Chapter 5: The Aquarium
AO3 Link | Chapter 4 Link
Pairing: Abby Anderson x fem!reader
Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.
Tags/CWs: angst; slowburn; enemies to friends to lovers; talks of purity culture/ideals and “sin”; internalized homophobia and some comp-het feelings (they’re both so gay but so dumb about it); animosity between WLF and Seraphites; blood/gore; descriptions of being hanged; religious/cult-like ideas; sorry (but not that sorry) to any Owen fans, but he’s kinda a huge asshole in this
Note: I added chapter titles and finally figured out exactly where I’m going with this story lol. Hooray for having a plan!!
(Sorry it took more than two weeks to get this chapter out! End-of-semester craziness, ya know? I hope this chapter being like twice as long as usual makes up for it!)
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Abby realized too late that she probably should’ve warned you about the life-sized whales on the ceiling.
By the look on your face, she could tell you’ve never seen anything like it.
Which made sense. She hadn’t either before she and Owen found this place three years ago.
She paused to watch you for just a second, taking in your amazed expression as you marveled at the enormous hanging sea creatures above you.
Abby could easily remember what her first time here was like. How incredible and other-worldly this place felt. She imagined it must be even more overwhelming for you, this fractured piece of a world you were not a part of and knew little about. A world where humans built a place where they could go to look at fish for no reason other than that it was entertaining. A world where people did things just for fun.
Of course, Abby had also never been a part of that world, but at least she knew about it. She’d caught glimpses of it, carefully and intentionally gathering bits and pieces. She watched films and documentaries. She read novels and history books, newspapers and magazines if she could find them.
Knowledge was power. And, to Abby, having power was important. Having power meant being able to keep the people she cared about safe.
And if you had enough power, no one could ever take it away from you.
So she dedicated herself to becoming powerful, both of mind and of body. It’s all she had known and cared about since she lost her dad.
It’s why she lost Owen.
She still wasn’t sure if that had been a good thing or a bad thing, but she knew she felt guilty about it.
Three years ago, Owen had quickly claimed the aquarium as his own. He cleaned it up, made it feel as homey as possible, and spent as much time here as he could get away with. Abby didn’t tell anyone, not even the rest of the Salt Lake crew. It was right around the time they were breaking up. She felt like she owed him her discretion at the very least. Not that it really made up for anything.
Yesterday morning, when Nora told Abby that Owen was missing, she assumed he’d come here.
God, she hoped she was right.
Abby shifted the injured Yara in her arms, her muscles burning from carrying the girl for so long.
It was early in the morning now. The sun had just begun to rise as the four of you had been making your way into the aquarium.
“Owen!” she shouted, leading the way down one of the hallways off the main entrance. Abby thought he would most likely be out on the boat, either sleeping or continuing in his never-ending attempts to get the thing in working order.
“Owen!” she called out again. “Owen! Are you here?”
She paused for a moment, listening. Nothing.
“Owen—”
“I’m here.” She heard his voice just before he rounded the corner, stopping short when he saw the whole group of you. “Are those Scars?” he asked, genuinely surprised and definitely confused as hell.
Abby ignored the question. “I need whatever medical supplies you have.”
Before Owen could respond, Alice came barreling around the corner, barking aggressively at the perceived enemies.
The next few seconds were chaotic to say the least.
You screamed and jumped back. Lev reacted quickly, his bow drawn and an arrow notched.
“Alice, no!” Abby yelled out.
Owen grabbed for the German Shepherd, holding her back as she continued to lunge forward, trying to attack.
“Put the bow down! It’s okay!” Abby shouted.
Owen gripped the dog’s harness tightly. “Put that down!”
“Alice, shut up! Lev, put the bow down!”
“Alice, stop—Abby, what the fuck?!”
“Lev, listen to them! Put it down!” you insisted, putting a hand on his shoulder as you tried to push him behind you.
All of this happened simultaneously, muffled by the sound of deafening, echoing barking.
“Alice!” a new voice, one that Abby knew belonged to Mel, shouted. To her, the dog listened, sitting down obediently with one final bark.
Mel stood next to Owen and Alice, staring.
There was a moment of silence.
Abby turned to the young boy. “Lev, lower the bow. It’s okay.”
Reluctantly, he listened.
“Abby, who are these people?” Mel asked.
“They saved my life,” she said, hoping that would be enough of an answer for now. “Can you take a look at her?” Abby looked down at Yara, who seemed to be barely conscious in her arms.
Mel dropped a hand on Alice’s head, instructing her to stay, as she slowly stepped closer, eyeing you and Lev cautiously.
“This is Yara,” Abby said before nodding over to the kid at her right, “That’s Lev. And that’s—” She stopped short. She wasn’t about to introduce you to them as Prophet.
Behind her, you spoke, offering up your name. Abby and Lev’s eyes both swung to you, widening for two entirely different reasons.
Abby’s because she was hearing your name for the first time. It was your name. It was like she discovered a brand new piece to this puzzle she had been frantically trying to assemble since the moment she saw you.
She wasn’t sure why Lev looked shocked, but it seemed like a big deal, for you to use your name in place of the title that had been forced upon you by the other Scars.
Abby quietly repeated the name, committing it to memory.
Mel gave a small nod, unaware of the mini revelation that was happening right in front of her, instead focusing on Yara with a concerned look on her face.
“What did this?” she asked, looking down at the girl’s mangled arm.
“A hammer,” you said, stepping forward until you were standing right next to Abby.
“It wasn’t me,” Abby quickly added. Guilty, despite her innocence. She was ashamed that she needed to make that clarification. Worried about what you would think about it.
Mel hesitated, regarding each of the Scars one by one again before sighing. “Alright. Let’s lay her down.”
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The pregnant woman—clearly someone Abby knew but wasn’t exactly friendly with—decided that Yara had compartment syndrome, which apparently meant they would have to cut her arm off.
While everyone else argued about the best way to accomplish that task, you stood off to the side, feeling sick. If you had been able to stop Emily’s men last night, this wouldn’t be happening.
It shouldn’t be happening.
Yara was going to lose her arm or die because you failed her.
You were trying not to spiral. Trying to be helpful now. (Too little, too late.) Trying to pay attention to the Wolves’ conversation.
