#team green slowly slowly coming to love the full moon instead of fearing it

[kyber-kisses]

Hung The Moon 2/2

Dean Winchester x Reader

read part 1 here

Warnings: descriptions of wounds, Angst, worried!Dean.

Summary: After a hunting accident takes one of the things the reader holds most dear, Dean tries to help put her back together.

A/n: this took forever to write but I actually am okay with how it came out in the end! (Gif not mine, credit goes to owner.)

It was quiet.

Dean had tried to move past how quiet it was, but as the days moved by slowly it began to take its toll on him. The sounds of your laughter and voice had melted from the bunker. It’s absence making the air feel heavier.

He had been squeezing his whiskey glass tight enough to the point in which there were indents in his hands from the carvings on the glass- but he didn't care. He had been getting more and more on edge these past few weeks, ever since the accident.

“How is she?”

“The same. I don’t know what else to tell you.” Cas sighed, stepping into the library as he gave his friend a weary look. Ever since Cas saw him and Sam walk out of that house with you carefully balanced in his arms, Dean had sunk into a hole. A deep, dark hole in which he blamed himself for this happening to you.

“Sam is trying to talk to her, isn’t he?” He sighed, his faded green eyes locking on some point in the distance as he took another swig.

“Yes. I’ve healed her to the best of my ability- but like I said before; the rest is on her.”

Dean tried to hide the wince he made at the words, but he couldn’t help it. Cas was an angel. He was supposed to able to heal her. Really heal her and make her better. Now, sure he was grateful that he saved your life. But a part of you was still gone.

“She won’t even try. You know that Cas.”

The cogs in his head suddenly deciding to replay that moment weeks ago when you had woken up in your bed back in the safety of the bunker.

“Dean. I think she’s waking up.” Sam called, sticking his head out of the door, successfully grabbing his brothers attention. Dean having decided to hide out in the hallway instead of at your bedside. The shock of still finding you hanging in that basement fresh in his mind. But quick footstep took him through the threshold of the door and to your side.

kneeling down, he reached out for your hand, giving it a light squeeze.“Y/N?”

Slowly stirring back into consciousness, you blinked, chest quickly rising and falling  as you tried to make sense of where you were, along with remembering what had happened. Eyebrows knotted together in confusion as your pupils filled with fear. All you could think about was that damn noose . . .and Toni.

You wanted to scream. The same fear as in those moments rippling through you in heavy waves. But no sound came out when you tried. All that escaped your lips was rapid breaths as you tried to understand what was going on. How did you get home? How did you survive being hanged? And why couldn’t you speak?

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. Your okay, don’t talk.”

Talk? Talk?! You had just tried to scream and found that you were incapable of that. The realization of what had happened sinking into you, ushering tears to your eyes as they quickly skid down the sides of your face.

The sheer and silent panic on your face made Deans heart drop. Your hands weakly dragging against his shoulders as you continued to try and break the silence. Finding nothing.

“Cas, I thought you said you healed her!?”

“I did what I was capable of doing, I already told you that. But Dean. . . I don’t know if she’ll be able to speak again.”

Your heads spun in unison, somehow managing to fill your eyes with even more panic. You couldn’t ask him to repeat what he had just said. No more talking? How were you supposed to live knowing you couldn’t say another word?

Your rapid breathing quickly coming back with a vengeance as dread settled deep in your core. Deans hands going to your shoulders to keep you steady. “Hey, hey calm down. You keep doing this and your gonna hyperventilate.”

Hyperventilate? That’s what he was worried about? No. No this was too much. You were being crowded and you had just been told you might never speak again. Jaw clenching, you quickly shook your head, pushing Dean away. You wanted him gone. You wanted them all gone.

“Y/N, wait one second-“

You shoved him again, trying your best to keep your emotions at bay until you had your room to yourself. Your insides screaming at them to get out.

“Y/N-“

Get out! Get out! Get out!

“Dean, I think we should leave. C’mon man.” Sam practically having to drag his brother from the room. Both their eyes filled with grief before being blocked by the door as Cas shut it behind him.

As the knob clicked, you dropped all barriers and crumpled- finding even that your cries had gone silent.

*. *. *. *. *. *.

It had been almost a full month since the incident. You rarely left your room, finding that it was too difficult to be around others- especially when you couldn’t have a conversation with any of them. On top of that you couldn’t stand the sympathetic looks they all gave you, especially Dean.

When you did leave your room on the rare occasion you slipped on your headphones as a sort of mask, hoping that if they saw you with them on they wouldn’t bother to approach you. You never played music though, because that was another thing. You couldn’t sing along anymore.

In the beginning you tried drowning yourself in Netflix but quickly found that it only made you angry. You watched characters laugh and have conversations and it just reminded you that you couldn’t no longer do that. You tried yoga, you tried mediation, you tried writing and drawing. But nothing could fill the void that was speech.

But the thing you missed the very most, above all others, was talking to Dean. You missed cracking jokes with him and getting into heated discussions about the dumbest things. You missed teaming up with him to tease Sam and singing classic rocks songs with him in the impala.

And above that; you now didn’t even have the choice to tell him that you loved him. That you were in love with him.

Maybe this was your punishment for not telling him to begin with? Now you really were forced to suffer in silence.

“Y/N, you should really try talking. Cas says he’s healed you all that he can. Now is no better time.”

And then there was Sam. Sweet, innocent Sam who was just trying his best to help you. Sitting besides him on the foot of your bed all you wanted to do was tell him it was pointless. There was nothing there. You knew that. The false hope he was trying to hand you making you look towards the floor.

Yeah, you could always try talking- but you weren’t going to. Because what if you did and it only revealed the truth you already believed. That your voice was gone and there was no getting it back. You didn’t want to go through another round of that pain.

Using what little sign language you did know, you signed at him to leave. The younger Winchester hesitating before standing up and heading towards the door with a sigh. But before he left he turned once more. “You know, Dean misses you. He won’t admit it out loud but It’s easy to see that he does. He’s really worried about you.”

Pulling the Dean card. Nice one Sam. Inhaling, you turned your head away from him, signaling the end of your conversation. . . If you could even call it that. You also didn’t need him to see the tears rapidly forming in your eyes. Unlike Cas and Sam you had actively been trying to avoid Dean at all costs. You didn’t want him to see you like this. It was embarrassing and pathetic.

“Alright, well I think Dean made dinner, so if you want to go grab some you can.” There was a soft click and like so many times before you were left to the silence of your room.

*. *. *. *. *. *.

You eventually mustered up enough energy to leave the confines of your room around an hour later. You pulled on a hoodie, adjusted your headphones around your ears and ventured down the hallway, finally giving in to your rumbling stomach.

It was only when you were about to turn into the war room did you hear the raised voices through the muffled padding of your headphones, making you slow in your tracks and listen.

“Dean, just try talking to her. Cas and I have been unable to get through to her- but maybe if you-“

“Sam, I can’t okay! Haven’t you seen that she actively avoids me like the damn plague?! I don’t want to make her more uncomfortable than she already is!”

They were talking about you. Of course they were talking about you. You probably should have walked in and shut them up with your sudden presence but you stayed still, only moving to ever so slightly raise one of the headphones from your ear.

“You’re not even going to try? Why the hell not?!”

“Because I love her, dammit! Now I told myself I would never admit it or say it out loud because I ain’t that type of person- but I do!”

That was all it took to make you freeze over fully. After the initial wave of shock and surprise made it through your system you suddenly found yourself overwhelmed with rage.

“Dean-“

“No, you don’t get it! I don’t do . . . Love. We’re hunters and if I let myself fall fully. . . Then it will get her killed!”

“Dean, that’s not-“

“Sam, it’s true and you know it is! We care about people and they immediately get a target drawn on their back! Hell, that’s the whole reason why she almost died to begin with!”

“So what, you’re not going to tell her?”

“No! I’m not! Because me openly loving her is going to get her killed!”

Your jaw clenched at his words, hands suddenly itching to hit him. He actually had the choice- the voice to tell you how he felt and he wasn’t going to take it. You spent most of your life believing that someone as perfect as him could never love you. . . And here he actually did- only to choose to bury it in silence.

Holding back the oncoming tears you snapped the headphones back on, once more using them as a shield. You picked your head up, inhaled deeply and casually strode into the room. Your arrival successfully shutting the older Winchester up, his mouth snapping shut as his eyes slightly widened.

“Y/N.”

You did your best to pay little attention to him, trying to keep your destination in mind. The kitchen. All you had to do was get to the damn kitchen. You could see it in his eyes though as you passed him; did she hear me? Does she know what I just said?

Instead you gave him a mock confused stare, briskly walking past him. If you had walked slower there was no doubt that you would have actually hit him.

And you thought you were a coward. . .

*. *. *. *. *. *.

It had been almost a week since you heard Deans outburst. In which you had chosen to entirely ignore his existence all together. Before when you had just been avoiding him, if you did happen to bump into him you acknowledged it. Not anymore.

And Dean was doing no better. He barely recognized you when he did see you pass by in the hall. It was like you were just a shell of your former self. He didn’t know if he would ever see you smile again or even acknowledge him. Each time you walked past without so much as a glance in his direction he felt his heart fracture a little more.

All he wanted was to help you. Put you back together it whatever way he could. But it was a difficult feat when you wanted nothing to do with him.

Slouched over the kitchen table, Dean focused his eyes on the steaming blackness of the coffee in front of him, barely acknowledging his brother as he walked into the room.

“You tried talking to her again, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, well someone has to try and clearly that wasn’t gonna be you.”

Dean let out a sigh, eyes rolling as he did. “Well she hates my guts so there’s that.”

“She doesn’t hate your guts.”

“Then why does she keep ignoring me? It’s like I don’t fucking exist!” He quickly stood up, suddenly finding that he couldn’t sit still.

At the same time you were rounding the corner, you could see the beginnings of another one of Deans outbursts, his hands flying as he yelled- and right into the path of his coffee cup.

Before you could even register what you where doing you let out a hoarse yell, rushing forward to grab his arm to stop it from connecting with the mug and sending it to the floor.

You had successfully startled both brothers, Deans eyes widening before he let out a small breath, his jade irises lighting up. “Y/N, you just spoke!”

At the realization you dropped his wrist, taking a step back as your hand went to your throat. Spoke was a bit of stretch, but he was right. It had been ragged and slightly warped but it was there. You could feel the soreness that came with it too. It felt like you had swallowed a handful of pebbles. In other words it hurt like hell and it didn't sound at all like you.

Dean could see that all too well. How you winced when you swallowed, even more so when you coughed.

“Y/N?”

You didn’t let him continue before you turned quickly, exiting the kitchen just as fast as you had entered it. Sam sent his brother a quick glare, silently telling him to go after you- in which this time he complied.

“Y/N, wait!”

You didn’t. Instead you picked up your pace, wanting nothing more than to get back to your room and ignore what had just happened.

“Dammit Y/N, I said wait!” A firm hand came down on your shoulder, halting you from going any further. In a quick maneuver you spun around, slapping him firmly across the cheek, watching his free hand go to his face is surprise.

“The hell was that for?!”

Raising your eyebrows you wrenched yourself from his grasp, continuing down the hallway.

“Would you just talk to me, please?”

Slowing down you shot him a look from over your shoulder. Did you seriously just say that?

“Sorry, force of habit. Just let me speak. All I want is for you to listen.”

Pausing outside the threshold of your room, you contemplated your options before finally giving in and motioning with your head for him to step inside.

“Okay, so I know you’re mad at me- but at this point I don’t care what about. I just want to help you. Please let me help you.”

Sinking down into your desk chair, you allowed Dean to seat himself on the edge of your bed, his elbows resting on his knees as he leaned foreword.

“I don’t even recognize you anymore. I don’t see your usual light.”

Sucking in a breath you reached across your desk, grabbing the notepad and pen that had been slowly collecting dust over the past several weeks, the pen flying across the paper as you jotted down a response. Handing over the pad a moment later into his calloused hands.

You don’t see that light in me? That’s because she snuffed it out. She took my light and she took my ability to speak.

Dean sat up straighter as he read the words, looking at you with a new determination and curiosity. “She? Y/N do you know who did this to you?”

