#ignore how richard is missing his glasses

[tooni-the-demon-thot]

drew a bunch of boardwalk empire characters bc somehow i've only been able to draw al and charlie consistently despite being hyperfixated on the show for at least a year. i still have room on the page so i'll probably draw ralph n frank later. i'm also open to recommendations so if there's a character you want drawn hit me up. i'm planning on drawing a bunch of kaiju next so stay turned for that too.

[crimsonbluuu]

It's kind of cold, man - Damian x Jon

Damian is cold, and he’s sick. Not sick enough to the point he’s bedridden, but sick enough that he doesn’t feel like getting in and out of bed.

He does anyway, and makes most of the rest of his time; then Jon comes back to the apartment and makes everything just a tad bit better.

(1,903 word count)

Warnings!

< Grammatical errors

< May or may not be somewhat ooc

read here, or on ao3!

Damian coughs into his hand for the seventh time this morning, still wrapped underneath the red duvet on Jonathan’s bed. The sun was setting slowly, its evening glow shining through the curtains in the small room. Damian shivered, snuggling farther into the covers. Jonathan had left hours ago, rambling about something to do with school.

And while his boyfriend was out doing God knows what, with God knows who, Damian was stuck in the other’s small apartment building that was a nice fifteen-minute walk away from the university he attended. Besides, Damian was content with lying down underneath the covers that provided warmth, unlike the rest of the apartment.

For some damned reason, Jon’s apartment was as cold as the Arctic; his heat refused to work. Damian blames it on the landlord, and Jon blames it on no one.

Why? because Jon is a saint, even though it’s obvious the landlord hasn’t updated the heater, Jon refuses to acknowledge it. So yes, Damian would much rather be in his very warm, insulated penthouse, with his silk covers and blackout curtains.

Despite his previous statements, he's very tempted to throw the covers off, dress in something warm, and leave the apartment as quickly as possible for his penthouse two hours away in Gotham. But he doesn't; instead, he throws the covers off of himself and throws on the closest thing he can find—a sweater and sweat pants.

He would hate to admit it, but the only thing he practically feels like doing at the moment is crashing down on Jon's hand-me-down couch and watching reality TV shows. Dick has rubbed off on him way too much. So he does exactly that, in that exact order.

Time flies by when you're being lazy and doing nothing. Especially when The Housewives of Atlanta plays in the background and the only thing Damian is "getting" from the show is a loss of brain cells, suddenly it explains why Richard originally thought that fish didn't have mouths.

And it just happens that when he's on the verge of going to sleep, after ignoring his soar throat and pulsing headache, he hears the familiar jingle of keys from outside the door and comes walking in a ball of sunshine.

The sun has already set, and the moon rises in its absence. Jon comes in humming some old country songs that he undoubtedly picked up from Jonathan Sr. He walks a short distance from the front door to the makeshift living room and collapses onto the couch, directly on top of Damian.

"Get off of me, you fat lug," Damian says, almost on instinct, since whenever Jon comes home and he just happens to be relaxing, not bothering him, he prefers to literally fall on him when he walks in.

"What happened to Hi, Hello, How are you?" Jon laughed, wrapping his arms around Damain's torso like an octopus. Damian sighed, rolling his eyes, but made no noise in protest as Jon did whatever he was doing.

Jonathan glanced up at him, smiling. His stupid glasses making him look dorky, with his dopey smile and doughy eyes, and the way his arms held tightly around Damian, as if he didn't want to—as if he wasn't going to let the other go.

"Missed you, dames." He smiled, gently kissing the other on his cheek, his lips lingering just for a moment before he laced his head back down on Damain's chest. Damian patted his head, lowering his head just a bit to give a soft kiss on the crown of Jonathan's head.

"Hm." Damian replied, not worrying about his lack of speech. Jonathan knew how Damian felt about him; words weren't a necessity in their relationship; they fit snuggly like a puzzle piece, like a dopey couple costume, like grapes to fine wine.

"What's this even about?" Jon questioned, watching the TV screen with a confused gaze. Damian shrugged; he'd lost focus from it the second he saw Richard watching it in the manors den at a quarter past five in the morning. At this point, he just turned it on for background noise.

"I'm not sure, though I think Richard would gladly discuss the meaning of the show with you." Damian smirks, and Jon quickly dismisses the idea. Everyone knows, or at least everyone who has ever had the grace of meeting Richard, that when he's passionate about something, whether it be a TV show or a new fighting technique, he won't shut up about it.

It's certainly not a bad thing, either. It just goes to an extent that no one expects overtime. Damian vividly remembers briefly mentioning that he appreciated the art of music, and the very next day there were a dozen books on the art of music stacked near his bed and several guitars.

"No- no thanks. I remember the last time I talked about something I liked with Dick, and at like three in the morning he was standing outside the window with a koala bear." Damian couldn't help but furrow his brows in confusion at Jon's experience.

"What now?" He questioned, slightly sitting up on the couch; his expression was the pinnacle of confusion, and he made sure Jon realized this.

"I know it sounds crazy, but I swear to baby Jesus that your brother showed up with a koala bear," Jon swore, and he sounded like he was on the verge of laughing and crying at the same time as he looked at Damian's expression.

"It's illegal to own a Koala Bear; how'd he manage to bring one here? Especially in the dead of night?" Damian seemed genuinely baffled with what Jon was telling him, and he had a hard time believing Dick scaled up a forty-foot building with a possibly rabid Koala hanging onto him, then again...

"That's the thing; I have no idea! And then, when he offered it to me and I said no, he just left, and I've never seen the koala anywhere, ever again." Jon said, laughing. Damian furrowed his brows again.

"Man, your brothers sure are weird." Jon let out an exasperated sigh, a soft laugh drawing itself from his throat as Damain's bamboozed expression stayed on his face.

"I need to contact someone." He said, narrowing his eyes. Jon looked up at him again, raising a brow.

"I need to know how I can steal a Koala bear, Jonathan; this is important information." Damian said, his eye narrowing as he scanned the room for his phone, Jon let out a sigh.

"Damian, please no."

[fandoms-in-law]

Paperwork Reunion at Christmas

Summary: A month ago the Harrington's returned to their Hawkins home and found some paperwork that by all laws should be invalid and illegal signed by their son.

Yesterday they finally found where his address was saved so now, a week from Christmas, they're finally reaching out, realising how badly they treated their son.

Author's Note: Happy Christmas everyone. I have no clue why this was what happened when I wanted to write something christmassy but I like it.

/\/\

There were no lights on the house, nor visible on the tree in the window.

The glass icicles hung along the window had nothing to make them glow and there was only baubles and garland wrapped around the tree.

The angel sat atop the tree looked less picturesque and more alike a nurse than a heavenly being.

Mr and Mrs Harrington paused outside their sons home wondering if it was right to call in. They knew, or at least, knew now, that how they'd treated their son all those years ago was wrong and had missed a lot of a story they still didn't understand and probably couldn't without Steve sharing, but they'd expected the kid that had adored all the lights and decorations of Christmastime to have more up now he's established in his own home.

Mr Harrington looked into the box he'd pulled out of the car before realising how few decorations were on the house and decidedly made his way up the steps to knock on the front door, with his wife following just behind.

Whether it was right or wrong to make this trip at Christmas, the legal papers they'd found left in their sons room when returning to their house in Hawkins did need returning. The month it had taken to remember where Steve's address had been noted down was already too long for them to have kept it all since finding it.

“Which of the kids do you think it is, Eds? Make your bet now before I open the door.” Steve's teasing voice could be heard behind the door and Mrs Harrington shared a nervous smile with him while listening for the reply.

“Max and Lucas. Dustin can't get out here until next week.” The second voice was quieter and not one either of them recognised, but their focus was kept on the door now opening and their son's face falling into confusion at the sight of them instead of whichever kids he'd been expecting.

For a moment he was quiet, blinking as if trying to check they were real. “Mother, Father, um, hello?” Steve asked, glancing back into the house before clearly deciding that he'd prefer to invite them in whatever his reservations against doing so. “I wasn't expecting you but come in? Do you want anything to drink?”

“Which kid was it, Sweetheart?” The second voice was closer now, soon identified as belonging to a curly haired man leaning around the door.

Steve glanced at them again, now cautious as well as confused. “Hey Eddie, these are my parents, Richard and Lucille Harrington. Mother, Father, this is Eddie, by partner.” He introduced. “I was just going to get us some drinks.”

Lucille gasped a little, but moved forwards, holding her hand out towards Eddie. Richard would have done so first except he was trying to see if there was somewhere to place the box down. “Thank you for being here for Steve. I'm sorry we haven't met you sooner.” She said, ignoring the slightly stunned expression now replacing the confusion and caution in their expressions.

“Steve, before you get us drinks, perhaps I could put this box somewhere, preferably not difficult to reach.” Richard asked, glancing around, and sighing when Eddie immediately took it from him, disappearing back into the room he'd be in the doorway of.

“I've got it Stevie. Mr and Mrs Harrington, would you like to come into the sitting room while Steve sorts the drinks out?” Eddie called back, just as they noticed Steve coming back across the kitchen.

Lucille was already following Eddie, but Richard hung back, a questioning glance at Steve. “Need any help in there, even just to bring the drinks through?”

“I'm just making coffee for us all. I'll set a tray up. Unless you're going to get in an argument you can go and chat with Eddie.” He reassured, waving him through.

In the living room Eddie was already talking about the kids they'd mentioned. “Max is a spitfire and honesty I'd wonder how Lucas keeps up with her sometimes but Steve manages to match me so who am I to question love?”

“They sound lovely, but who's kids are they?” Lucille asked, looking over the framed pictures on the wall.

“We call them ours, because Steve's been looking after them all since he was dating Nancy way back. Mike's her little brother. Will's the brother of the guy she got with after Steve and the rest are all their other friends.” Eddie gestured to the photos but the reference to Nancy only reminded Richard again of the papers they were returning. He didn't bring it up and Eddie was still chatting away, “I tried to steal the boys away with the D&D club I ran in the school, well not really, but it was definitely a competition between us for a while. Dustin especially. Once that brat adopts you, it's too late.”

Steve laughed coming through the door, “Are you talking about Dustin, Eds? He'll love knowing that my parents have heard the most about him.”

“I think that goes to Max and Lucas currently. How have you been, Steve? It's been so long.” Richard asked, accepting the mug that was offered to him and turning to add milk from the jug included on the tray.

“Happy.” Steve simply replied, gesturing back to the wall of photos. “It was a lot of studying while working but I started teaching last year and it's so fulfilling. Teaching in a beautician school, not actual kids. I've had enough of herding kids for now.”

Lucille leant closer to the picture he'd pointed out, smiling at the graduation photo for the school. “Who's this?”

“Robin. She's my best friend, has been since we worked together at Scoops Ahoy.” Steve beamed at the question. “She lives next door as Nancy and Eddie wouldn't let us buy one big house for the four of us.”

“They're ridiculously co-dependant. We had to find some way to separate them. Honestly I'm not quite sure how Nancy managed it.” Eddie teased with a grin.

Richard laughed while Steve rolled his eyes, “You've built a family around yourself. I'm proud of you.”

“Thank you. It's a shame you haven't visited to hear about them before.” He agreed, “Which does make me ask what brings you here today?”

“We found that box last month. It seems like pretty important stuff you probably shouldn't have left behind when you moved, but also seems pretty illegal too.” Richard nodded, growing serious as he remembered what contracts were in there.

Steve frowned at that. “Illegal how?” He asked, moving to look through the box.

“Illegal as in you signed those papers without a lawyer present, without us present, when underage and given there seems to be a couple of drops of blood on some of the pages, signed while injured as well. All things that make those documents invalid in a court of law.” Richard listed off the things he'd realised while looking through their things. “Please tell me the kids Eddie was telling us about weren't made to sign anything similar, or at least had their parents informed and aware of what they were signing.”

“You're about to fight the government if I say they were, aren't you?” He explained, pausing in tugging the papers out to check what they were.

Lucille nodded, just as resolute as she moved to sit beside Richard. “Yes. I don't know what went down during your teenage years but they have a major lawsuit coming their way and whatever they gave you to get that signature should be tripled at minimum because of the laws they broke even as you followed their contracts.”

“If you're willing to introduce us to one or all of these kids and any of your other friends made to sign similar contracts it would make it easier to bring the case up. You mentioned still being in touch with Nancy and I've heard that she's made quite a name as an investigative journalist and would probably be fantastic for making waves with articles about this.” He continued.

Steve and Eddie shared a long look, before nodding slowly. “This is really interesting, but it's Christmas. Perhaps we could arrange a big get together for you to meet the party in January and discuss the legal action you want to take.”

“Of course, if you're willing to remain in touch with us.” Richard offered easily. “I know we need to apologise for all the times we left you alone and these years without any contact. This wouldn't even be the beginning of our apology.”

“You're right, but I guess, being late to get to know you is better than never.” Steve said, a private smile directed to Eddie that they didn't understand.

Richard smiled as well, hopeful that this meant they'd have that chance. “We did bring a few gifts. I'm sorry they might be a little generic, but I wasn't quite sure what you'd want or need. I can fetch them from the car if you want.”

“Please.” Steve said, looking a little stunned, “I – Eddie'll tell me off if I apologise for not having anything for you. It's a rule that we can't apologise for things we couldn't predict, but you are welcome to join us for Christmas dinner next week.”

“As long as you have space, we'd be delighted to.” Lucille agreed for them both while Richard stood to go and fetch the gifts.

/\/\

Christmas came easily and once again Richard and Lucille were parking outside their sons house, looking around in confusion. For all Steve and Eddie had mentioned a lot of kids as theirs they hadn't expected to find what amounted to a fleet of cars and vans parked outside.

"He made a family without us, Richard. Why weren't we there for him?" Lucille asked, already emotional and wondering if she could make up for the years.

Richard sighed heavily, unable to find a satisfactory answer now when in previous years he'd have simply answered that their law firm and clients were more important. Hard to believe that after discovering the papers. "Because we lost track of our priorities and forgot to include him in them. We'll make up for it. Help me get the gifts for his kids out."

That had been their first plan after leaving Steve's the other night; to get gifts for anyone they'd be meeting Christmas day, generally themed around the d&d game Eddie had mentioned playing with the kids. It didn't feel like enough but it hopefully showed they were ready to fit in rather than expect Steve to adjust for them.

"I knew I saw someone pull in. Come on Mr and Mrs Harrington, come and meet everyone!" Eddie called, leaning out the door and waving an arm to beckon them in.

"Rich strangers with presents. Are you sure they're safe to invite in?" A girl with fiery hair called as they entered, addressing Eddie.

"They're my parents." Steve countered, taking the bag from them. "And you didn't have to get anything else. The gifts you already brought were more than enough."

Richard shook his head. "We weren't going to come without something for everyone, most of these are for your kids if Eddie and you will peek in the bags to give them to the people who'll like them most?"

“Damn, you actually do want to make up with him and paid attention when you turned up last week. Wasn't sure I believed you'd even show.” A woman who appeared around Steve's age and draped herself over his shoulder said. Before Richard could try to identify her from his memories of the photos she carried on, “I'm Robin, platonic soulmate and the one who will murder you without a trace if you hurt him again.”

“We'll all do that, Robin, so you'll treat our Steve nicely now, won't you?” The curly hair was enough for them to be certain that this was Dustin, but being threatened multiple times about hurting their son definitely had the Harrington's reeling.

Lucille nodded, nervously but thankfully too. “Of course, we can't agree more and will accept it if you find the need. I can't say how grateful I am, we both are, that he found a family so worthy of him when we weren't.”

A girl with an intense stare sized them up, the rest of the group all watching her in silence as if waiting for her approval to be given so Richard and Lucille did too, trying to subtly glance at the photos they were now in view of to identify which of Steve's kids this might be. Near a tree that hadn't been put up the week before Steve and Eddie were ignoring the scene, and tugging Robin down with them to look through the gift bags they'd brought and separate them into the piles that had already been formed.

“You're being truthful.” The girl decided, nonchalantly reaching for a tissue as her nose began to bleed. “The breakdown once you got home last week was dramatic but your intentions are currently good. Encourage that in yourselves.”

Somehow everyone relaxed and tensed up again simultaneously, and Richard could only assume the challenge in their eyes was to do with her knowledge that she shouldn't have had. “I intend to. I know Steve's asked that we leave it until after the new year, but we're intending to raise a lawsuit against the government regarding the legal documents they had Steve, at least, sign as a minor without parental or legal advice. If you've, any of you, been made to do the same, we're quite enthusiastic to expand the lawsuit for all of you as well.”

“Which you can all think and talk about later. For now, I think Richard can put his hat and beard on and play Santa for us all.” Eddie called, clapping his hands and leaping up, tugging a Santa hat and beard from behind the sofa.

As confident as he sounded and looked there was something cautious in Eddie's gaze and Steve had a hand raised as if ready to retract the request until Richard laughed taking the accessories. “Ho ho ho. Let's begin.”

A few hours passed of gift giving, laughing and watching the family tease each other even if some of the jokes didn't make sense to Lucille and Richard. All of Steve's family did include them though, sometime explaining jokes they seemed confused by but mostly distracting them with other conversations.

Lucille did notice Steve occasionally disappearing from the room, only once with Eddie just before he called everyone to set the tables out. “Mom and Dad, get over here please.” He added on, after watching the kids all jump up and hurry out of the room with the gifts they'd received.

Richard and Lucille had both been given a notebook and bottle of their favourite drink each, the notebook filled with memories Steve or Eddie had written out as something they might like to know. They picked these up at the call, wondering if there was something to do with that that their son called them over for.

Before they could ask however Steve had a hand on one shoulder of each of them and was tugging them closer to the wall just as Dustin and Mike came hurrying back with a table top between them, legs folded in and only just noticeable. “It's not the biggest house so for meals like Christmas the kids are in charge of putting the table and chairs up after clearing everything else away.” Steve explained. “You can help me plate everything up to take through.

“Of course. This reminds me of the chaotic family Christmases I miss from childhood.” Richard laughed, following him through as more kids hurried around, bringing tablecloths, chairs and place mats.

It was a lovely day he could hardly believe Steve was allowing so soon after their first apology was made, but the Harrington's looked forwards hopefully to many more.

[me-myself-and-my-fos]

Life Goes On Without Us

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x @canongf

A/N: Merry Christmas!! I hope you enjoy this fic, Liv!! I’ve had this au idea for a while.

Warning: ANGST

Bucky stood on the porch of the brownstone, hands in his pockets as he stared at the front door. His stomach was in knots, heart in his throat, and mind somewhere far, far away. When Steve told him before he went back under in Wakanda, before everything went to hell and he missed an entire five years, Bucky didn’t know if he wanted to cry or get sick, or both. He knew he missed nearly 80 years of history, an 80 years he could’ve spent living his life. But to find out how much of the world moved on without him was jarring. It felt like a rug was swept from under him, and in all honesty Bucky didn’t want to get back up.

Looking over his shoulder, Steve leaned against the parked car, watching intently as he waited for Bucky to make a move. Instead the super soldier nodded towards the door, giving Bucky silent encouragement to knock. A small groan ripped from his throat as he faced the door and lifted a hand. His fist shook and it took another moment before he knocked. It wasn’t too loud, he didn’t want to scare the people living inside. But it wasn’t light enough that it would force Steve up the stairs and make him do it again. As he waited for someone to answer the door Bucky looked back down to Steve who slowly made his way towards the steps.

“Maybe no one’s home.” Bucky shrugged.

“There’s always someone home with him,” Steve told Bucky.

There was movement on the other side of the door before the lock clicked. The door opened with a squeak, the person on the other side speaking in a thick accent that all Brooklyn natives had.

“Can I help you–” His voice cut off at the sight of Bucky.

The person on the other side had wavy, graying auburn hair and piercing brown eyes, and he was dressed in a mechanic’s jumpsuit. The name ‘James’ was embroidered on the patch. Bucky shifted a little under James’s uncomfortably long gaze and was unsure what to say.

“Hey, James. Is your dad home?” Steve asked, breaking the silence.

James blinked, running a hand over his hair before nodding. Eyes were still trained on Bucky as he spoke. “Yeah. Yeah, he’s in the sittin’ room. Come on in.” He pushed over the screen door and let Steve and Bucky into the house.

Upon entering the threshold they smelt the scent of fresh blueberry pie coming from the kitchen in the back. But in the main room was a large plush couch against the far right wall and several sitting chairs facing it, surrounding a coffee table covered in magazines, newspapers, and crossword puzzle books. Sitting on the couch underneath an old, worn, gray and green blanket with holes patched with various colored thread was an old man. His face was wrinkled and hair white, mostly gone, and a set of large glasses sitting on his nose. He was thin, thinner than the last time Steve had seen him. And the moment Bucky’s eyes laid on the old man he knew who this was and who the man reminded him of.

“Dad, you got visitors,” James announced, voice raised as he closed the door.

The old man looked up curiously, surprised at the news of visitors. But his back straightened when he saw Steve, and ignored the watering of his eyes as he saw Bucky. The old man saluted the pair.

“Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes.” He nodded.

Steve smiled and amused him with a more casual salute. “Colonel Barnes.” Bucky nodded awkwardly. The old man relaxed and leaned back into the plush pillows. “It’s good to see you, Richard.”

Richard gave him a smile. “Always an honor, Captain. Wilma is in the kitchen making some lemonade if you gentlemen want a glass.”

“I’ll get some for them, Dad, don’t worry,” James assured before heading into the kitchen. “Make yourselves at home!” He called out to Bucky and Steve.

Steve didn’t hesitate to take a chair across from Richard, but Bucky stood for a bit longer before taking a seat at the other end of the couch.

“How have you been, Richard?” Steve prompted.

“I’ve been fine,” Richard began, removing his glasses to clean them with the end of the blanket. “Damn cold weather’s been hard on my bones. Old war injuries acting up again,” he explained, putting the glasses back on. “Oh, and Alexander got accepted to Oxford. He started this past August.”

“That’s amazing. He’s a bright kid so I know he’ll do great,” Steve said as James came back into the room with a tray of three drinking glasses and a pitcher of lemonade.

“Who’s Alexander?” Bucky questioned hesitantly.

Richard looked at him. “Your great-grandson.” Bucky shifted uncomfortably as Richard’s attention shifted back to his son. “Jimmy, can you get the box from under my bed and bring it down here?”

“Sure thing, Dad.” James headed up the stairs and Richard looked at Bucky again.

“I thought I’d have to die before I could meet you,” Richard said bluntly as Steve poured three glasses of lemonade.

“If I had known about you sooner I would’ve come by, but Steve only told me recently,” Bucky told him.

Richard shook his head. “He likes to do that; keep secrets before getting the– the balls to tell us.”

Bucky was silent for a moment before asking the one he didn’t want to. But he needed to know. “When did she pass?”

Humming, Richard fiddled with the blanket. “A little over twenty years ago. It broke my heart to bury mom. She– She passed the day after your birthday,” he explained to Bucky, his voice quivering. “I visited her and told her it was okay, she could go. But she had told me ‘Richie, I want to tell your father happy birthday one last time.’ And the next day the nurse called and said she had– she–” He struggled to find the words, and Steve lowered his head. Bucky reached over and put a gentle hand on Richard’s shoulder. Richard took a deep breath and placed his hand over Bucky’s. “She loved you until her last breath.”

“Alright, Dad, I got the box,” James said, coming down the stairs. He walked over to where his father sat and gently rested the box in his lap, lifting the lid and setting it to the side.

“I got it, I got it.” Richard waved him off. “I’m not some frail old man.” He reached into the box and pulled out an old photo album, dark navy with gold lettering faded and material peeling at the corners. Opening it revealed pages and pages of pictures, some black and white others in color. Mostly Polaroids. Richard pointed to the first picture on the first page that showed a very familiar woman to Bucky holding a tiny baby. “After I was born we moved to New York. Mom wanted me close to family.”

“I can’t imagine it was easy for her,” Bucky thought out loud.

“It wasn’t.” Richard shook his head. “But we got by, especially with help. The Howling Commandos weren’t the best babysitters, but they kept me entertained when Mom was working.” He flipped a few pages and pointed to a photo that had ‘Richie’s fifth birthday’ scribbled above it in Liv’s handwriting. “She liked taking me to Coney Island. I loved the coasters.”

“Yeah?” Bucky perked up a bit, smiling. “Me too.”

Richard gave him a mischievous grin, or at least as much as he could muster. “A few times my friends and I would ditch school during lunch and go down to ride them. I got in trouble for that a lot. Mom wanted me to– to focus on my education. But I could ride those coasters from sunup to sun down.”

“Those were the days,” Bucky reminisced. “Steve and I got a few stories from going there. Don’t we Steve?” Bucky grinned at his best friend and Steve let out a breath, shaking his head.

“Don’t remind me,” Steve groaned.

“Um, can I…” Bucky gestured to the photo album and Richard nodded, trying to lift it.

“Of course. Of course.”

Bucky took it and set it on his lap. He flipped through the pages in amazement and sadness of the family he didn’t get to be a part of. Richard pointed at various photos, explaining the stories behind them along with other memories he had.

“And that photo was taken the day I enlisted,” Richard explained. “The day after my birthday. I didn’t tell Mom.”

“Who’s that?” Bucky wondered, pointing to the last photo on the page. It was a young Richard next to a beautiful woman.

