#some days i think 'i should really update that' and just...do nothing instead

[gerbits]

Hey! :) I've been using you townie save file. Love it so much! Will you be updating it after realm of magic?

hi anon! so glad to hear you're enjoying it!! 💜

It's been updated up to cottage living so I think that's what you meant? either way, I do have plans to update it past that I am just forgetful on top of having lots of other stuff to keep me busy!

[fruitmins]

Agust Dad—Three

➭ summary: Your a producer from another company that he happened to be collaborating with on his 2nd album D-2. At the release party— one drunk action leads to another, you do the worst thing you can do in the industry and change your fate forever.

➭genre: short series, pregnancy au, idol au, angst, dad au

➭warnings: none I think, just pure angst, Yoongi’s kinda stalkerish but that’s okay

<next part>

note: I don’t wanna drag this out but I don’t wanna make the chapters to long😭 anyways my life has been crazy lately and this story gives me life so THANK YOU SM for all of the support I love you ALL. Updated the tag list for whoever asked to be on it🫶🏽

Taglist: @welcometomyworld13 @tatyhend @jiminiesunicorn @littlestarstinyseven @baechugff @thelilbutifulthings @tearykth @familiarlikemymirror3 @coree730 @prajusstuff @wobblewobble822 @choisoorin @manuosorioh @0funsite0 @whipwhoops @bergandysam @aloverga @illnevertrustmyselfagain @silentreadersthings

You thought blocking him would fix the problem. Even though you both worked in the same building, you thought blocking him would make everything go away. You thought he would get a hint and let your breathe.

You actually woke up the next morning with a sense of relief – you’re done with Yoongi. He’s finally out of your life and won't be causing more drama and heartbreak.

Or so you thought.

A loud knock on your front door brings you back to harsh reality very quickly. You weren’t expecting anyone, and it's way too early in the day to be a package or delivery. No one made any prior plans to visit you.

In fact, you hadn’t really talked to anyone since the incident besides a couple family members. But they were way to far from Seoul to suddenly drive to your house.

You stumble to your front door, rubbing your eyes as you try to adjust to the light. You have your hand on the doorknob, prepared to open it as you take a small glance through the peephole.

Oh, it’s Yoongi.

It registers in your head and you quickly do a double take, leaning down more to get a better view.

Oh, it’s YOONGI.

He’s head is down as he looks at his phone, so you can’t get the clearest look at his features but you recognize the luxurious long black hair. You recognize the nice black blazer that he always seems to have on. You recognize his freakishly pale skin and his long fingers and veiny hands.

Min Yoongi is at your doorstep at six o clock in the morning.

You quickly swing your door open, causing his head to snap up from his phone as you stare at him with wide eyes.

“What are you doing here?”

You get deja vu as you whisper yell at him, afraid you’d alert the neighbors or some crazy fan would realize that Min Yoongi is on your doorstep.

You should be asking how he got your address and number, but your mind is too much of a mess to ask the right questions.

“Why can’t I come check up on you?” Yoongi frowns, irritated by your cold welcome and you stare at him like he is an alien.

Before you can answer his insane question, he speaks up again. “Wow this house is treacherous.” He mumbles as he glancing around your porch.

You shake your head, dismissing the sudden rude remark on your house. “Yoongi are you insane? You can’t come here like this.” You say in a quiet voice again, glancing around your neighborhood but nothing has changed.

“You blocked me.” Yoongi states, his tone making it sound like it was the most obvious thing in the world but his expression was still blank.

“Well I did it because I didn’t want to talk to you.” You state harshly, making it clear how crazy he looked by somehow finding your address and showing up anyways.

He just stands there, remaining unfazed by your outbursts, his gaze never wavering. Instead of saying something back, he simply pushes a piece of paper you hadn’t notice he had, towards you.

You give him a confused look as you take the paper before glancing down to look at it. Upon closer inspection your eyes catch certain words.

Your eyes widen as you realize what the piece of paper was.

You don’t know what you’re going to say, but as you glance back up at him you attempt to move your mouth anyways. He speaks again before you can say even anything. “Take the paternity test.”

You remain silent as you stare down at the paternity test in your hands, the silence between you growing more and more intense. "If the baby isn’t mine, you can block me and I’ll leave you alone. But if it’s mine, I want to be involved..”

For the first time every, you see a hint of emotion in his eyes. His blank expression softens, revealing a hint of who he might really be. “I want to be there.”

You don't say anything, but inside your heart's beating a mile a minute and your thoughts are spinning around your mind as you try to process everything. This moment feels far too surreal, like something out of a drama that only exists in fiction.

Of course you couldn’t believe his words. After everything you spilled to him yesterday, you couldn’t just hop back into his arms. You couldn’t just trust him again. You want to tell him off for showing up at your door like this in the first place.

But still, a faint flicker of hope springs inside you. A tiny voice whispers things in your ear that maybe things will be different. Maybe you won’t be alone. Just maybe you could trust him.

"Fine, I'll take the test." As soon as the words leave your mouth, you feel a pang of regret. You can’t deny him the right to know if it’s his, even if you knew that it was already biologically. He was the only man you’d slept with for almost a year.

Without giving him much time to process your words, you close the door breathing heavily as you tired to calm your thoughts. You try to focus on other things for the time being, but despite your efforts to think positively and be strong, a nagging feeling of dread never leaves you. You feel a heavy weight sink in your stomach as you worry about the future and your baby.

You retreat to your room, shutting the door behind you. You take the paternity test out, and after a moment of hesitation, you start taking it. You take a sample of your spit and see that Yoongi has already done the same.

You try to keep your mind blank while you do it, but as soon as you start collecting the sample, your brain is flooded with thoughts of Yoongi and your time together. The night, the sex, everything.

You can’t help but wonder how the you and Yoongi would look together, holding a little baby in your arms with him next to you. You can’t help but think about things as if it was another universe were you met on simpler terms.

Your thoughts quickly spiral into a fantasy, and by the time you finish taking the test, your cheeks are red.

You know it’s stupid but you can’t help but think about what’s going to come after the test gets back to you. It’s going to be proof that the baby is his and he claims to want to be involved.

That he wants to be there.

That he’s here now.

Your mind wanders back to the conversation you had in your office. How you told him over and over that he had abandoned you. And in response, here he was saying that he was here for you.

You don’t know how long you can believe him and you don’t know if the desire to care for the baby will go away.

But one things for certain is that the test will come back positive.

And you’ll no longer escape the reality of what awaits you.

Before you know it, Yoongi shows up to your house a couple days later but this time you actually invited him.

You know that you couldn’t tell him at the company cause you could be caught and it’s not something you should tell him through text, so you invited him to your house.

The doorbell rings and your eyes go to the clock above the door.

It's early, but not that early. With your heart racing, you head to the door and slowly it open to reveal... Yoongi.

You remain frozen for a moment before speaking, your throat dry.

He looks as handsome as ever, though he seems more cautious and serious than usual. He knows why he is here, and you know why he is here.

So you push back any thoughts that aren’t necessary and any memories that don’t need to be brought back. "Hello," you say simply, not knowing what else to say.

"Hello," he greets you, eyes skimming over your stomach, which isn’t yet visible but will be soon.

“Come in..” you say in a quiet voice turning away from him and going to the couch in the living room. Your heart starts racing as you begin to feel anxious about the conversation that lies ahead.

Yoongi enters your house, but the air is tense. The silence hangs so thick that you could cut it with a knife.

Eventually, he speaks up, his tone stiff.

"Did you get the results back?" he asks, his deep voice cuts through the silence.

Immediately your heartbeat goes up a notch, and you silently nod in response. “I did..” you mumble, swallowing hard as you pick up the paper off the table and slowly hand it to him, your heart thumping as you watch him closely.

A moment passes as he scans the paper in silence, taking his time and processing the implications.

Finally, he hands the paper back to you, his expression unreadable and the tension in the room as thick as ever.

There, it's all out in the open now, and there's no going back. You’ve officially connected yourself to Min Yoongi.

"So... it's true then."

Yoongi's words hang in the air, heavy.

You nod, your throat squeezed shut with anxiety and worry. Yoongi's gaze wanders across your face, his expression unreadable. His mind must be racing with thoughts of what to do next.

The silence stretches on forever before he finally speaks again. “We need to talk about this," he says calmly, and his tone is decisive.

You take a deep breath before speaking. “Well, I already told you I plan on raising it alone.” You state in a low voice, not making eye contact with him.

Yoongi exhales a shaky frustrated breath, his emotions taking the wheel once more. He takes a moment to collect himself before finding the right words. "And you think I'm just supposed to sit by and let that happen?" He challenges.

You blink, and for a moment, you can tell how serious he's being and you know you’re being stubborn but you can’t help but think of all the package Yoongi came with. His career, his fans, his schedule.

“It’ll just be easier for you and for me if you weren’t involved.” You state, with a heavy sigh. Yoongi's expression doesn't change, but his body language shifts. He crosses his arms and leans against the wall, the tension in his stance palpable.

"Easier for you, maybe. But don’t you think the baby has a right to know who its father is?” He asks and the question catches you by the throat and makes it dry.

Your stomach is filled with guilt, because you know he has a point. You go quiet at the moment, suddenly feeling guilty Yoongi had a right to be involved and the baby had the right to have a father.

And if Yoongi has asked this question, then maybe he was being serious. Maybe he actually cared about the child.

“So, how much do you want to be involved in?” You ask, glancing up at him to see that his eyes narrow momentarily before he responds, but his tone gradually softens as he sees the guilt in your eyes.

"I want to know the baby," he says, the softness in his tone taking you by surprise. "I want to be there for everything, from the first doctor's visits to the first words. I want to be part of its life."

You notice that whenever he says "the baby", his eyes flick towards your stomach as he speaks, even though there’s not visual of the baby even being there.

“What about your career? What about the media?” You question, slightly worried how his fans will react, how his company will react. It wasn’t everyday an idol got some random woman knocked up.

Yoongi relaxes a little after you concede the point, no longer challenging you. "Don't worry about that," Yoongi says quickly, his voice full of determination.

"The media's always going to make a big fuss, but I'll handle it. I'll handle everything. You shouldn’t stress about anything, especially if it’s not your problem to worry about."

His words make your heart flutter, but you're not sure if it's happiness or anxiety. It was like when he looked at the paper, his whole demeanor changed. His whole mindset changed, and you don’t know if you should be excited or worried.

"Listen," he says softly, "I never dreamed that something like this would happen, but now that it has, I want to make sure this baby has the best life possible. I’m not going to take the easy way out, that’s not what a real man does.” He states and despite his tough exterior, Yoongi is determined to be a present father for your child-to-be.

It’s silent again, millions of thoughts and emotions racing through your mind. “Well, I have a seven week appointment, if you want to come..” You mumble in a quiet voice.

“I’ll be there.”

He says, way to quickly.

[thetriumphantpanda]

i think he did it | javier peña

Take The Weight Off His Shoulders - Chapter Ten

Chapter Summary | you and Javi face the fallout of your investigation together.

Chapter Warnings | mentions of head injuries and injuries caused by others (not Javi), mentions of the drug trade, drugs and drug related violence and death, Javi being soft, allusions to smut but nothing explicit, more of a filler chapter but I hope you still love it.

Pairing | dbf!Javier Peña x F!Reader

Word Count | 2.2K

Authors Note | I am so very sad that we're nearing the end of the story with these two - we only have two chapters left to go! They have been a joy to me and I have loved sharing their story with you. Thank you as always for being so patient in waiting for updates. If you are enjoying this then reblogs and comments really do help and if you’d like to support me further, please consider a donation to my Ko-Fi. 

I no longer use taglists. Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs to be notified of new updates.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi | Series Playlist

There’s a dull ache settled behind your eyes when you wake up the next morning. A throb that pulses perfectly in time with the heartbeat settled beneath your ribs. When your eyes flutter open, there’s streaking sunlight throughout the room that’s still too bright for you to be able to manage, so you clamp your eyelids shut once more, groaning as you roll over onto your back, right into the solid weight of someone sitting in bed.

It’s the only thing that could get you to open your eyes, turning over and looking up at Javier, with his neck craned down, looking at an open file in his lap. He flicks his eyes towards you, and you’re expecting the lecture, the tone of I-told-you-so, but instead, his attention just turns back to the file he’s reading.

“What’s that?” You croak out, finding your mouth dry.

“A file,” He answers plainly, as if he thinks you must be blind, “Thought if you’re going to ride off into the sun on your own to do the heroics, you should probably have some backup.”

He shifts his knees down and twists the file so you can see it. You scoot up, trying to make sense of the words in front of you, when you feel his hand, warm and supportive on the back of your head, his lips pressed to the top as you read.

The file looks to pretty light, there’s only a few sheets of paper inside it, but from what you can get a sense of, it must be all the police have on the drugs raid.

“I’m sorry,” You mumble, moving your face into the warmth of his arm, “I didn’t think he would hurt me.”

There’s a pause and you can feel his body stiffen next to you, but then there’s movement and the arm you’ve currently got your face pressed into moves and envelops your shoulders, pressing you into his side.

“It’s okay,” He says softly, “I’m sorry too.”

You wrap your arm across his middle, he’s not bothered to put a shirt on and you finally realise how much you’ve missed the feeling of his skin on your own.

“Did I do something wrong?” You ask timidly, looking out into the expanse of his room as opposed to looking up at him.

You feel him suck in some air and let it out in a sigh, “No, hermosa, you didn’t, I-” He pauses for a moment, “I shouldn’t have looked through your things firstly, that was wrong of me, and I’m sorry,” You grip him a little tighter then, “Ever since I came back, everyone treats me like I did some big, heroic thing, when the truth is I think I probably made everything worse, sure there are some bad men in jail, but those bad man have other bad men to do their bidding, and I see it, every single fucking day, when those boats go up and down the river, all of the fucked up shit I did hasn’t made one bit of difference.”

You open your mouth to speak, but he’s quicker at continuing, and there’s something that tells you to keep quiet.

“All those newspaper clippings you had? None of them tell the truth, it’s all just American propaganda to make us think we’re on the right side of history, I’m not the man they make me out to be, I’m not the all-American hero from the stories, I did bad things down there, I killed people, I got people killed by making shitty choices, and I couldn’t bare the thought that you believed them, that you thought I was some saint.”

“Javi,” You murmur softly, finally looking up at him despite the dull ache behind your eyes, “I know you’re not a saint, you’re fucking your friend’s daughter.”

There’s a shift in his chest and a sound that you think is a chuckle.

“Is that all we’re doing here?” He asks softly, “Are we just fucking?”

It’s a question you hadn’t really thought about before, because it had been, right? The two of you enjoying yourselves, meeting the other’s needs. But he came when you called, despite everything, and that’s got to mean something right?

You shift a little, draping yourself across his chest so you can really look at him now.

“Are we?”

He offers you a small smile and you realise now how much you’ve missed being on the receiving end of it, how it makes your heart clench.

“I don’t know baby,” He sighs, reaching out to cup your cheek in his palm, stroking the skin with his thumb, “All I know is that when I found you last night, and you were bleeding and hurt, I wanted to hurt someone right back, and that I want to keep you safe, and that you are the one thing that makes me truly happy right now,” He shrugs a little, “So I don’t know, are we just fucking?”

You offer him your own smile now, leaning up to press a soft kiss against his mouth, finally feeling at home and at peace, safe and warm with the one person you never thought would feel the same.

“I guess not,” You mumble against his mouth, “All I know is I want you to be mine, and I know it’s complicated and messy, but I don’t care, you’re all I want.”

“I’m not going anywhere baby, I promise,” and moves to kiss you again, “Now lie back down before you make your headache worse.”

You relent, knowing that the pinching behind your eyes is only going to get worse if you don’t do as you’re told.

“So, agente,” He teases, hearing him open the file on his lap again, “Tell me what we need to know.”

It’s almost noon by the time he arrives at the station. He spent the morning listening to you take him through what you know and what your hunches are, and he has to admit, you’d give a fair amount of people at the DEA a run for their money.

He’s left you sleeping in his bed, a fact he thinks he might just be able to get used to, and has taken the police file your dad had given him, full of his own notes and yours, to the station to try and finish this. He knows you want to do it, you’ve worked hard enough to deserve the glory, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to let you take this on yourself when there’s a bunch of people who get paid far more then you do to do it properly.

“Hey buddy,” Your dad greets him, still riding high off his relaxing vacation, “What can I do for you?”

Javi wastes no time in putting the file down on his desk, sliding it across for him. He opens it, picks up the loose papers and the photocopies of deeds and old articles. He slips his glasses on and reads as Javi sits in one of the chairs across from him and lights a cigarette, waiting for it to all click into place.

“Jesus,” He mutters, “You didn’t waste much time, did you?”

Javi shakes his head, takes the cigarette from his mouth between two fingers and points to some notes you’d given him from your bag.

“Wasn’t me.”

It takes your dad a minute to register your handwriting, “You mean this was her?”

“Yeah, I mean it was her,” Javi’s tone is stern, “Followed up on that drugs bust story and has managed to uncover the fact that the mayor’s prodigy is helping scum drug dealers pump god knows what onto the streets here.”

Your dad let’s out a low whistle, “I knew she was good, but this is something else.” Then Javi watches as he closes the file.

“I’m gonna have to corroborate all this before we can move forward.”

It the first time that Javi see’s red since he came back from Colombia. Red fucking tape. He’s lost count of the times he’s been so fucking close and foiled at the last minute by bureaucracy and here is no different.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not denying she’s done good work, but before we can walk in and arrest the prodigal son, I need to make sure this,” He taps his finger to the file, “Is rock fucking solid.”

“You remember asking me to come back?” Javi asks, “All those weeks back, practically begging me to help solve the drug problem in town?” He sucks in a breath and tries to keep his cool, “Your daughter hands you everything you need and you want to waste time corroborating?”

Javi listens as the man in front of him sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose and looks genuinely tired. He imagines this is what he must have looked like to others back in Colombia.

“My hands are tied, Jav,” He speaks, “Just like they always have been, just like yours were, and will be if you come back,” Javi can feel himself rolling his eyes, “If we do this, we do it by the book because any whiff of something off and that boy is off the hook, and you know I’m right.”

He can’t listen to this anymore, so he stands, chair legs scraping across the floor. He stubs his cigarette out in the ashtray on the desk, and then turns, taking two strides to the door before his name is being called.

“She give you this last night?”

He could lie, he knows he could, but he’s tired. Tired of being wrong, and on the wrong side of things all the time. He’s a detective, and a damn good one at that, he’ll work it out sooner or later, and knowing you spent all night in his bed, that you didn’t go home and both he and your mom know that, he realises he’s done lying.

“Yes, sir.”

The office door is opened and closed before he can wait for the fallout.

You’re still trying to get rid of the dull ache behind your eyes when he comes home, door slammed rather than shut, which does nothing to help the pain despite you being in a completely different room of the house.

You can hear him talking to Chucho, who you think has missed his calling in life as a nurse with the care you’ve been given today. Painkillers and fresh water every few hours, a sandwich for lunch made just how you like them and a hot compress across your forehead.

Thankfully, Javi is more gentle with the door to his room, closing it with a soft click, when he enters. You keep your eyes closed, feeling the bed dip next to you and his hand on your waist.

“Feeling okay?” He murmurs, placing his hand over the flannel on your forehead.

“Fine,” You grumble, cracking one eye open, “How’d it go?”

He shakes his head and scoffs, “Gave him the file and got a bunch of bullshit about needing to corroborate it all,” He’s dragging the compress off your skin now, walking to his bathroom as he talks, “As if it’s not all there in front of him, as if you didn’t get hurt trying to prove it all,” His voice gets louder as he walks back, flannel back on your forehead now warm again, “Practically begging me to come back and putting up all the red tape, I-”

“Javi,” You interrupt, “Stop.”

“What?” He asks, but not unkindly, “It’s true.”

“And he’s right, you know he is,” You counter, “This needs to be by the book because otherwise that asshole walks.”

Javi takes a deep breath and then chuckles, “You are your father’s daughter, cariño,” Shaking his head, “That’s exactly what he said.”

You pull at his arm to get him to lie down with you, lying side-by-side with his hand in yours, silence blanketing you both for a moment, apart from the cicadas outside the open window.

“You wanted to leave all that behind,” You say softly, curling into his side, “The heroics, everything in the newspapers, everything in Colombia,” You feel him squeeze your hand, “So leave it there, Javi, let someone else do it.”

He turns to face you now, peeling the flannel from your forehead before one of his hands is cupping your cheek, kiss pressed to the tip of your nose.

“Sometimes I wonder where all your sense comes from,” He muses, “But you’re right, I’m sorry, I know he’s only doing the right thing.”

You can feel your eyes getting heavy as you wrap your arms around his middle, face pressed to the crook of his neck.

“Sleepy?” He asks, tracing patterns up your spine.

“Mmhmm.” Is all you can manage.

“Then sleep baby,” His lips pressed to the top of your head, “I’ll be here in the morning.”

[missmonsters2]

Your Touch is My Shelter

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: 6 months later, Natasha returns from the dead. It's a tightly kept secret as it's unknown how she returned, but everyone claws and fights about who will keep watch over her like savages. You're far down the list of people who should protect her, but you find yourself unable to leave her be.

Warnings/Tags: hurt/comfort. undisclosed trauma. physical and mental signs of trauma. angst. somber assisted bath time. sad hair braiding. emphasis on hurt AND comfort.

Note: This takes place after endgame :-) the dates might be inaccurate idk i did my best 🥲 ha-ha enjoy 👁️👁️

Masterlist || Library Blog || AO3

Reminder there's no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Count: 5.2k

Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

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You heard the news through Bruce. 

Well, it was through Bruce telling Pepper, and you just happened to be at the coffee machine getting shitty coffee. The quality drastically dropped since Tony was gone, and you've been putting off telling Pepper she needed to literally buy anything else. 

