#i just want them to be together and alive is that so much to ask? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ginnsbaker · 19 hours ago

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All Of Your Pieces (7 - Fix the Dead)

Chapter Summary: A conversation with Wanda about the twins’ rapid growth leaves you both struggling with guilt and loss. Clint’s attempt to contact you through a vintage radio ends in disaster, as Wanda tightens her hold on her fragile reality. Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3.9k+ | Chapter Tags/Warnings: None

A/N: So, cat's out of the bag--Reader is actually alive. Three more chapters until we close part 1! // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“Please, talk to me.”

You look over your shoulder. You've been pretending to sleep for almost an hour now, and just when you thought Wanda had drifted off and you could sneak out to spend some time alone with a book in the living room, she surprises you.

With a soft sigh, you turn to face her. The sight that greets you instantly breaks your heart. Even in the darkness, with only a sliver of blue moonlight seeping through the window to illuminate her face, you can see her lonely, anxious expression.

“What is there to talk about?” you whisper back.

Wanda reaches out to touch your hand, but you pull it back slightly. “I can feel your sadness,” she murmurs. “Is something wrong?”

You take a deep breath, burying half of your face in the pillow, your throat tightens and your eyes begin to sting at her simple inquiry into your well-being. You want to remain silent, but you know you can't—and shouldn't—hide your feelings from Wanda. Your efforts are superfluous anyway, she always has a way of seeing right through you.

You give a small nod, unable to voice out more.

Wanda sits up slightly, propping herself on one elbow. She knows it’s only a matter of time before the doubt and fear catches up to you. “Did I do something?” she asks softly.

You bite your lower lip, struggling to hold back the feelings swelling up inside you like a dam ready to burst. “It's the boys,” you finally say.

Her disarming green eyes search yours earnestly. “What about them?”

You sit up fully, pulling the blanket around your shoulders. “They're growing up too fast, Wanda. One moment they're babies—I’ve barely held them—and the next they're ten years old. I feel like we're missing out on so much.”

Wanda swallows hard. The twins’ childhood has lasted barely a week. Having lost her own childhood at a very young age, she knows the pain of missing out, and she desperately wants her children to experience a proper childhood. But here in Westview, Wanda has learned to look on the brighter side of things. At least you both have Tommy and Billy; you're a complete family. They're happy with who they are and what you have together as a family. At least you're here with her, raising them, no matter how short the time given to both of you.

She reaches for your hand again, and this time you let her hold it. “They're just exploring their abilities,” she says, repeating the assurances she's been telling herself. “You know how kids are…”

You don’t look entirely convinced by that, so Wanda sits up too, tightens her grip on your hand. “They're special. You know that their abilities make them different,” she points out.

“Different doesn't mean we have to skip their entire childhood,” you reply bitterly. “I didn't get to see their first steps, hear them say ‘Mama’ for the first time. Those moments are gone, and I can't get them back.”

Beside you, she tenses. You don’t need to look to know she understands—she wasn’t there for those moments with the boys either.

“Doesn't it bother you?” you ask. “Even a little?”

Wanda glances away for a second, quickly blinking back any sign of weakness before she looks at you again. “It does. But I've been so focused on keeping everything together that I didn't stop to think about what we might be losing.”

You take a deep, shaky breath, feeling bad for thinking Wanda didn’t care. She just seems so… tolerant of it all.

“I’m sorry,” you say, scooting closer and wrapping your arms around her. “I bet you wanted those milestones just as much as I do. Just…forget I said anything.”

Wanda leans into your embrace. “No, you’re right to bring it up. They’re missing out on so many things, too.”

“How can we fix this? Can we even fix it?” you ask.

Wanda understands it’s not about whether she can intervene—it’s about whether she should. She could easily use her powers to stop the boys from skipping ahead. But it’s the ethics of it that she’s wrestling with ever since she did it to you.

“Maybe next time, I could… ensure things go differently?” she suggests carefully.

The implication of her words doesn’t go over your head. “Wanda, we can’t do that,” you tell her softly. “I... I don’t think we should do anything without their consent, even if we think it’s for the best.”

Wanda pulls back in shame. “You’re right. I’ve been making too many decisions for everyone.”

You gently hold her cheek, making her look at you. “It's okay, Wanda.”

She fights the urge to disagree, to shake her head and confess that it's not okay. She's made these choices for you too many times, and it’s clearer now than ever how much she’s overstepped, compromising your privacy and trust.

“Maybe we can talk to them?” you suggest, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“You think they’ll listen?”

You offer her a sleepy, crooked smile. “I hope so,” you say. “But even if they don't, we'll be there for them, whatever they choose.”

You gently coax her to lie back down, and Wanda instinctively pulls your head to her chest, letting you rest your head against her. This time, you drift off quickly, soothed by the steady beat of her heart into a deep and dreamless sleep.

–

“Why keep it a secret?” Monica demands though not unkindly. She can’t wrap her head around why you’d choose to disappear and fake your own death, especially now that Wanda is back from the Snap. While it's undoubtedly a relief to learn that someone isn't dead, Monica can't help but feel disappointed by this turn of events.

All this time, they believed they could persuade Wanda to abandon her fantasy in Westview. But now, with everything she desires apparently right here, why would she ever choose to leave?

And more importantly, how would she ever allow any of them to leave?

“Also, how do we know you’re not lying again?” Darcy adds quickly.

Clint raises a hand to calm the room, nodding toward the television where you just appeared, very much alive. “Clearly, there's evidence that she's there,” he says calmly, pointing out the obvious. “Living and breathing just like the rest of us.”

Everyone quiets down, accepting his point. It checks off one of the many questions they've had since this whole thing started.

“She wanted it this way,” Clint then tells Monica, in response to her question earlier. “Believe me, it hit the kid hard, watching Wanda turn to ashes right before her eyes... I lost my family that day too. But at least I was spared from seeing it happen.”

Monica can only imagine what it was like. She was snapped away, but she counts herself lucky she wasn’t one of those left behind to endure the absence.

“Does Y/N know that Wanda returned from the Snap?” Darcy asks.

“Yeah,” Clint says. Everyone looks at him, expecting more, but it’s clear he meant to keep his answer short and sweet.

Jimmy taps his pen against his notepad. “So how did Wanda find her?”

“That's the million-dollar question,” Clint says, glancing back at the screen now showing only static. “Last I heard from Y/N was about five months ago. She settled in Reykjavik. Wanted to live a quiet life.”

Monica crosses her arms, the gears in her head haven't stopped turning since finding out you’re really alive. “And now she's in Westview, starring in Wanda's show?”

“Doesn't add up,” Clint agrees. “Y/N was determined to stay hidden.”

“Maybe Wanda found out Y/N was alive and pulled her into this reality she made,” Darcy says.

“Or perhaps Y/N reached out to Wanda,” Jimmy suggests.

“She wouldn’t,” Clint counters gruffly, dismissing the idea outright. After a second, he adds, “And if Y/N didn't want to be found, she wouldn’t be. She was always skilled at vanishing.”

Monica thinks it over. “But Wanda's powers have grown exponentially. Maybe she picked up on Y/N’s presence somehow.”

“Still doesn't explain why Y/N would play along,” Clint counters. “I know her. She wouldn’t agree to this.”

Darcy shrugs. “Unless she’s being controlled by Wanda.”

Clint clenches his jaw. “Y/N's strong-minded. It'd take a lot to manipulate her. Besides, Wanda wouldn’t do that to her.”

“Clearly,” Darcy scoffs. Clint’s lips press into a thin line, struggling to hold back a retort to that.

Jimmy flips through his notes. “From what we've observed, she seems... compliant. But there are moments where she looks almost aware.”

“You noticed that from the show?” Clint asks.

“Not from the show,” Monica clarifies, standing up. “From me.”

Clint gives her a puzzled look.

“Oh, I forgot to mention—I’ve been inside the Hex.”

“You were there? How did you manage to get out?” Clint asks, both horrified and a little impressed.

Monica sighs. “I mentioned something that referenced the real world. Wanda didn't like it. She literally threw me out of town.”

Clint runs a hand through his hair, processing this new information. “So, she really is controlling everything in there, and anyone who challenges that gets expelled?”

“Exactly,” Monica nods. “And now that we’ve found out that the real Y/N is in there with her, it looks like Wanda’s got everything she wants. That throws a wrench in our plans.”

Clint rubs his chin thoughtfully. “And your plan was to...?”

“To...” Monica trails off, suddenly realizing how naive it sounds. “...talk her out of it.”

Clint furrows his brow and lets out a noncommittal “Hmmm.”

“I know how it sounds,” Monica says, a hint of color rising in her cheeks. “But I thought if I could just reach her, reason with her, maybe I could get through. I've lost people too—”

“We all have,” Clint replies. “Though maybe not to the extent she has.”

“Parents, brother, best friend, lover...” Darcy ticks off Wanda’s losses on her fingers. “That's pretty much every key relationship in a person's life.”

“So, what do you suggest we do?” Jimmy asks, turning to Clint, who looks like he’s been hit with a freight train over the last five minutes. Overwhelmed would be an understatement—he probably needs an Advil after this conversation.

Clint exhales sharply, mulling it over while the others watch him, waiting.

“I'm usually a man of action,” he says slowly, “but sometimes it's better to try talking before jumping into a fight. Only, I don't think it's Wanda we should be trying to reach out to.”

“Then who?” Monica asks.

Clint licks his lips. “Y/N.”

–

“Where’s Sparky?”

It's odd to see the boys without their four-legged companion ever since they adopted him. He's been their whole world lately, and even Wanda spends her breaks between chores playing with the puppy.

Billy and Tommy exchange uneasy glances. “He... ran out the front door,” Billy says, his voice papery-thin.

“What do you mean he ran out?”

“We tried to catch him, but he was too fast,” Tommy reasons.

You take a deep breath, trying to keep your frustration in check. “Guys, you can't just let your pet run off like that. What if he'd been hit by a car? I'm… I’m really disappointed.”

“We’re sorry,” they mumble, eyes fixed on the floor.

“This is why I asked you boys to wait,” you say gently. “Maturity doesn’t just come from aging yourselves up—it takes time and experience. Do you understand why that matters now?”

They nod, a little slower this time. “We understand,” Billy says quietly.

“Alright,” you sigh, unable to stay upset for long. “Let’s go find Sparky. He couldn’t have gotten far.”

The three of you set out into the neighborhood, calling Sparky's name. It's around four in the afternoon, with about two hours of daylight left—plenty of time to search. After half an hour of knocking on doors and showing neighbors pictures of the scruffy Jack Russell, you begin to worry that finding him might require a more extensive search. The boys look really upset, and you feel guilty about reprimanding them earlier, even though you knew you had to be honest about their oversight. Just as you're about to suggest checking the park behind the townsquare, Agnes appears behind the bushes on her lawn, cradling something in her arms.

“Agnes?” you call out, a sick swirl of hope and dread twisting in your stomach.

“I…” Agnes approaches slowly, her face somber. Even before she gets close, you can already tell that whatever she’s carrying is limp and motionless. “I didn’t wanna come until I’d wrapped him up…”

Wanda pulls up just then, fresh from the grocery store. She’s barely out of the car when she notices you and the boys, your somber expressions stopping her in her tracks. She hurries over and follows your gaze. “What's that?” Wanda asks.

“Found him in my azalea bushes,” Agnes says, sidestepping the question. You glance at the twins, your heart sinking at the sight of their scared, regretful faces.

“I don’t know how many leaves he ate,” Agnes continues, her voice dropping even lower. “I didn’t find him until it was too late. Tommy, Billy, I’m so sorry.”

The brothers break forward. “No! Sparky!” they cry, tears streaming down their faces.

Your eyes sting as you pull them close. “I’m so sorry, guys,” you whisper, holding them tightly. They cling to you, their tear-soaked faces pressed against your shirt, and for a moment, the world feels still. But a moment later, they pull back, exchanging a glance—a silent conversation you’ve come to recognize all too well.

“Wait,” you say in panic, quickly stepping between them, as if the act alone could stop whatever plan is forming in their heads. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Boys, stop,” Wanda says, kneeling down to their level. “The urge to run from this feeling is powerful. But growing up isn't the way to avoid getting hurt. It…it teaches you to face it, feel it…learn from it. Trust me, I know.”

Billy wipes his eyes. “But it's too sad,” he whispers.

“I—”

Tommy, unlike his brother, has fire in his eyes. “You can fix anything, Mom. Fix the dead,” he pleads.

“You can do that?” comes Agnes’ voice behind her.

You turn to your wife, who seems struck silent by Tommy's request. You know Wanda is powerful, her abilities growing stronger by the day, but reversing the natural order of things—that feels impossible and wrong.

“Some things can't—and shouldn't—be fixed,” you say, looking from one twin to the other. “Some things are final.”

“It's not fair,” Billy mumbles, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

You swallow hard. “I know. But maybe we can give Sparky a proper goodbye.” Agnes takes that as her cue to hand Sparky back to the boys. Wanda stands a few steps away, her face unreadable. The twins clutch the dog tightly, tears streaming down their cheeks.

You reach out toward your wife. “Honey—”

But Wanda steps further back, her eyes avoiding yours. “I... I need to start dinner,” she mutters, turning away before you can say more.

“Wait, can we—” you start, but Wanda’s already turning away, disappearing into the house.