“Eliza LeBeau.” Richard smiled softly, a twinkle in his eyes. “My wife. Loved her with all my heart. She passed a few years ago.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“You would’ve loved her. Mom did. Eliza was the daughter mom never had.”

“Do you think I’d be able to borrow this? To look at?” Bucky gestured to the photo album.

Richard nodded as he rummaged through the box. “As long as you bring it back.”

He pulled various things from the box to show his father. Metals from his time in the service, other loose photos, various trinkets from his youth and adulthood. Richard was enjoying his trip down memory lane, and Steve noticed how Bucky couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Richard. His son.

“I just remembered,” Richard grumbled, pushing himself off the couch slowly. Bucky placed the album on the coffee table and jumped to his feet, helping Richard stand. “I have something for you.” He grabbed into his cane and gestured for Bucky to follow.

He led Bucky up the stairs and down the hall, passing James and Wilma’s room, a bedroom with Alexander spray painted on the door in orange, and at the end of the hall was a bedroom door slightly ajar. Richard pushed it open and entered the room. His feet shuffled across the warn carpet as Bucky followed, taking in the sight of the room. Pictures were scattered across the walls and dresser, some of a younger Richard during his time in the service, others of the Commandos aged and gray, and a few of Liv throughout her years. Bucky’s eyes were glued to one photo of Liv, eyes still sparkling and beautiful as she smiled radiantly, her vibrant red hair instead a silvery gray.

Richard shuffled across the room to the dresser below the window and opened a drawer. He shuffled through it for a moment before pulling out a book. At first Bucky didn’t recognize it. It looked brand new, but as Richard approached him, holding it out, he realized the pages were stained and worn and old. This wasn’t a new book.

“Mom gave this to me to have. I believe she borrowed this but never got a chance to give it back,” Richard said, gesturing for his father to take the book.

Gently, Bucky took the book and looked at the cover. It was a refurbished copy of The Hobbit; Bucky’s copy. He had given it to Liv to read while they were in Europe and hoped she’d enjoy it as much as he did.

“Did she like it?” Bucky asked tentatively, looking up at Richard.

“She loved it,” Richard told him. “Read it to me before bed every night. We read the whole series together. She never got a chance to watch the movies.”

Tearing up, Bucky replied. “I’m just glad she liked it.”

“I know she’d want you to have it back. I like to think I was keeping it safe for you.”

“Thank you, Richard. I really— I appreciate this.” Bucky wiped a stray tear from his eye.

“I want you come visit whenever you feel like it,” Richard said earnestly. “I’d like to get to know you in whatever time I have left.”

“I’d like that too.” The super soldier nodded.

[insomniac-jay]

Well, Here Are Things You'll Never Know

The Gotham rogues gather at an estate for a party hosted by the mysterious Madame Nightshade.

Only, their host has no intention of being a good one.

Title taken from XS by Rina Sawayama

The sight of the estate's grand entrance was enough to make Penguin jealous. With its green, manicured lawns to the African blackwood doors featuring carved scenes of an epic battle to the statues that overlooked the fountains. It wasn't a stretch to imagine Gotham's newest rogue sat on a pile of gold.

And the interior was just as grand as the exterior. Scarlet velvet drapes hung above the windows and doorways. An expensive, intricately designed rug laid on the floor of foyer while a chandelier made of real crystals hung above.

"Looks like Brucey boy has competition." Penguin stuffed his cigar in his mouth, hoping to avoid any further jealousy.

Catwoman simply looked around, looking for anything she could grab and make off with once the party was over. What kind of person was the host? Who could afford for so many luxurious treasures to be in just one area?

"Cool, isn't it? I neva imagined walkin' into a place like this!" Harley Quinn took her spot alongside the feline thief. Poison Ivy was not too far behind.

Riddler kept his eyes on the chandelier, studying it. Surely the hostess wouldn't mind if it went missing. His sidekicks Query and Echo chatted amongst each other before noticing a familiar face from across the room.

"Eddie, don't look now, but Monochrome's here," Echo whispered.

"Mon lapine." Riddler was already giddy and the party hadn't even started.

But Riddler looked anyway. Sure enough, the mysteriously alluring Monochrome was there with her henchmen.

Her monochromatic hair was styled neatly, giving her a smooth, clean look. And how could he ignore the beautiful black and white dress she wore?

Two Face quietly stood off in the corner. He wasn't too happy about being called out of work to attend the event--even if the invitation did say attendance was mandatory. His plan was just to come, drink a bit, then go home. Simple and easy.

The clicking of heels caught the attention of the guests as a woman came out into the foyer. She had brown hair with sleek gray streaks and green eyes. Her dress was navy blue with matching gloves.

"Hello, everyone. My name is Penelope Richards," Penelope greeted. "Madame Nightshade has been expecting you. Please follow me."

Penelope led them to a large room lined with covered tables full of food on silver platters. On the walls were paintings that would rival those found in the Sistine Chapel. Crystal glasses of champagne and wine awaited them as well as a chocolate fountain. Servants dressed in pricey Italian suits stood off to the sides, ready to meet the demands of the guests.

The other rogues looked around in awe. Just when they thought they'd seen everything.

"Madame Nightshade will be with you shortly. For now, why not enjoy a drink?" Penelope snapped her fingers and servants brought around trays of drinks for everyone.

Riddler kept his eye on Monochrome. The suit he wore was much different from his usual style, but he hoped it would impress the always stylish art thief.

"You know she finds your staring weird."

"Two Face? I never thought you'd come here."

"Don't got much of a choice when the invitation says it's mandatory." Harvey took a sip of wine. Probably one of those super expensive brands no one knew the name of, but damn did it taste good. "What do you suppose this Madame Nightshade wants?"

"Must everything be a conspiracy? Why not it be a simple party?" Riddler turned his attention back on Monochrome, who was talking with Catwoman. "Must there be an ulterior motive to everything in that mind of yours, Harvey?"

Two Face rolled his eyes.

Slow heels walking down the steps caught turned everyone's heads. Three more women descended down a grand staircase.

On the left side was a woman with dark brown skin and curly black hair done into a neat bun. Her dress was purple with a diamond necklace.

On the right was a brown skinned woman wearing traditional South Asian wear. Her hair was black and flowed freely down her back.

In the middle was a woman wearing an elegant scarlet dress with a black fur shawl wrapped around her. Her hair was styled into neat curls. If her appearance told them anything, it was that she's the boss.

Onyx eyes looked down at the guests from the balcony of the staircase. They examined each and every person present; likely making mental note of who's who. Then, they shifted to Two Face.

When Two Face saw the woman's face, the glass in his hand was crushed. Why his days as a DA flashed before him, he couldn't say, but he knew that face the moment she came downstairs.

"You!" He yelled out in anger.

The woman stood tall, not flinching under the anger of his voice. "Hello, Harvey Dent. I'm not that surprised you still remember me."

"Course you're not, Marjorie!" Two Face growled. While the whispers of the others about how they possibly knew each other filled his ears, he blocked them out. Instead, he reached in his side and pulled out a gun.

"Tell the-"

Bang, bang!

Two Face screamed in pain as he felt two bullets enter his shoulder. But he had no time to nurse it as two more bullets entered his other shoulder. He writhed in pain on the ground.

In the woman's hand was a smoking gun. Despite the attempt on her life, her face remained stoic, cool, calm.

"Too slow yet again, Harvey." Frost laced her voice. So calm as though she hadn't just shot a man twice in both shoulders. After returning the gun to its place, she fully put her attention on the guests.

"Welcome. My name is Madame Nightshade." Madame Nightshade raised her head like she were a queen. "I'm glad you all accepted my invitation and graced my home with your presences. However, this is not a party."

Gasps and whispers emerged from the crowd.

Madame Nightshade made her way down to the floor, followed by the other two women. Her eyes shifted from side to side, taking in just who walked into her home. "You may not know me, but I know all of you. Or maybe you do, but do you really know me?"

"What do ya mean by that? What are you getting-" "Oswald Cobblepot. It's wise not to further increase your debt."

Penguin was taken aback by the newbie knowing his real name. She hadn't even turned around when she said it. But his shock quickly turned to anger.

"What debt do I owe you? You just got here!"

Penguin's eyes widened. "The Iceberg Lounge? What's that got to do with you?"

Nightshade's gaze stung the crime lord, forcing him into silence.

"Yours is one of the lengthier ones. But since you wish to test me, fine. Relinquish the Iceberg Lounge to its rightful owner. It's just enough to clear your tab."

The guests were speechless. Madame Nightshade built the Iceberg Lounge? Since when? First Two Face knowing who she was, now this. Just who was this woman?

"Who do you think financed its construction? The workers? The merchandise?" Each word was laced with venom. They sunk their teeth into Penguin, making him uncharacteristically quiet in minutes.

Nightshade went on. "It was my money that built your precious lounge, and I'll have no problem taking it from you--should you wish to see how far I'll go."

Nightshade picked up a glass of wine from a tray. While nonchalantly taking a sip, she looked out into the crowd.

"Come hither, Edward Nashton. "

"Your recent stunt as increased your debt to me. Meaning you owe me over six hundred million dollars." She looked down at him with contempt. It transported him back to his childhood. "Does someone like yourself even have access to the needed money?"

Riddler walked up to her. He did his best to hide the trembling in his body. Once near, he bowed best as he could.

"Y-yes, ma'am?"

"N-no, ma'am."

"Figured," Nightshade hummed. "Especially when I can see all the poor financial decisions you make everyday. How do you expect to have a woman like Mona Lisa Beauvais when all you can afford is Ramen and crackers?"

Monochrome froze when she heard her name. Becoming a target wasn't what she had anticipated for the night.

"For all your genius, money is your weakness. That's such irony." Nightshade continued her lecture.

"I-I can come up with the money by tomorrow afternoon." Riddler sweated. His heart pounded against his chest from feeling her venomous gaze on him. Riddler's knees had been threatening to fail him ever since she called him his birth name.

Once Riddler found his place back in the crowd, the spotlight was placed on Monochrome. Usually she'd be reveling in it, but it felt like she'd been put on trial. Even more embarrassing that she'd just been called Riddler's girlfriend.

Nightshade only hummed in response. While she didn't doubt his capabilities, she surely knew that the task was impossible.

"Of course you will. Return so that I can give my attention to your novia."

Just as she did to the other three rogues, Madame Nightshade set her gaze in on the art thief.

"Just because you're a widow and a mother doesn't mean I clear your tab. But, I do believe yours will be relatively easy to pay since your finances are more sound than your novio's." Nightshade set the glass on the table.

She then took the rest of the time exposing the other rogues and informing them of their debts to her. Honestly, it made her laugh how much these fools didn't know how she'd woven herself into the very fabric of Gotham. No one could separate their money from hers without risking death or financial ruin.

Suddenly, a noxious gas was released.

The air became so thick that it caused the guests to start coughing. Madame Nightshade, however, was perfectly fine. Like she'd experienced conditions like this before.

"Listen closely and listen well: I'm not just a boss in Gotham, I am Gotham. So every bank you steal money from is my money. Every hitman you hire is my hitman." She walked over to an unconscious Two Face and rolled over his body with her foot. Shaking her head in disappointment, she went back to the other rogues. "I own everyone in this city, including all of you and the Batman. I don't expect flattery or worship; but when you are in debt to me, I expect my due."

The ice in her voice sent shivers down the spines of many. She then walked towards a pair of doors leading to an outside balcony. The night air flowed through the room once open, giving the rogues some sense of relief.

"Take this as your first and final warning: Deceive me and you'll never get the chance to do it again."

@floof-ghostie @calciumcryptid @jasontoddssuper @honeysgalaxy

[we-dragons]

I'm from a different dimension actually Chapter 17

         God, I forgot how much I hate homework, the thick packet of busy work that doesn't even help me in any way. I feel the warm mug of lavender tea and use it to massage my cramping hand. With everything that I had missed despite testing out that I knew it all. I must have pissed them off somehow. It's dark outside when I've seen I've finished and I can still hear Molly's last call to me from a few hours ago. Nightmare gnaws at my ankles, he's eaten so he's just bored and that irritates me some but I don't really care. I haven't been called on by oracle for a while now. Something about keeping where the other side, they called it, could reach me. I haven't been to the manor in days, and in turn, I haven't heard from him in a while. I'm not mad, but it's almost lonely.

        I walk over to my couch and pull open a Pandora, and open Enya. I start cleaning up some mess that I let accumulate. I hum to Wild Child as it hits the second chorus. My mother loved this song, it would play after almost every other one in her playlist. I remember complaining about it. Seems foolish now.

HISS!

Nightmare screams bloody murder directing me to the window. I whip around and feel myself freeze. A figure stands on my balcony, green skies, unnatural for Gotham. The figure stands tall, red cloak and glowing green eyes.

"Al?"

"After what happened in Moscow, you will call me Spawn."

He walks through the door closing it shut behind him. "I can't be here long so let me make this simple." He pulls out a box with the professor's symbol. He throws it to me. "Home is facing trouble beyond belief and the safety of existence depends on what you do here. Franklin Richards is doing all he can to keep the monsters at bay. We received information that your friends are getting help from someone here and are arriving sooner than we hoped. They talked about the last resort, as you recall it's how you got free the last time." I open the box and remove the paper, my blood runs cold, and I drop the box. Six bangles drop clink on the ground, each bearing a hieroglyph and a glowing stone.

"No! I can't be her again!"

"You don't have a choice!" His cloak rises around him. I flinch, Spawn sighs calming down. "Beast made your new model, this pair will allow you to be yourself longer." He looks out the window watching the sky. "Your friends have shielded you but know this, they fight in your place. I can take you to them but that's all I can do for you my time here is short."

        I fall to my knees, I shakily take the bangles. I feel the energy surging through them. Infinity stones. I remember when I came to hold them for the first time. Jubilee handing them to me bloody and near death. I remember they sunk into my skin, sinking deep into my bloodstream. I also remember carving them out in a dark alleyway with some broken glass.

        I snap my fingers put on my costume, and slip on the bangles three on each arm the shrink to my skin. They feel hot on my skin. almost burning. I hear Spawn growl.

"No answer?"

"You're going to take me anyway," I take Nightmare in my arms, he's still hissing. "just take me." Something wet falls down my face. I see red cloud my vision, then I can't breathe for a moment. "We're here," It takes me a moment to register where I'm at. It's the underground city in Cairo. Only a few know of its whereabouts.  Fewer can enter. But there they are. The Titans, the Bat crew, and a few others. Most are on the ground bleeding in amounts that should be concerning. "I hope to see home soon. Your uncle is annoying without you there as a filter." He leaves without another word, vanishing in red.

"Y/N! Go home!" I recognize the voice of my partner. But I ignore it. I walk to the danger. I almost cry at what I see. It's a higher rank than what should be here. He's massive, towering over everyone. He seems to smile with his twisted beak. Black leathery skin, soaked in blood and acids. Adorned in gold carrying weapons that seem to be dropping off of him. But like the others, he's off.

"Who are you?! You're not a Crow!"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" I furrow my brows

"You speak English?"

"I speak every language." Nightmare growls the identity of the thing. I glare at the creature.

"Hello, Minthu, God of war. I will give you a second chance to save yourself." I cross my arms to an X touching the back of my hands palms facing out. He only scoffs at me.

"And what could you do? You are nothing but a bug in the sands of this desert. Your master has promised me glorious bloodshed! He will be a god-like no other! Bound to the world of the mighty united as his ambassador! I will finally turn this world and the next sopping their soils in their entrails!"

"Fine, then I have no choice but to end this." The stones burn, but they do their job. I tear the creature down molecule by molecule. I erase him he screams but I continue he was too far gone to help anyway. "I am hell, discord, your death, and terror! I pass Galatic judgment upon you. You are not welcome, your kind, Crow and all. Die!"

I leave nothing. Not blood, not skin. I will the others healed while I'm forcing time and space. I release myself and drop to the floor dust puffing the air around me. I look at the burns on my skin, the same colors as the stone under them. I bleed. I'm tired.

"Y/N!"

        I close my eyes, and for a moment I think. But when I open them I'm back up I'm in the cave. My arms burn but I sit up. I've been changed out of my clothes. I'm currently wearing fresh clothes from my closet I look at my wrists and see that the bangles still attached. I doubt that even if I tried they won't come off. Nightmare mews climbing up on my lap. He asks if I am alright.

"I'm okay, thank you Nightmare. How long was I out?...3 days...I can imagine he's been worried."

"Y/N?"

"That's me, dead or alive," I answer not even turning to the voice. I look at the newcomer. Green eyes stare at me from his chair. His face is pale, but stoic nonetheless. "are you even happy to see me?"

He saunters over as if stalking me. He places a hand on my forehead.

"You're running a fever. Lay back down."

"You're running your mouth, you lay down."

"Cheap retorts won't save you from bed rest."

"Worth a shot."

"Tell me what happened back there."

"I took care of things." I lift my arms. "Same way I escaped back then." He tenderly grabs my arm and grazes the scabs with his thumb. I try not to wince.

"What are they?"

I frown. "Everything and nothing, they're infinity stones. Normally a celestial would be able to use them, but I've adapted to use them. The last time I did, I nearly lost myself. Consumed them. I nearly lost a friend to them. They tried to merge with me. They've attempted to do so again." I give him a smile. "I need to leave, it's started. I have to find an abandoned planet now."

        I attempt to move, but an arm stops me it wraps around my waist keeping me in place. I give the boy a tired look.

"Damian?"

"Shut up. You'll stay under house arrest until further notice. You will not leave this city." I push him off, his hand still holds my wrist.

"It was a joke! I have to stay here anyway." He lets out a shaky sigh bringing my hand to his face.

"Don't do this again. Ever, please."

"Can you take me home then?"

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

        I haven't been allowed to move to do anything to do for a while now. Damian made sure of that. Every time I got up to even make a cup of tea I was forced back into bed, the couch, or the chair. I have been bored out of my mind. Even watching anything was followed by concern. "Damian, if you don't let me watch my show in peace I will jump out the window!"

"Well, you shouldn't have allowed yourself to expend your abilities to the point of not being able to use them."

"I can still use pockets. It's just a matter of healing and everything else Involved."

        As luck would have it I had managed to drain myself to the point of actual pain. The others helped remove scales from my body, but because I wasn't healing I've had to change my bandages just about every day. They haven't been healing as fast as they should. Even slower than the human standard. The stones drained me alright but at least they haven't tried to merge with me, for now.

        I've had time to tell Damian more about the stones. Thanos, the infinity sword, the wars. He was happy I didn't take part in the war. But after hearing about Thanos he asked about more of our villains. I was more than happy to tell him. I started with the mutant ones and ended with Thanos. I even had Nightmare pull up my comm so I can share my database with him. But even with my extensive list, it didn't go on for long. I was so tired of talking I started playing I dream of Jeannie. It wasn't up to his standard, so he turned it off.

        I'm still pouting when he brings me my tea. I smell it and frown.

"Your drink will get cold."

"It's a sleepy-time tea. I asked for Lady Gray."

"What you want isn't always what you want, and you can't have caffeine. It's almost midnight."

"Party pooper." I twist the ring on my finger watching it catch the light. I hear him sip, but I feel his eyes in my skull. "If you have something to say, just say it."

"Would you let me take care of you more often?"

"Hell to the no." He laughs.

"Then stop getting hurt, or you will have no choice." Still holding his cup he kicks my couch making it spring open. Then he sets his mug down and helps me to the bed.

"You could have taken me to my room."

"Then you wouldn't sleep you would stay up till daybreak and blame the sun for existing."

"Valid point you make about the sun, however-" He shoves the tea to my face.

"If you drink it, and get 10 hours max sleep. I will do whatever you want tomorrow. No exceptions." I raise my eyebrow.

"Anything?"

"Yes."

"In a dress dancing like a monkey speaking Klingon?"

"If I must." I take the entire drink in one go and through the covers over my head. He follows suit turning off the lights. And as I start drifting I recall he said nothing about what the minimum amount was. But I think the library is open at 6. And he will not awake till 8.

[ganseybois]

would you be willing to write a gansey and ronan prompt? something about gansey or ronan's wedding day, with the other as the best man? i just miss them!!!

here you go! i hope you like it :) 

In many, many ways, Richard Gansey III never thought that he would actually make it to this day. And it wasn't even his day really. But like so many things that happened to their group, everything that happened to one person happened to all of them.

That, or, Gansey was feeling very overdramatic due to the nature of the day, which was very possible.

It was Ronan Lynch and Adam Parrish's wedding day, and considering the number of times death had brushed their gang, everyone was feeling quite overwhelmed. Gansey, in particular, felt as though he was one speech away from blubbering. He couldn't recall the last time he had felt so emotional.

Ronan, of course, could see it in his best man's eyes.

"Dick, seriously, pull yourself together." but he was grinning as he fixed his bowtie in the mirror. He looked stunningly handsome in a suit. It was a rare, but delightful image.

"I'm sorry." Gansey chuckled, collapsing in the armchair.

"What's wrong with you?" Ronan asked, walking over to him. He got down on one knee and looked up at his friend.

Ronan had softened considerably over the years. Age and the possibility of a risk-free life had stretched out before him and done wonders to his attitude. While sarcasm (and the occasional outburst) still littered his tone, he was much more open now, and his eyes had not looked cold in years.

Gansey sighed, "You're going to ruin your suit."

"As if I give a shit." Ronan grinned. "Come on man, I'm supposed to be the one falling to pieces, remember?"

"I'm sorry," Gansey said again, "I truly don't know what's come over me. I suppose, looking back on who we were, and seeing you and Adam here now...it's just making me sad. In a good way. Melancholic." Except it wasn't that, either. For all the words Gansey knew, for all the times his friends had called him a know-it-all, he could not put his finger on what he was feeling.

"I don't want you to be sad on my wedding day, man, you're going to bring down the party."

"No, it's the kind of sadness that is happy. A change I welcome, but wonder how many more changes we will go through." Gansey rubbed his hands over his face, moving his glasses up and down as he did. "Ignore me, I'm having trouble communicating my feelings today." After he put his hands down, he smiled lightly. "I am deliriously happy for you, Ronan, please don't misunderstand me."

"I never understand you to begin with." Ronan teased, but they both knew that wasn't true. He got up, but instead of standing straight, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Gansey's. "You know, I love you too, right?"

It was no secret: Ronan Lynch loved Richard Gansey more than his own life.

Gansey reached forward and clutched at Ronan's suit, tightly. "I know."

They stayed like that for a moment, childhood friends silently telling the other: we will never change, and things are changing, but we are the same, and we are happy and alive and are living.

Things were changing, things were always changing, but each of them knew, deep down, that their friendship would survive it all. It was simply, sometimes, even someone like Richard Gansey III, needed a little reassurance that they would be okay. Weddings made people irrational and emotional. But, for the most part, in the best ways possible.

Ronan pulled back finally, pulling Gansey up. "Come on, help me get married."

Gansey smiled. "That, I can do."

***

note: apologies if this was a bit ooc, but this takes place in the future and we all know people change, grow, etc, etc, but i still hope you enjoyed :) 

[just-call-me-angel]

Little Miss Loser

Chapter 4 - Ice Cream Is 4 Losers

Warnings: Richard Hoover is a shit head

Author's Note: Writing this chapter was so much fun, I love having the reader absolutely tear Richard to shreds. I am president of the Anti-Richard club, fuck that guy and everything he stands for. Anyways hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

Summary: Listen man harassing Richard, getting bitches, and making Dwayne question his choice of friends is a full-time job, and frankly you're not being paid enough but that sure as hell won't stop you

Ao3

Chapters: ||1||2||3||4||5||6||7

The diner was quiet as you stepped in, only a few people littered the dining area, and most seemed content to be left alone. A waitress greeted you all with a sweet smile, motioning for you to follow her as she directed everyone to a small booth. At Olive’s insistence, you sat next to her with Dwayne on your other side, followed by Frank and Granpa Edwin while Sheryl and Richard sat on the other side of Olive. It was a bit of a tight squeeze but you managed well enough, grinning every time you bumped elbows with Dwayne as you looked at the menu. Olive leaned against you, kicking her feet excitedly as she read the menu, giggling every time you leaned over to poke her cheek.

“Mom, how much can we spend?” Olive asked, tilting her head at her mother.

Sheryl thought for a moment, “Hm I’d say four dollars.” she decided, turning to look at the rest of the table to make sure they heard her, ”Anything under four dollars” Olive hummed, turning back to her menu again, grinning when you leaned over her shoulder to point at something on her menu.

“Oooh Oli.” you crooned, poking her side, “They have waffles.” you grinned excitedly as she clapped her hands, looking to where you had pointed on the menu. Beside you, Dwayne was quietly reading his menu and now that you were more awake you were ready to get back to your usual routine of annoying the fuck out of him. He sighed heavily as you leaned on his shoulder, pointing randomly at his menu, with no particular rhyme or reason. Dwayne was used to you annoying him, and in the time you had been friends he had become a master at ignoring you, only ever offering you a bored expression and an occasional smug smile when you inevitably got annoyed that he wasn’t reacting.

The waitress returned within a few minutes, “You folks ready to order?”

Richard was the first to order, “Uh yeah... I’ll get a number five,” he paused, folding his menu and passing it to the waitress, “, and a Coffee.” The waitress nodded, quickly writing it down on her little notepad before directing her attention to Sheryl.

