starflight is really fond of hard candy. Jawbreakers are his favorite especially. Though given how prone to misfortune he is in the story, I’m hesitant to put him in proximity of anything with a name like that.

[darlingmisa]

REQUESTS ARE OPEN?????

*slides into your asks* heyyyy *winks* my rizz bustin up to 2%

I am in dire need of sevika taking care of reader comfort :( if you're open to writing it, idc what it's about, pls write whatever comes to your mind, i just need sevika love :(( ty, baby.

ilysm <333

Sick day | Sevika

Sorry this took sooooo long to get out but here's some fluffy comfort just for you sweetheart <3 ily hope you're doing well baby

cw: pure comfort

wc: 770

You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this awful. Head pounding to the point that any form of light or sound would make it worse, and no matter how many blankets you had piled on top of you or how high your temperature really was, you couldn’t seem to stop yourself from the constant shivering. Even the slightest movement made your body ache all over. All you could do was lay in bed and hope it would pass soon. 

You had refrained from telling your wife how you felt before she left this morning, knowing that she would opt to stay home and take care of you instead of going to work like she should. You had hoped it would all pass after a few hours before she got back home, but that didn’t seem to be the case. 

It was getting late, close to the time Sevika would return, and you had yet to leave the bed, hoping for more sleep that never came. Even when hearing her walk through the door you couldn’t really bring yourself to move from the somewhat comfortable position you’d been laying in. 

Sevika knew what was going on the moment you weren’t at the door to greet her, breaking the usual routine. This happened every time you were sick. No matter how long you two had been together, you refused to tell her when you were sick to avoid her worrying over you. She worried anyway, always did. She was just a worrier when it came to you. 

It was no shock to her when she found you in bed in the same exact spot you were in when she’d left, only moving slightly to muster a weak smile and mumble a small greeting.

“How are you feeling sweetheart?” she asked, clearly foreseeing how the night was bound to go. “Did you eat?” 

You could only shake your head before she slipped out of your shared bedroom and into the kitchen. This was something she always did when you were sick. She took her time cooking up a small meal, something easy for you to digest, usually sticking to your favorite soup. 

Sevika placed herself on the bed next to you before pulling you into her lap, a bowl of soup in hand. “Here, your favorite. Eat up and I’ll run you a bath when you’re done.” Her voice was soft when she spoke, tying your hair behind you so you could eat comfortably. She didn’t mind the excessive warmth from your body, probably related to your steadily rising fever. She still simply ran her hands along your body while you ate, knowing you found comfort in her touch. 

When you were about halfway through eating, Sevika slipped away towards the attached bathroom. This was also something she liked to do for you, sick or not. It was common for the two of you to share a hot bath and slowly wash the day’s dirt off of one another. She also never failed to add your favorite bubbles and light a few of the candles you always brought home. 

Though being sick was absolutely awful you couldn’t help but enjoy the soft moments between the two of you, especially as Sevika carried you towards the bath and gently placed you in the tub. The warm water felt amazing on your aching body and the feeling of her fingers running through your hair never failed to relax you. 

It wasn’t long before Sevika abandoned her clothes and joined you in the tub. She wasn’t normally one for baths, opting for a quick shower instead, but baths were something she always ended up doing with only you. 

All you could do was lean back against her larger body behind you while she continued washing your hair, the mixed scent of your wife and the shampoo she always uses on you bringing you the most comfort you’d felt all day. Sevika was quick, rinsing out the shampoo before repeating the process with the conditioner. 

After finally removing yourselves from the bath, Sevika took her time drying you off, massaging some of the more sensitive parts of your body and soothing them with light kisses afterwards. Meanwhile, you took the chance to run your fingers through her now damp and slightly tangled hair. 

The silence was comfortable as she brought you back to the bed, gently placing you on the sheets before moving herself to lay next to you and pulling you right back into her chest. Sevika watched as your eyes fluttered closed and your breathing evened out. 

“Rest up baby, I’ll be here.”

[daryltwdixon]

The Heart of Us: Chapter 18

As you walk up to the group, there’s a mix of casual chatter, Eugene and Noah trading verbal jabs about whether the mulleted man will actually join the run. You try not to cringe at the thought. Eugene, with his monotone drawl and his knack for needing constant babysitting, never made you feel particularly confident in group outings. Still, Deanna leads you straight to them without hesitation.

You step up beside a tall man with glasses and wispy white hair. Deanna gestures toward him with a warm smile, her hand sliding around his back. “Y/N, this is my husband. Not sure you two met at the party the other night. Reg, this is Y/N.”

“Hi, Y/N,” Reg says, offering his hand with a kind, easy smile. “Joining this group of misfits on their run today?”

“Sure am, sir.” You shake his hand firmly, flashing a polite smile.

“No.” The word comes sharp and fast from your right, and you barely need to glance to know the source. Aiden.

“No way, Mom!” he barks, his tone grating enough to make you bite back a sigh. You glance past him to Tara, who grimaces in shared exasperation. Maggie strides past, arms full of supplies, heading toward the paint-peeling van parked in the driveway.

“Get over yourself,” Maggie mutters as she passes Aiden, her tone clipped but effective.

You plaster on a sickly sweet smile, your voice dripping with mock cheer. “Hi, Aiden,” you croon.

He rolls his eyes but turns toward his parents, his body language shifting into something slightly more composed—if only because his father is watching.

“You got everything?” Reg asks, his tone even.

Aiden nods stiffly while you turn to Noah, who hands you a familiar weapon.

“Good thing I brought this along,” Noah says, holding up your old rifle.

Your lips tug into a smirk as you take it from him. “You were gonna take my old girl out without me?”

“Somethin’ told me you’d be here. Just a matter of when,” he replies, grinning as your hand squeezes his arm in quiet thanks.

Behind you, Aiden continues rattling off the checklist to his parents. “First aid kit, yellow pages, Glenn made a checklist. We’re good, I swear.”

“I know,” Reg says, his tone calm but insistent. “I’m just a worrier. That’s how we got that wall built.”

You let their conversation fade into the background as you exchange a quick hug with Maggie in farewell. She shoots you a small, knowing smile before heading back toward Glenn.

“I know I’ve said it before,” Deanna calls after you as you turn to leave, “but thank you.” She winks, her voice tinged with quiet encouragement.

Without a retort, you climb into the van after Tara and Noah. The interior smells faintly of old oil and dust, the cracked vinyl seats sticking uncomfortably to your legs as you slide in. Glenn follows, plopping down beside you with a soft laugh.

“What?” you ask, elbowing him lightly.

“Nothing,” he chuckles, but his gaze flicks pointedly toward the driver’s seat, where Aiden sits, his hair perfectly tousled and his posture stiff with irritation.

You follow Glenn’s gaze, then smirk. “Yeah. This’ll be interesting.”

The van rumbles to life, its engine sputtering briefly before catching. You lean your head back against the seat, your fingers tightening around your rifle. It’s just a run. You can handle Aiden. Probably.

➳

“So that’s it, there?” you ask, glancing at the looming structure ahead while double-checking the chamber of your rifle. The familiar click as you ensure it’s fully loaded echoes in your ears, mingling with the sounds of the others prepping their weapons. Your gaze lifts to the large, gray building ahead—a stark, soulless block of cement with trash scattered around its base. You’ve seen places like this before. They rarely hold anything good.

You’d learned on the drive here that this wasn’t just any supply run. Among the usual haul, the group was after something critical—a part to get the power grid up and running back in Alexandria. That’s why Eugene and his “techie brain” had tagged along. You weren’t thrilled about him being here, but the stakes were high enough to swallow your complaints.

“That’s the warehouse,” Aiden says, pointing toward it as Nicholas nods beside him. “Looks like that door’s our fastest way in and out.”

You glance at Glenn, and he’s already voicing your thoughts, his tone calm where yours would’ve been cutting. “We should know all the exits first,” he says evenly. “So we have a plan in case things go south.”

“Already got one,” Nicholas quips, shrugging. “It’s called goin’ out the front.”

You roll your eyes, slipping the strap of your rifle over your shoulder but keeping your mouth shut. Better to let the “experts” pretend they know better. Still, you make a mental note to scan every inch of the place once inside.

The faint growl of a walker cuts through the silence, followed by Tara’s sharp voice. “Noah, heads up.”

You pivot to see a lone walker shuffling toward the group.

“Got it,” Noah says, lifting his gun and taking it down with quiet precision. The sound of the silencer on his weapon makes you pause, envious. You make a mental note to find one for yourself—or better yet, snag one here.

“Good aim,” Aiden says, handing Noah a second weapon. Then, surprisingly, his tone softens. “Glenn’s right. We should do a perimeter check—just in case.”

Your eyebrows shoot up at his words. Maybe he’s capable of learning after all.

Glenn gives a small nod, his eyes meeting yours. You both shrug in silent agreement before breaking into groups to scout the perimeter.

You, Noah, and Glenn take the fence line. The walk is quiet, the air thick with tension. After a few moments, you break the silence, nudging Noah lightly. “That was good aim back there,” you say.

“Target practice helps,” he replies, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Honestly, last week I was pretty close to practicing on Aiden.”

“You and me both, kid,” you mutter.

“Same,” Glenn adds with a chuckle.

But the humor dies quickly as the faint sound of snarling reaches your ears. You quicken your pace, the three of you rounding the corner to find a crowd of walkers pressed against the chain link, their rotting hands clawing at the metal.

“Guess we’re not getting out the front,” you mutter, your voice low.

When the group regathers at the van, you report what you’ve seen. A collective sigh ripples through everyone before Aiden speaks up, gesturing toward the back entrance. “We’ll take the other way in.”

You slam your hand against the metal door a few times to draw out anything waiting inside. The sound reverberates off the walls, but the space remains silent. No snarls, no shuffles, nothing.

“Alright,” Glenn says cautiously. “But take it slow.”

You’re already stepping through, your rifle raised and your other hand brushing the knife at your waistband. Glenn’s voice follows you in. “Y/N, give it another second. It’s a big place. There could be more.”

“Noted,” you whisper, your steps deliberate as you sweep your gaze across the rows of metal shelving.

Aiden pushes in behind you, handing you a flashlight. You hold it up, the beam cutting through the shadows as orders murmur softly from the others to spread out.

“I got this aisle,” you whisper, moving down a long corridor lined with shelves stacked high with crates and boxes. The air is stale, heavy with the faint scent of rot.

Then you hear it—the faint clinking of metal paired with a low, guttural snarl. Your grip tightens on your rifle as you inch forward, the sound growing louder. 

“Eyes up,” Glenn whispers behind you, and the group starts moving again. But the sound of snarling grows louder, this time to your right.

You stop short when your flashlight catches movement.

You whip around, your flashlight beam landing on a cluster of walkers– a lot of them–trapped behind a metal fence on your right. Their growls are relentless, echoing through the hollow space with a feral hunger. Dead eyes lock onto you and the others, and their decaying fingers grip the fence, rattling it so hard that the chain holding it shut clatters noisily. There are more of them here, at least twenty, and their frenzy is contagious. If there are any walkers deeper inside, they’re likely stirred up now.

“Well,” you mutter, letting your rifle fall against your chest, slung on its strap, “let’s get to work.” You pull your knife from your waistband, the familiar weight settling in your hand like an extension of your arm.

Tara swings her flashlight toward Eugene, the beam hitting him square in the face. “You’re up,” she says curtly, her tone brooking no argument.

In the harsh light, Eugene’s wide eyes shine with unmistakable fear. He hesitates for a moment, his breathing shallow, but he moves into place without protest.

The next few minutes are tense but systematic. Knives plunge through the chain link, one walker at a time, their snarls cut short with each precise blow. The group works in sync, clearing the gate efficiently despite the noise. Finally, the last walker collapses, and the rattling of the fence ceases.

Once you’re moving again, Eugene and Tara call out from another aisle, their voices bouncing off the high walls. “Found it!” Tara’s tone is sharp but triumphant, cutting through the tension that’s been winding tighter with every step. Eugene’s voice follows, lower and laced with cautious pride, as if he’s surprised at their success.

You exhale, your shoulders dropping just slightly at the idea of finding something useful in this place. At least this trip won’t be a total waste. You adjust your grip on your rifle and refocus, scanning the rows of shelves towering around you.

The space is massive, and your flashlight struggles to cut through the shadows clinging to the upper reaches. Dust floats lazily in the faint beams of light trickling in through cracks and boarded windows. You squint, looking for anything—tools, supplies, something to make all this worth it.

Your boots crunch softly against the littered floor, the sound almost too loud in the cavernous space. 

A distorted groan echoes through the space, pulling your attention to the far side of the room. You turn, flashlight sweeping over the source, and your stomach twists at what you see.

Aiden.

He’s firing his gun, the sharp sound of his shots bouncing off the walls. His target is a walker in full military gear—helmet, face shield, camo uniform. A soldier, you realize. Its body is decked with weapons and equipment, a vest strapped tightly across its chest.

“Aiden, stop shooting, let it get closer,” you say quietly, but with a sharpness. He doesn’t seem to hear you, and the bullets ricochet off the soldier’s visor with sharp, metallic pings. The walker keeps shambling forward, undeterred. You step closer, your eyes scanning the walker’s gear, searching for a way to disarm it.

He doesn’t listen. Another shot rings out, then another.

“Aiden, stop—!”

Your voice rises in urgency, but it’s too late.

The bullet hits the grenade strapped to the soldier’s chest.

For a brief moment, the world slows, the green oval of the grenade catching the light in a sickening flash.

And then everything goes black.

[whoiwanttoday]

How about I finally post Chappell Roan today? I mean, it's pride right, she feels like the appropriate person to post for pride this year. I have been thinking about pride a lot this month and this is tumblr, I don't need to get people here on board with any of this but it's where I am so it's where I'll talk about it. I remember when gay marriage was legalized here and suddenly there was this feeling from so many people of like, "Ok, good, that's over, time to never, ever worry again". And look, I am a natural worrier but also at one point in life I majored in history and I am here to tell you that's not how history works. That's how propaganda works, that history is a continual line upwards as things get better and better. It's not. Until the 1960's the best time to be a black person in America was the 1870's. Because there were armed soldiers around enforcing their rights. Then the soldiers went home and things got really bad. Because rights can't be given, only recognized, they are rights, they are intrinsic, but people will deny you your rights if they are given a chance. And as a society we aren't there yer, I had a personal experience with it this very weekend with people who thought they were being very reasonable in denying their 12 year old who wanted to go to a pride parade because she has come out as bi. They are denying it because they don't think she's really bi, it's just hormones and she is prone ot be dramatic. To me that's all awful but even if they are right there is only harm in her going to pride if they think being queer is kind of a bad thing so you want to avoid that stain being on your child when she comes around to realizing she's straight. They think they are progressive people, and are, but you know, they made their kid cry, have made her life a little worse, and for all their belief they are for equity they clearly have some troubling beliefs deep down. And you know, other people just want 12 year old queer kids to live in constant fear, it's not quite so innocent or soft in it's bigotry. I am not here to bring people down, it's just what I am thinking about because we have a very crucial election coming up and I fear people aren't taking it seriously enough. I keep seeing a lot about how both candidates are awful and you know… there is bad and there is fascist. Anyway, Chappell Roan is here for a few reasons. One, I think she is very attractive, I love her style. Second, I like her music, all credit to @wildflagsure who turned me on to her. Third, the gays love her guys. Being the authority on all things queer, obviously, I am here to let you in on that secret. She played a show here recently and I wanted to go but the show was announced back in February and I waited all of like 5 hours to finish work before looking into tickets and they were all gone. I remember grumbling and saying, "You fucking gays are too fast". Then they changed venue so she could sell more tickets and those sold out before I could get them and guys, this was February so I don't want anyone to think I am being unfair for saying the gays bought all the tickets but I promise you it was not straight people buying tickets to Chappell Roan in February. Now? Maybe. It's wild that in those 4 months her monthly plays have like quadrupled on spotify, her followers on things like Instagram have exploded. She's a big deal now. But I am posting her because that show was just recently and I was coming home as it was ending and the streets were full of very, very happy people dressed in pink. THe outfits were wild, there were large groups of women who looked very happy and free in a way I don't often see on city streets at 11 PM and it just made me think this is probably how the world should be more often. I'd enjoy it more. So I am posting Chappell Roan. Today I want to fuck Chappell Roan.

