Becca's Musings

{𝓐 𝓹𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓶𝔂 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓟𝓞𝓥'𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝓻𝓽 𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓵𝓭} Becca || 27 || she/her A being with ADHD and anxiety wrapped into a loud ass personality Fandom/Chaos Account: @side-character-syndrome

[meddling-in-muses]

𝓘𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓸

My name is Becca! I’ve been writing for most of my life but am often super nervous to share it! After becoming active on tumblr recently I decided to start sharing some of my older and newer writings.

A lot of what I write are character POV’s based around my current favorite characters or hyperfixation. I have a few shorter stories and about 100000 unfinished other things in my docs. Maybe this will help me finish.

I’m also in the process of writing my first book! I’m unsure how much of that I’ll share on here yet, most of what I share from my book goes on my bookstagram (@beccas.bibliomania). But sharing my writing style regardless might help the process be less nerve racking.

This blog is strictly writing based, I won’t be reblogging or messaging a ton like I do on my other blogs so hit me up on @side-character-syndrome for all that good stuff.

My A03 link :

https://archiveofourown.org/users/Side_character_syndrome/works

[creeperfont]

here's to the fools who dream

a the nice guys fic by airplaneconstellations and Side_character_syndrome (@side-character-syndrome)

Los Angeles, 1962. A late night, an empty street, and two wild young lovers destined to crash and burn. But before the burn, there's the spark. Holland March is a rookie cop fiending for a chance to prove himself on his own merit; Emily Murphy is a burgeoning young actress enchanted by the Hollywood glamor. When he pulls her over one fateful night for speeding down Hollywood Boulevard, the two of them scramble for a way to keep this chance meeting going, and they find one: Emily is going to shadow Holland to learn about detective work for an upcoming film. Holland is by no means a detective, but he's willing to engage in this fiction if it means spending more time with this charming, effusive actress. A love story is a mythical thing. Emily's Los Angeles is made for it; Holland's is far too jaded. But as the two circle each other and begin to combine their worlds, the mythological might just become possible.

welcome to the first installment in becca (@side-character-syndrome) and my pre-canon exploration of what the missing March might have been like! we have embraced most of what little canon there is (and blatantly ignored some of it), and we're both super psyched about the story we've created so far and what is yet to come (we have a full series planned). all Holland POV sections are by becca and all Emily POV sections are by me! we hope you enjoy them as much as we do :)

[side-character-syndrome]

IM SO EXCITED !! It’s honestly a super cool honor to undertake a labor of love story with someone else. Like who would have thought my need for content would lead me to a Holly fic that inspired my take on Holland and now this whole world like ….

I hope you love it as much as we do.

[meddling-in-muses]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Coltland Twins AU

Project Hail Mary & The Fall Guy

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Twenty-seven Years Ago

In a suburb outside of Bakersfield California a phone rings. The call comes at 9 pm. Two boys fight over who will answer it. It’s easy to see they are related, twins actually. They both sport a disheveled blonde haircut and bright blue eyes. Neither of them seems to be trying very hard to look different from one another. Too busy being 9 year old boys to concern themselves with something as simplistic as looks. There were trees to climb and fall from. For Colt at least. The more timid of the two, Ryland,  was more apt to be reading underneath that same tree. They didn’t need to look different. It was easy to tell which one was which just from observing the way they existed for longer than two seconds. Colt was constantly covered in scrapes and bruises - or in serious cases - sporting a cast. Ryland always had his glasses - but never on correctly, he was noticeably cleaner in every possible way. Maybe that was why their parents opted to leave two 9 year olds home alone that night. Ryland was responsible enough, how much trouble could they really get into. That was how life was. They had parents but they didn’t really get parented. Most of their upbringing had been between their own codependence and figuring it out on the fly. 

But they were still kids. And they still clamored over furniture to beat each other to the wall mounted phone to see who could possibly want either of them at this hour. Colt was faster. He always was. “Grace house, the much older twin Colton speaking” 

Ryland had rolled his eyes and crossed his arms attempting to hide his own panting versus Colt’s completely unphased breathing. Colt smirked, the way he always did when he won. And then it dropped. He handed the phone out to his brother who took it with a concerned head tilt and timid “hello?” 

The next hours were bathed and red and blue flashing lights. They were constant looks of pity and shared “I'm so sorry for your loss”. They were two little blonde boys sharing a shock blanket on an empty gurney waiting for the adults to decide where to send them. It was the grandparents they saw once a year taking them to Burbank to live out the rest of their lives. 

The call came at 9 pm. The ringing of a phone was never the same after that.  

—-

Three years ago

In a small apartment in San Francisco, California a phone rings. The call comes at 4 pm. A much older version of one of the boys looks up from a microwave dinner and answers it without hesitating. Somewhere along the way the trauma of a ring had worn thin. Or maybe it was just that the phones no longer interrupted your day to day with shrill tones, it was more of a gentle vibration on his table. “Dr. Ryland Grace,” its hardwired from teaching to answer any unknown number this way. It’s obviously not best practice, he could have just given a hacker his first and last name - along with the knowledge of him holding a PhD. Oh well. 

“Hello Dr.Grace, this is Mercy General in Los Angeles. I'm calling because you are listed as next of kin for a Colton Grace - Seavers?” 

Ryland freezes with a forkfull of nuked lasagna halfway to his mouth. Not only is that a name he hadn’t heard from in at least a month but it was a call he dreaded everyday since his daredevil of a brother took on the stuntman gig. They had gotten into a fight when it was first decided, right before Ryland had gone overseas for school. What would he do when he got the call Colt had killed himself on some stupid Hollywood set? He never got the answer. 

“Y-yes, I'm his brother - er … twin. Actually. What happened?” Surprisingly his voice sounded a lot calmer than the shaking of his hand would have anyone believe. Teacher training in action. 

“There was an accident on set. We don’t know all of the details but he has several broken vertebrae and is currently in surgery -” 

Ryland was already up. Half warmed lasagna be damned. “I can be there in a few hours. I-I'm in San Fran right now just uhm … he… hes okay? Is Jody there? Sorry actually I, I have her number. Uhm. thank you.” He didn't wait for a proper answer. Honestly he forgot he even asked a question, his mind was rampant with things he needed to do next. Throw together a bag, get a rideshare to the airport, hope they had a cheap flight to avoid the 5 hour drive and attempt to smooth things over with work later. He tucked his phone under his chin as he ran around the small space in an attempt to secure some belongings for a lengthy stay. A back injury was no joke. Colt wouldn’t be able to do anything without help. And he hated help. Better him than the woman he was about to talk to next. “Jody? Hi … It's Ryland. Colts .. brother. The hospital just called me”

The woman on the other end of the phone was obviously crying. Or had been. Her words were breathless and quiet. “He’s going to be alright. I mean he was awake when they took him I just - it was … horrible. And fast and I .. “ 

He was totally inept at comforting people. He barely knew how to handle a crying 6th grader let alone a woman who was on and off again with his distanced twin brother. “I’ll be there in a couple hours. I just wanted to let you know” the warning sat at the back of his throat. Colt was a horrible patient. Ryland had sat through several broken limbs of his and every time was worse than the next. Pushed away, yelled at, constantly told to leave. Some things were better said in person. She thanked him tearfully and he dropped the call with a deep sigh coinciding with the sound of a zipping bag. 

—

Two Years ago

In the same apartment a year later - a phone rings. The call comes at 6 am. A hesitant version of the same brother turns over in a sleep-addled bed and frowns at the ID. Not unknown. Jody. It had been a little over a year since the last time he had seen that name or face. Colt’s recovery went about as well as expected which was to say - poorly. After pushing her out his life he aimed for Ryland next. It didn’t work until Colt  was able to walk again. By that point Ryland had a life to get back to. Well … a job at least. Colt had told him to leave almost everyday for months and one day he finally listened. They hadn’t spoken since. The push and pull of a difficult recovery was somehow what broke the thin line that still kept them keeping tabs on one another for all these years. 

“Hello?” He really hadn’t wanted to answer. His better judgement had let him down about a week ago and he noticed a small article letting him know that Hollywood stunt man Colt Seavers had gotten back into the game to work on a movie called MetalStorm filming in Australia. Directed by Jody Moreno. Just the type of mess he did not need to get into. But Colt was still a part of him. Always would be. If either of them was in trouble ? There was no question about it. So he picked up, already planning on asking for the kids favorite sub to take his spot for whatever he would suddenly need to be across the damn world for. 

“Sorry to call so late. Oh um .. early for you. I think.” She was crying. 

Ryland sat ramrod straight in bed. Some part of him, call it twin intuition (despite it not being scientifically accurate), already knew the next few words. 

“I don’t know if you’ve seen any news or.. Or articles. There’s been a lot. Colt was … he was uh.. Framed. For … for murder and then he … tonight …” There was a shuddering breath. If Ryland hadn’t been frozen he would have offered to finish the sentence for her. Just so it didn't have to be spoken into reality. He wasn’t fast enough. Colt was the faster twin after all. “He got into an accident with some bad people. He… he's gone Ryland.” 

In hindsight it was incredibly rude to have hung up just then. In the present there really wasn't any other option for his brain to consider. His thumb had marked the red button before coherence had come into play. He wanted to believe that he would have felt something if Colt had left this world. Like those movies where twins always know what's going on with the other. It was hard to comprehend what crushed him more in that moment. The fact that he hadn’t felt anything, or that he never got to apologize. Not that he was the one who needed to say the words im sorry but he had always caved first when they were kids. 

At 6:30 am he finally pulled up the article. At 6:35 am his phone flew across the room. At 6:36 am he curled in on himself and cried. How would he look at himself in the mirror again? It would always be part of Colt’s face after all. How would he get to Australia ? A teacher's meager salary didn't exactly support international travel. 

— 

The Same Day - two years ago 

In the same bedroom later that afternoon, a phone rang from its place on the floor. It was nearly 3 pm. Ryland Grace had not found the will or way to move from his hunched posture since that morning. He knew he should be calling people, making arrangements, finding out what happened but there's a heaviness that comes from loss that his body recalled and it seemed to freeze every cell in his body over. 

