#life would be simpler and easier if that stupid bitch would just shut up

[nic-coughlan]

i just wish i could walk up to j.k rowling, place two hands on her shoulders, lean down to look into her face and whisper...

shut...the...fuck...up

[kinetic-keith]

Thicker Than Water

and if love be madness, may I never find sanity again

projection what projection

Fandom: Promare

Ship: GueiMei

Contents: Angst and hurt/comfort, intimacy, first kiss

Length: 1.7k

**

Gueira feels the tension before he hears the voices. The door swings open and he’s hit with the heavy weight of anguish, of words unspoken and feelings pushed aside. He doesn’t bother toeing off his shoes or hanging his coat up before he pokes his head into the kitchen, and oh--

Oh.

Meis holds his cell phone in both trembling hands, eyes shut as the woman on the other end tells him not to come sniffing around again. “Ma, I--”

“We don’t need someone of your...influence,” his mother says, icy as the winter wind that whips through the streets, “around our daughter.”

“You realize I’m not Burnish an--”

“Goodbye, Meis.” There’s a click, a thud as Meis’s phone hits the table, and the screech of the chair against the floor as he gets up to silently stalk past Gueira and toward the door. When their shoulders brush there’s a thousand things Gueira wants to say, could say, but what he settles on is much simpler than any of them.

“Take a jacket,” he says quietly, and even those words seem too loud. “It’s freezing outside.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

Meis looks at him down the bridge of his nose, gearing up to argue, before shockingly--scarily--slumping forward. He splays one hand against the wall, the other pulling down his coat from the rack they’d finally installed after a year of simply throwing things over the edge of the couch. The sound of the zipper shatters the silence, its metallic whine nearly painful before the decisive click of the door shutting puts it to rest.

It hurts, seeing Meis in pain. The feeling wraps around Gueira’s heart and squeezes until he has to sit down, sliding his back down the wall until his ass hits the melted snow on the floor and the world doesn’t spin as badly anymore. It’s somehow worse and better now that the Promare are--have been--gone. Their people no longer starve in the desert, but there’s a different hunger that gnaws at the ex-Burnish now.

Their hearts cry out for all they’ve lost, everything they left behind upon realizing that the flames called to them. They ache for fathers and brothers, mothers, sisters, children abandoned for their own safety, and though Gueira knew it was only a matter of time before Meis found his own family, his chest aches because it means maybe he hasn’t been family enough.

His head thuds back against the wall.

The clock in the living room ticks in time with his pulse.

The wind outside whistles, and he lets out a sigh to add to the heaviness in the air before shrugging off his jacket and kicking his boots into the closet. He shuts his eyes and swears it’s only a few seconds he’s drifting, but the door and Meis’s heavy footsteps startle him from wherever he’s gone to.

“What’re you doing down there?”

Gueira shrugs, snorts softly. “Existing.”

There’s several beats of silence where Meis seems to wrestle with something, his jaw working before finally, he simply makes a small grunt of acknowledgement and takes off his shoes. When he moves forward, Gueira reaches up to tangle their fingers. 

“Sit with me,” he says.

“There’s salt ‘n shit on the floor. You get up and sit on the couch,” Meis says, but he doesn’t pull away. He looks down at Gueira with something unintelligible in his eyes instead, and allows Gueira to pull his hand forward.

“Can I fix these?” he asks, because Meis doesn’t like his bad habits pointed out, and it’s easier to fix the chipped paint on his nails than ask why the skin around them is bitten to the point of bleeding. 

“Yeah,” Meis says, because he knows Gueira won’t stop until he gets his way.

Gueira doesn’t mention the phone call as Meis hauls him to his feet, or as they set to heating up the leftover pizza from last night. He doesn’t mention it when they move to the couch and light the array of candles on the coffee table, the overhead light off because that’s still comfortable for them. He’s silent as he retrieves the comforter from his bed and hands it to Meis to wrap himself in, though he wants to tell him how sorry he is.

He wants to say so much, but the weight of don’t you know I love you looks like it would crush Meis today.

In the end, it’s Meis who brings it up. He’s moved down to sit on the floor for better access, and the way the candles light up the grief in his eyes makes Gueira want to smooth every bit of it away.

“How much did you hear?” he asks softly.

Gueira switches fingers, paints the nail black as he says, “Enough.”

“I’m sorry,” Meis says, and then, “I didn’t think you’d be home until later.”

“Guess it’s your lucky day.”

“Right.” Meis huffs, not quite a laugh, and lets his forehead fall to rest on his shoulder. He shivers at Gueira’s fingers sliding against his palm, down his wrist as Gueira gently positions his hand over the blanket to dry.

“Give me the other one.”

Meis obeys without hesitation. “I didn’t even want to see my mom,” he says, and Gueira’s sure he’ll deny his voice cracks on the word. “But I figured Lena’s sixteen now, and maybe I could--we could...” He shakes his head. “It was stupid. Stupid thought, stupid--”

“It’s not your fault your mom’s a raging cunt,” Gueira says, a bit harsher than he intends. He takes a deep breath, lets it out, continues. “You miss your sister. I think it’s only natural you’d want to see her again.”

“Someone of my influence,” Meis says poisonously.

Gueira sets the brush back in the bottle and reaches to cup Meis’s face in his palm, feels his heart soar when Meis pushes into it with a soft whine. “That bitch would be lucky if she got to know who you are. Your influence--” He tips Meis’s chin up with his thumb and twitches his lips up. “Kept the settlement alive. Your influence...” Leaning forward, he rests his temple against Meis’s. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for your influence. Does that count for something?”

“Yeah,” Meis whispers.

Gueira strokes his thumb across the curve of Meis’s cheek before gently, tenderly, pressing his lips to the spot his forehead just was. Meis’s breath hitches at the contact and it’s more forward than Gueira’s ever been, but Meis doesn’t say no.

His index, middle, and ring fingers fall prey to the paint before either speaks, and it’s Gueira again. 

“There are others out here who love you like you should be loved,” he says, tucking his lip between his teeth as he extends Meis’s pinky. “People who don’t give a shit what you’ve done.”

“You tryin’ to say something?”

Gueira shrugs.

“Look at me,” Meis says, and when Gueira does, there are entire galaxies shimmering in his eyes. “Thank you,” he breathes, because he’s not an idiot, and Gueira’s anything but subtle tonight. He drops his gaze to his lap, where his hands clench and unclench rhythmically.

“You’re going to ruin the paint right away,” Gueira complains.

“You can fix it for me again.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Because you’ll always be there, right?” 

Gueira sets his jaw and nods once, eyes fixed on Meis’s tattoo where the blanket’s slipping off. They’d made a night of it, years ago when they’d first met. Drunk on invincibility and starlight, that promise has been with them ever since. 

“Always,” he says.

“We should get ‘em redone sometime,” Meis says. “Professionally.”

“What, my stick and poke skills weren’t good enough?” Gueira teases.

Meis manages a laugh this time, a soft, rumbling chuckle as he leans in to settle his face in the crook of Gueira’s neck. “Your skills are fine,” he murmurs, “but I don’t want them to fade too bad.”

Gueira sits stock still, stunned into inactivity at the brush of Meis’s lashes against his throat. They haven’t quite done this yet. There’s been plenty of moments, yes--lingering glances across the desert sand, sleeping propped up against each other in abandoned buildings, quiet banter over making dinner together in this new life--but never this. 

Even so, nuzzling into Meis’s cheek to slot their lips together is as easy as breathing. 

Meis’s lips are pliant under his, chapped and eager and willing as Meis climbs into his lap. His arms wrap around Gueira’s shoulders like a vice as he whispers his name, and Gueira can do nothing but follow as Meis leads him down avenues he’s been too much of a coward to explore. 

“Fuck,” Gueira whispers when they part. He goes back for one lingering kiss, catching Meis’s bottom lip between his teeth and teasing it until Meis makes a noise low in the back of his throat. “Fuck, I love you.”

“I know,” Meis says, and then he says, “I can’t remember a time when I didn’t love you,” and Gueira can’t help the way he hugs so tight that Meis lets out a small squeak of discomfort.

“Sorry,” Gueira mumbles. 

“‘s all right, darlin’,” Meis whispers against the underside of Gueira’s jaw. “Just try not to kill me too early, you know?”

“I wouldn’t kill you ever,” Gueira says, only a little petulantly. 

“I trust you.”

Gueira splays his hands over Meis’s spine, feels along the knobs that are no longer as prominent as he buries his face into the curve of Meis’s shoulder. “You deserve people who adore you for all that you are,” he says, “and if we can find a way to get to Lena, I’m sure she’ll think just as highly of you as I do.”

“You think so?” Meis asks, and Gueira hates the way that of all the things they’ve conquered, this makes his voice quiver with uncertainty.

“I know so,” he says. “Trust me with that, too?”

“Yeah,” Meis says. “Yeah, I think I do.”

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

Steve Rogers / Forever

Summary: You thought you had forever together, but it was taken away. Now, who is going to be there to help you pick up the pieces? Endgame Spoilers / slight Post Endgame AU.

Word Count: 4,333

You didn’t think, you would tell him. 

You never thought, Steve would counter. And he would be right. Because when you did - you talked yourself out of it. Whatever it was. You were swimming in neck deep water, and thinking meant hesitation, hesitation meant stopping, and stopping meant death. 

In your book, hesitation wasn’t allowed. It couldn’t be. 

But he would only see you return - bruised body, purpled lip, dried blood smeared across your cheek, black and blue knuckles - and yet you would still smile. Each time you would return, you would enter to give a debriefing, and your lips would curl. Because it didn’t matter to you. It didn’t matter how much blood you were drenched in - your own or otherwise, or how many bones got broken, or if you returned only in a body bag. Only the mission was complete, and if it was, you smiled. 

And you always smiled, and said it didn’t matter. But it mattered to him.

And, there was the rub. 

He scolded you each time, encouraged you to be more careful, reprimanded you on your actions, but you still sat there, goddamn smiling. And each mission after would be the same. 

The same as you always were. 

“Man, what’s wrong with you?” Sam asks Steve, raising a brow when he punches the wall, pulling his fist from the hole he made with a large cloud of drywall dust, “You’re paying for that.” 

Steve flexed his fingers, his jaw set, “No problem,” he brushed past Sam, “as long as we don’t have to talk about this.” 

