#seriously you should have listened to her

[x-aefx]

Hey, I have a request if that's okay!

We comfort billie after the grammys :(

I seriously just want to give her the biggest hug ever. She deserves so much more.

NEEDING YOU - BILLIE EILISH X FEM!READER

A/N: sorry this took so long I was away skiing and had little time to even open this app. Hope you like it🤍

Fluff

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You stared up at the stage, watching the presenters introduce the next award and nominees, anticipation nagged at you knowing how important this award was.

Billie watched too, doing her best to conceal her anxiousness. Her hand remained in your lap, seeking your touch as a source of comfort. You gave that comfort to her as best you could in this nerve wrecking moment, giving her hand light squeezes, caressing her knuckles with your fingers, and occasionally placing small kisses on the back of her hand.

The nominees were introduced, you smiled proudly when you seen Billie's picture on the stage.

When the moment finally came and the winner for album of the year was about to be announced, you gave Billie a gentle kiss on her cheek, knowing how nervous she must be. She smiled at your gesture, the anticipation clear on her face.

You both stared up at the stage, the crowd around you cheering and urging the winner to be revealed. Some held their breath and others looked confident.

"As selected by the thirteen thousand voting members of the recording academy, the Grammy goes to-"

Their was a pause as the crowd waited. You took a deep breath in, bringing the back of Billie's hand up to you mouth, and placing a gentle kiss on it.

"Cowboy Carter!"

Your heart dropped as the winner was announced and the room began cheering. All around you people began cheering, standing up and showing love. You began clapping too, knowing if you didn't show respect you would face backlash online.

You turned to face Billie. Her eyes were glossy with tears, there was no mistaking it. She had a small smile on her face as she tried to hide her disappointment as she clapped and watched Beyoncé walk onto the stage. You took her hand again and leaned in close to whisper in her ear.

"You'll always be a winner in my eyes. I'm so proud of you."

Billie turned to look at you with a grateful smile. It should have relieved you to see her smile, but you knew her too well, you could tell she was hurting you could see it in her eyes.

The smile you had fallen in love with wasn't quite as big, and her eyes that you thought were the most beautiful thing, weren't as bright.

Billie didn't say anything. Her eyes were trained on Beyoncé as she gave her acceptance speech, her music fading as she spoke. You didn't push Billie to speak further, knowing this wasn't the time or place, especially with cameras all around the room, ready to catch any glimpse of vulnerability or opposition to the winner.

When the award ceremony was over Billie had slowly come back to herself but still you could tell something was wrong, you waited for the perfect time to talk to her fully, until you found it you made sure to keep checking up on her throughout the Grammys after party.

You had found yourself talking with a few people, getting completely swept in a conversation, mostly about the people you had seen or what they were wearing.

"It's a vintage dress, only worn twice before." You listened as the woman in front of you talked, nodding along and sipping on your wine.

Suddenly you felt two arms wrapping themselves around your waist, then you inhaled the familiar vanilla scent and felt her body press up behind yours.

Billie remained quiet as she rested her chin against your shoulder. Her eyes slowly shut for a second as she swayed your body along with yours, she had a small frown on her face as she tightened her grip around you.

The lady I front of you stopped talking once she seen Billie, she took one glance and looked up at you knowingly. "I'll leave you two to it." She smiled.

You nodded at her, giving her a small 'goodbye'

"Home?" Billie mumbled once the woman had left. She seemed too tired or either too sad to say a full sentence.

You kissed her forehead as you interlocked your hand with her's. "Yeah, let's go home." You agreed, leading Billie to the suv that would take both of you home.

The car ride home was quiet and quick. Billie leaned her body against your side, her head resting on your shoulder as she looked out the window on your side, the streetlights shining against her face as the car passed them. You played with her hair, which calmed her down and relaxed her.

When you arrived home Billie stayed quiet, unlocking the front door and leading you upstairs to her bedroom which you shared. A small sigh left her as she sat down on the edge of her bed, her shoulders dropped as she stared up at the ceiling.

She suddenly looked far more defeated and sad then she had earlier. You supposed that was because finally she was in the comfort of her own home, free from camera's and watching eyes, finally not having to wear a mask over her true feelings.

Your heart sank as you took in her sad expression, hating to see it. You smiled sympathetically at her as you walked over to her. When you stood only a foot away from her, Billie rested her forehead against your stomach as she remained seated on the bed whilst you were standing. Your hands caressed the side of her neck and her cheek, offering her comfort in the small ways you could.

"I worked so hard on that album." Billie whispered against the fabric of your dress, her voice slightly breaking.

"I put my everything into it, the lyrics, the meaning, the cover, the production, the videos-" With each word Billie slowly began getting more frustrated, her voice raising.

Noticing this you put both your hands on her shoulders, pulling her body away from yours and making her look up at you.

"The award doesn't define the worth of the album." You reminded her.

Billie sighed rubbing her hands over her face. "I know, I know." She muttered, but you didn't believe it.

You sat down on the edge of the bed beside her, Billie turned to face you as you spoke.

"Remember how excited you were the day you got to make the album cover? How proud you felt when you seen the finished work?" You asked her. Billie just nodded her head.

You continued, "or when you couldn't stop laughing when your mom was in complete silence when you played 'lunch' for her the first three times? How everyone cried when they heard 'skinny', everyone's shocked faces when they heard the beat drop in 'l'amour de ma vie'? The excitement when people found out 'blue' was being released?"

Billie sniffled as she listened to, chuckling softly at the fond memories you talked about.

"Most importantly, how happy you felt when you finally were able to put your feelings into songs, exactly as you wanted them? The love your friends and family showed the album, the praise online and in real life. You can't forget all the people who related and felt seen by the songs, who danced and cried to them, just like you did. That's what matters."

Billie smiled up at you, her eyes teary as she leaned her forehead against yours.

"Billie you made the most special, creative and authentic album that you worked so hard on. No award could ever change its brilliance or reduce the effort you put into it." You spoke firmly to her, wanting to make sure she was hearing what you were saying and that she believed it.

Billie looked up at you with big, thankful and loving eyes. She sniffled and messily wiped away the tears staining her cheeks with her hands.

"You love the album right?" You asked her, "and your proud of it?"

Without hesitation, Billie nodded her head as a yes. You smiled at that.

"Well, that's all that matters." You muttered as you pressed a kiss to her lips. As you were pulling away Billie's hand found the nape of your neck. She pulled your face back to hers and connected your lips once more, this time for a longer and a more passionate kiss.

Her other hand gripped the side of your thigh firmly, not letting you move away from her.

You cupped her cheeks, your fingers dancing in patterns over her soft skin.

When you both pulled away for air, your foreheads rested against each other, faces dipped downwards as both your breathing was heavy. Billies hands found your waist and gave you a slight squeeze.

"Thank you for cheering me up." Billie whispered.

You smiled at her words, kissing the tip of her nose. "Anytime." You giggled.

At the sound of your laugh, Billie looked up at you with her familiar big and bright smile and something akin to mischief in her blue eyes.

"You tired?" She asked you with a smirk.

You shook your head no.

"Good." Billie said. She pushed you down onto the bed, her body ontop of you as you both laughed and giggled. The sadness that had previously filled the room quickly disappearing.

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[28harryssunflower]

Royal scandal - a mini series: Part 1/4

Royal scandal: Part 1

The grand dining hall of Buckingham Palace was oppressively silent, save for the sound of silverware clinking against fine china. Candlelight flickered off the polished mahogany table, casting long shadows across the velvet-draped walls.

Harry pushed the food around on his plate, barely listening to his mother’s polite small talk with one of the visiting dignitaries. His father sat at the head of the table, regal as always, his expression unreadable.

Then, with a deliberate clearing of his throat, King Edward turned his attention to Harry.

“It’s time we discuss something important,” the King said, setting his wine glass down with a soft clink. The conversation around them quieted instantly.

Harry sighed, already knowing where this was going. “Do we have to?”

“Yes.” His father’s tone was firm. “You are twenty-one, Harry. It’s time you start taking your responsibilities seriously.”

Harry exhaled sharply and leaned back in his chair. “I am taking my responsibilities seriously.”

The King scoffed. “Is that what you call the drunken outings? The constant presence of your name in the tabloids? The string of women you leave behind without a second thought?”

A muscle in Harry’s jaw tightened. “What I do in my personal life is my business.”

“Not when you are the Prince of England.” The King’s voice grew sharper. “You cannot behave like some reckless commoner with no obligations. Your duty is to this country, to your people. It is time to act like it.”

Queen Anne sighed softly, placing a gentle hand on her husband’s arm. “Perhaps we should discuss this privately.”

“No, we will discuss this now,” the King said. “Harry needs to understand the weight of his position.” He turned back to Harry, eyes cold and unwavering. “You will be married within the next six months.”

Harry froze.

His fork clattered against his plate, the sound echoing through the silent room.

“What?”

“You heard me,” his father continued. “You are of age, and it is time you settle down. If you do not find a suitable wife soon, I will choose one for you.”

Harry let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “You can’t be serious.”

The King’s expression didn’t waver. “I am.”

Harry’s heart pounded in his chest. “That’s ridiculous. You can’t just force me into a marriage.”

“You are a prince, Harry. This is how things work. A marriage will stabilize your image and strengthen alliances. You will choose a woman of noble standing, someone with grace, intelligence, and the ability to uphold the duties of a princess. No more scandals, no more reckless behavior.”

Harry pushed his chair back abruptly, the legs scraping against the marble floor. “And what if I refuse?”

His father’s eyes darkened. “Then I will make the decision for you.”

Harry clenched his fists, rage bubbling beneath his skin. “So that’s it? You’d just hand me off to some woman I don’t even love? Someone who only cares about the title, the money, the power?”

His father’s gaze remained hard. “Love is a luxury, not a necessity.”

Harry let out a bitter laugh. “That’s easy for you to say. You already have everything you want.”

Queen Anne frowned, her voice softer. “Harry, I know this may seem unfair, but-“

“No.” He cut her off, his voice sharp. “It’s not fair. It’s my life.”

His father stood, his towering presence only adding to the tension. “You are a prince before you are a man. And you will do what is required of you.”

Harry’s hands curled into fists at his sides. His entire life had been dictated by duty, by expectations, by rules. But this? This was too far.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the dining hall, ignoring the calls of his mother and the murmurs of the guests. He needed air. He needed an escape.

That was how he found himself in the heart of London hours later, dressed in worn jeans and a hoodie, stepping into a dimly lit bar.

The place smelled of whiskey and cigarette smoke, the low hum of conversation blending with the faint sound of a jukebox playing an old rock song. It was exactly what he needed.

Behind the bar, you were wiping down the counter when he approached. You recognized him immediately - how could you not? He was the Prince of England, his face plastered across tabloids and news outlets constantly.

But instead of gawking or treating him like royalty, you simply raised an eyebrow.

“What’ll it be?”

Harry smirked, but there was a bitterness to it. “You’re not gonna bow or curtsy?”

You snorted, leaning on the counter. “You want me to? ’Cause I’m pretty sure you came in here looking like a regular bloke for a reason.”

He blinked at you, caught off guard. Most people fawned over him, desperate for a selfie or a conversation that they could brag about later. But you… you didn’t seem to care.

And for the first time that day, Harry felt like he could breathe.

So he told you everything. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the way you just listened, nodding along without judgment. You even did a few shots with him, making sure he had a good time. He didn’t have to be Prince Harry here - he could just be Harry.

And when the night ended, it didn’t feel like a mistake when he ended up in your bed.

One night turned into two. Then three. Then a routine.

Harry kept coming back, and you never asked for anything more than what he was willing to give. No expectations, no pressure. Just him.

But that all came crashing down one night when, at nearly 3AM, frantic knocking at your door jolted you awake.

You barely had time to open it before Harry barreled inside, his face streaked with tears, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

“I can’t do this,” he choked out, collapsing into your arms. “My father’s going to start looking for a wife for me. I can’t- I won’t… be forced into some loveless marriage with a woman who only wants the title. I just want-“ He sucked in a breath. “I just want to be happy. I want love. A real family. Not something arranged for me like I’m some pawn.”

You held him, running soothing circles along his back. You wanted to say something comforting, but what words could possibly fix this?

And then, an idea struck.

“Harry,” you murmured, pulling back just enough to look into his red-rimmed eyes. “What if… what if you introduced me to them?”

His brows furrowed. “What?”

