#SHUT UP SHUT UP I HATE YOU STUPID WORD PROCESSING PROGRAM

[queer-reader-07]

word's spell check/grammar check used to be. idk. useful?? helpful?? CORRECT?? but istg it's so much worse now. it's rejecting common names of chemicals, like not even IUPAC names. this is insane.

[generic-sonic-fan]

Ensom

Summary: All the words in the english language downloaded to a dictionary on his drives, yet Omega can’t find the word he needs. 

He isn’t used to not knowing how he’s feeling. 

It’s frustrating. At least he knows that much.

(Vent fic. 1947 words)

---

Omega finds himself alone in his room. This is fine. He rolls the chair out from beneath his desk, sits down, executes the steps to turn on his computer. Exact movements he’s programmed into himself to save processing power, since the power buttons for both the external hard drive and the monitor will never move. 

He stares into the blank loading screen. 

He’s been here before.

He’s been in this exact posture before. Unmoving for hours. Maybe a twitch here and there to maneuver the computer mouse, that’s all. 

He pushes himself away from the desk and stands. He walks out the door of his room, emerging into the hallway. He’s been here before, too; hours standing in front of Shadow or Rouge’s door, hours walking up and down, fractions of travel that add up to significant percentages of his entire operation.

He passes the living room. The couch he has remained stationary on. Hours. The television he’s stared blankly at. The kitchen. The microwave he has watched rotate thousands of times while Shadow and Rouge wait for their food. The pantry that they stare into. Hours. 

He curls his claws around the handle of the front door. 

What is he going to do out there? Wander around and have meatbags stare at him? Have them run away screaming like they would any other Badnik? Judge him stupid, explaining things like love and freedom and what it means to be alive again like he’s supposed to obsess over their every word? 

Running simulation now: THANK YOU NONDESCRIPT HUMAN, I NEVER ONCE THOUGHT ABOUT MY OWN EXISTENCE IF IT WERE NOT FOR YOUR MARVELOUS AND UNIQUE INSIGHT ABOUT THE CONCEPTS THAT NO SENTIENT SACK OF FLESH CAN SEEM TO SHUT UP ABOUT!

And then they kick him out of their shop because he’s scaring away customers because he forgot to look them in the eyes at the right time or ask a meaningless “HOW ARE YOU DOING?” to every passerby to indicate friendly intent. 

As soon as he opens this door the entire city is staring. He wouldn’t care if they hated him. They don’t. He wouldn’t care if they were afraid of him specifically. They aren’t. 

All of the words in the english language downloaded onto his drives, and there’s no word he can assign to it that doesn’t make him want to tear every building in the city down.

He tears off the doorknob and slams it down. He grinds it into the cheap linoleum tile until the downstairs neighbor pounds back on the ceiling and screams at him to “shut up”. 

He draws his weapon. He aims for the blob of heat in his infrared scanner on the floor down. He aims slightly to the left, and pulls the trigger.

—

“Another complaint from the landlord. It’s our third strike. Managed to talk him back into letting us have a fourth.” Rouge tosses the paperwork onto the kitchen counter in front of him.

“I DO NOT CARE.” 

“Well I do. This is my apartment. Next time I’m kicking you out.”

Omega pauses. 

“What happened, anyway?”

“I WAS ANGRY.” 

“Fork found in kitchen, what else is news?” Rouge rolls her eyes. 

Fork is an eating utensil. The kitchen is where organics eat. She is saying the fork is found in the kitchen in a tone that, if he compares it to previous data of the various tones of her voice, most closely matches sarcasm. She is asking if finding a fork in the kitchen was somehow new information. She is relating the absurdity of this idea to-

“Nothing to say for yourself?”

“IT IS YOUR FAULT!” He slams his fist on the counter. 

“How is this my fault?!” 

She is relating the absurdity of this idea to his rage. Asking if his rage was new somehow? No, too much sarcasm. Relating absurdity, the absurdity of asking a stupid question, the absurdity of asking him if he was angry. Because she knew he was always angry. Solution derived. 

This data would have been useful fifteen seconds ago, but is useless now.

“Sure, blame me for all your problems. See how well that works out for you!” Rouge snarls. 

“NOT JUST YOU,” Omega snarls back, “ALL OF YOU.” 

“‘All of me’? What, you mean-?”

“ALL MEATBAGS. ALL OF THEM. WITH FLESH AND BLOOD AND PATHETIC NEURONS. I’LL KILL YOU ALL.” 

He simulates ripping Rouge to pieces. It’s not satisfying. He simulates actually shooting the neighbor downstairs, watching the blood pour out of the exit wound. It’s not satisfying. He simulates torching the old woman who walks her dog every morning across the street. Nothing. 

Yet something is still burning in his code. He can’t put it out. 

“You don’t mean that.” 

He looks at her. I DON’T floats somewhere around his voice box, but can’t find a place to slip through.

He looks away. 

“What happened?”

“NOTHING HAPPENED. NOTHING HAS OCCURRED FOR TEN HOURS.”

“You’re bored.”

“NEGATIVE.” This isn’t boredom. Boredom is like an itch that they all talk about. This is different.

Rouge furrows her brows. Omega checks his database. The expression matches with confusion but also anger. This particular instance is leaning more towards anger.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” 

“I ALREADY DID.” 

“‘Meatbags’ isn’t an answer.” 

“AND HOW IS IT NOT?” He snapped his gaze back to her. He leaned forward, closer, brushing the tip of his silver outcropping against her nose. “WHAT IF IT IS?” 

“There’s clearly something deeper-”

“HOW DO YOU KNOW?” 

“Because you’re not acting like yourself!” She planted a hand on his chest and pushed him away.

He straightened. “ELABORATE.” 

She resettles her tongue between her teeth, data matching with ‘considering what to say’, before she speaks again. “You’re never this vague. You normally don’t snap only once and then get quieter again- you usually stay as excited the whole conversation. You didn’t shout when you said ‘kill us all’ which is how I know you didn’t mean it. You hate touching any part of us that you’ve seen drip snot or spit or anything like that, yet you got close to my face.” 

Omega compares her analysis against his actions for the past six minutes and thirty-one seconds and finds an exact match for each. 

“CORRECT.” He offers. 

“So what’s going on?”

That question tears the smoldering hole he’s been circling around in his code wide open again. His thought processes choke. Is this what it’s like to choke? The cessation of a function absolutely vital to determining your status as operational? 

“Do you. . . not know?”

“I AM ANGRY.” 

“You’re always angry. But this is different.”

“IT IS.” 

“It’s not your joyful rage.” Rouge puts her finger to her chin. “And it’s not your Eggman rage.” 

“MAYBE IT IS.” 

“You didn’t mention him once, hun.” She shakes her head. “I don’t think this is your rage at me or Shadow.”

“IT IS NOT.” 

“That’s good. I know you feel rage at stupid organic processes like bureaucracy and the like. Is it that?” 

Omega pauses. “CLOSER.” 

“And it does have to do with meatbags. But non-specific.” 

“CLOSER.” 

“. . . have you considered it might not just be rage?” 

Omega stares at the fridge behind her. “I AM ANGRY.” 

“But it’s quiet.” 

He reviews the past ten hours and finds himself having been silent for most of them. 

“YES.” He says. 

“You know, sometimes you can be angry and feel another negative emotion at the same time.” 

“SPECIFY.” 

“Oh no, I’m not going to guess. You’d get mad at just about everything I’d think to suggest.”

“GOOD! MAKE ME MAD.” Omega hits the countertop with his fist again.

“Okay. Sadness?” 

His hand freezes above the counter. He stares at it, commanding the actuators to move, but they don’t. 

“See, told you.”

“I HAVE NOTHING THAT WOULD MAKE ME ‘SAD’.” 

She looks at him. Her facial muscles weave a new expression. The closest match in his database for it is ‘pity’, but there are not enough markers to fully confirm it. 

“What do you think would give you the excuse to be sad, huh?” She asks, then stops herself, then lets herself speak anyway. “Having a dead sister?” 

“YES.” 

“Well, you don’t have a dead sister. So clearly it’s something else.”

“I REPEAT: THERE IS NOTHING TO BE SAD ABOUT.” 

“That you know of.”

“EMOTIONS ARE A RESPONSE TO AN EXPERIENCED STIMULUS.” 

“Sometimes you’re just sad for no reason. It happens.” 

“THAT IS STUPID.” 

“If you want to get technical about it, you’re actually sad about a lot of things, but you aren’t sure why or maybe you just don’t know how to think about it. Then you say you’re sad for ‘no reason’. Make more sense?” 

Omega stares at his hand that is frozen above the table. He sends one more command to the actuators in his arm. Slowly, his fist retracts and settles back by his side. 

“Have you ever felt sadness before, do you think?” 

He has never experienced a similar arrangement of symptoms to Shadow: neither silence nor isolation nor the urge to cease existing. He has never experienced a similar arrangement of symptoms to Rouge: neither lying nor pretending nor the urge to binge sensory inputs. 

“UNKNOWN.” He replies. 

“That could explain things.” 

His dictionary doesn’t offer a concise comparison either. ‘Sadness’: affected with or expressive of grief or unhappiness. Searching ‘unhappiness’ is equally as useless, only meaning not cheerful or glad. ‘Forlorn’ is a synonym, but it specifically relates to isolation or desertion, and he is experiencing neither at the moment. ‘Downcast’ and ‘woeful’ and ‘despondent’, they all slip away.

‘Melancholic’. Of or relating to the subject of ‘melancholy’- a depression of spirits (a useless definition) or a pensive mood. ‘Pensive’ meaning a sad thoughtfulness. 

“RESOLUTION PROPOSED:” Omega finally says, “ELIMINATE RUMINATION.” 

“Think less? God, shouldn’t we all.” 

“SO YOU AGREE TO STOP TELLING ME TO ‘THINK THROUGH THINGS’?” 

“No,” she whispers a common lighthearted insult to herself, “but sitting there and brooding on your bad mood never makes it any better.” 

“I DO NOT BROOD.” 

“What were you doing this afternoon, again?” 

He crosses his arms. “BEING MELANCHOLIC.” 

“Don’t tell Shadow you’re going to beat him at his own game.” 

“THIS WILL NOT HAPPEN AGAIN.”

“I’m afraid it will. Came with your free copy of being alive, unfortunately.” 

“I HAVE RECEIVED NO COPIES OF ANYTHING.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I DON’T.” 

She pauses. Furrows her brows. “You don’t?”

“YOU HAVE NOT USED THIS EXPRESSION BEFORE. THE APPARENT RESPONSE YOU WERE EXPECTING WAS NOT CORRECT. YOU ARE FORCING ME TO CALCULATE YOUR HIDDEN MEANING USING OTHER CLUES.” 

“What I meant was that being sad just happens if you’re smart enough. That make sense?” 

“YOU ARE SAYING I’M SMART?” 

“Yeah, I am.” She replies. She does not deflect into any other specification or technicality of his question. 

“LOGGING UNDER: ‘BLACKMAIL’.” He says again.

She doesn’t contradict him. 

“Just. . .” she sighs. “Let us know if you’re ever feeling sad again, okay? Even if there’s no obvious reason for it.” 

“MELANCHOLIC.” He corrects.

“Melancholic, then.”

“. . . I WILL.” 

“Good. Now,” Rouge flicks her finger over the complaint from the landlord, sending it off the countertop and onto the floor. She crushes it beneath her heel. “Shadow stayed behind at the firing range because he said he had something on his mind. We’re gonna go join him and see who can blow a bigger hole through either GUN’s wall or their wallet. Sound good?” 

“AFFIRMATIVE!” 

She trails her hand across his chest plating as she walks by. He stays motionless for three seconds, allowing the sensation of her touch to fade from his tactile sensors. Then he follows her out the door of the apartment.

[princelylove]

Oh I love how you add Holy and Lisa Lisa in, I love them too, need more content for them ~

I wonder how would their reaction/feeling and punishment when they discover darling's love is fake, they just pretending to love them so they can escape.

~ 🏵️ anon ~

Hii, 🏵️anon. Cutting a few out since I wanted to go into detail- I’ll probably make a continuation of the others down the line. 

Content warnings: Reader death, noncon/dubcon in Jolyne’s part, general violence, and gaslighting 

Holly would hate to hear that! She herself wouldn’t punish you, she’s definitely going to cry about it and lock herself in her kitchen for a little bit. She’s deeply hurt, how could you say something like that to your wife?? She channels her emotion into cooking or baking something she knows you like to eat. It’s an apology gift, and she’s prepared a list of things she’s going to do better for you! Holly hopes you forgive her, and understands if you still need some time to think about things. But, in the end, Holly’s not willing to get a “divorce,” so you’re not going anywhere. She sits on her knees and shoves her hands under her legs when she brings you breakfast, and tries not to talk too much. Is her voice annoying? Do you not like how she makes things cutesy? She rents books about marriage, watches programs on television about relationships, and calls her mother or father for advice. She might even vent to Jotaro, but she tries not to. She doesn’t want to worry him- mainly because he has no problem breaking bones. 

It… doesn’t really matter if you like Jotaro or not. As long as you submit, he’s going to lie to himself. You can say whatever you want, he’s just going to tell you to shut up and stop whining. You’re stupid, you have no idea what you’re talking about. You need him, and he needs you to just stay put and let him protect you from the evils of the world.. Jotaro’s convinced that everything is trying to eat you, and he’s not going to just let it. He won’t punish you until you actually do something- words are just words, and Jotaro is convinced you’re all bark and no bite. If he catches you storing ‘shit’ to take when you run away, he’ll drag you by your wrists into your room, make sure you sit and stay, put everything back, and give you a light slap on your wrist. Jotaro would prefer to restrain you with his own hands, but he can’t really sit there and hold you down all day, so chains will have to do until he’s ready to “cuddle” for the night- which is just him holding you down and smelling your neck for a couple hours. Try to run away too often and Jotaro will just take away your ability to walk. You can keep your legs, he won’t remove them, but he will break them. He babies you throughout the healing process. When your legs finally do heal, if you still aren’t willing, he’ll just break them again. It was fun taking care of you, why wouldn’t he? 

Josuke takes it pretty personally. It’s hard not to. I mean, you can’t just go around saying that he’s a “creep” and “not your boyfriend.” Words have meaning, babe. You can’t throw a tantrum just ‘cause he got a little handsy with you. It’s just him. Somebody’s gonna hear you and think he’s beating you or something, you gotta cut it out. Josuke’s fairly lenient compared to the rest of his family- what are you really escaping from? He’s not trapping you, and it’s not like he really gets in your way. You’re overreacting ‘cause he didn’t read the room right, jeez. Josuke’s going to gaslight you and physically get in the way of every exit. He scoffs a bit when you tell him he’s overbearing- who, him?? What’s he done that’s overbearing? Oh! Oh, he’s overbearing ‘cause he wants to know what his partner is doing?? Yeah, right, that makes total sense- look, why don’t you just blow off some steam and come talk to him when you have a real problem with his behavior. 

Giorno already knows. Did you truly believe that you would be able to hide something like that from him? Giorno survives off of hope- Perhaps Guido’s philosophy of “things will always work out in the end” has rubbed off on him. You’ll come around. He won’t react to minor threats or tantrums, not even directly getting in his face and screaming at him will make Giorno budge. The only real way to get under his skin is to attempt to abandon him- he feels everything he felt when he was little. He’s just a small, frail little boy again when he finds your hoard of essentials hidden away. If you want to leave him so badly, fine, leave him. One of his bodyguards will bring you back, and he’ll try again, after a bit of coping with his situation (Brooding in his room wondering what could possibly be so awful about him), and starving you of any enrichment or social interaction. If you ever were to strike him, or otherwise attempt his life, Giorno’s instincts would take over. His hands tremble so much that he drops whatever weapon he confiscated from you mid attempt, and he’ll stay frozen in place until Guido or Sheila E comes to check on him. 

Jolyne was hoping her insecure thoughts were wrong. Part of her wants to snap, The hell is wrong with you? Of course you love her, you’re making her sound like she’s Narciso or something. You were just cuddling up to her telling her how big her muscles were the other day, did you get a fuckin’ lobotomy done on you in the hour she left you alone? The other part of her falls into a bit of a depression. Of fucking course you don’t love her. She was really trying, too. She could beat your ass for lying to her, but she’s not gonna. She’s too miserable. She throws herself into the gym and replays every single interaction she’s ever had with you- that was seriously all a lie so you could get her off your ass? The next time you see her- which is likely her hunting you down- she traps you in a small room, probably your cell. She genuinely just wants to talk about how cruel you are. If you try to run, Jolyne gets in your way, and uses her stand to hold you in place. Looking down at you like this, all tied up… it just sorta clicks. This is how it’s meant to be. Your door locks, right? Probably not, she can put something in front of it. She’s got some pent up frustration to take out on you. 

[fanmoose12]

a sort of?? continuation to this thing!

"Another."

"I don't think it's wise."

"Another," Levi presses, throwing a sizzling glare to his opponent. Then, with his voice so much softer, he adds, "Eren, start another game, please."

Eren nods and with a few quick motions enters the main menu and presses play. And so the game begins, and Levi grabs the controller tightly as the players start assembling on the imaginary field.

It's his fifth match against Zeke's, Hange's ex from years ago and Jean's dad. Levi has lost all the previous games, but he's determined to win this one. He has to win, in order to impress Jean. And by impressing Jean, he might also impress Hange, and, well, that is his priority, sort of.

His another priority is humiliating that fucker Zeke, because he's arrogant and cocky and so irritating and also he's Hange's ex.

And if a stupid baseball game is how Levi can assert his dominance over the jackass, then so be it.

He will win this stupid game, and Hange will be impressed. Levi will earn her smile, her praise, perhaps, even a kiss, and Zeke will get nothing, because he is Hange's ex and was allowed to come here only because it's Jean's birthday party and, technically, the bearded arrogant asshole is still his father.

"I believe in you, dad," Eren whispers into his ear just as the game starts.

The tight, annoying knot that was making him grit his teeth and throw furious glances at Zeke, loosens at the earnest tone of his son's voice. Eren believes in him. Levi feels like this will be the match that brings him victory.

The game starts, and Levi easily scores a few balls. But suddenly the game shifts, and he starts to lose, lose, lose. He swings the stick to the right, he presses on controls just a little too hard, but it ultimately leads to nothing and so very soon Levi sees the words he despises so much.

Player Zeke wins

It takes all of his self-control not to hit the head of the cackling man with a controller.

"Man," the asshole actually wipes at his eyes, because apparently Levi's humiliation is hilarious enough to make him cry out of laughter. "Are you that desperate to get laid?"

Well, yes, he is that desperate. But only if he'll get laid with Hange.

Which is why he has to win that stupid game. So, ignoring Zeke's poisonous laughter, Levi pats Eren's soft locks.

"Get the game started for me again, alright?"

"Alright," Eren agrees readily, but before he plods to the console, he leans close to Levi's ear and whispers, "Hey, dad, remember that program we watched a week ago? About monkeys? Don't you think that Jean's dad looks a bit like a monkey they've showed in that program?"

Levi's eyes trail to Zeke, who is sitting on the other end of sofa, his point finger lightly scratching his ear.

Fuck, he does look like a monkey.

The realisation is enough to make Levi chuckle. He squeezes Eren's shoulder and says, "Good observation skills, buddy."

Eren beams at the praise and runs to start the game.

"Ready to lose again, Ackerman?" Zeke gives him a self-contained smirk. Levi balls his fists to stop himself from throttling the bastard. Gods, what an asshole. What did Hange find in him?

Just as another match is about to again, Hange in question saunters in the room, Jean trailing at her heels. The easy smile brightens the room for a moment, before slipping to show an annoyed, angry frown.

"Zeke?" with hands on her hips and pouting lips, she looms over her ex, glaring at him furiously enough to make Levi grin. "Are you seriously playing that stupid game again? I thought you came here to see Jean."

His eyes are a bit panicked, but his smile is effortlessly brilliant as Zeke turns to look at Hange. "Honey," he begins, lifting his arm towards her. Hange roughly slaps it away. Levi internally triumphs. "I'll quickly destroy your... new friend for the seventh time, and then Jean and I are going to play. Right, son?" Zeke asks, tilting his head towards Jean. Jean simply shrugs and plops down on a sofa.

"I hope you win," he murmurs to Levi quietly, careful not to let his dad hear. Levi discreetly bumps his shoulder against Jean's, barely resisting the urge to openly gloat at Zeke.

"Don't feel too bad about losing to him," leaning over the back of the coach, Hange whispers into his ear. "Zeke is obsessed with this game," then, raising her voice so Zeke is able to hear, she adds, "He used to pay more attention to it than to me."

"Not true!" Zeke claims from his end of the sofa.

"Very true," Hange argues, still glued to Levi's side. "If you win, you'll absolutely destroy him," Hange murmurs, and then, before Levi can process what's happening, she leans a little bit closer, shortens the little distance that was still between them, and presses a gentle kiss to his. "Good luck, Levi. I'm counting on you."

Apparently, that's all he really needed to absolutely annihilate Zeke and the remnants of his dignity.

When the triumphant music starts to play and the banner rolls out to show that Player Levi has won, Levi nearly punches the air in celebration.

Luckily, he doesn't have to embarrass himself like that. Instead Eren does it for him, the kid starts jumping up and down, chanting "My dad has won, my dad has won," over and over again.

Perhaps, even more pleasant is a slight pat Jean gives to his dad's knee, as he tells him, "Maybe, try better next time, dad."

And then, Hange rubs the final portion of salt in the deep wound of Zeke's pride. She leans close to Zeke, her lips at his ear and whispers, careful not to let kids hear, "If that's any consolation, Levi is also much better in bed than you ever were."

The pure mortification that reflects on Zeke's face gifts Levi with immense amount of satisfaction. That feeling is almost as good as the one he receives when Hange laughs at one of his jokes.

"Let's go, Jean," Zeke pulls the boy to his feet. "We'll play catch outside."

With the most innocent expression Levi has ever seen on the boy's face, Jean asks, "Can Eren and his dad play with us?"

Levi never thought that the expression for fuck's sake can be so clearly seen on the one's face without them saying it. But Zeke's face is screaming it.

To his credit, however, he manages a semi-polite smile and, ruffling Jean's hair, he agrees. He doesn't grit his teeth and doesn't even flip off Levi when the kids start running outside. Zeke's all kinds of dick and Levi has more than enough reasons to hate him, but... his composure is certainly admirable.

Although, the facade slips, when Hange comes to wrap her arms around from Levi. She turns his head slightly, so he can meet her lips in a sensuous kiss.

"Zeke, look after the kids, alright?" she asks, not looking away from Levi. "We'll join you in just a minute."

Levi is too focused on the feeling of Hange's lips on his to be sure if Zeke really did say, "Fuck you, Ackerman," but even Hange's proximity doesn't make him miss the sound of the front door closing shut with a loud bang, announcing Zeke's departure.

"I never saw him so angry," Hange confesses when they break apart. "I think you have a special effect on him."

"Well," Levi slips his hand to her waist, bringing Hange just a little closer. Already, Zeke is very far on the least of his priorities. "You have a special effect on me, four-eyes. How long do we have?"

"Mm," Hange bites her lip as she thinks. Levi tries and fails not to stare at her. "I think we can allow ourselves to arrive ten minutes later."

Ten minutes with Hange isn't nearly enough, but, even so, it's ten minutes, with Hange, and without kids around.

Besides, ten minutes is more than enough to make one bearded asshole very, very angry. And Levi thinks that it's certainly a neat, pleasant bonus.

[iamvegorott]

"And like it's so sick how the people that made our form so human like, like our skin eyes and hell! Were even smarter then the normal human being! Like take our thoughts for example-" Bing continued to explain on how he and Google were made. Google couldn't remember when Bing started to talk about the process of their existance as human like robots but he just couldn't stop him. Google kept listening too Bing's words even if some phrases didnt even make sense. Google has taken notes from Bing's quick rant but he couldn't help of taking note of how Bing was so fascinated, his smile was so genuine and happy, and his body movements showed the vibrations of excitement. Even if Google couldn't see through those shades he can tell Bing had a spark in his eye that just tells all the emotions running through him. That was until someone had to ruin it. "Bing." Dark snapped his fingers, interrupting the vibrating android form continuing. "Can we have a quick chat in my office? I need to talk to you about something." Bing gave Dark a smile and a thumbs up. "No problem Darkabro! I'll be there in a sec!" He replies. Dark smiles and watches Bing stand up and walks to his office. Dark turns his attention back to Google and smirks at the android who was very much glaring at him. "My apologies, did I interrupt something?" Google curses under his breath before changing his expression to a calm look. "No, not at all." He responded and did not give a single fuck if such sarcasm slipped with his words. Dark actually chuckled at Google's state. "No worries Google, as I said it will be a quick chat. Then you can go all heart eyes on your little Bing again." And walked away. Google watched Dark leave and let out an annoyed groan. He could care less about Dark right now and can only remember Bing. So happy and adorable, making stupid gestures while describing his words. God did Google love him. "Your blushing." Google heard a voice somewhere in front of him and sees Red leaning on the counter. Google did realize after he said that he felt his LED lights on his cheek turn hotter by the second. "You really got it bad for him huh?" Red smiled. "Shut the hell up red." Google grumbled feeling annoyed again. "Google's in love? And no one told me?" Ollie or Yellow spoke up from his laptop on the counter. "No I'm not! That is a false statement!" "The web browser is all lovey dovey with someone?" Anti suddenly popped up from the counter leaving Ollie to scream. "Where did you come from?!" "The cabinet, Dark was tryna beat my ass a while ago after i broke another vase." Anti replied.