–

The boys try to skip dinner, claiming they're not hungry, so you play your ace and order pizza, knowing they can't say no to that. Wanda just gives you a wary look and announces she's heading to bed early. You make a point of eating a good portion of Wanda’s dinner—not just to avoid waste but because you genuinely enjoy her cooking—before you tuck the boys in for the night.

After making sure they're settled, you decide to check on Wanda. You find her in your bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed staring out the window.

“Wanda?” you say softly.

She doesn't turn. “Are the boys okay?” she asks quietly.

“They're handling it,” you reply, approaching the bed. “They needed you.”

She sighs, shoulders slumping. “I couldn't... I didn't know what to say.”

“You don’t have to fix everything,” you say softly, sitting beside her. Your hand rests on her shin, fingers starting to massage in slow, soothing circles. “Sometimes just being there is enough.”

When she finally looks at you, your breath catches. Her eyes are swollen, red from crying. You reach for her hand, but she keeps it clenched in her lap. “I feel like I’m letting them down. Letting you down,” Wanda says quietly.

“Are you kidding? You’re an amazing mom to our boys. And the best wife I could ever ask for.”

She scrunches her nose, clearly struggling to accept your words. You smile, finding it endearing how shy she still gets whenever you compliment her.

“Thank you,” she whispers, lacing your fingers together before kissing the back of your hand.

“Have you eaten anything?” you ask.

Wanda shakes her head. “Not really.”

“Well, let's fix that,” you say, standing up, pulling her with you. “Come downstairs with me.”

“But you've already had dinner,” Wanda says.

You smile. “There's always room for dessert.”

–

Darcy practically jumps out of her seat, pointing excitedly at the screen. “That's our shot!”

Monica, Jimmy, and Clint look up from the reports scattered across the table, their brows furrowed in confusion. Hayward’s team is still stuck, unable to figure out how to get equipment through the barrier without it being warped into something unrecognizable. The working theory is that anything era-appropriate to Wanda’s “show” might make it through intact.

“A shot at what?” Jimmy asks.

“Reaching Y/N through Wanda's kitchen radio!” Darcy exclaims, already grabbing her coat. The others scramble to follow her outside to where her equipment is set up, ready to put their old theory to the test.

Darcy starts adjusting the dials on a makeshift transmitter hooked up to a vintage-looking radio. “If we can sync up with the frequency of the broadcast, we might be able to get a message through,” she reminds them, her breath forming clouds in the cold.

Clint eyes the gadgets cluttering the back of the truck. “Is this really going to work?”

Darcy smirks. “Well, considering traditional methods aren't exactly panning out, it's worth a try.”

“Someone should keep an eye on things from the inside,” Monica surmises.

“I'll head back and keep watch,” Jimmy volunteers, already walking back to the tent. “I’ll radio in if it works.”

Monica turns to Clint with a thoughtful expression. “Who do you think should try talking to Y/N?”

“I'll give it a try,” he says. “Maybe hearing a familiar voice will help snap her out of it.”

Monica nods. “Good idea. She trusts you.”

Darcy comes up to them with the transmitter. “Alright, it's ready to go. Just press this button when you're ready to speak,” she instructs, handing the device to Clint.

Monica grabs her radio and contacts Jimmy. “Agent Woo, what's the situation inside?”

“Wanda is sitting at the dining table. Y/N is alone in the kitchen, looks like she's preparing dinner.”

“Thanks,” Monica smiles slightly. “Perfect timing. She's alone—we can reach her now.”

Clint nods, stepping closer to the microphone. “Here goes nothing,” he mutters. He presses the button and speaks into the microphone. “Y/N, it's Clint. Can you hear me?”

–

You’re pouring two glasses of wine, waiting for dinner to finish heating, when the old radio by the sink crackles to life.

“Y/N, it's Clint. Can you hear me?”

You freeze, hand hovering over the glass. The voice is faint, broken, but you heard your name.

And his.

Clint? Why does that sound so familiar?

You glance at the radio, its dial unmoved. Adjusting the antenna slightly, you try to wait for another message to come through, but only static follows. You resume what you’re doing, only for the radio to speak again—directly to you, it seems.

“Jesus, Y/N, wake up! Come on!”

Your hand trembles violently, forcing you to set the wine bottle down before it slips from your grasp.

Heart pounding, you stare at the radio. “Hello?” you whisper, not really sure you believe what's happening. It feels like a dream. Other than your wife, who could even make a radio do this?

And why would they need to talk to you?

“Finally! We've been trying to reach you. Listen, you have to—”

Before he can finish, a sharp burst of static erupts. The radio sparks violently and explodes right in front of you. You barely have time to shield yourself as fragments fly past, one slicing across your cheek. Wincing, you touch your face and your fingers come away smeared with blood.

“What was that?” Wanda's voice calls from the other room. You can hear her hurried footsteps approaching, but you can’t seem to move or say anything, too shocked to respond.

She appears in the doorway, eyes widening as she sees the blood on your cheek and the smoking wreckage of the radio.

“You're hurt!”

In a flash, she’s on you, her hands checking your face, her thumb brushing near the cut. She tries to wipe away the blood, but it keeps coming, stubborn and unrelenting.

“I-It's nothing…”

“We need to clean this up,” she says, too calm, like it’s normal to find you bleeding after a radio exploded.

“I'm fine, really,” you insist weakly, but she’s already fetching a cloth and pressing it against your wound.

As she tends to you, her eyes dart quickly to the destroyed radio. “These old things can be so dangerous,” she murmurs.

“Yeah…”

Someone named Clint had tried to reach you. Who is he? And why did the radio explode? There are too many questions swimming in your head, overwhelming enough to numb the sting of your wound.

“You're shaking,” Wanda notes softly. “Maybe you should sit down.”

“Maybe,” you concede, allowing her to guide you to a chair.

She kneels in front of you, dabbing gently at your cheek. “It's not deep. You'll be okay.”

“Thanks,” you mumble absently.

Wanda purses her lips. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You’re quiet for a second, unsure if you should tell Wanda what just happened or ask her about Clint. But something inside holds you back.

“I’m fine,” you say, reaching for her hand as she tends to your wound, and lightly kissing her palm. “Promise.”

–

Jimmy stares at the screen, where the words “We'll be right back!” are now plastered, replacing the live feed. The broadcast had cut out the moment you answered Clint's call with a hesitant hello. He runs outside, where Clint, Monica, and Darcy are huddled around the equipment. The cool air bites at his cheeks, but he barely notices.

“The broadcast’s down,” Jimmy says, slightly winded. “The second Y/N responded to the radio, it switched to a standby screen.”

Clint's hand falls away from the microphone. He knew it was a long shot with Wanda just a room away. “Now she knows we're trying to make contact,” he remarks grimly. “I’m sure Wanda will find a way to block any future transmissions from here out.”

Darcy doesn’t look up, her fingers flying over her tablet. She curses under her breath, scowling at the screen. “Yeah, looks like she’s already on it,” she mutters.

Monica rubs her hands together, exhaling into them for warmth. “Alright, clearly this isn’t working. We need a new plan.”

“Uh, guys…?” Darcy cuts in, looking around. “Is it just me, or does it seem way emptier out here tonight?”

Everyone stops, taking in their surroundings. Sure enough, the area is quieter than usual—just a couple of guards lingering near the barrier and not much else.

Jimmy crosses his arms, his eyes fixed on the tent serving as a Command Center. “Either everyone’s on break at the same time, or Hayward’s pulled them all into a meeting.”

They exchange uneasy glances, the same thought running through their heads. What’s this meeting about—and why does it feel like they’ve been deliberately left out?

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just-dreaming-marvel · 1 day ago

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Love That Burns ~ Ending 2 ~ 37

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,220ish

Summary: You and Logan return to the mansion to continue with your lives.

Warning(s): return of a dead character, character(s) death, coma, couple fights

Notes: This chapter is set up a little differently, as there's gonna be a lot of time jumps. (It will cover 2015 to 2026.) This is definitely a choppy chapter... Hopefully, it's not too terrible.

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

2015

The mansion was exactly the same as you and Logan drove up to it. Your fingers were anxiously tapping against your knee as Logan pulled up to the front. After parking the car, he reached over and took your hand.

“We can turn around,” he offered. “It’s not too late.”

You looked at Logan. “Do you not want to do this?”

He sighed. “I think that twelve years is a long time, and none of us exactly stayed in touch.” He brought your hand up and kissed the back of it. “But, I think we need to try to be here.”

“Thank you. You know I—“

You cut yourself off as a familiar wheelchair wheeled out of the mansion. Your full action fell on it as you gasped. There, waiting, was Charles. He was alive and seemingly well.

“Fucking hell,” Logan muttered.

Still in shock, the two of you exited the truck and stepped around it.

“Charles?” You questioned.

“I knew you two would eventually return,” Charles said with a smile. “Welcome back.”

“How…?” Logan questioned, coming up to your side to take your hand.

“It’s a long story. Why don’t the two of you come inside? Everyone will be happy to see you.”

~~~

Charles had been right; your friends were happy to see you and Logan. Ororo, Hank, Bobby, Marie, and Kitty were all there in Charles’ office to greet you. Apparently, they had been thinking about reaching out when Charles informed them that you were already on your way. Yes, it was a bit awkward; so much time had passed since you all were last together.

During your reunion, Charles explained how he survived his supposed death by Jean’s hands. His consciousness had jumped into another body that was in a pro-mutant doctor’s care. The doctor and Charles found several mutants that worked for years to piece Charles’ body back together. Charles came back to the mansion about seven years ago, immediately resuming his role as headmaster.

Bobby and Marie shared the news that they were married, while Hank told you that he had retired from politics and was now back being a full-time teacher. Ororo was still teaching with Bobby, Marie, Kitty, and Colossus also teaching now.

“If you would like, we have positions for both of you,” Charles added.

You looked at Logan. You could see that he was hesitant. “We would like to stay a while,” you responded. “Could we get back to you on that?”

“Of course,” Charles smiled. “Your rooms are still available. Though I suspect you will only be needing one.”

“Thanks,” Logan muttered. “I’ll go get our things.” He kissed your head before leaving.

You sighed, starting to feel like you were forcing this upon Logan. Charles rolled up to you and took your hand.

“Why don’t we go talk?” He suggested. “Just us two?”

“Okay, lead the way,” you said.

You followed Charles out to the garden, to a bench you once frequented often. You sat as Charles moved his chair in front of you.

“He won’t run,” Charles stated, clearly reading your mind.

“I know that. I just… I was ready to come back, but maybe he wasn’t.”

“Logan’s ready. It’s just a lot at once.”

You nodded in agreement, glancing around. “It doesn’t seem like you have as many students as you once did.”

Charles sighed. “That is true. Unfortunately, fewer and fewer people are showing mutant abilities. Hank has done some research on it. He thinks something is being put in the food that prevents the x-gene from being passed on.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Yes, but it is something we cannot control. So we will do the best with what we have.”

“I’ve missed you, Charles.”

“I missed you, too. It seems like the time alone with Logan has done the two of you well.”

“Yes, it was much needed.”

“You should go rest. Unpack. I’m glad that you are back, Y/N.”

“Me, too.”

~~~

You found Logan in your old room, standing at the window. You walked over and wrapped your arms around him, resting your head against his back.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“What?” Logan questioned, turning his head to try to look at you.

“I’m sorry if I forced you to come back.”

“You didn’t force me to do anything. I wanted to come back.”

“Are you sure?”

He grabbed your hands and pulled them off of him before tugging you around to his front. “I’m sure. You know how I get around people. I’ll be fine. Just give me some time.”

“Okay.”

He pulled you closer. And allowed his forehead to rest against you. “You know I love you, right?”

“Of course. I know you, too.” You kissed his nose. “Wanna see how squeaky the bed got?”

Logan smiled before tossing you onto the bed.

~~~

2019

Logan looked into the mirror with a scowl. His graying hair was laughing at him, showing signs that he had begun to age. There was also the fact that he had begun to feel more aches and pains in his joints. He was doing his best to hide it from you. He didn’t want you to worry.

You leaned against the bathroom doorway, arms folded. You have been noticing that Logan was grunting and groaning with certain movements and spending more time glaring at himself in the mirror than usual. He was graying, and while you found it attractive, you knew that Logan hated it.

“Stop that,” you finally spoke up. His eyes snapped to yours in the reflection.

“Stop what?” He mumbled.

“You know what.” You pushed yourself off the doorway and pulled his arm. He slowly turned to face you. You gave him a smile as your hands cupped his cheeks. Your thumbs moved across his greying facial hair. “Stop getting mad at your body.”

“I shouldn’t be greying.”

“Everyone grows old, Logan. Even you.”

“Yes, but… what if… well… do you… I mean—“

You pulled him in for a kiss, shutting him up for a moment. “You’re still sexy to me, honey. Always will be.”

“But—“

“Stop it. When my grays and wrinkles become more apparent, are you going to change how you see me?”

Logan’s hands found your waist and tugged you closer. “No… you’d still be gorgeous.”

“Okay. Well, it’s the same with you… You are handsome.” You pulled him in for another quick kiss. “If you need another reminder, please come to me.”

“Okay.”

“What else is on your mind?”

“Nothing. I’m good.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Logan,” you sighed. “I know you. What’s going on?”

“Just tired. Overworking.”

“Maybe less training exercises then.”

“If you’re in the Danger Room, I’m in the Danger Room. You know the rule.”

“Yes, but—“

“I’m fine, sweetheart.” He pecked your lips. “Thank you for the pick me up. I’ve got a meeting with Hank I’ve got to get to.” He let go and slipped past you.

“Meet me for lunch?”

“Always.”