“What if we got married?” You swallowed hard, nervous about his reaction. “I mean, at least we like each other. It wouldn’t be forced. And it’d buy you time - keep you from being stuck with someone awful.”

Harry scoffed, shaking his head. “They’d never let me marry a bartender.”

“Then I won’t be a bartender.” You took a breath. “I’ll tell them I’m in college, that I’d drop out for you. We can make this work - we just have to convince them.”

He stared at you, searching your face for any sign of hesitation.

Then, against all odds, a small, breathless laugh escaped his lips.

“You’re mad.”

“Maybe.” You shrugged. “But so are you for coming here at 3AM crying in my arms.”

Harry let out a deep sigh, rubbing a hand down his face. Then, he looked at you again - really looked at you.

“Alright,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s do it.”

The plan was simple.

Well, as simple as introducing a commoner bartender to the King and Queen of England under the guise of being a respectable college student could be.

Harry sat across from you in your small apartment, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together as he stared at the floor. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the weight of the world pressing down on him.

“This is crazy,” he muttered.

You leaned back against the couch, crossing your arms. “A little.”

“They’ll never go for it.”

You shrugged. “Not if you walk in there doubting it. You have to make them believe it.”

Harry let out a deep sigh and dragged his hands through his curls. You could tell he was struggling. He wanted a way out of this marriage arrangement, but deceiving his family - especially his mother - wasn’t something he took lightly.

“You know they’ll do a background check on you, right?” he asked.

“Obviously,” you said. “Which is why we have to be smart. I’ll tell them I’m in school, that I study… something impressive.”

“Political science,” Harry said quickly. “That would make sense. It would explain why we met - maybe at some charity event or lecture I attended.”

You nodded. “Right. And we’ve been seeing each other for months now, just keeping it quiet.”

Harry exhaled sharply, glancing over at you. “And you’d really do this?”

You looked at him, taking in the uncertainty in his eyes. This wasn’t just about helping him avoid a loveless marriage. It was more than that. Somewhere along the way, what started as casual hookups and late-night conversations had turned into something deeper. You liked him - more than you should have, more than you were willing to admit.

So you swallowed down the nerves creeping up your spine and nodded. “Yeah. I would.”

His lips parted slightly, his gaze searching yours. You weren’t sure what he was looking for, but whatever it was, he must have found it.

Because he whispered, “Okay.”

The next few days were a whirlwind of preparation.

Harry took care of the logistics, ensuring that you were given the right credentials, setting up a believable history of your supposed time at university. He even had someone help polish up your online presence - social media accounts cleaned up, LinkedIn updated with impressive details that made you sound like a brilliant up-and-coming scholar rather than a bartender slinging drinks to London’s rowdiest crowds.

Meanwhile, you practiced.

You memorized details about your “studies,” learned the etiquette of addressing royals properly (even though Harry assured you that his parents wouldn’t expect you to bow or curtsy), and prepared answers for the inevitable questions about your background.

But the hardest part wasn’t the preparation.

It was the waiting.

The night before you were supposed to meet them, Harry stayed over. You sat together on your couch, both nursing glasses of whiskey, the air between you heavy with unspoken thoughts.

“If this goes wrong…” Harry murmured, staring at his glass.

You shifted closer to him. “Then we deal with it.”

He let out a humorless laugh. “You make it sound so simple.”

“Maybe it is.”

Harry turned his head toward you, his green eyes filled with something unreadable. His gaze flickered to your lips for the briefest moment before he shook his head and looked away.

“I don’t deserve this,” he muttered.

You frowned. “Don’t deserve what?”

“This. You.” He swallowed. “I dragged you into this mess, and you’re willing to lie to my entire family just to help me.”

Your heart clenched. You wanted to tell him that it wasn’t just about helping him.

But instead, you smirked and nudged his shoulder. “Well, I’m not doing it for free. I expect lifetime access to the palace’s wine collection.”

Harry huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Deal.”

Buckingham Palace was even more intimidating in person.

You had never been inside before, and now, standing in the grand foyer with its towering ceilings and ornate chandeliers, you felt very, very small.

Harry stood beside you, dressed in a sharp navy suit, looking every bit the prince he was. He had told you not to be nervous, that his mother would be kind and his father would be fair.

But none of that mattered when the King and Queen of England entered the room.

Queen Anne was graceful and poised, her smile warm as she took you in. She was beautiful, elegant in a way that made you understand why the country adored her.

King Edward, on the other hand, was… intimidating. His gaze was sharp, assessing, his posture rigid as he studied you.

“So,” the King said, his voice deep and measured. “You are the woman my son has been seeing.”

You straightened your spine, keeping your expression polite but neutral. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

There was a pause. The tension in the room was thick, like everyone was waiting for someone to say something that would determine the entire outcome of this meeting.

Queen Anne smiled. “Harry has spoken highly of you.”

You glanced at him. He was staring straight ahead, jaw clenched.

You turned back to her. “That’s very kind of him.”

“What is it you study?” the King asked.

“Political science,” you answered smoothly. “I’ve always been passionate about government and international relations.”

The Queen tilted her head. “How did you two meet?”

Harry stepped in. “At a private charity event. We got to talking about politics, and we just… connected.”

The King didn’t seem convinced. He studied you for a long moment before finally saying, “And tell me, if this were to continue - if it were to become official - would you be willing to give up your personal ambitions to stand by my son’s side?”

Your stomach twisted. This was the moment.

“Yes,” you said without hesitation. “If it meant supporting Harry, then yes.”

The Queen seemed pleased with that answer. The King, however, remained unreadable.

Finally, he looked at Harry. “A word. Alone.”

Harry stiffened, but nodded.

You watched as he followed his father out of the room, your pulse pounding in your ears.

Queen Anne turned to you with a kind smile. “Would you like some tea while they talk?”

You managed a smile, but your mind was racing.

The moment the King led Harry out of the room, your stomach twisted into knots.

Queen Anne, ever the picture of warmth and grace, poured you a cup of tea with delicate hands, as if this were nothing more than an afternoon social call. You tried to steady your nerves, tried to ignore the fact that just beyond these walls, Harry was being confronted by one of the most powerful men in the world.

You wrapped your hands around the fine china cup, more for something to hold than to actually drink from it.

The Queen studied you for a moment before speaking. “I must say, I was quite surprised when Harry told us about you.”

You forced a polite smile. “I imagine so.”

She let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. “Not because of who you are, but because Harry has never been one to commit. Not to anything that wasn’t forced upon him.”

Your throat tightened. Was this a test? A warning?

“You must mean a great deal to him if he brought you here,” she continued.

You hesitated before responding. “I’d like to think so.”

The Queen smiled knowingly, but there was something sharp in her eyes, something that told you she wasn’t as easily convinced as she seemed.

You were about to say something else when the doors swung open, and Harry reentered. You barely had time to assess his expression before he turned to you.

“We should go.”

Something was wrong.

You set down your tea and rose to your feet, glancing at the Queen, who simply nodded in farewell. As you followed Harry out of the room, you kept your voice low.

“What happened?”

He didn’t respond until you were outside, stepping into the sleek black car waiting to take you away from Buckingham Palace. The second the doors shut, Harry let out a sharp breath and ran a hand through his hair.

“He doesn’t believe it,” he muttered.

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“My father. He doesn’t believe us.”

You swallowed hard. “What did he say?”

Harry let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “He said I’m lying. That this is all an act to get out of my arranged marriage. That you’re nothing more than an excuse.”

Your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to stay calm. “So what now?”

Harry turned to you, his jaw tight, his green eyes dark with frustration. “Now? Now he’s going to do everything in his power to prove I’m lying.”

Over the next week, the scrutiny was relentless.

The palace had people digging into your past, scouring every detail of your life, looking for any reason to dismiss you. Paparazzi started sniffing around, and before long, tabloids were already speculating about Harry’s “mystery woman.”

You’d never been under this kind of microscope before. At work, people whispered when they saw you. Your coworkers asked questions. And when the first grainy photos of you and Harry surfaced online - him walking you to your door, his hand lingering on your waist - the media frenzy only grew worse.

But the real pressure came from within the palace itself.

Queen Anne invited you to lunch three days after your meeting, her expression as gentle as ever but her words careful. “You must understand,” she said, her hands folded neatly on the table, “this isn’t just about Harry. It’s about the monarchy, about the future of the country. If you truly care for him, you must be prepared for what this life entails.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a challenge.

And then there was the King.

He summoned you alone one evening, without Harry’s knowledge. The meeting took place in one of the palace’s smaller sitting rooms, the air thick with unspoken tension.

The King sat across from you, his sharp eyes assessing, calculating. “You think this will work?” he asked bluntly.

You held his gaze. “I think Harry should be allowed to choose his own future.”

A small, humorless smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “And you believe you are that future?

You swallowed, keeping your expression steady. “I believe I care about him enough to try.”

The King leaned forward, his expression unreadable. “Tell me, how much is he paying you?”

The words struck like a slap. Your breath caught in your throat, but you refused to let the shock show.

“I’m sorry?”

The King’s lips curved into something that might have been a smile if it weren’t so cold. “I know my son. He is desperate to escape the obligations placed upon him, desperate enough to go to great lengths to do so.” He tilted his head. “So tell me - how much did he offer you? Money? Status? What was the deal?”

Your blood ran cold.

Your entire life, you had been underestimated, dismissed by people who thought they were better than you. But this - this was the King of England accusing you of being a gold-digger, a liar, a pawn in his son’s game.

And you wouldn’t stand for it.

You straightened your shoulders and met his gaze head-on. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, I don’t need Harry’s money. I don’t need his title. I don’t need anything from him.”

The King studied you, but you weren’t done.

“I didn’t come into his life looking for a way out of mine. And I certainly didn’t agree to this relationship because of what he could offer me. I care about him. I see him as a person, not just a prince. And if that’s not good enough for you, then I don’t know what is.”

A beat of silence passed.

And then, to your utter shock, the King chuckled.

It was a deep, knowing sound, like he had expected you to break and was almost impressed that you hadn’t. He stood, brushing nonexistent dust off his perfectly tailored suit.

“Well then,” he said. “I suppose we’ll see how long you last.”

And just like that, he walked out, leaving you alone in the vast, empty room.

Your hands trembled slightly as you exhaled.

This wasn’t just a test anymore.

This was war.

When you told Harry about the conversation later that night, he was furious.

“He what?” Harry’s voice was sharp, his hands clenched into fists as he paced your apartment. “He accused you of- bloody hell.”

You sat on the couch, watching him wear a hole into your floor. “Harry, calm down.”

“No.” He stopped, turning to you with fire in his eyes. “He had no right to do that. No right to treat you like-” He cut himself off, his jaw tight.

You stood, walking over to him and resting a hand on his arm. “I handled it.”

Harry’s expression softened slightly, but the frustration didn’t leave his eyes. “You shouldn’t have to handle it.”

You sighed. “I knew this wouldn’t be easy. And honestly? I think your dad respects me more now.”

Harry let out a breath, dragging a hand through his curls. “That makes one of us.”

You smirked. “Oh, come on. What would be the fun in this if there wasn’t a bit of royal drama?”

He let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

You grinned. “And yet, here we are.”

Harry exhaled and cupped your face with his hands, his thumbs brushing lightly against your cheeks. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “Here we are.”

And as he kissed you, slow and deep, you realized something terrifying.

This wasn’t just a plan anymore.

You were falling for him.

And if this all went wrong, you weren’t sure your heart would survive it.

It had been two weeks since your confrontation with the King.

Two weeks of scrutiny, of whispered meetings with Harry in your apartment, of watching the media dissect every little movement you made. The palace hadn’t officially acknowledged your relationship, but the press had already put the pieces together. Every tabloid ran their own version of the story - some calling you a mystery scholar, others labeling you a gold-digger who had seduced the prince.

And through it all, Harry had been by your side.

He showed up at your apartment almost every night, exhausted and frustrated, but unwilling to let this fight go. You’d stay up for hours, strategizing your next move, trying to find a way to win his father over. But as much as you prepared, you knew one thing - if the King had already made up his mind, nothing would change it.

And that became painfully clear when Harry got the news.

The King had begun the search for his future wife.

Harry stormed into your apartment that night, his face red with anger, his curls a mess from running his hands through them. The moment he saw you, he grabbed your face and kissed you - desperate, urgent, like he needed to remind himself that you were real.

When he pulled away, he was breathing heavily.

