#they either didn’t care or they afforded her privacy

[alarrytale]

Once again what DM wrote

“Sources close to Styles reveal he is now 'ready for the next chapter' in his life, away from the spotlight. While Styles will no doubt continue to make music and is expected to further 'explore his acting opportunities', insiders warn fans not to expect any new projects in the near future: 'Harry no longer needs to prove himself and he is finally going to take some time to reap the rewards of his success. His 30s will look nothing like his 20s.'”

First of all - who are sources close to Styles? After h*livia bua there were sources saying how we will definitely see H hanging out with OW how much serious this relationship was for him 🙄.

Second - surely his 30s won’t look nothing like his 20s. He can’t play the image of a manwhore who slept with approx 456 women a year anymore.

Third - if he doesn’t no longer needs to prove himself, then why we have known about him every second or third week since HSLOT end? It’s quite the opposite, with H’sH his fame skyrocketed and they have to strike when the steel is hot. That’s why he’s always around, that’s why got stunt by the end of the tour and that’s why we’ll get new album and tour announcement this year - they need to keep him going when all attention is on him

Fourth - as you wrote Marte, she agreed to stunt with him in the first place to boost her career. We know it’s a stunt but even if they will try to sell us how she’s about to settle with him, what was the purpose for her in the first place when she’s about to break through the Hollywood? Hope it makes sence what I’m trying to say.

God I just hate these tabloid articles looking like a het harries wattpad wet dream fantasies. We know he will settle down one day with Louis but imo it won’t be the way that tabloids will inform us about it. See how Gemma got pregnant and gave birth and nobody knew about it (eventho some of us were suspicious after that one photo from wedding but we could only wonder about if she was or wasn’t pregnant at that time). Sources close to Styles won’t announce what H’s actual private life (“nobody knows about”) will look like in the near future and when he will actually settle down.

Hi, anon!

Sources close to Harry Styles is his PR company DawBell. They know everything there is to know about Harry Styles because they make it up to fit the narrative they want out there.

His 30's wont look like his 20's because he's aging out of the heartthrob age range. He's not curly headed, green-eyed with a babyface of an angel boy anymore, and with a horde of clamouring teenagers running after him.

They do want to strike while the iron is hot. He's on top of the world right now in his category. There is no competition. When you've worked so hard to get to the top you'd want to keep yourself there. Now it's the time to actually start to enjoy it.

TR settling down with H makes no sense. H is on top but she just started climbing. She's ambitious and have been given a real shot to make it further due to this PR relationships. Why would she settle down now and fade into obscurity? Makes no sense.

The Gemma part annoys me actually. Everyone who cared to know she was pregnant knew. She didn’t hide shit. She was pictured with a pregnant belly (pretty far along actually). That's not hiding. Some people dismissed it because they didn’t want to speculate, and that's fine. But everyone else with eyes and half a braincell could easily tell she was pregnant.

What they want out there gets out there, what they don't want out there won't. Easy.

[lullaebies]

Absolutely love your blog! If you're still taking Jaehaera/Aegon III requests what about one where they're in a secret relationship and are keeping it from their families but some shenanigans ensue (maybe they snuck out or something, or someone walked in on them kissing?) and they're somehow discovered? Also please overprotective father Aegon II because yes!

(Preferably an AU where the Dance happens later?)

The gathering in the room feels like a court of thorns, and Jaehaera feels as if she is going to hurl. Standing by her family with her grandmother looking at all around with hawk eyes, she feels if something is about to implode. Aegon had been taken from her side to his mother’s, Princess Rhaenyra. The heiress to the Throne had been most wroth, her, her husband, and her sons waking in the middle of the night for this… issue.

The worst of it all, Jaehaerys had been still laughing with damn near tears in his eyes while telling what he witnessed. She had begged him to leave it be, but then he and Aegon got into an altercation, and now… Ugh!

“So I enter her room because I left my book there—” he looks at Princess Rhaenyra and her family, particularly Aegon. “It was my room once too, do mind— and what do I see if not Aegon the Younger pining my sister against her own closet? The closet, grandmother. He didn’t have the mind to get her against a bed.”

She’s going to choke him.

“Oh, fuck off,” Aegon yells at her twin. “As if she hasn’t told me about you becoming a damn near Rosby stableboy in your visits there—”

Princess Rhaenyra pushes him back to his half-brothers, the lot of the brown haired boys holding their brother of nine and ten, yet only his father manages to stare him down. On the other hand, her father had been gritting his teeth beside her, while mother held onto Jaehaerys’s forearm in warning. Alicent gives her twin a pointed look.

“Mind your words, Jaehaerys,” she says, and turns to look at Rhaenyra and her family. “Prince Aegon, would you mind explaining how you came into my granddaughter's rooms?” 

Aegon licks his lips, and Jaehaera swallows. The story is longer than both of them would be able to admit. Despite the blood feud of the families, they had managed to talk last year at the ball for her and Jaehaerys five and tenth nameday. Even went on a joint ride with Morghul and Stormcloud, and before he left for Dragonstone, they decided on a day to meet again at the Kingswood. Such meetings repeated. They could only afford a day a moon, but those days were all so sweet. Did she do anything wrong? Yes, had been the objective answer, but she couldn’t care for it.

And here he is, in her very own home. They could hardly speak by their family, how could she not ask for a moment of privacy?

Rhaenyra rubs her temples. “Things like these happen at this age, Alicent,” she says. “You are stressing Jaehaera and Aegon both.”

Alicent furrows her brows. “Oh, these things do happen at this age, don’t they?” she asks, glaring. “We had known since we were her age how reputation matters in finding marriage. Your son is three years her elder and should know not to fiddle with a noble girl’s corset strings at the hour of the bat.”

Jaehaera feels some tears well up in her eyes. She doesn’t care for the embarrassment of being caught by now, but this makes her feel a fool. It had been nothing insidious, was it? They hadn’t even kissed until they celebrated the new year. She hadn’t lost her chastity, either. It is not just…

“He came into those rooms because your granddaughter let him in, Queen Alicent,” Prince Daemon says. “You should mind her doings before you lay judgement on my son’s.”

Jaehaera’s father had been standing quiet for the longest while, but with that he flares. “Men had been sent to the wall and got castrated for less, Uncle. If you don’t like my mother’s judgement, perhaps I should see to it?”

She holds onto her father’s arm. Please, let this stop. 

Daemon eyes him dangerously. “See to your own misgivings,” he says. “Your own son laughs at your daughter's.”

“Father, please,” Jaehaera says, when Aegon the Elder tries and almost manages to escape her grip. Her mother and brother come quickly beside them. Her mother stands in front of her father and puts a hand on his chest, warning, while Jaehaerys comes to Jaehaera’s side, a wroth smirk thrown at their grand-uncle’s way.

“I am laughing at my sister’s choices, grand uncle. At least if it had been Viserys, he has my aunt’s pretty face,” he says, backing their father for once. They often argue, but at times they work together, they prove they’re made of the same cloth. “The Seven had laughed at Aegon giving him yours.”

Daemon starts stepping towards them. “You think you are a jester, you defected—”

Prince Jacaerys comes against his step-father to stop him from coming forward, the same ways her mother has to stop her father from doing the same. Her grandmother and Princess Rhaenyra had come to yell at one another, and even the kingsguard had come to get involved. Jaehaera’s body is reduced to shaking, fat tears fully sliding down her cheek.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly between gentle sobs, the sleeves of a dishevelled dress wiping against her face again and again to try and catch all the tears. Only the family beside her hears, so loud were the voices in the room. Her brother and father turn around, with similarly apprehensive faces. “Please, please stop..”

Behind them, from the other side of the room, Aegon sees her in her pathetic state too. She never was the emotional type, and she had oft hoped he liked it for he had been none too different. The unusual petrification on his face makes her blood feel as if it is running dry, and it feels all gone when the dark amethyst of his eyes fall into what she could only call resigned acceptance.

Aegon, her Aegon, comes by his mother and her grandmother, holding Princess Rhaenyra’s arm. “It was my fault. We didn’t mean to… I took it too far,” he finally says. “I won’t come by her any more, Queen Alicent.”

It hurts more than anything else he could’ve said.

Her mother pushes their father aside to cloak her in an embrace. Jaehaera can only tremble and sob against her mother’s robe.

The room grows silent as Princess Rhaenyra and Queen Alicent agree to not tell The King or all else of the incident; so ill had been King Viserys, it had not been worth ailing her grandfather further with this issue when he had been on the brink of passing. 

All is to be forgotten, and cast away. Jaehaera’s puffy eyes lift from her mother’s shoulder, and catch his gaze one last time before he leaves. He tries to mouth something, but is pushed by his family out of the room.

Jaehaera sinks against her mother again. Even if she banishes the days in the green Kingswood from her thoughts, the scent of the campfire charring wood black will live in her dreams.

[starsenha]

DUET - home (chapter 11)

You trudged home, your thoughts swirling with frustration. Jay's sudden coldness had completely threw you off. You had been getting along pretty decently lately, but the fact that he prefered hanging out with Yuna out of all people instead of working with you made it even worse.

As you approached your doorstep, you tried to shake off the thoughts. There was no point in dewelling on it now, you just needed to rest and clear your head.

You pushed the door open and stepped inside, slipping off your shoes and hanging your bag. The house was mostly quiet, just the faint sound of TV playing in the living room. You mom was sitting on the couch, a cup of tea in hand.

"Yn? You're home early," your mom said, her eyebrows lifting in surprise. "Shouldn't you be at practice?"

You sighed, forcing a small smile as you walked over to the couch. "My partner canceled practice last minute, so i figure i'd take the evening to rest, I've been exhausted lately."

You mom's expression immediately shifted from surprise to disapproval. "Rest? You can't afford to waste time like this. If your partner canceled, you should be using this opportunity to practice on your own. You need to be at your best for regionals."

Your heart sank at her words, but you kept your head down, knowing better than to argue with her. "I know, mom," you said quietly. "But I'm really tired. I thought it would be better to take a break today so I can be more focused tomorrow."

Your mom set down her tea with a slight thud, her lips pursed in a thin line. “That’s not the attitude of someone who wants to be the best, Yn. You can’t just rest every time you feel a little tired. Your brother doesn’t make excuses like that, and look at how well he’s doing.”

You flicnhed at the mention of your brother, but you kept your gaze fixed on the floor. You had heard this comparison a million times before, and it never got any easier to swallow. "Yes, mom," you murmured, keeping your voice as steady as you could. "I'll do better."

Your mom didn’t respond, simply giving her a curt nod before picking up her tea again. You took that as your cue to leave, slipping away toward your room as quickly and quietly as possible. The last thing you wanted was to get into an argument, especially when you were already feeling down.

As soon as you were in the privacy of your room, you let out a long breath, leaning back against the door. The familiar comfort of your space didn’t do much to ease the tight knot of frustration in your chest. You wanted to scream, to cry, to do anything to release the tension, but instead, you just walked over to your bed and sat down heavily.

A few minuted later, you heard a know on the door and Riki poked his head in. "Can I come in?"

You looked up, managing a weak smile for your younger brother. "Sure, little thing. What's up?"

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He was still in his casual clothes, clearly having not gone to practice either. “I was just wondering why you’re home so early. I thought you had practice?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I did, but Jay canceled last minute. Something came apparently, so I figured I’d take the time to rest. Mom wasn’t too happy about it, though.”

Riki frowned, sitting down beside you on your bed. “She wasn’t happy? Why? You’ve been working your ass off. You deserve a break.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, you know how Mom is. She thinks every minute not spent practicing is a wasted opportunity. I tried to tell her I was exhausted, but she just compared me to you again. Said you wouldn’t make excuses like that.”

Riki’s frown deepened. “That’s not fair. I didn’t go to practice today either, and Mom was the one who told me to rest. She said it was important for me to take care of myself so I don’t get burned out before regionals.”

Your heart ached at the blatant favoritism, but you forced herself to smile for Riki’s sake. “That’s great, Riki. I’m glad she’s looking out for you.”

Riki looked at you, his expression troubled. “Yn, it’s not right. You’re working just as hard—harder, even. You should be allowed to rest too.”

You shurgged, trying to brush it off. "Its whatever honestly. I'm used to it by now. I just need to keep pushing myself. It’s not like I can change Mom’s mind.”

He shook his head, clearly frustrated. “It’s still not fair. You shouldn’t have to deal with that. I wish I could do something about it.”

You reached out and ruffled his hair, your smile softening. “You’re sweet, little one. But it’s okay. I’ll be fine. I just need to rest tonight and get my energy back. I’ll be ready to go tomorrow.”

He sighed, but he nodded, leaning back against the headboard. “Just promise me you’ll take care of yourself too, okay? I don’t want to see you burn out.”

You nodded, feeling a warm rush of affection for your brother. “I promise, Riki. I’ll be okay. Thanks for checking on me.”

Dinner came quicker than you expected. You quietly picked at your food, your thoughts still lingering on the events of the day.

Your dad cleared his throat after a few bites of his mean, looking at you across the table. “So, Yn, how’s practice going? Are you and your partner ready for regionals?”

You perked up at the question, eager to share how things had been improving with Jay despite today’s hiccup. “Actually, practice has been going well. My partner and I have been working hard on our duet, and we’ve made a lot of progress. We’re really starting to—”

Before you could finish her sentence, your father cut you off, turning his attention to Riki. “That’s good, that’s good. Riki, how’s your solo coming along? You’ve been practicing that new routine, right?”

Your voice faltered, and you pressed your lips together, the words dying in your throat. You forced yourself to remain calm, even though the interruption stung. It was so typical—conversations about you always seemed to take a backseat to Riki.

Riki glanced at you, his expression apologetic, but he answered his father’s question. “Yeah, the solo’s going well. I’m trying to perfect that tricky move in the middle, but I’m getting there. I should have it down by the end of the week.”

Your dad nodded, looking pleased. “That's my boy. You need to keep pushing yourself, Riki. Regionals are just around the corner, and we can’t afford any mistakes.”

You swallowed her frustration and took a deep breath. You waited for a moment, hoping there would be a lull in the conversation so you could share your news. After a few more bites, you decided to try again.

“Oh, and I almost forgot to mention—I aced my literature exam this week! The professor said my essay was one of the best in the class,” You said, her voice tinged with pride. You hoped this small victory would be acknowledged.

But before your words could fully sink in, your mom, spoke up, completely ignoring your announcement. “Riki, have you decided on the costume for your solo? We need to make sure it complements your routine perfectly.”

Your heart sank as your mother’s words drowned out your own. You bit her lip, fighting back the disappointment that welled up inside her. It was as if your accomplishments outside of dance didn’t matter at all. You knew better than to argue or push the issue, but it didn’t make the hurt any less.

Riki noticed your reaction and tried to steer the conversation back to you. “Mom, Dad, Yn’s been working really hard too. Her duet is coming along great, and she’s also doing amazing in her studies. I think it’s awesome how she’s balancing everything.”

Your mom barely acknowledged Riki’s attempt. “That’s nice, Riki, but you should focus on your own performance. As for Yn,” she finally turned to you, “you need to remember that dance is what really matters. It’s good that you’re doing well in your studies, whatever theyr are, but you should be putting more effort into your routine. Regionals are coming up fast.”

You nodded silently, your appetite fading as the conversation continued without you. You knew there was no point in arguing; your parents had always made it clear where their priorities lay. The message was always the same—dance was the only thing that truly mattered.

previous / m.list / next

taglist: @sincerely-sunny @realrintaro @onlyhyunjin @mari-oclock @jooniesbears-blog @isa942572

[aalissy]

Identity Reveal

Annddd here's the fourteenth chapter :). I hope you like this lil identity reveal <3. I also hope you had a good weekend! Lemme know what you think!

AO3

Marinette was tired. Exhausted even. She couldn’t fight off the large yawn from escaping her lips. She saw Alya cast a worried glance from her side of their desk. Right now, though, she didn’t care. Marinette was struggling just to stay awake so she didn’t get sent to the principal’s office for snoozing during their lesson today.

Her eyes blinked blearily in an attempt to focus on the writing on the chalkboard. Right now, it didn’t make any sense. Was that even in French?  

Monarch had been sending off wave after wave of akuma attacks in the middle of the night so she had barely been getting any sleep. It felt like she had only gotten a few seconds of slumber each night before another akuma was out rampaging the city.

Seriously when was he sleeping? Did he have no life and could just afford to stay up all night? Marinette snorted at the thought. If anyone had no life, it would certainly be Monarch.

Honestly, it made her want to hand her earrings in to Alya just for a night but she knew she couldn’t do that to her best friend. Either way, though, Marinette was desperate for some sleep. Maybe she could convince her Maman and Papa to let her skip a day of school to let her catch up? She certainly looked sick enough to be allowed to stay home.

At the moment, though, Marinette needed to at least try and take some notes. Even though she could barely understand a word on the board. 

After a final, blissful slow blink to give her eyes some rest, she moved the tip of her pen to her notebook. About to begin scrawling down some notes, she was interrupted by the sound of a blaring alarm that had her snapping awake. 

That was tha akuma alert. Which meant that it was time for her to go and transform. She and Alya exchanged a set of glances and quick nods before Marinette ducked out of the small classroom. Everywhere around her people were rushing out of class to get to safety. She cursed silently. She really needed to find somewhere to transform.

Marinette hurried through the crowded school corridors, her mind racing with thoughts of the impending akuma attack. It was absolutely vital for her to find a secluded spot to transform, away from prying eyes. As she rounded a corner, she spotted an alleyway that seemed deserted. Tired as she was, Marinette forgot to look around for any stragglers and darted into the shadows.

Once in the relative privacy of the alley, Marinette reached for her earrings, ready to transform into Ladybug and face the akuma threat. “Tikki, spots on!” she shouted.

It was only after that that she realized she made a mistake. That there was someone else in the alley with her. A loud gasp had her whirling around during her transformation, meeting a pair of wide, green eyes as she collided back against the wall. She tried to stop it, but it was simply too late. She had already transformed.

Wincing, Ladybug met Adrien’s shocked gaze. And, was it just her or did he also seem tired? Her heart raced as she realized her mistake. She had transformed in front of Adrien, revealing her secret identity in a moment of exhaustion and distraction.

"Adrien..." Ladybug began, her voice trailing off as she searched for words to explain.

Adrien's eyes were wide with astonishment, his mouth slightly agape. He took a step closer, his gaze moving over Ladybug's familiar costume and the earrings that were ever-present in her ears.

"Marinette," Adrien breathed, disbelief and awe mingling in his voice.

Ladybug nodded, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Well, she couldn’t exactly deny it. He had literally seen her transform. "Yes, it's me. I'm so sorry, Adrien. I didn't mean for you to see this."

Adrien's initial shock began to give way to a warm smile. "No, don't apologize. It's incredible. You're incredible."

Ladybug felt a mix of relief and anxiety. Adrien's reaction was not what she had expected. She had feared disbelief or anger, but instead, she found understanding and admiration in his eyes.

"Please, Adrien," she said earnestly. “You can't tell anyone. My identity must remain a secret for the safety of everyone."

Adrien nodded, his expression turning more serious. "I won't tell a soul, Ladybug. Your secret is safe with me. Because... well, you see, I’m keeping the same one."

Her brow furrowed at his words. What on earth was he talking about? Before she could comment on it, however, she was interrupted by his shout.

“Plagg, claws out!”

This time, Ladybug let out a loud gasp of her own as she watched a flash of bright green light up right in front of her. But... but... how? Could it really be?

It was. Because Adrien was no longer standing in front of her. Instead Chat Noir had taken his place. Her heart raced with surprise as her mouth gaped open. 

“Hello, m’lady.” He gave her a smile that she had seen so many times on Adrien’s face. How had she missed the signs? Suddenly, it felt like there were so many. It seemed so obvious now. “This was the real reason I had come into the alleyway as well. Another few seconds and you would have already seen me transformed. Or, a few more and I would have purrobably left already.”

She wanted to run to him. Embrace him. Pour out all of her feelings in a big jumbled-up confession. Maybe, if she was really lucky, she’d even be able to kiss him. But she couldn’t. Because at that moment, a large explosion rocked Paris and her eyes narrowed with determination. Later. They’d discuss this later. Right now they had a city to protect. Her feelings could wait until after it was gone.

The two glanced at each other. Not needing words as they both nodded with understanding. Together, the two vaulted out of the small alleyway, ready to defeat this latest akuma and save the day.

[gabriel-xander]

Don't Forget

[Sans x Female!Reader]

8: Am I Gregnant?

♪────✿⁠(⁠✧◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕✧⁠)✿⁠────♪

Toriel is standing outside the bathroom door with concern, respecting your privacy enough that she isn’t going to barge in, but still nosey to stand right outside. You knew this day would come, you just… you just weren’t ready for it.

“[Y/n], my child. I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Toriel says loudly.

“I’m gonna be bleeding out of my vagina for the next seven days, Toriel. This is as bad as it gets for me!” You shout from the bathtub, “Monsters don’t get their periods, so the Underground can’t sell me any pads or tampons!”

“I-I’m not sure I know what that is-”

“Further proving my point!”

“-But I’m sure we can find something that can help you.”

So you may or may not have started your period. Whoopdie-fucking-doo. Just as you were afraid of, you have no idea how you should navigate these (red) waters. You don’t have any pads or tampons, and monsters don’t have a menstrual cycle so there aren’t any products you can use.

The only solution you can think of is Dr. Alphys.

‘Sounds crazy, but LET ME COOK!’

From what you’re understanding in these books Toriel has, monsters don’t necessarily get sick, so there is no need to have primary doctors the way humans do. There is also no need to learn about human biology (obviously), but as the Royal Scientists, Dr. Alphys (and Sans but you still don’t really want anything to do with him) is more capable than everyone else in the Underground of learning something as complex as basic human biology.

You’re sure if you disguise it as allowing yourself to become a focus of study, Dr. Alphys will be eager to take the opportunity to learn about how you tick. In return for being a test subject, you ask her to help you make tampons that are safe for your body.

You know at the very least tampons are made of a bunch of cotton and rayon, but you’re no fucking expert (yet) so you can’t be so sure.

The only problem is that this requires Dr. Alphys to learn about your identity. You’re not too sure if this is a problem you want right now. You can’t just spend the whole week in the bathtub as your blood gets washed away (TMI, who cares), but you’re not too sure if you’re comfortable with sticking cotton up in your vagina either.

Hm…

Actually, wait.

”Toriel!” You call out, “Do you have any cotton and thin string?”

”Huh? We have a lot of leftover yarn from the sewing kit, but I don’t think I have any cotton… Give me a moment to look.”

She doesn’t leave you waiting for long, but she doesn’t come back with the best of news.

”I’m afraid I only have a few cotton balls left. Is that enough?”

Shit, it won’t be at all. Also, cotton balls aren’t the most ideal materials. Hmm… another option could be utilizing diapers and somehow turning them into pads. Wait, why don’t you just do that? It’s not the most ideal, but when you don’t have many options, there isn’t much room to complain. Besides, you’re pretty sure they’re more absorbent than actual pads anyway.

”You wouldn’t happen to have baby diapers, would you?” You ask loud enough for her to hear.

”Ah… baby diapers? No, I’m afraid not. Would you like me to buy some?”

”YES! Please!” You nearly sob in relief, “Just… Ughh, I really don’t want you to buy what’s unnecessary since they’re so expensive-”

“-Expensive? Pfft—Perhaps on the surface, but diapers are quite affordable.” Toriel knocks on the door, “I will buy a few different sizes, and you will decide which size is best for you. Though, I’m unsure how you would even use them…”

You chuckle, ”I can give you the human TLDR when you get back. Please hurry, T. I don’t wanna stay in this tub much longer.”

”Yes, I will be back soon, my child!”