Grabbing the notepad back you wrote the four letter name that made Deans blood boil as he read it. Toni. He was gonna kill her. He was gonna kill her and every other one of those British bastards for what they did to you.

You debated for a moment wether to write down what else you were thinking, watching Deans facial expressions as his jaw clenched.

I heard what you said

“When I said what?”

He was playing dumb. You could see it in his eyes. He knew what you were talking about but he was choosing not to admit to it. You snatched the pad back again, forcefully underlining the words once more.

I Heard What You Said

“Y/N, I-“

Holding up a hand you quickly silenced him. You weren’t going to take anymore of his shit. You wanted him to admit to it.

You actually have an opportunity to tell me. To use your words. So say it. Because I can’t.

You could see the clear guilt written all over his face as his eyes went over your words, his shoulders falling in defeat. You were doing a really fine job at making him feel like shit.

“I- I don’t know how. If you heard me then you know that I don’t — I’m not that type of person.”

God you wanted to yell at him. You wanted to yell at him so badly. He had a voice still. Did he not know how lucky he was?

You know, right before Toni kicked that chair out from under me, all I could think about was how I would never get the chance to tell you that I love you. That I’m in love with you. And now I know you feel the same and you are choosing not to say those words. You still have a voice so use it.

You hadn’t noticed the droplets of water collecting on the page as you rapidly wrote, the tears slightly blurring some of your words. But you no longer cared. Instead you passed the notepad back, quickly wiping your face with your sleeve and training your eyes on the ground.

Deans eyes ate up the words slowly, allowing him time to process as he did. Now he really did feel awful.

“You’re- you’re in love with me?”

A massive part of him was still telling him not to acknowledge it. He was afraid like before that if he let something happen between you that you really would meet your demise. But his love for you overpowered those thoughts in the end, beating them back violently. You deserved to know that you were loved. . . And by no one more than him.

“Y/N, I am so sorry.” Leaving your bed, he came to kneel in front of you, reaching out to grasp your hands in his. “You’re right. I shouldn’t hold back things. If I- if I had known.” He found it hard to come up with words, everything catching in his throat like molasses. He wasn’t good at this. “When I saw you hanging there in that basement I thought you were dead. I blamed myself for it too. That I wasn’t fast enough. That I brought you into this. I put your blood on my hands the second I realized it was you I was looking at.”

You quickly turned your head away once more, not wanting him to see you cry. You understood where he was coming from. And now you couldn’t even reassure and comfort him like you had done so many times before. You felt utterly useless.

“Hey, hey look at me-“ a gentle hand cupped the side of your face, turning you back towards him. “I was wrong to think I should just bury my feelings to keep you safe. You deserve to hear it and know that I do love you. God, I love you more than I thought possible.” Thumbing away the tears that had rolled down your face, he tried to read your expression.

And like a sheet being pulled back, you let yourself crumple. Dean loved you. You already knew that from before but this time he was saying it to you. 

Sliding out of the chair you fell into Deans arms, letting your sobs loose. You wanted to say the words back. That’s all you wanted. You would give anything to just be able to clearly say those three words.

“It’s alright. I got you.” Dean shushed you, allowing you to let your emotions out. They had been bottled up for so long that it was like a dam had broken inside you. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to be filled with so many thoughts and being unable to voice them.

You almost flinched when at the small touch as Dean brushed your cheek with the backs of his fingers, continuing to wipe the tears away. The small action making you slowly pull your head back to connect your eyes with his. There was some unspoken thing passed through the gaze and then his hand was on the back of your neck, pulling you closer to press his lips against yours. It was only then did it feel like you were taking your first breath of fresh air since the incident.

“I know your voice is still in there somewhere. It’s just gonna take a little time to find, you got that?” He pulled away just enough to speak, resting is forehead against your own. “And then when we find it, you can shower me with how much you love me, how does that sound? I’ll be your voice when you need one until then.” A smile tugging on his lips only when the beginnings of your own began to appear.

“I love you Y/N, and you deserve to hear it.”

The End.

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[agnezztealeaf]

To Unmask a Witch - AroWriMo 2020

@arowrimo

Language: English (though not my first language so sorry about potential errors)

Category: Short story

Prompt: Friendship/Week 3

Genre: Fantasy

Word count: 4457 words

CW: Discussions around amatonormativity and heteronormativity, references to blood and violence

To Unmask a Witch

It wasn’t that the cottage at the outskirts of the village was actually run-down or dilapidated, but if you squinted and looked at it through your eyelashes in dim light, you could imagine that it could be. It wasn’t that it was a ruckle, it was that the children thought it should be one.

You see, if a witch lived in a cottage, then that cottage should be falling apart, its windows murky with mould, the roof broken and roof shingles scattered on the garden path and in the flowerbeds, and the garden a mess of weeds and rotting greens. It felt insulting, the children thought, that an otherwise perfectly scary and threatening witch should live in such a charming and well-kept little house. So, when they hid in the forest near the cottage, staking it out, or walked past it on their way to a friend’s house, they squinted and imagined what should have been there, instead of what really was.

The children were lying on the ground, stomachs flat against the musty dirt of the forest floor, wet, brown leaves sticking to their clothes. Five of them there were: William – the team leader, Siv – the clown of the group, Vers – the sensible one, Ty – the troublemaker, and Mouse – their newest recruit. Mouse was seven years old and had quite recently lost both her front teeth on the upper row, a fact she was secretly delighted by. Her sister hade bestowed the name Mouse upon her, courtesy of her greyish-brown hair and her big grey eyes. Mouse hadn’t yet decided what she thought about this nickname.

“Look!” William exclaimed. He pointed excitedly at the cottage that they all wished was a ruckle. In the garden, they could see the old witch moving about, poking at flowers, pulling up weeds, gently pushing her cats away with her feet when they ran in front of her. The children all watched her intently – they wanted to see her do something witchy, something that would once and for all confirm their suspicions about her being an old, evil hag. She was peculiarly dressed. She seemed to be wearing multiple skirts, all made from fabric of different material and colour, her neck was heavily weighed down by a cluster of necklaces – chains made from silver and gold, wooden balls of various colours and sizes, and some that looked like they were nothing more than string. Under all the necklaces she was wearing a tightly laced tunic, and on top of them, she was wearing a cloak in a mild, green colour, though she was predisposed to take it off if the sun as much as showed its face through the clouds. Her long white hair was pulled into a sturdy braid that snaked down her back. They watched her as she once again discarded the cloak on a nearby tree branch.

Ty claimed that she lured children into her cottage to cook them up in her cauldron and eat them (Ty had no basis for this statement, but he felt like it was probably true. That was what witches did, after all, wasn’t it?). Siv claimed that she had once seen her dancing naked at midnight under the full moon out on the moors north of the village (Siv had not, she wasn’t allowed outside after nine o’clock in the evening). Vers claimed that she had isolated herself from society when she at a young age had realised that magic was far better than having friends (Vers wasn’t sure she disagreed with this sentiment). And William claimed that she had turned to dark magic after she turned down a man’s romantic advances and he cursed her to never find love (William’s parents owned the village grocery store, and as with a lot of small villages, they did not only offer goods, but also a friendly face to exchange a few words with. It had become one of William’s favourite pastimes to sit hidden under the counter, listening to the local gossip. The rumours that reached his ears were many, but that did not mean they gave an anywhere near accurate account of reality).

Mouse claimed nothing at all about the witch. As a newcomer to the group, she held no authority on what the witch might or might not do. Not that she minded, she was thrilled to hear what the other children had to say about the witch. Every time they told Mouse a new story about her-

(“Do you remember Hugo, the kid that disappeared last year, that they said got lost in the woods? Well, I saw the witch talking to a toad that she kept in a glass jar on her windowsill, and she called it Hugo. She totally turned Hugo into a toad!” This was also a story brought to her by Ty, who seemed to take great delight in the concept of the witch turning her evil tendencies towards children, which was peculiar, as Ty himself was a child. Hugo had indeed disappeared in the woods a year prior, though whether any witches or, in particular, this witch, had had anything to do with it was dubious. To be fair to Ty, the witch did have a toad called Hugo. She did not, however, keep it in a glass jar.)

-Mouse could feel her stomach curdle up with excitement and fear – a delightful feeling to have as long as she was on a safe distance from the witch.

They watched the witch walk back into the house, open one of the windows, apparently to put a batch of pastries out on the windowsill to cool, and then exit the cottage with a handwoven basket rested in the crook of her arm.

“She’s probably left to collect toadstools and wasp stingers for the potions she brews at night,” Siv said with an excited grin.

Ty’s eyes were firmly on the open window. “We should break in,” he said suddenly, impulsively. “Find evidence of what she’s doing in there.”

“Don’t be daft!” Vers replied without even really listening to what he was saying, that was just her standard response to anything Ty suggested.

William looked at Ty, and then back to the open window before looking at Mouse, a wicked grin spreading over his brown-freckled face. “Mouse,” he said in a very serious voice, “for you to be a part of our gang, we need to know that you’re brave.” Mouse’s stomach lurched, but she sucked in her lower lip through the gap in her teeth and kept her big grey eyes firmly at his. “We need you to break into the witch’s house and find evidence.”

Siv laughed a burst of delighted, shrill laughter, and Ty made an exasperated gesture with his hands. “Come on! There’s no way she can do it! I mean look at her!”

William silenced him with a look. “If you really want to be a part of our gang,” he told Mouse, “you need to do this.”

Mouse swallowed and looked at the open window. It wouldn’t be very hard for her to slip in through it, she was slight, and the window was big, and they’d all seen the witch leave, there was probably no risk of being discovered rummaging through her drawers. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

Both Siv and Ty laughed uproariously. William nodded, clearly pleased, though whether it was with himself or with Mouse was hard to tell. Vers was twining a blade of grass around her index finger, her attention placed firmly on the ground (if you knew her, you would be able to tell that this was a sign of discomfort on her part – a sign that she didn’t agree with the plan being made – but no one asked her what she thought and she kept silent).

Since waiting would only increase the risk of the witch returning from her errands, Mouse slowly pulled herself up to her feet and started moving down the hill, from the edge of the forest towards the cottage. She could feel her knees shaking under her, but didn’t dare to stop, in case one of the other children would think her a coward. She reached the window, and after firmly lifting a cat away from the windowsill she nimbly slipped inside, making sure not to touch the pastries lined up on the plate on the windowsill (though she was pretty sure the cat had already gotten to them).

Who would have known it would be that easy to break into a witch’s house? As Mouse looked around the kitchen she had just entered, she was first struck by how tidy the room was. She’d thought a witch’s home would be grimy and gross. Imagined tables covered in burn marks and blood, the walls lined with jars filled with things of dubious origin, like dead frogs and eyeballs floating in transparent liquids, and maybe a few dried up fingers hanging from the roof beams. At the very least she’d have thought there should be some dust and dirt, and maybe the occasional spiderweb in the corners.

But the cottage was tidy and as cosy on the inside as it was on the outside. The floors were covered in maroon-coloured stone tiles, in places covered up by hand-woven carpets in natural colours, and the biggest window had an almost excessive amount of plants in front of it. The bookshelves were filled with books and teacups with floral patterns, and an orange teakettle stood on the stove. There was something hanging from the roof beams, but it seemed to be dried plants and flowers, rather than something interesting to Mouse.

Looking around the room, Mouse realised that she had not asked what kind of evidence the other children required her to bring back, as she had thought it would become obvious once she discovered what devious plots were taking place inside the house. As it was, the most devious plot there seemed to be, was a teacup sitting on the table without a coaster, and a book lying next to it, its spine bent completely backwards as if the reader had been holding it open with one hand.

She swept her gaze over the kitchen, wondering where she should start looking for the requested evidence. Her friends seemed to have very clear ideas about what made a witch a witch, and Mouse felt sure that they would have known where to look for corresponding evidence. As it was, she timidly walked over to one of the kitchen cabinets and pulled it open. It held nothing interesting, just jars of flour and sugar and conserved beets. She opened another cabinet, this one filled with spices. In a third, she found a book with recipes, and she opened it in the hopes that they would detail some wicked witch-potions, rather than normal human food. (They didn’t, though it could be, and had been, argued that the chicken soup on page 37 was more poison than food). Chewing on the tip of her braid, she flipped through the book, her gaze skipping over the longer, more complicated words – her reading wasn’t that good, and she just needed to find some suspicious words or pictures to prove her theory.