They didn’t have the supplies they needed to perform the amputation safely. Yara didn’t have time to wait the couple days it would take Abby to travel all the way to the hospital and back.
“What if we could get you there in two hours?” Lev asked, hands grasping the metal table where Yara laid in the center of the room. “The Wolf hospital, right? On the west side?”
The man—Owen—stood, interested. “How?”
“The bridges,” you said, realizing what Lev was getting at. All eyes turned to you. “Our people built them. High up.”
Lev nodded. “It’s how we get around the flooding. And… you people.”
After a quiet moment, Abby stepped forward. “Can she handle two hours?”
The woman considered this, her hand comfortingly placed on Yara’s shoulder. “Probably, yeah.”
Abby nodded. “Then make a list of what you need.”
Owen stepped closer, joining the circle the rest of you had formed around Yara. “Wait. Are you serious? Abby, these bridges are used by Scars.”
The fact that he was arguing against the plan frustrated you. Yara didn’t have time for this.
“They only send in small groups at a time,” Lev said.
“You heard that? Small groups.” Abby said, watching as the other woman jotted down the supplies on a loose piece of paper and handed it over.
“This isn’t a joke.” Owen looked only at Abby, trying to catch her eyes. She seemed to be actively avoiding making contact.
Instead, she turned to you and said your name, followed by, “Let’s go.”
You looked up at her, at a loss for words. It was sad that something as simple as hearing your name could have this effect on you, but it had been eight years since you’d heard it… And this was already the second time Abby had said it.
You wanted to turn and walk right out the door with her, happy to follow her anywhere, but reality set it.
“I can’t,” you said. “I don’t know where the hospital is. And I don’t know our bridges well enough to guide you. It will have to be Lev.” It looked like Abby might argue with you, or at least tell you to come with them.
You wanted to. The idea of letting Lev go back out into danger without you made you sick with worry. But, foolish as it may seem, you trusted Abby to look out for him. And you didn’t understand these other Wolves and the strange dynamic at play here. You certainly didn’t trust them to be alone with Yara.
“Someone needs to stay with her,” you said, holding Abby’s gaze.
She nodded, grabbing her backpack off the floor. “Alright. Lev.”
He looked to you, taking your hand in his. The group splitting up must’ve felt wrong to him, too.
Almost on instinct, you did what you had been trained to do. You offered a bit of comfort.
“May She guide you,” you said quietly, giving him a small, encouraging smile as you squeezed his one hand between both of yours.
The words were familiar to you both, a common Seraphite mantra. He reciprocated your tight grasp and finished the line, “May She protect you.”
When you released his hand, he placed it on Yara’s shoulder, as if to tell her goodbye as well. She was unresponsive.
You felt a hand fall on your own shoulder and looked up to find that it was Abby. She nodded her head to the opposite end of the room, impatiently taking your wrist in her hand and leading you over there when you didn’t immediately catch her meaning.
She didn’t let go.
Abby stood close, speaking quietly so that no one else could hear. “We’ll be back as soon as possible. Yara’s going to be fine, okay. And I’ll keep Lev safe.”
You couldn’t help the slight upward curve of your lips. “I know,” you said. “I trust you.”
She blinked, caught off guard, but continued. “I wouldn’t mention the whole you-being-the-Prophet thing to Owen and Mel if I were you.”
“I’m not a prophet,” you deadpanned.
She let out an exasperated breath. “Okay, sure. Well I wouldn’t tell them that the Scars think—”
“Seraphites,” you interjected.
“—Seraphites—Just… you get the point. Don’t mention it, okay?”
“What if they ask questions?”
“Dodge them. Be vague.”
“You don’t trust your friends?” you asked, more serious now.
“No,” Abby said. “Not with you.”
You couldn’t begin to guess what she meant by that.
“I trust them… for the most part.” She glanced at them over your shoulder before meeting your eyes again. “I just don’t know how they would react to that information. It’s not exactly a small thing. I don’t know what they would do with it.”
You looked at her for while longer, then nodded your head. “Okay. I won’t say anything.”
“Abby?” the man’s voice came from behind you.
She let go of your wrist immediately, as if she had been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to.
You turned around to find the woman—Mel—and Owen both looking at you like they were witnessing something truly insane, instead of just two people having a conversation.
Lev stood on his own by the door, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, eager to get moving.
From behind you, you felt Abby’s hand wrap around your wrist again, squeezing lightly and then letting go.
“We’ll be back,” she said, this time at a normal volume. She joined Lev by the door, opening it and leading the way out.
“Abby!” Owen said again, moving to follow them out.
Mel groaned, frustrated. “God! Owen, just let them go.” When he ignored her, she went after him, the door slamming loudly behind her.
You stayed behind with Yara.
She was blinking slowly, barely awake, her shallow breaths too few and far between for your liking. You felt helpless, knowing there wasn’t much you could do other than sit and wait.
You pulled up a chair.
Just outside the door, the two Wolves were arguing. Although, you only caught bits and pieces of it.
Something about Abby and Scars and a cloak… Something about someone who looked like she just stepped out of The Lord of the Rings. You didn’t know what that meant, but it was clear they were talking about you.
Again, you unfastened the cloak and freed yourself of your top layer. Whether that was due to embarrassment or a sudden recognition of the uncomfortable warmth of the room, you couldn’t tell.
“Did you see how she was looking at her?” “Owen, why do you care? Why does it matter to you?” you heard through the door.
The dynamic here was becoming more and more confusing.
You’d assumed that Owen was the father of Mel’s child, just because they seemed to live here together. But that didn’t explain Mel’s rather apparent unfavorable opinion of Abby. And it definitely didn’t explain Owen’s preoccupation with Abby.
Their conversation continued for several minutes, volume rising and falling periodically. There wasn’t much you understood and even less of it seemed important or interesting to you.
Eventually, the door swung open again, making you jump in your seat. Mel reentered the room, offering you a strained smile as she checked on Yara. You quietly watched her work.
“There’s not much we can do for her until Abby and your friend get back,” she said to you, eyes still focused on Yara. “If you want, I can get you set up with a place to sleep while we wait.”
“No,” you said, too quickly to be polite. “…Thank you. I’ll stay with Yara.”
Mel pulled her lips into a tight line and nodded, leaving the room again. She came back a few minutes later with water and a shiny red apple, offering them up for you to take.
