#i feel like this thing has broken quite a few objects by accident

[harapeveco]

do u also think mmy cat has rei tsukumo vibes

Hmm🤔🤔🤔 I’m not sure tbh it does have the vibes of a dumb beast with no thoughts going through its small brain which ig that’s kinda reicore but idk the vibes are not completely there…

[evanjinx]

alternative universe buddie fics recs :)

note: the links weren't working the first time i wrote the post but i edited and they're okay now!! if it still isn't working for you is probably because you're trying to open from a reblog from before i edit it, so try open directly from the original post on my profile.

Blind Date by @sassypopstar [complete | teen and up audiences | 3.8k words]

Buck feels a little ridiculous dressed in a jacket and a shirt. But Maddie had insisted on him dressing up for the occasion and even Chimney had quipped that it’s the right thing to do. So Buck, who never went on a blind date before in his life, listened to his big sister and her boyfriend because apparently that’s who he is now. Or the one where Buck goes on a blind date with someone called Eddie.

Buckley's Bouquets by awashleyno [complete | teen and up audiences | 23.4k words]

A world where Buck owns a flower shop and manages to develop a huge, massive, ridiculous crush on a handsome firefighter that comes in for a visit one day. Or, 5 times Eddie gives flowers to other people and the 1 time he gives them to Buck.

Call It What You Will - Fate? Destiny? (A Tsunami) by @abow123456 [complete | mature | 20k words]

Evan Buckley's day of relaxation is cut short when a tsunami hits the beach he was relaxing at. He has to fight to keep himself and a lost little boy safe from the water, as well as anyone else he finds. After, he meets the boys father and family, and it causes a snowball effect of good things for him, for once.

Capuccino with extra, extra sugar by buckbng [complete | teen and up audiences | 2.7k words]

Buck is the cute barista and Eddie is the grinch that hates coffee. Until, he doesn't. Because if Buck says he looks like the kind of person that would love a cappuccino, who's Eddie to disagree with him? OR Eddie really doesn't like coffee but pretends he does just so he has an excuse to see the cute barista at the coffee shop.

Confirmation Bias by strifechaos [complete | mature | 31k words]

After the fallout with his ex-wife, Eddie believed he could only trust his family with his son. He hadn’t imagined falling for his son’s sweet-hearted nanny, Buck. With his own family so distant, Buck never considered that he’d be lucky enough to find a home for himself, let alone people he could count on. Not until he meets the Diaz boys. AU: Buck was never a firefighter, and becomes Christopher's sitter when Shannon's job takes her away from Eddie and Chris for the summer. Eddie tries to not fall for his son's nanny, he's not very successful.

dream of some epiphany by extasiswings [complete | mature | 7.3k words]

Evan Buckley is lost. It’s happenstance that he wanders into the navy recruiting center—he’s been in San Diego for a few weeks, bartending late nights and weekends, living in a house with three other guys not because he needs the roommates but because he doesn’t want to be alone, and the military is…respectable. Stable. So Buck thinks maybe and opens the door. Buck leaves ten minutes later with a set of printed instructions for sending his first letter, assured that he can drop it off whenever he’s ready, and a name. Staff Sergeant Edmundo “Eddie” Diaz.

Frequent Flyer by red_to_black [complete | mature | 13.4k words]

In his entire time being a firefighter, Eddie has never met anyone as accident-prone as Evan Buckley. And Buck - well, he's quickly becoming the 118's best customer. (Or - the one where Eddie is a firefighter, Buck isn't, and Eddie finds himself rescuing Buck from increasingly sticky situations. Sometimes literally.)

Gave me no messages, gave me no signs... by @reallysmartladymariecurie [complete | teen and up audiences | 7.4k words]

"Buck is beyond nervous, and he’s really trying to convince himself that the familiarity of the situation is not some sort of bad omen. Just because there are parallels of the start of his relationship with Eddie to that of his relationship with Abby doesn’t mean that this new adventure is destined to end in the same miserable fashion. He hopes it won’t, has to believe it won’t. Because even with Abby, he hadn’t fallen this hard for her before their first official date. With Eddie, everything is already intensified by a thousand." Or, Buck covers a shift for a firefighter at the 136 and it leads to a budding relationship through text messages.

Gotta Find My Corner (Of the Sky) by doctornineandthreequarters [complete | general audiences | 31.3k words]

It was the last day of 2016 and two lost souls found themselves in a quiet dive bar, as the loud noises of the city celebrating New Year’s Eve buzzed around them. Most people chose loud, flashy bars with DJs and entrance fees and promises of champagne for New Year’s Eve. But both occupants of the dive bar preferred the quiet. They both didn’t need the added chaos when everything around them already felt chaotic. --- Or, Buck and Eddie meet on New Year's Eve, 2016, a meeting that sets of a series of events that changes the trajectory of both of their lives.

I Didn't Know I Was Lonely 'Till I Saw Your Face by @hmslusitania [complete | general audiences | 10.4k words]

After the ladder truck and the blood clot and the tsunami, Bobby makes Buck go to therapy before he does something stupid (like sue the city). Buck's not totally comfortable being alone with a therapist, but fortunately he makes a friend and ally who's willing to help him out - Eddie Diaz from the 136 who's just been caught in an illegal fight club. OR Total strangers Buck and Eddie go to couple's therapy together to get out of the therapy requirements their captains have placed on them.

i want your midnights by allyasavedtheday [complete | teen and up audiences | 36.3k words]

In which Eddie decides to rent out his spare room to help with mortgage repayments right around the time Buck decides to move out of Abby's place after some not so gentle prodding from Maddie. It's a coincidence. Or serendipity. Or maybe just really good timing.

i wanna be know (by you) by @starlightbuck [complete | general audiences | 12.5k words]

“I didn’t mean to do it.” Hen glances down at Eddie’s phone then back up at him in disbelief.

“How do you ‘not mean’ to download a bunch of dating apps but still have them on your phone?”

Or  In which Eddie delves into the intimidating world of online dating.

if i got locked away (would you still love me the same?) by @firefighterhan [complete | general audiences | 3.7k words]

Buck gets accidentally thrown in jail after meddling in a fight outside of a grocery store. There, he meets an unexpected guest, famous music artist Eddie Diaz, who is being suspiciously quiet about how he ended up here in the first place.

if only in my dreams by @buttercupbuck [complete | general audiences | 5.4k words]

Years before Eddie joins the 118, Buck meets him at an airport bar on Christmas day.

in a week by @buttercupbuck [complete | explicit | 78.9k]

in which Eddie joins the U.S. Forest Service and in the meadows of California, finds the things he thought he lost and the things he thought he'd never have.

It Started With A Bang And A Hostage Situation by JayJay__884 [complete | general audiences | 6.6k words]

Buck goes to the store one late night to buy food because of Maddie's pregnancy cravings. Whilst at the store, Buck accidentally gets caught in the middle of a robbery and gets knocked out. After waking up in the backroom, Buck finds himself as a hostage with a handsome and caring stranger.

Leading with the Left by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels [complete | explicit | 84.7k]

When Buck said he was a "bartender" in "South America" what he actually meant was "stripper" in "Mexico." And when Eddie said, "What's your problem?" what he actually meant was, "Is this about the time you gave me a lap dance?" In other words, there's a few things the 118 doesn't know about Buck. Or Eddie. Or Buck and Eddie's relationship.

Lift me up by @captain--sif [complete | teen and up audiences | 5.5k words]

Buck gets stuck in his apartment building's broken elevator with his good-looking neighbor from the sixth floor.

Love and Bullets Both Shatter Hearts (But Only One Can Put You Back Together) by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels [complete | explicit | 11.2k words]

Agent [Redacted] Diaz is the best at what he does. Usually. But lately there's this real pain in the ass* who's been ruining his missions: Code Name "Buck."

*stupidly handsome and annoyingly talented rival spy

Mr. Buckley's After Hours Detention by aresaphrodites [complete | mature | 11.4k words]

It’s not like Eddie Diaz planned on this. Really, there was no scenario in his mind where he would ever be bringing his son’s teacher a freaking goody basket to class; a homemade goody basket, no less. Then again, Christopher has never had a teacher quite like Evan Buckley.

MukbangsWithBuck by @reallysmartladymariecurie [complete | teen and up audiences | 19.3k words]

After growing tired of eating alone in his loft, Buck decides to start a YouTube channel where he records himself eating dinner and telling stories about crazy things his team has encountered on calls. He eventually gains a substantial fanbase, and he is led to the channel of another LA firefighter who uploads informational videos and also casual vlogs with his ten-year-old son. It isn't long before the two start a friendship through messages, both of them secretly hoping it will turn into something more. Or, Eddie and Buck are both firefighters/YouTubers and they end up falling in love.

Objects in the Mirror by SevenSoulmates [complete | explicit | 139.1k words]

The voice had always been around, Eddie remembers it, like a stream of consciousness that babbled incoherently to the point where Eddie just tuned it out.  But then the voice started speaking directly to him. Conversing like he was a whole person standing right in front of him. Like he could see what was happening around Eddie. Eddie shook his head. No one was talking to him, and Eddie most certainly was not talking back. He wouldn’t talk to the boy in his head ever again. There was no boy in his head. 

Passive Aggressive Flirting by @starlingbite [complete | general audiences | 4.5k words]

Buck and Eddie have never met. They both work at the 118 but just on different shifts. That's all about to change when Buck finds a sticky note message, signed E.

String of hearts... by @reallysmartladymariecurie [complete | teen and up audiences | 11.1k words]

“Now. Eddie is this incredible presence. He’s funny and smoking hot, and he has a son who sounds wonderful. And he’s serious and vulnerable at times. But so enjoyable to be around, every single second that he’s there. And how can I put myself out there when the expectation is so high? When the thing I might lose is so beautiful?”

In which Buck owns a plant shop in LA, and Eddie becomes his new favorite customer. Pining ensues.

check out my post of buddie fics with dad!buck

[aramblingjay]

Through fresh eyes — Part III

Alternatively titled: How Gary goes from looking at Jamie like he wants to kill him to looking at Jamie like arguing football with him is the highlight of his week (and the greatest honor of his life)

Aka: I somehow started writing an indifferent-coworkers-to-best-friends carraville origin story fic?

Master

--

The first few weeks, they try to keep the tech stuff to a minimum. If something needs to be shown on the screen with arrows and circles and all the paraphernalia, Gary shoulders the majority of it, intimately familiar by now with how it all works. He didn’t get a replica of the MNF screen installed in his home for nothing.

But the time is fast approaching for Jamie to do a big piece involving multiple clips and annotations, drawing boxes on screen and wielding the stylus like it’s a natural extension of his hand rather than a foreign object he has to will into submission. Jamie is bursting with ideas of pieces he wants to do on City and Norwich and everyone in between, too, which speeds up the timeline even more.

So on the back of their conversation the previous evening, today the training wheels are coming off.

Unlike Gary’s memory of his first attempt at using the screen for more than a simple watch this now, Jamie doesn’t appear the slightest bit nervous. It’s either real or a very, very good act—he doesn’t ask for extra time in rehearsal to go over his bit again, takes it in stride when Scott suggests they switch the order of his last two clips just a few minutes before it’s time for make-up. (The most nervous he looks all evening is when he’s presented with four options for a tie and asked to pick his favorite)

“You feeling ready?” Gary eventually asks as they settle into their seats, just moments left until the cameras start rolling.

Jamie frowns at him. “Fine, yeah. You look more worried than I am.”

Well. Right, then.

“Let’s have a good show, boys,” Ed says, and then they’re away.

As apparently everybody but Gary expected, Jamie does completely fine. Things could’ve been smoother, sure, a little crisper selecting the right highlight tool, a little calmer when the arrows took a second longer than expected to appear, but overall—it’s not even a draw, it’s a win, three whole points in the bag, and Gary is relieved in a way he can’t quite understand.

He meets Jamie’s eyes when they next cut to adverts and gives him a little well done you nod. Jamie smiles back, and something flips in his stomach.

He could be the future of the show, Gary thinks a little wildly. The thought comes out of nowhere but it lingers in the back of his mind the rest of the night, refusing to disappear.

Here and there, other opportunities have steadily started to come his way now that he’s made half a name for himself in punditry and people have stopped shitting on his whole family for his very existence. Managerial jobs that would be a step up from just being Roy’s assistant, one or two business contracts in Manchester, at some point a school was mentioned—things, other things he could be involved in to make a difference beyond just winning silverware for United and viewership for Sky.

But Gary has never been one to start something without seeing it through, and every single one of those offers ended up in the bin because this, here, MNF—this isn’t something he’s willing to leave half-baked and watch crumble in his wake.

But. But.

Leaders name successors all the time, don’t they? Even Sir Alex left in the end.

(Not that that’s going too well for them at the moment)

Jamie comes over and shakes his hand once the cameras turn off, a habit they fell into after the first show and have never really broken (just like the pre- and post-game rituals they both followed throughout their careers, no one’s willing to mess with a winning formula). And Gary can’t help but think, for the first time amongst all the people he’s ever met at Sky in the past two years, he could be it.

--

It starts entirely by accident.

But Gary looks at himself in the mirror one morning, trying to fit into his favorite pair of jeans, and thinks: Fuck, I’ve let myself go.

At United, this wouldn’t have even been a possibility, but retirement has softened him, in good ways and bad. He doesn’t mind the extra padding on his cheeks, really, the way it rounds out his face so all those insults that started with rat feel a lot more like a distant memory. But something about going up a jean size feels like surrender, like failure, like he’s gone as old and pudgy and weak as he sometimes feels, climbing up the stairs to his flat when the lift is broken.

If Sir Alex could see him now.

Which is how the next weekend Gary goes and finds himself in the fitness wing of Sky studios, a place he hasn’t been in since the first-day tour. The badge around his neck means it’s free to use, which makes it as good a place to start as any.

Vaguely, he remembers having heard that there are guided classes here, offered by professional trainers, but for getting back into it after two years away, he’d rather discover just how out of shape he is in private.

Of course, that’s why as soon as he gets to the stationary bike tucked in the back, in his mind a nice, easy way to start off, there’s Jamie.

They’ve seen each other in all sorts of clobber at this point, football kits and suits and button-ups and t-shirts. Even in various stages of undress, no space for modesty in a dressing room or the greenroom before a show. Yet something about standing here in his athletic shorts and slightly-too-form-fitting gym t-shirt is as naked as he’s ever felt, exposed and vulnerable.

Jamie doesn’t say anything initially, just lifts a hand to him in silent greeting, and Gary manages a thin smile in response.

Shame clings to him like a second skin as he settles himself on the bike next to Jamie’s. There are only two bikes, there’s no other equipment back here that he could pretend to be interested in, and the only thing worse than being embarrassed is being a coward, so he tries to avoid thinking about Jamie and hunts for the Start button on this stupid contraption.

Still, his skin prickles preemptively as he waits for the snide remark that’s sure to come—Finally looked in the mirror, Gary? Trying to get the weight off, Gary? Didn’t fancy seeing you here, Gary. First time since you retired, Gary? Need a little help with that, Gary? What would Fergie say now, Gary?

Honestly, he’s not sure if there’s anything he’d be willing to hear right now that wouldn’t feel like judgment, or an insult, or even worse, pity. Maybe if Jamie just up and left, allowed him to wallow in private the way he initially came back here to do, that would be enough.

Perhaps predictably, Jamie surprises him. “Wanna race?” he asks, just as Gary gives up on trying to find the right button and instead slowly pedals his bike into life.

Gary doesn’t answer, but he starts pedaling faster, and Jamie does too, and that’s how it begins.

--

After that, there’s a routine. They take the train down on Sunday, usually early in the morning because they’re more often than not scheduled for Super Sunday anyways. Sky always puts them all up at the same hotel in whichever city they’re in, Gary-Souness-Carra-Redknapp in a straight line on the same floor most weekends, with the presenters, touchline reporters, and other staff dotted around the rest of the building.

(In Gary’s mind, it means more than half the building is full of Liverpool fans, because that seems to be the bias around here, but he doesn’t complain too much. Loyalties fade once you retire—not that he doesn’t love United with every bone in his body, but he doesn’t feel the same hatred toward everyone else anymore. It’s hard, after you’ve looked through pictures of someone’s kids and seen them get a trim in hair & makeup and watched hours upon hours of football in a chair beside them, to fester on old rivalries)

After Super Sunday, it’s usually a meal out with all the lads, a few drinks for the ones not on air Monday and some watered-down slosh for the rest of them, before heading in for the night.

Monday morning, it’s him and Jamie arriving early to the studio in London to kick the day off, followed by the morning meeting. The air is buzzing, to say the least, charged with different opinions and emotions and ideas that all get whittled down by lunchtime to lay out a framework for the night’s show.

Lunch after that, usually a working lunch while they’re ironing out the last few talking points (or arguing, as it so often goes, between whether Jamie’s segment idea or Gary’s segment idea should get the extra minutes, clips, and focus). Then a round of exercise, biking or weights or a quick session with the trainer, whatever the other seems less excited about doing. Always together, though, Jamie trying to one-up Gary, Gary trying to sabotage Jamie’s equipment before he’s even started, the only kind of athletic competition they’ll be participating in these days.

Afternoon rehearsal is next, followed by hair and makeup. It’s the hardest part of the day in many ways, looking at the suit and tie and thinking how’s this one gonna turn out then, but Gary’s used to it now. If Jamie doesn’t give him too much stick for what he’s wearing that’s usually a good sign the Twitter vitriol will be pretty tame.

Then the lights turn on, and it’s show time.

Gary settles into the routine they way he always settled into new boots—unsteady at first, missing the way the old ones molded to him like a glove, but growing more and more comfortable by the day, learning the new curves and contours and peculiarities until the thought of having any other boot, any other routine, feels unimaginable.

And then, Jamie’s out one week. “Me daughter’s sick, I won’t be coming in,” he says very firmly during the customary mid-week call with the producers. It isn’t phrased as a question so much as a declaration, and nobody argues.

Family comes first, anyways. They all get it.

Gary stays quiet, lets Scott handle the standard hope she feels better, mate, if there’s anything we can do just say the word pleasantries. Something in him feels a bit like a deflated balloon, all flat and crumpled, but he’s nothing if not a professional compartmentalizer.

Only on the ride down to London does he let himself think about it again. They’ve never taken the train together—Manchester and Liverpool are close but not that close—and yet something about the journey feels long and bleak all the same. For two years he made this trip under exactly these circumstances, expecting to see Ed and Graeme and Redders and Scott and Frankie after he arrived just as he will today, and never once did it feel like this. Gary doesn’t know what to make of it.

Super Sunday itself is…fine. Nothing eventful, one of those weekends where you could write the narrative before a ball was kicked and be just about spot on about how the games would go. No upsets, no drama, no controversy. It’s a bit dull in the studio, really, and Ed cuts to an extra advert break toward the end to avoid broadcasting another five minutes of them sitting around going yeah, I agree with Gary totally and yes, Graeme’s spot on there without much else to say after that. Things get that way sometimes, especially when the game itself hasn’t been particularly inspiring, but he can’t shake the feeling that something’s just—missing.

Someone.

It’s even worse at the hotel. He’s the last to come in, having stayed back a few minutes to run over details about tomorrow’s show with Ed, and a whole group of them are all clustered in the lobby as soon as he pushes past the door.

“Dinner?” Redknapp (Jamie, he reminds himself, even though there’s a different face which comes to mind for that name now) asks, because he’s nice like that.

Gary declines. They’re all Liverpool today, Souness and Redknapp and a couple of the staff members loyal to the wrong shade of red, but even that doesn’t explain why the thought of going out for a meal feels utterly draining. “See you in the studio,” he says as they make for the door, and watches them disappear beyond the revolving glass with a strange detachment.

MNF is the worst of the lot. He hasn’t done one on his own in months, now, hasn’t needed to, and though they bring out the old two-seater table and adjust a few segments so a first-time viewer wouldn’t even notice there was a guest missing, Jamie’s absence is the only thing he notices all day.

“Strange without Carra here, innit?” Ed says to him as they kick off the morning meeting (Gary was early, as he always is, and spent the time doodling on top of his notes instead of looking up to confront the empty room).

“That’s one word for it. Calmer, quieter, more intelligent. Those are other words.”

It’s a test, really. Either Ed with look a bit uncomfortable, hearing him talk that way about a coworker when he isn’t around to defend himself. Or he will laugh.

Ed laughs, and that’s—yeah. Yeah, alright. Apparently his dislike of Jamie Liverpool-is-my-middle-name Carragher is more joke than threat now.

The meeting is too stagnant, almost boring, hearing only his own ideas without much to refute them. Gary can out-stubborn just about anyone, and the show they’ve planned by the end of the hour is as close to his brainchild as anything on TV will ever be, and he hates it. Hates that there won’t be any surprises, unexpected twists of either the good kind or the bad, won’t be any sparks flying when the lights come on because an unstoppable force has met an immovable object.