“He’s doing it,” he spat. “He’s already selecting candidates. He’s meeting with their families, setting up discreet meetings.”

You felt your stomach drop.

“Harry-“

“I won’t do it.” His voice was sharp, unwavering. “I won’t marry some aristocrat I don’t know. I won’t be forced into a life I don’t want.”

You swallowed, reaching for his hands. “Then we have to do something.”

He exhaled shakily, his grip tightening around yours. “Like what?”

And that’s when the idea hit you.

“An engagement.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

You took a deep breath. “If we announce our engagement first - publicly - then your father will have no choice but to acknowledge us. He can’t force you into another marriage if the world already sees you as taken.”

Harry stared at you, his green eyes searching yours. “That’s insane.”

You shrugged. “A little.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, to your shock, Harry let out a small, breathless laugh.

“You’re serious.”

You lifted a brow. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He ran a hand down his face. “Because this isn’t just pretending anymore. This would mean… forever.”

Something in your chest tightened, but you kept your voice steady. “Is that really so bad?”

Harry’s expression shifted. He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Not if it’s with you.”

Your breath caught.

And then, just like that, the decision was made.

The palace was in chaos.

The moment Harry posted a simple photo on Instagram - his hand wrapped around yours, a stunning engagement ring on your finger - the world erupted.

News outlets scrambled for statements. Social media went into a frenzy. And within an hour, Buckingham Palace was forced to issue a public response.

You sat in your apartment, your phone buzzing nonstop, watching the royal spokesperson deliver a carefully worded statement on TV.

“His Royal Highness Prince Henry has announced his engagement. The Royal Family was not made aware of this decision beforehand, but we offer our congratulations and will provide further statements in due course.”

Not exactly the warmest endorsement.

But it didn’t matter. Because now, the entire world knew.

And that meant the King couldn’t erase you.

Harry had warned you that the palace would summon you soon.

He just didn’t expect it to happen the next morning.

You barely had time to process the news before a sleek black car arrived at your apartment, and suddenly, you were being driven straight to Buckingham Palace.

By the time you entered the grand hall, your nerves were on fire.

Harry was already there, standing tall in front of his parents. Queen Anne looked composed, her lips pressed together as she studied you. But King Edward…

He was furious.

His gaze cut through you like a blade. “So this is how you do things?” he said coldly. “Announcing an engagement without our approval? Trapping us into accepting this circus?”

Your heart pounded, but you refused to back down. You lifted your chin. “Harry made his choice.”

The King scoffed. “A choice? No, this is manipulation. A desperate attempt to back us into a corner.” His sharp eyes turned to Harry. “And you. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“Yes,” Harry said, his voice unwavering. “I chose her.”

The King clenched his jaw. “Do you even understand the consequences of this? You think you can just marry some commoner and expect the world to accept it?”

Harry’s expression darkened. “Maybe the world would accept it if you did.”

The tension was suffocating.

And then, for the first time, Queen Anne spoke.

“I’d like a moment alone with her.”

Everyone turned to look at her. The King frowned, but after a long pause, he nodded. “Fine.”

Harry hesitated before turning to you. His fingers brushed against yours in a silent reassurance before he followed his father out of the room.

And then it was just you and the Queen.

She studied you for a long moment before finally speaking. “Are you in love with him?”

The question caught you off guard. You opened your mouth, then closed it.

Were you?

This had started as a plan - a way to protect Harry from an arranged marriage. But somewhere along the way, you had fallen. Fallen for his laughter, his late-night rants about music, the way he looked at you like you were the only person who had ever really seen him.

So you took a deep breath and told the truth.

“Yes.”

Queen Anne’s expression didn’t change. “And do you truly believe you can handle this life?”

You swallowed. “I don’t know. But I’m willing to try.”

She was silent for a moment. Then, to your shock, she let out a soft chuckle.

“You remind me of myself,” she murmured.

You blinked. “What?”

She smiled, but there was a knowing sadness in her eyes. “When I married Edward, I wasn’t what the world expected, either. I was too bold, too outspoken, too… untraditional.” She sighed. “But I loved him. And I fought for my place here.”

She met your gaze.

“So if you truly love my son, then fight for him.”

Your breath caught. “Does that mean…?”

The Queen smiled faintly. “It means I won’t stand in your way.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

She wasn’t giving you full approval. Not yet.

But she was giving you a chance.

And right now, that was more than enough.

When you walked out of the room, Harry was waiting.

The moment he saw you, he rushed forward, his hands finding yours. “What happened?”

You took a deep breath, then smiled.

“She’s on our side.”

Harry’s lips parted in shock. Then, without thinking, he pulled you into his arms, lifting you slightly off the ground.

And as he kissed you - right there in the halls of Buckingham Palace - you realized something.

This wasn’t a plan anymore.

This was real.

And you were ready to fight for it.

You weren’t surprised when the King requested to see you alone.

After all, Queen Anne may have been willing to give you a chance, but King Edward? He wasn’t one to accept things so easily.

So when a royal advisor arrived at your apartment with the summons, you didn’t hesitate. You knew what this was. A test. A final attempt to break you, to make you doubt yourself, to push you into walking away.

But you weren’t going anywhere.

You were led through the grand halls of Buckingham Palace, your footsteps echoing against the marble floors. Every corner of this place reminded you that you didn’t belong here - not yet. But if the King thought he could intimidate you into submission, he was about to be very disappointed.

The advisor finally stopped in front of a massive oak door. “He’s waiting inside,” he said stiffly.

You nodded, took a deep breath, and stepped in.

King Edward was seated in a large armchair near the fireplace, his posture straight, his hands folded neatly over his knee. The room was dimly lit, the flickering flames casting shadows across his face. He didn’t look up immediately, instead staring at the fire as if deep in thought.

You didn’t speak first. If there was one thing you’d learned from watching him, it was that he commanded every room he was in. He expected obedience. Expected people to fold under his silence.

So you waited.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he exhaled sharply through his nose and turned his gaze toward you.

“Sit.”

It wasn’t a request.

But you stayed standing.

“I’d rather not.”

His brow arched slightly, the first sign of surprise. “Is that so?”

You lifted your chin. “If you called me here just to intimidate me, Your Majesty, I’d rather skip the formalities.”

Something flickered in his eyes - annoyance, amusement, you weren’t sure. He studied you for a long moment, then leaned back in his chair.

“You think you’re very clever, don’t you?”

You shrugged. “I think I love your son.”

His jaw tightened. “Love.” He let the word linger in the air before scoffing. “Do you have any idea what it means to love someone like Harry? What it means to be part of this family?”

“I understand more than you think.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Then you understand that this isn’t a fairy tale. You are not a princess. You are not meant for this life.”

You clenched your fists. “Who decides that? You?”

“Yes.” His voice was sharp, cutting through the room like a blade. “I decide. Because I have spent my entire life protecting this family, this monarchy, from people like you.”

Your nails dug into your palms. “People like me?”

“People who don’t understand what this life requires. People who think love is enough to survive it. People who will break under the weight of it.” His eyes burned into yours. “You think you’re ready for this? Ready to be scrutinized, criticized, torn apart by the press? Ready to be hated by the people who don’t believe you deserve to stand beside him? Ready to sacrifice your life, your privacy, your freedom?”

Your throat tightened. You had thought about it. But hearing it like this - so brutally, so coldly - made it real.

Still, you didn’t back down.

“I don’t care what the press says about me,” you said firmly. “I don’t care about the public’s approval. I don’t care about titles or palaces or any of this.” You took a step forward, your voice unwavering. “The only thing I care about is Harry. And I won’t walk away just because you think I should.”

The King’s expression darkened. “You are playing a dangerous game.”

“So are you.” You met his gaze without flinching. “Because if you keep pushing Harry away, you’ll lose him.”

The muscles in his jaw tensed. “You think he’d leave his family?”

“I think he’s already considering it.”

That hit its mark.

For the first time, King Edward looked genuinely unsettled.

Good.

You took another step forward, your voice softening just enough. “I don’t want to take him from you. I don’t want to be the reason he walks away. But if you force him into a life he doesn’t want… if you push him into a marriage that will make him miserable… he will leave.”

Silence.

The King stared at you, his expression unreadable.

And then, in a voice so low it was almost a whisper, he said, “Do you truly love him?”

You swallowed hard. “Yes.”

He exhaled slowly, his eyes closing for a brief moment. When he looked at you again, something in his gaze had shifted.

Not acceptance. Not approval.

But understanding.

“Then prove it.”

Your breath caught. “What?”

“If you truly love my son,” the King said, standing to his full height, towering over you, “then prove it. Prove that you can handle this life. That you can handle me.”

You squared your shoulders. “I already have.”

His lips twitched, like he wanted to smirk but refused to.

Then, without another word, he turned and walked past you, leaving the room.

The moment the door shut behind him, you finally exhaled, your hands shaking.

You had won - for now.

But this war wasn’t over.

Not yet.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed before the door finally opened again.

Harry rushed in, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on you. His brows were furrowed, his jaw tense. “What did he say to you?”

You swallowed, still feeling the weight of the conversation. “He tested me.”

Harry stepped closer, reaching for your hands. His were warm, steady - grounding. “What do you mean?”

You met his gaze. “He wanted me to back down. To walk away. To prove that I wasn’t strong enough for this.”

Harry exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Of course he did.” His grip tightened around yours. “And?”

You let out a slow breath. “I didn’t.”

His expression softened, something like admiration flickering in his green eyes. “You stood up to him.”

You gave a small, tired smile. “For you? Always.”

Harry cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. “You shouldn’t have to fight for me.”

“But I will.” You held his gaze, unwavering. “If that’s what it takes, I will.”

Harry let out a breathy laugh, but there was something vulnerable in it. Like he wasn’t used to being fought for. Like he had spent his whole life being treated as an asset, a pawn in the monarchy’s game. And now, here you were, standing in front of him - defying the King himself - just to be with him.

His lips met yours, slow and lingering, as if he was trying to pour every unspoken word into the kiss. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“I love you.” His voice was hoarse, like the words had been sitting on his tongue for too long.

Your breath hitched. You had known it - felt it - but hearing it was something else entirely.

You smiled, your fingers curling around his collar. “I love you too.”

A soft knock at the door made you both pull apart.

A royal advisor stepped in, looking as stiff as ever. “His Majesty requests an audience with the Prince.”

Harry frowned. “Alone?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Harry looked back at you, hesitation flickering across his face. You squeezed his hand. “Go,” you whispered. “See what he wants.”

He exhaled through his nose, clearly reluctant, but nodded. He pressed one last kiss to your forehead before following the advisor out of the room.

And you?

You stayed behind, your mind spinning.

Because while you had won the first battle, you knew the war was far from over.

Harry returned hours later, his face unreadable as he shut the door behind him.

You stood from the couch immediately. “What happened?”

Harry dragged a hand through his curls before finally looking at you. “He gave me a choice.”

Your stomach dropped. “What choice?”

His jaw clenched. “Stay in the royal family and marry someone of his choosing… or leave it all behind.”

Silence.

Your heart pounded. “Harry…”

His eyes softened as he stepped forward, his hands settling on your waist. “I told him my answer before he even finished speaking.”

You swallowed hard. “Which is?”

His thumb brushed against your hip. “You.”

Your breath caught.

Harry took a deep breath, his voice steady. “I’d rather walk away from the crown than lose you.”

Tears burned the back of your eyes. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” His hands moved to cradle your face. “I was born into this, but it’s not my life. It’s theirs. And if I have to give it up to be happy, then so be it.”

You shook your head, emotions threatening to overwhelm you. “I don’t want you to resent me-“

“I could never resent you.” His gaze was fierce, unwavering. “You are the only thing in my life that feels real. And I won’t let my father take that from me.”

A tear slipped down your cheek. “What happens now?”

Harry’s lips pressed into a firm line. “We fight.”

And looking into his eyes, you knew one thing for sure.

You weren’t fighting alone.

You weren’t going to stand by and let this happen.

The moment Harry told you what his father had said - what he was threatening - something inside you snapped.

You knew the King didn’t approve of you. That he wanted you gone. But to go as far as to force Harry to choose between you and his entire family?

No. Absolutely not.

So while Harry was in another wing of the palace, distracted in a meeting, you stormed through the halls of Buckingham Palace with a fire in your veins. The staff gawked as you passed, but no one dared to stop you. Maybe it was the determination in your stride, or maybe they were simply too stunned to believe what they were seeing - a commoner marching straight toward the King’s office unannounced.

