#it’s about the reflex of leaving this plane because they aren’t here anymore

[all-this-panic-still-no-disco]

i know it’s not healthy but god when a character discovers that their love is dead and they lunge for their weapon to join them

[folklorelise]

Captain Y/N as a baby (2)

Levi Ackerman - more scenarios about baby Captain Y/N.

Part 1: here

MASTERLIST

--

SOME MORE SCENARIOS

- you wanted to bring tea to Levi during his meeting.

Today was Levi’s turn to take care of you. But he had a meeting in the afternoon, so he gave you to the cadets, more specifically to Armin and Mikasa. Once Levi left, Jean appeared, and you run to him.

“Jeanie, I missed you this big!” you said with your arms opened as big as possible.

“I missed you too!” he answered taking you in his arms kissing you multiple times on the cheek.

“Jean can you help me make some tea for Levi please?”

“Sure, let’s go.”

“Jean I’m coming too; Captain Levi can’t see you alone with Captain Y/N.” Armin warned.

“Let’s all go then.” Mikasa said.

Once in the kitchen, Jean started to boil the water and Eren prepared the tea leaves. Armin gave you a tray and Mikasa put the teacups on it. You guys walked to the room and Jean told you that he would open the doors and they would all run away. Once the door opened, you walked to Levi but halfway through, you tripped over someone’s cloak and the tray went flying through the room. When you hit the ground, everyone in the room rush to you.

“Y/N! Are you okay?” Hange asked as she saw you started crying.

“Someone cleans the tea, the meeting’s over.” Erwin announced kneeling down in front of you. “Y/N are you hurt somewhere?”

But your eyes were fixed on the tea. Once you saw Levi you run to him crying even harder.

“I’m sorry Levi!” you sobbed, “I just wanted to give you tea because you like tea, I’m sorry.” You cried in his arms, your head on his shoulder.

“It’s ok.” he reassured you while patting your head. “Stop crying, you’re ruining my shirt with your tears and snot. Remember you already ruined my tea.” he laughed but when he noticed you crying even harder, he immediately apologised. “It’s fine, let’s go and rest now. I’ll be ok.” he continued comforting you while hugging you tightly. And of course, every Squad Leaders as well as the Commander were in awe in front of this sweet side of the Captain.

  - You are on a ride with Mike and Erwin.

Today, Erwin and Mike had to take care of you, they had to after you cried for an hour or two about how your daddies never spent time with you together. So here you were, in the stable with Mike and Erwin. You were in front of Mike on his horse.

“Daddy, where are we going?” you asked Mike.

“We’re just riding around, spending time as a family.”

“You do know we’re not a real family, right?” laughed Erwin softly but stopped immediately after seeing your tears. “That was a joke! Haha. Mike laugh, now! That’s an order.”

After a few minutes, you started to stand up on the horse with Mike holding you. You hold out your arms toward Erwin and tried to jump to him, but Mike was holding you tightly, with his hands the size of your body. Erwin moved his horse closer to Mike’s and took you with him. Two minutes after, you reached out for Mike again. Then Erwin again. It was fun.

“It’s nice.” Mike commented.

“What is?”

“This is. Just walking around, as a family with no titans around.”

“It is, at least now we know how it feels like.” Erwin joked.

You were starting to get bored since they did not pay attention to you and the horses were going really slow. So, you decided to jump to Mike again as they were still pretty close. But with your tiny legs it was hopeless, so you almost fell but Mike had the reflex to catch your arm.

“What the hell Y/N!” Mike yelled as he hugged you closely.

“Sorry, please don’t yell at me, don’t be mad please!” you cried.

“Y/N,” Erwin continued with a hard tone, “That was completely reckless, and you could’ve hurt yourself!”

“Next time you should perhaps hold her correctly.” Mike said.

“Please don’t fight.” you whined softly and still crying.

“I was!” Erwin defended himself.

“Well clearly not enough! Our daughter almost died!”

“Well, she didn’t!”

“STOOOP!” you screamed sobbing hard. “Don’t fight please, I don’t want two separate daddies.”

“We’re not fighting. Let’s go home now.” Erwin ordered.

“No no! Please. I’m sorry.”

After your begging to stay outside, they agreed but neither Erwin nor Mike spoke. Mike was holding you even tighter than before.

At night, you asked them timidly to tuck you in. Once in your bed, they each lay down on your side.

“I’m sorry about earlier. You are not mad at me anymore right?”

“No, we were just worried.” Mike explained.

“Stay with me tonight please.”

“Ok, we’re staying don’t worry.” Erwin said.

In the morning, as it was Levi turn to take care of you, he entered your bedroom finding you on top of Mike and himself and Erwin cuddling. He screamed: “WHAT THE F...!”

  - You are helping Hange with Eren’s experiment.

Today was Hange’s turn to take care of you. Levi was ready to take you with him since he was not fond of you being with Hange and Eren during her experiences with titan boy. But you wanted to stay with Hange, so he gave up and went back to work.

“So, Y/N, today we’re spending the day with Eren!” she screamed excited.

“Jean will be there too?”

“Sorry but it’s just Eren today.”

Once you arrived at destination, Hange gave Eren the green light to transform. It was your first time seeing Eren’s titan form, so when you saw him you ran to him.

“EREN!!” you screamed so he would notice you. You raised your arms up and jumped repeatedly. He looked down and kneeled down. He opened his hand and you hopped in. He put you on his shoulder and showed you his hair meaning ‘hold on to my hair’. Hange was writing like a maniac everything that was happening. Eren was playing with you, swinging you around. When Levi arrived to see what was going on, he almost had a heart attack seeing with Eren.

“ERREEEEN PUT Y/N DOWN RIGHT NOOW!!” Levi screamed as loudly as he could.

Eren panicked for a second and dropped you, as you screamed at the top of your lungs, Eren caught you just before your head hit the ground. Everyone rushed to see you and Levi cut Eren open to bring him back. Eren rushed to you too and apologise a million times.

“It was...” you started out of breath, “AWESOME!! I want to do it again!”

“That’s a no for me.” Levi said taking you with him.

“Eren we should do that again soon!” you screamed as you and Levi were moving away.

  - Erwin and Levi go shopping with you for baby clothes

The night you turned into a baby, Erwin and Levi were with you, brainstorming ideas about what they should do.

“First, we’ll have to buy her some clothes, she can’t stay in my shirts forever.” Erwin explained.

“Fine, let’s just ask someone to bring some baby clothes tomorrow.”

“No, I think we should go with her. And see if she likes it or not.”

“You know Erwin, it’s not because she calls you daddy that you have to do all these things.”

But Levi ended up accepting anyway. The next morning, you were dressed in a dress made out of one a Mike’s shirt. Erwin, Levi, and you were ready to go buy some clothes.

Once in the little place where they sold baby clothes, you started to try on different things. The lady who sold these walked toward Erwin and Levi.

“You have a really cute baby here.” she said.

They both looked at her surprised.

“Thank you.” smiled Erwin after a good minute of silence. Levi turned to him with an expression saying, ‘what are you thanking her about?’ But before he could answer, you walked out of the second floor with all the clothes you wanted.

“Daddy! Can I have all of these?”

“Of course, you can sweety.” Erwin answered.

“For the record, she’s not our baby.”

“Let’s go honey.” Erwin joked once he packed all the clothes.

“What.” gasped Levi. Soon after he took you and the clothes in one arm and as he was ready to leave, he slapped Erwin’s ass and said, “you’re right honey.” And winked at Erwin before leaving this place.

“We have to pay.” you said.

“Don’t worry, daddy will pay.”

- You upset Levi and think he does not love you anymore:

Very often, when it was Levi’s turn to take care of you, you had to entertain yourself in his office.

“I’ll be right back brat; I’m going to make some tea.”

You went to his desk and took some papers on it and started to make some paper planes because you thought that would make him happy. Once the door opened on Levi, you threw all your paper planes at him. Levi caught one and opened it and sighed angrily.

“Y/N I told you not to touch my belongings!” He yelled angrily. He took all the papers and unfold them. You started to cry but Levi paid no attention to you. These papers were about the next expedition in a week and they could not waste more time on paperwork. You tried to help him, but he would just yell and tell you to stop bothering him. You ran outside still sobbing hard and ran into Mike.

“Daddyy!” you cried as he picked you up.

“Let’s go to my office.”

As he walked to his office, you told him about what happened with Levi, still crying a bit.

“He doesn’t like me anymore!”

“Of course, he does!” reassured Mike.

“He’s really mad.” you frowned.

Back into Mike’s office, he took some useless papers and made paper planes with you and you threw them outside.

“Daddy I’m hungry now.”

“Okay let’s go eat then.”

In the mess hall, Erwin and Mike were sat next to each other, because you wanted them to.

“Why aren’t you with Levi?” Erwin asked you.

“Levi hates me.” you answered.

“No, I don’t.”

“Levi!” you shouted running to him.

He picked you up and said, “I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Do you still love me?” you asked shyly.

“Of course, I do.” he whispered so you would be the only one to hear. “Let’s go and finish your plate.”

  - Cadets turn to watch you.

Today, it was the cadets (rare) turn to take care of you. A snowy day outside, playing with snow and making snowman or even making snow angels. Eren threw a snowball toward you a little bit too strong and you fell backward. They all rushed to you because you still did not get up.

“Y/N are you ok?” asked Jean worried.

You just sneezed in response.

“Your hands are red Y/N!” Mikasa noticed. “You must be freezing.” she continued and wrapped you with her red scarf. Jean took his hat and gave it to you. Then Krista gave you her gloves, but Ymir protested and gave her hers. Eren seeing everyone giving you their clothes started to strip too because he felt like he was responsible for this.

“Y/N, here’s my coat and shoes too.” But Eren was stopped by a slap behind his head. “Stop being stupid. Your shoes are way too big.” Mikasa stated.

“Yeah Eren, don’t be stupid like you usually are.” Jean added.

And they started to fight again. Armin just signed and took you inside. “Let’s get you to someone because you’re probably sick now.”

“I want to see Daddy please.” you whined as you felt your head getting heavy.

“Ok, let’s go find the Commander.”

  - Mike and Erwin are too fast:

Another day with your dads but no ride outside this time. They had to work on the next expedition. You were following them around, but they were fast with their big and long legs. You were out of breath at some points, but they did not notice a thing. You were running faster to catch up with them, but your ankle twisted for no reason and you fell headfirst. At the sound of your head hitting the ground, they immediately turned around and ran to you.

“Y/N are you ok?” shouted Erwin helping you getting up.

“My nose...” you answered.

“It’s bleeding, let’s go see the nurse.” Mike said picking you up and rush you to the infirmary.

“Why were you running?” Erwin asked once the nurse fixed your nose and knees.

“You were leaving me alone.” you trembled.

“Just yell our name next time ok? You scared us there.” Erwin murmured.

“Sorry daddy.” you apologised and hugged them.

—————

SOME MORE RANDOM HC

- You would be often found sleeping on top of Erwin or Mike. Sometimes it was Levi, but it was mostly with your two daddies.

- At night, you would most likely sleep with Levi because, according to Erwin, it helps him sleep. If Levi disagrees, you’ll just cry and scream so he has to do what you want him to do.

- Hange would always steal you when she did her experiments with Eren because she knew you loved his Titan.

- Levi would definitely think about having kids with you after spending time with you as a baby.

[oumaheroes]

All Tied Up

Word Count: 2479

Characters: England, France- FrUK

---

‘What the fuck are those?’

France sighed from where he was hanging up his clothes in his hotel wardrobe, ‘Good evening to you too. Why are you in my room, already, Arthur? I only arrived half an hour ago, couldn’t you let me exist without your presence for just a few moments more?’

He hadn’t heard him come in; France didn’t think he’d left the door to his hotel open. Although, England did have a bad habit of quietly entering places rather too well for his liking, ‘It’s bad enough that I will have to endure so much of you this week.’

‘Fuck off. I was hungry, so I came to see if you’d eaten.’

France turned back to his open suitcase for another shirt, ‘And?’

England frowned at him, ‘And?’

‘And,’ France prompted, slipping his favourite dress shirt onto a hanger. It was wrinkled; he hoped there was a decent iron here, ‘what were you going to do then?’

England huffed at him, as if, somehow, he France was being the difficult one, ‘And if you hadn’t, I was going to go with you.’

‘Could you not ask me to dinner like a normal person?’

England ignored him and nodded his head to the top of France’s temporary wardrobe, ‘Why have you got those?’

France followed his eyeline, stepping back when he couldn’t see anything. A few paces back and beside England he could see there, right at the back and on the top shelf of the wardrobe, were a pair of handcuffs.

‘Bit lewd for a week-long conference, init?’

France raised an eyebrow at him, ‘Do you really think I’d be that crass for those to be mine?’ England said nothing but his look became a lot more pointed. A beat of silence later and France shrugged, ‘Fine. But those ones are not.’

‘Of course.’

‘Why on earth would I lie about that.’

England shrugged, ‘Why do you do most of what you do? I never know.’

‘No, because you’re far too dim.’

‘Dim? Coming from the bellend who takes handcuffs to a NATO summit in Toronto.’

‘They’re not mine- what are you doing?’

England had moved around him and crossed the room towards the wardrobe and was now reaching up to the back to grab the handcuffs. France looked at them in his hands and then around his temporary room in distain, ‘I can’t stay here anymore, who knows what else they missed cleaning.’

France imagined that poor Canada was probably stressed enough as it was hosting this thing and likely didn’t need any additional work, but the idea of sleeping in a bed that might not have been changed was not something that appealed to him in the slightest. If the handcuffs were missed by the cleaners who knew what else they had failed to catch.

England tutted, ‘Don’t be such a baby.’

‘I hardly think me caring about my personal hygiene is me being a baby.’

‘You’ve slept in worse.’ England paused, ‘You’ve left worse.’

France opened his mouth to retort but England made an approving sound, opening the cuff wider, ‘These are pretty good quality, you know.’

France rolled his eyes, ‘Oh, and you would know.’ England turned them over and France sniffed, tucking his hair behind his ears, ‘Put those back, they’re probably filthy.’

‘No, I mean they look like they’re law enforcement rather than… well. Not.’

France stepped closer, ‘No look, they’re too flimsy.’ He pointed to the chain that connected the two cuffs, ‘and those are incredibly out of date- surely your police don’t still use these?’

England flushed, ‘Of course not! But I’ve seen a few of these about recently.’

‘Really? And how many decades ago was that? Twenty? Thirty?’

England waved a hand airily, ‘I don’t know, thereabouts maybe.’

‘You’re a fool.’

France made to take them from him but England pulled back sharply, ‘What are you doing?’

France blinked at his suspicious tone, ‘What are you doing? You’re not going to keep them, are you?’

‘No!’ England’s cheeks burned scarlet, ‘No of course not, but you reached for them so suddenly-‘

‘And what?’ France leant back and put a hand on his hip, ‘You thought I was attacking you?’

England scowled, ‘Well, it wouldn’t be the first time now, would it?’

‘Oh that is rich coming from you-‘

‘What’s that supposed to mean!’

‘You know full well what that means- look, just give them here.’ France lunged forwards, hoping to tug them out of England’s hands but England jumped away reflexively. Maybe he’d judged the angle wrong, or maybe England had tripped him somehow- either way France fell too sharply onto him and England gave a surprised yelp.

Click.

They froze, France with both hands balled in England’s shirt to keep him upright. One of them now had a shiny, very solid looking, handcuff around it.

They both stared at it in silence.

England gave a choked laugh and tried to cover it as a cough, ‘Francis, I swear I-‘

‘You arsehole!’

France shoved himself off and England held up his hands placatingly, ‘I swear I didn’t do that on purpose.’

‘Oh of course you didn’t!’ France held out his handcuffed arm out on front of him and shook it at England aggressively, ‘Take this off! Take it off right now!’

‘Okay okay, calm the fuck down, Jesus Christ.’

‘Calm? Calm? You tell me to be calm? I just got off a nine-hour flight only to be handcuffed by you of all people half an hour after I get in my fucking hotel? And you’re telling me to be calm?’

England, who had gone back to the wardrobe to feel about the top shelf, let out a soft, ‘ah’.

France laughed and shook his head, ‘No. No no, no don’t tell me there’s no key. Don’t you damn well dare.’

England, now that the initial shock of the situation had worn off, was clearly trying to hide that he was enjoying France’s predicament, ‘there’s no key.’

France threw a clothing hanger at him.

----

Two hours later, and things were no better.

France, (reasonably, he thought), refused to leave the room until the handcuffs were off and refused to let England leave the room until he’d fixed the problem that he’d created. England could agree that yes, maybe he had some part to play in all of this, but really it was France’s fault for lunging at him so suddenly and only agreed to stay if they ordered dinner first.

So, aside from a break to eat, France angrily chewing through a delivered meal he’d demanded England pay for in stony silence, they spent the time pulling apart the room and crawling to places France would never admit to crawling just in case the key had managed to slip down into some long-forgotten corner.

They’d both turned everything inside and out, upturning all of the drawers and taking off all of the bedding, but no luck. The wardrobe itself was fixed to the wall with no holes a key could have slipped through, so eventually France had to admit defeat and concede that there was no key to be found.

England, to his credit, did try to hold it together commendably well and had only let a euphoric grin slip through twice, both times of which he’d covered by burying his face behind something and pretending to cough until he’d smothered his glee enough to reappear with a blank expression. However, any time his eyes were caught by the glinting mental hideously shackled around France’s wrist, the corners of his mouth would twitch in a way that made France want to immediately wound him with the nearest blunt object.

Sadly for France, England was his best chance at getting him out of the current situation and so committing assault upon him was not the best resolution to his current troubles.

‘You’re going to have to do it,’ France said eventually after he’d finished rechecking a drawer England had already searched, (one could never be entirely sure that England was taking this seriously- being an almighty annoyance to France was one of his favourite pastimes, after all, and France didn’t want to assume the glimmer of remorse he had seen was genuine.)

‘Do what?’

‘Oh, don’t play the fool; get me out.’

England made a derisive noise, ‘Oh yes, sorry, let me just pull the key out of my ar-‘

‘No,’ France tutted at him and shifted through his suitcase to find his toiletry bag, ‘You may pretend to Australia that you do not know how to pick locks but we both know that you do¸ and seeing as there is no key and I am stuck here I’m sure you can pretend to forget that lie for just the moment.’

England snorted and took a hairpin that France offered him, ‘You have been watching far too many Hollywood films.’

France put a hand on a hip, ‘Can you do it or not.’

England bristled, ‘Of course I can. But hairpins like this aren’t exactly the bes-‘

France interrupted him with a shake of the wrist, ‘Do you see this still attached to me? I really do not care. Get me out.’

Muttering very gruesome sounding things under his breath, England pushed France down to sit on the bed and crouched before him, positioning France’s wrist upturned on his knees.

France nudged him gently with his foot and raised his eyebrows suggestively, ‘You didn’t have to handcuff me to get me here, you know.’

England swatted him away and looked at him in disgust, ‘Don’t you start.’ He bent apart the hairpin and worked it into the lock, twisting it slightly, ‘I wouldn’t want to anyway, you smell like plane.’

‘Oh! Oh, darling do tell me why that is. Hmm? Is it because I haven’t had the chance to shower yet, because I was attacked before I had even finished unpacking?’ He ran his free hand through England’s hair, ‘Why is this so long? Have you not had it cut since I last did it?’

England squinted at the handcuff and didn’t look up, ‘No, I’ve been busy.’ He twisted the hairpin and it made a very hopeful clicking sound, but nothing happened and England went back to jiggling it ever so slightly into different positions, ‘You can do it whilst we’re here.’

France huffed, ‘And what makes you think I can?’

‘You always take scissors with you.’