Great. What a wonderful way to spend your morning. It had attacked you so randomly, and you didn’t even get cramps the days before. You had stained your sheets and frantically explained to Toriel that, no, you’re not dying and your vagina is NOT broken. Since monsters don’t need toilets, you opted to bleed out in the bathtub with the water filled up to your waist.

Oh shit, you completely forgot you asked Napstablook to hang out today. Hopefully, he decides to take his sweet ass time today and doesn’t arrive soon.

────

Toriel stares at the ghost like a deer caught in headlights.

Here comes Napstablook!

”Oh, Napstablook,” Toriel blinks, “You’re here.”

”hi miss toriel… is [y/n] ready yet…? she told me she wanted to hang out again…” Napstablook shrinks back from Toriel’s stare, “um… is this a bad time…?”

The goat monster winces slightly, “It’s… certainly bad timing. Um…. Oh!”

The ghost flinches at her sudden loud noise.

”Why don’t you accompany me to the store first? [Y/n] needs some time before she can entertain guests right now.”

‘…uhhhhhh-‘

“oh… okay…” Napstablook waits for Toriel to lead the way before following after her, “is [y/n] feeling okay…?”

”Yes, yes… I-I think.”

‘YOU THINK?!’

“It’s a human thing, I believe. I’m ashamed to admit I’m not as knowledgeable about humans as I used to be.” Toriel tells him, “She asked for me to buy her… baby diapers.”

….HUHH?!?!? IS THE HUMAN 38 + 2 weeks… PREGANANANT?!

“uhhh… huh…” Napstablook isn’t sure what he should say…

The walk to the store was quick, awkward, and quiet. The ghost is too nervous to ask more if you are actually in labor, and the goat is too focused on her very serious mission of buying diapers for you.

Newborn monsters don’t need diapers for very long, hence why they’re not very expensive. When they’re too small to eat anything other than breast milk (don’t ask…), that type of liquid does pass through their body. However, after about a month or so, monster babies grow strong enough to eat regular monster-baby food.

Different monster types require different diaper sizes though, so Toriel buys one box of each size they come in. She and Napstablook were getting weird fucking looks though, people were getting the wrong idea about them shopping for diapers together. The poor ghost was blushing red as Toriel remained oblivious to how bad this might look for them. The ghost is also wondering why you need so many different types of diapers. You didn’t seem pregananant, but maybe humans experience that type of stuff differently?

Oh… Oh, God. You’re not… You’re not having, like… a thousand babies, are you?! Napstablook isn’t sure if he’s ready for that! He’s not ready to be a father! Yes, he knows you two are barely friends, but as the only man(?) in your life right now, surely that role falls onto him, right?!

“Alright, I think this should be enough.” Toriel nods, turning to look at the other, “Oh, dear. Are you alright, Napstablook?”

He is in tears: “i’m not ready to be a dad…!”

”…”

”…”

”…”

”…”

“…What?”

────

Safe to say that Napstablook greatly misunderstood the situation. After calmly explaining the situation more to the ghost…

HE’S NOT REASSURED AT ALL!!

WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’RE BLEEDING OUT OF YOUR HOO-HA?!?!? WHAT DO YOU MEAN THIS IS NORMAL HUMAN BEHAVIOR, AND AS A MATTER OF FACT, THIS IS GOING TO HAPPEN FOR SEVEN DAYS EVERY MONTH?!?! HOW ARE YOU NOT SCREAMING BLOODY MURDER AND CRYING YOUR EYES OUT?!?!

Or perhaps you are screaming bloody murder, they just don’t know it because they’re not with you at the moment. That’s soon about to change, however.

They’ve made it back to Toriel’s home, with Napstablook using the power of friendship and magic to help carry the paper bags holding the diapers. The goat mom was gently explaining some rules.

”That is why we shall wait for [Y/n] to take care of her business first. Afterward, we can ask her some questions about what exactly she is struggling with.”

The ghost nods along, “yes, miss toriel…”

She giggles, “You were quite ready to become a father, hm? Now, why would you come to a conclusion like that?”

Napstablook blushes again, “uuhhgg… please…! that was so embarrassing…!”

”Even if [Y/n] just so happened to be pregnant, why did you assume you would have to be the father, anyway?”

”w-well… i-i don’t know… i can’t be the mom since [y/n] would be the mom…”

That’s… not what she meant at all, but she supposes it doesn’t matter all that much. She doesn’t know if she should be concerned that the ghost assumed that he’d have to take a prominent role in your life if that were the case for some reason. Or if she should be happy that he would be there for you if you were going through a pregnancy.

Strange.

“Anyway, once we go in, it would be best to keep all questions and comments to ourselves. Understand?”

”yes, miss toriel…”

Upon entering the house, Napstablook looks around with awe and curiosity. This is, of course, his first time seeing the inside of Toriel’s house. It’s so cozy and welcoming, making Napstablook feel as if he’s at home. He does find the books messily scattered on the living room floor funny; somehow he just knows it’s your doing. There isn’t much time to actually sight-see since Toriel is beckoning him to follow her down the right hallway.

They reach the last door on the right across a big mirror. Toriel knocks on the door gently.

”[Y/n], my child, we have returned.”

”Oh, thank God! Wait—We??”

”Yes, I ran into Napstablook on my way to the store,” Toriel explains, “He helped me carry everything back here.”

”uhm… hi, [y/n]…”

“…Hey, Blooky.” You sigh, “Not that you aren’t the bee's knees, Blooky, but I need Toriel to bring in the goods. I mean, unless you wanna see a nake-”

”I-I think just myself will suffice!” Toriel interrupts, flustered, “Hand them over, Napstablook.”

The blushing ghost nods, “i’ll-i’ll wait in the living room…”

────

The smaller diapers worked just fine as regular-sized pads, and while they can’t exactly stick to your undergarments correctly, they were a perfect substitute in these trying times. You explained this to Toriel (and poor Napstablook) when she asked about it once you exited the bathroom. When he asked you why you needed them at all, you figured it was time for a brutal lesson.

You didn’t get your biology degree for nothing, after all.

“So!” You clap your hands together, “That’s why I gotta bleed for one week every month, every month, for the next 30-ish years of my life until I reach menopause around 50 years old.”

Toriel and Napstablook look fucking traumatized.

────

Sans, much to Napstablook’s gratitude, doesn’t spook the ghost this time when he leaves the Ruins. He’s leaning against one of the trees on the path close to the double doors, his arms crossed while taking a little nap. Becoming alert at another presence makes Sans wake up fully. His grin falters at Napstablook’s weary expression.

”woah…” Sans cautiously walks up to the other, “you okay, bud?”

Napstablook gives him a tired look, “i was almost a father-”

“what?!”

“-but it was a false alarm… turns out the human just bleeds a lot for no other reason than just being a girl…”

“…????” Sans squints his eye sockets, “i’m—not sure i’m following you here.”

”maybe that’s for the best…” Napstablook sighs, floating away, “sorry, sans, but the menstrual cycle took a lot out of me… i just wanna get home…”

………..The what????

“okay… see ya, bud.”

Sans… isn’t really sure what to make of all that.

────

You sit with Toriel in the lounge, cleaning up the books off the floor. Napstablook was a little overwhelmed after your little revelation on female anatomy. Understandable, to be honest. You’ve dealt with this shit for the better part of the last twelve years and you still aren’t used to it. Toriel seemed a little more familiar as she kind of remembered from her time on the surface in the past.

It makes you curious about how old she is. You think you remember that boss monsters tend to live a VERY long time, longer than most monsters anyway. Though, as far as you’re aware of, only Toriel and Asgore are the only ones in the game that show their souls persisting after death. Do they have something similar to Lobster Immortality? What about other monsters like the turtle in Waterfalls (that you totally remember the name of haha-)?

Speaking of…

You put the last book back on the shelf, “Hey, Toriel. I’ve been meaning to ask you something, but I’ve never had the chance to ask.”

Toriel, sitting on the beloved Chariel and solving a word search, looks up with a smile, “Yes, my child?”

“Is there a way to look at my soul without being in battle? Us humans never had a way to look at our souls, and never imagined that one day we could see it. I want to see it again.” You explain to her, putting a hand on your chest.

Toriel’s cheek dusted a light pink, “Yes, there is a way, but before I show you, I should explain something important first.”

You laugh nervously, “What, you’re not gonna tell me that souls are actually really private and intimate outside of battle, are you? Isn’t that a little cliche?”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“Oh, God damnit.”

“I’m afraid these are just the customs here in the Underground.” Toriel chuckles, “Usually, it’s fine to show your soul with family and friends you absolutely trust with your life. During a fight, the intentions are extremely different, so it feels different when you bring out your soul during intimacy, and even just to bring it out.”

Hm, you guess it makes sense all things considered. There was a book in the Librarby talking about the vulnerability of souls based on the situations, so it would make sense if it’s different outside of battle, too.

It doesn’t change the fact that it’s still a little cliche, but you guess there’s no way of going around that.

“So, in the future, I should be careful about who looks at my soul. I got it.”

“Yes, precisely. There is also the matter of Soul-Bonding, but perhaps that can wait for another day. It’s a rather lengthy discussion.”

Soul-Bonding? It should be pretty self-explanatory, but if Torlel said it should wait then you’ll have to take her word for it.

You put your hands on your hips,  “Gotcha. Well, what about now? Can you help me bring out my soul?”

“…” Toriel is looking at you with wide eyes, “You… Do you truly… trust me to such a degree?”

You don’t hesitate with your smile and nod, “Yeah, of course, Toriel. I know you’d never hurt me. At the end of the day, you are the family I come home to now, and I wanna keep it this way for as long as you’ll let me.”

Tears swell up in her eyes; she looks away while clearing her throat. You’re a little smug that you got her emotional, you’re not gonna lie. You hope she can feel your sincerity, all jokes aside because you mean what you say. It’s hard for you to be serious a lot of the time because of your past, but you always hope that others know you’re being honest whenever you are being heartfelt.

“I greatly enjoy your company as well, my child. You are the first human to have fallen down here in a long time, and… and you would be the first human who wanted to stay,” Toriel puts a hand on her chest, the amount of warmth and love in her smile catches you off guard, “If it’s something you’ll allow, then… I’d like to share my soul with you as well.”

Now THAT made you tear up so fucking fast. For Toriel, a boss monster, someone who has lived for centuries, for someone who understands incredibly well… for her to want to share her soul with you… the very culmination of her being…

You really shouldn’t be so surprised, but you are. These monsters barely knew Frisk, yet they loved and accepted them so quickly. It’s not completely far-fetched if they (Toriel more specifically) would also grow to have an affection for you. Especially because you’re actually spending time with them and getting to know them more personally. You just… You never expect those nice things to ever apply to you as well.

You’ve always had to earn your spot in the room, you’ve had to earn the recognition and love you get today. It was only when you had met and then lost your first love that you started to accept that the only person you ever had to prove was yourself (and him, of course…).

To be given this love now… after doing nothing at all other than just exist…

You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, sniffling quietly. “Yeah…. It’d be an honor, Toriel. Thank you for trusting me.”

Her smile softens as she steps a little closer,  “Now, copy me, and do your best to mimic what I do.”

Toriel puts her dominant hand over the center of her chest, so you do the same.

“This part can be very tricky, but it becomes easy over time. First, imagine what you are trying to show me. How is showing me your soul supposed to show me who you are? Your soul is all you are now, all you were in the past, and all you will ever be. All insecurities, all confidence, all of your secrets that not even you allow yourself to see, everything of who you are…”

There’s a white glow underneath Toriel’s hand. When she pulls it away, a white, upside-down heart follows out of her body. You can’t describe its glow, only that the soul looks almost flat in color, with the glow surrounding it. There are small, dark gray cracks scattered randomly as if it has been damaged over the years from heartbreak and loneliness. The light bounces off the surroundings, illuminating the space between you two.

This is the first time seeing a monster soul in person, yet you somehow understand that not all souls are like this. This is unique to Toriel, and to who she is as a person.

That soul…. That is Toriel…. This is Toriel.

Toriel smiles, “…Bring it forward with the trust that whoever you are sharing yourself with will accept you. Your body and what you are willing to show on the surface is like a bouquet of flowers. But your soul is like the roots. And sometimes, no one knows what to do when Autumn comes. This is why it is so important to show your soul only to those you can absolutely trust. Do you understand now, my dear [Y/n]?”

You nod slowly, entranced by the soul in front of you.

Toriel doesn’t feel in danger, rather she feels… happy that you aren’t turning her away.

She lowers her hand, letting her soul float freely, ”Now that you understand more of what it means to share your soul, I understand if you might have second thou-”

You remove your hand from your chest, letting a yellow heart leave your chest without resistance. It looks the same size as Toriel’s, shiny and less flat than hers in terms of color.

It’s you!

”My…” Toriel stares in awe, “What a beautiful gold… I’ve never seen a golden soul before…”

…Huh. Actually, now that she said it, your soul does look more gold than it does yellow or orange. Maybe because it’s a mix of yellow and orange? You’re—still not sure if you think Justice best describes you, but maybe whatever orange means is good for you? IF your soul is a mix of colors, that is.

There’s a type of melody that plays from someone's soul that, from what Toriel understands, only monsters can hear. With a bit of magic though, she can share it with you.

“Give me your hand, my child.”

You put your dominant hand in hers, and suddenly, there's music playing in the room. Faintly you can recognize the melody of “Heartache” though it's much slower yet high in pitch to give it a more light-hearted feeling. A little louder, however, is a familiar song that you haven't heard in a while. 

No, it wasn't a song from Undertale. In fact, the song sounds like… Ah, it's on the tip of your tongue! The more you try to remember, the further the recognition gets away! The piano music was slow at first, but then strings were added to the mix once the rhythm started picking up. It's so beautiful… And so fucking familiar.

Toriel smiles at your song, “This is the melody of your soul, [Y/n]. Humans can't hear it, but monsters are able to during battles or in moments like these. With some magic coming from the heart, I am able to share it with you. Isn't it wonderful?”

Wait.

A damn.

Minute.

Are the characters' themes an actual thing? It's not just part of the game, but something that actually exists within their souls?

So what about your music? It's obviously derivative from somewhere else, and that answer could give you a lot of insight about yourself. After all, Toriel said before that souls are who you were, who you are, and who you will eventually be. That must apply to your soul’s music, right? What does this mean for you?

Granted you're not exactly complaining because this song is a banger. You wish you could recall it though, it's annoying that you don't know what it is. But honestly? You don't think it truly matters at the end of the day. What you do know is…

Toriel squeezes your hand gently, the music of your souls is beautifully mixed.

”What a beautiful soul,” Toriel says with a warm expression, “for such a beautiful human.”

…You are truly loved.

Your Sou's Music (wow so cheesy I know but it's so slay)

Tag List (did you still want to be tagged? oops it's been like 3 years my bad gang)

@lemonboy011

[abarbaricyalp]

Things To Crawl Home To

I have been trying to post this on AO3 since last night and keep getting errors, so tumblr is getting it first. I have been working on this since literally as soon as I walked out of the movie theater after seeing black widow. I actually thought I wouldn't finish it/post it. It's not as polished and deep as I wanted it (waited too long to really get into it) But every single thing I see about Thunderbolts makes me want to pick up my toys and go home so I figured I should post it before that movie ruins these characters I love and lets writers who don't care about them turn them into comedic caricatures. Lerato is the Widow who is always with Taskmaster. She's the one who tells her to smile in the first scene and who helps her in the last. Literally do not pay attention to the timeline. Roughly set in 2023/24 but genuinely do not think about it

Antonia barely registered Lerato rubbing her forearm. Her eyes were focused on the heavy door in front of her. She got the basic idea of it. Safety. Privacy. All of that stuff she hadn’t quite gotten the hang of since 2016. Not really. But for the fact that she’d be shutting that door behind herself, trapping herself inside with the man beyond it, she was even less fond of how thick and soundproof it was.

“It’s going to be fine,” Lerato said, bringing her hands up to either side of Antonia’s face. As always, she didn’t hesitate to press her palms to the scars. As always, Antonia was shocked. She tilted the smooth side of her face into Lerato’s hand and closed her eyes.

“I know. I’ve read his files. He is...reformed.”

“Just like you,” Lerato said, not for the first time. But Antonia wasn’t sure. She’d seen what they’d done to him. She’d seen him in action. It was different. It wasn’t just a gas and some sparkles that had cured him. He had trigger words. How the hell did someone take that out of a person’s brain?

“He wanted to see you,” Lerato reminded her. “He wants to help.”

“Or he wants to trap me somewhere.”

Lerato smiled wryly. “Then I’ll kick his ass. But I think he’s even more tired than you are. He’s not looking for a fight. Besides,” she smoothed her thumb over the cheekbone with the scars fondly, “Captain America’s in there with him right now. He can’t be that bad of a guy.”

“He is the Winter Soldier.”

“And you’re the Taskmaster. You’re both badasses. It’ll be okay.”

And Antonia knew that, and really did believe it. It was just easy to get swept up in anxieties and what-ifs now that she had the time and freedom to do so. As the Taskmaster, there was no time for hesitation or thought. Every movement was programmed into her. She’d never experience the curdling curl of anxiety in her gut before Romanoff deprogrammed everyone. She’d thought she’d been dying the first time it had happened. It had happened so often since, though, that she was very familiar with its fiery pain.

Lerato reached for the door and pulled it open before Antonia could find another argument to stall her hand. If they were different women, perhaps she could have curled her arms around Lerato’s waist, backed her up against the sturdy but plain walls, kissed her until they were both breathless and laughing, until the thought of the point of this evening was forgotten in lieu of getting back to their own apartment as quickly as possible. But they were not those kind of women, hadn’t been afforded that life and didn’t take it now that they had the opportunity. Though, the longer they spent in the real world and the more Antonia got to kiss and love Lerato in private, the more she thought she absolutely could become that woman.

She tore her eyes away from the soft spot behind Lerato’s ear, where she’d shiver like a north wind had blown through their room if Antonia kissed it, and through the yawning maw of the door. The apartment on the other side was comfortable, if sparse. A safe house, not a home. The Winter Soldier fidgeted behind the cream couch in the middle of the room and a handsome black man stood in front of him, holding a hand to his metal shoulder, thumb moving over where Antonia knew the prosthetic began.

Funny, she thought, of all the things she and the Soldier had in common, she hadn’t imagined being grounded by touch on scars would’ve been one of them.

The handsome black man--the Falcon, Captain America, Sam Wilson--looked over at her and Lerato and smiled genuinely. Antonia wondered where he found the energy to be so earnest all the time. She had watched film of him, but he was impossible to copy without wings of her own and the Red Room had never figured out how to replicate them. Flight was so engrained in him that he was entirely his own brand of hero, one even the Taskmaster couldn’t imitate.

“Behave,” Sam Wilson said and pressed the flat of his hand to the Soldier’s cheek in what could’ve been a sort of genial, male way if it hadn’t been so gentle. “Make friends.”

“You make friends,” the Soldier snapped back.

It was such a childish remark, it caught Antonia off guard. And Lerato too apparently, because she burst out in snickers. She’d almost contained them after a few seconds, but then the Soldier shot a grin over at her and she started all over again.

Logically, Antonia knew much had changed for the Soldier since his days with the Red Room. She still had not expected this. He was charming.

On film, the Soldier was horrifying. Efficient and cold and uncaring. Calculating and mechanical. She had watched days, weeks, months of film of the Soldier. He was the ideal killing machine. So much of the Taskmaster seemed to be built out of the Winter Soldier and the time the Red Room had had access to him.

Then he’d broken his conditioning. The Soldier had a physical form of conditioning, she knew that. Like the Red Room of days past. Cognitive rehabilitation. Electroshocks. A literal rewiring of the hardware. Then he’d gone off the grid in 2014. No new videos to watch until the UN and the ensuing chaos in 2016. She’d known from the first video in the news that the man responsible for the UN bombing was not the Winter Soldier. Everything about the deep fake was wrong.

The Soldier did not appear in many films afterwards. A few recordings from the airport in Germany and that was it before Natasha Romanoff and Yelena Belenova destroyed the Red Room and the Widows’ programming. Her own programming.

She’d seen videos of him in the past few months. Still powerful, still calculating. But with so much more heart. He pulled his punches now. Took hits he didn’t need to to spare an unnecessary death count. It didn’t really make him any less efficient and she wasn’t sure anyone else would notice. 

She supposed that heart and compassion, hidden as it was, should’ve been a clue towards the man standing before her in ridiculous combat boots, jeans, and a henley that looked to be about two sizes too small. She didn’t know why she expected him to be dressed for a fight. She hadn’t even come dressed for a fight.

(Well, there were a few holsters here and there, but she suspected the Soldier had his fair share of concealed weapons on him too)

His hair was still cut. She’d seen it in the videos that had surfaced after he and Captain America had dealt with the Flagsmashers, but it was jarring to see it in real life. He looked human again. Touchable, even if she knew better. She wondered if any of the severity had been removed from her own body. If someone saw her on the street and wouldn’t flinch away.

Lerato and Sam Wilson walked out of the room at the same time, Wilson pausing to let Lerato go first. His last look towards Barnes kept him from noticing the one Lerato and Antonia shared. The door closed behind them with a gentle click. The kind that came from a door designed to close softly being guided still by a hand that knew it. Barnes didn’t like loud noises.

The openness and boyish charm he’d just had with Sam Wilson in the room cooled off significantly as soon as the other man wasn’t around. Atonia felt her shoulders shrug in closer to her ears, arms pinching into her ribs.

“You know,” she eventually offered when Barnes had a few non-starters. “I thought you might’ve left a real calling card, being so old fashioned. A text seemed so modern.”

Finally, the anxious blanket he’d been pulling over his head fell away. He couldn’t fight down a grin and he looked up at her through his lashes, as boyish as ever. Antonia wondered if the Winter Soldier had ever been able to utilize this side of Barnes. Certainly never on camera, but other times, perhaps.

“Text messaging is so much faster than carrier pigeon,” he explained. “And I’ve grappled with enough Widows to know that I probably shouldn’t try to leave a card on their kitchen table.”

Antonia nodded, felt a warring of emotion in her chest at the thought of Natasha Romanoff. She knew Barnes knew Yelena as well, but she knew there was far more history between Barnes and Natasha. If he mentioned a Widow, he was likely talking about Natasha. “Why did you ask to meet me?” she asked.

“Because I’ve been where you are.” He seemed to gear up for a long monologue but then blanched suddenly. “Do you want to sit? Can I get you a drink? Sam made sure we have about every beverage you could ask for in the fridge.”

Antonia sat in a wingback reading chair nearest where she was standing. “I’m okay, thank you. Maybe later, if this takes long.”

Barnes’ mouth twisted in a fun, if deprecating, smirk. “I didn’t use to be long winded. Now, I can’t make any promises.”

Antonia was still learning to give herself space to use words. Measuring out each sentence. Filling in gaps. Taking up time.

This thought was not written on her face because her thoughts never were but Barnes must have recognized something in her hesitation to respond because he said, “Do you still feel like you’re wearing the mask sometimes?”

“Did you?” she asked without answering.

“I still do,” Barnes said simply. “But it’s never been real. Not one time since I got out.”

Antonia took a long breath and then nodded. “I know. That doesn’t make it any easier to ignore.”

Barnes sat down on the couch, though he was leaning so far forward he was practically halfway across the room. “I asked you to come here because I thought maybe talking about some of that might help. HYDRA and the Red Room evidently stole from each other all the time because we were eerily similar.”

“You worked with the Red Room,” Antonia pointed out.

Barnes inclined his head and let out a steady breath. “I did. I was a test for the Widows. One of the last ones.”

“You killed some.”

“Another thing we have in common.”

Antonia let the fact sting her straight through to the soul and back out the other side of her ribs. But she kept herself still. “And you’re an asshole.”

