#the comfort character i get punched in the face with nostalgia

[person25]

Shout out to all the comfort characters along the way!

[mollyrolls]

o' city lights; iwaizumi hajime

track 5 / now playing / track 7 : ̗̀➛ weatherman collection

Curls a smile when the sadness hits / Finds my face with fingertips. / Have you seen her / The daughter of the hum of the highway? / She's curling up like smoke.

READ TAGS: gn!reader x iwaizumi, ongoing suicide attempt (not graphic, but obvious), suicidal thoughts, no character death but death depictions, lots of angst, hurt/kinda comfort, self-deprecating thoughts, reader is depressed, not really happy ending but not sad either, not proofread, lmk what i miss.

wc: 1.9k

an: this is not a happy fic. be kind to yourself and don't read if you're not in a good space for it. not really any resolution to suicidal thoughts so please be weary.

Petals fall off flowers every year. It's habitual, it's expected. A momentary sadness for the loss of beauty, one that’s quickly cast aside knowing they’ll come again. But what happens to those petals?

Some of them are lucky. The ones tossed in weddings, pressed in a book, kept in a jar. Those petals were and continue to be loved, remembered with fondness and nostalgia. 

But not all of them. The love-me-nots are neglected, rejections stuffed in trash bins, once thoughtful bouquets left without water to wilt and wither. Those too unlucky to be treasured get picked up by the wind and left somewhere to decompose; dying from the inside out. 

Those petals don’t get to come back.

Petals like you, found near riverbeds, compost bins, or bridges. Waiting for the wind to find you, lightened by the decayed holes in your body to be deposited into the expanse below. 

That’s where you find yourself, exactly like you thought. It's habitual, it’s expected. You come here often, thinking this will be the time you really do it. 

Cars speed past you, below you, making you feel frozen in time. The metal of the guardrails pressed into your back fail to produce any feeling in your body. You sit, and wait.

You choose this bridge for a reason. The city haunts your view, lights in buildings reminding you that there are people out there doing things, meaningful or fun or worthwhile things, while you can’t even commit to committing. The buzz of the highway fills your head, amplifying the feelings of despair settling low in your chest.

There’s nothing inherently different about this time. The traffic is as bad as normal, the people as neglectful as ever. There’s nothing different, yet this time your irrelevance is hitting like a punch to the gut.

Commutes would go on, with the mild inconvenience of the body to clean up the next morning. A headline, a funeral, belongings sent to the government. Turn the calendar page, and you’re gone. Decomposing somewhere, another task to be taken care of. 

And you’re sure there are people who would care. The people you pass by every day, the few friends you’ve kept, maybe your family if you’re lucky. But no one would stay. The momentary sadness for the loss of a life, one that’s quickly cast aside for something more uplifting. 

And that’s what gets to you the most. The temporary. How badly you want to be preserved and remembered with fondness are irrelevant to the whims of the universe, and that’s the reality that comes cooly up your spine.

Your fingers tighten on the guard rail, positioning your body farther out. The hopelessness is all-consuming, quietly smothering your brain in sorrow. No one has stopped to help you yet, which means it’s time. You’ve known it’s time.

Your deep subconscious is begging you to wait just a bit longer, with your fingers digging into the metal painfully or your gut fighting gravity so fiercely that it starts to pile in your throat. 

But the feeling that wins out is the chill of the wind, slicing cleanly through the gaps in your chest and leaving you breathless. It catches you just so, swaying your body forward and back. The rotted petal, clinging onto the stem with everything it’s got.

But it’s not enough, and the wind scoops you up. Your fingers loosen on the guard rail.

Then there’s a voice.

It’s soft, trying not to startle you and send you off. Barely audible over the droning in your ears, but it settles next to you.

“Hey. Can you come back to the sidewalk?”

Logically, it doesn’t make sense. Your position is precarious, intentionally chosen so it would be hard for people to intervene. That’s the excuse you fed yourself, to justify why no one ever came to stop you. 

Except for him. Now.

But still, the truth remains. One move too sudden and you’d be gone for good. There’s no choice but to ignore his request, no matter how badly your chest started burning at the thought.

“Okay.”

You notice the start of scuffles and shifting as you realize what he’s doing. His feet aren’t meant to fit in the gaps, but he manages to navigate towards you, climbing up to stand beside you. The barrier you’re in front of suddenly feels a mile wide, demanding you stay on the path you’ve set.

He leans over it, crossing the gap with no hesitation. The sudden proximity takes up all the oxygen in the night. 

“I’m Hajime.”

You force your gaze down, refusing to look at him. There’s a sudden overwhelming thought that if you start to humanize this man, rather than leaving him as a self-righteous prick who’s doing this for his own ego, then you’ll still be alive tomorrow. A fate you cannot reside to.

You’ve done this song and dance enough times to know that waking up the morning after is worse than the feelings on the bridge. You won't handle that pain anymore.

“Do you have a name?”

It goes quiet for a moment. When you tell him, you even surprise yourself. It sounds too distant, too forgotten. You realize you’re shaking, fingers trembling on the rail. 

“I like it. Suits you.”

Then you sit in silence. Minutes pass, and he stays by your side, watching the cars below pass along.

When you imagined getting talked off the edge, you never imagined it like this. You aren’t prepared. You were ready to let the spiels of how much you have to live for pass right through you, knowing that a form letter wouldn’t do any convincing.

Never would you have considered being treated normally as an option. He’s still speaking gently, but it's not patronizing or pitying. This might as well be any old conversation for Hajime.

“So, I guess you’re not here admiring the view?”

The absurdity of the question makes you laugh. It’s choppy and fleeting, leaving your throat aching, but you laugh all the same. It feels good.

“Yeah, I figured. I didn’t know any other ways to breach the subject though.”

This is what you were waiting for. This is what you’re ready to ignore and avoid. He’ll come up with some impromptu speech about how killing yourself is wrong and you’ll let it roll over you in waves. Things will go back on track.

“I hate this city sometimes. This view in particular; it sucks.”

You can relate. This is the city you’ve always hated, because it hates you. The people, the culture, it snuffs you out, smothering the flame with all of its hypocrisy and pretension. 

This is the city you’re tied to forever, fated to return to every time you try to leave. Only one way to really leave it all behind.

He shifts on his forearms, almost settling in. He’s yet to be broken by the ridiculousness of the situation, chatting with you like old friends in a diner rather than precariously over a 20 foot fall. 

“I moved about a year ago, trying to make something for myself. Got too overwhelmed too quickly, thought about leaving almost every day.”

Once again, this is not what you expected. He’s taking the weight off of you somehow, letting his worries fall to the wind.

“But if I had, I would’ve missed out on a lot more good stuff. The hole-in-the-walls. The quiet enclaves. The parts that make it worth it.”

Hajime doesn’t mind your lack of response. He just keeps talking, sharing his story with you. Slowly chipping away at the concrete prison you face, revealing small bits of beauty you’ve never noticed before.

Something in you shifts, and you turn to look at him while he talks. His voice didn’t betray him, but now you notice the nerves he’s dealing with too. The anxious fingers, the shifting feet. 

You wonder if he’s nervous for you. If he thinks it’s up to him to save you. What would happen if he failed.

But more jarringly, you see the city in his eyes. And for once in your life, the lights don’t drown you. You don't think about everyone out there, you just notice the soft hues that paint his features. The parts that make it worth it.

The change isn’t drastic. It’s not a sudden revelation. It’s a few pencil holes stabbed in the cardboard box you trap yourself in, but it’s enough to get some fresh oxygen. All it took was someone else’s view. A reprise from your mind.

“Sometimes it just takes a different perspective, you know?”

You shift your gaze, finally facing the city lights. A knot forms in your throat. You nod.

“Will you come back now?”

You want to go with him. You try and deny it but the smallest voice in your head reminds you that it's true. You want to stay alive, you want to go another day, you don’t want it to end here. Not like this. You want to be better, feel better.

But there is an aching hollowness in your stomach that makes you useless, unable to reach out for him. No longer dangling in the wind, but cemented in your place. And you can’t communicate that to him.

Right as you’re about to turn back, there’s a desperate please. Shaking and scared and begging you to take it. 

It’s the twist of the knife he stabbed in your lungs when you weren’t looking. You know your plan has failed, yet again.

Because in that moment, you know you’re staying alive tonight.

Your thoughts go blank, a hazy fog enveloping you. You move on autopilot, finding his outstretched hand. You ignore the soft breath of relief he lets out when you do. 

It feels robotic as he helps you back over the barrier, refusing to notice the violent tremble in your legs. It feels alien when you touch back on solid ground. Because you’re not supposed to be here. Not tonight.

There’s nothing like the emptiness that comes after you climb off. Nothing like the feeling of failing yet again. You’re used to it now, failed attempts trailing after you for miles, but it never gets easier.

The shell you fall into isn’t kind enough to feel welcoming.

It’s the shell of you that follows Hajime blindly. To the bus stop, onto the seats, towards the city.

You pass by the bridge you were just at, and can make out the ghost of your soul still standing there. Looking down again, one foot off the edge. 

You watch the ghost of you step, plummeting down to the hidden road below, and the bus is moving again.

It’s quiet.

The tiniest spark of pain lights in your heart.

“Hajime?”

The first words you’ve spoken since giving him your name. They’re hollow and echoey in your head, falling without your permission.

“I should get some help, shouldn’t I.”

He waits a moment, opening and shutting his mouth as he tries to answer the impossible question you’ve posed to him. You don’t register it, eyes unfocused and distant.

“Yeah, I think you should. At least someone else to talk to. Along with me.”

That brings your attention back. It’s not comforting, it feels out of place.

“Along with you. Funny.” Your voice is humorless. “Don’t fool yourself. You’ll forget about me soon enough.”

He laughs at you when you say that. Laughs like the joke you told was quite good. 

“I don’t think I’ll forget someone trying to…”

He pauses. Still treading lightly, like the moment he says one wrong thing you'll go sprinting off, too quick for him to catch you.

“Kill themself?”

You can't stand the pity.

“Yeah. That. It’ll stick around.”

Everything that he does confuses you.

He’s not faking or pretending. He’s not treating you delicately, like you’re some broken damaged thing. He doesn’t say it’s because he cares about you, because he doesn't know you. His words are distant, some might think it unfeeling. But they’re honest and grounded and somehow it’s working for you.

You know his actions tonight won’t magically cure you and send you down the path of righteousness. 

You know there’s a good chance you’ll end up back on that bridge sooner or later.

But his actions tonight also make you want to try. Try to stay alive. Even if it’s fleeting.

“Okay. 

I hope you do.”

[inspector-montoya-fox]

It's always really difficult to choose between An Opera of Fear and A Cold Alliance for my favourite Sly 3 episode, but it's safe to say that Flight of Fancy is easily the most nostalgic. Not because it's rooted in my childhood memories (it is) but in the sense that it shares elements with episodes from Sly 2 during a game which presents the gang at the peak of their career. Let's discuss

I think we can all agree that the series very effectively presents the gang's development, not only as individual characters, but also as a team of thieves. Sly 1 shows the gang as teens during their first set of adventures which sprout from Sly's desire for vengeance. They make many mistakes, they don't really have planned heists or jobs - Sly just casually goes into every level breaking shit and then faces off the big baddie - and they surpass their own expectations of themselves to defeat Clockwerk in the end. Then, Sly 2 covers a crucial point in the gang's career. It felt as if up until this point they hadn't truly fucked up so they went into it being very cocky, especially Sly. And when they got their asses handed to them by Neyla, getting separated tested their individual and collective limits.

In Sly 3, the gang has evolved to master thieves, capable enough to feel comfortable recruiting and as such mentoring strangers and also worthy enough to inherit an entire lineage's stolen loot. This is also shown in the missions, which up in scale and spectacle. It's no longer just "follow this villain" or "pickpocket this person". It's a combination of missions we grew accustomed to during Sly 2 like "follow Octavio and do recon under time pressure", or something completely new. Right off the bat, for example, we send a ferris wheel rolling across Venice squashing guards in its way, like this is just a mission not Thunderbeak or something. Every Sly 3 mission evolves explosions, high-tech and the eventual mini boss-fight.

So it's then a bit surprising to see the gang reverting to their sneakier, more subtle ways during Flight of Fancy. That's not to say we don't have explosions and thrill in the episode (the dogfights, Muggshot vs Carmelita, wolf-riding, shooting literal fucking windmills into blimps), but the way they choose to sabotage the competition due to how delicate its internal politics are creates some nostalgia. Paddling around the sewers in a blow-up rowboat and breaking into the pilots' rooms is very Sly 2. It felt like something 18 year old Sly would do. Also, scaling the Baron's castle harks back to Sly 1's platforming and is reminiscent of how small Sly would seem when approaching a villain's daunting lair.

The design choices for the Netherlands seem primitive too, enhanced by the fact that we're in the countryside. I feel like there's that Sly 1 and 2 rule of thumb at play here, where Sucker Punch chose the aesthetic or genre first and then chose the location. For example, they wanted a spooky level in Sly 2 so they chose Prague which would accommodate the genre through its architecture and gothic character. That allowed them to exaggerate a lot in terms of level design. And it's the same for Flight of Fancy, where we have a spooky castle on top of a very cartoony hill and you can hide under haystacks. Oppositely, the rest of the game's levels seem to have departed from the previous entries' design principle (except Kaine Island, which is fully fictional). It feels as if SP chose Venice and wanted to play up how European it is, or the wilderness of the Australian outback but without any radical stylistic choices. The genres are explored through the narrative, not through design.

Lastly, let's close off with some Thieves in Time slander because it wouldn't be a signature me tumblr essay without it. If we really use the entirety of our brain power and manage to look past all of the game's bullshit, one additional flaw would be how it doesn't consider the gang's development when telling its story. I'm not saying that in the series' fourth game the gang should have been infallible or indestructible due to achieving master thief status in Sly 3, but here the mistakes they make feel so unnecessarily stupid and like shit they wouldn't have done even in Sly 1. Falling for Penelope's schtick twice; Sly letting his guard down during the Le Paradox boss fight after the Contessa; whatever the fuck went down in Arabia... yea.