You didn't really know how long was the appropriate time for someone to grieve before you could ask if they could buy another brand of coffee.

Tony was gone. 

A part of you thinks you keep putting off telling Pepper because then you'd have to face—really face—he was gone. 

Steve was gone. 

What did it matter, really, in the grand scheme of things? Coffee was just coffee, and it'd probably taste fine if you just put a shitload of sugar and creamer in it. 

Vision was gone. 

Honestly, you only really noticed because it was the same brand as whatever was stocked up at the Avengers Compound. 

Natasha was gone. 

But perhaps the coffee always tasted bad at the Compound and it had nothing to do with Tony being gone. Natasha used to bring coffee into the office most days for people, and Clint filled in the other days. 

Maybe Tony Stark just liked shitty coffee, and you were only now just noticing it. 

Natasha was back. 

Your hand faltered at the coffee machine, spilling a little of it on your hand, and the burn stung immediately.

"Are you okay?" Bruce asked as he noticed you inhale a sharp breath.

"Yeah, I'm fine." You smiled awkwardly at him before looking at Pepper. "Morgan's fine. She just has the flu and her fever's gone down. Make sure she gets plenty of rest and fluids. I'm going to set up a humidifier for her and help her settle into bed with a movie and wait for her to fall asleep before I head out."

Pepper let out a heavy breath, putting her hand over her chest in relief. "Oh, perfect. Thank you so much for coming suddenly. I just—Morgan doesn't really like going to the hospital, and suddenly she started throwing up and having a fever—"

"It's fine, Pepper," you waved off her ramblings after you wiped what you spilled on the counter. "You can always call me if you need me."

"Seriously, I think I might just employ you full-time as a live-in doctor if you say that," Pepper joked, and you laughed. 

"I am already your live-in doctor, just for one of your research labs. instead."

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You don't think about Natasha—at least, you try not to. 

You heard things here and there about it through Pepper. Apparently, she's being held in a government facility similar to The Raft, detained like some criminal they needed to study instead of the war hero who sacrificed everything to save the world. 

It made you sick to your stomach. 

But you hear that Clint, Bruce, and Nick Fury have been fighting to get custody of her, so you don't think about it. There were people who knew Natasha far better than you did and were way closer to her than you were. 

She was in good hands. 

So, you continue on with your daily routine to pass your monotonous days, unaware you're waiting for some kind of update.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

The next time you heard about Natasha Romanoff, it was Clint and Bruce cornering you at your lab.

"What?" You panicked, tensing up. "Why me?"

"You're the only person Natasha ever sought out to treat her," Clint answered, and you felt even more lost at the fact he knew. "Natasha allows medical professionals onsite to help her, but there were times she left to go see you. That has to mean something."

But, of course, he knew. He was Natasha's...best friend. And Clint was an incredibly nosy person, even if Natasha didn't tell him. 

"I've only treated her a handful of times—literally only five times. I don't know her that well," you shook your head, trying to walk around them. "I didn't even know she had a sister until you told me."

"Please," Clint begged. "I'm fighting to get her out, and the doctors they have looking after her are shady and callous with her. I can only visit her with Nick's influence, but it's not enough to get her out of there."

"And what do you suppose I can do?"

"You're a renowned cellular biologist," Bruce cut in. "If they're holding her for research, we want someone on our side who will at least treat her like a human being. The faster we get answers, the faster we can get her out."

"Please," Clint begged again. "Natasha needs help. She's...different. And it's only going to get worse if she remains in there. She's not talking, and they won't let her go until they can find some answers."

It felt wrong. 

You don't want to study Natasha Romanoff like an animal. Despite being a scientist with an inquisitive mind, you don't care about how she returned.

But it sounded like Natasha would be researched whether you liked it or not. And if that was the case, you do wonder how the other doctors may be treating her.

"Fine, we're going first thing in the morning," you gritted out, unable to block out the handful of memories of times you've treated her.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

June 2012

"Oo, that looks painful," you hissed in sympathy as a redhead with a busted lip and nasty gash on her temple entered the med bay.

There was a snort that sounded like a half-grunt. "It looks worse than it feels. I hope I'm not intruding, but Tony said I should see you to be treated."

"Natasha, right?" You asked slowly, gesturing to a seat for her to take as you grabbed some medical supplies. 

"Yes," Natasha replied, equally slow with caution.

"Tony talks about you a lot," you tried to reassure her of whatever paranoia she might have. It probably didn't help that Natasha was still in her catsuit and probably would've preferred to be called by her alias.

"Well, don't believe everything he says," Natasha gives a light but somewhat tight smile. 

"Oh, so you aren't a unique woman with high intellect, sneaky, and rightfully smug?" You teased, and it was flattering that you could make a superhero laugh. 

You began treating Natasha's wound carefully. 

"You're pretty good at this, doc," Natasha commented as you blew on her brow, even if it didn't sting. "You're pretty gentle. Must be why Tony says you're his personal doctor."

You chuckled. "I'm actually a cellular biologist. Tony is funding my research and pretty much my lifestyle. With the money he's paying me, he can come crying about his boo-boos anytime. Although, he doesn't really come to me for serious stuff. It's usually if he has something ridiculous like a papercut."

"But you can treat wounds and other medical things?" 

"I was on my way to becoming a medical doctor before I decided to go into research instead."

"Huh," Natasha hummed, raising her brow at you. "Smart cookie."

"I'd like to think so," you finished cleaning Natasha's wound and putting a bandaid over it. "Feel free to come see me if you need any other basic medical aid. For a pretty redhead, it's free of charge."

"And if I come back blonde?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," you smiled, and Natasha smirked back at you.

"Smart and funny. Tony has it too good."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

April 2014

"This is the worst bandage job I've ever seen. Who did you go to see for this? A grocery clerk?"

Natasha grunted. "Hi, to you too, doc."

You looked at Natasha, noticing how different her hair is now. But it's been about two years since you have seen her. Despite your offer for her to come to you anytime she needed help, she never did. Or she rarely did, you supposed. 

You could only deduce that Natasha was used to caring for her wounds on her own. That, or she didn't trust you. 

"Alright, let's go to my office," you sighed. 

"Am I interrupting?"

"Not really, kind of hit a brick wall."

"Oh, me too."

You looked over at Natasha, who had a straight face, but you noticed the bruise on her temple outside the obvious gun wound on her shoulder.

You pursed your lips. "Will you hate me if I laugh?"

"Not at all. On the contrary, I may like you less if you don't."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

June 2015

"You know, when I told you that you could come for me for basic medical aid, I feel like you didn't understand the meaning of basic."

"Is this too complicated for you?"

"No."

"Then am I unwelcomed?"

You pursed your lips at the redhead, who stared at you with a tiny upward quirk on her lip. "No," you sighed. "Just not sure why you'd want to see me for such serious wounds. There are other more experienced doctors."

You lift Natasha's shirt up, looking at the long gash on the side of her stomach. "We're gonna need to stitch this up. I've been doing research with Dr. Cho, and we have a new machine that can help with cell tissue generation. It would be faster than me manually stitching—"

"It's fine," Natasha declined. "I'd prefer if you manually did it."

You frown lightly at the fact but relent to the redhead's wishes. Another year passes, and Natasha's hair has changed again. 

You worked silently on cleaning Natasha's wound, and she also declined the anesthetic. You focus on stitching up the wound with precision and care.

"I like to go to you for some things because your touch is gentle," Natasha said quietly, but it felt so loud in the silent room. "It makes me feel human when I can feel your touch."

You looked over at her face briefly, but Natasha wasn't looking at you. You don't take any deeper meaning into it. She's someone who's probably felt dehumanized most of her life. The machines that can heal her twice as fast would be fine for life-threatening injuries, but it probably all feels clinical. 

You looked back down at the stitch. "Well, as long as you're a redhead, it's free of charge."

"Don't kid yourself, I would look perfect blonde."

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

September 2016

"What are you doing here?" You hissed as you pulled Natasha in quickly, peering outside before shutting the door. 

"Why? Am I unwelcomed now?" Natasha's tone sounded a little hurt, and you scan her body. She didn't seem to be bleeding anywhere that required immediate attention, but you did notice crusted blood at the edge of her nostrils. 

"No, but you could get caught here," you shook your head at her. "They're looking for you and the rest of team cap everywhere."

Natasha shrugged. "I highly doubt Tony has your place under surveillance. We don't meet enough for anyone to consider looking for me through you."

You sighed, not sure what to feel about the statement. "I suppose. I don't work for Tony anymore, anyway."

Natasha's brows furrowed.

"Why?"

"I don't agree with what he's doing."

"So you're on Steve's side?"

"No, I think Steve was obstinate too. They're both stupid. Men are stupid."

Natasha laughed before wincing as she held her nose.

"What happened?" You brought her over to your couch before finding your first aid kit.

"I broke my nose," Natasha shrugged. "Can you believe breaking my nose saved millions of girls?"

"With you? Yes." You smirked as you tilted her head to look at the injury closer. "Lucky you. Looks like you don't need surgery. Do you always come here immediately after you save the world?"

"Yep."

"Couldn't even clean your nose before you did?"

"And deprive you of giving me care? I wouldn't dare."

You snorted, carefully cleaning the blood in and around her nose. It was silent again before Natasha spoke up.

"So, what happened with your research stuff now that Tony's not sponsoring your work?"

"Pepper is funding it, even though she knows I won't share anything with Stark Industries at the moment. She doesn't want me to sell my research or provide any data to other companies."

"Smart cookie."

"And a really hot blonde."

"This feels targeted. It's like you know I might dye my hair blonde soon."

"You're still a redhead; I have no idea what you mean. I like your hair, though. Braids look good on you."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

June 2018

Natasha showed up at your front step, holding her rib. There's a look of genuine relief at seeing you.

"You're still here," her voice sounds empty and hollow. "You're still here."

You pulled her inside gently. You're still in shock yourself. You were on a walk when people started disappearing left and right. The sheer panic on the streets was chaos as you were dialing Pepper frantically, almost crying when she picked up the phone. Then there were actual tears when you called other people in your life, and half of them didn't pick up...and they weren't going to. 

"I'm here," you swallowed. "What happened to your rib?"

"I don't know." Natasha looked so lost. There was the look of failure and self-blame all over her face. 

"Does it hurt?"

"I don't know."

You grasp her wrist, carefully moving her hand away from her rib before gently putting your fingertips against them. Your fingers trail up, down, and around. 

Suddenly, Natasha broke into tears. 

"Does it hurt?" You asked, panicked.

"You're still here," was all Natasha choked through her tears.

You didn't know what to do other than treat her wounds more gently than ever before while reassuring her you hadn't disappeared. You were one of the many people on this planet still here. And when she was better, she'd get the rest of them back. 

It was a long and exhausting night, and Natasha fell asleep in your bed, and you made sure she was comfortable before leaving to sleep on the couch.

Natasha's hair has changed again.

"You look good blonde."

That was the last time you saw her. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Natasha's hair has changed again. She's gone back to being a redhead with blonde tips. Her hair was a mess, barely brushed, and looked knotted. 

The room was big and had padded walls, a singular bed in one corner, and a toilet and sink in another. There were lights in parts of the cell but also areas of darkness. It looked like a fucking prison cell. 

You were looking through an unbreakable glass window, the middle holding up a microphone you assumed was linked to the speaker in the room.

Natasha stood in the middle of the room under the light in a hospital gown falling off her shoulder. Her hands were covered in scars, and her lips were so chapped, you were sure they'd split even if Natasha breathed the wrong way. 

Natasha was only a few feet away from you, but it felt like she was a million miles away.

They let you see her alone under the guise of privacy as you saw her.

You felt you weren't supposed to see this—see her like this. 

A sense of dread filled you at the blank expression on Natasha's face at what she'd gone through—what she was still going through. 

She was a hero, and this was how they were treating her? This was someone who had fought wars repeatedly for this stupid country and the rest of the world, and they had her locked up like a mental ward patient from the 1600s.

You thought the government had gotten better. There were reforms and peace after people came back from the snap. This wasn't how they were supposed to treat someone who'd given up their life to ensure everyone got theirs. 

It shouldn't matter that she came back; she had still given it up in the first place for them. 

Natasha didn't even seem to recognize you through the glass as you stepped closer to the microphone. She looked past you as if she could tell the exit was somewhere behind you. 

"Natasha?" You said into the mic, and it bellowed into the room.

Nothing. 

"Nat?" 

Natasha's eyes were listless. She was a broken, empty shell that seemed more like an animated corpse than actually being alive.

You swallowed, trying one more time. "You're still a redhead. Looks like it's still free of charge."

Natasha's eyes flickered this time, her head tilts towards you as she blinked with focus. It was just a spark, but it was something, and relief spreads through you. 

"Not completely." You could barely hear her voice, but it was coarse. Cold.

There should've been a joke about some kind of discount, but Natasha didn't make it. You were speechless.

You didn't know what to say. Don't worry, you're trapped in here, but I'm going to help with the research, and hopefully, we'll get you out soon?

It was like prolonging a death sentence. You were horrified.

"Just—wait for me," the words flew out of your mouth so fast but you meant them with every ounce of your being. "You're gonna go home with me today."

Natasha's eyes sparked at the words but just as quick as you saw it, they died out, falling back into listlessness. She turned, stepping into a darkened corner away from your view and prying eyes of the cameras as she said, "No, I'm not."

You realized she's probably spent weeks watching Clint, Bruce, and Fury try to get her out unsuccessfully.

The resignation made something lurch in your throat and eyes sting with desperation and rage. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"So, we can send you a contract—"

"You're going to release her to my custody," you cut off some government official. He was old, wearing some kind of toupee that was slicked back to hide his balding head. 

He looked at you in disbelief, almost laughing like you were some stupid, naive young girl. 

He looks at Clint and Bruce, who are also just looking at you in shock.

"As I've told your friends and Nick Fury, this is out of their hands. The Accords are still intact as of right now, therefore—"

"I don't care about the Accords. You will release her into my care. I'm more than qualified and I have the resources to find the inane answers you're looking for while rehabilitating Agent Romanoff," you cut him off again, able to tell that it was irking him. 

"That won't be necessary as you can see we have the resources here," the government official raised his brow at you.

"Your resources can't compete with Stark's resources."

It was no secret that Tony had left a very sizable fortune to you in his will, outside of everything he gave to Pepper and Morgan. And it was also no secret how close you were with the surviving Starks. 

"Doctor," the government official sighed, obviously making it sound like you were a nuisance. "If you're not here to join our research team, I suggest you go on your way and remember the NDA you signed."

You glared at him even more. "I'm not leaving without Agent Romanoff. You will hand her over to me, or you will regret it."

"And exactly how will I regret it?" The government official looked smug, and you smirked back at him.

"I'm still in talks with the government regarding my research, and I will pull out and sell that information outside of this country as I'm free to do so. I know Dr. Cho is in talks between the US and South Korea about her nano-technology. One word from me, and America can fall behind on those advancements as well." You pulled out your cell phone in a threatening manner. "Pepper and I will pull out all of our money from the very same banks and company investments that you're supporting and make you watch as they collapse one after another."

"You'd ruin our entire economy—our country by doing so!" The official was red in the face. "You'd put your entire country into chaos?" He sneered at you.

"I will if you don't give me Agent Romanoff!" You sneered back at him. "It's not like you won't eventually get your research and answers if she's in my custody. It works in both our favor."

The official is staring at you, glaring and seething.

"I imagine your colleagues and superiors will pin the blame on you if this entire economy and country goes into ruin because if I have to do that, I will say that it's the government's fault. The NDA said I can't specifically talk about Natasha and this place, which I won't. But I'm sure some journalist will discover the truth and plaster all over the news what you're doing to a war hero," your voice was so vindictive; you're not sure if you've ever been so cold before. 

"So," your voice was flat, devoid of emotion now. "What will it be?"

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

It was agreed that Natasha would stay in a cabin that Pepper owned out in the countryside. You were to provide monthly updates on your research and rehabilitation progress. And while this was in headway, neither you nor Natasha was free to leave the country or this planet. 

Clint initially wanted you and Natasha to stay with him and his family, but you declined. You pointed out that it would be hard for him and his family—his children, especially—to see Natasha like this. 

Pepper had everything prepared while you gingerly collected Natasha.

"We're going home, Natasha," you said softly, shrugging off your jacket to wrap around her shoulders. But Natasha still didn't react, even if she let you take her hand and drag her out of the facility. 

During the car ride, you mentally planned what you needed to do. Natasha needed to eat, take a bath, and rest. 

"Have you eaten yet?" You asked the redhead, sitting stoically in the car, straight as a rod. 

There was no answer. Natasha was peering out the windshield, her hands perfectly on both thighs. Clint looked worried as he looked at you.

"Natasha?" You gently placed her hand over hers. You could feel the bumps of the white scars over her hand. A part of you is too frightened to ask where she got these from. 

Natasha looked down at your hand over hers before looking at you. Her eyes were so empty. Such a dull green like dying grass.

"Did you eat?" 

Natasha nodded once before looking back outside the windshield. 

You looked at Clint, trying to give him a reassuring smile, but deep down, you were afraid you had no idea what the fuck you were doing. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"Pepper says you've been here before, but let me know if you need help finding anything," you brought her into the house where Natasha just stood, looking at nothing in particular. 

"Um," you took a shaky breath. "How about a bath? I'm sure it'll be good to get the grime and stale air off of you." 

Natasha didn't move on her own, so you began to lead her up the stairs to the bathroom. 

It was a detached tub near the high window to get plenty of sunlight without anyone being able to peer in. 

"I'll just get this started for you," you offered. Turning on the tap and pouring in a liquid that formed into bubbles. "Just make sure to check the temperature and adjust. Pepper says that sometimes that faucet can be a little finicky."

You turned to Natasha, who stood there, staring at the wall. She was unmoving, making no gesture if she was waiting for you to get out or to start undressing.

"Do you, um, need help?" You asked, but there was no answer. 

Maybe it would wake her up a little once she was in the water. 

"I'm—" you took a long breath in. "I'm gonna help you undress and get into the tub. If you get uncomfortable at any point, let me know and I can stop or do something else."

It wasn't like you've never seen a naked body before. You've seen plenty both in your sex life and field of work. You've even seen parts of Natasha's body when you've treated her. You just never thought you'd see Natasha fully naked. 

You slid your jacket off her shoulders, letting out a puff of breath. You looked past her as you undid the string of her hospital gown. You looked up when you slid down her underwear before guiding her towards the tub. Your gentle guiding seemed to spark Natasha into mechanically climbing into it herself the rest of the way. 

"Okay, cool. Um," you stuttered. "I'm sure you've been through a lot. Once you're done, we can get you into bed and if you're hungry later, I can make you something."

You were getting used to the lack of answers, but it didn't make your stomach drop any less. "Just let me know if you need anything."

You don't wait for a response this time, leaving without shutting the door fully. Down the hall, you leaned against the wall, swallowing harshly. 

It feels like you brought a lifeless shell home. A part of you wonders if Natasha really did return or if this was just some lifeless doll. 

You didn't want to think about it anymore, so you pushed yourself off the wall and into a bedroom with a suitcase and unzipped it open to grab some clothes.

When you were heading back, you heard the water still running and frowned. 

"Natasha?" You called as you opened the door. The tub was overfilling, and you rushed to turn off the faucet, trying to not slip.

Natasha was sitting how you left her, staring ahead at the running water but not really looking at it.

You sighed, relieved that the bathroom floor was designed with wood and curved so that any water would naturally run towards a drain in the floor. 

You go to check the temperature of the water and find that while it was initially fine when you turned it on, Natasha hadn't attempted to adjust it, and the finicky faucet ran nearly scalding water. 

"Jesus, Natasha, you're going to hurt yourself," you yelped. You braced through it and stuck your hand in to drain the tub halfway.

You inwardly sighed, knowing you would have to help Natasha through the entire process. You began to refill the tub, monitoring the temperature and shut it off when it was filled adequately. 

"I'm going to help wash you if that's okay," you muttered. "Just let me know if you prefer to do it yourself at any point."

You grabbed a nearby stool and sat on it before grabbing the loofa. You began with Natasha's shoulders and arms, trying to wash parts of her that were easy to access.

Natasha tensed as you washed her, so you tried to be more slow and careful. 

"It's just me," you said softly, trying to reassure the redhead. "I've always taken care of you."

Natasha said nothing, but her shoulders relaxed slightly as you continued. There wasn't much dirt on her, but the stale air that was surrounding her began to fade away. 

Her knees were propped up, folded to her chest, and you washed down her thighs and legs, trying to not think of anything too much as you did it. You tried not to think about the scars on her hands and feet. 

Readjusting your stool, you went to sit behind her. You used a cup to wet Natasha's hair, trying to detangle some of it gently first. It was then you discovered a shaven spot in the back of her head, where there was a large scar. You realized that was where Natasha's head hit the ground when she—

You swallowed, trying to suppress the anger that they shaved her head to get a look at something so private. 

You squeezed a considerable amount of shampoo in your hands and gently rubbed it into her scalp. Natasha tensed at first before your fingers massaging her scalp made her relax, her body leaning back against the tub and her head into your hands. 

It was quiet as you did this. You shampooed her hair twice before slathering it up in conditioner and finally getting out the rest of the knots. You drained the tub, grabbing the shower head to rinse her down once more before you grabbed a towel and helped her out. 

You helped put a bathrobe around her to help dry her as you didn't think you had the gall to fully dry every part of her by hand. Grabbing her clothes, you led her to her bedroom, setting her down on the bed. 

Natasha sat silently as you towel-dried her hair with gentle hands. Her eyes fell closed as you began to blow dry it. Your soft fingers tousling her hair. 

So delicate. 

When it was dry, you set the blow dryer aside. 

"Hm, your hair is pretty sensitive and might be for the next week. It might be better to braid it so it doesn't tangle and break when you're sleeping," you commented, mostly to yourself. 

You took sections of her hair, delicately beginning to put her hair into a french braid. 

"You've always had beautiful hair, red or blonde," you complimented Natasha as you finished. You moved to sit in front of her to check if you did okay from the front. There wasn't a response, but Natasha opened her eyes. They focused on you, looking at you as they traced over the features of your face. She was studying you apprehensively. 

Natasha lifted a hand, slowly reaching up as her fingers brushed the side of your face. It felt bumpy from the scars, but it made the back of your throat burn. 

"Am I really here?" Natasha mumbled as she then traced your cheek before your lips. "Am I really here with you?"

Your eyes were burning now. You couldn't even answer right away because you were afraid your lips would start trembling. 

You lifted your hand, hesitating at first, before you held her hand against your face. "Yeah, you're really here."

The edges of Natasha's eyes began to brim with tears. 

"When I jumped, I didn't die right away," Natasha whispered. "There was a feeling that something bad was going to happen. It didn't get me yet, but it was going to."

You couldn't help the tears that began to fall over the edge of your eyes when they overfilled. 

"Something bad happened to me," Natasha's lip trembled. "It's still happening to me."

You gripped her hand tighter unintentionally, but it was like it grounded Natasha. 

"I was scared," Natasha admitted. "I was scared that even if you came to me, it wouldn't go away."

Then, Natasha grabbed your hand and placed it against her cheek. It was still warm from the bath and blow dryer. 

"But I can feel your touch," Natasha sighed like it was a relief. "It's gentle and I feel human. I'm scared I'm not really here."

"You are."

Your throat felt clogged with raw emotions, and you didn't know what to do with it. You've only seen Natasha a handful of times, and maybe it's because the more you do, the more emotionally charged you both feel. 

"You're really here," you told Natasha, using your thumb to caress her cheek. You didn't know what else to say. 

All you can do is offer her shelter under your touch.

[nateconnolly]

Production of Hamlet where every time the original text has the word “nothing,” the actor says “pussy” instead. “Nothing” was a vulgar term for pussy back in the day, and I think we should let Hamlet say what he means. This isn’t like No Fear Shakespeare where whole sentences get simplified — “nothing” is the only word that gets changed. The production would lose some clever wordplay

Hamlet: Do you think I meant country matters? Ophelia: I think nothing, my lord. Hamlet: That's a fair thought to lie between maids' legs. Ophelia: What is, my lord? Hamlet: “Nothing.”    

but I genuinely believe that modern audiences don't usually see that conversations between Hamlet and Ophelia can be. Like. Really immature.

Shakespeare isn't just making his character say a sex joke for a cheap laugh -- we get to see a sillier side of Hamlet, which lets us understand that he isn't always intense and brooding, and that shows how much he's been changed by the death of his father. Hamlet gets to be carefree for a few lines, and in order to capture that feeling, I think it might be helpful to sacrifice the fancy dialogue. Because it wouldn't have sounded fancy in the original context. It would have sounded like a kid.

I'm not saying all productions should do this stunt. That would be intolerable. But there are so so so so so many productions that have a gimmick (version where same actor plays Ophelia and Horatio, version where ghost is a shadow puppet, etc). I think we should have one where everything stays the same except we update the sex jokes

[grace-mint]

A Fate Worse Than Death- Part 2

TW: Angst, mentions of torture and SA. Let me know if I miss anything.

Y'all I am so ready for this happy ending. (Spoilers: it will have a happy ending bc I can't read angst without happy endings). Also sorry it's a bit short, but I couldn't keep going without it getting way too long.

Rhysand hadn’t slept in three days. He could hardly eat or drink anything. He couldn’t get himself to care for himself, his main priority being the female lying in front of him. As much as his family tried, they couldn’t get him to eat. Only when Amren walked in and called him a ‘pathetic bastard,’ and stubbornly refused to leave until he ate, did he indulge her.

He sat in a chair in the corner of his and y/n’s shared room, far enough away from the bed, but close enough to keep an extremely close eye on her. He had smelled another male on her, dread sitting in his lower chest at the idea of what that may mean. Azriel had quickly captured her father, brothers, and the male he smelled after they found her, unconscious, and had them in his cells at the Court of Nightmares. He couldn’t get the image of Y/N out of his head. Her body was covered in blood, her arms and legs bruised and scabbed up, and her back. Cauldron her back. It was completely wrecked. Her wings were gone. It broke him to know that she lost an extension of herself. As anxious as he was for her to wake, he was grateful for the time it gave Madja to attempt to heal it. She told him it would scar, severely. The trauma her back endured from whips and knives. The trauma of her wings being cut out, in lieu of the faebane that was running through her system, was enough for her back to heal quite slowly. Madja had said it would take several weeks, if not months potentially, to fully heal. Her mind, Madja told him, was another topic entirely. Rhysand had known this, he would never expect her to bounce back from something like this. He cursed himself. Since she left for that mission he had cursed himself. 

She was fine for a day or two, keeping him updated through their bond. The third day rolled around, and instead of getting his usual ‘Good morning, my love,’ greeting he was used to, he was only greeted by silence. He didn’t think too terribly much of it, assuming she was busy, but when evening had passed and still no word from her, he began to really worry. A pit of unease sat in his stomach all night. He had tossed and turned, debating whether he should leave for the camp to make sure she was okay. He had talked himself out of it, telling himself he was being overprotective, and that she could take care of herself. And she could, she was a fighter, the strongest person he’d ever met. 

He told himself this again and again as he sat there in agony, watching his mate, who lay still on the bed. A knock at the door broke him from his trance. He looked up to see Azriel walking in. Az took a long look at the bed, a shadow covering his face, before he looked at his High Lord. Rhysand knew he must look like a wreck. Rightfully so. His mate had just gone through hell. No. She had gone through something worse than that, and here he was sitting, perfectly healthy, when he did nothing to protect her. 

“You need to get some sleep,” Azriel said softly. He was a man of few words, only knowing when the situation warranted it or he felt comfortable enough. “She wouldn’t want you to sit here, torturing yourself over this.” 

As much as he didn't want to think it, he knew Azriel was right. How could he help her recover from this… What could he even call it? Situation? Ailment? No, this was something much worse. This was the equivalent of a lost life. It was an Illyrian’s worst fear; their wings are sacred to them, and the lowest form of insult bestowed upon their race is defilement of their wings. Only a true monster could do something like this. Anger flared in his chest again, the thousandth time in these past few days, at the thought of her father. Even his father, cold as he might have been, would never even have the thought of using one’s wings against an Illyrian. He wanted to kill her father so bad. Better yet, he wanted to rip him apart, limb by limb. And here was Azriel, having the audacity to tell him to rest?

“Shut up, Az.” Rhysand snapped. “She’s just lost everything precious to her, and you are telling me to relax??” 

Azriel didn’t even flinch at the tone of his voice, instead he walked over and placed a hand on Rhysand’s shoulder. “She didn’t lose everything precious to her. She still has you. Take a bath at least brother. You deserve it.”

Rhysand sat for a few hours after Az left, his mind running a thousand miles a minute. Finally, with a sigh, he got up and grabbed some spare clothes, walking into the washroom. The bath, as usual, was already filled with steaming water. He looked at himself in the mirror. He did look rough. His face was pale and gaunt, deep bags underneath my eyes, and in the eyes Rhysand looked broken. Taking off his shirt, summoning his wings, he stretched them out to their full length. Rhysand stayed there for several minutes, imagining how life would be without them. He couldn’t. His soul revolted at the idea of losing them, and he quickly let them disappear, the ache in his chest growing. He knew Y/N was going to suffer greatly, she already had. Running a hand down his face, he undressed and slipped into the tub. The warm water felt wonderful, but he didn’t allow himself to enjoy it. Rhysand cursed himself, he was wallowing in self-pity. He was the most powerful High Lord in existence, blessed with the most beautiful, most intelligent, and the most perfect mate to ever live, and yet he was still too weak. 

Rhysand scolded himself once again, how could he be so pitiful when his mate is laying on their bed, still not awake. He got up from the bath, quickly toweled himself off, and got dressed. He walked back into the bedroom, hoping you might be awake, only to have that squashed by seeing you still sleeping. 

He sat back down in the chair he’d been living in. He would stay by your side until you woke up. 

----Y/N POV----

Hands were touching me, everywhere. They were running through my hair, down my front, my rear. I was screaming, or at least I was trying to. No sound was getting out. Panic wracked my chest, I was going to die. I was going to die right now. The hands kept exploring, and they reached my wings. Pulling on my wings. Pain sparked in my back where my wings were attached by powerful tendons and membrane. I yanked away, trying to escape. Not my wings, I screamed, the words still not escaping my throat. I shot upright, the screams finally tearing from my throat. I quickly tucked my wings around me, seeking their comfort. The dream was terrifying and all I wanted to do was to turn over to my mate and tuck myself in his powerful arms. But as I went to tuck in my wings, terror struck my whole being. I couldn’t feel my wings. I looked over my shoulder and saw nothing. Another blood curdling scream left my throat. I threw myself out of bed, attempting to run to the bathroom, but I couldn’t make it. I fell, my body off balanced without the comforting and natural weight of my wings. 

“MY WINGS. MY WINGS ARE GONE.” I sat on the floor, sobs wracking my body, the pain in my back that I started to feel was agonizing. I was dying. That was the only possible answer. 

“Shhhh, my love. It’s okay I’m right here.” I felt a hand on my cheek. I flinched away, throwing myself as far as possible from the touch. 

“Go away! Leave me alone! Don’t take anything more from me!” Sobs broke through each of my words, the syllabus coming out choked and teary. 

Y/N, darling, it’s me, it's Rhys. I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll stay on the other side of the room, but you must calm down. A voice struck through my jumbled thoughts. Rhysand. That was my mate. Yes, I’m your mate. Rhysand. You are in Velaris, in the townhouse. We are in our bedroom. 

I look up, seeing my mate in a chair across the room, like he said. His eyes were frantic and wild. He looked pale and distressed. “Rhysand?” 

“Yes, my heart. I’m right here.” He slowly stood up, walking over to me. “Can I help you up?” 

I nod, not finding the energy to answer. He slowly and carefully, with attention to avoid the searing pain in my back, picked me up. I don’t know how he knew where it was so painful, but I was eternally thankful as he set me back on the bed.

“Rhys, my wings are gone.” My voice cracked with my words. “Someone took my wings.”

“I know, I know. I’m going to make them pay severely. Your father will die the slowest and most painful death. I swear it to you.”

At his words, the memories came rushing back. My father, my brothers, the male who used me. My head snapped up to my mate. “You need to leave.” His face fell, “Leave? No, I don't want to leave you. You’ve been passed out for nearly 3 weeks. I can’t leave.”

“Get out. Go, I don’t want to see you,” as I said the words, my heart roared in protest. I wanted him to stay, but he couldn’t. He can’t see me like this, weak and a failure. 

“Y/N, please.” He begged.

“I won’t ask again, leave.” I spat the last word out. I saw him flinch, and I wanted to leap up and beg for forgiveness, but what would he think if I told him what I let them do to me. 

Rhysand, begrudgingly left, reluctance to leave evident on his face. I felt awful for kicking him out, but I needed to be alone, for his sake and mine. 

I slowly stood up, wobbling, and tried to walk to the bathroom. I almost lost my balance, before deciding to just say screw it and lowered myself to the floor. I crawled to the bathroom, placing my hands on the counter, heaving myself up. The sight in the mirror shocked me to my core. My face was extremely sunken in, my body frail and bony, and my wings. The absence of my wings was devastating. It felt utterly wrong. I was wrong. 

I stared at myself in the mirror for a very long time; I hated every second of it, but I couldn’t bear to take my eyes away. A knock on the doorframe forced me to wrench my eyes away. There stood Cassian. His eyes full of sorrow and anger. 

“I heard you were awake and wanted to come check on you.” His voice was soft, as if talking to a frightened child. I just stared at him in silence, before turning my gaze back to the mirror. What was the point of life anymore? I was robbed of any dignity I had left. From now on my life be pitiful looks and watchful eyes from those who knew me. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” I say, without turning to look at him. “Stop it. Stop treating at me like I’m an object about to break.” 

“It’s okay to break, Y/N. None of us will blame you. Whatever you need or want, we will be by your side. If you want to wallow, we will be there. You want to yell and scream? We’re there to take the brunt of it. If you want to burn the world down? We will be there to light the matches.” His words went in one ear and out the other. 

I looked at him once again, with no emotion in my eyes. I saw his wings poking out from behind his back and jealousy reared its ugly head in my chest. “Leave. You think you can just come in here and flaunt your wings around and act all high and mighty. You are nothing more than a bastard who crawls at his High Lord’s feet.” 

There wasn’t a single part of my soul that believed the words I spit at him. In fact, I hated myself for saying them, but I wanted him to feel just a fraction of the eternal soul crushing pain I was feeling at the moment. Cassian’s expression didn’t waver at all though, instead he just tilted his head to look at me. 

“Is that the best you can do? That all you got?” He was goading me on, and I knew it. But this conversation had exhausted me enough. “Goodbye Casssian, “ I said in dismissal. I didn't bother to see if he left, I simply turned my head back to look at the mirror, to look at the ugliest creature in the world. Me. 

----Rhysand POV----

Cassian walked back into the kitchen, his face grim. “She called me a bastard, said I crawled at your feet.”

“She doesn’t mean it,“ Rhysand said, somewhat softly. He knew Cassian didn’t believe 

her, but he wanted to remind him.

“I know. Just hurts to see her like this.” Cassian and Y/N have always had a wonderful

relationship. He was able to be the older brother she never got to have. 

Rhysand poured another shot of whiskey, handing it to his brother. “She kicked me out. You should have seen her when she woke up. She was terrified. She was terrified of me.” His voice was broken. Pain seeping into his words.

“She just needs time.” He knew Cassian was right, but the ache in his chest was overwhelming at this point. Not to mention that the bond had gone numb on his mate’s side. He knew it would be bad, and he was expecting this, but he just didn’t know how to help her.  “She was looking at herself in the mirror when I was up there.”

Rhysand looked over at his brother, “Can I see?” Cassian nodded his approval as Rhysand entered his mind, finding the interaction between Cassian and Y/N. The lack of emotion in her eyes and face was the most heartbreaking thing he had ever seen. She was so gaunt and thin. She was a shell of herself. And Rhysand would stop at nothing to help her find her way home to him and his family.

[ramblingthoughtsofayoungadult]

Unpredictable, Part 9-Limoreau x black!fem!reader fic

A/N: I'm finally updating! Thanks for your patience. Also, I didn't fully rewatch the episode so there will be some differences. Let me know if you wanted to be added to the taglist. Also, if you were on the taglist and aren't on it for this post, it just means when I typed your username, it didn't pop up. Enjoy!

Word count: 7.1k

Warnings: Swearing, sensuality, some angst, and general reader! insecurities about relationships

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @badbishsblog, @gardenof-venus, @morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog , @darksoul100, @simiinthemirror

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the blood around my mouth. The coppery taste made my stomach lurch as I sat up and touched my mouth.

At least it was dried blood.

The second thing I noticed was the dejected expression on Cate’s face as she sat up on the couch across from me. She stared down at the ground, but she wasn’t looking at anything. For a second, I started to reach a hand towards her but stopped when I remembered what she’d done.

Just as I set my hand back in my lap, Marie and Jordan jerked awake, making me flinch in the process. It wasn’t until I settled a little that I noticed they were flanking me, and I looked down at my lap to hide my wide smile and warm cheeks.

“Is this real?” Marie asked.

“Yes, this is real,” Cate confirmed.

Immediately, Jordan jumped to his feet and shifted to their female form. They grinned so widely at the result that their dimples showed and Marie visibly relaxed next to me. Then, I noticed Marie glance at me.

Maybe if it worked for Jordan…

I took a deep breath and tried to focus on what else would unfold in the day. Instead of a picture, all I saw were hazy black and gray figures in my mind and it felt like my brain had hit a wall. I swallowed the lump in my throat and shook my head.

“Really?” Marie asked, placing her hand on top of mine.

“Don’t worry about it,” I muttered, slowly pulling my hand away.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, your powers should come back soon,” Cate voiced hoarsely.

 I thought I nodded as I slowly moved to my feet. “I’m gonna go clean myself up.”

“Do you need any help?” Jordan offered.

“No, I got it.”

 After a few minutes of wandering through Dusty’s house, I found a semi-clean bathroom and locked the door as soon as I walked in. The faucet handles were slippery, and it took a few tries before I finally got the water running. When I reached for the paper towel roll on top of the toilet, I realized that my hands were trembling.

“Stop it, Y/N, calm down,” I hissed. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry ran through my head like a mantra as I patted my face with warm water.

“I do not need my powers to be myself,” I muttered. “I’m still me even if I can’t see potential future outcomes.”

Or help my friends or loved ones or pass any crim classes or get a job as a supe.

Then, I was thankful that the running water drowned out my sobs since I wasn’t sure how much of a noise blocker my hand was. I almost collapsed over the sink as my back shook with sobs and the hot tears ran down my face.

No matter how much I wanted to stop crying, I couldn’t. It was like all those years of holding it back made me incapable of doing it in the moment.

Why did this happen to me? Why do I have to get screwed over all the time? bitterly ran through my mind.

I never did anything to Cate to deserve this, nothing at all and she wiped me twice without thinking of the consequences. Wiping two days’ worth of memories from four people’s minds must have been a first for her. There was no telling what that could have done to her powers, and she still did it.

I don’t know why my brain decided that was the time to remember Cate’s playful smile when she talked me into sneaking off campus with the others or her sincerity when I processed my feelings about Jordan and Marie with her. My chest ached and it wasn’t like I had a chest cold----it was almost like I took a direct blow from Luke, but it ached worse than that.

None of Cate’s actions made sense at the moment. Shetty must have put in a lot of effort to manipulate her because she was my friend, almost like the big sister I never had. When I really thought about it, Cate was one of my most attentive friends. Whenever I was stressed or anxious, Cate would take me to her favorite campus green to meditate; when a creepy guy approached me at a party or club, Cate was one of the first people to intervene; and she always insisted that I joined her, Jordan, Andre, and Luke for study groups.

I had to know how she could go from that to rendering me powerless. As I finished cleaning the blood from around the left side of my mouth and nostril, a sinking feeling came over me.

If Shetty could do that to Cate then what had she done to me?

Knock! Knock!

The sound made me jump and shook me out of my stupor.

“One second!” I called, frantically wiping at the other side of my face.

As I stared at my reflection, I internally winced at my red, puffy eyes. It would take at least three rounds of Peter Thomas Roth under eye masks and endless eye drops to remedy them.

“I just wanted to check on you,” Marie’s voice softly called.

I almost froze and huffed.

“Oh, I’m fine.” I sniffled and wiped at my nose.

“I’ll believe you when you open the door.”

Did Marie have some sort of fixation with seeing me at my worst?

“Seriously, you can go back to the others,” I tried to insist.

“If you don’t, I will break down this door.”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

Marie paused. “Jordan would.”

I huffed and threw the used tissues and paper towel in the trash can. After taking three deep breaths to calm myself, I unlocked the door and let Marie in. She immediately entered the room, forcing me to back up. Slowly, her hands grabbed the sides of my face, and she looked me over, eyes softening at the bits of blood I hadn’t been able to clean.

Then, I carefully grabbed her hands and started pulling away. “You don’t have to get that close to see that I’m fine.”

“Oh, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” Marie apologized, then, she frowned. “Actually, no. After everything you said, you pushed me and Jordan away and ran as soon as we woke up; it’s confusing.”

I sighed and turned away from her as I grabbed more paper towel. “I’m sorry. After everything that happened when we were in Cate’s head, I didn’t want you or Jordan to see me like this…again.”

As soon as I turned towards the sink, Marie stepped in front of me and gently took the paper towel out of my hands. She gestured towards the toilet, and I sat on the seat as she wet the paper towel in the sink. After a few seconds, she turned off the faucet and leaned down in front of me.

Marie’s gaze was laser-focused as she cleaned up the rest of my face. The silence in the space was comfortable but I couldn’t stop fidgeting with my braids as she worked.

“When are you gonna understand that Jordan and I don’t care if you don’t look perfect all the time?” she finally uttered. “They just told you how we’re all messy in our own way and it’s okay that you’re a part of it.”

“I didn’t think I had any more tears left in me but I guess I was wrong,” I muttered with a shrug.

Marie hummed in response as she continued gently wiping my face. A few more seconds passed until she was finally done.

“Finding you and Cate scared the shit out of me,” she stated. “It felt like the ground fell out from under me and I had no idea what to do. Jordan had the idea of slowing down your heart rates and it worked but, I’m scared to think what would happen if it didn’t.”

“But it did work because you have amazing powers.” I grabbed her hands. “You saved me, and Cate and I know you’ll save more.” Then, I let go of her hands. “Well, not know-know.”

“Hey, you’ll get your powers back. We’ll figure something out,” Marie insisted. “But what if we don’t” hung on the tip of my tongue and I didn’t let it fall out. Instead, I watched Marie throw away the dirty paper towel and then she grabbed my hands.

“It’s okay to let us help you,” she said.

“But, you’ll get tired---”

“I won’t and I know Jordan won’t either. People take care of each other in relationships.”

I looked down at our clasped hands. “That’s all…new for me.”

Marie squeezed my hands. “Me too but, I know the basics.”

Having a loving family must have been nice; at least Marie had a normal baseline for how to be in a relationship. Then, I realized that she kept looking at me.

“What? Is there something else on my face? Did my eyes get worse?” I rambled.

Marie laughed. “No, your face is fine; pretty.”

My cheeks warmed at her words, and I couldn’t keep the grin off my lips. Then, I felt myself lean towards Marie and she quickly closed the gap. Her lips were slightly chapped but mostly soft against mine. As I pressed my lips against hers, I let go of Marie’s hands and tangled my hands in her twists. Marie’s hands ghosted up my hips and underneath my cardigan, pulling me closer to her.

I sighed at the feeling but didn’t stop kissing her. Somehow, Marie didn’t break the kiss as she stood, pulling me to my feet and running her hands up and down my back.

I could have stayed like that for a while but a scream followed by banging interrupted.

“SAM!” Emma yelled.

We broke apart and I grabbed Marie’s hand and tugged her out of the bathroom with me. When we got to the living room, it was a mess. On one end of the room, Jordan and Andre were picking themselves off the floor and trying to avoid all the broken glass and other furniture casualties. On the other end, Sam held a weak Cate up against a wall that already had a sizable hole in it. Based on the dust on Cate’s clothes, Sam had attacked her. Emma stood behind Sam, eyes wide but her voice calm. “Sam, it’s okay, you can let her go.”

“She hurt you---she made you forget,” Sam griped.

“But I’m okay now, everyone is okay now. You can let her go, she’s not going to hurt anyone else.”

It was hard to gauge how much I agreed with the last part of Emma’s statement, but I doubted Cate would go after one of us again soon. Slowly, Sam let her go and Cate collapsed on the ground, gasping. Marie hurried over to Cate’s side to help her up and Sam backed away from them, eyes still boring holes in the top of Cate’s head.

My eyes flitted to Emma, who seemed a little more relieved, and ran a hand through her messy hair.

“Why is your hair that messy?” I asked.

“What is it with people asking me that today? Why is your lip gloss smudged?”

Then, Jordan turned to me and raised an eyebrow. “Great timing, freshie.”

I thumbed at my lips and my cheeks warmed even more. “Get your head out of the gutter. Anyway, what brought you two back here?”

Emma straightened up. “We were looking for you guys because I wanted, well, actually, Sam has something he would like to say.”

Then, Emma gave Sam the same look her mom gave her when she needed her to improve on a take. Suddenly, Sam’s shoulders slumped, and he pouted as he gazed at the tips of his dirty sneakers.

“I’m sorry for almost killing you guys…twice. I’m working on getting better control of my emotions but being locked up for eighteen years really screws with your head,” Sam stated.

The silence that followed was almost unbearable. Cate’s eyes never left Sam as if she was waiting on him to pounce again; Marie frowned; Andre’s jaw clenched so hard that I wasn’t sure he would speak for a while; and Jordan cocked her head to the side.

Finally, Andre said, “You didn’t almost kill us.”

“Fifteen more seconds and he might have,” Jordan admitted.

“My head is still sore from the last time we met but I’m willing to move forward if you stop attacking us on sight,” I added.

“I’m really sorry about that. You’re Y/N, right? Emma talks about you all the time,” Sam commented.

I grinned. “Oh, really?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, she was saying that you’re great but clueless about relationships and----”

Emma patted Sam’s chest. “Okay, Sam, that’s enough. We don’t have time to talk about that because of the other thing.”

I narrowed my eyes at Emma. “Clueless, seriously?”

She smiled sheepishly and I sighed.

Unfortunately, Emma wasn’t fully wrong, but she didn’t have to tell Sam that. Besides, I was working on it.

For the next few minutes, the two filled us in on everything that was going on in the Woods. How Shetty had Dr. Cardoza experimenting on supes and how several people Sam knew down there got sick. Even though most of them got better, a couple died.

“And they never experimented on you?” Andre asked.

“Not the way they did with Tommy. He was super messed up but a funny guy. One day, they took him away for a session with Cardoza and I never saw him again,” Sam recalled.

“And Shetty knows about all of this and is doing nothing to stop it?” Marie confirmed.

“She hates supes; she wants us all dead,” Sam griped.

Cate shook her head. “That…that can’t be true. Indira always helped me and Y/N.”

Jordan glared at her. “Come on, Cate. Shetty manipulated the shit out of you because she knew we were getting too close.”

“And I want to know why she wanted the two of us to be so close,” I added.

Cate bit her bottom lip and played with the hem of her sweater. “This…this is a lot.”

I nodded. “But it sounds like they’re working on a virus that targets supes. Based on what Sam described, maybe they picked strong supes that weren’t as useful as Sam to be guinea pigs.” “So, they come up with a virus to kill all of us?” Andre asked.

“I don’t know if that’s the goal, though. Vought has invested way too much money in making supes and if all the GOD U students dropped dead, that’s the next lineup of the Seven gone,” Jordan interjected.

“And society is built around supes, and the fallout would be bad,” Marie said.

“But if Shetty hates us so much, she wouldn’t care,” I thought.

“How is she getting away with this when Vought watches everything? She has to report to them all the time,” Jordan wondered.

Since Brink died, Shetty had to have even more people working under her than before. It would be easy to have certain people cover up for her or maybe the woman was gifted at hiding heinous plots. Seeing how much effort she put into manipulating Cate, there was no telling how far Shetty was willing to go to hide the Woods.

“Shetty could lie on the reports; it’s not like Vought reads through everything carefully,” I pointed out.

“So, what do we do?” Emma asked.

At the moment, I wished that I had my powers. It would have made it much easier to come up with a plan. Instead, I didn’t try but racked my brain for ideas.

“I can help here,” Cate announced.

Everyone turned to her in unison, and no one looked confident. In all honesty, Sam seemed to be contemplating going after her again; Emma looked as though she wished Cate would stop talking; Andre somehow clenched his jaw more; Marie side-eyed her; and Jordan’s glare almost made me feel bad too. I tried to relax my shoulders and forced myself to listen.

“I know that no one trusts me right now but, I am the only one with a direct line to Indira,” Cate said. “Please, just let me try.”

“How do we know you won’t turn on us again?” Andre asked.

“I won’t, I promise,” Cate insisted.

“Yeah, well, your promises don’t mean shit to me right now,” Andre hissed.

“I agree with Andre; after this, anything’s possible,” Emma said.

Cate hesitated and turned to me. “Y/N, please, you know me. I may have messed up but I wouldn’t do it twice.”

A part of me wanted to believe her, really, but the other part was the giant gaping wound of being manipulated so badly that I had no powers. My stomach sunk when I looked at her and I suddenly felt nauseous.

I hugged my arms tightly around my waist. “I don’t know, Cate. I want to trust you again, but it’s difficult.”

Cate’s expression fell and I didn’t know if I wanted to comfort her or scream at her. Everything was so confusing and it didn’t help that I had this gnawing feeling that something else was going on; something that none of us knew.

Marie stepped forward to stand next to Cate. “I think this could be a good first step for you to start earning our trust, but I don’t blame Y/N for feeling how she feels.”

“Same here,” Jordan agreed.

I smiled at their words and had to fight to keep myself from crying even more.  

After some deliberation, we decided that Cate, Andre, Marie, Jordan, and I would focus on getting Shetty to expose her plot while Emma helped Sam hide from Vought or Shetty or whoever he’d upset.

That decision led me to leaning against the wall in a booth at an off-campus diner. It was fairly quiet, save for the handful of families laughing with their kids and the game that was on the outdated TV perched on a corner stand. Even though there was a giant plate of fries and greasy burgers on the table, barely anyone ate. I couldn’t stop staring at Cate, who was on her phone in the front corner of the restaurant.

“Can anyone hear anything?” Andre asked.

“No,” Marie said.

“And she’s not even facing us so we can’t even try lip reading,” I muttered.

Marie turned to me. “You know how to lip read?”

“Yeah, every crim major does. It’s part of the body language class,” I explained.

Marie nodded slowly. “This school is nuts.”

“We know,” Jordan muttered.

Finally, Cate hung up the phone and wandered back over to us. “I can’t see her yet; she’s in the city all morning.”

“What does that mean?” Jordan asked.

“I’ll have to wait at her house and get her to talk then,” Cate said.

Andre shook his head. “That’s too much time.”

“Did she sound different or suspicious of you?” Marie asked.

“No, she sounded fine. I’m sorry this isn’t turning out how we hoped.”

Based on her slumped shoulders, I guessed that Cate was telling the truth. The situation was both irritating and relieving since my list of questions for Shetty grew every minute and I was itching to ask them, but I was also thankful for a chance to gather my bearings. The thought of confronting her made me fidget since Shetty had helped me a lot.

How could someone be so kind and so hateful at the same time?

“…and stay out of our heads!”

Jordan’s exclamation jerked me from my thoughts, and I watched them shift to their male form and storm out of the diner. Andre ran his hand over his face and started messing with a straw while Cate looked down at her gloved hands.

“I’ll be back,” Marie muttered, slipping out of the booth and trailing after Jordan.

I blinked and turned back to Cate and Andre. “Sorry, what did I miss?”

“Jordan’s pissed because we have to wait at Shetty’s to get any info out of her and we’re on a timer pretty much,” Andre explained.

“This is all my fault,” Cate muttered.

Instead of answering, I dumped a handful of fries on my plate and started using them to make patterns in the ketchup between bites. When I bit into a burger, I almost moaned at the taste.

Either I was ravenous, or this place had decent food.

When I glanced back up, Cate and Andre stared at me.

I swallowed. “I got hungry.”

“You’re not gonna go after your…partners?” Andre asked.

I straightened up and continued munching on a fry. “We never labeled ourselves as anything and Marie’s got it.”

“Well, I’m glad the three of you have figured something out,” Cate offered.

“Thanks, but, I don’t know how much we have figured out.”

With everything going on, I never paused to think about how this relationship would work. In all honesty, I was shocked that I was able to tell Jordan and Marie how I felt and even more when both reciprocated. But I wondered what happened from here. How did we figure that out?

“It takes time,” Cate answered.

I snapped my eyes up to her. “Could you not probe my mind for a second?”

“Sorry, I can’t help it right now.”

Just as I was going to take another bite, my phone buzzed in my lap.

M: Come outside.

I quickly typed back, Omw.

“If I’m not back soon, just get a box for me.”

“Got you,” Andre said.

When I got outside, the chill made me wrap my cardigan tighter around me. Fortunately, Jordan and Marie were just around the corner and it was a short walk. Just as I got around the corner, the two were kissing. It only lasted a few seconds until Jordan pulled away, a smirk on his face, and I imagined Marie had a similar expression.

“What was that about my bad timing?” I called.

Marie turned at the sound of my voice and Jordan’s smirk deepened.

“Don’t be jealous,” he sang.

Funnily enough, I wasn’t jealous the first time I caught them; just shocked and confused. This time, watching them made me smile all over.

I rolled my eyes at Jordan’s words and sauntered over to them. “Please tell me you didn’t make Marie summon me in an attempt to make me jealous.”

“He didn’t make me do anything, but I thought you should be a part of this conversation,” Marie explained.

Then, Marie launched into hers and Jordan’s idea to break into Shetty’s office, find damning evidence of the Woods and the virus, and bring it to Victoria Neuman. The more she talked, the more the uneasiness set in.

“That town hall is happening today so it’s perfect timing,” Marie concluded.

Jordan looked at me expectantly and I glanced at the giant blue and red poster of the political candidate on the side of the building. Politicians had this strange fixation on looking hopeful, trustworthy, and powerful in all their photos. According to Coco, it was one of the most challenging parts of the field. No matter what any politician did, it all seemed fake to me. Maybe it was because I could see what they would really do if they were elected.

Even though I couldn’t use my powers, something about Victoria Neuman seemed off to me.

“Say it, freshie,” Jordan encouraged gently.

“In theory, I think it’s a good idea to get this information to someone with massive influence,” I started.

“But,” Marie said.

“But I have a weird feeling about her, actually, I’ve been having a weird feeling all day now,” I admitted.

“This is our best shot to expose Shetty right now,” Marie argued.

I nodded. “And I’m not saying not to take it. I’m saying I’m not sure how it’ll play out.”

“Is this about your powers?” Jordan asked.

“No, sort of, anyway, like I said, if you want to go rogue, do it.”

“You’d be coming with us too.” Marie reached a hand towards me, and I unfolded my arms to let her play with my fingers.

I sighed. “But I don’t know how helpful I’ll be.”

“This is gonna sound cheesy as hell, but you don’t need your powers to be helpful. You figured out that Cate manipulated you twice and you figured out that their goal in the Woods is to create a virus against supes. And you did all that without your powers,” Jordan pointed out.

“You’re amazing, Y/N,” Marie added.

I smiled and flipped my braids over my shoulder. “If you say so.”

Marie shook her head and Jordan grabbed my other hand.

“So, this may not be the best time to ask but are we…”

“You’re my girlfriend,” Jordan answered.

“Our girlfriend,” Marie corrected.

“She asked me out first.”

“No, I didn’t. I told you I liked you first,” I argued.

Jordan shrugged. “Same thing.”

Marie swatted Jordan’s arm with her free hand. “This relationship isn’t a competition.”

“Said the sore loser.”

Just as they were about to start bickering, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I let go of Jordan’s hand to grab it, ignored his feigned insulted gasp, and swiped through it. Sydney had texted Sasha, Alina, Lydia, and me in our group text.

S:911. Meeting in an hour.

“As much as I would love to continue this, I have to go to Si Chi,” I said, slipping my phone back in my pocket.

“Really? Now?” Jordan asked.

“Emergency meeting and I need time to get ready. I’ll text you both later.”

When I moved to hug Marie, she pecked my lips instead and I flinched. She smiled mischievously and I blinked at her.

“And I thought you were this shy, sweet freshman,” I muttered.

“I learn quickly,” she teased.

I shook my head and turned to Jordan, who immediately pressed his lips against mine, hands roaming all over my back. I was in a daze as he moaned but when one of his hands squeezed my butt, I yelped and jumped away.

“Jordan!” I rasped.

Even though Jordan apologized, he did not look sorry at all. As I sauntered off to get an Uber, I couldn’t help but wonder what I had gotten myself into but couldn’t deny the buzz of excitement at the thought.

Exactly fifty-five minutes later, I sat in the large conference room in Si Chi, freshly showered and made up. The cherry red Ralph Lauren tennis mini dress and white Chanel platforms paired with my braids swept up in a messy bun made me feel exposed but pretty. A minute later, Alina and Lydia waltzed in together. Alina’s hair was in a low bun with pieces framing her face and her black long-sleeved Naked Wardrobe skirt set flowed around her with each step. Lydia wore a deep plum Givenchy blazer over a white Oxford and dark Levi’s, her deep auburn hair fell around her shoulders in soft curls.

Immediately, Lydia took a seat across from me while Alina took a seat on my right.

“Hi, Lydia, Alina,” I greeted.

“Hi, Y/N,” Lydia chirped.

“Hi,” Alina said.

 As soon as they sat, Sydney breezed in, her knit white DKNY dress catching the light as well as her diamond studs. She pushed a wavy strawberry blonde tendril out of her face as she took a seat at the head of the table and set her canvas Marc Jacobs tote on the glossy table.

“Hello, girls,” Sydney said.

“Hello, Sydney.”

Our unified voices sent a chill down my spine.

Finally, Sasha burst in, sweat coating her forehead as she quickly took the seat next to Lydia and adjusted her deep green wrap dress. “Sorry, there was a big crowd because of the rally.”

“It’s okay, Sasha. Just remember to factor in big events when you’re commuting for other meetings,” Sydney advised evenly.

Sasha seemed to gulp and nodded.

“That leads me to the topic of this emergency meeting. I know that the town hall on campus is going to be packed and it’s been a hot topic for weeks since it was announced. This morning, all the Greek presidents met and determined that each house will decide their own policy for attendance,” Sydney explained. “I’ve debated this for a while. Our high standards and reputation attract ambitious women and plenty of them will want to attend the town hall. However, I am also concerned about the safety of this event since there is so much opposition on both sides.”

Sydney paused.

“That is why I believe that no Si Chi girl should attend the event,” Sydney stated.

Even though she worded it softly, Sydney was forbidding all of us from attending. If anyone was caught, that would mean an automatic exit from the house.

“It’s especially important for us as leadership to be role models for the initiates. We must choose our events wisely and we don’t want any of them risking anything because of their ideologies or to try to go viral,” Sydney explained.

“It makes sense. Those pro-supes are rowdy,” Lydia agreed.

And ignorant, I thought.

“I’m all for supe rights but I don’t want to be caught in a riot,” Alina added.

“How do we communicate this to the other girls?” Sasha asked.

“Y/N can send something out in the house Discord.” Sydney smiled at me. “You know how to make it tasteful but authoritative.”

As much as I appreciated the compliment, I couldn’t stop thinking of how to persuade her. If I had my powers, this would be nothing but the only thing I had was my wits. The more I thought, the more I was concerned that my wits abandoned me.

“Well, that’s it unless anyone has something to add?” Sydney prompted.

Finally, I had something.

“Yes. I agree that everyone’s safety is important, but I don’t think we’ve thought about the political science majors. Their professors will be all over this and more and more of them want first-hand footage. I think discouraging everyone will put them at a real disadvantage,” I said.

My heart pounded in my ears as I watched the gears turn in Sydney’s head. It wasn’t my best work but it might have made a difference.

“It’s a shame but, they’ll have to figure something else out,” Sydney said.

“Well---”

“Have that done in thirty, okay?”

Sydney’s words were light but her eyes were so intense that my words stopped in my head. I nodded and she dismissed everyone. Sasha grinned widely at me as she stood and walked out.

“I guess your friend will have to figure something else out. With it being junior year and all, it’s even more important that she doesn’t fail anything,” Sasha said.

“Her name is Coco and even though this is an inconvenience she’ll figure something out.”

As confident as I was in Coco, I had no idea what I was going to do. Surprisingly, writing up the Discord message was easy, even though plenty of the girls were upset, it was a simple fix of, “If you’re disappointed, Sydney is more than happy to answer your questions.” However, I wasn’t sure how I was going to tell Jordan and Marie that I couldn’t help them get the information to Neuman.

Of course, the time we set to meet up outside of Shetty’s office arrived too soon and I found myself pacing down the hall, filled with dread the closer I got to Shetty’s office. When I arrived, the door was already open and my heart lurched into my throat.

Oh no, we’ve been caught, this won’t work, I panicked.

Then, I forced myself to take a deep breath and crept closer to the door. It took five more deep breaths for me to get the courage to peek around the corner. At first glance, Shetty’s office looked like it normally did: peaceful but professional. Her space was light and airy with the perfect amount of light from the sun seeping through the windows. However, when I looked closer, there were papers sprawled over her desk, something that she would never stand for.

Just as I started to creep in, Jordan popped up from behind the desk and cursed loudly when she saw me.

“You could have said something, freshie!” Jordan admonished, one hand pressed to her chest and another holding a file.

“Well, I didn’t know who was in here!” I defended, wandering further in. “You should have closed the doors behind you.”

Jordan smirked. “You say that like I’m not the one who taught you how to sneak into places. I would have just told whoever that Shetty needed me to find something.”

“Technically, you all contributed to teaching me that but okay.”

Then, I turned back towards the doors to start closing them when Marie slipped in. We nearly collided but I took a half step back.

“Shit, sorry!” Marie exclaimed.

“It’s fine, I guess it’s my karma.”

I let her slip past me and made sure the doors were secured behind us before joining her and Jordan at Shetty’s desk.

“Have you found anything yet?” Marie asked.

“No, just different files on different kids.”

I perked up. “Like the ones she checks in with?”

“I think so. I didn’t read any because that felt wrong.” Jordan paused. “And don’t go looking for your file; you need to be focused.”

“Fine,” I groaned playfully.

We decided it would be best for Jordan and me to go through Shetty’s physical files while Marie searched her computer. As I skimmed the documents, my brain circled around how I would tell them that I couldn’t go to the town hall. There was no great way to say, “Hey, I can’t help you expose a major conspiracy because my house president said ‘no’ and if I disobey, I’ll be ostracized.” I would find better words but that’s what it all boiled down to.

If only Si Chi and rankings didn’t matter so much.

Then, I paused at a newspaper clipping I found. It was from that plane crash a couple of years back, the one that Queen Maeve and Homelander failed to save. The thought of all those people dying made my stomach churn. As I kept reading, my stomach settled a little and I felt myself buzzing.

“Look.” I set the file down on Shetty’s desk and Jordan stepped closer and Marie swiveled in her chair.

“It’s from that plane crash,” Marie observed.

“Why would Shetty have a file on this?” Jordan asked.

“Because of this.” I flipped through the documents and pointed out the passenger list. “It’s right in the middle.”

After a few seconds of reading, both their eyes widened.

“Holy shit,” Jordan breathed.

“Her kid and her husband were on that plane; that’s why she hates all supes, it makes total sense,” Marie said.

“It’s only motive but, it might be useful for Neuman. But no one’s found anything on the Woods?” I asked.

Marie and Jordan shook their heads.

“Great, this couldn’t get worse,” Marie muttered.

Immediately, Shetty’s office door handle started jiggling and our eyes snapped to it.

“I thought you locked the door,” Jordan hissed.

“No, it would have been suspicious if the door was locked,” I whispered back.

“We don’t have time for this. Hide whatever you can.”

Frantically, we shoved the unimportant files in random drawers, and I kept the one about the plane crash under my denim jacket. Just when the door pushed open, someone dragged me down and I found myself sandwiched between Jordan and Marie underneath Shetty’s desk. It was a tight squeeze, and I didn’t think that I could move if I tried but, I was more focused on keeping my breathing even as someone entered the office.

“Nice digs. I guess this is what you get for screwing over everyone,” a masculine voice drawled.

“That’s Cardoza,” Jordan mouthed.

My eyes widened and I could feel my heart rate pick up. For a few seconds, I couldn’t focus on any of my surroundings, and I couldn’t hear anything either. This shouldn’t have been happening, I took my medicine, I knew I did.

Just breathe, Y/N, and use your exercise.

I see three of Jordan’s rings, I smell Marie’s hair oil, I feel really warm, and----

My thoughts were cut off by Marie grabbing my shoulders and muttering, “It’s okay.”

In the next few seconds, my heart rate slowed down, and I breathed a lot easier. I would have turned to thank her if it would have blown our cover.

For the next minute, Dr. Cardoza ranted about how his medical prowess was misused and how no one was supposed to get hurt.

“It was all for science! But screw science and me, right?” he bellowed.

Then, he got quiet for a second, but it was quickly filled by the sound of something trickling. Since she was in the most convenient position, Jordan poked her head out from her hiding spot only to immediately retract it and shake her head.

I hated where my imagination went.

Finally, the sound stopped, and the man groaned. “Here’s your precious data.”

Something plopped onto the desk, and we all perked up. As soon as the door slammed behind him, we rushed out from our hiding spot. Marie grabbed the USB that Dr. Cardoza dropped and plugged it into the computer. In seconds, we had everything that could expose Dean Shetty and the Woods. Some of the details made me wretch and some things did not need visuals but had them.

It was perfect ammunition.

“Wow,” Marie said.

“How long were they doing all this?” Jordan muttered.

I shook my head, grabbed the file from my jacket, and took pictures of the important parts. “I don’t know if I want to know at this point.”

After Marie grabbed the USB and we put everything else back to normal, we got out of that office as quickly as we could. While we walked down the hallway, my thumbs flew across my phone screen.

“I just sent the pictures to you both,” I said.

“Why? Are you afraid you’ll accidentally delete it?” Marie asked.

Okay, here it goes.

“I can’t go to the town hall,” I confessed.

“Are you scared? No one’s going to do anything, they’re all talk,” Jordan said. “And I wouldn’t let them touch you.”

“Neither would I,” Marie affirmed.

“I appreciate that but, it’s not out of fear. Si Chi girls can’t attend; president’s orders.”

They stopped walking at the same time, and I lagged a little, dreading facing them. At first, they both looked stunned then Jordan looked like she would strangle someone, and Marie was confused.

“That’s bullshit,” Jordan hissed.

“Yeah, they can’t tell you where you can and can’t go,” Marie agreed.

I shifted my weight from foot to foot. “Well, they sort of can. If I go, it’s immediate expulsion from the sorority.”

“But this is important. They have to make an exception,” Marie offered.

“I couldn’t tell them about this. Sydney would get an ulcer at the thought of breaking into the dean’s office and going through private files,” I argued. “Plus, if I told them about any of this, they’d think I’m a crazy conspiracy theorist.”

“This isn’t a conspiracy or a theory; they did this shit and no one did anything about it,” Jordan insisted.

I huffed. “I know that, Jordan, but I also know these girls and they don’t like to leave their comfort zones. Even though Sydney is one of the more progressive presidents, she still has to maintain the standards.”

“Even if it includes covering up Shetty’s plan to make everyone sick?”

I hesitated. “I…I’m not sure.”

Marie groaned. “Come on, Y/N, you don’t have to do every little thing they say. You’re high up in the house, doesn’t that mean anything?”

“Yes, it means more status and respect but also more eyes, so I’m almost double forbidden from going.” I sighed. “I’m sorry but, this is as far as I can go. Text or video call me if you need anything.”

The moment I turned on my heel and started walking away, I understood what a kicked puppy must feel like. I only made it a few steps before both grabbed one of my wrists.  

“Stop running,” Jordan said.

“I’m not running,” I argued.

“Bullshit, this whole thing is,” she challenged.

I paused and narrowed my eyes at Jordan. “It might be to you but it’s very important to me. It always has been.”

When I pulled at her hand, Jordan let me go and I turned to Marie, but her expression hardened.

“You don’t have to do this,” she insisted.

I scoffed. “Yes, I do. Vought already gave you their stamp of approval, so you’re set. I have to play it smart, and I can’t do anything to lose Si Chi right now.”

“That’s not fair, Y/N,” Marie said.

“It’s the truth, though. I’m on thin ice with not being able to use my powers and I can’t mess up anything else!”

Jordan stepped closer to me. “The Woods is bigger than anything at this school. Screw rankings, Si Chi, and GOD U. Shetty wants us all dead and you have a chance to stop her. You have a chance to be a hero.”

They were right, this was a fantastic opportunity to help people and make GOD U a better place. We had no idea how many kids were still trapped down there or what they were experiencing. This plot needed to be exposed and everyone needed to be held accountable. At any other time, I would have jumped at the chance to help but I couldn’t.

If only Sydney hadn’t given that order.

I wanted the ground to swallow me up and take me somewhere far away from the two pairs of deep brown eyes that bored into me. I also wanted Marie and Jordan to stop looking at me with such intensity; it just made everything harder.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“You’re not the only one risking your ranking here, you know. I don’t get why you insist on doing all this shit after everything,” Jordan spat.

I flinched at her tone and swallowed thickly. I knew she was referring to my family and how awful they were. The worst part was I didn’t know why I was like this either.

How could I have made so much progress just to end up back where I was?

Just a few hours ago, I was giggly about having a new girlfriend and partner. Before my meeting at Si Chi, I even made spreadsheets of some dates we could have and gift ideas for holidays and birthdays.

Seeing them both look at me with such hurt in their eyes almost broke me and I wanted to forget about the smug expression on Sasha’s face and Sydney’s tone. But, I just couldn’t.  

[mimsynims]

Fool For Love

part 3

~~~

part 1, part 2

~~~

Author’s Note: First of all, thank you for the lovely comments! 🥰 Second, I’m writing this as I go, so while I’ll try to post every other day, it might come a point when I’m not done on time. Just so you know if it suddenly takes longer for the next part to be posted.

~~~

Astarion x reader/Tav

Tags: (mild?) angst, pining, pining while fucking, jealousy, eventual happy ending

Summary: You thought you knew what you were doing when you let Astarion into your bed. He doesn’t have feelings for you, and vice versa. Only… now you do. And you’re not handling it very well.

~~~

It’s almost sundown when you and the others are back at the camp again. It’s been a good day, all in all. You were able to stock up on potions and scrolls, and Karlach sweet-talked her way into a good deal on a handaxe. Not that you were there to watch it happen — Halsin’s favour had you talking to both the new leader of the Druids, Francesca, and Rath, the latter engaging you in a longer conversation than originally planned. Not that you minded, Rath is a good conversationalist. And quite handsome.

Yes, you did notice, but you kept it polite, not at all in the mood for flirting. Not when your thoughts continuously drifted back to a certain vampire that declined tagging along at the last minute.

It’s embarrassing to admit, but your eyes roam Halsin’s tent when you search him out to relay the information you gathered today. It’s probably a coincidence that Astarion decided to remain, but you can’t help but look for signs of someone sharing Halsin’s bed.

If Halsin sees you snooping, he doesn’t confront you about it, and you feel silly when you leave him to find the others. Who he sleeps with is none of your business, and you tell yourself that this is enough. Either you get over yourself, or you let Astarion go.

Which is easier said than done.

“Hey Karlach, let me see that axe of yours.” The rest of your party is gathered around the fire, preparing tonight’s meal. “From what I hear, I should bring you every time I need to haggle down the price for something.”

“Look at this beauty!” Karlach happily shows you her new weapon. “I’m going to polish it tomorrow, really bring out the shine it deserves.”

“How come you weren’t there, Tav?” Astarion sounds nonchalant, like he couldn’t care less but decides to ask anyway.

“I believe Tav had more important things to do.” Trust Lae’zel to come to your rescue.

“Halsin wanted some updates from the Grove,” you add.

“Mhmm, but surely that’s not the only reason why you talked for so long with Rath, Tav?” Shadowheart teases. “It seemed like you two really hit it off.”

“Yeah, he’s cute, Tav. Go for it!”

You want to look at Astarion, but you force yourself to turn your attention to Karlach instead, making sure to sound as casual as possible. “He’s nice, but…” You already have someone. “Perhaps you should go for him, Karlach, if you find him cute?”

“Nah, I have my eyes on someone else.”

It’s adorable, the way she lights up, and you wish you could hug her. “Hmmm, might this be a blacksmith we all know?”

“Tav!”

“This is secret to none, Karlach,” Lae’zel says. “Even a blind fool couldn’t help but notice the way you swooned when he helped you in the Grove.”

“I didn’t swoon!”

“There was definitely some swooning happening,” Shadowheart chimes in. “We all saw it.”

“Aaaanyway…! This was about Tav, not me.”

Dammit. You should’ve left for your tent when you had the chance. “No, no, I think we should talk more about you and Dammon.”

“Come on, Tav.”

“Yes, Tav, tell us all about your conversation with Rath.”

For a moment you somehow forgot that Astarion is there, too. “There’s nothing to tell. He’s just nice and easy to talk to.”

“Hmm, you’re not very convincing, Tav.”

With a groan, you turn to the wizard. “Not you too, Gale.” For someone so hung up on his ex, he sure looks jealous over the fact that you might be interested in someone else. “I know you all probably only mean well, but if you don’t drop this right now…”

You expect either Astarion or Lae’zel to make some kind of comment, but none of your companions say a peep. There’s an awkward silence for a few tension-filled moments and you wonder if you sounded too harsh. They only want your best, after all.

Thankfully, Shadowheart steps in, clearing her throat. “I think our food is ready.”

Once you sit down to eat, you watch them all as they talk and laugh. It feels like usual again, and you’re reminded how lucky you are to have come across such amazing people in this extraordinary situation life put you in.

Your gaze rests a little bit longer on your lover. He’s always beautiful, but it’s entrancing the way the flickering flames seem to caress his cheekbones, the arch of his nose. His smile. He’s laughing at something Lae’zel just said, and going by the look on her face, it wasn’t meant to be funny.

It’s quite the motley crew you’re leading — and you wouldn’t want it any other way.

You freeze when you suddenly find yourself locking eyes with Astarion. He isn’t supposed to catch you staring, and you quickly look away even though you know it’s too late. You wait a few minutes, and when you glance in his direction again, he’s talking to Gale.

Why must it be so difficult? Are you making it more difficult than it needs to be? You want to be with him and only him, so why not just ask it of him? If he says no, you’ll at least know instead of always wondering. And if he says yes, maybe he’ll grow to love you back.

Once again, you wish you had someone to talk to — and after today you think you can confide in Karlach — but it feels good to have come to a decision. Hopefully you can get him alone after dinner, because you would prefer to have it done before the stargazing Gale has planned.

You allow yourself to imagine the two of you lying next to each other in the grass, holding hands, smiling. Or his arm around you, holding you near.

You refuse to think about the other option, even though it’s the far more likely outcome.

For now, you’re going to pretend that everything’s going to be alright.

[localplaguenurse]

Falling Head over Heels (Pantalone x Male Reader) pt 6

So ever since my last update, I've gotten a new laptop because deadass the same day I posted chapter 5 like "oh hopefully I'll get it back soon," they told me my old acer aspire is so old they don't even make the parts for it anymore. This has nothing to do with the fic, I just thought it was funny.

Notes: still sfw, semi dysfunctional/controlling family dynamics (I assure you they will get progressively worse), ableism in the form of reader being coddled and patronized by his parents. Check masterlist for previous parts, will eventually make an actual masterlist for this fic.

@thedeimoshimself @eli-chris

You did not immediately tell your parents about your interaction with Pantalone when you finally returned, as once again they were in the midst of an argument. Your mother’s scoldings about how your father knows better, and your father’s arguments about how you’re a grown man who should fend for himself by now could be heard the moment you stepped through the door. Colleen gives you an awkward, sympathetic smile as you shuck off your coat. Before the maid can hang it up, you fish the letter from your pocket, and seeing your name in the Guuji Yae’s handwriting fills you with nervous excitement once more. 

You can’t really hear the fighting from your study. If you try to listen, you can, but otherwise it is very peaceful. You open the letter again and set it next to your typewriter, while also tucking the briefcase with your manuscript under your desk. You proceed to load your typewriter, ready to type a response, when it occurs to you that maybe you should hand write this letter. Would it be disrespectful to just type a letter? Maybe. A handwritten letter is more personal, after all. 

By the time you finish your letter, there are six other letters crumpled up in your bin, and you hear your mother’s voice informing you that it’s dinner time. The tense atmosphere of dinner keeps you from talking, let alone telling your parents about Pantalone. You really don’t want to set off yet another argument with how much these two have grown apart. As horrible as it is to think or say, you will not be surprised if the word divorce comes up in their next fight, and that next fight is probably tomorrow. 

This tense silence continues the next day, and the day after that, until a full two weeks have passed where you have not heard a single argument. Not because your parents made up, mind you, but because they have barely spoken to each other. Nothing beyond standard small talk or informing the other person about meals or receiving something in the mail. The air is oppressive, and you try not to let it show how much it is starting to stress you out. Instead, you have been waiting patiently for a letter back from the Guuji, hoping to surprise them with some good news for once. 

(You’ve also been replaying your last interaction with Pantalone in your head, because you know you did not mishear him.)

The silence breaks when your father throws your bedroom door open one morning, when you are in the midst of getting changed out of your sleepwear. 

“You!”

You jump, having just put on your pants. Your face heats up in embarrassment. “Would it kill you to knock?” you snap. It’s not even ten. 

You hear your mother somewhere behind your father. “Darling, calm down.”

Your father storms inside and an envelope is shoved in your face. “Do you care to explain this?”

You step back and take the envelope. You rub your eyes, shoot your dad a dirty look, and read the envelope. That’s your name and address, but you don’t recognize the return address in the corner. The name, however, you do recognize, and your father does too.

“Why is it that I haven’t had contact with the Regrator in two weeks,” your father asks, “but when I finally get a letter back, it’s for you?”

“Yes, why is Pantalone writing to you?” your mother asks in turn. 

Your brow furrows, and with your father glaring daggers at you, you break the seal on the back of the letter. Before you can actually open it, your dad snatches the letter from you. He tosses the envelope aside and unfolds the paper within. 

“Hey!” You grab your father’s arm. “If you’re going to barge into my room, at least let me read my own mail!”

“There has to be some mistake,” your father says. “There’s no reason for the Regrator to talk to you.”

“While I disagree with his approach,” your mother says, “your father has a point.”

“Maybe if you let me read my mail, I could tell you,” you reply sarcastically. Your father rolls his eyes but hands the now crinkled letter back to you. You straighten it out and let your eyes scan over the words.

Your father’s voice is impatient. “Well?” 

You squint. “It’s an invitation.”

“An invitation?” your mother asks.

“What the hell for?” your father asks.

“An invitation for tea,” you answer, “for… tomorrow, at two.”

“Anything else?”

You flip the paper over. It’s blank. You flip it back over. “No, it’s just tea at two at his estate.”

“No, you fool,” your dad says, pulling the letter out of your hand again. “I meant if he mentions your sister or myself, because I find it hard to believe he’d invite you to his estate.”

You cross your arms. “Why’s that?”

“Your father means it’s odd that you would be invited over when you are not, ah, working with him,” your mother says, making up an excuse on the fly. “You’re not working with your father and sister, so if you were to be invited over, then that would include the rest of the family.” Though she’s out of your limited line of vision, you know she’s glaring at your father based on the way he averts his eyes from you.

“Then why is it addressed to him? It doesn’t address anyone else in the family.”

“I’m not sure, dear. Perhaps there’s been a mistake?”

“Pantalone would not make a mistake like this. Perhaps the post office lost our invites, but not his.”

“Or he just invited me,” you butt in.

Your father gives you a look. 

“Think about it,” you say, “if we all got an invite, surely mine would have said something about it, right? Hope to see you and your family, or something along those lines.”

“Perhaps mine would have it,” your father retorts, “as he’s my business partner.”

More like marriage partner at this point, you think and know better than to say. “You’re also assuming this has anything to do with work,” is what you say instead. “What if it’s just tea?”

“No, a man like him wouldn’t invite someone over for just tea,” your mother says. 

Your father goes to put your invitation in his pocket, but gives it back to you when your mom gives him a look. He clears his throat. “Well, we’ll have this sorted when we visit tomorrow.”

You blink. “Wait, what?” 

“We’re not going to just turn down this invitation,” your father says, as if you’re an idiot for not understanding what he was getting at. 

“We? We?”

“That’s right,” your mother chimes in, “we really shouldn’t go if we don’t know his intentions.”

“That’s not…” You groan, annoyed. You point at your father. “You aren’t on the invite.” You turn and point to your mother. “And we’ve talked about the coddling.”

Your mother shakes her head. “That was about when he visits us, I don’t want you alone at his estate.”

“No, no, we’re not getting into the semantics,” you say, “I have told you time and time and time again to stop treating me like I’m seven! I should be allowed to go have tea with someone else by myself.”

“Watch your tongue,” your father snaps, “and our decision is final. If you want to go to the Regrator’s for tea, then your mother and I are going as well.” He turns to walk off, and stops in the doorway. “And put a damn shirt on.”

The door slams shut, leaving you and your mother in your room. She offers you an apologetic smile, and gets the hint you want space when you pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh. Her exit is much quiet, a soft apology and a gentle closing of the door. 

It takes you a moment, but you manage to find the envelope your father carelessly tossed aside. It slid most of the way under your bed, only the corner of it is immediately visible. You pick it up and feel your heart thump in your chest.

So this is what your name looks like in his handwriting.

----

While the novelty of Pantalone’s social status has worn off, the estate that comes into view through the snowstorm is a reminder of his intimidating wealth. It’s a beautiful building, and significantly larger than your family home. Your eyes are glued to the sight of it through the covered sled’s window. You can also just see your mother looking at it as well through the reflection of the glass. 

“Remember what we talked about,” your father says, and you make a face of annoyance similar to the face your mother’s reflection makes. “Hey, are you listening?”

“Don’t touch, trip on, or break anything,” you reply, “and only speak when spoken to. I’m aware of the whole routine.”

“And watch the attitude.”

“And you remember what I told you,” you reply, not bothering to turn your head. “If it turns out Pantalone didn’t invite you over, you need to leave.”

“Look at me when you talk to me.”

There’s a thump. Your mother most likely gave your father a nudge with her foot. Silence takes up the last few minutes of the ride as it slows to a stop right outside the snowy steps. You slide over to the opposite end of your seat and open the door, sucking all the warmth out of the sled. You make no effort to wait for your parents before you step down from the stairs. The snow pelting you in the face diminishes your vision, so you only make it a few steps before you trip on the first step. You catch yourself before you tumble forward and smash your teeth into the stairs. 

You hear your mother’s voice from the sled. “Please be careful!” 

You shout back that you’re fine, and climb up the stairs. Pantalone must have just had the steps cleared off before the blizzard hit, as there’s no crunch beneath your feet, merely the puff of snowflakes puffing out of the way with each step you take. Your father calls for you to wait for them as you stand before the door. You grab one of the large knockers and give it a few hard knocks on the door.

You feel your father’s firm hand on your shoulder just as a gust of heat rushes out and envelops you. You find yourself standing face to face with an older gentleman dressed in pristine servant’s attire. The two of you lock eyes, and for a moment he offers a welcoming smile before he notices you’re not alone, then it becomes confusion.

“Oh, hello there,” he says, “this is a little unexpected.”

“We’re here for tea with the Regrator,” your father butts in before you can even open your mouth.

“I had assumed as much, but I was told we were expecting a single visitor,” the man says. He brings his gaze back to you. “Now, you fit the description, but these two–”

Somewhere behind the man, you hear Pantalone’s voice. “Fyodor, what’s going on? Why have you not let our guest inside?”

The man turns around to address his master. “Apologies, my lord, but there seems to be some sort of… misunderstanding?”

You hear heeled footsteps descending a flight of stares and across the floor before your host comes into view. You feel yourself salivate and swallow it down quickly. You’re so used to seeing him in mostly black clothing, so the white lace up shirt with puffy sleeves immediately catches your eye. It’s tucked into a pair of black corset pants, which you make a point to not look at either. His hair is not tied back, and the chain on his glasses seems different. Though he still has his rings, he’s not wearing his gloves. Even in more “casual” attire, the Regrator is the pinnacle of wealth and beauty.

This very beautiful man tilts his head at the sight of your parents, namely your father. “What are you doing here?”

“You… You invited us to tea,” your father says.

“No I didn’t.”

Your father is quiet, and you turn yourself to see the confusion on his face. “You sent an invitation, i-it had our address on it.”

“Yes, and I believe I put your son’s name on it, did I not?” Pantalone asks. When you turn back around to him, you find he’s looking right at you. 

“You did, b-but I presumed you… you forgot to mention us, or maybe the invitations for my wife and I got lost in the–”

Pantalone lifts his hand, silencing your father. “If that were the case, I would have either addressed it to your family as a whole on the envelope, or I would have mentioned it in the invitation itself. Likewise, I did not send this through the post office, I had one of my staff deliver it personally.”

“But, b-but I’m your business partner!”

Pantalone turns to you. “Did you invite them with you?”

You stumble on your words, feeling too humiliated to answer honestly. What’s worse, saying yes, or saying no, but your parents wouldn’t let you leave unless they came along like they were chaperoning a child’s first field trip or playdate? You manage a shake of your head, and fortunately Pantalone seems to understand your plight after having many interactions with your family.

He sighs, and steps aside. “You’ve already made the trip, and the weather is taking a turn for the worst,” he relents, “you may come in.”

Your father pushes past and marvels at the interior of Pantalone’s estate. Your mother gives you an assuring pat on your shoulder. Pantalone whispers something to Fyodor, who nods and goes to help your parents with their coats.

The door shuts behind you, and you turn to Pantalone. You clasp your gloved hands together and lower your voice. “I am so sorry, I tried to tell them–”

“I know,” he replies in a voice as soft as yours, “perhaps I should have seen this coming, but I didn’t think I would need to be more specific in the invitation.”

With that, Pantalone stands up and claps his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Once you’re all settled, please follow me for a short tour on the way to the tea room.” He turns to Fyodor, who is carrying your parents’ coats. “Fyodor, please be a dear and let the chefs know to prepare some extra refreshments for our unexpected company.”

Fyodor nods, and you give him your coat before he leaves. Your mother is already hovering right next to you protectively, and Pantalone gives you a subtly sympathetic smile, which your mother seemingly interprets as an underlying threat judging by the way she wraps her arm around yours. You imagine your father is rolling his eyes.

The tour is short as promised, only staying in any given room long enough for Pantalone to state what the purpose of it is. You pass through the dining room, where Pantalone points out the doors to the kitchen, before you’re in a corridor passing by a ballroom entryway. You try to have a look at the oddly macabre paintings your host has displayed on the walls, but your mother is practically dragging you along so she can get this event over with quicker. You want to ask questions about what the chandelier in the foyer is made of, but your father already asked that in his never ending ramblings of praise for Pantalone and probably isn’t going to stop so you can actually ask the man anything.

Your father finally shuts up and your mother lets your arm go when the four of you step inside the tea room. Something you notice immediately is, while there are paintings on the walls, a table in the centre of the room, and a large cabinet with various tea sets, there is actually very little decor and furniture here. You passed by some sculptures and house plants and other miscellaneous extravagant pieces on the way, but the small room is oddly empty compared to the corridor just outside. 

When Pantalone takes a seat, your parents end up taking a seat on either side of him. Your father is immediately praising the barely furnished room, while your mother acts as barrier. As such, you end up seated across from him. On cue, you hear two people come in through the door behind you. You hear a soft squeaking, and a servant pushing a cart with a tea set on top of it. The porcelain teapot and cups have a vaguely floral pattern, with the handles shimmering with gold leaf. You jump when the second person, another servant, comes up beside you with a tray of food to place on the table. Your father marvels as they get to work setting the table, your mother politely thanks the staff, and you just sit still as your cup of tea is poured.

“This is quite lovely, Pantalone,” your father says for the millionth time, “really, I expect nothing less from you!”

Pantalone gives your father a smile, a polite gesture that does not reach his eyes. “I’m flattered.” When he looks your way, his smile seems fonder. “How about you? You seem to have something on your mind.”

“Oh! Um…” You lean back and glance around the room once more. “I was just… curious about your decor.”

Pantalone tilts his head curiously. “Oh? And what would you like to know?”

You hesitate to answer out of fear you would offend the man.

“Well? Out with it,” your father remarks.

“This room is a little bit… um…”

“Bare?” Pantalone finishes. “Yes, I had some of the furniture moved around in preparation for your arrival.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your eye condition,” he answers, “you said you used to trip on furniture because you didn’t see it, correct? I figured with a room this size, it would be safer to move some of the decor out of the room while you were visiting.”

“Oh, that’s… actually rather sweet,” you say, “b-but unnecessary. I’m not as clumsy as I used to be.”

“Ah, yes, my suit can attest to that fact.”

You chuckle.

Your father chimes in. “Yes, it’s better we avoid any more expensive accidents.”

Pantalone hums. “While I would rather avoid paying for a replacement or repair job, I was more focused on ensuring your son’s safety. I would hate for my guest to get hurt at an event I invited him to.”

You pick up on his passive aggressive comment, and your father does not. That, or he’s elected to ignore it. “Ah, that too,” your father says. He gestures to your mother. “I would have never heard the end of it if that were the case!”

Your father was expecting someone to laugh. He is ignored by Pantalone and gets glared at by your mother. You just grab a couple pastries, honestly wishing you had just turned down the invite altogether.

Your father clears his throat. “So, about that thing I-I had proposed a few weeks ago–”

“How is the book deal?” Pantalone asks you.

“O-Oh,” you stammer, not expecting him to bring up your book, “well, I’ve decided to go for it, and I’ve written back saying I would like to move forward with the deal. Now I’m just waiting for them to get back to me.”

Pantalone smiles and nods. “That’s lovely to hear.”

Your mother looks at you, confused. “What is he talking about?”

Fuck. You swallow, and nervously, sheepishly smile. “Right, um… I was, ah, saving this for when the deal was finalized, but my book might be getting published now.”

“By who?”

“... The Yae Publishing House.”

Your mother’s squeal could shatter porcelain. “The Yae Publishing House?! Sweetheart, that’s amazing! Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

You awkwardly laugh, avoiding Pantalone’s knowing gaze. “They’re just s-such a big deal, you know? I didn’t want to get your hopes up before I knew for certain they were going t-to publish the book.”

“Still, you could have at least told me you sent your book to them! Oh, goodness, I’m getting all worked up now. My sweetheart, being published by the Guuji Yae…”

Pantalone chuckles. “Yes, quite exciting. It warms my heart to see hard work being recognized.”

“I’m very excited,” your mother says, “he hasn’t told me what his new book is about, he keeps telling me to wait until it gets published. I was worried I’d never get to read it when your first deal was cancelled!”

You sheepishly rub the back of your neck. “This one’s kind of, well, different from my usual writing. I wasn’t sure how people would react to it.”

“Your stories are lovely, sweetie,” your mother insists, “you should never worry about what your mother thinks because I will always support you.”

You hear your father lean over in his chair towards Pantalone, and in a room of four people, his whisper is very audible. “He was worried he would have to get a real job, haha.”

“Which would be difficult given my disability,” you add, “seeing as most jobs require you to have awareness of your surroundings, and my eyesight is only going to continue degrading.”

Your father glares, and clears his throat. “... It was a joke.”

“And it wasn’t very original.”

“You’re also one to talk, considering our little deal,” Pantalone remarks. Your mother looks at your father for an explanation, to which he just sips his tea, embarrassed. 

The rest of the afternoon isn’t less awkward. The momentary embarrassment does not stop your father from badgering Pantalone with questions about what he’s been doing the past two weeks (settling some financial matters in Liyue), and praising him for the pastries he’s provided. Pantalone answers out of politeness, but his responses grow shorter and shorter every time your father opens his mouth. Your mother just silently eats, disinterested in conversing with the Regrator. You try to engage in conversation with Pantalone, but despite glares from everyone at the table, your father continues to interrupt you or answer questions Pantalone could not have more clearly directed towards you. You also just keep your answers short, not wanting to divulge too much about your book or true thoughts in front of your parents. 

Your father pops the last cream puff in his mouth. He’s already eaten most of them. There is no more tea, bringing the meeting to a close.

Pantalone claps his hands together. “Well, this has been a meeting!”

“We appreciate the invitation, Lord Pantalone,” your father says.

“What invitation?” Pantalone asks. “Remember? You two never received an invite.”

“... Right.”

Pantalone leans forward, propping his head up in his hands. He’s looking right at you, and he smiles so sweetly. “Would you care to stay for dinner?”

“Oh, we couldn’t possibly overstay our welcome.”

Pantalone nods, acknowledging your father. He then looks back at you. “So? Would you care to stay?”

“We just said no,” your mother says.

“That’s fine, you two are free to leave. I’m talking to your son.”

Your mother and father lock eyes, before your father turns back to Pantalone. “Wait, why are you asking him if he wants to stay, but not us?”

Pantalone sighs, and grins at your father. “Well, I think I’ve played host to you two long enough, so I’ll tell you honestly.” At that, Pantalone drops his smile. The atmosphere immediately grows tense as he speaks, his voice cold. “I invited your son to my home because I wanted to discuss his upcoming book over tea. I did not invite you over to discuss work matters on my day off. Now, I would like to have the discussion I cleared my schedule for, and I would like to do it with the guest I actually invited.”

Your father balks, while you feel your jaw drop to the table and your eyes go as wide as saucers. You slowly turn towards your mother, and she is immediately seething. She stands up, her chair scraping on the floor. Pantalone smiles at you once more.

“So will you be staying for dinner? I have many questions about your writing process.”

“I–”

“Absolutely not,” your mother snaps. She grabs your arm hard and attempts to pull you up to your feet. Your father is torn between being shocked over being called out for his behaviour, humiliated for being scolded like a child, and incensed that your invitation did not extend towards him. Your mother tugs your arm again, and you stand up so you can better shake her off your arm.

“We’re leaving,” your father says. “Come along, you two.”

You brush some crumbs off your lap and sit back down.

Your father shakes your shoulder. “Didn’t you hear me? I said we’re leaving.”

“Have fun,” you reply dryly, “I’ll be home late.”

Pantalone absolutely beams. “Oh, wonderful!”

You flinch at your mother’s shrill voice. “No, you’re not! I am not leaving you with this disrespectful–”

“Violka, he has made up his mind,” your father growls. You feel him glaring daggers into the back of your head, and do not move. You hear your mother start to protest, but then the door shuts behind you.

Pantalone lifts a small plate up off the table. On it is the final little piece of cherry bublanina. He offers it to you with a sly smirk, like forbidden fruit. 

With this in mind, you take it.

[natsunenuko]

TW // mental issues, mental absue, harassment, surgery/blood

I'm sorry this one is so long, but please carry on reading. It's a chance for me to not only speak about the situation but let out some steam too. It is unfortunate this announcement comes at the same time the flood occurs on the south of my home country (Poland) and I'm in the endangered zone, luckily so far safe, as I feel my head can't handle more stress.

It's been so long since I've been this personal online. I realized how I didn't feel the urge to vent for 3-4 years by now which is a sign of improving mental health. But my healing is still a process, and I'm afraid it's too hard to carry this rock alone at this point. I fought my thoughts if I should do this and I think just as deeply as I write right now. Yet, I know it's better late than never and I thank deeply my friends for helping me out recently as well as in the past in my lowest. I wholeheartedly owe my life to you.

I couldn't ask for better friends. As years verified, even long lasting relationships might be nothing but a mask and I had to learn the hard way. I ended a friendship of 13 years at the time over a misunderstanding. Other person I put my trust on was nothing but a groomer with morally corrupted sexual tendencies who would take advange of a group of minors while being the only adult among them, yet acting like a person much younger than all of them and pressuring all their mental issues on children instead of seeking help. The latter, I might speak of more in detail when I'm ready.

Long time ago I tried calling out for help but back then, the intrusive thoughts won; "Others have it worse, just work harder.", "No one will give you anything for free, no one will care.", "What people will think of you?". and I would only speak about these things in a closed circle of my friends.

I tried my best in silence by not giving up on my creative passion, working restlessly for years, improving. Hoping I could reach the point I can sustain myself purely on what I make.

But the problem is not being self-sufficient. And it's not about my art...

All of my life it has been me, my momma and my granny. The other two important figures weren't there for us, by choice. (which is hard to say if losing someone you loved is worse than not being cared for in the first place) My rather young self at the time didn't put much thought about it as I didn't understand it but something always felt wrong; my only issues at the time was being "that weird, quiet kid with little to no friends". But despite the hardships, my momma has always been my hero, working without a time for a break or rest so we could live happily, to afford something special from time to time.

However in 2014 my momma has been hospitalised and almost lost her life to wrongly treated ovarian cyst (cyst rapture), with enough blood loss to require emergency surgery...

From that point on things went downhill and the result of that we feel to this very day. To stay afloat we fell into a severe dept. (We didn't have any savings, could only rely on borrowing money or loans) And since I was a child as all of this happened, I've only learned about it all throughfully as I entered adulthood, so I wouldn't need to worry about anything and "just be a kid". Which I really understand, but it doesn't make it easier to handle.

And by now, for several years I keep on trying to earn money, so I could free my momma from this chain and let her live, not survive. I always wanted to get through this quietly, because I never, ever wanted to burden anyone with my home problems. But it grew to a point I might need to grab anything to climb towards the light

The goal is $10 000... which is scarily large number.

I list all the options but Kofi is preferred to keep track of the funds!

My commissions are HERE! (the sheet will receive a slight update in upcoming days) My Kofi is HERE! (Level 4 Tea is free headshot drawing every month!) HERE's other services I do (adopts, brushes, etc) I plan to do paid requests for my friday streams on occasion! Anything else I come up with I hope to include in here! Every person who donates will be part of "Thank you" list where I hope to shoutout everybody, cause every penny matters. I want this situation to end...

[anchorandrope]

some updates of louis' first performance since larry at euros just to keep track of:

he played 13 songs at the main square festival (july 4, 2024) and at the ruisrock festival (july 7, 2024) and now he played 17 songs at the meo mares vivas festival (july 21, 2024). he added: bigger than me, just hold on, angels fly and saturdays to the same setlist he used in the two previous festivals.

his jacket was pale blue with blue and green stripes.

he read a fan-sign that said they [the fan] will owe louis a shot if he sings 7, he said "you owe me a shot" after singing it and then he took the shot with the fan.

a (kinda unrelated) funny one:

he reacted to england losing against spain at euros due to some fans referencing the euro finale with a spain flag.

my personal thoughts:

the song's additions are probably because he was able to sing more time in this festival in comparison to the other ones so he chose these songs to perform. the four of them have a patron (regarding lyrics) and it's not inherently larry related. if he needed to add songs to the setlist i think it make sense he chose this ones, not only because they are fan favourites but because they're not "larry coded", if he would have performed something extremely obvious (like imagine if instead of angles fly we would have had always you, for example) that would have been a situation™️. so yeah i think they represent the current louis perfectly and they didn't create chaos. nothing to look much into it here tbh.

the jacket one is self-explanatory, like those two adore bluegreening. also louis is the one who performed with a t-shirt with an immense "H" in his first ever livestream, so no one should be surprised.

the 7 one is interesting. 7 was already on the setlist, so singing it didn't have the same impact as if he hadn't sung it before and added it to the setlist today. that is the reason i find the whole shot situation amazing. in the end he literally took a shot in honour to 7. he saw a sign knowing damn well he was gonna sing it, he decided to read it out loud, reference it again after the song to finally doing the shot. almost as if he wanted to draw attention to it and pay the tribute it deserves 💋 king !! thanks louis for loving larry called a load of smoke in as much as we do.

acknowledging the euros in this situation means nothing imo (due to context). could he have ignored it to avoid pointing out that day, knowing what it means to part of his fandom? yes, but he loves football and its not the first time he reacts to england loosing, so i don't think its actually relevant, added it because its actually funny how he said "well played. thats all you're gonna get" 😭

my conclusion:

as i said, i really don't really believe this means something (larry coming out/1D reunion/etc) but i really like to keep track of stuff just in case. in this specific situation, i do believe the stuff that happened in the festival was related to euros, but not because euros mean something and they're continuing to do whatever the fuck they're doing, i just think they know we larry-ed hard that day and he wanted to make sure we know he supports that (as he always do <3) so he wanted to made subtle things. nothing more! the jacket one is undeniable, the setlist and the euros mention im betting they mean nothing, regarding 7, i do believe he wanted to point in some kind of way to the song (like to highlight it) and he found this way spontaneously, since he does shots with fans in his tour and that wouldn't be surprising.

[rfpetals]

Why I think Ramattra deserves a redemption arc

OKAY HEAR ME OUT. First of all, what I mean by “redemption arc” is a bumpy journey of self-discovery and inner peace akin to Zuko’s. I don’t think Ramattra will ever forgive humanity or join Overwatch. The end goal of a redemption arc that I want to see is one where he finds inner peace and forgives himself for his sins.

Exhibit A: It would parallel Zenyatta which is really cool because I love characters that are foils of each other and follow a similar path with an outcome opposite of the other’s and-

It’s implied that Zenyatta didn’t have the best circumstances before joining the Shambali. When Ramattra found him, he may have saved his life, as the “nearly got him killed” line in Ramattra:Reflections seems to allude to a dangerous situation. Ramattra also set him on the path of the Shambali, where Zen found belonging, purpose, and perhaps inner peace. Ram gave Zen a second chance and he turned his life around because of it.

(Side note: This may be why Zen was so adamant in helping Genji. He knew from experience what a second chance can do for someone. This makes Genji and Ram’s hatred for each other even funnier.)

It’s clear that Ram is not in the best mental state right now. I don’t think normal people attack the planet and subjugate their own people. I believe if Zen successfully reaches out to Ram and (somehow, idk we’re too early into the plot) gives him a second chance to go on a journey of self-discovery, and he does end up finding inner peace because of Zen, it would be a very satisfying payoff and poetic parallel. It would also lean into the implied thesis of Ramattra’s character arc: “You didn’t have to fight alone”.

Exhibit B: Throwing him in jail/killing him off would be a waste of potential

Yes, Ram needs to face the consequences of his actions. Yes, throwing him in jail is a realistic and satisfying punishment. But you know what else is a realistic and satisfying punishment?

Facing worse discrimination from the humans who hated you and hunted your kind to near extinction and also being cast out and feared by the very people you tried to save and now you’re left with the guilt and shame of your ultimate plan to help your people having failed and you’re left with nothing and nowhere to go. Seeing Ram struggle with these consequences, try and fail to be better, and finally achieve inner peace for himself despite everything, would be ten times more narratively satisfying than watching him rot in jail for 10+ years.

Exhibit C: The seeds are already in place

There’s already a lot of foreshadowing and word choice in Overwatch official media that implies that this is the direction that Ram may be heading towards. Hell, even Ram himself has literal redeeming qualities. In one of the Ram Dev Updates, it’s stated that the Narrative Designers wanted Ram to be “exciting, felt understandable, dangerous, and someone you wanted to get to know better”. In the iconic Invasion cutscene, there is a lot of stuff that Mondatta says to Ram, and his reply, “Perhaps, one day, we truly will be together again”, implies he once had hope for peace, which could be a key motivation in his arc, or could lead to a realization he needs. In a 2022 Polygon article, it’s explicitly stated that “players should not think of Ramattra as a villain, but an ‘antagonist’”, again, alluding to the possibility that he’s meant to have an arc. There’s also the fact that Talon is clearly being set up as the bigger, actual villain, and they’re cooking up some sort of plot that leads to their betrayal of Ram. Why else would Doomfist send Mauga, Reaper, and Sombra to steal Ram’s technology instead of just asking him for it? (maybe he did and Ram told him to fuck off)

Ok so, Ramattra gets a redemption arc. What happens? I DON’T KNOW! YIPPEE!! Exhibit D is that Ram is already such an unpredictable and complex character that his journey could go in any direction.

He could try to regain his following, he could atone for his sins, he could return to the Shambali, he could try to reconnect with humans again, he could be an ally of (not join) Overwatch and get to know them, he could wander the world and find the answers somewhere out there, he could see the errors of his ways and try to rebuild the world he destroyed knowing full well that it wouldn’t make people forgive him and he does it because his journey has led him to a path where he finally chooses to do things for himself and achieve the life HE wants and thus fulfilling the sacrifice and wish Aurora made for him, meaning he accepts his own sentience and finds inner peace! What makes the possibility of a redemption arc so fun and exciting is that anything can happen. It’s what storytelling is all about!

Why wouldn't you want that? And why can't I be a little delusional sometimes? If Ramattra ends up being thrown in jail or nuked or whatever, I will definitely be disappointed, unless I am horribly wrong and the foreshadowing is actually pointing to that fate instead.

Anyway Bliz please stop dumping the budget into collabs and pay attention to the lore more thanks farewell

[scarlettsandmaroons]

she is midnight rain | n. romanoff

about me | series masterlist | natasha romanoff masterlist

pairing: professor!natasha romanoff x collegestudent!reader

chapter one | chapter two: she doesn't think of me

chapter summary: you just learned that your soon-to-be professor is straight up terrible. and in an attempt to drop out of her class, you instead became the target of her humiliation. you just knew you will hate her as she will you.

warnings: evident mommy issues (not really into depth)

a/n: im very excited to write this series (that's a lie, i'm only excited about the smutty parts, the beginning, not so much). will be trying to post an update every other day ꒰ ⸝⸝ɞ̴̶̷ ·̮ ɞ̴̶̷⸝⸝꒱

for all your years in high school, and the very few months you had before college, you didn't have a plan. you didn't know where you wanted to go. you didn't know what you wanted to take. there were too many choices. or maybe there's barely any. you just couldn't choose for yourself, you couldn't decide.

when you don't have a mother or in your case, when you have a mother who chose her boyfriend over you, you don't really have anyone telling you what to do, where to go. and maybe some people would love the same freedom that you had, but with that freedom was misguidance. you had nobody to help you choose, nobody to guide you, to teach you, to tell you what's best for you. you have to decide all that.

but when nobody told you what was best, what was the standard for best, how could you possibly have known. how could a child understand what was best for her when she was taught nothing about the sort.

you didn't know what you wanted, and your best judgement told you to trust in your friend and follow billy maximoff. he was your bestfriend. your other half. the only person you can confide in. you knew that you had to study where he would. you couldn't possibly survive on your own. you needed him to guide you. to tell you what to do. to protect you.

"you're in mrs. romanoff's class."

you were snapped out of your thoughts. you've been staring at the field the entire time. at the massive open field between the campus and the gate. you didn't know how long you've been here, for a moment, you didn't even remember billy being in front of you holding your class schedule.

"y/n, yoo-hoo. are you okay?" billy waved a hand in front of you. "what are you thinking?"

you sighed, "i can't believe i'm in college now and i still don't know what to do." you said, looking over billy's shoulder and getting once again lost in your own head. "how am i going to survive..."

"well, i'll survive." he said proudly, earning back your attention. you almost scowled at him for being a show-off. but he smiled at you. a soft reassuring smile. "i'll survive for the both of us." he said.

your heart fluttered a little. you didn't have a mom. or a dad. or siblings. but you had a family. you had billy.

"i know what i'm going to be. i have a plan. and while you don't have any for yourself, i'll carry you." he says.

you looked at your watch. freshman orientation is in a few, and seeing your attention on the clock sent billy the hint that you both should get going. nevertheless, your conversation didn't end as you both walked into the campus.

"how will you carry me?" you mused, not returning the same sentiment he sent you as you simply humored his words.

he held the straps of his bagpack. "mmmm..." he started thinking, "i'll get a job as soon as we graduate. you can stay with me and my parents until i get my own place which i'd be glad to share with you." he says. "that way, you can finally move out from your mum's house."

"that's... very free-loader of me." you chuckled, visualizing the life you'd share with your friend.

"well, you're my free-loader." he looks at you all giddy. "that's what friends do, right?"

you sighed, "yeah."

billy never had a good relationship with his twin brother, tommy. tommy decided to stay with his father after their parents got a divorce. billy on the other hand, stayed with his mother as she remarried.

you've never met mrs. maximoff's new husband. in fact, it's been a really long time since you'd seen billy's mom. the last time you saw her, she had some sort of a 50s haircut. from what your bestfriend tells you, she went through quite a few hair phases from a shoulder length side part to a long-haired rebonded look. at some point, you know she went crazy and got a full head of tight blonde curls. that was her, "going through a hard time with my husband so i must do something so incredibly different with my hair" hair. she went back to the normal big curls, fluffy airburn hair after she remarried though.

that's how close you were with billy. you were his sister, almost. you knew everything about him. even about his mother's haircuts half of which you're sad you weren't around to see.

"mr. stark's coming by for the orientation, did you know that?"

you looked at billy. "the rich guy who owns stark industries?"

"yeah. he's a friend of my moms and dad's."

"no way?!" you all but gasped. you did coo in shock a bit, looking at him with widened eyes. "damn, it must be nice to be connected to him." you say, your mind going on to imagine what your life would be if you were as rich as him. or even connected to him. then you wouldn't have to think about all the important decisions you need to make.

"he's connected to a lot of the professors here." billy mentions. "mr. rogers, mr. banner, mr. barton. but he's closest to mrs. romanoff. they're best friends." he looks at his watch. "i think he's here for the engineering department though. he's funding them lots."

"mrs. romanoff?" you ask, complete disregarding his following statement.

"he's the reason why mrs. romanoff met my parents." he says.

"i'm in her class right?"

you haven't taken a look at your timetable yet because billy has held onto it since it was given to you. eyeing all the names of your professors and giving you some kind of commentary about them. he knows a lot about them. mrs. maximoff used to be a professor here, and for the entirety of high school, billy frequented this very campus.

"yeah." he scoffed. "good luck."

"why? is she mean?"

"terribly." he says. "she's nice, but as your professor? she'll eat you alive."

you were in two of mrs. romanoff's classes, unfortunately for you. you had her in english literature, and business economics. and until classes had officially begun two days after your orientation, stories of how horrible she is; from how she failed more than half of the total students she's had in her lifetime, to how much she enjoys either suspending, or expelling her students over the littlest inconveniences became the center of all your conversations with billy. for someone who knows a lot about her, you wish he had gotten her instead of you. now the dreading fear of seeing her live up to your horrible expectations of her with you is just crippling.

"i'm dropping out of mrs. romanoff's classes." you blurt out during billy's long monologue of the stories he's heard about the professor.

he looked at you, "no! i didn't mean to scare you." he almost laughs. "she's actually really nice!"

you shot him a sharp glare. if he dares to defend mrs. romanoff after all the stories he's told, then he's better off shutting his mouth.

"yeah, no. too late."

there was a part of you that tugged at the idea of actually doing it. if there were something that stopped you, you would so give into it and drop it. you simply needed to know that you wanted to do—that you can do something about it so you can lie yourself into thinking that you have, this new life of yours, under control. and you were lucky enough to just serve into that purpose as you were unlucky enough to have stumbled upon a wooden door that had mrs. romanoff's name spelled out in gold letters.

natasha romanoff.

billy has been talking this entire time, explaining to you how mrs. romanoff could've been better than what he initially led you to believe. you've been taking mental notes but you haven't really been paying attention, so you only got, "she's the best professor here. constantly commended by the dean himself" and "her class is the hardest to get into. only the best of the best can get into it—"

you heard nothing further as you started fixating on how there was absolutely no way of telling if she was in as the massive window deemed useless with the blinds covering it. despite your efforts in trying to take even the smallest peak inside, no luck.

you can turn away. but you're here now. besides, not knowing whether or not she's in isn't really an inconvenience worth turning away from.

perseverance glinted your eyes. you weren't giving up. you put a hand on the handle, "y/n, no, she—", and you went in without hearing out billy, or even giving the chance for anyone to let you in.

you have to transfer out of her class before you have to go in it. as uncomfortable as this might be, it's this, or a whole year or more worth of wishing you got out when you could.

inside was a woman sitting at the desk just a few steps away from you. it was a relatively average sized room. it wasn't too small. not too cramped. but it wasn't too big either. not too empty. the walls of either sides were bookshelves. the back wall, a massive window overlooking the entire front of the school.

the woman lifted her head to see you, and immediately, you were taken aback by her... beauty. the features that are of the ordinary, but on its entirety, with all of it combined, created this image of the goddess sitting in front of you.

you melted. you pictured her to be an old woman, but now you see why everyone was so intimated by her. her simple gaze, and unmoving disinterest of your presence made you feel so small. to have such a gorgeous woman look at you like you didn't matter, exactly the way that she did you, is so intimidating. so belittling. yet, you were enamored. you were captured by her. she was just simply mesmerizing. satisfying.

she had red hair. massive curls that cascaded down her shoulders as if so intricately placed to look so neat and clean. she had a side part, though, it was barely noticeable as the part was a lot closer to the center than it should be for a side part. her eyes were so brightly... emerald. despite of the shadows created by the light behind her, it stayed so vibrant. like a gem. she had such a beautifully molded nose. and red lips. you wanted nothing else but to stare at her forever.

"i suggest you start saying something now, before this intrusion of yours becomes the reason why your time here ends."

her voice sent chills down your spine. you felt goosebumps. all the hair in your body rose. her voice was so terribly cold. she was composed, and calm. and had not a care in the world, especially you. the way she delivered it with such disinterest, almost in a condescending way made you feel so small. it gave you all the more reason to drop out.

she was looking up at you. her chin was resting at the back of her hand where she had a pen between her fingers.

she made your heart race in fear.

"i'm in your class." you take a deep breath. "i'd like to drop out."

you see the end of her lip twitch almost in amusement when her eyes dropped to the papers on her desk. she fixed her posture and started fixing the mess she had laid out. she did it so painfully slow as if you weren't there. but when she stood up, placing both of her hands on her desk, you knew she wasn't trying to torture you. the way the end of her lip raised into the slightest grin made you realize she was having her fun with you. like one of the students she'd amuse herself with first, embarrass, torture, belittle, before kicking out. almost like you were a toy. one of the many for her.

you gulped.

"tell me, miss y/f/n y/l/n. why do you want to drop out?" she asks, slowly going around her desk before she gestured to a chair in front of it—not to offer you a seat, but to require you to do as she wants, and sit down. "you haven't even seen me in class yet. i doubt you even had the chance to attend your very first class which you will soon miss if you continue to—waste, my, time."

you gulped again. something about the way she stares at you while she walks to the small table by the bookshelf where she had a few glasses and whiskey made your throat dry.

"i heard stories."

"i assure you, miss y/l/n," you flinched a bit when her glass hits the surface of her desk, later followed by her body dropping to her seat in the most elegant way. "whatever you heard is true."

goosebumps again. not good goosebumps. "please let me leave because i want to cry" goosebumps. her eyes were piercing through you, you can't imagine moving. to even relax your shoulder and somehow offending her with the slight movement is such horror for you.

she took a sip from her drink. before letting the glass hang barely by her fingertips as she leans closer to you, her chin resting once again on the back of her hand.

"how old are you?" she asks.

"i just turned 18." you answer quickly as if it would disappoint her if you waited a beat.

"what is something worth knowing about a y/f/n y/l/n?" you didn't notice the way your name rolled off her tongue. you didn't notice she knew your name this entire time. she said it with such grace. never had your name sounded so foreign. so new. so beautiful.

something about her was pulling you in. sucking you into her. and you weren't sure if it was the fear of getting kicked out, or just because of her sheer charms that made you blurt out every thinkable thing about you.

"i'm 18. i just turned 18." you started, taking a deep breath in and calming yourself down when you realized how quick you were talking. "i can't drive for the life of me. i hate milk. i'm plainly unhealthy. i don't drink vitamins. or eat an average amount of nutrients and meals in general. i'm nocturnal, i can't fall asleep at night. i love juice, soda, everything but water. i have a complicated relationship with my hair. i..." the realization stunned you. the realization that you were sitting in the office of who you heard was the strictest professor in this very university, telling her about the most absurd, uninteresting things about you, when you might just be on the very verge of getting kicked out of your bestfriend's dream university.

you calmed yourself down. you tried to rid yourself of the panic you resorted to burying deep deep down, you fixed your posture, cleared your throat, and in the most modulated voice that you can harness within yourself, you said, "i am ambitious, strong, independent—" that's a lie. "bright, optimistic, and persistent. and i really want to have the opportunity to begin my year in this university—" hopefully not in your class. "because i know that i have the exact amount of wit, and dedication this school is looking for in a student." i don't want to be in your class. "if given the opportunity to... in a different class wherein i can flourish."

"well," she says as if impressed. you stood up when she did, giving her a hopeful expression like that's going to boost your chances of getting out of her class without suffering the grave consequences she's known to give.

she moved around the table again, this time, moving slowly towards you. step by step. closer each passing second. and when the two of you were finally faced to face with each other without the desk between you, her small smirk dropped. "no." she says in a way that showed you how amused she was of putting your efforts of coming in here to waste without sounding anywhere besides stern.

"what?"

"i said no."

"no, what?" at this point, you were in distress. but you tried your best to hide it. you weren't very successful though. your voice raised, though you all but shouted.

her left hand rested on the surface of her desk when she leaned her hip against it, tipping her head slightly to the side, "look, miss y/l/n, i did not just waste all this time getting to know you and your... habits, just for you to drop out of my class."

her tone was unkind. she was cold, and stern. and she wanted nothing but to get her way. your attempts gave her mere amusement. she didn't acknowledge you, or your request, she just wanted to see the way your face would contort in shock when she declines you after letting you think your efforts would get you anywhere.

"but, mrs. romanoff—"

"BUT...! miss y/l/n—" she didn't shout, but the way she said it, the way her voice raised. you wanted to crawl into a cave and cry. especially with the way her eyes lingered on a little too long on yours before she looked away and returned to her seat. "i could so easily penalize you for entering my office with no permission." her tone was mad. graceful, elegant. calm and collected. but mad. "i would have you suspended if i didn't appreciate your... attempt, to even come inside my office, to speak to me and look me straight in the eye requesting me for something... you're gutsy. you could've used that in my class instead."

you weren't going to win.

today, you realized, that mrs. romanoff will always have the power. and if you can't handle that, then you're better of leaving the school.

she's dreadful. she's dark. she's the storm that angers the seas. and the rain at midnight. she is going to potentially ruin your chances of succeeding in this university—in life, and you will... hate her as you are now definitely sure she will you.

"i'll see you later."

you did see her later. a blissful 2 hours without her was replaced by dread when the moment you sat on the very back of the lecture hall, she came in. everyone stood before her, as if it were highschool, and you just went with it. just a mere clack of her high heeled shoes had everyone on their feet, their hands on their chest as if she was a goddess to be worshiped.

"good morning, everyone."

nobody spoke, it was mere silence after a beat of her greeting in which she gestured everyone to sit. you hid behind a tall man. the lecture hall was packed. although, there were a few empty seats up front.

"i'd like to begin today with..." she didn't have much with her. she only had a clipboard which she places on her desk. she took quite a while adjusting. but when she did; when she was leaning back on her seat, her legs elegantly crossed, where her hands rested on her knee, she looked straight ahead. and for a moment, you thought you can feel her eyes boring through the people you're hiding behind of and staring at you. "i have absolutely zero tolerance for any of your bullshit." all the calmness of her tone before was replaced by a sheer sharpness. "you either do as i say, exactly as i say it, or you leave this classroom. better yet, this school. are we clear?" she was stern. and you were scared. "now," she says with an exhale. "you at the back," you froze. "are we clear with that?"

[beesmygod]

today is webcomics day. i am bea and i make "A Ghost Story" - part 1: pre-gaming

webcomic day is a yearly celebration of the art form concocted by the screentones podcast team as a way for people to see how the sausage gets made. my webcomic "a ghost story" has been running for over 10 years, and yet i still don't think i can say i am good at making a webcomic. regardless, the comic is getting made because otherwise i become very, very sick in the head. today i would like to share with you the process of making a page of "A Ghost Story" from start to finish. either this demystifies the process or will make you think im so cool and strong for doing this 2x a week. instead of reblogging this one post until it gets very long, i will be posting individual updates that i will then compile and post on my personal website. block the tags now if you HATE comics and want them to EXPLODE.

if you have any questions, even things like "what the fuck are you even talking about" feel free to ask. i want to feel confident in what i make again and i think sometimes interrogation from an outside source is really

---

that said, let's get started. wait just kidding i want a cup of coffee first, hold on.

ok now im ready. i have a big glass of water. i have coffee. i have a headset for the parts of work that don't involve typing words. i can't type words and listen to some streamer babble in my ear at the same time, so it has to be instrumental music or nothing. i just took my meds so they should kick in after about 30 mins. i woke up late today, which is weird and annoying. but maybe i can work late instead.

first off, i need to know where i'm going beyond this one page. if i dont know where im going with something, then i usually create something that sucks that i have to deal with later. hold on my internet died, i have to reset the router. ok, anyway.

what's rattling around in my brain is that not only do i have to deal with maxine's current predicament, i am also dealing with multiple plot elements i need to wrap back around to from the previous chapter. luckily, im about to put maxine down for a nap, which means i can get back to those other elements:

i need to finish the exposition from the three ankou characters for this story arc establishing their motivations as the oppositional force in the story. the "villain" is not these three specifically, but their boss. they need to have a loose understanding of what's going on in order to communicate this to the audience. god this started turning into a huge ass paragraph so i'll just keep it short there.

we've jumped back to before jack's horrible day from the first chapter of this storyline so we have to make our way back toward that and then lapping it, which means wrapping up his various open threads like:

feeding victoria and learning something new about her

finding out alice is a very exceptional employee who is getting many awards

watching valdo call lily while interrupting her during something personal to ask her for help with maxine's situation.

jack meeting with valdo and lily the day after they first met so jack can just tell them straight up that lily has 4 sisters she doesnt know about.

help that girl with her poltergeist problem. remember that. i've had jokes for this rattling in my head for like 4 years. im going insane.

and also the fucking tilberi!!! that has a point its going somewhere!!! there's a larger menace here!!!

other things to set up the climax of this storyline. sexual tensions, hints at larger emotional problems not immediately evident to the reader

lots of moving parts. and i feel like im moving in slow motion to get to them. i can see them all weaving together in my head, its the process of putting that onto paper that's proving difficult.

ok that took an hour starting and stopping. -_- let me write the next part as i keep brainstorming on how to approach this page. taking a "rubber duck" approach to this might help. heres an image from the last page i worked on (i have a 5 page buffer rn so the site does not match the finished pages) to get us semi-situated.

also because images will help people understand what skill level we're working with here. i need to be able to communicate an idea to the audience; if the art also looks good on top of that, then that's just an added bonus. but the ability to communicate my ideas is sometimes hampered by my lack of artistic skill or comics language ineptitude. like those speech bubbles kind of fucking suck but at a certain point you have to just hit print on what you're working on in order to keep your already glacial pace.

webcomics is a tightrope act where you're also spinning 4 plates at once. the trick is to keep the audience from realizing how many actually fall or how wobbly they all are. the act sucks but technically its not a failure.

[nexility-sims]

𝐍𝐎. 𝟐   ❛ 𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 ❜   |   NAKAWE, EARLY MARCH 1991

❧  𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠  /  𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬  /  𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

❛ News about the royal family filled broadcasts throughout the day as cheerful early birds, irreverent talk show hosts, and straight journalists alike seized on recent developments. Nothing was too trivial or unremarkable. With the quiet of death and mourning over, the messy aftermath presented opportunity—for ratings, among other things.

❧ ahhh !!! ngl, i'm very proud of this, and i think that it's an improvement on the last television montage. happy to report that there will be more :^) big grateful shoutout to @madebysimblr for the two hosts i lightly edited and renamed ! also shoutout to tom noguchi’s book for the direct inspiration djdhjf

𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 ↓

TRANSCRIPT:

morning news

[J] That bird risked everything to put out the fire! Inspiring.

[E] It’s the Morning in Nakawe promise—wholesome coverage to start your day, every day.

[E] Now, as you know, it’s been several weeks since Princess Safya’s tragic death. It looks like her family is finally getting back to normal. We got a glimpse of some beach outings this week.

[E] Safe to say Abelina has quickly stolen hearts nationwide.

[J] Everything we’ve seen suggests she’s a sweetheart.

[E] And there she is enjoying some fun in the sun with her father. I think we’re all excited to see more of this little family—especially with two new members on the way.

[J] First Reyes twins in recent memory!

[J] Princess Leonor also took to the beach in Nakawe, although she spent her time reading instead of swimming. I bet booksellers are going to see that one flying off the shelves this week.

[E] I’ll admit that I already bought my copy! That’s Ogechi Suzu’s 1987 magical realism bestseller Learning to Fly. No spoilers, but it’s about a woman who can suddenly transform into a parrot.

[J] That’s a classic story, isn’t it? What’s Suzu’s take?

[E] A Nakawe city girl has to crisscross all of Uspana to find herself. There’s love and computers. It’s a modern update.

daytime talk

[F] Okay, we’re back! We couldn’t get a Reyes on our little broadcast, so Mencia Cipac’s here to discuss where we are post-Princess Safya. Mencia was a palace correspondent for years, and she published a fabulous book on royal childhood last fall. Today’s person of interest is a big girl now, but—well, is she really?

[F] Safya’s baby. That’s how we know her. Who is she now?

[M] That’s the question. In my book, I thought I had an answer. We’re going to watch a young person invent herself in real time—all while dealing with such extraordinary events. The premature death of a parent. Losing a role that was, by all accounts, her nascent identity.

[F] In public! Publicly.

[M] That’s right. The scrutiny and attention ... We know how hard it is. Going from a little girl to a young woman is always hard. In the public eye, even under normal circumstances, it’s absurd. In our modern history, this turn of events is unprecedented.

[F] To think, we really haven’t even known who she is.

[M] We never really know, but we make great educated guesses. We’ve see her through the prism of her role, particularly this past year. That isn’t unusual for royalty, here or elsewhere. A hard worker. Our queen’s “little shadow.” That just won’t be true anymore. I mean, we know—we’ve guessed—how Queen Beatriz is.

{Audience murmurs}

[M] So, where does that leave her? It is hard to predict. I wonder if she’ll continue to work in a similar fashion—become a loyal worker for the institution like Martin, perhaps.

[F] Oh, I hope not! Can you imagine? How dull! A beautiful girl. She’s so young. She should do something interesting—for me, because I want to see it. Someone get her on the line!

{Audience laughs}

[M] The recent surveys suggest that’s how many Uspanians feel. They sympathize, but they crave newness and excitement. Our public figures let us live vicariously, don’t they? Leonor’s generation is lagging—all children, of course, all off-limits. That means she’s the lighting rod for that collective anticipation.

[F] She was at the beach here in Nakawe the other day. The gossip is some surfers out there were chatting her up. You’ve seen those boys! She deserves the attention but, oh, so do I—!

{Crowd cheers}

[M] The talk has shifted immensely, hasn’t it? We thought there would be a wedding in a year or two, and now it’s all up in the air.

[F] Who cares about that nobody, really? The whole thing was so sweet it made my teeth hurt. Give us someone new. Someones, even.

[M] To people in my profession, the coming weeks are going to be significant. Whether she’s working as we expect or occupied some other way, her public life will be different. Romance is part of that, sure.

[F] A young girl needs it. Us old ones, too. Maybe a self esteem boost will help her out of this funk. It’s depressing, frankly, how bad she looks in those photos we’ve seen lately.

{Audience murmurs}

[F] Hey! She looks great, though! The baby fat is melting away. That mourning diet did wonders, wow. She always looked like her mother—the body, too, you know. Blessing and a curse.

[M] There’s some resemblance to her father, too.

{Audience grumbles}

[F] Jail! Legal won’t let me talk, but: right, ladies?

{Audience murmuring, interspersed clapping}

[F] Anyway, she has his coloring, yes. The darker skin—which, you know, is a shame since her mother had a very pretty complexion. Brighteners? Sunscreen? Maybe we could have a segment on good products. Bring in a dermatologist or two?

{Audience applauds}

evening news

[B] Alright, last update before the hour ends.

[R] That’s right. The Office of the Crown has given a timeline and some details on the transition. First, Princess Safya’s three children will be retaining their titles—that’s “princes” and “princess.”

[B] Courtesy, most likely.

[R] There was no explanation, but our colleagues over at Palace Affairs seem to believe so. Arnaut, meanwhile, is officially the Crown Prince of Uspana, per the same memorandum released today.

[B] That’s a big deal. I mean, we are looking at the future head of state. People my age associate him with, well, velvet and gambling. He’ll lead the nation in time. In your lifetime, if not mine.

[R] Well, Bernardo, the reality is that does concern some.

[B] It remains to be seen whether that’s fair. The coming months are going to be quite the test for him.

[R] You’ll recall better than me that he was tested in the 1970s and still hasn’t recovered—according to this month’s polls, anyway.

[B] Uspanians may not want to give him a chance, but he’ll be addressing the Assembly to formally accept the role all the same.