There had been several rings from that side of the room over the past few hours. Most likely to figure out why he had not called or shown for the  first time at the school since he started. Maybe a few people who knew him reached out after seeing Colt’s name in headlines. Whatever it was, it was easier to ignore than entertain. But this time it was relentless. A call. And another. And another. By the time it had hit the 4th run through, Ryland had peeled himself out of the stupor and located its landing position on the other side of the room. 

The caller ID lit up with a ridiculous picture and the name ‘Coal’. He nearly dropped the device again but let out a sniffle and pressed the answer button with a white knuckled grip. Whoever was making this joke was about to get - well he hadn’t really gotten that far yet but at least he would have something to give to the cops. His brother wasn’t a killer, he was killed. “This is pretty fucked up joke even for him” 

“Holy shit, you swore!? I guess you were pretty worked up after all” 

Ryland blinked, the phone faltered as he started to shake. He wasn’t all that sure what he was expecting from the other side of the line but a voice that was a little too close to his own was not it. Why would Jody have lied? She wouldn’t. Not about this. “Deep faking his voice is a little far - I mean really I - “ 

“I'm not dead Ry. You think I would go out like that? I do this for a living. I … I'm sorry. I mean about the news and scaring you but also like twenty other things. Probably more than that. I’m kind of in the business of making lists for shit I owe now.” 

The silence uncomfortably settled for a few minutes. Ryland hadn’t remembered when he slid down the wall to sit against it with his knees to his chest but that was how he found himself now. Breathing slowly through the ache in his chest that had built up over the past few hours. It was unmistakably Colt. It really couldn’t be anyone else. Call it … twintuition. He hadn’t felt anything because he hadn’t actually left the world. Relief shattered grief came out in a heaving sob that he would have really preferred Colt not hear but it had been too much. Too much between them. 

“Y-yeah you owe a lot. Jesus Coal. I … I can be there? I mean do you need .. are you…” 

“No, no. I mean we’ll be back in LA soon and I’ll come up. It’s over. Whatever all of this was. It’s over.” 

The inflection there made him nod despite Colt unable to see the agreement. Whatever the plot he had just undergone was over but he knew that tone. Whatever that block was between them was over. Because it was his turn to move it for Ryland, not the other way around. 

“Okay..” Ryland answered quietly, near whispering. So many years it had been his responsibility keeping them up - but right now it just felt like he was back in middle school. And he needed his older brother (by a few minutes. technically) to shove off the bullies and keep him safe. It was stupid really. They were both in their 30’s and he was sitting here in the dark of his bedroom curled up in a corner. 

“Give me 48 hours. And .. ry? Please have coffee” 

He laughed. They both did. Despite the empty space in need of apology they had this. “Yeah, I will. Nothing fancy though, Hollywood.” There was no need for a longer conversation there. The call ended and Ryland picked himself up. The first thing he did was write coffee on a shopping list with a smile. 

—

One Year Ago 

In a modest house just outside of LA a phone rang. It was 2 pm. No one picked up. 

So the world was ending or something. Colt tried not to pay too much attention to the news reports of doomsday and fearmongering. If the world was going to do its thing then it would - there really wasn’t anything he could do about it. Actually it sounded like there wasn’t anything anyone could do about it. It sucked of course. He had just gotten his life back. Starting his own stunt company, being serious with Jody, talking to his brother - hell it was as perfect as a life could be. Life had a way of dealing him bad hands when things were going well though and apparently to shut down perfection there had to be an apocalypse. Cool. 

Somehow though, life moved forwards at a normal pace. If he had to guess, everyone was so desensitized that really what more could they do then carry on with work and groceries and school like nothing was wrong. So here he was. On set for Metalstorm 2. Next weekend they had plans to head up to San Francisco to see Ryland and no one was supposed to talk about the sun dying. He had little hope of that last part. Ryland had always been a massive space nerd. This was right up his alley. 

“One more car roll and we’re home free forrrrr spicy margaritas?” Colt drawled coming up behind the directors chair and pressing a quick kiss to the cheek of its occupant. 

“Maybe slightly less spicy this time, bad decisions omitted. I have a script to write” She was in work mode. If it wasn’t incredibly attractive he might have sighed. Then again everything she did was anyway. 

“Ay ay captain - director” a mock salute and wink followed as he backed his way onto set. Dan greeted him with a shoulder slap and a helmet that had seen better days. 

“Up for 9 rolls? New record?” 

Colt snorted and shook his head but secretly knew he was about to try anyway. There was very little to persuade him out, always doing the most. He took a final glance at Jody before lifting his arm for the signature thumbs up but froze at her posture. She was on the phone. Staring at him like she had just found out she would see him for the last time. Then she was running. Pressing the phone into his hand before he had the chance to ask. He cautiously put it to his ear with an eyebrow raised and let out a confused and concerned “hello?” 

The voice on the other side was slightly breathless, in a rush, and a mimic of his own. “I tried to call you but Jody said your phone was at the house .. listen. Uh .. I think next weekend is off. I … got pulled into something for work” 

A little cancellation for something teacher related wasn’t worth the look on Jody's face, nor her nail biting. He was bullshitting his way around this. “Cut the shit Ry, Jod looks like she's about to throw up. What's going on?” 

A sigh, a pause - “Someone came to see me today. They want me to join the Petrova taskforce. You know the .. end of the world stuff on the news? They got samples in and want me to find out what's up so yeah I … You know it's a big deal so I won't be like .. in town.” 

Ryland had been a hot shot scientist at one point. They hadn’t really been talking then and he was living overseas but he knew that his brother was out there being important and doing what he always wanted so Colt was happy. When he came back to the states, disgraced and embarrassed Colt had been there. At least until he found his teaching job and seemed to move on. Not up. Just on. So hearing this? Some government lackeys taking his brother back into the frays of professional level research? He was a little shocked, and (not that he would admit it) a little scared. 

“Then why does it sound like you’re being held at gunpoint?” 

Ryland laughed. The sound eased the tension in Colts posture slightly. “I mean I didn’t really have a choice no but apparently I come highly recommended which is weird considering I figured no one had nice things to say after - everything” 

“Dont .. blow anything up. I'm not there to take the hit. Keep me updated? I mean like … if you .. if you go somewhere across the world or something. I should know.” The flinch was internal. After ghosting on him suddenly he deserved to know every detail of Rylands life? Of course he didn't but the government sucked at the best of times so he really couldn’t pretend to know what it was like during the worst of times. Like the end of the world. 

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe actually answer your phone once in a while and I'll think about it -” A pause, some muffled voices and then a sudden “I gotta run.” before the click of the line went off. Safe to say they did not partake in any sort of merriment of a margarita that night. 

— 

Six months ago

There were no more calls. Suddenly they were constantly playing the news or NASA’s live feed in the back of their everyday lives. They kept their phones on them at all times. Sporadic calls and texts from Ryland were becoming few and far between but Jody would squeeze his hand and talk him off the ledge with a simple  ‘im sure its very busy and tense there’. 

Metalstorm 2 was currently in post production and Colt had a lot of time to himself. Usually he didn't mind the break but all of his free time resulted in the googling of his brother's name. A month or so prior Ryland had informed Colt to keep his stage name public and try his best to keep the grace part under the radar. If things were getting desperate for the world he didn't want his brother pulled in simply for having the same name. Colt understood. When he had been framed and then fake dead he had never been happier than to see Seavers on the screen and not Grace. Ryland didn’t need that heat and now he was paying the favor back. 

It was a tense agreement at best. One Jody had mediated and let Ryland win. First time for everything he guessed. That afternoon breaking news came flashing across the muted TV screen in their living room and Colt nearly somersaulted for the remote to turn on the volume. 

“We just got word that the breeding technique of what we are now calling ‘Astrophage’ has been discovered by none other than one of America's own. Dr. Ryland Grace, previously of the oxford college of biology, is now a teacher here in the state of California and seemingly was the one who not only named the organism but has broken ground on its lifecycle” 

The woman continued on in the droll voice every anchor seemed to adopt but Colt had stopped listening. He should call right? Congratulate him. This was big news, hell it was THE news. He was happy for his flesh and blood but there was also that nagging fear that loomed since that first call. Becoming important in something like this usually leads to something more right? Dangerous games of power and information. Maybe he was being pessimistic but neither of them had necessarily had the easiest of lives recently. It was easy to see the bad. 

Suddenly the footage cut to an aircraft  carrier, in the middle of who knew what ocean - the rolling script read ‘research moved to a secure location for public safety’. His heart dropped. There was no way that thing was off the coast of California. Where Ryland was still reachable. Of course it wasn't. His phone buzzed. Not a call but a frantic half spelled out text. 

RY: major break, they put me on jet. On boat now. Not sure where. Calls monitored. I'm sorry. 

He responded with a thumbs up. Unsure what else to say or do. When this was all over - he would come home. Maybe they didn’t need him that much longer. Maybe - maybe …. 

He looked up at the tv again. A woman named Eva Stratt was speaking curtly, seemingly trying her best to get away from the camera. She was listed as the chair of the Petrova task force. Aka the one responsible for his only family’s relocation. He saved the name to memory. Like his brain had already decided he would need it later. 

—

Present day 

In a suburb outside of LA, a phone rang. The text came at 3 am. By the time anyone would see it - it would be too late. 

There were very short texts and a single call from Ryland over the past six months. Colt pretended to focus on other things like his business or the ring burning a hole in his pocket. But it was near impossible. He should be happy. The stunt guys he had under him were great, things with Jody were great. He was planning on proposing for Christ sakes. Ryland would have been happy for him. If he got to tell him. But given the state of everything it just felt like a non issue. Oh how’s saving the world going I’m sure you’re under a lot of pressure and stress by the way I’m getting married. It was tone deaf. Even for Colt. 

So they held short conversations. Making sure both were equally as alive and healthy until this was over. The countdown was on NASA. 3 days until the launch of the Hail Mary. Supposedly that secret that Ry had been working on. There wasn’t much else about the mission out there. It was the furthest anything had ever been sent away from earth. It would only have a small team of 3 and the likelihood of the return was little to none. A suicide mission pretty much. But with flowery words to help the public feel better about sending three people to die. He guessed against the backdrop of half the population it wasn’t a huge feat but it was still humans. People's sons, daughters - brothers. Thankfully his was not trained to be in that position. Stuck in a lab. A relief. 