She didn’t hear the door open behind her, or the floorboards creak under the weight of a person, but she did hear the startled “Oh! Hello.” Mouse spun around where she squatted on the floor, the recipe book falling from her grasp with a dull thud. In front of her stood the witch, a surprised crease between her eyebrows and her mouth hanging slightly open. “I’m sorry,” she said, still looking confused. “But what are you doing in my house?”

Mouse shrank back against the cabinets, trying to distance her body as much as possible from the witch. The witch put down the basket she was holding and hung her cloak on a hook by the door. Then she took a hesitant step towards Mouse.

“My friends say you’re a witch!” Mouse squeaked out, sounding about as brave as she looked. To her surprise this made the witch laugh. A big, burly laugh that seemed to start in her stomach and run through the entire length of her, before tumbling out of her mouth in a series of short, powerful thrusts.

She bent over her knees, laughter shaking her body, and when she straightened again, she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “Oh really? Is that what they’re saying about me nowadays?” she asked, still chuckling.

“I’m here for evidence,” Mouse said, stubbornly sticking out her chin and slowly getting to her feet.

“I’m sure you are,” the witch replied with a smile, raising an eyebrow. “So,” she walked over to her kitchen table and started picking green, fresh-smelling herbs from her basket, “what’s your name then?”

“Mouse,” Mouse said. She wondered if she should make a run for the door, but the witch fascinated her, and this close up, where she could see the crow’s feet around the witch’s eyes and the dimple in her wrinkled cheek when she smiled, she found that the threat of the old woman cooking her and eating her didn’t feel as present as it had in the company of the other children.

“Mouse!” the witch said, sounding delighted. “That’s a solid nickname right there!” She reached out her right hand towards Mouse. “Nice to meet you, Mouse, I’m Amica.”

Timidly, Mouse took the witch’s hand in her own, shaking it once before quickly letting go. Amica chuckled. “Well, Mouse, do you want some raspberry juice?”

Not knowing what else to do, Mouse nodded.

“Sit down.” The witch pointed to one of the chairs at the wooden table. Slowly Mouse walked over and sat down on the edge of the chair. It was a bit low, so the table reached all the way up to her chest, but she leaned her arms against it and watched the witch pour two glasses of juice.

Resting her chin on her arms, Mouse asked, “Did you turn Hugo into a toad?”

“Who?” asked the witch, looking mystified.

“The boy that disappeared last year.”

“Ah. No. He managed to disappear all on his own.” The witch’s mouth became thin, thoughtful. “It was all a very sad story.” She put a glass in front of Mouse. “Do you want a Danish pastry too?” she asked, waving towards the pastries on the windowsill.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Mouse was sure someone had definitely warned her about this exact type of situation – something about not taking sweets from strangers – but she still found her mouth forming the words “Yes, please,” before her brain had had any say in the matter.

The witch put a plate with a Danish in front of each of them, and then sat down opposite to Mouse.

“So,” she said, looking serious, “did your friends put you up to this? Breaking and entering?”

Mouse squirmed in her seat, “A bit,” she admitted, but then, because she didn’t want to pin all the blame on her friends, she hastily added “but I wanted to, too. I-” She looked down. “I just wanted to know if you were really a witch.”

“Well. You can’t let your friends bully you into doing things that are illegal.” Amica bit down into her Danish. She did not add that she herself had partaken in more than one illegal activity when she was young. And in a few of them when she wasn’t that young anymore. “Oh, go on,” she said, waving towards Mouse’s plate. “Take a bite, I’m not trying to poison you.”

Timidly, Mouse took a bite of a corner of the Danish (her thoughts brushed briefly against the memory of the cat she had lifted from the windowsill, but what child would say no to something sweet, just because a cat might have stepped on it?). She had to angle her head in an awkward position to take the bite, as half of her front teeth were still missing. The Danish tasted sweet and greasy and wonderful, and she hastily took another bite. The middle of the pastry had a hollow filled with jam (also raspberry, Mouse noted), and Mouse stuck her tongue into the jam, revelling in the taste it left in her mouth.

Amica smiled at her. She reached for a napkin and handed it to Mouse. “You have some jam on your cheek.”

Mouse reluctantly took the napkin and patted it to her cheek. “My dad says I’ll never find a husband if I don’t learn to eat like a lady.”

“Dear Lord. You are a child. The prospect of finding a partner should be nowhere in your mind. Honestly, I think everyone would do well if they thought a bit less about finding a spouse.”

Remembering what William had said about the witch, Mouse dug deep into her courage and asked, “Is it true that you can’t fall in love?”

The witch looked surprised. “Who told you that?”

“One of my friends,” Mouse murmured. “William Steel.” She added when her first answer felt inadequate.

The witch laughed her deep belly-laughter again, wiping her mouth on her shirtsleeve. “William Steel, of course! That boy needs to learn to be more source-critical when eavesdropping on his parents’ customers.” When Mouse kept looking at her, she continued. “I’m in love with so many things it’s hard to keep track of them. I’m in love with how dew-wet grass feels under my bare feet. I’m in love with how the earth smells after it’s been raining all day. I’m in love with the way ice crackles under my feet when I walk an unthreaded path in the winter. I’m in love with mist, and deer, and the moon, and mushrooms, and bugs. I’m in love with the way my friends laugh, and the way cats always move around to find sunny spots to sleep in and the way the plants in my garden grow even when I’m bad at taking care of them. I’m in love with the entire world!” She finished, her eyes shining.

Mouse frowned. “That’s not what I meant! I meant, like, with a person! Don’t you have a husband?”

The witch laughed again. “Oh, dear Lord, no.”

“A wife? You have to have someone.”

“My dear girl, in this world, everyone will always tell you that you need to find someone. Someone who will make your half a whole, as if you’re not a whole person on your own. And I want you to hear me when I tell you that they are wrong. There are more things to life than romance.”

Mouse was not ready to let the subject go. “So, you’ve never been in love with someone then?”

The witch smiled kindly at her. “No. I haven’t.”

“Because you were cursed?”

“Dear Lord. Is that what they’re saying about me? That I’ve been cursed to never fall in love?”

Mouse just stared at her intently, her chin resting uncomfortably against the edge of the glass in front of her.

“I haven’t been cursed. That’s just how I am. I don’t fall in love.”

“Doesn’t that make you… sad?”

“No! I find happiness in other things. Like my friends, and nature, and my cats.”

“And you’re not lonely?”

There was a beat of silence, the witch’s eyes fixed at Mouse, and for a second Mouse wondered if she had pushed too far. Then Amica gave her a tight-lipped smile. “I wouldn’t say that I’m lonely, no. I have a lot of wonderful friends, and my cats, and sometimes,” she leaned closer, her smile growing, “a child breaks into my home when I’m out.”

Mouse flushed and hastily took another sip of her juice, but Amica just laughed her burly laugh again and leaned back in her chair, the sombre expression gone from her face.

Mouse thoughtfully swirled her glass in her hands, making the juice still left slop against the sides of the glass. “I don’t think I want to marry anyone either.”

“And you don’t have to,” Amica said decisively, emptying her own glass.

Mouse finished her Danish, and dried off her hands on her trousers, leaving streaks of powdered sugar and grease down the length of her thighs. “You know what? I like you.”

The witch laughed again. “So, you’re not thinking I’m a witch anymore then?”

Mouse bit her lip. “I don’t know… but I don’t think you’re an evil witch, even if you are a witch.”

“That’s good,” Amica said with a chuckle. “So, what about your friends? Are you going to tell them that I’m not evil?”

“I suppose so…” Mouse said hesitantly.

“Or,” the witch said, a conspiratorial smile spreading over her face, “we could play a little prank on your friends…” She laid out a plan that was far too cruel to be justified, but Amica had never really managed to get rid of that mischievous streak that had made her such a menace in her youth. Faced with Mouse’s big grey eyes staring into hers, she winced, and her smile disappeared in a blink, replaced by a worried and slightly bashful look. “Oh Lord, I’m sorry. Is that too ghastly? I forget that you’re a child.”

But an excited smile was taking over Mouse’s face, her cheeks turning flushed and alive, and her eyes shining with an impish glint.

Up on the hill, the other four children were arguing. They had seen the witch return home, and no Mouse emerge from the house, and they were starting to get worried.

“What were you thinking, sending her in there alone?” Vers asked, pushing William in the chest so that he stumbled backwards.

“She’s probably dead by now,” Ty muttered, his eyes big and anxious.

Vers swirled around towards him. “And you! Why did you even think breaking into the witch’s house was a good idea? You’re all idiots! Now our friend is gone!”

“I’m sorry!” Ty cried. “I thought it would be funny!”

Siv stood clinging to a big oak at the forest’s edge, her brown eyes wide and white in her tanned face, her gaze almost compulsively fixed on the witch’s cottage. Her lips were pressed tight, and she had been silent in a very un-Siv-like manner ever since Mouse had entered the house.

William sniffled. “I didn’t think she’d actually do it.” Tears were clinging to his eyelashes and as he spoke again his voice broke. “Now she’s dead, and it’s all my fault!” This took them all aback enough to stop the arguing. They had never seen William as much as second-guess a decision, much less cry. He looked past the trees, to the house, his shoulders shaking.

Vers took a step towards him. “Okay, that settles it. We need to get the police.”

“What?” Ty said, questioning. “We can’t go to the police! We’re the ones who broke into her house!”

Vers turned towards him, her eyes burning with intensity. “Ty, she might be dying in there! We need to get some adults here!”

Siv suddenly gasped. “Wait! I can see someone moving down there!” They all ran out to the edge of the woods and screamed with delight when they saw little Mouse running towards them, her braids bouncing against her back with every step she took.

“What is she holding? Why are her hands all red?” William asked, confused. It was true, her lower arms and her white shirt sleeves, all the way up to her elbows, were covered in red, and when the thing in her hand glinted in the sun, they realised that she was holding a small pocketknife.

They all startled when the door to the cottage opened with a slam, and the witch stumbled out, clutching her stomach, where a great, big, red stain tarnished her tunic. “Get back here!” she growled, panting as she stumbled after Mouse.

Mouse was already almost at the other children, the knife still clutched in her hand. “I stabbed her! I stabbed the witch!” she screamed. “She wanted to cook and eat me, and I stabbed her to get away!” The other children stared in horror, at the blood and the knife, and the witch, now on her knees in her garden, panting heavily. Then the witch threw her head back towards the sky and started chanting, a low guttural song that seemed to come from deep in her throat. She reached out her hand, covered in red blood, towards the children and Mouse bellowed “RUN!”. Without further questions, the children all sprinted into the forest, howling with fear.

In the garden, Amica chuckled and slowly got to her feet. She was too old to be playing these kinds of theatrics anymore. She looked down at her ruined tunic. Turned out that in a pinch, raspberry juice worked as a rather convincing substitute for blood. The juice would probably be a pain to get out of the fabric though. Now that she considered it, she would probably be receiving a stern telling-off by Mouse’s parents for ruining Mouse’s white shirt sometime in the foreseeable future. Not to mention the rest of the parents of the children she had probably slightly traumatised.

Oh well, she didn’t like bullies and found that she didn’t feel too sorry for them. Either way, apologies would have to wait. She went back into her cottage, exchanging her stained tunic for a clean one, and leaving the old one in a bucket in the washroom to soak. She fastened her cloak around herself and put on a hat, making sure that all loose strands of hair were firmly kept out of her face. Picking up her bag, she for a second mourned the loss of her pocketknife – she’d need it the next time she wanted to pick mushrooms – but maybe she could convince Mouse to return it when she got back. She grabbed her broom from the closet and went out into the backyard. The thought of her friends – sweet Valter with his crooked grin and endless nonsense-monologues, Farah, their bag always heavy with books and their thoughts with knowledge, and wonderful, wonderful Gwen with her long spindly fingers tracing lifelines in palms and pulling tarot cards from hidden skirt pockets – sent joy singing through her. The broom handle was firm and polished in Amica’s hands, and as she swept one leg over the broom and soared up into the air, she felt her stomach surge with excitement. Her heart swelled with the thought of seeing her friends again, and she felt like despite what she had told Mouse, she might be a little bit in love with all of them after all.