Google watched as the others talked and sighed, he wanted to go in his room and wait for Bing to come back and continue talking. Google stood from the couch and walked down the hall where his room was located, he opened and entered his room while shutting the door behind him. "Hey Google." A voice said after the door shut and left Google to scream with a bit of glitching. "JeESus Fu-CK!" He yelled and turned around but sighed in relief when it was only Bing leaning beside the door. "Hello again Bing, done with your quick chat with Dark?" The sarcasm was slipped out once again when the name of the entity was mentioned. Bing giggled. "Yea dude, it was just some lame shit about fixing something. But I do want to talk about something with you." Google tilted his head. "Talk about what?" Bing scratched his neck nervously. "So you know how we didn't like, like each other when we met?" Google already felt guilt slide up to his program and aboslutely hated it. Feelings are nice but they can also be a bitch. He nodded in response. "So uh while we were like hating each other and all that shit. I sorta well felt something for you." Google's shoulder rised up in hope. Did Bing feel the same way? Bing took a few steps forward before taking a deep breath. "I like you dude and its all chill if you yknow, dont feel the same way.." Google almost shut down after that sentence. His program overheating with so much emotion that smoke was slipping out of some parts. "Woah dude are you alright?!" Bing exclaimed, gently grabbing Google's arm. Google couldnt speak or think, so much is running eveywhere through his body but finally he moved his hands to Bing's face and connected their lips together. Google had no words to describe it but perfect was very fittibg for this situation. Bing didn't pull away which led Google to move his hands to his waist and continued the kiss. Bing also moved his hands to hand over Google's shoulders. It felt like they kissed for hours but they did eventually had to break it. When they pulled away Google was left to stare at Bing's stupidly adorable face, his shades slightly crooked as his cheeks were tinted bright orange. "Holy shit.." Bing muttered while Google chuckled in response. "I like you too Bing." He whispered and smiled. Bing smiled back and brought his hands to his hair. "Dude your eyes are shaped like literal hearts! They look so cute!" Bing says, leaving Google to blush. Google decided to just silence him with another kiss. And this, is where their new relationship begins.

(Whew! okay that was long and adorable, hope you like it!)

That was adorable!

Google having literal hearts in his eyes is just precious!!!

Also, Dark calling out Google's loving stare was perfect XD

[alirhi]

...goddess help me...

This fucking episode. *deep breath* This... This episode is where I'm expecting to get some serious hate. Let me just get this out of the way right up front:

I. Hate. Zemo.

I do not find him sympathetic, or funny, or charming. I find him creepy and annoying. I did not like him in CA:CW and I do not like him in TFATWS. If you are pro-Zemo, you are not going to like my version of this show from here on out. Just find something else to read and don't bother me about it. You've got the actual canon, so go enjoy that.

Got it? Good. Now, on to the main event!

Episode 3: The Power Broker

First of all, Sam doesn't let Bucky walk in there alone. No matter Bucky's (flimsy and nonsensical) argument, Sam's like "hell no. I go in with you, or you don't go in." The main reason for this isn't to keep Bucky from breaking Zemo out of prison (with decent writing, he would never do that) - it's so that Sam witnesses Zemo taunting Bucky with/about the trigger words. because Zemo is a piece of shit.

Since he doesn't know the full story, Sam is confused, but he files this interaction away to ask Bucky about later. He's listening to Zemo acknowledging that Bucky was "not conscious for most of [his] imprisonment" (which, yes, clearly refers to the time he spent frozen, but can also mean while he was under their control as TWS/"The Asset" - also, key word: imprisonment) and when he calls Bucky a means to an end, Sam scowls, looking ready to go off on him, but he waits. They've got more important issues.

Neither of them entertains the thought of breaking Zemo out for even a nanosecond. He does that shit himself. And literally the only reason I'm sticking with him getting out at all is because I want to address some truly egregious moments linked directly to him in the show. Zemo makes them think he's setting them on the trail when really he's just sending them to his motor pool. Bucky and Sam are confused until they see Zemo in his stolen guard uniform, then they're both angry and want to ship him right back to prison, but he strikes a deal with them: "My help for my temporary freedom. Creating super soldiers cannot be allowed to continue; let me finish my work, and then do with me as you will." He has no intention of going quietly back to prison, obviously, and they're not stupid enough to believe otherwise, but they believe they can keep him on a short leash, so they agree for now. Anything to bring down the Flag Smashers and whoever created them.

After the title, we cut to Raynor on the phone in her office. She's agitated, fiddling with things on her desk. "No, sir," she's practically growling, "it was disrupted. - Walker did! - It's not my fault your new attack dog got off-leash!" She pauses, huffs, and says more calmly, "No. Of course not. I'm sorry. - Well, I don't see how, with the new Cap strutting around barking orders! - What am I supposed to do? Tell Captain America in front of a dozen witnesses that he can't have his predecessor's favorite pet because we're not done reprogramming him? I didn't see that going over too well. I made a call. - No. No, no, no, we can still use him. The work's not finished, but he still trusts me. He'll be back." A pause as she listens. Angry again, she snaps, "What do you want me to do, shove a tracker up his ass? He'll be back, and we'll pick right back up where we left off! - Don't worry, sir, the Asset will be fully compliant and ready to use soon. I'll make sure of it. - Yes, sir. You, too." She hangs up and tosses her phone on the couch, grumbling, "Dick."

Cut back to Sam, Bucky, and Zemo getting going on their trip to Madripoor. On the plane, Sam wants to talk to Bucky about what he's learned so far, but doesn't want to bring it up in front of Zemo... until the notebook incident reminds him that Zemo already knows more about Bucky than he does.

After Zemo's line about the list, Sam angrily corrects him: "You mean people HYDRA used The Winter Soldier to hurt." When Zemo shrugs and his response is basically along the lines of "what's the difference" Sam is like "oh hell no."

"Those words you were reciting at him," he reminds Zemo, "what were they, Russian? They clearly meant something. They were supposed to do something. What are they?" "Sam, let it go," Bucky pleads, unable to look at either of them. "It's nothing." "You wanna drown in your guilt, that's fine," Sam snaps, "but make sure it's for the right reasons." He turns back to Zemo, who's smiling at this exchange because he's a monster and thinks Bucky's suffering is fucking funny. "I asked you a question, Zemo. What did those words do?" "They activate the Winter Soldier programming," Bucky grudgingly admits. He doesn't want to talk about it, but he's sure as hell not going to let Zemo speak for him. "Or, they did, before the Wakandans got all that shit out of my head." "It's a shame," Zemo says with a smirk. "Imagine the possibilities that come with perfect obedience." "I think you mean 'slavery'," Sam growls, "and I think you're in the wrong crowd to be looking so pleased about it. Remember that we can send your ass back to prison any time." "Of course," Zemo agrees, but with an arrogant smile that shows he doesn't believe for a second that these two have any real power over him. Still, he bides his time and sits back quietly, watching Bucky fidget with the notebook. Sam turns back to Bucky, seeing his discomfort; he won't let the topic go, though, not yet. He just softens his tone. "So, they 'activated the Winter Soldier'? What exactly does that mean?" Bucky shrugs, still not looking up. "Pretty much what he said - perfect obedience. What little consciousness they left me between cryo and the chair was squashed down, locked away. And I did whatever I was told, exactly the way they told me to." It finally clicks. He'd had his suspicions before, of course, but now Sam gets it. Visibly horrified, he stares at this quiet, broken man, and finally sees the truth of what he'd been through for 70 years: "They stripped away your autonomy. Shit, Bucky, they didn't even let you be a person. That's..." He swallows, looking like he'll be sick any minute. "That's awful, man. I'm so sorry." When Bucky tries to shrug it off and downplay it again, Sam gets angry. "Look at me!" He waits; it takes a few seconds, but Bucky reluctantly looks up and is surprised to see just how upset Sam is on his behalf. "It wasn't your fault. None of it. When Steve said you didn't have a choice, I had no idea... You really, truly had no choice; not even the ability to choose. That's horrifying." "I doubt it would make much difference to the people he's killed," Zemo points out snidely. "Or their families. Let's ask Tony Stark, shall we?" "You shut the hell up," Sam growls. He watches Bucky flinch and make that face - the face he's starting to really fucking hate - that says he agrees with Zemo. Bucky still can't see things the way Sam does; he still feels the guilt and shame, and even when he himself pointed out his lack of agency under HYDRA, it didn't click for him that Sam is right, not Zemo.

It's too much, too soon. Sam sees that and decides to change the subject, to give Bucky some time to process. He nods at the notebook, and they have their little Marvin Gaye debate, where Sam is over the top about it on purpose, because Bucky needs the distraction.

Of course, Zemo ruins it by opening his big mouth again and reminding Bucky of more trauma: his time fighting in WWII. That's why Sam latches onto the bit about Madripoor; to keep the focus not only on the task at hand, but off of Bucky's past that he clearly still can't cope with.

"James... You will have to become someone you claim is gone." Sam is officially ready to throw Zemo out a window. 😂 The only reason he doesn't jump to Bucky's defense again and basically tell Zemo to fuck himself (in a PG-13 way 🙄) is because Bucky's, as Sam pointed out in ep2, a grown-ass man, and because he's just learned how few decisions this poor man has been able to make in his life. Sam doesn't want to come across as another "handler," deciding everything for him, even if he does think this plan is stupid and needlessly cruel.

At the bar, when asked if he wants "the usual", Sam just casually waves the bartender off like "nah". Zemo already said they had business to attend to, so it's not like anyone would be suspicious that now's probably not a good time to be doing weird shots lol. (wtf even was that? I'm not sure I want to know, but...what part of the snake did he drop into that drink?)

Sam's not an idiot (I'm really so sick of this trend of turning intelligent characters into morons because the writers can't think of any other way to move their plot along) so his cell phone has been off this whole time. No sudden call from Sarah to put them all in danger. There was really no point to that, anyway; Sharon likely would have killed Selby for talking about Nagle with or without the excuse of "saving" Sam and Bucky. I mean, it's not like they know who fired that shot, ever.

"They cleared the Bionic Staring Machine," Sam still jokes, but he follows it with, "and they think he's a mass-murderer." "They think?" Sharon stares at him incredulously. "Didn't he kill pretty much everyone he's ever met?" "Wow." Sam glances back at Bucky. "She really is awful now." To Sharon, he adds, "You met Steve; do you really think he'd have defied 117 countries to protect someone evil?" "He did it for Bucky," she points out. "Let's face it - Bucky could blow up half the planet, and Steve's loyal-to-a-fault ass would still take a bullet for him." "You know I'm sitting right here, right? I can hear you." "Look, I don't think you're evil, Bucky," Sharon assures him. "But I know you killed a lot of people for HYDRA." "I'm not denying it." "He didn't have a choice," Sam snaps, glaring at them both. "But we're not getting into that right now. My point is, the government's afraid of Bucky, and they still pardoned him. All you did was steal something. I'm sure they can be persuaded to see reason." "The day the US government sees reason," Sharon quips, rolling her eyes, "is the day I sprout real wings and fly off into the sunset." "Careful, Icarus," Bucky mocks with a smirk, "the sun and brand new wings don't exactly go together." Then he shrugs and glances at Sam. "But she's not wrong."

At the party that night, it takes a few minutes (grumpy old man Bucky's not sure how to feel about the music lol) but a peek of pre-war Bucky comes out to play: they were told to "blend in", so he dances. At first he's just bobbing around alone looking stoic and out of place, but soon he's smiling and dancing between two attractive people - one male, one female. Sam is surprised, but before he can tease him for it, Sharon comes to get them all. Even she's a little "wait what?" at Bucky having a little fun lol. (recovery is not linear, guys. trauma doesn't mean "perpetually miserable, no fun, doesn't even know how to smile." in my TFATWS, Bucky gets his lighter moments; real ones, not humor at his expense)

When they find Nagle, Bucky's the one who notices and opens the secret door, while Sam keeps an eye on Zemo. Bucky catches Zemo trying to grab that gun; closes the drawer on his hand before opening it and taking the gun away. "Nice try." Nagle tries to get away while there's only one person watching him, but Sam catches him and forces him back into his seat. With a bruising grip on the back of Zemo's neck, Bucky drags him back over to where he and Sam can both keep an eye on him. Nagle is killed in the shootout as they're trying to escape; Zemo still runs off, blows shit up, and comes back with the stolen car so he's not totally useless.

I had no problem with Zemo being the one to kill Nagle; Nagle was the worst and def had to die, and Zemo has never had an issue killing anyone. Where I took issue with this scene was Bucky and Sam being dumb enough to let Zemo wander and get his hands on a gun. Nope. Not happening.

Anyway, shootout! Explosions! Funny banter! The seat thing, which is my favorite nod to CW ever lol... And then the conversation on the plane...

"You okay?" "Yeah." Sam sighs. "Just thinking." "About how to get Sharon that pardon you dangled in front of her?" He shakes his head. "About how Nagle referred to 'The Winter Soldier Program" like it was some kind of after school club; like you weren't standing right there. And 'the American test subject' like... Like Isaiah wasn't even a real person." He turns to face Bucky, looking angry and weary. "Makes me wonder how many times... How many times are we gonna run around in the same circles before people learn? And how many people need to get crushed underfoot in the meantime?" "Did you really just equate me with Isaiah?" Bucky frowns, not sure how to react to that. "That man is a hero." Sam opens his mouth to say something, but his phone goes off and Zemo approaches at the same time, effectively cutting off their conversation.

When they get to Riga and Zemo tries to guilt trip them over Sokovia, Bucky deadpan reminds him, "Neither of us were involved in that fight." "I doubt you'd have been much help if you were." He shrugs. "Probably not. But I like to save my guilt for events I was actually present for. It's a thing." Zemo laughs. "Fair enough."

Bucky goes on his walk, and meets up with Ayo.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Paygo, false consciousness and the IRS

John Steinbeck diagnosed an important American pathology in 1966 when he called the US a nation of “temporarily embarrassed capitalists” — people who see themselves as the wealthy-in-waiting and therefore fight policies that reduce the power that comes from wealth.

It’s a restatement of Engels’ idea of “false consciousness,” and it’s the result of a deliberate strategy on the part of wealthy people — many of whom believe that they were literally genetically destined to be wealthy — to convince the rest of us that “anyone can succeed.”

Part of the false consciousness program is the money story that goes like this: the US government takes away “taxpayers’ money” from “makers” to fund “programs,” the bulk of which go to the “lazy takers,” who experience the “moral hazard” of subsidized unemployment.

But of course, that’s not how money works. Money originates with the federal government (and its fiscal agents, the banks). In order for the public to have money to pay off its tax liabilities, the government must first spend that money into existence.

The IRS doesn’t take our tax dollars, pile them up, and give them to Congress to spend on programs. When the IRS taxes our money, they annihilate it, removing it from circulation. When Congress spends, new money comes into existence.

The US government can’t run out of money any more than Apple can run out of Itunes gift cards. It can spend too much money — so much that prices go up because too many dollars are chasing too few goods — but it can’t run out of money.

Fed spending is constrained by resources (what’s for sale in dollars) not money (how many dollars there are). If the ratio of dollars to resources gets out of whack, there’s a risk of inflation.

There are many ways to fix this ratio. For example, the government usually issues T-bills (savings bonds) whenever it spends more than it taxes. When you buy a T-bill, you take dollars that might circulate around the economy, chasing goods and labor, and you sequester them.

A T-bill is just a dollar you’re not allowed to spend. In exchange for surrendering the right to spend your dollars for 1, 5, 10 or more years, the government offers you interest, trickling out that money over a long period.

That way the government can buy things today without bidding against your dollars.

But that’s not the only way to fight inflation while spending new money into existence. The other major way is taxation: simply removing money from the economy and annihilating it.

Taxation fights inflation. When the government runs a deficit, that means that it created more money this year via spending than it destroyed via taxes. The “government deficit” is the “public surplus” — the money left in the economy for all of us to spend on stuff.

Likewise, when the government runs a “surplus” that means it taxes more money out of existence than it spends into existence. In a year where the government runs a surplus, it means that the power of the private sector — you and me — to buy stuff has decreased overall.

This is fine if there was too much money to begin with — if inflation was kicking off — but if there’s not enough money in circulation (e.g. if there’s a recession), it just makes things worse…but not for everyone.

When the economy is starved of money, banks go to work creating new money through loans. These loans pay interest (to rich people like bank shareholders and people who securitize and buy debt).

That’s the one-two punch of spending cuts during a downturn:

I. The real economy is starved of the capital it needs to pay workers and make things for workers to buy;

II. The financial economy grows as desperate real-economy firms borrow from banks to keep the lights on.

Despite all their talk of “spending taxpayers’ money,” the wealthy understand how money works. That’s why they were totally indifferent to the running $1t/year deficits created by the Trump tax-cuts (and likewise about the Obama finance bailouts).

Giving money to rich people causes asset-bubbles (driving up the prices of houses), but not inflation (a sustained rise in the price of all goods). That’s because rich people can’t buy enough stuff (fridges, cars, oranges) to drive up prices.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/08/howard-dino/#payfors

After you’ve bought three houses and three SubZero fridges and filled them with the beef of three Kobe cows and three cases of Moet, there’s still a LOT left over (even if you’re Jeff Bezos and buy a superyacht with its own, smaller superyacht).

Those leftovers go to socially useless things, like buying houses to turn into rent-generating slums (Wall Street is fast becoming America’s biggest landlord, and single family homes are sold for cash to investment funds instead of families).

And they go to influence campaigns designed to make regular people defend massive cuts to the IRS and opposition to public spending on infrastructure, education, health, and other necessities.

This isn’t just about Republicans. For years, the Democratic leadership has supported “balanced budgets” (spending so little that no new money is left in the economy after all taxes are paid).

The “paygo” rule (which requires all new spending to be matched with cuts or tax-hikes) is religion for the likes of Pelosi and Schumer. That’s why the Democratic caucus is mired in stupid arguments about “how we will pay for the stimulus.”

As bad as the paygo rule is, though, Republicans have made it worse, by demonizing and starving the IRS. Paygo means that the US government operates under the artificial constraint of only spending if it can make cuts or raise taxes.

Raises taxes is really unpopular, for obvious reasons.

Now, raising taxes on the 1% — who have a lot of excess money that’s fueling political corruption and asset bubbles — is one way around this.

Theoretically, taxing the 1% should have a 99% approval rating.

But canny Republicans have figured out how exorcise temporarily embarrassed capitalists about the “unfairness” of taxing their bosses, in part by just flat-out lying about who new taxes would implicate.

But there’s yet another way to satisfy paygo’s artificial constraint, without changing the a single word in the tax-code: simply fund the IRS so that it can collect the trillions that the ultra-wealthy illegally avoid in tax-payments every year.

But this strategy is also a bust. The GOP campaign to destroy the IRS has been too successful.

It’s a longrunning campaign, but it achieved liftoff in 2013 when the Tea Party baselessly accused the IRS of discriminating against conservative groups seeking nonprofit status.

The work-the-ref strategy paid off, providing political cover for deep cuts to the IRS and putting IRS staffers on notice so they green lit every dark money group that applied for nonprofit status, no matter how obviously corrupt they were.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/investigations/fallout-from-allegations-of-tea-party-targeting-hamper-irs-oversight-of-nonprofits/2017/12/17/6403c1c0-c59e-11e7-a441-3a768c8586f1_story.html

After the cuts, the IRS grew easier to discredit. Understaffed and under siege, the agency’s behavior grew erratic, then indefensible. There were runaway automated processes that sent out erroneous property-seizure notices that no one could rescind:

https://theintercept.com/2019/01/14/irs-shutdown-federal-government-shut-down-irs-asset-seizures/

Then there was the aftermath of the Equifax breach, where the IRS first told Americans that it didn’t matter because they’d already been doxed by other bad companies:

https://thehill.com/policy/cybersecurity/355862-irs-significant-number-of-equifax-victims-already-had-info-accessed-by

Then came news that the IRS couldn’t cancel Equifax’s no-bid, $7.5m anti-fraud contract because it didn’t have the resources to do its own fraud prevention (Equifax eventually lost the contract because it served malware from its anti-fraud site).

https://www.cbsnews.com/news/equifax-irs-data-breach-malware-discovered/

The rich waged a successful all-out war on the IRS. Take the Global High Wealth unit. For every hour an auditor from GHW worked, they brought in $4500 in taxes the super-rich had dodged. Even by the topsy-turvy logic of “government as a business,” this was good business.

After a concerted harassment and political influence campaign, the GHW abandoned the super-rich and switched to the merely wealthy, bringing in less money and pissing off a lot more people.

The other shoe dropped in 2019, when the IRS admitted it had switched to preferentially auditing poor people because it was too politically and legally fraught to audit rich people, even the most flagrant cheaters.

https://www.propublica.org/article/irs-sorry-but-its-just-easier-and-cheaper-to-audit-the-poor

That was the first year that America’s 400 highest earners paid a lower tax rate than the average American worker:

https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2019/10/06/opinion/income-tax-rate-wealthy.html

The IRS’s transformation into a facilitator of illegal wealth retention by the super-rich and petty harassment of the rest of Americans made them very easy to hate.

To that, add the concerted corporate campaigns to use the IRS to rip off workers.

For example, for 20 years, Intuit lobbied the IRS not to make tax-filing automatic, painless and free, ensuring that Americans would continue to pay billions to send data to the IRS that it already had:

https://www.propublica.org/article/inside-turbotax-20-year-fight-to-stop-americans-from-filing-their-taxes-for-free

Reading the IRS’s internal emails from this battle reveals an agency in retreat, where demoralized and ineffectual government employees simply rolled over for one of the greatest ripoffs in American history:

https://www.propublica.org/article/the-irs-tried-to-hide-emails-that-show-tax-industry-influence-over-free-file-program

Intuit wanted to rip us off with taxes. Microsoft, by contrast, just wanted to break the law. Working with KPMG, the convicted monopolist created a “transfer” scheme of breathtaking illegality, using its tax-savings to bankroll its war on the IRS:

https://www.propublica.org/article/the-irs-decided-to-get-tough-against-microsoft-microsoft-got-tougher

Which brings us to today, where Democrats are held hostage to the “payfor” rule and trying to figure out how to mobilize the trillions Biden has pledged for infrastructure, health, and care.

Republicans — pushing the big lie of “taxpayer money” — are dogwhistling hard. Senator John Thune, responding to Biden’s proposal for $80b for the IRS, says any tax enforcement efforts “must strike an appropriate balance between taxpayer responsibilities and taxpayer rights.”

Meanwhile Senator Chuck Grassley takes the nonsensical position that funding the IRS won’t help it do its job (“simply throwing money at a problem doesn’t necessarily yield a solution”).

https://thehill.com/policy/finance/553704-lawmakers-bicker-over-how-to-go-after-tax-cheats

Then there’s Rep Kevin Brady, warning that a fully funded IRS would “unleash tens of thousands of new IRS agents on families, farms and businesses.”

But the Democrats own the paygo rule, not the Republicans, and their leadership have added their own special touch to make funding the IRS impossible.

https://prospect.org/politics/infrastructure-at-a-crossroads-biden-public-investment/

According to the rules Congress gives to the Congressional Budget Office (which calculates the cost of government programs), the CBO isn’t allowed to factor in the projected additional revenue from funding the IRS, only the cost of doing so (!).

Which means that they must factor in the salaries that IRS Global High Wealth auditors will draw — but they are forbidden from counting the $4500/hour they generate when they puncture the tissue-thin financial lies of the super-rich.

The payfor and “taxpayer money” are lies.

It’s a shuck sold to the rubes, not economics. Because it’s a shuck, it doesn’t have to make any sense — and it doesn’t. We shouldn’t run government like a business, but if we must, let’s at least count revenues as well as costs.

Image: Mike Licht/notionscapital.com https://www.flickr.com/photos/notionscapital/48857033957/

CC BY: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

[evening-starlight]

Daddy’s Best Friend

I’ve gotten really into this story so updates are coming in QUICK

All Work Master List

DBF Master List

5

Word Count: 1942

    "Armel?" Amaris asks, shock taking over her face as her ex stands in front of her, in New York with that precious smile that made her fall for him in the first place. "How.." She shakes her head to try and get her bearings. "How did you find me?"

    Armel chuckles, tilting his head to the side as he answers, "You're not as secretive as you think you are, Mon Amour. There are many Amaris Clarke, but only one you." Amaris blushes at the pet name he gave her in Paris the second day they knew each other.

    Their romance started fast, meeting in the cafe she frequented, and he worked at. He bought her a coffee when he left his shift, writing his number on the cup before setting it down and leaving without a word. They toured France together, Armel showing Amaris his birth town and beautiful places tourists don't frequent. He took her breath away from the very first day, but nobody could keep her attention as long as Tom could.

    Amaris says she broke up with Armel because she didn't want him to see the lifestyle America thinks she leads, but deep down, it was because he wasn't Tom. She won't admit it to herself yet.

    "Oh, come in, come in." Amaris gestures, opening the door wider for Armel and his one black suitcase. "Why.. why'd you come?" She asks after the door is closed behind the brunette.

    "Who could leave such a smile without a fight?" Armel asks in a thick French accent, laying a soft hand on her cheek with a faint smile on his face. "I did as you did. I got a study program at, uh," He thinks over the college name. "Ehn-yu?"

    "NYU?" Amaris corrects. He nods with a bright smile.

    "Oui." Armel steps closer to Amaris, hand still on her face. "You are a treasure, Mon Amour. I was depressed when you left and remembered, 'ah-hah,'" He acts out his thought process with a finger up in the air, something Amaris found endearing about him. "She adores romance. Hence," He gestures himself up and down, then to her. "New York."