He and Jody had been watching the countdown the night before it all. The night before he woke up to a message, delivered at 3 am. He hadn’t put his phone on do not disturb for the past year but for some reason that night - he hadn’t plugged it in either. By the time he was charged it was mid morning. That’s when he saw it. 

RY: There was an accident. The science team was in it. They asked me to go. I can’t. I don’t know what to do. I don’t think it’s a choice. I’m scared. 

Jody asked what was wrong. More than once. She had to take the phone from his hands for an answer. Colt hadn’t felt paralyzed when he had his accident - it was a small mercy but if he had … he imagined it would have felt like this moment. 

“Oh my god” Jody covered her mouth, tears instant as she glanced back at the ticking time bomb that was the NASA countdown to the world saving mission. AKA - the ticking time bomb on his brother's life. As much as he wanted to mobilize, the location was secret. Hidden. There was no way to track it. There was no number to call. No emails to send. Colton Grace was in the dark and helpless to stop the clock. 

He called Rylands phone over 20 times each time, greeted with the cheery voice of his brother stating he was away from the phone right now. Like hell he was. Texts were left unread. Every google search for Eva Stratt or Project Hail Mary was blocked by government credentials. 

It was a few hours before Jody made him face the music. She knew better than to let the spiral continue. She was convinced they had talked him into volunteering. After all, he loved astronomy. He was the leading figure in the field for astrophage and had the best chance at making a difference out there. He was going to save the world and somehow they would find peace in that. 

Colt was more apt to say to hell with peace and raise any sort of hell to find out where the hell this launch was but it was quite literally him against the world. 

On the day of the launch they finally released the article. A face identical to his own covering the front page of every news outlet worth a damn. 

‘Tragic accident leads to replacement science officer on the Hail Mary. Dr. Ryland Grace, leading scientist in astrophage, to join mission last minute. Today we wish Earth’s saviors good luck as they embark on uncharted territory.’ On the day of the launch Colt was pretty sure every ounce of water in his body was released in grief. There were no other calls. No other messages. Whatever had happened, Colt was damn sure his brother was no volunteer. And if he couldn’t say goodbye then he was going to find who was responsible and make them feel even a single ounce of the fear he knew Ryland had suffered. He would never get a call again. After all these years …. Ryland had always been the one receiving those late night rings. Colts lifestyle warranted things happening. Ryland Grace was a middle school teacher. He was polite and reserved. There was never any reason for Colt to expect a call in return. And now he would never get the chance.

[meddling-in-muses]

𝐀𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚'𝐬 𝐅𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲

　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

request from @runepolaris

A Holland March Character Study

The Nice Guys (2016)

　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

There was a photo. Of a little blonde girl with a huge grin and a darker haired woman holding her on her lap - a smile just as wide. They had matching sunglasses and sunhats. It could have been a still from a feel good movie about the perfect family. To him it was. Introducing the Marches. The photo was, as it always was, tucked into his wallet. It hadn’t been moved since the day it was taken. It was on him at all times. It had to be for his own sanity, even if he rarely could stomach a look at it. Things were changing though. Now he found himself looking at it fondly on a slow starting Sunday morning, smiling - albeit a little sadly. They loved that first Mercedes. It was the reason the 280SE was still what he had chosen with the settlement a few months ago. Holly used to sit on either of their laps and laugh - a sound he wished he could have bottled. God how they would both laugh. They constantly begged to go faster, something he couldn't imagine Holly even attempting nowadays. There was always room for surprise though. Little did Holland know today would be full of just that. 

A weight sunk the bed next to him and he turned over eyebrows raised. “I was … well actually Mr.Healy - uh .. Jack and I were wondering if we could maybe go for a drive?” His daughter was constantly keeping him on his toes. Not just from sneaking into parties and getting kidnapped but even in the mundane. Like this. A question she hadn’t asked since she was 8 years old. Partially because he wasn’t fit to drive much after that year but - 

“Sure. If that's what you want to do today” What was today? Was it some special occasion he wasn't aware of? That happened a lot. Maybe it was an anniversary of something? His birthday? No .. no it was just a regular ass Sunday. Like any sunday all those years ago when she would look up at him and ask the same question. ‘Daddy can we go for a drive’ and he smiled, ruffled her hair, sat her on his lap and off they went. Seeing her look over at him now he tucked the photo away quickly. She had caught him being sentimental way too often since they started on the house. It was bordering  on being embarrassing. 

“It is. What I want to do today. But I was also thinking that maybe .. you could drive” Her inflection at the end made it sound like a question. A proposal. Because he so rarely allowed himself to be fit enough for driving, hence why a 14 year old was trusted behind the wheel of his Mercedes. She wasn’t just asking him for a nice day out but a good day out. As in one where he behaved, sober and present. There was a part of him that feared that promise. He had done so before, many many times and each time she was usually dragging him into the house with a look of disgusted disappointment. He could pretend it never bothered him but that was a bigger lie than his work ethics. Today though? To hell with it. 

Holland held out his pinky towards his daughter and nodded. It was a sacred thing, the pinky swear, at least with Holly it was. “Yeah, I would like that. Get some miles on the new ride?” He smiled when she linked her pinky with his and let it hold for a few seconds before her own smile lit up the room. Bar be damned, nothing was worth breaking that expression today. 

— 

The first half hour was admittedly difficult. The passenger seat was sacred for drives. It was the place his wife sang off key and laughed when her hair blew into her eyes. It was a position that hadn’t been filled and for Holland? Never would be. Yet it was. Physically. He caught himself glancing over it regularly. As if for some reason the rough and tumble form of Jack Healy would be the dream and at some point it would manifest into Emily March. It didn’t. 

The next half hour was easier. The radio was turned up, heads bobbing along with the top 40’s or whatever bullshit came on. He stopped looking for dark hair blowing in the breeze and became accustomed to the unmoving posture of his partner in the passenger seat beside him. Holly had let her chin rest on the back of his seat for most of the drive, singing quietly and savoring the sights as if she hadn't grown up here. It was .. comfortable. And Holland March hadn’t been comfortable in a long time. 

It wasn’t long before Holly roped Jack into playing some version of I Spy that had more to do with neon profanities around the streets than actual landmarks. “Uhmmm I spy something … yellow” Jack Healy glanced over the top of his sunglasses and in reply looked to Holland as if he was the authority on whether Holly could possibly know something so vulgar. The latter shrugged in the universal ‘what the point’ gesture. Holly had been privy to far more than a simple sign listing for a strip club at this point. When Healy went red and offered a non-answer in something as innocent as a taxi cab Holly laughed and her father could have bottled it in that moment. Just to use later when his throat was dry and stale - itching for a burn. Maybe that's what could stop him from the pour. 

—

They dropped Healy off late. He still had his place above the club until the house was properly planned and honestly March didn't mind the space. He had a lot of time to make up with his daughter. Holly took up the prime passenger spot and he could tell she was already mourning the end of a good day, unsure what the next would bring. It was fair. Everyday was a toss up with him. It was something he hadn’t been able to shake just yet. But today he had shaken it. 

“Hey Hol, “ the nickname came out without a second thought. If that second thought had come he would have swallowed it with something strong. Hol. Her shock at hearing it for the first time since her mother was just as evident but he cleared his throat and continued - today he had shaken it. “Up for one last thing?” He asked, turning to her and nudging her arm gently with his own. His eyes were back on the road by the time she nodded but he knew she wouldn’t turn down something to make the day last. 

One last thing ended up being food that was way too greasy and an old blanket strewn on the new foundation and bare bones of a house with no walls. Just beams and concrete. It was an achingly slow process to both of them but it wasn’t without its uses. Rebuilding was more than just walls and windows. “Your mother hated this processed shit, always wanted to make something from scratch” 

Holly looked up fast at the mention. They rarely spoke of her. Something he was trying to change recently but sometimes the memories just died on his tongue. Usually because it was drowned with scotch but today … he had shaken it. So he continued, sipping on a soda as if the fizz would offer the same burn his body was used to. “But for some reason, tonight? I feel like she would approve” 

“I think she would. Of the day. A-and of Mr. Healy coming with us” 

Holland nodded along with her glancing up at the stars for an answer he knew he wouldn’t get. A guy could wish. “Yeah, she’s pretty proud of you kiddo. I don’t even have to guess about that.” 

“She would be proud of you too Dad.” She nearly whispered it before she moved closer, arms touching as they both gazed through the rafters of the soon to be roof. He let his arm move around her shoulders, finding solace in the fact that she would smell no alcohol on him. Not today. So yeah maybe she would be proud of them both. Wouldn't that be something? 

He didn’t have a reply worthy of voicing right then. Or if he did it would probably come with a broken voice attempting to hold back an embarrassing amount of emotion. One he didn’t want to end a perfect day with so he pressed a kiss to his daughters head and just nodded. There was no keeping track of how long they sat there. Other than Holly’s breathing slowing with sleep, and her father picking her up like a tired kid after a long day. He set her in his bed, unwilling to part with her after the day, tucking the blankets over her shoulder before laying down on top of them. “We got a pretty great kid Murph” Holland whispered to the ghost in the corner before closing his eyes against the backdrop of a perfect day.

[side-character-syndrome]

Revival!

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[meddling-in-muses]

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐃𝐨𝐠

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Ryland Grace POV, ft partial Stratt POV

Project Hail Mary (2026)

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Ryland Grace let out a breath he had been holding for much too long and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Just for a second. Just for a second before taking stock of the situation in front of him. So he - was on an aircraft carrier. From god knew what military, the middle of god knew what ocean - between god knew whatever countries. Good. Great. He was also made aware that he LIVED on it now as well. Rest in peace to his plants back home he guessed. He was a long way from the foggy bay he called home. He was even further away from the place he really wanted to be right now. A crowded space of astronomical models and desks filled with eager faces and minds. Had he remembered to even leave notes for a substitute? It wasn't as if he was planning on literally being kidnapped by a stoic German woman who insisted that he was now the world's leading mind on Astrophage.

Would they even listen to a sub? On his best days he barely got them interested let alone some stranger who didn't know them. Nick needed a focus tool, Annika needed hands on experience, Mera … Mera needed one on one time. No sub could possibly know his kids like he did.  Did they think he abandoned them? Did they care? There was a way to get the answers, it was blinking idle in front of him. 