‘No, I meant what makes you think that I will.’ He brushed England’s fringe back from his forehead, measuring out its length between his fingers, ‘Just because I-‘

They both jumped, startled, as the door to France’s room burst open unexpectedly to reveal America in the doorway, ‘Yo Francis, we’re all going out to- what the fuck are you doing?!’

England’s head popped up and suddenly France could see all too clearly how this scene looked to America’s eyes: France, a fist buried in England’s hair and England crouched on his knees in front of him, head bent close to his lap.

England locked eyes with him, an expression of shock on his face, before flicking to America framed and frozen in the doorway. He held up a hand placatingly, ‘No it’s okay, they’re just handcuffs!’

‘Oh God!’ America clapped a hand over his eyes, ‘No way man, I do not wanna see that! Jesus, what is wrong with the both of you? Have you heard of locking the door?’

‘No!’ England stood up suddenly. He didn’t let go of the handcuff and the movement jerked up France’s arm roughly, causing him to give a cry of pain. England dropped his arm in horror, ‘It’s really not what it looks like.’

‘Okay, sure dude, whatever,’ still with his hand over his eyes, America backed away out into the corridor, ‘I’ll let everyone know you can’t come because you’re both occupied.’

‘No!’ France and England both shouted in unison but it was no use, America slammed the door and they could hear him running down the corridor in the direction of the stairs.

France sighed through his nose, ‘Well, that went well.’

----

England did eventually spring France loose. After turning off his phone and forcing France to silence his own and not touch it (they kept beeping, America worked fast at spreading the news) he managed to work his way into the lock after chewing it into more of a sharp point and bending it into ridiculous angles.

‘There you go, they can’t have been official handcuffs,’ France rubbed his wrist, relishing the feeling of the metal being gone, and picked up the handcuffs to turn them over, ‘police handcuffs wouldn’t be that easy to pick.’

England snorted and brushed down his trousers, ‘Or, maybe I’m rather good at it.’

France did pretend to politely consider this for a second, ‘Or, your police have never had quality handcuffs, which really does make your government’s further reduction of their budget particularly sad. What will they use next, cable ties?’

England scowled, ‘Is that any way to talk to someone who just freed you from handcuffs?’

‘Yes, if that same person put me in them.’

England gave a bark of laughter, ‘I’m sure you’ve done something recently to deserve it.’

France hmm’d and stood up to join him, ‘I’m glad your alternate reality entertains you.’ He stepped up to England, grabbing his wrist and tugging him closer with one hand before bringing the other to rest on the small of his back.

‘What are you-‘

France swiftly kissed him silent, bringing his hand from England’s wrist to cup the nape of his neck and press his thumb gently into the bones. He felt England relax, the tension from his shoulders loosening as he gave into it and France let him have the moment unspoilt for a while. Then, before England could react, with the other hand France pulled him closer, pressing them closer together, before removing it suddenly.

Click.

With a noise of outrage, England bit him, hard, on the lip and France pulled away with a grin as England furiously brought his hand up to reveal a shiny new bracelet.

France laughed, stepping back quickly lest he hit him, ‘There, now I know you have done something recently to deserve that.’

England recovered the distance, hands clenched at his sides, ‘Yes, but mine was a fucking accident!’

France shrugged lightly, ‘Well, it’s a good thing you’re rather good at breaking out of them, isn’t it?’

England pressed his lips together so tightly they went white and France smirked at him, ‘I’m going to have a shower, you entertain yourself there for a moment with that and then we can go out for a drink.’

England sat down with a huff and picked up the now very abused hairpin, ‘You’re paying.’

‘Maybe.’

‘And we’re avoiding the place everyone else is going to.’

‘Oh certainly.’

----

AN:

I was going to write something soft and sweet, or something more serious with a bit of detail, but this came out instead. I’m not mad about it, but I do wish I were able to stick to some sort of plan.

It made me chuckle writing it, so I hope you all enjoy!

[sweatergirlsposts]

Imagine Being Jacob’s Imprint and Him Taking You To The Cullen Party

Title: Bite Your Tongue 

Pairing: Jacob Black x Fem!Reader

Request By: @lolabunny2008​

(A/N: I changed the personality of the reader to come across as more a confrontational badass, I hope you guys like it)

Four words, party at the Cullens. Jacob, your boyfriend, invited you come along to the graduation party at the Cullens to introduce you to Bella. You were pumped because this was the first true party that you had been to since moving from Las Vegas. 

When you lived in Vegas it was non stop partying every other night, but that was until you had your little incident. You don’t like to reflect upon what happened that night but what’s done was done. Seeing the troubling behavior you had in Vegas, your mother decided that it was time to move away and start anew in the small town of Fork. No big parties and no big city, it was all greenery and a quiet town.   

You tried to leave many times in the first few weeks of being there, but none were successful. Tried driving to Seattle to catch a plane, didn’t work. You tried leaving by bus, didn’t work. You tried hitchhiking, Chief Police Swan had to come pick you up after your mom called. 

A lot of times your anger would get the best of you in the arguments after your attempts to leave and it wasn’t pretty. Your mom could only think of one thing that she could do to prevent you from getting in anymore trouble with her and prevent you from getting in trouble with the police. Anger management classes. 

‘To hell with those’ you’d think when the idea was mentioned. You weren’t gonna bother with some stupid class that teaches you to be mindless and obedient. 

The classes would start at around five in the afternoon, giving enough time to get home from school and go back. When your mother had dropped you off for the class at the high school, you waited for her to leave the area so you could sneak off. With nothing to do for an hour and a half you had decided that you would go take a trek through the forest. 

The hike had taken you quite a bit of a distance toward the northern ridges, where the mountain streams would be, in the thirty minutes you had been in the forest. 

You had taken a break by the bankside of a small ravine when you noticed movement behind your form a couple meters away. You turned around to find a mountain lion watching your form in the grass. One thing you did learn in school back home in Las Vegas was you could do one of two things when coming face- to-face with a mountain lion. One, make yourself look as big as possible to look intimidating or two, run as fast as you could.

Being the bad bitch you are, you never stood down from a fight, even if it was against a mother fucking man eating mountain lion. You spread your arms and started cursing at it, trying to make yourself like a bear to the predator. The lion cowered from what you assumed to be your stance and constant cursing, but turns out there was something much larger and scarier to the mountain lion that stood behind you. 

Jacob had found you wandering around the forest. You stood on the Cullen side while he stood on the Quileute’s. He didn’t see your face but just followed your form feeling a strong tug dragging him along. At a lower part of ravine you had stopped and Jacob eyed you from the other side wondering why you were out by yourself at around this time. Predators would be out at this hour hunting for their next meal with the cover of the falling sun to hide them. 

Jacob saw the mountain lion that was stalking you from it’s place in the grass. You had turned around to see it eyeing you for it’s next meal. Jacob had to do something, he couldn’t let you get hurt, but that would mean revealing himself to you in this form and entering the Cullen’s territory. 

He did what he felt was right. Jumping to the other side of the ravine, to your unbeknownst, he stood behind you intimidating the mountain lion. The mountain lion, who became submissive to the presence behind you, ran away with the tail between it’s legs. 

You were so proud of yourself for five seconds because you scared off a mountain lion, until you could feel a bigger presence behind you. Of course already being in a defensive mode you did what you would’ve done to the mountain lion or anyone that would try and attack you, you threw your fist. 

Jacob did not expect this. He expected that you at least turn, scream, and run away, but not throw your whole fist like you are Mike Tyson in a fight. As you threw your deadly hook, Jacob couldn’t help himself but admire your face for the first time when you twisted around. And that was when he felt it. 

The pull of his gravity no longer attached to the earth but now to you, his imprint that was going to land a punch to his muzzle. You were so beautifully poised in your movement to defend yourself, how could he not admire your reflexes as he felt himself fall further in love with you. He was so used to being the defender and not the defended, it was a nice change to see that you could protect yourself unlike others he knew. 

That was how your first meeting with him went two months ago. Now in present times, Jacob wanted to introduce you to Bella at the Cullen graduation party. Agreeing to go, Jacob also brought along Quil and Embry. They had become good friends of yours, despite you getting them into some of your shenanigans and sometimes getting them in trouble with Sam. 

Pulling up to the party on Jacobs bike with Embry and Quil on their own, you admired the exterior of the property but it wasn’t like anything you hadn’t seen in Vegas. The houses, including you old house, were a little more extravagant in Vegas.  

Jacob helped you off the bike and gave you a full once over.

“Don’t you look sexy, you trying to impress someone (Y/N)?” Jacob joked before giving you a kiss on the cheek.

“Nah babe, if anything you friend should be trying to impress me after what she did to you,” you noted facing the house. 

Jacob had told you about Bella coming over and using him as emotional support when her boyfriend had dumped her, and when she had heard that she had a chance of getting him back she had dumped Jacob like a hot piece of shit. You thought it wasn’t right, if anything you thought that she should've been honest with her intentions instead of dragging Jacob along. You were furious that this girl treated your man like this and wanted to give her a piece of your mind but Jacob told you not to. 

Jacob had been helping you control your anger like he does when he doesn’t want to turn. You guys would meet up in the forest every time your mother would drop you off for anger management classes and would practice plus steal a couple kisses here and there. 

Jacob turned you back around to him to look in your eyes, “I know you aren’t particularly fond of Bella but can you try to be, please for me? We’re on their land we have to be at least,” Jacob paused before finding the right word, “polite”

“Fine,” you bite your tongue holding back from saying “as long as she is”.   

“Thar’s my girl,” Jacob kisses your temple before holding your waist with one arm and leading you inside, as Embry and Quil trail behind.  

You guys walked into the lively party, you recognize most of the people as peers of yours from school. The vibe of the party felt relaxed and joyful but not thrilling like the parties back home, but this wasn’t back home so it would have to do. 

After climbing the stairs to the main part of the party, Jacob looked around to find a familiar face amongst the crowd, Bella’s face you assumed. Finally noticing her on the opposite side of the party, where most people were chilling and not on the dance floor, Jacob guided you over. 

Bella walked over to Jacob, Embry, Quil, and you looking lost at the party. 

“Jacob, hi,” Bella said going in for the hug to which he reciprocated removing the arm around your waist. Jacob placed his arm back around you.

“Hey Bells, congrats on graduating” 

“Yeah thanks, glad it’s over,” Bella expressed awkwardly looking around. You guess she was looking for her boyfriend but to also avoid the tension of them being in close proximity. 

To end the awkward air Jacob spoke up again, “Bella this is (Y/N), my imprint and girlfriend”

“Sup,” and you nodded your chin up. This was something you usually did instead of nodding your head down. You liked establishing that you didn’t bow to no one.

“So you stuck with Jakey over here,” Bella tried to joke not knowing how to interact with you.

“And you’re stuck with the stiff,” you sarcastically joked back but it coming across as slightly defensive. Jacob squeezed your side to remind you about your promise before coming in. 

“(Y/N) just moved here a couple months back from Vegas,” Jacob cut in, “I saved her from a mountain lion when I was out on patrol”

“So she knows about you?”

“Actually she knows about more than just us,” Jacob uttered looking down.

 That’s right, Jacob had told you not only about Sam’s pack but he had to tell you about the Cullen’s because you lived in Forks and not on the reserve. The treaty made it hard sometimes to watch you but you go to the reserve most of the time so he could protect you and more. 

“You told her about them?!” Bella spoke under her breath annoyed that Jacob told you about the Cullens, “Jacob, what the hell? That’s not your place to tell her about that.”   

“What, is there something wrong with that?” you piped into the conversation, “Jacob just wants to protect me. I’m not sorry he told me, especially if I’m going to stay in his life” 

You went there. If Bella was going to chastise, manipulate, and try to control Jacob like she did when her boyfriend left, you weren’t going to let it happen.

“It is just as much his secret as it is yours and your boyfriends family. Don’t try and call him out for doing something he thought was right. Especially if it concerns the one’s he loves. You’re no longer one of the only humans apart of this and in danger. Now excuse me I’m going to go find a drink,” you turned Jacob’s head towards yours and planted a kiss on his lips. You could feel his lips turn from tight-lipped to a smile under yours.

Breaking from the kiss, you turned on your heel you went to try and find a decent drink in the house. 

“Wow didn’t expect that,” Bella breathed out, running her hands through her hair, after being slapped with that reality check.  

“Yeah sorry about that, she means well but she’s a little firey. She just wants to make sure that I’m protected as well. You’ll like her when she warms up to you,” Jacob told Bella still smiling about the fact that you only chewed her out at your lowest level of anger.

It could’ve been a lot worse but Jacob knew that you were trying to bite your tongue. You had good intentions but the way they came across wasn’t always the most pleasant way. 

After Alice had her vision at the party and they discussed about the Newborns coming to Forks, Jacob, yourself, Embry, and Quil enjoyed the rest of the party. 

As the night came to a close so did the party, but something did ponder on your mind. You might have been a little harsh with meeting Bella at the beginning of the party and it did make your chest fill with guilt. You could’ve been nicer but something needed to be said, just at least not like that.

As you walked out of the house party with Jacob, hand-in-hand, Bella had come out to wave a quick goodbye. Bella stood on the porch steps when she called out to you guys. 

“Jacob!” the boy in question turned around to see her standing on the porch,”I’ll see you tomorrow at the thingy” 

Jacob nodded, “See ya then Bells”

You let go of Jacob’s hand before leaning over to him and whispering in his ear, “Give me a minute, you can start up the bike”

Jacob looked between Bella and you before understanding what you were about to do, “Don’t punch her please”

“I won’t babe, promise,” you winked before walking back over to the porch.

You observed how Bella visibly tensed up at your approach like she was ready to either cower away or square up to fight. She stuffed her hands into her pockets after wiping them on her black leggings.  

“I want to apologize, which is something I don’t usually do, about the way I came off,” you paused before continuing,”But I was just saying what had to be said. Im’ma be brutally honest and tell you what you did awhile ago to Jake was horrible. However, I’m willing to put everything about tonight and before in the past, alright?” you remarked more with assurance than as an actual question.

“Yeah that sounds good. It was nice meeting you,” Bella took her hand from her right pocket and offered to shake it as a peace offering. You shook it trying to be polite about the situation before walking back over to Jacob on the bike.

Your handsome boyfriend passed you your helmet, before kissing you on the cheek.

“I’m proud of you,” he gleamed as appreciation that you were good for the most part and then apologizing.

“So proud that I get a reward when I get home,” you muttered into his ear biting your lip seductively.

“Maybe,” he teased and then kissed you passionately on the lips. You loved when Jacob would give you kisses like this in the woods like no one was there watching. 

“Get a room!” Embry yelled over to you two. Him and Quil waited on their bikes, that are already to go, waiting for you two.

He broke away to put on his helmet and you did the same. Jake waved over to Bella before revving the engine and skidding out the driveway with Quil and Embry in tow.

You couldn’t wait until you got back and see what your reward is.

MASTERLIST

[frodos-bizarre-adventure]

@gingerreggg thanks for the appreciation! TnT

Heads Up- Part 14 (Joseph x Bust! Caesar)

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

"Is that necessary?" Suzi complained, as Joseph placed a motion sensor on the table next to Caesar. "And where did you get that, even?"

Joseph grinned his characteristic smirk. "It's to keep the neighborhood kids from messing with my bike. I have to leave it outside cause I don't have a garage..."

"You sure are prepared for everything, Jojo!" she giggled.

Joseph always had the knack for expecting the unexpected, ever since they were kids. Perhaps that could partly explain why Joseph got used to having a talking art project so quickly. How he made it look so normal.

"Okay, Caesar. We're gonna have to get you to not move, not one twitch!" Joseph instructed him. "If you move even the slightest bit, this alarm goes off."

Caesar blinked, and the sensor immediately began to beep.

"Sorry bout that," Caesar apologized.

"You don't need to blink, don't you?" Joseph asked as he reset the sensor.

"It's a force of habit!" Caesar said defensively. "I know I don't even have any tear ducts but it's a reflex! Maybe Anthonio used to blink!"

"Of course he did, he was human," Suzi said.

It struck Joseph as odd that Caesar referred to Anthonio as someone else.

Did he not consider himself Anthonio? Or at least, not anymore? Suzi did, after all, say Caesar was less of a ghost, and more of a reincarnation. Maybe he'd found a new identity.

Maybe he'd found a new purpose.

The entire situation intrigued Joseph. "Say, Suzi, about those Mesoamerican lore of yours..." he asked, "How exactly do those 'spirit guardians' work?"

Suzi laughed. "You're really curious about all this, aren't you?"

Joseph shrugged. "I suppose."

"Hmm. Well, it says here in these old texts, that most spirit guardians were ancestors that returned to the mortal plane, when summoned by those in need, to act as a guardian angel of sorts."

"Heh! Guardian angel you say?" scoffed Caesar. "I'm just a goddamn head."

Suzi shot him an annoyed look and continued on. "Anyway, it's said that these new beings were usually a 'predescessor' of some way. Not necessarily by blood, per se, but by legacy-- say, a warrior could summon a spirit of a warrior before them, or a scientist that of an old philosopher..."

"...and I suppose Anthonio was a sculptor who sought to carry on his legacy in you."

"Then why don't I remember being Anthonio, then?" Caesar retorted.

"Because, Caesar," Suzi said, "the wisdom of the past is tainted with the memories, the identities of those who experience them. I can never be too sure, of course," she shrugged, "but I feel it's made that way to pass on their wisdom to a new worthy successor to their legacy-- yet from a whole new perspective unclouded by their own beliefs. So that Joseph's art would be inspired by Anthonio's, but still be Joseph's own."

Joseph laughed at the irony. "Like how I copied...er, based, Caesar's face off on the statue Anthonio made...which he'd actually based on his own face."

Destiny sometimes did strange twists to absurd results.

"Alright, let's do this one more time!" Joseph said, replacing the motion sensor.

--------

Day by day Caesar practiced standing still. Trying to look like a perfectly ordinary, non-living sculpture. Trying not to blink, or move reflexively, just staring vacantly into nothingness like the lifeless figure he originally was.

It helped that Caesar's eyes never felt dry, even without blinking, they were clay, after all. It didn't hurt, or feel very uncomfortable, but it did make him nervous.

But he fought said feelings, because he knew it was all for Joseph.

He was doing it for the person he loved the most. After all the things Joseph had done to make his life a happy one, this was the best way for Caesar to pay him back.

By serving his original purpose as Joseph's grand masterpiece.

And it was enough to motivate him to try his damned hardest.

"And that's eight hours!" Joseph exclaimed, checking his stopwatch. Caesar had managed to keep still without triggering the beeping of the motion sensor for a record period of time.

"You can relax now, Caesar. Eight hours is all we need."

Caesar blinked and sighed.

"See, you could do it!" Joseph encouraged. "Eight hours each day for two days. Enough for the gallery to hold you on exhibit, and have the judges grade you. And then, hopefully, I graduate and get to have you back."

"You promise?" Caesar asked, in almost a pleading tone.

"I'll try my hardest to get you back," Joseph told him, his mind lingering on the faint possibility that Caesar might be selected for permanent display.

Joseph used to want to make a sculpture so exquisitely defined that it would be put up there in the gallery, alongside those of the greatest artists, forever. How strange that he now wanted the opposite.

He'd made Caesar far too beautiful, and because of this he risked losing him.

"Say, about that thing you said earlier?" Suzi told Joseph. "You based him off an old sculpture by Anthonio, didn't you?"

"I mean, it wasn't a painted statue, so I doubt they'd see the similarities with Caesar all colored and all." Joseph added with his usual mischievous grin.

"Still, he does look a little plain," Suzi pondered, as she looked at the bust from different angles. "We ought to spice him up a little!"

"Oh great," Caesar complained. "More dress-ups."

Suzi pulled out a handful of ribbons, scarves and other accessories and began trying out a bunch of styles to make Caesar look more striking-- and hopefully disguise him from anyone who would suspect Joseph stole the design.

A bowler hat, necktie and a monocle. "This is stupid," Caesar grumbled.

A masquerade feather headdress and a colorful bead necklace. "Hell no," complained Caesar again.

A magenta beanie hat, heart sunglasses and a short shawl. "Are you kidding me?" Caesar cried irately.

But there was one set of gear that made an impact on Caesar, when Suzi put them on.

A headband, designed with a zigzagged line between orange and violet, with a pair of prominent white feathers on each of the temples, and a soft, pink scarf to complete the look.

Caesar opened his mouth to complain, and quickly shut it again as soon as he saw his reflection.

He...actually kind of liked this one.

"Say, that actually suits you well," Joseph said.

"I think so too," Caesar smiled, pivoting slightly on his neck base to see his reflection from another angle.

"So it's settled then?" Joseph asked. "You'll be wearing that to the exhibit?"

"Sure," Caesar agreed. "Anything that won't make you look like a ripoff."

Joseph smiled. He admired Caesar's getup: with the scarf and the headband, he looked positively divine. He looked lovelier than he'd ever had.

He knew that the judges would absolutely like him.

He just hoped they wouldn't like him enough to take him away.

-------

It wasn't long before the day of the exhibit, of Joseph's graduation, was close at hand.

Sleep came little to the troubled artist, as he lay on his bed, his eyes blankly fixed onto the ceiling. The room's only light came from a harsh, white table lamp.

It was three days, before he had to prove himself to the world.

To his mother, Professor Lisa, that he was worthy of her respect.

And to the legacy of his late grandfather, Jonathan, who had been his inspiration, as a child, to become an artist in the first place.

Joseph imagined his grandfather watching him from the stars, invisible but ever present. If only he could see him now. If only he could tell what he'd have thought of him.

His mind drifted back to Suzi's quote, about the spirit guardians being the souls of those who came before. To pass on their legacy.

He couldn't help but imagine. What if Grandpa Jonathan himself had possessed his project bust? He giggled at the thought of his beloved grandpa as a talking, bouncing clay sculpture.

But yet fate seemed to have chose Anthonio Zeppeli to be his guide.

There must have been something special about him that he needed to pass on.

Or maybe, it was just Anthonio himself being perfect for him. Strange that they had to meet in such an improbable way.

He was different now, reborn as another person entirely. Another person that Joseph adored the way he was. Body or no body.

Thinking about Caesar made Joseph's heart thump hard within his chest. Why did he feel this way? To a figure he created? Was it weird? Was it wrong?

And yet as he listened to the steady drum of his own heartbeat, he decided that no, it seemed like nothing felt more right. Caesar was his.

It was then Joseph realized that the steady thumps were getting louder. He first feared there was, perhaps, something wrong with his cardiac rhythm. But then he felt there was another source, that seemed to be coming from outside.

And as Joseph turned his head to look, right on cue, Caesar came bouncing into his room.

In the dim light, Joseph marveled at his bizarre, surreal beauty as he hopped across the floor, still clad in the headband and the scarf that he'd come to enjoy wearing.

Somehow, as ridiculous, slow and clumsy as his only mode of transportation was, Caesar looked oddly majestic.

The vigor and strength with which he pushed his neck against the floor with each hop. The gracefulness as his head turned upward at the highest point of each jump, his headband's feathers fluttering almost like tiny wings. The way his torso stump flexed as it barely cleared the floor with each little forward bounce. And of course, the sheer look of focused determination displayed on Caesar's face as he made his way toward the bed.

He was scarcely even half a man, but his spirit had the strength of many.

To even move his clay form along the distance from kitchen to bedroom took considerable effort, without the aid of arms and legs. And yet Caesar made it work. Caesar made the impossible possible. In spite of his tremendous handicap, he learned to persevere, to overcome.

And maybe Joseph realized why he admired Caesar so much.

Not just with his gorgeous, colorful clay exterior, but with the soul within, burning so bright with passion and determination, despite all odds that barred his way.

Perhaps this was why they were fated to meet.

"Jojo, you awake?" Caesar said, snapping Joseph out of his admiring stupor.

"Huh, yeah, I am now," Joseph mumbled. "What's the matter?"

Caesar looked downward, sadly. "I just feel lonely."

"And next you'll say, 'Can I sleep on your bed tonight, Jojo?' huh?" Joseph smirked.

"Can I sleep on your bed tonight, Jo--" Caesar began to say, before realizing it. "Huh? How did you know--?"

Joseph laughed warmly. "You don't even need to say it, Cae. You're always welcome with me. Anytime."

Gently, he lifted the bust up from the floor. By now, his heavy weight now felt familiar and no longer burdensome. He gently laid Caesar onto the pillow next to him, and, removing his scarf and headband and placing them onto his bedside table, lovingly laid a blanket over Caesar's stubby torso.

With his body, or lack thereof, covered by a quilt, Caesar looked less like a sculpture and more like Joseph's very own, perfectly typical roommate.

Joseph laid back down onto the bed, gently embracing what little body Caesar had, warmly and tenderly underneath the covers.

"Goodnight, Caesar," he said, resting his head against Caesar's soft, warm clay body.

"Goodnight too, Jojo," he responded, as he closed his eyes for the night.

Artist and artwork fondly embraced, within the dimly lit room without anyone else to witness. Suzi was at her home today. It was just him and Caesar, together alone, gently feeling each other's gentle warmth in a fleeting yet sincere moment, as rest soon enveloped their tired minds.

A fleeting yet sincere moment that Joseph wasn't sure he'd get to have again.

--------

(Previous Chapter)

(Next Chapter)

[s-oulpunk]

The Denbrough Show - Chapter Thirteen

Summary:

“Your entire life is being fucking live streamed on Television, Bill!”

“I - what - no,” Bill shakes his head, as if that will somehow clear things up. “I would’ve noticed.”

The stranger shoots him a look that’s almost akin to pity. It makes Bill’s stomach crawl.

“I can prove it."

---

Bill Denbrough's life is far from perfect. But he has everything he could have ever wanted. Friends that love him, parents that smile just the right amount, a boyfriend that would do anything for him. Nothing special. And yet a stranger in a fucking fanny pack goes the extra mile and breaks into his home, just to tell him his far from perfect life is being viewed by a million different people. It's only fair to say this raises a few questions. Who can he trust to have his back? Where is Beverly? And, perhaps most important of all, what really happened to Georgie?

Or: The Truman Show AU

Chapter Summary:

“Bill?” Eddie’s voice pipes up. “Bill, where are you going?”

“Robert knows where Juh-Georgie is,” Bill says, only a foot away from the door now. “I have to-” He’s cut off by Ben stepping directly into his path. “Get ou-out of my way.”

Ben shakes his head. “You’re not thinking, Bill.  We need to talk about this.”

“All we dd-duh-do is talk ah-about it!” Bill argues. “I want to do ss-suh-suh-something!”

TW: Brief mentions of abuse

Read on AO3

Chapter Thirteen:

Bill knows Stan is waiting for him to say something.  He can feel his eyes soaking into his skull, burning into his brain as he searches for answers.  The only problem is, Bill doesn’t know if he could give him an answer if he tried.

“You said no o-one knew where Juh-Juh-Geor-Georgie was,” he whispers.

Stan nods, still staring at him with that wide-eyed look. “I mean, no one had seen or heard from him in years.”

“Then wh-why would he suddenly come out in the oh-open?” Bill asks. “It doesn’t mm-make sense.  And why would he ww-want me to go bb-buh-back there?”

“Maybe he doesn’t,” Stan suggests. “Maybe he was following a script.  Most of the interviews we had to do for The Denbrough Show were scripted.” “Georgie’s not an ah-actor,” Bill frowns.

“No, you’re not listening,” Stan says.

“Wh - Yes I am!”

Stan laughs, a natural reflex to Bill’s half horrified expression. “Just think about it, okay?  There’s no reason Georgie would want you to go back there.  This is the same station that the rest of us did interviews with.  It makes sense that some executive - maybe even your own parents - found Georgie and coerced him to do this interview.”

Bill shuffles uncomfortably. “You think someone’s hh-huh-hur-hur-hurting him?”

Stan pauses, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Probably not physically, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they threatened him.  Robert was never above using force to get the rest of us to do what he wanted.”

“He hh-hurt you,” Bill says simply. “I ss-saw the bruise, you said he hh-huh-hit you. What's to say he ih-isn’t doing the ss-suh-same to Georgie?”

“We don’t even know if Robert has Georgie,” Stan says hurriedly. “Or that he was there-”

“Of course ww-we know he was there!” Bill cries out. “Why wouldn't Rr-Ruh-Robert be there?  This is his operation, he was puh-pruh-probably the one to write Georgie’s sc-scr-script!” Stan frowns down at the laptop.  Georgie’s photo is still frozen in front of them, staring up into the camera with eyes sparkly with tears.  It shatters Bill’s heart just a little bit more, and he quickly re-focuses his energy on getting an answer from his friend. “Stan?”

Stan tears his eyes away from the computer. “Sorry,” he says, not looking very sorry at all.  He looks too distant to be truly sorry, too lost in thought to even know what he’s apologizing for. “I’m thinking.”

Bill nods slowly.

Stan has always seemed distant and far away when he’s thinking.  He pinches his eyebrows and purses his lips, his whole face scrunching together like he’s just heard one of Richie’s particularly bad jokes.  But his eyes are sharp and analytical, focused on nothing in particular.  Bill’s always had a hunch that Stan can see whatever it is he’s thinking about.  Whenever he thinks too hard about anything, it’s as if he’s been transported into another plane of existence.  And the only thing that can bring him back is the right answer.

And while Bill’s never been more grateful for that than now, he’s a little afraid that Stan will never find the right answer.  That he’ll never come back.

Then, “Robert was probably there,” Stan says slowly, picking out his words like they’re fruit on a thorny bush.  His movements have to be slow and precise, making sure not to prick himself while reaching for the delicious food. “But it doesn’t make sense for Georgie to be with him.  He’s not good with kids, he hates them.  Why would your parents put their son’s fate in the hands of someone who hates kids?”

Bill shrugs. “Why would they ll-luh-let a psychopath put mm-my entire life on tt-tuh-television?”

“Touche,” Stan says. “They might be shitty parents, but they still want a good life for you guys.  They thought living on the set of The Denbrough Show would make you happy.  That it would make life easier.  It was misguided, but they didn’t want to hurt you.”

“But wh-wh-what does that have to do with Georgie?”

“If they don’t want to hurt you, no matter how ill intentioned they are, then they aren’t going to want to hurt Georgie,” Stan continues. “They may be, admittedly, terrible parents, but they wouldn’t put either of you in harm’s way.”

“They don’t know that Rr-Robert would huh-huh-hurt him!” Bill insists. “Do th-they know he hurt yuh-you?” Stan doesn’t answer, which is all the answer Bill needs.  A moment later he’s on his feet, marching purposefully across the apartment.

“Bill?” Eddie’s voice pipes up. “Bill, where are you going?”

“Robert knows where Juh-Georgie is,” Bill says, only a foot away from the door now. “I have to-” He’s cut off by Ben stepping directly into his path. “Get ou-out of my way.”

Ben shakes his head. “You’re not thinking, Bill.  We need to talk about this.”

“All we dd-duh-do is talk ah-about it!” Bill argues. “I want to do ss-suh-suh-something!”

“Ben’s right.”

Bill wheels around to face Richie, eyes blazing furiously.  He’s used to Richie having his back on almost everything, the fact that he isn’t willing to back him up on this is like a slap to the face.

“It’s dangerous,” Richie continues. “You can’t go rushing into shit just because you’re upset.”

“He doesn’t have to be rushing into anything,” Beverly says firmly. “If we actually helped him and came up with a plan-”

“What do you mean if we actually helped him?” Ben asks.  He looks horrified, mouth agape and eyebrows drawn together.  His cheeks are starting to become a dark red color, nearly dark enough to match Bev’s hair.  But his eyes are what Bill can’t stop looking at.  They’re dark and angry, furiously glaring at his girlfriend from across the room.  Bill doesn’t think he’s ever seen Ben truly angry.  It’s enough to make him want to retreat back into himself, to make him want to crawl away and hide until he’s sure he’ll be safe from Ben’s wrath. “Are you fucking kidding me?  Bev, we risked everything-”

“And yet he’s still a prisoner!” Bev snaps. “You’re all keeping him trapped inside this house!  Telling him what to do!”

“That’s not the same!” Mike argues. “You can’t even compare the two!”

“I think she’s right.” Eddie’s voice seems to breathe a wave of fresh air into Bill’s lungs.  Eddie who, over the course of a few days, has quickly become one of Bill’s best friends in the world.  Eddie who risked everything to help him.  Bill can’t be more grateful to have him on his side. “We’re only keeping Bill here because we’re scared.  It’s not fair.”

Richie shakes his head. “No.  No, no.  We’re not - That’s not why-”

“It is why,” Eddie insists. “What happens if he’s caught?  He gets sent back to set?  It’s two months there.  Yeah it’ll suck, but then he can demand they set him free.  It’ll be almost easier than all these hoops we’re jumping through.”

“You honestly think they’re just going to let him leave?” Richie says.

“They’re going to tighten their security,” Mike says, “find ways to make him stay.”

“They’ll do the same thing if they catch him in two months!” Eddie cries out.

Bev nods. “We need to start fighting back now.  I know it won’t be easy, but delaying it won’t make it any easier.”

“It’s mm-muh-my life,” Bill says.  His voice, despite the stutter, doesn’t shake.  He can’t help but feel a swell of pride at that, and it pushes him to continue on. “Don’t I get a ss-say?  It’s my ll-luh-life and I say we do something nn-nuh-now.  I don’t ww-wuh-want to sit and hh-hide anymore.”

“Fuck, Bill, it isn’t just about you!” Richie blurts out. “The rest of us are going to be affected as well!  You can’t rush into something without all of us agreeing!”

Bill opens his mouth to argue, to insist that next time maybe Richie shouldn’t hide behind the idea of protecting him just to save his own skin.  But Bev beats him to it.

“Let’s take a vote,” she says. “Majority rules.  Who thinks we should start fighting back now?” Bill, Eddie, and Bev raise their hands. “And who thinks we should wait until Bill’s eighteen?” Mike, Ben, and Richie’s hands shoot into the air.

There’s only one hand missing.

“Stan?” Bill creeps closer to him. “Ah-Are you okay?”

Stan nods.  Despite this, Bill can’t bring himself to believe him.  Stan, by no means, looks okay.  His eyes are distant and far away, his sweater pulled down over his hands as Stan picks at a loose thread.

“You’re the deciding vote,” Mike says softly.

“I - What?”

“Oh wh-whether or not we go ah-after Robert now,” Bill says.  He leaves his post by the door in favor of sitting next to Stan, knees bumping and shoulders brushing.  It feels safer here, like nothing can hurt him when Stan’s looking at him like that.  Like he would give up his life to protect him.  In some way, Bill supposes he did.

“Right,” Stan murmurs. “I - um - I don’t know.  It’s risky.”

“It’s my bb-buh-bruh-brother!” Bill cries out. “Please, Stan.”

“I know,” Stan whispers. “I know.  But it’s dangerous.  And making sure you stay out will be easier than breaking you out again.”

“But-”

“Bill…” Stan’s voice makes Bill slump in defeat.  It’s tired and broken, the voice of someone who has tried everything - who has gone through hell - and still came out empty handed. “Please.”

“Ff-Fuh-Fuh-Fine.”

“Alright then,” Richie says, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife through a stick of butter. “That settles it.”

Eddie rolls his eyes.  He clearly does not think this settles it, but he doesn’t voice these concerns.  Instead he slumps back down in his seat, burying his nose in his phone and doing his best to help from a distance.  He still thinks going head to head with Robert would be much more effective but no, that’s scary, we can’t do that.

In Eddie’s mind, you can never reap a reward if you don’t plant the seeds.  If they don’t go up against Robert themselves, they will never be able to be free from his clutches.  They’ll always be his puppets, dangling from wire thin strings attached to his meaty fingers.  The kind that could snap and send them plummeting to their messy, messy deaths in a split-second.

The only hope left for them is to sever the strings on their own, and to hope they don’t break any bones in the fall.

-

Across the room, Bill is still sitting silently beside Stan.  He expected Stan’s answer, he knows how much Robert terrifies him, but it still stung to hear.  Bill had been a sitting duck for all his life, whether he knew it or not.  He had always been complacent.  He’s sick of it.  He wants to do something.  He wants to fight back.  He wants to feel heard for once in his fucking life.

Stan must know what he’s thinking because he tears his eyes away from the computer to look up at Bill, all wide eyed and apologetic, and says, “I’m sorry.  You have to understand-”

“I uh-understand perfectly fine, Stan,” Bill says softly. “You’ve tt-tuh-told me more times than I can count hh-how terrifying Rr-Robert is.  I know the rr-ruh-risk.”

Stan quickly averts his gaze.  The hurt on his face is clear, and it quickly makes Bill feel nauseous.  He did that.  He hurt him.

But he refuses to back down.  If he can just get Stan to change his mind, then he can go after Georgie.  Then he can help him.  And that’s what really matters.

“It’s just safer this way,” Stan murmurs. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“That’s rr-really sweet, Stan,” Bill says. “But the oh-only one who should be ww-wuh-worrying about me is me.”

“That’s not true!” Stan says. His head snaps back up, and there are no apologies in his eyes this time.  Now they’re all business, determined to tell Bill exactly how he’s wrong. “We’re friends.  Friends care about each other.  Friends worry about each other.  And Richie’s right, this isn’t just your fight.  Just, please, trust us?”

Except trust has nothing to do with it.  Bill trusts the Losers with every fiber of his being, he would put his life in their hands a million times over.  Who he doesn’t trust is Robert.  Robert, who is one of the only people to currently know where Georgie Denbrough is being kept.

Still, he murmurs out a quiet, “okay,” because never would he want Stan to think he doesn’t trust him.  He falls silent after that, watching quietly as Stan scrolls through article after article.

It makes Stan nervous.  Sitting next to Bill, close enough that he can feel his warmth radiating off his body, but not having a word to be said between them.  Not that Bill had been very talkative in the past. The taunting for his ever present stutter had been sure to shut him up quick.  Although sometimes Stan wonders if anyone else knows that’s the reason for Bill’s soft spoken nature (although that nature may have taken a bit of a turn in light of recent events).

He had only brought his concerns up to Robert once - an affair he had to spend a week preparing himself for.  But Robert had barely bat an eye.

“The show needs conflict, Stanley,” he had said. “Besides, people love it.  The story of a boy who stands tall and fights back against the bullies.  Little boys need to see people like that on their televisions.  Don’t you think?”

Stan does in fact think so.  Years of acting classes had drilled it into his brain.  Representation in the media would reflect back onto the real world.  The only problem was, to Bill it wasn’t a TV show.  To Bill it was his life.

Stan can still barely stomach the idea.  He wonders if he even truly understands the toll it took on his friend.

Gently, he bumps their shoulders together. “Hey.  You feeling alright?”

Bill nods without a second thought.  Then, after a moment to think, shakes his head. “Eh-Every-Every-th-thing’s a mm-muh-mess.”

Stan sighs.  That doesn’t even describe the half of it. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Bill offers him a sad smile.  It makes Stan’s heart crack, just an extra little splinter to go along with the already broken organ. “What huh-huh-happened ww-wasn’t your fff-fault.  I know wh-why you vv-vuh-voted ah-against finding Juh-Juh-Geor-Georgie.”

Stan ducks his head, his cheeks flushing in humiliation.  Maybe he was a dick for that.  Hell, he definitely was.  Georgie’s just a kid, he deserves better than to be hidden away once he’s no longer of any use to Robert.  But they would have a better fighting chance after Bill’s birthday.  There’s no reason to take any more risks than they already have.

But he doesn’t say any of that.  Instead he just mumbles out another apology and tries not to think about the far away look in Bill’s eyes.

“It’s oh-okay,” Bill murmurs.  Though Stan is starting to suspect that it’s very much not okay.

“We’ll find him soon,” he promises.

Bill nods.  Soon.  They’ll find him soon.

-

Richie still hasn’t talked to Eddie.  He had been working up the courage, but now it’s nearly impossible to think about crossing the few feet that separate them.  Eddie looks pissed.  Like a chihuahua whose toy has just been taken away, and chihuahuas aren’t exactly known for their friendliness in the first place.  If he gets too close, he’s bound to get bitten.

It’s not like Richie’s never been on the receiving end of Eddie’s fury before.  He’s not known for being the most thoughtful guy in the world, and he’s well known for having a big mouth that’s bound to get him in trouble.  But this is different.  He’s done more than simply saying the wrong thing or making an off-color joke at a cast party.

He thinks in another life he might find the courage inside him to talk to Eddie.  To explain himself.  He thinks in that life, Eddie would understand.  That they would go on as if nothing had happened, as if Eddie had never been mad at all.

But this life isn’t that life.  And Richie doesn’t know if Eddie will ever be able to pretend Richie hadn’t betrayed him.  Because Richie knows that’s how Eddie sees it.  A betrayal.

And so Richie Tozier does not talk to Eddie Kaspbrak that day.  He doesn’t explain himself.  And he certainly doesn’t fix anything.

But some things are simply too frightening to do.  Sometimes telling someone you love how you feel is scarier than standing up in front of the whole world to carry out a lie made by a power hungry maniac.  Because it doesn’t matter if every single person on the planet hates you, as long as you have that one special person by your side.  But if that person hates you too, then who is there to turn to?

He forces his gaze away from Eddie, instead focusing it on his phone.  He has to focus.  Once he’s managed to clear his name, then maybe he can think about talking to Eddie.

In his dazed state, he hadn’t noticed his phone shut off.  It’s not a big deal, all he has to do to turn it back on is his thumbprint.  What is a big deal is the website he was on seems to have reloaded.  And there, in big, bulky letters, is the headline to haunt all headlines:

Fan Claims To Have Discovered Whereabouts Of Missing Child Star William Denbrough.

With rising panic, Richie clicks on the article.  He prays to God it’s just speculation.  That someone saw someone vaguely similar to Bill and decided to sell the story for a few extra bucks.  He can already see it in his head.  “It is suspected he’s hiding out in the busy streets of New York.” “That he’s making his way to the real Maine.” “That he was spotted at a gas station somewhere between Oregon and Washington.”

Richie can feel his shoulders start to relax.  Yes, he’s sure now that it won’t mean anything at all.  He should know better than anyone, the news can be spun any direction you like.  You can’t trust everything on the internet.

Unfortunately, this article was spun in the right direction.

Staring back at him is his own face.  He’s wearing a grin full of teeth and has one arm around a fan, two of his fingers poking out from behind her head like bunny ears.  It’s a pose he does with most of his fans - even if they mock him for it on Twitter and Tumblr - because it makes them laugh.  And what better sound is there than the laughter of someone who looks up to you?

Despite the familiar pose, he can tell who this fan is immediately.  It’s the fan who ran up to him as he was chasing after Eddie.  As he was chasing after Eddie with Bill.

He swears under his breath.  He was sure it was dark enough.  He was sure his explanation had been enough.  He was sure she hadn’t really noticed.

But he should have asked to see the photo.

Because in the background, though blurry and half hidden by the shadows, is Bill.

“Fuck,” he whispers.  Then, because one fuck doesn’t fully encompass how he’s feeling, “Fuck!”

Mike’s peeks out from behind the couch. “Richie?  Everything okay?”

Richie offers Mike a sarcastic grin. “Just peachy,” he says through his teeth.

“Okay, no need to be a dick about it,” Mike replies coolly.  Richie can’t help but feel relief at his calm response.  He’s known for lashing out when he’s angry, and it’s often only made his problems worse.  But Mike is kind and soothing, a welcomed contrast to Richie’s own internal fury. “What’s up?”

Richie opens his mouth.

Then closes it again.

How is he supposed to explain this?  The fan had been talking to him.  He had been too lax about letting Bill walk around in the open.  It’s his fault this fan had spotted Bill.

His friends would know that.  They have always been able to see right through him.

He could lie to everyone.  The entire world.  He could spin any tale he wanted and play it off as reality.

And he had.  He had done it with a grin on his face.

Richie Tozier.  Star of The Denbrough Show.  It was all he had ever wanted: adoring fans, thousands of instagram followers, no problem getting a date if he were ever in need of one.  But it doesn’t matter.  It never mattered.  Because the only people he could never lie to were the only people that really mattered - the people in this room.  And looking around the shoebox of an apartment, he knows they’ll know that it’s his fault.

“Richie?” A hand on his shoulder sends him leaping nearly a foot in the air.  But when he turns around, it’s just Bev and the concern in her eyes.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

Bev nudges him gently. “Are you gonna tell us what’s wrong?”

With a horrified jolt, Richie realizes the entire room is staring at him. “I - Um-”

Stan seems to recognize the panic in Richie’s eyes immediately.  Before Richie can blink, Stan’s by his side, interlocking their fingers with one hand and gently rubbing his back with the other.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “It’s okay.  You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to.”

Richie shakes his head. “I do.  I do have to.”

“No-”

“Yes!”

Stan jumps at the force of Richie’s voice.  For a split second Richie can see the fear in his eyes, a red hot flash that stabs Richie’s heart and twists until he’s sure it’ll stop beating all together.  But then the moment ends.  Richie’s heart keeps beating.  Time goes on.

“Sorry,” Richie says. “Um - I do.  I do have to show you.  It’s-” He swallows thickly. “It’s about Bill.”

Bill’s shoulders stiffen. “Mmm-Me?”

Richie nods. “Someone - A fan - I mean, the fan, they took - in our photo-”

“What do you mean the fan?” Eddie asks, his voice sharp and to the point.  It sends chills down Richie’s spine.

“The one from the other night!” Richie says. “When you ran out and I went after you, and-”

“And Bill chased after you,” Eddie finishes.  His tongue darts out, wetting his suddenly chapped lips. “There’s a photo?  Of Bill?”

Richie nods.

“But - Bb-But it www-wuh-was dark,” Bill says.  He glances around the room desperately. “Hh-How could sh-she huh-have gotten a guh-guh-good ph-photo?”

“It’s not that good,” Richie says. “But it’s enough.  You can tell it’s you for sure.”

Eddie pushes himself to his feet, crossing the room to peer at the photo.  Sure enough, there’s Bill.  But Eddie himself can’t be seen in the photo.

He can’t help but feel a wave of relief wash over him.  He knows it’s nothing compared to what will happen to Bill if he’s caught, but if Sonia Kaspbrak found out her darling boy was hanging around with Richie Trashmouth Tozier again, Eddie would be in for hell.

“Wh-What do we dd-duh-do?” Bill asks.

Bev shakes her head. “I don’t know.  Robert’s going to put two and two together.  He knows I live on this street.

Her eyes meet Bill’s across the room.  The simple action is enough to bring Bill to his feet, enough to get him to cross the room and take a peek at the photo for himself.  Mike and Ben are quick to follow, and soon all seven of them are gathered around the kitchen island.  It feels weirdly intimate.  Like the rest of the world has fallen away, and all that is left are them and this apartment.

“You have to leave,” Bev says. “You all need to leave.  Robert can’t know any of you were here.” No one moves a muscle. “I’m serious!  I’m not letting you get fucking blacklisted because of me!”

“We’re going to get blacklisted anyway.” To Bill’s shock, it’s Stan’s voice that meets Bill’s ears.  He speaks slow and even, and Bill doesn’t have to ask to know he’s been thinking over his next words ever since seeing the photo. “I say we fight back.  Against Robert.”

Bill’s head jerks over, staring at Stan with wide, unbelieving eyes. “Rrrr-Ruh-Ruh-Really?”

Stan nods. “Really.”

Richie lets out a shout of horor. “You can’t be serious!  Stan we’ll never get out of there alive.”

“I’m not saying we see him in person,” Stan says. “That would be insane.  He’s using the media as his weapon, I think we should use it as ours as well.”

Eddie leans across the island.  Stan didn’t have any doubts about him being on his side, but the curiosity and excitement that shines in Eddie’s eyes is more than Stan could have ever expected. “What are you thinking?”

“We post our own video,” Stan says.

Ben shares a nervous look with Mike. “What kind of video?”

At that, Stan falters. “I’m not sure yet.”

“We can figure it out,” Bill says.  For once, his voice feels steady. “I know what I want to say.”

-

An hour later, there’s still no response from Robert.

“This is bullshit,” Richie says.  As much as he hates the idea of Robert seeing this and making their lives a living hell, the waiting is so much worse. “I thought he would see it immediately.  Doesn’t he have tabs on all of us?”

“You would think he would have a whole team of people stalking Bev’s social medias specifically,” Mike says.

“I'm positive he does,” Ben says through a huff. “He’s tried to get her to take stuff down before.”

“Be patient,” Bev says.  Despite this, she’s sure she’s refreshed her instagram at least a hundred times in the last hour. “If I see anything from him, I’ll contact you guys.”

“And ih-if he dd-duh-doesn’t respond?” Bill asks.

“We keep pushing,” Bev says. “We’re bound to catch his attention eventually.”

“But how do we know if he hasn’t seen it,” Mike frowns, “or if he’s just planning something worse?”

The group falls silent.  Ever since the shutdown of the show, it’s not like any of them have had constant contact with Robert.  Their relationship had always been strictly professional.  Sometimes the Losers can’t help but wonder if it was less than that to Robert.  If they were all just pawns in his mind, moving across the board in a worldwide game of chess.

Then, quiet as a mouse, Eddie’s voice fills the room, “I can find out.”

-

“Are you ss-sure this is a good ih-id-idea?” Bill asks, watching Eddie pace around his room.  The Losers had gone their separate ways soon after hearing Eddie’s plans, and while Eddie had seemed confident in the moment, more and more of that confidence is slipping away now that the moment of truth is upon them.

“No,” Eddie admits. “But it will get us further than playing cat and mouse.” He finally stops pacing, which Bill is silently grateful for because it was starting to make him antsy, and fixes his gaze on Bill.  Bill squirms, unable to help but feel like an ant under a microscope. “Are you sure you’re okay going to Stan’s?”

Bill nods. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

A grin breaks out across Eddie’s face.  It’s sharp and knowing and Bill doesn’t like it one bit. “Just making sure.” Bill opens his mouth to push the issue, but Eddie cuts him off with a loud huff of air. “Alright.  I’m going to ask her.” Bill nods, snapping his mouth shut. “Wish me luck.”

“Good ll-luck.”

Eddie offers him a shaky grin before spinning on his heel and marching out of his room.  The rest of the house is, quite frankly, a mess.  While Eddie’s room is almost overly clean, the rest of the house looks not unlike something he might see on Hoarders.  He weaves throughout unopened boxes - shit from various As Seen On TV ads that his mother actually had the nerve to buy.  Sure, she has the money.  Robert pays his executive writers well.  But the question isn’t can she?  It’s should she?  And, if Eddie were to be honest, she shouldn’t.

“Mom?”

An excited squeal can be heard from the kitchen “Eddie-Bear!”

Eddie winces.  He fucking hates that nickname.  But he schools his face into an easy grin as he descends the stairs - entering a much less cluttered area - and turns into the kitchen.  If he wants this to go well, he has to play the part of her good, sweet baby boy.

Sonia is inside, hunched over a microwave.  There are two Eggos inside, two more already warm and set aside on a plate, and while Eddie can’t admit his love for the waffles, his mouth waters for the homemade pancakes Ben’s mother always sets out.

“How did you sleep, dear?” Sonia asks.

“Good,” Eddie says. “Did you sleep well, mama?”

Sonia nods and pushes the plate closer to Eddie. “Eat, eat.  You know breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

Eddie doubts having the same processed waffles every morning counts as a healthy breakfast, but he doesn’t dare bring this up to his mother.  He just silently takes a bite and nods as if the taste hasn’t become bland and flavorless over the months.

“So I was thinking,” Eddie says, “We haven’t had Robert over for dinner in awhile.  I haven’t seen him since before the shutdown, it might be nice to catch up and see how he’s doing.”

Sonia’s eyes light up.  It makes Eddie sick to his stomach. “Oh, honey, that’s a wonderful idea!  Why didn’t you say anything sooner?  Oh, I’ll call him as soon as we finish breakfast.”

Eddie pushes down his disgust, forcing himself to grin and bear it. “Great!  It’ll be really good to see him again.”

“It will be,” Sonia says. Then, as if it’s an afterthought, though Eddie knows it’s what she’s been thinking of this whole time, “Maybe I can finally ask him about that promotion.”

“Good idea!” Eddie grins. “Maybe then you can buy more As Seen On TV.”

Sonia narrows her eyes at him. “What?”

“It was on in the living room,” Eddie lies. “There was something I thought you might like.”

Sonia gasps quietly. “Oh, I’ll have to check!  Eddie, dear, you don’t mind cooking tonight, do you?  I wouldn’t want Robert to have to eat take-out.”

But it’s no problem for me to eat take out every night, Eddie thinks bitterly.

“Sure thing,” he says instead. “I’ll go look at recipes now.”

Sonia grins, but none of it holds that motherly kindness Eddie so desperately searches for. “Thank you, Eddie-bear.  You’re such a help.”

Eddie plasters his own grin onto his face. “That’s why I’m doing it.  To help.”

[searlaitflanagan]

you’re on my mind all of the time → solo.

TAGGING — Charlie Flanagan & Cole McLean ( NPC ). LOCATION — Manhattan, New York.  DATE & TIME — 11 April 2021, evening. ( Charlie’s time in New York: 11 April - 24 April 2021 ). NOTES — Cole meets Charlie at the airport when she flies home & she begins to realize letting go and forgetting are not the same.    WORD COUNT & TRIGGERS — 1,244, no triggers.

It’s a flight she’s made countless times since her move to Providence Peak -- reflex driving her through almost every step of the process as she tries to embrace the feeling of being able to breathe deeply, moving from one home to one forgotten in a way she’s never planned for and can never come back from. Manhattan is always-- has always-- will always be home but there are bits of her -- bits of Séarlait from Manhattan that aren’t bits of Charlie from Providence Peak and trying to scramble to shove those pieces together in ways that won’t fit in the span of a four hour flight is a fight she’s losing before it even begins.

It’s silly, she thinks -- silly to imagine these different versions of herself as though she hasn’t been the same person the whole way through but the person she is now -- the scared little girl running home for comfort is as much her as the tired grown woman trying to scrape together bits of herself into a better whole and Charlie thinks she might just spend the rest of her life trying to discover where the seams of her being meld together without a fuss.

It’s been nearly a year since she’s been home-- nearly a year since she’s stumbled into her childhood home to warmth and comfort-- to her father’s boisterous bear hugs and her mother’s endless tenderness and her brothers’ collective energy simply for being in her presence.

She exhales all of her anxiety in the steps she takes between leaving the plane and making her way down to baggage claim, expecting her family to be waiting for her after all of the conversations she’s had with them since her last relapse. She pauses at the end of the escalator at the sight of a familiar mop of dark hair, mutters an apology over her shoulder as a smile threatens to split her features and laughs so hard she can’t breathe when Cole catches her like he’s been waiting to do it all afternoon when she all but launches herself into his arms.

“Did you bribe my parents or something?” Charlie asks, another breathless laugh rolling through her while she pushes hair from her face and Cole reaches down to grab her suitcase with one hand and her hand with the other.

“You think I had to bribe them? Your mom had a last minute surgery -- so I figured it was the least I could do, right? I was plannin’ on meeting you at home anyway,” Cole explains, blue eyes bright with equal parts amusement and delight and when Charlie squeezes his hand and watches his smile widen in return she can only be grateful that she has him at her side again. 

They make their way to Cole’s car in a distant parking lot hand-in-hand-- dancing around people crowding the airport terminal and pausing only for a moment when an older woman informs them that they make a ‘very nice couple’. Cole kisses her cheek as they walk away and Charlie feigns a gag while his laughter echoes in the parking garage and it feels very much like coming home to something she’s needed for longer than she knows how to explain. Their conversation ebbs as Cole begins the process that is getting out of JFK and Charlie watches the scenery pass in the front seat after she makes a point to text Harper and let her know she’s made it there in one piece to begin with. She sees Cole flash her another amused smile out of the corner of her eye and her eyebrows rise almost out of reflex before she pouts at him in earnest, “What?”

Cole chuckles, broad shoulders rising in a shrug. “Nothing, dude. How’s your girl?” He asks instead and there’s such an earnest interest in his voice that it makes Charlie’s pout melt away in favor of another crooked smile.

“She’s good,” Charlie says softly, flicking to a page on her phone with only one app because it allows her to see her background-- a picture of Harper she’d taken three weeks ago-- smiling down at it before she realizes what she’s doing and holds up a finger in Cole’s direction as he opens his mouth to speak again. “I miss her already which feels kind of dumb, but... she’s good. We’re good. She’s been--” She pauses, her brows furrowing for a moment. “She’s been a saint during all of my bullshit, honestly. I keep thinking I must’ve dreamed her up at some point but I-- I’m really happy to have her,” She explains softly, shifting in her seat so she can look at the city moving around them rather than focusing on the lump in her throat as she considers just how much she appreciates having Harper in her life.

“It’s been a while since you’ve been this happy about someone else, y’know,” Cole says, the cadence of his voice - the familiar patience enough to make Charlie listen. “I know I don’t have to like, beat you to death with it but I think Katie would be... she’d be proud of you, little bear. For moving on-- tryin’ to take care of yourself. You know that, right?”

Charlie swallows hard, an audible gulp that finds her staring out the window again as she fights the trembling in her chin and the anxious static blooming at the base of her skull. Cole reaches for her before she can say anything-- twines their fingers together and holds her hand tight in his own as she begins to cry and nods in answer to his question, “I know. I’ve never b-been--” 

She swallows again, her throat tight as she reaches up with her free hand to scrub at her tears, “I don’t think I’ve ever been ready to... god, I hate calling it ‘letting her go’. I think about her all the time and I miss her like it just fucking happening but I know I can’t just hang onto all of that. It’s like-- it feels so hard to think of it like anything other than an anchor that’s just dragging me down every second of the day and I don’t think of Katie that way but it’s all of this-- shit-- that I can’t stop carrying around...” Charlie trails off, her hair falling into her eyes as she folds in on herself in the passenger seat. The engagement ring resting against her chest feels like it weighs a ton as she fishes it out, balances it in her free hand and stares at it for a long time before she takes it off and slips it into the pocket of her jeans-- glancing at Cole when they hit another red light and he can turn to look at her properly.

“Can we... would you... can we make something to put the rings in? While I’m here? You’ve always been better at building shit than I have and I wanna make like, I dunno. Something with our picture in it and the rings-- so I can remember her... all of it... without dragging it around anymore. I think... I think that would be okay, right?”

Cole’s eyes are as red-rimmed as hers when their gazes meet and Charlie leans over to press a kiss to his knuckles before the light turns green and Cole clears his throat sharply, “Yeah. Yeah, I think that’d be okay.”

[stevie-steven-stevington]

say something (i’m giving up on you)

i’m back!!!!!!! this was originally written for the irondad zine, but that fell through, so alas, here we are!!

support me on ko-fi

The room is spinning. 

No. The room is not spinning, because there’s no room to spin. He’s not in a room anymore, because he escaped, he escaped, but he really didn’t. He hasn’t escaped the nightmare that is still unfolding around him, because it’s inescapable, it’s undeniable, it’s surrounding him and enveloping him and suffocating him. 

The room is not spinning, but the world is. 

The world is supposed to be spinning, but not like this. The spinning is meant to be imperceptible, not blatant and dizzying and somehow loud, and yet here he is, standing on shaking ground. 

Perhaps the shaking is a metaphor. For what, he hasn’t quite decided yet - his shifted worldview, maybe, or his shattered sense of reality - but regardless, the metaphor is the clearest thing he’s encountered since -

Since...

Since. 

Stop. Stop stop stop it, please don’t do this. Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about -

Him.

The ground shakes.

I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t want this, I didn’t mean for this to happen, I tried to protect you, I was always trying to protect you, I didn’t protect you, I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you -

The edges of his vision tinge with red and black and muddled shades of gray. 

I would have given my life to protect you. And I would give my life to have you back.

Just as he is slipping away, his grip on awareness loosening, fading, releasing, he sees it. In the midst of the spots in his eyes, he sees the light, he sees the propulsors, he sees the outline of a form he’d recognize anywhere.

He sees his savior, once again.

And Tony reaches for him, cries out the name of his best friend, the love of his life, in a voice hoarse both from disuse and from awful, heart-wrenching sobs, and is reached for in return.

He’s bleeding. 

It’s not really a problem so much as it is a nuisance. The blood’s not dripping so it’s not like he’s leaving a trail, and it barely even hurts, but it is slowly seeping into the piece of his shirt that he tore off and wrapped around his thigh and it’s getting kind of annoying.

It’s not a problem, really, but if he focuses on it enough, he can almost pretend that the problems he does have aren’t real.

Almost. 

Almost almost almost - what are you going to do without him, you’re just a stupid little boy who’s in over his head, you weren’t even important to him, he didn’t save you, he didn’t save you -

You didn’t save him.

He trips, pain suddenly spiking up his leg and somehow finding its way to his skull, catches himself on a tree - he’s in a forest, apparently, because why not - and just stays there.

Stays, because yes, he’ll have to move eventually - he’ll die if he doesn’t, actually die, and after everything he’s been through, dying is synonymous with giving up - but he can take a minute. Sixty seconds isn’t that long, but maybe it’ll be long enough for him to process...everything. 

Sixty seconds pass.

It’s not long enough. 

He should go back. He wants, despite the blatant counterintuitiveness, nothing more than to go back, to check for himself, to make sure he’s not giving up on something that actually could be fixed. On someone who is waiting for him to figure out how to fix it.

But he can’t. He can’t go back, because going back means risking his life, and he can’t die now. It would make everything that’s happened, everything that’s been done for him, horribly futile, and he can’t do that to - 

To…

To him.

He can’t play with fire, not now, and so, with tears in his eyes, he forces himself to stand upright, counts another thirteen, fourteen, fifteen seconds, and then goes. 

Off on his own, in a world that no longer feels like it wants him in it.

~~

He punches a medic in the face when he tries to put in an IV and Tony is simultaneously horrified and too out of it to even care. 

Instinct is a funny thing. Reflexes are just that - reflexive, involuntary, automatic - and Tony’s fight or flight instinct has always been skewed toward fight, so as horrified as he is, he's not exactly surprised. 

He hears himself say - something. What he’ll hope, later on, was an apology. Feels Rhodey, who’s the only part of this that’s real and grounding and good, take the hand that, if not for the numbness that’s taken over his whole body, would surely be throbbing with pain, and cradle it ever so gently in his own. 

He is aware of three things at this moment. 

One - he is alive. A miracle, in itself.

Two - Rhodey is with him. He is the only person in the room who matters.

Three -  Peter Parker is not here.

Tony clutches at Rhodey’s hand, tight, and only then does he register even the tiniest ache in his knuckles. His other hand comes up to grasp at the collar of Rhodey’s shirt.

“Rhodey,” he says roughly, sharply, desperately. “Rhodey, we have to go back.”

His best friend’s voice seems far away when he says, “We’re going back, Tony. We’re on our way home right now, okay?”

“No.” Tony’s shaking. He’s aware, just vaguely, of this. “No, no, Rhodey, you don’t understand. We have to go back. I - he’s - I need -”

He can’t get the words out.

Rhodey is looking at him in a way that Tony doesn’t like. Sad. Remorseful. Regretful.

Pitying.

Mournful. 

“Tony…” 

He ignores him. Talks right over whatever Rhodey was going to say because he needs to get this out. He needs someone to know, he needs Rhodey to know so he’ll turn the fucking plane around. 

“Rhodey - Rhodey, the kid.” The words feel like they’re being dragged out of him, from the very bottom of his stomach, by a clawed hand, and his voice is absolutely wretched when he says, “Rhodey, I lost the kid.”

And Rhodey looks at him, the soft sparkle of tears in his eyes, and he cups Tony’s face in his hands, touch as gentle as it’s ever been, and he says softly, “I know. I know, baby. I’m so sorry.”

And Tony shakes and he clings and he falls apart. 

~~

Peter has to stop walking after about two hours to tear off another piece of his shirt and replace the blood-soaked strip of fabric around his thigh. By then, his leg has mostly stopped bleeding, but the pain remains.

The funny thing is, that pain? It’s nothing in comparison to the pain in his chest. The pain in his head. The pain in his heart.

There’s a hole that’s been left in the world, he thinks. An empty space where a man made of iron, carved from ice but forged in fire, should be. 

None of this is right. It’s all upside-down, twisted around in ways that shouldn’t even be possible. That, even now, still don’t feel possible. And he hates it - with every fiber of his being, he hates whatever cruel, horribly vengeful deity made this happen. Whatever awful turn of fate destroyed any sense of safety or comfort or reality that he’s ever known.

Because he’s here. He’s here and Tony’s not. 

 It’s unimaginable, and yet it’s true. 

He’s alone in the middle of the woods, stumbling around on legs that don’t want to work and shaking like a leaf. 

He has to keep going. He has to find...somewhere, something - a town, a gas station, a hiker, anything. He needs a phone, he needs to call someone to come get him, because he has no idea where he is and no idea where to go from here.

And so he walks and he walks and he walks, and all the while - tearlessly, uselessly - he grieves.

~~

Rhodey tells him, after he’s shaken and clung and fallen apart, that he scanned for heat signatures before they left. That he scanned for his heat signature. 

That FRIDAY found nothing. 

He screams, cries, begs for Rhodey to turn the plane around, for him to find the kid, for him to fix this. Instead, they keep flying away, away, away. He feels a prick in his arm, and his eyelids go heavy.

Sometimes, people hit rock bottom. They get there and they stay there until eventually, painstakingly, they find a way to pull themselves back up.

Other times, there’s nowhere to go but down.

And fuck if Tony doesn’t feel like he’s falling.

~~

Peter’s legs are shaking. His hands are too, but he doesn’t think that’s nearly as important. 

There’s so many goddamn trees. It’s just trees and grass and leaves. Dead leaves and dying trees and a dying seventeen-year-old boy whose head won’t stop screaming about his dead mentor -

Dead. He’s dead, Tony’s dead, and there’s nothing Peter can do except try to save himself.

Which is not going well.

He’d thought his leg wasn’t a problem, and he’s still pretty sure it’s not. But he’s still got sedatives running through his veins, he can feel it, and he thinks they’re preventing his healing factor from kicking in properly.

His leg might not be a problem, but the internal damage surely is. Sixteen days of more or less continuous torture will do that.

A sharp breeze cuts through his clothes, and he shivers so hard that his heartbeat noticeably spikes. It’s not even that cold, but he’s wearing only sweatpants and a thin t-shirt with no shoes or socks and spiders aren’t exactly good at thermoregulating. Plus, the chill air is making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and it reminds him of how it feels when his spider-sense pings, of how it’s pinged almost constantly for the past sixteen days, how it’s still pinging because the cold air feels like the cold metal of the table his kidnappers kept him on and -

Peter’s stomach twists and he vomits into the mix of orange and red and dull, lifeless green on the ground. Nothing really comes up, because he hasn’t eaten in what he thinks is about a day and a half, which is probably also contributing to how lightheaded and woozy he feels. 

And as he rests on hands and knees on the forest floor, bile burning in the back of his throat, he knows with more certainty than he has ever known anything that he is going to die.

~~

Six hours after arriving at the medbay, Tony wakes up in a hospital bed, not for the first time and certainly not for the last.

Consciousness comes in stages - vague awareness bleeds into hazy confusion, fades to make way for the gut-wrenching realization. 

It wasn’t a dream. 

All of the horrors in his head, the ever-present nightmare that is the life of Anthony Edward Stark, are entirely too real. 

Someone squeezes his hand. It isn’t Peter (it never will be again, because the universe is eternally cruel) but his traitorous mind hears We’ll kill him if you don’t give us what we want and he instinctively tightens his fingers around the hand in his.

It’s okay, Tony. I’m sorry. I love you.

It’s his fault. Peter’s dead because of him and his godforsaken company. Peter’s dead because he refused to cave, because he put the cruel, selfish, worthless world above the kid - his kid.

His kid is dead. 

His kid died for a world that never deserved him in the first place, and Tony can’t bring him back but he’ll be damned if he lets Peter die for nothing.

He’ll find the bastards who took his kid away from him, who stole the light from the universe, and he’ll make them wish they’d never even heard the name Tony Stark.

As soon as Rhodey lets him off of bedrest. 

Rhodey hasn’t left his side since - since, and Tony knows it’s because he’s trying to keep an eye on him. To make sure he doesn’t tear the IV out of his arm, get in a suit, and fly right back to the damned forest he’d just been rescued from. 

Because he would. He would and Rhodey knows it because he knows Tony much too well. Better, probably, than Tony knows himself.

Except no, maybe he wouldn’t. Not now, not yet. 

He needs his strength for this mission. Peter would be pissed if Tony got himself killed now.

So he’ll wait. He’ll lay in this stupid hospital bed and he’ll leave his IV alone and he’ll let Helen and Rhodey and Pepper and Bruce and Happy fret over him and he’ll make a plan. 

He’ll get justice for his kid.

It’s the least he can do. 

~~

Peter wonders what will kill him first - dehydration, blood loss, or the hallucinations.

He knows they’re hallucinations. Somehow, he’s lucid enough that he knows the versions of Tony he keeps seeing can’t be real, but he’s certainly not lucid enough to stop seeing them.

Earlier on, he passed one with blood dripping from a gunshot wound in his head, who begged and pleaded for Peter to stop and help him. Half-conscious and desperate, Peter did stop. 

Wasted a good fifteen minutes trying to figure out why Tony wasn’t already dead and how he could keep it that way before he realized.

He hasn’t stopped since. Can’t. 

Death is following him and Death will catch him if he stops. 

Stopping is not an option, but dying is starting to sound quite appealing.

~~

Nineteen hours after arriving at the medbay, Rhodey sits beside his hospital bed and asks, “Tony, sweetheart, do you want me to call May?”

Tony’s fists clench so hard that he feels the tension shoot up his forearms, tendons screaming at the sudden jolt. 

“No,” he says, sharply, without even thinking. As soon as it comes out of his mouth, he knows it’s the right answer. 

Rhodey doesn’t press. Just nods and takes his hand, gently uncurling Tony’s fingers so that he can slide them between his own. 

He has to tell May himself. It’s what Peter would want.

But he has to have some sort of consolation to give her first. 

~~

He wonders how long it’s been since he escaped. He started when it was dark, and it’s been light for hours now. Sixteen hours in total, maybe? Eighteen? 

However many hours it is, he knows it’s too long.

Peter hopes someone will tell May how hard he fought.

~~

Twenty-six hours after arriving at the medbay, Helen finally removes his IV.

Twenty-six hours and forty-one minutes after arriving at the medbay, Tony finds himself with an unopened bottle of whisky in one hand and a framed picture of himself and Peter Parker in the other.

Peter’s grinning at the camera, bright and excited, holding a first-place ribbon for his science fair. Tony is not even looking at the camera, his impossibly fond gaze settled entirely on Peter and one arm slung around the kid’s shoulders. 

He was...almost three months sober at the time?

He can’t fuck that up now. He’s been sober for over eight months (the kid convinced him to quit, because the kid is incredible and Tony is physically incapable of doing anything that makes him upset in any way, shape, or form), and it would be a slight to Peter if he fucked that up now. 

Being drunk, or in the midst of withdrawal, on the mission would make it that much harder, anyway. 

So that’s where Rhodey finds him, sitting cross-legged on the floor of his lab with an unopened bottle of whisky next to him and a framed picture of himself and Peter Parker in both of his hands.

~~

The trees are thinning. 

He thinks they are, at least. He could still be delusional.

But no - they’re definitely thinning. His vision might be blurry and he may have passed what he’s pretty sure is the thirty-fourth Tony hallucination so far, but the trees are definitely thinning. 

Brilliant. Now all he needs is -

A town. 

A town. 

“Holy shit,” Peter whispers. “Holy shit.” He doesn’t run, as much as he wants to, because he’s horribly lightheaded and if he moves any faster than his current pace, he’ll fall over and that’ll be it. 

And so he walks - limps, really - agonizingly slow, the town creeping closer and closer all the while. His vision goes starry every sixth step or so, but he treks onward.

And onward.

And onward.

Until, queasy and dizzy beyond belief, Peter stumbles past the first house in the town, an oddly shaped wooden thing, and is almost immediately greeted by, “Jesus Christ, are you okay, kid?”

No, he thinks. No, I’m not okay. I’ll never be okay again.

“Can I use your phone?” he asks.

~~

He’ll go tomorrow, he thinks.

It’s been thirty-two hours since he arrived at the medbay, according to Rhodey, who’s hovering possibly even more since he found Tony in the lab. It’s a little annoying, but it’s also...grounding. Being alone for too long just makes him think about Peter - think more about Peter, that is, because he never stops thinking about Peter - and Rhodey’s mother-henning at least means he’s not alone. 

It makes planning harder, but that’s okay. 

He’ll go tomorrow. Helen says he’s cleared to get off bedrest by then, though it may take days, weeks, months, even, to gain back the weight he lost from eating only one relatively small meal per day for sixteen days straight. Thankfully, he doesn’t need to be a “healthy body weight” to take down a terrorist group. Wouldn’t be the first time, anyway.

So he’ll go tomorrow. And then he’ll call May Parker and inform her that the world may as well have stopped turning.

~~

His hands shake, violently, as he dials May’s number, so violently that he hits the wrong number and has to backspace a grand total of seven times. 

Eventually, he gets all ten numbers right and the phone rings.

Once.

Twice.

Three times -

“Hello? -” 

“May,” he croaks out, voice hoarse from past screaming and present disuse. “May, I need -”

“Oh my god, Peter? Peter, baby, are you okay? Where the hell are you? What happened, I’ve been worried sick -” 

“May,” Peter pleads and she goes quiet on the other end. His stomach lurches again, and it takes everything he has left in him not to throw up for the...fourth time? Something like that. He coughs harshly. “Do you have Happy’s number?”

“I - yes, why? What’s going on?” 

He hates to do this, to have their first conversation in weeks be so quick and snappish and impersonal, but he’s this close to blacking out and he really doesn’t have time for pleasantries.

“Call him. Tell him to have FRIDAY triangulate the location of the phone I’m calling you from and send T - Rhodey. To come get me. Please,” Peter says, and then, hating himself all the while, he hangs up.

Somehow, he manages to hand the phone back to the man he borrowed it from before he carefully lowers himself to the ground, landing on his knees first and then just...sprawling out on his back and closing his eyes.

He lays there, trembling, and waits.

~~

Tony’s just about to ask Rhodey to get him a cup of tea (Helen said he’s not allowed to drink coffee until he’s “recovered”, whatever the hell “recovered” means at this point) so he’ll leave the hospital wing, but then the door slams open and Happy says, “Peter called.”

The world keeps spinning, but it feels four times faster now.

He’s on his feet in seconds, almost nosediving - Rhodey catches him, and it’s uncomfortably reminiscent of their college years - and as soon as he’s steadied himself, he’s scrabbling for Rhodey’s hand and dragging him out of the hospital room.

“Tony, Tony, wait -” Rhodey starts, but he gives up quickly and just lets Tony pull him along.

Happy immediately turns on his heel and heads toward the lab, talking as he goes. “He’s alive and he’s in some town near where they kept you two - FRIDAY’s tracking the number he called his aunt from, he called her and told her to call me and send Rhodey to -”

“I’m going,” Tony interrupts. 

Happy stops, fumbles for a moment, while Rhodey’s grip tightens around Tony’s hand. But neither of them protests, because they know. They both know. 

“We’ll both go, alright? We’ll go get your kid, Tones.”

Tony spins around, catching the hem of Rhodey’s shirt, and yanks him into a searing kiss. Rhodey makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat that quickly turns into a soft hum against Tony’s lips, his free hand twisting into Tony’s hair.

Just as abruptly as he kissed him, Tony jerks away from Rhodey and goes right back to dragging him along. He hears Rhodey huff something like a laugh behind him and grins for the first time in almost eighteen days. 

~~ He’s drifting. 

In and out, in and out, in and - 

Consciousness is evasive, elusive, impossible to keep a hold on. It slips and slides through Peter’s fingers, never staying for longer than a few seconds, always dancing just close enough to see but too far away to reach. 

His fingers are numb. His fingers are numb and his thigh has gone from burning insistently to tingling gently.

Maybe he should be concerned about that.

But he’s so tired.

He’s so tired.

He’s so...

~~

“Oh my god.”

“Jesus, is - is that him?”

“Oh my I. Motherfucking hell, that’s him. It’s him.”

“Is that blood?”

“It’s him, Rhodey! He’s alive.”

“I know, I know, just - Tony, he’s covered in blood.”

“That’s - he’s - fuck, he is. Fuck. FRIDAY?”

“He’s alive, boss. He needs medical attention soon, but at the moment he is in no immediate peril.”

“Okay, it’s okay, Tones. Your kid’s okay.”

“Call Helen and tell her to ready the medbay, yeah? I have to - I’m gonna go hold my kid.”

“Got it.”

“Great. And - honeybear?” “Hm?”

“I love you. I love you so fucking much.” “I know, baby. I love you too.”

~~

Is that -

He’s awake now.

He’s so very awake, now, and alert and alive and awake because that noise in the air sounds a lot like repulsors. 

It’s a struggle to even open his eyes, but he gets there eventually. It doesn’t help, though, because from his position flat on his back, he can’t see anything anyway. He doesn’t want to sit up. He really, really doesn’t want to sit up because it was already practically impossible to even pry his eyes open and he knows trying to push himself up will only end with him in pain again. But he’s about sixty percent sure that that’s the sound of repulsors, and he needs to see it to believe it.

His entire body screams when he pushes up on his hands, but he keeps going. He claws his way up from the darkness that is still trying to drag him down, fighting gravity and exhaustion and pain and the horrible, terrifying urge to just give up to find -

Two suits. 

Two. 

Two. 

~~

I love him, I love him so fucking much, he’s here, he’s alive, he’s alive, how is he alive, I can’t believe he’s alive, I love him, god, I love him.

I need to tell him, he needs to know how much I love him, he’s alive and I love him and I need him to know, I need him, I love him.

I’m never letting him go again, I’m never letting him out of my sight, I can’t ever go through this again, I can’t, I can’t lose him again, I love him.

~~

“M’ster St’rk?” 

“Oh my god,” Tony whispers, practically falling out of the suit before it even touches the ground, and then louder, “Oh my god, I.”

The kid reaches for him, face stark white, hands shaking violently, eyes pooling with tears. He looks awful, ragged and run-down and I, but he’s here, he’s here, he’s I. 

Tony drops to his knees and tugs Peter to him - the kid goes easily, collapsing into Tony’s chest and twisting weak, trembling fingers into Tony’s t-shirt, and Tony holds him, just holds him, and buries his face in Peter’s hair and breathes for what feels like the first time in almost eighteen days. 

“M’ster St’rk,” Peter whimpers, and Tony can feel a growing wet spot on his shirt. “T’ny. T’ny.”

“I’m here, Petey. I’m right here, I swear, I’ve got you.”

“T’ny,” Peter whines again, and he pulls back, just enough to see Tony’s face. Tony hates how pale his kid is, hates how his eyes are bloodshot and his cheeks are pallid, hates how his lips are caked with bits of dried blood and his hair is matted with sweat and dirt and blood, but he loves him, god, he loves him. The kid looks at him with more intensity than Tony has ever seen on him and this time when he opens his mouth, his words don’t slur. “Tony. Is this real?”

His voice is firm and pleading and remarkably lucid, though his eyes are still glassy and dazed, and Tony doesn’t know how he ever got through those thirty-something hours without this kid. 

He doesn’t know what Peter went through, and he doesn’t know if he wants to. “Yeah, Petey. It’s real.”

“Tell me s’mething only you would kn’w. Somethin’ about yourself, somethin’ you hav’nt told me. S’mthin’ weird.”

Tony’s brow furrows automatically, but he complies. “Um - okay, well - when Rhodey told me he was in love with me, I didn’t know what to say, so I just...didn’t say anything. For three weeks. And it wasn’t even like I avoided him - which, honestly, might have been better - I just pretended he’d never said anything.”

Peter stares at him, eyes wide, but doesn’t interject. So Tony continues.

“It wasn’t because I didn’t feel the same. It was because I was just...I was so fucking scared of - of having someone want me, I want me, and I was scared of messing things up and losing the only person I could always count on. So I ignored it, until - until I couldn’t anymore, and while I definitely don’t recommend this method, the outcome was still solid.”

He hears Rhodey snort from behind them. Peter’s eyes flick over to Rhodey for just a second, then back to Tony.

He stares.

And stares.

And then he must decide that, deluded or not, his brain couldn’t have made that up, because he falls back into Tony then, pressing so far into him that Tony has to quickly shift his knees so that they don’t tumble over, and sobs. 

Tony feels his eyes well up with tears, too, so he holds his kid as tight as he can and for once, he lets himself cry.

“I love you, Peter,” he murmurs, pressing his face into Peter’s hair. “I love you so much.”

Peter’s voice is muffled in Tony’s shirt, but Tony has never heard anything more clearly than he does when Peter says, “Love you too.” Tony kisses the top of Peter’s head, and he knows, in this moment, that he will never be more grateful for anything than he is for this kid. 

“Alright, Underoos. Let’s get you home.”

[fandom-necromancer]

377. continuation

This was prompted by the awesome @casie-mod and @cardiaccadillac (if you didn’t want your name here, just tell me, I’ll delete it)! Enjoy!

Fandom: Deus Ex | Ship: Jensard

The first thing Adam felt as he woke up was an aching he knew too well and had thought to never feel again. This feeling had accompanied him many years ago as he had been “saved” by Sarif. The man had given him his life back, yes, but at what cost? More machine than human, his body not his own anymore but company property, forever dependent on spares and maintenance, completely ignoring the little programs and extras that had been installed without his consent and beyond what would have been necessary to save him. That ache at the connections from flesh to metal, at every piece that had only grown to be his with time, had subsided with the months and years of living with them. Now it was back at the surface and reminded him just how wrong he was, just how much of him wasn’t him, just how little had remained.

He groaned sitting up as the mechanics seemed to pull at the wrong spots. Not that phantom pain again. ‘What happened, Koller?’, he slurred out of habit, before even opening his eyes. He had been to the guy’s lab more often than he would have liked lately. ‘I don’t know, how about you tell us, Mr. Interpol.’ That damn voice, it couldn’t be. Just another memory of his past rising up with the damn false sensory input. But as he looked up and saw Pritchard leaning at a pillar behind the self-named aug-expert, he realised this had to be an unfortunate reality

Adam stared at the man with barely repressed anger, let his shades slide back reflexively and pushed himself off the chair to march out of the room without another word, leaving the two other persons standing. Koller just shrugged and turned to get back to work, seemingly used to this behaviour, but Francis scampered to pick up his things and follow the man. Of course, time and events could change someone, but this was just weird. Jensen was no one to run away, never had been. And especially after seeing that particular memory, after hearing the man’s reaction…

‘Jensen!’ He was out on the street hurrying after the man dressed in a black trench coat that this time didn’t render him that confident, orderly man, but a scared person trying to hide. Not that Adam could have fooled him by his appearance in the first place; Francis had seen his apartment as he had been claimed dead two times already. Jensen was struggling just like everyone else, only managed to hide it better. ‘Jensen, damn it, stop!’ He left behind his equipment to gain speed in his hurried walk, determined not to sink as low as to run after this man. ’Adam!’ Not even the first name managed to keep him back, so Pritchard got right to the point: ‘Sarif doesn’t know of this!’

That did the trick. Jensen stopped dead in his tracks and so did Francis with little delay. ‘I was called over by your superiors, asking to fix you and in return they agreed to overlook my… businesses.’ ‘So this is just another deal?’ Adam didn’t turn around, only inclined his head to the side so he could see the light reflecting in the golden shades. ‘If that makes you feel safer, yes’, Pritchard spoke without malice for once. ‘I stopped working for Sarif, too, you know?’ ‘And why should I care?’ ‘Wasn’t that the reason you left?’, the hacker tried again. ‘He knows nothing of your whereabouts. Or mine in that matter.’ ‘Pritchard, what do you want, hm?’ Now he did turn completely, and Francis didn’t know whether he liked it. The man seemed to be ready for a fight. ‘If this had been a deal between you and my boss, you have to go to Interpol for pay. So why are you following me now?’ Francis sighed. I am a freak, and nobody wants to be near me. At what point did you assume I would care? This wasn’t the right time for his usual harshness. Jensen wasn’t up for their mostly friendly bickering in the past. So, he took a deep breath and said: ’We haven’t seen each other for a long time. Could we not, I don’t know, talk a bit before I leave for Detroit again?’ ‘Why?’ The answer came far too quickly. ‘Listen, I-‘, the hacker tried to get up his defences but it was futile to stop the man who interrupted him: ‘You saw my memories, right?’ ‘How…’, he started, but it was better to just admit it. ‘Yes, I saw them.’ ‘I knew you couldn’t keep these damn fingers to yourself.’ ‘Yeah? Says the man who hacked into my computer and read my fucking emails!’ ‘They are not your memories, Pritchard.’ Right. This was in no way them sharing a bit of workplace-banter. Too much had happened.

‘I know. And I know I shouldn’t have done it. Now I owe you one and let me repay it with dinner somewhere.’ ‘No, Pritchard. I left that life behind me. That’s why I left Detroit. To get as far away from it all as humanly possible. I’m not going to be Sarif’s lapdog again. I’m not going to walk around Detroit like a walking Sarif Industries billboard. And I’m not going to let one particular hacker have fun installing programs in my head again. We are finished.’ ‘So you just left for this shithole to be Interpol’s lapdog and live in a ghetto completely alone, getting attacked by every asshole that sees a chance at winning. Walking around this shithole as a target.’ Pritchard took another step forwards although he knew he shouldn’t anger the man. ‘Look, I just tried to be nice. Thought it would do us both good to see a friendly face for once, especially after-‘ ‘Don’t. I don’t need friends, Pritchard.’

‘Okay Jensen’, Francis sighed. ‘Then let me tell you one thing: I was woken up in Detroit in the middle of the night by your superiors telling me you needed help. I could have just thrown my phone away and move, disguise my steps even better than before so not even your hackers could ever find me again. But I didn’t. I listened and agreed to come over. I let them see my face, I let them know my location, I practically admitted my not always legal activities for my clients to them. And you know why? Because I called you a friend back then. When we both stood on the same side. We both had been through a lot and were both used by Sarif. So please, cut out the bullshit. Without friends you would still be sitting in that chair practically paralysed. All I ask for is a dinner. If you are still determined to hate me because of what I had to do for Sarif, I will take the next plane to Detroit and neither of us will see the other ever again.’

The silence that followed was spreading and he could see how Adam was thinking behind these shades that so often rendered his face expressionless. He came closer suddenly and as Francis wanted to flinch away, he too saw the police patrol that had turned into the street. ‘Fine. But after this we’ll go separate ways.’ He grabbed Pritchard’s hand and pulled him after himself. ‘Hey, what-‘ ‘We’ll go to my apartment. The streets aren’t safe.’ Pritchard bit back his comment that this was an awfully quick change of minds. At least the man had let go of his arm.

-

They arrived at Jensen’s apartment, Pritchard somehow feeling an invader although he had been more or less invited by the man. ‘I think I have enough to make pancakes’, he said, hanging up his coat. He headed off to the kitchen, leaving Francis standing at the door, lost. 'Excuse me?' Pritchard took a few steps forwards to look into the kitchen. Just like the rest of the apartment it was a mess. He shouldn't have been surprised; he had seen the man's apartment in Detroit. There were moving boxes in different stages of unpacking, blankets all over the sofa which suggested Jensen slept on that thing more often than in his real bed. boxes of cereal stacked at the far end of the counter. The whole flat was sleek design, the disarray hidden by the comfortable atmosphere it was creating. Same with the cereal. Pritchard knew the heavily augmented man had to eat a lot of easily degradable sugars to keep his body running, but with just a little more self-care... 'You said I owed you dinner. I'm making you dinner. And then I expect you to walk out of this door and get back to your life. Just as I will go back to mine. As I said, too much has happened.'

‘You know what? No. I’m not leaving, Adam. I remember a time when we worked together. I always thought you were some asshole Sarif hired to keep an eye on me, thought you were some stupid ex-cop who got fired for a loose trigger-finger and Sarif wanted to exploit that to his own benefit. But with time I realised how wrong that was and tried to help you in earnest. And maybe I’m the only one here, but I have not forgotten that, Jensen.’ ‘I don’t need-‘ ‘Shut up, you do. I don’t know what your problem is. I am not here as Sarif’s errand-boy, I’m not here to drag you back into some bullshit conspiracy. I’m just here as myself to help. And that exceeds recalibrating your augmentations and getting you back to “functionality” as your boss put it. Got it?’ Pritchard looked into these golden shades that hid so many expressions from him. There was a barely noticeable change in posture as the man relaxed his muscles just the tiniest bit – a victory. ‘Good. Now put the stupid pan away, we’re getting some real food.’

[knifeshoeoreofight]

Sid has always been more sensitive than most when it comes to chemosignals-- to the point where it can be borderline problematic because he can pick up every scrap of resentment or jealousy or hatred someone might feel towards him, no matter how masked.

The first time he catches Malkin’s scent after he makes his way to the United States at last, he’s almost bowled over by it.

He’s just walked into the opulent foyer at Mario’s, when he gets a lungful-- stale airplane air and too many other people, and underneath that, thick, cloying exhaustion, sharp anxiety, and something that hits the back of Sid’s throat like loneliness, but not quite.

It’s enough to make him involuntarily whimper in sympathy, human shape notwithstanding.

When Malkin jerks his head up at the sound and catches sight of him, his scent floods with something else. Excitement, nerves, relief. It’s heady and dizzying. Sid wishes he were shifted, so things would be easy, and he could say hello like wolves do. Human, he can’t give in to the sudden, overwhelming impulse he has to bury his face in Malkin’s neck, to lick at his face until that soft mouth parts in a smile.

“Human words, Sid,” Mario says with a smile, and Sid swallows, and greets Malkin as normally as he can, his instincts raging against the inadequate human formality of a handshake.

Happiness, even laced with exhaustion, smells so good on Malkin that Sid can barely stand it.

***

That bitter basenote to Malkin’s scent remains, even after “Malkin” becomes “Geno,” and the season gets underway. It’s the least noticeable when he’s talking to Gonchar in Russian and it’s absolutely awful when there’s a big group of people around him, noisily talking and joking in English while he sits silent and confused.

Geno reflexively smiles and even laughs at times like that, even though he probably doesn’t know what’s being said. But it never reaches his eyes, or his scent.

It’s making Sid crazy. His instincts hate it and he’s constantly trying to tamp them down, keep things normal. He’s too wolfish for most people as it is, even other weres. The last thing he needs to be doing is scaring off their brand new Russian phenom before he’s even properly settled in. But he yearns to touch Geno: to play-tussle and to lick his face, to curl around him in sleep. Anything to make that awful edge leave his scent and the lost look leave his eyes.

Alienation, he realizes with a start one day, watching Geno’s expression go soft and frightened at a reporter firing off questions before the interpreter is ready to translate. That sharp bite to Geno’s scent is alienation.

He can't control himself anymore. He plunks himself next to Geno, pressing their sides together. Geno glances at Sid from the corners of his eyes a few times, body held tight and heartbeat fast.

“Okay?” Sid asks.

Geno slumps, ducking his head like he’s about to lay it on Sid’s shoulder but stops himself.

“Okay,” he says quietly. Sid sits with him until the interview is over.

***

Shifting is considered a private affair, and Sidney is more private about it than most. He doesn’t like that his emotions are harder to hide, that his impulse control slips. And, above all, he can’t play hockey on four legs.

He almost never shifts on the road. Hotel rooms stink of strong cleaners, too many other people, and things he doesn’t want to think about.

But it’s hard the first road trip they have that coincides with the full moon. He feels the tug of it throughout the entire flight, the recycled plane air concentrating his teammate’s scents. He wants to fight, play and, damn it, snuggle. Geno most of all, still smelling lost and alone.

Flower sighs at him and ruffles his hair. Sid lets himself lean into him, and that helps.

They get in late. Winnipeg is as cold and unappealing as it always is. Everything is okay until after dinner, when the moon rises. Sid is trying to settle, idling flipping channels while Army calls his wife.

He keeps running his tongue over his teeth. His canines are sharp, poking into his lip. He’s probably going to have to shift tonight, like it or not. He’s not looking forward to the barrage of unpleasant hotel smells.

He’s just yawning and wondering if maybe he can just will himself to fall asleep, when faint but clear as day, a howl cuts through the hotel background noise like a knife blade.

It’s the most achingly mournful thing Sid has ever heard, and he makes an involuntary whining sound.

He’s stripping his clothes off before he quite knows what he’s doing, shifting and leaping off the bed to scrabble at the door until Army laughs and opens it for him.

“Go get him, Creature,” he tells Sid fondly, and Sid bolts down the hallway, sniffing at doors until he finds the one that smells right. He scratches at it and whines. It’s quiet behind the door for a long moment, then there’s a pained whimper and a thump as someone jumps off a bed. There’s an answering scratching on the other side of the door, and another whimper that makes Sid’s heart feel like it’s splitting in half.

He paces back and forth in front of the door. Intellectually, he knows he needs to shift so that he can open the door, but between the moon and the pent up frustration of scenting Geno’s distress for weeks now, it’s too much, and he’s not sure he can manage it at the moment.

His ears prick. There’s a noisy group of guys coming down the hall. He can hear Talbo, who’s rooming with Geno. He whine-yowls and presses his nose to the bottom of the door. Hang in there, he wants to tell Geno.

“What’s this?” Talbo says in surprise, taking in Sid. He cocks his head to one side. “Sid, is that you? Awww. So fluffy!”

Sid growls, deep in his chest. Right, this is why he hates being shifted around people who aren’t. Even other weres treat him like a puppy.

Talbo, thankfully, starts to unlock the door, even as he asks Sid if “little Geno has fallen down the well, Lassie?”

You’re a werewolf too, Sid wants to tell him. Can it with the dog jokes. But instead he just rolls his eyes and tenses in anticipation of the door opening.

When it swings open Geno practically tumbles out, as skinny and rangy as a wolf as he is human. He’s all over Sid, whining and licking at his muzzle, dropping to the floor to roll over and show his belly, his eyes so big and brown and hurting that Sid just flops down on top of him. I’m here, he says by weighing Geno down. Shh.

Talbo laughs and steps over them. “Kids these days!”

Sid growls at him, and makes a decision. He gets up and prods at Geno with his muzzle until Geno gets up too. Sid herds him down the hall to his and Army’s room. Army has helpfully left the door propped open, and Sid muscles Geno in and paws up the doorstop to close it.

Army is watching some action movie on TV, and he barely raises an eyebrow at Geno’s presence. 

“No howling, Creature,” he says blandly, and goes back to his movie, turning it down a little for the benefit of Sid and Geno’s shifted ears.

Sid lets his instincts rise to the forefront and considers Geno, and the room. His bed. That’s where his scent is strongest and he wants his scent all. Over. Geno.

More prodding and chivvying until Geno takes a giant leap with his gangly stork legs and Sid jumps up onto the bed after him. They tussle for a moment, play-fighting until their growling gets a little too loud and Army interjects a mild “Chill out, boys,” from the other bed.

Sid plops down on top of Geno again, holding him down and nuzzling and licking at his neck and ears until he smells happy and calm and like them.

They fall asleep like that, tangled up together in a snarl of blankets and sheets.

***

Sid wakes up human. The morning light is snow-bright through the curtains, and Geno is curled into him, head on Sid’s shoulder.

Some shift in Sid’s breathing or heartbeat must wake Geno up, because his eyes slowly blink open. His scent blooms with contentment and he sighs, throwing a long arm across Sid’s torso and burying his face in Sid’s neck. Sid runs his fingers through his soft, shaggy brown hair, taking in his long eyelashes and cute, funny nose, sliding his hand over the smooth skin of his shoulders and back.

Mine, his instincts say to him. The shouldering of a heavy responsibility rather than some kind of grasping possession.

He stares at the ceiling still stroking his fingers through Geno’s hair. He’s been offered the C, and he’s turned it down. He knows they’re going to ask him again. He hadn’t felt ready. He’d felt like a fraud. A captain, an alpha of a pack, was protector and guardian, arbitrator and comforter. He hadn’t felt like he had anything in him to offer the older, more experienced guys on the team.

This moment, Geno’s comforted scent strong in his nose, is the first time he thinks that maybe, when they ask again, he’s going to say yes.

He’s been able to help Geno. Sid had been enough, after all.

Taking care of Geno feels right. Being Geno’s alpha would feel right.

Geno yawns, smiling sweetly at him, and nuzzles into his neck. Everything is still and peaceful for a moment. Then Sid feels Geno smirk against his skin, and before he can react, Geno licks a broad, ticklish stripe up Sid’s neck.

Sid yelps, and pushes him away. Geno’s grin is blinding as he shoves closer. They tussle, pushing and kicking, Sid almost falling off the bed. Geno grabs a pillow and pulls back his arm to whack at Sid with it, trying and failing to stifle a fit of breathless laughter.

“Oh my fucking god, pups,” Army groans from the other bed. “It’s ass o’clock in the morning in fucking Winnipeg, go back to sleep.”

Geno raises his eyebrows impishly and makes as if to whack Sid with the pillow anyway. Sid soundlessly bares his teeth.

Geno mutters something uncomplimentary sounding in Russian, but drops the pillow and flops dramatically onto Sid with a gusty sigh and a put-upon pout.

Sid closes his eyes and enjoys the warmth and weight of another body on his. He scents Geno idly, feeling pleased and proud that Geno smells only of sleep, and contentment, and Sid.

He knows that one full moon night of rough-housing and cuddling isn’t going to fix everything. Geno still doesn’t speak English, he’s still far away from his home and his family. But Sid is going to do his best to be there for him from now on.

“I think we’re gonna be okay, both of us,” he murmurs quietly into Geno’s hair. Geno says something back to him, and it sounds almost sweet.

“Let’s go back to sleep, eh?”

“Sleep, bacon.”

“Yeah bud, sleep, then bacon.”

Something brushes Sid’s hair. For a moment, Sid wonders if Geno just...kissed him?

But sleep is pulling on him, and he doesn’t have time to think too hard about it before he’s under.

[dracdad-a]

ok so; putting this under a read more just in case. here im gonna dump some of my personal headcanons

[agirlinjapan]

Red Data Girl: My Longest Day of School (Week 12)

Red Data Girl: My Longest Day of School By Noriko Ogiwara A Translation

Miss the last piece? Read it here!

Check out the RDG Translation twitter!

How’s everyone doing? It’s been a long couple of weeks for me but work is going well and I’m currently enjoying a three day weekend (yay!). Enjoy this week’s RDG!

Red Data Girl: My Longest Day of School By Noriko Ogiwara Chapter 2: Manipulation Part 2 (1 of 2)

It was past nine that night when the student government meeting ended.

The members had all barely slept the night before and as a result, they were so exhausted, they could hardly think straight. Honoka had ended the meeting and released everyone so that they could get to bed quickly and be fresh for the next day. After their dismissal, Izumiko had returned to room 208 in the girl’s dorm for the first time all day.

However, when she opened the door to her room, Mayura wasn’t back yet. She was still at the defense team meeting.

Izumiko wanted to climb into bed but she pushed through the urge. She had to stay awake. She couldn’t fall asleep when Mayura was still working so hard.

She sat down and leaned against the back of her desk chair, closing her eyes. A moment later though, she stopped and stood up again. She thought of doing something to wake herself up and decided to rebraid her hair. The buns on her head were no longer necessary and she needed to take out the multi-colored hair ties.

Izumiko opened the built-in wardrobe and began to release her braids from the buns. Her appearance gazed back at her from the mirror as she did so. A minute or two into her task, she sensed someone behind her although she hadn’t noticed the door to the room open.

“Oh, Mayura. When did you—”

She turned around as she began to speak, her hands still in her hair. Instantly, Izumiko sucked in her breath. It wasn’t Mayura standing there. The person looked very much like Mayura, but… The attractive, albeit somewhat strange smile on the person’s face was identical to hers, but…

“…Masumi?”

“Bingo,” the spirit said cheerfully. “You’re quite sharp, Izumiko. You always are.”

“Masumi, aren’t you a boy?” Izumiko asked in confusion.

Masumi tilted his head.

“I am, but I also feel like I’m not. Should I limit myself to being a boy? Do you really think I am one?”

Izumiko had nothing to respond with as he questioned her. She supposed a spirit didn’t need a gender.

As Masumi looked confused, Izumiko quickly reasoned that Masumi was Masumi, saying, “Seeing as you and Manatsu are identical siblings, you could call yourself a boy. You’re more like him than Mayura who’s your fraternal sibling.”

“Ah, I get it. I haven’t heard it said like that, so I forgot.”

Masumi’s appearance adjusted itself in front of Izumiko’s eyes. The ambiguity lessened and he became more solidly similar to Manatsu. Once he did this, he didn’t look like someone who should have been in the girl’s dorm anymore.

“Masumi, why are you here? Mayura and Manatsu haven’t called you yet,” Izumiko asked somewhat critically, but Masumi’s face remained even.

“Do you think I leave Togakushi the instant my siblings call me?” He said, almost as if he were enjoying himself. “That’s not how it works. I’m always here and I’m always in Togakushi. But the majority of me is in Togakushi. Because of that, I just can’t move around as freely here as I can there.”

That made sense, Izumiko thought. When she had visited Mayura and Manatsu’s parents’ house near Nagano Station, Masumi hadn’t appeared in front of his siblings, but he had certainly been there in the shadows of the garden. He probably existed on an entirely different plane with its own rules from the one humans could see.

“Maybe, can you move around here on your own because of the barrier the diviners put up?”

“What? There’s a barrier?” Masumi said lightly, responding to Izumiko’s question with his own.

Izumiko supposed this was one of the countless things spirits didn’t think about.

“I told you that Mayura and Masumi didn’t call me. I was in the area. You just couldn’t see me. I can sense when the two of them are going to call me better than I could before. I just happened to see you on my way over and I decided I wanted to hit on you.”

Izumiko suddenly became very conscious of the braids she had just undone. If the goddess appeared now, she didn’t know what would happen. This was very, very dangerous, she thought.

“You can’t hit on girls in the girls’ dorm. That’s breaking the rules,” Izumiko declared.

Surprisingly, Masumi obediently relented.

“Got it. I’m not Mayura so I can’t be here. Huh.”

Masumi really is one of a kind…

Masumi was exceedingly easygoing, but Izumiko still secretly felt strange around him.

Strictly speaking, this Masumi was not the Souda triplet who had died when he was six. He was the dream of a powerful deity who slept deep within Togakushi. He was an image the remaining Souda siblings had created, but whenever he showed himself, he always had a surprisingly independent personality.

Before, when Manatsu had coming into this room, Izumiko had been afraid that she would get in trouble with the head of the dorm. However, the dorm head didn’t know about Masumi, so she wasn’t worried this time. She was even happy to see him.

…I wonder if Wamiya won’t show himself to me because I’m getting used to being around Masumi.

Izumiko considered this fleetingly but at the moment, but her mind was focused on Masumi and how he would make a good conversation partner.

“Masumi, nothing’s changed since the summer break in Togakushi, right?” she asked with interest. “Your relationship with Mayura and Manatsu is the same as before?”

“What do you mean by the relationship being the same?”

“Do you still like the two of them as much as you did before?”

“Ah, that’s what you mean.”

Masumi nodded twice and then a third time.

“I’m happy when they call me. I feel like they value me. But I don’t really understand boy or girl or like or hate.”

This was the first time Izumiko had seen an uncertain side of Masumi. She blinked.

“I don’t think you can hit on someone if you don’t understand those things.”

“It sounds wrong to use the word ‘like’ when I don’t understand what it means, so I thought I’d say ‘hit on’ instead.”

Izumiko narrowed her eyes reflexively. “Really? You’d say something like that even though you don’t really like me?”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant—” Masumi said, waving his hands around impatiently. He wasn’t acting like a spirit. “It’s not my fault I’m thinking like this. At some point, Manatsu and Mayura started thinking that way and I was affected by it. Even if I wanted it to be the same as before, they don’t want it to be. That’s the problem.”

After Masumi said this, his expression changed again and he cocked his head strangely.

“That’s… the problem… I guess. Why is it such a problem for me? What’s a problem anyway?”

“Masumi, what’s wrong?”

It worried Izumiko that he seemed so confused. He hadn’t appeared so lost when they had met in Togakushi.

“I think the emotion ‘like’ is important,” Masumi, dressed in kuroko now, said slowly as if to confirm his thinking. “That’s what people always say… That’s what you’re saying now, too.”

“Of course it is. We want to be with people and get to know them because we like them.”

As Izumiko said this, she was thinking of someone other than Masumi. She wasn’t entirely conscious of it but it was inevitable all the same. And even though Masumi was ignorant of certain things, he was also occasionally perceptive of others.

“Izumiko, do you have a boyfriend?”

“I don’t. Why?”

“No reason. I just wanted to ask.”

She pretended she wasn’t surprised. Judging from his behavior, he couldn’t see into her heart just because he was a spirit. Even if he could see into it though, he probably wouldn’t have been able to understand what he was seeing.

Most likely, only humans could fully understand human hearts without an explanation.

“You don’t understand the word, ‘like’ very well, do you?” Izumiko asked.

Masumi was thoughtful as he said, “Take this for example. I’ve seen spirits with no place they belong and devoured them before, right? That could be considered within the category of ‘like,’ wouldn’t you say?”

“…Uh… I’m not sure…”

“But it wouldn’t be considered ‘dislike’ if I was fine with becoming one with those spirits. Are you following?”

The things spirits said certainly were strange, Izumiko thought as she tried her best to think through what Masumi was saying.

“Right… You’re thinking about what you can do for the other person and also accepting them. I guess you’d call that liking something.”

“I’m glad.—I’m so glad. It helps to have someone to talk to besides my siblings,” Masumi said with sudden fervor.

Masumi was happy and so, Izumiko was somehow happy as well.

“You can talk to me about anything you want.”

“Sure. I feel a little better hearing you say that. I don’t seem to get Mayura anymore but that’s not the way it is with you.”

“What?”

Izumiko felt the words hit her suddenly.

“What don’t you understand about Mayura?”

“There’s a gap between us. But that’s not important,” Masumi replied good-naturedly. He already seemed to not care.

He stretched and then said with a smile, “Mayura’ll be back soon so I’m going to disappear again. It’ll be more impressive if I appear on cue when they call me. This has been fun.”

After he said this, he vanished from the room. Izumiko sighed, feeling slightly unnerved.

…What did he mean when he said there was a gap?

She couldn’t help but think that Masumi had been about to say something important. Had he been giving her some sort of advice without realizing that he—

However, she didn’t exactly have time to worry about that. Just as Masumi had said, a second later, the doorknob turned and Mayura appeared in the doorframe.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Izumiko.” Exhaustion colored her face but there was still energy in her voice. “Are you ready to go? I’m going to go to the horse ring like this. I’ve already talked to Manatsu and Sagara. We’re having our strategy meeting about the diviners there.”

Keep reading!

[lordofthebigtimesupernatural]

So I just finished reading one of your single dad shiro au pieces and thought of a prompt: Keith wanting to go skydiving (or he already made plans to do so). I'm curious as to how shiro will react to Keith bringing that up to him lol.

Hello! I’m sorry it’s been so long. But the end of the semester is in sight, and I just got a new puppy! Puppies are more work and take up practically all of my time! I can’t ever get anything done while I’m watching him, but he is precious. However, thank you to you and those who continued to send in prompts! I’m hoping to get through my ask box today and tomorrow with prompts! This was a fun prompt to do and I don’t know if Shiro’s response is expected or not, but thanks for sending this! I hope you enjoy!

x.V.x

              “Okay.”

              “And if you’re going to say no – wait, what?”

              “I said okay.”

              “Okay?”

              “Yup. O and Kay. That’s what I said.”

              “Okay?”

              “Keith.” Shiro sighed, fighting back a smile on his lips. It was rather amusing to see the confused look on Keith’s face after Shiro had answered his question. Shiro wondered if this may have just broken his son. That might be bad; breaking your son is not always a good idea.

              “Alright, alright.” Keith raised his hands in the air. He took a deep breath, still frowning but look at his dad. For a while, he didn’t know if he had actually heard his dad correct, but after a few repeats, Keith could only ask “what” so many times. “I just want to be totally clear. You just told me, that it was okay for me to go skydiving. You know, the thing where I jump out of planes and use a parachute to land?”

              “Yes, I am aware of what skydiving entails. After all, I jumped out of many planes during my days in the army.” Shiro laughed softly, leaning back against the counter. It was still early on a Sunday morning, and quiet throughout the neighborhood. Even Red was still asleep while Shiro and Keith talked.

              “But you wouldn’t even let me get a motorcycle for the longest time last year,” Keith stated. Shiro rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his ears burn at the memory. That was very true. “How is this not even more dangerous than a motorcycle?”

              “Yes, well, you’re seventeen now, nearly eighteen,” Shiro said softly. “You’ve proven that you know when to be careful and I know it won’t be much longer before I can’t tell you what to do anymore.” Shiro didn’t bother to explain the last part of his response. “Besides, you’re kind of an adrenaline junky, with all that pent-up rage fueled in your small body.”

              “Hey!” Keith grumbled, swatting at his father’s hand when Shiro tried to ruffle his hair. “I am not that much smaller! Just you wait, by this time, next year I’ll be taller than you!” Keith said bitterly. Shiro chuckled softly before his throat tightened for a moment.

              This time next year, Keith won’t be here to show off.

              “Well, we will have to find out later than that, since you’ll be on base a year from now,” Shiro explained, causing Keith to suddenly frown in realization. For a tense moment the atmosphere was heavy and somber, at the realization that Keith would be heading to training in only nine months and a year from now, he would possibly be overseas in the military.

              Shiro had a rough time dealing with Keith after Keith had announced to follow in his father’s footsteps in joining the military at eighteen. Shiro’s heart had gone into overtime, as terrible flashbacks of his imprisonment and torture came back to the surface of his mind after over twenty years. He was ashamed to admit that he had avoided any and all conversation about Keith’s enlistment for months. But eventually, Shiro had to face reality and understand that this was happening. He’d eventually sat Keith down in order to understand if Keith was joining the army on his own terms and for him. Not to be like his dad. Not to follow in his dad’s footsteps. But because this was what Keith wanted.

              And it was.

              “Hey, no need to look so upset,” Shiro said gently, lifting Keith’s chin. “You’re going to do great things. I guess, I’m starting to realize you and I don’t have much more time before you’re off to training. So, why should I tell you no when this might be the only time in a long time that you can go?” Shiro shrugged, allowing Keith a small second to breathe again.    

              “Wait,” Keith said suddenly. “Does this mean that you’re –?”

              “Going with you? Hell yeah.” Shiro grinned brightly, making Keith wince at the happiness radiating from his father. “Besides, the only way I’m letting you jump from an airplane is on my rules.” Shiro clapped his hands excitedly, already heading off to call a place. Keith couldn’t help but smile at his father’s antics before a sudden realization overcame him. There was no way that his dad was going to be this easy about letting Keith do something like skydiving.

              There had to be a trick to this.

              Something that Shiro was going to demand.

x.V.x

              Keith was very good at resisting the urge to slam his face against the wall repeatedly. Brain damage didn’t sound like the best way out of this situation, no matter how bad it was. He debated whether there was enough time to sneak out the back door, steal his dad’s car and drive back home and never speak of this moment ever again.

              That moment being Shiro arguing with one of the skydiving instructors.

              Keith was pleasantly surprised when his dad had driven them to a legitimate skydiving place, with planes and instructors, rather than an indoor skydiving place. Which meant that his dad was serious about the fact that he was allowing Keith to do this. However, that shock was slowly turning to horror when after they had both changed that Shiro had claimed that Keith would be jumping with him. Normally, new jumpers jumped with an instructor, in case anything happened.

              Keith knew that his dad wasn’t a new jumper, and was probably more trained for what to do in an emergency situation than some of these instructors, but he also understood the laws and policies of these places. Keith wanted to go skydiving and he was even willing to let a stranger be connected to him for the entirety of the time, but apparently, his dad had other ideas.

              “Sir, I’m sorry. But it’s contractual obligations and policy that those who have never jumped before have to jump with an instructor for safety reasons.” The instructor pleaded yet again. It was the same argument over and over for the last half an hour.

              “And all I’m saying is you’ve seen my paperwork and I practically know the owner here, so he knows that I am just as qualified as an instructor,” Shiro argued back tightly. “Which should validate that my son should be allowed to jump with me.”

              This was what dad meant by “my rules.” Keith almost hid his red face to save himself from embarrassment. Though, the damage was already done.

              “Sir. I know you’re more trained than most in jumping, but I cannot just bend the rules and go against our policies.” The instructor tried once more. Keith wanted to have hope for the man, but if there was one thing that Keith knew, it was that Shiroganes were stubborn. Especially Takashi Shirogane.

              “It’s not bending any rules. I’m practically an instructor, aren’t I?” Shiro asked, making Keith’s eye twitch.

              “Um, no. Sir, you have to take the test and go through our training techniques to be an instructor.” The instructor said meekly.

              “Well, then give me the test right here. And we can start training today. I’ll be a newbie but I’d technically be an instructor, so that means my son can jump with me.”

              Keith’s jaw dropped open. Was he being serious or was this some kind of sick joke to make me change my mind.

              “Um, no. Sir, that’s not how it works.”

              “Why not?”

              “…It just doesn’t.”

              “Then I’ll jump with you, with Keith,” Shiro said and the instructors face paled. His eyes quickly ran over Shiro’s toned body, before looking down at his own twig-like body before swallowing thickly. Then he looked over at Keith and his face paled even more.

              “Whoa, dad! Seriously?” Keith groaned, facepalming.

              “Of course son. Safety is most important to me, especially when it is your safety we are talking about.” Shiro nodded firmly. “I would feel much safer if you were with me, rather than a stranger. No offense.” Shiro nodded towards the instructor and Keith sighed heavily.

              “Dad, no. You’ll literally be jumping with me. Isn’t that enough?” Keith practically moaned.

              “Keith, you have no idea what’s involved in this situation. I just think that I have the best reflexes should anything happen.” Shiro shrugged without a hint of regret. Keith wished that he could just melt into the wall behind him.

              “Sir, our staff is trained with the utmost, um, best training. Um, our reflexes are tremendous. We haven’t ever had a problem in thirty years.”

              “Well, that doesn’t mean you could have a problem at 31 years. Thirty-one is an unlucky number.”

              “Um, isn’t it 13?”

              “No. Thirty-one. Trust me.”

              “Dad!”

              “Look, you’re a great fella – Rick was it?” Shiro sighed and the instructor nodded meekly. “But we’re obviously getting nowhere with this. All I want is to jump with my son, who’s my only baby before he’s deployed across the seas with the military. We’ve only got a week left until he leaves.” Shiro suddenly said, eyes pitiful and lower lip jutted out slightly. His entire body suddenly sagged with defeat and instead of looking like the proud man that Takashi Shirogane was, an ex-special ops man who could kick down a brick house, looked like a drowned puppy.

              Keith’s eyes suddenly narrowed at the obvious lie.

              That’s dirty Takashi Shirogane.

              The little lie seemed to do the trick, as he chewed on his bottom lip and his eyes got somber.

              “Oh.”

              “Yeah, I just, want to keep him safe myself, these last few days until I can’t keep him safe anymore,” Shiro added sadly, causing the instructor's eyes to become even sadder. Keith forced himself not to roll his eyes. Wow, never would have thought dad would play this card.

              “I understand.” The instructor said quietly. He looked around the room a few times before sighing. “Let me talk to the owner and if you sign another waiver, then…I guess you can jump with your son.”

              “Thank you, Rick,” Shiro said quietly. He waited until the instructor had left the room entirely, before whipping off the sad look and glancing at Keith with a beaming smile.

              “There you go!” Shiro said happily, clapping his hands together and Keith did roll his eyes this time.

              “That was low, even for you.”

              “What?” Shiro mocked a look of heart and clutched at the left side of his chest. “I wouldn’t dare. It was practically true!” Shiro argued, earning a look of disappointment from Keith. “Though I may have exaggerated the timeframe of your employment but it’s alright!”

              “Weren’t you the one that taught me lying was bad?” Keith asked, crossing his arms over his chest and raising one eyebrow. Shiro simply waved Keith off with a hand.

              “It’s true! Except when it comes to skydiving and you jumping with a stranger.” Shiro replied happily. “Besides, you can’t tell me that you won’t have more fun with me than if you were strapped to a stranger the whole time.”

              Well, when he put it that way…

              Keith did, in fact, have more fun with his dad. The most fun he had in a while, and best of all, it was an exciting memory that he would have with him during his deployment away from his dad.

[ravelrie]

(i left my heart) in san francisco

this is a follow up to something i wrote earlier this year, which you can find here. this is a post about love, and other life moments.

burning man is like a fevered dreamscape in every possible way, because if you wake up, the nightmare is not being there, the terror ensues of processing everything you felt and learned and how you changed in the coming days, weeks and months. when i returned to new york after my virgin year, i had to remind myself not to think about this man i met, that just turned my entire universe upside down, and now i had to figure out what to do with all the pieces that had fallen out of my throat and my heart. 

i stopped dating someone in nyc that week, via text, and rescheduled four times with someone who’d been trying to date me and i just couldn’t get my head around going on a date. my mother’s health was deteriorating, and i was a basket case; but, i was going to be in san francisco in a week, so i should at least try and grab a drink with A so i could talk out everything i was feeling because he would understand when no one else would. we’d exchanged texts every day since we’d left our dusty home, simple things, shared a few sets that had surfaced with each other. nothing significant. 

i remember sitting in my office, and sending him the text. it was as if reaching out to him was a natural reflex, just like flexing your knee when someone taps it. 