~~~

“I wish I had better news for you, Logan,” Hank said. The two were sitting in the lab alone, with Logan’s test results on the screen.

“So, you’re telling me that the adamantium is poisoning me?” Logan wanted to clarify.

“Unfortunately. It wasn’t meant to be grafted to anyone like this. The only reason you’ve survived this long is because of your healing mutation. But I guess it’s even caught up with that.”

“How much time do I have?”

“There’s no telling. You have already complained of aching joints and the graying of your hair as well as the occasional slow healing. I guess that all of that will only get worse, but your mutation is still fighting against it. You could have a good ten to twenty years. Maybe even thirty if you take it easy.”

Logan huffed, leaning forward as he ran a hand down his face. “Is there anything you can do?”

“Nothing that would last long enough with your mutation… You should tell Y/N.”

“No,” Logan shook his head, sitting up. “I can’t do that.”

“Logan—“

“No one is telling anyone about this! Got it? Especially Y/N. I can’t have her worrying about me… Not yet.”

“You’ll want to tell her sooner or later. She’s known you for a long time. She’ll be able to figure it out.”

“Not if I have any say.”

~~~

2024

As the years passed, Logan continued to keep the secret from you. You kept questioning him as his movements and healing continued to slow. You never got a straight answer, which was frustrating. But you knew that Logan would tell you eventually. Well, at least you hoped.

Logan grunted as he fixed his tie, annoyed that his shoulders were bugging him.

“You okay, honey?” You asked from the bathroom as you finished getting ready.

“I’m fine,” he replied.

You peeked your head out, unbelieving. “You sure?” You noticed how he was struggling with his tie. “Here.” You walked over and took the tie from him. “I got you.” He huffed as he dropped his hands and let you take over. “There.” You straightened and patted his chest. “All done.”

“What would I do without you?”

“Look like a homeless man.”

“Hey!”

“Don’t worry. I’d love you anyway.”

“Good.” Logan pulled you in for a kiss. “You ready to go?”

“Mhm,” you hummed. “Take me on a date, handsome.”

~~~

2026

“You need to see Hank,” you were fed up.

“I’m fine,” Logan retorted.

The two of you were standing in your shared room. You were by the door, blocking it, as Logan was across the room near the window.

“Bullshit!” You exclaimed. “You’re clearly in pain, and you’re not healing the same. You’re scarring. You don’t scar.”

“I do now. It’s no big deal.”

“Yes, it is, Logan! You need to tell me what’s going on.”

“Or what?”

The challenge silenced the room. The two of you glared at each other as the tension thickened.

“What do you even want me to say to that?” You questioned. “What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing! I want you to do nothing,” he spat. “Trust that I’m fine.”

“But you’re not! And it’s killing me to see you like this and not know how to help you. I can’t stand by and watch you kill yourself.”

“Then don’t.”

“What?”

“Then don’t stand by and watch.”

“Do you… Are you telling me to walk away? Are you serious?”

“If you can’t handle it, then—“

“I don’t even know what’s going on! Logan,” you took a step forward, “please, honey, please be honest with me. I want to help. I want— AH!”

A high-pitched noise rang out, piercing your brain. You froze, unable to move. Logan, though it was extremely painful, could move. The mansion was rumbling. Something was going on, and Logan needed to figure out what. Each movement he made felt like he was fighting against a strong current. Logan reached you, only to not be able to get any words out to call to you. He groaned as he silently promised to come back to you and headed out in the hallway.

Everyone else in the mansion was in the same situation as you. As he headed downstairs, the force pushing against him grew stronger. His claws released slowly as he used them to anchor himself against the wall as he continued downward. Once he was on the main level, he used his claws to crawl his way to where he could feel the force coming from: Charles’ office.

From the doorway, Logan could see Charles writhing in his wheelchair, groaning in pain. The force was so strong that it took Logan over ten minutes to get to Charles. Logan gripped Charles’ legs, trying to do what he could to gather Charles’ focus. But there was nothing he could do.

Charles’ seizure lasted exactly twenty-four minutes. As soon as it stopped, Logan was rushing back to you, ignoring all the bodies that lay around the floor. When he got back to the bedroom, you had collapsed to the floor. Logan fell to the ground and pulled you into him.

