#maybe that was her happy ending all along

[thetetra]

I mean cheers to the positivity in the post and all but Imma tell a story to round this off and ground it a little.

Due to a series of accidents I ended up playing the violin as a child ( I can tell that atory upon request). 1 through 5th grades I played. and I hated it. I knew I was supposed to get better but it just made my hands hurt and I eeked along bit by bit.

Then my 5th grade summer I went to Orchestra camp in Tulsa Oklahoma, about a 2 hour drive from my house. The first day this older Russian woman started telling us how we were holding our instruments wrong BASED ON THE CALLUSES ON OUR HANDS. So she tells people how to correct their stance, feet too far apart, shoulders too far forward ect ect and gets to me. And she goes over my hands again and is just silent, then she says "You will never be good at the violin" and then continues to start talking to me about the cello or maybe a base, possibly a viola. And I couldn't hear her over the sound of the relief I felt. My hands were too big. I had put in all that work and gotten nothing back or gotten an inch where I put in a miles of effort.

And I went home and I said to my parents "I don't think I want to play the violin anymore " thinking they'd yell at me and I would get grounded and be in trouble, but they just said "Oh okay!" and didn't send me to the rest of Orchestra camp.

I can still hear those book 1 songs from an old cassette tape in my head, played beautifully by a master nice and slow easy to follow "Now you try!" ... and I can hear how I played it with all the errors and extra noises and dropping the violin when I needed to shift my grip.

Natural talent is a factor... and if you mention that you could never do it that is valid and not an automatic dismissal of every bit of work they did.

If you are enjoying the work then do the work and hone it! I hope you make tangible progress for a thousand thousand years! But if you are banging your head against a wall and the basics escape you, then appreciate the experience and find something that is better suited to making you happy as you do it

So earlier in art class today, someone drew a characters hands in their pockets and mentioned that hands are really like the ultimate end boss of art, and most of us wholeheartedly agreed. So then, our teacher went ahead and free handed like a handful of hands on the board, earning a woah from a couple of students. So the one from earlier mentioned how it barely took the teacher ten seconds to do what I can’t do in three hours. And you know what he responded?

“It didn’t take me ten seconds, it took me forty years.”

And you know, that stuck with me somehow. Because yeah. Drawing a hand didn’t take him fourth years. But learning and practicing to draw a hand in ten seconds did. And I think there’s something to learn there but it’s so warm and my brain is fried so I can’t formulate the actual morale of the lesson.

[silent-stories]

𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

Summary: When Noah was left alone to take care of his daughter about two years ago, he never thought he would find someone else he would trust enough to include in his little family. But things can change.

Series masterlist

Sunday morning, the sun hung high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the busy city center. Noah walked beside you, a relaxed smile spreading across his face as he held Luna's hand while she looked around her at the vibrant streets filled with laughter and the aroma of street food, with curiosity.

The little girl had never liked strollers and had always refused to use one. She mostly wanted to walk or be held in her father's arms.

"Yes! I saw it! It was hiding behind the trees but I saw it!" She said.

"The unicorn was hiding behind the trees?"

"Yes! It was white and big and pretty but it was hiding. But I saw it anyway!"

"That's great! I'm happy you saw it!" You laughed.

As you walked along, you paused to admire a shop window displaying colorful toys. Luna squirmed excitedly. “Look, Daddy! Bunnies!” she exclaimed, pointing at a big, fluffy bunny in the window.

"Yeah, that one is really pretty." He agreed.

Just then, a group of people, obviously fans, caught sight of Noah.

They talked for a moment between them, poiting at him, and soon whispers turned into excited shouts, and within moments, several people had approached, their phones out.

“Noah! Can we get a picture?” one voice called, followed by others echoing the request.

Noah's demeanor shifted almost instantly. The polite smile faded, replaced by a look of concern as he straightened up. “I’m sorry guys, not when I’m with my daughter.” His voice was steady, but the tension was palpable as he shifted his focus back to Luna, who looked at him with confusion.

“Daddy, what’s wrong?” she asked, her voice trembling just a little as he easily picked her up.

Noah lowered his tone, trying to reassure her, but his eyes darted nervously to the little crowd formed around you. It wasn't even exactly a crowd, maybe a dozen people at most, but that was enough for Noah to worry.

“Nothing, sweetheart. Just some people who like dad's music.” But the enthusiasm from the fans was relentless.

“Please! Just one quick shot.” someone insisted, pushing closer. Noah’s face tightened, protective instincts flaring as panic flickered in his gaze.

His hand caressed the little girl's back, holding her close as if someone might suddenly jump in and snatch her from his arms.

You knew that if it had been any other time he would have gladly stopped for a few pictures, and if it had been any other time where he simply didn't feel like interacting with them, he would have explained how he felt and walked away. But he was with his daughter and this time it was different.

You knew how Noah had always wanted to protect her from the internet and fans, how he had never posted a photo of her on any social media before deleting them all, how he didn't want his daughter to end up in the spotlight. And he didn't want her to end up in any picture of video taken of them and posted online.

"Just a picture. Please!"

God, some people are really out of their minds. Is it really so easy to forget that people, even if public figures, have a life outside of their work and a minimum amount of privacy you have to respect?

“Come here, sweetie,” you said, stepping forward and gently taking Luna from Noah's arms.

He didn't hesitate for a second, letting you take her without putting up any kind of minimal resistance, showing that he trusted you completely.

As you cradled her close, you could feel her small heart racing against you, instinctively hiding her face in the crook of your neck.

Good. No pictures or videos of her face.

“Let’s go look at some toys,” you whispered softly, wanting to shield her from the chaos. Luna clung to you, comforted by your presence, her earlier excitement replaced by uncertainty.

“Okay.” she replied anyway, her trust in you evident. You turned to Noah, who stood frozen, a mix of gratitude and worry etched across his features.

“It's okay. I've got her.” you assured him.

Noah nodded, relief flooding his expression as he let you take her away. You hurried into the nearby toy store, leaving Noah with the fans, Luna giggling as you entered the vibrant space filled with colorful displays and soft music. You felt the atmosphere shift as the door closed behind you, the chaos outside fading away.

Once inside, Luna obviously wanted to explore and you put her down, kneeling to her level. “Look at all the bunnies!” you exclaimed, gesturing to a display filled with plush toys. Her eyes sparkled as she darted toward the shelf, her earlier apprehension forgotten.

“Can I get one, please?” she asked, her voice filled with excitement as she clutched a particularly fluffy bunny.

“Of course! That one’s perfect,” you replied, smiling at her. She hugged it tightly, Mr. Flop still in a hand.

Moments later, you glanced back toward the door, where Noah had just entered, his expression softening the moment he saw you and Luna together. He took a deep breath, and you could see the tension in his shoulders start to ease.

"You alright?" You asked.

“Yes. Thank you, for what you did,” he said quietly, approaching you both. His voice was sincere, a mix of relief and gratitude. “I was starting to panic. I hate that feeling of being unable to protect her, especially when I know how intrusive some fans can be.”

You nodded, understanding the weight of his concerns. “It’s important to keep her safe,” you said softly. “I wanted to make sure she was okay. You shouldn’t have to worry about that while you’re out with her.”

Noah smiled, his eyes reflecting appreciation as he knelt beside Luna. “That means a lot. The way you immediately stepped in, worrying about her. It means a lot to me.”

Luna, oblivious to the deeper conversation, held up her new bunny. “Look, Daddy! It’s so fluffy!”

“That’s the best bunny I’ve ever seen,” Noah said, his smile returning, the earlier panic dissolving into laughter.

"Yeah but... but I don't want Mr. Flop to feel sad because I have another bunny. I think I'll leave this one here."

As you all explored the toy store together, Noah took your hand, his grip warm and gentle as he interviewed his tattooed fingers with yours. He brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles with a soft smile.

You let your thumb run over his fingers for a moment as Luna dashed ahead, her laughter ringing through the aisles as she discovered new toys.

That afternoon, you lounged comfortably on the couch at Noah’s house, your head gently resting on his shoulder, the light streaming through the windows and casting a warm glow across the living room. The atmosphere was relaxed, filled with the soft sound of crayons scratching against paper as Luna sat on the floor, completely engrossed in her drawings.

Suddenly, she looked up. “Daddy! Can we do a spa day? Like we did last time?”

Noah raised an eyebrow, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Right now?”

“Yeah! Please!” Luna insisted, bouncing on her knees.

“Okay, let’s do it.” Noah chuckled, clearly amused by the idea. Luna squealed with delight and dashed off to gather supplies. You exchanged an amused glance with Noah, who shook his head with a smile.

“What exactly does a spa day involve?” you asked, genuinely curious.

"I guess you are gonna find out soon."

Luna returned, triumphantly raising two tiny bottles of bright pink nail polish in her hands. “These!"

Noah let out a mock sigh but couldn’t hide his grin. “What can I do? It makes her happy.”

Luna turned her attention to you. “Will you help me, please?”

“Of course!” You moved closer to Noah, who extended his hands with a mix of amusement and reluctance, one to you and one to Luna.

As you took the nail polish, you carefully began applying it to Noah’s nails, trying not to burst out laughing. The warmth of his skin felt nice beneath your fingertips.

Luna watched intently, her face serious with concentration. “Make it pretty!” she said while working on the other hand.

You laughed softly as you painted his nails, the bright pink contrasting sharply with all the tattoos that sprawled across his skin. “You know, this really matches all your tattoos, you should definitely wear it more often,” you teased, unable to suppress a grin.

“Yeah?” he replied, glancing down at his hand. “Pretty stylish, huh?”

“Definitely!” you said, finishing up the second nail.

Luna couldn’t contain her excitement. “Your nails look so nice daddy!”

Noah chuckled, shaking his head again. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Luna leaned in closer, carefully holding Noah's to paint the next nail. You watched her concentrate, the way her little tongue poked out in concentration making you smile.

“Just wait until you have to explain this to the guys.”

“Joke's on you. Last time they told me I looked very pretty.” he laughed, the sound warm and genuine.

Luna looked up at her dad, her eyes shining with pride. “You are pretty, dad!” she exclaimed, her innocent honesty making both of you burst into laughter.

“Yeah, he is,” you chimed in, smiling at Noah, who looked slightly bashful under the compliment as a light shade of pink suddenly appeared on his cheeks.

“Alright,” he said, finally breaking into a full smile. “This is the best spa day ever.”

As Luna finished up the last nail, she stepped back to admire her work. “You look amazing!”

“Thanks to my talented nail artist and her not-so-bad assistant,” he replied, looking at both of you with genuine affection.

You watched as Luna returned to her drawings, sprawled out on the floor with her crayons, the colors filled the page as she drew what seemed like a little house.

Noah leaned back on the couch, a thoughtful expression crossing his face, before closing his eyes for a moment.

"You okay?"

“Yeah, its just... this morning really got to me,” he said quietly, opening his eyes and turning to you. “I hate how some people seems to think they have the right to invade our private lives.  Especially when it comes to Luna.”

You nodded, understanding what he was trying to explain.

“I want her to have a normal childhood," he continued, running a hand through his hair in frustration, "I don’t want her to grow up in front of a camera or have to deal with people dissecting her life just because I’m in the spotlight sometimes. I mean, look at what happened this morning. It’s like people forget that we’re just trying to live our lives. I'm not even famous enough for that.”

He paused, his gaze drifting back to Luna, who was completely absorbed in her art. “She deserves to be just a kid, to explore and create without anyone watching. I think about the fact that people can post pictures online—pictures of us together, and it drives me crazy knowing that anyone can comment on them, say whatever they want. It’s not just about me anymore; it’s about her, too. I don’t want to see her face plastered online for people to judge.”

You kept nodding, without interrupting him.

“What bothers me the most is how little respect there is for privacy. I don’t want her growing up with that kind of exposure. I want to control what parts of our lives get shared and what stays private. I want to be the one to decide when she’s ready for the world to see her, not some random person with a phone. And these are the same fucking people that go online saying that I can't be a good father because of my lifestyle and based on the few things they know about me. Or think to know.”

He took a deep breath, “And it’s not just about her now. I want to protect you too. Some people can be so cruel, and I don’t want you to be a target for their opinions. You’re part of our life now, and I want to make sure you’re safe."

He took a deep breath.

“Let it all out?” you asked gently after a moment of silence.

He chuckled softly, a hint of relief in his tone. “Kind of. It just builds up, you know?”

“Thank you for worrying about me, but I can handle it,” you replied, meeting his gaze. “You’re a good father, Noah. Don’t forget that. You’re doing everything you can to raise her well, and it shows. Luna is happy, and that’s what matters most.”

His expression softened. “I just want to protect her and give her a life where she can be herself, without all that noise. I want to make sure she grows up knowing she’s loved.”

“You’re already doing that,” you reassured him. “You’re present, you listen, and you create these moments for her. That’s what makes you a great dad.”

Noah smiled, the tension in his shoulders easing as he looked back at Luna, still lost in her drawings. “Thanks. I guess sometimes I just need a reminder.”

“Come here,” you said, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into a gentle hug. As you held him close, you pressed a kiss to his temple.

"I love you." He whispered reasting his chin on your shoulder, wrapping his arms around you.

"I love you too."

In that moment, Luna looked up from her drawing. “Daddy! Look at my drawing!” She held it up proudly, revealing a house, some birds and trees.

“That’s so good!” Noah exclaimed, his earlier tension melting away as he talked to her. "We will add that to the others on the fridge."

She giggled, basking in his praise.

As Luna returned to her art, you and Noah exchanged a knowing glance.

"Everything's gonna be okay. It already is."

He just gave you a little smile.

Some hours later, you stepped out of Noah’s house, walking across the yard. You gave Noah one last kiss and waved at Luna as she clung to his leg on the porch. The soft hum of their voices faded behind you as you made your way to the car parked just outside his gate.

Just as you reached the driver’s side door and your hand was about to grip the handle, a voice called out, soft but firm, from across the street.

“Are you Noah’s girlfriend?”

You turned toward the sound of the voice, spotting an elderly woman standing in the garden of a modest house next door to Noah’s. She had delicate features—her skin a soft, pale olive tone, and her dark eyes were almond-shaped, sharp, and full of warmth. A few strands of silver hair escaped from the bun at the back of her head, and her cane, dark wood with a polished sheen, tapped lightly on the ground as she took a step forward. She wore a simple but cheerful floral dress, obviously faded with time, like she wore it often, but still vibrant.

"Yeah, I am," you replied with a polite smile, pausing for a moment.