“Sorry. I know it’s not much. Owen isn’t well-stocked on food right now,” she said after you’d accepted the snack.
You smiled. “Thank you. You’re very kind to be helping us at all.”
Mel didn’t really answer, instead gesturing to the door as she walked toward it. “Well, we’ll… be around. If you need anything. And I’ll come in and check on her periodically.”
You nodded, quietly thanking her again. The discarded cloak that you’d left on a table by the door caught your eye. “Oh. Wait.”
She turned to face you again, eyebrows raised in question.
“What is The Lord of the Rings?” you asked.
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An excursion that was supposed to take two hours ended up taking nearly all day.
But hey, Abby had done the best she could.
She faced her deeply-rooted fear of heights on that sorry excuse for a bridge. She fought off Infected and Scars. She was, let’s say, detained by her fellow WLF soldiers at the hospital. And then she had to fight and kill what must’ve been the biggest, gnarliest, freakiest blob of cordyceps infection to ever exist.
She barely got out of there alive, but she managed to leave with the medical supplies in hand. Plus tons of new material for her future nightmares.
Mel had started operating as soon as they got back to the aquarium, with Owen assisting her.
You and Lev sat just outside the door the entire time.
The surgery had gone well. Yara was doing okay, all things considered.
After, Owen handed Abby a pile of sleeping bags and blankets and walked off without saying a word.
Abby handed them off to you and carefully lifted Yara again, this time to move her to a more comfortable spot to rest. She led the way to the next room, you and Lev trailing behind.
There was a long couch in the new room. You motioned for Lev to lay down on one end while Abby set Yara down on the other.
She stepped back and watched, amused, as you fussed over the two of them for a few minutes, using most of the blankets on your young friends.
When you were sure they were both as comfortable as possible, you left them to rest and walked back over to Abby. In your arms, you held the two sleeping bags that you hadn’t used on the kids.
You offered one of them to her.
She shook her head, motioning to the space on the floor in front of the couch where there was an old, worn-out rug.
“Lay mine out for me? I have to go do something before I go to sleep.”
“You’re leaving?” you asked, looking concerned.
“I just need to talk to Owen. I’ll be right back.”
You studied her face, like you were trying to figure out whether or not she was being truthful.
Abby doubled down, pointing again. “Go. Get some sleep. I’ll be back.”
You sighed but went where she had pointed and began laying out the two sleeping bags.
One for you. One for her. Right next to each other on the floor.
You had been doing a good job of hiding it, but Abby could tell you were exhausted. She couldn’t blame you. Hell, she was exhausted. And the sooner she touched base with Owen, the sooner she could come back.
She turned and went out to track him down.
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You didn’t know what was wrong with you.
You had been awake for almost forty-eight hours, but you couldn’t fall asleep. Your mind was racing. Filled with worry for Yara, concern about her condition, guilt for having been unable to prevent the injury from happening in the first place. Thoughts of your own people hunting your friends with the intent to kill them. Fear that, despite your desire to keep them safe, your lack of knowledge and experience in the world outside of Haven would make that impossible.
You thought about the woman you killed yesterday. How she’d so tenderly and earnestly called you her Prophet just moments before you snuck up behind her and ended her life.
You wondered if you too were now an apostate. If the Seraphites had found the bodies of Emily and her men and assumed you were dead, or if they somehow knew that you betrayed them all the very moment you were given the chance.
You wondered if your mother knew what you had done. If she would be punished for your sins.
You thought about Abby, hoping that your faith in her was not misplaced. Hoping that your attraction to her hadn’t clouded your judgment.
This was crazy. All of it. It was too much.
You had tossed everything and everyone you’ve ever known aside, thrown the first twenty years of your life to the wind like it meant nothing at all, and run off into the forest with a Wolf without a second thought. And now that you, Yara, and Lev were finally (seemingly) not in immediate danger, you had time to think things through. Contemplate what you’d done and try to figure out where it left you.
By your own hand, your life had been irreparably changed forever. It was done. There was no undoing it. No going back.
You would stay with Lev and Yara. You would stay with Abby if that’s what she wanted.
But where would you go? It wasn’t safe for any of you to stay here.
That wasn’t a question you could answer. You didn’t know of anywhere else. You wouldn’t know how to find a place that was safe.
All of these thoughts bombarded your mind at once, taking turns at the forefront. Contradicting emotions swirled, adding to the chaos.
There was a sadness, a sense of loss for the people you had always belonged to.
Guilt and shame. Two feelings that were not at all foreign to you, but you had never felt as strongly as you did now.
A lightness. A happiness. Almost a thrill. A hopeful nervousness for the freedom you had claimed for yourself, the agency you had uncovered, and the possibility of what was to come.
Sadness, again, for the mother you would miss, and the realization that you had already been missing her for a very long time.
Frustration—simmering anger—for your childhood that was stolen and the shame that did not originate within yourself. The unrelenting voices that lived in your head, weighing in on every thought and critiquing every action. But those voices were not your own. You would take your dagger and cut their presence from your mind, carefully carving them out of your head and disposing of them yourself if you could.
And, amongst everything else taking up space inside of you, demanding your attention, it felt stupid and frivolous and wasteful, but you couldn’t keep Abby from your thoughts. She kept appearing, in the middle of it all. This was something that you truly did not have time for and should not be putting energy toward.
But you had never felt intrinsically drawn to someone in the way you were drawn to her…
Behind you, you could hear slow, heavy breaths coming from either end of the couch. You were glad that Lev and Yara were getting some rest. You’d do your best to make sure they got their fill of it this time.
You got up quietly, trying not to disturb them but feeling like you needed to move. You shook out your arms, rolled your neck around, wiggled your fingers, stretched your legs.
Honestly, you wanted run. Or hit something. Or scream. Loudly and for a long time. Until you ran out of air and your voice was ragged.
But you didn’t do any of those things.
Instead, you went to look for Abby.
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“Seriously? You’re telling me Isaac’s top Scar killer just… turned over a new leaf? Decided to befriend and help three Scars?” Mel was staring into Abby’s soul, her words dripping in disbelief.
Abby had found her and Owen upstairs, in the same room that had once housed the boat man’s skeleton and the couple’s Christmas stockings (not at the same time, of course).
