#it was. fucking freezing. we don’t do that since my aunt died though which was particularly rough because it was. like around this time it

[yelloworangesoda]

i really should get over this hope of christmas being like it used to be. im not 6 anymore, that’s whats the problem. this is so obvious. simon.

[ashdoesfandomarchieved]

Modern au zukki being awesome aunt and uncles

“Say Sokka.”

“‘uki!”

“Sokka,” the boy in question emphasizes. “Sokka.”

Bumi giggles, head butting Sokka’s chest. “‘uki, uki, uki!” Sokka groans dramatically, falling back onto the ground. His nephew sits on his chest, happily laughing. “I can’t believe the betrayal. Fuck you,” he says to the ceiling.

“Maybe he just likes me more,” Suki says from her seat on the couch, pretending like she’s not snapping about a million pictures of her boyfriend and his nephew. Sue her, it’s adorable. Ever since Sokka agreed to babysit for Aang and Katara this weekend, it’s been nonstop shenanigans between the two. Shenanigans that have been equally annoying and adorable, if Zuko has anything to say about it. Speaking of which-

“Sokka, what are you doing?” Zuko sighs, showing his face for the first time that morning. It’s a rare occurrence that the guy ever sleeps in, but exams week seems to be the exception. Her other boyfriend looks terrible, greasy black hair pulled back into a messy bun, dark circles under his eyes. His face softens though, when he sees Sokka on the carpet.

“I’m trying to teach Bumi how to say my name,” Sokka replies, sitting up. Bumi collapses against his chest, whining. “The little traitor will only say Suki’s and Toph’s name though. How can you even pronounce Toph?” he lamantes at the toddler.

“What it sounds like is you’re cussing at a baby.” Ooh, and there’s Zuko’s judgmental face.

“The baby can’t understand!”

“The baby is learning how to speak! How do you think Katara’s gonna react when her kid drops an f-bomb after staying here for two days?”

“Whatever,” Sokka mutters sulkily. “You’re just jealous you don’t have a baby to indoctrinate.”

Zuko challenges this by dropping on the ground across from Sokka, cross-legged. Bumi perks up, immediately cooing at Zuko.

“Hey, baby,” Zuko says, in the same soft voice he uses with scared animals, his baby sister, and Suki after a bad night. Something sentimental in Suki’s heart twists at the sound. “Is Uncle Sokka teaching you bad words?”

“Zzz-uko,” Bumi says.

Sokka gapes. “Are you serious, right now?”

Zuko holds his arms out. Bumi, unsteadily, stands up and stomps over to him, falling into his lap with a gurgle. Sokka looks up at Suki. And then back down at the adorable picture the sleep-deprived Zuko and happy toddler make.

“I don’t know whether to feel betrayed or not. Why is that so cute?”

“I’m not cute,” Zuko says, bouncing Bumi.

“Uh-huh,” Suki agrees, saving the video on her phone and sending it to Katara. “Sokka, stop saying bad words in front of Bumi.”

“You’re only saying that because Zuko’s here and you want him to make you coffee,” Sokka accuses.

“Maybe so,” Suki defiantly says.

“Make your own coffee, I’m busy,” Zuko sniffs. He’s now progressed to playing peek-a-boo with Bumi. Ugh, there’s only so much sweetness Suki’s heart can take before she fucking dies of cuteness. She slides onto the floor, next to her partners.

“Say Suki,” she says to Bumi, holding out her hands. Bumi, now the center of everyone’s attention, lets out a high-pitched happy shriek, hiding his face in Zuko’s shoulder. “‘uki,” he says, muffled.

“Ss-uki,” Suki emphasizes the s.

“Thhssss,” Bumi repeats. “Thhss-uki!”

Suki grins triumphantly as Sokka groans. Bumi peeks out, looking really fucking smug for a baby.

“This is-this is clear favoritism,” Sokka sputters. “Why do I even- this is the opposite of nepotism-”

“Say Toph,” Zuko coaxes.

“Ophf.” Bumi grins, flapping his hands.

Sokka groans, burying his face in Suki’s shoulder. Both Suki and Zuko laugh.

“Katara says to stop antagonizing her child,” Suki says, grinning at her phone. “And for Zuko to please go take a shower,” she adds.

“Tell Katara she's not the boss of me,” Zuko says back.

“Ka-aat,” Bumi repeats.

“Are you kidding me?!” Sokka flops on the ground, face down. “That's not even what he calls Katara.”

Suki and Zuko exchange a look. Then,

“Hey, Bumi, say Aang,” Suki whispers. Sokka sits straight up.

Bumi bounces in Zuko’s hold. “Aang!”

Sokka throws his hands up in the air. “Oh for the love of-”

“Fff-uck,” says Katara’s child. All three adults freeze.

“Sokka-”

“Katara is going kill us-”

“Can you delete language?” Sokka whispers, horrified. “She's never going to let us watch him again.”

All three of them exchange matching panicked expressions. Then,

“Toph,” Zuko says.

“Toph did it,” Suki agrees.

“Absolutely,” Sokka gives a thumbs up. “She fucking owes us for the weed thing anyway.”

“Stop swearing in front of him!” Zuko groans.

“It's too late now, we might as well!”

Suki shakes her head as they dissolve into childlike bickering. Bumi looks adorably amused, making happy laughs at Sokka’s over dramatic outrage. Suki grins at him.

Toph probably wouldn't collaborate their story. And Sokka was definitely getting reamed out in the near future. Oh well, that was a problem for future them.

She snaps another picture, sending it to Katara. Both Sokka and Zuko are clearly arguing, with Bumi looking on entertained.

i dread the day they get their own baby, she captions it.

jesus they better not be fucking up his development, Katara sends back a minute later.

Suki grins and pockets her phone. “Alright, losers, who's making me coffee?”

[simonsrosebud]

Imagine how much of a wreck Morgan’s parents are when she goes on her first date

morgan has a resting bitch face, just like kevin.  and people at school know exactly who she is, and who her father is.  morgan kayleigh day is a force to be reckoned with.

especially on the court.

and one weekend when kevin is free, he and neil get talked into going to the court- her high school, that is, to do some drills.  some raven turned fox drills.

except kevin and neil have a habit of calling out in french to one another, and since morgan grew up learning both english and french she easily falls into that when practicing with them.

despite her easy talent with the sport, she’s always had the advantage of the majority of her family, on kevin’s side at least, being involved with exy.

it’s when she’s locking the court doors afterwards that she catches a kid sitting in the stands.

she stops.  “were you here the whole time?”

he looks up, and it’s one of the kids from her team, josh.  “no, just towards the end.”  he shuts his notebook.  “sorry, i wasn’t spying or anything, i just... i don’t like studying at the library.”

for midterms, he must mean.

“you’re weird.”  but morgan smiles and wipes her face.  “you can join next time, if you want.  they’re both strikers.”

josh smiles, and shrugs.  “i dunno.  that’s like asking a three year old to cook for gordon ramsey.”

jesus, he’s a dork.

“who cares?  the point in practicing is to get better, anyway.”  she starts for the gym doors.  “i’ll be here next week at noon.”

she is, and josh comes again, but only watches while he does some homework and takes notes.  mainly on neil.

and two weekends after that, he’s geared up on the court by the time morgan rolls in with her father and uncle behind her.  and today, andrew’s with them.

josh’s face goes white until he sees andrew retreat to the stands instead of the court.

“you’re playing with us.”  morgan sounds surprised.  she kind of is.  josh is quiet, and shy, both of which her family is not.  she didn’t ever expect him to actually join them.

he just shrugs.  “if i do bad then i was never here.”

“deal.”

josh doesn’t do terrible.  he gets lots of criticism from kevin, not too much from neil.  but that’s because he plays more like neil, heart over head.

but josh also sucks up every ounce of help and suggestions and tips offered and puts them to use with ease.  he doesn’t waste time with the switch from how he played to how kevin is telling him to play instead.

“you play like josten.”

josh pauses.  “really?”

“how he played when i recruited him in high school,” he corrects.  “you play like like it’s the last time you’ll play.”

he impresses their coach enough to let him start a game and play it fully halfway like the seniors all tend to do.

the game is on friday, but he’s right there with morgan and her dad on saturday.  it’s a lot of one on one while kevin “coaches” from the side.

morgan invites josh over on sunday.  they play table tennis in her basement while they talk about random things.

and then they start getting together more often.

and josh gets more playing time, which morgan likes, because he’s a reliable player and isn’t afraid to call for help when his mark is too much.  morgan’s seniors don’t do that and it infuriates her because then it’s her fault for not dropping her mark and helping out.

plus, josh calls “get them off” in fast french that morgan taught him, so his mark never sees her coming as a result.  it’s helped the team more than they realize. 

and then josh starts getting invited over for lunch after going to the court.  he meets dalton, who grips his hand a bit hard when he shakes it because this is the kid that’s been making my daughter smile at her phone so often?

and then morgan goes to josh’s for dinner one time.

and at the winter banquet once the high school season is over, morgan sees josh standing outside after one of the guys comes in.

“bored?”

he’s startled.  “you too?”

“nah.”  she shrugs.  “just saw you out here.”

he turns, and his smile returns for a second.  “are you cold?”

“oh, no, it’s fine.”

“come on, morgs.”  he tosses his jacket to her.  and when she puts it on she joins him to lean against the balcony railing.

“how come they spend so much on a banquet we could’ve had in the gym?”

josh laughs.  “the aesthetic.”

morgan laughs, and knocks shoulders with him.  “i’m glad you liked to study at the court,” she says.

he smiles, and she’s smiling at him, and he just… he kisses her.  cause it’s quiet and it’s just them, hiding from everyone else.  and because he knows he’s a year younger than her but he likes her so much.

but morgan’s so shocked by it that when he pulls away she pauses.

the look on her face makes josh regrets it.  he flees.

morgan doesn’t go back inside for a while, but when she does josh is gone, and she can’t really leave the banquet because she’s a senior and a captain, but when she gets in her car afterwards she leans her head against the wheel.

she drives to josh’s house.

josh lives with his aunt and uncle because his mother died a few years back and his father is in prison.  his aunt answers the door.  

fuck.  i should’ve thought this out.  “hi, i’m morgan, i’m on josh’s exy team, is he home?”  she asks.  “he left his jacket at the banquet.”

“oh!  thank you.”  she takes the jacket, and morgan panics when it seems like their business is finished.

“can i talk to josh?”

the aunt nods and calls his name, and when josh comes up behind her he ushers her away.  he steps outside and closes the door behind him.  “hey.”

“hey, sorry for freezing up earlier-“

“no, you did nothing wrong.  i shouldn’t have kissed you.“

morgan’s mouth fishes open a little as he rambles on.  “you can,” she says.  “kiss me again... if you want.”

josh stops.  what?  “do you really want that?  we can be friends instead, i can get over it.”

“no, i’m serious.”  she frowns.  “um, i like you.  sorry, i just, i’m not forward with stuff like this, so i never said anything.”

josh smiles, and when he doesn’t make a move, morgan steps forward and kisses him instead.  just a small one.  short and sweet.

but josh slides a hand to her waist and chases after her mouth to pull her back in.

“will you go out with me?”

it’s morgan that asks, faces close and hearts pounding.  it takes josh by surprise, a bit.  she can tell, but he rallies and doesn’t let it bruise his ego that the girl asked the guy out.  he actually likes it, thinks it’s nice.

“yeah, can i take you out?”

“like... on a date?”

“what else would you expect?”

“i don’t know.”  she shrugs.  “just never been on a date before.”

josh takes her out the next day, saturday.  and because morgan doesn’t want her dads making a big deal, she only tells them an hour before she gets picked up.  “i’m going on a date.”

kevin coughs on his drink, but dalton looks delightfully surprised.  “with who?”

morgan shuffles her foot.  “josh?”

kevin wipes his mouth.  “on your team?  the one we know?  that one?” 

“don’t make a big deal out of it.  if you act weird then i’m not going.”

kevin shuts his mouth.  he looks at dalton when she continues down the hall.  “she’s going on a date?!”

“that’s what she says.”  dalton sits next to him on the couch.  “you’re freaking out,” he mumbles and kisses him.

“yeah, within reason though, right?  our daughter is going on a date.”

okay.  dalton sighs.  “kev, not to alarm you, but there’s also a good chance she’s kissed a boy by now, too.  she’s seventeen.”

kevin frowns.  “going on a date is different.”

dalton raises a brow, but ultimately kisses his cheek before getting up to go to the kitchen.

kevin is the one who answers the door to josh, who looks startled for a second before schooling his expression.  “hi, kevin.”  he doesn’t know whether he should call him mr. day like he did when he first met him, but once he became a regular with practicing with him and morgan on the weekends, kevin told him to ditch the mr. day.

“hey, josh.  you’re here for morgan?”

dalton texts morgan that josh is here.  for josh’s sake.

“yes, sir.”

kevin nods.  “i like you, josh.  don’t fuck that up, yeah?”

“absolutely.  i-i won’t, i promise.”

morgan slides past kevin and kisses his cheek before spitting quick russian.  “leave him alone, dad.  we’re heading out, love you.”

“bye josh!”  dalton calls with a smile from the hall.  morgan is pulling him by the arm, though, so he just waves.

“have her home by eleven!”  kevin says.  and in french, “be safe, don’t do anything stupid!”

“bye, dad!”

dalton shuts the door.  “she’s fine.  they’ve hung out before.”

“yeah,” kevin’s pouty.  he follows dalton up to their room.  “but that’s still my baby.”

[allhailthewicked]

Random JATP Headcannon: Reggie Pep-Talking Julie

 Disclaimer: Hey y’all there’s a lotta negative self-talk and body image stuff in this long and chonky puppy (like a dachshund). Am I just simply projecting in this headcannon? Si señores, señoras, y señoritas ...umm chile anyway so... on to the angst and fluff.

Julie is a bad bitch.

And we love that for her. But every bad bitch has a few weaknesses. Like popping balloons or falling for a ghost who died in 1995 or being afraid that you are going to lose everyone you’ve ever cared about. But there are days when Julie’s biggest weakness is her body. Then again Julie loves her body, she loves how her hair curls and how it frames her, and even though it can be a pain in the ass, she loves it. She also loves her smile and the gap between her teeth and how musical her laugh is. She loves how she can pull off a blazer and a dress and how her eyes sparkle in the sun. She loves how clear her skin is and her brows and her height and everything but some days she doesn't. But some days she looks in the mirror and cringes at what she sees.

Ha, it's funny to think that I can pull this off.

I'm too much of this and not enough that.

I don't really love how I look in this.

Maybe I should just change

These thoughts often seem to be swirling around in Julie's brain. But sadly those aren't the worse thoughts she has that award goes to thoughts like:

Luke would never fall for a lifer like you.

and

He’s way too good for you. Maybe you'll have better luck if you're prettier

Julie sighs flattening her crop top grabbing her sides before quickly opting to change into a longer looser shirt. She grabbed her phone from her nightstand shooting a text to Flynn.

Trouble #1💜: hey love! you free rn? i’m having a terrible bbd today and i need a distraction and a hug

Trouble #1💜: and maybe a good cry

Trouble #2💕: aww girlie i would love to but i’m in colorado at my aunt’s wedding reception

Trouble #1💜: oh shit. i’m sry i forgot.

Trouble #1💜: no thoughts head empty only body negativity

Trouble #1💜: how’s the wedding? did stacy cry when your aunt came down the aisle?

Trouble #2💕: don’t worry about it jules. a certain dead ghost boy has haunted your brain cells maybe you can go to him. i’m sure he’ll love the cuddles 😉😉😉

Trouble #2💕: stacy bawled btw but so did aunt hilda and dad pretended that he didn’t, but we all know he loves seeing hilda happy.

Trouble #2💕: it’s so fucking freezing. but the dress was absolutely gorgeous tho

Trouble #1💜: cuuuteee love that for them. well, i have to go guys maybe practice a song or two. but luke was kind of the one who started this. idk i’m just going to try and get through the day so i can rush back to my room and rewatch New Girl or something

Trouble #2💕: WHAT DID THAT BASTARD DO?!?!?!

Trouble #2💕: I WILL COME DOWN FROM COLORADO TO BEAT HIS ASS!!!

Trouble #1💜: He did nothing. I’m just overthinking ya know. Like I’m not worth it. He doesn’t need me. I don’t deserve him

Trouble #2💕: jules i’m going to be real with you. HONESTLY HE DOESN’T DESERVE YOU!!!! but he does look at you like you’re his source of life so don’t let this dead, paler than wonder bread boy hurt you!!! he’s so lucky to have you in his life.

Trouble #2💕: you are a gorgeous girl!!!! stunning. an absolutely beautiful, smart, and amazing person!! everybody lights up when you walk into the room. but you know who lights up the most. mr. boo-berry music man simping cute bright dead eyes looking ass.

Trouble #2💕: but maybe you should talk to alex if you don’t believe me. sadly he seems like the himbo with the most emotional knowledge. so maybe talking to him will help. but promise me you’ll take care of yourself love

Trouble #1💜: I promise. flynn imma just wear a bigger sweatshirt and pretend that i’m okay instead of feeling like I want to wrap myself in a blanket. it’ll be all good. gtg bye love you :)

Trouble #2💕 : THAT’S NOT HEALTHY!!! but please do take care of yourself. i’ll be back soon and i’ll talk to you later💕.

Julie grabs an old Orphuem hoodie that belonged to her mom, slipping it on noticing how she still hasn’t quite grown into it. Walking past her mirror one more time Julie scrunches her nose not appreciating how her tight jeans look on her. In fact, she doesn’t like how her nose looks today. 

Fuck I hate when I feel like this. Maybe Flynn is right. I should probably talk to Alex and at least try to avoid Luke. He doesn’t need to see me like this.

Sighing, she makes her way over to the garage. She opens the door only to see Reggie intensely focused on playing the riff he was working on for their new song.

“Is Luke around? I need to snatch up Alex, but I don’t want him to see me and worry,” she asked, starting to giggle when he snapped out of his trace as a small yelp left his lip.

Reggie spotted Julie’s Orpheum hoodie not noticing how much his eyes widened.

Julie cocks her head at the gaping Reginald before realizing he was staring at her hoodie. “It was my mom’s,” Julie whispered as Reggie nodded along, “she used to work there in college. Mom and her best friend, my Tia Maria were waitresses there. But I’m getting distracted, is Alex here? I just really need to talk to him and his dumb emotional availability.” 

“Well, it’s Alex and Willie’s 6-month anniversary, so I hope he’s not around here. But he’s like at the beach with Willie being all mushy.”

“Oh wow, they’re so cute together! He’s definitely seemed so happy since he met him,” Julie said, truly proud of her drummer but not completely masking her disappointment of not having anyone to talk to.

“Yeah, he's more free now. Plus it gives me and Luke the opportunity to rag on him on how easily he flushes when Willie teases him. But you don’t need to worry about lover boy or your lover boy,” he says while waggling his eyebrows at her. 