The woman’s face brightened, and she took a few careful steps toward the sidewalk, her cane tapping gently against the pavement. Her voice was soft but full of affection. “Oh, I’m glad to finally see you. I don’t get out much anymore, but I’ve heard good things about you.” She paused, her gaze softening with a look of quiet pride. “Noah is such a good man. He deserves someone like you.”

You smiled warmly at her as she reached out a hand.

“I’m Mrs. Lin,” she introduced herself, her grip firm despite her age. You shook her hand.

“I’m his neighbor," Mrs. Lin continued, her voice gentle but steady. "Noah’s helped me a few times with things around the house—things I can’t quite manage anymore.” Her eyes glistened with affection as she looked toward Noah’s house. “He’s always been such a good boy. Always so kind to me. His friends too.”

You nodded, "Oh, I know."

There was a pause, and Mrs. Lin’s expression softened as she glanced back toward her own home. “Last time I saw little Luna, she was only two years old. I doubt she even remembers me. I’d love to see her again, if that’s possible.”

“Maybe one day we can stop by to say hi, I can ask Noah. I'm sure Luna would love to meet you again.”

Mrs. Lin’s face lit up at your words. “Oh, that would make my day! I’d really like that.”

“We’ll make it happen, then.”

“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Lin said, her smile still wide. “Take care, and tell Noah I said thank you again for all his help.”

“I will,” you said with a nod, turning toward your car, looking at the lady disappearing behind the door of her house.

"Is this okay?" Noah asked, adjusting a vase of daisies on the counter, a proud smile on his face as he stepped back to admire the setup.

The next morning you were at the café again. A small sign reading “The Breakfast Nook turns three today” hung on the door.

You and Noah had spent the last hour decorating it with soft fairy lights draped from the ceiling, while fresh flowers in delicate mason jars were scattered across the tables. The scent of fresh-baked cookies wafted through the ai, free samples to entice customers and bring a little joy to their morning.

"It’s perfect," you replied, grinning as you took in the sight of the shop. The little details—a few candles flickering softly, the cheerful splash of flowers, and the freshly printed sign promising free cookies—had turned the space into something special. "I think we’re ready."

He flashed you a quick smile before leaning over to press a kiss to your forehead. "You did an amazing job," he said quietly, his voice soft but sincere.

Before you could thank him, the bell above the door chimed, and in walked your coworker Grace, her posture as rigid as ever. You knew she’d be a little skeptical about your morning plan, and you braced yourself for her usual comments.

"Well, well, well, look who’s gone all Pinterest on us," Grace remarked "You sure you’re not planning on opening a flower shop instead? ‘Cause I don’t see much ‘coffee’ going on here." She raised an eyebrow, a smug smile creeping onto her face.

You rolled your eyes, but before you could fire back, Noah leaned against the counter, cool and collected as usual but with a little smirk on his lips. "Good morning to you too, Grace."

Grace shot him a side-eye but said nothing, her lips quirking into a smirk as well. She wasn’t exactly fond of Noah, and it wasn’t a secret. Ever since you’d started spending more time with him, Grace had made it clear that she wasn’t a fan of your "rockstar boyfriend". But Noah didn’t seem to mind; if anything, he seemed to enjoy the playful back-and-forth.

"You two are like a walking rom-com," she said with a dramatic sigh, throwing her apron over her shoulder.

"Thanks, Grace," you said.

Just as you finished saying that, a young mom entered, two kids in tow, their eyes immediately lighting up at the sight of the cookies.

"Free cookies?" The little boy’s face broke into a wide grin, and his sister tugged on their mom’s sleeve.

"You got it," you said with a smile, handing them each a cookie from the counter. The kids eagerly tore into them, eyes wide with excitement.

Noah chuckled softly as he watched the kids, clearly amused by their enthusiasm as their mother asked for a coffee with double cream. "Guess the cookies are doing their job."

And then more customers filtered in, all taking advantage of the free treats, the shop’s atmosphere becoming warmer and busier by the minute. Behind the counter, you and Grace fell into a comfortable rhythm, as you kept chatting with Noah in front of you. The gentle hum of the café was the perfect backdrop to the easy conversation between the two of you.

Noah was eating one of your cookies when you grabbed a few of them off a tray and slid them into a small paper bag.

"Hey," you said, catching his attention as you held up the bag. "I made sure to save a few extras for Luna. I think she'll like these."

He glanced at it, his expression softening.

"I'm sure she will, thank you."

"No problem."

"I’ll make sure she gets them later. She’s been asking me when we can come by the café to see you again."

"Tell her to come soon then. I’ll save some fresh ones just for her."

Noah chuckled. "She'll love that for sure."

As the door kept chiming, the steady flow of people seemed to spill into the shop, drawn in by the combination of free cookies and the cozy charm of the space. You caught glimpses of families, couples, and people with books or laptops, all taking a seat and enjoying the welcoming ambiance.

It was simple but you loved it.

You were putting a glass on a shelf behind the counter when you glanced out of the front window, and everything stopped.

Outside, several trucks were pulling up, unloading large boxes and equipment. Workers scurried around, setting things up.

You stared at the scene, your chest tightening.

They were putting up a sign.

Jason’s Ink Studio.

A sharp breath hitched in your throat, the realization setting in. You didn't know what to expect, but seeing that name in the world again? It felt like the ground shifted under your feet.

Your ex was back.

The sign went up, clear as day.

Jason’s Ink Studio.

And as you stood there, the noise of the café faded around you, replaced by the pounding beat of your own heart in your ears.

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion @mathfairchild1 @flowery-mess @into-the-grey @lma1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @stardustsirenmelody @thewrstinme

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[kayhi808]

I had this thought of bucky taking Abby and mama ice skating at Rockefeller Square, buck being a native New Yorker is just skating circles around mama and Abby having the little training frame!!!

Oooh! You started revving up my Christmas energy! And what a dreamier place than NYC! Thank you for this Ask. I love it!! And I hope you enjoy this.

The air is cool and crisp and everyone is bundled up in jackets. Abby is perched on Bucky's shoulders as you make your way to the rental counter to get your skates and training frame for Abby. It's her first time to a skating rink. Abby is amazed by the Christmas lights & music playing. She's clapping her hands and singing along.

This is one tradition Bucky remembers from his past life. Ice skating at Rockefeller Center. 19 year old Bucky and his friends came in from Brooklyn Christmas Day 1936 to be a part of the Opening Day. The memories of skating beneath the Prometheus Statue and Christmas tree are still powerful memories held within his heart and he's so excited to share this experience with you and Abby Rose.

Once your skates are collected, you all make your way down to the rink. Bucky quickly laces himself into his skates and is ready for the ice. "Are you ready Abby?"

Wide-eyed she watched the people on the rink, some doing spins in the middle, other speeding by and most just leisurely enjoying their holiday moment. Bucky holds his hand out to Abby, but she shakes her head waving him off, "No, tank you."

"What's the matter?"

She stays silent and chews her lip. "Maybe we can watch you skate around first. Does that sound good?"

"Uh huh. Lemme sees you do's it." Bucky winks at her and goes out onto the ice. As soon as his skates hit the ice, it's like a duck to water. He speeds off and Abby squeals and claps for him. You prop her on your hip and bring her closer to the barrier so she can watch him. Upon making his first lap, he speeds by blowing kisses to you and Abby. You love seeing Bucky this carefree and happy! It seems moments like this don't happen nearly enough for him. Abby squeals with joy and can't stop waving at him.

"He's so fast Mama! Like zoom!"

"With practice, you can be zooming with him."

She throws her head back and giggles, "No Mama! I can't go that fast."

"Then maybe we can start over there, on that end." You point to the far end of the rink where there's a section blocked off for beginners. There's about 7 children with the training frames skating about. "Want to give it a try?"

"Yous help? Pwomise you won't leave me?"

"I promise!"

"Ok, maybe a widdle bit." You give her a kiss and make you way down to the other end. Bucky catches up to you on the other side of the wall.

"Are you ready Abby?"

She nods, "Just for a widdle bit."

A big grin spreads across Bucky's face. He looks around before telling you, "Hand her over. I got her." You quickly pass Abby over the barrier into Bucky's arms. He grips Abby under her arms & skates away with her. You hear her laugh over the music. Even hunched over, Bucky zooms her pass the other skaters. At the next break in the barrier, you step out onto the ice. After a couple wobbles, it all comes back to you as well. You hurry to catch up to your man and baby.

"Oh Mama! You doing it! You so good!" Abby claps for you, too. Bucky slows down a little for you. After a few more laps, Abby is set to try it on her own. You stop off at the beginner section, giving them your ticket for a frame for Abby.

"Ok, all you have to do is hold on to the frame as you push off with your feet." Bucky hovers over her as she does a couple of laps back and forth, encouraging her all the way. You stand off to the side cheering her on.

One time she pushed off too quickly and her feet slipped out beneath her. She was going to take a spill, but with Bucky's quick reflexes, he grabbed the back of her jacket and she was left hovering over the ice.

"Whoa! I almost felled down!" Her big eyes meets yours.

"I saw! Bucky saved you."

After a couple more passes, she likes skating on the big rink with Bucky better so that's what you did until her nose was runny and her cheeks were bright pink.

"I think we should call it a day."

Shivering, "No, Mama. I wants to stay pwease." Grabbing napkins out of your pocket, you wipe her nose again."

"How about if we sit on the stands and watch the skaters & have hot cocoa? Does that sound better?"

"Hot cocoa? Okies, I'm done." Points Bucky in the direction of the door opening. "O'er dere pwease. I'm ready for hot chocolate."

Bucky takes a sip of his cocoa & looks down at Abby, sitting beside him doing her happy wiggle while drinking her chocolate. As a 19 year old kid from Brooklyn, never could be believe the life he would lead or the life that he has now. He found a beautiful and loving woman who completed every missing part of him. Made him feel whole. Who understood him better than anyone. And who has this amazing little girl that wrapped him around her fingers and hasn't let go of him from day 1.

@waywardhunter95 @rebeccapineapple @ordelixx @onceithough @thezombieprostitute @ilovetaquitosmmmm @julvrs @unaxv @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @winterslove1917 @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @mrsnikstan @hisredheadedgoddess28 @itsteambarnes @otterlycanadian @purplecolordeer @buckitostan @littleredwolf @mcucatlady @silas-aeiou @hzdhrtss @florie1 @thecubanator2 @enchantedbarnes @selella @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @cjand10 @pancake-05 @ozwriterchick @crazyunsexycool @baw1066 @nommingonfood @jvanilly

[moonlight-prose]

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 08. LOSING DOGS

a/n: i can't really explain why i took so long with this chapter. possibly because of how much i don't want this series to end and we're so close. but also it's just been hard to find the inspo as of late. but thanks to a movie day with @soulores where we yearned and screamed and laughed over this man, and well me rewatching the deadpool movies 1 & 2 for wade inspo i managed to finish this. it's been a ride delving into their angst and i hope you enjoy! we're one more chapter away from the ending and from this man's happy ending.

summary: time spent apart gives logan a chance to grieve - to mourn the family he lost. it gives you the opportunity to come to terms with what loving the wolverine means. the consequences that come with the choice of betting on someone like him. after all, he's not a violent dog...he just tends to bite harder than necessary.

word count: 7k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: not explicit, angst, grief, dual pov chapter sorta, wade wilson breaking the fourth wall, wade wilson therapist, laura kinney is here to stay everyone, crying, pain, emotional turmoil, ptsd, time.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

You don't sleep anymore.

This wasn't due to a lack of exhaustion—you were always tired—you simply couldn't bear to withstand the dreams longer than necessary. They filled your head with their brutality. Ripped apart your psyche in such a short time frame, only to leave you split open and bleeding for the buzzards and vultures to pick at. You were surprised Wade never commented on how you resembled a walking corpse day after day.

Walking amongst the living as your soul was claimed by the dead.

Nightmares quickly became your waking reality. A piece of what Logan left behind burrowed in your chest, settling further than you could ever reach. But that remained the horrid truth. You didn't want to get rid of it—you couldn't fathom the thought for longer than a few seconds. The remedies given by Wade, Laura, Ness, were all flimsy bandaids that you stripped off when they weren't looking—hoping that the darkness within would eventually consume you whole.

What existed in your mind—in the very depths of your heart—were all you had left of the man who disappeared without a trace.

Staring at the ceiling was easier. Tracing the cracks in the plaster, the worn in marks of people who lived here long before you ever would. You pretended that he lay beside you—his body inches away from reaching for you. In search of a slice of contentment to counteract the yawning grave that threatened to bury him alive. You could play along in this delusion, create a world of your own as your vision blurred.

Maybe if you wished hard enough...it would come true.

Eventually the need for sleep won, dropping shovel after shovel of dirt. Intent on burying you six feet under in a spot that was never meant for you. Memories played on a loop, a reminder of what could never be—a fate that had been mistakenly written in the stars— and you accepted it with a solemn heart that sang a long forgotten song.

One you never should have learned.

A creak echoed in the living room, your door left ajar in case you had to run. But the cadence of her footsteps had grown familiar to your weary ears. The drag of boots across hardwood, a shuffle here and there in her attempt to stay quiet. She hardly left your apartment anymore. Taking a spot on your couch like a guard dog you never asked to keep—a protector who took on the role her father was meant to fill.

Laura often fell asleep on the leather piece of furniture never meant to be utilized as a bed. You peeked your head out once to check if she needed anything, only to find her laying with her body faced closest to the door—a cracked picture frame of a much older version of your Logan placed on the table beside her. Her brows were furrowed, face pinched in fear, and for the first time you understood her relationship to the Wolverine.

She shared much more than his DNA.

She was plagued by his nightmares as well.

Your heart cracked a bit further at the knowledge that she might never have another night of peace in her life. Forever taunted by a past that should have been happy.

Sighing, you turned onto your side, staring at the neon glow of your alarm clock—a polaroid of Logan propped against the lamp. Wade took it months before you got the chance to meet the man who would drastically shift the course of your life. Two days ago you found it on your pillow—a chocolate bar beside it. Wade's attempt at making you smile.

Even if all it managed to do was make you cry.

Broken wet sobs that left your body wracked with shivers, your heart numb to each emotion that might have existed before he walked away. You'd gone over their explanations in your head numerous times. Mulled over each word and soft whisper of why. Yet nothing registered but the emptiness—the hollow ache that spilled over with grief.

No matter how often you patched it back up, he still managed to break his way back in. The reminder of his absence only served to split you down the middle—rendering you incapable of anything but pain.

"I miss him too."