[wordsofrowan]

From Ashes to Embers

Chapter 14 - You Can't Cover All Your Wounds in Band-Aids

Time passed, with each second feeling like a cruel reminder of how lonely I was. The weight of my double life as Ladybug and the constant battle against Shadow Moth consumed my days. I yearned for a way to bring an end to his reign of darkness, to regain my freedom and be myself once more.

In my room, photographs adorned the walls, capturing moments of joy and friendship. Adrien's charming smile, Luka's gentle gaze, and the laughter shared with my friends stared back at me. Barkk and Ziggy fluttered over to the corkboard where the pictures were displayed.

Barkk, ever the worrier, chimed in, "I told you we should've taken the photos down! They only bring you sadness, Marinette."

I held my gaze on the photos, my voice barely a whisper. "Please don't," I pleaded, my words tinged with a mix of determination and sadness. "Stop, Barkk. I'm not sad, and these photos don't bother me. They're a reminder of who I am and what I'm fighting for. So it's all good." I forced a humorless chuckle, desperately trying to convince myself. "There's no problem, you see?"

Amidst the emotional turmoil, my phone buzzed incessantly, another call demanding my attention. Frustration surged within me, and I sent the call straight to voicemail, not wanting to face the outside world just yet. A couple of minutes passed, and the phone buzzed again, indicating that a voicemail had been left.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I played the voicemail. The familiar voices of my friends filled the airwaves, their warmth seeping through the recording. I heard Alya's energetic voice followed by the cheerful greetings of Rose, Juleka, Mylene, and Alix. "Hey Marinette, it's us!" they chimed in unison. "We're just calling to tell you that we're here if you need to talk. Whenever you want, wherever you want, give us a call back." There was a brief pause, and then I heard Alya's voice again, softer and tinged with sadness. "We miss you."

I felt a mix of emotions well up inside me, a combination of longing, guilt, and a deep sense of isolation. Unable to bear the weight of their words, I deleted the voicemail, my heart heavy with conflicting emotions. In a moment of frustration, I impulsively chucked my phone across the room, the sound of it hitting the wall echoing my inner turmoil.

“Come on we gotta do something!” Barkk shouted out as he hovered over my frame. I grabbed one of my pillows and put it over my head. 

“If only Tikki were here,” Wyazz chimed in, “She would know how to help Marinette.” 

“I got an idea!” Trixx announced as he pulled the pillow off my head, “Why aren’t you using the light box to talk to your friends?” he asked as he floated in front of my face. 

“What’s there to talk about?” Turning my head away from Trixx, I said, “Everything’s fine.” 

Trixx persisted, "Don't you think you should detransform then? Maybe it's time to take a break."

I shook my head, “No I’m better off like this, better off staying as ladybug,” I said as a fresh bout of tears started welling up in my eyes, “this way if Shadow Moth attacks Paris, I’ll be ready for action at any time.” 

“Yes but what about Tikki?” Trixx said, pushing gently “She could use some rest and she needs to eat something as well.” 

Overwhelmed with guilt and worry, I shouted, "Oh my God! Tikki, spots off!" Tears streamed down my face as I cradled the tired kwami in my hands. "Are you okay, Tikki?"

Tikki let out a tired sigh, “better than you Marinette,” she replied, her voice filled with compassion. "We should have a little talk." Tikki and I went up to the balcony so we could talk. 

Feeling the weight of my struggles, I poured my heart out to Tikki. "I don't know what to do anymore, Tikki," I confessed, my voice trembling with sadness. "My life as Marinette is too complicated. As long as I'm Ladybug, I can't have loved ones in my life. I had to break up with Luka because I couldn't tell him the truth. It would be the same with anyone else I date. I can't share my secret with him or anyone else, for that matter. I can't be honest with my closest friends or my parents about anything. I'm doomed to be a big liar to everyone, forever. What do I do, Tikki?"

Tikki's voice carried understanding, yet a hint of helplessness. "I wish I could give you a clear answer, Marinette," she sighed. "But kwami relationships are very different from human ones. We have a natural soul pair, like me and Plagg. I am the kwami of Creation, and Plagg is the kwami of Destruction. We are complementary to each other, balancing one another out. Without me, there is no Plagg, and without Plagg, there is no me. The same goes for other kwamis, like Fluff and Sass," Tikki continued, her voice filled with wisdom. "Fluff is the kwami of Evolution, and Sass is the kwami of Intuition. They are bound together by the burden of time, forming a natural pair. Kwamis have a unique balance and understanding of one another."

I listened intently, my heart heavy with the weight of my secret. "But with people, it's so different," I murmured, tears staining my cheeks. "I long for true, genuine connections, for the freedom to be myself without hiding behind a mask. I want to share my secret with the ones I love, but it just can't and it hurts Tikki, it hurts so much"

I let out a heavy sigh, sinking into the plush cushions of my balcony lounge chair. The weight of my thoughts seemed unbearable as I gazed out into the clear blue sky. Lost in my own world, I was startled when the balcony door swung open, and Alya's voice pierced through the silence.

"Marinette, there you are!" Alya's voice carried a mix of concern and urgency as she stepped onto the balcony. Tikki fluttered nervously, seeking shelter within the confines of my hair, sensing the tension in the air. I turned to face Alya, my expression a blend of surprise and frustration.

"What are you doing here, Alya?!" My voice rang out, laced with frustration and confusion. The events of the past few days had left me feeling raw and vulnerable, and I longed for a moment of solitude. Yet here was my best friend, barging into my private space.

Alya's eyes softened, her concern evident as she took a step closer. "We came to check on you, girl. We've all been worried about you," she replied, her voice filled with genuine care and friendship.

A heavy sigh escaped my lips, my weariness evident as I slumped in my chair on the balcony. "Aw, look! It's just like a real house! Look, the roof even comes off!" Rose's excitement echoed in the air, reaching my ears with an unexpected pang of panic. My heart skipped a beat as I realized what she was referring to - the miniature house, I was creating for the Kwami’s to serve as somewhere they can be outside of the Miracle Box.

My heart raced as I leaped off the balcony, my feet carrying me swiftly into my room. The miniature house stood proudly on my desk, its presence a constant reminder of the hidden world I guarded so fiercely. With each hurried step, worry and protectiveness fueled my actions, propelling me closer to the source of my concern.

As I positioned myself between Rose and the delicate structure, a surge of urgency coursed through my veins. The weight of my words hung in the air, trembling with a mixture of concern and pleading. "Please, don't touch this," I implored, my voice quivering with an underlying fear.

But before I could prevent the inevitable, the roof of the miniature house slipped from Rose's grasp, crashing onto the floor in a cacophony of shattered secrets. The delicate pieces scattered across the room, a visual representation of the vulnerability that now lay exposed.

A pang of disappointment surged through me as Rose's apology reached my ears. "I'm so sorry, Marinette," she murmured, her voice tinged with regret. I couldn't help but feel a mix of frustration and sadness, the knowledge that my secret had been unintentionally laid bare.

"Can you please just leave?" My plea hung in the air, a delicate thread of weariness that seemed to dissipate into the tension-filled atmosphere. The weight of my emotions pressed upon me, threatening to drown me in a sea of turmoil.

But Alya stepped forward, pushing Rose gently behind her. Her eyes met mine with unwavering determination. "Chill out, Marinette," she said, her voice steady and reassuring. "It's just a stupid dollhouse. We can totally help."

My patience, already frayed at the edges, threatened to snap as Alya's words fell upon my ears. The desire for solitude burned within me, an unyielding longing to escape the suffocating presence of well-intentioned intruders. I raised my voice, the frustration simmering beneath the surface now boiling over.

"Can you just go?!" I shouted, my words echoing with a mix of desperation and exasperation. "Can't you see? I want to be alone!"

Alya's expression softened, her concern etched onto her features. She took a step closer, her voice gentle yet firm. "Look, Marinette, we know something is wrong, and we are not leaving until you tell us what it is. We're here for you."

The room fell into a tense silence as Alya's words hung in the air. The weight of their presence tugged at my heart, a reminder that true friendship meant standing by each other's side, even in the face of uncertainty. I took a deep breath, realizing that shutting them out would only deepen the divide between us.

Just as I was about to speak, Mylène, usually soft-spoken, stepped forward. In her hand, she held a delicate bracelet, its surface adorned with intricate designs."Look, Marinette," Mylene interjected, her voice gentle yet firm as she stepped forward “Each of us told our secrets to this bracelet. It's your turn."

"The only thing wrong is that you guys are still in my room, even though I explicitly told you to get out!" I shouted, my voice laced with a mix of anger and desperation. Each word carried the weight of my frustration, echoing through the room as a testament to my shattered peace.

Alya reached out to me, her eyes filled with genuine concern. "Marinette, we're your friends," she said softly, her voice attempting to soothe the storm raging within me. "You can confide in us."

“Yeah marinette, we only want to be good friends to you. Real friends don’t let each other down!” Rose said with a smile on her face. A smile that felt like a stab to my heart.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips, laced with a mix of anger and frustration. I took a step back, my arms folding protectively across my chest, a barrier against the mounting tension in the room. The weight of past conflicts surged to the surface, fueling the fire of my resentment.

"Yeah, real friends don't ever let each other down, right?" I retorted, my voice dripping with venom. The bitterness in my words was a reflection of the wounds that still festered within me. "Oh, so now you want to be my friend, Rose? I distinctly remember you telling me, in Juleka's own house no less, that you couldn't stand a 'bully' like me. And Alya, let's not forget the New York incident. You haven't had a single concrete conversation with me since our fight. But now you suddenly want to say that you’re my friend?"

The room crackled with tension, the air thick with unspoken words and unresolved conflicts. Alya's determination matched my own as she took a step forward, her eyes narrowing with defiance. "Marinette, we're your friends," she shot back, her voice carrying a sharp edge. "But don't act like you're blameless in all of this. You've been distant, shutting us out. We've tried to reach out to you, but you keep pushing us away."

The anger within me roared to life, drowning out any sense of reason or understanding. The walls I had erected around myself fortified my position, shielding me from the vulnerability of self-reflection. I scoffed, my voice dripping with disdain. "Oh, so now it's all my fault? I'm the one who's been distant? Let's not forget how you've all hurt me, how you've all turned your back on me when I needed you the most! How the second Lila comes around all of you abandon me!"

My words hung in the air, a poison seeping into the cracks of our fractured friendship. The room felt smaller, suffocating under the weight of our escalating fight. 

Alya's eyes blazed with a mix of hurt and defiance, her voice trembling with suppressed anger. "You think you're the only one hurting, Marinette? We've all made mistakes, but you're so focused on your own pain that you can't see how it's tearing us apart!"

Tears welled up in my eyes, a mixture of anger and sorrow. The walls I had constructed around my heart threatened to crumble, but my pride held strong. "Maybe we were never really friends to begin with," I spat, my voice laced with bitter resignation. "Maybe it's time we all moved on."

Alya, Mylene, Juleka, and Rose walked away, their backs turned to me, their expressions a mix of shock and disappointment. The weight of their abandonment settled upon me, a heavy burden that threatened to crush my spirit.

Alix lingered for a moment, her hesitation palpable. I could see the conflict in her eyes, the indecision playing out on her face. Her mouth opened and closed as if searching for the right words to say, but ultimately, she too turned away, her footsteps echoing with a sense of resignation.

The silence that followed their exit was deafening, a stark reminder of the void that now existed between us. The room felt emptier, the air thick with the remnants of shattered friendships. I couldn't help but feel a pang of regret, a gnawing ache in the depths of my soul.

“I had no choice Tikki, I had to do it.” The weight of my decision bore down on me, the cardboard house I had constructed now lay there tattered and broken. I stared at it, my heart breaking a little more with each passing moment. The Miracle Box, once housed within its walls, was now safely tucked away in the hideaway drawer, hidden from prying eyes.

Tikki hovered beside me, her presence a source of comfort in this moment of turmoil. "I know, Marinette," she whispered, her voice tinged with sadness and understanding. She had been with me through it all, my confidante and guide in the face of adversity.

A bitter smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I tried to find a silver lining amidst the wreckage. "At least now I won't have to lie anymore," I mused, the words laced with a mix of resignation and relief. "There'll be no one left to lie to."

But as the words left my lips, a pang of loneliness pierced through me. The realization that I had severed the bonds of friendship, willingly or not, left an ache in my heart. The thought of facing each day without the laughter, support, and camaraderie of my friends was a daunting prospect.

"And I won't have anyone trying to stab me in the back either," I added, my voice tinged with bitterness. The wounds inflicted by betrayal still fresh in my mind, I sought solace in the absence of potential harm. Yet, the emptiness that lingered in the wake of their departure felt like a void that could never be filled.

I took a deep breath, my gaze shifting to the hideaway drawer. It held the key to our secret, the source of our power and responsibility. The weight of its presence reminded me of the duty I carried and the sacrifices I had made. It was a burden I would bear alone, but one that I was determined to shoulder.

XoXo Rowan

[imasouthparknerd]

I turned me and my friends as our South Park alternate self

Before I get started on this, I will be using my friends nicknames (or their preferred names) for privacy reasons.

Tweek (Jaax, Me) -

Tweek is known for his constant anxiety, and anxious behavior. he's the boyfriend of Craig Tucker. Uhhh he's gay. A lot of things seem to overwhelm him. He also loves coffee and his guinea pig Stripe. His superhero alter-ego is "Wonder Tweek, an elementalist with the power to shock and "chill out" his foes with the addition of healing his fellow allies."

I don't always worry, but I am a worrier. And I'm not a coffee lover, but I do care for my pet. I'm also homosexual, but single like a Pringle all alone.

Craig (Andrew/Asher/Gandrew) -

"Craig seems to be the most stoic, cynical, apathetic, and deadpan kid in South Park, having a more abrasive personality than the rest of the characters, a trait exaggerated by his deeper-than-average voice. He has been described as pragmatic, monotone, and sarcastic. He also appears to be more logical and mature than some of his peers, typically being the one to call them out on their ignorance."