It isn’t the same, doing this show without that high-pitched Scouse bark constantly in his ear.

He pauses during the halftime analysis after his first comment about zonal marking, a bit of a throwaway line to explain the rather horrific defending for the first goal, and can almost hear Jamie interjecting it’s not the system it’s the execution louder than he hears the producer in his ear moving the clips along. But no such voice materializes, of course, and it throws him off so much he flubs his next line.

Ed chuckles, but Gary hears the booming laugh that should’ve followed his mistake all the same, could swear he hears it all the way from fucking Liverpool where Jamie is most definitely watching on the telly.

Scouse bastard. Ruining his life even when he isn’t here.

--

His phone buzzes the minute the show’s done, and he doesn’t even have to check to know who it is.

Gary doesn’t look at the message though. Something stops him—pride, stubbornness, a sense that if he doesn’t read it yet at least there’ll be a bit of anticipation to carry him through the twenty minute drive to the hotel.

Normally once the show’s done, they go out for drinks with some of the crew. Real ones, since neither of them usually schedule much for the Tuesday after an MNF. Jamie on any sort of night out is a bit of a sight, actually, and Gary’s learned some things about him that Jamie probably wouldn’t let slip without the drink loosening his tongue. Gary too, though the list of things he really needs to keep quiet shortens by the day.

Today, for obvious reasons, the plan is just a quiet night in his hotel room—check some emails, answer some messages, a quick browse through Twitter to see how the show went down, and then bed. A little earlier than normal perhaps, but he’s scheduled an early train for tomorrow morning, the earliest he could find, can’t wait to get back to Manchester and put this strange weekend behind him.

After he’s settled in the room, nightclothes on, emails answered, he pulls out his phone and finally looks at the message. There are two, in fact, one after another. The second is a long one, and a quick skim through reveals that it’s mainly a list of comments about the show, almost like Jamie actually did keep up the running commentary Gary could swear he heard in his head the whole night. But the message that stands out most is the first, just one simple, damning line.

Bit dull without me really

Gary can’t even disagree.

--

The other problem, perhaps the bigger problem, is that Liverpool and City are both flying. It’s the worst sort of time to be a United fan, his beloved Reds floundering in the Europa League places (and sometimes trying to fling themselves out of any European competition at all) while both their most-hated rivals battle it out for the League.

Being at Sky makes it both better and worse—he has to give his opinion on it all the time, which numbs the pain in a way, makes it his job rather than his passion. But also, he has to give his opinion on it all the time, and it means there’s no escape.

The cherry on top is that it also means Jamie comes in most Mondays in a good mood with a snarky comment he’s been waiting to unleash, and this one is no different.

“How does it feel, knowing if youse keep this up, it’ll be the first time you haven’t got top four in League history?” Jamie asks walking through the door, skipping any sort of standard or polite greeting as always.

Gary can’t describe, later, why that’s the moment he snaps, but it’s the only explanation for what comes next. “Probably how it feels knowing Liverpool might win their first title the very year after you leave.”

As far as retorts go, it’s a bit clunky, but Jamie doesn’t laugh it off or come back with something sharper the way Gary expects him to. Instead his whole face just sort of—falters, wiped blank, devoid of any emotion in a way that’s as foreign on Jamie as if he started speaking in an American accent. For several moments, he stares almost robotically at Gary, eyes flat and empty, and Gary’s chest squeezes tight, tight, tight, in a way he remembers from scoring his first own goal, from making Phil cry as kids, from every other moment in his life when he knew he fucked up.

Shit.

Then Gary watches as Jamie takes a deep, deliberate breath, schools his expression, shrugs his shoulders, and says with almost rehearsed precision, “Stevie’s flying, me son’s over the moon. That’s much more important to me.”

The atmosphere should go stiff and tense after that, but somehow it doesn’t. Jamie deftly switches the topic as though the last minute never occurred at all, and it’s over quicker than it began.

I’m fine, Jamie is saying implicitly. That one hurt, but I’m tougher than a low blow. Let it go.

Gary can’t.

They’ve taken the piss out of each other on a lot of different fronts over the past several months, and never once elicited that sort of reaction. He’s (incorrectly, he’s aware, but it’s still funny) painted Jamie with the same brush as the Spice Boys, called him slow, called him a burglar, dismissed his ideas as utter rubbish, shat all over Liverpool’s title credentials, suggested Gerrard couldn’t lace Scholesy’s boots—nothing. That last one certainly got the biggest reaction out of him, but not like this.

It’s almost the opposite of a reaction, shutting down rather than winding up, and Gary doesn’t understand what line he’s crossed between sharp but harmless banter and something that penetrates a lot deeper. Only knows that he never wants to again.

--

What’s this about you meeting with Sir Alex? he texts Jamie first thing on a Tuesday morning. The United grapevine is a real and ferocious thing, and nothing stays secret for long.

He’s gotten so used to the instantaneous replies that it bothers him when this one takes a full thirty minutes to come through, even though he’s aware most people aren’t awake at half five in the morning (Jamie isn’t most people, though, and his sleep schedule seems about as unpredictable as the lottery numbers. Gary could swear that some nights he’s probably not sleeping at all)

Yeah, had a greet chat with him over the weekend

How’d that happen?

Don’t worry, you’re still his favorite

Gary rolls his eyes reading that, though it wasn’t even close to what he was trying to ask. (And he was never the boss’s favorite anyways)

Another message, before Gary can think of a suitable response.

He wrote me a really nice letter after I retired. I had Michael put me in touch with him and we set up a little meeting in Manchester

Those last two words give him pause. The world’s biggest Scouser was in Manchester and he didn’t even know?

Something about the idea of Jamie in Manchester for pleasure rather than business, a private meeting rather than a football match, is strange. And with Sir Alex of all people, the very personification of Manchester United.

Gary tries to imagine setting up a meeting with Kenny Dalglish or Rafa Benitez that was personal, not for Sky, and can’t, something in him protesting at the very idea. He hasn’t mellowed enough for that yet.

Vaguely, he remembers Jamie mentioning that he used to read football autobiographies the way most people read the news, cover to cover, a new one every day. It’s something he’s learned about Jamie in the last few months—he loves football, the game in and of itself, more than anyone Gary’s ever met.

Gary likes football, loves football even, but can admit he probably loves United more, would sooner stay up reveling in Best United Goals compilations on YouTube than watch Brazilian and Japanese second division matches the way Jamie seems to.

Fair play, he types back, because he has mellowed enough to give credit where it’s due.

--

As March turns into April, Sky start wheeling out the incessant The Run In graphics pitting Liverpool against City, trying to figure out who might win the League. The question gets put to him week after week, and as Liverpool’s unbeaten run stretches on, Gary starts conceding what seemed unthinkable at one point in the season.

It’s Liverpool’s to lose now.

The Reds edge City 3-2 at Anfield, then survive against Norwich to go five points clear the top, and Gary thinks, privately, it might be done here.

Jamie is—up and then down, depending on the moment. There’s obvious enthusiasm from the Liverpool fan in him, to see his team in such a position for the first time in League history. There’s also a shadow of sadness, knowing he could’ve been a part of this moment if he’d stayed just one season longer, knowing this’ll get thrown at him for the rest of his life by people who don’t understand the complexities of retiring as a one-club local player.

They don’t talk about any of this. (But Gary gets it. He suspects he’s one of the only ones who could)

And then, after the next MNF, they do.

“I always knew I had to time it right,” Jamie admits to him over drinks.

They’ve just watched City thrash West Brom to keep the title chase alive, spent the entirety of MNF trying to offer new and fresh opinions on the battle at the top despite there being very little that hasn’t already been said, and Gary is tired. Jamie looks tired too, shoulders slumped, suit jacket tossed against the back of his chair, tie loosened and the top button of his shirt popped open. Many weeks they’re joined by Ed or some of the crew, but it’s only them tonight, just drinks and frank conversation for company.

“Didn’t want to turn into me, hauled off at halftime and warming the bench the rest of the season?” Gary chuckles, because he can laugh about it now in a way he couldn’t before.

“No, seriously, that’s the type of thing I was thinking,” Jamie says. “I didn’t want it to get to the point where supporters would see my name on the teamsheet and go for fuck’s sake why’s he playing again.”

“Yeah, I understand that. I understand that completely.”

And he does, genuinely. He doesn’t choose to spend a lot of time thinking about how they are similar, usually more focused on the differences, but it hasn’t escaped him that they were the same type of player on the pitch and the same type of character off it, that their journeys through football have been almost perfect mirrors of one another.

“I think I stayed a year too long,” Gary says suddenly. Jamie looks at him in that intense, focused way of his, and whether it’s the drinks or the company or the fact that there’s a better-than-good chance the club he loves is going to be flayed open tomorrow, the admission comes easily. “They asked me to stay one more season and I did, but I should’ve left when I planned to. It’s the embarrassment, isn’t it, being on the bench watching kids play ahead of you? It’s the embarrassment that hurts.”

“I remember we would train on the Monday with the reserves, while all the lads who’d played would get the day off to recover. There’d be fifteen, sixteen year old kids beside you, enjoying their chance of a lifetime to be in the reserves at a big club, and you’re there thinking—I’ve played in Champions League finals, and now I’m here. Oh my god.” Jamie sighs and takes a sip of his drink. “But if I’d just swallowed me pride and hung on one more year…” He trails off, the implication clear, and takes another sip, longer than the last.

It’s the first time they’ve openly discussed the fly in the ointment, and Gary understands the fragile trust for what it is. “You must be the only unhappy person in the city of Liverpool,” he says lightly, fully prepared to backtrack if this goes as poorly as his last attempt to joke about this particular fly. “Liverpool might win the League, Everton might get top four—everyone else on Merseyside is partying.”

To his relief, Jamie chuckles. “Yeah, but I’m still doing better than most of Manchester.”

It should hurt, but Gary just laughs.

--

The next morning, the news breaks. Manchester United have sacked David Moyes.

Though Gary had a feeling it was coming, it doesn’t hurt any less to see it confirmed in bold black letters on the front page of every newspaper in Manchester. Hurts even more, in fact, because it means he gets a call from his mum asking if he’s spoken to Phil yet, and for all that she’s been involved with sports far too long to actually shed tears over this, the sadness in her voice hits him like a dagger straight to the heart.

“He isn’t picking up my calls,” Gary says.

“Mine either. I left him a voicemail, but he mightn’t see it for a while. It must be tough for all of the staff right now.”

“Yeah.”

(They’re both aware that this doesn’t mean Phil’s immediately out of a job, especially with how much the club looks after its own, but they’re also aware that Phil’s efforts as part of the coaching staff this season can’t be branded as anything other than a failure no matter what happens next)

Still, there’s no surprise attached to all the pain—seventh isn’t a position Manchester United should ever be in, no matter whether a member of the manager’s staff, or someday perhaps the manager himself, is the brother he grew up alongside.

No, the only surprising part is that Jamie barely says a word.

He spends the whole week on tenterhooks, waiting for a mocking text or a barbed comment once they’re in the same room, but there’s nothing. Just a curious, “So who do you think the next manager will be then?” as the opening gambit of the morning meeting, and not a single derogatory mention of the circumstances that led to there being a managerial discussion at all.

Even more crucially, perhaps, the only name that Jamie brings up when they float ideas for the evening’s analysis on the United situation is the manager’s. There isn’t a chance in hell that Jamie isn’t aware Phil’s on the coaching staff, but he doesn’t make any digs, doesn’t ask Gary if he’s spoken to him, doesn’t even mention him at all.

It’s a courtesy. Gary knows it’s a courtesy, and he files it away under things to think about more in the future, because it leaves something fluttering in his stomach that he isn’t in the right headspace to process yet.

But it does feel as though a new, unspoken boundary has been drawn and laid out, one that if you’d asked him a year ago, he never would’ve imagined could be established with Jamie Carragher of all people.

I won’t kick you when you’re down.

--

He remembers that when the discussion switches to the Chelsea game, doesn’t say anything.

Did he celebrate both of Chelsea’s goals against Liverpool, as he does literally anytime someone scores against his most hated rivals? Of course. But he tries to return the favor of Jamie’s quiet tact, keeps it strictly professional and swallows away every taunt that comes to his mind. A year ago, he would’ve been spewing nothing but taunts if given an opportunity to go face-to-face with a slightly-vulnerable Jamie Carragher on the verge of watching Liverpool lose the League because of his best mate’s mistake.

Not anymore.

Banter is for when they’re flying high, and this—this is the world starting to crumble around Jamie’s ears, only worse, because Stevie’s the one in the firing line.

To his credit, Jamie manages to stay equally professional discussing the situation. “It’s just one game, really. Liverpool have to put it behind them and focus on winning their remaining two games, put the pressure on City and take it all the way to the end. Try to outscore Palace and Newcastle in the process, beef up the goal difference. And then, when the final whistle blows, we’ll see where the chips fall.”

“Yeah. It’s the panic that’ll crush them,” Gary agrees. He’s stopped being surprised when they have the same take on things, these days—they see the game through the same eyes, as much as those eyes are often covered by glasses tinted different shades of red. “City have been here before, won it before, so they won’t panic. Liverpool need to keep their heads.”

“What Liverpool need to keep are clean sheets,” Jamie fires back immediately, words crunched and jagged like the teeth of a very serrated blade, and Gary lets it slide because he knows Jamie’s not actually pissed off at him. The frustration is aimed elsewhere, at a backline he’s no longer part of.

(Things would certainly be different if he still was, in ways that have nothing to do with the football on the pitch. Gary thinks of their electric debates nearly every Monday morning, the way a weekend of football never quite feels complete until he gets a snarky message or two from Jamie about the results, how one of Sky’s stationary bikes now has a United sticker beside the screen and the other an old Liverpool scarf tied to the frame, and feels nothing but relief at the way it’s all turned out)

--

I’m happy here with you. I’m happy here with you. I’m happy here with you.

Gary doesn’t mean to say it. He has thought about foraying more fully into management before, still might someday, and certainly he’d be lying if he claimed the United job wouldn’t be a dream come true. But he’s enjoying his time at Sky, loves doing MNF, and being Roy’s assistant at England is enough to get his managerial kicks without having to deal with the constant pressure of the big office.

That’s what he should say.

But.

They both started the show somewhat miserable today for obvious reasons, and yet several hours in now, Gary can feel his blood pumping, can feel the energy buzzing under his skin like he’s just walked off the pitch after a big derby game. He’s just watched Arsenal move one step closer to cementing their place in the top four, and spent the last ten minutes dissecting United’s shambolic season in excruciating detail, but still he feels electrified, like he could go for another hour if needed.

This is the magic of the show, and of doing the show with the man sat across the table from him in particular—a man as funny as he is frustrating, passionate down to his last toenail, and fucking smart to boot.

So when Jamie asks, “Would you take it?”, expression open and curious like he genuinely thinks there’s a chance Gary should be considered for the United job, and that if asked he would go, Sky and punditry and England are the furthest thing from Gary’s mind.

“I’m happy here with you.”

Jamie blinks at him, uncharacteristically lost for words, but that’s the truth, isn’t it? Whatever this strange partnership they’ve forged, right now, in this very moment, despite the circus surrounding the football club that was once his entire life, he’s happy.

Happy here with Jamie.

--

It’s a stupid, inane comment.

“Hope we don’t get another Slippy G moment tonight, am I right?” some staffer whose name Gary doesn’t even know says to them as they walk into the fitness room.

He and Jamie are both in their workout gear, guards down, and it takes several moments for the words to process.

“What’s that?” Jamie asks, coming to a stop, an edge to his words that tells Gary he most definitely heard it the first time.

“Slippy G, mate,” the staffer repeats, clearly not having picked up the same hint. “Embarrassing, honestly.”

The best response would probably be to laugh it off and move on. But Gary still remembers how it felt after Euro 96, after Portugal, after the last derby at Maine Road, remembers how it felt to be so low he was sobbing on the fucking floor even more sometimes than he remembers the highs, the wins, the treble.

He sees the impish little grin on the staffer’s face, the way they think they’ve got one over big-and-tough Jamie Carragher. He sees the clench in Jamie’s jaw, the way his expression is terrifyingly blank again, like he’s now learned it gets when Jamie’s scared of what his real reaction might be, and something bubbles up in his stomach that he can’t stop.

“Oi. Fuck off.”

The staffer’s eyes widen comically, eyebrows shooting up to their hairline. “I—pardon, what—”

Gary doesn’t know who this is, doesn’t know who they support, doesn’t give a single shit. “Don’t you have a job to be doing somewhere?” he interrupts, pulls out the voice he’s always had in his locker as an older brother and refined even further as a father, the one that screams cold disappointment and unwavering authority.

The staffer clears out pretty quickly after that.

“Don’t need you fighting me battles,” Jamie says after a moment. He doesn’t sound the least bit angry, which Gary takes as a good sign.

“Yeah, I know. Just—that’s uncalled for, that.”

Jamie stares at him, inscrutable. Then he grins. “Gary Neville defending a Scouser. Who would’ve thought?”

Who would have indeed?

--

The Palace game is an utter shitshow.

Watching the three Palace goals go in over the last ten minutes is the closest Gary thinks he’s ever gotten to seeing a real-life horror story unfold before his eyes. With each goal, Jamie tenses a little further, shouting more and more at the screen like maybe Liverpool’s piss-poor defense will hear him if he’s just loud enough.

When the equalizer hits the back of the net, and a strange, almost solemn quiet blankets the studio.

Gary doesn’t break it. In some sense, they’re all waiting for Jamie to react first.

The Gary who ran down the touchline to kiss his badge in front of the traveling Liverpool fans would’ve cheered as loud as he could. Now, at the very least, Gary expects to be happy seeing Liverpool throw away the title—he’s already seen City win it once in the most dramatic of fashions, which means seeing them win it again won’t be nearly as hard as seeing Liverpool do it—but Jamie’s standing not four feet away with his head in his hands, and Gary mostly just feels calm.

“Fucking hell,” Jamie says eventually. Nobody tells him off for cursing in the studio. If there was ever a moment that called for a breach of decorum, this would be it.

Jamie’s words burst the bubble of silence, and everyone around them buzzes to life, calling for clips of all three late goals to be queued up, demanding to arrange for the manager or a player or just someone associated with Liverpool Football Club to come on the big screen for a live post-match interview, frantically combing through graphics to find the one on Liverpool’s defensive frailties. Late drama is always a logistical challenge, but this is something else entirely. Even Ed looks slightly flustered, muttering to himself as he rehearses an entirely new post-match monologue.

Throughout it all, Jamie just stands there by the screen, frozen.

“Jamie,” Gary says, as kindly as he can. They have a post-match to deliver, and it’s critical they get this right. “Pull yourself together.”

He does.

They’re nothing if not professionals, and Jamie delivers the post-match as well any anyone could be expected to. Gary tries to let him take the lead, knows from personal experience just how far anger and adrenaline can carry you when you’re the one talking. Listening is the hard part.

They make it through, and Jamie isn’t the only one relieved when the cameras finally switch off.

“Drink?” Gary asks him after the show, fully expecting Jamie to decline. It’s the last MNF of the season, and Jamie probably does need several drinks, but Gary doubts he’s the company with which Jamie wants to down them tonight.

So he’s not surprised when Jamie shakes his head. “I need to be home,” he responds quietly, voice thinned out and hollow. All of the frustration and anger that got him through the show is gone now, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness that Gary is all-too familiar with. Football has torn all their hearts out before, his included. “Need to see Stevie, I—” he breaks off, and it’s the first time in all the years and months Gary has known him, first with England and now, as almost-friends, that he looks like he might cry. “G’night.”

“Night, Jamie.” I’m sorry, he wants to add—he never wanted Liverpool to win the League, but he didn’t want them to lose it like this either.

He doesn’t say anything. The cloak of his eight League titles sits heavy on his shoulders, a weight that feels suffocating rather than emboldening for the first time in his life.

Jamie manages a twisted, painful smile that Gary never wants to see again, and then he’s gone.

--

“First season working together. How’s it been, lads?” Ed asks at the Sky end-of-season do.

Gary’s well on his way to getting drunk, Jamie is quite clearly already there, but he feels entirely clear-headed as he considers the question. It’s been a disappointing season for him on the pitch, his beloved United clearly not covering herself in much glory, but off the pitch, in the studio, there’s only one way to describe how it’s all gone.

“Brilliant,” Gary says honestly.

“Loved it,” Jamie says at the same time.

“On to the next one then!” Ed exclaims, before disappearing in the direction of the bar.

Jamie’s eyes meet his, and the music in the background swells to a crescendo as they clink their glasses together.

Gary smiles. On to the next one.

