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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 years

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A Miraculous TikTok Account

Part 18

First

The previous night, Chloe and Chat had been standing on the table, arms wrapped around each other as they screamed for the help of the other house members.

Rena, the only person home at the time, had run in. Her brown eyes were wide and frantic as she looked around for some kind of threat.

“What?! What is it?! Why’re you --?!”

“Roach!” Said Chat, his voice high. “Kill it!”

Instead of killing it like the two had hoped, she screeched and immediately jumped for the safety of the table.

Except… it was a table. And it definitely wasn’t made to hold the weight of three fully grown adults. It collapsed under their weight.

This wasn’t their main concern, though, because she sat up and looked around for the roach, only to find that it wasn’t where she’d last spotted it.

“Where did it go?! Who has eyes on it?!”

“Run!”

The three of them scrambled from the room as quickly as they possibly could, shoving each other around in attempts to be the first to the maybe-safety of the living room. They got up on the couch after brief scans to check for the roach and none of them relaxed until they were completely sure the roach hadn’t followed them into the room.

And then they all tensed up again because they realized what they’d done.

Ladybug and Carapace were going to kill them.

(Well, Ladybug was going to kill them, Carapace would just give them the Exasperated Dad Sigh and tell them how he wasn’t mad just disappointed which was WAY worse and --!)

“We’re screwed,” mumbled Chat, hugging his knees to his chest as tears threatened to spill from the corners of his eyes.

Chloe rested her head in her hands. “I just got back to normal after all the salsa, I can’t handle another one of their passive-aggressive punishments.”

There was a beat before the couch shifted. Chloe peeked through her fingers to see Rena was pacing around, trying to think.

“Listen, they can only get mad if they find out. Chat, you go out and see if you can find a new table. Chloe and I are going to try and see if we can fix it.”

They all looked at each other, considering their options. They figured it was better than nothing, might as well try.

He took a shaky breath to steel himself and then nodded. He got up and grabbed the envelope with their monthly allowance from Fu before beginning his mission.

The women were left to rebuild a table.

It… might have worked. They were using glue to try and make it harder to see and they managed to put all the pieces together in a way that made them look more or less like normal. Sure, there were a lot of cracks, but Ladybug and Carapace were sleep deprived pretty much at all times, they probably wouldn’t notice.

Rena set the centerpiece -- a vase of flowers -- in the center of the table and they held their breath as they waited for the table to break under the little weight.

It didn't!

They breathed a sigh of relief.

It collapsed.

Chloe stared at the pile that had once been their table. “Hopefully, Chat managed to find a table.”

“I’ll clean,” said Rena.

Chloe shook her head and waved her hands vaguely. This got a confused look from the other woman, but only for a few moments before a swarm of bees floated down the stairs and started working together to carry pieces out the open window and to the dumpster.

“... you’ve been able to help clean the house this whole time and you’ve never once offered.”

“Never bothered me before,” explained Chloe, grinning at the obviously annoyed miraculous holder.

Thankfully, Rena didn’t have enough time to strangle her properly before they heard Chat yelling for help getting the table inside.

They walked out and looked at the table and exchanged worried glances. It was obviously different, the quality of the wood was way better than the first table (who knows, this one might have actually been able to withstand all of their weights). The color was also slightly off, which wasn’t great.

“It was... the closest... I could find,” he said through pants.

Chloe wondered, vaguely, how far he had dragged it.

“They’re gonna know,” said Rena.

“They’re... not going to know,” argued Chat, though it seemed like he was only trying to reassure himself.

Rena pinched the bridge of her nose. “They’re going to know.”

“... how would they know?”

Chloe leveled him with a cold stare. “They have eyes.”

The three of them all looked at the table with dejected expressions before Rena snapped her fingers.

“I’ve got it: tablecloth. We need a tablecloth.”

Chloe took off in the direction of a store without another word.

They laid the tablecloth on top of the table and then set the vase down. This table didn’t break, it would have been weird if it had, but that didn’t stop the women from taking a step back before they sighed in relief.

They heard the doorknob jingle and Carapace curse outside as he fetched his keys and the three looked at each other with wide eyes.

Act natural.

They scrambled to the living room for the second time that night (or, rather, the second time in twenty four hours, since it was now daybreak). Chat booted up a game on the console. She grabbed the controllers. Rena took a seat on the arm of the couch and allowed a mischievous smile to grace her face (she’d been fighting it almost all day).

The impulse control stepped in and seemed to instantly figure out something was wrong…

But apparently patrols had tired them out, because they didn’t say anything as they went to join them.

Ladybug looked at the tablecloth for a few moments before she turned to give Chloe a questioning look.

Chloe sent her her brightest smile. “I thought it would look nice.”

The miraculous holder blinked.

“I… I suppose it doesn’t look bad…?”

“Of course not, I chose it.”

This pulled Ladybug’s attention away from the table, if only temporarily, and Chloe only smiled wider at the eyeroll she was sent.

Carapace raised his eyebrows as he picked up the envelope. He slowly pulled the money out and looked around at the unlucky pair who happened to be in the room.

She met Chat’s eyes. Had he really forgotten to put back the money for the table?

He gave her a sheepish smile.

She scoffed a little and then turned to look at Carapace, who had a shockingly calculated expression on his face as he looked at the money.

And then he sighed. “That was one expensive tablecloth.”

Chloe’s forehead beaded with sweat. Time to lean into her rich kid-ness and hope that was enough to convince him. “Is that so? I hadn’t thought it was that bad. Should I pay it back?”

He sighed again. “No. It’s fine, we have enough for the month, it’s just… talk to me before you buy anything? You, too, Chat. Both of you have no concept of money.”

They both nodded their understanding and Carapace left to go grocery shopping.

She relaxed, her head tipping back against the chair. They had gotten away with it.

Chloe hummed as she considered the two video ideas.

The first video was the edited down footage of when she’d gone shopping with Rena and Ladybug and all the dumb things people had said to them while they thought they were cosplayers. It was a fun video and she was actually kind of proud of it.

The other was a video of her calling people out for the dumb things they did. It was on brand and what she was going to devote her entire account to it, because Parisians had… let’s call them ‘interesting’ thought processes. (Also, she liked calling people stupid. Sue her.)

She drummed her fingers on the keyboard as if they would type out an answer for her, then reluctantly came to her conclusion: she should make her debut video representative of her account so people knew what they were signing up for when they followed her.

… but she would also upload the ‘cosplay’ video the next day. For fun.

Time to film.

Chloe rested her head on her hand, glaring at the camera.

“Hey, Paris. Queen Bee here to call you out because none of the people I live with have the balls to do it.”

Her lip barely twitched at the quiet whine of protest that Rena made, but apparently she didn’t care enough to look up from her cleaning.

“Listen, if you’re scared of walking home alone and you happen to see one of us on patrols, wave us down. I know you’re all worried and you think it isn’t our jobs to help you, and you’d be right… if our jobs didn’t hinge on everyone in Paris being mentally stable.”

“We’d rather take a few minutes out of our days to walk -- or even carry -- you home than spend half an hour or more fighting you off as an akuma.”

“And, hey, if an akuma does happen to crop up we’ll take you to the nearest akuma shelter. One less civilian to worry about, right?”

She smiled now. “Stop being stupid. Thanks!”

She turned off the video and looked up to see Rena giving her an odd look.

Chloe scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “What? Are you surprised I’m a nice person...?”

The word ‘too’ died on her tongue.

Rena slowly shook her head. “I don’t think you’re nice.”

Oh. Okay. Ow.

An angry buzz started under her skin, but Rena held up a hand to stop her before she could say anything.

“Let me explain. I think you’re kind, but you’re not nice.”

Now it was Chloe’s turn to give her a confused look, the buzz lowering to a dull thrum. What does that even mean?

Rena was off cleaning another room before Chloe even thought to ask her.

The next video started out shaky because the phone hadn’t had a stable place to rest.

The camera focused until people could make out Rena, in her costume, talking to a person who’d been carefully blurred. The both of them were clearly excited about something, waving their hands around wildly as they spoke, but the cameraperson had to get closer for anyone to understand what they were saying.

“-- always wondered whether or not Queen Bee and Ladybug actually need the wings or if they’re just for show,” the stranger was saying.

“Too coordinated for it to be fake wings,” said Rena with a shake of her head. “They’re real. I wonder if they have to watch their weight to make sure they can still fly.”

“But then wouldn’t they be easier for akumas to hit around --?”

The camera panned to Chloe’s deadpan expression. “You can believe that Ladybug can create anything she wants with her yoyo but the problem is her wings?”

The camera cut.

Now the viewers were looking at Ladybug, who was smiling at what was obviously a little kid due to all the pink in her outfit. She had lifted the polka dotted red part of her dress up manually to reveal the shimmering wings in question.

“They’re so shiny! What’re they made of?”

Ladybug smiled and knelt down so the kid could reach out and touch her wings. “I’m gonna let you in on a secret --” The audio was temporarily muted to hide the name. “I’m actually Ladybug.”

“No way!” She yelled in her excitement. (Rena stiffened in the background.) “Are you really --?”

Ladybug held a finger to her lips. “Shhhh! It’s a secret, remember?”

The kid lowered her voice to what basically amounted to a stage-whisper. “Are you really Ladybug?!”

Ladybug smiled and nodded her head. “Yeah, but don’t tell anyone, okay?”

The girl gave her a salute.

The next few cuts were just Chloe taking pictures with people. Why was she doing that when their faces were blurred for privacy? Because her hair and makeup had looked really good that day and she was proud, dang it!

The next cut was to Rena and a new guy, though the viewers wouldn’t be able to tell until they heard a distinctly different voice:

“Your outfit is really good, but you got the shading wrong. The orange is lighter than that.”

Rena stared at him for five seconds, jaw slack, eyes wide. The next five seconds were spent opening and closing her mouth without sound coming out. And then she finally got a hold of herself.

“Okay,” she said, apparently too stunned to even be sarcastic about it.

The last cut had all three miraculous holders in frame, they were talking to someone offscreen.

“Who do you guys ship?”

The three of them had looked at each other awkwardly and then Rena’s face split into a mischievous grin.

“If we’re going on who has the most chemistry, I’d have to say QueenBug.”

A blush spread across Ladybug’s cheeks and she made a move like she was going to bury her face in Chloe’s shoulder before she thought better of it and rested her face in her hands instead.

(If anyone had noticed the steady warming of Chloe’s face, no they didn’t.)

The woman they were talking to sounded confused: “QueenBug? I always heard people calling it ChloeBug.”

Chloe tried not to laugh at Ladybug’s clear distress, but she couldn’t help but tease her a little bit. “ChloeBug? QueenBug? I thought it was LadyBee.”

Rena had no such reservations against laughing. “Whatever the ship name, it’s pretty popular.”

“Of course it is, they team up the most. And did you see that thirst trap prank video? If they’re not dating, I’d eat my shoe,” said the woman who had a shoe in her future.

Ladybug, who was still bright red but had gained back some of her functionality now, whispered: “I thought we were called The Lovebugs.”