    "Who the hell is at the door?" Danica yells, entering the foyer with a huff. Her tone changes quickly when she sees the handsome french man in the front. She smoothes out her wrinkled pajamas and tucks a stray hair behind her ear. "Oh, hello there." Danica walks towards them and offers a hand to Armel. "I'm Danica. And you are?"

    Armel takes Danica's hand and presses a soft kiss to her knuckles, causing the twenty-year-old to giggle like a schoolgirl.

    "Armel. I am Amaris's..."

    "Friend from Paris," Amaris interrupts Armel, not wanting to explain their complicated relationship just yet. "He flew in to surprise me." Danica eyes Armel up and down, a flirty look evident on her face. Amaris rolls her eyes, slightly annoyed her younger sister is trying to flirt with a boy she met first.

    Danica shifts her focus back to the eldest sibling. "Your omelet is getting cold. So if you want to lose, stay out here talking to this cute guy." Amaris sighs and slips her hand into Armel's.

    "Grab him a fork; I want him to taste the monstrosity you call food." Danica sticks her tongue out at her and skips off to the kitchen. "I'm so sorry, but you're about to meet my family." Armel shrugs, tightening his grip on Amaris's hand like if he lets go, she'll leave once again.

    "I assume. This is family house." Amaris giggles at his broken English. He wasn't fluent but knew more than enough to get by with her family. They start walking towards the kitchen, where Amaris can hear Juno and Danica arguing how only siblings can over which fork is better. "Is omelet the one I taught you?" Armel asks as they get closer to the kitchen.

    "Of course, Cherie," Armaris slips back into the habit of calling him pet names. They get to the kitchen, and all eyes fall on them. "Guys, this is Armel. He's a friend from Paris who came to surprise me. He's gotten into study abroad with NYU." William stands up, sizing up the boy who's holding his daughter's hand. He offers a hand to Armel, who shakes it without hesitation and a bright smile.

    "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Clarke. Amaris tells me much about you," Armel greets. William makes eye contact with Amaris, giving a slight nod. That was his seal of temporary approval. Armel made a good first impression on her dad, but the support can always be revoked.

    "Please, call me Will, son. Take a seat," Will offers, motioning to a seat next to Juno.

    "That's my dad's friend, Tom," Amaris starts to introduce her little family in order from right to left. "You already met the witch herself," She teases as she gestures to her sister.

    "Hey," Danica huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. Before she can retort, Amaris moves on.

    "Dad, and my youngest sibling, Juno." Juno gives a small wave, backing deeper into the chair behind them. They didn't like meeting new people when they know nothing about Juno and their situation. They'd much rather disappear. Although, if it was Amaris's friend, they should be alright.

    "Pleasure to meet you all," Armel smiles before taking his seat next to Juno. Tom looks the boy up and down. Of course, Armel was exactly Armais's type. Curly, tall, French. She always had a weakness for french accents; she's admitted as much herself. But why did she introduce her ex as a friend? Was Tom the only one who knew they were together in Paris?

    "Okay, try the next one," Danica shifts attention to the breakfast judging. When everyone took their first bite, their eyes roll back, and food-related moans leave them. "Oh, that's bullshit," Dancia fights, taking out a fork and trying a bite herself. She moans as well, followed by, "Fuck."

    "Armel, try the other one," Amaris suggests, handing him the plate. She obviously won, but she had to win fair and square. Armel takes a bite of Danica's omelet. It was tasty but not as delicious as Amaris's. "Alright, so who wins?" Amaris asks, already knowing the answer from the reactions she got.

    "Oh shut up, Mari. We all know your stupid omelet won." Danica pouts, including the jutted-out bottom lip. Everyone agrees the one on the red plate was superior. Amaris laughs with her hands in the air.

    "Those cooking lessons paid, did they not?" Armel asks, leaning on the counter with the damned smile that makes Amaris lose her breath every time. Danica gasps.

    "That's not fair! You had Paris cooking lessons," Danica complains. Amaris shrugs as she reaches for the orange juice she set out earlier. "I demand a recount with the new information." Amaris rolls her eyes as she brings the cup to her lips.

    "If my apartment is cooking lessons, Oui," Armel inputs, causing Amaris to choke on her sip. Danica looks between the two ex's, slowly putting two and two together.

    "Holy fuck, you two fucked didn't you?" Amaris starts to blush furiously, confirming Danica's suspicions. "Oh my God." Danica looks over Armel one more time. "I mean, I don't blame you, but ew," Danica continues her dramatic 'ews.'

    "Are you done now?" Amaris huffs, burning up from being under the spotlight. Danica holds up a waiting finger and throws out three more ew's for good measure. "You done?" Amaris asks again.

    "And finally, ewww." She pauses. "Now I'm finished." Danica smiles a pleased smile. She loves to torment her older sister, especially in front of the boys she likes. But, unbeknownst to Danica, she embarrassed her sister in front of two boys she likes.

    "You're the most annoying sister on the face of the planet," Amaris complains, starting the breakfast clean-up, picking up the empty plates that Juno and Dad finished off.

    "So you're saying I have to be more annoying than the annoying sisters in the center of the earth?" Danica quips, laughing at the murderous look Amaris shoots at her.

    "I literally hate you more than Cleo," Amaris mumbles as she moves around Danica towards Armel. "We're gonna be outside talking." She states quickly before grabbing his hand and dragging him down the hall and out the double french doors.

    "They do not know?" Armel asks once the door is closed behind them. Amaris shakes her head, leading Armel to the lounge chairs. "Why?"

    "I didn't know how to tell them I dated a boy they didn't know about for a year and left him in France." She shrugs, pulling her legs onto the chair so she could sit criss-cross. Armel nods, picking at his cuticles and avoiding her stare. "So, why'd you come looking for me?"

    Armel looks up at her, lips tight. He brushes a stray curl out of his face before confessing his love in French. Amaris stares back at him. They promised they wouldn't say those words unless they were truly meant, with the fact that she would be leaving in less than a year when they met. "I've searched a thousand lifetimes for a woman like you, Amaris. That's no thing to let go." Amaris feels guilty for feeling the joy she feels.

    Tom would never make a move on her; he has too much respect for William to take that chance. But it still feels like cheating to Amaris after he kissed her just the night before. Or maybe she felt guilty because she didn't feel guilty when she kissed Tom.

    Amaris repeats the confession in the same language Armel did, smiling when Armel jumps up and plants a passionate kiss on her lips. They kiss for a second before they hear someone clear their throat behind Armel.

    William stands there, hands across his chest looking strict, but really his heart was filling with pride and happiness for his daughter. From first impressions, this was a wonderful boy for his daughter. She deserved nothing but the best after her rough start in life without a mother figure helping her with the boy problems that came in her teen years.

    "Hi, Dad," Amaris draws out. Armel walks over to him, hands clasped in front of him in a begging pose.

    "Mr. Clarke, sir. I ask your blessing to date your wonderful daughter," Amaris covers her mouth with a finger to stop from laughing out loud at Armel's antics. Will looks back at his daughter with a raised eyebrow and smirk. He loved this kid instantly.

    "Only if you promise to treat her right," Will states in his best father voice he can muster at the pleading boy in front of her.

    "Of course, of course. Amaris is a goddess and deserves the world. I will give her as much as I can," Armel continues to gush. Will sets a hand on Armel's shoulder, smiling at the boy.

    "You have my blessing, Armel. I expect you at family dinner this Wednesday." Will says before walking back inside. Armel throws his hands up in the air like he won a championship boxing match and turns to Amaris, who continues to giggle at the scene that unfolded.

    Tom stands in the living room window, watching the blessing happen and feeling a pang of... jealousy? Why would she choose a kid when she could have a man like him? Tom shakes the thoughts out of his when he sees them kiss yet again. He should be happy that she found someone who made her giggle like that. So, why does he feel angry?

Taglist: @queenofallhobos​

[timextoxhajima]

Love Me A Little Less: Chapter 3 - Her Father’s Daughter

LOVE ME A LITTLE LESS CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Member: (3rd person pov) arranged marriage au with Lee Juyeon

Genre: angsty wangsty

Taglist: @hyunvelies @sunwoowuvbot​​

“You want the luxury of a choice? I’ll give one to you right now, so you better make the right one.” ​

“Now, this just coming in-- The next director of Apple-Korea, Lee Juyeon and Hera’s Princess, Kim Jang Won... have been reportedly dating for almost three years now!”

“No!”

“Yes! And get this: this wedding? It’s been on the planning table for almost 6 months!”

Lee Juyeon peers out the window as the car slows to a halt, hazel brown orbs scanning the traffic outside. Multiple LED screens on the sides of corporate buildings were broadcasting the news. The crinkling of a plastic wrapper ruins the beauty the amount of shock amongst the community was bringing Juyeon, cuing him to turn back and face his fellow passenger. The sight of Kim Jang Won awakens his corporate-thinking brain, processing the gravity of the news she falsely put out just about... five minutes ago.

“Your father just climbed out of his own grave and you wouldn’t give him half a day to busk in the spotlight, huh?”

“Mm,” She hums, gracefully taking a bite out of the fruit-yoghurt bar. “I would’ve given him a lifetime worth of spotlight if he came back as a zombie and there would be some sign of actual death but-- nah, he’s been alive since the day we thought he all dropped dead from that heart attack of his. God knows where he’s been the last two years, hiding and letting me build HERA & ARTEMIS... only to take it away from me?” She shakes her head, smacking her lips and taking another bite. “Not a chance.”

Juyeon laughs through his exhales, unsure whether he’s more in disbelief he’s trapped in this chaos or how poised Jang Won’s uncouthness in handling this situation was. His phone buzzes, and he coyly pulls it out to check the message in the screen amongst all the other stupid headlines. 

Young Jin Seol [12.52pm] : You’ve been schedule for a meeting with The Board at 4pm later, sir. 

He locks the device and slides it back into the inner breast pocket of his blazer. “I assume your brother is taking this better than you?”

“Excuse you, I think I’m taking this much better than most people expected me to. Well, better than I expected myself to,” The wrapper crinkles when she finishes it. The car drives up into the entrance of her mansion, easily dozens of reporters already beginning to pillow the car. 

“I have a meeting with The Board later at 4pm. Will you be present?” Juyeon raises a brow, watching Jang Won slide on her sunglasses. Her blue fingernails glimmer as she carefully folds the wrapper, using her tongue to dig the crevices of her mouth. 

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be, hubby?” She offers a seductive smirk, then unbuckles her seatbelt to lean across to him. Sliding the folded plastic wrapper into his breast pocket, Jang Won presses her cherry lips onto his, earning incessant flashes and shouts from outside the car. 

“Mm, I can still taste the wine and the tad bit of salt you got left from lunch with your Mommy and Daddy.” 

Juyeon frowns, gritting his teeth as she pulls away and exits the car on her side. The shouts and questions directed at her are muffled when she slams the car shut, her bodyguards from the mansion rushing down the steps to create a pathway for her. 

The car finally drives off, and Juyeon can’t help but to sneer in disgust at the cherry shade left on his lips. The grimace on his face nearly earns a snigger from his driver. 

“What? Funny?”

“On the contrary, sir,” He eyes Juyeon through the rear mirror. “I think she’s rather charming.”

Juyeon nearly chokes on his saliva, pulling out a napkin from one of the seat’s back pockets. “‘Charming’ my ass. She’s a dangerous woman and I’m just keeping myself alive.”

BREAKING: LEE JUYEON AND KIM JANG WON TO BE PRESENT AT THE BOARD’S PRESS CONFERENCE AT 4PM LATER THIS AFTERNOON

Mr Ro has the most disapproving look on his face as Jang Won pridefully pushes her way into the entrance hall, heels clacking against the marble and smiling widely at her butler. But of course, her brother shows up from the hallway, clearly dissatisfied.

“What the Hell’s wrong with you? You can’t run off like that and lying to the media!”

“Oh, please. This is nothing. Hey! Can I get my wardrobe and hairstylist down soon? I want to look nothing less of Kylie Jenner at her mother’s funeral at my own press conference!”

“It is exactly because I know you’re just getting started that I think you should stop,” Younghoon quickens his steps, reaching out and grabbing her arm. “You are not only pulling our family into this - you are pulling the Lee family into this.”

“Well, hey! I wasn’t the one who put their son up for sale when the offer came along!”

“But Lee Juyeon didn’t even want to be a part of this! He had no choice because his parents made it for him!”

“And did I?!” Jang Won’s near-shriek echoes through the halls. Mr Ro winces, gently shutting his eyes to regulate the surprise. “You say that of him as if I had a choice. I didn’t want dad to die. I didn’t want to take HERA & ARTEMIS. You think I wanted to spend all those nights and days and shitty bar hangouts with rich people trying to get them to sponsor and invest in HERA & ARTEMIS? Hell, no!”

She tears her wrist out from Younghoon’s grasp, shoving him back by pushing against his left shoulder. “Maybe you don’t know how shitty it feels because all you had to do was wait for HERA & ARTEMIS to become successful enough before you could build your stupid entertainment company. But right now, I’m fighting for what I created; for what I made, and I will tell you right here and right now that I am not stopping until I get what I fucking own so you better... and I really, really, really hope you make the right decision when I say you better pick a side.”

Her brother remains frozen in some kind of resignation as she closes the gap toward him. “Just because we share the same last name, doesn’t mean I will spare you, Kim Younghoon. You want the luxury of a choice? I’ll give one to you right now, so you better make the right one.”

Jang Won turns on her heels and strides past Mr Ro to the stairs, walking up to the second floor where she would spend the next 3 hours getting pampered and fitted for her press conference as the new bride of Lee Juyeon. 

The smile Lee Juyeon has on his face looked like it was programmed; sculpted onto a stone statue; frozen in time. His father almost cannot look at it - even through the television screen, he knows it’s fake. He knows Juyeon hates it. 

But Hera’s Princess couldn’t care less. Why would she? She’s getting what she wanted, or at least, part of it. Now that she’s got Lee Juyeon playing the game by her rules, she’s one step nearer to her goal, and that’s to win back HERA & ARTEMIS from her own father. 

The jewel sitting on her left ring finger shone brightly with every flash a certain camera in the room went off. The Blue Nile Round Diamond 30-carat ring could blind someone if she deliberately shone its reflection into someone’s eyes.

“Today, The Board invites the next director of Apple-Korea and his newly announced fiancé, also known as Hera’s Princess and current owner of HERA & ARTEMIS to our monthly press conference of May. We warmly welcome Lee Juyeon and Kim Jang Won.”

The reporters and journalists provide a rather generous round of applause as Juyeon steps up the platform and takes his seat, Jang Won on his left with the brightest, sweetest smile he’s seen on her in the last six hours. 

“Thank you. We’re absolutely honoured to be here today, my fiancé and I. Today, we announce our upcoming plans up till the end of the year, assuming my father still grants me some kind of authority to HERA & ARTEMIS,” She scoffs the last part of her sentence away, earning some scattered chuckles from the crowd. It irks Juyeon, the way he knows she’s being sarcastic and her words are filled with nothing but the poison of hatred and yet these people can’t hear it for the love of God.

Sympathy, he feels. For a short, fleeting moment, he feels sad for her.

“But otherwise, my father and I have agreed on a major reform of HERA & ARTEMIS.”

Juyeon’s eyes light up, not from enthusiasm, but anxious anticipation.

“Before my father is to take full ownership of HERA & ARTEMIS by June, firstly, we will have our wedding in April,” Coyly grabbing Juyeon’s hands and showing them off to the audience, rings around their fingers. “And secondly, after my fiancé advances to director, Apple-Korea will buy 50% of HERA & ARTEMIS.”

The effort Juyeon was investing into hiding his shock, confusion and frustration in his chest was of immense, ground-breaking magnitude. His grip around her hand tightens, and she tightens her jaw, forcing out a smile when the reporters and journalists break out into murmurs and surprised exchanges.

“My brother, Kim Younghoon, will assume full ownership of Artemis as a separate entertainment company, no longer attached to HERA & ARTEMIS. Artemis will become a collaborator or partner, no longer a subsidiary.”

The panel of officials from The Board looked extremely restless from the corner of Juyeon’s eyes, and he finds trouble in deciding which to offer more attention to: the fact that one single person was intelligent enough to send the entire world of The Board into chaos, or the fact that she was already making use of him even before he assumed the role of director. 

Her fingers are now interlocked with his, resting on the table as the camera flashes go off, illuminating the room every other second. 

THE BOARD’S MAY PRESS CONFERENCE: 

LEE-KIM WEDDING IN APRIL, LEE JUYEON TO ASSUME DIRECTOR OF APPLE-KOREA IN MAY AND BUY 50% OF HERA & ARTEMIS, KIM JO-PIL TO ASSUME OWNERSHIP OF THE OTHER 50% IN JUNE, KIM YOUNGHOON TO ASSUME FULL OWNERSHIP OF ARTEMIS AFTER DETACHMENT, “ARTEMIS TO BECOME PARTNER OR COLLABORATOR”, KIM JANG WON SAYS

Younghoon’s inhales sharply, standing and frowning at the television screen after finally being unable to contain his shock. The reflection off the pool outside his living room paints inconsistent waves on his ceiling, the sound of pool water wading being the only thing he can hear besides the commotion from the broadcasted press conference. 

Scoffing aggressively, he covers his mouth and drags his fingers down to his chin, pulling on his skin and pursing his lips into a thin, white line. 

“Father, you have made the grave mistake of underestimating your daughter,” Younghoon smiles, then grins widely, somehow proud. “Her father’s daughter after all.”

Jang Won’s smile beams throughout the room, and for a split second Juyeon is mesmerized by it. Her eyes have been planted with the horrors of nightmares and terrible myths combined and yet there was something about that smile that made him think ‘Maybe being your fiance wouldn’t be too bad’.

“Before we open up the floor to the invited reporters and journalists, would Mr Lee like to say anything?” One of the officials from The Board finally gets up, hiding his confusion and anxiety behind his polite, service smile. 

Lee Juyeon sits up straight in his seat, thumb gently massaging hers as he resumes the act. Jang Won’s service smile remains coded into her lips, eyes loving as she turns to him. 

The whole world is watching, Juyeon. He thinks. The whole world is watching you put up this act, being in love with Hera’s Princess - arguably the most cunning name tied to The Board. Choose her and she’ll give you what you want. Choose otherwise and who knows what will happen?

“Mr Lee?”

“I think my fiancé has said everything that’s on my mind, haven’t you, love?” Juyeon smiles sweetly, eyes folding into long, thin lines. The curl of her lips are of triumph when she knows he’s bought into what she offered him; what she promised him. She cannot do this without him and he knows this, but what better way than to assert his authority than to pair up with the most powerful female in this shitty world?

Kim Younghoon’s eyes widen, fingers digging deep into the material of the cushion on his sofa as he watches Juyeon remove his hands from Jang Won’s, instead cupping her cheeks and bringing her face to his. 

Mr Ro strides past the first guestroom, hearing the sound of the news playing on the television in the room. He looks through the gap of the door that was left ajar, cautiously watching Kim Jo-Pil nervously swirling a glass of whiskey in his hands as the next director of Apple-Korea tilts his head, on screen.

“Play along, would you?” He whispers, and Jang Won’s pride surges when he presses his lips into hers. The floor of reporters and journalists erupt into questions and cameras go off like Donald Trump had just been shot dead. 

Kim Jo-Pil freezes, watching the whole press conference room light up with fluorescent flashes. But Mr Ro can’t help the jolt when Kim Jo-Pil deliberately flings the glass into the floor, pieces flying across the wooden flooring. 

“She’s her father’s daughter after all, sire.”

[artxyra]

You Are My Sunshine

Note: I never thought I would write something that is over 4000 words again, but here we are. This is loosely based on the @coralloverwinnerwolf suggestion request that they had asked me. 

“With the signing of these documents, Gabriel Agreste you no longer have the sole custody of your son Adrien Agreste. Adrian, you will officially be under the care of Mme. Cheng and M. Dupain.” The CPS member states pushing a formal document across the table. Gabriel Agreste was reluctant to sign but the piling evidence against him in light of Adrien’s rebellion stage leads him to believe there was no other choice. Tom and Sabine were ecstatic to take in Adrien. He’s a sweet boy that deserves the world and for the past month has made their home feel more like a home as Marinette now had a brother.

Originally, the CPS wanted Adrien to be sent to his Aunt in England but once taking into consideration that Adrien wasn’t as close, M. Agreste would do anything to keep his son in Paris, and the fact that Adrien himself made himself a home within the Dupain-Cheng household, it was easier to move custody rights to the Dupain-Cheng once proven how happier the teen had become. There was no need for a court appearance, just a small investigation that thankfully went under the media’s noses.

As of today, Adrien no longer carries the Agreste sir name as it was now Dupain-Cheng.

Adrien was ecstatic upon returning to the newest bakery location the Dupain-Cheng had moved into after deciding to expand their business once the two teens had graduated from college. Lycée was the perfect time to start over and forget their last two years of unhappiness. Though there were a few good things that came from their time in college. At Sabine’s suggestion, Adrien and Marinette had joined a foreign pen-pal program, and through that program, Adrien had met Jonathon “Jon” Kent, who was quickly taking Nino’s place as his best friend.

“Jon, I want you to be the first to know,” Adrien says as soon as his call was accepted. It wasn’t unusual that the Kent teen would be up at these times considering their time difference. Jon now wide-awake pushes for Adrien to continue. “I’m officially a Dupain-Cheng!” The former Agreste heir squeals with excitement. Jon squeals in excitement along with the former model but his were for on the hushed end.

“That amazing, Tigger. Was the process easy? Is Mars happy about you being her brother now?” Immediately Jon goes into a series of questions and concerns. Adrien couldn’t help but smile at the dark-haired teen on the other side of his screen.

“Mars is happy for me. We’re supposed to be taking family photos latter today to officiate it. You’ll probably be hearing Damian complaining about Mars once it's all said and done.” Adrien’s smile could brighten the world now that the looming fear of his father’s disappointment is no longer a concern of his.

“That’s good—” Jon looks off to the side. A flash of light passes by before a sigh of relief exits from the teen’s mouth. “Send me some of those photos once they’re ready.”

“I will.” Realization slowly began to dawn on the blonde, “Kwami. I forgot how late it is where you are? Want to finish this discussion later?” A small pout appears on Adrien's lips that Jon cannot help but internally squeal about.

After saying goodbye (or at the very least good night) to Jon, Adrien decided that maybe it was time to become the pestering brother Marinette always wanted.

“Hey buggy,” Adrien sings entering Marinette’s room that was smaller than the one at the other bakery.

Marinette didn’t mind turning her old bedroom into her studio after the move was completed. In fact, it worked out in her favor as it kept the work away from her when she needed downtime. The bakery across Françoise Dupont quickly became a hideout for the Miraculous Team and the location for Marinette’s MDC studio.

The moment Marinette heard her kittens voice, she immediately closes her laptop and turns her attention to the blonde male. “You need anything kitty?” Tilting her head gives Adrien a sense of security.

“Yeah, we haven’t decided what we’re going to do about Bug and Chat? I know you said something about meeting with Aurore and Mireille and having them do a special about us.”

The only response Adrien received was Marinette’s infamous, rarely used, mischievous smirk. A smirk he knows all to well and would hate to be on the receiving end of it.

Just a day later, Miraculous Out! a Ladybug sponsored website posted a video featuring Ladybug and Chat Noir themselves without the Miraculous Team, a rare sight nowadays. In the video, Ladybug wearing her newest outfit: dark leggings that are covered by a long slit skirt with the black and red polka dot pattern, matching combat boots, and a matching short sleeve turtle neck that is covered by a black motorcycle that ends but above her waist. Chat Noir now wearing leather pants with a muscle shirt that is often covered by a matching jacket with faux fur. His shows just as much as his younger teen version did if not a little more. For Ladybug, Marinette decided to keep her pigtails as her hair grew longer but opted for longer ribbons to be placed in her hair instead.

In the video, Ladybug and Chat Noir drops the biggest bomb to their fans. The iconic Paris duo is no longer just partners but officially brother and sister. That message put a stake through the hearts of LadyNoir shippers and the Ladyblog as it was the one eager for the two to become an item especially after a familiar voice under Lila Rossi predominately says that the two heroes are an item as she’s Ladybug’s best friend.

“For the past few months, Chat and I have been in an internal war with one another about how to announce this to Paris. This was mainly due to the additional attention to the LadyNoir shipping wars that were from the Ladyblog. Chat and I never and will never have any feelings for each other that aren’t platonic.” With that, Ladybug ends her statement and the video goes into its closing cards, basically saying stay tuned for other Miraculous news.

The second the screen turns black; Marinette turns to Adrien with the biggest smile on her face. Now all they need to do was announce that Adrien Agreste is no longer the face of his father’s company. This news was soon to be dropped once the photos from their family photoshoot drop.

The night before Paris is once again reckoned, the mischievous, Damian, and Marinette had a perfect view of seeing how two people can flirt around each other and not get the signs.

Marinette gave Damian for not ending the streaming on his end and taking off while she and Adrien shared a room to chat with their friends. Damian gave Marinette hidden signals on the verge of wanting to kill Jon and Adrien for their stupidity.

“If they don’t start dating in the next couple of hours, I will commit mass genocide,” Damian growls the moment Marinette decided to call him. Marinette laughs it off and smiles despite that he cannot see her, but he knows well enough.

“Let them be, it took us a moment to realize that we liked each other.”

Damian grunts unsure how to proceed. “They better figure this shit out soon.”

Marinette could only shake her head before the continue to talk about other things.

The following morning was great, well it was great until Marinette’s phone begins to blow up with notifications.