Do you want to connect to ‘Grover Cleveland Middle School’ Location ‘San Francisco, CA, USA’? Data rates may apply’ 

The question lingered on the screen for a few more seconds before he clicked through. He could do this. Lying to kids was part of the job. Of course you taught them facts and wanted them to tell the truth but hey - when the apocalypse was looming sometimes lying was easier. Better? Morals were kind of greying now more than ever. 

Still as the familiar classroom came into focus on the grainy screen his face split into one of the most real smiles he had offered since the .. uh … situation. “Heyyyy guys!” He greeted the sea of crowded faces, each of them trying their hardest to fit into the field of view to see him. “Treating Mrs. Hansen alright I hope?” He gazed at them over the top of his glasses, the picture of ‘you better be’ in teacher. The answer was a cacophony of voices overlapping in questions and complaints. Usually that would trigger a hand up and short scolding of one at a time but right now? It was music to his ears and he laughed.  A real honest to god laugh. These guys were the reason he was here. And he wouldn't let them down. 

He was able to steer around the harder questions. You know the ‘where are you?’ , ‘are you really studying the dots?’ , ‘are they sending you to space?’ -  the usual definition of middle grade school teacher. He assured each worried frown or excited smile with an appropriation of the very adult everything will be okay. He was glad the subject had changed to general grievances about his absence and the pizza in the cafeteria lacking cheese. Wow he missed them. Of course this was an honor, who else could say they helped save the world but still … looking at their bright faces .. knowing how many of their futures might be cut short. It broke his heart in places he didn’t recognize.

 “I’m sorry I’m missing out on all the fun stuff I totally had planned … but you’re in good hands guys. Plus I kind of … stole the lava-“ Ryland held up the silly little beanbag depicting the very thing he was trying to save and offered an apologetic smile. For some reason this was their favorite one of the bunch, all the more reason he was glad to have it. Despite it representing the vastness of the globe it kept him grounded. “I couldn’t pass it right? So I guess I’ll have to finish when I get back”

—-

Eva Stratt knew that letting a facetime happen from a top secret mission station was most likely frowned upon but there were very few acts of grace left in the world and soon enough there would be even fewer as it froze over so she figured - screw it. She didn't necessarily feel guilt about roping Ryland Grace into his new placement on the team, they needed him more than he knew, but people tended to be more agreeable when you gave into small acts of compromise. He had asked to talk to his students. Something she may not be able to understand but something she could grant. Kids didn’t make sense to her. Not just in the sense that they literally had inept communication skills but the pure frustration of interacting with them. Ryland Grace didn't have that trait. It was one of the many intriguing things about the man that made him an unseen asset to the program. 

So yes, she could grant him a few minutes of his old life. Honestly she was hoping it would boost his morale more than anything. She was hoping it would remind him what they were all fighting for at the end of the day. A future for those faces he looked at every morning. It was easy to write her off as a cold calculating force but truly she was the humanitarian of it all. The Petrova taskforce's only goal was to save the human race - that wasn't a cold or calculating mission. Not really. Unfortunately for humanity to get most things done … That attitude was needed as a force of physics. A force to literally move people and processes into place. It was something she knew she would never get anyone to understand hence, the silence of it all. She didn’t need to speak up to be the loudest in the room. She didn’t need to command respect and presence. It simply - was. Because she simply - was. 

There were moments though. Behind doors and walls where she let it slip. Where she held photos close to her chest and felt wetness on her face late at night. Where she stood back in doorways observing comradery and collaboration. Or where she watched a teacher connect to a group of eager students. A smile tugged at the seemingly paralyzed corners of her mouth as they clamored to be the one to speak first, the one to be in front of the camera - all for a man they really did … at the end of the day .. care about. And when he looked back at them, when he answered their questions and laughed at their complaints and told them things were looking up? The love was palpable enough to reach into a small part of Eva Stratt and tug at the back of her mind. Was this his someone to be brave for? If something went awry would her backup be copacetic? Or were they the tether that wouldn’t let him go? It was a toss up. And she watched for a few seconds long enough to know that she wouldn’t be able to answer it herself. 

—

“Don’t run in the halls, treat Mrs.Hansen better than you do me – uh .. don't trust the meatloaf on Mondays aaand do your homework!” He finished with a smirk towards the waving hands of his class before the screen went dark and the robot lady reminded him his time was up. 

Your 60 minutes of data allowance is now over. Call disconnected. 

The smirk faded as fast as the screen. Something about saying goodbye felt - uncomfortably permanent. Of course the first time he was carted away via blacked out government vehicles he hadn’t gotten to announce his departure either but that was different. He was in the same state at the least of it all. Now he was one miscalculation from exploding on an aircraft carrier. Maybe the goodbye was permanent. The thought made him shudder. What came next he decided to blame it on seasickness. Because losing your dinner over anxiety about  saving the world didn’t feel like as good of an excuse. At least not to the woman knocking on his door as he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. 

God, he hoped she hadn’t heard any of that. Well the call wasn't anything to spill over but the getting sick. He didn’t need that extra layer of embarrassment when it came to Eva Stratt. “Reporting for duty cap’n” … sigh. Okay maybe throwing up would have been the better option than that actually. Ryland lowered his hand from mock salute and cleared his throat. “I mean - just finished up … I was about to check on the breeder module” She nodded and led the way. Because why exchange words when the results spoke greater lengths. Still there was something in her gaze that Ryland had only seen once before. A slight - humor. Maybe a hint of a smile was possible if he played his cards right. If she was listening - he really hoped that glimmer was from his kids and not his inability to hold down a hastily made cheeseburger. Whatever the case, something about it tilted the corner of his own expression. Just a little. Who’s to say that teachers only touched kids' hearts, there was a heart somewhere in Eva Stratt - and dammit if he wasn’t getting close to touching it. Save the world. Sure. At the end of the day that seemed almost easier than getting the woman to crack a smile. Ryland Grace was determined to do both. 

[meddling-in-muses]

Hi!! If you were still up for requests, maybe March, Healy and Holly on a family day out, or something adjacent? It's cool seeing some other Nice Guys fans :)

Hope you have a good day, have a cookie 🍪

Hi ! Yus I just posted this and you’re the first one. 🥰

I should really add some fluff to my very existential series of Holland character studies … good point. Look for part four on its way hopefully later tonight or tomorrow for this 🎉❤️ and thank ya !

*takes cookie*

[meddling-in-muses]

Hi friends !

I don’t usually take requests but I am open to taking some for Holland March or Ryland Grace!! (Working on a colt and Sebastian muse I need to watch both again)

I don’t do NSFW or super romantic shiz off the bat. It’s just something I struggle with being asexual. Obviously with Colt or Seb I would be willing to add some Jody or Mia but Ry is ace leaning in my head and Holland uh … I mean I do a lot of implied marchly but not anything physically intimate so I just keep it like that vibe. So yeah — ask box away ?? If you so please.

[meddling-in-muses]

𝐃𝐨 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫…

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

A Holland March Character Study

The Nice Guys (2016)

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

October 28th 1977

It was raining. It hadn’t rained in a long time. Hell the last time he remembered it was - it was the last time he was here. He was wearing a black suit and clutching onto Holly's hand like a lifeline. Today there was a noticeable absence at his side. His hand opened and closed. Aching for some pressure on his palm. Instead he leaned down and grabbed the companionable silence of the neck of a bottle and swung it back. He wasn’t sure if the blurring was due to the scotch, the rain, or the heat of tears on his face. Maybe it was a mix of all three.

Emily Murphy-March

June 30 1942 - November 27 1974

Beloved Wife, Mother and Friend.

Stars have never shined brighter.

He stifled a laugh at the last line. It was something she would have wanted. Not the word actress, not the wish for fame - just that she was special. A star. Shining more than anyone ever had. Hollywood be damned. Emily meant more than all of it. He poured part of his bottle out on the soaked grass below and tipped the bottle back for himself once more. “I don’t know - Murph.” Holland shook his head, sodden hair shaking with the movement. It reminded him a little too much of all those mornings. The mornings he woke up fully clothed in a bathtub with a long empty glass and a sinking cigarette by his feet. That was what he was now. “I uhm - wow its been a long fucking day”

It was an understatement of course. It felt like a week ago he was at the bowling alley with his daughter for a birthday party - it was actually this morning. This morning he teamed up with the bruiser. This morning he got back on the case. This afternoon he saw the burnt remains of a house. This evening he rolled up to a party offering vices and virtues. This evening he fell on a dead body. This evening his daughter was nearly kidnapped. This evening they were hired by the department of justice, got a massive check and then …

He was asleep for a little. Woke up nearly falling off the diving board into an empty pool of used cigarettes. Realized how much shit he had caused for one day and ended up here. His feet took him here before he thought too much about it. After today he knew his brain couldn’t be trusted. The cycle of drunk to sober over three times in 24 hours. It messed with a man. Enough to lead him to his wife’s grave with another bottle in hand.

“Holly uhm … Holly is fine. You should know that. First. She’s clever. She’s wow .. but god damn. She's so much like me I -” Holland wiped his sleeve across his nose. Which did nothing given the rain. “She got taken. I mean I told her to go home, She didn't. I could of made sure. But they told me she was in that car and I - I sobered up in about 2 seconds. I swear to fucking god. I never prayed so hard in my life. But for our little girl.” He paused. Watching the rain fall over the lettering of her name before sitting across from the stone.

“She’s stronger than she should be. At this age. My fault I think -” Another sniffle. A sigh. A sip. “Today was ridiculous. I mean it was supposed to be her birthday party” A bunch of rowdy girls screaming about knocking down pins. Not burnt houses. Not parties filled with debauchery and alcohol. And dead men. And the department of justice. “Got out of hand.”

Holland glanced at his watch. It was nearly 5 am. The sun would be coming up. Might as well. The darkness didn’t scare him though. Even when you are sitting in a graveyard with your ghosts. It wasn't the darkness that did it for Holland March. No it was those hours earlier. When they looked over at a lot of blackened wood. It would actually be easier if it had been empty. Little to no reminders of what had happened, of a life that had been taken. Sure this was some idiot kid making a porno but - the feel. The sound of the boards creaking and breaking underfoot. Splintered with damage and char. He ran a finger over one of them that afternoon. The black stained his finger. He looked at it now. Swallowed down bile and fear.

