#i hope you've been well and that this new year is infinitely better than the last

[milkyspine]

[the-kr8tor]

May I have Bitter Orange in a ⭐ bottle please? The start of R and Hobie being handcuffed together before they turned, with R succumbing to the effects of the virus much faster than Hobie due to his spiderpowers, so for a bit he just watches his love become a husk of who they were before he too is a zombie?

*laughs evily* Yessss I've been waiting for a request exactly like this hwjsjwijsjaj hope you like it!

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 3.2k (whoops)

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), description of illness, TW blood, CW injury, TW death, zombie AU, Zombie apocalypse AU. Angst, Hurt/comfort

A prequel to this one shot

Katy's one year celebration 🎉

The air is nice and cool on your face as you walk hand in hand with Hobie in the barren street. There's rows upon rows of abandoned houses, all in different stages of decay from both scavengers trying to survive and time itself proving to be the worst enemy. But it's on your side for now for it has given you infinite time to be with him.

Hobie's hand is suddenly on your scarf, fingers gingerly sliding the fuzzy material up to your chin. He smiles at you, the sun blindingly light behind him. Despite the apocalypse, he still looks just as handsome. He has new shallow scars on his chin where a stubble is slowly growing, hair a bit of a mess but beautiful nonetheless. You've once told him after a lucky find of one whole pound of chocolate pudding that he's apocalypse chic, that he makes the end of the world look good. To which he laughed and shoved a spoonful of chocolate pudding in your mouth. Compared to him you probably look like a mess, you wouldn't know, you've ignored mirrors ever since you ran out of shampoo a few days ago.

“What are you thinkin' ‘bout, gorgeous?” He tugs you closer to him, the crowbar hanging from his backpack clinks against the machete next to it.

“That I really need shampoo, and that you look unfairly handsome in this light.”

Chuckling, he intertwined his fingers around your own. It could mean death for the both of you if the undead suddenly lunges and he doesn't have enough time to take his hand away from you. But he thinks it's alright for him to do, to indulge himself to your touch since the entire place is empty save for a few dead cars and scattered luggages left by people.

“You should see yourself in my eyes, lovie, the greasy hair is doin' a lot for me.”

“Oh yeah? You like it when you pat my head and you get petrol on your hand?”

“We need petrol, d’you think if I bunch up your hair and squeeze it I can collect the oil?”

You nudge him playfully, “you're an ass.”

“Yeah, well, you're stuck with this arse.”

Your mind goes back to your friends and family you've left behind. “Do you think they're okay?”

“'m sure they are, Yuri's got them, and they have Ned, he'll whip them into shape. ‘sides, we're almost at James’, if I was them I'd stay there.” He adjusts his hold on his pack and guitar. “We'll find them.”

You smile, nuzzling his bicep for his own reassurance, knowing that he also worries for them. “You're right. They're probably doing better than us.”

“Yeah,” he pecks the crown of your head. “They're living like kings, I bet.”

You two stop in front of a large house, complete with white marble steps and tall roman columns. “James' dad never had taste, huh?”

Hobie snorts, “his son took all of it. C’mon, then.” He leads you on the porch, trying the door, wishing that it was locked because if it is it means that someone's inside, that they're surviving and waiting for the two of you. To his despair, the door opens without a problem.

Hobie looks back at you having the same expression. “It's okay,” you try to be optimistic, “maybe they left a message for us.”

He nods, “yeah, maybe.” Crossing the abandoned space, he takes his guitar from his back to strum a tune. When he doesn't hear stumbling or any rattling from anywhere inside the house, he continues forward, but his guard is still up. “We might as well get some supplies while we're ‘ere.”

“Yeah, there might be some left in here.” You give him a small smile. “How about we split up? This place is too big, it'll take us forever to comb over this place.”

Hobie considers it for a moment. The place seems pristine except for the furniture and cabinets that are picked clean, so he deems it safe. “Okay, just…” you walk to his side, rubbing his arms, smiling sweetly at him even though he probably doesn't smell the best. “...keep your knife close.”

“I will keep my knife close,” you repeat his words, “and I'll stay alert.” Poking at his chest, you peck the frown off his lips. “And you keep safe.”

He's still apprehensive, but he knows you can hold your own. Taking your face in his hands, he kisses you fully, smooching until you're giggling. “We’ll meet back ‘ere in fifteen.”

“Aye, aye, Cap'n!” You mock salute. “Any special requests?”

“Chocolates.”

“I said a request, not wishful thinking.” You tease, he has an urge to kiss you again.

“Towels, the nice fluffy ones.” You slide your hands away from him, to which he already longs for.

“Got it! I bet James has a ton of them.” You wink, knife in hand, walking away from him.

Hobie watches your retreating back, tamping down his anxieties. He searches upstairs, grinning at James' familiar room. His posters and messy floors remain untouched, the bed still looking like it was tossed around by a tornado. He almost cries at the picture frame on the bedside table containing his band's smiling faces plus you who's embracing him.

Turning the frame around, he takes the picture and pockets it to show to you. After rummaging James' room, he takes a few shirts and pants for him and you. He even finds a pair of silk pajamas that he knows you'll love. A piercing scream echoes around the house, he immediately bolts downstairs, heavy footsteps thudding across marble floors.

You're on your back, fighting for your life while the undead on top of you tried to get a chunk out of you. It all stops when Hobie's guitar connects to the corpse's skull in a sickening crunch of metal and bone.

You scramble away, neck and arm in pain. Hobie's wide eyes meet yours just as when the back door bursts open, revealing a whole horde of the undead. Panicking, he yanks you up, holding your hand, running outside to more of the shambling dead.

“Fuck!”

“Hobie!”

“Just hold on!” His hand is tight around yours, you try to run at his pace, panic in your veins, adrenaline in his.

It feels like you've been running forever, Hobie sees an opening hidden in an alley. He can climb on his own without a ladder but you can't. So he leads you towards the empty alley while the rotten, decayed corpses of once human beings run after you at full speed.

Hobie jumps to take down an emergency ladder, without missing a beat, he grabs your waist and throws you on the ladder. You climb, but the pain in your arm gets worse so you're slower but you still try for him.

The undead finally gets to the alley, you don't dare to look down. Once you're on the rooftop, you peek below to see him struggling to get up the ladder, he's halfway with a handful of zombies dangling on his leg.

You scream his name but it's too late, one of the undead has bitten a chunk of his leg as he tries to kick the former human off the ladder where he's desperately trying to climb to. You wish he didn't run out of web fluid, you wish the world didn't end, you wish the throbbing pain on your arm is just muscle spasm, but the warm crimson seeping out of teeth marks says differently.

With a sickly crunch, the zombie falls down the ladder and into the rotten horde. Hobie climbs up quickly back to you, hands immediately grasping on to you.

“Did it get you?!” You yell, still in denial, frantically checking in hopes that his boot saved him. Your heart falls into your stomach at the sight of broken skin, blood staining your fingers where you hold the hem of his trousers away to get a better look. You're frozen on the spot, tears clinging to your lashes. “Hobie,” you gasp, taking off your scarf to make a makeshift tourniquet around and above the bite. “Fuck—!”

“You okay?!” He does the same to you, heaving, ripping off your sleeves like a madman trying to find the secrets hidden in your skin. He prays that he finds none. His eyes widen, terrified, broken hearted, shaking his head, refusing the fact that you're infected. “No,” he shakes his head again, closing the torn up cloth around the slowly rotting wound. “It's just a scratch, love, y-you’re not—”

“Hobie…” you smile bitterly, eyes mirroring his own. He rips the hem of his shirt, using the cloth to wrap it around your arm, just above the wound in an attempt to stop the spread. He ignores the stinging pain on his leg. “Hobie, stop, it's—”

“We can still stop it!” He yells desperately, tying the cloth tightly. “It's just a scratch.”

“Hobie, please.” You hold his trembling hands, “it has been ten minutes.” He refuses, you squeeze his hand weakly, the virus already taking hold. Slowly killing you. “And—” with trembling hands, you show him the gaping bite on your neck, oozing dark decaying blood. He choked on a sob. “B-but there's a chance for you, your abilities might've made you immune—”

“No, if you're goin’, ‘m goin’” He stands up, not giving up on you. “There's a chemist’s ‘ere, maybe if w-we…” he puts on a brave face amidst the impending doom and rotten flesh that stings his nose. “Maybe there's somethin’ there.” Hand reaching down, you smile up at him, orange and pink hues from the sky dancing around your face. “C-can you get up?” His voice breaks, chest heaving. “I can carry you. Don't make me carry you, love.”

You slide your hand onto his own. “Hobie,” your voice is soft above the mindless groaning below. His eyes beg you to move. So you do. “Okay,” with a single word, you bring him hope.

With divided effort, you both make it towards the roof of the pharmacy. He was uncharacteristically silent the whole way, but his hand never left yours. His eyes never met with your wounds that's slowly festering. You feel it inside you, the fever, the virus that's eating at you, spreading throughout your body, gnawing at every bit of your warmth like a seed taking root. Hobie feels it too, he's terrified that you're experiencing it too. It's his worst fears came to life only because he wasn't fast enough.

Opening the creaky door, he hopes that it's devoid of the undead. Like he's not on the brink of eating flesh, he does his usual prep. He strums his guitar softly to attract any walking corpses waiting behind doors, when none comes out, he cracks the door wider. With his torch, he lights up the way. But he doesn't feel your presence behind him.

Looking over his shoulder was a mistake, he finds you hunched over the doorway, groaning quietly, nails clawing at the throbbing wound around your neck. That's the moment he knew that you'd go out before him. For the first time, he curses his gifts.

Slowly, he crosses the distance towards you, shaking hands grasping your shoulders. You're warm, incredibly warm. “Love?” He could cry, but he doesn't want you to see his sorrow.

You sniff, tears streaming down your face from the pain and the tragedy of it all. You've accepted that you were infected, but not him, you'd take the virus from him too if you could. “I'm s-sorry, so fucking sorry. I should've—”

“Oi, none of that, yeah? You're gonna be fine.” He says it to convince himself. “You'll be back on your feet tomorrow and by then we'll see Yuri and the others.” Nodding, he takes you by your arm, careful of making your wounds worse. There's blood sticking to his clothes, seeping through his clammy skin. He hates the fact that it was yours. Bringing you behind the counter, you almost keep over. “I've got you, I've got you.” He says it against your temple like a prayer.

“H-Hobie.” You sob, salty tears marring your pretty face. “I can't— it hurts.” The gnawing feeling gets worse, as if a chainsaw is ripping you apart from the inside. “It's so hot, I–I can't breathe.”

“O-okay, I'll set you down ‘ere, get you comfortable. There's some fever meds over there. It'll help.” His hazel eyes pleads for anyone, anything that'll help you. He helps you sit down, and you immediately lie down on the cold tiles. “Do you want a blanket?”

“N-no,” you're hot and cold at the same time. “I don't know.” You look up at him, he sees the light in your eyes fading. “I don't feel so good, Hobs.”

Hobie could only look away from you, inhaling, exhaling but it doesn't feel like he's breathing right. He kneels down, setting his guitar next to you, palm placed on your forehead. “This is nothing, love.” He tries to smile, but fails. “Remember when you had the flu?” You nod weakly, “you were a fuckin' beast, you beat it on your own in just a few days.”

Even though you feel your heartbeat going faster and then slowing down in a weird rhythm like a heartbeat monitor going haywire, you smile for him. “I was, wasn't I?”

He rubs your bicep, under his touch, he feels your muscle twitch. “Yeah, you still are.”

You chuckle softly, tears sliding down your cheeks and into the cold tiles. “Okay, get me the meds.”

“That's my girl,” laying his forehead atop yours, he hopes that he'll take your pain away with the simple gesture, but it's futile. “I'll be back, I promise.”

“Don’t make me wait.”

Smiling, he squeezes your arm. “Never.” Standing up, he rummages through the entire place for the pills you need. Crouching down to check under the broken shelves, climbing up on the walls to get a bird's eye view, and all the while ignoring his own pain. It's slim pickings, but he manages to find a single bottle of tylenol that has rolled under a shelf, it's not enough, but it'll do.

With a victorious sigh, he quickly makes it to the counter, rounding the corner, he sees you wheezing, catching your breath and with blood leaking out from your eyes and ears. “No, no, no!” He takes you in his arms, making you sit up. “I've got the meds, love. Oi, open your eyes for me.” You crack one eye open tiredly. “That's it, good job.” He almost cries when you smile at him through the thick fog of illness.

“G-good job,” you murmur, he doesn't know if you're delirious or you're congratulating him for finding the medicine.

“Bottoms up.” He brings two pills to your mouth, to which you gladly take. Giving you his canteen, you drink most of it, downing the tepid water. “That's good, see, you're already gettin' better.”

You shake your head weakly, barely opening your eyes. “Thanks to you, Hobie.”

“Yeah, thanks to me.” He tries to joke but it comes out choked when blood still leaks out of your tear ducts. Sitting next to you, he now feels his temperature rise so he takes the same amount of pills as you.

You lay your head on his shoulder, hand shakily reaching towards his own. “I'm sorry.”