[fowlblue]

2, 7, 22, 24 and A, G, H for the usual suspects? (ily)

Ily too, friend- I hope you’re having a lovely day!

Let’s see…

2: How easy is it for your character to laugh?

Tim:

- I imagine Tim doesn’t really laugh much? He finds things funny and gets amused, he’ll chuckle on occasion, but outright laughter is just not really common to see, he’s not emotive in that way. He’ll smile if he likes the joke, though!

Jon:

- Very- Jon has an easy sense of humor and will also laugh at situations that do not warrant it (such as when an enemy takes a punch to the face). As I recall his laugh was described as ‘like a box of crickets’ which is?? So fun?? I imagine he bangs the table a lot when he does it, too.

Valentine:

- Valentine, like Tim, isn’t much of a laughing man- he’s easily amused and will snicker meanly, or chuckle at some stupid humor, but isn’t the type for deep, boisterous laughter.

7: What triggers nostalgia for them- do they feel that way often? Do they enjoy it?

Tim:

- Tim can get nostalgic, I’d imagine, but not very much- his early years he’s not particularly fond of, and many periods of his life have become cloudy and less clear as he’s aged and suffered memory issues from both lingering effects of the mesmer and damage from the Fowl Star. The strongest thing that summons nostalgia for him is spending time alone with Foxy, but sometimes it’s a rather melancholy feeling and he prefers not to sit in it. The life he wants is what’s ahead, not what’s behind him.

Jon:

- Jon gets nostalgic pretty often- he misses ‘the old days’, and things that remind him of his childhood or college years will often make him stop and think for a minute. Baseball (he played, back in school) is one such topic- another is driving through small, rural towns like the one he grew up in. He usually will let that feeling roll over him for a minute, and then shove it away. He’s got work- he can’t sit and daydream.

Valentine:

- Valentine doesn’t feel nostalgia too often, but when he does, he likes to sit in it for a while. Growing up on the northeastern coast of the US, many ‘beachy’ things remind him of his family- he’s particularly fond of saltwater taffy and likes to keep some on his desk to snack on.

22: How does jealousy manifest itself in them (they become possessive, they become aloof, etc)? 

Tim:

- Tim gets jealous rarely, but when he gets jealous it’s not hard to spot if you know what to look for. He’ll become clipped, snippy and visibly irritated with whatever he feels threatened by, but rarely moves to do anything about it unless he feels outright disrespected (usually when someone won’t take a hint from Angeline and leave her alone- he knows she can fight her own battles but goes to support her anyways)

Jon:

- Jon can get nasty when he’s jealous- aggressive, overbearing, and loud. Deep-seated self-esteem issues and history with someone who deliberately stokes such feelings for the sake of his own amusement (see below) means that Jon does not take the feeling well. When he’s aware of his overreaction he’ll try to reign it in, but it’s usually well after the damage is done.

Valentine:

- Valentine, if he is to have a positive trait, is not a jealous individual. Partially, it stems from his ego- he doesn’t feel like he has anything to be jealous of. The rest is simply that he’s an unattached, shallow man and doesn’t really care enough about people (or most things) to become protective over them.

24: Is sex something that they’re comfortable speaking about? To whom?

Tim:

- Tim is comfortable speaking about sex- but solely to his partners, and that’s about it. It’s not that he’s prudish, but it’s not really the kind of conversation he expects in the social circles he frequents, and he’s liable to become flustered about it.

Jon:

- Jon talks about sex about as much as needed to hurriedly arrange himself a partner for the night, but that’s about it- usually that’s all that’s needed, and he doesn’t really like talking about it much. He finds it awkward and uncomfortable. That will not stop him from making incredibly raunchy jokes on-air, however.

Valentine:

- Yes, and to just about anyone (within reason). Valentine does not care a wink about the ‘taboo’ of talking about sex and will discuss it when questioned in interviews, or if it somehow comes up in conversation. Sometimes he’ll go into detail just to watch whoever he’s talking to squirm a bit.

A: Why are you excited about this character?

Tim:

- Tim has a wide and varied form of interpretation in the Fowldom, and I think that’s part of what makes him so interesting! Nobody sees him the same way (and admittedly he’s not the most popular) so I feel like I have a lot of freedom with his character while still fitting within the realm of canon. Also I just think he’s so funny?? Man used to be a crime boss and now he collects celebrity sneakers. He stole several mummies once. He canonically loves Tim Burton’s Batman… I love him.

Jon:

- God I could go on for hours but it’s like… Jon is also basically a blank slate, we don’t know much about him and I feel like because of that he didn’t really have much of a headcanoned character in the fandom?? Until now, lol- I love the Jon I have made in my head and I love that occasionally I get to share that all with you. He’s glittery he’s mean he’s oh-so-dramatic and I LOVE HIM.

Valentine:

- He’s my wicked little bastard man how could I NOT love him. Valentine is comprised of almost all of my favorite villain tropes: he’s sugar-sweet-until-sinister, he’s a rock-and-roll man, he’s an Evil Ex… Valentine can be presented in both a comedic and deadly serious light, which I think makes him a lot of fun.

G: What trait of theirs bothers you the most?

Tim:

- Hmm… I really love his character so I can’t think of much, but I don’t like how in every visual depiction so far he’s lacking his facial scars. When they remember to put Cudgeon’s, but not Fowl Senior’s, it leaves a little bit of a sour taste in my mouth.

Jon:

- I think that since Jon is clearly a sort of ‘genre villain’ (he’s the stereotypical bad/mob-affiliated businessman, and while he’s well-handled he’s not much more than that in canon), I don’t really have many issues with his character? He was handled well in TEC. I only wish he could have been a reoccuring villain like Opal, but I’m not ashamed to admit that’s pure self-indulgence.

Valentine:

- I’ve mentioned it before, but it’s hard to get across the particular kind of cruel and violent that Valentine is- I don’t want people to think of him as some bloodthirsty killer or anything. He just completely lacks any qualms when it comes to hurting people that are in his way. But that’s hard to pin down in particular because he definitely enjoys his moments of revenge, it just doesn’t spread beyond that, if that makes sense?

[blacky-nikki-art]

For Iberis 👀:

CJ

4, 7, 13, 38, 43

That's a lot of questions but let's go!

QUESTIONS FOR CREATORS

C) Did you have trouble figuring out where they fit in their own story?

Not really. Iberis-3 was a random OC and Young Wolf so it was 'prepared' for me as the gamer. I didn't expect Iberis to slap THAT MUCH. I didn't really care whether he fits or not. My style of storytelling is much different than the canonic one from Destiny 2. More comedy with a lot of sad stuff in life. (The black comedy, I guess). I just keep going, If I disliked something, I just get rid of this but I want to be sure it fits the main story of the game.

I didn't know what I did but it worked. Just some trust in myself in this rare moment.

J) Did you have to manipulate or exclude canon factors to allow them to create their character?

Yes, a lot. Usually, the Young Wolf is a character who looks like they forget how to speak but exactly knows how to punch someone's face. Silent OP character.

In the begging Iberis was supposed to have a much different character. More moody, mean shit without reason, who doesn't care about anyone. Boring Edge Lord. Luckily he changes to the current version.

My art style is not really similar to the canon one. I prefer cartoonish/comic style with too expressive faces and body language. Exos in the game are not really expressive (except Cayde cuz he was the only one Exo with eyebrows, srl. But y'know, It was Cayde, the very very special one).

I gave more human behavior to exo - crying, able to be drunk what is said in the lore-books they can't do. Even able to blush. Full realism and being 100% accurate to the canon is not my jam but looks like ppl don't blame and mock me for this so why not use this?

Also, my fake tooths, in my version, Exos have fake teeth 'cause It works better for me than the black whatever is it. So much stylization.

QUESTIONS FOR YOUR OCs

4) How easy is it to earn their trust?

It's a hard question. Usually, Iberis doesn't give his trust easily to anyone. His trauma in blueberry years, working with the Vanguards, and being the Famous Young Wolf learn him to not be open to others. But it doesn't mean Ibi cannot give trust someone.

Iberis-3 opens up when he has to deal with too strong emotions for him or he feels really bad and/or overwhelmed. He's very emotional but also he's a master at hiding this.

Also, he's able to give some trust if someone shares the same passion as him. Especially plants but painting and drawing too.

7) What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?

Definitely his early years on the farm. I don't mean the farm from EDZ but one in the Last City. Iberis-3 in his blueberry years left the tower and he refused to be a guardian but it's a story for another time. The farm was his workplace but also his 1st home. Eddy, his friend let him live here when Iberis was homeless but later Ibi become a part of this family.

In this place, Iberis finally starts to feel accepted and comfortable with himself, that he's something more than an undead warrior where only his combat skills mean something.

This farm was ruined during Red War. Eddy and his family survived this hard time, unlucky except for Eddy's dad who died at the begging attack on the city.

After/During Red War Iberis become the new Young Wolf so it was meant back to his role of guardian. He wasn't able back to Eddy's family. He still misses them but he knows it never be the same now.

13) What color do they think they look best in? Do they actually look best in that color?

Iberis usually like to wear black, grey, or white t-shirts with prints. He doesn't say no to colorful ones but he can be picky about this. He doesn't like main bright colors.

Did he look good? In my humble opinion yes, but everyone has their own sense of fashion so...

Tricky question.

38) What memory do they revisit the most often? 

Actually, there are two.

The 1st one is the death of Cayde. Iberis can't forgive himself because he wasn't able to save Cayde. The consequences are still with him until now (I mean especially Crow, the story for a different time too). Sometimes Iberis is wonder how it would be if Forsaken never happened. Maybe everything would be easier? We never knew the answer.

The 2nd one is related to Forsaken but that's more my story. Iberis after this broke up with Shiro. Both of them had personal problems after what happened in the Prison of Elders. Shiro has pissed off cuz Iberis goes alone to kill all barons and Uldren. Shiro was the last one of the hunter trio and lost many friends so losing the loved one was too much for him. Shiro chooses to be alone than lost another person in his life. He regrets this later.

On the other side, Iberis had to do this. We all know why so I don't think it's necessary to explain. Iberis is still back to these memories if he wanted or not.

Spoiler, not a spoiler. Ibi and Shiro are back to themself in the Season of Splicer. Both idiots had to grow up.

43) If someone asked them to explain their sexuality, how would they do so? 

One of the biggest enemies in his life. Iberis is not a person who shows his feeling around people, romantic too. You'll almost never see how Iberis and Shiro show their feelings around others.

Iberis is unable to explain why he's gay. It's natural to him if we can use 'natural' when we talk about Exo. It's just the way he is. He likes other men and... That's it.

In his personal opinion asking him why he is gay is rude and nosy. Why do you even care? Usually, when someone asks him about this he just says he's gay and the end of the theme. Thank you, goodbye.

...

I hope I answer everything correctly. Thx for your questions!

[annegirl13]

Harry Potter Reread Reviews (Part 1)

Note: Given her recent actions, I have decided that I am not giving J. K. Rowling any more of my money. However, I bought these books years ago, before she revealed her true self, and they are comfort reads for me. One of my reading goals was not to reread all the same books, but sometimes I just need an easy listen. I’m going to put the reviews under a cut, because I can’t help blathering about them. The short version is:

Sorcerer’s Stone: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Chamber of Secrets: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Prisoner of Azkaban: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I’ve listened to the first three so far. These were the ones that had come out already when my dad gave me the first book to read. I think the third one had just come out.

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s (Philosopher’s) Stone — ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

A lot of my feelings for this book are nostalgic. It is a very good first novel I think, but mainly why I love it is the memories that it brings back to me. My dad heard about this book when it was just coming out just getting popular and he also heard all the Christian uproar about “this is about which is this is about magic this is evil. This will send your children to hell don’t let them read it.” Naturally, being a person with an actual brain, my father read the book. Then he handed it to me and said, “Anne, I think you’ll really enjoy this book.”

Enjoy was an understatement. fifth grade Anne devoured this book. in the space of one night, I read all the way up to almost the climax. I remember that I read all the way to almost the climax, because my father – – and his infinite wisdom – – came into my room at 11 o’clock at night and took the book away again. He told me I could finish it in the morning. I have still never quite forgiven him for that. 😉

I think this book is a great starter book for the series and a great debut novel. Because I no longer give the author my money, the only copies of this series I will have in any future classroom will be secondhand ones that I picked up from the thrift store. Because I don’t agree with this author’s actions, I will not be actively recommending them to students, but I’m not about to discourage any of them from reading what is a really good book.

My dad didn’t tell me not to read them, and I go with his philosophy. If you tell a child not to read a book, they’re going to read it to see what all the fuss is about. Better to tell them what he told me about the golden compass series by Philip Pullman. “This author has views that I don’t agree with, and you might find things in this book that make you uncomfortable, but if you want to read it, go ahead and read it.”

(As an aside, I did read the first in that series and liked it OK, but I got really confused in the second book and didn’t ever finish. I’m pretty sure my dad was talking about the author’s views on God in that case.)

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets—⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I honestly don’t remember a whole lot about reading this one for the first time. That’s probably because I’m pretty sure I picked it up from the library read it in one long session and then proceeded to hunt down the third book like my life depended on it.

Rereading it now, for the 47000th time, I find that it is not my favorite. I still gave it four stars, but I would rank it below the first book. I like the overall story, I thought it was clever, but Gilderoy Lockhart still makes me want to punch him in the face. I suppose that’s a strength of the author, making characters you want to punch in the face. It’s too bad that I also want to punch her in the face now. 🤷‍♀️

Anyways. Book two, decent. I only really return to it because it is the second in the series.