—

Emily insisted on a big Thanksgiving spread every year since Holly was born. It was only the three of them but Em and Hol spent the entire day in the kitchen prepping food enough for a family of 8. He used to help. A part of him knew he should still try but since his accident being in the kitchen just gave him anxiety more than anything else. Plus Emily loved cooking. Always had. How a brit knew the perfect thanksgiving Holland would never know. Nor ask. That's just not something you asked a lady. Especially one with a mean right hook.

The private investigator of it all took up more time than he originally planned for. There were so many years where he needed to be there for every first. Every time Holly did something for the first time, every time Emily laughed at her or with her. As if his subconscious knew that one day he would be missing these moments. He had already begun missing them. Sitting downstairs nursing a glass and a mess of scattered papers. He shouldn’t be working. It was a holiday. Yet - if he couldn't be useful upstairs he forced himself to be useful somehow. Bring in some amount of cash for his family. His girls. Who he could hear laughing upstairs. He smiled to himself, a hand running over the stubble he had let go a little too long. When had he decided not to be a part of it all?

Realistically he knew the answer lay somewhere in the grief ladened habits he had picked up as of late. What kind of man loses a well respected job and leaves his family grasping for straws. Leaves his wife to pick up the bills. The house. The car. It was the damn 70’s for gods sake (they weren't there yet. You know historically). Still, when the laughter floated back down the stairs paired with the eager footsteps of his daughter he sighed, sweeping the papers haphazardly into a folder and made a move to meet her halfway down the steps. Maybe getting a good scare out of her. The way he used to. This was a phase. That was all, he would get back on his feet. But today was a day to forget all of that. Not by ways of liquid courage but - family.

A younger Holland March smirked as he moved in front of the stairs catching the smaller form of his 10 year old daughter as she flew down the steps to alert him dinner was almost ready. The moment she collided with his arms, time seemed to slow. They laughed. He heard a click. The familiar sound of the new oven coming on. Then Holly seemed to fall against the backdrop of something red. Orange. Billowing.

He caught her weight as they both landed on grass littered with glass and debris. His ears rang, the air was hot. Not warm. Hot.

Wrapping his arms around the body of his daughter Holland March watched the cause of the sudden change of scenery, an inferno in the place where they were meant to be enjoying thanksgiving.

There's not much to remember after that. He didn’t get up. He didn't run in. Something in him knew there was no use. No. No he cradled the smaller form of his kid and forced her head to his chest, not letting her see the totality of what had happened. Someone told him he was calling for Emily then. Once they had Holly with the medics he was making a sprint for the remaining structure. Honestly he couldn't tell you if that was true. The only thing he remembered from that day for damn sure was that morning - when Emily had turned over in their bed. Brushed his hair back and explained that she was still worried about the gas smell after their renovations.

—

“I just don’t know what to do without you sometimes you know? Holly needs - I .. I need -” Holland reached out a hand, setting it on the slick and cold stone, his mouth screwing into a sideways frown. The kind you put on to keep emotions inside. Because what was the point of showing them to an empty grave. He stood then, lifting his hand. Read the words one more time. Finished the bottle. Stumbled back home.

He didn’t go right to sleep. A miracle really. Instead he stood in the doorframe of his daughter's room. Sometimes, well … actually quite often, he would do this. She looked so much like a child when she was sleeping. Her shoulders weren’t heavy with responsibility, her face wasn’t tense with the constant disappointment. She was just - innocent. He could go in and pull her blankets up, kiss her head and pretend that they were a really normal father and daughter. Tonight he just needed to know she was there. And she was. Despite the night, the unwelcome memories and the mess he had made - he only really had one person to apologize to and he did then. Pulling the blanket up to her chin he brushed a strand from her face and whispered an apology. He really meant to leave after that. To wake up in bed and prevent her from seeing him this way but fear had a way of digging down and rooting you to a spot. As did dizziness. And everything else that came crashing down all at once. So Holland March was slightly bruised, belligerent, and broken … and also passed out on the floor of his daughter's bedroom.

[meddling-in-muses]

𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐬

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

A Holland March Character Study: Paired with the fic linked below breaking ground by airplaneconstellations

The Nice Guys (2016)

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

The blueprints came on a Wednesday. Holland tried his best to not look at the date scribbled on the top. To anyone else it was the end of the month. To him it was a national holiday. Emily Murphy -March’s date of birth. The day her parents decided that a wrecking ball of a woman would be born to descend on Los Angeles and charm a low ball rookie cop. Did he plan to break ground on that very specific day? No. But his life had a way of fucking him over at the best of times. Just like this. 

He had been good lately. Not perfect but good. Not continually sober (quitting cold was not in the cards) but he was sober at work. He was sober in front of Holly. And he was sober most mornings so that was considered a solid win. These blueprints though - they made his fingers itch for a glass, his throat burn in preparation for something strong. If it was want or tears that made this occur, he couldn’t actually decipher. 

Healy found him before the first glass was empty. Something about the nick of time with this guy. He didn’t say anything at first but he did fix a disappointed glare in his direction that made March set the glass down knowingly. “Plans came.” He said it flat. Emotionless. As if that would explain away his bad decisions. It didn’t. 

“You got the yellow carpet though?” 

March laughs to himself, palms splayed on the counter as he looked down to the remaining amber liquid. A tease. Of course Healy would know about that. He probably had been to that lot more times than Holland ever had. 

“Yeah we will. I willl” we. It had become second nature to say it. Honestly he had no memory of a time before Healy was making breakfast for the Marches. The way Holly looked at him was enough of a reason to keep him around but - there was something else. A small index part of Hollands soul that was slowly growing curious the longer this man was around. It made him nervous but he also didn’t want it to leave. He didn’t want Healy to ever leave. 

“Holly told you about her mother?” It was a matter of time. He was part of the family and well .. so was Emily. Talking about her though made the best and worst days of March’s life come to light. So he rarely had the courage to do it. 

“Yeah a little. Sounds like a special woman. Funny. Haven’t seen many movies though” 

March nodded. That she was. There were no words for everything Emily Murphy had encompassed. “She was. Amazing with Holly. Even if we were both scared shitless. She was an effortless mother” 

Against his better judgment he picked up the glass and drained the remainder. At least he didn’t refill it. He gestured with his head to the hall and walked in the direction without further instructions. Healy followed. Communicating nonverbally was slowly becoming their shtick (key word: slowly) 

Then he did something he hadn’t done in 4 years. Unless he was very drunk and it was a special occasion. Right now it was neither but here he was, pulling an old seen-better-days cardboard box from a pile of questionable laundry littering the floor of the closet. It wasn’t marked. It didn’t need to be. He would never forget about it. No matter how hard he tried. And he did try. Often. 

“Holly went to a friends. After the fire. So I could … I went in. This is everything I could save” 

He wasn’t sure if Holly knew about it. He doubted it only because it was still here. In her mind he had all but forgotten the times before or at least drowned them out (literally). One of those things was very true. Healy still didn’t talk as the box was opened. It wasn’t organized. Much like his life, it was scraps thrown together in blind hope. Photographs with brown edges, books with covers half off, scraps of fabric, wallpaper … carpet. Junk. At the bottom the only neatly folded object laid untouched by damage - white lace. Because somehow out of everything, her wedding dress survived. He flinched at it everytime. Including now. 

“She wasn’t the sentimental one actually. I was. Every time Holly had her first anything I needed the nearest object to just remember it. She hated the clutter” he smiled sadly, a thumb grazing over her frozen smile on their last family photo. Outside the new house. 

“I actually pulled her over. How we met. A little do-gooder  rookie cop on patrol pulling over an actress that made his heart stop. fuck, we could of bee in our own romance film” 

Healy let him talk. It was rare March was ever this sober, serious and willing to share. “I talked to Hol. Since you asked so politely” it was a sentence laced with sarcasm since politely meant threatening and asking meant telling. 

“Apologized. I mean I have a lot more to apologize for but, we started. We went to the house. I promised her.”

The sentences were broken up but the meaning was between the lines. He knew that his companion would find them. The bed squeaked as Healy finally sat. 

“Good. You’re a good man March. She has always seen it, now maybe you can” 

“As far as pep talks go. I guess that’s pretty fucking good” Holland stood, picture in hand and sat next to Healy. Close enough for their shoulders to touch. It felt natural. For the first time since the bare faced mirror of him in that photo … he felt like he could be good. 

——

It was early. Holland March hadn’t slept. Going to bed sober was like this. It was compulsively getting up to check if the stove was off. It was getting up to make sure Holly was in bed and safe. Hell he even checked on Healy more than once. He went outside to smoke in the chill of the morning. He made sure there was no ember remaining before tossing into the empty pool. He caved for a glass. Just to sleep for an hour. He regretted it the moment it nauseated his body and forced himself to throw it up before anyone found out. He covered the scent with a long shower and shave. When he laid back down he turned towards the photo he left out. That smiling family in front of a big new house. The American dream or some shit. 

Reaching out he moved his thumb over the small family greeting him and whispered “happy birthday murph.” Today was it. He got up shortly after, picking out Holly’s favorite suit to wear and made slightly overcooked toast. A few minutes later he was rapping on the doorframe of his daughters room. 

“Up and at ‘em sweetheart. Unless you want pink unicorn wallpaper that your old man picked out” 

He smirked slightly at her groan in response. This was normalcy. A now 14 year old annoyed at her dad for waking her up. Not the other way around. 

“Crew will be there in under an hour. Figured you get the first ceremonial shovel and then we can go pick out some stuff? Get the excitement pumpin’? Groovin’ … shakin’?” 

He nudged her arm watching as she peeked up over the blanket covering most of her head. She was more like a kid everyday. And god dammit he missed this. 

“No one says that. Is that … “ she sniffed and rose an eyebrow. “Burnt toast?” 

He gasped both defensively and dramatically. “Hey. It is not burnt it’s … heavily browned. And if you’re not out there in t-minus 5 minutes it will be my stomach and not yours” 

He poked her side playfully earning a yelp and a light smack as he got up and walked out. Sober. Smiling. Sorta ready to face his wife’s birthday with new memories and his daughter rather than drunken stupor and fading consciousness. 

He could be good.

