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fridayfirefly · 3 years

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All For The Investigation

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By Tim’s calculations, there was an 87% certain that Marinette Dupain-Cheng was the Parisian former hero Ladybug. However, 87% was not 100%, so Bruce required further investigation. Damian was stuck with the job.

Except, Damian knew that stuck wasn't exactly the right word. Stuck implied that he was displeased with the situation. Damian wasn't displeased. Marinette Dupain-Cheng was the most pleasant person in all of Gotham Academy. If Damian had to choose anyone to be forced to spend time with, he would choose Marinette. Though he grumbled about being forced to spend time with plebeians (for the benefit of his brothers, who would mercilessly tease Damian if they even suspected that he had a crush), Damian was quite pleased by the assignment.

Given that Marinette was in his history class, it was quite easy to arrange a situation in which they were forced to be in each others' proximities. When their teacher announced that there would be an upcoming group project with randomly assigned partnerships, it was simple for Damian to break into her office and switch around some of the names. When the partnerships were announced and Marinette and Damian were paired together, Damian made his move.

"Dupain-Cheng, if you would like to work on the project over the weekend, we can do so at my house."

"Sounds good, Wayne, but you know, you can just call me Marinette," said Marinette with a smile.

Damian felt flustered, which was a very bad sign. He never felt anything less than perfectly composed. "Then you may call me Damian."

Marinette's smile got even bigger. There was a feeling in his chest that, had it been caused by anyone else, Damian would have suspected it to be a complication of the broken ribs from Joker's last attack. "Let me give you my number, and we can plan a meeting this weekend. Would Saturday work for you?"

Damian nodded as he handed Marinette his phone. "My schedule is free on Saturday."

"Great!" chirped Marinette. She plugged in her number, then posed for a picture, explaining that it was, "For the contact photo."

And if in the privacy of his bedroom, Damian stared at that contact photo for twenty-minutes straight, it was just for research purposes. Just to compare Marinette's facial structure to that of Ladybug. Completely normal investigative business.

The next morning, Damian found his way to the bedroom of his most tolerable brother. "Grayson. Can I confide in you without any of the information getting to anyone else?"

Richard glanced up from his laptop. "Sure thing, Baby Bird." He patted a spot on the bed next to him,

"Don't call me that. I despise nicknames," grumbled Damian. He took a seat, staring at the wall in front of him, still weighing the risk versus reward of talking to Richard. If his brother had some technique for extinguishing romantic interest it would solve Damian's problem. However, if either Drake or Todd got word of Damian's crush there was no doubt in Damian's mind that they would never let him hear the end of it.

"So what's on your mind?"

"It pertains to the girl in my who Drake suspects to be Ladybug, Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She has become difficult to investigate. I have found myself unable to observe her objectively."

Richard frowned. "I'm not sure I know what you mean. Is it something that she did that's bothering you?"

Damian searched for the right words to explain the situation. He was not usually so tongue-tied, but the proper words seemed to escape him at every turn. "Dupain-Cheng is not what I expected. I assumed that it would be a simple task, to observe her and determine whether she has any connection to the Parisian superhero. However, I have found it difficult to concentrate on my mission when I am around her."

"You find it difficult to concentrate when you're around her. How so?"

Damian gritted his teeth. He didn't want to spell out his crush so obviously, but Richard seemed incapable of looking between the lines. "I have found myself preoccupied with trivial things like getting to know her personality, rather than investigating her background. She makes me feel... flustered."

Damian could see the moment that Richard made the connection. His brother's face lit up as he exclaimed, "You have a crush on her?!"

"Quiet!" snapped Damian. "This does not leave this room. I need to learn how to get rid of it, so I can get back to completing the mission."

Richard was grinning ear to ear. "That's not how crushes work. You can't just snap your fingers and have them disappear. The only thing that can get rid of a crush is time. Or sometimes if they get a haircut that kills the feeling. But mostly it just takes time."

"I cannot afford to wait for these feelings to fade. I'll look into scheduling her a haircut." Damian stood up, resolved to get rid of his crush before Marinette came over later that day to work on their project.

"No wait," Richard grabbed Damian's arm. "I doubt that your attraction to her is so shallow that a haircut would destroy the feelings you have for her. This is something that you'll have to talk to her about."

Damian frowned. "Perhaps I should give the mission to someone else. Jon could transfer to Gotham Academy for the semester. His detective skills are lacking but his judgment would be less clouded than mine. If I ignore her for long enough I'm sure that I can evade talking about my feelings."

"Why don't you just ignore the mission for a few weeks while you get to know her."

Damian fixed Richard with a death glare. "I cannot ignore this mission. Father gave it to me personally."

"How about twenty-four hours? You spend the next twenty-four hours in getting-to-know-her mode rather than background-check mode and at the end of it, we can regroup and decide what to do next. If you actually get to know her, you'll better understand the depths of your feelings. Once you have that understanding, you'll be able to see if waiting out your crush is a viable option or if you need to pass on the responsibilities to someone else."

It wasn't the perfect solution, but it was better than anything Damian had come up with. Anything that could potentially alleviate Damian's inability to focus on the investigation was worth trying. "Fine," Damian replied curtly. "Thank you for your assistance."

"No problem," said Richard. "You know, I would love to get to meet Marinette sometime."

"Don't push your luck," grumbled Damian, ignoring Richard's laughter as he stood up and left the room. There would be no way to hide the fact that Marinette was coming over to the Manor from his family. There was also no way that his family wouldn't intrude upon Damian and Marinette as they worked. However, if he explained everything beforehand and phrased everything in precisely the right way, he might be able to pass off his odd behavior towards Marinette as a part of his investigation. Damian pulled out his phone and composed a text to send to the family groupchat.

Damian: Dupain-Cheng is coming to the Manor at approximately 22:00 to work on a history project. I will be covertly conducting my investigation. From what I have gathered, she would respond better to subtle questioning, rather than a straightforward interrogation.

Tim: wait does subtle interrogation mean that you'll be flirting with her???

Jason: I need to see this

Steph: I'm willing to bet money that his flirting offends Marinette so much she storms out of the Manor before Damian can finish the mission

Dick: No way. I'll bet 20 dollars that his flirting works too well

Steph: done

Damian huffed, half tempted to call off his meeting with Marinette. His siblings were insufferable.

Damian: Please refrain from intervening. Confirming that Dupain-Cheng is Ladybug is a vital first step in determining whether the Justice League needs to interfere in the affairs of the Order of the Miraculous.

Bruce: Damian is correct. No one will bother him while he is working with Marinette.

Damian smirked as he turned his phone off. His plan wasn't foolproof, of course, but a direct order from Bruce to not interfere would force his siblings to be more subtle about spying on him and Marinette. The chance of him being interrupted was significantly decreased.

Damian got everything set up in the den, which was only ever used on family movie night. It was perfectly situated for the task at hand - a room small enough to be classed as cozy but big enough to not feel cramped. It was out of the way, surrounded by other equally unused rooms, so his siblings would have no excuse for lurking in the hallway outside. Damian brought in snacks, chargers, and a few books from the Wayne Manor library on Renaissance Art, the topic of their project.