“Y/N, sweetheart,” he called, “wake up.” His heart was sinking as blood trailed from your nose and ears. “Baby, please.” He could hear your heartbeat, but there was no sign of consciousness. “Wake up… wake up.”

~~~

Logan stood by your bed at the hospital, not willing to sit down or touch you. All the information was rotating through his mind.

Charles had a seizure.

Charles has Alzheimer’s.

Hank, Ororo, Bobby, Marie, Kitty, and two others died due to the incident.

Charles’ abilities stretched far beyond the mansion, causing over 600 other injuries.

You were in a coma with no sign of waking up anytime soon.

Charles’ mind was now labeled a weapon of mass destruction, and the government was coming to detain him.

Logan wasn’t about to let that happen. His hands were trembling as he took your hand, his other hand stroking your face.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I have to protect Charles… I have to protect you… I hope that you’ll forgive me one day.” He held a kiss to your forehead as he closed his eyes, letting a tear slip down. “I love you so much, baby. I’m so sorry.”

Then Logan left… without even a second glance.

next chapter >

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writingdevil · 2 days ago

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Tongues and Teeth (STP)

(This is my first attempt at a Slay the Princess piece because I've been obsessed with it for the last few months.I apologize if it's really bad,or if the characters appear OOC because I haven't watched the gameplay in awhile-I'm trying not to spoil too much for myself because I'm planning on getting the game.Anyways!Enjoy!)

Paranoid opened his eyes,chest burning and nerves going haywire,and that was when he realised two things.

One:He had his own body.

Two:He wasn't breathing.

Instantly,he began sucking in as much air as he could,as if he was suddenly going to run out of oxygen at any moment.He couldn't help it though-he wasn't used to keeping himself-Paranoid-alive, he was always good at keeping Him alive,the Decider.

But the Decider had left them.He had left them all for the Princess.

Paranoid bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut, wrapping his wings around him in an attempt to block out all his surroundings,at the daunting woods and that dreaded path.

Too much.Everything was already too much-

"Finally awake,Jitters?"

Paranoid froze,fear pinning him to the ground,and he could feel his own heartbeat pounding in his chest now,and then he realised that he wasn't in charge of only breathing anymore-he was in charge of his whole body,and he needed to move.

He scrambled to his feet,head dizzy at all the sensations overwhelming him,and he spun around until he saw the person speaking to him.

It was one of them,one of the pieces of the Decider. He was leaning against a tree with his arms crossed,wings splayed out wide,casting him in a dark shadow.Paranoid didn't know which one it was-they had never been bodies before,they had just been voices.

But then the-voice?-started walking towards him,a swagger in his steps,and a familiar smirk on his face that Paranoid knew,that he was certain to be the embodiment of an-

"Opportunist,"he said in low tone,taking a step back,even as the other bird just smiled and gave him a mock bow."Hello to you too,Mr.Paranoia.I was wondering when you would wake up."

"Why?"he demanded,becoming unnerved with how large the other's wings are,even when he was a few inches shorter than Paranoid."So that we can find the others-what else is there to do?"Opportunist replied,and that was when Paranoid remembered the situation at hand.

The Decider was gone.The Princess was gone.It's just them now.

He managed to push the panic away long enough to ask,"You haven't seen the others?"Opportunist shook his head,not a feather coming out of place at the action."Nope.I woke up not too long ago,and then I found you.I was waiting for you to wake up."

"Why?"Paranoid repeated,now wrapping his wings around him for comfort.Opportunist looked surprised for a moment,before motioning towards the path with a wing as he said,"Well,surely the two of working together will be better,yes?"

Yes,but this was Opportunist-the backstabber,the one who was loyal to no one but himself,the one that Paranoid could never trust.He had to have some ulterior motive.

"I don't trust you,"Paranoid hissed,crossing his arms,feeling the tips of his claws digging into his arms.What a weird feeling.The cold one must be having a field day with all these new sensations.

Opportunist didn't seem that offended,putting his arms behind his back-what was he hiding- as he said,"Why not?I'm just as worried about the others as you are.Don't you want to find them?"

"Of course I do!"Paranoid snapped,wings and arms snapping out in anger,taking a step forward,and Opportunist didn't even flinch at the sudden movement,only giving him an encouraging smile.

"Right,so the best thing to do is work together-"

"But what I don't get is why you care about the others."

There had to be a reason.Maybe Opportunist had spotted a danger or a Princess up ahead on the path,and was leading Paranoid to use as bait.That made sense.Opportunist just needed him for something,and it was bound to be awful-he was certain it would be.

In his spiral,he almost missed the nervous crack in the other's smile,but he still gave Paranoid a friendly look as he asked,"Why wouldn't I care about our feathery friends?Who knows what they're dealing with right now-"

"Oh piss off with that!"Frustration and fear were twisting in his chest now,and all he could think to do was lash out."We both know that you don't care about anybody other than yourself.You didn't even trust Him at times.So I can only assume you have something terrible planned for me,so that you can get your way."

Opportunist spread his arms out and made a show of looking around the forest around them,and then bluntly asked,"Where is this danger that I apparently want to put you in?"

"I don't know,but you can't hide behind Him anymore,and there's nothing tying you down,so why are you still here?"

Paranoid panted,the burn in his chest a familiar one,but his throat aching was new.He's done his chant a million times before,and it's never strained him like this ranting had done.

They stared at each other,the silence tense and only making Paranoid believe that the other was contemplating the best lie to tell,until the other sighed,and his shoulders slumped in a way that let Paranoid know that this talk was at least tiring Opportunist out.At least that much was true.

Then,he finally said,"We don't know what's out there for us.We never got to that part.We never thought about what happens after the cabin.I'm not keen on finding out by myself."

"So?"

"So I'd feel safer with a friend by my side."

"Why me?"

"Well,you're one of the useful ones,Jitters."At Paranoid's surprised look,Opportunist rolled his eyes."What?You think I would be putting in this much effort for Mr.Lovey Dovey or that sad sack of feathers?No.I trust you to have my back.You're the automatic nervous system,after all."

Paranoid wasn't sure that Opportunist trusted anything,but he forced himself not to point that out.He still wasn't convinced,but at least he was telling him something,and that was enough for his wings to lower to the ground.

He took a moment to look at the woods around them,and a shiver went up his spine.All the different paths and choices and mistakes were made along this path,and the thought of making a decision for himself,was enough for his breathing to pick up dangerously.

But then there was Opportunist,moving to step closer to him,and he wasn't sure if the action was meant to be comforting or not,but his tone was soft as he said,"We're not just voices anymore. We have to make our own choices now,and we have to work together."

Damn it,he was right.Paranoid couldn't traverse these woods by himself,and they both knew it.But the thought of agreeing with a backstabber left a bitter taste in his mouth,and he looked Opportunist up and down warily and said,"So you think we could make a good team?Why not the stubborn one or the Hunted?Surely they'd be better protection."

Opportunist shrugged,making a noise of indifference,not entirely disagreeing."They're good, but they don't think the way you do,they don't worry about the same things as you do."

"I'm also the voice that doesn't trust easily," Paranoid pointed out,one hand preening the feathers at his chest,as a feeble way to protect his heart.Then,he clarified,"I still don't exactly trust you."

"You don't have to trust me,Jitters.You just have to work with me."

"I'm sorry,but I fail to see how we could be anything but disastrous."

"Think about it,"and then Paranoid couldn't move away fast enough as Opportunist draped both an arm and a wing over his shoulders,forcing his body to freeze and tense up.He couldn't help but notice that his own feathers looked thin,frail and utterly dead when compared to Opportunist's fluffy and vibrant ones.

"Being aware of the dangers around us and still doing what's going to get us to our goal-we'd be great together."Paranoid just hummed in response, too busy being alert for any tricks his companion may pull on him.

"Yes,but you could say that about any of the others, too. We all have a different goal that we think is the correct one.There was a lot of arguing."Paranoid was getting a headache just remembering the tiring debates he would have with the others-some who would constantly want to throw themselves into danger,or would be inclined to trust the Princess.

But as annoying as they were,Paranoid still missed them,a pang of longing in his heart that made his breath hitch.He wasn't used to being alone. Beforehand,no matter what the Decider did,all the voices were together,until the very end,even up to that mirror.

But now Paranoid was all alone,and he was hating every second of it.

"Doing everything you can to get out of a bad situation,doesn't sound too awful,now does it?"

But he wasn't alone,and even though Opportunist was nothing more than a selfish traitor,he was still a fragment of Him,and he was all that Paranoid had left now.

"Okay,"he softly said,and then he felt Opportunist stiffen,before backing away and quietly going, "Really?"

But it was the surprise on the other's face,that had Paranoid being alert all over again."Yes,I think you're right.Why do you look surprised?"

In the blink of an eye,Opportunist was grinning at him again,wings spread out with a certain glint in his eyes,as if the surprise had never been there in the first place.He chuckled,but Paranoid caught the sound of anxiety at the edges of it.

"I'm just happy,Jitters.Usually Hero is the only one you actually listen to."

Oh,Hero.The thought of their sweet and kind leader made another ache stab at his heart.He listens to him because Hero was one of the only ones he actually felt safe around.

"Well,we're going to find him soon enough,aren't we?That's why we're teaming up."

Opportunist nodded,his face so bright that it almost looked fake,but it probably was."Yes,yes,of course.Whatever you think is right,I'll do."

But he was the voice of the Paranoid for a reason, and he suddenly didn't like the way Opportunist was talking.He gave the other a suspicious look,wings tucked in as he said,"That-is what you want,right?Opportunist,tell me that's what you want."

Because that was the other thing about Opportunist-he simply sided with the majority, discarding his own beliefs in the favor of being on the winning side.He'd say anything if it kept him in the others good graces,so that it would be easier to achieve what he actually wanted.

But Paranoid was the only one here,and Opportunist had only told him why he wanted Paranoid-for safety,and knew that finding the others was what he wanted,but he had never stated what Opportunist wanted.

"What do you want,Opportunist?"

"I thought we were in agreement that-"

"Finding the others doesn't benefit you,so what's your big plan for me?"

"Jitters,I'm not going to hurt you-"

"I don't believe you!"

"I'm just as worried as you-"

Paranoid had had enough."Oppy,can you just put the mask down for five fucking seconds and be honest with me?!"

His scream echoed between the trees and the rocks,as he glared at Opportunist,who just had a look of soft shock on his face.He couldn't look at that.He couldn't feel guilty for a creature of many faces.

He blinked back tears,spinning around to put his back to the other-a bad idea,in hindsight,but he didn't care right now.

There was nothing but heavy silence,and Paranoid half expected claws to be ripping through his neck any second now,but he could never guess what actually happened.

"Is it so hard to believe,"came Opportunist's voice, but what startled him was how small it sounded, and he spun back around,only to blink in surprise at how he literally looked small right now.

His head was lowered,one hand playing with a loose feature between his claws.His wings were pinned against his back,and like this,Paranoid could really tell how different they were in sizes.But he swore that Opportunist hadn't been that tiny-but that was when it dawned on him.

The wings were the only big thing about him.

"-that I actually liked being part of a flock?"

For a split second,Paranoid saw it all then.The paralyzing fear in Opportunist's eyes,the same that he felt every day.Not just in this moment,but in general.Opportunist was afraid,the same as all the others.

Paranoid understood why he did what he did,why he lied and backstabbed-safety.It was why all of them did what they did-to keep Him safe,even from Himself.Fear will make you do anything to protect the people you love.

This was as honest as Opportunist was going to be, that he was allowing himself to be,all for Paranoid to trust him.This was his olive branch.

Paranoid didn't like it,but he could understand it, and maybe that was enough right now.

So he took a deep breath,and stuck his hand out. Opportunist just stared at his hand in surprise,as if this wasn't real.Paranoid rolled his eyes and said, "I'm sorry for yelling.Let's work together,and find the rest of our flock."

Opportunist stared at him for a moment,and he could see a shine in his eyes,and he wasn't entirely sure what that meant,before the other grinned and enthusiastically shook his hand."Oh Jitters,you can be a real sweetheart when you want to be!I assure you,with the two of us working together,we'll be unstoppable."

Before Paranoid could retort,Opportunist quickly yanked him forward,linking their arms and draping his wing back over his shoulders-essentially binding him to this decision now.But surprisingly enough,he felt okay about this.Not safe,but okay.

"Why do you call me Jitters?I have a name,you know."

"Yeah,but Jitters sounds nicer than Paranoid.You can give me a nickname if you want."

"Oh yeah?Like what?"

"...I-I actually liked Oppy.It's kinda cute."

"Oppy it is,then."

#slay the princess #stp #stories #my writing #stp paranoid #stp opportunist #voice of the opportunist #voice of the paranoid #I love these two #I just think they'd have an interesting and powerful dynamic if they truly trusted one another #stp voices #tongues and teeth

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atsro-slut · 3 days ago

Note

I have too many ideas and too little inspiration to write them myself so thank you so much for your sacrifice 🙏

But how about a fic where it's Christmas holiday at hogwarts, with reader staying at hogwarts, so Remus decides to stay as well to keep her company. It's not that her family is abus!ve or anything. She just argues a lot with them, and they get so loud that she prefers to stay with Rem? (Am I projecting? Maaaybe) Thank you again so so so much!!! ❤️

The Coziest Christmas

Omg my fav!! I hope you like this lovey!!

Remus Lupin x female!reader

Christmas at Hogwarts was quiet, but with Remus staying behind, Y/N’s holiday turned magical—filled with stolen kisses, warm cocoa, and snow-dusted adventures in an empty castle.

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:☆

The halls of Hogwarts were quieter than they had been in months. Most students had gone home for the holidays, leaving only a handful behind. The castle, usually alive with chatter and footsteps, now felt like it belonged to the snow falling gently outside its walls. For Y/N, the peace was exactly what she needed.

Home was… complicated. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her family—they were good people, and she had many fond memories with them—but arguments were common, and they tended to get loud. It was exhausting, trying to keep the peace or defend herself when voices rose and tempers flared. The noise lingered in her mind long after the words had stopped, leaving her restless and drained.

That’s why she had decided to stay at Hogwarts again this year. It wasn’t the first time she’d spent Christmas in the castle, and she doubted it would be the last. What surprised her, though, was when Remus Lupin decided to stay too.

“You’re missing Christmas at home for me?” she’d asked when he first told her, her voice a mix of surprise and guilt.

He had shrugged, his easy, lopsided smile making her heart flutter. “Why not? Hogwarts is quieter, and we’ll have the place mostly to ourselves. Besides,” he added, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear with a tenderness that made her cheeks warm, “I can’t imagine the holidays without you.”

Y/N had stared at him for a moment, unsure of what to say. He had a way of doing that—leaving her speechless with how thoughtful and kind he could be.

Now, the two of them sat together in the Gryffindor common room, the fire casting a warm glow across their faces. Remus had gone down to the kitchens earlier and returned with two mugs of hot cocoa, complete with marshmallows floating on top. The rich scent of chocolate mingled with the faint smell of pine from the garland strung across the mantle, making the space feel cozy and festive.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Y/N said, her voice breaking the comfortable silence. She curled her fingers around the warm mug, her eyes fixed on the flames. “How empty Hogwarts feels without everyone here.”

Remus chuckled, his tone light and soothing. “It’s almost eerie. But I don’t mind. It’s nice to have some peace and quiet for a change.”