[meddling-in-muses]

𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐤𝐞𝐲 𝐊𝐢𝐝𝐬

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

A Holland March Character Study: Paired with the fic linked below in the nick of time by airplaneconstellations

The Nice Guys (2016)

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

They don’t tell you a lot of things when you get married young. Actually , they don’t prepare you for shit. A part of him has always assumed this was on purpose. So the older and cleverer could take advantage of a young couple holding a newborn in front of a shitty house in the hills of Los Angeles. The other part figured it was part of this new stage called: here’s your unplanned child, a so-so career and a woman you just pledged to take care of until you die. Scary stuff. So yes .. at 22 years old Holland March was scared shitless, a rookie cop and completely head over heels in love. 

At 24 the house had finally gotten new carpeting, starting with the pale pink in Holly’s room. The exact shade she pointed to and declared she HAD to have. Was it over budget? Yes. Did Holland put in two weeks of overtime as a glorified meter maid to pay for it? Yes. It turned out fatherhood wasn’t as scary as it seemed when your daughter came out with a personality that told you everything you needed to know right off the bat. She was - bright. In more than intelligence, she quite literally could light up a room by reciting some new program she heard on the radio once or a line of text she learned to read the day before. 

At 26 they had their kitchen redone. His wife picked out everything to her liking and despite being accident prone and the least handy man in the surrounding area of LA he tried his best. That’s what he was known for after all. The March Mindset ™ (not actually trademarked but you know. Someday). To most people they looked like the happiest of little families. 

At 28 Holland got into the accident that changed it all. A case gone rogue (for lack of a better term). The car rolled a dozen times, his temple shattered the window and when he woke up in the hospital they told him that he avoided serious damage to his brain but the break in his nose severed the olfactory cortex. AKA a lot of fancy doctor talk for: you can no longer smell. Good luck getting that detective promotion sucker. 

At 30 the carpets melted, the brand new cabinets splintered and the body of his wife was recovered in the ashes of his life. 

He couldn’t smell the smoke. 

Holly screamed. 

He was working downstairs. 

Of course he grabbed his daughter first and ran - by the time he noticed the source, orange flickers from the leftmost room of the house - she was gone. 

Fear and grief took root in the ashes that day. Those roots grew into a man he couldn't look at and eventually no one else would either. Including the day he was let go. The day he put in the failing ad for the final grasp to be the detective he used to be. Most of all - that day he first picked up a bottle and forgot to bring his daughter to school. For a week. For two weeks. For a month. For 5 years. 

-------

At 35 Holland March had something of a routine. 

It goes something like this: He wakes up. Usually the sun is already high in the sky marking the time on an alarm he ‘swore’ he set for 7 in the morning at noon or later. He lays there for another hour staring at the ceiling and debating on if getting up is really worth anything that day and ultimately decides he should probably make sure his daughter was at least somewhere more responsible than he was. She always was. But it gave him an excuse to get up, as small as it was. For the first year she left notes and a cold plate of breakfast. Nowadays he was lucky if she even left him a clean coffee cup. It was his fault of course but it was easier to play the game of knowing she was a responsible 13 year old and he was - extremely hungover. Sometimes he woke up to a phone call. Not a client or anyone paying just Holly informing him that he was meant to be working so the next call would be a client. Or anyone paying. Hey at least she still called. 

He would drive around. If he was able. Old people really paid for anything nowadays and luckily he was the smuck who they hired. It was usually to locate a long dead pile of ashes but money was money. Bills he neatly counted and tucked into two places. A pile for his habits and pile for anything Holly needed. Call him whatever but he would be long dead in the ground before his daughter didn't at least have ways to take care of herself. 

There was a night, okay more than one night, where he would lay drunk or sober (usually the former) and picture Holly smiling with faces he didn't know. A set of parents who were lovely and well off and gave her anything and everything she could ever want. Because didn't she deserve that? She was so smart. Smarter than her own good sometimes, but bright and young. He thought about it more than he cared to admit. When it a got a little too real he would reach for something stronger than usual and end up waking up precariously somewhere he didn’t remember going. The cycle continued. 

Her mother would be disappointed. Sometimes he saw her in the corners when it was dark out. Charred and looking at him with that intense glare that reminded him of everything he had ever done wrong. It was a long list. Those nights never helped. It was a reminder of the empty lot down the road that he flinched at every time he passed. A place he knew Holly would go, yearning for a promise he couldn't keep. In more than one way he wished he could let her go. Holly would be happier with literally anyone else and he knew that. But everyday he was granted a new day he convinced himself he could be better. For a few hours tops. Holly was, despite his actions, his entire world. Selfishly Holland March knew that letting her go would be the end of him. If she left, god she was given so many opportunities to, he would take the finest bottle of whatever came first and probably teeter on the nearest bridge. It just was how the cards fell. At least for a few miserable years and minimal good days. 

You will never be happy. Written on his hand everyday as a smudgy reminder that his life is a shithole and the only thing to keep him alive hates his guts for being a grief and guilt stricken loser with no prospects. But at least he can set twenties on the table and let her eat for the next week. 

-------

Then a high profile case comes across his periphery. A missing (very very dead) porn star. But wait there's more. There’s coverups and murder plots and suddenly he’s got a partnership with the man who broke his arm and the courts grant them enough of a settlement to get something started. For the first time the ‘never’ smudges clean off his hand and he believes it. 

There’s a simplicity to this new routine. It goes like this: He wakes up. The sun is rising this time. The air feels nicer at this time and he drinks it in with coffee instead of booze. Okay. So maybe there’s a TINY amount of booze mixed in but quitting cold doesn't work anyway right? Holly wakes up after him for the first time in over 10 years and though he can't greet her with breakfast (what do you think he suddenly learned to cook?) he can with a sober enough smile and conversation that lasts for longer than 5 minutes. Sometimes he’s even lucky enough to drive her to school before meeting with Healy and going to work. Steady - actual work. He comes home for dinner. Usually the three of them eat and then watch some mindnumbing program that's popular at Holly’s school and he goes to bed. In the actual bed. With clothes meant to be slept in and everything. And it's nice. Hell he even starts drawing up the plans for the rebuild. Pink carpet and all. 

To him it feels longer than a week before it crashes down. He wanted to believe it could last longer but the moment he signed on the property for the rebuild it hit. He hadn’t stepped foot on his soil in a decade. Surely there were still ashes mixed into it somewhere. Ashes of better days and a woman he desperately pretended he didn't miss. He froze on a Friday afternoon rooted to the spot where the flames started. A bedroom with a yellow carpet and the floral wallpaper she had loved so much. On a Friday afternoon Holland March fell to his knees and for the first time in over 5 years he wept for the life he lost on the grass below. 

On a Friday evening Holland March found every available bottle of liquor and forgot who he was. He didn't think of Holly.  He didn't think of Healy. He didn't think of pink carpets and floral wallpapers. He didn’t think of the smell of the room that he was sure must have been overwhelming. He didn’t think of the charred remains surrounding the clearly disappointed glare staring at him from the shadowed corner of the bullet hole adorned living room. When he closed his eyes he finally thought of nothing. 

-----

He wakes up in bed. He doesn’t remember a lot but he damn well knows he would have never made it to bed. Holly. Holly found him. Oh god. After the week they had - she found him. He turns his head. The sun is high. The clock reads 11:30 am. Did she have school? Would she be waiting for him? Maybe she’d be at the lot waiting for him to apologize. Maybe. Maybe she gave up on him. Left. He deserved it. 

Screwing his eyes closed against the brightness of the day and the pounding of his head he forced himself to swing a leg over the side of the bed. Then the other. He stands - unsteadily feeling along the wall to the door and opens it to a very stern face that is not his 13 year old daughter. “I-if you leave my other arm intact I’ll give you 100 bucks -” It's a poor excuse for a joke. The frown on Jackson Healy’s face tells him everything he needs to know. As much as he would love to play it off his back hits the wall and he's sliding down it to sit on the floor. “How bad is it?” 

“Well she’s not exactly sunshiney about it all but I can't say she’s shocked March. In fact neither of us are. You can take that however you want but we have somewhere to be in an hour and I promised to get you together for it -” 

Holland nods. There’s not much to say about that. The two people he wanted to be better for he failed in less than a 5 day turn around. “Just that damn .. house I .. “ Hes talking before he knows what he's saying. “I see her. I see them both and how it was and the … the stupid … pink carpet” A hand scrubs through his hair begging to be washed and slides down his face as he looks anywhere else but the larger man in the doorframe. 

“I thought it was yellow” Healy quipped back, stepping into the room to lean on the wall across from him. Forcing himself into Holland's line of sight. 

“Holly’s room. We did hers first. She was four. Jesus Healy …  she was … she was so fucking excited.” It wouldnt be the first or last time he would cry in front of his partner but when Holland sniffled this time he took an extra long breath to keep it behind an ever thinning wall. They had shit to do. 

“And she will be again. If we get your shit together. I made her a promise, I imagine you’ve made a few as well. So fucking get up, brush off and be the man she thinks you are. Yeah? I’ll be in the car” 

Healy didn't wait for a response. He knew he didn't have to. He was like that. Holland cursed under his breath at the aggressive choice of a pep talk but stood on shaky legs and counted to 10. One number for every year he had to make up to his daughter. He looked at his hand. 

You will - be happy. 

He could believe that again. Little by little. Holland March hadn’t taken care of himself in a long time. It would be a long road before he could again but the car turning over in the driveway reminded him about something different this time. His daughter finally was free from taking care of him. Because she was. In all of the ways he didn't want to admit. It was that tiny bit of comfort that granted him a new image. Not of Holly with some strangers but her between them both. A small, chaotic, slightly broken family but one that was slowly filling with opportunity to be better. 

You will be happy. 

He buttoned his shirt in the mirror, pulling the chain securing his wife's ring over top of the collar and smiled as it twisted in his fingers. In the corner of the mirror he could have sworn he saw brunette hair and pale skin crack a smile at him. No shadows. No char. Just a small moment of pride. 

It just was how the cards fell. At least for a few bad days and more fruitful years to come. 

[meddling-in-muses]

𝐀 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧 𝐀 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐤

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Kylo Ren/Ben Solo POV

Star Wars: Sequels

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

“A child in a mask”

“A child in a mask”

“A child in a mask”

A child. A child whose sleeping form  was outlined in a green hue of a familiar lightsaber ignition. A child who woke up with frightened eyes to see a face he trusted getting ready for the kill. A child who, in his fear, was subdued and controlled to reign destruction. 