Julie sadly laughs trying to hide her face from the boy. As Reggie seemingly oblivious continued “Luke is at his parents. He’s been going more often trying to find sneaky ways to leave his song. Some unpublished songs Julie. He has never done anything like that since you went to his parent’s house with him. The closure is cathartic for him,” he whispered, putting down his bass. “He loves seeing his mom’s face light up when she finds another song. But you seem down Julie, what’s wrong?”

“Oh it’s nothing Reggie don’t worry about it,” Reggie cocks an eyebrow at her with a concerned look on his face. Julie looked away sighing, putting on her hood before continuing on, “I’m just a little under the weather and just needed someone to talk to, but it’s fine. I’ll be fine. I will be fine in a few hours. But don’t worry, and please don’t tell Luke.”

“Well Julie you can talk to me,” Reggie pauses puts down his bass putting his hands behind his head, legs cross, frowning slightly, “Believe it or not I can be a little insightful but seriously Julie you’re like my little sister and I hate to see you like this.”

Reggie taps on the spot on the couch next to him motioning for Julie to sit down.

“I’m not going to force you to tell me anything but if you need someone to talk I here when you are ready,” And with that, Reggie picked up his bass and started to work on what seems like a new song.

Together they sit in this calming silence as Reggie starts to pluck away at this melody taking notes of what chord progressions work and what doesn’t while Julie quietly points at chords. This goes on for about five minutes until Julie finally says something.

“Fine okay you need to promise me that you won’t tell Luke because he’ll try and fix this, and he’ll probably make me feel worse,” Reggie quickly nods before putting his fist out giving her a promise fist bump. Julie wetly laughs at this before taking her hood off, running her hands through her hair.

“You know for years I’ve waked up and then immediately looked in the mirror and some days I loved what I see those days are good. I love how I look and how I feel, and I’m just happy. But some days I don’t... some days I look in the mirror and I just see every single flaw I have, and I just want to hide in my bed and not let anyone see me. Some days I feel like I don’t deserve you or Luke or Alex or Flynn or even my family. I just look into the mirror, and I’m like why would anyone stand to look at me. And you know today is one of those days. When Mami was alive she would call a day like today a BBD. It was a code for bad body day or day when we would just wear matching hoodies, cuddle, and binged movies without telling Dad what was wrong. But he understood, he understood that Mami would take care of it and that she understood what I was going through. We did it so often until she you know... that I don’t know how to tell my dad about it. Like him making me hot chocolate like he used to won’t make going away,”  Julie sighed wiping the quickly forming tears from her eyes. Julie turned away from the concerned, so he couldn’t see how close she is to completely breaking down.

Reggie wrap his fettuccine arms around Julie pulling her into a warm hug that smelled like the lemon-lavender bath and body works body wash she bought him for the shower in the garage. The was comforting which led to Julie letting her guard down, shoulders shaking as she heavily sobbed into her undead friend’s shoulder as he rubbed her back. After she was seemingly cried out she looked up at Reggie, who looked wide eyed at her.

“I’m sorry I snotted all over your flannel. God that’s so disgusting. I’m just going to go to bed and just mope and watch Netflix. Thank for being a shoulder I could lean on. I’m sorry that I was just being annoying,” Julie whispered as she tried to wipe away the snot only to make a bigger mess.

"Hey hey hey it's okay Julie I can just wash it or like blame it on ghost ectoplasm. Julie do we leak ectoplasm?"

Julie laughed wetly as Reggie frantically looked to see if he was oozing before realizing that he was getting distracted. She quickly noticed the major shift in demeanor change as he seriously looked at her.

"Julie you are beautiful and I know that you don't feel like that now but you will eventually. And I know that you don't want me to fix you and I won't because I can't. And I know you might want to try to impress Luke with how you look or just think that your looks are all that Luke that think about, but I am his best friend and I know that he would be head over fucking heels gone for you. Even if you look like whatever a Jar-Jar looks like he would see you as the light of his world. He is in love with you and your soul and you deserve that love. But you deserve self love even more. Julie you are not a thing to be looked at then judged. You are a person with feelings and  personality and a story, a story to tell. Your body looks the way it does because of all the things you've experienced in life. Julie I know this all may sound meaningless coming from me but you are literally one of the strongest people I know and I know you can through. You will not be less strong if you reach out for help. You might be my favorite Molina but talking to Ray is smarter than you think and he can help. I just hate seeing my sister hurt like this," Reggie said before yelping as he noticed that Julie had started to bawl again.

"Wait Julie no I'm sorry. Was that too much. God I know you said I shouldn't try to fix things. I should've kept my dumb mouth closed and not bring up Ray. I'm sorry Julie don't cry," Reggie rambled nervously rubbing her back

“No no no no Reggie you didn’t say too much. You just shocked me honestly but like in a good way. I mean I can’t say that I will believe everything you said. But thank you Reg. Thank you I am so glad that you are in my life. You’re my favorite Peters and you are much smarter than other people give you credit for,” Julie says laughing at Reggie’s bright smile.

“I mean need them to underestimate me sometimes. But let’s watch something together to at least make your BBD a little better.”

Julie smilies quickly nodding before putting on the first episode of the Mandalorian and snuggling close to the older brother that she never had. 

Julie felt okay to say the least for the next couple of weeks her next BBD hit her. Julie sighed pushing herself off the bed looking in the mirror that is covered in encouraging notes from her Dad, Reggie, and Flynn. She sighed about to leave her room to go talk to her Dad again about what was going on before she notice a hoodie on the bed. It was a fleece lined hoodie that was left on her bed folded her bed saying ‘Uke I’m your father’ on it. 

Reggie Julie sighed shaking her head smiling as she picked up the little note that was left with it 

‘I knew that you said that you and mom had matching hoodies for your BBD’s so here’s one that we can wear together. I mean only if you want to I know it was something you and your mom did so I don’t want to butt in on a tradition. But it could be like a signal that you’re having a BBD. I don’t know it might be stupid but I hope you like it.’

Julie smiles at the slight awkwardness of the note before slipping on the hoodie

A/N: HEY IT’S ME AGAIN WITH THE ANGST FOR THE SECOND TIME IN LESS THAN A WEEK!!! Idk what it is but every time I write something for this fandom it turns into angst. Am I sadist? Ehhh wouldn’t be surprised but idk I think I went through something writing this lol. Also I’m sorry if some the dialouge is cringe I’m tired and I really wanted to post befire I got distracted. Anyway please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist down below by either replying to this post, reblogging this post, or sending me an ask! I would appreciate reblogs and feedback because I love reading your guy's comments and tags they seriously make my day!!! but it's fine if you don't want to :)

~✨My Taglist Isn’t Under the Cut Tonight Lol✨~

@poppin-peters, @sunset-bobby, @theobligatedklutz, @soupforfree, @iamthefryiestfrench-blog, @fiddlepickdouglas, @gay-ghosts-committing-crimes

[letthefrogsbe]

remember when I was gonna write that parkner fic?

cool so I've decided I'm gonna, but because I cannot write for SHIT and I hate my writing every time I see it, ill just share my outline of what I have so far. its not coherent. sorry. 

Section one: aunt may dies. It’ll be like “it's been 3 months. 3 months since May was shot. 2 months and 3 weeks since she died.”

Something like that idc. Basically this section will base around peter living tony, because he’s not doing well, and he is only 17- which is not actually old enough to be on your own after something like this. Setting is established, with cameos from dr strange (who tony is dating and lives with (yeah bite me, this is my fanfiction i can make it what i want.) it will be made obvious that this takes place after endgame, which also means that tony is Not going to die. I’m not that mean lmao. The avengers are like largely together, there was not as much death in this as there was in endgame. Whatever. Everyone is very nice to peter because they know that for him its either this or him becoming a ward of the state so like.

Section two: harley gets kicked out. His mom finds out that he’s gay (from gossip sources idk) and kicks harley out. Im not going to write them having a big fight like in the moment, but harley will recount what happened somewhat to tony in this section, and then more to peter later in the story. Gay ppl trauma dump, we know this. Okay anywaysss so harley calls tony literally sobbing and like freezing fucking cold. IM SORRY IM BEING SO MEAN TO THEM I PROMISE THEY'LL GET A HAPPY ENDING. Okay. harley explains how his mom kicked him out. Tony asks why, harley says something like “she didn’t agree with my lifestyle choices” like bitterly. Tony is a good person in this (i know, im really taking some character liberties) and he’s in the mood for collecting strays apparently, so he has happy send over the quinjet. He can’t make it himself bc hes in fucking japan or something for the next few weeks,, but. Yeah! Tony also calls peter, who is presumably in bed and feeling depressed. “Hey pete. How ya feeling? Any better?’ ‘Not really, tony. Sorry.’ ‘you don’t have to be sorry-’ ‘damn tony you sound like my therapist.’ “sorry pete, but i do have something to tell you- you know harley?’ ‘only from what you’ve told me about him, but yea. He was the tennessee garage kid, right?’ ‘i mean. Yes. so- he’s gonna come stay with me for a while too- it might not be permanent but it will probably be a bit. He’s about your age, and he just has no where to go (just like u). He’s not going to stay in your room or anything, but with bruce and thor here, he will be in your apartment area.’ ‘okay tony.. Will i have to talk to him a bunch?’ ‘not if you don’t want to- i already warned him about you, so it should be okay. I wouldn’t worry so much pete- you guys are so similar in a lot of ways that i wanted to introduce you two long before he called me.’ ‘okay tony, i trust you. Thank you again for letting me stay with you :)’ (yeah that kind of got away from me)

Section 3: build up. this is a shorter section. Harley and peter are gonna meet in section 4. This section is harley’s jet ride (with an intuitive happy) and harley’s nerves about how he really isn’t worth this (i mean hes pretty intimidated tony sent a private jet just for him) and happy like reassures him. Hes still insecure though. Peter is also nervous bc what if harley doesn’t like him? What if he doesn’t like harley?? Tony did say they would get along, but peter hasn’t really been himself recently, so who knows? Yeah lots of that. I do want to emphasize though- peter is not completely unhealthily coping. Like he has a therapist and he has been reaching out to ned and mj, but its still an open wound for him. Obviously. He still has a sense of humor though, but its to cover these deep insecurities. Like the first month or so that he was with tony, he was reallllyyyy trying to not get close to him bc he sort of thinks he kills everyone around him. Like logically he knows this isn’t true, but he does really think the that non superheroes that he surrounds himself with are very at risk if they know about his spider-man-ness. The only people who know now are ned and mj (may knew too).

Section 4: the meeting of harley and peter. Keep in mind peter has been living in this apartment/area of stark tower for about 3 months now. He actually moved in while may was in the hospital because he couldn’t stand to be alone in the apartment when he knew why may wasn’t there. And um. Yeah. so peter is like comfortable in this space, basically. Also- the reason theyre in the same apartment is because stark tower was not really created with the idea of housing broken orphans in mind, so it only has a certain amount of residential space. Thor and bruce are currently staying there together (although no one really knows if theyre together, or if theyre just best bros who went through some extreme trauma together and are now inseparable. Hmmm wonder if thats gonna come up later) and theyre using one apartment, and happy lives there with his own apartment, and tony and stephen are currently sharing the penthouse, even though thats not public knowledge. Really only the people close to tony know that he’s dating stephen. So. this leaves just the one other 2 bedroom apartment for peter and harley. It has one bathroom, and the bedrooms are connected by a door but theyre pretty big so like. Theres a kitchen, a living room with a fancy ass tv, and a really pretty view (with a balcony bc <333). May died in march, peter got leave from the school in april, and it is now the middle of june btw. Tony is now peter’s official guardian (he was before may died anyways) and now has sole guardianship over him which he has fully accepted, even though peter and him both know that there are going to be times where he has to go out of town bc he does own a company after all. Times like right now. Harley is pretty nervous that tony isn’t going to be there to greet him and that he is going to have to like introduce himself to peter and everything. Cmon, theres no reason to feel like that, he’s the one intruding after all, he should at least be able to handle himself. (<--- harley’s thoughts). Yeah so theyre insecure super cool. A n y w a y s so peter was stressing about harley as he arrived, and so when harley walked in they were both complete bundles of nerves. Harley walks up but knocks. Peter actually jumps (bc spidey sense okay whatever) and goes to get the door. Oh my god these awkward teenagers i hate them so much (i love them). Peter kinda looks like shit, sorry king. He was a little bit crying earlier, then tony called and he switched into stressed out ball-of-anxiety mode. Distractions are good, its okay. Peter opens the door for harley and they like introduce each other all awkward (again sorry) and peter shows harley where he is staying. Harley doesnt really have muchhhh bc he was kicked out and all. He just has a suitcase full of clothes, his favorite blanket, his favorite stuffed animal (yeah whatever bc ofc he does) and his phone/charger. He sets all his stuff down at once. He thanks peter for letting him stay in his apartment and also said sorry. First thing peter noticed was harley’s accent. Stfu. peter asks why harley’s here- ok. Harleys had a long ass day. Too fucking long. He- he breaks down. He tells peter a lot. About how his mom found out that he was gay, and how she told him never to come back. Yikes. Anyways, this is establishing the beginning of their relationship as friends. Peter is there for him even though he doesn’t know him at all. Peter sees some of himself in harley in this moment, even though he’s not talking about himself yet. Eventually harley does ask about peter, and they really just get to know each other really quick. They have these deep scarring individual traumas, and neither has nearly recovered, but they find comfort in just knowing that theyre not alone in their suffering. At least for now. At least in this moment.

Section 5: the next day. Peter and harley spent that whole night talking about what they were going through. Peter said good night at around 5 am (there were no adults around they can do what they want to) and they both got good sleeps. In peter’s case, one of the first solid nights he’s had in a while. Harley was kept up a little longer after peter left, however, because he just couldn’t shut off his mind. It was really cathartic for him to just lay everything out there and for someone to just accept him. Peter told him he was bi, but he was.. Lucky. He had accepting people in his life. May was accepting. God, harley couldn’t fathom having lost everyone in his life, everyone he ever cared about, and still having the heart to sit and talk with the dumbass anxious gay kid who can’t go home anymore. His problems felt so small compared to peter’s, and all he could do was admire peter’s resilience and how he was seemingly able to bounce back from anything. God, peter was something. He couldn’t wait to get to know him more. With that thought circling in his head, he finally went to sleep at oh shit 6:30 am. Peter woke up around 1. Harley at 2. When harley woke up, peter was watching tv and eating cereal on the couch and he just sat down next to him. No words, just sleepy children being sleepy. They stayed like this for like an hour when someone knocked on their door. Enter stephen strange!!!!!!!!!!! Get excited people. Hes just coming in to check on them bc tony told him to, and he didn’t get the chance last night bc he was _busy_. K so now he’s here and hes awkward and he just wants to make sure these boys r okay bc theyve both been through too much recently, and it would be just the cherry on top if they didn’t get along. Him and harley had never actually met before so he like introduced himself and all that. Offered like if they needed anything he was there, and its only gonna be a few days until tony gets back (did i say a week earlier? Im retconning that bc i cannot find it in my writing so it is now retconned). Peter and harley just have to sort of explain to dr strange that theyre getting along gREAT and there is no need for concern….. And peter was even thinking about showing harley around the city a bit that night (something he had not yet told harley, but wanted to make it seem like he was doing well and not acting too depressed in front of Dr. Strange) so dr strange is like yeah !!!!!! do that, that sounds super fun petey !!!!!! and so now they have evening plans

ok ps I wrote this like 2 weeks ago and completely forgot I posted something on Tumblr about this fic idea, and so this is literally just how I talk to myself. was not gonna ever post this but then I decided to because I'm bored. there are more sections but I'm not gonna post them rn because this post is really fucking long already!!!!

[theladyofdeath]

In the Bleak Midwinter {18}

A Throne of Glass Period AU: 1920s.

Summary: 2 years after Arobynn Hammel is killed by Rowan Whitethorn, Maeve has returned from Eyllwe with a vengeance. Meanwhile, Rowan is getting married, Lorcan is a father, and Lysandra is finally ready to give her heart away. There’s been peace in The Cadre’s Orynth for 2 years, but peace never lasts.

A/N: Oooooooooh boy.

All characters belong to SJM. I am no more than a fan with a plot.

**Warning: mature content - language, alcohol use, drug use, sex, murders and shit.

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The Cadre - 1920s AU {TOG}

In the Bleak Midwinter {The Cadre, Part 2}

Rowan rode in the back of the car, right next to Cairn. He hated it, knowing full well he wanted to lash out and kill Cairn on the spot, but also knowing it would bring harm to Aelin. 

For the entirety of the ride, Rowan didn’t say a word, no matter how bad he wanted to. Cairn kept looking at him, tauntingly.

“Where’s my wife?” Rowan asked, quietly.

Cairn spun Rowan’s pistol around his finger, having already stripped him of his weapons. 

“Don’t make me ask again,” Rowan asked, in a deadly calm. 

“She’s alive,” Cairn answered, simply. 

“And unharmed?” Rowan asked, staring at his gun in Cairn’s massive, scarred hand. 

Cairn met Rowan’s gaze. “She was when I left, but that was a few hours ago. A lot can happen in the span of a few hours.” 

Rowan’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t push. He was caught somewhere between wanting to grab his gun back from Cairn and putting a bullet through his head and saying fuck the consequences or sitting still, complying to the demands he was given, and probably getting shot by the end of the night.

At least, if Rowan got shot, his family would be safe. 

At least, that was the theory. 

Rowan opened his mouth to make a retort, but Cairn cut him off. “Say one more thing, and I’ll kill you with your own fucking gun. How tragic would that be?” 

Rowan’s lips snapped shut, but the look in his eyes was worth a thousand words. 

He hated this, every moment of it. Although grateful Lucy was home with Lorcan, Maeve still had his wife, his unborn child, and every chance he had to kill one of Maeve’s men and he couldn’t, didn’t, it drove him mad. 

They eventually pulled up to a home, quite a ways from Orynth’s border. They must not have cared that Rowan was seeing it now.

Considering he wouldn’t be leaving it alive to retell the tale. 

Rowan didn’t put up a fight as Cairn opened the door, ordering him out. In fact, he was quite cordial as he followed Maeve’s first in command into the old manor. Rowan didn’t know what he had been expecting, considering the landscaping wasn’t in horrible condition, but to find every piece of furniture covered in white sheets as if the owner was on an extended-holiday was not it. 

He tried not to look too intrigued, though, as he followed Cairn through the hallways, then through the door that led down to the kitchens. 

It was freezing, and the entire place was covered in webs as if no one had bothered to dust down there in a while. Rowan tried to keep his eyes open, trying to look for any sign that Aelin had been through there, but he was only met with a stone floor, and stone walls. They walked past the kitchen, further down the hall, where no windows let in any sort of light.

Candelabras lined the walls, though, which only made Rowan nauseous as he was reminded of some sort of medieval dungeon. 

When they came to the end of the hall, and Rowan’s heart was nearly ready to beat through his chest, they halted in front of a closed door.

Cairn knocked on it, twice, and they waited.

For a moment, nothing happened, but then it swung open, and Rowan followed Cairn inside. 

Maeve was lounging behind a massive oak desk, completely unphased by the arrival of her nephew. Instead of surprise, she was smiling at him as he entered, her eyes lit with something that made Rowan’s nausea grow worse.

