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sunjaesol · 4 years ago

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serendipitous encounters

juke | human au | fluff

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"I think I met my soulmate!" Luke shouted as he barrelled through the front door, announcing his presence.

Alex, cuddled up with Willie, groaned from his place on the couch. "Not this again. Luke, soulmates do not exist!"

"Well, I'm curious," Willie joked. "What happened?"

Bouncing through the small living space, he propped himself on the coffee table. His eager lips spouted everything he knew so far. "Her name's Julie and she's beautiful and she drinks lattes with caramel syrup."

The two boys blinked at each other, an amused smile growing on Willie as the scowl deepened for Alex. Yeesh. How did these two work?

The blonde tried keeping composure. "You think... you met... the person you want to spend the rest of your life with... in a coffee shop?"

Luke nodded. What was his point?

Luckily, Willie was on his side. "Did you talk to her?"

Sighing, he slumped to the floor. "No. But I'm telling you, it's her."

"This oddly feels like that Zooey Deschanel movie," Alex mused.

"No! She's not some fantasy! She-I can't explain it." Dreamily looking up at the ceiling, he added. "She's it. I'm calling it."

"I think you're horny," Alex deadpanned. Willie snickered.

He rolled his eyes and swatted their legs. "Very cool, you guys.”

The doorbell rang. Jumping up and saving himself from further embarrassment, Luke went to open it.

And it was her. Holy shit.

She smiled up at him, holding up his trusty songbook.

"Hello. You left this journal on your table at Starbucks? It has your address inside."

Gobsmacked, Luke stared at her. Holy fucking shit. Because of his whole daydream about her in Starbucks, he forgot his book and then she took it upon herself to find the rightful owner. That was fate, right? Take that, Alex!

Stammering vowels, he plucked it from her grasp and let out a breathy laugh.

"Y-Yeah, thanks, that's- yup."

An amused smile pulled on her lips, nodding. "No problem. Have a nice day!"

Her goodbye snapped him out of his stupor, calling out for her with a raised hand.

"Wait! I didn't catch your name!"

She turned around, the girl looking so foreign in the grimy hallway of the apartment complex.

"Why do you need my name?"

Cause he knew it already and didn't want to seem like a creep.

He shrugged. "I want to thank you."

"It's Julie," she said after a beat.

"Thank you, Julie." His grin must've been comically wide, heart beating a mile a minute as he was still convinced she was his freaking soulmate.

And then she left. He was certain he'd see her again. In a non creepy way, that was.

— — — — — —

It was wholly coincidental once more.

It was an early Sunday morning, Luke donned in sweatpants and a ratty cut-off and bedhead, as he meandered in the the shop of a tailor. Reggie owed him for this.

The bassist loved buying vintage clothing, but never stuff that quite fit him. Hence, a tailor. His name was Peter and basically Reg’s best friend at this point, based on the disappointed look the man gave Luke as he handed him the the slip. He could hear the question on his tongue - “Where’s Reggie?” - and was happy when he didn’t ask.

One, cause that was fucking rude.

Two, cause Reg was currently fighting for an exclusive comic book on the other side of Los Angeles with a hurdle of other nerds.

As Peter was sifting through the clothing racks, searching the order, the bell jingled behind him.

“Oh, Journal Boy?”

He stilled. Holy shit.

Whirling around, he came face to face with Julie. Just as beautiful as a week ago; maybe even more disarming in sandals and her curly hair up in a messy bun.

“Hi,” he breathed, unsure if he wasn’t just imagining her. It was a pretty hot day. It could easily be a sun stroke.

Her smile widened. She was probably amused by his goofy behaviour, but he couldn’t help it. What were the odds he’d see her again, in a different location, this early after the first encounter? What was the statistical probability of meeting his soulmate twice?

Before he could say anything else, Peter appeared from his rack and placed a leather jacket on the counter. Their attention diverted, Luke couldn’t help but feel heat travel up his back from having her so near.

— — — — — —

No, he didn't want to go to silent disco.

Alas, Willie and Alex were that quirky type of couple that always liked to do the weirdest shit, including the most impersonal activity ever: a silent fucking disco.

They told him to bring a date, as Reggie was bringing his Tinder match Kayla, but he wasn't feeling it. One, because he still couldn't believe he saw Julie again at the tailor-

("It's Luke, by the way," he added.

She smiled and tasted the name. "Luke. Haven't lost your journal again?"

His name sounded heavenly on her tongue. Keeping the blush at bay, he nodded with a grin. "Yup. Uh-"

And then the man came back with her stuff, and that was that.)

-two, cause he wanted to win from Alex. Soulmates did exist and he hadn't lost hope it was her.

So there he was, in some old factory turned disco, with hundreds of idiots wearing headphones as they danced in a frenzy to whatever song was playing. The whole point of art - connection - was lost. Luke wanted to die.

Until he saw Julie from across the space. Again. And she saw him.

They smiled and waved and suddenly, this whole thing wasn't so bad anymore.

— — — — — —

There were about a 130,000 people living in East LA. It had sprawling neighbourhoods and hundreds of communities and subways that connected it to the other parts of LA. She could’ve been anywhere.

And yet, he found her again.

Even though he was still sticking to his guns that Julie was someone special, he also had his own needs. Which was how he found himself slipping out of a redhead’s bed at seven in the morning, dazed from being in an unknown place, and pulling his clothes back on. He was pretty sure her name was Meredith, though that could also just be entirely false. It was a weird, albeit good night.

She mumbled in her pillow he could let himself out, waving half-heartedly and rolling on her side.

Softly closing the door behind him and cracking the knots in his neck, he didn’t notice how he bumped into a person.

Into Julie.

His eyes widened in shock, the two letting out a surprised yelp. Her hand clutched her chest and took a step back.

“Whoa!” he exclaimed. “Sorry!”

Her mouth opened and closed in confusion, about to say something, when her gaze trailed past him to the apartment he just left. She cleared up.

“Meredith? Good choice, she’s nice.”

Luke flushed red. What the fuck was he supposed to say to that?

Awkwardly scratching the back of his head, he drawled, “Uh, yeah... what’re you doing here?”

It was then that he noticed she had athletic wear on, duffle bag around her shoulder and keys dangling between her fingers. She confirmed his suspicions when she replied.

“I, uh, live here.” She laughed. “So... have a nice rest of the day?”

He wanted to say a lot. He wanted to ask if she wanted to grab breakfast, that Meredith wasn’t his girlfriend, that he had this crazy feeling they were always meant to meet - again and again and again ‘til they got it right.

But he couldn’t. He’d sound insane. Hell, it was insane. Instead, he wished her a nice day as well and scurried out the hallway. He didn’t look back, but he did wonder if he was imagining he felt her eyes on his back.

— — — — — —

Luke was typing on his laptop, the hustle and bustle of Starbucks at three in the afternoon and the methodical tap tap tap of the keys lulling him into a fast-paced trance. As always, he procrastinated some work for Pitchfork and had to get it done in two hours or else his boss would be yelling in his emails.

The bell jingled, Luke looking up automatically and almost rolling his eyes at the sight of her. This was getting insane.

Julie saw him too, changing her course from the register to his round table with a confused grimace twisting her features. As always, she looked pretty; the girl never looked bad and it was kind of messing with his head.

"Alright, fess up," she exclaimed, slipping into the seat opposite of him. "Are you stalking me?"

He snorted and leaned forward with a wry grin. "I can ask the same about you."

Her lips pursed, assessing him for a beat. With a sigh, she mellowed down. "I guess... we live in the same neighbourhood..."

"Still kinda crazy though," he mused. "East L.A. is big."

She nodded, pensive, and then looked over her shoulder to the menu board. "Is it okay if... I sit with you? I was going to grab a latte to go, but since you're here..."

But since you're here - rang in his ears, a careful smile blooming on his lips. Fuck, he really needed to work, but Julie wanted to sit with him, hang with him, be friends with him, outside of all the coincidental meetings they've had.

He wouldn't call it a date yet. He wanted to properly ask her when that day came.

"Sure," he mumbled, biting down the smile from becoming bigger.

His reply satisfied her, the tendrils dancing around her bright eyes as she matched his smile and stood up to make an order.

— — — — — —

Weeks passed with quick meetings here and there, Julie slowly bleeding into his life with laughs and smiles and whirlwind stories about her life. She was always on the go, always bright-eyed and easily matching his energy. He knew his enthusiasm could put people off, but she was never taken aback.

Wit against wit. Snark against snark. A dumb joke met with an amused roll of the eye. It worked. For a while, he even settled on the fact that hey, they might be platonic soulmates. Julie was a great friends and sometimes he felt his emotions fleeting. If they remained friends, he'd be perfectly content.

But then she closed gaps and barriers that had pointedly been kept before. After they got boba, her hand wrapped around his bicep, stretched on her tiptoes and pressed a quick kiss on his cheek. Before he could register it, she was back on her feet waving him goodbye. Luke had a dopey look on his face for the rest of the day.

She kept up cheek kisses, he let his warm embraces linger, their short hangouts turned into hours.

Then one night, she kissed his cheek after they got ramen and he shifted his face 'til their noses brushed. Julie held her breath. Tentatively, their fingers curled together - the simple touch sparking lightning up his arm.

"Is it weird that I've dreamed about you?" he asked, cautious, looking at their joined hands.

Luke wanted to tell her about his initial gut feeling; that he saw her and he knew. But it was too insane and he didn't want to scare her off. But he knew. He's always known.

"No..." Her mouth ghosted his. "I've dreamed about you too."

Luke closed the little space between them, lips slanting together and instantly deepening as one hand came up to cradle her cheek. His heart was bursting with euphoria. It felt as if his body sighed in relief, like it had finally come home. And then he did: he sighed and grinned and giggled when her arms wrapped around his neck.

Oh, man... he might already love her.

— — — — — —

Nothing definite happened afterwards. Though this is what he wanted, he felt weird confirming their relationship when he had always somehow ‘known.’ It had to come from her side, the more level-headed person in this situation.

So, it was casual, even though he was anything but casual.

It was pretty great though, walking past Meredith’s door towards Julie’s, having her yank him inside and kiss him like she’d been waiting for years. Kissing Julie was fucking heaven.

Besides that, they were the same Luke and Julie as before. They got boba or ramen or any new spot that opened up like weeds. She listened to new music with him, sharing earbuds, for his Pitchfork articles. He watched her sing and play the piano at music clubs, becoming more and more enamoured each time simply by the sound of her angelic voice. He built a shelf for her. She taught him how to make friendship bracelets. He met her best friend Flynn. She stayed over for dinner with the guys and got drunk on white wine, giggling along to the jokes.

They fit. But they weren’t exclusive. He had no clue if she was also seeing someone else. He presumed she didn’t, the two constantly revolving around each other, but he couldn’t be certain.

Alex was gobsmacked the first time he properly met her. Stunned that Luke had been right, that it worked out, that East Los Angeles was apparently nothing more than a small town. Luke reckoned he was just jealous he didn’t have to meet his person by getting maimed on the street - ha!

His finger trailed along her sleeping silhouette, gently and drowsy, observing in awe how a smile subconsciously quirked on her lips and shifted closer to his touch. He closed his eyes and pressed his nose in the back of her neck. There were worse ways to wake up.

— — — — — —

Eventually, Julie simply decided for him.

She was moving apartments and he was helping her pack, move furniture, throw shit out, the whole nine yards. For one person, she had a lot of stuff, her cabinets an endless supply of decor, souvenirs and memories.

They were whirling around each other like clock-work, never bumping and smoothly handing things over. Rap music was playing from the stereo, its sound drifting from her opened front door into the hallway.

One of her neighbours popped their head in.

"Oh!" The old man perked up, surprised. "You're moving, Julie?"

She looked up from rummaging through her CD collection to shoot him a tired smile. "Yeah," she puffed, "my lease is up, so..."

"Change of pace, I get it. That's wonderful," he nodded, gaze shifting to Luke walking out of the bathroom. "Hello!"

Luke smiled at him, waving with the box of oddly shaped soaps Julie had for some reason. "Hi."

"This is Luke, my boyfriend," Julie introduced, Luke freezing in his tracks all at once as the words utter from her lips. Boyfriend. Holy shit. It didn't faze her, smoothly babbling more than he wasn't processing.

Boyfriend. Which meant that she was his girlfriend. Which meant that now, he had to threaten the guys to not say a fucking word about how mentally deranged he was the first week after meeting her. This wasn’t planned. This was fully her. This was past fate and serendipity - this was by choice. It felt better than he thought.

The man bid goodbye and left. Luke dropped the box on the coffee table, sliding towards her with a shit-eating grin.

"Boyfriend," he drawled exaggeratedly.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes. ‘Cause you are. I know you well enough to know you can only do exclusive."

"Can you?"

"I said you were my boyfriend, didn't I?"

His smile widened, leaning in to kiss her. She met him halfway, loose curls tucked behind ears before her arms were slung around his waist. I love, I love you, I've loved you forever.

And then the truth tumbled out. Part of it, at least.

"I, uh," he gulped, looking at her through his lashes. "I saw you, that first day, and I thought you were the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

Her face turned tender, a pout jutting from her lip as she gauged his reaction, like she was waiting for him to make a joke. He wasn't.

"Really?" she whispered, voice so small it took him aback for a beat.

His thumbs gently caressed her cheeks, withholding himself from saying anything more. This was enough. It was the truth without the crazy - being with her was crazy enough. Luke settled on a simple nod.

Her head tilted, shy amusement lilting her tone. "Good thing I'm moving closer to your neighbourhood then."

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@blush-and-books @bluefirewrites @willexx @pink-flame @constantly-singing @unsaid-emily @ourstarscollided

#juke #jatp fanfiction #otp: i think we make each other better #queue

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violetwolfraven · 4 years ago

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Willie Headcanons

So I actually came up with this like a month ago and forgot to post it. Anyway enjoy my headcanons about our favorite sk8er boi. Be ready for feels.

Tw: death, car accident mention, emotional manipulation.

...

In my mind, Willie had a good relationship with his parents. They were supportive and everything. They both loved Willie very much.

And Willie has youngest child energy so I’m saying he has a sister who’s 2 years older and a brother who’s 5 years older. Their names are Delilah and Austin.

AND ALL THREE OF THEM ARE ADRENALINE JUNKIES.

Seriously imagine the worst possible combination of head empty only skateboarding and you’ve got Willie, Delilah, and Austin.

Austin started skating when he was 7 and got Delilah hooked on it a year later.

Their parents kinda didn’t like the idea of it but those two had already started teaching Willie basic stuff by the time he was 3.

But... the other two had other interests. Delilah was into art (painting) and Austin played piano (like, really well).

For Willie, skateboarding was his thing. And it always was.

He had fun with it when his big brother would put his hands on his and teach him to play a bit, or his sister would give him some paint and a spare canvas and they’d doodle together, but it wasn’t like skating.

As far as I’ve seen (which admittedly isn’t that far) it’s widely accepted that Willie has ADHD so I’m leaning into that here.

And Willie inherited his brain from his dad, who had a bad experience with meds and so wouldn’t let any of his kids go through it.

So Willie grew up unmedicated but probably better off for the time period. His dad taught him coping mechanisms. Him and Austin. Delilah didn’t inherit it but she was taught to empathize with her brothers and recognize when they needed her help with something.

She’s a badass who can and does beat up anybody who’s mean to her brothers for missing social cues.

But anyway while Austin had piano (and skating as a side thing) Willie got even more hooked on skateboarding than either of his siblings because his brain latched onto it from a young age and couldn’t let go.

We all have our outlets. The chaos in our brains has to go somewhere. For Willie it goes into skating.

When he’s young he and his siblings will skateboard to school and then after school they’ll skate all around Hollywood for hours.

They do their homework in random McDonalds and Denny’s and tbh become local cryptid customers. Like they’re just these 3 super friendly skater siblings who tip really well and visit every fast food place within a 20 mile radius of their house with varying frequency.

They also find e v e r y skatepark, empty pool, and vacant lot in that 20 mile radius that they can possibly find.

Their parents have to bail them out of jail for trespassing and the occasional vandalism every so often.

Sometimes one of them has stuff to do and it’s just two of them out skating but if two of them are busy the other one never goes out alone cause it’s dangerous. We’ll get back to that later.

So anyway when they’re 17, 14, and 12, Delilah comes out as a lesbian.

And the family is supportive of course because they’re a good family.

But her coming out gets Willie thinking. About how some of his friends have crushes on girls but he just... doesn’t see the appeal.

Like he has a couple friends who are girls and they’re great and he likes hanging out with them at recess but he doesn’t get the hype. They’re just more friends. So he doesn’t really see what his big sister is so interested in either.

In my mind Willie actually is from around the same time as the boys (dying in like 1999) so one day while nobody else in their house is home he and Delilah are watching Star Wars: Return of the Jedi and Willie’s again wondering why people think Leia is so hot cause she’s cool and all but Luke is right there and he looks really good and—

Willie: I think I might be gay.

Delilah: Yeah I know.

They talk about it and Willie does decide to tell the rest of the family but he’s a bit wary about anyone else because he saw how some of Delilah’s friends turned on her after she came out. He doesn’t want that to happen to him.

He does end up telling a few of his friends but he doesn’t quite not care what people think of him the way his big sister does.

Austin is the only straight one and he’s like. So awkward about it but in a sweet way.

Austin: So, Britney Spears is hot, right?

Delilah: Stop.

And

Austin: So I saw you hanging around Chris the other day are you two..?

Willie: ...no...???

Austin: Cool, yeah I didn’t think so. Just had to make sure. Not that I’m doubting your ability to get boys but I’d have to shovel talk him if you were.

Willie: If I ever do get a boyfriend, please don’t.

He tries. He’s a himbo if that wasn’t clear. Where did you think Willie learned it?

So anyway fast forward a couple years and they’re 22, 19, and 17. Austin and Delilah are both in college and Willie’s the last one left at home and things between their parents start getting... tense.

Like they don’t fight exactly but they’ve fallen out of love and things are awkward.

Even Austin and Delilah can tell and they’re only home on breaks and some weekends but for Willie it’s right there and he’s watching it happen. He has no option but to see.

They used to have a rule that they don’t go skating alone because it’s dangerous but Willie just can’t make himself stay home so he goes out skateboarding.

At first it’s never too far from home or anywhere where there’s too much traffic but as things get increasingly awkward at home he goes out farther and farther, chasing the adrenaline high he used to get from going anywhere and everywhere every day after school with his siblings.

Then his parents officially tell him they’re getting divorced and

And it’s not like he couldn’t see it coming, but... it still hurts.

And neither of his siblings are coming home any time soon so

So he goes out skating on his own, way too far from home. He keeps going until he doesn’t even know where he is anymore.

He isn’t really paying attention the way he should but that’s not why he runs into trouble.

The driver of that red pickup is drunk and he rounds the corner out of nowhere.

If Delilah or Austin had been there they could have yelled for Willie to jump out of the way, or maybe up on the hood so the impact wouldn’t be as bad, but he’s alone.

So he gets hit, and the car was going fast enough that he’s dead before he even hits the pavement.

After that there’s a lot of confusion but once Willie figures out he’s a ghost... it’s too painful to think about going home, so he just... doesn’t.

He doesn’t want to see his family mourning him, so he just distracts himself, skating everywhere he couldn’t before without getting busted.

Plus some old routes where he used to go with Delilah and Austin, just for something that’s familiar but not too familiar.

He’s on one of those more familiar routes a few weeks after his death when he’s skating down Sunset Boulevard one night, singing along to Toxic by Britney Spears blasting from a nearby club and a man dressed in a purple suit comments on how he’s got a good voice.

Honestly Willie is just so relieved to have someone to talk to that he forgets about stranger danger completely.

Plus he recognizes an Elder Gay in Caleb and assumes he can trust him because the Elder Gays he met at pride that one time he went with Delilah were so nice and understanding of how reassuring it was to see queer people of older generations who got a happy ending.

Caleb barely even has to try. He just lets this 17-year-old obviously-queer ghost rant at him for a few minutes, asks a few questions and finds out that he also can play piano, and convinces him to come to the Hollywood Ghost Club the next night.

From there it’s not like Willie has anyone to save him so of course he has to join the club.

At first he’s completely alone because the other performers scare him almost as much as Caleb does.

Then slowly, he sees how they give him space because they know he’s scared of them. How they turn a blind eye when he leaves the club without permission. How they don’t critique his mistakes with the same sarcasm they show each other.

Willie starts to realize that the other performers are doing their best to look out for him, and he starts being less afraid.

They’re all too concerned with their own survival to really protect him but if they draw some attention to themselves occasionally so Caleb doesn’t notice Willie being slow to pick up some tricky choreography, that’s not too risky.

The others are all like 21 at the youngest and they really don’t appreciate Caleb tricking a literal child into working for him no matter how talented said child is. (Cause Willie is good at singing and piano. It’s just not his passion.)

The twins are 22 but they died in 1925 and before that they were performing to support a younger brother who they never got to say goodbye to so maybe they see Willie as a kind of second chance.

Lyssa (what I decided to name drummer woman because I don’t know her real name if she has one) is 25 and she died in 1984. She had a daughter who’d be about Willie’s age now and... who knows? Maybe they were friends.

Fuego is 24 and from 1951 and he had a childhood best friend who enlisted and died in WWII that he thought he might get to see when he died but that boy moved on and so... well, Willie’s just a little younger than his friend was the last time he saw him.

In short Willie becomes everyone’s baby brother and they do what they can to look out for him even if they’re just as scared of Caleb as he is.

And the better adjusted Willie gets to (after)life at the HGC and the better they get to know him, the guiltier the others start to feel about him being stuck there.

Eventually a combination of guilt and worked-up courage leads Fuego tells him about the whole unfinished business thing, in hopes maybe he can figure his out and get away from Caleb.

It doesn’t take Willie long to think of his family, how hopeless he felt about the divorce, how worried he was it would change everything and then how scared he was to see his family in pain because of his death.

He realizes his unfinished business is probably seeing them. Letting himself say goodbye.

He almost gets away with it.

Caleb catches up and stops him in the driveway of his house and poofs them back to the HGC.

He convinces (gaslights) Willie into believing that saying goodbye was never his unfinished business and even if it was it’s not like it would matter because Caleb wouldn’t let him do it.

The next morning he ships the HGC out to Tokyo. They stay on the move for a long time and when they are in town, Willie is basically locked in his room.

The next time he’s allowed out in Hollywood, his parents don’t live in their old house anymore and he has no way to find them.

As a coping mechanism, he just starts making the best of a bad situation. Becoming better friends with the other ghosts. Helping soften the blow whenever someone new comes along.

None of that means he stops checking the faces of passing skaters or keeping eyes on restaurants his folks used to like, but it does mean he more or less gives up hope.

That’s what he’s doing when he bumps into Alex.

Look, Willie loves his friends at the HGC. He really does. But there’s a big difference between 17 and 20-something. Like the others will drink alcohol some nights and technically Willie was born over 21 years ago but he still feels weird enough about it that he doesn’t drink.

He hasn’t talked to anyone his age in a long time so Alex is a breath of fresh air.

Also he’s like. Really cute. And sweet. And funny. And shit, Willie’s fallen for him before he even has time to think about it.

He keeps thinking about how Alex doesn’t seem like he’d be physically capable of hurting someone on purpose so Austin would approve and every once in a while there’s that sarcasm that pops out which means he’d get along great with Delilah.

In general Alex is the kind of guy he would’ve loved to take home to meet the family. Them not included, he’s kind of... everything Willie’s missed about Hollywood in the form of one person.

Then they hang out more and Alex is still everything he’s missed but he’s also so much more than that and...

It almost feels like a part of Alex is still alive. And for the first time in years, a part of Willie feels alive, too.

They’ve known each other for like a week tops and Willie is already in love.

Not that he’s admitting that to anyone, because he’s learned the hard way that anyone you care about can be used against you.

Still... when Alex asks for help getting revenge on Bobby, he can’t bring himself to say no because he needs to keep Alex in his (after)life and the only way he knows how to do that (or to make people be nice to him in general) is to be as useful as possible.

That turns out to be a big mistake, because Caleb sees right through him in an instant, targets Alex to confirm it, then immediately starts the process to trick the boys into committing to eternity at the HGC.

Willie feels like an idiot for thinking he could actually get away with it. Doing something good for someone he cares about.

He hadn’t thought Caleb would be interested in them because he’d never actually heard them play. The assumption was that he’d make them do some small favor and then let them talk to their bandmate for 5 minutes. A clean deal where they never have to commit to anything. Willie forgot to take magic into account.

He almost manages to convince himself it was all a bad dream, but when he seeks out Alex and his friends to check on them, he can almost feel the jolts himself, and seeing Alexthem in pain feels terrible.

Willie knows that theoretically they could figure out their unfinished business and cross over, but that all depends on finding it and doing it fast enough and if they failed...

People you care about can be used against you. And Willie does not want to be used against Alex again. He doesn’t want to see Alex used against him.

So he keeps his distance, in hopes Caleb will think he lost interest. He’s pretty sure once the boys find out about the stamp they’ll hate him, anyway.

And plus, as he’s been taught by his friends at the HGC, you have to look out for yourself because no one else will do it for you. Maybe you hurt somebody by not standing up for them, but you can apologize later and hope they forgive you. You can’t apologize if you’re gone, and it’s not like it would make a difference anyway because Caleb is too powerful for anyone to beat.

The thought of how spending eternity with Alex might not be so bad even if it has to be at the HGC does come up, but ironically that’s what makes Willie decide to screw his courage to the sticking point and tell them.

Because he has seen what decades at the club has done to his friends.

They’re all great performers, and they perform happiness well even to each other, but Willie knows them enough to know how tired they all are. How they have been doing the same thing over and over again for decades and they are sick of it.

They’re young, talented tragedies lost to drug overdoses, or AIDS, or accidents, or suicide, and they should’ve gotten to rest after everything they went through in their lives. Instead, they got a curse disguised as a blessing. They got to stay on a stage, got to keep performing and soaking up applause, never got to stop.

Willie has been there a shorter time than most of them and he feels it. The exhaustion, because ghosts are supposed to haunt for a few years then figure out their unfinished business and move on. They’re not meant to be trapped for decades, used as party tricks.

A part of Alex still feels alive and being trapped in the Hollywood Ghost Club for years on end would kill that part of him.

Willie can’t let that happen, so as hard as it is...

He tells the boys what’s wrong with them. And by that hurt, betrayed look in Alex’s eyes, he’s honestly expecting him to never forgive him.

But then Alex does. And that almost hurts worse because whether he figures out his unfinished business or not, Willie doubts he’s ever going to see him again.

He honest to God almost cries when Alex hugs him because... shit, he hasn’t gotten a hug since he was breathing.

He goes back to the HGC and tries to go about his day, and keeps replaying how good it felt to have Alex’s arms around him, hoping that memory will get him through the next few decades on his own.

The ghosts at the club do actually gossip a fair amount and by this point all of them know about the 3 dead members of Sunset Curve.

So when Willie admits to Helen (what I’m calling one of the twins) that Alex hugging him was the first time he’d gotten a hug since he died, she hugs him tight for a good 20 seconds, telling him she’s sorry he has to lose him, and if Willie closes his eyes he can almost pretend it’s Delilah.

The next thing he knows, he’s locked in a closet.

Caleb comes to talk to (intimidate) him a few hours later, saying he knows what Willie did.

He’s magically locked in his room alone for a couple weeks after that and it’s essentially psychological torture.

Helen, Anna (what I decided to call the other twin), Dante, Fuego, Lyssa, and everyone else tell him not to test Caleb for the next couple years, but Willie has a heart full of love and a head full of fuck it, so he doesn’t listen.

He gives it exactly one day of being/acting scared and obedient, then goes out without permission again, fully intending to scream in a museum alone to let out all his feelings.

Remember: Willie didn’t see the Orpheum performance. He doesn’t know the boys didn’t cross over but by Caleb’s mood he has a feeling the outcome of that scenario was not in the magician’s favor.

He gets there and it’s literally this comic by the very talented @williessweatycherrysocks

He can’t stay long but he and Alex scream in each other’s faces, talk a bit, maybe sing a duet.

After that, they sneak to see each other when they can but don’t get to see much of each other for months.

It’s hard on both of them but they don’t give up on their relationship.

Through long and complicated events which I will outline later, Willie eventually gets free of the HGC, hugs his friends goodbye already making plans to take down Caleb for good to free them, too, and promptly declines an offer to stay in the Molinas’ garage.

As much as he wants to be close to Alex he’s done being confined to one place.

He still comes and visits like every day tho.

He knows a lot more about ghosting than the other boys do so he and Carlos get along amazingly like:

Carlos: So do you know who Jack the Ripper was?

Willie: No? How old do you think I am?

Carlos: I dunno but I thought it might be Caleb cause that would explain how he never got caught.

Willie, taking notes in his Things To Potentially Use To Take Caleb Down notebook: You’re a tiny genius.

No one was expecting it but everyone is in awe of how well he and Carrie get along. Between the two of them they know so much celebrity gossip. (and it’s definitely a good thing he’s on good terms with her cause she and Alex are close)

On the angsty side, Willie also bonds with Nick over how they both know how it feels to be manipulated and used by Caleb.

Also it takes a long time before he’s able to trust him, but he does get adopted into the Molina clan by Ray.

Ray reminds him a lot of his own dad, once Willie’s able to see that he’s nothing like Caleb.

Ray’s honestly just 100% happy to Dad™️ anyone who needs a dad so it works out great once Julie and the boys figure out how to make Willie visible.

But anyway back to important stuff.

Now that they don’t have to hide for any reason, Willie and Alex can both breathe a little easier. Or... they both feel better. Ghosts don’t really breathe.

Willie can finally let himself get used to feeling alive again.

The whole ghost gang goes (invisibly) to the Los Feliz Homecoming dance and maybe it should make him feel a little on-edge with the kind of club-like environment but...

He’s got Alex there, and they’re dancing to some corny pop love song from the 90s that Flynn probably put on because she knew the ghost boys would be there so how could he feel anything but safe?

For a minute it almost feels like actually being alive and there’s yellow and pink and blue lights coming from everywhere reflecting in Alex’s eyes and Willie is suddenly very aware of the fact that though they’ve been together for a long time now, they haven’t had their first kiss.

Then the Cha Cha Slide starts up and the atmosphere switches and Willie totally forgets about the whole romantic tension thing because it’s the Cha Cha Slide everybody has to dance along.

Dirty Candi performs towards the end of the night and the ghost boys cheer the loudest despite how Julie’s laughing at them. They don’t care that Carrie can’t even hear them, they’re being supportive!!!

Everybody screams even louder when Flynn runs up on stage and kisses Carrie and Willie feels a big burst of affection at how Alex shouts ABOUT TIME!

Then he gives Willie a quick hug and leaves cause he and the rest of Julie and the Phantoms have to go get set up for their performance.

Since Alex was able to flip Carrie’s hair in All Eyes on Me I’m saying that ghosts can touch lifers if they focus and believe it will happen hard enough, so the ghost gang has developed a system for alerting their non-Julie lifer friends to their presence.

So while they’re waiting in the crowd Willie taps Carrie on the shoulder like: • - - one short tap, two long taps, a Morse code ‘W’ and Carrie lets Flynn know that he’s there.

(Nick can see him too but Nick’s off somewhere with his date {one of his lacrosse teammates you know the one})

Anyway so Julie goes out and starts up the song and then the rest of the band poofs in but

Something’s unusual.

Cause it’s not Luke on the lower main vocals.

It’s

Alex

Singing while he plays the drums and fucking killing it.

Willie totally bluescreens for a second but then when he actually focuses on the lyrics...

It’s a new song about beating the odds and being with the person you love in spite of the challenges that come with them.

And yeah there are Julie elements in there, (and she’s definitely making heart eyes at Luke even as he sticks to backup vocals) because of course there are since she has to start the song up, but

But Willie might not have any formal music training, but he was at the HGC long enough to know his stuff about music and recognize different artists’ styles.

And there’s a time signature switch on the bridge that’s a little off from how Luke would write it. There’s a swing to the melody that’s a bit more ‘pop’ than the band’s usual songs. Julie’s harmony doesn’t go as high as it normally would, as if whoever wrote the song didn’t have as high of an upper range to work with as she does.

The song is so unmistakably Alex that no one else could have written it.

Flynn and Carrie are quietly making smug comments on what they bet his face looks like right now but Willie’s not listening to them.

On the last chorus, Alex fucking winks at him right before poofing out.

Willie has whiplash like how did they go from him having to psych Alex up to break into a museum even when there’s zero chance of getting caught to Alex openly flirting with him from the stage?

He poofs backstage right as the boys get back from dropping their instruments back in the Molinas’ garage and he honestly doesn’t know what he even wants to say to convey how amazing that performance was.

Then Alex just smiles at him.

Alex: So I take it you liked the song?

Willie: Can I kiss you right now?

They both kinda freeze after he blurts that out and Reggie goes wow really quietly before he and Luke poof out to give them some privacy and whoops now they’re both flustered but

Alex: Wow, didn’t expect that. That’s... um, wow. But yeah.

They kiss and it’s a total romcom moment.

And the story’s far from over, but to Willie this definitely feels like happily ever after.

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13th-hour-reverie · 3 years ago

Text

So I wrote a DP fan-fiction when I was like 12

It will never see the light of day again-

BUT.

I had some weirdly fun ideas, as a kid?? And I’m not even sure if they’d translate to the teen/kid-audiences of today. (But I know there will be people here to appreciate it.)

I think it was all the 90s buzz around how, “TV and your computer screen will radioactively melt your brain,” or whatever. There was this massive campaign for scare-ads that went out, to keep parents from letting their teens use electronics.

The entire plot revolved around Vlad coming back to Earth (I said I had good ideas, not that I was clever) and wanting to take over the world through the use of...an army of mildly brainwashed teen-halfas that were bribed to do his bidding. He had to hide his identity, and lived underground or in the ‘net in some way. (Better than being left to wander the solar system?)

At the time, I think I knew that kids could be given the power to do whatever they wanted, and if threatened with losing that freedom, would work pretty hard to keep it. Not to mention...how much havoc a couple super-powered teens could actually wreak.

So...if you wanted to “offer” kids world-wide a fleeting taste of power, and then use that to bribe them into doing your bidding (in exchange for being given the power again)...how do you deliver “temporary” ghost-powers to the post-pubescent masses?

Simple.

You just use some weird bullshit ghost-virus to make their chunky 1990s/2000s home computer monitors to deliver a blast of ghost-radiation right into their faces! (Ecto-Acne style, but more refined. With powers reminiscent of what we saw in the hospital episode, when everyone caught the “ghost-flu?”)

Being true to the vibe of the late 90s and early 2000s, I think I had it where this ghost would crawl smaller Geocities circles and forums for “obvious” teenagers to spam. They’d send pop-ups directly to the kid’s computer, directly mirroring all the stuff we were told at the time (Don’t put out your personal information, ever! Never click pop-ups! Never download anything!) until a kid got curious enough to click on it.

The result was a beam of green ectoplasm-laced energy to the face, and a kid waking up with a new, bleached ‘do. I barely knew how radiation worked, but in my head, “ghost essence” or whatever had a pretty short half-life. (geddit??) The kid would be allowed to roam around freely for the first few days, their powers would begin to burn out, and then they’d be back to a normal kid after about a week or two.