Y/N smiled and leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. His jumper was soft, and the familiar scent of parchment and pine that clung to him was comforting. “Thanks for staying, Rem. You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” he said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. His voice was calm, but there was a steadiness in it that left no room for doubt. “I know it’s not easy for you to go home sometimes. If staying here makes you happier, then I’m happy too.”

Y/N tilted her head to look up at him, her heart swelling with affection. “You’re the best, you know that?”

He smiled down at her, his amber eyes warm and soft. “I try.”

The day unfolded in a series of quiet, perfect moments. With the castle nearly empty, they had the freedom to explore without worrying about running into anyone else. They spent the morning wandering the corridors, peeking into classrooms, and laughing as they pretended to give dramatic lectures at empty desks. In the library, they sat side by side at a corner table, flipping through dusty old books. Remus had found an outdated Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook and spent half an hour critiquing the absurdly dangerous suggestions it offered for handling creatures like boggarts and grindylows.

“It actually says to use fire against a grindylow,” he said, holding up the page for her to see. “Fire. In water.”

Y/N laughed, leaning closer to get a better look. “I guess they were going for dramatic flair over logic.”

Later, they wandered into the Great Hall, where the house-elves had outdone themselves decorating for Christmas. A massive tree stood at the center of the hall, its branches covered in sparkling, enchanted ornaments. A soft hum of magic filled the air, making the space feel even more magical than usual.

By the time dinner was over, the two of them were back in the common room, sitting side by side on the floor with a blanket draped over their shoulders. Snow continued to fall outside, frosting the windows and turning the grounds into a sparkling winter wonderland.

“Do you miss it?” Remus asked suddenly, his voice quiet and thoughtful.

“Home, you mean?” Y/N paused, considering his question. “Sometimes. I love my family, but… it’s just too much. Too loud, too tense. Being here is easier.”

Remus nodded, his expression pensive. “I get it. My house was always quiet, but not in a good way. Sometimes it felt like the silence was its own kind of noise, you know?”

Y/N reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his. His touch was warm, grounding her. “You don’t have to go back there either, not if you don’t want to.”

His gaze met hers, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of them. Then, slowly, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Her chest swelled with emotion as she looked at him, the firelight dancing in his amber eyes. He was so steady, so kind, and she felt incredibly lucky to have him by her side.

As the fire crackled beside them and the snow continued to fall, Y/N felt a deep sense of contentment settle over her. It wasn’t a traditional Christmas, but it didn’t matter. With Remus by her side, it was perfect in its own way.

For the first time in a long time, the holidays felt exactly as they should—peaceful, warm, and filled with love.

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separatist-apologist · 2 days ago

Text

The Prophecy

Summary: No one has seen or heard from Elain Archeron in two months…until she turns up one day in the Spring Court with no memory of where she's been or what she's been doing.

Tamlin and Lucien will have to work together to untangle the mystery of Elain's missing memories.

My gift for @olenvasynyt- but other people can read, too. I wanted to update yesterday but work is ruining my life/fun

@acotargiftexchange

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1

Elain wanted to hate Spring. She hated the males living within the manor, hated that she wasn’t allowed outside even more, but she didn’t hate Spring itself. She woke that morning to rain pattering against her half open window, soaking the wood floor below. It seemed wrong to ruin them, even when so much else was already destroyed. There were no servants, no magic to keep it all clean, and so Elain set about doing it herself.

Tamlin and Lucien seemed to avoid the manor about as often as they avoided each other. There were terse words exchanged when they did interact, along with some hushed whispers she could never quite make out. It didn’t matter—Elain had learned, since she’d been made, that magic possessed loopholes. It wasn’t a perfect, infinite thing but rather a tool, much like anything else. Doors had locks, could be broken even without keys, and so too could spells, wards, and other enchantments.

It was simply a matter of finding them. Elain spent the next two days following the chains from room to room. She could see the aura of them, the way she could on every living thing—magic was alive, in its way, and it had a specific, iridescent shimmer that marked it. To Lucien and Tamlin, it seemed as if she were merely testing the bounds of her new prison.

There were chinks, though it was strong. Lucien and Tamlin had woven the ward together before keying it with their blood. Lucien’s magic was warmer, a faint, orangish glow while Tamlin’s was brighter, a rose gold that smelled like grass clippings in the rain.

She’d need to untangle them from one another before she could go about finding the holes in which she could slip through, and that was more complex. Lucien tended to show up every time she started working, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

Something had occurred between them in the music room. She’d closed her eyes for a moment, preparing to play as a way to clear her mind, and when she opened them, she found Lucien on one knee before her, hand on her leg, face ashen.

“What did you say?” he’d whispered.

“Get your hands off me,” she’d replied.

Frustrating that she’d slipped like that. Lucien had stood without a word and stalked out of the room. A bigger woman would have asked him what she’d said so at least she knew as much as he did. She simply didn’t want to speak to Lucien. He, after all, had conspired alongside Tamlin to keep her locked up. Neither of them felt sorry for it, nor did they have any intention of letting her go.

Elain wanted to sit them both down and ask what their long term plan was. How long did they think they could keep this up before someone realized? A couple months at most, if that long. And then what? When Feyre brought the Night Courts vast armies to their doorstep, what then? Would they fight a war on her behalf?

No, they wouldn’t, and Elain knew it just as surely as they must. She needed to get out before they came up with some second part to their plan, which would almost certainly involve putting her somewhere no one could find. The manor was big, with windows and doors and walls that, if need be, could be destroyed.

If only Lucien would stop trailing her. She didn’t always see him—but she could smell him. It was a distinct smell, the first she’d been aware of when she’d been dumped out of the cauldron. She couldn’t explain it, could tease out all the individual notes. All Elain knew was how it made her feel, and she didn’t like that feeling.

Everytime Lucien slunk in behind her, she felt safe. When he left, she was on guard again, nervous to the point of goosebumps and shaking, tiptoeing and peering around every corner for danger. When he was there, she was bolder. She marched into rooms without care or concern, comfortable in the knowledge Lucien had no idea what she was doing.

He was with her then, as Elain made her way into the library. It wasn’t much larger than the one in the House of Wind, which she’d spent a decent amount of time in. Rhys and Ferye didn’t have one in their personal home, which meant anything Elain wanted to read had to come from Nesta, who could be quite judgy.

Tamlin’s library was low on the sorts of classic romances Elain preferred, but heavy on history and folklore. Begrudgingly, she appreciated some of that—at least it was unrestricted. And the chains on the wards were vibrant there, swaying like windchimes just overhead. This was where she’d start unravelling, she decided.

“You can come out,” she snapped, plopping down in a chair. Lucien appeared from behind the door frame, hands jammed in his pockets. “I’m not going anywhere. You’ve made sure of that.”

“Just tell us where you were,” Lucien replied reasonably.

“Even if I remembered—and I don’t—why would I tell you now?”

“So you can go home?” he suggested.

Elain scoffed. “I’ll tell Feyre everything you did. We both know you’re not letting me go.”

Lucien blinked, his expression slack for a moment. He hadn’t considered that, then. Wasn’t he supposed to be smart?

“What do you think she’ll do, when she learns?” Elain heard herself asking with boldness that didn’t seem to belong to her. It was the anger, she decided, pent up after years of polite silence. His expression was steely again. “Probably as much as she’d do if you were still there.”

Ouch.

“Good talk,” she mumbled, blinking away the urge to cry in her frustration.

“I shouldn’t—that’s not—cauldron, Elain, this isn’t how I wanted things to go between us,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. Yeah, she bet not. Elain understood what it was Lucien wanted, the things he hoped for. She opened her mouth to tell him that was never going to happen, but something stopped her. Some tingling at the back of her throat, some anxiety that made her too afraid to force this confrontation.

“I’m not your enemy,” Lucien added softly.

“You’ve locked me inside this house,” she replied, equally soft. “What does that make you?”

He winced, turning his head to the side as though it pained him to look at her. Maybe it should pain him, at least a little. Elain didn’t feel bad about what she said, nor would she force herself to soften her words like she so often did.

Maybe Lucien deserved whatever he heard, if only a little.

“Just tell me where you were,” Lucien all but pleaded for the second time. “I can protect you.”

Elain laughed, then, gripping the edge of her chair tightly. “You can’t protect yourself,” she said, the words striking at the heart of him. She didn’t need foresight to know that—watching him all these years told her so.

Lucien’s expression hardened, again. “You’ve been protected your entire life, Elain. How will you fare without anyone looking out for you?”

Prick! That wasn’t…entirely…true. She only stared at him, hoping he saw the burning hatred she currently felt. It wasn’t just him that made her angry—Elain had been angry since she’d been kidnapped from her bed and drowned in the Cauldron. Often, she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs until someone relieved her of the endless, consuming monster buried within her ribs.

But she’d seen how that went for Nesta.

Perhaps it was inescapable for her, too. After all, here she was, trapped with Lucien with no way out and no rescue. Would Feyre even care once she learned it was Lucien who had her? Or would they look the other way for Elain’s own good?

Lucien offered Elain a rather filthy gesture with his hand, which prompted her to yell, “I thought you were supposed to be a gentleman!” at his retreating back. His barking laughter echoed down the ruined halls, spoiling her mood. Ass.

Elain spent the rest of her day hiding from Tamlin and Lucien and examining the chains of magic. It took her about as long to untangle Lucien’s magic from Tamlins, separating them so it was easier to pull them apart and slowly unravel the entire thing. The library was the worst place to start given she couldn’t slip out a window. But if she could get it through the floor, the ruined conservatory was just below and that had doors out to the wilted garden.

She’d decided to start with Lucien, assuming of the pair, the High Lord would be the stronger magic user. Lucien, though…his magic was complex, each chain a puzzle. Some of them burned her fingers like real flames while others were so blinding they illuminated the entire room and the hallway beyond.

A tray of food waited for her just outside her door, Lucien’s scent all over it. Guess there were some gentlemanly impulses left, though the flower in the little vase at the corner of the tray looked as if someone had squished it in their palm. She ate, door closed, before setting the tray back in the hall. She could open her window as the frame pulled inward, rather than outward, and the breeze felt nice on her skin.

It hadn’t been a week, she reminded herself. She was far more clever than Tamlin or Lucien gave her credit for, and no one understood how her magic worked. Elain barely understood it, truthfully. She’d simply begun to lie and tell people her magic was gone after the Cauldron had been destroyed, and then repaired, and everyone was willing to believe her.

But it hadn’t. Her magic was, as if ever had been, potent.

Elain rubbed at her eyes, falling backward to the bed. Someone or something had been in to clean given the lack of cobwebs hanging from the chandelier overhead. Her room smelled faintly of marigolds, strange given they were more of an autumnal flower. She turned her face toward the pillow, inhaling deeply.

Sleep came easy even when it shouldn’t. Elain found herself standing in that foggy crossroads, the path often impassible thanks to tangles of thorny creepvine. Many of the early nights, after she’d been turned, were spent at this crossroads trying to coax the vines back. It seemed important to explore them.

When she hadn’t been able to, Elain just assumed it was some irritating nightmare she’d never be free of. As Elain approached the crossroads, she found one path veering left was open to her. A rocky, paved road lay beneath her feet. Squinting, Elain tried to see where it led but a heavy, green tinged fog obscured her vision.

That didn’t stop her. Dreams couldn’t hurt, after all—right? If she got scared, she’d do what she always did and force herself to wake up. With an open path, Elain moved forward eagerly. Why now, she wondered—though it didn’t stop her. Even as she stumbled over little cracks and holes in the road below, all she felt was excitement.

Something bright flared through the fog, the source of it impossible to discern. Light appeared so suddenly it might have been her imagination had it not created sunspots in her vision. Picking up her pace, Elain tried to move faster, but the magic of the dream didn’t allow her to arrive any sooner than the dream wished.

Elain didn’t realize she was trekking up a hill until her breathing became labored, sweat sliding down her neck. If it was a dream, it certainly felt uncomfortably real. It wasn’t—this was only a dream.

At the top of the hill, Elain could see something, though the edges of it were blurred as though she were viewing it from under water. The air warped around her, shimmering irridescent as it prractically begged to be touched. Elain did, surprised to find it was wet, like dew on the grass just before dawn.

She jerked forward as if someone grabbed her wrist and yanked, sending her stumbling forward. There, standing in a glen framed by distant mountains on either side of the early dawn’s horizion, stood Lucien. He hadn’t noticed her—perhaps he wouldn’t, given this was her dream. Elain trotted behind him like a spectre, careful to keep a healthy distance between them. He was making his way toward a creek, his white shirt sleeves rolled to his ankles.

He’d nearly made it when he turned, abruptly, brow furrowed.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. Elain only shrugged her shoulders blithely, because this was her dream and in her dream Lucien had to do as she wanted. She pointed toward the stream.

“Stand in it.”

What fun, to boss him around.

Only, he didn’t move. Lucien merely remained where he was, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re in my dream, Elain.”

She blinked. “This is my dream.”

He prowled forward, head cocked to the side. Tenatively, he reached out and poked her in the cheek, only for her to swat him away. That felt real. Elain blinked again and then, before he could say a word, snatched the dagger resting casually at his hip.

“Put that down!” Lucien warned, hands raised in defense. She wasn’t going to hurt him—Elain pressed the pointed end against her finger and pricked, surprised to find it hurt. Blood welled from the wound, and when she turned her hand over, blood dripped to the ground.

“I’m real,” she said, more to herself than anything. “Where are we?”

“Autumn,” Lucien said moreosly.

“You miss it?” She didn’t know why she was asking. Elain held the dagger in her hand, arm resting limply at her side.

Lucien only shrugged, turning tol ook at the scene around him. She supposed she ought ot have guessed—the rainbow of colors dotting the mountain side certainly didn’t belong to Spring.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered. Something about the magic of her dream made it easier to ask him the questions burning in the back of her throat.

“This is the only time I can see home,” Lucien replied, misunderstanding what she was asking him.

There was no point pressing the issue. She turned, wondering how to leave this dream meeting. Perhaps she could find Feyre and warn her sister she was being held hostage. Easier said than done given she had no idea how she’d walked into Lucien’s dream. The path had opened, seemingly of its own accord, and had brought her here. What did it want her to find?

But whatever clues lay in the grassy glen or the bubbling brook were a mystery to her. It looked serene—picturesque, even—but not anything more than a memory of Lucien’s brought to life by his own mind.

“Elain,” Lucien murmured, gripping her arm. He was touching her. Why? She frowned—but he was shaking her shoulders, now…and his voice was garbled. Far away. “Elain!”

Elain jolted awake to artificial lights half blinding her. Blinking her eyes open, she found Lucien half straddling her body with shredded hands, his own expression panicked. She tried to sit up only to find herself restrained, half buried beneath thorny vines.

“What’s happening?” she breathed, panic rising in her throat.

Lucien hacked at more of the vines, sending the plant thumping lifelessly to the ground. Her own skin was scratched, though nowhere near as bad as Luciens. He continued to pull, revealing a room filled with creepvine. It had come through the window, winding around the room as it sought to smother everything within it.