“Go to hell, course we’re talking about this,” Sam placed his arm on the wall in front of Steve, “Just let it go, Steve. She’s not going to change. He couldn’t change her. He didn’t want her to. And he shouldn’t have ever asked this of you.” 

Steve knew, he knew, Sam was right. One thing he knew was that people rarely changed, and if they did, it would be too late. Change was too easy to clamor for, to hard to enact. And yet…

“Leave it.” He pushed Sam’s arm away, striding past him towards the hanger. He found you in a moment, still sitting besides Nat. This time your lip was split, the red blood long dried. The black of your suit was muddied by blood, the fabric torn and fraying. You had pulled your gloves from your hands, clutching them between bruised fingers and cracked fingernails. 

But you were still smiling. 

He approached you, grim expression on his face evident, by Nat sobering up beside you, her gaze tight. But you didn’t drop your smile, not for a second. 

“Can I speak to you for a moment?” He asked you, and he saw Nat frown deeper. 

He knew how she felt about this. He had asked her to speak to you about it once before, but she only came away understanding your reasoning, and firmly on your side, “Steve-” 

“Nat, it’s okay,” you rose to your feet, “Where to, Cap?” 

~~

“So, what’s it going to be this time?” you asked, hands in your back pockets. 

He had pulled you into a side room, tucked away in the corner. The door clicked shut behind him, and you hated to admit it, but you enjoyed his heavy, hard, nearly lidded stare from across the room. You leaned against the window, back to the rest of the world - as you spent most of your life - feeling the cool glass calm your aching muscles. A small bit of light managed to make its way into the room, pooling small puddles of light on the floor. You felt the light brush against your back, and you wondered, if this is what it felt like to be caught in a spotlight? 

You stare right back at Steve. You wouldn’t know. You had never been caught before. 

“What do you mean?” is his first question he has for you. Quiet words said through gritted teeth. You swore you saw a vein in his forehead throb. 

“Is it a lecture? A story? A valuable lesson?” you pondered aloud, “Perhaps, a wholehearted fable?” Steve folded his arms, staring at you, seemingly waiting for you to finish, and you wavered,  “We have been over this, Rogers. I understand where you’re coming from. I do. And I appreciate it,” you square your shoulders, lifting your gaze to his steely one, “but nothing you say will make me change. This is an impasse, and not one that we have to try to pass through.” 

“I understand,” he said, “I do,” he added, when you furrowed your brow, “I want to say I understand why you do it this way. And I respect your right to make your own decisions.” 

“Do you?” Steve flinched. 

“I’m trying,” he corrected himself, “but as your...friend, I want to say I have a right to point out when what you’re doing is wrong.” 

“Are we friends?” you sighed, dropping your gaze to the floor, watching the pools of light growing dimmer and dimmer, “I think our friendship may have died two or three lectures ago.” 

“You could have died!” he spat, anger welling and now bubbling to the surface, “On any of these missions, you could have been killed or got someone else killed!” 

“But I wasn’t, and no one was.” 

“Your recklessness-” 

“Reckless?” you scoffed, “I’m sorry, who was the one who got arrested trying to save the Winter Soldier after he shot a king?” 

He blew past your comment, continuing as if he didn’t hear you, but the hiss of his words told you he did, “Your recklessness puts everyone else in danger,” his gaze softened only a hint, “Just because you lost him doesn’t mean-” 

You cut him off, “My ‘recklessness’ is the reason missions are finished without casualties,” you were tired. Tired from the constant missions. Tired of dealing with his bullshit every time you returned. Tired of him acting like your life was any of his concern. Tired of acting like he understood what you were going through, what you had lost. 

And you saw a flash of him, a symphony of bright blue, orange, green, purple, and red on his hand - red as the suit that he bore, red like blood that pumped through him, until it stopped. He stopped. And your world stopped too. 

“What do you want from me? To promise you that I’ll be a good little girl on my missions? That I won’t take risks? That I won’t get hurt?” you stare up at him, unhesitant, “This shit isn’t a fairy tale, and you know that. We lose people. We lost people. And I’m tired of losing. I want to win.” 

“I made a promise to him-” 

“And I did too,” you said, “I promised myself that I wouldn’t lose anyone else. Not ever.” 

You move to leave - done with his hypocrisy, his brooding - but he grabs your wrist, his touch hot on your skin, rage boiling over, “Stop,” he says, but you twist away, wrenching his fingers from you, and you see a hint of hurt in his eyes, “Damn it, why are you like this?” 

You turn on your heel, “Because I want to be.” And that was enough for you. 

~~

You don’t hear from him after your next few missions. And you’re grateful for that fact. Instead of listening to a lecture, you sit at a bar, rim of the second glass of whiskey kissed silly by your lipstick. The sweet taste of the alcohol had danced and exited stage right, leaving you only with a small buzz, only detectable by your slightly too loud laugh and eyes a bit too shiny. 

Someone slumps down next to you, and your lips split into a grin, “Of all the gin-joints-” 

“Shut up,” Bucky snorted, head firmly buried in his crossed arms. The heat was moist and clammy, so thick you wondered if you would be able to swim in it soon, and yet, Bucky still wore a leather jacket and gloves on both his hands. A small price to pay for avoiding unwanted attention, you thought, watching him order himself a drink, before he noted your two empty glasses, “Celebrating?” 

You shrugged, “Sort of?” he nodded, thanking the barkeep for his drink, “mostly wanted to get away for awhile.” 

“Yeah?” you bit your lip. You knew what he was doing. It wasn’t a coincidence that the Winter Soldier, best friend of a certain patriotic captain, dropped by into your bar. ‘All the gin-joints’ my ass.  But still, you felt an urge to play along. You didn’t know why - was it the alcohol that may have left your tongue but still ran heady in your blood? Was it the rush of adrenaline that still pumped through your veins after the thrills you had climbed and the payoff of a completed mission? Or was it the want, the need, to know - know why Steve Rogers had such a vested interest in you? 

It was because his promise. Only Captain America would make a promise as stupid as that one, and you wondered why he even agreed to it. He knew what it entailed. 

You didn’t bother to think about it. 

“Yeah,” you waved the barkeep down, another glass appearing in front of you, “When you’ve had a hardass driving up your ass this whole time, it became a bit difficult to find time to relax.” 

Subtly was never in your nature - you never bothered with the theatrics, the pretense, when it would all end the same anyway. Broken bodies and bloodied fists. Why listen to the villain finish his speech when you can get one swift punch to the face in? Why wait for the guards to leave when you can simply knock them out at once? Maybe it wasn’t easier, maybe it wasn’t simpler, maybe it wasn’t clean. But it was familiar. It was messy and ruinous. Just like you were. 

“I know he’s hard on you,” Bucky said, knocking back his drink, setting the glass back down, to rest his gaze on you, “but he’s twice as hard on himself.” 

“I wouldn’t like to be him then,” you scoffed, sipping at your whiskey. This one was dry - sucking the moisture from your mouth as it seared down the back of your throat. 

“He cares about you,” Bucky said, “don’t know why, but he does. And he’s someone you want on your team. I know I do.” You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, the corner of his lips quirked in a smile, and you shake your head. 

“You’re a sentimental son of a bitch.” 

He chuckled, a quiet rumble in his chest , “Coming from you, I guess that means I am,” you sipped at your drink, thoughts falling to the wayside, until… “How long have you liked him?” A spray of whiskey covers the bar, fresh from your mouth. The barkeep turns to scowl at you, and you rear your fist back to punch Bucky, but the Winter Soldier catches your fist, “Doing you a favor.” His metal fingers dig into your own, “Don’t want to punch this arm. Trust me.” 

You ripped your hand away, noting the ache in your fingers as you fumbled with your wallet to pay your tab, “Don’t know why I tried to talk to you.” You muttered. You feel a pit in the middle of your stomach, growing larger with each second, as if Bucky’s gaze was gnawing a hole right through. 

“You can’t hide from yourself,” Bucky said, as you slapped money on the counter, “Take it from me, doll. There is no hiding.” 

“Hiding from what? From who?” you laughed bitterly, and for some reason, you allowed him to follow you out, “From fucking Steve Rogers?” 

“From your feelings. From other people. From the ones you’ve lost.” Bucky’s hands were now in his pockets, lips a tight line, “I know how that is. You think these missions will fulfill you. That real pain will distract you from the pain inside. But it doesn’t. It numbs you.”

“What if I want to be numb?” 

“You won’t, not forever,” his hand rested on your shoulder, “You have to let someone in, and it shouldn’t be me.” 

“Why?” you breathed back, his hand briefly brushed your cheek, warmth blooming from his touch. His thumb ran back and forth against your cheek, and you realized just how close you were to him, inhaling his exhales. And for a moment, you wanted to lose yourself in him, to forget, forget everything. But the feeling was gone as quickly as his touch had came. 

“Because we’re far too similar for that,” he cleared his throat, walking past, “Talk to Steve.” 

“Why are you so intent on pushing us together?” Bucky paused. 

“Because you’re important to him,” Bucky gave a small smile, “He’s important to you.” 

“How do you know?” he shrugged, turning to walk away. 

“Because you wouldn’t have stayed to talk to me if he wasn’t.” 

~~~

Steve still doesn’t hear from you. It’s more of the same. Mission after mission. Day after day. A sort of monotony that eats away at a person - even a superhero. 

Superhero, he always wanted to scoff at that word. It carried an untold weight to it, that somehow he was better, better than the regular men and women who risked their lives, who could die far easier than he could. He got knocked down, but he always tried to get back up. And he wondered morbidly, how many times you would? 

A healing factor could only go so far, and it wasn’t like yours was that high to begin with. Broken bones that would have taken him minutes to heal took you hours, maybe days. He knew you knew the risks, and you knew them well, and according to Bucky, the higher the risk, the bigger the high. The longer you didn’t think about him.

“They’re late,” Steve said, Sam standing by his side. Sam slowly swiveled his head to look at him. 

“Are you actually talking to me about this?” Steve gave a sigh, “Don’t give me that stupid ass sigh as a reply,” Sam scoffed, crossing his arms, “You know she’s completely capable, because I know you do. She’s kicked your ass before.” 

“I know but-” 

“And Bucky is with her. He’s got her back-” Natasha bursts in, chest heaving, her eyes glassy. 

He shouldn’t have jinxed it. 

“Steve, you need to come to the hangar. Now.” 

No, maybe, he was the jinx, he considered, as he sprinted, feet pounding against the floor, blood roaring in his ears. Doomed to lose the ones around him, no matter how hard he tried, how much he wanted to save them - he couldn’t save everyone. Especially the ones he cared about the most. 

He was cursed, he thought, before he pushed open the doors of the hangar, watching Bucky stand over you, trying to stop the bleeding, fingers drenched in your blood. 

He truly was cursed. 