“A number seven, over easy with Grapefruit juice please” Sherly smiled, carefully passing her menu to the waitress.

Frank was the next to speak up, “Can I get the fruit plate, and do you have Chamomile?” the waitress nodded,” Perfect I’ll get a Chamomile tea with honey.”

“I’ll have the Lumberjack and a coffee. Extra bacon please.” Grandpa Edwin said, offering a smile to the waitress.

“Dad…” Richard mumbled

Sheryl huffed and shook her head, “Richard don’t start.”

“He’s gonna kill himself,” Richard argued, shoulders falling in defeat as his wife gave him a stern look.

“It’s his life,” Sheryl replied with a shrug, reaching over to fix Olive’s hair a bit.

“Death by bacon… what a way to go,” you mumbled quietly, grinning at the defeated look Richard had on his face while Dwayne laughed under his breath next to you.

Edwin smiled smugly. “Thank you, Sheryl.”

Dwayne held up his notepad for the waitress to read. “Garden Salad?” she repeated, smiling when Dwayne gave her an affirming nod before turning to look at you.

You glanced briefly at your menu before humming, “I’ll just have waffles with a sweet iced tea please.”

The waitress nodded and turned to Olive, “And for you?”

Olive froze next to you, nervously pushing her glasses up, “Oh! Umm…sorry! I'm sorry!” The waitress smiled and shook her head telling Olive to take her time as you reached over to help Olive read through the menu again.

“Don’t apologize Olive. It's a sign of weakness.” Richard says earning a sharp kick to his leg from his wife and glares from everyone else at the table. Olive shifted anxiously looking at you for a moment before finally looking back at the waitress.

“Oh! Oh! I’ll have waffles too!” she said finally, beaming when you gave her a thumbs up, “and Ummm what does A La Modee mean?”

“It means it comes with ice cream” the waitress laughed.

“Okay! I’ll have A La Mod-ee!” Olive exclaimed, earning another laugh from the waitress.

Sheryl smiled at her daughter, “Olive? For Breakfast?”

Olive shrugged, passing her menu to the waitress, “You said four dollars.” she said matter of factly. With a grin, you raised your hand to get the waitress's attention before she walked away.

“Can I get my waffles A La Mod-ee as well?” you asked, making sure you pronounced it the same way Olive had.

“I’ll have everything ready for you in no time.” the waitress said, spinning on her heel and heading back to the kitchens. Olive leaned over against you again, giggling when you poked her side playfully.

“Actually Olive.” Frank said with a small smile, “ A La Mode means In the fashion .” he paused, smile growing wider when he noticed Olive hanging onto his every word, “ A… La… Mode. Mode is derived from the Latin Modus meaning, due or proper measure “ you found yourself just as enamored by Frank’s explanation as Olive did. Even Dwayne had a small smile on his face as he listened to his Uncle.

Frank laughed a bit, “Actually there’s a funny story about-”

Richard coughed loudly, “ Frank? Shut up” You turned immediately to look at him, already preparing to give him the stink eye for interrupting Frank.

“Richard!” Sheryl exclaimed, receiving a shrug from Frank while Richard turned to look at Olive, ignoring his wife’s clear frustration.

“Olive let me tell you something about ice cream” Richard barely waits for Olive’s hesitant nod, “Ice cream is made from cream, which comes from cows' milk. And cream has a lot of fat in it-”

“Richard!” Sheryl exhaled, glaring at her husband with enough force you almost expected his head to burst into flames.

“What? She’s gonna find out anyway.” Richard replied with a smug look. God, he was such a dick. Y ou wondered what would happen if you just reached over and slapped him.

Olive looked around, clearly confused, “Find out what?” You stared at Richard as if willing him not to say what you thought he was going to say. Your prayers were of course ignored as he dove into a very poor explanation of how Ice Cream would make Olive fat. It made your blood boil and you could feel Dwayne shifting beside you, fists already clenched at his sides as he glared at his stepfather.

Poor Olive looks around again, still confused and clearly a bit distressed, “What… Mom I don't…. I don't understand… Why is everyone so upset?”

Sheryl sighed, glaring at her husband before looking back at her daughter with a kind smile, brushing loose hairs out of Olive’s face as she spoke, “No one’s upset with you sweetie… I just want you to understand: its okay to be skinny, and its okay to be fat, as long as you’re happy it's okay”

Beside her, Richard rolls his eyes “Okay but Olive let me ask you this… Are those women in Miss America skinny or are they fat?” Dwayne shifted again next to you, clearly prepared to lunge over the table if Richard said another word. You weren’t sure if you even stop him if he did or if you’d join him at this point.

Olive pouted, shoulders falling in defeat, “They’re skinny I guess.”

Richard shrugged, seemingly unaffected by the way his daughter looked close to tears, “I guess they probably don’t eat that much ice cream huh”  Dwayne huffed beside you and you moved a hand to rest on top of his clenched fists, tracing circles over the back of his hand before turning to glare at Richard.

“Dude shut up.” you say without thinking, feeling a bit proud of yourself when Richard stares back at you, clearly shocked by your words. Richard doesn’t even have time to react before the waitress is back at the table passing around various dishes and setting two bowls of ice cream and waffles in front of you and Olive. Olive doesn’t even look up when the waitress tries to make her laugh by saying A La Mod-ee. She stares at the ice cream in front of her for a while before she pushes it to the center of the table.

“Does… Does anyone want my ice cream?” she asks meekly. Sheryl shakes her head and closes her eyes, refusing to look at her husband as he drinks his coffee.

Grandpa Edwin is the first to speak up, quickly grabbing a spoon and reaching across the table, “Yeah! I’ll have a bite! Dwayne? Frank?” Dwayne and Frank immediately sit up straight, shuffling to grab spoons while you sit beside them, leaning a little closer to Olive as she crosses her arms and brings her knees to her chest.

“You mind if I have a little?” Frank asks. Olive shakes her head and shrugs, leaning against your side. Without missing a beat everyone begins to dig in, even Sheryl picks up a spoon to grab a small spoonful of Icecream. Richard watches unamused. Dwayne leans over your shoulder, forcing you a bit closer to Olive as he takes a large spoonful of ice cream and shoves it into his mouth with an exaggerated hum of approval. Everyone makes a big show of talking about how good the ice cream is to make Olive smile.

You pull your own bowl of icecream closer, playfully waving your spoon in front of Olive, tapping her nose gently with the end making her giggle a bit, “Come on Oli, you’re gonna have lonely waffles in your stomach without the Ice cream.” the group hums in agreement.

Olive finally breaks, reaching for her spoon to swat at everyone’s hands as she pulls her bowl towards her, “No! Don't eat it all! Stop!” You giggle as Dwayne half-heartedly tries to take another spoonful. She dives in, grinning as soon as she takes a bite of the ice cream.

“Olive-” Richard is cut off as Sheryl, swats his arm glaring fiercely at him until he slumps back into his seat. Beside you Dwayne opens his straw, and blows the wrapper towards Richard, hitting him in the forehead. You laugh, doing the same with your own straw, watching as the wrapper hits Richard in the cheek. He doesn’t say a word, he just sighs and leans forward taking a long drink from his coffee.

For a while everyone just eats their food in relative silence, only interrupted by Olive’s laughter when you whispered a joke to her or you swatting at Dwayne’s hand whenever you caught him stealing some of your food.

Frank is the first to fill the silence again, “So (Y/N) you and Dwayne have been friends for how long now?”

You stared blankly for a moment trying to do the mental math before finally grinning, “Hm I’d say 5 years now?”  You looked to Dwayne for confirmation and he nodded quietly.

“What do you two usually like to do for fun?” Frank asks directing the question at you even though he keeps glancing at Dwayne with a smile that made you think he knew something you didn’t. You shrugged the thought off, throwing your arms over Dwayne’s shoulders in a very awkward side hug.

Dwayne grumbled a bit but made no move to push you off as you spoke, “ Oh you know, the usual teenager stuff.” you glanced for a moment at Richard who you could tell was already gearing up to scold you and Dwayne for being too close. You grinned at looking back at Frank, lowering your voice to ensure Olive wouldn’t hear you if she wasn’t paying attention, “Mainly smoking tons of pot, disrespecting any authority figure and of course hooking up with strangers constantly.” Dwayne froze next to you, face immediately going bright red while Grandpa Edwin and Frank immediately began laughing. Even Sheryl found it a bit funny, stifling a laugh. Richard however looked ready to explode, face going a bit purple as his eyes widened at you. You could swear you could see smoke coming out of his ears at this point.

You snorted, feeling incredibly smug about being able to get on Richard’s nerves so easily, “Calm down Mr. H, It's just a joke.” Sheryl shook her head, laughing softly as she rubbed Richard’s arms in a half-hearted attempt at getting him to calm down.

“I don’t find your jokes very funny,” Richard grumbled, earning an eye roll from his wife while you simply shrugged, smirking at him.

“Get a better sense of humor then?” you retorted, earning a loud bark of laughter from Grandpa Edwin. Even Sheryl couldn’t help but laugh a little, stopping only when Richard narrowed his eyes at her. He sat for a moment still fuming and breathing heavily but refused to say another word to you, instead he stood up abruptly, shoving his wallet onto the table in front of his wife.

“I’m going to try and call Stan again, I’ll be outside while everyone finishes eating” Richard huffed, not even giving his wife a chance to say a word before he was shuffling out of the booth and heading to the door.  Had it been anyone other than Richard you might have felt a bit bad for harassing him. Beside you, Dwayne was smiling to himself, clearly amused by his stepfather's frustration. Sheryl shook her head and watched him walk out the door while Olive looked up from her waffles confused as to why her father had just stomped out of the restaurant suddenly.

“Why’s dad going outside?” She asked between bites of her waffles.

Sheryl sighed and shrugged, motioning for Olive to keep eating, “Your Dad just had something important to take care of that's all, don't worry about it too much, and eat your food sweetheart.”

“Sorry Mrs. H,” you offered in apology, despite not really feeling all that bad about having put Richard in a bad mood.

Sheryl shook her head at you and smiled, “Don’t worry about it hun, he’ll get over it by the time we get back on the road, you know how he is.” she didn’t seem at all angry with you for the way you had spoken to her husband, nor did she seem annoyed by your manner of joking with Frank.

You smiled cheekily, “it was pretty funny though wasn’t it?” Sheryl stifled a laugh but nodded, “I swear to god he had steam coming from his ears.” you joked, making a face to imitate the scowl Richard had worn moments before. Sheryl chuckled and shook her head, taking a sip of her grapefruit and then motioning for you to continue eating.

“No Sheryl I think (Y/N)’s right, maybe Richard should get that checked out?” Frank offered, barely hiding his smug grin behind his mug of tea, “Can’t be healthy to have smoke coming out of your ears.” you beamed at him, thrilled to have someone equally as keen on harassing Richard as you were.

“Okay okay very funny you two.” Sheryl chuckled, “I believe you still need to answer Frank’s question from earlier.” You shrugged, cheeks burning a bit from the effort it took to stop from smiling so much.

“Well, besides the usual teenager stuff I mentioned before, we usually watch movies, sometimes we trade book recommendations..” you paused thinking for a moment with a smile, “We go to Tingley beach to hang out too sometimes.” Dwayne shifts next to you, slipping a straw wrapper off of the table and fiddling with it while you continue chatting with his uncle.

“Tingley Beach?” Frank asks quietly

You nod, glancing over at Dwayne for a moment, watching as he folds the wrapper carefully between his fingers as if making something. You watch him for a moment trying to figure out what he’s making but it's hard to see as he shifts the paper under the table away from your line of sight.

“Yea, it's uh this little beach along the Rio Grande… Dwayne and I could take you with us next time we go if you want.” you offered, ignoring the look Dwayne gave you You knew why he was giving you a look, he was making sure you knew not to tell his family about your secret spot on Tingley beach.

The spot wasn’t all that special, at a glance, it was just a little cliff that overlooked the Rio Grande river, but it was special to you. Dwayne had found the spot long before ever meeting you and had brought you there for the first time a few months into knowing him. That was the moment you realized you had managed to weasel your way into his life and from then on the spot became like your secret hideaway. When one of you was feeling down and needed a place to think away from the noise of the rest of the world that was the place you went.

The last time you had been to your little haven had been a few weeks ago, just after finding out your parents were moving forward with a very messy divorce. You had gotten into a pretty bad fight with your mom and had pretty much disappeared. Your father had tried to run after you at first, but eventually, he wound up at the Hoovers asking if Dwayne could help him find you.

Dwayne of course knew exactly where you would be and found you not long after sitting cross-legged at the edge of the cliff, staring at the rushing water below. He sat with you for nearly two hours before you were ready to go home and in the end you wound up sleeping at his house after letting your parents know you were safe. You had a lot of special moments on that little cliff with Dwayne and you were more than content to make sure the spot remained a secret between the two of you.

“If you don’t mind that would be great,” Frank replied.

“Oh! Can I come too?” Olive chirped next to you, chin a bit sticky from the ice cream that had dripped from her spoon as she ate. You hummed softly and pressed your index finger to your chin as if you were deep in thought.

“Hmmm I don’t know Oli… are you sure you’re tough enough to adventure with us big kids?” you teased, grinning at the way she nodded frantically.

“Yea! I'm super tough! Tougher than Dwayne even!” she exclaimed. You hummed again, thinking for a moment before lurching forward to pull her into a hug, tickling her sides. Her mom watched you with a smile and a shake of her head as Olive giggled in your arms.

Beside you, Dwayne smiled to himself glancing occasionally at you as you laughed with his sister. He continued to fiddle with the strip of paper until he was content that it wouldn’t unfold. He lifted it slightly, enough that he could examine the tiny ring he had managed to make. He looked to you and then at the ring as if trying to decide whether or not he wanted to show it to you while everyone else was distracted by Olive’s laughter. Frank looked at him, raising a brow as if he knew exactly what Dwayne was thinking. He exhaled, a bit embarrassed at having been caught staring at you with a little paper ring in his hand.

“You hear that Dwayne?” You asked, suddenly turning to face Dwayne, still holding Olive tightly in your arms as her laughter began to die down a bit. Dwayne jumped a bit, quickly shoving the paper in his pocket before you could see it.

“Oli thinks she's tougher than you.” you teased, poking his side a bit to make sure he was listening.

Olive nodded, leaning over your lap to look at her brother with a huge grin on her face, “I am! I’m waaaaaaaay stronger than you.”  Dwayne fought the smile tugging at his lips as he tried to maintain his usual bored expression.

“I don’t know Oli… Your brother’s pretty tough,” you said, giving Dwayne a smug little grin.

“Nuh-uh!” Olive whined, tugging on your arm.

“It's the truth Oli,” you said with a shrug, taking one last sip of your drink before pushing it to the center of the table.

“Nuh-uh!”

“Yes-huh”

“Nuh-uh!”

“Yes-huh”

“Nuh-uh!”

“Yes–”

“Alright, you two that's enough come on, we’ve gotta get back on the road now, let's wrap this up,” Sheryl said finally interrupting the bickering between you and Olive, a smile tugging on her lips even as she tried to remain stern.

“She started it.” you shrugged.

“Nuh-uh!! You started it!” Olive whined next to you, pouting when you poked her side and stuck your tongue out at her. Sheryl rolled her eyes, stifling a laugh.

“Well how about you all start heading to the car while I pay?” she instructed, smiling when she received a nod from everyone at the table. You saluted her with a playful grin as she turned and walked toward the counter.

Everyone began shuffling out of their seats, cleaning up the table a bit so it wasn’t as much work for the waitress, you nudged Dwayne, whispering to him so no one else would hear, “Don’t worry, the cliff is still just ours.” he smiled almost immediately, nodding quietly as you reached out and squeezed one of his hands gently.

Sheryl stood at the door waiting patiently, holding the door open as you all shuffled out of the building offering a polite ‘thanks’ to the waitress as you left. You and Dwayne walked behind everyone else, bumping shoulders until Olive shoved her way between the two of you, pulling both of you to hold her hands. You smiled at Dwayne and he shrugged, while Olive giggled each time you and Dwayne swung your arms to lift her off the ground as you walked.

As you and Dwayne lifted Olive into the car she squealed jumping into her set next to Frank and then spun around to look at you with a big grin on her face. “I’m still tougher than you and Dwayne,” she exclaimed earning a loud laugh from you as Dwayne rolled his eyes and helped you into the backseat, hand ghosting over your lower back to make sure you didn’t fall.

[ragingbookdragon]

I'm Only A Crack In This Castle Of Glass (Hardly Anything Else I Need To Be) PT. 3

Batfamily x Batsis Story!

Word Count: 2.1K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst! Tags!: @itsnottilly @cloudyskylines

Author's Note: DUN DUN DUN!!!! Y'all enjoy this now, because it's only gonna get so much more angstier soon. -Thorne

Set Three Months After PT. 2:

She didn’t have to look up to know who entered the shop, because his voice carried over the air. “Melisandre!”

Humming, she immediately plated a pastry and a hot coffee, sliding it on the counter just as he sat down. “Good morning, Wally,” she greeted, watching him take a bite. “Right on time, as always.”

He smiled, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. “Morming Merisamdmur,” he replied, and she rolled her eyes with a snort.

“Jeez Wally, didn’t your mom teach you to not talk with your mouth full?”

Shrugging, he swallowed and said, “I was trying to be polite.”

“I think it’s more polite to chew with your mouth closed and speak after you swallow.”

They glared at each other before one of them cracked a smile and they fell into laughter. She tossed a napkin his way. “How’s your day going so far?”

Wally groaned and laid his head on the cool marble countertop. “I’ve got so much to do today, it’s not even funny.”

“Well, well, Wally the procrastinator is finally feeling his toes at the fire, huh?” She ignored his glare. “What do you have to do?”

“Barry needs my help with my cousins and my friends are coming over today to hangout and I haven’t bought any food or drinks for that and I have yet to even start cleaning my house.”

She giggled and reached over, patting his head sympathetically. “There, there, Wally. Everything will be alright. Why don’t you just bring your cousins over to your house and watch them while you hang out with your friends?”

“Because my cousins are annoying and I’m not subjecting my friends to that,” he countered and propped his chin on his palm. “Unless…”

She cocked a brow and waited for him to continue and he offered, “You come over with my cousins and help me watch them?”

“No.”

“What! Why?”

“Well for starters, I don’t know your friends and it would be weird for me to just show up.” She countered.

“They’ll like you though!” he cried, and his hand shot out, wrapping around hers. “Please, Melisandre!”

“Wally, I’ll just watch your cousins at my apartment and Iris can just come get them later, that’ll be easier and won’t force me to sit in a group of people who don’t know me.” He tried to speak but she tossed another napkin, hitting him in the face. “I’m watching Dawn and Don so you and your friends can hang out without being bothered, and that’s final.”

His face pinched. “You sure you can keep up with them?”

Something passed between them and she quirked a brow. “I can keep up with you, can’t I, Wally?”

Wally chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, that’s a fair point.” He glanced at her. “They would like you though.”

She ignored the comment in favor of, “Tell me about them. What are they like?”

He inhaled sharply and took a moment to think. “Donna’s strong willed, Roy’s loud, Lilith likes to get in your head, Garth is easy to annoy, and Dick’s kinda the glue that keeps us together.”

“Dick? He get that from Richard by asking nicely?”

Wally barked a laugh. “Oh, I’m definitely gonna tell him you said that.” He nodded. “But yeah, his name is Richard Grayson, but he goes by Dick.”

Her eyes almost bulged out of her head and she was lucky that Wally was looking at his watch then.

Don’t ask. Don’t do it. Leave it alone.

But she couldn’t stop herself.

“Richard Grayson?” she feigned. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

Wally met her eyes. “Bruce Wayne.”

She snapped her fingers. “Right! The ward.” Wiping the counter, she added, “I heard they added a new addition to that family too. A daughter, right? Cassie? Cassidy?”

“Cassandra,” Wally corrected. “Yeah, that’s Dick’s new sister.” He put his elbows on the counter. “She’s nice, doesn’t talk a lot though.”

“The quiet one, then?”

He laughed. “Of them all.”

Don’t dig any deeper, (Y/N). Keep your fucking mouth shut and let it go.

“I always wondered what happened to that other daughter he had,” she murmured, and Wally’s face blanched like he’d witnessed a murder.

“What?”

She met his gaze. “He had another daughter. I think her name was (Y/N).”

He swallowed thickly. “He does.”

“Does? She’s still around?”

“Yeah, she’s in some Italian villa.”

“Wait really? I thought she died or something?”

“What? No! She left—” Wally snapped his mouth shut like he was about to reveal a secret, but she knew anyways. “She left and went to Europe for a mental retreat.” He finalized and she wondered if that was the story Dick told him to say if anyone asked. Or maybe it was Bruce.

“It’s been like three years now, right? You’d think she’d post something on social media.”

“The whole point of a mental retreat, Melisandre, is to get away from social media.”

Oh please, I know plenty of elite who do that shit and still post crap on their socials.

“There’s no way that girl hasn’t.”

“Why do you say that?”

She scoffed. “Oh please, she’s the daughter of a multi-billionaire. There’s no way a girl that wears Gucci belts and carries Prada purses keeps herself off social media.”

Wally’s eyes narrowed like he was thinking hard about something and she internally cursed.

Oh, smooth move you dumbass.

She coughed and waved a hand. “Well, it’s all theory anyway.”

After a moment, he nodded. “Yeah…theory.” Wally got to his feet and handed her the empty plate. “I should go ahead and get back to my place and clean up before they get here.”

“Have fun,” she smiled, and he grabbed her arm.

“Take a pic with me.”

“What? Why?”

“So, I can tell my friends about you and prove I’m not lying.” He pouted. “Pretty please, Melisandre?”

Don’t do it. Dick will know. You know he’ll know.

She smiled despite her internal thoughts. “Sure.”

Wally grinned and raised the camera where she was in the background. She threw up a peace sign and gave a cheesy grin, momentarily blinded by the flash of the camera.

She spun and filled a bag with pastries then handed it to him. “Here, so you can give even more proof.”

Wally took the bag and hopped onto the counter, leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek. “Thanks Melisandre!” And he was dashing out the door.

You’ve ruined it all. This is going to come back to bite you in the ass. And it’s going to come quicker than you think.

She frowned and wiped down the counter again, trying to ignore her thoughts. Maybe. Just maybe, it wouldn’t.

***

Waving Barry and Iris off, she smiled as the twins climbed into the backseat of their car and the taillights signaled their departure. She closed the door behind her and glanced at the mess the two tornadoes had left. Even for the little she had in her apartment, they sure did know how to make a mess.

She sighed as she bent over to pick up one of the cushions when her doorbell rang and she stood up, confusion coming over her as she made her way to the door.

“Hello?” she asked, and a muffled voice echoed from the other side.

“Melisandre, it’s me, Wally. Can I come in?”

She opened the door, surprised to see him. “Wally? What are you doing here? I thought you were with your friends?”

“Yeah, I told them I had to do something really quickly,” he said as entered her apartment. He took a moment to examine her living room. “Man, Dawn and Don did a number here, didn’t they?”

She chuckled. “We had fun building forts.” Nudging him in the side, she added, “I don’t mind the mess.” She looked at him. “Do your friends know? About you being…you know?”

He nodded. “We’re all special in some way.”

Understatement there, Wally.

“So, why tell them you need to do something then come to me? Is everything alright?”

Busying herself with the couch cushions, she waited for him to explain, but nothing could’ve prepared her for his words.

“It will be once I get to the bottom of it…(Y/N).” She froze for a split second, but it was all he needed. “It really is you, isn’t it?”

(Y/N) stood upright and gazed at him. “When did you know?” Her voice was a lot colder than she meant for it to be.

“I had suspicion for a while, but when I showed the picture to everyone, Dick said it looked like you.”

“Really?” she laughed. “I thought I did a good job changing my appearance from three years ago.”

Wally didn’t laugh, he merely gaped at her. “Why?”

“Why what?” (Y/N) knew what he was referring to.

“Why’d you just leave?” He took a step towards her. “Do you have any idea what your family has gone through since you disappeared on them? The grief? The shame?”

She shrugged. “I explained everything in the letter I wrote my dad, Wally. There’s no reason why they should still be concerned with me.”

“They love you!” he shouted, taking her by surprise. “They love and miss you so much!”

“My family ignored me for eighteen years straight, Wally!” She yelled right back. “What was I supposed to do? Sit and pretend being forgotten was all normal?!” (Y/N) couldn’t help but shove at his chest. “I chose to leave because my next choice was taking a swan dive off Wayne Enterprises!”

His eyes went wide, and she shook her head. “I left because the only person who cared about me, was me.” She turned and fixed the final couch cushion while he watched her do so.

“They’re still looking for you, you know. Dick is always staring at his phone hoping there’s a text from Jason or Tim that they’ve found a sign of you.”

(Y/N) sighed. “If you’re trying to guilt trip me, Wally, it’s not going to work.” She shot him a glare. “I got over the fucking guilt the second the flight to Central took off. I got over the fucking guilt the night I laid in a hotel room bed curled into a ball where I cried myself to sleep. I got over the fucking guilt the moment I realized I’ve done so much better on my own than when I was there.”

She marched up to him and got in his face. “I got over the fucking guilt when I realized Barry and Iris Allen were more of a family than four brothers and dad ever were.”