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban — ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

This one is still my favorite. It is the only one of the potter books that I give five stars, and not all of those are nostalgia based this time. I think this book sets up a really really good mystery, and set up an interesting way to solve that mystery and kind of a twist ending.

(On another note, I noticed that the American covers that I grew up with, which I have used as the pictures here, give away spoilers! Especially book 2 and book 3 here. If you read the books, take a look at the cover and tell me that you don’t think it’s super spoilers.)

I love the character development we see for our main trio. I love Professor Lupin. He is probably my favorite part of the book. I think he’s a great teacher. I love the way he helped Neville, who is my favorite character of all the books. I also have to credit this book for sparking my fanfiction debut. Not right as this book came out, but a few years later, I was writing my first Harry Potter fanfiction about Harry’s parents and their friends at Hogwarts.

I do kind of feel that this book is a turning point between the fun adventures of the first two books, and the slightly darker adventures of the rest of the series. This is the one where things start to get serious (or Sirius? 😉)

📕📗📘📙 📕📗📘📙 📕📗📘📙

I’m currently listening to the fourth book. I’ll update after I finish that one and the fifth one. I kind of lump those two together. (Shouldn’t do that if you have the hard copies. You’ll hurt yourself. 😉)

[denimbex1986]

Death, taxes and grief – perhaps the only universal experiences in this world. “All of Us Strangers” follows Adam, played by Andrew Scott, who is a screenwriter in his mid-40s living in London and has spent the majority of his life coming to terms with the loss of his mother and father, who died in a car crash when he was a preteen. When he visits his childhood home for the first time since the accident, he finds the ghosts of his parents, played by Claire Foy and Jamie Bell, frozen in time as they were before the tragedy.

Adam is given the chance to get to know his parents as an adult and make up for the time that he lost with them. He has a drink with his parents on the first night that he returns to the house in celebration of the impossible situation as they tell him they are proud that he is doing well for himself. At the same time in his life, Adam begins a relationship with Harry, portrayed by Paul Mescal, one of the only other tenants in his apartment building.

Rather than following a linear story, the film has a hazy feel about it that leaves some parts of the timeline up to the viewer’s interpretation. It is almost as if you are experiencing it as a dream rather than in a movie theater. The soft angles, bright colors and creative overhead shots contribute to this feeling. The movie draws on feelings of nostalgia, and, along with the music and costumes used, director Andrew Haigh accomplishes this by using his own childhood home as a prop, using it to shoot Adam’s scenes with his parents.

Scott and Mescal have exciting chemistry, and their characters serve as foils for each other. Adam is reserved and quiet and carries trauma from experiencing the AIDS crisis as a child who was just discovering that he was gay at the time. Harry, on the other hand, is an outgoing, physically affectionate younger man who, despite his unreserved exterior, grapples with feeling like an outsider in his family due to his sexuality. As Adam gets the closure with his parents that he’s been craving for decades, he’s slowly able to open himself up to a real relationship with Harry. And by finally experiencing love in one form, he is able to accept it in another.

While Adam and Harry’s relationship has been the movie’s selling point, the story of familial love takes center stage. The idea of a 46-year-old man reverting to his childhood self when he’s around his parents for the first time in years may sound strange, but the vulnerability and pensiveness that Scott brings to the role sells it and makes scenes, like decorating a Christmas tree with his parents and breaking down while talking to his dad, seem not only appropriate but also necessary.

Adam’s mother and father are parents of a past time. They struggle to make sense of their son’s life but do their best to understand. When Adam tells his mom that he’s gay, she responds negatively, citing the societal discrimination that she assumes he faces and the AIDS crisis that she does not realize is now under control. Adam reassures her that he lives in a more accepting world than the one she knew, but the struggles that still come with being gay are alluded to. This scene may hit home for a lot of queer people; while parents don’t always mean harm, they may respond with the viewpoints they formed when they were young, and I felt a familiar pang in my chest as I watched this scene in the theater. How many of us heard a similar version of Adam’s mom worriedly responding with, “They say it’s a very lonely kind of life,” after he comes out to her?

At its core, “All of Us Strangers” is a testament to love’s ability and will to transcend even death. The heartbreaking beauty of the film will shatter viewers in a strange way that almost feels comforting. It just punched you in the gut, but then gets you an ice pack and tells you to lay down for a bit, leaving the taste of bittersweet catharsis in your mouth.'

[tinyhistory]

Hey! Love your stories so much I just had to ask! Do you have any favorite drarry authors/stories? I sometimes compare the quality of other stories to ROA (oops!) because ROA is just that good. My personal favorites are ROA (of course!), the Foundations Series (saras_girl), the ordeal of being known (louisfake), denouement (the_never_was), Good to Me (And I'd Be So Good to You) (AWickedMemory), and To Hurt and Heal (cassisluna). Have you read these? Have a wonderful day! :)

Thank you, so glad you’ve enjoyed my stories! And thank you for so patiently waiting for a reply. I haven’t been online much in the past couple of weeks. Unfortunately I haven’t read any of your recs, but I’m always happy to add another fic to my to-read list.

I did a rec post a few months ago, but I’ll post an updated version now. The Skyhawke Archives appear to be down, which is crushing news. I’ve had to update a lot of the links.

So here are my favourite Drarry fanfics:

And We Are At Our Apogee (PG-13) by angelgazing

Summary: Draco wanted revenge, but it didn't work out that way.

My notes: Californian beaches, supermarkets, road trips, and a bittersweet ending.

-

A Reckless State of Mind (T) by Lomonaaeren

Summary: Draco is a Psyche-Diver, and his newest patient is Auror Potter, who’s been a pathological liar for over a year—and has just tried to violently end his own life.

Notes: The plot alone guarantees inclusion on this list. Probably the most creative fic I’ve ever read, and the twists and turns will keep you guessing.

-

Berlin, In the Year of Our Lord (PG) by Are

Summary: Harry is a green-tea addict. Draco stalks him.

Notes: Probably my all-time favourite fic, along with Blue Vase. It’s sparse and minimal and I love that writing style.

-

Blue Vase (M) by ivyblossom

Summary: Let’s pretend.

Notes: Draco finds an amnesiac Harry and befriends him, pretending they were once lovers. It’s pensive, short, and bittersweet.

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The Boy Who Only Lived Twice (E) by lettered

Summary: Harry Potter is an Unspeakable. Draco Malfoy is the wizard who shagged him. Adventure! Intrigue! Secret identities, celebrities, spies! It's all right here, folks.

Notes: Action-heavy fics are damn hard to write, but lettered nails it. The action scenes are breakneck speed, the conversations are threaded with double meaning, and even the silences are tense.

-

Draco in Darkness (T) by Plumeria47.

Summary: Following an accident in his seventh year, Draco loses his eyesight.

Notes: This is one of the first fics I ever read (when it was over on FF in 2003) so it’s probably here just for nostalgia points alone. I read it when I was a kid and just thought it was a lovely golden fairytale, the best romance I’d ever read in my (very short, thus far) life. I love reading it again, even years later as an adult when I can see the tarnish on it; the things my childhood eyes didn’t notice. I don’t care. It’s my soft and fuzzy comfort fic.

-

The Flesh is Frail (NC-17) by wildestranger

Summary: None

Notes: Draco has injuries from curses and spells, and Harry keeps him company. Draco is angry; Harry is stubborn. They argue their way into a grudging relationship. It’s a short read and well worth your ten minutes.

-

Good-bye to Yesterday (NC-17) by furiosity

Summary: Draco felt ready to face even a million years in Azkaban as long as it meant that at the end of it all, he would make Potter pay.

Notes: It’s not a dark fic, but it certainly dips in and out of the shadows. If you like your romance to be sharp as a razor and bitter as black coffee, give it a read.

-

Hymn to Color (PG) by Lomonaaeren

Summary: Months after Draco cast a curse that took Harry’s eyesight, Harry is still trying to come to terms with it. Draco still wanted forgiveness, which was probably the problem.

Notes: Probably my very inadequate idea of “fluff”. It’s a quiet, introspective fic. Draco and Harry are well-written.

-

Kings among runaways (PG) by enderxenocide.

Summary: Later, the toast will be slightly overcooked, Draco will burn the eggs, and there will be another fist fight in-between the living room and the front door, but they’ll eat breakfast with second-hand plates and Draco’s great-grandmother’s silverware.

Notes: Dreamy descriptions, abstract scenes, and the characters are lovingly delineated. Beautiful writing.

-

On Broken Glass (PG-13) by coffeejunkii

Summary: After the final battle, Draco is holding the shards that are left of his and Harry’s life.

Notes: Established relationship. Harry’s forgetful and seems to suffer both short-term and long-term memory loss; Draco stays by his side through six years of post-war amnesia. Very short, just a tiny ficlet. There’s sequels (in bite-size pieces) but I prefer to read the first ficlet and leave it there.

-

Paper Dolls (M) by cupiscent

Summary: In the final year of the War, Draco gets a letter, makes a choice and pays the price.

Notes: Short, succinct, and packs a punch. No character deaths, in case the summary has you feeling nervous.

-

Portrait (PG-13) by Silent Blast

Summary: None.

Notes: Dorian Grey, but Drarry. Of course it’s going to be good.

-

Shattered (NC-17) by femmequixotic

Summary: One damned accident involving one too-lucky curse, and suddenly you'd think he was five again, with their Harry, be carefuls and their quick Levitating charms ready the instant the potion gives way and his rebelling hands lose hold of whatever's in their grasp.

Notes: Draco’s an artist. Harry’s intrigued by his sculptures and paintings.

-

Snatch (PG-13) by didntyoupotter

Summary: Harry is comatose, Hermione and Ron aren’t much help, and Draco isn’t sure about anything anymore.

Notes: The opening scene fools you into thinking this will be a light read with a streak of good humour. Don’t fall for it. By the third act, you’ll be hanging onto every word and feeling a lot of emotions. Also, back in the day, this was one of the Draco/Harry fics. Everyone knew of it. Pay your respects to your fandom history and read this beloved classic.

-

The Stages of Acceptance (T) by Lomonaaeren.

Summary: Harry, already happily married to Ginny, receives the news that he's Draco's mate. Law and custom don't give him the option of ignoring the news. The stages of his reaction, one by one.

Notes: This is not a romance, and I love that the author just casually chucks all the Veela tropes in the bin and says “nope”. In Lomonaaeren’s own words, this fic is more practical than romantic. Harry is unfamiliar with the Veela concepts and hates the very idea of being “shackled” to someone; he rejects Draco at once. Draco is miserable and lonely. They do eventually come to understand each other better, but it’s a huge struggle with lots of setbacks. The general air of pessimism and misery does make the small glimpses of compassion and empathy feel so well-earned. I love a fic that rations out its happiness.

-

The Stately Homes of Wiltshire (E) by waspabi

Summary: Malfoy Manor has mould, dry rot and an infestation of unusually historical poltergeists. Harry Potter is on the case.

Notes: This one needs no introduction. The writing is polished, the characterisation perfect, and the dialogue is fun. I love the humour woven throughout it.

-

Then Comes a Mist and a Weeping Rain (E) by faithwood.

Summary: It always rains for Draco Malfoy. Metaphorically. And literally. Ever since he had accidentally Conjured a cloud. A cloud that's ever so cross.

Notes: Another one that most of us know. It’s a lighthearted and fun read.

-

Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow (M) by novembersnow

Summary: In the war-torn years after Hogwarts, one man has no knowledge of his yesterdays.

Notes: Another classic back in the feverish heyday of the Harry Potter fandom, when books were still being released and everyone had worked themselves up into a shipping frenzy. And no wonder this fic was an instant hit. Draco has lost all his memories and Harry’s investigating as an Auror, but the longer you read, the more you start questioning everything. Good twists and turns that lead to a tender ending.

-

Turn by Saras_Girl

Summary: One good turn always deserves another. Apparently.

Notes: An inevitable inclusion on any favourites list. I think my favourite thing about it is the characterisation. Everyone is so well-rounded; the characters are brought to life and feel like old friends. All their habits, styles, mannerisms, even the way they walk or talk. While I love everyone in this fic, I have to admit that Blaise is just amazing. Of all the thousands of Blaises imagined by fanfic writers, I love this one the best. “Old bean” indeed.

-

Under the Ivy (PG-13) by coffeejunkii

Summary: It is impressive how much you can learn about someone by simply sharing a few rooms. They don’t spend time together, not really, but Harry still knows that Malfoy prefers raspberry jam over strawberry, that he hums along to the Wireless when he thinks no one is around, and that his leg is bothering him more than usual when the temperatures drop below freezing.

Notes: Another old, old favourite of mine. It’s like snuggling into a soft blanket. Remus owns a cottage and Harry moves in after the war. Later, Remus lets a room to Draco, who is an outcast after the war and has limited housing options. Harry isn’t happy at first with the new lodger, but he eventually warms up to Draco. A slow and gentle romance.

-

Vale Sanare (M) by rurounihime

Summary: Draco’s world gains a new component, just when he thought he’d sorted everything out.

Notes: London nightclubs, one-night-stands, loud music and lonely nights. Draco has seizures due to a curse from the war, and the seizures have led to a fear of intimacy. Short and sweet.

-

The Way Down (T) by lettered

Summary: Malfoy’s all, “Come out of there,” the way you say to a cat who is badly behaved. And Harry’s all like, “No, what, I’m a hermit! And I have a chest-monster! And I am crazy magically powerful!” and Malfoy’s all, “We all have problems, bub.” (thoughtfully) “You are crazy though. I’ll give you that.”

Notes: I just adore this fic. The fic starts well-grounded, giving you a solid backstory and matter-of-fact context, but as it goes on, it slowly unravels into dreamy scenes, lush settings, and repeated motifs. It’s just such a beautiful story.