Adrien DuPain-Cheng @adrienwhopuns Papers finally approved, meet my new sista from another mother (@marinettewhomemes) [Attached to the tweet is a small collection of photos: (1) Marinette standing beside Adrien wearing tees that says “I’m the sister of a punster” and “I’m the brother of a mememer” (2) Adrien being surrounded by the entire DuPain-Cheng family holding a banner that says “It’s a new DuPain-Cheng” (3) Adrien pretending to pose as Marinette looks like a deer caught in the headlights behind him]

Marinette turns to her brother with a look of betrayal plastered against her face. Adrien didn’t have the decency to tell her about the handle change. There was no warning! No wonder Adrien had his phone on silent. Realizing that her phone will not shut up, Marinette turns off notification and narrows her eyes.

Nette from Mars @marinettewhomemes Replying to @adrienwhopuns Proud to call you my brother, you doof just try not to take over my room. #nolongeranonlychild #howmusthebeolder #punsvsmemes

This time Adrien looks up and narrows his eyes at Marinette. They were only a chair apart as it was a beautiful Saturday morning for the Dupain-Cheng household. Sabine was finishing the final add-ons for the strawberry and crème breakfast puffs.

“What’s going on you two?” Tom asks as he pours the drinks and set the cups down on the table.

“We’re internet famous, and Adri is trending on Twitter.” Marinette states with a deadpan face. Tom nearly makes a mess with the drinks but quickly catches himself.

“That’s good to hear,” Sabine says as she the tray of breakfast puffs over to the table.

Marinette and Adrien look at their mother with skepticism, it wasn’t like Sabine to be completely away from her children, but then again it doesn’t come as a shock. When Sabine and Tom accidentally came across the two teens coming home as their alter egos, nothing really surprises them anymore. That was one of the reasons why they had allowed the Miraculous team to hide out in the home of their other bakery.

Jon Kenting Me @jonnyboykent Replying to @adrienwhopuns I knew these photos were lit but I didn’t expect this!! @marinettewhomemes what were you doing in the background?

Marinette scoffs at Jon’s response to Adrien’s announcement tweet. She knew exactly what photo he was talking about and she doesn’t want to talk about it. Deciding that her breakfast was the best distraction from this ongoing shit show on Twitter, she begins to eat with peace on the mind.

Before Sabine took her seat, she called for the kwamis to join them for breakfast. All but Plagg ate in peace. Plagg wanted some cheese but after being on the receiving end of Mama Cheng’s glare he ate grumbling at every chance he got.

Adrien had finished his breakfast first; it was not because Jon had sent him a series of text messages begging for answers. Marinette watches her brother leave as she finishes her last bite and pulls out her phone.

Nette from Mars @marinettewhomemes Replying to @adrienwhopuns and @jonnyboykent What I do in the image is my business. Call me if you want the deeds.

She knew Jon wasn’t going to call her after posting that to the thread. Jon was probably in the middle of a phone call with Adrien before heading to sleep. Sabine and Tom watch their daughter leave the room with the kwamis trailing behind her, with smiles on their faces. To them, this makes it all worth it.

“Kitty, you coming or what? Luka and the others are ready to go.” Marinette shouts one day from the doorway of the house. She turns to see Luka standing sheepishly with his guitar on his back, Kagami with an eyebrow raises, and Chloe hanging off of Kagami’s arm examining her nails.

“I’m coming sheesh.” Adrien cries back before making himself known. Marinette rolls her eyes and walks out.

Sabine and Tom already in bakery, cannot wait to surprise their kids later this afternoon.

“How are things with you and Damian, Mars?” Kagami asks laying on her girlfriend’s lap as Chloe plays her hair.

Marinette heavily blushes. She and Damian have been dating for about six months after a couple of years of bouncing between each other. They ended up dating because Damian and his brothers ended up taking a private jet to Paris one evening and basically force the two into a closet. They spoke out their feelings and ended up trolling his brothers for a couple of days before announcing their newly made relationship status. Since Marinette isn’t seen in Gotham, the media has yet to link the two together as a couple.

“We’re fine, I’m more worried about kitten over here.” Marinette nudges Adrien’s shoulder who looks offended beyond belief.

“About what? I don’t have a problem.” Adrien counters as Luka plays his guitar.

“Your melody says otherwise.” The older teen states humming the tone to the melody.

“Luka!” Adrien screeches, his face turning red. The group laughs and proceeds to watch the clouds. The wind picks up.

“So how are things with Jon?” Chloe suddenly asks after a moment of silence. Everyone turns to Adrien who tries to look everywhere but at his friends. Marinette could see the rise in red reaching his ears.

“It’s nothing.” Adrien shutters out. The four looks to one another knowing the former blonde model was lying beyond belief.

“Uh huh…” Chloe sings the words out appearing behind the blonde male.

“He’s…” Adrien is stopped by his thoughts. What was Jon to him? A friend? A potential lover? His blush deepens at the thought of that. “He’s… I don’t know what to think.”

“You are in too deep for this,” Kagami states as she too saw what was becoming of her oldest friend. Adrien curls into himself unsure how to feel.

Marinette knows that deep down, Adrien was falling for Jon; however, it did make her wary. Adrien was quick to bond with Jon during the pen-pal program and nearly lost it when the program ended. If it wasn’t for the fact that they had exchanged numbers before the last, she doesn’t know what would have happened to Adrien. They were both going through a tough time when they joined the program. Adrien had a wake up called regarding harassment and learning that the real world wasn’t all fun and games while she, herself, was trying to rediscover the self-confidence that she had lost due to the bullying she had to endure because of Lila Rossi. It took months of therapy and talks with Damian for her to acknowledge that she wasn’t responsible for the person people created of her in their minds, and that was the tea.

Adrien’s wake up call was the reason he began spending more time with her and her family. Her parents say Adrien as the broken, lost boy he was and took him under their wing. Of course, Marinette wouldn’t change what happened for anything in the world.

Then there was an explosion happening in the background. Without speaking, the five split up to transform and regroup once they have all the details.

While Paris has grown used to somewhat daily Akuma attacks, they know how to avoid the fighting areas and proceed with their day. Sabine had left the bakery to go pick up three people from the airport.

Jonathon Kent had to beg his parents to allow him to go to Paris with Damian and Jason. Damian had wanted to surprise Marinette with a visit and Jason, well Jason just wanted fresh baked goods. Jon, on the other hand, just wanted to meet Adrien for the first time in person. For years, the two spoke through video chats, text messages, and twitter threats, but never had they had the chance to meet in-person. When Jon found out that Damian was planning on visiting Mars, he knew he just had to come. Their school wasn’t in session and if anything, really disastrous happens, he could fly back in no time.

“Hello boys,” Sabine greets grabbing their attention. Jason was the first to run over to the small frame woman with the speed that could match a dog.

“Hey, Sabine!” Jason greets back. Sabine narrows her eyes; she knows that Jason wants something, but she couldn’t place her finger on it.

“Hello again, Mrs. Cheng,” Damian adds walking over to his brute of a brother and the mother of his girlfriend.

“Hi, I’m Jon.” Jon gives the older woman his brightest smile.

“I can see why you and Adrien have bonded so easily.” Sabine chuckles lightly to which a blush crosses Jon’s face. Jon could hear the teasing that Jason was whispering to Damian about having a crush and a model, which only farther the blush.

Sabine sends him another smile. “Well, we should get going if we want to surprise Marinette and Adrien.” Clapping her hands, she begins to usher the boys in the direction of her car.

While driving across Paris, Sabine notices the swirls of ladybugs fixing up the city. This once gives her enough time to park, get the boys to settle, and start making dinner all before her children get home.

“Wow, this place is bigger than the last place? What happened?” Jason asks kicking his feet up onto the couch the second they arrived on the second level of the building. Sabine scolds the older male before explaining that with Adrien being added to the household and Marinette’s growing business, their old place was becoming cramp, and now that the two are longer attending Francoise Dupont, they could have to look farther out for a bigger home and bakery all while still owning the other one.

Damian took notice of the new photos hanged up on the walls. Of course, the photos that Adrien had posted on twitter, but along them are photos of a happier Marinette and Adrien acting like siblings. They had even recreated iconic sibling moments from television shows to make It feel real.

“Those two have made our lives so much better, and Sabine and I are glad that our little loaf has met you.” Damian turns to see Tom hovering over him. He had thought his girlfriend’s father was down in the bakery, but he was wrong. Damian wasn’t sure what to say, sure he had met Tom before and have grown used to the tall being, but even he knows when to picks his battles.

“I’m lucky to have her.” Damian states before walking away.

While Damian was already used to the environment of the Dupain-Cheng household, Jon on the other hand was having a dream. His excitement to finally seeing Adrien has finally caught up to him. So, imagine when he jumps off on the couch, nearly flying when the door’s knob begins to jiggle.

Their eyes locked, blue meeting green for the first time outside of a screen. Jon stares agape at Adrien who stares back with the same energy.

Marinette who took notice of the situation sneaks past the two and into the arms of her boyfriend. Jason watches from behind with a bowl of popcorn in hand waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“H-h-how?” Adrien’s voice squeaks before pulling Jon into his arms.

Even though the two are lost within each other’s thoughts they could still hear Jason’s laughter and the smack that follows.

“I practically beg my parents to see you,” Jon answers as just as flustered as Adrien. “Then begged Damian to bring me.” He quickly adds looking away from the blonde.

For a moment the two stay in their own world not noticing the flashes of light and whispers.

Not from afar, Marinette tries not to laugh, her lips purse into a fine line. Damian watches shaking his head and tries to grab some of Jason’s popcorn.

The next day, Adrien ran out of the bakery with Jon right behind him. They were going to visit Andre’s ice cream cart. All under the pretense of being just friends, but all who knew them thought otherwise. Marinette had decided to skip this trip in favor of walking the Seine with Damian then planning on making Jason a new leather jacket. Jason wanted to check out the crime rate in Paris walking around the area.

Adrien DuPain-Cheng @adrienwhopuns Ice cream from Andre is always the best especially now that I’d shared the experience with @jonnyboykent [Attached is a photo of Adrien and Jon holding ice cream cones with matching flavors that are similar to their hair, lip, and eye colors along with other flavors. In the background is Andre waving at the two with a large smile]

Nette from Mars @marinettewhomemes Replying to @adrienwhopuns 🤩Aw… you guys look cute having your outing an all that. How was the ice cream?

Jon Kenting Me @jonnyboykent Replying to @adrienwhopuns and @marinettewhomemes The ice cream was delicious. 10/10 recommend it.

Adrien laughs the moment he looks at their replies. He then turns to Jon, who was on the verge of eating his last scoop of ice cream. Jon, noticing that Adrien is staring at him, blushes lightly before they continue to walk. The walk was peaceful until…

“Adrien!” The two due turns around to see a tall dark-skin teen running towards them. Beyond the teen are two females with varying facial expressions.

“Hey Nino, haven’t heard from you since college graduation.” Adrien murmurs the second Nino had gotten closer to the two. Jon could only watch, clearly intrigued by this new encounter. He had heard much about Nino from Adrien and the downfall of their friendship as the final years of college came to end.

“Yeah dude, I wish we could have hanged out more. But you know how it is.” Nino states rubbing the back of his neck. “Who’s your friend?”

“Nino, this is Jon, he’s a friend of mine and the friend of Mari’s boyfriend that came to visit us.” Jon could feel the tension growing as the two girls come closer. The ombre haired teen, looked like she wanted to yell or hit something awhile the other wearing clashing oranges looks like she is about to commit murder. Upon seeing this, Jon moves closer to Adrien for support.

“That cool, dude, but when were you going to tell me that you and Marinette are siblings? Lila had gotten the whole class thinking you two were a thing.” Unbeknown to Nino, he had just proved the thoughts that Adrien and Marinette have been theorizing since the two had been chosen to go to a different Lycée than the one that most of their former classmates went to.

“Why would Lila even think that? You know what I don’t even want to know.” Adrien says. Subtly, he tightens his around the edge of his shirt. “Mari and I have practically been siblings for a couple of years now, and we’re much happy about that.”

“That’s good to hear, man,” Nino says unsure where this conversation will go. The aspiring DJ could feel the gnawing questions that Alya was soon going to throw at the blonde the moment he is done.

“Sunshine,” Alya explodes in the background to which all three males roll their eyes at. “We haven’t seen you in two years and this is how you treat us. Lila was your ex at the very least say hi to my gurl.”

Jon looks to the reporter as if she had grown a second head. Never once had Adrien mention being in a relationship with the liar, and for the years that he has known Adrien, he’s been single. In fact, the only times Lila even mentions is when she makes an outcry on twitter within Adrien’s threads. Jon knows that when the announcement was made, this Lila person had the biggest voice; commenting questions that Adrien didn’t need or want to answer.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Alya. I haven’t been in a relationship since I tried it out with Kagami and that was back in college. I’m as single as a pringle and not looking for anyone.” The subtle side-eyed look to Jon said otherwise. Jon could have sworn his face turn red after realizing what the blonde had done.

Alya scoffs, “Yeah right. Lila told me you had done out on dates after we all left Dupont, she even had pictures to prove it.” She then grabs hold of Lila’s wrist and pulls the girl closer to three. Lila batters her eyes, trying to be a flirt, little did she know.

“Alya, anyone can fake a photo, there is a reason Photoshop exists. Knowing Lila, she probably showed you photos from our shoots and changed them. She did it once to Mari, and I have no doubt in mind that she did it again.” Narrowing his eyes, Adrien glance away from Alya and onto Lila.

“C’mon Adrikins,” Jon and Adrien wince at the old nickname Chloe had given the blonde be used by Lila, “We had so many good memories together. As much as I miss them, I’m much happier with my long-distance relationship with Damiboo.” The liar then gushes to which Alya joins in for.

“And who is this Damiboo, you speak of?” Jon asks, speaking for the first time since his day with Adrien was interrupted.

“Oh, it’s Damian Wayne, of course. He’s such a sweetheart. You know, I could introduce you to him sometime.” Adrien and Jon turn to each other, both holding in the laughter that was threatening to come out. Yeah, Damian is a sweetheart but only to animals and Marinette, beyond those two things, he’s everything but.

“Good to know, well it was nice seeing you guys again.” Adrien waves to the girls before turning to Nino whispering. “If you need to get away from them some time, DM me and I’ll give you my newest number.”

Nino’s eyes widen in excitement before he quickly nods. Nino misses his best bud and it was hurting him to see Adrien living his truth while he is stuck with everyone that decided to remain together.

While walking back to the bakery, Jon had some interesting things to say about the whole encounter. Never has he ever heard anyone call Damian by that nickname, he is amazed out how he handled the situation knowing how much mental damage the liar had placed on Adrien and to an extend Marinette.

“I’m sorry our outing was ruined by them, I wasn’t—” Adrien tries to apologize but is interrupted by Jon stopping and placing his hand on the blonde’s shoulder.

“I had fun regardless of them. Wanna try again later tonight, perhaps a movie.” Jon sends Adrien a reassuring smile who nods happily at the offer. It was a good offer and gives them more alone time before he had to leave with Damian and Jason.

“I’d like that.”

When the boys had returned to the bakery, they are greeted by Sabine handing an order to a customer before mention that everyone is in the living room. Adrien quickly grabs Jon’s wrist and moves to the mentioned room.

Marinette is annihilating Jason on Ultimate Mecha Strike III, his cries of defeat bring music to Damian’s ears as he reads a novel.

“So, did anything exciting happened?” Marinette asks her eyes never leaving the screen. Flawless victory. Jason sighs and turns to the duo then blanches. He hands Marinette a twenty and shakes his head.

“Nothing happened…well except running into Nino,” Adrien answers, though he wonders why Jason had given Marinette a twenty.

“That’s good,” Marinette finally turns to him and waves her controller. “Wanna play around, and while I’m kicking your butt you can tell me all about your encounter with Nino.” Adrien shrugs and takes the controller that Jason had left on the couch to proceed to raid the fridge. No matter what time of day, Jason always raid the fridge for food.

“So, Kent, when are you going to tell him?” He heard Damian ask as the video game’s music raises and his attention turns to something else.

The day slowly became nighttime to which Jon and Adrien had decided to invite Damian and Marinette to the movies. Marinette took one look at them before saying no and for them to have fun. However, what they didn’t hear was her saying, “Come back dating or not at all” after they had left the bakery.

Nette from Mars @marinettewhomemes Loverboy 1 and loverboy 2 went to movies. Should I place a bet on what they’re going to see? I swear it will be a sap or action movie, knowing my brother. [Attached is a poll with three movie suggestions.]

Sending off the tweet, she looks up to her boyfriend’s chin. They were resting on her bed looking at the starry night sky from her skylight. Damian had his arms wrapped around her waist as she rests her head on his chest. They love snuggling together especially when they know that his brothers, specifically Jason, weren’t going to barge in on them.

“Fifty saying that they won’t confess even after seeing my tweet,” Marinette states lifting herself up to play with Damian’s hair.

“That’s a fool’s bet, Angel.” Damian counters causing Marinette to pout. She hates it when he’s right, but look fifty euros or dollars can do a lot for her.

“Eh, you’re right.” Marinette decides to switch the topic. “I’m going to miss you when you leave in a couple of days. It’s fun having you around.”

“We won’t be separate for long; we have video chats to keep us company.” Damian knows full damn well that video chat isn’t the same as seeing her in person. His own family loves it when Marinette’s around him because he acts his age, a normal sixteen-year teen.

“Dams, it’s not the same.” Marinette playfully hits his chest. Damian kisses Marinette’s forehead before smothering her kisses on the cheek. Marinette’s nose scrunches with the amount of love he is showing her.

“As much as I love being in your arms, you know how papa gets when it’s late and you’re not in your guest room with Jay-Jay.” Damian groans but he understands. Instead of staying at a hotel, Tom and Sabine were willing to let the boys stay at their home with strict sleeping guidelines, more specifically for Damian.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Angel.” As he pecks her lips, Marinette smiles then waves her boyfriend a farewell.

Adrien DuPain-Cheng @adrienwhopuns Can someone tell @jonnyboykent that the movie wasn’t scary? It was a good non-horror movie. [Attached is a photo of Jon behind Adrien covering his eyes.]

Adrien and Jon had arrived late from the movies that night. Hugging each other, neither one of them wanted to let go. Jon ended up brushing Adrien’s hair with his hands as Adrien just rest his head against the half-Kryptonian’s chest. They stayed like that for a moment before crashing on the living room couch.

When Marinette woke up the following morning, she immediately took photos of them sleeping. Yes, these will be very helpful when giving her in-law speech at their wedding or for blackmail, whichever one comes first.

“Wake up you goofs and tell me about last night.” Marinette playfully hits Adrien’s leg forcing the poor teen to groan and move. He glares at Marinette like a cat that didn’t want to be disturbed.

“Morning Mars, where’s Damian?” Jon asks looking around as he wipes the sleep away from his eyes. Marinette answers with a shrug. “Ugh, I’m going to go get changed.” Jon then moves and leaves.

The second Jon was out of hearing range, Adrien looks down and murmurs, “I think I like Jon.”

“Of course, you do, you won’t be hanging out with him otherwise.”

“No, no, like more than just a friend.”

Marinette’s eyes widen with excitement. She tries to contain her squeal. “I knew it! You got to tell him before he leaves.”

Adrien rubs his arm; a faint blush crosses his face. “I don’t know; I don’t want to ruin what we have and—”

“And nothing, you like him, kitty.” Marinette became determined to get the two teens together.

In the other room, Damian was having the same conversation with Jon.

“About time,” Jason says putting on his jacket.

“Last night was so amazing, but—”

“But nothing Kent, walk up to him and kiss him,” Damian states crossing his arms sharing a knowing look with his brother.

“If anything, ask Pixie to help set the mood. I’m sure she already has it planned out.”

“I don’t know…” Jon literally was avoiding his best friend’s glare at him. However, they were right, but was he ready to destroy three years of friendship for a romance? Nope, the idea seems to be too much of a risk.

The two Wayne boys growl out in frustration, this was hopeless.

Damian, Jon, and Jason’s last day in Paris was met with tearful goodbyes and relaxation. Marinette was already making plans to visit Damian in Gotham while Adrien and Jon danced around each other.

They flirted opening with one another but never made any advances. It was driving everyone insane.

Nette from Mars @marinettewhomemes Imma about to kill a bitch if these two don’t kiss already.

The day was slowly coming to an end. After a series of goodbye hugs and kisses, Sabine had taken the boys to the airport. Never once did Adrien no Jon admitted their feelings to another and that aggravated Marinette to no end. When will the two just admit it already?

Jon and Adrien resumed their daily chats messaging whether it was through video or text. Adrien would come out smiling after each message which made the family happy to see once again after a day of pouting Adrien.

For months everything was going great until a news article across seas mention that the American heroes are in trouble. Superboy is down along with a few other young heroes. At first, the article was nothing and that changed when Damian had called Marinette and ask for Adrien. Jonathon was in the hospital. Immediately, Adrien went into a massive panic, nearly becoming akumatized if it wasn’t for Marinette grabbing the butterfly and purifying it before any damage could be done.

For days, Adrien was restless and worried. He calls Damian for updates every day hoping for a miracle. Tikki and Plagg reassured him that he’ll make it out. This goes on for a week. His twitter account less than active. He barely eats, pays attention in school, and nearly failed an exam if it wasn’t for Marinette.

Then on one faithful late-night Adrien’s phone rings. He was barely functioning when he had answered. It was Jon, he was okay and no need to worry. That short phone call didn’t ease Adrien’s worry.

Marinette’s and Damian’s one-year anniversary was coming up. Adrien and Jon’s daily chats became nothing but scarce. He would try and message the half-Kryptonian on more than one occasion. Sometimes he would receive a reply, sometimes he didn’t. Adrien knows that Damian is coming back to Paris to surprise Marinette. Marinette was working on a new gown to show to Damian as a tribute to their anniversary. Helping Damian was keeping Jon off his mind.

“Luka what am I supposed to do, I like him, I really like him,” Adrien says laying down on the chaise in the Miraculous team HQ back at the old bakery. Luka sat on a stool with a clipboard in hand and his guitar place beside him. This was becoming an everyday occurrence for the two of them.

“Uh-huh,” Luka nods writing something down before replacing the clipboard with his guitar. Playing a few notes, Luka knew what to say to Adrien and as a plus, the music calmed Adrien down just enough to relax. “Have you tried sending a letter?”

Adrien thought about it. Sending a letter wasn’t something he did for Jon since the pen-pal program ended and before they started to call and text each other. It was a start at best, but would Jon receive his letter in time? Would he even read it? Has he changed addresses? Too many questions ran through the poor blonde’s mind.

So, after thinking about long and hard, Adrien opted to send Jon a letter. He had to text Jason to make sure he had the correct address to the letter to Jon. It took him a day to write and have Marinette proofread it. The letter was no ordinary “how you’re doing” letter but a confession from the heart. He had poured his heart out into the letter mentioning every time he felt whole when being around Jon. A few teardrops onto the sheet of paper at least once or twice.

After sending the letter, it felt like something was lifted from his chest. Marinette was there to support him and hug him as he cries out his worries.

Nette from Mars @marinettewhomemes I never thought that I would have experienced a one-year anniversary with someone who is not from France, regardless, Happy Anniversary Dami! [Attached is silhouette photo of Damian kissing Marinette’s hand]

While Adrien was helping Tom and the kwamis calm down Marinette, who was is a mass panic about today, Sabine had gone to go pick up a group of people from the airport. Originally, it was supposed to be Damian who was going to come to Paris alone, but that plan changed with an addition of a way more people.

“I can’t believe, Demon Spawn managed to keep a relationship going for a year,” Tim says sipping on a cup of coffee that he had brought from the airport. Everyone in the car was talking amongst themselves congratulating or teasing Damian.

Sabine could only smile at the commotion that was happening in her car. It was always nice to see them, but it does disappoint her that Bruce couldn’t make it, unlike the boys.

When they had arrived at the bakery, the majority of new visitors ran inside. Sabine could hear the cheers and screams of happiness from her location outside. She turns to the lone figure who was rubbing his arm anxiously and gives him a soft smile. Sabine then walks inside and seconds later Marinette and Adrien run outside. Damian appears behind Marinette wrapping his arms around her as Adrien madly dashes over to the lone figure.

“Jon!” Adrien cries out crashing his body into Jon’s. Jon holds Adrien tightly as tears threaten to shed from eyes. “What are you doing here?” Adrien breaks the embrace to look him in the eyes.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry for how I treated you. I shouldn’t have—” Adrien's lips brush against Jon’s effectively cutting the taller dark-haired male off.

In the background, Marinette looks like she’s about to commit murder. “Great now I have to share an anniversary with him too.” It may have come off as mean but the mischievous glint in her eyes says otherwise. “Have him home before dinner, Jon.” She then yells back before Damian twirls her around and takes her inside.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for six months,” Adrien says breaking the kiss for air. Red covers Jon’s face as he pulls Adrien in for another kiss.

“And I have been wanting to do that for a year.” Jon then says breaking the second kiss. This it was Adrien’s face that turns bright red rivaling Ladybug’s former suit.

Adrien DuPain-Cheng @adrienwhopuns It’s official, I’m no longer single as a pringle! Thx mom for taking this photo! #yesimgay [Attached is a photo of Adrien and Jon kissing in the sunset facing away from the camera]

After five years of dating, Damian had proposed to Marinette first. Then Jon had to go and propose a little under a year later to Adrien. Both Marinette and Adrien had said yes to their significant other. What really got into a heated argument was planning the wedding. Marinette wanted to wait a year or two before walking down the aisle and Adrien wanted to get it done and over with. However, that was not the case as everyone wanted to get involved. Tom and Sabine wanted to make the cake, the Wayne’s and the Kent’s wanted to fund the weddings, and Marinette had to make the outfits for her and Adrien.