He almost breaks down at your apology. “Nothin' to apologize for, love.” Meeting your hand halfway, he intertwined his fingers with yours, you're cold now, frozen under his hold. “D’you want that blanket now?”

“Please,” you wheeze out.

Hobie obliges, taking a thick blanket from his pack and then draping it around you as if it'll protect you from the infection. “There, nice and cozy, eh?”

“Thank you,” he feels your crimson fall down on his collar. “For everything.”

“None of that, Y/N, please. None of that.”

“I still want to talk to you.” Your voice is soft and small. “I still want to stay with you.”

Hobie brings your intertwined hands to his lips, kissing each knuckle softly. “And we will be, after this—” a sob escapes from him. “After this, we'll be together, yeah? Just like how we talked about.”

“Forever and ever?”

His tears flow freely, “yeah, forever and ever.” After a beat of silence, he fears the worst. “Love?”

You cough, he sighs in relief. “Still here, Hobs, not leaving yet.”

“Not yet,” embracing you, he lays his chin atop your head, you're made comfortable in his hold. Home, you feel like you're back home in his houseboat, watching a shitty romcom while he rambles on about his patrol. You want to be back there again. He wants to be back there again. “Can I say somethin'?”

You hum into his chest, squeezing his hand tighter but your sickness, he barely felt it.

“I don't want to…” he could barely say it. “I don't want to kill you. ‘m sorry, I know we talked about it—”

You lean up, he's met with milky eyes, he knows you can barely see him now. “Then don't, I don't want you to—” you pause, clinging to humanity. “— to feel that before you go.”

Nodding, he kisses your forehead, crying, weeping into your skin. “I couldn't save you, ‘m so fuckin' sorry, love, ‘m so sorry.” He shakes, you gather enough strength to embrace him and bury yourself in his chest, letting his scent waft around you for comfort.

“Don't apologize, nothin' to apologize for.”

He sniffs, peppering your face with heavy weakened kisses. “Oi, don't use my own words against me.”

You smile against the rough leather of his jacket. “Can I say something?”

“Go,” he can practically see the countdown. “We have all the time in the world, love.” There's something warm leaking out of his eyes and ears. He's catching up to you.

You'd laugh but you can feel your life slipping through your fingers. “When we turn, I don't want us to be separated.”

“What do you propose?” He tries to inhale but he could only let out a sickening cough.

“Tie our hands together…really tight.” Your words fade away, but you still hold on.

“I've got rope here, I can do it now.”

“But I'll turn first, Hobie, I-I might—”

“It'll be my honour to be your first meal.”

“I'd laugh if we weren't dying right now.” Eyes too tired to open, you feel the rough rope around your wrist, and the unmistakable sound of a knot getting tied. You smile for the last time when you feel his fingers wrap around your own. “I love you.”

“How's that? Too tight?” He whispers close, he feels you slipping away, “Y/N? Love?” he breaks down when your hand falls limp around his own. “Not yet, please, not yet.” He holds you, rocking you back and forth like a babe needing to be held. Your heart doesn't beat in sync with his anymore. “C’mon, not yet, we still have to find the rest of the band, right?” His eyes cloud over, cold taking root inside his entire body. “Say somethin’, fuck!” He yells with all his might, “I love you, fuck, please wake up.”

Closing his eyes, he wraps you in what's left of his warmth. “Don't go, please.” Hobie pleads and cries until he can no longer breathe the same air as you. His last thoughts were of you.

[nutcrawler]

Excerpt from Uncanny X-Men letters page, June 1981:

Dear Marvel, When I was a very awkward teenager, the original X-MEN appeared. It was a godsend of sorts, helping me recover some sense of the goodness of an individuality I'd too often heard labelled "abnormal," "freakish," "gimpy," "weird," and worse. Throughout my high school days I read and enjoyed it. I loved it, but I always wanted some elusive thing more. About two years ago when I decided to collect comics as a hobby, I was introduced to the new X-MEN. I fell in love with the comic, literally at first sight, and have come to love it more and more each passing month. You've created and are continuing to create one of the most striking cycles in modern mass (or folk) literature, of which comics are such an important branch, and something of very great personal meaning to me as well. The "more" I'd been wanting. I and my friends- encounter ourselves so beautifully in this book: in the violence and sensitivity of Wolverine, in Storm's poise and her hidden fears, in Peter's simplicity and his sometimes disastrous impetuosity, in Kitty's spunk and self-consciousness, and in all the myriad, exquisite illustrations of what's grand and funny and uptight and terrible about being human that abound in the heroes and villains and innocent bystanders who people the X-Men's adventures. Very much like the people of the ancient myths, your characters are larger than life but true-to-life representations of our species' experience and of our own. I failed to mention Kurt Wagner above because Nightcrawler is he most special of all the X-Men characters, new or old, to me. I alluded to being physically deformed earlier. I may not be pointy-eared and blue or able to go "bamf," but because my hands and feet are misshaped and I wear an artificial limb I can no more pass for "normal" than Kurt. So it is that his and my life experience and outlook most interlock; and he becomes both a mirror and a self-portrait of sorts, as well as a role model. Like Kurt, and sometimes with or through him, I discover that it truly is better to be a whole "me" than "normal," that humor helps defuse anger and to dissolve self-pity, that one's self is infinitely preferable to any "image," and so much more. It's beautiful-very precious and beautiful-to see in 'Crawler month after month a deformed and physically challenged person endowed with courage, laughter, empathy, loyalty, slyness, skills, stubbornness, temper, anxieties, eccentricities, adventurousness, faith, a romantic spirit, sensuality, sensuousness, grace, charm, poise, self-pity, zaniness, seriousness, curiosity, playfulness, and by turns so many of our human traits. He's a terrific reminder of the ultimate truth too often put glibly and insincerely to America's millions of handicapped citizens: that "freaks" and "normals" share at heart one common human experience, one set of feelings and values and needs. I hope "the misfit" will be around for years—he's great company! - but if #141 were actually the last issue he ever appears in, I'd feel an enormous debt of gratitude towards those who collaborated on this book. There aren't too many characters-in books, comics, movies or elsewhere-that us real-life "misfits" can lock onto to form or celebrate positive images of ourselves. (I can list examples on my fingers and toes: "The Elephant Man," "Long Ago, Tomorrow," "I Never Promised You A Rose Garden," some of Theodore Sturgeon's and Harlan Ellison's science-fiction stories, and the X-MEN.) So I thank you very, very much for entertainment, pleasure, intellectual stimulation, and your terrific example that different can be good-excellent, in fact! You have my gratitude, admiration, affection and best wishes always.

Carolyn Amos Fort Worth, TX

[isfjmel-phleg]

The Blackberry Bushes Book 3 Chapter One [REVISED]: a preview

This is not a complete chapter, but since it's Tamett's birthday, I wanted to share the only complete scene I have so far in this, to give you an idea of the new direction I am taking it. It's short, but it's meant to be our intro to Tamett, as well to Josiah.

How does it work for you? What can I do better?

Even when His Royal Highness not only informed him that he was a disgrace but also elaborated on that assertion in painstaking detail, Tamett Låsrygg said nothing. He had said nothing for most of the afternoon. Not at the luncheon with all the court officials. Not afterward when the dining hall was astir with whispers that no one would explain to him. Not now that he and His Royal Highness the Crown Prince Josia, the Hope of Lienne, sat waiting outside the king's study.

Tamett was used to saying nothing. As HRH's companion, that was much of what he was paid to do. But today he found himself wondering, not for the first time, if his silence was really worth one hundred myunzen per mensem.

He would rate it at one hundred twenty-five at least. Perhaps he ought to ask for a rise sometime. Goodness knew his family could use the additional income. Something told him, though, that whatever the king wished to speak to him about, it probably had nothing to do with increasing his salary.

That something was HRH himself, continuing his hissing from the other end of the bench. 

"You've really done it this time, Tamett. I cannot imagine what you could possibly have done that would be so disgraceful that the king my father actually wants to speak to you about it. My father never reprimands the staff. That would be beneath him. And besides, he hasn't time to bother with the likes of you. I hope you're happy that you're wasting your sovereign's afternoon."

If it was such a hardship for the king to speak to Tamett, Tamett would gladly have spared him the trouble and bypassed the impending interview. But the king was clearly intent on following through with it, and he had even been thoughtful enough to supply Tamett in the meantime with HRH's company and all the moral support that came with it.

Such kind people, this royal family. The only comfort they had denied him was to specify exactly what crime Tamett had committed. 

Because Tamett himself had no idea. He had racked his brain to its very cellar and turned up not a single thing that could warrant His Majesty King Odren, Emperor of Lienne and All Her Territories, Sovereign of Ordenna, the Father of the Fatherland himself, wanting to personally take to task a twelve-year-old nobody from Noriber.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have left the luncheon so soon. But a newly received letter from his sister Emenor, stashed in his jacket pocket, had burned to be opened. He had welcomed having an excuse to leave the dining hall—the result of a few too many refills of his water glass—and on his way back had stopped in an alcove of a corridor to devour the news from home. Emenor’s breezy correspondence was infinitely more interesting than anything any of the gentlemen of the court at that luncheon could have aspired to say, and Tamett drank in every word, multiple times. 

“You’re wasting my afternoon too,” added HRH, sticking out his lip. “I have lessons to return to. You’re making me miss my piano practice. If I slip up at the next recital, I’m going to tell the king my father that it’s because you wouldn’t let me take the time I needed to perfect the piece. I’ve never made a mistake at a recital, and if I do, it will be your fault.”

Emenor too had told Tamett about music lessons, although her remarks were rather less accusatory than HRH’s. She was hoping to be taken on by a distinguished violin master whose instruction would better prepare her for education at the Conservatory, which would give her a greater likelihood to become a virtuosa and win the Låsryggs fame and fortune. Which would be much needed, since their father’s efforts to run for court delegate of their district of Noriber were flagging, and the dining room was no longer presentable for the important guests that accompanied campaigning, and the younger sisters were growing out of clothes and shoes at a remarkable rate, and governesses were not cheap, and they were still paying the doctor bills from when Cille and Zella had had measles after Christmas. How grateful, Emenor had said, she was that Tamett’s salary was coming to the family’s rescue—to her rescue—yet again.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” said HRH, “if the king my father only wants to speak to you because he’s going to dismiss you. You’re an embarrassment, Tamett. I am ashamed to have you for a companion.”

Tamett watched his knuckles turn white as he clenched his fingers around the edge of the bench. Yes, he definitely shouldn’t have taken so long to read Emenor’s letter. She was—they all were—counting on him, and now he might not have any salary at all to send home. Just himself, shuffling into the entryway, hat in hand, having to explain to his parents why their son had become a burden.

“Did you hear me, Tamett?” said HRH. “I said you’re an embarrassment. Are you deaf and an idiot? The least you could do is apologize to me.”

Tamett had said nothing for so long, and he was tempted now to keep it up, but when HRH demanded something, his companion gave it to him.

Tamett could do this. One long, slow breath. Another. Blow away all the things he shouldn’t say. He did this all day, every day. Why was it so difficult now?

“I’m—sorry,” he mumbled. “Your Royal Highness.”

HRH made a derisive noise. “Are you?”

Before Tamett could decide whether that was a rhetorical question or not, the sound of a bell from within the king’s study sliced through the thick silence. Its shrill, imperative tones conveyed only one meaning: the king was ready to see Tamett now. No more chance of his changing his mind or forgetting or perhaps some kindly natural disaster intervening. As with HRH, Tamett, a dutiful member of the royal household, had no choice but to do as he was told.

HRH side-eyed Tamett contemptuously. “You had better be politer to the king my father than you are to me. He’s not as gracious and patient as I am.”

Tamett stood up. He took another long breath. He squared his shoulders, and he walked up to the door through which perhaps no other commoner had ever stepped. He glanced over at HRH, still enthroned on the bench, nose in the air, not even bothering to meet his companion’s gaze.

Tamett said nothing. And he opened the door.

[victoria-rue]

victoria-rue's Recommendation Masterlist

I was tired of play hide 'n seek with old stories in my likes. So I'm just going to leave them here so I can find them better and so other people can find them easier too ♥︎

Recommendation Masterlist part 1, part 2, part 3, & part 4

Stranger Things

Eddie Munson

Beth by @farfromharry

Eddie’s trying to navigate adulthood after a baby is dropped on him from a prior hookup. He tries his best for the baby girl and does well, things are made even easier with the help of his friends around him. When he meets you his life flips again, and although it takes a while to admit your feelings, he eventually ends up with a family he never expected he would have.

june baby by @luveline

you're a single mom living three trailers down. eddie thinks you're the prettiest girl he's ever seen. queue smiley face oatmeal, grossly misused power tools, desserts on the living room floor, a haircut, and an abundance of nerd metaphors

the pain of letting you go by @strangermarvelss

you've separated from your husband, eddie, but aren't looking to rebound anytime soon. but he is

Penny 'Verse by @queenimmadolla

having found a family in your friends, Hawkins is no longer a sinkhole to you, so when you and Eddie discover you’re expecting, letting all your other plans go in favor of starting a family isn’t all that difficult.