To get their powers back, they had to start completing weird, but initially-benign looking tasks. Things like...show up at [x] time at [y] place, or deliver a benign package to a specific person. Eventually, once they proved “trustworthy,” they would get stronger and longer blasts of this ‘virus’ to keep their powers for steadily longer periods of time, until they were finally asked to do things that involved breaking the law.

Having this network of halfas was supposed to allow Vlad to make himself known to the public again. Nobody is going to trust him, but if a tenth of the teenagers in every tech-laden city in the world were under his direct control...he may have a shot at taking over the world. And in theory, these kids could be living anywhere. (A revolutionary concept, at the time.)

Needless to say, the main character was a self-insert. But after realizing the families of these ‘influenced’ teens would need to be kept busy, I started having them all collecting in one place under the guise of a mysterious “Summer Camp.” This particular family gets stuck in a storm, lo and behold, they end up in Amity Park, Guess Who, yadda yadda yadda.

The rest was meeting the canon cast, and a handful of kids trickling through town eventually realizing ‘The Kid Who Saved The World’ lived in town. And that, in order to actually stop what was going on, he was gonna need some equally super-powered help, that wasn’t dependent on following directions received via spam e-mail. Because I always thought it was really stupid, how small and under-powered his team felt.

Mind you, if anybody is SOMEHOW magically one of the few who found/read the original one I posted to FF.net way the fuck back when, you’ll probably notice I never actually got that far in what I’d written/posted. But it was the first story I ever re-wrote, did a story skeleton for, and actually tried to “plan out” with “proper writing techniques.” So little ever actually got written/posted.

I think the “moral” in my kid-brain was actually that, if given the choice, someone given PERMANENT ghost-powers would probably not be choosing to help some evil dude take over the world. But that so many people want to feel strong, or special, or do be able to do things that are ‘amazing’...power corrupts. Especially when your powers are dependent on a megalomaniac fruit loop. (Cuz like, c’mon. We all know he’d try again.)

Someone else has probably done this, and probably did it better, but I’ve so missed the DP canon. It didn’t even hit me how outdated some of these concepts were, until I went back through my (15+ year-) old writing. Yikes. If anybody wants to use it/write it better, have at. I’d be really curious to see how this would translate to the current generation of people Danny’s age, or how it would look re-written for 2020 post-Phantom-Planet canon. (Or however else you’d re-write it!)

My early contribution to Ectober, I guess. May participate with some art this year, if I’m able.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #technically doesn't break canon in any way #but BOY can you tell I grew up in the 90s

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darker-soft-starker · 4 years ago

Photo

Starker High School AU Pt. 7 (1...6)

tw: general Howard Stark warning

----

So, here’s the thing.

Peter meant to ask May about the letter the night he got it back from Tony, He really did. But then everyone was in such a good mood, he couldn’t bring himself to shatter that to satisfy his own curiosity.

So then he meant to ask the next day.

And he tries, he really does.

But the letter feels as heavy as an anvil in his desk drawer and Peter is too nervous to ask about it. Something always comes up or he gets too scared to shatter the image of the good, obedient nephew he is, one who doesn’t go rifling through mail not addressed to him, prying into personal business.

So he flusters and stumbles pretty badly for the first couple attempts. He changes topic quickly, pretending like he was going to ask about something else, asking himself where exactly his business ends and where his curiosity begins.

Once during a gymnastics comp he stopped mid routine to check on a rival who had fallen from the rings and injured themselves. His coach asked when he was going to stop being a goddamn martyr.

He shakes the Magic 8-Ball on Monday morning and asks the universe if it’s an appropriate time to approach May.

Reply hazy, try again.

Well, that’s not what his flagging courage had hoped for. He shakes it again.

Ask again later.

One more time, harder.

Better not tell you now.

“What the hell,” he whispers, placing it haphazardly upon where he took it. “That’s bullshit.”

“What’s with the potty mouth,” May asks suddenly from behind him. He turns as she’s affixing some dangling earrings to her ears. “What’s wrong, kiddo?”

“Nothing,” he sighs. “Just - do you have a minute?”

She checks her watch. “I have about forty seconds. Is something wrong - are you okay?”

“No - I mean yes, I’m okay. Are...are you?”

“Top of the world, bubby,” she scoops her keys from the bowl, approaching him with a curious expression. “Why do you ask?”

There’s no easy way to ask without blatantly admitting to going through her things, and the last thing he wants her to think is that she can’t trust him.

“I just mean. If you weren’t. If there was something wrong, you would tell me, right?”

“Of course,” her face falls. “You’re acting strange, Pete.”

“I just worry, that’s all.”

You’re all I have left, is what loops over and over in his mind, but doesn’t say. She seems to hear it anyway, rushing forward and kissing his forehead, her perfume filling his nose.

“Everything is fine, bubs. The second it isn’t, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Okay.”

“I gotta go, but stop worrying okay? That’s my job. You have a good day.”

She hurries to scoop up her handbag and closes the door before he’s broken out of his thoughts long enough to reply. He sighs and shakes the stupid ball again before he leaves as well.

Cannot predict now.

Of course.

Just for once he’d like fate to be firmly on his side.

---

Something smells weird.

It’s sharp, chemical and not entirely unpleasant. Noticeable, however, sharp enough to cut through the usual musty smell of the library. It’s like apple cider, but overpowers the usual library smell of old books and dust and pencil shavings, a scent Peter has long associated with study, solitude, and the easing of his anxious heart from a gallop to a steady stride.

It’s not a bad smell, just misplaced.

And Tony’s been acting strange all study period. Like, weirder than normal - and his resting state of normal is already ineffably frenetic and bewildering, so this was an entirely different carton of eggs.

Peter doesn’t exactly want to bring it up, they’re kind of on a tenuously peaceful truce, a silent lay down of arms, so to speak.

Well, as peaceful as a truce can be while they call each other all sorts of names and rib each other over literally any sign of weakness, but still. They have some sort of an understanding now, and it’s all relatively innocent, good natured banter.

Mostly.

Peter for sure could have done without being called fuck-face-mcgee upon entering the library, but he’s willing to let it pass. He was late, after all.

“Anyway,” Peter says, sitting across the table from Tony, “so I think if we removed the monthly gym membership, we’d have an extra sixty per month that could go towards other stuff.”

“Like what?” Tony’s face pinches.

“I don’t know, like a college fund?”

“Ridiculous idea. I need that membership,” Tony rebukes, shrugging his leather jacket off, hooking it over the back of the chair. “When else am I supposed to get a reprieve from you and the cabbage patch?”

“When do I get a reprieve? I’m the money-maker. When do I get my break from work and childcare?”

“At work. What are you, like an art teacher or something? Your whole day is like a rich, white woman's vacation. Parents don’t get a lunch break.”

“Right. I’m sure watching Dora and burping an infant is as hard as teaching a class of thirty.”

“Wow. So dismissive. I mean, if you were a good spouse, you would give your withered and weary husband a break from screaming babies and shitty diapers.”

“Mhmm. That would mean I’d have to do something nice for you, and that doesn’t sound like me.”

Tony shakes his head. “We’re getting a divorce as soon as Molly is old enough to pick me as the superior parent,” he points to Peter’s papers. “Put that in the notes.”

Peter closes his eyes and sighs, willing himself not to lean over the table and smack the other boy.

“You are not the superior parent. You’re the deadbeat that forgets to pick her up from school and day drinks.”

“And yet, she loves me the most. You’re just the breadwinner who comes home grumpy every evening. I’m the cool dad.”

“Fine, keep your druglord baby. I never wanted kids anyway.”

“Fine. I’m keeping the car.”

“I’m keeping the apartment.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

They snicker quietly in a rare moment of camaraderie before a lightbulb goes off in Peter's head.

“What if we used the membership, but cut costs elsewhere, like, cutting our own hair and stuff. We could save for a yearly holiday, go to the beach or something.”

“Florida! Disney, roadtrip, yes,” Tony clicks his fingers towards Peter, smiling wide. “Look at you getting all savvy. Call the judge, the marriage is back on.”

“You can’t go to Disney for a few hundred dollars, dumbass, that’s barely the price of admission,” Peter scribbles on his pad, making note of their ideas. “You ever been?”

“Nope.”

“Really?”

“Not even once.”

“That’s surprising. Isn’t that where all rich white people take their baby sociopaths to beat up their first mascot?”

“One, I was never a baby, I emerged fully grown, and two, could you imagine Howard Stark within a mile of the happiest place on earth? He’d have a fucking stroke,” his face changes like he’s had an epiphany. “Not a bad idea, actually.”

Peter doesn’t mention that he doesn’t personally know Howard Stark but is willing to take Tony’s assessment at face value. That being said, he can’t imagine Tony, now, voluntarily heading to Disney without coercion or the promise of copious quantities of alcohol. He’d probably smoke and cuss and scare away small children.

He mind lingers on that particular characterisation, and for a moment tries to picture what Tony looked like as a kid, if he was a chubby, toothless little brat, can’t help then imagining him with Mickey Mouse ears, gleefully running through his gigantic home, harried caretakers running after him.

He must have been the worst.

“I’ve never been further than Washington,” Peter offers, “but that was for AcDec, so it wasn’t like we got to see much.”

“You did Academic Decathlon?”

“Yep.”

“Ew, why would you do that to yourself.”

“I still do it. It looks good on college applications and it’s fun,” he shrugs. “I like it. I’m good at it.”

Tony’s hands cover his mouth, but it doesn’t stifle the rising apple of his cheeks or the mirth in his voice.

“I’m feeling so much second-hand embarrassment for you right now.”

“Shut up,” Peter huffs, kicking him under the table, satisfied when the other boy winces. He fails to smother his own wince when he gets a kick in return, right in the kneecap. “Nothing wrong with being an intellectual.”

“You’re a fucking nerd, four-eyes.”

“What about you?” Peter rolls his eyes, keen to change the subject. “Been outside New York?”

Tony shrugs, tapping his pen on the pad, looking anywhere but at him. “When I was younger I’d sometimes go on my dad's business trips to Europe or Japan or whatever. And we have a house in Malibu.”

“That sounds awesome.”

Tony snorts. He shuffles on his seat, sliding their notes over and making further amendments in quick strokes, the cheap pen spurting bright red ink over the paper like arterial spray.

“Oh yeah, it was a real blast.”

Spoiled brat.

“Are you going anywhere for Thanksgiving?”

“With my family?” Tony looks up. “No, I’d rather stick my head up a turkey’s ass. You?”

Without warning, Peter’s hand flies to cover his mouth, unable to but snort at the imagery, He’s not sure if Tony just doesn’t get along with his family or if he’s still stuck in that churlish, ‘too cool to be around my parents’ stage of adolescence. It’s one the idiosyncrasies that would have annoyed Peter before, his ungratefulness of having a family that’s still alive would be just another thing for Peter to hate him for.

Now, he thinks, he’s beginning to parse out when Tony’s being sincere and when he’s hyperbolic, finally recognising the latter as a mechanism to throw someone off a topic that makes Tony uncomfortable. He sees it - the warning lights and stop signs in barbed coding, wrapped up in dry wit and sarcasm.

Peter is like that sometimes, too.

And what the hell would Peter know about having a normal family.

“Yeah, actually, for once,” he says softly. “My aunt - not May - and uncle have a holiday home up north, so we’re staying with them over the long weekend.”

“S’cool. May’s family?”

Peter shakes his head. “Sort of - they’re not actually related, but May and Margaret have been best friends since college, so.”

“Is Margaret a babe, too?”

Peter throw a chewed-up pencil at him that he catches easily.

“Don’t be gross.”

“I’m not,” he throws the pencil back, overshooting and hitting the shelves behind them. “What are we talking, on a scale of haggard to hottie.”

“I don’t know, man. You seem to have questionable taste in the people you are attracted to.”

Tony grins crookedly, eyes shining with something Peter can’t decipher. “Ain't that the truth.”

“What’s the supposed to --” he stops himself, suddenly recognising what the strange scent was that he’d been picking up. “Wait - dude, are you wearing cologne?”

Tony’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he responds. “No,” he denies, just as the bell rings. “Oh, look at that, time to get to class.”

Saved by the bell.

“So, this is it,” Tony nods, shutting the lid of his laptop as the bell signals the end of their free period. “We’re done. The assignment. That’s the last of it, right?”

Dazedly, he watches Tony stuffing his laptop and notes into his backpack, brow creasing as his mind catches up.

“Uh, yeah. I guess.”

“Send me your notes tonight, I’ll stitch them together with mine and send them back.”

“Okay,” he sluggishly collects his own notes, picking up the bag by his feet. “That’s - that’s good.”

“Well, Parker,” Tony slings his backpack on his shoulder, shuffling backwards, “we didn’t kill each other. I mean, not for a lack of wanting on my behalf.”

‘’Yeah, from Wednesday we’re free. We can go back to normal.”

“Yeah,” Tony’s grin fades. They stare at each other for a long moment that could have been seconds or hours, he doesn’t know, until the second bell rings.

“Hey, um --”

“I’ll send you the notes later,” Tony interrupts, sotto voce. “I gotta get to class. See you around.”

Something in his stomach deflates, sadly and slowly, like a balloon with a pinprick, emptying itself until it’s an uncomfortably hard to digest crumpled mass at the base of his stomach. He pastes on a smile and looks out the window, hoping the feeling doesn’t show in his eyes.

That’s when he notices the leather jacket Tony has left behind, still slung over the back of the chair.

“You left your…” he trails off, turning back, but Tony is already long gone, probably already halfway to his next class. Like a bat out of hell, Peter thinks wryly, picking up the jacket, the leather smooth like butter under his touch, still warm around the collar where Tony’s had been leaning against it.

No good leaving it here to get stolen or be tossed into lost property. He decides to take it with him, folding it gently over his arm. He’ll give it back when he sees him again, maybe after school.

“Nice jacket, Parker,” Flash says approvingly when Peter bumps into him out in the hall.

At first he thinks he’s referring to Peter’s ratty hoodie, and it confounds him for a moment because it’s decidedly not nice, but then he realizes he’s referring to the leather in his arms.

“It’s not mine,” he replies a little too late, because Flash is already down the hall, out of earshot.

Peter sighs. It’s beginning to become a depressing theme.

---

The weird feeling in his chest doesn’t subside all afternoon, and into the evening Peter is starting to think maybe he just has indigestion, like acid reflux or something. Must be the chilli surprise from lunch. Maybe he’d missed his meds.

He sends his portion of the final notes to Tony’s email, turns off his computer and switches on Colbert.

---

It’s not until hours later, well after midnight and the infomercials are playing, only then does his phone buzz against his thigh with a response.

Figures that Tony would be a night owl like him.

> soz was distracted > youtube spiral

Peter shifts downwards on the bed, holding the phone over his face. < s’ok < what were you watching > say yes to the dress < lmao really > lol no > anyway, looks good. ur notes > will print off for u to sign tomorrow < is that a compliment or an admission u were wrong about me

> neither. One subject does not a genius make > unlike me, an actual genius

In your dreams, dipshit, he wants to type, but doesn’t, not really keen to provoke a muddy discussion on who is the smartest (it’s definitely Peter).

< u left ur jacket in the library btw, I have it, he texts instead, his pulse jumping when Tony replies with crying emoji’s.

Tony sends him a snap, unexpectedly, a sad face that makes Peter snort. His face seems distressed, the caption reads, thought i lost it for good.

Shifting down further on the bed, he’s feeling suddenly and inexplicably courageous, fire burning up from his belly button to his fingers.

Peter takes a silly photo of himself and sends it back. > didn’t want it to get stolen < aw u care

“I do not,” he whispers to himself. > i do not. come collect it after school tomorrow or im throwing it out. < u wouldn’t do that to me > there’s a lot of things i would do 2 u > .... > um > lol

Peter’s face flames at the implication. He reads over what he just so carelessly typed, stomach positively knotted with embarrassment. Oh god, that is not what he meant. His fingers fly over the screen at record speed as he types out a response. < NOT LIKE THAT < I MEANT IT IN A THREATENING WAY < I’M LITERALLY GAGGING > yikes > ur dirty talk needs work < no it DOESN’T bc we’re not sexting > sure jan > damn. didn’t kno u had it in u bubs < i don’t have it in me > not yet > ;)

Despite the deep blush still heating his face and his heart galloping in his chest, a laugh breaks out of him. The phone in his hand vibrates again. > jk jk, not ever > need to bleach my brain now

Slowly gliding back to earth he types out a response. < ikr me too < ugh.

He puts his phone down on the bed, looking up at the water-stained ceiling, amusement slowly fading. His pulse though, that doesn’t return to normal.

How could it when his mind suddenly runs away from him, evoking short-lived, but nonetheless strikingly vivid images of intertwined legs, planes of pale skin, and lush lips. How can the heat in his stomach escape when his thoughts conjure phantom sensations of a soft mouth sucking on his neck, the punishing grip of hands on his hips and the warmth and weight of another body on top of his own.

A forehead leaning against his, brown eyes that knocked his pulse off kilter.

The taste of nicotine.

Stop it.

That is dangerous territory right there. And a line he doesn’t want to cross.

Shaking his head, Peter swings his legs over the side of the bed and sits up, looking anywhere for a distraction; his window, the posters on his wall, his figurines on his shelves, anything to douse the low-burning fire in his gut.

Standing, he heads to the bathroom to get ready for bed, banging their crappy old heater with his fist to get it working again.

He takes a very cold shower.

----

It’s not that Peter doesn’t enjoy sex.

Not that he’s had it.

But he enjoys jerking off, at least. Like a regular amount, whatever that is for a teenage boy. He likes kissing. Likes thinking about one day being in a real relationship and exploring someone's body and he likes exploring what turns him on and what he doesn’t.

It’s just that he doesn’t let himself think of anyone he knows personally that way, no matter how conventionally attractive they are - not Thor, and especially not him.

Typically, his fantasies are people with vague features, sometimes with bodies like those he has seen in porn, all shapes and sizes. And that’s safe for him.

He doesn’t want to have to look anyone he knows in the eye and wonder what their lips would feel like pressed against his own. If they’re any good at kissing. If they’re the type to take control or cede it.

He does wonder, sometimes though. No matter how much he denies what or who he wants.

Because it doesn’t matter if it’s a person or a thing. Want is never superficial in his experience, it doesn’t feel good most of the time. It’s deep and sometimes dark, it sinks itself into him with its hooks and it tugs, and keeps tugging. It yields to craving and yearning.

Back in his bedroom, his eyes land on his wall-mounted mirror. It’s small. Like the Mona Lisa. Small enough that he doesn’t have to see his whole reflection if he doesn’t want to.

He doesn’t want to crave and yearn for anybody, because he knows it will always be one sided. He’s well aware that he isn’t exactly centrefold material.

Who is gonna look at his weird ears or thin lips, and think, shit, that’s the guy of my dreams. Not with his big glasses or the way his hair twists itself into frizzy, unruly curls once the gel wears off and he starts looking like an unkempt labradoodle.

Who would want to wake up next to him? No one.

So it’s better not to risk imagining anyone real. It’s only in his head that anyone could ever want him back.

His eyes go from the mirror to the jacket folded and placed on his desk. It was intended to be plain sight so he remembers to bring it in - out of sight, out of mind, is what Ben would say. He can still smell the cologne Tony denied wearing earlier.

Once he’s in bed, he turns to face the wall.

Out of sight, out of mind.

---

Maybe Tony subscribes to that mantra as well.

Peter forgets to bring the jacket in all week and Tony doesn’t ask.

---

Danvers wants him fit and ready to be harpooned into the mud by next week; that’s why she looks the other way when Thor and Peter take their informal training in the boundaries of the field, stretching out on the grass as the JV team runs their usual morning drills - drills Peter would have been a part of before his stupid injury and his stupid wrist-brace.

This school is stupid too. Now he has to pay to see a doctor so he can get medically cleared for a sport he doesn’t really care that much about.

Like he didn’t have enough medical bills to deal with.

In any case, he’s not really in a position to complain, because he has the opportunity now to run through his warm-up with Thor, who is taking his direction to spread his legs into a butterfly position so beautifully, even as his knees raise from the ground to make a v-shape, whereas Peter’s lie flat on the grass.

If the last few days had been different, he might have blushed and used the situation at hand as an opening to place his hands on Thor’s knees and applied pressure. But now he just smiles encouragingly and reminds himself that he has no chance - no place - and his hands do not belong anywhere but his own body.

And surprisingly enough, he’s okay about it all.

Thor was a good guy. Peter will never say no to having more friends.

It’s a dreadful, bitter morning. Icy cold, wind biting into his shirt, the grass below them is damp. He has to keep rubbing his hands together so he can restore feeling in his fingers.

To make things worse, Tony is back on the bleachers. White v-neck, jeans and dark sunglasses. Sprawled out over a set of steps, legs askew, arms behind his head, unmoving as if he were napping or sunbathing, appearing like a cocky main out of an eighties movie.

Or a king surveying his kingdom.

Rhodes and Potts slouch on either side of him, swapping phones over his idle figure, taking pictures and laughing amongst themselves.

“It burns,” Thor says lightly, hands on his thighs in an attempt to aim his knees to touch the ground.

“Yeah,” Peter agrees, despite the ease in which he can lean in. “It just takes practice, dude. Twenty minutes a day, warm up and don’t over-do it. You’ll be limber in no time.”

“You can do this better than I can,” Thor argues, accent thick as he tries to lie flat like Peter.

“And you can lift a hundred pounds better than I can,” he tries to rebut, even as they switch positions, hip flexors aching with old injuries.

While the stretches are like second nature, he doesn’t miss the pressure of training for competition. The eagerness to get into a flat butterfly or oversplit. There was no argument that he spent nights on crunches back then, and he was somewhat toned - but he was shit at weight training. He hated lifting. Reps were more boring, more tedious and difficult and the diet required to give them any value was frankly not worth giving up a great hotdog or a loaded sub from Delmars. He wouldn’t go back to it now.

None of that old heat is there when he inspects Thor’s form. That quick simmer, the call to be closer. That terrible thing, want. All but gone. awe is still there, as he suspects it always would be with someone as outstanding as Thor, but the butterflies have very much flown away.

As he suspected would be the case. He has someone and they’re happy. With the cat out of the bag Thor had shown Peter pictures of his boyfriend all morning. He’d gotten a puppy, apparently, which just tickled Thor. He was so happy it was almost sickening.

When is it gonna be him that sickens someone with photo’s of his partner?

“Hey, Parker,” Tony yells from the stands, “you suck!”

Looking over, the idiot is raised on his elbows and grinning, like he’s proud of himself for a spectacularly unoriginal insult.

Rolling his eyes, Peter gives him the finger and he gets one in return.

His stomach twists and he has to duck his head to conceal his smile.

“Your husband is somewhat rude,” Thor says, following Peter’s example and switching from a pike to a lunge.

Peter looks back over to the stands. A cigarette now dangles between Tony’s full lips, sunglasses slid to the tip of his nose.

That’s how Peter knows he’s looking at him too.

Even from afar his eyes are round and mirthful, framed with ridiculously long lashes like a cartoon mouse, far too outlandish for any real person to have.

“He’s the absolute worst,” Peter bites his bottom lip, quickly averting his gaze. “It was an arranged marriage, to be fair.”

---

Wednesday comes and goes.

Their assignment gets handed in, Peter signs it off to say he did his fair portion of the work and Miss Ahn beams at the both of them when she is handed the thick binder, looking all too pleased with herself.

They have a presentation of their work next week, after Thanksgiving, each pair expected to give five minutes of their life pretending that they’re passionate about schoolwork in front of their fellow students who don’t care.

After that they are completely unburdened. No study sessions, no car rides, and no fries dipped in milkshakes.

They’re embarrassingly hailed as a prime example of people working through their differences, as if they had come together and were now friends or something.

From the front row Tony sneaks a furtive glance at Peter when she applauds them to the class.

“See, kids,” she says, “it wasn’t so bad working together, was it?”

Their eyes meet briefly.

“Zero out of ten, would not do again,” Tony declares, brash and loud, kicking his combat boots onto his desk in a leisurely display.. “That guy is the human equivalent of watching paint dry. Awful.”

“Oh, come on,” she chides. “Be nice.”

Not one to be outdone, Peter lets his horse out of the gate too.

“Singular worst experience of my life. I once had a root canal without anaesthetic and it was less painful than working with him.”

“Alright, boys, that’s enough out of you,” Miss Ahn sighs deeply, walking to the front of the room. “Mr Lang, how did you find the assignment?”

“Very informative…”

From the front row Tony turns in his seat and winks at him.

----

“Thanksgiving plans?” Natasha asks, leaning beside his locker, smothering a smile as he struggles to get his locker open for the nth time that day with one functional hand.

“Visiting my Aunt and Uncle,” he says, finally prying the damn thing open. “They’ve got a place up at Otisco Lake, so. Probably watching old movies and swimming all weekend.”

“Oof,” his friend winces. “That’s a trip. Think the May-Mobile will make the distance?”

The May-Mobile of course to the ancient, ‘89 Volvo 240 that May has been driving ever since Peter was born. She adores it and refuses to trade in, despite the fact that it rarely gets driven, practically haemorrhages gas, and has cost more in repairs in the last five years than the actual value of the car. But May really loves it. It's sentimental. She says it was the car Ben and her picked out together.

“It better make it,” he dumps his books in, closing the locker. “I don’t want to spend the weekend waiting for AAA in the middle of nowhere. What’s your plans?”

She shrugs, walking with him down the hall.

“Probably go and annoy Yelena. Was supposed to spend it with Bucky and his mom, but that ain't happening.”

He bumps her shoulder sympathetically. “Do you think you two will get back together?”

“Probably. But he’s got a shitload of grovelling to do first.”

“Don’t maim him, please. We need him on the team.”

“No promises.”

“Speak of the devil,” Peter adjusts his glasses, spotting Bucky at the base of the stairs talking to somebody. He gets startled, heart jumping when Natasha grabs him by the waist, pushing him towards the wall and inching them closer to the stairs.

“What are you --”

“ -- Shh, I want to listen. Who is he talking to?”

Craning his head, he finds himself in for another surprise when he sees that the other person he’s talking to is --

“He’s… he’s talking to Stark - what...?”

She shushes him again and Peter listens, curious now too.

“... what do you want, Barnes?” Tony visibly grimaces, taking a cigarette from his pocket and tucking it behind his ear. “Make it quick. I got places to be and your noxious stench gives me headaches.”

An announcement goes off over the loudspeaker over their head, calling for Brendon Bennett, a dick of a senior, to move his car from where he has blocked a teacher from leaving. It would be funny at any other time, but as it goes, he misses a chunk of their conversation.

“...Rogers isn’t the boss of me.”

“Yes, he is, and I’m not getting suspended again because you’re a pussy and he has roid-rage.”

“I just need an ETA. C’mon, pal, I really need this.”

“I’m not your pal and I don’t give a flying fuck what you need.”

Ever the easy going guy, Bucky puts his hands up placatingly as a group of students file down the stairs, causing enough noise that Peter misses whatever is said next. As he strains to hear he tries to draw the line between the dots, but comes up short on exactly how these two are connected.

“That fucker,” Natasha mutters near his ear.

By the time the students clear, Tony’s descended the stairs and begun to walk away

“I have better things to do than to sit around and wait for you,” Bucky calls out, giving him the finger.”

“And yet you will.”

Not in any possible lifetime was Peter going to address that he was weirdly relieved that Tony didn’t flip him off in return, some part of him petulantly thinking that’s our thing, but that’s wrong - Peter and Tony are not friends and they do not have things, even when they do, it’s not like a thing thing.

Nat grips his hand and pulls him along when Bucky leaves as well, swiftly walking away to avoid being caught. His backpack jostles at the speed and he realizes he’s still clutching Tony's jacket from where he had retrieved it from his locker.

“What was that about?” He asks, struggling to keep up with his friend's furious pace as he’s led down the hall. “Tash?”

She drops his hand once they are outside, her disapproval near palpable, voice laden with fire and fury.

“That’s Bucky being a world class idiot, he’s gonna get himself expelled, I swear.”

Peter stops on the spot.

“Expelled?”

Something dark curls unpleasantly in his gut, heavy and not leaving.

“They have a thing,” she explains hotly, mouth turning down. “Bucky and Stark.”

“What?” Peter breathes, uncomfortably thinking back to the party and the way Bucky overtly complimented Tony’s body. “Like a.... like a sex thing? Did he cheat on you?”

“What? No.”

“Then what?”

Red strands whipping in the wind, his friend looks around to see if there is anyone nearby before leaning in to speak low. He leans in too, unabashedly curious.

“Do you remember when Bucky was having issues with his parents when school started?”

He nods, thinking back to the times Bucky slept over in the late days of summer and early weeks of the school year, once or twice a week to get away from the shouting in his own home.

Natasha continues.

“Don’t tell him I told you this, but he got really depressed and fell behind with his work and everything he was handing in was terrible. Danvers pulled him up and said if he didn’t get his grades up, he’d be risking his spot on the team. So Bucky paid Stark to write up a few assignments for him, apparently he was doing it for a few kids, like it was a thing.”

...Okay.

That was not good, and definitely disappointing, but -

“Rogers found out. He gave Bucky a warning, but with Stark he threatened to go to Fury.”

Peter thinks back to the fight between their captain and Stark and their fight not long ago. “That’s why they…”

“I’m told Stark snapped, but I don’t know. I found out about the whole paper thing after that and me and Buck fought about it. I just got so mad - he’s - he’s not stupid, you know?”

“I know.”

She exhales heavily through her nose. “He’s going to get himself kicked out of school and I’m so -- I could kill him. We’re supposed to graduate together and get away from our families and go to college, and then he does this.”

“I’m sorry, Tash, I didn’t know,” he hugs her, her body going stiff before relaxing in his hold. “That’s shitty. For both of you.”

“I’m sorry for thinking you were in on the loop.”

He smiles, self-deprecating.

“Nope, I’m as clueless as ever.”

“No, you’re just too good for that,” she shakes her head. “Look, I gotta go and blow off some steam. Please don’t tell anybody about all this.”

“I won't, I swear - but text me later, alright? Let me know you’re okay.”

She ruffles his hair before stepping back.

“You’re a bleeding heart, PP. Keep an eye on that, will you?”

Hearing a squeal of tyres, he whips his head around to the parking lot, the source of the noise. The Firebird squeals out of the lot and onto the road, the sound as angry, the glimpse Peter gets of Tony’s face, even angrier.

He turns back to Nat, but she’s already walked away. Which means she isn’t there to hear him mutter to himself.

“What are you getting into, Tony?”

----

His thumbs hover over his phone that night, as he writes i saw u with barnes today.

He quickly deletes that, not wanting Tony to think that he was following him or spying on him - or worse, thinking that Peter actually cares about what he does. He doesn’t. They’re not friends.

A dread settles in the spaces between his ribs, like thread trying to squeeze them together too tight, his lungs feeling compressed. Maybe it’s his asthma, or allergies.

It’s not and he knows it. He’s disappointed.

He rubs at his chest on his way home thinking about the scene they just saw and about what Natasha said. How is it that so many people in his orbit had this entire entanglement going on without Peter having any whiff of it? It really makes him wonder if they were they good at hiding it or was he just really fucking stupid. Stupid enough to think Bucky was doing okay, that Rogers wasn’t as sanctimonious as he appeared to be, and that Tony was --

Nevermind.

It’s none of his business and it’s not his place.

He knows better than to ask. It’s not as if he can forget all his own secrets that he clutches tightly to his chest, so tight it feels like he constantly walks through life with his fists clenched.

That and, like May, the real truth is that he can’t claim any entitlement to their trust. He eavesdropped in more ways than one these last two weeks. He tries to brush off that dry, sobering thought; it’s none of his business anyway and he has enough on his plate without getting involved.

When are you going to stop being such a goddamned martyr.

So then he thinks about the sheer fury on Tony’s face, how his - how he used to look at Peter the same way, and how Peter used to think that angry and bitter was Tony's default mood. That was that. The status quo.

Well, that wasn’t entirely fair, was it. It was easier to dislike Tony when he was distant enough that Peter could pigeon-hole him into a stereotype.

Because Tony got into fights, sure, countless and petty, but he was the guy who pet puppies and snuck them food under the table. Not the guy who kicked them.

He looked like the puppy that was kicked, though.

Not angry.

Wounded.

And that’s what confuses Peter. Turns out he doesn’t really know anything about his friends.

Or Tony, it would seem.

----

May closes the drivers-side door and throws a packet of snacks into Peter’s face.

“Pretzels.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he adjusts his glasses where they'd been knocked askew.

“Sorry, I thought your reflexes were better,” she says, and by way of apology, lobs a packet of sour gummies more gracefully on his lap. “Your favorite.”

“Apology accepted.”

From a plastic bag she fishes out two cokes and places them in the centre console, a bag of red licorice and crackers follow, also making their way onto his lap. She always buys too much food.

Then they’re turning back onto the highway that leads them out of where they paused at Monticello, the radio jacked up loud enough to be heard over the tiny droplets of raindrops sporadically hitting the windshield.

They’ve left early enough that it’s still dark.

Fog still hangs low on the roadside, intangible pale wisps that seem to disintegrate upon crossing, the road dotted with other travellers, but not too crowded, enough so they can easily cruise the speed limit and sometimes over. The Bangles play on a cassette tape and, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, May looks so carefree, driving her sentimental car with the noisy engine, singing along to the same cassettes she’s had since she was his age.

Peter can’t bring himself to say what he wants to. About the letters. One in particular. He knows something isn't right but who is he to break the peace?

So, he doesn’t and they keep driving.

The fog lifts and the tunes continue, both of them singing familiar tunes from ABBA to George Michael and Peter let’s go of what he can’t control and loses himself in the buoyancy of nostalgia - neither of them can carry a tune for shit and it’s funny, and when he rolls his window down he sticks his hand out to feel the frigid air, it’s the most free he’s felt in a long time.

Football and his after-school duties and everything else just drifts away with the wind, at least for this moment.

It was like when he was a kid. The route itself is mostly dark and dull, and this time without Ben, but their usual car games of ‘dollar every time you spot a windmill’ and ‘how many minutes until the next town’ are fun and easily pass the time. This will be another memory that he will gloss over with fondness, how even the boring roads will seem like rapture.

When the sky starts to turn from black to grey they stop for early breakfast at a diner just slightly off their trail in Windsor, both of them famished despite the hoard of snacks and in dire need of coffee.

The car is beginning to emit pale plumes of smoke from under the hood as they arrive at Davis Grove, Otisco Lake in the early morning. The sun rises low over the horizon, a slow ascent that turns the sky grey and brushes wriggling streaks of color over the lake.

The house is exactly as Peter remembers it.

Panels painted slate blue, brown-tiled roof. Two-storeys with a wrap-around porch and a private dock only a short distance away from the entrance. A swinging chair on the lawn that comfortably fits three and a half people.

It looks exactly as it did when Peter first came here as a kid, plucked straight out of his memories in perfect form, like it was set in a liminal space that time refused to touch. A piece comes back to his being at this moment, something that he didn’t know was missing.

Aunt Margaret is already standing at the door when the pull up. She doesn’t look a day older than when Peter last saw her years ago.

“Oh, look at you,” she coos, wrapping Peter up in a tight hug, curls brushing his cheek, “my darling little Petey-pie.”