The video zoomed in on the stunned faces of Rena and Chloe individually before cutting out.

~~~

Taglist

@nathleigh @sassakitty @th1s-1s-my-aesthet1c @blueslushgueen @woe-is-me0 @ladybug-182 @cas-and-their-refusal-to-write

#a miraculous tiktok account #chloe bourgeois #queen bee #adrien agreste #chat noir #alya cesaire #rena rouge #nino lahiffe #carapace #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #miraculous team #miraculous fic #ml fic #chloenette #chlonette #adrino

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quillsareswords · 4 years

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Smoke: VIII | Smoke, Silk, and Snow

SUMMARY: After vanishing for four years, you return to the place you once called home, to the people you once called family. We all carry our baggage in different ways, using different techniques to hide it. You just happen to hide it in cigarette smoke.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: At Damian’s request, you done a dress and a pair of heels to attend Bruce’s Christmas Charity Ball. You don’t get to mingle much, but when he catches you out on a balcony, the pain in your feet is worth it.

SERIES WARNINGS: cigarette smoking; underage drinking; gang activity; violence; swearing; blood; self-hate

MASTER LISTS in BIO

You duck and weave through patrons, hitching up a floor length skirt with one hand and balancing a stiff drink with the other. Your ears are near ringing, with all the noise and voices and glasses clinking and has the music been this loud the whole time?

You find yourself slipping into old habits, feet plotting a course all their own while you try to keep your mind focused on not having a breakdown with all these people around. Yellow eyes and three inch claws aren't going to look very good with a burgundy dress.

Outside the ballroom, there's less of a crowd. Further down the hall, the masses dwindle. Sliding into a room past the kitchen's back hall—where you pass waiters and a new bartender—you finally find solitude.

One of Bruce's parlors, or lounges—whatever he calls them. There's a leather couch and a pair of matching arm chairs, all facing an oak coffee table despite being paired with end tables. Bookshelves and works of art line three walls, tall windows the other. You breathe deeply. The room is unsurprisingly a little stale, seeing as it's likely unused until there's a party a few doors down the hall.

You steal a sip from your glass before you make for the door to the balcony. The night air stings cold against your skin, but sets a lively burn in your lungs. It's quiet, thankfully, aside from the hum of the ongoing gala in the window-lined room about ten windows to your left. The light spills out from there and illuminates most of the gardens that stretch out toward the woodline. You've always loved the garden.

Alfred's flowers are always so pretty, and the smell is always overpoweringly fresh.

You lean on the thick stone railing. You pull out the paper pack from the pocket of your skirt and stick a cigarette between your teeth. You light it, take a drag, and swipe a moment to reminisce on all the times you've gone running through that garden, for one reason or another. Sometimes it was for fun, sometimes Damian was angrily chasing you with the garden hose because say yeet one more goddamn time, Y/N, one more. Good times.

Damian. The bold man that had asked you three times to come to this event, and yet in the hour and a half you'd been here, you had yet to see. You admit, you're disappointed. Sure, you know he's busy keeping up images by mingling and chatting, but. . . well, you had hoped he'd asked you so much because he wants you here. Usually, that would lead one to believe he wants to spend time with you here. Then again, it is Damian, after all. He's never exactly been so straight forward.

Your mind reels back to last Tuesday. That fleeting hug. The warmth of his hold at the erratic pace of his heart. I’m glad you’re home.

"Thought you'd be here."

You turn over your shoulder.

Damian's hands are tucked into his pockets, and you'd be lying through your teeth to claim he isn't absolutely stunning in a dark green three-piece. You hope he doesn't catch the movement of your eyes before you snap back to reality. You turn halfway as he joins you by the stone, pinching your cigarette in the hand that still rests on the wide ledge. You note a vague limp in his gait.

"You narrowed down one room out of the hundred—minimum—of rooms in this house?" Your eyebrow quirks.

He sets his whisky glass down beside yours. "Well, it's the only empty room close to the ballroom, and it's been two hours since it started to get loud. I figured you'd be looking for a quiet corner about now."

You shrug, trying to play off the fact he was actively thinking of and looking for you in a sea of people. You push daydream thoughts away and remind yourself that he absolutely took the path of least resistance to check in on an old friend.

"What can I say? The doggy hearing has it's downsides." You take another drag. Turn around, and hoist yourself up onto the ledge to sit with your back to the garden, and the halfmoon shining overhead.

He leans one elbow on the ledge, reaches toward you and wiggles his fingers, a hint of shame and revolt sparkling those pretty eyes of his.

You giggle loudly, trying your best not to howl the laughter bubbling up your chest. Damian shushes you, though he's grinning and peering over your shoulder, so it's hard to take him serious. Two glasses in two respective sets of hands, you make sure you aren't followed as you slink off to hole up in an empty sitting room.

He finds one, juggling his drinks as he fiddles with the doorknob. This only makes you want to laugh harder, but you know that doing so would result in one hell of a scolding, so you pipe down until you get into the room.

After that, it's all on the table.

You're practically choking on giggles while Damian grins and laughs as openly as the nightsky, amber liquid sloshing in one of his glasses and clear in the other. You're making for the chairs in the middle of the room, when you hear the floorboards creak in front of the door.

You get quiet, an anxious twist in your belly, staring at the door, waiting for Bruce or your brother to rip the door open and start scolding you for sneaking drinks.

When it doesn't happen, you make a break for the balcony before it does. Laughing again—a little more nervously now—you hop up onto the stone wall. The glasses clink as you set them down beside you, and Damian's join them.

"Best make it last," Damian chuckles. "I don't think we can risk another trip."

You nod. "Well, then it's a good thing I brought back up," you grin, fishing a white and green pack of Camels from a pocket in your coat, and hold them up with a shake.

He scoffs. "I don't smoke," he says proudly.

You cock an eyebrow. "Neither do I."

He snorts, takes one from you anyway. "I hate it when Jason smokes," he sighs, hovering the end over the lighter in your hand. "Smells terrible."

You eye him a little suspiciously. You hand him a stick all the same. "You don't smoke."

"Neither do you." He only comes close enough to light the end of it before he pulls away again.

You take a drag the same time as him, still eyeing him warily. He doesn't cough and sputter like he use to.

He must feel your eyes, or he reads the look on your face like he always does. "I don't really smoke," he sighs, words laced with gray clouds. "Only once every blue moon." The next part is quiet, like he doesn't really want you to hear it. "It's been a long week."

You chuckle. "You’re preaching to the choir."

He shakes his head, eyes wandering the garden. You aren't sure what he's looking for. "At least you’ve been sleeping."

Your eyebrows raise. "Bold assumption. What happened?"

He nods, understanding. "Bruce and I have been arguing since Tuesday, and I haven't spoken to him since then, aside from professionalism and patrol. My apartment building was evacuated Monday night and cost me five hours of sleep—and while I appreciate how seriously they take a bomb threat, I wish they would take efficiency in the same vein."

Dick mentioned he'd moved into a penthouse uptown, not too far from the Wayne Industries tower. Flash thoughts run through your head about what it would have been like to help him move, but you plunge them into the deepest part of your mind before you dive too far down the rabbit hole.

You nod slowly. "Sounds rough."

He blows out a puff of empty air, apparently meant to resemble a laugh. "Yeah."

His grammar is more relaxed than you're used to. He's only this loose when he's very tired—at least, that's how you remember.

"How have your friends been?"

He's changing subjects. You decide to let him. "Good, last I checked. I was over there yesterday morning." You sigh, deeply. You feel the anxieties crawling back up your throat, so you subdue them like bees with a lungful of smoke. "We've been having problems with another pack. I don't remember if I mentioned that before."

"Fleetingly."

You bob your head. Another drag. "They're out for blood. Jumped one of ours a few days ago."

He turns his head toward you. "You sound nervous."

"A little," you laugh nervously. "We've got history with them, ya know? They know where to hit, but we don't. Makes me uneasy."

He straightens his posture and you sense a shift in character. "Are they illegally involved as well?"

You take it for what it is. Curiosity, a warning, an offer. You shrug, leaning back on one hand. "I don't know. I've had eyes on every other street corner since Friday, but nobody is seeing anything."

You look away from him. You really shouldn't be telling him any of this. Maybe it's the buzz from six shots of tequila—all you can hope to get, unfortunately—or maybe it's the nostalgia of this that's loosening your tongue. This used to be your routine for these kinds of events.

"Tell me when you find out. I might be of some assistance."

You blink, eyebrows furrowing. You still aren't looking at him, but you're wondering why he's so eager to help all of a sudden. Maybe last Tuesday changed things more that you thought it had.

"It's my job, Y/N. If they're breaking the law, it's my duty to make a move." He clips the white stick between his teeth again. "Besides, I owe you for Tuesday night."

"You don't owe me," you say quickly. Your eyes his his shoes. Quietly, "I still owe you for leaving."

He's silent for a moment. You both are. The air stills.

"No," he sighs at last, stubbing out the cigarette before he flicks it off into the night, "you don't. I've forgiven you for it."

Your eyes blow wide. "You–"

"I was angry. For two years, I was angry. You never called, never texted, and I thought it was because of something I did. Then I realized it wasn't, and I didn't know who else to blame, so I blamed you. After two years and three months, I realized you were really never coming back, so I moved on." He picks up his glass and downs the whole thing.

"I was alright for two years, and then you turned up again. I was angry again, and then then the whole thing with Erica—I didn't have time to properly process anything. And at the time, I didn't know everything. I didn’t know that you were building a new life for yourself—a good one. I didn't know you'd been chased out, either."

You go rigid. When did you tell him that? How did he know?

He sees your eyebrow twitch. "You didn't tell me. I worked it out myself." He turns to face you fully. "I wish you had, though. I wish you would have told me then. I could have helped."

You advert your gaze again. You squeeze your eyes closed. "You couldn't have," you grumble. "It wasn't that simple."

You jump when your phone rings. You dig it out in a rush. "Tyrone's got the absolutely worse timing," you growl, hopping off the ledge while answering. "I'll just be a minute," you excuse, darting back into the sitting room.

"Tyrone," you hiss, "this had better be something–"

"You're still there?" He sounds surprised.

You make a face. "Well– Yeah?" You pause, running a checklist of all the things you had on the list for today. "Should I not be?"

"I mean . . . No– Yeah, you should be, I just didn't think you'd stay very long. Having a good time? Meet somebody?"

You decide to ignore the suggestive tone he uses. With a glance thrown over your shoulder to the man standing out on the balcony, busing himself with stargazing and probably listening to your end of the conversation, if you know him well enough. "You could say that."

"You're with Damian, aren't you?" You can't help but notice he sounds sort of disappointed.

Your eyebrows slant. "Maybe. Is that a problem?" You feel defensive. Tyrone is like family to you, and you want his approval, but you don't understand what he'd expected. You came to this event specifically at Damian's request.

"No, of course not. I know you went because he asked, but I thought you might, ya know . . . mingle some."

You cross one arm over your waist and rest the opposite elbow on it. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"No, nothing!" There's an edge of embarrassment and panic in his voice. "I don't mean anything, really. Just, you've been in Gotham for a few months now, and it doesn't seem like you see anyone other than him. You're at t complex often, I just mean–"

You close your eyes and pinch the bride of your nose. Right. You should have seen this conversation coming. "Look, Ty, can we talk about this later? I'm in the middle of a pretty important conversation."

He gets strangely quiet. "Right. Sorry, I just wanted to check on you. I'm going to wait up, so call me when you leave and when you get home, okay?"

Your eyes are still closed, but you hear Damian shifting around on the balcony. "I can handle myself." You exhale slowly. "But, yeah. I appreciate it."

"I know, but I don't like the silence on the Rats' end. I'll talk to you later."

"Yeah. Bye."

You hang up and pocket your phone. With another exhale, your heels click as they carry you back out to the balcony.

"Problem?" Damian asks passively. You can't help noticing he seems a little deflated.

You polish off your drink. "No, he just wanted to check on me." You try to meet his eyes again, but he's much more interested in cold blanket of snow whiting out the property.

"That's kind of him," he offers. You see now that his eyes aren't focused and he seems spacey. "Are you close?"

He's changing the subject. He receded into himself. Your moment of vulnerability is gone, and with it your window of opportunity to finally put everything behind you.

You just want a fresh start. You're sick of feeling like there's always something hanging in the air between the two of you, blocking any amends you have a chance to make. Frustration boils in your lungs.

"Very. We grew up together, in the complex. Born into the pack, you know?" The causality of the new conversation eats at you. You get caught up in the pent up irritation and make a leap of faith.

"When I said earlier that you couldn't have helped, I mean it."

He closes his eyes. You can’t tell if it’s disappointment or if he’s bracing himself for a rocky conversation.

“It’s deeper than drug deals, Damian. They’re Werewolves. They want Gotham.”

He throws you a look you’re familiar with. His should-I-be-concerned-about-that glare hasn’t changed a bit .

“Not the way you’re thinking. It’s complicated.”

“Like everything else.”

You cringe. Should have seen that coming. “I’m sorry.”

He exhales, closes his eyes, and turns to face you fully before he opens them. “I can’t hold it against you,” he admits. “I know better than anyone how that goes. You can’t fill anyone in ion details, because those details have details, and by the time you’ve said your piece, everyone’s twice as confused as they started.”

You nod, the tension in your shoulders easing.

He leans almost all of his weight against he stone half-wall. “I know you can’t tell me everything. But what can you tell me?”

You maul it over. What can you freely tell him that you haven’t already? “Not much,” you answer honestly. “Mostly just that the Rats are the one’s who killed my parents. They were trying to disband the pack by cutting the head off the snake. They went after Nick and I next. Nick managed to lead a group of them to the Crime Alley area, where some of ours ambushed them. The other group went after me, and that lead to the warehouse fire. Some of the other young members were there, like I’d told you. Some of them didn’t make it out.”

He soaks it all in. Clarity dawns his face. “You didn’t wait for me because you didn’t want them to target me.”

You nod. Finally.

He shakes his head with a ghost of a smile. “Do you know how many years of frustration and weeks of awkward resentment you could have saved us both if you’d just told me that?”

You laugh. It isn’t boisterous, or loud. It’s a spurt of disbelief and relief. “You’d have found something else to hate me for, I’m sure.”

He snorts. His tiny smile fades, and then it’s back to openly confused eyes and an odd edge to his voice. “But why didn’t you call?”

Your eyes hit the stone tiled floor. Hesitance, then honest hurt. Self-inflicted, but hurt all the same. “It was stupid, looking back.” You take a deep breath. “I was embarrassed. And guilty. At the time, I had people on my ass who wanted me dead, I’d been lying to your face and keeping things from you for years, and then I’d literally left you in a burning building. I didn’t think I could ever face you again, after that.”

His expression is solemn. He considers your wording for a moment, before he slides his hands into his pockets. “I would have forgiven you,” he states quietly.

Your eyes leap to his, shock jolting through your mind and parting your lips.

His eyes are soft on yours. His head is tilted just a smidgen to the side. The right edge of his mouth tips up. “You could have started the fire, and I’d have still forgiven you. You were my best friend, (Y/N). I trusted you more than anyone, and that includes myself.”

Your eyes are watering. “I, um–”

“I should known you had a good reason to leave so suddenly,” he concedes. “But I was hurt. I couldn’t get past feeling like it was my fault. We thought the fire had been started by someone who was after me, or someone I should have been after. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.”

The apology nearly knocks you over. When was the last time you heard him genuinely apologize to someone like this? Seventh grade? You stand stiffly for a long moment, blinking dumbly at him, mouth agape.

The next physical thing you’re aware of is his knuckle bumping your arm and the teeth peeking out from his smile. “This is the part where you say, No! It was my fault!”

You snort, trying to regain some composure. “I mean, it was–”

“I’m joking,” he chuckles, “it was never your fault. It was the Rats’. Which is why I want to do anything I can to help you bring them down. For good, this time.”

TAGS: @howcanibreathewithnozaire @avis-writeshq @mello-10 @ukuleleatnight @chikorita-stuff @idkmanicantenglish

#smoke series #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagine #Damian Wayne

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gunaerystargarygun · 3 years

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Tumblr had a new update for the anon asks. Look what I can do now.

According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way that a bee should be able to fly. Its wings are too small to get its fat little body off the ground. The bee, of course, flies anyway because bees don't care what humans think is impossible. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Ooh, black and yellow! Yeah! Let's shake it up a little. Barry! Breakfast is ready! Coming! Hang on a second. Hello? - Barry? - Adam? - Can you believe this is happening? - I can't believe it. I'll pick you up. Looking sharp. Barry why don't you use the stairs. Your father paid good money for those. Sorry. I'm excited. Here's the graduate. We're very proud of you, son. And a perfect report card, all B's. Very proud. Ma! I got a thing going here. - You got some lint on your fuzz. - Ow! That's me! - Wave to us! We'll be in row 118,000. - Bye! Barry, I told you, stop flying in the house! - Hey, Adam. - Hey, Barry. - Is that fuzz gel? - A little. It's special day, finally graduating. Never thought I'd make it. Yeah!, three days grade school, three days high school. Those were so awkward. Three days college. I'm glad I took off one day in the middle and hitchhiked around the hive. You did come back different. - Hi, Barry. - Hey, Artie, growing a mustache? Looks good. - Hey, did you hear about Frankie? - Yeah. - You going to his funeral? - No, I'm not going to his funeral. Everybody knows, you sting someone, you die. You don't waste it on a squirrel. He was such a hothead. Yeah! I guess he could have just gotten out of the way. I love this incorporating an amusement right park into our regular day. I guess, that's why they say we don't need vacations. Boy, quite a bit of pomp... under the circumstances. - Well, Adam, today we are men. - We are! - Bee-men. - Amen! Hallelujah! Students, faculty, distinguished bees, please welcome Dean Buzzwell. Welcome, New Hive City graduating class of... ...9:15. And that concludes our graduction ceremonies. And begins your career at Honex Industries! Are we going to pick our job today? I heard it's just orientation. Heads up! Here we go. Keep your hands and antennas inside the tram at all times. - Wonder what it's going to be like? - A little scary. Welcome to Honex, a division of Honesco and a part of the Hexagon Group. This is it! Wow. Wow. We know that you, as a bee, have worked your whole life to get to the point where you can work for your whole life. Honey begins when our valiant Pollen Jocks bring the nectar to the hive. Our top-secret formula is automatically color-corrected, scent-adjusted and bubble-contoured into this soothing sweet syrup with its distinctive golden glow you know as... Honey! - That girl was hot. - She's my cousin! - She is? - Yes, we're all cousins. - Right. You're right. - At Honex, we also constantly strive to improve every aspect of bee existence. These bees are stress-testing a new helmet technology. - What do you think he makes? - Not enough. And here we have our latest advancement, the Krelman. - What does that do? - catches that little strand of honey that hangs after you pour it. Saves us millions. can anyone work on the Krelman? Of course. Most bee jobs are small ones. But bees know that every small job, if it's done well, means a lot. But choose carefully because you'll stay in the job that you pick for the rest of your life. The same job the rest of your life? I didn't know that. What's the difference? And you'll be happy to know that bees, as a species, haven't had one day off in 27 million years. So you'll just work us to death? We'll sure try. Wow! That blew my mind! "What's the difference?" Adam, how could you say that? One job forever? That's an insane choice to have to make. I'm relieved. Now we

only have to make one decision in life. But, Adam, how could they never have told us that? Barry, why would you question anything? We're bees. We're the most perfectly functioning society on Earth. Yeah, but, Adam, did you ever think that maybe things work a little too well around here? Like what? Give me one example. I don't know. But you know what I'm talking about. Please clear the gate. Royal Nectar Force on approach. Wait a second. check it out. - Hey, Hey, those are Pollen Jocks! - Wow. I've never seen them this close. They know what it's like outside the hive. Yeah, but some don't come back. - Hey, Jocks! - Hi, Jocks! You guys did great! You're monsters! You're sky freaks! I love it! I love it! - I wonder where those guys have just been. - I don't know. Their day's not planned. Outside the hive, flying who knows where, doing who knows what. You can't just decide one day to be a Pollen Jock. You have to be bred for that. Right. Look at that. That's more pollen than you and I will ever see in a lifetime. It's just a status symbol. I think bees make too of it. Perhaps. Unless you're wearing it and the ladies see you wearing it. Those ladies? Aren't they our cousins too? Distant. Distant. Look at these two. - couple of Hive Harrys. - Let's have some fun with them. It must be dangerous being a Pollen Jock. Yeah. One time a bear had me pinned up against a mushroom! He had one paw on my throat, and with the other, he was slapping me back and forth across the face! - Oh, my! - I never thought I'd knock him out. And what were you doing during this? Obviously, I was trying to alert the authorities. I can autograph that if you want. A little gusty out there today, wasn't it, comrades? Yeah. Gusty. You know, we're going hit a sunflower patch six miles from here tomorrow. - Six miles, huh? - Barry! It's a puddle jump for us, but maybe you're not up for it. - Maybe I am. - You are not! We're going 0900 at J-Gate. What do you think, buzzy-boy? Are you bee enough? I might be. It all depends on what 0900 means. Hey, Honex! Dad, you surprised me. Have you decide what you're interested in? - Well, there's a lot of choices. - But you only get one. Dad, do you ever get bored doing the same job every day? Son, let me tell you something about stirring. You grab that stick, and you just move it around, and you stir it around. You get yourself into a rhythm. It's a beautiful thing. You know, Dad, the more I think about it, maybe the honey field just isn't right for me. And you were thinking of what, making balloon animals? That's a bad job for a guy with a stinger. Well no... Janet, your son's not sure he wants to go into honey! - Barry, you are so funny sometimes. - I'm not trying to be funny. You're not funny! You're going into honey. Our son, the stirrer! - You're gonna be a stirrer? - No one's listening to me! Wait untill you see the sticks I have for you. I could say anything I want right now. I'm gonna get an ant tattoo! Let's open some fresh honey and celebrate! Maybe I'll pierce my thorax. To honey! Shave my antennae. Shack up with a grasshopper. Get a gold tooth and start call everybody "dawg"! I'm so proud. - I can't believe we're starting work today! - Today's the day. come on! All the good jobs will be gone. Yeah, right. Pollen counting, stunt bee, pouring, stirrer, front desk, hair removal... - Is it still available? - Hang on. Two left! And one of them's yours! Congratulations. son! Step to the side please. Yeah! - What did you get? - Picking crud out. Stellar! Wow! couple of newbies? Yes, sir! Our first day! We are ready! Well, step up and make your choice. - You want to go first? - No, you go. Oh, my. What's available? Restroom attendant is always open, and not for the reason you think. - Any

chance of getting on to the Krelman Sir? - Sure, you're on. I'm sorry, the Krelman just closed out. Wax monkey's always open. And the Krelman opened up again. What happened? Well, wheneever, a bee died. That's an opening. See that? He's dead. dead. Another dead one. Deady. Deadified. Two more dead. Dead from the neck up. Dead from the neck down. But that's life! Oh, this is so hard! Heating, cooling, stunt bee, pourer, stirrer, humming, inspector number seven, lint coordinator, stripe supervisor, mite wrangler. Barry, Barry, what do you think I should... Barry? Barry! All right, we've got the sunflower patch in quadrant nine. Geranium window box on Sutton Place... What happened to you? Where are you? - I'm going out. - Out? Out where? - Out there. - Oh, no! I have to, before I go to work for the rest of my life. You're gonna die! You're crazy! Hello? Another call coming in. You're cra If anyone's feeling brave, there's a Korean deli on 83rd that gets their roses today. Hey, guys. - Well, look at that. - Isn't that the kid we saw yesterday? Hold it, son, flight deck's restricted. It's OK, Lou. We're gonna take him up. Really? Feeling lucky, are you? Sign here, here. Just initial that. - Thank you. - OK. You got a rain advisory today, and as you all know, bees cannot fly in rain. So be careful. As always, watch your brooms, hockey sticks, dogs, birds, bears and bats. Also, I got a couple of reports of root beer being poured on us. Murphy's in a home because of it, just babbling like a cicada! - That's awful. - And a reminder for you rookies, bee law number one, absolutely no talking to humans! All right, launch positions! Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz! Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz! Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz! Black and yellow! Hello! You ready for this, hot shot? Yeah. Yeah, bring it on. Wind, check. - Antennae, check. - Nectar pack, check. - Wings, check. - Stinger, check. Scared out of my shorts, check. OK, ladies, let's move it out! Pound those petunias, you striped stem-suckers! All of you, drain those flowers! Wow! I'm out! I can't believe I'm out! So blue. I feel so fast and free! Box kite! Wow! Flowers! This is Blue Leader. We have roses visual. Bring it around 30 degrees and hold. Roses! 30 degrees, roger. Bringing it around. Stand to the side, kid. It's got a bit of a kick. That is one nectar collector! - You ever see pollination up close? - No, sir. I pick up some pollen here, sprinkle it over here. Maybe a dash over there, a pinch on that one. See that? It's a little bit of magic. That's amazing. Why do we do that? That's pollen power, kid. More pollen, more flowers, more nectar, more honey for us. cool. I'm picking up a lot of bright yellow. could be daisies. Don't we need those? copy that visual. Hold on. One of these flowers seems to be on the move. Say again? You're reporting a moving flower? Affirmative. That was on the line! This is the coolest. What is it? I don't know, but I'm loving this colour. It smells good. Not like a flower, but I like it. Yeah, fuzzy. chemical-y. careful, guys. It's a little grabby. Oh, my sweet lord of bees! Hey, candy-brain, get off there! Problem! - Guys! - This could be bad. Affirmative. Very close. Gonna hurt. Mama's little boy. You are way out of position, rookie! coming in at you like a missile! Help me! You know, I don't think these are flowers. - Should we tell him? - I think he knows. What is this?! Match point! You can just start packing up, honey, because I believe you're about to eat it! What! No? Oh, you cannot be serious! Yowser! Gross. There's a bee in the car! - Do something! - I'm driving! - Hi, bee. - He's back here! He's going to sting me! Nobody move. If you