They glared at each other and finally, she let out a sigh. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve already started a new life here and I have no plans of ever going back.”

“At a college that doesn’t have a real name. You know that’s illegal, right?”

(Y/N) scoffed. “What’re you gonna do, Wally? March into four-C and tell them Bruce Wayne’s daughter is going to school under a false name? We both know you wouldn’t.”

“I’ll tell Dick,” he suddenly shot back, and she went rigid.

“You wouldn’t dare,” (Y/N) threatened and he took a step towards her, getting nose to nose with her.

“Try me.”

They stared one another down and she said, “I think you need to leave, Wally West.”

His eyes narrowed. “Yeah, I guess I should.” He spun on his heel and marched to the door, but stopped when she questioned,

“Are you really going to tell him?”

Wally gazed at the ground for a moment then he murmured, “…No…it’s not my place to.”

(Y/N) swallowed and nodded. “Thank yo—”

“Don’t thank me, (Y/N). I’m lying to my best friend about knowing the real location of his baby sister he misses dearly.”

She looked away. “Cassandra is his baby sister now. He should focus on her.”

“You really have no idea about what they feel for you, do you, (Y/N)?” He asked, and she grunted.

“Get out, Wally.”

“Don’t worry, I’m gone,” he spat, slamming the door behind him, hard enough that it shook the walls that held the doorframe.

(Y/N) stared at the door for a few moments then cursed sharply and collapsed onto her couch, eyes directed to the ceiling. Three years down the drain in one conversation.

Way to go, (Y/N). You did a spectacular job of keeping it all under wraps.

She groaned and picked herself off the couch, not caring about the mess as she headed to bed. She’d deal with it all in the morning.

[cuttinqlines]

IN THE MIDNIGHT HOUR II

                             IN THE MIDNIGHT HOUR II

(richard ramirez [ahs 1984] x reader | mainly implied xavier plympton x reader)

trigger warning; drug use, toxic relationships, mentions of abuse, toxic characters, xavier is portrayed as a major piece of shit for the first few installments, glorification of a serial killer, knives, etc.

disclaimer: i do not support the real richard ramirez in any way, shape, or form. this is simply based on the fictional version from ahs 1984. no disrespect is intended in any way. please, feel free to click off of the fic if you don’t enjoy this type of content. any hate will be ignored.

word count: 2,467

a/n: sorry this took so long. im a depressed piece of shit lmao. 

taglist: @kuollut-talven @felicityofbakerstreet @bitchcraft1398 

previous | next

IT HAD ONLY been a few days since your run-in with the self-proclaimed ‘Night Stalker’ yet it felt like years had passed. The memory of the event was constantly running through your mind, seeming to occupy your every thought. It was as if your mind was filled only with visions of dark hair and piercing dark eyes. It had gotten to the point where it was consuming you, distracting you from anything that wasn’t the thought of him. It was impossible to focus. You weren’t exactly sure that you wanted to. The part of you that desperately longed for the dark stranger to reappear and tear you away from your dilapidating life was overtaking you. You had almost wished that you would have given in to his demands that night. Almost. Something had been holding you back that night and something- someone- was still holding you back, tethering you to the place you had grown to despise.

Letting out a sigh, you stared at yourself in front of the bathroom mirror, attempting to shake away the thoughts that continuously plagued you. The ghost of a bruise still showed underneath your eye, barely noticeable with the makeup that you had delicately applied over it. You looked better than you had in the days before, but you still weren’t keen on leaving the confines of the four walls of your bedroom, let alone your apartment. You hadn’t left the house since that night. You were sure everyone thought that you were spiraling- He had probably twisted the story into that narrative. You turned away from the mirror, leaning against the base of the sink. It was time to face the situation at hand. You could already feel the silent judgment of Montana. She had told you so.  “Fuck.”

It shouldn’t have mattered that much to you- what everyone thought. It’s not like they had too much room to judge. They were your friends, sort of, but they didn’t rule you. They weren’t the end all be all. Still, you couldn’t help but feel nervous at the thought of facing them. It had been days of voicemails, knocks on the door, and missed phone calls. You had gone ghost. They wouldn’t have expected anything else, though. It wasn’t unlike you to disappear. You were used to disappointing everyone. 

After a few more minutes of anxiety and deliberation, you laid out a pretty white line, snorted it down, and got ready to head out the door. At the very least, you could show up to aerobics and casually run into everyone. By the time you got there, you were sure you could figure out how to gloss over all of the problems that kept on appearing. 

****

The Aerobics studio hadn’t changed much in your week of absence. The faces of the instructors were still plastered on the walls, yours still included much to your surprise. The chairs strategically placed throughout the lobby were occupied by young adults, laughing at something one of them had said. The ambiance was peaceful and you suddenly wished that you would have shown up for work in the last week. The thought quickly diminished as you thought back to the bruise that had been occupying your face. There was no way you would have shown up with that. You wouldn’t have given him the satisfaction. Stepping up to the front desk, you leaned against the counter lazily. 

“Hi. Do you have any classes with vacant spaces open for today, Janice?” You asked the receptionist a bit awkwardly, looking at the wall behind her as you spoke.

The woman looked up, purposefully making direct eye contact. She looked you up and down, judgement written all over her face.  “Yes. The instructor position for the class you teach at 6:30, (Y/N). If you want to keep your job, I suggest you get prepared for it and go teach it.” 

You couldn’t help but cringe at her tone. The attitude dripped off of it like poison. Truth be told, you had thought that you had already been fired. That is generally what happens after you drop off of the face of the planet for a week. “Right- I’ll just go ahead and get set up to start, then. Thank you.”

“You’re lucky that you showed up today. You’re really pushing it with your delinquent behavior. Shape up or ship out, sweetheart. This is the last time you’re getting exceptions. You’re really lucky that Montana covered your classes for the week. Now, get moving. It’s 6:20. Studio 3.”

Janice hardly gave you time to react, as she stood up and began to push you towards the direction of the studio. Her cold touch caused an unpleasant shiver to shoot through your spine. Your mind instantly drifted to your unwelcome house guest, though the shiver he gave you was not exactly unpleasant- You mentally scolded yourself for obsessing over the ‘Night Stalker’, before practically bursting into the studio. 

It felt as if a million eyes landed on you from the moment you opened the door. The never-ending stares seemed to burn holes into your skin. One pair of eyes, in particular, seemed to stare the deepest. Xavier. You flickered your gaze to meet his, the other people in the room disappearing into a sort of tunnel that consumed the sides of your vision. Your heart caught in your chest. You wanted to tear your eyes away, but there was something stopping you. Something about Xavier always seemed to hold you back. His gaze was pleading, an apology seeming to spill out of it. 

 “(Y/N)! I thought you were going to be out for a while! Xavier said that you were like super sick or something.” Montana’s voice rang out, casually. “So happy you’re here though. Teaching this class has been such a drag.”

At the sound of the young woman’s voice, your head instinctively jerked towards it. You plastered a pained smile onto your face. “Yeah- thanks for covering for me, Montana. I seriously owe you one. Being sick was a major drag. Probably worse than teaching this class of Cyndi Lauper obsessed boys.” 

The blonde let out a laugh. “Well, since you’re back, I’ll let you take this one. And maybe take your man out when you’re done. He’s been such a buzzkill lately.” 

Montana gave you a wink, patting your shoulder affectionately. With a final wave to you and Xavier, she slipped out the door and disappeared down the hall with a flash of blonde hair. Not wanting to waste any more time, or give Xavier the chance to talk to you, you flicked the boom box on and let the sound of Billy Idol’s voice fill the room. 

****

The entirety of the class went by uneventfully. Billy Idol’s soothing tone seemed to temporarily soother your anxiety, making it easier for you to ignore the pained glances that were becoming more and more inescapable. You left the music on as the class drew to a close, turning the volume down to a soft, but audible hum. You didn’t bother to look as everyone made their way to the door. Instead, you moved towards the front of the room, letting yourself face the large windows that looked out towards the city. 

You watched as people leaving the last few classes of the evening walked down the sidewalk, off into the night. Some faces were familiar, regulars that always seemed to be in aerobics class. Other faces, unfamiliar and new. They all seemed so happy, as if their lives were perfect. You wished that you could get a taste of that feeling. You continued to admire the citizens of Los Angeles, lost in your thoughts. Then, in a sudden flash, there was a single face that stuck out in the crowd. Unmistakable dark hair and piercing eyes that could have belonged only to the face that you could never forget. You locked eyes with the man, causing a sinister smile to appear on his face. He moved closer to the building. Your heart skipped a beat. He was headed towards the door. Your eyes were still locked with his, nothing could-

“(Y/N)... Can we talk about what happened the other night? Please… I didn’t mean for it to go so far.” Xavier’s voice hit your ears, soft and pleading. 

You broke away from the ‘Night Stalker’s’ gaze, slowly turning to face the man that you had once felt so strongly for. You leaned against the windows behind you, pressing your nearly bare back against the cool glass. Xavier took a few steps closer, leaving only a few inches between your faces. You couldn’t help but flinch as he reached out to tenderly touch your face. Hurt flashed across his face briefly, but his hand still gently came into contact with your soft skin. You let your eyes flutter closed and sucked in a sharp breath. “I- I can’t do this,” you whispered, hot tears pricking in the inner corner of your eyes. So many different emotions were running through your body. The urge to run away from him had never been so heightened. 

He grazed his thumb gingerly across your jawline, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m so sorry, Please. I just wanted it so badly and I thought that was the only way. And I didn’t want anyone to find out. The way you looked at me when you did- I lost it. I thought you would tell everyone. I thought you would leave me. I’m so sorry.” 

You had yet to respond to him when a cutting voice interrupted the scene unfolding before you. “Well, well, well. What do we have here?” The deep voice questioned, sinister laughter etched into his tone. 

“N-?” You began, eyes flickering open. You met the dark haired man’s eyes, looking directly past Xavier. He was already staring at you intensely, the usual smirk plastered on his face. 

“Richard.” He corrected, moving his eyes from you to the other man in your company. Xavier had moved away from you by this point, looking at Richard with a suspicious glare. Richard simply continued to smirk at him, looking more and more devilish as time passed. “My little angel, didn’t expect to see you so soon. What a pleasant surprise.”

“Okay. Who the fuck are you?” Xavier demanded, his hand wrapping around your forearm in a protective manner. You instinctively recoiled to his touch. You shifted your weight from one foot to another, watching as the two began to go back and forth. 

“I’m the devil’s favorite prodigy. It’s more like ‘who the fuck are you?’” The other man taunted. His eyes locked on the contact point of yours and Xavier’s skin. An unreadable emotion flashed across his face, but was quickly replaced with his usual infuriating smirk. “I’ve decided I’m here to collect her. Truth be told, it wasn’t originally in my master and I’s plan, but it seems like I stumbled in at the perfect time, with you harassing my girl.”

“Your-? (Y/N), are you fucking this guy? We get into one fight and you’re off giving it out to this creep?” The blonde questioned, his tone demanding and incredulous. His voice rose with every word that he spoke. He was red in the face by this point. You could tell by the clench in his jaw and the way his hand tightened around you that he was angry. The smug expression of Richard definitely wasn’t helping his reaction either.

You tried to ignore the fear that had begun to creep into the back of your mind, your mind flashing back to his closed fist accidentally ramming into your face. You looked up at him with your tear stained face. Words were failing you. You didn’t exactly want to say that Richard had broken into your house, pinned you against a wall, and sparked something inside of you that made you feel so many fucked up things. Was it really more fucked up than what you felt about Xavier after everything that he had done? You weren’t so sure any more. Xavier seemed to take your silence and lack of denial as a ‘yes’ to his questions. Disgust took over his face, his hand tossing your arm away as if it had suddenly turned into some sort of cursed object. 

He scoffed at you, shoving you away from his body. “I can’t believe you would do this to me. Maybe you deserved that.” He spat out venomously, angrily gesturing to the hardly hidden  bruise underneath your eye. 

You flinched as his hand raised. Something seemed to click into place for the dark haired man as he watched the two of you, your reaction triggering the darkest part of him. You hardly had time to react further, before Richard was in front of you. His left arm pressed back against your body, gently shoving you behind him. His right hand was adorned with his blade, ready to slash at the man before him. “You did that to her? For your sake, I hope you say no. I’d hate to have to kill you right here. It would really throw a wrench into the master’s plans and we both hate that.”

Your hand reached out slowly, tugging on the edge of this sleeve, beckoning his eyes to meet your eyes. He complied, looking over his shoulder quickly. You shook your head at him, a silent plea for him to drop it. He was already acting psychotic enough to have the police called on him and you were sure that would be the last thing that he wanted. He looked back to Xavier, who was staring at him incredulously. “Get the fuck out of here or die,” The dark haired man spat out.

Xavier gave you a pointed look, before shoving past the both of you and storming out of the studio. You knew he would show up at your apartment later, demanding explanations for the psychotic interaction that just went down. You would figure out a way to avoid that later. For now, your full attention was on Richard. He turned towards you, dark eyes studying the every feature on your face. His hand hovered over the side of your neck, before gently pushing your hair to the side. His fingers softly trailed down the side of your throat, traveling down your chest. Like a phantom, they grazed the length of your body, sending a shiver down your spine. Your heart skipped a beat in your chest. You softly bit down on your bottom lip, eyes staring straight into his. “You’re mine now, little angel. I’ll kill for you. I’ll die for you. But you have to be mine forever- That’s the catch. Will you sell your soul to the devil?”

“I will.”

[lily-radiance]

Sangwoo x Female Police Reader: Masterlist

Summary:

Imagine what it’s like to grow close to a cold-hearted killer, a creature of the night who takes pleasure from pain. What happens when your childhood best friend and someone you know you love much more than friends becomes the maniac taunting Korea? What will happen when you go looking for an old acquaintance only to be met with dead ends? Will you work with the cop who may lock your friend away, or stay ignorant?

Trigger Warnings and other info: mentions of blood, gore, abuse, suicidal thoughts or tendencies, anxiety, depression, attempted sexual assault, questioning of sexuality discovery(I’ll say queer but leaning towards bisexual), afab reader, suggestive content like alluding to sex, light sexual encounters, mentions of alcohol, murder, mature language.

NO SMUT

- NO HATRED OR SHAMING WILL BE ALLOWED, IF I SEE IT I BLOCK IT

Chapter List:

Chapter 1 (Rough Detective by The Dead Weather)

The chase begins as the various detectives of the police station scan the clues presented. If only you weren’t one of the officers, maybe you could catch a break. After everything you’ve been through, being friends with a killer wasn’t on your itinerary.

You’re an unusual suspect now and may be right/The kind all men cannot recollect or forget at night/You’re the rough detective with the smokey eye/Where the person you are after is the other guy

Chapter 2(I’m Happy Just To Dance With You by The Beatles)

As long as you’re with him what do you have to worry about? Forget the monstrous boyfriend. Forget the coworker you slept with. Forget the missing friend. Forget the overbearing mother. Just remember his name and the memories attached to him, because the rest are insignificant.

Just to dance with you/Is everything I need/Before this dance is through/I think I’ll love you, too/I’m so happy when you dance with me

Chapter 3(Heads Will Roll by The Yeah Yeah Yeah’s)

Everyone is afraid of something, and that rings truest for the townspeople of Korea. Lock your doors, get your weapons ready, and prepare for the world to end.

The men cry out the girls cry out/The men cry out, oh no/Oh oh! Oh!/Oh oh! Oh!/Off, off with your head/Dance, dance til you’re dead (dead)/Heads will roll/Heads will roll/Heads will roll/On the floor

Chapter 4(I’m Not A Vampire by Falling In Reverse)

The exhaustion is almost too much to bear as the conversations get harder, but it’s the price you pay of being friends with a monster. After all the scariest monsters are the ones with human faces.

Well, I can lure any woman that I want to in my bed/With me/And whiskey seems to be my holy water/Mothers better lock your doors/And hide your daughters/I’m insane/Well, I can feel it in my bones/Coursing through my veins/When did I become so cold?

Chapter 5(Edelweiss by Richard Rogers from The Sound Of Music)

Even now his voice remains your calming beacon, singing you to bliss as you wait in that unfavorable hospital bed. If only you knew the horrors that left those vocal chords every other night….

Edelweiss, Edelweiss/Every morning you greet me/Small and white, clean and bright/You look happy to meet me/Blossom of snow, may you bloom and grow/Bloom and grow forever/Edelweiss, Edelweiss

Chapter 6(Keep Driving by Harry Styles)

When did ignorance become easier and honesty the toughest pill to swallow?

Maple syrup/Coffee, pancakes for two/Hash brown, egg yolk/I will always love you/A small concern with how the engine sounds/We held darkness in withheld clouds/I would ask, “Should we just keep driving?”/Should we just keep driving?/Passports in foot wells/Kiss her and don’t tell’s/Wine glass, puff pass/Tea with cyborgs/Riot America/Science and Edibles

Chapter 7: So Sad, So Sad by Varsity

Your partner at the station is beginning to realize she may not be what you’re looking for in a lover. But how could you deny her a chance and blatantly ignore all the good qualities she offers? Is your new infatuation really that big a deal? Maybe you’re just overlooking everything that deems him a threat?

So sad, so sad/I could never make you stay/Too bad, too bad/I could never walk away/So sad, so sad/I reply upon cliche/To help me explain/Why I will never be the same/Trying to be a perfect circle/Neat just like I take my drinks/A crumb upon my plate leads to a week of crying streaks/I could never walk away…/I could never make you stay

Chapter 8: Real by Lily Kincade ( WIP)

Yura has to confront you on this, had to know why you’re continuing to ignore her, to avoid her, to continue living in that godforsaken apartment. She’s lost in denial, unaware that as her misery grows, someone else’s pride expands.

I remember driving through the canyon with the windows down/Couldn’t help but smile when we were talking/I remember thinking now there’s no way out/My head was in the clouds yeah, I was falling/I remember calling my friends and telling them all about you/Thinking you could be the one thank god i found you but/Maybe you’re right we weren’t enough/And you can tell everyone you know you’re so glad it’s over/That you were never in deep enough to/Need closure, but don’t pretend you hated us/You can say that you don’t feel the way you used to feel/But don’t say it wasn’t real/Real love/Don’t say it wasn’t real

Chapter 9: Teeth by Lady Gaga (Suggestive!)(WIP)

The tension between you and him has grown past the breaking point. You need to prove once and for all that Yura is just a memory of the past, and prove to yourself that you are finally about to be with the guy you’ve chased for so long.

Don’t want no money (Want your money)/That shit’s ugly/Just want your sex (Want your sex)/Take a bite of my bad girl meat (Bad girl meat; take a bite of me)/Show me your teeth (Let me see your mean)/Got no direction (No direction; I need direction)/Just got my vamp (Got my vamp; uh-uh)/Take a bite of my bad girl meat (Bad girl meat; oh, take a bite of me, boy)/Show me your teeth (The truth is sexy)/ Tell me something that’ll change me/I’m gona love you with my hands tied/Show me your teeth (Just tell me when)/Show me your teeth (Open your mouth, boy)/Show me your teeth (Show me what you got)/Show me your teeth, your teeth, teeth, teeth.

[crash-cinematic-universe]

tiger lilies, self destructing, and richard siken

pairing: peter maximoff/reader

summary: to peter maximoff, love is an anomaly that scares him more than anything else. however, you might be able to help him overcome his fear.

warnings: language! but that’s about it. kind of cheesy at some points but yknow what im not lactose intolerant

notes: this is the monsterous fic thats been kicking my ass this past week (6.2k words babey!!!) i was originally going to add ~~steamy~~ section to this one but i decided against it to make it readable for those who don’t wanna see that kind of stuff. if you want me to separately publish that then just lmk!!  (if any of yall wanna talk about richard siken to me then please do, his work is so good)

taglist: @stranger-names ,  @gooseyhouse , @parkersdarling​ 

1. 

To Peter Maximoff, physical affection has always been a touchy subject-- no pun intended. His speed is a blessing, but also a bitter curse. He moves at the speed of sound, bouncing off the walls and tearing up the roads; he moves impossibly fast, and no one ever tries to catch up with him. People get tired of Peter rather quickly, not bothering to get attached to him when they know they can’t keep up. 

That’s why it’s so jarringly startling when you decide to stick around. When faced with the grand decision of throwing in the towel and leaving Peter behind or sticking around and trying your best, you chose the latter. It was surprising, to say the least. Peter waited patiently for the distance between the two of you to start growing; he waited for the void you once filled to open up again. However, the void never emptied, and the distance never grew. 

To anyone else, this would be a wonderful experience. Knowing that you wouldn’t be left behind or forgotten about would be comforting to anyone else in Peter’s position. However, this did the exact opposite for Peter. He wasn’t comforted or relaxed, on the contrary, he was always on edge. The future was cruel, and the mystery of it all felt like torture. 

To quote the great Richard Silken, “Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.” Peter lived and breathed by this ideology, that everyone he loves would have to leave eventually, whether it be by their own volition or not. It was obvious that you didn’t plan on abandoning ship anytime soon, so Peter decided he’d take matters into his own hands. If you weren’t going to be the first one to walk away, then he’d be the one to run away from you. He soon came to learn that loneliness was at its most bitter when you’ve come to taste the sweetness of love. 

Love was a strange, complicated beast that Peter Maximoff had never dealt with before. If he were to be completely honest, love scared him. It scared him more than dying scared him. To Peter, death was an escape. Death was the end of a tiring journey, it was safe and simple and easy. Love was the opposite, it was the mouth of a dragon and the edge of a blade. It was the beginning to something so fragile and powerful, something that could end in flames. 

Peter realized he loved you on a summer afternoon. The sun was shining and you were in the shade. He sat down next to you, and within minutes Kurt and Ororo appeared at your side. They seemed so put together, so sure and strong. Peter felt out of place-- he felt as if he were standing outside of a cabin looking in through the window at your wonderful friendships. He watched with his nose pressed against the glass as you walked across the room and opened the cabin door to let him in. 

Peter realized he was in love with you in the middle of the night. A thunderstorm raged outside the mansion walls and raindrops kept time as Peter walked down the hallway. You were sitting on the floor of the common room next to a dying fire, a book clenched tightly in your hands. For a moment, he just stood against a wall and watched you. As creepy as he felt, a part of him believed he’d ruin your night by making himself known. He was okay with being a fly on the wall if it meant he’d get to see you. Peter wondered if there was a world where he had the pleasure of knowing you, without you having the burden of knowing him. 

Still, you saw him. And you knew him. And you waved him over with a smile. He felt the urge to run, to leave you here alone with yourself, but he stayed put. Then, one step at a time, he moved forward. He got closer and closer before he found himself standing at your feet. 

“You’re welcome to stay,” you told him. He believed it. Peter sat down next to you, letting his shoulder brush against yours.

“What’re you reading?” He asked. Peter already knew what you were reading, he read the cover of the book the moment he sat down, but he still wanted to hear it from you.

“Crush by Richard Siken,”

“Oh. What’s it about?” Peter already knew what it was about. He’d read it at least fifty times.

“It’s kind of hard to explain. I’d much rather just read it to you and let you decide for yourself,” Peter’s stupid little heart lurched, and he almost cried at the thought. He held it together, though. 

“That would be nice,” He said softly. 

“Sorry about all the writing in the margins, I can’t help myself sometimes.” Peter scanned the sides of the pages, marveling at your notes. Some of them were reactions, littered with exclamation points and question marks and bold letters. Some of them were underlined phrases and little doodles-- most notably a little drawing of a chameleon on a tiger lily. He loved them.

“It’s okay. Literature is meant to be marked up-- what’s the point of reading if you don’t get to share the love?”

“That’s a good point,” You grinned. Then, the reading began, and you allowed Peter to rest his head on your shoulder as you read to him. Even though he’d heard the poems a billion times by now, they sounded brand new coming from you. He listened closely. You were arriving at his favorite part, “You are Jeff” section 24. 

“You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you...” You read on, not noticing the way Peter’s eyes had shifted from the book you were holding to your face. Peter’s mind wanders, and he curses himself for missing the lines you were reading “... You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for.” 

Peter felt like he was going to cry. You kept reading and he kept looking. It was getting late, and Peter was getting tired. Your voice had softened and slowed, and the fire that was burning in the fireplace had all but died. Peter was the one that fell asleep first, and you followed closely after. Both of you had lingering smiles on your faces. 

2. 

Intimacy is an odd thing, isn’t it? Thinking critically, intimacy is just vulnerability with more layers. It’s the closeness between people, it’s allowing yourself to connect with someone you care about. It’s stripping yourself down to muscle and bone and hoping the other person doesn’t let you bleed out. It’s a level of trust that is more than closing your eyes and falling backwards; it’s closing your eyes and letting them push you over the edge into the unknown, and trusting them enough to know you’ll be okay when you hit the ground.

It didn’t take long for Peter to realize that he had trouble with being intimate with other people. Too many times had trusted someone to push him over the edge, only to realize he’d be shattered when he hits the ground. After that, he decided intimacy was overrated. It’s not like anyone was going to have that kind of relationship with him, anyway. 

Of course, then you came along and uprooted his entire worldview, like you had with everything else. He found himself thinking about you at every waking moment, which inevitably led to him… thinking about you at every waking moment, if you catch my drift. Sure, intimacy involves more than just physical intimacy, but Peter knows he can’t ignore the feeling that rises in his stomach whenever he’s around you. For the first year or so of your relationship, Peter became very familiar with the feeling of an ice-cold shower. 