Andrew isn't really a super "pragmatic, monotone, and sarcastic," but they fit the "emo" aesthetic vibes that Craig has. Also Andrew is my...lmao...not a partner, but like..*laughing dying* Their my partner in crime

Stan (Aubrey) -

"Stanley "Stan" Marsh is one of South Park's main characters along with Kyle Broflovski, Eric Cartman, and Kenny McCormick. Stan attends South Park Elementary as part of Mr. Garrison's Fourth Grade Class (formerly Third). Like the other South Park boys, Stan is also rarely grounded. He usually does not understand why he gets grounded after doing something that causes him to be grounded..."

Okay so uh, I couldn't find any like, personality based things, but they fit the part, it's just ✨vibes✨ y'know?

Kyle (Erin) -

Okay I'm gonna be completely honest.

All Kyle does is yell, or be a smart ass...

And that fits Erin PERFECTLY. Just the other day, we were arguing about the food we buy, and everyone was shouting about what pockey is best (stupid shit). And also if there's something I didn't understand, she becomes all smart and gets all prissy.

(But she's my closest friend, I wasn't trying to expose, or roast them).

Butters (Celestial Kumar) -

One word...

✨INNOCENCE✨

Both are PURE 😇😇😇😇😇😇😇

[oldbutnotyetwise]

The View From Where I Sit

     My perspective has changed over the last year, both literally and figuratively.  A year ago I was walking around, albeit with a slight limp, with no idea what was waiting up ahead for me.  Now, less than a year later, I am confined to a wheelchair.  I assure you, it is a pretty drastic perspective shift.

     One of the definitions of perspective is “a point of view”.  My point of view has changed from someone who stood around 6’2” to someone who now is always seated and views life from somewhere around 4’.  I’m not sure, looking at life from 4’, was that where I was in Grade 4 or 5?  One of my few attractive traits to the opposite sex over the years was my height, it allowed my date to wear high heels if she chose to, and I would still be taller than her.  Just another box that I no longer would receive a check mark in.

     Previously when we went out shopping together and would part ways, my wife just had to stand still and look around and she would see my head wandering in one of the aisles.  Now when she loses sight of me she has to walk along the ends of aisles to see where I have rolled myself to.  This is further aggravated by the fact my dear sweet wife is a worrier if she hasn’t seen me for a few minutes there is a panic that arises in her similar to a mother who has lost a four year old toddler in a Super Store.  This also applies to loud noises around the condo, any bang, bump or crash brings her running from the other room, as she enters her eyes sweep the floor expecting to see me sprawled out and helpless.  What she normally sees is me looking down at whatever I have dropped, perhaps using some inappropriate language while I ponder if I really needed whatever it is that is now laying on the floor out of my reach. 

     My need to be in a wheelchair also brings with it a constant condition of dehydration.  You see if I need to pee it is a big deal, I can’t just pop into a nearby restaurant or even just go and pee behind a tree.  More often than not the restaurant will not be accessible, or if it is, the washroom won’t be.  Do you know how many restaurants I look at enviably wishing I could try them out, but the step, or steps at the front door may as well be the Berlin Wall.  So the point being, I limit my liquid intake so when I go out I won’t be in a urinary crisis.  We walk our dogs three or four times a day, I can almost hear them snickering at me as they casually squat and pee wherever and whenever they want to go.  I’ve even had to forgo my treasured after lunch tea for fear it will interfere with the afternoon dog walk. 

     When we lived up north we had our go to restaurant, Match, at the North Bay Casino.  It had good food, good service, decent prices and was totally accessible with an accessible washroom.  We haven’t found a comparable place in the Cambridge area yet.  We recently took my wife’s daughter out for her birthday dinner.  The call was made ahead of time to the restaurant and they said yes they were “Accessible”.  We arrive and roll up to the front door, no automatic door opener.  The door gets held open but there is a ridge at the front door that the wheelchair can’t get over.  A fellow customer is kind enough to help get me and the chair through the door with me feeling like the spectacle I very much have become.  We have our dinner, and everything goes smoothly but then I need the washroom before we go.  I go to the accessible washroom but it is locked, I wait and wait and things are approaching Crisis Level and I am desperate enough to try to get myself into the regular washroom when the Accessible washroom door opens and out walks our able-bodied waiter who has just had the dump of the century.  He can’t even look at me, and I am seriously angry because I had already paid the bill and given him a good tip which I wish I could now take back.   

My wife’s favourite restaurant is Swiss Chalet, as you approach you will see the friendly wheelchair sticker in the window, they even have the buttons to open the front door, so can someone explain to me why there is no automatic door opener on the washroom? Just picture for a second me in my manual wheelchair, I need both hands on the wheels, having only one hand on the wheel you will just be going around in circles, so if both hands are on the wheels how am I going to open the heavy bathroom door, especially on the way back out when the door opens in?

     You see places call themselves accessible, stick the handicapped sticker up at the front of their establishment, but they really aren’t and to the best of my knowledge there are no set standards that are enforced as to what “accessible” really is.  So I will be that dehydrated guy sitting in the corner the restaurant that has no stairs, but I will be sulking because I can’t have a beer because ….. well we all know that as quickly beer goes in, it comes out.

     When we had to leave our northern home I wanted to go somewhere else where no one knew me.  I didn’t want my old friends and coworkers seeing this retired detective, runner, hiker, dog walker rolling around in a wheelchair.  I am in a new city, I’m just that guy in a wheelchair that is often seen out walking, I use this term very loosely, with his dogs, wife and/or daughter.  No one knows me and I kind of like that anonymity as more and more of my body stops working.  

     A very dear friend has loaned me her old electric wheelchair as she has a new one.  First thing you need to know is that these things are the cost of a small car, they tend to run from $25,000 - $45,000.  They are 400 pound monsters capable of doing much damage if you are not careful.  Within about thirty seconds of trying it out for the first time I ripped the end piece off the kitchen island in our new condo because I hadn’t noticed one of the foot rests had turned out.  So far I have managed not to drive it through any of the glass doors in our Condo building.   Now all those nice sloped sidewalks that look like they are designed for wheelchairs, not all of them are.  I am constantly scraping the bottom of the wheelchair or getting myself stuck when trying to cross streets.  These are things I never would have noticed until I was actually using a wheelchair.  The manual wheelchair which we often use when going out is even worse, the front wheels hit a ridge on the sidewalk or doorway and it is almost like an eject button has been hit as the wheelchair suddenly stops but I’m still going forward.  More often than not I have to go through the doors backwards.  

     I’ve always been quite happy in my role as a wallflower, the guy who isn’t really noticed and who just sits back and watches everything that is going on.  Well those days are gone, there is nothing at all discreet about a 6’2” guy sitting on a 400 pound power wheelchair.  There is no getting around it, I am now a spectacle.  One day as my wife was helping me into my wheelchair she spotted someone on the restaurant patio who appeared to be taking our picture.  I was tempted to go up and offer to pose for him if he was so interested in taking my picture but chose instead to just ignore it.  I tend to be a pretty observant person so I see the looks when people think I don’t notice.  Now I admit I have no idea what they are thinking when they look at me, is it pity, curiosity, compassion or perhaps discomfort at being so close to the disabled person.  The point is, I miss the anonymity of blending in and not being noticed.

     I will tell you about a recent visit to an Ikea store, a place that I mistakenly presumed would be “accessible” because they are such a forward thinking store.  I attempted to use two of their Accessible washrooms, neither was big enough for me to get off my wheelchair and use the toilet.  One of them had such a sharp turn going into the washroom I managed to get myself lodged in the doorway because besides the sharp turn, I was also trying to hold the door open as there were no automatic door opener.  Yes I was making a scene, jammed in the bathroom door, trying to dislodge myself while people were standing there waiting to get in.  The other thing I was constantly was turning down aisles only to find them blocked by merchandise on skids causing me to have to back out because there isn’t room for me to turn around.  I don’t know that I will return to an Ikea store anytime soon.  I emailed Ikea to tell them of my experience when I visited their store, but never received a reply.

     Our new Condo is right beside a rather large theatre that would appear to have some good shows coming up.  My dear wife is working so hard I thought it would be nice to take her to the upcoming show but there aren’t many seats left, and there certainly aren’t any “accessible” seats left.  In the old days I would have just bought those tickets even if the seats were in the middle of the row, that’s not possible anymore.  Lyle Lovett is coming to the next town over soon, I’ve always wanted to see him perform in person, but to be honest, the thought of being in a wheelchair, surrounded by hundreds if not thousands of people makes me pretty uncomfortable.  So once again I will be staying home.

     Now those are some of the negative things I have encountered so far, but I have also experienced much kindness from friends but also from strangers. The truck driver that sees me waiting to cross a busy street and pulls his truck across two lanes to block traffic so I can get across.  The cars in the long stream of traffic that stop, again blocking traffic so I can cross.  These aren’t one time things, these are things that happen frequently.  The people who hold the doors open for me, or hold the elevator, yes maybe they would do that even if I wasn’t in a wheelchair but I think I am shown more kindness because of the wheelchair.  All the incredible kind, caring people involved with the  Sunnybook Hospital, ALS Society, all the care people that have looked after me so well up until this point.  So many amazing people I would have never met if not on this challenging journey.

     Some former work colleagues and friends came and we all went out for lunch wandering downtown (they wandered, I rolled).  We were enjoying our visit and not paying attention as the sky turned dark and a torrential downpour started.  Now normally you would call an Uber or Cab, and they could have, I even encouraged them to, but they refused because they didn’t want to leave me racing through the rain in the wheelchair on my own.  One friend got a large garbage bag to help keep my seat dry and then we rushed back to the Condo and upon arrival we were all drenched…but we were also laughing and I was grateful, these three friends know how important it is to stand by your friend, through thick and thin, wet and dry.

     A rather sad note, travelling in the power wheelchair does not fool my iPhone into thinking that I am walking.  For the guy who once would average around 10,000 steps in a day, my average over this last week is 54 steps a day, and I assure you each one of those steps was exhausting.

     So I am adapting to life at this new lower perspective, and although there are many, many challenges that come with living your life while seated, there are also many good things if you take the time to look for them.  Life is just as beautiful from 4’ as it is at 6’.  Perspective is your point of view, both where you see the world from, as well as how you chose to see the world.

     What goes through your head when you drive or walk by someone in a wheelchair?  Do you ever stop to ponder what your life would be like if you were the one in the wheelchair? 

[curdled-creamer]

i'm in charge

Recently got prescribed a generic version of vyvand? something? too lazy to look up real name. Effect of drug is it is a stimulant that helps ADHD people AND ALSO helps people binge eat less. lil two4one special. I've always had a long history of undiagnosed ADHD and it's nice to finally get it addressed. Ya'll understand, basically you start to notice you have an issue, and then put up obstacles in your mind and delegitimize your own experience so you don't have to confront it. Sometimes that's because confronting the constant, similar issues that the illness creates is somehow better than confronting the unknown problems/solutions that occur from facing it. But here we are. And I'm zooming. If I can better describe what it's been like for me, having ADHD, being neurotic as fuck, basically it's like your body operating like a loud democracy. Don't get me wrong, great for nations. Great for people on a large scale. Everyone should get a say in what happens to them. Not great for a single individual trying to live a competent normal life. Each decision is deliberated manically by a group of different people. (No I do not intend on equating ADHD to multiple personality disorder, it's just a visualization of how I feel) They are all me, but with different interests and wants. Some wants louder than others. I COULD play a game I want to play, but: -What's the point, what does this prove? -Does it have achievements? We can 100% it so it matters. -Do you already know kinda what's gonna happen? Waste of time. -Can you play it with friends? Video Games should be a vehicle in which you socialize -Is it fun? Last one seems easy, right? Yeah it's fun, or no it's not. But for me, it feels like 1 amount of Fun is unattainable by any singular activity/action. The way I visualize my "Fun Meter" is a bar that's segmented. Each segment of the bar is a different activity/action/event that gives me stimulation. I find that I'm at my full "I'm having fun" only when the bar is FULL. Not partial full. Not run by ONE task/activity. For example: "I want to play a computer game!" Okay so to actually feel fulfilled I need at least 3 things going on. 1. The Game being played 2. A video or podcast in the background/on the other monitor 3. A yummy delicious treat or something to work my mouth fixation on I feel strongly within myself, that I need all of these things to experience a worthwhile time. It's funny, because a symptom of this desperate stimulate-maxxing behavior is that I regularly play games on SILENT. Simply because I want to hear the video I'm also listening to. Which has baffled my friends. Imagine playing Fallout and skipping all the dialogue and never listening to the radio stations? Red Dead 2 but not knowing whats going on, just going from A to B and shooting until credits roll. That's how I experience games. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE a good story. But my ADHD prohibits me from actually taking the time to focus and consume it as a singular activity. No singular action is engaging enough for me to not get that gnawing feeling of "this isn't enough, I hate this, it's too low input" It's very annoying to constantly need all cylinders firing at all times to feel sated. But what I'm here to say is, at least for me, the pill solved that. And I am at peace. I quieted all my annoying mental advisors, worriers. I've hushed my neurotic obstacle creating self and allowed me to just exist in a space. I am in the captain's seat of my body again, for the first time in years. Many years. I am in charge. I can't wait to see what I do with this power.

[destinyimage]

Seeking God’s Peace in Chaos

Originally posted on Cherished Her.

Let me paint a picture for you. 

The sun touches your skin like a warm blanket. The wind blows kisses of daisies and tulips. The grass invites you as snow demands a snow angel. You find yourself sitting, waiting, peaceful. You turn to your left and see them walking towards you. You feel safe. The curve of your lip rises as joy surprises you. You stand to rush and embrace them. The blades of grass still remain. The surroundings stand still in time. Nothing else matters. You are happy. You are home. 

There is a picture each of us imagine when we think of heaven. When we think of our first encounter with Jesus. Maybe you think of running and giving him a big hug. Or maybe you believe you will simply fall at his feet in worship. Or, maybe you have thought of skipping in a field with the biggest smile on your face. Free. Pure joy. Complete peace. 

Lately I have been searching for that peace. Struggling to find a way past my aching anxiety and crippling thoughts. 

Many say Junior year of college is the most mentally and academically challenging. Being someone who loves learning new things and school in general, I had it rooted in my mind that there was nothing I couldn’t handle. I had already finished two years of college. How much harder could my third be? 

I am humbly admitting that I was wrong. This has been my most mentally, physically, emotionally, spiritually, and academically challenging years. I have never found myself struggling for air more in my life. I try to “act” joyfully but always end up feeling emptier. 

I have cried more these past few months about life than I thought was even possible. I feel weighed down with no room to make a choice for myself. 

I transferred to Messiah University to be an athlete, and now I am struggling to find joy as a runner. I have always gotten good grades, but now I am fearful that I may get multiple bad grades. I love my job and the work I do but I never have time for it. I am not able to do good work because I have so many responsibilities. I feel like everything around me is spinning. Failing. Changing. And while all of that is happening I am tired. Stressed. Lonely. 

I find myself seeking the next thing. Seeking arbitrary numbers. Good grades. Fast times in my races. Things that do not define me and will never fully satisfy me. Things that always leave me wanting more. 

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Do you feel that weight?