“Something we don’t have in common,” Barnes conceded. “What was the first thing you chose for yourself?”

Antonia thought about the chaos that proceeded Natasha’s destruction of the Red Room. Natasha had disappeared in the smoke, but Yelena had stayed, ushered everyone onto a jet and taken them to a safe house. She remembered the way the Widows had looked at her, cramped together in a confused mass. That first night, she’d still felt like an escaped animal. Lerato was the only person to come near her. Antonia had waited behind everyone else, hadn’t asked for extra or even minimum when supplies were being rationed out.

“I put on pajamas,” she said. “Soft shorts and a long-sleeve thermal top. I had never worn anything like that before. And I chose to stay in the same room as Lerato. We made a nest of blankets on the floor even though there were beds.”

“And how’s it felt to keep making decisions?”

“Overwhelming. I sometimes forget to. I expect people to make them for me until I remember that I do that now.” Just the other day, she had gone to make lunch and found the fridge nearly bare. Grocery shopping was proving particularly difficult to get the hang of.

Barnes nodded his understanding. “When I got out, I was immediately on my own. I didn’t know what to do or how best to do it. I wasted a lot of time trying to strategize as soon as I was safe enough to.”

“How did you get over it?” Because at this point, Antonia wasn’t sure she could ever relax the muscles coiled in her whole body.

“I got comfortable,” Barnes answered with a shrug. “I know that feels impossible. Hell, I thought it was too. But one day I realized the coffeeshop knew my order and the fish market remembered my name. Well, my alias, anyway. I closed my eyes in the shower. It just…became easier.”

“It just happened?” Antonia asked with a frown. That didn’t seem right. Everything else had been such a fight. But…she had fallen asleep with her head on Lerato’s shoulder while they watched TV a few nights ago and the sound of the elevator dinging didn’t make her jump anymore and she almost trusted herself enough to open the door for packages.

“You have to let it happen, but, yes,” Barnes agreed.

Antonia still did not fully believe it. It was one thing to be safe and comfortable around Lerato. It was another thing to feel it out in the world. She sat back in the seat, tried to make herself relax. Barnes was relaxed. She’d seen the way he tended to sprawl across whatever seat he was sat on. He always seemed to be in such easy control. The Taskmaster had been like that too. Not that the Taskmaster was ever allowed to sit, but the easy control part was familiar. Maybe it was the boots. She should do like Barnes and start wearing combat boots again.

“When did you decide to get back into the fight?” she asked. “How did you get comfortable with that?” Yelena was working again. Other heroes had filled in the blank spots left by the ‘originals.’ Other villains had appeared too. Antonia was…capable. She should be doing what she could to help. But the thought made her want to be sick every time it even flitted a little close to her mind.

Barnes’ mouth twisted a little. “I don’t think I really am that comfortable with it still. But I trust myself. There were a lot of people who helped me get there again.”

“The trigger words,” she interrupted and then flinched in expectation of the outburst from him.

But Barnes didn’t explode. He just nodded a little. “Yes. I suppose you have probably heard about the Sokovia Accords and the fight that followed. That was the first time I fought again, the first time I had to use…the more violent of my skills. Afterwards, when it was over and we were safe–on the run, but safe–I asked someone a lot smarter than me to undo my conditioning.”

“How?” Antonia pressed. “How did it happen? How were you sure?”

“I wasn’t,” Barnes admitted. “It was a long process. It involved me going back on the ice, a stasis. She was able to isolate neural pathways or something. Reroute them. Break connections. We went through round after round of that. Lots of monitoring. Lots of training. And one night, a friend took me far from everyone else and said all the trigger words and…nothing happened.”

Antonia looked down to her hands. She was still getting used to seeing her body instead of gloves and sleeves and weapons. She counted scars when she needed to think or when her thoughts were getting too far ahead of her. Today, even that distraction was failing her. She couldn’t keep her numbers straight.

“I’m worried the machine is still out there,” she admitted quietly. The port in the back of her head had been carefully removed, so even if the machine was found or recreated, no one could ever plug her back in, like she was some robot. But the anxiety persisted. She woke up in a cold sweat more nights than not with the phantom sensation of orders flooding into her body. “I don't ever want to do what someone else tells me to again.”

“I know,” Barnes agreed. “I can’t promise you that you won’t have to. I don’t know what your future holds. But I know if you keep yourself surrounded by people who care about you, as scary as that is, you’re going to be a lot safer than if you isolate yourself.”

Antonia considered that. This was something she supposed she knew and had partially accepted. There were not many people in her corner. Lerato primarily. But Yelena was around. A friend-not-friend of Yelena’s as well. Occasionally some of the other Widows appeared, seeking shelter or company. She would not consider them confidants, but perhaps one day.

“Hey, you and your friend are just kids,” Barnes added. “You don’t have to start the fight again if you don’t want to.”

Antonia grimaced. “There are those who are younger. I was younger and Lerato even younger than me.” And they needed help. Others had tried to step in, to find all the operatives out in the world, but it was slow going and Antonia wasn’t sure who was still working on it. Lerato wanted to. Antonia knew she did, which fueled her as much as it terrified her.

“Do you worry you rely too much on him? On Captain America?” she asked quietly. She wasn’t demure; that kind of trait hadn’t come with her freedom and anxiety. She didn’t look up at him from under her lashes. But her glances were quick and shallow. Like he might see too much if she kept her eyes on him.

Barnes let out some kind of huff. She heard him sit back in the couch. “All the time,” he admitted. “I tried to stay away once, after the Battle of Earth and all of that. It didn’t work out well for us.”

“Yes, I can tell,” she agreed and let him scoff out a laugh.

“Sam and I are partners,” he said. “All the way through. Partners need to be able to lean on each other. If he can’t trust me to ask him for help, that’s a core foundation block that’s going to send the rest of our relationship tumbling down. Imagine if I didn’t tell him I’d been hurt in a fight and just passed out before I could get to a rendezvous or I wasn’t there to have his back. It’s no different for…emotional things.”

Even with his very eloquent words, it sounded like he was having to wrench each thought out of his chest. So Antonia was pretty sure this was something he still struggled with. And if he, who was so put-back-together and had such a strong partner, could struggle with it, what hope was there for her?

“Your friend…Lerato, right?” Barnes offered. “I’m sure she wants to be there for you. And I’m sure you’re there for her too. You both need both sides of that relationship. I promise you, you need both sides.”

“And the nightmares?” she asked. For a brief moment, her throat almost closed fully, but there was a sudden rush of heat through her body that had her voice keeping steady, getting a little louder. These moments had been happening more and more recently. Lerato said it was called a personality, which always made Antonia roll her eyes. But it was kind of a nice thought.

Barnes sighed. “I can’t tell you anything about those. If you figure it out, you’ll have to track me down and let me know.”

Antonia mimicked his sigh and, judging by the way his eyes narrowed a little in amusement, he caught on that she’d done so on purpose. She sat back in the chair, keeping her shoulders back, jaw tilted a little. The amusement on Barnes’ face lit up further. “Do you follow orders?”

He shrugged. “Depends on who’s giving them and why.”

“And you’re comfortable enough to trust yourself making those decisions?”

“Well, usually it’s Sam telling me what to do, so that’s not so bad. And when other people do it…yeah, I’m pretty comfortable making decisions for myself.”

Antonia considered this. “And you have your own life the rest of the time?”

“I do,” he agreed. “Which helps me with the other shit. Something to hold onto.”

The thought was tantalizing. Antonia wasn’t foolish. There was no room in her life to be. She knew eventually someone would hand her that damn mask again and point her to a fight. But Barnes was right. There was more freedom here. She could dig her heels in now. She could turn around and walk the other way. No one was programming her anymore.

She stood, all on her own volition, and offered her hand out to Barnes. If he was surprised, he hid it well. He stood as well and shook her hand.

“Listen, I’m always around, okay? I’m no therapist and I’m definitely not Sam, but I know I wish I’d had someone who went through the shit I did, alright? Maybe I’ll have an answer or commiseration.”

Antonia nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind. This was…helpful.”

Barnes snorted and waved his hand in a sort of ‘lay it on me’ kind of way. But Antonia had nothing else to add. “Hey, I’m also around for sparring, yeah?” he added. “Actually, I’m asking you to stop by the gym sometime. I’d love to actually fight someone who can keep up.”

Antonia’s eyebrows rose. “I don’t think you can keep up with me, old man,” she said. Another surprised laugh erupted from Barnes. She continued over him with her own slow-spreading grin. “No, you’re the old model. You wouldn’t believe what I could do.”

It kept Barnes laughing as he passed her to pull open the door. “Listen, I’ve heard that a thousand times, alright? There’s nothing like the original make. KO in two minutes tops.”

“Yes,” Atonia agreed. “And I will call Captain America to come wake you up afterwards.”

Wilson, across the room, did a commendable job of not looking like he was watching them or listening in. But Lerato also hadn’t looked away from what was, evidently, a very intense game of ping pong. On habit, she cataloged Wilson’s movements, the swings he preferred and his reaction times, the places his eyes darted first. She thought about telling Lerato where to place the ball to get a point, but they weren’t close enough to do so without getting caught and not getting caught was most of the fun.

“Thank you,” she said again to Barnes. “I will call. But not for therapy. You are just like the internet to me.”

Barnes chuckled and nodded. “Fair enough.”

“He’s right about as often as people on the internet are too,” Wilson called, breaking the flimsy illusion that he wasn’t listening in. Somehow, this did not interrupt the ping pong game.

“He is weak low on the dominant side,” Antonia told Lerato.

Lerato unleashed a particularly vicious spin on the ball that had it bouncing just on the other side of the net and spinning away from the table. It hit the wall hard enough to clatter back onto the game table, but Wilson had already straightened himself up with a huff of disappointment.

“I knew that,” Lerato answered, straightening herself so she could turn and grin at Antonia. “But it was good practice.”

Barnes barked out another laugh and leaned against an ornate table that seemed to have no use other than to hold him up. “You two better leave before we start another cold war. Trust me, you don’t want to be on the other side of Sam’s side-eye.”

Wilson glared at him, indeed from the side of his eye. “I do not have a side-eye.”

Barnes just raised an eyebrow at him as Antonia and Lerato let themselves out from the long hallway.

“How did it go?” Lerato asked when the soundproof doors were shut behind them. Antonia had already scanned for electronic devices, though she now felt she knew Barnes enough to know he wouldn’t keep any near him either.

“It was not bad,” Antonia admitted. She would not say the worrying had been for naught. She’d gone in cautious and she thought that helped them establish a baseline with each other.

“He didn’t turn into a giant monster and try to eat you?” Lerato teased.

“Would you have preferred that?”

“It would have made the afternoon interesting.”

As Antonia swept Lerato to the side, holding her close as they fell against a bare wall, Lerato laughed joyously and clung onto her. Even if there was a moment she almost tried to trip Antonia up.

“You would sacrifice me for an interesting afternoon?” Antonia asked in a low, grinning growl.

“Only because I know you’d have no problem holding your own.” Lerato beamed at her. Even the sun wouldn't have been able to compete.

“I’m the bait and the entertainment,” she surmised.

Lerato curled Antonia’s ponytail around two fingers, her others brushing Antonia’s neck. “If I say yes, will you show me?”

Antonia made a noise of agreement deep in the back of her throat and then kissed Lerato until all the rest of the anxiety had escaped her mind. This right here was a future worth having.

[husbandomail-archive]

If requests are still open could we please get some headcanons for dating Nessa and friendship headcanons for N, Red, and Riley? Complete self indulgent ask I have almost no shame in

this was getting really long, so here's the Nessa part, and I'll post the other three in their own separate post once that's done!

At first, a relationship with Nessa can be a bit difficult. Her career as a model can be incredibly demanding, and although she tries to spend time with you, Nessa isn’t willing to risk her stream of income for something that might not be serious. And then, of course, Gym season makes things even worse— having two full-time jobs is exhausting, and Nessa barely has the time to check her phone. Thankfully, she’s not interested in casual dating to begin with; when the two of you start a relationship, she intends for it to be serious. It just takes awhile to build that emotional connection, to turn it more into an actual relationship as opposed to some kind of weird business-feeling partnership. If you’re only looking for something short and fun, she’d suggest you pick a different girl.

It makes sense that she would be difficult to get to know! She’s had to deal with people only wanting to be with her because she’s famous; she was able to brawl her way into a spot as Gym Leader, and yet so many people only want her pretty face instead of caring about the actual hard work she’s put into earning her position. Once you get past her outer shell, though, she’s incredibly sweet. Nessa does her best to rearrange her schedule so she can see you more often; you’re invited to her photoshoots, and she comes to sit with you whenever she has a few minutes; when she’s walking onto the field at the start of each Gym Battle, she always knows exactly where you are in the crowd so she can wave; on days where she’s not able to push aside work to spend time with you, you get texts and pictures of everything that reminds her of you. Funnily enough, despite all the time she spends around cameras, the pictures she takes are terrible— what Pokémon is that even supposed to be—?

Nessa isn’t shy about being with you publicly. Some celebrities hide their partners, but she doesn’t care if anyone knows the two of you are together; however, she does also value privacy, so if you decide you’d rather not be on camera with her, she’ll respect that and do her best to keep you out of the public eye. She’s not too big on physical affection, but she does love holding hands— it makes her feel extra connected to you, after all the time she has to spend away. She’s also very open about her feelings, at all hours; it doesn’t make sense to just be vague when it comes to the people you love, so she doesn’t shy away from complimenting you, telling you she loves you whenever it crosses her mind.

A good way to get her flustered is with gifts. Admittedly, Nessa lives fairly comfortably, and she’s given a lot of expensive things through sponsorships or from her photoshoots— she can absolutely afford to buy whenever she has her eye on, but she’s not super materialistic, so she passes up on a lot of things. So when you present her with that necklace she was staring at in the store, she’s stunned; if you could afford it casually, she’s impressed you paid attention to something she didn’t say out loud. If you had to work and save for it, she’s floored that you put so much effort into getting something like that for her. Either way, it becomes part of her daily wardrobe, and she won’t even take it off while posing for cover photos.

[writerownstory]

✨we will fight to shine together✨

HEAVILY inspired by When in Rome by Sarah Adams. I will always always ALWAYS recommend her books. also shoutout to @bex2313 for not only encouraging me to read When in Rome but also being my go-to to talk about Sarah Adams related anything☺️ (if you’re looking for a sunshine pop star x grumpy small town baker—this is the book for you)

~

Luke notices Julie isn’t beside him just as they’ve passed the town’s hair salon.

He typically doesn’t pay it any mind, usually just because the women always try to talk him into getting haircuts he doesn’t actually need. But Julie stares at it like she’s lost something inside.

A dismissive comment floats through her brain that sounds suspiciously like Caleb, “Think of the maintenance with natural curls! This looks so much cuter on you!! You don’t want to look like a puff ball, do you?”

At the time, Julie vaguely remembers questioning it, but trusting Caleb and his professional opinion. He knows this business better than anyone. Why would he do anything to hurt her? But now Julie realizes her mistake. Caleb only cared about how much money she could make him, not about her as a person.

Luke backpedals until he’s standing beside her again, but she doesn’t move. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she says immediately, but once she realizes what she’s said, she tries again. “I just… I haven’t worn my hair naturally in years because…” She reaches up to play with the end of a smooth, loose curl. Luke’s not sure she’s aware she’s even doing it. “Caleb always said it wouldn’t be good for my image.”

And it breaks Luke’s heart because he can’t imagine anything about Julie being anything less than perfect. Not that he’d ever admit that to anyone, especially not her. Not right now. It’s not fair to either of them. “That can’t be true,” he finds himself saying. “If your fans care about you, they’d want you to do what makes you happy. This Caleb guy can screw off. If you want to do it, Jules, I say do it.”

Her head whips around at the nickname and Luke fears he’s overstepped.

But as Julie looks up at him, eyes wide and full of hope with a tinge of fear, any worry immediately goes away. “Will you stay with me?” She knows she could walk in there by herself—Ray and Rose didn’t raise a wimp of a daughter, when a Molina woman set her mind to something, that was it!—but if Luke is there, it certainly makes things a little less scary.

Now Luke truly has no business in a hair salon. He’d be wildly out of place and usually cannot sit still for his life, and he knows that if he really didn’t want to be there, Julie would let him off the hook. But for Julie Molina? He wants to be on the hook, for everything, always, as long as she’s involved. It drives him nuts, how easily he’ll bend over backwards for this girl, but he can’t bring himself to stop. “Anything for you, Julie, you know that.”

Luke is rewarded with the warmest, brightest smile and he’s pretty sure the sun has some competition. He guides her inside with a hand on the small of her back, totally unsurprised when Carrie perks up immediately, like she hasn’t been watching them through the window.

“Hey Luke, Julie! What brings you two in here?”

He looks at Julie, who seems frozen in place. She must feel his gaze because after a beat she turns to him. “I don’t… I don’t think I can do it.”

“Hey, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, okay? Not here.” Luke’s voice has dropped to a soft whisper to afford them the slightest privacy in the otherwise busy salon. “But if you’re still worried about what Caleb or anyone else thinks—that’s not what’s important. What matters is how you think and feel about yourself.”

Julie nods resolutely, his words giving her the final burst of courage she needs before turning to Carrie. “I want to try to restore my natural curls. I’m sure there’s damage from the amount of heat over the years but—“

Carrie holds up a perfectly manicured hand. “Say no more. You’ve come to the right place.” She pats the empty chair in front of her and Luke has to give it to Carrie. He doesn’t know a thing about hair, let alone what to do with curly hair but Carrie handles the whole thing with practiced ease.

For only having met her a handful of days ago when she and Luke were shopping together at the grocery store (Luke insisted Julie accompany him grocery shopping to prevent her from burning down his house—you start a small fire cooking pasta one time!), Carrie talks to Julie as if they’ve been friends for years instead of days, and it absolutely warms Julie from the inside out. She isn’t treated like world renowned pop star Julie Molina. She’s just… Julie. Just the way she likes it.

At some point, Luke ends up falling asleep with a magazine covering his face until he’s awakened abruptly by the smallest tap on his shoulder. He startles, sitting upright and causing the magazine to fall haphazardly into his lap, but the sight that meets him threatens to knock him right back down.

Julie stands in front of him, looking exactly the same as she did before except now she has a halo of the most beautiful curls Luke has ever seen—he’s probably a bit biased, but sue him. They’re much tighter ringlets than he’s used to seeing on her, but he’s fallen more in love with her already. What he’d give to have the ability to play with those curls while Julie rests her head on his chest while they—wait. Whoa. What? This is not protecting himself or his heart!!! He shakes his head at the thought, focusing back on the girl in front of him. He can tell the time in Carrie’s chair has had an effect on Julie already.

She’s positively glowing, looking much more comfortable in her own skin. Luke doubts he’s ever seen her with her natural curls, but he can just tell. This is the Julie everyone deserves to know and see. This is the Julie he wants to—alright, this is getting ridiculous.

“Luke? What do you think?”

The words come tumbling out of his mouth before he can give it a second thought. “I think you look perfect.”

She laughs in disbelief, like she thinks he’s just being nice (he’s not) but the blush to her cheeks tells Luke his words had their intended effect. Julie turns back around to face the wall of mirrors where Carrie is cleaning up her station. She swishes her hair around, back and forth over her shoulders like she doesn’t quite believe that this is her reflection she’s looking at. “Carrie, how much do I—“

“Absolutely nothing. Well, if someone asks you where to go…”

“I’ll tell them to come see the one and only Carrie Wilson,” Julie finishes. “But seriously, I can pay you for—“

Carrie shakes her head. “Julie, please. Don’t you think if I wanted your money by now I’d have taken it?” She glances over Julie’s shoulder where Luke now stands, talking with another one of the stylists, but his eyes keep floating back to Julie. “Between you and me, you’re doing the whole town a favor by making that boy happy.”

Julie glances back at Luke who shoots her a wink. She turns back to Carrie. “Trust me, I’m the lucky one.” There’s really no use in hiding it at this point. So what if she’s kind of really in love with Luke Patterson and his stupid flannels and his moody expressions or the way his eyes give away his every emotion even if his expression tries to show something completely different? So what if she knows they can’t be together because she doesn’t want to go off on tour and hardly see him for months on end because she knows it how much it would hurt him? He’d explained as much when she finally admitted her feelings to him anyway. He said he wasn’t looking for a relationship, and he wasn’t ready to have one as potentially complicated as theirs. And Julie respected that.

Which is why when it comes time to say goodbye, Julie is really proud of herself for not crying… until she gets in her car. A weight settles on her chest all the way back to LA, and it gets heavier with each passing day she’s away from Luke, Reggie, Alex, and everyone she’s met. She does feel some excitement for the tour—definitely more than she did before escaping LA—and she does love performing, seeing her fans, and getting to see in real time how much they love her music. But as more calls to Luke goes unanswered, Julie feels a sense of dread settle in her stomach. Maybe he no longer wants to pursue anything with her, platonic or romantic. Maybe she will just have to tuck the memory of him and her trip away, only to bring it out when she needs to remember why she loves music in the first place. This realization doesn’t really lend itself to the bright stage presence that she usually likes to have, so when it comes time for soundcheck she plasters on a smile that satisfies Caleb and everyone else except for Flynn. (She’s also really good at dodging Flynn.)

It isn’t until she gets back to her dressing room after the opening night of her tour that she feels like she can finally let herself relax. Julie collapses into the chair in front of the vanity, glaring grumpily at her reflection.

“Hey Molina, why so bummed?” She hears his voice before she sees him appear in the mirror behind her. “You’re making this face.” Luke contorts his face into an overexaggerated pout and if it were any other time she’d roll her eyes at him, but instead she jumps out of her chair, throwing herself at him.

“What are you doing here??”

Luke catches her easily, and his chuckle vibrates through her chest, loosening the heaviness she’s been carrying around. “I needed to see you.”

Julie pulls away just enough so she can see his face. “Yeah?”

Luke grins down at her, his hands holding her face gently as he takes her in. His eyes trace over her stage makeup and the glitter left on her face. Her curls have been pinned into some half up do, with colorful butterflies placed within it, but beneath it all she’s still Julie.

His Julie, he hopes.

“I made a mistake. Letting you go was the dumbest idea I’ve ever had. And I’m never doing it again.”

Her face falls, shaking her head slightly, but Luke doesn’t let her pull away. “I won’t let you give up your life for mine. That’s not fair. What about the band? Or the boys? What about you? What about your dreams?”

“All I want is to play music with the people I love. Reggie and Alex can meet us sometime while you’re on tour. But you, Julie, you’re part of my dreams now too.”

Her hands cover his, but she still doesn’t move. “But you… you hate the city. And traffic. And most modern technology.”

“Guess I’m gonna have to learn to live with it, if I want to date the greatest musician of our time.” Luke succeeds at hiding his smug grin for all of two seconds.

Her eyes widen, beautiful brown orbs shining up at him. “You mean…?” Her brain can’t comprehend it, it’s too much, too good to be true.

He leans in, brushing his lips against hers once, twice, before the third turns much more passionate, both of them pouring their hearts into this one exchange.

When Luke pulls back, Julie’s eyes are still closed, and there’s a hint of fear in her voice when she says, “I need to hear you say it.” She’s already declared herself once, and the feelings still stand, but she won’t put her heart on the line again.

“I want this, Julie. I want you. I know our lives are different and that we’ll have a lot to figure out. It might be complicated and maybe messy and sure, we’ll be apart sometimes. But I want to know you’re always coming home to me. And I’ll do the same for you.”

Julie’s eyes flutter open, glossy with tears now. “Really?”

He nods. “I love you, Julianna Rose Molina. And I want everyone to know it.”

Her hands have slipped around his neck without him noticing but it makes it easy for her to pull down him down to her in another heated kiss.

When they finally pull back, their foreheads touching and heavy breaths between them, she says, “You Googled me.” Her mind is still caught up his earlier comment. A title some random entertainment reporter probably gave her that she rolled her eyes at when Caleb or Flynn presented it to her. But when Luke says it? It sounds genuine. Like the best honor she can receive.

Luke doesn’t seem very ashamed to admit, “I missed you.”

“I love you too.”

[druidgroves]

Chapter 11: Just In Time

Fandom: Fallout 4 Words: 8,557 Characters: Georgia Tate (Canon Divergent Sole Survivor), RJ MacCready, Original Characters Notes: content warnings for game-standard violence & gore. otherwise, enjoy !

read on ao3 / read on tumblr

Because of—or perhaps in spite of—hope, things didn’t go south as much as they had gone shit-fucking sideways. Which was another way to say they lived, but not without scraping their way to a win nearly every step of the way.

Mac should have known something was wrong as soon as they were ready to head out. In hindsight, it should have been more obvious. When they started on the road again, Georgia had lagged behind a bit after having taken point the day before. The usual pep in her step had been traded in for overcompensation for a foot that hadn’t fully healed. He knew she wasn’t totally healed, had that aching suspicion that she hadn’t been entirely truthful when he asked her. He wouldn’t have cared as much if she weren’t literally helping him wipe out an entire Gunner squad that deemed him Kill On Sight. She hadn’t complained one bit either, which should have been another tick in the “something is definitely fucking wrong” column, but Mac had been too in his own head about what they were getting ready to do to fully realize it.

He had been full of anxious energy all morning, but forced himself to keep his cool as they traveled to the interchange. Evidently, he’d been doing a piss-poor job of hiding it, because Georgia had pinged him almost immediately.

“You alright, Hotshot?” she asked quietly as she sidled up to him, and leaned in close to give them some semblance of privacy. Her voice had a nervous edge to it despite her efforts to bolster him with the nickname, but it gave Mac some measure of comfort to know he wasn’t the only one feeling the same.

“You know how it is, just about to face a whole group of people that want me dead,” he replied with an attempt at a nonchalant shrug. He was aiming for a joke, too, but it didn’t quite land judging by the look on Georgia’s face.

“Well, we’ve got your back,” she said, and made a little gesture to the rest of the team. “Tell us how you want us to go at it, and we’ll work from there, alright? You make the calls.”

Honestly, Mac should have expected it to all go south the moment she handed off the reins to him so casually like that, looking to him to lead instead of the other way around. It shouldn’t have surprised him so much—this was his personal business anyways—but he’d been so used to her calling the shots that it made the role reversal that much more jarring. It occurred to him then that Georgia must have been in a similar position when she was made General by virtue of simply being there, as she described it, responsibility thrust onto her shoulders. He had punched someone for the position of mayor, though, so he was familiar with undertaking responsibility. It was just the fact that she put the lives of her people into his hands, meaning he really, really couldn’t afford to fuck up.

Mac decided to converge with Curtis about the approach, given his knowledge of the Gunner base. Curtis suggested going in from the northeast, away from the main road. He said the squad stationed there had put up what he called a “multi-purpose extortion playground” that their group needed to steer clear of—the Gunners forced tolls, supplies, or even the lives out of the hands of those just trying to pass through. He had described it with such venom in his voice that his comical demeanor had been nowhere to be found. Mac reminded himself not to get on the man’s bad side.

“They’ve got two lifts at opposite ends of the highway that they use to get up,” he explained, describing the layout as they walked. “The one close to the road is guarded at all hours, but there’s another one we’ll come up on the way we’re going. They’ve got it hidden away as an escape option, but they only ever had one guy guarding it.”

“We’ll split the group then,” Mac decided, running the plan through his head. “Have one team take out the guards near the main lift, meanwhile the other team focuses on the back entry. Classic flank maneuver.”

The rear attack consisted of Georgia, Gonzalez, Hollow, and Collins. Gonzalez would take out the guard with her silencer and get them in after the frontal assault distraction provided by Mac, Curtis, and Buckley. It had seemed like the start of a good plan, really. Curtis did his best to describe a mental map of the place for everyone, and when they started to stake the place out, they even thought they had run into a bit of luck.

The interchange itself was high above, covered in sheet metal and branded with the Gunners’ insignia. A few of the Gunners were on the edge of the road and had started taking pot shots at a passing herd of wild brahmin during their silent approach. They were all looking down their scopes and completely distracted.

“Stupidest way to pass the time that they’ve picked up yet,” Curtis had said once Gonzalez reported back from her forward scouting mission. After discussing the details, they reviewed the plan once more and got ready to split into their groups.

Before they parted ways, Georgia pulled Mac to the side, facing away from the rest of their team.

“Just wanted to say good luck,” she said, bumping him with her shoulder. “We’ll make it through, okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” he replied, trying to convince himself more than her. There was no backing out now, not when they had come this far. “Just…Try to save Winlock or Barnes for me, alright? It’s personal with them. You know how it is.”

“Consider them all yours. See you in a bit, Mac.” She gave him a small, encouraging smile.

“See you in a bit,” he echoed back, gripping his rifle tightly as they took off with their groups.

The opportunity with the brahmin allowed Buckly, Curtis, and himself to get into position in order to deal with the three guards posted around the main lift. Mac settled into his spot, and once he saw the other two find their own through his scope, he lined up his crosshairs with his target and waited for another shot from the overpass. One was near the lift and two were at opposing guard stations, eyes on the road ahead where helpless traders and settlers were more likely to pass through.

The success of Georgia’s group hinged on his own group timing their shots perfectly with the ones being aimed at the herd of brahmin. If they could manage to pull it off, Mac thought, they might actually get the upper hand.

A shot rang out from the overpass, and in the split second between its firing and the echo it left behind, Curtis and Mac took out their respective targets with a sniper’s grace (though Mac would say he was the cleaner shot). Two bloody holes appeared in the temples of two different Gunners as they fell from their guard stations.

It would have been perfect, flawless even, but Buckley had only managed to clip the last Gunner in the shoulder. She’d had just enough time to slap her hand over the lift button, sending it up before Mac had her in his sights. The lift began to rattle upwards while the woman began to choke on her own blood, dead before the three of them could make it out of hiding.

“Shit,” Mac cursed before he could stop himself, shooting out of his position like a bat out of hell, “shit, shit, shit, shit.”

Curtis reached the lift before he did, his long strides catapulting him up the stairs of the platform. The lift itself had already started going up, and they would have to wait for it to stop at the top before coming back down. They all seemed to come to that realization as gunfire began echoing off the road above them.

Mac’s blood ran cold.

Georgia.

“Can’t this thing go any faster?!” Mac snapped as Curtis slammed the call button over and over.

“C’mon, you piece of shit fucking goddamn—” Curtis growled, his string of profanities unceasing until the thing had finally come back down, the gunfire above never stopping.

The three of them jumped onto the lift, Buckley spouting off apologies the entire way up, and what they were met with on the overpass was chaos.

Any thought of a plan went out the window as a decked out assaultron immediately came into view from behind a hollowed out bus. As it began charging the laser beam in the center of its plated face, all three of them took aim at the red dot like a bullseye. Before it could fire, their bullets converged and it exploded into metal and wires.

A blast of heat hit Mac in the face when it did, and he hoped the explosion didn’t singe off his eyebrows as he shouted to Curtis, “You didn’t think the assaultron was worth mentioning?!”

“That one’s new!” Curtis shouted back as he took cover behind a concrete barrier while Mac ducked behind the shell of the bus. “My bad!”

Buckley had gone somewhere off to the right, evidence of his direction in the sound of opposing gunfire being abruptly cut off. Once Mac had pulled all his limbs behind his own cover, his eyes darted across the overpass frantically, looking for one person amongst the bullets pinging off support beams and old vehicles. Curtis moved from his cover just as Collins ran by with the ends of her hair on fire, and Hollow’s voice could be heard yelling something panicky. Gonzalez was shooting from behind an old Nuka-Cola machine while her arm bled from a bullet to her bicep. Everyone else was accounted for—but no Georgia.

Mac didn’t know how many Gunners there were. All he could do was aim at the turret spitting bullets at Buckley as he came upon one Mac remembered from his time on the squad. He didn’t feel too bad as the turret exploded into a ball of flame, distracting the Gunner—he was a Corporal if Mac remembered right—just long enough for Buckley to pick him off.

Then he saw both of them at the same time: Winlock in his Gunner green breastplate, eyes focused through the scope of his weapon, a perfect O+ making a target on his temple, and a suit of power armor off to the side looking ready to crush a panic-stricken Georgia underneath its foot.

Mac had always prided himself in thinking on his feet and making tough choices in high stress situations. It was what had made him a good mayor, what had allowed him to survive for so long in the wastes, and what kept him with just enough caps to get by. In the space of a heartbeat, he made the easiest choice he could have made in the moment.

The unprotected head of the Gunner, who must’ve forgotten his helmet in the chaos, burst like an overripe mutfruit as Mac pulled the trigger. Georgia managed to roll out of the way just enough for the foot to come down on the edge of her jacket instead of the middle of her torso. She popped up behind a metal barrier a second later, pulling her shotgun up and aiming it right at Winlock.

He couldn’t blame her for taking the chance: it was the perfect shot. The whole thing couldn’t have been lined up better if even she had planned it, Winlock’s back to her as he looked down his scope at—

Oh fuck.

The red beam from Winlock’s laser gun burned through the meat of Mac’s right shoulder as he narrowly ducked and rolled his head out of the way. The smell of burning flesh quickly began to coat the inside of his nose and throat as he clamped down on the wound with a litany of curses. He could pick out the sound of Georgia’s gun firing again, followed by an errant yelp from Curtis and one of Collins’ homemade frag grenades exploding in the distance. His shoulder screamed in pain at him, but he ignored it to lift his rifle again and take aim at a Gunner hiding behind a stone barrier.

The shot went wide when he pulled the trigger, the kickback against his burning shoulder nearly making Mac’s vision white out. He fell out of his cover just far enough for his target to be quick on the uptake. Pain split through his left side as he fell, trying desperately to scramble back behind his cover. He looked down at where he felt the pain, at first feeling warm, then very, very wet. The bullet had just barely missed some vital organs, but that didn’t make it scream any less as blood gushed from the wound.

Firmly hidden behind the bus again, Mac forced his breath to steady and began putting pressure on the bullet hole, relieved to find an exit wound not even two inches away from the entry. If he could just stop the bleeding, it’d be an easy fix. Hopefully.

“Mac!” Georgia was suddenly on her knees in front of him, her voice shrill and spitting words faster than he could make out. Her eyes went from his blood covered hands to his face and back. “Oh, fuck, are you okay? What can I do? What do I need to do? Mac, tellmewhatyouneedmetodo—”

“Medkit—from my pack,” he hissed through gritted teeth, pressing down harder on his side. Georgia’s eyes were bloodshot with panic and as wide as dinner plates behind her crooked glasses. “If you can get to it—”

“No time,” she said, rolling around to the other side of him as she tore off her pack, shaking hands fumbling through the pocket on the front. She pulled out a stimpak of her own, then looked panickedly between the burn on his shoulder and the bullet wound bleeding freely at his side. Mac was trying to staunch the blood flow as best he could, but crimson seeped between his fingers and stained everything in its path.

“Which one is worse?!” Georgia cried as a bullet whistled past her head, making her yelp and duck.

“Which one—Which one do you think is worse?!” Mac shot back, but then she stabbed him with the stimpak, narrowly missing the hand on his side as she traded the needle for her gun. At the sight of the stimpak she left inside him, Mac allowed a guttural “fuck” to leave his mouth. Georgia, meanwhile, took aim on one knee and pulled the trigger. He heard a body fall and felt fear pulse through him as he realized how close the person had come to their shared cover.

After that, there were a panicked few seconds where Mac could only hear the drumming of his own pulse in his ears while the stimpak injected its contents. Georgia whipped around with her shotgun, eyes wide and wild as she tried to pin down any more Gunners. The both of them flinched when they heard Curtis’ voice echo off the concrete.

“Sound off!” he called somewhere from their left.

“Here!” Mac and Georgia shouted together.

“Mac’s down!” she shouted after, then quickly leaned back down to look him over as they heard Gonzalez, Collins, Buckley, and Hollow shout back from their various spots across the base. Everybody made it out.

Relief flooded through Mac’s entire body at the same time Georgia yanked the stimpak out of his side.

“Jesus christ,” he groaned, pressing his hand harder against the steadying flow of blood, “you weren’t kidding when you said you were bad at this.”

Georgia shoved her arm back into her pack, handing him the first piece of cloth she could find to help with the blood: a folded pair of tube socks. By that point, a puddle of the stuff had formed underneath him and filled the air with a coppery scent. Despite the mangled application of the stimpak, the pain in his side began to slowly reside. He’d need stitches, but the bleeding was beginning to stop at least. Mac’s head fell back against the hull of the bus, shoulder stinging still—the only good thing about laser rounds was that they cauterized the wounds they left behind.

“Christ alive, Mac, I thought you were dead,” Georgia heaved, collapsing next to him against the bus. He looked over at her, hands all covered in his blood and staining parts of her clothes. She wasn’t crying, but her voice sounded like she wanted to. “I watched you go down and I couldn’t see you, and—”

“It’ll take a lot more than these bastards to get rid of me,” he said, and a grateful, nervous laugh escaped her. “My side is gonna be bruised from that stimpak if I don’t bleed out first, though.”

“Oh, shit, right. Someone come help me get Mac up!” she shouted, and in an instant Hollow was hopping over a concrete barrier. One eye was swollen shut and his lip was busted, fresh bruises blooming underneath his skin like he’d gone ten rounds in the ring.

“You should see the other guy,” he said as he leaned down to help Mac up. An expression crossed Georgia’s face like she most definitely did not, but it quickly morphed into one of pain as she tried to stand.

She cursed up and down through her clenched teeth, clutching at her foot as Curtis appeared around the corner of the bus. He helped her get upright, keeping as much weight off her foot as possible.

“The one in the power armor, I tripped over my own feet tryin’ to get away from him,” she explained. “I might be back at square one. Sorry for ruinin’ your hardwork, Mac.”

Mac only shook his head as Hollow and Curtis guided them towards the makeshift med-bay Collins and Buckley had started setting up in the Gunner’s openair sleeping quarters. They navigated around the cooling bodies that he noticed Georgia avoided looking at too directly. Mac, on the other hand, was happy to see them rot.

He had caught sight of her job on Winlock earlier, but as Hollow helped him sit down on an old bed, he saw three bloody holes in the middle of Barnes’ chest near a ruined turret. The overpass reeked of sweat and blood, leaving a metallic taste in Mac’s mouth.

Georgia thanked Curtis as he put her on a bed nearby. Collins, whose hair was no longer on fire but now had charred and uneven ends, helped Gonzalez to one of the beds as well. She had a bullet wound in her non-dominant arm, but had largely stopped the bleeding with a ripped part of her shirt. Buckley came running up with a bottle of clear alcohol he’d snatched from one of the tables scattered about and presented it to the group.

“For disinfecting,” he said as they gathered, and began treating their wounded.

“How’s everybody feeling?” Curtis asked. A resounding groan came from the rest of the group.

“I thought we were fucked for a minute there,” Gonzalez said as Collins popped the cap on the bottle and doused her hands before passing it to Buckley. “What the hell happened with you guys? By the time I took out that back guard, you hadn’t even made it up.”

Buckley suddenly looked sheepish. If he had hit his target right the first time, maybe they wouldn’t have walked into the pandemonium that met them on the overpass. Mac cleared his throat as he took out his medkit.

“Had to wait for the stupid lift to come down,” he said before Buckley could explain himself, catching his eye along with Curtis. “I guess they kept it up as a security measure. I’m just glad it didn’t completely screw us.”

“Well, you can’t—ah, ow, ow, ow—account for everything,” Georgia said in between a pained noise as she removed her boot. “We all made it out in one piece, didn’t we?”

“Speak for yourself, General,” Collins grumbled as she uncapped a stimpak, the blackened ends of her once long hair hanging around her face. “That stupid assaultron nearly made me bald.”

A round of laughter shot through them as they continued to patch everyone up. Mac pulled out his own needle and thread while Buckley pilfered through what the base had in the way of medical supplies. Stimpaks and an extra needle were passed between them all, sterilized with the bottle of liquor and a flip lighter to boot.

The bleeding on his abdomen had mostly stopped, and once he cleaned it away, Mac bit down on his scarf and began to stitch himself up. It wasn’t the first time he’d done his own doctoring, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. The Med-X in his kit whispered his name but he refused to give into it; no telling when a situation would arise where he’d need it more. Once he was done (with not even a whimper every time the needle pierced flesh), he tied off the thread and cut it with his knife.

The burn on his shoulder was an easier fix. A can of purified water and a roll of clean bandages later, Mac was fully patched up. The rest of the group were nearly done as well, save for Georgia, who sat on a bed with her foot propped up on top of her backpack. She had a stimpak in her lap, trying to decide the best way to go about sticking herself with it he supposed. When she caught him staring, she perked up and Mac shook his head at her in slight exasperation.

“Give it to me,” he sighed, gingerly pushing himself off his own bed and walking over with his hand held out.

She gladly handed him the stimpak as he sat at the opposite end of her bed and got to work. The rest of the team had started picking over the base for anything else useful they could take. Weapons, chems, and ammo were plentiful, leaving the two of them to talk in semi-privacy.

“You know, I don’t think we’d keep ending up here if you had just stayed off your damn foot,” he chastised, taking a look at it. It wasn’t nearly as bad as it was when she first injured it, but it still wasn’t pretty. “This is what, the fourth time I’ve been at your feet this week?”

“Fifth, actually—how quickly you forget, Doctor MacCready.”

“Funny. You should do stand-up,” he replied with a flat look at her foot. “Oh, wait, you can’t.”

“You could stay there, y’know,” Georgia said as he flicked the cap off the needle of the stimpak. She took on a playful grin as she mused, “Wouldn’t mind bein’ worshiped like that, come to think of it, like some kinda goddess.”

Mac felt something lurch in his chest, and instead of acknowledging it, he simply stuck her with the stim. She yelped in surprise and he had to hold her leg down by her ankle to keep her from knocking the needle around.

“Ow! Jesus, warn a girl next time,” she huffed as the swelling began to subside.

“I will when you start to save some ego for the rest of us,” Mac replied once the stim was empty. “But hey, after all of this, I guess I’ll be singing your praises. We sent a message to the Gunners loud and clear.”

“Do you think they’ll retaliate once they find out?” Georgia asked, her foot twitching slightly as he reached over to his medkit for some bandages.

“The way these lunatics work, you’d think they would, but I know better,” he said as he began to wrap. “For them, it’s always about the bottom line. They lost this entire waystation, and believe me, that cost ‘em big. Besides, they have no way of knowing any of us were involved.”

With the amount of chaos he’d met when his group came up to the road, there was no way that he would have ever been able to pull the whole thing off by himself. Hell, even a team of seven people didn’t come out the other side without more than a few scratches. He had to hand it to them though—a group of Minutemen had wiped out an entire Gunner squadron without any losses. After Quincy, it was no small feat. Sure, they couldn’t go bragging about it without all their sneaking around being exposed, but Mac was sure that wiping out one more stain on the Commonwealth wouldn’t go unwelcomed. It felt like a weight had been lifted off of his chest, a new reminder that he didn’t have to keep looking over his shoulder anymore, and he had Georgia to thank for that.

He’d have to thank Curtis too, given that he’d helped plan the whole ordeal (Mac theorized that he’d never hear the end of it if he didn’t). The man and his squad had been the difference between a long life and a short death, but it was Georgia that Mac owed a personal debt to.

“Anyways,” he continued once he was done, “I guess I owe you a favor now. After all, you hired me, but I’m the one that dragged you out here for this.”

Georgia’s expression screwed up in confusion. “What? No,” she said like he was speaking nonsense. “Remember our whole friendship conversation? This is what friends do. Well, maybe they don’t really go out of their way to take out a buncha people that wanna murder you, but times have changed, I suppose. I have your back is what I’m sayin’, and so do the others. Besides, you literally saved my ass from becomin’ feral food. If anythin’, I owed you.”

It’s not like you haven’t done enough for me already, a thought flashing across his mind whispered, almost startling him at the nakedness of it. He let go of a nervous laugh and brushed it away.

“That was me doing my job,” he said instead, and began to dig around in his pack. “I was just your merc back then. You’re still one up on me, and I like everything to remain nice and even.”

He fished for the caps at the bottom, pulling out three pouches of fifty each.

“I want to give you back the caps you paid me in Goodneighbor. I’ll still stick with you because that was part of the original deal,” he said before she could protest, “but now we’re even. To me.”

“Mac,” she insisted, attempting to shove the caps back when he held them out to her, “I’m not takin’ your money. You got it fair and square anyhow.”

By now, Mac knew Georgia wasn’t the type to hold this over his head, but he still couldn’t help the knee jerk reaction he had to the idea of leaving debts unsettled. Anyone else and they’d keep it over him and dangle it anytime they wanted something from him. With Georgia, he had a hard time imagining that scenario. She seemed to play just as fair as he did, when it counted.

“Fine,” he relented, already thinking of ways to sneak the caps into her pack anyways, but went ahead and stowed them back inside his own. As he did up the straps the others approached, looking eager to leave.

“If you’re done, we might wanna get outta here soon,” Curtis said, shoulding his laser rifle. “They didn’t have any radio communications set up, but I know they send runners to check in every now and then. We don’t wanna be here when they come.”

After a round of agreement, the team got ready to move out. They picked the place clean of supplies and put the Mass Pike Interchange behind them as they traveled back to their own base. Mac was glad to be done with it.

With Georgia’s foot reinjured, she was supported the entire way back by Curtis, who seemed the least injured of them all. Mac could walk, but the burn on his shoulder made shooting his rifle a painful and near impossible ordeal. Thankfully, Buckley and Hollow had put themselves in the positions of rear and front guard to help compensate for both of the group’s snipers being put out.

They decided to go back to the house they had camped out in the night before, getting back sometime in the middle of the afternoon. It was still empty and the group wasted no time in settling back down inside. They collapsed over chairs and couches, an ache in their bones that only a high stakes firefight could provide. Back in relative safety, things would start to move a little slower.

The rest of the day was spent napping and recuperating until later in the night, when Curtis offered to cook up dinner. They still had enough in their shared bag of rations and anything they took from the interchange to make a decent meal. When Georgia offered to help cook, though, Mac shot her down with a glare.

“If you re-mangle your foot a third time, I’m not fixing it,” he warned and she just laughed.

“Alright, jeez. Sorry, y’all, looks like you won’t get to taste my cookin’,” she said as she leaned back down on the couch she had claimed. “Not to brag, but I’ve been told I make a mean radstag and pota—er, tato stew. Maybe next time.”

They shared a laugh while Curtis got to work on building a fire in the rusted out grill on the porch. The rest of them gathered around a wobbly coffee table and started a game of cards when Hollow pulled the deck out of his pack and began to deal everyone in.

“Oh, fuck off with that look, Frankie,” Collins grumbled during their third round, folding her hand to Hollow’s shit-eating grin before throwing her cards down on the table.

They had been playing for bullets instead of caps, the pile between them growing with every ante, and Hollow had been wiping the floor with them for the most part. Gonzalez had folded earlier, and Buckley had opted to sit back and watch after all the bullets he’d started with ended up in front of Hollow. Georgia had a modest amount still left in front of her, her glasses pushed to the top of her head as she kept her cards close to her chest.

“I told you guys not to play poker with him,” Curtis called out, the smell of grilled wild corn wafting through the open door. “He’s a filthy cheat and he knows it.”