~~~

“I’m sorry,” That was all Bucky had managed to tell you before you succumbed to the darkness. People always talked about the world growing cold, the shivers that wracked your body before death. But you felt warm, warm in his arms, and you swore you saw his blue eyes staring back at you, a large grin on his lips, like before. Before he was so afraid of losing you - losing you. 

And then you saw him. 

“It’s been a while, sweetheart,” his voice curled around your ear, familiar, yet strange. It had been so long since you had heard him speak that you thought you had forgotten how he had sounded, and you had. His words were so much richer than you had realized, deeper, and you only hoped to swim within its depths - his depths, “I never thought I would be able to render you speechless.” 

“Tony, I-” tears welled up before you could finish, and he was at your side, engulfing you in his arms. You breathed in his scent, feeling his palms slide down your back, tugging you even closer, “I’m sorry.” 

“Why would you be sorry? I’m the one who left you,” Tony’s fingers ran through your hair, trying to calm your sobs, “I broke my promise.” 

“I let you die. I couldn’t-” he shushed you softly, you buried your face in his chest, allowing the beating of his heart to calm you, “I miss you.” A truth you didn’t want to admit, not even to yourself, “I don’t know how I’ve made it this far without you.”

“Trying to work yourself to death? Taking dangerous missions? Walking around with a chip on your shoulder? Honey, hate to break it to you, but you’ve become me.” you leaned back, chuckling, to look at him. He looked just as you remembered - well, before… There was no blood streaked face, or deterioration, there was no gauntlet on his hand. Instead, his scruff was trimmed neatly, glasses on his face, and a soft smile on his face, “What’s wrong?” 

“I just wish I could stay with you, forever,” 

“What’s stopping you?” you cup his cheek, tilting your head, “You could stay here with me. We could have the life we couldn’t have, not for long anyway. House, fence, a dog, a kid or two. I draw the lines at cats. Much too narcissistic for my taste.” He lifts your chin with his fingers, to meet your gaze, “We could have it all.” 

“Us?” you shake your head, “seems too good to be true.” 

He smiles sadly, letting his arms fall away, “It always is.” 

You frowned, watching him step away, but you caught his hand - perfect fit, as always, “What’s wrong?” 

“You have to go back,” Tony shook his head, looking up to the sky, the one you hadn’t noticed before. Dotted with stars and galaxies, the sky was colors you had never thought it could be, and still, your eyes were drawn to him, “I know you do.” 

“What? Why?” you couldn’t understand. Why did you have to leave? And yet, something in your chest told you it was true. It was real. You had to leave. It wasn’t time. And then you heard him. 

“Please, come back to us,” Steve murmured, and you could feel his fingers running through your hair, just as Tony’s had, “come back to me.” 

“You know he’s in love with you, right?” 

“What?” Tony shook his head, hands slipping into his pockets. 

“That’s why I asked him,” he said softly, “Because I knew he would do it. I knew you’re stubborn, that’s one of the reasons I fell in love with you - it’s rare to find someone more stubborn than a Stark,” you scoffed, and he turned, a grin, “I knew you would stubbornly run away, hide, and I didn’t want you to be alone. And who’s more stubborn than Captain America?”

“I was never alone,” and Tony frowns, taking careful steps toward you, as you turn away from him. 

“Weren’t you?” his arms wrap around your middle, his chin resting on your shoulder, and you can feel his breath on your neck, “Sure, you talked to Nat and Bucky, but you kept to yourself. You drank yourself to sleep. You - you were losing yourself.” 

You grit your teeth. You would not let your voice waver, “And you just knew this would happen?” 

“I knew that I loved you, and I knew I never wanted you to be alone. You and golden boy always worked well together, laughed together,” he chuckled bitterly, “Even in death, I’m guess I’m still jealous of him,” You turned to face him, but he shook his head, “I got the last laugh, didn’t I? I’m a hero after all.” 

“You always were, Tony. My hero,” you pressed a kiss to his lips, drawing him deeper with your fingers digging into the back of his neck, and his hands raked up and down your sides. 

“I’ll be waiting for you, sweetheart,” he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. 

“How long?” 

“Forever.” And the night swallowed him, vanishing among the stars. 

You awoke with a gasp, air lodged in your lungs, and you felt strong hands grasping your shoulders. You looked up to find blue eyes staring back at you, “I’m here, it’s me,” Steve said softly, “Are you okay?” 

And it as if the dam broke, a sob clawed its way up your chest, and you squeezed your eyes shut, but you only saw flashes of his smile, “Tony, Tony,” you buried your face in Steve’s chest, hands fisted in his shirt, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

He didn’t say anything. He just held you. And that was enough.

~~

It takes a while for you to get your strength back. It takes even longer for you to learn to walk again. HYDRA agents had gotten the jump on you and Bucky, and you threw yourself in front of him. He barely made it out with you. But he did, and you were okay. 

Or that was what Steve had to keep telling Bucky. 

He didn’t know how many nights it had been that he had slept there by your bedside. How many hours he had spent watching you? How much time he spent speaking to your nurses and your doctor about your recovery? It slipped away from him. And that’s when he asked you. He asked you to come back to him, to them. He didn’t care about the cost, he didn’t care if you still hated him. He just wanted to see you smile again. 

And then, that night, you woke up. 

Gasping, the cusp of a scream in your throat, you were back. You had come back to him. Tears in your eyes, he held you, as you whispered only two things - his name, and I’m sorry. He didn’t know how long he stood there, your hands fisted in his shirt, face buried in his chest, until you finally took a breath. 

“I’m sorry,” and he still held you, until you pulled away, staring up at him with wide eyes, “I’m sorry, Steve.” 

“It’s okay,” he cleared his throat, stepping back, but you didn’t let go, hand slipping down to his. Tentative fingers brushed his, and he looked from your hand to his, to your face,  “Are you okay?” 

You shook your head, wiping the tears from your face, before your fingers slowly curled around his, “No, but I will be.” 

It took time. Time and effort, as your physical therapist always intoned at your sessions, as did your regular therapist. Before running was no problem, but now standing was difficult for you, walking felt impossible, running was...out of the question. 

At first. 

But you worked. You stood. You fell. You cried. You stood again. Over and over, and he was there, to watch you get back up, wipe your tears, and let you try again. And he made sure he was there for all of it. And when he couldn’t, he made sure you were never alone. 

“Steve,” you said to him one night, a few weeks later, suddenly, as the two of you sat side by side watching a movie in your room, “You were right.” You shifted to look at him, “I was reckless. I was lost. I was hurting.” 

“You don’t-” 

“I do,” your voice wavered, “I need to,” you cleared your throat, placing your hand over his, and squeezing it, “I was broken, and you were the only one who could see it. You were the only one who tried to help. The others did too, b-but, I wouldn’t let them. But I could never dissuade you.” 

“You were too important to lose,” Steve rested his palm against your face softly, wondering if this were even real, if he would lose this moment in a minute, if the illusion would shatter before his eyes and he would awake to a world without you. But, instead, you leaned into his touch, your hand on top of his, “You were always too important to lose.” 

“Because I’m the best?” he chuckled. 

“Yes,” you grinned. 

“Because I’m amazing?” 

“Yes.” You bit your lip. 

“Because you’re in love with me?” 

“Yes-” he broke off, breath catching in his throat, and he swore his heart stopped, and then rattled against his ribcage. His gaze fell, licking his lips, “I-” his mouth was dry. He didn’t know, he didn’t want to push you. 

“Because I love you, Steve,” And his head snapped up to meet your shining eyes, glassy with fresh tears, “I just never thought about it before, but I’ve had a lot of time lately. And I know what I want.” 

And you leaned closer, forehead pressed against his, as you shared your inhales and exhales, your eyes squeezed shut, “I’ve always loved you. Even when you were with Tony. Even when I fought with you. Even when I argued with you - I just, I didn’t want to see you in pain, doll. I wanted you to be happy, even if it was with someone else.” 

“I know, and I love you for it,” you held his face, thumbs brushing against his cheeks, “You deserve someone just as good as you, better even, Steve Rogers, and I don’t know if I can be that, but I’m going to fucking try. That is if you want me still-” 

He pulled you to him, and the rest of your speech was lost, between their lips. You kissed him softly at first, your fingers carefully holding his face, afraid he was going to slip away at any moment. But then, you grew impatient, as you often did, and you deepened the kiss, fingers tangled in the roots of his hair and the back of his neck. He groaned, and you did in return, lips parting for seconds for small breaths and pants caught between kisses, until you finally had to part. 

“I will always want you, doll. Forever.” 

[light-of-being]

a very fkin long and incomplete exposition of my flaws as a human being

I've not really spoken about the probably most consequential event in my recent life (the ending of a long term relationship), and that's because I haven't really thought about it very much. At least, not in a clear-headed space not entirely filled with rage, fear, or initially, longing. So, I've mostly just been waiting for the intensity of those responses to wear out before I can go back and make sense of things in a sorta 'safe' way.

(These days it's mostly anger and/or hurt. Sometimes twinges of hatred, but those fizzle quickly. I know that attitude isn't 'true'. I tried to hate him, I really did. Things would be so much simpler that way — an obvious villain of pure evil, a mistake worthy of contempt. Put him behind me as someone I regret meeting and consider everything only as a flashing warning sign of what to avoid next time. But real life never is that easy, is it.)

Regardless, reading about miscellaneous psychological ~stuff, I realised that I know for sure now that there are sides of me that only come out in a close relationship, as they postulate. It's unfortunate that my exposure to this was only in such a toxic environment, and I'm not sure if or when closeness has any chance of happening again.

I suspect, based on what I have/haven't felt with him vs others, that I can (at least at this stage of my development) only really feel 'seen' by an antisocial/narcissist/schizoid (or something in that general direction), just hope to god it's a mature one next time. I might want to interrogate and possibly change that fact, I'm not sure it's at all a healthily arrived preference. But...

there is a degree of normalcy and social belonging in others that becomes a wall

I can relate superficially, cognitively and even 'deeply personally' (tho is all y'all's deeply personal shit necessarily relational?), have a good time and even feel 'connection' but there are parts that seem simply insurmountable.