What Peter didn’t take into consideration was you. For some reason, Peter struggled to understand the fact that you were just as attracted to him as he was attracted to you. It was no secret that Peter was insecure, but he never really realized how much his insecurity affected his relationships. If he couldn’t love himself, how could anyone else? Peter is the only one who gets to see his persona in its truest form, and every time he has to avert his eyes. It’s safe to say his physical appearance has been the cause of very many painful-- and occasionally tear-filled-- sleepless nights. 

He told you this. He told you everything. He told you about Erik, he told you about his childhood, he told you about everything he loved and hated and feared and yearned for. That ordeal alone was scary enough, knowing that at any moment you could decide you didn’t want to deal with him anymore, but as always, you stuck around. You told him everything. You told him about your family and your struggles. You told him about everything you loved and hated and feared and yearned for, and not once did Peter even think that he wanted to walk away. This is the kind of intimacy that, over the years, Peter had struggled with less and less.

Still, it was the sexual aspect of intimacy that freaked him out. It was a beast he’d never dealt with, a feat he’d never faced. That being said, as every day went by Peter became more and more… frustrated. He didn’t know how to approach the subject, so he'd just let the subject approach him and wing it. 

And as he sat on his bed watching as you twirled around to Tears for Fears “Everybody Wants To Rule The World”, Peter realized he didn’t have much to worry about. 

“Dance with me, dollface,” you laughed, reaching out for him. You looked like someone straight out of a movie, the lim blue light coming from Peter’s arcade machines illuminating a halo above your head. You put Molly Ringwald and Emilio Estevez to shame. Peter took your hand, grinning like an idiot as you twirled him around. 

There he was, dancing in his mother’s basement with his favorite person in the entire world. He wasn’t a great dancer, and neither were you, but that didn’t matter. Peter was dreading this visit-- he hated the idea of being back in the basement that made him feel like a failure. But you assured him that you’d be there with him, and that getting to see his family would make it all worth it. His family isn’t what made it worth it, though. 

“Brain Damage” by Pink Floyd came next, slower and a bit more somber, but still danceable. Your arms shifted to around his neck, pulling him closer than he already was. Somehow, you ended up with your back against the wall as the song came to a close. He kissed your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.

“I love you,” Peter spoke softly. This was a small victory-- he’d been so scared of the mere idea of loving someone. You were the only one who got to hear his love confessions. They were for you, and for you only.

“I love you too,” Peter would never, ever get tired of hearing that. Knowing that you love him is enough to keep him going for a hundred years. And he knows the odds, he knows that love is rocky and painful as much as it is beautiful. He knows that love can feel sweet in the beginning and go sour overtime. He knows that first, second, third relationships don’t always work out. But he thinks this is going to work out. And Peter doesn’t think this will ever go sour. Maybe that’s his blissful ignorance talking, maybe he’s jinxing it, but at this moment, he doesn’t care. Right now he is at his happiest, at his most content. 

“You wanna watch a movie?” You asked softly, pecking Peter on the cheek. He could feel the warmth radiating off of you, and Peter grinned. In an instant the tv across the room began playing the opening credits to the first movie that popped into his head. 

“The Breakfast Club?” You questioned. Peter shrugged.

“What can I say, I’m a sucker for a good coming-of-age kind of movie,”

You sat against the headboard of Peter’s bed, allowing Peter to settle beside you. Your head rested on his shoulder, and he was quick to grab your hand. Peter loved the closeness. Over the past year, he’d come to realize he was a very affectionate person. Previously, Peter hadn’t known soft, physical love; the only time anyone would ever touch him would be as punishment or defense, not love. Love. Peter had gotten more comfortable with the idea of love, because when he thinks of love he thinks of you.

3. 

Every good story has a villain. A villain that you love to hate, or hate to love. A villain you can sympathize with, a villain you can’t excuse, a villain that the mere mention of makes you sick to your stomach. An unexpected villain. An obvious villain. A villain that’s just trying his goddamn best. Sometimes the villain is defeated, sometimes the villain changes their evil ways. Sometimes the villain dies and the crowd cheers. 

Peter Maximoff never thought he’d be the villain of his own story. He tried his hardest to be a good person, but there was always that side of him that made him afraid. He was like an explosive; whenever someone got too close, he’d detonate and destroy everything around him. It was a self-defense tactic, albeit counterproductive. 

It killed you to see him that way. He told you about the relationships he’d lost to himself. He told you about the abandonment and the loneliness. It broke your heart. He tried to distract himself, drowning himself in work so he’d never have the opportunity to ruin what he had with you. Peter Maximoff was a walnut tree; every time he planted his roots and began to grow, he’d kill anything that grew too close. However, the constant working started to wear Peter down.

It started with the late nights. He’d collapse next to you at four AM, knocking out the minute his head hit the pillow. Still, he’d be awake before you were, already scrambling around trying to complete various tasks. He was like a machine that was running from it’s problems. The late nights turned to all-nighters, and the few hours Peter managed to salvage set aside for sleep had shrunk to a few minutes at a time. He didn’t eat anything with even a hint of nutritional value. At this rate, he was going to work himself to death. 

The worst part? Peter knew what he was doing. He wasn’t stupid. He just needed to shut up the little voice in his head that urged him to act out. The entirety of his childhood, Peter destroyed what he created. The need to be isolated, the feeling that he deserves to be alone spread throughout his body like a cancer. He locked himself away in the basement, trying desperately to stay out of everyone’s way so they wouldn’t shut him out. People tried to coerce him out of his cave, to pull him out of the bottomless pit he threw himself into. Peter saw them as the sirens trying to lure him into the ocean of loneliness, and he wasn’t going to fall for it. In his eyes, anyone who tried to help him were the villains of his amazing, heroic tale. Fortunately for him, one by one, they started to give up on helping him. They thought he was a lost cause; a fucking loser who was destined to wallow in his own self-pity until he died. At first, this was a triumph. He defeated them, he outwitted the sphinx and slayed the dragon. But a part of him hated himself for becoming the worst-case scenario that every parent feared their child would grow up to be. 

He pulled himself out of his pit and back onto his feet, all by himself. It was hell on Earth, but he did it. That cancerous feeling of uselessness retracted back into itself, now residing in the place next to Peter’s heart. However, that horrifying fear of becoming a burden began to grow again, this time when Peter was in his mid-20s. He began to overcompensate, and that led him to where he was; always on the brink of collapse, running on nothing but coffee and twenty minutes of sleep. In return, Peter got to have friends. In his mind, that was fair. In your mind? Not even close.

You managed to catch him in his bedroom as he was in the midst of simultaneously scribbling in a notebook and reading an open novel. Peter Maximoff would always be the most beautiful person in the world in your eyes, but at that moment, he looked like hell. Your plan seemed foolproof, but then again, you weren’t sure what you were walking into. Lately, Peter didn’t seem like himself. Probably because of the lack of sleep. 

“Peter?” He looked up at you, eyes half-lidded. “I got you something.”

“You did?” A sleepy smile was all he could muster, but that was google enough for you.  

“I did. It’s to mark exactly three years since I first met you,” you sat down on his bed, placing the small wrapped book right next to you. Peter glanced at the calendar on the wall-- oh god, you were right. It’s been three years to the day and he forgot. He deserves the title of “World’s Worst Boyfriend”. Scott will probably be upset that he’s losing his title.

 “What’re you up to?”

“Finishing up some old work I’ve been putting off,” he punctuated his sentence with a yawn. “Some of my old work and some of Hank’s, too.” “Why are you doing Hank’s work?”

“He seemed stressed about something, thought I might help clear his head,” The sentiment is sweet, you’ll give him that.

“Alright, well, can we talk for a minute?” Alarm bells went off in Peter’s brain. There has never, in the history of the universe, been a good conversation that started with ‘can we talk for a minute?’ or any of it’s cruel variants. 

“Actually, I’m kind of busy right now, can this wait?” It was obvious that the answer to that was no, but still, he felt the need to ask. 

“Not really, no. It’s important.” Peter saw the next few seconds playing out in his head. The inevitable had come to fruition; you realized that you could do better, and now you were cutting him loose. He couldn’t blame you, not really, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t going to rip him to shreds. He realized that whatever you brought for him was most likely a parting gift. How sweet.

“Oh. Alright.” 

“Well, I’m going to give it to you straight,” you sighed. “I’m worried about you, Peter.”

Oh. He’s heard this speech before, he knows the spiel. He can vaguely recall a guidance counselor telling him the exact same thing before Peter decided to call him a slew of expletives. The tar pit in his chest began to grow.

“I’m fine.” This was a lie. The first lie in a long chain of lies that Peter was about to tell to you, his favorite person in the world. He loved you, but in that moment his vision clouded over. You weren’t the person he loved and cherished anymore, no, you were just another faceless blur that provided a temporary escape. 

“Really? I feel like you’re pushing everyone away, you’re pushing me away.” Peter was becoming more and more irritated by the second.

“I told you, I’m fine. I’m not pushing you away. 

“Don’t lie to me,” your voice is firm and unwavering. “You don’t sleep, you almost never eat-- I don’t think I’ve seen you stand still for more than three minutes once in the past month--”

“That’s just how I am,” Peter huffs. He wanted this conversation to be over. “That’s not your problem.”

“Your wellbeing is my problem, Peter, that’s the whole point of being friends with someone. Even more so now, because you’re my partner and I care about you--” 

“Then stop,” Peter rolled his eyes. He's more irritable than normal-- most likely because he hasn’t slept in days. He could almost feel the venomous arms of isolation creeping around him. It’s a sick pattern, he knows; every time someone gets close to him, he feels the need to self-destruct before they lose interest. Even now, even after all this time, Peter’s still powerless against the poison in his veins. 

“What?” You’re losing your reserve and your stature. He can tell. You’re slouching and picking at the cuticles on your thumb. It’s almost as if he’s been shoved into the back seat, and is now being forced to watch as a stranger takes the wheel and crashes the car. So much frustration, so much hurt, and it’s all coming out right now, onto you. Peter already regrets this entire interaction, but still, he manages to spit acid. 

“Stop caring. Just leave, I know you want to. I know every night, you lie awake and think about all the different ways you can leave me in the dust. Not that it would matter to me.” This is another lie. Your eyes flash with hurt, but you stay put. You know he’s just being an asshole because he’s exhausted and too stubborn to admit that you’re right. He’s egging you on intentionally, trying to get you to snap and walk away. 

 “Peter, god, I love you but sometimes you can be so...”

“So what? C’mon, be honest with me,” He huffed. 

“Frustrating,” You surrendered. The poise you once held was gone. “I know it isn’t your fault-- I know you’ve trusted so many people so deeply and been betrayed or sold out and I know you’ve loved so many times and been thrown to the curb without a second thought. But I don’t know what I can do to convince you that I’m here for you, and that I love you. I’ve tried everything, and it feels like I’m talking to a brick wall. I want to make this work, but I need you to work with me.” It’s evident in your voice that you’re desperate. You’re just hoping you’ll get through to him, somehow. “I need you to want it as bad as I do-- hell, I need you to want it at all.” Here it comes--

“You ever think, maybe, I just don’t want you to be that person for me? I’ve spent my life being independent, my entire existence so far has been built around the fact that I’m going to end up alone. People come and people go-- people like you and Charles-- and they tell me they care. They tell me that they love me and that they're here for me. And then they get tired of me and they leave. I wish that you would just leave me the fuck alone and let me live in solitude,” There it was. The lie to end all lies. The words tasted awful coming out of his mouth, and the whole ordeal left his mouth tasting very… sour. Peter had to look away, he couldn’t look at the expression on your face.

“Fine. If that’s what you want.” Your eyes never met his, but you paused before you exited the room. “I know you’re probably just… I don’t know, going through something, but you’re being an asshole. Don’t talk to me until you’ve sorted your shit out. Enjoy your solitude.” You left the room impossibly fast, your fists clenched so tightly Peter feared that your nails would break the skin on your palms. He struggled to keep it together-- why the fuck did he do that? 

Peter collapsed onto his bed, and it’s only then that he realized you left behind the gift you got him. A part of him thought he should return it to you, but the other part of him urged for it to be opened. He tore the wrapping paper off before he realized what he was doing. The hardcover book the wrapping paper concealed was handbound, the cover littered with your beautifully familiar handwriting. In big, bold letters The Best of Poetry in the Humble Opinion of Y/n L/n was scrawled at the top. 

Peter vividly remembers a late night you spent talking to him. You told him about your favorite poems, outlining each and every little detail you loved about them. Some of them he’d read already, some of them he hadn’t, but all of them sounded like artwork coming from you. He opened the front cover, and you’d written something else on the inside. 

“In the words of the wonderful Peter Maximoff, ‘What’s the point of reading if you don’t get to share the love?’. This is me, sharing the love.” 

Carefully, Peter opened to a random page in the book. He saw the notes in the margins and the doodles and the exclamation points and before he knew it Peter was on the verge of tears. He was barely containing himself, and then he read a specific annotation you made. 

He had opened to the first page of “The Worm King’s Lullaby”, one of your all-time favorites. A specific line was underlined, one that Peter was all too familiar with: “Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.” Beside it, you wrote:

“As much of a genius Mr. Siken is, I have to disagree with this. If you love someone enough, you’ll never leave them and they’ll never leave you. Even if they die, even if things don’t work out, you’ll always have a little part of them to carry with you. Carry this part of me with you, Peter. Not that I plan on leaving anytime soon.” 

That was it. The floodgates broke. Everything that Peter had held back came pouring out-- the past 10 minutes finally caught up with him, and they hit him like a bus. He sat in the corner of his bedroom, his knees pulled up to his chest so tightly he thought his legs would snap. Peter wanted to rip all his hair out or punch a hole in the wall or hold his head underwater until he was nothing but an obituary and a headstone. His chest burned and the pit of despair inside his chest had overtaken his system, and he hated himself with a burning passion. Why did he do that? Why did he do that? Why the fuck did he do that?

Peter Maximoff had his breakdown in solitude, revealing in the fact that he was, undeniably, the villain of his own life.

4.

As it turns out, ‘getting his shit together’ is much harder than Peter originally anticipated. He's trying, he really is, but it's hard. Especially without you there. Peter knows that he fucked up, and he knows that he needs to work for your forgiveness. And don’t worry, he’s going to work for it. 

It had only been a week, but the entire mansion could tell that something was off. Life just wasn’t the same without the randomized gusts of wind that would knock people off their feet; no one had been seriously injured or had something stolen from them. The whirlwind that was mansion life, while still chaotic, lost it’s fun. 

Charles tried to keep things running smoothly, but he was an old man and didn’t exactly understand you and Peter. People would knock on your door every now and then, but you didn’t answer. You were much too busy analyzing exactly how much of a bitch you were being-- realistically, the answer is 0%, but you didn’t see it that way. No, from your perspective, you saw Peter having a mental breakdown and you ditched him. Pretty shitty move.

What you didn’t realize was that Peter was doing the exact same thing, however, the blame falls mostly on his shoulders, and boy does he know it. He’s been scripting his grand apology, trying desperately to find the right words to express exactly how sorry he is. Peter was never very good with words-- it’s always too hard to know if you’re going to say the wrong thing and mess everything up. Although, it’s hard to see how the scenario could get any worse.

He made the executive decision to start with “I’m sorry”-- a solid start to any apology. Sure, he could stop there, but Peter realized that he’d probably need more to win back his partner. So, he managed to scribble down a few more lines on a tiny notecard he was supposed to use for studying. Oh, what a wondrous redemption arc this would be; Peter gets into a fight with his wonderful partner and ruins their relationship and then struggles to come up with a coherent apology. 

“I’m sorry about what I said, that was shitty. I shouldn’t have said that.” Peter’s eyebrows furrowed in frustration. God, he was going to die alone, wasn’t he? Maybe this is the cruel punishment the world is dealing to him, the universe is deciding that Peter’s redemption arc would be better if it, well, didn’t exist. Even so, he isn’t planning on giving up or giving in just yet. 

He scrapped what he had so far and started at the beginning once again. His 9th grade english teacher would tell him to write about what he knows, and though he doesn’t know much, he’s an expert when it comes to himself. Peter knows how he feels about you, he knows how sorry he is, and he knows that he really, really, really wants you to know that he didn’t mean a word he said about not wanting you. Peter knows about love, at least a little bit, and he realizes he’ll need more than just words.  

His mind drifts to that night, years ago, in front of the fireplace. He vividly remembers a tiger lily and a chameleon scribbled in the margins of your book. Realistically, Peter couldn’t get his hands on a chameleon, but a tiger lily was a different story. In high school, Peter took a botany course because he thought it’d be easy. It wasn’t, it was boring as all hell, but it seems like his slacking paid off. He knew tiger lilies were indigenous to Asia, but they’d become quite common along New England-area roadways. 

Peter grabbed his jacket and took off, tearing through the roads like his life depended on it. In less than 10 minutes, Peter found himself in the middle of New Hampshire drenched in rain. In hindsight, he probably should’ve checked the weather before leaving. Nevertheless, he takes off into the small wooded area that laid passed the road’s end. Dozens of mushrooms dotted the muddy ground and mossy rocks clouded his peripheral vision. The rain begins to lighten as he spots a bright orange tiger lily peeking through the remains of a tree stump. He sprints over to it.

The tiger lily is bloomed and beautiful and Peter can’t tear his eyes away from the wide array of speckles and splotches and color. It’s pristine, but some of the petals are torn or wilting. The roots stretch into the stump below it, and Peter leans closer. The stump is old and worn, fungi and bugs eat away at the base next to a large hole where a family of worms reside. The stump is ugly, sure, but it’s useful. It helps keep the bugs fed and keeps the worms warm. There’s a metaphor here somewhere, but Peter is too distracted to find it. 

He gently picks the flower and spins on his heel, taking off once again. The rain makes it harder to run, but it’ll take a lot more than water to stop Peter. By the time Peter gets back to Xavier’s the flower is a little crushed, but it’s still somewhat pristine. 

He has the flower, he has the apology, and now all he needs is courage. Thankfully, that courage comes quickly as he instinctively knocks on your bedroom door. He probably should’ve stopped to collect himself, but he was riding a wave of adrenaline that wouldn’t come back. 

“Go away, Jean,” You called from inside. You sounded tired, and it made Peter sad. 

“It’s-- uh-- it’s not Jean,” Peter can hear your hesitant footsteps approaching the door, and suddenly the courage he managed to build up drained. His hands are shaking by the time you open the door. You look up at him, and Peter looks back at you, and suddenly everything is much harder to do. He looks down at his feet. 

“Hi.” Your voice is hoarse, but clear. 

“Hi.” Peter’s voice is uneven and quiet. You stand there in silence for a minute before Peter pipes up again.

“So, uh, you’re probably still mad at me and I get that, but I just want you to hear me out. I-If that’s okay,” You nod slowly, and Peter takes a deep breath. He thinks about the written apology that sat in his coat pocket, and he makes the last-minute decision to forget about it. He’ll speak from the heart, or, whatever people in rom-coms do. 

“I’m sorry. It was really shitty of me to get angry at you because you were worried about me-- although, I guess shitty is an understatement. Everything that I said about, yknow, not wanting you or Charles or anyone else around anymore wasn’t true. I need you guys, and I love you guys and it was unfair of me to push you away. Solitude really sucks. I guess I’m just not very good at navigating relationships,” He exhales, and his chest shudders. “I understand if you don’t want to be with me anymore, I just thought I should make it clear how I feel.” It’s only then that he remembers about the tiger lily in his hand. “Oh, and this is for you.”

“A tiger lily?” you smiled softly. “These are my favorite-- how did you know?”

“I’m just observant, I guess. You usually draw them when you’re bored, I figured you’d like to see one in person,” You gently took the tiger lily in your hand. The silence that hung in the air was deafening, and Peter realized that was probably a bad sign. His chest drops just a bit, and he takes a small step backwards.

“I guess I should probably leave you alone--” Peter can’t get very far, because you immediately jump forward and wrap your arms around him. Eyes wide and heart pounding, you can feel Peter’s arms lock around your waist. 

“Thank you,” You whispered. “Please don’t go.” Peter was smiling so hard his cheeks ached, and a horrible weight had been lifted off his shoulders. The close-contact was refreshing; he didn’t realize how much he missed it until that moment. He was pretty sure he would never, ever let you go. Not again.

5.

To Peter Maximoff, physical affection has always been a touchy subject-- that is, until you came along. You proved to him that he deserved physical affection, that his mutation and his personality and weirdo quirks didn’t make him lesser or unlovable. Peter Maximoff deserved love, and you were the one who never failed to love him. 

You sat on a wooden chair in front of the fireplace, reading to the group of children sitting at your feet. The emotional lines of “Snow and Dirty Rain” fell from your lips, and with every turning syllable the small group would listen just a little bit closer. Peter did, too, desperately trying to hear every single word you said. Class was almost over, and once the students were dismissed you’d probably stop reading.

“I made this place for you. A place for you to love me. If this isn't a kingdom then I don't know what is,” Your eyes tore away from the page to look at the kids at your feet. They fell upon Peter, and a smile erupted on your face. 

Peter vaguely recalls the twisted idea of love that he held as a teenager. He thought love was a dragon to be defeated, a battle that could be won or lost. It’s clear now that love is the opposite-- it isn’t a fight or a battle or a thing to be conquered. It’s more like a flower; it needs to be cherished and cared for in order to grow. Sometimes the flower wilts and dies, and that’s natural, but sometimes the flower lasts for a lifetime. 

Love wasn’t a dragon or a knight, it didn’t have a hero or a villain; it was much more like a tiger lily and a tree stump.

[sketchnskribbles]

Of Remorse and Responsibility

Of Remorse and Responsibility | Spiderman: Entangled #2 [Ao3] 

Read Entangled #1 here: Faded

Summary:  Richard Parker struggles with the lasting effects of his actions. He's quickly reaching his breaking point and grapples with where to go next. Attempting to forget the world outside exists isn't a healthy coping mechanism but it's kinda worked for him before. If only his phone would stop notifying him of unread texts and missed phone calls. At least, there's plenty to do in his lab.

Pairing(s): May Parker/Ben Parker, Mary Parker/Richard Parker

Word Count: 4k

Content: Found Family, Angst, Light Mentions of Violence, Sprinkle of Romance, Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence

Notes:  I had loads of fun discovering Richard's personality in this one. I've found that I like to think of him as a "Peter Parker that can actually pretend he's confident". He's definitely where Petey gets his charms from, lol. There wasn't nearly as much Prim and Richie interaction as I had originally intended but I still love how this turned out. I believe the secret agent scientist needed some Thinking Time before I actually pushed forward with their Niece/Uncle relationship.

Sparks flew and a small piece of metal burned a bright red. The room was dimly lit, which showed off the work currently being done. A man behind a protective workshop visor reached out to inspect his work and promptly hissed, pulling his hand back quickly.

He flicked his hand with a muttered curse and lifted his visor to view the damage. He'd forgotten he wasn't wearing any protective gloves. A mistake he shamefully made constantly, despite the constant reminders from his team.

His girl always liked to joke that it was a wonder how he was still alive with all the dangerous things he pulled. Including, especially, forgetting safety measures.

A particularly amazing jingle came out of his phone. It vibrated for good measure. Absent-mindedly, he picked it up and flipped it over so that he could view the screen. Injured finger in his mouth.

Taking a glance, he noticed it was from his big sister and promptly turned the phone on silent, placing it down. On the screen of the phone it showed that there were forty-six missed calls and a hundred-and-three ignored messages, from various people.

He winced and looked away from the device guiltily, turning it back over so that he didn't have to look at it.

Okay, so life wasn't going so great. And like all the times when his life takes a downturn, he ignores the problem and simply delves into his many unfinished projects. Not a good plan. But a familiar one.

His phone went off again and he didn't see any reason to pick it back up. Instead he hummed to the catchy tune and continued on his work.

The room was tidy and empty, save for himself and the table he'd chosen for his project. He'd set the overhead lights low on purpose, which left the majority of the lighting to the various glass tanks behind him. Of which were filled with different species of spiders.

With amusement he recalled his team's youngest member, Dr. Victoria Harper's, ever-present uneasiness with their "test subjects".

There was a hard set of knocks on the security-enforced door and he looked up. A very familiar and gorgeous face peered at him from the small window. Expression stony and unhappy. Held aloft in her hand, perfectly within his view, was her phone.

Uh oh.

He flinched back and stiffened. A screwdriver held in his hands with a whitened grip. Joltingly, he made his way over and opened the door to what he figured to be his untimely doom.

Once opened, he leaned his head against the door. 

"...Hey."

"Hi, Richard." An eyebrow raised pointedly, the woman appraised him. The phone was still held up. "Is there a particular reason why you're ignoring me?"

"Uh… well, you see Mary, uh." His mouth opened and closed, brows raised. His hands moved and gestured in his attempt to find an excuse, nearly poking himself in the eye with the screwdriver. "And then, uh. Well, uh, yeah…"

"Oh, yeah?" 

"Uh huh."

The two watched each other. Richard with uncertainty and Mary with an ever harsher stare.

"Wow. Ever the silver tongue, you are, Parker. Did you rehearse that?" 