Owen was angry. Exactly what she had done to earn his anger, she couldn’t say. He held a jar of his homemade moonshine. A jar that was somewhere between three-quarters and one half full. Abby assumed it had been filled to the top just a few minutes ago.
He had apparently decided to be a silent, brooding drunk tonight, so Mel had been the one to interrogate her.
Abby tried to explain everything, albeit keeping things pretty vague. She didn’t want to give them too much information about you specifically, and she didn’t want them to get the wrong idea about you, so she made sure to omit the part where you nearly gutted her. And the part where you were the new Scar Prophet that Isaac was after.
Mel wasn’t buying the part where Abby simply had a change of heart.
She shot Owen a cautious look before she said, “Abby, do you—I thought you might—Is it possible that you’re…” Mel stopped, gathering her thoughts, trying to find the best way to word it. “It’s not… like… a problem that she’s a woman. It’s just… it is kind of a big deal that she’s a Scar—”
“Abby isn’t into a fucking Scar,” Owen interjected, his knuckles white around the mouth of the jar. “And she’s not fucking gay.”
Then he started chugging the jar’s contents, forcing down swallow after painful swallow.
The women were both silent for a second, surprised by the anger in his words.
Abby didn’t know what to say. She knew she was into you—and she’d be lying if she said that wasn’t at least part of the reason why she was helping you and your friends—but she had never considered if that made her gay.
She honestly didn’t really care to label herself as anything either way. It felt stupid—in the honest-to-god post-apocalyptic hellscape that they lived in, where they had been engaged in a never-ending war since they were kids—to care about that kind of thing.
Why should it matter—when her family was dead, her friends were constantly in danger, and there were enemies closing in from every angle—if she was romantically or sexually interested in men or women or both? Wasn’t that almost guaranteed to be the least important detail at any given moment? And why should she waste any of her time or energy trying to define herself in that way?
This was all really new to her. She hadn’t really let herself be interested in anyone since Owen, and she honestly wasn’t sure if she had ever been into him for the right reasons. Again, she remembered how uncomfortable it made her feel to kiss him, to be touched by him…
She couldn’t imagine that it would feel like that if you touched her. And just the fact that she hoped one day she’d find out was probably telling enough.
So maybe, in the Old World, people would’ve called Abby a lesbian. Maybe she would’ve identified with that title if things were different, if her life was lower stakes, and if she’d had more time to explore herself and her interests.
What-ifs didn’t matter. What mattered was that she was here now. You were with her—and she needed to figure out a plan of how to proceed from here—so she could make sure to keep it that way. She could figure out the rest later.
Mel was the first to speak, annoyed, but addressing him calmly, like she was talking to a rabid animal. “Owen—”
He didn’t even let her get a word in.
“No. This is bullshit! Abby—” He looked past Mel to meet Abby’s gaze, insistent. “I’m going to Santa Barbara to find the Fireflies. If you’re smart, you’ll ditch the Scars and come with me.”
Mel slammed her hands on the table, causing both Abby and Owen to jump. “What the hell do you mean, you’re going to Santa Barbara?! We are going to Santa Barbara!” They weren’t used to seeing violent outbursts from Mel. She was the queen of passive aggression, but she rarely lost her cool. “What is wrong with you, Owen? Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you? This is all so seriously fucked up.” She turned away from them, clenching her fists at her sides, looking like she might cry. Or hit something. Or both.
But for the first time in years, Abby wasn’t on the receiving end of her disdain.
Guess all she had to do for her old friend to stop seeing her as a threat was get entangled with the Scar Prophet. No big deal.
Owen, in a moment of clarity, seemed to realize how huge of an asshole he was being to the mother of his child. He set down his jar, stood, and walked over to Mel, putting his hands on her hips and pulling her into him, her back pressed against his front. He was swaying on his feet, his cheeks flushed, hands clumsy. If he hadn’t been drunk before, he definitely was now. “Hey, I didn’t mean it like that. We are going to Santa Barbara. Of course it’s we. Hell, the Scars can come too for all I care. We’ll make it a party.”
Abby rolled her eyes at his quick switch-up and turned to go. Clearly this conversation wasn’t going anywhere productive tonight, with Owen drunk, Mel upset, and all of them exhausted beyond belief.
There was a creak by the door, and all three of them turned to look, Owen’s reaction far more delayed than Abby and Mel’s.
You stood there in your long white dress, hesitant to come in. Shy, having clearly interrupted a tense conversation.
Abby wondered how long you’d been standing there unnoticed. Her instinct was to meet you in the doorway and take you back to bed, away from Owen’s rude drunkenness and Mel’s inquisitive eyes.
“Hey! Scar! How the hell are ya? Come join us! We were just talking about sunny California. Ever been?” Owen pulled away from Mel and plopped back down on the couch, finding his jar again.
“Umm…” You looked to Abby for guidance, but she was just as unsettled as you. “No. I haven’t… Sorry, I was just looking for Abby.”
“Yeah, I bet you were,” he mumbled under his breath. Abby wasn’t sure if you caught that, but she wasn’t interested in having you hear any more of this.
“Let’s just go,” she said to you, moving toward where you still stood in the doorway.
“No! Come! Sit! Let’s talk,” Owen insisted, slapping the spot next to him on the couch.
You gave Abby another hesitant look before walking past her to join Owen. Mel sighed and lowered herself into a nearby chair. When it became clear to her that retreating with you wasn’t an option right now, Abby walked back over. She stood right across from the couch so she could see you, leaned against the wall behind her with her arms crossed over her chest.
You sat next to Owen, although not so close, putting as much distance between you as possible.
“Atta girl,” he chuckled. Abby wanted to punch him.
All of this was out of character for Owen, but she knew that he was always kind of unpredictable when he got drunk. With everything that had happened and emotions running so high, everyone really should just be going to sleep.
With that in mind, Abby would continue to stand nearby until you were ready to leave. She wouldn’t let things get out of hand.
“So… Scar—”
“Seraphite,” Abby corrected him. He scoffed and took another swig.
You smiled softly at her, looking grateful.
“Scar,” he said again. “Can I perhaps interest you in some hooch? Made it myself.” He offered up the jar for you to take, tilting it towards you with unsteady hands.
“No,” Abby immediately answered on your behalf. “She does not want any of your hooch.”
“Well give the girl a chance to answer,” he slurred. “What? Your little girlfriend can’t speak for herself? She can’t make her own decisions?”