The lack of relating to many things is the unifying factor between me and the specified groups: the shared experience of not having shared experiences

But yet, a more acute awareness of superficiality, and the drives and mechanics of human interactions, attitudes, identity and constructs, not taken for granted as default but built from the ground up (Most often out of either necessity or a desire to manipulate them, but still).

Actually, most straightforwardly, the shared experience of experiencing oneself as an outsider to society — whether people personally, accepted norms or expected attitudes towards self and other.*

Anyway, that was a whole semi-tangent I went off on (useful and relevant to the initial thought but not the point I was planning on).

Important point was...ah yes, insights!

...into how I behave under genuine relational circumstances. Due to aforementioned toxicity, I'm not sure how generalisable they are to relationships overall, but they should generalise to feeling-states.

1.

(a) Fear. Defensiveness.

Switches off my brain. Obvious? No. I have been actively strategic while having a gun pointed at me. I thought I had that down. Turns out, I cannot dissociate myself out of an argument most of the time.

Turns out, just the fact or even prospect of arguing activates panic and brain goes out the window. Which is really fucking stupid as an occurrence because how many of these could be prevented with a bit of mindfulness and thoughtful responding. But getting emotions to chill out for long enough to do that is tough.

(b) I am a stubborn dumbass. Kid me argued until they were attacked so harshly that they absolutely could not continue. The alternative presented was to just keep silent, one I did not then and do not now accept. Discussion where both parties partake in good faith have generally been fruitful, only neither of these situations were that. Both involved one person trying to dominate at all costs. To which I suppose keeping silent for the moment and then running tf away is an appropriate response. Idk. I'm not sure if this is a 'normal situation' to which I respond unhealthily, or an 'abnormal situation' in which you just do your best to survive. Arguments are normal. Idk if other people have a less aggressive approach that is less outright terrifying, in which I can modulate, but it does seem like people want to prove you wrong and get angry, which I perceive as aggression.

2. 

Which brings me to boundaries. Can I shut things down when I'm overwhelmed. In the present case, the answer was no. They both didn't stop and the fact that I asked for this was interpreted as admission of defeat.Oftentimes, getting out of the situation was more of an ordeal than dealing with it. [We stayed at a hotel the one time and he did things that made me very uncomfortable (in like a “things that I shudder at thinking about even now” kind of way; not sexual btw which this has made it sound). I thought I was as clear as I could’ve been by saying, “I’m going to legit have a breakdown if you keep doing that” but apparently it came across as a joke (gotta improve on communication as well). He stopped and apologised when he realised I was crying, but later blamed me for not being more assertive and laughed at my ‘exaggerated’ response and “meltdown”. At this point I wanted to leave and go home, but he withheld [my copy of] the key. He insisted and manipulated and coerced for discussion, said I could have the key if I “really wanted it, but do I actually want that”, until it was just easier to give in. The helplessness and feeling trapped of that evening haunts me to this day, and I want to be very sure to never be in any situation where that is even a possibility again no matter what.]

I need to get better at knowing what is and isn't okay and being strong enough to enforce that.

3.

(a) Attachment is a bitch. Utterly unfamiliar sensation, one I don't know my way around at all. The rarity of relation makes it seem so fucking precious, so fucking necessary to protect even to my detriment and his. Dare I tip the boat or will it sink. Should I be the dancing monkey to keep it from sinking. Should he.

(b) The feeling of giving a damn what someone thinks of me is also foreign and difficult. It also seems hella intensified by virtue of not existing elsewhere. Disapproval feels devastating. Criticism becomes attack. Everything feels like a continuous effort to establish worth. I'd imagined acceptance could be taken for granted, but I questioned it the whole way (obviously doesn't help when he demands changes).

(c) I have trouble distinguishing between personal issues and insecurities and legitimate reason to be upset. I think this is typical. But with trial and error, one can probably pick up on what you carry with you across differing people and circumstances. I don't have that data. I have nothing to compare against. I also suspect some parts of this is him treating legitimate reasons as being my distorted perceptions, which I'm pretty sure did happen for a few things that I believe are 'objectively' shitty.

5. 

I trust. Too. Fucking. Much. I take shit at face value. This is very often dumb and...bad in literally every sense, but I don’t yet know how to identify preemptively when that's the case. I also fail to be adequately 'suspicious' I guess to be alert to minor inconsistencies later on. Lies are especially devastating. I built my reality around you using that fundamental premise. Now you tell me it was false all along. Where does that leave me? I go back to substitute and nothing makes sense. I don't know if the initial statement was a lie or the claim that it's false was. I don't know if everything I remember is just distorted somehow. I don't know what to do. (aside: gaslighting? I’m inclined to say “effectively, yes”. The best explanation I have is that for many things he rewrote the narrative in his own mind and does not remember the things that blatantly contradict it. For other things, I cannot see that being possible and am forced to think it’s just pure lies). All of this could have been prevented if I accounted for people being dishonest.

6. 

(a) I lose sympathy. Genuinely did not ever expect this to happen. Enough hurt, enough deception and I stop trying to understand why. I assume malice. I expect malice in future interactions and misread situations as a result. In the beginning I made fucktons of effort to be understanding of things far from my typical range (hello, admissions of past violence and present homicidal ideation. Hello, talking someone out of real intention of ruining a person's life over a minor slight). Honestly, I think I overreached. Some of these things were not things I should have tolerated, accepted even. When I started walking on eggshells to not have him ruin my life, too, that was probably when I should've gotten out. He claimed that the people he cares about are exceptions. That's probably true, otherwise I would currently be in a ton of shit. But at some point I did stop believing it.

(b) I don't really think that most of the things that happened were malicious. Some, he admits, were. But mostly he wasn't out with the intention to hurt me, but he also didn't make the effort...not to. Even with me repeatedly complaining about things, he was defensive or dismissive, considering me talking about an issue to be me creating issues in his life. This is super shitty, his damage is caused by a stubborn ego fixation and sheer passivity, thoughtlessness (he has agreed to all of this in our final conversation), but it isn't exactly intentionally malicious. If he genuinely didn't believe there was a problem, that is an issue, and the fact that he utterly failed until the end to even consider the possibility of a valid complaint, is a very real flaw. He is bad insofar as "he is lazy and incompetent at being good". Which I can understand but nevertheless protect myself from. Ideally, sooner. At the point where I start feeling like someone is being shitty more often than not, something needs to happen. A discussion, a reconsideration, a run-as-fast-as-you-can... Something.

Idk. This isn't everything. But yeah.

.

.

.

* These 3 PDs are often used in illustrating the idea of pathologising difference: few of the criteria are about subjective distress and many about extrinsic value judgements of what a person should be like (lol, my clinical psych final had an essay question on this). I don't necessarily agree but it does speak to a shared thread of...something. That said, this characterisation is tbh still too broad for my liking. Importantly, it is definitively applicable to autistic people but I do not in general relate to that in the same way. Some specific manifestations of it, yes, but I have seen far too many excessively... 'human' autistic people to include the whole category. There are probably folks in the PD categories who are also like that but I think much less common.

[bladekindeyewear]

Boots Reads Homestuck Epilogue(s) Part 15 - Candy Page 34

==>

John finally decides to let the relevance of his story end, and enjoy that he’s made at least some of his other friends happy with his choice.  Time to read Page 34...

VRISKA: Pfft, yeah, wh8tever. I’m basically Immortal, bitch.

Preeeetty sure you’re confusing yourself with one of your parents.

Pff, actual healthy kismesis with a Tavros?  Wow, we’re getting all sorts of redemption by not-really-Vriska proxy here.

HARRY ANDERSON: he’s always getting all weepy whenever i talk to him anyway. HARRY ANDERSON: i don’t think i could have taken another round of him choking back tears while apologizing to me about “what happened with me and your mother, harry.” HARRY ANDERSON: i mean, god. he’s not even fucking DRUNK when he does this. HARRY ANDERSON: that might actually be the most embarrassing part.

.......

Okay, having grown up with a father who suffered from serious depression and would break into tears embarrassingly easily, uh.  I can relate?  But also fuck you, that’s inconsiderate.

--Dammit, new Vriska is catching wind of old Vriska.

Vriska and (Vriska) both start shrieking at a pitch John’s only ever heard one time before. It was a sound that once accompanied the end of everything. A sound once heard the night he dreamt in anime.

Oh that’s brilliant.  If the entire Candy arc ended here it’d be great, though I know it’s not quite over yet.

==>

...Oh shit, we actually get to see what happens immediately next.

Interesting introspective thoughts!  Or, trying her best NOT to be introspective and failing.

Oh my god, SHUT UP Gamzee.  Vriska, just kill him already??

PFFF HE SENT A PIC OF IT TO KARKAT :D

Pfff.  Yeah, Vriska, TRY and ignore what just happened and how it was almost entirely your idea.

(Vriska) is so furious, she has no way of pinpointing the exact moment her intent stopped being intimidating him into silence and started being guaranteeing his silence, forever.

Thank FUCKING goodness, PLEASE kill him.

YAY he’s dead! :D  (Even though he’ll probably revive anyway because bullshit.)

Heheh. NOW we get a cross-Vriska heart to heart.

==>

Alright, a bit more John moping.  Man... this Candy section is a whole lot easier to swallow AFTER Meat than I imagine it would have been before.

.....heck.  EITHER of these epilogue branches are really fucking hard to swallow the first time around without the other’s context.

Oh huh, it’s his house from the Medium then?  Relocated and stuff?

Jake, hm.  Is Jake going to try and leave his son with John like that failed kidnapping in reverse or?

Jake snaps the elastic on his pair of red underpants. It’s the only thing he’s wearing.

Oooookay then.

JAKE: She had a certain way she liked me kipped out and well, i didnt want to bring anything that belonged to her when i left. Nothing she er, might miss. TAVROS: You took me,

Jake winces.

TAVROS: And,,, you took you,

Jake’s wince deepens.

Oh, so that’s what this is!  Jake fleeing with his son from an abusive relationship.  About gosh darn time.  .....geez, how bad did it get for JAKE to finally muster the gumption to do that himself after all these years???

Jake is one whole wince now

I know THAT feeling.  Or at least feel like I do.

John you dedicate your life to keeping this child happy

JOHN: it’s just been kind of a rough forever.