“I do not cheat!” Hollow proclaimed, shooting up from his chair.

Mac caught a glimpse of Hollow’s hand as the man stood up—four of a kind to his own straight flush. His poker face had been solid, but the luck of the cards hadn’t graced him until that moment.

“Don’t get too cocky now,” he said to Hollow as he spread his cards out on the table, watching the Minuteman’s still bruised face fall. “Straight flush.”

The others began to holler at his cards and give Hollow a hard time before Georgia chimed in, a deceptively sweet smile on her face as she tutted them, “Ah, ah, ah. Read it and weep, y’all.”

She threw down her hand—a royal flush to the tune of the suit of hearts—and the group went wild. Hollow tossed his cards, swearing up a storm as Gonzalez chided him for going all in in the first place.

“Are we playin’ for keeps or is my victory…hollow?” Georgia grinned, sending another wave of laughter throughout the group.

Mac chuckled, sliding his own cards into the middle of the table. “I didn’t know you were such a card shark.”

“You should see me play pool,” she told him. “My grandpa taught me, turned me into an absolute monster by the time I was seventeen. Last time I played, I had seven grown men nearly snap their pool sticks.”

“Remind me not to play against you,” he laughed as Curtis announced that dinner was ready.

The rest of the night was spent eating, drinking, and playing cards, and Mac couldn’t remember a time when he last felt genuine camaraderie in a group like this. Between a few more hands of cards and a bottle of whiskey pilfered from the Gunners passed between them all, Mac felt good. Like actually good, his worries seemingly melting away for the night. Sure, he still had the big stuff to think about—Med-Tek, the cure, Duncan—but with the Gunners off his back, he could afford to relax for a little bit.

Mac hadn’t been able to trust many people in his life as a general rule. But watching Georgia and her Minutemen laugh and recall their taking of the interchange with added creative liberties, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could trust in other people to be good, too.

-----

“I’d ask if you want to come back to the Castle with us, but I don’t think that’s an option for you right now,” Curtis said the next morning when the group was ready to head out. He gave a pointed look to Georgia sitting on the couch, her wrapped foot propped up on one of the arms.

The rest of the Minutemen had packed their things, leaving her and Mac to go back to their HQ. Their leave time was almost up and they would be expected back soon if they didn’t want suspicions to be aroused.

“We’ll stay here for a few days so we can both heal up a little more, but I’ve got stuff to take care of in Diamond City anyways,” Georgia informed him, making Mac’s curiosity pique from where he sat in a chair across from her.

“Suit yourself,” Curtis said, and after splitting up the rest of their spoils from the Gunner base, bid his farewell. “We’ll see you later, General T.” He threw a glance towards Mac before he left, “And don’t be a stranger, MacCready. Hope to see you again next time the General’s in town.”

With that, after a series of thank yous and goodbyes, the team of Minutemen disappeared down the road, leaving himself and Georgia alone.

“So,” she said once he came back inside the house after watching them leave, “looks like we’re gonna be here a couple days, at least until you take me off forced bedrest.”

“I wouldn’t have to force you if you would just stay off it,” he pointed out, then leveled her with a speaking look. “After you’re better, though…Diamond City? I thought that was just the cover to get Preston off our backs.”

A deep sigh left Georgia’s lips, but she nodded anyway. She didn’t look too pleased at the thought, going uncharacteristically quiet. It seemed that there had been some truth in her lie.

“Mr. Valentine is helpin’ me out with some stuff. I have a case with him,” she said eventually, twiddling her fingers and avoiding his eye as she talked. She still hadn’t told him the whole story about her and Piper rescuing the old synth, telling him he could buy an issue of the Publick like everyone else.

But Mac wasn’t stupid. She was working with a detective for crying out loud, it couldn’t have been more obvious that she was searching for something. For what exactly, he had no idea, but he knew it had to be tied up in all of her personal junk by the way she frowned just from mentioning it. Whatever she was looking for, it had to be important enough for her to risk her neck for the pile of nuts and bolts.

Mac wanted to prompt her for more, but she leaned up halfway on the couch to look at him suddenly.

“Hey, can I ask you somethin’?” she said, head cocked to the side.

He raised an eyebrow. “You kinda just did, but yeah, go ahead.”

The flat look she gave him quickly fell to one of worry and uncertainty.

“Why did you join the Gunners?” she asked, catching him entirely off guard. He didn’t know what he had expected her to ask him, but it hadn’t been that. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she added quickly, “feel free to veto it.”

Mac shook his head, catching her off guard as much as she had caught him. With what she had put on the line in helping him, he had quickly come to the conclusion that telling her how he got into all this mess in the first place was something he felt she deserved to know.

“I came to the Commonwealth a little under a year ago,” he started, trying to find the words. “Made a pretty decent name for myself before I heard that the Gunners needed some sharpshooters. Biggest mistake of my life.”

He exhaled a sigh as Georgia listened, avoiding her piercing stare. He was hyper aware of everything under it, but resolved to look at the river sparkling in the midday sun through the broken window just past her.

“They were animals. Killed anything that moved if it got in their way,” he spat out. “You saw them taking potshots at those brahmin. Those could have fed a small settlement for weeks and they were just…killing them for the hell of it. I went with them for a while because their caps were good, but…I’m not proud of it. I…I wasn’t at Quincy, if that’s what you’re wondering. That wasn’t Winlock and Barnes’ squad, though I’m sure they wouldn’t have minded if they had been there anyway.”

“Would you have gone?” Georgia asked, quieter than she had been.

“What?”

“If Winlock and Barnes had been there, if your old squad had decided to go to Quincy, would you have gone?” she repeated. Her stare had turned serious, solemn even.

Mac thought for a moment, mulling over his morals and his conscience. Individual contracts were one thing, far less personable than wiping out an entire settlement. The idea of that much blood on his hands in one go—men, women, children—made his stomach turn.

 “I…No, I don’t think I would have.”

Georgia frowned, searching for words. “Then why did you sign up with people like that?”

“I didn’t know how bad they were at first and I was…desperate,” he shrugged, leaning back in his chair like he wasn’t still desperate for every cap he could get his hands on. “The Gunners just paid the best. I know that’s not much of an excuse, but…eventually it started to catch up with me, so I quit. I’d been out for about two months before you showed up in Goodneighbor.”

“Two months? Then you must’ve quit—”

“A little while after Quincy, yeah. Final straw, I guess.”

Quiet fell between them and when she didn’t respond right away, Mac ran his hands over his face and braced himself for her judgment. He deserved it, given what he had been willing to put up with before his departure. The kidnapping, the extortion, acting like nothing better than a souped up-raider gang. Most obviously there was the murder, and sometimes—hell, a lot of the time—it wasn’t even contracted. Even then, no contract was too bloody, too grizzly, or too brutal for the Gunners if there were enough caps in for it.

 But when he lifted his head and finally met her gaze, it was without the malice or resentment he expected. Instead, what he saw was more of that sympathy she seemed to dole out for him so easily.

“Well, then I’m glad we met when we did,” she said finally, “and not any earlier or any later.”

He couldn’t stop the breath of a laugh that escaped him, the noise causing one corner of Georgia’s mouth to quirk up in a smile.

“Me too,” he agreed, then curiosity poked at him. “What actually made you hire me in the first place? Especially after I told you from the start who I used to run with.”

An eyebrow raised behind her glasses. “I already told you why I hired you. I did that favor for Daisy—”

“No, I get that, but still, you could’ve backed out on the favor. So why me? Why not stick with Piper or Preston or one of your Minutemen?” he pressed.

“I…dunno. When I walked into the Third Rail and heard you gettin’ picked on by those two assholes, I just thought you looked like you were in a tough spot. Thought maybe I could help out,” she shrugged, laying back down on the couch. “You looked like you needed it anyhow.”

Mac couldn’t help but stare at her. How deep was this woman’s kindness that she took one look at a shitty little fuck up like him and decided she wanted to help before ever getting to know him? She helped him again when she insisted on splitting their jobs fairly, again when she called him a friend, and again when she agreed to help take out his former squad. Lucy would have called people like Georgia helpers, those who had been dealt their uneven share of awfulness in life but came out the other side with a good enough heart to keep pushing on. Mac had always seen Lucy as a helper, and he was sure she’d pin Georgia as one, too. He didn’t know the exact details of Georgia’s past that shaped her into the person before him, but whatever it was made sure that if the two of them stuck together, Mac would never stop owing her.

“Oh. Then uh…I’m glad we met when we did,” he reaffirmed, and cleared his throat.

“Glad you think so,” she replied, her usual verve returning as she spoke. “Now, if we’re gonna be here for a few days, we’re gonna need to entertain ourselves.”

“What, is my company too boring for you?”

“After yesterday? Mac, you’re the most excitin’ thing in my life right about now,” she grinned. “And considerin’ you’re the one who told me to stay off my feet, be a darlin’ and get some stuff outta my pack for me, will ya?”

“You’re not the only one with healing injuries, you know,” he pointed out as he ran a light hand over his side, but he was already getting out of his seat to walk to where her pack was leaning against the side of the couch. “What do you need?”

“Screwdriver in the side pocket,” she said as he bent down carefully, the arm of the couch obscuring her from view. “And that desk fan over there—I’ve had my eye on it ever since we first settled down.”

Mac huffed a laugh as he began rifling through the outside pockets of her pack, thinking now would’ve been an opportune time to sneak those caps in. “What for?”

“Copper wires, scrap metal, more screws than you would know what to do with—a whole treasure trove if you know how to take it apart.”

At least it wasn’t old postcards and matching cutlery she was after. When she wasn’t reading or poking around for good scav, she was usually taking something apart. He’d seen her strip typewriters, hot plates, and telephones down to their base parts, keeping what could sell and what she said would be useful in the settlements. She had told him once that every little bit counted, so now if he could find that damn screwdriver…

Mac flipped open one of the pockets on the left after the right yielded only more loose screws. The other seemed empty at first, which struck him as odd the moment he opened it, given how much junk he was used to her picking up. What wrapped around his fingers as he dug inside, however, was even more odd.

Looped through a simple leather cord with a knot at the end were two shiny gold rings. As he shifted them around in his palm, one slightly larger than the other, he caught sight of something written into the inside of each: To Have inside the bigger one and To Hold on the smaller. He knew what kind of rings they were, even if he had only ever seen them on the hands of those with more caps than he’d ever see in his life. They were wedding rings.

They were the only things inside the pocket and suddenly Mac felt like he was snooping around where he shouldn’t have been.

“Oh, shoot,” Georgia’s voice said, and he quickly stashed the rings back where he had found them before she managed to scoot down to him at the end of the couch. “It might be in the front pocket, actually.”

“Here you go,” he said, immediately snatching the tool from said pocket and holding it out to her. He crossed the room to grab the desk fan and sat it on the couch next to her. “Have fun with those. I’ll, uh…I guess I’ll read some of my comics again.”

“If you ever want to borrow any of my books, you’re welcome to,” she said as she put the fan in her lap. “I think you might like The War of the Worlds. Might do you some good to read somethin’ other than a comic book.”

“I’ll have you know I’ve read plenty,” he said with a dismissive shake of his head, decidedly uneager to go perusing through her pack again. “Besides, comics are easier to carry.”

“Well, you got me there, but the offer’s still open,” she conceded, then went to quietly stripping the fan, leaving each of them to their own devices. But even with his comic pulled out, Mac had a hard time focusing.

Wedding rings. Had she found them at some point on the road, hoping to sell them whenever they made it back to the city? Probably not; if they had been just another piece of scrap she picked up, they wouldn’t have been in as good a condition as they were, shining like they were brand new. They were on a strip of leather long enough to be a necklace, kept safely tucked inside her pack by themselves. No, the rings weren’t something she happened upon—they meant something to her.

Was she married? She hadn’t mentioned anything about a family save for a grandfather who turned her into a pool shark. Then there was the something—someone?—she was searching for, turning to Nick Valentine for help…

It didn’t add up. Either Mac was thinking about it too hard or he had stumbled into more parts of her past that she hadn’t yet shared. He couldn’t help but wonder if she had a partner out there, someone waiting for her to return to them. But if she did, it didn’t make sense as to why she had both rings (if they were hers and if he wasn’t latching onto another wild theory about her personal life). She was definitely the sentimental type, that much he could be sure of, so what if…?

There were plenty of people in the wasteland who were no strangers to loss, and something in Mac’s bones told him Georgia wasn’t either. Her evasiveness about her past, the rings, the fact that she was working with Valentine, all clues that lead him to his natural train of thought: she had to be looking for a missing partner. Unfortunately in the Commonwealth, “missing” was usually a euphemism for “dead” or “snatched by the Institute”, but Mac wasn’t about to be the one to tell her that. The synth gumshoe with the neon signs could take that fall whenever they made it back to Diamond City.

It was better that she knew that, he thought, just to get it out of the way and quit holding out on hope. “Dead” was much more final than “missing.” If someone was dead, it left no other alternatives for their whereabouts or their safety. If someone was missing, though, it provided too many options, too much fear. Did they just run off, or did the Institute take them in the night? Were they kidnapped by raiders or taken out by the natural horrors of the wasteland? “Missing” bled out hope like hemophilia and made the inevitable truth that much more painful. In a way, Mac was grateful he knew Lucy was dead, as horrible as the thought was. He had no choice but to move on instead of spending the rest of his life wondering, both for his own sake as well as Duncan’s.

Even still, his thoughts settled on Lucy. They hadn’t really been married in the traditional sense; no one had done a ceremony over them, there had been no celebration with friends, and rings had always been out of the question. Once Duncan was born, though, it only seemed natural to fall into the habit of calling each other husband and wife. It had felt like the grown up thing to do at the time. Two teenagers and a baby taking their jab at playing family.

But what would Lucy think of him now, though? He’d always been a bit of a cynic, but now his dedication to being a realist was born more out of what it took to survive in this world than thinking it was naturally against him like when he was a kid. Lucy had always seen the best in him, and once upon a time he had tried to be the man worthy enough to be her husband. He had been her little soldier, wielding his gun in defense against the worst parts of the world. If she could see him now, running around the Commonwealth far away from his old homestead with Duncan, would she recognize him? Would she understand he was out here trying to save their son? Why he had to fall back on old habits to keep himself afloat?

“Ow, fuck,” Georgia hissed to herself, startling Mac from his thoughts. She dropped a piece of the fan into her lap as she sucked on her thumb.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low and hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. “You good?”

Georgia pulled her thumb away from her mouth, waving it around as if that would make the pain dissipate faster. “I’m fine, just cut my thumb a little.”

“I don’t want to be the one to tell Preston that his General got taken out by tetanus, so I hope your shots are up to date,” he told her. A sharp laugh cracked out of her, making him grin.

“More than you know,” she laughed, wiping the remnants of the blood on her thumb across the top of her jeans before going back to her work with a smile.

Never, not once, in his entire goddamn life had RJ MacCready done anything so good as to deserve Lucy or Duncan or the life they had shared, however briefly. Watching Georgia work, though, and thinking about the good they had done together, maybe he could be the man Lucy thought he had been, but this time for himself.

[starkstruck27]

TW: very brief mentions of suicide, and of course mentions of child abuse. Enjoy but please read with caution my friends.

Billy didn’t know if the urge to cry was coming from the fact that his dad had pulled him back in again, like a moth to a flame, or the fact that the man himself was lying in front of him dying. 

Either way, the urge was there, and Billy took a little bit of satisfaction from the fact that he was able to take deep breaths to steady himself and his dad couldn’t. He was dying of lung cancer, and didn’t have long, maybe a month left, at most. Most of the doctors estimated that he’d be gone within a week or two, though, so Billy finally made himself build up the courage to book himself a flight from Ocean City to Indianapolis and actually get on the plane. It’d been 15 years, and it still didn’t feel like nearly enough time had passed since he last saw his father. The bruises that’d been throbbing that day in 1988 were long gone, but as Billy stepped into the hospital room, his footsteps keeping time with the heart monitor and breathing machine, he could still feel them all over his body.

“I’ll let you have some privacy,” the nurse who’d escorted him back told him, smiling nicely and shutting the door as she left. Billy didn’t even thank her, because he wasn’t sure if he should. Even with his father confined to a hospital bed and too weak to move even if he wanted to, he couldn’t help but feel a little unsafe in a room alone with him. Still, he twisted the ring on his left hand, took a few deep breaths like his therapist had taught him, and approached his father.

“Hey, dad,” he said, still fiddling with his ring. He remembered the inscription inside of it and the man who wore the matching one, and that helped him relax a little.

“Billy?” His dad wheezed, his voice only coming out on a whisper. It was another thing that Billy took satisfaction in, the fact that, no matter how hard he tried, his dad would never be able to yell at him anymore.

“Yeah, it’s me. Not used to seeing me without a red mark on my face, huh?” Billy said, a sharp edge to his voice. He knew the man was dying and he knew that the comment was backhanded, but he didn’t care. He didn’t owe his dad anything, and especially not respect. Still, it made the knife in his heart twist a little when a look of guilty recognition came over his father’s face.

“I know it doesn’t mean much now,” his dad said, “But I’m sorry for everything I ever did to you.”

Billy couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous that statement was.

“No you’re not,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “And anyway, it wouldn’t even matter if you were, because I didn’t come here for that. I didn’t come here to forgive you or for your half-assed apologies so you could die with a clean conscience. I came here for me, because I deserve to be able to live knowing that at least if my father died thinking I was a disappointment, he was going to have all the facts straight, so shut the fuck up and listen.”

Billy’s heart was racing as he stood up a little straighter, squaring his shoulders to give off the illusion of confidence even if he wasn’t entirely sure he was feeling it.

“First of all, I’ve been doing great for the past 15 years, so thanks for asking,” he said, flexing his fingers. “As soon as I got out of Hawkins, I went to college. I applied to UCLA, Penn State, West Virginia and the University of Phoenix. I ended up getting into all of them, so I went to UCLA and got a degree in Marine Biology. I graduated with a Masters degree at 26, and I started working on my doctorate a year or so ago. I got a great job with amazing colleagues, and I’m making more money in a month than you would make in a year. 

“I got therapy as soon as I started making enough to afford it, and I’m not completely healed yet, no one ever is, but I’m a lot better off than I used to be. I was able to figure out why I was so angry all the time and why I couldn’t ever let anyone else in even if I wanted to, and eventually I learned how to stop being that way. Which, I’m glad I did, because if I hadn’t, I would’ve ruined one of the best things that ever happened to me before it even truly got started. 

“When I left Hawkins, I didn’t leave alone. My best friend in the entire world came with me, because he also wanted to get out from under his father’s thumb. Steve and I moved to California and lived out of a motel for a few weeks until he could get a job and save enough for us to afford a place. I had just started college and things were rough at first, but I was able to start therapy when Steve and I started fighting more and more. I was so afraid he was going to leave me behind and go off on his own, but he saw that I was putting forth an effort, so he stuck by my side. And every day I’m more grateful that he did, because once I was able to see my therapist for about a year, I had improved enough to finally be honest with myself and with him, and I came clean when he took me out to celebrate one year of being on our own. 

“He asked how therapy was going over dinner and I told him that I was doing good, and that I was finally gonna stop lying, and I told him that I was gay. And he just looked at me with these big soft eyes and a sympathetic little smile and told me that he was glad I told him, but he had already kind of figured that out. Then he told me that he didn’t care at all and that it didn’t change the way he viewed me at all, because he cared about me no matter what. And I knew he would probably react like that, because his best friend Robin is gay, and he’s known since the summer of ‘85, and they’re still practically attached at the hip to this day, but I was still worried. Then I told him that there was more, and I said that I had been falling in love with him from the first moment I met him, and it took me a while to be able to admit that to even myself, but now I had, and I wanted him to know, too. 

“And when he told me he felt the same way, I nearly fell out of my chair. I could’ve sworn he was straight and I told him as much, but he just shrugged and said that he didn’t love me for what kind of body I had, he loved me for the person I was and was continuing to become. And I cried right there in front of the entire restaurant, because I never thought that anyone could love me just because I’m me.”

Billy paused and took a breath. He was still close to crying, and his voice was getting wavery and thick, but he cleared it and took a deep breath, getting ready to continue on. He looked at his father for a moment before he did, and was met with a face of stone. He had no expression on whatsoever, so Billy just let out the breath he was holding and kept going.

“It was another year and a half of just being together before he finally asked me to marry him. It was on Halloween, because that was the first time we met 6 years prior, at a stupid Halloween party my junior year. I remembered that party, because the first time I met him, he was with his girlfriend at the time, and this asshole we had both been friends with at one point wanted me to go over and brag to him about being the new keg king, but as soon as I saw his face, I stopped dead in my tracks and I could barely speak. It was kind of awkward, because I couldn’t think of anything to say to him and when I was silent for a few seconds, he ran off after his girlfriend who had slipped away and that was that. And then later that evening, his girlfriend broke up with him, and he was sulking outside, so I finally got up the nerve to go talk to him. It wasn’t right away, but we became friends, and we’ve stuck together ever since. He told me that that’s why he picked that night to propose to me, and before he could even finish asking the question, I was already crying and saying yes. 

“I kissed him and he put the ring on my finger, but not before he showed me the inscription he had gotten on the inside of it. It said ‘Yeah I wanna marry you, don’t cream your pants’, because that’d been one of our inside jokes from the beginning, and he thought it would make me laugh. And it did, but not before I cried over it, because even though it was a stupid line, just the fact that he thought that much about it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for me. We got married a few months later in a discreet little church somewhere in LA, and it was one of the best days of my life. My friends from college were there, Robin was Steve’s best man, and she’d even managed to get the word out to a few people back in Hawkins that we were getting married and surprised us by having them in the audience when we walked into the church. 

“Remember that road trip Max went on with her best friend El in 1990? Well, that’s where she was, a little hole-in-the-wall church in Southern California, watching her former babysitter and her older brother tie the knot. When I saw her in the front row in her light blue pant-suit, her hair up in a perfect ballerina bun on her head and smiling like the sun, I burst into tears. She looked so grown up, and I couldn’t even believe she was there. We hadn’t done a huge reception afterwards, but we did have a little something, and Steve and I were only really going to do the couple’s dance at first because his mom wasn’t going to make it and I didn’t have anyone to dance with either, but we did end up doing them. He danced with Robin and I danced with Max, and then we danced together, and neither one of us could keep it together. I can still remember the way Steve bawled when Max and all her friends made him take a picture with them, because he hadn’t seen them in a few years and when they were all gathered around him, he said he felt like no time had passed, even though it clearly had. Then Max and El pulled me into the picture, and Steve kissed me, and the kids all made faces like they were grossed out about it. That picture is still framed in our living room.”

Billy could hear his own voice getting more squeaky and uneven as he began to cry, but he made himself hold it together. He had to get through this, because goddammit, after everything his father had put him through, he was going to know damn well that it didn’t defeat Billy. He was going to have to listen to every good thing that’d happened to him and he was going to have to face up to the fact that no matter how hard he’d tried, he couldn’t break Billy down, at least not permanently.

“We were married for two years before Steve started to bring up the topic of starting a family. I had just gotten my Bachelor’s degree and was getting ready to start my Masters, but we had decided to get a little drunk as a celebration and he asked me if I ever thought about maybe having kids. I knew he always wanted kids, but I wasn’t so sure. I told him I used to want kids more than anything when I was little and Mom was still around, but once she left, I wasn’t so sure, so we decided to table the discussion for now and talk again when we were sober. He brought it up again at dinner two nights later, and told me he’d always dreamed of having six kids, three girls, three boys, and that he still wanted that, but only if I did, too. And I could never say no to him, especially not when he was giving me that look, so I said that maybe we could just start with one and see how it went. He lit up like a firefly when I said that, and immediately started looking into the different options. 

“It was hard, though. Most adoption agencies didn’t want to deal with us because we were both men, and finding a good surrogate took a lot of money that we just didn’t have at that point. It was killing me, both because Steve was so disappointed and because now that we’d finally talked and figured things out, I wanted a kid as much as he did. But then, just when all hope seemed lost, Robin paid us a visit and said that she might be able to help us. She was going to college at that point, too, and she knew a girl from one of her classes that was pregnant, but was thinking about terminating the pregnancy because she just didn’t want kids, she never had. She just wanted a career and to marry her boyfriend, and he felt the same, so she was weighing her options and thought aborting was the best way to go. 

“But then Robin stepped in and asked if she would consider having the baby and putting it up for adoption, and the girl, her name was Lindsay, said that if she were sure her baby would go to a good home she might consider it, but the foster care and adoption systems weren’t great and she didn’t want her baby to go through that. Robin told her about us and how we wanted to start a family, and Lindsay and her boyfriend agreed to meet us and see what they thought. They ended up liking us, and Lindsay said that she’d help us out. Steve and I were both over the moon about it, and over the next few months, we did everything we could to get ready for it. And finally, on a warm April afternoon, I got out of class to find Steve waiting for me, telling me that Lindsay had checked into the hospital a half hour before and that she was waiting for us. 

“It didn’t take too terribly long, only maybe five hours, but it felt like years had passed as we sat holding hands in the waiting room chairs. Neither of us moved from the moment they shooed us out of the delivery room until a nurse came out and told us that Lindsay was resting and our baby was being cleaned up and weighed. She told us on the way back to Lindsay’s room that the baby was perfectly healthy so far, and that they’d need to run some tests and give her her vaccines, but that she was okay so far. Steve was just relieved that she was okay, but then I turned to him and smiled and said, ‘did you hear what she said?’ And he didn’t get it at first, but then I said ‘she said she. We have a daughter,’ and Steve just stared at me. Then he started crying, and I had to hold him before we could go in and see Lindsay because he was crying so hard. 

“When he finally calmed down, we went inside and Lindsay hugged us both and we shook hands with her boyfriend and we talked for a little until a nurse came in wheeling a little bassinette. She asked who wanted to hold her first and Lindsay looked at us, and I let Steve hold her first because he’d wanted this for a lot longer than I had. He held her and he looked at her and he kissed her head and I swear I’ve never before felt anything like I had in that moment, because a minute ago I was a new father, but it was like an abstract concept, and then when I looked at Steve holding our daughter, looking at her like she’d hung the sun, the moon and every one of the stars, it was like a switch was flipped, and suddenly I was willing to jump in front of a train or off a cliff or get eaten by a shark if it meant the two of them, but especially my little girl, would be safe and happy. 

“And then, after a few minutes, Steve looked at me, and he asked if I wanted to hold her. And suddenly, I was stiff as a board and spacing out, because all that love and devotion I’d been feeling a second before were overshadowed and drowned out by this crippling, paralyzing fear. From what Steve’s told me, I went white as a sheet and started shaking like a leaf in the wind, and he said that all the life drained out of my eyes as I clenched my fists. He had to hand our baby to Lindsay for a minute, because he was worried about me, and he said he had to practically carry me to the little bathroom attached to the room so we could talk privately. He said in all that time, he didn’t even see me blink. I don’t remember much of this, I only remember him flicking water from the sink in my face to get me to come back to him, and he asked what’d happened.

“And then I remember I collapsed to the floor, and I didn’t cry, but I still shook like I’d gotten electrocuted. And when he sat down next to me and held my hand, I finally told him that it hadn’t quite felt real until that moment. But then he had tried to hand me the baby, and when I saw her tiny, fragile body and remembered that I was the one who was going to have to take care of her and keep her safe from then on, I just froze. I told him that I was afraid of her, which was stupid, right? Because she can’t do anything to me, she can barely even open her eyes yet, but yet she terrified me more than anything else in the world, because if she ends up fucked up, that’s our fault, and while I didn’t think Steve would be able to fuck her up, I definitely could. And he said that he didn’t believe that, and he said ‘you’re not going to turn out like your father’. And I swear to God, I almost socked him right in the face for that.

“But I didn’t, because somehow, without me saying a single word, he knew exactly why I was so fucking scared of someone who only weighed five and a half pounds. And once he said it, I was able to realize that that was what I was so scared of. I didn’t want to hold her because I was afraid I would get the urge to hit her for no reason. I was afraid I would start getting itchy because I couldn’t scream at her with other people in the room. I was afraid she would start to cry, and when I couldn’t get her under control, I’d just leave her for someone else to deal with, or even just to her own devices. I was afraid that if I would hold her and know that she’s mine, I would stop loving her and instead of seeing her as a blessing, I’d see her as a burden, and I wouldn’t want to take care of her. And I was horrified with myself for thinking that I would turn into you, but was even more horrified at the thought that I wouldn’t be able to control if I was or not. It scared me shitless that one day I might be sending my daughter to school with a black eye and fractured ribs because she forgot to put the dishes away before going to bed, or that she might not be able to take as much as I did and I might come home to find her limp body on the floor with a note telling me to go fuck myself, and I might not even care about it other than the fact that now I’d have to deal with what to do next.

“But for as scared as all those thoughts made me, I knew they were just that: intrusive thoughts. Because Steve had never lied to me once, never, in all the years I’d known him, and I knew that if he had a hunch about something, he was almost always right about it. And if he believed that I could be different, that I could be the dad I had always hoped for and wanted to be, then he was probably right about that, too. He told me that he knew from the look I got when I reiterated that we had a daughter out in the hall that I already loved her more than anything, and that I would never hurt her for anything in the whole wide world. Then he stood up, and he helped me up, too, and after helping me breathe more normally, he led me out of the bathroom.

“Lindsay smiled as we walked out and asked if everything was alright, and Steve told her it was just last minute anxiety, but that I was fine. And you know what, dad? I was. Because I knew that I was nothing like you, and that alone is what made me reach out and take our daughter from Lindsay’s arms, because I wanted to prove to myself that I was right.”

Billy was fully crying now, tears running down his cheeks in rivers, a constant flow that dripped from his chin and fell onto his jeans, his shoes, the floor. His nose was running a little bit and his throat was scratchy and his head was beginning to ache a little bit, but he didn’t care. He had come this far, and he was going to keep going until he’d said everything, aired every grievance he’d had to deal with and told him how he’d overcome them.

“Right after I picked her up, a nurse came in, holding a clipboard. She said that it was the birth certificate, and that everything was filled out except for our baby’s name. She looked at me, I guess because I was holding her, but I was too busy being happy that none of those terrible thoughts I’d had earlier were coming true and watching my daughter watch me to notice, so Steve said it. It’d taken us months to decide on what name we would go with depending on if it was a boy or a girl, but once we had them, we knew. I remember, in the early stages, when we would just toss names around, Steve had suggested something like ‘Lassie’ for a girl, and I almost smacked him upside the head. But then I was reading my textbook for class one night and saw one of the editor’s names, and I said to him, ‘what about Talia?’ And that was it. we decided that her middle name was going to be Ruth, after Steve’s grandmother, and it just had a nice ring to it.

“I remember when we got the official certificate a few days later, and I saw Talia Ruth Harrington written on paper for the first time. The way Steve tells it, I almost fainted, but I don’t remember that. All I remember is how the paper trembled, because when I held it, my hands were shaking. They did that every single time I held one of my kids’ birth certificates for the first time, and they’re going to do it again in a few months when our next baby is born. She’ll be number six, because Steve and I are both crazy, but me even more so, because I finally gave in and told him nothing would make me happier than to give him his dream family. And so far, I have.

“After Talia was born, I finished up my degree and started looking around for good jobs. I was open to anything, no matter where it was, and because our apartment was too small now that Talia was starting to grow more, we had to move anyway. We saved up as much as we could, and by the time Talia had turned one, we had a plan. I found a job at a small marine institute just outside of Ocean City, Maryland, and we decided to move there. We found a nice, three bedroom house about a ten minute walk from the beach for a reasonable price, and we bought it. We had only been moved in for about a month when Steve started teasing me about what we should do with the extra bedroom, and I knew what he was getting at, but I wanted to wait until we saved up a little bit more and until Talia was a little older. He agreed with me on that, and for another year, we did our best to raise our daughter and earn enough money to start thinking about another kid. Steve even got a job at a local daycare to help make ends meet and to make sure Talia was well cared for during the day while I was at work.

“And then, as luck would have it, just as we became financially stable and as Talia started to become more independent, we got our wish. Steve was opening up the daycare one day, and as he approached the door, he heard something from behind one of the fences. His coworker had just shown up, so he asked her to take Talia inside and he went to investigate, and the first thing he did when he found out what it was was open his cell phone and call me. He said he’d found a baby, no older than a month, wrapped in a blanket and just left there behind the fence with a note. It said ‘I can’t give my baby a good home, and I don’t know what to do. I figured someone here might. She’s healthy and has all her shots. Her birthday is August 5th, 1995.’ And that was it.

“Steve said that he was going to call the proper authorities, but he suggested that maybe we could take in the baby. He said we were thinking about it anyway and it couldn’t be a coincidence that another baby had just fallen into our laps like that, and I said that as long as it was a legal adoption, I’d be on board with it. It took a few months, a lot of money and entirely too much paperwork, but finally, we were given our second daughter. Because the mother had never named her, she had been dubbed Baby Doe by the court system up until that point, but once we were legally her parents, we got to name her. We went with Violet Frances Harrington, and then we were settled again for another few years.

“But Steve always wanted an even number of kids, and an even ratio of boys to girls, so once we got Violet settled and we were able to find a bigger house, we decided to go for baby number 3. It was 1997 at this point, and even though we were thinking about selling the old house before we had more kids, once again, fate stepped in. We hadn’t found a new place just yet, and we were toying around with the idea of either converting the attic or basement to a room or splitting the bigger of the girl’s bedrooms in half to make another when the adoption agency we went through called us. They said that they might have something for us, and asked if we wanted to come down and speak with them in person. We said we would, and the next day, we were sitting in an office when the lady who called us  walked in and handed us two pictures.

“She said that a few days ago, a mother came in and gave her two sons up for adoption. She was young, probably in college or even high school, but she said she just wasn’t ready to be a mother and she wanted her babies to have a good home. The lady said that she’d called the list of potential parents, but none of them really wanted twins, so she eventually got to us. She said we could take some time to talk about it if we wanted, and then she left the room, and as soon as she did, I looked at Steve. 

“I could tell from the smile on his face that he was already sold, and he told me that we should totally do it, because then it would even things up and we wouldn’t even need to get a new place or renovate ours, because then the girls could room together and the boys could take the other room. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he was already in love with the boys, and I was too, so instead of answering him, I just went to the door and told the lady we’d be happy to take them in. She smiled and helped us fill out the necessary paperwork, and even though the boys already had names, she said we could change them if we wanted. We’d already had our hearts set on either Nathan or Gavin for our first boy, so we made those their first names, but we hadn’t decided on middle names yet, so we just gave them the names their mother had. And just like that, Nathan Jay Harrington and Gavin Anthony Harrington were joining our not-so-little-anymore family.

“After that, we were content for a while. I started thinking about getting my doctorate, Steve had moved up the ranks until he was practically running the daycare, and our kids continued to grow faster than we could keep up with. Before we knew it, Talia was starting school, Violet was learning to ride a bike, and the boys were curious about any and everything under the sun. Our house began to feel a little small, though, so we started looking around for a bigger place. We finally found one, a seaside mansion that was almost too much, but we made it work. I remember we told the kids Santa might not bring as many presents that year because he couldn’t make them fast enough. Really, Steve and I just couldn’t afford as many presents as we usually got them, but come Christmas morning, we had found a way to spoil them even though we barely had a dollar to our names. Anyway, the house was huge, and even though it only had four real bedrooms, the twins still wanted to share and there were a few extra rooms in the basement and main floor, so we figured if we had any more kids or the twins decided they wanted to separate, we could just use one of them. 

“And after we’d been in the house for about a year, Steve started getting baby fever again. This was the first time we’d ever tried looking into the foster care system instead of adoption agencies or surrogates. We were just looking around at that point, not really deciding anything, Steve was just antsy and looking for the hell of it, but then he asked me one night as we were going to bed if I would want to foster this little boy he’d found when he was just looking around for fun. He said that he was about a year old, could already walk, and was able to say simple words. He knew I was a little baby-d out at that point, so he said this time we wouldn’t have to start from scratch, we would just be picking up at an easier point. The twins were 4 by then, Violet was 6 and Talia was 8, so he said they could all start helping out around the house a little more and they would be able to help with the boy if we needed them to. And because I can’t say no to him and he did make a good point, I said I’d think about it. He obviously knew I meant yes, so a couple weeks later, we brought him home. We had only had him for about two days when Steve and the kids all practically begged me to adopt him.

“He already had a name, which was fine by us, because we didn’t really have anything in mind when Steve had started looking around, but I still got that same shaky, fluttery feeling when I first saw Leo Matthew Harrington printed on the birth certificate in my hands. All the kids had been with us that day when we went to the courthouse, and as soon as we showed them the piece of paper and told them that it meant Leo was officially their brother, they all started cheering at the top of their lungs. We got a dirty look from the receptionist, but Steve and I couldn’t help but laugh. Even Leo started squealing and shrieking with joy, and since it was a sunny Saturday in May, we took the kids to the boardwalk to get ice cream.”

Billy was still crying, but now he wiped his eyes and walked around the side of the bed, and sat in the chair at his father’s bedside after taking out his wallet. He opened it and thumbed through it, eventually finding what he was looking for and holding it up in front of his father’s face. It was a picture, taken just a few months ago, on the beach right outside their house. He couldn’t remember who had taken it, probably some couple or kid walking by, but he remembered how happy he was in that moment.

“This is my family,” he said, the tears coming back with twice as much force and his voice beginning to wobble even more. “The man sitting next to me is my husband. The little girl behind us with the black hair and beige colored skin and almond eyes is Talia. The little black girl sitting next to me with the heart shaped sunglasses is Violet. They’re my daughters.” He paused again, wiping his nose as his voice broke and he took a breath to steady himself. “The little boy next to Steve with the blue glasses and red hair is Leo, and the two blond boys on our laps are the twins. Nathan is on my lap and Gavin is on Steve’s, and I can tell them apart because Gavin only smiles with his teeth and Nathan only smiles with his lips. They’re my sons.”

His father lifted a shaky hand to try and take the picture, but Billy held it out of his reach. It was too precious to him to even think about letting his dad hold it, especially since he couldn’t really respond this whole time and he didn’t know if he would, like, rip it up or something. He didn’t want to risk it. It was too important to him. 

“In a few weeks, I’m going to get to hold my third baby girl. Her name is going to be Samantha Christie Harrington. From what we can guess, we assume she’s going to have pale skin and brown hair. We don’t know if her eyes are going to be blue or brown, or even hazel. We don’t know if she’s going to be born healthy, although we’re praying that she will, and we don’t know when her birthday is going to be or at what time she’ll be born. But we do know that the girls are ecstatic about getting a little sister, and the boys are excited for Aunt Max and Uncle Lucas to stay over with them while we’re at the hospital. We know that no matter what this child looks, acts, or is like, we’re going to love her just as much as we love all the rest of them. And we know that we’re ready and able to do that, because we’ve already done it five times before, no matter how scared we were or how tired or how uncertain we were.”

“Billy, I-” his father tried to get a word in, but Billy wasn’t having it. 

“No, you shut the fuck up, I’m not finished!” He bordered on yelling, but he made himself regain control. He slipped the picture back into his wallet and put it back into his pocket, just trying to busy himself until he could be sure he wasn’t going to lash out again. His father was silent the entire time.

“Listen, dad, I didn’t come here to yell. I didn’t come here to get angry or to get an apology or even an explanation, I’m past all that shit. I came here because I heard you were dying, and despite how much shit you put me through, I couldn’t make myself hate you enough to just ignore that. I also can’t make myself love you enough not to come and forgive you and let you meet your grandchildren and your son-in-law. And as much as it kills me, I can’t make myself stop loving you no matter how hard I try, and I fucking try. But you were the only one who stayed. When Mom split, when Grandma died, when Uncle Jerry went to prison. You could’ve tossed me out like yesterday’s garbage since there was no one else around to give a damn, but you stayed. You put food in my stomach and you kept clothes on my back and, I don’t know, maybe deep down inside you, you really were just trying to make me become a better person, and I can’t hate you for that. But somewhere along the way, your wires got crossed, and you took it too far. You had this... this rage inside you and for some reason, you thought the best person to take it out on was your pre-teen son. And then I guess something broke inside you, because it seemed like you started to actively look for things to justify one more punch, one more insult, one more punishment. First it was because I wasn’t into sports like you were and I couldn’t hit a baseball to save my life. Then it was because I was queer, and having a faggot for a son wasn’t “right”. Then it was because of the music I liked, or the jewelry, or the people I hung out with or the grades I had. Nothing was ever good enough for you, I was never good enough for you.”

Billy paused again. He needed to wrap this up. He hadn’t even packed an overnight bag, just a few things to keep him occupied on the plane rides there and back. So he sucked in another breath and he sat up straight, and for the first time since he’d gotten the phone call that his dad was dying, he felt the weight lifting off of his chest.

“But I don’t need to be good enough for you anymore, and I know that now. It took a long time and a lot of therapy, but I know it. Now I know that I’m good enough to be another person’s entire world, so much so that they put a ring on my finger to make sure I’d be with them until we’re old and gray. We have bad days, we’re not perfect, we fight, but at the end of the day I’m good enough to man up and tell him I’m sorry and I want to make things right because I love him. I’m good enough to sit on the boardwalk with my Violet and throw bread at seagulls, and I’m good enough to walk around looking for seashells with my Talia while she tells me about the really cute boy that smiled at her in class. I’m good enough to play dinosaurs with Nathan with one hand and color with Gavin in one of his coloring books with the other, and I’m good enough to sing Leo to sleep when nothing else will even make him doze. I’m good enough to make amends with the people I’ve hurt because I actually want to, and not just because I’m on my deathbed and I want a better chance at getting into Heaven. And I’m good enough to hold my Samantha for the first time and tell her how much I love her and mean it. And I did all that by myself, because I wanted to prove that I was better than you, and that I would always be better than you, because you made my life hell and I’m still dealing with the aftermath. Every day it’s a struggle, but I know that I’m going to come out on top, because the hard part is over. I’m already out of your clutches. And I’m not going to take that or anything that’s resulted from me getting away for granted, because it’s too important to me.”

Billy stood up, wiped away the last of his tears with his jacket, and cleared his throat again as he headed for the door. He opened it and was planning on just walking right out and not stopping until he was in a car and headed for the airport, but something made him stop. He stared out into the blinding white hallway of the hospital for a second, and finally turned one more time to face the man on the bed. He didn’t owe him anything. But he had already bared his heart and soul to him, what was two more words?

“Goodbye, Neil,” he said. 

And with that, he was gone.

*************************************************************

Billy had gotten home the same night he left, albeit very late at night. He was more tired than he had ever been before, and he wanted nothing more than a nice hot shower and to curl up beside Steve in bed. But after the day he’d had, he couldn’t just do that. Something was still tugging in his guts, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the way he’d left things with Neil or if it was because he hadn’t eaten anything that day except for the little snack packets the flight attendants had given him and a snickers bar from the hospital vending machine that was probably as old as some of the patients. Either way, he was too tired to deal with it, so he just went inside, got his hot shower, and put on his pajamas before crawling under the covers with Steve. He was lying on his side with his back to Billy, so he shifted until their bodies were perfectly in line and he wrapped his arms around him, nuzzling his face into Steve’s neck. He only sat up a little bit when he felt a smaller body on the other side of Steve, only to find Leo curled up against Steve’s chest.

“You gotta make me a recording of you singing for the next time you’re out of town,” Steve mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. “This was the only way I could get him to even close his eyes.”

Billy’s heart melted in his chest as he said it, and it only turned further into goop when Steve turned his head and craned his neck to give him a kiss before snuggling back into the covers. And as Billy settled in with him, his arms around both his husband and his son, the tugging feeling in his gut finally stopped.

*************************************************************

Three days later, he got the phone call from the hospital that Neil was dead.

It’d been a busy Thursday morning in July, and while he and Steve were running around trying to get the kids up, dressed, fed and out the door for daycare, the phone rang. Billy was using one hand to wipe the maple syrup from Gavin’s face the the other to help Violet with her hair, and he couldn’t tell you what Steve was doing for a million dollars, so he didn’t even know the phone had been ringing until Talia walked over and handed it to him.

“It’s for you, daddy,” she said, then walked away to do whatever she’d been doing before. Billy had finally gotten the syrup of Gavin’s face and Violet was satisfied with her hair, so Billy stood up and took the cordless phone into a different room so he could hear better.

It was the nurses at the hospital. They said that they were sorry for his loss and that Neil had passed away that morning. They told him that he was the only one Neil had listed as next of kin, and that they would hold the body until arrangements could be made for his funeral. Then they offered their condolences and told him that he could call back at the number they gave whenever the arrangements had been made. Billy had gone on auto-pilot when he thanked them, and when he hung up, his chest felt hollow. He wasn’t happy or sad or angry or even relieved, no, he just felt numb.

He didn’t want to make the damn funeral arrangements. He didn’t want to have to explain to his kids that the man who’s body they were seeing being lowered into the ground was their grandfather, but they never met him because he hurt their daddy and would’ve probably hurt them, too if he’d ever been given the chance. He didn’t want his father to be dead, but he didn’t know if he was upset about it either. He was too confused and he didn’t know what to feel, but he still felt like he was about to burst with something, so he did the only thing he could think to do.

He took the handheld phone and hurled it at the wall as he let out a deep, animalistic howl of a yell, and crumbled to the floor with his head down and his shoulders hunched to try and keep it all under control. His ears were ringing, so he didn’t hear the six sets of footsteps running towards him from the kitchen until he felt one pair of arms wrap around him gently.

“Hey, Billy, what’s wrong? What happened?” Steve asked, tapping a beat on Billy’s shoulder to help him regulate his breathing, a trick he’d learned years ago and still remembered even though he rarely had to use it anymore.

“That was the hospital,” he said, choking out the words. “He’s dead, Stevie.”

“Who’s dead?” Nathan asked, his blue eyes big and round with questioning.

“Just... somebody that daddy used to know,” Steve said, hoping that that was the right answer. Billy would’ve told him if it wasn’t, but he didn’t say anything now, and neither Nathan nor any of their other kids questioned any further. Instead, they gathered around their father, all piling on top of him to give him kisses and hugs and tell him they loved him. Billy felt like a volcano, but only after the eruption, like his little outburst had been the hard part and now, with the help of his family, the magma was settling and the lava was cooling down into solid rock. He wrapped his arms around all of his kids in the most awkward group hug in the history of group hugs, but not one of them cared. It helped Billy to calm down, and that’s what was important.

*************************************************************

A week after the call from the hospital, the phone rang again, and again, Talia was the one to answer. The handheld had been pieced back together with Steve’s nimble hands and half a roll of masking tape, but it would do for now. Billy still felt bad for breaking the phone, but he’d stopped apologizing for it when Steve told him that if he did it again, he’d break it worse so that he would stop. It was a joke, obviously, but it worked, and Billy had stopped apologizing for it.

They hadn’t had a funeral. Not a real one, at least. Steve had taken the kids again and Billy headed out to Indianapolis again, having to stay overnight this time, but he didn’t care. He hadn’t felt much of anything since the call, and was kind of distant for a few days, but he hoped that once his dad’s body was in the ground and he was back home, he would be okay. He just needed time to process.

