#work n school got me in a chokehold i fear...

[luvcrs]

reverse starter call !! give this a like and i'll check out your opens x

[queenpiranhadon]

A/N: The chokehold this man has on me…sorry ik I haven’t been writing in a hot minute so bear with me 😭😭 I’ll resume writing some Katsuki fics too but I’m in a slump so send me requests I beg 🙏🙏Here's the masterlist!

Warning(s): f!reader, no curses au, Satoru and Suguru are basketball players, reader has a really crappy boyfriend, Satoru kinda kisses you without consent on a big screen but it’s okay because it’s cute lmao, this is seriously Wattpad Y/N coded but shush lemme fantasize, cursing, Satoru calls you pretty girl, ooc Satoru?, I know next to nothing about basketball

Pairing(s): Gojo Satoru x Reader

•─────•°•❀•°•──── ᴋɪꜱꜱ ᴄᴀᴍ ────•°•☁︎•°•────•

Can’t stop thinking about those kiss cam fails that expose a shitty boyfriend and it got me thinking..

Now, I have no idea if they do kiss cams at basketball games, but for the plot, let’s say they do.

It’s halftime- the players are resting before they continue on in the third quarter and thus for the span of the next fifteen minutes, the gigantic screen was showing funny prompts comparing audience members to popular characters and media personalities- going so far as to show Iori Utahime, manager of the Kyoko team as Kanae Kocho from the popular show Demon Slayer.

You thought it was amusing- the halftime entertainment on the jumbotron was most likely your favorite part about the game- considering you had come here with your boyfriend for a date. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t understand the game itself, basketball had very simple rules that you could follow and you found yourself very invested in the game…but so was your boyfriend. 

A little too invested, to be honest. He was always aggressive when it came to sports, you remember watching the World Cup at his house with some friends and he ended up physically breaking the TV once the team he was rooting for lost. You knew his anger issues were well…an issue, but you looked past it- he treated you decently and you weren’t entirely unhappy, so everything was fine.

Recently however, the both of you started to drift apart, and in fear of losing the man you had been dating since high school, you finally bought him tickets to the Tokyo vs Kyoto game. 

And well that was your first mistake. You were developing a migraine by the end of the first quarter, your boyfriend’s incessant screaming making you sink into your seat in embarrassment.

By now, the Jumbotron had moved into a different prospect- a kiss cam.

You felt your heart warm as an elderly couple kissed sweetly on camera- a testament to their long lasting love, only for the feeling to end once one of the cameras trained their focus on you and your boyfriend.

You couldn’t help the goofy grin that stretched across your face as you nudged your boyfriend, but the man in question was too engrossed in his phone call to notice his own face on the giant screen for all to see. Your smile died down a little as he waved you off for the third time now, and the camera decided to not embarrass you further by choosing a new target- hilariously a pair of siblings who understandably looked repulsed at the thought of complying.

To your dismay, not all of the cameramen that weaved their way through the masses took the hint, and another one circulating the stands puts you and your boyfriend on the screen again.

You managed a weak smile for the camera trained on you as you nudged him again, only for the asshole to wave you off yet again with a pissed off look on his face.

The audience pitied you, seeing your boyfriend disregard you completely - however, they weren’t the only ones who noticed.

“That bastard is a shitty asshole, eh Satoru?”

“Asshole is sugarcoating.” the snowy haired male mutters, wiping his forehead with the damp towel Shoko gave him. “ Tch. Look at how he’s treating her. Pretty little thing doesn’t deserve this.”

Suguru blinks. “Damn dude didn’t think you’d get so worked up about it.”

Satoru watches as you helplessly try to get your boyfriend to at least look up to no avail, annoyance bubbling inside him along with second hand frustration as he can physically see your heart break through your eyes.

Why was the cameraman still recording?!

Satoru always has good eyes- maybe that’s why you stood out to him so much, even before the kiss cam flashed your pretty face across the entire court. Your boyfriend was wearing a Kyoto jersey, and yet… your eyes were on him, intently watching the game with such a fervor that one would think you were playing the game yourself. All of his fans were obsessive, he knew that- most of the stadium comprised of his fans alone- thought that was probably because of his looks. However, you seemed to be interested in him for his skills,  instead of his looks, years of hard work and patience finally being recognized.

It was…refreshing.

And yet seeing that heartbroken expression on your face was like a dry desert wind, scratchy and arid, sweeping away the energizing feeling that came from you.

It wasn’t like him to get so worked up about a fan of all things…and yet, he couldn’t yet it. There was just something so captivating about you.

Before he realized what he was doing,  he got up and started walking towards you rapidly, ignoring the yells from Suguru, Shoko, and Coach Masamichii.

His long legs allowed him to make his way to your row quickly, and thankfully you were on the end, easier for him to reach.

You looked at him in shock, eyes wide and lips parted in surprise, just before he swoops in and presses his lips against yours.

“Wha- what are y- mmph!”

Your boyfriend stares at the both of you, aghast, his face turning bright red in anger but Satoru doesn’t care.

Neither does the audience, the stadium erupting and whoops and cheers and you’re saved by none other than the star player of the Toyko team, Satoru Gojo - both of your faces loud and clear on the Jumbotron.

Your brain isn’t able to process anything, starstruck and grateful and flustered and pissed at your boyfriend and…happy.

Satoru kissed you lovingly- which you thought was impossible considering the two of you had just met, but it was happening.

He tasted like candy, you think, kissing him back timidly - because this was wrong, you knew that, but why did it feel so right? His large palm snakes around to the back of your neck, slowly running his long fingers through your hair, before parting, your faces only millimeters away from each other.

You’re both left breathless, but not for long because Satoru regained his composure, squeezing your shoulder before swiftly grabbing the bucket on popcorn your boyfriend (soon to be ex) and dumping it on his head.

The audience roars in approval and you wanted to snort at the star basketball player’s childishness, before you remembered that the white haired man in front of you was a star basketball player.

You just kissed a star basketball player. On a Jumbotron.

Satoru turns back to you with a cheeky grin and you gape at him, awestruck.

He coos at your expression and takes your hand in his. “How about you join me up front, hm pretty girl? I’m sure you’ll have a way better view from down there.” He winks and you feel all the blood rush to your face.

“I uh…o-okay…” you manage to squeak out, letting Satoru lead you down to the benches where the rest of his team was.

Did…did that just happen?

[eydi-andrius]

Ours, huh. (Malleus Draconia x Reader)

a/n: just an exercise after my long break. also, malleus was so adorable at the current event. where he came three hours early so he will not miss his first vacation outside briar valley

cw/tw: unedited, pure brainrot for malleus

🐉 🌸🐉🌸🐉🌸🐉🌸🐉🌸🐉🌸🐉🌸🐉🌸🐉

"I definitely heard that thunder loud and clear." Cater nervously laughed and looked outside the window of the mirror chamber.

It was true though. The once beautiful morning slowly turns dim as dark clouds with lightning crawl out and hide the sun.

"Wow! I've never seen Tsunotarou make that kind of expression before. Look! He's turning really scary." Grim grimaced and made sure to move closer to you as he watched Malleus' expression turn darker and scarier. The more you stare at his hulking stature, the louder the thunder outside.

Jamil was not at fault though for making Malleus angry. A royalty without an escort to a public event will surely be a problem. A national security level of problem. You're actually weirded out that Sebek wasn't here wreaking havoc because Malleus will go out alone. Lilia probably has him on a chokehold.

"Why was that? Draconia has been here for three hours. I think he was that excited to join you today." Crowley, just like how useless he was, emphasizes how much Malleus has been looking forward to this trip, more than doing his job as a professor and interfering with the problem at hand.

You watch Malleus' mood turning sour, as he hears the professor's words, and Jamil trying his best to make his point across when you hear Trey coughed behind you. You looked back at him and Trey nodded at where Malleus was standing. A frown was your only response, wondering what he meant. His only reply was an exasperated sigh when you did not understand him. He then opened his mouth to speak without sound, mouthing about Malleus again but you're far too slow to understand that too.

Done with the way you and Trey danced with each other, Cater held your shoulders, and forcefully made you look back again at Malleus. As you turn, a loud crack of thunder hits near the school that makes you flinch. It took you awhile to regain your composure but once you got yourself together, you almost choked in fear on how furious Malleus is looking right now.

If he was in his dragon form, he probably would have eaten and swallowed Jamil – whole.

Not giving you enough time, Cater pushed you towards Malleus and you tripped in front of him. Good thing his reflexes were fast and he was able to catch you on time. The air of anger and malice immediately vanished and his eyes softened as he looked at you.

Ah! They want me to take care of Malleus for them. These Heartslabyul friends of yours. You wonder if they were truly your friends or they were just using you when they needed your help. Tsk.

"Child of man, are you alright?" Tone soft and calm, he asked you. He even checked if you have any scratches from your accidental tripping.

"I am fine, Tsunotarou. Was it true that you waited for three hours here?" When Malleus blushed at your question, you also blushed in return.

"I did. I was afraid I would miss it so I woke up earlier than the agreed time."

Still a little excessive though. Was the thought inside your head but you know too well that Malleus' fear was valid. Somehow, even with his tall stature, people always miss him out or completely forget him. It always has been a mystery to you, especially when you never forget to invite him in everything you do. It wasn't that hard.

"You must be tired waking up that early. But I'm so glad you're coming with us today. Right, Jamil?" You looked at Jamil, who looked like any minute now he would pee in distress. So with your eyes, you silently begged him to just agree.

With no other choice, and with the incestent of Kalim, he agreed.

Glad that everything worked out, you intertwined your arms to Malleus' right arm.

"Let's enjoy our first vacation outside NRC, shall we?" You asked him with a broad smile and a tilt of your head.

He looks surprised at first with the gesture. His eyes wide and mouth agape. But when he got himself back, he gave you a sly grin.

"Ours, huh. Well, let's enjoy it together then." He gave you a smile and you did not fail to notice how the flowers seemed to bloom and the sun shone brighter outside before the mirror took you all to your destination.

🐉🌸🐉🌸🐉🌸🐉🌸🐉🌸🐉🌸🐉🌸🐉🌸🐉🌸

Let me know your thoughts! And thank you in advance for your likes, comments and reblogs! <3

[strawbxrryneptune]

Level one

Word count: 10k

Cw: pretty tame, just slight descriptions of a dick, play fighting, mentions of almost dying.

This fic and the fics following will contain monster fucking, cucking and threesomes!! If you are not comfortable, try out some of my other works, but if you wish to proceed, remember, sharing is caring.

@miggiisdumb

Next~♡

♡♡

Being a princess was always portrayed as this lush, lavish life. Spoiled rotten with goodies and suitors on you left and right. Everyone respects you, maybe even fears you, and you don't have to worry about a thing cause you have your guards and your secure little tower.

Only one of those things applied to you. The people of the Mushroom kingdom adored you, sending you gifts and bringing their cute little families to meet you. You had moved out of the actual palace ages ago, deciding to reside in a cute little cottage hidden deep in the woods. 

You had some bodyguards, but you kind of doubted their abilities in warding off monsters. You didn't mind fighting by the side though, it built up your strength and courage. 

You knew that you alone were pretty strong, and so were your guards, but it still confused you how you barely got bothered. Occasionally you would hear a growl or roar in the distance, but it was quickly cut off and you would go about your business. 

You finally found out what was keeping the monsters at bay when you ventured out into the forest alone, not wanting to wake up your bodyguard since you were just getting berries.

You had managed to fill up your basket and make it halfway back before you felt a rush of air behind you, only getting a second to blink before you were sent flying, hot breath and saliva tickling your neck and cheek.

You kick and scream, arms flailing when the creature pushes your head down into the dirt.

You start to weaken as your vision swims, struggling to breathe. You go limp, letting out choked sobs when the creature is suddenly ripped off of you. You hear shuffling and roaring, and then the forest goes silent for a moment before coming back to life, birds chirping and wind blowing as you feel someone touch your arm gently. 

You hear a smooth, low voice fussing over you, the stranger lifting you up and assisting you back to the cottage. You try to turn to see their face, but all you can make out is a bright red hat, dark red hair and pretty lips before they're turning you back around.

When you make it to the cottage, you try to once again turn to thank the person, but they're already gone. About to head back inside, you see a bright red object laying on the ground. When you get closer, you realize it's the strangers hat, soft and big with a K patched into it.

You gasped, realizing who exactly this man was.

You came from a long line of royalty, your mother being Queen Star and your sister being Princess Peach. When you were kids, your mother would tell you of an Italian family who were so kind and brave, always looking to serve and expecting nothing in return.

For your mother, it was a man named Papa Mario, and for Peach it was Mario Jr. And Luigi. Around the time you were born, they also were welcoming a baby into the world, and you have fuzzy memories of a little boy with sharp teeth and red hair vowing to protect you even when you were in diapers.

Snapping back to reality, you scurry back inside and throw on a more casual outfit, still in a dress but with more room to move, slipping on some boots and stuffing the hat in your bag.

You take the path down to town, chatting with the residents along the way until you arrive at the Mario Bros Tavern. 

You step inside, greeting everyone and making your way over to the counter, seeing who you assume is the brother, dressed in all green. His name tag reads "Izuku", and you smile at him when he looks your way. 

"Hi, Princess!! What brings you here?"

You dig in your bag and take out the plush hat, holding it in front of you.

"I- Uh…. I found this in the woods, I was jus' wondering if the owner of it was here?"

Izuku lets out a soft, 'oh', and holds a finger up to you to signal you to wait. He disappears into the back room and when he comes back you suddenly wish you were dressed better.

In the forest all you could see what that your "hero" was wearing overalls and red. You didn't pick up on the fact that he was probably almost 7 feet tall, buff and solid with pretty, full lips and a sharp smile, cute spiky hat hair which a deeper shade of red then his clothes, which fit him so perfect it was like he just stepped out of a clothes factory. 

When you met eyes, the stranger gave you a sheepish smile, stepping up to the counter and gently taking the hat from your now trembling hands. 

"Gee, thanks for bringing this back, Prn'cess. I hadn't even realized I lost it."

You search for words, feeling your cheeks heat up when his smile widens, big veiny hands reaching out to shut your mouth, which fell right back open at the feel of his hands on your face.

"I'm, uh, I'm also here to thank you for saving me today…"

"Kiri."

"Kiri. Thank you, Kiri."

He smiles a toothy smile, giving you a silly bow. You giggle, your heart swelling with affection as you realize you could get used to this.

"As a token of my appreciation, I'm taking you on a date in two days, up by the waterfalls."

The red head blinks in surprise before his smile returns, pink coloring his cheeks as he mods vigorously.

"I'll see you then, Princess!!"

♡♡

You trudged through the forest, cursing yourself for putting off your carriage repair. The trail was under construction, so you had to walk you way through the bushes towards the waterfall. 

At least you weren't wearing a formal dress. You were just wearing a simple skirt and a top, some boots and a picnic basket in your hand.

As you stumble along, you start to hear the roaring of the waterfall, but laced within you hear growls and grunts, followed by a shout that sounded all too familiar.

Kirishima.

You pick up speed and come to a clearing, stepping back slightly in shock. 

In front of you is one of the legendary Bowser men, powerful and downright terrifying. They had a tendency to go after princesses, which was the main reason the Mario brothers protected your family. 

This Bowser was the new heir, Bakugou. He didn't have red hair like his father, his was an ash blonde, and his shell was a slightly darker green. He was taller too, looked about 6'9 from where you were standing, but he towered over Kirishima so you figured he was over 7 feet. He was actually kind of attractive, which surprised you given how his dad looked.

Kirishima has him in a headlock, both of them grunting and growling and you would be lying if the sight wasn't hot, but you shook the feeling off and silently marched over to the two, wanting to "save" the red head like he had for you for the longest time. 

Taking a deep breath, you launched yourself on the Blonde's shell with a shout, quickly realizing how stupid this "plan" was when you could barely hold on, being so small compared to him that when he stood up and reached behind him, he could just pluck you up like a bug, holding by the back of your shirt in a big hand. 

"What happened Bakubro? Why'd you stop-y/n?"

"Well well well, wha d'we have here? Is this the pretty little prn'cess yer were telling me about, Kiri?"

You gulp harshly, not even out of fear anymore now that you realized that they were play fighting, and that they know each other. 

No, you were nervous because Bakugou was hot. Sharp canines digging into his bottom as he watched you dangle in his palm, spiky hair leading down to a bushy mullet, bulging muscles and thick thighs hidden by a ratty loin cloth, blonde happy trail-did something just twitch?

You swiftly look back up, looking into knowing vermillion eyes as he licks his lips and shoots you a smirk, his eyes dark and cheeks slightly flushed. When you feel a slight breeze and begin to rock, you realize that hes still holding you. Up in the air. With one hand. 

This is not doing anything good to your manhandling kink. You can already feel your panties start to get sticky as he gently sets you back down, standing straight back up.

You're now level with his veiny thighs, hands starting to tremble from how guilty and horny you feel. The guy you asked out on a date is right there!! Speaking of, you glance at Kiri and he's already looking at youz something dark gleaming within his eyes but quickly hidden when you meet gazes, rushing forward to trap you in a crushing hug, big hands running up your sides.

You blush as you pull back, about to ask if he wants to get going when he jogs back over to Bakugou, who's eyes haven't left you, and tackles him onto the ground, putting him in a chokehold.

You would be pissed, you planned a picnic and its getting dark, the bugs coming out and the air getting sticky but they look so good like that, muscle on muscle, and Bakugou keeps letting out snarls and growls that go straight to your cunt, slicking up your panties as you think about those big, clawed hands your skirt up and plugging you up with his big dick.

You stop mid thought as you remember what they taught you in Princess survival school, in the monster course. Bowsers can smell really really well. Which means Bakugou….could probably smell you right now. 

You look up at him and let out a breath of relief when you see he's still distracted by the Kirishima, writhing to try and get away from the his grip on his neck. With a sharp movement from the blonde, his loin cloth flutters to the side momentarily and flashes you a peak of his really, really fat cock. You almost pass out from how fast blood rushes to your head when you see so many veins and bumps, and he's obviously not even hard. 

All of a sudden, Bakugou takes a deep breath, preparing to let out a roar to startle Kirishima into letting him go, and chokes on air, gasp getting caught in his throat. Kiri is none the wiser, laughing and joking behind him about how hes strongest, but Bakugou isn't paying attention, eyes blown wide and rolled in his head as his tongue slightly lolls out of his mouth, as if to taste what he's smelling.

To taste you. 

His head rolls to the side, eyes trained on the clench of your thighs and flush of your body, and it make his hips jump, red irises locking onto you as drool spills out of his open mouth. 

Kirishima realized how quiet he is, and attempts to peak over and see if he's okay but Bakugou roughly shoulders him off and stomps away into the trees, leaving you dazed and Kirishima confused. 

"That was weird."

[duuhrayliegh]

Hello, darling! I was wondering if you could right some Bucky x reader, where the reader worked along Sharon during Civil War and she meets Bucky. Then she runs always with Sharon and meets Bucky again in Madripoor and continue their story. I hope that makes sense. Thank yooouuuu✨✨✨

hey babes!! yes i absolutely can! i kind of gave more background than i meant to making it way longer, but i hope you enjoy it anyway! i do want to continue this story and most definitely will be so be on the lookout for the other parts of it lovie <3. i hope you still enjoy it even though it isn’t quite what you asked for yet :)

A Friend of Yours

FATWS SPOILERS

warnings: not much, canon lvl violence, some suggestive stuff closer towards to end, language, i think that’s it

word count: 6140 i went a bit overboard, it’s fine i’m totally fine

a/n: i got this request and then didn’t stop writing all day. i didn’t get anything else done all day. i got home at like seven-ish? and i’ve been sitting on the floor of my bedroom just writing this fic (for context it is now 12:47 pm where i’m at)

check out A Friend of Yours - pt. 2 and A Friend of Yours - pt. 3

p.s.: this is the first fic that i’m writing with an actual ‘x reader’ i’m so proud

xoxo ray

ray’s m.list

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You grew up with Sharon, the two of you were best friends from birth it seemed. Honestly, Peggy raised you more than your own parents did. When Aunt Peggy got Sharon her first thigh holster, she got you one too. You enlisted together, moved up the ranks together, everything. So, it was of no shock to anyone that after the fall of SHIELD, you both moved together into the CIA’s Joint Terrorism Task Force.

You were inside the hotel with Sharon, Steve and Sam when the bombing on the UN took place. The look of unbridled fear that fell over Steve’s face as they announced Barnes as the primary suspect was heart wrenching. You weren’t able to watch it for long because your phone was already ringing off the hook.

“Look, you need to get me more information, and now.” You gritted into your phone speaker before quickly hanging up the phone and turning to a crestfallen Steve who was still watching the news casting. Sharon ended her phone call and turned to you.

“We have to go to work.” A few short hours on a jet later, you and Sharon were coordinating the operation. Close by, Steve and Sam were awaiting new information. Steve had this insane plan to find Barnes before the whole rest of the world did. Like that’s going to happen, it took the world 70 years to find Barnes. Of course, Steve and Sam are going to find him in about half that time.

You followed the blonde woman into a busy coffee shop and up to the counter. She slid a manila folder over to a well disguised Captain America. “Tips have been pouring in since that footage went public. Everyone thinks the Winter Soldier goes to their gym. Most of it’s just noise, except this.” Sharon was talking quietly, trying to not draw attention to the fact that she was committing a serious offense.

“We have to give the briefing, like now Shar, so we have to go.” The two of you pushed off the counter and you turned quickly to say one last thing. “And you better hurry. They’ve given the order to shoot on site.”

You left the shop quickly and made your way back to the white tent, passing the redheaded spy who was watching you like a hawk. A look of understanding crossed her features as you kept a calm facade. She fucking knows, how the hell could she read you that easily?

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

The next time you saw any of them, they were exiting the back of an armored prison van. It was no surprise that his eyes flitted over to his best friend from childhood. You glanced over at Barnes, who was strapped in all different ways, and your heart hurt for him. You tried not to pity him, you know you would’ve gotten a slap on the wrist from Aunt Peggy about it.

Bucky must’ve felt you looking at him because his steel blue eyes locked with your pair. This was the first time that you’ve ever actually seen the man in person. It was startling, in a good way. You grew up going to the Smithsonian and hearing Aunt Peggy’s stories about the great James Buchanan Barnes. You never thought that you’d get the chance to meet the man you did a history report on your freshman year of high school.

“Y/N?” Sharon’s voice cut through your thoughts, recalling you to reality and out of your past. “We have to go. We’ve been assigned to monitor Steve and Sam while they’re here.” Sharon was clearly not a fan of this, which made you laugh loudly.

“Oh, score! We get to babysit Captain America and the Falcon!” You spoke in an unnecessarily upbeat voice and then clapped your hands together. “Our dream job! Let’s go, Shar!” She stared at you for a millisecond before slapping a hand on your shoulder.

“Let’s go, you fucking dork.” You followed her through the office building into the control room where you observed Tony talking to Steve. Apparently, the conversation was not going well because both their faces held angry glares. Eventually, Tony left the room, leaving Steve alone with his thoughts and that can never be good.

“How you doing, Cap?” You asked as you less-than-gracefully plopped yourself into the chair across from him. He looked over at me and released a heavy sigh.

“Honestly, Y/N, not that great at the moment.” He looked at you with his iconic mom Steve stare. Wow, so that’s what it’s like to be on the receiving end of that. Sam walked in and sat next to you. You drowned out their conversation as your gaze focused on screens outside of the glass office.

The video feed of Barnes in his metal cage was displayed on a TV screen. How is this considered humane? Obviously you knew that the CIA had pushed boundaries in the past, but this was just insane. “Are those restraints really necessary?” Sam seemed to be just voicing his thoughts, not expecting a response back.

“Well, he is considered an international terrorist, so yeah, they’re kind of necessary.” You said quickly and then muttered under your breath, “No matter who thinks that it’s excessive.” Steve’s gaze met yours and he was about to speak when Sharon walked in and dropped a paper in front of Sam.