:C

JAKE: Maybe you should blame me? JAKE: Maybe i need someone to blame me. For once. JOHN: ...huh? JAKE: I think im starting to realize that ive been going through life with the mindset that nothing has ever really been within my control.

YES.

This is how Vriska broke Tavros way back in the comic, by constantly denying him agency.  Jake’s been battered down the same way too, and it’s not too late to pick up the reins.  He’s already DONE that by finally leaving his genocidal wife.

There’s a bit of Page of Hope-yness to this whole disastrous Candy timeline, come to think of it?  People fulfilling others’ desires out of obligation constantly, doing what they think others want?  Roxy, Jake, Dave and Karkat... all fucked over at the aggressive whims of more active folk, rolling over when they really shouldn’t have?  Or in Roxy’s case, her CHARACTER basically SHOULD NOT HAVE IN THE SLIGHTEST?

JAKE: Havent you ever wanted to let someone make the tough choices for you?

Huh.

Or maybe he is doing exactly what Jake has always done. In a certain light, isn’t ascribing all this mess to some unconscious influence he might have had over the metaphysical shape of reality just a way to brush off his simpler failures as a man and a father?

Yes.  You can act and change this too, John.  You almost did with the kidnapping before!  Go and take down the new Batterwitch.

Hm, Hopey thing?

JAKE: John. JOHN: yeah? JAKE: Take my hand. JOHN: what? why?

Oh shit.  Are they going to be able to FIX some of this BS with some sort of hopey thing??? :D  Probably too much to hope for but still!

Being flung from Jake’s orbit of Hope and Change

Pffff.  Had to throw in an Obama didn’t you.

...Oh.  Oh wow.  Oh we get to figure out what the fuck was up with Roxy all this time.  Oh boy.

JAKE: So what if it doesnt change anything? Wont it matter to your family to see you care? JAKE: Wont it make you feel better to try?

:D

Heheh, Hope aspecty stuff.  The ability to believe that something matters even when you “know” it doesn’t.

==>

...Yeah, it’s pretty easy to relax on a dead Gamzee.

Oh cool.  These Vriskas are alike enough to bond!  New Vriska is still in her teenage unbalanced go-for-it stage, and old Vriska has been knocked down a peg by the clown incident, putting them on a close enough level to not want to instantly disown each other, unlike old Vriska and ghost Vriska.

VRISKA: The Mayor’s dead, dude.

HOW did the Mayor die?!??  Did I just FORGET that from the end of Homestuck or something??

(I mean, probably.)

Callback to the clouds in that first Jade dream John had.

(VRISKA): Or may8e the truth just makes me kind of nervous. VRISKA: What “Truth”? (VRISKA): Don’t tell him I said this, 8ut, I think John is just an extremely powerful 8eing. Even when he sucks. (VRISKA): And he certainly does appear to suck in this reality. (VRISKA): And yet, the uneasy feeling is there. (VRISKA): It’s a vague feeling I’ve had in the 8ack of my mind for a long time, 8ut it really hit me when I was talking to him earlier. (VRISKA): It’s distur8ing to think a8out that much power 8ottled up in one stupid nerd who’ll never understand it. VRISKA: What Power are you even talking a8out? VRISKA: Like, lame Wind Powers? (VRISKA): No, I mean... (VRISKA): The power to shape reality. Even without intending to.

FUCK did he really cause all this??? Even the Roxy shit?!???  D:  D:  D:

It’s being left vague but it IS sounding like John was actually RIGHT about all that stuff.  FUCK, if the “villain” who messed up Roxy is actually just John’s subconscious...  :C

Even if the epilogue ends right here, though, with John about to call Roxy, I can imagine it working out, though.  It’s on a right enough track there.

(VRISKA): I’ve spent so long caring so much a8out what other people thought of me. Mainly that they saw me as important, or making a “difference.”

Mhmm mhmm.  Light n stuff.

Yeah, realizing that importance isn’t ALL that’s “important” is really, um.  Important.  Ahem.

Hm, other Vriska, that smile had seven pairs of dots, not eight.  :?

(VRISKA): The POINT is, I was so mad at her. (VRISKA): That happy ghost version of myself, who was free of everything. (VRISKA): I was pro8a8ly mad 8ecause she got to 8e who she really was, without stressing a8out it, which is something I never felt like I was allowed to have.

Indeed.

(VRISKA): I guess I mean there’s someone specifically I fell out of touch with, who it feels like I’ll never see again.

Too bad, only ghost Vriska got her reunite with ‘Rezi.  :P

(VRISKA): On some level I knew she was right. She was happy and honest with herself. And that’s what made her... (VRISKA): A version of myself who was actually worthy of someone I cared a8out.

Yyyep.  As I said.  :)

VRISKA: You’re just talking a8out The Girl You 8linded that one time, aren’t you? (VRISKA): Ummmmmmmm.

Heheh.  Yeah, you’re not going to hide that sort of thing from your sharp near-clone.

Oh cool!  She gets to see all those messages and feel turboguilt or something.

...oh shit.  Is a message going to actually get to her?  It-- oh shit.  Didn’t Terezi have her phone buzzing in her pocket and ignored it in the end of Meat or something?  Or at SOMEONE did and I thought it conspicuous but it didn’t get addressed in that side of the story and-- FFFFuck is she eventually going to see it or??!  D:

She’s GOT to have seen it before running all the way off with villain Dirk, right?? D:

==>

Okay.  You seem to be thinking clearly, Roxy.  What’s going through your head? Give us some answers.  Don’t fuck this up too much, John.

but she knows by now that it’s not her job to make him happy. That was something she gave up on years ago. But wanting to? That feeling is still as fresh as it always was.

FUCK was this all just a placid feeling of obligation to make John happy for all he did to ensure victory or something??? D: D: D:

She’s still working through what she feels about distancing herself from Jane

Yesssss

If he’s truly about to be real with her for the first time in forever,

Gosh fucking DARNIT John, you could have fixed all this DECADES AGO if you had a real talk with her ONCE!!!!!

ROXY: the more i thought abt it the more i figured holdin on to that one thing made me lose out on some other shit ROXY: u might relate JOHN: haha, you got me there i guess.

:c

JOHN: i’ve been doing a lot of thinking about how things got to be like they are. JOHN: i guess i’ll just come out and say it. JOHN: i completed fucked up your entire life. JOHN: i’m not going to pretend like there are two sides here. it’s my bad, totally. JOHN: like, not just what happened to our marriage, though it’s also true that that’s completely my fault. JOHN: but even before that... JOHN: i think i fucked up on just this massive, fundamental level, and it’s what i did— JOHN: or, well, what i didn’t do— JOHN: that caused every stupid bullshit thing about the way this world is.

...Huh.

That may not actually be true, and Roxy might be about to prove how self-absorbedly reductive that is.

ROXY: oh nah ill stop u rite there my man

Okay YES.  If this wasn’t him, then SET HIM THE FUCK STRAIGHT.  :D

She knows more than he does, and she doesn’t need to hear it.

TELL US TELL US TELL US

YES TEAR INTO HIM he’s wanted that for so long stand up for yourself and tell us what the fuck happened and why

He’s been looking at her, really looking at her, and she doesn’t want to blink, just in case that shatters it.

Yes because he was looking for the real Roxy that would call out his BS

JOHN: i used to be so angry that you wouldn’t tell me what you really thought, before. JOHN: not like i wanted to FIGHT fight, but like. JOHN: i’m just not used to this flavor of roxy. ROXY: hm ROXY: sounds to me like u just disproved ur own hotshot theory then genius JOHN: huh? ROXY: you wished i was one way the whole time we were married ROXY: but i wasnt

YES!!! Yes his theory’s disproven!  He never WANTED Roxy to just act that way, he wasn’t the cause of this, I was hoping for that!  :D

ROXY: i was bad at standin up for myself then and im learnin to be good at it now

D:

That’s....... sad, if that’s the explanation.  But it’s better than mind control I guess.  :(

JOHN: but... JOHN: you were never like that before i... ROXY: dude ROXY: where tf do u get off trying to decide what is or isnt me being “like me” enuff ROXY: do u think ppl stay the same their whole damn lives or what

Oh wow.  Now Andrew’s slamming SLAMMING of fanfics.  He’s saying “who are you to know for SURE that they wouldn’t act that way”??  That’s pretty good.

ROXY: i like the way things turned out just fuckin fine ROXY: so maybe u could stop wastin precious eternity thinkin ur so special that its ur fault everyones not perfectly happy

:’)

Mhmm, and they’re free from the heroic design arcs or what have you.  Or... were, until Dirk tore them back in again.  Tossed aside their fucking victory with his selfish... ugh.

Mhmm, Roxy’s the perfect person to explain that not being in a canon, Light-filled timeline isn’t really a bad thing.

ROXY: i just do things the best way i think to do em and then shrug n hope it works out?

Roxy thinks about time and the spirals of choice that hang just outside her periphery, and the vertigo grows.

Good advice, and hm.  Maybe there’s some Void sight kind of playing into this as well, making it easy for her to get paralyzed by indecision and she’s had to learn to work through it.

...Ooh, that was a really cool non-binary gender diatribe in the narrative text.  That’s some nice stuff.  I felt like that was missing from the Meat side, glad we got it here at least.  :D

JOHN: there’s literally nothing to do but keep moving forward. JOHN: i may as well not be a big fucking downer about it if i don’t have to be.

Thank goodness.

YES, JOHN SHOWING HIMSELF STRAIGHT-BACKED FOR HIS SON!!! :D

Man, I wish my dad had done that instead of all the other shit he did.  At least he’s dead.  :)

(Here’s a hint in case you’re wondering why I was relieved when my Dad offed himself.)

But that’s off topic.  Let’s wrap up this epilogue already!!

==>

Page 39... only three or so pages left, right?

Pff, Karkat’s keeping them safe.

Heheh, more shitty Liberty statues.

Heheh, using them for weapons caches.

Gosh I hope they actually love each other and are mostly happy.  Jade seems happy, at least.  :(

Dammit, there go the doubts.  He wouldn’t have had those doubts with Karkat. :C

He’s standing in the Oval Office of the White House.

Oh heck yes.  Please tell me...

And over there... is something he doesn’t quite recognize. It doesn’t seem to fit in. He steps closer to investigate, wiping away at the layers of moss and dirt to reveal a surface he most certainly does recognize. It’s a transportalizer.