Marinette arrived promptly at 2 in the afternoon, holding a Tupperware container full of gingerbread cookies, with a smile on her face. "Hi, Damian. I brought cookies."

None of his planning accounted for this moment, for first laying eyes on Marinette. Damian froze up, desperate to put the right words in the right order. "Welcome to Wayne Manor, Marinette. I have everything set up in the den if you'll just follow me."

"Sure." Marinette toed off her black boots and arranged them on the shoe tray next to the door. She was left in sage green cat-print socks that matched the rest of her outfit, a pine green sweater and black jeans. Damian couldn't help but wonder if she knit the sweater herself - Marinette's talent for designing was well-known throughout Gotham Academy, as it was what got her accepted into the prestigious high school in the first place.

Marinette followed Damian through the Manor, complimenting little details that Damian had never noticed before - the pattern of the curtains, the bay window in a sitting room that Damian had never bothered to enter, the family pictures that lined the wall in the hallway. Marinette made it seem so obvious to pay attention to those little details. Damian wished that he could see the Manor for the first time through her eyes and feel the same amazement that she felt as she oohed and awed over the decadence that Damian had considered banal.

Damian was so captivated by Marinette that he almost missed the fact that Drake and Brown were lurking in the study across the hall from the den. A text to his father about the gravity of his mission would be enough to get them sent away on some inconsequential but time-consuming task. Damian would have to find an inconspicuous time to pull out his phone during their work on the project to let his father know about their intrusion.

"Now I know why you call it Wayne Manor. This place is huge." Marinette shrugged off her backpack and set it down on the coffee table next to her container of cookies.

"Its size is entirely unnecessary for ordinary life," agreed Damian. "However, it makes for very challenging games of hide-and-seek."

Marinette giggled. "That sounds like fun. You'll have to invite me next time you play."

"I'll make sure of it." Damian smiled, surprised to find that his happiness wasn't forced. He rarely engaged in childish behavior, and even more rarely did he find any enjoyment in it. Yet the mental image of playing a child's game with Marinette was pleasant to him. The feelings he had for her were deeper than Damian anticipated.

The pair got to work on their project. Damian sent out the text to his father as soon as he opened his laptop, leaving Marinette under the impression that he was researching sources. A series of irritable texts in the family groupchat confirmed the fact that Drake and Brown had been removed from their hiding spot.

"Do you want to try a cookie?" asked Marinette, pushing the Tupperware towards Damian.

"Thank you." Damian took one, just to be polite. Growing up in the League of Assassins, he never really had a taste for sweets. Alfred's baking was the extent of what he would tolerate. He took a bite - small, to back up his claim that he already ate if it turned out to be inedible. Surprisingly, it was nearly as good as Alfred's gingerbread cookies, and those were tailer made to Damian's taste. The cookies were heavy on the ginger and cloves, just as Damian liked. "These are delicious," Damian professed.

Marinette blushed. "Thanks. I know they taste a little different than store-bought gingerbread. My parents make them with a lot of ginger."

"These are much superior to store-bought cookies."

"Thanks. You know, you're a lot nicer outside of school. You always seemed kind of grumpy in class."

"I'm not a fan of the state-mandated curriculum."

Marinette nodded. "I get what you mean. I barely have any room in my schedule for my design classes, with all the mandatory classes that Gotham Academy makes us take. I'm lucky that I have my internship, otherwise, I think I would go crazy, taking so many classes that I don't care about."

"Your internship is with Audrey Bourgeoise, isn't it?"

Marinette nodded. "I was friends with her daughter, back in Paris. Originally it was going to be a four-year internship in New York City, but I renegotiated some of the terms so that I could do the first two years in Paris, then the last two in Gotham, while she established the new branch of her company."

"You renegotiated the terms of a prestigious internship at the age of fourteen? Weren't you afraid of losing it if you pushed too hard?"

Marinette shrugged, nonchalant as if it were normal for an intern to make such a bold move. "I didn't want to leave Paris. My whole life was there. I wasn't ready to just pick up and move to a new country."

"What changed that you were able to come to Gotham?"

"There were a lot of reasons. Hawkmoth was the biggest one. I felt nervous about leaving my family and friends behind when he was terrorizing the city. After he was defeated I felt a lot more comfortable leaving."

That aligned with the theory that Marinette was Ladybug. "What were the other reasons?"

"My age was one. I didn't feel ready to leave home at fourteen and my parents didn't like the idea of me leaving home that young either. Another big one was the fact that I didn't have a good handle on my personal style. I was worried that designing full-time in Audrey Bourgeoise's office would cause me to lose my originality. The worst thing I could imagine was watering down my designs to appeal to the rest of the fashion industry."

"Your conviction is impressive. Most in your position would not worry about selling out to obtain such a highly coveted position."

"Audrey said the same thing, though when she said it, she spoke it with annoyance, not admiration. I've never been highly motivated by wide-spread success. I don't need to be a household name to feel content with life. I just want to design clothes that I'm proud of."

The fluttering feeling in Damian's chest returned with full force, alongside a tendril of anger at the unfairness of the situation. Here was the most perfect person Damian had ever laid his eyes on, and he was forced to pick her apart piece by piece to figure out her deepest darkest secrets. Damian didn't know much about relationships, but this didn't seem like the way they were supposed to go.

"You look upset," Marinette's observation was tinged by the worry in her voice.

"I'm not upset," he assured her. "I was just wondering how I never noticed how interesting you are."

Marinette flushed, her cheeks turning pink. "What does that mean?"

Damian shrugged. While his nonchalant attitude was all a bluff, his admiration of her accomplishments was all real. "Most of our classmates feel accomplished with the most conventional of achievements. Yet you secured an internship at the side of one of the most renowned fashion critics in the world and you still stay humble about it. You weren't blind-sighted by the incredible opportunity. You fought to maintain your values, no matter if it meant losing something priceless."

Marinette's blush deepened. "That's just who I am. It's not special, it's me."

"It is you," agreed Damian. "And it is special."

Marinette gave him a wide-eyed look, shocked by the emotion in his words. "We should get back to work," she said, self-consciously rubbing one cheek with the sleeve of her green wool sweater.

"Of course," Damian amicably agreed. He had pushed far enough for intel and had managed to get to know her a little better in the process. His flirting wasn't as blatant as it could have been, but it got the job done. Richard had said that once he knew the depths of his feelings he would know what to do. Richard was right. Damian's feelings were seemingly endless, a maze of all the things he liked about Marinette, in which every corner he turned was a new quirk that he couldn't un-notice. Yet Damian didn't want to pass on the responsibility of investigating Marinette to anyone else. He wanted a reason to spend time with her.

It wasn't the best situation. Damian wished that he could get to know her organically. However, Damian wasn't the type to dwell on the could-have-been. He had an opportunity to get to know Marinette right in front of him and he wasn't going to let it go.

Hours later, after Marinette went home, Richard stopped him in the hallway. "So what did you learn?"