You glanced back and forth between him and her, reaching for the open jar of clear liquid, properly baited by his taunting words.
Abby tried to remember that Owen was her friend—her best friend—and that he wasn’t usually like this.
“What is… hooch?” you asked, staring down into the glass jar suspiciously.
“It’s moonshine,” Abby said. When that didn’t clear things up for you, she added, “Alcohol.”
“Like wine?” you asked, tentatively sniffing it.
Owen laughed. Abby nodded, “Kind of, but it’s much stronger. Seriously, you won’t like it.”
There was a flash of something that looked like defiance in your eyes, offense taken at the idea that you wouldn’t be able to handle something that others could.
You put the jar to your lips and tilted it back enough to take in a generous mouthful.
Abby watched as your eyes went wide and you struggled to swallow it. Honestly, she was impressed that you didn’t immediately spit it out. You managed to choke it down before breaking out in a harsh coughing fit.
Owen laughed, accepting the jar as you shoved it back into his hands. Your eyes watered as you tapped on your sternum, taking a second to regain the ability to speak.
“You made that?” you wheezed in disbelief.
“Yep!”
“On purpose?”
Abby laughed at that, leaning back against the wall again once she was convinced that you weren’t dying.
“Hey, that’s prime hooch! You should be thanking me right now.” Owen took his own swig of it, lounging back against the couch with his arm resting along the back.
“Thank you?” You squinted your eyes but tried to be polite.
“I was kidding, princess. You don’t have to thank me.”
Abby, again, resisted the urge to punch him in the face.
“So,” Owen began, “tell me. How is it that you’re a Scar… but you’re not scarred?” He chuckled to himself, as if he had made a joke.
Your eyes shot to meet Abby’s, clearly unprepared to answer that question.
“Not every Seraphite has facial scars,” you said, keeping things vague.
“Every Scar I’ve ever seen does.”
“You’ve seen me, haven’t you?” you shot back.
Abby let out a surprised laugh. Owen clenched his jaw.
“Every Scar has face scars. It’s like your defining thing. It’s why we call you Scars.” He was adamant, unyielding. And the playful mask was starting to slip back into anger. Abby could tell this wasn’t going to end well.
“Well I guess you don’t know as much about Seraphites as you thought you did.” You were frustrated now, pressing yourself further into the far end of the couch to put more distance between the two of you.
Owen opened his mouth with a rebuttal, but Abby jumped in. “Lay off, Owen.”
He threw his hands up in surrender, leaning back against the brown cushions. “Fine, fine. Whatever. Forgive me for having questions. Fuck me, I guess. I’ve just never seen a hot Scar befo—”
Before he could finish the sentence, Mel was on her feet. “Alright. That’s it. You’re done.” She had been sitting silently up until then, ready to intervene if things got out of hand, just as Abby had been. Apparently, Owen calling you hot was where she drew the line.
Abby was glad Mel was saying something. Because if things had gone much further, she really might’ve hit him.
“Get up,” Mel instructed firmly, standing over him. “You’re going to bed.” He let her take the jar out of his hands and, with much effort, pushed himself up off the couch and started walking toward the door. Mel was right behind him, hands hovering on either of his sides in case he lost his balance. He was grumbling under his breath the whole way, like a toddler whose bedtime was being enforced.
Abby watched them go.
Once they were out of sight, she looked down at you, only to find that we were already looking at her.
“Sorry,” she spat out. “About him. He’s not usually like that.”
You nodded, but you didn’t seem sure that you believed her.
“So you guys are… friends?”
Abby cleared her throat. “Uh, yeah. We’ve known each other for years. Joined the WLF together. Me, Owen, Mel, and a few others.”
You considered this for a second before responding. “Where were you before?”
“Salt Lake City,” she said, looking down at her feet. “Utah.” Abby didn’t know if that would mean anything to you.
“Mel doesn’t seem to like you very much,” you said, observant, not trying to offend. Abby smiled, despite the meaning behind your words. You added, “And Owen doesn’t seem to like me.” You stated it like it was a fact, like it was neither good nor bad, just true.
“He’ll get over it. He’s just drunk.” Abby didn’t know if that was true, but she wanted to comfort you in that moment, not that you actually seemed to care all that much about Owen’s opinion of you.
“Can I ask you a question?” You were looking up at her, eyes wide and vulnerable.
Anything, Abby thought. Out loud, she said, “Sure.”
She pushed away from the wall and came to sit next to you on the couch, filling the spot where Owen had been.
“Why do you people keep calling me princess?” you asked. Abby laughed quietly under her breath, turning her body to face you.
“I don’t know. There’s something about you that’s very princess-like I guess.”
You made a face at her. She smiled wider.
“It’s not a bad thing. You just come across as soft. Delicate. I don’t know… Graceful.”
“I am not delicate,” you said, defensive.
“I know.”
“I’ve killed.”
“I saw.” Abby was being serious, although she did find the conversation amusing. “You’re very skilled with a knife.”
You nodded, satisfied with her response, and fully turned to face Abby. “And what does hot mean? Why did he call me hot?”
“Oh—” Abby stuttered, “Uh—He meant… He was saying that you’re very pretty.”
“Oh.” You considered this, eyes wandering away. “Earlier he said I look like The Lord of the Rings.”
Abby smiled again. There was something about you that felt like it might’ve been taken straight from the high fantasy genre.
“Do you know what that is?” she asked.
“Yes. Sort of. I asked Mel. She said it was a film about a magical land. With fairies and stuff.”
“They were books first.”
“Have you read them?”
“Yeah.”
“Have you read a lot of books?” you asked, genuinely curious.
“I try to read as much as I can. Whatever’s available.”
You nodded, thinking, letting the conversation die down.
After a moment, “Abby?”
“Hmm?” she hummed. She liked the way you said her name. Just the sound of it made her heart beat a little bit faster.
“Owen also called me your girlfriend.” You were studying her face, trying to read her reaction.
“Yeah. He did.” Abby said, looking into your inquisitive eyes.
“Does that just mean friend? Or is it something else?”
“He was just trying to piss me off.”
“So it does mean something else?” Your eyes were on her lips now, and you were ever so slightly leaned forward. Almost subconsciously.