"...Probably should have." He mumbled and looked away. Mary sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Why did she have to choose such a lovable yet frustrating boyfriend?

"Alright, well. Is there maybe anything that I can help with? Perhaps lend an ear?" Her words didn't seem to have their intended effect and he continued to stare holes into his shoes. She slumped. "Come on. Give me something, Richie. You can't just keep shutting down like this whenever something bothers you. We're a team now. Partners. Together."

She stood up on her tip-toes and leaned their foreheads together, their noses brushing against each other. Her lips were so close to his that he could practically feel them. His breath hitched.

"I can't be there for you, if you don't let me in." Her nimble fingers trailed down the sides of his neck and she dipped one into the collar of his shirt to lazily trail his collarbone. 

Richard licked his lips and tried to lean farther, hoping to catch her own. She pulled away some and he whined. With a chuckle she quickly gave a peck to the corner of his mouth. Mary pushed outward to hang off his neck and looked up to see him pouting.

"You treat all your scientists like this? With such delicious cruelty?"

"Only the ones who drive me absolutely wild." The small uplift of the corner of her lips was downright deadly. And he couldn't help himself from making another attempt to capture them. This time she turned her head and he landed on her cheek.

"Such a merciless temptress, Mary. Coming here. Withholding my kisses." He clicked his tongue with a disappointed shake of his head. "So cruel. Go directly to jail. Do not pass go. Do not collect 200 dollars.”

"Only talkers get kisses." She laughed with a roll of her eyes, allowing him to tuck her into his arms. Ever so warm and safe and perfect. Previous frustrations seemingly forgotten for the time being.

Richard saw fit to hum an imaginary tune and calmly swayed her to it. She adjusted her position to better hold onto him and they began to slow dance in the middle of the empty hallway. 

"You look ready to go on a mission." He noted into her hair, breathing in the fresh smell of citrus and vanilla. Mary was currently dressed in the usual wear of a field agent; dark blue catsuit and black straps. There were various weapons all over her person that he could see and, he was certain, plenty more that he couldn't. The SHIELD logo was displayed proudly on the upper-left of her chest.

"That's… another reason why I'm here." She stepped out of his hold and he didn't stop her. He held her hands instead. His eyes took in the determination of her own. "Coulson found a lead."

"He found a lead on your…" Richard's eyes widened in shock. Both elation and concern filling up his being. "That's— that's good right? It's what you've wanted, to find out more about what happened to your dad."

"Yeah." Mary choked out, tears beginning to well up. "To finally know. To get some closure. I need it."

"I hear a "but" in there."

"But what if I'm not ready? What if I can't handle what I find?" She broke eye contact and pushed a few fallen dark strands behind her ear.

"Mary, you've got to be one of the most capable people I know." Richard smiled and leaned down to catch her eye. "If you can't do it, then I don't know who could."

"I don't know… you probably could. You're one of Fury's best. Otherwise, how else can you get away with all your shenanigans." 

"Shenanigans?"

"Yes. Shenanigans. I don't think I know anyone who can get away with ignoring Nick Fury and directly back-talk him like you do." She raised an eyebrow. "He's got a soft spot for you, Rich."

"Right. Soft spot. That's why he tricks me into all these missions that go against my sense of right and wrong." He snorted and rolled his eyes. Mary's own eyes widened in realization.

"Is- is that why you're holing yourself up? Baby, what happened—" Her phone began to buzz and she took it out. With a wince she looked up from the notification and gave him a reluctant look. "I'm sorry, I've got to go."

"Love you." He whispered with a small smile, giving her a couple of pecks on her lips.

"We're not finished with this conversation." She thrusted a finger into his face, brows furrowed.

"Yes, ma'am."

She began to walk off and he watched her go. Halfway down the hall she turned her head back with a "Not finished!" yelled back, for clarification.

"Understood!" He yelled back, chuckling as she turned out of view. "...See you later."

He turned back and headed into his lab. The project was exactly as he'd left it. Nothing out of place. Not surprising considering it hadn't honestly been that long since he'd left the room. Even still, old habits die hard. Life as an agent to a secret organization, even harder. He had enemies up the wazoo. 

His phone began to buzz and play the familiar jingle again, the vibrations causing it to move in place. He sighed and finally picked it up with an answer.

"Hello, Sis. How are you doing?"

"Better, now that you've finally picked up, Richie. What's the deal?"

"Yeah, sorry…" He cringed, biting his lip. "No excuse just— dealing with a lot of pressure at work, is all. You know how I get."

"Is everything okay?"

"Huh? Y-yeah, of course. Nothing that I can't overcome. There's the pros and cons of every workplace." He gestured with his hands awkwardly along with his words, despite no one being in the room. It just made him feel better.

"Are you sure that's all? Because you haven't stopped by to visit since we've gained Primrose and I just really want you to meet her." There was a sigh on the other side of the line. 

"You make it sound like I haven't been around for years."

"Give or take, it's been three months. So, close enough. You used to come by at least a couple times each month. You're definitely missed, baby bro." 

Richard could practically see the scrunched nose and askew glasses that would be sitting precariously on his sister's face. 

"...Has it really been that long?"

"Yes. Plus, we're still waiting to see that supposed girlfriend of yours."

"Hold up, "supposed girlfriend"? What's that mean?"

"Well, this wouldn't be the first time you've pretended to have a girl, Richie."

"I'd be more insulted if I didn't know you're attempting to goad me into coming over."

"Is it working?"

"Fat chance." He smiled at the giggle he could hear over the line. "Unfortunately, my imaginary girlfriend just went on a plane to go see her father, over on the west coast. But, on the bright side, I'm still available."

"What a shame. I suppose you'll have to do. Are you in the city right now?"

"DC, actually. But once I'm finished up here, I should be able to drive down and be there by tonight?"

"Alright, good. If it's late, we'll save you some dinner in the microwave and set up the couch for you to crash on."

"Aw, May, you don't have to do that. I can go see about getting a room in one of the hotels."

"Nonsense. You better be here and sleeping in tomorrow morning, else I'm kicking your butt."

"Okay, okay! I've lived with you long enough to know a true threat when I see one. I'll see you soon. Love you, you meanie."

"You've lived with me your whole life. Love you too, brat!" 

The connection ended and he dropped into the nearby chair. He groaned into his hands. Now with that settled away, he was going to have to confront one part of his biggest problem head on. Not a bad thing. It was probably better that he faced it now, rather than later. 

He just hoped that Primrose was willing to tolerate him. If nothing else. Heck, maybe he was making a big deal out of nothing and she was too young to connect the dots. She was four.

Sure, he was certain there was probably some level of understanding but her mind was still developing. Not to say she was too young to understand that her parents weren't ever coming back. But perhaps too young still to realize that the man who had attempted to block her from that gruesome sight, who had guided her far away from the scene, and grabbed her a quick bite to eat before sending her off, was the same one who had taken her parents from her.

He knew that now that she was a part of his family, he would have to some day confront this sin. That there would be a day where she would undoubtedly ask him about that night. That he would possibly have to sit down and finally tell his family about what his job actually was. What it entailed, both good and bad.

It left one burning question in his mind: Would they still be willing to accept him? 

He supposed that if they didn't, it would certainly be his just deserved. A suitable punishment. He just didn't know if he'd be able to handle the fallout of that. 

Family, to a Parker, was everything. It was why he made it such a priority to keep in constant contact, despite his job and the dangers. Maybe it was selfish, this reluctance to let go. 

His phone went off again, this time to the fast pace of the Marvel Swing. It was Coulson.

Ignore.

***

There was a distinct pattern of knocking at the front door. One that caused May to perk up and rush over to open it.

"Richard!" She squealed and wrapped him up in the biggest hug she could. Despite the cold, night air and the freezing chill of the breeze, she felt as warm as could be. "You're finally here! Come in, come in."

She ushered him in as he gave out a laugh, the door closing and blacking the cold out behind them. He shrugged off his coat and hung it on the wall rack. The man felt content to follow his big sister through the familiar walls and furniture. 

There was no place like home. 

There was the familiar tone of Ben's voice, as it reached his ears from the kitchen. Calm and confident in a way that Richard could never figure out to be. No doubt he was talking to the little lady of the hour that he was here to "meet". He'd already thought up a tale that could explain any possible reactions from the girl when she saw him. He'd had a whole three hours drive to figure out some plausible stories. 

Although, hopefully the present for the girl he left in the car would help in settling things better. Kids loved gifts, right?

"Ben, you old dog! How are you?" The scientist greeted with his arms spread wide, which invited the other man to come in for a hug. They gave each other hard pats on the back before letting go.

"Doing pretty good, kiddo. Got a raise just recently. Been saving up, so hopefully I'll be able to branch off and make an electrician business of my own." The older man sat back down in his chair at the dining table with a groan and grinned back up at him.

This was one of those times where Richard privately wished he could let them in on his actual work. The money he's accrued in the years past has been stellar, and wouldn't it be great if he could simply use it to bless his brother? But there'd be questions. So he didn't.

His eyes then landed on her and his mouth went dry. Upon a seat across from Ben sat little Primrose. And the way she stared at him was undeniable. She certainly remembered him. 

In an attempt to save face, he smiled.

"Why hello there! Primrose, right? I don't believe we've ever been formally introduced. I'm Richard Parker." He carefully walked over and sat in the chair next to her. "I hope you don't mind if I join in for dinner?"

He looked over at the stove to see May stirring something in the pot. She looked over and smiled at him.

"You made it just in time! I'm so glad you're here."

"Yes, it's been too long." Ben nodded his head with a smile of his own. "And it's certainly wonderful that you finally get to meet our newest member. Say hi, Primrose."

"...Hello." The girl muttered so low that he almost couldn't hear it. Her focus went from him to the empty plate in front of her. Richard's heart dropped to his stomach and he struggled to keep a straight face. Perhaps she did understand enough...

"She's shy." Ben reasoned with a shrug. "It'll probably take her some time to get used to you, is all. Took her a while with us."

That's fine. He could give her time. All the time she needed. He needed some too.

"That's a-okay." He spoke out loud. "I'm sure we'll be best buds in no time."

"Honey, I've decided that Richie's banned from coming over again." The electrician rolled his eyes and groaned, looking over to his wife.

"Uh-huh, I'll remember you said that next time you want him over to yell about the latest football game and drink some beer." May hummed a song to herself while her husband sputtered for a comeback. 

Richard only chuckled. He'd missed his family. Already, he could feel the tension leaving his body. Like he could finally relax and feel safe. 

Dinner, despite Primrose being closed off, was good. There was talking and laughter. Richard had definitely needed this. People who knew him for him, that he could talk to. Not those that feared and respected him due to his skill set. He supposed there was Coulson and Fury, but he was ignoring them right now. There was also the new Queen Bee, Hill. But she was a tattler. So also no.

The family had since moved into the living room. A movie was playing on the tv with the volume set low. On the coffee table sat one of their favorite board games. Currently abandoned in favor of catching up.

"...and then there was an excavation site deep within the desert of Egypt that I was requested to look over. They were in need of another professional opinion concerning a possible groundbreaking artifact of foreign origin." Richard let out a chuckle and shook his head as the memories came back up to the forefront. Ice within the drink in his hand clinked against the glass. "There was this one scientist there that claimed it was solid proof of offworld influence upon the civilization of that time period."

"What, like aliens?" Ben laughed. He had one arm resting behind his wife and the other curled snuggly around his little girl. "You're telling me that there are people with doctorates who believe that sort of thing?"

Richard shrugged and crossed his legs.

"While I don't necessarily believe it myself, his work and theories were quite something to behold. One certainly couldn't deny his passion." The scientist tilted his head in thought. "If there's one thing I can agree with, it is that there was outside influence. A person or group of people that took advantage of the populace. There's plenty of evidence of that."

"Do you remember the man's name? You know, the one that believes in Egyptian alien overlords?" May spoke, sleep filling her voice. Her head rested on Ben's shoulder.

"Hmm… Jackson, I think. Doctor Daniel Jackson. Very interesting, that one." 

"Is any of his work published? I might look over some of it in my free time. Sounds like a fun read." Ben perked up, which slightly dislodged his wife from her comfy position. To which she groaned and adjusted with a grumble.

"I don't think there's very much that's out for public view but I'll see if there's anything more I can get for you."

"You and those mysterious connections." The electrician raised an eyebrow. 

"Yep!" Richard smiled unashamedly.

Primrose gave out a cute yawn, to the adoration of her new family.

"Well, I think it's time for bed." May lazily got up, eyes half-lidded. She held out her arms for her little girl and picked her up. The girls went on their way down the hall, leaving the boys to their own devices. 

"So, now that we're alone…" Ben leaned forward in his seat, elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped together. "You wanna tell me what's wrong?"

"W-what? Nothing's wrong. I'm— I'm doing great." The scientist sat up and tensed. Shoot. What had tipped his brother off? Or was he just that obvious? 

"Uh-huh." The older man rolled his eyes. "First you stop visiting. Then you stop keeping in contact. Now you're stuttering. I might not have a gazillion PHDs like you but I'm not dumb, Richie."

Richard refused to make eye contact, mouth tight-lipped. Ben sighed.

"When something is bothering you, you close off. You push away and disappear. Don't—" His voice dropped down into a whisper, eyes glancing to where his girls vanished. "Don't shut us out. Let us help you."

"I'm sorry for shutting down, big bro. I'll make sure to keep in touch and visit more." He finally looked up and caught Ben's eye. The older man's gaze was deep and searching, his lips down turned into a frown. Finally, he huffed and shook his head.

"Alright, I know when to stop. Goodnight, kid. See you in the morning." The electrician stood up and patted his brother's shoulder, making his way to his room.

"Goodnight." The scientist rubbed his eyes and exhaled softly. He took off his glasses and set them down next to the forgotten board game. 

Fluffing his pillow he dropped his head and brought up the blankets over him. Although, sleep refused to come to him. Which was probably a good thing. His nightmares have been really bad recently and he didn't want anymore hard-to-answer questions being asked of him. His eyes followed the swirls of the material making up the ceiling. The ticking of the heirloom grandfather clock provided a rhythm with which his heartbeat could drum to. 

Overall, the night hadn't been that bad. Primrose hadn't made any huge reaction over his appearance. She still wasn't happy to see him though. Or at least, she wasn't certain about him. But geez, was he not at all prepared for the amount of guilt that hit him upon seeing her. 

She had her father's eyes. Her mother's nose and jaw. His victims peered out at him through her gaze.

No matter how much he told himself that it was necessary, it continued to haunt him. It was the least he could do, to lead his family to give her a home where he knew she'd thrive and be cherished. Even if he hadn't been entirely certain they would actually choose her.

It was both a relief and stressful to have her there. A constant reminder. Not only of what he'd done but also a motivation to be better.

No more. He was done, he decided. Perhaps it was time for him to retire entirely from agent work. He could find a job here in the city. He could work more on projects focused on helping people directly. There was so much that could still be done in the medical engineering field. 

If he remembered correctly, an old college friend, Curtis Connors, was working for Oscorp. Perhaps he could call in a favor and see if he could get in on what he was currently working on. Perhaps even impress Dr. Osborn and find himself a permanent place on the payroll. He'd even be closer to his family and get a chance to make amends with their new addition. She deserved him at his best. There was perhaps nothing that he could do to make up for what he'd done but that wouldn't stop him from trying. 

For the first time in a long time, Richard felt his mind and heart settle. Like he'd made the right choice, for once.

His eyes drooped and he turned into his pillow, sleep finally coming to him.

[fandom-necromancer]

The right time

This was prompted by a lovely anon! I’m sorry this took me so long and I hope you will see this! It was a blast to write and to research for. Ships are a bit of my special interest but I never cared to look into 1950s fishing boats, coast guard vessels or LGBT history in that time, so that’s likely why it wasn’t ready for yesterday XD

Fandom: Detroit become human Ship: Reed900 AU: The finest hours Warnings: time-typical homophobia (but no real attention put on it, so don’t worry), description of wounds

When the warmth of the bar welcomed him at the door, Gavin let his shoulders fall. The cold, wet November air outside had snaked its way under his heavy clothing and snaked deep into his bones. It had been a longer way than the stranger who had helped him made it seem, but halfway up the coast, Gavin was too stubborn to turn around. Too long he hadn’t seen his friend Tina. They had sent each other letters and had called each other on occasion, but it simply wasn’t the same. He hung up his coat reluctantly at the door and walked up to the counter. ‘Gavin Reed?’ He smirked at the disbelieving call. ‘The one and only, Miss Chen.’ ‘Holy shit.’ Despite never having been at sea, Tina would have fit in perfectly with that mouth of a sailor. ‘How long has it been?’ ‘Seven years.’ ‘Wow, that’s… How come you’re back here? Got shore-leave?’ ‘Something like that’, Gavin hummed. ‘Navy threw me out.’ ‘What? Why?’ Gavin looked her in the eyes. ‘What do you think?’

She stared at him, then shook her head and poured him a drink. ‘Damn it, Gavin, you need to learn to shut your mouth. Difficult times for people like us.’ ‘Yeah, and they will stay that way if we shut our mouth.’ ‘Gavin, please, give it a rest. You just lost your job. What will you do now?’ ‘Already got a new one on a fishing boat. Regular trips along fixed routes. A few months at sea, a few weeks on shore until it departs again. Doesn’t pay that well, but it’s safe and no one bothers who you take back to your cabin at the end of the day.’ ‘Sounds nice’, Tina said and smiled at him as she put down his drink. ‘Will you come over regularly then? Have a place to stay?’ ‘I have an arrangement with someone at the shore. But yeah, you’ll see my ugly face more often now.’

‘Now I wouldn’t say it’s ugly’, a new voice joined in. A tall and thin man sat down on the bar-stool next to him. ‘Quite the opposite.’ ‘And you’d be?’, Gavin asked sceptically, sipping his drink. He had just wanted to talk to Tina and dwell on some memories, not talk to some stranger. Even if the stranger was as handsome as this and held himself like he knew some manners… ‘I must apologise for barging into your conversation like this.’ He held out his hand. ‘Richard. But everyone calls me Nines.’ ‘Nines?’, Gavin lifted a brow and ignored the outstretched hand. ‘I work at the coast guard. People started joking about me having nine lives.’ ‘That’s a stupid nickname.’ ‘Well, I like it’, the man laughed, oblivious to or ignoring Gavin’s attempts of abwimmeln. ‘Do you have a better one?’ Gavin rolled his eyes. ‘Reed.’ ‘This  stuck-up idiot’s name is Gavin’, Tina chimed in, putting a glass down in front of this ‘Nines’. ‘I was right with the regular?’ ‘Yes, thank you my dear.’ Gavin sighed in defeat, accepting that this would drag on.

-

It had been a surprisingly entertaining evening in the end. Gavin had thought the man to be a little too pushy for his liking in the beginning, but he had proved himself to actually be pleasant company. Gavin had found himself staying far longer than initially planned and Tina had pointedly left them alone. She really was the perfect bartender, expertly reading the situation. Instead of talking with an old friend for a bit and then going home to slip into a cold bed, he spent the night at Nines’ place. And as he woke up the next morning and the man laid next to him, asking ‘Will I see you again’, he wasn’t so sure this had just been a one-night fling.

He had indeed seen Nines again. Mostly at Tina’s bar, at the port and a few times out on the streets as the town wasn’t that big. Every time he was met with a smile and the ridiculous charm of a man that was overly confident in himself. Initially glad to be back at sea soon after being stuck on land for so long, he now almost dreaded the day his ship would leave port. He met up with Nines in Tina’s bar the evening before, his bag over his shoulder. They drank and stayed until the regular visitors had left. Tina had agreed to keep it open a little longer just for them and as soon as they were alone, Nines pulled him from the chair and to the free space in front of the counter. ‘Dance with me?’ Well, who was he to say no? To the slow tunes of the jukebox, Nines led him, starting the rhythmic up and downs of a dance Gavin didn’t know but could follow easily. ‘Would it change something if I told you not to go?’, the man asked lowly, closing in and spinning him around. Gavin leaned his forehead against his collarbone. ‘I have to go, Nines. But it will only be a few months, then I’m back.’ ‘Only a few months’, Nines repeated. ‘Could as well be an eternity.’ ‘Come on. It’s not that bad. Wait for me?’ ‘Of course I will.’

They danced in silence, for how many songs they didn’t know. But it was getting late, Tina wanted to close, and Gavin had to get to his ship. So, they parted with heavy hearts and left the bar. They walked up to Nines’ car and Gavin pulled him down into a kiss. But before he could say goodbye and head off, Nines grabbed his wrist. Gavin looked back to him questioningly. ‘Gavin? Will you marry me?’ The words hit something that hurt, and Gavin froze. ‘Nines, you know that’s impossible.’ ‘I don’t mean officially’, Nines said. ‘Just for us. Please, will you marry me?’ Gavin swallowed, unsure what to say. He liked Nines, but this was a commitment he wasn’t prepared for and caught him in a bad spot. He wasn’t one to welcome emotions to his heart easily. Maybe he was afraid to live a lie, to know that everyone knew and still not being able to say the thing. Or maybe he was just a stuck-up asshole who was afraid of getting hurt again. He pushed Nines away. ‘No.’ ‘What?’ ‘No, Nines, I can’t marry you.’ Nines was sure he had heard the words, but their sense was lost to him. ‘Gavin. I thought you loved me. Was this… Was this just a joke to you?’ ‘No, no of course it wasn’t and I do love you, but-‘ ‘Then I don’t understand, what is this about?’ ‘I don’t know you!’, Gavin shouted. ‘I only know you for a few weeks now, okay? What do you think? Play nice and kiss me twice and get my hopes up, just to make me laughingstock? I won’t make the same mistake twice!’

‘Make you laughingstock?’, Nines asked, fury in his eyes. ‘Oh you think I’m not at the same risk? I love you. Hard enough to find someone like us in the open and then realise they are perfect! Now I also have to prove it to you in some way? No, Gavin, it’s your choice, yes or no?’ Gavin swallowed hard, and as he realised that this was it, anger turned to despair. ‘Nines, I have to catch my ship. I’m sorry.’

-

‘Hey, Nines, don’t you think that’s enough?’, Tina asked worried. The man just waved again for another drink. ‘Hey, I know Gavin is an asshole-‘ ‘Yes, he is.’ ‘He is, but I think you just overwhelmed him.’ ‘Then he wouldn’t have said no’, Nines slurred. ‘Then he would have said he needed more time to think.’ ‘He also isn’t good with words. Or emotions.’ ‘Stop apologising for his behaviour!’ Tina groaned and leaned over the counter holding the man by the lapels. ‘Listen. As if you wouldn’t do the same. If you truly thought that way, you wouldn’t come over every night heartbroken to get piss-ass drunk! You are rationalising his behaviour too and just want someone to voice your thoughts.’ Nines stayed silent and Tina grinned winningly. ‘Nines, I bet the idiot is feeling like shit too and when he comes back, he will come to you and set things right. Just please don’t give him up and wait for him.’ ‘I will’, Nines sighed. ‘I promised him after all.’

-

‘Hey, ex-navy!’ Gavin looked up at the call. ‘Quit moping about that girl left ashore, she’ll be there when you come back! Get your head in the game and help us with the cargo, will ya? There’s a storm coming!’ Gavin sighed and decided against correcting the man. There was a storm coming alright. He could have hit himself for being such an idiot. Had he said anything other than no, things would have been okay. He could have joked about it being a little fast. He could have said something to postpone it and not leave after a fight that let him doubt if he would ever see the man again. Now he could only hope to find him when he came back and talk it out. Maybe not all was lost yet.

He went down to help the others tie down the cargo. It didn’t take too long, about an hour maybe. Gavin had been through many storms and this close to land he didn’t worry too much about it. Still, he followed the others up on deck to watch the dark storm-clouds at the horizon. It had been overcast for a while now, but the pitch black in front of them could indeed instil fear easily. He did wonder though how people who had been to sea regularly still seemed so phased by it. A boat could take a lot more abuse than thought and they were built for the open sea.

‘What’s so bad about a storm?’, he whispered to the man next to him. ‘The storm’s not what I’m worried about’, he grumbled. ‘This boat, she’s not the youngest. And there are some dangerous passages between us and the land – even if the sight were good and the waves gentle. But she’ll hold.’ He patted the railing as if that was of any help. The crowd dispersed, and Gavin stood there alone soon. He brushed his own hand over the railing and whispered: ‘Please hold. I have to get back to him.’

-

After the initial chaos, the room was now awfully quiet. The storm had hit hard, it maybe even was one of the worst Nines had seen in a while. Two ships had called mayday so far and the coast guard had struggled to send out any ships on their own in these weather conditions. Sending everything they had was the best option to ensure someone made it past the shoals and streams and heavy waves. Now only a few newbies manned the stations, supervised the radar and radio. Nines felt utterly out of place, and he knew everyone was thinking the same thing: He should be out there, one of the best skippers there were. But ever since he had come to work drunk a few times, people had lost their trust in him. And even worse: The only thing he could think about was Gavin. Out there on a fishing boat amidst a raging storm that had tankers break and smaller ships swallowed. He was praying, hoping, that they had already made port in town. That they somehow had evaded it entirely. He knew how unlikely that was, but hell, even after everything he wanted nothing more than to see the man again, hold him, dance with him like they had before and never ask that question that had ended it.