You didn’t knock.

You pushed open the heavy oak doors with more force than necessary, making them slam against the walls.

King Edward looked up from his desk, startled for only a second before his expression turned to cold disapproval.

“You are out of line,” he said sharply.

You didn’t care.

You stepped inside, shutting the doors behind you. “You can’t do this to him.”

The King leaned back in his chair, regarding you with a blank expression. “Do what?”

“Don’t play games with me.” Your voice shook with anger. “You know what. You can’t just kick your own son out of the family because he refuses to be your puppet.”

Edward’s eyes darkened. “You think this is my doing? Harry made his own choice.”

“No, you forced his hand.” You stepped closer, slamming your hands onto his desk. “You gave him an impossible choice: abandon me or abandon his entire family. Do you even hear yourself?”

His jaw tightened, but he remained silent.

Your chest heaved, your voice growing desperate. “You’re supposed to be his father. His family. And instead of supporting him, you’re pushing him away. You’re punishing him for wanting to be happy.”

King Edward let out a slow breath, his gaze sharp. “And what would you have me do? Let him throw away centuries of tradition for a woman who doesn’t belong in this world?”

You clenched your fists. “I don’t give a damn about tradition. What I care about is Harry. And whether you like it or not, he’s still your son. You can’t just cut him off because he refuses to live his life according to your rules.”

The King studied you, his eyes cold. “And why do you care so much? Is it because you fear losing your new luxurious lifestyle?”

Your anger flared so hot it nearly burned.

“You think this is about money?” Your voice rose, filled with frustration. “You think I’m doing all of this because I want a title? A palace? You have no idea who I am.”

The King arched a brow. “Enlighten me, then.”

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to steady. “I love Harry. Not because he’s a prince. Not because of his wealth or his status. I love him because he’s kind. Because he’s funny and stubborn and passionate. Because he’s the only person who has ever truly seen me.” You swallowed hard, eyes burning. “And I refuse to let you take him away from the people who love him just because he refuses to be your perfect prince.”

Silence.

You could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, feel the tension in the air so thick it was suffocating.

But you didn’t back down.

“I will fight for him,” you continued, voice unwavering. “I will fight for his happiness, for his right to choose his own life. Even if it means standing against you, I won’t give up on him.”

For a moment, the King just stared at you.

And then-

He grinned.

A slow, amused grin that made your stomach twist.

“Welcome to the family.”

Your breath hitched. “What?”

The King leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. “You passed.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

His smirk deepened. “You think I was really going to cast my own son out?” He scoffed. “Harry may be reckless, but he’s still mine. I needed to see if you were strong enough to stand by him. If you’d crumble under pressure… or if you’d fight for him.”

Realization hit you like a freight train.

“This was all a test?” you said in disbelief.

The King’s expression turned knowing. “Did you really think I’d let my son marry someone who wouldn’t protect him?” He exhaled, shaking his head. “Harry is emotional. Impulsive. He needs someone who will stand their ground, someone who won’t walk away when things get difficult.” He gave you a pointed look. “And you just proved that you’re exactly that person.”

You were still reeling. “So… you approve?”

The King chuckled, standing from his chair. “I wouldn’t go that far.” He smirked. “But I’ll allow it.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. After everything - every argument, every moment of doubt - he was letting you stay.

You had won.

Just as you were about to respond, the doors suddenly flew open again.

Harry stormed in, his green eyes wide with panic. “What the hell is going on?” His gaze darted between you and his father, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “I leave for one hour and suddenly you’re having a meeting without me?”

You turned to him, still stunned. “Harry…”

The King smirked. “Relax, son. Your little spitfire here just proved herself.”

Harry blinked, completely thrown. “Proved herself?”

The King clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “She’s a fighter. You chose well.”

Harry’s mouth fell open. “Wait- you mean?-“

“I won’t stand in your way,” Edward said simply. Then he turned to you, eyes glinting with something almost… proud. “But be warned, young lady - being part of this family is no easy task.”

You lifted your chin. “I never expected it to be.”

The King studied you for a final moment before nodding. “Good.” He glanced at Harry. “Try not to embarrass me, son.”

And with that, he strode past both of you, leaving the office like nothing had happened.

Harry stared after him, then turned to you. “What the hell just happened?”

You let out a breathless laugh, still processing. “I think… we won.”

Harry blinked. Then, without warning, he grabbed you by the waist, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around. You shrieked in surprise, laughing as he kissed you - deep, desperate, filled with relief.

When he set you back down, he pressed his forehead against yours. “You did this for me?”

You smiled. “I’d do anything for you.”

His green eyes burned with love. “God, I love you so much.”

And as you stood there, wrapped in his arms, you knew - this was just the beginning.

The moment the King gave his reluctant approval, everything changed.

There was no more hiding, no more sneaking around. The press exploded with headlines about Prince Harry’s shocking engagement to a commoner, the royal advisors scrambled to prepare the public for the news, and the palace staff suddenly had to make space for you in Buckingham Palace.

And you?

You were caught in the middle of a whirlwind.

Standing in your tiny apartment, surrounded by half-filled boxes, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness.

This place had been yours. A space that belonged to no one else, where you had lived freely, without the weight of the crown pressing down on you.

Now, you were about to trade it all for a palace.

For him.

Harry sat on your couch, watching as you folded a sweater into a box labeled clothes. His elbows rested on his knees, fingers playing with the rings on his hand.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You exhaled, forcing a smile. “Yeah. It’s just… weird.”

Harry nodded, understanding. “I get it. This is a big change.”

You looked at him, searching his face. “Are you sure about this? About me moving in?”

Harry scoffed, standing up and wrapping his arms around you. “Are you kidding? I’ve been dreaming about this since the first time I woke up in your bed.” His lips brushed against your temple. “I want you there. I want to fall asleep with you every night. Wake up with you every morning.”

Your heart melted a little. “You’re so cheesy.”

“Only for you, love.” He smirked before looking around the apartment. “Do you want to keep this place?”

You hesitated.

“I mean… it’s not like I need it,” you admitted. “But it’s the first place that ever felt like mine, you know?”

Harry nodded in understanding. “Then keep it.”

You blinked up at him. “What?”

His smile was soft. “You don’t have to live here, but it can still be yours. Somewhere to escape when the palace gets too much.”

Your chest tightened. How did he always know exactly what you needed?

You wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. “I love you so much.”

He chuckled. “I know.”

Walking into the palace with your belongings felt surreal.

The grand halls, the expensive paintings, the endless corridors - it still didn’t feel real. You weren’t just visiting anymore. You lived here now.

Staff members were already bringing in your boxes, setting them in the suite you’d now share with Harry. It was massive, more like an apartment within the palace itself, with high ceilings, antique furniture, and a balcony overlooking the royal gardens.

You turned in a slow circle, taking it all in.

“This is insane,” you whispered.

Harry grinned, leaning against the doorway. “A bit different from your apartment, huh?”

You shot him a playful glare. “Just a bit.”

He walked over, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. “You’ll get used to it.”

You leaned into him, sighing. “I don’t want to lose myself, Harry.”

He pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “You won’t. You’re you - the woman who stormed into my father’s office and yelled at the King of England.” He chuckled. “Trust me, no palace is gonna change you.”

You smiled, relaxing into his embrace.

Maybe he was right.

The next few weeks were absolute chaos.

Meetings with royal advisors, endless dress fittings, security briefings, and etiquette lessons that made your head spin. There were rules to follow now - how to sit, how to speak, how to wave (yes, there’s an actual royal wave).

Every day was another step closer to the wedding.

And every day, it felt more real.

One afternoon, you sat in the Queen’s private sitting room, flipping through a massive book of wedding venue options. Queen Anne sat across from you, poised and elegant as ever, but her gaze was warm.

“You must be exhausted,” she said knowingly.

You exhaled, nodding. “There’s just… a lot to take in.”

She smiled. “That’s an understatement.”

You hesitated before speaking. “How did you handle it? When you married the King?”

Her smile faltered just slightly, as if she were recalling something distant. “It wasn’t easy,” she admitted. “I had to fight for my place, just like you.” She studied you for a moment. “But I see now why Harry chose you. You’re stronger than you realize.”

Warmth bloomed in your chest. “Thank you.”

She nodded, flipping to another page in the book. “Now, let’s pick a venue before the King takes over and insists on Westminster Abbey.”

You laughed. “God forbid.”

She smirked. “Exactly.”

For the first time, you felt like you truly belonged.

This wedding - this life - was yours. And you were ready.

The morning of your wedding dawned with a golden sunrise spilling through the palace windows. The air buzzed with nervous excitement, and the entire world seemed to be watching.

Today, you would officially become a member of the royal family.

[setmeatopthepyre]

mystery monday (more phosphorescence fic) part 1 | part 2 <- follows directly after this

-

“No, come on, listen. You saw him on that call, you-- you must have noticed. He wasn't okay. How was he suddenly just... fine, just a few weeks later? It was like he'd-- he'd forgotten about me, Chim.”

“Look, Buck...” Chimney is looking at him kindly, and Buck hates it. Chim jokes and doesn't take him too seriously, that's what he does, that's what Buck's used to from his brother-in-law. But this isn't joking. This is just the... the not-taking-him-seriously part. “I know this has been a really tough situation for you...”

“It-It's not because he broke my heart, alright?” Buck says, suddenly angry, frustrated, getting to his feet. “It's not. There's something wrong with him. Can't-- Can't you just, talk to him? See for yourself?”

Chimney's gotten to his feet now, too. Maybe in an attempt to even the playing field, keep Buck from towering over him, not that standing up does him much good in that regard. Buck feels a little guilty, but he can't-- he can't sit down, can't sit still right now. He begins to make his way to the kitchen. Turns. “Wait, have you talked to him at all?”

Chim crosses his arms over his chest. “Honestly? Not really. We texted a few times, right after... you know.”

“He dumped me?” Buck says flatly, feet carrying him forward. He helps himself to a glass of water.

“Yeah.” Chim says hesitantly, trails after him into the kitchen. “That. So, not recently.”

Buck can feel the way he's being watched, resolutely doesn't turn to face him yet, takes a second to let this-- this irritation subside. If Chimney would just believe him, if he'd just understand--

“Okay,” Chimney says. “Yes, fine. If you think that will help, I'll... I'll give Tommy a call. Okay?”

“Yeah?” He turns now, takes a few steps closer, trying to gauge if Chimney actually believes him, or...

“Of course,” Chim replies. “That's what brothers are for, right?” He gives Buck a pat on his shoulder, as though trying to really lay the brother thing on thick. as if Buck won't notice he's still looking at him like he's someone to be concerned about as he does it.

..

So it doesn't surprise Buck when Maddie spontaneously drops by the firehouse the next day, because she just so happened to be in the area.

“Don't listen to her, she's here for me,” Buck says with a sigh, earning him a round of raised eyebrows from everyone but Chimney, who has his best (worst) poker face on. He had cornered Chimney earlier that morning to check if he'd talked to Tommy yet, but apparently Tommy hadn't answered because he was on shift, which is fine, though Buck knows Tommy is perfectly capable of picking up the phone when he's on shift as long as he isn't actively on a call. But. Whatever. Chimney will try again later, and until then... Buck is apparently being babysat.

“I'm here for all of you,” Maddie retorts before sing-songing, “I brought fancy coffees!”

“Maddie Han, you are an angel. You should ditch your lousy husband and run away with me,” Chimney croons, accepting the cup she offers him. Buck sticks to where he's leaning against the rig, waiting for his sister to finish her little charade so she can corner him and look at him with those-- those big brown worried eyes, and tell him she knows it's tough but isn't it time he thought about moving on? He'd shot his shot, he'd texted Tommy. If he hadn't responded, then, well...

He should take the hint.

Buck knows that. He just... can't. Not when something so very clearly isn't right.

Even if he's the only one who seems to notice.

-

tag list below the cut

@fiyaerrigan @bisexualbrainrots @leashybebes @louuieferrignojr @rubydaiquiri @teabroomsandbooks @crimsonwildcat-blog @sweaters-and-silly

let me know if you wanna be added or removed :)

[fanonical]

Did you ever get my ask? I asked about what to do when a child loves something by a problematic author. How do you go about telling them if they’re too young? SHOULD you tell them? I’m talking about current 10 year old HP fans and children who like the Coraline movie. What do we do when it’s them and not adults? We forget about the target audience too much when we talk about things like this as if it were exclusively childhood nostalgia of Millenials/Gen Z

For fuck's sake, I didn't want to rise to the bait here, but this is making me mad because it's such a straw argument, so fuck it, I'm taking the bait. For context, this is anon's first ask:

Anon, first off, you are responding to a post that is five years old and about a subject that we pointedly do not post about anymore, and that alone makes me think you're not responding in good faith, but whatever.