Your body jolted at the soft sound of her voice practically filled to the brim with melancholy. She stood in your doorway, hands limp at her side, and for the first time you saw her as who she really was. A child who lost her father not once, but twice. Wordlessly you dragged the blankets back from his side of the bed, rolling to face her as she clambered onto the mattress still clad in jeans and a t-shirt.

You offered your own pajamas a week ago in the hopes of making her more comfortable. Only for her to reveal she slept in her clothes even at the mansion.

Just in case.

"What was he like? Your father." The topic of the older Logan rarely came up for you, his memory somehow entwined with the man you fell in love with. But Laura knew him best. She'd seen him at his worst, only to watch him become the father he was always meant to be. "You don't have to talk about him if you don't want to."

She sighed, shifting around as if to shed the layer of vulnerability that scratched at her. "Angry."

You smiled. "Always?"

"No," she breathed. This breached onto territory she wasn't used to, memories she never liked to look back on, but for some unknown reason...it made you smile. So she persisted in spite of the discomfort that gnawed at her stomach. "He took care of Charles for a long time before he found me. Or well before I found him. But he had a lot to be angry about."

"I imagine." And you could.

Humans were their own enemy at times, destroying all that was good in the world. After witnessing what Fortuna went through—where her path lay—you understood how people would rather villainize what they didn't understand. Logan faced it each day, the difference of being someone who slipped by unnoticed yet could never truly reveal himself.

A man that carried the grief of all he lost and persisted despite the pain.

"He would have liked you," Laura mumbled, her eyes growing heavy with sleep's desperate call.

"I don't think–"

"You're like Charles." Her eyes slipped shut, body sagging into the mattress, while you were stunned into silence. "That's why."

She fell silent before the words managed to sink deep into your mind—puncturing a spot of love that existed in spite of all this agony. A place that Logan claimed all to himself. Yet as you lay there, tracing the lines of his daughter's face with your eyes, you felt her memory merge with his. Creating a small corner of your world for her to reside in—a home in your heart.

Tucking the blanket around her shoulder, you met sleep's call with a pleased sigh. It gripped you tight, closing its arms around your steady beating heart. Unbeknownst to you as the clock struck two in the morning, a shard of your broken heart wedged itself back into place. Healing over with a jagged scar sewn together by the girl who longed for permanency in a world that offered her the bitter end of a short stick.

The girl who asked for her father and got a mother instead.

Burnt pancake batter filled your senses, burning the insides of your nostrils as you were roused from sleep to the sharp off key singing of Wade in your kitchen. The spot beside you was empty, the sheets cold, and with a ragged sigh you sat up. Rubbing the sleep from your bleary eyes. What slowly became your favorite part of the mornings—waking up beside a man who did everything he could to keep you between warm sheets—suddenly shifted into a horrid dream.

You were alone. Again.

The familiar prick of tears stung your eyes faster than you would have liked. Although that might have been the pancakes.

In sluggish movements, you dragged a flannel over your t-shirt to combat the frozen chill beginning to settle in the New York air. Fall was right around the corner, leaving you with a list of things to do before the apartment was back in working order. The window still sat unfixed—plastic taped over the gaping hole per Wade's instructions—and the radiator gave out after Fortuna's whip went through it.

"Just call me angel of the morning," Wade crooned, flipping another charred piece of bread onto a stack that began to lean four pancakes ago.

Laura watched it warily, her fingers gripped around a can of shitty soda you picked up for her two days ago. Coffee was offered as an alternative to her sugary habits; she offered to steal in case you were low on funds. You figured it was easier to appease than argue.

"Do you even know how to cook?" she muttered, taking another gulp.

"Such a ray of sunshine. It's like Logan is still here with us." Wade poured another glob of chunky batter onto your now ruined cast iron pan. "Tell me does that come from your genetics or is it a fancy power they gave you?"

She snorted, her claws coming free to stab at the pile and drag a pancake to her plate. "Genetics."

"I figured." He slid the syrup her way, the bowl in his other hand nearly tipping the batter onto the floor. "Use a fork, you alley cat. Housewives do not get paid enough to cook a fantastic meal and serve it too."

"You're not getting paid," Laura mumbled through a mouthful of food.

"Exactly." His head glanced towards the stove, eyes narrowed in mock irritation. "We should talk about that huh Feige."

A pancake slipped off the stack, hitting the counter with a heavy thud and you began to wonder if the bread was in fact what he said it was. Ever since you woke up in the mansion, Wade had been your chef morning noon and night. Each meal entirely came with  

Laura squinted at the smoke rapidly rising to the ceiling. "Maybe you should cook them for shorter periods of time."

"Don't question my methods, I'm a pancake champion Oliver." Her face scrunched, disgust flooding across her narrowed gaze. "Oliver and Company? Orange alley cat led and taught by the smooth dog Dodger?" She shook her head. "Greatest take on Oliver Twist to exist?"

"Never heard of it."

He dropped the bowl, jabbing a finger in her face quick enough to startle you where you hid by the doorway. "I hope you're ready to have your life changed Howlett Junior by the voice of Billy Joel taking away all our worries. Right sweet angel?"

Your attempt to meld yourself into the wall proved unsuccessful when Laura turned to smile at you, trepidation rising to the surface in her eyes. They watched you with an air of indecision. After Logan left you became a ticking time bomb—each second passing quicker than either of them expected—and one day when it was least expected...you'd explode.

Every emotion you tried to push down would shove its way to the front, rendering them unavoidable. That's what terrified you the most. It scared them too—you could see it hidden beneath looks of false joy and hopeful glances. They wanted you to heal, to survive this grueling time of solitude.

You simply didn't know if you had it in you to appease their worries.

Peeling away from the doorframe, you moved closer with soft unsure movements. So unlike the person from before who got over the unrelenting fear of being seen, of one day being known. He read you like a book, flipped the pages with enthusiasm and love, and you thought what resided in your own heart was enough to keep him reading. You believed he might put pen to paper and script what lay in the path of your lives spent together.

But he stopped reading weeks ago, shutting the half empty story to save you from the grief that devoured him from the inside out.

He let you remain unfinished. Perhaps that's how you were always meant to be.

"Tell me somewhere in that sexy mind of yours there's a version of Oliver and Company, cause I can't be surrounded by uncultured fiends," Wade rambled, tossing two pancakes onto a clean chipped plate he slid your way.

"I know of it," you replied. The meek echo of your voice sent a wave of shock through your system—so different, so unrecognizable.

You wanted to be known again, to exist in the confines of someone's mind. Wade and Laura offered up theirs on a silver platter—promising not to tarnish the fracture spirit housed in your weary body.

The burnt flavor of bread nearly made you gag, but Wade's smile forced you to swallow with a half hearted grin. "Isn't it a cartoon?"

Wade huffed. "And we’re comic book characters. What else is new?" Chewing happily on his own plate, he drowned his breakfast in a heaping wave of syrup that dripped onto your flour covered counter. "The offer to watch it today is on the table."

You swallowed thickly, nose wrinkled at the bitter flavor that stuck to the back of your throat. "Actually I'm gonna go into work today."

They froze. Unease stirring to life in the small kitchen as they regarded you with the hesitation you'd grown sick of facing. You couldn't be a recluse for the rest of your life, spending days watching movies on your couch with Wade—sharing quiet dinners with Laura at the table that housed a vase full of decaying flowers. Things wouldn't come to a halt because a man exited your life—they couldn't.

Logan left to heal.

It was time you did the same.

"I don't have much sick leave left," you began, the argument ready to leap off the tip of your tongue. "And my shift ends at six, which gives me enough time to pick up some actual dinner."

"Wolverine 2.0 goes with you," Wade replied—the stern lilt of his voice jarring you for a moment.

"Wade–"

"She goes."

There remained no room left to place your well thought out points in, no space for you to budge on his only demand. You supposed this was better than having both of them show up out of the blue. Your boss hardly let you get away with Logan showing up once or twice; two heroes would send them over the edge, eventually leading to your job being terminated.

You sighed, pushing the food around your plate for a second. "I guess she can learn something. Since she's supposed to be in school."

"You know I'm right here," she interjected, shoving the empty dish towards Wade.

"Hush. The adults are talking." He threw a wink your way, eyes glinting with a mischief that dimmed the day Logan left. The sight filled your lungs with air, hope settling at the base of your empty heart. "I'll pack the lunches."

Warmth filled the empty crevices of your body—sparking life into a part of you that had been vacant for weeks. "You don't have to."

"Shush. I've got to take care of my little breadwinner." He pinched your cheek hard enough to send pain flaring down your neck. "Besides I need to live up to my role as wifey or Ness will stop calling me that in bed."

Laura groaned, her eyes shutting to the sight of Wade's brash smile. "Gross."

"Ew," you replied, unable to hide the grin that cracked across your dried lips. "I didn't need to know that."

"Au contraire. If I had to hear you and Logan go at it for hours at a time. Kudos by the way it sounded like he gave phenomenal dick. You get to listen to me yap about my sex life."

Laura sped past you, vanishing into the bathroom and slamming the door shut with her boot. You couldn't blame her reaction. Hearing about her father's life drudged up pain that still existed in the back of her mind. Grief that she'd have to work through. Yet if she was anything like Logan, you'd have to face your own broken trauma in order for her to finally face hers.

"Yap?" you inquired, desperate to move on from the topic of him.

"Yeah. It's what all my fellow Gen Z’ers are saying."

With brows furrowed, you bit back the swell of laughter that bubbled up your throat. "Wade you're older than me by–"

His hand clapped over your mouth, muffling the remainder of your sentence. "Shhhh." A quick glance was thrown to the side. "Last I checked this is the Logan show. Not the Wade show. Well...not yet anyways."

"Hey Wade," you mumbled beneath a scarred palm that gripped your cheeks together. "Thank you."

For the first time all week...Wade gave you a smile that finally reached his eyes. Irises plagued with the same flicker of sadness that weighed heavy in your heart. The feeling of loss within a found family—of things changing faster than you could process. In an instant you were back to square one, struggling to keep your head above water.

Only this time you weren't swimming these dark waters alone. This time Wade and Laura clung to you, dragging what remained to a shore of a different color. A life yet to be explored.

"Anytime angel," he whispered with a kiss to your temple—drawing you close enough to feel his heart beneath the thin t-shirt. An organ that beat for one more person, that carved out space for his small inkling of hope.

For the family made up of two mutants, a blind woman, a sugar bear, the love of his life, and you.

The clatter of keychains echoed past the empty rows of shelves, bouncing off high ceilings decorated with yellowed lights. You caught sight of a small X-Men insignia stitched onto the side of the faded gray backpack. The stitches were frayed, the initials of L. K. H. placed right above it in sloppy angled sharpie, but the sight explained enough. Her entire life was stored within these aged pockets, in a pack held closed by a broken zipper and some faith.

"I like the Deadpool one." You watched her gloved hands toy with it for a moment, eyes glancing down the rows of darkened shelves every few moments.

Even here in the midst of silence and history, she remained on guard.

You wanted to promise a sliver of peace beyond all that she went through—a place where nothing happened except the shuffle of books and moving of boxes. Only to realize that you'd never be able to tell her something so untrue.

She'd never be entirely safe again. That made you want to rip at the world until your hands went bloody and raw. Until there remained a guarantee that she'd be able to sleep at night, that when her father came home things would be different.

"Peter made it." She picked at the black polish on her nails—the bottle swiped off your vanity a week ago in the hopes you wouldn't go looking for it. "Said a member of X-Force should have the marker."

"Didn't...they all die?"

"Yeah. So it's more of a warning I guess?" She grinned, wide and bright and so carefree it tugged sharply at your heart.

You placed another stack on the cart, fiddling with the order. If you kept yourself busy you could stop thinking about him. You could shove each memory and shared moment of bliss to the back of your mind. This was your chance to find a small semblance of normalcy after so much damage, a change in the rapidly shifting path of your life. You used to enjoy shelving pieces of history—find contentment in the familiar pattern of routine.

Now his eyes haunted your mind. His touch was a ghost along the back of your neck. His smile was reflected to you in the face of his daughter—the crinkles around her eyes an exact copy of his.

You were doomed to repeat history, destined to break as Fortuna did with a shattered heart and the hope that one day he might come home and find you. He'd open the apartment door set in place by his calloused hands and find you right where he left you—waiting as time stopped and dust gathered and your heart called for a man lost in time.

"I've got to shelve these," you said, voice thick with unshed tears you swallowed down. "But feel free to pick a book okay?"

She nodded, dragging a small journal out of her pack—a chewed up pen with it. "Wade gave me your lunch."

"I'll come find you in an hour?"

"I'm not going anywhere." The words were said more for your benefit than hers—a way to appease the constant flicker of unease in your mind. Perhaps this is what she lived with her whole life. The pain of yearning for someone to come back to her, to stay.

You'd be that person.

You would stay.

Smiling one last time, you pushed the cart into a row sparse with books—the light clicking on above your head as your footsteps echoed off the wooden floor. Your boss texted you quick instructions before she took the upstairs shift, the piles left behind for you to sort through. It seemed that classes were back in session, each book taken out regarding some form of historical information on New York.

Your eyes caught the titles while you worked. Sliding books into their proper spot and discarding the paper slotted in as a placeholder. It became a mindless task. A job of familiarity that your muscles immediately recognized—your arms moving of their own volition. Giving free reign to your mind that turned over information at a rapid rate.

What happens now? What would life turn into?

Now that you were back in a place that held so much of your soul you found that fitting back into the mold felt wrong. You were a human who got caught up in the affairs of mutants. It had happened before to others like you, it would certainly happen again. Yet you weren't sure you could handle the pain of being tossed into the ring with no means of protection again.

Your heart barely survived the first time.

To do it again would mean signing your name along death's dotted line. Only this time the pact would be sealed with your own blood.

A tilted stack of books slid onto their sides, grabbing hold of your attention quicker than expected. You slammed a hand against them with the hopes of saving yourself from extra work. Only for the one in your other hand to slip, hitting the cart with a thud and shoving it a foot away. Your mind went into overdrive—the noise of metal clanging against the tall shelves reverting into the all too familiar crack of a whip.

You gasped, leaping back as if the pile burned right down to your bone—the books toppling to the ground in rapid succession. A domino effect that would leave you crouching for a good twenty minutes to put everything back in its rightful spot.

"No," you exclaimed, your voice unwavering amidst the anxiety that filled your stomach.

Something ripped at the base of your spine, crackling through your body like a livewire. It pulled at every nerve, every tendon and muscle, until you were positive this was more than an overwhelming amount of stress. Your vision went black, a glare of light flashing behind closed eyelids, as the world went still and time rolled to a deathly halt.