“Hey, Aunt Margaret,” he returns the hug.

“You’re so tall now, let me look at you,” she holds him at arm's length, warm eyes roving over his form. “Oh my goodness, haven’t you grown a handsome young man? Last time we met you only came up to my shoulders and had braces.” She turns her attention to May. “Isn’t he handsome?”

His aunt nods, smiling at them, both women gravitating into a tight embrace. “It’s good to see you, Peggy. Thanks for having us.”

“Our pleasure. You look even more beautiful than the last time.”

“Oh, stop,” May releases her, wiping at her eyes. “Look who’s talking.”

She tilts her head to the porch and takes May’s duffle from where she has dropped it to the ground. “Come on you two, inside. We’ve got the fire going and scrambled eggs on the table.”

Inside it smells like the best parts of his childhood. A burning fire and butterscotch and lingering musky-but-floral scent from the bowl of potpourri high on the mantel. Even the sounds are the same, the same coo of early birds in the burgeoning daylight, someone humming by the stove.

Margaret leads them into the living room, where her husband meets them halfway from the kitchen, oven mitts still on his hands when he spreads his arms wide to welcome them.

“My goodness,” he beams, “look what the cat dragged in.”

He wears a cravat at the same time he wears an apron, looking every bit the formal yet whimsical man Peter remembers him to be and a crushing wave of nostalgia comes over him so suddenly he can’t help but rush forward and embrace him.

“Welcome, Peter. It’s so good to have you here.”

“Thanks for having us, Uncle Ed.”

“What have you taught him,” he points his query to May as he releases Peter to hug her. “You know you can call me Jarvis.”

---

Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter and Edwin Jarvis had been young twenty-somethings when they first met. Both were born in England before moving to the US, but it wasn’t until they met at Margaret’s first college that their paths crossed. They worked in different departments, Peter thinks Ed was an engineer or something and Margaret an analyst, but the universe pulled them together eventually.

Margaret asked Ed out first and then a year later, May was the maid-of-honor at their wedding and Ben was reportedly a teary guest in the squeaky church pews.

And the rest, as they say, was history.

A photo of that day sits framed upon the mantle. May and Margaret have their arms around each other, Uncle Ben and Ed standing awkwardly at the sides of the frame, holding up flutes of champagne.

They look so young. Happy.

Peter observes the photo, smiling. He would have been a baby back then. Before his parents and Ben had -- well.

His mind does these weird calculations sometimes. Like, the May in this photo is only nine or so years older than how old he is now, and this moment, suspended in time, makes them closer than they have ever been, even though in real life they are over twenty years apart.

Looking at this picture, it makes him wonder how many people he knows now will live full lives and die of old age. How many people his age will stay forever young, and who will be in the future looking back at their time now, wistfully staring at pictures of those who only exist suspended in that time.

It’s funny, being a teenager. His peers are too young to die so they assume they won't. Even in their twenties and thirties or forties, death seems like an elusive thing that doesn’t apply to anybody until it does. It’s for the decrepit, the sick.

But in Peter’s case death comes like poorly aimed darts, always landing badly and scoring low. In his pockets, his hands turn in fists. He hopes the three people left alive in this picture get to grow old.

He smells her perfume before he sees her. Margaret approaches, bumping their hips together.

“This was a nice day,” she says softly, wistful. “I wish we’d kept more contact over these last few years.”

“Me too,” he smiles sadly, her expression reflecting his. With a hand on his back she leads him to the couch.

“Come on, munchkin, come sit. Tell me how you have been.”

---

“We weren’t planning on the big dinner,” Uncle Ed says as he finishes peeling a potato, handing it to Peter once he’s done. “But we’re so glad you two joined us. Neither of us have a lot of family here, you know.”

“Us neither,” Peter runs the peeled potato under running water to rid it of dirty residue before chopping it into quarters. “It’s really nice to see you again, it’s been way too long.”

“You really have grown into such a nice young man,” the man smiles. “Ben would be proud. Your parent’s, too.”

“Thank you.”

They haven’t got together like this since Ben died a couple years back. It wasn’t really anyone’s fault. Shit happened and it got harder to try. May got busier with looking after Peter full time and working more - and Uncle Ed quit his job and opened up a garage and Margaret lost a baby - all at the same time.

It was a lot for everyone. Even college best friends moved apart when fate put up walls at every turn.

It seems everyone in his circle is just does their best to survive. Or maybe that’s just what growing up is.

The remainder of their morning is spent eyeing the oven and skedaddling while Margaret prepares her pecan pie, ejecting them out of the kitchen with a forceful shoo.

“May says you’re playing football,” Ed says, leading him out to the lounge, passing him a can of soda. “How’d that happen? Last I checked you were doing splits over a pommel horse.”

Peter shrugs, tapping his can with his fingernails, idly paying attention to the football on the old TV. “Needed an extra-curricular, there was an opening and for some reason they accepted me.”

“You were so good at gymnastics,” Margaret comments from the kitchen, whisking away at her bowl. “I’m sure you’re exemplary in anything you do. They’re lucky to have you.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, sculling back the rest of his drink, bubbles burning down his throat. “Looks good on college applications in any case.”

“This kid,” May points to him with her beer bottle. “He does it all, I don’t even know how. He’s brilliant.”

I could do more, he thinks. He wonders again in that moment what it is that makes him so deficient that May couldn’t rely on him to accept the truth about their situation, that maybe he was just too naive. But he’s not. He’d drop his after-school activities and get a job in a hot second if he thought it would help. And for just a split-second he’s mad about that, about being kept in the dark.

But then he sees the strain around her eyes, how the bottle in her hands trembles ever so slightly, how much she makes the hard world soft around them. And it’s easy for him to let that feeling go.

“You’re still freelancing?” Peter asks Margaret, momentarily distracted when Ed’s phone lights up with a call.

“Excuse me, terribly sorry,” he says suddenly, picking up the phone and answering it, rising to his feet to converse in the adjacent room.

“Yes,” Margaret says, eyes lingering over where her husband has gone, his voice carrying over the walls in worried, muffled tones. “Well, consulting. I can work from home, which makes it easier to take care of all my non-existent children,” she gestures to the empty room around them.

“You could go work with Jarvis,” May retrieves a new bottle, popping the cap. “Look after the books, help him replace tyres.”

“Tempting,” Margaret says dully, rolling her eyes. “Can’t understand why I haven’t done that yet.”

Jarvis re-enters minutes later, hands held out apologetically; whispering to Margaret first before he addresses the room.

“Um, we have another guest coming up for dinner, if that’s alright,” he winces at their blank faces. “He works for me. Has a difficult family arrangement and needs a bit of respite. You know how it gets over the holidays.”

Peter meets May’s eyes and shrugs. Anyone working under the business and is vouched for by his surrogate uncle is good by him.

“The more the merrier,” May raises her bottle.

After that, the kitchen needs his hands again.

---

The afternoon is spent preparing the sides, checking in on the truly gargantuan turkey and indulging their cat with nibbles and head scratches. May and Margaret spend the time drinking beer and cider, reminiscing their college years. It’s nice to hear the house full of laughter, given how somber the mood was when they were last all together.

“When did you get a cat?” Peter directs his question to Jarvis, accepting a peeler from him to attack the carrots.

The cat in question is completely black and delightfully plump, not overly so, but enough to indicate it’s decently fed but probably also a little lazy. Or maybe he just thinks that now that it lies tall on the peak on its scratching post, tail flicking idly while it watches them work tirelessly in the kitchen from above.

“Oh, about a year ago. Gives Peggy some company while I'm in the garage. She’s a sweetheart, this one.”

“What’s her name?”

“Friday the Thirteenth. Friday for short.”

“That’s, um, unique.”

“Was the day we adopted her,” Jarvis reaches up to scratch her. “And she’s a black cat, so, you know; spooky.”

Peter tilts his head to the side, considering it. “I like it.”

“Not bad, huh.”

“Yep. It’s a better name than Molly,” he mutters, shaking a slimy carrot shaving off his fingers.

Jarvis pauses. “As in Ringwald?”

Peter sighs and continues peeling.

----

“Did I ever tell you about the time May came to class in a bathing suit?”

“I don’t think they need to hear that --”

“So we have this exam,” Peggy says, ignoring May, “Super important. Fifty percent of our overall grade. She comes in late, dripping wet, the biggest hickey on her neck I have ever seen --”

“Peggy.”

“-- Only thing saving her modesty was Ben’s shirt over her shoulders. I had to lend her a pen so she could sit the exam.”

“Did you pass though,” Peter asks curiously, shovelling a large lump of mashed potato into his mouth.

“Top grades,” she winks at him.

“She sat there for two hours, dripping water onto the ground and got flying colors. Meanwhile I’m the idiot who studied for weeks and got marked down twenty points for --”

The end of her sentence gets cut off by the sound of a car approaching the property, headlights flashing through the windows.

Then, a knock at the door.

“Ah, that must be…” Ed trails off, wiping his hand on a napkin before standing. “Excuse me.”

He goes to answer the front door, Margaret continues her story albeit much more quietly until the voices of Ed and their guest filter through, becoming progressively louder.

“Sorry to intrude, I know it’s the holidays --”

Wait. That voice is familiar.

“Nonsense,” Ed interrupts, “you know you’re welcome anytime. You’re practically family, kid. Come in, we’re eating now, you’re just in time.”

Peter’s fork clangs loudly on his plate when he sees their visitor, unable to keep his grip on the utensil as his limbs start to tingle. He forgets how to breathe for a second, entire body going hot.

Ed’s arm is around Tony Stark and they’re approaching through the living room, heading right for them. There’s a fresh cut on his lip and an ugly, wreath of bruising around his jaw and neck, deeply purple, speckled spots of burst capillaries visible from even where he’s sitting.

The worst part isn’t the intrusion. It’s how Tony looks unlike himself; he looks small and skittish, gaze flicking nervously around the room, arms curled around his waist. Something in his chest starts to feel the closer he gets, weird, hot and unwieldy, burning, like a hot poker has been drawn across his sternum.

“You’re the best, Jar...vis,” Tony trails off when he spots the Parkers, eyes zeroing in on Peter.

“Um,” Peter says, sharing a surprised look with May, not knowing what else to say.

But then suddenly Tony is shaking his head, shrugging out of Ed’s embrace and backing up, the skittish look gone and replaced with anger.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. No fucking way.”

Then he turns, and leaves.

----

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @muse-of-gods, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @plueschpop, @spideravocados, @jellybbunny, @booktrashme, @elfkido, @mycatislickingmybedsheets, @queerghostboyo, @disneyprincessdominatrix, @cherrygoldlove @starkerflowers@starkeristheendgame @thewolffearsher @starkersugar , @starkerforlife6969, @css1992, @parkerrbitch, @fuckmemrstark, @blankblankityblank, @ilovemoreid, @blaquedecember, @killmylonelysoul, @notfor-temporaryuse, @arvaen, @chaos-with-a-pen, @notnormallaura, @portiamarie02, @bloodymisanthropist, @ser-no-tonin, @staticwhispersinthedark

#starker #tony stark x peter parker #ironspider #high school au

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causticsunshine · 3 years ago

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i was tagged by both the lovely @dyingstars-x and @harrymegirlfriend to answer twenty questions about myself! this was a lot more candid than i anticipated but here we go~

💗what do you prefer to be called name-wise?

alex!

💗when is your birthday?

july 21st! cancer season baybee

💗where do you live?

in the US! i've been in the pacific northwest for about eight years but i'm definitely still a californian at heart

💗three things you’re doing right now?

1. jobhunting 2. trying to open my online shop 3. attempting™️ to finish deadline stuff and this HSLOT drawing i've been working on since saturday 🤞🤞

💗four fandoms that have piqued your interest right now?

i go through little phases where i have my one big primary interest—one dee since returning to it last summer—that sticks around for awhile and then some smaller, less involved ones that tend to come and go, so i'd say right now the only other 'fandom' i'm kinda in is for MDZ/the untamed/cql, even though i'm a very late member to the party!

💗how is the pandemic treating you?

okay i guess? i'd really like to be moved out already as being in therapy and gaining confidence since my big mental breakdown last fall—accompanied with quitting my job of nearly four years that didn't get me anywhere in life—i've realized how many unhealthy behaviors and mindsets are perpetuated in my household and how they're....really not good for me at all. but i also know i can't get to the place i'd like to be mentally and emotionally without moving out, i also can't move out until i find a 9-5 with bennies with all my health problems + me losing my insurance in the new year so it's been....a time.

buuuut besides the soul crushing terror of being an adult living at home with people who don't understand you, i'm confident now and a lot of my mindsets have changed to healthier ones and i've regained my love of art and being creative?

💗song you can’t stop listening to right now?

it's a combination of 'i wish i never met you' by loote, 'crowd' by sophie cates, and...... 'stay' by the kid laroi + justin bieber (although i think that one's just an earworm i need to work out lmao)

💗recommend a movie

i just got to rewatch 'cowboy bebop: the movie' and it's sooo fun....(spoilers) i know the ending of the anime is supposed to be purposefully open as it just covers a section of time in the characters' lives where they're all together but i kinda wish i'd watched the movie after as opposed to when it takes place because it's a little bit...of a nicer (and much clearer) wrap up!

💗how old are you?

twenty five 🧓

💗school, university, occupation, other?

currently jobhunting for a Boring grown up job just for some regularity and insurance (and $$ to get my ass OUT) but i want to take on freelance commission work again too! i dropped out of uni in like 2018 because the school i was going to kept fucking me over with credits just to get my associate's but maybe i'll go back one day.....maybe.....

💗do you prefer hot or cold?

HOT only because it's so gd cold and wet where i live now and even when the summers are warm they're super short and don't compensate for the months i spend not moving out of arthritis pain and freezing my ass off

💗name one fact others may not know about you.

i always come up with fun ones when i don't have any reason to share them lmao but i guess.....staying on-brand with 1d stuff, and i might've said this before, but louis gave me my first bout of gender envy that i recognized as actual gender envy when i was like, fifteen? and as i was coming out of my obvious emo phase into one more subdued, i totally dressed like twink louis for almost a year....haircut and everything....

if i can find the one photo i'm thinking of i'll post it but until then use your imagination sjkgdf

💗are you shy?

i can be? i think once i vibe with someone enough it becomes easy to talk to and open up to them but before that i can be pretty closed off and a bit impersonal.

💗do you have any preferred pronouns?

they/them!

💗any pet peeves?

i'm one of those 'people talking or random noise being made near me while i'm trying to concentrate on something fuels my murder response out of nowhere' people but otherwise...outside of common courtesy/manners stuff being ignore, i don't think so? although i genuinely hate when people walk right behind me or right in front of me...shit makes me anxious and ticks me off dfjkngdf i got shit to do!!

💗what’s your favourite “dere” type?

am i boring if i say tsundere just because it's relatable? although dorodere is kinda fun in the right setting....i love a good character twist!

💗rate your life 1-10. 1 being really crappy and 10 being the best you could ever be.

i'd say a 5? there's a lot more i want to do and achieve and things i know i could have right now if my ADHD and anxiety didn't still have such a death grip on me but i'm also in the best headspace i've been in in years so i'll take that as a win!

💗what’s your main blog?

this one!

💗list your side blogs and what they’re used for.

swmpwxtch is my art-only blog because i'm slow at finishing things and know there's no point trying to make this an 'art blog' when i reblog so much, and then prickelndauge is my insp blog (so if you're wondering why there's a startling lack of fashion and art on this blog, it's mostly over there!), then i have one for creepy/spooky stuff (bonepickng) because i know not a lot of people want to see that on main, aaaaand am-ref a ref blog for art tips, life things, donation pools, etc.! (and some old urls i have saved)

💗is there anything you think people need to know about you before becoming friends with you?

at the risk of sounding like a YA protagonist: my heart is full of love and i try to be as understanding and open as i can be but i also have a very short bullshit fuse, so while i'm still happily understanding of certain behaviors and mindsets, if you cross the line that i put very bluntly in the sand, you're not crossing back over.

(ie i love my friends but don't be a dick and if you are you get one warning and that's all <3)

uhhh i know a lot of people got tagged already and have done this so! i'll be tagging @grimmpitch @hershelsue @niallnailme @dragmedown @ialwaysknewyouwerepunk @justmehernthemoon @non-binharry @genius0flove @mamaharry @theymetinthetoihlet @saintqueer and uhhh anyone else that would like to!! and if you've done this already please ignore me~

#tagged #twenty questions #oh geez that's me

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blackberry-gingham · 4 years ago

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The love language concept sounds interesting! I’d say George’s love language/the way he shows love is physical touch, Paul’s is receiving gifts, Ringo’s is positive affirmation mixed with quality time, and tbh I’m not to sure for John. maybe acts or service or quality time for him?

Mwahaha, you've fallen into my trap! The truth is I wanted to do this topic more or less for myself, but felt bad bc I still have a few requests left to do. So thank you for sending in a "request" for me so that I can do one out of order real quick >:3

Lol but really tho, thank you for humoring me and these are good! I could honestly see all of these, but for John I'd say acts of service with you, bc the "To Do" stuff just sounds like his character tbh, but maybe also I feel like there's some physical touch too???

Ik I've heard that John kind of actually didn't like being touched, but I mean... If you look at literally any picture of him with Yoko, he's always at least holding her hand, if not just totally draped all over her lol, so I'm assuming for an S/O it's totally different!

But anyway, here's some headcannons real quick and then back to requests. Thanks everyone!

---

George

Honestly? I feel like George would just not be able to keep his hands off you

Like, not necissarily in a sexual way (although that too, if you're in the mood lol), it's just that he loves to let you and everyone else know you're his

He's not all too shy about it either lol

I mean obviously he saves the more lovey dovey stuff for private places, but in public he still has a lot to offer

Everytime he sees you he kisses you either on the cheek, forehead, or mouth and then pulls you in for a hug

Always

Then the rest of the time, as long as he doesn't have to be working, he likes to hold your hand and play with your hair

And if he's feeling a little risqué, he likes to let you sit on his lap and cuddle against him

In private tho...

Oh, he is all over you!!!

You are his sanctuary and safe haven away from the public eye and the daily grind that comes with being a Beatle

I've seen quite a few quotes from geo lamenting the fact that he and the others had literally no private life thanks to their stardom

So yeah, believe me when I say he could live a thousand years and still never feel like he could repay you for giving him the rest and love he needs

He'd be like a long, giant cat. Wherever you are, whatever you're doing, if he has an opportunity to snuggle up to you, he takes it

And if he's not exhausted, and if you let him !! he likes to just touch and kiss your body and face

Having that closeness and intimacy is so important to him, he wants to let you know how deeply he loves you

All of you

And of course, the best way you can return his love language back to him is by returning the intimacy he does for you!

When in Rome, after all

Honestly, just by accepting his offers when he initiates a request to hold your hand or hug or cuddle, he already appreciates that!

But if you initiate any of those things, he's definitely feeling the love!!

Although, one thing you like to do a bit different is giving massages

Of course George would certainly give you one if you asked!

But since he's usually tired, either mentally or physically, from always being on the go, you like to do him a favor lol

And he loves it

Seriously, you've never seen a man more blissed out then George gets over something as simple as a back or scalp massage

Assuming he doesn't fall asleep under the spell of your skillful fingers, he repays you with kisses or cuddles after :)

John

Ok idk if I'm like projecting, or reaching, or SOMETHING along those lines, but I feel like of all the boys, John is probably the one most looking for a true partner, as in like his other half

Paul is very close behind with his relationship with Linda, but for John it always came off as a need for him, more then like a want or nice thing to have

So anyway, all this to say that as far as acts of service goes, I think he gets a lot of security out of receiving this!

Like, whenever John's feeling particularly stressed or overwhelmed having you there to approach the issues with an objective mindset is a HUGE relief

Really, like I cannot stress this enough

Phrases like, "What can I do to take some pressure off for you?"

Or, "Well what if we just focus on x for now, and then we can take care of y and z tomorrow?"

All give him such a powerful sense of relief

And of course, the way that you, you know, actually follow up on your word, makes him fall even deeper in love with you then he thought possible

Now on the other hand, is physical touch

While this is a part of his love language cocktail, John likes to express this one a bit more then he likes to receive it

You see, unlike George, John is a little more reserved with his PDA

He will kiss you and hold your hand of course! But unfortunately his anxiety is a thing, so as much as he hates it, he has to reserve his physical affection for more private settings

But when you two are alone, he's like puddy in your hands!

He likes to just hold you a lot

It doesn't matter if you're preoccupied with something else, like a book or the telly, he just wants to have physical contact with you

And if you can do any of those things cuddled up on his lap or against his chest, even better!

But also, John definitely loves to get that energy back

He likes it when you give him cute little kisses and pet his head

I think he'd also like it if you rubbed his temples or the bridge of his nose/third eye lol

Wearing glasses all day can get uncomfortable you know!!

I think if you can establish that trust and physical closeness, that's when you'd also get a return on his acts of service

Really, if you've bonded this deeply with John he'd do literally anything for you

Whatever you need, whatever you want, if he can do it he will and if he can't he'll find a way to do it anyway!

He'd be loyal to a fault and love you forever after

Paul

Please tell me why I could see Paul being your sugar daddy on the low 😭😭

Really, like he just likes to spoil you!

Honestly if someone showed me proof that the real actual, 78 year old, 2021 Paul McCartney uses stacks of hundred dollar bills as tinder for his fireplace, I literally wouldn't even blink

Like even back in the day, he's got that Beatles' money baby !!! and he.... Kinda doesn't care for it, actually

I personally don't think any of the boys come across as like money hungry or something like that, but I could see Paul especially figuring that he might as well use all this dumb money to buy you things you like!

It may feel overwhelming to be on the receiving end of so many random, but expensive gifts tbh

You might even tell him to stop or that he doesn't have to do all that!!

I think he'd be able to understand that overwhelming you with nice things kinda has the opposite effect of what he's intending, but....

He just gets a little carried away sometimes lol

I mean growing up he didn't have all that much, and even now, like obviously nice things are nice, but meh

What he really wants to do is make sure you're enjoying the high life too!

I could see him doing more of writing you songs and music instead so that he can still fulfil his desire to give, should you feel uncomfortable with the fancy gifts

But yeah, if you're uncomfortable he totally would get that and dial back the materialism, but if you don't mind, then he doesn't either!!

Now you might be wondering how you, a delightfully average person, could impress Paul McCartney with a gift giving love language...

I mean, what do you give the man who has everything?

Well I'd tell you this... It's simple!

You could bring him literally anything that you find meaningful and be like "This made me think of you!" or "I just thought you'd like this!" and he'll love it!

He would definitely run up some organized collections of the little things you've given him

He has some dedicated display boxes for all the random, shiny rocks and pebbles you've found

A little filing drawer of all the notes you've ever wrote him

And if you like art or photography, he'd decorate his personal spaces with your work!

Of course he'd appreciate traditional gifts too tho

Like a watch or bass strings or a new tie ect ect

But the thing for you to not get caught up on is the price!

That doesn't matter to him :)

He likes your gifts bc they came from you!

Ringo

Ok, positive affirmation is definitely a big thing for Ringo

He gets roasted a lot by the boys and even the media, and all in good fun I suppose, but after a while enough is enough you know?

Not to mention, he just feels a bit... Lesser then?? Compared to the others and their musical talent

So the poor guy really needs a break!

Literally, even just little one word sentences of encouragement mean sooo much to him

"I'm so proud of you Ritchie!"

"That sounded wonderful!"

"You've done a great job today at the studio, good work!"

Stuff like that makes him melt

Of course he also appreciates the more conventional things like "I love you" and when you call him handsome!

And as for the spending quality time, that comes easily!

Ringo looooves to take you out on dates!

Now yes, there's your typical movie date, dinner, dancing, all that

But his favorite things to do is go on little adventures!

He takes you to the park, the beach, out to explore thrift and consignment stores, and anywhere else you want to check out!

However, not everyone wants to run around outside 24/7

So in the house, he likes doing things that you two can do together!

Painting is a big one, seeing as it's his other hobby, but it could honestly be anything, like puzzles, board games, or just watching TV!

I'm trying to think of how he'd return the words words of affirmation side of his love language, but I think it would be a little harder for him to do then expressing quality time tbh

You just make him so darn shy!

What with all your good looks and kindness, he just feels a little overwhelmed

Have you ever seen a work of art, or architecture, or even a landscape so breathtaking that you don't really know where to start when describing it to someone?

Yeah, it's like that

He definitely wants to try tho!

I think he'd stick to simple things like complimenting your outfits and praising your work or personal projects you show him!

He's worried that that comes across as just common decency tho, so he says "I love you" a lot and tries to make up for his bad way with words with quality time

#the beatles #ringo starr x reader #john lennon x reader #george harrison x reader #paul mccartney x reader #beatles x reader #beatles imagines #love langauges

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trash-but-respectable-trash · 4 years ago

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Headcanons of what life in the Devildom would be like if my best friend and I were both exchange student at the same time:

Heads up! This is completely self-indulgent content. I made this as a gift for my best friend: @beel-is-a-snack love you bitch 😘

Lucifer:

- Lucifer would probably really hate us at first.

- It’s feels to him like everywhere we go together, something really weird will happen

- It’s things he cannot link to us, but he knows it’s because of us because these things never happened before

- At first, we probably wouldn’t listen to his orders, we didn’t leave a controlling household just to go to another one

- A single punishment (and not the kinky kind) would be all it takes for us to never disobey his orders again

- It would come at no surprise that I would immediatly have a fat crush on him and that I would talk about him all the time to you, even though you wouldn’t understand what I see in him at first

- The more you would notice how much he cares about his brothers, the more you would like him. You two would developed a mutual understanding about taking the role of the parent by default even if that wasn’t your choice

- You two could probably also relate to each other’s daddy issues sorry love you

- With time you two could be really close friends, but probably not more than that, because he’s mine

- Don’t worry we’ll find you a more suitable boyfriend

- He definitely wouldn’t try to come between our friendship and would never be jealous of it either

- He would give us plenty of time alone, but even if he didn’t, we couldn’t even try to speak French around him because I’m 100% sure he also speak French as a second or third or fourth language

- We would probably found out about it the hard way while I would either tell you how handsome he is or you telling me he’s a control freak and he would just reply to us in perfect French

- Yeah we would only make that mistake once

Mammon

- Mammon also hates us at first, he has to take care of TWO humans?? That’s asking too much of him, he can barely take care of himself

- After a while, it would probably be the other way around as we would be the ones taking care of him

- He cannot decide which one of us he loves more (probably the one who gives him the most attention and positive reinforcement)

- He quickly becomes jealous of our friendship and tries to hangout with us every chances he gets

- It can be a bit awkward when we’re trying to talk about boys, since we’re likely talking about his brothers

- We would need to have codes to refer to the brothers or we could use French when we don’t want him to understand what we’re saying, since he’s definitely too dumb to understand French

- It was 100% clear in our minds that neither of us would end up dating Mammon as we both need someone who could mentally stimulates us

- Also he would for sure steal our stuff out of our rooms and try to sell them

- After a full week of silent treatment from both of us, he wouldn’t ever try to steal our stuff again

- He would try to trick us in participating in his shaninagans, but we would probably report it to Lucifer just to see Mammon get punish (ok mostly me, but I would drag you with me to see the aftermath)

- Never suspects us of being the one who snitch him all the time to Lucifer, he probably thinks it’s Levi

Leviathan

- Oh boy. Opposite to Lucifer and Mammon, it’s us who hates him at first

- What the fuck is that hair style, why is he always screaming and talking an hundred miles an hour rambling about animes and Ruri-Chan, who’s Ruri-Chan??

- Probably calls us normies until he finds out you had a Naruto collection when you were 13 years old and that you used to love mangas

- And that I now enjoy some animes and mangas myself, so now he calls both of us weebs, which isn’t much better honestly

- We would TOLERATE gaming with him if he isn’t screaming all the fucking time

- We would immediately leave any room we’re in everytime he says “Woooooaaaahhhh”

- He needs to shut up or else we can never be friends with him

- He also gets jealous of our friendship, he wish he had a best friend with such a strong bond, yeah he has Henry 2.0 but it’s just not the same you know

- He wonders if his friendship with Ruri-Chan would be similar to ours if she was real

- He tried to become really close with Solomon to recreate our friendship, but Solomon spent his time trying to form a pact with Levi so he ended it

Satan

- I have to say that I think that Satan and I are the most similar

- We’re both intelligent, independent and observant individuals who do not tolerate dumb people, we both enjoy reading a bit too much, we’re both messy, we’re both way too honest and we’re pros at hiding our anger (especially towards stupidity)

- Ok, so I’m not saying you wouldn’t get along with Satan, I just think you wouldn’t have much in common with him and by that I mean that’s he’s a very rational being and the best form of art in his eyes is writing

- I think what would make it or break it for both of you is his and your knowledge on all forms of arts and the history being it. Satan would probably test you and if you pass in his eyes, you can be friends, otherwise he would consider you unworthy

- Yeah I know it’s rough, but you don’t need a friend who needs to test you on your knowledge about art to see if you two can be friends

- Even if you pass the test, I don’t see you two being super close as he is mostly in his room reading and you would be in your studio, doing all of your art projects

- In any case, you guys would have to get along somehow since he would probably be the one I would be closest with and you’re my best friend so obviously you two would have to hang out by default quite a lot

- When you would be in your studio, I would probably be at the library or in Satan’s room reading

- We would also all study together and use Satan as our tutor for classes were we have more difficulty (but you’re lucky, there’s no French class given at RAD so you should do fine)

Asmodeus

- If we push aside the lust part of him and focus on his other personality traits, Asmo would like us from the start

- Two best friends how fun! He would probably tell us how Solomon is his best friend before finding out later by Solomon that it isn’t true

- Asmo is a lonely demon, sure he gets plenty of physical attention, but no one cares about him past his beauty

- We would be the one to change that, we would both see further than his beauty, but also further than his narcissistic ways to find out who the real Asmo is

- He’s the insecure one who only wants to be love. We would both act as his therapist. Sometimes he would confess to us while doing our nails and makeup or sometimes he would just start sobbing on my lap or your lap, pouring his heart out and telling us his deepest fears and secrets because he finally feels safe enough to say these things to someone

- He would probably crave our attention and comfort the more and more we listen to him. We would need to set boundaries or else we would feel like we’re suffocating. We both need our space and Asmo would have to understand that fact

- We would rub on him and he would slowly stop going out so much, instead appreciating his alone time the better he feels about himself

Beelzebub

- At first I would be a bit scared of him, he’s big and he keeps making comments about how delicious we look (and again, not in the kinky way)

- You on the other hand, would probably feel that he isn’t a bad guy at all and you would definitely see more than his angry looking face and his never ending comments about food

- Just a few conversations with him can tell how much he cares about his family and his twin in particular

- That man is such an himbo, but he also have a big heart just like you and you’re both so cute together

- Everyone ship the both of you even though you’re both emotionally dense and it would take a while for you and him to FINALLY be together

- It’s not that you didn’t love each other, it’s just that you never took the signs that the other one was sending you, mistaking it for simple kindness and nothing more

- He would probably have to just straight up tell you l that he’s in love with you for your relationship to go anywhere

- Basically everyone’s like “FINALLY” the moment you both annonce that you’re officially dating

- Wedding and kids would come shortly after that

- You’re both very family oriented and are both super vanilla so that’s a winning couple if I’ve ever seen one

Belphegor

- Ok first of all, if we were the MC, Belphie would 100% still be locked in the attic

- It would only take one warning from Lucifer for us to never go up those stairs again

- But for the sake of this, let’s say you knew this was Beel’s brother and you loved Beel so much that you were ready to face the consequences to save his brother

- And let’s say I wasn’t aware of this, because if I were and we both decided to go up the stairs anyway, it wouldn’t take me long at all before realizing that Belphie is lying to us and that we cannot trust him

- If I wasn’t aware of you going up the stairs by yourself, you’re so trusting of everyone that you would for sure do the same thing as the MC and free Belphegor just to get yourself killed. I told you dozens of time, don’t trust everyone!

- Anyway, let’s say we both died somehow (I probably got killed by Lucifer once he found out what you did) and Barbatos and Diavolo brought us to a timeline were we didn’t die

- Well, let’s say the saying “I forgive but I never forget” would represent me 100%

- I would be forgiving for the sake of Beelzebub, but Belphie and I would NEVER be close, whether it appears to be the case or not

- I might let him sleep on my lap or listen to him talk about how he loves his twin, but don’t get me wrong, I would never trust him or be his friend

- In your case, you would either be like me or you wouldn’t ever forgive him

- Forgivness isn’t always something you can control and you might always hold a grudge against him after what he did

- That could either destroy what you had with Beel, because he cannot date someone who hates his brother so much, or he could also understand how you feel, but he would still try to make you and his brother friends good luck with that

Diavolo

- Oh boy that’s my type of man right there

- What a fucking piece of ass

- Ok back on track, Diavolo would obviously be the one who’s most excited to have us in the Devildom

- He would always invite us for tea, asking us questions about the human world and laughing at our dumb stories

- We would troll him with human traditions that don’t exist like how you need to pray before eating chocolate truffle or how humans eat St-Hubert (a rotisserie restaurant comparable to Nando’s) every Sunday and how What Makes You Beautiful by One Direction is the national anthem of our country

- I can imagine him watching the video clip of What Makes You Beautiful that same night and being like “wow! That is beautiful!”

- Lucifer would be so mad at us, but it would be worth it

- We would also tell him that “thug life” and “yolo” are commonly use expression in the human world when you’re excited about something and he would start using them at the most random moments while everyone is like “???”

- We would totally hate every party hosted by Diavolo and we would 1000% leave to explore the castle only to get lost and then brought back by either Barbatos or Lucifer (lord have mercy)

- It doesn’t matter, we would do it everytime, choosing a different path everytime until we’ve explore every part of the castle (which would realistically never happen)

- Diavolo would probably give us a plan of the castle behind Lucifer’s back so we can explore the castle however we want. He himself, isn’t a fan of these events and would much rather hang out with us than be stuck making conversations with nobles he doesn’t care about

- Other than that, you would have to listen to me talk endlessly about how it isn’t fair that I cannot date both Lucifer AND Diavolo until I actually do

Barbatos

- This one is a difficult one, since we basically know nothing about the Butler

- We would probably have a good grasp of who he is if we were in the devildom, since we have pretty good intuitions on people

- I would probably talk to Barbatos about baking and all the different variations of tea, probably dropping way to soon a reference to Black Butler like he never heard the comparaison before

- Much like his devilgram story, he would probably invite me to get some specific type of tea that can only be purchase out of town, never implying that it’s a date even though he qualify it as one in his head

- There’s not much more to say about him, I think you would see him as Diavolo’s Butler more than a potential lover or close friend

Simeon

- Ouf poor sweet angel. Let’s state the obvious first, he would probably be very disappointed in me and my very obvious lust for certain demons

- Wouldn’t be happy with me straying further away from god each passing day

- I would defend myself by telling him I do pray and go once a year to church to ask God for forgiveness for all of my sins

- Yeah if I was in the Devildom, my list of sins I committed during my stay would be particularly long

- Still, I would have no regrets

- Ok, I have to say it, this angel is shady. I think we would sense that something isn’t right with him. His smile and energy are a little off, he’s definitely hiding something but what?