He was frozen all over as a new radio-call came in: ‘Mayday. This is Trawler Gera Gera Gera.’ They continued to name call sign, number and position, but all Nines was waiting for was the actual message: ‘Ship is sinking. Require urgent assistance. Twenty persons on board. Over.’ The message repeated, before it was answered, but Nines couldn’t really compute it.

Gavin was on that ship.

He stood up so fast, his chair scooted back quite a bit. He marched straight up to his superior officer who was already talking to a few of the newcomers. Nines didn’t care. ‘I’ll go.’ ‘You? I’m sorry, as long as I don’t know I can trust you, I won’t let you go out there.’ ‘What do you mean? I’m the best!’ ‘You are more drunk than sober most of the time.’ ‘I’m not-‘ Nines cut his words off. ‘Even drunk I had a better chance at getting to that ship than these boys, and you know that.’ Nines could see how the other man had to begrudgingly agree. ‘Fuck, even if I allowed it, we don’t have any ships left.’ ‘We still have the response boat.’ The man lifted his eyebrows. ‘Damn it, Richard, even you wouldn’t survive the trip. Not in these weather conditions.’ Nines nodded. ‘I’m aware, Sir. But I have the highest chance to get these people back. We can’t sit here and do nothing. I am willing to risk it.’ ‘Good luck finding others who would do the same.’

His shoulders fell. Right. He needed at least one other person to man the search light. He turned around to look at the few that were still there. ‘I’m coming’, Miller said, one of the few that had first-hand experience out there. ‘Me too’, one of the younger ones raised their hand. Nines had only seen him a few times. ‘Then good luck’, Nines’ superior sighed. ‘Come back alive.’

-

‘She’s slippin’!’ Gavin could hear the screech of metal over stone and knew that if he survived this, he wouldn’t be able to ever forget it. ‘What’s with the engines?’ His hands were coated in oil and likely blood as they stung whenever the saltwater washed over them. It reached up to his hips and was steadily rising. The first thing they had done was cut the nets loose to try and drive through the storm as fast as possible. But the ship was old and wasn’t built for such weather. They had been fairly close to the save passage, but the rain had come for them like a blanket and seeing anything past a metre was near impossible. They were forced do drive by instruments only and even at a good day that was difficult. Their luck had to run out eventually and after breaching the first enormous wave that had to be at least fifteen metres high, they had hit ground. The hull had ruptured at impact and even though the ship was holding up, water slowly filled the engine room. They had lost the engines several times, but the chief mechanic had managed to restart them with Gavin’s help. But the more water flew in, the higher it rose and soon the engines would be submerged fully.

More water would maybe stabilise them on the ground, but that would leave them vulnerable to the raging waves out there breaking down on them. Without the engines they couldn’t hold their position, nor could they keep her afloat for long if she continued slipping from whatever she was sitting on now. It would only mean that the engines would give out in deeper waters causing her to sink and bury them all with her. There really was no good option, so they just followed a plan that would keep them alive and busy for long enough. Gavin didn’t even know if the call had been answered yet. He didn’t know if anyone would even come for them.

He hoped someone was on their way. Even worse than dying would be dying without having set things right with Nines.

-

‘Can you see anything?’ Nines stood at the wheel, holding on for dear life while the rain plastered his hair to his head and made his clothes weigh ten times more. ‘Not yet!’, Miller screamed from the bow. Nines ripped the wheel around to get them past the next wave, but despair was already sinking in. They were soaked completely, and the harsh wind chilled them to the bone so deep that Nines didn’t just hold the wheel to steer but hold himself upright too. They were close to the position the Gera had been at the time of the call, but still they couldn’t see the trawler anywhere. If he was honest to himself, they could have driven by her already and just not seen her. In this weather it was hard to see past the small boat’s bow.

The blaring horn caught them off-guard, and Nines flinched so hard he would have nearly lost the grip on the wheel. Miller pulled the search-light around and its beam brushed over the hull of a massive black mass to their side. The ship was lifted up when a wave pushed around it and sank down with a grinding noise whenever it passed. They had run her on ground, Nines realised then and had to pay respects to whoever had had the idea. That was likely why the ship was still upright and hadn’t sunk yet.

The light-beam travelled further up to the railing, where a mass of people stood and cheered. A few were already lowering a rope ladder, but Nines was still scanning the faces up there. He did so again and again, but he couldn’t find Gavin. Gavin wasn’t there. Where was he?

-

‘Gavin, fuck, get out of there!’ The engine died with a gurgled roar that promised anything but safety. The abuse it had taken to still run at all had been too much for it and now it seemed enough water had rushed in to kill it for good. Gavin stood in shoulder-high water, keeping himself grounded through the shaking waves by keeping an iron grip on the engine. He knew he had several cuts and other wounds on his hands, at least a few burns from repairing a still running engine since the chief mechanic had lost his footing and had fallen to his death. There had been so much screaming around him – mechanical or human – that he didn’t realise the call. ‘Reed! Get up here! The patch is about to blow! Gavin!’ The deafening bang of hastily bolted patches being blown off, taking furniture and blankets that had been pushed in front of it in a hope to create a seal with it, was the waking-call for Gavin. Unfortunately, as he looked up to the iron staircase that had been his escape, it was simply… gone. Compressed to an unrecognisable mess as the patch had crushed it, there was no chance to use it. The water around him started to bubble, the stream around Gavin’s trousers threatening to lift him from his feet. Shit. He would come up to the upper level of the engine room, alright. If he stayed alive in the raging current flushing in, was a whole other story.

He tried to see if whoever had called for him was still there, as a rope hit him in the face. It hurt like hell, and he was pretty sure to taste blood, but still he grabbed it blindly, feeling the immediate pull. The water still flung him against the wall, but everything happened so fast that Gavin felt the aching pain in his entire right arm only as he was pulled over the rails and fell onto the steel mesh upper gallery.

Foreign hands grabbed him and pushed him forwards on sloppy feet that somehow weren’t fast enough. His whole head felt numb, and he didn’t know if that was from his arm, a concussion or just plain exhaustion together with blood loss. He did realise as rain and cold wind hit him not quite different to the rope to the face. The water was violent, and the wind ripped through his soaked clothes like blades. ‘Gavin, hold on, they found us! They’ve come to rescue us! It will be okay!’ He didn’t know who spoke these words and he didn’t understand the meaning either. The tone seemed happy though, so his sluggish brain seemed to at least realise that he could relax.

‘Wow that’s a tiny fucking boat!’ ‘How many will fit?’ That was screamed so loud, even Gavin understood. ‘What did he say?’ ‘I don’t know.’ ‘I think ten people.’ ‘Wait.’ ‘Fifteen max.’ ‘Only fifteen?’ ‘Shit that-‘ ‘Stop murmuring!’ That was a voice with authority. The captain? ‘They said fifteen people can go aboard. But there is a second boat coming soon. So let’s do this like civilised people. Who will wait for a little while longer here until the second boat comes?’

Gavin huffed to himself. He knew what was being played here. If the coastguard sent a ship where only ten people officially fit, then all other ships were already deployed. This had to be the last ship. They had only said there was a second boat coming so there wasn’t any panic or violence to save one’s skin. Give a person hope if you couldn’t save them. Gavin had seen it himself far too often, had said it himself a few times in the navy. But apparently life-or-death situations weren’t that common for fishermen.

‘I’ll stay’, he slurred. He knew with how bad he felt there was no way he could hold onto anything strong enough to stay on an overcrowded boat in this storm. And even then, he wasn’t sure if they were in town fast enough. Others had better chances at survival and that was an easy calculation. Some half-hearted protest was voiced, but most were just relieved to their chance at getting on the boat being higher. Gavin was heaved over and propped up against a wall, a few ‘thank you’s were directed at him, but then the crowd at the railing was thinning until next to Gavin two more unfortunate souls had to stay behind.

‘There will be no second boat, right?’, one of them asked in defeat and Gavin nodded slowly. ‘No, there won’t.’

-

‘Is that everyone?’, Miller screamed against the wind, hoping to reach the people on the overcrowded response boat. ‘Everyone except the ones left behind, Sir’, someone answered. Miller looked to Nines, but he was still holding on, hoping to see Gavin’s face somewhere. ‘You!’, he asked the one next to him. ‘Was there a man on board with you? Gavin Reed? Ex-navy, shitty attitude?’ The stranger grew quiet, pushing off his hat. ‘Yes. He manned the engines after the chief died. Good man, man of honour. I don’t think he made it out alive. The seal broke, water filled the engine room.’ ‘Have you seen him die?’ ‘No, Sir. Just heard of it, I was already on deck before because folk spotted you before.’ ‘How many were left behind? ‘Three, Sir.’

Nines looked at Miller. ‘Oh no, don’t you do it. You know we are already overcrowded. This was all for nothing if we sink on the way back. Better to save a few than lose all.’ ‘Still better to save all.’ ‘Nines.’ ‘Bring them down, I’m not departing without them.’ ‘Richard!’ ‘That was an order, do it before it’s to late. If the Gera sinks, we’re gone with her.’ Miller shook his head but screamed the order up. Soon, the first person climbed down.

Nines was so focussed to get a look at the face of the man, that he almost lost control over the boat. Positioning himself again, the man made it safely aboard. But the ladder stayed empty. ‘What’s with the other two?’, he shouted at the man that had just landed with them. ‘One is severely wounded, Sir, I’m not sure if he’ll make it.’ Nines bit his lip and kept his eyes on the railing despite the rain and wind hitting in his face. ‘Richard, we have to go!’ ‘No! Just a little while longer.’ ‘Richard!’ It was enough. He loosened one hand from the wheel and grabbed Miller by the lapels to pull him near until their noses nearly touched. ‘The love of my life might be one of the people still up there and I won’t leave without them, so you either throw me overboard and try your luck on the way back or you realise that you need me and follow my fucking orders, is that clear?’ He let Miller go, who swallowed and nodded.

As he looked back up, he saw a large black blob at the top of the ladder. Two persons maybe? He couldn’t get a good look but that looked dangerous enough so he tried to steer and hold the boat in position directly underneath the ladder should one of them fall. The slow descend was almost painful to watch, especially as the wind caught the ladder in its grip and shook it violently. Finally, after a near endless time, the two made contact, one of them keeping up with the shake of the waves, the other one crashing to the ground.

It was so hard to recognise him that Nines had initially doubted if it really was Gavin: His eyes were swollen, his right arm a bloody mess and his clothes stuck to his frame. He seemed to have no more strength in him, and Nines had to swallow hard. ‘Bring him over here!’, he commanded and no one dared to speak up having seen his conversation with Miller earlier. As Gavin was handed over, Nines accepted him into his arms and opened his heavy coat to wrap it around the man as best as he could. Then he had both hands at the wheel again and pressed Gavin half against the wheel and himself to keep him upright, leaning back whenever he had to manoeuvre.

They turned their back to the groaning Trawler behind them and raced down the wave towards the distant shore. Nines had to carefully veer around and more often than not it was closer than he would have liked when a wave crashed down with the bang of an explosion. All the while he kept an eye on Gavin whenever he could. The man had closed his eyes, but he could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against his. ‘It will be alright, love. I got you. We are getting back. We’ll warm you up and get you to a doctor. Don’t worry.’ He wasn’t speaking quietly, but still he was sure no one but Gavin could hear him over the raging wind. He also didn’t care that Miller knew his secret now. Gavin was safe and with him and they managed to save a lot of lives, once they made it back to shore.

The lights of the town in the distance had never looked as inviting as they did now and once they reached the port, seemingly the whole town was waiting for them. Doctors rushed to them immediately and after being told what had happened by the crew, Gavin was once again taken from Nines to the hospital. He docked the boat and once realisation hit him that this was it, he had brought these people safely back to shore, and Gavin would survive, he felt his own body again. He started violently shivering and felt how weak his knees had become. He held onto the wheel and when that wasn’t possible anymore, he let himself sink against the dashboard and sat down. The world stopped existing for a while as exhaustion overcame him, but then there was a hand in his face. He looked up to see it belonged to Miller, who smiled at him and patted his shoulder. ‘Come on, Nines, let’s get you inside and warmed up.’

-

The catastrophic storm had been several days ago and now the sea were calm as ever. As if it had never happened. As if these waters had never been anything but the gentle laps at the beach it was now. Gavin stood for a while at the promenade just watching the setting sun descend to the horizon and turn the sea into liquid gold. He had no problem finding a new ship to work at after it had made rounds how he kept the Gera up and running to the very last second. But with his arm and general condition he would need at least another full month to recover. And who knew who would remember him then. But that wasn’t important at the moment. He looked down and pushed away whatever invisible dirt he imagined on his shirt.

Then he turned and walked up to the welcoming warm lights of Tina’s bar. He opened the door and walked straight up to the counter, where the tall and thin man already sat. ‘Hey there, stranger’, he said with a lopsided smile as he climbed on the barstool. ‘Hello Gavin, how are-‘ ‘Shut up.’ He looked around to make sure they were alone like Tina promised them. Then he grinned. ‘Dance with me, idiot. Ask me again.’ ‘Ask you what?’ ‘You know what.’ ‘Wha-‘

Gavin sighed and just leaned forward, grabbing Nines with the one hand that wasn’t in a cast and loop. ‘Nines. I want to marry you. I was just a huge idiot, but it only needed a near-death experience to change that.’ ‘So you aren’t an idiot anymore?’ ‘No, but I realised life is too short to wait for the right time. So what? Will you marry me?’ ‘Yes! Yes, of course.’ ‘Then phcking kiss me already.’

[annecoulmanross]

Top Ten Historical Figures Done Dirty by The Terror (2018)

So, we all know and love Dave Kajganich and Soo Hugh’s beautiful show, right? Of course. But it’s important to set the historical record straight, especially when there are real people’s life-stories and legacies on the line. 

(NOTE: this list is biased heavily toward upper-class individuals because the historical record does a better job preserving those voices for us. Was the real Cornelius Hickey as nasty a person in real life as he was in the show? Almost certainly not – which is why we’re given “E.C.” as a nod to the fact that we shouldn’t assume these characters represent real historical villains, even when the narrative makes them antagonists; HOWEVER, not everyone in the show was given the same courtesy as the OG “Cornelius Hickey.” Which is why this post exists – to show you the best sides of some people you might not otherwise appreciate for their full humanity. That being said, keep in mind the sources used – and, for instance, who has surviving portraits and who doesn’t.)

Thus, below the cut, I give you this list, (mostly) in order from #10 (honorable mention, only somewhat slandered) to #1 (most hideously maligned) – my list of characters from The Terror who deserved better. 

(Please don’t take this too seriously – I know there are reasons why choices had to be made in order to make this show work on television, and I do very much love the end product. But I also genuinely think it’s a good idea to remember the real people behind these characters, and think critically about how we depict them ourselves.) 

Bottom Tier – The Overlooked Men of the Franklin Expedition

#10. Richard Wall – & – John Diggle

We’re combining these two because they had a lot in common, historically speaking! Both were polar veterans, having served as a Cook (Wall) and an AB-then-Quartermaster (Diggle) on HMS Erebus under the command of Sir James Clark Ross in the Antarctic expedition of 1839-1843. Certainly we do get some good scenes with them in the show, but there was plenty more to explore there – for instance, Captain Ross was apparently so taken with Richard Wall that he hired him on as a private cook after the Antarctic expedition. (One imagines that Sir James may have regretted letting his friends of the Franklin expedition steal Wall out from under him.)

(If you want some more information on Diggle, the brilliant @handfuloftime​ found this excellent article on him – fun facts include the detail that Diggle’s only daughter bore the name Mary Ann Erebus Diggle.) 

#9. John Smart Peddie 

Now, I don’t think we should go as far as the Doctor Who Audio Drama adaptation of the Franklin Expedition, which makes Peddie into Francis Crozier’s oldest friend, someone “almost like a brother” to Crozier (no evidence of ANY prior relationship between the two existed, contrary to whatever the Doctor Who Audio Dramas would have you believe!) but Peddie probably earned his place as chief surgeon, however fond we may all be of the beautiful Alex “Macca” MacDonald, who was, in fact, the Assistant Surgeon, historically speaking. It’s hard to find information about Peddie, but someone should go looking! I want to know about this man! 

(If you want to know more about the historical Alexander MacDonald, there’s a short biographical article on him from Arctic that you can read here.)

#8 James Walter Fairholme

The only one of the expedition’s lieutenants who doesn’t really get any characterization in the show, which is a travesty! The historical Fairholme (pronounced “Fairem”) was, as they say, a himbo, and the letters that he wrote home to his father are positively precious. He loved the expedition pets (lots of kisses for Neptune!), and he needed two kayaks because he couldn’t fit into just one with his beefy thighs. Fitzjames loaned him a coat when all the Erebus officers had their portraits taken, and then called him a “smart, agreeable companion, and a well informed man,” and Goodsir singled Fairholme out as “very much interested” in the work of naturalist observations. Just a lovely young man who could have gotten some screen time, you know? 

(Also, as @transblanky​ discovered, four separate members of the Fairholme family gave money to Thomas Blanky’s widow when she was struggling financially in the 1850s, making them, combined, the most generous contributor to her subscription.) 

Middle Tier – Franklin’s Men Who Didn’t Deserve That

#7. William Gibson

Alright, I want to talk about how uniquely horrible the show’s William Gibson is: this is a character willing to lie and accuse his partner of sexual assault that didn’t happen. I get there were extenuating circumstances, but if I were a historical figure who died in some famous disaster and someone depicted me doing something like that? Let’s just say I’m deeply offended on the real Gibson’s behalf. 

What do we know about the historical William Gibson? Not much – but we know a little. Gibson’s younger brother served on an overland exploratory venture across Australia in the 1870s… from which he never returned. (God, the Gibson family had the worst luck?) This description of a conversation that young Alf Gibson had with expedition leader Ernest Giles only days before his death is VERY eerie: 

[Gibson] said, “Oh! I had a brother who died with Franklin at the North Pole, and my father had a deal of trouble to get his pay from government.” He seemed in a very jocular vein this morning, which was not often the case, for he was usually rather sulky, sometimes for days together, and he said, “How is it, that in all these exploring expeditions a lot of people go and die?” 

I said, “I don't know, Gibson, how it is, but there are many dangers in exploring, besides accidents and attacks from the natives, that may at any time cause the death of some of the people engaged in it; but I believe want of judgment, or knowledge, or courage in individuals, often brought about their deaths. Death, however, is a thing that must occur to every one sooner or later.” 

To this he replied, “Well, I shouldn't like to die in this part of the country, anyhow.” In this sentiment I quite agreed with him, and the subject dropped.

(From Giles’s Australia Twice Traversed which you can read here) 

Beyond that, one thing we do know is that William Gibson was probably friends with Henry Peglar – they had served on ships together before, and Gibson may possibly have been the poor fellow found cradling the Peglar Papers, according to researcher Glenn Stein. So we might imagine the historical Gibson as a much kinder man than the show’s depiction of him – this was someone who befriended the clever, playful Peglar we all know and love from the transcriptions of his papers, so full of poetry and linguistic jokes. It’s a shame we didn’t get a chance to meet this real Gibson, who actually knew the Henry Peglar whom we love so well.

#6. Stephen Stanley

Look. There’s that one famous line in James Fitzjames’s letters to the Coninghams about how Stanley went about with his “shirt sleeves tucked up, giving one unpleasant ideas that he would not mind cutting one’s leg off immediately – ‘if not sooner.’” And certainly Harry Goodsir had some mixed opinions of the man, saying was “a would be great man who as I first supposed would not make any effort at work after a time,” and that he “knows nothing whatever about subject & is ignorant enough of all other subjects,” whatever…. that means…. 

But Fitzjames also had some rather nicer things to say about him, that he was “thoroughly good natured and obliging and very attentive to our mess.” Also, the amputation comment? Very likely had a quite positive underlying joke to it – Stanley may not have been much of a naturalist, but he was actually an accomplished anatomist, who won a prize for dissection in 1836, on account of his “bend of the elbow,” which was “a picture of dissection,” according to Henry Lonsdale, who also called Stanley his “facetious friend” and “a fine fellow” (Lonsdale 1870, pg. 159). So, the real Stanley probably was rather droll, but the perpetually cruel Stanley of the show misses some of the real man’s major historical virtues and replaces them with historically unlikely mass-mercy-murder. 

#5. John Irving

Now we’re getting into the territory of characters who did get some good development, but are missing a bit of historical nuance. As I’m sure many of you know, the historical Irving was indeed very religious, but the flashes of anger (i.e. against Manson) we see from Irving in the show don’t seem terribly consistent with the Irving depicted in this memorial volume, where John seems more like a quiet, bookish, mathematically inclined young man, with a self-deprecating sense of humor and a gentle sweetness. It’s really not at all far off from the version of Irving we see with Kooveyook in the show – I just wish we could have seen more of that side of Irving. 

Top Tier – The Triumvirate of Polar Friends

So, these three DO have many good things to recommend them in the show, but because I’ve done such deep research on them, it can be quite jarring to watch certain scenes in which they behave contrary to their historical personalities, and I find myself pausing when watching the show with friends or family to explain that NO, they wouldn’t do that! 

#4. Sir James Clark Ross

First thing – we LOVE Richard Sutton. He did a beautiful job with the material given to him. (This is true of all the actors on the list, frankly, but it’s doubly true here.) But that scene at the Admiralty where Sir James tells Lady Franklin “I have many friends on those ships, as you know,” to shut down her argument for search missions? At that time (aka 1847), historically, Sir James Clark Ross was actively campaigning for search missions, planning routes and volunteering his services in command of any vessel the Admiralty even vaguely contemplated sending out. You could see this real-life desperation in Sir James’s morose attention to his whiskey glass in that scene if you’re really trying, but I think the more historically responsible thing would have been to make vividly clear that James Ross risked life and limb, as soon as he possibly could, to try to rescue Franklin and Crozier and Blanky, men he’d known and cared about and bitterly missed – and, in the case of Crozier, “truly loved.” 

#3. Sir John Franklin

The historical Franklin had plenty of flaws – his contributions to British colonial rule certainly harmed no small number of people, and we should question the way that heroic statues of Franklin are some of the only memorials that serve to honor the lives lost on Franklin’s expeditions – especially considering the steep body count of not only Franklin’s final voyage, but his previous missions in Arctic regions as well. (DM me and I’ll scream at you about counter-monuments! Is this a promise or a threat? Who knows!) With that said, most contemporary accounts agree that Sir John Franklin treated his friends, his family, and those within his social orbit with kindness, and his cruelties were systemic, not personal. In this light, the image of Sir John viciously tearing into Francis Crozier’s vulnerabilities in the show feels very off. Though there was certainly some friction over Crozier’s two proposals to Sophia Cracroft, historically speaking, there’s no evidence at all that Sir John discouraged her from marrying Francis – Sophia may have had many reasons of her own (*clears throat meaningfully in a lesbian sort of way*) for not accepting any of the several marriage proposals offered to her (from Crozier as well as from others), and we ought to keep in mind that she remained unmarried all her life. The notion that the real Sir John would have considered Crozier too low-born or too Irish to be part of the Franklin family isn’t grounded in historical fact.

#2. Lady Jane Franklin

Again disclaimer: the real Lady Franklin left behind a legacy with much to critique. Those who rightfully point out the racism of her treatment of the young indigenous Tasmanian girl Mathinna should be fully heard out. Observations of her own contributions to imperialism are important and valid. Though I tend to see her feud with Dr. John Rae as somewhat understandable – given that Lady Franklin didn’t have the benefit of our hindsight knowing Rae was correct – the levels of prejudice that she enabled and even encouraged in the writing of Charles Dickens when he attempted to discredit Inuit accounts of Franklin’s fate are inarguably deplorable. These things being said, everything noted for Sir John re: Sophia Cracroft goes for Lady Franklin as well – there’s no reason to imagine a scene where Jane would bully Francis Crozier within an inch of his life, seconds after a failed second proposal, when, historically, Lady Franklin felt the situation was so delicate that it required the quiet and compassionate intervention of Sir James Clark Ross, a dearly loved mutual friend to all parties. Tension does not imply aggression; conflict is not abuse. We know this can’t have been an easy experience for the historical Francis Crozier, but the picture is a lot more complicated than what can be shown in one small subplot of a ten-episode television show. Because of this complexity, however, Lady Franklin’s social deftness suffers in the show. (I could also write an entire essay about Jane Franklin’s last shot in the show, at the beginning of Episode 9: The C the C the Open C – TL;DR is that framing is very important, and, at the very last moment, the show reframes Lady Franklin as a mutilated corpse, a speaking mouth without a brain, which is….. a choice.)

And, at number 1, the person done most dirty by The Terror (2018) is….

#1. Charles Frederick “Freddy” Des Voeux 

Look. I’m biased here because I am fed daily information about the historical Freddy Des Voeux from @frederickdesvoeux​ so I’ve become, I think understandably, a bit attached. 

But this is very plainly the clearest cruelty the show does to a historical figure – the historical Des Voeux was a very young man (only around 20 when the ships set sail) known always as “Frederick or Freddy” to his family, and described by all parties as bright and sweet – Fitzjames said that he was “a most unexceptionable, clever, agreeable, light-hearted, obliging young fellow, and a great favourite of Hodgson’s, which is much in his favour besides,” and described him cheerfully helping to catch specimens for Goodsir. Des Voeux is named “dear” by Captain Osborn in Erasmus Henry Brodie’s 1866 poem on the Franklin Expedition (43) and Leo McClintock reported the young man’s well-known “intelligence, gallantry, and zeal” in his 1869 update to his account of the Franklin Expedition’s fate (xlii). None of this is consistent with Des Voeux’s behaviour in the show, especially in the later episodes. 