No longer restrained, Elain scrambled to her feet, breathing hard as she stared back at him.

“You were in my dream,” Lucien whispered, as if needing to hear her admit it. She only nodded.

“That was magic,” he added pointedly.

“I…I don’t know anything about it,” she said honestly. That much was true, at least. Lucien only frowned.

And said nothing else.

—

Head in his hands, Lucien waited for Tamlin to say something.

Anything.

“I’ve never…I’ve never heard of that sort of magic,” Tamlin finally murmured. “Dream walking?”

“I swear she was there,” Lucien repeated, though that hadn ever really been in question. “She was looking around.”

“There are very few accounts of Seer’s and their magic,” Tamlin began, hands steepled in front of his lips. His study was the worst of the ruined rooms, barely functional with the ruined walls, floors, and furniture. They’d dragged in a chair for Lucien to sit in while Tamlin leaned against his desk, which leaned aggressively thanks to a splintered leg. “Understandably, the courts that employed them weren’t keen to inform the rest of the world what, exactly, their prophets were capable of.”

“Does it matter?” Lucien asked. “How long before she goes waltzing into Feyre or Rhys’s mind and tells them everything?”

Tamlin didn’t seem concerned. “If she was going to, she’d have done it by now.”

“She doesn’t know how it works, but she’ll learn,” Lucien pressed.

“Then we have time. We need to know more than she does, and get ahead of this before she sends Night to our door.”

“What do you want me to do?” Lucien asked. They were being watched—not by Elain, who had stormed off to the library that morning mumbling about the endless survelliance happening day in and day out.

“We need to learn where she was those last two months and why she’s here,” Tamlin reminded him, though Lucien believed Elain didn’t know or remember. She seemed to have such a poor grasp on her magic that it was entirely possible she’d lost track herself in her dream world. Though, that didn’t explain how she’d ended up here.

There was something bigger than Elain, and maybe even Rhys, happening. Would Rhys conceal this from Feyre? And could Feyre keep it a secret? Would she torment Nesta with Elain’s absence if she knew exactly where Elain was and what she was doing? No, Lucien didn’t think so. He believed she’d put on a ruse—that she’d decieve him. But not the rest of her friends and family. Lucien also believed Rhys would keep it from Feyre so long as Elain herself didn’t know.

“Are we sure this isn’t a daemati controlling her?” Lucien questioned.

Tamlin rubbed as his jaw, stubbled after sevral days of neglecting his apperance. “No, I’m not. Rhys has always been cagey about what he can and cannot do, and how far his influence extends. If she’s here, and he knows it, then he knows everything we’ve done and everything we’ve said in her presence.”

“It could be a ruse,” Lucien replied, trying to think of Rhys’ angle. “If he’s considering a rival for the throne, killing you for kidnapping Elain would certainly give him that.”

“We need allies,” Tamlim mumbled, green eyes sliding to his feet.

“Don’t—don’t ask me—”

“I have to. After…after everything, so many noble families fled. I need their gold to raise an army,” he told Lucien. “I can’t hold our borders forever, and if Rhys rallies the solar courts…” He could sweep into Spring with very little difficulty, topple their fragic, unstable government, and install a puppet High Lord that owed Rhys his allegiance.

“I’ll send queries to Winter and Summer,” Lucien agreed, well aware news would travel. He’d need to be discreet and careful. “I can also…Eris…” he trailed off.

Many of the Spring Court nobles had fled to Autumn where Lucien knew they didn’t truly enjoy themselves. Beron was too controlling, demanded too much of their money, their resources, and whatever else he could squeeze from them. Transplants would be regarded as the lowest of the low, ranked just above the common fae but not as high as his favored families.

If Lucien could guarantee them power and access, he was certain they’d return. If. Because he certainly couldn’t stroll back into Autumn after Beron had put that bounty on his head. He could appeal to Eris, but…Eris had allied himself with Rhys, and who knew how deep that alliance went? Lucien didn’t know if he wanted to gamble his life on his older brother.

Eris always put himself and his own interests first, after all.

“Start with Summer,” Tamlin finally said, some scheming left to him. “After what happened in the second war…Tarquin is still bitter.”

“I’ll bet,” Lucien mumbled. “And Elain?”

Tamlin rubbed his eyes. “We could drug her to sleep every night.”

Lucien’s barred his teeth without meaning to, causing Tamlin to sigh. “Right. Then we will continue as we are and simply hope she knows as much as we know. Have you given any more thought to her vision?”

“The prophecy?” Lucien asked numbly. “No, I couldn’t begin to unravel it.”

“I have a contact in Day—a scholar who has quite the reputation. I’ll send it to her, see what she makes of it,” Tamlin murmured.

“And you don’t think she’ll find it odd our borders are closed, Rhys is on a manhunt for his missing Seer, and you just so happen to have questions regarding an errant prophecy?” Lucien snapped.

“It’s the only plan we’ve got,” Tamlin half snarled back. “We need to move quickly, besides.”

“Oh, this is such a mess,” Lucien whispered, rising to his feet. How had they even gotten here? If he could go back, he would have simply dumped Elain on Rhys’s doorstep and forgotten the entire thing.

“Do you trust me?” Tamlin asked against Lucien’s retreating back.

“What?”

“Do you trust me?” he repeated, looking up at his friend. “With your mate. Alone.”

“I—” It hadn’t even occurred to him to be concerned for Elain’s safety while he left. What was Tamlin going to do? He’d seen how his friend had once tried to court her sister and the wide berth of space Tamlin had given her.

“Of course,” Lucien agreed without hesitation. People could say whatever they liked about Tamlin—there was a lot to be said—but Lucien knew he wasn’t going to touch another Archeron even with thousands of marks on the line.

“And if I wanted to keep her here?” Tamlin murmured, his voice softer. “A Seer.”

Lucien had to work to keep himself from snapping. “If that’s what she wants.”

“It could be,” Tamlin suggested, holding Lucien’s gaze. “You ah…you said she likes plants?”

“She can’t go outside.”

“The greenhouse is available,” he reminded Lucien. “I only thought…if she preferred being here…”

“We’re holding her hostage, Tam. I don’t think the greenhouse is going to impress her, but you’re welcome to try.”

Tamlin looked as if there were other things he wanted to say, swallowed when his better sense won out. That was for the best. In Lucien’s fantasies, Elain was content to stay wherever Lucien was and never missed the Night Court.

“What about mothers estate?” Tamlin practically whispered. “The other courts aren’t aware of its existence. We keep the wards up, let them waste their time trying to get to the manor, meanwhile we’re at the border.”

“That’s risky, and is assumptive of a lot of stupidity on Rhys’s end,” Lucien began slowly.

“He doesn’t find us particularly intelligent,” Tamlin hissed. “Why would he check anywhere but here? I can make my presence known on occasion—just enough for his army of bats to report I’m out prowling. Business as usual.”

There was heavy bitterness in Tamlin’s voice and right then, Lucien wished he could shake his friend. Rhys had taken everything that mattered to Tamlin, and then everything else that didn’t, besides. Some of it couldn’t be helped—Feyre had always been Rhys’ mate, and had always been on borrowed time with Tamlin. And some of it was merely his one-sided revenge that he’d never move past, regardless of the part Rhys had played in all of it.

Tamlin had given them exactly what they all wanted—proof he’d never been the right kind of male to govern, to love, to even be friends with. And Lucien could admit that Tamlin hadn’t really tried to prove them wrong. He wanted to tell Tamlin that the best revenge was rebuilding his court and showing Prythian that he deserved everything he had.

“Okay,” Lucien agreed, certain it would eventually blow up in their faces. “Lets do it—in the dead of night. I’ll winnow Elain if you drop the wards for me.”

“As soon as you return from Summer,” Tamlin agreed. Lucien didn’t bother to say anything else as he left, though he hoped that, perhaps, this was the start of something new. Sure, the circumstances were less than ideal, but maybe it was all of them needed—Elain included. Someplace new, without all their history hanging over their head. Maybe they could find peace, if not as lovers, than as friends.

Lucien, at least, hoped for that.

Whether he’d get it was another matter entirely.

#elucien

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thelightsandtheroses · 3 days ago

Text

two: so pack up your car, put a hand to your heart

Call It What You Want | Frankie Morales x OFC

Summary: Daisy never expected to move to Florida but recovering from burnout in the sunshine state seems a good enough plan. Years after the death of her estranged half-brother, Tom, she finds herself agreeing to move in with Frankie Morales, Tom’s former army colleague and friend. Falling for her roommate, who is definitely keeping secrets about your brother’s death, may not be the best way to ensure a fresh start, or is it actually what they both needed all along? Chapter Warnings: 18+ blog MDNI, mentions of previous canon death and grief, references to corporate burnout, I feel like firefighter pilot Frankie needs his own warning anyway, implied but not stated former addiction (Frankie) Word Count: 3.6k

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The apartment is light and a faint scent of citrus cleaner lingers as I step inside, placing my keyring in my jeans pocket for the moment. I’m not sure if Frankie has a table or a key hook or some specific ritual I need to follow so my jeans feel safer.

The furniture is neutral, IKEA and bland. It’s the sort of furniture you buy when you’ve had to move out of a place, when you just need function over style and quickly. I’m met by an abundance of white lacquered wood, pairing well with the magnolia walls that don’t scream, but screech ‘I’m a rental’.

There’s one elderly looking bromeliad in pride of place on the dining table. It’s the only greenery or plant in the whole apartment so far. It’s struggling too - all wilting leaves, with a general aura of suffering and gloom.

“I don’t have a green thumb,” Frankie says as he walks past the table. “Do you?” he asks with hope in his eyes and running a hand over one particularly sad looking leaf. “Felix is judging me so hard for this plant dying and I’m trying to keep it alive, I swear I am, but it - I think it hates me.”

“It hates you?”

“It’s deliberate now, it has to be. I even googled what to do and it got worse, Daisy. The thing has a vendetta against me. ”

“I can try, but I’m not sure. I’ve never really done much with plants. I had a friend who had a dozen plants in her apartment, but I just … I told myself I didn’t have the time.”

“I like the idea of them,” Frankie says gently, “Just can’t keep them alive.”

“Sometimes it goes that way.”

“Yeah.” There’s a microscopic shift in Frankie’s expression, he looks down and then back up again and I wonder what secrets lie beneath his inscrutable expression.

“It sounds like it’s a formidable nemesis anyway.”

“Huh? Oh, the plant? Yeah, for sure. It’s vicious.”

“Looks it.“

Frankie smirks and shakes his head before he claps his hands together. “So, tour? Is your stuff in the car - I’ll help you bring it up after.”

“Sure. That would be great. I don’t think I bought too much with me. Well, okay the car is pretty packed, but it’s not a big car.”

He raises an eyebrow and I steel my gaze, refusing to break. I don’t own that much stuff but I’m not ex-military, I don’t know how to pack my life into a single rucksack.

“This is the living area, as you can see, and the kitchen. I keep my schedule on the fridge and uh, when I have Felix too. You can add your schedule if you want to.”

“Right - do you want me not to be here when your son is here or -”

Frankie pauses. “Daisy, where would you go?”

“I could stay with Molly again, or maybe get a motel, or -”

“It’s fine. D’you have any allergies?”

“Allergies?”

“Food and stuff?” Frankie asks. “I should have asked. Sorry, it’s a firefighter thing, I go to a lot of allergic reactions.”

“No allergies that I know of. Except hay fever but you’re not storing grass pollen in your fridge, right?“

“Not this week,” he says with a mischievous smile.

Frankie opens the fridge. “I’ve kept some space for you just here in and in the freezer. There’s a couple of cupboards too. I’m pretty easy about if we want to get the same milk and stuff. Ollie, my old roommate, used to but I don’t know if you like a particular type.”

“No that sounds good.” In all honesty, this feels unfamiliar. In college I used a different milk to everyone else so I had to buy my own, and I’ve not been a roommate since then so I can’t tell if Frankie’s just being polite, or it’s genuine and a standard roommate occurrence.

I look around at the grey laminate work surfaces which are fairly uncluttered, with the exception of a kettle, and a tragic, elderly coffee pot on one of them.

“So, can we plug in my coffee machine there too? You can use it as well, of course.”

“How fancy is your machine? Are there a lot of buttons?” I realise Frankie’s a person built by necessity. He needs the ability to have coffee quickly, his apartment is styled for function and I start to see the Delta force history in his actions.

“It’s an espresso machine but I have a V60 for pour over too - that can live in a cupboard though. You could use that one though.”

“I remember you mentioning that it’s better than an Americano.”

“You should try it,” I say with a teasing smile. I found some really good locally roasted coffee beans with nutty and juicy blackberry notes last week that I know would be perfect for a pour over.

“Not even unpacked and the coffee judgment starts, huh? You did warn me.”

I raise your hands and shrug, aiming for insouciance but I’m not sure of the execution.

“Of course you can put your coffee machine here,” Frankie says. “So, I think the kitchen is self explanatory - fire blanket and mini extinguisher is in this cupboard.” Of course it is.

I look back at the fridge and take in the schedule he mentioned with scratchy writing and a purple circle around every time Felix is mentioned. Next to it is are several child’s drawings, include one of what I assume is Frankie and Felix at the beach. It’s the first truly personal touch I’ve seen in the apartment so far.

Frankie starts to move to one of the four closed doors in the apartment. “Bathroom is just over here - we only have one and I’m gonna warn you that the shower pressure is temperamental.”

“Temperamental?”

“I’ve managed to find a sweet spot - sweetish - for it but if you change the temperature it will go.“

“Oh. How’s it set then?”

Frankie pauses thoughtfully, one hand on his hip as he clearly grapples with how to classify it. “Hot enough I guess. If it’s a problem, we’ll look at it but I’m trying to avoid calling the landlord because every single time he does something he wants to raise the rent and - this is a good deal and it’s in the same neighbourhood as Felix’s school so -“

“Let’s not rock the boat?”

“If it’s scalding, you gotta tell me though. We’ll sort it. We can figure out a system and rota if we need it, but I don’t think it should be a big problem.”

“So my room’s this one and Felix is next door.” Frankie doesn’t open either door. “I’m not honestly sure his room is big enough to be a bedroom but - I offered him my room, but -“ He trails off and shakes his head briefly as if remembering where he is before pointing to the other side of the apartment. “There’s your room but I wanna show you the balcony first.”

There’s a child’s lock on the balcony door which isn’t surprising but it speaks to the way I can see Frankie’s job bleeding through into his life. The balcony is fairly small with two lawn chairs and a plastic table that holds an ashtray and a battered paperback. It lacks character but there’s potential. This could be the best spot of the whole apartment.

Ahead of me, I take in the gentle pink tones of the arriving sunset, palm tree fronds and the painted concrete jungle of buildings in the neighbourhood.

“I see what you mean.”

“Oh yeah?”

“About the coastal view. It’s a bit hidden away.”

“You need to be very flexible and daring to actually see it. Probably a contortionist.”

“A little out of my skillset then. Well, at least I can drive down to the beach when I want to. That’s something.”

“It is nice out here though, mornings and evenings - you can’t hear the traffic and it’s … calm.”

“Perfect reading spot?” I ask, indicating the book on the table.

“When the mood hits.”

“Do you smoke?” I point at the ashtray and he looks down, almost abashed.

“I’m on the gum now, my captain took a grim view of me being a smoker so I ended up quitting. Good thing, I guess but … I don’t know, can’t bring myself to get rid of it.”

“You need the illusion of choice?”

“Precisely.” Frankie shrugs. “Doesn’t make any sense.”

“I don’t think it has to.”

“How about you?”

“Ah, I am one of those annoying people who gets labelled a never smoker when their doctor writes about them.”

“Ah, you probably get described as a delightful lady whom it was a pleasure to meet with too,” he says with a smile.

“Ah, so you did run a background check on me after all!”

Frankie’s laugh is magnetic, the way it makes his eyes crinkle and his face just light up. He runs a hand through his hair and smiles and I feel like there’s trouble in those gestures, in that smile. He does it in a way that implies he doesn’t realise they have any power, not like Benny whose flirtatious nature seeps through every interaction on purpose. Between that and the firefighter position, I bet Frankie is popular.