[R] And we’ll be reporting as it happens later this week. For now, that’s it for us. UBC Nightly News with Inti Rivera starts now.

nightly news

[R] Yesterday afternoon, Crown aides joined the chief medical examiner involved in the investigation of Princess Safya’s death for a press conference. Some reporters’ questions revealed the influence of rumor on what Uspana’s public now wants to know.

[R1] My understanding is that the Crown has not accepted the investigation’s conclusions. Can you confirm?

[A1] Incorrect. The Crown is uninvolved. Dr. Siodina issued a ruling, and the family asked questions strictly as surviving loved ones.

[R2] Did intoxication play a role in what happened?

[S] It isn’t my opinion that it led to her being in the water. It did contribute to the drowning itself.

[R3] Why did she leave the yacht?

[S] That’s a question with a psychological answer rather than a forensic one, I think.

{Reporters murmur}

[R4] Did an altercation with her husband, Lord Rodrigo, occur that night that would have caused her to leave?

[S] Um .... A moment, please.

{Reporters resume murmuring}

[A2] {whispering} Officially, yes, they argued.

[S] There was a disagreement, yes.

[A2] {whispering} No violence.

[S] It was, however, entirely civil.

{Reporters, clamoring}

[R] Following what some are now calling a, quote, “unmitigated disaster,” the Crown announced that it plans to conduct its own formal but unofficial inquiry into the accident as well as the investigation itself. In a twist, sources suggest this plan could have been in the works prior to the conference. This is a developing story.

[annaraebananawriter]

Day 1 - Stars

Hello all! I come bearing a new fic for a new ship week. This one (created by @starsanspolyweek) (which is also me) is for the Star Sans Poly ship! It's so fun to explore how much they mean to one another, and I thought about doing a ship week for them a few years back, but only got the courage and motivation to start it last year. So sorry about not posting anything for that one--I honestly just didn't get anything written. But this year I have!

I will try and update daily, though today is the only full day I have pre-written. The others are mostly a handful of words, or a blank page. We'll see how it goes.

Without a further ado, happy reading!!

Fandom: Undertale, but specifically UTMV

Characters: Dream (Who belongs to Joku), Blue  (Who belongs to P0pcornPr1nce) and Ink (Who belongs to Comyet)

Pairings: Star Sans Poly/Pre-Star Sans Poly

Warnings: None, actually, now that I think about it. Let me know!

Summary: "Dream is not mortal. His brother, Nightmare, is also not mortal. They are both gods. An incident in the past involving both of them forced the hand of the other gods to create a new rule: Mortals and Gods are not to interact, let one infect the other with knowledge they should not possess.

This rule becomes a problem when Dream becomes infatuated with two mortals, Ink and Blue."

Word Count: 4420

***

I went to the Garden of Love,

And saw what I never had seen:

***

The tree was always Dream’s favorite place to watch the stars. Nothing beat climbing up to the furthest branch, using skills built upon centuries of practice to get up with the ease and grace as a nimble forest animal would naturally have, using the same skills to balance there on a branch that would’ve cracked had he been anyone else.

Being so high up got him so close to the sky, so close he could almost feel the twinkling lights kissing him. He could spend hours there, crouched in the tree, staring up at the wonder most didn’t think twice of.

Correction: he has spent hours there. He often got so lost in the beauty of things that he forgot to return home, and so his brother would be forced to come and retrieve him. Though he’s often said to Nightmare to just let him be, and though his brother often agrees to do so, forever annoyed at having to leave their house for any reason, he is often going back on his word, there at the base of the tree to call him home before sunrise without fail, every night.

Tonight, it’s still early enough that he knows he has time to watch. He settles in, leaning against the trunk, eyes searching the sky for anything and nothing at the same time. If he were an artist, his fingers would itch with a drawing. If he were a writer, it would be a story or poem instead. He is neither, however, so instead all he does is look.

That is enough to content him.

Mostly.

He does sometimes wish he were more creative. Sure, he can sketch something and have it end up half-resembling the original idea, and he can string together a short story with a simple theme, but they both end up crude and childish. That’s not a bad thing overall, it just leaves him unsatisfied, forever envious of those who can do them.

It’s funny, really, that in all the centuries he’s been alive, he has never mastered the art of art. So many other things he can do with his eyes closed. Never art. The closest thing to it is baking, maybe gardening, both things he can do well enough. Healing might be considered an art in itself, but it’s not paint and words and colours and metaphors. It’s not something people will look at for years with awe, not something people will hang up on their walls or in galleries. It’s simply a skill to help others, as is his duty and job—the only thing he is ever frustrated by.

He doesn’t hate doing his job. No, he does enjoy helping people. It makes him smile when he can dry a child’s tears with some warm magic on the knee, or when he grants a miracle to a family who now needn’t worry about the cost of a funeral for someone so young. In fact, he prides himself on doing good, spreading laughter across the world. He loves the stories told of him, the kind way they portray him in artwork, and he’s flattered by the statues of him in temples. It’s all something he enjoys.

That doesn’t mean he can’t find it uncomfortable at times.

One of the very first things people decided about him was that he was never selfish. He was always working in favor of others, always, no matter the demand or price. As the people have sway over how the universe works, he is bound to this fact. He can never act for himself, not without it also benefiting others. In the beginning, he hadn’t minded this, naïve to there being a different way to live, but when he found out he was the exception to the general rule, he couldn’t help but find it unfair.

Yes, he is not mortal. That shouldn’t mean he cannot be as free as them.

He should not have to bend to their whim, pick up after their messes, make every tiny wish come true. He should not have to heal all their scraps, paper cuts to broken bones, and he should not have to drug them to feel happiness, his aura meant to be something soothing and helpful in a crisis, not something to get addicted to.

Through the years, he’s grown so irritated that the common belief about him is that he enjoys being seen as a slave. It is simply not true at all. He enjoys helping people, yes, but he does not enjoy how it is half of what people see when they look at him. He is so much more than that. He is the sun and the stars and the light of your home, the lightness in your chest. He is the pleasant morning breeze against your flushed skin as you close your eyes and bask in it. He is the relationship you have with your closest friends and family, the way they know you better than yourself, that unspoken trust that they will be there to hold you when you fall.

He is so much more than a helper.

Dream is a God.

Yet, the laws of the universe dictate that he never speak about his wants, for that would be ‘—blasphemy for suggesting that we have free will like the mortals. We do not. We serve Fate, and Fate tells us to serve the mortals, to act the part they want us to play.’

Nightmare is a stickler for the rules. He never used to be. He was once as dissatisfied with the role mortals gave him while he had not been able to see what he meant, too wrapped up in the glitz of attention. Time has seen that their roles flipped over. Now, Nightmare insists he remember the laws, remember the role he plays, the one both of them play. What happened all those years ago changed him so much…

Ah, but he rambles. As he always does when watching the stars.

It’s time to clear his mind, lean his head back against the bark and fall into his trance. Crickets are abound on the grassy floor of the hill below, providing a symphony as he follows his own instructions, stretching his leg out along the branch. On a whim, he plucks an apple out of the air, biting into it, letting the juice fill his mouth.

It makes him sigh, this simple act of savoring what he eats, especially since it’s not needed. It is something he wanted, and so it was something he did.

A small rebellion, if you wish to call it that.

Closing his eyes, he took another bite.

He should eat more often. It’s a pleasant experience, and the taste is amazing. This apple was just one of the many edible things out there, too. Perhaps he should try an orange next, or maybe one of those sweets he’s heard about. Something to consider the next time he comes to the tree to watch the stars, that’s for sure.

When he opens his eyes again to look at the sky, he finds himself looking at a face instead. Freezing like a deer caught in the hunter’s gaze, Dream looks at the face in front of him, eyes wide.

It belongs a skeleton monster, that much is obvious, and it’s eyelights do a curious thing he’s never seen before. They change. Shapes and colours, they change as the monster blinks, making him fascinated. He’s never met a monster whose eyes change colours. It’s intriguing to watch, and he wants to ask this monster how his eyes work. Does he pick the colours and shapes? Or do they just happen? Does he know his eyes change, or will the news surprise him?

And then he remembers the new law, instilled after Nightmare’s incident: Mortals and Gods are not to interact, let one infect the other with knowledge they should not possess.

Remembering it, and realizing this would count as a violation of the law, makes his eyes widen even further, something in his stomach churning uncomfortably. He starts to panic, thinking of the repercussions of this act is found out, how it will affect Nightmare, since the universe is much more willing to blame any fault of his onto his brother.

The apple slips from his hand as his grip loosens.

The mortal catches the apple before it falls too far to salvage. “Hello!” The mortal says, grinning. His eyes change again, distracting Dream from his panic for a few moments. There’s an ink splotch on his cheek. Is he aware of it? “What brings you all the way up here?”

“Um…” Dream says, and then his panic returns, engulfing his line of thought. Automatically, he tugs at his magic, giving it the order to teleport him out of this interaction before he gives away more than he should.

Unfortunately, he does think of a destination along with the order, so he blinks and finds himself falling, having only teleported below where he was sitting, in a space without any branches to catch himself with. The beginning of a scream escapes him before he manages to wrench his mouth shut. It’ll do no good to draw even more attention to himself, not now. The best he can do is keep quiet and begin to teleport again.

Before he can give the order, he is caught, his hand instinctively clenching the fabric of a shirt. Blinking once, then twice, he breathes heavily as it sinks in that if he was caught that means…he looks up at the face of another mortal, another skeleton monster at that, who is looking down at him with concern, checking that he is alright.

Then, his face changes, jaw clenching, and the mortal looks up at the tree. “Ink! You were supposed to ask him why he was up there, not scare him into falling!” The mortal shouts up at the other one.

Ink, Dream thinks. How fitting, considering the splotch of the substance on his cheek.

The mortal who caught him does not have the changing eyelights of his companion, but that does not mean they are any less fascinating. They are blue, a bright blue that almost seems to glow, contrasted by the darkness that surrounds them. It’s a trick, he knows that—and really, the only eyelights that can glow are his own, a tell that he is not as mortal as everyone else—but it still makes his heart skip a beat.

Sounds of leaves being shaken come from above their heads, and they watch the other mortal—Ink—hop down. At first, the height he jumps from makes Dream panic, a feeling echoed from the mortal whose arms he was still in. Or maybe that feeling came first and he was the one that echoed it. Emotions were vague, that way. Landing perfectly fine, though with a bit of a stumble, Ink does not feel regret for making them worry, instead just laughs at them.

“I didn’t mean to, honest!” Ink says, grinning first at his companion, then looking down at Dream, blinking. His eyes change again: two question marks, different colours. “I gotta say, it’s weird that you got down here so quickly. I mean, I know you fell, but still. I didn’t hear any branches break or anything. The only leaves on the ground are from me.”

He’s observant. How terrible. Not only will he have to scramble for an excuse to leave as soon as possible, praying that he makes it home before anyone can get suspicious, he will have to find a way to avoid these questions.

The companion answers before he finds any words. “Don’t be silly, Ink, he just fell. That’s it. There’s nothing different about him.” He says the words pointedly, as if referring to something only the two of them understand. What were they talking about?

No, no, don’t ponder that!

Just go home.

Except he’s still in the mortal’s arms, and now he’s been in them so long, it feels too awkward to ask him to set him on his feet. That is the only reason he hasn’t moved, he tells himself, and nothing to do with the fact that it’s comfy here.

Ink scoffs, throwing Dream’s apple in the air and catching it. He takes a bite out of the other side, opposite from where his marks were. For whatever reason, the fact that this mortal is eating his food makes his cheeks burn. “You don’t know that. I’m telling you, there’s something off about him! Something…magical.”

His companion—he really must discover his name—shakes his head. He feels exasperated. Obviously, they have had many conversations like this. “Magic doesn’t exist.”

Unable to stop himself in time, Dream flinches. To proclaim that magic does not exist in front of a God, a being comprised of and birthed from the rawest form of magic, knowing you were in the presence of one or not…well, that hurts. It’s like someone denying a piece of you exists, no matter how much proof is written down, how many times you explain it to scholars and historians. It’s like they shake their head, telling you that you are the uneducated one, and referring you to a handful of resources that provide all the reasons as to why, exactly, you’re wrong about yourself.

Ink sees this flinch. “Ah, but he flinched when you said that! Why would he flinch unless you wounded him personally?” Grinning in triumph, he walks closer, standing in front of them with his hands on his hips. There is a small bit of apple stuck on the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps it’s time to ask the man himself. What say you, Magician? How do you explain traveling such a distance in such a short time?”

As the mortals wait for an answer, Dream swallows.

The only way to get out of this is to lie, which goes against everything that he is; God of Honesty and all that. Which is different from truth, yes, but it still holds the same restrictions. He cannot lie here, not fully. But there are many ways to lie and perhaps he can use that to his advantage by taking a page out of Nightmare’s book: avoidance and omission.

Yes, this will work. Or else he risks all of them being in trouble.

“Uh…” Dream says, swallowing again as he draws on his courage to raise his eyes to meet Ink’s. The changing eyelights are trained on him with unwavering attention. Clearing his throat, Dream tilts his head, pushing a curious expression to fall over his face. “Your eyelights change, did you know that? I’ve never met someone like that before.”

It’s a very clear avoidance, much like seeing someone you don’t want to talk to, making eye contact with them even, and deliberately turning and walking right back where you came from. Ink doesn’t call him out on it, though, instead just hums. “I see, I see. You want to keep your secrets. I guess I can respect that. A magician never tells, correct?”

“They’re very pretty to watch,” Dream continues as if he hadn’t replied.

Ink stares at him some more before shrugging. “Alright, Magician, keep your secrets. Maybe you’ll tell me your trick one day.” Now that his topic seems to be finished, he smiles, putting on a show of blinking and unveiling the brand-new eyelights. “Thank you! They are my second-best trait, if I do say so myself.”

Dream blinks. “Second-best?”

“Yes,” Ink laughs, eyes scrunching up. New eyelights appear. “They’re fine, but I’m used to them by now. It doesn’t excite me as much as it seems to excite you.” Sending him a wink, he reaches into his satchel, which is sat on the ground on a blanket he had been too preoccupied to notice before now. There are other things scattered on the blanket, a few snacks, and a telescope aimed up at the sky.

Finding what he’s looking for, Ink holds a notebook in front of him. “But these are much more interesting. I say this with modesty, of course. I would never proclaim myself one of the greatest artists of my generation.” With a hand on his heart, and a grin on his face to say how he really feels, he offers the notebook to Dream, who reaches out to accept the notebook but falters, remembering he is still in the arms of the other mortal.

Isn’t he tired yet? His arms must be aching by now. He is not a light God, certainly would not come across as a light mortal. But the mortal doesn’t appear to really notice him in his arms, content to stand as long as needed. Still, even knowing he wouldn’t mind holding him for a while yet, it feels like he’s being mean by taking a notebook to look through, lounging in the arms like it was his idea. Certainly, if he does this, he would come across as selfish, and as already established, this is something he cannot do.

But how to explain such things to a mortal…?

Ink seems to notice his dilemma, and he smirks at his companion. “Are you going to hold him all night, Blue, or are you going to allow him to stand on his own two feet again? I’m sure you’ve had plenty of time to make sure he was uninjured.”

His companion—Blue, Dream thinks to himself. How appropriate, with eyelights the essence of the word itself—jumps as if just remembering he is, in fact, holding someone in his arms.

“Oh, I am so sorry! I didn’t think to—I didn’t mean to—I’m so sorry.” He doesn’t seem to know how to explain himself, stuttering and starting over as he sets Dream on his feet. When he looks back at him, Blue is blushing, flushed from his neck up, the colour just as bright as his eyelights as it glows. Ink is laughing in front of them, not even trying to hide it.

Dream smiles, laughs a little himself, patting him on the shoulder. “If it helps any, your arms are quite comfortable.”

Blue’s blush deepens. “Thanks.”

Taking the notebook from Ink, he first runs his fingers over the cool sensation of the leather cover. He’s unable to tell what colour it is exactly, too much of the pigment sucked into the darkness that surrounds them—which reminds him of another problem. “It’s too dark to see your art.”

Ink looks up at him as he plops himself down onto the blanket. He’s still eating Dream’s apple. “Ah, right. Forgot it was night.” Laughing at himself, he shrugs. “I guess you’ll just have to borrow it and wait till morning to look at it.”

Blue frowns at Ink, having walked around Dream and is fiddling with the telescope. “You’re giving it away? You never give your sketchbook away.”

With those words, Dream’s hand stills, fingers hovering in the air, a hair width away from the cover. Never? What made him so special, then?

It seems that’s Blue’s question as well, the one not spoken aloud. Ink shrugs again, answering both of them at the same time. “I’m not giving it away forever. It’s not like he’s just going to keep it.” Pausing, he looks at Dream, appearing for the first time this night nervous. “Are you?”

Dream shakes his head. “Of course not! I understand how important your art is to you artists. I would never steal it from you.”

“Right.” Gesturing at Dream, Ink continues talking to Blue, “See? I’m not giving it away. I’m letting someone borrow it.”

“Yes, but you never do that either.”

“There’s a first for everything.”

Silence rings in the air as both companions fall silent. He cannot help but feel that an unspoken conversation was just had with those few words, a conversation he is not even somewhat aware of. Like Ink said—a first for everything. What did they talk about? Was it about him? Must’ve been. Was he really that important to them?

Oh no, he didn’t interrupt anything, did he? Is he ruining something by lingering here? Well, he is, but is he ruining something for the mortals, too?

It’s best he leaves, quickly now, before—

“Are you going to sit down, Magician?”

Blinking out of his worries, Dream clutches the book to his chest. “Pardon?”

Ink tilts his head back, looking at him upside down. “Are you going to sit down, join us? I promise you; we don’t bite.” Another pause. “Not unless we have to.”

Blue smacks his arm. “Ink!”

Ink laughs, the sound beautiful, filling the quiet as if it was always meant to be there. “What? Just telling the truth. You really have nothing to be afraid of, I swear it. We’re out here to test run Blue’s telescope, that’s all—he built it himself, you see.”

Mouth opening in surprise, Dream draws closer, inspecting the telescope. It’s true. It’s made out of a mixture of wood and metal. If he reaches a hand out to touch the barrel, he runs the risk of getting a blister. Despite this, it is pretty, the rough wood a nice texture, the cool metal that frames the edges, that makes up the legs and the viewing port a nice difference, a good compliment. He cannot see too many details—again, too dark—but he can tell that a lot of work was put into it.

Shifting his gaze, he finds Blue’s gaze. “It’s amazing. How did you build it?”

Shrugging, gaze dropping back to his fiddling, Blue mumbles. “It’s nothing special, really…just wanted to make something to look closer at the stars…”

Beside him, Ink groans. “Don’t be silly, Blue.” Scooting over, he leans against Dream’s back, his breath warming the side of his skull as he whispers into where his ear would be if he was based on a human. “I keep telling him not to be so modest. It never sticks.” Getting louder, he leans forward even more, pointing at Blue and his telescope. “You built it to prove to your classmates that you didn’t get into school by chance. You built it because you knew you could. You built it with your heart, with determination—that’s how you built it.”

It seems Blue is unused to so many compliments in a row, the flush creeping back in, but Dream can tell that this is a proud flush, not an embarrassed one. “Bit more to it than that, but I suppose…and I can tell that I need to change the glass—I don’t think this was the correct cut. I need to change other things a bit, too, as it’s not zooming in as much as I want it to…” The longer he speaks, the more confident he gets, the more relaxed. He is in his comfort zone now, talking about his telescope, about the intricacies of it.

As he rambles, Dream glances over his shoulder to Ink, finding him looking at Blue with a smile far gentler than his grins were. This one, he can tell, is only used for moments like this, looking at someone he loves. Oh, how much he loves Blue…the emotion is like flying up into the sky, being among all the stars, all the lights, and closing your eyes and letting yourself fall, the euphoria in letting go.

It makes Dream’s essence pulse in tandem, like a heart skipping a beat.

However, in doing this, it reminds him of how different he is to these mortals. Why he puts them all in danger the longer he stays.

If Nightmare were to catch him like this…it would not be worse than the others, but it would mean being on lockdown. He would not be able to go anywhere without his brother breathing down his back, watching his every move, through his own eye or one of his familiars’. His brother is paranoid, afraid of what the others have done. If he sees this, he will worry that the others have as well, that the same thing that happened to him will happen to Dream…

He should leave. He should leave, right now.

But…

Tuning out of the conversation, Dream looks down at the book in his hands, runs his fingers over the leather, feeling an indentation where Ink has carved his name.

Ink has given him his sketchbook, obviously a weighted responsibility with the way they were talking earlier. Then there’s Blue and his telescope, which he built from the ground up with his own two hands, and the way lying in his arms was so comforting—he wants to know everything about them both. Why build things? Why draw things? Why create things?

These two mortals are the first ones he’s spoken to in a long, long time. Since before Nightmare’s incident and the law was fashioned. He wants to know how things have changed from last time, how much progress they’ve made as a society—he has heard of an Industrial Revolution, would like to know about it from the eye of mortals, maybe even see the changes it had made for himself. He longs for it, an ache in his bones that he cannot ignore any longer, has so many questions and two people able to answer these questions sitting so close to him.

It's dangerous to stay…but it would be terrible to leave.

The mortals deemed him selfless, to never act for himself. They might have had good intentions at first, but they quickly grew greedy with their order and wishes, and the gift turned into a curse, a prison. He has spent so long behind these bars, watching mortals grow close with one another, watched the others dictate the laws of the universe like they were the only deciding factor of it. He has watched mortals revolt tyranny all on their own, watched them write into their laws time after time some version of free will, that everyone has the right to be who they are, all of themselves, without judgement, without prohibition.

Perhaps the same can be true of a God…

Perhaps the same can be true of him.

There is a first for everything, and so Dream decides to try and be selfish, sitting down on the blanket to stay in the mortals’ company for a little while longer.