[jt-artsandfics]

I adore your writing! ♡♡ Is it ok if I asked for a Liu Kang Oneshot? Like his S/O gets seriously hurt accidentally while training with him. Thank You :>

Lui Kang x Gender Neutral Reader.

Accidents and Fiery spirits

I'm gonna keep with gender neutral unless asked otherwise. But I hope you enjoy.

Training with Kung Lao and Liu Kang has provided interesting so far. They had helped Kano open his arcana thought anger and now they were focused on you and Cole. That being said Kung Lao and Cole were set together to train while Liu Kang had become your trainer.

"Come on Skippy!, stop jumping around and actually fight the bugger" Kano calls out from his spot.

"How about you shut the hell up Kano, you might have gotten your lovely little superpower thought anger but now everyone does" I shout back at him while flipping him the bird as I lay on the ground for what felt like the tenth time time today.

"(Y/N) focus" Liu Kang say taking his stance again. I love to stand up again, my body not dealing with everything well. The past few days had been the worse not only was training becoming intense but getting a fever was getting just as bad.

"You know why don't you just let me beat the shit out of them like you did for Cole, could work out well." Kano says while eatting, I shake my head taking my stance ready to fight Liu.

"Unlike Mr Young, (y/n) is not a fighter, so we must teach them different techniques and fighting styles, it is the downside of the markings when they are given to someone who has no skill in fighting" Liu Kang explains as we circle each other.

"Come on Liu just hit me with the best you got, I'm not gonna learn otherwise"

"Very Well"

I can feel the sweat dripping down my back and my body hurts so much, I spit blood over onto the dirt. Liu Kang hasn't even broken a sweat as he moves around.

I move avoiding the fire to the best of my abilities. The next thing I feel is my body in agonizing pain before I blackout.

-------

Liu Kang sees them collapse onto the ground he can see the burn marks on their body. His own is running off adrenaline as he rushes over to pick them up. Hair singed soot covering parts of their body as he yells for Kano to get Kung Lao. Liu rushes too the infirmary.

Liu stayed by your side as much has he could. The burns were severe in some place, he stayed out of the way of those who were tending to your wounds. Jax, Sonya, Cole and Kung Lao came around every now and then to check up on both him and (Y/N). Liu prays every chance he gets, praying that you recover quickly.

"Hey, checking up on the both of you." Liu turns to see Cole standing at the door. His own wounds had healed well. "I'm well, from what I've been told, (Y/N) will be alright, unfortunately they weren't well. They were suffering from a bad fever before our fight, it just caused them to be in alot more pain" he sighs running a hand over their hair slowly.

"It wasn't your fault Liu, things happen, you didn't know and nor did

(Y/n) know that they were going to pass out during your fight" Cole explains as he takes a seat near Liu Kang. "They'll be alright, they may not be a literal fighter, but they are strong and will make it though anything"

-------

My eyes feel heavy, my body hurts so much as I try and move, I turn my head to the side trying to focus on the buried objects and figures. "Hello..?" Things are quite for a moment until I feel a hand rest on the side of my face. I close my eyes sighing lightly. "Hey, glad to see your awake" I smile lightly recognising Liu Kang's voice.

"How, how long was I out, everything hurts alot" I feel Liu move to sit on the bed and rest my head against his chest. "Nearly a week, we were training and you just dropped, I hit you badly with my fire, I'm very sorry"

"I'm alright Liu, just really sore everything hurts" I say laying back into him closing my eyes. "Let me know if I can get you anything, I don't like seeing you in pain like this" he says pulling the blanket up. I press my face further into his chest and he wraps his arms around me softly. "Just want to stay like this, your warm and comfy" I say closing my eyes again as I rest against him.

He runs one hand thought my hair, softly untangling my hair, he presses light kisses to my forehead as I cuddle up to him. We stay like this for a few hours, I drift in and out of sleep, Always waking to him. The next time I wake Liu has two plates of food. "(Y/n) You need to eat" he says lightly, I move slowly to sit up, he moves both plates to rest on my Lap. He pulls a set of chopstick off the plate and lifts an egg roll up to my lips, I take a bite slowly chewing it.

" Is this alright?, didn't want anything two over the top for you to eat just yet" he explains as he continues to feed me. I nod as I eat more food. "Thank you Lui, for looking after me, really it means alot" I say smiling. He rest a hand against my cheek rubbing his thumb against the uneven skin.

"I guess I look a little bad?" I ask, he continues looking over my burns. "Not bad really, I'm glad it hasn't sacred badly" he says lightly. It's silent between you both. "(Y/n) may I kiss you?" I look up to him nodding. He leans down pressing a soft kiss to my lips, it's gentle and quick and very sweet. " Your too sweet for this world Liu"

[stellocchia]

This is part 4 of the Comprehensive Analysis of c!Tommy and c!Dream’s relationship during the Exile Arc

Part 1 -  Part 2 -  Part 3

We’re here once more just to suffer... though be fair I did decide to do this to myself, so I can’t really complain there...

As always under the cut we will be exclusively be talking about the characters unless stated otherwise and we will be talking about some serious topics, so keep that in mind

We’re starting this off with the infamous Beach Party stream: Tommy Is Left ALONE at his Exile Party with Dream

Now, quick introduction to this vod, since we find out about some details later on: no-one, aside from Dream, shows up because Dream destroyed the invitations and also Ghostbur won’t be around any longer because Dream sent him away (knowing fully well that that could have killed him since he already heard directly from Ghostbur that rain melted him). 

Basically at this point Dream is taking a step further into the manipulation process by not only making everyone else believe that Tommy didn’t want to see them but by also physically ensure they’d believe that. Also Tommy doesn’t start this one drowning either (perhaps because he was in high spirits the day prior?)

*creeper blows up* “Shit shit shit shit (...) I’m stupid I’m stupid I deserve that I deserve that. No no no no I didn’t I didn’t, today is gonna be a good day, today is gonna be a big day” (first response to anything negative has become taking on the blame, which we see later on with the Community House situation)

“Will Tubbo be there? Maybe! Myabe he will! Maybe he will!” (Tommy still very much missing his best friend)

“He [Tubbo] did boot me out... no no! you know what? I’m in the mood to reconcile!” (a big trait of Tommy’s has always been his loyalty to people, no matter how much they hurt him)

“It was definitely 8 pm GMT, 8 pm G-” *Dream joins the game* *Tommy pauses for a few moments on the Nether bridge completely still and then turns back* (I want to point out that the reaction any time Dream joined was one of absolute fear, for good reasons of course)

One thing that I’ve noticed is that Dream rarely comes from the Nether when visiting Tommy, opting instead for the objectively longer route through the water, which honestly seems to reinforce something he said early on, which was basically that even with the longer route it doesn’t take much effort to visit, and yet Dream is the only one willing to make that effort.

“Hello!” “H-hello?” “Hi!” “Hi ho-” “Where is everyone else?” “Oh... I don’t- I don’t know...” “I’m running a little late, I’m sorry” 

Considering that we know that Dream was in fact the one who sabotaged the invites, therefore meaning he knew fully well that nobody would be there, does the fact that he came late seem like he really wanted Tommy to stew in his own loneliness for a while to anyone else? You know, to properly break his spirit. Also Tommy immediately after this goes to take off his armour (Tommy Slippers included) and weapons, but this is the one time Dream lets him keep it (which, once again, he’ll use as a point against him later on). 

“Wilbur sent out the invites, didn’t he?” “Yeah, yeah no he sent them to everybody. He actually told Tubbo to his- like, he told him, he didn’t even need to give him an invite” “Really?!” “Yeah” (just want to point out that this is in fact not gaslighting, as some people seemed to think at the time, but it is still manipulation)

“I’m sure they said they’d be here by the day-” *watching the sun go down* “Time...” “I- I thought I was late so I’m surprised people aren’t here, but...” (turns out Dream was around 15 minutes late supposedly)

Tommy at this point takes out the cake, but he doesn’t eat any. I do think this is a good time to point out that the further we are into the exile the less we actually see Tommy eating (sometimes he straight up throws away any food he has in the inventory). He also sleeps less and less (or, at least, rests less, after all sleeping doesn’t necessarily mean being well rested afterwards) which we can deduce both from his comments on the subject and his rapidly deteriorating state. 

“Dream, no-one’s here” “I don’t know why... guess I’m most surprised Tubbo isn’t ‘cause he said he was gonna be, but-” (once again harping on to the retoric that Tubbo specifically willingly abandoned Tommy)

“I figured, I mean I figured you’d probably care the least if I was here so I just- I didn’t mind being a little bit late because everyone else would be here, but...” (once again the idea here is: “even if I was late I still came, no-one else did”)

“No-one cares about me anymore!” “That’s not true...” “No-one cares about me!” *Tommy takes his armour off again* “Tommy...” “No-one cares- no-one cares about me!” *Tommy destroys the rest of the cake* “No no no *sigh*” “No-one cares, do they? No-one showed up to my party... and it was the one thing, THE ONE THING they had to do for me after exiling me and fucking me over and not one of them came with me. And... none of them care about me anymore... ‘cause I’m not in L’manburg anymore, ‘cause I’m not with- ‘cause I’m not the vice-president”

Okay, that was a long quote, but 2 things I want to point out here: Tommy had about half of his health here, he refused to eat, take of his armour and marched towards the Nether, which is again him acting with no regard for his own self-preservation. And also there is a bit of Wilbur retoric sprinkled in there, with the whole “people only care about you when you have power” mentality. That’s exactly what Wilbur tried to convince him of in the Pogtopia era and it looks like he’s seeing a confirmation of this through the party. 

“If no-one is gonna put in any effort to come and see me, than I’ll make the effort harder to come and see me then, alright?” 

At this point Tommy has borrowed Dream’s netherite pickaxe and he proceeds to destroy a chunk of the bridge he’s made in the Nether, swapping it out for a one block wide wooden bridge. Of course, it goes without saying that he is not acting rationally, he is hurt and angry at the moment and he wants to convince himself that if others don’t care about him then he won’t care about them, which is why he starts lashing out more after this. And this is the result of Dream’s direct actions by the way.

“What is everyone saying about Tubbo’s compass? What is that? What is it? Explain to me” “I- uh I’m pretty sure that he burned it or something... or he lost it, something like that” “Wha...?” “He doesn’t have it anymore”

Tommy, up until now, didn’t even fully believed that Tubbo had a compass, but with the official confirmation of it being paired with Tubbo possibly willingly burn it, it’s the last straw for Tommy who decides to do the same. Though he doesn’t end up actually burning it, he does goes to take it out of the enderchest and bring it to the Nether. I do want to point out that Tubbo did not, in fact, either loose it or burn it willingly. It was blown up by accident in a creeper explosion.

*Tommy holding his compass over a sea of lava* “He burnt it? On purpose?” “I- I think so” “You know what, wou know what? Y- you know what?!” “Why don’t you- why don’t you sleep on it Tommy? Just wait don’t do anything, you know? Anything you can’t take back and then...” “I don’t sleep anymore Dream...”

Pretty sad scene... also a confirmation of what we said before about Tommy sleeping less and less. Also I’m not entirely sure why Dream was suddenly against Tommy burning the compass when he didn’t seem to be at the start, though it could be because Tommy was so obviously hesitant about it, so he probably wouldn’t have done it either way. Which means that it was a good moment to get friendship points. 

*Tommy standing in front of the portal in the main Nether hub* “I just want to go home... please can I go home...?” “Uhm, do you wanna see the Christmas tree for, like, 10 seconds?” “Can I stay?” “You can’t stay, but you can go look at it, I’ll let you out-” “Why can’t I stay?” “It’s not like they want you anyway Tommy” “wha...?” “Tommy, no-one showed up to your party and everyone was invited. Do you want to see the Christmas tree?” “I’ll just go back...”

This is the one single scene that is capable of making me emotional every single time. Just Tommy’s broken and small voice throughout it is something else... also Dream’s absolutely smug tone in all of it. But, the one thing, aside from the great acting, that I want to point out in all of this is how the reason for why Tommy can’t go back now has shifted from Dream killing him if he does to his old friends not wanting him around any longer. This way Dream gets to fully play the part of the magnanimous friend who still cares while everyone else is depicted as the enemy. Also I do find it interesting that in this scene Dream keeps insisting quite a bit for Tommy to go see the tree (in contrast to the first time where he refused for him to go back even for a few seconds), which almost looks like him testing how effective his conditioning was.

“That guy is gonna kill me, the little guy” *pointing at a baby piglin* “Oh” *Dream proceeds to get rid of it* (Tommy is by now basically dependent on Dream for his own safety)

“Do you need food?” “*sigh* No” (Tommy is literally on 3 hearts with 3 1/2 hunger bars and he is still refusing to eat)

They spend quite a bit of time after this by playing with Dream’s riptide trident and later also with the throwing one. Also Tommy changes his “girlfriend” hot girl for HOTTER girl (because I know you all deeply care for this kind of updates)

“I actually didn’t have a trident before and it took forever to come here, so I got a trident to come here quickly” “Oh thank you! You obviously care about me Dream” (Tommy feeling compelled to thank Dream for literally anything paired with Dream constantly showing off how much effort he is willing to put in)

“Let’s make a guest tent, let’s make a guest tent!” “That’s a... great idea” “In case any guest wanna- I mean maybe even- maybe you- we’ll make it here. It- it needs to be close to me because I’m- I’m really missing contact” (on top of everything else, Tommy was also canonically touch starved)

Dream and Tommy also make a guest tent together (and it’s implied a few times that maybe Dream will use it) before playing with tridents a bit more when it starts raining. Also Tommy builds a cobblestone smartphone were he keeps snapchat streaks with girls (this goes in the list of sentences I never thought I’d type). 

“Hey thanks for letting me keep my armour today” “You’re welcome” “It was nice of you” “I just thought it’d be good for the party and everything” “I’m sorry it wasn’t that much of a party in the end” “Eh, we make it a party together, so” “Yeah”

So, once more I want to point out a couple of things: there is no reason, aside from Dream’s conditioning, for Tommy to feel grateful that Dream didn’t take away his means to defend himself, nor is there any reason for Tommy to be the one apologizing for the party turning out the way it did. But also one other thing I want to point out is Dream’s insistence over them having fun together, which he keeps saying even later on during the prison visits. And I want to point that out because I do really think that Dream believes that or that he, at the very least, does try to convince himself of it. I’m still not entirely sure on that point, but, by now, I’m fairly sure that Dream really does believe that him and Tommy are his warped and toxic version of what “friends” would be...

“I should have died and then- and then I didn’t! I should have died...” (suicidal thoughts)

*Tommy reaching the maximum height with the trident* “I’m alone...” (just a very famous scene here, but also keeping to the theme of loneliness even when other people are around, in this case Dream)

“Just- just build a guest tent Dream! You’re probably gonna be the one who stays in the most so... since you’re my guest” 

*Dream standing inside the guest tent* “I’m in- I’m in my tent my tent” (the implications I mentioned before)

“Maybe I’m just gonna stay here, maybe I’m just gonna live here instead” (referring always to the guest tent and Logstedshire)

This all ends with Dream gifting Tommy the throwing trident (which he then puts in his enderchest) and Tommy also gains a zombie head from their mob hunting.

“Let me keep the other trident please” “What the one that you can throw?” “Yeah” “Okay Tommy, I’ll let you keep it” “Really?” “Yeah, as a gift, a beach party gift. You can remember our bonding experience from today” “Awww, thank you” (this is the conversation as a frame of reference)

“Listen Dream, what do we do now, then? If no-one is gonna come and visit me, what do I do?” “Nah, I’m visiting you!” (Dream really is convinced to me as much the center of Tommy’s universe as he is of his, huh?)

“Dream, as much as I’m feeling happy, I’m not. I’m not Dream. Where do we go from here?” “Uhm, I think that you will come around to liking it here, and you’ll build up your own ‘empire’ here, and you’ll be happy and maybe they’ll come and visit you- like you said! You said the thing about all, like, power right? You have no power and now they don’t visit you, maybe you’ll be- you’ll be back in power and then they’ll...” “I’ll always be exiled” “Yeah but that doesn’t mean you can’t become powerful, you can become powerful away from- away from them”

This is the closing conversation, that ends with Tommy entering the sea and disconnecting once he is on only one bubble of air left. Which, by the way, is a case of Tommy dissociating, which we know because he always later seems confused when logging in and finding himself in the water (meaning the confrontation with Jack at the hotel wasn’t the first case of him dissociating).

Also, while Dream is spewing all of this stuff about how “Tommy can still be powerful here” it’s obvious that that’s not the case. Tommy is not allowed armour or weapons and he is basically not allowed any allies (what with Dream sending Ghostbur away, intercepting Ranboo’s mail and making sure to keep away from Tommy as much as possible). Tommy is quite literally stuck in a position of powerlessness that he cannot escape from with someone who actually enjoys having him at his weakest.

I’ll leave it here for today, because this was literally one of the most intense streams so I had quite a lot to say and this became so damn long... I’ll probably condense the next two together.

[megs-mostly-past-random-fandoms]

Volterra

Based on this request: Hey Meg, dou you also write for the Volturi? Perhaps something about a human reader who stumbled inro their castle and wasn’t instantly killed? At first they let her live as amusement but somwhere along the line she befriended Jane and Marcus and developed feelings for Aro. But she doesn’t want to be turned to a Vampire. Living with your vampire friends as a human can be quite complicated. They make a fuss out of any minor injury, try to advocate for immortality and it’s really difficult not to let your crush know you like them when they can read your thoughts by touching your hand…Perhaps Jane and Marcus device a plan to get Aro and the reader together in order to make thhe reader change her mind of becoming one of them?   

Here you go! *Familiar characters are NOT mine!*

Fandom: Twilight

Warnings: Fluff,  Awkwardness.

Pairings/Characters: Aro Volturi x fem!reader, Jane Volturi, Marcus Volturi

Stumbling upon the castle in Volterra had been an accident. That castle being full of vampires had been unfortunate. Being kept alive because you amused said vampires had been sheer dumb luck. Slowly falling for most insane of the three leaders? Well that was as unexpected as two-by-four to the back of the head. And trying to keep those feelings a secret was damn near impossible when the object of your affection could read your mind with a simple touch.

         When you had accidentally stumbled into Volterra castle and met the Volturi, you had been so scared. More scared than you had ever been in your life. But for some reason, they had found you amusing and decided to keep you. At first, you were treated like a form of their own personal entertainment but soon you were being treated as friend.

         You formed quick friendships with Marcus and, to everyone's surprise, Jane. In fact, the only person who didn't seem to like you was the receptionist, but you thought she might have been a little jealous. All-in-all, you adjusted well to being in a castle surrounded by vampires.

         There were of course issues with your situation. Because they couldn't let a human out in the world with their secret, you weren't really allowed to leave the castle. And heaven forbid you got hurt in any way, shape, or form. Every bump, bruise, and scrape had them all buzzing around you like worried mothers. It was pretty amusing, in all honesty. Then there was the time you caught a cold. Jane thought you were dying. Whenever anything like that happened, you had to hear about how they would all worry less if you would join them in immortality. You refused each time, but you had no idea that Jane and Marcus were plotting something to make you see things their way.

         It never occurred to you that they had already set their plan in motion. You often found yourself alone with Aro. Whenever there was a chance, everyone else left the room whenever you entered it. It made you a flustered and awkward mess. Like really awkward. You didn't know how to interact with him. You had been very sure not to let Aro touch you, but you had a suspicion that he already knew how you felt about him. You weren't exactly subtle about it.

         Whenever you were alone with Aro, you became a stuttering mess. Trying to keep your cool only made it worse. You were like the young, lovesick, teenagers on TV people liked to laugh at. It was horrible, but maybe it was just the effect Aro had on you. Either way, you hated how awkward the situation was. Aro didn't seem to mind though.

         "Ah, Y/N! I was hoping to spend time with you today. Walk with me?" Aro offered his arm. You took it without hesitation. Was it smart? Probably not. He could kill you with a flick of his wrist if he wanted. But he hadn't show any signs that he was going to hurt you. At least not yet. Plus, Jane had conveniently left you wandering around part of the castle you weren't as familiar with. You didn't want to get lost so walking with Aro seemed like the best option.

         As you walked, Aro made small talk. You smiled at the conversation as you let your gaze travel to the side of his face. This was one of the few times that Aro let his guard down and you wanted to commit it to memory. You hadn't realized that you had zoned out until Aro stopped, causing your hand to slip from his arm. As it did, your hand touched his. You inhaled sharply, but your hand wouldn't listen to your brain and move.

         Aro froze so suddenly, you thought he'd turned into a statue. His eyes were unfocused as his head was overloaded with every thought you'd ever had, including the one you had been trying so hard to hide. After a moment, Aro blinked. He smiled at you. You couldn't speak. You were so embarrassed. You looked away from him, intent on running away.