It’s something we haven’t talked about. Date protocols or whether there are boyfriends or girlfriends lurking in either of our lives. I assume he knows I’m single, I was living with my dead brother’s ex wife after all and I feel like I exuded desperation to move out that made my single status loud and clear. All I know about Frankie is he has an ex and they share a child. It feels awkward to ask though.

”No regrets so far then?” he asks, breaking me out of my reverie.

“Hmm, not with this balcony. I mean, I haven’t seen my room in person yet so-”

“Then let’s move on.”

My room looks out to the car park side of the building, but still remains light and airy. The walls are a traditional shade of magnolias the furniture a glossy white, and while the bed looks like it may have seen better days, this room is my space. I start to picture how I’ll make this my own space, the personal touches and decorations to turn this from a bland rental room into something that can feel like home. A rug here, a lamp here, my throw on the bed. Small changes that will inject some personality into this bland canvas.

“No regrets?” Frankie asks with a smile.

“Nope, I’m good. I’m glad we’re doing this, Frankie.”

“Me too. Okay, let’s get your stuff then.”

By the time I’ve unpacked the essentials, the night has fully set in. I’m browsing the internet looking at van listings that meet my budget requirements.

It’s not looking great right now.

It seemed like a great idea to move away from the city I was in, to leave that corporate world that ate me up away and instead do something different, with something I was passionate about. It was a romantic idea and the practicalities are starting to hit home. I’m still temping in offices and I need to get moving with this idea. I don’t want to get stuck again.

I’m scrutinising a horse carriage when I hear a knock at my door.

“Come in,” I call.

Frankie loiters in the doorway, eyes raising up in surprise as he takes in the progress and the chaos I’ve left in my room.

“There’s still a lot to do. Tomorrow though.”

“Yeah, I was honestly just impressed you’d got this far. Think I’ve made the bed and that’s about it.”

“Are you more of a minimalist?”

”I think the military drummed the idea of function over style into us pretty well over the years. So, I’d ask if you were settling in but this speaks for itself.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“Have you eaten? I was going to get pizza and I thought I’d ask if you want to join.”

“It is my first night here, we should mark it with something.”

“Exactly.”

“But you helped me lug everything upstairs, shouldn’t the pizza be on me?” I stand up and join Frankie in the main living area.

“Nah, next time. Unless you like a hideous pizza combo.”

“I think pineapple on pizza is a branch of the Geneva convention”

“Olives?”

“I actually love them.”

Frankie smiles. “Yeah, me too. Okay. I’ll get one veggie and one meat then.”

“Can I at least get the drinks? I can run out and get something if you want.” I volunteer because I don’t Frankie to think I’m not going to be fair, not going to contribute, especially when he’s extended this gesture.

Frankie pauses awkwardly and the atmosphere in the room shifts infinitesimally. I feel like I’ve instantly made a mistake.

“Sure, but I’m just going to have a soda. I’m uh, on shift tomorrow.” He sighs heavily. “Actually, that’s a lie. Well, I am on shift but I don’t drink right now. I should be upfront about that.”

“Okay, that’s fine. We can stick with soda. I mean I can also offer some disgusting green powder for water - lots of fibre and ashwagandha.”

“That sounds horrific.”

“Isn’t wellness?”

His face lightens slightly. “I’ll stick with soda.”

“Good choice.”

Tom’s voice drifts into my memory without warning. I’m loitering in a hallway avoiding people and he’s in the kitchen.

"Catfish is one of us, Will, but c’mon we all know he’s a bit of a fuck up right now.”

“C’mon, Tom.”

“I know, I know. If he says he can keep it together then fine.”

It must have been at Tom’s birthday years and years ago. I had spent most of the time away from everyone, awkward and uncomfortable around people I didn’t know, my work phone a barrier between anyone who tried to talk to me. I’d only been invited because our father was there and because I was in the area with work. I try and remember that moment further, to pick up on the missing context but nothing comes to mind.

The ashtray, the awkwardness over his admission of not drinking, Tom’s words. Jigsaw pieces start to fit together and create a picture of Frankie I didn’t expect. I don’t say anything immediately, not sure if I’m assuming something or if I’ll just make the situation more awkward.

“Would you prefer if we don’t keep alcohol in the house?“ I ask carefully.

Frankie looks down, smiling sadly and then meets my gaze. “Drink - it wasn’t really a problem for me, they say it’s just easier to avoid it all, ‘cept smoking apparently, didn’t even start that until - well, it doesn’t matter,” Frankie says softly, “Daisy, it’s your home now too, you can drink whatever you want to and I’ll be fine.”

“I didn’t ask what I wanted though.”

“I’m good with it.” He pauses. “But thanks for asking though. Right, I’ll uh, order the pizza.”

“No pineapple?”

“No pineapple.”

“So tell me about the coffee thing,” Frankie says, taking another slice of pizza from the box in front of us.

“I just want to try something different. I know how to be a corporate person, but i don’t … it’s not who I am and I figured that if I didn’t try and do something different now, I would never would.” I nearly sidestep the burnout, the way everything just fell apart for a while and how the idea of permanently going back into that world makes my insides churn and chest hurt with a hideously dull ache.

I can stomach temping, I can endure this a little longer as a way to get out of that world. It’s not so bad because I don’t feel that urge now to push myself and excel and be the shining one, I just view it as a means to an end.

It’s not something I can express though, not something I nearly put into words for Frankie, not without terrifying him that he’s let the wrong person into his apartment.

“And why not coffee?” he asks.

“I mean, you can tell I’m passionate about it.”

“I get it,” Frankie says thoughtfully.

“The coffee thing?” I raise my eyebrows, thinking of the battered coffee pot, the lack of pour over options. Maybe I am a snob.

“Absolutely, that and the need for a change.” He looks more serious for a moment. “I kind of went down a similar path a few years back.” He shifts in his chair and looks away for a moment.

The last time I saw Frankie, apart from the funeral, I remember vaguely learning he was a pilot. More commercial though, helicopter charters or something like that. Perhaps the firefighter role is newer than I realised.

“Well, I think firefighter pilot and coffee van owner are a little different. And at least you were a pilot before that, you know, it wasn’t as …stark?”

He shrugs. “I just, sometimes you need to do something different and I can tell you, that for me, it was the best thing I could do for myself at that time. It sounds corny, but I … I like my job now.”

“And flying rich people in a helicopter wasn’t fun?”

“Not like now.” He laughs. “I mean, some days are shit and they really fuckin’ hurt, but it’s - I feel like there’s value. Fuck, that sounds so arrogant.”

“Nope.” I smile and then add, “perhaps a little noble.”

“Ah, that’s me all over,” he replies with an eye roll and sardonic smirk. “So noble, I’m going to ask for the last slice.”

“You did ask first,” I tease, raising my hands and letting him pick up the pizza.

“So what’s on your list for the van then, before you can quit temping?“

“Buy a van, kit it out - I’ve got my eyes on some options that are already set up for coffee which would save a lot of time, and Will’s helped me run the numbers.”

“He’s good at that.”

“Yes, he is.”

“I know what licences and inspections I need and I’ve saved up for those when it’s time. I’ve been playing with the branding for a while so I’m almost happy with that. I also need to connect with a good local roaster and dairy. I’ve been trying a few to figure out what works for me. Social media, all that stuff. Cake,” I add, certain I must be boring Frankie as I run through a too long to do list.

“Cake?”

“It should probably have some sort of baked offering too, right? I think I do okay brownies and I can’t afford to work with a bakery yet, but that would be an option maybe one day.”

“You’ve got plans,” Frankie says simply, smiling at me in a way that makes my body hum with encouragement. He seems so matter of fact that I’ll make this happen and over recent weeks, I’d started to doubt that.

“Yeah,” I reply brightly, “I do.”

“If you need help with the truck, let me know. I’m happy to come check it out for you, if you want. If not, it’s fine.”

“That would be great, Frankie. Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Thanks.”

He shrugs, the corner of his mouth fighting a slight smile.

I lean back against the sofa. I’m full of pizza and soda and my arms ache from unpacking. I feel calm though, already more at home after just a few hours here than I did in weeks at Molly’s. The dream almost feels tangible and the fact that Frankie supported it, encouraged it too? It’s more than I expected.

I thought Frankie would be just a roommate who I saw occasionally and we would led separate lives, but he seems to want to be friends. Or perhaps he’s just being nice to the sister of his fallen brother in arms? It feels more genuine though and the way he talked about needing a change, understanding why I felt like I did? I’ve not had that conversation with anyone who’s really understood. They’ve indulged me perhaps, but not understood.

I think back to Frankie’s words about needing to do something different. The haunted look in his eyes that had briefly flashed over when he talked about it. The timing seems too close for coincidence to when Tom died.

I look over at my new roommate and not for the first time, I wonder, is there more to what happened to my brother than I’ve been told about?

Tag List

If you would like to be added to to my overall taglist please let me know - I am no longer creating individual fic taglists. As a reminder this blog is 18+ - minors do not interact and I block blank/ageless blogs. Tag lists are a bit funky at the moment, so I recommend following me or my fic account @thelightsandtheroses-fics (you can enable notifications for that account) if you want to ensure you're up to date

Everything Pedro tag-list: @harriedandharassed @pedrostories @hiroikegawa @pedrosaidsheispunk @pastelnap

#frankie morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #frankie morales x ofc #frankie morales fic #frankie morales x ofc davis sister #fic: call it what you want #aka the firefighterpilot!frankie one #and the roommate one

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ringleaderising · 2 days ago

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What circumstances would cause pig and sow to cross paths before co-parenting? How cooperative were they in their parenting methods? Do they share custody of Runt? Who does Runt stay with more often than not?

Also is pig *that* charming to have kids twice with sow, or is there some allure that pig sees in sow? (Personality or otherwise?) (I imagine sow is very tired of pig antics at this point)

☆vabam-fr

"I'm coiled up like a venomous serpent // Tangled in your trance, and I'm certain: You have got your hooks in me."

As I've mentioned before Pig and Sow don't even really like each other. To Pig, she's a nuisance trying to kill Magda- a mockery made from stolen parts of his personality and the cobbled flesh of things Puppeteer managed to scavenge up. To Sow, he's a reminder that she was never intended to be her own person, that her existence is simply because a petty self styled 'Goddess' decided she wanted something as unwaveringly loyal to her as Pig is to Magda.

So before Whelp and Runt, they were at odds. Their contact was (and often still is) violent and physical in nature, and they first crossed paths after Sow severed her ties to Puppeteer and swore herself into the service of killing the entirety of The Host- her true 'charge' being their complete elimination. Namely, she and Dethrone decided to go after Magda upon learning of her presence in Vaudemire Way- thinking the more docile goddess an easy take, as Mag's spirit has never been particularly dedicated to keeping herself from destruction in the aftermath of her joining The Host, the duo attacked her after baiting her return with an... unfortunate accident, for a local landlord. (who would soon be replaced by Lady Occulus, thus causing even MORE issues for the people of Vaudemire, but we're going to discuss that later.)

It earned Sow her wing near completely cleaved off and Dethrone insists he still can't walk right, after Pig flung himself up into the air after him and shook the banescale like a chew toy by the leg. They fought violently, blow for blow and rending one another to near-ribbons until a particularly lucky (or if you ask Sow, unlucky) swing knocked her mask off and revealed that the similarity was not simply passing.

Recognizing they were in some capacity playing into the hands of something that had wanted Pig or Magda destroyed, they kinda. hung it up. The moments that followed, of discussing where they had come from, who was the 'original' and patching up gaping cleaver wounds and bite marks on one another (and dethrone, who wailed the whole time that he was dying, oh god, the pain, the suffering!) were... awkward to say the least, and they certainly weren't enough to enamor either of them to the other.

But the more times you nearly kill somebody before you realize exactly who they are in a brutal fit of rage the more the fondness grows.

Despite their vehement distaste for each other still being somewhat present, they're incredibly capable co-parents, as their shared fondness for children from a history of being entertainers for hatchlings isn't lost on Pig's shattered mentality- or Sow's manufactured memories. They're still plague through and through, and the fact they're of the same birth-flight certainly helped their childrearing gel more firmly- It was Sow who encouraged Pig to start teaching the girls to hunt Godfalls, and it was Pig who nudged Sow toward accepting that they'd have to kill more than just spirits to stay alive- despite it all they work together well, so long as they have the opportunity to having a screaming argument punctuated with sharp objects before they do anything resembling romance or intimacy.

Given Sow's largely nomadic nature, Runt spends much of his time with his father at the Vaudemire Sideshow, where all the children were raised in the safety of canvas tents and Pig's workshop. He still goes with her for extended periods of time, as they would never keep him from one another, and it's really up to Runt who he hangs out with at any given time, so long as Sow and the circus cross paths again.

As for Pig's charms? Vaudemire's former ringmaster Mercy left notable instructions for his replacement to keep him away from town proper when they set stakes for a while, Calliope has given him a birthday gift of the bottom half of a letter stating: "My daughter and wife live in town, and it was funny to me that he kept seducing people's mates and offspring until the risk was present for me and now, like a horrible curse I've inflicted upon others coming back to get me, I am taking precaution to avoid suffering for it.

Put very simply, Calli, If I see him in the bar I'm docking your pay."

#pig;#sow;#flight rising #flight rising lore #it got long everything does #Pig and sow beat each other up and scream and argue and if either of them didn't have this outlet they'd die.

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hopelessly-malicious · 1 year ago

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Anyone else PANICKING that stede and ed aren't going to get back together next episode? I'm having intense good omens 2 flashbacks and I can't go through that again

#i miss s1 them #they were so happy #i just want them to be together and alive is that so much to ask?#ofmd #our flag means death #gentlebeard #blackbonnet #edward teach #stedebonnet #our flag means death 2 spoilers #ofmd 2 spoilers

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mercless · 3 months ago

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🗡 mad cowboy disease....

#‡ ooc #high noon tbt.#thinking of Them while walking to the shops... on my own little quest...#there may be typos but ignore them #listened through mars hn yone playlist i loved watching the 2 hr movie in my head #listening through my hn playlost now maybe ill make tals a spotofy thing too for easier listening....#got so many little scenes in my head #talon munching any lil bug/lizard critter they catch. whether they actually Need to eat is unspecified #but you know. probably. anyway thinking evilly at how i can describe their meals as either tantalising or DISGusting #talon being afraid of ending up an almalgam of feathers and sludge but ove talked abt that before #need to write more talon monologues or story times #reminiscing now. will add more later #talon trying their best to get through a Normal Human interaction on a bar or smth tryong to hide what they are and keep their hat low but-#and theres always a but- someone either catches a glimpse of theor face n compliments them or gets in theor way like 'hey-' or they catch #a glance at feathers or brimstone....#talon getting chased to be put in one of those carnie 'strange encounters' shows... they either do get caught or...#get rid of their would-be captors #time for more thoughts. i need to design talons demonic form and maybe even what their gradual corruption looked like 🤔#i also need to decide on a few factors abt how im treating their cape as tendrils instead... like if they naturally had 5 or lost one...#and how much control over individual segments they have #thinkin abt talon getting in trouble but not like. threat of death danger maybe a malevolent third party who wants them for something else #be it their blood or feathers or smth like that. maybe even after REDACTED and they get a bounty set by the sulfur king for REDACTED reason #to be brought back alive and hunters go after em......#oh. who can a demon slash half angel turn to in these trying times... 🥺😔 not that they want to rely on anyone #talon would rather die than rely on another creature for help. im kidding. :] or am i #thinking abt the thing i said to mars like. after their travels together talon tries to keep their distance from rell and yone but.#fate or something worse keeps bringing them back together. i said it better beforehand but anyway.#if its during this time of being hunted and they cross ways i can imagine talon not staying long at all or just turning 180 at the sight #part the fear the other two will join this hunt as well. the other part is that theyll be in danger if talon asks for help...#nor do they want to owe a debt to these two ough 😒