don't move, he won't sting you. Freeze! He blinked! Spray him, Granny! What are you doing?! Wow... the tension level out here is unbelievable. I've got to get home. can't fly in rain. can't fly in rain. can't fly in rain. Mayday! Mayday! Bee going down! Ken, can you close the window please? Hey, check out my new resume. I made it into a fold-out brochure. You see? It folds out. Oh, no. More humans. I don't need this. What was that? Maybe this time. This time. This time. This time! This time! This... Drapes! That is diabolical. It's fantastic. It's got all my special skills, even my top-ten favourite movies. What's number one? Star Wars? Nah, I don't go for that... ...kind of stuff. No wonder we shouldn't talk to them. They're out of their minds. When I walk out of a job interview, they're flabbergasted, they can't believe the things what I say. There's the sun. Maybe that's a way out. I don't remember the sun having a big 75 on it. I gotta tell ya, I predicted global warming. I could feel it getting hotter. At first I thought it was just me. Wait! Stop! Bee! Kill it! Kill it! Stand back. These are winter boots. Wait! Don't kill him! You know I'm allergic to them! This thing could kill me! Well, why does his life have any less value than yours? Why does his life have any less value than mine? Is that your statement? I'm just saying all life has value. You don't know what he's capable of feeling. My brochure! There you go, little guy. I'm not scared of them But you know it's an allergic thing. Hey why don't you put that on your resume brochure. It's not funny my whole face could puff up. Make it one of your special skills. You know, knocking someone out is also a special skill. Right. Bye, Vanessa. Thanks. - Vanessa, next week? Yogurt night? - Yeah! sure, Ken. You know, whatever. - You can put carob chips on there. - Good night. - Supposed to be less calories or something. - Bye. I've got to say something. She saved my life. I've got to say something. All right, here it goes. Nah. What would I say? I could really get in trouble. It's a bee law. You're not supposed to talk to a human. I can't believe I'm doing this. I've got to. Oh, I can't do it. Come on! No. Yes. No. Do it. I can't. How should I start it? "You like jazz?" No, that's no good. Here she comes! Speak, you fool! Hi! I'm sorry. - You're talking. - Yes, I know. I know. You're talking! I know, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. No, it's OK. It's fine, It's just.. I know I'm dreaming. But I don't recall going to bed. Well, you know, I'm sure this is very disconcerting. Well, yeah! I mean, this is a bit of a surprise to me. I mean, you're a bee! Yeah, I am a bee. And you know I'm not supposed to be doing this, but they were all trying to kill me. And if it wasn't for you... I mean, I had to thank you. It's just how I was raised. That was a little weird. - I'm talking with a bee. - Yeah. I'm talking to a bee. Anyway... And the bee is talking to me! I just want to say I'm grateful. And I'm going to leave now. - Wait! wait, wait, How did you learn to do that? - What? That- that- that- that... The talking thing. Same way you did, I guess. "Mama, Dada, honey." You pick it up. - That's very funny. - Yeah. Bees are funny. If we didn't laugh, we'd cry with what we have to deal with. Anyway... can I... ...get you something? - Like what? I don't know. I mean... I don't know. coffee? Well, uh, I don't want to put you out. It's no trouble. unless you're making it anyway. It takes two minutes. Really! - It's just coffee. - I hate to impose. - Don't be ridiculous! - Actually, I would love a cup. Hey, you want a little rum cake? - I really shouldn't. - Have a little rum cake. - No, no, no, I can't. -

Come on! You know, I'm trying to lose a couple micrograms here. - Where? - Well... These stripes don't help. You look great! I don't know if you know anything about fashion. Are you all right? No. He's making the tie in the cab as they're flying up Madison. He finally gets there. He runs up the steps into the church. The wedding is on. Yeah! And he says, "Watermelon? I thought you said Guatemalan. Huh-huh Why would I marry a watermelon?" Is that a bee joke? Yeah, that's the kind of stuff we do. Yeah, different. So anyway, what are you gonna do, Barry? About work? I don't know. I want to do my part for the hive, but I can't do it the way they want. I know how you feel. - You do? - Sure. My parents wanted me to be a lawyer or a doctor, but I wanted to be a florist. - Really? - My only interest is flowers. Our new queen was just elected with that same campaign slogan. Anyway, if you look... There's my hive right there. See it? You're in Sheep Meadow! Yes! You know the Turtle Pond! Yes! I'm right off of that! No way! I know that area. I lost a toe ring there once. Really? Yeah! - Why do girls put rings on their toes? - Well, why not? - I don't know. It's like putting a hat on your knee. - Maybe I'll try that. - You all right, ma'am? - Oh, yeah. Fine. Just having two cups of coffee! Anyway, this has been great. Thanks for the coffee. Yeah, it's no trouble. Sorry I couldn't finish it. If I did, I'd be up the rest of my life. Are you...? can I take a piece of this with me? Sure! Here, have a crumb. - Thanks! - Yeah. All right. Well, then... I guess I'll see you around. Or not. OK, Barry. And thank you so much again... for before. Oh, that? That was nothing. Well, not nothing, but... Anyway... This can't possibly work. Well, he's all set to go. We may as well try it. OK, Dave, pull the chute. - Sounds amazing. - It was amazing! It was the scariest, happiest moment of my life. Humans! Humans! I can't believe you were with humans! Giant, scary humans! What were they like? Huge and crazy. They talk crazy. They eat crazy giant things. They drive around real crazy. - And do they try and kill you, like on TV? - Some of them. But some of them don't. - How'd you get back? - Poodle. Look, you did it, and I'm glad. You saw whatever you wanted to see out there. You had your "experience." And now you're back you can pick out your job and everything can be normal. - Well... - Well? Well, I met someone. You met someone? Was she Bee-ish? - Not a wasp?! Your parents will kill you! - No, no, no, not a wasp. - Spider? - You know, I'm not attracted to spiders. I know to everyone else it's like the hottest thing, with the eight legs and all. I can't get by that face. So who is she? She's... human. Oh no, no. no, no. That didn't happen. You didn't do that. That's a bee law. You wouldn't break a bee law. - Her name's Vanessa. - Oh, boy. She's so nice. And she's a florist! Oh, no! No, no, no! You're dating a human florist! W-w-well, we're not dating. You're flying outside the hive, you're talking to humans beings that attack our homes with power washers and M-80s! That's one-eighth a stick of dynamite! She saved my life! And she understands me. This is over! Eat this. This is not over! What was that? - They call it a crumb. - That was so stingin' stripey! And that's not what they eat. That's what falls off what they eat! - Do you know what a cinnabon is? - No. It's bread Come in here and cinnamon Be quiet! and frosting. They heat it up... Sit down! ...really hot! - Listen to me! We are not them! We're us. There's us and there's them! Yes, but who can deny the heart that is yearning? There's no yearning. Stop yearning. Listen to me! You have got to start thinking bee, my friend. Thinking

bee! - Thinking bee. - Thinking bee. Thinking bee! Thinking bee! Thinking bee! Thinking bee! There he is. He's in the pool. You know what your problem is, Barry? I've got to start thinking bee? Barry, how much longer is this going to go on? It's been three days! I don't understand why you're not working? Well, I've got a lot of big life decisions I'm thinking about. What life? You have no life! You have no job. You're barely a bee! Would it kill you to just make a little honey? Barry, come out from under here. Your father's talking to you. Martin, would you talk to him? Barry, I'm talking to you! You coming? Got everything? All set! You go ahead. I'll catch up. Don't be too long. Watch this! Vanessa! - We're still here, Barry. - I told you not to yell at him. He doesn't respond to when you yell at him! - Then why are you yelling at me? - Because you don't listen! I'm not listening to this. Sorry, Mom, I've got to go. - Where are you going? - Nowhere I'm meeting a friend. A girl? Is this why you can't decide? Bye. I just hope she's Bee-ish. So they have a huge parade of just flowers every year in Pasadena? To be in the Tournament of Roses, that's every florist's dream! Up on a float, surrounded by flowers, crowds cheering. Wow, a tournament. Do the roses actually compete in athletic events? No. All right, I've got one. How come you don't fly everywhere? It's exhausting. Why don't you run everywhere? Isn't that faster. Yeah, OK, I see, I see. All right, your turn. TiVo. You can just freeze live TV? That's insane! What, you don't have anything like that? We have Hivo, but it's a disease. It's a horrible, horrible disease. Oh, my. Dumb bees! You must just want to sting all those jerks. We really try not to sting. It's usually fatal for us. So you really have to watch your temper. Oh yeah! very carefully. You kick a wall, take a walk, write an angry letter and throw it out. You work through it like any emotion: Anger, jealousy, lust. Oh, my goodness! Are you OK? Yeah. - What is wrong with you?! - It's a bug. Well, he's not bothering anybody. Get out of here, you creep! What was that? A Pic 'N' Save circular? Yeah, it was. How did you know? It felt like about 10 pages. Seventy-five is pretty much our limit. Boy, you've really got that down to a science. - Oh, we have to. I lost a cousin to Italian Vogue. - I'll bet. What in the name of Mighty Hercules is this? How did this get here? cute Bee, Golden Blossom, Ray Liotta Private Select? - Is he that actor? - I never heard of him. - Why is this here? - For people. We eat it. Why! You don't have enough food of your own? - Well, yes we. - How do you even get it? - Well, bees make it. - I know who makes it! And it's hard to make it! There's heating, and cooling, and stirring. You need a whole Krelman thing! - It's organic. - It's our-ganic! It's just honey, Barry. Just what?! Bees don't know about this! This is stealing! A lot of stealing! You've taken our homes, our schools, our hospitals! This is all we have! And it's on sale?! I'm getting to the bottom of this. I'm going to get to the bottom of all of this! Hey, Hector. - You almost done? - Almost. He is here. I sense it. Well, I guess I'll go home now and just leave this nice honey out, with no one around. You're busted, box boy! I knew I heard something. So you can talk! I can talk. And now you're going start talking! Where are you getting all the sweet stuff? Who's your supplier? I don't know what you're talking about. I thought we were all friends. The last thing we want to do is upset any of you... bees! You're too late! It's ours now! You, sir, have crossed the wrong sword! You, sir, are about to be lunch for my iguana, Ignacio! Where is the honey coming from? Tell me

where! Honey Farms! It comes from Honey Farms! crazy person! Oh my, What horrible thing has happened here? Look at these faces, they never knew what hit them. And now they're on the road to nowhere! Just keep still. What? You're not dead? Do I look dead? Oh man, They will wipe anything that moves. Now, where you headed? To Honey Farms. I am onto something huge here. I'm going to Alaska. Moose blood, crazy stuff. Blows your head off! I'm going to Tacoma. - What about you? - He really is dead. All right. Uh-oh! - What is that?! - Oh, no! - It's a wiper! Triple blade! - Triple blade? Jump on! It's your only chance, bee! Why does everything have to be so doggone clean?! How much do you people need to see?! Open your eyes! Stick your head out the window! From NPR News in Washington, I'm Carl Kasell. SPELLING MISTAKES BELOW But don't kill no more bugs! - Bee! - Moose blood guy!! - You hear something? - Like what? Like tiny screaming. Turn off the radio. Hey, what's up, bee boy? Hey, Blood. And it was just a row of honey jars, as far as the eye could see. Wow! So I'm just assuming this honey truck goes is where they're getting it. I mean, that honey's ours. - Bees hang tight. - Well, we're all jammed in there. It's a close community. Not us, man. We on our own. Every-every mosquito on his own. - What if you get in trouble? - You a mosquito, you in trouble. Nobody likes us. They just smack. See a mosquito, smack, smack! At least you're out in the world. You must meet girls. Mosquito girls try to trade up, get with a moth, dragonfly. Mosquito girl don't want no mosquito. You have got to be kidding me! Mooseblood's about to leave the building! So long, bee! - Hey, guys! - Mooseblood! I knew I'd catch y'all down here. Did you bring your crazy straw? Then, we throw it in some jars, slap a label on it, and it's pretty much pure profit. What is this place? A bee's got a brain the size of a pinhead. They are pinheads! Pinhead. - Hey, check out the new smoker. - Oh, sweet. That's the one you want. The Thomas 3000! Smoker? Ninety puffs a minute, semi-automatic. Twice the nicotine, all the tar. A couple breaths of this knocks them right out. They make the honey, and we make the money. "They make the honey, and we make the money"? Oh, my! What's going on? Are you OK? Yeah. It doesn't last too long. How did you two get here? Do you know you're in a fake hive with fake walls? Our queen was moved here. We had no choice. This is your queen? That's a man in women's clothes! That's a drag queen! What is this? Oh, no! There's hundreds of them! Bee honey. Our honey is being brazenly stolen on a massive scale! This is worse than anything bears have done to us! and I intend to do something about it. Oh, Barry, stop. Who told you that humans are taking our honey? That's just a rumor. Do these look like rumors? That's a conspiracy theory. These are obviously doctored photos. Barry, how did you get mixed up in this? Cause, he's been talking to humans. - What? - Talking to humans?! He has a human girlfriend. Oh Barry. And they make out! Make out? Barry! We do not. - You wish you could. - Who's side are you on? The bees! I dated a cricket once in San Antonio. Man, those crazy legs kept me up all night. Barry, this is what you want to do with your life? I want to do it for all our lives. Nobody works harder than bees! Dad, I remember you coming home so overworked your hands were still stirring. You couldn't stop them. I remember that. What right do they have to our honey? We live on two cups a year. They put it in lip balm for no reason whatsoever! Even if it's true, Barry. what could one bee do? I'm going to sting them where it really hurts. In the face! In the eye! - That would

really hurt. - No. Up the nose? That's a killer. There's only one place you can sting the humans, one place where it really matters. Hive at Five, the hive's only full-hour action news source. No more bee beards! With Bob Bumble at the anchor desk. Weather with Storm Stinger. Sports with Buzz Larvi. And Jeanette Chung. - Good evening. I'm Bob Bumble. - And I'm Jeanette Chung. Our top story, a tri-county bee, Barry Benson, is saying he intends to sue the human race for stealing our honey, packaging it and profiting from it illegally! Don't forget tomorrow night on Bee Larry King, we're going have three former queens all right here in our studio, discussing their new book, Classy Ladies, out this week on Hexagon. Tonight we're talking to Barry Benson. Did you ever think, "I'm just a kid from the hive. I can't do this"? Larry, bees have never been afraid to change the world. I mean, what about Bee Columbus? Bee Gandhi? Bejesus? Well, where I'm from, you wouldn't think of suing humans We were thinking more like stickball or candy stores. How old are you? Well, I want you to know that they entire bee community is supporting you in this case, which is certain to be the trial of the bee century. Thank you Larry, You know, they have a Larry King in the human world too. It's a common name. Next week on Bee Larry King... No I mean he looks like you and he has a show with suspenders and different colored dots behind him... Next week on Bee Larry King... Old guy glasses, and there's quotes along the bottom from the guest you're watching even though you just heard 'em. Bear Week next week! They're scary, they're hairy and they're here live. Always leans forward, pointy shoulders, squinty eyes, very Jewish. Look, i-in tennis, you attack at the point of weakness! But, it was my grandmother, Ken. She's 81. Honey, her backhand's a joke! I'm not gonna take advantage of that? Quiet, please. Actual work going on here. - Is that that same bee? - Yes, it is! I'm helping him sue the human race. Wha! - Hello. - Hello, bee. This is Ken. Yeah, I remember you. Timberland, size ten and a half. Vibram sole, I believe. Why does he talk again, hun? Listen, you better go because we're really busy working. But it's our yogurt night! Bye-bye. Why is yogurt night so difficult?! You poor thing. You two have been at this for hours! Yes, and Adam here has been a huge help. - Frosting... - How many sugars? Just one. I try not to use the competition. So why are you helping me anyway? Bees have good qualities. Si certo And it feels good to take my mind off the shop. I don’t know why instead of flowers, people are giving balloon bouquets now. Yeah! those are great, if you're three. And artificial flowers. - Oh, they just get me psychotic! - Yeah, me too. The bent stingers, the pointless pollination. Bees must hate those fake plastic things! There's nothing worse than a daffodil that's had work done. Well, maybe this could make up for it a little bit. - You know, Barry this lawsuit is a pretty big deal. - I guess. Are you sure that you want to go through with it? Am I sure? When I'm done with the humans, they won't be able to say, "Honey, I'm home," without paying a royalty! Sarah, it's an incredible scene here in downtown Manhattan, where all eyes and ears of the world are anxiously waiting, because for the first time in history, we're going to hear for ourselves if a honeybee can actually speak. What have we gotten into here, Barry? I don't know but it's pretty big, isn't it? I can't believe how many humans don't have to be at work during the day. Hey, you think these billion-dollar multinational food companies have good lawyers? Everybody needs to stay behind the barricade. - What's the matter? - I don't know, I just got a chill. Well, if it isn't the bee team.

Any of you boys work on this? All rise! The Honorable Judge Bumbleton presiding. All right. Case number 4475, Superior Court of New York, Barry Bee Benson v. the Honey Industry is now in session. Mr. Montgomery, you are representing the five major food companies collectively? A privilege. Mr. Benson... you are representing all the bees of the world? I'm kidding I'm kidding. Yes, Your Honor, we're ready to proceed. And Mr. Montgomery, your opening statement, please. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, my grandmother was a simple woman. Born on a farm, she believed it was man's divine right to benefit from the bounty of nature God put before us. If we were to live in the topsy-turvy world Mr. Benson imagines, just think of what it would mean. Maybe I would have to negotiate with the silkworm for the elastic in my britches! Talking bee! How do we know this isn't some sort of holographic motion-picture-capture Hollywood wizardry? They could be using laser beams! Robotics! Ventriloquism! Cloning! For all we know, he could be on steroids! Mr. Benson? Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, there's no trickery here. I'm just an ordinary bee. And as a bee honey's pretty important to me. It's important to all bees. We invented it! We make it. And we protect it with our lives. Unfortunately, there are some people in this room who think they can take whatever they want from us 'cause we're the little guys! And what I'm hoping that, after this is all over, you'll see how, by taking our honey, you not only taking away everything we have but everything we are! I wish he would dress like that all the time. So nice! Oall your first witness. So, Mr. Klauss Vanderhayden of Honey Farms, Pretty big company you have. I suppose so. I see you also own Honeyburton and Honron! Yes, they provide beekeepers for our farms. Beekeeper. I find that to be a very disturbing term. I Have to say, I don't imagine you employ any bee-free-ers, do you? - No. - I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you. - No. - No. Because you don't free bees. You keep bees. And not only that, it seems you thought a bear would be an appropriate image for a jar of honey. Well, they're very lovable creatures. Yogi Bear, Fozzie Bear, Build-A-Bear. Yeah, you mean like this? Bears kill bees! How would you like his big hairy head crashing through your living room?! Biting into your couch! Spitting out your throw pillows! OK, that's enough. Take him away. So, Mr. Sting, thank you for being here. Your name intrigues me. I have to say - Where have I heard it before? - I was with a band called The Police. But you've never been a police officer of any kind, have you? No, I haven't. No, you haven't. And so here we have yet another example of bee culture being casually stolen by a human for nothing more than a prance-about stage name. Oh, please. Have you ever been stung, Mr. Sting? Because I'm feeling a little stung, Sting. Or should I say... Mr. Gordon M. Sumner! That's not his real name?! You idiots! Mr. Liotta, first may, I offer my belated congratulations on your Emmy win for a guest spot on ER in 2005. Thank you. Thank you. I also see from your resume that you're devilishly handsome but with a churning inner turmoil that's always ready to blow. I enjoy what I do. Is that a crime? Not yet it isn't. But is this what it's come to for you Mr Liotta? Exploiting tiny, helpless bees so you don't have to rehearse your part and learn your lines, sir? Watch it, Benson! I could blow right now! This isn't a goodfella. This is a badfella! Why doesn't someone just step on this little creep, and we can all go home?! - Order in this court! - You're all thinking it! Order! Order, I say! - Say it! - Mr. Liotta, please sit down! Well, I just think it was awfully nice of that bear to pitch in like that.

I'm telling you I think the jury's on our side. Are we doing everything right, you know, legally? I'm a florist. Right. Right. Well, here's to a great team. To a great team! Well, hello. - Ken! - Hello. I didn't think you were coming. No, I was just late. I tried to call, but... the battery. I didn't want all this to go to waste, so I called Barry. Luckily, he was free. Yeah! Oh, that was lucky. Well, there's stil a little left. I could heat it up. Yeah, heat it up, sure, whatever. So I hear you're quite a tennis player. I'm not much for the game myself. I find the ball's a little grabby. That's where I usually sit. Right... there. Ken, Barry was looking at your resume, and he agreed with me that eating with chopsticks isn't really a special skill. You think I don't see what you're doing? Hey, look I know how hard it is trying to find the rightjob. We certainly have that in common. Do we? Well, bees have 100 percent employment of course, but we do jobs like taking the crud out. That's just what I was thinking about doing. Ken, I let Barry borrow your razor for his fuzz. I hope that was all right. I'm going to go drain the old stinger. Yeah, you do that. Look at that. You know, I've just about had it with your little mind games. - What's that? - Italian Vogue. Mamma mia, that's a lot of pages. A lot of ads. Remember what Van said, why is your life any more valuable than mine? It's funny, I just can't seem to recall that! I think something stinks in here! I love the smell of flowers. Yeah! How do you like the smell of flames?! Not as much. Water bug! Not taking sides! Ken, look at me! I'm wearing a Chapstick hat! This is pathetic! I've got issues! Well, well, well, a royal flush! - You're bluffing. - Am I? Surf's up, dude! Poo water! That bowl is gnarly. Except for those dirty yellow rings! Kenneth! What are you doing?! You know what, I don't even like honey! I don't eat it! We need to talk! He's just a little bee! And he happens to be the nicest bee I've met in a long time! Long time? What are you talking about?! Are there other bugs in your life? No, but there are other things bugging me in life. And you're one of them! Fine! Talking bees, no yogurt night... My nerves are fried from riding on this emotional roller coaster! Goodbye, Ken. And for your information, I prefer sugar-free, artificial sweeteners made by man! I'm so sorry about all that. I know it's got an aftertaste! I like it! I always felt there was some kind of barrier between Ken and me. I couldn't overcome it. Oh, well. Are you going to be OK for the trial tomorrow? I believe Mr. Montgomery is about out of ideas. We would like to call Mr. Barry Benson Bee to the stand. Now that's good idea! You can really see why he's considered one of the very best lawyers... Yeah. Layton, you've got weave some magic with this jury, or it's gonna be all over. Don't worry Mr Gammil. The only thing I have to do to turn this jury around is to remind them of what they don't like about bees. - You got the tweezers? - Are you allergic? Only to losing, son. Only to losing. Mr. Benson Bee, I'll ask you what I think we'd all like to know. What exactly is your relationship to that woman? We're friends. - Good friends? - Yes. - How good? - What? Do you live together? Wait a minute this isn't about... Are you her little... ...bedbug? Hey, that’s not the kind of I've seen a bee documentary or two. Now from what I understand, doesn't your queen give birth to all the bee children in the hive? - Yeah, but... - So those aren't even your real parents! - Oh, Barry... - Yes, they are! Hold me back! You're an illegitimate bee, aren't you, Benson? He's denouncing bees! And don't y'all date your cousins? - Objection! - I'm going

to pincushion this guy! Adam, don't! It's what he wants! Oh, I'm hit!! Oh, lordy, I am hit! Order! Order! - The venom! The venom is coursing through my veins! - Please Mr Montgomery. I have been felled by a winged beast of destruction! You see? You can't treat them like equals! They're striped savages! Stinging's the only thing they know! It's their way! - Adam, stay with me. - I can't feel my legs. What angel of mercy will come forward to suck the poison from my heaving buttocks? Please! I will have order in this court. Order! Order, please! The case of the honeybees versus the human race took a pointed turn - against the bees yesterday when one of their - Thank you! legal team stung Layton T. Montgomery. Now here’s Don with the 5-day. - Hey, buddy. - Hey. - Is there much pain? - Yeah. I... I blew the whole case, didn't I? It doesn't matter. The important thing is you're alive. You could have died. I'd be better off dead. Look at me. They got it from the cafeteria they got it from downstairs, in a tuna sandwich. Look, there's a little celery still on it. What was that like to sting someone? I can't explain it. It was all... All adrenaline and then... and then ecstasy! All right. You think that was all a trap? Of course. I'm sorry. I flew us right into this. What were we thinking? Look at us. We're just a couple of bugs in this world. What do you think the humans will do to us if they win? I don't know. I hear they put the roaches in motels. That doesn't sound so bad. Adam, they check in, but they don't check out! Oh, my. Say, could you get a nurse to close that window? - Why? - The smoke. Bees don't smoke. Right. Bees don't smoke. Bees don't smoke! But some bees are smoking. Adam, that's it! That's our case! It is? It's not over? No, Get up, Get dressed. I've gotta go somewhere. You get back to the court and stall. Stall any way you can. And assuming you've done step 29 correctly, you're ready for the tub. Mr. Flayman. Yes? Yes, Your Honor! Where is the rest of your team? Well, Your Honor, it's interesting. You know, Bees are trained to fly kind of haphazardly, and as a result, quite offen we don't make very good time. I actually once heard a pretty funny story about a bee... Your Honor, haven't these ridiculous bugs taken up enough of this court's valuable time? How much longer are we going to allow these absurd shenanigans to go on? They have presented no compelling evidence to support their charges against my clients, who have all run perfectly legitimate businesses. I move for a complete dismissal of this entire case! Mr. Flayman, I'm afraid I'm going to have to consider Mr. Montgomery's motion. But you can't! We have a terrific case. Where is your proof? Where is the evidence? Show me the smoking gun! Hold it, Your Honor! You want a smoking gun? Here is your smoking gun. What is that? It's a bee smoker! What, this? This harmless little contraption? This couldn't hurt a fly, let alone a bee. Members of the jury, look at what has happened to bees who have never been asked, "Smoking or non?" Is this what nature intended for us? To be forcibly addicted to these smoke machines in man-made wooden slat work camps? Living out our lives as honey slaves to the white man? - What are we gonna do? - He's playing the species card. Ladies and gentlemen, please, free these bees! Free the bees! Free the bees! Free the bees! Free the bees! Free the bees! The court finds in favor of the bees! Vanessa, we won! Yay! I knew you could do it! High-five! Sorry. I'm OK! Vanessa, Do you know what this means? All the honey is going finally going to belong to the bees. Now we won't have to work so hard all the time. This is an unholy perversion of the balance of nature, Benson. You'll regret