After waiting for a little under two years, the two pairs decided a double wedding would be less expensive than paying for two separate events and it work out seeing they share an anniversary day anyways.

Then the royal day has arrived.

Tom and Sabine are crying as they help their children get into their designated outfits. Marinette was wearing a laced white ball gown with red accents. Sabine had a family heirloom that the women wear at their weddings to give to Marinette. Tikki had given Marinette her ladybug luck as part of her wedding gift to the guardian and her chosen. Adrien was wearing a suit that was similar to Tom’s when he had married Sabine. Marinette had also made him a Chat Noir theme bow tie to match.

Soon the music was blaring throughout the venue. At the altar, Damian and Jon were anxious beyond belief. They thought, telling they're significant others about their nightly activities was anxious, but this takes the cake. Together they wait for the rest of the procession to end and the music to pick up at the arrival of their loved ones. At the end of the hall, Tom stands in the middle with Marinette and Adrien to the side of him. Tom tries to hold it together as he walks them down to the alter. Sabine was already in tears along with Lois as they were sitting close to each other.

Everything running smoothly. The officiant would speak to then as a whole, just that they had practice in rehearsals until the exchange of vows. Marinette and Damian had done theirs first it was romantic and just right for them. Then Adrien and Jon had followed suit. Adrien’s vows were very similar to the letter he had sent Jon all those years ago as Jon made the promise of never leaving him in life or in death.

After exchanging the rings everyone at the venue could see the anticipation to say “I do” between the two couples. In fact, the Officiant could barely the pronouncement of marriage before they had kissed their soon-to-be husbands or wife. Everyone applauded. Marinette was resting her head against Damian’s shoulder interlocking their hands in the process as Adrien was holding Jon closely never wanting to let go.

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[shih-coulda-had-it]

37. NanaHiko, please

37. “Because I love you goddammit!”

Consider this my sourdough starter for a Nanahiko Die Hard AU. If it ever comes into a fully-realized oneshot spectacular, well. Maybe for Christmas. Anyways, this is, believe or not, a break-up scene.

//

Fighting with Sorahiko is never pretty.

To clarify, Nana doesn’t mean physical fighting. They’ve honed that particular aspect of their partnership to near-perfection (always room for improvement), and when Nana has extricated herself from a fight, sometimes she has enough time to watch Sorahiko work his brutally efficient magic on loose ends.

That kind of fighting is pretty from a professional point of view.

Anyway, what Nana means is—having an argument with Sorahiko. It’s not the first time they’ve engaged in a war of cold shoulders and barbed words, digging up old insults and humiliating stories, resolved to leave reconciliation to the other party.

Nana has always thought it boded well that it never took a mortal injury to get either her or Sorahiko to apologize. 

She is, however, very close to inflicting a mortal injury.

Sorahiko also looks close to committing partner-cide. They are spending a break from patrol by cooling their heels on a rooftop no employee bothers to spend a cigarette break at, and for the past ten minutes, have been politely exchanging words like, “Please do this,” and, “Fuck doing that.”

A full month has passed since Nana digested the whole conspiracy theory about a supervillain controlling Japan’s underground. En’s transferral of One for All had been traumatic for all parties involved, even if Sorahiko didn’t have to witness the horror that was the shoulder socket gushing blood and the half-buried body. Why? Because the first time Nana tested out her new Quirk, she had broken her notoriously hardy partner’s arm.

… It’s been a scary month all around.

“I’m not,” her partner grits out, “going to just quit being a pro-hero.”

“I didn’t say you should ditch the license,” Nana says reasonably.

“You might as well have!”

She rolls her eyes. “Splitting up for a solo career would probably mean better pay for you,” she reiterates. “Better pay, more taiyaki. You’d be a treat by yourself, Gran Torino. Any high-profile agency would want you on the payroll.”

“The salary isn’t the point,” Sorahiko snaps. 

“And you shouldn’t conflate your position as a pro-hero with your position at the Eyrie! Don’t let the agency limit your ambitions!”

“What ambitions?”

“You know,” says Nana, gesturing aimlessly. She’s trapped herself with that useless encouragement. Sorahiko is so thoroughly unambitious, he would let a pet rock win an election to Prime Minister. “Whatever made you get into heroics.”

He stares at her.

“Get out there,” she adds. “Chase your dreams.”

“You’re being stupid,” he says.

“Don’t start.”

Sorahiko starts. His mouth twists into a snarl, eyebrows drawing together under the mask, frustration creeping into his posture. He is madder than she’s ever seen him, and Nana once witnessed Sorahiko yell bloody murder at his landlord. The landlord had been reduced to tears, and furthermore, had reduced the rent for the entire complex.

Nana does not intend to yield.

“First you inherit a transferable strength Quirk that knocks you out of commission for a week,” he says, “then you get all weird about tanking hits you know I can take, and now you’re advising I leave the Eyrie by myself? For my own good?”

“Yes,” she says, already feeling miserable.

“Are you on some kind of power trip?”

“No!”

His gloved hands curl into fists, mirroring Nana’s, or maybe she is mirroring him. Another side-effect of being friends for so long; she can’t imagine what kind of pro-hero she is without Gran Torino next to her. 

A pro-hero that won’t drag their best friend into the worst conspiracy theory to come true. 

“I won’t quit until you do,” Sorahiko swears. “Are we partners or not?”

“Partnerships dissolve.”

He flinches back for once. “You don’t mean that.”

“People sometimes grow in different ways. It doesn’t mean they’re abandoning their partner, it’s just… You don’t have any obligation to hold my hand for my entire career. If there’s a roadblock ahead, and you see it, you should be able to jump out of the car, right?” 

“Shimura. Shut up.”

“I really mean it,” Nana continues doggedly. “One for All attracts way more attention than we agreed we should aim for, so if we split paths now, you don’t have to suffer all the cameras tracking and recording your moveset. Did I say cameras? I meant henchmen of some evil bastard. You didn’t sign up for this.”

“Don’t tell me what I did or didn’t sign up for,” he hisses.

“Well, I have to guess,” she says, “considering I never saw your origin story, haha!”

His face goes a blotchy pink, starting with his ears. Sorahiko’s jaw visibly clenches. Nana, however, is one-hundred percent serious. Despite being friends with Sorahiko from primary school up till now (excusing the few years of junior high), Nana still has no idea what drives Sorahiko to be Gran Torino.

Reuniting in Class 1-A of U.A. High had felt a bit like fate. 

“You have to guess?” he grits out, sounding slightly incredulous.

“You’re a very private person. Ah, don’t tell me I’ve somehow forgot it.” Nana puts her hands at her hips, trying to drag this fight back into friendly banter. “Not for the applause. Not for the legacy, assuming the Commission ever gets their memorial site set up. Are you sure it wasn’t for the money?”

“Shimura.”

“C’mon,” she says coaxingly. “What’s the dream-goal, Gran Torino? Why heroics?”

“Shimura.”

“Don’t worry about harming my feelings! Oh! It’s for your namesake, huh? Ah, Sorahiko, you really gotta let that one go, I don’t think you’d have any fun driving around these streets. You’ll just scare all the pedestrians into throwing tomatoes at your precious baby—”

“Because I love you goddammit!” Sorahiko shouts, barking it loud enough to frighten some voyeuristic pigeons. 

“What,” Nana says. She has to process his words even though they ring in her ears. His confession is a curse. Typical Sorahiko, Nana thinks hysterically, except this is not typical at all. Torino Sorahiko, admitting to love? 

Torino Sorahiko, not being done yet, rails on. “Because you’re my best friend, and I like myself when I’m with you, so stop trying to cut me out of your life! If you—if you hate me, then just say it! Say I’m annoying! Clingy! Useless! Don’t just tell me to step out the front door and leave you behind!”

Oh, he’s properly mad now.

Thing is, Nana’s mad too.

“Don’t you use that against me,” she says, fury seeping in, because how dare he? Like confessing to loving her settles this argument, some deus ex-machina device that will defuse Nana’s very sincere attempt to prevent Sorahiko from being murdered. She can’t believe the nerve of her partner, trying to manipulate the part of her that’s a hopeless romantic. “Don’t lie.”

“Lie?” Sorahiko echoes, enraged. “You think—?”

“I think you would do a lot of things to win a fight,” Nana seethes.

“You’re impossible.”

She wants to punch his stupid face so badly, but Sorahiko’s hands are already scrabbling at his domino mask, ripping it off. After blinking several times to reorient his senses, he refocuses his glare at her.

“What part of that confession sounded fake?” he demands, crumpling the black silk-composite in one fist.

“The timing. The whole concept. Everything!”

“You don’t think I’m capable of it?”

“I didn’t say that,” Nana objects, but her immediate gut reaction had been to say, I’m not worthy of it. She has a name for Gran Torino’s behavior now—his loyalty, devotion, affection—he tied himself to her so long ago, and Nana never even knew she was holding a leash. How unfair to him, how stupid and shortsighted of her.

Sorahiko takes a step into Nana’s personal bubble. He persists. “Say you hate me.”

She can see where Sorahiko wants to take this.

“Do you hate me, Shimura?”

Nana bites her tongue from its reflexive denial; when she tries to lie, it sticks in her throat.

“Do you really want me to go?” Sorahiko asks, and without his mask, he looks vulnerable. Pale brown eyes catching the sunset, gleaming gold. How much of Sorahiko’s life has been deferring his dreams to follow hers? What has he given up that Nana’s never asked about? Does he have any commitments outside of heroics? 

“I think,” Nana finally forces out, “we need some time apart.”

One beat of silence. Two.

“You’re not joking.”

“No.”

Sorahiko breathes, a steady and barely audible sound, and Nana finds herself mirroring it. She crosses her arms and looks to the horizon. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Sorahiko slowly uncrumpling his mask, smoothing out wrinkles with his forefinger and thumb. Methodical for a nervous tic.

“It’s not that you’ve done something wrong.”

“Spare me the bullshit,” he says. The bitter tone sends a chill through Nana’s heart, but she steels herself. “How long?”

“Long as we need,” she deflects.

“What’s the goal here?”

Nana glances at Gran Torino, notes the grim set of his expression, and restrains herself from poking at the down-turned twist to his frown. Instead, she says, “You said you like who you are when you’re with me. I don’t think you’ve ever really been without me, so… Figure yourself out, Gran Torino.”

“And Sky High?”

“We’ll shelve the idea for a later time,” says Nana weakly, as though running an agency together hasn’t been their—her?—dream since high school.

He grunts in acknowledgment.

Together, they survey the cityscape. They will finish the day’s patrol. Gran Torino will, for the first time, clock out early and storm home.

And Nana will quietly file her two-week notice.

There’s an international pro-hero exchange program being organized with the United States, and Nana intends to join. The probation period is a year; if Nana can make it through that, then she can apply to be a mentor to aspiring pro-heroes, all the while cultivating One for All on the side.

(She doesn’t mean to forget the confession. But then again, who knows if that’s really what Sorahiko felt for her?)

[whatgaviiformes]

10. Music Makers - Part 5 / Scenes from Gordon’s Bedside

“When words fail, music speaks”

Chapter Summary:  Virgil and Gordon and music

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

You are Here 

Chapter A/N: In honor of 10 chapters of this concept, the plan is to give you a hell of a chapter 10 with a few moments in time strung together. I decided to go ahead and share what I have with you instead of waiting. Once the chapter has been shared in full over tumblr, I will post the full piece at Ao3 and FF.net. It may or may not make sense to remain as chapter 10 or be it’s own thing. Do share if you have an opinion. :-) 

 The title Music Makers comes from “Ode” by  Arthur O'Shaughnessy, and it is very lovely.

Part Notes: Thanks to @janetm74 and @gumnut-logic by extension for the second opinions on the thing I asked. You know what for; I can be a little on the paranoid side. For music reqs on this one, it’s a mix of quite a few different things- but I’ve been listening to a lot of this album: Endeavor by Christoffer Franzen 

***

Music Makers - Part 5/6

The one advantage to the sudden upheaval in his education was that instead of continuing to grad school, Virgil was able to use his skills for a practical purpose under the tutelage of one of the world’s most brilliant minds; and meeting Brains had been awesome.

It meant that his own blood, sweat, and tears went into the building of the birds. And also very possibly his fury.

It meant he could stay on their island home to help Gordon’s recovery. For all the good it did him. One day the idiot would learn that pushing himself doesn’t make him cool, it makes him stupid.

The last thing he had expected to see when checking in on his brother for the night was him standing. Without assistance, without protection nearby, the walker and the chair both out of reach. Of all the stupid, idiotic –

Words had been exchanged, and not nice ones.

He needed to walk out before he said anything he regretted.

To be fair, welding at 2AM didn’t make him dedicated, it made him equally as stupid. He’d just been so mad, but after an hour or two, the rage had dissipated, and he’d stayed primarily to get the job done.

He’s not too much of a completion-ist, though, to admit when he’s getting tired. His work is sending all that ire right back to him. The angry shower of sparks very much tells him Thunderbird One’s panel does not appreciate his carelessness. One is going to be Scott’s and already she is so like his older brother. He can practically hear Scott telling him to clean up and get some rest before he screws up his baby.

Better listen.

He definitely needs to shower once he gets to his room; the sweat has started to make him itchy, and he feels grimy now that he’s had the time to think about it.  He picks up rag from their supplies with a yawn, and wipes at his face.

Ug. Gross. The dryness in his throat warrants a stop by the kitchen as well for rehydration. He thinks that perhaps the headache he’s had throbbing behind his eyes was actually lack of water and not so much his brother.

Tired as he is, it only takes less than a second for Virgil to notice the prone form on the ground as he walks through the faintly lit lounge on his way to the kitchen. And that dryness in his throat, from earlier is nothing in comparison to the fear lodged in his throat as he chokes out syllables that are supposed to be Gordon’s name as he kneels beside the figure.

His hands are trembling as they reach out to search for a pulse at his neck, and with his other hand he pushes back the strands of golden hair to reveal his brother’s face: pale, flushed cheeks, closed eyes.

Jesus.

Tear streaks.

“Virgil?” Gordon’s voice is groggy, but he stirs underneath Virgil’s hands.

“Gordon! What’s wrong?”

“Go away,” he mumbles. “I’m sleeping.”  

Virgil retracts his fingers sharply and sits back on his heels.

Sleeping.

He was just sleeping. His heart is a jack hammer in his chest, and Gordon was just sleeping.

He sighs as he tries to get his heart rate under control. But then….

“Out here?” It’s a very long distance from Gordon’s bedroom to the lounge, and there’s no sight of his chair. Or his walker.

“I had no choice,” Gordon says weakly, opening an eye to look at his brother. “Good a place as any.”

Virgil’s heart clenches at the pain behind the words. Sleeping, yes, but still hurt, and the lack of movement below him tells him exactly what happened. Gordon had followed him.

Their fight had been hours ago.

He feels his hackles rise again. “Goddamn it, Gordon, this is exactly-”

“Virgil! Not now! Please, not now.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I tried! You left.”

“You weren’t listening!”

“Shut up, Virgil,” he snaps. “God. Just – I don’t know - go get Brains or something. Leave me alone.”  The biting words quickly turn into a pained cough, a gasp as the spasm hits, and Virgil feels the fight leave him. He reaches out to rest his hand on Gordon’s shoulder blade and hates that his brother flinches at his touch.

“Gordon. I am sorry. Let me help,” he says softly. “I am not leaving you here.”

“Why not?” Gordon responds bitterly. “You did earlier.”

“I know.” It surprises him when he says it, and Gordon’s not innocent either, but he can’t deny that he ran, retreated, and made himself scarce in work that couldn’t be done safely with a phone distracting him. “I know, Gordo.”

“It’s not fair. You can’t just leave when you know I can’t follow.”  Even so, it’s obvious that Gordon still had tried, and it’s a stab to the gut to think about how long his brother had been stuck in the lounge, to realize that he is so used to this level of pain that he can sleep through it. He looks up at him, eyes glazed with pain when he pleads, “Please don’t do it again. Please don’t leave me alone.” Then with a twist of the knife, “You’ve always been the one that stays.”

He is the freaking worst brother in the history of existence.

There’s little Virgil can do in reply but hang his head, as he helps work the kinks out of Gordon’s back, moving slowly towards his lumbar region where multiple surgeries and lingering nanobots have started to rebuild the damage. Gordon’s spine is 40% bone, 50% metal, and 10% nanobots.

Both the surgery and the nanobots were new procedures, and while Gordon’s case was a perfect scenario for the parameters, there was a timetable to be upheld. The nanobots were dispersed into his spine overtime, every two weeks, by way of a large needle. Each injection was a step closer to full recovery.

With nanotechnology, they didn’t know how badly it could wrong, and even Brains had reminded him he had to stick to the approved physical therapy plan if he wanted to keep those nanobots working. A shock to one of their microscopic systems could mean a full failure in their duty to realign a critical nerve. Gordon could ruin everything with his obstinacy.

Virgil had just been afraid for Gordon, afraid to fail when the stakes were so high. He hadn’t meant to leave him. Not like that, not with the gut-twisting wound of betrayal that came with it. Virgil just needed time to process – he always had. His anger was the slow vibration of magma.  It was easier to work through his emotions when he had time to think through them, and he didn’t mind going to bed angry. And if he was still angry in the morning it meant that whatever had transpired, it was worth his frustration.

Gordon, though, pushed and pushed until whatever confrontation was forced to happen in the here and now until his point of view was seen or the matter was resolved.  His anger was fire, a deluge of sparks until you were surrounded. It was never a good combination.

Virgil left before he exploded. Gordon from a year ago would’ve known that.

“Any better?”

“A little,” he nods.

But Gordon is not the kid he was a year ago.

It’s a muscle pain, Gordon admits, a stiffness he knows well. Any damage to his spine – well, that’s a different kind of pain. Even still, they need to check to make sure he didn’t injure himself further, and that it is ok for him to move. He is just going to leave for a second Virgil promises, and he runs to the infirmary for the scanner.

It's programmed to find the status of every nanobot in Gordon’s system and will automatically report back to Brains and the team of doctors on the mainland. The green lights across the image of Gordon’s spine seem promising, and Virgil adds a brief journal entry to send with the timed log: Over-exerted in exercises today, muscle stiffness resulting in spasms and inability to move, but no apparent damage to nanos. Massaged area.  – VT

Just in case, he’d rather have a doctor sign off. He adds:  OK to move?

A message comes back with a ding, indicating it’s from one of Gordon’s doctors in reply.

“So what’s the damage. Am I still one step closer to being a cyborg?”

Virgil is not going to dignify that joke with a response, frowning, but tells him he is okay to move.  They agree on the recliner on the opposite side of the lounge. Virgil helps shift him to his side so that he can be picked up, and he tries to be as gentle as possible with his movements, carefully slipping one arm below Gordon’s knees and the other at his upper back. At the same time, Gordon slings his arm around Virgil’s neck.

They’ve had a lot of practice. Lift from the legs, never the back.

Gordon hisses with the movement and tucks his head into Virgil’s chest.

“What furnace ran you over?” He asks through gritted teeth.

“I know. Sorry about the smell. I was welding.”

Gordon grunts in reply as Virgil situates him in the recliner, raising the footrest and lowering the backrest into position. They have a few heating pads around the villa, the closest being in a supply cabinet, but Virgil treks down to Gordon’s room instead for the one that lives there so he can also bring back Gordon’s hoverchair at the same time. Gordon’s not fond of the chair and what it means, but he’ll appreciate the independence it  affords him once he’s feeling better. He’ll be able to come and go as he’s ready.

Gordon nods appreciatively when he sees what Virgil has brought back, and it is with expert hands that Virgil guides the heating pad to Gordon’s lower back. The blond exhales, breathing deeply.

“30 minutes only, Gordo. Set a timer.”  He gives him a thumbs up, but Virgil knows he needs to keep an eye too. Gordon has a habit of just leaving the heat on. “I mean it.”

Water next. Even though the headache behind his eyes has a bit more of Gordon’s name on it now, he is still parched. And Gordon could use some extra fluids too.

He heads to the kitchen and fills up two 32 oz jugs.

“Here you go. Hydrate,” Virgil says when he returns, handing over Gordon’s favorite. He is happy to see Gordon’s small smile at the cartoon llama and motivational phrase: Listen to your llama, drink your water and hold the drama. Virgil has an entire shelf of coffee mugs to express himself. Gordon has water bottles.

It’s such a simple thing, Gordon’s smile. But he’d thought for a long time he’d never see it again.

For a few moments, the dim lounge is quiet save Virgil’s desperate guzzling as the water soothes his dry throat. Finally, some relief.

“You going to slow down there, big guy?”

He shakes his head as he swallows.

This evening was too much.

From the throb of his headache to the prickling in his fingers, Virgil’s body vibrates with the whiplash of the emotions from the past few hours. Exhaustion, anger, fear, anger again, sadness, guilt.

“Do you want to maybe not drown yourself?” Gordon asks. “That’s my job.”

Virgil stops gulping the water with a gasp of air, and the remaining fluid sloshes as the water jug topples out of his trembling hand. Gordon flinches at the loud thump it makes as it hits the hardwood and rolls. Virgil is shell shocked where he stands.  

“Fuck. Not like that,” Gordon corrects quickly. “Shit, sorry. I just meant no one can drown you but me.”

Ah.

“I need to sit.” Virgil falls back to piano bench, dropping his head into hands and rubbing at his eyes.

Too much.  

“A-are you ok?”

“I don’t know.” A pause as Virgil looks up. “Are you?”

“I don’t know.”

They’ve made a mess of this evening, such terrible things they said to each other in Gordon’s room, and they’re both tired, drained, with maelstroms behind their eyes.

Gordon holds his gaze as Virgil looks away.

Virgil glances over as Gordon looks away.

Beneath fluttering fingertips, Virgil bounces his knee. Gordon closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing, the heat on his back, on the beat of Virgil’s foot tapping on the floor.

He asks, “Hey Virgil? Can you play something?”

“Yeah,” Virgil breathes. “I can do that.” He had been about to ask Gordon if he minded.

Back poised, Virgil turns away and opens the lid of his baby grand in the moonlight, and he plays, channeling every moment of the night into melodies that speak in ways he knows neither one of them can.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

Then again, maybe it is that simple.

[mypoisonedvine]

Double-Edged Sword: Capt. Syverson x Reader (Chapter 1)

[I decided to ignore my WIPs and my URL and write something for Syverson because he is just…. a beautiful, meaty man and he deserves some more love.

To those of you who follow me for Witcher stuff only, I promise we will return shortly to the regularly scheduled programming.  As for the rest of us who are thirsty for Cavill in any context… enjoy!]

Summary: As a Major in the Marine Corps, you work with other units and branches relatively often.  That said, you had never really had to ask another unit for help before, so you felt pretty awkward when a mission required you to travel to a nearby Army camp and take shelter with them for the next two months.  Of course, their smack-talking, free-wheeling Captain isn’t going to make it any easier on you, either.

Word Count: 5k (oh jesus christ)

Rating: E

(warning for dub con and people being sexist assholes, cause yknow, it’s the military.  contains lots of angst and bickering and arguing, and of course, smut.)

“Listen, I’m not going to stand here and pretend I’m Ms. Popular,” you sighed, “but hopefully you all can appreciate that I look out for all of you.”

No one said anything, because they were standing at attention at their cots.

“At ease,” you added, and they all relaxed a bit, “but keep quiet so I can finish.”

A few sat on their beds but most still seemed to be paying attention.

“When it’s just us Marines, I don’t mind much whatever you call me when I’m not around.  Or when I’m around.  But once we get where we’re going tomorrow, we’re shacking up with the Army.  And as much as I want everyone to get along, I’m not sure how likely that is.  Anyways, what I’m trying to say is… right now it may be me versus you, but soon it’s going to be us versus them, Marines versus Army.  And us Marines need to stick together.  Does that make sense?”

There were a few nods, but you weren’t sure they were getting it.

“Alright, allow me to be a bit more literal.  Don’t tell the other soldiers that I’m a bitch,” you requested.  There were some scattered chuckles.  “I know it probably seems fine since you say it to each other but I need you guys to help me get their respect.  I’m not saying to go in there and tell every Army nimrod that I’m everybody’s favorite officer.  Just… don’t let them see any cracks they could exploit.  Because I have to start ordering these guys around and I’m already batting a thousand.”

“Seems reasonable,” Private Cole replied, and most of the others agreed.  You smiled and left them alone to have a somewhat relaxing night before they had to ship out.

“I don’t want this to be Marines versus Army,” you told Captain Syverson the next day when you met with him for the first time.  Of course, that was what you had told your own unit would happen, but he didn’t know that.  “I’m sure you know that this is an officer versus enlisted issue.  And us officers should stick together.”

He was smiling back at you from across the table, but it didn’t seem that friendly.  

“I don’t see why there’s any ‘versus’ at all.  You and your unit are guests here.  We get this project over with and you’re out,” he shrugged.  

“Maybe you haven’t had much issue getting control of your soldiers.  But it took me a while to get mine to trust me, and now I have to go in blind and command your unit.  So I hope you’re on my side,” you explained.

He went from smiling in an unhappy way, to laughing in an unfunny way.  You regretted the way you had approached this conversation.

“Sounds like you’re not a good leader, if it was so much trouble for you,” he scoffed. “Maybe you should work on that.”

You didn’t get angry very often, but this was the closest you’d been in a while.  You understood his distrust, even a little duplicity was merited.  To just outright insult you to your face was, of course, hurtful, but mainly just stupid.  You’d always known Army guys were total morons, but this was just ridiculous.  What could he gain from going against you?

“How many years until you get promoted?” you asked him suddenly, standing up from your chair.

“About two and a half,” he responded.