The memory was still clear as day. The push of fear as he buried his uncle in the remains of the dormitory he had destroyed in what he thought was self defense. The continuation of his fear in the slaughtering of young students who wouldn't join his ranks in what he minted as the knights of Ren. (Although they had later been wiped as well). Fire sparked in places he once learned to love and train in, fire sparked within places where he was once Ben Solo. Rage in red took over his young life … Fires, blood, raw red stones flaming a reckless lightsaber of his own creation. 

He thought the child dead, replaced with a monster. 

Yet the dream woke Kylo Ren most nights, in a panic and a sweat that was not ever seen by another. He was not weak and the child was not meant to haunt him any longer. The pull of blinding white light, his father’s presence at one point and now his mothers was always tugging in the far parts of his head. The parts meant to be dead and cauterized for his benefit. He had seen this as a childish weakness when his mind was controlled but now he was free, in some sort of way. Now this pull had a new meaning, even a new feeling. Stronger.

There was no one controlling his actions and his thoughts, trading them for dark images of all that could be if only they could wipe out their enemies. No one was telling him what to think. Now he was stuck between  a push of hate, anger … want, love … loneliness. Passions. He was the supreme leader of himself and no one could tell him otherwise if they wanted to live. But even with that he was confused. 

A child in a mask, maybe true now more than ever. 

Was that rage in red something he wanted ? Was it something he had chosen ? 

Was the killing something he had wanted ? Was it something anyone had chosen ?

Everyone new the legend of his bloodline, everyone knew that Darth Vader had chosen light in his last moments, if Kylo truly wanted to act on his valor would he too chose light? 

For this was his mind, a dark place filled with questions he was too fearful to ask, even to himself. It was a confusing place more like a maze than a mind, twisted and forced to change so many times it was barely his. All that was left to outwardly show was anger.

Anger that left glowing red scars on metal as he slashed at it with the brute force of the unconventional blade barely contained in the casing of his lightsaber. The hum was recognizable enough to avoid as the ugly noise of the ignition hitting anything and everything around it became almost routine for anyone who was brave enough to be around him. 

Anger that left reckless and dangerous commands to his forces and himself. The reason a scar irritated his right eye and chest, the reason the rebellion was still alive, the reason the Supreme Leader was now dead. 

Where did any of this lead ? 

To the girl ? Rey … The last Jedi in his way. The girl who’s raw strength in the force matched his own, a balance he was trying to destroy. 

The thought of her haunted him since their connection had sparked. She was the supposed doom to him and the first order, but it was hard to believe some barely trained girl could take out everything the first order had come to achieve. Then he saw her fight alongside him, she was more than her heritage of nothing from nowhere. So he tried to tell her but she refused to join a better cause, the right cause. Her faults she would now pay. As would they all. 

Snoke was gone, but the supreme leader was not. 

“A child in a mask” he had been called, but children behind disguises were the most the dangerous in the end. Some were not children at all … they wore the mask long enough to truly become the monsters they once feared. 

[meddling-in-muses]

𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭-𝐌𝐞-𝐍𝐨𝐭

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Adrien Agreste/Cat Noir POV

Miraculous Ladybug

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Screams were filling the streets, Ladybug was nowhere to be seen and Cat Noir was facing a true terror on his own.

Dodge. Duck. Get a solid blow in, only to receive one back. The movements of a fight were always repeated and less than calculated when it came to him. Especially this morning when a shadowy figure appeared on the news shocking people into relieving pain, their worst memories, an akumatized soul wreaked havoc in the streets of Paris again. This time it felt different. It wasn’t a classmate, or some silly costumed villain who could be stopped with some kind of spotted tool from Ladybug’s never ending source of Lucky Charms, this was a real darkness that was spreading across his city.

“You know a lot of people think Cat’s are afraid of their own shadows … but that's a serious misconception” Adrien shrugged standing back to his feet after dropping from the roof of a nearby building. “I don’t find you scary at all.” Of course that was a lie but the only form of fight he had started with attempted wit. Unfortunately, the blackened form of the shadow wasn’t talking back, instead it paused, turned and smiled. A smile that cracked the billowing black fog to a form a slit where the face should have been.

“Not a talker huh ? That’s new.” Ignoring the creepy figure straight from a horror film Cat Noir launched himself toward the fog expecting it to be more solid than it looked, after all this was just an akumatized citizen, a person. He was wrong. Feet first he was engulfed in black so thick he thought he would never escape it, however it only lasted a few seconds before light met his eyes again and he was staring up at the figure, on the opposite side. Had he just gone through a person? Shaking the thought he stood to his feet again. How was he supposed to fight something he couldn’t touch and where the hell was Ladybug?

Another scream filled the air and he swallowed hard watching the figure move away from a girl, clad in red… and spots. No. Holding his breath he raced over to her and fell to her side. She was trembling, tears running from her mask and the screaming. It wouldn’t stop. “H-hold on m’lady … I’ll get you out of this” He used his classic nickname for her in the hopes that she would hear him and notice but the recognition was nowhere to be found in her expression. Only pure terror, pure pain. Adrien forced himself to pull away from his partner to face the villain that was spreading screams without a conscience but he knew it was hopeless. Only Ladybug could capture an akuma … Not him. Only Ladybug could come up with plans that always worked… not him. His Kwami was destruction, why that made him a hero.. He had no idea but- no. No this was just the figure getting in his head before it happened,before he was like everyone else trembling on the ground, he couldn’t let that happen. He was Paris’ only hope now.

“Hey ! Peter Pan!“ That got his attention and even though it was rule number one to refrain from insulting your villain,he stopped caring once he had to yell over the screams of the girl he loved. Before the figure had turned in full Adrien had jumped again this time over its reach with the help of his extended staff which … passed harmlessly through the unsolidified form, of course. Sighing in frustration he landed back on the ground and raised his hand calling on his power “Cata-” he was cut short at the sight of black figures of billowing fog surrounding the already very limited space he had created between him and this thing. “C-catac..” he stuttered again, his hand dropping as he circled. How could you fight something you couldn't touch? You can’t.

Hands reached at him, tendrils of black flowing from them and encasing Adrien, it was like before, being engulfed.. But this time it didn’t let it up. He felt himself fall to his knees, he felt a scream rip from his throat and then he saw black and it all ended.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I know what you’re thinking. Hopefully it’s along the lines of “No! Cat Noir… we need you… you can do this” or maybe it's more like “wow, he failed” either way you’re sorta right.

More like the second one pal, we totally failed.

Shut up Plagg. Anyway right here we are, I blacked out, I pretty much left Paris to fend for itself … yeah. All of that.

The feeling was like being cold all of the sudden, like a cold that seeped into every cell and left you shivering with no hope of being warm again. Something like that. Even though he left his victims yelling in real time, it was completely silent when it happened. It was like being awake one second and asleep the next and when you woke up again it wasn’t where you were before.

I woke up in bed. In the Agreste Mansion. I was a year younger and I didn’t smell like camembert.

Mmmmm camembert, do you have any ?, I can’t help you defeat shadowguy on an empty stomach.

Plagg! Sorry, anyway.. I didn’t smell like cheese because I wasn’t a miraculous holder back then. Those were the days.

Hey! I’m still here!

Just being honest. I mean those were the days I woke up with an actual family instead of an assistant who handed me a schedule every day of my life. I guess those were the days when I actually had a life outside of the eyes of my father.

I gave you a life, but no thanks from you

Besides Cat Noir, I meant Adrien … who can’t leave an oversized mansion without a bodyguard or schedule.

But again ANYWAY, I woke up at home, when it was a home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sarah Agreste was a well known woman in Paris and not just because her husband was a designer and her son was a model. She was genuinely nice, a woman who gave to charities and didn’t care much of her mansion, who was family oriented and was often seen with her son walking around in the daytime smiling and laughing. Yet the events surrounding her are a mystery.

Adrien loved her, the way she smiled at him when she pulled back his shades and woke him up in the morning, the way she made them all sit down to dinner and actually talk, everything she did for him and his father.

This morning was no different, at least it didn’t feel that way. She had pulled back the shades and Adrien woke up to a huge view of light streaming through them. He instantly smiled and wasted no time getting up and running down the stairs wanting to catch her before any other part of the crazy day started. “Mom!” He yelled throwing his arms around the woman startlingly close to his looks. Even the smile on her face matched her son’s.

“Good morning my beautiful boy” She said this everyday if Adrien was able to catch her and he usually did. “I’m headed out in a minute to help your father with a new warehouse but later .. I promise I’ll let you hand out food in the shelter with me”

Something they always did together. He loved it and no feeling came from it other than the normal. So he nodded and kissed her cheek watching her go. And like always she would turn at the door and smile even wider saying three words, their little catch phrase “Forget me not”. It was sort of like don’t forget me and I love you mixed together if something happened. Adrien would say it back but he never thought of it, he never thought something would happen that would make those words mean the world to him, he never thought that would be the last time he saw her for a year.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My mother was incredible. She was selfless for who we were and she taught me to be the same. She brought us together and spread light and smiles no matter where she was. My father and I don’t know what we would do without her … but we had to figure it out much too quickly.

None of us know what happened, the investigation had to close too quickly. She was just gone … and no… not dead. Well we don’t actually know that but I can’t accept that she is so I don’t.

Now that I can fight back … I’m going to find her.

Im going to bring her back home.

Im not going to forget about her.

Like we say Forget me not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Adrien and his father sat across from each other, but the table was long and lonely in the middle. It had been for a few days, and his father never moved closer and some nights he didn’t bother showing up.

Sarah Agreste had never come home to take Adrien anywhere, she didn’t come home that night, or the next morning when Adrien woke up to darkness rather than light. But oddly enough that was how he was feeling inside just the same.

His mother had seemingly disappeared without a trace. That's what the police had said when they searched the city, that's what people told him when he hung missing persons signs, therefore his family had become something more public since it happened.

The mystery surrounding it had brought out too many rumors. She had left them, perhaps his father was abusive, she had died, killed herself, she wasn’t gone at all but this was all a public ploy. None of them were true. Of course how could he say that when he didn’t know the truth. But he refused to believe she was dead even then.