Maybe it’s your job. Maybe you feel burnt out from being busy all the time. Maybe you’re in highschool or college and trying to navigate time for friends and time for school. Or maybe you are a constant worrier. It’s a hard balance to maintain. But we were not created to maintain it on our own. Psalm 55:22 says “Cast your cares on the Lord and he will sustain you; he will never let the righteous be shaken.”

God is waiting for you to cast your burdens on him. He is not going anywhere. He is accessible always, not just once we get to heaven. Psalm 18:2 says “The Lord is my solid rock, my fortress, my rescuer! My God is my rock—I take refuge in him!—he’s my shield, my salvation’s strength, my place of safety.”

He is fully alive in you. Don’t believe that you will never find full peace, joy and comfort until you are in heaven. Don’t just fully focus on that painted picture. Ironic right? I tell you a beautiful story of how Peace may look and feel one day in heaven and then tell you not to focus on it. I did so to drive home this point. 

Yes, God has prepared a beautiful place for eternity. But, God also created a beautiful you for today. 

For this life you are living right now. And he is right there with you, even if you are feeling like everything around you is failing. 

God is unchanging. He can and will fully and completely satisfy you. He brings fullness and wholeness and complete peace in this life right now as he intended it to be. 

We can find comfort and reassurance in his words even when everything seems to be going wrong. 

In Psalm 23:4 it says “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.”

Even in our lowest seasons God is evident. He is present. He is faithful. He is the way, the truth, and the life (John 14:6). 

My biggest challenge for you through all of this is to seek the lord for peace. 

Life can be hard. Like I explained earlier, I have been struggling to make it on my own. But God so graciously reminded me that I am not meant to do life on my own. That he has purpose in my pain. That there can be joy in our sorrows. How do I know that?

Because God is the sustainer and giver of joy, peace, and comfort. So when you feel empty, know that God is right there filling your cup. Giving you strength to conquer another day. Giving you peace to take on another week. Giving you confidence in the abilities he has so graciously gifted you with. 

God is waiting for you. He is the giver of peace even when we feel weighed down by anxiety, stress, or depression. Trust in him. Believe in the wonderful plans he has for you. Seek him for peace. For fulfillment. 

“In Christ you have been brought to fullness. He is the head over every power and authority” (Colossians 2:10).

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[themommydiary]

What NOT to Expect When You're Expecting....

Allow me to start out by saying that I know this is not everybody's experience with being pregnant, but it was mine. I'm grateful that my pregnancy was smooth, healthy, and seemingly effortless. Most days I would forget I was even pregnant at all. I am beyond blessed that it was my own experience and I truly feel for the moms out there who do not have the same great experience....

Which brings me to the topic of today..... the book we all bought and all read (maybe until we got absolutely sick of it).

WHAT TO EXPECT WHEN YOU'RE EXPECTING.

My mother in law bought me the book as she remembered reading it long ago for her first out of four pregnancies. At first, I loved the book. I found it knowledgeable and of course I was still early in my pregnancy so I was still "riding the high" of all of my emotions.

But then shortly after truly diving deeper into the book, my thoughts/emotions had changed drastically.

If you know me I am a worrier, anxious, planner and Type A personality by trade. So when I tell you that once I started reading this book further and diving deeper into my pregnancy I started to really freak out. Those "happy" feelings totally wore off when I started to worry about miscarriage and other horrible early pregnancy red-flags. I would spend countless hours at night "asking Dr Google" if every little achy, cramp, pain meant I was going to lose my baby.

Again, I had a great pregnancy. No nausea, no vomiting, no unusual pain and none of the horrible things the book was telling me to expect to visit me each week/month as I progressed through this pregnancy.

I can't even imagine all of the lost hours of sleep I had when reading this book. At least that is my experience.... I'm sure there are plenty of other women who did read it and loved it. I'm happy for you. But if you're anything like me, this book may just take away that early pregnancy happiness and start you down a path of the constant worry.

[peelingthelayers]

Shades of Blue

Shades of Blue

When I was young, whenever I'm asked what's my favorite color, I always say "Blue". Why? There's no particular reason, I just like it lol. Now, if you ask me what is my favorite color, I'll say it depends on what it is for. Why? Because people change. Perception, perspective and even the taste in food. Everything changes. Some people change because of their environment, some because of unexpected turn of events in their life and some because they just want to. Whatever the reason may be, it happens, still happening and will be happening. Change is inevitable and constant.

As I'm going through the process of peeling all of my layers, I learned and still learning a lot and I continue to change - for the better. Why do I sound so sure that it is for the better? Well, if you felt and feel the pain, then it is working, you are changing for the better (plus I have my sky to look at and admire😉). The phrase "No Pain, No Gain" is definitely accurate.

Let me tell you something about me (just this once, for this blog). I was (still am) a worrier especially when it involves the people I love but you know what the difference is from before? I changed and I learned to trust wholeheartedly and it makes me feel better. Some circumstances may take time to sink but I'll get there - you'll get there - don't force yourself and just breath.

Why shades of blue? I just like it and just because the sky is blue. Hahahaha

[stardustedknuckles]

You know, if someone would've explained to me in very small words that anxiety and stress are not the same thing and often work independent of one another I might have saved myself several years of trouble and a few friendships.

I've noticed recently that when I'm driving, I'm just.... Driving. Which sounds like a duh but I specifically mean I'm noticing the thoughts I'm not having. To be clear, I like driving. I like to think of story stuff or sing with the music and I'm confident in my skills on the road.

But yesterday I noticed, in passing, that if something were to go wrong on the road I would likely be unable to avoid it. I felt myself start to look around at the other cars for just a split second before I went "well I've been driving this long with no issues, why would I start thinking everyone else is two seconds from a crash and it's all up to me to prevent it?"

And then it hit me really, really hard that up until now that's exactly what I've been doing. Not actively, because that would be stressful and exhausting. But in the back of my mind, along with states on license plates and and funny billboards, I am constantly taking in how close a car is getting to me on my left or whether that truck is going to stop at the stop sign at the next corner or blow through it. When other cars pass each other I'm studying the distance between them to make sure everything is good, all while singing along to LP. I am not stressed in those moments. But I am anxious.

They used to be the same thing for me. That's what tripped me up, why I let it lie so long. I got medication for my adhd and 95% of my stress disappeared immediately. I don't consider myself a worrier because I remember what that felt like. I FELT in constant danger and I don't anymore, so obviously I'm not anxious. With the proper level of stimulation I'm no longer getting lost in mental hypothetical situations my brain created because at least if I was stressed I was stimulated. Things are overall so much better.

I typed all of this on my phone while on my usual walk around the neighborhood. I couldn't tell you if I walked past a snake. Probably. I checked when I cut through the grass. That's just common sense. The kids are playing ball on the big field. I didn't look up at the sound of the bat. They're not going to hit me 100 yards away. I did see a very big frog though. He was in a grate and very hard to photograph. I always check that spot because I hear them splash off the rock every time I walk by and I never see them before they see me.

I've not been chronically stressed in years. Not the way I was. Reactively to the pandemic sure, but I always knew where it was coming from. The spider bite, sure. Even publishing fanfics (huge spikes there). But I've been super fucking anxious twenty-four seven and had absolutely no idea.

Anxiety does not always feel stressful. Most of the time it presents itself as rational. Of course you should keep an eye on the logging truck in front of you, everyone knows those things can slide off. (No we can't think of a single time that's actually happened, why do you ask?) Of course you want to be sure you're accommodating to your friends and getting ahead of anything that would make them uncomfortable. That's just being conscientious (just don't ever fuck it up because you know what happens if you do).

Anxiety leaves out the parentheticals. You only get the first part, and it seems so logical. What a nightmare of a condition. What a relief to put some of it down.

[novelconcepts]

fic: walking with the lady

Every movie, every book, every story about the horrors of letting in the ghosts has prepared Dani for the constant state of alarm. The panic. The discomfort of the situation.

Not a single goddamn one told her how stupid it would be.

***

The first time Viola Lloyd rears her spectral head outside of a dream, Dani is doing her best to enjoy an incredibly pleasant spring morning. She’s been having strange thoughts--strange echoes of night terrors that have been escalating, images weaving as though shot from the depths of some great ocean--for a few months now. Has been trying her very best to take Jamie’s advice and not worry about it. One day at a time. Stop gazing into every reflective surface in the county and just...live. 

And she’s been doing that, she thinks, with a decent amount of peaceful abandon for a woman carrying an unknown beast in the depths of her psyche. She’s traveled. She’s seen much of America, and more of Jamie. She’s learned she’ll never get any better at tea, that she’s honestly not terrible at pasta, that she can talk the ear off old women who just want to stop and smell the flowers. It’s been a serene six, seven, eight years, if she lays them all end to end, and she’s glad of it. 

But the dreams are coming faster now. With more regularity. Long stretches of night fade into black and white, into memories she can feel with her whole body, but knows aren’t her own. Corsets and sweeping skirts, a sister she never had, a husband. A child. None of this belongs to Dani, so it must be her, mustn’t it? 

It scares her. She talks about it to Jamie when she wakes--sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the middle of the night; whether she’s truly awake or not, Jamie always listens. They always hunker back down, holding tight to one another, Jamie whispering into her hair that you’re still here, you’re still you, it’s all okay, Poppins. It helps, as much as anything’s going to. 

What doesn’t help is sitting here on this park bench, a list of shopping plans open in her lap, and hearing--hearing isn’t even the right word for it, it’s like a ringing voice coming up from the very back of her head--someone say, “And what on earth is that?”

Dani sits straight upright, every line of her body rigid with fear. “What...is what?”

She’s said the words out loud, she realizes when an elderly man with a basket of stale bread turns slowly to look at her. Her mouth twists itself into a rictus grin of apology, and he shuffles off, looking very much like a man prepared for his own murder at the hands of a lunatic schoolteacher. 

“Well,” the voice says, coolly amused. “That was embarrassing for us both.”

What, Dani thinks, the fuck is going on?

“What’s going on,” Viola Lloyd’s deep, accented voice says, “is truly beyond my knowledge. Do you know the last time I had this many thoughts of my own? Must have been...oh, three hundred years, now...”

Why, Dani thinks furiously, are you having them now?

“I certainly couldn't say.” Viola sounds astonished. “The last I recall, I was trying to reclaim my child--”

Flora, Dani interrupts with a rush of anger, was not your child. 

She imagines she can feel Viola’s hand flip to and fro, carelessly. “It’s all apples in the end, isn’t it?”

She’s clenching her fists in her lap, she realizes, as if there’s anything to fight. As if she could ward Viola off from inside her own body. 

“Oh,” Viola says coolly, “I wouldn’t worry just yet. I couldn’t say for sure--it’s all rather new, you must understand--but I don’t think I could do anything to you. Not yet. Look, here, I’ll try...”

Dani’s muscles strain against an invisible force that never comes. Viola chuckles. 

“See? Nothing. The lights are on, my dear, but none but you is really home.”

Then why are you awake? Dani demands. 

“Not a clue, darling. It’s nice, though, isn’t it? You really take it for granted in life.”

Take what for--

“Seeing,” Viola breathes. “I haven’t seen anything properly in centuries. I’d forgotten how bright the world was. How full of...color.”

Is it Dani’s imagination, or does Viola’s tone hold an edge of disgust on that final word?

“So, again, I find myself asking. What on earth do you call that?”

Dani allows instinct to turn her head, somehow sensing the direction Viola wishes for her to look. She finds herself staring at a young child playing at her mother’s feet. 

I--it’s... And it’s here, in this moment, faced with the nearly impossible task of explaining to the 400-year-old ghost woman who shares her body what a Slinky is for that Dani Clayton decides this whole cohabitation thing might have been a mistake. 

***

“Hang on,” Jamie says. “Hang on, she’s awake in there?”

Dani, folded nearly double on their couch with her face in her hands, nods. Her head is pounding. Viola has been, ah, what’s the polite way to put it? Running her mouth. For nearly four hours. 

“She’s got some...opinions,” Dani mumbles into her cupped hands. Jamie stops rubbing light circles into her back, curious. 

“About what?”

“Might be a shorter list, to ask what she doesn’t have an opinion about,” Dani says. At the back of her head, she feels Viola cross her arms. 

“This sounds like you are on the path to impudence, Miss Clayton.”

“But hang on, I thought--” Jamie seems to be choosing her words carefully. “I thought she was just sort of...in there. Tucked away, like the kids said. What do you mean she can see?”

Dani blows out a long breath, wishing dearly for a cigarette. “I don’t know, Jamie, I’m not the authority on carrying Victorian women around in my skull.”

“Bit nearer to it than me, Poppins.” Jamie’s smiling, plainly trying to make her feel better. Dani turns to glower at her. 

“I love you very much. Please don’t test me right now. She hasn’t stopped talking for more than twenty minutes all afternoon.”

Jamie raises her hands in surrender. “Can she...can she see me now?”

“Tell her,” Viola says. “Tell her I can see her, and her mannishly-inappropriate hairstyle.”

“I will not be saying that,” Dani mutters. Jamie raises an eyebrow. 

“Are you having a conversation now? What’s she saying?”

“Please let her know I find her insistence upon men’s trousers silly at best, her blouses are entirely too loose, and I am bewildered by the wealth of ankle she seems to find appropriate in mixed company--”

“She says you have a nice smile,” Dani says. Jamie’s eyebrows raise to her hairline. Viola makes a horrible little noise of revulsion.

“How dare you place words in my mouth!”

“You are absolutely not telling me the truth, are you?” Jamie says in the same moment. Dani groans.

“Aspirin. I am going to need so much aspirin.”

***

It’s not all the time, thankfully; Dani thinks she’d go mad if Viola were truly there at all hours, yammering away about silks and petticoats and the good old days when a person could just drop dead of the plague with no notice. Sometimes, Viola even goes days at a stretch without saying a word, as though she’s sunk back to sleep in whatever little corner of Dani’s mind she calls a bedroom. 

And then, like a thunderstorm, she emerges once more. Usually with something snappy and irritating to share with Dani.

“Are we really wearing that?”

“There is no we, Viola,” Dani grumbles. She’s in the process of trying to choose between a flower-patterned dress and a denim vest, unable to gauge what kind of day it’s going to be when she steps out of the closet and into the chaos. Business has been booming down at The Leafling, which is wonderful, but more than a little overwhelming. And Jamie, god love her, has taken to watching Dani when she thinks Dani won’t notice, always with this worried little crease between her eyes. 

It’s making her crazy, if she’s honest about it. Jamie isn’t the worrier in the relationship, and watching her slip into the role is making Dani feel worse about the whole situation. She needs Jamie to tell her it’s all fine, it’s all perfectly all right, they’re going to make it through this new weirdness together no problem. 

“My dear, we became a we the night you said the magic words,” Viola says, a bit pettily. “Or have you forgotten me already?”

“How,” Dani grits out, “on earth am I supposed to forget you? Feel like I spend every day just...waiting for you to spring up and ask some idiotic question about cars or airplanes or deodorant--”

“For a schoolteacher, you surely lack for patience, Miss Clayton.”

Dani closes her eyes, searching for strength. Her hands grope, landing on dress and vest and yanking them free. “You know what? Both. We’re doing both today.”

“We most certainly are not! Not even a glove to be found? And again with the florals! We’ve been over how tacky the florals are, Miss Clayton. Miss Clayton, are you listening?”