To reduce Des Voeux to an easily-detested figure, over whose death one might cheer, is not a kindness – the creation of a narrative where his death is satisfying does damage to the memory of a real person, a barely-more-than-teenager who died in the cold of the Arctic and left behind only scraps of a shirt and a spidery signature in the bottom margin of a fragmentary document. 

Television shows may need their villains, but it’s important to remember that real life isn’t like that. Surely the historical Frederick Des Voeux was most likely not a perfect person, and, as an upper class officer contributing to a British imperial project, he does bear some responsibility for the harm done by the Franklin expedition, but it’s not accurate to assume he was any less worthy of sympathy than the other officers who considered him a friend – those men whom we now venerate, like James Fitzjames. So as far as I’m concerned, Freddy Des Voeux deserves at least as much consideration, care, and compassion from us. 

[writefightandflightclub]

Return to Sender: (Richard Alonso Muñoz x GN reader)

What is this? This is 4/10 one-shots/blurbs for my “friends to lovers” event. I’m not gonna share the prompt as it’s spoilery, but it was requested by @sergeantkane​ who is a genius for picking this combo! It’s a prompt about LOVE LETTERS! Omg! And thus, it matches perfectly with Richard (trust me, I had NOT made that connection when I made the prompt list :P). Thank you so much for requesting, Clarke, and I hope you enjoy it. I’m excited about this one!

If you’d like to read/keep track of the other fics, I’m keeping an up-to-date friends to lovers list in my pinned post.

Author’s note: Oh, I really quite like this one. Hope it makes you feel as soft as I did for Richard while writing it! Also- it’s my first bash at writing him, so let me know what you think! Thanks to everyone who helped with film details too: those not already tagged in the post- @prurientpuddlejumper​ @witchyavenger​ @veuliee2​ @waatermelon-sugaar​ @pascal-isaac​

Word count: 4.5 k. So not a blurb, then? :P

Rating: Mature, for light steam (not explicit, but 18+ or out, please!)

Warnings: mentions of food/eating. Mild angst (but it ends well), Steamy. Kissing, brief non-explicit mention of erection. Implied coitus (cut scene). Richard works in a “correctional facility”. Small mention of attempted break-in. If I missed any let me know.

Tagging: @anetteaneta​ @isvvc-pvscvl​ @nowritingonthewall​ @supernovafeather​ (ONLY READ IF 18+)

GIF by @nathan-bateman​

“Have you ever received a love letter?” Richard wonders shyly, without looking up from his crossword puzzle, his long eyelashes fanned out as his gaze dances over the monochrome squares.

Meanwhile, your eyes snap up immediately from your magazine, which you are idly leafing through, a breath catching in your chest.

You bristle at the question, and yet Richard seems either entirely oblivious, or entirely determined not to look-up at you. Perhaps both. So, instead of looking, he simply slurps the dregs of his milkshake, and pushes his plate of waffle remnants further toward the far end of the diner booth.

When he finally raises his gaze – a gentle prompt for you to answer him- his eyes are large and shining under the fluorescent lights as he peers at you over his glass, dabbing at his thick moustache with a paper napkin shortly after.

“No, never,” you state sadly, heeding his prompt with a small smile and a shake of your head. Not even a love e-mail.

“I’m surprised,” he flatters with a cautious smile. And, if you’re not mistaken, his eyes light-up with the faintest trace of desire. The barest undercurrent of passion, which is enough to have your heart beating like a drum. You notice it sometimes; this dull heat emanating off of him. It is a spark which never ignites, however - to your endless disappointment; you would fan that flame if only you knew how.

You swallow. He’s surprised? He can’t be that surprised, you think, a stone sinking through your stomach as you dwell too long on the topic of love letters, and meanwhile, Richard’s attention seamlessly diverts back to 3 across.

“You deserve one,” he says, still looking at the page, but a smile animating his wiry moustache. “A letter.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, a spiralling sadness catching hold of you. Does he not understand what this is doing to you? This painful reminder? “Can we drop it, Richard?” you say tensely, and when his eyes meet yours again, they are even more soft and cautious than usual, causing you to admonish yourself for the bite in your tone.

“Yes,” he says. “Of course,” he smiles thinly, apologetically.

It’s simply the new job, you think. Director of Communications. The man has letters on the brain. Richard is so considerate, that you realise he must not intend to hurt you in dredging up the past; he would never. In a way though, you think, it’s even worse that he brings it up so… casually. You can only conclude he has forgotten that you sent your letter to him at all. Had your heartfelt words, declaring your love, had so little impact on him?

Maybe that’s it. After all, they seemed to have so little impact upon him at the time. What could you expect years later? On the other hand, you -apparently- remain rather sore about the topic, all this time later. It’s natural to be sensitive though, isn’t it? You’d written him a love letter and he didn’t write you back. He didn’t say it back. Didn’t feel it back.

And, perhaps it still stings so much, even all these years later, because you never did stop loving him, even if he never started loving you.

Feeling a sudden, overwhelming haste to leave, you thumb through the pages of your magazine so furiously that the next table turn their heads to look at you, until you find what you were searching for.

“Here, Richard. The article I mentioned. Dramatherapy for people who are incarcerated.”

You fold the magazine back on itself, fobbing it off on him with an unprecedented urgency, hurriedly signalling to the waitress that you’d like the check. The roomy diner booth suddenly feels suffocating, and you want to get out. Meanwhile, oblivious, Richard chuckles at the title of the article -some kind of pun, you recall- as you try to push down the unpleasant emotions surfacing within you.

“Thank you for this,” he smiles, looking up at you earnestly. Looking concerned as he reads the expression on your face. “Are you alright?”

Your eyes fix on the table, where his fingertips inch hesitantly across the surface, hovering moments from yours as he debates whether to extend comfort. You make the decision for him, snatching your hand back from his reach.

“Yes. I’m Fine,” you say, unconvincingly. “Can we please go? I need some fresh air.”

“Alright,” Richard agrees gently. He looks a little flustered, but, now sensing your urgency, he begins to sweep up his papers and to shrug on his jacket. He pulls out a small comb to fix his neat curls in place, and offers you a soft smile. “Maybe we can go to the park next?” he suggests.  

As much as you want to run, you nod, some of your agitation dissipating now that the prior topic seems to be forgotten. “Okay. Yeah. That would be nice.” You school your expression into something calm, and you offer him a reassuring smile as his soulful eyes dance over you, a lingering but unobtrusive concern there.

As you split the check, you tell yourself for the millionth time that being his friend is enough; but even after the millionth time, you can’t quite believe it.

Still, today -Sunday- is your one day with him this week. And, no matter what you can’t have; you’ll take anything you can get.

He’s too dear to you to settle for anything less.

************

One month later:

You crouch in amongst the boxes on Richard’s front lawn. He is having a clear-out, setting out some items for goodwill, and some for a neighbourhood yard sale happening next weekend.

You are having fun assisting him in sifting through various items, occasionally bursting into a fit of laughter when he reveals yet another ill-informed, late night shopping channel “bargain” – usually some new-fangled, scarcely-used exercise contraption, which he proceeds to demonstrate in good-humour, making you fold over clutching your stomach in mirth. Occasionally, as you rifle through the boxes, you’ll be overcome by a pang of sentimentality when he uncovers an item with a memory attached; and -no matter how useless- he usually sneaks said item into his ever-growing “to-keep” pile.

“But this is the picnic hamper we took to Bound Beach Island! For your birthday, remember?”  

“Yeah, Richard, but it’s battered! It has holes! It needs to go.”

“It was a beautiful day. The light and the dunes were beautiful… and… and y-“

“-Oh my goodness, what is this?! Please for the love of God tell me you never actually wore this!”

You work through the midday sun until you come to a tired, dead halt on the grass, finally parking your ass down and wiping your brow. Richard looks warm too, a “v” of sweat soaking his old, oversized “Save the Turtles” t-shirt. No - he really doesn’t throw anything away. You smile fondly, though, remembering his sea turtle phase. Of course, he’d read some article. He always was looking for a cause.

“I’ll make us some iced tea,” Richard announces with a tired puff of breath, looking more spent than he probably wants to admit after shuttling the various boxes. Still, the way his grizzled curls have fallen away from his harsh side-part appeals to you, sitting disobedient and undone on his forehead.

Thinking of him undone, you hear a faint beating of drums sound in your chest.

You ignore the music though, like always, instead smiling gratefully as he heads inside, and you take a second to collect yourself before dragging the nearest box towards you, deciding you may as well continue. This next box is taped securely shut, and you chuckle quietly to yourself when you notice it’s labelled “workout-gear”.

You peel the packing tape away and open it up, scooping out the pile of miscellaneous papers sitting right on top. Beginning to leaf through, you surmise it’s mainly unopened junk mail; mainly garishly printed promotional flyers - from a pizzeria which closed down years ago, you recognise. Probably hastily stuffed in before his last move and never dealt with. Absent-mindedly, you begin to bundle it up for the recycling pile, when a smaller, more humble envelope drops out on to your lap, a hand-scrawled address on the front. The stationary is resoundingly familiar.

In fact, everything about it is familiar.

Your heart hammers in your chest as it immediately dawns on you.

It’s your letter.

The letter you sent him, all those years ago. You’d needed to be apart from him- needed to go away to take care of family, and you simply couldn’t go without letting him know. Letting him know you were in love with him.

The memory is like a slow knife sinking into your chest as you idly turn it over in your hands.

But… It can’t be…?

It’s… unopened.

All the air leaves you lungs.

No. No. It doesn’t make a shred of sense.

You’d spoken to him right afterward, on the phone. The first time he’d called after you left town he’d almost pleaded with you, giving you an unequivocally clear, and endlessly painful answer that he didn’t want what you wanted. What you’d written about. He’d made it abundantly obvious that he simply wanted to be friends. “I- I don’t want anything to change. I want everything to stay exactly like it is between us – please? Can we still talk every day?”

But if he didn’t read it…?

You heart pounds so hard that you hear blood rushing in your ears.

He doesn’t know.

His words didn’t mean what you…

Oh my god. All this time.  

You shoot abruptly to standing when you see him approach, as if you’ve been caught red-handed, guiltily stuffing the letter into your back pocket before he can ask you what it is, an abundance of thoughts screaming in your head.

He hands you the glass of tea, ice tinkling gently, and you take it from him, the coolness shocking your palms.

Assessing what you’ve been up to in his absence, and noting the carcass of another box, Richard glances down at the pile of papers strewn at your feet. He looks suddenly worried for a moment, as if you might have found an old porn stash or something – and he looks just as suddenly relieved when he sees they are more innocent papers, scooping them up from the grass.

“Richard?” you say, your eyes burning a hole in the back of his head, and the letter burning a hole in your pocket as he drops the items into the recycling. He hums for you to go on. “Do you... You know when I moved away...?” your voice is strained, and you gulp hard. “Just before, do you remember getting any unusual letters or... weird post from me?”

“Like what kind of thing?” he asks curiously, turning back to you.

“I don’t know exactly,” you lie, nervously. “I have a feeling I sent you something? A sappy goodbye thing?”

You see him mull it over, combing his impressive moustache with his fingers. “I don’t remember, sorry. But apparently I was drowning in junk mail at that apartment. Maybe it got lost, or returned to sender?”

Despite everything, you exhale a small laugh. In a roundabout way, you suppose it had been returned to sender after all. You look at the ground.

“Was it important?” he asks, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand as he looks at you.

Biding time, you take a sip of your tea while you search for an answer. It’s refreshing.

“It… Uh. It was a long, long time ago. Doesn’t matter now, I suppose,” you muse, masking your sadness, and he nods, looking at least half-satisfied with your answer.

Except, it does matter. It matters more than anything. And, with a sudden, overwhelming need to grab on to the past, you track to the “to go” box, rescuing the battered picnic basket from the pile of junk.

“You shouldn’t get rid of this,” you state, your back to Richard, hoping he doesn’t notice the way your voice falters. You tense as you feel him settle by your side, his hand hovering tentatively at the small of your back but never quite touching. “It was a beautiful day.”

“No,” he insists. “You’re right. I shouldn’t hang on to it.”

His words are like a punch in the gut. You turn your head to your side, where Richard is, your eyes and heart almost overflowing.

Noting your sadness, and connecting it to the picnic basket, he does everything he can to smooth things over, like always. “We can get a new one,” he says, his brown eyes sweet and hopeful and bright.

You love him. You love him still and you can’t help but turn towards him and reach out your arms, dragging him in for a hug.

“No! No, I’m sweaty,” he protests self-consciously, but you don’t care. You just need to hold him, even only for a moment – and, for a moment he stills as you loop around him, never quite clutching you back.

When you pull away though, you could swear that dim spark of passion is present in his eyes again. That spark that never catches, no matter how much or how often or how hard you wish it would. Oh, how you wish.

“Don’t ever change, Richard,” you say sincerely, your voice imbued with fondness. “Okay? You’re a sweet, wonderful man.”

His eyes are immediately soft and bashful again, the colour of his cheeks deepening a little, a crimson undertone blooming under his brown skin.

“Yes. Okay,” he offers, with a nod, his eyes creasing at the corners, and his posture even bolstered by the compliment, you could swear, his chest puffing out proudly.

For the rest of the afternoon, you ignore the unread words in the back of your pocket; but for the life of you, you can’t ignore those drums.

************

One month later:

You bundle the yapping, happy little white dog into your arms, relieved that she’s okay as her little tail happily beats against your arm.

“Are you okay, Lady?” you coo as she nuzzles her snoot into your face, eagerly lapping little kisses on to your cheek. “Thanks goodness, sweet little floof,” you baby-talk as your eyes quickly scan around Richard’s place, setting his spare key down on the kitchen counter.

You’d barrelled across town to get here, after receiving a call about an attempted break-in. His neighbour to the left had your contact details in case of an emergency -it’s not very easy to reach him at work, of course- so here you are. You came to give things a quick checking over, assured that no-one suspicious had continued to loiter. Richard won’t be much longer -his shift has nearly ended, and you’d left him a voicemail so you’re sure he’ll hurry- but you still thought you’d go on ahead of him, especially so that he wouldn’t worry about Lady.

Looking around, thankfully all seems well, and you don’t think anyone made it inside after all. Slowly then, you allow your nerves to calm and your heart to settle, bouncing the little bundle of fur in your arms, and feeding her a treat from the packet on top of the microwave, just in case she’d been stressed out.

Calming, you can’t help but smile as you look around, absorbing all the little details of Richard. You do hang out in his apartment a fair amount, but most often you will meet or sit outdoors, when the weather allows. After all, he loves to feel the sun and fresh air on his face, especially after spending all day cooped-up in windowless rooms. To you though, this Richard-ness is like a breath of fresh air, and you let it all wash over you, drinking in the details of his simple daily routine. The discarded half-plate of frijoles and rice by the sink. The ironing-board piled with identical uniform-issue shirts, pants, and plain white t-shirts. The photos on the fridge door – some of you and him too.

Doing a lap of the living space, you further note the dining-for-one TV table, evidence of his relatively solitary existence, and you can almost see him sitting there. Can almost hear his soft voice relating the far-fetched storylines of his favourite telenovelas. You imagine him chuckling warmly - perhaps shedding a tear sometimes too.

You decide you should pop your head into the bedroom and bathroom to check there too, for good measure, and you set Lady down, the dog trotting along at your heels. Once you’ve done a loop, you sigh, seeking out a fresh task, and you circle back to the sink, scraping his discarded plate and rinsing it, stacking it in the dishrack. Then, you move towards the TV chair, intending simply to sit yourself down and wait for Richard to come home. After all, you’re here now - you may as well say hello; or, maybe you can even prepare him dinner after his long shift, you muse.

As you revisit the small, rickety table, however, your eyes more keenly notice that a bunch of papers are strewn over it, all identical- a series of pastel pink leaves of paper and envelopes.

Letters.

Handwritten, in his familiar scrawl.

Letters addressed to you.

Your brow furrows in confusion, as you wonder what they could be. You don’t want to invade his privacy, of course, but perhaps this is something that’s meant for you? After all, sometimes he leaves you notes when you come over to feed or walk Lady.  

Still, this feels different, and, with a lump in your throat that you don’t quite understand, you pick up one of the leaves at random, skimming the first line, yet feeling only more confused than you did before.  

You see your name at the head of the paper, followed by the words “my dearest love,”, and underneath, some other half-formed paragraphs, scribbled over and crossed out.

No, you shake your head, your stomach flipping over. That can’t be right, you think, even as your fingers scramble for another leaf - for leaf upon leaf, until you piece together what’s going on. Until, with every line you read, fragments of both English and Spanish, you feel as though you are piecing together his heart.

Could it be true? Is this really true?

Your fingers dive for a sheet more developed that the rest, where you see paragraphs of writing, and you devour the words like you are starved of love; for you are, aren’t you? Starved? And yet, you suddenly feel so full. Brimming.

My darling,

There are infinite ways to fall in love. Some are elemental, like a raging fire. A shock of lightning on first sight. Some are slow-burning and constant, the heat of friendship warming your hearth, defrosting your iced fingertips when you come in from the cold.

There are infinite ways to fall in love, and I should know, my heart, as I have experienced every one of them with you.

You can barely read the rest as tears blur your eyes, and your hand comes to clamp over your mouth as realisation sinks through to the pit of you, the page quaking -like a leaf- in your fingers.

You make my heart beat like a drum. When I look at you, I am music, without being played. When you’re with me I am dancing, without movement. If only you would touch my skin, I feel like I would sing. If only you would-

“-Are you safe? Are you alright?” Richard asks from behind you, and you tear your eyes away from the page with a start. You were so absorbed by this swell of beating music that you didn’t hear the scrape of his key in the lock. You didn’t hear his hurried footsteps coming up behind you.  

“Richard,” you suspire, and for once his touch is on you without hesitation, his hands clasped around each of your shoulders, slowly running down your arms, and you nod quickly to reassure him, your mouth opening wordlessly. You’re safe.

His touch is warm through your clothes, and you think he is right- your skin would sing for him too if he touched you. Your love rattles you, like drums beating musically in your chest, pulsing through your body.

Then, Richard clocks your sideward, guilty glance at the pile of letters, and you see his panic instantly surface at the thought of all his unsent and unspoken words laid bare before you. All the pieces of his heart exposed.

At first, he looks apologetic, but then you step forwards a little more, into the circle of his arms. Arms which suddenly fall, unsure, at his sides once again. And, achingly slow, endlessly sure, you lift up you hand and you place it on his chest, over his heart, smoothing over his shirt and over the cool metal of the shield he wears there. You feel his heart really is beating like a drum. His chest is rising and falling beneath your hand, his breath quickened – eyes nervous.

You step a little closer, and your fingers continue their slow crawl, dancing up around his collar, inching further up until your fingers finally brush the bare skin at the nape of his neck, pushing up into the curls behind his ears, your thumb skimming his sideburn. You touch him, with your fingertips, and he does sing for you, a half-choked moan leaving his mouth at your tender caress.

“Richard,” you say breathily, searching his face, eyes openly appraising his beauty. “Don’t worry, sweet man. I love you too.” And, when you next meet his eyes there is no nervousness there. Not any longer. Instead, you find his dark, expressive eyes brewing with adoration, and that gentle but ever ascending note of passion.

“Darling, can I kiss you?” he pleads, his voice dogged by desire, his brow knitting together and his hands slipping bravely to your waist, circling you as you arch into him.

“Yes. Yes,” you say, and his mouth meets yours in a desperate, tumultuous crush. You sing too, your skin thrumming as you finally know the feeling of his thick moustache brushing against you. As you taste the sweet flavour of cherry sucker on his kiss. As you finally feel the texture of his slicked curls beneath your fingertips.

You kiss, urgently, until you are each smiling too broadly to continue, and instead Richard beams and presses sweet, intermittent kisses all over – your cheeks, your forehead, your hair, your neck- his moustache tickling wherever it touches. His hands are everywhere they can be politely, roaming over your back and your arms and your hair, and it feels so good to finally be held like this.

Eventually, he pulls back, his smile no longer tugging at his lips so keenly -lips now kiss flushed with deep colour- but shining in his liquid eyes. “How long have you loved me back?” he asks in a still choked, disbelieving voice.

You bite your lip, but then allow your face to split in a radiant, unrestrained grin.

Always. Always. I loved you first, you think.

You reach for your bag, reluctant to break from him so trailing your love’s hand in yours- and you fish out the letter. The one you’ve carried around since it was returned to you. “Take a look, Richard,” you encourage.

He looks from you to the small envelope, turning it in his spare hand as you pass it to him. “What is this?”

His brows rise in confusion as you tap the stamped postmark with your index finger. Years. Years ago.

“I sent you a letter,” you explain. “Telling you I loved you. That I love you,” you correct, squeezing his hand tightly in yours, amazed at how natural it feels already, to touch him.

He audibly gasps in air, looking pained. Devastated. “I never got it. I would’ve-“, he fumbles for words, but he can’t finish them, the magnitude of all those years lost to yearning too big to wrap his lips around. “I never got it,” he repeats sorrowfully.

You shake your head. “Don’t worry about that now,” you soothe. “I got your letter.” And, as you engulf him with your arms a soft smile takes over his features once again. He can’t help it.

“I’m so glad you did,” he beams, drawing you to him for another kiss, which you eagerly accept, opening your mouth to him.

God, he’s a good kisser, his tongue in you deep and eager, and the heat generated is quick to catch, a fire lit in the pit of you. That moustache is a divine thing too, his lips soft and full beneath, his mild-mannered tongue positively sinful as it works against yours.

Letting the kiss grow, you grab hold of him by the belt to draw his body closer to yours, arching your hips into his, and you feel an impressive bulge greet you as you do so.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers bashfully, angling his hips away from you, in case you’re not ready for… that yet. “You’re perfection. So perfect, I… I’m a little bit, uh, excited.”

You don’t blame him. You’re a little bit excited too. There’s a drum beating in your chest. Music in your heart. A song everywhere. A dance in your body.

“W-would you like to take me to the bedroom, Richard?” you purr, softly. “We’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?”

You wish you could capture the bliss which sparks in his eyes then, and keep stoking it forever more. His whole being glows as if you are the sun shining down on him. He loves the sun on his face. He loves you.

He loves you.

*******

Later that night:

At some point after round three, Richard is ravenous, and so you head to the kitchen to grab some snacks. One of Richard’s plaid shirts wards off the slight chill, settled over your otherwise naked body. As you microwave something quick, you can barely keep the smile from your face – even more so as you glance over at the table full of half-finished letters. As the microwave pings and you grab out the plate, another idea occurs to you, and you simply can’t help yourself.

So, you pad mysteriously back towards the bedroom, where Richard is waiting. The blanket is slung low over his hips, skimming the dark trail of hair which draws your gaze down beyond his abdomen. He is covered, and yet you bloom blissfully with heat at your new-found knowledge of what lays beneath. He’s laying with one hand folded behind his head, and one hand rested on the soft, roundness of his stomach, which you had laid your head on only moments ago.

Richard’s eyes shine with unadulterated admiration as you enter, and you flash him a mischievous smile as you transfer the plate to his hands, and subsequently tip a cascade of his letters into the middle of the bed.

“What’s all this?” he asks, with a contented laugh as you bounce eagerly into bed by his side, humming in equal contentment as you slot yourself under his arm.  

“I want you to read them to me. Will you?” you ask, sweetly, and he looks bashful all over again. “No-one has ever sent me a love letter.”

“Me neither,” he chuckles. “Or I thought so…”

He hesitates, perhaps feeling shy, but he wraps his arm around you securely, nuzzling you into his side as he picks up the closest leaf of paper.

He hums gratefully as you begin to stroke his smooth chest. He really does sing whenever you touch him.

“They’re not finished,” he caveats. “I wanted to find the perfect words and I… I couldn’t.”

“The words don’t have to be perfect. It’s more important that they’re delivered,” you say, your voice soft as you sink into him, and so, he gently clears his throat and he begins to read, his words and his rich, soothing voice filtering over you like warm sunshine.

After a moment listening, and letting his love and his letters envelop you, you interrupt him gently. “My sweet man. Promise me you’ll never write me another love letter?”

“Are they that awful?!” Richard exclaims.

“No!” you laugh, into his chest, tipping your chin up to look him in the eyes. “They’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. It’s just… I think I hate love letters, Richard. They’ve only ever kept me from you.”

His expression becomes wistful, lost in thought until a smile finally captures him. Then, with a finger curling gently under your chin, he dips down to plant a small kiss to the very tip of your nose.

“No more letters then,” he promises softly. “Let’s always promise to say it out loud from now on. Let’s talk every day.”

You heart full, you bring your hand up to caress his cheek, before planting a gentle, lingering kiss to his lips; and, despite what you’d just suggested, you plead for him to keep reading to you, his voice and his love lulling you to sleep in his arms.

With the love letters as kindling, your dim spark finally catches, your fire now blazing. You set it in a hearth in your chest, and you vow to keep it stoked for always.

THE END

Bonus: