#it’s tuck everlasting if you couldn’t tell

[bug-under-a-rug]

back again with the tuck thoughts uh in the story of winnie foster, it makes me so so happy because the 2 main themes throughout the song are top of the world and my most beautiful day which are the happiest songs in the show, and seventeen works it’s way in there too which is a reminder of the life she could have had, but also of the life that she is living now and how it is so much more meaningful because it is impermanent. also time briefly plays when winnie plays with her son as a child which breaks my heart because the parallels are so beautiful which brings me to the wheel finale where miles says “looks like she led the life we never could” because winnie was able to give her son time. winnie was at the top of the world every day, because she never knew when it would end. winnie got to have her most beautiful day, and she got to see her sons most beautiful day. she led the life that the tucks never could. anyways i’m not crying you’re crying

[amoreva]

CAN’T CATCH A BREAK

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

pairing: luke castellan x daughter of demeter!reader

summary: in which you and luke leave camp for a date night, unfortunately interrupted due to some monsters

warnings: pet names “babe”, mentions of fighting/attacking, blood, mentions of clarisse and chris

a/n: yeah…thought of this rn and i couldn’t stop writing.

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

“Don’t you think Mr. D and Chiron will know and be absolutely pissed with us?” You adjusted the cherry red dress Clarisse had lent you, pulling the sweetheart neckline up. Luke had his arm wrapped around your waist as your heels clicked on the sidewalk of New York.

The son of Hermes looked absolutely dashing in a black button up tucked into black slacks and black dress shoes. His sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

You couldn’t lie (would not) lie to say this man had you weak with an outfit like that.

“It’s one night, babe.” Luke reassured as the evening seeped into the orange, pink and yellow hues of the sky. “I think us year-rounders deserve one night to ourselves.”

“We’re getting weird looks.” You mumbled as the two of you passed a group of students. There was lanyards around their necks as they whispered about Luke and you traveling down Main Street in such formal outfits.

“They’re just jealous I have the most beautiful girlfriend in all of Olympus.” Luke grinned cheekily.

You hadn’t know what his exact plan was for this date night. This morning, a letter was placed on your bunk. Luke’s recognizable handwriting detailed of you and him going out and to dress fancy.

The two of you walk into a building with dimmed lights. The ambience was oddly cozy paired the soothing jazz music from the live band and the conversations of other patrons.

“Luke…” You gave a warning sign to him. You never expected to be taken out to a place that looked as fancy as this.

“Don’t worry. I got it.” Luke reassured with one of those charming grins. His hand slipped from your waist to grab your hand. The curly-haired half-blood guided you to velvet waiting booths. He kissed your knuckles sweetly before going to talk to the host.

You crossed your legs before looking through your white shoulder bag. You still had your lipgloss in there as well as some other makeup, US currency and drachmas (saved from previous quests).

It wasn’t long before Luke and you sat down at a table with a white table cloth draped on it. It was nothing like camp.

“Wait here.” Luke grinned like an excited little boy. He pressed a cheek to your cheek before running out of the restaurant.

He came back with a bouquet of flowers. A beautiful array of flowers all with different meanings. Baby’s breath, everlasting love, sprinkled with gardenias, telling you “you’re lovely”, and the simplicity of red roses, “I love you” in the language of flowers.

Your vast knowledge and interest of the language of flowers was what probably made your mother claim you in the first place.

“I….I—uh…hope I got the flowers all right.” Luke blushed sheepishly and you smiled. Your chest all fuzzy and warm that he made the effort do that.

You stood up from the chair and kiss his cheek, simultaneously taking the flowers from his arms. “You did.” You reassured.

The dinner ran smoothly for the rest of the evening. Luke and you enjoyed your night out with one another. The food was absolutely delicious compared to the camp food. He paid for the food using his saved up quest money (and a drachma for a tip, far as mortals know it was pure silver)

You were giggling, walking out of the restaurant and holding Luke’s arm. Luke was holding the flowers. “You did not!” You exclaimed.

“I did!” Luke retaliated. “I’m good with the sword not with crafts like flower crown making.”

“I taught you!”

“Before you arrived! 10 times I failed to make one.”

“Oh gods—”

You and Luke continued to walk through New York. The light pollution covered the stars, but the city was still beautiful. Yet, the two demigods got this uneasy feeling. The looked at the crowd in front of them.

Three women were staring directly at them, an unwavering smile on their face. Triplets. Same gray hair, same reddish pink scarf. Same handbags.

As each person passed the women turned into horrid creatures. The servants of Hades revealed their leathery wings and yellow claws. The handbags turned into whips as they stalked towards you and Luke

Furies; Alecto, Megaera and Tisiphone.

You fished your lip gloss out of your white shoulder bag, quite disappointed that date night couldn’t end on a good note. You took the lid of the lipgloss off and out revealed a celestial bronze sword, blessed with your mother’s plants wrapped along the handle.

Demeter’s kids were never much of fighters, but when they do fight they used their plant manipulation. You decided against it due to being in the city. Causing a commotion when you’re technically supposed to be at camp will get you and Luke bathroom duty.

Luke unsheathed his own sword and place his hand on your lower back. “On my mark.” Luke spoke against your ear which sent shivers down your spine. The bouquet of flowers were discarded on the floor.

The Mist would cover you two.

You glanced at your heels and then Clarisse’s dress that she had lent you. You’d feel terrible if you ruined your friend’s dress. “We were so close. One night in the city, no monsters.”

“Half-bloods can’t catch a break, babe.” Luke kissed the crown of your forehead. Maybe it was a little cocky for you two to look so nonchalant as the furies crept closer.

Suddenly, Megaera flew towards the two of you in heartbeat. She separated the two of you, beastly claws trying (and failing) to wrap around yours and Luke’s throats. A screech tore from her lungs as she changed course to attack Luke.

In the midst of that, Tisiphone swatted you with his wings, evidently throwing you off balance. You almost rolled an ankle because of those stupid heels.

Her claws reached out to maul you, but you held her back with your sword. You glanced at Alecto as if she was surveying the situation. You pushed Tisiphone back and swiped your sword in front of you; as if you were flicking the blood off your sword.

Tisiphone snarled and lunged at you again. Her claws wrapping around your left arm while the other was pulled back ready to strike. The momentum of her charge caused you to fly. Her wings keeping the two of you from touching ground.

Before she could even try and harm you, you thrusted the celestial bronze sword into Tisiphone’s abdomen. She dissolved like sand in the wind which ultimately led you to hit the pavement. Scratches and cuts now decorating your arms and legs. Clarisse’s dress tore and ripped.

You didn’t have anytime to worry about that when Alecto was on top of you pinning you to the floor. Your sword a little ways from you. You let go of it when you collided with the sidewalk.

Alecto screeched into your face, baring her yellow teeth. She was quite pissed you killed her sister. You flinched, but a sword went through her skull. The tip of the celestial bronze penetrated Alecto’s forehead.

She reduced to ashes and you were greeted with your boyfriend’s dashing looks. There was a claw mark on the space between his neck and shoulder. “Are you okay?” Luke helped you up and surveyed your mild injuries.

“Yeah. Clarisse’s dress is ruined is all.” You mumbled and glanced at the dress. “She was going to wear it to her date with Chris!”

“Hey, we’ll fix it. I can use up my favor Hera’s son owes me.” Luke reassured and picked up your weapon. He capped it for you and grabbed your bag and flowers.

“Are you okay?” You asked Luke.

“Fine.” He smiled and nodded.

Luke and you quickly made it back to camp. You had the take off your heels because your feet were killing you. It had to be later in the evening 10pm or 11pm when you and Luke arrived at camp again.

Mr. D’s voice boomed in your minds, calling your names angrily. You looked at Luke with a glare. You were right! You were going to get in trouble.

Luke just smiled mischievously and kissed your lips as you two walked to the Big House near the lake. “Worth it.” He uttered against your lips.

“You look absolutely gorgeous in that dress and I got to see you fight in it.” Luke complimented and wrapped his arm around your waist again. “That’s worth years of bathroom duty.”

Your glare broke and you smiled as him with a shake of your head. “He’s going to tear us a new one.”

“I know.”

“You scared?”

“Just a tad.”

Luke and you entered the Big House that overlooked the lake. Chiron had his arms crossed while Mr. D didn’t have his legs propped up on the table as per usual. The look of anger spoke a thousand words. They couldn’t catch a break even at Camp.

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

[torchflies]

Hi TG Fandom!

A little blurb I couldn’t get out of my head: 🤷

The stormy night before the mission, after they've just had their last round of mind-blowing reunion sex and Bradley is sleeping soundly against his chest — Jake tells him a story. 

He never talks about where he grew up, about his childhood. He still doesn't, but he shares a tiny piece of himself with a sleeping Bradley, who can't judge him for it.

“My mother’s name was Susie Wind, before she married my father and became a Seresin.” He pauses, biting his lip, because that isn't fair — not to her, not really. “My mother’s name was Beswewe, it means Echo Maker. When she was a baby, as I've been told, she used to mimic the sounds of the sandhill cranes that nested on the lake they lived beside. My grandparents were already elders when they had her, their little miracle. She was born on Gaa-waabaabiganikaag, the White Earth reservation, and my father took her away from them. She thought she loved him, but she was just a girl. By the time she realized the monster he was — there was me.” 

Bradley snuffles in his sleep, squirming closer, as if the pitter-patter of Jake’s tears on the sheets is enough to disturb him. “My grandfather named me, you know. He left the rez one night after I was born, the night of a really bad storm, and he used it as cover to sneak up to our shed. My mother was waiting there, wet and wild in the darkness, certain that my father would be close behind her and she hurriedly gave my grandfather the tobacco he needed to name me. Baashkikwa’am, it means He Who Brings Thunder.” 

The storm outside rages on, not unlike the storm that brought him into the world, and Jake smiles, wobbly and tearful. “When my mother was dying, she told me a story and it means that I'm going to ask you for a favor. I don't expect you to remember any of this, Bradshaw, but I’ll leave a note and if you love me, or if you ever did: bury me with moccasins on my feet. I have them… tucked into a box. I've had them since my first deployment. I need you to bury me as soon as possible in those, if I die tomorrow. So that when I walk through the lands of my ancestors, Gaagige Minawaanigozigiwining: the land of everlasting happiness, they will know my footprints. Then, you have to take the charcoal in the box and smudge it all over your face, so the death doesn't take you too. Sometimes, it gets confused.” 

Jake then curls his body around Bradley’s, dragging up the blankets to cocoon them both in the warmth for as long as he possibly can. 

[star-girl69]

Everlasting

Natalie Scatorccio x Fem!Reader

—-

sypnosis: It all feels like it will never end in the wilderness. The cold, the hunger, the pain, the longing. Natalie spends every night dreaming of you, waiting for you, even though she knows you won’t come back. She almost kills herself to bring you back. Doomcoming took you from her, took everything from her. And when you do appear in the doorway, brown blanket over your shoulders, dress ripped, there is something else that will never end. Her guilt.

a/n: ending SUCKS, this is so omg, i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: mentions of starvation, cannibalism and hypothermia, mentions of injury, swearing, off-canon, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

Natalie had new routines. She used to fall asleep in the corner of the cabin, her arm around you, the rhythmic fall and rise of your breath against her.

Now, the flickering fire burns into her vision, blinding her, because anything is better than remembering you’re not there.

The other day she heard one of the other girls recounting how much fun getting dressed up for Doomcoming was. She felt sick to her stomach, because before darkness fell- it was fun. She had fun with you, and then as soon as darkness fell, you slipped from her fingertips like water.

And no matter how long and hard she searched for you, killing herself to be with you again, she never saw you again.

And at night, she dreamt of you, still in your pretty dress, your skin bright and clear, and you were wearing a halo like an angel. And she knew what it meant, she knew, and every night you would ask her if the two of you were out of the woods yet. And every night she couldn’t answer.

She knew what her dreams meant, she knew what the empty forests meant, she knew what her empty, cold hands meant- she knew it all and she didn’t want to believe it. But the colder it got, the more she couldn’t force herself to not believe.

She had always been practical. She had always resisted Lottie and her supernatural thoughts. But if she had just one glimmer of something real and tangible, a piece of your clothes, a speck of your dark eyeshadow from that night, the imprint of your lipstick on some dark tree, she would throw everything away for one chance.

So, she sits in front of the fire each night, tells herself it’s too late to go outside right now, that it would be useless, and she sits and she waits and she knows it will never come. You will never come.

She hears the rushed footsteps on the porch, like a flurry of snow, too many, too much, but she’s so tired she can’t care. Who even went out? Taissa, she thinks? Van too?

She’s selfish and horrible, but it’s hard to care about anyone else other than you.

The door slams open and shut quickly, and she faintly figures that another storm must have started and whoever it is ran in quick.

Someone breathes out your name.

She tears her eyes away from the fire, towards Melissa and Gen, almost angry that someone would say your name knowing that she lost you, you’re lost, and she misses you so much it makes her feel like she’s going to throw up.

But they are staring straight past her and towards the door. And she hears breaths, breaths she knows from nights spent with you tucked into her.

And she gets her hopes up.

She turns her head, grateful for her headband, because she doesn’t want to spend more time not looking at you when she could be staring at you.

Cold and half-blue, staring around at everyone like a tiny deer or some shit, scared, looking for something, someone-

“Y/N.”

And Natalie’s voice doesn’t feel like her own, and she curses the tears in her eyes making her vision blurry, and she doesn’t know who moves first, but you push away from Van and Tai and she stands up and practically trips over the small metal cups someone left over the floor.

But she doesn’t feel anything, her heart doesn’t even beat, not until she can wrap her arms around you and feel the rise and fall of your chest against her, feel your tears run down her neck, that she realizes her heart hasn’t even beaten since she lost you.

“I’m sorry,” she gasps, running her hand over your knotted hair, “Oh, God, I’m so sorry, I’m so…”

And it’s the first thing she really says to you after all this time.

—-

Eventually, someone had enough common sense to put a scratchy brown blanket over your shoulders, and Natalie spent every second adjusting it. After your tears had dried, after she had let herself truly believe that you were here, that’s when it had sunk in.

A different kind of cold in her, not like the placebo shivers she got whenever she looked at your tinged-blue skin, something like a straight drop of ice. Starting in her heart and spiraling outward like weeds growing in between her organs. She had felt guilt all her life, and she was no stranger to it, but she didn’t know she could feel this much all at once.

Even in here, in front of the fire with her, you still shivered every few seconds. And like her, you stared into it, let it blind you, and she let your beauty blind her. Even like this, starving and half-frozen, a shallow part of her still noticed that you were like the fire you looked into. There was still something in your eyes, some small ember, and she would hold onto that and urge it up into a wildfire for the rest of her life.

She has long since pressed her hands to your cold face and almost cried, quickly burying her face into your neck before she pulled back, asking one of the girls, no one in particular, to help start a bath for you.

Van crouches down in front of you.

“Y/N? Where were you? Did you find somewhere?”

And a part of her is curious too, so she just sits by. You’re facing the fire, in between her legs, and she sits awkwardly to the side of you- your legs strung over one of hers. She runs her hands over you, fixes the blanket, tries to softly detangle the knots in your hair. You barely move, you don’t speak, and it almost feels like she’s playing with a doll.

But she sees your chest and stomach rise and fall, and in this moment that movement just feels so everlasting. She’s hyper aware of this entire moment. She feels everything. She feels it so much.

You don’t even acknowledge Van, and she bites her lip, looking around. She sighs softly.

“Y/N, c’mon, just tell us. Did you find another cabin? Uh… a-a cave, or something?”

You still don’t answer. You still don’t even notice she’s there, but you shuffle closer to Natalie, a slight movement- only one she can feel.

She runs her thumb along your jawline.

“That’s enough,” she whispers. “She’s tired. No… no questions, nothing.”

She can feel everyone’s harsh glare on her, but she doesn’t care. Their curiosity, the idea of tomorrow, it doesn’t compare to you right now. It doesn’t matter, not after whatever you went through.

“Nat,” someone scoffs in disbelief.

“If she found something, we need to know,” Taissa pushes, and Nat tears her eyes away from you to watch Tai gesture towards Shauna and her round belly.

“C’mon,” she whispers to you, ignoring everyone who isn’t you. “Let’s go see if the bath is ready.” Maybe you nod. Maybe she imagines it. Slowly, she drags you up, and you’re so weak and tired it makes her tear up just a little more.

—-

After helping you slip off your dirty, ripped and ragged dress, Natalie realizes you have no big scars or marks. Besides for some scratches- like you had been running through the wilderness- and some bruises- like you had taken a few sharp falls- you were fine.

She helps you sit, watches as your teeth clench together and you adjust to the hot water, before she drags over the small stool and sits beside you.

She gently traces her finger around a half-faded bruise on your upper arm.

“Do any of them hurt?” she asks as softly as she can.

And it takes a second, but after a moment, you shake your head, staring in front of you at the water lapping against the metal tub.

Natalie breathes in deep and let’s it out slowly.

“It’s okay,” she whispers, her hand falling into yours, squeezing once. “It’s okay,” and she doesn’t know who she’s saying it to.

Finally, you look up at her and lock eyes with her. And it’s been so long since she looked anyone in the eyes like this, let alone you, that she freezes under the intimacy and watches as tears fill your eyes.

You screw your eyes shut, looking away from her, and all she can do is sit there and know that you suffered for so long without her, because of her.

“If I… I had just kept looking… then maybe- I-I don’t know.”

You shake your head ever so slightly.

She sighs and squeezes your hand again, trying to pull away from you. She reaches for the cloth she left hanging on the rim of the tub, white and browning with use and age.

“Nat,” you say, so softly, your voice scratchy and odd and it’s been so long she realizes she forgot what your voice sounded like.

“What?” she asks, frowning, but maybe a little too eager, because she wants to hear your voice again and again and feel you forever and ingrain it all into her brain. “What’s wrong?”

You pull at her hand with yours. And she looks into your eyes and softly let’s her hand drop from yours, standing up. And you watch as she slips off her jacket and her shirt, her pants and everything else, and soon she’s hissing as she steps into the burning hot water behind you.

And after a short moment that feels like it will never end, she gets used to the water and you slide up right in front of her, and she tries to stifle her soft tears.

“I missed you,” you say suddenly. “I… I love you.” And she knows she’ll remember your voice forever.

You take a few deep breaths, and she can feel it, and she’s knows you’re really there. You’re with her. You’re safe.

“I love you too,” is all she has the strength to whisper.

And she knows that this guilt will never end, but she also knows that what she feels for you will never end. This moment will be everlasting.

—-

everything taglist:

@emilynissangtr

[vesanal]

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊The 6th Day of Writemas₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

Hey y’all!!!! I don’t have anything funny or creative to say right here so here is the invite post and here are the prompts for day 6!!! Finals week is upon us (well me really) so I am going to be posting more infrequently BUT I will be posting every remaining day of writemas if it kills me. <3

Prompts used:

Narration: The world had never been so silent, it felt a crime to break it, to utter a sound.

Feeling: The silence of nature

Now, let’s get into it! I’m using Aerlyra again because these prompts called for it and I do what I want. So here ya go!

Read about the WIP here!!

Hope y’all enjoy it!!!

------------------------------

A small cabin in the woods stood alone against the everlasting chilling air and white tipped trees. Inches upon inches of snow covered the roof, porch and windows, almost engulfing the entire cabin in white, providing evidence that a storm had hit the night before. Though, with the white of the snow covering the dark brown of the buon wood that made up the home, it created unity with the flurried landscape. Serenity was practically perfected by the land. The world had never been so silent, it felt a crime to break it, to utter a sound. If true peace could be achieved, it would be right there. 

“Agh, dammit! Get on, I’m going to be late!” Aerlyra screamed as she kicked open the door with her one free foot, with the other in hand, struggling to fit in her work boots, desperately trying to steady herself on her single foot on the floor of her porch, “I. Have. To. Make. Money. Come on! Just let me do this.”

Aerlyra groaned as she had to put on the last of her gear as she stumbled out the front door, knocking snow around as she fit on her stubborn boot. Stomping it on, she settled her hands on her waist in satisfaction. She lifted her scarf up to her mouth and slammed the door shut, causing snow to fall all over her. Rolling her eyes, she swiped it off her and picked up the lit lantern hanging up on the roof, illuminating her view. 

It was still quite dark for the morning time, even for the winter. The sky was pitch black still and the view was hazy, at best. Using the lantern to see a bit more, she tried to make out anything recognizable of the bleak world she saw. She trotted down the stairs carefully with her arm holding the lantern extended out to guide her path. As she bent over to see the stairs closely, a small object fell out of her coat. The object had a long wooden rod, made of a much lighter wood that couldn’t be found in these parts of Pytharios. A pink faceted gemstone was fixed at the end of it, held up with sturdy metal cords that continuously curled around the wooden rod in beautiful patterns.

“You don’t want me to use this ever again, okay?” She said cautiously looking around, speaking to no one in particular, then picking up the now, foreign object to her.

As she held the wand, Aerlyra felt the many memories absorb into her. Still, she kept her head up and eyes fixated entirely away from it. She saw the small stable on the side of her cabin with her lantern. She quickened up the pace through the snow, trying to wad through faster to get to the stable.

“Eshi, come here!” 

Suddenly, out of the doors, came a majestic white and grey horse barreling over. Aerlyra held out her hands towards Eshi as he stopped next to her, and gripped onto him to help her through the snow. It stood on its strong, stout legs and stocky frame, awaiting orders from Aerlyra. She tucked her wand back into her coat's pocket, properly this time, and dug through the piles of snow and picked up her saddle on the ground where it sat propped up against the stable’s wall and threw it over Eshi, strapping it in snuggly. She scrambled to get onto the large and imposing horse. As he settled in nicely to the comforting saddle, she rubbed her horse’s neck affectionately to ease him down. 

“Let’s go.”

------------------------------

(PLEASE tell me if you wanna get added to a tag list here because I genuinely don't know who to tag lol. I'll edit this and add you in!! <3 )

TAGLIST SO FAR: @sunflowerrosy @seastarblue

@thebookishkiwi @viridis-icithus @corinneglass

Our wonderful host <3 → @agirlandherquill Have a lovely day everyone!!

[eternalchiyo]

Everlasting Spark ~DARK 07~

Yui and Ayato came back a bit over an hour later. Chiyo had occupied herself with watching the fire die in the fireplace of the living room. She’d have liked for it to be warmer in the house since she grew extremely cold at times. At the same time, ever since that one day she felt a bit uneasy about fires. Not scared, but she would rather not get too close to one.

Yui, who was tucking away the umbrella in the holder at the entrance, came to greet Chiyo. “Chiyo-san, we’re back, oh? The fire is almost out, aren’t you cold?”

She hurried to the fireplace and rekindled the flames by getting some more firewood in there.

“Hey, Chichinashi, what are you doing? I thought you were going to make me Takoyaki?!” Ayato complained from back in the door frame. So that’s how she kept the guy happy. Chiyo wondered whether Yui’s cooking was really that good. They did say the way to the heart was through the stomach and Ayato did exactly seem like the type of guy to fall victim to that.

“Yes, yes, Ayato-kun,” Yui said. She really was enthusiastic in everything she did. Chiyo watched them with piqued interest.

“Oh right, Chiyo-san,” Yui turned to her, “I didn’t know what your favorite dish was, so I bought a bit of everything. We can make something together if you’d like?”

Chiyo raised her eyebrows. She never cooked before; they had servants for that. Before she could answer anything, Ayato cut her off:

“Hellooo? Are you coming or what?”

Chiyo rolled her eyes and followed the two of them after looking into Yui’s pleading face. She supposed she didn’t have many better things to do, so she might as well take part.

Ayato was suspiciously accommodating to Yui’s request of passing her the ingredients she needed. Chiyo supposed it was because there was something in it for him. She watched with curiosity as the other girl prepared the octopus and batter. While the pan was heating up Yui prepared the other garnishes. Clearly, she was quite skilled with a kitchen knife. Suddenly she turned towards her.

“So, Chiyo-san, what is your favorite food after all?” she asked.

Chiyo felt her own cheeks get warm. Sharing something like her favorite food with someone seemed like a very personal question. The obvious answer should have been ‘Why? Blood, of course.’. That has always been her answer; a lie. Something she pretended to love for appearances sake. She had no idea what convinced her to tell the truth this time.

“I… uh, really like crepes,” she said, “the ones you can buy with whipped cream and fruits.”

Ayato, who was sitting on the edge of the kitchen table started laughing loudly. This was the exact reason why Chiyo usually kept everything to herself. Alas, it was too late to take her words back now. She had to make do with frowning at him.

“Oh, don’t give me that look little miss “I-only-ever-suck-blood” hahah, though, I guess I would also keep my favorite food a secret if it was something as ridiculous as girly crepes.”

She hated it when Ayato made fun of her. She hated it when anyone made fun of her, really. The big kitchen knife Yui used to cut the green onions was laying on the counter next Chiyo now. She grabbed it.

“I swear, Ayato, if you don’t shut up right now, I will shove this down your throat!”

“What was that?! You wanna fight? Come at m–"

Yui cut him off by popping a Takoyaki ball inside his open mouth. “Here, Ayato-kun, try this,” she said. Chiyo could hear Ayato grumble something while he chewed but she couldn’t make out any coherent words. “Chiyo-san, you too.”

Yui handed her a Takoyaki skewer. Chiyo eyed it suspiciously before taking it.

It tasted really good.

Come to think of it, Chiyo had never been offered food in a way like this before. She thought about it while she was chewing the octopus-ball. Being distracted like that, Yui swiftly took the knife from her hands. It was a bit comical. Was that girl worried about Chiyo getting herself in trouble or was she worried about her hurting Ayato? Who knew. She didn’t really care, as she never meant to actually attack Ayato with it in the first place.

The boy in question eventually took off with a full plate of Takoyaki, leaving the two girls alone in the kitchen.

Chiyo helped Yui take care of the dirty dishes as well as she could. Meaning she ended up being the one to dry them off and put them inside the cabinets. They did that in silence until Yui spoke again.

“Chiyo-san, have you ever made crepes before?”

Chiyo shook her head. She didn’t exactly like not having as skill that the other girl had but at the same time concluded that it was a useless skill to have anyway.

“Let’s try making some then. I think this could be fun. Ayato and I also bought a bunch of fresh fruit and it would be a shame if it went to waste.”

“But I don’t– “

“Don’t worry, it’s not that hard,” Yui said, “we can start by cracking these eggs in a bowl.”

She handed Chiyo one of them and nodded her head to the glass bowl she took out a few moments ago. Chiyo tried her best. First, she tapped the egg gently against the rim of the bowl – nothing happened. She tried again, harder this time, but this only caused the egg to burst in half immediately and coat both the counter and Chiyo’s hand in egg yolk.

She groaned in frustration and shook off her hand in the sink.

“Obviously this egg must have been faulty,” she said pout audible in her voice.

Yui let out a giggle at seeing the other girl struggling.

“Do you have a death wish?” Chiyo asked.

“No, s…sorry.”

She took a damp cloth and cleaned up the mess, before taking out another egg from the carton.

“Here let me show you how to do it best.”

Yui took the egg and tapped it a few times against the bowl, forming a small crack in the shell. Then she took her thumbs and pushed the two sides of the shell apart, making the contents of the egg fall into the bowl. Chiyo was fascinated, the shell was perfectly sliced into two halves.

Timidly she took the other egg that Yui was handing her and tried to mimic Yui’s actions. She succeeded in cracking it open without wasting half of it like the previous time, however the shell did not crack open evenly and a few tiny pieces fell into the bowl along with the yolk.

“Damn it!”

Chiyo was about to throw the whole bowl away when Yui stepped in.

“Ah! Don’t worry about it, this happens to me sometimes as well, here, let me take care of it quickly!”

She fished the little eggshell pieces out with a teaspoon. “See? Nobody can tell that they were ever in there.”

Once again Chiyo could feel her cheeks heat up in embarrassment. She let her emotions get the better of her and she hated it. She always tried so hard to appear in control, it was hard for her when she lost it. Though, along with the obvious feeling of shame and feeling inferior there was also a sliver of a warm and fuzzy feeling. Was she having fun?

“Cheer up, you did pretty well for your first time,” Yui said. Her tone was cheerful.

Chiyo looked at the girl who was now putting in milk into the bowl and mixing it with a whisk. She had never met such a strange person before.

“How do you do that?” Chiyo asked.

“Hm? Oh, you just need to firmly grasp the bowl in one hand and– “

“No, not that,” Chiyo said, “how do you… stay so happy? Here of all places.”

This mansion was depressing. Everyone living inside it hated each other or had some sort of other issue with one another. On top of that Yui was the only human here, making her an easy target for blood sucking attacks, even from up there Chiyo could see the fading bite marks from some of the brothers littering her white skin in bruises. Her being a girl put her in an even more precarious situation, Chiyo was sure.

Yui bit her lower lip in thought and suddenly stopped whisking the milk and eggs. She smiled at Chiyo but all it did was make her sad.

“It’s not like I didn’t try to run away, you know?”

Yui recalled how she tried to run in the beginning, but all that got her was a broken phone and more bruises, so she eventually decided to make the best out of her situation. Chiyo felt as if she began to understand the girl better. She didn’t have anywhere to go and with the whole household being Vampires it was easy for them to just find her by scent. Even if she ran again, she probably wouldn’t come far.

“Besides… the others are not as bad as they seem,” she said and started to put in flour into the bowl little by little, mixing in between.

“Oh yeah? Like whom? Ayato?”

Yui nodded. “Ayato-kun, Reiji-san and Subaru-kun. Laito-kun and Kanato-kun as well.”

Chiyo looked at her, waiting for her to continue.

“And Shuu-san is– “

“Shuu-san is an asshole,” Chiyo completed for her.

And I am the one who made him that way, she thought.

Yui shook her head. “Mmm, Shuu-san is a kind person. I can tell, even if he wants people to think something else.”

Chiyo looked down and felt like crying. She could feel the other girl look at her, probably deciding whether to poke further or to leave it be. Apparently, she decided to leave it be because she didn’t say anything else until the crepes were ready.

It was Yui who took care of putting the batter into the pan and making the delicious thin base that could be filled with all kinds of things later. Chiyo mostly watched as she was sure she would set the house on fire accidentally if she had to do it herself.

They let the crepes cool down a bit before moving on to fruit selection. There were all kinds of different fruits inside the shopping bags. A mango, many bananas, strawberries, raspberries and… apples.

Chiyo meticulously picked out the apples and put them aside.

“You don’t want apples inside the crepes, Chiyo-san?” Yui asked.

“No. I hate them,” Chiyo said.

Looking at the other girl’s quizzical expression, she added: “They remind me of someone - a dead person.”

“I see, yeah I can see how it could be a sad memory, if it was someone that really liked them.”

Chiyo didn’t confirm her statement, but she also didn’t deny it. It really was not the time to put the mood down even further than it was. She wanted to finally be done with the crepes so she could get out of the situation. It was making her feel more and more on edge.

She ended up picking bananas and strawberries for her crepe and Yui helped her with rolling it up properly. Then they filled some of the other ones and left a few for being eaten plain if anybody wanted.

When they were almost finished Yui looked happy again.

“I am sure Kanato-kun will be thrilled when he sees what we made,” she said in a very cheerful tone.

“Hey maybe if you offer one to Shuu-san, you two could make up already?”

Chiyo looked at her with a frown.

“If I give him one of those, he will probably take it as an insult,” she said.

Shuu hated sweets, always had.

“Besides, I don’t think this can be solved by a piece of fried batter.”

“Maybe not but you gotta start somewhere, right? Or do you plan on fighting with him for the rest of your lives?”

‘The rest of your life’ sounded extremely long if you considered the fact that Vampire lives were eternal. At least Shuu’s was, her own, Chiyo was not sure. How would she know anyway? She was the only of her kind. A weird mixture of human and monster. Her life has been long already, but she had no idea when it would end.

“Shuu-san always looks at you with those sad eyes, I don’t think he means to keep fighting with you,” Yui said.

Chiyo sighed.

“It’s sad to see people fight.”

“It is sad isn’t it…” Chiyo said.

But no matter how much Chiyo regretted what happened in the past, there was no way to undo it. Edgar was dead and so was Shuu. The old Shuu had died alongside the human boy in the cursed fire that Reiji set to the village. He hasn’t been the same ever since.

She couldn’t help but feel as if it was her who murdered him.

The crepe was sweet. Sickeningly sweet, just the way she would like it. And yet… And yet it almost made her choke.

[wrencatte]

request fill ficlet 7 out of 20 Dick & Damian + Damian picking up mannerisms from Jason during their time together in the LoA. Except I put a little twist on it and added it to the majesty of caged lions verse (when my cage is by the window (I can see the sun))

The stove light is on when he comes into the kitchen. Not unusual, Alfred leaves it on as a just in case even though the likelihood of one of them waking up so soon after patrol when the sun hasn’t risen is pretty low. 

Normally it would be Dick or Tim who came to the kitchen when the insomnia or nightmares got bad, but Tim's been off with his team since last week and Dick doesn’t normally hang around Gotham anymore. More than he did when Jason – More than he did before Tim became Robin, but even then, he has his own team, his own city, and Tim has grown into a capable hero that doesn’t need him as often.

Circumstances have changed, though, and that circumstance is sitting at the kitchen table, legs folded up under him, a book open under his palm. Damian’s eyes flash in the dim light – almost cat-like – and Dick wonders how he can read with how dark it is.

The kid watches him impassively, tracking Dick as he wanders over and flips the light to a higher setting – he doesn’t turn on the overhead light, neither of them would like that – and checks the kettle, unsurprised to find it half-full. The canister of loose-leaf tea that hadn’t been among Alfred’s selection up until two months ago sits ever-so-slightly out of line to the rest of them. Dick nudges it back, adds some water to the kettle, and sets it up to heat.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Dick asks, keeps his voice low but not soft. Damian doesn’t do well with soft – he gets kind of awkward and stiff, the tips of his ears get red. It’s adorable, but for all of Dick’s skills, he can’t tell if he’s embarrassed by it or uncomfortable, so he does his best to keep it to a minimum when he can.

Damian shakes his head. The kid is a bottomless well of snark and attitude and genuinely hilarious but on point observations on a good day, can get downright mean on a bad one, but the in between moments, like now in the cool grey pre-dawn, with the kettle clicking softly behind him, the sound of pages crackling as Damian shifts his hand – Dick finds a capable, but traumatized kid who really doesn’t know how to handle the world.

He doesn’t talk much about growing up in the League of Shadows. He mentions Talia the most, all full of love and adoration, and Dick doesn’t really like her much, but he can’t find it in himself to hate her when Damian loves her so openly. There’s gaps here and there. Wide, gaping voids of things Damian doesn’t talk about, doesn’t hint at – and Dick thinks to the little wooden robin from a couple weeks ago, stained red. The way Damian held it like it was something precious. How he cried – the first time he’d cried since coming to Gotham.

“Neither could you,” Damian finally says.

Dick smiles, shrugs. “It happens.” They lapse in silence, watching each other, until Dick gives into his curiosity and asks, “Whatcha reading?”

Damian visibly startles and covers the open pages with his other hand like Dick can read it from there. His shoulders curl in and he looks away. “ Tuck para siempre ,” he mumbles.

Tuck Everlasting . And something about the title nudges something in the back of his mind.

“You like it?”

Damian shrugs. “It is alright.” Almost absently he ghosts his finger down the margin of the page. “I like the notes more.”

[immortalpheus]

REWRITE OF THIS PAGE.

SEALED WITHIN A CRISP ENVELOPE, THE LETTER IS TUCKED WITHIN A STACK OF CARDS THAT ARE TOGETHER IN ALMOST - CAREFUL MANNER, WHOMEVER HAVING IT DONE IT MUST’VE DOING SO NOT WITHOUT EFFORT TO ACCIDENTALLY TOPPLE IT OVER. THE INK IS NARROW THOUGH CONFIDENT ACROSS THE PAPER, NEWER IT WOULD SEEM, BUT REMAINING DATED ALL THE SAME.

INSIDE THE LETTER, A HEAVY OBJECT WEIGHING IT DOWN IS PRESENT AS WELL.

i presume that it is the madame who reads it; you will be the only one welcome to do so, it’s only.. just, for the one who whom held my presence so long, no? you always are quite talented in making one bound within these walls, lost to their own spiral of the endless greed at their finger tips - it was always so entertaining to watch them fall at the hands of fortune in the end. ha-ha!

grandly, i extend my own thank you for such wonderful opportunities, and perhaps the other one’s as well; for he was always so fond of those precious cards, as damning as it were to him, eating away at his very being. my, madame, that sight must be as familiar to you as the souls that lie within that glass of yours is. i cannot help but wonder what made him so “special” to you when he was just another domino to topple? or did you even and especially enjoy the madness that you sought yourself from him?

i mustn’t be brash in my assumptions now. perhaps your care was extended even to the long ago lost, no matter if it does no good now. i have no judgement for you there, but..

highroller always was so quick to bet a grand deal within these games, wasn’t he? oh, a mockery of you if anything! that is the difference between him and you, see, he was.. careless rather than calculating. yes. what pity, what plight! to see it be used so especially in our own game, i couldn’t help but feel that everlasting high of entertainment once more.

he put far too much on the line for so little, only worthwhile in his mind; i don’t believe you wouldn’t been pleased either had you been present. but, i am one of my word, madame. for one who loses a bet, you have enforced these own rules long ago— and i only took it upon myself to continue to do the same, that is where fairness may be drawn in the lies of it.

with this letter, i depart from you— “luck”. it has no part to play for one with as skilled as you are, seeing through each and everyone of our patrons from the past and the present; drawing out the heart, even highroller couldn’t help but fall under such calamity, not wholly your terms alone though. interesting, no? let me bring it upon myself, fortune must be moved onto another but there was never quite any telling to begin with.

you have never lost a game because of fates hand, it is only right to wish that the other merely lack the victory then. but i cannot say the same for this life of yours, though, do you consider it one in the same with how far you have fallen?

continue on, madame. the casino must have its owners, but him and i are as replaceable as any patron of ours in time. you were not surely attached, were you now? I certainly hope not towards us.

if these snakes you are so fond of coil your mind, the unknown harboring questions as you read this now..

by the sunlight, by the sea,

you may have these so-called ‘answers’ then.

your most loyal employees, roulette and highroller.

UPON FURTHER INSPECTION, WITH A LOUD CLANK - THE OBJECT INSIDE OF THE ENVELOPE SLIPS OUT AND CRASHES ONTO THE GROUND WITH TWO CARDS, THE SYMBOL OF A HEART AND A SPADE.

THE OBJECT IS CERTAINLY FAMILIAR TO THE WRITER, A NECKLACE DONNING A METALLIC COIN AT THE VERY END OF IT WITH THE SYMBOL OF A SPADE AS WELL CARVED INTO IT. NOTABLY, HOWEVER, ITS ALMOST A BIT… RUINED, WITH THE DEPICTION OF A SNAKE THAT RUNS OUT TOWARDS THE EDGE OF THE SPADE, SCRATCHED OUT INTO THE VERY MIDDLE OF IT AND SEEMINGLY WITH ODD DETAIL.

[huntresscaraquinn]

Cara couldn’t help but grin at the little girl’s excitement, commenting, “It was one of my younger sister’s favorites, too. She reread it so much, her copy was practically in tatters. That’s how you can tell a book is well-loved.” As for whether or not they would have her suggested books here, she thought it over for a beat, “Anne of Green Gables and The Lord of the Rings trilogy are staples; if the store I worked at was running low on copies of either series - which was rare - we ordered in new ones just in case. Tuck Everlasting can be a little more elusive...” She recalled a day when she was younger where her mom and dad took her to book fair in the heart of the city, where roads were blocked off and booths as far as the eye could see were positively brimming with books. And she had thought for sure that if she was going to find a copy anywhere, it would be there, but she had gone home disappointed. She hadn’t said anything but someone - Ari being the main culprit - had told her dad, and a copy was sitting at the breakfast table the next morning. “...Still, if it’s here, we’ll find it. If that’s all right with you.” She extended a hand to the girl’s father, “I’m Cara.”

“Oh, I read Ella Enchanted!” Emma exclaims, smile brightening. “It was such a wonderful story. Instantly one of my favorites!”

It was so nice to talk to someone who knew about the books she liked. Her father was always busy or tired, and he was never a big fan though he supported her love of stories as best as her could. He listened, but he didn’t understand. Her grandmother read too, but she read adult books full of scary stories and “adult content.” She couldn’t exactly tell her about Ella and her whimsical tale and receive the same enthusiasm. And neither could suggest more books to read. None of the kids at school seemed quite as passionate either, even the ones who liked reading.

But her passion was a gift. That was what her father had told her. It was a gift from her mother, who had been driven by her passions until she was tragically taken from them far too soon.

“Those all sound good too. Do they have them here or do I need to go somewhere else?”

[carryingthebanner]

✎ Writevember Day 3 ✎

Day 2

Balloons for Les

Prompt: Balloons

Words: too many 3,058

Content Warnings: food mention, briefly mentions loss of parents

“Ya can’t go there, Les. ‘S Brooklyn.” Jack sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “No kid ‘o mine is goin’ down to Brooklyn by himself. ‘S just not happenin’.” Les huffed, facing toward Davey. “Don’t look at me! I’m not going to Brooklyn again.” Davey exclaimed, throwing up his hands. He shot Jack a glance, hoping that he would back him up on this. Instead, a mischievous smile crept on his face. “Dat don’t sound too bad, huh. Dave, you should take ya little brudda to Brooklyn.” Jack paused, holding back a snicker as Davey’s eyes widened. “I’s sure Spot would love to see ya.” Davey shot Jack a death glare before shaking his head. “What makes you think he would want to see any of the Manhattan newsies? We’re not Race or Albert.”

It was true - only Race and Albert had the privilege of going to Brooklyn whenever they pleased. Jack didn’t like it (and may or may not have felt a bit jealous that he, a fellow leader, wasn’t allowed on Spot’s turf), but he couldn’t blame Conlon - although he was cordial with Jack after his betrayal in order to make the strike successful, he had made it very clear on multiple occasions that he didn’t trust Jack: “Prove it to me, Kelly. Then we’ll talk.” However, Jack felt relieved knowing that at least two Manhattan newsies were on good terms with Brooklyn. If he ever needed a representative, he never hesitated to ask Race or Albert.

“Fine. How’s about I come with ya?” Jack suggested, against his better judgement. Davey looked at him incredulously. “Jack, if there was a list of newsies from any borough that Spot didn’t want to see, I’m certain that you would be at the top of it.” Jack shifted uncomfortably. “I’s changed, Conlon’s gonna have to realize that - one way or another. I ain’t trespassin’ on his turf ‘cause I ain’t sellin’ no papers there. If Les wants to have a look at the circus, then we should let ‘im.” Davey knew good and well that that wasn’t what trespassing meant, but he kept his mouth closed. Jack had a way of working his magic on practically everyone he came into contact with, so maybe he knew what he was doing. Davey just had to relax and trust him.

“Really?” Les squealed, looking enthusiastically between the two of them. Jack glanced over at Davey again before slinging his arm over Les’ shoulder. “Yeah, kid. Let’s go.”

The water sparkled beneath the sun and boats made tiny ripples in the water as the three of them walked across the Brooklyn Bridge. Les stopped every few seconds to feed pigeons or to rush over to the nearest boat to watch it pass under the bridge, completely ignoring Davey’s calls to not stray too far behind.

They were barely halfway across the bridge when they heard loud whooping and the sound of coins being scattered across wood. The Brooklyn newsies were there. Not too unexpected. The Brooklyn boys often hung around here: playing jacks, selling papers and looking out for anyone that might be a Manhattan newsie. They slowed down their pace, and Davey stopped telling Les to come over.

He eventually did. “Did you see the big one? It looked incredible!” Les exclaimed, walking over to them. “What? Oh, nah kid. I didn’t see it. I bet it was though.” Jack responded, nervously running a hand through his hair. “How’s about you go looks at some more? I bet there’s others that are just as big.” Les shook his head. “No, I’m ready to go now. Come on, I wanna see the circus!” Jack shot Davey a nervous glance for what was probably the umpteenth time and then they continued on their way. It wasn’t that Jack was scared of Spot - he wasn’t even intimidated. But Jack knew how badly he had let down all of the newsies when he briefly became a scab. It still hurt him deeply to think about, and he felt ashamed to even show his face in Brooklyn. And it wasn’t just Brooklyn - It had taken him a bit to even feel comfortable with his newsies again. Sure, they accepted him back in no time (even the ones who were a little hesitant at first), but Jack still couldn’t shake the feeling of being a backstabber. Especially when it came down to the younger newsies and the ones who were badly wounded during the strike. Living as a newsie was far from living in high society, but it had always been important to Jack to set a good example for them. And he failed. He had assured Crutchie that he would never let him down, he had promised to fight for all of the newsies, even the ones who didn’t partake in the strike. And he was the one who turned out to be the quitter. Oh, the irony.

As they approached closer, Jack tried not to think about the past and instead tried to think of how he was going to explain to Spot’s newsies his reason for coming to Brooklyn. Suddenly, Davey poked him, and gestured up ahead. Surprise surprise, Spot was here too. “Just as luck would have it.” Jack muttered, sucking in his breath.

He squared his shoulders and strode over to where Spot, a few Brooklyn newsies, and (not so surprisingly) Race and Albert sat. “Heya Conlon!” He said, making sure to play up his charm. “How’s things goin’?” Spot looked up at Jack, continuing to maintain his gaze as he put down his cards and stood. “Why’re ya here, Kelly? State your purpose.” “We’s taking-” Spot moved to stand directly in front of Jack. “Business or pleasure?” He crossed his arms, waiting for an answer. “Pl-” “I’m going to see the circus!” Les interrupted, the excitement evident on his face. Spot glanced at Les before returning his gaze to Jack.

Behind him, Albert nudged Race, prompting him to reach out and tap Spot on the arm. Spot turned his head ever so slightly to look back at Race, whose eyes pleaded with him to let Jack off the hook. Spot turned his back to Jack, and stood in silence for a few seconds before waving his hand in the air. They were in the clear. Jack gave Race a quick nod before continuing his walk. Spot stood watching them until they disappeared out of view.

They heard the circus before they saw it. Animated carnies yelled, “Come to the circus, it’s the best day of the year!” and loud horns played in the distance. The smell of fresh, buttery popcorn wafted through the air. Les couldn’t contain his happiness. He bounded over to the nearest booth, completely ignoring the ticket collector and tried to peer inside. “Hey kid! Where’s your ticket?” The collector yelled, standing up to block his view. Les stumbled back, stunned. A hand landed on his shoulder. “I’m sorry for any trouble he was causing, sir.” Davey’s voice came from behind him. “We were just on our way.” The collector gave them a stern look as Davey steered Les away, and Jack followed.

“I didn’t do nothin’,” Les was clearly irritated. “I was lookin’!” Davey shook his head. “Looking to get yourself in trouble.” Les pulled himself away from him, walking over to go stand by Jack’s side. “Jack told me I could look! I was lookin’, right Jack?”

Jack nodded in agreement. “Davey, ‘s okay, really. And Les, maybe ya should stay by da fence.” A long, metal fence surrounded the circus, keeping them out but still allowing them to view the vibrant red and white booths, the carousel’s intricate designs, the flashy costumes of the performers and the enticing fair food. The circus showed up annually and although Jack had never been, he had heard plenty from newsies who had seen it in passing. It was like nothing he had seen before.

Les looked longingly at the sight in front of him, and soon a man holding balloons came by. Immediately his eyes lit up. “Look, balloons!” He turned attention to Davey. “Could I get one, David? Please?” Davey shook his head. “I don’t want to have to explain to father why our earnings are significantly less than it was last time.” “I’ll work extra hard then! Younger sells more papes, remember?” Les insisted. “I said no, Les.”

Jack felt uncomfortable, as if he was intruding on something. Among the newsies, he was usually the one to break up fights and settle disagreements. He wasn’t used to this. “But-” Les tried again, only to be cut off by Davey. “Les, we can’t afford it. That’s final.”

Jack glanced awkwardly between them before holding up a finger to Les, and leading Davey a few feet away. “Listen,” He kept his voice low and dug around in his pocket. “I might have some spare change.” After all, he slept on the rooftop, so he sometimes did have a little extra money as opposed to the newsies who had to pay for a bed every night. He typically saved the extra cents in case a newsie happened to be down on their luck. Davey looked at Jack, his face turning red. “We’re no charity case.”

Jack felt as if he had been punched in the gut. The last time Davey had said those words to him were before he even knew Davey was Davey. Of course Jack knew that they weren’t a charity case, they both were hard workers and Davey hated asking anybody for anything.

“Stop thinkin’ dat’s what I means. I’s tryin’ to do a little somethin’ for da kid!” Davey forced a laugh. “What? I do not think that all the time! When’s the last time-” He stopped mid sentence, shocked. The last time he uttered those words was back in July. Back when he still didn’t trust Jack.

To make matters worse, Les had made his way over and they hadn’t noticed. He hated fights. He hated that his brother seemed so serious about saving money. Why couldn’t his enjoyment be just as important as what his family spent their money on? He didn’t understand.

“I think I’ve seen enough,” Les whispered, unknowingly breaking both Jack and Davey’s hearts. “We should go.”

Davey’s hands fiddled with his pencil. He was trying to study for a test, but he couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened earlier that day. Les had been silent since then, and had barely eaten anything at dinner. To make matters worse, their mother had told him that if he didn’t eat, he couldn’t sell papers on Sunday. Selling papers on Sunday (and the occasional Friday) was something that Les looked forward to, and he hated that his mother threatened to take that away from him. One by one, the family retreated, leaving Les at the table. Davey hoped some space would do him good. He also hoped he hadn't been too hard on him.

Plonk! Davey jumped slightly as something hit his window. And then hit again and again. He set down his pencil, lifted up the window and peered out. Jack stood below, waving his hand. “‘Punzel, ‘Punzel, let down ya… fire ‘scape, or whateva.” Davey laughed quietly, leaning out the window further to lower the fire escape to the ground. “I didn’t know you liked fairytales.” Jack shrugged, coming closer to the ladder. “Heard Katherine readin’ it to Smalls da udder day. Thought I’d try it on ya.” Jack grabbed a hold of the rungs and climbed up. Davey moved back a little to make room for him, but Jack held up a hand. “Not comin’ in Dave. I wanted to-” “I’m sorry I snapped. I shouldn’t have said that to you, you were just trying to help.” Jack met Davey’s eyes. “Don’t sweat it Dave. I shouldn’t have put ya on da spot like that.” They stood in silence for a minute before Davey noticed Jack’s eyes scanning the room. “How’s Les?” Davey looked down as the guilt kicked in. It had been nearly two hours since he had last checked in on his brother. In all honesty, he didn’t know how to go about it. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it again. He didn’t know how to respond, and Jack took notice. “Go check on da kid, I’ll see you’se tomorrow.” Davey sighed and nodded. “Good night.” He said quietly, and walked toward the kitchen.

Jack reached into his pocket, taking out a small, flat package wrapped in newspaper. He reached inside and pushed the window almost all the way down, before carefully placing the corner of the package under the window and shutting it.

Then he turned and started his way down the fire escape.

Les sat in front of a three-quarters-finished bowl of soup. His head was down, but the dried tears on his face were visible. Davey’s heart ached. He looked so small, so fragile. This was all because of him. He slowly walked over to the chair opposite Les and sat down. Les didn’t move. A long silence went by before Davey took a deep breath and broke the tension. “I’m sorry.” Les looked up slightly, blinking his eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I didn’t mean to be so harsh on you. I didn’t mean to take away your happiness. I’m sorry for taking so long to check up on you. I’m sorry for ruining today for you. I’m… sorry.” Davey’s voice was quiet and his fingers twitched nervously. “And you shouldn’t have to eat this if you don’t want to. I know that soup is colder than a brick right now.” Another minute of silence passed before Davey pushed back his chair and stood up. “Come here.” He said, outstretching his arms. Davey knew that hugs always made his brother feel better, especially hugs from their mother. Even though Davey wasn’t Esther, he could still try and comfort Les the best way he knew how to.

Les padded over to him, taking him up on the offer.

“Why can’t I ever buy candy? Or go to the toy store just once? It’s not fair.” Les sniffled. Davey remembered asking these questions too when he was his brother's age, but that was before he understood how the world worked. He knew his parents wished that they could give them everything and more, but it just wasn’t very possible. “It’s just the way things are right now. They’re doing the best they can. It’s not easy, but they’re trying. I’m sorry.”

They hugged for a few more minutes before Davey pulled back. “Go get ready for bed, you look tired.” Les nodded sadly, and began to walk toward the door. Suddenly, he turned around and faced Davey. “It’s okay.”

Les walked over to the small, wooden table to blow out a candle. But his attention diverted to the window, where something had caught his eye. He crossed the room and gingerly lifted up the window, the package falling in his hands. Bringing it over to the candle, he realized that “For Les” was scrawled in big, messy letters. His eyebrows raised in surprise and he tore open the newspaper.

In his hands, he held a piece of paper. His eyes were drawn to the small signature in the bottom right corner. Jack’s. And then he noticed the picture.

Balloons.

Little bursts of red, green, white, orange and blue balloons. They were outlined with a pencil, and had curly, straight and wavy strings attached to them. Les couldn’t believe his eyes. Each one looked vastly different from the other. They were beautiful. The paper smelt vaguely of food, and Les giggled to himself. Jack must’ve used old fruits and vegetables to get the pigment. But that didn’t matter because it was perfect; It was his. He hugged the picture to his chest like it was worth a million dollars. To him, it was if Jack had given him the world.

Les ran ahead of Davey to the circulation gate, and for the first time, Davey didn’t tell him to slow down. He was glad to see a smile back on his brother’s face. He sped up, just in time to see Les bum rush Jack.

Jack steadied himself to keep from crashing into the newspaper wagon as Les threw his arms around him. Then he froze. Now Jack had always been affectionate. He was used to ruffling the newsies’ hair, playfully punching their sides, and slinging his arms around their shoulders. But hugs? That wasn’t something that he was used to. Well, at least not anymore.

When he first became a newsie, he was made fun of a lot for “being soft.” He really wasn’t (as most kids who had gone through a significant amount of loss which caused them to learn how to fend for themselves weren’t), but at the time, he just wanted to feel loved. Nowadays, he would usually hug a younger newsie when they were still new and grieving the loss of their parents or when they occasionally suffered a nightmare. Hugs were something that came only on occasion.

But this was Les, and Les wasn’t letting go. Jack could hug him without worrying that he was going to be mocked. So he relaxed his shoulders, and pulled his arms around the boy. Les squeezed him even tighter then. Jack could barely breathe, but he would never say anything to Les about it - he would hate to hurt the kid’s feelings. Plus, he actually liked the hug. He didn’t realize how much he had missed them. A few more moments passed before Davey appeared, holding his and Les’ papers. He took one look at Jack’s face and tried his best to keep from bursting into laughter. “Les, let up some. You don’t want to squeeze his insides out.” Davey chuckled. Les let go and grabbed his papers out of Davey’s hands. As he was putting them in his bag, Davey’s eyes locked with Jack’s. His eyes told a million stories. “Come on,” Les said, grabbing Davey’s wrist. “I don’t wanna miss my usual customers!” Les began to run, dragging Davey with him. With his eyes still fixed on Jack, Davey mouthed “Thank you,” before turning around to face whatever the day had to offer.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

O Tsaritsa

Synopsis: Childe's loyalty to his Archon is unshakable, one of the surest things he's ever known. But perhaps in the end, he'll forsake her for you.

Foul Legacy Childe x Reader Pronouns: Gender Neutral (no pronouns mentioned) Genre: Fluff, Comfort Warnings: Battle, mentions of drowning and falling, crying, and nervousness

~ * ~ O Tsaritsa, protect us from the world with walls of ice and snow. Ajax knew the importance of his nation’s Archon, as all children do. The Lady of Eternal Winters, the Cold Maiden, the God of Love- she went by many names, yet all know her official title by heart- The Tsaritsa, the Cryo Archon, Her Royal Highness of Snezhnaya. His father would tell him stories by the fireplace, playfully ruffling his son’s gingery hair as he weaved tales of Her Majesty; in battle, amongst the other gods, sitting upon her crystalline throne of frost. Ajax would sit in the opposite chair, eyes wide with awe and oblivious to his father’s quiet chuckles. He was too young to know the meaning of loyalty, yet still passion burned in his heart as he proclaimed that the Tsaritsa must be the best of the Seven, if all those stories were true. And his parents would smile, patting his head before asking him to come help with preparing dinner- fish, the family’s favorite. O Tsaritsa, give me strength in times of need, when I feel like falling forever. He was 14 when his childhood ended. He had merely been looking for adventure, a precocious child who deemed his easy life at home boring, slow, monotonous. He had only intended to run away- just for a little bit- for some fun and excitement, before returning home at sundown to be tucked neatly into bed, dreaming the same simple dreams he always did. But Ajax had slipped, and tumbled, and fell, down through a mysterious crack in the earth. It was scary- terrifying even- back then, thinking he was going to die and that no one would find his corpse, because who in Teyvat would want to climb down into a seemingly endless drop of darkness? Even his family didn’t love him that much. Somehow, he didn’t die. Instead he landed with a splash that echoed far into the distance, into water deep enough to swim in, sword still clutched desperately in his hands. It was only after he floundered to shore and lay there a while, wheezing and coughing up water, that he noticed the speckles of light adorning the walls and ground like miniature stars and the faint sound of howling- wind or beast, he couldn’t tell. The sun was nowhere in sight. In the coming years he would speak to no one about the horrors of underground, the creatures that lurked amongst the ruins of a decaying kingdom, or the countless, bloody battles he had to endure. He felt so much older, even though his parents said he was missing for only three days, and with that age came the loss of everything but a horrible need to experience the sensation of fighting for his life again, fingers itching to take up some weapon, any weapon, and fight. His father sent him to the Fatui, and Ajax didn’t care, only desiring to surpass everyone in terms of bloodshed, something in his mind humming in satisfaction whenever another opponent was defeated. Soon, Ajax was dead, and the Eleventh Harbinger Tartaglia was born. O Tsaritsa, I pledge my everlasting loyalty to you and this nation alone. An assignment once sent him to Liyue, a warm land all the way across the sea. It was an important mission- perhaps the most important he’s ever known, and Tartaglia preens at the fact that he, specifically, was chosen. It’s with smug satisfaction that he counts off all the correct steps, watching the bank-goers fuss over debt and mora. Accounts and money were never really his thing- Pantalone was more suited- so soon enough Tartaglia’s eyes begin to drift closed, exhausted from the last few days of nonstop moving and talking. Only they snap back open when someone strides up to the desk and sets down a bag of mora, greeting Ekaterina with a friendly wave. You never really cared if the Northland Bank was associated with the Fatui or not- their services were excellent, convenient, and Ekaterina had become a close friend. So it was with ease and confidence that you stride into the building, waving to Ekaterina and setting your funds on the desk. Your personal philosophy has always been to save most of what you earn from work, and you chat with Ekaterina as she takes your mora to deposit into your account. She’s on for lunch tomorrow- a small tradition you had formed together- and with a smile and another wave she bids you good day and farewell. When you turn, you meet the gaze of an unfamiliar man in gray, and are momentarily stunned by his deep, lightless blue eyes, before giving him a cordial nod and meandering on your way. Tartaglia curiously watches you leave, blinking in confusion when he hears a murmur in the back of his mind, the Foul Legacy he’s become so accustomed to rumbling in interest. The Harbinger turns to Ekaterina when she returns, tilting his head ever-so-slightly. “Who was that?” O Tsaritsa, this curiosity burns like never before, am I foolish for following it? He sees you more in the following weeks, coming in to deposit your pay or chat with Ekaterina, head held high. It’s strange, to see someone from Liyue walk into the bank without a look of worry or despair painted across their face, and at times he wonders if you’re even aware of the Bank’s connections with the Fatui at all. But the way you fuss with Ekaterina’s mask proves otherwise, always straightening and centering it on her face, the receptionist happier than Tartaglia had ever seen. Ah, he forgot that a majority of his coworkers are, at heart, regular people trying to earn their keep who’ve never touched a weapon in their lives. It’s by pure coincidence that you meet face-to-face one night, around dinnertime. You’re the one treating Ekaterina this time- Archons only know how stressed she’s been recently, even if she never says anything, and you’re pulling her along when your feet betray you and force you to stumble backwards. With a sharp inhale you rush to cover your head in anticipation of the fall, but instead you land against something considerably softer than the floor, leaning diagonally. When you look up, your gaze is filled with a vivid, familiar cobalt. Ekaterina rushes to your side, one apology after another pouring from her lips as she helps you up and looks worriedly at the person you ran into, but the man simply laughs and waves her off. With a charming grin he sticks his hand towards you, smile only widening when you politely take it. His name is Childe. You offer him a smile of your own, and Ekaterina watches, awed, behind you. O Tsaritsa, these feelings are new and raw, yet I want to know more, more, more. Childe finds himself attached quickly- too quickly, perhaps, if he was thinking straight- but around you, such a notion was impossible. You, who cared little for the reputation of both the Qixing and the Fatui, greeting everyone with equal respect. You, who acted as an unofficial tour guide of the Harbor, showing Childe the best places to eat and sightsee, even your own personal favorites. You, who didn’t flinch even the slightest bit when he confessed his position as a Harbinger. You- stunning, amazing, perfect; words that came to Childe’s mind when he thought of you, even if others couldn’t see it the same way. Foul Legacy likes you too, perhaps even more than Childe, always purring and cooing at the sight of you strolling into the bank- It’s only by enormous willpower that the Harbinger prevents Foul Legacy from taking over his form, just to experience the sensation of holding your gentle hand in his claws. The Abyssal monster whines and, in defeat, retreats to the recess of Childe’s mind to sulk for the rest of the day, and Childe has to hold back a smug smile of triumph. When the time comes to carry out his oh-so important mission for the Tsaritsa, he almost detests how he has to slip away from your company early, donning the mask of Tartaglia to confront the Traveler. Foul Legacy’s ravenous, enraged from a combination of being deceived and the lack of time spent with you that day, yet the Traveler prevails nonetheless and forces a weakened Tartaglia to summon an old god, the Overlord of the Vortex. The Harbor will drown, but Tartaglia- Childe- can only think of you, and desperately he hopes you get to a safe location, somewhere away from the sea. His heart sings in relief when he finds you standing beside Ekaterina in the Bank, but it quickly sinks when you glance at him and march over, a furious expression on your face as you swiftly land a smart punch to his shoulder. Childe staggers, regret already pooling in his stomach, but steadies when your arms suddenly wrap around his waist, your face against his shoulder as you tell him through muffled words to never do that again, or he’ll kill you from worry. Although weak, Foul Legacy purrs contentedly as Childe hesitantly rests his own hands on your back, and he swears a few purrs slip from his own mouth when your grip tightens. O Tsaritsa, allow me to indulge in this happiness a bit longer. Everybody in Liyue hates him now, the scapegoat in the Fatui’s plans. As he took the blame, La Signora bartered with Rex Lapis for his Gnosis before leaving without a care in the world, leaving Tartaglia betrayed and despised by everyone in a nation. Everyone except you and perhaps the Traveler, the latter of which only puts up with him for weekly sparring. It’s the same this week, every week- but although he’s hated and away from home and his god and fights to his near death with the Harbor’s golden-haired savior, Childe couldn’t be happier. You’re by his side, and that alone makes him and Foul Legacy smile like the sunrise breaking over glittering waves. Every week, he fights the Traveler, and every week, you wait for him outside the Golden House. You made a pinkie promise, after all. This week, however, you’re early. Not only early, you’re curious- you know Childe- Ajax, he said to call him, when it’s just the two of you- is an excellent fighter, and despite your lackluster knowledge of battle you want to see him spar, want to see the way he’ll inevitably twist it into a beautiful performance of Hydro and Electro. With a single hand you push the door to the Golden House open and immediately let out a yelp as you slide several meters down, the top floor already out of commission from Childe and the Traveler’s battle. You land in a pile of mora, the coins scattering around your feet and going entirely unnoticed as you stare in amazement at the fight unfolding before your eyes. The Traveler looks the same, not even the slightest bit scratched, but their opponent is an enormous monster, adorned in violet and black armor with what looks like a shimmering celestial cape, and a bloodred mask with two horns and one shining blue eye. Your heart beats suddenly when you realize that the beast is Childe- it must be- and you press a hand to your chest in an attempt to calm it. It’s a hectic, ferocious battle, but you’ve come only at the tail end and soon the Traveler strikes the final blow, Childe letting out a screech of defeat and slumping to his knees, breathing heavily. The barrier around the arena flickers then dissipates, and without thinking you shove the coins away and sprint over to the monster, ignoring the Traveler’s shock when they see you. Foul Legacy squeaks when he sees you, nervousness flaring suddenly when you approach. He refuses to meet your eyes when your run slows to a jog, too ashamed and frightened because what will you say? Surely you wouldn’t love him like this, he was foolish to think you ever would. You love Childe, the human, the Harbinger, not Childe, the creature from the darkest depths of Teyvat. You’re close enough to touch him now, and he shrinks away with a soft whimper, hunching his body over in an attempt to appear smaller, less threatening. Something soft rests on his knee, and he looks down to see you pressing your hands against it, looking up at him with nothing but worry. “Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?” Oh. Oh. The concern and affection in your voice makes him sob, and he turns so he can face you properly, cape-like wings limp on the elegant flooring. You stay still as stone as Childe reaches, hands hovering just beside your head, before you press your face into his palms with a comforting hum. Tears drip down his cheeks which you carefully wipe away, admiring how his crystalline eye slips shut as purrs begin to filter from his chest. Foul Legacy doesn’t remember ever being this relaxed, this cared for- not while he was controlling their shared body, anyway, and subconsciously his clawed hand twitches in a need to pull you close and hold you forever. But suddenly you slip your smaller, more fragile hand into his, and Foul Legacy stares before gently closing his talons overtop of it, almost chittering in delight when you close the remaining distance with a few quick steps and lean your head against his chest, accepting and loving every part of what makes up your beloved Childe. With your opposite hand you hold his cheek, eyes glittering at the way he leans into the touch desperately, like a man starved, and by standing on your toes you’re able to press a small kiss to Foul Legacy’s forehead. His jaw drops, revealing his deadly, adorable fangs, and with a warbling trill he hides his face with his hands and the lavender fluff that adorns his shoulders, only able to let out flustered squeaks as your kind laughter fills the air, hand finding its purchase in his locks of coppery hair. Foul Legacy chirps, embarrassed, but not even he can conceal the smile that spreads across his mask-like face when you give him a hug, so similar to the one after he summoned Osial yet so much better because he feels like he’s home with you, who holds his heart and cherishes it more than all the power in the world. Home is where his heart is, and Snezhnaya is home no longer. O Tsaritsa, forgive me, for I’ve betrayed you and my nation, and fallen in love.

[panlight]

Could just be me, but I think the "Cullen's are vampires" reveal would have been better if Bella had befriended Alice or Emmett (through some Alice based coaching) and got invited over or whatever. Either A or E suggest playing Never Have I Ever, with each player having to drink something gross if they have done it.

Basically Bella gets fed up by the time one of her turns comes around because she didn't really want to play, so picks something ridiculous like "Never have I ever kissed a vampire."

Emmett, who was really into the game at that point, just straight up chugs his drink without thinking about it.

That would have been a much more fun way to do it. And anything non-blood would be gross to the vampires! 

What’s really frustrating is that the co-opting of the Quileute tribe and mythology exists BECAUSE she needed some way to clue in Bella to the fact that Edward is a vampire and she couldn’t come up with a way for Edward to do it. She talks about this in her big interview in the guide. So she comes up with this idea to create Jacob and this treaty with his tribe because they had legends about being descended from wolves, and wolves = werewolves and werewolves hate vampires!!!! 

But there were so many other ways to do this?!?! Something funny like you suggested, or Alice just getting fed up and telling her in the school bathroom. Rosalie trying to scare her away and dropping enough hints that Bella figures it out. Literally anything other than this Indigenous character springing into existence JUST to tell Bella her crush is a vampire. Sure, Jacob’s role grew beyond that, but it ended with him eternally bonded to a half-vampire baby so like. . . not great? 

Or just lean into Bella being a bookworm?! If she had read Dracula and Interview with a Vampire and the Picture of Dorian Gray and Tuck Everlasting etc etc she might have been able to put it together all by herself? It’s weird that SM was using superhero references and not these classic books that you might except an avid reader like Bella to have picked up. 

[henqtic]

Afraid

pairing: regulus black x fem!reader

summary: you were now in front of the cave, afraid of what was next, of what would happen to you but regulus, he was quite the opposite 

word count: 786. | warnings: angst, character death, mentions of bad home life— please contact me if there’s more!

this is for @simpology​‘s writing challenge— prompts “i’m not afraid to die, just wish i could live a little first.” + “Is it worth it? Risking everything for a chance?” will be in italics (first prompt is altered a little bit to match the story)

masterlist. // taglist form. // picture creds.

you’d always thought of yourself as someone who would live a long life— one of happiness, one filled with people and things who’d bring a smile to your face everyday. maybe you’d have two kids, beautiful ones who had your eyes and his smile. they'd be named after the constellations like he had, an embodiment of the mesmerizing stars that made them up, drawn into the night sky.

he’d be a great father, regulus, you knew it as fact. he’d be the one to play classics, telling the children that they needed to spend more time in their studies, that knowledge was the best tool they could ever possess. the piano would be enchanted to play the same tunes he would if he wasn’t in there, the movements of his fingers everlasting so that no room would be absent of sound because he hated silence.

so your home’s would no longer be the ones you were born into, locked, trapped between the walls and your parents' firm grip— you’d be free like the few nights at hogwarts. there would be nothing less than sensual touches, gentle kisses and childish kisses.

would, would, would.

that's how your life would be if the war hadn't come— ripping up your seventeen year old picture of the future into bits and pieces. there was a part still there though, regulus, the boy— not even man, holding your hand tightly as you looked at the cave in front of you in worry.

was this how your life would end? you know of the inferius, how'd they drag you both down into the water, amongst their pale and bony bodies if you got too close. he wouldn’t allow you to drink the potion even if you’d made a pact that you’d go down together, one not seeing themselves living without the other.

he was fearless, ready for it and not nearly as afraid as you were of the inevitable death, the one being a touch away from your fingertips, arms reaching out, ghosting over you to pull you into its darkness.

“regulus?” you asked in a daze tone, turning your head slightly to see him from the corner of your fogged eyes, he looked sickly for a long time, his face going from filled with youth and promises to now, the smile lines that were so prominent though your short lived school years no longer making an appearance. the face of the boy you once knew and the one that you still loved.

“yes, my love?” he asked softly, urging you to go on with a squeeze of your hand. he could sense your anxiousness more than ever now, and maybe that’s what scared him. maybe it wasn't the concept of death or the fact that his would be the one to consummate the dark lord but that it’d be yours too.

“aren’t you afraid to do it? afraid to die.”

he didn’t need to think before answering you in a short no, lightly shaking his head to catch you wiping a stray tear from your face. he quickly let go of your hand, his now two free wands cupping your face to catch any more that wanted to leave.

“i'm not afraid to die, just wish i could've lived longer, wish we could live longer.”

you refused to, you refused to lose him after all this, all the nights talking about what you would look like when it was over, an old couple with an everlasting love.

“but is it worth it? risking everything for a chance?” 

“you know it is. we’ve done enough studying and we’re both sure of it. and think— there's a chance that we live, we could run away together. we’d change our names to basic muggle ones, go live out in the countryside and do what we’ve always wanted.”

“and if not?” you asked, making the small smile that was once there drop again.

“well, we’d find each other again, you believe in reincarnation. i know that the universe will bring us back together, new people with the same souls and we’ll cherish each other even more then.”

you believed him, with every fiber in your body that you would find each other again, whichever which way it went. it cooled your nerves enough to go through and guide him through drinking the near poisonous liquids until you met your demise. lanky fingers pulled you deeper and deeper, your hopes of your would and could life slipping away as the seconds went by.

so you held onto him, you held onto his figure as he engulfed you into his arms, heads tucked into the crook of the others neck, apologies never stopping...until there was nothing.

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[sourholland]

Ooooh angst “what about us?” “there is no us, there never was.” with tom plssss! Really love ur work 🌸

Last Kiss || Tom Holland

Summary → After a fling you and Tom had started while filming a movie together, he tells you that you two can’t be together anymore. Once you get home, Tom let’s you know that he made a mistake.

AN → This was supposed to come out yesterday, I just got lazy and waited to edit it. I can’t tell if I like how this came out or hate it, either way, I hope you guys like this. Also in honor of the Fearless re-record!!

Pairing(s) → Tom Holland x Fem!Reader

Warnings → Strong Language, Suggestive, Alcohol Use

Prompt(s) → 38

Word Count → 1.9k

The ringing of your phone sounded through your apartment loudly, the sound of the rain pattering loudly against the windows out-looking New York City. You set down the remote, feet padding against the cold hardwood while you looked for your buzzing cellphone.

You didn’t bother glancing at the caller ID, picking it up bringing it to your ear all in one quick motion.

“Hello?” You said, pulling a wine glass down from the cabinet.

“Y/N?” Tom’s voice came through the phone.

Your heart dropped, a breath catching in your throat while you stood in your kitchen. He was across the country, wanting nothing to do with you. He repeated your name through the phone, asking if you were there.

“Yeah, I’m here,” you answered, pouring more wine than you’d originally intended into the glass.

“Isn’t it like one in the morning in England?” You asked, listening to the muffles coming through the speaker.

“Yeah—yeah, it’s late here. I just couldn’t sleep, and I started to think of you. Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have called.”

You sat at one of the barstools, swirling the red contents of the glass around. You wanted to yell at him, or maybe you wanted to tell him how much you loved him. You sat silently for a few moments, bare legs cold from the draft.

“Tom,” you started. “I just don’t get why we have to rehash the past, you know? I came back to New York, just like you told me I should. You’re working on whatever new movie, I’m doing the same. I don’t know—I just think we should leave whatever happened between us alone. You made it very clear that it was me that you didn’t want,” you mumbled, pulling at the sleeves of your sweater.

He audibly sighed, the ruffling of sheets coming through the phone. He was probably in bed, if he wasn’t so far away you’d have asked him if this was a sad attempt at getting you to sleep with him.

“I was fucking stupid, and I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so fucking sorry, I’ve said that a million times,” his voice was hoarse and tired.

“I’ve already forgiven you, Tom. I just can’t keep doing this—this thing with you.”

You both went quiet for a minute, the only sound being the noise from outside in the bustling streets of the city and the rain. You knew you should hang up, block his number and forget about anything you two ever had. You’d tried a few times, unable to bring yourself to doing it.

“What about us?” He asked lowly, a twinge of hurt in his tired voice.

“There is no us, Tom,” you replied. “I’m not even sure there ever was.”

He didn’t say anything, you wanted to let out the repressed cry and tell him you didn’t mean it. That you were sorry and that you thought about him more than you’d like to admit. Something in you knew if you didn’t do your best to cut it off, you two would continue down the same everlasting cycle.

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay.”

The line went silent for a moment, and then your home screen lit up. The call had been ended. You downed the remainder of your wine, ditching the cup and just going for the bottle. You thought about calling him back, about apologizing and booking a plane ticket like some lovesick teenager.

You opened Instagram and began scrolling through your feed of posts, liking and commenting occasionally. You weren’t anywhere near drunk, merely tipsy and heartbroken. Your finger lingered on the button to go live, wondering if you really wanted thousands of people to see you in this state.

You left the kitchen and instead propped your phone against the couch, taking a seat on the white rug of your living room. You wearily pressed the go live button, raising the bottle to your chapped lips once more. You are pathetic, you thought.

“Hey guys!” You smiled at the camera and outpouring of greetings in the comments. Within a few minutes you’d racked in a few thousand viewers. You grabbed the guitar sitting against your wall and strummed the cords lightly while it sat in your lap.

userone: you are so adorable

usertwo: can you please say hi?!!!??

userthree: it’s my birthday y/n!

“I’m sorry I haven’t been very active on social media, guys. It’s been super crazy traveling back and forth from London to New York and then having to leave again in a few weeks. And now I’m sitting on my living room floor with a bottle of wine,” you laughed. A few familiar people popped into the comments of the live, some you’ve worked with and some you’ve yet to meet in person.

florencepugh: y/n!!!

gracieabrams: might just bust out the wine just for u

“Florence, I can’t wait to see you soon!” You smiled, “Gracie, I swear it’s making everything like a hundred times better.”

userfour: i’m in love with her

userfive: y/n saving 2021???!!!

“I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to be singing,” you flushed. You did sing, before getting into acting you’d post a lot on Instagram and TikTok. It’d always been more of a hobby, something you loved to do, but weren’t good enough to pursue.

“I’ve had a little too much to drink,” you added. “So don’t get upset if I’m a little pitchy, guys.”

usersix: if she’s pitchy i’m not sure what i am

userseven: sing taylor swift!!!

“Okay, okay!” You chuckled, scrolling through the hundreds of comments saying to play Taylor Swift. You’d only just been crying to like three of her albums a few hours before.

“How about the chorus—and maybe the bridge too, yeah, that’ll work,” you mumbled to yourself, fiddling with the strings. “Alright, guys, Last Kiss it is. I won’t bore you all with the whole thing, though. I could never do Taylor justice.”

“And I’ll go sit on the floor, wearing your clothes”

Getting involved with him was singlehandedly the most stupid decision you’ve ever made, you thought. Late nights in his flat after long nights on set, ordering in and just talking, you two would talk as if you’d known each other your whole lives. It was something about the way he’d let you wear his clothes, or the way he’d tuck your hair behind your ear while you told him about whatever insignificant thing that had happened that day.

“All that I know,

I don’t know how to be something you miss”

The car ride to the airport was the worst, it was grey and cold outside. There was makeup running down your face, mascara covering your eyes generously. You’d wrapped filming a week earlier, unable to bring yourself to walk away from him.

You couldn’t tell the driver to turn you around, or could you? Tom had already made it clear that you were both in different places in your career. This wasn’t what he wanted. You weren’t what he wanted.

“I never thought we’d have our last kiss”

He had held you just a little tighter, you ran your fingers through his hair for just a second longer. The taste of each other lingering on the both of your lips. Like you knew it would be the last time he’d hold you without knowing.

His stupid smiled, the way he pulled away and ran his thumb over your swollen bottom lip. You were almost wrapped around his finger, absolutely sickened with desire and infatuation for him.

“I never imagined we’d end like this,

Your name, forever the name on my lips”

The day you’d left to come home to New York started with a huge argument between the two of you. He’d basically just told you that you’d both known from the beginning you wouldn’t last together. It wasn’t a matter of how much you cared for one another, but that it was impossible, as he put it.

His eyes glossed over and bloodshot, you a complete and utter mess. Slamming the door behind you as you left was one of the most painful things you’d ever endured. Even more painful, the fact that he never came after you.

“So I’ll watch your life in pictures like I used to watch you sleep”

“I can feel you staring at me, love,” he murmured against the pillow.

Your face heated, eyes averting to the stream of light through the sheerness of the curtains. He leaned into you a moment later, his lips soft on your own. He was warm, he was always so warm. You cupped the side of his face gently, pulling him in a bit harder.

“And I feel you forget me like I used to feel you breathe”

You dropped your bags, stepping into your apartment after months of being away. It felt quieter than usual, desolate and empty from your being away. It was dark out, the illumination of the bright city lights from your windows.

You glanced down at your phone for a moment, not a missed call, not a text, not even a fucking notification. He’d simply told you to go home, nothing more nothing less.

“I keep up with our old friends just to ask them how you are,

Hope it’s nice where you are”

You’d texted Harrison a few times, regretting it almost immediately after. He was sweet, telling you that Tom would come around eventually and to just be patient. You’d relied on those kind words for some time, eventually deleting them all together.

After Tom’s first text, you’d realized he wasn’t coming around or regretting what he’d said to you. He was lonely, maybe even a bit desperate. For months you had been there to listen to him and hold him, and now you were gone.

You’d fed into it the first few times, sitting on the phone with him for hours at a time. Then you started to feel worse hearing his voice, silent sobs escaping as you’d listen to him ramble. Then your finger would linger over the decline button a little longer than usual when he’d call, until eventually you started to use it.

“And I hope the sun shines and it’s a beautiful day,

And something reminds you,

You wish you had stayed”

Once you started to go out with other guys, Tom’s ‘I miss you’ texts became more infrequent. Paparazzi would snap pictures, and the next morning they’d be plastered all over the internet.

There was no doubt he was seeing you going out with other people, watching article after article about who you were dating surface. Would he be jealous? No, you thought. Tom was probably doing the same thing as you. Hopeless hookups, meaningless blind dates.

“You can plan for a change in the weather and time”

One early morning, you found yourself in a sweatshirt you’d stolen from one of his drawers and forgotten to return. Listening to the morning rush of traffic and hugging yourself, noticing the lingering smell of his cologne.

You wondered if he knew you’d taken it, if he would think you were pathetic wearing it months after you two had broken things off. This only made you clutch yourself a little tighter, closing your eyes and trying to remember.

“But I never planned on you changing your mind”

[boldlyvoid]

Amoreena | chapter one

summary: Heaven is a real place and it's located exactly 14.6 miles away from the FBI, Quantico Headquarters. Off behind a small park, under a fantastical willow tree surrounded by wildflowers, in every colour young minds can imagine.

Don't forget, heaven also comes with angels.

Warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort, depressed spencer, reader has a daughter, falling in love, strangers to lovers

word count: 3,147

Read on Ao3

There’s this small, tiny part, of Spencer that wants to run away.

He’s always felt like he’s never truly been home, a never-ending and long yearning, a homesickness for a place he didn't even know, eating him alive day by day. It made him want to drop everything and buy a cottage in the woods, to fill it with books and coffee and never see another person again.

It got worse after prison and after his mom asked to go back into a care facility, it hurt the most when Penelope left the FBI and things with Max fizzled out. Then he was really, truly alone again. His apartment felt cold and uninviting, the BAU felt like a chore, using his brain for anything other than taking care of himself was extremely hard.

He needed a break.

So when he walked out of work and straight to his favourite park for an escape, he wasn’t surprised that he didn’t stop walking. Going further and further down the trail, following the dirt path towards a pond, covered by a beautiful willow tree and surrounded by pink, purple, yellow and white flowers. The contrast of the green grass with the colourful flowers, the blue sky and the light green willow tree reflection dancing on the surface of the pond. It was like he walked into Eden, taking a seat by the tree and picking a book from his satchel.

For the rest of the week, it’s his own little sanctuary, escaping desk work and home cases as fast as he could. Even then it wasn't enough and he started going every afternoon, he’d sneak out for an hour and just relax. Reading his book, feeling the breeze on his face, the sound of ducks and frogs competing with the crickets for loudest being in the area. Eventually bringing his bike on the subway to work so he could get there faster.

It was beautiful.

Almost as beautiful as what he walked in on when he arrived Saturday afternoon. Parking his bike by the tree, looking at them carefully as he took his satchel off his shoulders and placed it by the trunk. Craning his neck so he could look at who it was, seeing the purest display of human affection known to man.

A mother and her daughter were having a picnic, dressed up like Miss Honey and Matilda as they had lemonade and snacks, spread out on a blanket as the mother handed her a sandwich wrapped in checkered red wax paper.

Spencer was in awe, sitting on the other side of the pond by a second tree, pretending to read when really he was glancing at them. Their laugher filling the field, bouncing around the trees and filling his chest with warmth.

It reminded him of all the afternoons with his own mother. His head in her lap, the sound of her voice as she shared worlds wisdom with him. He missed childhood, freedom, hope. The will to continue…

When the little girl finally notices that they’re not alone in this little world she’s creating, he sees her tug on her moms shirt, asking her a question before cheering. She picks something out of the basket and comes running towards Spencer.

“Excuse me, sir?” Her sweet little voice asks. “Are you an archeologist or a palaeontologist?”

It makes him laugh slightly, a large smile erupting on his face as he pushes his glasses up and puts the book down. “No sorry, I’m not, what made you think I was?”

“You have a satchel and glasses like Milo from Atlantis, but you have a dinosaur on your tie, you look like you work at a museum,” she rambled all her thoughts out, much like he did as a child.

“I’m actually an FBI agent,” he whispered.

“Wow,” she whispered back in amazement, “are you like a knight? Do you save princesses?”

“I do," he nodded enthusiastically, "do you know any in need?”

“Her,” she pointed. “I’m Lady Amoreena, the Princess over there says I was a gift to the kingdom but that she’ll never need a prince or king to take care of us, but I think a knight would work!”

He laughed lightly, seeing her mom shake her head as she overheard it, covering her face with her hand, she looked embarrassed.

“It’s nice to meet you, Lady Amoreena,” he put his hand out to shake her’s as soft as possible, noticing the cookie in her hand. “My name is Dr. Spencer Reid,” he added softly.

“Would you like a cookie?”

He smiled as she placed it in his hand, “thank you.”

“Do you like Matilda?”

“It’s one of my favourite books,” he smiles.

“Do you want to have some lemonade and read with us?” Her face lit up, turning back to where her mother was watching from the pond.

“It’s okay, thank you for offering,” not wanting to intrude on their moment.

“We need a voice for Matilda’s father, please?” She begged, overly sweet and incredibly convincing.

“Alright, but I’m warning you if I upstage the princess with my awesome voices, it’s not my fault,” he smiled as he stood up, grabbing his things and starting to follow her over to the blanket.

She took his hand and tugged him along the edge of the pond, dragging him right to were her mother was sitting on the ground.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized softly as he sat down. “She’s very persistent about making new friends. We don’t see many people on this side of the park.”

“It’s fine, honestly, I’m Dr. Spencer Reid, by the way,” he introduced himself. “I work with the FBI, normally I’d advice women and their children to avoid strange men they don’t know when they’re alone in the woods like this.”

She laughed slightly, “Y/N Y/L/N, I’m the head librarian at the DC library, and you don’t seem that strange.”

“Neither did Bundy,” he tried to joke, knowing she got it and trusted him when she bit back a smile, eyes twinkling at him in the sunlight.

“My name is Amoreena, like the Elton John song,” her daughter cut in, noticing how they were staring at each other and trying to get the attention instead.

“It’s a beautiful song, no wonder you love it here,” Spencer smiled at her, “do you come here often?”

She nodded, a blush flowing through her freckled cheeks, “have you ever read Tuck Everlasting? The pond here can make you young forever,” her whisper was the cutest thing. She was so full of life, personality and joy.

“I have, you’re right this feels a lot like the field from the book, what other books do you like?”

“I love books,” she lays back against the blanket ever so dramatically. “Matilda, Anne of Green Gables, Beauty and the Beast, I love every story that ends with true love and happiness, and cats.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at her explanation, knowing that feeling all too well. “I have read almost every book ever, more than the entire DC library probably."

“We dress up every week for what ever book we are reading, next week is Peter Pan if you’d like to join us? We’re here every Saturday at 11,” Y/N offered.

“You haven’t even heard me read Matilda from memory and you’re already asking me to come back?” Spencer smirked as their faces lit up.

“No way, prove it!” Amoreena shouted, shoving him lightly to encourage him to start.

“The Reader of Books,” he began, seeing the pages in his mind as he repeated the words. “It's a funny thing about mothers and fathers. Even when their own child is the most disgusting little blister you could ever imagine, they still think that he or she is wonderful.”

“Okay so you know the beginning,” Y/N teased, opening the book to a random page, “what's on page 32?”

"My name is Jennifer Honey," Miss Honey said. "How do you do, Mrs. Wormwood." Mrs. Wormwood glared at her and said, "What's the trouble then?" Nobody invited Miss Honey to sit down so she chose a chair and sat down anyway. "This", she said, "was your daughter's first day at school." "We know that," Mrs Wormwood said, ratty about missing her programme. "Is that all you came to tell us?" Miss Honey stared hard into the other woman's wet grey eyes, and she allowed the silence to hang in the air until Mrs. Wormwood became uncomfortable. "Do you wish me to explain why I came?" she said.

Amoreena thought it was the coolest thing ever, reading the page and jumping up and down when he was correct, “how did you do that?”

“I can remember every word I’ve ever read, I have a pretty interesting brain,” he explained it as overdramatic as he could, knowing she would find it magical.

“You’re so cool!” She swooned, dropping back against the blanket just as dramatically.

Y/N was all smiles, running her fingers through Amoreena’s hair and giggling slightly at the sight of her silly child. “Spencer, would you like to do the honours today?”

She handed him the book, knowing he didn’t need it. He gently opened it, starting on the first page and starting to read it the way his mother would. Bringing out voices, hand gestures, all the bells and whistles.

They were in the field together until the sun started to set, casting a purple and orange glow over the pond. Amoreena was resting in Y/N’s arms, legs extended over Spencer’s lap as they sat close. It was the most perfect Saturday he has had in a long time. Probably the best day of his life, actually.

“Matilda leapt into Miss Honey's arms and hugged her, and Miss Honey hugged her back, and then the mother and father and brother were inside the car and the car was pulling away with the tyres screaming. The brother gave a wave through the rear window, but the other two didn't even look back. Miss Honey was still hugging the tiny girl in her arms and neither of them said a word as they stood there watching the big black car tearing round the corner at the end of the road and disappearing for ever into the distance. The end.”

He closed the book softly, setting it down on the blanket and looking at them softly, “am I still invited next week?”

“Absolutely,” Y/N smiled, “I’m dressing as Tinker Bell, Amoreena will be Peter Pan, and you can be anyone else of your choosing.”

“I’ll keep it a surprise until next week,” Spencer smiled right back.

Amoreena crawled out of Y/N’s lap and leapt into Spencer’s arms, hugging him tightly in her small arms. “That was the best story ever, thank you!”

Everything in the world felt right then, hugging her back while he smiled at her mother. Y/N had a hand over her heart as she swooned, watching her daughter bond with the man who just happened to wander into their picnic.

“Can I get your number?” Y/N asked softly, “you know, so we can arrange outfits and stories as the week's pass.” She shrugged, licking her lips slightly as she blushed.

“Of course, I’m not on duty for the rest of the month, so if you wanted to go to a museum or anything, I’m free? Since I look so much like I should work there,” he teased Amoreena.

“I’m sure lovey would like that?” Y/N leaned over Amoreena’s shoulder, holding her around her waist and tickling her softly.

Lovey

It was a nickname that made perfect sense in his mind. Amoreena, the keyword being Amore, to love. She was very loveable, incredibly vibrant and full of innocence, a life that was full of possibilities, wonderful like her mother.

“We’re going to the Smithsonian tomorrow to see the Dino’s,” Amoreena’s face lit up. “Do you know anything about them?”

“Surprisingly enough, while I’m not a paleontologist, I know a lot about dinosaurs, and I might have some connections there to see the rare ones,” he exaggerated his voice again, watching her get so excited she started to run around with her arms in the air.

“You don’t have to if you’re busy,” she says softly when Amoreena is far enough away, picking flowers as she ran around.

“I’d love to, actually, thank you,” he whispers towards Y/N. “I haven’t been having the greatest week.”

“Is it okay for me to ask what you do?” She asked, just as softly as Amoreena kept running around the field.

“I’m a profiler, I consult on intense cases.”

“The strange man comment makes more sense now,” she smiled. “we’re looking for a literary historian at the library right now, I’m sure remembering every word in every book would get you hired, you know if you wanted to switch careers for something easier on your soul?”

“I have been thinking of leaving, in all honesty, I’ve actually been having more of a rough 15 years,” he tries to laugh but he just feels frustrated. “It’s been really hard.”

“For everything you see, you’re still a very sweet man, not many people would sit down and occupy his time with an autistic 7-year-old,” she complimented him with a smile, sharing something personal in a way that would fit right into the conversation and not make a big deal. “We really did enjoy your company today.”

He handed her a business card from his pocket, feeling a bit overwhelmed and emotional as he handed it to her, “I've had a wonderful time. I'm also autistic, I know what it's like to want to share the world while no one wants to listen, thank you for letting me join you. Let me know what time you’re going to the museum tomorrow and I will be there.”

Y/N’s face lit up once more, reading the card over before sliding it into her bag. “Do you want a PB&J or a ham and cheese sandwich for lunch tomorrow?”

“PB&J is a great museum lunch,” he bit his lip so he’d stop smiling, it was beginning to feel embarrassing with how much he liked her already. Not used to random kindness from smart and beautiful women.

Amoreena came running back then, handing Spencer a handful of flowers upon her arrival. “For you, Sir Knight,” she bowed as he took them.

“I bid you a good day, my fair ladies,” Spencer plaid along, standing to curtsy back.

“We’ll see you tomorrow then?” Y/N asked from the blanket as Amoreena dove into her arms.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Spencer smiled one last time.

“Bye Spencer!!” Amoreena cheered as he waved, walking back down the path towards the main park entrance.

With his satchel draped over his shoulder, he pushed his sleeves up as he walked towards his bike, overwhelmed by the feeling of joy still swirling in his blood. Peddling his way down the path with a smile on his face, excited to get home and plan for the Smithsonian tomorrow, he was an excellent tour guide.

And he did actually have some connections.

Calling the museum curator, an old friend from years ago who owed him a favour. Asking if there was any way he could show his friend and her kid around the un-displayed dinosaurs and fossils, of course she said yes. People seemed to do anything for Dr. Reid of the FBI.

He thought about her job offer then as he hung up, reaching the train station finally and making his way back to his sad apartment. It would be nice to change things up for a bit, it’s not like he couldn’t go back to the FBI in 20 years like Rossi did.

15 years in the field and a metric fuck ton of trauma later, he was officially fed up. Opening his computer the second he got home, writing his 2 weeks notice to be forwarded to Mateo Cruz.

—

He woke up with excitement, for the first time in years.

Well, at first he was happy, then he thought about it too long. Despair creeping in, it was truly sad to think that he’s been sad for so long, desperately needing the happiness Y/N and Amoreena brought to his life.

Like when he spent time around Henry or Hank, there was something so rewarding about witnessing a child see something for the first time. Explaining the world to them, seeing their eyes widen as they enjoyed the world around them.

It was the best thing someone could do, spending the day living with the happiness of a child.

Y/N had texted him right as he woke up, the chime of a new message actually making him smile instead of panic.

Y/N: hey smartie pants, we’re thinking 11 am today. Can we meet you out front?”

Spencer: sure! You should start preparing to hear me ramble all day long. Also my I suggest bringing proper shoes for lots of walking and a backpack for the things Amoreena will get to bring home!

Y/N: oh you weren’t kidding about those connections huh?

Spencer: nope!

Y/N: well, can’t wait to see what you have in store for us! (And to hear your voice all day ♥︎)

It made his heart swell, he could swear it grew three sizes as it pushed against his ribs. Trying to break free from him and run to her, he hadn’t felt this strongly about another person in a very long time.

It wasn’t lust, it wasn’t greed, it wasn’t desperation. He didn’t just want to sleep with her or use her to fill his time, she wasn’t just another friend to occupy his days and talk to when he had to, she was special. She was interesting, she was kind, she was beautiful, she reminded him of his own mother in a strange way that made him fear Fraud was right.

He found a comfort in her that felt a little like home, like all his running led him to her. She was the end of the finish line, the cold glass of water, the euphoric pride of a job well done. She was everything good wrapped up in a beautiful bow and he was gone.

Feeling like he did when he met Ethan, Derek, or Elle for the first time, even Maeve when they were just talking on the phone, that butterfly feeling that excited him to try something new.

Y/N made him believe in possibilities again.

It felt nice to look ahead, to dream and wish of the future and not see death and destruction. Instead, dreaming of them running through the fields, flowers dancing everywhere as they hear Amoreena’s laughter. It’s how life is supposed to be.

[pigeonp0st]

Hey can you do a fic where reader is under mind control of some sort from an enemy and is forced to attack Nat and the rest of the avengers and Nat has to talk her out of it and calm her down something rlly intense and angsty pls

Natasha Romanoff x Reader #6

Words: 2,177

Warnings: Agnst

(tell me if there’s more I should add)

Notes:

I realized after I finished writing that I didn’t have Nat talk R out of it like you asked...I solved it in another way...i’m sorry!! I hope you enjoy anyways, thanks a lot for requesting (and sorry for spelling mistakes...there’s probably a lot) also sorry for this in general...I’m disappointed in it and the ending...I was sleep deprived and delirious for half of it...

———

It was supposed to be a simple mission, and a simple day. You and Nat had planned to head to the beach for the first time in a long time afterwards and everything. It was supposed to be a good day.

Good day...ha.

The sad truth is, is that things don’t always work out the way you expect them to. Sometimes things go horribly wrong.

Sometimes you get mind controlled by the ‘big bad’ and hurt the people you love most. Or maybe that stuff only happened to people like you. ‘Heroes.’

——-

You were conscious. That was the cruel agonizing part of it all. It’s that with every swing of your knife, every landed hit, every plea that fell from their lips, you knew what was happening.

You knew what was happening but could do nothing about it. Well...you could, technically, but it hurt. It hurt to fight. The pain was similar, you imagine, to what it feels like getting burned alive and then ran over eighteen times.

You didn’t think you could do it. Your will power wasn’t that strong. You would probably die trying to gain control—

It hurt. It hurt. You didn’t want to. You couldn’t, you—

Natasha. Natasha was saying; “fight it, Y/N, fight it,” and to you and to the pain that fighting the mind control caused, she may as well have been saying, “die, Y/N, die”

And yeah. Okay. For her, you will. For her you must.

Tears were running down your cheeks, it was the one thing the mind control didn’t have control of. It was...weird. Weird feeling such an immense amount of pain, such an immense amount of suffering, and being unable to show it. Unable to scream. You were silent, but your body felt loud, your head felt loud.

For a long minute you couldn’t hear them, you couldn’t even register the things you were seeing, all you knew was pain, everything outside of that was illegitimate.

Then, silence. For a brief, blissful moment before it was gone again. Nat’s arms were around you, and you were shaking, but completely still otherwise—finally, finally, you weren’t hurting them— “You’re okay,” Nat whispered, and how could that concept, in a few moments of agony, become something so foreign. Have you ever been okay before? Have you ever lived without this much hurt?

———-

“Nat,” you croaked, the words shaking almost as roughly as your body. “Natasha, kill me.”

Those three words, said with an immeasurable amount of desperation, were just as much not your own as your body was at this moment. They were said in a moment of pain.

Somehow, Natasha knew that. She knew that. She knows what you look like when you’re experiencing physical pain. It’s been seared into her mind countless times, but that doesn’t prevent her heart from aching as much as it does when you start begging.

“Natasha please, please baby, please. Somebody, please! Before it—”

And then you were screaming, and Natasha hates how it’s even worse than the begging.

Somehow you’ve managed to gain control of your vocals, but your body isn’t yours again, she realizes it when you start struggling against her arms…it’s a terrible thing to realize.

“Stop,” Nat yells, so obviously terrified and raw that half of the Avengers freeze where they’re circling you. “Stop fighting it, it’s okay, it’s okay.” She holds you as tightly as she can, with her eyes screwed shut. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

And god, she hates the way it sounds like a goodbye too, but she just knows that even if you could register her voice right now, you aren’t going to listen.

You’re going to keep fighting to protect her and the others, because it’s what you’ve always done.

So Natasha takes a deep breath, in and out, and tries to think about her options. She tries to think about her options with you struggling and trying to reach for your knife, and the Avengers circled around her with nothing but ashen expressions that speak of nightmares to come, and she doesn’t know. She just doesn’t know.

There’s no safe way for her to knock you out for a long period of time, not ones that won’t cause long term problems afterwards, but she doesn’t need any because suddenly your body stops struggling, and stops moving, and you’re slumped unconscious in her arms.

It’s a great relief for everyone until Natasha lifts her hand from your pulse, and says, shockingly and terrifyingly devoid of emotion; “I think she’s going into shock.”

——

Everything is a blur to Natasha after that. She recalls yelling, lights, arriving at the hospital, a countdown of; one, two, three, and then she’s sitting in a seat next to your hospital bed wondering when everything went so wrong.

——

All Natasha hears when she closes her eyes is you screaming in agony at the top of her lungs, and all she feels is the phantom touch of your cold ashen skin against her hands.

You’re okay now, Natasha reminds herself. You’re going to be okay, but there’s something deeply traumatizing and everlasting about the moments where you’re sure everything won’t be—the moments you’re almost sure the love of your life won’t be.

Hearing someone you love beg you to kill them, seeing the person you love most in so much agony, it’s...scarring...but Natasha will be strong. She has to be, because being weak hurts too much, but more importantly; you need her to be.

As traumatizing as the experience was for her, she knows that yours was just as bad—if not worse. You were strong for her, so she’ll be for you.

Like protecting her to you seemed like your only option, even while you were hurting so much because of it, it’s Natasha’s only option too.

So she’ll keep it all together, until you’re back to normal and she doesn’t have to anymore.

——-

Natasha startles when you wake up. She physically startles, because the first thing you do is start sobbing, sobbing hard enough to make Natasha concerned that you’ll start hyperventilating.

“Are you okay?” Natasha asks, up from her seat in a flash to be by your side, “is he still mind controlling you? Are you still hurting?”

You aren’t looking at her, Natasha realizes with a large amount of grief. You won’t look at her, but you’re shaking your head no to her questions, and she supposes that perhaps you are okay—physically.

She wants more than that for you, so she sighs, heavily and sadly— because she can’t protect you from this anymore than she was able to protect you from the mind control—and wraps her arms around your distraught form.

“It’s okay,” Nat mumbles, and then winces and corrects herself because it’s so clearly not. “It will be okay.”

That she is sure of, but you aren’t.

“Natasha,” you force out (Natasha tries not to remember the way you said her name yesterday), “You’re covered in- you’re covered in bruises and cuts...baby, i’m so sorry.”

Your voice cracks on sorry, and Natasha closes her eyes to prevent her own tears from falling. “It wasn’t you,” she whispers fiercely, “i’m not mad at you. Of course i’m not.”

“You should be.”

You pull away from her then. Natasha feels the loss in her heart, she’s sure.

All she wants to do is hold you in her arms and never let go, but with the amount of unjustified shame you’re feeling she doubts you’ll let her.

“Your arm,” you stutter, “did it need stitches?”

Natasha won’t lie to you, so she says nothing—instead she tries to meet your haunted eyes. It’s a useless attempt.

She knows what you’re remembering, and she hates it. “The cut on my neck...it wasn’t that deep. It shouldn’t even scar.”

“I didn’t ask you about the cut on your neck, Natasha.”

Natasha tenses where she’s standing, caught off guard by the loathing in your voice until she realizes that it’s not directed at her, but at yourself.

Your eyes finally, finally, meet Natasha’s. They’re tear brimmed, scared, and unbelievably angry. “I’m going to kill him,” you rasp brokenly, “Natasha, i’m going to kill him.”

——-

Nat says nothing. She just continues to stare back at you.

“He had no right, Natasha, he had no right to do that to me,” your face is crumbling now, anger turning back into devastation in an instant. “Nat, why—why was it me? I—god, i’m so angry, i’m so—i’m so sorry. I’m sorry, i’m sorry. God...what did I do?”

Natasha still says nothing, why isn’t she saying anything? You want to yell at her, you want her to yell at you, you want—you want.

“Is Clint...is he okay?” You ask wobbly.

You remember vividly the moment you stabbed him, and the betrayal on his face, the betrayal on everyone’s faces until they realized you weren’t in control of your own body.

“He’s okay,” Natasha says simply. Then, “the man who did what he did to you...Wanda is handling it. She’s able to block out his mind control.”

“Okay.”

“Can I hold you?”

“What?”

Natasha shifts where she stands, looking down. She’s never looked more uncertain. “You didn’t seem to want me close before...I wasn’t sure…”

Oh.

“Nat,” you whisper, heartbroken, “I don’t trust myself. I don’t trust I’m me.”

Natasha tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear and leans down to kiss your temple. You want nothing more than for her to get away from you. You don’t want to hurt her ever again. You can’t. “Oh baby,” she laughs a sad sort of laugh, “you’ve been handcuffed.”

And that, for whatever reason, starts another wave of unreleased tears, but you're laughing now too...if only at the insanity of your situation.

You feel restricted by the handcuffs, trapped in the way you were during the mind control, but you also feel safe. Safe from doing harm, so you allow her, between breaths, to join you on the hospital bed.

She lets out a relieved breath when you do, both because she’s allowed to hold you, and because you’re laughing...yeah it might me a manic sort of laugh, but it’s something.

Something is better than nothing. It’s a start.

——

“Natasha, I can tie my own fucking shoes.”

Nat looks up at you from where she’s crouched by your feet, raising a questioning eyebrow. “Then why’d you ask me to do it?”

“W-What? No I didn’t.” Mind controlled. You were mind controlled again. Fuck—

“Yeah you did,” Natasha reminds gently, “while you were eating your disgusting jello.”

Oh. Yeah.

You release a shaky breath, laughing quietly all the while, because wow. Wow. You’re losing your mind. “I totally remembered that...they just slipped something into my jello…”

Natasha watches you carefully for a few moments before rolling her eyes and getting to her feet. “Tie your own shoes.”

“Asshole,” you mutter bitterly under your breath. Natasha pretends not to hear you and simply presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“I love you,” she confesses quietly. Natasha’s been saying as much over and over again since you first awoke.

“Now I feel like the asshole. Just go get the discharge papers.”

Finally, Natasha laughs.

——-

You’re healing still, emotionally, the Avengers and Natasha are very aware of that. They’ve been as gentle as they can possibly be with you since you left the hospital a couple of weeks ago, but now—now it’s time for an intervention.

So naturally, you press the big red emergency meeting button Steve hides in his room and force everyone to meet in the living room.

“I’m not sad anymore,” You announce to them all when Wanda asks why the fuck she was woken up for.

The grumbling immediately quiets.

“Well,” you pause, considering, “I...am. Deep down. I’m tryna work through it but it’s kinda hard now that I'm forgetting a lot of what happened.”

Natasha sits up at that, alarmed. “You’re forgetting?”

You wave your hand dismissively. “My mind is blocking it out. I’m traumatized...but pretty okay otherwise.” The others don’t look convinced, so with an annoyed groan you relent. “I’m thinking about seeing Steve’s therapist. You guys should too.”

A chorus of protest instantly comes forward, not to your surprise...but Wanda...Wanda does surprise you.

“I am, too.”

Then Natasha, “I...was actually considering it myself.”

Well then.

“I’m also considering making my own sitcom,” Wanda continues, resting her head in her hand. “What do you guys think?”

“Stick to therapy, Wanda. Stick to therapy.”

At that, everyone comes forward in agreement.

You’re sure, in that moment, that with these people you’ll be okay.