this. Barry, how much honey do you think is out there? All right. All right. One at a time. Barry, who are you wearing? My sweater is Ralph Lauren, and I have no pants. - What if Montgomery's right? - What do you mean? We've been living the bee way a long time, 27 million years. Oongratulations on your victory. What are you demand as a settlement? First, we're going to demand a complete shutdown of all bee work camps. Then we want back the honey that was ours to begin with, every last drop. We demand an end to the glorification of the bear as anything more than a filthy, smelly, big-headed bad-breath stink machine. I believe We're all aware of what they do in the woods. Wait for my signal. Take him out. He'll have nauseous for a few hours, then he'll be fine. And we will no longer tolerate bee-negative nicknames... But it's just a prance-about stage name! ...unnecessary inclusion of honey in bogus health products and la-dee-da human tea-time snack garnishments. Oan't breathe. Bring it in, boys! Hold it right there! Good. Tap it. Mr. Buzzwell, we just passed three cups, and there's gallons more coming! - I think we need to shut down! - Shut down? We've never shut down. Shut down honey production! Stop making honey! Turn your key, sir! What do we do now? Oannonball! We're shutting down honey production! Mission abort. Aborting pollination and nectar detail. Returning to base. Adam, you wouldn't believe how much honey was out there. Oh, yeah? What's going on around here? Where is everybody? - Are they out celebrating? - No, they're just home. They don't know what to do. They're laying out, they're sleeping in. I heard your Uncle Oarl was on his way to San Antonio with a cricket. At least we got our honey back. Yeah, but sometimes I think, so what if humans liked our honey? Who wouldn't? It's the greatest thing in the world! I was excited to be part of making it. This was my new desk. This was my new job. I wanted to do it really well. And now... And now I can't. I don't understand why they're not happy. We have so much now. I thought their lives would be better! They're doing nothing. It's amazing. Honey really changes people. You don't have any idea what's going on, do you? - What did you want to show me? - This. What happened here? That is not the half of it. Oh, no. Oh, my. They're all wilting. Doesn't look very good, does it? No. And who's fault do you think that is? You know, I'm going to guess bees. Bees? Specifically, me. I guess I didn't think that bees not needing to make honey would affect all these others things. And it's notjust flowers. Fruits, vegetables, they all need bees. Well, that's our whole SAT test right there. So you take away the produce, that affects the entire animal kingdom. And then, of course... The human species? So if there's no more pollination, it could all just go south here, couldn't it? And I know this is also partly my fault. How about a suicide pact? How would we do it? - I'll sting you, you step on me. - Thatjust kills you twice. Right, right. Listen, Barry... sorry, but I gotta get going. I had to open my mouth and talk. Vanessa? Vanessa? Why are you leaving? Where are you going? To the final Tournament of Roses parade in Pasadena. They've moved it to this weekend because all the flowers are dying. It's the last chance I'll ever have to see it. Vanessa, I just wanna say I'm sorry. I never meant it to turn out like this. I know. Me neither. Tournament of Roses. Roses can't do sports. Wait a minute. Roses. Roses? Roses! Vanessa! Roses?! Barry? - Roses are flowers! - Yes, they are. Flowers, bees, pollen! I know. That's why this is the last parade. Maybe not. Oould you ask him to slow down? Oould you slow down?

Barry! OK, I made a huge mistake. This is a total disaster, all my fault. Yes, it kind of is. I've ruined the planet. and I wanted to help you with your flower shop. Intead. I've made it worse. Actually, it's completely closed down. I thought maybe you were remodeling. Nonetheless I have another idea, and it's greater than all my previous ideas combined. I don't want to hear it! All right, here what I'm thinking they have the roses, the roses have the pollen. I know every bee, plant and flower bud in this park. All we got do is get what they've got back here with what we've got. - Bees. - Park. - Pollen! - Flowers. - Repollination! - Across the nation! Alright Tournament of Roses, Pasadena, Oalifornia. They've got nothing but flowers, floats and cotton candy. Security will be tight. I have an idea. Vanessa Bloome, FTD. Official floral business. It's real. Sorry, ma'am. That's nice brooch by the way. Thank you. It was a gift. Then once we're inside, we just pick the right float. How about The Princess and the Pea? Yeah! I could be the princess, and ... yes I think you could be I've- the pea! Yes, I got it. - Sorry I'm late Where should I sit? - What are you? - I believe I'm the pea. - The pea? It's supposed to be under the mattresses. - Not in this fairy tale, sweetheart. - I'm going to go talk to the marshall. You do that! This whole parade is a fiasco! Let's see what this baby will do. Hey, what are you doing?! Then all we do is blend in with traffic... ...without arousing suspicion. And once we're at the airport, there's no stopping us. Stop! Security. - Did you and your insect pack your own float? - Yes. Has it been in your possession the entire time? Would you remove your shoes and everything in your pockets? - Can you remove your stinger. Sir?. - That's part of me. I know. Just having some fun. Enjoy your flight. Then if we're lucky, we'll have just enough pollen to do the job. Oan you believe how lucky we are? We have just enough pollen to do the job! I think this is going to work Vanessa. It's got to work. Attention, passengers, this is Oaptain Scott. I'm afraid we have a bit of bad weather in the New York area. And looks like we're going to be experience a couple of hours delay. Barry, these are cut flowers with no water. They'll never make it. I've got get up there and talk to these guys. Be careful. Hey, can I get some help with this Sky Mall magazine? I'd like to order the talking inflatable travel pool filter. Excuse me! Excuse me! captain, I am in a real situation here. - What'd you say, Hal? - I didn't say anything. Bee! No! no! Don't freak out! There's a chance my entire species... What are you doing? Stop! - Wait a minute! I'm an attorney! - Who's an attorney? Don't move. Oh, Barry. Good afternoon, passengers. This is your captain speaking. Would a Miss Vanessa Bloome in 24B please report to the cockpit? And please hurry! What happened here? I tried to talk to them but then there was a DustBuster, a toupee, a life raft exploded. Now one's bald, one's in a boat, and they're both unconscious! - Is that another bee joke? - No! No one's flying the plane! This is JFK control tower, Flight 356. What's your status? This is Vanessa Bloome. I'm a florist from New York. Where's the pilot? He's unconscious, and so is the copilot. Not good. Is there anyone onboard who has flight experience? As a matter of fact, there is. - Who's that? - Barry Benson. From the honey trial?! Oh, great. Vanessa, this is nothing more than a big metal bee. It's got giant wings, huge engines. I can't fly a plane. - Why not? Isn't John Travolta a pilot? - Yes. How hard could it be? Wait a minute, Barry! We're headed into some lightning. This is Bob Bumble. We have some late-breaking news from

JFK Airport, where a very suspenseful scene is developing. Barry Benson, fresh off his stunning legal victory... That's Barry! ...is now attempting to land a plane, loaded with people, flowers and an incapacitated flight crew. Flowers?! Well, we have a electrical storm in the area and two individuals at the controls jumbo jet with absolutely no flight experience. Just a minute Mr Ditchwater. There's a honey bee on that plane. I'm quite familiar with Mr. Benson's work and his no-account compadres. Haven't they done enough damage already. But isn't he your only hope right now? Come on, technically, a bee shouldn't be able to fly at all. The wings are too small their body are too big... Hey hold on a second, Haven't we heard this a million times? "The surface area of the wings and body mass doesn't make sense." - Get this on the air! - You got it. - Stand by. - We're going live. Mr Ditchwater, the way we work may be a mystery to you. Because making honey takes a lot of bees doing a lot of small jobs. But let me tell you something about a small job. If you do it really well, it makes a big difference. More than we realized. To us, to everyone. That's why I want to get bees back to doing what we do working together. That's the bee way! We're not made of Jell-O. We get behind a fellow. - Black and yellow! - Hello! Left, right, down, hover. - Hover? - Forget hover. You know what! This isn't so hard. Beep-beep! Beep-beep! Barry, what happened?! Wait a minute, I think we were on autopilot the whole time. - That may have been helping me. - And now we're not! Well then it turns out I cannot fly a plane. All of you, let's get behind this fellow! Move it out! Move out! Our only chance is if I do what I would do, and you copy me with the wings of the plane! You don't have to yell. I'm not yelling! We happen to be in a lot of trouble here. It's very hard to concentrate with that panicky tone in your voice! It's not a tone. I'm panicking! I don't think I can't do this! Vanessa, pull yourself together Listen to me. You have got to snap out of it! You snap out of it. You snap out of it. - You snap out of it! - You snap out of it! - You snap out of it! - You snap out of it! - You snap out of it! - You snap out of it! You snap - Hold it! - Why? Oome on, it's my turn. How is the plane flying? I don't know. Hello? Hey Benson, have you got any flowers for a happy occasion in there? The Pollen Jocks! They do get behind a fellow. - Black and yellow. - Hello. All right, you two what do you say we drop this tin can on the blacktop. What Blacktop? Where? I can't see anything. Oan you? No, nothing. It's all cloudy. Oome on. You got to think bee, Barry. - Thinking bee. - Thinking bee. Thinking bee! Thinking bee! Thinking bee! Wait a minute. I think I'm feeling something. - What? - I don't know. But it's strong, and it's pulling me. Like a 27-million-year-old instinct. Bring the nose of the plane down. Thinking bee! Thinking bee! Thinking bee! - What in the world is on the tarmac? - Get some lights on that! Thinking bee! Thinking bee! Thinking bee! - Vanessa, aim for the flower. - OK. - Cut the engines. - Cut the engines. We're going in on bee power. Ready, boys? Affirmative! Good. Good. Easy, now. That's it. Land on that flower! Ready boys? Full reverse! Spin it around! - Not that flower! The other one! - Which one? - That flower. - I'm aiming at the flower! That's a fat guy in a flowered shirt. I mean the giant black and yellow pulsating flower made of millions of bees! Pull forward. Nose down. Bring your tail up. Rotate around it. - This is insane, Barry! - This is the only way I know how to fly. Am I koo-koo-kachoo, or is this plane flying in an insect-like pattern? Get your nose in there. Don't be afraid of

it. Smell it. Full reverse! Easy just drop it. Be a part of it. Aim for the center! Now drop it in! Drop it in, woman! Oome on, already. Barry, we did it! You taught me how to fly! - Yes. No high-five! - Right. Barry, it worked! Did you see the giant flower? What giant flower? Where? Of course I saw the flower! That was genius man Genius! - Thank you. - But we're not done yet. Listen, everyone! This runway is covered with the last pollen from the last flowers available anywhere on Earth. That means this is our last chance. We're the only ones who make honey, pollinate flowers and dress like this. If we're going to survive as a species, this is our moment! So, what do you say? Are we going to be bees, orjust Museum of Natural History keychains? We're bees! Keychain! Then follow me! Except Keychain. Hold on, Barry. Here. You've earned this. Yeah! Yay! I'm a Pollen Jock! And it's a perfect fit. All I got to do are the sleeves. Oh, yeah. That's our Barry. Mom! The bees are back! If anybody needs to make a call, now's the time. I got a feeling we'll be working late tonight! Here's your change. Have a great afternoon! Oan I help who's next? Would you like some honey with that? It is bee-approved. Don't forget these. Milk, cream, cheese, it's all me. And I don't see a nickel! Sometimes I just feel like a piece of meat! I had no idea. Barry, I'm sorry. Have you got a moment? Would you excuse me? My mosquito associate here will be able to help you. Sorry I'm late. He's a lawyer too? Ma'am I was already a blood-sucking parasite. All I needed was a briefcase. Have a great afternoon! Barry, I just got this huge tulip order for a wedding, and I can't get them anywhere. No problem, Vannie. Just leave it to me. You're a lifesaver, Barry. Oan I help who's next? Who's next? All right, scramble, jocks! It's time to fly. Thank you, Barry! That bee is living my life! Let it go, Kenny. - When will this nightmare end?! - Let it all go. - Beautiful day to fly. - Sure is. Between you and me, I was dying to get out of that office. You have got to start thinking bee, my friend. - Thinking bee! - Me? Alright, hold it. hold it. hold it. Let's just stop for a second. Hold it. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, everyone. Oan we stop here? I'm not making a major life decision in the middle of a huge musical production number! All right. All right. Take ten, everybody. Wrap it up, guys. I had virtually no rehearsal for that.

I’m genuinely crying

#I turn on anons and this is the first thing I get

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thefilmsimps · 3 years

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Candyman (1992) (dir. Bernard Rose)

-Jere Pilapil-

I wonder if I ever would have viewed Candyman through the lens of gentrification and racial divides, if not for the new 2021 Candyman creating opportunity for every movie website to run a thinkpiece about how the original is a commentary on those subjects. Certainly, if I’d bothered to watch Candyman any time in the last 10 years, I would have caught on. But, if I were of age when it came out, maybe I wouldn’t.

Between its release and its, uh, most-hyped sequel? Reboot? Whatever. I have seen Candyman. But it was probably when I was a teen indiscriminately watching R-rated movies on HBO/Cinemax/Starz hoping to see boobs (the internet was much slower than this game of chance back then). So I can’t say I read the subtext at the time. I mostly remembered that it was a really scary movie because bees scared me like crazy for years. So, I’m not marking this as a “rewatch” on here on a technicality. (There are boobs but not enough to remember it for that.)

So with the new one out, I watched the original with fresh eyes, and I can’t help but feel this movie is underrated. Horror seemed to suffer a bit in the 90s compared to the 70s and 80s, and I’m having trouble thinking of what the consensus best one for that decade might be. Scream? It’s gotta be Scream, right? This one is right up there. The set design and cinematography is perfect, with the innards of Chicago’s Cabrini Green (filmed from the outside but assembled as a set elsewhere) feeling like a labyrinth of murals, contrasting with the floor to ceiling windows of the protagonist’s high rise apartment.

That protagonist is Helen Lyle, played by Virginia Madsen. She’s a grad student researching urban myths and decides to investigate some murders resembling those told in the legend of the Candyman, a killer who appears after victims say his name five times in a mirror. The movie smartly makes her as privileged as possible - that apartment, married to a professor - so that, even with her good intentions, she may rub audiences the wrong way as she treats the residents of Cabrini Green as research subjects. They distrust her, rightly, because her meddling can only mean trouble. You could argue she kept poking the bee hives despite the growing buzzing.

I’ve read some argument from over the years that a story about gentrification, about the haves invading the space of the have-nots, shouldn’t be told from the perspective of a privileged white woman, but this misses the point. This movie is effective horror because it’s from her perspective. A gentrification story from the perspective of the ones being pushed out is a human drama. This one’s about how a person with good (well, ok, neutral) intentions can unleash horror upon innocent people and themselves. The only thing scarier than a ghost, or a murderer with a hook for a hand, or any of the terrible things that happen to Helen (and there are many) is the fact that she kind of brought it on herself, even if by accident.

On a last night, the importance of bees to our ecosystem (and the shrinking bee populations) weren’t quite a concern for 1992, but scientists/environmental activists have done a great job making the public more aware of it beyond a “bees spread pollen, pollen makes flowers, yay!” understanding. I’m sure an incredible thinkpiece could be done about Candyman and bees. You could probably dig into how Candyman himself - the memory of a racist, criminal history - is as important to the present as bees are to the environment, or something. Not me, though. Candyman and bees are too scary.

8.5/10

#90s horror #horror #candyman #retro #movie review

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pinencurls · 4 years

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Oh Honey

Hey! here’s the last of my draft one shots! Hope u enjoy and if u don’t remember I wrote this a g e s ago so you can’t blame me !

Italy, bike rides and a sun burnt Harry

3.6k

These days, we wake in the early hours of the morning. It's hard not to stir when the sun rises so early and bright through the thin cotton drapes strung up over the bedroom window. Sometimes, we stay quiet. Exchanging a few murmurs of good morning wishes and lightly pressed kisses; silently decided to stay in each other's arms until the ungodly hours pass and breakfast is more tempting than bed.

I think it's Wednesday. I got pulled into the warped holiday time effect as soon as we arrived. I was free from jet lag at least, the flight from London to Italy only changing the clocks forwards about an hour. Harry had been less fortunate; the busy winding of work post-tour kept him out in Los Angeles a few more days than planned whilst Sarah, Mitch and I made our way to the holiday home we'd booked in Italy to celebrate a successful first tour. By the time Harry arrived in the white-walled villa tucked away comfortably in a small town - away from prying eyes, he was slow-moving and sleepy, although the afternoon was only just setting in. He'd eagerly drunk the coffees we offered and passed out around 5pm. Harry complained to me the next day that he was still exhausted, his brain and body were working nine hours behind after all-

"You shouldn't have slept on the plane, H." I mumbled, steadying the kettle over the large white mug as I poured hot water into Harry's second coffee of the morning. He'd been vocal about his dissatisfying sleep all of the two hours we'd been awake and my comment was seemingly unhelpful. He confirmed this by burying his face into my neck, head laying heavy on my shoulder, a low groan buzzing against my skin.

It took him a few days before he was fully himself again, but we've been here for a week now and everything's falling easily into long days by the pool and explorations into the cities either side of us. It feels oddly like a family holiday, I've known Sarah long enough; We grew up in the same town a few years apart, both moving away when we hit eighteen to pursue careers in similarly creative industries - music and journalism. We ended up at the same dinner parties and, for a few months before she moved to LA, we shared a shoebox flat in London.

She's the reason I met Harry; I stayed in her overheating LA apartment over the Easter break of 2017. We spent most days sprawled out on her sofa with all the windows thrown open, catching up on everything that'd happened since she moved away. She'd promised I could meet Mitch - a guitarist for the new band she'd started playing with whom she'd been dating for a few months. I'd heard bits and pieces about him as soon as they met, mostly about his brother-like closeness to the singer they played behind, and as promised, the Tuesday afternoon I opened her front door to Mitch, an equally long-haired-Hawaiian-shirt-clad boy followed.

Harry was goofier and unarguably louder, we paired up naturally in the group of four and it wasn't hard to get to know him, or to fall for the infamous charm I'd heard he was known for. To my pleasant surprise, it didn't feel odd when we joined in with Sarah and Mitch's couple-y activities - mini-golf, brunch, movie nights, I tagged along to a few studio sessions too before I had to go home. We promised to keep in touch but I was certain I'd probably never see him again, or at least not in the same way we'd spent the last week but, when he kissed me goodbye at the airport, I had a little hope.

"Hazzaaa!" Mitch calls loudly down the hall - no doubt on a temporary high from his new coffee addiction. There's no point responding, I can hear his footsteps storming towards our door before he swings it open and I can hide my face further into Harry's shoulder, who is unsurprisingly awake now.

"Go away Rodrick." I grumble, smiling at the rumble of laughter my nickname causes to ripple through Harry's chest.

"We've got bikes, Sarah's found a ride that's only a few miles - we're gonna get lunch." I could probably live here with Sarah and Mitch forever, there was only a few years difference between us but sometimes they felt like parents - or older siblings, cooing over me and Harry's relationship. I always felt part of something when we were all together, it wasn't so hard to imagine moving around each other in the same villa for the rest of our lives.

"Give us a sec Mitchy," Harry's waking up now, I roll over as he leans forward to sit, reaching out for the tea Mitch passes him. I hear mine clink down on my bedside table. "When're you leavin?"

"Thirty minutes?" Mitch replies, twisting his wrist to check the time on the ridiculously retro watch Harry had bought for his birthday. "S'already midday."

Harry hums, promising we'll be down in ten before Mitch accepts his mission of recruitment successful and leaves the room. I shift my head at the metal click confirming the door's shut behind him.

"M'gonna stay here," My face is resting in the crook of my arm, eyes closed as I try to cling to the last bit of sleep, "too tired."

The duvet shuffles slightly again with Harry's movements. He rests on his front now, his torso propped up as he leans his face down into my hair. I'm not sure if I'll ever get used to his smiley morning kisses or the smooth scratch when his curls fall over my own.

"It'll be fun," I turn beneath him, settling to listen to his groggy drawl, his accent is always thicker in the mornings, he strokes a wave of hair behind my ear to see my face. "We'll get a nice lunch - Sarah'n'Mitch'll fawn over some street cats, what more could you want?"

"Sleep..." I giggle, his classic pout having the opposite effect as intended. "I'll come next time, promise. Today I just wanna sleep a little more and maybe go for a swim."

He glances down at me for a moment longer, hesitant to accept my excuse before swooping down to press a kiss to my cheek with a hum of approval and bounding out of bed. He tugs a white t-shirt over his head, pulling it down his torso to reveal the smiling bee graphic - "Enjoy Health - Eat Your Honey." He tries to calm his slightly dishevelled curls in the mirror before he goes back to his long morning process of getting ready.

I could spend all day by the pool if nobody stopped me. It's small enough to fit cosily in the garden of the villa and still leave enough patio for lounging chairs and a small table. A row of citrus fruit trees line the fence at the edge of the garden, they offer a little shade over the far end of the pool in the afternoons when the sun reaches its peak. Every now and then a blossom will fall from the larger trees along the patio; the first day we were all together, Sarah, Mitch and I swam for hours until the evening breeze got too cool against our wet skin. Harry had been reading in a chair a few feet off from us and despite our noisy chatter, he'd fallen asleep, no doubt aided by his still slightly backwards body clock. I made my way over to wake him, the breeze must have been stronger than we thought because as I got closer I noticed tiny pink flowers nestled in his hair - they must have blown from the trees and landed on him as he slept. For hours after he trailed behind me inside through the patio doors, I was picking small blossoms from his curls, he was smiley and dopey from jet lag as he kept reaching his hands out to catch mine and pull me into his chest. I'd missed him for the last ten months when he'd been dazzling the world in flares and Gucci suits. I visited and travelled with him for a few show dates, of course, we'd even managed to spend Christmas and our one year anniversary together, but it was different spending so much time apart. Everything was still shiny and new to me when he left for his first solo tour - we'd only been together four months, most of which had been spent in his London house or weekends together in LA. The refreshing familiarity of being together again after so long hadn't quite rubbed off as we lay sprawled over the sofa, blossom abandoned for now.

"What're you thinking about?"

I look up at Harry, he's changed into a grandpa esque pair of brown drawstring cords I don't miss the little bow he's tied. He raises his eyebrows at me inquisitively when I don't answer, smirking slightly as my eyes wander up to his face.

"Nothing," I smile, pausing to yawn, "Just thinking about what 'm gonna do today."

"Sure you don't want to come with us?" He's collecting bits and pieces from around the room - his phone, wallet, sunglasses, but he peaks his head over his shoulder to look at me as he asks.

"Yeah, think I'm just gonna sit outside for a bit, I wanna catch up on a little bit of work."

His eyebrow quirks up slightly, the 'catching up on work' conversation is something we've had tirelessly throughout our fourteen months together. His work was obviously a little more...noticeable. When he was at work it was normally in a studio all day or sat in meetings, sometimes in a different city or country to me. I could work at home more at least; the articles and reviews I wrote almost always required me to spend a few days out of town to research the topic but once I had my notes, I could write from home. This sometimes lent itself to later nights sat up in my small study - work day blurring into the evening. Harry couldn't argue on it though, he did the exact same. His long hours out of the house didn't cancel out the long ones in, Jeff called any hour of the day with 'pressing matters' and even without external pressures, Harry was determined to get everything perfect, even if it meant tweaking new songs on his weekends off. Normally when he was overwhelmed by the workload of album deadlines and promo he was out in LA, where the pre-sleep chatter whilst we both got ready for bed wasn't an option.

"We're on holiday love, you can let some of it slide."

"It's not work-work, I just wanna write a little." I brush the topic away, it didn't need to abet the argument it'd triggered in the past. "Hurry up - Mitch'll run off without you at this rate."

"I wouldn't worry, don't think Mitch has run a day in his life." Harry chuckles, the goofy smile he wore the whole first day we met beaming back at me as he tucks his belongings in his pockets. He leans down to where I'm sat up over the duvet now, kissing me goodbye. "Be back in a bit, don't burn the house down."

"Promise not to - don't fall off your bike." I say as he pulls away. "Love you- now go, I can hear Mitch having a hissy fit from here."

He laughs. Everything's so easy here, it feels as if time has warped slightly and nothing's too hard anymore. The sun's almost at it's strongest now, defying the curtains and falling on Harry as he makes his way to the bedroom door, picking up his pace as Mitch yells up the stairs at him to 'Stop messin with your hair and come down already.'

"Love you!" Harry calls behind him. His heavy footsteps are followed by Sarah's laugh from downstairs and then the door clicks shut and everything's quiet again.