Blue washed off your stiff form in rolling waves, curling around your stretched arms and down to the fingers that nearly curled around a book held in midair. A rush of cold air flooded your lungs, expanding them in your chest with a strength you'd never experienced before. As if the missing piece within your DNA finally settled into place—a spot always meant to hold something else.

A power that flared to life with a burning wave of heat.

It welcomed you like a long lost friend. Burrowed into the broken parts of your chest with a promise to put you back together. Time trickled by as your heart started up again—beating slowly against your ribs. Surging past each part of you that intertwined with this newfound link.

You sucked in another breath, eyes fluttering open with a flash of cerulean to see Laura struggling along the bookcase. Her face screwed up in pain, claws buried in the wooden shelves to drag herself forward. She moved an inch at a time, her cry unable to fill the vacant air as she struggled to rip you from the power that fractured your mind.

Such an inconceivable topic: time. Centuries prickled across your skin, millenniums made a home along each bone that grinded to a stop, decades offered you a life that might have ended at the age of eighty.

Infinity. Immortality. An end that rivaled Death.

Oh...what bliss.

"Yes," you relented. An answer to the question that would never be said aloud.

Another pulse of energy flowed off your shoulders, spilling across empty shelves—rattling the boxes that began to topple to the floor. If you weren't careful you'd bring destruction to a building that became your second home. But the consciousness you relied on was suddenly nowhere to be found.

"Stop!" Laura's voice struck you across the face, punching into your chest with enough blistering pain to wake up your mind to what was happening within you.

Slamming your hands against the shelves that stood on either side of you, the light of blue sputtered out, dying quick enough for you to get a hold of your body. Time fell back into place, the books you nearly dropped crashed to the floor with a loud clatter of thuds, and you collapsed. Your knees hit the floor harshly, pain coursing up your legs. Yet you could barely keep your eyes open.

"Laura," you wheezed, body sagging against the shelf.

She collapsed beside you, gathering your hands into a vice-like hold. "What happened? What the fuck was that?"

"Fortuna..."

"Is she alive? Is she here?" Her head raised, eyes scanning the vacant area for signs of your variant self.

"She–" Your vision swirled with spots of black, your head fuzzy with the prick of power that wanted to consume you. "I–"

"We gotta get you home," she muttered, shifting her strength to lift you to your feet—body braced heavily on her as she walked. "I'm calling a cab. Stay with me okay? Just stay awake."

The distant ring of her phone echoed in the background as she dragged you with her, a familiar muffled voice coming through the small speaker. Wade. You wanted to speak to him. Ask him what just happened. But only one person would hold the answers—only one person would make you feel alive again. You sucked in a shaky breath, hot tears spilling down your cheeks. The image of him—his smile, his love—filling your broken mind.

"I'm taking her home," Laura muttered into the line.

Her voice became a buzz in your ears. Sharp and unrelenting and inescapable. Your vision went dark, mind succumbing to the painful twisting of your gut—the need to be anywhere else overtaking every other thought. Laura called your name, shook your shoulders, but the world faded away before you could reach out and grasp it; your body sinking beneath the depths, drowning in the soothing waves of time.

“How did you sleep?”

“No nightmares.”

“Are you lying to me Howlett?”

“I’m not lying,” he confessed. “I didn’t really dream of anythin’ this time around.”

Your own laughter pricked at your ears. “Don’t tell me. It was because of me.”

“I think it might be bub.” His touch ghosted across your skin—breath a wash of hot air against your skin. “Guess you’re my cure. Been lookin’ for awhile.”

"Logan," you murmured, eyes fluttering open.

His smile lit up the darkness in your chest—eyes crinkled and lips parted in a sigh of love. "Yeah bub?"

"Y-You're here..."

A hand curled around the back of your neck, drawing you in close enough to make the steady beat of your heart flutter. "Where else would I be honey? I woke up with ya."

"But you've been gone." Your brows furrowed, the haze in your thoughts blocking anything other than him. "I was with Laura–"

He stilled. "Laura?"

"She was helping me," you mumbled, attempting to force your eyes to stay open. "At the library."

"You're just dreamin'," he chuckled.

"But I'm not–"

Lips that haunted you in your sleep brushed across the bridge of your nose—his fingers scratching at the base of your scalp with a hum. "You haven't met her yet honey. How could you be with her at the library?"

You wrenched your eyes open, clutching at the covers that lay over your bodies in an iron grip. "Fortuna–"

Logan's body went still, his head rearing back to stare at you in abject horror. "How do you know her name?" he rasped. "I never told you..."

"What are you talking about?" The buzzing filled each sense, each part of your already numb body. "Wait. No. I need more time," you begged, tears rushing to the surface.

His face blurred, your name a distant call on the tip of his tongue as the waves crashed over your body. Dragging you back to a shore meant for you. Darkness swallowed you whole in an instant. Until you could barely catch your breath—the speed of time rushing to a quick stop. Within the hold of darkness, the drifting peace of nothingness, you heard it.

The vibrant sapphire call of a woman you believed to be the enemy.

“Do better than me."

"Love him the way I couldn't.

You gasped, thrashing against the vice hold that wrenched you apart. The voice whispered soothingly in your ear, a warm compression against a heart that longed for more than this unfathomable excruciating ache.

She drew you to your feet, hands clasped around your wrists, and helped you stagger to the ocean's edge. She faced you with a mirrored smile that faded weeks ago—her eyes bright and flickering with peace.

"Do what I couldn't." Thumbs pressed into the base of your wrist. "Protect them. All of them."

A thick sob ripped from your chest—eyes blurry with tears that refused to stop. "How? I-I shouldn't be this."

"It was always meant to be you. Not me."

"W-What?"

"When Death asks for your hand. Take it. She will lead you home." The scathing brightness of sunlight burned your closed eyelids, pushing you towards something familiar. A place you knew would protect you. "Until then. Show them that time was never the enemy. We're simply their companion."

"Fortuna!" you cried, the form of her slowly dissipating back into the realm of darkness not yet meant for you. "I can't do this! I'm not supposed to be this!"

"Tell him I'm sorry."

Hands grasped at your shoulders. The cold press of metal against the bare skin of your arms jolted you awake—lungs expanding with air that felt like home. The floral scent of your laundry soap filled your nose, the warmth of your bed dragged along your body, and the brush of hair on your neck drew you back to the present. Your eyes fluttered open, chest heaving for any amount of air you could draw in.

"Laura?"

She sighed, dropping the hold she had on your shoulders. "You did it again."

"Did it again?"

"Looks like someone got jealous of all these special powers around her," Wade teased from the doorway of your room—a glass of water in his hand.

"What?" you croaked, suddenly aware of how raw your throat was.

He huffed, settling on the side of your bed. "You've got a bad case of the McFlys. Traveling to and fro in the timeline. Don't think the big guy upstairs will like that very much."

"God?"

"Victor."

You choked. "Who?"

"Or maybe it's Loki," he huffed. "I get that show's timeline confused. Anyways up you go. Drink this. Nurse Wade's orders."

With reluctance you downed the glass of water, Laura's watchful gaze burning into your from the chair. They moved with hesitation brimming to the surface of their eyes—a glaze of uncertainty prominent in each shift of their bodies. They were scared. Whether it was due to what you were turning into or what you could become. You couldn't be certain at this time, but the fear still lingered in the air.

Thick and bitter and so unlike the two mutants who'd become your family in the past few weeks.

"What's happening to me?" you whispered, Wade's hand reaching for yours with a placating grin.

"I've got one guess and it's dredging up memories of that fucker Francis, but dormant mutant gene." The panic in your eyes had him reaching for your other hand. "Hey look at me angel okay? I know how to handle this."

You shook your head, that unsettling twist in your gut rising to the surface. "I'm not...No. That's not possible. I would have..." You hiccuped, oxygen becoming harder to reach for as his words began to settle along your skin. "I would have known," you whispered.

"I didn't." He drew you close enough for his nose to brush your forehead. "That little surprise landed in my lap like a bad case of chlamydia. It's rare, but it happens."

"Why me?" you uttered, unable to process anything other than Laura's sharp gaze."

He sighed. "We don't get to pick and choose. Something must have triggered it."

Fortuna's hold on your jaw, the rocks scattered along the dirt digging into your back. It all came back to you. Her final words bleeding with an act of sacrifice—a promise to gift you with the curse she was unable to handle. Do better than her. Protect them better than her. Wield the ebbing and flowing of time better than her.

She awoke a part of you that had yet to come to life. A dormant section of your DNA that might have forever gone unnoticed if her powers hadn't unlocked it. She gave you everything, dropped the burden on your shoulders, because she knew something you didn't at the time.

You had people—a family, a lover—to keep you stable.

You had the one thing she couldn't save.

"It was always meant to be you. Not me."

Laura sat up, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "It's time."

Wade glanced over his shoulder. "We don't know where he is Oliver."

She sneered, digging out the small phone from her vest pocket. "I do. I gave him the keys."

"Call who?" you rasped, barely able to process that you were back home somehow.

Until her eyes met yours and drew you back to the surface with a name that burned right through your heart. "Logan."

The sharp thwack of an axe against wood filled the still air. Mist clung to the area, settling over his shoulders with a wet layer of frigid condensation. He felt it weigh in his hair, sink into his flannel, and send a wave of cold familiarity through his body. A place he never thought could exist in a different universe somehow stood the test of time. The Logan that came before was somehow more like his variant self than expected.

He sighed, wiping the sweat from his forehead—the split open skin of his palms healing over before he could get a glimpse of them. The axe remained lodged into a mangled tree stump. Slivers and pieces of all that he chopped scattered in the clearing. He'd have to pick them up eventually, but he chose to stick with the same motion.

A piece of muscle memory he'd grown used to.

The sun began its descent beneath the thicket of trees, nightfall coming once more to a home occupied by a single person. Merely him and the stack of unread books left behind by a man who shared his taste. He yanked the flannel off his body, tossing it to the chair on his small porch, setting another log into place with a breath.

"Fuck," he muttered, cracking his neck slightly.

A mug of cold coffee sat discarded on the small table he constructed two weeks ago. A means to an end. A way to keep his racing mind busy from the pain that echoed like a bad dream in his head. He'd forgone the whiskey bottles stored in the liquor cabinet, opting for the bitter tang of the wine you preferred with your dinner.

The image of your smile kept him awake most nights. The sound of your laughter playing on a loop like a scratched record he clung to. This was his salvation. Your memory, your joy. It kept him going on days where the horrors threatened to drag him beneath the surface of the Earth.

He dug his grave long before he met you. Whether or not he crawled into it relied on one simple fact.

Though he dragged you through hell—became the cause of so much suffering within your life—you still loved him. You were waiting for him to come home.

"Desperado," he hummed, yanking the axe out of the splintered wood. "Why don't you come to your senses."

Discarding the tool to the side, he gathered what wood might be needed for a small fire. It wouldn't have any effect on whether he stayed warm or not, but it would put him at ease after such a grueling task. Tomorrow he'd go back to work at the yard—his measly paycheck enough to keep him fed with meals cooked in solitude.

He tossed them beside his fireplace, wiping the dirt and mud from his hands with the damp flannel. Life shifted the second Laura handed him the keys to this house on the edge of nowhere. Back to a routine he once knew so well. To a life that once offered him the facade of peace. He might have deluded himself into thinking it would happen again—that he'd get the chance to breathe again.

But your memory clung to his soul. You refused to release him from the spell of your love.

Fortuna's memory remained at the back of his mind like a long lost friend—someone who once offered him a future filled to the brim with hope. And then there was you. His honey. His lover till death. You were the reason he kept himself breathing, the reason his heart continued to thrum in his chest.

You were his savior, guiding him through the grief with a warm smile and a kiss of life.

The shrill ring of his phone broke the haze of memories he found himself in. Dropping into the chair beside his bed, he unlaced his boots—yanking the device out of the drawer on his dresser. He rarely needed it anymore. The contact he had with the rest of the world now whittled down to the people he worked with and the cashier at the small market.

With a sigh, he flipped it open in the hopes it was Wade calling to finally bug him about returning. It wouldn't be unusual. Weeks went by sluggishly, dripping like honey from the jar as he attempted to fix the broken parts of his heart.

Leaving without saying goodbye is what hurt the most. His silent kiss pressed to your cold forehead, his lingering gaze that did what he could to burn your features into his mind. He wanted you with him. Here in this small home. He wanted to hear your laughter fill up the empty spaces, the warmth of your love shining in the air with a palpable physicality that stole his breath away.

Logan ached for you.

But you didn't deserve a man riddled with demons. Certainly not the version of himself that left you behind.

Laura's name flashing across the screen set that familiar unease back in his stomach. The terror that something happened again—something brought you pain when he wasn't there to protect you—filled the crevices of his heart. And with a shaky breath, he answered.

"Laura."

She interrupted him before empty pleasantries could rise to the surface. "You need to come home."

He swallowed thickly. "What happened?"

"I can't explain over the phone, but it's bad. She's not gonna cope without you here."

"What the fuck do you mean cope?" he bit out, his eyes flashing to the small framed image of you that sat proudly on his nightstand. "Is she hurt?"

"No."

He sucked in a breath, relief washing over his shoulders. "Is she okay?"

Laura hesitated. "She's...broken." The word struck him with a visceral anger—an emotion that nearly caught him off guard. "She needs you here Dad. Wade and I can only do so much and if I knew she was dormant I could have helped sooner."

Dormant.

He stiffened, fingers tightening around the phone hard enough for it to crack. "What do you mean by dormant?"

Laura sucked in a breath. "She's..." A beat of silence filled his chest with a fear he never knew could exist in this universe. "She's like us, Dad. She's like her."

Like her.

The world shifted on its axis as he sat there listening to Laura's shaky attempts to explain what occurred. How you needed him this time around. His heart rammed an unsteady beat in the confines of his chest. An echo that rang with a crippling hollow promise of loneliness. Only this time it didn't scream for him—it raged for the person he loved.

The person he left behind.

"Send her here," he said. And before his mind could comprehend the words spilling past his lips, he made a vow he failed to keep—a promise he'd fulfill until his final breath. "I'll keep her safe."

note: this is incredibly late than what i originally planned, but life has been chaotic. and to everyone in the us who are struggling, i hope you take care of yourself this week. we got this and i love you.

[demaparbat-hp]

Hiya!! 👋🏼😄 How's it going? Your fashion taste for Zuko in a Modern AU seems to be artsy, or maybe "formal" is the word. That shirt he wore when he gave Sokka romantic song advice looked Versace🧐. Anyway, I was wondering how you came up with it, he always struck me more as the type that didn´t care much about fashion, so I'm curious about other´s opinions and heacanons about it. And do you have any other fashion headcanons for the rest of the GAang? Also, their music tastes. How did you come up with them? Especially Katara's! 😍

Hello! As it happens, I have a lot of Thoughts and Feelings™ about this, so I'm leaving these over here, and the rest of my ramblings down below the cut!