“No,” Dani says decisively, wriggling into the layers and looking around for her chunkiest pair of earrings. 

“You are the scandal of the town, Miss Clayton,” Viola sniffs.

***

“Does she, ah...watch when we do this?”

Dani groans. They’d been having such a nice evening--an old movie fading slowly into wandering hands, Jamie’s mouth making its way down her neck, Jamie’s fingers slipping beneath the hem of her shirt and tickling her ribs. She’d just flipped Jamie onto her back, was just looking to remove the deeply inconvenient articles of cloth between them, when Jamie pressed a palm lightly against her chest. 

“Not trying to be weird about it,” Jamie says, breathless. Her eyes are dark and heavy; though she’s stopped Dani moving closer, one of her legs has wound around Dani’s hip, easing her in. It’s giving Dani the worst kind of mixed message, to say the least. 

“Would you like us to put this sort of thing on hold until I find a way to exorcise the demon from my head, Jamie?”

“I did not say that. I decidedly said nothing of the kind.”

Dani lets her head fall forward, covering Jamie’s face in a fall of blonde. “Sorry. That was snippy. I just...I don’t know the answer. She’s...” She tilts her head, eyes shut, searching. “Quiet. For now.”

Jamie brushes her hair back, cups the side of her face, thumb moving in a slow arc across her cheekbone. “S’all right then. Can’t blame me being curious, can you? I mean, it’s not every day you find a third party sneaks into your bed.”

Dani leans into the soft stroke of her hand, sighing. “I don’t like it, either, you know. She’s so...judgey. I hadn’t realized ghosts could be judgey.”

“What’s she judging?” The hand on her chest slides, gripping a fistful of her shirt, pulling her toward Jamie. Dani sighs again, letting Jamie kiss her with the soft determination of someone apologizing for stopping this train in the first place. 

“Me,” she murmurs against Jamie’s lips. “You.”

“Me?” Jamie sounds affronted. “What’s there to judge about me, I’m a bloody peach.”

Dani laughs, bites her lower lip until Jamie groans. “It’s not anything personal. It’s just...the whole world is so different from what she remembers. There’s TV, jean shorts, women out there having jobs and lives without consent of their husbands...for her, it must be the Wild West.”

“Judges what she doesn’t understand, is that it?” Jamie is doing an admirable job of pretending to still be invested in this conversation, even as her hands are making short work of Dani’s sweatpants. Dani sucks in a breath. 

“I guess. Yeah. Can’t blame her for that, really.”

Jamie mulls this over, fingers tracing hipbone. Her nails bite gently into soft skin. “Does she judge us for this, I wonder?”

“Do you care?”

“Not,” Jamie says, twisting her hand and bringing their mouths together hard, “in the least.”

***

“Put it out the window.”

“I am not putting it out the window, Viola.”

“Down a flight of stairs, then! What in all cosmic reaches of hell is this for, if not throwing it somewhere it can never harm another soul again!”

Dani exhales through her nose, slowly, embracing every meditative memory of dealing with errant children. ��I am not,” she says slowly to the empty apartment, “going to throw my television anywhere. And I'd really appreciate it if you’d stop making that suggestion every time I turn it on.”

“You are letting your soul rot from the inside out with this filth!” Viola is all but shrieking. Dani imagines her pacing back and forth, back and forth, her hands wild. “Your moral fiber, Miss Clayton. What of your moral fiber?”

“If MTV rots away one’s moral fiber,” Dani says, as calmly as she knows how, “then I suspect we’re all lost causes, anyway.”

Viola is silent for such a long time, Dani thinks she’s done the trick. She turns her attention back to the laundry she’s been folding to the tune of Janet Jackson. Her head bobs gently in time as the videos shuffle past--Madonna, Michael, Paula, George. Then, with the hour change, newer fare. She’s still getting around to some of these artists, still trying to work out how she feels about them. 

"Did you hear that?” Viola seethes. “What was that about an anaconda? Is this man suggesting we feed a woman to snakes? What barbarism do your people accept in this age?”

Dani folds a pair of Jamie’s socks with such deliberate care, she nearly forgets to breathe while doing it. 

“Moral fiber,” Viola hisses. “Moral fiber is wasted on this age of nudity and...and...hammertime.”

Dani finds herself desperately invested in ironing the wrinkles out of a pair of jeans with her hand until Viola goes quiet again.

***

“You could have such nice hair,” Viola croons. “Such nice hair, if you would only put them away...”

“They’re convenient,” Dani says, scraping her hair back into a pink scrunchie. Viola makes a noise of disgust. 

“They’re abhorrent. Honestly, your time and its...fashions. What do you call this?”

She’s gesturing toward the bathroom counter, to the little basket that holds all the hair supplies. Dani sighs. 

“It’s a headband, Viola. We like headbands. They keep the hair out of our eyes.”

“There are other ways. Fine hats. Lovely veils. Why don’t you own any lovely veils, Dani, do you want the common folk seeing your every decision in your eyes?”

Dani reaches for the hairspray. Behind her, Jamie bustles in with shirt half-buttoned, suspenders swinging around her thighs. Viola makes another catty little noise. 

“Any news?” Jamie asks, reaching around for a hairbrush and kissing Dani’s cheek. 

“She doesn’t like scrunchies,” Dani reports. “And she’s started calling me Dani.”

Jamie frowns. “Good sign or bad?”

“Impossible to guess.”

“Tell her you want some veils,” Viola says sweetly. “And for her to learn the value of a fine skirt.”

Dani, ignoring this, reaches around the back of Jamie’s neck and pulls her into a searing kiss. Jamie drops the hairbrush with a clatter, leaning Dani back against the counter and gripping the small of her back like she’s suddenly forgotten they’re both late for work. 

When they break apart, they’re both flushed, Dani giggling into the underside of Jamie’s jaw, Jamie’s eyes glazed. In the back of her mind, she hears Viola sigh. 

“That is truly childish, you know.”

***

It’s kind of an accidental habit, punishing her inner ghost for bad behavior by channeling her frustrations into sex. She couldn’t explain it if she tried, except to say Viola does tend to shut up when Dani’s properly distracted. Maybe it’s just the way the connection works, thinner when Dani isn’t willing to give it energy. Maybe Viola’s embarrassed. Either way, a year after Viola first speaks, her life with Jamie burns hotter than it ever has. 

It’s best when Viola is trying to run her mouth over Jamie’s fashion sense, she’s noticed. It is, in fact, the only way to shut Viola up about the aforementioned fashion sense. Which Dani intellectually understands; coming up from a world 400 years away, where women dressed in endless layers and a person’s value was often found in the shine of her jewels and the rich fabric of her skirts, slamming face-first into the 1990s must have been a trip. Truly, Viola is lucky Dani didn’t cart her out of that lake earlier. If she thinks scrunchies are bad, she should have seen the heyday of shoulder pads. 

Honestly, though, the worst thing is listening to Viola trill on about how much better Jamie could look if she’d only bow to the whims of femininity. Jamie, whose primary word on fashion has always been “can I dig a hole in this?” is perfect just the way she is. In fact, as the years go on and her jeans grow cuffs, her shorts grow shorter, her tops crop midway up her stomach, Dani thinks the world is finally suiting Jamie instead of the other way around. 

“She’s prancing around for the world to see--”

“It’s ninety-six degrees out,” Dani says in a low voice. She understands these conversations with Viola can be internalized, but she tends to wind up wearing this distant expression every time, and Jamie can spot it a mile off. Best to just mutter aloud in the sanctity of their own home. 

“She’s walking her wares up and down the block,” Viola rages on. “Not a shawl to be seen!”

“Jamie,” Dani calls from the kitchen, “have you ever in your life worn a shawl?”

“That’s, uh, one of those blankets with the fringy bits, yeah?” Jamie calls back. She’s bent over the air conditioning unit, trying to coax life into the old girl. The cropped line of her black t-shirt rides up her back, revealing glistening skin. Dani tips her head to enjoy the view. “I’ll pass on account of any blanket in this heat being like to kill me.”

“Best not to test it,” Dani agrees. Viola heaves the longest-suffering sigh Dani’s ever heard. 

“It doesn’t bother you in the least, your woman out there, where anyone could see her...her bare stomach!”

“One,” Dani says coolly, “she’s my girlfriend, not my woman. Two, I’ve never once tried to dictate her clothing, and I’m not stopping because a dead woman insists. Three, I happen to like it.”

“Like what?” Jamie strolls back to her, pushing sweaty hair off her forehead with a sigh. She stops a few inches away, rocking back and forth on her heels like she wants nothing more than to close the distance despite the mind-numbing heat. 

“Viola is commenting upon your more risqué clothing choices.”

“What? This?” Jamie grasps the exceedingly high-cut hem of her shirt and tugs it gently upward, teasing. “What’s her problem with all this?”

“It’s on display, evidently.”

“As it should be,” Jamie says almost primly. “I’m a fine specimen to behold. Learn to enjoy it, love, it’ll be faster than trying to change the view.”

This last, she says in a slightly louder voice, as though speaking to the shadow behind Dani’s eyes. She’s grinning, and Dani has time to think how strange it is, how quickly they’ve learned to accommodate Viola’s appearances into their conversations--Jamie has taken to leaving beats between her sentences, allowing for Dani to process two people speaking at once--before Jamie is wrapping both arms around her and lifting her off the floor. She squeals in surprise, delight turning to desire as Jamie licks a bead of sweat from her neck. 

“Not again,” Viola sighs. “You’ll wake the whole village.”

“Apartment,” Dani corrects, catching Jamie by the jaw and kissing her hungrily. It’s too hot for this, probably, but she can’t quite remember how to care when Jamie pulls free of her grasp and slides to her knees, taking Dani’s skirt with her. 

“It’s a nightmare, regardless.”

***

Eventually, Viola proves herself capable of learning a thing or two. Namely, that she is welcome to run commentary on anyone in the world except for Jamie. 

Even old ghosts can learn new tricks, apparently, although it takes a number of months, a great deal of sex, and one memorable weekend in which--upon Viola raging over every article in Jamie’s side of the closet for half an hour--Dani simply removed the option of clothing from Viola’s sight altogether. 

“This,” Jamie panted, both of them on the floor with a sheet draped over their tangled limbs, “is working for me in the weirdest way, Poppins.”

“I think she’s really starting to hate me,” Dani said conversationally, even as her fingers slipped between Jamie’s legs yet again. Jamie’s hips rose to meet her, one hand burying itself in her hair. 

“Well, that makes one of us, doesn’t it?”

***

Not commenting on Jamie, naturally, does nothing to stop Viola talking about every other goddamn thing in the world. 

“We’re going to have to have a long talk about not shaming women for their bodies, you know,” Dani tells her one afternoon. Viola has been tearing a young woman to pieces over her short skirt, furious that someone so pristine could soil herself with such impunity. Dani must be getting used to this in the weirdest way possible, because this kind of floral language is starting to feel second-nature. 

“I would never shame anyone,” Viola protests. “I am simply stating fact. Men do not value women as it is, and while we may win their games, we get nowhere at all if we do not play them.”

“This isn’t a game, Viola, it’s her life. Her body. She can do whatever she likes with it.”

“But I want her to succeed,” Viola insists. There’s an almost disconcerting eagerness to the words. She really truly believes what she’s saying. “A woman viewed as nothing more than a strumpet will have an even more difficult time securing a dowry, and then where will she be?”

“In college?” Dani suggests blithely. “Traveling? Living isn’t just for men, Viola, I know you know this. You refused the oath of obedience on your wedding day.”

“Of course it’s not for men’s sake alone, but when the law--”

“The law is different here,” Dani says, almost gently. “Has been for a long time. Or haven’t you noticed how well Jamie and I get along without a man to be found?”

Viola’s silence stretches so long, Dani’s sure she’s either gone back to sleep or is finally choosing this moment to let the ugly banner of homophobia unfurl. She’s been waiting for this moment for years, it seems, waiting for the ghost in her head to mimic her mother on the one and only occasion she attempted to send home a letter. 

“You’re different,” Viola says at last, very softly. Dani blinks. 

“Pardon?”

“You’re different,” Viola repeats. “Jamie is your forever. Does that young girl have her forever, Miss Clayton?”

“Well--I don't know, I don’t suppose it’s my business--”

“Perhaps she will find it in one like our Jamie,” Viola says impatiently. “But perhaps she will find instead the stones of men who have not, over four centuries, really changed all that much. Is it so wrong of me, to have a mother’s care for that?”

Dani doesn’t know how to answer. Doesn’t have the first idea, when faced with a Viola who is not simply catty for cattiness’ sake, but genuine. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, unable to find argument. 

“We just. We just don’t pick on girls for what they do with their bodies, all right? It’s...it’s cruel, and it isn’t necessary.”

Viola sighs. “Fine. But we still ought to discuss the pattern choices. Those polka dots are not flattering in the least.”

It’s only later, watching Jamie chop carrots for dinner, that Dani realizes Viola had said our. Our Jamie. 

“Oh sweet Christ,” she mumbles.

***

The change is slow. Subtle. If not for the fact of carrying this woman in her head, Dani’s not sure she even would have noticed. 

“She what?” Jamie looks up from the plant she’s tending, fingernails grimed with soil, wedding ring carefully strung upon a thick chain around her neck until she can clean up again. “She...sorry, what?”

“I can’t be sure,” Dani muses. “It sounds...crazy. But I think she’s starting to like you.”

“Well, sure,” Jamie laughs. “I’m a deeply likable human being. But this is the Lady, yeah? Same one who dragged Peter fucking Quint to his death? Same one who thinks I show too much skin?”

“I’m...not convinced she thinks that anymore.” It’s really hard to say for sure. On the one hand, it’s possible Viola has shut up about Jamie’s shorn sleeves and shorts because every time she mentioned either, Dani made it her personal life’s mission to make sure Jamie never wore anything else around the house. On the other...

“I think she looked at your butt the other day.”

Jamie raises her eyes slowly, brow furrowing. “Can she do that? Turn your eyes to something you weren’t already looking at?”

“No,” Dani says, a bit stiffly, all too aware of stepping into the trap. Jamie grins. 

“Thought not.”

“But it was different,” Dani presses on through flushing cheeks. “I mean--even if I was already looking, she was--I mean--she--”

She doesn’t know how to explain it. How the rumble in her chest, already so familiar at the sight of Jamie puttering around their home, had seemed to expand until it encompassed all of her. How it was like someone had turned the heat in the room to its breaking point. 

“I can just tell, okay?” she says, aggrieved. “She looked at your butt, and she liked it.”

Jamie makes a thoughtful face, brushing dirt off her hands with slow, deliberate motions. “So...what you’re saying is...your personal ghostie has a crush on your wife?”

Dani presses her face against the counter, letting the cool metal relieve her blush. “Shit. Yeah. I think she might.”

“This is,” Jamie says triumphantly, pressing up against Dani from behind and kissing the back of her neck, “the funniest thing that has ever happened, by a country goddamn mile.”

***

A series of events, cascading in short order, that Dani almost actually feels bad about. If one could feel guilty about putting strain on one’s personal-pan Casper. 

The Britney Spears video, for one. Viola still does not like music videos--or music, frankly, unless it involves a ridiculous number of flutes and orchestral swells--but she’s grown to tolerate them. Mostly. 