[hellholland]

A headcanon of Tom dating a shy reader who is his co star and has anxiety?

aww yessss! this is a long one so buckle up. the beginning is more meeting/getting together and the bottom part is more of the headcanons/anxiety-related things

• you and tom initially met at the screen testing of their movie

• tom was cast a little bit before you were. you already knew about that and it scared the shit out of her because she was newer to the big movie scene than he was

• you were over the moon when you found out you were cast, both a little anxious and excited• ”is gonna be a douchebag???” “what if he doesn’t like me?” “will they recast me?” a LOT of self doubt and concerns about tom

• once you arrived on set to work on a few testing scenes and green-screen stuff, harrison was the first to greet you. tom was running late, somehow

• “what if that messes up our schedule? is he gonna get in trouble?” you said that out loud, much to your dismay. you were thinking too fast because of how anxious you were about filming

• this was one of your first big movies, let alone a movie with a marvel star? “if he’s a dick or something goes wrong, it could wreck everything, especially if we don’t have chemistry” - your internal monologue, repeatedly. your mind rambled through all of the worst outcomes

• harrison had this weird look in his eye when you didn’t readily accept the fact he was late just because iTs tOm HoLlAnD

• turns out that weird look was some prophetic thing. he knew you and tom were gonna get along

• tom arrived to set twenty minutes with tessa and a latte for dogs

• he rambles to the director, who’s slightly unhappy with this “i’m really sorry i just saw the ad for it and i got so excited-“

• he didn’t notice you standing by at first because of how apologetic he was for being late

• this settled your nerves a bit because what a fucking dork move. you loved it

• “oh, oh my god! you’re (y/n), right?” “uh yeah, tom?” “nice to meet you!”

• he hugged you instead of shaking hands

• the first few days were awkward banter, but he still was really warm and welcoming person, constantly trying to make you feel happy and at-home with everyone

• going out w/ the cast and posting pictures was common. fans started commenting on how “close” you two looked

• tom really liked trying to make you laugh during serious scenes. once, instead of sitting on the chair behind his desk like the blocking told him to, he ran, jumped and slid over it while you followed him into the fake office

• he biffed it. bitch almost got another broken nose

• you almost got a panic attack from how much his nose was bleeding but he ended up being the one calming you down until you laughed again

• here comes stunt filming

• you told the team you’d do your own stunts. you wanted to go out of your way and try new stuff

• anxiety made that really, really hard. you felt like a lot of your childhood wasn’t spent like it should be. you missed out on a lot because of how severe it was and you told yourself at the beginning of 2018 you’d make it up to yourself

• nevertheless, as soon as they strapped you in the harness you started breathing really shallow. you felt constricted rather than safe

• you didn’t say anything. your throat was so dry you felt like you couldn’t anyway

• you were supposed to fall off a platform, cling onto the edge for a few seconds then fall twenty-something feet till the harness stopped you. there was protective stuff underneath in case something went wrong, but you were almost crying

• heights weren’t your favorite. you did it anyways, after about ten minutes of pacing and tom coming out of his trailer to encourage you

• he only vaguely knew of your anxiety. he didn’t know you were shooting the scene on your own till he came out, which instantly got him worried for you

• “hey, i’ll catch you if you fall!” “yeah?” you yelled back, mustering up the humor to give him a half-hearted smile “yeah, but only if you’re falling in love!”

• you laughed. and blushed. shit.

• “i think i like him?” “took you long enough to figure it out,” harrison replied, sipping his coffee

• anyway the same day of the falling-stunt, something went wrong with the rope and you fell further than what they told you. you fell into the tall mesh/foam pads but it caused a full blown panic attack. you weren’t expecting it

• you couldn’t move, but your heart was beating so fast you thought it’d pump too much blood and you might die

• you were just frozen, waiting for your body to register what happened

• in the meantime, your brain was kind of on fire. your head felt hot and you were getting dizzy just laying down

• “hey, hey, (y/n)” tom’s familiar voice rung out and you felt a weight beside you, fumbling to unclip the metal bit from your harness. “that was terrifying, but you’re still here, yes?” he spoke in a really calm voice, slowly lifting you off the landing and getting you to the ground

• the set and staff were scrambling to fix things, people were apologizing left and right

• you could move again, but you didn’t want to talk. everything was blurry.

• he walked you into his trailer, where harrison was laying around. you faintly remember them talking about whether or not you were okay

• you sat down on tom’s bed in the back area of the trailer, tom looking at you worriedly from the doorway.

• you started to cry and shake a lot

• while it was an awful feeling, at the same time you were grateful you could make sound again

• “okay love, it’s alright,” tom murmured, sitting on the bed to hold you and kiss the top of your head

• after a solid fifteen minutes of sobbing into his chest, you fell asleep

• unbeknownst to you, harrison came in to talk to tom

• “you’re really whipped for her, huh?”

• “i guess you could say that,” tom replied quietly, rubbing circles into your back

• fast forward two months. you’re shooting the final scene, which includes a kissing scene

• …but not between you and tom.

• you were getting really worked up over it. the actor was nice enough but you weren’t close

• tom was no where to be seen, even though you had to shoot more stuff together right after the kiss

• eventually you got it over with, after a couple takes

• that’s right, a couple. you felt a little light headed but managed to to go knock on tom’s door

• “come in” “hey, i haven’t seen you around. what’s up?” you asked as you poke your head in. “nothing,” he replied with an offbeat tone. he was on his phone, not looking up

• “sounds like you’ve got a stick up your ass today, holland”

• tom looked up with a very confused look on his face. “since when did you talk like that?”

• “since i started being honest with other people and myself.”

• tom swore in the moment you held that cheeky grin on your face was when he fell in love with you

• but of course he didn’t say anything. he didn’t express he was bitter about your kissing scene. he was scared of brutally honest communication, yet you weren’t.

• this was odd, even to you, that you were so willing to say that to his face. you had no malicious intentions, you just wanted to get him to open up. you were feeling comfortable around him now. (it used to be you almost had an anxiety attack if he made a joke about you, to you. you’d read too far into it and think he hated you)

• “i finished ‘the big scene today,’” you sighed as you sat down next to him. he was still staring at you. “what’s wrong?”

• “nothing. nothing’s wrong.”

• your stomach flipped. he seemed really pissed which made you very panicky. “a-are you sure?”

• “yeah.” he looked away, tossing the phone onto the table by him and looking up at the lights.

• “you’re scaring me.” you said weakly after minutes of silence had gone by.

• tom realized what he’d done, that he’d been short with you when it wasn’t your fault. he forgot about your anxiety. he forgot that you were a human with fears. he was just settled on the fact you were outside making out with another guy, even though it was fake.

• “i’m sorry”

• “i just want you to talk to me. you know you can say whatever you want.”

• (harrison really was an ass for making you two do this on your own)

• “how do you feel about noah?” he asked. your co-star. your on-screen lover.

• “he’s okay, i guess. why?” you raised an eyebrow.

• “alright. i like you. a lot. and i don’t like seeing you kiss other guys because i want to be the one kissing you.”

• very blunt. you were in shock for a bit and tom got really nervous because he thought you didn’t reciprocate, but the moment you kissed him, everything he was thinking just dissolved

• from then on, the rest is history.

• after eight months, your relationship went public, which brought a lot of love and a lot of hate. (you got really upset over that to the point of disabling comments and social media hiatus’)

• you moved in together! something your fans found out quickly. they were like detectives, a lot of people gave you shit for “moving too fast,” but tom reassured you constantly about those anxieties

• one time someone told you to kill yourself. tom came home to you crying in your bed, having one the panic attacks where you don’t think straight and just want to distance yourself from everyone.

• “it’s better if i leave, tom. they’ll stop being awful to you. we won’t get bad press anymore. it won’t hurt as much.” your eyes were pink and your nail beds were raw from how much you picked at them. you’d scratched one part of your palm so much that it was bleeding.

• tom’s heart broke, and he found himself cradling you again on a bed. “i love you so much, (y/n). you’re my fucking world and no one else can change that.” he said, kissing your knuckles. he wiped your tears away and looked you in the eye. “you know that, right? that i love you?”

• you couldn’t look him in the eye. you were shaking so much and so very convinced that others would tear you apart.

• “i am not moving until you say you know that. because i absolutely need you to know that i adore you and love you in every single way there is.” he picked up your chin to look at him.

• “i know you do.” you eventually whispered, tears still slipping down your cheeks. he pulled your head into his chest, rocking back and forth slightly. “i love you too.”

• paparazzi was the worst. you hated them. as soon as the flashing lights started you would begin to shake

• tom would always to the best of his ability, find routes or entrances that paparazzi wouldn’t be at when you went out

• when it was unavoidable, he’d grip you around your waist, running so fast he’d nearly carry you into places. sometimes he’d cover your eyes too

• if you were out in public, he’d always give you his hat and sunglasses to wear to help you feel safer

• “hey! (y/n)! how does tom feel about you and noah centino’s hot scene in the new movie?” “(y/n), look here, look here! show me a smile, pretty lady!” “that’s one fine piece of ass you got there, holland” - the paparazzi could be really vulgar sometimes

• “can you fuck off?” he said to all of them, almost yelling. he almost hushed the crowd as he flipped them all off and walked inside with you.

• when you had bad days with your anxiety, you had s tendency to scratch yourself. when tom got home from work or you got home from work, he’d always make sure you had a bandaid or something to protect them.

• there were days where you helped him, too. when the public lifestyle was too much, you’d sit behind him and brush his hair as long as needed. sometimes it was hours while he ranted, or just silence.

• sometimes he’d just fall into you while you were laying or sitting somewhere, resting his head on your chest.

• holding him was the best anti-anxiety medicine you ever had.

• you were always in awe of each other. awed by how beautiful your relationship was, how understanding one person could be, and everything in between.

• tom never, ever yelled at you. not once. he tried his best to never be snippy because he knew it scared you, but some days it was really hard. you did the same for him.

• when you got sick, he held your hair back. throwing up usually triggered some form of anxiety, and he’d just hold you in the bathroom floor when you were done. you might be sweating and hadn’t showered for three days because you couldn’t get up, and he’d just sit there, his head again the wall with his arms wrapped around you.

• on those days when there was no reason for you to be anxious, but you were, he would check in to make sure you were taking care of yourself.

• sometimes he’d leave you alone because you needed it. he could read you effortlessly. when one of you got home, sometimes the greetings were just a simple hello. other days they were a drawn out hug and a passionate kiss.

• being in each others presence was enough. you didn’t always have to be doing something, touching or talking, it was comforting to just know that they were there.

• tom helped you. he didn’t fix you, because you did not need fixing. he just helped. he was there when you needed it and vice versa. he was a caretaker and could give you the truth. he was a lover and a friend.

• his forehead kisses were like drugs to you

• when you woke up in the middle of the night from a bad dream, he’d wake up too. he’d just grab your hand, look at you and give you a soft kiss on the corner of your mouth. he never once let you go out onto the balcony to “get some air.” on those nights. he knew you might stay out there all not and not sleep, or your panic attacks would get worse from the heights and half-conscious combination.

• tom was a sucker for dancing in the moonlight. when those same nights were really, really bad, he’d make you get up and you two would just sway to the non existent music. sometimes he’d sing to you.

• you liked having your head on his chest when he talked or sang to you because you could feel the vibrations as he spoke.

• he loved you. you loved him.

• often, the only two words that could describe him seemed odd, but fit so well

• beautifully human.

[katsen13]

Hostile Takeover

This was my story for a writing prompt. You can find the prompt here.

If you like the story, you can check out my other stories here.

Warnings: Suggestive, angst, betrayal, loss, mention of suicide, kind of dark.

A bit long so heads up.

     “Oh, we’re not done yet here.” You smile coyly.

    A devilish grin spreads on his face. “Well, if you would like to continue, there are a few places I think you would find more desirable.”

    You mask your disgust with a deceivingly seductive smile. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid you misunderstood.” You step out from the shadows into the light of the full moon shining in from the skylight above, the moonlight gliding down your long, dark hair.