Look, I work in a fucking library. We have HP books. If a child comes up to me and asks 'hey where's the HP books' I am not going to a) kick them in the face, b) tell them they're an idiot or c) refuse to answer. I am going to tell them where the fucking HP books are. I don't put them on displays I make, but I don't censor them, because we are legally not allowed to censor books in the library.

But I guess you're asking more if this is a kid who's in my life, as opposed to a kid who I just kinda come across. So, okay, I have a 9 year old neighbour whose family are friends with mine, we play video games together occasionally when her mum and dad need someone to watch her. And this kid reads books! And this kid reads fantasy books.

If I was seriously talking to her about the HP books, I might tell her about JKR! I would say something like 'I used to like the HP books, but then I learned that the author said some really nasty things about trans people like me. Now I don't like them so much any more.' And we could have a conversation about that, you know! I've talked to this kid about transphobia in terms that are appropriate for her age. We've had discussions about gender before. I think she'd listen to me, and form her own fucking opinion about it! 'I don't like the author of the HP books because she has said some nasty things' is a concept you can communicate to a five year old.

But also like. You're kind of acting like by taking away HP from this (hypothetical in your ask) kid they don't have any other books. Which...isn't true? If all copies of the HP books disappeared off the face of the earth tomorrow, kids would be reading other stuff, as they are currently reading other stuff! My 9 year old neighbour is a huge Jacqueline Wilson fan, she loves the Daisy Meadows rainbow fairy books. I want to introduce her to the Morrigan Crow books. We could get retro and start introducing kids to the Edge Chronicles, I fucking loved those books. Artemis Fowl. A Series of Unfortunate Events. There are so many other book series for kids in this world. I work in a fucking library! I can tell you that the kids are into Tom Gates, Dogman, Diary of a Wimpy Kid, Percy Jackson, Babysitter Club, Dork Diaries, and (exasperated sigh) David Walliams books, based on a sample size of every kid I encounter at work. I get asked for all of them far more than I do for HP, actually.

I don't think you'd be ruining every kid's lives by taking away One Series from them. (Particularly not one that's losing some relevancy every day - and I mean that in the sense that it's not an ongoing series, the last book came out in 2007. Nearly 20 years ago. For a nine or ten year old, that's almost double their entire life.) And I don't think you necessarily would be taking it away from them to say 'hey this is the reason I don't like these books'. I trust your average ten year old to be able to have a reasonably mature conversation. You're making it sound like they're all Oliver Twist holding out their gruel bowl saying 'please sir I only read one book'.

Anyway. All this to say, I think kids have the ability to have conversations about media. And there are other books in the world. So, no, taking HP or Coraline or whatever away from kids is hardly snatching candy from a baby. Kids are smarter than you think.

[yall-batman-fanfic]

The Madman’s Dream | Bruce Wayne/Batman x OC!Magician

Synopsis: Inspired by the 1992 Batman the Animated Series episode, Perchance to Dream.

“Why are there dreams and why are there nightmares? And why don’t we always remember what we dreamed about?”

Bruce was caught off guard with the question and turned from his work to Vivian who laid on the couch in his study reading one of the books in his private collection. Getting up from his seat, he approached Vivian, raised her legs so he could sit at that spot and be close to her. 

“What are you reading now?” He asked.

“I saw this on the shelf and I was just drawn to it,” she showed the cover. “Well, Batman? Why are there dreams and nightmares? And why can’t I remember the lottery numbers from that one dream I had the other night.”

She laughed and Bruce took the book to read what it was that got her asking. “Whatever we decide while we are awake, whatever we do, the things around us affects our dreams. It helps us cope with reality, with our trauma or be a constant reminder on why we keep going,” he answered. “Not a scholar’s answer but what I can answer the other part. You can't read in a dream because the part of your brain responsible for language processing, and reading, is significantly less active while you sleep, making it difficult to decipher letters and words on a conscious level.”

“So, it’s not the right-brain, left-brain theory then?” Vivian sat up.

“That’s a myth.”

“So, dreams? Where do they come from?”

“What has gotten you so interested in this anyway?” Bruce tossed the book on the table and pulled Vivian closer to him. “Earlier you were reading Carmilla.”

“I always did prefer Carmilla from Dracula… I don’t know, there was a debate in the faculty office about dreams whether it’s a subconscious thing or not, and why are there instances where people have lucid dreaming. It was an interesting topic.”

“And instead of a science book, you went for texts about Morpheus, the god of Dreams.”

“Well, I got you to explain all that shit to me anyway,” Vivian shrugged. “Did you ever have a dream where you were falling and when you woke up you’re actually still in that dream?”

“I do.”

“Good, that’s means you just watched Inception – ha! Bruce, don’t!” Vivian laughed as he tickled her sides, she tried to get away from him but Bruce had a good hold on her. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—but seriously, there’s this thing about an endless dream where you’re trapped in some kind of limbo. Some would find it a dream because they’re given their ideal world, others it’s a nightmare because of—well, you get what I mean.”

“And how do you get out of it?”

“In magic, to be trapped in a dream means instant death because there are times when they jump or force their magic to wake them they excerpt so much effort that it could lead to complications in the body. Some just give up and live the dream, others die in it, and then a rare few get to escape.”

Bruce reached for her braided red hair and caressed the strands that got out of the knots. “How did you escape?”

“I had an anchor in the real world. He pulled me out.”

“Constantine?”

“Yes. But there are instances where the only way to get out of it is by understanding the root of the dream. Dreams are made from our time here in the Waking World… It helps us cope with trauma.”

“And nightmares?” He kissed her knee and held her hand.

“It’s to reveal a dreamer's fears, and to help them face it. So, I guess the right question I should be asking is: what are you afraid of, Bruce?”

“What?” He laughed, caught completely off guard with her question.

Vivian sat up straight. “You were having a nightmare last night, and when I asked about it you just shrugged it off. What’s wrong?”

Bruce frowned. “It’s nothing.”

“I know the anniversary is coming.” He remained silent and she sighed, “If you're ready, I’ll be here to listen, okay?”

It wasn’t really an answer but when Bruce laid on her, Vivian saw it as him promising her that he will open up but just not right now. And maybe he should have so he wouldn’t have been trapped that night.

~ * ~

They were amateurs, nothing that Batman can’t capture, and he could easily have done so if he wasn’t curious to know who had them put him in a wild goose chase. They went to a factory, ran across the catwalk, it wasn’t the one where the Joker was born but it looked so much like. It caught him off guard that just a moment of hesitation they got him with a the roof falling over him —

~ * ~

Bruce woke up on his bed, tired and confused. It was one of those sleeps where his body was just too heavy and too tired to move but he knew he needed to wake up and feel his fingers and toes. How did he get there? He thought.

“Viv –”

Strange, she wasn’t there and there weren’t any signs of her ever being there too. Did she head out already? Did they have a fight that Vivian decided to sleep in another room? He couldn’t remember. But he was sure that he was chasing two henchmen to a factory and then he was knocked out.

“Up and ready now, Sir?” Alfred greeted him as he entered the room with tea.

“Alfred, what happened last night? How did I get here?” He asked. 

“I suppose you did have too much to drink last night, Sir,” Alfred chuckled.

He didn’t seem to hear the butler’s comment as he continued to ask, “Was it Robin to took me back? Viv?”

“Robin and Viv?” Alfred raised a brow. “I do hope those are not names of women, Master Bruce.”

Now he was getting even more confused. “Alfred, what are you — where’s Vivian? Did she go to work now?”

“Vivian?” Alfred was astounded. “Sir, I am very much confused — did something happen last night with Ms. Madison?”

“Madison?” Bruce stopped in his tracks. “Julia?”

“Who else? Your fiance, Sir,” Alfred reminded him with a stern tone. “Unless things have changed last night with this mysterious Vivian you keep mentioning.”

“Alfred, I’m the one confused,” Bruce stormed out of his room. Something was wrong, very wrong. Alfred was acting differently and what is this about not knowing about Vivian and Julia! Julia Madison is a name he did not ever think to remember after all this time. And fiance? Yes, he proposed then to Julia but that was a long time ago, they ended the engagement almost immediately when he decided to leave and pursue his mission to be Batman. 

If anyone who Alfred should be mentioning the name next to fiance or the word engaged to him it would be Vivian. He already showed Alfred the ring he had made for her and had been talking to him on how he was going to propose. They even practiced a couple of times! Dick almost caught them one time—he couldn’t let Dick know about it, because if Dick knew then he would tell Vivian and the surprise would be ruined. 

Reaching the clock, Bruce was about open the thing and enter the Cave to figure out what was happening but when he opened the damn thing it only opened the glass that Alfred would open to clean it. 

“Alfred!” Bruce called out.

“Master Bruce, what’s wrong?” Alfred ran to him.

“What happened? Why is the Cave closed off?” 

“A cave?”

“The entrance to the Bat-Cave, what else?”

Alfred had a worried look on him. “Sir, I assure you, for as long as I have been working here, I have never encountered a cave — let alone a bat-cave in under the manor.”

“What is happening, that’s not–”

“Son, is everything alright? You sound upset?” A voice that Bruce never thought of hearing ever again made him freeze. It was older now and wasn’t as deep as it was but Bruce knew the voice of his own father.

Standing at the doorway were who Bruce thought for a moment were ghosts but then if these were ghosts, how come his parents have aged? They looked just as they should have if they were alive now. These were not ghosts, Thomas and Martha Wayne were alive and they were standing right before him.

“No, no, it’s impossible,” Bruce stepped back. “It can’t be you, it can’t be!” He ran past his parents hoping they were just phantoms—he would rather face whatever supernatural entity in the Manor than this—but he didn’t. He brushed shoulders with his father. 

“Son—”

Bruce ran out of the Manor. Everything was different. Where were Vivian’s things? Where were her books? Her diplomas and certificates that he insisted on putting up on the wall than hidden in the storage? Her photos and Dick’s photos too? And her flowers… Vivian asked Alfred then if she could plant some flowers in the garden and she picked the type she liked. She made sure the flowers were always lush there, along with some herbs that she would dry out in the kitchen. In the shed she would have a basket that she would take whenever she would go on a walk so she could pick up some mushrooms around the estate. 

Everything that was Vivian was gone.

With Vivian gone, so was Dick. 

This can’t possibly be happening!

Opening the hose, Bruce tried to wake himself by splashing water on his face, as he did he remembered the time he sprayed water at Vivian’s direction and the sound of her squeal and laughter ran in his mind. He still remembers her vividly, then how come she’s not here? 

And why were his parents alive?

“You okay, son?” Thomas came to see him. He sounded sincere. If this was some kind of simulation trap then he should find a way to get out without raising suspicion. Just like always.

“I’m okay,” Bruce answered. His father had him turn around and checked on his eyes and had him follow the movement of his finger. “I just… I must have partied too hard last night, that’s all.”

“You will be able to make it to the office will you? There’s this stockholders meeting later.”

“Sure. I’ll be there.” 

Maybe he can find answers in Wayne Enterprise.

“Good. Your mother and I have an appointment, too, this morning,” Thomas mimicked he was golfing and winked.

~ * ~

“This would do well for your meeting later, Sir,” Alfred pulled out a suit from his wardrobe. 

Bruce observed the large wardrobe and found it odd to find all of his things there and not just in one side. He and Vivian shared the wardrobe since she moved in to Wayne Manor. She was about to take a different wardrobe to not ruin the system that Alfred made and he’s used to for so long, but he helped her with moving some of his things—not Alfred, but just the two of them—and added hers to the side parallel to his clothes, shoes, and other accessories. 

As he looked at the side where more of his dress shirts were, he couldn’t help but miss the sight of the lingerie and negligee she purposely put there so whenever he was changing he would see those at the reflection of the mirror. Sometimes she would come in and purposely take her time to pick one while he was changing out of his work clothes. 

“What do you think of this?” Vivian would ask him, showing the article of clothing with a teasing glint in her eyes. 

But Vivian wasn’t there and nor were her clothes. The wardrobe didn’t even have a mix of her scent that he liked so much.