Billy Hargrove

18 by @perpetuelledaydreaming

Billy Hargrove needs a Queen and you need someone to help you get out of the hellhole that you are currently in as you move to Hawkins. It should be an easy and obvious solution, right?

the hurt is good by @bookshelf-dust

Steddie

Good Neighbors (Steddie X Reader) (Book One) by @justmeinadaze

You move into a new apartment complex with you six year old son while going through a divorce. You meet your sexy neighbors Steve and Eddie who are adorable with your kiddo and both care a lot about you.

We're A Family (Book Two) by @justmeinadaze

Steve, Eddie, reader, and her son are now all under one roof taking things one day at a time with their taboo little family.

Marvel

Steve Rogers

the send-off by @earth616variant

Being his best friend and assistant, Howard Stark asked you to be the first one to be tested on his time machine project. After some unexpected errors, you ended up stuck in the modern times of the 21st century. Where you meet the man you thought died years ago: Steve Rogers.

Peter Parker

Infinitely You by @spider-stark

In every universe you are the one person Peter Parker will always love more than anything; unfortunately, he always realizes it too late. Now that they've been granted a second chance none of them are willing to miss out on finally making things right.

Barbie

Ken

Kenough for you by @frost-queen

This Isn't Barbie Land by @guppydoll

You are working away as a waitress at a night club when the oddest man came up to you after your shift and accidentally swept you off your feet. Yet you don't know if you are ready for another relationship after the disaster that was your last one. You just hope everything goes nice and easy. Ken is your doll and he wants you to teach him how to be human and help you through the pain you've been feeling. 

Harry Potter

Draco Malfoy

Pure-Blood Potter by @fanfics4all

Are You With Me? by @sourstilinski

Y/N is a Slytherin muggle born. She’s used to her house ostracizing her due to her blood status and her friendship with the Golden Trio, especially Draco Malfoy. But during their fifth year, they discover they might need each other more than they think

Bill Weasley

long hair & tattoos by @wisteria-blooms

You, (Y/N) Malfoy, despise your family’s views on blood purity. Unlike your little brother Draco, you won’t be roped into marrying for status. However, when your father, Lucius, puts down an ultimatum, you’re forced to find a lover for next week’s dinner. With his long hair, tattoos, piercings, and your father’s worst nightmare reincarnated in a man, who better to bring than a much older Bill Weasley? What should’ve been one night of deceit turns to a battle of charades and wits. Just who will crumble first: your family, Bill, or you?

James Potter

𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘥 by @astonishment

James plans on proposing to Lily. Trying to calm his nerves, he goes for a walk in the woods, then somehow finds himself in the land of the dead, engaged to Y/N, the corpse bride. With his friends and girlfriend looking for him, can James make it back to the land of the living? Does he even want to?

Regulus Black

Manipulating Death: Season One by @morganalatina21

When Harry discovers he has a twin sister that was hiding for years, he wants to know all about her, specially about her ability to bring people back to life.

Second Son by @cherryslyce

Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

Tom Riddle

Challenging fate by @lovebeinaprincessworld

There were a lot of unexpected things happening the day of the Battle of Hogwarts. Being send back into the past to change the course of history was definitely one of them.

Young Sheldon / The Big Bang Theory

Georgie Cooper

Texas Romance by @countrymusiclover

Y/n is Missy's high school friend, even though the Cooper girl is only in elementary school. She spends a lot of time at the Cooper house and learns what living with Sheldon was like. Through her years of high school, she realized that she's crushing on the eldest football playing brother Georgie. He's reckless and does things his mom doesn't approve of so Y/n questions herself of how she is falling for him. The two have to figure out if they can actually be a couple or not and deal with Missy's teasing.

The Texas Tire Family by @countrymusiclover

10 years after George Sr passed away Georgie and Y/n have to adjust to being the adults of the family. But when Sheldon reunites with the pair he needs them to come to his wedding, except Georgie tells him no. Dealing with two ten year olds and a secret they never expected to hear Sheldon was getting married.

Avatar

Jake Sully

Si fpom by @fluloa

You're dead to me by @chaethewriter

In which Jake Sully leaves his life on earth to settle down with the Omatikaya people as Toruk Makto. Having a family that consists of four kids with Neytiri, everything seems to work out just fine, but what if the past comes back for him? And his babygirl is right there in front of him?

folklore masterlist ✩ jake sully by @theseuscmander

widowed jake sully tries his hardest to heal from the loss of neytiri and you’re there to pick up the pieces and mend him back together, even if neither of you wanted to or realized.

Hoodie by @midnightsapphire

you thought jake was the one, now you’re grasping straws at what was.. and what could have been

I See You by @heirtothekingdom (now only on Ao3)

You observe the mighty warrior, the famed Toruk Makto, struggling to adjust to his new life in the Metkayina clan. The gentle whisperings of Eywa push you past your comfort to reach out a helping hand, to ease Jake Sully in the only way you can.

Tsu'tey te Rongloa Ateyo'itan

i want to see mama too by @dreamingofpandora

seven years ago, you had died alongside grace while trying to protect pandora. a few months after your death it was discovered that you were pregnant; leaving tsu'tey to raise your son vu'ran without you. but, things start to get strange when vu'ran is certain he saw you move.

Miles Quaritch

Ma Miles by @mechformers

When your son is taken, left behind by your Toruk Makto, you desperately go on the hunt for your boy. Knowing who took him, knowing that nothing good awaits him, you search high and low through the battlefield of Pandora, praying that Eywa will guide your way.

What Do I Tell My Friends Family by @plzfeedmebread

No More Than a Memory by @chaoticlicense

Miles isn't the same man as his human counterpart. The mistakes of the past are not his own. Neither are the feelings he has for a woman he's never met but remembers as though he has. In another life, you were everything to him. His light, his life, the one who brought a little joy to his dreary world. But you made your choice just as he made his. You both know that neither of you can change the past but maybe, just maybe, you can forge a new future…

Avatar: The New Mission by @milknhonies

After failing his mission to hunt down Jake Sully, Miles Quaritch is given a new mission. Let’s just say you’re not the most co-operative na’vi native and Quaritch loves to put you in your place.

Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan

ONE OF US by @forever--darling

neteyam sully was the next olo'eyktan and for years had been focused on his training and his responsibilities only. he had never accounted for you to become one of them. when you got your avatar body and ended up in the forest alone, being brought to the village and offered to be taught the ways of the people wasn't what you expected. let alone it being neteyam, future olo'eyktan becoming your teacher.

“you make me feel brave//you make me feel safe” by @thesparkisnearlygone

alyara was only six weeks old when she was left behind as the sky people were forced to leave pandora 19 years ago. she was raised by Norm and Max, and she grew up running through the forest of pandora with the sully’s. her love for neteyam had blossomed over the years, but she knew nothing could come of her feelings for him, even after she is surprised with her own avatar. still, she can’t seem to picture herself with anyone else, and she will soon find that her feelings are not unrequited.

Charming Killer by @writing-makes-me-human

You get chased into the wilds of Pandora with a broken communication collar and a bullet wound, but Neteyam finds you. He goes to kill you but an omen from Eywa stops him, and as he approaches you he realizes you are his destined mate.

His Secret Admirer by @teyums

All Of My Love by @kurogxrix

IN WHICH Neteyam’s mother and clan disapproves of your relationship, because you’re a dreamwalker. When you both advance in your relationship, the clan cannot help but attempt to ruin things for the both of you.

Ao’nung

Weakened by Eywa by @shkudss

Ao’nung finally realizes that his actions have consequences

Jake & Neytiri

My Heart Never Knows by @star-girl69

In the safety of the Reef, you know no war. You only know your family, the feel of the ocean on your skin, the feel of the wind blowing through your hair. You know only simple things, the barely there shine of the sun, a reprieve from where you are covered by your sister. You are the moon and she is the sun, and you are destined to live like this. You had long since given up any hopes of a mate until the Forest People arrive, on their colorful flying ikrans. Ronal does not like them. Tonowari respects them. Tsireya is entranced, Ao’nung sees them as new market to tease. With your family divided, you do not know how to feel about them. Until you See them, the parents of this family, Jake Sully and Neytiri, and the sun suddenly feels so much brighter. But your heart never know the future. It is in the hands of Eywa, but you cannot give your heart to these strangers knowing it could hurt. But, it seems this strange man and woman have other plans.

Keep Me Ablaze (Book One) by @star-girl69

The only mother you have ever known is the forest. Yes, you have Grace, other women at the base. But they are not quite your mother. It’s hard for your Aunt to talk about her- but how can you blame her? Alone and drifting through the world, a fire burning inside of you that threatens to snuff out, Grace teaches you alongside the Omaticaya at her school. They call her sa’nok, and sometimes you wish you could call her that too. But you feel like you would be betraying your mother. Neytiri is your spark, even while you’re young, shy when Grace pushes you to play with her and even shyer when the two of you form a tentative friendship. But it grows, and she grows into the woman you know now. Life without her is miserable, but at least you have something new to explore in the form of your Avatar. You run through the forests and help Grace, and soon you are 20 years old and looking out onto your life like it is a prison. You could leave. Go to Earth. But you couldn’t leave the forest, your Aunt, the memories of your mother and father. Then, Jake Sully comes, a warrior with no legs, who holds the same spark as Neytiri does. But with the weight of impending war looming on each of you, death everywhere, you don’t know if they can keep you ablaze.

Ember in Your Hands (Book Two) by @star-girl69

Although a part of you had died, you found that you were still full of life. With children running around and healed scars, life is what you dreamed about during those dark nights so long ago. You don’t know betrayal anymore, you don’t know loss or suffering. When you’re forced out of the only home you’ve ever known, you find yourself becoming hateful and bitter. You blame your mates, who have only ever burned for you, for all that has happened. You’ve changed and they’ve changed, and you’re not sure if they can keep you ablaze- not this time. You’re just an ember in your hands.

Yawnetu by @sunandsstars

One other mate was enough, but two? Unneeded. _ was the outcast, the unwanted woman. Jake and Neytiri wouldn’t ever see her..right?

Tonowari & Ronal

Yawnetu by @sunandsstars

With her arrival in Awa’atlu, reader seeks to find a sanctuary for her family, one that she may find in two particular individuals

Neteyam & Ao’nung

He's Not So Bad by @biolumilunareclipse

your parents as well as the his had decided that you would be ao’nungs mate and the tsahìk of the metkayina clan. you were to be mated after you had both reached a certain point in your training. naturally, they suggested you help ao’nung and tsireya help teach the forest people your ways in your free time. this allows you to develope a close bond with the eldest son, neteyam, with whom you have plenty in common. as time passes and ao’nung becomes more accepting of them, he realizes they have plenty in common as well.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

Willy Wonka

Chocolate Princess by @the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf

Y/n Ficklegruber can't help but become enamoured with the spectacularly peculiar man stood in the middle of the galleria.

The Candy Man by @kteezy997

Enola Holmes/Bridgerton

Sherlock Holmes

Upon a nightly walk by @frost-queen

Having snuck out of the house to explore the town at night, you stumble upon a drunken Sherlock. His drunken behavior very silly and adorable to you, you take it upon yourself to escort him home. Once there, you find it hard to leave him alone so you decide to stay. Which comes to a surprise for a waking Sherlock who tends with care for his sweet savior. 

Viscount Tewkesbury, Marquess of Basilwether

Love at first encounter by @frost-queen

The moment I knew by @frost-queen

You are very bubbly, sweet and wise. Every since you were a little girl you dreamed of becoming a princess. One day you meet Tewkesbury, completely smitten by him and he by you. You are very certain about your future with him after meeting him once. Later during family diner, you tell your siblings you are to marry him. Leaving them with different reactions to your sudden news.

Benedict Bridgerton

love letters and seconds sons by @jimblejamblewritings

The princess is finally ready to debut in society. But before she does, she decides to disguise herself and see the true faces of the ton.

The Bear

Carmen Berzatto

Six Months by @aestheticaltcow

parenthood angst

[kirby-the-gorb]

reply roundup!

boy howdy I love being medicated

other news:

reminder that stickers and prints left over from kirb2k are finally available on [kofi], only shipping to north america without tracking rn to keep it simple

my wife fiiiinally matched into a residency program in her specialty of choice after 3 years, she'll be moving out of state starting this summer while my partner and I stay here and hold down the fort

also thank you for all the boops at the beginning of the month! and all the support and enthusiasm for finally getting better medical treatment. and even more yeehaws still coming in for [cowboy kirby] too :')

on [rare disease day] @ragefilledmunchkin said: happy rare disease day! my mom has MCAS/POTS/EDS and I’m getting tested for the trio this month

oh man I hope it went well! it's very not a fun thing to have but it's definitely way better to know than to just be afflicted by Mysterious Horrors. (although if you're lucky enough to genuinely not have it that would probably be the ideal lol)

anonymous asked: My fiancee absolutely loves your Kirbys and goes into hysterics every time I show her. Thank you for making very good kirbs!

aww how sweet! I love drawing things to make my wife laugh so I'm glad it's working for someone else too lol

on [lichen] @joekingv1 said: *has been subscribed to baby since the start*

it's true, you've been around for quite a while! (several of you have in fact! it always makes me happy to see urls that have been around since the reply roundups were so short they didn't need readmores lol)

(also thanks as always for all your little replies, you offer up so many cute ideas I don't have the energy to draw >n< )

on [lichen] @ceylonsilvergirl said: ok, so as someone who makes this joke A LOT and her kids don’t get it and her husband doesn’t think it’s as funny as she does (me. I’m the she) this is HILARIOUS!! I have a lichen growing around the door handle of my pickup truck. yes I suppose I don’t wash it enough. But it is an almost 25 year old beat up ford ranger. but I can’t remove it, it’s my lichen subscribe

lichens are precious little friends and I wholeheartedly understand preserving your little truck friend. take every harmless little joy you can get!

on [pacman] @nexus-nebulae said: i wonder if kirby and pacman are related. round. little to no limbs. infinitely consumes. chased by funny lookin but kinda cute little guys constantly. consumes Fruit for power

hmmmmm you may be onto something there...

on [normal] @graycoin said: Ooogh. Sorry you're going through normal. It looks krunkly.

it was so scrungy dude -_- (thank you as always for the supportive replies <3)

on [normal] @paperstarwriters said: sending hugs your way op I really hope you get through this and get the treatment you need

thank you! it seems like I finally am!

on [normal] @the-halo-of-my-memory said: get well soon op, and you too kirbs

thank you <3 dunno that I'll ever be well, but I'm certainly better than I have been.

on [taped] @journey-within said: i will sing for you in the car on my way to work

waaah that's so sweet, thank you ;n;

[thescribblings]

Welcome to my blog! Where i mainly post about my future leo; Orion! (Even though that's a nickname, lol)

I also have a future donnie design, who has been named (with the very generous help of @sinestrosmind) Akari! Or Aki for short :]

(I have a patreon if you're interested)

So, due to some unfortunate events, i am currently unemployed and struggling financially. I can't pay rent and due to mental illness, including cptsd, i am not currently able to get a job. As of right now, i am lucky enough to get to stay with a friend of a friend for free until i can start paying rent, the savings i have are just enough to keep me fed for a few months, tops. I hate to bring this to my own safe space, but the reality of the situation is that i need help. If you can and are interested, then please join my patreon. Anything would be infinitely appreciated, and that includes just sharing or liking this post. Have an amazing day, you beautiful creatures<3

As a patron, you get to see what I'm working on! I post wips, abandoned projects, and occasional writing, you also get to suggest my next piece or a prompt (although i can't promise that it'll catch my eye!), if I'm not sure what to draw next i might make a post and let you help me decide, you can make requests but I'm very driven by what personally interests me when i draw, basically I'm not able to draw something that i don't enjoy drawing. I also might just be burnt out, as i get burnout periods rather often

In the future i hope I'll post short comics that i myself draw, and gifs, animatics, anything really :] i just want to create, but i only started seriously learning to draw about a year ago, so it'll take a while before i do the things i need actual patience for lmao <3

I also occasionally post some Semi-Feral Polaroids content! It's a lovely shared AU @so-called-yokai and i put together where Orion and their gorgeous oc Eshra are romantically involved :]

I'm rather socially awkward due to ADHD, Autism, and social anxiety, so i can't promise that I'll respond to comments

Just know that i appreciate it a whole lot when you take time out of your day to tell me something!

I'm new to Tumblr ( I have only had it since the summer of 2023 ish). So bear with me as i learn how to use it!

I will post here very rarely (i can disappear for like 6 months at a time, that is a promise) but the rise fandom has motivated me to get better and draw again (hyperfixations go brr)

(i basically only draw Orion and Eshra but y'know-) oh, and i don't fuck with t-cest, that's nasty. I'm also not very invested in ships other than Semi-Feral Polaroids, so don't expect that from me

I made my own au a while back! I'm still fleshing it out and all, but i named it "slightly feral future leo (with ghosts)" or "sffl(wg)" for short. It's a very self indulgent "peepaw ended up in the past for no specific reason" au and it doesn't really have much plot yet, but i just like drawing cute turtle scenarios (a lot of the Leo's snoozing since they deserve a nap) or sometimes I'll draw some angst, (I'm very into angst, but I'm bad at drawing it lol)

Keep in mind that I've been very inspired by other creators and their au's when i created this one, most of it is cherry picked from others creations but i still like it. Even if some very well thought out and emotional concepts have been plucked and haphazardly shoved into my mess of an au, i just want to avoid as much confusion as possible by writing this long ass post ngl

I've decided to let people ask me things now. However, if you have any art requests whatsoever, just know that i only draw when I'm inspired and really, REALLY feel like it! I do still appreciate asks about my au if you're interested, though! (Art requests that i don't draw or can't draw might be saved for later and drawn in the future, btw. though it's not guaranteed)

If you couldn't already tell, i write a lot! I love describing things and telling some stories with drawings, so be prepared for some wordy and long ass posts, lol!

I also have a uh, rather neglected side blog (@a-variety-of-scribbles), it consists of literally anything except my scribblings

Now, have an amazing day you wonderful creature! (whatever you may be)

❤️ 🧡 💛 💚 💙 🩵 💜 🤎

[heybaetae]

kelli! it's so nice to see you back on the dash 🤍 i hope you've been doing better, and had a good day today overall!

since you asked for some chitty chats, this is moreso a thought i've been having since the excitement of seokjin coming back and the new ot7 pics coming out... i've grown out of the huge fandom aspect of things (i didn't even know festa included a live show or a new song released by jungkook 😭) — but knowing they are all okay, looking healthy and smiling... it really makes me feel like they were once my best friend where we knew everything about each other and did everything together — but then life got in the way? we lost contact for a while, priorities shifted, and now we are living different lives ... but there is still so much love, so much respect, so much awe.

it oddly hurts, moving on like this. i felt something similar years ago when i gave away a signed poster towards an auction at my university — it was for a great cause, the army i gave it to was endlessly grateful, and it made me so happy that i could pass along something that would mean the world to them infinitely more than me. it felt like i also gave away a huge part of myself but not in an empty-thinking way... but in a there-is-now-room-for-more-in-life...

i don't know what this message really entails haha! just thoughts about growing up, moving on, but still feeling like i have one foot in the past and looking back in a fear of... potential regret? and it's not like my world will shatter or anything, but these boys made me so, so happy at one point in my life. if anything, now that i type these thoughts out, i almost want to thank them for guiding me to that said feeling of happiness — and to believe that i can continue to find it in other aspects of life... oh 🥺

ah what a sweet sentiment, anon! thanks for sharing. i think if people were more open minded instead of judgemental and dictative of other fans' personal journeys with bts, we'd all be in a much healthier place as a fandom. it feels icky (read: cult-like) seeing people try to tell each other how their loyalty to bts matters more than anything and that nobody is allowed to gradually grow out of a fandom space for their own reasons or it makes you a bad person. i think that's why a lot of "ex-army" have such a bitter taste in their mouths and it's sometimes hard to call it unfounded depending on their situation or experience. i hope you're doing well and am glad you still feel warmth towards them despite your distance from them and the fandom. your feelings match mine towards my previous fandom, so i totally get the bittersweet emotions that come with being out of the loop and feeling lighter, but still kinda regretful it happened. i'm pretty sure they just want you to be happy no matter how long you were with them in the first place. :)

[jeoseungsaja]

🎇Happy new year, everyone! 🎇

(BOUNCES IN HERE) HI, HELLO!!! I KNOW I'VE BEEN AWAY BUT PLEASE KNOW I HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN ABOUT ANY OF YOU (HOW COULD I??? NEVER EVER!!!) YOU'RE ALWAYS IN MY HEART !!!

Just wanted to peek around here to wish you all a very happy new year; may this new chapter be infinitely better than the one that's been closed (or is about to be closed, depending on time zones!!), full of good health, success, wonderful company, wondrous news, happiness, laughter, remarkable moments, incredible memories AND ALL THE GREAT THINGS THE UNIVERSE HAS TO OFFER!!! May you fulfill all your goals and objectives for this year triumphantly; MAY THIS YEAR BE ABSOLUTELY GOLDEN FOR EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU!!!

Please remember that YOU DID AN AMAZING JOB DURING 2023, YOU'RE SO STRONG AND RESILIENT AND AWESOME, thank you for BEING HERE, thank you for always doing your best, thank you for being YOU; you've done amazingly well!!!! LET'S CONTINUE SWIMMING TOWARD 2024 AND MAKE THE BEST OF IT!!!

I'd also like to take this chance to THANK every single one of you. Even though I haven't been around as much, do know that I am forever grateful for every interaction I've had here, every conversation and plot and thread and sweet message I've received. Thank you all for your encouragement, support, affection and care; I appreciate your kindness and friendship with all my heart (thank you for putting up with me despite my endless slowness, you guys are golden😭) . I really do miss being around here and I truly hope that in this new year, I can be around more TO WRITE AND SCREAM AND CRY ABOUT OUR MUSES (AND OTHER BEAUTIFUL THINGS) WITH ALL OF YOU!!! MANIFESTING THIS!!!

HERE'S TO MANY MORE ADVENTURES TOGETHER, MY FRIENDS!! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

hey, feel completely free to discard this question if you just don't have the space to answer it--i am aware shit is Busy For You right now lol. i just wanted to ask you specifically because you're the only person on tumblr i follow who has expressed, like... similar restrictions to what i have? similar awareness of what's going on in the world and feelings about it? but no pressure to respond.

that said, you've spoken a lot about being very restricted and limited in your community engagement due to COVID, and like... i'm struggling with that right now. i haven't been able to Leave The House And Engage In Community in actual years at this point, because even with reaching out beforehand and requesting things change, no community-building groups in my area are like... actually willing to even baseline require masking at all, and i'm... very unsafe in those situations due to medical problems, you know how it is. i'm struggling with being able to find community at all, much less figure out how i can actually materially help and build community. i've tried to organize my own structures for building friendships and community support networks in spaces where i run filters, require universal masking, etc, and what has happened is that... nobody shows up, no matter how intensely i try to do outreach about it. it seems like the generally accepted notion, especially in anarchist social circles around here, is that people/structures that require COVID precautions are... overreacting, limiting other people's freedoms, and generally untrustworthy as community.

i just wanted to ask, as someone who's faced similar limitations, do you have like... any advice for how to navigate this and actually contribute to building strong communities and support networks without putting myself and my loved ones in danger? i'm exhausted, i'm burnt out all the time, and i'm pretty much entirely isolated from anyone other than a small handful of similarly-isolated people. i want to Have Support Networks and i also want to do my part to make the world a better place. but i've been struggling for years now and i keep failing in ways i never did pre-COVID. whenever i see posts talking about how the only way to truly make a difference and have support networks yourself is to get offline and engage in your local community, i *agree*, but i feel infinite frustration with the fact that i *keep trying* and it feels like i'm just expected to expose myself + my loved ones to the risk of early death and further disability as the tradeoff for that.

i hope this wasn't too much for your inbox, and again, please don't feel like you have to answer this if you don't have time/energy/space, i hope your move is going well and that you're able to take some time for relaxation and rest!

Hey Anon,

I feel your pain, I really do. And I'm not going to try and pretend that the answer I'm about to give you is a fair or just one at all.

I have made peace with the reality that I cannot control what others do, I can only control my own decisions and actions. What this tends to end up looking like for me is making really careful, considered decisions about my own personal level of risk and protection, trying to utilize pritective mechanisms that I have control over like respirators and santization procedures, home and vehicle air filtration, etc.

Rather than trying to start new spaces from scratch, I have spent time slowly and gently pushing for stronger protective measures within the spaces that already exist and which I engage with. The more I get to know the people I'm collaborating with on projects, the more likely they are to be responsive when I point out that my safety is compromised by lack of COVID protective measures. By building off my relationships with people to make those asks, it feels more doable for people to accept them from me. People don't like making changes for strangers, but they'll often make much larger accommodations for people they know and have grown comfortable with.

I recognize that all of this puts the weight of accommodation on you, as the disabled person. And that isn't fair or right. I'm not answering this question based on what I think SHOULD be true, but rather based on what has been effective for me in the past. It sounds like you're someone who already puts a lot of energy into your efforts to engage with your community, so maybe having that energy be used in different ways will yield results that feel less exhausting to you.

I want to validate up front that this does sometimes mean missing out on events, campaigns, and projects I would otherwise have loved to be a part of because I can't always justify the exposure risks. It also means sometimes having difficult conversations with people I know who have different value judgements about COVID precautions. It can be important to be honest with yourself about your level of risk, your realistic amount of control over that risk, and how much you want to let those factors influence and restrict your life.

We're all human, and we need community as much as anything else in our life. It can be exhausting and alienating to constantly feel as though the world is an unsafe place for you to exist. Unfortunately, sometimes the only remedy to that is to stubbornly insist on existing with love and fire and persistence.

[metamagic-adept]

Seti Steelsong did not have an epithet like "the Architect," "of the Inner Demons," or "of the Blessed Soul." Seti was just Seti, a tinkerer and a soldier. She made things that helped people and sought to better understand the world. She was on the front lines, absorbing blows and healing. Always the last to leave a bad situation, making sure the others got out safe. Though self-sacrificing, he did not dream of martydom. The best he hoped for was a quiet and noble death somewhere far from home. Her mama would be grieved to hear the news, but it would come swiftly, nothing torturous or drawn out. That is the best you can hope for when you are secretly dying; that no one you love finds out until after it's over with.

Seti watched his mother slowly disappear, and watched his mama lose her wife piece-by-piece. So when Seti began to fade, she resolved to never tell her mama. And it turns out she never had to.

________

Pockets of distortion within a malfunctioning time machine. The 4th dimension bleeding through into the 3rd. Lightning arching everywhere. The fraying of the timeline into infinite possibility. You feel you can go anywhere at any point in time. Where do you go?

Seti thinks of Ibis, how in the end she couldn't even hug her; there was nothing to hold on to.

You can go back and try to change it. There's a way to do it and create a paradox; there's another way to do it without creating one, but you may not come back.

There has been a hollowness in Seti's chest since he returned from the Far Ether. He is less here than not. She thinks about parallel timelines and endless possibility. She thinks about a young adulthood with two mothers, whole and healthy, about being able to give that to someone. She thinks about a life that is not hers, but could be real for some other Seti.

I want to change my mother's fate. Even if that means I don't come back.

________

Seti, you're back in the woods behind your house. You look down and see that both your hands are there in the flesh, and they are much smaller than you remember them. You feel like you've just woken up from a dream, daydream, specifically, since you've spent the whole day running around playing make-believe.

Seti, this young Seti, dreamed that he was a knight and an inventor. That she traveled to distant realms and times with a group of fellow adventurers. A feral ranger who could always make her smile, an unnervingly calm warlock who seemed unkillable, a jaded detective who more than anything wanted to help people in shitty situations, a fighter who ran headlong into, well, everything, and a cosmic elephant with his eyes on the stars. They helped people or failed spectacularly in the attempt. They fought monsters and corporate CEOs. They kidnapped a dinosaur. At one point Seti shrunk himself down and rode on a kenku's back into the eye of a massive storm. All in days work for an imaginative and brave seven year old. But there was something she was forgetting, something she needed to do.

As you begin walking home for dinner, you hear heavy footfalls coming down the trail behind you.

Seti hides and watches the armored figure, face obscured by a visor, march by before following at a distance. They draw their sword as they reach for the back door of the house.

"Wait. You're supposed to knock."

As far as this Seti is concerned, she defended her home from a well-armed bandit using a pot-lid shield and battleaxe made of sticks. The bandit did seem strangely upset to see him. Their voice cracked when they told him to leave. Their voice also sounded a lot like his mother's. But she stood her ground until her mama heard the shouts and came running. The bandit fled and soon Ibis came from inside to join her wife and child.

This Seti grew up with two mothers, and never worried about disappearing.

And the Seti I knew wrote herself out of the story. Gone, save for the blurry silhouette in a child's head of a hero with her shield raised high.

________

(if you are really confused and want context for this dnd character, find it here.)

[crymeariveronceagain]

I’m going to put this here under the assumption that you’re okay with receiving vents. If not, I’m so sorry for the misunderstanding and please ignore this ask. I hope you’re doing well either way.

(Very heavy vent below, once again do not read if you’re not comfortable. Put yourself first, please!)

Vent start: I don’t know what to do. That’s the summary of it. I just don’t know. I want to be okay and normal and healthy so much, but I just can’t. So often I hear “you’re not alone!” And “There are so many other people like you out there!” And I believe it but I just can’t seem to find them. Every person I’ve spoken to cannot relate to me, and if they can relate to me at all it’s with one of my most surface-level issues, and it just makes me feel more alone than before. I’ve been suicidal for years and years now. I have ocd, autism, adhd, sensory processing disorder, insomnia, and severe general and social anxiety along with severe depression. (These are professionally diagnosed.) I am 16 years old. I feel like I’ve been alive for centuries. I don’t think I’ve ever felt like a kid, even when I was a small child. I can’t even imagine what it feels like to be joyful because my entire life has been this endless cycle of stress and misery and there’s not a thing I can do about it. I’m not good at anything, I can barely even exist in the moment without dissociating. None of the doctors I’ve spoken to care about me, I am tearing my family apart because of what a bad state I’m in. I just want the people I care about to be happy, but I cannot even achieve that because the biggest obstacle in the way of their happiness is me.

Vent’s over now.

In other news, you are very good at writing and I admire your work, and how you are able to release it so quickly. Please take care of yourself, and I wish you well (whether or not you chose to read the vent.) <3

hoooooooooo boy that's a vent, but love, I'm glad you went somewhere with it. That's a lot. It sounds horrible to deal with. Like, every bit of what you described I would collapse instantly under. Pass out and die immediately. Just, sheer emotional crunch.

You are infinitely stronger than I am. You are far more powerful, more impressive, and amazing than i could ever be.

I'm so sorry no one can relate to you. That is one of the worst feelings. Ever. Human beings want to be recognized, seen, noticed, and understood. I believe it is also the human condition that as much as we want to be understood, no one ever perfectly does. It burns, hurts, stings. Aches.

And you're right, I can't relate to your struggles either. I wish I could. Honestly. Like, I know it's selfish, but I really wish I had more mental problems just so I could relate to people who go through this kind of thing.

As far as the suicidal thoughts go, what my advice there is: I love you. Hang on for me. The world is so much better with you in it. You might not be able to see how, but I see it. Someone's gonna read this post and think, stars, there's someone out there like me. And you, in this moment, are the hope for another person. You are hope, beloved. Keep being hope. Keep going.

Everything else, I'm sure you've heard every advice on the planet, there's not going to be much I can add to it. Like, everything you're going through? It's awful. It's hard. Nothing I say can make it better, because it... it's out of the reach of words.

Words can't make it better.

There are things words can't change. This is one of them.

But, all I can offer is that you are far stronger than I've ever been, or ever will be. You are the hope for every person dealing with what feels overwhelming. You are the strength people need to see in the world.

Because it takes a lot of strength, keeping going. It takes so much work. I know it has to.

Also, honestly, doctors piss me off <3. I hope you find better ones. You deserve better ones. People should care about you. I care about you.

And. For the record.

You are not an obstacle to anyone's happiness. That's a lie your brain is desperately trying to convince you of. But it isn't true.

People's happiness does not depend on you. You are outside of them. They control their own emotions. They are responsible for themselves. They are in charge of their own wellbeing. Joy is a choice. Happiness is an emotion, chemicals in the brain. Joy is a conscious choice. Like, seriously. There are things that people get wrong in this world, and one of them is that every emotion is just feeling. Like, Love is willing the good of the other. That's not a feeling, that's a choice. Joy is a choice to focus on what's good, to strive to just keep going.

So, darling, dearest, beloved anon.

You, my dear, are hope. You are strength. You are power. You may not feel like it. In fact, you probably feel like the opposite, most of the time.

But you give me hope. Because if you can do it, I can too.

If you are brave enough to keep on going.

Stars, the rest of us can only keep going on in awe of you.

[shelby-love]

HARGREEVES SIBLINGS

What Brings us Together: Funerals

Requested: yes [x]

Prompts: none

Warning(s): none

Word count: 3.5K

Author’s note: I hope this is what you wanted. You didn't specify what kind of interaction we should have w our siblings so I just went off what was most realistic. Luther is a b of course, that's just how he is at the beginning lol. Don’t think I hate him though! p.s. so is diego we know he wasn’t really nice to vanya in the beginning :(

~

You sighed heavily through your nose, gathering your brows in distaste at the building standing tall in front of you. The Umbrella Academy looks as imposing as ever, making you remember just how much it once scared you when you were a kid.

Time went by and you became an adult. Someone with common sense, living an ordinary life far away from your once bright future that suggested money and luxury. Of course, when you’re informed of your father’s passing through a TV screen, it’s mandatory to show up and pay your respects.

You snorted at the rogue thought. “Bastard.”

Seeing your siblings after so many years of being apart made you feel anxious. Your father and his ashes weren’t the cause of your sweaty hands. It felt weird. Too weird.

But you ignored the feeling and called out your inner adult, placing one foot in front of the other and walking straight through the two-winged doors.  

Your eyes fell on every surface of the academy, sweeping over every object while doing so. The number of memories, good and bad, that this place held was uncountable. But life, alas, is too short.

Your father a true example.

You gazed at the portrait with no emotion, looking at the picture of your father and siblings with a crooked smile of sadness. The tips of your bare fingers flickered with energy, and you fought the urge to curl them into a fist and punch a wall.

But your father's voice rung through your head, what you've been taught all your life bucking into instinctive actions. "You must know self-control Number Eight. You lack of it will be your downfall. Now put your gloves back on!"

You were 4 when those words big words started to leave his mouth, and you never heard the end of it. Not until he died.

You uncurled your fists, took a deep breath and felt the energy cave in.

"Y/N? Is that you?"

The sudden sweetness of a voice that belonged to your sister travelled into your ears, so quietly you almost didn't hear her. Your eyes widened slightly, and when you turned around – for a moment you didn't know what to do. The girl had turned into a celebrity, and you wondered if that had changed her in any way.

"Allison?"

She took a few sharp steps your way and wrapped her arms around you, pulling you in a bone-crushing hug you returned immediately.

"You're not wearing your gloves," she took note, looking tentative to touch you for a second after pulling away.

"I don't need them anymore," you stated proudly.

Your father graced you with leather gloves at the age of 4, telling you to never take them off. That in a way, you and the powers you possessed were a danger to your siblings. The dark leather gloves weren't comfortable, in fact, they felt suffocating every time you wore them. Because that's how silencing your powers feels like. Suffocating. For a second too short, you had wondered what Allison felt like. Not being able to use her voice for what it was made for.

"Well, I'm happy for you," said Allison, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "You never really liked them."

"No," you agreed with a mumble. "No, I didn't."

The two of you walked out of the hall and into the living area, legs paired with pace.

"Where is everyone?" You asked her quietly, your eyes inspecting an antique you knocked over as a kid more times than you could count.

"Diego is here, somewhere," she mused, and you raised your brows ever so slightly in surprise. "He has this weird hero complex, so he's out saving the world, I guess. Apart from us three, no one’s here yet."

"Do you know when he'll be coming back?" You wondered out loud, watching her give you an odd look a second later. "I haven't seen him in years, Allison. He's my brother."

A part of you wanted to tease her about Luther by saying that not everyone is into what they were, but you withheld it and instead locked your eyes onto your other brother.

Number Five.

"I missed you Y/N."

You smiled at her quiet voice, "Missed you too Ally."

***

"You know if I was murdered, and if one of my sons...adopted sons... happened to be able to commune with the dead, I might think about, I don't know, I don't know...manifesting!"

You attempted to stifle your laughter as you watched Klaus prance around your father's ashes in an attempt to talk to him. He wasn't sober, so you doubted it would work.

But it was pleasantly nice to see him try at least.

"I don't think he wants to talk," you interrupted him mid-vent.

You watched as his pacing stopped, his demeanor switching from crazy to collected in the seconds it took your voice to be heard. Klaus turned around slowly, beaming from one ear to another. "It's you! You're alive!"

His scream of joy brought a wide smile to your lips, and you rushed to his arms. Both of you screamed like little kids, telling how much you missed each other and how tragic life has been without one another. Making jokes on your dead father's account was overly present too.

"And you're high!" You squealed in delight, ruffling his crazy looking hair.

Klaus pulled away at that, swaying in a matter that looked like he was stretching before a run. He pointed his thumb at the ashes, "Dad's too stubborn. He won't talk to me."

"Did you try begging?" You asked amused.

"I-I guess…" He mumbled before groaning. "I'm too sober for this!"

Then his eyes snapped to you and a pout drew on his face. Klaus went to stand in front of you, grabbing your hands in his and placing them on his chest. "Y/N…"

You rolled your eyes but didn't remove them, "Yes, Klaus?"

"I was just wondering if you," He said gingerly. "You know…"

This time you did pull your hands away but placed them on his face. Teasingly you squished his cheeks like you used to when you were kids. "You want me to give you money, so you can go get high because your childhood trauma of being locked in a mausoleum catches up to you every time you're sober? Of course, I will. How much do you need?"

It took him a second to process your words. "Oh my God really?" Klaus whispered, almost as if he didn't believe that was happening.

"I tried it your way when I left -" you explained, pulling out your wallet and glancing at his stunned expression. "- to suppress my powers. It didn't work, and I continued to suffer. If that's what it takes for you to not suffer from them, I'll gladly help."

You handed him a wad of money but when he tried to take them you pulled away, "Just…be careful Klaus."

"Yeah of course I will," he replied absentmindedly before he turned his head to the side. "Shut up."

You furrowed your brows, "Did you say something Klaus?"

"Oh no, no, no, no, no," said Klaus quickly, a little too quickly. "I didn't say anything."

You hummed but swore you had caught him swing his leg at something too.

"Well, if that’s all…" you murmured, "I'll leave you to it then, I gotta go see Mom. Don't say hi to dad from me, okay? Don't you dare Klaus."

The sibling only saluted, turning around to get back to trying to reach your dad, securing the money into a pocket in his skirt.

"Hey! Wait!"

You stopped and turned back around. Klaus waved his hands at the big lone fireplace. "Can you do that thing, please?"

By that thing, he meant to say start the fire. You shrugged and walked back to the fireplace. The amount of time you lit it up for your siblings was infinite. It felt weird to do it now even though you light your fire at home with your powers all the time.