Let us begin with the Gaang, shall we?

SUKI always struck me as that Pretty Girl from the Gym. She is so incredibly fit it isn't even funny. She could kick anyone's ass, and we'd all thank her. She has this casual gym style that somehow always looks glorious on her, as it should! Comfy yet fashionable clothes for a nice workout or a day in town.

Her music tastes are basically any and all power songs from the eighties and nineties. (Eye of the Tiger, anyone?) She also enjoys metal via Toph, and bands like BSB, NSYNC, or Boyz II Men with Katara. My girl has a very eclectic Playlist and we all love her for it.

SOKKA is That Guy™. Loose T-shirts and shorts everywhere he goes, no matter the weather. He's stupidly into fashion but it doesn't show! At all! And everyone teases him about it. His closet is about 90% Cactus Juice merchandise, hence the "it's the quenchiest!" shirt.

His fashion and music tastes are pretty much the same. He loves poetry but isn't really into lyrics. He'll misinterpret just about anything you place in front of him. His Playlist is mostly vibes and tiktok songs he kind of enjoys. He isn't really into music...at least not as much as his sister.

AANG owns exactly one hoodie, one pair of shorts, and one beanie (THE beanie). Oh, and the crocs—don't forget the crocs. Somehow, he's always wearing the exact same outfit. Every. Single. Day. Ancient Gaang lore suggests that the day Aang goes out without his beanie, it's the end of the world.

His Playlist is the poppiest, most bizarre thing ever. Every single song is Happy by Pharrell Williams levels of happy. Yet sometimes, among the bouncy dance-to songs, you'll find the strangest of things... (He does know what Good Day by Twenty One Pilots is about. That's the reason he likes it so much, actually. And it's so weird.)

KATARA is all about sundresses and loose pants. The epitome of comfortable loveliness. Light fabrics in blue shades, careful embroidery, delicate shoes, and little to no accessories—hers is a simple, yet quite adorable, style. She just needs to add more colors to her usual palette...

She is, first and foremost, a Florence + The Machine girl. It's the Dark Goddess of the Sea vibes, to be honest. Florence Welch is her idol and yes, she will fight you about lyrics interpretation, and win. It may not seem like it, but her music tastes are also very varied.

She draws a little from each member of the Gaang, so you'll hear her humming along to Gorillaz (where did you even find out about them, Aang?), The Weeknd (I...don't think this song means what you think it means, Sokka...), and Hozier (Zuko why did you dedicate Talk to me, Zuko WHAT DID YOU MEAN BY THAT).

TOPH...ah, lovely girl. I'll summarise everything about Toph’s fashion sense in two words: comfort and rebellion. Stuffy dresses forced on her by billionaire parents? No thank you! Give her tank tops with loose shirts and short pants. Bandaids shared with Aang, bracelets from Katara, and even piercings she got in tandem with Sokka. Shoes? What even is that?

Something I love about this fandom is our collective agreement that Toph is into the dirtiest, heaviest, most ear-splitting and soul-crushing death metal of all times. Her Playlist is full of the most obscure names to ever exist, and she can and will blast through your walls with the sheer volume of her speaker.

Zuko. ZUKO.

Even in a modern AU my boy must suffer. That being said, I envision Tales from the Couch as—well, exactly what it is: an ATLA modern AU. While there is not a war to fight, and a lot of plot lines are discarded or expanded upon, much about the core story remains the same.

This is my way of saying that Zuko still goes trough his redemption arc, and it reflects on his fashion choices.

The way you described it works perfectly because of one single reason: in this AU, Zuko is an artist. He had to suppress his love for writing and drawing because of his background and the expectations Ozai had for him (taking over the family company), and a very large part of his redemption arc directly affects his relationship with art.

In the Couch equivalent of S1, Zuko has fallen out of Ozai's graces, and is desperate to protect his place in the company and the Kasai household. He's pretending to be someone he isn't and trying to live up to his Father's image of a perfect heir while still being somewhat cut-off financially, and it shows.

He's all about imposing long coats and a semi-formal style, imitating what he knows Azula and Father would respect. He's striking and sharp and dark. But no matter how he dresses or carries himself (that air of cold superiority and arrogance)—it won't help him when he needs it the most.

In S2, Zuko has hit his lowest point. He's officially disinherited and tossed away by his father, and would be out in the streets if it wasn't for Uncle Iroh. He goes from sharp, high-tailored outfits to old second-hand clothes that hang loosely on his frame. He starts smoking and cuts his hair off, forgoing the undercut for the first time in years.

But then...Father accepts him back. When Zuko returns home, it's with respect to his name and a very high position in his father's company. He's finally the perfect Kasai heir, dressed in overly expensive suits and finery, even at home... But Father forbids him from wearing Lu Ten's earring, and Zuko can no longer recognize himself without the familiar glint of gold dancing on his peripheral vision.

When Zuko leaves the Kasai name behind him and goes back to living with Uncle Iroh...he's finally at peace with who he is, and what he wants in this life. The sharp edges aren't gone (they'll always be a part of him, after all), but now they're dulled by looser clothes and softer hairstyles.

He's an artist, and for once in his life, he is determined to pursue his own ambitions. Zuko's outfits may not be designer-made anymore, but he takes what he has and makes himself look like he wants to look, like the person he wants to be.

He doesn't read fashion magazines or keeps up to the latest trends like Azula does. He's just...Zuko. And his newfound confidence makes everything he wears look like it belongs on him.

As for music...well, Ursa raised a literature boy.

He loves lyric-heavy music and natural voices, be they soothing or powerful. Dissecting song meanings and possible interpretations with Katara is one of his favorite parts of the day. They're both very passionate and strong-minded individuals, so it stands to reason that their debates can get quite...heated.

Zuko's Playlist is both incredibly eclectic and somehow very...him. There's a common thread that binds together every song and artist he likes, and he's hilariously unaware of this. To take a look into his Playlist is a higher honor reserved only for those closest to him.

In the wide spectrum of things, it is no wonder that Zuko is, first and foremost, a Hozier man. But though Andrew is his God in all aspects of this life, there's someone else that has had a huge impact on him...

Two someones, actually.

Zuko refuses to tell anyone how he got into Twenty One Pilots, but it's kind of a moot point when the beginning of his obsession is nothing compared to everything that came after. They have just about the right amount of everything that makes Zuko...well, Zuko. The poetic lyrics, the soothing or raging music, the heavy, intensely resonant themes...

Up there, in the second artwork, I placed an album cover behind each period of Zuko's life. The election of these records is intentional, as I feel like their general themes work incredibly well with Zuko's arc and growth.

Blurryface in S1. For the demons within us. For giving a name to our fears and shame.

Trench in S2. For escaping the confined walls of a depression city, and fighting to understand the depths of the map of your mind.

Scaled and Icy in the first half of S3. For returning to places you had left behind. For convincing yourself and everyone around you that you're fine, that you're perfect, even though everything is crumbling inside...

Clancy in S3. For recognizing that you can backslide, that you can have fears and shame and pain—but you're shaping yourself with each step you take. For knowing that seeking help from others is okay. Nobody learns to walk on their own.

(And, in the end, you'll always be better than the person you were yesterday. If only because you're still here. You're still alive. You're still yourself.)

.

Overall, I rambled a bit too much, don't you think?

If you made it all the way down here—thank you so much for reaching out and being interested in this crazy AU! I hope you enjoy these ideas and tell me some of your own ❤️

[lemotmo]

Ok I need your and Ali’s thoughts on some of these Ryan interviews because like I fully get not spoiling things. I do.

But I’m confused how even with that in mind we’ve suddenly gone from gender neutral terms and whatnot to being back in brother and heterosexual and maybe another girlfriend for Eddie hell.

Like there’s not spoiling stuff and then there’s just absolutely crushing out any future hope. And the massive massive course correction by Ryan seems like over kill if it’s just to not spoil things.

Actually...

When I watched the episode earlier, I immediately checked if Ali had contacted me about it and these were her words:

"Even the jurno who did the interview didn't believe it when he said it. And all the jurnos pretty much agreed the last scene kind of felt like a beginning of some kind.

I do think they're going the slow burn route. It kind of sounds like Buck's going to get to have a little bit of single fun while Eddie continues to do his thing."

The journalists themselves are telling people that actors and showrunners lie as to not to spoil the story. This has happened plenty of times on 911 and many other shows for that matter.

The fact that Ryan used gender neutral terms at the end of season 7 might have had to do with the fact that he had no idea how fast his story was going to evolve. I think him and Oliver have finally got a timeline now of when all of this is going to go down.

If this is going the slow burn route, which is highly likely, they need to talk about where their characters are NOW. Not where they are going to be within 8 episodes.

And right now Buck has been broken up with and is single, so he might explore that. Mind you, we don't know if this is true. Just because Oliver would like that, doesn't mean it will happen.

Right now Eddie is finally ready to move on and explore himself. We'll have to wait and see how that manifests itself. But in Eddie's mind, Buck is his best friend right now, nothing more. He can't see it yet.

There is literally no other way for this story to go anymore. Buck's last love interest broke up with him. So he'll be left alone again. Eddie is still single as well, on the road to self-discovery. The show won't have them end up alone like this. It wouldn't make sense in their narratives, since all they've been doing is looking for happiness in the wrong places. They need to realise that happiness has been right there all along. It's been staring them in the face for years now. And they'll get it eventually, but it'll take them some time to get there.

Look... I know that I won't be able to convince everyone of all of this, but I am fully convinced at this point.

The Buddie storyline 'officially' launched last night during that last scene. 🤷‍♀️

[zhuoyichenpretty]

Ep 22-23 Commentary

Ha...I was inexplicably nervous for eps 22-23 and it looks like I was right to be (-: What a rollercoaster. Spoilers below!

I've just come out of ep 23 and uh????? holy shit????? ZYC????

Ok ok but to backtrack, let's do my comments semi-chronologically:

Ep 22:

A carry-over from ep 21 that I have to mention—heck yeah PSJ give WZY hell. She doesn't have all that many lines but she sure knows how to make them count. Also seeing PSJ and WX get screen time just the two of them makes my brain go "yay <3"

Back to ep 22, loved the fake-out sundial ayeee that was a nice Chekhov's gun that also brings the real sundial back into relevance for later. Also me eating up the PSJ and ZYC crumb of an interaction has brought to my attention how starved I am of their screen time together.

This whole ep was a great lament towards the feared inevitable. Every sad downcast look from ZYC, every complicated glance WX gives him. A wonderful, terrible crossroads for these characters. I love that for ZYC especially, it's such an incredible mess of emotion coming to a head. Bad enough that he's come to care about the demon who killed his family and ruined his life, bad enough that he's sworn a blood oath he regrets and tied himself to punishing someone he no longer finds culpable, bad enough that ZYZ's life or death depends solely on his choice and ZYZ is constantly practically begging for death when ZYC wants him to live. How much immensely worse it makes the whole situation that WX is literally ZYZ's soulmate. And obviously the whole team has only grown more and more attached to ZYZ, too. ZYC's personal turmoil aside, how heavy must that responsibility and guilt be? For the finishing blow that only he can deliver to also deeply threaten every other person he cares about? Everyone understands in the abstract what must happen and why, but just like seeing ZYZ lose control firsthand, the gulf between understanding and experiencing is so unimaginably wide. If he kills ZYZ, can there really be no resentment from his friends? From WX?

Also it seems ZYC only wears cloaks so that he can give them to other people lmao

Ah fuck, the farewell drinks. I didn't even factor in how ZYC might not survive the encounter (''': The drama truly was like hm can we possibly give ZYC a worse day than that night his whole fam died? Maybe give him a bunch of new family members and also the blade and the fate and the sole responsibility to potentially irrevocably scar said family members with? And he might die in the process too? (-: haha maybe? (((-:

Oh. Oh. Addendum. I forgot this til I saw it mentioned in another post—ZYC recounting his oath as he watched WX smile when they discussed reviving the tree...I could feel him weighing those words against his own life, against ZYZ's life, against WX's happiness. One way out of this impossible situation is indeed to doom himself. I'm in pieces.

Damn if WX isn't dedicated heart and soul, going into the sundial like that. I'm sad no one could keep her company for those 300 years but also I guess that's kind of an impossible ask (and maybe not survivable for the other non-goddess mortals? I'm admittedly very unclear on sundial time loophole logistics). It would have been nice to see someone offer though, even just to be turned down.

Ooh I like the soul needle fake-out, given this show's penchant for retroactive "actually we had a plan all along" moments. A good subversion of the narrative's own style.

Also I saved this for the end because it doesn't really fit the linearity of my comments but what the fuuuuuuuck oh my god I absolutely flipped out at this scene:

I am at once rabidly intrigued and at the same time not sure if I'll be satisfied with whatever payoff will come for this so I don't want to overindulge in theorizing and setting my own expectations too high. Maybe this is just a fevered hallucination, maybe it means nothing (I hope it means something). But damn!!! What a gorgeous man crazy scene.

In conclusion, ep 22 had some good stuff for me. Plot development and reflection and tension enough that I may have been satisfied with just that one episode. But they gave us two, so onward to ep 23 comments!

Ep 23:

I like how many solid reasons the team has to suspect ZYC being possessed. Even though I withheld judgment during my watch given how quickly the show usually confirms that kind of stuff with a possession mark, just simply casting that doubt made the whole build up that much more intense.

ZYC slowly walking down the corridor with the whole grounds lit a somber and haunting gold—*chef's kiss*

ZYC's monologue to a catatonic ZYZ is so important to me. The closest we'll get to his internal monologue about this whole situation. The kinds of things said when we think there's no conscious listener.

Okay so, having finished this episode and looking back, Li Lun's hands coming up from behind ZYC was not to denote possession (at least in this episode), potentially is a visual from ZYZ's POV, and seems related to the above screencap. I am so, so curious. Once again, I'm stopping myself from further speculation because I want to be surprised but ahhhhhhhhh

PSJ shooting at Ao Yin is so gorgeous. Her action scenes seriously never disappoint—the creativity of her fight choreos!! Also very cool that the whole team is getting to take part in the action, not just the two male leads.