-

When Love beckons to you, follow him (PG-13) by megyal

Summary: Draco wakes up, lost, somewhere in a forest. He has no idea where he is or how he got there. As he is blundering around trying to find his way home, he hears Harry's voice in his head, telling him what to do.

Notes: I generally like my fics to be bittersweet or with a bit of heartache — but this fic is just a little cloud of softness. If you need something light and lovely without being syrupy-sweet, this is a good choice!

-

The World of the Living (M) by fourth_rose

Summary: A traumatised war hero and a convicted criminal under the roof of an eccentric journalist make for a rather odd ensemble, but Luna has never had a problem with oddities as long as they make sense.

Notes: The story is told from Luna’s perspective, which gives everything a lovely dreamy quality. She takes in a couple of strays after the war — first Harry, who is avoiding his other friends and has quit his Auror job — and then she offers a room to Draco right after his trial. Draco is rude, angry, and ungrateful; Harry is churlish, withdrawn, and moody. Luna doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest, and over the course of the next few months, her house guests slowly warm up to each other.

-

Voices From the Fog (E) by noeon

Summary: After years of running away, Harry crosses paths with an all-too familiar face and follows him to Amsterdam.

Notes: Harry drifts across Europe, trying to forget the war. He ends up in a woodworking shop in Amsterdam, alongside a moody Draco. Atmospheric settings and solid characterisation.

[333sth]

dove. (frankie morales)

chapter i. previous.

pairing: frankie morales x ofc (’dove’) no use of y/n.

warnings: mention of ptsd/military service, language, violence, brief mention of torture/kidnapping, injury detail, fighting.

summary: frankie was going to propose, until dove found the ring and ghosted. even santi can’t track her down.

rating: mature. wc: 1.6k

next

Dove was a nickname coined by an old general during her training. He was a traditional man, though not disrespectful. It was a term of endearment that probably softened the influx of powerful women breaching into the male territory. He’d drawled, ‘I ought to call you Dove – I ain’t never seen a girl so swift, yet so fuckin’ lethal.’ She kept the boys in line too, he’d noted. When Benny got too reckless, or Tom’s temper ran away with him, she was the first to snap them out of it. In environments where peace was a very distant concept, she played the peacekeeper.

One time, during a two-month deployment in Nigeria, the group was shoved in the back of an ancient pick-up truck for six hours. Dove was wedged between Will and Frankie, sweltering in the humid air. The stale smell of sweat mixed with blood and diesel was permeating the air, and they were three hours from the nearest checkpoint. To pass the time, she asked them what they’d do if they weren’t special forces.

That was easy for Will – he’d be a teacher of some kind. Benny waffled about sports, making some brash comment about how he’s got to channel all his aggression somewhere. Tom and Santi couldn’t come up with anything that suited them more than the forces, which was not surprising. Frankie would still be a pilot somehow. Dove had never seen him more comfortable than in the pilot’s chair.

Dove dreamed of owning her own bar or café, somewhere relaxed and laid-back. A beach perhaps, somewhere quaint and peaceful, where the air is warm well into the late evening and the waves are gentle, collapsing onto the sand like white noise. She imagined the hum of conversation meeting tinkling music, beach lanterns dotted around the decking to cast an ambient glow beneath the stars. Maybe a chef on weekends could make bar snacks. Tom had snorted at that, throwing a jab about how she can burn the water they use to make their dried food sachets.

The men had recalled this conversation, desperately trying to fathom where Dove might have taken off to. It was met with an aching nostalgia for the type of teammate she was too. That conversation had been a tactic, a peaceful one, to prevent the terrible concoction of adrenaline, exhaustion and heat forming an argument in that truck. She was a natural tactician as well as a good friend.

Frankie had recounted each country they had been stationed and exactly how Dove had felt about them. She had loved Argentina, even when she got shot and Will spent three hours with his finger crammed in the wound to stop the bleeding. But she also liked Jamaica, Brazil and Hawaii. None of their contacts in the forces had any trace of her, not even Santi’s in South America. Her family were none the wiser – they brushed it off, her dad mumbling something about it sounding like her usual antics. 

All he had was a scribbled note that read, ‘I need space. I’m safe. I love you.’ It was folded neatly in his wallet, like he was carrying the last piece of her that he had. 

*

Mexico. That was where she was. A small town on the West coast that had enough life to keep her occupied, and the guarantee of anonymity.

If people asked, she was a retired nurse, which wasn’t entirely untrue. She told them she spent a lot of her career in humanitarian aid, to explain the occasional jitters on a rowdy Friday night and the nasty scars. There was a particularly gruesome one leading from the base of her throat up to her bottom lip from a knife fight. She told them it was shrapnel, flung from a collapsing building, and she was lucky it didn’t catch her jugular. The locals had gasped in awe at her heroism. She’d flinched against the memory of how her own knife buried into her attacker’s throat instead. 

A few days into her move, Dove had found what could only be considered a derelict shed on the beachfront. It was probably the remains of an old boathouse. With some help from the locals, she had restored the ageing planks of wood. What was spare formed the bar and some rustic furniture. She pieced together a jumble of second-hand bar stools, chairs and lanterns that made for an eclectic combination. It had character and history in its walls, rather than some swanky, expensive build devoid of any personality. It was exactly what she had dreamed of, huddled in hypothermic temperatures or insomniac in her cot at base, sleep beyond her reach.

It didn’t change the fact that every time she entered her bedroom, the old polaroid of Frankie pinned to the wall hits her like a ton of bricks. Frankie knows she took it – it was pinned to the fridge at their home before she left. It’s quintessential Frankie, sat with his arms folded to his chest, biceps straining slightly against an old denim shirt that was getting a little too snug post-retirement. It was at a barbecue, his skin tanned and flushed from a day in the sun drinking, tousled hair peeking out from the sides of a dog-eared cap. Every time Dove glances at it, she wonders if he still has that hat. 

‘Of course he has,’ the voice in her head snaps back. Any piece of clothing she’d suggest replacing would be countered with, ‘over my dead body’. The man was sentimental, a little too attached to his home comforts. She’d also bought it him in a seedy gift shop in the middle of nowhere as a joke. 

“To add some variety,” she’d said. He would never let it go now.

Once, Veronica had eyed the photograph on her mirror and asked, “Who is he then? An ex?”

Veronica, or Roni for short, had lived in the town her whole life until university. When she graduated and moved home to save money, she needed a job. Dove needed a friend, so she took her on as a bartender. She was young and giddy, but harmless. More importantly, she was too self-absorbed to notice or even care that her thirty-something year old boss had bullet holes in her back.

“Something like that.” Dove had replied, rifling through her sorry excuse for a makeup bag. She’d closed the bar early to have a rare night off in the next town over, which had considerably livelier nightlife. 

“You never talk about relationships. Or men.’ Roni observed, peering over Dove’s shoulder to eye another photograph. It was a group picture of the boys, huddled in the same fraying booth in their favourite bar back in Florida. “Looks like you were spoilt for choice.”

Dove scoffed, meeting her friend’s twinkling gaze in the mirror. “Shut your mouth. They were friends from work.”

“Were? Does that mean you can’t set me up now?” 

“They’re almost twice your age. You’d tire ‘em out.” Dove set down the lip-gloss she dragged out for special occasions. “Come on, I’m not getting any younger either. It’s already passed my bedtime.”

Thankfully, that was enough to amuse the younger girl into linking her arm and hauling her out the door to the taxi, no more questions asked.

*

The hollering of spectators and thudding of skin slapping against the mat was reduced to a distant buzzing in Frankie’s ears. It was dimmed by the incessant ramblings of Santiago and Tom, discussing the files Santi had put together on Lorea. He could feel the reawakening of his rusty military senses as he follows the familiar tactics, mentally registering his agreement or noting what he might do differently. He doesn’t vocalise it though, because he hasn’t even agreed yet. Joining the debate would inadvertently signal his agreement. He didn’t want that.

There was a shadow lingering in the space on the bench beside him. It was an empty presence, not Will, who was hooked on the cage of the ring yelling encouragement to his brother. Not Benny, thumping his leather gloves together with his teeth pulled harshly over his mouthguard, judging his competitor with a predatory glint in his eye. 

The opponent was a monster, but he lumbered like his limbs were filled with lead. Frankie notes that Benny, nimble and tall, will have a breeze tiring him out. Dove would have joked that it wasn’t worth coming, that they’ll be sat here until their asses are numb watching Benny play cat and mouse. His chest twinges. Sometimes it’s too easy to remember what she’d do, what she’d say. He wished he knew what she’d make of Santiago’s proposition. She always saw through Pope’s glamourisation and Tom’s greed. 

What Frankie misses while he observes his pitiful surroundings is Tom and Santi descending into a hushed conversation. Tom nudges Santi, “You got anything on Dove?”

Santi sighs, long and solemn, “Maybe.” As Tom’s face quirks in interest, he holds up his finger, “It’s just a hunch.”

“A hunch is better than what we’ve had in the last year.”

Santi takes a sip of his beer, casting a glance at Fish, whose eyes are trained on the floor and the swirling contents of his cup. He knows him well enough to know his thoughts are the only thing that have his attention.

“I worry about him. We all do.” Tom whispers. “Getting busted just made things worse.”

“Don’t get his hopes up, man. It’s nothing solid. It’ll crush him if I’m wrong.” Tom nods solemnly before Santi continues, “A friend of mine saw an ex-Delta in a bar, a woman. He knew ‘cause of a tattoo she had on the nape of her neck.”

Tom’s eyes widen. In front of them, Benny lands a sickening punch on his opponent’s nose, complimented by an audible crack. He’s barely breaking a sweat, dancing around as the guy heaves and stumbles forward. 

Santi’s gaze doesn’t break from the ring. “Mexico. I think she’s in Mexico.”

[dizzydaisygettinglazy]

I saw you have a lot of posts that talk Bout mewtwo and so like...why do you like him as a character or what drew you to him?

I think Mewtwo was the first character that fascinated me. Like, truly fascinated me. Some context: I saw Mewtwo Strikes Back when it was released in US theaters back in 1999. I was 10 or 11, so right around Ash’s age. If I remember right, some studies show that kids are most impressionable at around 12 years old, so I’m sure that had something to do with it, too. Pokemon was at the height of its popularity.

I thought Mewtwo was cool in Pokemon Blue which I’d played obsessively, but it was Mewtwo Strikes Back that did it for me. The movie was mega hyped. I remember getting the toys at Burger King and the cards at the movie theater. The movie itself was super weird, in an art style I thought was cool (anime was not everywhere back then), and my parents hated it. Recipe for a hit with preteen me. 

Kid-me really liked that while Mewtwo is the villain, he’s actually the main character--the movie starts and ends with him. He has a sad backstory. He makes some pretty good points even if he’s mostly in the wrong. (Maybe catching living creatures in balls to fight for people is actually kinda messed up!) I think Mewtwo was the first character whose heel-face-turn really got me interested in antiheroes.

Ironically my interest in the Pokemon anime waned shortly after seeing MSB. Maybe Mewtwo’s initial point about Pokemon battling being a form of slavery made me actually question the fundamental point of the franchise. Or maybe I just found other interests. Whatever the case, I played the occasional Pokemon game here and there but didn’t really get back into it until Pokemon Go came out in 2016. I suddenly remembered my fascination with Mewtwo as a kid. I rewatched the movies and caught up on a lot that I’d missed.

Watching MSB as an adult, I can see the flaws in the movie, but that first twenty minutes or so still has some punch to it. Mewtwo’s character still resonates with me, even if I’m older and have more varied interests now. I’m sure it’s got something to do with nostalgia and comfort.

What made you like him? I’d love to hear your stories!

[fandomsonrequests]

long overdue

fandom: stranger things

characters: steve harrington

reader: gn

word count: 1.6k+

summary: you and steve have been friends since childhood and neither of you could ignore what you felt for each other. but it took some demogorgons for you to realize that

a/n: AHHHHHHH i’m so sorry if this is late ;^; school is really kicking my ass rn ;^; i hope you enjoy!

notes: some swearing; demogorgons

tagged by: @hyposstuffingwell​ 

It was late at night and the breeze was chilly but that didn’t stop you or Steve from sneaking out. He picked you up a couple of blocks away from your house and the two of you drove away to the quarry, belting out Queen’s songs from inside the car.

Now here you were, sitting on top of the car’s hood as you look over the waters, talking over the most mundane things to the crazy events that took place last year. The moon glinted off the soft ripples of the water, causing silver streaks to float through the surface. The smell of damp grass reached your nose and an orchestra of cicadas serenaded whoever was present. 

“I still can’t believe that you actually said that to Carol in fifth grade,” You guffawed, holding your belly as more laughs escape you.

“Hey— you thought the same thing!” Steve argues. “Her hair really looked like a bird’s nest.”

“Yeah but you don’t tell her that..!” You retort with a playful shove to his shoulder. 

The brunet rolled his eyes at that, brushing back his gorgeous locks. He sighs and leaned against the car’s window, leaving you to your own musings. He eyes the various stars that twinkled against the dark blanket of the sky. He never really told many people this, not even the Party or he’ll never hear the end of it, but he was one of those people who just stared up into the night sky. He liked to take in the sights and smells around him and just enjoy what he had. 

His gaze rolls over to you beside him, seeing you lying comfortably against his car’s window. The warm quilt you had brought along was laid neatly on top of your lap, eyes closed as you basked in the ambiance of the night. 

At that moment Steve wondered- why did it take him so long to see this? Why did it have to take him supernatural beings, a group of kids, and a secret Russian infiltration paired with a gigantic demonic creature to work up the courage to realize what he had felt for you?

You two were neighbors, practically growing up together. You two were an unstoppable force as children, just the two of you against the world. But once high school rolled around- things changed. It was like you two became two different people. Maybe it was his fault, considering he was blinded by the popularity that managed to find its way to him, but that shouldn’t have stopped him from talking to you. 