“Hello, nephew,” Maeve crooned. “It’s been a while. How have you been?”

Rowan said nothing. His lips remained closed as he stared, waiting. 

“I have to admit that I feel…” she paused, trying to decide on the perfect word. “Exhilarated. I’ve been trying for this victory for so long that I almost thought it was nothing more than a dream.” 

“You haven’t won yet,” Rowan said, simply.

Maeve snorted. “I beg to differ. The second I got Aelin Galathynius into my company - spoiled little bitch, she is - I knew I had you wrapped around my finger.”

Rowan lifted his chin.

“You are mine now, nephew,” she crooned. “You will die.”

“Where is she?” Rowan breathed. 

“Here,” Maeve answered, her voice light, which only pissed Rowan off more. 

“I want to see her,” Rowan replied, keeping his voice as calm as possible. 

“That’s not possible,” Maeve replied, without any hesitation. 

“Surely if you’re going to kill me, you’re not so cruel that I can’t say goodbye,” Rowan responded. 

“And how do you know that I’m not so cruel?” Maeve asked, humored. 

Rowan’s jaw was rigid, and for a moment, he said nothing. He stared at his aunt, at the woman he had known his whole life, at the woman he’d used to live with, used to work for, and wondered how the fuck they got to where they were now. 

He blamed it all on Arobynn Hammel. 

In one fluid motion, Rowan reached down into his boot and pulled out a small, handmade bomb that Vaughan himself had constructed, He held it close to him, his fingers hovering near the pin that held it all together. 

Everyone in the room froze, Maeve’s haughty smile finally fading away. 

“I will cooperate, under one condition,” Rowan said, slowly. “Aelin goes home. Today. Now. Safely. You can take me, have me, kill me, but my wife goes free.” 

Maeve’s eyes narrowed. “And if I say no? She’s in this building, you set that off, she dies, too.”

“So do you,” Rowan responded. “And all your men.” 

“You’re bluffing,” Maeve spat.

Rowan’s grin was one to behold. “Would you like to test that theory?” 

Maeve watched him, carefully. “Vaughan made that.”

“Yes.”

Her grin reappeared, and she shook her head, slowly. “You forget that I know you all. Very, very well.” 

Rowan said nothing, unsure of where she was going, but not liking it, not one bit.

“I’ve seen many of Vaughan’s creations through the years,” Maeve went on, leaning back in her chair. “Both those that he has made to actually take lives, and those he’s made to use as a pawn.”

Rowan stayed perfectly still, perfectly calm. “Don’t test me, Maeve.”

“Don’t lie to me, nephew,” she spat. 

The second Rowan moved, the butt of his own handgun hit him in the back of the head.

He remembered nothing after that for a long, long while.

~~~~~

“You let her take him?” Lysandra’s voice boomed through the manor.

“We had no choice,” Gavriel replied, his voice low. “What Rowan wants to do, he does, it doesn’t matter what we thought-.”

“He’s in Maeve’s hellhole!” Lysandra shouted. “She’s going to kill him!” 

Aedion was standing just behind her, softly rubbing her lower back. She stepped away, not wanting comfort. 

“We’re going to work out a plan,” Gavriel followed.

“A plan,” Lysandra repeated, mockingly. “Why does that not sound promising?” 

“Way to put your faith in us,” Gavriel growled. “I understand you’re worried-.”

“Worried?” Lysandra interrupted, laughing humorlessly. They thought she’d say something else, thought she would blow up, thought she would tear them all to shreds, but she didn’t.

She just shook her head and turned her back to all of them, then walked away. 

“She’s right.” Lorcan’s voice came quietly from the corner where Lucy was sound asleep on his shoulder. “We let him go, and we shouldn’t have.”

Gavriel said nothing. Instead, he took a cigarette out of his jacket pocket, put it between his lips, and lit the tip. 

“We don’t even know where Maeve is holding them,” Fenrys said, leaning back in a chair in the dining room, his hat over his face. 

No one bothered to correct him. 

He was right. 

“Would you like to know what I think?” Natalia asked. 

All at once, they answered, “No.” 

With a scowl, she hurried out, following Lysandra. 

“I’ll go meet with Rhoe and the others,” Aedion announced. “See what we can find out. I’ll come back in a few hours to tell you what I know.”

Gavriel nodded, and Aedion was gone to tell Lysandra goodbye. 

“And what do we do?” Lorcan asked, quietly. “While we wait?”

Lorcan, Fenrys, Gavriel, and Vaughan all looked at one another, realizing that it was the first time they had ever been without Rowan, since he had been their leader. Gavriel hated to admit that he felt like he felt when they had lost Rowan’s father. But, they wouldn’t vote on a new leader, not yet.

Rowan’s fight was not finished. 

It wouldn’t be finished. 

He was going to escape, going to live, going to beat this shit. 

“We…” Gavriel began, then shook his head, taking another drag from his cigarette. After blowing out a long breath, and a puff of smoke, he continued. “Vaughan and I will go talk to our guys on the police force. Lor, you and Fen go back to the tracks and see if you can find any signs, or tracks, follow them. As soon as you have a decent lead, come back here. We’ll all meet up in a few hours and take it from there.”

There was a moment of silence, but then Fenrys asked, still beneath his hat, “And if we’re too late?” 

The room fell silent. 

It was a risk. Every moment they spent looking and finding nothing was a risk. 

A risk they had no choice but to take. 

Gavriel just shook his head. “We won’t be.”

It was a promise he couldn’t keep, but he would try to keep it if it was the last thing he did. 

He wouldn’t say the words, wouldn’t bury Rowan, who was like a younger brother to him.

The words would not fall from his lips, not if Gavriel could help it. And yet, the words wouldn’t stop replaying through his mind as he stood from the dining room table, reloaded his gun, and left the manor with Vaughan.

In the bleak midwinter.

~~~~~

Aelin had been crying for hours.

At least, it felt like hours, but she had no way of knowing how much time had truly passed. 

The moment the door to her prison opened and Rowan was tossed inside, bloody and unconscious, she had lost it.

For a while, she had tried to wake him up, to no avail. Then, once she made sure he was breathing, she just waited.

And the waiting was agonizing. 

Leaning against the wall, in the dreadful silence, she watched Rowan’s chest rise and fall. Slowly, shakily. 

His lip had been cut, his eye bruised, as if knocking him out hadn’t been good enough, the assholes under Maeve’s command had to leave their mark, too. 

Feeling completely exhausted, she crawled over to Rowan and laid down beside him on the cold, hard floor. Rowan didn’t move as Aelin laid her head on his chest, and draped an arm across his waist. 

A tear slid down her cheek, onto his jacket.

“Please wake up,” she whispered, pleaded, begged. “We need to get out of here, Ro. You, me, the baby….we need to get out of here.” 

Nothing.

She grasped the fabric of his jacket, clinging to it with all that she had. At least Lucy was safe. At least, she hoped so. When Rowan woke up, Aelin would ask.

And Rowan would wake up.

Because, if he didn’t…

No.

The thought was too excruciating.

“Ro, Ro, please, wake up,” she whispered, although she was so tired that she could hardly keep her eyes open. “I love you, sweetheart, and I need you to wake up. We can get out of this, baby, but I can’t do it alone, okay?”

She could hear his heart beating beneath her ear, through the layers that covered his chest. 

When she received no indication of Rowan waking up, a sob tore through Aelin’s body. She closed her eyes, taking in his scent, memorizing everything she could about her husband.

If this would be their last moment alive, she would take in everything she could, hoping it went with her to the afterlife. She hated it, though. Hated that this is what she would bring into the afterlife with her.

Memories of lying together on the floor, blood streaked across Rowan’s face, him unresponsive. Aelin must have fallen asleep, and it’s exactly what she dreamt about.

Rowan, unconscious, dying, and her soon after. Then, the three of them - Rowan, her, and their daughter - walking into the afterlife. 

Their daughter looked just like her father.

Silver hair, green eyes, sun-kissed skin. She was beautiful. The most beautiful. Aelin couldn’t believe how much love she had for the little girl. 

But then she woke up, her eyes shooting open. 

A hand had moved to her lower back, and when she lifted herself up, she saw Rowan’s eyes watching her. He was exhausted, she could tell, in pain.

But he was awake. 

“Rowan.” Her voice was part whisper, part sob, part disbelief. She cupped his face as she kissed him, carefully. “I was so afraid, so worried you were….”

Her words trailed off, unable to say any of what she was actually thinking. 

“I’m okay,” Rowan said, his voice raspy, tired. He reached up with a shaky hand to brush a loose strand of hair out of her face. “I’m going to get  you out of here.”

“What-.”

“I’m going to make a deal.”

“No,” Aelin breathed. “No, unless it includes you and me walking out of these doors, together.”

Rowan eyed her for a moment, his gaze soft, before he said, “We both know that won’t happen. But, I’m going to get you out of here, Aelin. You, and the baby.”

Aelin shook her head, knowing what he was going to say next.

“I’m going to have to give myself to Maeve, Aelin, but you and the baby will be free.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[vampiresuns]

Creature Comfort

✴︎ CREATURE COMFORT ✴︎ 

2.9k words. In which Anatole learns the Band is in Vesuvia after Alec’s death and runs to them, pretending there isn’t one of them in specific he wants to see.

Leon (he/they) is @apprenticealec​‘s, and this piece is brought to you after her last fic, January, activated the Janiverse brainworms. Please go read that if you haven’t already.

Nadia was never late for a meeting. Ever. 

Anatole looked at his uncle with a questioning look, one of the many non-verbal communication cues they had developed while working together. They came in handy in moments like these. He shrugged at him, rolling his eyes and asking to be brought a wine glass and a very specific bottle from something Anatole didn’t even recognise, ignoring Lucio’s complaints about not being able to have wine himself. Anatole began to fidget with his quill, shaking it between his fingers, making it tap with his papers.

He didn’t want to be here. Not in Lucio’s room. It was too close to the plague. It was not safe enough. Him and Valerius could come in contact with it and bring it to the Palazzo. They could give it to anyone. They could get it themselves. 

Anatole couldn’t lose more people. Paris, though for different reasons than Plague was gone, Anzano was gone — and with them, part of Amparo’s joy — and while his parents were here, which was always a comfort, he constantly lived in fear his mother who had volunteered as a doctor would get it.

What if Valeriy got it? His chest constricted at the idea. Things with him were tense right then, but it was nothing Anatole could blame on any of them, because saying that they were going through a lot was a gross understatement. He wanted to take his uncle’s hand, something he would’ve done if they had been in the comfort of his office, but instead they were in Lucio’s fucking bedroom. What if he lost them too, because this, this, this, negligent imbecile with it’s negligent court still didn’t listen, still refused help. 

His tapping became louder. Probably, along with his aunt, the death which weighed him down the most was Alec’s. It didn’t feel just like losing her, but Ilya and Asra in the process, for their own different reasons. 

At times like this, he wished the band was here. 

“Hey, little Valerius, could you stop that tapping can’t you see it gives me a headache?”

Anatole tapped his quill one more time, on purpose. Lucio threw him a dirty look, but the Gods (whomever those were) knew Anatole couldn’t care less. 

“You’re not going to apologise?”

“Did I give you the headache? With my tapping, or didn’t you say you already had one when we came in?”

“Aelius,” Valerius warned him. He didn’t actually care how he spoke to Lucio, he knew that, but now was not the best time. 

Nadia arrived before things could escalate, excusing herself by saying she had taken longer with her cousin than she had thought she would take. Now, as a rule, Anatole never talked about his personal life when he was in Court duty. If he could pretend he didn’t have a personal life, the better. It was all out of professionalism, a defence mechanism and him being a naturally private person who wanted people who were not part of his circle to stay the fuck away from his personal business. He was good at redirecting personal questions he didn’t want to answer, and his own abilities allowed him to know beforehand when people had what he described as ‘icky interest’, unable to describe the leftover sensation his magic left him in any other way.

But it was late autumn, and he had seen so many Vesuvians die, his friend had died, his aunt had died, and for a moment his heart betrayed him, thinking that maybe, just maybe seeing Leon alive and well would be a comfort. 

Why? He couldn’t tell. They had nothing that was serious, but right then he would’ve given anything for the comfort of his laughter. For allowing himself, for one moment, to focus on anything other than the impotence of his position. 

Now, when Anatole got single minded, his ability to see consequences blurred a little, however, he had enough mind to change to Prakran when speaking to Nadia. “Was it Jamil? Is he alone?”

It was a way to loophole his own rule about no personal talk at work, and a way to keep Lucio at a distance. He would keep the Count at a distance no matter what. 

“Aelius,” Valerius said, standing close to him, his voice no longer the Consul’s, but his uncle’s, “I don’t think now is the time.”

For Valerius to be speaking to him like that in public, Anatole must’ve looked frazzled. Valerius was a peculiar man: Anatole couldn’t say he had met many more people, if anyone at all, who were two distinctively different people in private and in public and managed to come off as authentic on both occasions. The cues were there in either scenario, but it made sense why people who only knew Valerius publicly couldn’t understand why someone such as Anatole put up with him for any other reason than personal ambition. 

Right then, however, as Nadia replied that yes, it was Jamil and the Band, Anatole couldn’t listen to his uncle, but he pleaded to him silently — another of their nonverbal cues — when he passed on his quill and his papers to him. 

“I have to go.” 

“Aelius,” and, of course, the Consul was back. “Your duties.”

Anatole raised a single eyebrow at his uncle. He would rather get chewed back when they were home about this than staying; besides, what could he say? His Court performance was stellar. He cleared his throat. “Clean water sources, especially if we can get a way to pool the infected water back so we can study it are a priority, the chain supply for the flooded district completely broke, and you need to speak to the Guild of Merchants about it. A new group of nurses has been taken to the Lazaret this morning, and according to three different accounts we should get more court magicians to see whether or not this disease has a magical origin. Did I miss anything, Consul?”

Anatole didn’t wait for an answer. Bringing out a face covering from one of his pockets, he tied it with practice around his face, breaking into a race before anyone could stop him. 

His steps echoed through the halls of the Palace as he ran. Outside, the sure clacking sound against the cobblestones travelled with him as he made his way through the City as fast as he could. He felt his chest burn from exhaustion and a frantically beating heart, but he couldn’t stop, he couldn’t slow down until he was near the familiar street of Camia’s shop and dusk fell on the City. 

He sat outside to catch his breath for a moment, something twisting inside him when he realised what he had done: he had almost snapped at the Count (again), he had barged the Countess with questions, and he had deflected a meeting he had to attend. Sure, his notes had all the information they needed, so Valerius could literally read them aloud and it’ll be just as if he was there, but he had been working in the Court for three years now. He should know better than shoving his sense of duty into someone else’s hands because he wanted—

What did he want? He felt the words freezing at his throat, a knot threatening to make all words escape him, forever, as he hanged on the cliff’s edge, refusing to look down because looking down meant admitting to himself too many things he didn’t want to admit. That he couldn’t admit. 

He was there anyway, so he knocked on the door. 

As soon as he stepped inside, he felt like coming here was a mistake, but once again, he couldn’t turn back. Out of stubbornness or true caring, he didn’t know. Perhaps both. Pulling through his impulsive decision was better than allowing the skin crawling sensation that he wasn’t wanted there win. No, he’d push down under a rug, and deal with it when he was alone. It wasn’t Camia, however, who made him feel that way. Camia had given him a half-hug, half-shoulder grab that was all the same full of affection that he was happy to retrieve as she asked about him, and he allowed himself to finally answer a personal question, and he asked about her and how she was doing, if there anything he could do.

It was Leon. 

The source of the skin crawling sensation grew just a little bigger, threatening to snap his gut in two. 

“You too? I didn’t realise we were hosting a pity party.” 

He had never been more thankful for Leon not to be able to see his face, and never more embarrassed that Camia could. He exhaled, letting a practiced neutrality settle on his own features. 

“Right. Anyway—”

“What’s your excuse that you didn’t know and you were so very busy following the Consul around.”

“Leon,” Camia said, “Nana, I’m sorry.”

He gritted his teeth as he replied. “I did know Alec died,” saying it was more difficult that he wanted to acknowledge, “I knew almost immediately. I have ways to keep tabs on the Lazaret, or rather, I have to overview the death lists, if you wanted to know how I knew, Leon. There’s no need to apologise Cami, I just didn’t know you were still in the City. Asra mentioned talking to you, but him and I aren’t precisely on speaking terms at the moment.”

He took a deep breath, letting out a sigh. “But I didn’t come to bore you with my accommodated Court position troubles, of course, I came because grieving is a bitch, life doesn’t stop for it, and I’m sure you all need a hand.”

As he tried to make his way to the kitchen, telling Camia an inventory of things he was happy to help with, insisted to help with, Leon stood between him and his way. For the first time since he had arrived, and for the first time in what it felt like too long, Anatole allowed himself to look at Leon. He wasn’t going to lie to himself: Leon’s face had crept onto his memories too often, sitting too comfortably in the back of his mind as a source of ongoing, mental conversation between him and what he thought Leon would bicker about when he was tired of the Courtiers being terrible, or other people who worked in it being just as exhausting as them. 

That Leon and this Leon didn’t look anything alike. He was thinner, his hair looked messier, he looked sad. He looked incommensurably sad. It made Anatole want to reach out and pull him close. 

Leon wouldn’t want that, and even if Anatole gave into wishful thinking, his words were enough to cut that thread: “What do you think you’re doing?”

“It’s called helping you, I mean your friends. So if you please let me go to the kitchen to make a list.”

“But why? Is it guilt, Anatole?”

He shouldn’t have come here. “I do not dignify stupid questions with answers, Leon. No matter who they come from.” 

He stepped to the side, walking past Leon and making his way through the shop for pen and paper. He hadn’t been there too many times, but he had been there enough times to have a vague idea of where they were. He settled in the kitchen area to make a list of things he could get for them right then, and things he could help them procure regularly. If anyone came to ask about his own grieving, he already had an answer prepared as using his extensive, notoriously tightly knit family was always a good excuse. Two of his friends had come live with them, because it was safer. He had people. 

They didn’t need to know how much he spoke of or he let himself feel around them. He would’ve liked to talk with them about Alec, talking helped him process things, but he thought it was unfair to ask, so he didn’t. He didn’t ask, and wrote his list instead, pretending he couldn’t hear Leon and Camia bicker about him somewhere else in the shop. 

He left through the back door to go into the market, came back through it. Brewed tea for everyone, and cooked dinner bringing Jamil a tray with food when it was done. 

“It’s been a while since I had to use a kitchen, but I want to think I haven’t turned completely useless,” he told an unresponsive Jamil as he squeezed his shoulder. “If you want me to tell Valeriy you’re here, I would be happy to help with that too, just let me know, will you?” 

Jamil didn’t say anything, but Anatole didn’t expect him to. 

Camia told him off for not asking for help with dinner and he shrugged, making nothing out of it. “It’s the least I could do.” 

Leon spoke before Camia could reply. His tone was less hostile, but still far removed. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“You always do that thing where you do more than people usually would, and then call it nothing.” 