Bai Jiu possession was not on my bingo card but I sure do love that we literally saw the possession take place and I still didn't connect the dots. Good shitttt. Also oh no ): ZYC was telling the truth about the soul needle, he was just tricked ):

Seriously from the Ao Yin case to getting PSJ released to reviving the Divine Wood to getting tricked by possessed!Bai Jiu to making pear soup to fighting ZYZ to fighting Li Lun—when will ZYC get a single goddamn vacation day holy shit.

Also when will WX tear up that contract so ZYZ can stop having a mild heart attack every time he wants to kiss her ): &I love that they saved the 300-year montage for this moment. While their ship doesn't give me brainrot personally, who could be unmoved by that incredible and undisclosed sacrifice? That's soulmatism.

Okay, I'd seen clips of them filming the ZYC and Li Lun fight but damn I did not expect it'd be happening right now!! Right after already taking damage from ZYZ? And my god is Li Lun brutal. The two actors did such an impressive job on this entire fight, what with Li Lun's ease and ZYC's suffering. I really appreciated the extensive hand-to-hand combat after Li Lun literally obliterated ZYC's sword. (Also though, given the origin of that sword, I kept hoping for a flashback to ZYC's brother once it broke, but alas, no dice.) Anyway, the show does not play around about ZYC whump it seems. I was very very shook by that throat punch; that shit legitimately looked like it hurt.

Honestly, I had a hard time with the extended ZYZ and Li Lun conversation at the very end because oh my god someone please heal ZYC lmao. But of course, that's the end of the episode~~

Y'all...check on your local ZYC stans because I was not okay after all that (': I need a heaping dose of comfort after all that hurt, but as always I'm cautious of hoping for much from canon itself. So yeah! Ep 23 was solid, but I would probably be in better shape if today's release just ended on ep 22 ((':

Time to go wait for the cast's Hi6 episode to drop so I can heal my battered heart ;-;

[unnaturalequilibrium]

Capítulo 7

- Mafin rewatch (Sueños de Libertad)

Fina in that green dress - she is beautiful. Damn. She also is Isidro’s daughter through and through, she too seem to have that way of getting people to open up, getting them to accept her advice and comfort. She is soft and reassuring as Claudia spills her mistakes with Tasio. And Fina’s hug looks so nice. I’m pretty sure this is what “everyone needs a bosom for a pillow” means and I agree, they do. To get lost in her embrace looks like it could solve a great many personal problems and maybe a few societal ones too. I don’t know if it’s the solution to climate change, but if 2025’s Nobel prize winners tell me it is - well I won’t be surprised. I also like that she one hundred percent share my exact opinion of Tasio, he is trash, unredeemable trash and should be avoided like the plague.

Aww, Fina arguing her case that a marriage doesn’t equal happiness and that her father shouldn’t be so quick to wish one upon her. The old man really just wants her to be happy, you can tell though that it’s a conversation that makes her ill at ease because of the way she has to stretch and stitch the truth in her replies. I already know it’s going to hurt a lot when he later on rejects her.

Marta confronting Elena - I know that it won’t officially happen for another hundred plus episodes, but Marta is the boss. The way she just slides into that armchair and takes hold of the entire office with what seems like nothing more than an innate sense of authority and a raised eyebrow - yeah, she exudes in charge. But I enjoy the little exhale at the end as Elena leaves. Like so much of who Marta is at this point this too is a game face. Maybe she carries it with what looks like ease, but it might actually come at a fairly high price, just not one we’re allowed to see yet.

Petra, I’m telling you - back off the Marta insults, or - If I remove myself from the narrative though, I love this. I love how they try to build Marta up as this stick in the mud, firm, cold and distant. Unsmiling, no sense of empathy, all business and with very little sympathy. If I hadn’t know what was to come maybe I’d buy it, maybe I’d laugh along with Petra as she mocks and says that Marta needs to smile more. Because yeah, all we’ve seen of her so far actually fits that vision of the demanding ice queen, except for these brief micro-expressions on Marta’s face when no one is looking, when she doesn’t have time to catch her true reaction. When Damian brings up marriage and children, when Elena turns her back, when Fina confronts her and tells her she demands a lot of respect. For a second you see something else, but only for a second, before it is hidden behind the wall again. So yeah, if I had watched this for the first time I would probably have thought of Marta as a bit of a bitch to approach with extreme caution.

That said, back to the narrative, fuck Petra. Fina is a fucking cinnamon roll and I ache so hard for her as this woman clearly leads her on, only to slam the door in her face and call her disgusting as wine and a win makes Fina bold enough to go for a kiss. And invertida is never a slur I’ve had to personally experience, but the way it is delivered and the way it lands makes it feel like I share its burden too. It’s a slap in the face and I wish I could reach through the computer screen and return it, with interest.

Marta’s relationship with her dad, ugh. She talks to him about being happy with being more involved in the company, getting a shot at running the business alongside her brothers. And what does Damian do? He turns the table on her and brings the conversation back to her marriage, talking about how it isn’t what he wanted for her. Granted it’s nice of him to want more than the isolation her current marriage gives her, but it’s also another dagger in Marta’s side, isn’t it? Whatever she does, or achieves, with her dad it always boils back down into her marriage, her role as a wife and the failure of it all. That shit really has to feel like someone ripping out the feathers of her wings every time she tries to take flight. It’s a nice parallel though of both Isidro and Damian wishing happiness and partnership for their daughters. I’m looking forward to when this will come full circle in 170 episodes and they discuss how their daughters have found just that, in each other.

[afreakingdork]

Soft Spot - Chapter 15

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

Yes, it is she. You know her! You love her! The myth. The legend. Your ex-roommate! It's Coral done by the darling @garbagemilkshake

Rated: Explicit

Warnings/Tags: Romance, Established Relationship, Married Couple, Married Life, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Villain Donatello (TMNT), Love, POV Second Person, Babies, Pregnancy, AFAB reader, Vaginal Sex, Rough Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Fertility Issues, Pregnant Sex, Pregnancy Kink, Reader-Insert, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Cum Eating, Turtle Noises (TMNT), I have a Biology Degree and I’m Using it, Menstruation, There WILL NOT be any Miscarriages

Synopsis: First comes love. Then comes marriage. Then comes the next step about as smooth as the others arrived. The baby-oriented sequel to Weak Spot.

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

You walked Donnie down the street. You didn’t have a hold on him, but he was using you as a guide since he was conversing with Spencer in his glasses. A series of emails that were being passed that no one from the outside could see and you tried your best to weave him through pedestrians. He had assured you he had done this many times on his own, but his distracted gait made you doubt he had done so without casualty.

Maybe he did have the power to dodge people perfectly at the last second, but you preferred if he made his journey without startling leagues of pedestrians.

You hoped they finished up soon because you were getting close to the street where you would part ways. You had just finished another appointment with Dr. Kuro for your first of many weekly updates. Now marked at nine weeks, you were moving along with better data. Your blood tests confirmed that you were in great human and non-mutated health. Your swabs said that your womb had yokai markers, but none of which was affecting your body as a whole.

It was an oddity that you were just going to have to accept.

Like how your embryo had half an eggshell on it.

Like many other things that were making you nervous, but you didn’t currently have time for.

You needed to guide Donnie.

 “Y/N.” The man in question spoke as if on cue.

“Yeah?”

“Spencer sends cursory greetings and congratulations.”

“Send him one last email telling him I expect a gift basket. A good one.”

“He’s already considered and chose to send flowers.”

“What? They’re tough on your nose in the apartment! The space is too small for the smell!”

“Here.” He held out his hand and a screen appeared.

You took it from him even though you knew he was floating it to you. “What is he thinking…?”

Unlike Donnie, you veered off to the side to stop and read.

One amongst a long email chain, it was a list from Spencer that reminded you of school prizes for meeting fundraising milestones.

For conceiving, you got flowers.

For getting past a certain point in pregnancy, you would get a gift basket.

For securing government surrender, you would receive an all expenses paid hotel visit along with a day trip to a spa that seemed to specialize in pampering pregnant people.

You stared at the last with mounting sarcasm before you looked up to your partner. “You really waste Genius Built funds on this?”

“We have an account specifically for bribing clients.”

“I’m not a client, but I’m glad you’re calling it what it is.”

“Spencer does not.”

“Spencer probably calls it an entertainment expense.”

Donnie’s head tipped to agree. 

“Fuck it. I’ll take it, but tell him to make it live flowers. Have him throw in one of those planters that’ll hang off the fire escape. We’ll put them outside the kitchen window.”

You watched as the window in front of you shot down the email chain and a new message was penned.

You reviewed what your husband wrote. “Gotta play his game. Say something about how hard we’ve worked for this and he’s being a jerk for assuming I’d enjoy a ‘participation trophy’ gift in light of growing a literal life, but make it way less mean.”

It took a few adjustments since Donnie wasn’t nearly as versed in corporate speak, but you got something safe enough to be seen by HR and it was sent.

“What does he think?” You asked as you slipped back onto the sidewalk. “Will the government change their mind?” 

Donnie stayed close to your side. “He’ll find the advantage and make it work.”

You nodded.

“He agrees with Kuro’s determination.”

“You already dropped the ‘doctor?’”

“You’ll be on a first name basis soon.” He spoke with metered affection.

You were inclined to agree since she had given you her personal number both for emergencies and to text any oddities over.

“We’ll part up ahead.” Donnie was clearly looking toward the next intersection.

“What’s your plan for today?”

“Schematics.”

“I bet Spencer has all the marketing ready for your new baby division.” 

He gave a single nod and you approached the curb. “Pass my salutations on to Coral.”

“Will do.” You stepped close to your husband and gave him a quick hug before heading off as the signal turned.

You felt him watch after you before he took his leave down the side of the street. While you had driven to your appointment, it made more sense to walk to your next destination with its proximity. It was a short 10 minutes to where you were meeting your friend. It helped too since you were gradually adding more steps. Instead of diving into some intense exercise regime, you were taking it slow. Your plan to get smoothies fell in a similar line with your diet changes.

You only had a few shops to go, but identified your friend’s messy bun from where you were. She was dressed casually and kicked back against a small fence while staring down at her phone. Her lips pinched in concentration, but her eyes held a lackadaisical quality that said she was reading some rag she didn’t agree with.

“What’s it this time?” You spoke as you stepped into her side.

“They swapped some brand’s packaging for less plastic and everyone’s whining even though we know everyone just throws the box away. Like who cares?” She glanced at you and then back at her phone before offering it.

“Everyone’s gonna complain about something.” You huffed.

“Yep! You’ve heard my mom!” She kicked off the metal railing for a reverberation and got upright.

“What was it last time?” You pondered and led toward the smoothie shop door.

“What wasn’t it?” She scoffed and followed along.

“It was something…” You got in line. “… like she got an ice cream bar and wouldn’t stop talking about how some of the caramel was on the packaging…?”

Coral tossed her head up to the ceiling to groan. “Because mega corp asshole Unilever cares about making each bar identically perfect!”

“She threw out the box, didn’t she?!”

“Yes!” Coral shoved a finger into your arm. “Now she’s the one bad for the environment. The amount of shit she wastes and garbage she buys.”

“What are you getting?”

“I don’t know. These things are glorified desserts. There’s one with moo in the title of something. You?”

“I was thinking the green one. Always wanted to try it.”

“The pseudo-health shit?” Coral cut in front of you to order first.

“You’re only like triple standard territory with all your beauty crap.”

“Oh no!” Coral pretended to bemoan before she cut the act long enough to order for both of you. “I want to pamper myself when everything is on fire. Sue me.”

“Add flax!” You rushed to the employee.

The person took down the note with no problem and you moved to the register.

“Flax?” Coral mouthed. “Are you doing overnight oats with chia seeds, grandma?”

“Barb after barb.” You both shoved each other for your wallets before she won out as her elbow inched dangerously close to your abdomen and you bowed out.

She paid. “You compared me to my mom!”

“I was just saying you buy crap-crap too.”

“You’re totally not a thing name for senseless shit.”

“It’s cute.” You stepped out of the way for the next person and blenders started up. “You suggested smoothies. I’m just trying something new.”

“It is cute and I wanted a million calories of peanut butter and chocolate in a little less lethal form.”

“They call that protein.”

“Who does? Meat heads?”

“Isn’t that the marketing?” You gestured to a sign where a man with rippling muscles appeared to be drinking a milkshake.

“Eh!” She shrugged. “How’s being pregnant?”

“Surprisingly not that-“ You froze.

Coral obviously propped her elbows up on a nearby standing table and gestured for you to join her.

You hobbled to stand across from her and searched her wildly.

You hadn’t told anyone.

Not yet.

Not for a very specific reason.

“How?” You hissed.

She was a little taken aback by the force of your response, but played it off. “You looked it then acted like it.”

“Yeah, no! Not good enough! How?!” You leaned in to seethe with a modicum of privacy.

“I noticed the second I saw you. You really do look it. It’s like a glow. You know I’ve always been able to tell. How many celebrities have I been right about?”

“You can’t know from that!”

“Why not?” She tilted her head with caustic innocence.

“Because nobody can know-!” A worried sound caught your throat and you shirked away.

It put Coral on high alert. “Is something wrong??”

“No… It’s just…”

“Hey.” She reached across the table and touched your arm.

You took her hand in and then all but flopped against the tall table. “Did the green smoothie thing tip you off? I need to go ham on fiber and vitamins.”

“No, I figured it out the moment I saw you. Everything else was confirmation. The drink choice, the flax, how you were terrified I’d even look at your stomach. I was just waiting for the best time to ask.”

“When you could trick me into confirming.” You griped.

She smiled a little. “Well?”

“We just had our second OB appointment.”

“Oh?” Her head bobbed.

“Yeah. She’s like the best of the best. Endora Kuro.”

Coral shrugged, not knowing who that was.

“I’m at nine weeks.”

“Holy shit!” She bounced with excitement. “That’s so far along!”

“I guess?”

“Congrat-”

You seized her wrist. “Don’t!”

She only blinked wide.

“Don’t… do that. Don’t tell anyone…”

“Okay, cut the crap. What’s up? Something’s up.”

“There’s…” Your smoothies were called and you broke for a moment to get them. “It’s a whole thing.”

“Looks like we’ve got time.” She tipped her straw to you and sucked the thick liquid.

You followed suit and were thankful for the relatively bland flavor. “The embryo is strange.”

“Yeah, well. Look at its dad.”

You shot her a glare.

“Sorry, last joke.”

“You’re not… wrong. The mutation is making things complicated.”

She hummed for you to go on with a sip.

“You know how I told you mutants aren’t supposed to reproduce and chances were low?”

She gulped. “Yeah?”