“The receipt for your gear.” A scoff sounded from Sam as he glared at Sharon.

“‘Bird costume’? Come on.” Always quick to defend your best friend.

“Hey, we didn’t write it up.” It came off snappier than you had meant it. Sharon shot you a look, signaling you to back off. You raised a brow at her as she leaned over the table to the intercom buttons.

The audio from Barnes’ evaluation echoed through the glass room. Everyone around you was unsuspecting the four of you listened in. The psychologist was talking to Barnes, who seemed incredibly closed off. Who could blame the guy though?

“I’m not here to judge you. I just want to ask a few questions. Do you know where you are, James?” The psychologist paused for a second, looking down and off to the side. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, James.” The caged man spoke for the first time.

“My name is Bucky.” His voice was rough from not being used. A look crossed Steve’s face and he turned to Sharon.

“Why would the Task Force release that photo to begin with?” Sharon’s body turned to face the man speaking to her. Her brows furrowed while she answered.

“Get the word out, involve as many eyes as we can?” Your head tilted, trying to follow Steve’s train of thought.

“Right. Good way to flush a guy out of hiding. Set off a bomb, get your picture taken. Get seven billion people looking for the Winter Soldier.” Oh shit.

“You’re saying someone framed him?” You wanted to believe it with every fiber in your being.

“Steve, we looked for the guy for two years and found nothing.” Sam reminded in a calm tone.

“Yeah, you didn’t bomb the UN though. That turns quite a few heads. Especially if prominent people like King T’Chaka end up dead because of it.” You made a good point, but there were still pieces missing.

“That doesn’t guarantee that they would find him. It guaranteed that we would.” Sharon and Steve began examining the room around them. Your attention returned to the audio emitting from the intercom.

“You fear that,“ the doctor paused, “if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop. Don’t worry.” He glanced down again and moved his hand to swipe something away.

“Guys?” You pointed to the screen as the doctor held up his pointer finger.

“We only have to talk about one.” All of the sudden, the screens went dark and the lights flickered off. Secretary Ross was yelling at technicians to get his video back. Tony was speaking to his AI, Friday, about locating the source of the outage. Steve and Sam tensed at the thought of what could be going on with Barnes.

“Sub-level five, east wing.” was all Sharon said as the pair ran off. You looked at her and threw your hands in the air.

“What the hell do we do now, Shar?” She glared at you as she started reasoning with you.

“They’re stronger than we are. If they can contain whatever the hell is happening down there then great. In the event that they can’t, we’ll be up here with Natasha and Tony to deal with it.” You nodded quickly as you both ran out of the room.

You quickly followed Natasha, Tony and Sharon to the main level of the building. Clearly Steve and Sam were unsuccessful in containing the situation because Barnes could be seen through the glass, fighting his way to his destination.

Tony stunned Barnes with a previously concealed Iron Man glove. Barnes started towards Tony and quickly attacked. After Barnes bested Tony, it wasn’t long before Natasha rushed the man alongside Sharon. It wasn’t hard for Barnes to throw Sharon across the room. Natasha took the opportunity to launch herself onto his shoulders, which caused Barnes to slam her into a table with his metal hand wrapped around her neck.

She mumbled something to him as you kicked his ribs, releasing his chokehold on her. He stumbled backwards, his hard gaze landed on yours as he approached. Your eyes locked on his as the two of you traded blows.

They weren’t the same eyes as before. Those eyes were soft and remorseful, these were hard and unattached. There was no emotion behind the pair staring at you. The fraction of a second that you were analyzing his eyes in your head was enough for him to catch you off guard. His metal fist landed in your rib cage. The opposite hand jabbed at your face, busting your lip and sending you flying backwards.

You hit your head on the concrete below, making your eyes roll back. The wind left your lungs and you gasped to get it back as Barnes and T’Challa fought in the background. It was a few minutes later that a concerned Sharon made her way over to you.

“Are you okay?” You looked her over as she did you, checking for any severe injuries. You offered a small nod, not wanting to shake your head too much in fear of a concussion. “Let’s go check in with Ross.”

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

“And how the hell did Rogers and Wilson even know where to find Barnes?” Ross’ voice boomed through the office. No one said anything, not wanting to incur the wrath of Secretary Ross. “I’ve already allowed Stark 36 hours to find them and bring them back here.” Ross turned to you and Sharon standing in the corner of the room. “If they contact any of you, report it immediately.” Rounds of ‘yes, sirs’ bounced around the room, then chaos ensued as everyone got back to trying to clean up this mess.

“Carter. Y/L/N. Elevator now.” He raised two fingers to point toward the elevators before walking into one. It was just the three of you in the enclosed space. He clicked the button for the ground floor. “I know you have some kind of connection to Rogers but do not let that cloud your judgement. The both of you are CIA agents first.”

“We understand, Secretary.” The elevator doors opened again and you went to step out when Ross stopped you again.

“I mean it, girls. This is your job on the line here.” You and Sharon shared a look before continuing walking. Did he just call us girls?

“Do you think that was supposed to be intimidating?” You laughed under your breath as you went out to the parking lot. Sharon sighed and shrugged her shoulders.

“Probably.” She looked at you over the top of her car. “You don’t have to come with me.”

“Where do we start?”

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

Getting that fucking shield and bird suit wasn’t easy. They had moved it from the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre to the US Embassy to await transport back to the States. It made it easier but still damn near impossible to get. Thankfully, you and Sharon are good liars. Skills of a misspent youth.

The two of you walked in the front door and displayed your badges. “We’re here to pick up Captain America and the Falcon’s effects.” The man behind the counter didn’t even question it. Man, they need better people at the Embassy.

“You’ll have to sign some paperwork saying you picked it up.” There it is. You both flicked a brow and Sharon held her hand out for the clipboard. Small scratches from the pen in her hand were echoing throughout the empty building.

She handed the clipboard back to the man behind the counter. “Okie dokie, just pull your car around to the side of the building and we’ll get you loaded up.” He shot them a small smile and turned around to file the papers.

“That was easy enough.” You whispered to Sharon as you left, not wanting your voice to carry. You walked to your car that was parked in front of the iron wrought gate. Pulling your car around to the side of the building, you popped the trunk. The gear clad Embassy soldier carelessly tossed Sam’s suit inside before gently placing the shield on top of it.

“Hey, if there’s a scratch on that suit, it’s coming out of your paycheck buddy.” You held your pointer finger up to the man’s unimpressed face.

“Y/N, let’s go. We’ve got to get these to the jet or Ross will have our heads. Remember it’s our job on the line here.” What Sharon said made you laugh big while hauling yourself back into the driver’s seat of the car. As you pulled out into the street, Sharon was typing away on her phone and pushing it to her ear.

“This is a secure line but I don’t know for how long, so don’t talk just listen.” She took a deep breath and then continued. “We want to help. Meet us under the bridge on Route 6. We’ll be there in two hours.” She ended the call quickly and threw the phone outside the car. Glancing over at you, she nodded and sighed again.

“We’ve gotten this far.” You had one question burning in your throat that you were afraid to ask.

“Where do we go after they’ve gone?” She looked at you and she was biting her lip, something she only did when she was incredibly stressed.

“I don’t know yet. Do you have any ideas?” You smiled and thought of the one place that you wouldn’t be followed.

“Yeah, I’ve got one, but it’s rough.”

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

The drive to the underpass wasn’t a hard one. You had beat the boys there so you and Sharon were sitting in the car. You had the radio playing softly in the background.

“Who the hell do you know in Madripoor?” You laughed and shrugged.

“I’m supposed to tell you all my secrets for free?” You shook your head and shifted in your seat to face her fully. “I was tasked with tracking some artwork down there. One of my assignments when we went through initiation for the Agency.” You picked at the holes in your jeans. “I thought it was just all fake stuff, but I researched it more and more. Turns out, the underground artwork dealing is really lucrative over there.”

Sharon stared at you in amazement. “What did you do, Y/N?” You smirked.

“I haven’t done anything.” You held her gaze, “Yet.” She released a small laugh and her mouth hung open a bit. “I may have a warehouse out there.” You squinted one of your eyes, and leaned forward. “And the apartment above it.” She was going to say something when an old ass blue Beetle pulled up behind you.

“Now how the fuck did they all fit in that tiny ass car?” You both laughed as you stepped out of the car with big smiles on your faces.

“Not sure you understand the concept of a getaway car.” Steve walked up to Sharon and they began talking as she popped the trunk, revealing their gear. Your attention was on the men in the car behind them. Barnes was stuck in the back away from cameras and Sam was lounging in the passenger seat. Your eyes met Barnes’ again, they were back to the remorseful pair you saw the first time.

“You know he kind of tried to kill us.” You waved your hand in gesture to the man in the car.

“Sorry, I’ll put it on the list too.” He glanced back down at Sharon, who had migrated closer to him. “They’re going to come looking for you.”

She nodded, “I know.” Then the most awkward kiss in all of kissing history took place. Your brows shot up then furrowed quickly, a small wince overtaking your face. They pulled apart and traded more words. Sharon began walking back to the passenger side of the car.

Steve turned around and you looked back at the two men in the car. Both of them were wearing proud, smug grins. Steve threw his head back as if he was berating them.

“About damn time, Cap! She’s been pining over you for God knows how long now.” The windows were down in the Beetle so the other two heard you shouting at their friend.

“Y/N!” Sharon was a bit embarrassed.

“What? It’s the truth, Shar!” The two of you began bickering like an old married couple as you started the car again. Steve got all he needed from the trunk and shut it quickly, slapping it twice. You began driving off with Sharon giving you directions to an airport on the opposite side of the country.

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

That was the last time you saw Steve. Last time you saw anyone for a while. You had been dusted in the Blip. Sharon had followed you to your apartment in Madripoor. The two of you were able to figure the city out pretty quickly. Learning the ins and outs of the island, where to go, who to sell to. One afternoon, you and Sharon had been surveying a Van Gogh piece for your gallery when you flew away. In the middle of a fucking deal, what perfect timing.

Five years later, you were reunited with an even more successful Sharon. “I kept your room the way you left it.” She said as she led you through your shared home. “I figured that you’d be back and you’d be pissed off if I fucked with anything.”

You smiled at the woman gratefully and hugged her. Neither of you let go for a while. When you did, she started filling you in on everything. She had continued to split all her profits and had been depositing the money into your account. “Even if you didn’t come back, I could’ve used it if I needed to bug out. Win-win.” She explained with a smile.

The two of you had about six months of getting back into the groove of things. It was quickly cut off by a ping of your phones one day. A look of confusion and anger crossed her face, “Are you fucking kidding me?” She locked eyes with you and told you to get your gear.

“Where are we going?” She threw her phone at you and you looked at the screen. As soon as you read the notification at the top of it you understood. Repeating your question from before, you tied the knots on your Converse. You followed Sharon to the Low Town side of the island.

“Now what the fuck are they doing here, do you think?” The two of you camped outside of the Brass Monkey nightclub, ready for whatever came your way. Deciding that you were too visible to everyone else, you moved to the building across from the club. Something is bound to go wrong and the first place they're going to get ran to is this dead end alley.

Sure enough, not even ten minutes later, Sam, Barnes, and Zemo got cornered in the alleyway. Sharon had decided to stay on the ground floor next to the door. You shot two of the assassins following the group of three and Sharon took out the final one.

You made your way back down to Sharon, who was still holding her gun up. “You cost me everything.” She focused her gun on Zemo.

“Sharon, wait. Someone recreated the super soldier serum and Zemo had a lead.” Sam remarked calmly, trying to diffuse the situation.

“Explains why you guys are here and Selby’s dead.” Your brows shot up at that, must of been new information that she got while you were upstairs.

“Why are you here, Sharon?” Sam questioned.

“She was one of the ones who stole Steve’s shield, remember?” You stepped forward, raising your gun to gesture to the men in front of you. “And the wings, so your ass,” you waved at Sam, “could save his ass,” at Barnes, “from his ass.” You lowered your gun and stepped in front of Zemo, staring the man down. Your fist balled and you launched it at Zemo, landing a solid hit to his cheekbone.

Barnes grabbed your hand, twisting your body to slot against his with your arm bent behind your back. He leaned close to your ear, breath making shivers trickle down your spine. “I only let you do that because I’ve wanted to for a while now, so don’t get any more ideas.” Your breath hitched because of the proximity of the man behind you.

“Alright, give me my Y/N back.” Sharon said, lowering her gun to holster it. Bucky held onto you for a few more seconds than necessary and then pushed you towards Sharon as he released you. You scoffed, then shoved your gun into the waistband of your jeans. Sam and Sharon had already started their own conversation by the time you calmed down enough to face Barnes.

Sharon bobbed her head to you, an unspoken language between the two of you. After bringing them into your home, Sam began admiring the artwork in the first floor gallery. “Looks like breaking the law is treating you two well.”

“Before even graduating into the Agency, I had a place over here. Never had any intention on using it, but here we are.” You started, “Then, after having to flee Berlin, for you,” You shot a look at Bucky, “we figured if we had to hustle, might as well enjoy the good life. Do you know how much we can get for a real Monet?”

“Deactivate your hustle mode. You sell fake Monet’s.” Sharon shot him a look, about to defend us when Zemo cut in.

“No. She means real. This gallery is specialized in stolen artwork. Monet. Van Gogh. All the classics.” Sam made a face of disbelief.

“It’s true. You know, half the artwork in museums like the Louvre is fake. Real stuff sits in places like this.” Bucky gestured to the gallery. Sam pulled his phone out of his suit pocket.

“Okay, guys, I see what you’re doing. You’re more worldly than good old Sam.” He was typing furiously as he spoke. Bucky passed him, soundlessly following you and Sharon to the upstairs apartment.

“Yeah. What’s Google say?” Once the five of you got upstairs, Sharon began walking them into her office, telling them that they needed to change because we were hosting clients. It didn’t take long for the men to switch outfits. It was refreshing to see Barnes in something other than combat gear or a torn Henley. Sharon followed you in the office, making a remark at Sam while he apologised.

“Look, you know the whole hero thing is a joke, right? The way you gave up that shield, deep down, you must know it’s all hypocrisy.” She said as you plopped yourself on one of the plush chairs across from the couch, holding a clear glass full of whiskey.

“He knows. And not so deep down.” Zemo added quietly, since when is Zemo informed? Sharon glazed over his comment, opting for asking about the new Cap while filling a glass for herself.

“Don’t get me started.” Barnes spoke for the first time since being downstairs. You narrowed your eyes at the man.

“Please. You buy into all that stars and stripes bullshit.” You swung your glass to Zemo, “Before you were his pet psychopath, you were Mr. America! Cap’s best friend.” His gaze darted over to you, nose wrinkling at your comment.

“Do you know who I am?” He tried to be intimidating but it was just funny to you. You were taking a drink to moisten your throat to fire back a witty comeback, when Sharon spoke for you.

“Oh trust me, she knows. She did a report on you freshman year of high school.” You started choking on your drink as Sharon smirked from the couch next to Barnes. His brows raised and a smug smile graced his face.

“She did now?” Clearly he was a different man from the last time you saw him. Meeting his eyes for the fourth time ever, you were surprised with what you saw. There was almost a hunger lingering behind his eyes.

“Most definitely. I don’t even know how many times she went to the Smithsonian to see the exhibit about you.” You glared at Sharon, who continued to talk, unbothered by you. She raised her own glass to her lips, speaking into her cup, muffling her words.  “Honestly, think she developed a little crush.” Barnes’ eyes never left your face, his mind racing.

“Wait, so the entire time you were helping me and Steve, you had a crush on Tin Man?” Sam interjected, wanting to be included in the conversation. You rolled your eyes and gave a subtle nod to Sam. The action wasn’t missed by Bucky.

“Which is why I think it must’ve been really hard for you to ask him of all people for help. They comin’ down real hard on you out there?” You asked Barnes with a smirk and a head tilt towards Zemo. “I know he fucked you up real good, triggering the Soldier, Barnes.”

Sam laughed beside him. “Dude, that’s basically what you told Walker.” Barnes threw a glare at Sam, who had clapped a hand on his metal shoulder. The conversation dissipated after your comment, guess you killed the vibe.

Sam turned to a relaxed Sharon, “We need your help.” Her body tensed, neither one of you was ready to throw yourself back into enemy territory. “I can get your name cleared.” He dangled a huge bargaining chip in front of her face. You knew Sharon was eager to get back to the States. She misses her dad. It was unfair of Sam to use that as a way to gain her favor.

“Haggling with someone’s life like that isn’t okay, Sam.” You said quietly, focusing your gaze on the glass in your hand.

“It’s not like that, Y/N.”

“Yes, it is, Sam.” You said firmly. “You can’t just say something like that. I know you’re an Avenger. That’s great shit, but you need to realize that if you can’t deliver on your word, we go to jail or worse. You know that.”

“I don’t trust charity, Sam.” Sharon said from beside Barnes.

“All right, a deal then. You help us out, and I get your names cleared.” Your nostrils flared and you shook your head. Sharon agreed, blinded by the possibility of seeing her family again. You don’t doubt that she thought through all the outcomes, it just wasn’t the route you would’ve taken.

“We sell to some pretty connected people. Lay low, blend in, and enjoy the party.” She got up, exiting the office.

“Try to stay outta trouble, boys.” You said placing your glass on Sharon’s desk as you left. “We’ll see what we can find.”

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

You were standing next to Sharon when the three men joined the party. Leaning over to Sharon, you told her you were going to get a drink from the bar. You pushed your way through the crowd, planting yourself on a stool in front of the countertop. Nodding your head at the bartender, they passed you a bottle of club soda.

“Not drinking tonight?” A raspy voice questioned over your shoulder. You turned to face the owner as you shrugged your shoulders.

“Already had my fill. And technically, I’m supposed to be working, Barnes.” Your eyes met with his again. You couldn’t tell if it was the light in the room or if it was just him, but they were a deeper shade of blue than before. He leaned his weight on his elbow that was resting on the bar top next to you. He was so close you could feel his body heat rolling off him in waves.

His eyes roamed your face, stopping on your lips as he spoke. “You know you can call me Bucky, right?” You made a face, bringing your bottle to your mouth. He watched intently as your lips wrapped around the opening.

“We’ve never had a single conversation before today. And the first time you actually met me, you twisted my arm behind my back because I punched the dickwad standing next to you.” You took another sip and his eyes drifted down to your throat. He watched as it bobbed when you swallowed.

“So, yeah. I’m going to call you Barnes.” You leaned closer, “I’ve never been given permission to call you anything else.” You could tell you struck something. Something that he didn’t even possibly know about. His face heated and he had to clear his throat before speaking.

“Um, okay. Well you can call me Bucky or if you want, James.” Your brow quirked and you pulled back to take him in fully.

“How many people have you let call you that since you got your free will back?” Your tone was serious, but your face held a smile.

“None, doll.” His eyes ran over your face again. “I just want to hear how it’ll sound coming from your mouth.” One of his metal fingers came up to rest on your bottom lip as your smile grew.

“James.” You whispered, just for him. What he was giving you was a privilege, one you were going to revel in. One corner of his mouth tugged upwards.

“Again.” He growled as his finger remained on your lip.

“James.”

“Again.”

“James.” The party around the two of you faded away. In your reality, it was just you and the man in front of you. A peaceful place, where nothing could change what was happening right at that moment.

Of course, reality is a bitch. And you never got what you wanted. Your jaw clenched as soon as your phone pinged. James dropped his hand from your face as he read the text with you.

Found Nagel. Meet us outside and if you find Bucky, tell him too.

You scrunched your nose and bit your lip. James’ hand was quick to pull your lip from your front teeth, before resting there for a second as he studied your face. He stepped back quickly, nodding his head for you to follow him.

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

You don’t know how the hell Sharon managed to find him, but she did. You were in a shipping yard for storage cars. “Madripoor could give New York a run for its money.” Sam said as the five of you weaved your way through the containers.

“With a bounty on your head, the longer you’re in Madripoor, the less likely you’re ever leaving.” She glanced down at her phone in her hand. Nodding toward a red container, “Alright, he’s in there. Container 4621.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out five earpieces.

“We’ll keep watch while you guys talk to Nagel. But hurry. We’re on borrowed time.” You said as you watched everyone situate their pieces. Sharon turned around and began walking down an aisle not far from the container Nagel was in. You stopped James before he could go anywhere.

“Hey, be careful.” His eyes met yours and they were back to the normal steel blue. “Don’t forget who you are, James.” Something flashed behind his eyes, but his face showed no change.

“You too, Y/N. Don’t make me come out here and save your ass.” His eyes flicked down quickly and a smile spread quickly. “I mean, not that I would mind.” You rolled your eyes and shoved his shoulder, turning and walking down the aisle Sharon did.

“So,” She was leaned against a rusted container with a smug smile. “You and Bucky, huh?” You groaned and stood next to her.

“I don’t know, Shar. Neither one of us should be in a relationship. Especially since we’re both Enemies of the State, well one of us is, the other one was.” You turned your head to look at her. “What do you think about all of this?” She opened her mouth to speak when you both heard something ricochet off a metal wall.

She raised a finger to her mouth and crouched down before pressing that same finger to her earpiece. “Guys, we have company.” She took off down one end of the aisle and you down the opposite, ready to attack from both sides. There were three men walking towards Nagel’s container, you shot a look down to Sharon and she nodded.

She came from the back with a baton, whacking the last guy once in the knees and once in the head, disarming him. When the front man turned to help his comrade, you did the same move to him with your own baton. You both continued trading blows with the men. You had effectively taken out the first man, using his thigh to latch yourself to the third man’s shoulders. Situating yourself to use your body weight to flip him over, definitely knocking him out.

“Every bounty hunter in the city is here. We gotta go now, boys!” You yelled to your earpiece as you watched Sharon fight off another opponent.

It wasn’t until the gunfire started that Sharon said something else into the piece. “Guys, we’re seriously outta time here.” You both split off, out of each other’s view, battling your own demons. You were currently dealing with two of those said demons, when a third approached from behind. Locking you in a chokehold as the other two continued punching your ribs.

One of the hunters was suddenly ripped away from you. Punches were landing and groans were echoing through the alleyways. You threw all your body weight forward, throwing your assailant over your shoulder. Two gunshots rang out and then a third one, which landed a bullet hole between your aggressors eyes. Your head whipped around to face James, whose arm dropped back to his side.

He walked towards you, putting a hand on your back leading you to where Sharon and Sam were standing. Zemo pulled up in a blue convertible car, “Supercharged.” was all he said. Sam pointed his finger at the man in the driver’s seat.

“You’re going back to jail.”

“Do you want to find Karli or not?” James sighed heavily, his shoulder sinking with the action.

“He’s right. We need him. And there’s two of us, and at least twenty of them.” James got in the front seat, leaving the door open for Sam.

“Fine. But if you try that shit again--”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Zemo raised his hands in surrender. Sam turned to Sharon.

“Well, that was one hell of a reunion.” You leaned over the open door to talk to James. He looked at you with a sad face.

“Why don’t you come back to the States with us?” He tilted his head. “We could clearly use your help, doll.” You smiled at that and licked your lips before responding.

“You know we can’t. Not yet anyway.” He placed his finger back on your bottom lip, maintaining eye contact. “This isn’t the last you’ll see of me, James. That I can promise you.” He smiled and dropped his hand back to his lap.

Sam climbed into the seat behind James. “You’re not going to move your seat up, are you?” James smirked before replying.

“No.” You watched as they drove off, desperately wanting to see James again already.

You turned back to Sharon and the two of you began walking back towards High Town. “I think you should go for it.” 

[vendettaparker]

Talking to the Moon [P.P]

Summary: When Peter’s identity is leaked, he is forced to leave you and his old life behind, shattering your heart in the process. 