- If we had time to kill we could do some research on the matter and ask people around about what they know about Simeon, maybe spy on him while he’s out in town?

- We would probably get caught and ask by a very scary Simeon, to stop whatever we are doing

- Yeah let’s take the wise decision of staying away from him from now on

Solomon

- He would need to understand that it’s not because we’re all humans that we NEED to hang out together

- I would have to keep you away from him, or at least not let you hang out alone with him. I don’t think he’s evil, but he might use you as human experiment for his potions and spells and I don’t want you to accidentally be turned into a pig or something

- I’ll accept the occasional vines references wars and the team up to tell Diavolo even more made up things about the human world, but that’s all

- I would probably compare him to Harry Potter all the time

- Let’s just stay far away from the shady sorcerer

Luke

- I have no motherly instincts, but I would protect this child from all of the brothers teasing, but that’s about it. I really don’t care about this child, SIMEON COME PICK UP YOUR SON, HE POOPED HIMSELF AGAIN “Stephanie that’s not true!!” Luke would bark back as he tries to hide the streak of poop on the back of his white pants (sorry I don’t know why this came to mind, but I have this headcanon that sometimes when he’s afraid, Luke will poop his pants and this boy is VERY scared of Lucifer, so it happens quite often)

- You would probably be way more motherly towards him than me and you and Beel would basically adopt Luke as your own child

- Just always carry baby wipes and a clean pair of pants with you at all times and you’re all good

- I hope you like baking sweets, because your son will surely want to spend some bonding time with his mom over baking time, and of course you have to enjoy the sweets you both made over a nice cup of tea that Barbatos made for you two

#obey me #obey me!#obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me beelzebub #obey me diavolo #obey me asmodeus #obey me simeon #obey me belphegor #obey me solomon #obey me satan #obey me barbatos #obey me leviathan #obey me luke #damn so much tags #I hope you like them Patenron #they’re all for you

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murfeelee · 4 years ago

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Simblr Asks - TS3

Saw these questions by Teauke on my dash, and y’all know I love talking/ranting about The Sims; let’s go! ^0^

1. how big is your mods folder?

That’s my mods folder with only mods/hacks/overrides; no CAS or build/buy CC installed. It’s a miracle that nothing conflicts, at least not as far as I can tell.

2. how would you describe your style? A sporadic mix of tv/gaming fandom-inspired conversions and recreations, of mostly fanciful and/or cultural themes & genres.

3. What is your favorite challenge? I’m a builder at heart, so I love recreating lots and interiors. Challenges where we find IRL rooms/scenes and remake them in TS3 are always the most fun for me.

4. do you make cc? if so, what kind? I make fanciful & cultural custom content (occult, sci-fi, boho, etc). I make CAS CC sometimes, but I prefer making buy/build CC.

5. what type of cc do you hoard? Not everything, but a lot. As creators retire and links die, I’m even more paranoid than I already was that CC will no longer be available anywhere.

6. what default eyes and skin do you use? I don’t use default-replacement skintones, but I do use Buhudain’s You Are Real mod.

As for eye defaults, I absolutely love Moonskin’s Shiny Glass replacements.

7. how many urls have you had, and what are the meanings behind them? All of my simming URLs on MTS, TSR, the officials, and Tumblr are some variation of my first name, Murfee Lee. Because yes, I am that darn creative.

8. who is your favorite gameplay blog? 9. who is your favorite storytelling blog? Ugh, there are too many good ones out there.

10. who is your favorite cc creator? All of my favorite creators retired years ago: DyM/Hekate999 (fantasy build/buy), Parsimonious (everything), Luna (everything build/buy), Qingshuangtongzi (Asian everything), Amethyst (Asian CAS), Art-Sims (CAS everything), etc. I swear, the day Sandy/ATS3 (everything build/buy) retires is the day I’m having a panic attack.

11. how do you edit your photos? Badly. Tweak the brightness & contrast and call it a effing day.

12. what is the last screenshot you took? It’s a surprise.

13. what do you do when you are unmotivated? I am never “unmotivated,” so much as I am distracted. I think the reason I’ve simmed so long is strictly because I’m always inspired by fandoms. If I get distracted by a tv/game, it becomes my next muse (aka current obsession). It’s not that I get unmotivated to finish the old stuff I pretty much abandon, it’s just that there aren’t enough hours in the day for me to do everything I want. Sometimes I return to older saves/gameplay. Most times I don’t though--unless someone messages me wanting to see it again (and that’s effing rare).

14. who is your current favorite sim? Sakura and Nasir are my alltime favorite sims. But I must admit that I patted myself on the back pretty dang hard when I created Tsukihime-Sama for my Moon Medicine gameplay. I love every sim I made for that gameplay (which I really need to finish one day, ugh), but my Lunar Moth Goddess? 👌

15. who is your current favorite sim that is not by you? Every sim that @obscurus-noctem is out here sacrificing goats in order to create. It’s just disgusting how pretty everything on their blog is. Those mersims? Those graphics? That editing? Makes me effing sick.

16. recreate someone else’s sim in your style. I think I saw a challenge like this a few months/years ago, but never did it. But I DID do the Picrew version.

17. do you talk about sims with people in real life? One of my professors plays SimCity. Naturally, we bonded over how wack EA is. ^_^

18. how many of the packs do you own? All of them, except the Stuff Packs. Barring Fast Lane and Movie Stuff, none of the other SPs are worth the price; it’s just build/buy/CAS CC any MaxisMatch creator.could make for free. I’ve always felt that way about SPs, which is why I never bothered with them in TS1 or TS2 either. I will say though, that TS4′s SPs are something else entirely, which brings me to #24 (see below).

19. how many posts do you have on your blog currently? 2764. JESUS.

20. how many drafts do you have on your blog currently? 363. U_U And most of those are CC sets & gameplay posts I never finished.

21. how many posts are in your queue currently? It’s a secret. ^_^

22. have you ever moved blogs? Never. I never even changed my theme or URL.

23. are you in any sims related discord servers? Yes, the Creators Cave, but I effing hate Discord; it’s just a royal pain to navigate, IMO.

24. what are your thoughts on the most recent pack? (paranormal) Speaking of Stuff Packs!

RANT ALERT!

If anything, TS4′s SPs are doing way too much (adding new gameplay, careers, lifestates/NPCs, lots, etc!? WUT.) Or rather, its EPs aren’t doing nearly enough. I love that TS4′s SPs add meaningful content. But if they’re raising their bar, that means the Expansion Packs need to rise by the same degree, to stay relevant, if anything.

But EA, in their infinite ineptitude, seems to be scaling back with their EPs! Cutting what should be 1 cohesive EP into multiple SPs & GPs piecemeals the content and cheats people out of money, by having us pay more for less! The TS4 SPs do a lot, yes, but now let’s talk about the Paranormal SP for example:

Paranormal Stuff does perhaps the most any SP in The Sims 1/2/3/4 ever has, and has by far the most worth for its money...but at a dire cost:

- the career only has 5 levels instead of 10 (thus being nowhere as deep as TS3′s combination of the Ambition EP’s Ghost Hunter and the Store’s crystal ball--which links with the Supernatural EP’s Spellcasting skill)

the crystal ball is a 1-trick pony

unlocking Bonehilda is tied to grinding skill/career levels, only for her to do EFF ALL once she finally arrives (and her face looks like melted cookie dough WTF)

most of the gameplay is tied to the pack’s new lot/venue

and the ghosts are still meh

So rather than TS4 having an actual Supernatural EP, instead it has the ok-but-disappointing Realm of Magic Game Pack (which I’ve already ranted about), the watered-down Paranormal Stuff Pack, and the INCREDIBLY OP Vampires Game Pack (which I’ve salivated over). That’s already $40--the cost of TS3′s Supernatural Expansion Pack, mind you--but with the glaringly absent inclusion of Fairies, Werewolves, AND Zombies. O_O WHAT THE HELL, EA. To get the full Supernatural experience in TS4 is gonna end up running people not $40, but perhaps DOUBLE, if werewolves & fairies get their own GPs (unless EA waters them down in SPs, which would still be anywhere from $50-60). EA is robbing people blind.

25. how many hours have you played sims? I have no idea, no doubt thousands.

26. if you play gameplay, do you play with mods? See #1 above

27. what’s the farthest you’ve gotten in a challenge? See #3 above.

Thanks for reading!

#simblr #the sims 3 #the sims 4 #ts3 #TS4 #EA you suck #questionnaire #RANT ALERT

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poepoe-thebunny · 4 years ago

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Rudy/Tony and Fam during Quarantine

Cause this is where my life is at, apparently. I thought I escaped the “quarantine fever writing” that everyone else got. Apparently I was wrong.

After another visit to the castle, the Thompson’s end up there in quarantine once miss rona hits the world. Thank god for WI-FI and working remotely, even if his parents look vaguely like zombies due to time zone differences. Tony can’t talk, his online schooling schedule is all sorts of weird and he’s pretty sure his teacher just wants to sleep until the whole thing is over. Honestly Tony can’t say he blames her.

The Sackville-bagg clan, as it turns out, is a surprisingly overprotective bunch when they need to be, especially now that they have accepted their humans into the fold. Even with catching up on modern medicine and germ theory, they won’t allow anything to happen to their precious humans.

(AU/headcanons incoming??

Rudy/Tony:

- Think Rudy was protective before? Think again.

- Rudy is over 300 years old, he’s old by human standards and he has met people who are old by vampire standards. He’s seen Things(TM) ok?

- He has been through more than one plague in his life. He has seen what it can do to the sick and the poor. He knows it’s a different now, that life-saving machines exist, that they’re working on a vaccine, that soap is widely available.

- But he also knows it’s not.

- Tony? Not going anywhere as far as he is concerned. Say hello to your prince, Rapunzel, cause Rudy is keeping Tony up in that tower if it kills him (again).

- He knows where all of Tony’s masks are, and where he puts the extras.

- He’ even shops online for masks with Tony, finding cool hand-sewn, gothic looking ones for Rudy himself to wear. He’s not sure if Corona even effects vampires, but Tony likes finding stuff to match his “aesthetic’ and it keeps his mortal happy.

- He waits on his mortal hand and foot in between videogames and watching Netflix. (Tony likes How to Train Your Dragon and Paranorman, Rudy likes The Little Prince and Kubo and the Two Strings.).

- Rudy’s first introduction to Tumblr is through Tony, and at one point they reach the Plague Doctor Aesthetics. While Rudy hasn’t spent much time in Italy, he doesn’t think they’re very accurate, and complains as such to his mortal.

- Rudy is surprisingly easily offended about historically inaccurate things, and it sends Tony into laughing fits.

- Rudy is Bad At Memes. Like, just in general he doesn’t always get them, and when Corona Memes become a thing he’s just constantly confused. Poor Rudy honestly.

- Tries to learn to cook healthy human food, except he hasn’t had any major kitchen experience in 200-odd years and it comes out as a disaster the first few times he tries it.

- It turns into a teaching session between him and the other adult humans, turns out the old couple who owns the castle like to feed people. Rudy walks into Tony’s room with a tray piled so high Tony can’t see his head.

-Always offering to fly around the castle to get things for Tony, even if he isn’t sick.

- TikTok dances. Tony shows him, then teaches him. Rudy is shockingly good at them, but Gregory thinks he’s cringy.

Gregory:

(Not me flexing my love of the good big brother trope, absolutely not, nope)

- Surprisingly rather take charge about the whole thing, he’s come around to the Thompson’s and the old couple.

- While his parents help when they can, they sort of take a step back, and let the three siblings explain what’s happening in the world to the clan (if they are there). Being the oldest, Gregory sort of defaults to being the leader.

-Checks in with the Thompson’s, as well as Otto and Emma (The old couple who run the place.) Asks if they need anything while they work/are in school etc.

- Warns the clan to be very careful when visiting, not just for the Thompson’s, but also because Otto and Emma are getting on in years and could become sick very easily. Always asks for a heads up before a family visit.

- Won’t tell anyone but, late at night if he’s not busy, he’ll do things around the castle for the humans, especially upkeep for Otto and Emma, while they sleep.

- Dusting hard to reach spots like chandeliers, organizing books in the old castle library, moving heavy furniture and stuff since he can fly.

-Low key drags Rudy and Anna into helping him clean

(”But Gregory, this is our home now too! I’m sure they don’t mind.”

“Humans are fragile, and they’re letting us stay here out of kindness, so don’t be rude. Clean up after yourself little brother.”

“He’s right you know.”

“Of course I am. And don’t think you’re getting out of cleaning the rafters Anna, and stop leaving your books everywhere for them to pick up.”

‘hmph.” )

- Of the vampires he’s lowkey the best at cooking human food. Tony, Rudy, and Anna just walk into the kitchen at night and Fredrick is just watching his eldest, genuinely amused, as he dances around the kitchen in a “Kill the Cook (Too late, I’m already dead)” apron, blasting out dad rock from the stereo.

-Bonds with the Thompsons over cooking human food, especially Tony’s dad after he teaches Gregory what an “air guitar” move is.

-Gregory discovers pinterest food aesthetics, and is a machine of baking, mixing, and decorating sweet candies/cakes/brownies. He wants his food to look pretty dang it.

- Anna and Rudy just watch, silently judging him.

Anna:

- She’s just thriving tbh.

- She has internet access now, and her brothers have never been more terrified.

-If Gregory is the vampire equivalent of a pinterest mommy, Anna is the vampire equivalent of creepy diy aesthetic tiktokers.

-Not like, bloody horror diy, but like, the subtly creepy but still sweet kind, like the Addams family or Coraline.

- She learned needle arts with her mom, so she’s out here sewing Coraline dolls, or patchwork dresses a la Nightmare Before Christmas cause she CAN.

-Makes her own handbag with those felt cartoonish vampire faces and big fake bat ears on the side.

-Learns more modern patterns and stuff, but will make masks for the humans as gifts, cause she doesn’t want them to get sick.

- After watching Coraline together, she made “Other Me” dolls of her brothers, button eyes included, and stuck them in their coffins. She would make them “move’ by flying them around to different rooms when her brothers weren’t looking, just to freak them out.

- Spoiler alert: it worked. They ran to Tony for help and she laughed over it for days.

- Anna loves adventure books to Rudy’s poetry and Gregory’s fables/folk tales. She hates being excluded from her brothers “adventures”.

-Tony introduces her to comics and video games and she just lives her best life.

-One of her favorite comic book character is Cassandra Cain/Blackbat/The Orphan.

- She loves books like Matilda, The Chronicles of Narnia, and The Giver, as well as games like the Lara Croft/Tomb Raider series.

-VICIOUS at video games, this girl has no mercy, she will blue shell you so hard.

The Adults:

-Life is Hard(TM) right now, but the Thompson’s try to make the best of it. They’re very grateful to Otto and Emma for letting them stay.

-They’re both working remotely, so they’re a little messed up sleep schedule wise. But that’s ok, their vampire friends don’t seem to mind.

- Freda teaches Dottie how to make proper tea, cause she likes it and Dottie is sort of addicted to caffeine. Dottie teaches Freda how to make mochas and smoothies, Dottie likes mango-pineapple smoothies and Freda likes hot white chocolate mochas with cinnamon.

-Surprisingly, Frederick and Bob become pretty good friends. Frederick understands the stress of having to care for your family in very uncertain times, and the two men bond over unsure parental decisions.

-Bob is also surprisingly good at making Frederick loosen up, much to Freda and Dottie’s amusement. While initially awkward, they have a surprisingly snarky and sarcastic sort of friendship. Frederick deadpans insults at him and Bob cheerfully annoys him into Being Nice For Once while being completely aware of the fact that he’s annoying Frederick.

-Meals where Bob cooks often consists of him singing oldies into his spatula, making bad impression of certain singers, including Elvis and Cher. He is occasionally joined by Tony and Gregory, making the entire family laugh.

- Anna’s bones may be old, but she can hand sew like a goddess, and has occasionally taken to fixing up the kids’ torn clothes, as Dottie can barely keep straight lines and Freda prefers knitting.

- Someone (read: Freda) mentions that Frederick can play the cello, and after a rousing performance, it turns out that Otto can play an accordion, and of course Bob can play the guitar. A jam session occurs as the kids just stare in utter bewilderment.

- Tony’s grandparents were kinda hippies, so Bob and Dottie know a lot of oldies and folk songs, which while different than from what they normally hear, Otto and Anna connect too. They swap songs back and forth, and it turns out Dottie can do a mean Loretta lynn impression.

- Dottie likes the Beach Boys, and teaches the others how to Twist. As in, the dance, and Freda actually likes it quite a bit.

#the little vampire 3d #the little vampire #TLV #rudolf sackville-bagg #gregory sackville-bagg #anna sackville bagg #tony thompson #quarantine #is fever writing a thing???#I think it is #This is fever writing #Forgive me fandom for I have sinned

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little-red-toyota · 3 years ago

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Final good bye to the fandom

TW//Trauma, triggers, nsfw, sexual themes, rape, domestic abuse e.g.

This is gonna be a long ass post…

It has taken me a while to get emotionally strong enough to do this, as I will have to think back at some traumatic events from my past to address some of these things. That's why I waited until I got home from vacation with my family, as it will seriously affect my mood and mental health, and I want to be near my doctor and therapist, just in case.

And also, I know that the majority of those reading this will invalidate me and tell me I am making things up to clear my name. So, I literally have to torment myself to write a blog post people will just brush off as bogus anyway. But I will do it now that I am in safe surroundings. Then it will be off my chest, and I can finally move on. If people will continue stirring up the past, it will be their problem, not mine.

I think I should write one last blog post where I address everything. I have left the TTTE-fandom, but I will write that one as my final goodbye to the fandom. I just have to find out everything I've been accused of so I can properly address them all in order. I might leave out details of my life that is too hard for me to open up about. I know most of you will just invalidate me anyway.

1. The Stepney fic and glorifying rape.

2. My mafia-AU.

3. The Darin incident.

4. Being a pedophile. (Where do they get this from anyway??)

5. Running the NSFW-blog.

6. Drawing penises/boobs on trains. Drawing age-regression art.

Is there more?

Ah... yes! Faking my own suicide, of course!

7. "Faking" being suicidal.

8. Having the audacity to survive and go on living.

9. "Making up" my past trauma to justify writing fics to cope with it.

10. Being a nazi for being interested in WW2 history and for being Norwegian and having so-called nazi-letters in my last name (actual letters of the Norwegian alphabet).

11. Putting a white-supremacist flag (the actual flag of Norway) on my porch on family birthdays and our national day.

12. Being a danger to my daughter.

Anything else that needs to be addressed? What else am I being accused of? Send me a dm and I will add it to the post.

Okay, I will bump the Stepney fic down a bit as it is the most traumatic thing for me to address, I will save that one for last.

2 and 3. The dark au/mafia au where I gave some TTTE characters some rather dark and unpleasant character traits, and the whole incident with Darin and the pedo-Salty was addressed in this blog post written by my husband last year, so I am not opening that can of worms again: https://little-red-toyota.tumblr.com/post/623743183795470336/in-light-of-recent-events

Even the thing about Toby cheating on Henrietta is addressed there.

As for the au, I never fully explored it as I started losing interest in TTTE around the same time. I found other things to enjoy and TTTE faded into the background and the au was dropped before I even wrote any stories, apart from the one about Toby and Henrietta.

Some people claim, like this lovely individual, that most of the characters were rapists and pedos. No, not most. Only one of each. And I did not write more than one story about rape and suicide. Where does this person even get that from? Someone who told someone who had heard from someone who might have heard….?

Don't spread rumors unless you are sure that they are true.

Anyway, it's all addressed in that blog post in that link. I don't see how this mafia au is any worse than other dark post-apocalyptic or violent aus. It mostly was about the diesel mafia and their illegal businesses, not about sex, even if it did occur now and then. I find the substance abuse in it to be more problematic tbh…

4. Being a pedophile.

I don't even know how to defend myself against this one, as I don't even know why people think I am pedophile. They only throw the accusation out with no backing evidence, so I have no idea where it comes from or what it is that makes people think I am one.

Apart from one claim that I had faved "porn" alongside "strangers'" baby photos on DA. I addressed that earlier though. As DeviantArt doesn't sort what you click "like" on, it all ends up in the same folder unless you actively go through it and sort it into categories, which I don't bother most of the time. It also doesn't say WHEN it was added to your faves. So, I can have faved an artistic nude on Saturday, and then faved my friend's family photo on Thursday. It's not like I actively search for porn, get all steamed up and then look at pictures of children. WTF.

The few children I have faved are not from complete strangers, but long-term friends of mine. Yes, it is possible to have friends on the same website. I have actually met a lot of my RL friends through DeviantArt. I posted photos of my daughter when she was a baby, they would fave it and congratulate me. So, I did the same when they had a baby. As simple as that. Nothing weird or perverted about it. Due to people doxxing me last year however, I deleted the photos of me, my husband and my daughter from DeviantArt, so it's no longer there.

Porn isn't allowed on DeviantArt anyway. The nudes there are so-called artistic nudes, and for the most part I use them as pose-references when I draw as it is easier to draw a pose using a nude base and then dress them up once you got the pose right.

"The very naked" centaurs I have faved. Well, I like the mythological creature Centaur. And as far as I know… they do not wear clothes, so how are they NOT nude? Look it up, it's a horse body with a human torso instead of horse head. I don't see them as sexual, but what do I know? Maybe YOU do?

I have no sexual interest in children whatsoever.

5. Running the NSFW-blog on Tumblr and Twitter.

Yes. I was one of six people modding that blog. ONE of six, so I refuse to take the full blame here.

MerciResolution has openly admitted to being the founder, and she recruited me and some others to modify as the confession load became too heavy for one person to handle alone.

The original blog on Tumblr worked as follows: People would anonymously send a confession to our askbox, we would add a picture (sometimes photoshopped) to the text and post it on the blog. Always tagged as NSFW and with proper trigger warnings if necessary! The blog itself was also marked as explicit, so it didn't appear in searches and such.

For us, this blog was nothing but a joke. We did it for shits and giggles. If anyone took it seriously and thought we got off to the stuff that was posted, we apologize for that, but to us it was just for laughs. And we DID laugh a lot, you guys should have seen the weird shit people sent us sometimes!

We had fun and we never thought anyone would take it seriously, so we never thought of writing "joke" in the description or anything. It never occurred to us that it could be anything but a joke.

We also made a Twitter account for it, also locked for minors. But it was quickly hacked, and someone changed the password so we could no longer access it. We made another account and forgot about the old one…

After a while, the original mods started losing interest and the blog (both on Tumblr and Twitter) became less active. That's when a person I had known for years, and wrongfully trusted, came forward and wanted to take over ownership. So, the ownership was handed over to Russalita/Charlie.

That turned out to be huge mistake!

Me and the other mods had more or less forgotten that the blogs existed, when suddenly someone started bashing me and getting up in my arms over it. I got seriously confused as I hadn't been active on it in almost a year. But as it turned out, Russalita had removed the mature filters and made the accounts open for all the see. Even minors.

And as people knew I was one of the mods, they fired their guns at me. I can see why though, so I'm not pointing any fingers here.

I tried contacting her by phone, asking her to lock the accounts again, but she gave me a less than polite response, hung up and then blocked my number…

So, I decided to try to shut the blogs down on my own, trying the old passwords. It worked on the Tumblr-account, and I managed to password protect it, for some reason it couldn't be fully deleted. But the Twitter account had gotten its password changed by Russalita. I was however able to get a new password by logging into the e-mail we had used to create it. I deleted the Twitter blog fully. It can't be re-activated even if we wanted to. It's gone.

But it turns out the old, hacked one is still up and now open for everyone. And this one poses a huge problem as we have no way of getting into it to delete it. Only thing we have been able to do so far is reporting it and hope it will be removed by Twitter. So I only have one thing to say about it: report it.

I am no longer running any NSFW TTTE blog anywhere, nor do I have interest in doing so. So, if you come across one, claiming to be me or any of the other mods, it is false.

6. Drawing penises/boobs on trains. Drawing age-regression art.

People seem to believe I have drawn genitals on trains. I have never done such. Any art on the NSFW-blog with genitalia on the trains were sent in by confessors and was not drawn by me. Most of them seems to have been drawn by someone who goes by the name "The Lance".

I HAVE drawn things for the NSFW blog, but there were no genitalia in those drawings. I drew Frank of Arlesdale looking grossed out by (I don't know what the part is named in English, but it is connected to the brakes of the engine) that stick-like thing on his bufferbeam being wet from whatever the confessor did to him. I drew an over-exaggerated comical pic of a horrified Peter Sam getting his face licked by his driver, who had an enormous tongue. I also did a couple of manips. Mostly maniping engine faces on humans, like the one where Gordon's face is on a less than fit guy flailing his shirt around, and the Arlesdale smallies' faces on a movie poster from Magic Mike. One with Mr.Conductor in a giant bun while Pinchy is applying ketchup on him, for a confession about eating him, I think? I've done some more, but I forgot what it was, I only know I loved making them comical rather than erotic, as I saw the blog as a joke overall.

I HAVE also drawn aheago faces on engines because it looks hilarious. Though I have only drawn them on my OCs and the NRS engines, not TTTE characters.

Point is I have never drawn genitalia on trains. Ever. And I likely never will. It's not THAT much fun drawing NSFW stuff.

I see from this screenshot that a certain MK-Instrumentalist claim that all my personal art is age-regression art and infantilism…

Whose art have you been looking at? Because it's definitely not mine. I have drawn a couple of baby/chibi diesels… But claiming that all of my 700 or so artworks are depicting infantilism and age-regression stuff? I suggest people go have a look for themselves. I haven't drawn that. That MK-guy has been desperately trying to cancel me for ages for reasons only himself know. I don't even know the guy, and he doesn't know me, yet he wants to see me beheaded. Go figure.

I was for a long time bothered by some age-regressor on Tumblr who just wouldn't leave me alone with their weird asks, who tried to force themselves on me and some other artists here. They claim age-regression isn't a fetish, but the shit they sent to my askbox certainly looked like a fetish to me.

I don't want anything to do with that stuff. It weirds me out.

And no. I have never drawn pedophilia or rape art either. This guy can't even make up his mind on which one to accuse me of.

7 and 8. Faking suicide and having the audacity to survive and go on living.

As many know, after the intense shitstorm against me last summer, thanks to Darin, I attempted suicide. I didn't succeed as my husband came home early. I was gone for a few days but returned when a young boy reached out to me for help as he was being groomed and didn't know who else to turn to.

Recently I saw a screenshot where someone claimed me to have faked suicide, and that I just came back after a few days when everything had died down.

Wow.

I am truly sorry I survived.

I don't remember much from those days to be honest, but as the load became too heavy and the bullying too intense, piling up on 30 years of old trauma… I decided to end it. I must warn you guys who might get triggered now; there are detailed descriptions of a suicide attempt. Proceed with caution. People told me I was a bad mother among other things, having had those same thoughts myself (according to my husband, I am a good mom) and people just confirming them, I thought that my daughter would be better off growing up without me. I could have chosen a more effective suicide method, but I was afraid my daughter would be the first to find me, so I wanted it to be clean and look like I was just sleeping. That way it could be explained as natural causes.

So, I decided to overdose on pills. I downed all pills I could find in the house that had a warning triangle on it (strong pain meds etc.) and then went to my computer to delete my online existence, especially the personal data.

As a former paramedic, I should have known better. Because after half an hour, my body started reacting. But not the way I had hoped and wanted. I started retching and almost vomiting. That's when my husband came home from work and found me. He immediately saw the empty packages and knowing my past suicidal tendencies, he reacted instinctively. He put his fingers down my throat and had me puke everything up, then he called an ambulance and had me admitted to the hospital.

I don't remember anything from the days I spent there. But I have been told they emptied my stomach and gave me lots of fluids. I was then assigned a psychiatrist which I am still seeing today.

I was gone for those days because I was in hospital, not because I was pulling some kind of trick and pretending to have ended myself.

So… I am sorry I "faked" my suicide.

I'm sorry my husband saved me. I am sorry the medics and doctors succeeded in saving my life.

I am sorry I survived and proceeded to live on. If I ever make another attempt, I promise to do better.

Why are you guys so persistent in trying to push people to suicide anyway? Do you get a kick out of it? Why do people have to be pushed to that point before you care?

What did we tell our daughter? Simply that I got sick and had to go to the hospital. She took that well.

I've seen a lot of people wonder why I am still around. Why shouldn't I? Does my daughter deserve to lose her mother over some online crap she doesn't even know about? I owe her to live and watch her grow up, to help her with her homework and whatever else a parent needs to do. I also owe my husband to stay by his side, like I promised him the day we got married. Even if I do not wish to live.

I'm sorry I survived, guys. Really, I am.

9. "Making up" my past trauma to justify writing fics to cope with it. And 1. The Stepney fic and glorifying rape.

First… why would anyone make up trauma? It's not like it's a competition to have the worst life, is it?

Sadly, I don't have to make up anything. My life HAS been rocky up until the birth of my daughter. I have been through so much trauma I couldn't even fathom it myself before my therapist listed it all up to me. Until then, I had just been casually talking to her about it, like I would talk about the weather. I didn't cry or get in touch with my emotions even once while telling everything, because I was taught from an early age to never complain, to suck it up and go on. So, no matter what people did to me, I would just smile and go on, even if it killed me inside. I did not want to show any sign of weakness, because then they would attack me. A habit I developed through years of being bullied in school. Never show feelings, just pretend nothing could hurt you, then they would eventually grow tired of it and stop.

Except they never did. They kept going through all my years at school. To such an extent, my boyfriend didn't dare to show himself hanging out with me out of fear of being bullied himself… And as we grew older, he would start cheating on me too. And I kept smiling…

My next boyfriend was a bit older than me, and while that didn't bother me, as we were both well over legal age, it bothered him. We only lasted one year before he bailed out and ditched me out of the blue via an sms.

The next guy… was the one who scarred me for life. Both physically and mentally. A charmer at first of course, until I was trapped. He was unemployed, so he moved in with me, and I paid for everything from food to phone bills. All while he was dating several women behind my back, calling various pay-phone services and in general acted like a manwhore. As I worked as an electrician (also being subject to massive bullying and sexual harassment at work), he would be jealous of all my co-workers and if I ever came home late or worked overtime, he accused me of cheating and was extremely violent about it. He would also isolate me from my friends and family, making me think I couldn't get any other than him. If any of my male friends (almost all my friends are male…) came over, he would give me such hell afterwards, it was easier just to tell them it was a bad time to visit. And after a while, they stopped asking. This guy also demanded sex. Every single day. If I refused, he would punish me, mostly by flogging me with lampcords, belts or whatever else he had at hand. My back is a criss cross map of old, faded scars even now nearly 20 years later. I would have shown you a photo, but I am so self-concious about my body after all the bullying, I hardly even show my face in photos. Maybe one day… but I certainly need more therapy before being able to show naked skin to strangers, even if it's just my back. So I had non-consensual sex with him more often than consensual. It has taken me hours in therapy to even take the word in my mouth and call it by its proper name: rape. I was raped, almost every single day for little over a year, before I found the strength to break out of the relationship and finally throw him out of my house. It all ended when I found some revealing texts on his cellphone, which he was extremely protective of… Texts that revealed that he had engaged in a relationship with a 12 year old girl, and it had been going on for a while. Not only was he cheating on me, but he was a pedophile too. Needless to say, I didn't even let him pack his stuff before I fetched my shotgun and chased him out of the house. I don't know where I got the courage and strength from… but I was furious.

I thought I had gotten rid of him, but no. He started stalking me in public. Hiding behind shelves when I was shopping, his car following mine everywhere I went. I received weird letters in the mail with cut-out letters from newspapers, glued together. On top of all, his creepy, old uncle called me with some rather disgusting suggestions and tried to come on to me really hard. I had to change my phone number, and after coming home to my house and finding out someone had entered my home using a key, only to empty the drawer of my night table, I also had to change the locks of my doors as he had clearly copied the key.

He didn't stop until I got the police involved.

So, when I finally met the guy who would become my husband (or rather, we found out we were made for each other, we had known each other since we were 11 years old), I had major trust issues towards men especially and it took him endless patience and love to break me out of that shell.

But the trauma doesn't stop… or start there.

In the year 2000, on January 4th, I would experience something that made me unable to even look at a train for over 10 years. The Åsta accident (google it). I was a volunteer in the Norwegian Red Cross then, and a paramedic in training. Back then, you were allowed to start training the year you would turn 16. So, I was still 15 when I witnessed the most traumatic event of my life. The day started out calm, we were stocking up the ambulance after delivering a patient to the hospital when we got a call with the code "500", which means "catastrophe". Normally when we get that code it is a rehearsal… so we drove towards the coordinates with the thoughts that this was just an exercise, nothing real… we didn't prepare ourselves mentally… And we ended up in the closest thing to hell I have ever been… The sight of the burning trains, the smells, the sounds, the screaming… I still wake up by nightmares to this day. Though the moment that haunts me the most is when the screaming stopped… because we all knew why… I don't want to go into details, but 19 people died that day. But we also saved 67 people. I try to hold on to that thought. The age limit for starting paramedic training was raised after this, as I wasn't the only one who was too young for an accident of that scale. Today it is 18. A memorial stone has been placed on the site, but I still haven't been able to bring myself to visit it, even if we drive past the site every year on our way to visit family further north in the country. I needed hours of therapy to even be able to ride a train after this. To have gotten to the point where I now volunteer at a heritage railway and is in training to become a driver, is a HUGE step for me. My next goal is to visit the site of the accident.

On to next trauma… A previous employer, a rather large electric company in Norway, whom I worked for 8 years. The first five years were great, we were a close-knit bunch of electricians, and we had a great relationship with the bosses and higher-ups. Our labor union was strong.

It all started changing in 2009 when we got new leaders… and those decided to get rid of everyone who were a member of the union. One by one, they started harassing workers in various ways, trying to get them to quit. In Norway, they need a legal reason to fire you, it's not enough to not like someone. There has to be a good reason to fire someone e.g. theft, neglecting work… Since they didn't have any reasons to fire us, they started making our work lives gradually harder and harder until we would break and find another job. Sadly, one of my co-workers couldn't stand the pressure… He bid us all farewell as normal one Friday and hung himself the following day.. But as I was a girl in a male-dominated profession, I had been taught at an early stage to ignore anything that would hurt me emotionally, just arch my neck and plow through. I kept doing that, despite starting to feel more and more mental and physical pains… even my co-workers pointed out how I was being mistreated before I acknowledged it myself. I tried to tell my boss, but he reacted by treating me worse. So, I went to his boss… and that's when things went to hell. Instead of doing his job and listen, he started harassing me too. He deemed my over-weight a problem, and he started demanding I gave him detailed lists of what I ate and how much I worked out… Completely illegal of course, but by this point I was broken down to the point I thought I was useless and couldn't get another job… so I accepted. He started accusing me of lying about my exercise, so I started training at the gym in the basement at work instead. One day, while I was there, he locked the doors and turned the lights off. There were no windows, no cellphone reception and hardly anyone walking by in that part of the building… I sat there in the pitch dark for 3 hours before I was let back out. I still get badly triggered by narrow, dark rooms and rooms with no windows. To such an extent, I jumped out of a small window on the second floor of a gym when I was in boot camp. I was allowed to train downstairs in the bigger gym with windows on all walls after that incident…

The harassment at work went on for years until I finally snapped, ended up at the hospital and got into therapy for the first time. I don't want to go into depth about what more happened, I just can't… I can't bring myself to write it all. Luckily, I had gotten more education while working, so when I graduated, another company called and gave me an offer I just couldn't refuse. So, I quit my job and never looked back, even if the traumas I suffered there still haunts me to this day.