“The embryo is showing hybrid signs. There’s some placenta and some eggshell. My body’s not made to make the shells, obviously. We don’t know how it’s going to grow. We don’t know if it can grow. It’s all… scary. Nerve-wracking. A whole thing.”

“Oh…” Coral’s tone dipped with similar worry and sympathy.

“Yeah.”

“So… you’re waiting? For what exactly?”

“Three months.” You leveled with her. “Something like 80% of miscarriages happen in the first three and after that it drops significantly because of how far along the baby is. It’s considered safer and we’ve decided to wait until then to tell anyone.”

She nodded slowly. “Won’t you start to show?”

“I guess? Nothing yet, but I think the bump will be small around then so it’ll be easy to hide with clothes.”

“It’s like after four months or… something… that you’ll show?” She thought hard for a moment, but came out unsure.

“Yeah…”

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” You lit up to enforce it. “Today’s appointment was good. Everything is still good. It seems like it’s on track, but there’s this undercurrent of nerves everyone has. Stress is bad so I’m trying not to let it get to me, but I can tell from the very few people who know that it’s a scary thing and they’re all acting the same way. Like we all hung up a safety net, but we’re pretending it’s not there for the tightrope walk.”

“All those months of you trying.”

You drank your smoothie.

“You finally nailed it and now this…? Sucks.”

“Exactly.”

She huffed and for a few minutes you slurped in silence.

“It’s… kind of nice to have a not like legally invested party know…”

Coral snorted.

“Like Spencer knows, for the whole ‘government take down’ thing and my doctor. That’s it.”

“And Shrek.”

You blew an unintentional raspberry and tried not to spray green flecks. “Shrek!?”

“Shrek fucked.”

“Stop!”

“He did! Had three kids! Wait, was it just three…?”

You pushed the table into her.

She started to shove it back, but realized the angle would hit your stomach and stopped. “Oh.”

“Please don’t. I’m not that fragile.”

“You were weird in line.”

Your teeth flashed.

“Yeah.” Her lids fluttered. “I change my mind. You were super suss and if it wasn’t already obvious, I would have figured it out then.”

“I need to be careful with the others.” You decided and ruminated on how.

Coral let a beat of silence go by before she tepidly asked, “There’s a pic then, right? If you’re doing weekly check-ups?”

You made a little excited noise and dove for your phone.

She was around the table in an instant and touted a strange accent. “I would like to see the baby.” 

“This is eight and this is nine.” You flipped between the two pictures.

“It’s a bean!” She cooed.

“Kidney bean! That’s what the doctor said.”

“I love how they’re creatures like this. Way cuter than when they come out.”

You laughed.

“With those bug eyes and gooey bodies!” She teased.

“Obviously better when they’re grey blobs.”

“I always thought grey aliens were cute.”

“You’re insane.”

“You hang out with me.”

“Clearly speaks to me. What if I’m taking pity on you?”

“Yeah, right.” She rolled her eyes. “Let’s walk.”

You followed her out and totted your smoothies as you wandered leisurely.

“Is it gonna be green?”

“Hm?” You hummed around your straw.

“The baby.”

“I’m not sure.”

She grumbled lightly. “I guess you wouldn’t know much at this point.”

“It seems like it's growing a carapace.”

“What’s that in English?”

You shot her a dry look.

“I don’t know!”

“A turtle shell.” You threw a thumb toward your back.

She made a horrified face.

“What?!”

“How are you gonna squeeze that out!?”

You gave a small yell. “Thank you! Donnie’s species is called spiny too!”

“Is he sharp…?”

“Not really. His shell is kind of… bumpy? Leathery…?”

“Lame.”

“He should be-!” You cut yourself off and scowled. “It’s a whole thing, but not your business.”

“So he should be sharp?”

“Maybe?” You gave her an honest glance.

“Weird mutant stuff.”

“Don’t be rude.”

“I’m not! Mutants are fine, but they’re also weird! They don’t follow human or animal rules. They’re their own thing! Like that Hippo guy!”

“True…” You hadn’t seen Hypno in a while and wondered how he was doing.

“Are the others spikey?”

“Not that I’ve seen… Wait, no. Raph is very spiky.”

“That’s the one Shrek gets along with?”

“Call him something else!”

“Shrek fucks!”

“Stop saying that!”

Coral laughed so hard she had to stumble against a planter to catch her breath.

“You just had to figure it out.” You grouched.

“Aw come on, I’m gonna throw you a great baby shower.”

You startled and tried to hide the reaction away.

She gave a vowel of understanding. “That’s too far ahead to plan.”

“We can plan…” You spoke softly. “If we want. Buy clothes and everything, but there’s always a chance…?”

She stepped in front of you and looked at you clearly. “It’s scary.”

“Yeah.” You gave her an exhausted look.

“You want to live it up. You were both going through it and now you’re in this waiting pattern.”

“Sure.”

“Should we… not talk about it?”

“No!” You reached out to her unconsciously.

She looked over your hand and gave you a high five.

You chuffed.

She smiled.

“I want to talk about it. Especially with someone outside the group. I want to… get excited. I do want you to throw me a baby shower. I want to play the stupid games, but maybe not the shitty diaper one. I want to pick out colors… I want… I want to tell everyone and celebrate.”

She bumped you as she saddled up to her side. “Let’s pretend.”

“Pretend what?”

“That we aren’t talking about your seed and something else.”

You studied her.

“How’s your son?”

You blinked a few times. “Shelly?”

“Yeah. How’s he taking it? He’s gotta know with his creepy cameras.”

“He’s not creepy.” You rolled your eyes.

“He’s a little creepy.”

“He’s not great with boundaries.” You offered.

“Creepy.” She grinned.

You shook your head. “He’s listening and takes full offense.”

Your tech gauntlet buzzed twice.

“You’re too old, dude.” Coral leaned down to tell your wrist. “You gotta leave the nest!” 

It buzzed happily in response.

“What’s that mean?” Coral was still hunched and lifted her head up to you.

“It means he’s excited.”

“Weirdo.” She mused. “Well?”

“He’s excited.” You repeated with a different cadence. “He’s gonna be a good big brother.”

“For sure. He’s going to totally walk them to school and then change their grades before pops finds out.”

“Don’t give him ideas.” You scolded your arm.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. was curiously silent.

You groaned knowing that meant he was already forming plans.

“If he had a color thing going, what would he have?” Coral asked suddenly.

“Hm?” You watched her straighten up and drink her cup dry.

She waited and shook her container to get a little more.

“Oh, you mean how Donnie has his purple mask? I guess Shelly would be purple too…” You thought. “A hot version like fuschia?”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. gave one loud buzz.

“Translate.” Coral said instead of asking.

“He likes that.”

“What’s another?” She had a knowing look on her face.

A small thrill went up your spine, but you turned away to not give it too much time. “We can’t pick for them. They should decide for themselves.”

“Who?”

“No one.” You shot her a look.

She had a lazy smile plastered sideways on her face.

“Something light?” You whispered shyly.

“Lilac?” She similarly lowered her volume.

A picture of a baby wrapped up in soft lavender appeared in your mind’s eye and you tried not to overly gush.

“A nice wine color.” She offered.

Your image shifted to a toddler bumbling around with an eggplant colored blanket.

You thread your arm through Coral’s and snuffed out your excitement with a whine.

She leaned into you.

“It’ll go good. Whatever you pick. Your family photos will make me want to gag.”

“Matching sweater Christmas cards.”

“Ugh, I’m nauseous.”

“We’ve never done it, but Donnie would love coordinating outfits.”

“He would.” Coral opened her mouth and stuck her tongue out.

You squeezed her. “More? Listen to me drone on about all of it?”

“What are crazies for?”

You looked at her. “I’m sorry for insinuating you were like your mom.”

“Thank you!” She huffed and pulled you to keep walking. “Drink your smoothie. We’re signing up for Pilates.”

“What?!”

“Yup! It helps to do it with a buddy. That was always my plan! I lied about the dessert thing!”

You stumbled in Coral’s locked limb. “I d-don’t understand!” 

“An exercise class! I was tricking you into going to one with me!” 

“The smoothies…!?” You didn’t quite follow her logic. 

“I’m… I don’t know! I’m trying to eat better or… something…”

You looked over her shape for a moment and felt suspicions douse you. “Wait, I know this. Okay, who is it? Who do you want to look hot for?”

“I’m already hot.” She grouched.

“Coral.”

“I don’t know! No one! I’m fine!” She veered down a street. “Your stupid gym is this way, right?”

It was and you were a little miffed that you hadn’t realized how close you were to it sooner. 

She huffed as she led. 

“Who's’ even around you? The only people who can stand you are our friends!” 

“Shut up!” She sneered. 

“And that’s not even long term!” You continued your tease. “The only people who have survived that are me and Nels!”

Her sudden silence was deafening. 

“Nelson.” 

Her eyes grew fearfully wide. 

“Ew, it’s Nelson!”

“It’s not!” She hissed and rounded on you.

“You’ve been living together for a while! Did something happen!?”

“What colors are you painting a room that just so happens to house babies!?”

“There’s no plans to paint. If there was a crib, which there isn’t, it would theoretically go in a corner of a bedroom that’s totally not mine. We only plan to move when whoever grows some. We’re not getting a house unless it’s a sure thing and it’s been years, Coral!”

“Exactly and he was with what’s her face for like 8 months.”

“Uh… Susan… or something like that.”

Coral stopped to drum up suspense before she snarled, “Susan!”

You nodded ferociously in time.

Together you moved in your hatred of this random woman you had never met.

“He got into health stuff after the breakup.”

“He always picks up something to cope.” You knew his track record.

“Blue bitch goes to your gym, doesn’t he?”

“I guess? I haven’t seen him in forever.”

Coral hummed.

“What are you thinking now?!”

“Nothing.” She sang her dismissal.

You ruminated over how she probably had about as many suspicious cues as you. “Please!”

“He’s into that stuff! Maybe I should ask him! I don’t know!”

“Coral!”

“Coulda fucked him at your wedding, but I was good.”

“You were with Nelson the whole time, what the fuck are you talking about?!” Nerves had you clucking.

“We danced once.” She shrugged.

“I can’t believe I have to string these words together, but please do not fuck Leo so you can get back at Nels!!”

She reached the door of your gym and turned to you with an all too obvious grin.

You chased her for the game of it, but you knew the truth.

She wouldn’t, but admitting that sort of thing was an insecurity.

You met her at the desk, thankfully scanned the gym to see there was no offensive slider around and you both signed up for weekly classes. Throughout it all Coral soothed, and after passing off a card to pay, you were back on the street.

“It’s okay to be hung up on him.” You tried as gently as you could.

“Fuck off.” She had no heat to her.

You hugged her side.

She grumbled a soft, “Gross.”

You also felt her hug back.

You kept it short and pulled her. “You’ll have to tell him. He’s too oblivious to figure it out even if you walked into his room naked.”

“One towel slip! One time!” She went on clear offense.

You snickered once before laughing. “You are so bad at this!”

“Hey! Look at your track record!”

You waved your ring in her face.

“You just had to simp for a psycho to get that.” She slapped your hand away.

“It worked out.”

“Yeah… After how long? How much?” She gestured over you before pausing. “How… are all your injuries?”

You immediately tucked an arm across your torso to hold one of the scars on your chest where feeling had never quite returned. “They won’t get in the way with the baby. Might be hard on my leg with the extra weight, but we’ll see…”

“Good…” She doted lightly before sighing. “I’ll talk to him.”

“That’s fast.” You bobbed to attention, but kept holding yourself. “I usually have to nag you for at least five days.” 

“Three months.” She spoke your curse.

“Bullshit!”

“I don’t want to be some rebound. Three months and we’ll both come clean.”

You stared at her.

She was obviously determined.

She was equally concerned.

It was scary.

You knew that well.

You held out your hand to shake.

She took your hand in a firm grip.

It was one solid agreement and you were released for reality.

“You’ll never last in Pilates.”

“I could!” Coral huffed. “You’re lucky you got knocked up! I was gonna make you do Zumba! But no!” 

“You could? Will you though? And what was your plan there anyway? Smoothies are like the worst thing to butter someone up with!”

“I can’t decide if that makes me want to quit early or shove it in your face when I beat you at it.”

“How do you beat someone at Pilates?!” You chortled.

“It’s way easier than beating someone at Zumba!” 

She regaled you in a bunch of fake ways to cheat some imaginary system and you finished your drink.

(Check out behind the scenes for this fic and more on my Patreon. You can follow me there, here, or the tag #softspotfic for updates)

This has week has been a year. Shout you to my dearest betas @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83

[emeritusemeritus]

Heyy, do you think the Weasley twins would cheat on their s.os? Just curious what your take on that is:)

Hi anon! Please accept this essay about my thoughts on the matter, because apparently I have many 😂🖤

George would never.

Fred… maybe… but it would be a very specific situation like a prank gone wrong/ Polyjuice potion fail/ case of mistaken identity. Like he’d get carried away with talking about his inventions and wouldn’t notice the girl getting a bit too familiar until her lips are chasing his. He just thought she really liked what he was creating.

I think it all boils down to how you perceive them. I’ve read a few fics of ladiesman!Fred and though I could potentially see it in an AU, I never personally view him that way.

I tend to always write George as the shyer, more sensitive twin and i think that he is naturally a lot less confident than Fred, at least underneath. He uses humour as a deflective shield and falls into his role of prankster wholeheartedly because it hides his true nature that underneath the surface he’s a little bit insecure. He’s the second twin, always the other one, the other half of something bigger than him and quite often follows Fred blindly, having to explain and rationalise his slightly older brother’s ideas and words. SO, when George gets a girls attention, and it’s only him and not Fred, he’d be a bit of a mess and would probably plan what suit he’s going to wear to his wedding by the second date. I can’t see George ever cheating, it’s just not in his nature.

For some reason, I feel like George wouldn’t find love in his school years but would find someone absolutely perfect for him at the shop, like a meet-cute within their universe and the person would fit right into George’s life.

Fred however, he’s the more outgoing, more confident twin who seems completely unashamed and proud of who he is, both as a twin and in himself. I personally don’t write him as a fuckboy but he’d be quite a good fit if I did under certain contexts. I tend to write Fred as finding ‘the one’ young, probably in their school days and being certain right away that she’s the one. He’s a fiery guy, often quick to anger and doesn’t think of consequences of his actions so he’d need someone that balances him out, reminds him of what’s important and someone that he actually listens to when he needs to pull back a little.

Like he would get the attention of other girls but he’s completely blind to it because he only has eyes for his girl.

I always see him as being friends with the person before, a typical friends to lovers trope with a big event or a big realisation that it’s been her all along.