Clearing his throat feeling the familiar sting behind his eyes, he announced that he wasn’t hungry for the third time that week and sprinted upstairs before he was commanded to stay. He would think of the last moments, the last words, the last smile she had given him with their saying. He would never hear it again.

But this was how it went now. His father had changed. He barely spoke, he barely saw his son, he barely cared. Adrien was alone most of the time. Not allowed to go to school, not allowed to do anything but carry out the lessons his father wanted him to take, model for him, and be home schooled by an equally as cold personal assistant. Living the life.

There was a pain surrounding the Agreste name, it was tainted, and in his heart Adrien knew he had to carry it because honestly … he doubted his father even cared. Had he already forgotten everything she meant to them?

That was the moment Adrien promised he would never, ever forget. He’d just have to remember for the both of them. The sound of her voice and laugh, the crinkle in her eyes as she smiled, everything that made her a part of them. Well … a part of him. That was what this had all meant right ? Forget me not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sad right? Now you can see why this is my worst memory, the most painful. No one wants to relive their life changing for the worst after a tragedy.

But this is what I was seeing, living through, over and over.

How did I get out of this ? I’m sure it’s a long story but I don’t actually know it. I just know that I woke up looking at masked blue eyes red and puffy from crying. Ladybug.

Hemm hemm … I saved you. Me. Your loyal Kwami. But he never tells you that.. It's just ladybug that and ladybug this … but it was me and he seriously owes me some cheese.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Adrien knew he was no longer living his worst memories, after all how could he when those bluebell eyes were looking over him with worry. He smiled, or tried to, but the feeling in his face didn’t seem like it was obeying his thoughts. “H-hey there bugaboo” he said weakly letting her help him back to his feet. He had no idea how long he had been out or how long she even had but the fact that it was dark out and streets were emptied he guessed it had been more than a few hours. “How long was I? … how long were we ?“ he stuttered but the look on her face told him what he needed to know. They were too late.

Swallowing hard he looked at the sky line around her, it wasn’t just the night that was dark, this was unnatural. Taking her shoulders and turning her they both looked over the sky filled with the dark coloring of akuma and the even darker coloring of millions of shadows.

The akuma had multiplied before they were caught, Paris had to have been infected and transformed. All of it. “Uh Cat Noir” he heard from behind him and as soon as he turned he wished he hadn’t.

She was holding a phone, and on it … millions of photos, newscasts, people taping … shadows were falling all over the world. The akuma hadn’t just been to Paris, it was spreading globally. The worst part was the date ….

They’d been out for 3 days. 3 days too long. 3 days to fail more than their city.

Now they were facing something bigger, darker and more dangerous. Neither was ready but neither had a choice.

For some reason Adrien thought back to his mother. Maybe it was the after effects messing with his mind and flashing images or maybe it was the fact she brought light everywhere she went, maybe he was missing her more than ever, maybe it was that the world needed someone like her more than they needed miraculous holders.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s not that I was expecting my mom to save the world. It’s not that I was expecting her to randomly come back in all of this.

It was just one thing I saw.

The only light left was etched where I had been effected … in lettering that looked as if it had come from the sun were three words:

Forget me not.

[meddling-in-muses]

𝐀𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐈𝐧 𝐀 𝐋𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐝

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Anthony Bridgerton POV/Journal Entry

one year to the date after edmunds death

Bridgerton: Netflix

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Anthony Bridgerton - May 16th 1804

The day my father died I was naive. I was naive to the world and the cruelty it can impose so suddenly without a second thought. Could it really take a man so great, so loved, so respected, so utterly NEEDED … and do away with him in one fell swoop as if he were a merely fleeting moment. I know the answer is yes, yet a year later I find myself reliving that day everytime I close my eyes as if I could ask the world to take me instead. What is the family without the eldest brother versus the father?

Naivety was short-lived in the hours that followed. Questions without answers around every corner, the sounds of my mothers wails as a consistent melody to everyday life, ink stained sleeves and closed doors. I was handed everything but a moment to truly sit in the knowledge. Of course I understood the duties and responsibilities I was meant for, but given our familial closeness and the causal fashion we all took for granted, I never thought of them as mine. My parents were young. They were the perfect picture of health and love. Nothing could have ever happened, I was free to carry on as an 18 year old would. Starting school in the autumn season, forgoing all sense of self to the pleasures of early adult freedoms.

How quickly the world can change. In mere seconds really. I will never forget how each one felt as if it were a year. The sound of rattling last breaths, the buzzing of insectile wings nearby, a wife’s scream and the childrens cries … they don't truly leave us. At least they dont leave me. But, I believe I have done a fine job of what is asked of me. To pretend as if it affected me just enough. Enough to be saddened but functional, enough to be quiet but dutiful, enough to protect each sibling .. 6 now 7 of them to a fate far less tortuous than my own.

I will not be responsible for this kind of grief in anyone's existence. My mother still does not come around as we once knew her to. I cannot blame her but I cannot pretend I am not as haunted as her every day since. I was not afforded the luxury of grieving aloud and I am afraid by now I simply don't have room for it any longer. Taking care of them, of all of them is all that I have. I swear on my life, however short it may or may not be, I will do my damndest. I will do what you could not. I will give each of them a life worth living, a life like you and mother.

I still must ask, and I will still be asking until I reach my grave, how the world could take someone who was so crucial to so many individual existences away like that? How could it even dare to take you? If it were not for my siblings I am afraid I would not want to live in a world that can end the greatest man in the world and reduce him to an already fading memory.

If I can be half the man you were by the end of it all, I will consider myself lucky. I miss you. Father. More than I can write, more than I can express. I am sorry I wasn't able to do more that day, you deserved to be here more than I. All I can do … from this moment onward… is to treat them as you would and try to remind them that the world isn't all bad … even if I could never believe that myself. I will make you proud.

[meddling-in-muses]

𝐏𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐟 𝐀 𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧

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Luke Patterson POV

Julie and the Phantoms: Netflix

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

The gravel was a sound that would permeate his ears forever. It was entirely too loud under the two tires of his bike … but isn't everything louder in a state of anger? Or maybe it was the only thing to focus on besides his mothers cry for his return behind him. As soon as he was half a block down he wanted to turn around and run into her arms but his stubbornness wouldn't let her win until he proved that his thing … this music … mattered. Hot tears remained on his face but little did that naive kid know … that was the last time he would ever see his mother .. alive.

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A shock bolted the memory to fade and the flashy interior of the Hollywood Ghost Club to return. Itchy fabric restricted his neck and arms and the sensation of the fog and jolt overwhelmed his senses. He barely noticed his best friends by his side until they disappeared from his side and reappeared on the stage, seen through a partition of shimmer.

Music was always an escape, it was never forced, never nerve racking, never anything but his redemption. At this moment? It was suffocating, it was painful, it was drowning in memories. That night ran through his head as if it were yesterday. His biggest regret… the only reason behind it was his remaining hate of being controlled. Maybe this was why it wouldn't go away .. it was happening again. A different place, person, situation, consequence … same feeling of wanting to do nothing but run.

The second shock and tug pulled him back from his memories. This was the game, this was the goal. Covington wanted to cause so much pain they would beg for it to go away, they would beg to play here forever just to make it stop. Swallowing hard he tried to force his stance to back up .. except … Luke felt himself move forward a step. And another step. His guitar fell into place in his hands, a note released from a strum. He wasn't in control. This time it was physical. A rope pulled by the magic man smirking at his expressions as Luke was forced onto the stage. Fear surged to anger, playing into the game they were stuck in. Music was forced from his hands, it was created itself at the expense of entertaining rich people .. loving them because they were dead. Music was suddenly a trap. He couldn’t do anything but look helplessly at his friends as they looked back.

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He didn't want to come back here but he needed to know … did they miss him at all? His house was dimly lit but in the bushes he saw them. HIs mom, holding a frame, looking out, her eyes puffy. HIs father took it from her and set it down, leading her away from the window. It took everything not to run in and apologize profusely. He ran again, before his senses took over. He would come home soon. Afterall he was only 17 and they were about to make it big. They would be so proud. They had to be.

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He was back. How long had he been playing? His fingers ached to stop, his eyes screamed for help. No one knew. No one in the crowd knew the truth. Dying was painful. Mentally and physically. Dying again? Disappearing, ceasing to exist, not saying goodbye a second time, feeling your soul, your essence drained? This wasn’t a game. A new memory flashed through his vision as the anger grew … the only person who could help them … Julie.

Julie Molina … the first new person he had laid eyes on in 25 dark years. The first person he had made music with in 25 years. She didn't need any afterlife to have magic. She was unreal all on her own … and she needed them. She needed him. Suddenly his fingers stopped. Her smile appeared in his mind. Alex disappeared from the stage. Her laugh echoed in his ears. Reggie disappeared. Her melodic voice overwhelmed the sound of the club. He got a last smirk in at a confused club owner as he disappeared.

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Sirens woke him up. Although he didn't remember falling asleep in the first place. He had something important to do. Playing … his band playing at the … the Orpheum! Blinking he sat up and gasped but no one seemed to notice. Weird. Opening his mouth to speak he found he couldn't and then he started … floating. This was a dream. It had to be.

A lifeless version of him laid on a gernie. Pale, an oxygen mask hiding his features, an obnoxious flat beep suddenly panicking the EMT’s. Flatline. The sounds of “clear!” and shocking forced him out of the ambulance and the view of .. himself.

For a minute it was black. Then? He was sitting in his living room. Sirens broke the silence again and when his vision cleared his parents looked right through him … and at the police officer in the door telling them their son was dead. He started to reach out to say “im sorry” but Luke’s surroundings went black as his mouth opened.

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He appeared in the midst of a song next to Alex, Reggie and … Julie. A sigh of relief left his body as he flickered attempting to regain his bearings. That's when he saw her. Julie didn't just invite her family. Julie wasn't just playing for a huge crowd. Julie invited his mother. Standing completely out of place in a crowd of millennials in gen z. She was there … nervous but smiling … no idea what was about to happen. He wanted to be nervous, be worried about her reaction but he beamed at one thought. She was going to see him play. 25 years later but she was here. He was going to be seen and he was going to make her proud. His unfinished business. And then, right then and right there he and his mother met eyes for the first time in 25 years as he became tangible.