#this one time i wish i was dad. just so stubborn and self absorbed that im brave and uncaring enough to go to Spain

[saltycharacters]

Can I be livid for a sec? Ive spent all these years in the pandemic being one of the few doin my part, vaccinating as much as possible and social distancing and wearing masks everywhere and not even leaving the house unless absolutely necessary. A sisyphean attempt to do literally anything about the spread of covid, because so few even care to do the bare minimum at this point. So I have to sit and watch while this small group of people on this godforsaken Earth are giving up opportunities and funtimes left and right to protect our loved ones, and the immunocompromised, and ourselves and everyone else, while the selfish majority don't give a shit and literally do whatever they want, passing strains of covid amongst themselves like its a game of hot potato and. Usually I can ignore any pings of jealousy and reassure myself that at LEAST. There's one less vector to spread the illness, and that keeps at least those around me safe, and I continue finding enjoyment in safe and quarantine-approved ways, but.

Today I got a text message from my dad, which is not unusal in itself, but opening it I realized it was a photo of my abuela. Sitting across the table from my dad in her rustic little house in spain, in the rustic little village that I've visited every summer for most of my childhood. The place I've considered my favorite on earth for most of my life and that I've held in my heart so fondly that nearly every night, I dream about being there again. The place I haven't been to in years as part of the many sacrifices I've taken to combat the pandemic. And yet my dad, part of the selfish and skeptical majority, took the risk without a second thought and unceremoniously come into contact with the disease-spreading, equally uncatious masses at the airport, sat in a largely un-masked airplane for 11 hours and is now having supper with family I've been trying to protect this whole tine. He doesn't consider whether he'll bring covid to them first before bringing it to his family back in the US, he doesn't think about the likleyhood of grandma, nearing her 90's, being able to survive such an ailment, and I just know that he will not give the fact that he couldve spread covid more to the hundreds of other people a second thought. He'll sleep soundly in my favorite room, he'll have fun in my favorite places, and he'll see my favorite people all while being so in-denial about the pandemic that his conciousness will remain clean the entire trip. And this time I'm dizzy with jealousy and rage, I'm sad and homesick and frustrated and worst of all, I can't express any of my feelings to my dad or mom or any family because they'll just laugh at me for being so paranoid and tell me to come over anyway. I'm not sure I'll ever see my beloved Requena ever again, nor any of my family nor resident friends because it seems that almost everyone in the world has forgotten that we're still in a pandemic, yet those self-entitled enough to participate in this collective amnesia can have fun and do whatever without a thought for the consequences they bring. I'll be huddled at home with thise large, gaping, emotional hole in my chest while people like Dad continue on like nothing's ever happened and we all have to suffer for it. It's not fair. I'm so close to tears, I'm just. So devistated and heartbroken. If you don't do your part to quarantine to the best of your ability and practice basic pandemic saftey when out, I hate you. You're awful and I hate you.

[avengers-age-of-fanfics]

just for you, honeybee (6/?)

pairing: steve rogers x reader (platonic), natasha romanoff x reader (platonic), bruce banner x reader (y/n is a big fan of his), tony stark x reader, bucky barnes x reader

warnings: mention of bucky, fighting, training, mention of guns, takes place during The Avengers

words: 3,359

a/n: part 6! i honestly don't know how long this series will be, but i think i may end it at either endgame or TFATWS. so basically going through all the movies lmao, but skipping over a few. i just want honeybee and bucky to be happy but gotta add some angst.

Transitioning into a new world, the year of 2011, was no easy feat, and you appreciated Director Fury being somewhat patient and honest about how much has changed. Him, and apparently one of your biggest ‘fans,’ Phil Coulson, have been the most helpful with your adjustment, teaching you all about the new technology and supplying you with a new phone, courtesy of S.H.I.E.L.D.

However, along the way, were a few speedbumps. You and Steve trained consistently in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s gym, almost leaving no room for sleep or taking proper care of yourselves. You both knew it was terrible, you should be looking out for one another, but the loss and confusion overran your needs to live a normal life. However, over time, he seemed to adjust better than you, as expected. Even though Steve had only been awake a few months before you, he jumped right back into the new world.

For you and Steve, the both of you had seen Bucky a few weeks ago; you had seen Steve a few minutes ago, from the time you had woken up. To everyone else in the world, including Steve, however, that was history, a moment written in textbooks ages ago; and for Captain Rogers, that moment was months ago.

In your mind, you deserved to release your anger out on some punching bags.

It had taken Director Fury and Agent Coulson a while until they shared the news to you and Steve, that Peggy was alive. They had claimed that since they found Steve, high hopes were in store for finding you, hence saving off on telling him beforehand. Steve had immediately wanted to see her but you hesitated; what would Peggy say to the both of you? How would she react to you both being alive? No matter, Steve had begged you to come along to visit Peg and you caved, giving him some time with her before he called you in.

Peggy’s eyes lit up, “y/n, you’re alive! Sweetheart…”

You smiled, pulling up a chair next to her, “hey, Peggy. How’s the strongest woman alive doin’?”

She sighed, grasping your hand, “better…much better. Howard never stopped looking for you, the both of you. He’d be so happy to see you.”

You sucked in a breath as her eyes turned glossy, “we know, Pegs. We know.”

She held back her tears as she continued, “he had a son, Anthony; just as stubborn but smart as Howard. You’d love him.”

Steve chuckled, “sounds like a handful.”

Peggy laughed before falling into a coughing fit, turning away for a few seconds. After regaining her breath, she turned towards you and Steve, “Steve! Y/N! You – you’re both alive; you came back!”

Steve gave a sad smile as your face fell, “yeah, Peggy, we did…”

Steve’s eyes teared up, “I couldn’t leave my best girl; not when she owes me a dance.”

Over time, the visits to Peggy became too much and you needed to rest. So, with little convincing to Director Fury, you found yourself in a small cabin in Bozeman, Montana, with frequent visits by both Coulson and your new female friend, Natasha Romanoff. At first, you hated the idea of someone visiting you during your time to reflect, but once you realized that she wanted to help you train and become used to your super serum abilities, you appreciated the company.

You barely had any time to adjust to your newfound strength, among other things, and you slowly became grateful that Natasha had joined you over the course of a few months. Sure, sometimes she was so nosy and bossy, waking you up in the ungodly hours of the morning to train, but she had slowly become one of your closest friends.

Honestly, some days it felt as if you just met Natasha the day before:

You stood in Fury’s office, arms crossed, as he stood adjacent to you, Coulson awkwardly standing beside him. “Why are you sending a babysitter to a place where I am supposed to be, oh, I don’t know, relaxing? Reflecting?”

Director Fury grumbled for the umpteenth time, “because, Agent L/N, you never know when the day will come where we will need you and Rogers, along with your special abilities. You are unskilled in hand-in-hand combat, among other areas in defense, and it’d be nice to enhance our agents.”

You uncrossed your arms, still very pissed off, “I don’t want them to visit me every day. That’s my one condition. I need time, Nick; I feel like I haven’t properly…taken everything in. I just want time to myself.”

Phil spoke up beside Fury, “and we respect that, Y/N, we truly do. But we hope you also see where we are coming from. Natasha Romanoff is very skilled in her profession and understands your situation – you’re in good hands.”

“Phil, you’re making me blush,” a female monotonous voice spoke.

Whipping your head around, you were met with a beautiful redhead who definitely seemed like an Agent, someone who meant all business. You’d learn later on that was just a façade.

“I- Y/N L/N, you must be Agent Romanoff,” you said, holding out your hand.

Natasha grinned, shaking your hand in hers, “just call me Nat, Agent sounds too formal. I look forward to seeing what that super soldier serum truly did to you.”

Apparently, not too much as she continuously kicked your ass in combat.

Training with Natasha was, well, with your lack of combat, embarrassing. You had your ass handed to you so many times, it was a bit pathetic – but she always told you that you were improving. You used your heightened senses to your advantage, listening to her footsteps and figuring out what move she intended to use next. You hesitated to use your strength at first, but with continued training, you knew Nat could handle it.

With Nat, you also became very skilled in shooting handguns, rifles, the whole nine. Your aim was impeccable and target training was becoming a breeze. The thought of shooting someone terrified you at first, but when Nat reminded you that hesitation could get you killed, you understood – there was no room for mistakes.

During your stay in Montana, you kept in touch with Steve, but only through short texts. He was not thrilled with you leaving him, but he understood where you were coming from; you needed to mourn but also keep busy, careful to not fall into a dark abyss. Fury kept you updated, telling you that he had pushed himself into training continuously and visiting Peggy all he could. You knew seeing Peg was doing Steve no good whatsoever, and your heart ached...but at least he got to see his long love.

Nat had been there when Bucky’s birthday passed, holding you as you cried, unable to leave your bed the day of and a few after. She held you as you yelled at the sky for taking away the most important person in your life, leaving you so alone. She knew you had Steve, but it wasn’t the same – you needed Bucky. But she also knew by letting you cry, your emotions out of your body, you’d feel so much more at peace.

And she was right.

Natasha also told you about Howard's son, Anthony, and from what you saw on the news, that was definitely Howard's kid. Tony was arrogant, self-absorbed, but did what he thought was right. After his declaration of being Iron Man, you followed Tony all over the internet, but hearing first hand from Natasha of the man that Tony was...Howard would be proud. You wished to meet him, you did, but something pulled at your heart, telling you that Tony probably hated you for taking his dad from him, forcing Howard to become obsessed with finding you and Steve and thus, costing him his life.

Natasha told you he might see you in that light, yes, but if you ever got to know Tony, he'd warm up.

You weren’t healed and you still weren’t okay, but you were…better. You hated whatever being there was in the sky for taking your James, but you came to terms with it. But the one thing you were so resentful about was the fact that there was no body, no funeral for him.

Becca hated that, too.

You had visited her in her old age, just like Peggy, and the two of you held hands as you talked about James and Steve – your boys. She had missed you so much, just like she missed Jamie, and she understood your pain the best. She had tried to encourage a search party for him, to have some closure, but the government refused. He was gone, and they couldn’t send more men to find a disfigured body.

You hated thinking about that, what James would look like. It haunted you in your nightmares, waking you up in the wee hours of the morning, his frostbitten body staring right back at you. Phil had found you a morning after such nightmare, sitting on your porch in nothing but an oversized shirt and a blanket around your shoulders, cheeks wet with fresh tears.

You sniffled once more, wiping your nose with the back of your hand, watching as a black car parked into your dirt driveway. The car opened and Phil Coulson emerged, as expected - on time for your monthly visits. Hugging onto the blanket tighter, you shivered against the cold air, hoping Phil would just leave upon noticing your state.

He did the exact opposite.

Phil took off his jacket, resting it upon your shoulders even though you had the blanket. You sniffled, inhaling his scent, and hugged the jacket closer, feeling Phil take a seat next to you on your wooden bench.

"I always found snow to be soft, almost like a cloud, falling down upon it when James and I would make snow angels," you began. A shiver ran down your spine as you continued, "but now, I can't help but think of his body just...plopping onto the ground so roughly that he was hurting, still alive, yelling out for anyone and..."

Phil ran his hand over your head, brushing your hair back, "freezing."

You glanced to Phil, "freezing to...to death. He must've been so scared, I-"

Phil shushed you as the tears formed, "no what if's, y/n. He's safe now - that's what matters most. You're okay, and so is he."

Your bottom lip trembled as you held onto the dog tags, nodding to Phil's words, "you're right, as always."

Phil gave a tight smile, "let's go inside and heat up some milk, 'm getting tired myself." Coulson held your hand for the rest of the night.

Trying to convince yourself to get some closure, you told yourself that the next time you were in Washington D.C., you’d visit the museum and read all about Bucky, all that he had done, and see the amazed looks of citizens who saw him as a hero. Your James Barnes was a hero to so many people, including yourself, and you should be able to celebrate his goodness from when he was alive.

You were going to go the next day until Director Fury knocked on your door at 2:30 in the morning, holding a file labeled ��CLASSIFIED.”

You raised an eyebrow, “couldn’t have given me this at a decent time?”

He narrowed his good eye, “it’s urgent, didn’t have time for formalities, your highness.”

With a snort, you grabbed the folder from his hands, “glad you know how to properly address me. What time do we leave?”

Fury tilted his head toward the quinjet, directing your eyes toward Steve who stood alongside Natasha, “once you get dressed, Agent. You’ll have time to look over the file in the jet.”

You weren’t sure why you got dressed so fast; seeing Steve for the first time in about 6 months, finally going on a mission, or just getting some new sense of scenery. Either way, you engulfed Steve in a hug and he laid a hand on the back of your head, “hey, honeybee.”

Your heart ached whenever he called you that, but you figured it was one of the last things he could hold onto Bucky as his dog tags laid against your chest, “hey, Stevie. So, what’s the deal?”

Reading over the file while Nat gave more information about Clint – someone else who you had grown quite close to – you grew confused. You looked to Steve, “the Tesseract. That’s the blue cube that…disintegrated Schmidt, right?”

Steve nodded, “looks like Howard recovered it and it’s been in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s hands since, but this guy, Loki, wants something to do with it – Hydra’s secret weapon.”

Fury spoke up from the front of the jet, “that scepter he has, it controls the minds of anyone it touches, including one of my sharpest agents. The Tesseract could be the key to unlimited sustainable energy – that’s something the world sorely needs. Falls into the wrong hands, well…”

You shook your head, “you shoulda left it in the ocean.”

Silence overtook the quinjet until Phil came over to your seat, sitting beside you, “I’d like you to come along to recruit another member, if you don’t mind.”

You gave a small smile to Phil, “um, yeah, that’s fine. Where we goin’ and who are we recruiting, Coulson?”

Phil seemed a bit nervous as he spared a glance to Nat, who nodded her head, “Tony Stark, Iron Man.”

You sucked in a breath, “Howard’s son? You want me to come along?”

Phil laid his own hand upon yours that rested in your lap, file forgotten about, “I do, and I hope you wouldn’t mind tagging along.”

Holding back your tears, you nodded, “yeah, yeah, I’ll come. When do we leave?”

“Once we land in D.C., we’ll take a quick trip to New York. Easy car ride.”

You squinted your eyes, “isn’t that like, a 6-hour drive?”

Phil gave an uneasy smile, “not with me driving, we’ll be there in 2.”

You chuckled, “as long as I get there alive, I don’t really care how we get there.”

In all honesty, the drive to Stark Tower was relatively calm, save for swerving through traffic and going way too fast for your liking. Once you arrived, you and Phil talked to the impressive AI named JARVIS who told you both that he was informing Mr. Stark of your arrival.

“Impressive Artificial Intelligence,” you whispered to Phil, “definitely Howard's kid.”

Phil was about to respond until JARVIS spoke up, “Mr. Stark is not in, Agent Coulson.”

Your friend pursed his lips together, “please tell Tony that this is urgent and we need to speak. Now.”

Very quickly, Tony ignored your calls until Phil hacked into the system, overriding JARVIS and his protocols. Phil spoke into the phone, pulling you inside the elevator, “Mr. Stark, we need to talk.”

Tony sighed on the other line, “you have reached the life model decoy of Tony Stark. Please leave a message.”

Phil rolled his eyes, causing you to let out a snort, along with Pepper Potts on the other line, “this is urgent, Tony.”

You and Phil stood in the elevator, about to reach his floor as Tony responded, “then leave it urgently.” Right on cue, the elevator doors opened and Tony held up his glass of champagne, “security breach, it’s on you.”

Tony’s eyes glanced over your figure as you stood beside Phil, Pepper getting up from the floor to greet him, “Phil! Come in. I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met yet, Miss?”

You smiled at Pepper, meeting her halfway and shaking her hand, “Agent Y/N L/N, Miss Potts.”

Tony stood beside Pepper, “the infamous Miss America, Cap’s sidekick. How’s S.H.I.E.L.D. treating you? Always annoying you with something, barging in without your knowledge, telling you that you've been asleep for 70 years?”

Phil spoke for you, “I’m afraid we can’t stay. We need you to look this over as soon as possible.”

Tony shook his head, “I don’t like being handed things.”

You let out a chuckle as Pepper took the folder, “that’s fine, because I love to be handed things. So, let’s trade.” With a quick switch of hands, Pepper gave Tony the folder as she handed Phil the glass of champagne, “thank you. Anything for you, Y/N?”

You shook your head, “no thank you, Miss Potts.”

You took a moment to look Tony over. Peggy was not kidding – he looked exactly like Howard, and certainly acted like him, too. They had the same eyes, the same face, and the same attitude; it was almost like looking at a clone of Howard. Your eyes filled with unshed tears but you pushed them back, taking a small breath as Phil continued, “this is not a consultation.”

Pepper’s eyes grew wide, “is this about the Avengers? Which I know nothing about.” She looked guilty once the words slipped.

Tony sighed as he walked away, opening up the folder and looking through it quickly, “the Avengers initiative was scrapped, I thought – and I didn’t even qualify.”

Pepper shrugged, “I didn’t know that, either.”

Tony continued, “apparently I’m volatile, self-obsessed, don’t play well with others.”

You mumbled, “kind of like Howard.” Tony pointed his finger towards you as he nodded, “and she speaks of him!”

Pepper nodded her head, “that I did know,” ignoring his comment towards you.

Phil shifted his weight, “this isn’t about personality profiles anymore.”

Tony grunted, “whatever. Ms. Potts, got a second?”

As the two were talking, screens were lit up of you, Steve, and others fighting, and you stumbled back with a slight gasp, still new to the whole holographic stuff of technology. Phil turned towards you, asking you if you were okay with a look, and you nodded. Pepper looked towards you both and back to Tony, whispering, “maybe while working on this, you can get to know her. Get to know your dad. I’ll take the jet to D.C. tonight. You have homework – a lot of homework.”

The two kissed before Pepper headed your way, “so, any chance you two are driving by LaGuardia?”

Phil nodded, “I can drop you.” Pepper smiled, “fantastic!”

The two began to walk towards the elevator as you looked on at Tony who held a holographic Tesseract in his hand. In that moment, your brain convinced yourself that was Howard, your Howie.

Tony turned towards you, “you joining them or you just gonna stare?”

You took a step back, a frown on your face as you mumbled an apology, meeting Pepper and Phil in the elevator. Pepper turned your way as the doors closed, “I’m sorry about him. When it comes to his dad and you, he gets a bit…”

You finished her sentence, “jealous. He missed out on a lot and I can imagine Howard spent too much time talking about me or Steve instead of him. I understand.”

Pepper gave a tight smile.

In a few short hours, you, Phil, Steve, and a few other S.H.I.E.L.D agents were on your way to the helicarrier, something that only a few of you knew about. You sat next to Steve, looking over Dr. Bruce Banner’s files, examining videos of him as Hulk, and how he was trying to recreate the super soldier serum. You had known about Dr. Banner and honestly, had become one of his fans – when he was in his human form, of course. His works on nuclear physics and gamma radiation greatly interested you and upon reading many of his published articles, you had completely forgotten about his condition. Having the opportunity to meet him in person was certainly one of your dreams and you just knew Bucky was making fun of you for being such a dork.

Phil stood up from his seat, walking towards you and Steve, leaning above you both. Steve looked to Phil, “this Dr. Banner was trying to replicate the serum they used on me?”

Phil nodded, “after Howard Stark’s death in 1991, Dr. Banner made it his mission to replicate it. A lot of people were. You – you both – were the world’s first superheroes. Banner thought gamma radiation might hold the key to unlocking Erskine’s original formula.”

Steve looked uneasy, “didn’t really go his way, did it?”

Phil shifted his weight as he looked towards you, then to Steve, “not so much. When he’s not that thing, though,” you interrupted him with a glare, “sorry, the Hulk, the guy’s like a Stephen Hawking.”

Steve looked to you, confusion written on his face. You shrugged, “a really smart person.”

Silence enveloped the three of you until you nodded to Phil, urging him to continue. Phil seemed all giddy, “I gotta say, it’s an honor to meet you officially. I’ve sort of met you, I mean, I watched you while you were sleeping.”

You snorted as Steve nervously smiled at Phil, covering your face as he continued, “I mean, I was present while you were unconscious from the ice.” Steve stood up as you continued laughing, making his way to the front of the jet, “you know, it’s just a huge honor to have you on board this.”

You followed Phil, clapping him on the back as Steve overlooked the ocean, “thank you for that, Phil, truly.”

Steve elbowed you as he mumbled, “I hope we’re the people for the job.”

Phil’s eyes lit up, “oh, you are – you both are, absolutely! We, uh, made some modifications to your suits, by the way.”

You glanced towards Phil – now this was what you missed.

-

honeybee taglist:

@clownerlyluv

@ginger-swag-rapunzel

@starkleila

@intothesoul

[fruitydiaz-archived]

nothing safe is worth the drive

post 4.12 treasure hunt fic that i forgot i was working on

set after taylor turns buck down outside bobby and athena's

insecure buck | soft eddie | love confessions

6,513 words

AO3 link

Buck felt like he was floating.

And not in a good way. It felt like he was floating in a way that he hadn’t felt in a while. He felt listless, aimless, purposeless. Therapy was supposed to be helping him, he was supposed to be sorting through this — this thing that he had, this issue with abandonment, this need for everyone around him to constantly reassure him that they wanted him around.

The real problem was that this abandonment thing wasn’t just a single loose thread that Buck just had to untangle and then set right. It was a million little threads all knotted together, threads from his past relationships, threads from his family, threads from his friends, threads from work, twisting and weaving together into this suffocating blanket of shame. He wanted to be needed, wanted to be loved. He wanted it so badly that it made him feel sick, made bitterness creep up the back of his tongue, made his skin itch.

Every session he had with his therapist felt like a battle.

He wanted love but he hated that he wanted it. He wanted to be self-sufficient but he was lonely — he wasn’t strong enough. He wanted something meaningful but he never felt like he could trust it. He never felt like anything was enough — because he never felt like he was enough.

He was supposed to be getting somewhere, he was supposed to be making progress, but lately he’s been falling into the same old thought patterns he was supposed to have left behind with Buck 1.0 and 2.0.

Supposed, supposed, supposed.

Have patience with yourself, Evan. Show yourself the same compassion you’d show a friend.

These things take time.

Have you ever thought maybe you just need to be patient, wait for the universe to come to you?

The thing was — he knew Taylor just saw him as a friend. He knew every time he looked at her, every time Eddie joked about her being his girlfriend — he knew it wasn’t right. But he wanted it to be right.

They already knew each other, they had history. They already knew they had incredible sex together. So the only thing they needed now was the love. And he thought that they could work at it, maybe. He thought that over time, the more that they built on their friendship, the closer they would get to crossing that line into something meaningful.

But it wasn’t right. She didn’t like him that way and, honestly, he didn’t know why he kept trying to push it. Everytime he leaned in, everytime he let his eyes soften and linger, there was a voice in the back of his head screaming at him that it was wrong. But he wanted to ignore it.