"My investigation has proven inconclusive. I need to further get to know Marinette Dupain-Cheng if I want to uncover her identity. For research purposes, of course."

Richard laughed. "Of course."

#maribat #daminette #marinette x damian #maridami #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Damian Wayne #miraculous ladybug fic

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a-froger-epic · 3 years

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Interview with a Queen “groupie”

Cross-posted to AO3. I encourage you to leave any comments you have there.

---

I compiled this interview following a long email exchange with J, a very sweet lady who went to Ealing Art School between 1972 and 1974. She knew all four members of Queen personally and was part of their larger circle of friends.

First off, you may find this hard to believe. I don’t blame you. But I assure you I’m not pulling your leg. As well as the pictures I share in this post, I have seen current pictures of J (which I will not share to protect her privacy). There is no indication as far as I am aware that she isn’t who she says she is.

Nastally, hold up. How exactly did you find this lady?

She found me. It turns out that she has been following my story Dawn of Aquarius for quite some time. The story is set in 1969. A lot of research about the era went into it, because I wanted to portray that time period - and Freddie’s and Roger’s surroundings - as accurately and realistically as I possibly could. That was what drew J in. She tells me it brought back a lot of memories for her. One of the reasons I love DoA so much is the nostalgia, she says, which genuinely means the world to me. Eventually, she talked to me in the comment section. Of course, I freaked out!

And then, I asked her for an interview, to which she replied: I will give it a go, but you must remember that I am 65 and there were great drugs in the 70s, and at 16, away from home, I had a lot!

And so...

Here’s what is IMPORTANT TO KEEP IN MIND when you read this interview.

These are one woman’s 50-year-old memories and subjective impressions. J has been incredibly kind to let me pick her brain, trying to recall everything as best as she can. In her own words:

Just remember that when I answer the questions, it is from a 16-year-old who is 9 years younger than Freddie and a little girl with no family and friends in a strange country trying to fit in. The only reason I was there, was because some hippie thought I had a unique art style.

---

J as a teenager.

[I have edited the interview together from our long, and somewhat messy at times, email exchange. Typos have been fixed and some punctuation added for clarity, but I have not changed anything J has written to me. Again, bear in mind these are personal opinions and impressions.]

So, J, how did you end up at Ealing Art School in 1972 and what was it like?

This was the painting done for the Australian school-leaving certificate.

It placed first and gave me a scholarship. I could pick France, the USA or England. As a dual citizen of the UK, the choice was easy. The scholarship paid for board and fees, so had to be and sell whatever for spending money.

This picture is from the dorm. We all had a 10pm curfew and a very thick rule book that, I am proud to say, I broke every one of them, one by one. The rooms were on the 1st and 2nd floor. We were on the first floor, rooms one side and admin staff the other end. We had two bathrooms for 18 girls. One of them had two baths. The walls were your standard half wall, so it was a given that if you had a bath you run the risk of having a bucket of cold water dropped on you. Downstairs was the kitchen and lounge room.

I want to ask you a few things about life in London in the early 70s, to get a picture of what it was really like. For example, was there alcohol at the music gigs you went to?

If it was a school, church or community hall, no. If it was a pub, yes.

Did you and your friends drink as much then as young people tend to drink now when you all went out?

No, we didn't. I think it had a lot to do with money. We didn't have the disposable income, and it was unheard of to still be living at home with the parents after the age of 20.

Was weed and LSD as big and easily accessible as depictions of the 60s and 70s would have us believe?

The drugs! Got to have drugs. Pot (weed) was easy to grow, very cheap. Used to smoke it in bongs rather than joints, more bang for your buck. Trips [LSD] were cheap, I think. About 2 pounds and you were on the high for over 24 hours with no sleep. My drug of choice was hash. Either the oil or the block. It was a nice high, but you could not function well. But if you listen to the music of the time it really does reflect what it was like, to have a group of friends over for a session. Having said all that the most outlandish and shocking drug I ever saw anyone use was the birth control pill. Didn't you have to hide that stuff away?!

Can you tell us some 70s slang that isn’t really in use anymore? What in the world does “ultra-blagging” mean? (As written in a letter penned by Freddie to his friend Celine in 1969.)

Abso-bloody-lootely!

Man, I thought I was the bees knees to be on a scholarship in London. But that didn't stop me from jigging or having a skive day. They were the days that I blagged my way into a pub, had too many lagers and ended up chundering in the gutter. That was how you knew your night was ace. I would get a right bollocking if anyone found out. It would be a bugger when all that you could find at a car boot sale was chavtastic, but sometimes you could be Jammy Dodger and tickety-boo you find something brilliant. Bob's your uncle. Anyways, I need to see a man about a dog.

[It seems to me that J uses a bit of Australian slang here, like chundering, which makes sense because she is, after all, Australian. She also provided the translation:]

Cheers

It would be my honour.

I felt very privileged to be given a scholarship that let me study in England. But being so young and having no family to guide me, it was often tempting to not turn up or give a false excuse for being sick. (I had a lot of food poisoning). These would often happen if the night before I had been drinking beer and ended up vomiting outside the pub. But in my young mind that was a good night. If any of the teachers found me drinking I would be in a lot of trouble. Often I would have to say I was holding it for someone else. Not having much clothes with me, I would buy them second hand from church jumble sales or other students and, yes, Kensington market (the market). Some of the stuff would not be very tasteful or in good condition. But sometimes you would find something that was cheap and in good condition. I will stop this text now as I must go to the toilet.

PS: Ultrablagging sounds very Freddie. Blagging was used, but not ultra, meaning to persuade someone to do something or act better than you are. They were always rock stars.

Sincerely

[It was at this point that I realised I was talking to an absolute legend. She also told me then that the majority of her old photographs had sadly been lost when her house was flooded in 1988, including most of the photographs from her stay in London. Noooo! :(]

When you went out to dance, did you have only live music? Were there DJs yet?

You know, that is hard. We did not have a DJ. Sometimes there would be a band. Often we looked for places with a band or the jukebox. I think pubs closed at 10pm and some stayed open to 12 or 1, but public transport stopped at 9. So if you had not arranged a lift then you had to make the last bus. Most of the time we would be heading back to someone's place to get stoned and then crash there. In the morning you would have to work out where you were. When I got back to Australia, the discos were all the rage. They could have been in London too but it was not cool to like disco.

How many people would show up to Queen’s gigs when they played in pubs or at, for example, the Imperial College?

Depending on the location and the night: 10 to 1000!

So how did you first meet the Queen boys?

I was at the pub talking about a band we saw last week when Brian stuck his head into our booth telling us he knew a better one. Thinking about seeing them at the stall... Roger not often, Freddie quite a lot. Often on different stalls, I think that is why I can't remember the name. [The name of the stall. Other sources confirm that Freddie also worked at Alan Muir’s stall, for example, selling shoes.]

How well did you know them?