“It doesn’t matter,” Abby said. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
She was pushing you away, and she didn’t know why. She could’ve answered that question so differently. Maybe she should’ve.
Abby wanted you. And she was almost certain that you felt the same way. At the very least, there was a curiosity. A hesitant attraction.
But she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was wrong. That anything with you would be something she wasn’t good enough for.
Something she didn’t deserve.
Something she would ruin if given the chance.
So tonight, she didn’t give herself that chance.
Was that noble or cowardly? She wasn’t sure.
You pulled away, turning to face forward as you let out a long breath, puffing out your cheeks.
“I’m tired,” you said, standing. “And I should check on Yara and Lev.”
“Yeah.” Abby nodded. “Okay.”
She remained in place, ready to mentally beat herself up some more and stew in her thoughts alone for a while.
You cleared your throat lightly, swaying on your feet. “Umm… I’m not sure that I can find my way back to the room. Can you… please—?”
“Oh.” Abby hopped to her feet. “Okay, yeah. I’ll… I guess I’ll go with you.”
She avoided eye contact, leading the way into the dark hallway.
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You Would do That for Me? - Pt. 4
Pairing: MCU!Peter Parker x Stark!fem!reader
Summary: Its finally Friday and Peter isn’t expecting what happens at your house.
Warnings: Mentions of physical assault (not in this chapter), Slight verbal bullying, swearing, suggestive (just a bit)
Word Count: 3.8k
a/n: Hello! Sorry this took so long, life has been crazy. I hope you like this part! Its getting exiting and the next part should be, if i write it correctly, more exciting. Enjoy!!
Thoughts = “Italicized dialogue”
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4
After everything that happened during first period, Peter puts aside his work during his study hall to wrap his head around it. There is no way that what happened actually happened. Peter is stunned but finds it all hilarious at the same time.
“What does this mean for us?” He thought. “Or maybe I’m looking too deeply into this…” Peter doesn’t want to admit how you defending him warms his heart and sends butterflies swarming in his stomach. He admires how you could be so brave, so bold without a mask. Without his mask he doubts he could do half the things he does as Spiderman. Not that you knew he was Spiderman, oh no. You don’t know, and he plans on it staying that way, at least for as long as he can.
He can’t imagine what would happen if you found out. What if- what if you got hurt, or- or die- No. He can’t think like that. You’re safe, everyone is safe. Besides, if you do find out, in some miraculous way, he assumes you’ll be pissed he didn’t tell you, but the whole hero thing won’t be new to you. For now, he pushes those “what ifs” out of his brain.
“I still can’t believe she said all that to defend me.” Peter thinks blushing with a giddy heart warmed smile. “God, she’s amazing.”
He's astounded that anyone would do something like that for him. Sure, MJ and Ned did it too, but not in the way you defend him. He feels bad for feeling like this, but he just feels like there from different places, and they mean different things. Like you feel the need to defend him.
Peter doesn’t know if this should or will shift something in your relationship with him. But if something were to shift, he wants it to be for better, not in an awkward way. He wants this “relationship” to be just as healthy as a real one.
“For now, I guess, I’ll wait for her to talk about what happened. And when we do talk, I can say that this is what we both wanted. I can reassure both of us. It’ll be fine.” Peter concludes, just as the bell rings. He stands from his desk and heads over to the doors.
As he walks out of the class, he can feel all eyes on him. It messes with his senses and leaves him on edge. He just keeps walking. Even when he hears people whisper his name and yours and then some curse of astonishment. His hands tighten into fists as he holds onto the straps of his school bag.
He feels a person walking up next to him silently and before he looks he can tell it’s you. Maybe it’s your perfume, or maybe it's just that happy feeling he gets in his heart when you're close.
He glances over to you and a small smile graces his lips. You both walk in silence. That is until Peter, with his enhanced hearing, overhears someone say something about Peter and you. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from curling into a ball in the middle of the hallway.
“Peter?” You ask and he whips his head to listen to you. “I just wanted to apologize about what I said in our first period.”
“Oh.” Peter thinks, relieved that this conversation didn’t have to wait too long. He decides to lighten your anxious mood, and makes a stupid joke.
“What? That you think Luke Skywalker is lame? Because, really Y/n it doesn’t bother me as much as I led on.” Peter says with a smile. You smile at his comment.
“No, I mean with Flash. I realize we should have talked about it before I told him, because now everyone knows." You utter quietly. Peter hums, thinking of how to respond in a way that shows you he doesn’t mind but also doesn’t show you that he thought what you said and did was incredible and brave and amazing and-
“And also all the other stuff I said when he was there." You add on quickly. Peter stays quiet, still contemplating what to say. Finally, he comes up with a good response.
"It's fine Y/n. Honestly it was really cool of you to do that for me." Peter is surprised at how cool and calm he sounds, because on the inside he’s got butterflies invading every corner of his stomach.
“Really?” You ask a little surprised.
"Yeah, and I mean, this is what we wanted right? Everyone to know?" He tries, repeating what he’s been telling himself all day.
A thought passes over him like a wave slapping him in the face. “Ask her about the thing,” he thinks to himself. “Now is the perfect time.” He reasons, as he gathers up the courage to ask you.
"On that thought, I can't remember, umm, how do I say this?" Suddenly his tone switches to one of seriousness.
"You know how you are helping me with Flash?" Peter whispers so no one in the hallway will hear him. His brows furrow as his face fills with concern.
"Well, I feel like a real ass for not remembering, but what exactly am I trying to help-"
The ringing of the bell cuts him off, annoyingly. He watches as you pull your phone out quickly checking the screen. And you give him an apologetic smile.
"Can we talk later? I have a history test to get to." You say, and he can tell you don’t want to leave. He knows you feel bad. But he also understands how important tests are and sighs sadly.
"Oh, umm yeah, of course." Peter mumbles out, he’s annoyed and a little disappointed but gets it.
"See you later." He says you both walk to your classrooms. He’ll just have to ask you about it later. But soon. He promises himself. Just in case he’s helping you with something bigger than what you're helping him with. That’s what scares him. But as he continues walking he tries to reassure himself.