“Alfred, I know this is strange, but humor me for a moment,” Bruce began.

“Sir?”

“Can you tell me about my life? What is this life that I have? Please.”

“Very well, Master Bruce. Since your father retired you’ve been head of Wayne Enterprises. Well, Lucius Fox really runs the business—not that you aren’t capable, of course!”

“It’s alright, Alfred, go on.”

“And, um, unless plans have changed since last night, you are—as I said—engaged to Ms. Julia Madison. You proposed to her last week.”

“No, it’s wrong, it’s all wrong,” Bruce shook his head. 

“There are worse lives to have lived.”

He knows. He’s lived it but in that dark nightmare, he found a ray of hope that maybe the life he had isn’t a total nightmare at all. There’s light in it too. There was happiness. Vivian showed him that she lit the way in that dark hole he’s been stuck in for so long, and helped him climb out of it. They were still in the journey out but she was always there to light the way and give him hope.

~ * ~

Sitting in his office at Wayne Enterprises, Bruce couldn’t help but look at the photo he placed down. It was the photo of Julia Madison, not of Vivian. There was supposed to be a photo of Vivian there, it was the one that Dick took while they were going out on a date which Vivian invited Dick to join along. 

The knock on the door pulled Bruce from his reverie, before he could call in the person who knocked a woman walking in. She had red hair 

“Vivian!” Bruce got up but then the woman that came didn’t have her face. This one was different. From the structure, her nose, lips, brows, freckles, the blue eyes, and even the fashion of her clothes was different. It wasn’t Vivian. 

“Julia?” Bruce said.

“Hello, darling,” Julia greeted him. “Your mother called me, telling me you were acting off, and who better to ease the nerves than the woman you’re marrying next week?”

She was about to kiss him in greeting but Bruce turned away and her lips landed on his cheek instead. 

This was wrong.

“Bruce, you really are upset, what’s wrong?” Julia asked.

“It’s nothing.”

“Batman!”

“What?” Bruce turned to the window where she pointed and saw—Batman swinging down the building, chasing a thief and taking them out easily. The sight of the vigilante had Bruce running with Julia chasing after him, calling his name. They arrived just in time when Batman handed the thieves over to the police and grappled away.

“Who is he?” Bruce asked.

“They call him Batman.”

“No, I mean, who is he?”

“No one knows. He just appeared in Gotham a few weeks ago. Bruce, are you okay? You’re beginning to worry me, what’s this all about?”

“I’m losing my mind, that’s what…”

Julia was about to wrap her arm around his but Bruce pulled away and walked ahead of her. 

~ * ~

He first went to Leslie Thompkins to ask about what was happening to him. This wasn’t a simulation, he realized that when he saw Batman. What was the point in showing him Batman a all in this simulation? Her answer struck like a knife to the heart, one he wasn’t ever ready to hear:

“You lived a life where everything is handed to you. Even Wayne Enterprises was handed to you. You don’t feel like you have accomplished anything, it’s all laid out for you. So your unconscious created a life that’s more satisfying for you. You identified with someone whose every deed has great value.”

Batman.

“It’s called disassociation. Once you find pride in your own existence, these delusions will vanish.”

But he wasn’t delusional. He knows that his memories are real, not visions. Vivian was real. That’s why he took the risk. If science can’t help then maybe magic has the answer to his question.

After coming home that night to join his parents for dinner—at their insistence— the following day, instead of going to work, Bruce tried to focus on his mission but the sight of his parents there brought him happiness too. If only they were really complete there. Dick sitting at his usual spot, telling stories about his day and Vivian beside him. The following day, Bruce was parking at the visitor’s lot in Gotham University, Bruce tried to make himself inconspicuous, but like in his real life, upon stepping in its grounds many identified him and started crowding around. One of those who crowded around him was someone he knew would know Vivian too. 

“Professor Justin Kirk, right?” Bruce said.

“That’s right,” Kirk shook his hand. “Anything I can do for you, Mr. Wayne?”

“Yes, I was just wondering if you know where Professor Vivian Pryor is.”

“Via?” Kirk’s smile fell. Even here Kirk is an admirer of her. “Yeah, uh, she’s in class. Symposium—Elliot’s Hall—4B3.” The very same room he would always find her in. “Mind if we ask what you want with her?”

“It’s best if she finds out first before news spreads.”

Bruce walked down the stairs and made the same turns he would whenever he would come to visit her. Entering the classroom, Bruce saw the familiar lecture hall with students writing or typing their notes, the huge white screen showing the projector’s slides, and the woman at the front giving the lecture about the symbolic meaning of Venus and Mars. Aphrodite and Ares. 

The lecture ended right as the last slide showed and the lights turned on, students were already packing while Vivian gave her last reminders.

“Your papers before you go, on my desk! And because Mr. Valdez asked so nicely in his last drunk-email about not giving you guys another paper because you’re already busy af with all the shit you’re doing for the others, I’ll move the test next week to give you guys a buffer.”

Many cheered.

“Make sure to thank Mr. Valdez—he was the only one who had the balls to email me for it,” Vivian laughed. “And, Leo,” she told the kid who handed his paper, who Bruce guessed was the one who emailed her about it. “Tell me what were you drinking that night because I want to get to that level on the weekend.”

Valdez laughed and told Vivian the brand.

In return, she handed him a dollar bill. “Your meal’s on me today, for the hangover.”

“Thanks, Professor!” Valdez accepted the gift and ran up to be the first to get to the cafeteria. Just as he was headed to the door he froze as he identified who was there. “You’re Bruce Wayne!”

The mention of his name had Vivian look up in shock. 

“What’chu doing here, Mr. Wayne?” one of the students asked.

“Wayne finally stepping down from his high-horse and be with the commoners, huh?”

What was happening?

“Hey! Come on, let the guy breathe,” Vivian shooed them away. “Go, or I’ll take back about the test.”

The students left, running.

Vivian sighed and turned to him. “I’m sorry about that… So, what brings Bruce Wayne down here to the basement of Gotham University’s College of Liberal Arts, Social Science and Philosophy?”

“Do you know who I am?”

Vivian raised a brow. “Are you serious right now?”

“It’s just–”

“Listen, Wayne, I know its been a while but you don’t get to act like you’re a fucking Roman Emperor, okay?”

“What? Viv, what did I do?” 

“I have class to go to, so bye. You can see yourself out.”

He watched as Vivian walked away with her things. What did he do to make her hate him so?

~ * ~

Later that night, Julia joined them for dinner, but like before he ignored her. His mind went on, wondering what was happening, why were his parents alive and how were they alive, and why does Vivian hate him? He must have done something for her to hate him like that, right? 

“Bruce, how was your day? Lucius mentioned you left the office early today,” Thomas asked him.

“I did.”

“Any reason, son?” It was Martha this time.

“I-I went to Gotham University.”

“Why?”

Maybe they would know what happened.

“I needed to see someone,” Bruce began. “You know Professor Vivian Pryor, right?”

Thomas and Martha shifted in their seats and glanced at Julia’s way. Julia was a shocked to hear the name.

“Why would you want to see her, Bruce?” Julia questioned.

“I needed to ask about… there was just something about the Foundation. We’d hope to have her as a guest speaker in the next event, since she was supported by the Foundation in her studies.”

“Then why not have her meet you and the members of the Foundation instead? Why go to see her?”

“Julia, it was just a meeting, and I think I owe her to tell her in person, considering…”

“Considering you both were close?” Julia scoffed.

So, have they dated before? Is that it?

The topic was dropped and that was all Bruce got.

~ * ~

Bruce took the chance to see her again, this time outside of Gotham University. He waited at the gates at the time he knew she would get out of work. Right on time she was walking out, wearing her coat and was about to put on her earbuds until he called for her.

Vivian rolled her eyes at the sound of his voice calling her. “Mr. Wayne,” she greeted him. “What is this?”

“I just want to talk to you—a consultation. You’re a Symbologist, Iconologist, and a Historian, maybe you can help me with something?” He shrugged. “We can talk at this cafe not far. I promise, that’s all.”

Vivian thought for a second, thinking against it, but then she sighed again and walked ahead of him, the opposite way of the bus stop. “Well, come on, Wayne?”

They went to a cafe where Bruce ordered their usual. Black coffee then two pastries that they would share. 

“You remember?” Vivian raised a brow.

“Of course, I would.”

“So, what is it, Wayne?”

“I just need your help.”

“Yeah?”

“Recently, I haven’t felt myself. Something’s wrong.”

“Wayne, listen, I came here because you said you want a consultation about something. I’m not a psychiatrist nor am I your fiance. So, if it’s something about your life, best to talk about it with Julia, right?”

“You’re the only one I can trust about this,” he grabbed her wrist before she could leave. “Please, just hear me out. Vivian…”

She must have seen his desperation because Vivian sat back down. Their coffee and pastries came and Bruce offered she take a sip or a bite first, she didn’t move at all.

“Recently, I’ve been feeling like this isn’t the life I know I have. And I know that this isn’t it too. Maybe there’s an explanation for it?”

“I’m not a psychiatrist, Bruce, how would I know?” Vivian took a sip of her coffee.

So, she hasn’t revealed she has magic.

“What happened to us, Vivian? Humor me—please—I have no recollection of what my life is here.”

He saw the quizzical look she had as she looked at him. “You really don’t remember?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Right after my book launch, you asked me out on a date. We went out and, as everyone expected, we slept together. The morning after you left with a word and I was at the front page of a tabloid branded as another conquest of Bruce Wayne. That became my reputation…”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“You’re still angry.”

“It took me a while to find the respect with my peers again after that. Some started acting like the real assholes they are and tried to…”

“Viv–”

“Doesn’t matter. What else do you want to talk about?”

“Would you believe me that in this life I mentioned we’re together?”

Vivian got up, scratching the chair on the floor. “Thank you for the coffee, Mr. Wayne. I think you had enough pictures you needed for the tabloids again.”

“Vivian, wait!” Bruce dropped a couple of bills to pay and ran after her. “Vivian! Is it something I said?”

“What do you think? Are you shitting with me right now? You don’t just say something like that!”

“Vivian, listen!” People were starting to watch, curious about the scene. “I know you have magic.”

“What?” She had a look of horror in her eyes. “You’re insane!”

“You have magic. Your mother was a witch, she was murdered by a serial killer who takes his victims’ eyes. You told me these!”

“You’re insane!” Vivian tried to get away but his hold on her was tight.

“Then answer me this one last question. Just one and I’ll leave!” Her struggle stopped. “How do you escape a waking dream? I’m in a dream. I realized it when I couldn’t read any of the words on the menu, on the papers. But I can’t get out, I don’t know how. Just answer me that–how do you escape a waking dream? Then I’ll leave you alone.”

“Dreams are made by our hopes, desires, but it is also a way to warn us and keep us human. Understand what your dream is trying to tell you so you can get out of it.”

“Even if that dream is made by a dreamlord?”

“Yes,” Vivian answered. “The Endless are there to serve mortals. They are the embodiment of what we are.”

He needs to face this himself. He needs to face Batman.

“Thank you,” Bruce released her. He then did something that surprised her and everyone around them. He kissed her then left.

~ * ~

Bruce went back to Wayne Tower that day, he stayed there, locked behind closed doors. Ignoring the calls and knocks about his stunt earlier with Vivian—news spread fast. He could hear his parents, Alfred, Julia banging on the door telling him to open it. To tell them what was going on. Why did he do that? Why was he hurting their family? But reminded himself that this wasn't real. None of this is real. This was just a dream. A endless dream. A nightmare. He needed to wake up. But to do that he needed to understand why this was happening at all. So when night came, he went to the roof, right at the gargoyle he and Vivian liked so much, and waited for him to arrive. 

He came just as the winds started to pick up and the night got colder. Batman grappled up to the top of Wayne Tower and Bruce was waiting for him. 

“You,” Bruce greeted Batman.

The Batman before him had the same physique as him, the armor, the cape, the cowl. Everything. But who was it behind that cowl?

“I know now what you are,” Bruce continued.

“What am I?” Batman asked.

“The consequence of all that has happened that night. A vow I took. But you’re more than just a vow that a ten-year-old boy made to avenge his parents. You are me and I am you—”

Batman chuckled. “I am---as you said---the consequence of that tragic day. Look at this life, Bruce. This is the life you would have had if I was never there.”

“This is all wrong,” Bruce walked up to him but Batman was fast. Batman grabbed Bruce by his collar and headbutted him down. 