Just looking at your tumblr account. [she has had a look at my blog, where somebody asked if ‘groupie’ meant she had slept with the band] No, I never slept with the boys. I would not say I was a close friend, but I started at Ealing Art College in ‘72 and moved in the same circles. I loved the music and could be called one of the first groupies. I had to sneak into the pubs because I was 16. Roger always teased me for being so young. They all did seem to be one very large family, not just the band. It was a group of about twenty regulars, both male and female. Everyone knew that Fred was too gay to function. We were all at the gay rights march in London in 1972, had to run after the march. Lots of sharpies [Australian slang: youth gang, thugs] wanting to bash us. Back then I was in every protest that was going, student union rights, even the secretary protest. Just part of the times, stick it to Man or Woman. I left London in ‘74 for Australia, been here ever since and lost track of the boys but have never stopped being a fan.

What do you remember about them? How would you describe their personalities?

Don’t let the trolls hate me, but I did not like Brian. I found him to be rather full of himself. Space was a subject you never brought up around Brian or you would die of old age before he stopped talking. He was always the first to speak and start a conversation and then quickly passed you off to John, who was always tired and shy. Roger was also quite shy at times. He was very self-conscious of his looks, as he felt being pretty, nobody would take him seriously. Fred, well, he was not yet the big star, so I think he was working on his stage persona. When talking to groups at parties, he had the best stories of things that had happened to him or close friends. They were very funny and very descriptive. He was the life of the party. When he had a few to drink or was the centre of attention, he would take a cigarette out of the closest person’s hand and start smoking. Now remember this is the point of view of a 16-year-old girl that was a fish out of water, trying to fit in and not having much worldly experience.

It is said that Freddie and Roger were very stylish. How did they dress in everyday life?

Fred would do his hair and makeup to check the mail. Yes, he was always turned out, but so were a lot of people. Freddie did go over the top with hats, scarfs and jewellery. With Roger, it is a surprise he was able to have kids his jeans were that tight. And his shirts were always open unless he was in a jumper. I think it could have been so that you knew he was male, as it was the start of the unisex clothing. When I travelled out of London I realised it was a London thing. When I got back to Australia everyone thought I was a show-off.

There are some disagreements about how tall especially Freddie was. I know this is a difficult thing to try and remember accurately. But do you remember?

Freddie was taller than me but everyone was. Roger was shorter than Fred, but I never saw Roger in platform shoes. I did meet up with the band by chance at Sydney airport in 1984, said ‘hello’ but they did not remember me, or if they did then they did not say anything and I did not want to be a dork. At that time Fred was the same height as me (5ft 8in/1.72m), Roger was taller than me. It made me think at the time that he had a growth spurt! John was shorter than me and Brian has always been tall. [I have a feeling the platform shoes - or lack thereof - played a vital role here! Although 172cm for Freddie seems likely.]

You said everyone knew Freddie was “too gay to function”. Attitudes towards homosexuality have changed so much that it can be hard for us, now, to fathom what exactly people must have thought of him. Was it more of a joke that he was so camp? Was it something he would have been teased for? Also, he had a girlfriend. Did you ever meet Mary or the other girlfriends?

In 1972 a whole group of us - and I am pretty sure that Fred, Roger, Brian and Tim were there - were in a gay pride march. [Since then, J has found and showed me a picture of a boy she thought was Tim Staffel, and it wasn't, so Tim was most definitely not there. Whether Freddie, Roger and Brian really were there or if J is misremembering, who knows?] Us youth believed you could not choose who you fell in love with and if it was same sex, so what? However, if it was two girls then it was every guy’s duty to change her!

It was also a time that the gayer the guy was, the more the girls were interested. Also, if a guy was gay then you did not have to worry about him and he was a good person to take with you if you were going out drinking. However, the police, parents, teachers and anyone of authority were horrified and treated them badly. I did meet Mary a couple of times at pubs and once after a gig. This is just my opinion, but I found her a bitch. It could be that I was so young. It could be that I was very Australian. It could be that she felt threatened as my accent was a magnet to people around. And the boys (Queen) were no exception. Brian had a cousin in OZ and was always asking questions. I remember that my close group of friends thought that Mary made the perfect girlfriend for Fred as they were as fake as each other. Having said that about them, I often wonder if I would think the same now and if my perceptions were just because she would not give me the time of Day. Chrissy and Jo were a lot of fun.

This was before your time, but I read that Freddie's nickname at Ealing Art School was ‘Freddie Baby’. Any ideas how this came about? His showmanship or maybe personality traits?

I don't think so. There were an older crowd that would talk like that. I think the slang ‘baby’ was a 60’s thing, like groovy baby.

How long, roughly, did Roger and Freddie have their stall? I can't find anywhere when it closed down. What did it actually look like? Was it a sort of wooden stall type of thing? Or an actual room? What were some of the other things people sold at Kensington Market? Mostly clothes or all sorts?

The markets were little divided shops. The back was brick and the walls wood. I have been trying all day to remember the name. [Of the stall.] I think it was something hard to say. More often than not it would be Freddie's dad in the store. It was still open when I left. Roger and Freddie were both in the store on Saturdays and some Sundays. There was a girl, I think Jill, who was in the store more. And during the week it could be anyone. You name it and you could get it at the markets. Second hand or designer clothes, shoes, jewellery, pot and assortments. Hair cuts, food, bric-a-brac.

Wait, wait. What? Freddie’s dad? Really now?

Yeah, it was an older Indian man. so we just assumed it was his father. It was my understanding that he started the stall then the boys would work it as the whole markets were set up for younger people, but if needed he would work there. I don't think the boys would be able to pay the rent on their own. [I have since found out that the stall closed in late 1971, and Freddie continued to work at the Market until '74, for Alan Mair and possibly others. So the stall J witnessed wasn't their original stall - explaining all the different people she saw there - but she had no way of knowing that it wasn't.] They always had incense burning that was very big in the 70s. I still occasionally bring out the sticks, but it does not last like the candles and diffusers of today. If you could get in touch with Robert Daniels, he ran ChaChaDumDum it was the stall across from Freddie. He would know the dates.

[J says it’s this look, in a picture she happened across while looking at my tumblr] Yep, that is the one. It usually means that he does not believe or agree with something that was said and is working out how to respond, or he has lost the plot.

You mentioned Roger seemed shy to you at times. Was he also quite charming? We read a lot about what a chick magnet he was. Was this the impression you had?

My favorite subject! I had a thing for Roger. Everyone has a type and mine is the blue-eyed blond. Now, before you ask, was he brunet? No, he was a mouse/dirty blond. If it was summer he would have blond streaks mostly at the ends. He knew he was pretty and was always dressed in the latest fashion and had the current hairstyle. So, being my type I was constantly watching him. Everyone slept around during that time. I did not notice Roger doing it more or less. 80% of the time he was with Jo. Yes, he was a chick magnet, but he did not do the chasing. He was always very polite to everyone. If it ever looked like there would be any conflict he would be the first to leave it. It was not that he was a coward, just not into conflict. If he saw anyone that needed help he was right there, and often had to have Freddie's back. I never saw him in a fight. He could always talk his way out of things. He was also very patient and would listen for hours to other people talk. However, he would get this vacant look in his eyes at times.