My own personal HC is that his love story would follow Arthur and Molly’s up to a certain point (being young, finding love, getting married early). I think it would be one of those ironic life twists that always seem to come full circle as he’s often quite anti-authority and against conformity, particularly when it comes to Molly’s expectations for him and George. So to see his life mirror his parents as hard as he’d tried to deny it would be ironically beautiful.

So I think with that in mind, I really couldn’t see cheating being an option. George likes having an easy life and if the relationship wasn’t right or he knew he couldn’t give it his all then he’d find a kind way of ending things, not cheating in any degree even if the relationship was rocky. If the relationship was happy, he wouldn’t even dream of it. The grass is never greener to George Weasley.

Fred wouldn’t dream of it because he knows he can’t do better than his long suffering girl. There’s too much history, too many inside jokes and his parents have practically adopted her into the family anyway so if he ever stepped a toe out of line, his mother would probably kill him. The length of his relationship is a mark of pride for Fred; being secretly sentimental he’d love to be able to say proudly how long he’d been with his girl to anyone that asks, knowing that even from a young age after so long together that you’d been together longer than you’d ever been apart in your entire lives.

The Weasley men just love their SOs okay?

Any one else have opinions on this?!

[knightprincess]

Magic Medic (Part 2 of 3) - The 104th

Words: 2k Note: This part includes the OC Iseult Devitt.

"Here we go again," commented Comet as he entered the Wolf Pack's barracks on Christophsis. The latest orders came through for all personnel, Clones, Civvi, and Jedi. Along with it came the regular confusion regarding the civvi medics. It was again revolving around their favorite, Iseult Devitt.

"What's up?" called Warthog from across the room. He was lounging across his bunk, his arms resting behind his head. Sinker and Boost attempted to paint something on the durasteel walls, although it was anyone's guess what it was meant to be. Perhaps it was a loth wolf or maybe a crystal fox.

"According to the latest orders, we get Iseult back," began Comet, interrupted by Boost celebrating the news that the sarcastic medic would be among their ranks again. Wolffe would be happy, at least when he wasn't protesting and attempting to argue with her. "But she's also supposed to stay with the 501st too."

"Wasn't she supposed to be on Commando tour for her last rotation?" asked Sinker, dropping the paintbrush and spray paint he'd previously held. "Maybe Wolffe knows. He seems to like stalking her as of late," he added, quickly fleeing behind a durasteel crate upon noticing Wolffe already in the room. He was quietly completing the overdue paperwork at the nearby desk.

"Wolffe doesn't know," replied the Commander, without lifting his head or taking the attention away from the reports and other paperwork he'd neglected for months. "She's as much a mystery to me as she is to everyone else."

"Didn't get far with the stalking, huh?" called Warthog, ignoring the glare Wolffe all but threw at him. "I dare say she's got under the skin of others too. How can she not with that devious charm," added the pilot, chuckling at the thought of others having to deal with the quick wit, sarcasm, and overall loud personality. Iseult was a flirt, a playful one, but a flirt nonetheless.

"Imma comm Jesse, see if he knows what's going on," Comet said, reaching for the communication device he had previously abandoned at the end of his bunk. Hope shimmered in his eyes. The boys of the 501st would know something or at least be able to help solve the seemingly endless mystery.

"Maybe Iseult's a clone like us?" Boost yelled excitedly, hoping he had found an answer to their bugging mystery. After all, they'd all witnessed the sarcastic medic seemingly teleporting, and the Jedi had, too, although they didn't seem overly bothered by it or, if they were, didn't show it.

"That brings up more questions than answers," spoke Wolffe as if to shut the absurd theory down before it took on a life of its own. "Who is she a clone of? Who cloned her? How many are there?" listed the commander, forcing the wolf pack to think over the logic before getting behind the Iseult clone idea.

"Kaminoans, they made all of us after all," replied Warthog as if it was the most obvious thing in the galaxy. "Wouldn't be outside the realm of possibility. They've done work for others, too."

"If that were the case, we would have seen Iseult clones wondering Tipoca City as we did as cadets," grumbled Comet, anguished to be the one to shut down the clone theory. "How many Iseults are there anyway?" he asked; he knew there were at least two after the Rex date incident. One had stood either side of him, at least before Rex appeared from his detour, then one disappeared as if she'd not been there in the first place.

"I swear there is more than six," said Sinker confidently. "What, there is. We have our Iseult, the deviously flirt one here with us; the 501st have the angel; the Guard kept being tormented by the one they call the minx; Clone Force 99 have a sarcastic one of their own; the 212th has the nerdy one, and the naughty version has pestered Howzer," he listed as if to add evidence to Boost's earlier claim of clones.

"Don't forget the playful one that keeps winding Gregor up," added Wolffe, chuckling to himself upon remembering Fox's rant about the Iseult minx, how he swore the seemingly ordinary medic just come and went as she pleased. "327th, 41st, and 13th haven't been affected yet," continued the commander, curious if there was truth behind the claim of clones or if it was all an elaborate and well-thought-out prank of some kind.

"Hey, how come they get away scot-free?" questioned Boost, almost offended by the idea the three battalions, in particular, had seemingly escaped the chaos. "Scratch that they don't know what they're missing," he added, quickly changing his tune. The Iseult clones had brought endless mystery, curiosity, and distraction when they needed it most.

"Maybe she's some form of artificial intelligence," mumbled Warthog, hiding beneath his pillow the moment the idea he quickly determined as dumb passed his lips.

"Iseult … a droid?" began Comet, a grin painting on his lips to hear Wolffe bellow out with laughter. The idea was horrendous, but at least it brought their tormented Commander some amusement. "Honestly, that would explain why she crashed into the wall and seemed perplexed by rayshields."

"Doesn't explain why Howzer wasn't knocked senseless when she clobbered him, though," replied Wolffe, recalling witnessing the act. Howzer was drunk and slurring his words, believing he was complimenting Iseult; instead, he'd offended her. She'd quickly told him so by whacking him upside the head before walking away. "First and last time he insulted her."

"And we're only just hearing about it now?" replied Boost, sitting on the crates to the side of the masterpiece he and Sinker had been working on.

"Jesse said their angel has a different name," called Comet, puzzlement painting on his features. "Said there one is called (Y/N)," he added before determining the boys in blue were simply ribbing them again. No doubt, it was revenge for the howling prank some months before.

"Two medics with different names but the same identification number?" started Warthog, looking over to Wolffe as if to confirm that he, too, was baffled by the mistake. "Either there was a massive mistake, there are clones under the same number but different names, or we're missing something," he added, noting when Wolffe didn't seem all that bothered. He was amused, yes, but not bothered as much as one would have thought.

"I'm contacting Iseult," spoke Boost, reaching for his communications device with the hope the medic in question could solve their perplexing mystery. Maybe answer their questions about how she could be in so many places simultaneously.

"She's with the frat boys," growled Wolffe, as if remembering the other troopers who seemed just as attached to Iseult. Three of them never failed to flirt with her when the chance arose. The other always seemed to be in a playful banter war with her. "Set to return to Coruscant just after us unless they rerouted to Kamino or given another assignment," he added with a low grumble.

"At least we know she can be in two places at once," worded Warthog, "Comet said she was with the 501st, and we know from her she was assigned to the havoc lot," he added, managing to stifle his laughter at the thought of their Iseult causing just as much if not more chaos than the combined experimental unit.

"Iseult, my favorite sarcastic medic," began Boost when the attempt at making a holo call connected. Iseult's video feed appeared along with the boys of Clone Force 99, or at least two of them. Tech and Hunter. One twirled a vibroblade, and the other fiddled with a circuit board.

"Boost my favorite lunatic," replied Iseult, a smile on her lips. "Don't tell me one of you boys lost a limb. While I've been away," she added so casually that it was like complimenting someone.

"We were hoping you could help us with your mystery," called Warthog, moving to sit on the bunk below his own. At the same time, both Hunter and Tech appeared to pay a little more attention, as if the Iseult mystery had been a topic that haunted them, too.

"Iseult mystery?" enquired Tech, intrigued by the news of such mystery surrounding their medic.

"They think Iseult is a clone," grumbled Wolffe, his voice more brutal than intended. Despite that, Iseult's laughter came through loud and clear.

"Not heard that one before," admitted the civvi medic, a bright smile upon her lips. "A new favorite me thinks," she added.

"Did float the idea of you being a droid too, but none of our theories make sense," voiced Comet, witnessing as Warthog once again hid beneath the nearest pillow, still embarrassed by the idea. Even if Wolffe once again chuckled at the amusement.

"They're trying to work out how I can be in two places at once," spoke Iseult, cluing the pair of enhanced clones into the mystery and rather imaginative ideas they'd come to answer it. "And your answer is super simple, boys. I use magic."

"Iseult two said the same thing," Comet answered upon hearing the answer. "Jesse said Angel Iseult and Rex were up to something, too," he added as if trying to gauge if there was indeed more to the mystery than met the eye.

"There has been no documented case of civilians using magic to …" began Tech before Iseult wrapped a hand over his mouth, a sweet smile as she did so. At first, Tech seemed startled but didn't appear to protest further, instead glancing over to Hunter as if silently calling for aid.

"Angel Iseult and Rex are working on the final touches of a plan of mass pandemonium," sweetly replied Iseult. However, a mischief glint lit up her eyes, suggesting there was far more than met the eye, and the answer to their seemingly complex mystery was simple and something all thrust far missed.

"Remind me to remind Wolffe to interrogate her when we all get back to Coruscant," said Sinker when the call ended. This time, Wolffe looked around in confusion, not entirely understanding why he needed to interrogate their favorite medic.

"Forget that," started Warthog, suspecting Wolffe knew something they didn't. Perhaps he had other ideas he'd yet to share. After all, when the commander lost his eye, Iseult was the one to patch him back up again. "What do you know about Iseult?" asked the pilot, side-eyeing his commander as if to gauge the reaction he got. "And what she's up to?"

"What she's up to, not a clue," replied Wolffe, admitting his innocence when it come to the pandemonium planned, although he could make an educated guess on where it would take place. Either at the military base or 79, depending on her mood. "As for what I know about her, what's in her file, and a couple of her favorite things," he added as if attempting to hide the relationship that had bloomed between the two of them. She'd succeeded in getting him to ignore rules that prevented him from being like any other being in the galaxy, and she'd helped him find who he was outside of being a soldier.

"We're gonna be invited to the wedding, right?" asked Sinker, ignoring the heated glare expertly thrown his way, at least before the deer caught in headlights look painted on Wolffe's features. "Yeah, you're even less subtle than Iseult," he added with a wide grin.

"Cute though, our medic of magic tamed our commander," added Boost, as if he were a hopeless romantic waiting for his chance at love.

"You watch too many romance films and series on the holonet," replied Wolffe, returning his attention to the reports demanding to be done, at least before they become more of a burden and punishment than they already were.

"We miss her too," started Comet, knowing all the theories and playful banter that revolved around Iseult was their way of filling the gap she left behind when she was not with them. "Tell her that when you see her next," he added, receiving a small, subtle nod from Wolffe in confirmation of the task placed before him.

"Better yet, give her a kiss from us," called Warhog, darting from the bunk he'd been perched on, launching toward the refresher door in the hopes of getting there before Wolffe caught and strangled him.

Part 1 - Part 3 Knight Princess Masterlist

[nouveauxamoris]

does anyone else ever think about how chapters 14.5-15 of bungo stray dogs beast are essentially the parallel chapters to the main timeline’s chapter 39: portrait of a father. do you guys ever think about how portrait of a father is meant to represent the struggles that come with an abusive parent/parental figure and the pain of knowing that you love them and grieve them when they pass despite everything they’ve done to you. do you ever think about how in portrait of a father atsushi learned that it’s okay for these conflicting emotions to exist and she didn’t need to forgive or forget anything that was done to her by the orphanage director even though she loved him like a father and he ultimately loved her like his child too because his actions were still abhorrent and unforgivable and no amount of love can take away from the hurt that was done unto her. do you ever think about how in portrait of a father atsushi was allowed to gain closure with the newfound knowledge that her abuse wasn’t her fault and she was still allowed to grieve someone who hurt her without that demeaning the severity of it. do you ever think about how in beast chapters 14.5-15 atsushi wanted nothing more than to reclaim what was supposed to be a day for her — her birthday — and have that same closure by taking back everything that was stolen from her her entire life. do you ever think about how in beast chapters 14.5-15 instead of being able to find her closure and peace of mind atsushi ended up having to deal with the profound guilt of knowing that her abusive father died by her hands during the moment where he intended to actually express that he loved and cared for her, just as she had wanted him and anyone else to her entire life, because she was so horribly afraid of his presence alone it triggered her to react violently. do you ever think about how the aftermath of chapters 14.5-15 of beast was atsushi being left to blame herself for the death of this man as well as the tormenting knowledge that she both loved and hated him and there is no outlet or comfort that comes with that. there is nothing more complicated and painful than the person who is supposed to love and care for you being nothing but cruel to you and still finding yourself loving them nonetheless. there is nothing more tragic than knowing that that person loved you as you loved them and yet continued to harm you regardless. in the original timeline, atsushi was allowed to come to terms with the horrific reality of having an abusive parental figure and how their death can impact you. in the beast timeline, atsushi was allowed nothing but guilt and self blame for the longest time knowing that with his blood on her hands in the moment where he meant to make amends she would never get to have that closure, that peace she always intended to gain. one of them could heal, the other was left to rot. thats so fucked up

[batcavescolony]

Im gonna say something controversial

Some of you are disappointed in the Agatha All Along finale because you expected too much.

[cuoredimuschio]

okay, but where's my steddie AU where steve wants to learn to play guitar to impress a girl he's infatuated with and he remembers that munson kid was always hanging up posters for his weird band at school, so he hikes out to eddie's usual dealing spot behind the track and asks (with far less groveling than he really should have) if eddie will teach him how to play, and obviously eddie says no because why would he want to help king steve, but of course, steve offers to pay him, $20 a week, and well, that's the kind of get-the-hell-out-of-this-shithole-town cash eddie really can't afford to refuse, so fine, he'll teach steve to play and they'll spend inordinate amounts of time together tucked away in eddie's room and they'll start to see that they have more in common than they thought and that they kind of had each other all wrong, and eddie will put his hand over steve's to help him get the placement for a tricky chord and it totally won't awaken anything in either of them?? where is it??

edit: i started writing it

[change-the-rules]

I'm wondering if the shortness of the ep is also an indicative factor for the theory that that trial wasn't quite real

[cuteniaarts]

Mirror, mirror, on the wall...

Who's the fairest of them all?