“If you want to file a complaint, the booth is open from monday to thursday, from 11 am to 3 pm, and it’s well past that hour, so I don’t think I’m taking criticism at the moment. Look, I know you’re going to tell me that was my own decision, but I almost snapped at the Count and ditched a meeting to be here. I came as soon as I knew, and before you say anything else, Leon, I am well aware you are all more than capable than taking care of yourselves, and that you are capable of being responsible for once—”

“What’s that supposed to mean—”

“I think you’ve interrupted me enough. I’m not Nadia. I’m not someone you can chew because it’s easier to process what you’re feeling that way. It hu— it’s not fair.”

To his surprise, Leon didn’t fight back. Instead, he asked Camia if he could excuse him and Anatole for a moment. Leon surprised him again by apologising. 

“I… what?”

“Take it or leave it,” Leon said, trying his best to emulate their playful bickering, but Anatole could tell in his words that he was far, far away. His mind was somewhere else, and he couldn’t do anything but respect that.

“You don’t have to entertain me, you know? I really didn’t come because I would get something out of it, other than lending a hand to people I care about. I believe I told you already what I believe about affection.”

They stood together in silence, Anatole wanting to reach out and hug Leon. All he allowed himself to do instead was run his finger over Leon’s forearm twice. Exactly twice. 

“Leon, do you know that if you, you specifically, ever needed anything I would help you, right? If you let me be there for you, I’d be happy to do it.” 

Leon put his hand on Anatole’s arm. Anatole, for a second, allowed himself to believe in every possible, positive outcome of the interaction. Thousands of Leon’s existed in that moment, as many as crossroads existed right then. Some thanked him, a heartfelt thank you he could feel through his words, his magic absorbing the warmth of it. Some hugged him, for long minutes until Camia came to retrieve them, and they knew they could all be sad together, but they would be together nonetheless. Others kissed him, kissed him like Anatole desperately wanted to, his treacherous heart screaming for Leon to turn to him at the worst possible time to ask for such a selfish thing that Leon couldn’t possibly want, but it didn’t matter. Because in that moment he allowed himself to hope for once in months and—

“Could you keep an eye on Asra?”

What he wanted to reply was who kept an eye on Leon, he could keep an eye on Leon. What he said was: “Is something the matter?”

“You both work at the palace, you see him more than we do and I’m worried about him. I’m afraid he’s looking into things he can’t control.”

Anatole stepped back, straightening invisible wrinkles from his coat, clearing his throat. “I will, but I need you to promise not to stretch yourself too thin… actually, I will anyway, I’m sure you don’t need me bossing around.”

Leon’s smile was weak, but sincere. “Will you take care?”

“Leon, you don’t need to worry about me.”

“You said you almost snapped at Lucio.”

“He wanted me to stop tapping a quill, it was nothing, he never means it when I’m bouncing stuff against things. Not that I’m making excuses for him, I have better things to do with my time.”

“I know he’s sick but—”

“Leon, I don’t want to talk about my insufferable boss.”

Anatole wanted to take a Gondola back home, he didn’t want to walk. He wanted to sit down on one of the boats and see the stars reflected in the water, swirling as the gondolier moved, and make inconsequential chatter with them, but he had never been very good at lying to himself. 

He was feeling too many things he couldn’t admit, he was feeling too much altogether and whenever he was overwhelmed, he cried. He could cry in silence, him and the City and his steps as he made his way back to the Heart District and pretended he knew what to do about his own. For the first time in forever, he wished he hadn’t taught himself to hope. 

[bibislut]

A Girl Walks Into A Tower

After finding out her best friend is actually Spider Man, Leena's whole world changes. Enter: a meddlesome billionaire, some flirty super soldiers, and one (1) stubborn God of Mischief. Throw in a real need for better communication, a game of spin the bottle and a whole load of banter - and you'll have yourself a real good time at Stark Tower.

Also known as Loki is hella sexy, hella moody and really freakin' stubborn. Featuring: Peter Parker being the cutest, Sam Wilson being a cheeky bitch and a little bit of being a bad ass on the reader's part.

This work has explicit language, sexual content and some mentions of blood / violence, so please take this into consideration before reading!

Word Count: 19,260

Read on Ao3

Chapter 1

You couldn't help but close your eyes as you took the stairs up to your apartment by memory. You'd lived here for nearly a decade now, and the 9 flights' every creak and whine were ingrained in your memory by now, and the 10 hour shift you'd just done could be felt in every muscle: you couldn't help but rest your eyes for a moment.

You finally reached your landing and opened your eyes only to find Peter Parker dozing against your door frame, dried blood staining his skin from his hairline to his eye. The seventeen year old often came to you for a stitch up, not wanting to frighten his Aunt with his injuries. You frowned down at his snoring form and hitched your bag better on your shoulder, crouching down to place your hand on his cheek. "Peter." you whispered, not wanting to startle him. The teenager opened his eyes with a dopey smile.

"Hey, Lele."

"Hey idiot, let's get you inside." You couldn't help but return his warm smile as he shrugged off your attempt to help him up - you always forgot how strong he was. You pulled your keys from out of your pocket and opened the door. Dropping your bag to the floor, you flicked on the lights and shut the door behind Peter, watching him limp to your kitchen table.

"What happened this time?" you asked as you rolled up your sleeves and washed your hands. You reached for a flannel from the bottom drawer and ran it under the hot water.

"Just some kids from school."

Even though you couldn't see his face, you knew the teenager would be picking at his lips like he did every time he lied. You knew he'd never tell you what really went on before he turned up to your apartment - he never did. You rung out the cloth.

"I swear to God Peter, if I come home one day to find you dead on my doorstep, I will resurrect you just to kill you myself." You couldn't help the motherly tone that clipped your words, despite only having a few years on the boy. Peter winced both at your words and at the pressure you applied as you wiped away the blood. As you cleaned the wound, you were relieved to see that it wouldn't need stitches, but there was a good chance it would scar. You frowned.

"I know, I know! I'm sorry Leena..." He surged forwards to wrap you in a tight hug and you sighed into his hair. You'd known him since he was 6 and you were practically family now. His uncle and your dad had died the same year, your mom joining them a few years ago. You'd always looked after each other, silently vowing protection over the other with each funeral attended. A loud banging at the door pulled you both apart, and you looked at each other in silence as you went to the drawers and pulled out your handgun, Peter walking into the shadows as was protocol (though you had never had to follow it before).

You were a good shot, but Peter was much more quiet and agile - a surprise attack suited him well. You don't know when you'd both become so jumpy, perhaps it was when Aliens began ransacking the city in 2012, or when the murders on the news became more frequent, or when... It didn't really matter. The world was a shit storm, and you'd let hell freeze over before you let anyone you loved get hurt because you weren't prepared.

You looked through the peephole to see someone you most certainly would not have expected. You turned to whisper to the shadows where you knew Peter was. "It's Tony Stark!" Peter emerged quickly, pushing you out of the way to unlatch the door, leaving you gaping like a fish.

"Hey, Mr Stark!" He threw himself at the billionaire, wrapping his arms around him. The businessman-turned-superhero patted the boy's back. The dirt that covered Peter smeared across the obviously expensive navy suit, but neither seemed to care.

"Good to see you alive, kid. Friday said you had some injuries and when I looked on your suit tracker you weren't in your apartment." He pulled Peter back to stare at him sternly. "Care to explain?" You looked at the two of them in shock. Since when had Peter met Tony Stark? And since when had they become so obviously close? The worry etched across the philanthropist's face certainly seemed genuine enough.

Peter turned to look at you anxiously. "I was with Leena, I stopped a robbery a couple blocks away, but they must have got me because I was bleeding, so I came here. She does a great job of cleaning me up, and I didn't want to scare Aunt May, you know how she wo-" he babbled, looking between the two of you, but stopped as Tony made a 'zip it' motion. You frowned at Peter's words; since when did he stop robberies? You put the gun you forgot you had been holding in the waist pants of your jeans and stepped forwards, offering your hand, which was far steadier than you expected.

"I'm Leena, I've known Peter since we were kids."

Tony shakes your hand firmly. "Nice to meet you, Tony Stark." You look between the two of them as awkward silence begins to fill the air. You turn to gesture towards your apartment.

"Would you like to come in?" That was what you were supposed to do, right? Offer hospitality? You shook your head quickly to yourself. What the hell was going on?

You lead the way for the two guys, but put a hand on Peter's chest. "Go wash your hands before I catch you putting dirt in the wound I just cleaned." He offers you a salute as he turns down the corridor.

You make your way back to the kitchen to find Mr Stark lounging at the table in the spot where Peter had sat. "Tea or Coffee?" you ask. You wonder for a moment if the month old dollar brew in your cupboard is even worth offering.

"Coffee, black, one sugar." He offers you a thankful smile. You turn around and pull out three mugs, one tea, one coffee and one hot chocolate for Peter. "I bet cleaning up Mr Friendly-Neighborhood-Spider-Boy gets a bit tiring." The billionaire offers as a replacement for the silence. You stiffen, turning to stare at him.

"What?"

He curses under his breath “He didn't tell you?" The business mogul suddenly looks panicked - a glaring contrast to the confident man you'd seen on TV.

You snap your neck to look at the now-frozen Peter Parker standing in the doorway, a sheepish smile on his face.

"What the flying fuck, Peter?!"

***************

You woke the next day at noon, not as rested as you'd hoped after you'd spent most of last night arguing with Peter. You had to admit you were proud of him, and it did make a lot of sense now that you thought about it. His constant 'fights at school', how light on his feet he was, how agile, how strong he was. You were kind of pissed that you hadn't figured it out before to be honest. You had had a hard time believing it all, but once Peter pulled his suit from his stash behind the couch, you didn't really have a choice but to accept the truth. Tony Stark had also been quite nice to talk to, and the way he treated Peter as his own was so great to see. He'd always needed a father figure. Tony had watched the two of you with rapt interest, seemingly pleased to meet someone so close to Peter. After a while Peter fell asleep on the couch, his head on your shoulder and you and Tony had mouthed your goodbyes. He'd woken up about an hour later and you gave him a hug as he climbed through your window to sneak back to his own apartment.

You sat up and stretched, stifling a yawn as you padded down the hall to the kitchen. A big yellow envelope hung from your letter box and you grabbed it curiously.

EVICTION NOTICE!

"Shit!" You cursed loudly, tearing it open. You knew the landlord was a slimy bastard, but you couldn't believe he was kicking you out. He was a selfish layabout and owned a few of the apartments in the building, yours being the nicest and largest. Knowing him, he probably wanted it so he could move in with his new girlfriend. Of course, he didn't say that in the notice, only that you had two weeks to pack your things and go.

*****

You'd spent the whole day at work lost in your thoughts, barely noticing the caffeine crazed customers around you.You didn't have enough saved to move anywhere decent, yet alone pay the first month's rent upfront as most landlords wanted. You couldn't move in with family - they were all dead or on the other side of the country. You didn't really have any close friends, only your work colleagues. That left Peter's place - but you knew they didn't have a spare room and you certainly couldn't squish everything you had into their living room.

You were still racking your brains by the time the last customer left the coffee shop at 9.55PM, and you hurried to wash their cup and sweep up, locking up and leaving. You trudged through the bitter cold of late-October the five blocks back to your building, bumping into the spider-boy himself in the foyer. You began walking up the stairs together, but found Peter frowning at you as you realized he'd asked you a question. You blinked at him.

"What?"

"You alright Lele? You seem distracted."

You pushed your hair out of your face with a grimace. "I'm being evicted."

It was Peter's turn to blink at you. "What?"

"That bozo, Ethan, is kicking me out." You tried to keep the childlike petulance out of your voice but failed miserably.

"Oh, shit. What are you gonna do?" You hated to be the reason for Peter's worried expression.

"I don't know. I'll figure something out though Pete, I always do." You kissed him on the cheek and patted him on the arm as you reached your perspective doors. "Goodnight, Pete."

Friday was usually games night, but he seemed to understand your lack of excitement without you having to explain. You threw him a grateful look and went your separate ways.

Read the rest on Ao3

[milstrim]

You’re My Kid Too

Day 2: "Pick Who Dies"| Collars| Kidnapped

Mr. Stark was going to be so pissed. She was sure of it. Getting kidnapped was one thing, but allowing for Morgan to be taken too was a whole other level. She'd been babysitting for the day, taking Morgan out for a day at the Central Park Zoo as she tried to adjust to the newly repopulated world and Mr. Stark's new family. But something had happened when they'd been looking at the penguins, and she couldn't exactly remember what it was other than the hissing of gas and the whoosh! of doors clanging closed.

But then she'd woken up, cold except for a small and warm body clinging onto her desperately as it cried. She'd realized quickly that it was Morgan, and that they definitely weren't in the zoon anymore.

"Morgan?" she'd whispered in the dark, and the girl had frozen before gripping onto harder.

"Penny, Penny!" she'd cried, and Penny had sat up, wincing at the soreness in her side, and scooping Morgan into her lap, "I thought--I thought you were gone again and I didn't wanna be alone!"

She shushed the girl placatingly, "It's okay, it's okay. We're gonna be alright, okay? You just gotta be the strong girl you always are, right?" Morgan had nodded, "Good, okay, do you know how long we've been here?" She'd shrugged, "Okay, that's alright. Have you seen anyone?"

"No."

"Okay, if someone comes in you get behind me, alright? Just sit behind me and stay quiet, can you do that?"

"Yeah," Morgan had affirmed. The girl had struck true to her word when a woman had entered the room a few hours later, hiding behind her legs as the girl stood up to face their kidnapper.

The woman smiled at the two of them, and honestly, this wasn't who Penny had been expecting. She was small, barely taller than Penny herself, middle-aged, and slightly overweight. She dressed like a high school English teacher, with a short pixie cut that had turned gray, the only remnants of her original hair color being the few strands of black.

She'd gone on about revenge and the Avengers causing the loss of her own child, and really, Penny felt for her, but kidnapping a five year-old wasn't the way to go. Then the woman had left, leaving behind a small brown bag that ended up being two water bottles and ham and cheese sandwiches that she nibbled on before handing one to Morgan.

That had been two days ago, and while protecting Morgan was on the top of her to-do list, she hadn't been quite prepared for how hard it would be to entertain her, especially when she would randomly go into fits crying for her parents and Penny could do nothing but hold her. She must've played patty cake a thousand times, struggling to remember the rhyme and having to force herself to be gentle with the preschooler in front of her.

Three meals were delivered a day, and there was a toilet in the corner of the room that she thought must be an old prison room, so overall it could be worse conditions. They weren't being tortured, they were being fed, and were at least together, though they probably both smelled since they hadn't had a shower since they'd arrived.

Penny kept telling herself to wait, to lay low like Mr. Stark had always told her to do if she got kidnapped, to let him come and rescue them, and at first she had been prepared to do that, to hunker down and wait while she was with Morgan, but two days turned to six, and then nine, each night growing colder and all she could do was hug Morgan tighter.

But then she couldn't hug Morgan.

On the ninth day the woman returned, this time with two other people with solemn expressions, and Penny had immediately pressed Morgan behind her at the tingle running up and down her spine.

"Step away," the woman ordered, the bars of the cage opening with a clang!

"No," Penny said, putting steel into her voice.

"You don't have to be more involved than you already are dear," the woman said gently, as though a doting mother to her, and Penny scowled, "I don't know who you are. A nanny or a babysitter, some poor intern who got dragged into this, but I don't want to hurt you."

"And why not? You seem fine with hurting a five year-old. She hasn't even gone to kindergarten yet! If you think she has any part of the Avengers then you're either insane or stupid. I'm leaning towards the latter."

"Step aside," she said again, a little more sternness in her voice.

"No."

"Step aside."

"She's a kid!"

"She's the daughter of a murderer, and he will feel the same pain I did."

Penny's eyes shifted to the ground, hesitant but sure, she sighed, "Fine."

"What?" The woman sounded beyond surprised.

"Fine! He can feel that pain, but not through Morgan."

"How do you--"

"You think he trusts just anybody with his daughter? Some random nanny after how many people have tried to kill him? And why do you think a teenager would be nannying her? You don't think he'd hire some really professional lady?" Penny ranted, and she could feel Morgan's arms wrap around her leg, squeezing her as she cried. She wished she could comfort her, but if she wanted Morgan to be safe, she had to put all her attention into this.

"What do you mean?" the woman asked, readjusting her glasses and giving her a once over.

"I mean Tony Stark likes me. We've known each other for years and he takes care of me and him and my aunt basically share custody of me. If you--" she swallowed, "If you hurt me, then he'll feel the same pain, but you won't have to hurt Morgan."

"And how do we know this is true?" the man behind the still nameless woman asked. For the first time since they'd arrived, she turned to Morgan.

"Morgan, what are we?" she asked gently, and Morgan sniffed.

"Sisters."

Penny turned back around, point-fucking-proven (even if it was technically a lie), to look at the shocked and calculating faces. After a tense minute, the woman finally reached a conclusion, smiling a little as she looked at her.

"Okay, works for me. We'll send it to Stark, and if what you're saying is true--and you don't fight back--then the kid will be safe. Deal?"

"Deal," Penny agreed without hesitation. They beckoned for her to leave the cell, and she began to move forward, but Morgan continued to clutch onto her harder.

"No! NO! PENNY!! DON'T GO!!" the girl cried, sobbing hysterically, but Penny had to go, she had to keep Morgan safe. Glancing between the impatient faces and Morgan's snot-covered and crying one, she kneeled down, prying the little hands away from her leg as gently as she possibly could.

"It's okay. It's okay, Morggie. Remember what I said about being brave?" A nod, "Good. Just, try and be calm, and it'll be okay. I'll make it okay."

"Promise?"

Penny hesitated, but Morgan's eyes were too wide and too smart and too much exactly like Mr. Stark's, "I promise. Pinky promise."

She held out her pinky, and Morgan accepted, tears still leaking out of her eyes as Penny stood up and stepped out of the small cell, allowing for her hands to be cuffed behind her back. She kept eye contact with Morgan the entire time, trying for a smile and not looking away until she was moving and down the hallway.

She was right about it being an old prison, the walls crumbling stone and covered in frost. She knew it was winter, but wherever they were it was cold. And every step away from Morgan became colder and colder until she was finally led into a room with a singular metal chair and a camera pointed at it.

The next few hours were some of the worst of her life.

  Penny was dumped back into her and Morgan's cell the next day, barely aware of the world around her. After their little homemade video in which Penny had done her very best assuring Mr. Stark that Morgan was okay and that she was keeping her safe, she'd been left chained to the chair in the room while they sent it or whatever. She guessed they were just being extra careful about not being found, but it had sucked.

Nothing in this place was particularly comfortable, but that chair and that freezing empty room with the knowledge of Morgan alone barely a hallway over was the worst part of all of it. Yet she didn't want Morgan to see her the way she was right now.

Her arms and hands were coated in red that was dried and sticky, her lips blue and the hair atop her head--so thick and desperately in need of a cut--was still damp and clung to her skin. There were cuts and burns littering her body, and she knew she must look a mess, a true horror to the girl once again crying and pulling at her hair to try and get her to move.

"Penny? Penny, please. Wake up! If-If I have to be brave, you do too!" Morgan practically begged, and she began to stir, forcing herself onto her arms and knees, collapsing onto the barred wall instead. Morgan stared at her, scared and timid.

"It's okay, Morggie. I'm okay, see, I'm right here," Penny tried to assure, "You're doing so good. So good. Just--just be brave for a little longer, okay?"

"How much longer?"

"Not long."

And it wouldn't be. They couldn't stay here. Penny had held them off with the promise of torturing her instead, but these people were crazy, and she knew it was only a matter of time before they moved onto Morgan. The couldn't wait any longer.

  The teen didn't even wait a day. She waited until the next morning when they were afforded their stupid sandwiches and water that she would throw out the stupid window if it weren't for the hunger that clawed at her chest.

The woman, different than the short and stout ringleader, approached with their bags of food. Penny was still sitting on the bars, waiting, limp and unsuspecting, until they were close enough. She struck out, grabbing their foot and easily unbalancing them. Quick as a shot, she stood up and punched them through the bars, letting her drop to the floor unconscious.

Morgan yelped in surprise, staring at the woman crumpled on the ground. But then she clapped, "Are we leaving?"

"Yep. We're going home, Mongoose," she affirmed.

"Back to Mommy and Daddy?"

"Back to Mommy and Daddy."

Morgan smiled, and then they were walking down the hallways. Morgan carried the little brown bags of food as they stalked through the hallway, Penny on edge as she escorted them to the door. They managed to not come across anyone, which was good, because Penny doubted she could fight at this point. She was limping and tired to the bone, her right arm swollen and her eye still black. If it came down to it, she'd take someone down, but they needed to get out as quick as possible.

But when they finally found the door, she hesitated. It was freezing, beyond cold. Now don't get her wrong, she knew what cold was like, New York was plenty freezing during the winter, but now she wore nothing but a shirt and jeans, as well as a hoodie wrapped around her waist. And it wasn't just cold, Penny didn't do well in the cold, it was a storm. Penny did doubley worse in a storm.

It wasn't snow that rained down, but freezing sleet and pouring rain that thundered against the slick pavement outside. She gulped. This was bad, but they couldn't stay here. Maybe...maybe she could find a way to contact Tony, but then she'd be caught, and then Morgan would be tortured. And if this was an old prison, then, well, there had to be some kind of society around.

She weighed her chances, and then she weighed Morgan's chances. Outside was better for Morgan but worse for her, so outside it was.

"Are we going out there? It looks scary," Morgan mumbled. Penny knelt down at eye level with her sister.

"I know it does, but we have to go out, okay? We'll find Daddy and Mommy out there."

"Uncle Rhodey too?"

"Especially Uncle Rhodey," Penny affirmed, taking her hoodie and putting it on Morgan, "I'm gonna carry you, can you keep the food safe for me?"

"Yeah!" Morgan said, brightening at the thought of helping.

"Great," she said, picking the girl up with a pained grunt, "Let's go."

  The cold, to put it simply, stinked.

It tore at her cuts, burning and freezing. It soaked her to the bone, wrapped her in nothing but frost and ice, making her feel as though she were trapped at the bottom of a lake during winter. And Penny's inability to keep herself warm certainly didn't help. She couldn't shiver and she couldn't warm up, the most she could do was hold Morgan close to her and hope to God that she was as dry and warm as she could possibly be.

Morgan was a trooper though. Barely complaining, only ever asking how long until they were home twice, which was considerable constraint for a five year-old. Apparently the answer to when they'd get home--or at least at a town--was four hours. Four hours of trudging over wet, slushy ground. Four hours of wandering until she found railroad tracks to follow. Four hours until a house finally appeared through the gray storm.

"Morgan, look. A house!" she choked out in relief at the sight of it. She heard Morgan let out a pitiful cry in response, and Penny could do nothing but continue to stumble forward. There were a few more houses surrounding it, but she stuck with the nearest one, ducking between the cars and stumbling onto the porch.

Her vision was hazy as she rang the doorbell, hugging Morgan tighter to her. Due to the late hour it took a few minutes for someone to answer, the door finally being flung open by an old woman, who gaped at them in shock.

"Please..." Penny begged, "2-1-2. 6-5-5. 9-0-0-8. 2-1-2. 6-5-5. 9-0-0-8. 2-1-2. 6-5-5. 9-0-0-8. 2-1-2..."

When Penny passed out, making sure to land on her back and not Morgan, she was still repeating those numbers, mumbling as the woman screamed in surprise. She really hoped she remembered the number.

  Tony stared intently at the girl in front of him. She was still pale, even after being in the Medbay for two days, though her cuts and burns had thankfully healed. Hypothermia was the kicker, but he knew she'd push through. She had too.

Morgan had managed to full recover, which made sense. She hadn't been blue when he'd found her, well, when he'd gotten a call in the middle of the night from some lady in Canada saying that two girls had shown up on her doorstep repeating his number. His heart had leapt in joy, in relief. He'd gotten the video of Penny being tortured barely a few hours earlier, and it had been the worst experience of his life.

He'd thrown up, unable to take Penny's cries telling him that Morgan was safe all the while she hadn't been.

His kids being taken had been a truly crippling experience, especially with no contact. He'd begun to break by day five of no contact, and when he'd gotten that video of Penny, he'd almost been relieved, and it made him sick. Whoever had taken Penny, well, he'd been playing right into their hands.

But Penny had escaped, had taken Morgan and run at the first sign of real danger, and he couldn't be more grateful to have one kid in his lap and the other laying in front of him. Though he'd prefer Penny be awake.

Like his thoughts had summoned her, she blinked awake within the next few minutes. Her heart rate picked up as she looked around the room, then calmed down as she caught sight of him. She smiled sleepily.

"Hey, Mr. Stark," she greeted, "Is she okay?"

"She's great. What about you? How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Morgan's safe. She's safe, Mr. Stark."

"I know, Penny. I know," he assured, moving to grip her hand, "And now you're safe too, okay? Even though you walked through -20 degree weather knowing you can't keep warm."

"I thought the cold would get me," she admitted, "But they were going to go for Morgan next. They were going to hurt her."

His hand shook, "They hurt you. And you're my kid too, Penny." She looked at him with wide eyes, so he carried on, "You're my kid, just like Morgan. So please know you gave me a heart attack."

"Oh, I already knew that, Mr. Stark. Not the--not the kid part. But the uh, heart part."

He smiled, shaking his head. Sniffing in disdain, he pressed a kiss to her head, cupping Morgan closer to himself so as to keep her from waking up, "Whatever, kid. Just know that I love you and go back to sleep."

She smiled, and blinking tiredly, she drifted once more.

[diaryofabeautyfiend]

Small Time Witch (15)

The water in the stream lapped at its banks swelling from the melting mountain snow. You and Bethany brought out sand bags and placed them around the perimeter of the house. How high the water rose depended on the snowfall. It always flooded in the bend of the stream which is why you never understood why Helene built here. “Rushing water holds energy. It amplifies everything we do.” It also amplified the chance that you’d be redoing the floors in a few weeks.

“Why can’t your mother just use her powers? This would be a lot easier.” Bethany would ask as she dropped another bag.

“Because there are consequences to us using our powers which is why I was shipped off.”

“And here I thought it was so you didn’t face prosecution for almost killing Bobby.” You flicked mud at her.

“I didn’t almost kill him. He was fine.” She threw mud back.

“He pissed himself. Charles Xavier had to tell everyone he had a seizure.” You both laughed.

“Girls! Get cleaned up for dinner.” Helene called from the porch.

“Yes, Aunt Helene” you said in unison.

“Why can’t you stay? We miss you.”

“You know it’s for all our own good, Bethy. I’m the only one with a dangerous power.”

“Hey! I can freeze stuff!”

You giggled, “Yeah only if everyone is real quiet and you are well hydrated.”

🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕

You often dreamed of being back home but it was rare they were good dreams. Mostly you had nightmares about the day everyone died. Rarely did you have dreams when you felt happy.

You woke up a little misty eyed. Goodness did you miss your family. You were so lost in thought that you didn’t hear Steve calling your name. “Earth to Y/N. You ok?”

“Yeah. Bad dream.” You got out of bed and started getting ready for your day. He watched you smiling as you hummed your way through your morning routine. You were not in your usual work attire when you finished.

“Where are you going today?” he asked confused. “Aren’t you usually a little more put together for work?”

“I have the day off. I have Strange all morning and then off to Dr. Calloway.” You wrapped your arms around his waste. He hugged you back.

“Will you tell your doctor about your bad dreams? You looked so lost this morning. I hate seeing my girl that way.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“I am not your boss. I am not giving you orders. Just the concerned boyfriend.”

“Yes. My very bossy boyfriend. I’ll tell him. It’s not like he ever really explores anything. It’s all ‘how does that make you feel?’ and ‘Let’s up your anti depressants.’”

“Does that work?”

“Would work if I was actually depressed. I think I might stop seeing him after today’s session.” Steve’s whole body got stiff.

“Why? Since you’ve been seeing him you haven’t accidentally shocked anyone.”

“That wasn’t his doing. I didn’t shock you in Germany did I?” No. Loki taught you how to control yourself. He would scoff at anti-depressants. Nothing was wrong with them if they were actually doing anything for you. They just dulled your senses and made you feel nauseous. “Well. I have to get going.”

“No breakfast?” You smiled at him over your shoulder.

“I’ll grab a banana on the way out. Love you!”

“Love you too. Hey! We have a mission briefing at four. Don’t be late.”

“Yes, sir.” They asked you to run point on an operation in Alaska. It was dealing with enhanced people and there was some intel that said they were a lot like you. That was the only information they gave.

Steve waited until he saw your car drive down the road before he called Tony. “We have a problem. She’s talking about leaving Dr.Calloway’s care.”

“Shit. Ok. I’ll call and give him a heads up. She cannot stop taking those meds, Steve. Not until we can convince Strange to bind her powers.”

Steve squeezed his eyes closed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Are we sure we want to do this? Maybe Strange is right. With the proper training she can control it. She was doing well with Loki. She never hurt me again.”

“Cap, maybe one day you’ll be on our side. I read her SHIELD file. Fury was right. The girl is a nuclear bomb with a short fuse. This Alaska thing is huge. We need her to control herself. A lot of lives are at stake. Get it together, Steve.” With that Tony hung up.

Steve felt nauseous. He hated doing this to you. He adored you. If you found out he was lying to you...he hated to think what you’d do. He’d deserve it. He picked up the phone and called the only person he believed would be able to guide him.

“Professor? This is Steve Rogers. I’m wondering if you would have some time talk to me about one of your former students. I can be there within the hour. Thank you, sir. I’ll see you soon.” He grabbed the keys to his bike and headed to the school.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

You made it a few minutes early to Doctor Strange. You were spooked every time you went to the mansion on Bleeker. Wong greeted you at the door and said Strange would be meeting you shortly. You browsed the volumes on the bookshelves. You selected one that looked tattered but well loved. When you opened the pages it blinked out of your hands and was replaced by a cup of tea. You actually liked the tea.

“That is not for you. Let’s get started.”

“What’s that one about? Transfiguration? Can I learn that?”

“Not today. Focus, Y/N.”

Strange was always a bit terse with you. He had absolutely no patience. You wished someone else was teaching you. You received no feedback unless you did something wrong. He didn’t tolerate chit chat or small talk of any kind. At least when you worked with Wong he gave you treats when you did something well. The only consolation you got was that you knew he was looking out for you. That meant sometimes he told you things you wished you didn’t have to hear.

“Your boss came to see me yesterday. He asked me to bind your powers. I told him to fuck off.” You felt like the air left your body. You knew Fury had secret plans for you but Tony? He was supposed to be a good guy.

“Did he say why?”

“Yes. Some crap about you killing a kid when you were younger. That attack at the school. I know what happened that day. You don’t have to worry about me. Just saying watch your back. They are escalating from the Wolfsbane.”

You wanted to ask if Steve knew but you were sure he did. Tears started flowing down your cheeks which made Strange uncomfortable. “You are doing well here, kid. We can be done for today. See you next week.” Before you had a chance to say anything he shoved you through a portal.

“I know how to use a door!” You shouted towards the house. You shot Steve a text letting him know you were done a little early if he wanted to have lunch. When he didn’t answer after a few minutes you decided to completely blow off your doctor’s appointment and go shopping instead. It’s pretty rare when you had time to yourself these days so you decided to take advantage.

Escalating from the wolfsbane. It was entirely possible that your boss and your boyfriend knew they were poisoning you. It was also possible they didn’t if they were fed wrong information. There were some studies that showed Aconite in low low doses can help with anxiety and in rare cases heart failure. You had to know how to handle the herb correctly. Even the most practiced healer would try a thousand other herbs before this one. Dr. Calloway didn’t seem like he was on the up and up from your first visit. When you read the label on the medicine bottle you decided not to take it because you knew what it was. You showed it to Strange who suggested you call the police since you were being poisoned. “He’s clearly not a licensed medical professional. There are hundreds of safe drugs on the market to handle anxiety. This will kill you.”

The two of you compounded an antidote for the medication. You tell Steve it’s vitamins. The little person in your head was frantically waving red flags at you. Not a good sign that he watched you take the pills every day. Not good at all.

🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞

The first time walking into Charles Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters was intimidating. It sat on a large expanse of land which was crawling with children. A few of the younger kids ran up to Steve marveling at him. “It’s Captain America!” They shouted. He gave high fives and pats on the head. Ororo greeted him at the front door.

“Captain Rogers. Nice to meet you. I’m Ororo Munroe. I am an instructor here and I work directly with Professor Xavier. He’s just finishing up a class. I’ll show you to his office.” Steve shook her hand. He was mesmerized by the crystal blue of her eyes.

“This is a cool operation you have here. Not unlike the Avengers compound except we only house adult children.”

“Trust me we have several of those ourselves. Tell me, the Professor said you were inquiring about a former student. I’ve been here for quite some time. Perhaps I can help.”

“Sure. Her name is Y/N Y/L/N. She’s working with us on a operation in Alaska. She also happens to be my girlfriend.” Ororo paused for a moment.

“Of course. How is she doing? Terrible what happened to her family. She was a great student. What kind of mission are you going on that you’d need that kind of fire power?” Steve stayed quiet until they were sure to be away from tiny ears.

“She’s doing well. Her power is what I wanted to talk to Professor Xavier about.”

A voice came from out of nowhere. It was gentle tinged with a hint of amusement. “Y/N is quite a woman. Your team is lucky to have her at your disposal.” Steve shook his hand and sat in the chair across from the large desk. Ororo and a few other X-men protectively flanked the Professor.

“She is, sir, though I may be a bit biased. The reason I’m here is because members of my team have expressed some concern about the strength of her power and her inability to control herself in times of great stress. She has been taking a medication called Aconite prescribed by a Dr. Calloway to help with stress and anxiety....”

A woman whom he did not immediately notice spoke up, “Aconite is Wolfsbane, Captain Rogers. It’s poisonous. It also strips powers. Why would she ever agree to that?” Based on your description Steve guessed this was your Aunt Agatha. The tension in the room grew considerably. He was unaware that he was poisoning you.

“You must be Aunt Agatha. I’ve heard a lot about you....” Steve stood to shake her hand when another woman interrupted.

“The doctor told her they are anti-depressants. I’m Jean Grey. Don’t get up, Captain Rogers. They lied to both of you. Stephen Strange will never agree to bind her powers. Not against her will. You people are unbelievable.” Steve’s jaw clenched. He ran his hands over his face and through his hair. The Professor saw him getting overwhelmed so he ordered everyone out except Agatha.

“Captain Rogers, Y/N is quite capable of controlling herself. There were a few incidents when she was younger but she’s come a long way. From what we hear she is doing quite well under Stephen Strange’s tutelage. Why bind her now?”

“I agree. There are those who don’t. I’ve read her SHIELD file. She killed a kid on these grounds under your care. For the safety of this mission we need her to be in as much emotional control as possible. We are working under SHIELD on this one so I’m afraid any details are classified.” He tossed the folder on his desk. Xavier and Agatha read over the incident report.

“This report is inaccurate. We were under attack on the day in question. As an older student she was charged with getting younger students to safety. This young man was too severely injured. He died in her arms. She was able to absorb his power of empathy. It took several months of therapy and training to cope with the gravity of this new skill.” Xavier looked away from him as he recalled the day. It was obviously very painful.

Steve grew more agitated. It was clear someone was lying to him and now he was an accomplice in poisoning you. He thanked the Professor for his time and decided to take the long way home to cool off. “Captain Rogers. Fear of our unique abilities is what started the war all those years ago. You need not fear what you don’t understand.”

“I love her, Professor. I’m not afraid of her. I’m afraid of what other people want with her. I’m not going to let anyone use her anymore. You have my word.” The only thing Steve wanted to do was get to Tony to find out why he was pushing so hard to bind you.

“Scott, find out what interest the Avengers have in Alaska. Why are they being sent there?” The Professor sent out a team to do some reconnaissance work. Perhaps the X-men would join the Avengers on their trip.

[violetwolfraven]

eek also this is a lot but ikeshot for 7, 14, 26, 33, 39 or 43?

Angst in general.

Nightmares.

You have a scar and I asked about it and it’s really angsty.

I thought I lost you and you need to be more careful you dumbass.

and

You fought me (verbally or physically) and I am s h o o k.

*cracks knuckes* aight then.

I haven’t written ikeshot yet! This’ll be my first time figuring out how I wanna portray their dynamic, so we’ll see how it goes.

I’m gonna do all of them except 33 cause that one doesn’t really work with the idea I have but I can combine all the others.

...

This wasn’t the first time Ike had stayed the night in Brooklyn, but it was the first he’d been woken up by a jolt.

It had taken him months to get this far, the point where he was sharing a bed with a Brooklyn boy, where he was pretty sure he was in love with said Brooklyn boy, where he was even welcome in Brooklyn after dark.

It had been a long and confusing road, starting a couple weeks after they won the strike.

See, Mike did this thing with his lover where they were super paranoid about getting caught. And yeah, that was good for safety, when courting a boy could get you killed or arrested, but Mike and Jojo took it to a whole new level, almost never even sitting on the same side of a room while outside the Lodging House.

And as much as Ike liked that his brother was keeping safe, this was also really fucking annoying, because it meant he had to deal with the pining.

So, he’d asked to tag along to Sheepshead with Race for a day, figuring a day of alone time with his boy might tone down Mike’s annoyingness a little. And Race occasionally took a partner to Brooklyn with him, anyway. He hadn’t done it in a while, but nothing bad had happened before.

And besides, since the strike, inter-borough relations had been better than ever out of a proud kind of solidarity. No big deal, right?

Wrong. They’d split up for maximum efficiency, and barely an hour later Ike was getting dragged away from the entrance to the races he was staking out and into an alley across the street, by which time he was getting thrown against a wall before he even got a look at who was dragging him.

Then he’d looked up, already raising his fists, and seen probably the tallest boy in New York.

Ike had remembered seeing him at the rally, this kid about his age who usually stuck pretty close to Spot Conlon, and he’d made the mistake of lowering his guard.

“Hey! I remember you! You’s Brooklyn’s second, right? What was your name again? Uh... Heat?”

This kid smirked, “Hotshot.”

Then he’d punched Ike in the face.

It was hard enough that Ike was knocked to the ground, but he was on his feet again in an instant, raising his fists again.

“I’m Ike,” he panted, “And I’m here—“

He’d been cut off by having to dodge another punch, trying to throw one of his own, but only getting kneed in the stomach after Hotshot blocked it.

Still, he’d raised his fists again, coughing as he tried to ignore the urge to curl in on himself.

“Don’t know when to give up, do ya?”

Ike smiled, still gasping for breath, “Nope! Don’t mean we have to fight, though.”

Hotshot just punched him again, “You’re on the wrong side of the bridge, Manhattan boy.”

“And that’s grounds enough to soak someone?”

“Hey!”

At that point, Hotshot froze, turning to see Race running into the alley.

“He’s with me, Hotshot! Jeez!”

“Well, he didn’t say—“

“Ya didn’t give me a chance to,” Ike interrupted.

Race had helped Ike up, glaring at the Brooklyn boy despite how Hotshot was much taller and stronger.

“I ain’t gonna tell on you, but kid, you need to learn to think before ya start swingin’. If Spot asks about me, I’m sellin’ with Albert today.”

Race had helped Ike get home, then actually gone to sell with Albert, but on the way back, he’d answered Ike’s questions, about how someone that young and hotheaded could help lead the biggest borough in New York.

“Hotshot’s young, you’re right. He’s your age, actually—14. And yeah, he’s defensive. But I’s known him a while, and there’s more to him than that. The short version is that he’s either a good friend or a bad enemy. Once ya got his loyalty, ya got it forever. That’s why he’s Brooklyn’s second. He’s one of the few Spot actually trusts.”

With that description combined with the way Ike had honestly never met anyone who punched that hard, he was just a little intrigued. Maybe it wasn’t smart, but he’d went back to Brooklyn a week later, not selling this time, but just looking for that one Brooklyn boy.

He’d found him, selling at Coney. And Brooklyn boys usually didn’t sell with partners, so Ike hadn’t had trouble sneaking up on him.

“Hey.”

That was the only warning he gave before putting a hand on Hotshot’s shoulder to spin him around and punch him in the face.

Hotshot had wheeled back, raising his own fist.

“You got ‘bout four hits on me for no reason—I thinks I deserve one free shot!”

Slowly, Hotshot had lowered his hand, still glaring at him, but not as much.

“Fair is fair. Now go back to Manhattan.”

Ike was going to, honestly, but then figured, ‘what’s the worst that could happen?’ and didn’t.

“So, how often do ya beat up kids from other boroughs without askin’ for their story?”

“Are you completely fearless, or just stupid?”

“Both, probably. Ya gonna answer the question, or punch my daylights out?”

“I ain’t decided yet.”

“Well, while you’re decidin’, I heard you’re close with Spot Conlon. What’s he really like? Is he always that scary, or is it just an act?”

For the next several weeks, it was like that. It was Ike coming over, finding Hotshot wherever he was, and annoying the hell out of him.

And Hotshot always said he was going to punch him, but he never did. Slowly, he started actually answering Ike’s questions, at least a few of them, and asking a few in return. Ike wouldn’t necessarily call them friends, but they definitely knew each other better, now.

“One of these days, I’m actually gonna punch ya,” Hotshot grumbled once, when Ike asked a question a little too personal.

“Every time ya say that, I believe you less,” Ike said cheerfully, “Anyway, I’s heard Brooklyn’s got great sunrises. Is that true?”

Hotshot actually smiled a little, “I dunno if it’s any better than Manhattan, but yeah, we’s gotten some pretty nice ones over here.”

It took a couple months, but Ike started figuring out that by even talking to him, Hotshot was letting down his guard, little by little. He let it down a bit more as he started letting Ike touch him, allowing a handshake when they met up, or a punch in the shoulder in a friendly way.

Once he realized how much Hotshot was trusting him by doing those little things, Ike realized that against his better judgement, he trusted him, too. He liked spending time with Hotshot, probably too much.

Definitely too much, with how he was stupid enough to walk through a November rainstorm months after they met just to see him.

By the time he got to Brooklyn, he was freezing, wet, and disoriented enough that he’d ended up passing out in front of a random store, just so the awning would keep the rain off.

He’d woken up in the Brooklyn Lodging House in the middle of the night, with Hotshot holding him in a bed.

Actually, he’d kind of jolted awake, and apparently woken up Hotshot with him as the Brooklyn boy whispered an explanation to him.

“Hildy found ya damn near frozen. By the time she got ya back here, you were almost dead and needed body heat bad.”

“Oh,” Ike whispered back, almost too terrified to move or even speak.

“That’s all ya got to say, you idiot?” Hotshot hissed, clearly angry as his arm around Ike’s waist tightened, “What were you thinkin’, walkin’ here in a storm?”

Ike was still pretty confused, and for once, he couldn’t even think of something to say.

Then Hotshot sighed, “I thought you were gonna die.”

Oh. So that was what this was about. He wasn’t angry—not at Ike, really, at least.

Ike had finally let himself relax against the taller boy’s chest, enjoying how warm Hotshot actually was.

“Ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

Hotshot had exhaled kind of sharply, and Ike was praying to a god he didn’t believe in that he wasn’t misreading things, but he’d rolled over so he was facing Brooklyn’s second, their faces barely inches apart, though it was so dark that Ike couldn’t really see him.

Beyond that, he hadn’t wanted to make the first move, mostly out of fear. In Manhattan, it was pretty common knowledge that many of them liked the same sex, but Brooklyn was different. It was less of a family and more of almost a gang. Ike wasn’t sure how Hotshot would react if he did anything.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to do anything, because yes, Ike liked boys, and he’d made peace with that, but being with one made it dangerous. Mike wasn’t the only was who was terrified of getting caught, for good reason.

Then Hotshot’s hand had come up to touch a scar on the side of Ike’s face. One he guessed he’d probably never noticed before because their faces had never been this close.

It had been from a pretty bad wound, but was so faded that it looked minor now, because he’d gotten it so long ago.

“I didn’t give you this, did I?”

Ike shook his head, “No. I’ve had that scar since I was 8.”

“How’d ya get a scar so bad it still shows now when you were 8?”

Ike had taken a deep breath, forced down panic over events he’d rather forget, and decided to tell him the truth.

“My brother and me,” he whispered, “Our parents died when we were really young. So’s we got brought up by our mom’s sister and her lover... her lover who was... also a woman.”

Ike paused there, waiting for Hotshot’s reaction.

There really wasn’t one, and he’d felt a bit of relief at that.

“They was good at bein’ subtle,” Ike continued, “So nobody suspected anythin’ for a long while. But then when me and Mike were 8... some bad people figured it out and... and those men came in the night and set the house on fire. I guess we’s lucky to have made it out at all—our aunts weren’t that lucky—but...”

His voice trailed off. Ike didn’t like admitting that he wasn’t this happy-go-lucky kid all the time. He hadn’t told anyone about this, ever. Mike had told Jack, years ago, to explain why they had bad days sometimes, but Ike had never been able to talk about it.

He’d felt Hotshot take a deep breath, and then the other boy had pulled him closer, right against his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination when, later, once Ike was halfway into a dream, he thought he might have felt a kiss being pressed to his hair.

Ike had known right there that something had changed between them, and though Mike gave him hell for staying out all night the next morning, he couldn’t say it wasn’t worth it.

He didn’t know if they were... what, did you call it courting? He didn’t know if what they were doing had a label or if spending a significant amount of their free time together qualified as being together.

But, after that first night, Ike did spend the night in Brooklyn a few more times, sharing a bed with Hotshot under the excuse that he’d lost track of time the Brooklyn Lodging House didn’t have one to spare. In reality, he stayed over because sharing a bed, sharing warmth with Brooklyn’s second... it was nice. It was somehow different from crawling in with Mike if nightmares got bad or huddling on the fire escape with Crutchie and Jack if he didn’t make enough to pay for his bed one night.

Sharing a bed with Hotshot was comforting even when nothing was actually wrong. It was safe and warm and it made Ike feel all fuzzy inside and...

Not that he knew how to say it, not that he could say it, but Ike was pretty sure this was what falling in love felt like.

It was scary, but he didn’t want to stop falling.

Of course, he wasn’t planning on telling Hotshot how he felt. Not unless the other boy made the first move. Or unless they decided to get drunk for some reason. Or if it happened to come up in conversation.

Okay... maybe Ike really wanted to tell him, but he just didn’t know how to go about it.

Well, he’d been sitting on this for a long while already, so Ike still really didn’t know when he was going to tell him, but he still felt the need to follow when he felt Hotshot jolt awake, just before rolling out of bed and leaving the room.

“Hotshot?”

Ike followed him out onto the fire escape, finding the taller boy staring down over the edge, a death grip on the railing.

“Hotshot, are you okay?”

Ike moved to stand next to him, making sure it was clear and visible what he was doing as he put a hand over Hotshot’s on the railing.

For a few seconds, he didn’t react. He didn’t even give a sign that he’d heard or even felt Ike touching him.

Then, slowly, he let go of the railing, flipping his hand over so he could intertwine their fingers.

Hotshot exhaled shakily, most of the tension leaving his frame. Ike took that as a sign that it was okay to lean his head against his shoulder.

“Ya gonna tell me what this is about?”

For a minute, he thought he wasn’t going to.

Then Hotshot took a wavering breath and spoke, still staring over the edge of the fire escape.

“Ya once asked how many kids I’s beat up for no reason,” he said quietly, “I don’t know. I get in fights a lot. I get angry and... and usually, Spot tells me where to aim it, but it ain’t always enough. I always have more and if I don’t put it somewhere, it’ll just build till I... till I explode.”

Ike nodded. He understood. He already knew this about Hotshot. He’d figured out that anger was his drive a long time ago.

“I... I learned that from my folks.”

Ike froze. In all their conversations over the last few months, Hotshot had never shared any personal information beyond the fact that he saw Spot as an older brother.

“They’d get angry,” Hotshot said shakily, “And when they’d explode, they’d...”

His voice faltered, and Ike touched his arm with his free hand, trying to ground him. He could read between the lines and though it made him angry and sad as hell, he knew there was nothing he could do about it.

“I... I got myself out when I was 12,” he mumbled, “Finally just couldn’t take it anymore and ran like hell—ended up here. And I know it’s been a couple years, now, but... but I still go back there some nights, when I’m sleepin’.”

His voice was shaking a little, by the end of that, and Ike tugged on his arm gently so he could turn Hotshot to face him.

He wasn’t sure he was going to allow it, but to his relief, Hotshot hugged him back, leaning down to bury his face in Ike’s shoulder.

“You’re here,” Ike whispered, “They can’t hurt ya here, Hotshot. You’re safe.”

Hotshot wasn’t crying, but he was shaking a little in the cold. It was winter, for crying out loud. Winter at night. And though the Brooklyn kids did wear sleeves like reasonable people in winter, most of them didn’t sleep in their shirts.

“Can we take this inside?” Ike asked, knowing that he was cold, even being a little more dressed for the weather than Hotshot was.

The taller boy nodded shakily and they went inside, curling up together in that bunk, the closeness for comfort as much as warmth.

Feeling brave for a minute, Ike leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on the Hotshot’s forehead.

Hotshot went rigid, but the expression on his face was pure surprise, not any kind of disgust, and he didn’t pull away.

Ike offered him a small smile before rolling over, so as not to push things.

He definitely wasn’t complaining when Hotshot pulled him against his chest to sleep for the rest of the night.

[tamedbyafox]

Its been a year since I had COVID.

Its been a year since I admitted that tickle in my throat was more than a tickle. That I’d definitely coughed 10 times today, which isn’t normal.That I wasn’t going to bed at 8 because I was bored, and that 1:30 PM nap wasn’t because I could, it was because I was too tired to keep sitting upright at my desk.

That when I took a deep breath....it wasn’t right. That it shouldn’t hurt like that. That my “in for four” was more of an in for three, maybe, and its not the same three its been since I was 12 and I first stared doing that silly routine a few times a day.

Its been a year since I caught covid and spent two weeks coughing, taking long hot showers, sleeping 16 hours a day when I wasn’t choking. Vomiting and praying and barely able to life a gallon of milk.

Me, the chef connoisseur, last week baking soda bread and making butter and prepping elaborate meals. The only thing I had the energy for was pasta with butter. The only thing I could keep down was a little chicken and some pasta.

Vomiting in literally every room in my apartment. Its not terribly common to get vomiting. Its atypical. But in a rough case, definitely happens. Vomiting from my bed, through the living room, through the bathroom, finally making it to the toilet. Winded and empty, tired and gross. Realizing I need to clean this. All of this. And it was bedtime - it was 8:30 PM and I knew I would be out cold soon, no matter what.

I drank over a gallon of water a day because there wasn’t anything more they thought might help me, just rest and liquids. Until...unless.... well, every few hours walk a few times across your apartment and if you can’t do it 4 times call me, if you can’t do it twice call 911. See if you can’t get a pulse oximeter. Pray someone will deliver it, since you shouldn’t go anywhere.

My temperature soaring and the Tylenol keeping it just under tight management. My fingers and toes freezing and shivering while I could feel my forehead burn. A humidifier I could barely lift. Hot showers and steam twice a day to keep the lungs moist and moving.

The fear. The raw fear. My mother’s voice on the other end of the phone, fresh out of the hospital herself - just getting out before the first waves landed, slipping out of her NeuroICU bed right before it was wheeled to a COVID ward. She cannot help me. She cannot come to me. She cannot help me. She cannot come to me. I must do this alone. I can cry for my mother all I want. I cannot cry for my mother when she calls. All she can do is call me and tell me to make some tea, go to bed, call her when I need her. My father dropping off food at the base of my apartment stairs and choking up; saying how relieved he is that I could make it up and down the three flights of stairs twice. My father trying to make jokes over the phone as he checks to see if I need anything, knowing I need a space that isn’t about...this. To give me just a few minutes of close-to-normal.

The voice of my grandmothers, both trying to tell me I sound so good, I sound like I’m getting stronger, I sound like I’m doing well. You sound so good my girl, you sound so good. I am so grateful, you sound so good as I mute my phone for coughing fits. My aunt talking to me about Easter, distracting me, keeping me focused on how next year, next year we’ll have Easter again. I send her pictures of my Easter breakfast. She catches that all the dishes are from her or her mother. We talk tradition. She was waiting as I coughed. Muting the phone when I realize its a fit. Don’t worry them too much, they don’t need to know. (Little would I learn, they were scared, I sounded terrible and my aunt said she wished I would rest, not try to talk. How could I tell her I needed someone there? In case I stopped breathing? someone had to hear my voice go.)

My friends. So kind. So willing. To sit on the phone with me, tell me anything please god don’t make me talk just please don’t let me be alone, the scariest part is that I am here and I am alone and dear god I don’t want to die alone. Across states and time zones and schedules they keep me safe and sane and saw me to bed.

Staring at the ceiling as my heart races. I don’t know why my heart is racing. Covid causes strokes in young people and my mom just had an aneurysm and what if its genetic and what if this pain in my arm is the heart attack they say covid can cause and why can’t I sleep and why is my heart rate above 140 all I am doing is laying here. Is this a panic attack or a heart attack; most days I know this is a panic attack but today I don’t know anything.

Zoom with my doctor.  Another Zoom with my doctor. Every few days, Zoom with my doctor. She has taken care of me since I was 12. I begged to be allowed to see her, asked her to take me even though I was young. She has known my mother for longer. She knew me when I was just a clump of cells inside my mother. She is not a kind woman. She has never been a kind woman. I love that about her, she is business and brusque and funny and takes care and kicks you out. And she lingers with me. She lets me talk, she is gentle. She doesn’t tell me that Day 10 is the critical day until our second to last appointment. She doesn’t explain a cytokine storm until we’re on the cusp. I enter that appointment feeling...better. My head is clear. I was able to stay up to 9:30 before I needed to sleep. I was excited and I had a real in-breath that day.

When she told me that the next few days. Things might just...change. There’s no predicting it, no telling, not until.... not until you need to call.  I leave knowing that this better feeling could be an Indian summer and  I fear it like I fear the first storms of November.

Two long weeks. Of absolute misery. Of being so fucking tired. So fucking scared. Another week. Trying to just get back to myself and get to a point I felt like I came home without being covered in virus. To throw myself into my father’s arms and finally feel safe again. A few more days. Until I can’t take it and I have doctor’s approval and I want to go HOME.

Do you know, that from April until August, I counted myself lucky? When I got sick, we had just learned that initial data categorized non-hospitalized pneumonia as a “mild” case. I thought I had a “mild” case. Of course, I was still breathing, it was mild. I was so grateful. so grateful. It was not that bad, just a mild case, just...just COVID. We didn’t know how many people actually died. 2 percent? 10 percent? We thought it lived on surfaces for weeks and that you couldn’t get it if you wiped your groceries.

I was so happy that I had a “mild” case. Until I learned that some people barely get symptoms. Until my friend told me that of the folks he knew, I had it worst. Until I realized in January that the heavy humidifier I could barely life half full, to lug just 10 feet onto a stand, wasn’t heavy. I carried it full, one handed, three times that distance without a blink. When my doctor, that callous woman, grabbed my hand and held it when I came in. When she told me she had been so worried. That she told me “to call you sick as a damn dog is an understatement”. When I realized I really had COVID.

I am so damn lucky. A year later. To be sitting here. In, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four. Out, two three four.

This past March was the first time I’ve been able to sing and do chores. I couldn’t sing while I worked. I couldn’t work if I was singing. There wasn’t enough air for it. This month I caught myself cleaning...and singing.

It’s been a year since I had COVID.

[plasticdean]

stone cold - chapter 4

recruitment

mob!dean-charles chapman au  warnings: language, mentions of drug use word count: 2.3k series masterlist

Justin has been added to the character list so check that out before you read this chapter! 

I didn’t really have many friends growing up. Not a lot of parents were crazy about their kids hanging out with Leo Stone’s son. You really couldn’t blame them for that, my dad is a fucking psycho.

Justin Martinez was my childhood best friend. My mom and his mom were best friends when they were teenagers and as soon as they had kids of their own, they wanted us to have the same friendship they did. However, when we were both six, Justin’s mom died of breast cancer which hit my mom hard, she wasn’t herself for a long time.

After her death, Justin had to move in with his dad who lived in Brooklyn which was around an hour away. Mom would usually drive me there and drop me off to stay the night but after her death, I’d have whatever nanny I had for the time being do it.

Justin’s dad was an asshole; not as much as my dad was but he was definitely up there. He was a drunk junkie and an abusive asshole that spent his days mooching money off of Justin’s mom’s side of the family and saying it was to “help take care of him” and sticking needles in different parts of his body. None of his time was spent taking actual good care of his son and none of the money he’d get was used for Justin. 