Fire comes out of your hands quickly and with ease in the shape of a golden ball, igniting the lone fireplace within seconds. You watched the inferno you created in a daze, only breaking out of it when Klaus came to stand in front of the fire to warm up.

"Love you Klaus."

"Awww I love you too sis."

You shook your head, turned and left the room.

***

"Heard you came from the moon." You mused, "Thought I'd stop by and see for myself."

When word spread that Luther was on the moon, you didn't quite believe it. Then you found out that he too came back to send your father off to the lands of the dead, and you just had to see him and ask for yourself.

It was no surprise to find him in your dad's office of all places, although at first glance he did look like an intruder. You felt yourself stiffen at the sight of a big man in a coat, looming over your father's desk imposingly. Power surged through your veins, and it took everything in you to stop it from overflowing in fear.

When your brother met your face, you exhaled in relief and a single candle lit in the room as a result.

Luther seized it, looking impressed. "You've gotten better."

"Cut the crap Number One," you snapped suddenly, the tone mainly coming from the fact that your powers activated because of the fear that came from seeing a completely new version of your brother. "First of all, what happened to you? I thought Diego would turn out like that, not you."

He shrugged his massive shoulders.

"Second of all," you began. "What are you doing in dad's office?"

"Nothing," he said quickly.

Luther might look big and dangerous but the creases in his face give you all the answers you need. "You haven't changed a bit," you mused, leaning against the door. A part of you still felt young and that made you respect your father's words a little more by staying put. "Save for the…" You pointed to your torso for reference.

Luther noticed the way you eerily stood at the doorstep, contemplating whether to enter and break his word. "He's dead you know."

You shot him a look, "I know that."

"So, why don't you come in?"

You contemplated to come in, but in all honesty - nothing was of interest. You would much rather like to interrogate Luther and his whims. 

"Is Allison really the only person you care about?" You asked him instead, the bubbled feelings you've been holding inside threatening to spill. It was rather hostile, the way you two met after years of not seeing each other. A big part of you felt angry at him for not calling you when things obviously went wrong somewhere. His body wasn’t a result of something natural, and you knew it. "I mean this as a sibling. Let's ignore the weird thing you two have for each other."

"We don-" he started, your seizing eyes stopping him mid-sentence. "Is it that obvious?"

You sighed, "Look Luther, I'm just trying to say…"

"No, you're accusing me."

"Of what?"

"You left. All of you."

You snorted, "You really want to do this right now?"

"I don't see why not."

"You're looking for something," you said instead, completely ignoring his words. "I won't help you find it nor will I try to lie if you ask me if I have it."

His ears perked, "Dad's monocle."

You chuckled, "That lame thing he always wore?"

Luther nodded.

"Why do you need it?"

"You said you wouldn't lie."

"I'm not lying Luther, I just asked you a question!" You told him. A thought washed over you when his eyes pinned you in, and you could barely even grasp it. "You think I killed him, don't you?"

"I didn't say that." He tried to reason, although he didn't move from around the desk to try and soothe you.

"You didn't have to," you said quietly, feeling tears gather in your eyes. "I see the way you look at me, brother. Ever since I hurt her-"

"Don't talk about her," he stopped you.

"Why the hell not?!" You exclaimed, "She's my sister you know. Our sister. You keep forgetting that."  

Luther stayed silent after your outburst, probably contemplating whether to apologize, but you cut him from speaking before he could even start. "We were 7 Luther. I didn't know what I was doing. You think I wanted to take the air out of her lungs? She was going to rumor me Luther. I was scared."

It didn't really matter how much you repeated it to him, he never understood. His love for her goes beyond siblingship, as weird and disturbing as it was. Whoever hurt Allison became a monster in his eyes. "But anyway. I didn't steal that ugly thing. You can cross me off your list."

You looked around the office, ignoring the way Luther stood silently. The lack of light was obviously making it difficult for him to sniff around. You raised your hands in the air, watching as the tips of your fingers turned into flames. A satisfying sight, but a sight you didn't want to look at currently. With a swipe of your hand, you controlled the small blazes until they broke apart and landed at the candles, lighting up the room, so Luther can see. "Hopefully this helps."

You walked away from the office after that, not daring to look behind yourself in fear of breaking down.

***

You stomped across the academy, anger flowing off you in waves. Having your emotions tied to your feelings was never fun. The chandelier above you swayed under the wind that came from your anger and candles burnt out, the fire that came within them disappearing into your body.

"Y/N?"

Suddenly, the wind stopped, but your lip started to tremble instead. "Vanya?"

When you turned around, she stood awkwardly at the door. With hands in her pockets she glanced between the shaking chandelier and you.

It was obvious that she was uncomfortable, at least until she saw your relieved smile. "Is that really you?"

She smiled, "I-I guess."

You outright laughed, the outcome of Luther and yours argument disappearing from your mind completely when you hugged her. "I missed you so much."

"You did?" She asked surprised.

"Why wouldn't I?" You asked her, confusion crossing your features. "You're my sister. Come here."

You brought her into the hug again, feeling her hug you tighter this time.

"You're not mad at me?"

Remembering what she was talking about had you cringing ever so slightly in discomfort. You scratched the back of your neck, "I mean… I was. But not anymore, Vanya. I'm all passed that now."

"You are?" She asked, hopeful.

"I am," you nodded in confirmation. "We're here to say our goodbyes to Dad. You have every right to be here, no one can tell you otherwise."

Vanya stayed silent, so you quickly added, "And the book was good. Exposing, but good. I like your way with words."

She snorted, "Yeah I thought you would."

Beaming, you slung an arm around her shoulders just like Allison did when you first came. Unfortunately, in your dysfunctional family, no one has peace for long. Diego came striding down the stairs in his black spandex suit, looking as he just came out of an action movie.

Seeing you had his smile growing by a mile, but upon glancing at Vanya the easy smile vanished and was instead replaced by a scowl. "You're still here? I thought I already told you. You don't belong –"

"Diego," your hand raised in the air to halt his mouth. "Now's not the time."

He let out a humorous laugh, walking up to you to give you a kiss on the cheek. You didn't fight it, instead letting him kiss your cheek and squeeze your shoulder as a greeting after not seeing each other for years. "Good to have you back sis."

"Enjoy it while you can," you said. "Because I'm leaving the moment dad's ashes are spread."

"Oh, I bet," he mused. "I'm leaving too. You should go now Vanya, save us the trouble."

"Okay Diego that's enough," you interrupted, standing closer to Vanya this time round, hoping she sees your support through mere change of standing. "Why don't you run along and go save lives? I heard that's your life's call."

He rolled his eyes before glancing at your outfit. "That's an awfully bold color for a funeral."

"That's because I'm not dressed yet," you rolled your eyes. "Now, if you don't have anything nice to say, I suggest you leave before I boil you."

Knowing you don't give out empty threats, Diego nodded grimly and disappeared upstairs, not giving Vanya a glance of acknowledgement. "You know, maybe he's right… I should just go."

You shook your head immediately, "Absolutely not. Look Vanya, your book might've not been the best thing that's happened to us, but it certainly isn't the worst. He's just being snappish. That's Diego's factory setting."

She laughed, this time giving you a smile. Not a fake smile, but a real one.

You felt victorious as you wrapped your arm around her again, leading her into the living area for a catch-up.

***

"Does anyone else see little Number Five, or is that just me?"

You and Klaus held to each other like little kids, not believing what, or who, stood in front of you. The little carbon copy of your long-lost brother swore under his breath, shocking you to the bones with the word ‘shit’. "I'm not high, am I?"

"I-I don't know," said Klaus awkwardly, "Do you feel high?"

"Klaus she's not high," Diego interrupted, standing in front of the group with Luther.

"You never know with her," Klaus tried to explain.

"Five is that really you?" You asked, ignoring the bickering that went all around you.

"Of course, it's me!"

"Oh God Klaus they even sound the same," you whispered, clutching Klaus' hand tighter.

"Look I don't have time to explain this all to you," the boy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose like an old man.

"The hell you do," Diego mumbled, eyeing him with menace.

Number Five (if that was even him) rolled his eyes and tried to push through and walk right past you. No 30-year-old - despite how shocked and curious they were - tried to stop him.

Save for you of course.

A lone vine flew from the wall under your command, wrapping itself around your brother's wrist in a vice-grip. Five eyed it nonchalantly, as if the sight amused him rather than intimidated him. "You do know I can walk right through that?"

You dared him with your eyes and mocked him with your mouth, "You do know that you've been gone for 17 years? I've evolved little man."

He bunched his brows together, almost as if he didn't believe you. To test his theory out, he urged his body to travel through space. You all watched as he walked straight through the air, coming out on the other end in a different part of the yard, not being able to move due to the vine's grip despite having travelled through literal space.

"Cute!" Five called out, walking back toward you using his power. "Now let me go."

"And why would she do that?" Luther asked, the inner Number One in him surfacing.

"Because I've got work to do."

"Five you're a kid literally," Allison objected, gazing over your brother's tiny body.

"You don't understand…"

"Maybe he needs a nap," Klaus mumbled next to you.

"I don’t-"

By not literal smoke was almost coming out of his little ears, his face reddened from anger, and he looked annoyed beyond understanding. "They're too young… I knew it."

You creased your brows, not understanding why Five was mumbling weird things into his chin. "You alright Five?"

He glared at you, "I will be… Once you get this thing off me."

You shrugged with a sigh, mumbling an okay and hauling the vine away from Five who shook his head in irritation. He wrapped a hand around his sore wrist, massaging it with his thumb to get read of the soreness. "Can't say I missed you and your crazy plants. Although you would've been a great addition to my adventures."

"What adventures?" You asked confused. "You’re 13."

Five sighed, brushing you all off with a sway of his hand.

Klaus was the first one to dash back into the house mumbling something about not being able to handle the weather, Allison following behind him carefully. Luther, who looked like a lost puppy, followed after your sister until it was just Vanya, Diego, Five and you left.

"I'm going to head inside," said Vanya awkwardly, disappearing inside quickly.

Diego gave Five a sideward glance but shook his head and left too.

"Elemental manipulation is exactly what we need to fight it."

You rolled your eyes, not quite believing that he forgot how elemental manipulation isn't your favorite thing. "Fight what Five?"

"The apocalypse."

"I'm glad you're back bro, seriously I mean it," You told him sincerely, "But you're crazy. I'd say get some help but…"

MASTERLIST

~

Here is the link to my tag list masterpost! If you want to be added to one of my existing tag lists (or perhaps new ones) let me know! :) 

✭ GENERAL TAGS (all WIPs): 

@fofisstilinski @short-potato @miranda0102​ @httphiddlestan @caromichaela @xx-missunicorn-xx @jemmakates @theravenclawmarauder @tclaerh @chefdoeuvre @just-arather-veryconfused-being @crazy0lu @thirstykpophoe @abimoon @sofiasamps @princxss-fia @theletterhart 

 ✭ THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY: /

[fanficsrusz]

I WANT TO KI__ YOU - FINAL CHAPTER

Warnings: Kidnapping, Dub-Con, Non-con, Stockholm Syndrome, Being Restrained, Breeding, murder, everything bad.

PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. IF YOU FIND ANY OF THESE WARNINGS TRIGGERING, THEN DO NOT READ. BY CONTINUING TO READ FROM THIS POINT ON, YOU ARE AGREEING THAT YOU ARE COMFORTABLE WITH ALL OF THE ABOVE WARNINGS. I DO NOT ACCEPT ANY RESPONSIBILITY IF YOU FEEL TRIGGERED BY THE FOLLOWING CONTENT SINCE THERE HAS BEEN PLENTY OF WARNINGS. IF YOU FEEL LIKE ANY OTHER WARNINGS SHOULD BE ADDED THEN PLEASE POLITELY DM ME AND I WILL ADD THEM.

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: Summery: After failing to fulfill his contract, John takes a liking to y/n and his liking soon turns into a dark obsession

Aesthetic Playlist

A/n: After a billion years, a billion mental breakdowns and just about everything else, I have finally mustered up the courage to finish this series. I don't know how to feel.

I hope you all enjoy this chapter and I look forward to reading all your comments and feedback. If you liked this chapter then please reblog it. That is how writers like myself are able to spread out work to other people, especially because there have been a lot of issues with tags lately. Thank you ❤️

<< Previous Chapter

The taste of his lips was something that she should hate. It's something that she should crave to loaf. But even after everything he put her through, he was the sweetest poison.  

John was like an elegantly bound book but in a language she couldn't read. Y/n never thought she would love all the bad things about someone but there she stood, staring out into the openness of the forest through the front door. 

The door was there as if her dream had become solid, as if it had grown upon the hinges and blossomed into a comforting hue. An exit. A way out of the nightmare she found herself in. In all the time she had been trapped in the house, the door had remained a mystery to her. Not that she didn't know what laid beyond it, but the idea of what she would do when she saw the day it was held open for that long. 

She realised in the air that had been so still on the previous days had suddenly gained a slight movement, as if it had discovered its direction yet was content to meander at its own pace. The autumn breeze that carried fine drops, each one a promise of the rain to come.  Newly chilled air that moved the clouds, streaks of brilliance breaking through from a patient sun.