And Freddie would either click his fingers, change the subject or just give up. I don’t think that Brian noticed, and it would be fair game for John, he would see how far he could push it. Roger liked to drink a fair bit and when drunk he would be hanging all over Jo. If she was not there then he missed Jo. If, however, he thought that he or his friends were not being respected, then look out! It was a verbal volcano heading your way. That is what happened to me one time. I was trying to talk with my friends close to where a drunken Roger was and I yelled at him to shut the hell up, you wannabe blond. We/I coped a mouthful back, all in the same sentence, that finished with: Sorry, I didn't realise you were on your rags (period)! I have to have the last word, so I told him the truth: I don’t get them yet! (I was a late starter.) He went so red in the face and called me JB [jail bait] from then.

You also mentioned Roger’s cat Ziggy having kittens. I read about this but never when exactly it was. Do you remember?

I think it was winter ‘73. I remember being cold when he was asking around the pub. [To find homes for the kittens, I gather.]

Is it quite strange reading fictional interpretations of real people you knew? When did you first find out there was Queen fanfic?

No, we used to make up stories about people all the time, a verbal fanfic. Was looking up Adam Lambert and came across the fanfics. Some had me in stitches! Others, like DoA, had me hooked.

Please, allow me to be a little self-indulgent at the end. What's one thing I got totally RIGHT in DoA?

All the Ibex stuff.

What's one thing I got totally WRONG in DoA?

Roger did not have a temper, and I don’t know what the go with his father was, but he would talk about him quite a bit and was always visiting his mum. [Absolutely fair, not only did I change the timeline of Roger’s parents divorce in DoA - for lack of information at the time - but also created a completely fictional narrative around it for the sake of storytelling.]

J, thank you so much for all this, sincerely. Can you tell me a little more about yourself? Are you still an artist?

I don't paint or draw any more. At the age of a 50 the doctors operated on an aneurysm or three, and now my eyesight is very bad, I have no fine motor skills and a tremor. I was married in January 1984 and have just celebrated our 37 year anniversary. I have one daughter who is 30 and two great, although tiring grandkids. A girl, 11, and one boy, 5. I have lived my life as the average middle class Australian with great memories. Talking with you has helped me a lot to remember a time when the world was mine for the taking. When I returned to OZ I started nursing, met my best friend, and we planned that once we graduated we would go back to London to study midwifery. But I fell in love instead.

J's wedding in 1984. As you can see, she found her own blue-eyed blond.

---

Upon request, J has shared some of her past and present artwork with me.

These are from her time at Ealing Art School:

These were done later, back in Australia:

J: Did this just before Christmas as you had inspired me. It did not require fine motor skills!

So there you have it! I hope you found this little glimpse through a 16-year-old girl’s eyes as much of a fascinating read as I did. I urge everybody one more time to remember that J did not have to share any of this, and I think we all owe her a big thank you for delving into her memories. She is likely to see the responses on AO3, so I have comment moderation enabled there as I will not let anybody harass this lovely lady. The tumblr she created is @since72, but she isn’t really an active user and also very new to it all. Again, I can only urge everybody to be respectful.

If you have other burning question for J, feel free to leave them in the comments on AO3. I will either pass them on, or she may want to reply to them herself directly.

#Queen band #Freddie Mercury #Roger Taylor #John Deacon #Brian May #interview #i am so excited about this #so much into #information #JB

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kingofkingdom-archive · 3 years

Text

Your Wish Is My Command

Pairing: Maxwell Lord (WW84) X Fem!Reader

A/N: Thank you all so much for the love on my last story! I’m grateful for all the feedback and can’t wait to get back to anyone who’s replied or reblogged it or whateva. This one’s pretty different - Recovery was mainly plot with a bit of porn, this is... well, the opposite of that. ;) As always, heed the tags/warnings, and again there is no use of Y/N here.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only!)

Summary: You have a gift - a powerful, unique, dangerous gift, and King Maxwell wants to take full advantage.

You’ll let him.

Warnings: mostly smut, Maxwell being an absolute jackass (no redemption arc here folks), you encouraging and very much liking the jackassery, brief mention of abuse/trauma, greedy authoritarian behavior, kinda spoilers for ww84

Tags: semi-public sex, exhibitionism, royalty kink (?), unprotected sex, implied and/or inferred consent (i.e. not explicit but there), Maxwell’s POV (until very end), fingering, p-in-v sex, come marking

Word Count: 3.4k

"The messenger you requested, reporting back from the northern provinces, sire."

King Maxwell of the house Lord, sitting in the throne gifted to him by birthright, dismisses the servant with a wave of his hand. He's become quite irritated with the futility of his efforts concerning this matter, and therefore has little patience for further delay. The future of his lands, his wealth, his power, rests on the shoulders of these menial workers and the news they provide. It bears no repeating that should they continue to come up empty-handed, someone is going to lose their head.

He needs the girl, and then it will be sealed. He will crush all opposition and assert his dominance over the entire region, coast to coast.

The messenger, a boy no more than 15, scurries into the room. His hair is tousled under his cap, which he hastily removes in the presence of the king. He bows, deeply and with a flourish, before standing upright.

Max watches with disinterest, legs spread over the velvet seat and head resting on his fist. His rings dig into his temple.

"We believe we've found her, sire."

That grabs his attention. He sits forward, both hands gripping the arms of his throne.

"You believe you have? Have you or have you not?"

The boy swallows, growing pale. "We-we have, your majesty. It's just, uh, we-we can't p-p-prove it's her until she demonstrates the gift."

The king groans, rolling his eyes and rubbing a hand over his face. These people are impossible.

"Where is she, then? Have you at least brought her along?"

The boy nods frantically. "Yes, your majesty. She's been quartered in the guest wing, with two guards to watch her."

Immediately, Maxwell stands. Everyone in the room looks up at him, and he adjusts his sleeves. The boy is nearly trembling.

"Well, then take me to her," he orders, and the boy hesitates.

"Now!"

The messenger boy practically trips over his own feet in haste to correct his error. He sets a quick pace to the guest wing in order to account for the king's long strides, head bowed and arms stiff as he does so.

The room is located to the east of that which houses his throne, on the third floor, overlooking the orchards. Maxwell follows the boy, wooden-soled shoes echoing on the gleaming marble floors of his palace. Mirrors line each hallway, along with fine art ranging from rare vases to family portraits.

Maxwell sees the door as soon as they turn a corner, identifiable by the armored men who stand at either side of it. The boy stops and gestures to the door with a shaking hand.

"Just in here, y-"

"I can see that," the king barks, ignoring the boy completely. "You are dismissed."

He hears footsteps retreat quickly down the hall as he checks his appearance in a mirror. Not a hair out of place, not a wrinkled seam in sight. The king sighs, smiling as he admires himself. He takes a moment before turning to the door, the door that hides behind it wealth and prosperity like nothing he's ever known.

The guards simply bow as he approaches them. Maxwell knocks twice on the door and pushes it open.