“today is a really mean reds kind of post burning man blues day” i said, and he responded in moments that he was feeling similarly, and didn’t i mention something when we were saying goodbye that i’d be in town soon? we should meet up.

i shared the details of my trip out there. we made plans. concrete plans. we could probably flake and not keep them, but now we were in this. it was the first step to acknowledge that we were doing this -- whatever “this” was, or could be, and probably shouldn’t be -- and we couldn’t take it back if it ended badly. 

seeing each other could destroy everything we had built for ourselves in the default world; we’d likely end up going with the flow of our feelings, everyone, and everything else be damned. even on the plane, i thought, i should cancel, but i was too excited, too selfish, too in need to talk to him and take him in, to let that thought seep in and turn into action. 

san francisco. i was standing in my hotel’s lobby, texting landmarks to A, and he walked right by me. i shouted his name across the lobby, and he quickly walked over, and scooped me into his arms, which swallowed me with a giant hug. he stepped back, took me in, and gathered his words. he’d never seen me wear makeup, or even any semblance of default world clothing before this moment. i was wearing a skinny high waisted jeans, a black silk top, heels, and a leather jacket. i’d forgotten to pack flats other than my gym sneakers, which i’d flown in. i also had glasses on because my eyes had been irritated by my contact lenses in flight. he’d never seen me wear glasses, other than goggles, and maybe for an hour one morning at burning man after he’d woken me up on the couch at my camp. 

A “wow...you.. you look great! how are you? it’s so good to see you!”

me giggle “thanks, i clean up nicely, you know, when not covered in dust”

he laced his fingers in mine and we navigated to a place close by he’d chosen, and settled in for dinner and some drinks. we got lost a few times; both of us are terrible with directions. we mostly stared at each other, giggling that we were actually spending time together in a place that wasn’t black rock city. brief flashes of ‘should we even be doing this?’ crept into my thoughts every so often, but they were squashed even faster because the feeling that we were magnets rotating around each other was still there, even though we weren’t dancing on art cars, or in this phantasmagorical reality. 

we spent the night together. 

i woke up in my hotel room with him there, and as i fumbled to get ready to head to work, i looked back at him sleeping and felt an eerie calm wash over me. 

this, this is who i should wake up with. 

i hurriedly put my heels on, and woke him up -- he too was working east coast hours and had to get going to make it to the office on time. i kissed him goodbye and went about my day, flying home early the following morning, my hotel bed feeling empty without him there that night. i was back a few weeks later, and the pattern repeated itself. it was like this for a few months. 

back in new york, i had finally gone on a date with the guy i’d been dodging. it was the best first date i’d been on. i’d talked to A about it. 

A: you should go, he obviously likes you if he’s waited long enough to go out with you after you’ve cancelled four times on him.

me: but what if it’s terrible. wouldn’t it just be easier to leave it as a nice memory of a cute meeting randomly once at a party and finding each other on tinder and having it be a funny story? 

A: just go. you’ll be fine. it’ll be nice to go out to something not work related.

i got a run in my stockings and stopped in a duane reade on my way to soho house to meet this guy, text him i’d be a few minutes late, pantyhose emergency, because it was mid-october and cold in manhattan and i hadn’t done laundry and only had a dress to wear out. he said not to worry and to let him know when i was close, that he’d come down and get me. we sat and talked and drank slowly until 1am. on a weeknight. i went back to my apartment. he went back to his. we’d kissed a bunch, but nothing more. i was trying to take things slowly. i also didn’t want anything serious because i had something that was seriously complicated in the background and i didn’t want to add to that. he didn’t know this. he figured it out months later, but i’ll get to that. 

he asked me about burning man at dinner. 

guy so, you went to burning man. how was that? i grew up around reno, but have never been. 

me it changed my life. it was incredible. i’m not over it. i’ll never be over it. 

guy isn’t there a lot of sex stuff there? did you do any of that?

me it’s there to be experienced if you want to. i didn’t do any of the sex activities. your burn takes you on a journey of your own. anything you have planned, just kind of goes by the wayside. you let the playa guide you. 

guy did you sleep with anyone while you were there?

me yeah, actually, but only one person. it just sort of happened. very spur of the moment decision on both of our parts to let it happen the way it did, and that was it. no other crazy tale associated with it. 

guy did you just, like, do it in the desert?

me no, it was after getting back to his camp after chasing some art cars and we fell into the beds to sleep for a bit before the parties started again and it just, i don’t know, it just happened. 

guy cool. do you guys still talk?

me i don’t think that’s an important part of this story. why have you always wanted to go to burning man? what’s prevented you from ever going?

i told A this part. we laughed about it. this would also be a recurring conversation the following seven months of our on/off relationship. i skirted the “official” relationship conversation with him until i returned from san francisco in the following month. 

november. A and i had told everyone we weren’t hanging out this time, that our schedules were too busy to see each other. 

i remember standing in my bedroom doorway, suitcase in the living room, my roommate and close friend sitting on our couch, both of us having a glass of wine, talking fervently about how if i was in a conventional relationship, then i couldn’t have A anymore. i knew i’d always have him as my friend, and he was quickly becoming one of my best friends, but i couldn’t have him in the way that we had each other which was this shrouded secret relationship developing in the background of our default lives. i put my wine down to pack a suit and heels into my case, and after laying in the suit, grabbed the heels and gronk-spiked them into my suitcase with a frustrated gruff, and drank some wine. i knew where this was all going, and i had to choose. 

i got to san francisco, worked away in my room, got ready for dinner, and A came up to meet me in my room; i’d forgotten to pack a toothbrush and was so busy i didn’t have time to get water or redbull either (early morning jet lagged day after essentials). he said he’d pick them up and bring them to me. i tried to venmo him and he refused. i thanked him profusely and then we went on our way to start our night. we let our fingers brush each other, but we both knew this visit was different. we didn’t hold hands. we laughed, and i showed him the lion ring my new york guy had purchased me as a gift, and A put it on and imitated a lion. i laughed with my entire body and snapped a photo. 

we were in a speak easy and chatting about goats of all things. we went to another bar, and ordered jalapeno skillet mac and cheese and listened to live jazz and had another drink each, and then walked back to my hotel. we got back to my room and flopped down on my bed. our bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. he was pulling me as close as possible to him and our noses were touching but we weren’t kissing, just staring at each other, memorizing the curves of the face in front of us, the way we felt against each other. 

me you should go. we shouldn’t do this. 

A i don’t want to go. 

me yeah, but you should. you should go home. she’ll know you were here if you shower and get home at a weird hour. 

A really? do you think so? yeah, you’re probably right. but i don’t want to leave you. 

me i don’t want you to leave at all, but you should go. we’re being terrible people. 

A we aren’t terrible people. 

me we are kind of terrible people. we’re hurting people who care about us, and lying about it by omission. this time though, this time it’s actually a full on lie. there’s no cover story for either of us. 

A ::huffs:: fine. you’re right. i’ll go. 

we kissed quickly, but it felt like it went on forever. he kissed deeply. he always did. he still does. we both knew this would be the last one for a long, long time, and maybe even the last one ever. 

i shepherded him out of my room, closed the door, and felt like i was going to fall over and couldn’t breathe. i drank some water, readied myself for bed, and went on with my day, my flight home, flustered and distracted, and confused. 

i had strong feelings for two men. i had to make a choice. i had made a choice. i gave up on the one thing i really wanted because there was something good starting at home. something convenient, something that could be real, and out in the open, and maybe, just maybe, in time, this guy would know me and get me the same way A did. there was a lingering hope, for this future of convenience, and i had decided to grasp for it until i could hold it and see what happened from there. it was very much a situation that evokes this song. 

i got on my plane feeling like the wind had been knocked out of me. like a part of me was gone. but i thought it was fine. it was totally fine. it was okay to be sad this phase of our relationship was over...things that start at burning man usually never last anyway. we were better as friends. i never really had him anyway at least was the conclusion i reached. 

we still talked or interacted in some way every day. that never stopped. he broke up with his partner. he moved in to a new place. we’d facetime each other every now and then when one of us was out partying or had just come home or if we were in a different city away from our partners. we talked every day, really talked. the new year rolled around and my mom was getting sicker, and it hit me that she wouldn’t live through the end of the year and i was terrified. i tried to talk to my new york partner about it, but it was too much for him. i would talk to A about it at length and he’d always listen, always have something positive to say. 

around valentine’s day, A woke up realizing he’d ordered an 8ft unicorn pool float. text me a photo of the amazon shipment notification with “so, this happened last night. guess i missed you.” with a laughing face emoji. i had been baking and nyc boyfriend was with me. i asked him to get my phone from my bedroom for me so that i could be sure i was measuring the flour correctly, and he saw the text previews on my lock screen.

guy wait, did you sleep with A at burning man?

me i fail to see how this is relevant to our relationship. 

guy i’ve been asking you about it since our first date, and you guys are obviously super close, and i’ve known that, but just answer the question. did you guys sleep together at burning man?

me yes. why does this matter though? i’m with you. i choose you. if i wanted to be with him, i would be with him. 

guy ::huffs, puffs, takes a deep breathe and hands me my phone:: fine. okay. i believe you. he clearly has feelings for you though. 

me so what if he does? if he does, i’m sure there would have been a conversation about it. he’s one of my best friends. we’re burners. we’re affectionate with each other. you’ll understand if and when you ever go. 

i read the text, laughed, and responded that i have the same float, and shared a photo of me on said float, in a pool in southhampton. he sent a text back saying something to the effect that the universe works in mysterious ways, and of course we had the same floaty now. 

march. i was in boston for my brother’s 30th birthday with work, and nyc guy and i had broken up for the first of a few times to come. i was having a rough day with work, and that these were the last few months i’d likely have with my mother. i fell asleep in a stupor and when i woke up the next day, saw a few missed calls from A, along with a string of texts to make me feel better, and reminding me that if i ever needed to talk, he was there. he wasn’t going anywhere. 

i’d cried myself to sleep that night, and was pissed i’d missed his call. i got back to nyc, and the guy and i talked, we got back together. I never told A we got back together, just that we kept hanging out. he asked me if i was happy, and i said “as happy as i can be given the circumstances” or something vague. 

my mom died in may. A offered to get on a plane if i needed him there. NYC Guy failed to pick up his phone multiple times. A was my first call. 

the day i buried my mom, i woke up knowing that i was done with nyc guy. i think he knew too. we were in an ambiguous place of thinking we were in love, and not sure how to handle being together. i realized the kind of love i wanted, that i deserved, that i needed, i had, and it was right in front of me, and i’d been shooing it away the entire time. 

i was meant to be with A, and i hoped he felt that way too, i was fairly sure he did. but, i thought a lot of things were solid things and they turned out to be the opposite. i slept with my ex the night of my mom’s funeral, and the following day was mother’s day, and NYC guy and I broke up via text. i was supposed to be in san francisco a few weeks later with work, but my bosses and i made the mutual decision to restaff teh assignment, and i’d be out there in june for an event instead. A was bummed, but assured me i made the right choice and to take all the time i needed. 

june. when i went out there the following month, i was there for thirty hours. we hadn’t seen each other in person for months. even though time in the default world had passed quickly, the fact that i hadn’t touched him, or smelled him, or kissed him in so long seemed and felt like an eternity. 

i surfaced from cocktail hour of a work function, where i didn’t need to stay for the dinner portion. i looked at my phone to see a text from A telling me he was getting off of BART and walking toward where i was. he’d see me in five minutes. 

i ran outside, and i saw him across the street. i casually waved at him. he reciprocated, and then he ran diagonally across the street, the DO NOT CROSS walking signal be damned. 

as he ran to me, i skipped over to him, and he wrapped me in his arms, picked me up, spun me around, and jumped up and down with me, still not putting me down, and couldn’t stop saying “you’re here!!!!!” and then he put me down, nuzzled me breathing in the smell of my hair, kissed my neck, and then my lips, as if this was the most natural reaction in the world. 

this was a homecoming, not simply just a reunion. 

we held hands, and then he put his arm around me as we walked down the street. my shoulder fit perfectly under his, my arm around his waist, and head on his shoulder, and we walked to dinner. we were early. they sat us in an alcove. we sat next to each other, never breaking contact. we ate, and had a few drinks, and filled each other in on all of the stuff that had happened between visits, that we couldn’t text and needed to be told in person. we kissed again. he locked eyes with me and everything changed in that moment. 

A so... we’re both single right now. 

me ha! yeah, you’re right. i guess we are. weird, huh?

A kind of weird, but it feels right. should we do this? there’s nothing stopping us. 

me what do you mean ‘do this’? i mean, i’m fairly sure you’re coming back with me tonight, but i don’t want to assume anything, that’s generally just what happens, because it’s us. 

A oh, i’m definitely coming back with you. i meant more that we can actually do this. we can see what this really is. i like you. there isn’t anyone else that i’ve met that is like you. that makes me feel the way you make me feel. 

me same, actually. kind of insane, isn’t it? like, it’s been almost a year and here we are. 

A i think we should try this out. you’re amazing and i never stop thinking about you. i know you’re going through a lot right now, but i’ll wait for you, when you’re ready. 

me you’re pretty and i like you. 

and just like that, we were in this--whatever this was. i woke up tangled in his arms in the middle of the night, and felt that i was falling in love with him. 

looking back i realize that in this moment, i was already in the midst of the rabbit hole that was falling in love. i’d been suspended there for months, trying to climb out of it, but i couldn’t. 

in that moment, with his head against my chest, i knew he was it. i felt him stir and pull me closer and his head tilt up and kiss my neck. i kissed his forehead and adjusted my arms around him to hold him tighter. i whispered, barely audible to myself, A, i’m falling in love with you. he didn’t hear me. he was fast asleep. 

when i woke up for the day, and looked at him surrounded by fluffy pillows and tucked in under the duvet, he looked angelic; a perfect human perched in the clouds. i zipped my bag and kissed him goodbye. after the event i was attending was over, i realized i still had time to see him again before i left. i went over to the house, and we snuggled in his bed, and ate and had a drink before he drove me to BART so i could get to SFO for my flight. 

when he dropped me off, he put my backpack on me, and my neck pillow around my neck, pulled me to him my by arm straps and begged me not to leave. i begrudgingly left anyway. 

i called my dad from the gate and we reviewed fourth of july plans; he said i should take a vacation of sorts since i had the time off with work, a bunch of miles and flight credits, and i should do something. 

he could hear i was sad to be leaving san francisco, and suggested i go back to be with my friends and relax for a weekend outside of new york. it would be good for me. i text A to see if he was free. he was. 

i got off the phone with my dad when i sat down and settled in and i booked a flight back while sitting in my seat on the red eye back to nyc. when i realized i was really leaving, and the flight doors were closing, i couldn’t figure out why my cheeks were wet. i was crying. for the first time in a month, i wasn’t crying over my mom’s death. i was crying instead because i was leaving the other piece of my heart in a city nearly 3000 miles away from my own. 

july. A picked me up with a bottle of champagne at SFO, kissed me when he saw me, and said, “welcome home!” and he was right. i was home. i was with him. 

we had the perfect long weekend together. we talked about everything we wanted for the future. we went out dancing with our friends. when we got back that night, i was laying in bed waiting for him to get back from brushing his teeth (i’d already finished my night time routine), and i felt my mom come to me. 

they always say this will happen, but it hadn’t happened to me yet. i felt her hug me and i heard her voice as if she were next to me. she said that A was the kind of man i should be with, the kind of man she’d hoped i’d be with, and that he was a gift, and not to fuck it up. i tried my best not to start crying before he came back to bed, and i was successful. he crawled in next to me and i fell asleep on his chest. 

we went hiking later in the weekend, and were sitting on a rock looking over downtown palo alto and the bay, and he had his arm around me. this, i thought, is how my life should be. he is perfect. he is who i should be with. he was thinking something too, but i didn’t know what it was, and i could tell he wanted to say something, but didn’t want to say anything that might make me spook. we finally were together. both mythical creatures to our friends, here we were, existing in real time, in the default world, completely void of road blocks. it was us. we were us. this was it. 

when i left, he kissed me one last time and told me he couldn’t believe he was letting me leave. i told him i’d see him on the playa. 

august. i got to burning man, i got settled-ish, at my camp, found my bike, and went to A’s camp immediately. i rode up, and got off my tricycle before it totally stopped and hopped over to him. our friends were a chorus of “ohhh!! look who it is” “heyyyyyyyy” and “you made it!!” and we were just in our own bubble. we kissed and held hands and i said my hellos to everyone. we needed to talk about things, and so we went into his rv (well, party bus converted to rv minus bathrooms). we kissed a lot. we cuddled a lot, and while laying on the couch, i said “hey, a, i’m falling in love with you”. it took everything to get the words out. “i’m falling in love with you, too,” he said. 

the next day, as i was leaving his camp, to head back to mine for camp dinner, we kissed goodbye, and i cheekily said “i like you!” and that’s when he said it. it came out as naturally as an exhale -- “i love you”. i let go of his hands for a moment, stumbled a few steps to my bike in my moon booths, and then ran back to him, threw my arms around his neck, and whispered in his ear, “i love you, too, A” and that was it. 

standing in almost the same spot he’d woken me up the year before, we were admitting everything that had been held in for 363 days. 

on the actual anniversary of our meeting, i had chinese food delivered to his camp for us. we separated from our friends that night and went on an epic adventure around the playa, climbing art, finding sanctuary in a temple, and capping off the morning watching the phoenix burn. we were on foot the entire time. our bikes were slightly broken from a dust storm the day before. he’d packed a bottle of champagne in the camelbak we brought out with us “for later, because we’ve ended up super far away from home before, so, we should have this for our walk”. he was referring to the walk we took and had our first talk about what we were doing with each other, and what was back in the default world when we went in search of our bikes the year before. 

we popped a bottle of champagne and danced with the art cars  as the sun rose higher into the sky. we were cuddling each other while standing and he was holding the champagne and we were suddenly surrounded by pink fluffy unicorns who were all  hugging us. only at burning man. we laughed, and began to head home. 

we traded the champagne back and forth, holding hands, and strolling back to camp. “happy anniversary,” i said. he said it back and we stopped to kiss. he kissed me deeply every time, but this morning if felt like he kissed my soul in a way i hadn’t felt him kiss me before. “i love you” he said. i love him too. 

september. there was so much that happened in the year that passed between that morning and when we met. yet, there we were, just as full of passion and wonder as the first time we kissed. even now, every time i see him, there will be every day banal moments, like grocery shopping, or eating burritos, and i catch myself staring at him, wondering how i got to be so lucky -- how we somehow found each other in the chaos and the crowds. how in all of the dancing and celebration, i found my home. i found my soul mate, my other half, the person that makes me better in every way, because he makes me want to be a better person. he makes me a more positive person, a more caring person. i never thought i would ever be this in love. that it would ever feel this way. i never really believed the stories people would tell me about when it happens “you’ll know”. i knew something was different about he and i when we met, but i didn’t ever think it would end up this way. 

he’s who i can do everything with, and nothing with, and have fun at every turn. but, then again, i guess you know that when you meet and spend 120 waking hours together without any connection to the default world and can only talk to each other. he’s like coming up for fresh air. he’s the sunrise of every new day, brightening any shades of darkness that creep into my days. i am grateful for him, even when he frustrates me, and i get flustered. i appreciate him, even when i feel like i could hate him and i’m grumpy. 

when people asked me what changed, i tell them. he sent me a calendar invite for that dinner in june, and that was it. that was the signal. we could do that now. we were in the open, we were acknowledging that this was something, and that it was real, and we were ready. thanks, burning man, for helping us find love in and out of all the dust )’(