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away-ward · 5 months ago

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Hey KO, pd said the reason damon named fane.. fane was to honor rika's father since he respected him after realizing her father still wanted to raise him despite his origin. he wasnt named to honor rika but to honor her father.

That's great actually, and it makes sense. Thanks for the clarification.

#asked and answered #devil's night series #damon torrance #still wish it had been made clear through the series #and that the names of his other children had some clear meaning so we the readers could piece that together #and not have to be told by the author after the fact #but it's something i guess #i really don't want to complain because i don't wanna be one of those fans that is like things should have been done the way i want them #“my preference over everything else!”#not everything needs to be done to my preference i know that #but why did he pick a name that is very much associated with his very alive sister who refused to give up her father's name #rika is honoring her father with the same name - we discussed that in conclave #damon could have done something different with schreader #Rea is a pretty cool name; same with Reader #or something #it's also still associated with the diamond business rika owns which is also named fane #who is going to think of Rika's dad when they meet fane when his name is so many other things?#but that's just me #i keep coming back to this with new thoughts #but why does schraeder get forgiveness #and christane is a weak women for being depressed when Gabriel raped her a stole her baby #schraeder may have loved damon despite that but he didn't do anything to stop Damon's abuse #Damon's double standards are getting out of control #“i love strong women”#but only by a very narrow definition of strong #and this isn't to say damon can't be flawed #but can we see this as a flaw without his fans turning to rage over it

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paigemathews · 10 months ago

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Getting close to the end of that list now, but for the February ficlets prompt:

a charmed one with their ex bf in an unexpected situation (gen, again dealers choice of who)

Pairing: Paige Matthews & Glen Belland

Background Pairings: Paige Matthews/Henry Mitchell & Glen Belland/Jessica Belland

"Paige!"

The call was loud enough that several people looked over in annoyance, but Paige couldn't have cared less. Glen swept her into a hug while she laughed against his shoulder.

It'd been ages since she'd seen him, and so much had happened since. He seemed to agree as he pulled back, hands on her shoulders, and demanded, "You faked your death?"

"I can explain!" Paige immediately exclaimed.

"And were working for Homeland Security? When did that happen? And-" Finally noticing Henry standing behind Paige, he furrowed his brow and nodded towards him. "And whose that?"

Stepping back, Paige couldn't help her uncharacteristically shy smile as she introduced him. "Henry, this is Glen, my best friend. Glen, this is Henry. My husband."

"What?" Glen squawked.

#charmed #asks #starlightandsunshine #paige matthews #glen belland #paige & glen #february ficlets #i always wanted them to do more with their friendship tbh #and i'd love to see paige catching glen up on everything that happened in s8 #i might continue this later on but please just know that jessica #who had to spend so much time comforting her husband over his ebst friend's death #is ELATED that paige is alive (and also married and no longer interested in glen)#bc paige and glen were childhood best friends i mean #he was there for paige when her parents died and they went to kindegarden together and she immediately told him about the witch thing #like they were so close and i feel like her death would have deeply hurt him so jessica is happy bc she still doesn't really like paige #(which i mean valid and i think will be fine after they interact more when paige is not so fucking bewitched) but she didnt want her dead #idk i just have thoughts on the relationships with paige and glen and how it should translate into next gen #wait i should bring the bellands into the next gen actually bc like. paige and glen are besties??#and i mean i still have billie and the morris family and derek around the halliwells #hell the montanas and marks are around too #so why not bring in canonically one of paige's best friends y'lnow?

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phagodyke · 7 months ago

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ykw actually I am angry + disappointed w them. I've been pushing how I feel aside and trying to make it my own fault so it's all contained but I think theyve just been mean. and they really should know me better ik I try to pretend I don't expect more from them so I feel less hurt when they do things that upset me but we've been friends for years by this point. like come on.

#just got home and went to put my shit away but my flatmate was in the kitchen and i got suddenly so mad i had to walk back out #not going to do or say anything while im this upset. i need to be a lot calmer before i can even be in the same room as her #like okay. so originally it was just the two of them getting drinks and theyd rather it was just them bc i dont drink. thats cool #it wouldve been difficult for me to join them after work bc travel. and ik theyd done this before just the 2 of them and had fun #i can fully respect that its why i said no and stuck by that decision when she asked again #but to not mention she was taking the day off work and btw i just found out that BOTH of our other old flatmates joined in too #to not mention that they were travelling that entire distance and that it wasnt just drinks it was a whole day out together #thats just mean. why wouldnt you tell me that why did none of them say anything.#and the fact they did the exact same fucking thing last weekend too i didnt know about that at all #like i need to stop trying to justify it. im allowed to feel unwanted and excluded bc thats exactly what theyre doing.#im tired of feeling like other people dont want me around. i know i can be difficult and annoying sometimes. but im really not that bad #and we're meant to be friends!!!!!! like youre supposed to like your friends. and want to spend time with them. or at least i do #and yeah everyones annoying sometimes thats just part of being alive ur supposed to tolerate it if ur friends #im allowed to want to feel like im wanted. im allowed to want ppl to care abt me. that shouldnt be too much to ask for #but the overwhelming message im getting at the moment is they dont want me around. and when i am around them i feel like they dont listen #to me and that they dont really care how i feel unless it directly involves them or theyre responsible for it #i feel like they dont see me as a real person that exists. only a version they have in their heads and they base all their assumptions and #decisions off that version instead of directly communicating with me. and constantly avoid me under the guise of 'giving me space'#when im upset or having a difficult time and most need support from other people. i just feel really unseen #and ik that part of how i feel IS exacerbated by insecurity and depression. like they do care to some degree #but also a lot of it is evidenced in the way they act towards me. mainly my roommate bc shes the person i interact with most #and personally i find the most direct ways of showing u care abt someone are showing up for them. and making them feel seen #and maybe not everyone feels the same way. but thats how it works for me anyway #so to repeatedly exclude me and avoid acknowledging that ive been having a difficult time is the opposite of that to me #which is the point im trying to arrive at... sorry ik ive probably said similar things repeatedly the last few weeks but i feel like its #crystallising a bit like this is the core reason why im so sensitive and reactive atm and why i got so upset by it #idk. not tonight bc im still very emotionally raw but maybe tomorrow if im calmer i should explain that i was upset + why to her #i avoid doing that so often when im upset bc i dont think theres much point in having a conversation abt it unless u expect some kind of #resolution from it. or if you want an apology but idrc abt being apologised to the crucial thing is what theyre going to do different #and i love her but shes very resistant to changing her behaviour bc of other ppl being upset by it. and like i said before she has

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anxietykicksmyass · 2 years ago

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#im sorry but what are you meant to do when. without wanting to or meaning to even the slightest bit.#you betray the person you care most about in the whole world and send them into possibly some of the worst heartache they've ever known.#what the FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME????#WHY CANT I JST **NOT** FUCK EVERYTHING UP #I SHOULD NEVBER HAVE BEEN FUCKING BORN EVERYONE WOULD BE SO MUCH HAPPIER IF I HADNT #I KNOW HE WOULD BE. I KNOW MY PARENTS WOULD BE.#i try to think of any good i've done for anyone in my life and just.#maybe i helped him stay alive to this point i don't know. i guess i probably helped him feel happier moving forward in the past.#but i highly doubt that *i* would've been the difference between him being here or not so i guarantee he would be happier.#maybe two of my friends might never have gotten together if i hadn't been born.#is that all my purpose was.#...with my now-ex boyfriend. i felt so strongly the moment i first saw him on tumblr that he was going to be important in my life.#he showed up on my dash venting about his life and i followed and sent an ask to offer some comfort #fucking. Years later we were fucking ENGAGED and I RUINED EVERYTHING WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME

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the-unofficial-village-idiot · 3 months ago

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Obsessed with the fact that the A plot of this episode is Jimmy and Kim trying to pin false cocaine charges on Howard while the B plot is Nacho fighting for his life at a motel in Mexico

#Also i have thoughts about gus as per usual but its nothing particularly new #just the fact that he isnt keeping it together super well and if you know what youre looking for its super obvious #like the fact that he knocks a glass on the floor while meeting with tyrus and mike #hes known for being put together and planning everything he isnt the sort of man to make a mistake like that without Something Else going on #obviously its because lalo is still alive because gus doesnt have control of the situation (he really likes to have control of situations)#even though nacho has done everything thats asked of him gus still wants to kill manuel #hes desperate and angry and hes slipping #but like cmon killing your employees father is Not a good way to cope with your feelings pls go to therapy #do you think on some level he wants someone to understand his pain? like obviously he wants people to suffer as he has #but do you think he also wants the connection that comes from understanding #and like i think thats why he was so nice to mike and so horrible to nacho after both of them tried to kill hector #because mike already lost the person he loved most (his son) but nacho hasnt. nacho hasnt suffered enough to Understand #he needs to suffer or he cant stay in the business (even though he doesnt wanna stay in the business)#god imagine being so bitter and hurting so much that you cant stand to be around people who dont hurt the way you do #and imagine not knowing how to deal with the anger and pain in any way other than plotting revenge and hurting/threatening to hurt others #but just imagine having all of that festering inside you for 15-19 years (depending on which show) god #imagine not being able to let go or move on or let yourself be anything other than angry and bitter and in pain after So Long #but i digress #🧪💎

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gor3sigil · 5 months ago

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Before starting T, when I socially transitionned, I was surrounded by radical feminists who saw masculinity as gross and inherently evil, something to avoid, something to make fun of, something to destroy. The other transmascs in my friend group, sometimes, told me that they didn’t knew if they really were non-binary or if they just were scared shitless of saying “I am a man”. Because they saw this as a betrayal to their younger self who had been SAd and abused.

I saw many of my masc friends and trans men around me hate themselves, not outing themselves as men because it would imply so so much, it was like opening the Pandora Box. Even when we were just together, talking about our masculinity was always coated with bits like “I know we’re the privileged ones but…”, “I don’t want to sound like I have it bad but…”, “Women obviously have it worse, but last time…” and we were talking about terrible traumas we experienced while taking all the precautions in the world in the case the walls were a crowd of people in disguise waiting to get us if we didn’t downplay the violence we faced, or like crying and being upset and being traumatized and afraid and scared and to say it out loud would make us throw up the needles we were forced to swallow every second of every day living in our skin.

Most of us weren’t on T yet, some of us were catcalled every day and harassed in the streets or in abusive relationships nobody seemed to care to help them get out of because they were “strong enough” to do it by themselves.

I was using the gender swap face app and cried for ours when I saw my father looking back at me through the screen. The idea of transforming, of shedding into a body that would deprive me of love, tenderness, and safety, was absolutely terrifying. I knew I couldn’t stay in this body any longer because it wasn’t mine, but I also knew that if I was going to look like my dad, my brother, my abusers, it would be so much worse.

5 years later and I’m almost 2 years on T, and almost 2 months post top surgery.

I ditched my previous group of friends. I was bullied out of my local trans community. But let me tell you how free I am.

I was scared that T would break my singing voice: it made it sound more alive than ever.

I was scared that T would make me less attractive: it made me find myself hot for the first time in my life.

I was scared that T would make me gain weight: it did. But the weight I put on is not the weight I used to put on by binging and eating my body until I forgot that it even existed. It’s the weight of my body belonging to me, little by little. The wolf hunger for life.

I won’t tell you the same story I see everywhere, the one that goes “I started going to the gym 8 times a week, I put on some muscles, I started a diet and now I look like an action film actor”, in fact if you took pictures of me from 5 years ago vs now I’d just have more acne, I’d have longer hair and still look like I don’t know what to do with myself when I take selfies.

But the sparkle in my eyes, my smile, tell the whole story way better than this long ass stream of words could ever.

I want to say some things that I wish someone told me before starting medically transitionning.

It’s okay to take your time. It’s your body, it’s your journey, if you don’t feel comfortable taking full doses and want to go slow, the only voice you need to listen to is your own. Do what feels right.

If you feel overwhelmed, it’s okay to take a break, it’s okay to ask for support.

Trans people are holy. Everyone is. You didn’t lose your angel wings when you came out because you want to be masculine. You are not excluded from the joy of existence, from being proud of yourself, from being sad, from being scared, from being angry. The emotions and feelings you allowed yourself to feel while processing what you experienced when you grew up as a girl and was seen as a woman are still as valid as before. Nobody can take that from you. If someone tries to, don’t let them.

It’s perfectly normal to grieve some things you were and had before you started to transition, like your high soprano voice or even your chest. Hatching is painful. You can find comfort in things that don’t feel right, so making the decision to change can be incredibly scary and weird and you deserve to be heard and supported through this. Wanting top surgery doesn’t make the surgery less intense, less terrifying, less painful to recover from. When it becomes too much you have the right to take a break and take some deep breaths before going on.

You don’t have to have a radical, 180° change for your transition to be acceptable or valid or worthy of praise. Look at how far you’ve come already. It doesn’t have to show, you’re not made to be a spectacle, you’re human and it is your journey.

Oh, and last thing, you know when some people say “Oh this trans person has to grow out of the cringy phase where you think that you can write essays about being trans or transitionning or just their experience because it’s weird” ? If you ever hear this or see this online, remember all the people whose writing you read and, even if they were not professional writers, helped you more than any theorists did ? If you want to write, do it. It won’t be a waste. It can help people. Or it won’t, and even then, if it helped you, that’s enough.

Love every of my trans siblings, take care of yourselves. You deserve the world.

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