         "You could try, but you know I would catch you in a moment." You frowned and then remembered that your hands were still slightly touching. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't, that is, I wasn't-" Aro's light chuckle cut you off. "You have no need to apologize. I find myself in a similar situation." You blinked in surprise, making Aro laugh again.

         "Why are you so surprised? You are, truly, the most beautiful and intriguing woman I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, immortal or human." You felt yourself flushing. Aro finally moved his hand so the two of you were no longer touching. He lifted the hand and offered it to you. "Shall we continue our walk?" For a moment, you looked between his hand and his face. Those milky red eyes regarded you with worry and perhaps a little amusement.

         With only a second of hesitation, you let your hand slip into his. Aro practically preened under your touch. He brought it up to his mouth, pressing his cold lips against your heated skin. You couldn't help the smile that spread across your face. You were in a happy daze when Aro pulled away and began walking again.

         "I'm glad this happened," you whispered. You knew he could hear you. Aro's lips upturned into a smile. "As am I, my dear. Although, we should inform Jane and Marcus. The two of them have been…enthusiastic in their attempts to get us alone together." You rolled your eyes. "Jane I get. She's been trying to find a way to get me to agree to immortality since I got here. Marcus? Not so much. I never pictured him as a busybody." Aro laughed and reminded you of Marcus' gift. "Perhaps he has seen a bond between us. He has been very cautious about allowing me to see his thoughts recently."

         The thought both excited and worried you. Is what you were feeling for Aro because of some odd bond? Or were you in control? And if it was a result of a bond, what would happen if you and Aro were to lose those feelings for each other? Aro stopped walking again. "You fret too much, mi amore. If the bond is there, it can be broken by our own choices. And, unless it is the bond of a true mate, nothing would truly happen should we choose to pursue our current feelings for one another."

         "What do you choose, Aro?" Aro didn't say anything for a moment. "I have waited a long time to meet someone like you. Someone that can make me feel something more. Even if you are not my true mate, I choose to try, if you will allow me? And maybe one day, you will choose an eternity with us here in Volterra. With me." You bit your lip and tried not to smile. Trust Aro to sound so awkward yet eloquent at the same time.

         "Yes." That one word seemed to brighten Aro's entire being. "Finally," another voice broke into your little moment. You let out a little scream and jumped. You turned to face Jane with a glare. "Don't you have somewhere to be, Nosy Rosy?" Jane merely arched a blonde brow at the nickname. "My place is as Master Aro's guard today."

         "So you heard…everything?" She smirked. "Yes. And I cannot wait to tell Master Marcus," she replied before speeding away. You moved to chase after her, but Aro held you back. "You realize, of course, that you would never catch her, do you not?" You turned your hard stare on Aro. "Yes. But it would make me feel better."

         Aro laughed and shook his head fondly. "Perhaps I could be of assistance?" You beamed. "What did you have in mind?" In no time, Aro scooped you up bridal style and flashed away. Your peals of laughter bounced off the castle walls as the wind caused by Aro's speed wrang through your ears. You never knew Aro could be so playful, but you had to admit, you liked it. And, if this was a sign of things to come, you would have to give immortality and staying in Volterra some serious thought.

(a/n: I hope this is what you were looking for! ALL taglists are open!)

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

The ghost wakes up in the woods, not far from a road, though he doesn’t know that at the time. He takes stock of himself first, because it feels like the right thing to do.

Things he has:

-A wallet (mostly empty, aside from a few bills)

-A phone (broken)

-A heart-shaped locket (unopenable)

Things he does not have:

-Any kind of ID

-Any idea where or who he is.

He stands up. Physically, he feels okay, which is a good sign. There’s the distant sound of a car rushing by, and some instinct tells him to follow that sign towards civilization.

–––

A few months pass. He finds a job, and a place to stay. He still doesn’t know who he is, or why he woke up in the woods, but for some reason he can’t explain, he doesn’t feel too worried about it. Something deep in his chest says wait, stay still, they will find you. They will not leave you.

So he does. He stays still, and he waits.

He doesn’t have a name, yet. Nothing feels right. People take to calling him ghost, because he’s nobody, because he moves through the world without leaving an imprint.

–––

Another month, and someone does find him. It seems almost like an accident.

The door chimes open and someone walks in and immediately starts complaining. “‘s fucking freezing in here,” says a voice that’s a little high and a little scratchy and seems to snag on itself, and there’s the faintest flicker of something that the ghost, for a moment, ignores.

“The heat’s already all the way up, not sure what you want me to do... about... that.” He starts speaking as he looks up, and loses the thread of his sentence midway as he stares at the newcomer.

Small – everyone looks small to him, that’s not a very good qualifier – pale, golden hair with a black spike and a vest that objectively, should all look stupid together, but the first emotion he registers is oh, thank god. A wave of relief. Seeing his face feels like coming home, even if he doesn’t know why yet.

The stranger-who-isn’t-a-stranger stares back at him, pure shock on his face. 

“Lewis?” he manages, after a beat.

The name settles in his chest, fitting into a small piece of the gap that’s been left there.

“...sorry, do I know you?”

–––

A few minutes later they’re sitting at a table and talking.

Arthur – that’s his name, it fits so sweetly in his mouth when he repeats it unthinkingly after him – doesn’t seem that surprised when he says he doesn’t remember him, or anything. It’s not the first time it’s happened around him, apparently. Vivi – another friend, a name that feels soft and sharp at once, the echo of a laugh – can’t remember anything about him. At all. Arthur’s been trying to break whatever spell’s been put on her (and he seems pretty confident that it’s a spell of some kind, too), but no luck so far.

That doesn’t exactly bode well for his own memories, but he decides to ignore that for now.

The first time he expresses skepticism – this feels almost too easy, too convenient – Arthur produces a photo. It’s the two of them, and a blue-haired girl that he knows is Vivi, instinctively, and a small dog jumping up eagerly to get into frame.

“It’s... a little old, s-sorry,” Arthur says, holding it up and rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t... we don’t, uh, take a lot of- of photos.”

He looks between the photo and the man holding it. They’re undeniably the same person, but he can’t help but take note of certain differences. In the photo, he has both arms, there’s more color in his cheeks, his eyes aren’t as dark. He seems skinnier now, too, his cheeks almost sunken. It strikes him as strange, but he doesn’t have the confidence to bring it up just yet.

When Arthur offers to take him home – “Ready to head back to Tempo? Your f-family’s been waiting for you” – he agrees without even pausing to think about it. More than right, it feels like the thing he’s been waiting for.

–––

They walk out to the car – a van, and once again the neon orange and tacky colors should make him roll his eyes, but they don’t.

Vivi sees him and almost immediately faints. Once again, Arthur doesn’t seem surprised by it, just frustrated. He catches her with practiced ease and sets her back down on the small mattress she was sleeping on.

“I- I was hoping... maybe she’d remember when... when she s-saw you.” His voice wavers, and he sniffs, but when he stands and turns it’s with a smile pinned on his face again. “Guess you’re riding in fr-front.”

–––

Sitting in the front seat as the car slowly rumbles along in silence brings back something unfamiliar – a memory. It builds slowly, from a faint ping in the back of his mind to a feeling deep in his core. A confusing mix of emotions – comfort-happiness-laughter-concern-confusion-regret – and then suddenly it clicks, the entire thing opening before him. He’d been driving, then, Vivi sitting next to him, Arthur in the backseat – his legs got cramped and all his stuff was back here anyway – but leaning over the seats to talk to them. He’d told him to sit down, standing was distracting him and it wasn’t safe, but he just laughed at him. Oh, I’m distracting, am I? Then they’d pulled up and–

–and–

–and the memory dissolves. That brief moment, in the car, and then darkness.

He hums softly.

“S’up?” Arthur asks, almost-but-not-quite glancing at him.

Lewis shakes his head slightly, and then looks over at him. “I think... I remember you. Not all the way. But... something.”

[thewritingstar]

I Wont Cast You Aside

Pairing: Marinette x Chloe 

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug 

Word count: 5k (was suppose to be 1k but I wanted a bigger story line) 

Note: This is a commission for the wonderful @wombatking I want to thank you for not only commissioning this but trusting me with a pairing I haven’t written for yet. One thing about writing fics for a new pair is the fear of not being able to capture them together. I rewrote this beast so many times and I hope that you enjoy it! 

Thank you for being so patient with me and I really hope you like it :) Also yes, the title is a pun, I couldn’t resist. 

                                        ≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

There's a rush of adrenaline in her system as she takes off running. She ignores the yell from Ladybug and soon the wind is all she can hear. The streetlights of Paris swirl into a bright blur as she practically flies from rooftop to rooftop. Nothing can stop her as her target is locked in sight and she can feel a victory coming.

For months she's been gaining traction and skill. All she wanted was to prove to Ladybug that her choice shouldn’t turn into a regret. That she was meant to be Queen Bee.

Another jump and she's closing in. She can almost feel the energy of the akuma buzzing within that cursed object. Her eyes narrow and she calls out for her spinning top while activating her venom. It's over now. That's what the blonde tells herself as she sends the weapon spinning through the night and wraps it around the leg of the villain of the day.

Pride. It swells through her as they go down with a thud. They won, a victory that has her name stamped on it and she wants nothing more than to have Ladybug and Chat Noir beside her to finish off the job.

She turns to look for them but all she sees is the stars dancing on the horizon. It's strange and she can feel her stomach twist in a way she doesn’t like.

A dark chuckle comes from the villain below.

“Ladybug?” She whispers to herself and as she turns towards her voice, there's a louder sound that rings through her ears. “Ladybug?” She calls out louder. She doesn’t understand. They were right behind her. She wasn’t that far, they had to have followed her.

“No one is coming.” The villain says.

Queen Bee looks at their eyes but there's nothing there. No sense of emotion can be found and for a second, she wonders if they are alive. It's terrifying and she feels alone. Their laughter turns to an uproar.

“You’re nothing!” They scream as they try to jolt towards her. “You’re a waste of space. A hero with no merit.”

The ground below her starts to sink like quicksand. Her throat goes dry, and she tries to scream but nothing comes out. Pain shoots through her body and she can feel tears streaming down her face as the world above her disappears and she falls into a darkness.

“Ladybug!” She manages to yell but the light above is cut from her view and now she's falling.

Her body is weightless and every fear she's had is echoing around her like a cave of personal torment. A golden flash surrounds her, and she can feel the power drain from her system. Pollen stares at her with lifeless eyes as the comb hovers in her face, taunting her as the gold turns black like ink.

“You were never a queen.” Pollen spats.

It crumbles into dust as her lungs squeeze from the scream leaving her lips.

“Pollen!” Chloe cries but she's nowhere to be found as the dust surrounds her in the dark.

                                          ≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

Chloe wakes with a jolting start.

She looks around to see herself in her room. No plunging darkness or a disappointed Pollen. The voice of Ladybug isn’t calling out to her. She's in her bed safe and sound. Her heart rate is skyrocketing as she tries to catch her breath. She turns to the clock and sees that it's barely four in the morning. The nightmares had been happening more and more. Nights become restless and her body is starting to move to the brink of exhaustion.

That night of her failure plays on a repeat. It's like a broken record. The face of the villain staring at her as she falls, the scream coming from her throat and both Ladybug and Chat Noir’s voices echoing in her ears. No matter how many times she has it, the fear doesn’t leave.

“It's just a nightmare.” She tells herself, but she can see it and feel it so clearly that she isn’t sure if it's just her imagination.

Chloe grabs a tissue from her nightstand and wipes the sweat off her brow. All she wanted was a peaceful night of rest but apparently that's too much to ask for. Her stomach feels like it's turned upside down as she makes her way to the bathroom, moving slower than what she was used to.

Cold water splashes against her face and she stares at the mirror to a face that looks paler than usual. Bags have formed under her eyes and not even her imported skin care can undo the damage of losing sleep. Even the blue of her eyes had seemed to lose their brightness.

“You’re okay.” She whispers with a shaky voice and swallows hard. “You’re okay.”

It's the only thing she can say to herself. The only thing that can calm the storm from within until the nightmare strikes again.

She makes her way back to her bed that feels more like a prison at this point. Bedrest sounded so glamorous at the time but now that she's been stuck here for almost two weeks, she wanted nothing more than to leave. She is afraid to close her eyes. Afraid that when she does, the darkness will form once again.

Suddenly there's a knock on her balcony door, it breaks her from her thoughts. There's hardly any wind tonight and the trees had just been cut so there's no way for the tree to reach the glass. For a moment she wonders if it's another akuma. Maybe she wasn’t awake after all, and her nightmare is continuing. The door gets another knock.

Her eyes narrow towards the door, but the shadow of a figure suggests that the wind wasn’t the culprit. She recognizes the figure instantly.

Her stomach goes into a knot and shame fills her heart. A part of her didn’t want to open it. She’d rather not face the superhero again but knows that's not possible. Instead, she huffs and manages to get over to the door without falling over.

She opens the door to Ladybug who stands in front of her with flowers and a soft smile on her face. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Chloe steps aside and lets the hero pass by. “It's four a.m.”

“I know, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Haven’t gotten the chance to see you.” Ladybug looks down at the cast that adores Chloe’s right leg. Guilt washes over her and when their eyes meet, she knows she was caught staring.

Chloe nods and bites her lip, trying to ignore the look on Ladybug's face. “It's fine, you’re busy.”

“Queen Bee.” Ladybugs starts but Chloe raises her hand to stop her as they sit on the couch for more comfort. She wants to tell Chloe every single apology in the books. Tell her it's her fault she got hurt and to make sure she knows she's going to do anything in her power to help her out.

Instead, Chloe frowns. “Ladybug, don’t.”

“Chloe.” She had brought her a bouquet of bluebells and marigolds, her favorite and she wonders how she knew but also doesn’t question the gift. “I’m so sorry.”

This was a surprise. She looks at the superhero, distress clear on her face. “Why are you apologizing? I’m the one who got hurt.”

“On my account. If I stayed with you, your foot wouldn’t be broken and don’t try to change my mind on that. I couldn’t reach you in time. I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am.”

Chloe holds her tongue but then again, she's not one to keep quiet. “I don’t blame you. It's not your fault nor Chats. I was clumsy and too eager, but I learned my lesson. I’ll be fine, it's a clean break anyways.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that I should have protected you better.”

“We all make mistakes, but you aren’t the reason I broke my foot.” She lets out a sigh. “Maybe it's for the best.”

“It's not.” Ladybug frowns and shakes her head. “I just want Queen Bee back by my side. I want you back on our team.”

The blonde looks towards the flowers, a sense of comfort washing over her. “I’m surprised you even want me on your team.” Her voice is low and she's trying not to cry but it hurts too much to think that her time as a superhero is done just because she was reckless and in a cast. An ugly white cast that clashes with every clothing article she owns. Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.

A laugh bubbles from Ladybugs lips. “Of course, I still want you! You’ve grown so much over these past few months and sure, it was a rocky start but look at you. You’re a member of this team Chloe. Chat and I can always rely on you in a pinch.” And she means it. Chloe of course doesn’t know her true identity and maybe she doesn’t quite believe her words, but Ladybug does.

She smiles at the blonde who just happens to be her girlfriend in her civilian life and she's trying to keep her guilt at bay. The moment she found out Queen Bee had broken a leg, she blamed herself. Tikki tried to reason with her, begged her to see the bigger picture and that accidents happen. If it was anyone's fault, it was that damned Hawk Moth.

A small weight comes off of Chloe’s shoulder as she relaxes. “Thank you, Ladybug, that means a lot.” Chloe smiles and wipes her eyes. “I promise I’ll get better soon; you can count on that!”

“I know I can.” Ladybug smiles and stands. “I should get going, it's late-or well, early. Take it easy Chloe and if you need anything, just holler.”

Chloe watches as she leaves through the balcony door. She looks at the arrangement of flowers and a small smile forms on her lips. Grabbing her crutches, she manages to get to her bed much easier than before.

Her eyes flutter close and for the first time in a while the nightmare doesn’t greet her.

                                         ≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

It's odd. The limo pulls up to the school and yet she doesn’t want to leave. The moment the word got out that Queen Bee had gotten hurt, and her civilian form was now stuck in a cast, chaos within the press had broken out.

She was used to the flashes of cameras, being the mayor's daughter had some publicity perks, but she didn’t like the limelight on her injury. She wanted to be treated normally. People began to treat her like she was made of glass. She wasn’t. She was fine. Yeah...she was fine.

Even her friends saw her differently. Adrien seemed on edge when visiting her as if he personally caused it. Little did she know the fear he was holding as he handed her flowers and told her that he can rely on her for anything. Sabrina tried her hardest not to overwhelm her with concern, but the redhead had burst into tears when she had seen her best friend being bandaged up.

Flowers had started to pile up in her room that she sent them to decorate the lobby of the hotel and even offered others the chocolate she had been gifted. Even many fan letters addressed to Queen Bee had begun to show up and although she adored the attention, reading them while stuck in bed had begun to feel like she had let everyone down.

All she wanted was for people to say their comforting words and go on with their day. Of course, seeing all of her friends standing on the steps of the school to greet her with smiles was a step in the direction she was aiming for. She knew that all of their hearts were genuine, and she didn’t mind each of them personally visiting her. They cared about her, and she was happy to know that she had people who did.

Over the past few months, she has grown into a better person. She was tired of being seen as the mean popular girl and learned that making friends with compassion and kindness was always the better way. After all she had learned first-hand from her girlfriend.

Out of the crowd Marinette stepped forward. She held out her hand to help Chloe out of the limo and grabbed her bag so she could get onto her crutches.

“Hi.” Marinette said with a smile and kissed her on the cheek. “How are you doing?”

In all honesty, she was exhausted. Tired of this ugly cast, tired of being treated with kid gloves, tired of it all. But the one thing she would never get bored of, was her girlfriend and those beautiful blue eyes that held care and affection.

The blonde forced a small smile onto her lips. “I’m doing alright, but I would feel better if you walked me to class.” She looked towards the rest of their friends and smiled. “Don’t worry these crutches won’t stop me from being fabulous so no need to get worried.”

“Happy to have you back.” Adrien smiled as many heads nodded in agreement.

“Sabrina told me that she has all of your notes in your locker.” Marinette said right as the bell rang.

Chloe huffed. “I forgot that I still have schoolwork. This is ridiculous.”

“Utterly ridiculous?” Marinette giggled just as Chloe’s cheeks flushed.

As they started walking, Chloe took Marinette's hand. “I’m really happy to see you.” She whispered.

“You’ve seen me for the past three days straight.” Marinette responded.

“I know but you make everything so much better, even if you do nothing but just be in the same room as me.”

“Aww Bee.” She blushed. “I like being around you too.”

They reached their classroom just as the bell rang signaling that class was about to start. Marinette dropped off Chloe’s bag and helped her into her seat. “I’ll see you at lunch.” She winked and went to her seat next to Alya.

                                          ≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

Marinette stared at the back of Chloe’s head the entire day. Although she had seen her as Ladybug the night before, it didn’t help the fact that the guilt was stirring around her. Again, and again, she tried to remind herself that it wasn’t her fault. That her girlfriend falling from the rooftop and waking up with a broken leg was just a mishap with an akuma.

It didn’t help though. She could see it in Chloe's eyes. The desperation on her face when she was told that the cast would be there for a few months. Those crutches would become a new normal and she wouldn’t be able to do certain activities with her friends such as swimming just as the sun was coming out. It wasn’t fair and she felt like she let her down not only as a superhero, but as a friend.

There was something off about Chloe as she went through the day. At lunch, people gave her some flowers and offered to sign her cast, but she had declined any signatures. Marinette offered her company on the bench and held out a small box of sugar cookies. “I made these last night for you.”

She could see Chloe’s shoulders instantly relax a little and a small beam of pride was felt as Chloe took the box and thanked her.

“I was wondering if you wanted me to come over tomorrow night. My mom and dad are out for the weekend on a delivery so I would be alone.” Marinette said. “I was thinking of a movie night, and I made some designs for your cast and crutches.”

There was a part of Chloe that wanted to be by herself. However, the other side of her wanted nothing more than to be cuddled up next to Marinette while a movie played in the background. Her social battery was becoming challenged lately but Marinette only seemed to add energy as she never got tired of being around her.

“Honestly, I could use some girlfriend time. I love my dad, but he's been babying me and although I’m in a cast, I can still handle myself. Plus, I can hardly stand this ugly thing.” She tapped on her cast. “Tomorrows perfect.”

“Awesome! I’ll bring over my art supplies and a bunch of movies.” Mari smiled and kissed her on the cheek as the bell rang. “Here let me get your bag.” She offered and put it on her shoulder.

“It's alright, I can probably carry it myself.” Chloe tried to reach for it but instead Marinette took her hand and placed a kiss to her knuckles.

“I’m sure you can but I would like to carry my girlfriend's stuff.”

“Alright Dupain-Cheng. Just let me know when you get tired of it, all we need is for you to fall down the stairs and get put into your own cast.” Chloe teased.