Inside there is a single room, with a bed and chest of drawers and a vanity. There is a balcony, with glass French doors, through which he can see the shape of a woman standing and looking out over the scenery.

She leans one hip against the stone railing, and as Maxwell walks forward he can see that she holds a goblet of wine in one hand. Her dress flows in the light summer breeze, and her hair is decorated in intricate braids, ribbon laced throughout.

The girl does not see him, yet. He stands in the doorway, hands clasped behind his back, watching her.

"Is it true?" he asks, after he's looked his fill.

The young woman starts, a gasp escaping her lips. She turns to look towards the voice she has heard and startles again, seeing the king himself staring quite intently at her.

"Your majesty," she breathes, a smile ghosting across her lips. She bows deeply and then looks up at him, eyes bright and playful.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, my dear. I've heard many... extraordinary things about you."

Maxwell is immediately taken with her. Not only is she quite beautiful, despite her pauper's clothing, but she is one of few who have not reacted to him with fear or malice. Most begin shaking when they see his face; she, however, seems quite happy to see him.

"Oh, sire, the pleasure is entirely mine," she responds, voice soft, like music to Max's ears. "What things could you have heard about someone as lowly as I?" Her words are humble, but he senses a hint of teasing in them - as though she knows exactly what he's heard, but just wants him to say it.

"You are rumored to possess a very unique skill, one that I am most interested in learning about." He plays along, because her elusiveness frustrates him much less when she's right in front of him.

The king is a very visual man.

He steps forward, fully onto the balcony now. She backs up until her back hits the railing, smile never leaving her face, even as the king crowds into her.

"I possess many skills which I would be happy to demonstrate to you," she says, and Max does not miss the meaning she intends to convey in those words. His eyes darken, his blood running hot at the thought of the many things she could give him. The things he could take from her willingly, without the hassle of a fight.

"It is said that you grant wishes," he murmurs, looking down at her. Max finds he quite likes this view, her looking up to her king. "One must only touch you and state their wish, and it will be so."

The girl chuckles, and daringly takes a sip of her wine. Maxwell grins, before reaching a hand up and grabbing the wine from her grasp. He tosses the liquid out over the ground below and carelessly throws the goblet over the edge to follow its contents.

The girl does not bat an eye.

"What you have heard," she mutters, eyes slipping down to his lips and back up again, "is true."

The king runs his hand up her side, settling at her ribs just beside her breast, savoring the way she shivers at his touch. His fingers splay out over the bare skin of her back, warm and soft and hinting at more.

He dips his head down so that his nose brushes against hers, mouths nearly touching.

"Is there a limit," he breathes, because he knows he must ask this, "to your generosity, my dear?"

The girl smiles, placing a hand on his bicep. Her small fingers feel divine against him, even there.

"No," she whispers back.

Maxwell hums, stroking his thumb idly along her warm, soft skin. He needs to confirm that she's telling the truth, as tempting as it is to believe her outright. The way she's looking at him... she'd let him do anything to her. The thought is as enticing as it is dangerous.

"I wish to find a raven's feather in my shirt pocket," he says, and then feels a slight breeze on the back of his neck.

The king reaches into his pocket, and his fingers brush against exactly the object he wished for. He pulls it out to show the girl. She smiles and runs a hand up to his shoulder, resting her wrist there. His loose linen shirt, which flutters lightly in the wind against his tanned skin, is perfect for a summer's day like this - and when he feels the warmth of her hand through it he thanks his past self for selecting it this morning.

"What a remarkable gift you have," he comments, and tucks the feather behind her ear.

An endearing blush rises to her cheeks, and though she ignores it, the king takes notice. "Thank you, your majesty."

At that moment, an idea forms in his mind. It's devious, downright lecherous and more the act of some tavern drunkard than a king, but she is sure to react well, if he's gauged her correctly.

"You said there's no limit on the wishes you can grant a single person?"

"Yes, sire. I did."

A smirk forms on the king's face. "Then I wish, my dear, for you to be naked."

The wind around them picks up again and the girl gasps. In the blink of an eye, her plain, beige dress has disappeared, leaving nothing behind. She is a vision, bare and beautiful in the midday light like this.

Maxwell is immediately hard. Not only is there a gorgeous, naked woman before him, but his absolute, unlimited power has just been confirmed and lies at his fingertips. He is unstoppable now, now that he has her.

The girl's hands fly up to grasp at his shoulders as his own trace over her curves. Her hips, her waist, her thighs - one of which he brings up to hook around his own hip - all of it is open and shimmering before him.

"They said - in my village, they said you are a monster," she says, though her words trail off into a moan as one of the king's hands finds her breast. He tugs at her nipple, squeezing and pulling at the supple flesh, drawing sweet sounds from her pink mouth.

"Is that so?"

She nods. "I would look at your portraits and - and think... I'd think, no... no man so handsome could be so evil."

The king laughs, dipping his head to lick at her neck. She tosses her head back, giving him full access to the elegant column of her throat.

"And even... even if you are what they said... I don't - I don't care."

Maxwell groans just as she says it, biting a bruise into the junction between her shoulder and neck. He trails bites and kisses down her collarbones, leaving his marks across her unblemished skin.

"I am," he murmurs into her ear, smoothing a hand over her stomach so that his middle finger comes to glide over the thick hair that covers her mound. He dips it into her folds, rubbing softly at the wet, slippery flesh there until she moans, high-pitched and needy. He grins, licking his tongue into the shell of her ear.

"I am a monster, my dear," he whispers. "Every vile thing they said about me is true. And... I wish to fill my personal vaults with triple the gold. I wish to increase my fleets tenfold, with loyal soldiers to match. I wish to never see you leave these palace grounds so long as I live."

The wind picks up considerably around them. The king presses a finger against her opening, hot and dripping for him, and slides it in. Her moans are heavenly, loud and unashamed as he violates her in the open, where anyone could look up and see them. Her cunt opens for his finger, the gold and precious jewels of his rings swallowed by her sweet embrace. Her hands grip at his neck while her leg draws him closer. He adds a second, and it enters just as easily.

The king begins to fuck her with his fingers, watching as the muscles in her stomach tense and her eyes go glassy with the feeling.

"I wish to never be challenged by anyone for the throne," he grunts out. The girl moans at his words, and he realizes that she likes it. Not just the way he's touching her, but that he's making his wishes as he does it. He grins at her, predatory, and cups her ass with the hand not currently knuckle-deep in her pussy. His fingers dig in, sharp and strong and unyielding, surely leaving bruises in their wake.

"You like granting my wishes, darling? You enjoy giving me power, worshipping your king?"

She nods, mouth half-open. "Yes, your majesty." Her voice is breathy, the sound of it nearly knocking him out with the way it draws blood from his brain to his cock.

Speaking of which.

Maxwell thrusts a third finger into her cunt, the stretch made easy by the slick leaking out of her profusely. She wails, hands scrabbling at his neck and shoulders and back and the collar of his shirt.

"Take me out," he orders, and she pauses to look at him, confused. "Take me out of my trousers, my dear. Feel how hard I am for you."