Because he wanted it to work. He wanted it to be her. Because he didn’t have any other option.

They’re on the front porch at Bobby and Athena’s and he’s trying — he’s trying, again. It should be easy, he does love Taylor, maybe just not in the way he thinks he’s supposed to, but he can pretend. He can pretend that the pounding of his heart in his chest is excitement, pretend that the way his stomach is twisting is because of butterflies, can pretend the reason his hands shake and his palms sweat is because he wants her that bad.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t. He just wants love.

“I’m glad that we’re friends,” She says, smiling up at him. She knows what he’s trying, and she knows why he’s trying it — she’s called him out on it before.

That’s not what I meant, when I said you should wait for the universe, Buck. You know that.

But he really wishes that it would just work. That things would just fall into place like they do in the movies, that some switch would flip and he’d get what he wanted. But this...this isn’t really what he wants. And he supposes, that’s why it’s not working.

When he heads back into the house, there’s a cloud over him. He can feel it and everyone else clearly picks up on it, with the way their eyes all fall on him, then shift to Taylor, then back at him, then soften with a false sense of understanding.

They don’t get it. Nobody does.

He knows he’s doing that thing he does, where his face hardens, and he stares off into space, absorbed in thought and mentally checking out of the conversation. Eventually, everyone stops nudging him, stops trying to get him to check back in. But Eddie keeps his eyes on him.

Eddie.

Eventually, the crew begins to clear out. Taylor leaves first, of course, thanking Athena and Bobby for hosting, waving a quick goodbye for everyone else, walking briskly out the front door, phone in hand, always with a purpose.

Buck can’t tell if he’s sad to see her go or happy. Her friendship has been something like an anchor for him over the last couple of months — but he keeps trying to turn it into something it's not and the rejection he always knew would come is stinging more than it should.

Her presence is starting to feel like a constant reminder of all the ways he’s failing right now, which isn’t really fair to her.

Eddie and Buck hang back after Hen and Chimney leave, insisting on helping Bobby and Athena clean up a little. He’s not sure why they both linger. It feels oddly domestic, the two of them collecting silverware from a kitchen table that’s not either of theirs — it reminds him of the way Chimney and Maddie will linger in his apartment kitchen after dinner, clearing up and giggling to each other, Buck sitting stunned at his own kitchen table, feeling like an outsider in his own apartment.

They don’t talk much as they help — because Buck’s still brewing under his dark cloud of self-doubt. But Eddie’s nothing if not persistent.

He comes around to Buck’s side of the table and Buck glances at him, hands freezing as he reaches for another fork. Eddie doesn’t look at him, though, so Buck continues what he was doing, a little more on edge now. Their fingers brush once when they reach for the same bowl and Buck shocks the both of them with how quickly he rips his hand away. Eddie studies him for a second and Buck keeps his eyes trained on the table.

Buck doesn’t know what Eddie finds when he looks at him, but he must find something, because he sets his collection of dishes and silverware back down on the table and turns to face Buck, one hand on his hip with a sense of determination. He can practically see the way Eddie’s turning over words in his head, trying to figure out the right thing to say, so he braces himself.

“Why don’t you come over after this?” He asks, his voice gentle. Buck wants to ignore him, wants to finish clearing the table, say goodbye to Athena and Bobby, and leave — go back to his quiet apartment, bury himself under the blankets in his bed, and let his anger and hurt simmer.

But also — God, does he want to go to Eddie’s. He so badly wants to go to Eddie’s and soak up all of the gentle attention he knows Eddie wants to give him right now.

But also — he knows exactly how much that attention is going to hurt when he has to leave, when they have to cap off this week of brief fun and excitement and go back to reality — where Eddie’s with Ana and Buck is alone.

He doesn’t look at Eddie when he speaks, tries to force a casual smile onto his face but he knows it looks more like a grimace.

“What, you haven’t had enough of me yet?” He laughs, aiming for a joke, but he knows exactly how it lands; it’s pitiful and self-deprecating, a thinly veiled challenge. Eddie doesn’t blink, doesn’t smile, doesn’t frown. He just stares, steadily. Buck can feel the facade crumbling under the weight of it.

“Look, Chris is spending the day with Pepa and I don’t have to pick him up until later tonight. If you’re still around, I know he’d like to see you. He misses you.”

It’s a cheap shot, throwing Christopher at him like that. Eddie knows he’d do anything for that kid. And, to be honest, Buck misses him too, fiercely. It’s not exactly like they’ve been spending a lot of time together.

But he’s stubborn, so Buck keeps his eyes on the table, and doesn’t say anything.

After a moment, Eddie adds quieter, “I want you to come over, Buck.”

And Buck feels it all fall apart, right then. Because that’s exactly what he wants, isn’t it? To be wanted. To be wanted by Eddie.

Buck wants to think that he’s good at hiding it, wants to pretend that this burning desire he has to be the center of Eddie’s entire world isn’t written all over his face every damn day. But he knows it is — he’s never been good at hiding his emotions. His sister’s called him out on it, Hen has made gentle, quiet comments about it, and even Taylor saw right through his weak advances, saw them for what they were — a distraction.

The fact that he can’t get a grip, can’t put a fucking lid on this boiling hot need of his, is embarrassing. And he hates that Eddie apparently sees it too. Because of course, Eddie knows that Christopher isn’t his only weakness. The kid gets it from his dad. Buck’s weak for the both of them.

He doesn’t trust himself to speak, not with all of the emotions building up in his throat, so he looks at Eddie out of the corner of his eye, and nods quickly.

The smile Eddie gives him nearly knocks him back off his feet.

A few minutes later, they’re saying goodbye to Athena and Bobby. Well, more like Athena is kind-heartedly herding them out of the kitchen and out the door. Bobby says bye to them in the doorway, pulling each of them into a hug that surprises them both. Buck’s pretty sure that Bobby holds onto him just a second longer, squeezing him tighter, and clapping him on the back with a force that hides some kind of message.

I love you, kid is probably what he’s saying. Buck wants to swallow his tongue.

If he wanted to dig into himself and figure out exactly why he finds it hard to accept that the love from his co-workers — who are like his family — is enough, which his therapist actively encourages him to do, he would probably find that it’s because he believes that these are overwhelmingly good people. These are the people whose hands he willingly places his life into every single day, because he knows they’ll take care of it. They’re people that he looks up to every day, follows their lead whenever he feels lost, takes after them to better himself. And the thing that life has taught him about people like them, is that eventually they see him for what he is, and it’s never enough.

He fights every day not to feel like a fraud in that firehouse. He fights every day to earn his spot — even though everyone keeps telling him he doesn’t have to.

Old habits die hard, they say.

He climbs into Eddie’s truck — he had insisted on picking Buck up for lunch, since Buck drove them to dig for treasure — and feels the cloud over him start to dissipate, just a bit, in the familiar space. Part of him wants to reach out, grab hold of it, and yank it back into place. It’s that stubbornness of his that likes to hold onto the bad feelings, because they always feel safer than hope.

For the first 10 minutes of their drive, they don’t speak, just listen to the sounds of the radio. It’s peaceful, and as they drive Buck feels the cloud of his start to disappear. When he tilts his head back and closes his eyes, he can pretend that he doesn’t want it to stay, and he can start to let it go.

His feelings around Eddie are confusing, especially lately. He knows how he feels about Eddie, though, admittedly, he’s scared to say it out loud. When you voice something like that, give it a name, it makes it more real. Before, it was easy to ignore. Eddie was his best friend, Eddie was his partner, Eddie had his back, Eddie wasn’t going anywhere. He was content to keep that unnamed emotion under wraps for the sake of their friendship. Things were good — why would he want to risk it? Anytime he’s loved someone openly, they’ve left him. He wasn’t going to let Eddie leave him.

But now there’s Ana. And Buck doesn’t want to keep that emotion locked up anymore — not with the way it’s eating away at him. He wants to let it out, let it consume him, and maybe consume Eddie too. But that’s not an option. He can’t love Eddie, precisely because he loves him. He can’t risk losing him any more than he already has.

So he can’t let himself get too comfortable, can’t settle back into that spot he’s had reserved for the last 3 years. Because comfort leads to slip-ups; comfort leads to revealing things he shouldn’t. When they were both tiptoeing around their emotions — that was fine. Buck would slip up, then Eddie would slip up, then both of them would pretend they had no idea what they were dancing around.

Or, at least, that’s how he thought things were going. But, apparently, Eddie had enough of that dance and found someone that was actually worthwhile. Buck desperately wishes he could find someone too, but apparently the only one worthwhile for him — is Eddie.

Buck knows his peace can’t last forever so he’s not surprised when Eddie eventually turns down the radio. He’s been tapping his fingers against the steering wheel anxiously ever since they got in the car. Buck knew he was dying to start probing him with questions — in the most gentle, caring, Eddie way possible.

“Want to tell me what’s bugging you?” Eddie flicks his blinker on, eyes trained on the road, and he asks the question with such an air of nonchalance that Buck almost believes him.

“No,” He says flatly, shifting in his seat. The corners of Eddie’s lips quirk up in a smile, and he hates the fondness that creeps up in him at it. He fights to keep a smile off his own lips — he’s frustrated right now.

“Anything to do with that private conversation you had with your girlfriend out on the front porch?” Eddie asks...and...there’s an edge to his voice. That edge that’s been there every time that Eddie’s brought up Taylor — like he can’t let Buck have one thing. It cuts right through him, and he snaps, just a little. He sits up straighter in his seat and stares at Eddie. He can feel the heat rising in him — the anger, the want — getting twisted in his chest.

His face burns.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” He bites. He’s got more venom in him than he expects, the baritone of his lower register rumbling beneath the surface. It surprises Eddie, enough that the smile falls off his face, and he turns to actually look at Buck.

Buck knows his mask is all but wiped away — he’s clear as day to Eddie, his emotions all there on the surface, for Eddie to see.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, letting the anger bubbling in Buck die back down a little bit, and turns into his neighborhood. Buck feels himself relax again and guilt starts to settle in, in place of the anger that’s slowly fading. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, apologize, maybe, for snapping — but nothing comes out.

“Do you want her to be?” Eddie cuts in, interrupting whatever unnecessary apology Buck was trying to work out. He deflates against his seat and looks down at his lap. Yes, is what he wants to say. But it’s not really the truth. And as much of a fight as he’s been putting up — he’s really fucking tired. Fighting against Eddie’s not worth it, and he never likes it.

“I don’t know,” Buck says honestly, quietly. His voice sounds smaller than he’d like and he rubs a hand over his face, embarrassed. “I’m tired of being alone, Eddie.”

His voice breaks, and it hurts, and it’s humiliating, but it’s the truth, ugly as it is. Eddie nods, like he understands, which he doesn’t. Buck wants to scream, just a little.

“You’re not alone, Buck.” Eddie turns onto his street and slows down, taking the chance to look over at Buck, slumped down in his seat. He watches Buck roll his eyes, watches his eyebrows jump up and his head tilt like he’s ready to brush Eddie off. “You don’t have to be in a relationship, you know? You can just be Buck.”

“No offense, Eddie, but I’m tired of hearing shit like that from people who don’t get it.”

There’s a pause.

“I don’t get it?”

“No.” Buck’s getting short with him again, so Eddie doesn’t say anything in response. He waits, counts to five, lets his breath even out. He’s not looking for a fight — but that seems to be Buck’s default, right now, and that’s not how tonight’s going to go.

He parks in the driveaway and cuts the engine off, letting the silence settle over them.

“What don’t I get?” Eddie tries again, once he sees that Buck’s backed down a bit.

“It’s not the same for us, Eddie. It’s not the same for any of you. Everybody has someone. Maddie, Chimney, Hen, Bobby, Athena...you. Hell, even Albert had Veronica. I don’t have anyone.”

They stare at each other for a beat, before Buck breaks their eye contact and looks back out the window. His jaw locks like he’s not going to say anything else, and Eddie waits.

He turns his keys over in his hand and drops his head down. He doesn’t understand Buck’s need for a relationship — that much is true. He’s been on about this for months now, probably as long as Eddie’s been seeing Ana. Or — was — seeing Ana. That’s ended now...and he hasn’t really found the right opportunity to bring it up.

Eddie sighs and slips his keys into his pocket.

“Look — you’re right. I don’t know why you want to be in a relationship so bad. You don’t have to put all of your self-worth into someone else’s hands. You’re enough on your own, Buck.”

Buck still doesn’t look at him but Eddie can see the telltale working of Buck’s jaw, the way he clenches it and unclenches it whenever he’s trying to fight back some wave of emotions. He tries to sniff subtly, but Eddie’s watching him like a hawk.

“And, uh, besides, I’m...Ana and I broke up. A while ago, actually.”

Buck’s neck snaps as he turns to look at him, surprise all over his face. Eddie shrugs a little, cocks his head to the side, and smiles, shy.

“Wh — what? What do you mean?” Eddie shrugs again.

“We...we just ended things, man, I don’t know?” The look Buck gives him is entirely unimpressed and it almost makes him laugh.

“I don’t know? Eddie. How did I not know about this?” And — Eddie knows Buck. He can pick apart the layers of anything Buck says in an instance; the fake lightness in his voice, the question hiding another question, the underlying layer of hurt.

How did I not know?

How did you not tell me?

Eddie rubs his jaw with his hand before shaking his head and pushing his side door open.

“Come on, Buck. We’re not having this conversation in the car. We’ll end up here all night.” He jumps out, then turns around, leaning against the frame of the car and looking at Buck expectantly.

Buck stares at him a couple seconds longer, brain still struggling to catch up with him. He looks like he wants to argue. Against what, Eddie’s not really sure, and he’s pretty sure Buck isn’t either.

Wordlessly, he unclasps his seatbelt and slides out his side of the truck. Eddie counts that as a win.

They head into the house in silence, Buck walking straight to the kitchen to grab them some beers while Eddie flicks on the lights and does a general scope around the house, just to feel settled.

When he walks back to the kitchen, Buck’s shoes are off — he left them by the door, next to the pile of Eddie’s and Christopher’s — and he’s hoisted himself up onto the counter by the sink. Eddie’s body warms, the way it does whenever he sees Buck comfortable in his home. He stopped trying to analyze the feeling a long time ago — just accepted that Buck was a part of his home now and when he wasn’t there — it didn’t feel complete.

Buck’s got one bottle of beer in his hands, another uncapped on the counter next to him. Eddie smiles as he walks over to Buck, drifting into his orbit to grab the bottle. They tap their bottles together in a wordless cheer, a habit of theirs they can’t ever break, even with tension sitting heavy between them, and Eddie leans back against the kitchen table as he takes his first sip.

They drink in silence and Eddie can feel the way Buck’s holding himself back, the way he’s refusing to broach the subject before Eddie does. He takes another sip of his beer and sighs, holding it down in his lap, and fiddling with the cap.

“I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t ready. It wasn’t like there was a big problem between me and Ana...it just wasn’t working,” He glances at Buck, who’s watching him with that look in his eyes; the one that always makes Eddie feel pinned in place, grounded in a way that few things do, like he’s the only person in the world. He shifts.

“We both agreed to end things...together. But I still needed some time, you know, to think about...things,” Eddie drops his gaze back down to the bottle in his lap. He pauses, taking the opportunity to take another sip of beer.

He hadn’t been planning to have this conversation with Buck for a while. That’s exactly why he didn’t tell him that they had broken up in the first place. Because somewhere between introducing Ana to Christopher and the last couple of months — Eddie had come to a startling realization.

The moment it hit him was nothing, really. It was a quiet moment. One day his Abuela had stopped by the station to drop Christopher off at the end of Eddie’s shift and Eddie was still in the locker room. He came out to find Chris and Buck talking by the truck. Christopher had just pulled out his latest art project to show Buck and Buck was on his knees beside him, staring at the piece of paper like it was a genuine work of art. He asked serious questions about the subject matter, the colors Chris had chosen — and Chris eagerly answered all of them, laughing when he thought Buck asked a silly question, and Buck would fein offended and then burst out laughing with him.

It was so ordinary, so normal for them, that Eddie didn’t even pause when his heart warmed at the sight or when that fond smile made its way onto his face or when he squeezed Buck’s shoulder as they said goodbye. He didn’t realize until he had made the whole drive home, ate dinner, helped Chris with his homework, put him to bed, and then settled in under the covers that night. Then it hit him all at once.

He was in love with Buck. He wanted to see Buck every day, wanted to wake up in the morning and come into the kitchen to find Buck doing something entirely mundane like drinking coffee, or eating breakfast, talking with Chris about anything and everything while he sat at the table eating cereal. He wanted Buck to come home with him after a shift and sit down at the table with them while they ate dinner and talked about their days. He wanted Buck there for movie nights and beers and birthday parties and bedtime stories and sleepovers and — everything.

So he broke up with Ana. And he spent the last month and a half trying to figure out exactly how to move forward from there because he was pretty sure that Buck loved him too.

But now there’s been all this time and space between where they once were and where they were now — a weird distance between them, a chasm that seemed impossible to cross. And every time Eddie tried to reach out he was met with resistance — because Buck was clearly trying to make something work with Taylor.

Why? Eddie didn’t understand. They seemed friendly with each other, and Eddie tried not to let his jealousy eat away at him, fought hard not to listen to that voice in the back of his head that screamed that he lost his chance, that he’d been replaced. But Taylor was clearly disinterested in pursuing anything else with Buck. And from where Eddie sat? Buck sure kept trying, but his heart didn’t really seem to be in it.

So — it was confusing. And the more time went by, the less Eddie really knew what to do.

And now they’re here.

“Look — nobody knows, except, you know, Christopher...and Abuela, Pepa, my mom, my dad, my sisters — you know,” He waves his hand, dismissively. “But nobody from work knows. You’re...you’re the first one I’ve told...because I want to tell you.”

He doesn’t miss the pleased look that passes over Buck’s face before he forces it down into something slightly more neutral. He stalls, taking another sip from his beer. He looks like he wants to say a couple of different things, or a million different things — Eddie wouldn’t know — but he settles for the easiest.

“How long?”

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath and presses his lips together.

“Month and a half.” And there it is, that unimpressed look, again.

“Eddie—” Eddie holds up his hands in defense.

“I know, I know, okay. It’s been a while. I told you, I had...some things to think about.” That’s as vague as he can be. He’s not really sure that now’s the time to say I was trying to figure out how to tell you I love you. Buck blinks, waiting for Eddie to elaborate. When he doesn’t, he rolls his eyes.

“Eddie — a month? What was there to think about, you had already broken up,” Buck’s tone is exasperated but he’s not angry — not like he was an hour ago. Eddie chews on his lip, looking back down at the bottle in his hands and picking at the wrapper on it.

“I had to think about what I wanted,” He says quietly. When he looks back at Buck — he sees the confusion. But Buck stays quiet, eyes flicking over Eddie’s face. They stay like that, suspended in the moment, for a while, before Eddie speaks again.

“What do you want, Buck? Is it Taylor Kelly?”

He’s not sure what gives him the confidence to ask that, to turn the conversation back around on Buck. He tries to keep his voice level when he says Taylor’s name; he’s perfectly aware of how his voice turns to something twisted and bitter whenever he talks about her. She doesn’t deserve it, not really, but he can’t help it. He tries his best.

Buck keeps his eyes locked with Eddie’s and they narrow a little, like he’s trying to figure out Eddie’s play, flipping the switch on him like that. Eventually, he drops his gaze and does a confusing series of tiny head nods and shakes. He squeezes his eyes shut.

“I don’t know — no. Not really.” Eddie nods. He repeats his question.

“What do you want, Buck?”

Buck doesn’t say anything, not at first. He’s distinctly thinking that he’s not drunk enough for this conversation. He’s not drunk at all — he’s barely had half of his beer. He’s not nearly as loose as he’d like to be for this — not nearly as loose as he needs to be for this. But he wants to be honest with Eddie, wants to save this intimate moment, wants to cherish the closeness. This is what his therapist encourages him to do, take the opportunity to open up, not to hide away in the things he thinks are most comfortable, not to shy away from the vulnerability that scares him, to embrace it, and be honest and real.

“I want...someone to come home to,” He starts, and his voice cracks on the word home, but he powers through, even if he has to take another large gulp of beer before continuing. “I...want someone who...will see everything that I have to offer and...it — it will be enough.”

I want you. I want you. Can I be enough for you?

Buck falls quiet again and Eddie takes the risk, stepping forward into the space between Buck’s legs. They weren’t far apart to begin with, the space between the counter and the table isn’t that great, but now Eddie’s breathing his air. Buck chances a look up at him.

“Do you know what I want?” Eddie asks, eyes steady on Buck. He doesn’t dare to breathe. “I want someone that I can count on. Someone who...won’t be scared by all of the parts of me that are broken. Someone who will look at Christopher — and see him the way I see him, the way he is, a kid with so much light and love in him. Someone who won’t just see his limitations — but all of the possibilities of things that he can do. Someone who will love him and support him and never leave his side.”

Buck’s eyes are big and watery and he jumps to fill Eddie’s silence.

“Eddie, no part of you is broken. And Chris — Chris is an amazing kid. It’s impossible not to love him. Anyone who gets to be a part of your lives is lucky.”

And — of course. Of course, that’s how Buck responds. Of course, Buck skips over the quiet declaration, the subtle implications that it’s him, it’s him, it’s him — to reassure Eddie in a way that just proves that he’s everything he could ever want. Eddie nods, rests his fingertips on the counter, just on the outside of Buck’s thighs. His voice drops into a softness he rarely indulges in, a tone he saves just for the people he loves.

“I want someone who will have my back.” He watches the way Buck’s eyes widen, the way he freezes at the words. His eyes jump back and forth between Eddie’s and his mouth drops open, just a bit. Eddie continues.

“I want someone...that I can count on...and that I know, no matter what, they will always have my back.”

The silence in the room is borderline oppressive — the way Eddie can feel it surrounding them, enveloping them like a weighted blanket. He struggles to breathe as he stares back at Buck, waiting. They’ve been playing this game all night. One moves, the other waits, then they move, and the other waits. It’s Buck’s turn to make the move. Eddie doesn’t want to push him — but all his cards are on the table.

“Eddie,” Buck breathes, but nothing else follows. He’s frozen in place on the counter and Eddie knows what’s running through his mind.

It’s fear. It’s fear clawing its way up Buck’s chest, fear pressing down steady on his lungs, suffocating him. It’s fear that has every fiber of his body locked in place — unrelenting.

Buck is one of the bravest people Eddie’s ever met — and he’s met a lot of brave people. He throws himself headfirst into danger every day of his life for the lives of others. He would lay his life down on the line for anyone, no matter who, no matter what, no matter when. And he loves — he loves so fiercely, so bravely, so willingly, despite every way in which he’s been hurt before.