Marinette rolled her eyes playfully. “I’m not that clumsy.”

“Of course not. But you are cute.” She winked and started to walk to class leaving a flushed Marinette behind.

                                        ≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

Everywhere she looked there was glitter. It was as if someone had taken all the sparkle particles in the city and sent them straight to her bedroom. Yellows, purples, golds and pinks of all shaped plastic that was as tiny as the tip of the pin covered her hands.

“Mari, I love the enthusiasm but am I going to have to get my room deep cleaned?” Chloe asked as she wiped her hands on a towel and yet the glitter still shined across her palm.

Marinette giggled as she grabbed another paintbrush and dipped it into black paint. “It will come out soon, or in a day-maybe even a year.”

The blonde wanted to be annoyed that she could potentially wake up covered in the stuff but seeing her girlfriend enjoying herself as she decorated those ugly crutches was enough to make her okay with the sacrifice of her rug.

“Well as long as my crutches look better than anyone’s ever had, I don’t mind.” She smirked.

“I’m sure they will. And done!” Marinette exclaimed and stood up to examine the crutches. “What do you think?”

Chloe always knew that Marinette was an artsy person, anyone could tell that just by looking at her. No matter how many times she was shown her work, she would always be in awe at how amazing it was.

The crutches had gone from a dull light grey to a masterpiece. They had been painted a light yellow and had black flowers all around them. Small bees were hidden all around and had glitter on top to add a little extra flair. Even the cushions that her arms rested on were now wrapped with black fabric.

“They look stunning.” Chloe gasped.

“A Queen Bee theme for a queen.” Marinette smiled and placed them against the wall so that the paint could dry. “They should be dry in a couple hours so if you need to move around, I’ll help you around.”

“Thank you, Marinette, I love them a lot.”

“Anything for you.” She kissed her cheek. “Now are you ready for the cast? I was thinking of painting sunflowers and then our friends can sign the petals to make it even more special.”

“That sounds lovely.” Chloe says as Marinette moves her leg, so her cast is sitting in her lap.

“Perfect! Will you pass me the yellow paint?” She points.

Chloe reaches to the bucket of paints and picks out the tube of yellow and hands it to her. Her eyes shift over to her crutches, and she focuses on the bees. She loves it and thinks it's pretty, but her chest still feels tight when she thinks about her being Queen Bee.

“Marinette, can I tell you a secret?” She whispers and she feels like she wants to take the words back when Marinette looks up at her.

“Of course, always.” She responds and sets her brush down.

“I shouldn’t be Queen Bee.”

Marinette's eyes shot wide open as she's shocked from the words that left her lips. “What? Why would you say that?”

She expected her to react like this but something about the look in Marinette's eyes makes her wonder why she looks so upset. She suddenly feels so small, and she knows that if she speaks, tears will follow.

She feels Marinette take her hand. “Is this because you got hurt?”

Chloe sniffles and she turns her head away. “It's more than just that. It's nightmares and letting everyone down.”

“Chloe.” She frowns. “You didn’t let anyone down.”

“It's ridiculous Marinette. I really thought that I could be this amazing superhero and be helpful. Instead, I was a fool that almost cost us the win. Ladybug told me that the miraculous would be waiting for me once I’m better, but I don’t think I should go back. I can’t mess up again.” Chloe looks at her and now she can see it.

She can see the heartbreak in Chloe’s eyes. The bags from hardly any sleep are showing up and she wishes she noticed sooner. Every time she had visited Chloe, she never talked about the nightmares, or the cast and she didn’t want to bring it up herself. It's weighing on her and all she wants to do is reach out and take away the pain.

Tears gather in Marinette's eyes. She had never seen pure devastation on her girlfriend's face or seen how vulnerable she is allowing herself to be. The conversation she had when she was Ladybug comes back. She takes a breath because she isn’t sure her words would work when Ladybugs didn’t do so well.

“You know what I admire about you?” Marinette starts and cups her cheek. “You have a remarkable amount of bravery. It's okay to mess up and make mistakes, but what really counts is if you get back up again.”

A sigh leaves the blondes' lips. “I don’t know.”

“I can see it in your eyes Chloe. No matter what, you love helping people as Queen Bee. Getting hurt doesn’t make you a bad superhero. It makes you human. No one will blame you for being scared to go back out there. You have so much courage just considering it. I believe Ladybug when she says she wants you back out there. You’re amazing and I wish I could show you how great you are.”

“Do you really think she means it? That she’s waiting for me?” She asks.

“Definitely. Ladybug would never cast you aside.” She reassures her.

Through her sobs Chloe let’s out a laugh. “That's exactly what Chat Noir said.”

Marinette's eyes widen when she realizes the pun she just accidentally said and scoffs. “Of course, he did.” Her thumb catches another tear. “I mean it Chloe. Not as just your girlfriend but as someone who truly believes in you and is on your side. You are the only Queen Bee for Paris. Plus, it would be utterly ridiculous of you not to go back out there.” She tried to make her smile.

And it works. The tears slow as Chloe takes a deep breath. “It would be ridiculous, wouldn’t it?”

Marinette scoots closer and nuzzles her nose against hers. “I mean if you quit then I couldn’t brag at how my amazing, stunning and absolutely gorgeous girlfriend is one of the greatest superheroes the world has ever seen.”

“Well, we couldn’t let that happen.” Chloe giggles as she feels her heart becoming lighter.

It becomes clear to Chloe that she can’t let this affect her. She wouldn't let a broken foot and fear hold her back. No, she was going to be the hero her girlfriend believed her to be. She wanted to rise to the challenge and get her mojo back. Make sure that Ladybug knew that she was ready to get back out there and be back on her team. She wanted to see Pollen again and help stop Hawk Moth.

“You’re amazing Chloe.” Marinette and that's enough for Chloe to want to be better.

It has always been Marinette cheering her on. She won’t let her down. She leans forward and takes Marinette's lips slowly. It's soft and slow but fills her stomach with butterflies. A warmth fills her chest as Marinette kisses her back. She runs her hand through her dark hair, pulling her impossibly closer and she can feel the smile forming on her girlfriend's lip.

“Thank you, Marinette, for believing in me.” She said as they pulled apart.

“I always will Chloe.” She responds just as she kisses her again.

                                       ≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

                                                  A month later

“Alright Ms. Bourgeois, your cast is officially off, and you won’t be needing to rely on crutches anymore. All I suggest is taking it easy for about a week or two, but you recovered extremely well.” The doctor smiled and Chloe could feel a new freedom as she wiggled her toes.

“It's about time.” She spoke.

“You can discard your crutches in the other room if you no longer want them.”

Chloe turned to her crutches that were still as pretty as the day they were painted. “Absolutely not. These crutches are the best in Paris and there is no way that I am getting rid of them.” She then sees her cast sitting on the back counter. “I want to keep that too.”

“You want to keep your cast?” The doctor questions.

She only scoffs and hops off the medical table. “Of course! My friends worked hard to make it look special, it's going to be framed to remember my time of bravery.”

The doctor shrugs. “Okay then, you’re free to go Ms. Bourgeois.”

“Thank you.” She huffed and grabbed her crutches before heading out toward her limo.

For the first time in what feels like a century, she's able to get into the car without any help. She can cross her legs and shift comfortably. “I’m never taking advantage of walking again.” She says to herself as she pulls out her phone. She dials a number and on the second ring it picks up.

“Mari? We have a date in the park this Saturday and I want your finest sugar cookies.”

She hears her girlfriend's soft laugh on the other side of the phone. “I’ll be there.”

                                       ≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

It had been a few days since the cast was removed. She felt perfectly fine, and everyone was starting to revert back to treating her normally. No more kid gloves or pampering hand and foot excessively. Now it was them pampering her hand and foot normally, just how she liked.

She stared in the mirror as she reached for a hair tie to pull her hair up. Behind her, she heard a tapping noise coming from her balcony door. Looking at the time, she realized she had about ten minutes before her date with Marinette.

Another tap from the door and she rolled her eyes.

“Stupid wind.” She complained as she walked over to the door. Instead of the wind or a random object, the hero of creation stood before her. “Ladybug?” She gasped.

The hero offered a bright smile. “Heard you got the cast off and I’m in need of some assistance.” She said as she held out the miraculous box.

Any doubt or guilt she had carried over the last few weeks had vanished. There was a hint of pride in Ladybug's eyes as she offered the power to her.

Chloe reached out for it before hesitating. “I have a date with Marinette.” She frowned.

Panic settled in as Ladybug held the box. “Uh, I’m sure she will understand. After all, you are a superhero and about to help save Paris. Plus, you then get to tell her about all the exciting action you faced!” She said quickly.

Chloe thought about it for a second.

“I guess you’re right. She is one of the most understanding people around, unlike most of the fools I know. Now, hand me that box Ladybug, I have a villain to crush.”

A bright golden light emerged, and Pollen faced her with a smile.

“My Queen.” Pollen bowed.

“It's nice to see you again.” Chloe patted her on the head. “Time to remind Paris who their Queen Bee is!”

“Absolutely!” Pollen cheered.

“Pollen. Buzz on!”

As the light surrounded her, it filled her with joy. There was no darkness, no villain taking her down. Fear of failure was a thing of the past.

A hand came onto her shoulder. “It's good to have you back Queen Bee.” Ladybug said.

Chloe turned and engulfed her in a hug. It took them both by surprise, but she felt Ladybugs arms around her. “Thank you.” She whispered.

“You are always going to be Paris’s bee.”

                                        ≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

There was a rush of adrenaline flowing through her as she transformed back to her civilian form. She handed Ladybug her miraculous and for the first time in months, she was at peace with herself.

“You did amazing Chloe! Give Marinette my best.” Ladybug said as she zipped away.

Without wasting any time, Chloe rushed over to the park to find Marinette sitting on a picnic blanket.

“Sorry for the wait.” Chloe said as she joined her on the blanket.

Marinette laughed and handed her a drink. “Don’t worry about it. I ran back to the bakery to grab some stuff, so your timing is perfect.”

“Well, you have to be perfect to be a superhero.” Chloe smirked proudly. “I’m not sure if you saw but I got the final blow in.”

“I was on the edge of my seat watching the Lady Blog. You looked incredible.” Mari said as she took her hand. “I’m really happy you didn’t give up. You’re an inspiration to others by teaching them to not let fear hold them back. Ladybug is lucky to have you.”

Chloe felt her cheeks flush at her girlfriend's words. Pure adoration was clear on Marinette's face. “If anything, I’m lucky to have you.” Chloe told her before kissing her on the lips.

                                        ≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

Thank you for reading :) 

[spacestationdaedalus]

sweeter when it’s finally found

"Here." Martin hands him the jumper, presses it into his lap like that's where it belongs, like it's always had a home there. "I was a little warm, anyway.”

or: Jon thinks about Martin, and his sweater. For JonMartin Week 2021, Day 1 - Cozy Jumpers!! can't wait to see all the delicious food that comes out of @jonmartinweek!!!​

ao3 link here!

...

He's wearing the jumper, again.

It's a good jumper, Jon had always thought. Martin must like it too, for how often he wears it.

It's a simple thing, really. Pale yellow wool, solid color, worn from use in a way that just makes it softer, more reliable. At least, Jon assumes. He's only ever brushed it in passing, never able to savor the feel of it. In the hallway, brusquely and on accident, or when he leaned over Martin's desk to grab a file, in a way that he'd meant to be intimidating, at the time. Even later, when they ate lunch and sat next to each other before the not-end of the world, he never touched it. The chasm between him and the man next to him too wide, too deep to cross so easily.

Martin falls asleep almost as soon as the train starts moving, and Jon is grateful even around the lingering sorrow and need to have him here. Jon forces the selfish desire away - Martin looks exhausted, with dark circles rimming his eyes and a paleness to his face that looks even worse outside of the Institute. Not that Jon is looking much better. Haggard is an understatement, reflecting back at him from the window, in the space above Martin's head. Whispered to him, from the thoughts of the people shuffling in and out of the station, down the aisle, in the seats across from them. The constant Knowing was easier to ignore at the Institute, in the muffled quiet of files and hallways and imperceptible fog. Here, the Eye is hungry, charged to capacity and brimming from whatever meal Lukas had provided for it. The eyes, the thoughts of strangers cut through his own mind like radio interference, and he remembers why he'd avoided leaving the Archives as much as possible.

Jon digs a pair of earbuds out of his backpack. The music doesn't help, but it doesn't hurt, either. He listens, watching the city pass into suburbs pass into countryside. But his eyes are drawn to Martin's face, again and again, where it's partially reflected in the smudged glass.

Martin's arm is draped on the shared armrest between them, and Jon can't stop looking at it, either. The sleeve of his yellow jumper is bunched just above his wrist. His hand, curled loosely in the slack of sleep. Jon has to keep his arm tight at his side in order to keep from brushing it. He doesn't want to wake Martin, of course. He'd been through so much, he needed the rest, Jon can't deny him that-

The train is cold, just like the Archives, his office. The Lonely. Jon can't tell where the draft is coming from, not that it really matters. He wraps his arms around his chest, even as other passengers shrug off their coats and scarves. Maybe it's not the train, or poor central heating in old London buildings. Maybe it's him. Maybe it's always been him. Broken, dysfunctional-

"Are you cold?"

Martin's voice is low, rough with sleep. Jon really, really tries not to jump, but the reaction bubbles over atop the thing that feels like panic in his chest. You spend so long on edge you don't know how to step away from it. But Martin's hair is sticking up on one side, smile barely tugging at the corner of his mouth. He hasn't shaved in a few days, Jon can tell. But then, he hasn't either.

He almost forgets to answer the question. "Ah, n-no, I mean...it's nothing, I-"

But Jon's heart thrums high in his throat as Martin shrugs the jumper off effortlessly. He's wearing a t-shirt underneath, a band or movie logo Jon doesn't recognize. He should ask, that's something someone would do in this situation, someone normal and kind and everything he isn't-

"Here." Martin hands him the jumper, presses it into his lap like that's where it belongs, like it's always had a home there. "I was a little warm, anyway."

Jon stares at the pile of fabric. He probably looks like an idiot, certainly feels like one, as something warm and jagged and bleeding wells up in his chest. He will not cry, not over sometime so-

It's just as soft as he always thought it would be, downy under the pads of his fingers. It's warm from Martin's body heat. Like a towel, fresh from the dryer, or a patch of sunlight hitting the carpet just right in the late afternoon. He pulls it over his head with a reverence he hopes isn't that obvious. It envelopes him, relief from the cold so immediate he can't help the shaky sigh that leaves his lungs. It smells like Martin, too, although Jon can't recall when he learned what that smell is. But it's gentle and comforting, tea and vanilla and oh so right.

The sleeves fall well past his hands. But he doesn't need them for much right now, so that's okay.

He looks up to meet Martin's eye, to tell him thank you and maybe some other things he doesn't know how to say. Martin is already there, looking at him, with an expression Jon doesn't quite recognize. The smile that stretches wider across Martin's cheeks seems fond, though.

Jon does say thank you, around the tightness in his throat and his tongue that feels useless in his mouth. Martin replies in kind, stretching his arms and his neck in a gesture so mundane and painfully endearing, Jon can't look away.

After a moment Martin settles again, gaze towards the window but not really looking. His arm is back on the armrest, bare, and Jon notices the faintest hint of goosebumps raised on his forearm. Jon doesn't let himself think before he nudges his own arm close, overlaying the sweater sleeve on top of Martin's leaning close to press against his bicep. Martin turns to him and Jon is so close to looking away because his own heart is beating so fast and he doesn't know what he'll see in Martin's face. But he doesn't - he looks at Martin and Martin looks at him, wide eyed and flushed ever so slightly. He looks, happy, or something close to it, and Jon's heart makes a strange twinge in his chest, and he bowls over his own apprehension before he regrets it.

"I...I don't want you to be cold." It sounds lame and obvious when he says it out loud. For all the Eye can feed knowledge to him his brain might as well be molasses for all the good it is to him.

But Martin breathes a laugh through his nose. "Thank you, Jon." It sounds sincere.

They fall asleep, both of them, at some point. Jon's head on Martin's shoulder and Martin's head on top of Jon's. It should be uncomfortable, objectively, but Jon doesn't remember the last time he slept so soundly. And he isn't cold.

[beatles-slash-fiction]

Holy shit...more of the threatening letter pls. Did not know i needed the peril.

Maybe george getting suspicious as ringos behaviour gets weirder and weirder (like ringos keeping a secret so what they hell is going on) and then he finds out?

George had thought that Ringo’s behaviour had been odd when he’d wanted them all to sleep in one of the spare rooms together, but now things are getting weird.

Ringo spends nearly an hour on the phone with someone while George feeds Dhani his breakfast, and when Ringo reappears, he looks slightly panicked.

“Alright, what’s going on?” George demands. “You’re starting to scare me.”

Ringo sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He looks tired. Exhausted.

“Do you trust me?” Ringo asks softly.

George frowns. “Yes, but-“

“Then let’s go and stay with your brother for a few days.”

“Which one? Why-“

“Either one. Look, Georgie, I just...I’d just feel better if we went away for a few days. I need you to trust me.”

George has never seen his husband so agitated, so afraid. Even Dhani is picking up on the uneasy vibe in the room and starts to wail.

“I’m not going anywhere,” George says, “until you tell me why.”

He almost wishes he hadn’t asked.

Ringo tells him everything, and he shows George the two letters that had arrived in the post. Looking at them makes his stomach churn. He’s trembling as he stares at the spot where Baby sleeps here is scrawled.

Ringo reassures him that he’s reported it to Brian, and Brian is going to deal with the police. In the meantime, they should go somewhere safe for a few days.

George can’t pack fast enough. He can’t stand the thought of a stranger wandering the hallways of their home, working out where everything is and watching them sleep. Watching Dhani sleep.

A stranger was in their house.

It brings back horrible memories of when they lived in London before Dhani was born. Their flat had been burgled when they’d been out one night, and they’d come home to find the place trashed. George had felt disgusted and terrified at the thought of someone there rifling through their belongings.

They’d had some cash and souvenirs from their trip to America stolen, which George hadn’t been that bothered about. But whoever had broken in had also taken a locket that Ringo had bought George for his twenty-first birthday, and that had been absolutely devastating.

George still thinks about that locket sometimes. He’d kept a tiny photo of him and Ringo in there, and Ringo had had it inscribed with a sweet message. It probably wasn’t worth a huge amount of money, but the sentimental value was priceless.

And now George feels just like he did then, except now he’s not crying over a stupid locket- now he’s crying over whether his baby is going to be safe.

They debate going to stay with John and Paul, but agree that they should go somewhere where they won’t draw attention to themselves.

So they end up going to stay with Peter, as he lives sufficiently far away and George has always felt safe with his big brother. Besides, it also means that Dhani can spend some time with his cousins, as most of George’s family have only met him a couple of times.

George doesn’t tell his brother the real reason for the impromptu visit, but Peter can clearly tell that something is wrong. Nevertheless, Peter and his family are warm and welcoming, and George starts to feel a little more relaxed.

“Not that I don’t love seeing you,” Peter says softly when they’re sitting alone in the garden, watching Ringo play with Dhani and Peter’s children, “but are you going to tell me what this is all about? You’re not really one for spontaneous overnight visits.”

George bites his lip. He doesn’t really want to burden anyone else with all this.

“Is it Richard?” Peter probes gently, his gaze shifting over to Ringo. “Has he done something?”

George laughs. Peter always calls Ringo Richard, which George finds quite funny. His husband and his brother get on well, but Peter will always be a protective older brother.

“No,” George replies. “Nothing like that. I honestly just wanted a change of scenery. It took me so long to recover from the birth, and being home with the baby all the time is so exhausting. And the others have been talking about going on tour again, which I really don’t want to do, so I just wanted to get away from it all.”

Nothing he’s said is a lie, even if it isn’t strictly the real reason he’s here. But it seems to satisfy Peter, which is enough.

George watches Ringo chase his nephews round the garden for a little while longer, while Dhani sits on a little blanket surrounded by some of his toys. It’s been a long, emotionally draining day, and George feels so tired that he politely excuses himself to go upstairs and take a brief nap.

“We’ll wake you up for dinner,” Peter promises. “You go and get some rest.”

Ringo gives George a worried look, but George just reassures him he’s fine. It’s time for Dhani to have a nap anyway, so George scoops his son up and carries him up to the guest bedroom where they’d left their bags earlier.

“It’s been a long day, eh?” George says to Dhani as he settles him in the cot next to the bed. “You must be very sleepy, sweetheart.”

He gives Dhani a quick kiss as the baby’s eyes flutter closed, before letting out a yawn himself.

It’s only when he takes a seat on the bed that he realises there’s something on his pillow.

He frowns as he reaches for the small object, which looks golden and shiny, and he can already feel his blood freeze as he realises what it is.