After an hour or so laying by the pool and a nap that might have lasted a little longer than planned, the sun beats a little heavy and I make my way inside. I've written a decent amount - I found myself recalling the last week here, dipping into more personal ground than I would usually. It's not that Harry and I's relationship is a secret anymore, after about eight months people caught on, but we were still private. He'd brush off interviewer questions about relationships and his 'status' and my social media profiles are free from the hundreds of cosy domestic Harry photos I might have posted if he was someone less in the public eye. It's hard sometimes, especially when I can't share a decent chunk of my photography and all the experiences I might have written about. My old film camera is sat on the kitchen counter now, no doubt filled with sweet moments that'll never see the light of day outside of the four people in them.

The fridge was pretty well stocked considering we'd spent a lot of evenings eating out. We'd taken an eventful shopping trip earlier in the week to the massive grocery store in the town thirty minutes down the road. We ended up buying too much fruit and bread and not much else. The trek home hadn't been considered as Harry and Sarah grew more and more excited over the fresh foods they were used to being shipped over and older than ideal, after it all, we ended up on a long single-tiered town bus, tote bags full and tucked safely on our laps. There one photo in particular of Mitchell standing at the bus stop, watermelon in his arms and a bemused expression on his face that I can't wait to see again once I get to the small camera store back home.

After scouring the shelves for a moment longer, I settle on a sandwich. I'm slicing crunchy lettuce on the old wooden board with swirly carvings around the edges when I hear the door open and familiar voices.

I smear a thin layer of mayonnaise over the contents of the bread before cutting two even triangles and wander out to the living room. Mitch and Harry are already lounging over two of the sofas when I get there, Sarah's nowhere to be seen but the sound of the shower running upstairs starts quietly through the house.

"Hey," I call, making my way over to the back of the black sofa Harry's laying over. "How was it?"

Harry peaks one eye open and reaches his hand up towards me-

"Good- what're you eating?" I steer my food away from his prying fingers as he swoops up to tear off a corner.

"Sandwich, didn't you just eat lunch?"

"Yeah but the portions were tiny," Harry whines slightly, reaching up in a second attempt, protesting when I love the bread away from him again. "I'm growing!"

Mitch laughs from the other side of the room. He swings his legs over the side of the sofa and stands up, rubbing his eyes slightly and trogs over to the stairway. "I'm gonna go shower."

"Good idea, you stink mate," Harry smirks cheekily, earning a glare from Mitch before he disappears up the stairs.

"How was it really, H?" I ask before taking another bite of my sandwich.

"S'good, we cycled for ages - it was actually really beautiful. You've gotta come with me sometime before we go home, although we need to find a different cafe- I paid €11 for the smallest burger I've ever seen."

"We'll bring a picnic or somethin'" I muse, thinking between chews. "I was thinking we could make something tonight 'stead of going out again, something summery maybe."

"Yeah?" Harry mumbles, rubbing his hand over his sun pink cheeks, "Like what?"

"Maybe pitas and some fruit- you bought enough kiwis to last us a lifetime." It's true, he'd claimed he had to in celebration of the tour coming to an end. "Here, d'you want the rest?"

Harry's eyes wander down to the remaining half of my sandwich I'm holding out to him, I try not to think too long about how I could watch his sleepy eyes light up for as long as he'd let me.

"I had something after you left earlier, I'm not that hungry." He looks up at me, unconvinced, but takes the plate anyway, quickly setting the plate on his lap and tucking in. Now that he's sat up in the light without the shadows of the dark cushions around him, I can see how pink is face really is. There's a blushing red along his cheeks and nose and the tips of his ears are bright pink. I brush my thumb over his ear softly, catching his attention as he winces slightly.

"Sorry- think you caught the sun a bit." He swallows the food in his mouth and nods up at me.

"Yeah, hurts a bit." I tilt his face slightly to see the other side - the pink continues down his neck and shoulders where it disappears under the tan lines of his t-shirt.

"Did you not put suncream on before you left?" His mouth full again, he just shakes his head. I smile slightly at how suddenly he's eased into his patient role, munching on his sandwich and peering up at me - ready for me to tend to his injuries. A soft grumble comes from Harry before I sigh - "I'll get the aloe vera."

I walk out into the cool tiled kitchen, opening the fridge again to retrieve the small pot of gel from the top shelf. It was one of the only sensible things we'd managed to buy during the kiwi shopping spree.

"And why didn't you have any suncream on?" I chastise him, giggly at his pouty expression. "It's right on the table, you know."

"You were in bed - I forgot." He eyes my movements as I tuck my leg undeath my body and sit opposite him on the sofa, twisting the cap off the small glass pot in my hands.

" M'I supposed to remind you of everything now, can't even remember suncream without me hey?" He shakes his head, curls tousled around his face. "Come here, stay still..."

I balance the pot in his hands and push his hair back and behind his ears, it'd gotten longer on tour and was threatening to grow into a curly lord farquaad territory. He keeps his head in place when I take back the pot and spread the cold gel over his nose, smiling slightly in surprise-

"S'cold." He watches as I scoop another load of aloe onto my fingertips and cover his cheeks.

"It's been in the fridge- how're your shoulders?" I ask once the gel is spread sufficiently over the pink tint that covered his face and the tips of his ears.

"Not so bad, it's just my face that hurts really."

I hum an okay, spinning the pot lid back on and placing it on the coffee table beside my lunch plate. Harry's hands lay limply in his lap, one reaching slowly to stroke the hem of my loose summer dress. I look up to see his slightly shiny face settling in a shy expression-

"I can be quite forgetful - might have to look after me forever you know." He smiles lovingly, looking up from where his finger and thumb play with the cotton of my dress, to meet my gaze.

"Oh forever, so you've got no plan to improve this bad habit then?" He laughs at my teasing and his smile broadens into a trademark Harry grin.

"Nah...S'okay though, I'll look after you too."

We all end up in the garden by eight pm, lying around the pool with platters of fruit and pittas full of salad and falafel. Harry has a stripe of suncream down his nose and he keeps trying to throw kiwi into Sarah's mouth, although it's ending up anywhere but. The pink in his cheeks has calmed down by now and he's stolen a blue scrunchie from my suitcase and tied a little bun on top of his head.

The hours tick by and the air starts to lose its humid warmth. Pair by pair we trickle back inside, Sarah and Mitchell retreating to their room first.

Harry's standing above me, barefooted in the grass and tipsy on wine. He holds out his hand to me and I take it, pulling myself up from the soft blanket we'd been laying on.

"Leave it," Harry says when I kneel down to fold it, "It's not gonna rain."

Before I can protest he's pulling me behind him and inside the sliding french doors. The tile floor's cold against the bottoms of my feet but the air inside is warm, Harry squeezes my hand in his and pulls me closer against his side, slinging his arm over my shoulders. He's soft and sleepy, and we make out way up the curling staircase clumsily in each other's arms.

I call goodnight to Mitch and Sarah before falling into my own bed. There's a second and then two familiarly inked arms curl around me and pull me into a warm chest. I'm a little drunk, sun-kissed and sleepy from the long conversations of the evening and it isn't long before my eyes are closing - the last noise I can hear is Harry's soft mumbling against my hair. I could definitely stay right here forever.

#Harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #oh honey #italy harry #mitch rowland #sarah jones #fine line #harry styles mitch #harry styles sarah

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juniebjoneswrites · 3 years

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Bring Me Home // Harry Styles

Are We Out Of The Woods? (5)

Next chapter is 90% Harry, strap in!

t/w: remembrance of assault

/the past/

“This is in everyone's best interest. It will help Elijah and his family to have the best outcome for any of you to come forward with information of his whereabouts,” a detective tells the five of us, they think he’s a runaway. “We know you six were close so odds are at least one of you knows something.”

We’re all sitting around Sam’s room waiting for someone to talk. I know if I speak a single word my secrets will spill from me like a knife wound. I cannot afford the blood loss no matter how great and valid the retribution. I am scared. I pace the room with my hands in my pocket. How does the prey become the shark? Or how do you make the shark afraid? All I have on my hands are questions in blood and I can feel Eli sinking into me whispering more. I can’t shake his presence or chill. “I’m sorry,” I scream, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” But my mind is only ever as loud or violent as a echoed whisper.

I don’t know when they all decided to leave but my sister pulls me from the floor I’ve found my way to and out to her car. I still say nothing. She pins me against the passenger door. “What’s going on?” she whispers harshly. I whimper and shake my head. “You were acting like a fucking lobotomy patient in there, June,” she’s pleading. “What is going on?”

My strings are unraveling and I can’t hold on for long. I need a foothold but all I can find are fault lines. I want the earth to split open, the Devil himself to wrap his red, scalding fingers around my ankle and drag me down so I don’t have to live with this. I reach for the door handle and attempt to pull it open. Tears are coming down so heavily that if I don’t get into this car now she will have to put me in like a child. I glance at his house. The house that chose him and he quickly learned to choose back. I see the days there with our bikes in his yard that turned into days where our cars littered his driveway. I saw my childhood intertwined with his and the secret time capsule we buried in the backyard with our keepsakes. We still haven’t dug it up. I see my first kiss and my first crush. I see Josie knocking on his door and politely asking for me only to then drag me out for being late for curfew. I see secrets and promises and love. But I no longer see him.

I watched us grow and change in that house. We’re eight years after that winter day and I can still feel his hands on me. They’re different now, rough and calloused from his guitar. I feel him watching me with his eyes like the ground from our mother earth, he gave me life. I feel him around me even now, in the wind and sun. I feel him in my sisters hands, hard on my shoulders. I feel him in my chest threatening to break free and tell her everything. I am sobbing. “Quiet,” I beg him in my mind. “Quiet. Please, please.” The ground is cool and is the first thing I register. There are pebbles pushing into my skin and I can only be thankful that they’re only things threatening it now. The sound around me is high pitched and far away. I think I can hear my sister crying for me to respond but I can’t make my body move to her. “I’m trying,” I try to say. I don’t think I’m talking but there’s another voice that carries with hers. Before I can make it out everything goes black.

I wake up in my bed, I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep. My fathers snoring on a chair he brought in from the living room in the hazy evening sun. I roll over and my body feels like it took the impact of an asteroid. I try to sit up but a wave of dizziness washes over me so I lay back down. When I wake up again it's the middle of the night. I roll into the warmth next to me and find my sister's body; curling into her, she wraps her arm around me.

“Don’t do that to me again,” She whispers exhaustedly.

“I’m sorry. What happened?" “The doctors said it was from stress. You hit your head too,”

I feel my head where it hurts and it stings to the touch. I suck in a breath. Great. When I sleep again I’m being chased through the woods.

I’m running through throngs of people, and past places I’ve never been. Am I being chased? I can’t tell. But it feels like it and it feels like he's gaining. I run harder. My lungs have never felt like this. It’s like being sliced with razors and pebbles bouncing off the walls. It feels like lava disintegrating my insides. I keep running. House, house, house, house, apartments, apartments, corner store, laundromat, run down law office, pizza shop, apartments, apartments. I do not know these places. How long have I been running? I don’t know. The more my body aches to stop, the more I feel him behind me. I run harder. Runners? Wave. Have an alibi. Don’t go missing. Don’t go alone. Don’t go into the woods. Don’t go on any paths. Stay in sight. Stay alive. Run on near the coast. Find Eli.

I run like this for hours and at a certain point my mind goes blank. The only thing I feel is the heat inside. Almost tripping on an uneven sidewalk, I slow and walk over to the pier to look at the ocean. Where are you? I sit on a bench and try to steady my breath. The warm morning air buzzes as the pier comes to life. I close my eyes and listen to the sounds like a heartbeat, letting the warm sun lull me. I can almost find peace here. The pain in my body eliviates as I sink into the bench. I hear young children laughing, busy streets, the pier workers setting up their shops, people walking by on early morning business calls. Someone drops something, I imagine it’s coffee, or maybe tea. I hear them grumble. I almost want to offer to trade them their troubles. I’d like to be upset over spilled milk.

I hear seagulls cawing. Opening my eyes I watch them dip and dive in an intricate dance of fish breakfasts and stolen bagels. They are chaos in the making and I want nothing more than to see one succeed. They’re bullies, the ostriches of the skies. One lands on the arm rest opposite me and stares. “I have nothing,” I say, showing my hands. It squawks and flies away, getting lost in the mess of them. A child screams alone in front of a local bakery. I look over to find her parents and see no one. As I start towards the crosswalk for the girl a man and woman step from the bakery looking panicked. I freeze instantly. The mom gives the father her purchase and scoops the child up, thankful she didn’t get far. The man puts the food in the stroller and scans the street to cross. His gaze is on me for what feels like an eternity but I’m sure it was only a fraction of a second. If he recognizes me as they pass, he shows no sign of it, nor does his wife.

A slamming car door brings me back to and I cross the road to get as far away as I can. A runner waves on the opposite side when I make it across. I stare at him for recognition but he’s wearing glasses and a cap and the distance makes it hard, but I smile and wave back. He seems friendly enough and if that man did recognize me, I would need a witness for my timeline. I run back home.

I don’t even make it through my door before my mom flings it open and pulls me into her. “Where have you been?” She’s worried. Her hair’s thrown up out of her face, sleeves rolled as if she’s going to throw hands with my captor for my safety.

“I went for a run,” “No one knew where you were,” she pulls back. “You were just gone,”

“Mom you’re the one who told me to run,” I say back in an almost laugh.

“Yes but not before the sun is even up! Do you know what time it is?” I do not know. “Just leave a note next time or take your phone with you for Christ’s sake.” I apologize and she forgives the way moms do and offers to make some breakfast while I shower.

I turn the water as hot as I can stand and then make it hotter. I wanted to burn his eyes off of me. He must not have recognized me. I think back to remember if he ever saw my face. I massage the shampoo through my hair and feel Elijah's hands running through it. The memory quickly shifts; that man is wrapping it around his hand and shoving my face into mud and leaves. I quickly rinse and open my eyes. My scalp is still sore from his assault and my fall but the long hair he had held is now gone, cut to the chin.

I did it two days after coming home in the dead of night. Quietly, washed the crusted dirt and leaves from my body and clothes as a bruise formed over my cheek where it hit a rock after I fell. Thank goodness for the power of makeup for my ability to hide my wounds. But I couldn’t hide my shaking and panic though so I faked a stomach bug and stayed in bed for three days.

Every time I try to go to the police I can hear his voice, “I will gut you,” he pushes my face into the ground. “I will kill your family,” there’s pressure against my back. The gun cocks, “No one will believe you,” and they won't. Because cops don’t kill people. He will have no repercussions. I’m crying and trying to crawl away but he just laughs and then everything goes dark. I can’t know if he saw my face after that but the forest was dark and the moon was dim. I couldn’t even see my hands in front of me so I feel secure that if he tried to know me, the earth he pressed me into would’ve at least hidden me well enough. I still feel it swirling in my mouth like a shaken snow globe of blood and dirt.

Downstairs my mom has made blueberry pancakes and I smell banana muffins in the oven. My sister sits reading at the end of the table in her favorite pink nightshirt with an old, faded Garfield on it. Classic rock buzzes softly through my ears as my mom hums along. The sun still shines through the windows in a late, hazy morning glow. I can smell the flowers on the sill outside as the bees bobble and bounce around them. My feet are cool on the wooden floor and not far from them our tabby cat lazily lays in the sun's rays, tail flicking happily. My chest rises and falls with this safety and I control my emotions enough to hug my mom from behind as she flips the eggs. She laughs lightly and I can hear her smiling. She rubs her hand over my arms and turns within my grasp to kiss my head. “I am so thankful for you,” She whispers. My breath hitches and I bury my face deeper into her. When I feel the mud threatening me I will remember this and it will bring me home, wherever I may be.

(1) / (2) / (3) / (4) / 5 / (6)

#harry styles #harry 1d #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #fanfic #1directionfanfic #one direction fanfic #fanfiction #one direction #liam payne #zayn mailk #louis tomlinson #niall horan #sweetcreature #fineline

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jrctolkien · 4 years

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don't blame me for falling iv

read part one, two and three first!!

pairing: tom holland x reader

he comes back after years and years and the press are just eating it up and you're falling too hard, too fast

an; this is the last full part, but I'm p sure that I'm going to write an epilogue to tie up all the ends as I cut this off at a pretty blunt point 🥺 I'd also like to apologise in the delay of uploading and I'm really sorry it took so long!! more at the bottom :))

the crisp autumn air was a welcome change to the stiflingly hot summer days that had cling to you with warm, clammy hugs a mere few weeks ago. the leaves were turning oranges and yellows and browns and the ones you walked past on your way to work swayed in the breeze, a few feet above your head.

the tension that you weren't ready to admit to was like a third person between you and tom, the kind that popped up all the time and was just so annoyingly constant. his work was keeping him busy and, in turn, it was keeping you busy, bustling around and making calls, filling out paperwork and overseeing every little detail there could possibly be.

you and tom were scheduled to take a short trip back to your home, where there were dirt roads and bad chinese and memories filling every crack in the pavement and being posted like signs up in every shop you could think of. the only reason you were back was for the big rosh hashanah feast your mum was hosting, and your entire family was going, bar your sister. it had been a long time since you felt at home, since you felt safe and warm and cozy and so very not in london and your excitement was buzzing beneath your skin like a swarm of friendly bees.

rosh hashanah had been a major part in your childhood, and tom's and stacey's and harrison's. the warm autumn days spent with your friends when you were little, guiding them through practices you didn't know how to do and running around the back garden while the adults had their own time inside and the overall innocence of it was something you yearned for, and you heart bubbled with it in the dark of the night, when god was asleep too and when your soul ached for things and people you could never have back. your childhood seemed otherworldly, in your big adult body as you laid in your bed without hearing someone snoring over in the next room or listening to a sister bumping around in the dark in the toilet, the concept of the joy you had so foreign.

tom. he was always by your side, and you were glad that he was pressed up against you in the bustling bus station. "why can't we just drive?" he grumbled, frown on his face as a woman sneezed too close to him, his nose wrinkling in disgust.

"because you never offered." you snapped. "and I cant so. suck it."

"bitch."

"I'll tell mum not to make a bloody trifle if you keep going on like this" you pursed your lips, but could feel the playfulness dancing in your eyes, and laughed when tom shook his head furiously.

the train station was loud but so were your smiles, and the warmth they held told of love that was old and new, strong and weak but that would hold a thousand lifetimes, in whatever way it needed to. your hearts were destined for each other, and the world seemed to know about it before you caught up, brain sharp and heart guarded and with a man that had broken it a few too many times, but who was trying as hard as he could to fix it again.

your mother was a loud, joyful woman, all round edges and warm hugs that smelled of flower, and full, rosy cheeks. your father was a hard man with a soft, squidgy center that was easily gooped out after a glass of wine. he was stern, and the roughness of his jumpers and his voice was something you became accustomed to as you grew up.

"my dear child!" your mother smelled of flour and her hair was frizzy and wild as she clutched your face inbetween her hands, planting kisses all over your skin. "why you keep leaving, huh?"

you groaned at her, not pulling away and leaning into her soft hands. the months away from home had been a harsh change and you were thankful for the warmth and familiarity that your home held, with its creaky floorboards and roaring fireplaces and the people and memories it had. over your mother's shoulders you could see your sister esther, her ginger head poking out the window with a wave. your soul was swarming with a hundred happy bees, buzzing with happiness.

"ok mama," you sighed, taking her hands from your face and holding them with a smile, "that's enough."

"alright, alright." she relented. "oh, the cold! bloody hell, did you come by train? how was it, did it smell?"

"no." you denied, tom saying "yes" at the same time. you shot him a glare as your mother started to ramble about london hygiene, heading back inside.

"god, I've missed this." tom said wistfully, quietly, staring at you as if you had all the time in the world. his brown eyes were warm and full of emotion, and you nodded, thinking of an entirely different thing, of fast love held long ago and passionate, soft spoken love that hid under the surface now, unspoken but still there.

"yeah." and your voice floated in the air between you and around you, along with everything you were feeling.

your mother cleared her throat from the doorway, and you could see your grandad hovering behind her in a checked shirt and his good blue jumper, your dad next to him. nothing had changed. the wallpaper was the same, the carpets were the same, the stains on every bloody surface were the same. you could see your yellow wellies underneath the kitchen window and smiled, soul happy. it felt like a decade since you'd been back home.

"don't rush her." your sister rebecca said, her hands pressed together.

"she's hardly flipping mo farah, is she?" your dad said. "if she goes any slower she'll start moonwalking."

"the moon landings are fake, honey." your mother said absently, hand waving.

and then esther was there, dragging you up the steps with a humph. "you're turning us into a ruddy freakshow, yn, hurry up."

esther glares at the neighbours peeking around their curtains, her eyebrows raised as if to say really?. "bunch of bloody cunts. anyway, hurry up, you too tom, I promised ben he'd get to smell the city on you. god, you've lost a lot of weight, your boobs must feel like two tangerines in a sock."

rebecca hugged you briefly, saying, "sorry, we redecorated your room while you were away. sure you won't mind a bit of megatron on your walls, benny loves him."

"I had worms in my bottom." ben piped up, trying to stick his fist in his mouth. "mum says im not to talk about it outside the house. or shove my fingers up my-"

"ben!" esther snapped covering his mouth. she'd had him during college, and had had her future plans foiled, and was now a single mother, still living at home. "good lord."

"don't the lord's name in vain!" your mother snapped from the kitchen.

your dad rolled his eyes, clapping tom on the shoulder, "I think she can take the lord's name down to butlins in a flipping wheelbarrow if we have to fast for him."

"allan!" your mum shrieked and you laugh, leaning into tom.

"welcome home, love." he sighed, a grin on his face as your mum starts off into a rant about religion.

"benny, don't touch that!" esther scolded, pulling her son's arm away from the candle he was trying to eat. "mama has to bless us with it."

"aye, the power of the lord is going to cast out of her into our souls and fuc-"

"allan!" your mother walked behind him with a lighter in one hand and wooden spoon in the other, rapping him upside the head with it. "the lord will be inside me."

"I thought dad was the one married to you, mum?" you quipped, the grin on your face disappearing as she glared at you. you could hear tom hiding his laugh with coughs from beside you and you kicked his ankle under the table.

"ok, ok, that's enough," your dad giggled, waving a hand for your mum to sit down. she did so, reaching for esther and your dad's hands.

tom's hand was warm in yours and you squeezed it when your mother started the blessing. it was an uncommon thing, for your family to practice religion too much. you had grown up in a relaxed household, only praying during holidays and in times of need. nevertheless, your mother wouldn't let a single word against the lord be said in her small house, faithful to him at all times.

"are we done?" your dad's voice broke a moment of silence and your mother sighed, closing her eyes.

"allan, im blessing you. I still have to light the candles."

"oh, sod it, love." your dad said. "im sure god can light a candle for us, wherever he is."

"god is watching us right now!" your mother slapped your dad's straying hand, reaching forward to light the nine candles in the centre of the table.

"a moment of silence for frankie." you said, and your dad nodded, bowing his head. his candle was flickering with light in the middle of the table, and you spied your dad caressing your mother's hand when she let out a sniffle. you longed to have a love like theirs one day, together through thick and thin and fitting together in a way that ended in hilarious jokes and tender forehead kissed while tucked away in the kitchen. to have someone hold your hand always.

a hand nudged yours, and you turned to tom with a sigh. he was smiling a forlorn smile as he curled his fingers around yours, the warmth traveling through your body. it had been a long, tiring day, and you were more than happy to curl up on the sofa in front of the fire after the meal, it's heat never holding a candle to that which tom gave you.

"alright, eat." your mum finally said, and tom ripped his eyes away from yours to grab the roast potatoes before esther could, remembering how she always nicked them out from under everyone's noses. the meal passed with laughter and the odd shouting, ben trying to shove a brussel sprout up his nose disrupting it all.

the next few days passed in a blurred bliss, like the few warm days after christmas. the house was warm and cozy, with joy seeping out the wallpapers and the floorboards into everyone's skin.

the day yom kippur came, your dad was a grumbly mess, having eaten all the yule log the day before to 'stock up his starch store' so he could 'be a plant' and promptly being shouted at by your mother.

"that was for later, you fat pig!" she had shrieked and you'd heard it from upstairs.

"bloody hell." tom chuckled from where he was sat curled up beside you, squashed in your tiny bed. you would never admit it, but the last few days had been heaven on earth because of him, and the way he made you happy, warm. you felt young again, like your soul was running through the fields all day and coming back home to your mother's warm hugs and your father's jokes.