Sadly, even after switching jobs, now getting a safe job with sane leaders… I started to relax, and that's when all my past trauma came washing over me. And one day, on while driving to work, I had my first serious panic attack. It started as this feeling I used to have at the old company; getting sick to my stomach and having the sense of someone being out to get me… then it developed to breathing problems… and I had to pull the car over. I broke into tears, struggling to breathe, stumbling out of the car to read the logo on its side just to reassure my body and brain that I worked for a different company now and there was no reason for panic. I called my boss and let him know, because he also was a "refugee" from that other company, so he knew what me and several others had gone through. He managed to talk me down enough for me to come to the office to talk to him. That helped.

I got back into therapy. A better therapist this time. But sadly, it got apparent that I could no longer work as an electrician as there was too many triggers. I was diagnosed with PTSD, severe depression, and social anxiety. I'm still working on these and get better slowly.

I have been in therapy for a long time now, and it was my therapist that suggested I wrote fics to cope and "write it out". I tried to make up my own characters for this, but never felt any connection. I was by this time in the TTTE fandom and had met people with similar trauma and pasts like myself, and I started roleplaying with some of them. Me and a girl from UK then agreed to try to rp/co-write a fic to cope with our trauma. We both found it easier to write about pre-established characters we had a connection to, even if it was an au that made it barely recognizable from the original source material. Only the names and some minor things were similar.

That fic was Stepney's Virginity Gets Lost.

Do we regret writing it? No. It helped us write out our traumas and helped us overcome some mental obstacles in out therapy process. Our therapists cheering us on, because we finally managed to break through the hard shell surrounding us. We both cried for the first time in years while writing it, some of it through roleplay, because some parts were extremely graphic and brutal and very mentally exhausting. We had to take long breaks between each writing session, so the fic wasn't written in just a weekend. But we got a lot of darkness out of our minds by writing all this. And we were definitely NOT aroused by it, like this pervert here claims.

It's when you dare to touch and feel the difficult and dark emotions, you can finally move along in the grieving process.

Should it have been posted online?

In retrospect, no. But at the time, we thought it might help other trauma victims, as we also found reading about other people's experiences and fictions touching painful subjects helpful to ourselves. So, we posted it, never expecting it to cause such a controversy 3 years later. In fact, we had more or less forgotten about it until it came back to bit us in the ass. Or rather, bite ME in the ass, as I am getting the full blame alone.

Also, despite what people claim, it was not posted openly for children to read. It was tagged properly and hidden behind mature content walls. If a minor chooses to break that wall, that's not the author's fault. It's the same as watching a movie with an age restriction way above your age, not the filmmaker's fault.

I think MerciResolution puts it nicely here:

"If your problem lies with you KNOWINGLY entering adult spaces when you’re a minor, ignoring all mature warnings that are literally SCREAMING at you “hey, this is what you’re getting into. Are you sure you want to proceed?”

That’s ENTIRELY on you. YOU are the fucking problem.

We’re marking mature things as best as we properly can. If you decide to ignore them, that’s your own damn fault. We’re not your fucking babysitters."

Also, I never posted the story on Wattpad, so if anyone has done that, it's not me. I posted the story on Fanfiction.net, DeviantArt and AO3, that's all. If it's posted anywhere else, it's not done by me.

I had honestly moved on from it when people pulled me back into it.

Other people who have done questionable shit in that fandom are easily forgiven because "they have moved on" or "changed". Yet, nobody believes I can move on or change…?

I had moved on; my interests had changed. But people won't let me, so here I am… Having to defend some crap I did years ago. A fic I no longer have any interest in.

I'm not even interested in TTTE anymore. I have moved on with my own book project now and I would like to focus on that.

So, deleting my TTTE content, whether it was the SFW or NSFW stuff, didn't cost me a penny. It actually felt like a relief. The only downside with it is that people now can't read it and make up their own opinion about it, but will solely believe in what others say, and those things are often seriously bent out of shape and blown out of proportions to such an extent it's barely recognizable.

If people claim that Arry and Bert rape Stepney in the fic, they have never seen it or read it. That's not what happens. That's just an assumption made by looking at the title and knowing there is a rape/torture scene in it. But I'm not gonna tell who the victim is or who performed it, because this is the only way I am able to tell who has actually read the fic or not, who is just trying to spread bullshit and who is actually telling the truth. The person in that screenshot, has no idea what he's talking about.

Does SVGL romanticize rape and abuse?

No, not in the least. It's described as the horrible, heinous acts it is and is in no way meant to be cute or romantic and definitely NOT something anyone should get off to. If anyone finds it sexy, that's their problem, not the authors'. If anything, SVGL might romanticize suicide, because one of the characters isn't able to cope with his trauma and chooses to end their life. Which is something I considered doing myself when I was in the darkest pit of depression. So, I apologize for maybe romanticizing suicide. The following chapters describe how friends and family handle the loss and grief.

It also describes a toxic relationship, where one of the parts struggles to get out of it. They eventually manage to break free, but it is not easy. This can easily be translated to my previously mentioned relationship, as it was my way of writing out my experience about how hard it is to break out of a relation when your partner has broken you down to the point where you no longer believe in yourself and your self-worth.

The last chapters start to gradually become brighter, as both our lives started getting better too. But we never really wrote the end because we both lost interest in writing TTTE content by that time and just left it hanging.

I'm not the only one who has written NSFW TTTE fanfics out there. But it seems like violence and murder is more acceptable than sexual things? I do wonder how brutally mutilating children's show characters are more tolerable than sexually abusing them. Neither should be okay.

Some content creators hide behind "it was a joke". I have been told that such topics that SVGL touches upon shouldn't be joked about… so I didn't do that, and yet it was wrong? So how should such topics be treated? Be hidden like it's a shame, like in the old days when rape victims were told to suck things up and keep it to themselves? When those subject to abuse didn't dare to speak up because people would judge them?

I think it is important to talk about these subjects and why they are so problematic. Victims shouldn't have to hide their trauma; they should be allowed to talk openly about it without fearing judgement.

Some of you claim that writing isn't a good way to cope… You're trying to dictate how trauma victims deal with their trauma, and that's a dangerous path to walk down. Nobody handles trauma the same way. You might have your thoughts on how you would react, but you'll never know until trauma hits you… and you might not react the way you had expected or planned. Trauma messes with your head and you won't be able to think clearly. It makes you do thinks you normally wouldn't have done and can make you act out of character. So, do not judge people without having been in the same situation yourself. Ever.

Someone wrote that I have "more problems that just a rape".

Read that again.

Just a rape.

This person does not know how damaging a rape can be. And if you made it this far in this post, you know I didn't only go through one, but several. Not just by my ex, but also being ambushed while I was walking home from a party, and later; a co-worker forcing himself onto me at a building site. I can't go into depth about them all, I just can't.

Just a rape…

"Just" the feeling of not being in control of your own body and your own decisions. "Just" being robbed off your dignity and self-worth. "Just" having someone intrude into your private zone, tear your clothes off and claim your body against your will. "Just" feeling how your life force leave you as you realize that fighting against it won't help you, and you silently give up and just lay down waiting for it all to be over. "Just" spending hours in the shower, scrubbing your skin until you bleed because you can't wash the filth away and you keep feeling dirty no matter how much you clean yourself. "Just" waking up at night, after having relived the scene again in a nightmare. "Just" looking over your shoulder wherever you walk because you heard something or thought you saw something or simply because someone is walking behind you. "Just" the fact that you'll never feel comfortable walking alone at night again or have someone walk behind you. "Just" never being able to relax because your body constantly think you're in grave danger. "Just" a rape…

That's such a neck-beard thing to say. Someone who clearly think of other people's bodies as property or things. Not taking into consideration that we are living, breathing individuals with feelings. And that having another person violate us isn't something we like or that we'll easily get over. We want to choose who we give ourselves to, nobody should be forced. We didn't ask to be raped. We didn't want it. We didn't like it.

Rape is trauma.

Yes, we should have chosen other characters for the story, but we did what we did, and it cannot be undone now. So, if the only thing I will be remembered for in the fandom is that ONE fic, instead of all my other content, that's what it will be. That's what people chose to. I'm moving on.

10. Being a nazi for being interested in WW2 history and for being Norwegian and having so-called nazi-letters in my last name (actual letters of the Norwegian alphabet).

*sigh*

This is something that could only happen in America, isn't it?

Some people don't bother educating themselves. The "nazi-letters" you guys are talking about is actually part of the Norwegian alphabet and has nothing to do with Nazism or white-supremacy to do at all. The Norwegian alphabet has 29 letters, the three extra is æ,ø,å or in capital letters: Æ,Ø,Å.

We can't help it if some morons over in the US abuse these letters as symbol of their twisted mindset.

Yes, my name contains one of those letters. It is my name… and I didn't choose it. It is a common Norwegian name.

As for me being a Nazi?

Those who knows me knows that I am as far from a Nazi as one can get. I despise Nazism with all my heart.

But the reason some people choose to believe so… was that some guy who has no hobbies or life went through every single fave I've made on DeviantArt since I joined the site in 2006, which is well over 20000 faves. And he found a few Nazi-characters from a web series I was following about ten years ago. I am very interested in history and especially WW2-history, so I found that particular web-series interesting and faved some artwork related to it. What this guy failed to notice is that I also faved the Allied characters… That's ALL there is to that story.

I has also faved a pic someone made of Joseph Goebbels (I think it was?) as a Pixar Car. That's not because I have any nazi-sympathies, but I simply found the concept of turning historical persons, both good and bad, into Cars as an interesting project. I would have faved any other historical Carsified person as well.

As for me being a Norwegian and have a natural pale complexion, that's not something I can help. That's nothing I choose. And it doesn't make me racist or Nazi. Period.

11. Putting a white-supremacist flag (the actual flag of Norway) on my porch on family birthdays and our national day.

Again. Get educated.

This flag… is the actual flag of my country. The Kingdom of Norway.

There is nothing Nazi about it. It is not a symbol of white-supremacy. IT IS THE FLAG OF NORWAY.

During WW2 it was even illegal, so people would paint it everywhere in a protest against the Nazi-occpation and the SS. We even decorated our Christmas trees with it, and that is a tradition that has followed us into the modern day.

Again, if some idiots in the US choose to use it as a symbol for their disgusting logic, it is not Norway or the Norwegians' fault.

12. Being a danger to my daughter.

I need people to elaborate here.

What exactly do you think I do to my daughter? What is the cause of your concern here?

The fact that I have made NSFW content? How is that harmful to her as long as I keep it away from her? You DO realize that even authors, pornstars and moviemakers have children and that they can be good parents, right?

Do you think I read pornographic content for her as bedtime stories? Or show her porn instead of kids TV? How sick are you guys, really…?

Some people even wanted CPS to take my child away from me… Have a look at these screenshots…

You want a happy, healthy, innocent child to be taken away from a stable, safe home with loving parents just because you don't like the content the mother made? You want her to be placed in foster care, where there is no guarantee that she will have a happy upbringing rather than have her stay with her parents who love her and care for her, for reasons she'll never understand and wasn't even aware of?

"Think of the children!" a lot of you say when it comes to my content. May I ask why this doesn't apply to my daughter?

Why do some of you go as far as to wishing her dead or wanting her to be removed from the home she feels safe and loved in? How is that thinking of the children?

As for the douchebag in that screenshot. You claim that if your mother did something like that you would want nothing to do with her… I have a question: Do you know EVERYTHING your mother do? Does she include you in each aspect of her life? Even her sexual life? No?

How do you know she doesn't do thing you don't approve of when you're not around? She could be a rabid pornmag reader for all you know. But stuff like that is something adults hide from their kids. So, you wouldn't know, unless you go snooping around in her business.

Everyone is entitled to privacy. What I and my husband do when our kid is not around is our business, not hers, and certainly not yours.

Porn and parenting are to be kept separate from each other. Period.

And we do.

There is absolutely no reason to be worried about my daughter. She is a happy, healthy child in a safe, stable home with family that loves her and cares for her. Not just me and my husband, but also grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins.

If you want to remove her from that over a stupid fanfic behind a mature content wall, you're the deranged person, not me.

This is all I have to say about all this and my time in the TTTE fandom. I have left by my own, free will. Yes, I am aware that many people don't want me there. That's fine. I don't want to be there.

I am a bit disappointed in those people who just blindly unfollowed me and unfriended me without any questions asked, just followed the leader. Big users tend to dictate who and what is worth following in that fandom. They will even protect real predators, but I'm not going to open that can of worms now. I'm done with the fandom.

Some of those people, I have been talking to regularly, even supported when they faced hardships in the fandom themselves. But when I got in trouble, they ditched me without a word…

If anything, this whole ordeal showed me who to trust and not, and who were true to their word when it came to how deep our friendship was. True friends at least give you the chance to explain before they drop you. I hold no ill feelings to those who did, at least they asked me before judging.

And those who still stayed with me, are the ones who truly know me and who I really am.

Some of the worst libels posted about me might be reported to the police, but I haven't made up my mind yet. I am not mentally strong at the moment, so I don't know if I have the strength to legally follow it all up. I will ask the cops at work for advice on the matter.

All I ask for now is some peace.

You don't have to like me. You don't have to follow me. You don't have to like my content. Feel free to invalidate me, I know a lot of you will.

But please, stop bullying me and my family.

Please stop sending me horrid messages and death threats.

Please stop doxxing me and calling me.

Please leave my family alone. If you don't care about me, at least care about them.

Please just ignore me. I have already left the fandom, there is no reason to keep hunting me.

I just want to move on and go on with my life and the content I am currently working on. After years in therapy, my life has gotten better, and I want to move on.

Please let me.

#good bye to ttte #tw//suicide #tw//rape #tw// bullying #tw//depression #tw//ptsd #tw//ttte #tw//sex #tw//abuse #tw//domestic abuse #I'm done

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purplesurveys · 3 years ago

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1232

Did you make any money today? Not today, because it’s a weekend.

What was the highest place you've ever jumped from? I’m not too sure, actually. I tend to be cautious when it comes to jumping just because I always have this fear at the back of my head that I could possibly snap my legs in half upon landing lol.

Have you ever gone swimming in a river? I don’t think I have.

Is there something you really want to buy at the moment? I want a jumbo RJ doll but it’s quite expensive and not one of my priorities at the moment.

Would you ever consider culinary school? I want to learn how to cook but not passionate enough about it to enroll in culinary school altogether, so no.

What was the last souvenir someone got you? It’s been a while since anyone went anywhere...

Do you have a favorite remix of a song? I’ve never enjoyed remixes and just stick to original versions of songs. The one remix I’ll give a pass to is BTS’ Mic Drop with Steve Aoki just because that one includes a dance break that sounds really nice and gets me all hyped up.

Has the power gone out recently? Yeah, like two weeks ago. I was working from home then so it had been a huge bother, but fortunately I had been charging my devices all day and also had enough data on my phone so I was able to continue.

Do you like driving at night? It’s ok and actually pretty relaxing if it’s LATE late at night and there’s barely any cars. Driving in the evening during rush hour, on the other hand, is just fucking stressful.

What do you think is the most saddest sounding instrument? Depending on how it’s played, probably the piano or violin.

Do you really pay attention to the ratings on movies? Yes. It’s a pretty influential factor.

Have you ever snuck in to a theater/dance/bar etc? No.

If given the chance, would you go to Ireland? I mean, it’s not really on top of my bucket list but for the sake of travelling and experiencing a different place and culture I definitely would go to Ireland.

Are you afraid of standing on the edge of hills/skyscrapers/cliffs etc? I am scared but whenever I’m given the chance to do this I kind of scrap that fear first and live in the moment.

Do you have a favorite species of wild cat (tiger/lion/cougar etc)? No.

Do you have an absolute favorite name (boy or girl)? Alessandra, 120%. It is so beautiful-sounding, plus I love that you can use "Alessa" as a nickname. My Silent Hill obsession is quite thrilled by that, ha ha. < I love that name too, now that I think about it. For now, I think Olivia still tops my list.

Are you good at pronouncing foreign words? My English is alright.

When listening to music, do you usually tap your foot etc to the beat? I tap my fingers more than my foot.

Have you ever literally cried on a friend's shoulder? Yeah but they were also my significant other then, so I dunno if that counts. I’m not super into physical touch so this isn’t something I’d do towards a friend, no matter how close we are.

Would you ever consider being a DJ at a party if you were paid? Nah, I would suck.

Do strapless bras work for you? No, my boobs are too small.

Has anyone told you that they wanted to marry you/were planning on it/etc? No.

Do you feel comfortable enough to wear short shorts? Yeah, I just never really have the opportunity to wear them.

Have a favorite actor/actress from Old Hollywood? (Marilyn Munroe, etc) AUDREY HEPBURNNNNNNNNNN

What's your opinion on people who stretch their ears? They can do whatever they want lol. I’m personally not a fan of the look but that’s my own problem to deal with.

Do you think tattoos are expressive art or unattractive? Expressive.

What is your school mascot? None of the schools I attended have one.

Have you ever seen a bear in the wild? I have never seen a bear.

What's the book you're currently reading? Not reading anything at the moment.

Can you recall the most disturbing movie you've ever seen? Eraserhead. Requiem For A Dream is also stressful to watch, even on your 2nd or 45th rewatch.

Has anyone you know gotten mono? Possibly, but I can’t place names at the moment.

Have you ever picked an apple off the tree and eaten it? No. Aside from the fact that I don’t eat fruits, apple trees aren’t native here so I’ve never actually seen one.

Can you say yes/no in different languages? Oo/hindi, ne/ani.

Out of the traditional superheroes, which one is your favorite? I don’t like superheroes.

Ever peed in your pants after the age of 10? Not in my pants but my bed, but fortunately it just happened once.

Had any surgeries? What kind? I have not.

Ever told your parents you hated them? I had it written down on my journal when I was going through those rebellious puberty years, but it was only directed towards my mom because that had also been the peak of her emotionally/mentally abusive days. It’s funny because she snooped through my stuff then and saw the entry and ended up crying...and I didn’t even feel bad about it because 1) I meant what I wrote, and 2) she literally went through my shit. I still don’t feel bad about it.

Do you let your pets on your furniture? Yes they can get on the couch and my bed.

How do you feel about kettle cooked chips? I don’t really have an opinion lmao. If they are chips then they are going in my mouth.

How strong do you like your coffee? I like milky/creamy coffee best tbh. When it comes to how strong they are I don’t have a preference.

Would you rather see someone of the opposite sex naked or nicely dressed? Idk.

Would you ever consider visiting Texas? I have relatives based in San Antonio and we’re pretty close to that side of the family, so yeah.

If you could make a movie, what would it be about? I’ve never been one for creative writing.

If you were kicked out of your current residence whom would you call? My grandma or one of my aunts.

Do you want a boyfriend or girlfriend? Not at this point in my life.

Do you prefer broccoli or asparagus? Oooooohh I love both!

Was the last person you kissed attractive? Objectively yes, but I no longer feel the attraction I once held for her.

Are you racist at all? No.

Do you read creepypasta? If not, you should. No thanks.

Have you ever vandalized? Yeah some desks when I was in grade school.

Would you ever scuba dive in shark-infested waters if you had the chance? Most likely not. And by the way, they do not "infest" waters. That's their home. I hate that phrase so much. < This is a good point and I’d like to keep it here. Anywho, yeah I’m willing to do this but as far as I know they keep you in a cage when you go down in the water. I’d only do it if this was guaranteed lol.

Have you ever been drunk at work? Hungover, yes. Drunk while at work, hell no.

Have you ever hit a parked car with your car? No. My mom has done this with my parked car though -____- She had been backing up and I kept honking as she inched closer to my car, but she heeded me no mind until she finally hit me.

Have you ever slept on the floor with someone you like? We probably had but I don’t remember the details anymore.

Which do you prefer: french toast, bagels, or cereal? Bagels.

Do you prefer light or dark haired? Dark.

Have you ever read any of the Chicken Soup for the Soul books? Yes, I liked reading those in like grade school and high school.

Would you be prepared to do a job that you didn’t like, if it paid well? I haven’t been placed in that situation yet, so I’m not actually sure how I would handle it. Depends on how much the money is, I guess.

Do you think age is needed for maturity? No.

Do you believe the future is predetermined? I don’t think so.

What words are most comforting to you? Words of reassurance, like, “I’m just here,” “You don’t have to apologize.”

How important is money to you? It is generally pretty important to me and I’m usually good at saving...I’ve just hit a road bump the last few months because getting into K-Pop means wanting to get something out of every new merch drop hahahaha. I went alarmingly crazy from April to June, but I made a vow to calm down starting this July; and so far, aside from pre-ordering the new Memories of 2020 DVD and buying some merch from the pop-up store, I haven’t bought anything else.

Is there anything you want to last forever? Cold weather in the Philippines.

List three of your passions: Writing, food, and museums.

How old do you want to live to? Just because I’m competitive even until age, I want to make it to 100 lmao.

What kind of love do you value the most? Very comfortable platonic love. I highly value friendships where I can pretty much treat them like an SO hahaha.

If you could control one element, what would it be? I don’t care.

Do you prefer foxes or wolves? No preferences.

Could you ever deliver a baby? OMG no I would be terrible and would for sure bring more harm than good to the mother.

Do you think suits are sexy? Uh yeah.

Ever been called babe? Yeah.

How old is your youngest sibling? 18.

Who in your phone has a heart after their name? Angela.

Favorite boy’s name? I guess I have several preferences, but I dunno if I have favorite boy’s names. I like the sounds of Lucas, Jacob, Liam, and Mason.

Are your parents together, separated, divorced, never married, what? Married.

Do you go online every day? For sure.

What is the best quality in the last guy you kissed? I’ve never kissed a guy.

What do you usually do during a kiss? Depends on how passionate it is? < Yeah.

Do you have an older brother? Technically no, but I have a cousin that I pretty much see as one.

You’re offered free tickets to a Justin Bieber concert. What do you do? I love Biebs, but I would probably sell them. Some extra money is always good hahaha.

What’s the genre of the current song you’re listening to? K-Pop, R&B.

Would you ever keep your favorite animal as a pet? Yeah, I already have two of them.

Would you ever sell your soul? Erm, I guess not.

#survey #surveys

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purplekiwis · 5 years ago

Text

“From the Dining Table” - Chapter I

Hello everyone, I’ve been enjoying reading your fics a lot, especially now with the whole quarentine thing, they never fail to bring me joy. I thought it would be fun to start writing some myself and that’s why I created this blog. I haven’t written a fic in over 10 years ( I promise I’m not that old, I was just a very imaginative child.) Anyway, I wrote this one based of a dream I had and then I realized it reminded me a lot of Harry’s song, so I just kept on going with the theme. This is a pretty long one, it’s going to be 3 Chapters. Today I’m gonna post the first one, I hope you (whoever you are that’s reading this) enjoy it and I would be super happy to get any feedback from you.❤️

You can read Chapter II here You can read Chapter III here Word Count: 8k Warnings: Angst, Cursing, Sexual References

Summary: Friends to Lovers; Y/N is a graphic designer working at a small studio in London. She lives a pretty ordinary life, considering she also happens to be friends with an internationally known musician. Which is fine... Until she finds herself having to face the feelings she developed for her friend, who's the last person she expected to fall in love with.

Chapter I - The House Party

Today was just another typical Saturday for you. You had just got out of the shower and dressed in your “sleeping clothes” - an old t-Shirt and a pair of incredibly worn out leggings, and cooked something quick for dinner, since all the plans you had for the evening, and for the rest of the weekend were to lay around the house watching movies from your watch-list and trying to keep up with the episodes of your favorite series you had missed out during the week.

However, as you were browsing through your computer, trying to figure out what Riverdale episode you hadn’t watched yet, your phone vibrated on the bedside table. You let your head fall in your hands with a weary expression, fearing that it might be one of your clients asking for changes in the work you had just delivered 2 hours ago. You tried your hardest to ignore it, for you had already decided that you were going to save the rest of the afternoon for taking care of yourself... which was a great accomplishment since you gradually and accidentally had become a bit of a workaholic.

It wasn’t something you were proud of... but you were a proper adult now and that’s just how adultwood is. Suddenly all your friends were busy with their families (can’t relate), their partners (no, can’t relate either) and their jobs (yes, you had one of those now) and you didn’t have much else to keep you entertained, so at least you tried to do something productive with your time.

Okay, maybe it was possible that you were focusing on work to try not to think about how lonely you actually felt... Especially when you found yourself rubbing your own aching back after spending the whole afternoon sitting at your desk immersed in your work. Secretly wishing somebody else was there with you besides the faces painted in the unfinished artworks laying around your flat... that were yet to be amazing pieces of art one day, according to you.

The only problem was that you couldn’t manage to get yourself to actually finish them, or even to work on them for a couple of hours. Why? You didn’t really know.

All you knew was that there was no motivaton within you to focus on the things you had once really enjoyed doing. Maybe you were too tired to have a hobby, maybe you were already over those artworks, perhaps you didn’t even like painting anymore...

The only thing that you knew for sure of was that you had became exactly who you said you would never: A young adult working for a small company with barely any social life, let alone a stable relationship, sharing a tiny apartment with her cat and the ghosts of her past dreams and aspirations. So I guess by now it’s safe to say that you were definitely focusing on your work to forget about how boring your life had become in the last few months... Even thought you really didn’t want to look at your phone, your curiosity got a hold of you and you checked it… Only to find a text from your friend Harry. Seeing his name on your phone made your heart skip a beat, as you rolled around in bed so that you could take a better look at it. It had been a while since you spoke to Harry... mostly because he had been busy, and you had been trying to avoid bothering him. Knowing damn well he would probably much rather spend his free time doing something better with his free time, since he was always busy as a bee, jumping between countries and cities whilst working on several projects simultaneously.

You considered Harry a close friend of yours... even if you didn’t talk all the time and even ghosted each other for months on occasion, until one of you broke the silence with a text or a phone call. This time, it was Harry that texted you first...

HS: What are you up to?

You: I was just about to watch Riverdale...

H.S: What is that?

You couldn’t help but to let out a little smile. Sometimes he could still surprise you with how alienated he could be from mundane stuff. You didn’t hold it against him, you knew he had a preference for oldies when it came to the movies and music he actually payed attention to.

You decided not to bug him about it, since you were far more interested in figuring out why he was randomly texting you at 9PM on a Saturday.

You : It’s just a gross teen show. What about you?

H.S: Aren’t you a bit too old for teen shows? I’m home. Been here for a couple of days, actually.

You felt a little hurt knowing that he had been home for a while and was only letting you know now, since you were usually one of the first people he wanted to see after spending long periods of time away, even if it was just to come watch the telly and catch up over bags of take-away food. You shook off the uneasy feeling. After all it wasn’t like he owed you his free time... For all you knew, he could’ve been catching up with his other friends or even have someone far more entertaining over his house.

You : Aren’t you a bit too young to be such a grandpa?

H.S : Good news is that grandpa might actually have better plans for your night.

You felt your cheeks warm as a fuzzy feeling started in your stomach. You noticed you had been smiling at your phone whilst thinking of what his plans could be, and when you finally got back to reality your cat was blankely staring at you, making you feel aware of how stupid you must have been looking. “What? You know it’s not like that!” You exclaimed to your cat, getting a little embarassed by your own mushy thoughts.

Before you could answer his text he sent you another one.

H.S: Would you like to accompany me to this thing i have? You sat straight in your bed, but almost immidiately got up to check yourself in the mirror. Yikes, you thought. There’s no way i’m going anywhere with a face like this... In the deepest, darkest part of your brain, you added: Especially not with him. You: What thing?

H.S: It’s just a boring house party. Please come!!! I need someone to talk to.

You: If you want to convince me, maybe you should consider rethinking your use of adjectives. I’m sure you do... just like all the other parties, right? 🙄

H.S: Sorry, I meant AMAZING party!!! 😊 Also, it’s not my fault everyone likes to talk to me. You : It is. You’re too nice to them.

H.S: That’s why i need you to scare them away with your moody face! Are you coming? I already asked Claire to save you seat in the car.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, kinda wishing you had known earlier because you really looked and felt too tired (and ugly, might you add) to get out of the house. Especially to go to a party where you probably knew like, 3 people in real life besides Harry. Besides, you already knew that you would feel a bit out of place there... Because no matter how hard Harry and his friends tried to make you feel included, there was always this feeling you felt... Like everyone else was judging every single thing you did. The clothes you were wearing, the way you acted with your friends, how much booze you drinked, how many crab cakes you ate, and even how much you talked, or didn’t talk... Going to these parties had undoubtedly showed you how cold and indifferent people could be about other people’s complete existence as soon as they realized they didn’t come from the entertainment industry... Harry had tried to explain to you that they didn’t flat out dislike you... It was just that they liked to test the waters before jumping into a friendship with someone from outside the industry, since most of them had already been through bad experiences when it came to that topic.

Y/N had never really ate that one up, but she decided it wasn’t worth the fuss of sharing her opinion out loud. She still remebered the first event she attended to with Harry, and how he and his friends had tried to give her advise on what she should and shouldn’t do... Something she hadn’t taken very well at the time, because it wasn’t like she didn’t know how to behave herself at a party just for being considered an “outsider”. She had been to lots of parties. Smaller ones, yes. With cheaper beverage options and far unhealthier selections of finger foods she could nibble guiltlessly on, but they were still parties nonetheless...

Luckily for you, people were starting to get used to your occasional presence at their informal house events, and you managed to get along with the majority of Harry’s mates as well, what made you feel a little more confortable... However you still always got a bit nervous before going, especially when you hadn’t seen everyone in a while, which was the case that time around...

You : I feel like i could fall asleep at any given moment, so i think i’ll have to pass this one out 😔 but maybe tomorrow we could do something?

He took a while to reply, making you wonder if he got upset at you for not wanting to go, or if he was already asking another one of his friends if they would like to go in your place... You didn’t know what option you liked the best. Eventually, you got tired of holding your phone so you put it down, a little too harshly, what made your cat tremble with the noise. “Sorry Tilly.” You whispered, as your pet got up and curled up in your lap, while you petted her gently behind her ears. “Maybe it’s better this way… right?” You asked, mostly to yourself.

Suddently you heard your phone ringing. Harry was calling you. You got up in a jump and grabbed the phone, what led to an unpleasant scratch from Tilly in your thigh. Before picking up, you stared at the screen for a few seconds, just so he didn’t think you were impatiently waiting for his reply. Yes, you were petty like that sometimes.

“Hey!”

“Hello loser!” The raspyness of his voice caught you by surprise, making you shiver. You’d almost forgot how good it sounded.

“No one uses that word anymore.”

“Who cares?” “Good point. Hm, listen… I hope you’re not mad at me for not going...” “What? You really thought I was gonna give up on you that easily?” “Oh, stop it! I’m not going! Besides, even if I wanted to go, what would I wear? I literally have like ze-” You stopped your rambling, realizing he was singing something to you over the phone, you didn’t recognize it at first, but then you realized where it was from.

“You're a mean one Mr. Grinch. You really are a heeeel… You're as cuddly as a cactus! You're as charming as an eel! Mr. Griiiinch… You're a bad banana with a… Greasy black peeeeel!”

It was a song from the last movie you had seen together when he had came home for the holidays. How The Grinch Stole Christmas. He was singing it to mock you by your choice of words, that reminded him of a particular scene of the movie. The way he was messing up the song with his gibberish made you laugh. Eventually both your laughs and his singing faded, leaving you with a huge smile on your face. “You’re an idiot, you know that?” You asked.

“Well, thank you. Now... As a way of thanking me for my… astonishing performace, you must come party with us.”

“You’ve got some nerve coming at me with that crap after you’ve abandoned me for... how long was it again? two months?”

“Hey... I’m trying to redeem myself here!” “Good! As you should.”

“Is that a yes? Please...? You’re not going to say no to me, are you?”

“It’s a maybe... a highy dependant on me finding something to wear type of maybe. First of all, is it like…fancy?”

“Hmm, not really… I think!? You never really know with these parties.”

“Trust me, I’m aware.” There was a brief silent pause on Harry’s side of the phone, as you as you rummaged through your clothes. “What are you going to wear anyway?”

“Don’t know yet. Probably like, some pants… boots… and a shirt?” Harry’s vague description didn't help whatsoever, but you were far too busy trying to disenchant a decent outfit to make light of his words. “Okay!” There was a lot of shuffling from your side, making his eyebrows furrow on the other side the line, despite your lack of knowledge. “I think I may have just found my nice pants, but I don’t know if I have a nice blouse that goes with them... or one that is fitted for the occasion. Why am I so boring with my clothes? I need to invest in a better wardrobe asap…” “You can always come by mine and borrow a shirt… Ya know, If you don’t want to stand out too much.”

“Not standing out by wearing your clothes? Now that’s funny!” “I’m sure you’ll find something wearable...”

“Are you serious? You would let me borrow your clothes?”

“Sure. If you want to.”

“I don’t know… I’m scared I’ll rip them or something.”

“I mean, I like my clothes... but it’s not like I would kill you or myself if something bad happened to them.” “You’re so humble and reasonable Mr. Styles… How did you stay like that?” You could hear him briefelly laugh at your provocation. “I’m serious! besides, I secretly always want to know how my clothes fit on different people.”

“I’m not trying to spoil it for you but probably not that good... Mostly because I’m female shaped so they won’t fit me properly… Also, I’m not sure if you’re aware but you have this gift-” “Oh, shut up! You can pull anything off.” He cut you off before you could either compliment him or put yourself down. “As long as you love it.” “We’ll see about that.” You challenged, noticeably way less hopeful than he was. “I’ll see you in… an hour and half? Is that a good time?”

“Do you want me to ask someone to pick you up?” “I’m good, thank you...” You answered, wasting little time mulling over your friend’s proposal. “But I would happily accept a parking spot in your garage…” You added suggestively, knowing he wouldn’t say no. “Sure! Anything for you.” “Thank you!” “You’re very welcome.” “Okay, well... I better go and get ready now or I’m going to show up late.” “Alright, I need to go get ready as well. See you soon. Drive safe!” “Always do.” It took you a bit more than na hour to get ready, what meant you were already running a little late, since Harry’s house was more than half an hour drive away.

You were wearing one of your favorite “going out” pants, they were black, high-waisted, carrot fitted and overwhelmingly confortable. You went for other one of your favorite pieces - a yellow silk blouse, just in case you ended up not fitting properly in any of Harry’s shirts.

You paired your outfit with oval style ankle boots you’d just recently acquired. I already know I’m going to regret this decision, you thought whilst putting them on.

You had also decided to change into a matching set of lingerie just because you never know what can happen, right? and also partially because you knew you’d be changing at Harry’s, and god forbid he actually saw anything but if he did, at least it wouldn’t be your granny underwear. You put on a neutral makeup look, throwing a couple of lipsticks into your purse, just so you could decide which one to wear depending on the color of the shirt. Finally, you put on a bit of perfume and grabbed your jacket, taking a final look in the mirror, staring at yourself from different angles. “I guess that’s about as good as it’s gonna get.” You mumbled to your reflection.