Pairing: Peter Parker x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: ANGST, like straight up rip your heart out. Far From Home spoiler (kinda), Endgame spoiler (kinda)

a/n: so if you couldn’t tell this is based off of the song ‘Talking to the Moon’ by Bruno Mars. its a loose interpretation. i’ve been planning an angsty fic like this for a while. angst is my favorite genre of fic, especially when it has a hopeful or fluffy ending. so this one DOES have a hopeful ending and potential for a sequel,, so yuh, enjoy! <3

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

     Three years, two months, and 14 days. That’s how long it had been since Peter’s identity was leaked. That’s how long it had been since he left you. For good. 

     Peter had been frantic after that news broadcast aired. He webbed back to the compound immediately, crying the whole way. He was scared for himself, sure, but the fear he felt in the pit of his stomach for May, Ned, MJ, you. That was the reason for his tears now. He could hardly breathe by the time he made it to the compound. Happy, Rhodey, Sam, and Bucky meeting him as he burst through the large floor to wall windows in the main room. The frantic yelling, pleas, and cries coming from the main room were what alerted you to his presence. When you walked in he was a mess. Crying, heaving with anxiety about how scared he was. Peter had always been a sensitive, emotional boy, but he always got over his shit eventually. But this? This, seemed like the end for him. 

     You ran up to him, shushing him and holding him. Trying to tell him to simply “breathe”. All he could say, over and over again like a mantra was a schloo of “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I love you. I’m so sorry.” Your heart broke. How could fate be so cruel to the sweetest boy? The one who was the most deserving of all the happiness life could possibly offer. The rest of the team had shown up within the next hour. Happy, Nick Fury, Maria Hill, and Pepper also present. Peter had calmed down slightly, but he knew, he just knew, this was the day he had to say goodbye. He had had this talk with Mr. Stark back when he had stopped his first villain, Vulture. Tony knew the type of sick monsters out there who would love to get their hands on the boy behind the Spider-man mask. He and Peter had developed a plan in the tragic case that Peter’s identity should be released, at least, not on his own terms. Tony’s plan was for Peter to run away. Leave. Take nothing with him but the clothes on his back, and even then burn those clothes the minute he could. Tony knew. He knew these dangers. And worse, he knew the consequences. 

     May had come to the compound the second she got the call. She knew as well. Peter knew. She knew. Tony, even in his grave, knew. Everyone knew. Everyone but you. 

     Peter had a getaway car and a destination ready within another hour. He wouldn’t disclose it to anyone. He took you aside, gently stroking your cheek to wipe the hot tears that never seemed to cease. “Hey, hey, (Y/N). I’m so sorry.” He whispered, choking up on every other word, trying to be stronger, just a little stronger, for you. “I have to go now. I’m so so sorry. I love you so much.”

     “It’s okay Peter,” You sniffled, pushing his bangs back and giving him a sad smile. “I’ll miss you, but I’ll be here when you get back. Don’t worry.” 

     Peter’s lips quivered and he heaved another sob. “No, (Y/N). I-I’m not coming back.” You took your hand back as you felt the pressure of tears building behind your eyes. 

     “W-what? No, this—it’s just temporary. Until we can—Fury and Pepper—We can fix this.” You stuttered anxiously, hoping your words would convince him that this was okay. That everything would be okay. 

     “We can’t, (Y/N). It’s done.” Peter spoke, his voice hardly making it to a whisper. 

     “No!” You wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to hold him closer. “Please. Please. Please. I-I can’t! You can’t! I—You’re all I have!” You were sobbing uncontrollably now. The weight of the situation finally caving in and crushing your heart and soul. “Please! I’ll do anything, I’ll protect you! Please!” 

     Your meltdown didn’t help Peter one bit, if anything, seeing how desperate you were to keep hold of him, to just love him; that broke him more. “I’m sorry, please forgive me. Please.”

     “How can I? You’re killing me.” You whimpered into his chest, tears soaking through his black sweatshirt. “I can’t— I just— I can’t!”

     The whole team heard. No walls were thick enough to block out the heartbroken sobs from the two teenagers in love. Fury was the one to finally bring an end to it. Nobody else having the heart to pry you from each other. Even Fury felt his own stoic exterior cracking. 

     You were in hysterics, clawing, and grabbing at Peter’s sweatshirt, hair, face, anything you could grab. It didn’t matter if you hurt him at this point, he’d heal. But if he left you, you knew you’d never recover. Fury had put you in a chokehold while yanking you back. Peter just heaved and heaved, his sobs getting louder and his chest getting tighter. May rushed over to him and took his hand, placing his head in her chest. 

     Fury yanked you back more, but you still refused to quit. Fury released his chokehold, not wanting to do any real damage to you. Right as you were released, Wanda came up behind you and placed her hands on your head, red magic already starting to swirl. 

     “No, please.” You wheezed, trying to get a fresh breath of air. “He’s all I have.”

     Wanda looked at you, tears glistening in her eyes. “I’m sorry, (Y/N). I’m so sorry.”

     Without so much as a flick of her wrist, you were out, descending into darkness. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

     Peter left after that. The car taking him away, and you hadn’t seen him since. As the months went on you never really recovered. Never really felt whole again. You just survived. That was all. You went through the motions of everyday life, but never truly felt like you were living. Two weeks after Peter left, May left with Happy. They moved to California, living there ever since as well. They got married last year. You were all invited and everyone went. Everyone but you. You missed May and Happy, but it still hurt. Plus, you were busy anyway. After you graduated high school, you flung yourself into the avenger lifestyle, fully immersing yourself in it. You went on every mission possible. Did all the paperwork you could. You did anything and everything you could to keep yourself busy. Stop yourself from feeling the pain that had stopped feeling like a searing stab and had now turned into a dull ache. A new constant in your life. 

     Nights were the worst though. The only time you couldn’t be constantly avenging or working yourself to the bone on new suit technology. The only time you had to think and feel. The only thing keeping you going was the hope that Peter was still out there. Somewhere, anywhere, missing you as much as you were missing him. Watching the same moon you watched. Basking in the same sun that shined on you every day. Every horrible, miserable day. 

     “(Y/N)?” the quiet, soft voice of Pepper breaking you out of your headspace. You hummed a response and looked up at her, waiting for her to continue. “Did you hear what I said?”

     “No, sorry.” You responded sheepishly. Pepper’s gaze softened. She took in your lean figure and pale face, eyes seeming to be sunken in from the dark circles. “I was just finishing up this briefing of my last mission.” 

     “You went alone?” Pepper asked, concern washing over her features.

     “It was a simple one. Just took out a mob, was done in like, four hours.” 

      Pepper sighed. “(Y/N)—”

     “Pep, it’s fine. It was so easy, anyone could have done it.” You cut her off, turning back to your laptop, typing away. 

     “It’s not just that though. It’s all of this. This whole funk you’re in. The same one you’ve been in for years, (Y/N).” Pepper waved her hands around to emphasize her point. “We all see it. You can’t keep doing this to yourself. He wouldn’t want this.” 

     Your whole demeanor changed. The solemn, yet calm veneer breaking. “It doesn’t matter what he wants, Pepper! I didn’t want this. All I wanted was him. For the rest of my life. Nothing else would matter, as long as I had him to get me through it. But I don’t have him. I have nothing. He was it for me. He—” You sobbed, tears finally running down your face in an uncontrollable waterfall. “I feel like I died. Like I am just a spectator, no longer doing anything of interest to myself.” 

     Pepper pulled you into her so fast. She was always quick to console you. The months after Peter left she was the only one you could stomach seeing. “It’s okay. I know, shh, I know.” Pepper was tearing up now too. She knew you never got over it. But now seeing with her own eyes how broken you’d really become. The reality hurt. “He’s out there, okay? And it’s going to be okay. He’s okay. We’re okay.” 

     You just cried. That’s all you could do. The more you tried to talk about it the stronger the urge to cry was. Pepper just hummed and held you. Stroking your hair until you fell asleep. 

     When you woke up you were in your room. It was dark and the moon was shining through the opened window. You just stared at it, closing your eyes and imagining Peter was staring at it too. The same one. Thinking about you, just like you were thinking about him. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

     Another few weeks went by. The same routine, the same empty feeling consistent in your body. Nothing changed. The revelation that you were, in fact, not okay didn’t fix anything. It still hurt. You were still broken.

     You were in the training room, sparring with Wanda when the melodic tune of your ringtone rang through the gym, echoing off the walls. You put your hands up in defense to stop Wanda from continuing the match. Wanda whipped her hands around and brought your phone to you in a wisp of red magic. 

     “Thanks.” You mumbled, wiping your sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand and taking the phone from the air. Wanda nodded and jumped out of the ring to grab her water bottle. 

     You looked at your phone still ringing, seeing an unfamiliar number, but taking in the location: Budapest, Hungary. You answered the call bringing the phone up to your ear “Hello?” You asked, shifting from one foot to the other waiting for a reply. A beat of silence pasted before you heard a tired, yet all too familiar voice on the other end. 

     “(Y/N)?”

[ravenvsfox]

Things Fall Apart; the Centre Cannot Hold

Summary: He keeps remembering the chafe of Ronan’s shoulder against his ribs as they got oriented in his little bed, the glisten of tears and nightwash wringing his lovely eyes, the lonely twist in his unguarded late-night voice over the phone, the one that Adam had almost liked, because it meant that he was indisputably missed. It was worse, that Ronan had been trying so hard for Adam, because it was easier to tell when he stopped.

(Adam's perspective throughout Mister Impossible, as his worry reaches a fever pitch, and the two versions of himself begin to converge)

Word Count: 9.5k

Warnings: mi spoilers, death/suicide mention

A/N: batshit middle books my beloveds. adam pov or bust 😌

Read on AO3

In high school, Gansey would very occasionally call Adam in the middle of the night.

He would speak low and fast, his panic pinched between thumb and forefinger and held at a respectable distance. Adam would smother the receiver with his palm and step outside of his family trailer, listening hard for movement at his back.

The news was always the same: Ronan Lynch was on his latest rampage or bender, exercising his dark talent for bullying his way into people’s lives and then breaking down all of their windows and doors trying to get out again.

Gansey would fret and apologize, guilty for luring Adam out of his wolf-den, guiltier for neglecting his duties as Ronan’s warden. Adam would wait tiredly on the line for Gansey’s anxiety to exhaust itself, and then dutifully join the search party.

He would step into his beaten tennis shoes and pry his bike from the fence, silencing the silvery shock of metal on metal, and avoiding the reedy whir of the spokes by holding the whole thing aloft until he reached the gravel road.

From there, he would venture out into the abandoned Henrietta streets, the crunch of his tires cutting clean through the woolly midnight silence. He often circled the perimeter of the park nearest Monmouth, stepped through the great dark portal into St. Agnes, and nipped under the old bridge, squinting into the darkness for the challenging shoulders, the oil-slick BMW gleam, the slump of a body or clatter of bottles.

This is a part of Gansey that I admire, he would think. And with equal fervour, this is a part of Gansey that I resent. This blood attachment to Ronan, who was not even attached to himself. The insomnia that seized two heads of the lopsided Cerberus that Adam, Ronan, and Gansey were all part of, a restlessness on either side of him that shook him awake over and over again.

He chased Ronan’s shadow, hating him. Hating his thoughtlessness, his privilege, his chokehold on Gansey’s interests, his purposefully and continuously ruined potential, and yet bristling with anxiety at the idea of finding him bleeding.

They hadn’t known then that he was a dreamer, but they’d felt the ear-popping pressure of his grief, glimpsed the hulking animal of his self-loathing, urged onwards by the twin spurs of Declan and Gansey, the past and the future, digging into his sides.

Adam had seen Ronan, teeth bared, hurling himself at rock bottom, and he had rubbed the sleep from his eyes and pulled him back by the collar.

Things are completely different now, but he still finds himself sleep-raw and petrified, reaching after Ronan in the dark.

He examines himself in the mirror of the communal bathroom in Thayer hall. The overhead lights are an unflattering yellow, the sink has a long dark hair stuck to its basin, and Adam’s face is gaunt and bruised with lack of sleep.

He’s losing it, a little bit.

He takes his own pulse, focusing on the faraway burble of the ley line. Everything, lately, seems far away.

As if through a stranger’s eyes, he slips from the seafoam tiling and bleach tang in Thayer’s North bathroom to the accordion door of the trailer toilet, the creaky cubicle shower, his gawky, hurt reflection in the burnt-out light. This version of Adam had to watch his best friend’s best friend escape suicide watch and get screaming drunk in public, treading mud and malicious dreams all over Monmouth manufacturing.

He can still smell the salt tang from teenaged Adam’s ocean of disdain.

Now that he loves Ronan, his irritation has only gotten sharper, more deadly. Ronan performs each perilous swan dive into the unknown, each foolhardy act of self-sacrifice, as if the people who care about him aren’t gasping spectators. It makes Adam furious.

Perhaps neither of them have changed as much as they wanted to believe. As Gillian keeps advising the crying club—with the confidence of a seasoned psychiatrist—progress isn’t linear.

He keeps remembering the chafe of Ronan’s shoulder against his ribs as they got oriented in his little bed, the glisten of tears and nightwash wringing his lovely eyes, the lonely twist in his unguarded late-night voice over the phone, the one that Adam had almost liked, because it meant that he was indisputably missed. It was worse, that Ronan had been trying so hard for Adam, because it was easier to tell when he stopped.

He slides fingers over his temples, smooths a knuckle over each eyebrow to ease the tension he always carries there. Sleep is a little knot of gristle lodged at the back of his throat; he can’t swallow it and he can’t spit it up. It never used to be this hard to put his problems to bed. He would worry the weight on his chest into small pieces, and go to sleep knowing that even the worst things about his life were organized correctly.

This time though, he’s out of sorts, divided, always busy but always spinning his wheels. He has a white-hot secret pressed to the roof of his mouth.

Every time he folds himself into bed, his subconscious helpfully reminds him that Ronan might be dead. And then a highlight reel plays in his head like an In Memoriam: Adam’s hand cupping Ronan’s nape, a barn silhouetted against a melancholy sky, a fistful of dreamt light, a dozen hard-won smiles and a hundred easy ones, a white handprint on a flushed thigh, a colourful joke to placate a brother, a kiss pressed to a dream’s forehead. All of that—gone. And Adam, at Harvard.

He highlights long patches of text in his sociology textbook, drinks a sensible amount of jack and coke at Eliot’s birthday party, declines Gansey’s calls by sending cheerful and conciliatory texts, and drifts through the library with his hand knotted in the strap of his satchel, looking for something that he can’t really articulate. He reads the same line of theory over and over and over and over, feeling like he’s scrying, like his focus isn’t his own.

He did all of this before Ronan went missing too, but now it’s a whole different class of performance. It used to be, I’m convincingly attentive, I’m sipping overpriced coffee on the way to class like a good Ivy leaguer, I’m making an impression on my professors, I’m forging friendships. Someday I will cash in these relationship tokens, and it all will have been worth it. It felt impossible that his life could be so simple and rewarding.

Now he thinks, I’m studying for finals and my boyfriend is being hunted by people whose job it is to kill him. I’m drinking a latte and the only people I’ve ever loved have left me, and I'm alone again. I’m putting my hand up in class and somewhere, Ronan’s life is changing, rapidly, dangerously, without me.

He lies to everyone, all the time, and tells himself that this life he’s building is more important than anything.

Once, as they cleared placemats and mugs full of stagnant coffee from the kitchen table, Ronan—still cobwebbed in his most recent dream—had detailed the sensation of hovering over himself afterwards. He was unable to manipulate his physical body or even really recognize it as his own, and his consciousness, detached, had its own limbs, its own intentions. He was like a parasite trying to wriggle back into its host.

Whenever Adam consults his double in a bit of glass, he imagines himself as a nimble dreamer, peering down, working to bring a fantasy to life. He can see his own outline, a slick college student with a flat, pleasant affect and a gaggle of soft-shelled friends. He plays his role impeccably well, but he can’t fit himself into it. If he passed himself in the hallway he would not stop.

Looking in the mirror now, he feels a red pang of fear, then a supercut of the ways he used to let himself love and be loved, then resentfulness hot on the heels of his worry.

His reflection withers, and he looks deliberately down at his hands. It’s a Tuesday, and he needs to sleep, or his tightly-scheduled Wednesday will be a misery. It’s a Tuesday, which means he hasn’t spoken to Ronan in—he stalls. Call me, he thinks, miserably. Just call me.

He can deal with a multitude of challenging and improbable situations if only he can see them clearly. Ronan is, for whatever reason, keeping him in the dark.

The not knowing is bad. It’s not how he functions. It’s not how they function. But instead of dwelling, he puts his back into the narrative that is now his reality: Impeccable student. Devoted friend-group. Tough break-up. Bright future.

Ronan isn’t here. Can’t ever be, physically, so far from the ley line. Adam has to be.

“Croissant, as ordered.” His gaze snaps up, connecting—not with his own image, but with clever, horn-rimmed Gillian. “They tried to foist it upon me without butter, if you can imagine that.” She deposits a crinkly brown and tan paper bag in front of him, and then two little plastic pots of butter. Adam regards the squashed shape of the bag’s contents with confusion.

It’s— “Is it Tuesday?”

“Wednesday,” Eliot corrects airily, licking jam from their thumb.

“My god, Adam. Whatever happened to your infallible circadian rhythm?” Fletcher asks. “You are the Swiss timepiece by which we measure our days.”

A terrible wave of vertigo strikes him, and he’s grateful to find himself sitting, at one of two conjoined wrought-iron tables in the courtyard near Thayer. He can feel the ley line breathing for the first time in a long time.

He must have gone to bed after his late-night breakdown in the bathroom. He must have. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was. His hand strays to his hair. Wet. He’d woken, showered, and met his friends for breakfast, and he can barely remember it.

“Sorry,” he chokes. “Sleep deprivation is catching up to me, I think.”

“Aw, chicken,” Benjy says affectionately. “I’ve sung those end of term blues. The profs think we’re machines. Don’t even get me started on Dr. Fraundberg’s Lit Crit for assholes.”

“Whyever would we?” Eliot says. “We want to make it to class before noon.”

“Har-har. You wound me. Adam you’d better get a tissue ready, I’m about to tear up.”

“Also,” Gillian says, pointing her be-honeyed knife in Eliot’s direction. “Speak for yourself. I want to make it to class never.”

“Your presentation is going to be exceptional,” Fletcher tells her. “Your rough draft already drove me into paroxysms of jealousy. I don’t know why you’re so concerned.”

“I don’t just want to pass,” Gillian says. “I want to win.”

“Admirable,” Benjy sniffs.

“You’re being awfully quiet, Adam,” Eliot says, at length. He’s aware that they’re all trying very hard to act like they don’t notice how poorly composed he is.

“Can’t a man savour his pastry, Eli?” Fletcher rumbles.

“No, that’s fair,” Adam sighs. The four of them peer at him expectantly, eyebrows arranged into an array of benign and non-threatening shapes. “It’s possible I’m having a slight breakdown,” he says, adopting the grim hyperbole of a student for whom finals are the beginning and end of their emotional upset.

Everyone at the twin tables indulges in a bit of mild laughter.

“What a coincidence, so am I!”

“Well if it’s only slight, I’ll stow my concern.”

“Harvard or personal?”

He smiles faintly, and says, “kind of both. The personal is political, or something.”

He thinks he’s laying it on thick, but Gillian grins at him. “'Atta boy.”

Fletcher goes to take a sip of his tea, but chokes when his phone lights up with an incoming text message. “Criminy, is it eight already? Starting the day with a bang, as usual. I’ll meet you at Weld this evening, yes?” he asks, shaking out his tweed jacket and thrusting an arm through it, securing the remains of his bagel between his teeth with his other hand.

“Of course,” Adam says. Fletcher gives him a thumbs up, mouth charmingly stuffed, and sweeps away across the now bustling courtyard.

“Hey magic man,” Eliot says. “Will you do a reading for my sister tonight? The break-up with Margot is hitting her kind of hard. I’m pretty sure she just wants to be told she’ll find love again.”

Adam watches the juddering impact of Benjy kicking Eliot under the table.

He shrugs. “First come first serve, but I’ll give her the friends and family discount.”

“You’re a prince,” Eliot says, blowing him a kiss. Adam tries to imagine any of his friends from Henrietta doing such a thing, and can’t. “Come along Benjy. Bookstore or bust. They’re giving out discount computing textbook codes at sixty dollars a pop.”

A slip of paper for sixty American dollars. Adam’s head aches profoundly.

Gillian waggles her fingers at their friends as they depart, then she turns and fixes Adam with that familiar amateur therapist look.

“What?”

“Are you sleeping?” she asks bluntly.

“I’m a very good sleeper,” Adam says wryly. “Ask anyone.”

“But are you actually doing it?”

“Yes, Gillian.” Liar, liar. “Do you want me to keep a dream journal as evidence?”

“Oh, yes please.” That shark’s grin. “I’d pay to know what the fuck is going on up there.” She taps her own temple to indicate Adam's guarded mind.

He spreads his hands between them. “I’m an open book.”

She hums, only half-smiling now. “I dunno. That Southern charm. I’m never quite sure if I should trust a politeness that perfect.”

“On that note,” Adam says, standing. He’s relieved to find that he’s wearing matching socks, and his pant legs are rolled just so. There’s a tiny streak of yellow on one of his shoes, and with a jolt he realizes that it’s dream-crab guts. He presses on. “Thanks for the croissant. And the psychoanalysis. Send me the bill.”

She salutes him with her coffee cup. “You couldn’t afford me.”

He laughs, and turns, and then spends the whole walk to his 9 AM class trying to straighten all of the haywire compasses in his brain so they point due north.

His assignment is in his bag, pressed neatly into a navy blue folder. He has three classes today, a meeting with his supervisor at three, a study block set aside from four to six, then dinner, then tarot readings all evening—his phone rings. His treacherous heart leaps. Ronan.

He stops mid-stride, scrambling for his cell in the front pocket of his bag.

“Hello?”

“I—oh—Adam! I didn’t expect you to pick up. How on Earth are you?”

“Gansey.” He exhales through his nose. “I’m just on my way to class.”

“Fantastic to hear your voice. How’s—not that one, Jane, the I-90—exactly. How’s Harvard? Are you batting away job offers yet?”

“Constantly. How are your nature hikes and hippie communes? Contracted any backwoods diseases yet?”

“Charming. I’m actually in remarkably fine form, health-wise.”

“Is that a brag?”

A guffaw. “More of a curiosity. It’s actually part of the reason I’ve been trying to get in touch. Have you noticed any surges of power from the ley line lately? I mean, of course you have, but do you have any idea what’s causing them?”

He frowns, pinning his cellphone between his good ear and shoulder as he heaves open the ancient door to the physics building. “I could give you my best guess.”

A beat, and then, “I’m listening, Parrish.” Something about the way he says it makes homesickness pulse painfully in Adam’s chest.

He finds a semi-secluded stone slab bench behind an empty stairwell, and slings his belongings across it before he replies, “Dreamers.”

“Dreamers,” Gansey repeats, but it sounds like he’s saying of course! “Plural?”

“At least three.”

“Doing what?”

“I’m not one hundred percent sure yet.”

“Ronan hasn’t spoken to you,” Gansey guesses.

“Not—in a few days.”

“Is everything alright?”

He swallows, and is horrified to find tears burning at the back of his throat. There’s no pretending with Gansey. It’s why he never calls him.

“Adam,” he says quietly. “Is he in trouble?”

He struggles with his composure for several long seconds. “Possibly.”

A world-weary sigh. “I really wish you had called.”

“Yeah, well,” he says vaguely. He checks his watch. 8:23.

“So he’s playing with others. Why would Ronan want to do that?”

“I think—he’ll do anything not to feel powerless.” He understands as soon as he says it that it’s the pockmark in the windshield from which all of the damage is splintering outwards. “And people take advantage of that.”