That is, until Britney sways onscreen in a plaid skirt and schoolgirl pigtails. 

“Fuck,” Dani gasps, hand coming down hard against her own breastbone. It’s like someone grabbed the dial on her blood pressure and cranked it all the way up. That someone, she suspects, being the dead woman who has been more and more present of late. 

“I--I cannot--I simply am not capable of understanding--” Viola sounds like she’s short-circuiting. “I know we are not meant to comment, but what on earth is she doing?!”

“Dancing,” Dani says sharply, trying to coax her breathing back down. Is this what a stroke feels like? Is her fucking ghost roommate giving her an actual stroke? “Viola, you’ve seen dancing.”

“She is so young! She is a child! Who is protecting this person from the world?” Viola is furious. Viola is exploding. Dani sort of wonders if her chest is going to explode, too. 

“She’s...a pop star. This is what they get paid lots and lots of money to do.” It’s a bad answer, she knows. These videos make her a little uncomfortable too, when she thinks on them too long. But Viola? Viola’s rage is a towering beast of a thing. For a minute, lungs scraping at the air, Dani is genuinely afraid this is the point where the switch flips. Where she finds herself staring at the room from the back of her own head. 

“Someone,” Viola says in a low, terrible voice, “must protect these children.”

It takes almost an hour to calm her down. Dani doesn’t turn MTV back on for a while after that. 

***

“The. The moon?” The opposite end of the emotional spectrum this time. If Viola had been nearly apoplectic over Britney’s choreography, she now sounds faint.

“You should have floated that a bit more softly,” Dani tells Jamie, who looks confused. 

“Float what, all I did was mention NASA--”

“The moon,” Viola repeats. “We have seen. The moon.”

“She’s having trouble with the moon landing,” Dani says. Jamie waves her hands helplessly.

“Poppins, I have trouble understanding the geography of Texas, we all have problems.”

“We have,” Viola breathes, “stepped foot. Upon. The moon.”

Dani pours herself another large glass of wine.

***

“How’s this, then?” Jamie gives a very small, somewhat self-conscious twirl. “Too much? Too little? Too, ah, revealing, as the ghost contingent might say?”

Dani, leaning against the bedroom wall, can’t quite find the words. Viola, too, is conspicuously silent. 

“It’s bad,” Jamie says, nodding fervently. “Yeah, y’know, I think I knew it when I picked it up. Better on the sales rack, as they say. I can just...if you wouldn’t mind popping the zip real quick...”

“Yes, Dani,” Viola says quietly. “Pop the zip.”

“You don’t even know what that means,” Dani hisses. Jamie raises an eyebrow.

“What’s that?”

“It’s not bad,” Dani says quickly, ignoring the little harrumph Viola utters. “It’s very not bad. Opposite of bad, really.”

Relief floods Jamie’s face. The dress is low cut in a way very little of her clean-up clothes are, with a slit running clear up the leg. Patterned in burgundy petals, the black velvet is stark against her pale skin. 

“I won’t get run out of the convention, then? Only they said there’s a bit about drinks and networking, and it was just shy of black-tie. I could do that instead. Get a black tie. Think I’d look nice in a black tie.”

“The dress,” Viola says in a low, conspiratorial voice. “Tell her it is a nice dress.”

“It’s a nice dress,” Dani repeats with comic dazedness. “Best dress I’ve ever seen, maybe.”

“And now,” Viola says soothingly, “you go to her. Walk confidently now, shoulders back, chin up--”

“Are you...wing-man-ing me toward my own wife?” 

“Seduction requires confidence, Dani.”

“What’s she saying?” Jamie’s face has gone a curious mix of apprehensive and amused. Dani swallows. 

“Seduction requires confidence, evidently.” 

A slow grin spreads across Jamie’s face. Dani raises a hand, finger extended. 

“Don’t. Don’t make that smug face.”

“What’s smug about it?” She’s moving across the room, arms already reaching. “This is my very natural expression, I’ll have you know. The most normal expression in the world for a woman whose wife is being told to undress her by the ancient rage-ghost sharing her body.”

“Our lives,” Dani says helplessly, already pressing herself flush against Jamie, “are different than other people’s lives.”

“Yes,” Jamie agrees in a low voice, sliding the sweater over Dani’s head. “Can’t find it in me to complain, though, can you?”

***

It’s weird, almost. Weirder, that it’s almost not. That the beast in the jungle, the creature Dani spent nearly a decade dreading, has pounced at last and...mostly, she just seems to want to see Dani happy. 

Jamie finds it hilarious, in that pretend-callous way Jamie has of smoothing over genuine concern with soft laughter. She doesn’t like Dani sharing her mental space with someone at all hours, Viola popping up like a wack-a-mole game on high. But, if Dani must share the space with anyone, at least--

“It’s someone who thinks I'm gorgeous.”

“You are gorgeous,” Dani replies, a bit exasperated. “Gorgeous, silly, perfect person. But my inner ghost has a crush on you, that isn’t strange for you?”

“Poppins, my life has been strange since a doe-eyed American strolled into it and told me she still saw her dead fiancé when we kissed.” Jamie reclines on the bed in a sleep shirt and underwear, hands playing lightly with the pillowcase beneath her head. “Strange is my bread and butter these days, and if I had to sacrifice you to have it any other way, we both know how it would go.”

Dani makes a mulish sound under her breath. Jamie cups a hand to her ear. 

“Say again?”

“It’s weird,” she repeats, arms crossed over her chest. “She’s weird. I always thought she’d do something bad--walk me off a roof, or strangle someone to death, or try to rob a convenience store. But mostly she just wants to protect young girls from an uncaring world and look at your butt in the shower.”

“That is...very specific,” Jamie says lightly. Dani shakes her head. 

“It’s so bizarre. The longer this goes on, the more she sees of the world, it’s like...like she’s getting more real. More Viola, less Lady.”

Jamie sits up, hand sliding to rest high on Dani’s thigh as if to shield her from harm. “But not more solid, right? Not taking up space you already rent?”

Dani shakes her head. “That’s the thing. She doesn't feel like she’s taking over. And it feels...like she should.”

“You want her to?” 

“No, no, of course not.” Dani raises Jamie’s knuckles to her lips, raining soft kisses up and down her hand until the tension goes out of her brow. “I just don’t understand what’s happening. This isn’t...what I expected.”

Jamie exhales, shifting her weight until she’s sitting in Dani’s lap. She takes a Dani’s face between her hands, kisses her long and slow until Dani eases back against the headboard. 

“This is good, Poppins. You’re a good influence. You were on those kids, and on me, and now on this Lady of yours. Maybe that’s all a ghost needs, deep down.”

Dani leans into her, lets the rhythm of kiss and gentle bite and hands slipping beneath her clothes carry her away for a while. Still, no Viola, and she’s grateful. She doesn’t like to think how that would feel, Viola popping up while Jamie’s curling her fingers deep, groaning soft against her shoulder. There is a time and a place for hauntings, and time with Jamie is something else entirely. 

She’s pretty sure Viola even respects that. Which is, like everything else, incredibly strange. 

***

Viola attends their second wedding. Their real wedding. It’s bizarre on a level Dani isn’t prepared to deal with, feeling her surface as the plans become reality. Jamie’s got flowers, naturally, and Owen’s catering, and Henry has the kids--who are kids no longer, but fully-formed people with lives of their own--running errands on the day. And Dani...

Dani is looking at herself in a wedding dress for the second time in her life, only this time, she can breathe. 

“You are radiant,” Viola says. Dani closes her eyes for a moment, steels herself. 

“Nothing else to say? No notes?”

“You chose wisely,” Viola says. Dani sighs. 

“I figured lace was classic, and someone told me I had nice shoulders once, so--”

“The dress is beautiful,” Viola says. “But I was not talking about your grooming for the day.”

Dani gives a shaky laugh. “I love her, you know. I really do.”

“I can tell.” A beat of silence. Then: “I did not understand at first. Her. Or you. I suppose I will never understand completely. But...I understand the depths of what you feel. It is a part of me, too, I think. That devotion, sinking into all the spaces where I had forgotten.”

“You’re in love with Jamie, too?” Dani asks, not really wanting the answer. Viola laughs. 

“Yes. And no. You and I are intertwined, Miss Clayton. What you feel, I feel, to a degree. More importantly, I have seen your life with her. The life you build with the reckless joy of two people doomed one day to die.”

“Thanks,” Dani says, a bit sharply. She senses Viola putting her hands up, a terribly-modern gesture of surrender. 

“You understand what I mean. It takes courage, to love this completely. To do so while carrying a burden neither of us can truly comprehend is...something else altogether. There is a strength there I could not have understood on my most willful of days.”

“You turned Death away at your own doorstep,” Dani points out, smiling. Viola is pleased. 

“I did, didn’t I? And I could never regret it, even now. But you. You are doing something so much more incredible. Loving, even knowing what ending love must craft.”

“This is a bit dark for my wedding day,” Dani points out. Viola nods. 

“You are radiant. And you are fortunate. And I wish you both all the happiness in the world.”

It is the strangest wedding toast she’s ever heard, and something within Dani’s heart has never been more at peace.

***

“How’s our Lady doing tonight?” Jamie asks as Dani slips into bed beside her. She tips her head, thinking on it. Viola, as she usually is once Dani crosses the bedroom threshold, is nowhere to be found. 

“Good, I think. Calm.”

“And my wife?” Jamie looks at her, eyes serious. “You’ve been quieter lately. Fighting her less?”

“She’s been fighting me less,” Dani says. “She...likes it here, I think. Likes us. You know, I thought after this much time, she’d get bored or restless or...go back to her old ways, but...”

“But I’m just too gorgeous,” Jamie teases. Dani slings a leg across her body, holds tight to her with hands that never feel as though they can hold on hard enough. 

“I think sometimes...sometimes it’s just about remembering. What it’s like to be a person. What it’s like to be in love.”

“Mm,” Jamie agrees, fingertips drawing dizzying spirals on the bare back of Dani’s shoulder. “Well done, you. You’ve tamed your beast.”

Dani sighs, content. “I think it was a joint effort.”

“Yes,” Jamie agrees, kissing the top of her head. “Because I am, famously, too gorgeous to deny.”

[cloudraker]

Hi! So glad you wanna try your hand at matchups. Good luck! Could I request one for mtmte/lost light?

I’m a freckled, bisexual woman with green eyes and I’m a bit insecure about my size and how tiny I am for a lady. Folks call me sweet, inquisitive, and clever. I’m a constant worrier who’s also extremely apologetic. However, in spite of this, I’ve been told that I have a fierce temper once provoked. I’m stubborn and determined, which are said to be my greatest strengths. If I have a goal that I want, I’m determined to reach it, no matter the obstacles. As far as hobbies go, I enjoy gushing over cartoons, learning about history, and swimming.

Hello! Thank you for sending in a request <3

I match you with...

Tailgate!

Under the cut for length!

The two of you get along well, so it was a surprise to none that the two of you became close

Being a minibot, he understands being insecure about your height, but he’s always quick to remind you that height isn’t everything! Look at him, he’s one of the shortest bots on board the Lost Light and he’s also one of the strongest (physically, at least)!

The two of you tend to ping your worries off of each other, and it can escalate to the point where the both of you are just making it worse for each other and somebody (usually Cyclonus) has to step in to ease the both of you

Tailgate is also quick to wave off your apologies. Not in a dismissive way of course, but just to make it clear that you have nothing to apologize for! 

Learning history together becomes a common pastime. Tailgate missed the entire war and then some, so he’s still got quite a bit to catch up on despite being given most of the major details. He’s also interested in Earth history, and likes to point out similarities in both Earth history and Cybertronian history

Cartoons are something he finds to be wildly amusing, especially the older ones like the Loony Tunes. he’s always down to try out a new show you suggest, and he enjoys talking about the characters and plot and such

[natrogersfics]

After All - Chapter 5/5

Cover art by @faith2nyc​ Read on AO3

Natasha’s always prided herself in being a master at regulating her emotions. Years of field experience as a journalist has allowed her to hone the skill of taking a step back, drawing in a deep breath, and powering through the job. For regardless of how she personally felt about the matter at hand or how much she despised the person she was interviewing, the objective was to report the unadulterated facts. Right now, though, as she stands in Isabel’s room watching as Loki finishes suturing Isabel’s brow while Steve – who had to step in her place as Loki injected the anesthetic – holds her still, it’s as if her training cannot meet the moment.

Motherhood has transformed her in many ways, but one of the most notable changes is that she’s become a constant worrier. Some days the worry is dull, manageable – propelled by something as simple as whether or not Isabel’s had enough water to drink for the day. Nevertheless, the feeling is always underlying. But there are moments where such is its intensity that breathing becomes arduous, and in spite of the fact that Isabel’s cries have since tapered, she finds that this is one of those times.

“Okay,” Loki says in that saccharine tone she only ever hears him use when addressing Isabel. “That’s a wrap on these pesky needles.” He leans forward, tapping Isabel on the nose and eliciting a tired smile from the little girl. “Good job, Miss Isabel. My best patient without question.”

“She’s going to be okay, right?” Steve asks before she can, and she notes how tight his voice sounds as Isabel turns in his arms and snuggles into the crook of his neck.

“Yes, she will be,” Loki says without a hint of reluctance as he nods at Steve before turning to where she’s standing by the door. “Her reflexes are fine, and she isn’t exhibiting any signs of a concussion. Battle wound notwithstanding, she’s alright.”

The sigh she lets out at Loki’s words is loaded with relief. But the sensation is fleeting, replaced quickly by surprise when she hears Steve speak again. “Thank you, Loki.”

Loki nods once more, a little smile on his face as he balls up the remaining gauze and sutures and throws it into the bin. “The little one should get some rest, so I’ll see myself out,” he says, rising from his seat with his kit in his hands. “I’ll check up on her again in the morning.”

“I’ll walk you out,” she says, stealing a glance to where Steve is rocking Isabel to sleep before stepping out into the hall.

The living room is empty as they make it out, and as she and Loki silently walk towards the direction of her foyer, she catches sight of the note on her dining table with T’Challa’s familiar handwriting. While she feels terribly about having ruined their Christmas Eve, a part of her is glad that she does not have to face them too right at this moment. She lets out a sigh for what seems to be the millionth time in the last hour, turning back to Loki just as they reach her front door.

“Quite an evening, huh?” Loki says, smirking.

In spite of his attempt at humor, she finds that she can only look down. “Loki…” she says. “I-”

“She’s going to be okay, Nat,” Loki says, placing a hand on her arm.

“No, I know.” She looks up at him to find his eyebrows knitted together in question. “I trust you,” she says in clarification. “I trust your assessment. What I meant to say is I’m sorry. I’m sorry for tonight and for how Steve acted when you were just trying to help. I don’t know what happened.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

Loki chuckles quietly, a soft smile forming on his lips when she only stares blankly at him in response. “Is this love, Miss Romanoff?” he asks. “Because it sure looks a lot like it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, practically scoffing. Loki arches a brow at her, and she sighs. “If tonight's any indication-”

“If tonight's any indication, it’s that there’s obviously a lot that’s been left unsaid,” Loki finishes, shaking his head. “Natasha, my darling, forgive me if I sound like a broken record at this point. But you’re truly one of the brightest people I have had the pleasure of knowing, rivaling perhaps only my own mother for the top spot, so I know it’s only a matter of time.” He reaches to cup her face, running his thumb along her cheekbone. “Open your eyes and listen. For all our sakes.”