Before leaving the house, you kissed and petted your cat goodbye, however she didn’t respond to your affection since she was already asleep on top of the clothes you had just carelessly thrown on top of the bed.

You got in your car and drove off, thirty four minutes later you were turning into Harry’s street and stopping the car in front of the condominium’s gate.You took your phone out of your purse and rang him, he picked up almost immediately.

“You’re here?” “Yeah, I’m already at the gate.” “Okay, let me open it for you and I’ll be down in a second.” “Okay, thank you.” The call dropped and the large metal gate started to move, you slowly drove your way into the condo, trying to remember where the entrance to his garage was.

You didn’t have to think too hard, because a few seconds later one of the garage doors started to open and you could see a pair of impecable black leather boots that merged with the bottom of burgundy flares. Yup, no need for more searching, You thought.

You stopped the car, waiting for the gate to fully open for what seemed like an eternity, but it gave you time to fully appreciate the man that was slowly revealing himself in front of you.

You could start to see his top half now, he was wearing a simple white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, uncovering his tattooed arms. The top buttons were undone, exposing the cross necklace he always wore, he was also wearing another necklace you hadn’t seen before, his hands were hidden in his pockets, but you already knew that they would be adorned with multiple rings of all shapes and sizes. What a show off, was the tought that came to mind once his whole outfit was revealed, but you had to admit that you wouldn’t have him any other way...

Finally his head showed up, and he was wearing a big smile on his face.

“Hey you! Better hurry up before this thing closes on you.” You were so lost in his smile that you accidentally let your car die, but you were quick to start it again and as he walked aside you pulled into the garage.

When you finished parking, you got out of the car, being immediately greeted by Harry’s arms that wrapped you in a tight hug. You couldn’t help but to close your eyes to fully enjoy the moment. He smelled like his characteristic cologne, but since your head was pressed against his shoulder, you could also smell the fabric softner on his shirt and his deodorant.

“You smell nice.” You mumbled under your breath. “So do you.” He replied swiftly, resting his chin on the top of your head. He walked you to the elevator and you went up to his apartment. After many minutes of catching up in the living room he led you to his bedroom, where his closet was. “It’s a bit messy in here, I’ve been meaning to organize it, but I haven’t really had the time.” The boy said before opening its door.

You tried not to look mesmerized by the amount of clothing in front of you, because you knew that one of the things Harry hated the most was when people perceived him as shallow or vain. Luckily, most people could tell straight away that his love for fashion had a greater meaning for him than to just look nice... And even when they didn’t, it only took them about seconds of conversation with him to realize how much of a ducky and kind person he truly was. Also, fairly recently he had been getting a lot of praise for his bold fashion choices, what led to a bit of over enthusiasm from his main stylists’s part and himself when it came to investing in it.

“I promise I actually wear most of these...” He justified himself, noticing the enthralled expression you genuinely believed you were managing to disguise.

“Oh, don’t mind me!” You giggled. “I’m just slightly overwhelmed by the number of choices before me.” “Well, take all the time you need.” Harry smiled, sitting over the edge of his bed and unlocking his phone to check the time. It was already past midnight. As you finally gained courage to start going through his clothes, he let his back fall on the bedspread with a sigh and stared at the ceiling, and that’s when you decided you couldn’t possibly not try to mess with him a little bit. “Stupid… Ugly… Out of date…” (Reference (01:20-01:24)

“Hey! Stop it, will you?!” He sat up again, supporting his upper body with his elbows that rested firmly on his lap. “Have you found my dress yet?”

You peeked through the open closet to with a curious expression on your face. “No… Where is it?” you asked, disappearing behind the door and enthusiastically searching his closet for the item, suddently grabbing something that kinda looked like a dress, yet kinda looked like a curtain. “Is this it?” You asked, stepping out of the closet, holding the hanger in front of you.

“It’s not a dress, it’s a kilt... Sicko!” (Reference (01:13-01:18)

“Really? You had that one coming for a long time didn’t you?” You disdainfully smiled, shaking your head in disapproval. You could tell from his little smirk that he was proud of successfully tricking you into his joke. “Yeah, I was hoping you would find it and ask about it, but you didn’t so I had to find a way to deliver the line anyway.”

“Okay, but for real why do you have a wedding dress in your closet?” You turned the hanger to see the strange garment from the front.

“Cause I’m cool like that.”

“You know what? It’s actually not as ugly as it seemed at first sight...”

“Well, I would hope so ‘cause it was bloody expensive.” At the sound of his words you were quick to carefully hang it back in it’s place, gently rubbing the fabric to avoid any crinkles.

You kept looking through his clothes and ended up finding a almost sheer shirt that you liked. It was rusty orange with a psychadelic flower pattern that looked quite unique. Taking advantage of the fact that Harry was laying down and distracted on his phone and freed yourself of your blouse in a swift motion, trying on his shirt on as fast as you could. It fitted you quite nicely to your surprise. “So, have you found anything you like yet?” Your friend asked, with his eyes still stuck on his phone.

“Actually yes, but I could use your help… How would you style this?” He sat up again and focused his attention on you. “How come you end up finding the one shirt I don’t actually remember owning?”

He admired you from the bed, letting is head fall to the side a bit, you could feel his eyes stuck on your figure, what made you feel a bit unconfortable and insecure about your body. His expression changed as he got up and walked towards you, making a little circle around you and finally stopping right in front of you. “May I?” He asked, reaching for the shirt.

“Yeah, go ahead.” You lifted your arms slightly so they wouldn’t get on his way. Carefully, he started adjusting the shirt, slipping it inside your pants and gently pulling it out, until it fell down in a natural way.

You could feel the warmth of his hands on your skin through the fabric, what caused your breathing to get a little heavy and out of your throat came a peculiar husky sound. Luckily, he was so focused on what he was doing that he didn’t even acknowledged it.

Feeling a bit flustered due to his proximity, you decided to break the silence. “You look so different now that you cut your hair…”

“Well, isn’t that kind of the point of changing your hair? Why are you complaining? Do you not find me cute anymore?” “Who lied to you and told you I ever thought you were cute?” Harry looked up at you with disdainful expression once his green eyes met yours. You could feel your cheeks getting warmer by the second. “Well you’re wrong because I am, in fact, very attractive.” He looked down again and undid one of the buttons of the shirt, what left a bit of the black lace of your bra showing. “What are you doing?” You asked in a startled tone. “Just trust me.” “Umm… Fine, I guess.” You shrugged as he stepped back to admire his work. His focused expression broke into a proud smile as he moved to the side, uncovering the mirror just so you could see yourself. You looked hot, there’s no other way to put it. The color of the shirt complimented your skin tone beautifully, as well as the golden necklace that fell over your chest in a sensual way, capturing attention to your stripped neckline. “You look cuter than me, I can't have that... Come on, we’re switching. Take it off, now.” Your handsome friend complained in a frisky tone, grabbing at the hem of his shirt as if he was about to pull it off. “I could never…” You challenged, feeling quite shy after his compliment. “Well, apparently you can.” “You look amazing though...” You complimented back. “Love the pants.” “Really? I think they make my ass look weird sometimes.” The boy confessed, turning around so you could check his bottoms. “I think your ass’s great.” You kind of regretted the conviction you uttered that sentence with. “I mean… in those pants.”

Harry sighed playfully. “I was enjoying the compliment, why did you have to ruin it?”

“Fine, you can take the compliment then.” You granted easily. “Shouldn’t we get going? I’m sure it’s pretty late already…” “Ready?” “Yes, let me just…” You ran to your purse, picking one of the lipsticks you had brought with you, applying it in front of the mirror while the charming man shoved his essential belongings into the pockets of his matching blazer and put it on, completing the look. You noticed he was observing you with curiosity as you tinted your lips in a dark shade of brick orange. “Let’s go missy.” The boy rushed as you locked eyes with him through the mirror. **

Even though you offered to drive to Claire’s house, he insisted on taking his car because he hadn’t driven in a while and wanted to before he got “rusty”. As he was driving, you inquired him about who was hosting the party you were going to, since all he’d told you was that you were meeting your friends at Clare’s house and from there you would share a car, so that the whole group would get there together.

To your surprise, when faced with your question he got quiet and you noticed his expression changing, he briefely took his eyes off the road to look at you and you could practically see the guilt in this face. “What is it?” You asked, wondering what he could be acting so weird about.

“Hum yeah, about that…” He began to stammer, keeping his eyes stuck to the road.

“Just tell me it’s not what I think it is.” “Before you say anything, I know you’ll probably want to kill me right now…” “Harry!” “I knew you wouldn’t have come if I told you... It’s going to be fun, I promise! She’s not as bad as you think she is.” “No Harry!” You fretted. “You know what? Just stop the car, I want to go home.”

“Well, I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.”

“I’m not kidding Harry.” “I’m not dropping you off in the middle of the fucking freeway.”

“Yes you are!” “No, I’m not.” He kept driving and you let your body slip through the seat, crossing your arms in silence, resenting him for almost five minutes while he tried to convince you of how Alexa was way nicer than you thought and that she wasn’t really a bitch, it was just that her sense of humor could be a little off-putting sometimes. The way he was defending her made you feel even angrier, even though you weren’t really listening.

In your head all you could think about was all the times you had the unpleasant surprise of bumping into Alexa. She was such a bitch! Always finding a way to put you down and make you feel embarassed. She even came up with a stupid nickname for you at Harry’s birthday party that she always made sure to use, even though she must’ve known you hated it. “Just so you know, when we get to Claire’s I’m getting a cab and going home.”

“Fine.” He jerked his shoulders dismissively. “If you want to miss out on a great time with our friends, it’s up to you.” “When she’s there it’s never really a good time for me so I guess I’m good.” “Come on…” Harry huffed, shifting his gaze off to road for a moment to check on his muddled friend. “Everyone was so excited to see you...” You were mad that he lied to you, but you were madder that you had gotten all dressed up and now you weren’t going. You also missed your mutual friends and hanging out with them. You kept weighting the pros and the cons throughout the rest of the drive, and when you got to Claire’s house, after a little convincing from the group, you decided you were not going to let the fact that it was Alexa’s party ruin the night for you.

You were still mad at Harry though. And having to go on another car trip with him, feeling his body pressing up against yours whenever there was a turnabout, wasn’t making it easy for you to keep your cool.

As you finally got to Alexa’s house you could tell the house was packed by the number of cars parked outside, making you feel relieved you had a driver, because if you had to find a place to park it would’ve been a nightmare.

There was a group of people lining up, and as you got closer you noticed two men by the door checking for the guests names on a list. You started to get worried that your friends might have omitted to Alexa that you were going, since you were almost certain that your presence wouldn’t please her any better than it did to you. You eyed their faces, looking for any sign of concern, however they seemed calm.

As you walked the line, you started to get more and more nervous, ending up momentarily swallowing your pride and pulling at Harry’s sleeve, in hopes of getting his attention without the rest of the group noticing. “Does Alexa know I’m coming to her party?” You asked as quietly as you could.

“Of course she does! I told her myself.”

“What did she say?”

He didn’t get to answer your question because he was approached by the doorkeeper, that asked him for his name. Harry politely greeted him before answering his question and being such a gentleman, he provided the names of the other members of the group.

The doorkeeper checked the names on the list and to your surprise your name was actually there. He allowed the group to get inside. All of you murmuring a brief “thank you” as you walked past the big guy.

The door led to a giant lounge style living room, that seemed to be where the focus of the party was. To your right, there were three big windows, each with it’s own balcony, where small groups of people gathered to enjoy a smoke and the beautiful view of the city. In the middle of the room there was an open dance space, demarked by an enormous persian carpet, that was still pretty empty despite the fact the DJ was already playing.

Behind the dance area there were two long tables, practically stuffed with different types of alcoholic beverages. It had to be one of the most diverse open bars you had ever seen at a house party. From the ceiling fell party ribbons and lights, and the walls were adorned with baloons and paper decorations. You tried to decipher the color of the objects around you, but it was almost impossible due to the color changing lights that provided an hallucinogenic athmosphere to the space.

You looked around, trying to familiarize yourself with your surroundings. As your eyes scanned the place, they found couple of familiar faces, but they froze at a well-known face in the kitchen.

There was Alexa… She was sitting over the counter, scrolling on her phone. Her glossy lips rested on the edge of the paper cup she was holding. The light from the screen illuminated her face, making her glittery eyeshadow pop behind the thick lashes that she was wearing. She was dressed in a two-toned metallic mini dress and knee-high platform boots. You could tell from her expression that she was distressed about something. Her stillness gave you the opportunity to study her face. Her features were quite angelical, something you had never noticed before.

The sound of something scattering on the kitchen floor woke her up from her daydream as she turned around to curse at whoever opened the kitchen cabinet. Yup, there’s the bitch, You mused to yourself.

She jumped off the counter and walked out of the kitchen, making her way around the groups of people that were chattering by the door. She walked around the living room, trying to greet the people she hadn’t seen yet.

Your eyes briefly met hers before she approached your friends. They went for a group hug, in which you didn’t participate. Instead, you awkwardly stared at them while they hugged and chatted. Harry looked back at you, encouraging you to join them with an eye motion, you let out a sigh and moved closer to the group, what caught Alexa’s attention. “Hi Nutmeg! I haven’t seen you in a hot minute…” She greeted you by kissing the air next to your cheek, before looking you up and down. “I see you’ve upgraded your closet... It was about time.” The beautiful girl remarked, focusing her attention on the shirt you were wearing.

You found yourself side-eyeing Harry, trying your hardest to ignore her taunting words. “I swear I’ve seen that somewhere... what brand is it?” Her question startled you. Prompting your head to tilt towards Harry, realizing he had mirrored the gesture to stare at you. You stood there staring at each other, both of you wishing you could read his mind. “Is there something I’m missing?” Alexa questioned, suspicious of your odd behaviour.

“No, not at all!” Harry was quick to intervene. “I’m gonna go for a drink, anyone wants to join me?” He suggested, clearly attempting to brush off the topic.

“I’ll go get the drinks.” You volunteered, taking the chance to escape and ditch Alexa’s question.

“Will you get me some jack and coke?” The girl requested, handing you her freshly empty cup. “Thanks.” She added when you grabbed it from her hand. It was probably the only time you actually felt pleased to fix Alexa a drink. “Harry, what do you want?” You called his attention back to you, upon realizing he was already engaged into conversation with someone you didn’t know.

“Double Tequila, please.” You raised your brows at his choice of beverage. Already knowing that when he started the night with Tequila he would, most likely, end up drunk out of his mind. But you didn’t bother to try to coarce him into switching to something else. “Do you need an extra hand?” He offered out of politeness.

“It’s fine, I’m sure I can handle it.” You spat as you left, not wanting to interrupt his conversation again.

As the night went on, people started to gather mainly around the dance space, that was proving itself to be a little too small for the large amount of people using it. You were having a good time, but you were definitely not enjoying the feeling of getting rubbed all over by everyone around you. Harry, on the other hand, didn’t seem bothered whatsoever. And as you predicted, he was already pretty out of it, prancing around the place and carelessly engaging into conversation with everyone who approached him, including people you knew he shit talked behind their back... The fake little bitch...

You tried not to care, but you couldn’t keep yourself from constantly checking on him to see what he was up to. You weren’t the only one who couldn’t keep your eyes away from him.. What wasn’t unnusual, since he was such a natural attention-grabber. Howbeit, there were several girls and boys that were practically drooling at the sight of him. That wasn’t new either, but it didn’t make it any less annoying...

When the boy finally made his way back to the group, he tried to convince you to dance with him by grabbing your hand and making you spin for him. You graciously brushed him off. Mostly out of shyness, persuading him into asking your friend John instead. He agreed on the spot... And once he finally managed to get his friend to bend at his will, they got everyone laughing and cheering, encouraging them to keep up with the tango dance moves. But it wasn’t long until the two boys had enough of the attention, laughing it off and joining the group again.

Then a figure rose above the crowd. It was Alexa, who has just stood up on a table holding a microphone in her hand that she was slowly tapping on, attempting to grab everyone’s attention. “Hello, hello, hello my magnificent friends. How is everyone feeling tonight?” She asked, earning a loud cheer from the crowd, that she encouraged by clapping silently before speaking again. “Alright, alright... can y’all can shut the fuck up now? …I just wanted to say that I hope everyone is getting drunk and having a great time. You know me, I gotta be real with you… There are some people here I’d much rather had stayed home, but you know what? You don’t really bother me.” The girl shrugged haughtily. “With that said, I’d like to propose a toast to every single one of you motherfuckers that came to my party. Cheers, bitches!” She yelled the last two words, emptying her cup in a single swig while the crowd cheered and downed their own cups along with the host.

The fact that Alexa let you in had given you the impression that maybe Harry was right about her, but her speech left a bad taste in your mouth and made you wonder if you were one of the people she was talking about, you were almost certain you were. “What did you say earlier about her being a nice person?” You ironically asked Harry, that was standing right beside you.

Your eyes were still stuck on her as you wondered if she would manage to get down from the table without falling. You secretly hoped she wouldn’t.

He failed to answer your question, so you turned to him. Only to realize that he wasn’t there anymore. Your eyes quickly danced around the room, searching for your missing friend, and unfortunatly it wasn’t long until they found him...

Your whole body went cold, feeling your heart sink in your chest. Your vision felt blurry, and there was a complicated knot forming at the tip of your stomach. There he was. Barely six feet away from you. With his back flush against a wall and his lips pressed harshly on somebody else’s. His hands gently caressed up the other boy’s back, that had his hands firmly clutched onto your friend’s hair and the back of his neck.

You felt like your whole world was crashing down in front of you.

Whilst everyone around you was enjoying themselves, all you wanted to do was collapse to your knees and scream your confusing pain away, but you couldn’t. There was nothing you could do and it just fucking hurt.

You’d always known it would eventually happen... But nothing could ever prepare you for the feeling of watching the person you love fondling somebody else.

In the middle of your agony, you noticed a pair of hazel eyes staring right at you from distance, breaking your attention from the heartbreaking scene. “Yo... What the fuck?!” You couldn’t hear her words, but you could read them clearly through the motion of her lips. She looked completely baffled by the state of you.

You stepped back, attempting your best to muffle into the crowd, but it was too late... You were certain she’d saw the devastated look on your face, and the glistening tear that rolled down your cheek afterwards.

You turned your back on the scene and pushed through the crowd, hidding your face as you stumbled upon almost everyone on your way to the bathroom. You locked yourself inside and leaned against the door, finally letting it all out as you sobbed uncontrollably and allowed for your body to slide down the surface, until your knees met the cold marble floor.

A unexpected loud banging on the door startled you. “It’s occupied.” Y/N shouted, in the most composed voice she could fabricate.

“It’s Alexa... open the door.” The girl shouted back impatiently.

“Fuck off Alexa!” You could feel your blood boil and your hands trembling at the mere sound of her voice. “Just leave me alone, will you?”

There was silence for a moment, before she banged on the door harder. You tried to ignore it because considering your state, at the slighest provocation you’d probably lose it and punch her in the face. “Don’t be a fucking bitch, I’m here to help.” Alexa shouted again, but it was pointless. “Okay, fine. I guess I’ll have to ask someone to kick the door down...”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“It’s my house. What are you going to do about it?” She challenged, knowing you couldn’t fight her on that. “You have three seconds… one...two…” You flang the door open before she could finish her countdown, causing her to tremble ever so slightly. “Quite the charm, aren’t you?” She sighed satirically, making her way inside the bathroom while fixing her dress. You noticed she was holding a bottle of Bacardi rum, that she promptly opened and handed to you. You stood there perplexedly looking at her, trying to figure out what her intentions were. “Are you going to take it or not?” At that, you abruptly grabbed the bottle from her hand and took it to your lips, taking a big chug and giving it back with a disgusted expression caused by the intense alcohol sting. Alexa took the bottle to her lips as well, but unlike you, her face didn’t even flinch. “What did you come here for?” The sharpness of your tone led her into giving you a dirty look “What do you think? That I came in here to make fun of you?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you did.” “Just thought you could use a friend...” She explained, jumping on her bum to sit on the countertop. “And luckily for you, so do I.”

“Judging by the number of people outside, I’m sure you have plenty of friends.”

She let out a silent wheeze at your guess. “Everything isn’t always what it seems, Nutmeg… I have people that keep me company, but when it comes down to the real shit, I have no one I can count with really…”

“I’m finding that quite hard to believe if I’m honest…” “I know you are. So is everyone else. They all assume my life is just perfect. After all, I have everything, don’t I? I don’t blame them... I know I can be cruel and bitter sometimes, but I’m not the cold-hearted, super confident bitch everyone thinks that I am.” “Why are you telling me all that?”

“I don’t know… Maybe ‘cause I’m drunk and lonely and you’re one of the few people here that I actually like…” You couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of her mouth. “You’re messing with me, right?” She, on the other hand, seemed rather confused by your apprehensiveness. “I appreciate people like you... Who manage to stay true to themselves despite hanging out with these people. It’s so easy to lose yourself in this environment... But I don’t think you did, and I can appreciate that.”

“I’m just lucky to have good friends... If they were different, I don’t know if I’d stayed so nice and humble.”

As the silence settled, you took the chance to sit down on the edge of her expensive looking bathtub. “So… changing the subject. You and Harry, what’s the deal?”

“What do you mean?” You pretended you didn’t know what she was implying, hoping she would let go of the topic.

“I’m not stupid. I saw the way you looked when he was all over that guy… I confess I had no idea that you were into him. I thought you liked girls, I could almost swear he had told me that.” Her words made your stomach twist, and Alexa didn’t miss your distressed expression. “Sorry... I’m not very good with words. I didn’t mean to make it worse.” The girl added, trying to make up for her cold stance. “Here...” She handed you back the bottle, and you agreeably to a swig from it. “Does he know?”

“I don’t think so...” “I don’t mean to be unpleasant but I think he thinks you’re a lesbian.” “Yeah, I know… he’s not completely wrong, I guess.” “So, you’re bi?” “I don’t really know what I am.” “Oh, it’s okay. You don’t have to be anything, you can just be… yourself!” You locked eyes with her, briefely smiling at her motivational words “How long have you fancied him for?”

“I don’t know...” You stared down at your own feet. “Thinking back, I guess I always kind of have... but it’s complicated. So I just hoped it would go away with time... Besides, you’ve seen the people he gets with. They’re all gorgeous, and I... I mean, I don’t really meet the standards, do I?” “And how’s that working out for you?” You went quiet, since you didn’t really have a good answer to give. “Okay, here’s what I think you should do. First of all, you gotta stop with the self loathing. It’s depressing and outdated. You’re just as valid as everyone else.”

“It’s not self loathing. You don’t understand… What if he pushes me away? I really care for our friendship and I don’t want to throw it all away because of a stupid crush.” “A stupid crush? Didn’t you just say you’ve always liked him? How long have you known eachother for? Three years?” “Well… Two and half, but it’s not like I’ve been waiting for him… I’ve had my fair share of relationships and so did he, I never did anything to change that. Why would I start now?” “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’re at a party, locked inside a bathroom, crying over him, while he’s out there screwing somebody else.” “God, you’re certainly are awful with words aren’t you?” “I take pride in my honesty.” She stated. “Look, all I can say is that I think this whole “crush” situation is, obviously, far more than a crush... And you know I’m right so don’t even bother to deny it. Therefore, I think it’s long overdue that you do something about how you feel, otherwise you’re just gonna be stuck wondering on the what ifs forever, watching him live his life while you’re unable to move on with your yours, and you deserve better than that. Anyone deserves better than that.” “It’s just… scary.” “Isn’t everything worth trying always somewhat scary at first?” You ended up spending the rest of the night with Alexa. Sitting inside her large empty bathtub, sharing your shittiest life experiences and drowning your sorrows with the bottle of rum. She told you about her crazy ex-boyfriend, and how he had been making her life a living hell since their break up. Showing up uninvited at her work, her parties, and practically everywhere she went, despite her telling him time and time again to stop and leave her alone. You advised her the best you could, but as you expected, she was pretty stubborn and acted as if she had everything under control, even though she clearly did not. The night had taken a unexpected turn for you, however, at least there was something positive you could also take from it, that being the friendship that was beggining to fluorish between you and Alexa.

You were so deep in conversation that you completely lost track of time, so much that you finally felt tired and decided to check you phone for the time, it was already 6AM.

You had seven missed calls and fifteen text messages from your friends asking where you were, if you were okay and if you were still leaving with them. You realized they had probably already left, so you just apologized for leaving early and informed them that you were fine. When you and Alexa got out of the bathroom, there were still a couple of people hanging around, but as expected, the vast majority had already left.

The light coming from the windows hurt your tired eyes and your bottom half was hurting from spending so many hours sitting inside a bathtub. By that time, all you wanted to do was go home, take a shower and take a nap to make up for the all nighter you pulled, but then you remembered…

“Shit!”

“What?”

“I left my car at Harry’s house.”

I hope you’re enjoying it so far! Chapter II is hereeee!

#one direction #one direction imagines #one direction imagine #one direction x reader #1d #solo 1d #harry styles #solo harry #"harr #harry #harry styles fic #harry styles fine line #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #imagine #imagines #fanfic #fanfiction #harry styles fanfiction

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mor-beck-more-problems · 4 years ago

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The Best Little Pit-Stops in Texas || Morgan & Deirdre

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @deathduty & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan shows Deirdre her old haunts in Houston. You really can’t go home again, but sometimes you leave good behind.

CONTAINS: Houston vibes, softness

When the El Real Mexican Restaurant built itself out of an old two screen movie house, they’d kept the neon marquis intact, equal parts nostalgia and kitsch. In college, when Morgan was wringing out a day’s worth of food from $10 tacos al carbon and endless chips, she had enjoyed making a point of admiring the puns and jokes posted under the neon lights: We’re jalapeno these spicy tostadas! We’re nacho kidding, $5 margs when you order new loaded nachos! When Morgan brought Deirdre there on their second night in town, it read: In Queso You Didn’t Know: Closing Dec 26. We’ll cilantro you again someday. Guess you really couldn’t go home again. “And here I thought it was packed because it’s a local institution,” she mumbled.

They parked across the street between a Half Price Books and a Jack in the Box. Houston was still twilight blue at six o’clock, and she could see the shift changes at the local eateries: aprons going up, textbooks and phones coming out. In the other parking lots in sight and on the eating patios of other restaurants, clubbers strolling for a bite to coat their stomachs before hitting the streets and rainbow flags dangling limp and content from shop windows. Morgan slid into Deirdre’s side as they picked their way along the crawling traffic. She had envied those young people so much, almost in tears with how badly she wanted to be a part of them. She would never know what it was like to be that young and alive and free. But with the woman she loved pressed close, she felt a piece of what she had been aching for. It wasn’t their stuff, or even their numbers, though she did miss knowing that she had enough people who cared about her to fill a room. It was something else, something like the love they grew between each other, but not quite. “I would bring girls out here and get them to buy me entrees I could take home to refrigerate. Even if nothing came of it besides a kiss or an hour fumbling around, it was nice to have a hot dinner I wouldn’t have to cook later. And we were pretty safe out here. Girls didn��t get the same kinds of looks as guys, and this part of town is designated as the gayborhood. As long as you weren’t walking alone and looking obvious, it was fine for me. I’d cover the cheap drinks, obviously. Sometimes with magic counterfeit money but--” she put her finger to her lips. “And if things were going really bad, I could pretend to be really riveted by whatever they were screening up on the wall.” Morgan pointed, in case the projection was getting lost in the organized chaos of evening rush. “Besides having the best tacos for your buck, it was a good spot my dad liked to take me to. Not when it was like this, but when the place first opened and the lunch special had everything even cheaper and we could pass by all the fancy shopping centers on the way home. We can too, it’s really close to the hotel, actually. This time of year everything is decked out in the most incredible lights. It’s like something out of a movie. Anyways--” she smiled thin, not sure what she was trying to get at with all this local geography discourse, “It’s only fair I bring my actual best girl here, while it still exists.” She did feel a little hollow, knowing this would be the only time they were going to be here. None of her childhood homes were still standing, and the apartments she had lived in weren’t worth driving to as far as she could reckon. What else was left of the place she’d been bound to for most of her life but these transient commercial spaces? Morgan frowned as they were seated and the chip bowl was put in front of them. Despite not feeling the November warmth, she had been too preoccupied with her family drama to brood over her life being over completely. Here or anywhere else. What was she planning on doing here besides playing tour guide to her old shadows? Morgan reached for Deirdre’s hand, trying to get a read for how she felt about being here. “How are you doing…?” She asked.

Deirdre’s eyes raked over a labyrinth of people. She didn’t like crowds, usually; noisy, chaotic things. It was a sea to get lost in, a force to feel small under. But there was one tiny delight in that. She could watch the humans flutter about their lives; she would know them, their fear, and happiness and anger, and they would never notice her. All her life, she had been stuck as the observer. Though it was not a role she chose, it was one that suited her. For all the charm that rolled naturally off her tongue, there sat her own fears and insecurities, inscrutable to the fellow watcher. Things changed when she met Morgan, and she wasn’t so much a shell floating through the lives around her as she was someone living for once. “I’ve never really been to a Mexican restaurant before,” she explained on the walk there, “I’ve never really been anywhere, I suppose.” And she hoped that in the quiet of her voice, Morgan would realize just how much she’d given her. It was in that way, that despite the loss that rattled in her chest, she could summon warm smiles and enthusiastic bouts of affection. Her life began with Morgan, after all. She would not let her girlfriend’s end with old, bitter memories. For every reminder of them she could find, she held Morgan closer, kissed her longer, gripped her tighter.

The restaurant’s closing date, announced brightly with a joke in neon lights, wasn’t something she could love away.

She pressed herself firmly to Morgan. It was one part imminent closing, another part restaurant. They never visited any after Morgan’s death; Morgan couldn’t taste anything and Deirdre never ate much to begin with. And though days of stealing fries off Morgan’s plate were replaced with longer walks and frequent picnics, Deirdre wasn’t so oblivious that she didn’t know what this meant for them. What it meant for Morgan now, entering a restaurant she loved, and couldn’t enjoy fully before it would be gone forever. Though Deirdre was caught up in the spectacle of the crowd and the interior, her mind wouldn’t drift from what must have been plaguing her love. The lights above were warm-tinted, strung delicately across the old ceiling, just one scream away from littering the heads of everyone below. “Well, now I’m offended I’m not the only girl you bought drinks for with counterfeit money,” Deirdre feigned a huff, chuckling as her eyes followed where Morgan was pointing. Sure enough there was a movie playing, one she couldn’t recognize or hear, but she was mesmerized by the moving shapes beyond her anyways. Action she didn’t know the plot to, logic she had yet to unravel. There was something odd about stumbling into a movie halfway, played as a backdrop, that she couldn’t put her finger on. By the time they got their table, she still hadn’t quite figured it out. Morgan cut across the table, hand against hers, and Deirdre snapped from her daze. “How am I…” She breathed, incredulous. Then she softened, turning her hand so their fingers could intertwine. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that…?” She smiled gently. “This place is special to you, uneventful dates for free dinner aside...or perhaps, even with those. A place you came to with your father. And it’s…” Deirdre glanced around, then back at the entrance. “I could buy it back, from whoever they sold it to. I could make them keep it open. I’ve tried it before…” She turned back to Morgan. “That old antique store in my town. The place I saved up my allowance for, the place between all the pubs and houses? I tried to---well, it doesn’t matter now, I suppose. It closed. But I could save this place, if you wanted that.”

Morgan heard the quiet notes in Deirdre’s voice, a shy admittance she didn’t know how to read. Would it be better if they had some perfunctory appetizers and left? Was she overwhelmed, or unhappy? Morgan pressed Deirdre’s knuckles to her lips and scooted her chair close so they met nearly side to side in the corner. “I’m...a lot of things, but mostly fine.” She hadn’t been thinking about what it would be like to be here when she called ahead for a table, only that it was already by the Menil Art museum and the Rothko Chapel she’d shown Deirdre earlier and that whenever she thought of the Montrose area, all cramped and flourishing and safe, she always tasted the char of perfectly seasoned chicken fajita meat and the sour tang of tequila on her tongue. From here. It had seemed essential, and she’d never had a bad time there, even when she and her dad guiltily brought Ruth along for their early lunches a few times. Why wouldn’t she make room for something that had always been reliable and good? But now they were here, and Deirdre didn’t like crowds, and Morgan didn’t get anything out of the tortilla chips except crunchiness and pointy ends poking the roof of her mouth. The inside was just like she’d remembered. Rainbows of margaritas, salsas, and November ‘winter wear’ spilled all through the open eating space. The usual cowboy movies and Bonanza specials had been traded in for Christmas-y movies, even though it wasn’t even Thanksgiving yet. Morgan recognized Jimmy Stuart in The Shop Around the Corner at once. He was one of Ruth’s favorites, and this was one of the few films they had been able to agree on. It should have felt like she was falling back into old, comforting steps.

But all the workers would be out of work after Christmas. The red and green paper garland would be thrown away or sold. The building would become something else. Everyone eating here would funnel into other places, some to boring franchises, some to mom and pop places still surviving under the radar. And all the energy Morgan had shed in this place on dates and lunches and lonely comfort outings would be cut loose and aimless, a ghost of their own. And Morgan couldn’t taste anything or smell the full potency of the steaming skillets passing by or even tell how much hotter it was inside. She didn’t know who she felt more sorry for, the El Real or herself.

“You didn’t answer my question, babe,” she said gently. “If this wasn’t such a great idea in practice, there’s plenty of other places we can go and ways we can spend our evening. Or if I can do something-- I’m just checking in, and I don’t want all of this to be about me.” If not out of kindness, then for this: the more she lingered on herself, the more she felt like a ghost herself.

She softened at Deridre’s half-told story, releasing what little determined resolve she’d been holding onto. “You don’t have to do that,” she murmured. “That would be...I mean what would we even do with the place, except give it back to the old owners, I guess…” Which was a thought that did make her happy for a moment, enough that she couldn’t hide it. “I could never ask that, and it’s not like we’d get to enjoy it often…” But that wasn’t the point. The point was to let Morgan get to keep something, some place that had mattered to her. Even the schools she’d gone to were no longer standing as they once were. Was keeping it something she wanted? “Tell me more about that place of yours. I want to know, even if I can never see it. Especially because I can’t see it.”

“I’m worried about you, my love.” Deirdre replied easily, sighing with relief as Morgan scooted next to her. As soon as she could, she took Morgan’s hands in hers, firm and steady. “We haven’t really been to any restaurants since…” As her sentence trailed away, she offered a small smile, her brows furrowed with worry. “Maybe I’m just thinking about it too much. Tell me if I am, but I know how much you’ve lost in your life, and how hard things are now and I just...worry, I guess.” And it was frustrating, that they had to be seated in two separate chairs, half-blocked by a table. Al’s had booths, at least. And pie. “I’m okay. More than okay, really. I get to spend time with you, in your home, and all the places you love. I get to fill and color my understanding of you, and that’s magical to me. Knowing you always is. I’ll be okay, no matter where we go or what we do. But if I can do something for you, Morgan….” Her eyes drifted to the movie again; the action had shifted, new actors showed their faces. She knew less than she did before, and the strange, unnamed feeling crept back into her stomach. She slumped and turned back. “This doesn’t have to be about you, if you don’t want that. You know I like you…” Deirdre grinend and nudged her. “And you know I like hearing about you, but if you just want to eat some tacos and have fun, we can do that.”