Gansey makes a thoughtful noise, somewhere a thousand miles away, and it clicks in a lock and opens Adam’s shoulders up. Maybe he doesn’t have to be alone in this fight. How could he have forgotten careful, persistent Gansey?

“Well. He’s certainly not powerless. I almost feel back to my pre-Cabeswater self. Everything is pleasantly linear. And Blue is—lighting up.” In the background, he hears her say supercharged with relish. “I can only imagine what it’s like for full-blooded dream stuff, with all of that energy at their disposal.”

“I don’t know if I like it,” Adam says carefully. “It’s good for a while, helping all the Matthew’s of the world, and then what? Where does all of that diverted power end up? What makes dreamers qualified to harness it without their worst nightmares manifesting?”

“You’re worried about the Lace.”

The last time they spoke, Adam had told them briefly about his last scrying session, warning them to look out for the hateful, faceless thing that had pierced his cells and magnified all of his pain and fear until all he could possibly do was scream.

“I’m worried about Ronan. I know he’s in over his head, and I know he won’t believe it until it’s too late.”

“Sounds like someone I know. Don’t bite off more than you can chew with this, Adam. I know you’re enormously busy.”

It stings, a little. “I’m still going to—I’m obviously still going to make time for him. Especially when he’s—“

“Struggling. Yes. I understand perfectly.” It occurs to Adam that, unlike his well-meaning Harvard friends, he actually might. A needling murmur in the background, and then, “listen, Blue’s telling me that you should get in touch with the psychics, and Mr. Gray.”

He nods. The rhythm of problem-solving is soothing his frazzled nerves. “I’ve been considering it. I’m also pretty sure that Declan has been keeping his own tabs on things.”

“My money’s on yes,” Gansey says. Adam half-smiles. His money has been on a lot of things. “Poke around when you can. See what turns up. I’ll give Ronan a call, not that it’s ever done me much good before.”

“I’m pretty sure he ditched his phone.” He checks his watch. 8:24. It feels like it’s been much, much longer than a minute. There is so much day ahead of him.

Ordinarily, he would be compartmentalizing better than this. No feverish Gansey phone calls directly before class. No pleasure with his business. No finesse when logic will do the job just as well. But the subterranean, black-eyed Adam is still within him, tethered to the ley line and to his friends, and he wants very badly to fix this.

“Ah, Ronan,” Gansey sighs. “It’s always got to be him, doesn’t it?”

“I know,” Adam says narrowly. “If he’s not looking for trouble it’s looking for him.”

“You sound like Declan.”

Adam makes an offended noise in the back of his throat. Blue must be leaning across Gansey, because she says “that’s a new low,” almost directly into the receiver.

“I’m hanging up now,” he says flatly.

“Update me if anything changes? We’ll come home the moment things go south.”

He resists the urge to check his watch again. “Don’t cut things short on my account.”

“Well. Don’t disrupt your studies on Ronan’s. I’ve never known you to put your future on hold for anything.”

“I’m not—“ he stops. “Ronan is a part of my future.”

“Good,” Gansey says warmly. A test, then. And like most tests, there was never even a possibility that Adam wouldn’t pass.

______

It’s easy to tell when a dreamer is suffering.

As the energy from the ley line ebbs, dreamt creations judder and bolt like horses loosed suddenly from the service of a carriage, galloping towards safer pastures. If the dreamer is in more immediate peril, the dream simply folds its limbs into an agreeable shape and passes into sleep.

In the wee hours of Thursday morning, Adam lies awake in bed, dangling his hand between the wall and his bed frame, feeling along the subtle unfilled crack in the plaster. A flagpole casualty, from the day that everything stopped being enough for Ronan, and he slipped away on a dreamt current like a dark Ophelia.

He’s being dramatic.

He feels the drywall flaking, and digs his thumbnail into the split, wanting to rip the whole wall open with his fingers.

He keeps picturing Matthew’s half-lidded eyes, cloudless and blue as a wide prairie sky. The slouch of his posture, the tarnished golden head, the body briefly without a pilot.

Matthew had looked—Adam turns in bed, taking his chalky hand from the wall and fisting it in the sheets. He had looked like a faded old pillow, tucked unobtrusively into the chair by the window. He wouldn’t respond to Declan’s call, fluttering his drowsy lashes, and Adam had thought, ah. This is how I find out. His heart slumped over in his chest, dizzy with sudden grief. The tarot cards in his hands were dead leaves.

This is what happens when your life is tied to my brother’s, Declan had said, diverting his horror into scorn as he often did. The death of any one member of his family ensured the destruction of another. It had always been that way.

Matthew eventually roused, and Adam had closed his eyes and turned his face towards the ceiling until he could be normal again. He felt suddenly foolish for peddling lies to college students when magic was so obviously in the room with him.

Earlier, he had called Maura over lunch, and she vaulted right over small talk to ask him, with concern, about his loosening grip on his psychic inclinations. She’d said, “You do know that the ley line isn’t the source of your problems, right? Give yourself some credit. You can fuck things up in a completely non-mystical way.”

She pulled the Magician, reversed, and the eight of wands, and then, without further comment, passed the phone to Mr. Gray.

Unexplained weaponry, he’d reported. The Lynch brothers loosed on two separate worlds at the same time. Buttoned-up Declan for the first time unbuttoned, schmoozing with an array of dangerous and connected people, trading in secrets just as his father had. Purposeless Ronan for the first time with a purpose, wading out from the murky waters of his dreamspace and bringing the tides with him.

Bryde, the name in the corner of everyone’s mouth, joined all at once by Ronan’s and Hennessy’s.

Renegades, liberators of dreams, scorchers of earth. He could see, easily, why this would appeal to Ronan. A mission, finally. A father figure to guide his hand. A world that wanted his dreams, and wouldn’t crumple under the weight of his unusual ambition.

When they were teenagers, Aglionby was just another one of Adam’s jobs, but it was one of Ronan’s nightmares. He would go to school, a hooded bird of prey, seething with resentment and squandered ability. He longed for the Barns because of what they represented: the childlike belief that his family would never die; the possibility for creatures like him to roam free; a landscape powered by unconditional love.

Bryde, Adam knows, must be offering him the same relief. Exquisite flight, after the cage.

It’s not possible, is the thing. It’s a pipe dream. A Niall Lynch fairytale.

Foresight has never been Ronan’s strong suit. He gets it into his head that a solution is right up until the point that it falls apart in his hands. He throws himself entirely into belief. It makes him an extraordinarily loyal and trusting person. It also makes him stubborn, rash, and susceptible to manipulation.

He believes in one facet of something, and the rest follows. He can’t just take a sip—he downs the bottle.

Adam is a boy on a bicycle in November, needing to find Ronan alive so that he can hate him without feeling guilty about it. He never stops oscillating between resentment and love, reality and unreality, understanding and disappointment. He wants to be normal so that he can choose to be abnormal. Sometimes he wants the cards without the magic.

He closes his eyes and remembers a slumbering mouse against an angular cheek. He imagines Matthew like that, perpetually immobile, perpetually innocent, like a taxidermied puppy. The pieces of Ronan’s consciousness that will linger after his death, statues in a graveyard. Tamquam—tamquam—

What would Ronan be without his dreams? Here, Adam thinks. He’d be here.

He stays in bed for another wasted hour, and then stands up, disoriented, in the dimness of the room. Fletcher is snoring softly. Someone outside their cracked window is shuffling over the concrete stoop. His upstairs neighbour is playing tinkling soundtracks while he sleeps. Adam can’t be here anymore.

He plucks Fletcher’s laptop silently from its charging station, tucks his bare feet into stiff leather shoes, drags the cardigan from his desk chair, and lets himself out into the hallway. The glare from the overhead light pins him against the wall for a moment.

He shuffles half-blind down the hall and upstairs to the solarium, nearly losing one of his unlaced shoes in the stairwell in the process. The lights are blessedly shut off up in the attic, and he feels his way to the nearest of the tables hunched in the shadows. Aching with fatigue, he sits, unfolds his stolen laptop, and gets quietly to work.

He’s never had the time nor means to be truly proficient with technology, but he extracted a handful of leads from Mr. Gray, and he’s been in touch with a friend of Benjy’s—a computer science grad student and hacking hobbyist.

He chases key phrases down rabbit holes and assembles news articles, tracking Ronan’s movement by his “unexplainable” signature (code for mind-fuckery, joyful innovation, and dark humour). Adam is a practiced note-taker and serial obsesser, so it’s barely a strain to find Ronan—whom he knows better than anyone—cropping up all over the continental United States.

“What are you doing,” Adam murmurs. The sky lightens gradually to periwinkle. He has work today, but his shift doesn’t start until noon. His mouth is bone-dry, and his head feels cotton-stuffed the way it always does when he’s pushing his body to its limit.

When it’s late enough in the morning to be socially acceptable, he messages Benjy’s friend with the bare bones of what he’s looking for: a project under wraps, a lonely last name, a suppressed pattern. They correspond, remotely, until Adam is reading government files over watery coffee, wearing sweatpants, dress shoes, and a cardigan with cracked elbow patches.

He pores over it all, cross-referencing dates, and ignoring the widening sink-hole in his chest.

Industrial espionage isn’t at all Ronan’s usual brand of destruction. Highly controlled, not much up-front gratification. A little more political than Ronan usually leans. A lot more ambitious. Whatever their agenda, ley energy is flowing more easily now that it's unobstructed on such a large scale. Adam has been feeling its effects rippling all the way out to Boston, a persistent background pressure, unavoidable as a migraine.

It’s clear that the Moderators are desperate to eliminate Bryde’s party. Their reports are a comedy of close calls.

Slowly, Adam begins to understand the scope of things.

Billions of dollars in damages, manmade structures ripped from their foundations. Magical fugitives hunted by a team that specializes in murdering the targets they call Zeds. Visionary headlights pointed towards certain apocalypse. A world that is always awake, but always, always feels like it’s dreaming.

It’s pretty much exactly as he feared. Night terrors. The Lace. Beasts and legends. Adam holds his head in his hands. It’s more than what Ronan must be imagining. It’s more than Aurora waking happily in Cabeswater, powered by the swaying trees. It’s the indiscriminate waking of every incredible thing that’s ever been dreamed.

He’s struck by a wave of hopelessness that rushes all around him and tears at his hair. Ronan, dreamer of baubles that dispense music and light, cars that go very fast, and menageries of curious creatures, recruited to a cause that transmutes creation into chaos. Ronan, promising to wait, and then running full tilt at a future that can’t possibly keep Adam in it.

His dream half is going to destroy his human half, and he’ll take everybody else down with him.

If he could just see him, maybe—

His jaw creaks, teeth clenched tight against the emotional groundswell. The late morning sunshine strikes him, and he feel more like a vague, pale shape than a person. Like a dream, maybe.

Alter idem.

If Adam can’t reach Ronan, maybe the Moderators should.

He feels the weight of that awful thought burning a hole through his stomach lining. He can’t think about it. He needs to go to work.

_____

The next evening, he experiences a surge of power so acute that it nearly puts him in a coma.

It’s another Wednesday night, and another batch of his peers hitch polite smiles to his heels as he passes them by, winding his way up into the high, arched sunroom at Weld hall. They’re all wishing for magical solutions for their mundane problems, the opposite of Adam in nearly every way.

He bumps knuckles with Benjy and Eliot in turn, pulls up his chair, and knocks his last reading from Persephone’s deck, mostly out of habit. He consults his phone idly as his friends try to make pleasant conversation, holding up a finger when he finds a new batch of texts from Gansey.

John Amos power plant in WV shut down Monday

Intense. maura said she could’ve brought HER dreams to life afterwards

no word from Ronan yet? Leads from Declan? pls advise

I’ll assume no news is good news

He puts his phone in his satchel and fastens it closed. Every new scrap of information he gets feels like a stroll through Ronan’s security system at the Barns—hopelessness compounding and compounding until he staggers out the far end weeping.

He needs to focus on something productive. He nods at Benjy to start letting people inside, straightening the notebook where he usually scribbles his observations. Here, he is an adjudicator: powerful, organized, and reserved, tallying points and offering constructive critique.

His curious audience starts pouring in then, amateur wiccans and wannabe believers, aggrieved last-resorters and skeptics following friends’ recommendations. It’s a brighter collection of characters than Aglionby could ever have hoped to foster.

Gillian texts him to say that she just passed Weld and his line-up was out the door. He is a prim and unobtrusive con artist, a false prophet, and business is booming.

Eventually, a bespectacled girl who looks anywhere from five to ten years his senior sits across from him, tucking a bag armoured to the teeth with candy-coloured enamel pins between her feet.

“Hi,” she says nervously. “Anna.” She stretches her hands out in front of her, then thinks better of it and drops them into her lap.  “I’m not sure how this usually goes, so you might have to hold my hand a little bit.”

“No problem,” he says smoothly, passing his deck across the tabletop. “Just go ahead and shuffle. Concentrate on what you want to ask the cards.”

She does as directed, struggling a little to keep the papery stack in check. Not a natural born card sharp, then. He studies her neat black shirt, tucked precisely into a plaid skirt. A Marilyn mole drawn on just above the corner of her mouth. A pride flag pin he doesn’t recognize next to a cat wearing a cowboy hat, and the word “rude” in cursive.

She holds the deck fleetingly to her chest, eyes squeezed shut like a child making a birthday wish, and then plops it in the centre of the table. A card slips near the top, slightly uneven, and Adam plucks it free.

He hums thoughtfully. “Eight of cups. Okay. So you’re having some trouble with letting go.” She frowns and nods once, quick.

He lays out the rest of a simple five card spread neatly between them. A couple of stray swords, the chariot, a wand.

“It seems like things are stagnating in your personal life. Maybe your friend group used to feel like your family, but you feel like they’ve lost interest in you. And you love them, but Anna, if you’re being honest with yourself, you’re pretty sure you were done with them before they even started pulling away. Right now you’re kind of just going through the motions. A couple of years overdue to convocate, right? Everyone else moved on to greener pastures.” He taps his thumb thoughtfully against the bones of his opposite wrist. “It’s not even the loneliness that gets you. It’s the not knowing. Are you supposed to chase after them? Is there another community out there for you? There is, you know.”

He notices another card spilling loose, and he grabs it without thinking. The Magician again. He thinks, huh, caught in the coils and dust of Persephone’s overturned cards.

And then the waking world disappears.

Adam is airborne, tumbling up into the atmosphere on a geyser of ley energy, whipped by branches and light. He throws his arms out to stop himself, but he’s only a projection, so his momentum doesn’t slow.

Something—Lindenmere? The cosmos?—shows him a series of images: an upturned nose made from oil and turpentine, a coiled old tree stump, a red-haired woman grinning toothily and then exploding, a rose the colour of warm dark skin, a pale scar-split hand cradling a silky head, the animal haunch of something black, a terrible voice booming turn back—

He skitters away, panicked, and bumps into his own body. Or not his own body. A double, blinking confusedly in the bathroom mirror.

His doppelgänger turns to leave, and Adam reaches after him, through the mirror, following himself into a version of Thayer which is not Thayer. Everything is alive, in this reality. Energy sings and saws its fingers together.

It’s a memory, but it’s also the present, and it’s also a nightmare. Wake up!

Obediently, the city wakes.

He gasps, although he doesn’t have a mouth. It’s the heaving first breath of a sleeping witch, like Gwenllian turning in her grave.

Adam struggles against the current of wild power, thick and pungent as gasoline. Everything feels more intense near magical artifacts, dream stuff, supernatural fault lines, and it is with great effort that he hunts for something familiar, something heavy enough to bind him. He was unprepared for this, and although everything around him is bitingly familiar, he's lost. He wheels around and around, reaching for his most trusted tethers—Gansey, Ronan, Blue, Persephone—

Persephone.

He follows the lingering perfume of her intuition, feeling blindly for those old handholds in her tarot deck, that familiar grip, like the hilt of a trusted weapon.

And then he finds himself looking again at the girl, Anna, her fate bunched around her narrow shoulders. And then at his own empty body, a glowing card clamped between his fingers. As soon as he’s aware of looking at himself, he’s looking out of himself, and he stands up quickly, overturning his chair.

“—Adam? Jesus Christ, are you okay?”

“What on God’s green Earth was that?”

A palm between his shoulder blades.

“Don’t touch me,” he chokes.

The hand retreats. A murmur: I’ve never seen him like this.

“Is it—is it bad? Am I going to be okay? Is it bad?” Anna keeps asking, horrified.

“You’re fine,” he manages to say. “I’m sorry.” The ‘o’ in sorry comes out a little wide and swerving.

“You went blank,” Benjy says, voice high with residual panic. “For like—ten minutes. Beyond hyper-focus.”

“I thought it was a gimmick,” Eliot says. “But a ten minute gimmick? What is this, Las Vegas?”

“I got carried away. I have to,” he swallows. “I need a minute. I promise everything’s fine.”

“Do whatever you need to do,” Eliot says quickly. “But, fair warning, I’m going to ask you a hundred questions when you get back.”

“And then I’m going to ask another hundred,” Benjy says. “Magic man.”

“A riddle, inside an enigma, wrapped in a sweater vest,” Eliot muses. He can tell they’re still shaken. He’ll have to deal with that, later.

“I'll be right back,” Adam says, touching them very lightly on the shoulder as he passes. The ley line is bursting, and he feels so flushed with its vitality that it almost makes him sick.

He stumbles past them, all the way out of the building and into the street. The winter air tears at his thin shirtsleeves, nips at his sock-less ankles. He shields his eyes against the sun, watching a bird swoop low overhead. A silvery, seagull-sized thing, but with knobby legs that taper into—he squints. Hooves?

He keeps moving, propelled by the mad urge to catch the bird, to pin the wild magic down so he can understand it.

Adam walks for what feels like a long time, trying to find the source of all of this haemorrhaging power. He spots a couple of fidgety-looking students, a few more curious creatures. Somewhere, faraway, there’s music crooning, and it sounds exactly the way a hot shower feels.

He stops in the middle of Oxford street, head cocked towards the natural history museum across the way, the orderly buildings, the sparse evening foot traffic. Business as usual. All of it screaming with energy.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a parade of scuttling creatures marching towards an invisible destination. Frowning, Adam crosses the street, chasing the peacock blue shimmer from an unfurled wing. He slows, stooping in the alley to pick one of the strange insects from the stream. He peers through a nail-sized hole in its head. Its spindly legs wave fearfully for a moment, and then it goes limp in his hand.

The ley energy punches out of him, and he sits back on his ankles, winded.

Adam gazes down at the jewelled beetle in his palm, its siblings scattered out like shell casings around his knees. Dreams, all of them. Briefly, impossibly roused in a dead city. He stands, letting the beetle drop from his hand and bounce across the concrete. He kicks them all hurriedly behind a nearby bench, mind racing. Bugs from an exhibit next door, no doubt. Dormant animals, transplanted from their habitats and pinned in place for decades.

What kind of ecoterror was wrought to bring about a flash flood of energy in a drought? How must Ronan be feeling, out there in the world, wracked with waking dreams? What unimaginable monsters were just stirring in the shadows because of him? Is Bryde one of them?

His lives are merging. The distant rumbling of thunder is overhead now, and the downpour is rolling in. There’s no way he’ll be able to keep dry.

Standing in that alleyway by himself, drained and ordinary again, he feels terribly alone.

He weighs his feelings against his logic for several agonizing minutes, standing still and watchful as a predator. He recalls the jarringly clinical accounts of Ronan's most intimate dreams, the sparsely encoded language in those government files outlining the world-ending dangers of something Adam had, for a long time, shared a bed with.

If something happens to Ronan now, it might kill Adam. If something happens because of Ronan, it might kill everybody.

Another minute, and he has his phone out and ringing.

“Hello?” Declan answers. Oddly, it’s not his usual prickly greeting. He sounds almost jovial.

Adam looks out into the darkening street, feeling like a death omen, a shadow across someone’s doorstep. “We really need to talk about Bryde.”

______

It’s the worst possible time for Declan to be withholding information from him.

Adam had graciously tipped his hand and Declan was, infuriatingly, holding back, as if this was a low grade in Ronan’s high school algebra class, and not the cataclysmic fuck-up of a powerful dreamer.

Declan, so uncannily like his brother in vulnerable moments like this, had thought of Matthew first. A world where dreams could stay awake, he’d marvelled. As if they could afford to think so small.

Once, Adam had awoken to find his arm glued to the bedspread. Ronan had dreamt a bee-less hive in the night, and it was oozing a steady stream of honey into the sheets between them.

“Score,” Ronan had said, when he’d rolled back into his body. “Sting-free. Fucking vegan.”

“What happens when we don’t want any more honey?” Adam had asked, critically. Ingesting dreams always felt like a slippery subject. “Does it shut off like a faucet?”

It didn’t. Ronan filled a dozen amber jars full, and then abandoned the hive in a dusty kiddy pool in one of the barns near the back of his family property.

A month later, Opal had crept in through a window looking for trouble, and emerged, shrieking, in a viscous flood of syrup.

Combing the mess out of Opal’s fur, her little legs slung across his lap, Ronan had complained about the magnitude of the clean-up job he would have to do, the special honey hoover he would have to create, what a waste of a dream it would be. Adam reminded him of his faucet idea.

“Too late for that, Parrish,” he’d griped.

It was their pattern. A marvel, too good to be true. Adam, the skeptic. Ronan, too in love with creation to care about consequences.

Eventually, it will all be too late.

Ronan will pursue this liberation fantasy, this golden daydream, even if it never stops oozing. Even if it makes the whole world uninhabitable.

______

That night, Adam tries to scry for the first time in months.

He gently pushes the crying club—only tenuously placated after the tarot incident—to have drinks without him, claiming stress-induced fatigue. He leaves his study notes open and blinking on the bed, lights a sad little tea light, and casts himself out into the ether.

Straining hard, he searches for the familiar contours of Ronan’s dreamspace, plucking the distant strings of the ley line and listening for the particular timbre of Ronan’s consciousness.

He doesn’t like walking this tightrope without a net, but Harvard isn’t exactly flush with psychic spotters. He keeps a delicate balance, far from his body, inching closer and closer to Ronan’s mind, the safe plateau at the end of this rope.

Eventually, he finds himself in a grey bedroom. It's full to the gills with water, there's a toy sailboat bobbing past at chest height, and storm clouds huddling nervously on the ceiling. Adam’s hair plasters instantly to his scalp.

“Ronan?” he calls, sloshing through the curiously luminous water. It starts raining harder. A familiar, curly-headed child stares at him through the darkness, eyes sharpened into silver points in the moonlight. “Ronan?” he asks again, gently this time.

A muffled sentence, a sad, crumpled expression, and then Adam is staring at a closed door.

“What—let me in! Ronan!” He pounds at the door. “Come on!” He can still feel rainwater, unnaturally warm on his neck.

A voice in his head, not Ronan, whispers, turn back.

“No,” he snaps, knocking harder. “Just let me—“ A sudden gust of wind in his sails, and he’s ejected from the dream altogether.

He pinwheels for a horrifying, weightless moment, struggling to tune back in to the feeble light from his stubby candle, and then dragging himself, hand over fist, back to his dorm room.

“Fuck, Lynch,” he says, when he has a voice. “Don’t be stupid.” He recrosses his legs, shaking off the pointless, clinging feeling of rejection.

When he tries to reach out again, searching, searching, Ronan’s expecting him. He never makes it past the threshold.

Back in his body, he knocks his candle over, relishing the controlled destruction, the spill of wax, the sizzle of the squashed wick. A fire he can actually put out.

______

The next time Adam scrys, Ronan looks like himself. Maybe a little scruffier, with what looks like a tunnel piercing on his right ear, and a rare openness to his posture. He’s lounging in a pasture up against a sleeping cow, boots up.

As Adam watches, he tips his shaved head back into its mottled hide, and the sun makes his eyelashes into lit matchsticks. He loves him very much. He’d almost forgotten.

“Don’t lock me out,” he says quickly. Ronan opens his eyes, and when he sees him he smiles instinctively.