    The Dark Lord’s smile begins to fade as he noticed the icy glint in your light, blue eyes. He looks down at you, dangling from a crane above a vat of acid, slowly turning away from you. “What… what is going on?”

    “Well I always knew I was the brains behind the operation, but I figured you of all people would at least recognize a betrayal when you saw one.” You cross your arms, smirking up at your former boss.

    “What are you talking about?!” He kicked his legs, growing frustrated because he couldn’t turn to face you. “Madox and Sledge will be here soon.”

    “Oh, you think so?” You raised your eyebrows in mock concern. “I don’t. See, they work for me now. They’ve always worked for me.”

    Worry starts to fill the Dark Lord’s face. “I don’t understand…”Your contemptful laugh echoes off the walls of the cave, reverberating through the pipes. “Of course you don’t understand. You were too blind to see any of it.” You look at the Dark Lord with heavy disdain. He just looks back at you with his brow furrowed, confused as ever. You sighed, pulling a remote from your pocket, identical to the one the Hero had destroyed before leaving. The Dark Lord’s eyes widened as he noticed it.

    You push the button on the remote, lowering your boss down to eye-level. “After all these years, we’re finally becoming successful! Don’t you see it? The business is thriving. Our stocks are up, our shareholders are investing even more, and our company is set to go global!” You walk to the edge of the platform and stop in front of your boss, your faces about a foot apart. “Do you really think, after all this time of doing nothing, you actually made it work?” You whisper, looking him in the eyes almost pityingly. “Failure after failure after failure. So many locations lost to us, so many labs destroyed, all those employees’ lives, wasted.” You sigh again, looking down at the remote in your hand before returning your focus to your boss.

    “No. I was the one who made things work. After every scheme was foiled, I was the one who led the analytics team to find out where it went wrong. Every time a base was discovered, I sent out the warning, telling everyone to stay away and that we would regroup at the safehouse. Whenever a base or lab was destroyed, I led the recovery teams to salvage as much as we could from the remains. Any time a factory or warehouse was raided, I was the one who went before the media trying to save the company’s reputation. Your reputation.” Your eyes grow a little misty. “And whenever there was a tragedy, and believe me, there were many tragedies, I was the one who contacted the families and made sure that they were well cared for. I was the one who had to try to explain to them why their loved one wasn’t coming home. I was the one who hoped they would understand why I couldn’t tell them what they wanted to know, what they deserved to know.”

    Your boss looked at you, the worry on his face vanished. “That’s not true. I set up foundations for the families, I started a nonprofit to clean the bay and rescue the wildlife, I campaigned for the mayor’s Safe Streets initiative!”

    “No, that’s not true.” You reply, looking up at him coolly. You tilted your head questioningly at him. “Tell me, do you remember when the last time you signed anything was?” The Dark Lord grew quiet, his face stony and expressionless. “That’s what I thought.” you continued. “Well, I can tell you. Today, you signed the company over to me. Mr. Madox and Mr. Sledge witnessed it and as of 11 am this morning, I became the company’s first female CEO. A little over an hour ago you typed this up on your private computer and signed it.”

    You held up a piece of paper to your boss. His eyes grew wide before narrowing, his face darkening as he read the suicide note. You turned the page around and read a bit from it yourself. ‘I am so sorry to all those I have hurt and betrayed over the years. I just cannot deal with the guilt of all those innocent lives lost because of my foolishness anymore. I neither ask nor hope for any forgiveness, I only ask that you learn from my error, as I did not learn myself until it was too late.’ You look up at your boss with a slight smile. “I must say, I’m quite moved by ‘your’ last words.”

    The Dark Lord swallowed hard, masking his fear with a bluff as he looked you in the eye. “The Hero will stop you. He’s probably watching right now.”

    You smile as your boss’s eyes meet yours. “Stop me? No, you see, he helped me.” The Dark Lord’s eyes widened incredulously, his mouth open in surprise and disbelief. “You see, he’s tired of it too. Tired of stopping plan after plan of yours, I mean, not that they would ever work. He just couldn’t take the risk though, you know?”

    “After the Arcadia incident, I contacted the scientists’ families to help make arrangements. When I visited Michael’s family- you remember Michael, don’t you? That sweet intern in the lab who brought everyone bagels on his first day?- his poor mother told me that the arrangements had already been paid for anonymously, though she suspected it was by the nice young man who came by the house the day before to offer his condolences. I quickly contacted the other families and they all said the same thing- a respectful, handsome young man with fair hair and hazel-green eyes had visited, and shortly after, they found that the arrangements they had made for their loved ones had been fully paid for.”

    You began pacing, glancing at your boss as you continued. For the first time in nearly the decade that you had known him, you swore you could almost see the thoughts forming in his head, the gears in his brain starting to pick up speed as he began to piece things together as you had. “When I visited Enrique Salando’s young widow, she told me that she had already paid for her husband’s funeral. She said when she told the kind, young man that, he was a little dejected. I happened to notice a small basket of toys and asked about it. She smiled and said that the man had noticed it too and she told me about it.” You stopped pacing and turned to your boss before resuming. “Did you know Enrique was a school bus driver? He loved kids so much, but he and Maria were unable to have children. You know what he did? He started working for your transportation division, picking up and dropping off employees at work and home, and taking them to town for lunch. He did that so he would have more money to buy things for the kids on his bus. He bought clothes for the less fortunate ones and a birthday present for every single child on his bus.”

    “When I left the apartment, I went to city hall and talked to the senior clerk on a hunch. She confirmed it and told me that a trust fund had been set up in Enrique’s name for all of the kids who have ridden on his bus the past few years. She had notarized the paperwork herself for one Mr. Nathan Carter.” A confused look appeared on your boss’s face when you mentioned the unfamiliar name. “I’ll admit, I hadn’t heard of him before either. It turns out, he’s quite the businessman himself, though his business is mostly farther up the coast. He’s done well for himself financially, but lives a comfortable yet simple life, instead, donating millions to charities all over the state. Some say he’s a reclusive man, living alone in a little cottage on the bay and well, I decided to pay him a little visit to decide for myself. I drove up there and knocked on his door. When he answered, he recognized me immediately.” You laugh at the memory of the Hero’s maskless face, paling the moment he saw you. You saw a brief flash of panic in his eyes before you properly introduced yourself and explained why you were there. After you finished, he warily studied your face for a moment, searching your eyes for any hint of deception before he let you come in.

    “It turns out Mr. Carter and I have quite a bit in common. After talking for a while, we were on the same page. He was on his last straw and out of ideas for how to deal with you. He didn’t want it to come to this but you had made him desperate.” And who could blame him? When talking with the hero, you saw the look in his eyes. They had seen so much tragedy and grief over the years, as much as you had. He couldn’t help but feel guilty for his part in it all, even though he had gone out of his way to try and prevent it. It turns out he had been doing the same thing as you all along in the aftermath of your boss’s tyrannical schemes. The only reason that you never noticed before was because you usually contacted the families first. Whenever that happened, the Hero would quietly make a generous donation to whatever charity the victim had supported. He never sought you out because he figured you were doing good in your own way and there was always the possibility of it being a trap.

    “I told him about your next plans for him and showed him the remote. He agreed to make another identical one for me and I slipped him the key when you had me chain him up. I told him that in exchange for his help, when I take over the company, we will be leaving the evil business. He was so relieved to hear that. I think he’s happy that he’ll finally be able to focus more on his business and on being a good boss to his people. I think he’ll be really happy tomorrow when he gets the papers for the merger proposal I sent him.” You turn and look at your boss one last time from the doorway as you prepare to leave.

    “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Look, if we work together–” Your boss started, looking at you pleadingly before you cut him off.

    “It’s too late for that, but don’t worry boss. I’ll take care of the company like it was my own.” You press the button without warning. The Dark Lord’s face fills with pure terror before vanishing out of sight, plummeting down into the tank of acid below. It happened so fast he didn’t even have time to scream. You look at the edge of the platform he disappeared behind. “It always has been.”

[writewithurheart]

When It Crumbles

 Read on AO3. 

A Captain Marvel-Endgame Bridge Fic: Part 1 of 2

She’s in the middle of evacuating yet another group of Thanos survivors when her communicator goes off with the message from Fury’s enhanced pager. She’s closer than she’s been to Earth in a while. She passes the child in her arms off to Talos as he herds the adults into the transport ship.  There are smaller and smaller pockets now. She was following in Thanos’s path of destruction, helping the survivors.

This group had been Asgardians, already nearly extinct before Thanos took a shot at them.

Rumor has it -recently confirmed by the survivors here - that Thanos is after the Infinity Stones. So she’s not surprised by the call. She’s been on C-53 recently enough to know that Fury has his own brigade of heroes, ones supposedly strong enough to defend the planet. She and Maria had laughed their asses off at the name.

She still chuckles when she hears the name Avengers. She can’t even face someone who calls themselves an avenger. It was almost enough to get her to contact Fury after twelve years and ask what he was thinking. Almost.

According to Fury, they were enough to guard the Tesseract. According to the Asgardians, Thanos almost had a full set. Time was running out.

“What is it?”

Carol holds her wrist out to Maria as she stops at her side. Maria frowns at the message. “Guess this means we’re headed home.”

“We knew it would happen sooner or later.”

Maria sighs and runs her hand over the ring on Carol’s left hand, the one that matches her own. They’d finally tied the knot when Monica joined up with the U.S. Airforce and had practically shoved them together, telling them to get with the times. It’d been a small ceremony. Just Monica, Fury, Talos and his family. They’d spent their honeymoon out in the galaxy and then it just seemed natural to stay.

Twelve years after leaving the second time, Carol and Maria decided to start their life together out in the vast openness of space as a sort of disaster relief team, travelling from planet to planet rescuing survivors and protecting the innocent. The Earth had new heroes to defend it. Maria’s mutant gene was starting to slow her aging noticeably. She hated to leave Monica on planet by herself, but Monica declared it gave her something to live up to: that one day, instead of them coming back, she would meet them on the moon.

Monica. Carol curses.

“Have you heard from Trouble?” Carol asks suddenly. She dismisses Fury’s beacon and checks for others. If something so terrible was happening then Monica should have checked in too…

“Carol. Baby. Something’s happening…”

Carol turns and her heart stops. Maria’s hands, raised in front of her face are starting to fracture. Like an old screen breaking off into pixels, they’re crumbling. For a beat, that’s all Carol can see: her wife disappearing in front of her. Then her heart jumps back into motion and time speeds up again.

Her hands grab Maria’s, but it’s like grabbing at sand: there and substantial and then crumbling the next. “Oh God, what’s happening?

Carol’s hands finally find purchase on Maria’s face and her heart is scooped right from her chest at the love and fear in Maria’s eyes. “Baby-”

“No. No no no. This can’t be happening. I won’t let it-” Her hands start to glow. Nothing too powerful that would hurt Maria, but Carol has to do something. And maybe her power can force her atoms back into place.

“We know what this is,” Maria says, conviction in her voice.

“Thanos,” Carol says suddenly. Her voice takes on a hard edge. Finally. Someone she can punch. Someone who has long deserved her ire. “He has the stones.”

Maria is falling apart in her hands, but the only thing remaining in her eyes is love. “You can fix this, baby. Stop Thanos, bring me back.”

Carol snorts. “You always had so much faith in me.” She presses her forehead to Maria’s, tears leaking down her face.

“I love you.” Maria moves then, pressing her lips to Carol and moving straight past chaste and firmly into dirty territory before the crumbles completely into emptiness and Carol breaks.

She collapses to the floor, tears streaming down her face, whispering a steady stream of ‘I love you’s to the woman who just disappeared from her arms. In the back of her mind, she processes Talos giving her space, the awkward distance of others giving her a moment to her grief. Carol is tired and weary. She fought this fight for so long. She trusted Fury to protect the pieces.

“Captain-”

Carol feels the mantle of the title settle on her shoulders. It’s a reminder. And the voice in her head that sounds a hell of a lot like Maria says: You are Carol “Avenger” Danvers. Captain Marvel. And when you fall down, you get the fuck back up.

She rises slowly and turns to face Talos. “Take these people to safety. I’m going to find Thanos.”