In a show of good faith, Deirdre reached across and plucked a chip from the table. And then she ate it, slowly, as if it might bite her. There were a lot of things she had never tried before, and she was embarrassed that tortilla chips existed somewhere on that list. Not drenched in nacho toppings, at least. Though nachos themselves were something she only just tried this year. “These don’t taste like potato crisps, I suppose.” She swallowed, trying to dust the salt from her fingers. “We could give it to someone who wants to run it,” she offered, debating on another chip. “We could talk to the owners, talk to other people. And it isn’t really about visiting it…” Deirdre turned her attention away from the so-called “endless” chips, which seemed like they really did have an end to her, several, in fact, and looked to her girlfriend. She knew that she understood, and so she didn’t elaborate on metaphors and symbolism. “If you want that,” she whispered, “change is inevitable, I know. But sometimes you can keep something just as you knew it, just as you loved it. There’s nothing wrong with wanting that.” The story of her little store, a world of its own mysticism, was one of less hope. “It’s not interesting,” she began, “I-I told you about the old books I bought, haven’t I? The ones my mother burned. I got them from there. It was...well, I wasn’t allowed out, much or at all. But this store wasn’t so far from the farm, and yet not too close either. And the few times I had errands, I had just enough time to spare to duck inside and get lost among the trinkets. The owner never complained about seeing me there, or letting me stay.” She knew some kids who were yelled at for accused stealing, more that turned up their noses at the dust and smell. But the old man never paid her much attention, and that, she figured, was a kindness. “I never visited it much when I started highschool, but I passed it one day and noticed a sign and...I-I thought it was money problems. I stole some cash from the family--they never noticed it was gone anyway--and left it inside for the owner.” Deirdre shook her head, “he just used it to retire. Now there’s a bookstore there. It’s not a...thrilling story. Or one I like.”

Morgan bowed her head. She couldn’t bring herself to lie to Deirdre, and she wasn’t ready to say, no, I’m sad, because restaurants make me sad now, because there’s nothing for me in them and I feel awful goading you into ordering enough to make the effort of going out feel worth it. But Deirdre already knew. Maybe it was just common sense or maybe it was some deeper sense she had discovered from spending so much time with her, but Morgan was certain even hiding her face wasn’t going to fool Deirdre for a second. “Since I stopped being able to taste anything I used to, yeah,” she mumbled. Was she spoiling the evening? Was there a version of them that was already laughing and cuddling and making the most out of the tortilla chips? Watching Deirdre try one for herself almost made Morgan cry. She was trying, even with what she was carrying from the past month and a half, she was trying for her. Couldn’t Morgan try a little more too?

“You might...be right,” she admitted. “I wasn’t really thinking practically when I got the idea. And I’ve missed this place ever since I left so maybe I wasn’t even really thinking at all with my new normal brain. I’ve wanted you to see it for yourself way before I… I could’ve been more thoughtful, more careful about this.” A waiter passed by balancing three cast iron fajita skillets on his tray and Morgan imagined her mother’s disappointed face behind her, shaking her head. You know better.

She kept her fingers locked in Deirdre’s as she told her story. She didn’t speak much about her teenage years, Morgan only knew the story of the boy and his dog, her first kill, and that she took her vows at fifteen and only after was she allowed to go back to school. It seemed to Morgan like those years didn’t really exist, but had been corded and knotted around steps and demands and expectations, and Deirdre herself was tucked away somewhere, too numb and hurt to come out. But of course it wasn’t that simple. Of course she had summoned the will to be kind for someone else as long as it was a secret. She had tried, even then. “Oh, my love,” Morgan whispered. “It was still kind and worthwhile, you know that, right? You know--”

Their waiter appeared, holding his pad awkwardly, clearly torn between interrupting a moment and having to do his job. Morgan flashed him a perfunctory smile and ordered a white chocolate pina colada, the shrimp street tacos, and 2 tamales a la carte, rattling off some alterations that would make it safer for Deirdre. Then she asked for the check to be brought as soon as he had the time, even if that happened to be before the food was ready.

When he was gone, Morgan slid her arms around her girlfriend. “I’m coming up with a plan and I want to know what you think,” she said into her shoulder. “You tell me what else is bothering you, because I know there’s something. And we talk it out or we put it aside, and you tell me what you think about how everything tastes, and we don’t even have to finish if you don’t want to. And then…” She hesitated. “I know nothing is ever going to be the same for either of us, we can’t get those places or those feelings back all the way. But there is a place I had that was like yours. One that we can actually share equally. It’s a little more of a drive, but I want to show you, and be a part of it with you, if you’re still up to it. But you tell me what’s making you sad or worry besides me first. I’m just gonna wonder anyway. How does that sound?”

“No, it’s not like that--” Deirdre groaned in annoyance at the space between them. Swiftly, she pushed their chairs together, wooden bottoms clashing and finger pinched between them. She hissed in pain, drawing her purple fingertip to her mouth as her other hand settled for resting on Morgan’s thigh. “It’s not like that,” Deirdre repeated. “I don’t care about practical thinking or--Fates, Morgan, I was just worried about you. Of course I want to visit all the places you love, even if we can’t enjoy them together just the same as we would have some months ago. I’ve just been worried about you.” She swallowed thickly, fraught with concern. Was she thinking about it too much? Maybe it hadn’t even crossed Morgan’s mind until she brought it up. But, no, she knew her girlfriend well enough, she hoped. And how could she ignore small frowns or wilted sentences? Wasn’t this whole town just one big reminder of everything Morgan had lost? Was she okay with playing the tour guide, or did she muster the energy to walk just because Deirdre wanted to see everything? Or was it her mother; the meeting still stuck in her mind? Deirdre swallowed, and remembered that she didn’t need to be the silent thinker anymore, tasked with finding her own answers, she could ask. But the story of the stupid antique store lodged in her throat, her questions jammed under. “Probably not. He didn’t care as much about that store as I did, and he didn’t recognize me when I asked. It was a pointless endeavor and I spent months sick with guilt and worry about the money.” It would have been better if she left it, and slowly, the thought occurred to her about her questions too. Maybe Morgan didn’t want to talk about it or---

How long had that server been standing there? Deirdre shifted in her seat, she hadn’t even looked at the menu. It was by miracle, or the power of how well they knew each other, that Morgan ordered for her. Better, because she both didn’t know how to pronounce anything and didn’t know what she would be mispronouncing in the first place. As she’d learned recently, it wasn’t just acceptable to ask for the best thing on the menu, accompanied by their most expensive drinks. As he left, her eyes fell back on to the movie--in a new place, someone was crying now. Deirdre reached across and popped another chip into her mouth, shocked again by the crunch. She considered Morgan’s plan as she tried to chew respectably. “If you’d like me there, I’d love to go,” she turned to her girlfriend with a small smile, “but it’s not like that. Not for me. It doesn’t matter that I can’t steal the food off your plate while you’re gone to the toilet, or that we don’t do breakfast at Al’s anymore. That doesn’t---I miss it, in a way. But not like that. Not like you’re saying it. It’s not gone for me, it’s not lost. Time spent with you, my love, is always the most precious thing to me. It’s never so much mattered where or what we were doing, as long as you were happy, and I’m with you.” Her attention shifted back to the damned movie, and she frowned as she searched for the words to explain it better. “It’s worse for you, because you know what’s missing. Like a...movie met halfway. There’s dialogue and story and characters and I only know half of it. I’ll only ever know half of it. And the people…” She glanced around the crowd, caught in their own worlds, as humans so often were. “...don’t really care about the movie on the wall. Which is a shame, I bet they’d really get it if they watched it all the way through.” Deirdre sighed, slumped against her chair. “There is something on my mind, but it’s about you. And we don’t have to talk about you if that’s not what you want; if it’s too hard. We don’t have to do that. And it’s not like you’re making me sad, nothing like that at all. It’s just how badly I wish I could...fix it all for you.” She sniffled, suddenly aware that her eyes had begun to water and leak and she turned away to blink it gone. “Sometimes, I love you so much I cry about it, I guess.” Her laugh was shaky, and her humor weak. “Sorry, I’ll just, uh---”

“No, it was. It was still kind. It says nothing about you that it didn’t take, and everything about him, the part that’s wonderful is that you tried…” Morgan whispered, her words coming all out in a rush, slipping in before the subject closed. She fixated on Deirdre, letting everything else fade. The world released itself from her so fast, like it was always waiting to. She followed her gaze and listened to the crunch of more tortilla chips (so addictive, no matter what mood you were in), completely absorbed. Deirdre wasn’t far off and Morgan didn’t know if she was pained or relieved that the wrinkle knot on her forehead was because of her and not some cursed memory or dreadful epiphany. She was sniffing and blinking back tears of her own by the time Deirdre was doing the same. She untangled herself so she could wipe her cheek and the corner of her eyes.

“We don’t have to pretend. It’s okay,” she said softly. “And you’re right. It’s...I used to be in the movie. I was part of the story and everything was loud and close and intense, or, at least that’s how I understood it was supposed to be. Because I didn’t let myself act like anything more than a second string player in my own life because I was so cured and afraid. But even second string people get to have coffee and look at their special someone for a coat because they’re cold, and I’m just...not a part of that anymore. And that’s been true for the last—almost seven months now? But I was getting used to that in White Crest and I at least have people I’m a part of. Well, a couple, maybe—” Her mouth pulled into a grimace as she thought of Remmy and Nell. She pushed them away, this was hard enough already. “But everyone I used to have here died. The places I lived in are gone. Hell, my first elementary school is Costco now! I barely had an existence here, and yet that sad hopeful life seems so far and so much better than whatever it is I’m doing here right now. But it’s not just that. That would be easy. I could just tell you I made a stupid, terrible mistake and I want to go home. But I can’t, because I really do want you to have this. I don’t have a lot of anything, but what I do have feels special, because it’s mine, and I love you, of course I want to give you whatever I can offer. And you have been so deprived and shut away from the world, and look at you now, in the fourth largest city in America!”

The waiter returned with the drink and the food, and flourished out the check. Morgan caught it before it met the table and slid in her card, urging the young man to wrap things up.

“And you’re finally having tacos! Real Tex-mex tacos! And Christmas tamales, I don’t even know why they’re a December tradition, but they are! People look forward to getting bags of these like they look forward to those red Starbucks cups. You’re not just having everyday Houston nonsense, but something seasonal and special too. And I want you to be a part of it and I want to make it good. I didn’t really get to find out where all the good things are in the world when I was alive, but I know these places, I know when my lonely, miserable life was just a little better for having something hot and nice, and being surrounded by tables so crowded or just the right kind of sparse that I could trick myself into feeling like I belonged somewhere for an hour. I just—” She cut herself off and waited for her body to still, for her voice to loosen up again. She wouldn’t pretend to be okay when she wasn’t, but she wouldn’t make them a point of interest in a busy restaurant either. She waited, tears coming loose from her eyes. She waited some more, taking Deirdre’s hand into her lap. At last, with all the control she could muster, she confessed, “I don’t know how to explain the way I want to share all of my good here with you. I want you to be in the movie too, and I want to know where it’s the same and where it’s different, so it all becomes new. I feel like you understand what it’s like to be stuck on the outside, in the audience, a beat behind everyone else. And I want to show you something more and better than that. We deserve that, especially with how much shit is following us back home, if there’s anything left in me that can work my will into the world, I will show you that we can have more than watching from the fringes. And I need to be able to work my will somehow. I was born a witch and I need to know what I want counts for something and what I want is that. But I can’t share something I’m not a part of. And as horrible and selfish as it is, I hate feeling left behind. It shouldn’t even be possible, to be left behind in your own hometown, in a place you love. But I am dead to at least half of my tiny slice of world here, and that’s just what’s still standing. And I hate it. I’m finally brave enough to embrace everything there was around me and now it’s...it’s something I can only get through a screen and I hate it.” She paused again. Waited again. “But there might be something we can save, and share, and someone who would appreciate it. And when you were telling me that story, I just thought, if I can’t be alive or make this as good as I wanted, maybe I can at least save something with you. Something I can almost be a part of.” Her voice lilted up, watery with hope. “I like the idea that doing something outrageous and kind is something that we could do together.” She sniffled and smiled through her tears. “I don’t mean to be such a baby. We can talk about what’s on your mind, whatever you want to tell me or ask me. But you um, you should tell me if you like how anything tastes.”

Deirdre’s brows knit together with concern, brown eyes glistening at the mercy of new tears. She listened, and she nodded, and she opened and shut her mouth like a fish out of water as she tried to find the magic words to send the pain away. How was it, that for as powerful as a declaration of love was, the words ‘I love you’ could be so meager? Love was all she had, and yet, not enough. Her food had arrived, and their check taken care of, but Deirdre’s attention did not stir. She held Morgan’s hand tight, pressed the back of her knuckles to her cheek to take care of any tears, and paid no mind to her own crying. She shifted her fingers and cupped Morgan’s cheek; suddenly, the bustling world around them dissolved in her senses. She didn’t say she loved her, she didn’t want to interrupt, but she spoke it clearly with her body—from the warm gaze of her eyes right down to her legs, twitching to entangle with Morgan. “Houston is the fourth largest city in America?” She said eventually, lamely. And embarrassed by her inability to find the magic words, the restaurant rushed back into feeling and she turned to her food. She needed two hands to eat, just another way this restaurant foiled her; first the chairs, now the fork and knife. She took up the respective utensils in her hands and started cutting into the yellow rectangle on her plate. “I love you,” she looked back at Morgan as she swayed her food, “so much. A lot. The most. More than I know how to say, more than I can fathom. More than you can. Just—“ She sighed with helplessness, giving up on the food. “So, so, much. It means everything to me that you’re here, that you try, that you want to.” She dropped down the fork and knife, and wrapped her arms around Morgan, where they much preferred to be. “I wish I could do more for you.” Deirdre buried her face into her neck. “I wish I could go back in time and pluck you away from all that terribleness. I wish I could fix it now, with just the right words. I wish I could do more than love you. And I know that means a lot already, I know because your love means the world to me, but I just wish there was more I could do for you. I could feel it, when you were showing me around. It was like only a part of you was there, and the other was some place too far to reach—a place I can’t go. And all that time I just kept wishing I could do more, and none of that is your fault, and I promise I don’t blame you in the slightest, but by Death, I just wish so badly.” She sniffled. “You gave me life, Morgan.” And lifted her head up to meet her girlfriend’s eyes. “A real one. A good one. One I’m proud of, one I look forward to, one I can tell people about. And you’re right, I’m not in the audience anymore, I haven’t been for some time now—long before we ever landed here, and even right now. And I owe it all to you, my love. The world is so alive to me, for once. And it means something to me now. And that’s you, you did that.” She breathed with happiness, fluttering a wet laugh. “Is it bad that I almost wish it was half-dead to me too? I don’t want to be any place you’re not, even the world of feeling.”

Loss was inevitable. Deirdre knew Morgan’s life didn’t have to be ruled by it, but it would be stained. An immortal, she would lose everything all over again, all the time. And Deirdre was pained to think about it, as if her own heart had been thrust out. “I’m sorry,” she swallowed, “about everything. I love you. I want everything to be better for you, and this feeling isn’t new. When you were alive and cursed I wanted it so badly I...Fates, even if you were normal, whatever that means, I’d worry about splinters. Curse all the wood, it attacks my girlfriend, doesn’t it know she hurts?” She laughed shakily, pressing her forehead to Morgan’s. “You make everything good, my love. Always. I know your life has been unkind to you, and I don’t know how to make it all better, but we’ll figure it out together. One day at a time. Whatever we can do today that’s good, we can give whatever you want. Do whatever. I love you.” And so she kissed her, fierce and desperate and stopped only when she remembered where they were. Chased by another quick kiss, she turned back to her food and resumed her sawing.

“I know I say it all the time, but just being with you is perfect for me; more than, even. I’m so thankful that you want to share this with me, and I’m so excited for it, but just in case you don’t feel like it...or if you’ve felt like you’re doing a bad job or something...I just wanted to make sure you know the truth: I love you. Any moment with you is good and perfect, and everything I could want and more. All of this has been amazing, every second. That’s that. And, actually, if you won’t think me too dramatic to say it, there was something on my mind—“ Deirdre frowned, interrupting herself. “Why is this so hard to cut?” Bite finally freed, she stabbed it with her fork, astonished at the strangely tough exterior. “I suppose I should taste this first.”

Morgan melted into all of Deirdre’s words and touches so readily she had to stop herself from mewling out loud and climbing into her girlfriend’s lap so they could be as close as she wanted. “I don’t want you to miss out on anything, I want to feel things with you and be...alive. Somehow, just a little more. I don’t want to be where you’re not either, I just don’t know how,” she whispered, clinging to Deirdre as much as she could. If she squeezed enough, she could get the right sense of Deirdre’s back and shoulders, she could press back enough to feel her forehead. “But I am so happy that you are here, and your world is alive. I can’t tell you how much I’ve been wanting that for you, my love. It doesn’t feel like it’s as much as you deserve, I want you to have more, I am so happy that you have this.” She had just hoped that they would be able to inhabit that world together. When Deirdre kissed her she returned with even more fire and longing. She could at least pull and suck and pinch hard enough to be brought a little closer to life. “I love you too, with all I am,” she whispered, feeling lightheaded as they parted.

She was so entranced by Deirdre’s face, the gentleness in her eyes, the devotion in her smile. There was no doubting her sincerity, not after the year they’d had and the honesty they nurtured between each other, but it still seemed like a strange violation of universal order that this love in all its tender, articulate wonder could be hers. So entranced, in fact, that she didn’t realize that Deirdre was about to put the tamale into her mouth, corn husk and all, until she asked. “Oh!” Morgan startled herself out of her crying. “Babe, no, let me help.” She took the fork and prised off the shredded husk and popped the piece into her mouth. The texture was soft and familiar, even hot, still, despite how long they’d spent talking and crying and gathering interested stares. Morgan unwrapped the rest of the tamale from the husk and laid it out. “The husk is just part of how it’s cooked and served. You don’t eat it, babe. Although you could re-wrap the tamale in it and inch it down as you eat, but that’s more trouble than what it’s worth.” She leaned over and kissed the corner of Deirdre’s mouth, right where she smiled. “But when you try the shrimp tacos, I’m gonna have to insist that you eat them with your hands the way the good mother of earth intended.”

She watched as Morgan unwrapped the food, staring at the revealed insides. That would make more sense, she figured, and chewed the piece Morgan offered her. The flavour was new, but the texture was nice, pie-like, even. “I’ve never had food that required stripping first. It seems like a—“ Deirdre was going to call it a hassle. But then she chewed. Wordlessly, she cut another bite off and brought it to her mouth. She chewed, and swallowed, and went in for another again. “This is good,” she breathed. She hadn’t been expecting bad food, but she hadn’t really been hoping for much at all. She swallowed another bite, eventually putting down her utensils—as if they got in the way of her explanation. “No, this is really good. I—“ Her eyes drifted to the tacos; Morgan had made those a few times, and so she was no real stranger to them. But she had always tried to eat them with a fork and knife. It was how her family had raised her to eat; her mother didn’t like using her hands to eat, she said it was barbarian, like the humans. There was some superiority woven into using a knife to cut into toast, instead of doing what was logical and grabbing it with her hands. But that was her mother, of course. And she wasn’t here. “Right. With my hands. Like how you’re supposed to eat it.” But she’d only just gotten used to eating pizza with her hands. Deirdre contorted her hand awkwardly above the plate, alternating between various claw shapes as she tried to guess at what would be the best way to pick one up without spilling everything inside. “The only thing I’ve really eaten with my hands is fruit, and then only because I plucked it off branches, and it’d be odd to bring a fork outside. But meals, real meals, were always a fork thing. My family enjoys their etiquette.” Which, though she had explained to Morgan once before in less words, she felt like it might absolve her from embarrassment at her display of confusion at the taco. “Which was weird—“ she gave up and turned to the drink instead. “Because all other fae I knew were a lot more wild in their dining habits; they lived in the forest. It’s like my family wanted to be better than everyone, even their own community.” The piña colada was good, naturally. And bolstered by its sweet flavour, she finally picked up a taco and bit into it. “This is also good.” By the time she finished it, her smile had doubled in size.

“What I was trying to say…” Deirdre began, eager to get the words out before the food distracted her again, and it was very distracting food. “...was that I don’t want to be something else for you to lose. I know I can’t help it in some regards but...as long as you want me, Morgan. I imagine I can do that. Even if that’s more than 500 years, I could find a way to stay. If you wanted me to.” And no longer able to ignore the call of tacos and tamales, she dug back into the food.

Morgan dabbed at her eyes as Deirdre went on, occasionally shooting a wave or a thumbs up at a spectator from the surrounding tables. The attention always made them self conscious, and by the time Deirdre had her first proper bite of a taco, the world had rendered them invisible once again.

She itched to take her banshee into her arms and kiss her greasy fingers and carry her off to bed, but the surprising joy in Deirdre’s smile stopped her. Deirdre’s smile was always a little mischievous, whether it was tender or impish, there was a little curve in the corner that hid just how wide it might stretch, like a delicious secret. Even when Morgan made her laugh by surprise, that curve stayed coiled up. But now Deirdre’s smile spread like it had an appetite of its own. Looking at Deirdre enjoy her plate was like seeing her face new. “I guess this means we’ll have to make our own table rules and split the difference,” Morgan said. “I wouldn’t mind picking fruit with you sometime. You must know all the best spots back home.”

Morgan couldn’t help but reach for her banshee as she gave her reassurances. Even more than five hundred years. Even as long as Morgan might last on the face of the earth, Deirdre would wait until they might be together. When Deirdre paused to wipe her mouth between bites, Morgan took her face between her hands instead and kissed her, firm and steady as a promise. “I won’t hold you to that, if only because there’s a chance I’ll never stop wanting you, however many years I last. But thank you.” Kissed her again. “Thank you, my love. Now come with me. I know just the place I want to save with you.”

The bookstore was an hour away from midtown. Morgan cruised through the eight lane freeway with ease, slipping off and taking the quieter back roads when she sensed traffic getting heavy without distress or comment. The night sky blazed orange with light. Even when they’d left the construction zones and the sentinel lines of streetlights on 290, every grocery store, shopping center, and movie-plex had its own cluster of lamps blasting away the shadows. The commercial strip Morgan took them to was small, with no lights save for the ones inside and two flickering orange poles from the city. The names of the shops were all painted on the windows and awning, personal and to the point: Kelly’s Tea Room, Macey Family Fitness, Acre Wood Hunting Supply. The one Morgan parked in front of was named Twice Told Tales.

Like any good second hand bookstore, the charm of Twice Told Tales was in the mess. Wooden shelves, clumsily constructed, bowed and slumped against the walls, their over-stuffed shelves dribbling paperbacks out the middle. They looked like sleeping old men whose shirts had come loose. Toys from the children’s section at the back corner littered the floor: plush dolls and generic blocks from the dollar store, mostly, with the occasional donated Disney princess or superhero action figure, fists raised, ready to light up as soon as you stepped on them. There was an old fashioned bell rigged to the door, chiming happily as they entered. Morgan laced her fingers through Deirdre’s hand and started weaving through the shelves on her old route, fiction first, then fantasy and science fiction, then romance, then the children’s corner, and back up through science, math, and then art and art history. There was no one else shopping and the woman who ran the store was nowhere to be seen, probably doing office work in the back, but Morgan kept her voice hushed all the same, as if she might shatter the place if she spoke too loudly.

“See, my family had this idea to conserve the energy we put out into the world as a family as much as possible. I thought it was because they valued being intentional with your actions, a lot, but it was probably just a way of trying to minimize the curse. Like, how much can you suffer if you don’t have that much going for or against you, right? The answer turned out to be ‘still a lot’, but they tried. And, anyway, the part that affected me was no buying books new. Or many books in the first place. Fortunately inter-library loans are a thing so I wasn’t completely deprived or anything, but getting to have a book I got to love and keep for as long as possible was a…stars, ‘treat’ doesn’t cover how excited I was. Yes, it was a special occasion, only a few times in the year. Birthday and Yule, and maybe one more time if I could prove and argue that I had been really, really good and had earned it and swore up and down not to let it become too much of a distraction.” Morgan sighed, her eyes reflecting the streetlamps like tiny stars full of wishes. “One of the books was Anne of Green Gables, I remember it because the copy was leather bound and there was this incredible, full color illustration of Avonlea inside and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and I’d bring the book to bed with me just to look at the picture and imagine being there. Literally falling asleep with my head on the cover. And I got that one, and any other books from that period of time here and… Frankie!” A young looking tabby, about Moira’s size, leapt down from its roost on a shelf and presented itself for them. Meowing so calmly, it seemed to be offering customer service. “It’s not the same Frankie I knew, obviously, but the lady here just keeps adopting tabby’s and naming them the same.” She looked up at Deirdre, giving her hand a squeeze. Was she really here with her? Did she feel how special this place was? Did she like it?

“I’d like it if you never stopped wanting me, I hope you won’t. Because there’s a good chance I won’t stop wanting you either.” Deirdre smiled softly. The food was done, delicious to the late bite, and she welcomed the Houston night air into her lungs. She didn’t know where they were going, she never really did. But it wouldn’t have mattered if she knew the place by heart or in casual passing, her excitement bubbled and overflowed like milk in a pot. Her version of simmering down was trying to read road signs as they blurred past. Morgan drove like she was going home, even in White Crest there was still some double-checking of street names, trying to decide if it was a left or right turn. She peeled off the giant freeway into an exit Deirdre hadn’t even noticed, though she had occupied herself with softly commenting every odd observation—some witty, some nonsensical, some common sense. She wasn’t so much talking to Morgan as she was letting her brain run loose. Beyond them, her pot continued to boil.

For all that she imagined of the place, their destination was better. Their destination was always better. Her eyes danced over every book spine, every dusty shelf. She almost wanted to tell Morgan to walk slower, she needed to commit it all to memory first. She needed to think about where Morgan stood before, what books she touched, and if they were still here for her to run her fingers over. In her awe and excitement, she hadn’t even remembered the name of the establishment. They should go back out, and come back in, let her revel in the chime of the door. How many times did it jingle for Morgan? Could she know? The store was cramped, every inch filled with something. She thought of the massive freeway, and tried to figure how many of these stores could fit in there. Then she listened. She looked to Morgan, and then back around the store. Between the shelves, did a younger Morgan skip with excitement through the sections? Did she look up, brows furrowed in concentration as she tried to pick out the perfect book—the best book. If she only got just one, it had to be good, didn’t it? But how could she pick, faced with options that literally fell off the shelves for her. Deirdre imagined Ruth in the corner, impatiently tapping her foot. Or maybe it was Hector, as excited as his daughter. Did he pick titles off the shelves that he thought his daughter would like? Did he marvel at how something so simple, so inconsequential, sparked such innocent excitement in her? Did he feel guilty? Deirdre turned back to Morgan, just quick enough to catch the expression on her face. Guilt, she decided. He could have made a world where she made that face all the time. Deirdre felt herself wanting to herself, she couldn’t imagine anyone feeling any different. What monsters those creatures must be, that would ever deny Morgan this.

Frankie interrupted them, which was all the better for Deirdre, who knew her eyes were watering. She laughed shakily, turning her head to hide a sniffle. “You’re so happy,” she sniffled again, trying to cover this one up with a cough as she met Morgan’s eyes. “It’s the most beautiful sight.” She greeted it with a kiss, as if thanking her lips for smiling. And another kiss to her temple; for her eyes, which glittered with brilliance. And then another, to her lips again, simply because she enjoyed kissing Morgan and wanted one more. She reached out slowly to the orange cat with a soft smile, letting it sniff her fingers. “I like Frankie,” she proclaimed, the cat hadn’t done anything in particular to earn such praise, but Deirdre had long since forgotten that she wasn’t supposed to like animals. Whatever happened in White Crest, whoever she was there, whatever she was under the thumb of rules, it was as if that woman’s skin had been lifted off her shoulders. She felt free, happy. “So I have Anne of the Green Gables to thank for the fact you’ve read the same old books I have.” Though Morgan had read more, obviously. “How did you pick books out?” She asked finally, pulling one off the shelf for herself, knowing she’d never be able to stuff that thing back in. She flipped through its slightly worn pages; someone had dog-eared a passage, and Deirdre stopped to look at it, wanting to know what someone thought was special there. “There’s so many books,” she continued, “how did you pick? Was it the prettiest cover? Did you read a couple of pages tucked away in the corner?” Show me, she was asking, in much more words. She wanted to know. She wanted the place where Morgan was happy, and the only problem she had was picking a good book, she wanted that world to be the one they knew best—like a full-color illustration of Avonlea. She wanted the gentle strokes, the soft greens, the wide fields and the old-fashioned house that always looked warm and cozy. She wanted to say they could have that. “My mother always thought second-hand books were tacky. Like the humans didn’t even care enough to keep them in the first place. The books I got from that antique store were all previously owned, just like everything else in there. That, itself, was a story. When it was replaced with a bookstore, even if I spent my time there, I never wanted to take a book home.” For various reasons, some that included an angry mother, hateful of personal possessions, others that could be summed up by the dog-eared corner that she pointed to. “People do care, don’t they?”

Morgan wiped Deirdre’s cheek and took her hands once again. “I am unspeakably, dangerously happy,” she said. Laughter bounced on the edge of her lips as she kissed her back. “It’s this place. And maybe a little bit you. Or a lot a bit you.” Frankie padded over to them and brushed against Deirdre’s legs, giving them a polite meow of inquiry again. Morgan scratched the cat’s ears and let it get a sniff of her, beaming as it purred and asked the same as Deirdre. “Frankie likes you too, I think. There’s something about bookstore cats, they just know how to develop an excellent sense of character. Maybe it’s the place.This is a room where things that are lost or unwanted go to belong together and find new homes. It feels nice because anything can have a space here, even people, just by turning up. I think people who don’t get that are just missing out. People do care, yeah…” Her voice trailed off in a whisper, awed and thrilled by the wonder bubbling up in Deirdre. The emptiness and the drab fluorescent lights and the cheap peeling tile under their feet transformed themselves just by being reflected in her face.

Morgan came back to herself with a sheepish grin. “If I can tear you away from your new best friend Frankie, I’d like to show you how I picked out my books….” She reeled her tight into her side and laid their hands against one another, hers on top, guiding it toward the spines. She walked them back to the front of her path, in generic fiction and literature, and hopped onto her toes to steal another kiss. “So, it may be shallow, but I did, to a certain extent, look at their covers. But I also--don’t laugh--tried to feel them. Their textures, their softness, but also their energy. I’d look, and I’d brush my fingers along the spines, up and down and zig-zagging to make sure I got the ones turned sideways too.” She guided Deirdre’s hand as she spoke, teaching her fingertips how to glide over the different shapes and sizes. “I knew I had something promising when my eyes and my hands aligned. Like when you look at someone you love, when you spark inside. If the energy is right, it feels like that, but quiet, it’s just a possibility of that, there’s something inside that wants to become a part of you, but you don’t know if you want it back yet. So then, and only then, I’d pick it out and read a few pages.” She looked at the shelves around them and the steady path of Deirdre’s fingers, and back to her love again. “What feels good to you, Deirdre?”

Deirdre put her book down, she felt guilty for not slipping it back in its place for a moment before her worries—big and small—were swept away by Morgan. “Oh, my love,” she laughed, kneeling down to give Frankie better attention. She was rewarded with the cat weaving between her legs. “You said that about the shelter cats too.” She glanced up, beaming. “And those strays that followed us around that one day. And, just about any animal we come across together.” It occurred to her then that Morgan had never really been speaking to the wisdom of the animals, but of Deirdre’s character. She flushed, and continued to dote on the taby. “But maybe it’s this place. I like this place.” It smelt questionable, like dust and books and something kind of like mold—maybe a byproduct of the Houston humidity. It looked like it’d been robbed; upturned, downturned, spread out like a sloppy storage room. The walls, shelves and floor were as worn as the books. And yet, charming. It wasn’t carelessness that led this store to its current state. It was worn by touch and love, claimed by time, plagued by too many treasures to fit between its shelves. It did need a little saving, a little fixing up, then it’d be just right.

“Mm, I don’t know. Frankie and I are getting along so great.” Her lips curled with mischief, easily awash with eagerness at Morgan’s offer. Even she couldn’t keep up her teasing under the promise to be shown—led—into Morgan’s world. “Okay,” she brushed herself off and stood up. “Show me.” Deirdre smiled and listened. “I’m no witch though. The only energies I feel are death, and I’m not so sure I want to pick a haunted book…” Now, one with a bone stuck between the pages would be nice, but human bookstores usually didn’t offer that. Though she didn’t think it would work for her, she followed Morgan’s steps. She imagined herself as the little girl, beyond excited to have something of her own. What would she pick? Her fingers brushed over the spines of dozens of books; soft, smooth, wrinkled. Some with indented titles, carved into their covers. Others with the embossed kind, some with glitter. All of them wanted attention from her, not unlike the threads of death she could feel at a cemetery. The glory of stories was that she could tug on any one, and be led into something new and exciting—a different world. Books and visions had that in common. So, she waited, she ran her fingers carefully along more books, considering each one. What feels good to you, Deirdre? She paused, fingers pressed to the spine of a humble book. Its title was not long or flashy, not indented or embossed. The book was not thick, though not so small it got lost sandwiched between larger company. What stood out to her most was where her fingers had landed: they obscured the rest of the title, leaving only a red M. There was only ever one thing that felt good to her, every time, without fail. The book was unassuming, but Deirdre grinned as though she found treasure. She pulled the book from its place, flipping it over in her hands so she could look at the cover. From there, she knew she’d chosen the right one. “She looks like you,” Deirdre commented, tilting the book to show Morgan the little girl on the cover. She had brown hair, a blue dress and stack of books, sitting as though she knew more about the world than she ought to—possessed of great, Morgan-esque quality. “Matilda,” Deirdre read. “This one feels good.” Good felt like Morgan, after all.

Morgan squeezed Deirdre as she picked out her treasure and melted with delight just looking at it. “She looks like you,” Morgan said. “Straight hair, dark eyes, and so rapturous and intense in her expression. It’s kinda like your face right now.” She brushed her fingers over Deirdre’s features as she spoke, caressing each corresponding piece of evidence to her argument. Confident she’d made her point, she jumped up to kiss her girlfriend’s cheek again. “Matilda had to hide her books from her parents too, you know. They didn’t appreciate how kind or thoughtful she was, so she--” Morgan caught herself, biting her lip. “If you don’t know the story yet, I won’t steal the satisfaction of the ending from you. But it’s good. My copy was a lot more heavily used than this one, practically falling apart, but it was one of my favorite books growing up. I actually committed myself to learning levitation spells because I wanted to be just like her. And you know--” she brushed her hands over the book cover. “I can feel the good vibes from this book too, even like this. Come on.” She rushed them to the counter and rang the service bell, fighting back delighted giggles. “Hello! Mrs. Benson!”

The woman who came out the back was decidedly not Mrs. Benson. She was around Morgan’s age, with a suburban mom bob and clear frame glasses. “Can I help you?”

“O-oh.” Morgan’s smile fractured and she thanked the universe for her lack of blood flow. “I just um...we’re ready to check out, if that’s okay. I’m sorry I yelled I just, I used to come here a lot. I didn’t know Mrs. Benson super well, and I guess she had to retire eventually, but she was a really nice old lady and I was just hoping to say hi or something.”

The woman’s face broke into a laugh. “Morgan the Gorgon! I’m sorry, that’s so inappropriate of me, but it’s you, right? It’s me, Shelley! We had Chem together!”

While Morgan remembered that name being chanted at her as she was chased down the stairwell and pelted with cans and paper balls, she didn’t remember Shelley, exactly. Was she and academic rival? Had she been someone Morgan had tried to impress with tarot readings and custom crystals? The high school girls blurred together, and the innocence of that time mingled with the pain, like indigestion flaring up in your throat after swallowing a cheesecake. “Hey!” She said. “How--wild! Seeing you here! What made you pick up the torch for this old place?”

“Well, my mother, bless her heart, doesn’t have a head for business, but the last thing Memaw wanted was for the only used book place out here to get bought up or disappear. Lucky for me, I managed to learn a thing or two from her before she passed.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Morgan murmured.

Shelley scoffed. “She’s smiling down from heaven at us. I mean look at us. Look at you! That’s a high fallutent city girl if I ever saw one. Both of you!” She reached out to take Deirdre’s hand and shake it, reintroducing herself as if the last minute didn’t count on account of not being personable enough. “Memaw would be so pleased,” she went on. “You were her favorite of all the regular kids.” Shelley nodded towards an exposed wooden post filled with polaroids and printed pictures of smiling children through the ages. Only two had managed to get frames on them, one that was clearly a younger shelley, posing with her grandmother, and one that made Morgan gasp: unmistakably her. She clutched Deirdre’s arm tight. The girl in the picture was so cringingly embarrassed, not just at the occasion (The Best Reader of the Year award, which amounted to a cheaply printed certificate from Office Max and a free book) but at her own happiness. The promise of a free book, a gift that had been earned in the structure of rules and work had filled her with so much excitement. It was as certain as a spell. Better, even, because she hadn’t even needed to believe, she just had to max out her library card reading more than the other kids and report everything to Mrs. Benson. It didn’t occur to her until she saw the apathetic faces in the gathering that this wasn’t a very enviable achievement. But by then it was too late, and however much she tried to stay aloof as the other eleven and twelve year olds, she failed, miserably. “That’s me,” she whispered. “Deirdre, it’s me.”

“Simpler times, huh?”

Morgan nodded, her attention still stuck on the picture. The attempts to make a slightly oversize shirt look cool, the sweatshirt tied around her waist, the permanent stains on her thrift store jeans. It was all so wrong and brought her so much trouble then, but from here, she just looked like a child. A girl still growing, twisting herself crooked trying to get something right.

“Would you like this gift wrapped or anything, ladies?” Shelley asked.

“But that sounds like you,” Deirdre argued with a soft whine. She eyed the cover again, unable to see anyone but Morgan, with her books, underappreciated for all the intelligence and kindness that existed within her. But Deirdre’s argument leapt out of her in a yelp before it had formed, swept away by Morgan. She laughed her surprise, placing the book on the counter. Though she’d been reading more with Morgan around, she had never felt excited to read a book she picked out since she was a child. She ran her fingers along the fraying edges and thumbed the pages. In a different world, she might have been embarrassed to be reading a children’s book. In this one, she was thrilled. Deirdre bounced on her heels, grinning as she waited.

Her smile gave way to one more tense, more confused. No one told her what a Memaw was, but she managed to put it together herself. She shook Shelley’s hand, momentarily considering snapping a finger for her revisiting of a clearly tasteless nickname, and introduced herself quickly. “Deirdre,” she managed, before Shelley was off to the next thing. Her eyes followed Morgan’s, and Deirdre nearly forgave her for mentioning the gorgon thing. “It’s you,” she whispered back, reaching up to pluck the picture off its nail. Matilda was fine in her cartoon form with her long hair and book pile, but this was the real Morgan. Deirdre’s grin grew back. “Can we get a copy of this?” She asked, interrupting Shelley. “Or keep it, I suppose.” She turned to Morgan, asking silently for her opinion. “It’d be nice if Morgan could be up on that wall forever, reigning over all the other children. But original photos have a particular charm.” She continued to smile at her girlfriend, held close to her. “What do you think?” She whispered, exhibiting great restraint in simply squeezing her arm instead of kissing her like she wanted. There was another question, about how much exactly Shelley should know about their relationship, or if Deirdre should make it a point that she came out of this interaction thinking they were just really good friends. “Don’t worry about gift wrapping it,” she finally addressed Shelley’s question, leaning across the counter. “I did want to ask something about, hm, donations.” Her eyes trailed over the peeling tile, the chipping paint, the books overflowing into disorganized stacks. Then it settled on the emptiness; book stores were not the most popular visit during the night, but she could almost reason it wasn’t the most popular visit full stop. “For the store.” She offered Shelley a bright, winning smile. “If Morgan wanted to put something forth, in her name. She could do that, couldn’t she?”

“If you want it it’s yours!” Shelley said. “All the kids in those pictures are old like us or moved away. Not much to appreciate. And I’m running out of room for the new kids…” Shelley went on longer, explaining who these children were and how often they came and what her ideas were for posting their pictures, but Morgan didn’t hear. She picked up the framed photograph, fingers brushing over her frizzy hair and her sloppy oversize shirt tucked into her stiff jeans. She didn’t wear grunge well, but at least the 90’s were kind to her Goodwill wardrobe.

“Thank you, Shelley,” she said. She tucked herself close to Deirdre, leaning her head on her arm as she broached the subject of donations. “We would,” Morgan tacked on. “It could be anonymous, of course, but what my girlfriend is trying to say is that we would like to give you something toward keeping this place open for another generation or two, and maybe even a facelift, or a more advantageous location?”

Shelley’s eyes widened at the mention of girlfriend, but Morgan forgave her when she didn’t comment. Shelley gestured to a donation jar, admirably half full but not exactly promising for the long term. “We’re always accepting donations at Twice Told Tales. Check is fine, if you, uh, ladies are feeling extra generous.”

“Perfect!” Morgan said. “But what would it take, do you think? Would sixty thousand help you guys out? Or a hundred thousand?”

Shelley blanched, trying to figure out if Morgan was being serious. “Are you...Well, it would certainly go a long way, a very...if mean, if you’re serious, then...I could check the books and give you a more comprehensive estimate, but I couldn’t possibly…”

“We’ll start with the book--” Morgan fished seven dollars out of her wallet and handed it to the woman. “Keep the change. And I’ll set you up with a hundred thousand now, and you can email me about what’s best for the store.” Morgan happily wrote out a check and stuffed it into the jar. “And, well,” Morgan looked hesitantly at Deirdre, trying to ask for her approval in advance, “If you don’t mind, babe, I’d like a plaque or something, with both our names on it. You can call us donors or patrons, I don’t really care, but I want people who come in here to think of Deirdre too when they think of this place.” She stuffed the check in the jar. “Can we make it a deal? A little extra funding for the store in exchange for its continued upkeep and care, along with a little recognition?” Her eyes flitted to Deirdre again, adding emphasis on the deal. They could make this different. They could make this one good thing stick, and for once, a legacy didn’t have to be something shrouded in pain and suffering.

“We?” Deirdre blinked, eyeing Morgan. She didn’t correct her, or argue, but in her silence she asked if that was okay, if Morgan was sure. This place was special to her, and it would be kept alive through her kindness. Deirdre thought herself an accessory, at best. But when Morgan didn’t correct herself, Deirdre stood up straighter and nodded. “We would,” she repeated, and pressed a kiss to Morgan’s temple as she so desired. If Shelley had any real issue with it, she certainly couldn’t after their hefty donations—and maybe that was a justice of its own sort. “Think of…” her voice caught, and she looked at Morgan for the second time with confusion. “A-a plaque would be nice,” she swallowed. Nervous not because she disagreed, but because the generosity of it, the thoughtfulness, had made her heart warm in a way that always startled her. “If that’s good to you, Shelley.” She smiled, “it sounds perfect to me.” All she had on her was a few hundred she planned on paying for the food with, and so she simply stuffed that into the jar, careful to avoid the cheque. Her gaze fluttered to the different places their plaque could lay; on the wall where the picture once was, by the door, in the corner where people would wander to read. They would know this place was special, if they didn’t get that already. They would know two women cared deeply about it. This place was good already, it didn’t need their money for that. But it would be better because of them, and it wouldn’t face financial struggle in a way so many other businesses fell victim. They could leave good in their wake. “You know, Shelley the smelly—” Deirdre grinned; and maybe some petty revenge too. “Did they ever call you that in highschool? Terrible name, really. Anyways, I know you have a lot of great ideas for this store. So why don’t you figure out how much they all cost and we’d be glad to finance them. The next time you visit your grandmother, will you put some extra flowers in for us too? Tell her we said thank you? I know she’s already been able to rest easy with her store in such good hands.” Her gaze raked one last time over the tiles, the walls, the shelves and the messy books; whenever they returned, there was no telling what this place would look like. Her heart throbbed for the scenery to be lost, but not all loss was bad. Some of it was merely change—like the tides of life and death.

Deirdre pulled closer to Morgan. They could save something, they could make it good, and she kissed her girlfriend, free. She repeated, “do we have a deal, Shelley?”

Shelly nodded, stammering out her agreement. She was so stunned, the dig at her name didn’t even phase her. “Yes, that’s, sounds great. Deal!” She didn’t have any sense for the magic threads wrapping around her words or the delight that burned through Morgan as the agreement was sealed.

“You’re a good woman, Shelley,” Morgan said. “Thank you for letting us help. You take care now, alright?” Her voice drawled softly as she picked up the old parlance of her childhood. She spared Shelley one more smile, more than a little satisfied with her own magnanimousness. She left on Deirdre’s arm, keeping her cool sense of superiority until they got back to the car. When they were safely inside, Morgan took Deirdre’s face in her hands and kissed her hard. “I love you. Thank you for doing that with me. I know it’s just one little store, but it’s part of my home now it’s a little bit mine and a little bit yours too. Something good is ours. Not the worst way to end the night, right? How do you feel…?”

“Thank you for sharing it with me,” Deirdre breathed as they parted. “You didn’t have to, but I’m so glad you did. It’s a special place, it really is.” She reached for Morgan’s hands, eager to take them in her own, tight in her grip. “I feel happy,” she confessed, unafraid of what it meant. To them, happiness was a dangerous thing, even as often as they felt it. They knew how easily it could be taken from them, how the robbing of it could come disguised as righteousness. But there, right then, Deirdre was happy despite it all. If Ruth was somewhere, scowling at her daughter for such flagrant displays of selfish delight, Deirdre hoped she could see how much they didn’t care. “Thank you,” she repeated, “for everything, for all of tonight. For bringing me to the restaurant, for showing me this store...for letting me come along for this trip, even. I’ve loved seeing your home, Morgan.” She grinned, reluctant to part but aware that at some point, they really had to get back to their hotel. Not for rest, but because there was love she simply couldn’t share stuffed at the front of their rental. “Fates, I’d be fine if you had more planned, but I’d really like to take you back to the hotel…” She leaned across and kissed Morgan earnestly, in a way she thought might make Shelley blush if they were still inside. Parted, she grinned with a tease. “...to do some chaste reading.” She waved their new-old copy of Matilda around. “And to make love to you, either-or.” Deirdre leaned back into her seat, gripping Morgan’s hand. Whatever laid beyond them, and back home in White Crest, they’d done good here. And with luck, they could do good elsewhere. A legacy that was more than loss and pain was suddenly something Deirdre wanted, and something else she felt like she could have. She had Morgan to thank for that, she had Morgan to thank for a lot of things. “I love you,” she smiled; for now, those three words would have to carry the weight of it.

#the best little pit-stops in texas #wr deirdre #wr chatzy #wr deirdre chatzy #wickedswriting

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theartofbeinganeldar · 5 years ago

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The Art of Being an Eldar: Legolas x Reader Chapter 6

Summary: After discovering that you were stuck in Middle-Earth, Thranduil summoned a council of powerful Elves and wizards to see what should be done with you, expressing his wishes of wanting you out of his kingdom. The council decides to send you with Legolas on an orc-hunting mission, and if the Elves of the company that he deems trustworthy-- one of them being his own wife-- say that you've proven yourself worthy of staying among the Mirkwood Elves, then you can stay. The problem is actually managing to succeed...

Chapter No.: Chapter 6

Key: [Y/N]=Your Name [F/N]= Friend's Name [B/N]= Bro's Name [S/N]= Sis's Name [M/N]= Mom's Name [e/c]= eye color [h/c]= hair color [s/c]= skin color [lad/lass/y-o]= lad/laddie, lass/lassie, young one

Notes: So, I have finished the Silmarillion, and may I just say, wow. I have a whole new understanding of Middle-Earth. It's amazing and inspiring. I do miss Maedhros and Maglor already though... Now, I've finished Beren and Luthien and started The Children of Hurin next in my quest to read every book on Middle-Earth that there is, written, of course, by the Tolkiens.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, graphic depictions of gore and violence (Cuz of orc battles y'know?), more angst, slow burn, some light depression in the first few chapters, some amnesia about Middle-Earth because the Valar say you're not supposed to have foresight, hard-core language, feels, lots and lots of feels, mentions of NSFW content, maybe some eventual NSFW content, LGTBQ+ characters, Thranduil being a jackass at first because he's fabulous, Legolas being a hot edgy prince that nobody can handle, Kili being an innocent bean, Hobbits being smol innocent beans, except for Bilbo 'cause he's been through some tough shit, Bard being dad of the year, Thorin being one dumbass boi, awesome dragons, awesome Nazgul, awesome scenery, awesome stuff in general, Elrond isn't listened to by anybody, confused Aragorn is confused, Denethor's a bitch as always, brace yourself for creepy as fuck Cream of Wormtongue Grima Wormtongue, Boromir LIVES, au to where some of the Feanorians lived, Gandalf. (yes these are all legit warnings don't judge me.)

Pairings/Ships: Legolas x Reader, Legolas x you, Aragorn x Arwen, Faramir x Eowyn, Thranduil x Elvenqueen, Galadriel x Celery Celeborn, Boromir x OC, Maedhros x Fingon, Maglor x OC, Thorin x OC maybe Bilbo you won't know for awhile, Fili x OC, etc. general LoTR standard shippings plus some of my own cuz I can't stand my boys being lonely

Word Count: I try to keep my chapters short, under 2000 words.

Rating: Teen (14+) for now

Instead of Blue-Eyes meeting you by Starlight, it was Erestor, instead. Aside from the one time you'd spoken to him with Haldir, asking him about other continents (Which, it turned out, you'd misunderstood. Beleriand had sunk, and so had Numenor and Tol Eressea, and no one but the Eldar could reach Aman anymore.), you hadn't spoken to him.

He was an older Elf, kind of intimidating, with a bird-like demeanor and an expression that said Don't fuck with me.

So yeah, you were kinda surprised.

Still, you bowed in the Elvish fashion. "Len Suilon, Erestor. Ci maer?"

"Suilad. Ni maer, [Y/N]," He assured nonchalantly. "A gin?"

"Ni maer eithro." You looked around nervously, hoping Blue-Eyes would pop out of nowhere and save you from a further conversation in what would probably be your poor Sindarin with an age-old Elf. "So, her majesty chose me for this scouting mission, eh?"

"Indeed," Erestor inclined his head. "Your Elvish improves, if slowly. You do not hesitate in your greetings anymore."

"Thank you, sir."

"Come, and lead Starlight along," Said Erestor unfairly regally, and sailed majestically away. "Have you been practicing your swordplay diligently? You may need it."

You nodded as you followed him. "Yes sir. Legolas, Elros, and Lindir have made sure that they split my day into learning Sindarin, weaponry, and even the general Elvish way of being Elvish." You tried not to sound irritated about that. They literally never gave you any free time. Not that you'd brought any books to read, and not that you could read any Elvish, but that wasn't the point.

"Good," Erestor nodded. "What are your strong suits?"

Ah, shit. "Uhm... I can throw a dagger pretty hard? I can probably shoot somebody dead if I'm point blank, but other than that, my aim sucks. I'm somewhat okay with a sword, though, and I prefer two. Why?"

"Curious," Erestor replied all mysteriously, and that was all he said on the matter.

The Elves chosen for the scouting mission-- the Elvenqueen herself, with Blue-Eyes, Haldir, and Elros-- were gathered and speaking amongst themselves, while Thorin and Dwalin next to their very dignified ponies glowered at them. Balin was feeding his own pony an apple, muttering to it kindly. Compared to the Elves, who were naturally tall and lithe, the short and stocky dwarves looked outrageously tiny.

"Ah," The Elvenqueen's attention was on you faster than a supersonic jet's. "You have arrived."

You bowed deeply. "Your majesty." To Haldir, and even to Legolas just to be safe from potential Elvenqueen-wrath-2.0, you added, "My Lords." You turned to Erestor. "I'm sorry I didn't greet you with the title, I forgot what ‘my lord’ is in Elvish."

To your surprise, the Elves chuckled. Except for the Elvenqueen, of course. "You need not worry yourself, mellonenin," Elros assured you. "You are still learning."

The Elvenqueen inclined her head. "We leave at once, if all are ready."

There were positive responses throughout, and everyone present mounted up. You caught sight of Lindir coming out of his tent for the morning, and waved; he looked confused, but awkwardly repeated your gesture. "What on Arda are you doing?" Blue-Eyes asked under his breath, like you were embarrassing him.

You snickered. "It's like a 'hi' and 'bye' gesture for when you're out of earshot of someone you know. It's called ‘waving’. Everyone does it where I come from."

"This is not your world, [Y/N]," The Elvenqueen reprimanded firmly. You fought the urge to shrink in on yourself. "If you are going to be a part of it and learn our ways, then you must do so faithfully, leaving everything you know of your world behind you. Your land is nothing but a poison, and I do not want it infecting Middle-Earth. Am I understood?"

"Y-yes ma'am-- your majesty, yes your majesty."

"Good," Said the Elvenqueen, and then she continued giving orders in Elvish, while Thorin purposefully repeated them in dwarvish for Balin and Dwalin, though everyone present spoke fluent English-- Common. For you, Blue-Eyes translated what he could before he was called up to ride beside his mother, so then Elros and Haldir took turns explaining. The whole event left you feeling like a fish out of water.

***

It was around noon when the company halted, which Thorin and Dwalin had been leading on foot, while Balin kept their ponies tied to his own. At first, you assumed, lunch, finally, I'm starving, but instead, you'd stopped because Thorin had found a trail. "Orcs," He said.

Duh, you felt like saying, what else would it be? Bigfoot?

But after the Elvenqueen's earlier lecture, you kept that to yourself.

"Which way do they lead, master dwarf?" The Elvenqueen demanded.

Thorin huffed as he stood. "They go north, but they are heavy from travel. Wherever they came from, it is not from anywhere near the northern borders of Mirkwood or Erebor."

"Where else would they come from?" You blurted out before you could stop yourself. "Are there like orcish towns in the north or something? Maybe we could--”

"There is no such thing," The Elvenqueen snapped.

"The wargs that I had tracked were from Gundabad," Blue-Eyes said calmly, as if that hadn't ever been important information before. "The ones that attacked us on the river, however, were from Mordor."

You leaned over to Haldir as Blue-Eyes continued to speculate. "I'm confused. What's the difference?"

"Gundabad wargs are darker, lithe, and more agile," Haldir told you quietly. "They are more viscous, as well. A Mordor warg is more... Stout, I suppose you could say, and slightly lighter in color."

There was a flash of color before your eyes. Suddenly, you felt as if you were in a clearing of trees, surrounded by people in dark colors, while the sound of howls filled the air, unlike the ones you'd heard before.

These are Gundabad wargs! They will outrun you!

These are Rusteveld rabbits! I'd like to see them try.

You shook your head as you resituated yourself in the saddle. Well, that was sudden... It had been quite a few days since any of the strangely-familiar visions had come to you. You came back to your senses as Dwalin laughed uproarously. "Well, that settles it, then! To Gundabad!"

"Wait just a moment," The Elvenqueen said. "We are not all brash, Master Dwalin. We will go back and retrieve more forces before even thinking of going near Gundabad." With that, she turned her silver mare around and began trotting back, Haldir and Erestor on either side of her. Thorin, Balin, and Dwalin hung back, taking their time getting on their ponies and following after.

"Where's Gundabad?" You asked Legolas quietly; not that it did any good. Elves could hear grass growing on the other side of the continent if they wanted to. "And what is it?"

"It is northwest of here, in a cleft between the mountains," He answered. "It is an old fortress, from the time when the Dunedain first came to Middle-Earth from Numenor, if you remember." You nodded; he'd told you the entire story of the Silmarils and anything that went with it or after. "It was the gate that lead to the Witch-Kingdom of Angmar."

"Lead by the Witch-King..." You finished for him automatically. An eerie echo of a voice filled your mind: No man can kill me. At his impressed look, you scrunched up your face. "And what are you, French? How'd you make that 'h' sound in the middle of the damn word?!" You realized what you said only after you'd said it, and quickly looked to the Elvenqueen to see if she'd heard. If she had, she made no sign of it. "Sorry."

Blue-Eyes patted your back. "It is fine, Sairen, you can speak to me of your world, don't worry." With a cocky smile, he looked down at you smugly. "As for the pronunciation... You will learn to do it soon."

Back at camp, a group of Elves was already up and waiting to move out, and at the Elvenqueen's ringing voice, they followed after, and you all retraced your steps back to where Thorin, Dwalin, and Balin had found the orc tracks. You considered it pointless-- they could've just taken the host of a couple dozen Elves with them that way they didn't have to retrace their steps.

Partway there, you decided that goddamn song that'd been going through your head needed a damn good explanation. Unfortunately, Blue-Eyes was now up by his mother, leaving you between two totally random Elves. You'd never been good at starting up a conversation, but you decided to give it a try anyway. "...Hey, do either of you speak Common?"

Both Elves busted out laughing as if you'd made a hilarious joke about dwarves.

"Most Eldar can speak Common," The one on the right said, removing his helmet to look at you more clearly. Whoa. You practically fell off Starlight. He was beautiful. He had long, purely golden hair that fell down his back in unfairly glorious waves. He had soft blue eyes (Not as gorgeous as Blue-Eyes', but still.) and a fair face. "It would be considered quite odd, in our long lives, if one did not learn the tongues of others."

You just stared at him. "Dude. Are you like, made of gold?"

He laughed, which sounded a lot like something naturelike and unfairly beautiful. You'd never heard any of the Elves outright laugh, so this was a weird, new experience for you. "I have been asked many things, but that is new. No, I am just as flesh and bone as you are."

"Yeah, but yours are like, plated in gold, so, you're... Wow."

He laughed again. "What is your name, mellon?"

"[Y/N.]," You replied, in a daze, then leaned over quick to the Elf on your left, who tensed and tried to lead his horse away. "Do you even see this guy?!"

You turned back to Goldie. "A gin?"

As best as he could in the saddle, the Elf placed his right arm over his chest and bowed at the waist. "I am called Glorfindel. Gellon len covad!"

"Mae l'ovannen!" You said in response.

Glorfindel smiled at you. "What was your question, mellonenin?"

"Well thanks to you and your blinding gold-ness, I forgot. Give me a minute." You thought for a second, trying to ignore the literally glowing Elf beside you. "Ah! That's it. I asked if you could speak Common so you'd understand my question. You guys have songs, right?"

Glorfindel gave you a look like you'd just told him his hair looked like an orc's. "Of course we have songs! Many, many songs! They are as timeless as we are, and we, all of us, are taught these songs from a very young age. Did you wish to learn them?"

You shook your head. "Nah. I've never been good at singing." If I sang all you Elves would shatter like a glass in an opera-room. "When I got puffed here, a song started going through my head. I can never remember all of it. Just bits and pieces here and there. But it's really bugging me. So if I told you all I could remember, think you could remember one from your Elvish past?"

Glorfindel inclined his head. "I shall answer to the best of my ability."

"Okay," You wracked your brain for the lyrics. "Okay, uh... Something about leaving home, and fading... Lots of fading. The one sentence I can always clearly remember is 'all shall fade.'" You looked at him curiously. "That ringin’ any bells?"

Glorfindel thought hard. "If by that you mean if I can remember anything similar, I cannot. If it is a song of Arda, it is not one I know, and I can remember most Eldar songs."

That caused a lightbulb to appear above your head. You gasped, wide-eyed.

"Wait! You're Glorfindel?! As in, the Glorfindel?! The guy in Gondolin who tried to protect Turgon by fighting the Balrog?!"

"Ah, Turgon... He was a good friend."

"And when it fell it grabbed your hair?!"

Glorfindel flinched. "Can we not mention that...?"

"And then you came back to life to fight Sauron?!"

"Yes--"

"The guy who was in love with Ecthelion of the Fountain?!"

Glorfindel flushed, his face going a deep shade of un-Elvish red-- on him, though, it was more of a rose-gold... "Yes, I am that Glorfindel, and I would advise you hush before you draw the attention of the Elvenqueen."

Nervously, you glanced ahead, to where the Elvenqueen sat regally upon her horse. If she or Leggy had heard you, neither of them made any indication of it. With a giddy smile, you looked back to Glory. "This is so cool. Where I'm from, you rarely ever meet anybody so important. Now I've met some of the most important people of Middle-Earth! Ooh, am I also gonna get to meet the king of Gondor?!"

Glorfindel looked confused, but amused. "Gondor has no king, and has not for many, many years. Not since the death of Isildur. Now, the stewards of Gondor keep watch over the city and uphold its laws, and await for the heir to the Gondorian royalty to show himself."

"Or herself," You specified, fighting a wince as you heard a voice echo, Gondor has no king. Gondor needs no king.

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. "Hardly ever is a mortal woman given any sort of royal duties alone. She would have to marry someone of high standing to be considered queen."

You scoffed. "Great. So the humans of Middle-Earth are assholes, too. Figured I'd escape from that."

"The race of Man is a fickle one," Glorfindel agreed. "More often than not, they are the cause of most grief in the world." He smiled. "But worry not! You are of the Eldar now, and are not subject to their torments."

You shrugged. "Good point..." You beamed excitedly at him. "Tell me about your adventures!"

He did, until the Elvenqueen gave the signal to dismount and to keep silent. You'd been so into Glorfindel's stories that you hadn't noticed that the trees had thinned out, giving way to loose, rusty-brown soil and rocky slopes. All of the Elves sailed silently over the rocks, while the dwarves trampled noisily.

For days (Which passed like extremely-long hours, and you weren't even hungry or thirsty or tired.), the procession trekked through the hills without any audible communication, until the huge hills rose up to your left and in the north into jagged mountains. You kept going, and going, and really wondered how any of the Elves that'd been left could possibly reach any of you for backup if needed in time.

On what was about noon of the week and a half mark, you came to an overlook that spread down beneath you into a huge, rocky valley, dry and desolate. There was no sign of life, and further still, about a couple days away by foot, was another tall, jagged outcropping overlooking a massive structure of bronze. Small black dots which you were going to assume were birds flitted about the top of it, and it stretched what looked like hundreds of feet into the air. You were astonished.

"We came all this way for rocky dirt and an old tower. I don't see any signs of life there." You kept your voice at a whisper, like some of the other Elves who'd began talking amongst themselves.

Blue-Eyes eyed the tower warily. "You're not supposed to."

You turned to watch him walk away. "Then what?" Blue-Eyes gave the Elves some order in Elvish, and you continued. "So we came all this way to see that it really doesn't look like there's orcs there but really, there are, so, what do we do? They've obviously got a shit ton of more orcs behind there. We're probably way outnumbered. So what do we do?"

"We," He replied, "Are going to do just what we came here to do. We're going to scout, by getting as close as we can and seeing what we can. Then we leave. It's as simple as that. If, however, we're ambushed, the rest of the procession has been following us slowly. They're only a couple of hours behind."

You frowned. You must not've gotten that memo because everybody felt the need to speak highly advanced Elvish when you only knew a couple ways to say "hi." "So what do we do if we see something we don't like? Attack?"

"If we can," Blue-Eyes told you, "But it most likely will not come to that. We simply came to see if they have larger numbers than those few who attacked us at the river."

You gave him an incredulous look with an eyebrow raised nearly to your hairline. "...Few?"

He scoffed, and walked off, giving orders in Sindarin that you only caught a word or two of. You were watching him with a glower, when you noticed Lindir sidling up on your right smugly. "...Do you not wish that you know what he is saying?"

You playfully rolled your eyes. "Ugh, Lindy, geez, can you read my goddamn mind?" You turned to mock-glare at him; he was preening. "Well? What was he saying?"

Lindir laughed and wagged a finger at you-- so Elvish. "No no no no no, mellon, I will not make it that easy for you. If you wish to know exactly what he said, then you will have to continue learning from your current point."

Your shoulders slumped. "Really? Damn. Fine, I guess, since it looks like we're camping here." And it did. Practically everyone was going around setting up bedrolls, but you seen no sign of a fire. "Glad it's warm-ish. What, we just supposed to freeze?"

Lindir gestured to Gundabad. "If we light a fire, they will see us, and our stealth will be for naught."

You gave him an odd look. "...What?"

Lindir blinked. "If they see us, our stealth will be for naught."

You stared at him blankly. "...Naught?"

Lindir suddenly looked panicked. "Do they not have that word on your world? It means the same as nothing, in this context."

You scoffed with a cocky smirk. "I know what it means. You Elves are just so damn fancy." You reached over and ruffled his strangely-perfect brown hair, to which he yelped and yanked away from you as if you'd tried to stab him. You left your hand in the air where his head had been, wide-eyed, as Lindir stared at you in shock. "Uhh... Got a sensitive spot on your head there?"

Lindir narrowed his eyes at you. "I should teach you Eldar custom as well. No Elf touches another's hair, for whatever reason, unless it is necessary, which is more than likely never to happen. Braiding and touching another's hair is considered something only for the wedded to do."

You yanked your hand away from where his head had been. "Sorry. I didn't know. Where I come from, that whole hair-ruffle thing is used between siblings or friends."

Lindir smiled softly, straightening his hair. "It is fine, [Y/N.]. You had no way of knowing. But, now I realize I must teach you language and customs-- or perhaps Elros can do that..."

You snickered to yourself, earning an odd look from the Elf. You shrugged. "Nothin', just, I've got specific Elvish teachers now. You're my language teacher, Elros is now customs, Legolas is history, and Glorfindel is music. I'm gonna be a true Elf before I know it."

"Maybe never a true Elf," Lindir laughed, "But close enough!"

You laughed with him, but on the inside, winced. You doubted if he meant it as an insult, but it hit you like one. No, you'd never been considered good enough to be a true anything, especially an Elf of all creatures, who were naturally shiny and glowy and perfect and shit. But still, for someone to confirm it, even in a joking manner, that you'd never be good enough to be a true Elf...

It really hurt.

You acted all casual on the outside throughout the rest of the evening, laughing and joking when needed, but internally, you were fighting a dull ache in your chest. You'd gotten it a few times before-- rarely, but still-- and you knew exactly what it was. The desire to fit in. You'd never had a chance on Earth. But here, you'd hoped to at least be considered a part of their realm.

Dammit, why am I so sensitive?! He didn't mean anything by it!

But what were you really doing here? Struggling to prove yourself to a race that would never accept you. To all Elves, you'd be considered an imposter, like Thorin had said. You knew for a fact you'd never be good around "the race of Man," as they put it, and even in this world, you knew you'd never fit in with them, either. At best, the Men would see you only as a rebel Elf trying to fit into the society of Man. Dwarves? Hell no. What about the Hobbit-folk? Maybe you'd at least be considered a friend to them? No, you were an Elf here. They'd be wary of you, maybe even fearful.

Maybe you should just settle for traveling like a vagabond, like Gandalf does. When everyone else was resting, you stayed by Starlight. You scratched underneath of his chin, and he rested his snout on your inner elbow, allowing you to rest your head on his, staring into his eyes and putting off a feeling of calm. "You accept me for who I am, right?"

Starlight's ears were pricked toward you, so at least he was listening. His only response was a blink. You sighed, closing your eyes. You didn't even have the security of him. One day, he'd grow old and pass away, while you lived on for eons. Carefully, so as not to spook him, you reached up and scratched behind his ears.

"Mellonenin?" Said a voice behind you. You turned to see Legolas, looking concerned. He glanced back over his shoulder, to where the rest of the Elves talked amongst themselves, even conversating a little with the dwarves. "What are you doing out here?"

You gave him a smug look. "What's this I hear, Blue-Eyes? Showing concern for me?"

He rolled his eyes playfully. "Hardly. Just curious."

You shrugged, going back to loving on Starlight. "Everybody seemed to be doing good without me. Lindir and Elros said my lessons on custom and language were done for the day, so I figured I'd spend some time with Star."

Blue-Eyes shook his head in exasperation. "I will never understand your shortening of names..." He fixed you with an expression that you couldn't quite read. "...Are you nervous about a potential battle, Sairen?"

You shrugged. "Hack'n'slash. Can't be that hard. I have played video games, y'know, and I did get here through a LARP event." You shot him a cocky grin. "I think I can handle myself. Always have."

Blue-Eyes smiled softly. "Well... I am certain you will surpass my father's standards. I have no doubt of it."

A warm feeling blossomed in your chest. Your cheeks flushed. "Thanks. That really... That really means a lot, for you to be sure of me."

Blue-Eyes hummed thoughtfully, smoothing down Starlight's pitch mane. "Your world did not appreciate you as it should have. You are a kind person, Sairen, and while at times you are eccentric, that only adds to your persona. I know that I can put my full trust in you anytime, and not be disappointed." He smiled at you. "I am glad to know you, mellon. I feel as if you were meant to be here."

For a minute, you both just stared at each other with smiles on your faces, while you felt all warm and fuzzy inside. Any upset feelings from earlier completely burned away. His pale gold hair looked white in the moonlight. Fuck, I will not cry. I will not. Not at all. Definitely not even having to try... You finally blushed and looked away, busying yourself with straightening Starlight's forelock, though the smile remained on your face.

"Damn, Blue-Eyes. You're making me blush." He laughed, and you added, "But... I'm really glad I know you too, Leggy. You've been nice to me, and actually believe in me..." You smirked at him. "That's rare for me. Thank you."

He looked almost appalled. "You do not need to thank me for taking a liking to you, Sairen. It is not as if it is a chore." Suddenly making up his mind about something, he drew his shoulders back. "Would you like to go for a ride together?"

You beamed at him. "Duh! It's a horse, of course I wanna go for a ride!"

Blue-Eyes laughed. "Come on, then, let's go. Stay close to me; we will be going in the opposite direction of Gundabad, but orcs could still roam these wilds."

You nodded as you mounted Starlight, grinning stupidly down at the stupidly perfect Elf who smiled at you. "Got it. Let's go!"

Your heart was pounding dangerously as the two of you trotted off away from camp, talking about the history of Middle-Earth, as you tried to keep from staring outright at Legolas. As your heart faltered, looking at him smiling at you as the moonlight hit his hair, you realized something...

Shit.

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