“Adam,” he says, vaguely. And then he locks him out.

“No,” he cries. “Would you listen to me.” He feels for the fissure in space and time, the pocket where Ronan is dreaming, sweetly and inaccessibly, about the only home Adam has ever known.

Nothing gives. Nobody replies. He crawls back to Harvard, weak with misery.

In the next dream, Ronan is older, driving a boxy jeep over a foreign landscape. Rolling Irish hills, skies humming with artificial energy. A woman who can only be Jordan Hennessy, chattering in the passenger seat.

Then it’s Ronan with his head in his dead mother’s lap, stroking the downy wing of a black swan.

Then Ronan and Hennessy again, opposite one another in a sunny gallery. One of them examining an impressionist portrait no bigger than a postcard, the other examining the exit.

Then Ronan, discovering Matthew’s corpse in a dim hallway, blinking furiously at the stranger crouched over his prone body. “What did you do?” He sounds like a kid reprimanding his sibling for getting them both in trouble.

Every time Adam gets close, some defence mechanism stops him, like a firm hand against his chest, pushing him away again and again.

He doesn't know what to do except keep trying.

______

Blankly, he looks down at a sink full of tinfoil and uneasy water. In pieces, he becomes aware of his surroundings—green stalls and laminate countertops, a row of hundred-watt lightbulbs, and somebody rattling the locked doorknob.

“Adam, are you in there?” Fletcher. “We’re going to be late. It’s nearly ten. Adam?”

“Just a minute, sorry,” Adam slurs. He stares closely at his face in the mirror until he recognizes his own features. He has an exam at 10:30. He glances down at his watch. 9:52. He had been so sure that he could just drift for a few minutes, maybe catch Ronan before he woke up. That was almost an hour ago.

He drains the sink, hands shaking, cuffs getting damp. The lightbulb filaments float behind his eyelids when he blinks. He throws his satchel over his shoulder, smooths his hair up and out of his eyes, and rubs the bags under his eyes until they hurt.

When he lets himself out of the bathroom, Fletcher is directly outside, tapping a nervous rhythm on his hips. His hands fly from his body and into the air at the sight of him.

“Adam! Thank god. I’ll cancel the search party.”

“I got lost in my notes,” Adam says, as they both make for the stairs.

“Of course you did,” Fletcher says warmly. “A supremely Adam move. I just hope you’re taking care of yourself. Gillian thinks you might be—well—not spiralling, but—“

“I’m handling it.” He takes several mental paces backwards. “Uh—poorly, clearly. I’m sorry Fletcher, I didn’t mean to snap.”

Fletcher, to his credit, recovers quickly. “I can’t imagine going through my first semester of college and a break-up at the same time. You’re a stronger man than I.”

Adam rather doubts that Fletcher can imagine going through a break-up at all, but he nods conspiratorially. They hop down the last few steps and out into the chilly sunshine together.

“You’d be amazed what one can do out of necessity.”

“Too true. We all have our hidden depths, don’t we,” Fletcher says thoughtfully. For a moment, Adam considers telling him—something, looping him into this tangled web with him, but then he says, “now, chapter twenty-three wasn’t on the outline, was it? I beg you to say no. Lie, if you must.”

And Adam is a student again. He doesn’t have out of body episodes. He doesn’t carry wads of tinfoil in his trouser pockets. He doesn’t keep deadly secrets from people whom he is mostly pretending to like and understand.

They walk onwards, towards a test which Adam will rouse himself for long enough to ace. Then he will think of the next thing, and the next. Appease these school acquaintances of his. Tinker with finicky car engines. Make flash cards. Drift into the beyond using one of Fletcher’s three-wick candles from pottery barn. Text Declan, who activates Ronan’s accountability in a way that Adam does not. Call Gansey, if he can bring himself to face his disappointment.

And clear away his feelings, which keep pouring out of him like so much honey.

______

Ronan hangs up on him, and Adam holds himself in the biting wind outside the library for a very long time.

He’d thought, if he could only speak to him, that he could begin to undo Bryde’s poisonous influence. They know each other. They’ve known each other. Ronan would listen to Adam’s fears as he always does. Adam would appeal to Ronan’s heart, which tends to ache for helpless things. They would see how lost they had become without each other. Adam would be allowed back into Ronan’s dreams, and Ronan would be allowed back into Adam’s future.

Why didn’t you text back?

As if they’ve been suspended in time since Ronan’s last tamquam, and none of it—the running away, warding his dreams against Adam, abandoning his phone, trusting a complete stranger over his friends and family—had ever happened.

It’s absurd. He should have expected it. Ronan was searching for a reason to stay, and when he looked for his reflection, his second self, Adam wasn’t there. For a single moment, he wasn’t there, and now he’s paying for it.

Impatient, wrathful Ronan. Leaping from the moving vehicle because Adam was going the speed limit. Going rogue, and then calling Adam with all of these stinging accusations, like he was the one who’d been abandoned.

He thinks again of Bryde manipulating Ronan, preying on his loneliness, his love for his brothers, his fear of himself. This big bad rumour, older and crueler than the Lace itself.

And Ronan letting himself be manipulated, putting on blinders, using Adam’s brief silence as an endorsement for a glorified joyride with unthinkable global ramifications. Self-destructing because things got a little too quiet.

Adam feels hot rage taking ahold of him with its sticky fingers.

Then he thinks of Ronan saying I need to see you, his thin, frightened voice finding Adam from somewhere out there in the city, and his anger goes clammy.

There’s no way Ronan will call again. Negotiations were off as soon as Adam refused to house them both from the Moderators.

And now, without Hennessy, Ronan is the last arrow in Bryde’s quiver. He’s going to be the explosive that brings everything down. He’s going to be buried at ground zero.

If I'd replied an hour sooner, would he really have waited? If I’d gone to school closer, would I have noticed him disintegrating? If I explained that my dream isn’t what I thought it would be either, that he’s the only thing that feels real, would he have said it back to me?

After everything that’s happened, am I going to be the one who gives up on Ronan Lynch?

Everything is so fucked.

He calls Declan.

He picks up on the first ring. “Parrish—”

“He hung up on me,” they both say at the same time.

“Mother of God,” Declan moans. “Then there’s no hope. He thinks I sold him out to the Mods.”

“Did you?”

“No. I did exactly as we discussed. I negotiated for his safety. I thought—I mean, you said it yourself, Adam. Being anti-apocalypse is a pretty solid platform.”

He shakes his head. “Ronan won’t see it that way. He’s not like us. He doesn’t want to be moderated even a little bit.”

“Believe me, I know that. The way he was talking—about the world screwing them over, all of them, dreamers. That’s not the way my brother thinks. That’s all Bryde. And now he’s taken him—Christ—Christ knows where.”

“He wanted to see me,” Adam feels compelled to say. “He was trying to come here.”

“He said that? That's good,” Declan says, relieved. “Where—“

“I let him get away,” Adam says, through numb lips. “I let him go.”

______

He texts Gansey, things have gone south, and then he turns his phone on silent.

His puts his fingertips to the floorboards, a knobbly hand on either side of a scrying tableau: the leaping flame of a candle, a well-organized pile of cards, his overturned phone and discarded tie. He’s just finished crying, and he feels volatile and ill-prepared even as he ties himself to the flickering light.

His mind races through the night like a skipped stone. Vaguely, he pictures a vast body of water and a glittering mountain range, with no horizon line in-between. Darkness reflected in darkness.

“Ronan,” he calls. The dreamspace whirs and grinds its gears and won’t reply. “You know this is wrong. You know, or you wouldn't be hiding from me.”

It’s all water out here in this sublime mirror-space, but it’s also warm, like the steam rising from a hot spring. Something is moving, changing things on a chemical level.

For a moment he thinks he sees himself, a wan doppelgänger with its hands raised. But it’s not Adam. It’s Bryde. Cool, sturdy, a pale Atlas holding the dream together on his back. He recognizes him instinctively.

Adam deliberately throws his mind closer, into the terrible heart of this fire Ronan is creating. Smoke whispers and catches all around him, and it’s even harder to tell the difference between things now. No horizon, no seam, no reality, no death.

What have you done? What are you doing?

The heat is quickly becoming unbearable. Adam is stretched too thin, and the fire is fraying him, eating through each fibre of his connection to reality.

Ronan, please, I need you to stop. I’m losing my grip. Listen to me.

And then, without any warning at all, he collapses on his dorm room floor.

He hacks and retches, lungs full of phantom smoke. Everything feels very wrong. He thinks for a second that he’s blind, but it’s not his vision, it’s another, less tangible sense, it’s—

He scrambles backwards on his hands, heaving. He tries to pull himself up onto his bed, head first, then chest, but he has to stop with his face buried in the comforter.

Ronan is—he must be—he’s—

“God, no, oh my god, no, no.”

He needs to throw up. He needs to call somebody. There’s complete silence in his head.

He was slingshotted back to Cambridge, swatted back along the zipline to his body, because there was nowhere else for him to go.

He’s sure, in a very non-magical, intuitive way, that every dream in the world has just collectively collapsed. Adam staggers to his feet. There’s a smoke alarm going off, somewhere. A background hum of electricity groaning as it shuts off. A high, scared voice.

As if in a trance, he goes to the window.

There are five dead lightbulbs in the nearest row of street lamps, what looks like a sleeping child out in the middle of the square, and a woman clutching her chest and sitting slowly on a bench.

Panic is deadening his senses, crawling blackly into his mouth and nose and eyes. He thinks of Matthew sitting weakly by the window. Opal slumped over a stump in the woods. Chainsaw falling from the sky like a stone. Gansey’s Cabeswater heart decaying in his chest. Ronan, either dissolving into nightwash or felled by a Moderator’s bullet, dead, lost, or powerless.

Every morsel of magic, every innovation, every cherished friend, every sacred place, turned off like a faucet.

The world outside, drooping and disconnected, is now exactly as ordinary as Adam has been pretending it is.

The ley line is gone.

[skylarmoon71]

Raphael x Reader - Oneshot (TMNT 2014/2016)

"Sup shrimp."

"I'm not a shrimp I'm a grown woman!!" you screamed charging at Raph. He didn't even budge when you ran into him. You on the other hand tumbled to the floor with a grunt. Mikey raised his head when he heard the collision.

"Hey, I think you moved him a little this time (Y/N), good job." he sent you thumbs up, but you just stayed there laying flat on the floor.

You were only fifteen, and since Raph was older, he never failed to remind you of it. Even at your age, you barely look it. You were small, and a bit of a tomboy. It didn't help that you grew up with brothers. Fighting was the way you communicated. That's why you always went at it with Raph. He made it his mission to point out your very boyish qualities. Not that you cared.

"Just wait till puberty hits me, I'll be so gorgeous even the boys at school will have to acknowledge me!" You holler. So maybe your constant fights with Raph weren't solely because you liked roughhousing.

Thing is, you had the biggest crush on him. His attitude, tough personality, and geez those damn muscles. He drove you every type of crazy. That's why you got into it so regular with him. Of course you'd never admit it.

All your teenage mind seemed to process was Feelings+Raph= Punch the shit outta him.

Very mature approach.

"Ya better keep dreaming, you'll be a shrimp no matter how tall ya get." you growled, jumping to your feet as you grabbed his leg.

"Corkscrew!!" you yelled. You tried locking his leg with both of yours to pull him down. It usually worked with your brothers, but you should have known better. Raph just smirked and leaned down, grabbing one of your legs as he lifted you into the air upside down.

"P-Put me down you overgrown tortoise!!" you were struggling and throwing punches at his body, but none of them connected, he was holding you at a distance.

"Maybe if ya nice I'll think bout it." You folded your arms with a glare.

"What, you really think I'm going to beg? Never."

"Is that right?"

"No it's left. Of course it's right! LEO!! Raph is bullying me again!"

Leo sighed, coming around the corner to inspect the damage. "Raph, stop treating her like a rag doll. Put her down."

He huffed, moving to the couch. "Fine." Just like that he opened his palm. You dropped with a soft thud, and Raph snickered under his breath.

"Better?" When you collected yourself, you used the couch to boost you as you jumped unto Raph's back, wrapping your small hands around his neck in an attempted chokehold.

"What do you have to say now big guy! I can take you out in seconds." you pressed into the pressure point on the side of his neck, and he dropped to his knees in surprise.

"Hah, no matter the size, that'll forever be a weak spot." You would know, you used it on your brothers. You were about to deliver another devastating blow. He grabbed your arm before you could do much, pulling you to the ground. When you raised your body to fight back, he just used one hand to push you down by your chest. You blushed at the contact.

"Y-You pervert now you're groping me!!"

He looked unimpressed at your accusation. "Please, ya as flat as a pizza." His statement made your face redder, and you kicked his chest, putting some space between so you could get up.

"STUPID TURTLE!!!"

With that you were running out the lair in a rage. Raph stood slowly, and Leo just shook his head at him.

"You really shouldn't mess with her so much Raph."

"She's the one that came running at me."

"You didn't exactly help the situation."

"Gimme a break." Raph groused. He usually brushed it off when you yelled at him, but this time you looked pretty upset.

Logically, it would have made sense to go after you and apologize, but Raph was never the logical type. So instead he dealt with it the old fashion way.

"I need to punch something." he grumbled, heading for the training area.

Leo just let out another exasperated sigh. He looked over at Mikey, who just lifted his arms shaking his head.

"Don't look at me brah, I'm not getting in the middle of that. " You may have been small, but your temper rivaled Raph's so talking with you while you were pissed wasn't the best thing to do.

~One Week Later~

"Where's (Y/N)." Raph really didn't think you would have stayed away this long. It had only been one week, but it felt like so long since he heard you yelling as you tried to attack him with a new move.

Donnie raised his t-phone from his spot. "She's got exams, I've been sending her information to help in her chemistry class. She said she won't be able to stop by until it's over. Apparently her parents have been getting on her about her grades."

Raph could understand that, what he didn't understand was you messaging Donnie instead of him.

"What's wrong Raphie are you missing your little girlfriend~"

Mikey made a face, mimicking kissy faces and Raph just smacked him.

"Shut up! I ain't missing that shrimp!"

"Fine, no need to get violent." Mikey grumbled, rubbing the back of his head.

"Alright break it up, we got patrol in a few minutes, no fighting." Raph cracked his knuckles. "Great timing." He could use with a little brute force.

~~~

"Damn it this makes no sense!!" You were stressing over your finals, and to make matters worse, you'd just recently gotten your period, so not only was your brain committing suicide, so was your ovaries.

"AHHHH!!!" your oldest brother rushed in at the yell.

"Dude, quit screaming. I thought you were being murdered." you frowned.

"I might as well have been, this shit hurts." He grinned at you.

"My dear little sister, finally becoming a woman. They grow up so fast." He said faking a sob. You just rolled your eyes, throwing a book in his direction.

"Get out of my room before I chug my bloody pad at you." he made a disgusted face.

"I fear for your future boyfriend (Y/N)." you just gave him a look, and in seconds he was rushing out, shutting the door. You dropped your pencil, placing your head on the desk.

"Future boyfriend.."

The first image to pop into your head was Raph, and you blushed, letting out a soft groan of annoyance. What was the use falling for him. He barely even acknowledges you as female. It was so frustrating. Yet, you couldn't stop hoping that he'd somehow just sneak into your room and confess his undying love for you.

It was crazy, impossible. "Dumb hormones." You couldn't believe you'd been in such a rush to go through this, it was hell. What was even worse is your chest had been sore all week. Your mother insisted it was normal, but it didn't feel normal.

"Dumb puberty." you regretted ever wanting to experience it.

~Three Weeks Later~

"Still no word." Donnie shook his head. "She's not in danger, and she texts me, but for some reason she hasn't been down here in awhile."

Leo was never one to act irrational, but now he was getting worried. And Raph was completely stubborn. "Raph, you have to go talk to her. She's obviously still mad about what you said last time. "

"That was weeks ago, and why do I gotta do it! Did ya forget she was the one that came at me."

"You hurt her feelings Raph. You don't tell a girl her chest is flat as a pizza, even if it's true."

"Since when did ya become an expert on women." Leo was about to respond, but a sneaky smile rose on his lips.

"So you do see her as a woman. Hah, I knew you had a thing for her. No wonder you're always messing with her. " Raph couldn't work up a reply so he just growled, turning his back and punching the wall.

"Somehow I feel like they're made for each other. " Leo chuckled. His brother may have been a muscle head, but at least he wasn't blind.

He'd fix the problem eventually. Leo could tell that your absence was starting to get to Raph. It was only a matter of who would make the first move. That might take a while though.

****

It was foolish, you hadn't intended to stay away that long, it's just that so much happened in the span of three weeks. Now you felt way too embarrassed to face Raph due to your most recent development. That didn't stop the guilt though. Because you missed being around the boys. Mikey, Donnie, Leo and especially Raph. You'd just stopped visiting with an explanation. What kind of friend does that? Not a very good one.

"Tomorrow! I go and explain everything." You were tired of hiding out in your room. You didn't want your friendship to suffer because of your stupid hormones.

Clack!

Your head whipped to the window.

"The fudge.."

Under normal circumstances, it was never smart to go towards strange noises. So as you inched out of your bed, you grabbed your baseball bat, moving cautiously to your window.

If some serial killer thought he was getting an easy victim he had another thing coming. You stood at the side, hiding behind the wall as you watched the figure crawl into your room. With a vicious swing, you whacked him right in the face. When you heard a grunt of pain you rushed to your light switch with a grin.

"Take that you stupid serial psycho you really think I was just going to...R-Raph!!"

"What the hell is wrong with ya.." he spoke tightly, he was rubbing his face in irritation. You dropped the bat.

"I-I'm so sorry I thought you were a killer or something. Why didn't you call. You don't just sneak into a girl's room in the middle of the night. "

"I would have called, but ya been avoiding the liar and my messages. Figured I'd come and see why ya acting so weird."

He was right. Suddenly you weren't as sure. Taking a step back, you wrapped your arms around yourself, looking away.

"I-I just..I had exams.."

"Don't gimme that shit, you've been done for a while. Donnie told me."

"Fudge."

You couldn't think of any more excuses that would be half as believable. When Raph saw the way you were guarding yourself and keeping your distance, it sort of hurt him.

He realized then that his words must have done more damage than he thought. He really didn't think you would have taken it to heart. A big part of your friendship was the both of you insulting each other. Maybe this time though, he went a little too far.

"I'm sorry alright." you looked up, and Raph shifted his gaze to the wall.

"I didn't mean it, I was just teasing ya. Truth is I couldn't give a crap if you're small. It's what I like about ya. Ya always give me shit, and yer never afraid to call me out and fight me, even though there's no way ya could win. "

Was he confessing? It sure sounded like it.

"I do see ya as a woman. Ya don't have to worry about puberty or any of that crap. Ya already freaking hot to me." you just stared, cheeks glowing a bright red.

"Y-You think I'm.."

Oh boy, you were going to have a heart attack. No way was this really happening. Raph scratched his head a bit awkwardly.

"Course I do. I guess I just liked having all ya attention. You never flock towards Leo or the others. Ya always chase after me."

Of course you did. You'd been crushing on him for months, maybe since you met him. He was finally looking your way, and he took a step forward.

"I don't care if you're flat as a pizza, ya still cute to me." He placed his hand on your chest to prove his point, except this time there was a plumpness he didn't expect. You flushed, and on instinct you kicked him in the groin. Raph stumbled back, holding the crouch as he fell to the ground.

"W-WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU! HOW DARE YOU TRY AND CUP A FEEL!!"

"Wrong with me! Just a few weeks ago ya were as flat as a pancake!" He gaped, still fairly confused, and you just covered your chest bashfully. Something seemed to hit him.

"This is why ya were acting so strange..." no wonder you hadn't stopped by. He could see it clear on your face.

"Did ya ass get bigger too?"

"Y-You jerk why would you even ask that- aah!!" You didn't expect him to get to his feet and take your arm. He pinned both your arms to the bed, pressing you to the mattress. Your chest was pressed into the bed, and you had to look over to see what he was doing.

"R-Raph let me go this instant!!"

He just smirked at you, lifting your shirt slightly to get a look at you from behind.

"I was right, yer ass did get bigger." you jumped when you felt his hand on your butt. You gasped when he groped you, squeezing your cheek softly. "P-Pervert!! This is assault!!" you squirmed, but it was useless, he had you pinned to the bed.

His body leaning over is what kept you from getting away.

"It's not if ya like it." He whispered sultrily. You swallowed, trying not to let him see just how much you were actually enjoying his touches. He lowered his body, and now you could feel his strong plastron pressed to your back. His hands flattened on the bed above your head, and you whined, still trying to wiggle away. Maybe save a little face.

"Well well, I thought ya were cute before, but now yer delicious." he gave your butt another appreciative squeeze and you could only muster out a small mewl. "R-Raph.." Why was he torturing you so much?

"Yes." you glanced at him, and from the desperate look on your face, he already knew what you wanted. He moved back slightly to help you turn unto your back, and now that you were facing each other, you gazed at him. He could see the raw want in your eyes. His little touches might have just nudged you over the edge.

Without so much as a word you pulled him down, sighing when his lips finally met yours. His body covered your own protectively, not leaning his full weight, just enough that you could feel him. And boy did it feel good.

Your hands were hooked around his neck as you kissed him hungrily. It may have been your hormones, or the fact that you'd been dying to kiss him for who knows how long. Raph didn't mind one bit. This time when his hand landed on your chest, you moaned, begging for more. Raph let out a throaty chuckle when he managed to pull back, giving you a chance to catch your breath. "Ya better keep yer voice down. Wouldn't want ya family catching us."

Family, wow, you completely forgot about those people.

Raph was just staring at you now, and it made you a bit flustered.

"Q-Quit staring." you mutter.

"Why can't I, I'm admiring my woman."

"Y-Your woman! I never agreed to that!" You're dream come true, not that you would say that aloud.

"Guess that means we can't kiss anymore." He looked like he was about to move away, but you grabbed the strap across his chest.

"W-Wait!! I-I guess being your woman wouldn't be the worst thing in the world." He knew secretly you were overjoyed, even if you were trying your hardest to cover it up.

"Whatever ya say shrimp."

"I'm not a shrimp I'm a grown woman!!"

This would be a very interesting relationship.

[walpurga-nacht-academy]

Djinn’s Bride! ~A Celebration of Love~

Part 2

[Walpurga Nacht Academy]

[Prefect Meeting Room]

Marcia: BWHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Blanche: Marcia, does this look like the right moment to be laughing so boisterously?

Marcia: So-Sorry… pfffffft… just didn’t expect that sort of thing to happen while I was away. Man, I can’t believe I missed all that.

Blanche: I wish I could say the same…

Marcia: Still, that’s to be expected of senpai, isn’t it? That she’d be the one to bring up such stuff during a meeting just to freak people out. 

Vita: One needs not to fear the process of acquiring knowledge~

Cass: Mi-Miss Dies’ dedication to her subject is really… uh, impressive…

Rosa: Don’t- [cough] try to put a good- [cough] spin on this, Cassandra! 

Cass: Miss Morgainne! A-Are you alright?

Rosa: Ye-Yeah, I’m finally getting the hang of breathing again. Though my shoulder is still killing me, ugh… Did you have to pull so hard, Diana?!

Diana: It was instinct.

Rosa: That’s the part that worries me! Just what kind of life did you live before coming here that you’d naturally attack somebody who’s trying to wake you up?!

Marcia: Hahahaha! Now, now, you’ll just have to get used to Diana’s eccentricities!

Rosa: That’s easy for you to say! You’re not the one who almost passed out from being held in a chokehold!

Agatha: That… was… funny… hehehehehehe…

Rosa: Grrr! Don’t you start too!

Agatha: The… stupid… amoeba… still… didn’t… learn… her… lesson… 

Rosa: Huh?! Who are you calling a stupid-

June: SHUT YER TRAPS.

Rosa: Eek!

Agatha: …

Blanche: Himalia-senpai is right. There is no point in arguing among ourselves like this. We’ll never finish this meeting if we do that.

Marcia: Eh? You mean that the meeting is not over yet?

Blanche: Of course not. You have to present your report too, after all. The rules clearly state that each Prefect must fulfill this responsibility during the weekly meeting. 

Marcia: You’re always so strict, Blanche! Though I gotta ask: Is this really a meeting?

Blanche: … What do you mean?

Marcia: It’s Alkin’s job to preside over these things, right? But I can’t see him anywhere.

Blanche: That’s true. From my understanding Head Prefect Alkin is currently preoccupied with something else. Isn’t that right, Rosalia?

Rosa: Huh? O-Oh, yeah… he’s, uh… busy with… uh…

Diana: He’s settling an argument between Dergos and Stryx.

Rosa: Huh? How did you know that?!

Diana: We passed each other in the hall earlier.

Rosa: … Oh.

Blanche: Rosalia. As Prefect of Rosenhex, it’s your job to ensure the well-being of the Head Prefect this year. How did you not know where he was?

Rosa: Th-That’s… I don’t need to keep an eye out on him! He’s a grown… cat! He doesn’t need supervision!

Blanche: Be that as it may, the regulations state clearly- Marcia, where are you sneaking off to?

Marcia: Crap!

Blanche: Don’t be so vulgar.

Marcia: Sorry, sorry. But man, you sure are sharp, Blanche, huh? I was really trying to sneak out there and you put a stop to it immediately. 

Blanche: Rabbit beastfolk have naturally better hearing, and you’re not too subtle when you try to make your escape. The scrapping sound of your chair was too noticeable.

Marcia: I see~ Then I’m gonna be more careful next time and make a better escape~

Blanche: Marcia.

Marcia: Just kidding! I swear! You’re too serious, Blanche!

Blanche: And you’re too carefree. I will ask you to get on with your report now, please.

Marcia: Is it really worth it if Alkin’s not here?

Blanche: That is irrelevant. The regulation-

Marcia: Yeah, yeah, I get the gist of it! I don’t really like it, but I guess rules are rules, huh?

Blanche: I’m glad to see that you agree.

Marcia: Ah, I wonder about that…

Blanche: Hm?

Marcia: Nothing, nothing~ Anyway, um, there’s not much to report for Kriegskald. We’ve been making some breakthroughs when it comes to artifacts from the Valley of Thorns. Finally managed to put into function an old spinning wheel that’s running on magic, though the working pattern seems a bit wonky so far. And that’s it, I guess.

Blanche: Did you not acquire a few new items from the Land of Hot Sands? You should include that too.

Marcia: Eh?! How did you know about that?!

Blanche: There was a high number of reference books being borrowed from the library recently by students from Kriegskald. All of them pertaining to artifacts originating from this region. This usually happens only when a shipment has arrived recently. It was only natural to come to this conclusion. 

Marcia: Hahahaha! You got me there, I guess! Didn’t think you’d pay so much attention to this sort of thing, Blanche!

Blanche: Though not as vast and stocked as our own, the school library still contains precious knowledge. It’s Grimmaire’s duty to overlook such things.

Marcia: Mm~ I suppose that makes sense, huh? Though you’re absolutely right! We did get something new recently, and it’s pretty sweet!

Rosa: Eh? What do you mean?

Marcia: Hm~ Let me show you. I brought it here with me today since I just got back from the Post Office, but… Here we go!

Cass: It’s… a lamp?

Marcia: Correct~ It’s one of a kind, exclusive, never-seen-in-your-lifetime magical lamp… Or so I want to say...

Rosa: Huh? What do you mean by that? Is it not magical after all?

Blanche: I think I understand.

Rosa: Eh? What is it?  

Cass: Ah, do you mean it’s like that?

Rosa: Like what? What do you mean?

Agatha: .... Eehehehehehe… I would… want… one… too…

Rosa: What, you mean it’s that good?

Vita: My, ‘tis truly a rare spoil~

Rosa: What are you guys talking about?! Hey! Tell me too! Don’t leave me in the dark like that! Tell me! Tell me! Te-

June: SHUT IT!

Rosa: !!! 

So-Sorry…

Cass: Mi-Miss Morgainne, wh-what is it that you wanted to ask? I’m sorry for not paying attention! Please forgive me! I-I’d like to be of help to you!

Rosa: N-No, it’s alright, Cassandra. Ugh, now I feel bad for acting like a brat…

Marcia: Don’t mind, don’t mind.

Rosa: Stop patting my head! I’m not a child, you know!

Marcia: Hahahaha! Sorry, sorry!

Rosa: Ugh, that’s why you’re so-

Marcia: A-ny-way!

Rosa: Wah! Don’t interrupt me!

Marcia: But you wanna know about this lamp, don’t you? 

Rosa: …

Marcia: Figured as much~ So, how about paying a little fee, hm? Nothing much, of course! I was thinking maybe 5,000 or maybe even 7,000 if you’re that curious~ Just pay this little sum and then I’ll tell you all about-

Blanche: It’s a djinn’s lamp.

Marcia: Ah! Blanche! Why’d you have to go ahead and say that?! I was about to get a good deal here!

Blanche: You’re not supposed to scam your fellow Prefects.

Marcia: Aaah, you’re so cruel… Boohoo… Boohoo...

Rosa: … Djinn’s… ? Ah! I heard about this!

Blanche: You should have. It’s after all part of the Rosenhex curriculum. 

Rosa: Geh! How did you know this?!

Blanche: The more important question here is how did you not know this?

Rosa: Grrrr-! I was just thrown off that’s all! I obviously know what a djinn’s lamp is since we studied enchantments before!

Marcia: There, there, you’re a good girl~

Rosa: STOP THAT! 

June: ALL OF YA, SHUT IT!

Rosa/Marcia/Blanche: … So-Sorry…

back | next

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Shards of Glass 1/2

After over thirty years, Ma is getting paid a visit, all thanks to the persuasion of a sweater-making, pig-loving teenager. A loud HAPPY BIRTHDAY for Stanley and Stanford Pines, born June 15th 19?? (who cares?) Part 2 will be posted on June 30th to conclude the celebration of their existence. So stay tuned!

@thestanbros