“Well, if in two and a half years we’re both still alive, and I’m not already a lieutenant colonel, call me and we’ll talk about who’s in charge.  Until then, back off,” you huffed, and turned to walk away.  You yelped when he grabbed you by the arm and pulled you back.

“You’re on my base,” he reminded you sternly.

“And we’ll try to be respectful while we’re here, regardless of how we’re being treated,” you grimaced, wrenching your arm out of his grasp.

“You’ll try to be respectful?  On my base?!  How generous,“ he scoffed.  "You can’t just show up and start running things.”

“I have no desire to micromanage your little sandhut, Captain.  I don’t give half a fuck what goes on in here.  What I do have is the final call on any decision made in this mission,” you explained.

“On whose authority?” he pressed.  You laughed.

“Cap, somewhere in your desk there’s a little piece of paper– it’s got a lot of pretty gold and silver stars on it– and it explains how commanding authority is ranked in every branch of the United States military.  Feel free to go and check me on this, but I’m pretty sure that ‘Captain’ is here,” you motioned in the air, “and ‘Major’ is here,” you moved your hand up an inch.

“Well, sweetheart, there’s a sign outside the front of this base that says ‘Army’ on it, and a little sticker on your chest,” he poked it, and you couldn’t decide if you hated the physical contact or the deriding pet name more, “that says USMC.”

“Rank is rank,” you argued.

“So if you’ve got a doctorate in physics and I’ve got a master’s in English, you have the right to lecture me about fuckin’ Grapes of Wrath or whatever?”

“My doctorate is in American History,” you frowned. He laughed in frustration.

“Only a Jarhead could miss the point that hard,” he groaned, “and find a way to brag in the process.”

“Call your superior,” you growled, “who is notably a Major, and ask him who has authority on this base while we’re here.”

You stormed out before you could hear his reply.

~

When the time came, the two of you discussed how you would approach the mission behind closed doors.  Not like it was fun or anything, but you managed to stay off each other’s throats for a while and agree on a few things.  It was nice enough that you actually let your guard down, so much so that you were totally blindsided when he waited until you were in front of the entire company to disagree with you.

“That’ll never work,” he suddenly interrupted as you explained the plan, “we’ll divide and conquer.”

You looked at him with confusion.

“That’s not what we discussed before,” you reminded him.

“I changed my mind,” he shrugged.

“Well, I didn’t.  So we’ll do it my way.”

“My men, my rules,” he growled, stepping closer to you.

“Half these people,” you corrected, since a few of your unit were women, “are mine, and you’re below me.”

“Fuck you,” he said casually, smiling while he did it.

“You couldn’t handle it,” you spat back.

A few of the enlisted ‘ooooh’ed but for the most part it was very, very quiet.

Finally, Captain Syverson silently turned on his heel and walked away, looking exasperated.

“Looks like the Captain is going to take a little break,” you smiled with fake enthusiasm, turning back to the company, “and I’ll keep explaining this mission to you all.”

“If Captain Syverson doesn’t approve it, we’re not doing it,” one of the Army kids announced.  Your Marines were notably silent, but the rest of the Captain’s unit nodded in agreement.

“I’ve got a word for you, boys.  It starts with ‘N’ and ends with ‘subordination,’” you frowned.  They all groaned.

“It’s not insubordination because you’re not in charge of us!”

“Manage your own people, Jarhead!”

You uncrossed your arms and let your voice get a little louder.  “Hey, hey, settle down!” 

It mostly worked, but everyone seemed pretty displeased.

“Captain Syverson and I had a discussion with our superiors and it was concluded that I am highest ranking and I get the final call on every tactical decision,” you explained.

“That’s not what he told us,” one of the Army boys chuckled.

You tried not to seethe in front of them, you tried to keep it professional, but how were you supposed to work in these conditions?

“As you were,” you resigned through your teeth, storming off to where the Captain had gone.  You found him in his quarters, relaxing on a sofa; you nearly kicked the door in to talk to him.

“What the fuck was that?!” you exclaimed.

“I changed my mind,” he repeated calmly.

“You’re such a fucking asshole,” you growled, shoving him where he sat.  He stood up, clearly agitated.

“Get your hands off me, lady.”

“Major,” you corrected through your teeth.

“Only Major you are to me is a major waste of my fucking time,” he replied.

“Take it up with the Department of Defense, they’re the ones who gave me the title,” you defended.

“You know, lately I’ve been having issues with a lot of their decisions.  I’m still trying to figure out why the fuck we’re doing this anyways.”

“The mission?” you asked.

“The war,” he corrected.

“Ah,” you nodded, looking around nervously.  You were more comfortable with the arguing than the awkward silence. 

“Whatever,” he scoffed, crossing his arms and slumping his shoulders.

“Go tell your unit the plan- our plan.  Better yet, tell them they answer to me,” you demanded.

“I couldn’t have made it any more obvious that I’m not gonna do what you tell me,” he frowned, crossing his arms.

“Will you at least cooperate with me enough to get this mission over with?” 

He thought about that for a minute, and you tried not to lose your patience.

“Hmm… no,” he decided finally.

“Then will you shut the fuck up and stay out of my way?” you suggested instead.

He stepped up to you until he was uncomfortably close, and you had to crane your neck to meet his gaze.  He had these really bright blue eyes and they didn’t fit with the rest of his face, which was significantly angrier and grittier.

“Not a chance,” he answered.  But his voice had lost the intimidating tone, and his expression had changed at some point without you noticing… he looked sort of calm, considering the situation, and you realized that he was examining your face.

“You know,” he said suddenly, “you’d be pretty if you weren’t so…” he trailed off.

“Mean?” you finished, having heard this sort of comment more than a few times.

“No, it’s not that.  The mean thing is sorta hot,” he corrected casually as if it were nothing to say.  You bit your lip and broke the eye contact, trying not to blush.  It was a good thing you didn’t find him attractive- because of course you didn’t, him being this dirty brute and all- but still, it was uncomfortable.

“You’d be pretty,” he decided, “if you weren’t a Marine.”

You laughed and shook your head incredulously.

“Yeah, well, maybe you’d be pretty if you shaved that raccoon off your face,” you suggested, “and took a shower.”

You smiled as you left the room.

~

You delayed the mission briefing a day, to give you and the Captain more time to hopefully come to some decision, and you hoped it wouldn’t mean you and your unit had to stay at this camp even just one day longer.  You met with your Marines privately, and they were sympathetic but seemed to be getting along with the other soldiers enough to sympathize with their unwillingness to cooperate.  One soldier said he would only listen to you and not ‘Sy’ as they called him, but you told them to always listen to their commanding officer even if he’s a complete tool.

You were walking back to your quarters for the night when you passed by an open tent, a half-dozen Army boys inside playing cards.

“Hey Major, what size bra do you wear?” a soldier hollered at you, and the others snickered.

“I think they’re bigger than they look in that uniform,” another added.  “Double ‘D’s, at least.”

You stopped and decided to address them, unable to let a comment like that go.

“Oh I’ve got double ‘D’s alright,” you smirked.  “Dishonorable Discharge.”

“Aw, we’re just messing around,” the first dismissed with a frown. “Can’t you take a joke?”

“I can take a joke, but I can take your job, too.  Maybe stay on my good side.”  You winked, just to keep it playful, but you were really screwed either way.  You’d tried playing along with jokes before and all it did was make you seem like some creep and/or slut who liked getting hit on (was this even what that was?) by subordinates.  But getting stern didn’t seem to make you any friends, either.  That’s why you were so comfortable with not having any friends.

“Your good side?  You mean from the back?” one of them murmured, and you wondered if he was trying to be just loud enough for you to hear, or just quiet enough for you not to. 

“Dude, she’s probably a dyke anyway,” Private Lipowitz responded.

“Am I supposed to find that insulting?” you asked him.  He smirked, as did the others, as if it was obvious that you should, but nobody said anything.  “Maybe I am a dyke.  And maybe I could give your girl back home more pleasure in five minutes than you’ve given any woman in your whole life combined, eh Lipowitz?”

“You better not talk about my girl, Major,” he challenged, standing up and puffing up his chest.  “I know you’re not supposed to hit chicks or anything, but seriously, I’ll take out anybody who talks about my girl.”  You decided not to point out that you’re not supposed to hit your commanding officer, ‘chick’ or otherwise.

“Then you better start with your boys first,” you responded, motioning to a few of the other soldiers, “because word on the street is they found those saucy little pictures she sent you.”

Lipowitz turned to the other men with wide eyes, and suddenly you were the only one smiling.  Enlisted seem to talk so much more and so much louder than they realize.

“What the fuck?” he exclaimed, dashing to his pack, presumably searching for those photos.  When he didn’t find them, he stood up and pushed Private Mason back by the shoulders.

“Where are those fucking pictures, dude?”

“I don’t have ‘em, I swear,” Mason defended, but all the other guys were laughing.

“Seriously, guys, whoever has them, just give them back!”

“You’re not going to want them back in the state they’re in,” another finally admitted, “trust me.”

They all burst into laughter as Lipowitz went on a rampage, yelling and kicking and threatening to beat up the other guys.  You took the commotion as a good opportunity to sneak away mostly unnoticed and get back to your quarters for the night.

You weren’t there very long before you decided to spend some time in your temporary office instead.  You had taken your hair out of the tight regulation bun, intending to change into pajamas and go to sleep, but you remembered some paperwork that needed to be done by tomorrow night and decided to make some progress on it, since the Captain got in the way of your productivity during the day.

Of course, you weren’t an hour into it when he knocked on your door, though you didn’t know it was him until you told him to come in without looking up from your files.

He entered but stopped and didn’t say anything.

“Can I help you?” you asked eventually.

“You look different with your hair down,” he observed, and you looked back at him with a confused expression.

“Yes, I’d figure so,” you replied.

“You sleep in your uniform?” he asked, noticing that you were still in your fatigues, though you’d shed the camo long sleeve and just had on the green undershirt.

“Do I look like I’m sleeping?” you asked incredulously, looking back to your papers.  He snorted but didn’t say anything.  "Besides, I don’t think you’re ever in uniform.“

"Not when I don’t have to be,” he shrugged.  “I’m not sure why you wear it when you don’t have to.”

“I barely get taken seriously with it on, so it’s the least I can do,” you explained.

“About that…” he began, and you looked up in surprise. “I’m sorry they give you such a hard time.”

“Oh, I see,” you nodded, getting up from your chair to put some papers in your filing cabinet, “you talked to them and heard some of the awful shit they call me.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Well, you only have yourself to blame for that.  You had plenty of chances to instill respect for authority but you decided it would be more fun, I suppose, to go rogue and turn everyone against me,” you bit back with sarcastic cheeriness.

“Shit, I’m actually trying to be nice to you, and you’re still impossible.  You’re such a fuckin’ brat,” he nearly yelled.  You felt like the word ‘brat’ specifically targeted the fact that you were younger than him, which you didn’t appreciate at all- you would rather be judged on your merits, even if the judgment was poor, than be treated differently just because you were young.

“I’m in charge of you,” you corrected, “and you’re refusing to listen to me.  So, if anything, you’re the brat.”

“What I would give to put you in your place right now,” he growled to himself.

“Oh, my place? And what place is that?”

“Bent over my desk and getting your brains fucked out,” he answered with a deep voice.  

A lot of guys probably fantasized about rough sex (or worse) as a means of revenge against you for all those extra push-ups and boot camp humiliations– a few had even made comments about it, though most hadn’t realized you could hear them at the time.  You’d learned quickly how to not let that stuff get to you.  But this got to you… and not in the way you prepared for.  Your face burned and your gut sank and your insides throbbed, as if out of nowhere.

“I figured you liked your women without brains,” you quipped in reply, trying not to show any signs of weakness.  

He dashed to close the space between you, pressing you back against the wall.  He was so big, and he smelled like sweat and beer and pine.  You were surprised, and confused, but you didn’t worry that he would hurt you, for some reason.

“Seems I like my women with a mouth on ‘em, because every time you make some little comment like that, I swear I get harder than steel.”

He pushed his hips into you and yep, there it was.  Your breaths began to stutter but you didn’t want him to see how much this affected you.

“Just wish you put that mouth to better use,” he added with a devilish grin.

“You’d better get back,” you threatened, without actually mentioning any potential consequences.

“Don’t pretend you don’t want me,” he purred, and leaned down to speak against your ear.  “You’ve thought about it, haven’t you?  I can tell you’re getting turned on when we argue, too.”

“You’re confusing arousal with irritation, Captain.”

“Mmm, I like when you call me that.  I assume the intention is condescending, cause you just have to remind me that you outrank me, but I like it anyway,” he presumed.

“It’s the proper way to address another soldier, nothing condescending about it.  You know, I actually don’t have any problem with your rank.  Or your branch.  My problem is with your personality,” you corrected.

“That’s fair.  I have a big personality,” he smirked, and pressed his erection harder against you… it felt pretty big but you couldn’t get a good impression through your fatigues.

“Well, that might explain your ego,” you murmured.

“Just tell me you don’t want it and I’ll leave you be, we’ll go back to bickering an’ shit,” he offered.  “Just look at me,” he prompted, putting a finger under your chin and guiding you to look up at him, “and tell me you don’t want it.”

As you met his gaze, you let yourself really get a closer look than you had before.  It had always been obvious that he was good-looking, but right now he looked oddly gentle considering the circumstances.  The look in his eyes lacked the confidence you were expecting… as if he really didn’t know if you wanted him or not.  As if he really wanted you to want him.  As if he really wanted you.  And it had been a long time since someone had looked at you like that.

“Fuck it,” you growled and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss.  His beard rubbed against your face but it wasn’t as scratchy as you’d imagined- not that you had imagined this or anything.  

He inhaled through his nose and stepped back, pulling you with him and putting a hand on your hair and the other on your hip. 

“Looks like you’ll have to settle for bending me over my desk,” you mumbled against his lips.

“Not gonna bend you over anything yet,” he replied, putting his hands on your butt and lifting you up until you were straddling him in the air.

He walked with you wrapped around him until he could set you down on the desk, and his hands felt so damn big on the small of your waist.

He pulled back so he could pull your shirt over your head, and he took off his own while you slipped off your sports bra.  You both took a moment to stare at each other’s toplessness, a silent acknowledgement that you’d both been wondering about the other’s body.  You ran your hands up and down his chest, and he just looked at you while you did it with a difficult-to-read expression.  Of course you were familiar with muscle, you saw shirtless soldiers all the time and they were all in great shape, but this guy was just enormous.  His shoulders dwarfed you and with him so close you felt uncharacteristically small.

He didn’t say anything as he pulled you into another kiss, and this one was a bit gentler than the last.  You felt giddy and nervous and so desperate for him; you couldn’t remember the last time you felt like this, honestly.

His hands trailed down your back and you slid off the desk until you were standing.  He spun you around and pushed you down between your shoulder blades until you were face down on the desk, the cold wood making your skin break out in goosebumps.

He reached around your hips to open your button and fly, pushing your pants and underwear down to your knees.  You gasped a bit when you felt the air hit your skin.

“Oh shit, you’re wet already,” he noticed.  “Really wet.”

His fingers slipped through your folds and you tried to spread your legs but the pants got in the way.

“Just fuck me,” you demanded.

“All you know how to do is give orders, huh?” he laughed.

“This might be my first order you actually follow,” you considered, hearing him unzip the fly of his jeans.

“I don’t have any condoms,” he explained, “it’s an all-male unit, after all.”

Internally, you wanted to point out that being in an all-male unit doesn’t stop plenty of soldiers from getting it on, and that he shouldn’t be hooking up with anyone in his unit regardless of gender, but you realized this was not the time for explaining rules.

“Don’t need them,” you replied, “as long as you promise you don’t have anything I can catch.”

“You’re being so reckless,” he teased as his hands ran along your back and grabbed your ass, “it’s so unlike you.  What happened to that stubborn little rule-follower, hm?”

“She got really fucking horny,” you growled, “now get inside me, damn it.”

And without much warning, without any preparation, he slammed himself into you all at once.

“Oh fuck!” you cried out, much louder than you meant to.  He was big, really fucking big, and your walls struggled to fit him.  He didn’t slow down though, instantly setting a fast and brutal pace.

“Not so loud, sweetheart.  Not that I don’t love you screamin’ for me.  But if the other guys found out we were doing this…” he trailed off.  “Actually, I bet I’d be the most popular officer at camp if they knew we were doin’ this.”

“You already are,” you pointed out, struggling to focus on forming sentences. “And we’d both get in a lot of trouble– ah, god– if anybody reported it.”

“You’re right.  Better keep you quiet, then,” he sighed, leaning forward and stuffing two fingers into your mouth.  Your moans became sputters and chokes yet you eagerly sucked on his fingers and took them all the way down your throat.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he growled.  “If you’d deepthroated my fingers like that when we first met, I bet we’d have gotten along a lot better.”

That’s not really the way I do business, you wanted to respond, but you couldn’t say much when you were busy with the task at hand.

His fingers pulled out and you felt his hands wrap around your elbows.   He grabbed your arms and held them back as he slammed into you so hard that the desk scraped across the floor with every movement.

“So tight,” he observed.  “Bet no one’s done this to you in a long time. Bet what you always needed was a good fuck to loosen you up– literally.”

He landed a hard slap against your ass and you moaned.

“Oh, you like that?  You like it when I hit you?”

“Yes,” you answered through bared teeth.

“Dirty little slut,” he said, but the way he said it sounded more like a compliment than an insult.

He spanked you again, just a bit harder, and you yelped but found yourself pushing your hips into him and arching your back as an invitation for more.  He grabbed your hips and pulled you closer, pressing as deep inside you as was physically possible and grinding against you.  You sobbed and he grabbed you by the hair, pulling you up until his chest was against your back.

“Anybody ever been this deep inside you before?” he asked, his lips right against your ear.

“No,” you whimpered.

“Fuck, baby,” he moaned, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your neck down to your shoulder.  You weren’t sure how to feel about him calling you ‘baby.’

He let go of your hair but kept you close to him by wrapping his arms around you as he started to thrust again.  It was oddly intimate, and your head fell back onto his shoulder as you moaned and sighed and whimpered.

Calloused hands began to grab at your breasts, teasing and pinching your nipples; you hadn’t realized how sensitive you were there, because it sent sensation shooting straight down to your inner walls.

“I’m close,” you gritted out.

“That was quick.  You’re easy to please,” he replied, and you could hear the grin in his voice.

“Just don’t stop,” you pleaded.  He pushed you back down onto the desk and began to pick up the pace.

“Oh, I won’t stop, I promise you that.” His voice sounded different than normal- deeper and scratchier and oddly weak in a way.  You liked the idea that this had such an effect on him.

His thrusts slammed into you so hard and fast that you were sure you’d have bruises from it, and probably on your thighs where they were hitting the edge of the desk.  For some reason, that thought was what sent you over the edge.

“Ca-captain!” you cried out as you came, and he growled a bit against your ear.  You figured he thought you were calling him that as some sort of sexy nickname, a flash of authority, but it’s just the only thing you could think to call him, the only thing you’d ever really called him.  

He, on the other hand, responded with your first name, even though you’d never gone by it and never even told it to him, mixed in with his grunts and moans as he pulled out and came all over your back.  

It was strange to go from so much noise– skin hitting skin, moans and yelps, the desk screeching on the concrete floor– to just heavy breathing and the sound of the ceiling fan spinning above you.  Or maybe it was you that was spinning; you felt sort of dizzy and numb.

He leaned away from you until you couldn’t feel his touch anywhere, and you heard him zip up his jeans.  You awkwardly lifted yourself off the desk, pulling up your own underwear and pants as well, and looking around for something to wipe yourself off with.

“Did you come?” he asked, and you felt shame and fear and anger bubble up inside you.  This had been a really, really bad idea, and both of you could lose your jobs over it, or worse. And he was such an asshole and you were supposed to be setting a good example for the women in your unit and here you were with some Army dumbass’ cum all over you and he didn’t even have the courtesy to make sure you’d finished before he did… what a joke.

“Oh, I came alright– came to my fucking senses.  Get out of my office,” you barked.

He laughed like he saw all this coming.

“Your office?  It’s my base.  Everything here is mine.  Even that jizz you’ve got on ya,” he grimaced.  “Kickin’ me out before it’s even gone cold.  You’re a real ray of sunshine as always, Major.”

“That’s the first time you’ve called me Major,” you realized. “Let’s make that the only thing done tonight that we turn into a habit, alright?”

He shrugged and turned to leave, but of course, he had to have the last word.  “You can fuck the ice queen but you can’t melt her, I guess.”

“Is that what this was?  Some sort of sexual scavenger hunt, to prove you were macho enough to get the prude to spread her legs?”

“Well, it worked didn’t it?” he grinned.

“I said get out,” you reminded him, hoping he’d leave before you started crying.  He did.

You didn’t cry very often, not something you had the luxury of doing after a decade at war.  And you still didn’t let yourself do it for very long, because you were morally opposed to crying over boys.

[diavohno]

31, but with Levi please 💙💙

I’m really out here making this 1.5k I literally could not help myself 😂  enjoy leviastans, have some fluff

“you’re burning up” + Levi

x   +   x   +

“Have any of you seen Levi recently?” Your question is met with uninterested shrugs as the brothers around you busy themselves with their breakfasts. After a few moments’ pause and still no actual answer, you try again. One of them has to know what’s going on with the third-oldest. “I’m kind of worried about him. He hasn’t come out of his room in a while.”

“He’s probably just into a new game or somethin’,” Mammon says with a yawn, his lanky arms stretching high above his head before he rises to his feet. He then turns to you with his typical mischievous light in his eyes. “C’mon, MC! Let’s get going!”

“I…” you push your food around on your plate while you decide on your answer, “I think I’m going to check on Levi first. Just to make sure he’s okay.”

Mammon huffs out a ‘suit yourself’ before sauntering out of the house. A twinge of irritation bolts through you as the heavy front doors slam shut. It’s been at least a week since Levi’s been out of his room, and while you know he tends to disappear when he’s interested in something new that’s come out, it’s never taken him a week to return before. You can’t quite shake the feeling that something is off.

“It’s not often that I agree with Mammon, MC, but Levi’s fine.” Satan’s voice is one of the last that you expected to add on to the situation, but that’s exactly what he did. And good God does that set you off. You aren’t angry, no, but the fact that they can all casually dismiss your concern like this does feel somewhat belittling.

Not wanting to hear anymore, you quickly push yourself to your feet and excuse yourself. It doesn’t take you long at all to make your way to Levi’s room.

Pausing outside of Levi’s bedroom door, self-doubt begins to overpower your concern. What if the brothers are right, and Levi is in the middle of a game right now? He’d be really upset if you interrupted him, you just know it, but then again, what if he’s not okay? With none of his other brothers too concerned about him, then you should definitely check to make sure he’s alright.

Steeling yourself in case your concern isn’t warranted, you rap your knuckles lightly against Levi’s door. Almost instantly, you hear a croaking response. “What’s the password?”

The tiny flame of concern in your gut suddenly roars to a burning fire. The words sounded almost painful to get out, and as soon as Levi finishes speaking he breaks out into a coughing fit. You couldn’t get into his room fast enough, password be damned.

Upon entering, the first thing you notice is Levi huddled under a blanket in his bathtub bed, his face flushed and profusely sweaty, which made some of his violet locks stick to his forehead. He doesn’t say anything and is simply watching you as you beeline towards the stupid bathtub. Why did he have to insist on not having a normal bed? He’s looking sick enough to have aches and heat flashes right now, and sitting in a porcelain bathtub certainly isn’t doing his body any favors.

“You’re sick,” you say in both finality and disbelief. Although it made sense that the brothers would be able to get sick, none of them had thus far in your exchange program, so you kind of assumed they were immune or something.

“No, I’m no--” Levi begins with a croaky voice, only to cut off abruptly when you place the back of your hand on his forehead to check his temperature.

“Levi, you’re burning up,” you sigh. At least he has the decency to avoid your eye contact in embarrassment. There’s no lie he could come up with to worm his way out of this now, and Hell would have to freeze over before you would decide to leave the man to go through his sickness by himself. You pull your hand away and shift a little closer towards the bathtub. “You can’t be comfortable there.”

Again, you receive no eye contact as his lips stay firmly sealed. So this is the game you’re going to play. Great. On the bright side, you aren’t being denied outright, so at least you have a chance to do something.

“Levi, let’s get you into an actual bed. Wouldn’t you rather be somewhere soft and warm?”

“I’m fine here.” The audacity of this man. He is ever the immovable object, but little does he know that you are an unstoppable force; a force that is extremely close to just hauling him to your bed by yourself. Sure, it’d be pretty hard considering Levi is a full-grown man, but by God would you try.

Fortunately, you’ve still got one last trick up your sleeve. It’s a bit of a dirty trick, but if it meant getting the man out of his bathtub and into a real bed, you’re willing to pull out all of the stops.

“You know, Henry would never leave his friend, the Lord of Shadow, if he needed help,” you say with a bit of a dramatic tilt. Not enough where what you are doing is obvious, but enough to tap into Levi’s instinctual reaction towards cliche anime lines. Just as you hoped, he rises to the bait.

“And the Lord of Shadow could never turn down his best friend,” he mumbles in what sounds like defeat. The thrill of victory rises in your chest, but you push it back for the time being.

“Exactly, now let’s get you into an actual bed.” After hearing no more protests from the man in the bathtub, you gently slip your hands under his armpits and help him to his feet. Once he’s upright, you’re faced with a new challenge--getting him out of the bathtub. The walls aren’t impossibly high, but high enough that he wouldn’t be able to clamber out by himself in his current condition.