Talos nods and moves back to the full ship. Everyone follows, but two figures. Carol frowns at their uniforms of green and white, tattered and bloody. She stares them down as they stare back at her. There’s a pause as she waits from them to speak. When they don’t, she nods to the full vessel.

“Better hop on or you’ll get left behind.”

The woman steps forward, face grim. “You’re going after Thanos.”

“We want in.” The man steps up beside her, a spear forming in his hand.

Carol sizes them up before setting off to her own ship. “Fine. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

[azkabcn-archive]

As All is Well, a Wolfstar fanfiction; Part 1/1

The Gryffindor common room was oddly quiet for seven o'clock on a Saturday evening. The buzz that normally occupied the room was non-existent: from my place on the couch all I could hear in place of the mindless chatter was James and Peter arguing about their Charms homework, Robert Ellison telling Jefferson Franklin about his mother's career as Beater for a Quidditch team, and a few first-years that I didn't know wondering whether Professor McGonagall would give them detention if their Transfiguration essay was four inches short.

I paid no attention to any of them, instead letting my mind wander into more pleasurable territories. Territories that concerned a certain werewolf. My werewolf. I still couldn't figure out how we'd managed to keep our relationship from getting acknowledged beyond the Marauders and Lily. It had been a full six months (almost seven) and yet no one but the five of us knew about Remus Lupin and I.

The door to the boys' dorms swung open. The whole room shook as it banged shut, interrupting my thoughts. As it was probably just a fifth-year complaining about being overworked because of OWLs, I ignored it.

My plan to mind my own business was thwarted when something landed with a soft thud beside the sofa. I opened an eye and lifted my head a little to see Remus sitting on his haunches, staring ahead, his eyes flashing daggers.

I took an arm from under my head and wrapped it around his shoulders. He said nothing. I knew he wouldn't like me to make a scene in front of the first-years so I closed my eye and rested my head back on the armrest, my arm staying where I put it.

I could feel his shoulders heaving as he calmed himself, and whispered two words outside the earshot of everyone else: 'Come 'ere.' He complied, albeit silently, and lay next to me on the sofa, facing away from the rest of our peers. He tangled his legs in mine and rested his head on my chest. I moved my hand from his shoulder and threaded my fingers through his hair.

The room was plunged into a deafening silence, and I was painfully conscious of the fact that the awareness of the rest of the Gryffindors was on us. I focused solely on the man in my arms, listening as he spoke for the first time since entering the room. 'Pads,' sighed Remus.

'Moony,' I muttered softly.

He didn't speak for quite some time, so I chanced a glance around the room. James and Peter had the sense to at least look like they were giving us our privacy, although they had stopped arguing. Robert Ellison tapered out mid sentence and he, Franklin, and the first-years sat gawping at us. The room was not as empty as I'd made it out to be – a group of second-years had books open in front of them, clearly having been in the midst of reading. A group of sixth-years, fourth-years, and a few of our fellow seventh-years sat in the corner of the room, and at the tables, fifth-years studied for OWLs. Evidently, my ears hadn't picked up on the resounding noise.

I pulled my eyes back to Remus, whose tired eyes met mine. He pleaded silently, tears shining in the green eyes I'd got so used to. I ran my fingers through his hair, my heart breaking. What had happened?

'I tried,' he mumbled, his voice cracked and barely audible. 'I tried so hard.'

'What did you try, Moons?' I asked.

'It hurt. So much. I couldn't stop it from hurting.'

'Your scar?'

'I just—' And then he broke down into tears.

'Hey,' I whispered. 'Hey. Let's get out of here. We'll go back to the dorm and—'

'Not there!' he cried. 'No! Please, no!'

I backtracked instantly. 'Okay,' I breathed. 'Okay. Tell me where you want to go, love. I'll take you there.'

He didn't reply. I did a quick mental check: the full moon was a week ago. His tiredness and mental state was a given for now, but it shouldn't be this bad.

'Remus, we need to leave,' I repeated. 'You need fresh air.'

I realised he wasn't going to give me an answer so I sat up slowly. He sat back, not meeting my eyes. I got off the sofa, turning back to him so as to avoid looking at anyone else.

'Can you stand for me?' I asked, and even as I asked, I understood that he was far too weak to do so. His feet hit the ground and he sat on the sofa, slumped.

'No,' he whispered.

'Okay,' I told him gently. I held his right hand with mine and put my left around his waist. I pulled him up and slung his right arm over my shoulders, supporting most of his weight. I half walked, half dragged him out of the common room, helping him out of the portrait hole before climbing out myself.

I held him up again, walking along the corridor, ignoring the stares from the other students.

'Black,' I heard a voice say. I looked up to see Professor Slughorn peering down at us, his face set in an expression of concern.

'Yes, sir?' I asked.

'Take your young friend down to my classroom,' he told me. 'It'll be empty in there.'

'Thank you, sir,' I murmured gratefully, and walked on. 'Remus?' I said in alarm.

His eyes fluttered open. ''M here,' he mumbled.

'Stay with me, love. Slughorn's classroom isn't far from here.'

My brain whirred, trying to figure out what went wrong. Something to do with his body hurting and him not being able to stop it from hurting. But what?

We reached Slughorn's room and I opened the door, pulling Remus in after me. I sat him in the nearest chair and knelt in front of him. 'Remus?' He'd slumped sideways. 'Remus, hey. Look at me.'

'Wha— Here,' he mumbled, doing his best to sit up straight.

'I need you to tell me what happened, okay? I need to understand what's wrong.'

'My scar.' He half-heartedly scrambled for the parting of his robes, then stopped and turned his head to the door.

'I've got you,' I said, removing my wand from my own robes and pointing it at the door. 'Fumos.' The small window in the door was obstructed from view as the thick yellow smoke settled itself at the entrance.

I turned back to Remus, who was trying to get his robes off. 'Here,' I said, slipping his arms out of his sleeves. 'And the rest?'

He nodded once.

Once Remus was topless, I stood back and my eyes fell upon the gash on the right side of his body. It was sliced open again, dried blood in patches in and around it. It was deep enough that if he were a Muggle, it would need stitches. I winced.

'Remus, what happened?' I asked, trying and falling to take my eyes away.

'I... It was hurting,' he mumbled. 'I tried to stop it hurting.' He rubbed his forehead, pulling himself upright again.

'How?'

'Some potion. I forget the name. It was meant to...' He trailed off, falling forwards.

'Remus! Hey, hey!' When he didn't respond, I stood up and took his shoulders. 'Remus, talk to me!'

'What?' he mumbled. 'Still here.' He sat back against the chair, rubbing his arm across his eyes.

'What was the potion supposed to do?' I asked, fearful of the answer.

'Heal the scar,' he sighed. I raised an eyebrow. 'I must have done something wrong—'

'Wait, you're telling me you made this potion?!' I exclaimed.

'I couldn't just go to Slughorn and ask for a potion to heal unbearable scars, could I?' Remus said indignantly.

'I suppose not,' I answered, though we both knew he could have gone to Madam Pomfrey. 'So you made yourself a potion? How?'

He slouched, winced and straightened up again. 'I took some ingredients from in here after yesterday's Potions class. The recipe was in Potions and Healing that I found in the library.

'I don't know. I think I messed up one single instruction and made something else because it said to pour on affected area and when I did...'

'What happened?'

He shook his head. 'It burned. So bad. Like I'd been thrown into fire.'

I winced. 'What the hell?!'

'I screamed,' he continued. 'It went on for at least half an hour. I screamed and screamed. And when it was over, I looked down at my scar and—and I saw it got worse.'

'Remus, I—' I pulled up a chair and sat next to him, taking his hand.

'And then I was just... replaced with fury. I was so angry because I was sure that it would work, so angry that I couldn't do it, so angry that I couldn't start again that I —' He yawned.

'Look,' I whispered. 'You need rest. Let me help you get dressed and I'll walk you back to the dorm.'

He flinched as soon as I'd said the word dorm. 'What?' I asked hurriedly. 'What is it?'

He sighed. 'Nothing. Sorry.' He picked up his shirt and dropped his arm back to his lap.

I helped him dress and then stood him up. As soon as his feet carried him, his knees buckled. His arms flailed and he scrabbled to grab hold of the front of my robes. I hastily put my arm under his knees and shifted him so his head rested on my shoulder.

I walked him out of the classroom and up to the Gryffindor common room and with a mutter of, 'Flabbergast,' the Fat Lady moved aside and let me enter. The common room was still as full as it was when we'd left, so I fought my way through to the dorms, ignoring the questions, murmurs, and comments of the other Gryffindors.

When I got into our dorm, I stopped short. I glanced at Remus, who had fallen asleep and then back to the shattered glass that littered the floor. Different liquids splashed out of the bottles and soaked the floor, and I knew that this was what Remus meant when he said was furious.

I sidestepped the glass, and lay him on his bed. I turned him onto his side and made to walk round to the other side, when a voice asked, 'So you two are a thing, then?'

I turned round to see Jensen Jenkins, our fifth roommate, sitting cross-legged on the bed, a magazine spread out in front of him. 'Have been for almost seven months,' I replied. 'But yes.'

'They're all talking about it, you know. Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.'

'I know,' I said patiently. 'I don't mind.'

'Is he gonna be okay?' Jenkins nodded in Remus's direction, simultaneously getting off his bed.

I looked round to see Remus sleeping peacefully. 'Yeah,' I breathed. 'Yeah, I believe so.'

'Shall I, er, tell them all's okay?'

I didn't look at Jenkins as I said, 'Yeah, please.'

As the door swung shut after him, I lay next to my werewolf, pressing a kiss to his forehead before wrapping my arms around him and falling into a deep, peaceful slumber.

Well hey. Welcome to my first Harry Potter fic. Well, second. The first hasn’t been posted yet, for reasons. Obviously this is Wolfstar, because they are my life and I love them and I can’t life without them and they are my OTP. Did I mention I love them? Oh, I did? I’ll mention it again anyway. I love Wolfstar. 

Tagging a few people: @worlds-in-my-mind @one-thousand-splendid-stars @draccomalfoy @siruisblack @proupiled

If you want/don’t want to be tagged, please let me know. 

>sir-sirius-black, over and out ✌🏼

[writerspink]

K-12 Words

K

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2.1

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2.2

misty poor caution pest phrase life startle squirm alone centaur rise mountain above illustrator footprint temperature decorate country sweat sometimes hair smiled everything began thick compass themselves enough took although splendid crowded second act attach sly talk wonder let’s whirl someone Africa borrow beat belong blink per fasten pain begin drenched bed shell free earth tiny slippery count factors important until children side feet car mile night walk white sea grow river four carry state once book hear stop without late miss idea eat face watch far Indian real almost let girl mountains cut young soon list song being leave family it’s

3.1

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3.2

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4.1

pattern cave hope mile group travel blush killed seed bottom hide important let ticket timid pounds restart silent cranky keep real bright quite curved repeat trip without dart consonant mountains quiet apologize roar grip groan bolt food injury century exhausted cabin atmosphere floor it’s scold transportation delighted giant hill something build fog method rough left everyone obey deserve speak therefore soon french switch until pushed state knob hobby between surround collect fire I’ll arrive road happened certain top order astronomy inches club catch farm nibble color yourself received connect told gaze check wear English half ten fly gave box finally wait correct oh quickly person became shown minutes strong verb stars front feel fact street decided contain course surface produce building ocean class note nothing rest carefully scientists inside wheels stay green known island week less machine base ago stood

4.2

round award crowd slowly yet products, goods, services vowel himself strange whose draw team hold feel flood sent save stood yard notice warn enemy deep please flap coast music wrote safe blast behind island lizard figure famous garden correct whisper listen joined clear share net thus calf maybe cried piece fold seen england decided bank fell pair control clean telescope trouble glass float morning horse produce course hunting rest step statement contain shouted filled zigzag accident cents instrument fly single express visit desert seeds chew dome experiment break gravity against branch size low plane system ran boat game force brought understand warm common bring explain dry though language shape thousands yes equation government heat full hot check object am rule among noun power cannot able six dark ball material special heavy fine circle include built