As I grew up, I grew protective of him. I wasn’t afraid to call his dad a piece of shit to his face, or even throwing in a punch, knocking him out cold. It didn’t really take much to knock out someone that’s drunk or high, or both. One good hit will have them hit the ground so fast and passed out for a couple of hours.

I don’t know if it was because I couldn’t defend myself like that with my own dad and being able to help someone that went through the shit I did kind of comforted me in some kind of way. Or, maybe it was just because, in the words of my father, “I’m a fucking psycho”.

Whatever it was, I didn’t care, just as long as he was okay.

Justin’s dad ended up going to prison for 15 years for second-degree robbery when we were both 15. After this, he ended up moving away to Massachusetts to live with his aunt and uncle who were loaded with money.

Having to say goodbye to my best friend and my only friend really fucking sucked but I was happy for him, he deserved to have a chance at having a good life and be surrounded by family that loved him and cared for him. 

After moving, he never tried to get in touch with me. He’d either send me short messages or just ignore me. He never tried to call, never answered my calls, and never made plans with me to visit or for me to visit him. I could understand though, once you move away from your toxic life and start a new one that’s actually not shitty, you never wanna go back.

It sucked to not feel needed anymore but it fucking sucked even more to lose what you needed.

_______________

My hands felt clammy, the collar of my dress shirt felt like it was choking me, and my leg couldn’t stop bouncing.

“Can you roll the window down?” I ask my driver from the backseat.

He rolls it down as one of my guards that’s sitting next to me looks at me with concern, “You okay boss?”

Boss. This dude was like 20 years older than me. Hell would have to freeze over before I’d call anyone younger than me “boss”.

I nod and stick my head out of the window just a little bit, “Yeah, I’m just hot.”

I was on my way to the “meeting” my father wanted me to have with one of his workers at the warehouse that our shipments of “goods” went out of. Since this was about missing money, I’m guessing this meeting is gonna be exactly like the one on the yacht. At least this time I wouldn’t have my dad and grandpa breathing down my neck and judging me for every fucking move I make.

I can’t lie and say that I’m not nervous, of course, I am, I’m human. There’s nothing wrong with it as long as I didn’t show that, when you start showing signs in any way that you’re not confident, people will automatically get the upper hand on you.  

I ran through the plan on what I was going to do when I found the guy. Maybe act all buddy buddy to him and then just go all serious and scare the shit out of him until he gives me an answer? Or maybe just start it by beating the shit out of him and ask questions after?

I was taken away from my thoughts as the large warehouse came into view. I let out a deep breath before getting out of the car as it stopped right in front of the building, my men followed me into the entrance doors. 

I approached the first worker I saw, “Is there a Justin that works here?”

He makes eye contact with me, his eyes slightly widen as he realizes who I am, “Uh yes sir, do you want me to get him or show you where he is?”

“Bring him to me, one of my men will go with you to get him then bring him to me. I’ll be out on the docks down at the water,” I say before turning around and walking out, down the hill to the water. 

My two other men stood by my side as I waited for the guy to be brought out. I put my hand on my holster to prepare for any case where the guy comes out with guns blazing.

My heart was beginning to pound harder than it was in the car. I really should’ve smoked a cigarette first before I decided to just eagerly barge into the warehouse. I was just really ready to get this over with.

As I was internally fighting with myself on if I should just say fuck it and pull out a cigarette, two figures came down the hill. I recognized my guard as one of them and the other one was a bit smaller. 

I fixed my posture and clenched my jaw as I gripped the handle of the gun that was still in the holster that was attached to my hip. I had a hard grip on it for maybe 15 seconds before I froze in place.

My heart began pounding faster than before, I could feel myself getting hot as I slowly began to recognize the figure that was next to my guard.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

The look of confidence I attempted was completely wiped away. My guard stood off to the side as I stared at the approaching figure with wide eyes and my mouth slightly open.

“Hey, Dean.”

Justin fucking Martinez.

There he was, right in front of me, seven years older. He looks so different but somehow still the same. He was the same height as me and had the same face full of freckles but had facial hair and he seemed to carry himself in a way I can’t explain. 

7 years is a lot of time and while everyone changes in that amount of time, he was different. He wasn’t that same vulnerable, scared, angry kid he was when we were friends. 

He looked like he has been through shit but still carried himself with confidence and looked fearless. 

He was attractive.

“You work here?” I ask, finally being able to find the words to speak.

He smirked, “You mean I work for you? Yeah, I do.”

As I go to speak he cuts me off, “No, your dad doesn’t know that I work here. He really wasn’t involved with the hiring process here. He has people for that. Or should I say had since they’re your people now.”

I was confused by his monotone voice yet playful look he had on his face. I don’t know if it’s the shock of seeing him again or the fact that I was about to have a “meeting” with my childhood best friend that made me feel so tense and uncomfortable but I knew he could tell I was. He automatically had the upper hand.

I sigh and look away from him for the first time since I saw him, “Listen, Justin, I’m just gonna ask you straight up.”

I look back at him, staring straight into his dark brown eyes, “Did you take money from us?”

He frowns and puts his hands in his pocket, he’d do that when he was nervous, maybe I had the upper hand now.

He shook his head and shrugged, “Why would I steal from you?”

“You didn’t steal from me, you stole from my dad.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because-”

“Because your dad told you to? So you’re still listening to that asshole, even when you’re the one who’s supposed to be in charge?” 

I had to stop and take a second to think about what he said. He wasn’t wrong, my father was making me clean up his messes or do his dirty work for him when it’s me that owns all of this. 

“Guys, can you give us some time to talk alone? I’ll be fine,” I said to all my guards. They gave me an unsure look before nodding and walking back up the hill where they can still see me but can give me the privacy I needed.

“Just tell me, did you steal money? I’m not gonna kill you over it or anything like that. I just wanna know,” I asked lowly.

Justin sighed and looked out at the water, shaking his head, “I needed the money.”

I close my eyes and sigh. Why Justin, why?

“Before you freak the fuck out, just listen to me, please?” He begs.

I nod before sitting down on the edge of the dock, swinging my legs slightly as I look down at the dark waters below me.

Justin sits down next to me and sighs, “I won’t lie, life was pretty fucking great when I first moved to Massachusetts.”

Ow.

“I mean, not having you there felt really fucking weird and it sucked. I do still feel like an asshole for completely ghosting you cause shit, you were all I had after my mom died. But I was 15, I found a new group of friends, who were complete douchebags. Like seriously, the old me and you would’ve beat the shit out of them,” Justin and I chuckle at the same time, remembering how brutal we were to the arrogant assholes we went to school with.

“Anyways, after I graduated, things just went downhill. My uncle was a fucking prick and kicked me out because “his father kicked him out when he was 18 and it taught him so many things in life so he wanted the same for me” and all that shit but they fucking knew I had nothing planned out which, I will admit, it’s my fault but holy fuck they didn’t even give me time to try and get my shit together. They just threw me out and wouldn’t let me back in. So, because I was basically homeless, I got into the wrong crowd and just got into drugs and alcohol, just like my piece of shit sperm donor. But, one night I just got completely fucked and I ended up having to go to the hospital to get my stomach pumped which, of course, put me in rehab. Dean, the fucking place I went to was so fucking weird and shit but it helped me find a sponsor who basically acts as my babysitter just in case I almost relapse. And because of him, I got this job a little over a year ago.”

A YEAR ago?

“Wait, you’ve been working here for over a year and never thought to just try and get ahold of me?” I ask offended.

Justin chuckled, “Honestly, I thought you would’ve been out of here when you turned 18.”

Fuck, I wish.

“I should’ve but I just can’t go without figuring out what happened to my mom,” I say with a sigh.

“Yeah, I don’t blame you. But I swear Dean, I only took money to pay rent, I was so fucking behind that they were about to evict me and-”

“Justin it’s fine, I don’t give a shit about what you took from my dad,” I say with a smirk.

He lets out a sigh of relief and jokingly wipes his forehead, “Thank god. I’m not gonna lie Dean, you have gotten intimidating as fuck,” he exclaims.

I laugh and shake my head, “I have been learning from my wonderful father and grandpa.”

Justin rolls his eyes, “Fuck them. You are so much better and smarter than them. I hope you take this bullshit business from them and drive it straight into the fucking ground.”

As soon as he said that my plan instantly came into my thoughts. Justin is the only person on this earth that I have always trusted and that I know will always have my back. He could help me with it and greatly benefit from it.

I turn my head to face him, grinning slightly.

Justin faces me and smirks, “Uh oh, I know that look. What are you planning?”

I stand up and adjust my jacket as I look down at him, his dark eyes already focused on me, “I’m gonna take the business, but, I’m gonna drive them straight into the fucking ground…and I want you to help me.”

[asterekmess]

S3A - E3

Hiya, back with another episode of the rewatch. I am...not looking forward to this episode. *deep breath* here we go.

Read More’s save sanity

Hey, so I know this is a really heavy first bullet point...but isn’t anybody else uncomfortable with the image of a black boy running around out of his mind with fury and bloodlust and going after little...white kids? Am I reading too much into this? I know Cora’s running around too. I just...whatever, I’m just gonna keep my mouth shut.

Straight from way too heavy to way too light. So that girl dropped a big jar of fireflies, but they say that fireflies that actually glow aren’t native to California, which would mean these are part of the whole magic thing going on, and at the end of the whole firefly thing they get rid of all the fireflies. So...what if someone finds that jar and opens it?

...nevermind the jar opened up somehow...

Okay, listen, I have a petty and biased hatred for this moment with Scott. Like...is it so hard to say, “I had to get the kids he was chasing away from him?” It’s not like they don’t have time..they just stand there in silence for a while. I also hate the savior pose he strikes there with the kids clinging to him. Like, I get that it’s a very common trope. I still hate it. I use the anti-scott tag for a reason, let me be salty.

why te fuck does Scott FLOAT in the intro?

Lydia has seriously emptied an entire bottle of ibuprofen? She should be dead. Or at least at a hospital. She’s too smart not to know how dangerous it is to take ibuprofen (even the recommended dosage) for too long at a time.

Lydia...Lydia knows about werewolves now. Did no one tell her about this whole escape plan for the betas? She could’ve helped.

Cue the shitty SFX running. Y’all look ridiculous.

Man, come on. Are you seriously telling me that Derek never played hide and seek with his siblings? Like, they’re werewolves for fuck’s sake. Derek never did fake chases through the woods? He tracked PETER for christ’s sake, all the way across town. He was like yards behind him before he got shot that one time.

This show relies a lot on character’s losing time and just finding themselves places. Jackson losing time, Lydia losing time. Lydia losing time again, but in a new way. Later, it’ll be Stiles losing time. I’m just saying, it happens a lot.

It’s fucking august in California. Does it actually get that cold? Poor Lydia’s nose is always red cus she gets forced to wander around in the dark and freezing. I can see her goosebumps when she kneels next to the pool.

I know it’s gotta be hell on her voice, but I think it’s so interesting the way Lydia screams and how it has to jump around the chords before hitting that one note. I don’t know why I find that so interesting. Guess it just reminds me of a wolf howl. Seriously, look ‘em up. Weirdly similar. GO  Holland!

What do you mean the last memory that she had of her mother, Scott? You should’ve told her RIGHT THEN. Right off the bat. There was TONS of time between her getting bit and when she died. You should’ve told Allison right away. Fuck you, you had all of spring break!

god fucking damn it now I’m crying again. Erica, sweetie...Derek honey...

I’m trying to get past the tears to enjoy this romancey stuff, with the candles and the lil lamps, and the LOTR references. I’m really trying.

This is totally not what I should be thinking about while watching the two of them make out, but like, so does Caitlin not go to their school? She just sort of appears a couple times, but Stiles doesn’t seem to know her. Maybe she went to the same school as Heather?

don’t like bugs don’t like bugs ew ew ew ew

Hi cora!

Isaac! You’re somehow feeling better, even though you were apparently out of commission like an hour or two ago...wait huh?

I gotta say, okay, listen I just can’t help it. I know this is serious, but that lil smirk on Isaac’s face? I don’t think he looks smug, personally, I think he looks like he’s about to go play, go rolling around in the grass and leaves, playing with a pack member. He’s been alone for so long this summer, what with Jackson leaving. he’s had no wolves to play with (cus’ we know Derek’s a grump). As worried as he’s gotta be, I bet he’s having funnnnnn.

I..uh..Cora what sound is coming out of your mouth? That..that does not sound like a wolf. That sounds like a wild cat of some kind. Wolves don’t make that screechy noise. They bark and growl, like the sound that came just before. That doesn’t even sound like a roar. Who gave you cheetah sounds?? You’re canine, not feline. Come on they did SO WELL with Derek’s sounds-- No. NO Do not tell me they gave Cora cat sounds cus she’s a chick. I’m gonna fight someone. (For those of you interested, if you scroll to the bottom of this webpage, you can listen to wolf growl snippets and they’re such good quality (I think the bark snippet is broken tho). Listen to those whimpers and whines too, fucking fascinating. I love wolves. Such beautiful animals.)

Cora with Isaac and Scott attacking her and growling at her: “Fuck you, I’ll bite you!” Cora with Derek just growling at her: “BYE bro!”

Stiles, honey! I missed you! Literally, just the sound of your voice makes me feel better.

Scott, Seriously, Derek just said you haven’t tracked either of them anywhere near the pool. You’ve both been following them all night! Yeah, they’re dangerous, but they couldn’t get to the pool and back in time to fight you! I”M GONNA SMACK YOU. DOn’t use that fucking patronizing tone of voice when Derek is TELLING YOU FACTS.

OUR fault? OUR FAULT? I’m gonna fucking *kicks a chair and storms off, grumbling* *Spins around, cus fuck it i’m gonna yell. it’s my post.* NONE OF THIS is DEREK”S FAULT. NOne of this is ISAAC’S FAULT. Fuck dude, I’ll even say that it’s not Scott’s fault! If it’s anyone other than the Alphas’ fault, it’s Allison’s, but tbf she thought she was helping.

DEREK SHUT YOUR PRETTY MOUTH. I swear to god.

ARE YOU FUCKING JOKING? DEREK WOULD NEVER SUGGEST MURDERING BOYD AND CORA. NEVER. He thought Cora was fucking dead and he just found out she’s alive! HE WOULD NEVER. NEVER. FUCK YOU. FUCK EVERYTHING. *Throws a plate* YOU KNOW YOU ONLY FUCKING WROTE IT SO THAT YOU COULD SHOW OFF SCOOT MCFUCKFACE’S SUDDEN FLIP IN MORALITY BY HAVING HIM SAY THAT “KILLING ISN’T THE RIGHT THING TO DO” OH REALLY Scott? REALLY? Killing is bad? YOU DIDN’T THINK SO WHEN YOU SPENT MONTHS attempting to commit PREMEDITATED MURDER of a GUY WHO WAS ALREADY DYING. MONTHS. Scott. FUCK YOU. FUCK THIS SHOW. 13 minutes in and I’m already about to chuck my laptop across the room. MY CAT WON’T EVEN CUDDLE ME ANYMORE I’M SO ANGRY.

And now I’m really fucking sad, cus’ I hate watching this poor girl get told she’s just hallucinating.

WHY does everyone go shopping at fucking 8 pm in Beacon Hills? What...Chris you don’t even have a day job.

I don’t...I don’t understand this scene with Isaac. Like..what exactly are they trying to imply? That he thinks she’s hot? All he’s seen is her raging around with fangs free and glowing eyes. And yeah, some people definitely think that’s hot. But like...that’s just so...what? I choose to read this scene as him just wondering about Derek’s home life. Like, “Since when do you have siblings? Why don’t you tell me these things? I have an aunt?”

WHAT DO YOU mean “Your world?” CHRIS YOU GREW UP AS A HUNTER. THIS IS YOUR WORLD TOO. He was YOUR dad. You’ve been a part of this WAY longer than Scott! Don’t blame the werewolves for ruining your life! THAT WAS YOUR DAD and YOUR STUPID HUNTER CODE’S FAULT.

OKay, listen, I have so many issues with this I need a therapist to mediate my conversations with it. FUCK YOU TW for bringing in Chris. I dont’ give a fuck if he’s experienced or trying to redeem himself. He is a HUNTER he has Slaughtered Derek’s kind for his entire life. He may want to do the right thing, but the right thing definitely doesn’t involved him Standing in front of Derek and forcing him to listen to hunter PROPAGANDA BULLSHIT. I’M SO FUCKING MAD. This was so inappropriate, holy shit. SO far beyond okay. Even the CONCEPT that werewolves wouldn’t be as good at tracking other werewolves as hunters are is fucking stupid. You said it yourself, Chris they can follow scent up to TWO MILES AWAY. Wolves can track their prey for weeks without losing the scent. Just because Isaac stepped on some footprints doesn’t mean he’s incapable of finding them. And what’s all this shit about them “Being able to rely on their human half”? NO? First off, minor detail. Werewolves aren’t half wolf, half human, dumbass. They’re all werewolf. AND The show has said like Ten TIMES that they can’t access their human form/the thought processes they would normally have during a full moon without an anchor, and Boyd and Cora are effectively anchorless on this moon. This is just utter bullshit and I’m so goddamn angry I don’t even know how to process it. “If you’re not trained like me you have no idea this print is Boyd’s” YEAH THEY DO. THEY CAN LITERALLY SMELL IT.  DEREK ALREADY IDENTIFIED THE TRACKS. FUCK you.

ALSO. Getting REAL SICk of people slicing their wrists every time they need a little blood for a ritual or for bait. YOU CUT THE MEAT of the arm. ON THE BACK. WHERE YOU WON”T HIT a VEIN. DUMBASSES.

WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK DO YOU MEAN NINE YEARS DEREK? YOU’D BETTER MEAN CORA WAS NINE YEARS OLD, CUS’ THE FIRE WAS SIX YEARS AGO. and what do you mean you don’t have a lock on her scent? you’ve been following it just fine all night! Wolves remember human scents decades later.

Booooo, i hate the entire concept of wolves going mad on a full moon. It’s lazy and boring. Wolves are not vicious animals, they’re shy as fuck. THey don’t attack without reason. Werewolves should be the same. Full moon’s enhance their wolfishness, so it should make them MORE SHY. The moon should enhance whatever they feel, rather than just making them mindlessly aggressive.

“Primal apex Predatory satisfaction”? seriously? Shut the FUCK up Chris, I’m really fucking sick of your hunter bedtime stories.

....i hate this woman.

Casual reminder that Isaac wouldn’t suggest Killing boyd. Ever. I fucking hate these writers.

yeah yeah, running scene. blah blah blah.

See, I never really understood those fics where Peter just refuses to give anyone any info. He tells Derek what’s up constantly. He didn’t lie or hold anything back when he helped Derek figure out what was up with Jackson or how Jackson needed Lydia to be cured. He walks right up to Derek and says “Hey, so those Alphas clearly want you to join them and that means they’re trying to make you kill your own pack” Peter helps Derek all the time. He’s just a dick while he does it.