"wait, no, we have to listen." you said through a giggle, sliding out of your bed and tiptoeing out to the landing, where esther was stood leaning over the banister already. you snorted, bumping her up with your hip, "dang, what you doing out here with all this ass?"

esther rolled her eyes, stepping on your toes as your mother started up again. "religion, allan!" she shouted and you wheezed. "it is the most important thing in this marriage-"

"what about our relationship?" your dad's voice was warbly, like he was trying not to laugh. you could imagine his red neck and creased cheeks, the way his foot would turn inwards before he started laughing.

"god-" your mother began, her voice equally high pitched and warbly, "-comes first, always. as does the cake you ate last night. how are we ever going to get a cake that good again?"

your dad's voice echoed up the large staircase as he said, "I mean, wait a bit love, and you could probably scoop it out the other end."

"allan!" your mother squealed and you had to press your face into tom's cardigan to stop yourself from being too loud. your mother burst into a tangent again, your dad sneaking off when she disappeared back into the kitchen, muttering.

his balding head poked up at you from the stairs, a grin on his face. "wahey, am I right?"

"waheyy!" the three of you replied, you sticking your thumb up at him.

you hated yom kippur, you really did. the hungerness in your body seemed to follow you like a black cloud, making you scowl. esther never left her room during the day of fasting, and your father drank protein drinks -'you have to stay hydrated, could kill, you know?'- whilst your mother forced rebecca to supervise her whilst she was cooking at the end of it all, so as not to give in to the temptation.

you were squashed into the small twin bed your room could hold, tom pressed up against you as you watched downton abbey, not bothering to skip the parts in the kitchen. "elizabethan food is dutty." you had said when you propsed the idea.

"thought it was victorian."

"no, they had the same queen as us."

despite the stupidness the lack of food seemed to give the two of you, you were intent on finishing the fifth season before the sun set, bringing with it the rainbow and all the colours you cared about, but also the promise of food.

"it's so pretty." you sighed when the sun began to dip below the hills rolling around your town, all the houses situated in the little dip in the centre. most of the houses had kitchens on the second floor as well, for when the sandbags got pulled out the garages and the doors got reinforced and the downstairs began to smell a little bit of dampness, of the showers in the summer camp you used to be forced to every year.

"you're a pretty munch." tom said, patting your leg with his hand. his words were cheap, and his hand was careless but his eyes were loving, and showed all you needed to see.

"what are we doing?" you muttered, eyes trailing over his face to the features you had known for so long, that had become ingrained in your memory.

tom inched his head closer to yours, "dancing."

"we're not too good at it."

"we can teach each other." tom said softly. "until we're old, and grey, and I have to help you climb up the stairs."

his voice was strained and it took a few seconds to pick up on the want in it, the way he pleaded like a dead man come back, the way his eyebrows were furrowed in anticipation. in fear.

"don't lie to yourself, holland," you smirked, eyes fluttering close as you lips touched his. it was soft, but with the hunger and heat of a starved bull, and perhaps you were in love and maybe it had taken too long. his lips moved against yours in a dance your own knew so well, slotting together in every way they knew how. you were connected by your hands, his on your hip and elbow, yours on the broadness of his arm, the other holding you up.

you separated with a sweet, welcome ease, lovesick smiles a couple on your lips. "don’t lie to yourself, holland," you repeated, "I'd help you up the stairs."

"bungalows are pretty cool." he whispered, grinning.

"holy shit." ben's small voice came from the door and you groaned before snapping your head to him.

"benjamin! where'd you learn that language?"

"aunty annie." he replied, words coming out of the gaps in his teeth. your sister, anne, had disappeared to the next country over, or perhaps the next, you had no clue anymore, sending photos of anything and everything to the family groupchat. the other day she had sent a photo of a candle, the caption 'ughhh uwu hashem' tainting your brain for god knows how long.

"of course she did." you smiled a harsh smile that made your lips purse.

"am I going to get a cousin?"

"no, sweetie, now go to mummy and shut the door please."

ben smiled another toothless grin, a hand that was sure to be sticky waving in the air as he pulled the door shut behind him.

"well," you laughed, turning your head to tom, "how about we do that ag-"

the door slammed open to a head of ginger hair and you saw esther for the first time that day, hair a mess atop her head and legs bare sans an entirely too small pair of undies. the hello kitties on it were a faded link and you would've laughed if you didn't want to kiss someone so badly.

"y'all fucking?" she asked after a stunned silence. her eyes were wide and crazed, and the edges of her lips were pulling up.

"get out!" you shouted after a second, grabbing a pillow and throwing it at her. "don't tell mama!"

and the moment was ruined, but it wasn't. the arm snaked around you seemed so belonging all of a sudden and the wheezy breaths that told of an upcoming cold didn't annoy you anymore and the rhythmic bouncing of his socked foot against your leg was suddenly endearing and you felt whole again, completely and utterly whole, for the first time in years. your hearts were finally bonded and you souls were finally dancing their dance in their own way, clumsy and uncoordinated but knowing where the other was going to step and melding into each other's bodies. whole was a nice feeling to have, however late it arrived

fin

an; rosh hashana is one of the best jewish holidays, its new years! it's followed by a horrible day of fasting, yom kippur. I've based the readers religious practises on my childhood ones, as I had a very religiously relaxed household, and the family aspect of the holidays came above the religious ones. also, reader's mother's view on religion is used as a comedic value and wasn't meant to be offensive at all.

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland fic #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #tom holland fanfiction #mine #masterlist #dbmff

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alj4890 · 4 years

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None But You

(Thomas Hunt x oc*Amanda) in a regency era romance as requested by @pixieferry

A/N *squeal* We are getting so close to the wedding. Things are moving along better than I hoped with these characters. I love it when that happens. Sigh. But just as happiness awaits, so does that one other thing...evil intent. Yes, Duke Viktor Montmarte is still very much a part of this story.

@graceful-popcorn @krsnlove @alleksa16 @hopelessromantic1352 @pixieferry @emceesynonymroll @buzz-bee-buzz @hopefulmoonobject @rainbowsinthestorm @lxaah11 @my-heart-beats-for-ya @everythingmarvelsherlockspn @friedherringclodthing @aworldoffandoms @ab1901 @i-bloody-love-drake-walker

Masterlist

Summary: The traveling party arrive at Kirkwood Manor. Thomas spends a pleasant afternoon showing Amanda around her new home. Lord Ryan is a bit perplexed about his feelings for Lady Millie. And we see what our villain has in store for the engaged pair.

Chapter 13

"Welcome home, my lord." Thomas' butler, bowed him and his traveling party into the foyer.

"Thank you, Berger." Thomas introduced him to Amanda.

The middle aged butler stoic façade eased as he bowed to her. "Welcome to Kirkwood Manor, my lady. On behalf of the staff, we wish you every happiness for your upcoming wedding."

"Thank you." Amanda smiled at him. "I look forward to getting to know you and the rest of the staff."

Thomas asked for refreshments to be brought to the drawing room.

"Perhaps someone could show Lord Summers to his room." Millie spoke up. "The journey has been quite difficult with his wound."

Ryan gritted his teeth. "I'll be fine. I just need a moment of not being jostled all over Creation."

Berger quickly called for a footman to take the wounded man upstairs.

"Do you need me to help you?" Millie whispered.

He shook his head, lips curving in a brief smile. "I'm certain Lady Bridgerton will wish to talk wedding plans. I will be fine for a few hours." He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a tender kiss. "Thank you for all that you have done."

She watched him ascend the stairs, worried at how he leaned against the bannister for assistance.

"Millie, dear." Her mother waved her toward the drawing room. "We have much we must take care of before the wedding."

"Coming Mamma." She checked over her shoulder to make certain he made it upstairs safely and continued on to join her parents and friends.

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

A few hours of planning later, Amanda managed to escape when Thomas expressed his wish to show her his home.

Lady Lucy couldn't help but chuckle at the pleading look on her niece's face. "Be off with you now. I can already tell that neither one of you will be able to keep your mind on anything else."

The young lady pressed a kiss to her aunt's cheek and happily left with her intended.

With each room he took her to, he shared a piece of his childhood or family history. She laughed at his humorous stories, while admiring the home that was now to be hers.

Here was where she would bear and raise their children, watch them grow up, and hopefully see the next generation of Hunt's that followed them.

"I spend most of my time in here." Thomas opened a door to the manor's library.

He watched her closely as she walked around the room, her fingers trailing the many leather-bound spines.

Her eyes touched on the different sections he had his books divided in. Philosophy, Botany, Nautical History...she paused at one near the large cherry wood desk. An entire case was filled with novels.

He stopped behind her and pulled a book off the shelf. With a quick flip, he opened it to the last chapter.

Her eyebrow lifted while she fought her smile at the memory of first meeting him in a London bookshop.

"See here, sir. You are ruining each story you pick up!" She tried to mimic how gruff his voice had been a few months ago. "Why are you only reading the final chapter?"

Thomas felt a warmth within him at her remembering his first words to her, even if they did reveal his temper. He repeated her own words said to him so long ago. "For a very simple reason, Miss. I prefer certain types of endings in stories. The only way to ensure such is to read the last chapter of books that have been recommended to me."

Her eyes widened at his memory of her argument.

She recalled his eyes narrowing at her and mimicked the action as she continued their beginning. "Can you not simply read what is recommended without spoiling it for yourself?" Her lips twitched with her need to laugh. "Dash it all! People spend months to years creating such for someone to enjoy. They do not do so to be judged solely by the final chapter!"

Thomas set the book back on the shelf and wrapped his arms around her. He repeated the question she first asked him. "Did you write this?"

Her arms looped around his neck. "I did not."

He pressed a long, gentle kiss to her lips. "Then you, Miss, have no right to be offended."

Her laughter was muffled by his next kiss.

"Who knew that would be the beginning of all this?"

"I should have known then that you were going to be the one to turn all my preconceived notions upside down from that initial argument."

"True. But what did you think of me?" She asked, caressing his cheek. "It must have been favorable for you to appear at Almacks."

"Though I thought you quite pretty, it was our conversation that won me." Thomas explained. "I was not used to encountering an intelligent lady."

"Then I am very grateful for a lack of education amongst ladies of the ton." She guided his lips back to hers. "For you sir, captured my attention from the very beginning."

He softly groaned as their kiss grew in passion. He reluctantly ended it to finish showing her about. "I want you to feel free to come in here whenever you wish." He set her hand within the bend of his arm. "I know some gentlemen refuse access to what they consider their domains, but I would enjoy discussing books with you or simply being able to glance up from my desk and see you reading or sewing near the fireplace."

"I think we will spend a good deal of our time in there." She squeezed his arm. "Thank you, my love, for welcoming to your home. I already feel myself growing attached to it."

He led her upstairs to show her the bedrooms. "You feeling at home here is one of my most desired wishes."

"One?" She looked up at him. "What else do you wish for?"

His lips curved. "Our wedding."

"That's less than two weeks away." She pointed out.

"And I am grateful for such." Thomas paused outside the bedrooms meant for the viscount and viscountess of Kirkwood. "But it still cannot come soon enough to suit me."

He opened the door and smiled at her gasp of delight.

"Thomas! This is beautiful." She stepped into the set of rooms that made up the viscountess' bedroom. He explained that he had it redecorated with what he hoped pleased her.

The walls were adorned with vivid paintings of landscapes around the manor. With so many windows having views of the ocean, the rest of the room was done in blues and whites. She trailed a hand along a small escritoire he had made specifically for her. Paper and ink wells were set at the ready for any letters she would wish to write.

The bed was plush with numerous pillows embroidered with blue flowers.

Everywhere she turned there was some little thing that he had insisted on to make this room perfect.

Thomas waited patiently near the connecting door as she explored the bathing chamber and wardrobe.

"Amanda?" His tone held a hint of hesitancy.

She twirled around. "Yes?"

He opened the doors. "This leads to my bedroom."

Color bloomed on her cheeks as she stepped into his personal quarters.

His room continued with the landscape paintings though these were more of the wooded areas near Kirkwood. Golden oak wood dominated the furniture. Rich shades of green and brown were used for the bedding and cushions on the chairs.

It was just as inviting as her room.

"Amanda, I..."

She turned toward him and noticed the flush creeping up his neck. "Is something wrong? You're not unwell, are you?"

"No. It is merely that I hope you," he grimaced at his foolishness for wanting her with him as much as she allowed. He knew it wasn't typical of members of the ton to do so, but he never really worried about their trends.

"Thomas?" She reached out for his hand.

"I want this room to be yours too." He searched her eyes for understanding.

Her brow furrowed. "You want me to have both chambers?"

"No. I mean, yes." He closed his eyes for a moment. "I hope you wish, are willing, to share this chamber with me every night." His eyes widened at how that might sound. "Not that I expect you to, er, perform your--rather, I," he cursed, causing her eyes to widen even more. "Forgive me. I wish for you and I to sleep together each night regardless of any intimacy occurring."

Her lips curved. "Then I will."

He blinked. "You don't mind?"

A slight blush bloomed on her cheeks. "I have enjoyed these past nights of being near you while I slept." She averted her eyes. "I think they will be even better once we are married."

"They will be." He vowed.

Her lips parted when he yanked her against him, kissing her with a preview of the passion he intended to unleash on their wedding night.

She could do nothing but hold onto his shoulders throughout the exchange.

His lips tenderly brushed hers as he spoke. "I have asked that all your things be brought up here and stored in your room. It can be used however you wish." He moaned when she kissed him. "But if there is anything you want to keep in here, then please feel free to do so."

"Thank you." She murmured.

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

That evening, Lord Ryan joined them all for dinner. His color had improved and he swore he was feeling much better now that he was not being, "bumped about England."

He even encouraged Millie to take a walk in the night air with him.

He hadn't considered though to have not only Amanda and Thomas as chaperones, but also Chris and Matthew.

The first two he didn't worry about, considering Thomas was most likely going to take his lady off somewhere shrouded in shadows.

Sadly the two gentlemen who were sadly losing the moniker of friends was also tagging along. Since Thomas had decided to settle down with his love, Chris and Matthew were ready to help hurry along Ryan's courtship with Millie.

Ryan considered himself a gentleman with an excellent sense of humor. He was one of the few lords among the ton who was intelligent enough to know when not to take life too seriously.

Much to his chagrin, this wasn't such a time.

He wasn't exactly sure how he felt about Lady Millicent Rawlings. When he all but heard her admit to Ms. Fontaine that she was in love with him, his view of her had changed.

It had sharpened with a clarity that he had yet to experience with any other young lady.

What was he to do? He believed much like his misguided friend that marriage was not for him. Not for a very long time. Yet, no sooner had those words been spoken than Thomas pursued the one he had won.

"Good lord." Ryan muttered with the thought. "It can't be."

"Did you say something?" Millie asked.

"Er. No." He quickly replied. "Nothing of import."

His hopes that she wouldn't question him were met.

If only he had wished the same for the ones on their heels.

"He said Good lord, followed by, It can't be." Chris readily answered.

Ryan could all but hear the smug smile the young man must have on his face.

How he longed to be the type of gentleman that was well-trained in pugilism.

He decided right then that he would begin attending sessions at Gentlemen Jack's as soon as be was back in London. Then he would know exactly how to punch friends in the face without causing serious damage.

Oh yes. It would be worth it.

"Makes one wonder what can't be, doesn't it, Lady Millie?" Matthew spoke up in a cheerful tone.

"It does." She admitted. "Though if Lord Summers doesn't wish to share what it is then I shan't be the one to pressure him."

Good lord, she was making him fall in love.

This won't do. It was one thing for her to feel deeply for him but quite another for him to reciprocate such emotion.

"How are you feeling?" She asked softly. "Are you certain you are up to a long walk?"

"I'm fine." He managed.

"No doubt he is in need of romantic moonlight." Chris loudly whispered between the couple.

"Shouldn't you go trail Hunt and Lady Amanda?" Ryan snapped. "If anyone needs to be kept an eye on then it is them.

"Perhaps." Matthew conceded. "But they are already settled. Chris and I have decided that we want to see all we care about also so happily shackled in the bonds of matrimony."

"Shackled?!" Millie gasped. "I never!"

Ryan took a cautious step away from her. If anyone deserved her temper it was the ones behind them. The only way they could be worse is if they were two matchmaking mothers on the prowl for the highest title and fortune in the land.

"Now Millie," Chris smiled warmly at her. "We only want the best for you."

"There's no finer man in England, that is free of romantic entanglements, than Lord Ryan." Matthew added. "If I had a sister, I would push her in his path at every opportunity in the hopes he would take her."

"Take her?!" Millie stopped in her tracks and crossed her arms, glaring at the two men

"What about me?" Chris demanded. "Why wouldn't you push your sister upon me?"

"Push?!" Millie sputtered.

"You must be having trouble hearing tonight." Chris grumbled before turning back to his friend. "Why wouldn't Lady Rodriguez be pressed upon me?"

"First off," Matthew replied, "there is no Lady Rodriguez. Second," he gestured silently toward Ryan and Millie.

"Oh good grief." Millie rolled her eyes. "I think that is enough ridiculousness for one night." She gathered her shawl tighter about her shoulders. "I bid you all a goodnight."

"I'll escort you back." Ryan reached out and grasped her elbow. "Goodnight gentlemen."

"'Night." The two chuckled at having gotten them to finally go off alone.

"Idiots." Millie muttered.

"Indeed." Ryan replied.

Millie chewed nervously on her bottom lip. "My lord?"

"Hmm?"

"What did you mean by saying, it can't be?"

He softly groaned. He should have known she wouldn't let the matter drop.

"It is nothing. Just a passing thought."

She tilted her head and studied his profile. "Oh."

He grit his teeth at the sound of dejection he could hear in her voice. "Oh what?"

"Nothing, just oh." She responded.

"Your oh's rarely mean nothing. So what did it mean?!" He demanded.

"I beg your pardon." She huffed. "I wasn't aware you and I were anything special that allows you to demand explanations to my words and thoughts."

"Millie." He practically growled.

"Don't you take that tone with me, Ryan Summers! I don't care what lofty title you hold. I refuse to acknowledge such brutish behavior." She let go of his arm and hurried ahead of him. "Your escort is no longer appreciated or needed, sir."

"Oh no you don't!" Ryan's long legged stride caught up to her quickly. He grabbed her arm and swung her back around.

The momentum had the pair crashing against each other. Millie's gasp brushed his lips, causing his own to part in surprise.

All the irritation disappeared when he cupped her face. Her eyes met his right before the two met in an impassioned kiss.

Her hands lifted to his cheeks, gently holding him in place as their kiss came to a slow end.

Ryan's breath was ragged. "Millie, I think I'm in--"

They jerked apart when they heard Amanda's laughter coming closer to them.

"Ready to go in?" Thomas asked when they saw them..

"Yes, of course." Millie tugged her shawl up over her shoulders.

She set her hand on Ryan's arm as they followed the couple.

Matthew and Chris appeared behind them.

"I look forward to more treks while we are here. Don't you Lady Millie? Chris teased.

She narrowed her eyes at him, causing his smile to be even more unrepentant.

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

A private room in a tavern near Kirkwood Manor...

"I believe the best time will be during all the confusion of getting to the church." Charles explained. "What do you think, your grace?"

Viktor slowly nodded to his valet's recommendations. "I agree." His eyes then lifted to his coachman. "And you John?"

"After what I viewed of the viscount's activities, then I think the moment he departs for the wedding will be the best opportunity to take the lady." He replied, feeling quite uneasy with such a devious plan.

"Hmm." Viktor took a long sip of his brandy. "I suppose I should be glad they didn't issue me an invitation. Imagine how much awkward that would be."

He chuckled at the thought of Lord Hunt's face when he found out his bride was not coming. How he wished he could witness it when he discovered she had run off with a better man. But, his being the better man in this scenario meant he would have to miss it.

After all, he couldn't be at Kirkwood and on the Great North Road at the same time. Not when he had his own elopement to attend to. Gretna Green would be the final slap to Lord Hunt's pride.

Who knows? Along that long dark road to Scotland, he might very well tire of the Lady Amanda and leave her for the highway men. After a sample of her body, he could be magnanimous to those less fortunate.

His lips curved at his plan becoming even more clearer in his mind.

#Thomas Hunt #thomas hunt x amanda #none but you #thomas hunt x oc #rcd regency au #rcd thomas hunt

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fericita-s · 4 years

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The Sky Will Be Blue

After seeing the Royal Sommerhus and this family portrait, I wanted to write some happy fluffy family times of Agnarr, Iduna, Elsa, and Anna. It takes place in the canon-compliant When All is Lost series but can stand alone. Thank you @the-spastic-fantastic for beta-reading!

Agnarr gripped Iduna’s hand with a nervous energy that made her smile. He had promised a delightful surprise for her and the girls - one that would last a whole month. Maddeningly, he had refused to answer any of their questions about what it was. Iduna knew their summer schedule was usually busy with travel in and out of the harbor of their northern kingdom being easier in the warm weather. The resulting influx of visiting dignitaries meant summer was their peak season for official meetings and events. To have Agnarr take this time away from the council and from the castle felt like a gift, no matter what the surprise actually was.

With Anna and Elsa asleep in the back of the wagon, Iduna readied herself to show enough enthusiasm for all three of them. But as they rounded the last bend in the dirt-packed road, she gaped in open-mouth surprise, dramatic gestures forgotten in the expression of her genuine shock.

“There it is! Our summer cottage! What do you think? I had it built for us; a special place for us to spend time away from the castle and the bustling town. So we can feel more like a family and less like royalty.” Agnarr smiled at her and she smiled back, laughing as she brought her hands to her face and then to his arm, squeezing him tight.

“Oh, Agnarr, it’s beautiful!” She looked at the cabin, painted brown and red and white, and the grassy roof that made it look like it was part of the mountain rising up behind it. The way it looked carved out of the earth reminded her of the earthen dwellings of her childhood. She then noticed a sign and laughed again. “The Royal Sommerhus?” You wanted us to feel less royal so you named our cottage The Royal Sommerhus?”

Agnarr jumped down from the wagon, and offered his hand to Iduna as she climbed down. “Well yes, but notice my restraint. Not one letter in gold! And I left some things unfinished so we could do them together. The window boxes could use your attention. I thought you would rather plant those than have someone else do it. I had the servants deliver books and paints and brushes and canvas. Dolls for the girls and lots of room for Elsa to make snow without anyone noticing. And see? There’s a gate here to keep Anna from wandering off at night and falling into the fjord. The guardhouse is at the edge of the ridge - it will be quite private back here.”

Either at the sound of her name or because the wagon had stopped moving, Anna sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Mama? Papa? Are we at the surprise yet?”

Agnarr leaned over the side and lifted her up, cradling her against his chest. “Yes, dear one, we are here! A special house for us to live in this summer, away from the castle.”

Anna gasped and squirmed in his arms, desperate to go have a look.

“Elsa, Elsa, wake up, wake up! We have a new play house! Like a dollhouse! But bigger! But smaller than a castle!” Anna slipped from Agnarr’s arms and Iduna caught one of her hands. The dispatch of guards had pulled up behind them now and were beginning to unload the wagons and tend to the horses.

Elsa rose from her sleeping position and Agnarr scooped her up as well, placing her on the ground with a kiss. “Papa! It’s lovely! Can we go see?”

“Certainly!” Agnarr took Elsa’s hand and she took Iduna’s. The four of them walked to the cottage, the scent of rosemary and heliotrope in the air and beams of sunlight falling on the red door. It already looked like home.

***

“Anna! Elsa! Time to eat!” Iduna called up the stairs and braced herself for the leaping hug she knew would be coming from Anna, who had decided that instead of navigating steps she could just throw herself off the top of them and be caught by whoever happened to be there. Anna tossed down her dolls and then herself, and Iduna managed to catch her before her head collided with the trunk in the alcove at the bottom step.

“Soon you’ll be four Anna, and then you’ll have to start using stairs with walking feet instead of flying feet.” Iduna tucked the dolls under each of Anna’s arms and gave her a gentle pat on the bottom.

Anna laughed and ran to the kitchen. “No, Mama, I always fly!”

Elsa walked down the stairs, a lump of ice beginning to take shape in her hand. She had been making ice models of each of the flowers they had planted in the boxes and the yellow rose was her next project.

Agnarr was in the kitchen, a picnic basket on his arm and a blanket over his shoulder. “Shall we, ladies?” He bowed and gestured to the wide expanse of green grass just outside the kitchen door. Anna and Elsa ran ahead, already knowing where the best picnic spot was.

Iduna and Agnarr trailed behind, hand in hand. Iduna breathed deeply of the salty air and Agnarr watched as some strands of her hair danced in the wind.

“Being here, further north like this…the way the breeze is always moving, I…”Agnarr shrugged and shook his head, unsure of how to continue. “I sometimes think I’m about to remember something but it slips away before I quite have it. Your hair, floating about you, my whole body flying. But I can’t make sense of it. It’s maddening!”