“You can't have everything, Bruce. You can only choose---this happy and ideal life you have been looking for or the one that has the cowl? Your parents or Vivian Pryor.”

“It doesn't have to be a choice!” Bruce tackled him down and started punching Batman, but Batman was him, and he was Batman, so every punch, ever kick, every dodge, both anticipated and it was just an exchange of blows.

“Batman is a result of what happened in Crime Alley!” Batman kneed him in his gut. “It was Batman who brought a new age of criminals in Gotham---”

“--Gotham was already what it is now before Batman came!”

“--From organized crime you brought a new age of them---costumed criminals! Batman is the result of all of the chaos!” Batman punched him down. “And Batman is the reason why she is there. He came to save her that day. Without Batman, Deacon Blackfire wouldn't have been inspired to raise his cult. Without Batman, Vivian Pryor would have been dead in that alleyway, raped and killed by those muggers, or she would have been killed right before your eyes on that fateful day. Without Batman, you would never have met her at all. She is one of the results of Batman. Not of Bruce Wayne.”

“You're wrong,” Bruce shook his head. “Y-You're wrong…” but there was hesitation.

Batman has a point. Everything in his life in Gotham was because of Batman… but he refuse to believe that's the case. 

Batman grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. “If your parents have lived, Vivian Pryor wouldn't have come to Gotham. The Martha Wayne Foundation wouldn't exist them, and efforts to help students seeking educational aid would never have come.”

But she did. In this dream, Vivian came to Gotham because she found an opportunity to do so. She and him still met that day, despite the sad ending to their acquaintance. Vivian was and has always been fated to go to Gotham and meet him too. 

Bruce grabbed Batman's wrists and said, “Viv believed, if there's a Bruce Wayne and a Vivian Pryor in any universe, they are always bound to meet, no matter what circumstance. And I want to believe that too!” Bruce flipped Batman over his shoulder and then ran to the top of the gargoyle. 

The words of their last conversation rang in his mind. He's faced the dream's purpose, he knew why he's trapped, and he knew who did all this too. The answers were just right there, he was just distracted all this time. He'll hand it to him, Jarvis Tetch was smart. Now, he needed to get out. The drop won’t kill him, but it will give his body the jolt it needs to wake up—

~ * ~

Bruce woke on a metal table with wires strapped on him and a device around his head. Just as he woke, he heard the voice of Jarvis Tetch, also known as the Mad Hatter, cursing him for breaking the device and for ruining the trap. Getting out of his restraints, not that there were any but for the things latched on him, Bruce walked up to Tetch and grabbed the Mad Hatter by the coat and slammed him to the wall.

“YOU!” Tetch screeched. “I HAD YOU! I HAD YOU IN THAT DREAM! I WAS GIVING YOU WHAT YOU WANTED! I WAS LETTING YOU LIVE WHAT YOUR MIND HAS BEEN SUBCONSCIOUSLY WANTING!”

“You never removed the cowl,” Batman thought out loud.

“I don't care about that fucking cowl!” 

“There was a flaw in your design… my mind is mostly plagued by nightmares. I rarely dream at all, Tetch. And what you gave me was a nightmare, just like the rest!” He punched Tetch across the face and man fell, unconscious, on the ground. 

Gordon and the GCPD appeared at the factory that Tetch kept him right after Batman made the call. He made sure to hand over the man to the GCPD himself.

“Long night?” Gordon said in greeting. 

“How long has it been since our last meeting?” Batman asked.

Gordon raised a brow in confusion. “Four-five hours? Give or take. Why?”

“It felt longer in there.”

“Well, best you get some rest now. We got it from here, Batman.”

“Thanks, Jim.”

~ * ~

Bruce arrived back to the cave just before sunrise. Alfred was frantic when he hasn't responded to his calls but Bruce reassured him that he was alright and asked the Butler to get the day off to rest. climbing back to the manor, out of his armor, Bruce first went to Dick's room. The boy was asleep then, making use of the mandated night off that Vivian told him to give Dick. He was a teenager afterall and teenagers need a lot of sleep. Once he was sure Dick was there, he went straight to the master bedroom. 

Vivian laid in their bed with her hair sprawled around behind her as she slept. Bruce sat right next to her---the dipping of the bed woke her instantly, and she smiled at the sight of him.

“Done with patrol?” She asked.

“Yes.”

“How was it?”

“It was a long night.”

At that, Vivian sat up, fully awake, and asked him, “What happened, Bruce?”

“I'm ready now… to talk about it.” He took her silence as an invitation to continue, so he did. He told her about the dream he had, the one that Tetch put him in to capture Batman, and he also told her what's been plaguing his mind for so long. Whatever he and Batman argued in his dream was what has been plaguing his mind. Was Batman really the cause of all the chaos in Gotham now? Was it better if Batman never existed at all? Without Batman will he still have Vivian? Vivian listened the entire time until he ended his story and waited for his response. 

“First, damn Tetch for putting you through all that. I'll put him in a fucking waking dream myself if I ever see him in the streets again,” Vivian held his hand. “Second, I think you're wrong. Yes, Batman is the consequence of the death of your parents, but it's not just because of him that brought Gotham to its current state now. Bruce, do you really think Joker or Penguin just sprung out one night after seeing the Bat? They have been brewing their plans for so long, it just so happens it all came out when Batman came too. There are some truths to it too, but I want to believe that Batman is still a symbol of hope for Gotham too. Fear and hope.

“And third, I do not believe you'd be some jackass who was handed everything to him from the moment he was born and just take it. You told me who your parents are, and Alfred told me who Thomas and Martha were, I don’t think they'd ever raise a self-centered man. You have a good heart, Bruce. Your mother raised a good and kind man; and your father raised a man who takes action and takes pride on what he does. Even if they were alive, you would still be a good man.”

Bruce held her hands, held them tight and kissed her knuckles. “And what about you? Do I really need to choose between you and them?”

“My love, love is a choice, you choose who you want to be with you –”

“But would we have met if Batman wasn't here at all?”

“It would have taken a while, given our status then, but I believe we would have. Gotham isn't as big as we all think it to be, so I'm sure we'd still find our way bump into each other. And I'm sure I'd find my way here too. My mother was a Gothamite, after all, and I'd still be curious to know about this city and about her.”

Bruce brought her to an embrace and held her tight. “I'd choose you---when it comes to it---I'd choose you.”

“Bruce,” Vivian wiped his tears.

“I love my parents, and I would do almost anything to have them here and see all of this, but if it came to it Viv, I'd choose to be with you. They would understand.”

She didn't realize that tears were falling down her cheeks until a tear dropped on her hands, Vivian wiped them away quickly and leaned in to kiss the man she loved. “Yes, they would. I'd choose you too, Bruce.”

As they laid in bed that morning, Bruce held Vivian in his arm and let her sleep while he stared in the darkness thinking of the velvet box he kept with him at all times, waiting for the right moment to finally ask her.

Soon, he thought. He'll ask her soon.

[imsofreakingtired]

sevika x korean reader

(aka the most self indulgent hc list i will ever write that probably no one will read lol)

compARING HAND SIZES AS FLIRTING DFKJDSKDJ

south korean beauty standards are rough as hell. sometimes you get insecure about the shape of your face, your nose, and wonder seriously if you should get plastic surgery. when you tell her, she takes your chin in her hand and tilts your face up to look you in the eye. "the face you have now is the face i fell in love with. don't change it."

you whisper all your deepest feelings to her in korean so often that she understands and replies “i love you too” in accented korean and instead of giggling you correct her pronunciation to tease her (your heart's melting on the inside) "it's NA-DO SA-LANG-HAE." "bitch-- i tried."

you call her “sevika 오빠” (oppa, “older brother”, the korean equivalent of “daddy”) when you’re feeling coy and want to make her flustered, but usually “언니” (unnie, “older sister”, affectionate term a younger woman uses for an older woman)

other things you call her in korean: "네 강아지" (my puppy) "멋있어" (handsome) "자기야" (babe) "바보" (dummy) (your favorite)

you never do aegyo to anyone but her, she pretends to hate it but always snickers when you pull the "pretend to get something from your pocket and shoot her with a hand heart" move

you teach her every conceivable korean curse word and she memorizes them at a genius pace. whenever she drops something or burns her hand you hear her whisper “ssibal” (fuck) in the most perfect non-accented korean and you lose it every time

taking long walks beside the han river, watching the cars pass by on the bridge and the glimmer of seoul 

picnicking in the mountains and feeding her kimbap (she will not eat it unless you hold it out to her like she’s a little kid)

she’s also obsessed w shin ramyeon like every time you go grocery shopping she just throws like three packs of those spicy instant noodles into the cart 

she also loves kbbq and insists on grilling the meat herself because she supposedly knows the “secret” to making perfectly grilled samgyeopsal

if she's drunk enough on soju she will consent to you dragging her into a private karaoke room. she sings like a professional but claims to remember nothing the next morning, so you desperately wish you had recorded her.

she will never be caught dead taking one of those cute couple pictures at touristy locations but when you ask her to take pictures of you she takes the job as seriously as if she’s a professional photographer

you manage to drag her into a photo booth once. just once

she tries on men’s hanbok and OH MY GOD 

the neighborhood kids love her like they jump around calling her “sevika 이모” (ee-mo, auntie sevika) and want to hang on her arm and tell her to flex her arm to feel the muscle, they follow her around and she sometimes gives them melon candy if she happens to have some in her pocket

swears she does not cry at k-dramas. she cries at k-dramas. 

also swears she does not like k-pop songs but then you hear her playing "antifragile" while working out

CAFE DATES CAFE DATES 

once had to hold you back from beating the absolute shit out of a guy who said a racist comment to her. you beat him up anyway. 

figures out the complicated-ass subway system after two tries. this amazes you to no end. she knows exactly when to get off and where to transfer trains even though every announcement is in korean or japanese. 

on rainy days: she holds the umbrella as you walk down the backstreets of seoul, watching the water slide off the leaves and listening to the lonely calls of cicadas, your arm wrapped around her waist, leaning on her shoulder.

...yea,,,, sevika x korean reader....... ...

divider by @cafekitsune !

[ambivalenceshefelt]

She leaned in slightly, voice dropping into mock seriousness. "Listen, if we're doing this movie, we're committing." Nikki clapped her hands "I'm talking dramatic snowfall, moody candlelight and at least one scene where you have to stare wistfully out a window in a perfectly tailored coat..maybe even holding a glass of whiskey for extra brooding points while some old Within Temptation or something song plays..." Nikki grinned, crossing her arms. "And don't worry about me, I'll make sure my story credit is nice and bold in the opening." She winked before adding with a smirk "But it'll only work if you actually wear the your 'fuck off' dramatic cape..otherwise, the whole vision falls apart."

Nikki smirked, eyes twinkling with amusement at his confusion about mistletoe. "Oh, please, that's a lie and you know it. You just like brooding under it so people wonder if they should be the one to make a move." she smirked. "Classic tortured leading man behavior, if you ask me." || @arkin-oconnell

“ you had me at cape Nikki. You know I love a ‘fuck off’ dramatic cape “ Arkin mused with a smile as soon as he heard his cousin go even further on their explanation of what this very strange but funny Christmas movie for hallmark where he was possibly the count from Sesame Street at this point? “ I built an entire acting career in being tortured her swoon worthy. Thats one of my few strengths “ he smiled as soon as he glanced back over to Nikki. It was true though, apparently Hollywood liked his whole tortured nihilistic vibe that he kept brining to people. He just sort of had to figure out how to do that professionally without being a disaster and full of drugs. He had to do it as a recovered addict with a newborn. Did Hollywood want that from him? “ you’d get a full story credit. Those checks just sign themselves with ideas like that “ he teased before his smile grew at the mention of Sterling. “ I’m often brooding under mistletoe that time of year. It’s mostly cause I don’t understand it. “

At least his dad had the decency to leave and never come back after the shit he pulled on his family. Arkin wasn’t sure what he felt about his cousins Houdini act. Because before all of that and everything he felt like the guy had it pretty good. Of course Arkin was heavily in his state of addiction back then so he may have missed a lot but he just still could wrap his head around what would possess someone to leave their partner and family in that way. “ I couldn’t do it. There’s always a choice. The choice to not leave your family is kind of a huge one “ he said though was it really his place to say such things? After all, it was only a year ago that Arkin almost left everyone, except his was through his own self destructive habits. Maybe he wasn’t any better? “ you promise ?” He repeated back because without a doubt he’d be there. Possibly with a baby in his arms if it was after his son was born and he needed to give Sterling peace, but he’d still be there. “ oh so now I’m a super hero?” He countered with a smile before letting out a sigh at her comment. “ it’s okay to not be fine too. Just remember that in case “ @ambivalenceshefelt

[dontcallittimetravel]

On This Day: Anita Hill tells everybody in congress what a piece of shit Clarence Thomas is, and look where he is now!