She gasps and her hands fly down to the button at the crotch of his pants. Quickly she fumbles it open, and his hard member pushes up into her palms. The girl gives the king's dick a squeeze, and he grits his teeth, moaning.

"I wish to claim all of the lands in the south as my own. I wish to have loyal subjects in every village and town, that no one may ever defy me again. I wish to have any traitors killed without question."

The girl's moans have increased again as she rubs and caresses his cock. Her hands disappear for a moment as she leans back, licking a long stripe from her wrist to fingertips, and returns to her task.

Maxwell groans, dropping his head forward to press his nose against her skin, breathing in. She smells faintly of lavender, a crop that grows abundantly in the north, sweet and fresh. His tongue darts out to lick away a drop of sweat that rolls down her collarbone. Her hands squeeze and pull at his cock, thumbing at the head and slit and dipping down to fondle his balls on every other stroke.

It feels positively exquisite, but he wants to put his dick to use elsewhere. Somewhere tighter, warmer, wetter.

The king removes his fingers, drawing a whine from the girl. The noise of it is obscene in itself, squelching and sticky as her cunt tries to cling to his fingers and the jewels that adorn them. He chuckles, lifts his head to meet her gaze, and brings his fingers up to his mouth and licks away her essence. She watches, rapt, as he makes sure to get every inch of the three digits that were inside her. The sight of it makes her keen, high pitched noises spilling out of her lips and eyes watering with desperation and need for him.

The king laughs, the taste of her on his tongue. Someday, he swears, he'll taste this sweet nectar straight from the source.

Now is not the time.

He brings his spit-soaked hand down to his red, throbbing cock, giving it a few strokes. His other hand slips up to grasp her waist. The girl lifts her leg further, resting her heel against his ass, helping him to guide his length into her.

"What else do you wish for, my king?" she asks, just as the head of his cock notches at her opening. With a grunt, Max pushes in.

Her words, combined with the feeling of her pussy stretched around his dick, causes his vision to blur and images to flash in his mind of what's now possible with her gift at his disposal. He pushes in further, drawing another moan from deep within her throat.

"I wish... I wish..."

"Your wildest fantasies, my king..." she urges, grip tightening on his neck and shoulder. "Anything is possible. What do you -- oh!"

As her words soak into his skin, he pushes in further and further, until his balls are nestled squarely at her ass. She's pushing him to take, rather than to give, unlike so many who surround him. It breathes fire into his veins, this woman who's encouraging him to do all the selfish, power-hungry things he'd do anyway, all while he fucks into her like this.

The king draws out and pushes back in in one smooth motion, stealing the breath from her lungs. He presses his lips against hers as he speaks, as he sets a rough pace, fucking her into the stone railing.

"I wish to never fall ill or suffer injury in battle. I wish to have the unwavering allegiance of every foreign leader, and that they will defer to me in all international affairs. I wish for my reign to be the longest this nation has ever seen. I wish to live longer than any other man, and I wish to have you here at my disposal for the entirety of my long life. I wish to never succumb to old age."

By now, the wind is tossing her hair and whistling around them, but Maxwell does not care. He's thrusting into her roughly, recklessly now, and all he can hear are her sweet, delicious moans. Her pussy clenches his cock just so, and he sees nearly sees stars at the feeling. Her tits bounce as he fucks into her, her nudity on full display but only to be taken advantage of by him.

Maxwell adjusts his grip on her waist and thigh, maneuvering her around so that now he's taking her from behind. She leans forward on the railing, looking out over the palace grounds.

"Isn't it beautiful, darling?" he breathes, gripping her ass cheeks now, pumping in and out with increased fervor. "Looking out onto your lands, as far as the eye can see..."

She merely responds with moans, punched out of her with each thrust, and Maxwell feels her cunt throb in a way that tells him her orgasm is imminent. He reaches a hand around and searches for her clit, knowing he finds it when she shouts out. He rubs a finger against the sensitive, pulsing nub until she comes apart, writing and screaming on his cock.

Max feels his own climax approaching, and just before he tips over the edge, he withdraws his cock. Taking himself in hand, he strokes a few times and cums directly onto her ass and lower back, marking her up with his potent, royal seed.

Chest heaving, the king runs his hands through his own semen as it cools on the girl's backside. He rubs it into her skin like a masseuse might a fragrant oil.

Maxwell steps back, admiring his conquest. The girl is still leaning against the railing, head bowed and naked as the day she was born.

"I wish for you to be my queen."

The words are a surprise even to him, though he's not shocked at his own impulsivity; that is a trait of his that has followed him from childhood onward.

The girl turns to look at him.

"You have to be touching me for it to work, sire." She doesn't sound angry with him, which is a relief, though he'd never show it.

"I know, my dearest. I wish it, but I won't compel you."

At that she turns to face him fully. She's got that fucked-out look on her face, to be sure, but now there's something else in her eyes.

"Are you asking me to marry you, King Maxwell?" Her smile is sly, something befitting a woman of much higher status than herself. It makes his cock twitch in a valiant effort to get hard again.

"I suppose so."

"In that case, my answer is yes," she says, and pulls him in by his shirt collar for a searing kiss.

The next morning, you wake up sore in an unfamiliar bed.

You look around for a moment, taking in the luxurious decor and faint smell of roses, until you remember where you are. Who you are, now.

Your head rests not on a pillow - something much warmer than that. It rises and falls softly, and then you realize there's a weight around your waist that feels distinctly like an arm. Lifting your head just slightly, you see the king himself asleep above you, face soft and youthful in rest.

As you lay your head down on his chest to fall back asleep, you can't help but think of the people back in your village. The horrors you endured at their hands once they learned of your gift. The nightmares you still have because of what they did.

You think of how much they suffer under the rule of the king - of your husband - and you fall asleep with a smile on your face.

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butterflyinthewell · 4 years

Text

Important online safety message to minors.

I’m almost 40. I’ve seen some scary stuff online.

It’s a sad world that someone has to tell you to be more situationally aware of creeps, but I hope this advice helps you be safer online.

🗣

You don’t have to specify your age, but make sure it’s clearly known that you are a minor if an adult engages you online.

If it makes you more comfortable, you can put something on your profile like “I am a minor, 18+ please do not interact.” Add it to your posts too if you have room (it depends on the site). One unfortunate part of Web 2.0 social media is not everyone checks a profile before they retweet / reblog / share someone’s stuff.

If an adult keeps engaging with your stuff and you don’t want them to, it’s okay to block them.

Stay away from spaces adults have marked as nsfw, off-limits to minors or unsafe for minors. Chances are there is material in those spaces that you may not be ready for, or it will shock, offend, frighten, disgust and/or trigger you.

Some adults will pretend to be minors, and unfortunately I don’t know what kind of “tells” give away that they’re lying about their age, but I’m sure someone who knows more about that can reblog this and add that info.

Now, here’s what to do if a creepy adult starts creeping.

If their profile states they’re a MAP or NOMAP, block instantly. MAP / NOMAP means Minor Attracted Person / Non-Offending Minor Attracted Person. These people are pedophiles. Some of them identify themselves with the acronym PEAR or the pear emoji. 🍐 Be wary if you see this in someone’s profile info.