5.1

mark wealthy row feeling across attention ran map students inside design art mouth ring skill hot during shelter full till log (book) blossom discard bring quickly scientists party town covered wise early cram grain harm goal pause inform heal clue fame freeze badge pimple dim missionary diet dumb rod march agree stick government bulb mall ban greed skiing poison stove image grew fact material dangerous flow gap ago stack explain didn’t strong voice true drawing surface gift corner cloud since king dawn pulled dozen friends greedy burning upon knew insect decimal nervous pay foot weak smooth aware steady serve lost nonetheless beach front atlas questions less cost slight motor banner wire area carefully separate equation local minutes fast table plan fine waves fair sing dive suppose boat thousands shape among toward gas factory birds wait understand sure ship report captain human game history reflect special brave bounce though else can’t matter square syllables perhaps bill felt suddenly test direction center farmers ready anything divided general energy subject Europe moon region return believe dance members picked simple cells paint mind love cause rain exercise eggs train blue wish drop developed window difference distance heart site sum summer wall forest probably

5.2

include cage language base red brain building feast better built demolish excess leap tower ocean plains cold claw information scholar climbed woman worry strand heavy herd common ground damp pack choose president least increase half english invent class measure dash tremble object become doubt became bare wheels continued shiver engine core couple business stars week peak numeral brought nothing touch reached uncle symbols however rumor evening inasmuch (as) force curious heat career system valley dust flock spray robber practice lonely remember luxury warm heard calm rock frighten leader difficulty best gum cheer key support universe stream bit usually fish parade balance money note cliff stand proof you’re pale machine complete cool shown street today shy easy several search unit war power caught settle itself fuel mention fresh planet plane straight period person able direct space wood seal field circle lady board besides hours passed known whole similar underline main winter wide written length reason kept interest arms brother race present beautiful store job edge past sign record finished discovered wild happy beside gone sky grass million west lay weather root instruments meet third months paragraph raised represent soft whether clothes flowers shall teacher held describe drive appreciate structure visible artificial

6.1

afraid absorb british seat fear stretched furniture sight oxygen coward rope clever yellow albeit confess passage france fan cattle spot explore rather active death effect mine create wash printed process origin rose swift woe planets doze gasp chief perform triumph value substances tone score predict property movement harsh tube settled defend reverse ancient blood sharp border fierce plunge consider terms vision intend total schedule attract average intelligent corn dead southern glide supply convince send continent brief mural symbol crew chance suffix habit insects entered nursery especially spread drift major fig diagram guess wit sugar predator science necessary moisture park ordeal nectar fortunate flutter gun forward globe misery molecules arctic won’t actually addition washington cling rare lie steel pastime soldiers chill accordingly capital prevent solution greek sensitive electric agreed thin provide indicate northern volunteer sell tied triangle action opposite shoulder imitate steer wander except match cross speak solve appear metal son either ice sleep village factors result jumped snow ride care floor hill pushed baby buy century outside everything tall already instead phrase soil bed copy free hope spring case laughed nation quite type themselves temperature bright lead everyone method section lake iron within dictionary bargain loyal resource struggle vary capture exclaim gloomy insist restless shallow shatter talent atmosphere brilliant endure glance precious unite certain clasp depart journey observe superb treasure wisdom

6.2

prepared journey trade delicate arrived track cotton hoe furnish exciting view grasp level branches privilege limit wrong enable ability various moreover spoil starve dollars digest advice sense accuse pretty wasn’t industry adopt loyal suggested blow treasure cook adjective doesn’t wings tools crops loud smell frail wisdom fit expect ahead lifted deed device weight gradual respect interesting arrange particular compound examine cable climate division individual talent fatal entire advantage opponent wouldn’t elements column custom enjoy grace theory suitable wife shoes determine allow marsh workers difficult repeated thrill position born distant revive magnificent shop sir army struggled deal plural rich rhythm rely poem company string locate church mystify elegant led actual responsible japanese huge fun meat observe swim office chart avoid factories block called experience win crumple brilliant located pole bought conditions sister details primary survey truck recall disease radio rate scatter decay signal approach launch hair age amount scale pounds although per broken moment tiny possible gold milk quiet natural lot stone act build middle speed count consonant someone sail rolled bear wonder smiled angle fraction Africa killed melody bottom trip hole poor let’s fight surprise French died beat exactly remain fingers clever coast explore imitate pierce rare symbol triumph ancient cling disturb expose perform remote timid bashful brief compete consider delightful honor reflex remark brink chill conquer fortunate fury intend pattern vibrant wit

7.1

capture remark western outcome risk current bold compare resident ambition arrest furthermore desire confuse accurate disclose considerable contribute calculate baggage literacy noble era benefit orchard shabby content precious manufacture dusk afford assist demonstrate instant concentrate sturdy severe blend vacant weary carefree host limb pointless prepare inspire shallow chamber vast ease attentive source frantic lack recent distress basic permit threat analyze distract meadow mistrust jagged prefer sole envy hail reduce arena tour annual apparent recognize captivity burrow proceed develop humble resist peculiar response communicate circular variety frequent reveal essential disaster plead mature appropriate attractive request congratulate address destructive fragile modest attempt tradition ancestor focus flexible conclude venture impact generosity routine tragic crafty furious blossom concern ascend awkward master queasy release portion plentiful alert heroic extraordinary frontier descend invisible coax entrance capable peer terror mock outstanding valiant typical competition hardship entertain eager limp survive tidy antonym duplicate abolish approach approve glory magnificent meek prompt revive watchful wreckage audible consume glide origin prevent punctuate representative scorn stout woe arch authentic clarify declare grant grave opponent valid yearn admirable automatic devotion distant dreary exhaust kindle predict separation stunt

7.2

evade debate dedicate budge available miniature petrify pasture banquet pedestrian solitary decline reassure nonchalant exhibit realistic exert abuse dictate minor monarch concept character strategy soar beverage tropical withdraw challenge kin navigate purchase reliable mischief solo combine vivid aroma spurt illuminate narrator retain excavate avalanche preserve suspend accomplish exasperate obsolete occasion myth reign sparse gorge intense revert antagonist talon aggressive alternate retire cautiously blizzard require endanger luxurious senseless portable sever compensate companion visual immense slither guardian compassion escalate detect protagonist oasis altitude assume seldom courteous absurd edible identical pardon approximate taunt achievement homonym hearty convert wilderness industrious sluggish thrifty deprive independent bland confident anxious astound numerous resemble route access jubilation saunter hazy impressive document moral crave gigantic bungle prefix summit overthrow perish visible translate comply intercept feeble exult compose negative suffocate frigid synonym appeal dominate deplete abundant economy desperate diligent commend boycott jovial onset burden fixture objective siege barrier conceive formal inquire penalize picturesque predator privilege slumber advantage ambition defiant fearsome imply merit negotiate purify revoke wretched absorb amateur channel elegant grace inspect lame tiresome tranquil boast eloquent glisten ideal infectious invest locate ripple sufficient uproar

8.1

apprehensive dialogue prejudice marvel eligible accommodate arrogant distinct knack deposit liberate cumulative consequence strive salvage chronological unique vow concise influence lure poverty priority legislation significant conserve verdict leisure erupt beacon stationary generate provoke efficient campaign paraphrase swarm adhere eerie mere mimic deteriorate literal preliminary solar soothe expanse ignite verge recount apparel terrain ample quest composure majority collide prominent duration pursue innovation omniscient resolute unruly optimist restrain agony convenient constant prosper elaborate genre retrieve exploit continuous dissolve dwell persecute abandon meager elude rural retaliate primitive remote blunder propel vital designate cultivate loathe consent drastic fuse maximum negotiate barren transform conspicuous possess allegiance beneficial former factor deluge vibrant intimidate idiom dense awe rigorous manipulate transport discretion hostile clarity arid parody boisterous capacity massive prosecute declare stifle remorse refuge predicament treacherous inevitable ingenious plummet adapt monotonous accumulate reinforce extract reluctant vacate hazardous inept diminish domestic linger context excel cancel distribute document fragile myth reject scuffle solitary temporary veteran assault convert dispute impressive justify misleading numerous productive shrewd strategy villain bluff cautious consist despise haven miniature monarch obstacle postpone straggle vivid aggressive associate deceive emigrate flexible glamour hazy luxurious mishap overwhelm span blemish blunt capable conclude detect fatigue festive hospitality nomad supreme

8.2

exclude civic compact painstaking supplement habitat leeway minute hoax contaminate likeness migration commentary extinct tangible originate urban unanimous subordinate collaborate obstacle esteem encounter futile cordial trait improvises superior exaggerate anticipate cope evolve eclipse dissent anguish subsequent sanctuary formulates makeshift controversy diversity terminate precise equivalent pamper prior potential obnoxious radiant predatory presume permanent pending simultaneously tamper supervise perceived vicious patronize trickle stodgy rant oration preview species poised perturb vista wince yearn persist shirk status tragedy trivial snare vindictive wrath recede peevish rupture unscathed random toxic void orthodox subtle resume sequel upright wary overwhelm perjury uncertainty prowess utmost throb pluck pique vengeance pelt urgent substantial robust sullen retort ponder whim saga sham reprimand vocation assimilate dub defect accord embark desist dialect chastise banter inaugurate ovation barter muse blasé stamina atrocity deter principal liberal epoch preposterous advocate audacious dispatch incense deplore institute deceptive component subside spontaneous bonanza ultimate wrangle clarify hindrance irascible plausible profound infinite accomplish apparent capacity civilian conceal duplicate keen provoke spurt undoing vast withdraw barrier calculate compose considerable deputy industrious jolt loot rejoice reliable senseless shrivel alternate demolish energetic enforce feat hearty mature observant primary resign strive verdict brisk cherish considerate displace downfall estimate humiliate identical improper poll soothe vicinity abolish appeal brittle condemn descend dictator expand famine portable prey thrifty visual

9.1

stance vie instill exceptional avail strident formidable rebuke enhance benign perspective tedious aloof encroach memoir mien desolate inventive prodigy staple stint fallacy grope vilify recur assail tirade antics recourse clad jurisdiction caption pseudonym reception humane ornate sage ungainly overt sedative amiss convey connoisseur rational enigma fortify servile fastidious contagious elite disgruntled eccentric pioneer abet luminous era sleek serene proficient rue articulate awry pungent wage deploy anarchy culminate inventory commemorate muster adept durable foreboding lucrative modify authority transition confiscate pivotal analogy avid flair ferret decree voracious imperative grapple deface augment shackle legendary trepidation discern glut cache endeavor attribute phenomenon balmy bizarre gullible loll rankle decipher sublime rubble renounce porous turbulent heritage hover pithy allot minimize agile renown fend revenue versa gaunt haven dire doctrine intricate conservative exotic facilitate bountiful cite panorama swelter foster indifferent millennium gingerly conscientious intervene mercenary citadel obviously rely supportive sympathy weakling atmosphere decay gradual impact noticeable recede stability variation approximately astronomical calculation criterion diameter evaluate orbit sphere agricultural decline disorder identify probable thrive expected widespread bulletin contribution diversity enlist intercept operation recruit survival abruptly ally collide confident conflict protective taunt adaptation dormant forage frigid hibernate insulate export glisten influence landscape native plantation restore urge blare connection errand exchange

9.2

feasible teem pang vice tycoon succumb capacious onslaught excerpt eventful forfeit crusade tract haggard susceptible exemplify ardent crucial excruciating embargo disdain apprehend surpass sporadic flustered languish conventional disposition theme plunder ignore project complaint title dramatic delivery litter experimental clinic arrogance preparation remind atomic occasional conscious deny maturity closure stressed translator animate observation physical further gently registration suppress combination amazing constructive allied poetry passion ecstasy mystery cheerful contribution spirit failed gummy commerce prove disagreement raid consume embarrass preference migrant devour encouragement quote mythology destined destination illuminating struggle accent ungrateful giggle approval confidence expose scientist operation superstitious emergency manners absolutely swallow readily mutual bound crisp orient stress sort stare comfort verbal heel challenging advertisement envious sex scar astonish basis accuracy enviable alliance specific chef embarrassed counter tolerable sympathetic gradually vanish informative amaze royal furry insist jealousy simplify quiver collaborate dedicated flexible function mimic obstacle technique archaeologist fragment historian intact preserve reconstruct remnant commence deed exaggeration heroic impress pose saunter wring astound concealed inquisitive interpret perplexed precise reconsider suspicious anticipation defy entitled neutral outspoken reserved sought equal absorb affect circulate conserve cycle necessity seep barren expression meaningful plume focused genius perspective prospect stunned superb transition assume guarantee nominate