What a country

[herefortheships]

The fact that Emilia Perez got 13 Oscar nominations while Beetlejuice 2 didn't get any is kinda insulting. Like I would have thought that at the very LEAST Danny Elfman's score would have gotten nominated. Or at least the costumes and visual effects! This is a movie using PRACTICAL effects in a very creative and visually gorgeous way in the age of CGI. The creativity alone that went into this film deserves all the recognition. Like, the score might not have won when they have a whole highly popular and wildly successful musical to compete with this year, but the visual effects! That deserved at least a nomination. Like, don't come at me.

For forever I've thought the Oscars are rigged and fake, but now I am convinced. lol

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

I played romance Louis/save Violet for the first time (and last) in my life some days ago and I really didn't expect the game to feel so different without him. Not is his absence only extremely notorious but to quote one of your old posts, the game won't shut up about him.

EVERY SINGLE TIME. They didn't mention Violet even half the times they did with Louis, and it just feels. Awful. Constant reminder that you left him get taken, that he's being tortured and traumatized. It really did hit different, I wanted to think about all the details for Violet's route but I couldn't. THEY KEPT BRINGING HIM UP LIKE OK !! I GET IT !! I KNOW, IM COMING TO HIS RESCUE

and in the end I ended up getting mad Violet suddenly forgot about his existence. I remember you talked about that a lot but since I hadn't experienced it I hadn't realized how bad it was.

When she didn't mentioned him even ONCE, not in the cells, not in the walk home back to Ericson, nothing.

But back to Louis– the game says Louis' name over and over and it makes me feel guilty and I don't like it

That route haunts my nightmares.

When I used to stream, we called the romance Louis/save Violet [+don't trust AJ] route The Despair Route.... you can probably guess why. You're right, the whole thing hits differently when you've built up Clementine's romance with him, only for him to be taken away. Plus, when you do that, your relationship with Violet isn't as strong so not only do you miss out on a lot of Louis content, you miss out on Violet content for not romancing/best friending her.

And yeah, the game will not shut up about Louis when he gets taken. It's actually so fascinating, because Violet doesn't get mentioned nearly as much, so that begs the question of why? Y'know? I mean, we can look at Louis getting captured and conclude that they keep reminding us about him so that we're extra hurt and guilty when we find him in the cells.

But then with Violet? Louis is the one who brings her up most of the time, except when Ruby pulls out her file. But it's odd that the others don't make more comments like they do with Louis. I think we are kind of meant to forget about her? Well, okay, not forget about her but like... The fact that they don't talk about her as much makes her feeling pissed off, forgotten and abandoned all the more powerful, no?

As for Violet forgetting about him, in my opinion that's just a genuine flaw with the writing... because Violet would ask about Louis. I've played her romance route. I believe that in my heart of hearts that she would, and when she doesn't, I'm like ?????

Sure, you can say she's got her mind on other things, or that Aasim already told her what happened to Louis so she doesn't ask when they're in the cells... except she would ask if he's okay.

They're different characters who react to things differently, and that's not inherently good or bad.... but you're seriously going to tell me that the only thing Violet's says to Louis is a sad little, "Lou..." when meeting up with him on the beach? and then she only makes a minor mention of him when talking about pushing people away on the walk home?

No, sir. I think not. I think that's an oversight, especially if you're trying to sell their friendship in her route.

But I suppose in her defense, if you're a Louis fan, you're more likely to be angry about it. We're used to Louis mentioning Violet and then to see her not do the same isn't great. Whereas a Violet fan who prefers her route is more likely to justify why and how it makes sense, y'know? In fact, if a Violet fan plays Louis' route, they probably get mad that she's "forgotten" about a lot prior to the cells so I suppose it balances out?

Also, can I add for both routes how much I side eye the fact that captured Louis/Violet say nothing about the other if they died on the bridge? I get they didn't want to be a downer on the happy ending, and that time has passed so they probably already mourned......... but c'mon. I know Louis can't verbalize but he can write, he can stand by Violet's grave, something. Violet could've said something. Listen, if you're gonna make me suffer through that, give me some of the angst I actually want.

[sluttyten]

personal rant

[asthe-crow-flies]

Hospital Bed - Lolina: Origins

i am obsessed with this concept album its on bandcamp please go listen to it i need to not be the only person who cares about this

[id: a digital comic consisting of three pages, in grayscale and red.

the first page is four panels, each the width of the page. the first is all black. four beeps go diagonally down across the panel. the second panel is mostly black, with a somewhat fuzzy light in the middle left of the panel. it reads "what is this pain? what is this place?" in the third panel, the fuzzy image of a person is visible, the edges of the panel are still dark. it reads "am i alive? am i awake? what are these scars across my face?" in the fourth panel, a woman in a lab coat and a mask, the doctor, leans in. the right side of the panel is still dark. a speech bubble from the woman says "you are home". the narration interjects with "they say". the woman continues "you are safe."

the second page is three panels, the first one taking up most of the page, with the other two next to each other under it. the first panel is a birds-eye view of a room in a hospital. in the center is Lolina, a woman laying on a hospital bed. she has black hair, a bandage wrapped over her eye, and a red cut down the side of her face. the doctor stands next to the bed. sideways, in large letters, it reads "hospital bed, I'm back on mars." the second panel is a close-up of the upper half of Lolina's face, focusing on her left eye, which is red, and the bandage covering her other one. it reads "but i am wounded." the third panel is a close up of the lower half of her face, focusing on the cut on her cheek held together with butterfly bandages, and the large bandage on her other cheek. it reads "I feel the scars."

the third page is a drawing of the doctor standing by the bed, from Lolina's point of view. across it is dialogue interspersed with small panels. the doctor says "we can regrow your cells," and next to it is a small panel showing cells dividing. then she says "we can restore," and next to it is a panel showing the right half of Lolina's face, with her eye and cheek healed. then she says "you will go back," and next to it is a panel reading "Sandy's Place" in glowing red letters. the narration interjects with "they say." the doctor continues "to the life you had before." under it is a panel divided diagonally into four sections, the first showing red lips, the second showing black hair swishing, the third showing a pair of legs wearing red high heels, and the fourth showing a body from neck to hips, wearing a strapless red dress. under that the narration reads "to the life i had before". end id.]

(I've never written an id for a comic before and there was some visual stuff that was really tricky to describe so if I've messed something up or if something should be clearer please tell me and I'll try to fix it)

[blizzardfluffykpop]

You sent me an ask so I shall return the favor! What is the most recent Kpop group you’ve gotten into and how did you find out about them? I always love hearing fan “origin stories” lol

Thank you for returning the favor~ That would be The Boyz 🥰💖 I love hearing fan "origin stories" too hehe (This is gonna get long I love them sm)

Anyways I've known about them since debut? I loved Bloom Bloom Pow with my whole heart when it came out and tried to fall for them then- It didn't work. The next time was when The Stealer (TS) came out~ I had watched them perform for Road to Kingdom- because ptg was on the show too- But I really loved TS cb- sm so that I bought the album about 6 mos later with my favorite members as inclusions at the time (Eric, Kevin and Hyunjae). But nothing came about of it even after watching the weekly idol episodes... Then came Whisper era and I ended up biasing Changmin (Q) and loving that song but again nothing came out of it.

(A little backstory is that Changkyun (I.M) got me into Dominic Fike's music-) Thus, when tiktok showed me Juyeon, Changmin, and Sunwoo dancing to Babydoll earlier this year as a dance cover: I fell. And then I finally checked out Watch It~ But Hui had his solo and it distracted me completely from falling further. Then I had gotten sick and decided 'well, what if I watch their content?' And I did... I watched their hello82 interview and their reaction to fanart of them, and lastly their mafia dance. And I loved each sm that I decided to check out more.

It was the first time I had watched their content and wanted to see more. And now, I watch their content almost daily. It's kind of like they revived the joy of kpop for me? My (old) ult of ults has been on hiatus due to the military so it's been stagnant content lately for me. But then they came in like a breath of fresh air- and I simply can't get enough. This month will be 3 mos and I honestly hope I'll follow them for a long time. (I think they're my new ult of ults tbh)

And lastly now here I am as a Younghoon and Juyeon bias (with bias wrecker: Changmin... he's doing everything to be bias again). And with them having a comeback I loved with my whole heart this past month, I think it really solidified them with me. Honestly, I'm so happy with them.

[aloysarrow]

I wish GI wasn't trying to push people (kinda specifically longer players) away from the game, like damn. I really hope new players are watching closely and not just deciding "there are haters" or "complainers." Some of the things, like the age old where's the end-of-game road map, have been actual game needs that haven't been addressed for years. Game needs, guys. Idk, if you still call some people haters/complainers, then I'm probably gonna call you a bootlicker lol

[itsalwaysdark]

oh and vitamins get me too how am i supposed to know what i need to be having and if rhey do anything at all. i suppose i go to a dr and see what im proficient in i am supposed to schedule a checkup they sent me a whole letter abt it and there was a number to find a pcp but im nervous about finding a doctor idk why. i just get worried about umm. well i get worried about badically everything in my life but in relation to drs i guess i just get nervous about well the transgender and also the umm. mental and also i get worried theyll be mad at me that i havent been to a dr in ages and that i dont take good care of myself i feel like drs r never understanding i remember back when i had a psych i tried to be like So if i miss a dose of these meds because im like 14 and you are not medicating my attention issues is it a Wait until the next dose situation or is it a take it as soon as i remember situation and he was like Well just dont forget to take your meds. Okay. well see i would also like not to do that. did you notice i said proficient up there insread of deficient. i didnt until just now. im editing this post to add this comment. proficient. did it make you mad that i did a word wrong. im sorry .... im just really really good at um. vitamin b. or something. i was gonna make a penis joke but it felt a bit gouche. it didnt rly i just rly love saying that things Felt a bit gouche. one of my favorite things to say rn

[inkskinned]

the tradwife movement is the same as it has always been - back in the kitchen, back to breeding - it just has better branding.

when i was younger, i hated pink. i was not like other girls. this is now something i'm embarrassed of - this was not me being a "girl's girl."

but it was expressing something many of us felt at the time: i literally wasn't what girlhood was supposed to be. this is a hard thing to explain, but you know when you're not performing girlhood correctly. it isn't as easy as "i liked x when girls liked y" - because there were other girls that liked x, too - but i never figured out exactly the correct way to like x, or to be interested in y.

now there is the divine feminine. this is the same rhetoric it has always been: women are biologically driven to like pink and ribbons and submitting to our husbands.

the problem is that the patriarchy found a better PR team. because yes, actually, i want every woman to have the choice to be a homemaker. i also want her taken seriously for her legitimate home-making labor. i want her to be recognized as also having a job, just unpaid. i want men to have this opportunity, too.

but it is no longer "i made this choice and I love it." instead it is a sixteen-paragraph rant about how selfish it is that my generation isn't having kids. instead it's long videos about how if you feed your children processed foods, you're going to kill them. instead it is "this is what womanhood is supposed to be. i feel bad for any other choices you're making."

the shame spiral is just prettier. it is large houses devoid of personality. it is the implication: if you don't have this, you aren't happy. the solid, everlasting assurance: women are actually supposed to be submitting. this is the default. this is the natural state of things. all other attempts inflict suffering.

but you can no longer say i'm not like other girls. you can no longer reject this image completely. you cannot find it revolting, even if you know that the underbelly is toxic and festering. sure, it is the same repackaged patriarchy. but the internet does not have shades of grey. you should support and reward other women! your disgust is actually internalized misogyny. not because you are seeing a vision of yourself the way they're trying to train you to be. not because you feel her ghost pass within an inch of your earlobe. not because your father will eventually ask you - why can't you be like her?

because they figured out how to make it beautiful: women will sell other women on this idea, and we will find the singular loophole in feminism. sure, she's shaming you in most of her videos. sure, she implies that a different life is obscene. but she just wants you to be happy! you'd be happier if you were listening!

and the whole time you're sitting there thinking: i'd actually just be happier if i had that kind of money.