The brunet shakes himself out of his trance when he feels your hand casually slip in his, lacing your fingers with his and giving his palm a gentle squeeze. He looks up to see you gaze at him softly, almost as if you were contemplating something. He sits up when you do, hands never leaving yours.

“You brought your guitar right?” You ask and he nods. “I wanna hear you sing.”

Steve flushes a brighter shade of red and looks away bashfully. You whine and latch onto his arm, begging him to serenade you. He chuckles at your pleads, his free hand reaching up to run his hand through his hair in nervousness. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to play for you- he’d do it in a heartbeat. But he was scared that he’d mess up and look stupid in front of you- or worse, sing something that revealed his true feelings for you.

Fuck it. He thinks to himself. “Fine,” He relents and you cheer quietly. “Jeez- no matter what age we are you always manage to rope me into doing what you want.”

“You can say no, y’know.” You chide and playfully punch his shoulder, watching as he fetches his guitar from his car. 

“I know. But I need the practice anyway.” He hops back onto the hood, reaching up to the neck of the guitar to tune it.

You watch fondly as he did so, memories of hanging out in his room and watching him play come flooding back to you. The sad, heavy wave of nostalgia washes over you at the memories, but you push that aside. You can recreate them again, right here and now. 

Steve releases a nervous exhale and you rest a hand of comfort to his shoulder. You give him an encouraging smile, one that he reciprocates with gratitude, and starts to play. His fingers pluck at the strings gently- just some random notes to get the feel of it. He plays a jumble of notes, pretending to be in one of those rock bands and you laugh at his antics. Eventually, he stops messing around and the notes morph into something familiar- a song you heard on the radio many times. 

“We’re talking away, I don't know what I'm to say. I'll say it anyway…” He sings softly.

You perked up when you recognized this iconic song. As he played into the night, you realized that it sounded so different when played this way- more romantic even. And you couldn’t help but feel a warmth bloom in your chest at the sight in front of you. Steve looked so lost in the music as he strummed away, singing along with the melody. He always had a talent for music, you just wish he recognized it. 

“Take on me, take me on,” Steve looks up to you, shyly meeting your gaze. “I’ll be gone, in a day or two…”

He strums the rest of the chords, repeating it a couple of times before closing the song and letting the last notes echo into the air. It’s quiet for a while, just the two of you staring at each other as you let the atmosphere settle. Steve poured his heart out into the song and poured a little of what he thinks he feels for you so that you’d know how much you mean to him. 

When the tension became unbearable, you spoke up. “I missed you, Steve.” You tell him softly. 

“I missed you too, ______,” He replies with a sigh. He reached out to take your hand in his, thumb running over the back of it. “Look… I’m sorry for what happened back in high school… I was a jerk. Like- a jerk-jerk, the kind of jerk you want to just punch ‘cos he’s so self-absorbed and pathetic.”

You scoot over to him, gently taking the guitar and placing it back into the car. When you return, you reach up to cup his face, making the brunet turn to you. At your touch, his skin heats up with shame and he avoids your gaze. He couldn’t bear to look at you— it would just remind him of how neglectful he was as a friend.

His warm brown eyes are glassy with a pang of deep-seated guilt as he stared down at his lap. Your heart clenches at this. You knew that it was kind of his fault- he did turn you away when he became “King of Hawkins High,” but part of it was your fault too. You were so angry at him that you shunned him away whenever he tried approaching you- it was easier for you that way. Because at least, when you acted cold, the heartbreak you felt would be less painful than what it would have initially been. 

“I’m not going to lie, you were that kind of a jerk,” You chuckle, thumb brushing the space under his eyes. “But it was my fault too… I gave you the cold shoulder and turned you away. And… I’m sorry for that- I should have listened to you when you tried to explain yourself…” 

Steve let out some sort of amused huff. “...I guess we both fucked up big time huh?” His eyes drop down to your lips before flickering back up to your face where he finally met your gentle gaze. He dared to lean forward, pressing his forehead against yours while his trembling hands reached up to cup both your cheeks.

“What if… what if I kissed you right now?” He asks boldly, impulsively. 

Your heartbeat speeds up at the question. You had already harbored feelings for your friend back then. Even though circumstances weren’t all that great before, that tiny vulnerable part you had for him never left. And with what happened with the Demogorgons, Billy, the Russians chasing after you (all that shared trauma as Murray Bauman puts it) it had only festered into what you have now. 

“Here’s a better question,” You whisper. “What’s stopping you from doing so?” 

Steve’s breath hitched when you actually gave him permission to kiss him. He blinks rapidly, almost as if making sure he wasn’t dreaming, before steeling his nerves and leaning forward to press his lips tentatively against yours. 

The kiss was shy and hesitant at first. It was only when the both of you pulled away from each other did you two realize that you wanted something more. As your lips slot against his again, you couldn’t help but lean further into him, arms wrapping around his shoulders as your lips moved against his. Steve on the other hand wrapped an arm around your waist as the other came to cradle the back of your head, holding you as if you’d disappear any moment. 

The kiss wasn’t sloppy or desperate- but it was passionate and full of unsaid emotions that could be better off expressed without the use of words. You pull your head away when the call for air was too great but made no move to shift out of Steve’s hold. You couldn’t help but smile at what had happened, the warmth in your chest growing and spreading throughout your whole body. 

“That, that was long overdue.” You hum, eliciting a soft chuckle from Steve. 

“Well,” He muses and tucks a stray hair behind your ear, kissing your forehead after. “Better late than never.” 

[thevindicativevordan]

Did you watch Spider-Man: No Way Home?

I finally did and yeah no surprise I loved it. Felt like a movie tailor made towards addressing every single one of my complaints about MCU Spider-Man. SPOILERS BELOW!

Overreliance on Stark and his tech? Gone. By the end of the movie Holland has finally become a Spider-Man I want to see more of and am excited to follow along on his next trilogy. He's poor, ignored, and has lost all of his previous relationships. We last see him making his own homemade suit and swinging out to fight crime solo without MJ and Ned to support him. They even killed Aunt May which I couldn't believe, that's twice now that two high profile adaptions of Spider-Man have killed off Aunt May, this and the Insomniac game. Really hope that pushes Marvel Comics into finally retiring May as a character in the comics, I really do think her dying back during the 90s should've stuck. Why yes I am still salty about Peter selling his marriage to save his aunt, how did you know?

It's sort of a meme that Spider-Man fans want to see their guy suffer as much as other fandoms want to see their favorites succeed, and I confess I definitely really enjoyed how much this movie punished Holland for how "easy" he had life previously. Watching Goblin beat the ever loving shit out of him was amazing. Defoe was absolutely terrifying in this, almost made me wish he got the whole movie to himself because he was just acting circles around the rest of the cast, hopefully recementing the Green Goblin as Spider-Man's greatest foe in the minds of the general audience. When Tom's Spider-Sense went batshit I immediately knew it was because of the Goblin, and oh my God did Defoe sell the hell out of how terrifying that moment was. Watching him cackle and just eat up Tom's punches to the face was my favorite Goblin moment (followed up by him smashing Tom through multiple floors). Rest of the villains vary, Doc Ock and Electro were used well, but the remainder were pretty much there just to be there.

And of course we get to see the other two film Spider-Men return. Tobey was just like I remembered, had that same awkwardness that made him so relatable and endearing to me when I first saw the Raimi films. Andrew really surprised me, I can see why others consider him the best Spider-Man. Dude brought his A-game to this and was clearly thrilled to be back. My favorite parts of the movie were when the three of them were interacting, Tobey and Andrew comforting Tom, Tobey and Andrew talking about what their lives were like, that scene where Tom tries to impress the other two by telling them he was in the Avengers and they have no clue what that is but are clearly trying to humor him (reminded me of my interactions with my younger brothers), Andrew saving MJ, Tobey stopping Tom from killing Goblin, and yes the hug at the end between all three. Sometimes the blatant tugs at your heart work damnit!

Much as nostalgia is definitely driving peoples' interest in this film, NWH sets up an interesting status quo for MCU Spider-Man going forward. While it did annoy me that they didn't show Ben's grave next to May's, I'm assuming the upcoming animated series will give us the details on MCU Uncle Ben so I will withhold complaining for now. I can't wait to see where they go next with Tom, I hope they bring in Black Cat as his LI for the "college trilogy", and apparently Marvel is talking with Tobey and Andrew about more stuff for them as well. Got no interest in a Spider-Man 4 with Tobey, he's clearly too old for it at this point, but man I would fucking kill to get a Mayday film with Tobey as her dad. Others are campaigning for Garfield to be the Spidey of the Venomverse or to get TASM3, neither of which I personally would go see but I support the enthusiasm. For the first time in ages it seems Spider-Man fans as a whole are... happy? And all it took was taking every bit of joy from MCU Spidey's life!

[jason-bitchass-todd]

Batboys as Taylor Swift Albums

i do not know where this came from, yes i should be doing essays that are due yet again. note: i’m posting on desktop for the first time and as a mobile user this is so weird. this became more of an analyzation but oh well. and i dont know duke’s character as well as i know the others yet so this is me naming him as 1989. i am very much willing to make a part two of their fav tswift songs if i even get like one request for it. i gotta a little out of hand on the tim one so be warned.

--

Dick Grayson: Fearless

this is pretty self explanatory in my brain

classic, safe yet controversial option considering the amazing things put out after both of them

if you stuck with him for the nostalgia factor and that he will always hold a special place in your heart im assuming you really like fearless too

both have die hard fans who will defend them to their grave

sense of comfort and familiarity

simple taste (i mean this in a good way)

i will have to say that while fearless fits him, i also think that death by a thousand cuts and miss americana and the heartbreak prince from lover radiate dick grayson energy as well

i stg i can give a good explanation for every album matching with him in one way or another

Jason Todd: Reputation

i promise i put thought into this and didnt just choose her ‘edgy’ album for the problem child of the wayne clan

for this im looking more at delicate, so it goes, dont blame me, and call it what you want, less on endgame and look what you made me do

it shows the two sides of jason; how he came out of the lazarus pit a murderous shell of what bruce remembered him as and how he morphed into a truer and less lazarus insane self

how he’s finding himself after all the trauma and pain

the lesser played mellow songs on reputation fit him well and still pack the signature jason punch which even the lazarus pit couldnt shake from him

plus i think he would really vibe with king of my heart

also this is me trying from folklore, and i forgot that you existed from lover

jason’s doing his best and isnt gonna let bruce say that hes not doing enough affect him

he learns to find closure in the new him

Timothy Drake: Fearless: Taylor’s Version

yeah its gonna get real depressing in this description be warned

he was never meant to actually be robin, bruce needed a replacement and the genius like 10 year old took advantage of his desperation to fulfil a dream of his (i warned you it was gonna be sad)

tim was there because there was a job to be done and no one to fill it even if he didn’t see it

he’s forced out of the robin mantel for the dreaded bloodson who made a worse impression than reincarnated jason did, and tim finally realizes that he was never meant to be robin

jason had a valid point for hating him in his mind

jason was murdered to get at bruce by the joker and believed that bruce never cared for him otherwise he would have saved him in time

but damian, he showed up one night and all of a sudden he has a robin suit made instantly for him and tim is forced out of the robin moniker for a 12 year old that no one knew existed

i chose tswift version of fearless to mirror dick’s choice intentionally

he took a cowl laced with bad luck and made it his own, renewing it if you will

he was just a rendition of past robins and truly flourished as himself under Red Robin because robin never really belonged to him

vibes with cardigan and marjorie from folklore and evermore plus dear john from fearless

marjorie because robin was taken from him and he had to learn that he was his own hero haunted by the past cowl and dear john solely on vibes

Damian Wayne: Evermore

i feel like you could swap jason and damian’s albums and still have a justifiable reason to why they were still relevant choices

(yes this is me giving into the dark academia hc i have formed around damian wayne in my head)

tolerate it, gold rush, and dorothea were my main inspirations

dorothea is about rebellion and having one person who will always accept the true you that is covered by shiny things and popularity (cough*dick grayson*cough)

its about giving dorothea, or damian, an escape from face and tactless escapades he now has to go through under his father’s public figure

DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED ON TOLERATE IT

he does his best at what he knows but what he knows isn't the best

time after time again he’s scrutinized for doing what he was raised to do with no real help from the batfam

he does his best and is still yelled at for it because it isn’t what normal people do

[tobeornottotc]

Tharn and Type Seven Years Ep 2: Observations and Comments

Wow, what can I say except yes finally after a bit of worry about how this season was going to be especially after being scarred by A chance to love (like Tin and Can are cute but the lack of a good plot and waste of side characters still hunts me to this day), I really came weary into Tharn and Type season 2, but thing is as much as last week the editing, sound issues and some lightning issues worried me, I kind of really enjoyed seeing my couple once again. It was just a bit different to the feeling in season 1 for me (it should be we're seven years in we're meant to have maturity, domesticity, and slower less angsty relationship from Tharn and Type) but yeh because of this different feeling I wasn't sure what to say about this show. But Episode 2 took me back to my love for this couple, and I couldn't help but go through excitement, tears and also just nostalgia for how much it called back to season 1.

 As much as Tharn and Type have grown up and had their issues, the way they settle them now is different, their dynamic is still the same they're still passionate and crazy about each other but its the little things as well that shows how mature they've become, even though Type may curse out everyone including Tharn because that's his personality its the softness from him for me that warms my heart, its the way he's absolutely devoted to Tharn: he still calls out his father and says he'll be a widower without him,(already seeing himself tied to him in a marriage without the actual involvement of the law and people), its the way he ensures that Tharn is protected from being hurt when cooking and worrying about the little scars on his hands, its the way he pridefully tells everyone who he trusts that he's looking at his man and he's not ashamed to look longingly and lovingly at Tharn as he sings their song. It's so beautiful, and it's just so incredible to see his growth and see how absolutely devoted he is to Tharn despite Tharn not fully seeing so. 