 Y/n let her eyes rest for a moment, feeling the ambiance of nothing, hearing the sounds, taking in the aroma, letting her brain process what laid ahead. 

John came behind, his lips grazing her hair as he pressed a chaste kiss upon her head. 

"I need an answer." 

His voice came as a whisper but had a firmness to it as he waited for their fate to be sealed. 

Choices were rarely a fork of two pathways, yet with eyes a little wider open, many pathways appeared before her. The right path for one person can be different from another and only the inner compass of love and passion could illuminate it for that soul to walk upon.

"I-" her lips parted, the single syllable falling from her mouth before she stopped. Her eyes clenched shut, images of her past life flashing through her mind, her heart thumping as the emotions of what she had lost pumped through her. 

Before she could even register her own existence in her new life, her feet had pulled her from John's hold. 

She could feel her heartbeat… every single pound in her chest. This great pounding, this great pressure; every beat. She could hear it, she could feel it. It remained steady with every step she took closer to the door, it remained through what little breaths she could shove down her throat. It remained when she stood and swayed at the threshold. That dark beating remained, as she waited for her own choice to take hold of her body. 

With a shaky hand she took hold of the new wooden door, a sigh leaving her as she pushed the door shut, sealing her inside the house and sealing her fate with no other exit. Just like that any glimmer of escape faded away coldly into infinite darkness. Y/n's skin shuddered and she could feel her brain starting to defocus, searching for new hope. She should have gone … out there, to the forest where the paths ran in every direction and she could be free. But one thing and one thing alone stopped her. 

Aurora. 

John's hand creeped up her arm, offering her a caring touch. 

"Thank you" he whispered, breath hot on the back of her neck.

"For what?" her voice came out hostile, sadness prominent in her tone. 

"You chose me -" he smiled, "you chose us. You chose Aurora. You chose love." his arms circled her waist, pulling her closer to his icy warmth. "I can't believe you finally recognised the importance of what we have. You've finally learnt to appreciate it all and that's all I ever wanted from you". 

Sadness sat an inch below Y/n's face, eyes remaining dry, expression impassive. She knew that if she even let a fraction out that the rest would follow, a never ending torrent of grief. She moved nothing but her eyes, her mind racing while every muscle stayed rock still against John's hold. 

"I just needed you to see it with your own eyes, to have you understand that this could be a wonderful life, that we can build a perfect, loving, family" John let his mind wander within the walls of his own fantasy. 

"Just think about it. Think about all the good things we can do together here. We can be happy, we can enjoy each other as much as we want without having to worry about the world out there and all the bad things it brings -" he placed a heated kiss onto her skin, his teeth nipping lightly. 

That warm, raspy voice that possessed his cords, sent nerves dancing up her spine. Normally his smile sent her mind into an uncontrolled, captivated spiral and his light touch lingered, it branded her soul with a simple mark: infatuation. To call it love would be a mockery of her heart, a symbol of her dying innocence. But every tempered word he spoke invaded her mind, like ivy tendrils seeking any point of weakness to enter; they wrapped her body in a blanket of comfort and consumed her soul in the heat of lust.

Y/n remembered that night John took her in a soft, painful haze. It was the night that taught her the difference between love and infatuation. Love is unconditional, eternal... Infatuation? It dies. 

Y/n had become infatuated with John to some degree. The sense of protection that he provided was something that she had never known. What else did she have other than John? But Aurora? She deserved better. Y/n loved her more than anything and she wasn't about to let her daughter live in four walls. Captive. Her beauty hidden away from the world. 

That wasn't a life she wanted for her. 

"-I only needed to know that you were convinced, that you had it in your heart" John continued, his lips peppering her skin with soft kisses. 

"well now you know" y/n whispered, eyes still glued to the closed door. 

"You know-" John gently turned her body, forcing her to look at him as his soft brown eyes studied her features for a moment, "-keeping you chained in that basement for the rest of your life was a possibility but that wasn't enough for me" 

Y/n felt the pad of his thumb rub against the wet skin of her cheek, rubbing away a few tears that had managed to quietly escape their fortress. 

"I wanted you to be here with me, so you could enjoy this life of ours without being kept like an animal." his eyes softened, eyebrows dipping kindly. "It was all necessary at first. Just a training process and I only kept you like that because you needed it" 

Y/n knew it was wrong what he did. But why did it hurt to know what she would do? 

"I understand" she whispered, her own hands wrapping around his waist as she buried her face in his chest. With a deep breath she took note of all the musky sweet notes of his scents. John rested his head on top of hers, his smile uncontrollable. 

"it was like the medicine you needed to take" John let out a small laugh as he thought back. "you were this small little disobedient puppy. It was cute honestly but it was just something you needed to go through to get stronger. And now look at you!" he pulled back, holding her at arms length so be count admire her perfect face. "you're so beautiful and So loyal" 

John kissed the droplets of tears from her lips, and she felt his lips smile against hers. He swept her hair aside and kissed her just over the collarbone. He nibbled at her ear, and then sank himself into her arms. She hung her fingers on his waistband, dragging him closer and he buried his face in her shoulder curve, his hands flexing around her back. John gave a reduced groan before whispering “I love you,” into her hair. 

"So do I" she mustered back. 

"I can't believe you finally see me for what I really am. Your family. Your soulmate. Your world. Of course that world includes Aurora. Her future brothers and sisters. We will have all we need right here" he placed another kiss onto her forehead. "we can build something new, something perfect and you are the one who made it all possible. You - you have no idea how special you are to me my love." 

John stepped back, extending his hand for her to take and Y/n slowly took it into hers. 

"I will never let you go. No matter what happens, I will always find you."

-

Three days later 

The perfect life for the perfect wife. That's what Y/n told herself daily, over and over. 

Y/n had been baking for a few hours and as the moments passed, tune by tune as the radio sang along, the piles of cookies, buns and breads grew. It was the same as mess, only the good sort she supposed, the edible sort that made people happy. That would make her happy. 

Aurora sat in her highchair, cooing softly as Y/n plated a few cookies and turned slowly, smiling as she watched her daughter stare up at her. 

She placed the plate on that table and kissed Aurora on the forehead. 

"No matter what happens. I love you" she breathed heavily and pulled back when she heard John step into the kitchen. 

"Good morning" Y/n smiled, wiping some of the drool from Aurora's face. 

John rounded the table and kissed y/n on the cheek before kissing Aurora's head. 

"Good morning my loves". 

For a moment there was silence in the large room and y/n shifted on her feet. 

"What are you going to do today?" John finally asked, pulling a glass from the cupboard and filling it with some water. 

Y/n shook her head slowly. 

"I don't know. Maybe clean. Play with Aurora. I baked some cookies already" John's eyes lit up as he walked over to the table, smiling as he picked up a warm cookie. 

"You made these?" he asked and y/n only hummed. 

"Mhmm" 

John kissed her cheek and Y/n savoured the feeling of his lingering touch before she turned around to face him. 

"Try it. Tell me how it is". 

John smirked before lifting the cookie to her mouth. 

"oh no. I've already eaten so many of them. I made them specially for you" 

"Such a good wife" John smiled. The cookie skimmed his lips before he shoved it into his mouth, letting the buttery goodness explode against his tongue. 

"Wow" he exclaimed, "This is really good". Y/n’s eyes lit up with excitement as she watched him eat a second cookie without hesitation. 

"Good. I'm glad you like them". 

John lifted his glass of water to his lips before he felt something wash over him. Something he hadn't felt… Ever. 

His hand extended towards Y/n as he tried to grab her, reaching out for support but she only pulled away, the smile she wore still on her face as she watched him intently. 

John breathed heavily but the air just wouldn't go in, like his lungs were surrounded by metal bands. Next came the rising panic, the dizzy feeling and the need to get low to the ground. The exertion brought on more breathlessness, like the air around him was devoid of oxygen. His ribs heaved up and down but no benefit came.

"Y.. Y/n…" his wheezing voice called out to her but she only stepped back. 

The poison was made to mimic an efficient virus, to kill the host fast. A few drops here and there and the decay set in, a sort of race to the bottom. The best part? She didn't even know what it was. She just read the bottle that John had stashed away and shoved it into the batter. If there was one thing she learnt from her mother was that love was the best blindfold for any plan. 

Y/n picked up Aurora, cradling her in her arms as she watched John gasp for breath. In his glassy eyes that stared up at her, she saw her reflection and she saw that what she was doing was the right thing. 

"You were and always have been a - monster" the words seemed to burn her tongue but she ignored the pain it caused. "You will never be able to find me or her again. Goodbye John" 

As the blackness finally began to consume him once and for all, he watched as his love pulled open the front door, her shadowy figure slowly fading into the darkness as he also did. 

-

3 months later. 

"Thank you, detective" y/n pushed the papers into her handbag before placing the bag back onto that handle of the pram. Aurora laid asleep in her arms and y/n slowly stood up. 

"No worries" the detective smiled kindly before reaching out over the table, stopping y/n from moving any more. "-and just so you know, I'm sorry. I know there isn't anything I can say that can fix everything that happened to you but You're safe now. We won't let anything else happen." y/n smiled softly and placed her hand on top of his reassuringly. 

"It's okay. You searched and you couldn't find me. There isn't anything anyone could have done. He… Was different. He was smart". 

The detective shook his head and pulled his hand away, burying them in piles of paper. 

"he was a monster for what he did". 

Y/n felt the tears well in the back of her eyes as she felt her throat turn dry. 

"I-" before she could even think of anything to say, Aurora began to cry and y/n laughed, shaking the pain of her aching heart away. "-I should really get her home". 

"Of course". He led y/n to the door, holding it open for her as they began to proceed down the corridor. 

"There's still quite a few reporters out there so it's best you take the back exit. Officer Hughes will swing by your place later on to check in" 

"Oh. Terry? He doesn't have to. He's been doing that everyday for the past three months -" 

"Nonsense. It's the least we could do". 

Y/n smiled and looked down at her watch. 

"Thank you so much detective. I'll see you later" 

"see ya". 

Y/n left the building and sighed as she heard the loud noise of the city and wind around her, the warm sun warming her body just as the first few drops of rain fell from the sky. 

"Let's get you home" she whispered to her daughter, pushing the pram towards home. 

-

The cafe that y/n lived above laid ahead, just around the corner and y/n couldn't wait to get her feet up. It's royal blue paint glistening under the closed sky was definitely a sight for sore eyes. She could just about see the large sign, decorated with droplets of water that hung on like glistening jewels. "Gloria's."

 Outside the sidewalk that would bustle in a few short hours was quiet, the concrete oblivious to whether it was midday or midnight. Y/n’s face smirked upward at the sight of the flower planter to the right, the city has put in new blooms that will give flashes of sunny yellows and hot pinks through the springtime. If she stopped walking right now she could almost hear the heartbeat of the city, quiet, like the ticking of an old Grandfather clock.

Her mind was too preoccupied with the world around her and y/n didn't notice the figure that hid under the umbrella that she nearly ran over. 

"Oh I'm so sorry!" y/n exclaimed, extending her hand to steady the person. Y/n waited patiently for the person's response, waiting to make sure she didn't hurt them. 

Then she heard it, the dark, low chuckle that made her spine tingle. 

"You're just as polite as the first time, Princess" 

The end.

Tags

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[slut-for-mothman]

Hell is For Children

Requested: Yes|No

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid

A/N: Special thanks to @oliverbrnch for editing this chapter and making it into what is is !!! I hope you all enjoy my first CM fanfiction !!!

Summary: After 13 years of trying to forget the man he was supposed to call his father, Spencer finds his phone riddled with messages from his father trying to catch up on "old times". He's met with criticism and shame when he reveals he has no want to talk to him. Everyone seems to think his father deserves a second chance. Everyone except for him. Aaron Hotchner. Logically it made no sense, Aaron had a kid of his own, would he not sympathize with his father for wanting to have a relationship with his son? Spencer finds comfort in the older man. Everytime his phone buzzes with a notification from William Reid, Aaron is always there to comfort him and distract him from the burning hole in his back pocket.

Chapter warnings: Angst, allusions to physical abuse. descriptions of violence and gore, swearing, and I think that's it.

Chapter One

December 16th, 5:15pm

"Hey son, I haven't seen or heard from you in a while. I hope you're doing okay."

Seeing that message was enough to twist the young doctors stomach in such intricate and painful knots he thought he might become violently ill.

"A while?" Spencer muttered to himself as he reread the message over and over. "it's been thirteen years, that's more than a while-"

A second message interrupted his train of thought.

December 16th, 5:27pm

"Why don't you come over sometime? My wife would love to see you, just something to think about..."

This message made something inside him break, the world shattering as his knees failed him. He swore he felt time stop as he reread those nauseating characters.

Wife? Since when was he remarried?

'Does she even know what he did to my mom, to me?' Spencer wondered, unable to tear his eyes away from his phone.

Does she even know she left a ten-year-old alone with his mentally-ill mother? Did she know what a selfish bastard he was?

Did they have kids?

Were they really that easily replaced?

Spencers mind was spinning, his apartment floor unsteady underfoot as his vision blurred. Tears stung his eyes, threatening to slip down his cheeks if he dared to blink.