“Loki…” she whispers, holding his gaze.

With a smile, Loki leans down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Merry Christmas, Nat.”

“Merry Christmas,” she repeats, mustering a smile as he turns and leaves.

As the door closes behind him, she pads back to the living room, making it as far as the couch until her legs feel too heavy to make it a step further. She sits down, putting her head in her hands as her shoulders sag with fatigue from the last few days. How a night that started out on such a high note devolved so quickly, she can’t begin to process. But if she knows one thing, it’s that she can’t take much more of this.

“Natasha.”

She looks up at the sound of her name to see Steve standing where the hallway and the living room meet. “Is she asleep?” 

“Yes,” he says, moving closer to her. “Nat-”

“Do you know that Izzie has trouble sleeping?” she interrupts, rising to her feet to see him stopped in his tracks. He blinks in surprise, and she nods. “Yeah, there are nights when she’s practically inconsolable… That is until I play her a video with the two of you.” She chuckles humorlessly. “At first I thought it was just a coincidence. And admittedly, there’s a tiny part of me that was wishing that maybe by the time I cave and reach for my phone, that she’s already tired herself out enough to go to sleep. But then I realized that she hasn’t had an episode since you arrived.” She sighs, looking him right in the eyes. “She’s your daughter. I know that. God, if I don’t see that in every little thing she does, every single day. And if there’s ever a time that I made you feel like that wasn’t the case, I am so deeply sorry. That was never my intention. But this?” She shakes her head. “I’m incredibly exhausted, Steve. And not just from tonight. All these years, all I’ve been doing is adjusting to what you want-”

“Excuse me?” he practically spits out, his eyes wide. “What I want?”

“Yes, what you want!” she volleys back bitterly. “You wanted a no-strings-attached arrangement, you got it. Wanted in on our daughter’s life? Check. You wanted to come here for Christmas? I said fine.” She straightens her shoulders, raising her chin. “So, tell me, Steve. What exactly is your problem this time? Because I want this to work, but I am at the end of my rope here.” She sighs, her voice falling to a whisper. “I have nothing left to give you.”

“Nothing left to give me,” he mouths the words, incredulous. “Natasha, all I’ve ever wanted was for you to give me a chance!”

She scoffs. “You’ve had several years’ worth of chances to take, Steve, and I’ve been waiting just as long for even the faintest sign that you wanted one!”

“How was I supposed to know that when all you do is walk away?” he challenges. His words bring her to a pause, and as she stands frozen in place, all she can do is blink. He sighs. “Natasha, I thought everything was going well until that morning in my apartment-”

“Don’t you dare!” she says, throwing her hands out in frustration as she cuts him off. “I woke up to find your ex-fiancée thanking you for selling her back the house you bought together. The very same house that you told me you saw yourself raising a family in. What did you want me to do? Wait around for you to break the news to me when it was clearly standing right at your front door?”

“I wanted you to let me explain!” he says. “Because if you did, then I would have told you that I didn’t sell the house back to Sharon because I didn’t love you and didn’t see a life with you. I did it because I did!” He pauses, sucking in a breath to compose himself. “I didn’t want us to start a life together in a place that I wanted for all the wrong reasons.” He shrugs, defeated. “But then you were serving me a custody agreement so fast my head spun, and then there you were taking the job here before I even had time to recover.”

“I asked you if I had a reason to stay,” she says quietly.

“You did,” he concedes with a nod. “And I should have been brave enough to tell you that you did.” He sighs. “But that doesn’t matter anymore, does it? Because you’ve moved on.”

Her eyebrows furrow. “Moved on?”

“Yeah, Nat,” he says. “And you’re damn good at it, too. All you keep doing is moving on, it seems. You’re over me, over us, over New York. And then you’re here, moving on with him-”

“Wait, what?” she interjects.

“Loki,” he says simply, exasperation seeping into his tone. “Look, I’m sorry about how I’ve been acting, but- are you laughing?” His head tilts to the side, and as her laughter escalates, he looks at her like she’s lost her mind. “You’re laughing right now?”

“That’s what this is about?” she says, nearly breathless. “That’s the reason you’ve been acting like a crazy person these last two days?”

“I…” he trails, his forehead wrinkling. “Nat, he has a key to your flat, he’s in your kitchen... He calls you darling.” He scoffs. “I mean, Izzie practically rushes into his arms every time she sees him! And I don’t know how far into your relationship you two are- I mean, I can assume, I suppose. But even if he hasn’t told you, as the world’s leading expert on what it’s like to be in love with you, I’m telling you right now that he is.” His eyes are full of sincerity as he looks at her. “You’re you, Nat. It’s outrageously hard not to love you. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

The fog clears, taking with it all the questions and the doubt that’s plagued her in the last couple of years almost instantly as she stares at him and takes in his words. “Okay,” she says, chuckling as she rubs the back of her neck. “Steve, I’m alone. A lot. Yes, I have Izzie. But after a while, there’s only so much you can talk to a toddler about.” She pauses, and he nods silently in agreement. “And quite frankly, between parenting and working, I don’t get around much, so I don’t have that many friends here. T’Challa? Nakia? They’re out of town, travelling for the paper, as they should be. I see Pepper, what? Once a month if we’re lucky?” She sighs. “Loki’s the only person I can talk to these days because he lives next door and works weird hours. Heck, the only reason we even started talking was because I saw that he liked the same wine and I found out that we agree that men can be the absolute worst-”

“Natasha, I get it,” he interrupts, shaking his head. “And I’m so glad you’ve had someone to talk to. That you’ve found a confidante-”

“Yeah…” she says, raising a brow. “Because it really gets rough out here when men only seem to break our” – she makes sure to emphasize the last word, watching his reaction carefully – “hearts.”

“Right, I know,” he says. “He put you back together when all I did was hurt you. And while I’m devastated to have missed out on the chance to be with you, because I am still, and have always been insanely in love with you, I really do get it. I do. Loki’s a great guy. He’s dreamy, and for crying out loud, he saves babies! And fig loves him. I know that. I’ve accepted it. And the accent…”

“For God’s sake, Rogers,” she mutters, crossing the distance between them. He’s still ranting when she makes it to him, cupping his face in her hands as she pulls him down to her. He groans in surprise when her lips meet his, but just as he begins to respond to her kiss, she pulls away. “Loki’s gay, Steve.” 

For a moment, he only stares at her, lust and confusion swirling in his blue orbs all at once. “Oh…” he says, blinking. His brows furrow as he parts his lips as if to say something, only to press them back into a line. “Oh.”

She bites back a smile. “Yeah… the guy he was seeing broke up with him around the same time Izzie and I moved here.”

“Well, that guy’s dumb…” he mumbles, cringing as he adds, “not unlike me.” His eyes are wide as he turns to her, his expression sheepish. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

“Because that’s not really my information to share,” she points out, to which he nods in concession. “Plus, how was I supposed to know that you wanted to be together too?”

“Too?” he clarifies. “So, I’m not too late?”

“Oh, my God,” she says indignantly. She steps closer to him once more, clutching the collar of his sweater in her hands as she looks right into his eyes. “I am still, and have always been, insanely in love with you too, you big oaf! I-”

Her words are cut off when he lowers his head to slant his lips over hers, his hands falling to her hips to pull her flush to him. Whereas their first kiss had been chaste, this one is hungry, needy – quickly growing teeth and making her head spin in no time at all when she tastes the combination of wine and something wholly and distinctly Steve. She snakes her arms around his neck, rising onto the tips of her toes to card her fingers through his hair, tugging at the ends. He moans her name longingly at that, and she smiles at the way his lips chase hers when she pulls away momentarily, a teasing comment already making its way to the tip of her tongue. But before she can say it, he bends at the knees, scooping her into his arms as he captures her lips in another searing kiss. Then like a practiced dance, she wraps her legs around his waist, letting him walk them down the hall and into her bedroom.

The second he walks in, she sets her feet down, placing her hands flat on his chest and pushing him towards the bed. He falls back onto it, a laugh escaping him as he bounces slightly, but it lasts but a second as she straddles his lap and her lips find his again.

“Natasha,” he says breathlessly between kisses, his hands covering hers as they find their way under his sweater. “Nat, wait-”

“It’s fine,” she says, guiding his hand up her arm and pressing down to let him feel where her implant is as she continues to kiss a trail down his jaw and to his neck. “I’m safe, and there hasn’t been anyone since you.”

The groan he lets out in response is almost pained, and she gasps in surprise when he flips them over, his pupils blown wide as he stares down at her. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Me?” she asks, flummoxed. “You’re the one flying here, showing up in your stupid leather jacket and then parading around my flat without a shirt on!” Her eyes narrow. “Do you have any idea how many cold showers I’ve taken in the last few days?”

His mouth twists into an amused grin. “I told you, Izzie ruined my shirt,” he says, reaching up to brush the hair out of her eyes. “And for the record, there hasn’t been anyone since you, either.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” she asks, desperation slipping into her tone as she squirms underneath him. “Less talking, more stripping!”

He chuckles, and in spite of her patience waning, she finds herself grinning at the sound. “You, Natasha Romanoff, would test the patience of a saint.”

“Did you get canonized recently or something?” she asks, huffing out a breath when he rolls his eyes at her. “Don’t you think we’ve waited long enough?”

“I know, baby,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss her again. “And you have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” He shakes his head. “How much I want you.” Even as his eyes have grown dark and stormy, the pining in them is as clear as day, making the blood sing in her veins. “But I don’t want to rush this, Nat. I want to start over. I want-” He pauses, taking in a deep breath. “I need to get this right.”

“But it is right.” She moves to sit up, prompting him to sit back on his knees. “Steve, I thought that everything that happened between us was proof that we were a mistake, that everything I’ve been holding onto was a lie.” He looks down at his lap, his expression twisting as if he’s reliving the pain of the last couple of years all over again. “Hey, look at me,” she says, reaching over to hook a finger under his chin, tilting his head up. “I was wrong.” She shakes her head. “The last twenty-four hours notwithstanding, I haven’t been as happy as I’ve been these last few days in a long, long time. I won’t speak for you, but-”

“It’s the same for me,” he interrupts without a trace of hesitation in his voice, holding her gaze. “Exactly the same, Nat.”

She smiles. “Then if there’s something I know for sure now, it’s that you, me… fig. It’s right. It’s always been right.” She sighs, running her thumb over his jawline. “I love you, Steve. I want to be with you. So please, no more waiting. No more wasting time.”

It takes a beat, but then he’s surging forward to kiss her, pushing her onto her back once more as her arms wrap around his neck. “I love you,” he whispers against her lips. “I love you so damn much.”

“Then show me,” she says, smiling when with a groan, he pulls away and lets his hands trail to the hem of her blouse, pulling it up and off of her. She leans up on her elbows as he sits back again, letting her gaze trail hungrily down his chest and to the smooth planes of his stomach as he reaches behind him to rid himself of his sweater.

“See something you like?” he asks, smirking when he catches her staring.

She peers up at him from underneath her lashes. “More like something I need.”

“Good,” he says, causing the breath to get caught in her throat at the way his eyes flash. “So do I.”

He brings his lips back to hers, reaching behind her to undo the clasp of her bra, and she slides it off her arms when it comes loose around her before throwing it unceremoniously to the floor. Gently, he pushes her shoulder, guiding her back down as he peppers kisses down the column of her throat and lets his hands wander over her torso. He cups the swell of her breast, ghosting a thumb over her nipple, and she feels him smile against her skin at the gasp that slips from her lips.

“Steve.” She sighs his name brokenly when his mouth moves from her neck to her sternum, worshipping every inch of skin it finds in its trail. It’s when his lips hover past her navel, his fingers hooking into the waistband of her leggings that she places her hands over his, keeping them in place.

He moves back up her body to look her in the eyes. “Let me,” he says the same time she tells him he does not have to, and as she blinks up at him, chest heaving, he smiles softly. “Can I, Nat?”

There’s an undercurrent of desperation in the way he asks the question, as if he needs this – craves this – and despite how much she aches to feel him against her, to have his skin against hers, when she takes in the unadulterated desire in his eyes, she finds herself powerless to do anything but nod. She lets go of his hands, biting her lip in anticipation as he moves back down her body. Cool air skims over her newly exposed skin as he pulls her leggings down along with her panties, making her shiver as her heart picks up in her chest, and she gasps when he presses a kiss to the inside of her thigh, propping one of her legs over his shoulder.

“Steve,” she moans loudly – wantonly – into the darkness of the room when he licks up her center. Her head falls to the side, her hands scrambling for purchase on the duvet as a litany of curses slip from her lips, and that’s all he needs to hear to bring his hands to her waist, holding her still as he flicks his tongue against her bundle of nerves. The sensation that pulses through her is almost too much too fast, but her body craves it all the same, and she bites her lip to keep from laughing out. It’s pathetic that he has her teetering off the edge this quickly, this suddenly, but at the same time, she’s not surprised. He learned her body long ago, and she’s infinitely glad that in spite of the time that’s passed since they’ve last been together like this, he still knows it like the back of his hand. It’s when he pushes two fingers into her, curling them as they work in tandem with his tongue that she finally keens, her vision a white-hot blur as she calls out his name.

“Hi,” he whispers when she finally opens her eyes moments later, her heart still ringing in her ears. “You still with me?” His lips turn up in a boyish smile when she nods. “Good.”

He pulls away from her, and despite her first orgasm still coursing hotly through her veins, she whines at the loss of contact. “Steve.”

“I’m here, Nat,” he says, returning to bracket her body with his own after making short work of his pants. When she attempts to pull him down to her, he chuckles. “Remind me again where Izzie got her impatience from?”

“Want you,” she says, ignoring his quip and not caring one bit about how desperate her tone has gotten. “Want you now.” He smiles, but it’s quickly replaced by a groan when she reaches between them, wrapping a hand around his length.

“Fuck,” he all but growls, his eyes slamming shut as she begins to pump her hand up and then down. “Natasha.” 

“Please,” she says, her breath hot against his ear, and that’s all she has to say to make him shift his weight onto his forearms as she guides him to her entrance, hissing when he brushes up against her. A gasp falls from her lips, her toes curling into the sheets as he begins to sink into her, inch by inch, and it isn’t until he’s bottomed out that she realizes how much she’s missed this feeling – how much she’s missed him. He leans down, brushing her lips with his own, and making her crave the friction that much more. “Steve,” she calls out, digging her nails into his back. He looks down at her, his jaw clenched, and only then does it dawn on her that he’s stilled for her benefit. “It’s okay,” she promises as his eyes search hers for affirmation. She smiles. “Move, baby.”

With a nod, he begins to roll his hips, drawing out a mewl from her as his lips find her collarbone. She knows there’ll be marks tomorrow, but she can’t bring herself to care. The lazy snap of his hips coupled with the warmth of his mouth on her skin as he nips and teases is addictive, dizzying, and she wants more. She needs more. With that, she wraps her legs around his waist, pushing the heels of her feet into his lower back, encouraging him to go deeper, faster. He groans, the last of his restraint seemingly crumbling when he intertwines their fingers and pins their hands above her head, picking up the pace and making her gasp at the delicious shift in angle.