He’s brave not because he doesn’t feel fear — he feels it constantly, but he lives in spite of it, loves in spite of it, fights in spite of it. All Eddie wants is for him to feel safe in this, to know it's real and that he can love and not be afraid of it.

He takes another calculated risk, and lifts one of his hands from the counter, settling it gently on Buck’s thigh. He jumps, slightly, at the contact but doesn’t move away or go to remove Eddie’s hand. He swallows.

“Evan, I want you.”

And Buck can’t hold it back anymore — the fear, the want, the anger, the love. It comes bursting out of him at once. His face twists up as the emotions rush over him, and he wants to just shut his eyes, block it all out, not let them ruin this moment — but he can’t. The next thing he knows, he’s crying, breaking down sobbing in the middle of Eddie’s kitchen at the simple admission that somebody — not just somebody but Eddie — wants him.

It’s too good to be true. It has to be.

“Eddie,” Buck tries again, struggling to keep back tears. He gives Eddie that look, the one that says you don’t know what you’re talking about — I don’t believe you, and Eddie’s heart breaks.

He reaches his hands up and gently cradles Buck’s face between them; he can’t hold himself back from touching him, not anymore. Using his thumbs to wipe at Buck’s tears, he moves so that they’re eye to eye and Buck can’t look away from him.

“I love you, Buck.” And he can’t bring himself to care about the fact that it might be too soon to say it — because he’s been in love with Buck for years and in their line of work anything can happen to them at any time. If life has taught him one thing it’s that we never know when we’re going to go. And if anything were to ever happen to them and Eddie hadn’t grown the fuck up and taken the opportunity to tell Buck, this man who radiates light like the sun, who’s filled to the brim with love, who wants to give it to anyone and everyone who will accept it, who deserves love honestly returned — he doesn’t even want to think about it.

So he tells him, and he means it, and he needs Buck to know that he means it.

Buck’s face crumples on itself again. Eddie gives him a second to let more tears fall, watches as the muscles in his face move, trying to work out a response.

“Eddie,” Seems to be all he can say. He tries again.

“Buck — what do you want?”

He pauses and the tears keep streaming down his face but then he looks at Eddie, wide-eyed, and Eddie sees it — the moment that it clicks for Buck. The moment he realizes that this is real and if he wants it he can have it.

“You.”

Eddie nods, trying to keep himself from breaking down crying too, but he’s not sure it’s possible. They’re both exhausted, running on the carbs and coffee from Bobby and Athena’s and little to no sleep. But he’s grateful for anything that got them here, finally.

“You have me,” Eddie says, and he means it. “Me, Christopher, we’re yours, Buck. You’ve always had us.”

“Eddie,” Buck sobs and he’s clinging to Eddie’s shirt like it’s a lifeline. “I love you. And I love Chris. And I can’t lose you, not again, I can’t—“

“You never lost us, Buck,” Eddie shushes, pressing a solid kiss to his forehead. “Never. You might have, you know, been a dumbass once or twice. But we’ve both made mistakes. And here we are.”

Buck nods and looks around, blinking like he just realized where they were. He looks back at Eddie, eyes red from tears but a soft smile on his face nonetheless.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to make out with you on this counter.”

And — it’s tame, by his standards and Buck’s, he’s well aware of that — but something about that admission leaves him winded. He’s too startled to even respond for a second before he breaks out laughing.

It’s an effective tension cutter, and Buck laughs too.

“Really?” Eddie chuckles, letting his head drop so he can stop staring into Buck’s eyes for five seconds and breathe.

“Oh yeah,” Buck says, sniffling. He slides his hands up Eddie’s arms. “Here, and on your couch, against the wall...in your bed.”

He tacks the last part on with a kind of shyness that Eddie’s not used to hearing in Buck’s voice — especially not when it comes to sex. He looks back up again to find Buck’s eyes on him, still a little guarded and unsure.

He recognizes that a simple declaration of love isn’t enough to wash away Buck’s self-doubt — it’s not enough to fix either of them. But they’ll work on it together.

Eddie swipes his thumb across Buck’s cheekbone.

“We can do all of that, Evan,” He promises, smiling at the gentle gasp that leaves Buck at the sound of his given name.

“You know, I normally don’t like it when people call me Evan,” Buck says, dropping his hands to Eddie’s waist and letting his fingers dip under his shirt, feather-light against his skin. “But there’s something about the way you say it.”

Eddie hums in acknowledgment, bumping Buck’s nose with his and pressing gentle kisses along his jawline. Buck sighs and shrugs one shoulder.

“I dunno. It makes me feel good.”

Eddie pulls back again, eyes shining, and he smiles at Buck.

“I always want to make you feel good,” He says, and Buck tilts his head to the side, face flushing as the sweetest smile grows on his lips.

Eddie closes the space between them and presses his lips against Buck’s — gentle, at first, like a promise to keep him safe.

They kiss in the kitchen for a while, their hands lightly traveling over their arms, their backs, their chests, their thighs — a sweet exploration of something familiar and new all at once.

They kiss until they get lightheaded and Buck starts to feel like he’s floating again.

But it’s different this time, better — because they’re doing it together.

[rougebangtan]

it��s a new year!

hello. long time no see.

to be honest, i wasn’t planning to write a new year’s post. i wasn’t sure as what to say because i didn’t want to come across as self-absorbed or unnecessarily critical and skeptical of the past, present and future. i’m used to keeping things to myself, and not sharing them is as much of a relief as it is a burden.

i must confess it’s easy not to say anything. it’s easy to lose myself in this plethora of unvoiced thoughts which end up being burried very deep within. i am not sure what was the primary cause behind my sudden change of heart, but why not...?

this blog was created as a way of me rejoining tumblr. i’ve always been in here, but i had spent some time away before returning four years ago. in january 2017, this became mainly a fan account for bts when it wasn’t meant to be at first. yet, it still became something personal and very close to my heart, and the reason was because i met amazing people in here. i learned things and reached personal milestones that impacted me positively on a daily basis.

we don’t even need to look in reprospect to know 2020 was far from ideal. i’m certain it has been this way for everyone. on my end, i spent my time erratically and i oscilated with the tide. i was extensively creative at one point, and because of that, i stretched myself too far and i couldn’t make ends meet. i socialized and made friends, and then it became too much for me to handle and i isolated myself. i became tired of myself like i always have.

the first thing i realized when it was finally january 1st 2021 is that what i’m actually tired of are things feeling pointless. i’m tired of trying to salvage the broken pieces of something i don’t even know why was broken in the first place. i’m tired of being on the verge of giving up, but not doing so because there has to be a purpose. the biggest realization to me was that i’m tired of all of the things i aforementioned mainly because those are self-centred sentiments which are never going to lead me anywhere but a dead end. the selfishness, the self-absorption, and stubborn lack of enthusiasm... those are the hindrances to whatever it is i want to accomplish. 

so, even though i’m lost and have nothing concrete to grasp on to yet, my main goal right now is to focus on loving more freely, on accepting happiness and sorrow as they come and go, on being a better friend. i haven’t accomplished many things thus far, but i met a lot of people whom i’ve come to love and appreciate beyond words. there are really special people who have paved their way into my heart, so thank you so much for so many sweet memories!

it’s a new year! hopefully we’ll move on to bigger and better things <3

mutuals from a-z:

#:

@1999164 · @4-sun ·

a-c:

@autumnnflowers​ · @absoluteyoongit​ · @an-annyeoing-writer​ · @astrowicc​ · @btsaudge​ ·  @bangtanloverboys​  · @bubble-tae​ · @beamingmaylyn​ · @birbdae​ · @bratkook​ · @captaindelhiver​ · @crazy4myself​ · @cultleaderyoongi​ · @cutechim · @cest-la-tae​ · @chelsea-chee​

d-i:

@dewykth​  · @dylanxmin​ · @dearlytea​ · @dani-of-the-cosmos​ · @dawndrms​ · @ditttiii​ · @excusemin​ · @flowerseok​ · @fl0ra​ · @ghibliu​ · @gossamie​ · @gukssunshine​​ · @honeylovecult​​ · @hobicomeholla29​ · @hopeworldsavedmylife​ · @hoseoksyn​ · @heartyclouds​ · @happytata​​ · @h-heaveninhiding​​ · @i-am-today-we-will-survive​​ · @illneverrecover​

j-o:

@jaelouvre-main · @jamlessness · @jogeumdeo · @jour-de-printemps · @justalwaystired​ · @joonieshibui​ · @jamaiskook​ · @jingerines​ · @joonsdiary​ · @kimvvantae · @koosgrl · @kb-bangtanenthusiast​ · @leftonraed · @lovejeons · @lavenderandluna​ · @lunarlxve​ · @minflix​ · @mlkydrms ·  @moonchildsblack​ · @megahwn​ · @meowstea​ · @nam-jonie​

p-v:

@pars-ley ·  @poutyjimin · @pinkprincesslauren  · @primarybts  · @pjmsdior  · @rosielips · @rkivepacks  · @sakuramotion  · @salvejoon  · @sugasmoonlight  ·  @slaypjm · @sukiroki · @salade-tb · @saysammydandy​  · @sleepybby  ·  @taelepathic​ ·  @thefouranemoi​ · @talismaniccream​ · @tokkituzi · @tipsydipsydo · @utopiajeon · @unoriginal-username15432 · @untaemedqueen · @vinterjeon

w-z:

@wajood​ · @wonderoghosa​ · @wrappedinpetals​ · @wwilloww​​ · @xjoonchildx​ · @y6ongi​ · @youaresadwhaticansay​ · @yeojaa​  · @yoongiroses​ · @yvessaintyoongi​  · @youremeimyou​ · @yoongs-jeontae​ · @youarejesting​

👻 honorary mention for all my ghosties 👻 

love letters:

💌 @4-sun: hey, sunny. i remember when we met, and it’s so crazy how time flies by. you’re already entering college, and i don’t know why but i feel so proud of you. you’re so smart and i’m always impressed by you! i hope the college applications have gone well for you, and that 2020 hasn’t been the most unkind. i know we haven’t talked as much, but i still hold our friendship very close to my heart.

💌 @absoluteyoongit: bueller, my astrological twin! you’re so dear to me. thanks for all the laughter and joy you’ve brought into my life this past year. i hope 2021 is kind to you, and you and your family (especially your dad) are healthy. date a lot and have lots of fun this new year.

💌 @apotaeose: you have such a soothing presence in my life. i admire a lot, and our conversations always make me reflect and dig deeper. you have a healing essence to you, and your words and actions express that. you’re a dear friend and an amazing writer. i really really, from the bottom of my heart, hope we can meet soon <3

💌 @breadoffoxy: sam!! you’re the sweetest and i love to talk to you about whatever. you’re one of the most endearing people i’ve met. you make everyone around you feel so special. we’ve talked many nights to the point of falling asleep, and i wouldn’t have had it another way. your drive is honestly so admirable. the way you managed to gather everyone together and make us enjoy ourselves is exceptional, and i’m so grateful to be your friend. who knows? maybe 2021 will be the year will meet hahah. i digress.

💌 @bangtanloverboys: dippie! you’re the funniest person i know, and you are so uplifting. i don’t know if that’s how you feel inside, but you do have a positive impact on others. the way i just know you probably give out the best hugs ever. you’re the best, and i love you. happy 2021! btw, i forever dislike the bee movie

💌 @cutechim: hana, i didn’t expect to meet you this year, but girl did you rock my world with your talent and kindness. i hope this upcoming year we can get to know each other even better, and that many blessings and opportunities come your way.

💌 @strwberrytae / @lavenderandluna: hello luna!!! i don’t even know if you remember me, but i still find you one of the best writers i’ve come across here on tumblr and i still hold our conversations dear to my heart! i don’t know how 2020 went down for you, and i hope you managed to keep yourself sane in the midst of uncertainty. wish you well xx.

💌 @leftonraed: val, happy new day, my friend. we haven’t been the most talkative lately, but my love for you is still strong. i wish you luck and health this 2021. love you.

💌 @salade-tb: kat. oh lord. your quirky ass has swept me off my feet, and rendered me helpless to your charm. you’re so funny, and i love your energy. you’re indisputably the og ghostie even if you joined the net on the 5th or 6th round. happy 2021, my fellow south hemispherian.

💌 @taelepathic: isabel, it’s been a long time, but i love and miss you! i hope you’ve been healthy all throughout the past year 🤍

💌 @tokkituzi: seoyoon! hey sweetie. i’ll forever be grateful you reached out to me after i chased you down on jamaisjoons’ asks 😂 your english skills are going strong, girl! maybe we can both become better at our respective goal languages. your brother still amuses me to this day. happy new year! 🎉

💌 @yoongs-jeontae: ava, my love! 🥺 i still have these urges to book a flight to your city and just give you the biggest hug and stay at your house lmfao. you’re so talented and i love the fact you’re an architect and i’d love to talk to you just we can speak in both english and pt all day every day. you have such a beautiful family. i admire and love you so much! sending you lots of positive energy for 2021. happy new year.

ps. i probably missed a few people and i apologize beforehand!!! love love love to all of you forever and ever.

[helahades]

The Goddess and the Grocer

(Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Sappy and hopelessly romantic, the part time art student, part time grocery bagger, and full time fantasy creator Steve Rogers lives in his head, with you as his muse. Making puzzles out of your groceries, and portraits of your every curve and edge, he fears and craves every interaction, while living with you as a lover in his mind.

A/N: Well. I have struggled with motivation for the longest. Something hit me though, and by something I mean other supportive writers and great friends. Hugest shoutout to @threeminutesoflife for being a darling and @imanuglywombat for making TWO beautiful mood boards I stare at more than Steve stares at the Peggy compass.

Warnings: creepy, obsessive Steve. ideation of creepy thoughts. food focused talk. mention of overeating. dub-con concepts. two mentions of alcohol consumption.

New blog, new me! I’ll take this moment to say I’m taking requests, and I love feedback even more than Steve loves you! hope you enjoy

Word Count: about 3k

-

Now rain slicked, the sheen of oil and water twists the reflections of the tonights red, red, green—-“can I make the turn, no too late” on yellow—now red traffic lights into a twisted rainbow on the city streets.

Down those streets, and across a barren parking lot, parents, lovers, businesspeople and more squeak and clack and slap their rainy shoes on the old speckled tile at the entrance (that Steve had just mopped) as they do every week.

At the Potts Grocery Store, nothing ever changes. And never in the night.

It isn’t just night though, it’s dead night. The odd time after things have slowed for sleep, after the rush in between when people bumble in (promising themselves promises they won’t keep about doing the shopping sooner next month), after the ten minute period within which Dr. Banner wordlessly picks up the same array of bland teas.

The night has crawled beyond all the events that happen as they do, and entered the dead night.

Maybe Steve is too poetic—like his dad says he is—too tied up in fate, and hope in life’s mystique, but he holds hope for what happens where the night is dead.

When the night dies, and most are asleep, with it, facades die too. The only people to come in the dead of night, are drunks, doctors, various night shifters, and… you.

He hasn’t yet questioned your reason for showing up so late. Hasn’t really, technically, spoken to you at all, really.

Some part of Steve thinks, maybe if he startles you, says something that clangs too loud or awkward, all your pieces will blow away, like some agitated dandelion, and he will never know you again, if he ever even knew you at all.

No, Steve’s job isn’t to startle you, or to take up your space. It’s to try and meet your eyes as you hand him the reusable bags. It’s to try and figure out what meal you’re planning from what he’s bagging, and what he already knows lies unused in your kitchen. It’s to put the bags in your cart if you’ll let him.

He hasn’t seen you yet. It’s getting late, where are you?

Somewhere between cold fluorescent and neutral warm desk lamps, the lights of the grocery store seem to exist both to chase shadows on tired shoppers' faces, and to mock him, like a candle finally blown out by a stood up date.

Had he done something wrong the last time? If he had, that couldn’t be helped. You were wearing those shorts and looked like you had just gotten ready for bed and you had your hair pulled back, but just a little fell into your face anyway.

And your scent. It always wraps around him like the saccharine spice of pastries when he swings open the bakery door for his morning shift.

The moment you breezed by him after checkout was almost too much to bear. He caught the fresh damp scent of your tied up and deep conditioned hair. You smelled like fresh linens and a life he can only imagine having when he’s chasing orgasms alone and twisting up his sheets.

He could have devoured you.

But he didn’t.

Not even when your shoulder accidentally grazed him while you were rushing out in a frenzy.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” came your frantic whisper.

He dreams of making you that delicate again. He thinks he could shape your unsure apologies in his hands like clay, or spread you thin on a canvas when you whisper so soft. But he didn’t do those things at all.

Steve being Steve, he tried to make his large frame slouch, your aura wrapping him up into a double life Clark Kent shyness, despite your gentleness.

He didn’t say a word.

A wordless, mirthless stretch of his lips. An “It’s okay, walk all over me” grin. You regarded him with a flicker of an odd glance, and then you were out the door.

As he finishes up with the last shopper in his lane, his worn Converse squeak as he leans his frame against the bagging station at checkout.

-

Last class, last week, his art teacher dropped a big assignment. Stuffy and sadistic, the man seemed to only eat the pain of lovers kept from expression, so of course, he relished in the moment he told the class to try a new medium, with a subject they hadn’t previously captured.

He seemed to look directly at Steve as he delivered the blow.

Steve's problem certainly isn’t creativity. It isn’t talent or lack of effort. He surely is adaptable, he rarely tells on his love!

For the still life project, he captured the tree that blocks your kitchen window. Heavy strokes in his sketchbook.

He even painted the park in blooms on a paper towel—yes a paper towel—when you justified to a cashier one day that all the crackers and deli meats were for a picnic.

So he has a muse. But he’s not a fool. Sometimes he spends so much time trying not to look like a fool, and paints so much around you instead of you, that it’s a self portrait of his own obsession.

Your face. Your curves. The many separated sections where he tried to master the texture of your hair. All those traces of you live in his sketchbook. Only twice has he turned in a portrait of you.

Being told he can’t have you makes Steve feel like he’s been too obvious. You’re his little secret. And he is no fool. He’ll have to be more careful. So here he is.

The canvas is as bare as the walls of his studio apartment.

Three jobs and a potted plant from his mom just aren’t enough to decorate life. He wishes he could capture sleep in a picture frame and hang it on the wall. When he got too tired and caffeine stopped working, he thinks he’d pick up those frames and absorb the sleep in the way he can absorb nostalgia when looking at a real picture.

Then, he thinks, that’s the sort of thing art majors say when they haven’t slept in three weeks.

The canvas is still bare. It isn’t like Steve. He always knows where to go, what he feels, what he wants.

His teacher told him to try something different. Had the nerve to clap Steve on the back after class and say something about stretching creative wings and finding a new muse.

He thinks the guy should have punched him in the face instead.

There’s nothing stuck about Steve. He knows what he wants and how to get there.

He also knows that schooling ruins the intent of art, he knows how to put love into colors, that art teachers know the least about expression out of everyone on earth, and that he works two night jobs a week to barely afford to be taught by that man anyway.

Life is full of oddities.

-

Some of life’s oddities are right there in your cart as you approach. Steve notices the rain has frizzed your hair, the lovely heart shaped curve of your lips as they stretch into a smile, and the way you yawn before you say hello to the cashier.

He makes a mental note that your hair might have a warmer tinge when illuminated by the sun. You’re already his sun. His stars too. Maybe even his whole universe.

You’re always warm in his paintings. Anything to separate you from the dreadful scheme of this commercial death trap.

What’s for dinner this week?

Your groceries thump onto the counter in practiced succession. Perishables together at the front, and non perishables as neatly as possible following behind.

So thoughtful, my sweet darling.

Your produce today mostly consists of fruit. It reminds Steve of how practiced he is with a knife. How he’d slice up your apples just right for you. He has the practiced skills of an artist. He’d take care of you.

Bucky likes to tell him that cooking is the art and baking is the science. That’s meant to mean that it’s no surprise that Buckys got a perfect little life with a perfect little baker who smiles like the sun and only trusts Bucky in her kitchen.

...And it’s no surprise that Steve’s artsy streak has led him here. Thinking about folding mandarin slices between your perfect lips and letting the flavor explode across your tongue.

He thinks about kissing you. How you would taste tangy and sweet as you try not so hard to push him off so he gets back to cooking and doesn’t burn the house down.

The house. A house with you. A home.

He sees you’re wearing a sundress, and tries not to pity you for the irony. In the closet of some cookie cutter three bedroom, you might ask him how you look in it. He would beg you to wear it just for him a little longer, but ultimately, he would have been able to warn you about the rain.

You wouldn’t have listened though, my stubborn angel.

He thinks about your thighs beneath your dress, and the heat between them.

Sometimes, his dreams betray him, and he steps through the threshold to your shared home, not an artist, but a “Honey, I'm home” suit wearing prisoner.

He fears the simple life, but with you, he believes simplicity could be enough. Maybe he would be rich enough to buy you a million sundresses.

But without his art, he’d be powerless to show you how rich you look, bathed in color, divine from his perspective.

Without his art, he has no outlet for imagination. The only thing that gets him off these days is imagining what you look like under your clothes, and how it might sound if you spoke his name.

When you buy lotion, or a candle, he makes a mental note of the scent, and uses it to color his experience later. You like warm sugary scents, or natural outdoorsy ones, with no in between.

As you small talk with the cashier, your card slips from between your fingers and clatters onto the unswept floor. Finishing a thought, you delay in retrieving it, but by the time you’re leaning down, Steve’s already handing it back.

Eyes flitting up to meet the baggage boy standing up at full height, you melt into an easier smile.

You notice first that his eyes are incredibly blue behind the dark window frames, and second that his hands are incredibly warm as he hands your card back.

Frazzled, and just a bit smitten, you smile kindly.

“Thank you,” you say sweetly, regarding him fully, perhaps for the first time, and pausing only to let your eyes drift to the knitted cotton polo stretched across his broad chest—no, to the name tag resting on it…

“Steve,” you finish with a smile that makes it ring like an exclamation point. To hear you finally pronounce his name… it’s like church bells. But they’re muted because now he can only consider your eyes locked on his.

He’s never wanted to escape somewhere and go home with someone so badly. And would it be so wrong?

He could slice up fruit for you. He could bring sausages and deli meats and blocks of cheeses whole from the market where they slipped him things free. He’d slice them up nice and wrap them in cloth and surprise you with an old fashioned wicker basket picnic in the mountains.

He’d let you eat yourself round. And after you were full, he’d still offer to feed you grapes, to pour you more wine.

Steve never understood why the rich ate bread with olive oil, but God he wanted to be rich enough to give you that. All the things that sound ridiculous to people who work to live. He wanted to work so hard you’d never work again.

He wanted to kiss you dizzy, bunch up the fabric of your dress on your hip and tell you he loves you while you’re wine drunk. He’d carry you back to the car and surprise you with wildflowers in a bunch.

Later, he’d paint you nude with them in your hair, and he’d feed you more grapes.

He would tuck you in and wrap you up for later when you woke up missing him. Maybe he wouldn’t leave at all. Maybe you would want to spend the whole day with him too.

He’s got a twinkle of charm in his eye and just a bit of sadness that looks every bit like the starving artist people believe him to be. Bucky hasn’t stopped bringing him the leftover rolls at closing since he found out Steve spends more money on paint than meals.

And is it so wrong? As Steve looks into your eyes, he musters all that charm his mom said he was born with. He blinks brighter the twinkle in his eye.

“You’re welcome,” comes Steve’s gentle, but sure reply.

You pause at that, because really it’s nothing... But people always seem to say “Don’t worry about it!”, “It’s nothing”, or maybe nothing at all.

You pause at how the reaction seemed genuine, in a world of practiced replies, and on a day that you’re feeling shitty because the rain ruined your hair and happiness.

You smile at him again, grateful for a pocket of truthful kindness, and turn back to the cashier, effectively ending the interaction.

Steve’s mind is spinning in ways he just can’t bring himself to understand. So he bags your groceries. You forgot the reusable bags, he doesn’t pause to wonder why.

Click. Click. Click. Beep!

Tomatoes. He bags them with the apples. Double bags for good measure.

Beep.

Spaghetti. The good kind that most people overlook in favor of a more common brand. New bag.

Beep.

Frozen garlic bread. He adores you. You’ve got garlic and basil and more herbs than you’ll ever need at home. You’d probably make the spaghetti noodles and parmesan yourself if you could. But you love five minutes at 400 garlic bread.

He imagines your pretty little kitchen, with all its various knick knacks, smelling like garlic and tomato sauce. He can’t help thinking you’d be impressed with his chopping skills too. Just how his mom taught him.

He imagines cooking with you in the dead of night, instead of being here. He imagines you bending over with your legs straight and your back curved and the oven mitts on to get garlic bread out of the oven. You put the tray on the cold burners Steve’s not using.

Maybe he would ask you to try the sauce, he’d hold the spoon to your lips after blowing off for you. Your eyes always flutter closed to process the taste of things, and sometimes he swears he could read your mind.

Then they would open. Wide. The same way they did when you tasted the new product double chocolate brownie sample last Tuesday. You would tell him how perfect it is and praise how he finally isn’t shy about using garlic anymore. Turning off the burners, he’d pull you into his arms, he’d kiss you til you saw stars…

-

Walking you backwards, still entangled in the breathless kiss, he wouldn’t stop until you bumped the padded kitchen bench. Then he’d fall to his knees.

“Steve, honey”—

You’d cut yourself off with a breathy moan because he’d already be under your skirt.

Kissing up your thighs, flattening his tongue against you, kissing you gently, before sucking your clit, while working it with the tip of his tongue, he’d show you again, like always, how passionate of a lover he is.

You’d moan like heaven, because you are.

You’d lean back, propping yourself up on an arm and pushing the other hand through his golden hair. You just can’t stop your hips from rolling against his tongue that’s still worshipping you.

He won’t use his fingers. It wouldn’t be proper, he’s just been cooking. So instead, he uses those hands to pull your thighs up onto his shoulders.

Still swirling his tongue around your clit, Steve is drawing you closer, your body seeming to know it’s own ways to pull him to you too.

It’s electric. You can’t stop and you’d never want to. He’d make love to you every single—

-

That’s not where he is though. He grabs the paper bags he’s bagged up with your ingredients and some other oddities, and he places them in the cart you’ve pushed forward.

He tries not to think about the fact that you’re going home alone. He tries not to think about how he’ll be sleeping alone, and in cold colors. Tries to skip forward to later when he has all the time in the world to imagine the way things should be.

A quiet goodnight and you’re on your way. You’re careful not to graze him as you walk away, and he’s careful not to be obvious watching.

The cashier leaves the station, and Steve puts his head down as he passes, before looking up in your direction as he always does.

Except… when he looks up to see your sundress swishing, it isn’t. And you’re turned back looking at him with this funny little look.

You smile. A twinkle of embarrassment, nervous to have been caught looking. He tries not to chuckle for all the irony.

He watches you as you watch him just a bit longer, before your sundress swishes out the door, and the light of your halo fades into the distance, consumed by the rain.

-

By the time his shift is up, the rain has stopped and the sky is colored like a bruise. The sun knocks at a threshold unseen, just slightly feathering light through the sky.

Steve is dead tired, but he won’t sleep a wink. Once he arrives at his apartment, he begins the project.

A mixed medium piece. Acrylic paint, charcoal shadowed details. It’s a wicker basket, full of apples, grapes, and wildflowers.

-

Later, as the sun rises, and the painting is half done, he flops into bed, finishing up a stale roll from the bakery, and dreams about waking up to you.

He pretends there’s no job to be at in three and a half hours, but instead, that it’s a quiet Sunday, and he’s waking up to you in his arms...

Soft and ethereal.

-

Thank you for reading!

Whether or not this is your type of writing, or you liked it at all, I just want to tag some authors who generally inspire me and helped in some way to motivate me posting my first piece: @threeminutesoflife @imanuglywombat @sherrybaby14 @jtargaryen18 @heavenbarnes @tropicalcap @allaboardthereadingrailroad @thotty-tatertot @sapphirescrolls

[spacesuitsforemergency]

Olive Gardner Drabble

Got a random burst of motivation so here you go

Olive Gardner was a bull headed, arrogant, pain in the ass, but one thing people admired about her was that she truly was a fighter. She wasn’t one to ever back down from a challenge, and she would get up no matter how many times she was knocked down. Guy had seen his daughter take on whole armies by herself, when there was absolutely no hope left she still got back up on her feet and gave it her all. Yet, the same girl couldn’t even get out of bed anymore, let alone fight.

Guy had seen the whole thing, he had watched glass shatter into his daughters eyes during battle, and he couldn’t do anything about it. He had paced anxiously in the emergency room as the doctors operated on her eyes, trying to salvage the one good one. The other Green Lanterns and the Daughters of Justice had never seen Guy cry before that night, just like his daughter, he was stubborn and self absorbed, and didn’t believe in crying.

When the doctors told him Olive would never see again, he expected her to brush it off and start working to get used to her new sightless life. The Olive he knew would walk out of that hospital by herself and into a car, then get right back up and try again. The Olive he saw when he walked into that hospital room wasn’t his Olive. This Olive didn’t demand for him to convince the doctors to let her out. This Olive didn’t crack a joke or make a sarcastic comment. This Olive just laid there, crying into the bandages wrapped around her torn up eyes.

Guy didn’t know how to help her, nor did her friends or other family, who hadn’t even once seen her shed a single tear. They did everything they could to cheer her up and build up her confidence, but nothing seemed to work. Anja’s banter didn’t work, Olive didn’t care about trying to beat her anymore. Izzy’s words seemed to go in one ear and out the other, Olive hardly even acknowledged her beloved girlfriend. Her cousin, Sky, couldn’t hype her up enough. Her Uncles’ stories didn’t uplift or motivate her, they instead made her feel even worse. When Guy brought her home, he couldn’t get her to listen to a sports game with him or make sandwiches and cursed smoothies with him. Levi tried as well, trying to bring out his sisters competitive side, but she didn’t care about winning anymore.

Olive knew she was dragging everyone down with her, and being a burden to everyone, but she didn’t care. How was she supposed to be the best Green Lantern when she couldn’t see? She relies on sight when fighting in space, or anywhere for a matter of fact. She couldn’t even walk around her own house by herself, how was she supposed to navigate the real world? She felt useless, and she hated relying on other people more than anything in the world, but now she had to. She found it harder and harder everyday to get out of bed, it was difficult to do anything these days. She didn’t want to play with Molly anymore, which confused and sadden the poor dog. Olive knew that they got Molly in the first place because they knew this would happen, but now it was real.

All Olive seemed capable of doing was lying in bed, and stare at the light pouring in through the window. She would never see her girlfriends face again, or her dads, her brothers, her friends’, her uncles, nobody’s. She’d never be able to watch a football game again. She wouldn’t ever stargaze again, or watch explosions as she flew farther and farther away from the Earth. She would never be able to admire the beauty of space, or see any more pictures of her family again. How was she supposed to enjoy life when she couldn’t see it?

His daughter was suffering, and Guy couldn’t do anything about it. All he could do was be there for her when she cried, and listen when she ranted. He couldn’t take away any of her pain or dreaded, heavy feeling of hopelessness, and he wished he could take it all away and make it all better for her. He’d rather take on the pain himself than ever let her feel like this again, but that just wasn’t an option. All he could do was try his best to get her to eat, and work to help her get better. And the first step to doing that, was something he never thought he’d do; ask for help.

.....

“Is he here?” Guy asked from the kitchen, where he was frying up bacon.

“Yeah, do I let him in?” Levi asked from the door, looking out the peephole (which Guy found funny, since his son had to stand on his tip toes to see out of it).

“No, leave him out there.” Guy said sarcastically. Levi opened the door, and the man walked in like he owned the place.

“Hello?” Levi scoffed at his audacity.

“Matty, my man! Thanks so much for coming.” Guy shouted over the sizzling bacon.

“Of course I came.” Matt Murdock, AKA Daredevil, nodded as he scouted the place. “Your house is messy.”

“And how would you know that?” Guy asked.

“I may be blind, but I’m not stupid. This place is trashed.” Matt gestured to a pile of pizza boxes near the trash can, then the dining table littered with Levi’s various tech stuff. “Now, where’s Olivia?”

“First, don’t call her Olivia, she’ll kill you. Just Olive.” Guy instructed as he tossed the bacon into a sand which, then grabbed it and led Matt upstairs. “Second, she’s very...”

“Depressed?” Matt raised an eyebrow. “From what I’ve heard of her, I would expect this reaction. Your daughter is a very independent girl.”

“So you think you can get her to try being a hero again?” Guy asked as he stopped at her door, hand on the doorknob.

“I think I can be a good source of motivation, yes.” Matt nodded.

Guy sighed hesitantly, before opening the door. Molly was sitting beside the bed, head resting near Olives face. Olives eyes were open, staring at her window like usual, and didn’t move when she heard her door open.

“Livvy? There’s someone here to see you.” Guy said softly, not wanting to upset her.

“Great.” Olive mumbled, not sounding interested in the slightest.

“I think he can help you, honey.” Guy tried to reason with her. “He’s a blind hero, and he’s agreed to train you.”

“Well, unless you called Daredevil himself, no one out there is good enough to help me.” Olive snapped, slightly more maliciously than intended.

“It’s a good thing I’m here then.” Matt piped up from the doorway as Guy sat on the edge of the bed.

“No way. Prove it.” Olive slowly sat up, now interested in something for the first time in months.

“How should I prove it? I’m Daredevil, I think that’s enough convincing that your father let me into your disgusting home.”

“It is him, I promise. I need you to give him a chance, Olive. You’ve been moping around for nearly 3 months now and I need you to get up and at least try.” Guy said sternly, knowing Olive would be insistent on staying in bed instead.

“But dad-“

“No. Olive, I need you to do this for me. For yourself. You hardly eat anymore, and now that you don’t exercise you’re way behind. Don’t you want to catch up to your teammates? I heard Anja has a higher arrest rate than you now.”

Olive stared at the direction of her dad, actually listening to what he was saying this time. She sighed, looking down at her lap.

“If you agree to try a training session, I will give you this sandwich.” Guy held it up. “It’s got bacon, your favorite.”

Olive thought about it some more, before taking the sand which and tearing into it.

“So, do you think you can actually help me?” She turned towards Matt.

“If I can do it, you can do it. Meet me at Mount Justice at 8 am sharp, and we will get started.” Matt ordered.

“Fine. But if it doesn’t work I’m done, that’s it.” Olive insisted.

“Sure, Livvy. I’m sure you’ll give up.” Guy shook his head, patting her on the shoulder.

“Is that a challenge?” She grinned for the first time in 3 months.

[softsweetsuffering]

OC LIST (New)

Trey:

Has an ability to mimic or amplify abilities/powers of others, as well as telekinesis

Was previously part of a group of people who also had abilities, however after mistreatment and other issues within the group, he left.

He's got a good wealth behind him.

Extremely gentle

Handsome ;)

Loves photography

Has lavender hair

Respects all

'Secretly' Plays violin

Lowkey a sugardaddy

Hamrish Benat:

Has four eyes!

Pink and blonde hair

He loves parkour (as in climbing buildings and leaping around in gyms)

Has PTSD (There are two AUS of which I default as to how he obtained it)

Ready to deck a bitch

Trained nurse

Loves teddy bears and fuzzy pink socks.

Also goes by Hami/Hayden

Andy peters:

Strong, kind.

The quiet Big Type, doesn't always talk, but his heart is in good places.

Wishes he could do more

Buff + Tall

Wears a pair of dogtags.

Has red streaks in his hair for the fun of it

Is extremely brotherly to Adrian

is friends with Hami

Adrian Géarán:

Nervous Malnutritioned anxiety filled tired mess

Has emotionally linked fire abilities (does not like having them)

likes to make little robots!

Easily bullied

Missing an arm

Struggles with normal life

Blames himself for Andys death

Looks unintentionally vaguely like Fry from Futurama

Chris:

Leader of a summer camp for kiddos

Huge fan of the outdoors

Loves to garden

Red head with freckles

Healthy!

Good build, a little on the below-average male height

Likes to hike

Loves kids

Strong but pacifistic

Great smile

Surprisingly a little shy around other adults

Bisexual

Himbo energy

Douglas Connelly:

Just a regular chubby guy

His chub is only important because this man gives some of the best hugs, he's like a marshmallow

He is outwardly confident about his size, even if it sometimes worries him internally

He loves music, loves to groove in the kitchen while making snacks

Always open for roommates and new friends (one of his roommates is a hot bartender called Donovan)

A bit awkward but he tries his best.

Tucker:

Badass

Bunny hybrid (ears :3)

White hair

Likes to wear denim jackets

Fast runner

Has had experience working in the force

Izekiel Iris:

Bruised and abused in a facility

Was turned from human into A being of made of Paint (Useful? no. Fun? yes. Rainbow blood anyone?)

Loves painting

Wallflower

Easily anxious

Loves to draw on his own arms

Matthew Libelle:

Aka Matty Very delayed development wise as well as Autistic

Very much a texture lad, soft blankets are his thing.

Doesn't like loud sounds ( who does honestly).

Tries his hardest to function normally but it's hard.

Watermelon colours are his fav. Green hoodie is his fav.

Has watermelon pink hair.

Gale:

Eldritch bab

Was cursed by a group of guys who were messing with magics they didn't understand

Did in fact murder said group of guys and is traumatised by the idea he has become a monster

hears voices

Has Tendrils that have burst out of his back

Has the ability to move from this realm to the Eldritch planes and back. (is terrified of said planes)

Doesn't have a home

Black curly hair- frizzy- shimmers like Slick oil

Shy type kinda, tall Pale. cold.

Kinda wishes he could just go back to normal.

Would really like to eat some fresh warm bread.

Rowan maverick

Was abandoned as a teen

Also known as Rogue/Red.

Lost some of their tongues making them mute

Trained Assassin.

Previously part of a cult

Addict to painkillers (Caused by the mental issues from the cult and the loss of tongue.)

Bad with Physical affection

Could use a friend

Jace

Cop/Ex Cop.

Laid off after an incident

Has a pubby called Otis

Likes the occasional beer

Dad energy

Issac Merewen

Was previously a Teacher - grade 11/12s

Kidnapped and kept Drugged the hell up.

Was given the new name: Jess/Jack. AKA The Jester

Now has Amnesia problems .(Anomic aphasia)

Was stored Cramped in box.

Needs glasses. (Long sighted. Cant see Infront of him for shit without glasses. He specifically likes round ones :3)

Natrually Blonde

He was very inspired by the Chitty Chitty bang bang scene, “Doll on a music box”.

- He naturally has two different coloured eyes :D

-He likes podcast n occasionally audiobooks. Its good for learning/remembering words, and way easier than straining his eyes. Although it is upsetting occasionally when he can remember more of a book/podcast he’s into more than real words or real-life things.

Tyrone Li

Incubus.

Wise, Patient, caring.

Brown tattoos wind up his hips and torso, curling around his chest around his heart, and around his back, flaring at his neck.

Glasses.

Loves plants and flora

Sex lost meaning when he was younger. He wants true intimacy again but he wants to find the right person..

Glamors hide the following features:

Tail, brown that gradients into Green, Leaf like tip.

Horns, curled. (green tipped :0)

Glamors break usually after a certain period of time regardless of feeding, however, during bad situations/fight the body may unglamour to reserve the last of its energy.

Caspian:

Basically immortal but can die (Reincarnations)

Not a pacifist, but not instantly into violence

He was blessed by the Heart of the Ocean (Shes wonderful <3)

Can control water, can do minor healing with water

Can make water bubble/ boil when angry

Glowy veins when powers are active

He has had many many lives

Soft..caring..Doesnt remember alot of his past..

Doesn't know how many times hes died

Doesn't have alot of family or friends

Goes on many adventures

Elio Solren.

Nickname: Sunshine

Good lad.

Is a shapeshifter Dealt with being told he was happy and always upbeat. People leaving or ignoring him whenever he wasn't started building this sense of need to be happy all the time for others.

Lots of struggles with self image. Being perfect. Appeasing everyone. Poor self body love/self body image.

Is scared about The hate from humans about shifters. The jealousy and fear about them being able to hide behind other faces.

Smiles to hide the pain

Punk/hipster vibes

Intricate golden tattoos

Doesn't open up easily

Doesn't like to admit to being in pain

Kotori

AKA Corey

Owl lad!

Bright yellow piercing eyes. But is totally blind. (Face scars)

Loves music.

Plays the uke.. hums..sings sometimes.

Big wings- like barn owl.

Likes to perch in trees

Jeremey Caulfield

Winter baby

Was left bleeding in the snow at some point

Father Lovely old man (John)

Mother died (Ellie)

Birthday December 23h

Blue eyes

Black hair

Russel

Box boy

Glasses

Red hair

Real sweetheart

Really needs more dev ; ;

Jules

Loves tofu n chicken

Touchstarved

Stubborn af

Kicks ass!

Has Sass

Wears binders/sports bras for Lotsa running n such

Black hair big messy pigtails

Dark brown eyes.

Has a navy bear sleeps with it ‘doesn't care’ about it but does

Gymnast/kickboxing. Bandages around hands

Loved swinging bars since being a kiddo

Trampolines!!

Participates in Underground fight ring to make easy money

Sleeps on just a mattress

Has a laptop for study work but she's slowly giving up on bothering.

(She's not one originally but Werewolf Jules is one of my fav things)

Miles

Part mole, part orphan

Lives underground

Very light-sensitive

Is colourblind

Absolute nerd

loves tinkering with things

is scared of humans

very foggy memories of his parents.

Leilah/ Lei

Can make/control shadows.

Owns a Magic skull(Speaks to it)

Lives in the woods

Wears a skull to spook off people from her woods

Has Tattoos that are shadow/absorb shadows

Kinda bad at maintaining friendships

Emotionally Distant

Wears a cloak.

Bao Ketsuyki

Blood magic bab

Short

East Asian.

Pink/red medium length hair

Big pretty red flower scar from blood magic use on her shoulder/ back.

Little bit foolish, little bit reckless.

Has almost died a few times from her magic use.

Oran Audun

Pale

Punk

Irish

Plays Guitar

Writes in journal, occasionally song lyrics, occasionally little messy ink drawings.

Easy to aggravate (On edge) however is trying to learn how to meditate and be calmer

Covered head to toe in scars but still tries to find confidence in himself. He doesn't find it unattractive, but he feels like others have no need to witness his scars.

loves wearing leather/fabric wrist bracelets

Unwelcome hands have used his body as a research object

Very very against physical contact, needs to break into it.

Ray

Social worker works mainly with kids.

Has a Shy guy tattoo.

His family consists of a Good ma, younger sister, and super baby brother

Dad died but dad was good.

Dirty blonde hair, kinda messy

Short, 5’

Socks the pupper is his helpful lil buddy (hes so round and white and fluffy)

Super dad vibes.

Owen

a hockey player n gymnast.

His mother died when he was about 9.

has an older brother who is a bit of a big jock type

quite protective and caring of his two much younger siblings.

ended up in a nasty scuffle though at some point during his more competitive years in Hockey

This leads to following his passion for Gym

Pole vault, the rings, trampoline.

Still plays hockey among mates or strangers on the weekends in the cold months tho

Ends up taking a position as a gym teacher for kids after taking a childhood course since he was so good at it.

actually a really sweet guy

Soft but likes his sport and jokes.

He can hold his own somewhat more than he appears.

has blue tips/stripes in his blonde hair.

He often wears varsity jackets or baseball tees. As well as a couple other sport wear shirts. (A. Good few are from his bro ofc. Free merch)

He's short but he's got a fairly decent build on him.

He's got a surprisingly good tackle if you aren't careful. And a good grip strength.

Nohea

but everyone calls him Noah.

Works at a Boba tea cafe..

likes to surf.

has an Epic board.

Back and shoulders all littered with lines and tic tac toe-like scars.

he's the type to brush off any questions and change topic while smiling. But not super bubbly. Just. Go lucky.

has a few friends who like to hang out at the cafe

Was in a surfing accident that involved a lot of rocks.

Ila

4’8 Soft. Short.

Ready to protect.

Loves to bake!!!

Smells like a vanilla cupcake most of the time

Isn't afraid to fight although isn't trained

likes Yoga ( and yoga pants)

Needs glasses but doesn't wear them (tsk tsk, unless tryign to read recipes)

Dyes hair silver/white

Jake

Homeless

Snake hybrid can transform his lower half from human legs to tail

Also has fangs, and therefore venom

He's got a lot of sass

Can be a bit of an asshole but soft around the right people

Isn't used to kindness

doesn't cry easily

Steals food

Mac Hiato

Also known as Caf

5’6

Very Grumpy.

Very often has bags under his eyes.

Hoodie is life

Insomnia has serious trouble sleeping.

Has nightmares of strangulation

Occasionally sufferers sleep paralysis

Scared of dark- night lights

Owns a mouse called Bean

Does freelancing webdesgisn/coding as job.

Sits like a gay.

Lives on coffee

Minorly Lactose intolerant

Has One bad eye

Neema

Egyptian

Mechanic

Her dad's a mechanic and used to bring her to work all the time

dead mum: which affected her ability to emote.

Works part time at the garage

Dad likes to bring gifts on their small catch-ups that happen every once in a while.

Sheeee. Suffers a bit of resting bitch face.

she's kinda stunted emotionally because she was raised by her dad, who, isn't great with emotions himself being a man's man and all.

She's very much a tomboy gal. Doesn't exactly get dressed up. because she finds it tiresome and not "her".

Also if she did/does have friends the nickname Nemo 100% crops up because it's sadly alll too fitting but also kinda sweet.

She's actually really into cars and mechanics. Which is one of the few good reasons her dad and her are close.

She's hard to get to know, very quiet. And if you're someone who dominates the conversation she won't speak up much, but you'll be surprised to how much she's listened.

Just because she looks tired and done doesn't actually mean she feels that way.

Samson (Lemonade boi)

His name is Samson, but he prefers Sun/Sunny. (Other more affectionate nicknames include Lemondrop and Sunflower.)

He really likes going out to markets and stuff like that, little stalls or knick knack shops to find the odd kinda items.

He also really likes wandering big forests. (Hes got some o that fae energy) He collects various cool stones/rocks/plants from some of them. He also has some small vials from waterfalls and ponds he’s encountered)

He wants to practice magic to become a witch! He loves the candles and rocks and other cool things that come with the craft. (He inherited things from his father)

He really likes loose fitting shirts too, like flowy things, ones with sleeves that drape past your fingers, or has extra fabric on the bottom that dangle down past hips. (Sometimes they come from the ladies section just because they’re softer and have more variety. Others from op shops and other niche little stores.)

He bought a cologne from a witch that looks cursed but the only curse is that it makes the one who puts it on smell like citrus..so not much of curse. (The bottle looks fuckin neato tho)

He looves fizzy drinks. Doesn’t mind his alcohol either, however it takes a surprising amount to get him on his ass despite looking like a serious lightweight.

He’s pretty average in build, bit of muscle in his arms, some fat on his thighs. Slight pouch of a tum (cause no ones flat and thats unrealistic :<)

He’s about 5′4. So not tall, but not the shortest of the short.

He kinda likes to backpack about. Not staying in places long if they get boring. Which means he is kinda jack of all trades when it comes to work, offering to fix things for pay, lots of casual work doing various things.(One of his favorites was helping a little old lady run a paint shop.)

He occasionally snorts when he laughs and tries not to.

He has his ears pierced, and he has a little yellow gemed stud in his nose.

The ring around his neck he found in the middle of a patch of mushrooms.

He has a couple other tattoos. One of them is of bubbles up his wrist :3 He also has some stars on his ankle, and a sunflower on one of his fingers on his left hand.

He’s not super in to gardening but he does have his lemon tree. He also wants to grow some mandarins

His eyes look silver in a lot of lights, but occasionally there’s some strange hints of yellow, and other times blue.

He has freckles!!!! that look alot like bubbles ;)

He has a twin brother called Fraser.

Scrunches his nose

Hides his laughter behind his hand

[ofmargos]

chicago’s very own margo rosas has been spotted on madison avenue driving a mercedes-AMG G65 , welcome ! your resemblance to camila mendes is unreal . according to tmz , you just had your twenty-third birthday bash  . your chance of surviving new york is uncertain because you’re distrusting , but being passionate might help you . i think being a scorpio explains that . 3 things that would paint  a  better picture of you would be lipstick stained kisses on mirrors , doing vocal warm-ups five minutes before top of show , popping bottles of bubbly to celebrate buying a new pair of shoes . ( my biological dad paid off my mom to keep my relation to him a secret ) & ( cis-female + she / her  ) +  (  lia , 20 , she / her , cst )

whAT is up my dudes ! i’m lia & i lowkey missed wealthy & writing for my bbygirl margo so i’m rlly excited to be here !!!! if you know her from before i’m sorry lmao i’ve tweaked her background a bit but everything else is p much the same ig ?? she’s fun , she’s a dumbitch , & she’s here to make things harder than they need to be probs . but if you wanna know more , i wrote a novel below so plz enjoy that . if you wanna plot then LIKE THIS & i’ll slide in your im’s.or if you prefer discord hmu @  𝐛𝐛𝐧𝐨$𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥#1904. i look forward to writing with y’all ! <3

S T A T S ↴

-- * FULL NAME : margaret lucia rosas -- NICKNAME(S) : margo ( preferred name , started introducing herself to people as “margo” back in like the 7th or 8th grade ??? who’s margaret ? we don’t know her ) , mar , mars -- * AGE : twenty-three -- * D.O.B : october 31 -- * ZODIAC : scorpio -- * GENDER : cis-female --* ORIENTATION : heterosexual heteroromantic -- * HEIGHT : 5′2″ -- * NATIONALITY : american -- * BIRTHPLACE : chicago , illinois -- * OCCUPATION : broadway performer -- * TRAITS : passionate , creative , dramatic , distrusting , outgoing , ambitious , fun-loving , loyal , daring , sarcastic , stubborn , overconfident , impulsive , hard-working , petty , secretive lowkey

B I O G R A P H Y ↴

( TW : BRIEF MENTIONS OF ABORTION, ALCOHOLISM, AND DRUG USE )

   first things first , i’m just going to say it-- margo was an accident . and her story begins with her mother , stassia , who was born and raised on the wrong side of the tracks in chicago , illinois . although she was born into poverty , she had big aspirations for herself and wanted a better lifestyle . her ambition and work ethic were unmatched , and that’s how she managed to get into columbia university ( thank you scholariship $$ ). stassia was in the middle of struggling through her college years when she met her future baby daddy . he was older , going through grad school , and the sole heir to a billion-dollar company . the sparks between them flew instantly despite their differences and they messed around for the better part of a year before the unexpected happened . stassia found herself taking a pregnancy test in the bathroom in between finals ( #justcollegethings , amirite ) and swore she was going to pass out when she noticed the double lines . and let’s just say that her baby daddy did NOT take the news well . a lot of horrible things were said that day . too many hurt feelings for the relationship ( that apparently was never that serious to homeboy ) to carry on . ( TRIGGER WARNING !!! ) so he cut all ties with stassia-- but not before giving her a crazy proposition : get an abortion and never talk to him again OR keep the baby but tell absolutely no one it’s his and never talk to him again . they both seemed like shitty options to stassia , who was actually tragically in love w him , but when he even offered to PAY HER a hefty sum ( i’m talking millions of dollars ) to keep the secret .. well-- it seemed like a blessing in disguise . she’d finally have the funds to live the life she always wanted . even if there was now a baby she didn’t plan for in the mix . so she took the hush money , had the baby in secret , and ran off to completely reinvented herself . ( TRIGGER WARNING END )

    although margo’s mother was born into poverty , margo certainly was not . by the time she was born , margo’s mom was ramping up to graduate college and join the high society in the heart of chicago . she got a good job , a lavish place to live , and never told margo about her past . margo grew up completely disconnected from her mother’s side of the family and had no idea of the lies she was being fed over the years . early on in margo’s childhood , her mother met a man through work who she would later go on to marry . that man is the only dad that margo has ever known . he and his daughter were a welcomed addition to their little family , making margo’s home life feel complete in some way . she was provided a good life with the dual income adding to the millions her mother kept . the life her mother always wished she had growing up . in a way , everything she did was for margo . she never wanted her babygirl to struggle like she had to .

   as she got older , margo went to all the best schools but only made average grades . she was never too concerned with academics and instead focused on her poppin’ social life and extracurriculars . during her middle school days , she developed an affinity for the performing arts . when everyone had to pick an elective , margo found herself in the theatre class and absolutely loving it . and she was good too . she had excellent stage presence and took every role she got in school productions in stride -- literally the best tree number 3 you’ve ever seen in your life . as she moved on to high school , she rose in the ranks of the theatre department until she was pretty much landing every single lead by the time she was an upperclassmen . acting was her passion , and she figured why not turn being dramatic and talking a lot ( her two most notable personality traits ) into a career . to really hone the craft , she trained herself to be a triple threat : actor , singer , and dancer ( sutton foster , eat your heart out ) . honestly truly had rachel berry in early seasons of glee vibes-- she knew she was the best around and wouldn’t stand to let anyone take the spotlight from her . her peers hated to love her talents because she acted like such a bitch to them offstage / out of character . not that margo really cared for what others thought of her anyway . self absorbed as ever , she told herself she didn’t need friends and generally pushed away any one that dared try to get close to her-- save for her sister . though somehow , someway she managed to get sucked into a small group of friends that would change her for the better ( s/o to ky and gio , sorry they had to put up w bitchy hs margo , rip )

   after graduating somewhere in the middle of her class , margo followed in her mother’s footsteps and went to columbia university . she was really only able to get in because she was a legacy and her parents made a considerable donation to the school , but we don’t talk about it . and to say that margo’s college years were transformative feels like an understatement . on one hand , they were some of the best years of her life : she got a true taste of independence , met some of her best friends ( s/o oliver and claudia ), and felt fulfilled to be in the city she had romanticized for so long-- new york baby ! but it was also a very low point for her . back in her high school years , she felt like a very big fish in a teeny tiny pond . she was hot shit , the top dog in her department , and all her hard work and effort to remain leading lady had paid off . however , at columbia she was just one in hundreds of talented people . some with more or less talent , or more or less connections , but they deserved a shot at fame just as much as she did . margo felt like she was fighting for her chance in the spotlight every single day and it was both parts exhausting and humbling for her . she had a amy march mentality “i want to be great, or nothing” and considered throwing in the towel . temporarily thrown off by the pressure to be successful , she took a small tumble from grace . ( TRIGGER WARNING !!! ) turning towards alcohol was her coping mechanism of choice . losing herself in the party scene and surrounding herself with other people that prioritized getting drunk or high over going to class and getting good grades had an obvious effect on her academic performance . ( END TRIGGER WARNING ) she almost lost her place in the BFA Theatre Program during her junior year due being on academic probation . it took a little bit of intervention on her close friends and family part to get margo clean and pull herself together . but by her senior year , she got back on track to graduate on time and participated in various shows at local theaters to build her resume . after almost losing everything she had ever worked for , a fire was lit under margo that had her determined to push herself hard than ever before and make a name for herself in the theatre world . 

   after she graduated from columbia she moved to new york permanently so that she could fully submerge herself in her work . not long after graduating , she was lucky enough to book several gigs including her big breakout role as lydia in beetlejuice the musical ! it really skyrocketed her into broadway stardom which is cool . a life long dream that once seemed unobtainable was suddenly a reality and she couldn’t have been more elated . with her sudden ( and well deserved ) success , she got a lot of media attention . soon she was getting verified on twitter , instagram , gaining a whole bunch of followers , and getting asked to be on talkshows and stuff to promote the show . honestly , truly a dream ! but her new-found fame gained the attention of another group of people .. her mom’s long lost family . one of her aunt’s ( that she previously didn’t know existed ) reached out to her through social media . and at first , margo honestly couldn’t believe that she had family that her mom never told her about . but after some thought it sort of made sense . in hindsight , her mom had always been evasive whenever margo asked about the other’s childhood or her side of the family .

   when margo told her mom about her aunt reaching out and how she wanted to meet her , her mom shut it down quick . stassia told her there were a lot of reasons that she didn’t talk to that side of the family and that was that-- PERIODT . but margo was #rebellious and went to meet with her aunt anyway . and that’s how she found out about her brazilian roots and her big ol’ loving and supportive extended family . that whole experience made margo reconsider what other things her mom was keeping from her . and boy oh boy was that a rabbit hole she shouldn’t have gone down . when margo started to demand her mother tell her the truth , it caused their relationship to grow tense . stassia eventually cracked and told her about her bio-dad and all the things she went through for margo . with the truth finally being exposed to her , margo started seeing things in a new light . like her whole life is kinda a lie and why didn’t her father want her ? where was he ? does he know who she is ? why did he never try to contact her ? has she ever walked past him in the streets and never knew ? it was all too much for her to think about so she just kinda ... shut it all out . she acted like nothing was different , even if her “ what if ” thoughts keep her up most nights . 

   if you just ignore the abandonment issues , insecurities , and her inability to handle emotions and focus solely on her success in material terms : margo’s doing really well ! she’s been living in new york full time for two (2) years now . she’s one of broadway’s most popular rising stars . having completed her run as the original lydia deetz on broadway , she’s moved on to take on the mantel of janis in mean girls on broadway . she’s learning , growing , and thriving . just trying to have a good time all the time with her friends and live the dream , baby !

P E R S O N A L I T Y  &  F U N  F A C T S ↴

margo is super fun-loving and down to clown 

will try anything once and it’s gotten her in trouble more times than she can count

also cannot stand to be bored , so she’s always looking for the next big adventure 

although she can be really ridiculous sometimes , she’s very serious when it comes to her work . she’s super hard-working and doesn’t let anything or anyone stand in the way of achieving her dreams : even herself

margo’s a very sociable girl and will talk to anyone and everyone . she’s the type that will hold a conversation for 2hrs with a stranger at a party and then when you ask her “who was that” she’s like “i don’t remember their name but i do know their entire life story so that’s cool”

has a way of making people feel like they know her really well when really she’s only letting them see 1/8th of her

keeps her personal life private normally unless you’re super good friends w her

i wouldn’t recommend pissing her off , bc she is petty as a mf and will lit rally never forget how one’s wronged her . this causes her to start fights sometimes . she’ll just bring up old shit out of no where and , since she’s nosy af , she makes everything her business and confronts people on their bs

she’s a whole liar bc she claims she’s a “retired party girl” but really party girl margo has never stopped , will never stop , can never be stopped

studied theatre in college but minored in mass communications just in case she needed a backup job

is v bad at being an adult !!!! like ... can’t cook , often forgets about her responsibilities until the last minute or needs to be reminded like 20 times , stills calls her parents to be like “how do u use a washing machine plz help” , y’know the drill . yet somehow she manages to act as a mom friend to the people that are closest to her ??? v much a “do as i say not as i do” type of hypocrite lol

she has a tiktok and posts dumb shit on there all the time w her friends and like vlogs her backstage experiences in the theater and does the stupid dances and all that stuff hehe

is learning portuguese after meeting the brazilian side of her family

self-proclaimed dancing queen and it’s not because she learned ballet , jazz , and tap whole dabbling in other styles but because when she’s drunk you will in fact catch her dancing on tables !!!!!

i cannot stress enough how bad she is at dealing with her own feelings . like ... instead of dealing with them head on she just ... shuts down . runs away . will ghost on someone she really likes just bc she’d rather leave first than get left and i hate her for it

have i mentioned how big her ego is ???? pHEW . she rides a v fine line between self confident and OVER confident . but tbh it’s just a cover up for how much she rlly hates herself , there i said it

loyalty is EVERYTHING to margo . if you got her back , she’s got your back . but if you screw her over or mess with anyone she loves then she’ll likely try to make your life a living hell IM SORRY

undiagnosed insomniac . nights she spends alone in her own bed are the hardest for her because it’s when all the bad scary thoughts creep up on her and no matter how much she wants to shut them out and just close her eyes and fall to sleep , she can’t . so she’ll often roam the city looking for a distraction or hit up her friends and bother them for some spare company

she’s doesn’t like to be alone ( not like in a romantic relationship sense -- she actually likes being single bc she’s afraid of letting ppl get close enough to hurt her ). hence why she’s always had a roommate even after she moved out of her parent’s house . if she’s not attached to her roommate / best friend kylie’s hip then she’s definitely hitting up her sister or her other friends to see if they want to hang out , even if hanging out is laying around doing nothing or running errands together . margo wants to tag along just for the company

notoriously known for coming up with terrible ideas or following through with other people’s terrible ideas without question bc #YOLO

she’s her pr agents worse nightmare simply bc she has no filter and will not change herself or what she posts just bc she has a big audience ( follow margo on social media and you’re gonna see the good , the bad , and the ugly she does not give a FUCK )

always has good intentions ! her execution / way of showing those intentions is just poor !

she is a rich girl that could not survive not being rich and doesn’t even realize how spoiled she is . spends money like it’s nothing

a mob boss ( this is a joke but also kinda not a joke )

WANTED CONNECTION PAGES HERE 

[rapperkookz]

ironman!namjoon

a/n wow ok so this is the start of my avengers!bts headcanons and yuh they all have set in stone story lines but im gonna shake it up a lil bit xD

word count: 2.3k

____________________

kim namjoon

you see

the kim namjoon is a smart kid

child genius if i say so myself

and boy he knew it

no eleven year old chooses to write a paper about hubble’s law of cosmic expansion for a science project instead of making a trifold and using liquid cement

no, namjoon writes a 4-page paper in apa style with a magnificent abstract

he got an A on it of course

his brilliance only goes up from there

and with his rich parents, he has the opportunity-

to which yoongi and seokjin would say “privilege”

but let’s just say “opportunity”

to do incredible research and studies and experiments

his dad has a science lab built just for him in their house

by nineteen, namjoon has taken over a good percentage of his parents’ business

kim enterprises

growing up, namjoon had an idea that his parents’ business was pretty expansive and were involved in many areas

but it wasn’t until he was placed in board meetings at eighteen when he absorbed how powerful his family really was

and sure the business aspect of him was aight, but he loved his lab and would rather leave the negotiating to his mom and dad

you grew up with namjoon, you were also from a wealthy family

your fathers were childhood friends and they grew their businesses together

although kim enterprises surpassed your family’s wealth easily, the bond between your families were still tight

namjoon was stubborn and a smartass

but he wasn’t a jerk, just...very selective with his true self

he’s also a bit spoiled, but with his parents who gave into his every wish, it just turned out that way

at 21, namjoon’s parents got into a plane crash on the way to a meeting in london and it unfortunately claimed their lives

namjoon became the sole CEO and heir of kim enterprises

he asked you for help because damn he couldn’t run a whole business by himself??

and you weren’t needed yet to run your own family business

so you didn’t mind helping out your friend

things were running okay with little kinks in the road, but the business was still thriving and so namjoon was okay with that

until one day when you and namjoon were hanging out in his family mansion and it was broken into

in a crazy haze, you were captured and abducted

namjoon knew they were after him and not you and for the first time in his life:

he had absolutely no idea what to do

he had to find you of course but he didn’t know where to start

namjoon couldn’t tell your parents because they would absolutely kill him for not protecting you

and honestly he wanted to beat himself up too for that fact

thanks to his brilliant mind, he managed to track wherever the fuck you were being held captive

he took his private jet out to a nearby place and did the rest by foot

this was basically a suicide mission and he knew it, but to hell with it

namjoon would exchange his life for yours, you’ve been with him since birth

back to you

you were being held in a cell

your captors needed namjoon to build something for them, but since you weren’t him, you were useless to them

you thought they were going to kill you

but instead they just locked you up

you didn’t expect to see namjoon being pushed into your cell with you

“joon what the fuck are you doing here?”

“I uh...I found you.”

you thought he would have told your dad and then like officers would come and find you

not namjoon, alone.

“did you expect to just walk in and sweet talk them into letting me go?”

he scratched the back of his neck

“for a genius, you’re fucking stupid.”

“okay, truthfully, i thought I could turn myself in and that would convince them to let you go, but i guess they just took both of us haha.”

for weeks you two were held prisoner, your captors taking namjoon in the morning and returning with him at night

you were just stuck in there

but whenever joon came back, he had a new injury to him

your heart hurt whenever you saw him come back, pain all over his face

you would do your best into aiding him, but you didn’t really have much options in the small cell

it was one night when he didn’t come back and your mind automatically assumed that he was dead

you started sobbing in the cell, god you were going crazy

you needed to get out of there

and then when you heard some whimpering and cries of pain, your drive only got bigger bc you knew it was namjoon

you started clanging on the cell and screaming for them to let you go

and then from the corner of your eye, you spotted joon crawling to you, all bloodied up

you gasped spotting the large wound on his chest

but before you could start losing your mind about your best friend was going to die, he calmly started instructing you to build a generator for him

you: joon! I’m not as smart as you, this thing is going to fucking blow up

joon: y/n, calm down and listen to me. you can do this, i believe in you

also joon: connect that wire to the plug...black long thing to red square.

as the hours went on into the night, namjoon sounded weaker and weaker, making you urgent into finishing his little generator

you started holding his hand

“joon, it’s done, okay? it’s done.”

“this is going to hurt like a bitch, but put that generator in my wound. and shove my shirt in my mouth, shut me up with it or we’ll get caught.”

“w-what?”

“just do it y/n!”

you shoved the triangle thing you made (with his help) into his chest and shut your eyes as you basically gagged joon quiet

within minutes he started to get better and you felt like a huge weight was lifted off your shoulders

the last thing you remember before crashing was joon saying “thank you, y/n, now go rest.”

you were awaken by a huge bang

lo and behold, namjoon’s in a tin suit and he blasted your cell open

you could barely register namjoon breaking the roof of your cell and grasping you by the waist and flying you out of there

his tin suit failed him within minutes, the thrusters he built at his feet giving in

but the important thing was that you two made it out and crashlanded in a lake

the place where you were held captive burst into flames

you were founded by your father’s men

(he had some great influence in the army)

and fuck you and joon suffered from one hell of a ptsd

for a while, joon became distant

i mean, could you blame him? y’all got kidnapped and almost died

you tried to reach out but his house security kept denying you

cute side note: namjoon’s jarvis is called moni

“god dammit moni, i just wanna talk to him”

“my apologies miss/sir y/n, master kim doesn’t want any visitors at the moment.”

:(

the next time joon talked to you was months after you two were found, he invited you over to his house and his security system led you straight to his lab

you walked in to see your best friend in a golden technological suit, the triangle generator you helped him make glowing on the torso of his suit

“joon, what the fuck are you doing?”

he sat you down and explained how after your whole kidnapping, he realized that he had a gift 

and he could either be sitting around waiting to be kidnapped again for his mind to be used for the worst

or he could be doing something for the greater good

you honestly couldn’t follow, couldn’t he just use his wealth to donate to charities or something?

but no, he wanted to be proactive and idk be some kind of superhero

“why are you telling me all this?”

“well, not only are you my best friend and we have suffered through hell together...if I happen to die out there, I’m leaving you in charge of kim enterprises.”

“huh die out where? joon you’re not going back there.”

he then told you how he was forced to build weapons while you were kidnapped and how his parents dealt with underground business with terrible people and now it’s come to bite him and kim enterprises in the ass

“i’m going back. If you want, you can stay here and monitor me. moni has complete access to my suit, it is my eyes and ears.”

“god, just...come back, don’t die on me, please.”

you end up watching him complete whatever mission he had for himself

but also how he got his ass beat

you almost missed a pair of boys save him from where he was

they were quick to the eye, dressed all in black, you just remember one with a bow and arrow

fast forward another couple months

joon was safe, thank god, and just doing insane upgrades on his suit and what not

you called him golden boy, but he said that name just didn’t suit him

you see that pun i put there ;)

the two of you were discussing the art exhibit he needed to attend when moni alerted him of visitors

surprise surprise it was the same two boys that you remember saving him, except they were dressed casually this time

“you must be y/n, namjoon hyung’s better half.”

namjoon glared at the boy, “shut up, jimin.”

the other one spoke, “we need you both to come to headquarters.”

“omg I’m not being kidnapped again, am i?”

the three of them laughed

you were told that jimin and the other boy, taehyung, were agents under BTS, a protection initiative created by their boss, Mr. Bang

and now, namjoon was being recruited to be part of that initiative

BTS is a specialized sub-unit to the larger Avengers motion

it put your mind at ease knowing that namjoon wasn’t alone in his whole fighting crime and saving lives ordeal

the media deemed namjoon’s golden suit as “iron man”

and although you personally liked your “golden boy” name better

joon had a complete liking to the other name

you witnessed when they recruited more agents to BTS

namjoon began to have a nice bond with the other boys

and it made you happy, of course, knowing that he had others by his side

but sometimes you couldn’t help but feel as if you were being replaced as his best friend

especially when he and the wakandan king, jung hoseok, became rather close

namjoon first realized his feelings for you when kim seokjin, aka the god of thunder, was flirting with you during one of joon’s house parties

he almost had a fist fight with him

but the other boys held them back from beating each other up

a supersuit vs a god with insane powers? that wasn’t going to end well at all

and so namjoon secretly pined for you

you were still doing business together, but it was mostly you because he was busy now with world saving duties

you were the one to convince him to recruit their youngest and final member to BTS

the spider kid, jeon jungkook

namjoon becomes jungkook’s mentor

and it’s quite endearing

but jk’s also the one to spill to you that namjoon has had the hugest crush on you for the longest time

kid just can’t keep his mouth shut sometimes

all the boys knew that namjoon was basically in love with you

they even helped him come up with this elaborate event of confessing to you

...which all went to hell bc yoongi got triggered and smashed everything

yoongi felt so bad afterwards

but all ended well bc of course you loved namjoon back

he was your best friend and your #1 since day 1

namjoon ends up revealing himself as iron man probably a year after the whole BTS unit was solidified

the press was hell for kim enterprises

which you had to mainly contain :/

but you know he’s a charmer in front of the camera

your parents were a bit iffy when they found out you were dating iron man

but if anyone could take care of you, they knew it would be namjoon

aw im emo

dating your best friend/business partner is a rollercoaster

you’ve had your fair share of heart attack moments, waiting for him after a battle or a mission

namjoon has put his life in danger and will continue to put his life in danger and you’re just going to have to deal with that

he hates that he also puts your life in danger just by association, but you have a lot of protection, courtesy of Mr. Bang

you wear his suit sometimes and try to fly it for fun

he finds you cute

builds you a suit, yourself, but you don’t wear it often

mostly bc you know there’s some weapons included for safety and that scares you a bit

you end up merging businesses with kim enterprises

and run the whole rodeo bc he’s too busy saving the world

but you always keep him updated on what’s happening

he’s become less arrogant after being with the boys and after dating you

but he’s still a smartass

uses kim enterprises’ wealth and resources for the improvement of BTS

it’s pretty useful if you ask me

namjoon becomes the spokesperson for BTS ;)

he and his boys save the world on the regular

but he wouldn’t be saving the world if you didn’t save his world first

u fucking wu

that last part was cheesy but am i sorry about it?

nah

7-6-19

[trishmilburn]

An Exploration of The Untamed’s Romance & Mystery, Episode 2

Disclaimer: This post and others in this series will be filled with loads of spoilers if you haven’t seen The Untamed, the Chinese drama based on Mo Xiang Tong Xiu’s novel, Mo Dao Zu Shi (The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation). My chief interest in doing this series is to chronicle the development of the romance between Wei Ying and Lan Zhan, but I also highlight the progression of the mystery that helps bring them together. Keep in mind that I’m writing these posts with the knowledge of what’s going to happen throughout the series and having read the novel. If you’d like to read my post on Episode 1 first, you can see it here.

On to Episode 2 (as I listen to the lovely soundtrack to The Untamed)…

Having left Mo Manor, we see Wei Ying traveling through the beautiful countryside with his donkey companion. While resting at a roadside well, he hears people approaching and soon ascertains some of them are fellow cultivators. One of the guys in the group says to another that his compass still isn’t working. Wei Ying learns from them that they’ve heard about a soul-eating fiend at nearby Brahma Mountain, but another guy says there has been no strange movements in the Compass of Evil (yet something else invented by Wei Ying that is still in use, along with those Spirit Attraction Flags from Episode 1). First guy mentions that Wei Wuxian (aka Wei Ying) is his idol. Now that’s not something you hear every day.

Another one of the travelers, a woman named Ah Yan gives Wei Ying an apple to get his stubborn donkey to move, and thus the nameless donkey becomes Little Apple. A little while later, after Wei Ying climbs to the top of a hill, Ah Yan joins him and starts dancing while facing Great Brahman Mountain, at one point striking a pose that is foreshadowing for what’s to come. Her mother tells Wei Ying that Ah Yan hasn’t been right since she recently lost her husband and father.

Wei Ying hears people calling for help, and when he arrives he finds several people hanging in the air inside Immortal Binding Nets. A teenage guy shows up, and we the audience know this is Jin Ling, even if Wei Ying doesn’t at this point. Jin Ling recognizes Wei Ying as Mo Xuanyu (remember, he’s wearing a mask and Jin Ling was just a baby when Wei Ying died so wouldn’t recognize him anyway). Little does Jin Ling know that he’s talking to basically his uncle. Wei Ying isn’t a Jiang by birth, but he was raised alongside Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli (who is Jin Ling’s mother), and Yanli especially considered Wei Ying her brother.

When Wei Ying puts a paper man talisman on mouthy little Jin Ling’s back to keep him down, Jin Ling is furious and warns Wei Ying that he’s in trouble when his uncle gets there. During this conversation, Wei Ying, not knowing who Jin Ling is, gets in a couple of digs about his parents or absence thereof, which understandably upsets Jin Ling. And then the uncle arrives, and Wei Ying is stunned when he hears Jiang Cheng’s voice. And the intervening years have just made Wei Ying’s adoptive brother more bitter and harsh. There’s no hint of the playful, smiling side of Jiang Cheng we’ll soon see when the show goes back in time to show us the characters’ formative years and the beginning of the love story between Wei Ying and Lan Zhan.

Jiang Cheng is upset that Jin Ling let Wei Ying (who he doesn’t know is Wei Ying yet) get the better of him, but the fact that this unknown person has used evil sorcery means that he must be immediately killed and fed to the dogs. Jin Ling thus starts to attack Wei Ying, but his sword is knocked away by a blast of familiar energy from Lan Zhan’s guqin (a type of zither). Lan Zhan arrives with the Lan disciples while the soundtrack plays the beautiful zither music associated with him.

Showing some of his natural humorous personality, Wei Ying thinks to himself, “I should have checked my horoscope for any bad luck before heading out today.”

Jiang Cheng accuses Lan Zhan of being in the woods to look for someone (we all know he means Wei Ying) and mentions how Lan Zhan has done a lot of traveling around the world the past 16 years (also looking for Wei Ying or some piece of his soul). When Lan Jingyi asks Jiang Cheng what he means by that, Jiang Cheng says Lan Zhan knows what he means. And there’s no denying this infuriates him.

Lan Sizhui directs the conversation away from the tense moment between these two men who obviously do not like each other. Sizhui notes that the monster hunt they were all taking part in was supposed to be a fair game, but Jin Ling put nets all over the mountain. Wei Ying is amused when someone in the Lan clan uses the muting spell on Little Lord Mouthypants (Jin Ling). Still stewing, Jiang Cheng looks at Jin Ling and says that if he doesn’t capture the thing wrecking havoc on the mountain to not bother coming to see him. Poor Jin Ling, even though he’s annoying in these early episodes, you grow to love him because not only was he orphaned while a baby, his uncle is an unforgiving ass. His character is one about whom I changed my opinion the most, and you’ll see why in my future posts.

When everyone else leaves, Lan Zhan looks toward where Wei Ying is hiding behind a tree. But when Wei Ying turns away, Lan Zhan lets him be and walks away. He either knows in his heart or at least greatly suspects that he’s Wei Ying, but he doesn’t have conclusive proof yet. And obviously Wei Ying isn’t ready to reveal himself to him. It’s got to be hard for Lan Zhan to walk away when he’s that close after all those years of grieving and looking for some piece of Wei Ying to hold on to.

Next we see Wei Ying walking beside a river. He takes off the mask as he bends down beside the water. In the reflection he sees memories of Jiang Cheng scolding him about assisting him and Yanli saying that she, Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng would be together forever. But that’s not true because he’s lost them both. He overhears someone on the road nearby say that both the Jin and Jiang families are spoiling Jin Ling too much, to which a woman replies that it’s understandable since he lost his parents when he was just a baby. Another man notes how Jin Ling’s dad died because of Wei Wuxian and then his mother, Yanli, also died because Wei Wuxian. The painful truth of Jin Ling’s identity hits Wei Ying hard, and he slaps himself for the comments he’d made to Jin Ling about his missing parents.

The Lan disciples encounter an old man in a graveyard, and Jingyi asks why he’s sneaking around. After learning he’s the caretaker for the graveyard, Sizhui asks if anything strange has been going on in the area. The man says they should check out the Goddess Temple up the mountain, but it’s not until they walk away that he reveals that the dancing goddess statue can move.

Wei Ying sees Little Apple eating Spirit Gathering Grass that can collect the spiritual energy from the soil near cultivators’ graves. He soon shows up at the same graveyard and encounters the same old man, but Wei Ying can tell that the area is masked with a black aura. When the old man tells him this is the Wen clan’s graveyard, he sees a vision of Wen Qing, a woman he knew in his past. She tells him that this is her ancestors’ graves, and Wei Ying realizes the young disciples are headed for a bigger danger than they realize.

The Lan and Jin disciples are in the Goddess Temple, talking about local legends that say the people in the area come to the temple to pray to the goddess who grants wishes. Jin Ling, being his smartypants self, says he wishes the entity causing all the trouble would reveal itself to him right then. And thus the dancing goddess statue starts to move. Wei Ying shows up, starts throwing talismans at the statute and tells the kids to get out of the cave. Once they are outside, he tells the Lans to send up a signal flare to call Lan Zhan, but the disciples realize they don’t have any. They used the last ones during the battle at Mo Manor and didn’t replenish them. Remembering all the trouble he got into as a teen studying in Gusu with the Lans, Wei Ying teases the boys that they’re going to be in trouble when Lan Zhan finds out.

Wei Ying tells them how he knew the goddess statue was the one eating souls – soul-eating beasts and fiends thrive off absorbing spiritual consciousness that has not departed from dead people. If there are so many dead people buried nearby, why take souls from the living? Something be fishy.

We next see a brief scene of Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan sitting at different tables at what looks like a rural tea house/eatery. It’s abundantly clear that they do not like each other, which is understandable. After all, Jiang Cheng is the reason that the man Lan Zhan loves fell to his death and he’s had to mourn his loss for the past 16 years. This was made even more heartbreaking considering how until he met and started falling for Wei Ying, Lan Zhan was a very closed-off person. Some would say he was even emotionless, but he really had a big heart hidden away. But Wei Ying gradually wormed his way into that heart, filling it, and to have him suddenly ripped away forever was unbearably cruel.

Then we’re back to Wei Ying telling the boys about how Ah Yan prayed to the goddess for her husband, and her spiritual consciousness was taken. Her father, seeing this, went to pray for his daughter to get her spiritual consciousness back. She did, but it was damaged when the goddess spit it back out, and her father’s was taken instead. Ah Yan’s experience was why she was able to pose and smile like the goddess statue.

Wei Ying realizes Jin Ling is missing just before the goddess statue shows up outside chasing some of the Jin clan members. Jin Ling flies through the air and starts shooting arrows at the statue. I have to admit, this looked pretty darn cool. Wei Ying thinks, “Something’s not right. Lan Zhan and I sealed her up.” He takes Jingyi’s sword and cuts a section of bamboo to make an improvised flute, his musical weapon the same way Lan Zhan’s is the guqin. Jin Ling is about to be trampled by the goddess statue when, to everyone’s surprise, including Wei Ying’s, his flute playing causes Wen Ning, aka the Ghost General, to show up. Wen Ning was the first fierce corpse Wei Ying created as the Yiling Patriarch. I must pause here to just share how much I love Wen Ning’s character and Yu Bin’s portrayal of him. Even though he can be unbelievably deadly in his Ghost General persona, he’s an adorable cinnamon roll of a guy with the world’s biggest heart otherwise. It’s a wild contrast. Anyway, the kicking-ass version of Wen Ning saves Jin Ling and destroys the goddess statue, but still everyone except for Wei Ying turns on him. Seeing this, Wei Ying realizes he needs to play a calmer tune to cool Wen Ning’s bloodlust and lead him away from the others.

And the playing of that particular tune is the confirmation that Lan Zhan needs to know for certain this is Wei Ying. It’s a song Lan Zhan wrote and played for only Wei Ying at a moment when the two were in a dangerous situation (which we’ll see in a later episode). It’s a love song named “Wangxian,” a combination of both of their names, though Wei Ying doesn’t know that or that this is how he’s finally revealed to Lan Zhan who he is. (Note: On the soundtrack, this song is called “WuJi” and is sung by Xiao Zhan and Wang Yibo, who play Wei Ying and Lan Zhan.) Lan Zhan shows up and grabs Wei Ying’s wrist. Wei Ying stops playing the flute and looks into the eyes of the last person he saw before he died, the person who tried to save him, the person who evidently has been searching for him ever since that moment he fell off that cliff. Lan Zhan looks at Wei Ying as if convincing himself he’s real, that he’s finally found him.

Wen Ning flies off and when Lan Zhan turns to pursue, Wei Ying drops his flute and this time he’s the one who grabs Lan Zhan’s wrist, his eyes pleading with him to let Wen Ning go.

All this Wen Ning action and obvious touching and feelings between Lan Zhan and the masked dude is too much for Jiang Cheng, who has arrived just in time to make a hateful ass of himself. Convinced the masked dude is Wei Ying, and determined to get rid of him once again, he uses Zidian, his weapon that usually resides on his wrist as a bracelet but can turn into a whip of purple lightning, to prove Wei Ying’s identity. You see, Zidian has the ability to separate a soul from a body they’ve seized. When he tries to use the whip on Wei Ying, however, Lan Zhan steps in between them and sends out a wave of power from his guqin, blocking Zidian. This is the second time that Lan Zhan has protected Wei Ying in this episode, and you’ll see him protecting him a lot more. It’s his thing – protect Wei Ying at all costs. After all, that’s what you do for the person who owns your heart. Wei Ying, the adorable dummy, makes a break for it. Jiang Cheng, seeing another chance, slashes him with Zidian. But when Wei Ying gets up and no soul pops out of the body, Jiang Cheng is stunned. How did Zidian not work? The technicality he doesn’t think of is Wei Ying didn’t seize Mo Xuanyu’s body. It was willingly offered. Big difference.

Furious, Jiang Cheng makes a move to strike him again, but Jingyi steps forward and says it’s already proven that Wei Ying hasn’t possessed Mo Xuanyu’s body, that Wei Ying is dead. To which Jiang Cheng asks him how he knows he’s dead. Jingyi says, uh, weren’t you the one who killed him? And thus begins my love of the Sassy Lan.

During all this, Wei Ying wishes he could go back to 16 years before, back to his home at the Lotus Pier in Yunmeng. And with that wish we are taken back to that happier time, where we will stay for quite a while as we see the characters’ teen years and how this whole story started.

We see Wei Ying lying in a boat with a big lotus leaf covering his face. Jiang Cheng and Yanli are teasing him to wake him up, telling him they’ve arrived at a town in Gusu on their way to study at the Cloud Recesses with the Lan Clan. As they walk through the streets of the town, Wei Ying spots a vendor stall where carvings of little animals on sticks draw his attention. He immediately zeroes in on a bunny one, and this is also foreshadowing. Bunnies will play a part in his story with Lan Zhan. Another bit of foreshadowing is when Jiang Cheng tells his sister that he’s afraid Wei Ying will cause chaos at the Cloud Recesses. Yanli, being her sweet and caring self, responds that Wei Ying just has a lively personality and that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

But even the sweetest, most fun-loving people can be driven to take dark paths when they are backed into a corner and lose too much.

[ahmortentia]

MBTI as people i know

INFP The INFPs I know are probably the people who know the most about me? They can be judgy at times, but when they know it’s serious I trust them the most to not give me a look. Would I go to an INFP before my mother? probably. They’re really bad about eating regularly—sometimes they’ll send a text at seven pm that says “oh i forgot to eat?” Which makes me worried. They’re very sensitive to noise and surroundings, more so than other types. They tend to get really deep into something when they like it; they aren’t casual about their favorite things. They check in on people and really don’t like to burden others with their problems. At low points, they’ll wish someone would check in on them. Really good at focusing on one thing, but tends to struggle with five things at once. Negative side is that sometimes she gets so wrapped up in things/her feelings that she can’t really pay attention to her surroundings.

ISFP She’s kind of mysterious; I know bits of her past because we’ve been friends for a long time, but I wouldn’t know otherwise. She takes humor and throws it into her life; she tells great, hilarious stories, but seems too spaced out to really use that as a function. Sometimes she rambles off, almost lost in thought. She seems careful to not interrupt other people, she’s very polite. Sometimes, though, she can be really present in a conversation and it’s almost scary. We both find the same things funny; the most random words and phrases will pop into our heads and we’ll start laughing our asses off. Hufflepuff vibes, cares about other people but can be awkward in showing it. Doesn’t really know what’s going on, but is along for the ride. Never self-deprecating but never, ever arrogant. Kind.

INFJ The two INFJs I know really like mbti and I talk about it with them a lot? I don’t know if this is common within the type. The INFJ has strong moral code. Kind, cares about others. Very polite, seems to know what to say when. Has dreams and then also has an idea of how to get there; it’s not as strictly planned and straightforward, but it’s there. Somehow a soft voice (or maybe buttery?), regardless of what they’re saying. Has a good sense of the world, of how the world is; likes classifications, categories in the world. Unafraid. Negative side is that it’s hard to argue with INFJs because they have such a deeply rooted sense of self, and can take things very, very seriously.

ISFJ This is someone I’m placing here based on my semester’s observations. He loves telling stories about his life; when we talk, he’ll always be reminded of something that happened recently or even a long time ago. Gives advice in the form of a good story. Has a warmth about him, always smiles and waves. Gentle. He asks how everyone is doing, makes sure there’s a good group dynamic; will move and push things aside for people. Gives off huge Hufflepuff vibes, big suburban dad vibes. Will tell you how he feels and isn’t afraid to express his affection in words; an open book with all his life. Loves what he does and loves learning, isn’t afraid to be wrong and acknowledges when he doesn’t know. Downside is I fear people take advantage of his goodness.

INTP Gentle, but has his opinions. Stubborn as hell; likes to debate about abstract theories and things. Enjoys chasing the why. Private, takes a while to open up. Loves his planner but more for doodling and writing his thoughts than actually planning. Never sees his opinion as the way---is cautious to never assume he’s always right---but he’s right a lot of the time. It’s possible a tiny part of him knows it.  Patient, willing to let me ramble for years on end before saying his bit. It’s like he tastes his words, swishes them around in his mouth before saying them. He’s sweet.

INTJ Sees things in black and white with little to no grey areas. Sometimes corrects my jokes, which is…. Ouch. Takes things very seriously, but never seems to be driven by a passionate feeling. Loves learning, but isn’t interested in being a part of academia. A nice nerd. Makes you feel like you know him, but then he’ll tell you he has a dog and you never knew that. A really good person in the sense that he keeps to the rules and tries to do the best for everyone. Very private. Likes routine, sticks to similar outfits and the same colors. Jokes may not be laugh-out-loud like some people’s, but they’re always clever and smart. Enjoys indie music. Can be a little awkward or uncomfortable, especially if it’s a new situation. Not the best at thinking on his feet.

ISTP Always has a good time; laughs loudly with his friends. Thinks well on his feet--writes limericks and jokes on the spot as opposed to doodling. Never really plans things but is open to hanging out whenever, is laidback, doesn’t really try but manages to do well in everything. He’s somehow both put together and a total mess. Clever, witty. Can be a little bit of a showoff, apparently, but I’ve never seen that side of him. Makes a lot of self-deprecating jokes, but easily transitions into insult humor with his friends. He doesn’t really seem to change much around different people. Terrible at chess. Somewhat understanding, I think sometimes he can get stuck in his head a bit.

ISTJ I sit across from him on the couch and I ramble to him, he tells me stories in such a concise manner. He tends to focus on what people say and what really happens in the story. Rational, straightforward. He sees things more in black and white: this happened, this didn’t happen. Really good at debating and arguing things. I always lose. He’s sharp and so funny. He doesn’t mind so much making fun of people at their expense; in fact, most of his friends are the same way and they all have a good time. Unafraid to tell me when to shut the fuck up, especially when it’s needed. Clever, analytical, very good with numbers. Somewhat impatient.

ENFP I love her so much; energetic, balanced, she has a laugh that makes my heart flutter. When she finds things funny, she’s unafraid to show her feelings. She lives vigorously. She’s really funny; there’s a wit that lives in her. She goes by her feelings a lot. Knows there’s something in her gut and follows it through; gives sound advice because her gut is always, ALWAYS right. Sometimes doesn’t trust herself even though she really should. And when she goes back on herself, it turns out badly and she gets confused and insecure. Another ENFP I know is so gentle and warm, and very, very good at making and keeping connections. She’s soft, but in the best way: she loves and loves and you can feel the warmth spreading from her fingertips into the air. I worry she takes on too much; both are unskilled in the saying no department.

ESFP I used to know her relatively well as a kid, but we’ve split up since then. She’s so energetic and loud. The two words that are most apt are social butterfly: she flutters from person to person, bright and passionate, dragging everyone along to the next adventure. She can’t control her excitement--she stands up when she gets excited. She offers to drive her friends places, especially if they don’t have a car (it’s on the way or she’s got time). Popular, well-liked, always smiling. Will walk up to someone she hasn’t seen in years, or maybe someone she barely knows, and has this skill of making them feel known. Her energy, sometimes, can be too much, though.

ENFJ She feels things deeply. Looks out for everyone in a situation. Makes lots of jokes to help others feel comfortable, or to make herself feel more comfortable (usually self-deprecating jokes). Good at understanding what you say even when you speak gibberish. Bold. Talks with everyone, and is very cool. Chill. Doesn’t really change drastically in different environments; she is who she is. Smart, especially in a practical sense: also has a real gut intuition and just Knows what’s right emotionally. Decisive, trusts her feelings and sticks to them. Stands up for what she believes is right—she makes me proud to be her friend. Negative side is that sometimes she feels like the way she sees things is the only way; if something is obvious, then it should be obvious to everyone.

ESFJ Another one of my closest friends. Goes on coffee runs for people, is willing to go way out of her way to get people home safe. Knows what she wants and gets it. Is unafraid of talking to people, asking for help, or even texting people she doesn’t know. The glue of a group, consistently checks in. Well known throughout, but doesn’t strive to make her name known; it’s just who she is. Very popular, good-hearted. She enjoys calling and FaceTiming people—what more can I say about that extroversion? Spreads love and joy wherever she can. Negative side is that she can get absorbed in her feelings and sometimes she doesn’t see how she’s affecting other people with what she’s saying. 

ENTP So, so cocky. The one person I know of this type is someone I’ve placed here myself. Sharp, cutting…Biting sense of humor that makes the room come alive but never feels bitter. Tends to mock the people he likes the most. Very blunt: doesn’t dwell on the past but thinks about what he can do next. Can’t really listen for the sake of listening, he needs a purpose. Enjoys attention. Thinks well on his feet but terrible at planning; leaves things vague and doesn’t feel specifics are necessary. Tendency to make observations and translate them into analysis, but without any feeling or personal input involved. Intimidating. Maybe, maybe cares under 78 layers of doesn’t give a fuck; will never say how he feels.

ENTJ She never understands my complaints because there’s always a simple solution: just do x, y, z. She’s supportive, but not in a cheerleader way. She’s quick, good at getting things done; smart and tries hard even when she makes it seem like she doesn’t care. She sticks up for her friends and isn’t afraid to call someone out on their bullshit to their face. Uses reason and logic to get her way; great at debating and arguing, and seems to always hold herself together even when she jokes about a mental breakdown she had earlier. Has a nice laugh and always has interesting facts in her head. Knows her shit about music. She jokingly adopts a holier-than-thou attitude about some things, but everyone knows it isn’t to be taken seriously (and if you don’t know that, then you definitely aren’t friends with her). She can do impulsive things, or get dragged into impulsive things. Can think she’s always in the right and that other people are wrong.

ESTP Electric. I’ve never known her up close, so I can’t say much, but she has this energy that makes you look up when she enters a room. Knows how to have a good time. Can be a bit cutting or rude, especially to people she doesn’t know; doesn’t really care about who someone is, she has to say what she thinks is right. You primarily have to earn her respect. She’s the type who will walk up to a stranger to compliment their shirt. Enjoys being in the spotlight to the point that the spotlight naturally rests on her, it’s attached to her. Seems absolutely fearless, even though she may have doubts inside. Has taken her identity and made it into a badge of honor. Doesn’t plan things herself, but falls off that metaphorical cliff and lands in a catlike way, defying gravity. She maneuvers life having perfected improvisation.

ESTJ She, like the ISTJ, thinks so logically. But there’s something else to it: whereas the ISTJ is more independent and sticks to their own, the ESTJ wants to go-go-go. Always has a plan or an idea in her head, always wants to go out and do things, regardless of what. Loves making plans almost as much as I do. She sticks to her facts and has a tendency to forget feelings in the equation. She thinks in such a linear manner, going from A to B to C. Thorough. Bright, cheery, and loves her everyday. Negative side is that she latches onto facts and outside opinion wherever she can: instagram likes, the people who respond to her texts, her reputation according to others. She doesn’t consider how she should feel, especially internally.

[big-meows]

Theory: Gosalyn is Darkwing Duck in DuckTales 2017

Full disclosure: early on this started out as not so much a theory, but a wild bit of wishful thinking based on a few rumors that had been circulating last year: that Darkwing Duck would be in the new DuckTales, that he was in a in-universe TV show, that the kids would meet him and be disappointed, and so would we, but that we would get a big surprise in season two to make up for it and that it was really cool. These rumors were born of a combination of the panel Tad Stones did at DragonCon last year and an interview Jim Cummings did for a podcast, neither of which I can be bothered to go dig up now because so far this information is proving correct. The point remains that I heard this information, and thought to myself, gee, wouldn’t it be cool if Drake were retired and his daughter had finally succeeded him?

A lot of people probably wont think its cool; I don’t know what boys who grew up loving Darkwing think of the idea of him being old and retired with a girl wearing his hat. I do know that the show almost didn’t happen until they gave Drake a daughter, and I know Gosalyn is Tad Stones’s favorite character, and I know that @suspendersofdisbelief​ knows Drake and Gosalyn are a package deal. I know that I personally would love nothing more.

But like, the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. So here’s how I think it’s going to happen.

Launchpad is a fan of a TV show popular from his youth starring (eventually aging) actor Jim Starling as Darkwing Duck. The DW presented in this show is deeply reminiscent of the DW we know and love from our own childhoods, and is even voiced by Jim Cummings. I think this threw a lot of us for a loop because now we don’t know who this Starling guy is. Popular opinion seems to be that he’s just an actor, and that there’s a real DW operating out there in the current day (Drake Mallard) inspired by a TV show from his youth. I don’t think this is the case, because it would be SUPER weird if the Drake version of DW looked acted and sounded exactly like the Starling version. If the Starling version had been voiced by a cheesy, aging Adam West-type (rip), it would have a) just been a really genuinely funny gag to have a DW so counter to what we were expecting and b) confused the hell out of all of us, and made the current DW--voiced by Cummings-- an extra delightful reveal come season 2. As it stands, waiting until season 2 to reveal a DW who is....basically the same one teased in season 1 is not as fun, or as exciting, or in line with how the show’s been treating it’s revisited characters until now.

So: Jim Starling probably IS Drake Mallard. I think he was Drake first, he was DW long before the show came along. He retired from the vigilante business at some point--perhaps, conveniently, when he became the sole caretaker of a certain orphan and had someone else’s safety and well being to consider. It’s not out of line to suggest he still craved fame and attention and took a pseudonym, became an actor and/or pitched and sold a show based on his adventures. It’s a safer line of work, but he’s still doing his own stunts and getting action figures and breakfast cereals with his face on them, so it’s probably just as good as far as he’s concerned. Until he retires.

It’s 20 or so years later and Drake/Jim is totally out of the game. His daughter is a young woman now. This is good because while I don’t think Webby 2.0 and Gos are actually that similar, there are only so many big-energy ten-year-olds one cast can handle. The cast currently doesn’t have a lot in the way of young-adult women: Beakley is older, Goldie is old but supernaturally youthful, Della is MIA, Magica is ???????,  Selene is an immortal goddess that, uh, no one is particularly invested in. And Frank is very personally invested in using existing female characters to their full potential.

Canonically, Gosalyn has always wanted to be part of the action. Whether she’s been using one of her own vigilante personas, tagging along as an evil villian’s sidekick, donning the gizmoduck suit, or just idolizing her dad in general, it’s what she wants. She’s athletic and capable, and maybe, most importantly, her father’s daughter. She’s stubborn and sarcastic and single-minded and a little self absorbed, but also a little sweet and motivated by the desire to protect. Also: I don’t think there’s any dumb stunt DW has pulled off that would be out of place on Gosalyn. I want to see a balanced female hero that is neither too fragile to be put in danger nor too cool and collected to never get hurt. Gosalyn could beef it and bounce back with a one liner, and that’s why it wouldn’t be a shock to see her in the hat and cape. It wouldn’t be too much of a departure from Drake that it would be a disappointing change to the long time fans who, as far as I can tell, all universally adore her. (If you don’t, I hate to tell you this, but you are objectively wrong.)

So Gosalyn in the role makes sense in a lot of big ways: It’s a natural culmination of her existing story arc and motivations, it serves the meta purpose of bringing rad ladies to the forefront without crowding the cast with more kids, it pays off the COOL DW SURPRISE in a way that bringing back a character we’ve already seen in his most recognizable iteration wouldn’t, is not contradicted by canon (as of 7-1-2018) and, most importantly, would make me, a grown-ass woman raised on the validation of tough tomboy characters like Gosalyn and Spinelli, cry real-ass tears.

Thanks for coming to my TED Talk, please remember this post and come offer me condolences when none of this happens.

[mndoughboy1918]

Letter to Dad

October 6, 1918 - Letter from Robert to his father:

Dear Dad,

Have just come from the front where the [redacted] took a big part in the general push toward the [redacted]. We were very successful though the Huns put up a stubborn resistance all the way. You can read about it in the papers at home. We are moving away from the front now slowly because we are all pretty tired. 

We are in a town that has a few civilians in it. Most of the towns I have seen are no more than piles of broken brick and stone. The artillery having done its work.

I got an awfully nice letter from cousin James. He is not yet able to go back to the front, which seems to provoke him a great deal, owing to the wound he received over a year ago. He also is very anxious that I visit him at Cambuslang and I do hope I will be able to go there though it would cost me a good deal for the trip. Aunt Aggie has also written several times and sent me a lovely box of things that a soldier just needs. It came just after I left the battle, a most opportune time, for I lost my pack and everything I owned save what I had on my back. I am very anxious to meet her she has taken such an interest in me.

James says, “Don’t shirk a bit, play the game for ll there is in it. It is worth it.” That is the same spirit you have also shown. A West spirit, and I shall try to do it, even if I can’t be a supply sergeant or get a commission or a Le Croix Le Gare.

James is a Gas Non Com and knows the dangers of Hun gas. He warned me against it more than any other weapon they use.

I do not think that the war will end as soon as you say but we can whip them and will in time. One must be in a big battle to hate them. then the real fighting spirit shows its self.

About that bond money. Do not be in any hurry about it. Elinore is getting her $35.00 each month now and says she does not need it. She is just fine at present.

I got a letter from Mr. Tuttle. He is just as absorbed in Lodge work as ever. He said you have not gone lately. I hope you will take a few more degrees this winter. I should like to but of course I can’t over here.

It is getting cold over here and we will be wearing wool under ware and over coats soon. They will be heavy to carry about but will feel real good.

Bess + Jane seem to think they can’t write to me unless I write to them. I wish you would tell them that I can’t write to each of them. It is so hard over here the way we live, and most of the time there is no paper or no post office or something else.

Tell Ruth that if she will knit me another sweater I would be glad to get it. I guess she would have to send it to Aunt Aggie and have her forward it to me. 

Write soon. Love to all, 

Rob

Where was Robert today? See the timeline.

Next: Red Horse and Cabbage

[blacklister214]

Second Son Update: Guardian Felon

Another chapter of Second Son ready to go! Enjoy!

Liz had chosen to face Wing Yee's primary entrance when she'd taken her seat. She may not have been an official law enforcement agent yet, but it was good to practice the appropriate habits. Even without Quantico training, she had her concealed carry permit, and thanks to Sam, the know-how to use her personal weapon. In the unlikely event of a violent incident, for example a rampage shooter, she was well positioned to see it first and respond.

Liz sipped her tea, remembering the other lessons her ex-grifter father had imparted. It was ironic that the skills she absorbed at the conman's knee were the same skills government agents were expected to hone. Sam had trained her to be constantly be aware of her surroundings, and to observe the habits of people in her vicinity. He'd used to take her to places like this and they'd play games where she's have to name the number of people in the restaurant or the color shirt of the person sitting behind her. Those games were the reason she'd chosen to eat in, rather than simply picking up her order and heading home. She needed the distraction after the day she'd had. Something to focus on besides the memory of the woman who'd died in her arms. The woman she'd failed to save. Liz slammed the breaks on that thought. She would not allow herself to get sucked down in that pool of self-recrimination.

A new customer emerged from behind the brick wall and Liz felt an immense wave of gratitude. He a perfectly timed diversion from her mind's darker musings. She cut a piece of her garlic chicken, using only her peripheral vision and her initial first glance to compile her list of attributes. Lean, athletic build. Around six foot. Grey wool overcoat. Black suit jacket, with a white collared shirt underneath. Black suit pants. Black leather dress shoes. Short dark hair. Stubble. Handsome...and familiar. There was a tickle in her mind, telling Liz she had seen this man before.

She resisted the urge to lift her gaze. The whole point of the exercise was to observe without drawing attention. The server seated the man directly across from Liz, albeit a few tables down. At least she'd have the time to place him. Liz decided a casual glance wouldn't be cheating, not if it appeared natural. She raised her teacup to her lips, and gazing over the top, found herself unexpectedly making eye contact with her subject. He offered her the small, polite smile of stranger, before looking down at his menu, but it was enough for Liz to trigger a spark of recognition.

"You!" The words were out of Liz's mouth before she had the sense to censor them. The man looked up, his eyebrow raised, and glanced briefly over his shoulder. After verifying there was no one there, he turned back to Liz.

"I'm sorry, were you talking to me?" Liz stood and slowly walked toward the man's table. Yes, it was him. She knew that voice. She knew that slightly cocky smile. Frank. Bacon. A flipped kitchen table. A waiting room in a government building. Singing Destiny's Child in a grey Mustang.

"You used to work as an investigator in Omaha. You broke into my apartment once and made me breakfast?" The man blinked, tilted his head slightly, and then smiled.

"Elizabeth Scott. My apologies. You look different from when I last saw you." She supposed she would, given that in her teen years she favored dark tees, leather jackets, and blue jeans. These days her go to was blazers and blouse. She noticed she wasn't the only one to clean up her look.

"As do you. Nice suit." His outfit suggested young urban professional. Successful. His clothing was tailored, not off the rack. Not exactly how she would expect a PI to dress...unless he was undercover, looking to blend with a corporate world.

"Thanks. Care to join me? Unless you're running home to your boyfriend?" Liz found herself unsure how to respond. The invitation was unexpected. They weren't exactly old friends who had bumped into each. Their brief relationship, if it could be termed that, had been largely antagonistic. Well...maybe not so such at the tail end. He'd been surprisingly kind to her after she'd learned the truth about her parents. In hindsight she had to admit getting her that information on her birth family and getting rid of Frank had helped her enormously. God knew where she would have ended up if this man hadn't brought their crime spree to an abrupt conclusion.

"What makes you think I have a boyfriend?" A stall, yes, but it might help her determine the intentions of her potential dining companion.

He gestured back to her table, where Nik's To-Go box was sitting. "Most people don't order a secondary meal for themselves." It seemed Liz wasn't the only one making observations.

"I could have a roommate." She wasn't sure why she was arguing the point. Maybe it was the absolute assuredness with which the PI had made his pronouncement.

The server arrived, forcing Liz to take a step back as a bowl of steaming soup was placed before him. After thanking the woman, he turned his attention back to her.

"True, but I went with boyfriend." Instead of elaborating he picked up his spoon, and dipped it into the dish. Raising it to his lips, he blew gently on the broth.

"Because?"

"You're an only child raised by a single Dad. Living with a man is probably easier for you than living with another woman." Liz wished she could tell him to stick his assumption up his ass, but the sad truth was, he wasn't wrong. If college had taught her nothing else, it was that cohabiting with other women was more drama than she'd care to take.

"I am living with my boyfriend, but he's at work right now." She'd stated very clearly she was in a relationship, therefore she was in no danger of him interpreting her choice to join him as flirtation.

"Well I insist, then. You owe me a meal, after all." Now it was Liz's turn to raise her eyebrows.

"I do?"

"Yes. I cooked a delicious breakfast, and you flipped it all onto the floor. I didn't even get to finish my famous gluten-free pancakes." Liz couldn't suppress a giggle at the PI's exaggeratedly woeful expression.

"Fine." Liz turned back toward her table, but the man gestured at the chair across from him and stood.

"Please, allow me." As he passed her to retrieve her dishes, Liz couldn't help but notice he'd left his overcoat behind. It bulging ever so slightly at the pocket, suggesting an untended wallet. That type of thing that used to send a thrill of excitement through her. An easy score. It would be so easy to pluck it right out before he came back. Finally learn the name of PI she'd been unable to track down after he'd sped away eight years ago. Suddenly the man was back at her elbow, the window of opportunity closed. He deposited her meal before her, and set Nik's off to the side.

He settled back into his seat and smiled at her, "So...what do you do for work these days? Still boosting cars?" He shot her such a knowing look she had the fleeting, but frightening worry that the man had somehow read her mind. Well two could play at that game.

"Retired. How about you? Are you still breaking and entering into people's homes?"

"Only on very special occasions." His tone was playful, and if under oath she honestly wouldn't be able to say if the man teasing her. Liz wondered if that was deliberate, to avoid incriminating himself.

"If that really is the case I should inform you that anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law." She dug out her wallet and flashed him her ID. It would have been hard to miss the large 'FBI' printed on it, and yet the PI looked distinctly unphased.

"Employed by the FBI? Interesting line of work for someone like you." Liz's enjoyment of their banter fizzled out immediately.

"You mean someone with my background?" She felt her anger slowly rising. How dare he judge based on the private things he knew about her biological family? It was especially galling coming from him, who insisted blood relationships meant nothing by themselves. She wasn't her genes. She wasn't those people in that file.

"No, I mean someone who, as a teenager, pulled off a four month crime spree without getting caught." Liz had to admit that was...fairer than she thought he was being. Her actions were on her...but still she'd been a kid. Lots of people were less than perfect when they were young. She'd straightened herself out, moved past it.

"You caught me. On film, as I recall." Of course he'd mailed the negatives to Sam about a week after she'd returned home. They'd burned them together along with the copies.

"Well, I'm exceptional."

"Humble too." He wasn't wrong though. Exceptional was an apt term for this man. He couldn't have been more than a few years older than she was when he'd managed to track her down, and bring her to heel. He'd gotten rid of Frank, and in such a way that had made her never want to see him again. He'd convinced a government employ to break policy. He'd demonstrated intelligence, resourcefulness, and a disregard for the law. Had he changed course as she had, or was he the same, just with a few more years of experience under his belt?

"How's your brother?" If she recalled correctly that had been a topic he'd been eager, or at least willing to discuss with her. Liz's recollection earned her, yet another smile from her dinner companion. This one was slightly different, not mocking, but warm. Genuine.

"Good. He came back from Africa unscathed. We both work for our foster father now, so I get to see him pretty regularly. How's your Dad?" Liz snorted thinking back to her last conversation with Sam. He'd management to sprain his ankle hopping off the tractor.

"Good. Still living in the farm house. Flatly refuses to sell it and retire. Says it would make him insane and that he has no interest in spending his days golfing or taking pottery classes." She shook her head. The man was stubborn as a mule.

"It's funny isn't it?" The PI has cocked his head to the side as though an odd thought had just struck him.

"What's funny?"

"Most people spend their whole lives waiting for retirement. Waiting for a time when they have no obligations, when they spend their days doing exactly what they want. For your father, though, that sounds like torture. Pure utter torture. I think it's funny that the things that give some people pleasure, for example your boyfriend's Kung Po Chicken over there, can be unspeakably awful to someone else." His eyes were oddly intense, locked on hers as he made his point. Was he trying to tell her something? Her eyes drifted over to the take-out box. Was that what was bothering him?

"If your nose is that sensitive, I'll put it away." Liz moved to picked up the box, but the PI waved her off with a laugh.

"That not necessary. My point is that what's injurious or unbearable to people is not one size fits all. Wouldn't you agree?" Liz shrugged. Certain things most people had an aversion to, but what was the worst varied. Some people hated bugs, others snakes, others heights. What some found to be torture…...torture…...torture…..

Liz's thoughts slowed to trickle, that one word on a loop. Drop. Drop. Drop. Torture. Torture. Torture. Suddenly her mind sped up ten times faster than before, visions of the victims flashing through her mind. The medicals reports. Different, all different. No pattern, unless the lack of pattern WAS the pattern. Individual. Not the same.

"Would you excuse me a moment?" She stood up and head toward the bathroom. After checking the stalls for occupantants, she pulled out her phone and selected a number from her contacts. After about six rings a familiar voice was in her ear.

"It's late Scott. What do you want?" His lack of enthusiasm was unsurprising. The fact she'd been called up from New York to join a DC task force had rubbed some of her new coworkers the wrong way. Colin Worth was one such individual. Unfortunately she knew he was also the person most likely to still be at the office at 6 pm.

"Colin. Great! I was hoping someone was still there." She needed to keep it friendly. Liz was going ask a favor, so it would help if she was nice to the jackass. She could do it. Really, she could.

"I was just grabbing my coat. I got some place I need to be tonight." Somehow Liz doubted that, but there was no point in calling the man on it.

"I just had theory about the case. We've tried to find connections between the victims and there was nothing. What if we look for a link between the victim and their injuries?" While talking to that PI something had jarred loose in her mind and she couldn't shake the feeling it was the key to the entire case.

"What are you talking about?" This wasn't good. Colin didn't sound at all interested in what she was saying. Liz had an instinct she was about thirty seconds away from being hung up on.

"There has to be a reason the killer's methods are so varied. What if he's tailoring them to the victims? What if they were injuries the victims had gotten before or maybe someone else they knew had gotten them before?" One size doesn't fit all. Wasn't that what the PI had said?

"Why would the killer do that?" Liz felt like throwing into the bathroom's tile wall. As far as she was aware this was the only theory any of them had come up with in the past month.

"I don't know!" Whoops, that hadn't exactly been calm or friendly. Liz took a deep breath. "Look Colin, I know it's late. I know this could be nothing. I know you think I'm a bitch. Honestly, you're probably right. If I could, I would head over there now and look into this myself, but I can't. I've been ordered to take a 48 hour leave. That psychopath is still out there, maybe choosing his next victim, so please, please look into this for me." There was a long pause at the other end of the line. Liz had started to think Colin had hung up when he voice once again came through.

"I'll call you back if it comes to anything." Then he hung up. No "Good idea!", no "Goodbye!" but it was enough. More than enough.

Liz walked back to the table feeling better than she had in month. There was a chance she'd done something right tonight. It felt good.

The good feeling stopped when she reached the table. No grey overcoat. No PI. Just her plate where she left it, across from a nearly full bowl of Wantong soup. Seeing her standing there, the server hurried over.

"Your friend got a call right after you left. He said it was a work emergency and he had to go. He paid for his food and yours. He said to say 'It had been a pleasure to see you again' and to 'give his regards to your father.'" Liz felt inexplicably let down. He'd vanished again, and she still didn't have clue who he was. She'd hadn't even managed to learn his name.

"I don't suppose he paid with his credit card did he?"

"No, cash." Of course. Liz dropped into her chair, a foul mood replacing her lighter one. Full circle. She dug into her chicken with renewed vigor. She was being ridiculous and she knew it. So what if the phantom PI had once again dropped off the face of the earth. He'd been there just long enough to have been an enormous help to her, just like he had been eight years ago. He was like her own personal guardian angel...That is if guardian angels did things like commit blackmail and B and E. So maybe not an angel. A felon. She raised her teacup in silent salute. To her guardian felon, whoever or wherever the hell he was.

[rangergirl3]

Good morning Tumblr! Or afternoon. *checks watch*

Oh wow, I slept in late. Yay Saturdays! :D

Now that I got a good night’s sleep, I’m going to post here about some of the stuff going on in my life, and if you’d like to read it, great! If not, no worries, it’s below the ‘read more’ line. I didn’t want to take over your Tumblr feeds. :-)

So remember all these shitty parents you’ve seen in media?

1) Denethor (Lord of the Rings)

2) Mother Gothel (Tangled)

3) Orion and Walburga Black (Harry Potter) - okay, so technically we didn’t see either Orion or Walburga, but I do think a screaming portrait counts ;-)

Now imagine they each have a God complex and literally cannot fathom anything being wrong with their parenting style (which included both consistent and varied forms of emotional, physical, psychological, and mental abuse and/or neglect.) Toss in some staggering narcissistic life choices and viewpoints, add in an astonishing depthless lack of empathy, and you have my parents. It was/is a match made in...somewhere other than Heaven. Or at least that’s my opinion. (I know that I’m biased, but then, I’m their kid.)

I lived in 12 houses in about 5 different states before I turned 15 years old. I ended up just writing down our home phone number on a card I kept with me instead of memorizing it because, in my mind, it was easier than trying to keep up with all of the changes going on. I was in and out of schools constantly because of the moves, and because my parents would sporadically want to ‘try homeschooling’. Counted sequentially I attended 8 schools by the time I finished high-school. If my parents had been stable individuals, all this constant transition might not have been such of an upheaval. But instead, they are...themselves. But here’s the main thing:

Before I turned 8 years old, I’d been sexually attacked by two different grown men who were, I think, friends of my parents. I was almost killed both times it happened, and no one noticed what was going on, so each of the jackasses got away with pedophilia, torture, and attempted murder. Basically I survived because I’m stubborn and...I was lucky. Very lucky. (I also played dead the second time and that seemed to work). 

After each of the attacks, neither of my parents noticed any change in my behavior, or really noticed much of anything going on with me. They wanted their kids to be well-behaved, quiet unless spoken to, and...basically had impossible standards for any kid to realistically meet.

I still don’t know who the attackers were (mostly because we moved so much) but when I finally realized what had happened last year and told my parents, they chose not to believe me.

Yep. Seems like my parents are convinced that they ‘would have noticed’ at the time ‘if something was wrong.’ I mean, they didn’t, but then again, they’ve been self-absorbed for years. Oh, and they went on to say that ‘it seems like you (Rangergirl) are making a threat that unless we agree with your version of reality, you won’t speak to us. That makes us very sad, because it’s just not fair to us.’

I’ll be honest - in any conversation where a ‘version of reality’ comes up...you’ve pretty much hit a wall. Especially when it’s the parents refusing to believe their adult daughter because it means they would have to face a reality where they were shitty parents who failed to see what was going on right in front of them.

What really burns me up inside is that they said I have my own ‘version of reality’. No, I don’t, because I don’t have Matrix powers. If I did, I can assure you, Mom and Dad, that this wouldn’t be the scenario I’d create. Instead, I would have made you better parents. 

Anyway. To be honest, I wasn’t surprised at their answer. Devastated, yes. But not surprised. I’d hoped for a different answer, but...yeah. Not surprised. 

See, growing up, I thought it was normal to get hit or screamed at when I ‘did something wrong’ - this included but was not limited to: accidentally breaking dishes while washing up after dinner, eating more than three brownies at a friend’s house, and having poor penmanship on the thank-you cards we’d send to the grandparents after Christmas.

Yes, Mom, because everyone’s judging you and unless your children are perfect in every way, you’ll be refused entrance into Heaven. (That was her convoluted mindset at one point - something about that Bible phrase ‘by their fruits you shall know them’ justifying her mentality that ‘if her kids were bad then she was a bad mother.’) 

I mean, yes, yes she was a bad mother, but not because I broke dishes or ate too many brownies. It was because my mother chose to act in the way she did. She enabled my father’s narcissistic behavior, and when she had a clear choice laid out in front of her, she chose to stroke his ego because that’s what she’s always done.  Ah, breathe it in. Stress, neglect, and an emotional landscape that looks like midnight on the dark side of the moon. It smells like childhood. 

*I am trying not to bitter about the situation, but...it’s been a long year. I promise you that I am doing okay. I have a lot of wonderful people in my life who do care and are helping me, but this is just a lot to process. Anxiety, depression, and complex PTSD are a lot to juggle, but I am going to make it through this.*

I’m pissed at my parents, but at this point, I’m also resigned. I know I can’t change who they choose to be, but I still wish they could see that what they’re doing is wrong.

Some people have told me that my parents ‘do care’ and that they’re both just ‘very clumsy in trying to show it.’

But that’s not the case.

It’s just not.

Because if it was, they would have acted differently. They would have chosen to take time out of their lives to talk this stuff over with me, to take a leap of faith because even though it’s hard to accept something so ugly happened in the past, it’s vital to face the truth so that healing can begin.

But instead, my mother and father just...keep protesting their innocence of any wrongdoing whatsoever. 

“We weren’t abusive - how can you say that?!”

- well, see, I move my tongue and my lips at the same time and then sounds come out - but in all seriousness, there was a lot of messed up stuff going on and I don’t understand why you can’t acknowledge that -

“Do you even know what abuse is?”

 - yes, yes I do, it’s hitting and screaming at your kids whenever they piss you off and then telling them not to say anything to anyone because every family ‘has its problems’ - and neglect is when you fail to notice your first grade daughter is terrified of grown men - 

“Don’t you remember the good times?”

- well, I do remember enjoying the times you weren’t hitting or yelling at me, but since I was convinced I’d do something to mess up and then you would yell at me, no, I woudn’t say those were good times, they were more like ‘not actively bad times’ -

“We said we were sorry!”

- no, you said you were sorry for ‘how it made me feel’ which isn’t really an apology, so the cycle just continued and now I’m not going to just stand here and let you act like jackasses because this is fucking insane

“Can’t you just forgive us?”

- Look, I have forgiven you. Many times. But, you both think, in your twisted way, that forgiveness = forgetting, and you. are. WRONG. 

Forgiveness is not forgetting. That only continues the cycle of abuse without actually addressing it, which is like letting a compound fracture just stay the way it is. Eventually, it leads to disaster.

To my parents, the phrase ‘Forgiving is Forgetting’ is comfortable, safe, and familiar. It’s how they see the world, and it’s how they’ve lived their lives, because this way, they don’t actually have to change. They don’t actually have to do anything differently. They don’t have to take a hard look in the mirror and accept that their actions and choices hurt a lot people, very badly, and that they have done a lot of harm.

They’d rather just glance at the mirror and see a flawless image, because honestly, they are weak, and prideful, and in the end, they love themselves (and each other’s ego) more than the truth.

Which sucks, because it leaves me out in the cold yet again, and even though I’m used to it, I’m not going to let them continue this vicious cycle and pretend that everything is fine.

I’m angry. I’m sad. But I’m not going to let my parents’ mistakes define me.

See, to me, forgiveness is learning from mistakes, accepting responsibility for your actions, and striving to do better, even when it’s difficult and painful.

I’ve made mistakes. I’ve hurt the people I care about, and sometimes, I don’t like to look in the mirror. But I do, and even though it’s painful and difficult, it’s worth doing, because if I don’t, I will turn out like my parents - self-absorbed, avoiding responsibility for my actions, and blind to who and what really matters in life.

My parents put ideals above people. 

I put people above ideals.

Will I agree with everyone on everything?

Nope. But that’s okay. I can still interact with people, respectfully and kindly, without ‘needing to convert them to my viewpoint’ - because that’s how my parents look at the world. They think they’re supposed to ‘be better’ than everyone else and ‘show them the right way to do things’, and that means they’ve thrown away their common sense and empathy, and that is a stupid choice.

So what’s the point this super long post is trying to make? (Also if you’re still reading this, I am sending you a hug and a virtual high five because...yes you’re a superstar <3)

Basically the point is this: I refuse to be like my parents. They are shallow, self-obsessed, and blind to what really matters. Last year, two of my siblings were in a car accident. (They survived against all odds.) Instead of putting their kids first, my parents went on a pre-scheduled trip to Italy. It wasn’t even their first international trip. They just didn’t want to lose the money on the tickets. Last week, another one of my siblings got hit by a car and had to go to the hospital. (He’s going to be okay, but he was and still is in a lot of pain.) This time, my father went to see him ‘right away’, but left the very next day because he ‘had to make sure he had enough vacation days’ for the rest of the year. He left while my brother was still in the hospital going through tests. He left a note to say goodbye, and that was it.

Yes. My parents are...put simply, insane, and so I am choosing to be nothing like them. I am choosing, every single fucking day, to be something more. 

A lot of the time, I feel that if I’d been a ‘different’ kid, or a ‘better’ child, this whole mess might have turned out differently. But, then again, it probably would not have turned out differently. My parents were not, and are not, satisfied with anything less than what they see as perfection.

I know no one is perfect, but growing up, I tried, so damn hard, to be what they wanted me to be so that I could at least feel worthwhile for short periods of time. My mind had repressed the memories of the attacks, but I was still in a lot of pain that I never felt comfortable talking about with anyone (and especially not my parents).

When I was about 9 years old, I seriously considered suicide, but I decided not to, mostly because I didn’t want my younger siblings to feel like it was their fault. Another consideration was that I knew my parents would be pissed at the mess I left, and I figured that if I wasn’t already dead, I’d get into really deep trouble.

Maybe they would have cared about losing me, but I’m still not sure if that would have been the case. I think my parents would instead grieve the loss of their perfect image. The loss of me, their daughter, would take a backseat to what they considered their real loss - their public image as competent and loving parents. (Which is what’s most important to them, as they’ve demonstrated many times).

It’s what they’re doing now. They claim to be ‘devastated’ at my cutting off contact, but I don’t think they’ll even travel a few states over to sit down and have a therapy session if I invite them. (Something about ‘not knowing the therapist’ - aka ‘we don’t have control over the situation’.) I’m still going to try and invite them to do it, but honestly I’m not optimistic about their response.

It hurts that they don’t see me as important, or worth their time and trouble.But in the end, I’m going to have to let them go regardless of whether it hurts or not.

One of the more painful things I’m realizing in therapy is that I didn’t really have parents growing up. Instead, I lived in a house with two emotionally stunted and dysfunctional adults who either ignored me or treated me badly, and who demanded perfection from me so that they could feel better about themselves. I couldn’t be perfect, so they blamed me for not upholding their impossible standards, and the cycle just went on because neither of my parents wanted to put in the time or effort to fix what was broken.

Right now, I’d put money on the bet that they’re saying that I’m ‘making a big deal out of nothing’ and I’m sure they both think that I’ll eventually ‘come back to my senses and everything will be fine again’.

But I’m not making a mountain out of a molehill, and I’m not going to ‘come back to my senses.’

I honestly don’t think this situation will change, because for that to happen, my parents would have to swallow their pride, and that’s the one thing they will not do. Instead, they’ll proclaim to anyone who’ll listen that this situation is so painful, but just like they’ve done before, they won’t actually try to fix it.

Over this last year, their actions, words, and general demeanor is that of...basically two people looking at a spreadsheet and deciding that I’m not worth the cost to their egos. Overall, I think each of my parents consider me to be an acceptable loss because I’m...just me. I’m not important enough to them to risk upsetting how they both view the world. 

I could be wrong about my parents’ mindset. But I don’t think I am, and...that hurts a lot, because when I was growing up I tried so damn hard to prove to them that I worth something.

I know that kids shouldn’t have to prove that to their parents. 

But I guess that when your parents are narcissists, they only want to see themselves in you, and (when) you don’t show them a good enough reflection, they don’t want you around because your imitation of them doesn’t do them justice. 

Ultimately, I’m not worth a hard look in the mirror. I’m not worth that cost to their ego.

I know that I’m going to be healthier and happier for refuting that toxic mindset, but I really wish the situation was different.

I wish my parents had seen that something was wrong, or chosen to believe me, or even wanted to fix what was broken. But instead, I have to separate from them for my own health, and it is so damn painful, because I didn’t want my parents to be perfect.

I just wanted them to see me as worth their time and effort, even when it was difficult and even when it came at a real cost to them.

But, like I said, I don’t think they’re willing to part with their perfect self-images.

Which hurts, but at least now I know that it wasn’t my fault.

Isn’t. 

It isn’t my fault.

I’ve gotta start using the present tense here. :-)

[bulletnick]

Catharsis [Iconoclasts Fanfiction]

He couldn’t stop her.

That was the trouble that solidified on Elro’s mind, over and over, ceaselessly echoing within his mind, as the moon drifted slowly across the sky, stars coming and going, making way for the bright sun.

He had no power. Whatever he wanted for her - she could just do everything against his will.

He was Robin’s older brother, and yet, he had no power to stop her. Physically, he was too weak and crippled. Intellectually, no amount of warning of danger and pain seemed to have any value to her. Emotionally… was emotions could he use to appeal to her? It seemed as though he didn’t have any left. Just a hollow shell of regrets and losses.

Elro did not sleep at all. Despite being immensely tired, his brain was just too restless for it. Perhaps it was just how surreal their ordeal had been, perhaps he’d gotten just enough rest after being shot in the back to prevent sleep, perhaps it was the pain he was doing his best to ignore - whatever the cause, Elro’s eyes never did rest that night.

So… that’s it. I have nothing left. There’s nothing of me left.

When Robin woke up in the morning, after rubbing her eyes as the sun was well on its way to the zenith, was lock eyes with him. Neither said anything, at first. They had no idea what to say, what to talk about.

They were family. They were supposed to be close, supportive, understanding. But Elro felt and saw none of it coming from Robin. Instead, she looked… apprehensive. Unsure. Unfamiliar. Eventually she got up and went for the fridge, and made a hearty breakfast. He only watched as she scarfed down food in a manner he hadn’t seen since their father was alive.

He observed her leaving some on a plate, resting on a table, just within his only arm’s reach. His gaze met hers. She said nothing, again. Just looked back. As if to say: “Eat. You need it”. Even her stare spoke so loudly, and yet in so few words.

No motion was made to pick up the food. After a minute, Robin sighed, and left the house. She didn’t tell him to stay inside, to not leave, to remain safe. Perhaps she reasoned she didn’t need to.

Indeed, she didn't. Where would be go?

The plate remained untouched as the minutes went by. Elro only leaned against the surface, consumed by thoughts.

I tried to protect her, keep her safe. Now she’s fought more battles than anyone ever should. And she remains steadfast, determined, resolute. I won’t ever be able to stop her again.

He doesn’t have his own home anymore. He doesn’t have a wife and child… taken away with Penance. He doesn't have his body, not like he used to. It’s just a pitiful fraction of his former self. He has Robin… not really. It used to be that he always knew where she was, safe, and reliable. But not anymore. Now she used to wandering the world, and getting into conflicts much bigger than she was meant to tackle. He doesn’t even have his job anymore…

Well… he wasn’t sure. One Concern surely wouldn’t last long in this new world that Robin had wrought upon everyone… but Chemico Contra had been busy for the past few months, establishing bases of operation and contacts with communities… there many areas of research still thriving and waiting to be investigated, especially Shockwood… there was promise of reliable and sustainable energy sources in that region. They might help fulfill the demand that the Ivory shortage had left behind.

Don’t fool yourself. Who would hire you? Crippled and injured. “Self-absorbed and irrational.” And of course… the Agents he helped kill. They were the enemy… but who would forgive him for such crimes?

Friends, maybe, would not reject him on the spot. Teegan had always stood up for him, even when he insisted she didn’t. As per usual, he wasn’t listened to. Everyone was always trying to tell him that he was wrong. That he didn’t know what was best. What did they know?

Family. Co-workers. Neighbours. Superiors. Icons. So many of them, dead. He had survived. He had lived through the apocalypse.

And what do I have left to show for it?

Nothing. Just scars and emptiness.

The first few days Robin remains distant, and mostly mute. He can tell she still hears his disapproval in her mind, trying to stop her. She was never meant to be this stubborn.

I was always meant to be the one to stand between her and danger. I promised I would.

After half a week or so, her treatment becomes a bit warmer. If only because he was immensely bored of being inside, he humors her when she suggests she take a walk. Good for the body and spirit, she said.

“Is that what that doctor told you?” The accusation flew almost thoughtlessly, remembering the man who cleaned and changed his bandages as Robin’s “friends” gathered in her home, hoping beyond hope that she hadn’t been stranded forever in the moon, or worse, lost in the void of space.

She doesn’t answer. She just offers to help him.

“I can handle myself just fine.” Pushing back his arm. He wasn’t weak, not too weak to do this.

Robin tries to hide her growing dejection, as Elro leaves her home since he was brought in.

I suppose I shouldn’t be so sour. We are home, after all. It’s still Blackrock, and full of trees, and we’re safe now… the adventure is over.

But as they traverse the familiar paths, Elro can’t avoid but contort his face and expressions, as memories of outings with loved ones resurface and litter the pathways. The bench where they shared many kisses at dawn. The bushes where they played hide and seek with-

“Stop, I can’t-” The words escape Elro before he can prevent Robin from hearing them. Naturally, she turns around to face him with an expression caught between confusion and concern. She’s shocked to see an actual trace of emotion on Elro’s face for once. She immediately steps closer to him, and he instinctively steps back.

“No, you- Please, Robin, can we not-” Elro stutters, no hint of frustration or annoyance in his voice. He recalls the smile that he enjoyed so many times before and after sleep, the cheerful voice that woke him in the morning, wondering what would they do together, dad…

Elro’s weak give way, and he’s forced to kneel, and in front of her favorite patch of flowers, no less. He’s used to burying his grief, and emotions - he had to, he had a job to focus on, a home to provide for, a sister to shield from the horrors out there…

But none of those things exist anymore.

Robin knelt beside Elro, making sure not to get so close. He was never very affectionate, and she doubted that would change right now. But then again, she’d never seen him quite like this… or enjoying an intimate emotional moment with his beloved. So she stayed there, on the soft grass, as Elro maintained his composure, but still the slight shaking in his voice betrayed his true feelings.

“You need time to mourn, and grieve.” Teegan would say that so many times. No, he’d counter, he had better things to do with his time than to mope, and get nothing important done. So he’s stuff down whatever he felt as best as he could, and kept soldering on.

But there was nothing else now. No other responsibilities, no distractions, no assignments… nothing else to face but the growing pain within. There was no escaping it down; the dust had settled, the battle was over, there was nothing more to fight. No more running away from the losses. After the war is finished, you must clear the fields of the ones you’ve lost, and put them where they need to go, clear the earth, and bury the hearts, so that it may start anew…

Elro took quiet breaths, and sheepishly sat on the ground, staring at the delightful red flowers that he’d sneakily take a few off, and take home to surprise her with. A short detour before coming home, to make his appearances all the sweeter and more welcome.

“Robin, I know I told you to stay, many times, but please - this time, can you please stay with me?” Pleading was not something he wanted to do, it was often his last resort when he couldn’t think of anything else.

I’m not hollow. I’m bursting with agony and I can’t handle trying to stuff all of it down and keep it sealed.

To his relief, Robin just nodded, and sat beside him, looking at the same flowers. They were quite pretty flowers… though they reminded her of someone who had to be sacrificed. She wish she didn’t have to, but… she didn’t know what else she could do.

Both of them stared ahead, without saying a word, each contemplating on the people they had lost along the way. Elro realised that the gardens looked different now. There were so many new trees growing, healthy and bright.

Why couldn’t they be here to see this?

He hugged his knees with his arm, and let himself be free to speak what had been confined inside.

“...I miss them. I miss them so much.” Elro spoke. Robin turned slightly in his direction, but said nothing. She didn’t want to interrupt. Elro had barely spoken of dad at all after he died, insisting on being protective and strong for her. But that had never been what she needed from him; she needed someone to sit beside her when things were painful, and to bolster her spirits when action was necessary. Not to stand in the way, as if he was meant to be some sacrifice. So if he was to finally level with her… she’d let him do it, however he could manage to get it out.

“I wanted to come home so much because I… I just wanted to make sure that they could be at peace.” He didn’t quaver anymore, but Robin knew that his gaze and tone meant that he was truly vulnerable at this point. “I… I had been meaning to come back… and mark a small plot of land for both of them. I kept some of their things at work… at one point I thought I could sneak into my old office… grab their stuff… bring it back home…”

He took a deep breath, and clenched his fist. It was very difficult for him… he had trained himself to be stoic, but now he had to unlearn his own instincts. “I needed to come home, because it hurt too much. One day you think you’re fine, the next you’ve lost everything. I didn’t care for One Concern, or Mother, or any of that bullshit - I just wanted to be with my family again. Any way I could. Even if I just stood upon what was left of my home - it was something, anything.”

“When they died, as far as I was concerned, the world had already ended. Nothing else mattered to me.” The wind gently rustled his hair, and Robin’s, who at this point was just listening intently, and in some way, glad that he could finally empathise with her. She thought she had lost someone forever to Penance, as well. She lucked out, in the end, but the fear and panic were no less real, or fleeting.

“I couldn’t even bear to think of risking your life, Robin. You’re all I have left. I was so tired of fighting One Concern, tired of having to puff up in front of Agents, tired of having to listen to another one of Mother’s speeches, tired of just… everything. Life’s been real hard to keep ahold of since, well… Agent Grey.” He felt guilty and proud at the same time. A horrible act, but perhaps… a necessary evil, he thought, if it served to take down the facade of power cast upon the world.

“In the end, I think… I couldn’t look past the grief, because I never dealt with it. I was too busy telling myself that when I was done, when I was finished, only then would I take the time. But now it’s here, and… I’ve made so many fucking stupid mistakes, for Tri’s sake-” He said, bringing his hand to his face, his breaths quickening, his pulse racing-

No tears. That’s what you taught yourself.

His eyes remained dry, but letting out a breath, he was shaking slightly. He had been such an idiot, thinking so much about the way he wanted it all to work out...

But… Sunflower’s here, still alive, still able to smile. And the roses… they’re still blooming. Still pretty. Still loving. Everything collapsed… but that too, shall pass. And here, now… I still have all this.

“Sunflower…” Soft, brotherly, caring. Robin scooted closer, waiting for him.

“I’m sorry, Sunflower. I’m sorry… that I failed you when you needed me. That I’m still carrying all this weight around I should’ve let go so long ago.” Staring at the ground, the shame of long overdue reconciliations bubbling up. “I’m so broken, and I need to heal so much.”

“I know I can’t make you stay - you’ve shown me that you’re own woman now. But… perhaps you could help me get back on my feet? For a little while at least?”

Robin had no words with which to respond. Instead, she answered the best way she knew how: Wrapping her arms around him, and letting him know that she wouldn’t abandon him. If someone could use her help, then she’d so her best.

“Thanks…” He said, feeling a little awkward from the affectionate gesture, but finally, at long last, feeling something warm inside for a long time.

The rose was bright, and blooming. Giving him hope that someday, he too, would find new roots to grow from.