Tharn, on the other hand, is the same as always 100% focused Type and making sure Type knows he's his, I just love how they talk to each other, how despite fighting all the time for seven years they find it like a comfort to expose their flawed selves to each other knowing they won't back away. I love how Tharn and Type still have those moments where they show they clearly need each other for comfort and just warmth (cuddle scene and Tharn apologising) and I love how despite having disagreements they go back to normal the next day and ensure that they don't fight for too long. It's just precious and its what I love about them. And of course, their passion which one of the reasons for why they are so great, that chemistry has just gotten better and better and that kiss blew me away in the bathroom. Mew and Gulf are clearly now used to each other, and so much more in tune with each other, their chemistry, sensuality and seductive could be felt from the screen, and I felt like an interloper watching it. It made me scream, made me laugh, but it made me blush, and I remember how much Mew and Gulf engulf the whole show with their chemistry and passion. I'm jealous, to be honest about it all.

Other things to notice

Phu and Cir: They're adorable, their skinship shocked me wasn't expecting the amount of PDA we got from them but I ain't complaining it makes me appreciate this show even more. Phu and Gun are the antitheses to Tharn and Type, they're adorable and soft and proud of their relationship in public, they don't seem to fight or argue, and they have a sweeter dynamic to them, but I do hope for a plot for them instead of just cute stuff because I like their characters and I like the actors. But right now I see what they're here in the show for, they keep being a reminder to Tharn about his own hopes and dreams for what he wants from his relationship; he wants what they have, he wants to be overly affectionate in public and to able to call Type his in front of everyone just like Cir does. So they do have a use, and I don't want people to see them as like just fan service.

Fiat and Leo: Fiat is spoilt, and he gets his way we can see that he goes a bit unstable when Leo is away for a while. Almost he's reliant on Leo, and he's not used to being away from him. Leo is fiercely protective of Fiat as we see his friends keep updating and worrying about Leo's reactions to them not doing Fiats bidding or hurting him. For Fiat I love this actor, he's stubborn and like he doesn't give in typically, childish and immature, and I'm guessing Leo is the opposite. Still, Fiat reminds me of how I felt about Type, he's annoying and flawed, but he's somewhat lovable and intriguing. I can't help but want to care for his character and know more about him, and that's all because of his acting and charisma. I'm so excited to delve deeper into his character, and I can't wait to see how Leo plays a part in this.

The boss: Type isn't someone who likes to be patient so that he will explode later on this person. The question is why is the boss of Type so rude, and disrespectful, he's so like hyperfocused on trying to make Type seem so weak. From what Type has said its to do with jealousy, but I'm not really if that's all it is, he's jealous about Type being so handsome, and charismatic and liked by women that he feels some kind of inferiority complex? Because to be honest just because his girl hit on Type, it's very unprofessional of him to act this way, and I am not okay with it. I cannot wait to see Type punch the living daylights out of him. Eww

Khunpol and Champ: My babies, my soft, cute, sweet babies. They probably will be angsty soon, but I love them already. Champ is one fluffball so much more gentler than he was in Season 1, he's adorable, clueless about love and I'm sure Techno is going to play a massive role snooping and trying to set up Champ and Khunpol. As for Khunpol I can see already that baby boy has a crush on our Champ (even though Champ is so clueless) but the girlfriend mention and the relief on his face when he realises there is none, the way he laughs and gets excited when he saw Champ and a bit of disappointment when he saw Type walk into their conversation pretty much already tells me what I need to know about these two. Khunpol is shy and gentle and wouldn't really try to make anything happen, but he'll probably wait longingly for Champ to recognise how he feels. And Champ is going to be very naive and very dumb about the situation. They kind of remind me of King and Ram in my engineer, Khunpol screams King to me acts innocent and sweet like he doesn't know what's happening but secretly holding and panicking about feelings. And Champ is more like Ram,  a bit distanced from that feeling but soon will realise what's happening. Either way, my babies are making me so excited the way they make each other smile, the skinship from Champ to Khunpol which is automatic apparently and something he just likes to do because he sees Khun as cute and fluffy. Squeal, my heart is about to be stolen by these 2, can't wait to see how they unfold.

Overall this episode of Tharn and Type 7 years has been a blast from the past, I have had so much fun rewatching it and its made me so happy and excited for what's to come. If we get more stuff like this, then Tharn and Type is probably going to stay my favourite show. Still, I am so in love with everything in this so far/  I also wanted to say that it's nice to see them have conversations this episode about work and how they've changed, it's genuine and also very warm to see how they had grown up and graduated from uni when in the past season we watched their immature selves act childish and young and react that way in situations. This show is meant to be a more mature version of Season 1, and I think it's doing that so far. Also can Mew please stop looking so good? Like I can't deal with it, and Gulf as well likes in that uniform like please let me breathe. Haha. I can't wait for the next episode.

[largedenominationsplease]

you’d come over, right?

Summary: A year after Kiara and JJ broke up, they come home to the Outer Banks to deal with one of the hardest years of their lives.

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: swearing, canon-compliant smoking, au, minor character death, cancer, current events

A/N: Alternate Universe: JJ and Kiara dated seriously for a long while, but over a year before this story, they parted ways. Set in present-day with current events, but most current events are only mentioned briefly for context. All characters aged 21+. Partially inspired by If the World Was Ending by JP Saxe and Someone You Loved by Lewis Capaldi and current events and Sad Feels™ and a sad playlist my sister made. Come cry with me... also on ao3

Shoutout to @alexandracheers​ for proofreading <3

Sometimes even the most beautiful things die. It’s the sad cycle of life. 

It starts with a spark, a first touch, a first look, a first kiss; 

a few embers of warmth, holding hands, secret glances, flirty texts; 

the roaring flames of passion, clinging to one another, leaving the party early, tangled limbs and tangled sheets; 

then the steady heat of a well-tended fire, cozy mornings making coffee, binging your favorite shows, texting to see how your day is. 

But, sometimes, even the most loved and cared for fires die. They go out with little warning or reason. What was a welcome flame in the hearth one night may be a bed of ash by morning. 

Their fire died a long time ago. It wasn’t anyone’s fault - no one was trying to douse the flames - it just went out. When they sat down and discussed breaking up - parting ways was a more apropos term - she hadn’t even cried. When he packed up and moved out, it was unceremonious. He even kissed her forehead as he left, like he’d done a hundred times before, only this time he wasn’t coming back. 

She still dreamed about him. Sometimes unbidden images of picket fences and a dog and home-cooked meals and potted plants intruded upon her thoughts. Once, when her period was late, she’d even dreamt of a curly-haired little boy with blue eyes - which was ridiculous because she was very single at the time. Did she even want to have kids?

He thought about her, too. Each new destination she traveled to brought new Instagram posts and awakened an ache in his chest he couldn’t quite place. That ache deepened when she revisited places they had gone together - unwanted memories flooding his senses. The smell of coconut still sent him spinning, missing the feeling of running his fingers through her hair, over the smooth skin of her arms and legs. 

What hurt so badly about their fire dying wasn’t that it died. What hurt was that it should never have died; that it died so quietly and suddenly; that one day it was there, burning bright, and the next it was a cold gray heap of coals. 

Even their friends were surprised when he moved back home. “Where is she?” and “What happened?” and “We had no idea you had any problems.”

Followed by the futile response of, “It was just time to move on.”

And they did move on, eventually. She traveled to forget and perhaps after a few months she could call herself truly happy - though there was always an ache of not having someone to share each experience with. He stayed at home, but he opened his own business and the familiarity of home soothed any wounds he sustained. Their fire might have gone out, but they kept the bed of ash in the fireplace, a shrine to what they once had, and it was more comforting than sad after a time. 

When the virus first hit, she’d been back in the states, on the West Coast. She messaged him:

Are you safe? Still have a job? Anyone sick?

Fine for now. You?

Fine.

When the protesting started, he knew she’d be in the thick of it. Not that he didn’t get involved, he just knew her passion for people and justice. He messaged her back this time:

You’re protesting, aren’t you? Are you safe?

Of course! But I’m being careful. You?

Staying safe. Protesting here, too. 

Hurricane Isaias wasn’t meant to be a bad storm, but she had still tracked it up the East Coast. Her suspicions were confirmed when it intensified.

Isaias didn’t wipe y’all out, did it?

No, blew through pretty quick. The Cut took a hit. Gonna take some time to fix it up. 

At first, after reading the headlines about the fires out west, he thought it was a joke. As they spread, he realized how serious it was and it worried him. 

You evacuated, right? The air quality is shit where you are. 

Yep. Gonna take a pandemic-friendly tour of some national parks further east.

Every new development meant more messages sent. Simple little check-ins that meant nothing and everything. It was a scary year the world faced, and even after all those months apart, the only thing they wanted was to find comfort in one another’s safety. On opposite ends of the country, the two of them tied together by current events and the memory of their relationship. 

Mid-September, while she was traveling away from the fires on the West Coast, he got a call from her mother. He hadn’t spoken to her mother much since they had broken up, over a year ago, but she still liked his Instagram posts and struck up conversations when she saw him around town. 

“Hey, Mrs. Anna.”

“Hi, JJ. I’ve told you, it’s just Anna.” Her voice was soft and as kind as ever, but held an edge of tiredness and strain he hadn’t heard from her before. “We have some… tough news, and we wanted you to hear it from us first.”

Colon cancer…

Kiara’s hearing faded into white noise as her mother spoke those words to her through the phone. Her mother went on to explain that even though they caught it late, the doctors were optimistic that her father would make a recovery. Treatments were set to start right away. 

“Mom, I’m coming home.”

“Honey, we know you’ve got traveling plans. We’ll be fine. We don’t want to interrupt your-”

“Mom, I can’t do much traveling with this virus. Dad is more important than any of that, anyway. I’m coming home.”

JJ cried when Anna hung up the phone. Mike was rough around the edges, and he was resistant to Kiara dating a Maybank, but once JJ won him over, he treated him like a son. Hearing this news was a punch to the gut - it was like losing a father. Even in the midst of his sadness he knew Kiara would be sent into a tailspin.

Hey. You okay?

She was typing in response, then nothing. He waited, seeing the little bubble pop up again and again and fade away each time. And then she videocalled. She hadn’t called him in months - not since they parted ways. The little screen showed her in her car, only illuminated by her dim phone screen and the passing street lights. Tears stained her cheeks, but she kept her eyes trained on the road. “I’m not okay.”

“You’re driving right now?”

“I’m coming home.”

“Kiara, pull over. It’s late. Get some sleep.”

“I can’t. They caught it late - he might… who knows how much time I have-”

“Kie.” His voice was soft. He was always soft toward her.

Her face crumpled as the tears fell fresh. He let her cry. He talked to her about nothing and everything as her tears subsided. She cried as she drove through the night, talking to him when she was calm, crying harder when the conversation lulled. She didn’t stop until she noticed he’d fallen asleep, the video call still rolling. It was after four in the morning. The pang of nostalgia that tore through her was enough to make her catch her breath. They hadn’t talked like that since they first started dating. A few tears sneaked out of the corners of her eyes, but she couldn’t tell if the memories or the fear of the future caused them. She found a safe place to park and fell into a fitful sleep in the back of her car. 

She made it home just in time for her dad’s first surgery. JJ met her and her mother at the hospital parking lot, all masks and six-feet of distance until she said, “I could really use a hug.” The three of them colliding into a group hug within seconds. 

JJ made sure the Carreras didn’t need anything as Mike went through chemo and more and more hospital stays. He ran errands for them since none of them could risk going out and bringing anything home. He did yard work since Mike hated an unkept lawn. Kiara always made sure to leave him snacks and drinks on the back deck as the North Carolina heat stretched into October. Aside from that, he willingly put himself at Anna’s beck and call. Anything and everything she needed done, he jumped at the opportunity to help. He would even come over in the evenings to play cards with Mike - masks included. Kiara’s heart ached as she watched her parents get along with him so well. She hadn’t realized how far he had wormed his way into their little family, but here they were, acting as though nothing had changed between him and their daughter, loving him like a son. He praised her mom’s cooking until she blushed and there were times he could make her dad laugh so hard they all forgot for a moment that cancer existed. Those moments were fleeting and oh-so cherished. 

Mike deteriorated quickly. It made Kiara sick to see her father become a cancer-wasted shell of himself. As optimistic as the doctors had been originally, the treatments weren’t taking well. As chemo wrapped up, his numbers were still dangerously high. November brought another emergency surgery that confirmed their worst fears. Mike moved home. They were told all that was left was to manage the pain and make him as comfortable as they could. They had perhaps a month left. JJ moved into the guest room to be as close as possible in case anything was needed from him. The four of them were left waiting as Thanksgiving approached. 

Kiara wasn’t sleeping. Maybe it was knowing her ex-boyfriend was staying down the hall from her, though that was an odd thing to focus on. More likely, it was the fact that her father was passing away right before her eyes, slipping through her fingers as she stood by, helpless. The sun had set hours ago, and she sat with a now-cold cup of tea in front of her at the kitchen table, mulling over each crazy event that had led her to this point. 

JJ wandered into the kitchen, opening the fridge to inspect the contents. “What are you doing up so late?” he asked.

“I could ask you the same thing.” The words came out harsher than she had intended, but then again, she was exhausted in every single sense of the term.

JJ brushed off her roughness. “Hungry. Did you eat dinner?” He knew she hadn’t, so he set about making an extra sandwich.

After a few moments of silence, Kiara whispered, “It’s all my fault.”

“What?”

“It’s my fault,” she repeated, her lip trembling. “I always kept track of his appointments for him. He was always shit at remembering to go to the doctor. He should have had one last year, but I didn’t come home and I didn’t remind him. If I hadn’t broken up with you, I would have been here to remind him to go.” Tears shone in her eyes and on her cheeks.