Steve and the kids were giving him all the time he needed, the kids making sure they were on their best behavior and Steve doing anything he could to make sure Billy was alright. He’d talked to his therapist and was able to work through it a little bit, but the things Steve and the kids were doing were helping, and he was grateful for it. 

He’d only stayed in Indianapolis for two days, one to pick out the casket and set things into motion, and the other to make sure they actually got him in the ground. He didn’t even wait for the headstone to be carved, instead just told them to make sure he got one and that would be that before heading for home once again. Steve and the kids had all run up to him to hug him as soon as he stepped in the door, and, per his request, they all sat on the beach that night and fed the seagulls as they watched the sunset. None of them spoke much, they just sat, but they were all perfectly okay with that. And the next day, Billy started to act like himself again, a little at a time.

Now, he was almost completely back to normal. His head still felt a little heavy, but it was mostly gone, and he didn’t even think twice when Talia handed him the phone and said, “It’s for you, daddy.”

It was the hospital again, but this time, it was much closer to home. Georgia, the lady who was carrying their baby, had just gone into labor and had  checked into the hospital. Billy nearly threw the phone again in his rush to get to Steve and tell him the news.

Samantha had decided that she was going to come out a week early, so Billy and Steve had to wrangle five children into their mini-van by themselves as Billy called Max. She and Lucas lived in Pennsylvania, so they were going to be a little while, but Max said she was already leaving work and that they’d be there as soon as they could to get the kids. Billy thanked her and told her which hospital they were going to, then hung up as Steve drove through the town. 

When they got there, Steve went to check on Georgia, and Billy stayed in the waiting room with the kids. It was just beginning to get dark out, Leo should’ve already been in bed, but Billy was too jittery to worry about that now. An hour and a half later, Max and Lucas showed up, both hugging him and Steve and saying congratulations before swapping keys with Steve and taking the kids back to the van to head back home. Steve walked them to the elevator and then returned to Billy’s side, holding his hand like he always did and pretending he wasn’t just as nervous until a few hours later, when the nurse finally came out and told them to follow her. 

Georgia was asleep by the time they got into the room, but her husband was awake, still holding her hand. He used his other one to shake with Billy and Steve and congratulate them, and finally, the nurse came in with Samantha. 

At this point, it was tradition to let Steve hold her first. She was asleep, or at least she looked it, as Steve picked her up, but as soon as he put his hand underneath her head, her eyes opened up and she began to cry. Steve tried to soothe her, but nothing seemed to work, and her little face got red as she continued to scream. It woke Georgia up and she tried to calm her down, but even she couldn’t do anything to quiet the baby. 

But this girl had a set of pipes on her, and finally, she had screamed so loud and so long that it was almost excruciating to listen to. Steve took her back from Georgia and tried again, but it was useless, and he sighed.

“Here, Bill, you try and calm her down. Nothing we’re doing seems to be working,” he said, and handed Samantha off to Billy. 

As soon as he had her tiny body cradled in his arms, the baby stopped crying. It was almost instantaneous, and even though her face was still a little red and blotchy, she blinked her big eyes up at him and smiled. 

“Well I’ll be damned,” Steve smiled, wrapping his arm around Billy’s waist. “Glad to know she’s already chosen her favorite parent.”

Billy wanted to laugh at that, but he couldn’t think about much of anything else at the moment except his daughter’s big, dark eyes boring into his. He smiled at her and rubbed her belly with his finger, making her gurgle and coo in response. She took her own tiny hand and raised it just enough to grab onto Billy’s finger, holding it with an iron grip. Or, at least the newborn equivalent of an iron grip. 

She continued to stare into his eyes and hold onto him for a long time, but after a while, her grip weakened and her eyes slipped closed. As she fell asleep in Billy’s arms, Steve came back over from making small talk with Georgia and her husband. Georgia was exhausted, and frankly, so was her husband, and they had begun to fall asleep again as well, leaving Billy and Steve as the only ones awake. Billy was still just staring at Samantha, though, and only noticed Steve by his side when he nudged him lightly with his shoulder.

“Hey,” he said, wrapping his arm around him and playing with the hair on the back of his neck. “You doing okay?”

And when Billy thought about it, he found that he really, really was.

“Yeah,” he replied, “I’ve never been more okay in my entire life.”

[paleobird]

The cove, as promised, sat behind a long copse of trees, well on the quieter side of town. It was long past the more popular beaches, the places which were open to the public and saw the most use, towels and lawn chairs and swimsuits, clear to be seen from the street. There were no swimmers now, no bikini tops or swim shorts or lifeguards waiting for something to happen. The chill of winter was well into the air, and it was much too cold for the typical lot, grey skies with only bare branches to interrupt the long roll of clouds.

The trees here hadn’t lost their leaves, however. Pine needles littered the forest floor for all of the short walk it took to get there, no path laid out to reach the cove sending Ava through the stretch of nature, but it was the type of place that was best without a path. No one else would have known it was there, and the only fifteen-minute walk meant that no one would be able to see it from afar. There was a type of privacy afforded by this, this place that made it hard to get to and hard to see into, the type of place where it was easy to overlook how it kissed the shoreline, sloping down into a stretch of rocks and sand, mostly gathered between the peaks and the craggy pools where seawater collected, but with a stretch where the rocks thinned and the sand filled in.

It would not have hosted all the people that gathered on the main beach and would have been ruined by such attention. But it was large enough that it could have hosted a party for the few brave teenagers that had explored the shoreline and found this, and it was easy to move around here, sand deep enough to sink toes into. On either side the banks rose taller, providing a rockier descent down into the ocean, harder to climb down, but here it transitioned easily, clear water lapping around and over the pebbles and stones that crumbled from the ocean’s great feast of the coastline, where tiny fish darted in the shallows and small crabs moved in the crevices of rock.

It was more obvious from the other side, of course. When Miranda’s scouts had laid out the coastline for her, surveyed appropriately so that she could plan ahead of time, this place had been circled, marked for her attention. It wasn’t much, but such nice spots were useful. The rocks broke up the worst of the winds from the land, instead providing a funnel for warmer air from up over the sea, and there were places to hide below the surface, where landfolk wouldn’t even think to look. It had been forgotten, regarded as uninteresting, and for Miranda, it was useful.

She had already arrived ahead of time. That too was obvious, a clear habit of Miranda’s already, that she should be punctual and arrive before anyone else had any chance to pull one over on her. She did also, usually, bring with her an accompaniment of guards and serfs, to protect and to serve her needs, but she hadn’t felt it was appropriate to do so this time. To be alone was to feel exposed in an entirely different manner, but she did still have the advantage. The rocks here could be sharp, and the ocean pressed in close. Miranda knew this area, and her guest didn’t. She had already visited, already knew all the secrets this place offered, and she could have made use of it, if she required.

That still didn’t feel like it was enough. Still there came a nagging voice at the back of Miranda’s mind, telling her to be careful, telling her that Ava was planning something, was going to pull one over on the princess, but Miranda couldn’t name what. That bothered her, and bothered her dearly, and even though it didn’t bother her enough to call this off, obviously, it still worried the edges of her mind like it was trying to suck out the marrow.

For all her life, Miranda had to be clever, and she had to take this slow.

The princess, as expected, had already found a smooth, round rock, one with a flatter top that stopped at the appropriate height to act as the clear choice for a seat immediately next to the stretch of sand, and she had draped herself out over it. Her winter clothes might have been an odd choice to wear, with a tall collar to her coat and thicker fabric curled around her tail and her legs in a flared skirt, with matching boots, but it was appropriate. No one could judge Miranda for dressing for the weather, even out here, and she could manage easily enough.

Still. Her mind dwelled over what she had on her, wanting to pat down her pockets again and again, wanting to touch her crown and run her fingers over the serrated tines, just to be sure. She thought about her bracelets, and her necklaces, and about the impression of an ammonite, pressed down into ancient stone, unbothered in its eternal rest until only now, only when someone knocked open its grave.

It left her jumpy. Her fins kept turning, her eyes kept watching the skies, trying to catch a glimpse, to hear Ava’s coming, but whatever it was, Miranda was certainly going to jump whenever the harpy revealed herself.

The cold never bothered Ava too much--her feathers were excellent insulation no matter the temperature. Even in flight, when the air whipped past her at speed, she was fairly comfortable. And fly she did, sailing low over the treetops in order to get to Miranda's meeting place as expediently as possible. Being late would just be rude, after all.

There was no paranoia in her mind, in sharp contrast to Miranda, only excitement. The prospect of a scientific study! This sort of thing always made the harpy a little giddy, and she was grinning from ear to ear by the time she passed the forest and glimpsed the ocean down below, with her merfolk subject perched quite royally on a flat rock. Very fitting, honestly.

She could see, even from here, that Miranda seemed a little fidgety, but she wasn't about to make assumptions when she had no idea ow the specifics of merfolk body language really worked. Instead, she focused on swooping in low, giving her wings a few powerful flaps to slow her descent and easily land on her feet in the sand.

Ava may not liked getting wet, but strolling on the beach or in shallow water was always fun--as a hatchling, she liked to pretend she was a heron, stalking fish in the river behind her house. Nowadays... well, she preferred to pretend to be a Spinosaurus, really. Same difference. She trotted down towards Miranda, already removing her backpack and hoisting in her arms.

"Hiya, Miranda!" she chirped as she approached. "This is a really cool little cove you've got! Did you find it yourself?"

[applesap-fics]

Snake Oil

Part one

FABril day 3 - Alternative Universe, llaneros/cowboy AU, also on ao3

Rated M

--

It was from doña Pilar’s girls that Bruno heard about the concoction first.

Before entering the narrow but bedecked house with its many rooms, he took the chanclas from his belt and placed them over his bare feet. The hostess didn’t like how dirty the llaneros were that frequented her establishment and, though the scathing words of a matriarch felt bizarrely comforting, Bruno wasn’t in for a scolding. Her Andalusian floors were her proud possession, and she did not like the indignity of their feet on them.

What mess her patrons made in the rooms with her girls was par for the course. Though, to their credit, the worn men also didn’t mind getting the llanos grime scrubbed off of them by nice gentle hands after going so long without a female touch.

Bruno wouldn’t know about any of that.

(When Bruno was a teenager and had just started to come along on treks, the older boys had played a prank on him. It had been some sort of initiation: now that Bruno was old enough to come on the arduous journeys with the other cowboys he was regarded as a man, and to celebrate they’d send him off to the girls to get rid of his virginity, thinking they were doing him a favor.

When the lady had slipped off her chemise and exposed every inch of her naked body to him, she had not looked one bit comforting and familiar like his mother and sisters and he’d promptly become sick. She had laughed him out of her room, and he’d stumbled out of the brothel to the playful jeers of the men, who assumed he’d gone through with bedding her if it left him that shaken after spending such short time with the woman. His manhood presumed intact. It was better than if they called him a marica, which was true.)

The next time he entered a brothel to keep up appearances, it was with his hood up, flicking a match, eyes glowing green, and he announced himself with the mystique of a street magician:

“My dear ladies, I’ve come from far and wide to show you miracles. You will think your eyes are deceiving you. You will think I am making it all up, deceiving you with tricks and devilry. But rest assured, the news I bring will change your lives: your future awaits.”

Bruno had a gift, one he didn’t like to waste, but one he couldn’t afford to share freely either, worried about who might take advantage of it in the lawless plains. Some of the Guzmán farmhands knew about it, but like the secret valley that hid them from warfare, it was sworn to secrecy. Whenever they stopped in towns instead of the isolated haciendas on the plains, Bruno offered his services to those who might need it.

The men in the courtyard cooed with women in their laps, a breast in hand. They paid Bruno no mind as he made his way through silks and laughter and up the stairs to the upper deck where there was a tad more privacy. The rooms next to him were occupied, but whatever stranger was in there likely wouldn’t care to listen in.

He took a seat at a table behind the banisters. He laid out his pouch with sand, lit the candle that was already there, and let interested ladies come to him.

The girls here liked the security of his visions. They thanked him with hard eyes when he saw bad things instead of fortunate ones, already used to ‘inevitabilities’. He warned them about harm they were certain they could expect, affirming their own suspicions with his magic. That way they could prepare for their sorrows, have something to hold onto. And whenever the visions were vague, which was often, it gave them hope to escape the cruelties the prophet had seen for them.

Not all of his predictions were bad, though; sometimes he spoke of their children or how well off their families would be generations down the line. Or, more pressingly, where abuelita had hidden her sacks of family jewels.

After he waited for a moment, a group of women joined him at his table and were eagerly listening in on what he had to say without any propriety for each other’s privacy. They had shawls and shrouds draped over their bare shoulders as if they could catch colds from their futures. Their thick perfumes clogged his nose and reminded him a little of Pepa, though she was much more conservative with her make-up. Bruno thought the ladies looked magnificent all dressed up in fabrics and face paints. Immediately inspired, he made a mental note to restock on his own colors if the pulperías in town sold them this nice.

He emptied his pouch with sand on a cloth he'd draped over the table. His ruana hid most of the fierce glow of his eyes as he got to work.

To the relief of the girl sitting opposite him, the baby she was carrying was prophesied to be a healthy boy. She smiled, rubbing the slight bump of her belly. “Makes his life easier.”

Bruno, also a boy, troubled by many things, wasn’t too sure about that. But as he took her downtrodden clothes and the fact that the baby had no father into consideration, he supposed she would know better. The two other women immediately reassured her and gave advice, and otherwise had much to bring in about the matter, chattering away.

Bruno interjected by politely pointing his finger up. “Now, as for my payment…”

The girl eyed him, assessing her peice. Bruno had not much use for money, being a horse wrangling Madrigal. He always asked for a funny trinket or valuable information if his client could not afford to spend any currency on him, which he’d learned not to deny for their dignity. He didn’t mind this unequal exchange.

The girl leaned over to caress the back of his hand, exposing the depth of her breast that Bruno modestly tried to avoid, and gave him a coy cock of her head. “My room is right there, señor.”

Bruno flinched and stammered, but before he could say something through his nervous grin, an older woman scolded her. “Rosa, puta, he’s obviously a maricón. Don’t you think he would’ve shown us a different little miracle first?”

“Oh, woah,” Bruno muttered at her harsh words. “Maybe I’m just nice?”

“Oh, sure, that too.” The woman brushed a curl away from his face, letting the glint of his earring catch in the candlelight, and performatively dropped a few tokens on the table for him.

“Ohh. But in that case,” the girl drawled, and soon dragged the two other women into a conversation about their little wisdoms and products. She put up two fingers to illustrate their point to Bruno. “Makes it so much easier.”

 

Pleasurably enlightened, Bruno parted with the women, leaving a shard of his emerald tablet in the girl Rosa's care. There were emerald mines nearby; having a castaway gem was a luxury, but not implausible. For fear that this put a target on the recipient’s head, he didn't do this often, but he felt for the girl and her bastard child.

What he should have remembered, as he strode through the courtyard and spoke openly about visions near occupied rooms, was that this business was visitor to all sorts of men. Travelers, llaneros, miners, locals. Not all of them were as absentminded when they made love to women.

Least of all when a prophet doled out jewels.

[briamichellewrites]

8

Bria and Brad quietly purchased a home together for them and Tiny. She had to go through a probate lawyer to sell her mother’s house because it was willed to her. Since Brad had some knowledge of contracts, he researched what she had to do to put the house on the market. She and Brad followed his advice. It was a year since they started dating. The band met him after he was invited over to hang out at Mike’s apartment.

They saw what Bria loved about him. He didn’t care about his fame. That wasn’t who he was. He was overwhelmed by Hollywood and he hated the media coverage of his life. But, without the paparazzi and the tabloid’s attention, he wouldn’t have a career. It was a double-edged sword. He wasn’t a guy who liked going out. Rather, he liked being at home.

He was her first serious relationship. She dated Mike for six months, but that was puppy love. They pushed each other to be their best. The band thought it was adorable how much in love he was. Bria was one of a kind and the type of woman you only met once in your life. She didn’t take herself too seriously and she wasn’t afraid of keeping them in line. Outside, she was beautiful. The kind that made people do a double-take.

Inside, she was kind-hearted towards her kitten and the people around her. Tiny was like her child. She loved and cared for her with her whole heart. In return, Tiny gave her cuddles and purrs. Brad came home to find her curled up on her chest fast asleep. She laid down to look at her phone when she came over and curled up to her.

She was afraid of moving and waking her up. He got his camera and took a picture because it was so adorable. Their house was located in Los Feliz. It had six bedrooms and seven bathrooms. What they loved about it was the privacy. It was also inexpensive at only one million, seven hundred thousand dollars. That was a price they could both afford. Before moving in together, they relegated duties. She was learning how to cook, clean, and do other housewife chores.

She didn’t mind being a housewife because he was often working on different projects. Linda was becoming ever more proud of her. She did everything she could to teach her everything about taking care of a household. Watching her grow up was an honor. She always felt like a daughter to her. Her father would also be incredibly proud of her for the woman she was becoming.

She was introduced to Brad and she thought he was a classy guy. Did she approve of the relationship? She did. As a mother figure, all she wanted for her was to know she was happy. He thanked her. They were introduced to his parents, who were hesitant because of her very young age. As they talked to her, they found her to be well-educated, humble, and a woman who loved their son for who he was. They also appreciated she had her own money.

It meant she wouldn’t be living off of him. If they ever separated, she wouldn’t be taking him to court over money. Linda was the only parent she had left and she talked about how she had watched her grow up. How did she meet her?

She was hired as her father’s assistant in 1990. Bria was nine years old at the time. When her father died, she hired her as her assistant. Over the years, her role had become less and less as she was learning how to do more things for herself. She didn’t mind because she wanted her to become less dependent on her. They learned the circumstances of her parents’ deaths. Her father raised a great young woman. What was her last name? Was it European?

“It’s French. My dad’s side of the family is from Alsace. I’m a first-generation French immigrant.”

“What about your mother?”

“I don’t know. Though my guess is she was also European. My dad never liked talking about her because it was too difficult due to his grief.”

Linda didn’t know either. She and Brad could tell how hard she was trying. His parents were not easy to impress. She dressed conservatively while still being fashionable. Her button-up shirt didn’t show anything when she bent over and her skirt went down to her ankles. She braided her long brown hair to keep it out of her face and she wore minimal makeup. He thought she looked beautiful as always. William and Jane learned she was fluent in French, Japanese, and Spanish.

She could speak Chinese, though only at an elementary level. Her two main languages were English and French. Did she speak French at home with her father? Yes. It was his first language so he was more comfortable speaking it. Why did she learn Japanese? It was a language used in business, as was Chinese and Spanish.

When they got home, Tiny had just finished one of many naps. She yawned and stretched before going to greet the humans. Hi, humans! Brad picked her up when she meowed at him. There’s my girl! Linda said hello to her. Did she have a nice nap? Yes, she did! She scratched her head. That feels good. Thank you, human! She wanted to go play, so he put her back on the floor. They followed her over to her toys and then sat down.

She loved being a cat because she could do whatever she wanted. The humans were here, there, and everywhere! She wondered where they went. Humans were strange creatures. They walked on their paws and didn’t use the litter box like she did. She didn’t understand them. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to or maybe it was something she would find out when she got older. For now, she played with her toys and pretended that she was hunting her prey.

Bria, Brad, and Linda thought the meeting went well. He gave his parents credit for trying to have an open mind about her. They were hard to impress sometimes and had conservative values. He made it clear that this was not just another relationship but a very serious one. Linda could also tell they were trying to keep an open mind.

“Japanese”, Brad asked her.

“It will come in handy someday. I just know it.”

He laughed. Did her ex-boyfriend know Japanese? He knew some of the language. His brother knew more than he did because he was learning it in college. His father was fluent, though so they could have conversations. Mike and his brother were second-generation immigrants. What about his mother? She was European. She didn’t know if she knew any languages.

He would have to ask him. Meow! I’m hungry! Meow! The three of them went into the kitchen where Tiny was demanding her dinner. Brad and Linda stood back while she dispersed the food onto the plate. After setting it down, she sniffed it before eating. Yum! Thank you, human! This was just what she wanted! Bria joked that her ADHD ass didn’t want to cook dinner, but she was going to anyway. They laughed before she went to the refrigerator to see what they had after putting on some music.

@zoeykaytesmom @feelingsofaithless @alina-dixon @fiickle-nia

[truetraumadumping]

finally something positive but like super long because it has been a while

I usually come on here to rant the worst and be negative because there isnt really any other outlet for me to do that. We often have the worst luck and live the saying “when it rains, it pours” through and through. But for once the overall of this post is positive and celebratory, after some bitching and dumb shit of course lol 

We have been stuck living with my SIL&her boyfriend since April 1st. Jack has his own small room, a tiny toilet&sink room between his room and ours. Our room holds us, our 2 dogs and 5 cats, then all that comes with it i.e. litter boxes, bed, desk for when I was working my last job. It is just cramped and annoying and rough. It isn’t our 1st choice at all, but with our animals and what our bring in money totaled to, we could not get approved anywhere. We have spent almost a grand on application fees this year alone. About a week ago or so, we were talking about something else to do with my new job***(connects below with same symbols) and she fucking said “ No offense but how much longer y'all tryna stay? “ literally word for word what she messaged....... fucking seriously bitch? 1st of all, every single animal except 1 cat, we have because of her, we have a child to care for financially and all aspects, because she had him and CAN’T DO IT HERSELF, 2nd WE DON’T WANT TO BE HERE EITHER not only are we all smushed into these rooms, we have 0 privacy, they don’t take care of their own cat litter boxes as they should so it always smells terrible out there, so I cant even have anyone over if i could get over the dogs and the room and such, they own this trailer and are just letting things fall apart and there is so much mold growing in the bathroom its terrible for everyone’s lungs. They sell weed so our anxiety is ALWAYS high because we have a child here so god forbid they got busted we would all be fucking screwed and the dogs barks every time someone knocks to come pick up so we have to tell them to shut up multiple times an hour every single fucking day and finally 3rd of all they cant even afford their own lives without us, literally, they do not make enough money and depend on the people staying here rent money for their bills. so like why you asking that shit?? she also could’ve worded it so many different ways, saying the same point without the attitude, and we all know things that start with “no offense...” are always fucking offensive. 

So I got laid off from Premier 10/31; I took that week to just do nothing and kinda wallow cause it fucking sucked and all that. I knew I would get approved for unemployment, my boss already told me to apply and claim it, but my ID expired a few months ago and it hasn’t been an issue so I hadn’t looked into what I needed to do for a new one. However to apply for unemployment, I needed a valid form of ID.... so they recently combine the local offices into 1 location and the next appt when I looked wasn’t for like 3 weeks out  uuggghhhh so I booked it in case I couldn’t find a way there for a walk in before then. I did when Billie finally went and got hers done by appt ((side rant, she went unemployed for like 4 months July-mid October, did NOTHING, didn’t apply for unemployment, actively look for a job, NOTHING)), I had to wait there, well outside the building for over 3 hours. finally got called to the inside waiting room so even if they closed i was going to be seen that day. I brought cash to pay since paying with card had a percentage surcharge and over course out of 15 clerks only 2 handled cash, so I had to wait a little longer for that aspect, but once I was finally in front of the clerk the entire interaction from start to walking out was maayybbee 15 minutes, it was insane. Side note I not only was able to update my address finally but also my middle name was spelled wrong on it so I finally got the corrected too. Anyway with the new type of ID cards, they don’t print them right there, they give you a temporary paper and you have to wait she told me 2 weeks for the state capital to send it out to me. JFCCCCCCCC so when I went to try and apply for unemployment I couldn’t because they wouldn’t accept the paper temporary ID and they wouldn’t accept the expired ID I still had because the address has changed, this was all online. So I tried calling and its an automatic system of course, so they ask for an 8 digit pin with your SSN, and if you are new enter a new one, and they saying checking it, then it restarts the whole process, over and over and over and over again. I did it 15 times before I just lost my mind and hung up. There was no operator option, pressing 0 over and over did nothing like some systems triggers you to an operator. The only other option was the unemployment office itself; since COVID they do appointment only but you can’t schedule an appointment without an account so online and by phone were not an option for scheduling and they won’t even let you inside the building without an appointment confirmed on their end by your name over the door speaker. So there I am unemployed, not able to bring any money in for however long because even after I finally get my ID I have to wait the employer dispute period after applying. 