10.1

install reticent corroborate regretfully strength murder concise cunning intention holy satire query confused progression disillusion background mundane abrupt multiple enormously introduce emulate harmful pragmatic pity rebut liberate enthusiastic elucidate camaraderie disparage nature creep profitability impression racist sobriety occupy autonomy currently amiable reiterate reproduce cripple modest offer atom provincial augment ungratefully expansion yield rashly allude immigration silence epitome exacerbate somber avid dispute vindicate collaborate manufacturer embellish superficial propaganda incompetent objective diminish statistics endure ambivalent perpetuate illuminate phenomenon exasperate originality restrict anxiety anthropology circumstances aesthetic manufacturing conventional dubious vulnerable reality precedent entity success term critical repair underscore stepmother republican hesitantly classic wary contents prediction immediate invoke notorious implicit excluding input skeptical foster element punish frank humanity profound dessert orthodox substance disappear encourage neighborhood elder superfluous naive ascertain complacent resilient deafening military tend prudent glare acceptance skillfully induce monster beam gullible conciliate vessel petty cantankerous disclose archaeology anecdote disdain electronics substantiate subjective tourism advisable joyful incredible provocative psychological ruins discipline condone indifferent misfortune judgmental industrialize tasty assume astute mission mar protective definitely escape oppress shocked virtual zealous endorse qualification hostile eccentric abstract disparate geographical scrutinize generalization tolerate activity claim dogmatic influential obsolete extol implausible subsequent resource chronic benevolent improve confidential ambiguous seriously dearth perplex hatred throughout dine contemporary evoke essentially economic flagrant obscure alleviate eloquent dreaadful clumsy sympathy victim condemn vigor condescend spontaneous quell reprehensible substantially sleeve equivocal ironic decry errand articulate progressive eradicate refreshments elicit aspiration recently exemplary bribery theoretical disingenuous partisan revere particle nostalgia self-aggrandizement debunk tyranny rhetoric hierarchy warning whimsical venerate commend assert miserable awful vibe constrain undermine explicit differentiate compliment scrupulous contempt erroneous ideal refute imply cynical rash presume insight revival vary delay renounce indignant offensive temperate circumstantial export peep logo advertise suppress distort chunk convoluted denounce overwhelming fertility rigorous acquire arrogant university antagonize profitable indulgent strategic breathing idiosyncrasy profession frugal discern accommodation adversary incredulous disturbance digress social belie roam smug continual pertinent voluntarily elite subtle blame sincerity lick horror censure involvement candid infer futile impetuous exploit bewilder sustain diligent sincere protect sealed musical empathy callous parenthetical insure acorn sarcasm seize sacrificially allege emphatic irrelevant progress diplomatic stunned improvise deride reconcile meticulous deject scientifically incontrovertible pressure justify gloomy depict supplant endurance analogous diary bolster slip contemplate pesticide glow religious advocate negligent creator lament fundamental embrace throne inherent inferior valuable thrive trivial pretense reserved capricious refresh refusal flight boost explanation coherent prevalent tenacious official royalty assassin rub poach delete

10.2

warrant circumscribed somewhat explosive optimistic mandate previously detract opinion intuitive feasible intimate persistent humble simplicity tempt deliberate painful unethical fundamentals discrepancy remorse pessimistic possibility conclusion acknowledge impregnate soberly creation paralyze suitability oblige tranquil medal arbitrate pacify illusory susceptible vibrate vengeance infection democratic stressful grave speculative sample identification stifle obligation revenge organization namely mediocre practical scream weaken consensus affectionate deficient treacherous console isolation ingenious memory melodrama despair awestruck composition regret recommendation celebrity decision devoid opaque ornamentation longevity participate dread restore interrogate aid accordingly mislead embarrassment optimism domestic apt funds virtue geography fundamentally thoroughly press despite horrible chilling rental esteemed disappointment innovative contemplation assign popularize haunt deafen serene percent estrangement suffer extravagant throng estimate comment priesthood mass dreadfully promote periphery animated saying relate clarity triple derivative succeed distortion register suicide improvement discreet inquisition probable curative incident praise convenience baffle covet dreadful genuinely weary undisturbed disgruntled humility renown nonchalant monopoly comedy vague decisive inconsequential announcement fabricated nevertheless vigilant scarce neglectful hushed attainment tedious explode snatch pslm agency sentimental tension adhere meanwhile sacred avert conformity likewise challenger accessible responsibility peril contact event roast fallible catastrophic competitor violate resolute deceive exaggeration discredit intolerable approve paste dimly novelist demeanor norm politician satisfaction obvious vehicle reservation defer involve restoration crush audible assistant backpack attain inanimate commemorate confrontation emigration parasite disperse quantitative laughter policy vulgar occasionally repay effective eulogy starvation empty therapeutic overall immortal encompass inappropriate opportune engagement illustrate turmoil observatory classification expression reminiscence comedian invention depress remedy protagonist gesture texture diplomatic election prolong conducive emotional invigorate curiosity expressive %

K-12 Words was originally published on PinkWrite

[biofunmy]

My Husband Wore Really Tight Shorts to the Eclipse Party

My husband, Alex, strode across the football field and toward me wearing a white undershirt, black dress shoes and socks, and a pair of skintight, blaze-orange nylon shorts that fit like hot pants.

“Hi,” he said.

After a moment of stunned silence, I said, “Hi.”

“Something wrong?”

We were at our children’s school for an eclipse party. Our city, Columbia, South Carolina, was in the path of totality for the Great American Eclipse of 2017. Thousands of people had come from all over the country, from around the globe, to watch the moon cover the sun for two-and-a-half minutes on August 21. Restaurants handed out eclipse glasses. The local news had been warning us for weeks about burned corneas. Bars had opened at 8 a.m. Now, in mid-afternoon, the sun was high and the temperature was nearing 100 degrees.

Alex was supposed to be at work, but he’d come here instead, unexpectedly swaddled in orange.

“Where did you get those shorts?” I said.

“I found them in a garbage bag in the back of your minivan,” he said. “Why?”

They were in the bag to go to Goodwill because they were too small for our 12-year-old son. Now my 6-foot-one, 250-pound husband was wearing them. In public.

“They’re too tight,” I said.

“They feel okay.” He waved to some parents we knew from our son’s football team. I looked the other way.

As my daughter’s teacher walked toward us, I shouted, “He just came from work and found those old shorts in the car.”

She smiled and nodded. When another parent approached, I bolted.

Catching up to me, Alex said, “Why are you trying to make excuses for my shorts? Why are you running away from people?”

“Because you look ridiculous,” I said.

“You mean the shorts?”

“Yes! Of course I mean the shorts. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking it’s hot today. Look, this is probably the only chance I’ll ever get to see a full solar eclipse. I’m not going to spend it sweating in a suit when I can put on a pair of shorts.”

“They’re skin tight!” I said. “Don’t you care about what people think?”

He looked surprised. “Of course not.”

This is why I fell in love with him, half a lifetime ago.

We met at a tiny college in the lap of mounding green-and-blue mountains. There was so much beauty in there, and so much brutality. Someone had scratched a list of the “10 hottest girls” in our class into one of the old seminar tables. I felt both appalled by this and sad, knowing I would never be considered for such a list, then appalled at myself for feeling sad about it.

I knew that I was judged on how I looked; we all were. I didn’t care enough to wake up early and put on makeup or style my hair, yet I was keenly self-conscious. I had not heard the term “the male gaze” then, but when I first came across it in graduate school, I knew exactly what it felt like.

I knew a boy freshman year who sometimes drank too much and talked about fraternity hazing, about being made to sit on blocks of ice with pants, or kneeling for hours on rice, about seeing another boy in the shower with his back and butt and thighs bruised and blistered.

I loved going to fraternity parties anyway. My friends and I put on ratty jeans and old T-shirts and moved in packs, lashed together like people trying to survive a shipwreck with one life jacket, dancing in basements and drinking grain punch from rubber trash bins. We knew never to leave a party alone.

The college had been co-ed for only four years and still felt like a boys’ school that women were allowed to attend. I had come from an all-girls’ school and was utterly confused, unable to read what was going on around me. It felt like junior high all over again. I was socially naïve, nerdy and frightened.

On top of that, my father was dying, cruelly and slowly. I didn’t laugh much. But I laughed with Alex, who was neither constrained nor frightened. He exuded the sense of freedom I wished for myself.

To not care — to move through the world without stopping to consider how others might judge — was the rarest gift, and Alex shared it with me.

But now, 25 years later, that freedom I once wanted so badly for myself was infuriating. Alex’s ability to simply be unaware of the judgment of others has always been intoxicating. Except when it’s embarrassing.

Suddenly, the orange curve of light in the sky was gone. Over the loudspeaker, the physics teacher announced it was safe to take off our eclipse glasses.

There was a collective gasp. And then screams, squealing and shouts of “Oh my God!”

I couldn’t process what I was seeing. My head shook back and forth in denial, even though I knew what I was looking at.

There is no comparing a partial solar eclipse to totality. They’re entirely different experiences; a hug versus an orgasm.

I didn’t worry about Alex’s orange shorts. I didn’t worry whether my children burned their corneas. All I could think about was the gaping hole in the world where the sun was supposed to be, the black disc surrounded by a ring of undulating white threads of fire that moved the way cream does when you pour it into coffee.

It was too much, almost intolerable to look at — I had to look away, and then back again immediately. It was impossible, and yet there it was.

And then, something shifted. Somehow, suddenly, it wasn’t intolerable. Somehow it felt as if the eclipse had always been there, and that the world would always be this way. The-two-and-a-half minutes of totality stretched into a new, seemingly eternal inside-out reality.

Until an enormous drop of sunshine erupted on the edge of the black hole and grew bigger. Just seconds before, time had slowed to a halt, and now it sped up a thousand times. Already the sun was blinding.

“Glasses on!” the high school physics teacher bellowed over the loudspeaker.

I felt as if I had been hit in the chest. I looked at my husband in his hot pants and lace-up Oxfords and wasn’t embarrassed. How could I care what other people thought when the whole sky had just been turned inside out, when time had sped up and slowed down, when the world had become impossible in a split second and then mundane again?

The Swiss psychiatrist Carl Jung argued that when we fall in love with someone, what we really fall in love with are the characteristics that are in us, but that, for whatever reason, we cannot access.

What I love in Alex — that ability to not care what other people think — is something I want for myself. I have experienced that utter lack of self-consciousness only three times in my life: When I fell in love 25 years ago, the months I had untreated postpartum psychosis, and the two-and-half minutes of the eclipse. Three times reality flipped.

So how could this be? How could 15 years of marriage turn the thing I most love about Alex into something I desperately want to change about him? How could the thing I want for myself become the thing I want him to lose?

This is what marriage does better than anything else. It forces you to look hard at what you want to be and acknowledge that someone else, someone you love, cannot give it to you. Even after spending 25 years with that person, the only way to get there is to change yourself.

Sometimes this change feels so impossible that instead of admiring the traits you want, you come to resent them. Falling in love shows you who you could be, but marriage shows you who you still are.

Alex cannot give me what I want. He cannot imbue me with his not-caring-about-judgment ability. He cannot give me this freedom, though he shows me what it looks like daily. (Hint: It’s orange.) That freedom is so close I touch it, and yet it isn’t mine. And so my anger at him that hot afternoon.

Yet to have him assuage my fear of judgment by asking that he fear judgment would destroy the part of him I love most.

If Jung is right, the freedom is already available to me. I have felt it three times. If a seemingly impossible change can emerge in the sky and become normal, perhaps it can emerge in any of us, too.

When we got home that evening, I looked up the date and time of the next total solar eclipse in the U.S., already wanting that freedom again. But that night, after Alex went to bed, I found those orange shorts and threw them away.

I know where I want to go. I am not there yet.

Kerry Egan is a writer who lives in Columbia, South Carolina. Her most recent book is “On Living.”

Modern Love can be reached at modernlove@nytimes.com.

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