Iduna turned her head to look at him. “We played in the wind.” She looked around to be sure the guards were far enough away that they wouldn’t hear, that the girls were occupied with their dolls ice flowers in the shade of the trees. “When the forest was open. We played hide and seek and the wind helped me find you.” For a moment, he was worried he had made her sad, but then she laughed. “The wind pulled you into the air and even then you tried to chase me.”

Agnarr leaned in close and kissed her behind her ear. “I’ll always chase you. And I’ll always catch you.”

Iduna laughed again, and then ran, shouting over her shoulder “I wouldn’t be so sure about that! Who’s carrying a heavy basket and a cumbersome blanket and who is as free and as fast as a fox?”

Elsa and Anna saw their mother running and joined in, dolls discarded haphazardly and ice flowers carefully set down. The shrieking laughter of a family of four echoed in the trees as the wind pulled and tugged at their hair, their clothes, their memories.

***

“Do you want to build a snowman?” Elsa and Anna lay on the blanket, full of food and starting to get sleepy. And when Anna got sleepy, she liked to quickly come up with a new activity to stave off napping. She sat up, pulling on Elsa’s hands. “Do the magic!”

Elsa sat up too, and began making a miniature snowman. “Here. This snowman likes summer and sun and all things hot.”

Anna giggled. “Snowmen can’t like summer! He can’t get hot!”

Elsa shook her head. “Not this snowman. He’s special. He likes picnics. And eating sandwiches outside. And taking naps when he gets sleepy. And he especially likes you.” Elsa handed the snowman to Anna. “I bet he’d like to take a nap with you.”

Agnarr swatted at a bee that buzzed near his ear and watched as Elsa paused in her storytelling to pick a dandelion and blow on it, sending a shower of fuzz over Anna that made her laugh and then sneeze. Elsa lay down again and Anna copied her, snuggling the snowman close as her eyes started to close.

Iduna lay down too, putting her head in Agnarr’s lap, pulling his arm around her like a blanket. “Wake me up when Anna’s awake. I’ll just – “

Agnarr and Elsa looked each other, silent laughter coming from them as they looked at the sleeping half of their family.

“Let’s look at the clouds, Elsa. I bet I can find one that looks just like The Duke of Weselton’s mustache.”

***

“Agnarr! She’s gotten the goat on the roof!” Iduna’s voice carried into the cottage from the front yard where she was considering the quickest way to scale the roof herself.

“Again?” Agnarr ran out of the front door, and bumped into Anna who was proudly looking at the goat she had led onto the top of the house.

“Goats like climbing! And grass! I like those things too!” Agnarr watched in horror as she swallowed, and saw the streak of green remaining in her unfurled fist.

Agnarr caught Iduna’s arm before she began using the shutters as footholds. “The goat will come down on its own when it’s ready. I’m more worried about the grass she ate.”

“Oh that’s fine. She might have a stomachache, but that will just teach her not to eat it again.”

Anna burped and laughed. “Yummy!” She pushed another handful of grass into her mouth and Agnarr slapped a hand to his forehand, groaning.

“Always check the other hand! I should know that by now!”

***

Bags packed, furniture covered, and goats hugged, the family said goodbye to the sommerhus and stood in front of it for one last look before the journey back to Arendelle proper.

“It’s a wonderful home, Agnarr. Let’s come back next summer. Anna will be easier at almost-five than almost-four.”

Agnarr draped an arm around her shoulders and leaned in close to her ear, whispering “Or perhaps earlier than that, just you and me. Judet has had the whole month off. I’m sure she can handle the girls for a time this fall so you and I can play hide and seek just the two of us.”

Iduna kissed him and then whispered back. “Are you so sure I’ll let you catch me?”

Agnarr lifted her up and twirled her around as Elsa and Anna pulled on his legs for their turn spinning with Papa. “I’ll always catch you.”

#agduna #when all is lost #royal sommerhus #king agnarr #queen iduna #mama and papa arendelle #toddler anna #kid elsa #olaf origin stories #happy family fun times #frozen

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certifiedskywalker · 5 years

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Academic Misgivings (Part Nine) - Peter Parker

You and Peter Parker aren’t friends, but you’re not entirely enemies either. You don’t like him but he always tries to be nice to you. He has everything you’ve ever wanted and you’ll do anything to show him that you can make it on your own. But can you?

It’s the day Peter is bringing you to your dream job! What could happen? Will you get the nerve to tell Peter how you feel?

A/n: This is the longest part of the series yet with slightly over 10,000 words! I hope you enjoy it! Send me your thoughts!

PART ONE / PART TWO / PART THREE / PART FOUR/PART FIVE / PART SIX / PART SEVEN / PART EIGHT /

Frayed nerves had woken you up much too early. The pulling of the knots in your stomach had tugged you out of bed and racing towards the bathroom. Kneeling in front of a toilet bowl at five in the morning was not how you imagined the day would start. But the sun rose up anyway and shone through the dingey window of your bathroom.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your shaking hand and hit the lever to wash away the evidence of your anxiety. With muscles sore from crouching, you stood on legs that wobbled with each step like cooked noodles. Your temples pounded alongside your heartbeat that filled your ears until it was all you could hear. A shallow breath passed over your lips and you braced yourself against the cold countertop as yet another wave of nausea came over you.

“Not again,” you mumbled bitterly as you closed your eyes. The darkness behind your eyelids soothed the storm of nerves raging inside your stomach. Your grip on the cool countertop tightened with strained as you tried to hone your focus, tune in to whatever was making you so uneasy. Only a face came to mind.

It was not the fear of failure, of denial from the Stark Internship that had tossed your intestines into upheaval. No, it was not Tony Stark’s face that made you queasy at the thought of meeting him, the man that, even with an internship, could change your life forever. Okay, maybe it was that you thought to yourself. But something, someone, else that made your insides twist into knots. You opened your eyes as soon as Peter Parker entered your train of thought, not wanting to tempt your heart any more than you already had.

With a loud groan, you pushed yourself away from the counter and placed a shaky trust in your still trembling legs. Each step out of the bathroom and into the quiet hallway took effort. You knew that if you fell or threw up on the floor no one would come out to check if you were okay. After the tutoring session, Peter had walked you home where you were greeted by an empty apartment. Not even a roach had crossed your path.

Only pure silence accompanied you as you crossed the hall and into your room. The sunrise that had poked through the yellowed bathroom window shone brighter through your more clean one. You lifted a hand as you walked over to your bed in a poor attempt to block the light from blinding you. When that failed, you plopped down on the edge of your bed and stared into the gloomy depths of your closet.

Get dressed, you thought to yourself. The demand did nothing to coax your body into functioning. You had to get ready, to study, read, before Peter came to pick you up. With a sideways glance, you caught sight of the worn cover of The Great Gatsby that Ms. Lauren had handed out in class. You reached weakly, your side giving in and falling into the comfort of your mattress as your fingers brushed the edge of the book’s surface. A grunt later and the novel was in your hands, opened to the page you had left off on.

The relationships of the characters Fitzgerald had so finely crafted would distract you from your own long enough to calm yourself down. You had already spent too much time thinking about every possible way you could tell Peter how you feel and that was the last thing you needed to do before you set out on a tour that could change your life’s trajectory. If it went well, if you got the internship, you might not even see Peter that much. That notion sent a new wave of sick through your being and you combat it, you pulled all your focus in on the book.

“Just a few pages,” you yawned, “then...then I’ll get ready…”

The sound that woke you was familiar but in a distant sense. A series of dull thuds against metal tracks as a subway car barreled through, the slightly anxious buzzing of bees dancing their way from one flower to another and the chime in the coffee shop that told everyone that someone had been enticed by the aromas of hazelnut to enter; all echoed the sound. In all the time you and your family had lived in the apartment complex, not once did you have visitors. The last time you had seen your cousins were at their own homes a little ways away from the city limits.

So the shrill yet droning ringing that had you sitting straight up in bed was a new one. As you threw your legs over the edge of your half-covered mattress, you tipped over and nearly onto the floor if it wasn’t for your hand that flew out to clutch the bed frame. You took a breath to collect yourself before you dared to take a step. The blankets that pooled around your feet almost caught around your ankles before you stumbled out your bedroom door.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you muttered as the buzzing continued. “Where is it?!”

Your still sleep-ridden eyes darted around the adjoined living room and kitchen in a mad search for the intercom. The few times you had laid eyes on the beige panel, you had been half asleep, as you were now. The fog of waking still clung to you as you rushed into the kitchen where the ringing grew louder with each step. Fumbling hands pushed past stacked magazines whose subscriptions had long since run out, and, finally, you laid eyes on the speaker.

“Hello? Yes? Hello?” You asked as soon as your finger hit the button.

“Hi, it’s me! Can you buzz me up?” Peter? Already? You glanced around the kitchen until you saw the wall clock. No ticking could be heard as the hands remained still. You threw your head over your other shoulder and stole a peek at the oven’s digital clock. Four o’clock on the dime; you had majorly overslept.

“Um yeah, sure, hold on,” you replied. You heard Peter mumble an ‘okay’ on the other end as you searched the intercom for the right button. A green one labeled as ‘ENTER’ felt to you to be the right pick. You tentatively pushed the button and another buzz sounded off. A beat of silence passed and there was no word from Peter. “Hello?”

Only the chirping of birds outside your apartment answered you. A familiar twist of your stomach sent you to the sink. Instead of giving in to the nerves you turned on the faucet. The cold water sent a shock through your body that was still warmed by sleep. Although, the splash of the icy water to your face was enough to quiet the upset turnings of your insides.

The last thing you needed was to get sick as Peter was walking up the stairs to come greet you. With that image of him in your mind, your body lurched closer to the sink as dread boiled in your stomach. Your mouth opened but you closed it quickly with a deep breath. A moment of clarity came over you and felt a strange sense of calm.

You stood up slowly, then a little faster when your gut didn’t retaliate. Another deep breath and you took a steady step. Progress, that was progress. Only, when you looked down as you took another step, you saw that you were still in your sleeping clothes. A horribly unflattering shirt that was two sizes too big and a pair of torn-up sweatpants was not a sight you wanted Peter to see. But just when the urge to change your clothes took hold, there was a soft knocking at your door.

“Uh, justa minute!” You shouted as you teetered back and forth on your toes. Should you change? Could you change? Would Peter wait that long? Why were you overthinking this?

With a groan of annoyance, you made your way to the door of your family’s apartment. On your tippy-toes, you peeked through the viewing window and saw Peter rocking his weight on his feet. Was he nervous too? Why? Enough questions! You unlocked the door and cracked it open to get a glimpse of him.

“Hey!”

“Hi,” you said, notably much less enthusiastic as Peter. “Come in.” You opened the door the rest of the way and let Peter feast his eyes on your groggy form. He looked put together, at least more so than yourself, with a red and black plaid button-up with jeans. If it weren’t for the grey jacket over his shoulders and the pink in his cheeks from the wind, you could have guessed it might be warm outside.

“Did...did I wake you?” He eyes you but not with the disgust you were expecting. He ran a hand through his hair that, with the action, was no longer styled as he took the sight of you in.

“Uh no,” you lied, “I just...haven’t gotten ready. Sorry. Make yourself at home.” You turned and was greeted with yet another worry. The apartment your family rented wasn’t the best. The floors weren’t rotted but their age was clear as were the walls coated in chipped, grey paint. “If you can.”

“This is a...nice place…” Peter stepped into the apartment further, shutting the door behind him. “I noticed a memorial outside from the two thousand twelve incident.” You frowned at the memory. You had been there when the city officials revealed the small memorial stone in the courtyard of the complex. It had been raining and the dreary day did nothing to lift anyone’s spirits.

“Yeah, this place was built quickly after that, for those displaced.” You glanced about the cramped space and nodded at the familiar bare walls. Your family had lost almost all of the pictures.

“Displaced? Was your family ...” You turned to face Peter at the sound of his voice. His brows furrowed then lifted with confusion as if he were trying to figure out how to balance on fishing line.

“Turns out most insurance plans don’t cover alien attacks,” you joked but Peter didn’t laugh. “One of those worm things fell on our townhouse. We had to take what we could and stay at my uncle’s house a little while before they built this place.”

“What about the Stark Foundation? They didn’t help with your townhouse?” Peter was at your side now, brown eyes holding your gaze so ardently you couldn’t find it in yourself to look away.

“It wasn’t what it is today. Before Sokovia, all that was done was to rebuild public housing and funded the repair of select buildings. Didn’t trickle down to the neighborhoods.” You felt your voice fall as you looked back in the past. How differently would things have turned out if aliens hadn’t attacked New York? Would you and Peter even talk to each other?

“I didn’t know,” Peter murmured with a frown. You gave him a sympathetic look and shook your head.

“You wouldn’t have and that’s okay, it’s done.” Peter nodded but the frown remained cemented to his expression. “Let me go get dressed and then we can go, okay?”

“Yeah, alright,” Peter agreed. Not wanting to dwell on the past any longer you walked towards your room down the hall. Your bare feet pattered against the cold wooden floor until you made into your carpeted room. The closet loomed with its open mouth as you stared down its gullet. There had to be something you could wear that wouldn’t read as ‘I’m smart, look at me, please give me the internship’.

You flicked through your hangers until your fingers found the soft material of a sweater. The soft blue fabric was almost warm to the touch and, with a glance out your window, you would need the extra heat. Autumn was turning to Winter right before your eyes. Gently, you tugged it off of the hanger and felt the fabric fall into your arms.

After you found a pair of clean pants and a pair of socks, you changed in the narrow bathroom close to your parent’s room. Their comings and goings meant that the door was stuck perpetually open. The sliver of light that came in from their bedroom window illuminated the inside, giving you a glimpse of the mess within as you left the bathroom. Their bed hadn’t been made in ages; socks, soda cans, or what you hoped were soda cans, littered the hardwood floor. The sight made you cringe so you left it alone and made your way to Peter.

“Sorry about that,” you said as you walked into the living room. Peter stood in front of your family’s sparse bookshelf that, for the most part, only held your old textbooks. At the sound of your voice, Peter spun on his heels, the rubber sole of his sneakers squeaking against the floorboards.

“It’s uh...uh…” His mouth of open but only a semblance of words spilled out. “You ready?”

“Uh...y-yeah, you look good, Y/N.” Warmth flooded your entire being, sent blood to your cheeks as Peter looked at you. There was some glint in his eye that was unfamiliar to you, something harder to place.

“Thanks, Pete,” you breathed and gave him a half-smile. “So uh…”

“Y-Yeah, we should go,” Peter said and he started towards your door. You followed suit and as Peter opened the door, you snagged the extra set of keys to the apartment. With Peter holding up the door for you, you headed out to the start of your future.

“I can’t imagine that,” you laughed out as you walked beside Peter. The streets were alive with evening traffic and people walking home from a day's work. Tired looking men and women, waiters and lawyers alike, seemed to pass you by as you followed Peter against the grain. The only thing keeping you centered in the crowd was listening to Peter’s voice, even if what he was telling you was so unbelievable that it could have been from a different dimension.

“I know it’s...uh...now it’s like a super old thing but I used to be friends with Flash.” Peter gave you a glance with the start of a smile on his lips when he saw you shake your head. “Really! I just don’t know what happened...why he hates me now.”

“Girls, puberty,” you listed off any reason someone wouldn’t be friends with Peter nonchalantly. You too had experience in hating Peter once upon a time so you were uncomfortably familiar with the ‘why’. “Arrogance, stupidity, pride...jealousy. I can go on.”

“Wow, you seem to have it figured out,” Peter joked. He knocked his shoulder against yours as you turned the corner and headed down a different street.

“I didn’t like you before, you know that...but only because I didn’t like myself,” you explained quietly. You felt that, due to the din of the city, Peter barely heard what you had said. But when you snuck a shy glance at him, you saw his face contorted in worry.

“Y/N, I...I know I’m not like someone amazing but, I like you, Y/N.” You felt your whole body grow numb at Peter’s words. It didn’t even feel like you were walking anymore. Each step you took on the sidewalk felt more and more like you were wading through a thick cloud.

“I…” you cleared your throat in a poor attempt to break through the haze, “thanks, Pete.” You glanced up at him and saw he was smiling now, so much so that the pink in the apples of his cheeks shone unmissably under the streetlights.

“You’re welcome, Y/N.” Did Peter brush his hand against yours on purpose just then? You were just imagining it? As your brain fired off panicked neurons with every contact, you struggled to find words to hide your nerves. It was then that the easiest words came to you.

“And you are, Peter. Amazing, that is.”

For a split second, the only sound that lingered between your body and Peter’s was the sound of your shoes against pavement. New misgivings, feelings of doubt about yourself, if Peter had feelings for you, flooded your mind. In the moment, you were drowning, hoping that Peter’s reply, if he replied, would pull you into shore. You sent a weary look in his direction, a flare gun firing a shot of fear.

“Th-thanks, Y/N, that means a lot.”

You gave him a nod, one that you hoped showed how grateful you were. How happy you were since he didn’t leave you to drown in your awkwardness. Although you weren’t entirely sure that he had tugged you out the sea of your feelings and back to solid land. Perhaps Peter had dived right in after you.

“So uh...what field of science are you interested in?”

“What?” You weren’t ready to be plucked away from your thoughts so quickly. Peter’s question had caught you off guard. “I mean, Stark Industries covers all of them really, chemistry, environmental engineering, biological-” “Oh, I mean, I’ll work and study in any position really,” you said once you realized what Peter had asked. Peter frowned despite the smile you wore on your face.

“But...what do you want to do?”

Want, a funny thing. The analytic parts of your brain had turned your wants and labeled them as goals. You wanted, your goal, was simply to get out of your family’s apartment as soon as possible; be independent as soon as possible. Every other want fell to the back burner, except for your want for….

“I don’t know,” you wondered aloud. You spoke loud enough to muffle the thought that raced to the forefront of your mind. “I just…whatever I’m good at.”

“Well, you’re good at everything really,” Peter chimed in. He must have noticed the slight frown on your face because he switched topics. “It’s weird that the seminar is starting so late.”

“A little yeah, but maybe it’s just when everything is done for the day. So no one can sneak a peek at the newest tech,” you pointed out. Peter nodded and held out his arm to stop you as you neared the street corner.

“Hmm..”

“What?”

“This is where the ca…” Before he could finish, Peter peered around the edge of the building. “Uh...hold on a sec.” Peter strode a few paces away, leaned his shoulder against the corner’s nearest street lamp and pulled out his phone.

Each step Peter took away from you, the more your stomach twisted into knots. Flash’s words echoed in your head, threats, the idea of Peter leaving you. You shook yourself in the hopes that the movement would loosen the worry that clung to your shoulders. It helped only slightly, just enough that you still had to find a way to distract yourself from the hypotheticals that lingered in your mind, realities without Peter in your life.

So you turned to head upwards and to the right, slowing tracing your eye lines along the tops of towers that loomed above you. You knew it was only the curvature of the eye’s lens that made the building lean towards you with the expectation that they were about to swoop down and carry you off into the evening sky but the strange image remained. This city and all of its heroes seemed to spawn such strange thoughts. The image of the blue sky opening, a dark slit in the azure, still stained on your memory.

It felt like you were back, those years ago, caught by your window and watching. Your heart pounded in your chest, thundered at the animalistic cries of the creatures spilling from the hole in the sky pierced your ears. Only an echo of the sound lingered in your head now but every time a car braked too quickly, you were thrust back into the fear. There was no escaping the terrors of your own mind.

“Y/N? Hey, are you…” Peter’s voice broke through the daze you had found yourself in. You tore your eyes from the tops of the towers and met his gaze. Brows were furrowed in concern, a look of Peter’s you felt much too familiar with. Did he only feel the need to worry about you? It was then you felt the warmth of his hand on your upper arm, his thumb rubbing soothing circled in the fabric of your sweater.

“I’m okay, just ...spaced out a bit.” Peter seemed satisfied with your reply but his hand remained on your arm. “So uh...what’s up?”

“Oh, yeah,” Peter smiled sheepishly and, out of habit, he scratched the back of his neck nervously. “Um, so the seminar was at six…”

“Was?” You glanced at the watch on your wrist then back at Peter. “It’s only five-thirty.”

“An-yeah, I know, but uh, Mr. Stark said he would send a car to pick us up here... but…” You dared to take a step towards Peter until you were so close the heat of his body warmed your own. The scents of the city melted away into Peter’s cologne and you wished you could plant yourself in the moment, let yourself grow around it, protect it.

“But ...what?” You were smiling, you didn’t know when you had started. You hadn’t felt the upturning in your lips but you knew you were smiling because, despite the look of shame on Peter’s face, he was smiling too.

“But...it was at six...in the morning.”

“Oh…” Peter’s jaw clenched, arms crooked at the elbows as if preparing for a strike.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I can call Mr. Stark tomorrow and ask about--” You pressed a hand to your lips in a poor attempt of keeping sound from spilling past them. “Are you laughing?”

“I-I,” you pressed your lips in a firm line, one that curled at the ends despite your efforts.

“You are!” Peter’s confusion melted away and into the foundation of a smile. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes gathered, the laughter lines around his mouth deepened.

“Not at you, Pete, just all,” another series of giggles attacked your chest and stopped you mid-speech. You heard a new laugh, a deeper one, one you would expect to hear at a distance but it was louder. A laugh you had heard but different now. Peter was laughing too.

“Why are you laughing?” You pressed with a smile, but Peter still grinned. Despite the darkening sky, you could easily make out the slight glint of cheer in his eyes under the glow of signs and car headlights. Everything fell into place with that smile of his, the city, the chaos, it all made sense.

Under the red light of nearby, neon sign, Peter’s eyes shone like rose-toned topaz gemstones, his smile like pearls. The sight was enough to render you speechless. Sounds and talk came only from passersby, street-side advertisements, and the pounding of your own heart. Peter’s pink lips opened slightly as if he wanted to speak. No words came out, not as he held your gaze, although you could feel the rumble in his chest as he found the courage.

“Y/N, I’ve been wanting to tel-”

A loud, almost theatrical clap of thunder sounded, with lightning accompanying the growing storm. You jumped at the sound and would have shouted out if it hadn’t been for Peter’s calming touch that returned to your upper arm. He began to pull you to the side.

“Wha-Was it supposed to rain today?” “It’s going to, c’ mon!” Peter’s grip on your bicep tightened as he tugged you along. The sound of thunder and sneakers slapping against concrete seemed to chase after the two of you until Peter found safety under the cramped doorway of a storefront.

Red paint chipped away from the wood around you, worn by time and the unrelenting elements. There was a musty odor that permeated from behind the door but another thunderclap stole your attention. It seemed like, in a matter of seconds, the sky had turned an ominous purple-grey, the color of a threat looming above your heads. Although, the threat was half-hearted. The smallest pitter-patter of rain peppered the sidewalk, still enough to drench those without umbrellas as they waited for a taxi.

“Perfect timing,” you joked as you lightly elbowed Peter. He gave you a weary look and, much to your own disappointment, let go of your arm before he peered out from the doorframe and into the sky. You smiled at him as you leaned your back against the panel siding, taking in how the lack of light made his features sharper. New shadows defined his chin and jaw yet, despite the harsh lines, something about Peter was inherently soft.

“I jus’ had a feeling,” Peter replied before he poked his head out for a better look. A wave of instant regret washed over his face just as big droplets of rain pelted him. He ducked his head back into the relative safety of the doorframe and shook his head. “That was a mistake.”

“Yeah, it looks like it.”

His hair fell in damp, dark locks over his face, just barely obscuring his eyes from your gaze. You reached over on instinct, not entirely in control of your own arm, and brushed some of the strands away. Your fingertips graze over the skin of his forehead as you push the wet hair back from his face; the warmth of his skin is such a contrast to the stormy shiver around you that you feel your legs tremble. The shake in your limbs is enough to pull you back to reality, back to the context of your feelings with Peter, enough to fill you with embarrassment.

“Sorry, I-”

“Hey, no, it’s okay,” Peter cuts you off gracefully with a raised hand and a kind smile. You can’t help the smile that tugged at the corners of your lips or the skipping beat of your heart as you hold Peter’s gaze. You feel your cheeks warm, blood rush to your face as Peter holds eye contact with you long enough to know that friends, tutors, whatever you two were to each other don’t stare at one another like this.

“Pete, I-”

A click and a haggard cough made you jump as the door of the storefront you had taken cover in opened. A balding man with grey hair around the crown of his head and a bulbous nose poked his head out from behind the door with squinted eyes. The cold grey-blue of the older man’s irises frightened some part of you that worried about the possible realities of horror films.

“What’re yous kids doin’ here, eh? Hiding from the rain?” You glanced at Peter who’s eyes were wide with shock.

“Uh, yes, yes sir. Sorry, we can go.”

“Oh don’t be silly boy, get in. Get inside, warmer.” A wrinkled and age-spotted hand pushed open the door the rest of the way. The musty smell you had noticed before hit you in the face now, the familiar, universal odor of antique shops. No amount of tacky lavender scent pods could undo the scent of age and dust.