JJ gave her a quizzical look, deciphering what she was saying. “I seem to recall being the one who left. But really none of this is anyone’s fault,” he kept his voice even, wanting nothing more than to hug her, to wipe away all the tears, and make sure she never had to shed another one again.

“I know, I know, it’s ridiculous, but it’s what keeps running through my head.” She reached up and readjusted the messy bun that her hair was falling out of. “But, for the record, I asked you to leave.” JJ raised an eyebrow as she said this, as though he didn’t believe her. The truth was, neither of them really remembered who had dumped who or why he had left in the first place. Nothing happened that they couldn’t work out with a little bit of effort. “Didn’t I?” she faltered.

He shrugged. “I don’t remember.”

“We just fought a lot, didn’t we?”

“Constantly. You were a bitch.”

She turned to him, mouth open. She slapped at his shoulder, “I know you did not just call me a bitch, bitch!”

He smirked at her. “Maybe you weren’t that bad. Apparently, I was a slob.”

“You are a slob,” she chuckled. Then she sighed and moved to heat up her tea. “But that’s no reason to dump someone. We just… fell out of love, I guess.”

“I didn’t.” His voice was so soft he was barely even sure he had spoken. Based on the way Kiara froze, her back tense, he’d definitely said those private thoughts aloud.

She turned slowly, her face pale with lack of sleep and - something else. Was that anger? Or sadness? “You’ve had more than a year to confess something like that to me, and you choose now?”

JJ shrugged helplessly, unsure of what to say.

“That was the issue all along, wasn’t it?” Kiara’s voice shook, but she kept her tone cool, even. “You wouldn’t communicate with me.”

“Oh, come on, Kie, that’s not fair.” It was too late for a fight. They were both tired and emotional. This wouldn’t end well.

“What’s not fair?” Her voice had started to rise in volume and pitch as her anger increased. She wasn’t even sure why she was angry in the first place, but something about JJ’s confession caused her blood to boil. “The fact that you didn’t admit you still loved me when you left over a year ago? Or the fact that you choose to admit that to me while I’m exhausted and emotionally compromised?”

“Don’t be like that! That’s not what I’m doing.” JJ tried to keep his voice lower than hers, so they wouldn’t wake Mike or Anna, but the way her eyes flashed told him that wouldn’t happen. He grabbed her bicep and led her out to the backyard.

“Let go of me!” She pulled away from him, trying to hide the shiver that ran up her spine in the cool November evening air. “You don’t get to manhandle me and manipulate me into falling back into your arms like nothing happened.”

“That’s not-“ JJ ran his hands through his hair, frustrated. “You know I’m shit at communicating this stuff.”

“At saying ‘I love you?’ At being emotionally present? Listen, I know your dad was fucked up and he fucked you up, but you’re a grown-ass man now. You could have learned how to be there for me!”

“Don’t bring him into this!” They’d had this fight a million times before. The recurring theme of their demise being communication. Their fire had been sputtering under the faulty system they had in place long before they realized what their problems were - it was something neither of them wanted to admit. “Fuck it, Kie, even if I had wanted to get any better at communicating, you were no help. You held every single one of my mistakes over my head. There was no road to redemption for you.”

“No, no that’s not true. I tried to help you-“

“Only telling me what I did wrong wasn’t helpful.”

She opened her mouth and closed it again, stuttering in anger. “Well… if you still loved me so much, why did you leave?”

“Why stay when I knew you didn’t love me anymore?” JJ’s voice dropped and he avoided eye contact with her. 

Her eyes grew wide in realization. “You know what? Fuck you! I loved you until the day you left. If I had known you weren’t coming back I would have fought harder to keep you with me, and if you’re too dense to see-” He cut her words off, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her roughly. She melted into him, a single tear squeezing itself from her eye. He tasted of a coconut flavored vape pod and nicotine and the sea. He was just as stupid and lovely as ever. It only lasted a moment before she shoved at his chest, clearing her throat and turning from him to hide the blush rising to her cheeks. 

“I’m… I’m seeing someone,��� she muttered by way of explanation.

“Oh.” JJ licked his lips, missing her more than he had before he kissed her. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know. Who is it? Why aren’t they here?” He hadn’t meant to add that last part, but he was curious. Who could she be seeing that wouldn’t support her during all of this? Who could she want to be with that wasn’t there, like he was?

“Um, her name’s Fern. I asked her not to come. I didn’t want her to meet my dad this way.” She started to walk toward the door, wrapping her arms around herself in the cold November evening air. 

“Kie,” JJ called after her. She turned slightly, to catch his eye out of the corner of her own. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry about everything… I fucked a lot of things up. And I’m sorry about your dad.”

She nodded. “Me too.” With everything, she added mentally, and he knew she had.

Kiara and JJ wordlessly promised each other that they wouldn't let their differences ruin the upcoming holidays. So Thanksgiving passed uneventfully. It was almost a normal Carrera family holiday, besides the fact that Anna and JJ did most of the cooking. Mike tried once or twice to wander into the kitchen, but he didn’t make it long before having to sit back down. Kiara made him comfortable on the couch and they watched what little football was playing. She was sure to commentate on each play alongside him. The four of them ate extreme amounts of food, and laughed and played games. “Tomorrow we go get our Christmas tree,” Mike announced at the end of the night. Kiara bit her lip and glanced at JJ. He shrugged half-heartedly.

“That’s right, baby,” Anna replied, looking meaningfully at the others. 

And they did. They didn’t travel to the mountains, like other years, but they did go down to the local tree lot. Kiara made a big fuss about finding the fattest tree and over-scrutinized each one until she found the perfect Christmas tree, just like always. JJ had spent holidays with the Carrera’s before, but he had never been so intimately involved in all of their traditions. He thought Christmas might just become his favorite holiday at this rate. 

The weeks leading to Christmas weren’t all smooth sailing. Just a few days after Thanksgiving Mike was confined almost exclusively to a hospital bed in the living room. A nurse moved in a few days after that. He slept fitfully if he slept at all, and most days, the pain (or the pain medication) kept him from interacting with the rest of them. Kie would read to him in the evenings, starting with A Christmas Carol. He fell asleep after only a few paragraphs each time, so it took a long while to get through the story. All four of them watched classic Christmas movie after classic Christmas movie - many of which JJ hadn’t ever seen (to which Anna always replied, “That’s going on our list, then!”). Mike managed to stay awake for the entirety of Elf, his favorite. 

Christmas day was quiet. JJ cooked breakfast for everyone, and Anna gushed about how good his cooking had gotten. They had opted not to exchange gifts this holiday, instead filling their stockings with all their favorite candies and snacks. It had been JJ’s idea, and Kiara thought he might have been a secret genius for suggesting it. In the afternoon, Fern called Kie and they talked for over an hour. JJ thought she looked satisfied when she returned, but nowhere near as happy as one should be when they got off a long conversation with their girlfriend. It was probably just the current circumstances. She didn’t say anything other than, “What’s the next movie, Dad?”

Mike died two days after Christmas. He went in his sleep, which was exactly what he had wanted. No fuss, no doctors trying desperately to save him. Just a good night’s sleep where he peacefully breathed his last. He didn’t look the same as he once had. Cancer had changed him so drastically, his once strong imposing frame a mere shadow of its former glory. But his face was smoothed out, lines of pain, grief, and illness wiped away, leaving simply peace. He could have been asleep, but now he would never wake up. Looking at him, Kiara felt like she was drowning. Like every breath she fought to take just filled her lungs with more and more water. Her dad was her rock, and now she was sinking in a wide, dark ocean. She thought she might never breathe again. 

The funeral was tiny - it was only close family that attended - three days after he passed. The sky was clear and blue and the air was cold, typical North Carolina winter. It had snowed the day before, just a bit, so the ground was frozen and white. It could have been beautiful if it wasn’t so heartbreaking. Anna didn’t cry that day. She said she had cried enough. The snow started falling again that evening, once they got home, and she said that was Mike’s way of telling her he loved her. She loved the snow.  

JJ went back home the day after the New Year. Anna told him to stay as long as he wanted, but he said it was time for him to move on. She understood, hugged him tightly before he went, admonishing him to come around often. He said he would, and promised to help with anything she needed around the house, too. Kiara sat huddled on the front porch in a rocking chair, wrapped in a thick blanket with a cup of hot cocoa as he walked out. “You’re not going to say goodbye?” he teased kindly. 

She looked up at him, her eyes still bloodshot and sorrowful. He wanted to hold her. He wished she had never had to go through any of this. She didn’t deserve it. “I don’t know what to say,” she said. “You’ve done so much for us.”

JJ shook his head. “It was selfish. I thought if I was nearby maybe it wouldn’t happen.”

“It was anything but selfish,” She insisted, standing up and wrapping the blanket tighter around her shoulders. She placed a cold hand on his cheek. “Really, J. We couldn’t have made it through any of this without you.”

JJ might have leaned too deeply into her touch, no matter how cold her hands were. It somehow felt colder when she moved away. He cleared his throat. “So what’re your plans now? Getting back on the road?”

“Not until spring. Mom won’t admit it, but she’s not ready to be alone. She’ll need some help coping. And honestly, I’m not itching to leave.”

“I thought you’d wanna skip out as soon as possible. Doesn’t Fern miss you?”

She squinted her eyes but didn’t say anything in response. “I’ll miss having you around, Maybank.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, I’ll still be around. I think your mom will institute Sunday dinners or some shit if I don’t come over regularly.”

Kie chuckled. “She really loves you. Dad does - did, too.” Her voice broke slightly.

“I love them, too,” JJ said, honestly. He pressed a kiss to her forehead before picking up his bags and leaving. Kiara caught her breath as his lips brushed her skin, warmth spreading from where he made contact. Her wide eyes stayed glued to his figure as he loaded up his truck and drove away. 

If normal could be achieved after a year like the Carrera women had experienced, they worked their hardest to achieve it. Anna threw herself into caring for the Wreck and it had the best off-season it had had in years. Kiara wrote songs and worked alongside her mother and even took some online classes. Anna did indeed institute Sunday dinners with JJ and he came to as many of them as he could. Life was slow to move forward, but Kie and Anna kept each other afloat, reminding themselves that Mike wouldn’t have wanted them to sit still crying over him. Step by step they picked up the pieces of their lives. 

Things went along this way for a couple months or so. The world was calming down, but not fully quiet yet - when was the world ever quiet? Kiara never thought she could enjoy the quiet slow life that was the Outer Banks during the off-season, but after the year she’d had, she wanted nothing more than simple domesticity. She said as much during one of their Sunday dinners, enticing a knowing smile from her mother and a surprising lack of eye contact from JJ. She cornered him on the back deck when he’d stepped out to smoke. She was grateful they had regained some of the ease their friendship had carried when they were younger. “Okay, what was that all about?”

He chewed on his lip, twisting his cigarette between his fingers. He’d given up weed a while back when they were traveling, out of necessity, but she was secretly glad he’d never taken it up again. “I’m leaving,” he said abruptly. 

“Leaving? Going where?” 

“Not sure yet. My cousin’s gonna watch the shop for me. Travel the states for a bit until it’s safer to leave the country. Then Mexico? Maybe.”

“When will you be back?” 

He shrugged, “Don’t know. Not for a long time.”

“Why?” Her mouth had gone dry and her words had run out. JJ was a die-hard salt-lifer. He might pack up and leave occasionally, but the Outer Banks was home, where he belonged. She thought that no matter where he went, he’d always end up back here. Home. How could he leave now?

He turned to look at her, urgency and honesty shining in his eyes. “I know he was your dad, and I probably don’t have the right to feel this way, but I…” 

“You lost him, too,” she said, understanding.

“Need a change of scenery.” He shrugged again, putting out his cigarette before walking back inside. 

Kiara understood better than most the need to keep moving, the change of scenery a welcome distraction. Traveling alone left a lot of time to think and soul-search. She didn’t peg JJ as the soul-searching type, but grief changed people; he needed time. She could support him in that.

“You’re going with him, right?” Anna asked sternly as she and her daughter washed dishes that evening. JJ had just left. 

“What?” Kiara nearly dropped the plate she was drying. 

“JJ told me all about his plans. Getting out of here for a while will be good for him!” She waved a hand over her shoulder, dismissing Kiara’s shocked expression. “He talks to me, too, you know? Always has.”

Kiara chuckled lightly, “So even though he and I broke up, he never broke up with y’all?”

“You shouldn’t have broken up with him.”

Kiara’s heart stopped for a moment, as she processed what her mother had said. “What do you mean?” She started slowly. “I thought you didn’t approve of me dating someone from the Cut.”

Anna sighed, setting down a half-washed pan. She turned to her daughter. “Your dad and I always wanted what was best for you. We thought that meant college, a solid career, marrying up. But we realized recently that that is never what life’s about.” She reached out and took Kiara’s hands, tears starting to shine in her eyes. “Your dad was from the Cut. When we first got married, we had nothing except each other but being with him was the best decision I ever made. He made me happy. I think I made him happy, too.”

“You definitely made him happy, Mom. But JJ and I fought all the time, we couldn’t sort things out.”

Anna scoffed, “Your dad and I fought, too. Fights happen, but you have to realize you’re not fighting each other, you’re a team fighting the problem. Once you figure that out, you can work through anything.”

Kiara shook her head, but she had a soft smile on her lips. “Mom, I just don’t know.”

Anna smiled, tearfully. “That is what life’s about. Nobody knows! What really matters is who is there to walk with you in the unknown. Who is there for you when you need them? Through the good and the bad. Your dad was that person for me.” She paused and looked at Kiara meaningfully, “So I’ll ask again: are you going with him?”