Pleasure curls in her gut in no time at all, coiling tightly, and it isn’t until he’s shushing her gently that she realizes her moans have grown louder. “I’ve got you,” he says, whispering the words and other sweet nothings into her lips again and again. “I’ve got you, Nat. With me, okay?”

She manages a nod, catching the smile that forms on his lips. And then he’s slipping a hand down between them, making her back bow off the mattress as he thumbs at her bundle of nerves. Her belly clenches as pleasure pulses rapidly through every synapse, every nerve, and though she could feel it coming, a surprised gasp still slips from her lips when her orgasm washes over her, stealing the air right out of her lungs. He kisses her as she tumbles over the edge, pushing into her once, twice, and then with a grunt, he goes still, following her right into the abyss.

Quiet settles over them, their labored breathing the only sound as they come down from their highs. Her body hasn’t completely stopped trembling when he pulls out of her, eliciting a whimper from her as he brushes against her still sensitive flesh, and he kisses her temple consolingly as he shifts onto his back and pulls her to him.

“I’m sorry,” he says later on when their breathing comes back to normal. She lifts her head off his chest to look at him, her eyebrows knitting when she finds his eyes filled with contrition. He sighs. “I’m sorry for not fighting for you… for us, sooner.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “We’ve both made mistakes.” She reaches up to push the hair out of his forehead. “I’m sorry for assuming… well, everything. And for not giving you a chance to explain.”

He takes her hand, bringing it up to his lips to kiss the inside of her wrist. “Any chance there’s still one in those years’ worth of chances that’s still up for grabs?”

She smiles. “I think so.”  

She’s warm. That’s the first thing that comes to Natasha’s mind when she stirs awake, her eyes blinking as they adjust to the pale morning light. But as her vision focuses, she realizes the warmth she’s feeling has less to do with the comforter she’s cocooned in and more with the arm draped over her waist. She turns to her other side to see Steve, his outrageously long lashes fanned out against his cheeks as he sleeps, and as memories of the last few hours come flooding back to her, she smiles.

It was past midnight when they finally found the wherewithal to clean the remnants of the feast she prepared, sharing a plate of leftovers and a few glasses of wine as they transferred the food into containers and loaded the dishwasher. They’d even gotten around to wrapping the last of Isabel’s Christmas presents, laying them neatly under the tree before finding themselves a tangled mess of limbs on her bed again, taking their sweet time this time around to get reacquainted with one another. After, they’d spent the rest of the night talking, laughing, and though they’d spent many nights like this in the past, this time felt significantly different. They still had so much to discuss, but with all their cards on the table, it’s as if their conversations – their plans – finally had a shot at permanence, a chance to become reality, and it would be a lie to say that the idea didn’t make her heart absolutely sing.  

“You’re staring.”

Steve’s voice interrupts her musing, and she chuckles when she looks to find his eyes already open. “Some people find that romantic, you know.”

“In movies, maybe,” he says through a yawn. “But in real life, it’s just creepy.” She glares at him, giving his chest a shove, and he grins sleepily as he pulls her in for a kiss. “Merry Christmas, Natasha Romanoff.”

“Merry Christmas,” she whispers back, beaming.

He brings a hand to her hip, rubbing circles into her skin with his thumb. “You okay?”

The question causes her to bite her lip, stifling a smirk. It’s not as if last night was their first time – one need not look further than their daughter sleeping down the hall for proof – and yet, it was such a Steve thing to ask. She smiles. “Never better.”

Had it been any other morning, she might have called him out on the smug smile that crosses his lips, but she decides that today, she’ll let him have it. “So, tell me,” he says. “At what point in the last six months did you become a morning person?”

“It’s cute that you think your daughter let me have a say in the matter,” she deadpans, reaching up to cup his face and letting out a contented sigh. “And I’m just happy.” 

“Yeah?” he asks, pulling her over him until she’s straddling his hips. “How happy?”

“I think…” she says, biting her lip as she leans down to whisper in his ear, “I’d rather show you than tell you.” He raises a curious brow at her as she pulls away, watching her carefully as she kisses her way down his neck, and she smiles when she feels his skin prickle under her lips.

“Hi!”

They both freeze at the greeting, sharing a wide-eyed stare with each other before turning to see Isabel watching them by the doorway, her stuffed Corgi in hand. “Oh, my God, Izzie,” she says, quickly grabbing her robe that’s dangling on the bedpost and wrapping it around herself. She hops off the bed, managing to throw Steve his boxers before she makes it to Isabel, bending down to pick her up. “How did you get out of your crib, babe?”

Isabel’s only response is to laugh, waving over her shoulder. “Hi, Dada!”

She turns just as Steve emerges from under the comforter. “Hi, fig.”

“You good over there?” she asks, biting back a smile.

He shoots her a withering look as she makes her way back to the bed. “Come here, you little escape artist,” he says, reaching for Isabel and making her giggle as he smothers her with kisses. “What did we say about climbing things?”

“Pwe-sents!” Isabel says, smiling widely.

He chuckles, turning to her just as she settles down next to him, leaning back against the headboard. “Do you want to have breakfast first?”

“No,” Isabel answers before she can get a word in, prompting them both to shake their head in amusement.

“In case you haven’t noticed, she’s kind of the boss around here” she says, smirking.

He laughs. “Presents it is.”

The floor of her living room is a sea of torn up wrapper and discarded ribbon, but as she brings her mug of hot chocolate to her lips, she finds that she couldn’t care less about the sprawling mess as she watches Steve help Isabel rip open her presents. For her part, she’s dutifully played photographer, cataloguing Isabel’s reaction to each gift – as requested by the competitive bunch of aunts, uncles, and grandparents all hellbent on one-upping each other.

“Last one, Iz,” Steve says, handing her a rectangular box.

“What is it?” she prompts excitedly as she puts her mug down to hold the camera back up, capturing the moment Isabel gets the last of the wrapper off and pulls the item out.

“Hat!” Isabel says, turning in Steve’s lap to show him.

“Close,” Steve says, nearly chuckling at the way Isabel’s brows furrow in dismay at his response. “It’s called a beanie. Though it’s just not any other beanie.” He looks her way as he adds, “It’s a beanie uncle Buck chose.”

The laugh slips freely from her lips. “Oh no!”

“Oh yes,” he confirms, his fingers feeling for something in the fabric. “Tada!”

“Wow!” Isabel exclaims, her big blue eyes filling with elation as the antlers on the Reindeer beanie light up, the array of colorful lights twinkling brightly. “Am-a-zing!”

“You hear that?” Steve asks, shooting her a smile. “It’s am-a-zing!” He turns to Isabel, pointing at the camera. “Say, thank you, Uncle Buck.”

“Thanks Buck!” Isabel says.

She chuckles as she cuts the video and rises to her feet. “I hope you still think it’s am-a-zing when she wants to go out in public with that thing,” she tells him in a sing-song voice as she opens up a trash bag and begins to collect the discarded wrapper.

“You mock the beanie now,” he says, standing when Isabel runs off to play with her new mountain of toys. “But when she runs off and the lights make her easy to spot, you might be singing a different tune.”

“The faith you have in our daughter keeping something on her head for more than five minutes is inspirational,” she says, turning to see him grab more wrapper off the floor. “Truly, it is.” She laughs as he rolls his eyes, slipping the bunch he has in his hand into the bag she’s holding as he comes to stand in front of her. “Is that everything?”

“As far as the wrapper’s concerned, yes,” he says, smiling as he produces a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. “But you still haven’t opened this.”

Her eyebrows furrow as she takes the paper from him. “Who’s this from?”

“Me,” he says simply.

“Steve.” His name falls from her lips like a chastisement, and she can only sigh when his response is to encourage her to open it. “Well, now I feel bad,” she says as her fingers work to unfold the paper. “I got you that gift from the aquarium to be funny and then you got me that book, and now…” Her words trail off as she opens the paper all the way, her eyes scanning over what’s scrawled out on it:

Will you go out on a date with me?

“I meant what I said about starting over,” he says when she looks up. “Or, at least, doing the parts we skipped.” His lips twist into a smile. “And I figured since contracts seem to be our thing, maybe you’d say yes if I asked you in writing.”

“You’re kidding, right?” she asks even as her lips turn up in amusement.

“I’m completely serious,” he says, shrugging at the incredulous stare she sends his way. “We could get dressed up, go to dinner and a movie…” He wiggles his eyebrows as he adds, “maybe even make out in the back of the theater.” She snorts at that last bit, and he smiles. “What do you say?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, okay?” she says, her expression growing serious. “But Steve, usually, a guy asks a girl out before she has his baby.”

When she smiles, he throws his head back, laughing. “Okay, well, usually a girl agrees to go out with a guy before she asks him to have a baby with her, so I guess we’re not really into chronology here.” He smirks as she narrows his eyes playfully at him. “Besides, your manufactured indignation would be a lot more convincing if you didn’t practically jump my bones last night.” 

She gasps at that, stealing a quick glance over at Isabel to make sure she’s not listening before looking back at him, lowering her voice. “Oh, fuck you.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, a glint in his eyes as he pulls her to him. “Is that not what you were doing last night?”

“Whatever,” she says, unable to keep a smile from forming on her lips. “Fine. Yes, I will go out on a date with you.” His eyes light up at that, and she holds a finger up. “But if you give me another note at the end asking me to go steady, I’m leaving.”

He beams. “Yes, ma’am.”                                                                                    

She rises to the tips of her toes, wrapping her arms around his neck as his mouth finds hers for what feels like the millionth time this morning. The taste of his lips mingled with the hot chocolate they were sipping on is a heavy combination, and she lets out a happy sigh into their kiss when his hands curl around her waist, his thumb brushing against the patch of skin left exposed between her shirt and her pajamas. She nips at his bottom lip, making him groan, and it’s only when they hear someone clearing their throat that they pull away and she moves to look behind Steve.

“Sorry,” Loki says from where he leans by the doorway of her living room, his arms crossed over his chest as he grins from ear to ear. “I only came to check on the little one. I swear I knocked, but um…” 

She bites her bottom lip just as Steve turns as well, but before she can say anything, Isabel is already up and running. “Yo-ki!”

“Well, hello there,” Loki says, picking Isabel up. “Someone’s chipper on this Christmas morning, I see. I’ve come to check on your stitches, which I tried to tell your Mum and Dad” – he turns back to them, smirking – “but they were busy.”

“Stitches, right,” she says a little too loudly, pointing towards the couch to hide her blush. “After you, Doc.” 

Loki asks them a few of routine questions about Isabel as he sets his medical kit down on the coffee table, and as she and Steve take turns answering them and sharing their observations, she realizes that it’s nice to know that someone else was quietly sharing her worries throughout the night, picking up on the little things she was finding as well. They go silent as Loki begins to examine Isabel, checking her reflexes and changing the bandage covering her stitches.

“Okay,” Loki says, finally breaking the tense silence that had fallen over them. “This sweetheart is free to play with all her Christmas goodies.” 

“Yeah?” she says. “Everything looks good?”

“Everything’s just splendid,” Loki says, turning to her and Steve as he helps Isabel off the couch. He drops the flashlight into his kit, zipping it up. “She’s not exhibiting any signs of a concussion and her stitches are healing up well and should dissolve on their own fairly soon.”

“Thank God,” Steve says, relief thick in his voice, and she finds herself nodding along to the sentiment.

“Thank you for coming to check on her,” she tells Loki, who only smiles in return. “I owe you one.”

“As do I,” Steve adds. “Any chance we could start the repayment with some breakfast?”

“I appreciate the offer, but actually the reason I came by early is because I’m on my way to my mother’s,” Loki says, smiling as he nods towards the both of them. “It’s nice to see you two have patched things up, though.”

“Yeah, about that,” Steve says. “Loki, I’m sorry for my behavior last night. There’s no excuse. I was an ass.”

“Oh, that’s quite alright,” Loki says, waving off his apology.

Steve shakes his head. “It’s not. I-”

“He thought you and I were together,” she blurts out suddenly, smiling when Steve’s eyes widen, a sheepish expression breaking out on his face. 

“Well, that explains a lot,” Loki says, grinning graciously as his gaze goes from her to Steve. “In any case, I’m flattered that you’d consider me a worthy adversary.”

She smirks. “He also thinks you’re dreamy.”

“Does he now?” Loki asks, clearly amused.

“And on that note,” Steve says, turning to glare at her. “I think I hear our daughter calling.”

She and Loki snicker as Steve, ears red, walks away. “You sure you can’t stay?” she asks. “It won’t even take ten minutes to get the waffles going.”

“I’m sorry, darling,” Loki says as they begin to make their way towards her front door. “I don’t want to hit traffic and you know my mother will kill me if I so much as have a bite before I come to her home.”

“Tell Frigga I said hello then,” she says as she opens the door, leaning against it.

“Oh, believe me, that’s not the only thing I’ll be telling her,” he says, smirking as he gestures to her collarbone. She looks down, and he laughs as she adjusts the collar of her shirt to hide the mark still there. “Long night, was it?” She shoots him a withering look as he leans down to kiss her cheek, cocking a brow up at her. “I fully expect a detailed play by play when I get back.”

She chuckles, shoving him away playfully. “Get out of here!”

Loki smiles. “I’m happy for you, Nat.”

“Thank you,” she says with a nod. “Merry Christmas.”

With a wink, Loki waves goodbye, and she waits for him to make it down the stairs before shutting the door. She walks back to the living room, stopping just by the threshold to see Steve carrying Isabel as they both peer out the window. She smiles. “What are you two goofs up to?” 

“Is ’nowing!” Isabel says, pointing out the window as Steve turns.

“Is it?” she asks as she pads to them, making a show of checking out the window. “It is! Maybe if there’s enough later, we can go outside and try to make Olaf.”

Steve’s brow rises in question. “Who’s Olaf?”

“Glad you asked,” she says at the same time Isabel utters snowman. Steve only stares blankly at them, making her laugh. “Don’t worry, you’ll get acquainted with him, Elsa, and Anna... Probably three times before this morning is over, if you’re lucky.”

“Still don’t know who those people are,” he says, pulling her in with his other hand until she’s pressed up against his side. “But I’ll gladly find out if you two introduce me.”

“What’s the saying again?” she muses, looking up teasingly at him. “Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it?”

He grins. “I think I may already have.”

The affection that fills his eyes is so remarkably perspicuous that she wonders how she’s missed it all these years, and as her lips turn up to mirror his smile, she makes a silent vow to never doubt its existence ever again. He leans down, but before his lips can meet hers, Isabel turns in his arms, effectively wedging herself between them.

“Mish-tow!” Isabel says, pointing above them.

They both laugh as they look up, and sure enough, the bundle of mistletoe she had put up yesterday looms above them. She smirks. “You know what that means, right?”

“I think I do,” he says, nodding knowingly as they both turn to Isabel, who’s watching them curiously.

“Fig sandwich!” they both yell as they lean in, pressing a kiss to Isabel’s cheeks and delighting in the way their daughter’s joyous laughter echoes throughout the room.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4