YES

Dave doesn’t waste any time. You don’t find something like this in the Oval Office and start agonizing over whether or not to use it. He steps on the platform, and in a blink his surroundings are completely different. The centuries of overgrowth are gone, and he appears to be in some sort of crypt, boxed in by walls of smooth, golden stone. At the far side of the room, something is hanging on the wall, encased in a sort of display. It’s a mounted god tier costume, about the size an adult male would wear. He recognizes the symbol. It’s the same one Jake used to wear when they were teens. It is the symbol for Hope.

HELL FUCKING YES

YES OBAMA

OBAMA: Hello, Mr. Strider. OBAMA: I’ve been waiting a long time for you to show up.

Dave’s jaw hangs open. The legends have been confirmed. As well as several key headcanons of his. Without thinking, he drops to one knee and bows his head.

DAVE: m... mr president DAVE: its an honor sir

Man, forget my past stomach clenching.  Forget my hesitations, my turbulent emotions, all the ups and downs the various facets of these Epilogue chapters have given me.  THIS is the best.  THIS makes it all worth it.  This is the best thing to have ever happened, and if I ever feel any regrets about ANYTHING that transpired in the Epilogues, I’ll feel infinitely better the moment I remember it gave us THIS.

The most beautiful scene I’ve ever witnessed.  All my liberal, economy-ranting hopes and dreams confirmed.  It’s glorious.

OBAMA: Come on now, Dave. We can’t be having that. OBAMA: I’m nobody’s king. I’m a democratically elected representative who took an oath to serve his country and his people. People like you, Dave. OBAMA: If anything, I should be the one bowing.

OBAMA.  I MISSED YOU OBAMA.  I CAN HEAR YOUR VOICE THROUGH YOUR TEXT AND ITS SO COMFORTING AND UPLIFTING

DAVE: mr president what i mean is im a huge fan of yours and i hope this doesnt sound fucked up but on some level i feel like ive been waiting my whole life for this moment?? OBAMA: I know, Dave.

Yes, yes you have.  Yes, we can.

OBAMA: Most people thought I was gone. But I was keeping an eye on events. OBAMA: Wouldn’t miss it for anything.

I, too, would like to have the feeling that Obama is still out there, keeping an eye on things.  Watching, smiling... providing some last background of Hope as things seem so temporarily sour.  That feeling would be amazing.

...I mean he’s still alive IRL, sure, but not Obama watermark smiling lovingly from the sky or anything like it should be.

Yes, back to reading.  Back to this glorious, definitely canon moment.  The moment we learned that Obama was with us the whole time.  :’)

DAVE: sorry if this is nosy but if you didnt die when you disappeared then how did you die OBAMA: Most of that is classified, Dave.

Pfffffff  :D

OBAMA: When I was a boy living in Hawaii, on my thirteenth birthday I was visited by a mysterious stranger. OBAMA: He was an older man with a mustache. Kind of a corny, old-fashioned, adventuring type. He tried to convince me we were related. Of course, I thought he was full of shit. OBAMA: To this day, I’m not sure about that. Maybe he was. I didn’t think much of his tall tale at the time, but what did pique my interest was his story. OBAMA: He was voyaging all over the Pacific looking for a mysterious island, which supposedly had all the answers he’d spent his whole life searching for. OBAMA: During his travels, he set up outposts all over the ocean to help with his search. Such as one near where I lived as a boy. The outpost had a laboratory, an archeological dig site, a network of underground tunnels, the works. OBAMA: One time, I snuck in there and did some exploration of my own. Somewhere in the maze of underground ruins, I found a transporter pad, just like the one that brought you here. OBAMA: It sent me to a new realm. A place they called the Medium.

Grandpa Jake of Earth A, thank you SO much for bringing us this gift.  The gift of Obama.

OBAMA: Hey, why don’t we take a walk. You’ll have a chance to collect yourself. And there’s something I’d like you to see.

:O :O :O

I am shivering with anticipation.

Ah, leave it to Obama to help Dave with the final steps of his character arc.

OBAMA: Are you sure that’s all he is, Dave?

FIX THINGS OBAMA!!!! :D :D :D

Wait, what if Obama can turn things into an actually legitimate DaveKatJade?  That would be a miracle only a god of Hope could pull off.

OBAMA: I’ve had my share of doubts about all that, just like any other man. OBAMA: And I’ve had plenty of the same kind of struggles as you, Dave. DAVE: wait DAVE: you...

Obama nods, smiles wistfully. Dave arches his eyebrows high above his shades. They stare at each other, and in the look they exchange, they seem to say all that needs to be said between two grown men on the matter.

:’)

OBAMA: Believing is the key to understanding the truth underlying the words, the truth underlying the ideas they represent, and the truth underlying who we are as individuals. OBAMA: The power of belief, the power of Hope, that’s what endows that which is intangible, ephemeral, or uncertain with a sense of reality. OBAMA: It brings focus to the insubstantial, the mirages of the mind, the multiplicity of what is possible, of what could be, and isolates it—concentrates it—to turn it into that which is. OBAMA: And the result of that, Dave, is what we call truth.

I didn’t think we’d be learning more about the Hope aspect straight from the mouth of Barack Obama.

OBAMA: He taught me about many things. Combat, philosophy, life, love... DAVE: love??? DAVE: hold on are you saying DAVE: that...

PFFFFFFFF :D :D :D

OBAMA: She’s settled happily into the specific. That’s her path now. OBAMA: All of you have embraced that life, in this safely sequestered version of planet Earth. OBAMA: All of you until now, Dave. OBAMA: This is why you’re here. OBAMA: I believe you’re ready to wake up. DAVE: ...

:O

...this is suddenly possibly going to be getting slightly sad isn’t it.  D:

--Oh shit, so THIS is where Davebot came from.

How is he going to break things off with Jade though???  D: D: D:

...Oh my GOSH he’s just going to suddenly vanish and abandon her isn’t he.  D:

...alright, merging with his other selves, et cetera...

It defers to its greatest knight, risen anew.

Yeah that’s nice but am I supposed to pretend you’re going to say goodbye to Jade offscreen or

--ah that’s why the bot didn’t have shades, gotta use the genuine Stiller ones

==>

Page 40, and the start of this sounds a lot like the Postscript.  But we’re getting more this time, thank god.

ARADIA: when i watched as everything broke apart ARADIA: and got swallowed up by the black hole ARADIA: which is where i ended up too ARADIA: that black hole... ARADIA: thats basically you right JADE: yes. ARADIA: and when you speak of your brother ARADIA: thats lord english JADE: yes. ARADIA: and hes dead JADE: not just yet.

Oh shit.  John’s final blow didn’t kill Lord English did it.  Alt!Callie is going to strike the very last killing blow herself isn’t she.

JADE: lesser beings have so much trouble perceiving divinity in the uncanny.

Divinity?  Like, Lollipop-style divinity?  I mean, I guess this IS the Candy branch...?  But what made this so “perfect” to begin with?

JADE: this world, unlike the canonical horrors from which it is hermetically insulated, will always fail to meet the combined criteria for truth, relevance, and essentiality that would endow this realm with any real gravity. JADE: its own naturally occurring supply of gravity, rather than the artificial supply i have given it. JADE: as such, what transpires here is characterized by experiential frivolity. JADE: physically, it is cordoned off by the black hole’s event horizon. it is safe. untouchable. JADE: inescapable. ARADIA: that sounds ominous

Oh.  So this outside-of-canon timeline-verse whatever that Candy takes place in is like a trap?  For Lord English to be trapped in forever, inside not just his OWN story like we thought before but into a place where he’ll be forever irrelevant, while, like... the “Prince” and others following him for pursuit or camaraderie reasons manage to escape somewhere even different?  --No wait those people are OUTSIDE this place, in the “real” timeline/universe of Earth C. So Dirk’s destination is somewhere completely different; oh, and alt!Callie is the only one with the power to escape the black hole, to bring Davebot and Aradia with her back to quote-unquote “canon” or the closest thing to it to bring bastard Dirkbro down.

Or... something.

JADE: one could describe it as a phantasmal projection confined within my horizon. JADE: it was created by a choice that made it possible for that horizon to expand infinitely, to consume infinitely. JADE: and since that choice could not coexist with canon events, this place manifested to here to support its consequences. JADE: if this world were capable of anything either essential, relevant, or true in some stable combination, then it would perpetuate a corrosive paradox. JADE: as such, insulation from what is out there, and the inescapable well it rests in, is what protects all it holds inside. JADE: and since i am the embodiment of the black hole in which it rests, JADE: i am the one protecting this world.

Oh huh.  So when we saw alt!Callie creating the black hole out of the Sun, she was actually using John’s “choice” and his timeline split to engineer the paradox that drove that singularity’s expansion?  And so she’s going to be the lord and safeguard of all that is Non-Canon, and also seek to guide the heroes trying to save what IS Canon?

Hm!

JADE: physical destruction is one thing. JADE: obliteration of the entire canvas for all of reality over a given cosmic span is another. JADE: and yet there are even more insidious forms of destruction and subversion of life to consider. JADE: methods that are difficult to grasp for those on your plane.

Yep, destroying Heart.  Destroying Soul.  Destroying the uniqueness that drives individual agency and choices, and suborning people completely to your will and ideals without their consent or choice.

Hmm....

JADE: but longer stories have the power to draw consciousness into them. they possess arresting and hypnotic qualities which can be used by their tellers to alter the awareness of the listener.

Yep, like a biased narrator with their claws on the > prompt for characters.

JADE: i brought to your attention that the story you were listening to had a speaker with a specific identity. JADE: and where there is an identity, there can also be an agenda.

Yep yep.  And by commandeering the story to his own agenda, Dirk’s been robbing everyone of a fundamental right to their own existences.

JADE: this is the sort of corruption i now must dedicate my existence in this new body to ending once and for all.

Heck Yes; returning the narrative to as objective a speakerless-ness as can be attained or simulated, and divesting the bias from agenda’d narrators that can wrest all control from the participants in a story, enslaving them and making them the author’s puppets instead of true to themselves as characters, people, etc.

--Oh my GOSH, was Dead!Jade eating the remains of Lord English at the end of that Postscript???  She was, wasn’t she?  :D :D :D

That’s pretty fucking awesome.  And a pretty fucking fair fate for him to get cannibalized by his sister.

JADE: consume his body. JADE: absorb his essence. JADE: and then using this host, i will generate enough power to move beyond the staggering pull of the event horizon encasing this world. JADE: a prison of my own making, which can be escaped only through the supreme unification with my other half. JADE: it is crucial to the cosmos that i succeed. JADE: the prince of heart has to be stopped.