~~~~~~~~~~

Mabel had never been on a plane before.

Well, okay, that wasn't entirely true; she had been on an airplane before, but she was so little back then and she didn't remember it now, so to her brain this was her first time on a plane, and she didn't like it much. She had to chew on gum the whole time to keep from getting a headache and the WiFi was too slow to function, so she daydreamed about the summer ahead as she watched the clouds roll by and imagined shapes.

Once, when she and Dipper were really little, maybe four or five, they had flown down to Ma Pines' house all the way in New Jersey for a holiday. Probably Thanksgiving since Mabel only had three memories of that trip. She remembered yummy sweet potatoes with marshmallows that she ate as much as she was allowed, she remembered the distinct smell of the flat, and she remembered…

"Attention passengers, we will be arriving in Glass Shard, New Jersey in five minutes. Please remain seated until instructed to exit the plane, and as always thanks for flying with us at…"

"Dipper, we're here!" Mabel cheered and checked her phone, her other hand busy petting a disturbed Waddles on her lap. By the time a message would load to her great uncles they would already be in front of them, so there was no point in sending a text to alert them of the arrival. "This is so exciting! A whole month sailing with my three favorite people in the world!"

"I'm so excited to see all the anomalies the guys were talking about." Dipper said, looking up from his special journal to smile at his twin. "Maybe we'll see a real adlet!"

"But first I wanna see where Grunkle Stan and Ford grew up!" Mabel piped in. "Maybe we'll see the cave where they found the Stan O' War!"

"Maybe," Dipper said, unsure how true that word was. "But don't you think they might not want to stay very long? I wouldn't be surprised if they want to set sail as soon as we get there."

"But what about their mom?" Mabel asked. "Don't they want to see her?"

Dipper looked down at the silver pinetree on his blue book. Their great-grandmother was a tough old bird (as Grandpa Shermie called her) and was still going in her early nineties. Grant it, she didn't do much besides give an occasional palm reading to keep herself busy, but she was definitely still around. Grandpa Shermie was good about staying in touch with her from what Dad said, and Dad called her every Sunday, but she was still relatively lonely due to the fact that her husband was gone (good riddance) and two of her sons hadn't spoken to her in thirty years. ("Stanford" had been very quiet during Stanley's funeral, had refused to attend Filbrick's, and when Grunkle Stan saw Dipper and Mabel being born he left just before Ma arrived at the hospital.) While a visit was way overdue, it might be too little too late.

"I'm sure they want to see her," Dipper finally said as he looked back up at Mabel. "But it might be too hard, now. And not just for them, you know? How would she take it? Would she even believe them?"

Mabel's attitude dropped a little bit more. She shrugged and scratched the spot Waddles can never reach. "I dunno… Dad took the news okay."

Dipper smiled. When their parents' had gotten Mabel's letter their mother didn't believe them, but their father took them seriously and only shrugged and said, "Yup, that sounds like my uncles, alright."

"I think it's a good idea to see Ma, but let's not pressure them, okay?" Dipper settled on.

"Don't worry, Bro-Bro." Mabel said confidently. "It'll all work out. Oo! Look, look, look! We're here! Look, Dipper, look!"

"Okay okay, I'm looking." Dipper chuckled as they both watched the ground come closer and closer, the plane landing safely on the runway and gliding peacefully.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ford had always been more collected and self-contained of the dynamic duo; this became apparent as he was able to stand perfectly calm in the airport with his hands on the pockets of his blue jacket while Stan tapped his foot impatiently and checked his phone every minute, even though he never received a notification or heard a ringtone. Ford smiled and came up with a joke to poke the bear with. "Well well, has Stanley Pines truly gone soft for two teenagers?"

"Shaddup." Stan growled but smiled back nonetheless.

"You know, a watched pot never boils. Just relax."

"I ain't worried or nothing, Poindexter," Stan defended. "Sorry that an uncle's excited to see his kids!"

"I'm happily anticipating their arrival, as well," Ford chuckled. "I'll admit it, Mabel's idea of sailing with us is a fantastic one. Why in the Multiverse she wanted to go so badly she felt compelled to beg for a month straight…"

"Believe it or not, the kids like us." Stan lightly punched his shoulder. "I'm sure all they want is to be stuck on a boat with two cool old men for a month with nothing but fish and an occasional monster for company."

"And a pig."

Stan snorted. "I try to forget that naked jerk."

"And we all know how great of a job you…" Ford cut himself off, turning red and fearing he had crossed a line, but Stan laughed loudly and slapped his knee.

"Okay okay, you got me there…"

"Stanley,"

"What?"

Just as Stan turned around, his eyes landed on the two most precious things in the world: a boy in a ushanka and navy blue vest with a green t-shirt and blue jeans, a journal in his hands and a large backpack on his shoulders, and a girl with shoulder-length brown hair kept back with a red headband, wearing a purple sweater with a big pink heart that held a golden fish and a golden six-fingered hand, a pig in her arms and a huge suitcase just busting at the seam with sweaters and arts n' crafts supplies.

Mabel grinned with teeth free of braces and tears in her eyes and let Waddles down so they could all run freely. Stan broke into a run for his pumpkin and ignored the squealing pig that arrived at him first by a split second, little hooves on his jeans and button eyes requesting cuddles. Stan scooped Mabel up into his arms and held her tight, her arms wrapped around his neck and her face in his shoulder. Dipper was at his legs in an instant and hugged him, not bothering to pretend it's a chokehold or a means to make the old guy trip and fall. Stan freed an arm to keep him close, and not even a second after Dipper joined the hug Ford was by his brother's side and Dipper adjusted to hug him, too.

Stan heard a small sniff and rubbed Mabel's back. "Sweetie, you're not crying, are you?"

Mabel lifted her head up from his shoulder to look at him, wiping away the tears on her cheeks and eyes. "N-No…" Her smile unwavering through her white lie.

Stan chuckled warmly and put her down next to her twin. "Alright, let us get a good look at you two."

"You've seen us at least once a week." Dipper reminded him. They video-chatted constantly and there wasn't a day they didn't exchange an email or a text message.

"This is different, now shaddap and let me work through my cataracts." Stan and Ford looked at the kids hungrily, who was looking back at them just the same, as if they couldn't absorb each other's appearances enough. Which was probably true. "You've both gotten taller."

"I'm taller than Mabel now!"

"By one milometer!"

"Now don't get short with your brother." Ford said with a smile, making every laugh, including Mabel, who shrugged with a "whatcha gonna do" atmosphere to it.

"And your teeth look amazing, pumpkin!" Stan commented; back in March she had gotten the braces removed and admitted to being unsure if her teeth looked good enough, but they dazzled beautifully when she grinned and apart from a painful reminder that she was growing up, Stan was pleased with the new change.

"And the pictures and video don't do your hair justice. You look beautiful." Ford got on one knee and ruffled her hair, making her giggle and playfully swat his hand away. "I must ask, was there a reason for the new hairstyle, or did you simply fancy trying something new?"

"Let's just say an arts n' crafts accident didn't leave me much choice." Mabel said with a wink.

"She set her hair on fire and we had to cut off the dead ends." Dipper spoiled.

"Dipper! I gotta keep some secrets! It makes me look cool and mysterious!"

"No more secret, sweetie." Stan laughed alongside her.

"And Dipper, my boy, you've certainly grown up a lot since we've last seen you." Ford noted as he stood back up.

"Yeah, who gave you permission to look more manly and junk?"

Dipper rolled his eyes at Grunkle Stan's comment, but Mabel chimed in first. "He's already grown five chest hairs! I bet he named them, too."

"I did not!"

"He won't let me see, though…"

"Last time you saw my chest hair you put it in your scrapbook!"

"That's cuz it was your first, Dip-Dip. The rest aren't as special."

The uncles laughed at the kids' playful bickering and Stan took Mabel's suitcase and they ventured out of the airport with Waddles in Mabel's arms.

With the airport being on the furthest side of town from the beach, Stan flagged down a cab and they piled in for the docks. The entire car-ride they filled each other in on their lives, the kids talking about school and the adults giving brief summaries of some of their adventures. Waddles moved from Mabel's lap to Stan's, and without a single comment and only funny looks from the others, Stan scratched the pig as he talked and listened.

At long last the cab pulled up to the docks and the kids ran out, tired of sitting after a six-hour flight and a twenty-minute car ride, while Ford paid for the ride. The younger set of twins raced to the boat they had only seen pictures of and marveled at the vessel before them. Already showing signs of harsh weather and tons of love, the Stan O' War II stood strong on the gentle sea salt waves, the white letter shining in the early-afternoon sun. With a cozy cabin with a downstairs bedroom and an upstairs everything room, a hardtop for astronomy and sunbathing, and a big enough cockpit for the small family, the Stan O' War II had been an excellent home for the old pair of twins and the younger pair of twins were excited to live here for the first half of summer.

"There she is, kids!" Stan said proudly, a hand on Dipper's shoulder. "This ole girl survived Fiji Monkeys, sirens, and five different krakens. It's completely and totally safe." And then a piece of the antenna for the TV fell off.

"Grunkle Stan, if we can survive in the Mystery Shack for an entire summer, I think we'll be fine here." Dipper said while Mabel ran up to the boat and climbed up with Ford behind her.

"What do you think, my dear?"

"It's BEAUTIFUL!" Mabel squealed and hoisted Waddles up into the boat with them, her eyes sparkling with stars as she took in every detail. "I can't wait to get splinters and name all the moldy spots!"

"Unfortunately, there aren't any moldy spots yet." Ford chuckled. "But there are some craters in the wood that haven't been named."

"Leave that to Mabel!"

When Stan and Dipper joined them, the old men took the kids downstairs to the bedroom to unload their things and get situated. What once used to only hold a set of bunk beds and a dresser now also hosted a set of hammocks hooked to the wall and the dresser, one on top of the other for the kids. Mabel squealed with delight and snuggled into the lower one (still a little afraid of heights) and Dipper said, "Whoa, cool! Thanks, guys."

"Well, can't have you two gremlins sleeping out on deck, can we?" Stan asked. He clapped his hands together and declared, "Alright! You two get settled while Ford and I get us out at sea…"

Mabel sat up on her knees, her hands on the edge of the hammock. "Wait, Grunkle Stan! Aren't you gonna give us the grand tour?"

Stan shrugged. "It's a small boat. Not much to tour, kid."

"I mean Glass Shard Beach." Mabel pressed. "You could show us that old candy store and your swing-set and the boardwalk you used to play in!"

Ford looked over at his brother; while he could stomach saying here a little longer, he wasn't sure how comfortable Stan was taking a trip down memory lane, but then again Stan was always preaching about how "the past's in the past" and "old memories shouldn't stop us from making newer, better ones," but that didn't excuse the fact that Stan had been quick to suggest leaving the docks as soon as they picked up the kids and get the supplies they needed when they first arrived.

But Stan smiled, crossed his arms over his chest, and smirked, "I don't see why not? You cool with it, Sixer?"

Ford smiled at his family. "I think it's a wonderful idea. The boardwalk should be open, maybe the Freak Show is still there."

"Freak Show?! Let's go!" Mabel hopped out of her hammock and the four left the boat for town.

Walking alongside the beach and letting Mabel ride on Stan's shoulders, the kids got a good glimpse of the town. They eventually decide to walk into it on the way to the boardwalk, the old men wondering how much Glass Shard had changed.

It was an odd combination of "nothing changes" and "everything changes". The buildings were still the same, not much torn down or rebuilt, but the interiors were mostly updated or something completely different. They passed the Juke Joint and Stan found he couldn't ignore the growl in his stomach. Nothing but the staff had changed (and the prices had gone up due to inflation), the wall art and food and music still the same, but they had a fun time in the diner as the adults told the kids why What's New Kittycat wasn't an option in the jukebox.

After the late lunch, they were just about to enter the boardwalk when they spotted the candy store that mostly sold saltwater taffy, but they also sold jelly jeans, toffee peanuts, peanut brittle, and any kind of candy anyone could want. Though the store had been given a clean update since Ford and Stan were children, the candy was better than they remembered and they all filled their pockets with bags of sweets. Then they strolled along the Boardwalk and while they didn't play many games, the Stan-twins had a lot of fun telling stories that came along with each and every booth.

At the end, in a giant tent with a devil at the front, stood the Freak Show. Of course, none of the adults from the old men's childhood were still around, except for one muscular guy with tons of tattoos who growled at Mabel like an animal but then broke into a smile as she complimented his look and asked where she could get a cool tattoo of a headless seagull.

"Well, tear off my limbs and call me the next human pickle!" The very old tattoo guy said, his hair white and his skin in wrinkles, but his muscles still somehow very toned and his tattoos still clear as ever. "Good ole Six Fingers! How've you two been? These squirts normies?"

Dipper pulled off his hat and pushed back his bangs. "Who you calling normie?"

The whole tent gasped and a woman with hair growing all over her face said tearfully, "One of us."

"Yup, these little weirdos are Dipper and Mabel, our brother's grandkids." Stan introduced proudly.

"Aw, well ain't that swell!" A puppet said for it's puppeteer.

"So wait, you knew our great-uncles when they were kids?" Dipper asked the oldest weirdo.

"Tell us some embarrassing stories about them!" Mabel bugged, her hands on the guy's knee.

The old tattooed guy laughed. "Embarrassing?! Ha! Your uncles were cool little weirdos who made this dock more bearable! Nearly caught a devil at ten-years-old to boot!..."

"You did WHAT?!" The kids gasped at their beaming uncles.

"... Stan over there knew more swears than anyone else his age and Ford knew more secrets than anyone ever. Those two were hands-down the best pair of twins this side of the Mississippi!"

Ford, who was rosy in his cheeks, had his hands in his pockets and commented, "The Sibling Brothers would have loved to disagree."

"What who now?" Mabel asked.

"The worst pair of uptight dorks you would ever meet," Stan growled. "Ascot and Dickie. Blond-haired rich kids who claimed that no one solved a case quicker than them, but who found the Jersey Devil first, ey?!"

"You found WHAT?!"

"I wonder whatever happened to them." Ford pondered as he held his cleft chin.

"Who cares?" Stan said and motioned the kids out of the tent. "Now let's get outta here so I can show you what happens when a pelican eats a firecracker!"

"Stanley, no!"

"Stanley, YES!"

When the sun was setting beautifully on the ocean, the grunkles bought everyone some ice cream and they sat at the edge of the boardwalk to eat. At one point Stan got ice cream on his shirt with a small "Boo!" and had to leave to clean it off, but then got sidetracked and tried to cheat at a booth. Ford went over to rangle his brother, leaving the kids alone.

"Isn't this place great?" Mabel asked with Waddles licking her strawberry ice cream. "They were so lucky to grow up on a beach! Piedmont is so boring."

Dipper smiled at his sister and opened his mouth to respond, but something else caught his attention. A pair of look-alike kids were snickering and laughing as Grunkle Stan and Ford fought off a mean seagull that was trying to peek at the ice cream on Stan's chest. It was a cruel snicker, one the old men couldn't hear, but the kids could, only being a few feet away from them.

"What a couple of fools." The girl with short blonde curls laughed with a slight English accent.

"And does that one have six fingers?" The boy sneered with peering eyes, his hair greased and parted down the middle. "Ugh."

"Hey, hey!" Dipper snapped and stood up, pointing at the rude pair of siblings. "Shut it." He said darkly.

The boy scoffed with a cheeky smile. "Or what? What does it matter to you?"

"Yeah, you leave Grunkle Stan and Ford alone!" Mabel demanded, standing by her brother's side.

"Wait," The girl looked back at the old men, still fighting off the bird, and she cackled a mean laugh. "Six fingers? Rags for clothes? Stan and Ford? Are you the Pines family?"

Dipper and Mabel glared at them. "Yeah? So what?"

"I haven't heard that name since Uncle Ascot and Uncle Dickie told us about how they conquered the Jersey Devil and tricked some monsters to make the boys run away crying." The boy marveled.

Dipper and Mabel glared daggers at the kids, ready to snap at them, but a pair of adults came up behind the mean kids and a voice said coldly, "Bernard, Silvia, play nicely."

Mabel snickered. "Bernard…"

Dipper looked at the men who were around Ford and Stan's age. Their blond hair was freckled with gray, one of the men had a twirly mustache and wore a red and brown sweater-vest combo while the other was clean-shaved and wore a blue polo with khakis. Their blue eyes were cold and mean, and Mabel and Dipper instantly didn't like them. Ascot and Dickie smiled maliciously; these kids looked nearly identical to those pains in their sides. "I see twins run in your family, as well, do they?"

"Excellent deduction, Dickie." His brother commented. "My my my, I didn't think this town could get any worse, but here we are. Once again terrorized by the discount Mystery Twins."

"Hey!" Mabel snapped. "We're awesome! Our grunkles are the best! They go on super cool adventures all the time!"

Meanwhile Stan kicked the seagull away, making it squawk and dive for his red beanie. While Stan grabbed his hat in time and tugged, Ford grabbed the bird and pulled furiously.

Ascot and Dickie rolled their eyes in unison. "We can see that."

Huffing and puffing, Ford and Stan walked up to their kids while Stan readjusted his beanie and smiled down at the best pair of Mystery Twins he knew. "Kids, if we hurry we might make it to…"

Ford's eyes widened and then narrowed darkly. "No. Way."

"What? What…" Stan looked up and growled like an angry bulldog, a hand on Dipper and Mabel's shoulder instinctively. "Oh, great. You two."

"And so the Pines twins come crawling back, eh?" Ascot snorted. "I do hope the mysterious findings out in the West have served you well, Stanford, as you preached it would." He and his family looked up and down at their faded jeans and gruff stature.

"Clearly not." Dickie and the let slip his downfall. "And here I thought your family couldn't sink any lower."