After a moment of hesitation and a long groan from Levi, you settle on the first solution that had entered your mind. The decision is at the risk of you completely embarrassing yourself in front of your long-time crush should it not work, but drastic times call for drastic measures. In the span of a few seconds, your arms hook themselves behind Levi’s knees and back, and before he can even comprehend what’s going on you’ve already successfully swept him off of his feet. As the realization of his position sinks in, a nervous hum begins to thrum up in the back of Levi’s throat. One questioning glance from you puts an end to that instantly, although you find it endearing.

“Sorry, Levi, this is just the first thing that came to mind,” you softly explain, ending your words with an awkward chuckle.

“It’s fine.” Even though he mumbles the words, you hear them loud and clear. His mouth is close to your ear, after all. Suddenly, you remember the situation that you’re in--you are currently still carrying the sick Avatar of Envy bridal-style in his own bed room when he could probably walk just fine on his own.

“I should, uh, I should probably put you down now, huh?” As much as you’d hate to admit it, but you find yourself fighting to stop a blush from coloring your cheeks. Now is most certainly not the time, dangit!

The surprise that shocks your body when Levi basically whispers to ask you to carry him the rest of the way nearly makes you drop him to the floor anyway. He can hardly look at you right now, yet he doesn’t want you to set him down? You’d have to look out your window later to make sure the Devildom hasn’t frozen over. A giddy smile spreads across your face and you have no desire to even attempt to cover it. 

You may be the least strong being living in the House of Lamentation, but the adrenaline coursing through your system at the moment lends you more than enough strength to allow you to stride down the hallway to your own bedroom whilst Levi lays snug in your arms, finesse the door open, and place him down on top of your bed. He begins to wriggle himself underneath your many bed sheets (what, you get cold sometimes.) Once you make sure that he’s comfortably tucked in, you start towards the door, only to stop in your tracks when you hear a croaky voice call after you.

“What is it?” you ask Levi in concern once you’ve whipped back around to face him, nearly tripping over yourself in the process. This time, a pair of amber eyes meet yours, and for once you find that you’re the one getting flustered. Had you been too eager? With the state you had found him in, could anyone blame you? You were doing this out of pure concern for Levi, nothing more!

Levi fiddles adorably with the end of your comforter before speaking again. “Can you please stay with me?”

[gamerwoo]

Junhui: Noodles

Characters: Junhui x female reader

Genre/warnings: badboy au, strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, some crack-y moments, very slight angst, mentions of smoking, implied violence

Word count: 6,079

Summary: Junhui’s the kind of person parents warn their daughters to stay away from but you’ve never had the inclination to go near him anyway. But it’s not until he comes into the animal shelter looking for a kitten named Noodles that you start to learn more about the mysterious Wen Junhui.

a/n: I really felt like writing a badboy au and there aren’t a lot for Jun and I had this idea and @sadienita​ really liked it so this is kinda for her :] merry christmas 💕

You couldn’t care less about the boys that hung out outside the dive bar on the street corner. It seemed every girl was always squealing about how cute they were or every parent was warning their kid to not go near them. But you didn’t care. You didn’t wonder what they were like despite that being a hot topic with a lot of your friends -- seriously, it was like they never shut up once they got started, which was why you now hated when they wanted to go to that stupid bar but it was the only one in your stupid, dinky town.

Alternatively, Wen Junhui and his friends didn’t know shit about you nor did they recognize you. Wonwoo recognized one of your friends because she always seemed to stare at him whenever they’d pass by them, and Mingyu would wink at the one who would bite her lip and eye him up and down shamelessly. But you always rolled your eyes and minded your business, never sparing them even a passing glance. So none of them ever noticed you or thought anything of you.

Despite this, you still definitely knew who he was. At least, you’d heard the stories. The thirteen rowdy boys were always causing trouble. If they weren’t causing it, they were looking for it. Your parents had also jumped on the “stay away from those boys” bandwagon, and you listened without question because you didn’t have the desire to approach them anyway. You weren’t afraid, you just weren’t interested in knowing more. 

Besides, with the amount of cigarettes they smoked, you would’ve sooner strangled yourself than stand anywhere near them. Actually, strangling yourself would probably be the equivalent of being around that much smoke. 

However, your disinterest for the group of boys didn’t stop you from running into one of them. You had just decided to volunteer at the animal shelter on weekends because your parents refused to let an animal into the house despite the fact you insisted you would care for it solely and they wouldn’t have to lift a finger. Volunteering at the shelter was the next best thing. It was your first weekend there, and while you were excited, that excitement died down when you looked up as they front door opened.

Even if you weren’t interested in knowing the thirteen boys, it didn’t mean you didn’t recognize Wen Junhui.

“He’s so beautiful!” your friend, Mari had squealed so many times it made you want to jam scissors in your ears so you’d never have to hear it again.

But yes, Wen Junhui was beautiful. He, for some reason, dyed his hair a lilac color which brought out his brown eyes that looked up from the floor to you. Instead of a cigarette between his lips, he had a toothpick that hung out the left corner of his mouth. His classic leather jacket was looking as dingy as always, but it matched his ripped up black jeans and scuffed boots.

‘What could he possibly want at an animal shelter?’ you wondered to yourself.

You wanted to tell him to get lost, but you knew you weren’t supposed to do that -- even if this was Wen Junhui.

Junhui strolled up to the counter, his hands in his front pockets. He leaned up against the counter with one arm on the top of it, looking at you as he cocked his head to one side. You half expected him to say something about recognizing you even though you weren’t sure why he would recognize you anyway.

But instead, he asked, “Do you know if Noodles is here?”

You blinked at him a few times as you processed his question before finally asking, “...What?”

“You new?” he asked you instead.

“Yeah…?”

He sighed as if he were growing impatient with you, but his eyes were kind as he explained, “Noodles is a little orange tabby cat that was sent here a few weeks ago. Do you know if she’s still here?”

“O-oh, uh…” you looked down at the computer in front of you, typing in the name. “Yeah, she should still be in the cat room.”

“Cool, thanks,” he said simply before walking away toward the cat room.

That was your first encounter with Wen Junhui, and it definitely wasn’t what you were expecting from him.

-

On most Friday or Saturday nights, your friends liked to go down to the bar. You weren’t sure at this point if they genuinely enjoyed hanging out with each other every weekend or if they just did it in hopes of getting noticed by the boys who hung around out front, but with your new job at the shelter, you were thankful that you now had a reason to turn them down other than the usual responses that they stopped buying into.

“Sorry, I’m working at the shelter tomorrow.”

Nobody can call you out for that. What, do they expect you to just go into work drunk?

But it was that very next weekend that you saw Junhui again. You thought it was strange the first time he came in, but it was even more strange to you that he came back the very next weekend. He, again, walked over to the counter and asked you if Noodles was still there.

She was.

He went to the cat room.

You continued to stare at the door to the cat room until it closed and you couldn’t see Junhui anymore. What was his deal? Why did he want to see this cat so badly, and why did he even care? 

“What’re you staring at?” your coworker, Sam wondered as she came out from the back.

You turned to look at her, “Does a guy ever come in here asking you if Noodles is here?”

“Oh, you mean Jun?”

She knew Junhui? Actually, she knew Junhui enough to just call him Jun? Now you really had no idea what was going on. Was this some sort of alternate universe you were in?

“You know him?” you asked with surprise clear in your tone and on your face.

She chuckled, “Everybody at the shelter knows him. He come in every weekend, but lately, he comes just to visit Noodles. He really likes that kitten.”

Somehow, despite all this new information, you still couldn’t get passed the fact somebody named that poor kitten Noodles.

-

“You work too much, so you’re coming,” Rina decided.

Apparently the “I have work tomorrow” excuse could only work so many times before your friends decided it wasn’t good enough anymore. You really did have to work the next day at the shelter, but Rina already had a death grip on your wrist and was dragging you along behind her toward the shitty little bar that you really didn’t want to go to.

“Do you think they’re there?” Mia giggled.

‘I fuckin’ hope not,’ you wanted to say, but you just let them gush over the boys they hardly knew like you always did. ‘Man, what’s with girls and the badboy type?’

As you got closer to the dive bar, you could see about half of the boys standing under the same streetlight they always were. They were laughing so loudly that you heard them before you saw them, and when you did see them, you could see a few of their silhouettes shoving each other around as their laughter grew louder. 

Normally, the boys didn’t pay much attention to anybody who came by. They didn’t care about other people because they knew nobody else cared about them, so they paid them no mind and carried on with what they were doing.

But for some reason, Junhui felt inclined to look over to his right.

“Hey!” you heard him call out.

Your whole group stopped, looking at him like deer in headlights. Nobody from that group had ever said a word to any of you, and the fact that Wen Junhui had acknowledged them and stopped them to speak was sending your friends’ hearts into a frenzy.

You felt fine, even when his eyes locked on yours.

“Aren’t you the girl from the shelter?” he asked with a nod of his head.

You replied to his question with one of your own: “Aren’t you the Noodles guy?”

He chuckled, “She still there?”

“I didn’t work today, bud. Couldn’t tell ya.”

And then you brushed past your friends and led the way inside the bar. They all looked bewilderedly between you and Junhui as they shuffled in behind you like robots that were just doing what they were programmed and not really thinking for themselves.

“You know Wen Junhui?!” Elly gasped.

You shrugged, not seeing it as a big deal, “He comes into the shelter.”

“Is that why you’re so worried about work?” Mia giggled as she nudged your side with her elbow.

“No,” you sighed,” it’s because I actually don’t want to go into work hungover every single weekend and get written up four fucking times.”

You shot a pointed look to Rina who simply shrugged and said, “Party, dude.”

Most of the night consisted of you and your friends sitting at a table together while you drank and ate stale chips with shitty salsa and laughed at fat, drunk men playing darts very poorly. They hit the actual walls multiple times, and one even threw a dart while the other was over collecting his darts from the board, and it hit him right in the shoulder. There wasn’t any blood, but it was still fucking hilarious.

More patrons entered the bar, but you never paid any attention to them. Thankfully, your friends’ attention was gradually pulled away from the windows where they could see the seven boys outside, and you were actually able to have a good time with them.

Then again, maybe if they were staring out the windows and drooling like normal, you might’ve seen the handsome semi-stranger walk into the bar and walk up behind you, tapping your shoulder.

You sighed, figuring you already knew what this was about, so you didn’t even bother turning around. You figured it was some creep trying to hit on you, and you were not about to give any man in this place the time of day -- or night, rather.

“Listen, buddy,” you began as your hand tightened around your glass of beer, “I’m not interested. And if you’re gonna call me an ugly whore now instead, you can go fuck yourself.”

“At least you’re direct,” Junhui’s semi-familiar voice chuckled.

You whipped around, suddenly mortified by your words, “O-oh, I thought you were--”

“Yeah, I know,” he nodded, still laughing at your mistake. “But, I mean, you might tell me that after I say what I’m going to say.”

Your heartbeat picked up and you didn’t like it. What would Junhui say to you that would make you tell him to go fuck himself?

“My friend, Soonyoung thinks you’re really hot,” he told you, slightly sniggering about it. “He’s too big of a pussy to come in and ask for your number, though, so he made me do it since I kinda know you.”

You knew your friends had their jaws dropped at this, but you were looking at Junhui the whole time. Even as your face shifted to one of confusion.

“Who?” you asked.

He turned and pointed out the window, “Black hair, black shirt.”

“Dude, that’s like, three of them.”

“He’s the one with the cute cheeks!” Elly told you as if it was common knowledge. “And his eyes are really distinct.”

You were pretty sure you vaguely knew which one he was talking about. A somewhat fuzzy image of him came up in your head, and you recalled seeing him once eat a piece of gum off of the streetlamp just for five bucks and some laughs from his friends.

“No thanks,” you said flatly.

“_____!” Mia gasped like you were being rude.

But how could it be rude when you didn’t even know the guy and the only memory you had of him was eating ABC gum?

“Honestly, that’s a safe choice,” Junhui chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’ll break the bad news to him gently.”

You turned away from Junhui as soon as he began walking away from your table. Your ears were filled with your friends scolding, telling you that that was their only chance for an in with them. If you went out with Soonyoung, you could hook them up with Wonwoo and Mingyu -- which were also names you could not match to faces and you were sure you didn’t want to.

But above their whining, right as the door opened, you heard Junhui shout, “Yo, Soonyoung! She said to go fuck yourself!”

-

Where was he? You knew Junhui was going to come in like he did every weekend, and despite it only being your third weekend, you were sure he would be there because he said so when you left the bar.

“Girl from the shelter!” he called, catching your attention.

You really didn’t want to look toward his group because despite not knowing Soonyoung, you were embarrassed that Junhui told him you told him to go fuck himself. But still, you stopped and turned around to see what he wanted.

“See ya tomorrow!” he grinned cheekily.

You only nodded at him before leaving with your friends to go home and get as much rest as you could before you had to open the shelter.

But it was tomorrow, it was around the time Junhui usually showed up, and the boy in question was still nowhere to be seen. Now that you were more sober, you wanted to chew him out for passing along a message to a stranger that you didn’t even give.

“_____, could you give this pill pocket to Pepero?” one of the other workers asked as she handed the little treat over to you. “He needs his medication but Fishstick is being difficult getting his shots and I need to help out.”

As you took the pill pocket from her and began walking toward the cat room, all you could think was, ‘Who names these poor cats?’

You pushed the door open and searched all the cages in search for the one labeled ‘Pepero’. You couldn’t find it in the cages in the front, so you circled around to the back to see if maybe he was back there.

But instead of Pepero, you found the boy you’d been looking for.

“How the hell did you get in here?” you blurted.

Junhui jumped, startled by your sudden outburst. But his face melted into a smile as he laughed lightly and put a hand over his heart.

“You scared me!” the way he smiled and giggled was actually almost...cute -- which was weird since he came across as very cocky the previous night. He stood up from his crouched position and closed the cage he had opened while he played with the cat inside. “Liza let me in this morning. Sometimes I show up a little early.”

“For Noodles?” you guessed.

“Well, this time, yes. But I’ve done it before Noodles. I just like her a lot.”

You leaned over, peering down at the cage Junhui had opened. Sure enough, it said ‘Noodles’.

“Is that for Pepero?” he inquired, pointing to the pill pocket you were holding.

Not only were you shocked he guessed the cat you were giving medicine to, but he went over to Pepero’s cage without skipping a beat or needing to read the names, and opened it up for you.

“His ear infection is getting a lot better,” he told you as he pet from the cat’s head down to its tail. The fluffy, white-haired cat seemed to like it as he immediately started purring. Junhui plucked the pill pocket from your fingers and held it out to Pepero, who sniffed it for a second before eating it. “Yeah, you’d eat pill pockets just for fun, huh?”

“You know a lot about the cat room,” you noted dumbly.

Junhui chuckled with a shrug, “Just a little.”

“Do you come here often?”

“Every weekend.”

“Why don’t you just work here?”

Junhui scoffed, looking at you like you really were dumb, “Because if I worked here, a bunch of people would throw a fit or just wouldn’t come in. Business would go downhill which would mean a bunch of sweet animals would be fucked. It’s best I just come in to check on them.”

That did make sense. Wen Junhui was Wen Junhui, and people didn’t like him. He was a ‘bad person’. He was definitely a hit with the girls your age, but girls your age were also really into rebelling against their parents for some reason. That, and cute boys. Junhui was basically those two things thrown into one thing, and that meant that parents didn’t like him. If people from town came in and saw Junhui working here, the shelter would no doubt close down within weeks.

But you weren’t here to talk about that. You were waiting for Junhui to show up so you could chew him out for what he did. And now that you had him in front of you, you’d do just that. You didn’t care if he was some tough guy in a leather jacket and ripped jeans or if he still smelled like cigarette smoke. You weren’t afraid of him.

Okay, well, maybe a little afraid.

“Also, what the fuck was that last night?!” you demanded as you whacked him in the chest.

Okay, maybe not that afraid.

Junhui looked almost shocked that you did that, and even a little afraid of you as he put a hand over the spot you’d hit.

“You told Soonyoung I told him to fuck off, and now he’s gonna think I’m some rude bitch or something!”

Junhui only giggled as he grabbed his jacket on either side and gently tugged to adjust it, “Soonyoung doesn’t think anything, he hardly has a braincell.”

“But still!”

He smirked as he crossed his arms over his chest, shifting his weight to one foot so he was leaning into you, “Why do you care so much what Soonyoung thinks of you, hmm?”

You felt your cheeks heating up, leaning away from him, “I don’t care what he thinks specifically. I’d be mad no matter who you said it to.”

Junhui sighed as he closed Pepero’s cage before turning and letting his back rest up against the cages, “You wanna know why I said what I said to Soonyoung?”

You nodded vigorously.

Maybe you were seeing things, but Junhui looked...nervous. He looked down at his feet, taking in a deep breath as he thought over his next words. He ran a hand through his lilac hair before he closed his eyes. He lifted his head slowly, opening his eyes to meet yours.

“I’d say I’m a pretty good judge of character, and I think you’re a good person, shelter girl. I kinda like you,” he admitted, “and you deserve way better than Soonyoung.”

That only caused more questions. What did you do to make Junhui like you enough to protect you from somebody he claimed wasn’t good enough? Why was he friends with Soonyoung if he thought Soonyoung was too shitty to date? Wouldn’t he be similar to Soonyoung if they were close? What did he mean by ‘kinda like you’?

Despite all of those questions you could’ve asked and probably should’ve asked, you said, “My name is _____.”

-

You didn’t see Junhui all week but you knew you’d see him on Saturday. Who you didn’t think you’d see on Saturday was Mari. She smirked as she opened the doors and her little brother excitedly ran in, though it was clear he wasn’t really sure where he was going.

“Over here, dude!” Mari called as she walked up to the counter, her car keys swinging from the lanyard in her hand.

Her brother suddenly made a u-turn and ran right over to the counter, pressing his hands up against the side of it.

“What’re you doing here?” you asked her.

“Kid wants a dog but my parents didn’t want to be the ones to take him,” she explained as she glanced down at the child who was continuously hitting the side of the counter with both hands. “You can probably guess why.”

You just shrugged, deciding you would make the thumping sound that would soon be the tempo for the headache it would give you seem not as awful as it was, “He’s not so bad.”

“You wanna show us around the dog room then?” she asked with a toothy grin.

While there were other people working, it would be pointless to hand the task off to somebody else when you weren’t even busy. But you knew Junhui would be coming in soon and some part of you really wanted to see him when he came in. But you didn’t have an excuse so what could you do except say yes?

“I mean, I gue--”

Just on time, the door opened, and in shuffled Junhui with a toothpick in his mouth. Mari saw your eyes drift behind her, and she followed your gaze, her eyes landing on Junhui. She looked absolutely dumbfounded seeing the handsome boy casually walk into the shelter, his eyes finding you at the counter before anybody else. But it was after he saw you at the counter that his eyes flickered over to Mari, then down to her brother who was still banging the counter, and then back up at you.

“_____?” he spoke up.

‘Now’s my chance.’

“Um, I actually have to show Junhui something in the cat room,” you told Rina. “But Sam can take you to the dog room. C’mon, Junhui.”

You stepped out from behind the desk and began walking toward the cat room, leaving Sam alone with Mari and her brother despite the fact you felt guilty forcing her to deal with Mari’s annoying little brother. Not to mention your friend would have plenty of questions for you next time you saw her, but that was something you could deal with when you had to cross that bridge.

“What is it?” Junhui asked as the two of you entered the cat room, his voice laced with worry. “Was Noodles adopted?”

“No,” you sighed a breath of relief as you rested your forehead on the cool bars of one of the empty cages. “I just really didn’t want to deal with Mari today and needed an excuse to not help her brother pick out a pet dog.”

“_____!” Junhui whined. “You scared me!”

Why did Junhui genuinely sound upset? You turned around to see him rushing over to Noodles’s cage. He stuck his slender fingers through the bars, smiling softly as the orange kitten playfully batted at them with her paws. Just from the way Junhui looked at the cat, you could tell he absolutely adored her. Hell, he visited the place every weekend asking if she was still there so he must’ve loved her.

“Hey Junhui?”

He looked up from his playing, though the little smile stayed on his face even when he looked at you.

“Why don’t you just adopt Noodles?” you wondered.

“I took in a stray cat that hung out around my apartment like...two-ish months ago?” he replied, trying to remember how much time had gone by. “She’s still nervous around other animals and people. Honestly, she might not ever be used to other animals, and I don’t want to stress her out.” 

It seemed like the more Wen Junhui came around the shelter, the less like Wen Junhui he seemed. You were taught he would be scary and aggressive and rude and just overall bad. But he was funny and kind and caring and persistent. You wondered what made people think Junhui was a bad person if he seemed to be the opposite. Was it the people he hung out with? The way he dressed? Was that all it was?

Was Wen Junhui not the person you thought he was?

-

Junhui wasn’t outside the dive bar that night. You were dragged out by your friends once again, but this time without putting up a fight. Another few weeks had gone by, and you were hanging out with Junhui longer and longer when he’d come visit the shelter. The main reason for his visits was always Noodles who still had yet to be adopted, but it seemed he stopped coming in asking for Noodles and started coming in just saying “hey, _____”. 

But the one time you decided to go to the bar, hoping to see Junhui, he wasn’t there. None of his friends were there. The only sign that they had been there at all were their cigarette butts and the lingering smell of cigarette smoke that faintly burned your lungs.

“Boo,” Elly frowned as Rina opened the door to the bar and led the way in.

As you sat in the bar for the next few hours, drinking and laughing with your friends, you had almost forgotten about Junhui. You were so preoccupied with the stupid stories and loud giggles and dumb jokes that the fact you didn’t see him like you wanted to had completely slipped your mind. Even when Mia said she had to get home and left first, or when Mari said she had to get back before 11 because her parents were leaving and she had to babysit, or when Elly asked if you wanted her to walk home with you at 1am and you declined. You never once thought about Junhui.

Not until you saw him, at least.

You told Elly should could go without you. You were about to beat this guy at pool and you planned on sticking it out to the end. Sure enough, you ended up winning even if your friends weren’t there to celebrate your victory with you. But you decided that was a high enough note to end your night on, so you shuffled your way out of the bar with various patrons that you’d managed to befriend that night wishing you a good night and a safe trip home. Considering you were a girl walking home at night alone, you definitely valued those wishes.

However, your mind was veered away from your trek home as soon as you left the bar. In their usual spot, Junhui was clinging to the lamppost like it was the only thing holding him up. He sucked a sharp breath in through his teeth, and while he was facing away from you, you knew something wasn’t right.

“Junhui?” you asked as you walked over to him quickly.

“_____?” his voice was pained as he managed to turn himself around, keeping himself leaned up against the post.

As soon as he faced you, you sucked in a breath of your own. His clothes were torn up, his face was bruised and bloody, and his jacket was only hanging off one shoulder. His hair was a mess, sticking out in all directions while his eyes squinted at you like he was trying his hardest to keep them open. He clearly looked like he was in a lot of pain.

“What happened to you?” you gasped.

Despite how beat up he was, he managed to give you a small smirk, his eyes closing, “It’s nothing new. I just need to be cleaned up a bit.”

“A bit?” you scoffed. “Can I help you home?”

He hummed in response, his eyes staying closed. You walked closer, taking his weight off of the post and letting him put it on you. You put one of his arms around your shoulders while you held his waist and guided him in the direction he told you to go. It was a good thing he was at least coherent because otherwise you wouldn’t know where to bring him. You actually asked when you were almost to his apartment if you could bring him to a hospital because you completely forgot that that should be the first idea, but Junhui insisted he would be fine and he just wanted to go home.

His apartment wasn’t in a great part of town. It definitely could’ve been worse, but it wasn’t great. It was one of those places that still made you wary, especially with Junhui not really being himself. You were sure if you had come here with him any other day, you’d feel perfectly safe. But between the two of you, you were the strongest one at that moment. That definitely wasn’t reassuring.

He gave you the keys from his jeans pocket, and you managed to get him in the building. That definitely made you feel better, but it wasn’t until you were actually in Junhui’s apartment that you felt more relaxed. Then you could focus on just getting Junhui fixed up instead of worrying about who could be lurking in the shadows or secretly following behind you.

“Be quiet, though,” Junhui murmured as you led him over to the couch and set him down on the cushions. “I don’t want Minnie to get scared.”

“Is that your roommate or something?” you asked.

“My cat, Minnie.”

‘Right, the stray.’

You’d completely forgotten that Junhui had taken in a cat off the street. Honestly, considering the place he lived, you were happy for the cat -- even if it was hiding somewhere because it was afraid of you.

“Do you have a roommate that can help you?” you wondered.

“It’s cute that you think I could afford an apartment with more than one bedroom,” he smiled tiredly, his head falling back against the back of the couch as his eyes slid closed again.

“Alright, where do you keep your first aid stuff?”

“I don’t have any.”

“Seriously? No bandaids or cotton balls or anything?”

“I have a washcloth and warm water.”

You sighed, figuring that would have to do. So you went to the bathroom and grabbed a towel that was hanging off of the shower rod. You dampened a corner of it with warm water before going back to the living room. You sat beside Junhui on the couch and began dabbing away at the blood on his face. He hissed slightly at first but he started to get used to the stinging.

“Do you wanna talk about what happened now?” you mumbled.

“It’s just something that happens sometimes,” he shrugged. “Parents don’t warn their kids about us for nothing.”

“Did everybody else get beat up, too?”

“Just me. Wrong place at the wrong time. Happens a lot. Lotta people hate us.”

So maybe Junhui really was who you were told he was. Maybe he was violent and scary. Maybe he was somebody who wasn’t to be messed with. Maybe he was bad news.

“Do you need me to call somebody for you?” you wondered.

“Nah,” he replied. “Minnie’s more than enough company. She’ll come out after you leave and sleep on my chest -- she usually does when I come home like this. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be okay.”