Oh, also before the day spent waiting to do my new ID but after my wallow week, I spent an entire day redoing my resume. It had been so long since I had updated it, the expected style has changed and I had to track down some info to update it. I also had to go over dozens of phrases and skills to build it just right for the positions I wanted to apply for. It was brain melting but I did it and it looks great. So the next day I applied for 25 jobs, this ranged from just sending my resume and answering some basic contact info and availability questions to like full blown tests with math and science questions. It was wild how different the process is from the last time I did it all. With Premier I got the job because I knew someone working there and she knew I needed the job, the boss knew Max from way back in and was like “yeah she’s hired” I didn’t even fill out an application for the job until like 4 days into training lol! Then with Schedule It, I was hired for call center originally and storm season was fast approaching so I would’ve been hired pretty much no matter what and only applied to a couple other places. So this latest was the most I have ever done job/career wise. I really wanted something remote and like data entry or such, not on the phone because in this space, all of us cramped and the dogs always braking from their sale traffic, calls would just be insane. Outta those initial applications I got back like 4 immediate nos and 1 to move on to the next step of their process, which I did but it ended up being a sales position with pay based on how many sign-ups you got, no thaankkk you. Then I got a couple more “no we went with some one else” emails, was still waiting on my ID to apply for unemployment and just all around in the dumps over it all. ((side note SIL got a job at Murphys purely on a friends word and they didn’t treat her great, had some staffing issues then messed up her 1st paycheck so she no call/no show quit because she supposedly had a management position with Dominos but never started it, then got told it is actually part-time nights hahahahahaha after waiting around for this new Taco Bell location to open up because she supposedly knows the GM and will get hired as management there when they open)) I finally had to tuck my pride and ask my Dad for help buying some groceries because little man got super sick during all this and so was home for all 3 meals and I had no moeny coming in for sure until the beginning of the month with Max’s check; Dad of course helped us majorly, so grateful for him and we haven’t had to ask him for help in a while so it wasn’t a big deal really. 

So finally I got my ID, earlier than anticipated luckily and finally got unemployment set-up so the waiting period could start. Then I got an email that someone finally wanted to interview me for their available position, a basic into interview really. They told me about the position, expectations/tasks and pay after going over my work history with me. Fully Remote Customer Service Representative for PNC Bank! Not only remote, but for like a real legit sold company instead of a start-up or some sketchy fly-by-night one. Issue being it is phone calls, I am supposed to have a fully closed off space with no distractions i.e. ours will not work at all between smushed in 1 room and the dogs. But the pay is literally life changing for my family, it will get us out of poverty and living paycheck-to-paycheck, it cannot be passed up. We could get out of staying here with just a few paychecks easily, it is just getting set-up and doing it a bit. So Max and I thought maybe putting a shed up, set me up out there in it to avoid all the issues and we would move it with us since we were planning to get into one of the new trailers right in this same park. *** so we bring this up to my SIL and supposedly sheds are not allowed per lease even tho we have watched a few neighbors put sheds up since we started staying here. Now we have 0 clue wtf we are going to do because my set-up just cannot be worked in here, simply cannot and I NEED to get and keep this job, it is too big of a chance for us all. So I think “hrm, well dad had talked about helping us with the move-in cost of a place, we just hadn’t done it cause my previous job wasn’t enough for rent every month, but with this new one it will be, so maybe he could get us in one of these new trailers in the park and boom there we go”, so the next time I see him I bring it up. Now quick side note, his girlfriend was in a major car accident several weeks ago, like a really bad one, in a wheelchair, back brace all of it. Also they have been building their dream house out on my Dad’s lake property, I knew it was really close to done, but it is actually finished and with her being in a wheelchair and all, his old place didn’t let her get around well. So when I brought us needing out to Dad, he suggested his old place. He owns the land its on, it’s all fenced in, the trailer on it isn’t amazing but it is livable and will be ours! We are going to pay him “rent” to go towards buying the trailer and land, it’ll be ours in just a couple of years, then we can work on getting our new custom trailer on the land. It is on the edge of the bigger city, puts school in a better school district and we won’t be in the same park as where we are now so we can avoid my SIL for a while! 

[miraculouscontent]

Just gonna address the whole “Chat’s getting the short end of the stick this season and that’s his arc!” thing again in one nice little post for everyone, because let’s just pull out the magnifying glass on that one, shall we?

The idea that Chat is “getting the short end of the stick” comes mostly from him not being able to do much in akuma fights, either because he’s left to be the distraction, Cataclysm isn’t useful for that particular akuma, or he outright can’t show up.

Oh, wait, I’m sorry, I meant that he has the luxury of not being able to show up. I meant that he isn’t forced to show up in every battle because his power isn’t needed every time. I meant that he’s able to be the distraction because he can afford to get struck by the worse akuma.

Because that’s what all of this comes down to in the end. Chat has the privilege to not be needed all the time, but because he’s “””not as important””” due to not being guardian/not having the ladybug, that automatically means that he’s being cheated out of what he “””deserves.”””

Never mind that he was shown to be given the benefits all the way back in “Origins” where he was all in on being a hero whereas Ladybug didn’t even want it; where he got the freedom of Chat Noir and Marinette got the role that Adrien found difficult after a single akuma battle.

Never mind that the Ladybug carries all the responsibility and mental burden of having to be “the one” who has to fix things, meaning that if she goes then it’s over and there’s no Miraculous Cure.

Never mind that her guardian business began with the kwami being accidentally set free and now Marinette doesn’t have even a moment of privacy (not that she had any in the first place; see “Troublemaker,” “Backwarder,” and “Christmaster” for reference).

Never mind that Chat not being needed, being unable to show up, and having to be distraction are all things out of Ladybug’s control. Him not being needed is based on the akuma, him being unable to show up is on his schedule/the location where things happened, and him being the distraction is because Ladybug is the one who can pull miraculouses out of her yoyo and thus someone has to stay behind to keep the akuma at bay so she can get the hero(es) she needs.

If it feels like Chat’s being dealt a bad hand, it’s because that’s how the show is set up; to make people think it even if it’s not true. Marinette’s problems are only given weight and focus so long as it serves the love square (i.e: Marinette having a mental breakdown so she reveals to Alya who can then start pushing for the love square in the following episode), whereas the narrative shilling for Chat is always there.

Chat got to confess to Ladybug by speaking to Marinette, and Ladybug has spent multiple seasons now feeling bad about not returning his feelings. Because the love square is endgame, she’s seen as “being unreasonable/rude” for it. Marinette, meanwhile, has made over five hundred attempts at confessing to Adrien and all of them have failed, with Adrien remaining blissfully unaware so he feels no guilt and can safely avoid any attacks from the fandom for the same reason as Ladybug.

Chat’s sacrifices are also blatantly set up as little more than emotional manipulation from the narrative that mean literally nothing because everything is reversed in the end anyway. It stresses Ladybug out, puts further pressure on her, and exists solely as a device to “show” how much Chat Noir cares about her.

Except Ladybug can’t do the same because she has to be the one to end the fight, thus the fandom is actively encouraged to believe that Chat cares more about Ladybug than she does for him based on something that she can’t even do.

That’s yet another point in Chat’s favor, and I might as well tack on one more as well because - despite the fandom’s complaint of him being “““the sidekick”““ - Paris seems infinitely more on his side than Ladybug’s in the “Is LadyNoir canon?” debate, no matter what Ladybug says in response.

Oh boy, and you want to talk about how it extends even outside of the mask? How about something that's meant/designed to have huge value to the plot, such as Ladybug’s magical charms? Y’know, those things that weren’t even good for an entire season and that gave Ladybug the bodysuit she should’ve had from the start that still isn’t even close to the amount of attention that Chat’s bodysuit has? But then you have Adrien who simply hands the civilian half of his crush an umbrella and she belongs to him for the next four seasons.

Marinette gets thrown a birthday party with people she’s interacted with and/or helped in the past season or so? Nah, try Adrien getting thrown a party by boys who have literally never had on-screen interactions with him, all while some of said boys are ditching other people with lies in order to go through with it in the first place.

Marinette gets grounded because she was busy being Ladybug? Adrien will have no such issues! And even if a situation does happen to arise that inconveniences him, Gabriel will let him go in the end anyway and he’ll get an unearned invite to be in a band from a guy he doesn’t even know the name of.

I’m sorry, Chat is upset because Ladybug isn’t sharing things with him while the show blatantly hides the details from him so Ladybug looks worse while also being completely unaware of all of it? Point me to the episode and timestamp where Adrien considered for even a second to tell Ladybug about the book he “found” that contained what was clearly important information about the miraculouses.

Spoiler alert: It’s not there, and when Adrien got in trouble for stealing and losing the book, guess who had to throw herself under the bus to cover for him?

Exactly.

Chat wants to quit like he either already has/threatened to before? He's at least able to quit with no repercussions; he’d get to keep his memories and everything. Ladybug doesn’t have that as an option.

The sheer amount of entitlement one must feel to have nearly all of the advantages of heroism and their face on every billboard in Paris, yet still feel like that isn’t enough; to constantly want more no matter what one is given.

Chat wants what Ladybug has without doing what Ladybug does? Y'know who I’m sure would like to have what he has instead? Ladybug.

I’m sure she would adore to release the burden of guardian and the ladybug miraculous with no consequences. I’m sure she’d be ecstatic to see an akuma pass by and know that it’s okay if she can’t show up for whatever reason while not even having to explain herself later on. I’m sure she would just squeal in delight at the idea that she is allowed to fail or get hit by the more dangerous akuma with the knowledge that failure is okay.

But she can’t. She isn’t allowed.

So Chat is getting the short end of the stick? Yeah, no. It only looks short to him, and Ladybug doesn’t even have a stick to begin with.

[hottpinkpenguin]

Seafoam (part 4)

Characters: Aleksander Morozova x Fem!Reader Warnings: discussion of pain, depressing themes, violence Series Masterlist

Aleksander threw open the flap of the Healers’ tent, allowing a biting gust of frozen wind into the hazy interior. There were several Inferni-made fires dispersed throughout the expansive tent. A few Squallers stood by, using their powers to direct the smoke upward through the vents at the top of the tent. Unlike the rest of the Second Army’s decimated ranks, this tent was warm and comfortable. Healers bustled around, busying themselves with the various injuries and ailments that plagued the remaining Grisha.

“General.” Genya bowed deferentially to Aleksander upon recognizing him. Although she was not a healer, as the highest ranking Corporalki in the Second Army, she’d become the de facto administrator and organizer of the Army’s medical units. Ivan, Aleksander’s long-time military advisor, served as the head of the Heartrenders, and dealt with battle strategy. Genya’s shrewd mind for organization and soft touch made her a perfect fit for her role in charge of the Healers.

“I’m looking for Private Tovin,” Aleksander muttered to Genya, his voice low and urgent. She nodded, unsurprised. Ever since Private Tovin had returned from his secret mission with a drüskelle arrow sticking out of his ribs, Genya knew that General Kirigan would undoubtedly make a personal appearance. She led Aleksander to a semi-private corner of the tent. The Healers had hung a few sheets from the walls of the tent to afford Private Tovin a semblance of privacy.

It was rare that Healers encountered a wound they couldn’t heal, but an arrow-punctured lung was among them. Private Tovin had barely made it back to the camp before dying, and even now all the Healers were able to do was keep him comfortable and extend his life to allow him to take care of any unfinished business, such as letter writing to his loved ones. Genya couldn’t understand why Private Tovin had bothered to return at all. She knew enough of battle injuries to recognize that his wound was fatal and riding with it for the six days and seven nights it had taken him to return from the capital must have been excruciating.

She pulled back one of the sheets, standing aside to allow General Kirigan to pass. He shot her a grateful look, motioning for his oprichnik guards to wait for him outside. They obeyed, turning to assume post on either side of the hung sheets. Genya was surprised when Aleksander turned and motioned her to follow him. She stepped towards Private Tovin’s bed, letting the sheet fall closed behind her. She was taken aback by the young man’s ashy complexion. His face was slick with a sheen of sweat and his eyes looked feverish. Even so, he recognized General Kirigan and saluted weakly.

“Private Tovin, please, save your strength,” Kirigan replied, settling on a straight-backed wooden chair next to the soldier’s bed. Genya had seen some of the Healers sitting in it, reading Private Tovin’s personal letters to him earlier that day. She swallowed thickly, trying to push down the tears threatening to gather in her eyes.

“General, I saw her.” Private Tovin’s voice was raspy and weak, but there was no mistaking his words. Genya didn’t know the nature of Private Tovin’s mission, although it had been one of much speculation amongst the Second Army ever since they’d learned that the Black General had dispatched two of his best fighters back to Os Alta. Although Genya was not so disillusioned as to think herself a friend of General Kirigan, she had served with him a long time and she knew enough of his heart to know that there was only one reason he would weaken the already ravaged ranks of the Army. It was the otkazat'sya lover, the woman with the dark hair that Genya had seen him embracing on the steps of the Little Palace when they’d left on campaign so long ago. As far as Genya knew, the General never spoke of this woman aloud, but there was no mistaking the poorly concealed heartbreak lurking in his dark eyes. It was an emotion almost everyone in the Second Army had become intimately familiar with since they’d all left Os Alta. Except Genya. Somehow, amidst the death and chaos of the last eighteen months, she’d found David. It was a cruel twist of fate to have fallen in love with someone so deeply just before their deaths - a fact both of them had accepted as the inevitable end to their doomed conflict with Fjerda at this point - but she was glad to have known true love at all. She felt that General Kirigan must have been similarly compelled to have acted with such desperation at a moment when the fate of his Army was balanced on a knife’s edge.

Private Tovin coughed weakly before continuing. Aleksander tensed like a taut wire, hanging on the moment. “She’s alive, General. But the drüskelle-”

Private Tovin’s words were interrupted by a wince of pain. He grimaced, clenching his teeth. The sheets of his bed were pulled down around his waist, and Genya could see a bloodied bandage wrapped around his chest. A bright spot of blood bloomed atop the place where the arrow had pierced him.

“The drüskelle what, Private?” Aleksander’s voice was gentle and superficially calm, but there was a thinly contained desperation just beneath the surface.

“They took her, sir. I didn’t see where. I tried to follow them, but I lost the trail in the mountains.” Private Tovin coughed again, this time a hacking cough that set Genya’s teeth on edge. She could see the pain it caused him to cough so violently.

Next to him, she saw the bottom in Aleksander’s black eyes fall out. His expression collapsed, his shoulders falling in defeat. After a few moments of listening to Private Tovin’s agonizing coughs, she saw the General gently grab the soldier’s hand in his own.

“Thank you, Private. From one man to another. I cannot thank you enough for what you did. And for coming back here to tell me.” The sincerity in his voice was so pure and vulnerable that Genya thought for certain her heart would split in two. Private Tovin smiled weakly back at the General between fits of coughing. As another convulsive hack overtook him, a Healer stepped through the opening in the bed sheets.

“General, please, I must insist.” The Healer looked worriedly from Private Tovin to General Kirigan, hunched next to the bed with the soldier’s hand clasped between his.

“Of course, of course,” he replied, rising from his seat and returning the Private’s hand to the sheets. He shot Private Tovin another gratified look before turning and leaving the Healer to the task of easing the soldier’s pain. Genya followed him out of the Healers’ tent, turning up the fur-lined collar of her military-issue winter cloak against the harsh wind. The sky was a slate gray, a foretense of a blizzard charging over the mountainside and due to blanket the camp later that night. The sun was a faint disc of sickly yellow light, hovering over the bleak mountaintops that separated them from their homes in Ravka to the southwest.

“Genya, walk with me,” General Kirigan stated. It was somewhere between an order and a request, and Genya was happy to oblige. In the months since the Second Army had found themselves pinned between the Permafrost and the snowed-in mountains, she’d seen less and less of the General. She’d always found his calm demeanor a helpful tonic against nerves when she felt close to losing faith.

She fell into step next to him as they made their way through the tents of the camp. Outside the mouth of each lean-to, soldiers huddled around weak fires, cooking mealy stew and drinking soured kvas. Despite the generally desperate state of the Second Army, Genya felt a surge of pride to see General Kirigan stride amongst his troops. He knew most of them by first name, greeting them with a warmth and courage that was contagious. Somehow, he managed to keep his black kefta and fur-linked cloak in impeccable shape, and Genya knew it was not for lack of use. General Kirigan was nothing if not a leader; he understood the importance of looking the part as much as acting it.

Their progress through the camp was slow as the General stopped to talk to almost every soldier he passed, but Genya was unbothered. It felt good to stretch her legs and leave the hushed, somber atmosphere of the Healers’ tent. The mood of the Second Army lifted noticeably as General Kirigan’s procession drew more and more attention. Soon, soldiers were lining the central path, waiting for their turn to shake the Black General’s hand. He was not unknown to the Army, but spent much of his time in consultation with his advisors or out on reconnaissance missions, so most of the soldiers were used to quick glances or chance meetings.

Twilight was peaking over the hills by the time Genya and the General arrived at his tent, on the opposite side of the camp from the Healers’ tent where they’d started. Genya saw him shake off the facade of a fearless leader that he’d worn so well for his troops. Beneath the facade, she saw the heavy set of his shoulders and the exhausted fear in his eyes. He sank into a chair opposite her, and for a few moments they lapsed into a thick silence.

“Fjerda will use her to force my hand into surrender.” The General’s voice was laced with pain when he finally spoke. Genya looked up from her hands into his gaze. He looked utterly broken.

“Your lover?” she ventured. He nodded solemnly. A small part of her was happy to think that he felt comfortable confiding in her, and she resolved to give him her full attention and best counsel in exchange.

“What will you do?” she asked, genuinely curious. She watched as Aleksander’s eyes glazed over, his mind weighing the impossible options. She was incredibly grateful that this decision did not rest on her shoulders. When she thought of David in the clutches of the drüskelle, her mind went blank with terror and her heart quaked. She knew what choice she would make, regardless of how many lives it would cost. No life was as precious to her as his. And she could see that there was the same depth of devotion in Aleksander’s heart.

When he looked up at her, she was utterly shocked to see tears pooling in his dark lashes. She had never before seen such raw emotion from General Kirigan, and although she’d not doubted his love for whoever this otkazat'sya was, she’d never expected to see him break in front of her. When he spoke, she had to strain to hear his voice it was so soft.

“Whatever I have to.”

*****

Your consciousness came back slowly, in fits and starts. At first, you registered the uncomfortable twist of your hands bound behind your back and the biting ache in your shoulders, telling you that you’d been bound like this for a while. Then you caught the sounds of voices around you, all speaking in the guttural tongue of Fjerda. Although you’d picked up snippets of the Fjerdan language in childhood when your family would trade with Fjerdans at the local market, your head was too foggy to make sense of the words being exchanged. Next came the salty taste of blood in your mouth and the excruciating pound of your cheek and temple from where the drüskelle soldier had hit you with his sword. Only one of your eyes would open, the other being swollen shut, but from what you could see you were in some sort of wooden structure. There was a waterskin and a plate of moldy bread and a mealy apple laid out a few feet from your face.

You lay there, your breath shallow and ragged, as your last memories came back to you in snippets. You remembered the sting of the Fjerdan’s sword hilt connecting with your cheek, the sight of your nephews’ terrified eyes as you instructed them to hide with their sister. The sickening thump of a drüskelle arrow as it lodged in one of the messenger’s ribcage. But one piece of your memory was so crystalline clear that it kept your heart beating and your mind fighting against the pain and the pull of unconsciousness. Aleksander. He was alive, he was looking for you.

You weren’t sure how long you laid there, but you do remember seeing the faint glimmer of sunlight through the wooden slats of the wall climb upward and recede downward into darkness three times, tracing the arm of the sun through the Fjerdan sky outside. When you were able to open both your eyes, you managed to force yourself into an upright seated position. By now, you were alone in a ramshackle wooden cabin. You dozed on and off, pain and starvation keeping you under a heavy blanket of weakness, but occasionally you registered another person coming in to stoke the fire in the stone hearth opposite you. There was a heavy-linked chain attached to one of your ankles and your hands were bound in rough rope at your lower back. Your shoulders screamed in protest to be kept in one position for so long, and your left hand had long since fallen asleep under the pressure of the rope. The empty socket where a tooth had once been kept you from chewing the stale bread or mealy apple, so you were forced to bite off chunks small enough to swallow whole, all without the aid of your hands. The waterskin was damn near impossible to drink from unaided, but once or twice the thickly-bearded drüskelle who stoked your fire tipped it back into your mouth, giving you a much needed swig of icy cold water.

Four days after you’d first come back to the world, a tall, deep-voiced man clad in the signature wolf-pelt and leather armor of the drüskelle strode into your wooden hut. A dozen or so other drüskelle trailed behind him, and although there was nothing specific in his armor that designated him as such, you knew intuitively from his bearing that he was a leader of sorts amongst the Fjerdan army. He fixed you with a cold stare, his icy blue eyes devoid of emotion. You tried your best to return his gaze with defiance, but you were so weak that it was difficult to hold your head up before it lolled back to your chest.

Some of his attendants scoffed in derision at your frail form, but he remained eerily quiet, watching you carefully. After a few moments, he walked over and knelt in front of you.

“Do you know where you are?” he asked in broken Ravkan. Fleetingly, you debated whether you should answer him or not, but ultimately you nodded once. He was the first person who’d spoken anything you could understand in days, and although you knew it was unlikely to happen, if there was even a sliver of hope that you might trick him into revealing something damning, you would take it.

“I’m going to untie your hands,” he informed you, reaching behind you and severing the rope wound around your wrist with a clean stroke of his dagger. Your aching shoulders erupted in pain as your arms fell limply to your hands. You gasped in pain as he grabbed one of your wrists, raising it in front of you. The green sash that had attracted the drüskelle’s attention back in Os Alta stayed where you’d left it. It was so dirtied now that you could barely recognize the beautiful shade of seafoam green it had once been. The drüskelle leader eyed the fabric carefully, his eyes flickering back and forth between your wrist and your face.

“Who gave this to you?” he asked. His Ravkan was heavily accented and difficult to understand.

“What’s it to you?” you managed to bite back. Unconsciously, you felt yourself brace, expecting him to strike you. No such hit came; in fact, he chuckled darkly.

“You must be who you say you are,” he continued, amusement and satisfaction glinting in his eyes. “You’re as stubborn as he is. Both of you refuse to die, it seems.”

You didn’t need to guess at who the he in the man’s statement was. Your heart skipped a beat in your chest. Aleksander.

“We’ll see how stubborn the two of you are when you’re burning at the stake.” The man stood, letting go of your wrist which fell to your lap. He turned on his heel and left the hut, his lieutenants trailing closely behind him. A few of them spit on you before stepping out. The sound of a harsh winter wind whipping outside roared in your ears until the door slammed shut behind them, leaving you alone in the wooden hut with the dull moan of the blizzard outside. Your mind felt frozen as you tried to process his words. You were glad no one was around to see you vomit in fear as the reality of what he’d threatened you with settled in your mind…

part 5 is here

ty for reading!! reblogs/likes/replies srsly put smiles on my face. also, requests are open so give me more excuses to sink further into my fantasies &lt;3