”oh, good luck!” Peter awkwardly calls after you. People eye him with second hand embarrassment. He rubs the back of his neck, sighing
“Look, it's the smartass’s new boyfriend, penis Parker.” Peter hears someone whisper and then giggles follow. He dips his head, trying to sink into the floor. God, he hates how mean people are. He doesn’t care about himself, he's used to the dumbass nicknames. But for someone to make fun of you makes his blood boil. You’re too kind and- and pretty to be made fun of. He doesn’t understand.
Peter wills himself to let it go as he walks to his next class.
——
He really can’t believe how well he handled that conversation. He guesses that taking time out of study helped. But, when he tries to ask you the question again, you have another thing to get to. Peter tries not to dwell on it too much, not wanting to jump to conclusions.
When Peter gets on the subway, Ned starts up a conversation in the group chat with MJ, you, and him. After it's done, all he gets out of it is that you’re all going to be watching a horror movie, and that well, as MJ puts it, he can cuddle up with you when he's scared. He blushes so uncomfortably on the subway, his heart beating super fast, he swears other people can hear it, but he makes sure to play it off cool.
Peter eventually makes his way to his usual alley. There he changes into his Spiderman suit. Peter quickly webs his backpack to the brick wall of the alleyway. He’s learned from past experiences to try his best to get it higher up so it has a smaller chance of getting stolen. Aunt May talks his ear off every time he tells her he needs a new one, Spiderman activities, or not.
When his backpack is secure and his suit is on right he smiles. Peter shoots a web up to the top of the building and propels himself up. When he gets to the roof of the building he sighs, contently.
Being Spiderman makes Peter feel worth something. It feels good helping others. That's why he wants to help you. Or find out what you need help with. He cares about you, not just as a friend, not just as a crush, but as a person. I mean, how could he not care about you? You're perfect in his eyes. You’re smart, you're funny, you're witty, you stand your ground, you're pretty and you have a kind heart. He can’t even imagine a more perfect human being. And even better, you tolerate his shit.
He can’t believe that he’s in this situation with you, it makes his head spin. It makes butterflies erupt in his stomach. It makes him smile like a schoolgirl. It's honestly embarrassing to blush as much as he does around you. He wonders what you’re doing. He always does, really.
Peter looks out at the city from his high stoop on the edge of the building. He watches the people pass, he watches lives being lived. These are his people, the people he’s promised to protect.
During his patrol, Peter manages to stop a couple muggers, petty thieves and help a mother unload her groceries. Usually the ‘big bad guys’ come out later, when the night sky can hide their crimes, as Peter sees it.
Peter swings all over Manhattan, by the end of his rounds around the city he feels his body flood with exhaustion. He sigh in slight annoyance, the nuisance of having to deal with grumpy New Yorkers all day will leave a sour taste in anyone's mouth.
When Peter lands in the same alley he was in just a couple hours early he finds his backpack still webbed to the brick wall. He climbs up the wall, unwebs his bag, and jumps to the ground. He quickly changes out of his outfit and into his clothes from earlier. The awkwardness of being in his boxers in the middle of a New York alley has begun to dull out. After a homeless man saw, laughed, and then whistled a mock, and walked away, Peter was pretty immune to the flush of his cheeks.
Peter wings his bag onto his shoulder and saunters out of the alley, his headphones secure in his ears. He shuffles the songs in his playlist, and the song lands on one that reminds him of you. His lips quirk up. He’s not so annoyed anymore.
That is until he remembers the hours of homework he's walking home to.
——
The next day of school goes by with no hitches. Aside from the occasional odd look from passersby in the hallway. You and Peter manage to keep up your cover, undisturbed by Flash. But when Peter walked by Flash during first period, Flash immediately turned away in embarrassment. Peter smiled at the fact Flash was too shy to look Peter in the eyes.
Along with that, in every class you had with Peter, he felt your eyes on him. He tried to ignore it, assuming you’re lost in thought about more ways to make the relationship believable. He didn't want to jump to conclusions. Conclusions like: You were staring at him because you might actually have feelings for him that run deeper than just friends. But again, he had to stop himself from thinking like that. Because you couldn’t like him like that. Right?
It's Friday so, todays the day. Movies night at your house. Peter's eyes were drawn to the clock in every class he sat in. He couldn’t stop the bouncing of his foot, waiting for the final bell to ring. And then to meet you with you and both of your friends outside the building. You told them that Happy was going to pick you all up and drive you to your house.
When the final bell rings, Peter jumps out of his seat. He almost trips over the sluggishly moving people in front of him. But Peter swiftly maneuvers through the crowd of tired teenages and to his locker to collect his things.
Moving quickly, Peter stuffs his books into his bag before zipping to the doors of the school. He finds you and MJ already standing there talking. Peter dashes over, slightly out of breath.
”Hey,” He says as he waves to both you and MJ.
”What's up with you?” MJ asks, “did you just come from gym?” She asks as she chuckles. You smile too, and Peter finds his eyes drawn to you, longer than anyone normally should look at someone. But you don’t seem to mind, too lost in your own thoughts.
MJ sure notices both of you staring breathlessly at each other. She just scoffs playfully and shakes her head with a laugh.
“You two are too much,” She huffs out. “Get a room!” She says as she shoves you.
“What?” You ask as you turn to the sound of her voice, seemingly snapping out of your thoughts. And along with you Peter.
“Save that for later at the house, love birds.” MJ adds as she snaps her fingers in front of you and Peter's faces, making sure she's snapped you both out of your little trances.
“S-sorry,” Peter says as he blushes. He can’t believe she said that out loud, and with such ease. MJ just rolls her eyes.
Ned eventually joins us and soon after Happy pulls up to the front of the school. You call everyone over.
”Oh, look, Happy’s here.” You comment as you trudge over. “Sit wherever, just no shotgun, Happy hates that.” You chuckle as you pull open the door for everyone to get in.
Ned gasps as he hops in. There's two rows of seats facing each other in the back of the car. MJs eyes widen, impressed, as she follows Ned in the car.
“Damn Y/n,” Ned starts, “Sometimes I forget you're rich.” He says as he runs his hands over the leather seating. You smile awkwardly and you and Peter climb in.
“Yeah, me too.” You comment quietly as you pull your seatbelt on.
”Hey kids, you better not make a mess back there” Happy scolds you all, making himself known as he pulls out of the school.
”Hey Happs.” Peter calls with a small smile.
“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” Happy asks as he rolls his eyes. He then closes the divider between the back and the front of the car.