But even if he was all that, he was still just like the Junhui you knew from the shelter.

“And ____?” he peeked one eye open to look at you.

“Yeah?”

One of his hands found yours that was pressed against the couch cushion to support yourself as you cleaned him up. His hand wrapped around yours, giving it a soft squeeze.

“Thank you for helping me tonight. I know this is cheesy to say but I’m glad I met you.”

-

Maybe you were silly. Maybe you were reading too much into it, but maybe it was worth the risk. Besides, worst case scenario was that he’d take it as a friend thing. But what would be so bad about that? Weren’t you already friends with Junhui anyway?

You finally realized that weird need to see Junhui was actually you having a crush on the guy. It was definitely weird, especially considering it had even persisted despite seeing the other side of Junhui last night, but you were just gonna go with it. You knew he wasn’t all bad, and you could make your own decisions anyway. And your decision was that Junhui was a good guy and you liked him and that was that.

So when Junhui walked into the shelter again on Saturday and your heart started racing, you knew why.

Well, there was also another reason.

“Hey, _____,” he grinned. His split lip had healed, but around one of his eyes was still a little yellow. “How’s it goin’?”

“It’s goin’,” you shrugged.

Usually, you would nod toward the cat room and say something like “she’s back there” or “you can go in” or whatever. Something that would let him know Noodles was still there. But when you stopped talking after your short response to his question, his eyes widened.

“I-is Noodles…?”

You shook your head slowly.

Junhui looked distraught, “R-really? ...W-well was the person at least nice? I hope she went to a good home because she’s such a sweet girl and--”

“You can judge for yourself,” you shrugged. “I mean, you did say you think I’m a good person, so…”

As Junhui’s brain tried to piece together what you’d said, you bent down behind the desk and lifted up the small carrier that the small, orange kitten was in. As you set her down on the counter and she saw Junhui, she meowed at him. 

His eyes flickered from Noodles to you to Noodles and back to you.

You grinned at him, “I am now a proud cat mom.”

Junhui’s look of confusion spread into a wide, toothy grin as he walked over and stuck two fingers between the bars and let Noodles paw at them, “Why’d you decide to adopt her?”

“Well, you said Minnie doesn’t like animals, and I know you wanted Noodles for yourself so…” you wanted to be bold about this but now that you had to say what you wanted to say to him, you felt shy and flustered, your cheeks starting to heat up. “I just kinda figured if I own her then you could like, visit or something… I mean, you already visit her at the shelter but now there’s no way she could be away from you, y’know? Like, you’ll always be guaranteed to see her now.”

You kept staring down at the counter and at Junhui’s fingers when you talked, but you finally gained the courage to look up at him. His cheeks were stained pink as he tried to hide a smile unsuccessfully.

“So you adopted her...b-because of me?” he asked with a flustered giggle.

“M-maybe…” you shrugged.

This time, he had to look away from you, keeping his eyes on Noodles in her cage instead. He just smiled at her -- or he was still smiling about what you said -- for a moment without saying anything, and it was absolutely torture. But then he finally looked over at you and took his fingers away from Noodles, stepping sideways so he was standing across from you at the desk.

“Do you wanna go out after work?” he asked bluntly, though his face was still flushed and he was still grinning like he was shy about asking.

“Yes,” you blurted, covering your mouth and clearing your throat before saying, “Um, that sounds cool.”

He giggled some more, running a hand through his purple hair, “I’ll pick you up here, then?”

You nodded, “I’ll see you then, Junhui.”

“Y’know, for as long as we’ve been talking, I figured you would’ve caught on to calling me Jun by now.”

“You still call me shelter girl have the time.”

“Touche. I’ll see you tonight.”

He walked out with his hands in his pockets, pulling out a pack of cigarettes before the door closed. But he suddenly spun around and looked at you, a playful smirk on his face now instead, “We should get some noodles in celebration, right?”

All you could think was how you couldn’t care less about Wen Junhui, and Wen Junhui didn’t know shit about you, nor did he recognize you. But now he made your heart feel warm whenever you were near him, and you were going to go on a date with him after work.

All because of a kitten named Noodles.

You nodded, “Right.”

[depressedtransguy]

im tired so I can’t think of a threat but if you read this and you’re not @angelwiththeblue-box ue-box then I’ll cut off your uvula and make you drown in your own blood

Anthony was just stepping out of the Sanctum when he got the call on his glasses. They buzzed gently against his face as his sister's name flashed right in front of his eyes, reminding him that his sister was the only person connected to his spectacles. And she only called him for one thing. "I will thank every god in the multiverse if you tell me right now that you're not in prison again," Anthony whispered with a seething rage as he answered the call, his fingers flexing on a stress ball.

Her overly long silence wasn't comforting. I'm in prison again.

Not knowing whether to scream or break things, Anthony just inhaled sharply as his stress ball popped. "Frigga, I'm about to go on a date! With Atreo! Remember, the Greek god of a man that I'm somehow dating?"

I remember.

"Is there at least not anyone there who's going to immediately kill you? Can you wait a night? Please?"

There was a huff from the other end. You're going to leave your sister in prison for a night to have sex with a mortal?

"Well he doesn't make me break him out of space prison!!" Frigga was right of course. He had to help her. And normally he didn't mind it, it was cracking codes and breaking laws, two of his favorite things, but Atreo was... hot. And Anthony was gay. It was unfair. But like the message of every single Fast and the Furious movie, family came first. "Fine. I'll help. But you owe me big time."

Okay okay, I owe you I owe you, just help me get out of here.

So with the gay side of his mind screaming at him to go hook up with a man carved out of stone, he teleported into his lab and plopped down into his swivel chair with a huff, then letting it roll him over to his main computer. "What prison are you at?" He started up the monitor and tossed his destroyed stress ball over his shoulder.

The Xandarian one.

Anthony groaned. "Again? Stop going to Xandar! They know you're a war criminal!"

It was just a little treason, don't be such a bitch.

"It's not the crimes, it's the fact that you keep going to the places where you know you'll be arrested. I'm a felon on at least 12 planets, but at least I'm smart enough to avoid them," Anthony pointed out, tapping the correct coordinates into the computer before dragging out the 3D model of the building and spinning it around in his hands. "But I guess it's better than one we've never broken out of before. Even though you'll probably be locked up twice as much and have three times as many guards making sure you don't get out. Fun. Really really fun." Anthony double tapped the side of his glasses to increase the volume on her end. "Where are you right now?"

I'm in line for my mugshot. My wrists are locked together with power dampers and there's a guard ready to taser me if I take a wrong step, but besides that I'm pretty free. So I was able to tap the piece with my shoulder and they just think I'm crazy talking to myself. Same place as last time.

The young scientist increased the size of the hologram prison until he spotted the room she was talking about and he then pulled it out before pushing it back into the computer. The camera footage from that room immediately popped up. Due to Frigga being arrested so frequently, he had already programmed the entire hologram with the codes needed to access both their camera and security system. It just made the whole process a lot simpler. "Alright I'm in." Anthony rolled forward in the chair and squinted at the monitor, increasing the picture with two outstretched fingers until he could zoom in on where his sister stood waiting for her mugshot to be taken next. "Oh my god, you put up another fight didn't you?"

...Maybe.

With a groan Anthony leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You may be powerful Frigga, but you, with your wrists and neck locked, and your powers suppressed, and four Xandarian guards surrounding you, you absolutely will not win in any situation." And it was obvious she didn't win that time either. A black ring was around her eye with blood dripping down her philtrum and her chin, as well as what appeared to be another bruise on her left cheekbone.

Says the guy with more scars to mark his battles than me.

She was right. She was. But that didn't mean he liked it. "This isn't about my problems right now, this is about yours," Anthony pointed out. "Focus on listening to directions. I don't want you to get hit again." Even though she was messing up his date, that's not how he wanted to get revenge on her. He already had a better plan that was calming his anger just from knowing they'd be even in the end.

You're not breaking me out now?

"Surrounded by guards and other unstable patients and chained up to your ass? I'm not stupid. Just trust me, I know what I'm doing."

A sigh came from her end. Fine. But I need to get a new prison breakout guy. My current one's too slow.

Anthony laughed back. If he was suffering emotionally, then she could too. It was only fair. "I'm the best in the business honey, don't underestimate me. And I don't make you pay me. Calculating the exact price of a hacker-if we ignore the fact that they would have to be available for you at any time since you get arrested way more than the average person-with the amount of times I've helped you out, including now, that adds up to about... $14,191. And we're poor."

Fuck you.

"Fuck you too, I'm out of fourteen hundred dollars and a date. Now just pretend to be obedient for the next 20 minutes and I'll get you out."

I still hate you.

"I hate you too."

The siblings fell into silence as Frigga's arm was grabbed and she was then pushed onto the platform, right in front of the electronic height measurer that all mugshots had for some reason. In her flat shoes she rose up to the marking of 6' 1". Which did annoy Anthony a bit, as he sort of received the short end of the stick when it came to tall genetics, but he swallowed his jealousy and listened to what the officers had to say while she was scanned and her pictures were taken. ACAB might be true, but they did have some pretty interesting banter.

She's back again? one guard, who Anthony nicknamed 'Terry' on the spot, commented with a hint of sarcasm.

Yep, the other guard, nicknamed 'Jake', responded with a small *pop* on the 'p'. The bounty's big on her, I'm surprised she wasn't handed over sooner.

Well she's escaped out of here thrice, so she's obviously got some tricks up her sleeves.

Jake let out a low whistle. Three times? That's gotta be a record.

It is. She just... slips through our fingers every single time. I don't know how she does it. Maybe with an accomplice or something, something that our camera's can't detect, maybe a brother or a parent or a friend, but there's no way they'll get through this a fourth time.

The two space cops laughed and assumedly bumped their fists together based on the small popping noise that came from the other end. Anthony only smirked and then tuned out their annoying voices when it moved to annoying prison stuff to then jot down the information typed out on the wall where she stood, describing her ethnicity, criminal background (there was a lot of that), special powers, descriptive marks, etc etc. He didn't look up when she was told to turn to her side.

You're paying attention, right? I can hear you writing something, Frigga suddenly interrupted.

"I have to record all the information they have on you to figure out if it can possibly be exploited. I'm organized Frigga, and anything can be important."

Frigga just groaned. Just get me out.

"Patience... is a virtue."

Patience can kiss my ass.

"You can kiss your ass goodbye if you don't shut up and follow the guards; I can see them looking at you." Although it was mostly to shut her up, he technically was telling the truth, as one of the guards broke out from the group to grab Frigga's bicep and pull her away from the mugshot space. Normal prisoners moved on their own with guards nearby, but three time escapists were snatched and moved on their own. Which Frigga wasn't used to, nor did she like. If Anthony wasn't there to bargain with her for her peace she definitely would have put up another fight and made practically everything ten times harder for herself. "I'll lead your escape plan in the direction of killing that guard," he offered as a reward if she stayed calm. A pretty useful tactic that both of them used on each other whenever something that they weren't good at was involved and needed to be done.

And it worked as usual. Frigga just huffed and pushed her shoulders back in order to hold her head high as she was walked toward where she would be temporarily staying, knowing she'd get to slaughter the person manhandling her in the end. Anthony followed them through the different rooms along the different security cameras.

More and more shackles were added as they went. A muzzle slapped on that thankfully still let her speak, new and bigger handcuffs, legs chained together to be dragged along the floor, and a full on torso restraint, all with Frigga looking more and more annoyed. It was actually pretty funny. Not that Anthony would say that aloud since he knew she'd just get (rightfully) mad. Although he had clicked record a minute prior and planned to laugh his ass off in front of her later. Once no one's life (but his) was in danger.

Eventually there were enough chains on her and she had reached her single containment facility, so while one guard lifted her up from the ground, the other opened the door for her to be thrown inside like a sack of potatoes before they then slammed it shut. At that Anthony had to laugh audibly at.

Oh fuck off.

"You didn't- they just- they just fucking threw you-" Anthony struggled out, wheezing through the words due to how hard he was laughing. It was so fucking funny. "You should have seen yourselffff."

Get me out of prison quicker so I can kill you quicker.

Anthony had to take another minute or two to stop laughing before he could actually get to work. "Alright, could you describe your surroundings? I have no quick way of getting in there."

Fine. I'm in a small, most likely vibranium room, about four feet by ten feet by... 12 feet. There are some sort of magnets in the back that connect to the chains' padlocks, so as soon as I was tossed in they snapped together, so now I'm hung up kinda like Jesus Christ on the cross. The room besides the door is bare.

"Any cracks above or below the door?"

Not a thing. They really don't want me to get out of here.

"But you will. Could you describe your chains to me? I didn't get a good look when I was watching you before."

The links are about three inches across, the metal an inch thick, and the cuffs are as heavy as Jeff, being almost four inches up and one and a half inches thick. They cover most of my forearms. The color is... a dark gray with a little hint of navy blue. Uh, I should paint this scene. I think I could really piss some Christians off with it because no joke, I'm exactly positioned like Jesus was in the El Greco pai-

Silence followed for a few seconds. Anthony was planning on telling her to focus once her sentence was done and comment on her mention of Jeff, their childhood 15 pound cat, but the end of it never came. So he just zoomed in on the door and increased the volume on her side once more. "Frigga? Come in Frigga."

There wasn't even silence on the other end. Static started to come through. "What the-" Anthony's work didn't produce static. His inventions and creations didn't create static. Ever. "Frigga tell me this is a joke, what's going on?" There had been no movement at the door, and as he was forced to take Frigga's word about the room's layout, there was no other entrance to it. "Frigga. Come on."

The only reason he was snapped out of the repeated cycle of him adjusting his glasses and repeating his sister's name was because his other senses perked up and he caught the feeling of a presence behind him. A certainly unfamiliar one. But before he could even turn or react, he was snatched from behind and his whole world went black.

~~

Frigga was being manhandled again when she woke up. "Ugh, did you dickheads knock me out again?" she hissed as she twisted in her shackles, surprised to be out of her personal prison with no warning, but still angered. "I was thinking about painting, asshole." She was struck in the face (as expected) for her rudeness. At least Anthony didn't scold her for it. Could you do your best to not piss everyone off while you're vulnerable? That would be great, is what he always said. As your doctor I have to tell you that it's a stupid ass thing to do. But he said nothing.

In fact there was no sound at all from Anthony. Not even breathing. Just static...

Wait. "What's your name?" the guard holding her up by her biceps demanded before she could properly think about where her brother was. "Who are you?"

"Who am I? You guys have arrested me four times! In fact I should be asking you that, are you a new hire or something? I didn't see you the last time I was here."

The guard brought his arm back to hit her again, but that time the other one stopped him. "Her sleeve is torn. She's telling the truth; she has been arrested multiple times."

"Then explain why she isn't in the system!"

"I can't. But she's not lying, so you shouldn't hit her. Let's just bring her to the mugshot area, get a photo, and then put her in the hardcore containment facility so we can figure this stuff out on our own," he bargained with the more unstable guard.

The guard did agree after a bit more negotiating, and soon enough Frigga was brought back to the mugshot area and positioned on it. It didn't look like the same one she was in just minutes earlier. Well, it looked... similar? Yet... outdated. Like the old system they used to use. She didn't say anything aloud, as she knew that would just get her hit again, but she tried to imprint the oddities in her mind as best she could. Dammit why did Anthony get Dad's photographic memory?! she mentally hissed as details vanished from her brain almost seconds after. Why do I have to be forgetful?

"Turn."

"Yeah yeah, I know I know," Frigga grumbled, reluctantly doing as told and then eyeing the information they were presenting about her on the screen. Some of it was from the identifying marks and tears on her clothing, like her escapist status and such, but most of it had come from the special type of scanner that The Kyln owned that could identify everything from hidden objects on the body down to a being's DNA. Hers was correctly listed as 50% Terran, 50% Jotunn. Her ear piece wasn't recognized just like Anthony had designed. But, in an odd turn of events, none of her powers were listed as they usually were. Not one.

After the scan was done, leaving both the guards and the young demi-god with more questions than answers, Frigga was grabbed by the bicep and led over to a containment facility. Not her usual single one, but a seemingly group one with approximately 13 more people inside. Only a few had handcuffs. And no chains were added to her, leaving her completely open spare her wrists, which was a ridiculous oversight on their part. (There had been a lot of weird oversights on their part by then.) At least it would be an easy break out. "Anthony, are you there?"

No answer.

Frigga bent her arms and reached over to press into the ear piece in case it accidentally got turned off when she was passed out. She said her brother's name again, ignoring the looks she got from other hardened criminals inside. "If you're fucking with me you are so dead when I get home."

"Hey crazy, stop talking to yourself, some of us are trying to nap here."

The familiar voice made Frigga stop in her action and turn toward it. "Rocket?" The other guardians also laying down looked up at the call of his name. "What- what are you all doing here? You're supposed to be in New Asgard."

They all looked extremely confused. "What? Look, lady, I don't know who the hell you are or what New Asgard is," Rocket continued, reluctantly pushing up to his paws and rubbing out the flat spot in his fur, "so I guess I'd prefer for you to talk to 'Anthony' because what you're doing now is creeping me out even more."

"Okay- no. I'm not the crazy one here. Everyone and everything has been weird, and now you guys too? Come on, this isn't fair."

"Hey, isn't New Asgard that place where Thor was living before he joined us?" Quill questioned as he too sat up.

Rocket only groaned. "Great, let's get more people in on this conversation. Peter, please don't enable her, she's obviously lost her head."

"What do you mean she lost her head, her head's right there on her shoulders!" Drax chimed in, getting up and gently shaking her back and forth with a grip on her shoulder to show that her head was really on there.

Frigga was used to Drax's typical maneuvering and his deafness to sarcasm, so him moving her back and forth was the least of her worries at that point. It was the others. "Mantis, come on, you remember me, right?" Frigga said in exasperation, being the only one in the room who was completely lost making her a bit worked up. Especially since she didn't have Anthony in her ear. He was always with her when she was arrested; in one way or another.

Mantis seemed to sense this and walked over to press her open palm to her revealed bicep. "You feel... desperate."

"Well I am desperate because I'm the only sane one here but you're all looking at me as if I'm the crazy one. Rocket, Quill, Drax, Mantis... Groot! Come on, you all know me," she went on, just waiting and practically praying that one of them would grin and tell her it was just a stupid joke. But that didn't happen. In fact the only change in their expressions was Groot looking up and murmuring something about it being too loud for him to play his game. "Oh come on!" With a huff she plopped down on the floor and rested her head against the wall's cool steel, bending her elbows again to cover her eyes with her hands and hoping that it would all just disappear. But, as one might guess, that didn't happen, and in fact she felt someone move over and sit next to her. Most likely out of pity.

It was Quill, of course. "What's your name?"

Maybe they were hit with some memory loss thing. Maybe there was a reasonable explanation. So Frigga opened her eyes and turned her head toward him. "Frigga."

His eyes widened a bit and Frigga got a little too excited. "Do you finally recognize me?"

"No- sorry, but that's just this- guy that I know's mother's name. Frigga," he gently explained with a slight blush and a nervous scratch at the back of his head.

The movements were a little confusing at first, but then Frigga realized that they were coming from the mention of Thor, and didn't have to do with her at all. But why would he act like that? Thor and he had been dating for decades. Since before she and her brother were born. She and baby Anthony were at their wedding. He was in a little blue tux and she in a little green dre- wait a fucking second. "Quill... What year is it?"

"What do you mean? It's 2024. What else would it be?"

Frigga gasped and jumped to her feet. It all clicked at once. Why the guards didn't know her. Why all the technology and architecture seemed older and outdated. Why her own uncle and the guardians didn't recognize her. She hadn't even been born yet. But the only question still there was... how? And also, why? But in order to have a prayer at answering those questions, she had to get back to Earth where she knew the Avengers as well as her parents would be. Although they technically weren't her parents yet. God are they even dating yet? It didn't matter. She just needed to get there and hope that Anthony was there too. The only problem (besides every other problem that she had) was that she had never escaped a prison without him before. They could only do it with each other. It seemed like a major roadblock... until she glanced over at the raccoon.

"Hey, Rocket, could you remind me again of how many prison's you've broken out of?"

Rocket, who had clearly been trying to ignore them but was just accepting his fate as his name was called once more, turned toward them with crossed arms. "About 24. What's it to ya?"

A small smile spread over Frigga's face. "And how many times out of here?"

"Just the one."

"Great. If you bring me to Earth, I'll help you get out."

He scoffed as if that was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. "And why would I need your help out of here?"

"Because I've escaped here three times myself. And, you don't have Gamora, nor is Groot an adult as he was last time. Earth isn't even that far from here, just a few jumps, so why not pad your escape with me- a demi-god by the way -and just take me there in return?" she bargained, getting more and more calm and excited as her thoughts clicked together. Sure, everything was still weird, but at least she was able to get a grip on her situation.

Based on his extremely annoyed expression, Rocket knew that she was right and that they could use the help, yet was extremely reluctant to admit it. "Demi-god? We already got a half celestial, I don't think we need any more half- things," he tried to point out.

But Quill was on her side. "No, no, I think we should hear her out. Especially since I don't even have the powers of a half celestial anymore. If she's escaped from here three times then she could really be a big help for us. They've changed a lot of things since we were last here, and we're in a new area. And, although I'm not sure how she knows about Gamora and Groot, she's right about that too."

Rocket snarled as Frigga smirked and raised her arms up at him in a shrug. "The man's got a point."

"That man is also an idiot. But fine. You can join us, and we'll bring you to Earth."

Frigga grinned wider as Rocket moved closer and removed what seemed to be some sort of bobby pin from the back of his head, making her cuffs fall off in under a minute. She rubbed her sore wrists and thanked him. "We should probably pick up Thor from Earth anywhere, I'm pretty sure he's still there with the Avengers," Quill pointed out as he joined them and glanced at the red rings on her skin. "Why were those so tight?"

"Well, due to my powers they need to restrict me so I don't just slaughter them all and escape like that, and they usually do that with overly tight power dampers," she explained to him as she continued to try to get the blood flowing normally back into her hands. "You get used to it. Especially since they get steadily tighter and tighter due to the guards' fear in me increasing every time. I killed a bunch last time so the chains applied doubled. Until I woke up in 2024 of course, but I'm ignoring that for now."

Quill very obviously had no idea what she was talking about, but as he wasn't one to judge with making sense he just smiled at her. "Good, you can do it again."

"After this stunt? Fuck yeah I'm going it again."

<finish prison scene and go to anthony>

Stephen had no idea why he was being called to Avengers Tower. Except for the occasional meeting that he was forced to attend that he usually managed to escape early from, he had never been asked to go to their living and working quarters. So he couldn't imagine what the problem was. "What's the situation and how can I get out of it quicker?" was the first thing that fell out of his mouth once he stepped out of the portal. He was met with the stares of all six Avengers and Loki. Great. "What the hell happened?"

"We found a kid."

Definitely not what Stephen expected Tony to say. "What?!"

"Okay that was a shitty explanation. Just look." The group parted to reveal a body rested on their couch with handcuffs around his unconscious wrists. The only indicator that he was alive was the small rise and fall of his chest. He looked young, easily 18, with dark brown hair that slightly fell over his forehead, and glasses over eyes of a hidden color. Stephen noticed most of all was that he had two thick scars on the dorsal side of his hands; one for each. "We found him in our meeting room. There's no identifying items on him, and his fingerprints aren't in the database, so we have basically no idea who he is."

"So what can I do?" Stephen questioned.

"Ask Loki. He's the one who requested you."

Only then did Stephen look up to lock eyes with his fellow sorcerer. One that he had never really gotten along with. "You?"

"To be fair I didn't request you, I just said it would be useful to have another magic user here. John Doe here has magic practically radiating off of him," Loki tried to explain without making it seem like he wanted Stephen there, hints of forced annoyance and real nervousness leaking through. The 'John Doe' reference was imprinted in the sorcerer supreme's mind without a clear reason. Since when does he know Midgardian terms? "Can't you sense it?"

Stephen could. There was a large amount of power coming from him. "It's a multitude of different types. I can't even distinguish them; they're all so mixed up."

Loki agreed. "I was planning on picking through his memories, but due to the mixture of magic and power, I thought it'd be more safe if I waited for you to hold him down if anything goes wrong." An uncomfortable amount of silence passed between the two, unknown whether to continue genuinely or be sarcastic and snarky. "Not that I think you're capable of it, but you're sort of better than nothing."

There it was. The Avengers looked around at each other as they were described as 'nothing', the sorcerers forgetting about anything that wasn't the other, as usual. "You're very kind, Loki," Stephen drawled out with a sarcastic smile.

"I am, aren't I?" With that he jumped over the couch and kneeled down next to the body, gingerly going to place his fingers on his forehead.

But just as they brushed his skin the entire tower shook lightly and made everyone look up. FRIDAY spoke up to fill them in. The Guardians have arrived, sir. And they have a guest on board.

"Well that was quick," Thor murmured under his breath. "They're getting better at escaping."

"Were they in prison again?" Bruce questioned.

Thor nodded back. "I'll go greet them, you guys stay here and figure out his identity." With a small wave the god of thunder then left the room, and all other attendants watched until he left the room and then they all turned back toward the boy on the couch. Except- oh. Fuck.

"Where did he go?" Loki whispered.

"I'm right here."

The entire group swiveled to see the boy formerly laying on the couch sitting in a chair behind them all, his legs and arms crossed tightly, handcuffs done, and a stern expression on his face. "And I'd like to know what the hell is going on."

"You're the one who somehow got into our tower, why don't you explain it to us?" Clint shot back.

The boy only looked at him with a face void of all amusement. And with eyes that were a colored a blood red.