She shouldn’t, but while considering all of this somehow she felt freer. Her father had just died, she should still be mourning him, and yet she knew that he wouldn’t want her to wallow - she had to pick herself up. You knew this was coming, she heard his voice in her head. She hoped she would never forget what that voice sounded like. You knew I was going. Now that I’m gone, you’re free to live your life again. Live it, Kiara.

JJ finished buying his ticket for the ferry. It was cold out, more snow on its way. He had some time to kill before loading up his truck, but not much. He double-checked the straps on his luggage in the bed of the truck and was just beginning to contemplate how to pass the time when he heard his name being called. He turned to see Kiara running toward him, backpack bouncing wildly on her back. She was all flushed cheeks and shining eyes and curls tumbling around her shoulders. 

“I broke up with Fern,” her words came out in a rush as she drew near him before he could even greet her. “I broke up with her months ago.”

“O-okay,” JJ replied, heart pounding. A million thoughts ran through his mind. He had just seen Kiara, why hadn’t she mentioned it then? Or before then? Why had she come all the way here to tell him that?

“And I’m coming with you,” she continued. 

“What?” JJ wasn’t one to be lost for words, but he couldn’t say anything else. 

“You make me happy. When the world went to shit you were the one person I wanted to know was safe. You were there for me and my whole family in the darkest few months of our lives and you really cared about us. I don’t care that we fought or that we will fight because being with you makes me happier than I ever thought possible.”

If she was going to say anything else, her words were swallowed up when he kissed her, hands cupping her cold cheeks. “I love you,” he said when she pulled back to breathe. “I never stopped. I didn’t know how to fight for you, how to stay, but I’ll do better. I can be better.”

She pressed another kiss to his lips. “Shut up, we’ll figure it out. We can do it right this time.” 

Sometimes things die. It’s a sad cycle. The brightest fires turn cold and gray. But with time, new sparks can settle in that bed of ash. With care a new fire can start, burning brighter than before. So, even though things sometimes die, sometimes those dead things lead to an even more beautiful beginning.

[whyiask]

more bitter than sweet (Ch. 1)

Masterpost Ao3 Link TWs: there is a gun and non-graphic violence during the flashback (in italics) so mind that part Note: okay so. so. for people who have seen TUA, you might be saying "Joy, why on earth would you have Tommy as Vanya instead of Tommy as Five?" and the answer to that is: I just realllly wanted Tommy as Vanya, so Niki is Five, because badass Niki. also, the plot will have some changes, obviously, as it's driven by the characters and the role of Five's character is filled by a quite different person in this au. SO, on with the show. Other than that, it'll follow the original plot fairly well, probably. (also Schlatt is probably ooc, he got dealt the unfortunate hand of Luther and I don't really like Luther and don't really know how to write him, so F in the chat for schlatt lmao)

---

The sky was overcast and dreary. Fitting for the occasion. The manor house, which had been near silent for just over a year, was dusty and creaking. Normally Philza wouldn’t let the house get to such a state. The vines stretched high up the walls and Tommy craned his neck to view the once majestic mansion he had lived in. It was a far cry from the rigid upkeep of the grounds Reginald Hargreeves had insisted upon.

Tommy wasn’t looking forward to seeing his siblings again. Although he missed them dearly, he was afraid, not that he’d ever tell anyone, of how they would shun him. It had been years since any of them spoke to him. Wilbur had moved away from the house as soon as he could, forgetting about Tommy and never bothering to check in. Techno’s abrupt lack of communication was purposeful. He really did only have himself to blame.

Heaving a great sigh, Tommy mounted the steps. At least he would get to see Wilbur again.

His key fit into the door and as it swung open, a wave of nostalgia washed over him. The burning of the fireplace, the musty scent of the old, worn down rugs and furniture. The blood that had stained the floors time and time again. Pushing down his nausea, Tommy stepped forward into the open space.

“Big Man Tommyinnit has arrived,” he announced, but it fell flat, even to his own ears. It didn’t echo, trailing off in the lonely entryway. The whole house was a void, a black hole that had sucked his childhood away. He supposed he had never really gotten to be a child in the first place.

He didn’t hear the footsteps coming. He only looked up the grand staircase at the sound of a wall being punched.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Technoblade ground out. His eyebrows were drawn tight and his fists were curled. Tommy bit back a wince. He deserved this. After all, it was his brilliant idea to write a book exposing all of their family secrets. He had seen it as a way to try and cope with his trauma at the time, but it quickly became clear the rest of the family did not share his views.

A mess of curly brown hair poked out around the doorway that Techno was leaning against. A yellow sweater and a maroon beanie. A guitar strapped to his back. Tommy was hit with another wave of memories and it took all of his willpower not to run into his brother’s arms.

“Is that Tommy I hear?” Wilbur asked, and Techno moved aside reluctantly. Wilbur’s entire face lit up and he rushed down the stairs, nearly tripping in his haste. Tommy moved forward at a slower speed, and they met at the base of the stairs.

“Awww,” Wilbur whispered. “You’ve grown so much.” He raised a hand hesitantly, almost as if to pat Tommy’s head, and Tommy swatted him away.

“Oh bug off, you’d know that if you had actually stuck around.”

Wilbur’s smile faltered. He put his hand back at his side and a brief look of regret passed his face. “I’m sorry, Tommy, but I couldn’t stay here.”

“You could’ve taken me with you.” Tommy took a deep breath. He was getting too sentimental for his own good. Wilbur lifted his arms and wrapped them around Tommy’s lanky body. Tommy hesitated for a second, before returning the hug. It was awkward, nowhere near as smooth as it had been in their childhood.

“I missed you, Tommy. It’s good to see you again, you little gremlin,” Wilbur muttered into Tommy’s hair.

From up on the second floor, Tommy heard Techno scoff. He pulled away from Wilbur to look up at their brother. Techno was sharpening a knife, leaning back against the doorframe. His red cloak was settled comfortably on his shoulders and his face held a large scowl.

Wilbur frowned up at him. “Got a problem, Techno?”

Technoblade scoffed again, straightening up and coming to lean over the railing. He sneered down at Wilbur. “‘You missed him? You missed him?’” Techno’s eyes drifted over to Tommy with a glare. “Do you even know what he’s done?”

Wilbur stepped protectively in front of Tommy, and he had to resist rolling his eyes.

“He’s still our brother.”

“He’s still in the room,” Tommy interjected dryly. Wilbur shushed him and this time he actually did roll his eyes.

“Tommy was never part of our family to begin with. What gives him the right to talk about our family as if he belongs to it now?”

Tommy stiffened. Wilbur tensed beside him as well. “Techno,” he said, voice dark. “You know that’s not true.”

“Congratulations, we all have our own fucking trauma. Thank you Tommy, truly, for sharing it with the world!” He turned and his cape swished behind him dramatically. He spared one last look over his shoulder before walking back into the living room. Tommy barely caught his parting statement. “You’ve never been my brother and never will be. Stop acting like you are."

Tommy reeled back like he’d been hit, but when he noticed Wilbur looking at him worriedly, he plastered on a smile.

“Are you-” he started.

“Don’t worry about me, big man,” Tommy said, louder than necessary. “It’s Techno you should be concerned about, he’s clearly got some major problems.”

Wilbur looked at him doubtfully but nodded along anyways. He patted Tommy’s shoulder once.

“Well, I’m glad you’re back, despite the awful circumstances. I did miss you.”

“I missed you too, Wil,” Tommy muttered, watching Wilbur’s back retreating up the stairs.

---

The living room was tense. You could cut through the thickness of the air with a butter knife. Techno leaned on one of the support pillars behind the couch, as far away from everyone else as possible. Schlatt was sitting in one of the large armchairs, and Ranboo had swung his feet up onto the couch, taking up the whole thing.

Wilbur immediately plopped himself onto the other chair, leaving Tommy to try and fit on the couch. Ranboo curled his legs in and Tommy nodded to him with a smile. Ranboo smiled back, before looking over his shoulder at the air and grinning wider.

Schlatt cleared his throat, calling everyone to attention. He stood up.

“I think you all know why we are here,” he said lazily, moving his gaze across everyone in the room. There were several murmurs of agreement.

“Our father is dead, and we have to pay respects to him,” Schlatt continued.

Techno snorted slightly and Schlatt ignored him.

“However,” he stressed, and Tommy rolled his eyes, recognizing the tone in his oldest brother’s voice. “I believe there was foul play involved.”

“Foul play?” Techno asked, disbelieving. “You think someone murdered dad?”

Schlatt bristled at Techno’s words. “Yes, as a matter of fact. When his body was found, he didn’t have his monocle on him, and it was nowhere in the room.”

Even Wilbur had to raise an eyebrow at that. “And…?” he said.

Schlatt groaned. “C’mon guys, you have to use your brains. When have you ever, ever seen dad without his monocle?” At the silence, Schlatt grinned triumphantly as if he had won. “See? My point is that someone took his monocle, right before or after his death. It must’ve been personal.”

He turned to Techno. “Philza was the one who found him, no?”

Techno’s mouth pressed together into a thin line. “You can’t seriously be accusing Phil,” he said, a threat clear in his voice.

“Well, who knows,” Schlatt threw up his hands. “Maybe he finally got tired of being the perfect little housekeeper. Who else could’ve done it, you?”

Techno’s eyes widened a fraction, before narrowing again. Tommy would’ve missed it if he had not grown up with him.

Schlatt must’ve noticed it too, because his jaw opened so fast that Tommy was worried it would come off.

“I mean,” Techno said, interrupting whatever yelling storm Schlatt had planned. “As much as I would’ve enjoyed the honors, it wasn’t me.”

Schlatt’s eyes narrowed down to slits. “I don’t trust him,” he announced.

Wilbur gave a single bark of laughter. “What else is new?”

“I don’t trust you either, and yet here I am. What’re you accusing me of?” Techno butted in.

Schlatt sputtered. “You know damn well what.”

As Techno reared up to argue back, Tommy tuned out their mindless bickering. Somehow, he thought they could’ve changed. Maybe he thought they could’ve grown up. He clearly expected too much. Techno was still a vigilante, still hot-headed. And Schlatt? Well, four years without any human interaction had really screwed up his subtlety. To be fair, Tommy wasn���t sure if he had had any to begin with.

Tommy sighed and stood up, grabbing Ranboo’s arm and pulling him up as well. The arguing brothers didn’t pay them any heed. Wilbur stood up too, trying to break up the argument that threatened to turn violent. Ranboo got Tommy’s drift and they exited the room.

There was no point in staying.

--

They are ten years old. The robbers are holding hostages, and Schlatt starts to tell the others his plan, when Niki jumps into the building. Schlatt curses and runs into the room after her. Techno, never one to miss out on the action, follows closely behind.

Ranboo, Tubbo, and Wilbur are slightly slower and stick closer to the wall.

They arrive in time to see Niki teleporting around, distracting the robbers, as Techno hurls a knife with deadly accuracy into one of the men’s shoulders. He falls with a cry. Schlatt lifts another and tosses him into a wall like a ragdoll.

A voice cries out over the chaos and all three freeze. One of the others has pulled a gun on the civilians. Without wasting a moment, Niki blinks right in between the gun and the civilians, sitting on the bank check-in desk. The man swings the gun down towards her but she’s already gone.

Niki is behind him now, calling out, “Hey, loser.” As he spins around to face her, she quickly blinks his gun out of his hands in exchange for a stapler. “Nice stapler.”

She grabs his hand and twists it upwards. He hits himself in the head with the stapler in his hand. Niki tosses the gun to Schlatt, who catches it easily.

The three boys in the corner smile. Ranboo hated feeling useless in fights, but his power wasn’t cut out for combat. Tubbo was glad he didn’t have to use his. And Wilbur was just happy for his siblings to do the fighting instead of him.

Outside, Reginald Hargreeves stands, monocle and top hat, leaning on a stylish cane. A young boy stands next to him, fidgeting with his uniform.

“Why can’t I be with them?” Tommy asks his father.

“We’ve gone over this, Tommy,” Reginald says, irritated. “Because you are not special.”

When the police arrive, and the news is scrambling over themselves to take pictures of the young superheroes who saved the bank and the hostages, Schlatt, Techno, Wilbur, Niki, Tubbo, and Ranboo all line up to have their picture taken. They stand with good posture and smiles, having it ingrained into them.

Reginald walks out with a dramatic flair onto the steps of the bank, setting his hand on Schlatt’s shoulder. Schlatt huffs out his chest in pride.

“These,” Reginald announces to the gathered press. “Are your new superheroes. Meet the SBI.” The people clap.

“I adopted 6 children with superpowers, and I have been training them to fight against the evil in this city.”

Reginald’s speech continues. Tommy continues to stand out of sight, as Reginald introduces his siblings to the press. Reginald doesn’t even look in his direction as he states he had only adopted six kids.

They are ten. This is their first mission as a team. The SBI is born. And Tommy isn’t allowed to be a part of it.

--

Tommy’s old room was exactly how he remembered it. The plain bedspread on the plain bed. The posters on the wall, one of the few things he was allowed to customize. A neatly organized bookshelf and a cabinet full of music books. A keyboard by the window, coated in a thick layer of dust.

He had been just as surprised as everyone else when their father had allowed him to take up piano like he wanted to. There was a grand piano downstairs, he knew. It was probably out of tune.

Still better than sitting around. Ranboo had wandered off a while ago, so he didn’t have anyone to talk to, and everyone else was either busy or likely to ignore him. Tommy made his way to the spacious room. He sat down at the piano bench, blowing the dust from the keys and tentatively played a chord. It wasn’t horribly out of tune, though it definitely wasn’t in perfect upkeep.

Letting his doubts free, he let himself fold into the music, allowing his fingers to move across the keys. The song wasn’t particularly hard, though it wasn’t one he had played in a while. It was a song he remembered playing often when he still lived here.

.

Unknown to him, around the house, everyone perked up at the distant echoing of his playing, unconsciously swaying to the once-familiar tune.