His misery was interrupted as his phone buzzed once more in his palm.

Thankfully, it wasn't from the dreaded unsaved number, just Hotch.

December 16th, 7:14pm

"We have a case."

Spencer gathered his things, wiping the tears from his eyes on the cuff of his sleeve. He'd never been more grateful to hear those four words in his entire life.

His ride on the metro felt infinitely slower than normal, much to the young doctors dismay. The extra free time gave his mind permission to run away from his as much as it pleased.

His phone vibrated again and again with more messages from the unsaved number, each one more hostile and manipulative than the next when Spencer glanced at the device.

December 16th, 7:23pm

"Will you at least give me an answer? I know I screwed up, but that was a long time ago! I have a right to get to know my son."

December 16th, 7:25pm

"Imagine how I feel, not knowing my son has 3 PhD's and having to find out from my ex-wifes nurse. You're not the only one suffering here kid, remember that."

Spencer snapped his battered phone shut in frustration.

How did he even manage to make himself out to be the victim in this?

He's the one who left me.

'I don't owe him shit, not after what he did to me', Spencer thought furiously to himself, his knuckles white where they gripped his messenger bag.

'Maybe I should give him some kind of answer, let him know where he can stick-'

By the time the sentence popped into his head, his chest aching, he had reached his stop. Although cases weren't particularly a positive thing, anything was better than thinking about the man who had abandoned him and, subsequently, essentially ruined his entire life.

As soon as he stepped off the elevator and into the bullpen, he could feel his co-workers' eyes pierce right through him. It was almost like they could sense something was off with him the moment he entered Quantico.

Of course, while they were profilers, it's not like they were mind-readers.

He fled to the break room and poured himself a generous cup of coffee. He wanted to focus on what was important, which was certainly not the unread messages from a fetid man on his cellphone.

While pouring practically the entire container of sugar into his travel mug, he felt someone's hand touch his shoulder. He flinched slightly at the unexpected touch, and he turned to see Morgan, his eyebrows scrunched together in a confused and worried look.

"Slow down, kid. Have some coffee with your sugar." He said, his voice half-joking as he, presumably, tried to ease the tension practically emitting off of Spencer.

His phone vibrated once more from somewhere in his pockets, and Spencer's face twisted in fervent discomfort.

"Earth to Pretty Boy. You good?"

Spencer realized he was getting absorbed into his thoughts again and tried to brush it off with a quick sip of the sickly-sweet caffeinated concoction in his hand and a quick nod.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking." as if Spencer ever stopped thinking in the first place.

"Well, I'm here if you need anything, kid. But for right now, let's go find out about this case." Derek clapped Spencer on the shoulder again, which earned an instinctual flinch.

Instead of dwelling on that, Derek and Spencer strode towards the conference room, where everyone else had already begun piling in ad Garcia and Prentiss introduced them to their present case.

"Three men were found dead on the streets of a Nevada strip mall last night," Garcia began, pulling up the crime scene photos onto the screen.

Spencer flipped through the folder that was handed to him, scanning over the photos while distantly listening to the rather gruesome but ultimately unhelpful details Prentiss and Garcia were describing.

All three men had one of their fingers removed, yet their wedding bands were later found in their stab wounds upon closer investigation. They were all three found in close proximity to different hotels and known "lover's lanes".

The incessant vibrations and noise emitting from the dreaded device in his pocket was enough to make Spencer have a brain aneurysm.

He retrieved the phone from his pocket only to switch it off and shove it into the deep depths of his messenger bag. It wasn't necessary for a plane ride anyway.

His sudden movements earned him a few more concerned glances, but their attention was quickly diverted as Prentiss announced, "Wheels up in 30." effectively dismissing the team to get their things.

Spencer was restless the entire plane ride. It was only thirty minutes into the trip, with an hour and ten minutes left.

Normally, he'd be playing chess or even reading, but neither of those things seemed to tempt him, as all he could think of were the numerous messages probably flooding his discarded phone banished to the bottom of his messenger bag.

The last message he'd read replayed repeatedly in his mind like some awful alarm.

'Imagine how I feel...'

It made fiery anger swirl in his chest.

He could imagine how he felt. Because the pain William Reid inflicted before he finally left was enough to make Spencer understand what it was like to be sent to Hell and back, if such a place existed.

The memory of watching his own father leave his house at age 10 was enough to make him feel nauseous. His father leaving was the final stake through the young man's heart.

The physical pain, he could probably forgive him for. He would never forget, but maybe he could understand.

But leaving your young on to care for his mentally-ill mother? After all the pain he put him through, that kick while Spencer was already down was a new low.

For all Spencer cared, the man could rot. It was almost funny, thirteen years of healing down the drain with just a few text messages.

Once again, Spencer was ripped from his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder, It was Hotch, with a guarded but concerned look on his face.

"You've been way too quiet; is everything alright?"

'No', Spencer thought to himself. But he couldn't admit he wasn't okay, especially not before a case. More important things needed to be tended for than his own "daddy issues".

"I'll be okay," Spencer settled for. "Just some weird stuff has been happening lately. It's nothing I can't take care of, though."

It didn't dissuade Hotch's concerned look. If anything, it intensified the worry Spencer found there.

"Is it your mother? Is she alright?" He asked, leaning forward with furrowed eyebrows.

"She's okay! I actually just called her the other night," Spencer assured him. He bit his lip and gripped his messenger bag. "It's actually, uh, my dad. He's been messaging me, and I haven't spoken to him in thirteen years."

"Are you okay? Have you messaged him back any?" Hotch asked, releasing the worried lines on his forehead.

"I haven't, yet. I figured I'd wait until the case was over. That way, there's nothing in the way." Spencer explained, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as his eyes darted around the jet cabin.

Hotch must have picked up the signal to wrap up the conversation, because he gently reminded the young man that he could talk to him whenever he needs to, or just whenever he wants to.

Spencer smiled and inclined his head slightly. "Thanks, Hotch."

"It's not a problem, Reid. Now, let's get back to work."

Spencer flicked through the gruesome photos once more, the swirling anger in his chest dwindling for the first time since his phone at first pinged with that dreaded message.

For once, Spencer was able to completely forget about the slightly outdated phone burning a hole in the bottom of his messenger bag.

[hughiecampbelle]

Parting Gift (Sam Wilson Oneshot)

Character/s: Sam

Word Count: 1,411

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @writerdream22 @brithedemonspawn @megnotfound @ladyeliot @locke-writes @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @randomfandomimagine @amirahiddleston @diana-westmoon @valkyrie-2312

A/N: This was supposed to be fluffy, but the closest I can get to that is melancholy lol. The weathers been nice and it got me feeling nostalgic for summer. I hope this gives off that vibe, if that makes sense? Sam just seemed perfect for this and I kinda love this :) It doesn't exactly fit the timeline, but oh well :P There are only Endgame spoilers, none with TFATWS. I can't thank you enough for letting me rest with my health/writing and posting in general. I hope you like it! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

Summary: You finally got him back 💌

Gif Credit: @biwilson / link 💕

FIC MASTERLISTS 1 -> 3 /WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

The low hum of the fan stirs in the quiet heat, restless, a lullaby you've grown used to since the season thawed. The snow puddles disappearing from the hot sidewalks, the grass growing green, the layers shedding around you until there is nothing but skin and the cool air that kisses it. It's old and shaky, the blades twisted, the fixture rattling, threatening to fall from the ceiling with every spin. Another chore you simply never got around to fixing, neglected much like the rest of the house. Like you, it was lucky it was still standing. The floors cried and creaked, needing to be replaced, but where was the time? The paint chipped, falling flake by flake, the shelves in need of dusting, the lawn grown too long, things were rusted, ruining, aging. Everything crooked, leaning, too heavy to stand on its own. One in the same, you and it, a reflection of your inner world, your inner turmoil, your grief defying, humanizing, materializing in rusted pipes, in thorny bushes, and weeds sprouting in the cracks of the sidewalks.

It was your dream. An escape. A slice of heaven he plucked from the skies. At least, that's how he'd described it. His hand, warm and calloused, over your eyes, letting your suspicions get the better of you, questioning like a child. What color was the door? How many windows? Was there a backyard? A steadiness in his voice you knew was not as solid as he showed, leading you past the street, past your new neighbors, the shade of the trees making your skin prickle. Up the path, you tried counting your own steps, anything to cheat the system. A leap of faith, you put so nicely. A house he passed by, one that struck him, caught his eye in a way nothing ever had. You? A house? Romanticized by the shoe box apartments the city had to offer, you never pictured any other life. Not out of opposition, but sheer innocence, a passive, thoughtless gesture you'd never recognized until the opportunity came along. Little convincing, it took. Somewhere far away from danger, from life, where you would always be safe together. That was enough. Always would be.

A fixer upper, that's what it was. Someone to care for in their old age, a long forgotten space only one with a heart of gold could fall for. Whether you were speaking of you, or the house, he'd never get the chance to ask. Where he saw the two of you, together, watching the rain pour from outside, comforted by a warm kitchen, a grand bedroom, nooks you could fill with hints of yourselves, you saw a slanted driveway, an unkempt garden, leaky ceilings and no hot water. He had hope. Dripped in honey,band hope, his voice sang through the thin walls, a symphony of ideas, of dreams for what it would one day be, taking you by the hand, leading you through. A maze of projects, big and small, things you'd add to a list of infinite length, your pen running out of ink long before you ever reached the bottom. For now, a coat of paint, a bucket or two for the leaks. He promised you, in the middle of an empty house, that it would one day be your home. You trusted him, because he was so sure of it, unlike anything else before.

You watched him sleep, the two of you facing one another. The sheets long discarded, too warm to even touch. You could follow the rise and fall of his back, the way in which he held the pillow to him, as if scared to let go. Tracing every line of him with your eyes, taking note of every single change, drinking him up every second you had together. The beads of sweat across his hairline. The upturn of his mouth, a whisper of a smile, as if caught in a sweet dream. The lines you see in yourself not yet reflected in him. Untouched by time. Five years could turn into a lifetime with the right kind of loneliness.

Plastic stuck to the furniture, bloated, sweaty, patiently waiting to be unwrapped. You couldn't bear to look at it, any of it, turning away from entire rooms, going only where it was necessary, using what you needed, not ready to face this place alone. It wasn't that first day, where your things, tightened by the city smog and lack of breathing room, were scattered wherever they might fit, left to expand in their new environment. The kitchen table in the living room. Chairs in the hallway. A couch discarded by the window, blocking the natural light. For the time being, he promised. Too many boxes to count, filled to the brim of glasses and mugs, wedding pictures and high school yearbooks, things you thought you needed, and things you knew you did. All of it wrapped in plastic, paper, t-shirts and towels. Whatever you could find to protect it. Sleeping on the floor those first few days, the mattress late, the frame even later, leaning on one another for that kind of comfort. It wasn't that first day, or week, but enough time to settle. The small things weren't yet opened. Two cups, to dishes, an endless waiting game for supplies to be shipped, of time to be found between work days and exhausted nights. He had a plan though, first the inside, then out. Sometimes there weren't enough plans, or lists, or schedules in the world to stop what would come next.

All of this, less than a month before The Blip.

Things hadn't changed since then, not without him. Five years you carved your path into the floorboards, avoiding everything that hurt like a landmine. His cup, his dish, his knife, and fork, and spoon, untouched. You would not look through your wedding album, or seep into the couch you bought together, or pluck the thorn riddled bushes like you pictured. His side of the bed empty, his clothes tucked away where you didn't have to see. All except one shirt taped up, turned away. His cologne fading from the collar, something out of your control, that made you want to scream. Everything these days, it seemed, was out of your control. Others, they moved on eventually. Started dating. Remarried. Found new friends, had more kids, picked up where they left off. Family reached out, teammates too, but you couldn't look at them. The anger, the sadness, all of it overwhelming. It left you drowning in questions no one had the answer to, everyone asking themselves the same thing: Why him, and not them? Why him, and not you? Why did any of this happen in the first place?

Isolating became the cure, and the corruption. The salt in the wound, a familiar sting you grew to expect, even want. A home for two, he promised, only now you were one. How cruel could the universe be? Hour by hour, day by day, you counted, carrying on for when he'd be back, because he would be. Sam, your Sam, too stubborn a man to give up like that. You would have dusted, washed the floors, made the place a little more welcoming if you'd known he'd be back when he did. Everyone came back, reappearing out of thin air, but where they felt frenzy, uncertain in explaining all that's happened, you were at peace, able to breathe again. Time had stopped when he was gone, your life paused. You could feel it, the moment when, the clocks in the house ticking once again inside their boxes.

Now, you lay together, as you had that first night. Not on the floor, not as naive as you were, but together none of the less. The sunlight strains, wanting to light up the room from behind the curtains. Even without it, you find yourself baking, wishing the fan would have a little more power. Sleeping in, you could have laughed. Five years he had, somewhere else, to rest, and yet you let him, not wanting to wake from what you fear might be a nightmare. If you woke up, and he was gone again, you weren't sure what you'd do, how much longer you could stand it. He assured you though, much like he had with this house, everything would work out in the end. That he was here, and he'd never leave you again.

Ever.