:D :D :D :D :D

Pretty awesome!  A decent setup to a story that probably shouldn’t be told, the implied sequel that Meat invites up or whatever.  And... oh phew.

Oh PHEW.

OH FUCKING PHEW. HOLD ON.

So.  The very last line of the epilogue, the last bit:

The hole leaves behind an absence in the sky so calm that continuing to call it a sky wouldn’t seem to do it justice. It’s a perfectly neutral expanse into which anything one can imagine might be summoned. And for a while, anything was. But not anymore. Where the hole gaped just moments ago, there now exists an imaginary line.

Above this line resides all that matters. Below exists all else. Never again the twain shall meet.

Okay!  :D :D :D

So, when I read that last line, I was INCREDIBLY disheartened.  I thought that Andrew was declaring that canon would never interfere with anything again, that this was the FINAL WORD on Homestuck and everything to do with it as far as canon was concerned, and that Dirk’s crimes and such would forever go unresolved and left to the imagination.

But that’s not what the line meant.

What’s INSIDE the singularity, and thus “under” the imaginary line, is everything non-canon, all the possibility and fanfiction and dead ghosts and such who are trapped in this safeguarded realm alt!Callie created to protect them, away from the influence of any future plot danger beyond the mundane issues they create for themselves.

And what’s OUTSIDE the singularity, above the line, is canon.  A canon which actually continues, and which this line doesn’t necessarily cut short.

I don’t know if Andrew will ever continue this nonsense, maybe to show me a Rose who’s actually happy as a robot or something?  But... er, that’s not the point.  The point is that even though the story “isn’t over”, it’s left so it CAN continue, so that the final state of these ISN’T a permanent cliffhanger to be left forever unfulfilled intentionally.  I’ll still be traumatized by the state some of these characters are left in, until Andrew maybe possibly chooses to resolve some of this nonsense with later content, which he probably won’t.  Heck, this actually might be easier for him to create a new work with, given how much baggage has been left behind on old Earth and in the singularity, so all you have is a much relatively smaller cast of characters on a chase to wherever Dirk is planning to go?  But, like.  When I read that Postscript, I stopped believing anyone I saw suggesting we’d get anything after this.  Any sort of work of... you know... continuing, er, Homestuckiness from Andrew, no matter what it was.  But even just... leaving it open even if he isn’t going to DO anything about it, and having that final line NOT be an aggressive cutoff?  Is just nice.  Nicer, anyway.

And this singularity is kept safe for us to enjoy ALL of the old stuff, the multitude of possibility that the in-singularity version of Roxy glimpses out of the side of her eye.  That--

Oh my Gosh.  THAT’S also what the final line means.

Above this line resides all that matters. Below exists all else. Never again the twain shall meet.

Homestuck fanfiction is now COMPLETELY FREE FROM CANON.

Within this singularity, nothing has to stay true to absolutely every underpinning of the earlier comic.  Nothing has to make sense.  Nothing has to be narratively consistent with anything else, though it’s obviously more enjoyable if it is.  Truth, essentiality, and relevance may all be FLEXED as much as any individual fanfic writer needs to!  And... and earlier, before this epilogue.  When we would get Snapchat stuff of the story on Earth C.  And even before that when all we had was the ending flash.  There was still a FEAR on many parts that there was more to canon that Andrew wasn’t telling us, that whatever was in our imaginations about what may have happened was “wrong”, that any fanfic you wrote was liable to be disproven formally.  But that’s not the case anymore.  Because with that line, with alt!Callie sealing off this realm and taking just a last few soon-to-be canon-impactors out of one of its timelines, Andrew has left ALL of the earlier trappings of Homestuck, of Earth, of all these characters and ghosts and fragmented possibilities, permanently free from canon influence from the rest of time.  Meaning no Homestuck fanfic that takes place in this singularity-granted realm may EVER be busted by Andrew’s future work.  He’s done what he first aspired to do when he declared all fantrolls in existence canon.  He’s finally “killed the author”.  He’s made the very FACT of an author an enemy, to be pursued in its own canon story outside of all this.  He’s set EVERYTHING free.

Wow.  So that’s what all the point of all this was, huh?  :D

Let me read the last few pages of Candy anyway.  Where was I again?

Oh, about to click the last page.  ==>

Oh my GOD.  This Postscript is about the end of MEAT, where the Meat Postscript showed us the end of CANDY!!!  :D

Let’s hear where this shit is all going!  I’ve been wondering what realm Dirk is actually heading towards to try and start fucking up.  Reading...

...Oh, okay.  I thought I glimpsed someone mentioning something about Rose “doing Dirk’s laundry”, and I thought I just missed some narrative comment on laundry made when Dirk took Rose out of the apartment on that final trip out to Jake’s for a spaceship?  But I guess this was the scene they were talking about.  Fuck you, Dirk.

One of her more reckless shipmates chipped a tooth trying one, despite repeated warnings to stay away from the stuff.

So Terezi IS there?  And probably received that final message from Vriska to think about.

It’s a stray ruby slipper. The other is about ten feet away, down the hall. No sign of their owner anywhere.

Yep, that’s definitely Terezi.

...Oh cool, Rose’s body isn’t quite dead?  She could be returned to it or a souped-up version of it if she’s ever brought to her senses outside Dirk’s corrosive influence.

A new planet is within sensor range. She studies the millions of statistics all pouring in at once.

They’re heading for a planet?  Somewhere else in Universe C?

It’s an M-Class planet. The right size, right age, right distance from the sun. There’s no advanced life yet. It’s exactly what they’ve been looking for all these years.

Shit, a NEW planet?  For all this shit to go down on?  Maybe I don’t need to see what happens next, that sounds potentially a little boring.  The future adventure this story entails COULD just be implied and never followed up on.

Once the new race has established

What race??? Human, hybrid?? It’s not TROLL, y’all would have brought Aradia if that was the case, right?  Or is this why there are tons of trolls in Universe C that Caliborn and Calliope’s parent trolls got to incinerate ages later, seeded across planets by these assholes?

The ones who get the chance to play what will arguably be the most important session in the history of Sburb?

Ahhh.  Okay.  So this may INDEED be something interesting, something worth seeing.  A new session, one where Dirk is the villain, Rosebot is enthralled, and old heroes are on their way to help see him thwarted.  Along with the mystery participants of a session we’ve yet to see.

Enough time goes by that she begins to wonder if he’s asleep. But no. It’s just the irritated silence of a man who knows he isn’t currently dressed well enough to attend to something important.

DIRK: Are my fucking pantaloons ready yet?

Yeah, fuck you and your anime pantaloons straight in the Yaois, Dirk Smartass.

Okay!

So that’s the end of the epilogue.  BOTH epilogues.  And... I like it.

I don’t know why.  I mean it was all excellent before, and my stomach’s still a BIT clenchy, but I like it now.  I misinterpreted things from the Meat ending, and now everything... everything makes a little more sense.  Some things seem resolved, others earned...

And... in a way I feel like I could actually oddly accept, even if there’s never anything that touches on this ever again...

It doesn’t seem “over”.  :)

[savedbythenotepad]

The King’s Mate Chap. 1

This was the a/b/o stony!verse thing I was talking about! Originally, it was supposed to be a one-shot but as you can see, this is the first chapter. Yeah, this idea has gone waaaay out there. But we’ll see if it continues or not! 

A big and special thanks to the wonderful @tari-aldarion who is my partner in crime (sin). She was beta-ed it and basically made it flawless, she is amazing!

Okay, so...onward!

At the tender age of fifteen, Steve found himself ruling the kingdom after his father’s death. It was a lot to place on a young teen’s shoulders but nothing else could be done. He had no older siblings to take the position and there were relatives that he knew about. The stress would have been too much on his ill mother’s shoulders. 

He was the only choice.

The day of his coronation remained vivid in his memories. The weight of the crown being placed onto his head, the crown of a king. The feeling of his heart pounding against his chest, loud and thumping. The sweat on his palms as he gripped the arms of the throne, being watched by all of his subjects. The droning voice of the Regent that spoke of victory and glory before the hall descended into screaming cheers and thundering claps.

He remembered the feeling of dread that settled in the pit of his stomach.

He remembered a chilling sensation that raced down his spine.

Steve was scared, frightened that he wouldn’t be as good as his father.

He worried about disappointing his people.

But his worries weren’t needed as Steve turned out to be a kind and wonderful king. He was fair and tried his very hardest to make sure that his people were well. He fought incredibly well in battles, earning the title of The Captain through the kingdom. He was strategic, loyal and many were convinced that he had a golden heart beating in his chest. 

Steve was an excellent king.

An excellent alpha king.

This caught the attention of many people of all genders. It wasn’t surprising to see a suitor arrive at the castle, trying to woo their way into Steve’s heart. They all left unsuccessful, deep frowns marring their features as they rode off in their carriages.

It had been heard that Steve was adamant on finding someone on his own and falling in love with them. He didn’t want to marry someone due to their status and what they owned. Steve believed in the magic that was true love and wanted to experience it himself. He wanted to find his mate because he knew they were out there somewhere.

The Council, however, found this very notion ridiculous.

It was law that the king or queen were to marry before the age of twenty five. No one knew why this rule was in place but Steve’s father had to go through this and so did Steve’s grandfather. The whole idea, to Steve, was completely stupid and he was doing everything he could to avoid it. He had been called into the Council chamber a number of times due the amount of suitors he kept turning away.

Steve was now twenty three so they were getting rather desperate. 

A particular session concluded with Steve angrily storming out of the halls, slamming the huge wooden doors behind him. Bucky was in the kitchen and watched, slightly amused, as Steve entered and sat himself at the table.

There were a few moments of silence, Steve fuming as Bucky continued to watch him. With a cluck of his tongue, Bucky finished cutting up his apple before joining Steve at the table.

“Eat,” Bucky said, shoving the plate of apple slices towards Steve. “That usually calms you down,”

“They just don’t get it!” Steve exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. “So I turned away another suitor, what makes it so different from all the other times?”