“Thank you, sir,” Peter said as you stepped inside. You felt the warmth of Peter’s body behind you, the heat of his hand as it rested on the small of your back with a gentle push.

“Yous can browse, jus’ don’t touch anything expensive, eh?”

“Of course,” you said and you gave the older gentleman a compassionate smile. “Yes, thank you, sir,” Peter said and you had lost count of the number of times he had thanked the man. He squinted his cold, light eyes at Peter and waved a dismissive hand. You watched as the hunched over man waddled behind the register and perched himself on a wooden stool. A newspaper spread out in front of him absorbed his attention as Peter stood by your side. His shoulder brushed against your own and you gave him a questioning look.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I just...old shops make me nervous.”

“You… ‘old shop’?” You asked in a whisper with a raised brow.

“Yeah,” Peter said, hand raised to gesture at the store around you “An old shop.”

“Okay,” you giggled and started walking in towards the aisles littered with rusted tin cans and sun-bleached matchbox cars. Peter followed you, you could tell by the jumpy energy trailing behind you. You’re surprised he trails you still after you turn down an aisle stacked with porcelain dolls.

Elaborate, Victorian dresses decorated most of the dolls although you imagined the fabric’s pastel colors were once vibrant. Once wore a pink dress, detailed with white lace that made her pale face look all the more ghastly. It didn’t help that one of the blue eyes was missing from its socket. You walked over to it, inspected its chipped rosy cheeks and ratty blonde hair. Time had not been kind to the doll.

“I hate this,” Peter mumbled, loud enough to pull your attention to him. He rubbed at his arms as if he were trying to combat a cold but the store like the man had said, was much warmer than outside. You smiled mischievously and pointed at the doll you had been studying.

“Do you think it’s haunted?”

“Ha, funny,” Peter said wholly unamused. You watched as he scurried down the rest of the aisle and into another. One with notably less creepy dolls. After you admired a few other strange-looking figures, you followed Peter. The aisle he had found himself in was full of gaming paraphernalia.

From baseball cards and caps to small football trophies; old Atari consoles and Xbox controllers; even two arcade machines, the aisle had it all. Peter was jumping from one thing to the next like a kid in a candy store. His attention would be taken by an old Mario Bros. game and a second later, a signed basketball. You smiled at the sight and leaned against one of the dust-covered arcade machines. The moment your hip touched the metal, the machine whirred to life.

“No way!” You jumped at the digital toned music as Peter rushed towards it. “This is so cool!”

“It is?” You raised a brow as Peter studied the machine closer. You looked too, eyes traveling along the top of it to read the slightly familiar font of ‘PAC MAN’. Something about the slanted letters and color schemes put you off. Perhaps it was a remake of the classic game before the company got the copyright.

“Yeah! It’s a first edition machine,” Peter gushed but then he paused, “at least, I think it is. There’s an arcade and gaming lounge that Ned and I go to that would totally want this.”

“A gaming lounge?” Peter turned and you saw pure joy written across his features.

“I mean, it’s basically an arcade but they have consoles you can rent and play with. Ned brings his PS4 games and we play there sometimes.”

“Oh,” you said in an attempt to feign understanding. Video games were not a commodity to you or your family. “That sounds fun.”

“It is, but Ned has to bring his own controllers now because last time he got pizza grease all over the lounge’s set. They were cool about it but ...”

You gave Peter a soft look when he met your eyes in the hopes he would continue. “But?”

“I’m boring you, aren’t I?”

“No, no you’re not,” you wrapped your finger around his arm and gave it a comforting squeeze. “I like hearing about the things you do. The gaming lounge sounds fun.”

“It is,” Peter sighed. You had never seen him so self-conscious before, at least about him talking. Looking like he did, you found it hard to believe that he could be self-conscious about his looks at all. Your eyes skirted their gaze along his back, marveling at how defined his shoulders were. “You should come with some time.” “I-I…” you tore your gaze away from his shoulders and smiled. “I would love that.” Peter smiled and, despite the thunder still rumbling outside, you felt at peace.

“Cool.” He pried himself away from the arcade machine and looked around. “This old store is pretty neat.”

“It is,” you agreed and let your eyes scan over the rest of the space. The worn spines of books against the far wall caught your attention. Before you could tell Peter where you were headed, your feet were already moving. They carried you through an aisle that barely registered in your peripheral vision as you were solely focused on the books that grew closer and closer with each step.

The library-esque section of the shop seemed to have taken up the most care. Unlike in the other aisles you had walked through, the dust did not fly up at you when you plucked a book off of the shelf. A tattered edition of the Odyssey is heavy in your grip, the pages yellowed with age, but the ink still tells the same story. A story you would like to read again someday when you had the time.

“Whoa…” Peter came up behind you, his brown eyes darting along the titles of works he had heard of but never read. You watched him for a moment in wonder before you slide the copy of the Odyssey back into its place. “Is that what I think it is?”

You turned to see Peter rifling through a box stacked on a table. Written in dark ink, the word ‘Comics’ stood out against the white cardboard. In his hands, Peter held a thin pamphlet, printed in an array of bright colors. With a wide grin, Peter turned the booklet in his hand to show you the cover. Captain America.

“He’s really a hero then if he as a comic book series.” You teased as you stepped towards the box. It was full of comics, some with heroes with the silliest names you had ever seen and even sillier powers.

“So that’s what makes a hero a hero? Good to know,” Peter played along as he thumbed through the comic.

“Why yes, Pete, I would think that you know that already,” you fired back with a smile, although the slightly panicked look Peter gives in return confuses you. “Since you...you work with actual superheroes….”

“Ha, yeah, yeah,” Peter agreed, the fear disappearing from his face. “I just...yeah.” You quirked a brow but continued to peer through the rest of the boxes placed on the table. A few boxes down you noticed what looked like a binder poking out from the top. You strode over and picked it up. The chilled leather of the binder was smooth to the touch, clearly well maintained despite the yellowed pages within. Black and white pictures, some of flowers, others of smiling people, made up each page.

A few pictures in, a woman starts to become more and more common. One shows her smiling in a profession portrait setting with a background and leaning against a prop pillar. Another is her walking under a tree, wearing a flowing sundress, with her hand outstretched tracing the indentations of the bark. Another is an above shot with the camera pointed down so only the woman’s curly hair and splayed hand could be seen. A dark splotch of grey on her finger looked to be a ring.

“What is this?” Peter’s voice is soft, close to your ear as he peeked over your shoulder to look at the photos.

“It’s a picture book, someone’s picture book.” You flipped the page as you explained only to find another portrait of a woman. However, this time, a man sat next to her with a button attached to a chord gripped tightly in his head. He wore a suit and the woman, a white dress with details that were hard to make out no matter how hard you squinted at it. What was easy to see was the couple’s smiles.

“They got married,” Peter whispered and let his hand trace the edge of the photo. “They look happy.”

“They do,” you said, although, you had lost interest in the image a few seconds ago. The enticing smell of pine in Peter’s cologne had taken you hostage, drawn your eyes to his profile a moment after you had turned the page.

You had gotten to know Peter, despite you hating him at the start. That hate had been based on mere, academic misgivings, the notion that you should be jealous, that you were jealous. Now, you knew the person, you knew yourself and how that jealousy had been mislabeled. Want. It was want. You knew that now just as you knew you wanted, needed, to tell Peter how you felt.

“Is that all the pictures?” Peter asked suddenly. His words broke you free from your thoughts and you turned the page.

“I uh, I don’t know.” The next two pages showed images of a wedding, bridesmaids in sleek dresses, and a cake decorated with flowers. With renewed interest, you flipped through the book. Smiling, happy faces, a baby, a hospital, and then the pictures stopped.

“I wonder what happened,” Peter sighed as you closed the book.

“Maybe they got too busy,” you pondered aloud, “hopefully they had a happy ending.” Peter nodded and you set the picture book back in its place. When you turned you found Peter’s eyes still on you and you held his gaze. “What?”

Peter shook his head and shrugged. “I think it stopped raining. I haven’t heard anything in a while.”

“Oh, okay.” You started towards the exit of the store with Peter on your heels.

“Hey um, since I screwed up the seminar, can I...can I buy you dinner?” You stopped in the center of the creepy doll aisle and looked at Peter with wide eyes.

“I...if you want to…”

“To make up for it,” Peter explained and you felt your nerves die down. To him, this was a friendly outing, you were just projecting. Were you?

“Yeah, okay,” you said with half of a smile, “I’m starving so…”

“Perfect! I know this really great sandwich shop. The owner is really cool,” Peter started to talk as he walked out of the aisle, eager to get away from the beady-eyed doll faces.

“Okay, that sounds great.”

“Trust me, this place is worth the extra ride,” Peter gushed as you boarded the train that would loop back around to Queens.

“I trust you,” you said as you stepped aboard. The coach was crowded with late shift workers ready to head to bed, curled up in the uncomfortable seats. The doors closed behind you and Peter so you grabbed a hold of the nearest handrail. Peter stood at your side and you gave him a smile. “So you know the owner?”

“Yeah, I worked for him a few summers ago. He’s cool.” You nodded and let the conversation fall into silence. It was easy to just stay quiet with Peter. There was no need for noise when you felt comfortable with him in silence. At home, with your family always out, you had grown is hate the lack of noise; but, with Peter, you found peace in it.

With ease, the train rolled away from the stop with a burst of speed. You flex your arm to keep from ramming into Peter and winced at the slight ache of exertion. Peter, on the other hand, seemed unaffected by the g-forces. Just when you had righted yourself, the train screeched against the tracks as it barreled to the next stop.

This time, you weren’t prepared. Your body leaned and you would have fallen if someone hadn’t grabbed you. Before you could see who, you were pulled upright, your face a mere few inches away from Peter’s.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah just...wasn’t ready for the stop. Thanks,” you said. Peter nodded but his arm remained wrapped around your waist. Part of you wanted to work free of his touch, the part that told you that there was no purpose in getting your hopes up. The more sensitive part of you wanted to stay in the moment forever. Savor each second that Peter’s hand was on your body.

“No problem,” he replied with a smile.

Luckily, the stop that had almost toppled you over seemed to be the stop that everyone needed to get off on. A few seats opened up that you and Peter took without hesitation. Although you had wished you had stood a little while longer.

As you both settled into the seats, a tired-looking woman in a dark, damp looking coat came into the coach with a little boy trailing behind her. They took the seats across from you and Peter with a heavy sigh coming from the mother. The train came to life and with a small giggle, the boy bounced in his seat. Peter smiled and leaned over to you, pointing at the toy clutched in the little boy’s hand.

“Look.” You watched as the boy’s chubby hand sent an Iron Man action figure soaring through the air. With pursed little, lips he made rocket sounds to aid in his toy’s flight.

“How cute,” you murmured, unable to fight the smile on your features.

Peter leaned over and caught the boy’s attention. “You like Iron Man? He’s like super strong, right?”

With wide, baby blue eyes, the little boy peered up with his mother as if asking her permission to talk to Peter. “Go ahead,” the mother said sweetly, despite the exhaustion evident in her face.

“Ye-Yeah, really strong,” the boy replied, “and, and hes got lasers.” He made a comical ‘pew pew’ sound as he raised the action figure’s hand.

“Lasers are so cool!” Peter gushed with a grin. Your heart swelled at the sight and when you glanced at the mother, you saw she was smiling brightly.

“And he fights the bad guys, the al-aliens,” the little boy added. You nodded, the memory of New York in twenty twelve still lingered in your mind.

“He does, that’s awesome.”

“He’s my favorwrite superhero,” the boy laughed and flew his Iron Man toy around once more. Peter laughed too and the two of them continued to talk about Iron Man until the next stop came up. The mother stood with a sigh and gave you and Peter a smile.

“You two have a good night,” she said, “tell them goodnight Jake.”

“Goodnight!” He waved a little hand before he followed his mother off of the train. Peter leaned back into his seat and glanced at you.

“Why are you smiling like that?” You felt heat rush to your cheeks but you shook your head in the hopes of masking it.

“So I take it Iron Man is your favorite superhero too?”

“I mean, yeah. Jake’s a smart little guy, he knows why.” You laugh and Peter grins. “What about you?”

“What about me?” You asked as the train started up once more.

“Who’s your favorite superhero?” You raised a brow at Peter and sighed.

“Probably….” you let out a puff of air, “...I don’t know.” You thought back to all the times Spiderman had, literally, swooped in and saved you. “He might not have lasers but, I like Spiderman.”

“Wha...I thought you said you felt like he… he was creepy?” You nodded and averted your eyes to the sleeves of your sweater. You played with a stray thread and sighed.

“I, yeah, I think he can be but he was trying to be nice. He’s just good. He’s helping every little person, not just the world.” You looked back up at Peter who was now sitting straight up in his seat.

“Y-Yeah? You think so?” There was a sweet innocence in his question as if he were seeking your approval. Despite the tone being strange, you smiled.

“Yeah, kind of like you.”

“W-What?” Peter’s voice cracked a little as he spoke and you nodded with a wider smile. A lump in your throat was forming and you did your best to swallow it. Now, now was your chance to tell him. No one is around, it was perfect.

“You’ve helped me more than...anyone really. I mean, and I wasn’t nice to you, not really, but now…” You felt like you couldn’t breathe for a second. The only sound you could hear was the beating your panicked heart.

“You are nice, Y/N.” Peter’s soothing voice cut through the nervousness and you met his eyes with a renewed sense of confidence.

“That’s not what I mean Peter. You’ve been so nice and I want to….I need to tel-” A high pitched ringing interrupted your speech and you pulled out your phone in a rush to silence it. Not caring to check the caller ID, you hit the power button to quiet the ringing. “Sorry about that. I-I…”

“You’re okay, Y/N,” Peter said as he leaned a little closer to you. You felt his hand rest so close to yours on the seat that if you dared to move an inch, you could hold hands.

“Okay, well, I was going to tell you that I-”

“Next stop Queens, last stop,” a crackling, automated voice broke through a nearby speaker. It seemed that technology was pitted against you. You grumbled a curse under your breath as a different automated voice loudly went over proper exiting procedures. Before you could start to tell Peter again, the train came to a halt and new passengers began to board.

“We better get off,” Peter said as he stood from the seat. You nodded and mirrored his actions as he stepped off of the train. Once on the platform of the station, Peter turned to face you. “So what...what were you saying?”

“I just wanted you to know that I….” People. People were all around you and a fresh sense of dread filled your stomach. It overwhelmed you, that idea that so many people could bear witness to your failure, to your rejection. “I just wanted you to know that I am really thankful, for you and everything. So, thank you, Pete.”

“Oh,” there was genuine surprise in Peter’s tone but you felt too much shame to comment on it. “It’s no problem Y/N. You-you’re my friend.”

The word stung. ‘Friend’, it pierced some part of you that felt too many different things to know exactly why the word hurt like it did. For the old you, the person that hated Peter, it bled you of jealousy, made you sick. How could you be friends with Peter Parker?

For the you-you, the person you were now, the word hit something important. Something you had almost said but didn’t. It added weight to the balance of your tongue and tipped it towards silence. How could you be just friends with Peter Parker?

“Thanks,” is all you had the strength to say in return. Peter smiled again and guided you down to the street level of the city.

Evening traffic was quiet, not like the mid-morning rush. It was quiet, the type of quiet that bleeds into everything around it. No cars honked or music boomed as you walked along the street. You and Peter were quiet too. So quiet that when Peter told you that you had made it to the deli you thought you had imagined it.

“Y/N, we’re here,” he gestured to the pair of doors you had passed as you had kept walking. You felt your cheeks warm with embarrassment as you met Peter in the middle.

“Sorry, just spaced out I guess.” Peter nodded and opened the door for you. Just as you were about to cross the threshold, your phone rang again. You pulled back and pulled your phone from your pocket. “Sorry, I’ll be there in a second.”

“Okay,” Peter replied when you met his eyes. The furrow in his brow was unmissable, the slight downward turn of his lips wholly noticeable. Before you could say anything else, apologize again, Peter walked inside the deli. Your phone rang again as you peered inside the store, reminding you why you weren’t with Peter.

With a glance at the caller ID you felt your stomach drop on a rollercoaster’s downhill. If spending the day with Peter was a high, getting a call from Flash was a Hell-deep low. Your thumb hovered above the decline button, ready to forget him and be with Peter as soon as possible. So why were you hesitating?

Was it because of what Flash had said before? Peter was going to be your friend, even if you didn’t want to be his, that much was apparent now. The nagging feeling in the bottom of your heart swung a different way, sang a different tune. You wanted Peter in a way he didn’t want you, at least, it seemed that way.

The moment you entertained that hope, your thumb landed and you pulled the phone to the shell of your ear.

“What do you want?” You asked through gritted teeth. A laugh answered you on the other end.

“Hello to you too, Y/N.”

“Stop it. If you want Peter off the team,” you glanced inside the deli to make sure he wasn’t watching. Peter seemed in deep conversation with a tan man behind the counter so you continued. “You need to find someone else! I’m not helping you.”

“No...I want something else.” The tone of Flash’s voice shifted. The try-hard, overconfident facade he wore could be found nowhere in his voice.

“W-What then?” You mentally cursed yourself for stuttering, it revealed more than you wanted to.

“I want to know...why are you using him?”

“I’m not using Peter,” you snapped. How dare Flash accuse you of such a thing. You barely knew each other.

“I told you that you were going to regret this….” You felt your stomach twist with nerves but the fury in your chest overwhelmed the sensation.

“Listen, you little, entitled piece of shit,” you nearly growled into the speaker, “you leave me and Peter alone.” Before you gave him enough time to reply, you hung up on Flash. You let out a groan and shoved your phone in your pocket.

You ran your hands over your head and through your hair as if the action would soothe you. Ever since the Incident, it felt like nothing could soothe you anymore. Except for Peter. Peter! You glanced through the window and saw him still conversing with the man behind the counter and you let out a sigh of relief.

With a deep breath, you straightened out the end of your sweater and unbunched your sleeves. You looked up to the sky that, despite the night’s darkness, was still peppered with grey clouds from the storm. Another deep breath and you turned towards the door. The cool metal of the handle chilled the warm meat of your palm as you swung the door open silently hoping that you looked more relaxed than you felt.

“Okay, you were right,” you admitted as the deli door closed behind you and Peter. “That was really good.”

“Yeah, Delmar’s is the best sandwich place in Queens,” Peter said with a smile that beamed with pride. “Aunt May and I come here for groceries every once in a while. I think Delmar likes her ...”

Peter’s face screwed up, nose crinkled in slight disgust and you couldn’t help but giggle at the sight. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing it’s just…” Peter met your eyes for a split second before he returned his gaze to the sidewalk. “It’s just weird when it’s your aunt, you know?”

“I wouldn’t,” you replied, “but I get it.” Peter let out a breath of relief as you both walked idly down the block. You knew you were headed in the direction of your family’s apartment, but you chose to believe you and Peter were just walking. No destination in mind, only each other.

“So uh, who called? It wasn’t your parents, right? You’re not in trouble or anything for staying out late?” You smiled softly at Peter’s concern and shook your head.

“It was...a spam call,” you lied. You snuck a glimpse at Peter, silently hoping you believed you.

“Oh, those suck.”

You sighed in relief and nodded. “Yeah, yeah they do.”

Quiet fell between you and Peter once more. It rolled and weaved around you like a third wheel, taunted you with the things you hadn’t yet told Peter. The train had been the perfect place but you had blown it by waiting. The torture of waiting a bit longer felt like a suitable, nearly unbearable, punishment.

The shuffling of tired feet and the lazy brushing of knuckles broke up the silence every so often. Not enough to drive you forward, to pull your confession out your mouth for Peter to hear. You wanted to tell him everything. About Flash’s plan, about your regret, about your affection towards him. He needed, no, he deserved to know. If you let the fear of failure, of rejection, rule your life like this forever you would get nowhere.

“Hey um-”

“Hey isn’t that your place?” He pointed up at the large apartment complex that poked out from behind another building. It loomed like some demonic spirit waiting to ruin your mood and your chances.

“Yeah, it is,” you sighed, “but I wanted to ask about the dance.” Peter turned to hold your gaze as you both grew closer and closer to the apartments.

“Oh, yeah, that reminds me, Aunt May was wondering if you wanted to go shopping? For the dance. It might be fun?” Peter gave you a nervous smile and you couldn’t tell if he was uncomfortable with the thought of you shopping with him or the fact May would be there too.

“With you two? It will definitely be fun,” you said with a smile. Peter grinned back at you and in that moment the ache in your gut dissipated. You were there with Peter and nothing else mattered.

“Cool, she’ll be happy,” Peter added but then his eyes widened, “and I, I am too. Happy.”

“Me too,” you took a breath to calm the unsteady beat of your heart. It still continued to pound madly as you neared the crosswalk that would lead but up to your cold, empty apartment. You wanted to go to bed knowing you pushed yourself today so you could be proud of something. And, also, fuck waiting.

“Hey, Pete?”

Peter watched as the cars went by, waiting for the right moment to cross. When you spoke up, he turned his attention to you. “Yeah?”

“I like you.”

There was little emotion in his brown eyes minus the inherent wonder Peter held for everything in the world around him. After a beat, when the word sank in, Peter’s mouth parted in a small, silent gasp. The need to explain overwhelmed you and you felt warm for all the wrong reasons, embarrassment to name one. You threw your gaze to your shoes and started to ramble.

“I...I know it’s sudden and I wasn’t sure at first, but I…” You gathered enough courage to meet Peter’s eyes once more and continued. “I like you.”

Peter pressed his lips in a firm line only for the corner of his mouth to quirk upwards in a smile. “I-I,” he fiddled with his hands, “I like you too, Y/N.”

A car’s honk made you jump and you turned to see somehow had stopped before the crosswalk to let you both pass. You raised a hand to them in a gesture of thanks before you darted across the street with Peter on your heels. Once you were safely on the other side, you turned to face Peter again. He looked at you, brown eyes taking in every feature of your face. Suddenly your heart was pounding wildly again. What do you do now?

“I guess it’s good we’re going to the dance together then, huh?” Peter asked and you let out a laugh. He always knew what to say to break the tension, to soothe your nerves.

“Yeah, it is,” you smiled up at him. You were about to speak when a door slammed in the courtyard of your apartment complex. You turned around and saw a familiarly hunched over form and a white cat making their way towards the gate.

“Y/N? Is that you?” A sweet, quiet voice rang out and you sighed.

“Yes, Ms. Ridder, it’s me. Do you need help with something?”

An older woman with graying hair and tanned skin came into view. Her boney fingers wrapped around the bars of the gate as she met your gaze. On rare occasions, you ran into Ms. Ridder, it was only because, being her neighbor, she felt obligated to ask if you had seen Spot whenever the cat went missing. You normally helped her search her apartment for the feline until he appeared out from under her bed.

“Why yes, I do. I seemed to have misplaced my can opener, dear, and I was wondering if I could borrow yours? You know how Spot gets when he doesn’t have his supper.” You glanced at the cat lingering near Ms. Ridder’s feet. The poor thing looked wholly unhappy with the harness and leash clipped to its body.

“Of course, I’ll be right up to-”

“Who’s this?” She leaned over to the side and tipped her head at Peter. He stepped out from behind you and smiled at the older woman.

“Peter, Peter Parker.”

“Ah, good name,” Ms. Ridder mused aloud, “handsome boy.” She winked at you and you felt blood rush to your face.

“I’ll be right with you, Ms. Ridder,” you said quickly. The woman smiled and tugged her begrudging cat back towards the apartment complex’s entrance. Once you felt she was a good distance away, you turned to Peter. “Sorry about that.”

“She seems like a nice lady.” He was grinning, that kind of knowing grin that made you shake your head.

“She’s my neighbor,” you sighed. Peter nodded and the softness in his eyes made your legs tremble. You swore if it wasn’t for the grounding touch Peter’s hand as it held yours, you would have fallen.

“You better go help then otherwise she might not give you sugar when you need it,” he teased.

“Wow,” you laughed, “cliche much?”

“Maybe,” Peter hummed and you felt the vibration run down his arm, to your joined hand, then through your soul. If you could, you would have stayed like that forever, just staring at each other and savoring the moment of clarity you had shared. But you heard Ms. Ridder cough and remembered how cold it was.

“So, I’ll see you on Monday?” You asked as you took the steps up to the gate. Peter’s hand was still holding yours as you moved.

“Y-Yeah,” he beamed, “I’ll tell May about the shopping thing.” Only his fingers were hooked to yours now.

“Okay,” your hand dropped from his, “text me when you get home, okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Peter agreed, “goodnight, Y/N.” You pulled the keys from your pocket and smiled.

“Goodnight, Peter.” You fumbled with the lock but soon opened the gate to the courtyard. A breeze shut the gate for you as you turned around. Peter still stood at the bottom of steps with a grin. You gave him a wave that he returned before you caught up to Ms. Ridder who stood at the complex doors.

“Seems like a nice boy,” she observed as you held the door open for her.

“Yeah, he is.” You smiled as you followed your neighbor, too happy to let the regret of not telling Peter about Flash cloud your mind. Tonight was a good night indeed.

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