It’s a locket.

It can’t be.

It fucking can’t be, it’s a coincidence, nothing else; it’s probably Pauline’s and she’s left it in here by accident-

George’s fingers are shaking as he prises it open, and he feels nauseous as a younger version of himself stares back at him, smiling next to Ringo.

He can barely breathe as he reads the inscription on the other side.

To Georgie on your 21st birthday

All my love forever

Ritchie

[actress4him]

Bonus Whumptober Content

I had no plans originally of continuing the story from Whumptober Day 28. As far as I was concerned, it ended badly and that was that.

But you can all thank @outtacommission , because I was bribed into continuing it!

If you need a refresher on the original chapter, click the link above or read it on AO3.

This is the start of the new content, which ended up being super long, so I broke it up into three short chapters. I’m really excited and nervous to share this. Writing sequels for oneshots that weren’t originally supposed to be continued is...tough. This is the second time I’ve done it, and I always feel like the continuation isn’t as good as the original. But I’m pretty happy with how this turned out, so I hope that you guys enjoy it, too!

Fandom: Voltron Legendary Defender

Warnings: (big spoilers!) needles, implied CPR, broken bones, blood, brain damage, paralysis, amputation, panic attacks

.

“Quiznak. Oh, holy quiznak, Keith?”

.

“He’s not breathing. I’ve got no pulse.”

.

“Hold him steady, I’m cutting the back of this chair off so we can get to the shrapnel.”

.

“Come on, Keith. Breathe. Breathe!”

.

“Look, I found this in Red’s first aid kit. I’m a universal donor.”

“Get it hooked up, he needs everything we can give him.”

.

“Please, Keith. Please.”

.

“Shiro, his ribs…”

“I know. They’ll heal.”

.

“Wait! Look!”

“Oh my g-...okay. Okay. Hurry, let’s get him to the Black Lion. I’ll need you to ride with him so you can keep up the transfusion.”

“Right behind you.”

.

.

Consciousness came in spurts. The first time, he surfaced from the never-ending blackness to nothing but cold and pain, and the feeling that his insides were twisted into a big knot and trying their best to exit his body. As he retched, body automatically jerking to try to sit up or roll over and sending even more pain shooting through him, frantic voices surrounded him.

“...reaction...blood…!”

“But...O neg...shouldn’t…”

Somebody scooped him up like a baby and ran, jarring his screaming abdomen with every step, before depositing him onto a semi-soft surface.

“...Galra…”

“...sample...synthesize more…”

The words meant nothing to him. All he knew was pain and nausea, and a blur of lights and movement above him.

Just before he passed out again, there was a sharp prick in his forearm that momentarily drew his attention away from the rest of the pain. He couldn’t find the energy to protest it.

.

.

The second time, voices were the first to filter in, hushed tones that sounded as if they were speaking a foreign language. His eyes fluttered open, but the bright lights overhead made him wince and squeeze them back shut. 

“You’re okay,” someone soothed, the only words he could actually pick out from among the rest. “You’ll be just fine. Go back to sleep, now.”

There was a prick on the back of his hand, and he whimpered involuntarily. But a moment later the nothingness was taking back over, and he gladly slipped underneath.

.

.

The next time he woke, he had no recollection of the first two times, or of anything that happened before, but for some reason he was surprised to be waking up. Somehow, he didn’t think he was going to do so. But here he was, awake. Only, he had no idea where here was.

“Keith? Bud? You with us?”

He knew that voice. Turning his head toward it, he willed his eyes to open, and after a moment, they obeyed. A blur of yellow and brown met him. 

“Hey, bud! It’s good to see those eyes open. Can you hear me?”

Keith blinked, trying to bring the person into focus. Once their features had solidified enough that he could make out dark brown eyes and a smile, he licked his chapped lips and attempted to speak. 

“Hunk.” For some reason the N dragged on for much longer than he had intended, but it was a word, regardless.

“Yeah! That’s me! Oh my gosh, you have no idea how happy I am that you’re awake and okay.”

How long had he been asleep? It must have been a while for Hunk to be worried. And he was pretty sure he felt okay, though maybe a bit numb overall. Maybe he really had been asleep for a long time. It kinda felt like he was waking up after one of those naps you take while you’re sick and your fever breaks in the middle of it.

He licked his lips again, to no avail. “‘hirsty.”

“Yep, yep, I’m sure you are.” Hunk turned and snatched something up off a nearby table, bringing it toward Keith’s face. “Here ya go. Small sips.”

The water was the most wonderful thing he had ever tasted in his life. He wanted to gulp it all down, ignoring what he had been told, but Hunk pulled it away after only a couple of seconds. 

“Okay, I’m gonna go get Shiro and Fallenta and let them know you’re awake, alright? I’ll be right back.”

Keith struggled to process that sentence. He didn’t think he recognized one of those names, and he still couldn’t figure out why him being awake was such a big deal. Unless...he had gotten hurt in one of their fights. But then why wouldn’t he be waking up from the pod, not in whatever bed this was?

“Wha...happened?” His words continued to come out strangely, despite his best efforts. Maybe he had been sleeping on his face, because it was one of those numb parts of him that didn’t seem to want to move properly.

Hunk froze at the doorway, turning slowly to face him. “Um...what do you remember?”

It was a good question. Wrinkling his brow, he searched his still half-dazed mind, trying and failing to grasp at the snippets of memories that danced by. It didn’t take long for his head to start hurting, and he shut his eyes, giving up for the moment. “Don’t know. A fight?” He had a vague recollection of being in Red recently. “In the Lions?”

“Um, yeah, well, that’s...one thing that happened.” Hunk seemed nervous, fidgeting with his hands. “I’m gonna go, um, get the others, and they can tell you everything, ‘kay?” Without giving Keith a chance to protest, he disappeared through the door.

Keith sighed, and tested out various parts of his body. Other than most of his right side being curiously numb, and an almost unnoticeable ache in a couple more places, everything seemed to be working properly. He had been in Red right before waking up there...right? Maybe she could tell him what was going on.

Only when he closed his eyes and reached for their connection, he came up empty. There was nothing there. No hum, no purr, nothing. His heart leapt into his throat. Red! Red, where are you? What if something had happened to her? What if she was gone? What if he had done something to make her reject him, and he wasn’t even a paladin anymore, what if that’s what Hunk didn’t want to tell him? If he wasn’t a paladin anymore, then he’d...he’d be nothing. Useless. There would be absolutely no reason for him to be in the Castle anymore, in space at all. The other paladins would take him back to Earth and dump him off, and he’d have no one and nothing yet again.

The door opened, and Keith shot upright, ignoring the way it made his head swim and that ache in his ribs twinge. “I can’t feel Red! I can’t...what happened? Where’s Red?”

“Hey! Hey, shh, Keith, it’s okay!” Shiro was across the room in an instant, sitting down on the side of the bed and grasping Keith’s shoulders in both his hands. “I need you to calm down for me, okay? I’ll explain, but I need you to take deep breaths.”

Drawing in one such breath to appease the man, Keith glanced around the room, taking in Hunk’s worried expression and the alien stranger that stood on the other side of his bed. “Somebody please just tell me what's going on.” The words were still slurred, which was getting more frustrating by the second. “Why’m I here?”

He hated the look that Shiro shot up at the alien before catching his eyes again. They were treating him like a fragile child. Even when he was a child, he had gotten more bad news in his few years than most adults did in their whole lives, so it wasn’t like he didn’t always expect more. 

“You were in an accident,” Shiro finally explained, still speaking far too slowly and softly. “You and Red got hit with a zaiforge cannon and crashed into a nearby planet. Do you remember?”

Keith already knew he didn’t, so he wasn’t going to waste time searching his memory when he still wanted answers. “Where’s Red? Is she okay?”

Offering a sympathetic smile, Shiro squeezed his shoulder with his flesh hand. “She’s in rough shape. All her systems are shut down right now. But Pidge and Coran and Hunk have been working on her, and they’re optimistic that everything can be fixed. With time.”

Letting all his breath out with a whoosh, Keith slumped over forward. It was simultaneous good news and bad news. Red hadn’t rejected him, or at least he didn’t think so. But he hated that she was so badly hurt. “I wanna see her.”

Shiro’s smile twitched up a little higher. “I know. But first, we need to check on you. You’ve been unconscious for quite a while. Everything seems to have healed up alright, but there were some things that couldn’t be tested while you were out.”

As if this was their cue, the alien - an objectively pretty, willowy creature with mauve fur, four long, thin arms, and a myriad of long, thin fingers on each hand - stepped forward. Their voice was light and feminine, and had a lilting accent that reminded him of Lance when he fell into his native tongue.

“I am going to give you some simple instructions to follow, okay?”

Keith frowned. “Who ‘re you?”

“Oh, yes, right.” Shiro indicated the newcomer with one hand. “This is Fallenta. She’s a Tellimite. They’re one of the most medically advanced species in the universe. We wanted to make sure you had the best care possible, so Allura brought us to Tellima as soon as we had you in the pod. Fallenta has been...indispensable.”

His explanation only caused Keith more confusion. If he had been in a pod, then why did he need a doctor? And again, why was he in some bed now? 

Seeming to sense his questions, Fallenta smiled and settled down opposite Shiro. “There were some...complications from your injuries. Coran and Shiro made the right call by placing you into a healing pod right away, knowing that it was the only way to save your life, but that meant that your bones that were broken could not be reset before healing. One of my jobs was to correct this once your abdomen wound was no longer life threatening.”

“Yes, you actually had two different stints in the pod,” Shiro nodded. His brow furrowed. “Well, three, if you count the time that your body rejected the blood Pidge had given you and started trying to shut down. Thankfully, Coran had those samples he took from all of us at the beginning, and was able to synthesize some more of yours.”

Keith couldn’t stand the troubled expression on Shiro’s face, especially since he had been the one to put it there. Lifting his left arm, he gently squeezed his brother’s elbow. “I’m okay now.”

Shiro smiled, but there was a sheen to his eyes. “You have no idea how relieved I am about that.”

“Your cognition seems to be just fine,” Fallenta said, “and losing memory of the traumatic event is not uncommon. There are a few other things I need to check, though.”

She spent the next few minutes shining a flashlight into his eyes, asking him some questions about things that happened prior to the accident, getting him to remember a short list of objects, and observing his reactions to various movements and sounds. All of it led Keith to believe that it was his brain being tested, and it made him nervous. No one would tell him anything else, though, simply repeating that they would explain everything shortly.

It seemed to be going well, though, and everyone was smiling and calm, so he tried not to let it get to him. Until Fallenta moved on to testing sensations. She started on his left arm, lightly touching it with her finger, then poking her claw into his skin, then digging in her knuckle. Everything felt like it should.

“Alright, the right arm, now.” She smiled at him and held his gaze, but after a moment of nothing further happening, her smile faded into a neutral expression. Another moment, and he was wondering why she hadn’t done the test yet. 

“Do you feel any of this, Keith?”

“What?” He looked down, and her finger was on his forearm. As he watched, she moved it up and down his arm, tapping lightly. He swallowed hard. “It's...it's been really numb e’er since I woke up. My face an’ leg, too.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Shiro stiffen. “What does that mean?”

Fallenta smiled again, and as nice of a smile as it was, he was beginning to hate it. “Let’s complete the tests, and I will be able to tell you more. Can you feel this?” 

This time he watched as she pricked him with her claw, and to his relief, there was a faint jolt of pain. “A little. It's muted, though.”

“That’s good. And this?” She used her knuckle that time, and again, the pressure was faint.

“Same. What's wrong with my arm?” he demanded, glaring first at her, then Shiro. “Why can’t I talk right?”

“Have patience -”

“No!” Keith yanked his arm away from her with far more effort than should have been required. “I'm out of patience! Tell me what's wrong!”

Shiro put a hand on Fallenta’s shoulder, nodded at her, then reached forward and took Keith’s hand. “When we found you…” He paused, his jaw clenching and eyes flicking away for a split second before he seemed to steel himself to continue. “Your heart had stopped. It’s impossible to say how long you had been like that. I was able to get it started again, but it took a few minutes. So your brain…” Drawing in a deep breath, he let it out in a sigh. “It was without oxygen for several minutes, at the least. Brain damage has been a concern from the very start. When I said you have no idea how relieved I am that you’re okay...it was possible that you wouldn’t ever wake up. Or if you did, that you wouldn’t be able to function at all.” An errant tear slipped out, and he dashed it away with his metal hand. “But you’re here. You’re awake, and you can speak and think and...and it’s gonna be okay. I promise, it’s gonna be okay.”

Brain damage? The words hit him like a blow to the chest. That meant his arm...his face...they weren’t just numb, they were...they were…

He ripped his hand from Shiro’s grip. “How can you say it's gonna be okay? Do you hear me? I soun’ stupid! An’ my arm...how’m I supposed to fight an’ fly if I can barely move my arm?”

“But you still have some movement and sensation,” Fallenta broke in. “That is very good news. It means that, with physical therapy, you can regain even more use. You can even have speech therapy to help you build up your facial muscles.”

“Speech therapy?” He almost laughed at that. “We’re in the middle of a war, we don’ have time for speech therapy!”

Shiro’s hand landed on his leg. “We’ll make it work, Keith.”

“No. No.” He shook his head harshly. “Get off. Get off me, I need...” Flailing his one good hand toward Shiro and Fallenta, he gritted his teeth against the tears that wanted to fall. The weight on either side of the bed moved as the two of them stood. “I need some air. I need...” Red, that’s what he needed. He reached for the corner of the blanket that covered his legs. “I’m gonna -”

“Keith, wait!”

Shiro and Hunk both lunged, but it was too late. He had already flipped the blanket to the side, revealing what lay underneath.

Or rather, what didn’t lay underneath.

He was gonna be sick.

His leg. It was…it was missing from the knee down.

Keith screamed.

The next minutes or hours were a blur of tears and pain in his chest and breaths that wouldn’t come. He vaguely recalled Shiro being in front of him, his lips moving but no sound coming out. He vaguely recalled thrashing and slamming his head into the wall behind him. 

After that, though, the nothingness took back over.

Next

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt: Leverage/MDZS fusion where, somehow, some way, the Leverage Crew recognize NHS as The Mastermind of his age-group. (Bonus if the Leverage crew scheme to get NHS a Thief, a Grifter, etc of his Very Own.)

“Thank you all for coming,” Lan Xichen said, pouring tea for the other three people at the table. “I think you all know why I’ve asked you to gather here today.”

“Sure,” Nie Mingjue said, accepting the cup. “Because our younger siblings have decided to join together to become a criminal gang.”

“That seems like an unduly harsh way to put it,” Jiang Yanli murmured, inclining her head in thanks to Lan Xichen as she took her own. “After all, they’re helping people, aren’t they?”

Wen Qing huffed. “Leverage,” she drawled. “If I ever find out who gave them that idea…!”

“I don’t know why you’re so upset about it,” Nie Mingjue said. “Weren’t you the one who wanted your brother to socialize more?”

“I meant that he should have friends, not that he should start breaking laws – on the orders of your brother!”

“I’m fairly sure he’s really only there for Wei Wuxian –”

“Your brother’s the mastermind,” she said flatly. “The useless mastermind.”

Nie Mingjue’s eyes curved as he smiled involuntarily. “He really is good-for-nothing, isn’t he? He doesn’t have a single talent - except for getting other people to do all the work for him, that is.”

“Delegation is a skill,” Jiang Yanli agreed, also smiling. “It really is interesting how everyone involved seems to have chosen specialties that don’t seem to quite suit them, isn’t it? Lan Wangji, for instance, choosing to take on work as the ‘hitter’ despite being a pacifist…”

“He’s not a pacifist,” Lan Xichen protested weakly. “He just – prefers not to engage in unnecessary acts of violence.”

Nie Mingjue patted him on the shoulder sympathetically.

“I still can’t believe Wei Wuxian decided he could be a grifter,” Wen Qing said, rolling her eyes. “As his roommate, I’m embarrassed. Deeply embarrassed.”

“He’s very successful at it,” Jiang Yanli said, trying to be supportive.

“He knows only one grift,” Wen Qing said flatly. “And it’s ‘annoying people into doing things his way’.”

“…well, yes, but at least Nie-gongzi seems to take that into account when making his plans?” Jiang Yanli tried, then shrugged “At any rate, they seem happy! I really don’t think this is a matter of concern enough to draw us all together.”

Wen Qing crossed her arms. “And you have no concerns regarding your fiancé? Their so-called thief?”

“A thief who doesn’t steal anything because he’s too rich to need to,” Nie Mingjue said dryly.

“I feel sorry for that boy,” Lan Xichen murmured. “Affection seems to have been in short supply in Lanling, replaced by material objects – it’s not that strange that he developed an unusual compulsion.”

He paused for a moment, then smiled a little ruefully. “Personally, I’ve always wondered about Jiang Cheng’s role.”

Jiang Yanli held out her hands, indicating her helplessness. “I have no idea. He was never good at arrays, and yet he seems perfectly capable of bringing them down, no matter how complicated…some hidden talent, perhaps?”

“The opposite,” Wen Qing said with a sigh. “Speaking as the local expert in arrays –  his talent for arrays is so low that he just breaks them by accident. Every time.”

They all winced at the thought.

“At least your brother isn’t technically a criminal,” Nie Mingjue told Wen Qing, bringing the conversation back to the original point. “He just helps them out sometimes; the rest of the time, he’s an art appraiser. That’s a perfectly respectable occupation.”

“He’s fantastic at appraising art,” Wen Qing said, rubbing her temples. “But he’s so terrified of confrontation that he can’t bring himself to tell any of his clients that their art is worthless…I’ll never forgive Wen Ruohan for it, never. Have I thanked you recently for getting rid of him, Sect Leader Nie?”

Nie Mingjue waved a hand. “I would have done it anyway, you know that.”

“Still, still. It was a good deed, and all the talent in arrays in the world are useless if what you need is a really strong fist.”

“Saber,” he corrected her.

“Speaking of good deeds, it seems like our younger siblings have taken on a new client,” Lan Xichen said, changing the subject. “Wen Qing, if you could…?”

“Certainly,” she said, and dipped her fingers into the tea before using the liquid to draw an array on the table, the details of the client appearing in floating letters in the air. It also included the details of the plan that Nie Huaisang had sketched out to solve the problem. “It’s a fairly typical heart-wrenching story, so I don’t blame them for taking it, but I really do think this one is out of their league. The plan relies on their getting access to this particular treasure room at the very interior of the sect, and, well, Jiang Cheng is good at breaking arrays, but as you see…”

“That’s not the right number of guards, too,” Jiang Yanli said, studying the information with a frown. “Their information must be outdated; my understanding was that the number has grown considerably now that they’re on alert. Lan Wangji will be greatly outnumbered – poor A-Xian’s heart will be broken if anything happens to him.”

“Mine as well,” Lan Xichen put in, and smiled as she blushed and waved her hands.

“I can take care of thinning the herd,” Nie Mingjue assured both of them. “If one of you can get me to the choke point on the second floor, I can probably do it so that he won’t even notice that I’m there.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Lan Xichen said, shaking his head. “I’ve already spoken with a few people inside; someone will be more than happy to let me in through the gate.”

“By which you mean you’ve somehow convinced them that you’re on their side, again,” Wen Qing said, rolling her eyes. “No offense, Sect Leader Lan, but if you keep doing that, you’re going to get another stalker.”

“A-Yao isn’t a stalker,” Lan Xichen said. “He’s a professional.”

“A professional Interpol agent who wants to arrest all of us,” Nie Mingjue said, shaking his head. “Ridiculous. I know exactly what that man is capable of, the people he’s stepped on in his journey to the top; he has no room to talk about virtuous conduct at all.”

“You shouldn’t be so harsh on him, da-ge…”

“I’m pretty sure it’s a kink,” Wen Qing whispered to Jiang Yanli, who giggled. She shook her head and turned back to them. “It’s not as if we don’t all know that you’re dating him, Sect Leaders – my point was that we don’t want any more of him. Anyway, you’re all interrupting my presentation.”

Everyone muttered apologies.

“I think everyone’s plans sounded very good,” she continued. “But that still all depends on them getting in, and that means the defensive arrays have to be brought down to a level that our brothers can handle. I can do that if I have access to the spiritual treasure that forms the center of their array…Yanli?”

“Of course,” Jiang Yanli said with a smile. “Sect Leader Lan, when you bring Sect Leader Nie inside, can you plan to bring me in as well?”

“Certainly; you can be our secretary – we’ll send you to fetch tea. Will that be enough time for you to obtain the object?”

“I’ll make it work,” she said.

“Young mistress Jiang is being humble,” Nie Mingjue said. “A defensive system like that won’t even take you the length of time it takes to burn a stick of incense.”