”Wait, you know Happy?” You ask, turning to Peter. You look really confused. He stutters for a second. You can’t find out that he's Spiderman. He won’t let you. He promised himself he wouldn’t. Especially with MJ in the car, she doesn’t know either. Oh god, what does he say? He just stares at you unsure. What does he say?
“He works for your dad as an intern, remember?” Ned chimes in. Peter swears he's a god sent. How did he forget about that? During freshman year it was basically his entire personality. Ned glances at him, letting him know he has Peters back. Peter lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding back.
”Right, that.” He says quietly looking at Ned.
”Oh shit, yeah, sorry I forgot.” You apologize, giving Peter a small smile, which he returns.
“How could you Y/n? It's where he gets his bragging rights.” MJ says as she rolls her eyes.
”That is, after you,” Peter adds on. “After all, if anyone should get bragging rights it should be the daughter of Tony Stark, not his intern.”
“Please, my dad does all the bragging for me.” You joke with a smirk and shake your head. Everyone laughs with you. Peter can’t believe you looked past his hesitation after the question you asked. He's just glad Ned was there to save the day.
Happy pulls up to the house in upstate New York and you can hear Ned, once again gasping. Ned practically presses his face against the glass.
“God, you live so far.” MJ says as she pushes open the door.
“I know,” You breathe out. “Sometimes I wish we had stayed in the Avengers tower.”
“That would be sick.” Ned grins from ear to ear. You all shuffle out of the car.
“Bye, Happy, thanks for the ride.” You wave to him through the glass. Everyone echos with their own version of your words. Peter waves to Happy and Happy waves back before driving off once again to park the car somewhere.
”How long was that drive?” Peter asks as he slings his bag over his shoulder.
“Forty minutes,” You answer. “with traffic.” You add as you stride over to one of the many doors.
“I would die.” MJ comments as she follows after you. Peter laughs, he can’t imagine going on that drive twice every day. You must do homework on the way home with that much time on your hands.
“Believe me, when I wake up every morning, I want to.” You groan as you put in a code and open the door. Everyone follows you as you walk.
“She knows this place like the back of her hand,” Peter thinks in utter disbelief that you knows the layout of this mansion. He knows he shouldn’t be surprised because you live here, but still, it’s impressive.
You guide them all to the kitchen. There you plop down your bag on one of the counter stools. Peter suspects that this isn’t the only kitchen in the house.
“uh, this is my familys kitchen, only my family uses it, sometimes the Avengers. You can put your stuff down.” You say with a smile. Your three friends take a seat.
“So, let me explain a bit about the set up.” You offer as you walk to the other side of the island and lean against it, facing them.
“We have a house house section of this building, and then an Avenger section.” You explain. “So on this side of the building it's more homey and you know, like a house.” You say gesturing to the homey kitchen.
“Should we take our shoes off?” Ned asks. You chuckle. “You can do whatever. We usually do, but you can keep them on if you want.”
“Where should we put them?” MJ asks, and you point to a closet near the entrance of the spacious kitchen. You walk over and slide off your shoes before placing them on one of the shoe racks.
”Fancy,” Peter smirks at you and you blush slightly and nod. Peter sees you blush and he can’t help but blush too.
——
Eventually you all make your way to the theater room that you somehow just have in your house. You all gather round in comfy seats with snacks from the snack cart and blankets. Peter, MJ, and Ned are astounded at your wealth.
MJ scrolls through the movies. You and Peter sit next to each other on a two person couch, while MJ and Ned sit together on another two person couch. MJ had insisted that you and Peter sit together. She reasoned, Peter would get scared and need his girlfriend to comfort him. You rolled your eyes, while Peter blushed furiously.
“So, how about The Sixth Sense? It's a classic.” MJ asks. You nod and look at Ned and Peter.
“I'm chill with that.” You note. Ned sighs loudly. You can practically feel MJ roll her eyes.
“Fine. As long as I can see your dads lab, Y/n.” Ned says pointing his finger at you.
“Promise is a promise.” You confirm, lifting your hands up in surrender.
“Okay, start it.” Peter says and MJ does. The music begins to rumble softly through the speakers in the room. It flows around you all, drawing you in. The screen flickers to life as the movie rolls.
As the opening scene plays Peter can feel your hand resting awfully close to his. The heat radiating from your skin hits his skin. Peter has trouble paying attention, his breath gets caught in his throat. And he's starting to notice a pattern of that when he's around you.
He can feel you shuffle closer to him. His body stiffens and he glances over at you. He makes sure only to move his eyes, not his head. He doesn’t know what to think of it when you move so your thigh is pressed against his. He doesn't want to assume it's something that it’s not, but, what else would it be? He asks himself. He runs through all the possibilities. And his conclusion is that you want this. You want him close. So he obliges, hoping his suspicions are correct.
As you move closer once again, your eyes still on the large screen, he moves his arms to wrap around your waist to pull you close. He feels you tense. And immediately he pulls away. Embarrassment and shame flowing through his veins.
But then, as if out of a book, you grasp his hands, and pull them back. He lets out a small breath. “She wants this? She really wants this?” Peter thinks with a relieved and thrilled smile.
You pull his arm back around you, to snake around your waist. You push your back into his chest slightly, at least as best you can while sitting next to him. You lean your head against his shoulder. Peter's heart drums through his chest as fast as it does while fighting crime. Almost faster.
Peter moves to nuzzle his head against yours. He sighs in euphoria. This is all he's ever wanted. Maybe it's not a kiss, but in some ways this is better. Holding each other close in a dark room is so intimate.
Peter closes his eyes, trying to savor the moment. He feels your hands graze over his that are wrapped around you. He moves one of his hands to intertwine with yours and the soft contact of your skin against his makes his heart skip a beat. His other hand sits securely around you. You let your body relax against his and Peter swears he’s dreaming.
You both just sit there. Both of you two focused on the close proximity to pay attention to the movie. Eventually though, your eyes slowly fall shut, and Peter can hear your breathing slow and soft snores leave you. He smiles, pulling you closer and glancing down at you. With all of his being, Peter hopes that the feeling in his heart, that this is too real to be you both faking your relationship, is not just a feeling in his heart.
Tag list:
@riordanness
@princess-ofthe-pages
@sunnyx07
@hollandweather
@crumpets-are-better-with-jam
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