Look, I love this moment with Peter, his “Let Scott be the hero of his morally black and white world. You and I, we live in shades of gray” lines are so good, and they speak so much to his character and personality. And he’s right. But I hate that they built the scene around Derek planning to kill his own pack, and following Scott around doing as he asks. I just hate what they do to Derek here.

The dog whistles suddenly have no effect on their hearing? Love it.

Take a second to bring up a plotline you won’t explain for ages. I vibe with that, so long as it is eventually explained.

OOh, suddenly BHHS has a football field?

Not gonna cry, not gonna cry. FUCK I’m crying again.

I just...dude I’m over here trying not to completely lose my shit and cry like a baby, and Stiles is in the middle of panicking and losing his oldest friend and he still puts the dots together. Like. Jesus christ this boy.

NOW Derek? You choose NOW to take Every Single Step down the stairs? JUMP.

...what is this a cartoon? Glowing eyes in the dark? one too many sets? Yeah, yeah, I get it, they’re supposed to look like fireflies.

Why did you stop to look at each other after blasting them? Just go.

OH, yeah, of course Scott has to be the one to hear the extra heartbeat. Scott. Not Derek. Not the ALpha who’s senses are heightened above the a Beta’s. Not DEREK the ALPHA who has a PACK, which makes his senses even stronger that that. No. Scott. The omega. Because he’s like an inch closer to the door. Yah. Sure. That makes sense. SUre.

Dude I wish my high school had that much backup supplies free for the teacher’s to grab. Also, I hate this woman.

WHy were the lights off in the boiler room if she was in the back grabbing stuff? That..what?

OH. I forgot, so Caitlin’s out of high school? She’s...what, 18? 19? Okay, fine, I’ll take that.

Oh stop faking Jennifer, fuck you.

Crying again. dont’ mind me. This is Derek. Not choosing to kill his beta or his long lost sister. Choosing to die himself instead. THAT is Derek (it’s self-sacrificing and it’s because he gives his own life no worth, but it’s still him.)

HOW IS IT DAWN? THAT WOULD BE like 6 HOURS of standing around! Or did the sun not set until like 10 pm? Hm? This show has no concept of time, and werewolves are very time oriented. Someone take away the show from the writers. They’ve lost their privileges.

I hate this. I hate that Isaac shouts for Scott. Not Derek. That’s just so fucking dumb. I’m so tired of it. I’m just so fucking sick of it.

I don’t even wanna look at this. I hate this woman so much.

YOU REALIZE that the third Virgin was Taken. The third virgin is DEAD. the sacrifices have been made, and now Jennifer has control over people. This is where she starts controlling Derek. Right Fucking Here. He loses his agency the moment they touch, if not the moment they make eye contact or he gets in range. I hate it. I HATE IT.

BOOM. Episode three, and Stiles already has the villain after next figured out. He’s past the Alphas now. 

Final Thoughts: I’m angry, I’m tired, and I honestly got very little joy or interest out of this whole episode. I hate what this show did to werewolves and how much insane Scott glorification there is and how every little thing HAS to be about Scott. Scott’s relationship with Chris. Scott saving the kids. Scott’s the one Isaac calls for. Scott’s the one who hears the heartbeats. I get that he’s the main character. I also hate that he’s the main character. It’s just so sad and pathetic and boring and just....ugh. I’m going to bed. I will try for another episode or two tomorrow.

(I promise I’m okay. Just go listen to the wolf howls for me in that link, huh? Listen to those beauties and imagine how amazing a wolf show could have been.)

[dimples-of-discontent]

Hi friends,

I’ve been pretty uncharacteristically silent on here recently but just wanted to send you a little wave and let you know I’m still here and doing ok even though it’s been a rougher month than usual. First, here’s the wave:

Now here’s the update (below cut):

In the past month I had a few very not-great things happen. In chronological order (and actually the order in which they were distressing from least to most):

My aunt died unexpectedly. We were not close at all, though not quite to the point of being estranged (exchanging gifts and cards continued). It is sad, but in a way I really lost her a long time ago. She was a really difficult person with a number of psychological problems including hoarding, meaning her house is a disaster. She was living my with disabled uncle but they had separate schedules and she had her own entrance so she was dead several days before he noticed. These are both my dad’s younger siblings. My parents (75 and 79) have been in Texas for a month now working on the funeral, the house, and arranging care for my uncle (who is deaf and autistic and an ex-alcoholic - he’s never lived totally alone and can’t start now). I haven’t been able to go help because of my chemotherapy (and my full-time job I still work). We’re all emotionally tapped out.

I had to decide within a week whether I ever wanted biological children. The situation is that chemotherapy damages your eggs. I had already had 10 weeks of chemo so really this seems like the kind of thing that someone could have told me during the 2 fucking months I was diagnosed but not in chemo. I mean, I guess the reason no one did is we all kept hoping I could start it right away and if I had wanted to freeze my eggs I would have needed a few weeks. But honestly I think they literally forgot since what brought this up was me complaining about having my period while on chemo (which is unusual - apparently most people stop) and they were like “omg fertility!!”. Anyway, there were two bad options: 1) delay treatment so I could freeze my eggs or 2) take a drug that shuts down all my sex hormones basically causing early menopause in the hope (NOT certainty) that it protects them. Now, I’ve always been very confident in my desire not to have children at all. This was true when I was married and it’s true now. I first said it when I was 23 and now I’m 35 and it’s still true. So you’d think it would be easy and, in a way, it was. But I felt so rushed and there was SO much cultural pressure to say that I should keep every option open that I felt way more unsure than I would otherwise. I decided not to do either and let things take their course. Only NOW it turns out I’m not going to be doing chemo for a while because of my third bad thing so that door may still be open.

My most recent scans to assess the effectiveness of chemo and the status of my cancer were highly mixed. Now, I have a lot of cancer. I have stage 4 (metastatic) breast cancer that was in: 1) a large (LARGE) bastard of a tumor in my left breast that is so big that it hurts all the time because it presses nerves and skin; 2) a lymph node under my left arm; 3) a bunch of small tumors in my lungs; 4) at least one small tumor in my liver; 5) a soft tissue tumor next to my L4 vertebra; 6) my bones at the point at which that vertebra joins the pelvis. That is a fucking lot of cancer. I don’t think people quite get it when you just say “metastatic” or even “stage 4.” It could definitely be worse but it’s pretty bad. This cancer is super fast and super aggressive--it’s a black ops team. Turns out that, like a team of special forces, it’s still fucking gunning for me. The chemo I was on is pretty standard fare because (more bad luck which you can read more about on my cancer blog @pitiless-achilles-wept) I’m negative for all the things that offer additional treatment options. It turned out to work really well on my lungs, which is actually great news b/c that shit was scary, so I only have a couple small tumors left now there. BUT the bastard tumor and one on my liver got a full centimeter larger (FAST growing jeez). Other stuff seems stable and they didn’t it new places, which is also good. But they do need a better treatment for it than this one. So, instead of more chemo I’m joining a clinical trial for something called PARP inhibitors that basically stop DNA repair in cancer cells so that they die. I don’t have any heritable breast cancer genes but I DO have the BRCA1 mutation in my tumor cells. That’s a “somatic” mutation as opposed to a “germline” mutation. PARP inhibitors work really well on BRCA patients with the inherited mutation so the study is seeing if they also work well on the somatic mutation. My fingers are hugely crossed that the answer is YES and I’m hustling to get going ASAP so this fucking bastard cancer doesn’t spread even further in the meantime. But joining the trial involves a lot more doctor visits at a time when I totally don’t feel up to them (since doctor visits involve making yourself a huge pain in the ass to be an advocate).  I’m sort of on my own for this since my parents are dealing with all that other stuff and I’m single AND an only child. I do have great friends, though, who will do things like make phone calls when I can’t stand it anymore. But my goodness, friends, am I emotionally wrecked.

So that’s where I’ve gone. I wish it were better to report and also that I could be writing more here since it does help. But the fatigue I had from treatment plus just the exhaustion that comes with weighty emotional stuff has stopped me. 

I still hang out on here, distracting myself with hellatus meta (and crack) and using Cockles gifs to cheer myself up (which does actually work b/c they are bottled sunshine like 98% of the time). I miss you all and hope you know that I’ll be back when I can. I appreciate the love you send, even when I can’t muster the energy to respond to it. 💜💜💜

[iamdeadlocked]

When I arrived at Aunt May’s funeral it was a regular, normal arrangement.

Some people chatted quietly with one another, others sat quietly in the seats provided, and a few people went up to the body for one final goodbye.

Some people I recognized as her friends would come up to me and give me the usual spew about how sorry they were and how they were going to miss her, how they haven’t seen each other in X amount of years, how much he’s grown, how she’d be so proud of him, and other things that he didn’t want to hear at that moment.

I guess they all forgot about the falling out Aunt May and I had.

I didn’t.

Neither did she. It’s the reason why we haven’t spoken in almost a decade. It’s the reason she died alone.

It was nice gesture for them to invite me to the funeral and to try to include me in the conversations but I honestly just wanted to be left alone. I wanted to say good bye to the “dearly” departed and be on my way. I had a nice fast food made burger and fries sitting at home in my refrigerator calling my name.

I suppose I should feel some type of empathy and be a little bit upset that my aunt is no longer alive. We weren’t as close as we used to be mostly because of Uncle Ben’s death but I just can’t find it in me to feel more than a spoonful of bitter sadness. I suppose when the one person you thought you could trust and love tells you that “you are nothing to me and that a robbery gone wrong is your fault and that you should have been the one to die, not my Ben.” You lose all sorts of kinship and respect for them, who knew?

Anyway... everything was fine, the last of the guests arrived and the pastor begin a slideshow of Aunt May while retelling her life beginning to end. I settled in and got comfy because the bitch -oops! I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead- the lovely lady lived a good 79 years.

As her life unfolded on the screen and through the words, a few people would laugh here and there and and an occasional person would wipe away tears every few minutes. One person blew their nose loudly into a napkin causing me to wrinkle my nose in disgust.

About halfway through the pastor’s talk, he went quiet. I didn’t notice at first to caught up in daydreaming about the food at home.

When I noticed I looked around the room to see if anyone else had notice the weird behavior.

Apparently not seeing as they all were completely still much like the pastor.

It was like they all were frozen.

Everyone but me.

I looked around trying to see what the problem was but as far as I could tell nothing in the room was causing this strange occurrence. The video on the screen goes from Aunt Mays tenth birthday party to a black screen with a man in a red and black mask sitting in a spotlight right in front of a piano. His hands carcasses the keys as if they were his lover. He softly patted the lid of the piano as if it was his pet. Even stranger than that he leaned down and kissed the piano. When he sits back up he cracks his knuckles breaking the silence with the loud painful cracks startling me a bit. I look round the room and the people are still frozen. The only difference is their eyes are on the screen with the man in the mask.

The man rolls his shoulders first the left one, then the right.

Once,

Twice,

Three times.

He sets his fingers which I just noticed are covered with black gloves on the keys and begins to play.

I wish I could name the song but I’m not one for classical music. Even if I was something inside of me says that this man created this piece.

The song is beautiful.

It’s hauntingly beautiful.

I know this doesn’t make sense but I think this type of song is something you would hear only in your nightmares.

As of in a trance the people in the room all stand up simultaneously. That honestly would have been fine and I would have just accepted that everyone was a robot in this moment but there were at least three men and two ladies who were wheelchair bound that stood up and walked with the rest of them. I would call it a miracle but I’m pretty sure whatever is happening here is not a god given miracle.

The women work together to move the chairs out of the way while the men work to push the old, dull, hasn’t worked in thirty years piano to the center of the room in front of the screen.

Sweat began to form at the top of my forehead.

This is weird. I know this is weird. I should go but something keeps me rooted to my own seat in the corner.

After they finish getting everything situated the people pair up and begin to dance to the dramatic, powerful and eery melody. As they dance Pretty a strange fog started pouring in from the cracks of the windows and under the doors. It moved as if it had a mind of its own, swirling this way and that in attempts to cover the whole floor. Slowly it works it’s way to the middle of the room, covering the feet of the elders dancing around the piano.

The piano begins to play the same creepy music from the screen.

https://youtu.be/VagES3pxttQ

There was absolutely no one sitting on the bench, so once again that shouldn’t be possible but what do I know?

The smoke lifts up and over the seat of the piano bench and settles on top of it. A spotlight appears on the piano. (Funeral home doesn’t have a spot light but whatever.) The man from the screen slowly fades out as the fog takes shape of a man. His fingers gliding over the keys matching the same song as on the screen perfectly until the spotlight on the screen goes out and the video player shuts off. Now it’s just the man giving a live performance.

He sways with the music.

I finally find some sense and decide now would be a good time to just nope the fuck out of here and take the what the hell train to fuckthatville.

I slowly stand as to avoid any attention. I quietly and slowly make my way to the end of the aisle. I take care to look where I am going. I don’t want to be that person in the movies that trips and falls causing a loud disturbance and getting killed because of their stupidity.

The best thing I can hope for is that’s there’s nothing on the ground because this stupid fog is thick and covering everything up to my ankles.

As quiet as a mouse sneaking around a sleeping cat I tip toe my way to the end of the aisle.

Success!

I quietly walk to the back of the room praying to a god I don’t believe in that I make it to the door. I kept one on the mysterious figure and the dancing old people surrounded and the other eye on the fog. It was able to make a man appear out of thin air so I wasn’t above thinking it could make a man disappear as well. I walk backwards as I eye up the supernatural one man concert playing before me.

Not one person turned to look at me. No one even noticed I was the only one not in a trances. I guess I need to send a thank you note to Flash for helping me perfect my silent walk and being the perfect invisible man.

I only stop walking when I harshly bump into the door causing a soft thud to resonate loudly though the room.

The beautiful notes the man is hitting quickly goes sour as he slams his hands down onto the keys.

The air goes several degrees cooler causing a deep shiver to race through my body.

My blood freezes and my fear spikes.

My mind says to just quickly open the door and run. Bolt out of here and into the dying night. Everything will be fine if you run. You’ll be fine when you run.

My body will not listen to the sound advice of my brain. Instead it takes a step forward and away from the door.

I tried to fight what ever was controlling my body, since I need to blame something I blame the fog.

I fight with all my might pleading, begging, demanding and bribing my body to stop moving all in vain.

I take another step forward,

And another

And another

And another

And another.

I get closer and closer to a place I really would not like to be. Closer and closer to the man I don’t know. Closer and closer to the no longer dancing old folks.

My nose begins to bleed as I fight the otherworldly pull on my body. I bring my hand up wipe away the blood.... ain’t that a bitch. I have free lotion over my hands by not my legs. This definitely means the fog is controlling me. I should have played the floor is lava. That might have saved my life.

I lose the fight with my legs mostly because I’m not even strong physically let alone mentally.

I close my eyes as my body finally comes to a stop directly next to the piano man.

I hear shuffles as if people are moving to surround me. I hear a loud freak in the silent room as the masked man stands or at least I assume he stands. I refuse to let my curiosity get me killed.

I flinch hard to my left as I feel breathing into my right ear and a warm body standing directly behind me. A gentle hand steadies me by grabbing ahold of my hips.

The man whispers into my ear.

“Open your eyes little one.”

The voice sounded like sandpaper feels. Rough and dry as if the person hadn’t spoken in a very long time or as if they hadn’t had any water in months and their throat was dry. Yet somehow the voice sounded seductive and sweet. It was like he wanted to scare you but only a little. I don’t know how to explain it.

All I can say for sure was that it was a dark voice.

It was scary.

It was dangerous.

It was inhuman.

I didn’t hate it. Kind of want more of it.

Ignoring all red flags, flashing lights, and loud abort mission sounds my eyes open one at a time. Dirt the right one then the left.

My eyes opened and the first thing I saw was that I was in fact surrounded by my aunts friends.

The funeral guests all were standing in a half circle around me and the piano. Their eyes were black. I blinked a few times and wiped my eyes just to make sure I was actually seeing what I thought I was seeing.

I was.

There are were straight up black. I’ll admit I was extremely scared and damn near close to wetting myself from fear but nothing was worse than looking into the small crowd of wrinkled skin and liver spots to see her. By her I mean my aunt.

The same aunt who was and should be as dead as a door knob (that metaphor literally makes no sense... focus!) was standing there behind owner of the funeral home Mr. Stan Lee. She was standing and staring directly into my pure-ish soul.

How is she standing there? She’s been dead for two weeks. (No one knew she died in her home for a week and a half. How messed up is that...Peter focus!)

Was she alive again? I can’t see her chest moving but also no one else’s but mine is sooo is everyone dead like her?

Why do they all look so angry? Well I’d be angry to if my dancing music was shut off.

Despair and hopelessness take ahold of my body, pulsing through it with each beat of my heart.

I slowly decide to turn my head and look behind me at the man.

The first thing I notice is that his mask is gone. The second thing I noticed was that he wasn’t going to win any beauty contests... and omg this man is horrible to look at. I’ll be honest he’s lucky I was raised previously with live and had manners because otherwise the chances of me throwing up on this mans shirt and feet would have been a lot higher. Be that as it may I was so I swallow the bile in my throat and gulp.

Words couldn’t describe the horror of how horrific the man looked. He face was riddled with scars. The only places that didn’t have acres were completely missing. Chunks of flesh look rotted in some places, missing in others, and scarred on the rest. His eyes were pretty to look at and he smelled nice which sent me into a very conflicting state of fear and arousal.

His hands are still on my hips soothing me causing my fear to lesson just a bit. Maybe his wouldn’t be so bad? Perhaps I was just judging a book by its cover and this may not be as scary as it seems. He smiles at me as if he can hear my thoughts. It’s a gruesome and terrible sight but I find myself hesitantly smiling back. He brings up his hand, which is in the same terrible mangled mess as his face, from my hips to my face and strokes it with just a hint of pressure. It felt as if a feather was being running over my face. I place my hand on top of his and just feel his skin. Despite it being a horror fest it wasn’t that bad when you got used to it.

Suddenly he stops smiling and his eyes somewhat pretty eyes flash red. His grip on my jaw turns harsh and bruising. I can feel it begin to break as he allies more and more pressure. The hand on my hip pulls me hard into the front of his body and wraps around my mid section tightly as I begin to struggle. He pulls me tighter and tighter into him causing my bones to feel like they were point two seconds away from snapping as well.

His strength is out of this world although I already knew that. I look from him to the people in front of us. I plead with my eyes for help hoping that one of them comes to their senses and tries something.

I hear the demon laugh as if once again he can hear my thoughts... who knows maybe he does here them.

Everyone smiles at me. Ms. Al smiled so wide her dentures fell out.

The man leans down as he is quite literally breaking my bones and whispers into my ear,

”There’s a price to pay for breaking the sound of silence.”

Next thing I know my hip bones and my jaw are both shattered.

I scream the best I can with a broken jaw as the man releases me. My body drops to the ground like a broken doll. I see him place his mask back over his head and places his gloves back on his hands. He sits back down at the seat, hiding his upper body from my sight. I can see his feet and legs and I hear him begin his chilling song again.

The people around my broken body get closer and closer stooping down as the reach for my body.

I close my eyes as they draw nearer.