“You flatter me, Sect Leader Nie,” she said with a laugh. “I’m really only a very average thief in my category…”

“When your category of ‘thief’ has only one person, you are, by definition, average,” Wen Qing said, rolling her eyes. “I hope you’ve given your fiancé some tips.”

“He’s far too embarrassed by it for us to discuss it openly,” she said, smiling. “But I’ve slipped in a few pointers here and there…I was thinking of bringing it up after the wedding.”

“Once he’s had a chance to see that you’re not breakable?” Wen Qing teased. “A little bit of tossing and turning –”

“Lady Wen, please!” Lan Xichen said, looking flustered himself. “Returning to the main point: are we all agreed on the plan? Our younger siblings must never know we’ve helped, of course.”

“It seems good to me,” Nie Mingjue said, and the others nodded as well. “See, Xichen, this is why we don’t need A-Yao to join us – we’re fine without a mastermind bossing us around.”

“But he’d enjoy it…”

“He is technically Jin Zixuan’s older sibling,” Jiang Yanli put in. “And this is a gathering of older siblings. You should consider it, Sect Leader Nie.”

He snorted, but shrugged. “I’ll think about it. No promises.”

“Enough, enough,” Wen Qing said. “Time’s limited – let’s go steal our younger brothers some self-confidence.”

[that--unusual-person]

Hello! If I may ask how would the pillar men react to a reader with glasses because the thought of these god like being confused by glasses is kinda funny to me scene I’m blind like a worm I should say

What is this contraption?  What is its purpose?  Let me try them on.  … Why is everything so blurry?  I can’t see!  USELESS!!

-

Kars:

He’s seen Lisa Lisa wear a similar pair to yours, but these are transparent?  It catches his attention and questions why you wear such glasses.  Claiming you can’t see he assumes that all glasses or sunglasses are meant for who he quotes... ‘blind people.’

“So… do they come in different shapes and sizes?”  “Of course!  They also have different style lenses and colors.”  “Fascinating.  Perhaps I should get a pair of my own.”  “Definitely!  But with the lens’ I have.”  “Why not yours?  Are they something special to you humans?  A sign of higher status, perhaps?”  “Far from that, actually.  These types of glasses help humans like me with bad eyesight see like any other normal person.”  “So your vision is damaged and you need these glasses to see…”  “Yeah.  They don’t hold the best fashion, but at least they get the job done.”  “They do look a little bland… but then you wear them, I must say, it’s quite an adorable sight.  And, I must ask… may I try them?”  “Oh, sure!”  You let him try them on out of his own curiosity and yours to see what they do.  The second he opens his eyes he’s met with a blurry world catching him off guard quickly taking them off.  He holds your glasses with both hands and blinks a few times before putting them back on again, then taking them off and repeating the process.  “I can’t see out of these glasses.”  “They aren’t made for eyes like yours.  The reason they won’t work for you is because your eyes are perfectly fine.”  “... Hm.  Interesting fact, human.”  He hands you your glasses back.  “I never knew such fashion can act as useful as this.”

Esidisi:

After taking the glasses off your head to examine them he notices you try to reach for them but missing miserably.  He laughs and holds your glasses further away from your reach.  He hands you your glasses back, putting them back on your head. You try your best to ignore his snarky remarks, calling you ‘blind, helpless and cute’ while you struggle.

You were walking down a hallway and saw Esidisi rounding the corner.  Upon seeing you Esidisi stares for a moment then smirks, you don’t see it until you get close enough to his face only to realize he’s up to something.  And you were correct.  Once your paths cross he reaches out at lightning speed and snatches your glasses off your face, your world turning into a blur in a quick second.  Shocked and alert you look around until your eyes land on a large figure behind you.  He let out a chuckle seeing you squint at him, he knows you need them just by the looks of you.  “Esidisi!  Give those back!”  You try jumping to get them but he catches you in one of his open arms.  “Don’t fret, little one, I’m just having a little fun with these pieces of glass on your head.  Why do you wear such things over your beautiful eyes?”  You blush as you try to explain to him what glasses are and their purpose.  But before you could tell him the glasses won’t work on him he puts them on.  “I want to try these silly glasses on!  … Wait.  My vision!  What-!”  He never finished his sentence, because the second he started moving around with the glasses on, he trips himself.

Wamuu:

Wamuu has seen you with glasses many times before, he thought it was a particular piece of jewelry humans normally wear, just like with Lisa Lisas sunglasses.  He never thought much of it but always wondered why they look the way they do.  He’s seen darker pares before but never stopped to think about the glassy pare you have or what it’s purpose is.

One day he sees you without your glasses.  He notices how your eyes size has shrunk compared to when the glasses were on.  He also notices how much trouble you're having walking around, your stumbling and nearly walking into corners and furniture.  “Human, are you feeling alright?  Your movement has changed.”  “Oh, I’m fine, Wham.  Just going around without my glasses isn’t easy.”  “... How do the ‘glasses’ help you?”  “Well, I can’t see very well without them.  My vision gets pretty abstract without them, but it’s nothing to worry about.  Plus… I think they make me look silly.”  Wamuu stares at you for a moment.  Then he tells you to not move as he exits the room, you stay where you are wondering why he abruptly left like that.  A while later Wamuu returns to you.  He goes in front of you and crouches down to your level.  You can almost make out his face with how close he is but can’t see what he’s holding.  Suddenly you feel something being put on your face, instinctively you close your eyes.  When you open them you can see Wamuus face clearly now.  “If you need the glasses to see, then you must wear them.  I don’t want you hurting yourself on accident.”  He stands and begins to make his leave again before saying, “I don’t think those glasses make you look silly.  I find you.. adorable with them on.”

Santana:

He’s been staring at your glasses for quite some time now.  Sometimes when you take them off to give your eyes a break, he’s observing them closely but not touching them, seeing as they’re made of glass signaling him that they are a fragile object.  When he first saw you with them on, he looked you dead in the eyes before observing the glasses, moving around your head in circles and pushing your hair away from your ears to see where they continue.  Least to say, he was fascinated by the design, but curious as to how they work.

“Human.”  “Hm?”  “Your glasses.”  “... What about them?”  “What do they do?”  Santana finally builds up the curiosity to ask about your eye wear and find its secrets.  You both sit down and chat about glasses.  “So… they help… you see better?  Like… a hawks vision?”  “No no, they help me see like a normal human.  Without them, it’s hard to see, but when they’re on, I can see like any normal person.”  “Hm.”  After some more chatting with Santana you ask him if he wants to hold the glasses.  He obliges and gently takes them from your hands as you give them to him.  He rotates the glasses in his hand, bending the pieces here and there and careful not to smudge the glass.  “May I… wear them?” he asks as he holds them up to his eyes and looks at you.  “You're quite curious over these glasses, huh?”  “I want to see what they would… feel like… if I wore them.”  “Well, go ahead, you can try them on, just don’t break them.”  “I’ll try.”  He slowly puts the glasses on and is shocked by what he sees.  Your… so blurry.  He squints his eyes at you before quickly shifting his head in different angles observing the room to try and see better.  “I can not see clearly.  You said these help you see… but everything looks off.”  You giggle as Santana quickly takes the glasses off shaking his head and rubbing his eyes.  Handing you back the glasses he says, “they bother me.”  “But you looked so cute with them on!”  “No, you are the one… that looks cute, not me, little human.”

“In the end, you had four pairs of broken glasses.” - Von

[aquaquadrant]

Echo

Rating/Warnings: T (manipulation, emotional/physical abuse)

Timeline: FalsePrince!Varian AU by @lunarcrown

Summary: Struggling alone to free his father from the amber, Varian's luck seems to change for the better when he encounters a mysterious boy who promises to have all the answers and wields untold power. But as his new friend slowly grows more malicious and controlling, Varian finds himself pulled down an increasingly dark path that forces him to make a decision; how far is he willing to go to get what he wants?

A/N: Surpriiiiiise, I actually added on to my False Prince series! It just so happened to be lunarcrown’s birthday the other week so this was my (late) gift to her. Again, I’m really not intending to do a full-out fic here, but if I keep chipping away at these pseudo one-shots, perhaps we’ll end up with a full-fledged plot at some point. Who knows! Hope you enjoy, reblogs/comments are appreciated! - Aqua

Click here to read the previous chapters on A03.

Click here to support me on ko-fi!

~*~

Echo

Queen Arianna of Corona slowly blinks open her eyes.

It takes a second for her vision to come into focus. She doesn’t recognize her surroundings at all. The room is large and cold, made of smooth, grey stone. With its windows boarded up and lit only by a few lanterns, it feels rather cave-like. It’s mostly empty, save for a few workbenches cluttered with… mechanical and scientific equipment? And a tall, hulking mass in the center of the room that’s covered by tarps.

Arianna is sitting on the ground against the wall and- with a jolt of alarm- she realizes her hands and ankles are tied, coarse rope chafing against her skin. Her mind is cloudy, as if she’s just awoken from a deep sleep. The last thing she remembers, she was at the castle and some unknown beast was wreaking havoc on the town-

“Oh, you’re awake.”

The voice is quiet, but startles her all the same. It sounds… like a young boy? Which isn’t at all what she’d expect of a kidnapper. Her gaze darts around the room, straining to see through the dim lighting.

“Who’s there?” she calls, willing her voice to come out steady.

After a moment, there’s movement. A boy steps out of the shadows.

He is young, thirteen or fourteen if Arianna had to guess. His black hair is shaggy, disheveled, and his light blue eyes are ringed with dark circles. He looks pale and malnourished, his freckled face sheened with sweat.

“Don’t worry, Your Majesty,” the boy says. “You are merely bait to lure the princess here.”

There’s an echo to his voice. It’s not quite like anything she’s ever heard before; it sounds almost like another voice is speaking on top of him, low and hollow.

“Who…” Arianna stops; her own voice hadn’t echoed. A chill crawls down her spine. “Who are you?”

The question makes the boy huff- a faint laugh that echoes disconcertingly. “She didn’t mention me.” He doesn’t sound surprised. “Of course. My name is Varian.”

Arianna knits her brows together. “You mean Rapunzel?”

Something bitter twists Varian’s expression. “Yes, of course Rapunzel!” he spits, voice distorted by anger. “Who else? Everything’s all about Rapunzel, isn’t it?” He turns away, stalking towards the large object covered with tarps. “I was helping her with the black rocks- or, I was supposed to be. But then there was an… accident.”

In one smooth motion, Varian pulls the tarp away.

Arianna gasps.

A man is suspended in what looks like some kind of amber, his features frozen in pain. The honey-colored rock has grown out of glistening black spikes, broken through the stone floor with wicked sharp points. Arianna has never seen anything like it, and horror curls in her stomach.

Varian is watching her, something like dark satisfaction in his eyes. “Only the magic of her unbreakable hair can shatter the amber and free my father,” he says. “I asked her for help, when it happened. The day of the blizzard. But she refused to come, and she still hasn’t come.”

It takes Arianna a second to find her voice. The situation is wildly out of hand, and she has a deep-seated feeling that something is very wrong with Varian. She knows little of magic, familiar only with that of the sundrop flower, but there’s something unnatural in the air here, in the way Varian’s voice echoes. Either way, he seems incredibly unwell.

“Varian,” she starts carefully, “I’m sorry for what you’ve been through. Please, let me help you.”

Varian rolls his eyes- the blatant disrespect is shocking. “Oh, so now you wanna help?”

“Yes,” Arianna insists. “It doesn’t have to be this way. Just set me free, and we can find Rapunzel together. We’ll help you, I-”

“Promise?” Varian interrupts, tilting his head. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”

Arianna swallows. “I know my daughter, and she isn’t the kind of person to turn her back on a friend in need,” she says lowly. “How much of this does she know about? Have you even asked for her help since the storm?”

Varian scowls. “What’s the point? She’d still refuse to help me, I know it.”

“You don’t know that,” Arianna says firmly.

“Yes, I do!” Varian hisses. “My friend told me so!”

That makes Arianna pause. “What friend?”

Varian blinks. He takes half a step back, his stare going slightly unfocused. “She wants to meet you,” he murmurs, and it’s clear he’s not speaking to Arianna. A few tense seconds pass, during which Varian seems to be listening intently, before he nods to himself.

“Alright,” he says, turning towards one of those ominous black rocks in the center of the room. “Here.” He stops next to the rock and holds out his hand.

And now Arianna is even more concerned, because he’s gesturing at his own reflection.

Her gaze darts uncertainly between his face and his mirror image, gleaming in the shiny rock’s surface. Her mind is racing, struggling to figure out how she can get through to a boy so clearly unstable. But before she can say a word, the reflection in the rock moves.

Colors ripple across its surface, impossibly vibrant, and suddenly the reflection is a different boy entirely. It’s Varian, but not. His skin is a deep indigo, dotted with pink freckles, and his mouth has completely vanished from his face. His eyes, bright yellow with piercing pink pupils, bore into Arianna’s, slanting upward as if he’s smiling.

Dread settles heavy in Arianna’s bones. She knows instinctively that this creature, this apparition, is dangerous. His too-bright colors are reminiscent of the poisonous frogs she encountered once in a faraway land, what seems like a lifetime ago. Just looking at him is enough to make her hair stand on end.

“What is that?” Arianna breathes, aghast.

Varian shoots her a dark look. “My friend,” he says firmly. The multicolored reflection doesn’t move, still smiling his mouthless smile. “And the only one I need.”

Throat tight, Arianna shakes her head. “You can’t trust him,” she pleads. She doesn’t know where this certainty has come from, but it grips her with immense strength. “Please, Varian, let us help you-”

“It’s too late for that!” Varian snarls, but there’s something shaky in his eyes, like that of a dog biting out of fear. “This- this is the only way to save my dad.”

Arianna presses on. “You know that’s not true,” she urges. “I can tell you’re a smart boy, Varian, and I know you don’t want to hurt anyone. Please, it’s never too late to do the right thing.”

Varian hesitates. “I’m… I’m not hurting anyone,” he protests, but his voice is small. “I just… need you to bring her here, and then she can free my dad.”

“You think no one got hurt in that attack on the capital?” Arianna asks carefully. She’s already determined it must’ve been a distraction set by Varian, and his startled look confirms it. “I didn’t get a good look at the creature, but I know it was big.”

Something shudders in Varian’s expression. “Ruddiger…” He swallows. “I- I didn’t mean-”

All at once, Varian’s breath is cut off in a strangled gasp. He falls against one of the workbenches, hard, clutching at his chest right over his heart. For a terrifying moment, Arianna thinks he’s having some kind of heart attack.

But just as quickly, whatever pain he’s in seems to pass. Varian slowly rights himself, catching his breath. “You’re right,” he’s mumbling quietly, a few stray tears streaking down his face. “You’re right, I- I’m sorry, I won’t…”

“Are you okay?” Arianna asks tentatively.

Varian’s head jerks up, as if he’s just remembered she’s there. His jaw sets into a hard line, and he scrubs a gloved hand over his face. “I’m fine,” he says shortly. “And I’m done listening to your lies.”

Arianna opens her mouth to protest, but Varian shoots her a withering look. At the same time, the reflection holds a gloved finger up to his nonexistent mouth, his half-moon eyes equal parts gleeful and warning.

Arianna closes her mouth.

“Now, the princess will come for you,” Varian says, the echo in his voice even louder. “And when she does, we’ll finally get everything we want.”

And as Varian says it, there’s the briefest flash of pink in his eyes.

~*~

[amlovelies]

34 for chargestep

thank you for the prompt anon 💜 I started writing this from Ric’s point of view but then changed my mind and rewrote the whole thing

34. The feel of fingers brushing together by accident

from the sensory prompt list

presque vu

fandom: fhr

pairing: Ricardo Ortega/nb!sidestep (Vesper Bui)

rating: T reference to death and some language Vesper is a jerk. angst

words: 2.2k

read on ao3

            The coffee shop is a familiar sight. You could squint and almost pretend it was seven years ago except the awning has been bleached by the sun. You remember the trees as thin anemic things, and now they tower over your head. Large enough to conceal you as you watch Ortega pacing near the entrance.

                He hasn’t noticed you yet; you could still walk away. Stand him up, maybe then he’ll quit asking, quit trying. You shouldn’t even be here. Why was it so hard to resist him?

                You know why

.                  It’s should be easier now. It should be easier to tell him to fuck off and leave you alone. You know how this story ends. He’ll leave you behind. He’ll drag you out into the world, make you a person, make you real, and then leave you

.                 You catch a thought of a woman walking by. She’s a pretty young thing, long legs on display, hair falling in shining waves over her shoulders. She’s noticed Ortega, recognized him. Trying to working up the courage, debating with herself, should she approach him? It’s not every day you see a super hero in the flesh. It would take nothing, just the tiniest tweak, give her the confidence and make her walk over. He never could resist a pretty face. He’d forget all about meeting you for coffee. It would be the smarter thing to do.

                 You don’t do that. Instead, you make her forget, add in a little anxiety, a certainty that she is going to be late to quicken her step. Instead of doing the smart thing and walking away you let yourself be drawn to him. Inexorable.

                “There you are,” his smile is wide.

               “Did you think I stood you up?”

               A nervous chuckle, “maybe a little. It’s good to see you.” He means it. Or at least you think he does. So hard to interpret like trying to identify an object by feel alone. Familiar shapes that itch and scratch at your memory.                  A chill down your spine as you walk inside. Like stepping into your own past, but then you look closer. It’s not the same. The walls are the same color, a soft brown, and the layout remains the same, but the décor is more modern. The tables sleeker, lower backs on the chairs, more outlets for people working off laptops. So similar but not the same. You can’t go back.

                He frowns when you order a red eye, gets ready to say something, but you shoot him a glare which shuts him up. He’s the one who suggested coffee; he can’t act concerned when you order it. Probably noticed the slight tremor to your hands. So observant sometimes, and then at others so willfully obtuse. 

               Maybe he only sees what he wants to. The bags under your eyes fit the narrative he wants. The one where you are just a broken shell of the person you used to be. Just waiting for him to come along and put you back together. An insomniac with jittery hands instead of bloody ones. 

               “I thought for sure this place would have gone out of business,” you say before taking a sip of your coffee. It’s good, rich and earthy with just a hint of caramelly sweetness from the espresso. It’s a world of difference from the gas station drip and instant crap you’ve been mainlining for the last few years. “You’re really leaning into the nostalgia factor here, Ric”

                “Have to use all the weapons in my arsenal,” he says with a wink.

                “You never were any good at tactics, old man.”

                His smile is wide much more dangerous than a familiar cup of coffee. Always too contagious, that was how he drew you in. Made you believe you could have a life.

                “I don’t know from where I’m sitting it worked. I got you here, didn’t I?” Smug. Always so smug and confident, taking up too much space. Somehow feeling too close even though there’s a table between you and he’s not leaning forward. “Besides, I didn’t have to be good at them, I had you.” Now he is soft and that is worse. Trying to catch your gaze, a hand sliding out as if to grab yours.

                A twitch, an urge to reach out. To take his hand and pretend he didn’t leave you, pretend you could be a person, that you can feel. No. shut that door. Shut it down hard. “Someone had to save your reckless ass. It’s a miracle you only got me killed once.” You scoff.

                You aren’t looking at him as you say it. Maybe you should be, get to see the hit land. You want to hurt him, right? To punish him, because this is all his fault

.                 A strangled sound, and you can’t help but look up. He looks worse than he did when you visited in the hospital. “Are you ready to give up now?” you keep your voice cold. Maybe this will make him open his stupid eyes and realize you aren’t his old friend. They’re gone. Just as much as Anathema

.                 “No,” his voice is determined but you recognize that smile. You’ve seen it a dozen times. When a fight was going south, when things looked hopeless. He’d flash that smile, and somehow, you’d always made it out. Well almost. “I’ve got a thicker skin than that, Bui.”

               “Idiot,” you shake your head. It had felt so good to hurt him at the gala. Why did it feel so bad now?

               “Sure,” he agrees, “but you’re still here.”

               You are still here. It used to be so easy. You’ve felt nothing but rage for so many years. Nothing but the fire inside you, and then he walked into that stupid diner. Emotions had never been your strong suit. Even when you were trying to be a person it was still hard. Still hard to understand what you were feeling or how you were supposed to act. He was always the worst of it. At least with others you could take cues from their mind. He gave you nothing, gives you nothing. “I never said I wasn’t an idiot too,” you say with a sigh as you run a hand down your face.