He screamed as a pig bit his ankle and Stan stole the moment of weakness for his advantage, punching the old jerk in the face and Dickie slapping him in return, the two getting into a fight. The moment Stan punched Dickie, Ascot nearly punched Stan in retaliation, but Ford jumped him and started rolling on the docks with him. Mabel shrugged and pulled on Silvia's hair and punched her on the cheek while Bernard and Dipper began slapping each other.

And that was how Stan and Ford ended up fleeing from the cops with a teenager in their arms. Stan had to pull Mabel off of the girl like an angry cat at the sound of the sirens and Ford carried Dipper merely because the old scientist was much faster than the boy.

Luckily no one was hurt, aside from some bruises on their limbs from fighting, but Silvia had grabbed Mabel's arm awkwardly at some point during the fight and her long nails scratched Mabel's skin, actually just deep enough to make a bead or two of blood. So Ford sat Mabel on the table, her sleeve rolled up, while he tried to disinfect her injury, but Mabel kept pulling away and whimpering at the painful medicine.

"Mabel, please, you're worse than Stanley was." Ford said to ease the situation.

Mabel smiled and gripped his hand a little tighter as the medicine stung her arm. Ford then quickly wrapped it up as he scolded. "And really Stanley, you couldn't have controlled your temper?"

"You're one to talk, you jumped Ascot!"

"He was about to attack you!"

"Whatever, you were both awesome!" Dipper cheered.

"Yeah! Did you see the black eyes Dickie had!" Mabel laughed. "He'll be avoiding cameras for weeks!"

"Who says it never ends well to see old friends?" Stan asked and opened the cabinet to get started on a late dinner.

Over baked beans and hotdogs, or Beanies and Weenies as the Pines called them, Stan and Ford shared their plan with Dipper and Mabel, the map laid out on the table and the trail through Canada's islands written in pencil. The kids were beyond excited. The plan was actually pretty straightforward; they were all going home to Gravity Falls together. After first exploring Boston (mostly so the nerds in the family could geek about American History), they were going up north past Prince Edward Island and the Gulf of St. Lawrence, crossing the Labrador Sea for the Baffin Bay, passing the Cornwallis, Bathrust, and Melville Islands, sailing over the Beaufort Sea, down through the Chukchi Sea, and dipping around Alaska and down south for America until they arrived at Florence so the Stan O' War II could rest for whatever remained of summer.

"This looks incredible!" Dipper said, eyeing the newspaper articles on monsters around Canada and the foggy photographs that accompanied it.

"I'm so excited!" Mabel cheered, shoving her cheeks full of Beanies and Weenies.

"Then we'll head out first thing tomorrow!" Stan declared.

"Actually, can we go see Ma first?"

It was like a record had screeched horribly. Stan's whole body tensed, his jaw was tighter, and he was gripping his spoon much tighter than necessary. Ford, however, looked like he was caving in himself, like an animal curling up in fear to hide, his back hunched over and his head a bit lower. Dipper glared at his sister. "Mabel," He hissed in his warning tone.

"What?" Mabel asked gently. "I miss her. It'd be good to see her again, don't you think?"

"Well yeah, but…"

"I didn't know you had met her." Ford mumbled with a soft smile.

Mabel grinned. "Yeah! We talked on the phone sometimes when Dad would call. And we went to see her once. She loves us! She's super cool! She's the one that told me I'd one day marry a really handsome guy."

"She only said that cuz you wouldn't quit begging her to read your palm." Dipper sneered with a smile. "You know all her fortunes were fake, right?"

"The love behind them wasn't." Mabel insisted. "Come on, can't see just go say hello? We're already here, we might as well. She'd be so surprised!"

"I don't think that's a good idea, my dear." Ford said quietly.

"Why not?" Mabel asked gently.

"Well… given everything that has happened… it would just be very difficult."

"So is defeating a triangle demon, but you guys did it together, didn't you?" Mabel said with a soothing smile. She covered one of Ford's polydactyl hands and squeezed it reassuringly. "I know it'll be hard, but I think we should go see her? Don't you want to say hello?"

"Of course I do." Ford said quickly. "She's my mother, but…" His eyes went to Stan, suddenly concerned about something. "Stanley, you've been very quiet."

Mabel looked at her hero to find him engulfed in shame. She wondered if he had looked like that after Ford was lost behind the portal. He held his head with one hand, his elbows on the table, and the strong grunkle she knew resembled a tired old man too much for her liking. Mabel's heart dropped when she came to the conclusion that she caused that pain. "Grunkle Stan…"

"Look, it's no secret I did a bad job of staying in touch with her even before the portal business." Stan started with. "I definitely went months without a payphone for her."

"You're not the only one to blame." Ford sighed. "I hardly called her when I was in college and nothing changed when I moved to Gravity Falls. Fiddleford was actually the one who encouraged me to call her one day the summer before… before everything happened. That was the last time I spoke to her."

"Yeah well, I kept that character trait in my portrayal of you, Sixer." Stan growled, his anger at himself. "You know her; she's too smart. One long look at me and she would've known who I was. You can't fool the best conwoman in New Jersey. So I just straight-up avoided her. I didn't even go to Pa's funeral and showed up early to see you two gremlins being born, all so I could avoid her. And I would've been too tempted to dance on someone's grave if I had gone to the funeral." He added.

"Stanley,"

"Kidding, that was a joke. The point is, just popping in after all these years seems too little too late in my book. So, no. sorry, but we're not going."

"Grunkle Stan," Mabel said as soft as a kitten and got down from the table to stand next to him. "I'm sure Ma would wanna see you."

"I don't think so, sweetie…"

"That's not true." Mabel said firmly. "She loves you both. All moms love their kids, no matter how many stupid mistakes they make, or how old and grunkly they get." She added, making Stan crack a smile that didn't last long. "It doesn't matter how mad our mom would be, she'd still wanna talk to us. She even forgave Dipper for breaking her favorite mug."

"Geez, it's been five years…"

"And you still haven't replaced it, Dip-Dip." Mabel said and focused her attention on both of the old guys. "If you two really don't think you can go see Ma, it's okay. We don't have to go. But I think you guys want to go, and you two need to go. She needs to know the truth, she needs to know you're okay, and even if she doesn't take it well, at least you can say you tried and you won't have to worry about it anymore."

Stan and Ford's eyes flickered to each other to use that awesome twin-telepathy they had or whatever. Or maybe they were just close enough to be able to read minds with a single facial expression to go off of. Either way, Stan gently ruffled Mabel's hair with a smile and said, "Alright, we'll go see Ma tomorrow after breakfast."

Mabel wanted to cheer and shout and punch the air victoriously, but she managed to catch herself in time and only allowed a quiet "yes!" before hugging Grunkle Stan and saying, "I'm so proud of you guys." She quickly hugged Ford before returning to her dinner, choosing to ignore the star-struck looks on the old men's faces.

~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours later and Mabel was sitting criss-cross in her hammock, wearing pajamas while knitting. The gentle clicking of her needles harmonized with the gentle rocking of the waves and her grunkle's humming from the tiny bathroom. Dipper was above her, reading a book quickly before bed, and when Stan emerged from the bathroom in his boxers and undershirt, taking his gray hair damp with a towel, and saw that his twin wasn't preparing for bed, he growled, "Sixer, do I have to drug you again?! Get down here!"

"I'm coming!" Ford called back.

Stan rolled his eyes. "Yeesh. You kids settled in okay?"

"Yeah," Dipper said casually.

"I love these hammocks!" Mabel said, rocking hers a little with joy. "Maybe we should replace the mattresses at the Shack with these!"

Stan chuckled as he threw his towel at the foot of the bunk bed and he noticed the beautiful deep violet yarn in his niece's lap. "Whatcha workin' on, Mabel? 'Nother sweater?"

"Yup!" Mabel said proudly to show a thick and cozy purple sweater that was a little more detailed than her usual creations. While this one lacked any pictures or designs, the sleeves had been woven with a special pattern down the arm and the wrists and neck were so thick and fluffy they resembled odd clouds you could sink into. "I wanna show Ma how much better I've gotten since she taught me."

Surprisingly, the mention of his mother made Stan smile, not frown. Ford came down the stairs just in time to hear Mabel say that, and they both smiled tiredly at their niece. "I didn't know she taught you how to knit."

"Oh yeah," Mabel said with a nod and resumed her work. "When Dipper and I were four or five we visited her for Thanksgiving with Mom and Dad and Grandma and Grandpa. I don't remember much about it, but I remember the delicious sweet potatoes with marshmallows, the flat's smell, and that Ma taught me how to knit. Mom and Dad and Grandma were busy in the kitchen and didn't want my help (I still have no idea why), and Grandpa Shermie had fallen asleep while watching the parade. Ma sat in this rocking chair, and at first I thought she was a witch and doing magic, making two shiny sticks click together to make something, but Ma laughed and explained what she was doing and asked if I wanted to do it, too. So she let me sit on her lap and follow her hands as we made a really pretty blanket until dinner was ready. Ma even let me take some yarn and a pair of needles home with me, and I haven't stopped knitting since."

Stan smiled, sitting on the bottom bunk. "That's really cool, sweetie."

Ford, who had slipped into the bathroom to change into his blue flannel pajamas, called from the other side of the door, "She will love a Mabel Pines original."

"Thanks. I hope so." Mabel inspected her work and gave a quick nod of approval before packing it away in her suitcase and curling up for bed.

One by one everyone settled down. Ford emerged with clean teeth and pajamas and climbed up to his bed, putting his glasses up on a shelf by his head. Dipper turned off the lamp on top of the dresser, leaving only Stan's nightstand-lamp on, and he set his book down and began to settle. Stan was just about to turn off his lamp, but Mabel sat up and gasped, "Wait! You guys! Tell us about the Jersey Devil!"

Dipper sat up excitedly and sided with his twin. "Yeah! When were you gonna tell us that one, anyways?"

Stan shrugged with a cheeky smile and Ford chuckled. "Oh come on, you don't wanna hear about the first pair of Mystery Twins." Stan teased, waving the idea away.

"Yeah we do!" Dipper argued with a grin. "Come on!"

"It can even be our bedtime story!" Mabel suggested, snuggling into her blankets and smiling at her uncle with those adorable eyes and cheeks no man was immune to.

"How old are you again?"

"Oh, just tell them, Stanley."

"Alright alright," Stan rubbed his hands together with a toothy grin and wiggled his fingers to begin the story. "The year was 1960-something in Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey. Summer had just started, but before we could figure out which urban legend to hunt down that day, Pa called for Stanford and was really mad about something…"

"Now, hold on, Stanley." Ford said, sitting up a little from lying on his front and listening to his brother's story. "Pa called for both of us! In fact, we called for 'Stan Pines' but we both knew that meant he wanted us both."

"What?!" Stan gasped, pretending to be offended. "Me, innocent and perfect, being angrily called? Never!"

Dipper and Mabel laughed, not sure if Stan had ever truly been innocent, and so from that point forward the elder twins told the story together, interrupting each other with corrected versions of the story and doubling the runtime, but the kids weren't complaining. Hearing about the old Freak Show, killing the Sibling Brothers, and basically acting how Dipper and Mabel would act on a search for the devil, was hands-down the best bedtime story in the history of bedtime stories, and by the time they had gotten to the part where Shanklin the Stab-Possum saved the day, Waddles was asleep on Stan's bed and the kids were shiny-eyed.

"And that's how Stanley and I ended up grounded for the summer." Ford concluded with, adding in a shrug. "To be honest, we didn't even mind. Solitary confinement is't so bad with the right prison mate. Pa was angry when Stan confessed, but I think some small part of him appreciated the honesty. I guess I'll never know."

"And that's when you two knew you'd be adventuring together for the rest of your lives and everyone lived happily ever after!" Mabel cheered.

Ford laughed at her adorable nature and commented, "I suppose we did."

"Alright, everyone get some shut eye." Stan gruffed as he laid down, gently pushing Waddles out of the way so he could rest his legs, but all that did was cause the pig to trot up to his hand and lay underneath it for sleep. "G'night."

Three voices returned the wish for pleasant dreams and Stan turned off the lamp. The room was soon filled with the gentle snores of the four Pines, escaping into a world entirely their own.

[introvertguide]

Do The Right Thing (1989), AFI #96

Our next film on the list that we reviewed was a more recent drama/comedy called Do The Right Thing (1989), directed by Spike Lee. Well, on a list with movies over 100 years old, a little over 30 is pretty new. It is the story of a single day in 80s Brooklyn and the drama that comes from frayed nerves under the boiling summer heat. The movie received a couple of Oscar nominations and Spike Lee received recognition for his directing and screenwriting. Danny Aiello also was recognized on the awards circuit for best supporting actor. There are some extraordinary aspects to this film that makes it stand out, but I also feel that it is lacking in many ways. The good strongly outweighs the bad, but I will discuss that more after the movie summary:

SPOILER WARNING!!! IT IS LESS SPOILERY THAN NORMAL DUE TO ALL THE CHARACTERS, BUT THE MAJOR POINTS ARE STILL GIVEN AWAY!!! WATCH FIRST AND COME BACK FOR THE ARTICLE TO GET THE BEST EXPERIENCE!!!

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Mookie (Spike Lee) is a 25-year-old pizza delivery man living in Bedford–Stuyvesant, with his sister Jade. He and his girlfriend Tina (Rosie Perez) have a toddler son named Hector. Mookie works at a local pizzeria owned by Sal (Danny Aiello), an Italian-American who has been in the neighborhood for 25 years. Sal's eldest son Pino (Jon Turturro) is racist, and does not get along with Mookie. Because of this, Pino is at odds with both his father, who refuses to leave the majority African-American neighborhood, and his younger brother Vito (Richard Edson), who is friendly with Mookie.

Many distinctive residents are introduced, including Da Mayor (Ossie Davis), a friendly drunk; Mother Sister (Ruby Dee), who watches the neighborhood from her brownstone; Radio Raheem (Bill Nunn), who blasts Public Enemy on his boombox wherever he goes; and Smiley (Roger Smith), a mentally disabled man who meanders around the neighborhood trying to sell hand-colored pictures of Malcolm X and Martin Luther King Jr.

While at Sal's, Mookie's friend Buggin' Out (Giancarlo Esposito) questions Sal about his "Wall of Fame", a wall decorated with photos of famous Italian-Americans. Buggin' Out demands that Sal put up pictures of black celebrities since Sal's pizzeria is in a black neighborhood. Sal replies that it is his business, and that he can have whoever he wants on the wall. Buggin' Out attempts to start a boycott over the Wall of Fame.

During the day, local teenagers open a fire hydrant and douse the other neighbors to beat the heat wave before officers intervene. After a phone call, Mookie and Pino begin arguing over race. Mookie confronts Pino about his negative attitudes towards African Americans, although the latter's favorite celebrities are black. Various characters express racial insults: Mookie against Italians, Pino against African Americans, Latino Stevie against Koreans, white officer Gary Long against Puerto Ricans, and Korean owner Sonny against Jews. Pino expresses his contempt for African Americans to Sal, but Sal insists that he will not leave the neighborhood.

That night, Buggin' Out, Radio Raheem, and Smiley march into Sal's and demand that Sal change the Wall of Fame. Raheem's boombox is blaring and Sal demands that he turn it off, but he refuses. Buggin' Out calls Sal and sons "Guinea bastards" and threatens to close down the pizzeria until they change the Wall of Fame. Frustrated and angry, Sal calls Buggin' Out a "n****r" and destroys Raheem's boombox with a bat. Raheem attacks Sal, leading to a fight that spills out into the Street and attracts a crowd. While Raheem is choking Sal, the police arrive. They break up the fight, and apprehend Raheem and Buggin' Out. Despite the pleas of onlookers, one officer refuses to release his chokehold on Raheem, killing him. Realizing that Raheem has been killed in front of witnesses, the officers place his body in the back of a police car and drive off.

The onlookers, devastated and enraged about Radio Raheem's death, blame Sal and his sons. Da Mayor tries to convince the crowd that Sal was not responsible for his death but the crowd remain where they are. Mookie grabs a trash can and throws it through the window of Sal's pizzeria, sparking the crowd to rush into the pizzeria and destroy it. Smiley sets the building on fire, and Da Mayor pulls Sal, Pino, and Vito out of the mob's way. The police return to the sight, along with firemen and riot patrols arrive to put out the fire and disperse the crowd. After they issue a warning, the firefighters turn their hoses on the rioters, leading to more fighting and arrests. Mookie and Jade sit on the curb, watching in disbelief. Smiley wanders back into the smoldering building and hangs one of his pictures on what is left of Sal's Wall of Fame.

The next day, after an argument with Tina, Mookie returns to Sal. He feels that Mookie had betrayed him, but Mookie demands his weekly pay. The two men argue and cautiously reconcile, and Sal finally pays Mookie. 

The film ends with two quotations that express different views about violence, one by Martin Luther King and one by Malcolm X. It fades to a photograph of the two leaders shaking hands. Prior to the credits, Lee dedicates the film to the families of six victims of brutality or racial violence: Eleanor Bumpurs, Michael Griffith, Arthur Miller Jr., Edmund Perry, Yvonne Smallwood, and Michael Stewart.

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I want to break this into the good and the bad (at least in my humble opinion). I want to start with the great cinematography and the director of photography Ernest Dickerson. He really brought the city to life and made the overheated neighborhood into a character. He used reds and oranges and avoided greens and blues. All of the clothes were sweaty and stained. There were also some beautiful walking shots that followed Mookie as he moved through the neighborhood. Some of the best camera work was the close-ups of Radio Raheem because the shot would tilt to a Dutch angle every time he got mad. It gave the feeling like things were going askew. 

Because it was shot on location in Brooklyn, one could use Google maps and see the actual neighborhood. It was mapped out so well, however, that I didn’t need the map and could draw out the locations of the homes and businesses from a single watch. Dickerson did a phenomenal job of setting the stage for Spike Lee’s story and has done great work on many of Lee’s other films including She’s Gotta’ Have It (1986), School Daze (1988), Do The Right Thing (1989), Mo’ Better Blues (1990), Jungle Fever (1991), and Malcolm X (1992). Great team and a great bunch of movies. Dickerson has since moved to directing and well worth following. 

I thought the short comic stories that came together were pretty great. Somebody accidently stepped on Buggin’ Out’s shoes and scuffed them. He threatened the guy who did it and got a whole group of people to help and try to coerce money out of the offender. It eventually turned out that he was all talk. But the shoes kept popping up over and over. The three men sitting and complaining while not actually doing anything was pretty funny. The hatred that Sister/Mother had for Da Mayor was pretty good as well. There were a couple pretty good laughs.

I love the character of Radio Raheem played by Bill Nunn and how he represented the underlying anger of the neighborhood. He just walked around trying to do his thing and listened to his super loud music. The black residents recognized him and knew he had become part of the landscape while other residents tried to get him to be quiet and suppress him. When he was killed, the anger that he represented was released and the group went into a frenzy of destruction. Raheem’s interaction with each of the other characters truly defined how director Spiker Lee wanted the audience to see that person. The movie really shines with any scenes involving Radio Raheem.

As far as the acting is concerned, I really liked the work of Danny Aiello, John Turturro, and Richard Edson. I don’t want to be accused of anything because I liked the work of the three main white actors, however I feel that the three characters trying to fit into a place where many felt they did not belong was the most intriguing. Sal seemed like such a good guy, but he still had some underlying hatred and fear of black community and it became apparent when he was faced with Radio Raheem, the representation of the suppressed black anger of the neighborhood. 

The six people to whom the movie was dedicated were all black Americans in the New York area who had died in suspicious and racially charged violence. I normally don’t recommend this site, but Wikipedia provides links to learn more about all of the people mentioned. It seems that a lot of Spike Lee’s characters were based on the different people mentioned. I had never realized how closely tied this film was to the history of violence in 80s New York, and it does make me like the film a lot more. 

Now for a couple of things that I really did not enjoy. The main character Mookie was not that interesting beyond just being a vehicle that walks through the day. When it got to the point where he couldn’t take any more and he smashed the window (whether it was to protect Sal by directing the anger towards the store instead of Sal and his sons is up to interpretation) seemed so out of character. Like everyone stopped and stared as he did something that his character had no motivation to do. This could just be a personal critique because I found Spike Lee’s acting so unconvincing (the guy can’t emote, he is a director not an actor) and I think giving his boring character control of the turning point at the climax of the movie was a little bit of director ego.

I also didn’t like the random white guys that were with the cops that killed Radio Raheem. Where did they come from and where did they go? The cops show up to break up the fight between Sal and Raheem and suddenly there are some plain clothed white guys that I didn’t remember being in the rest of the movie. It seemed like they came from the surrounding streets and there was one guy in particular who was in a blank tank top that helped subdue Radio Raheem that just disappeared. Wouldn’t the police want to take him into custody as well or at least not leave him on the street with a large angry mob? The sudden appearance of all these extras for the one scene has always thrown me. It feels like they took stock footage from a different movie and plugged it in, or maybe it was shot long before or after the rest of the scenes in the film. 

I did not like Rosie Perez’s character of Tina. Perez had been a professional dancer and this was her big break. I really didn’t think the opening with her dancing was noteworthy in any way, her famous ice cube scene was completely unnecessary, and the ending with her complaining was horrific. Honestly, the ice cube scene shows Spike Lee rubbing a piece of ice on Rosie Perez’s naked body and it felt pervy and inappropriate. I do not correlate all nudity in a movie with automatically meaning it is not for kids (depends on the movie and depends on the kid), but this was just dumb. This was a point of contention with the group that watched with me, some saying she was the best part of the film. I could not disagree more and I rated it 3/5 on Netflix noting that it would be 4/5 if Perez had not been in it. She really rubbed me the wrong way in the film. I liked her in White Men Can’t Jump playing a similar character, but in this movie she was not needed.

In fact, there seemed like there were many extra things that didn’t need to be there. There is about 2 minutes in which five characters make racist rants about other ethnic groups with the camera right in their face. This seems like art for art’s sake and not really needed. The character of Smiley seemed very out of place and it turns out that he was not in the original screenplay but written in so that the actor could have a part. The DJ just said the same things over and over with no real insight. He was played by Samuel L. Jackson, which is cool, but he also didn’t need to be there. I guess my biggest gripe is that Spike Lee had a great film idea with strong characters and then decided he needed to keep layering in more characters and subplots until it was superfluous. But again, just an opinion. 

I saw that Siskel & Ebert both rated the movie as one of the top 10 of the 80s. Both of them had opinions about whether or not Mookie did the right thing, which is not a question that Spike Lee intended to ask (as he stated in many interviews). I think it was (and is) refreshing to have a strong black voice in the director’s chair and this might have affected their rating. Maybe, since I was 9 when this film came out, I am not affected enough by how new and innovative this film must have seemed when it came out. I started to become aware of the world shortly after this movie was released and I was inundated with Spike Lee in films and advertisements. His work didn’t seem so fresh when I also saw him in commercials for Nike and McDonald’s. I shouldn’t allow that to take away from the importance of his voice as part of the history of American cinema. He is the only black director of any movie on the AFI top 100 films and only one of two directors of color (M. Night being the other). 

So does this film belong on the AFI top 100? Yes. It is a good story of American life in an area that was often ignored. The streets of Brooklyn are just as American as the farms in Iowa, the plains of Cheyenne, or the suburbs of California. It is great to have those stories told by a man who grew up there and knew the different life styles and the different problems. It is an important movie and I am glad it was included. Would I recommend it? Yeah, it is pretty good. I would say focus on the interactions between Raheem and the other characters and it makes for a great story. Definitely worth checking out. 

[peteerrpaarkerr]

Day and Night (Peter Parker Soulmate AU) pt. 2

Summary: When Tony Stark first saw his newborn daughter’s soulmate marking, he was thrilled to know that she would get to experience a love like his and Pepper’s. However, 17 years later when Tony sees an identical tattoo on his daughter’s best friend/superhero protégé, Peter Parker, he vows to keep y/n safe by not allowing them to realize that their futures are intertwined.