Bucky picked up an apple slice. “Oh I don’t know,” He took a huge bite out of it. “Maybe it’s because this is the hundredth time you’ve turned someone away,”

Steve frowned. “It can’t be a hundred,” 

“Stevie, I’ve been countin’ ever since you turned away your first ten,”

 “I just can’t bring myself to like any of them,” Steve admitted, leaning back into the wooden chair. “I mean, I’ve been thinking about mom and dad and...how they made it work,”

“You thinkin’ that maybe you could learn to love one another like your parents did?” Bucky asked and Steve shrugged.

“Maybe,” Steve took an apple slice before popping it in his mouth. “ I just think that...everyone has a mate out there and that I’d be giving up the chance to find them by settling,”

Bucky nodded, completely understanding. “But your parents ended up pretty happy,”

“Because they didn’t really have a choice,” Steve replied, giving a slightly bitter smile. “But I’m not them,”

“You’re not them, I know,” Bucky said, smiling before patting his shoulder. “Well, I’m behind you a hundred percent, all the way,”

Steve smiled gratefully. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Bucky waved him off. “Oh, your mom’s awake and feeling a little better today,”

Steve immediately perked up. “Really?”

“Yep, she’s been askin’ for you though,” Bucky said, aiming a light kick at Steve’s shin. “So go and be a good son and see her,”

Steve was off in an instant.

---

Tony sighed but kept his arms straight just as the tailor had instructed him to do. There were so many other things he could be doing right now but no, he had to be here.

He released another sigh before flinching as the tailor’s hands gripped him a little too tightly. He kept his mouth shut, even as those hands wandered too close to where they weren’t supposed to be.

Stupid handsy tailors.

Then one of those hands decided to help themselves to a handful of his ass and oh buddy, he wasn’t standing for that. Just as Tony pushed the man off and drew back his hand in form of a fist, there was a knock at the door and Pepper entered.

It was Pepper’s turn to sigh at the scene before grabbing the tailor by the shirt and giving him a nasty slap. Tony didn’t hold back his wide grin as Pepper practically kicked the guy out of the room. She then slammed the door behind him before looking back at Tony, hands firmly placed on her hips.

“That’s the third tailor in two weeks,” Pepper stated and Tony shrugged as he stepped off the small platform.

“What can I say?” Tony said, shrugging on his coat. “Father dearest doesn’t exactly look into these things.” He threw an empty smile towards her. “Just as long as I look good!”

Pepper shook her head, her eyes softening. “I know I’ve said this a thousand times but your father’s a completely ass,”

Tony’s smile turned genuine as he pulled her into a tight hug. “I know and I love you so much for it,” He then placed a finger to his lips. “Just don’t let him or the guards hear you say that.” Tony tugged on one of her red strands. “I like your head intact,”

Pepper laughed before taking his hand in hers. “Trust me, so do I,” She then glanced around the room, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “So what’s with all the preparations?”

“There’s this big ball thing,” Tony said. “Tiberius wants me to go with him so he can show off ‘his beautiful omega’,” He shuddered at those three words. “His words, not mine, and Howard thinks it’ll good to try and mingle with other kingdoms,”

“You’d think he’d go himself since he’s so worried about the image of himself and his kingdom,” Pepper replied, frowning. “Remember the last time when he sent you out to talk with that lord?”

“Hey, he had it coming,” Tony defended himself. “He thought he could just corner me and I’d immediately bare my ass to him, son of a bitch,”

“I know and you had every fucking right,” Pepper told him fiercely. “But…” She hesitated for a moment. “Howard wasn’t so kind,”

Tony didn’t say anything, raising a hand to gently run a fingertip against the scar on his collarbone. “Yeah,” He murmured, tightly closing his eyes to refrain himself from living the painful memory. “I remember.”

Warm arms wrapped around him and Tony leaned into the embrace, breathing in Pepper’s wonderful and light scent. It was so soothing and always made him feel safe and at home. Sometimes he wondered why Pepper wasn’t his mate; life would have been easier and so much simpler. Pepper would have been perfect but alas, he was an omega and she was a beta.

And she wasn’t of royal status.

“You’ll be free of all of this,” Pepper whispered, her breath tickled against his ear. “You’ll soar high, so high that no one will be able to touch you.”

Tony didn’t even get a chance to reply as Pepper pulled away from him and the door to the dressing room opened.

“Ah,my darling Tony,”

Pepper excused herself, smiling apologetically at Tony as she passed him on her way out.

Tony took a deep breath and pasted on a smile, huge and empty, as he turned to look at his betrothed, Tiberius Stone.

“Tiberius, my alpha, how wonderful it is to see you,”

[cgrrrrrrrr-blog]

Last Friday Night

I’ve posted this a few other times, but it’s probably still one of my better pieces so it’s going to be on here too. Trigger warning for sexual assault. Please let me know what you think!

I’ve been dead for twelve hours, and nobody knows.

Last time anyone saw me, I was climbing into his crappy old car, the one he bought himself. We were going on our first date. Was he the best looking kid in school? No, but he was that nice shy guy who everyone said I should “give a chance”.

            Now I’m lying in a ditch on the side of the road, mud caked on my face like the makeup he never realized I wore. Guess you don’t have to be nice if you don’t get what you want.

He bought me dinner and took me to some sappy rom –com, something unmemorable and contrived. Not the best date I’ve ever been on, but not the worst either.

            I’ve pushed myself up, standing in the blood orange-twilight on legs that shake like Bambi’s (you know, if Bambi’s muscles had just woken up from a dirt nap.) One shuffling step, then another, experimenting. I’m getting more confident. I think it’s time to go.

We drove to this empty field right on the edge of town. Our equivalent to ‘make out point’ I guess. He leaned in to kiss me. I let him. I was giving him a chance after all.

            Climbing out is harder than I expected-dirt crumbling beneath my fingers-but I manage. The sun finally sinks below the horizon and the lights coming from town are brighter than I remember. I use a clammy hand to shield my eyes until they adjust. Here we go.

The kiss was fine. Average, just like everything else about him. But it wasn’t long before he decided he wanted more. He got handsy, I pulled away. “Come on!” he whined, “I’m not like those other jerks!”

            It’s quiet when I shuffle my way into the city limits. The kids are all inside, doing homework or playing their video games, maybe watching some YouTuber make an ass of themselves. The adults are watching their programs, having a drink, just trying to forget their day for half an hour. Makes this a whole lot simpler for me.

I pushed him away again, and that’s when he lost it. “This is fucking unbelievable! I paid for your food and I dealt with that stupid ass chick flick for you! I’m sick of getting friendzoned by you fucking sluts! Just because I’m not some jocky douche that doesn’t mean you can treat me like shit!”

            There’s no way around it, if I want to get to his house I’ll have to cross through my own neighborhood (my old neighborhood now, I guess.) I pass in front of the little grey house and stop. My dad’s truck is parked outside, just like always. My sister’s bike is thrown haphazardly on the lawn. For a moment I’m tempted to go in, just to see them one last time. Deep down though, I know I can’t. That’s not why I’m up and about. I have places to be. And besides, how do you explain your cold flesh and dead eyes to your twelve year old sister? No, it’s better to just keep moving.

He opened the car door and dragged me across the console. He’s much stronger than he looks. From the shooting pain, I already knew that my hip would be badly bruised. He opened the back seat and threw me in, leaving me no time to react before he was on top of me, the door slamming shut behind him. My heart was beating furiously and panic surged through me as he tore at my clothes. My breath came in short, ragged gasps as I struggled against his hold.  I managed to get one arm free and raked my freshly-painted nails across his eyes. He snarled “Bitch!” before shredding through the rest of my skirt.

            My street is now behind me and I only have a couple blocks to go. The stars are out in droves tonight, a thousand tiny pinpricks of light in a black velvet sky. It’s so peaceful; I can almost forget why I’m out here. But almost is never good enough.

My screams for help were silenced by his hands clamping down around my throat and I felt him finally reach his goal. Within seconds my world had become a red blur of pain, fear, shame and sorrow. Darkness closed in on the edges of my vision. That’s when I realized that I was going to die.

            Finally, after what seems like an eternity of shuffling around suburbia, I reach his house. I don’t want to risk waking anyone by jiggling the front door, so I head for a window. The one in the living room is unlocked and I slide it open, easy peasy. Climbing in is easier than I thought it would be, what with the rigor mortis and all.

It didn’t take long at all. One minute I was there, living out every girl’s worst nightmare, the next I was gone. He didn’t notice, or maybe he just didn’t care. Either way, he finished before he did anything else, cleaned up as best he could, then got back into the driver’s seat. It wasn’t hard for him to find the ditch. It took maybe two minutes at the most. He wrapped me in the towel he kept on the back seat in case of messes (because at the end of the day, that’s all it really was, right? Just a mess to be quickly wiped away?), and kicked me down the hill. I hadn’t even hit the bottom before he sped away.

            The stairs pose a bit of a challenge (they’re old, squeaky wood), but no one seems to hear and I make it to the upper level unnoticed. Three rooms line the hallway, and I’m not quite sure which one is my destination. Gently, I turn the handle to my immediate right. A pair of little girls, no older than six, snore softly from bunk beds pushed against the far wall. I retreat silently and move on.  Second room on the left gives me more luck. The door opens easily and I slip inside. I’m not surprised by what I find: posters of scantily-clad women, sports stars and bands that everyone has heard of, a fairly large TV and Xbox in the corner, the stand overflowing with games, a desk against the wall covered in papers and chip bags, and in the center, a queen sized bed with forest green sheets.

          I make my way to the bed, steps less clumsy now that I’m finally so close. Gingerly, I climb onto his bed. He stirs a bit, but remains asleep. That won’t last long. I move up the bed and straddle his sleeping form, making sure I can easily reach my target. As soon as my icy hands make contact with the skin around his throat his eyes shoot open in alarm, but it’s too late for that now. I close down on him, vice-like, stopping any oxygen in its tracks. I make sure to stare him right in the face, never breaking eye contact. I want to see his terror, his pain, his confusion, but most of all, for the first time tonight I want to be seen. I want him to know that I did this, that in the end he didn’t win, that he never got away with it.

          The life leaves him just as quickly as it left me. It’s all over in a matter of minutes. I finally release my hold on his windpipe, but I can’t help but stare at those eyes for just a little bit longer. They’re wide, bulging out of his blood-darkened face. The look of panic and confusion will be captured there forever. While what he felt could never compare to the helplessness and terror I experienced at his hands, it’s somewhat comforting to know he’ll never escape what’s been done. With that look I doubt they’ll want an open casket. Finally satisfied with my work, I slide off the bed and show myself out.