                “Walk?” He’s already standing as if he knows your answer. Part of you want to be petulant to stay, to not follow his lead, but you stand up too

.                 The park across the street isn’t busy. There are a few kids on the playground, looks like it’s gotten a new corporate sponsor. For all it’s shiny new colors it still looks much like you remember it. There’s a woman on a bench reading a romance novel and sighing wistful as she thinks of her new coworker. Some teens are buying weed behind the bathrooms. Nothing dangerous and it’s easy to make the two of you pass unnoticed

.                 Walking is good. You don’t have to look at him, but you are still aware of him. Walking too close, he never had any respect for personal space

.                 His fingers brush against yours. You could call it an accident, but you can feel his eyes on you. You wait, sure he has something to say, but for once he keeps his mouth shut. Just the gentle knock of his knuckles against yours. Are there scars there from where he broke himself against your armor? It had made you smile once thinking that he’d be marked. Marked by you the same way you’ve been marked by him. Now you aren’t so sure

.                  “I don’t know how to do this,” the admission is quiet, and you hate how your voice sounds. It’s a small vulnerable thing like the pieces of yourself you left on the sidewalk seven years ago

.                 “Do what?”

                “Talk-“ a frustrated sigh- “be around you. Have friends.” You lengthen your stride, but he keeps up easily. Of course, he does. Nothing you do ever seems to really shake him, but he could always get under your skin                “Maybe you just need practice?”

               Instead of an answer you walk over to a nearby bench and take a seat. You take a sip from your coffee to avoid speaking. It’s growing cold, but you hesitate to finish it. You still need it. Need something to keep your hands busy, something to fill the awkwardness between you

.                 “Do you remember the kites-“ he begins to ask gesturing to the open field and large tree  in front of you

.                 “Yeah, I do,” You smile before adding, “I still think we should have invited Sentinel.”

               “No,” his answer is firm, just like it had been back then, but his voice is lighter than it’s been all morning. “That would have been cheating.”

               “Easy to say when you weren’t the one who had to climb the tree,” you say with a laugh. You’d been taught laughter as a technique. It was a tool, to be deployed at the right moments, to set others at ease. So different from the involuntary reaction it was around him. He was always too good at drawing it out of you. “Who knew the Marshal of Los Diablos would struggle so much with something so simple as flying a kite.”

                He bumps his shoulder against yours, “I didn’t want to rob you of part of the experience.”

                You remember he’d waxed philosophical about the importance of doing it the old-fashioned way. Of running to gather speed and watching it begin to soar behind you, that it was more fun if it took a couple tries. Empty words about childhood magic and how he hoped you could recapture it, that he could show this little piece that must have been missing from yours. He would never really understand it wasn’t just about kites, or making s’mores, or playing pirates. It wasn’t just particular experiences you were missing but the whole thing.

                You’d never had a childhood. There was nothing to recapture because you never had it in the first place. Just like you’d never had a name until he teased and cajoled you to give him one. All you had was incubation tubes and handlers and endless white walls. There was nothing magical about the chains on your wrist, the chains on your mind, the monsters that stalked the halls

.                “Bui?” you hear his voice as if from a distance. There’s a child crying somewhere and you know it’s because of you. The park has emptied. The romance novel lies forgotten on the bench, too much of a hurry to get away from you. Unable to stand even a hint of your memories. Good, they should run.

                  You’re the monster now.

                He doesn’t seem to notice the effect you have. He’s only looking at you. Eyes wide and a concerned wrinkle between his brow. This is something he could never understand. How could he? He’s untouched. Untouched with his unknowable static mind. You wish you could take it in your hands and twist it into a shape you could recognize. Something that you could interpret and begin to understand, but it always slips out. Like trying to grab mist or sunlight. You can feel it against your skin, against your shields, but you can’t affect it.

                “It’s fine.”

                You don’t need to read his mind to know he doesn’t believe you. Ortega may be a fool, but he was never stupid.

                His hand brushes against yours again. Slower this time, lingering, letting his finger drag along yours. It tingles. If you didn’t know better, you’d say it was his mods acting up, but you’ve been shocked by him before and it felt nothing like this.

                It’s an itch under your skin driving you to some sort of action. To punch him in the face or pull him in and kiss him. You don’t do either, just pull your hand away.

                “You don’t have to do that.” His voice is quiet, gentle, just like the touch of his hand had been.

                “I’m not doing anything.”

               “Yes, you are. I can see you’re pretending to be fine when you aren’t. I know you better than that.” There’s something in his eyes, something begging you to give in, to let him in.

                You want to. Some small stupid part of your brain remembering how it felt. How it felt to be real, to be more than just an instrument of vengeance. To be a person. To laugh.

                You shake your head, “not anymore.”  You know how that ends. Rising form the bench, you burn away that little voice, the one that wants to stay, to take his hand, to let him care about you. All you have is your fire. You won’t let his stupid brown eyes and fond memories douse the flames. He’d be disappointed if he did anyway. Can’t he tell there’s nothing left of you but ashes?

               “Vesper,” he calls after you begin to walk away.

                “Just give up, Ric,” you don’t turn around as you say it. You just start walking, one foot in front of the other.

                He doesn’t get up, but his words follow you as you exit the park, “I won’t.”

                 It’s just like him to get the last word in. 

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Girl Group | Pepper Potts, Laura Barton, Wanda Maximoff, & Sharon Carter

Hi y'all— I was going to work on other things and then I saw this post from @imaginearyparties and got inspired to write about these women having a support group of sorts. I hope you enjoy this heal piece— I spent too long today writing it LOL

Synopsis: The story of four not so unlikely friends and how their girl group saves them.

Characters: Pepper Potts Stark, Laura Barton, Wanda Maximoff, Sharon Carter

Tags: Angst, mentions of death, funerals, toxic men, alcohol, girl friends, positive female relationships, Laura Barton being a mama bear, Pepper and Wanda and Sharon losing their shit

Word count: 3.2k

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵

It starts as an accident— it starts at a funeral. Three funerals, actually; Tony would have wanted to share his with the Widow and the Robot, after all.

Pepper Stark, Sharon Carter, Wanda Maximoff, and Laura Barton stand in a broken line in front of the water, all suspended with the same overarching, mixed feelings of dread and peace. For four women who look strikingly different from one another— especially Laura as she stands shadowed under Pepper’s goddess frame— they all do look quite indistinguishable. Maybe that’s just the black, though— maybe mourning blurs individuals into masses.

“I don’t think I can do it.” Pepper doesn’t cry when she admits her fears— she doesn’t have any tears left. “I don’t think I can raise her on my own.”

Laura, who’s been holding her hand for the better part of three days, squeezes it gently. “You aren’t alone, Pep. You’ll never be alone. You’ll always have a home with me.”

Laura and Pepper may be vastly different— an off the grid, stay at home mom and a business tycoon CEO— but the brunette means every word; she has since Tony introduced Pepper all those years ago.

Pepper nods. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“She’s something special,” Sharon pipes in from the other end of the line, her shoulder brushing a silent Wanda. “I could never.”

Sharon doesn’t know either of them as well as they know each other but still she stands by their sides, her own black dress just as itchy as theirs— sisters now branded together in the inevitabile uncomfort that comes with loss. She can’t stay long— she knows that— but Wanda had called her out of the blue, somehow, sounding more lost than ever, and the blonde has never been one to turn down a girl in a spiral.

Or, in this case, three.

Laura laughs lightly, sounding just as tired as she looks, and Wanda rubs her arm absentmindedly, her own voice a whisper compared to the other, stronger women. “I think I would have wanted children. Vis and I spoke about it a few times. Thinking about it now, though, it seems silly.”

Barely twenty-six and basically a widow herself, Wanda can’t feel her fingers shake as she tightens the cardigan around her shoulders. Sharon notices and acts— she’s good at that— taking her fingers and wrapping them in her own.

“It’s not silly— you would be a great mother.” She then projects her voice back to Pepper. “And you’re already a great mom, Pepper. You have a great kid.”

She’s not very good at comforting people but she has to try. Neither of the women comment back, but that’s okay. Sharon isn’t really expecting them to.

Instead, Wanda rests her head on the blonde’s shoulder. “When do you have to leave again?”

Sharon sighs— both from the way Wanda tries to hide her disappointment and from her own disappointment that’s bubbling in her throat. Because she is— disappointed— in the world and in some of the men in their lives. How Sharon Carter always manages to surround herself with men who can save the world but can’t find a spare moment to save her, she doesn’t know, but she can’t find it in herself to feel guilty over her anger.

“Tomorrow, probably.” She says bitterly. “You’re okay with me crashing one more night on your couch, right?”

Wanda could scoff— in fact, she does— Sharon should already know the answer. “I’d be okay if you crashed the rest of your life on my couch. I’d be okay if you all did.”

There’s more silence— it’s becoming a staple in their renegade band of misfit moms and runaway fugitives— and in that silence they unknowingly take a collective step closer together. Mourning gravitating towards mourning, women gravitating towards each other— Pepper throwing her arm around Laura’s shoulders and managing to give Wanda an I hear you scratch.

Laura— soft, sweet, tired Laura— is the one who breaks the silence—

“I have two bottles of Moscatto?”

— and for the first time in three days, Wanda laughs.

“I have a bottle of Stolichnaya— and every season of Bewitched.”

It progresses into a semi-regular thing after that— branching from funerals (and the sleepovers that follow them) into more casual, running-from-the-law type gatherings.

Wanda and Sharon stand once more in black, only this time they aren’t mourning— they’re getting ready for a party and standing around a shiny macbook air.

“What’s this function you two are going to again?” Laura’s voice— still tired but this time in a significantly less existential way— crackles through the speaker.

Her video, which is taking up half the screen, displays that of a full grown woman in a pink and darker pink striped onesie and a steaming cup of coffee in her hands. In the background, just visible enough to read, her stovetop flashes 5:46. Similarly, on the other side of the screen, Pepper’s messy knot of red hair— and her significantly more adult pyjamas— are illuminated by the glow of her alarm clock. 6:46.

“It’s just an art show—” Sharon answers, smiling into the camera for a quick moment before going back to righting the studs in her ears— “You know you didn’t have to wake up so early. You should both be getting as much sleep as possible— I hear being a mom is tough work.”

Both Laura and Pepper share a laugh at that and Wanda smiles too, not missing the tinge of you’re crazy for having kids in Sharon’s voice.

Laura takes a sip from her mug, humming her agreement. “It is but you know I wouldn’t miss our calls for the world. Besides, Clint is worse. The lug woke me up at five on his way out the door to check the frost damage. Husbands are more work.”

For a moment no one says anything and none of them can tell if it’s because everyone’s in their own little world of coffee and clothing or if it’s to give the two red heads a moment to clear their throats.

“Don’t I know it.” Pepper sighs.

Laura’s eyes, even through the screen, flash with sympathy but she doesn’t retract her statement or apologize. She knows she doesn’t need to— that’s not how their little group works. There’s no use in apologizing for things you can’t fix— especially not to Pepper.

Instead, Wanda turns to her sister-in-hair and asks her outright: “How are you holding up?”

Directness is always the best approach— it always garners an honest answer.

“I feel like shit.” Pepper laughs. “Half the time I can’t sleep and the other half I can’t drag myself out of bed. If it weren’t for Morgan I don’t know what I’d do. Rot, probably.”

Wanda huffs, turning so that Sharon can zip her silk dress. It’s significantly more comfortable than the one she had worn half a year ago. Bless Sharon Carter and her affinity for designer clothing.

“Can we consider Sharon my child then? Because without her I’m pretty sure I’d be in the same boat. Making sure she doesn’t burn down the apartment when she makes dinner is the only thing keeping me going.”

“Hey!” Wanda receives a light whap for the comment but it’s landed lovingly— after all, Sharon knows she can’t cook.

“You ladies are eating enough, right? And properly?” Laura chimes in, ever the mother in a group of moms.

Sharon and Wanda share a look that has Laura groaning from her dark kitchen table— not even time zones can stop her from worrying about the youngest members. She stands quickly to refill her mug and, as she does, hears the giggled response of—

“Does red wine and leftover burgers count?”

Laura doesn’t think it can get worse until Pepper chimes in. “I see we’re all on the same diet then.”

For a moment Wanda and Sharon disappear, most likely to look through Sharon’s collection of jewelry, and in their absence Laura and Pepper share a short, but very much needed, conversation.

“You’re still off work right now, right?” Laura asks, resting her heavy head in her hand.

Pepper nods once, rooting around the top of her side table for the damn remote— it’s like Tony’s still here, misplacing all her things. “Yeah— I don’t know when I’m going to go back. It’s just— it’s too soon, you know? I don’t know if I can. I don’t— god where’s the fucking remote! I could have sworn—”

Laura cuts Pepper off as her voice begins to turn frenzied— begins to crack. “I think you and Morgan should come stay with me for a little while. Like, for a few weeks. I think it would be good for you.” She watches Pepper cringe and before she can object, adds— “and for me. Clint’s been working a lot recently. I could really use some good company.”

Laura may be the simplest woman in the group but by no means does that make her the slowest— she knows the only way to get Pepper to agree to her idea is to play to her own motherly instincts.

As she’s expecting— it works. “Are you absolutely sure we wouldn’t be putting you and Clint out in any way?”

Laura can hear the exasperated relief starting to drip into her friend’s voice and has to swallow the lump in her own throat. “Of course it wouldn’t be— you’d never be putting me out, Pep.”

Pep. She hasn’t heard that in a while. She misses it— she misses a lot of things. A lot of people. The Bartons being some of them. It’s why she caves.

“Okay.”

Just as Laura nods— and finishes the last of her second coffee— the two fugitives that have been absent come ambling back, now dripping in flashy gemstones and expensive watches. Time has passed, enough that the girls have to scramble for the finishing touches of their outfits— something which can be heard when Sharon asks Wanda where she left the lipgloss.

“It’s already in my bag— your lips are glossed to perfection, stop worrying.” The red head fluffs her mane quickly before turning to the screen with a slight pout on her lips. “I can’t believe we just started the call and now we have to hang up. I hate time zones.”

“If it’s any consolation,” Pepper coos, “you both look incredible.”

“Edible.” Laura chimes in, giggling. “Go enjoy yourselves.”

The girls echo each other’s thank you, dallying with their goodbye’s but reiterating their I’ll call you later’s.

As an afterthought, right before Sharon can hit the power button on her macbook, Laura also adds— “Make sure to drink water!”

In no time semi-regular becomes regular and soon they all have a favourite hangout spot. Unfortunately, none of their favourite spots coincide with the others.

“You know—” Laura groans as she plunks down in her seat at the high up table— “I still don’t know what a gastropub is?”

“Tough—” Pepper rolls her eyes, taking a sip of her diet coke and tutting at her friend. “We all know you would rather be at the Starbucks down the road but some of us need more than coffee to run, Mrs. Barton.”

She’s decided to lay off the rosé for a little while and, in a show of solidarity, so has everyone else. Laura hmphs into the ginger ale that had already been waiting for her on the table but can’t keep the grin from turning up her lips— after all, Pepper’s right; she does want coffee. Wanda swirls her own cherry coke, giggling at their antics. Secretly she’s thinking the same thing but it was Pepper’s choice this time and she’ll eat just about anything.

“It’s a fancy word for comfort food—” Sharon snorts, actually answering, her eyes glued to the menu between her and Wanda as they decide which appetizer they want to share— “an easy way to cheat you out of twenty-six bucks for mac n’ cheese… Hey, look at these— buffalo cauliflower bites— you wanna’ try them?”

The red head nods enthusiastically. “You know I’ll take any chance to pretend to be healthy.”

The blonde laughs, shaking her head. “You’re literally perfect, Wan— all those fancy spells have to be burning, like, what? A thousand calories an hour?” Sharon turns her eyes to the other women who’re already listening with knowing grins. “You should’ve seen the men in Madripoor— and the women! Falling all over her— it was incredible!”

“Oh says you.” Wanda giggles back, catching the other red haired woman’s attention.

Pepper reaches across the table, swatting Sharon’s hand gently and whining. “You didn’t tell me about any men! Now I feel left out.”

“Don’t—” Sharon assures her, sobering suddenly at the topic change— “there are no men. I’m done with them— they’re more trouble than they’re worth. Even the ones you think are good.”

Especially those ones, she wants to add but keeps it to herself. Everyone here already knows how she feels anyway, mostly towards a certain golden-boy super-soldier. She lost everything for him— her home, her job, years she could have spent with her family— and for what? Just so he could turn around and literally fight time itself to be with her great aunt? To think, some women get a man who will invent time travel to be with them and she had to all but beg a man to clear her name for aiding a super hero.

Yeah— she’s still bitter, even after Sam worked his Captain America card to get her off the bureau’s watch list. It sure is funny how the literal Winter Soldier got his pardon before she got hers but— hey— that’s misogyny for you. She chases the acid in her mouth with a sip of orange soda. Fuck men.

“You know you can talk about it.” Laura reminds her gently, setting her own menu down— she doesn’t really need to look at it, she orders the same thing everytime.

“What’s there to talk about? I risked my life for him and he screwed me over. I get it— he’s more of a hero than I’ll ever be— but I guess I was kind of figuring I would get saved with, you know, the rest of the world. Sue me, I guess.”

Wanda slips her fingers between Sharon’s, nodding along. “I think some people forget that he—” she avoids saying Steve’s name; it’s for the best— “was as human as the rest of us. That he could be just as selfish as the rest of us.”

“And that they can get tired, too.” Pepper adds, her mind on Tony— her mind is always on Tony.

“And that they’re just like us— even if they think they’re not allowed to be.” Always the mother, Laura frowns at Wanda because, although she’s also thinking of her husband, the ginger needs to hear it as well.

“Whatever.” Sharon grumbles as she spots their waiter approaching, her mind shifting from her fallout with America’s golden-boy to the twenty-six dollar mac n’ cheese she’s going to obliterate. “I think I hate men. I’m happy just being with you.”

As has become custom, she receives three reactions: an awe from Laura, a me too from Pepper, and a kiss to her cheek from Wanda. It’s in that moment that she knows she isn’t lying— she really is content with her small group of girls.

They even— eventually— go on vacation together.

Four girls— two gingers, one blonde, and a brunette— lounge around a deliciously quiet poolside, soaking in as much of the Grecian sunshine as they can. One of them— the youngest— soaks in a little too much. Thankfully her friends are keeping a closer eye on her than she is.

“Wanda, you’re going pink. C’mere honey.” Laura sits up on her deck chair, patting the spot next to her. “Let’s touch your sunscreen up.”

Wanda— warm with sleep and sun— doesn’t put up a fuss, slipping in front of the brunette and pulling her hair into a sloppy bun to save it from the zinc cream. She sighs into Laura’s touch, her eyes closing as the woman works her thumbs into her shoulders. Laura Barton gives quite possibly the best back rubs on the planet. Well, besides Vision— his were better.

Wanda doesn’t realize that she’s balled her hands into fists until Laura’s soft voice breaks past her barrier. “What’s on your mind, sunshine?”

Sighing, the witch answers her friend honestly. “I miss him. Vis, I mean. It’s not fair. It’s just—”

“It’s not fair.” Laura finishes for her, hearing the crack in her facade and pushing— sometimes you just need a little bit of a gentle push. “It’s not and you don’t have to pretend like it is.”

Okay— maybe it’s not as gentle as she thinks it is.

“I hate it!” Wanda snaps, her tiny hands balling once more and pounding against her thighs. “I feel like I’m dying all the time— I feel like I died when he did! And no matter what I do now I screw it up! I hate it, Laura— I hate everything!”

The small witch’s furious rage quickly fizzles into heart wrenching sobs and Laura— just as quickly— plasters herself to Wanda’s back the same way she had done with the sun cream. She trembles in Laura’s hold— a mini storm in a cage of limbs and hair— and Laura just pets her head because this has been due for too long.

“I know, sunshine— we’re alone now, though. You can cry it out. No one’s going to hold it against you.”

“I— I hate— I—” Wanda can’t even finish her sentence— she hasn’t been able to for a year now.

Soft hands land on her knees and she cracks an eye open to a more composed— but still crying— Pepper. “I hate it too, hun. I hate everything.”

Pepper’s skin— unlike Wanda’s— has gone a golden brown in the sun, her freckles emerging one by one over the week which Wanda gets a closer view of when Pepper wraps her arms around her. She smells like strawberry daiquiris and salt and Wanda cries harder, clinging to the woman who is stronger than she ever will be.

A cold, wet hand lands on the back of her neck— the cold, wet hand of Sharon Carter— and with it comes one more— “I fucking hate everything.”

And, for some reason unknown to her, Wanda laughs.

She can’t help it— life sucks. Death sucks. Men and calories and loss suck. But her friends? No, they don’t suck. Not even when they’re with her at three-in-one funerals— not even when they’re half a world away. Especially not when they’re in Greece, holding her while she cries and laughs like a complete and utter maniac.

No— their little girl group doesn’t suck at all.

“I hope you all know how much I love you.” Wanda laughs around a particularly raucous sob— “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Laura is the one who answers— the universe wouldn’t be right if she wasn’t— “We know it, honey.”

The universe also wouldn’t be right if it wasn’t Pepper who gets the last word.

“Is anyone else feeling some pizza right about now?”