Pairings: Peter Parker x y/n, Pepper x Tony (slight)

Warnings: None :)

Author’s Note: Wow, guys, I am overwhelmed by the response I’ve received from this fic! I can’t thank you enough for the nice messages and notes that y’all have left me! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy the next part!

Also, as I was writing this next chapter, I decided to change the focus up a bit. It will mainly be a Peter Parker x y/n fic, but I’m also going to add some development for Tony and Pepper. I hope you guys enjoy this!!

If you want to be tagged for this story, please message me!

Part One: https://peteerrpaarkerr.tumblr.com/post/185697917739/day-and-night-peter-parker-soulmate-au-pt-1

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“Uh, Mr. Stark? Is something wrong?” Peter asked, referring to Tony’s blank stare towards his upper back. Peter turned his head over shoulder to see Tony’s eyes trained on his soulmate tattoo: a dark grey, full moon. 

“Mr. Stark,” Peter said, his mouth turning upwards into a soft smile, “that’s just my soulmate tattoo. I think most everyone has one.” 

Tony’s eyes blinked rapidly as he focused in on Peter’s words, snapping back into reality. “Huh, interesting.” Tony mumbled quietly, stepping back from Peter and turning around to walk back to his computer station. 

Peter cocked his head to the left in confusion. Sure, his soulmate marking was in an odd spot, but the mark itself was normal. It couldn’t have been that weird to become speechless over. Then, a thought occurred to Peter. 

“Mr. Stark, have you seen someone with the same tattoo I have?” Peter questioned excitedly. Tony froze in his spot, thankful that he was facing the other direction, not where Peter could discern his fear. 

“No, I haven’t,” Tony deadpanned, “I just thought it looked unique, that’s all.” 

Peter’s shoulders slumped. He hadn’t had any luck in finding his soulmate like Ned and MJ had. MJ met her soulmate at the library while she was debating a topic with the librarian. She had (not so subtly) slammed her fist on the counter in protest, and her soulmate walked by and happened to see an identical bird on her wrist. Ned and Betty were sitting together on a flight to Venice when he noticed a small marking on her collarbone of a computer monitor, and the rest was history. 

Peter yearned to find his significant other like they had. However, at the same time, he was scared to let down his soulmate. He wasn’t sure if he would always be able to protect them with him being Spider-Man and all. He constantly had a target on his back, so he chose not to pursue seeking them out. To him, ignorance was bliss... at least, an impatient, terrifying bliss. 

A heavy silence controlled the room, the tension obvious between the two. Both were lost in their own thoughts regarding Peter’s soulmate marking. After a few painful minutes, Tony cleared his throat. “Alright, kid, I’ve got everything I need for now. You can go,” Tony stated, still not making eye contact with Peter. 

Peter slipped back on his shirt and walked out, hunched over in thought. Something was odd about the situation, but he couldn’t place what was different. 

Maybe Tony is just concerned about me meeting my soulmate, Peter thought. It’s a challenge to protect them with being Spider-Man and all. 

As soon as Peter left the room, Tony collapsed into his chair. 

He couldn’t process the fact that his only child, his y/n, had Peter Parker as her soulmate. The fact that Peter had been so close to y/n the past four years and that he had not bothered to check began to haunt him. 

He knew from the moment he met Peter that there was something special, something different about him, and now he was starting to realize it wasn’t just the spider bite. 

-----------

“And then Thor ripped the pancake out of Clint’s hand, but he looked ridiculous because he was wearing that pink apron you made me when I was 8!” 

Your mother’s laughter rang like church bells as you told her what went on in the kitchen that morning. You could picture her clutching her stomach while her head fell forward, shaking from each giggle. Her eyes would be sparkling and a smile would be plastered on her face. 

“I remember making that! We had a matching set… why didn’t he just wear the one that fit me?” Your mother inquired joyfully. 

“I don’t know, mom… he’s quite the character.” You sighed, lightly biting your lip, thrilled to be able to talk to her for the first time in 5 months. 

An awkward silence fixed itself into your conversation. You knew that it was painful for your mother to talk to you after all that had happened, but you couldn’t help yourself. It was your birthday after all and you missed her more than anything in the world. 

“Mom,” you mumbled, pausing for a second from uncertainty, “do you.. are you planning on coming home anytime soon?”

You could hear your mother take in a sharp breath, mumbling something incoherent. Your heart dropped when she didn’t answer immediately. 

“Sweetheart… you know the situation. I can’t come back right now. It’s not safe for me.” 

You let out a sigh in disappointment even though you already knew the answer would be “no”. This was the seventh time you had asked her to come home. You had begged, bargained, pleaded, cried even, but no form of persuasion worked. You hadn’t seen her in person in two years. 

“Y/n, I need to go, but I love you so much. I hope that I will be able to see you again someday.” Pepper said quietly. 

“I love you too, mom.” You replied, holding back sudden tears that tried to escape. You ended the call and laid back on your bed, recalling the past.

All that you remembered the last time you had seen your mom was when she walked into your room crying. She kneeled down on the floor next to your bed, her throat swollen and bruised, and she clasped your hands in her own. She called you “sweetheart”, something she always did when she discussed something disheartening with you, and she told you that she had fallen out of love with your father and that she had to leave. While you sat there in shock, unable to protest as your mind worked to comprehend what she had said, she gave you a firm hug, kissed you on the cheek, and walked out of the door. 

Over the course of the following months, you and Tony both were struggling to cope with the absence of your mom. Tony spent his days in the lab, making unnecessary adjustments to already perfect software and suits. Night after night you could find Tony in the Avengers Tower bar refusing to talk to anyone, until Bruce and Steve confronted him about his unhealthy habits. Slowly, the team began to bring back your dad through pep talks, bargains, and, in one case, a slap to the face (given by Natasha of course). He finally began to laugh again, and put his focus into you and the team. He was doing well. 

You, on the other hand, were not doing so well. You were terrified and confused about why your mom left. Luckily, however, Peter was there to comfort you. You spent days sulking around the Tower and school, and nights sobbing yourself to sleep. But Peter was there for all of it. He helped you with your classes, walked with you as you aimlessly do everything, and held you as you cried. It took you a few weeks to properly come back, but Peter told you how proud he was of you for being so strong every day. 

When you finally were back to as normal as you could be given your situation, you found yourself having dinner with the team and your dad, laughing because Bucky finally called out Steve on hypocritically saying “language” despite just having let out a string of cuss words. Steve’s faced was flush as he tried to utter out an excuse but everyone was howling with laughter. As everyone began to finish their dinner, F.R.I.D.A.Y. spoke up, alerting Tony that there had been a security threat trying to penetrate the Tower. The team immediately jumped up from their seats and raced to put on their gear, and you ran into the lab to act as “the girl in the chair”.

You put on your headset, cracked your knuckles, and began relaying information to the team about the attacker’s whereabouts. After a short amount of time, the threat was 96% diminished, with only one more intruder running around the building. You checked the Tower map and saw that the last figure was near where Steve was stationed, so you began to alert him over the headset when all of a sudden, you were put in a chokehold and pulled out of your seat. 

You gasped and tugged at the attacker’s arms, realizing that you had made the mistake of not checking your own location. You couldn’t fight back as well as the other Avengers because even though you were trained, you didn’t have powers nor a suit to combat the attacker’s strength and weaponry. You just operated the systems. 

“Listen, lady,” a gruff voice yelled in your ear, “tell us where the plans are and we’ll let Stark, your dad, live.” He ripped off your fake intern lanyard, having known that it was a fake.

You let out a strangled cry, realizing that he knew your identity. Pepper and Tony had agreed when you were born to not let you be seen in public with them until you were old enough to pass as an intern or lab worker. This allowed for you to be kept safe and up until now, it had worked flawlessly.

The man holding you back began to threaten you when all of a sudden a gunshot was heard and you were dropped to the floor. You coughed, taking in huge breaths as you tried to make up for the oxygen you had lost. Bucky, who had shot the man, rushed over to you and picked you up onto your feet. You looked behind you at the computer, saw that the threats were 100% eliminated, and fell into his arms, passed out. 

A few days after everything had calmed down, your father sat you down to discuss further precautions. You told him how the agent knew you were his daughter and Tony immediately recoiled. You knew he had done everything in his power to keep you (and Pepper when she was there) safe, but it wasn’t always perfect. You immediately hugged your father and reassured him that the agent had probably made a lucky assumption, that no one else knew you were his daughter besides the team. 

However, as Tony hugged you back, you didn’t know that what he was most terrified of is that he was afraid he would lose you the same way he lost Pepper. 

But he wasn’t going to tell you how he actually lost her.

Your bedroom door opening brought you back to reality when an excited Peter walked in. “Y/n, do you want to go eat some thai food with Tony and I?” 

You smiled and nodded, heading out with Peter and forgetting your conversation with your mother. 

-------- 

You, Peter, and Tony sat around a table at your favorite Thai shop, quietly enjoying your dinner. The sounds of utensils clinking on dishware, light conversation from other customers, and the news station playing on the TV in the background added to the calm experience. 

“Thank you guys, this has been a pretty great birthday, and I just want to let you know that I appreciate this a lot! I know you both have been busy.” You exclaimed, subconsciously tugging at the fake intern lanyard around your neck.

“Of course, y/n! We wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Your dad replied, winking at you and nodding at Peter.

Your concentration on your food broke when you overheard the word “soulmate” being spoken by one of the newscasters. 

“-the rise of soulmate tattoos has increased with the new population of children being born. Rather than only four out of five people being born with a marking, we are now seeing that every nine out of ten people are lucky enough to share a tattoo with someone else out there.” 

You sat there watching the screen as the reporter presented numerical data over the story. They showed images of couples with matching tattoos and followed it up with the reporter showing their personal tattoo on their wrist and a wedding ring on their finger. You sighed, wishing that you had already found yours.

“I honestly thought I would’ve found my soulmate by now.” You stated, continuing to look at the TV screen. 

Tony choked on his water with wide eyes and dropped his fork onto the plate. Peter began patting Tony’s back as he tried to regain his composure, attempting to take in normal breaths. 

“You alright, dad?” You asked after Tony took a proper sip of his water. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright,” he replied hesitantly, leaving you to think nothing of the situation as you continued to pay attention to the news.

Peter, on the other hand, sensed something odd about the encounter, putting two-and-two together with the choking and “soulmate” mention. He noticed how Tony had reacted so strangely to seeing his soulmate tattoo earlier, and now his daughter mentioned the word and Tony flips out again. 

Not wanting to cause any trouble on your birthday, Peter kept his mouth shut. But he mentally told himself he would get to the bottom of it later.

--------

Peter and you walked along the streets of New York, reminiscing over your high school years and thinking about the future ahead. You were on your way to fill out your final forms for Empire State University since classes began in a few days. Peter and you, enrolling in similar majors, had the same 12 of 17 hours you both had elected to take your first semester. 

“Well, I’m going to be the professors’ favorite!” You exclaimed, smirking as you walked alongside Peter. “I’ll actually show up to class and be able to keep up my Avenger’s tasks.” 

Peter turned his head towards you, scoffing as he continued to walk. “Pfft, while I am doing actual Avengers work, and not just sitting in a chair taking orders, I’ll mentally prepare myself for studying for all of the classes that I’ll attend.” 

You swatted at Peter as he cheekily grinned. You both continued your banter back and forth as you got closer to campus before you heard a faint, yet familiar beep. 

Peter pulled you quickly to the side as your bracelets began beeping louder, signaling that an emergency was occurring. A hologram of Tony appeared and spoke out of the device. “Underoos, report back to Avenger’s tower immediately. Sunny Girl, keep walking to ESU and start Pete’s paperwork. There’s a quick H.Y.D.R.A. mess we’ve got to eliminate. He’ll be back before you finish yours.” 

“Alrighty, dad,” you replied, turning off the watch and looking at Peter. “Here, get in the alley. I’ll take your backpack when you leave.” 

Peter nodded quickly and you both walked to the closest alley. Peter handed his backpack to you and practically jumped into his suit. “I’ll see you in a few, y/n.” He said, touching the spider on the front of his suit to secure it. He gave you a fist bump and shot a web into the air, pulling himself into the New York skyline.

You continued walking towards campus alone, lost in thought as you wondered who Peter had to stop and thinking in depth about some of the tech you would develop when you arrived back at the tower. Unfortunately, you weren’t aware of the masked people lining the alley you were going to pass and the words whispered into the walkie talkie. 

“Spider-boy is out of the picture, continue with the deal. Get the Stark kid.” 

As you made your way past a few more streets, the ESU campus came into view and you grinned as you looked out. This was going to be you and Peter’s next adventure, and you could hardly contain your excitement for the opportunities that lay ahead. 

Before you crossed the last street heading into campus, a thick piece of cloth was shoved into your mouth and you were pulled by strong arms into the nearest alley. You tried to kick and scream, but before you realized what had occurred, a needle was jabbed into your arm and you quickly began to sink to the ground, darkness clouding your vision. 

//////////////

taglist: @eridanuswave @fandomfan315 @lcveyou3000 @cubedtriangle @asianravenpuff @adventurousbooknerd @ixchel-9275 @spidey-spooked

[elven-oracle]

under the rose: part 5|th

moodboard courtesy of @mcuspidey 

SUMMARY: Would you do anything for the person you love?

Would you do anything for the person you lust?

PAIRING: Agent!Tom Holland x Agent!Reader

WORD COUNT: 2.2K

sub rosa: adjective and adverb. formal. happening or done in secret. directly translated from latin: “under the rose.”

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This will be the final chapter of Under the Rose! I’m so thrilled to have finished this story and that so many people enjoyed it. Thank you for your continuous support. If you want to find me, I’ll be writing my ongoing series “The Siren!”

Part 5: Bullet Straight Through My Brain

Everything was different when you returned to the evil lair. A certain special night would change your outlook on this mission for its remainder, but that wasn’t the only dissonance that rattled the metal walls. There was a certain way that the gang was looking at you that had you on edge. You ignored it for the time being, but each glare buried itself in your skin like a bullet. 

While watching that afternoon’s football game, you sat sideways in your chair with your feet sitting in Tom’s lap, his arms loosely lounging atop your shins. Every so often he would run his rough hands over the smooth skin of your legs, and at one point he even removed your shoes to massage your feet. It was comforting, especially in the midst of men who seemed as if they wanted to harm you at any given second. 

Boss was in his office, and he hadn’t shown any sign of coming out to join the others. When the cold stares got too much, you decided to busy yourself and hopefully get the tiniest amount of intel. For the past three weeks, you had been flirting with each of the men without any qualms, but as you approached the door to knock, you felt yourself turn back to Tom, wishing that you could apologize before being let in. His beautiful, deep brown eyes looked sad but knowing. He couldn’t blame you, the agency had told you to do whatever it took.

He was frowning when you entered into his space. You hadn’t seen the room before. There were no security cameras to hack into, and you hadn’t coughed up the bravery to try and enter before today. It was funny how fear of the other men had brought you face to face with the man that worried you the most. 

“Can I help you, Miss Rose?”

You smiled, devilishly, tossing your faux hair behind you and sitting down on a chair across from his desk. He was typing furiously on his desktop computer, and you would give anything to lean over and take a look at what it was. 

That would come later. For now, you needed to wear him out.

“I think you can, Mr. Bossman,” you still hated the way that the New Jersey accent sounded. You brought your voice to a higher pitch when you spoke with it, and if you were somebody else, you would have been annoyed with it.

He stopped typing, “How so, dear?” his chin was spotted with scruff, and he removed the sunglasses that shaded his eyes, revealing a set of baby blues that you had only just realized that this was your first time seeing. 

Standing, you circled around the right side of the desk, sitting on it in front of him, “It was just...getting a little boring. Sports have never really been my thing.” 

You leaned over, resting your elbow on your leg and your chin in your hand. Your low-cut shirt was revealing everything that you did and didn’t want the man to see. You were disgusted with yourself, but this had been the plan from the start. Men like Boss revealed the most when they were being seduced. Tom’s sad eyes were at the forefront of your mind, but you couldn’t stop now. This had been the plan from the start. 

Boss smiled, pleased with the situation, and rolled his chair closer to his desk to where you were sitting, “I see.”

You had had plenty of meaningless kisses in your lifetime, especially when you were in high school. You had gone on numerous dates solely for the promise of a free meal. Boss’s lips on yours was the least meaningful interaction that you had ever encounter. His intention was full of sexual drive, while yours was just another part of the job. It was not Y/N who was cheating, it was Rose, and you needed to keep that distinction for your own sanity. 

His hands were on your body, and you were separating yourself from the situation, viewing yourself as an outside source looking in. This wasn’t you, it was someone else. Eyes squeezed shut, too much fear to open them. You had gone from an exhilarating sexual experience to one that you knew you would want to forget as soon as it was over. 

As he kissed your neck, as unwanted chills spilled down your spine, you took the opportunity to peak at the computer screen that thankfully hadn’t fallen asleep. You winced when you felt his teeth, knowing that his mark would be visible, but you squinted as he continued, attempting to see a name, a location, anything. 

He was on your collarbone now, and you were memorizing an address that was labeled “Secondary Pickup Location.” 

“What are you…” Boss had stopped, noticing your inactivity, but when your attention snapped back to him, it was too late. You had been caught focusing on the wrong thing. His eyes turned dark, the blue in them suddenly no longer charming, but terrifying. You were panicking now, ashamed of your stupidity. You could have waited. You could have done the deed and let him sleep. This was it. Mission blown. Cover destroyed.

Only your cover, though. Tom was still out there, unaware, and you weren’t going to let that change. He was smart, if Boss killed you in his office, he wouldn’t give himself up. He would wait until the day was done, and then report you killed in action. He may care about you, but you would do the same if you were him.

And you trusted him. You had to trust him. 

It was almost mystical, the way everything had changed. You had never seen yourself trusting Tom Holland. It took being put in this life-or-death scenario to come to the conclusion that trust was essential to this mission. If none of this had happened, you might have already gotten yourselves killed a lot sooner.

Your mind wandered because it hadn’t accepted your fate.

“A nark. You’re a fucking nark,” he lunged for you, but you rolled out of his grip and took a swing to his jaw, making contact, feeling both the skin on his face and the skin on your knuckle break. You had a ring on, but that only did so much. 

“Oh yeah. Definitely a fucking undercover cop. I should have known,” this time he was faster than you expected a man of his size to be, and he caught a clump of your wig in his fist. He had gone to yank your actual hair, but instead, this ripped both the wig and the pins keeping it in place off of your head, your natural hair color falling out of place and across your eyes. 

“Bitch. You really thought you could fool us, huh?” he kicked his heel into your nose, the crack echoing in your head, blood spilling down the front of your mouth. Ouch. 

“I had you fooled, bastard,” you tried to shake the dizziness away to stand, but this time he kicked your chest, knocking the wind out of you, and throwing you back another foot. 

He gripped your real hair, pulling his face to you, “Is he in on it. Don’t you fucking lie to me, either, I’ll know if you’re lying.” 

No, he really wouldn’t.

“He’s not! He’s not. He was a customer, he talked about his application for this job at the restaurant while we flirted. It was where we got the plan.” 

“Who?”

“NYPD. I work for the SVU.” 

Lies lies lies. He was eating up your lies like candy, thank goodness.

“Well then. Let’s see if he agrees.” 

Picked up by your hair, again, the door was kicked open, a surprise flurry of heads jerking to the direction of the sound. 

“Johnny, mate, it seems your little plaything has a problem.”

Tom’s eyes remained neutral, he looked to you, then to Boss, “She wasn’t coming onto you was she, sir? I promise she can be a bit of a flirt, but-”

“She’s a nark, Johnny.”

He feigned surprise, “What?”

“SVU cop. Sound familiar?”

“SV...what?”

“Special Victims Unit, trying to take us down. I thought you might be her partner but…” he tossed you down, forcing you to your hands and knees. You felt the impact of his foot on your stomach, but you had started to try and see all of the pain from the outside like you had when his hands had been begging for you. This was someone else’s pain, Rose’s pain, not your own. 

“It looks like your the one who’s as dumb as a doornail. She had you hook, line, and sinker, Johnny Bruno. How’s that make you feel?”

“Pissed off, Boss.” 

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Show this bitch who’s the doornail,” Tom stood and walked over to you, lifting you to your feet by your shirt, clutching your chin, inches away from having you in a chokehold, “We’ll be right back, boss.” 

He threw you into Boss’s office for good measure, but when the door shut, you felt yourself running into his arms and melting into tears. You had been trained for situations like this, but now face to face with your worst nightmare, it was hard to recollect your training.

“Y/N, stop crying. Hey, Y/N, it’s okay,” there were strokes on your back, but they weren’t doing anything to stop the heaving sobs, the fear, your inevitable fate.

“Tom. I’m done. Stay in this. Take care of your next partner. Okay?”

“Y/N, we can get you out of this, I’m sure the agency has already sent backup-”

“This isn’t the police, Tom. They won’t compromise the mission to save my life. Don’t you remember everything we were briefed on?” 

He cursed. 

“Punch me, in the face. I can’t go back looking the same.” 

“I’m not going to-”

“Yes, you are. Fucking punch me in the face, Tom.” 

Impact, white, a sea of stars, and when you went to open your eyes, only one would open. He had caused it to swell shut, and while it wasn’t the most pleasant feeling, it was precisely what needed to happen, but it would menial compared to what was next. 

“Tom, look at me,” you had stopped crying now, your training was starting to reinstate itself, and you did everything possible to clear your head. You took his face in your hands, wiping a short tear off his cheek, “it has to be you.”  

“What?”

“You have to do it. It will keep your cover.”

“No!” he pulled you off him, looking insulted by your statement, “Y/N, we don’t kill our own.” 

“Tom!” you wanted to yell, but his safety was too much at risk, so you stuck to a harsh whisper, “Please. Don’t let them take the most valuable thing I have from me. I don’t want it to be them. Insist on it being you. Please.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can.”

With another hug and a kiss on the forehead, he cursed again, then shoved you back out for the rest of the boys to see, each of them looking pleased with his work. You took a few aching steps towards them, before buckling, letting your knees drop to the floor. There was no spot on you that didn’t hurt, but fortunately, that wouldn’t last too long.

“Execution style, nice choice, Narky,” Hardy approached you, then spat in your face, you wiped your eyes, disgusted, and spat right back at him, which only gained you a kick in the head.

Boss had his gun to your head as soon as you sat back up on your knees, “Ready for lights out?” 

Silence. You waited. He had to. Goddamnit, he had to.

“Boss, let me.” 

Finally.

“Bruno? Not going to lie, not what I expected. You ever kill someone before?”

He didn’t say anything as he pulled the gun from Boss’s hand, giving him a dark look, then refocusing it on you.

“I love you, Johnny.” 

“Don’t say another word to me.” 

“My lies were only for your own good.”

“I’m not a fan of games, Nark.” 

He was speaking to you, in code. Your final conversation.

“I know you aren’t,” you spoke softly.

The gun was pressed into your temple now, Tom standing tall above you. Time was slowing, and all you saw was everything flashing ahead of you. The glass breaking in your childhood home. Then, going to the hospital for a detox you hadn’t known you needed, a result of the meth lingering in that same childhood home. There you were, arresting the Magic Man, signing your contract with the agency, being assigned to work with Tom Holland, something you had dreaded at the time. You saw your reflection in the mirror after trying on that red wig, Tom’s complaints about letting his hair fall naturally, the daily drives to the warehouse.

Your one and only night together, the fact that he wanted to see you again. 

Did he want to, or were you just another woman for his repertoire? You would never know the answer no matter how much you craved it. The question that had been plaguing you since you started this mission. You had countlessly proved yourself to lay your life on the line for him. At this point, you would practically do anything for him. Now, you were even willing to die for him. 

Was Tom Holland a good man?

Yes, I would die for you baby, but would you do the same?

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UNDER THE ROSE

by SpideyPeach

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Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

M A S T E R L I S T

T A G L I S T

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