PEAR stands for Pro-Expression Anti-Repression. That’s something you apply to fiction, NOT reality. Fiction can be turned off, flicked off a screen, a book closed or otherwise disengaged from the moment someone doesn’t like it. Real life doesn’t work that way, and don’t trust anyone who claims it does.

It doesn’t matter if a MAP / NOMAP claims they’re getting “help” for their pedophilia or not, they should not be engaging you in any capacity.

If you engage them and discover they’re a MAP, disengage and block.

If an adult sends you anything that is sexually explicit, no matter the form, be it art, fanwork, videos, audio, roleplays, etc, screenshot it for evidence, block that person and tell someone you can trust.

Even nudity that is not sexual (this includes furry art with exposed genitals) should be treated as suspicious if an adult knows you’re a minor and still sends it to you despite being told you’re uncomfortable with it. They might be trying to desensitize you to the sight of nudity so they can show you more and more explicit stuff. Do as above; screenshot, block and report to someone you trust.

+ Part of the grooming process is the adult tries to reach you somewhere private, like DM’s or a messenger app and desensitize you to stimuli you would normally reject by exposing you little by little to it. Think of it as a twisted form of exposure therapy for phobias, but you don’t want this exposure. They want you to get curious and will up the ”intensity” of the explicit material.

The media itself existing is not the problem (unless the adult using it on you made it), the real problem is adult using it specifically to desensitize you into thinking that kind of stuff is okay in the real world. If an adult engages you, shows you media with questionable material in it and tries to tell you “see, it’s okay because it’s being done here” screenshot it, tell them fiction is not the real world and break off contact.

Most creeps stay hidden, so their blog may not contain a trace of anything weird, but when they engage you they send you all kinds of creepy adult stuff. An adult who is engaging you to groom you will use pretty much anything to try to make you think it’s normal and okay for them to do that to you. Remember always that it’s not. Remember the line between fiction and reality.

No adult should be sending a minor any pictures of naked people (or naked furry art with visible genitals) of any age no matter how innocent it seems!!!

If an adult sends you pictures or videos of themselves in their underwear, naked, showing their genitals or showing themselves doing sexually explicit stuff, screenshot the evidence, block them and report it to someone you trust.

If an adult asks you about sex toys or sends you info about them, that is really suspicious. Screencap, block and report to someone you trust.

If an adult asks you questions about your body, like what your hair ‘down there’ looks like, or how you’re developing, or if they ask if you touch your private parts, screenshot the evidence, block the adult and tell someone you trust.

If an adult asks you questions like “do you know what a (something sexual here) is?” or any questions that are sexually explicit or makes you uncomfortable, screenshot that crap, block them and tell someone you trust.

If you’re a creator and an adult tries to commission materials with nudity or sexually explicit stuff, refuse and tell them you’re a minor. If they persist, take screenshots, block them and tell someone you trust.

If an adult sends you violent or gory stuff and you don’t like it, demand that they stop and block them if they don’t. Screenshot anything they say if they keep doing it, and tell someone you trust.

If an adult demands you get on camera for them, do not do it. Screenshot the evidence, block them and tell someone you trust.

If an adult is threatening to reveal secrets you told them unless you do what they say(ie “send me a closeup of your private parts, or I’ll email all our chatlogs and your old naked photos to your whole school”). DON’T DO IT!! Screenshot the evidence, block them and tell someone you trust.

If an adult threatens to hurt themselves if you stop talking to them, stop talking to them anyway. This is especially true if they actually harm themselves and show you pictures or videos of it. That is a classic abuse tactic and it’s not your fault if they hurt themselves. Block them.

If an adult you blocked makes more accounts to keep contacting you, or starts showing up on other sites you visit trying to contact you, screenshot all the evidence and tell someone you trust.

If an adult (or anyone)tries to smear your name because you wouldn’t obey them, use any evidence you have against them in your defense and tell someone you trust about the situation.

If you run a blog talking about your abuse or experiences and an adult engages you to ask uncomfortable probing questions about the details of your trauma / abuse, be very suspicious and block them.

If an adult talks to you like you’re their special friend, or if they say you’re their very special friend, be very suspicious.

Acting like a sole source of kindness is one way an adult can groom a minor. They want you to feel like they are the only source of good that you can trust because they want you to gravitate more and more to them.

If you tell an adult you don’t like it when they swear while talking to you privately and they stop, but gradually start to do it again, be wary! An occasional oopsie slip or typo is one thing, but slipping in swear words when they know it makes you uncomfortable is suspicious. They may be testing your boundaries.

If an adult tries to set up an in person meeting, refuse it and talk to someone you trust about it.

If an adult (or anyone) tries to tell you that you should only trust them and nobody else, expects you to behave a certain way to be accepted, or if they act as if you’ve wronged them for trusting people other than them, that is a huge abuse warning sign. They are not safe to be around and you should break contact immediately.

If an adult compliments you in ways that makes you uncomfortable, break contact. A grown adult should not be telling a minor “you’re sexy” or “you’re hot.”

If an adult makes frequent comments about how mature and grown up they think you are, be suspicious.

If an adult learns you’re trans / non-binary and asks questions about your private parts or whether you plan to get surgery, be suspicious.

If an adult asks if you’re alone at home, say no even if you are.

If an adult asks if they can come visit you, say no.

If an adult asks for your phone number, don’t give it to them, no matter how nice or tempting they may be.

If an adult is making you uncomfortable in any way, it’s okay to block them and disengage.

Do not approach an adult with nsfw stuff you made. If they run across it in public on your blog that’s one thing. Sharing it with them in private can get both of you into trouble. Don’t do it.

🗣

Note: if you, a minor, did any of the above because you didn’t know better at the time, know that you are not a bad person. No adult should take advantage of your youth or innocence to hurt you.

🗣

To adults out there:

Do not approach minors with anything sexually explicit!!! This should not need to be said.

If you send something and find out they’re a minor after the fact, apologize and don’t do it again. If you think it’s proper to avoid any more private contact, do that. If you think breaking all contact period is proper, do that.

Make sure minors know you are over 18, whether it’s somewhere on your profile or tacked onto your posts. Something like “over 18, minors DNI” is helpful. I personally have my year of birth (1980) on my profile because that’s easier than changing a number every year.

You can’t prevent minors who fake their age to see naughty stuff from engaging with your stuff, but you can make it clear that you will not engage them back. And do not engage them. In fact, if you’re worried about that, block them when you discover them.

Private conversations with minors is okay, but make sure you tell them you’re not comfortable talking about something if they mention something sexually explicit. Even if it’s fandom related stuff, keep the conversation away from anything more than talking about characters dating or kissing or whatever.

If something you ship has an underage character, do not talk about it in private with a minor, not even if the character is aged up to adulthood.

Got nsfw stuff on your blog? Tag it that way.

I use “n s f w post” for stuff I want to show up in other related tags, “nsfw post” for reblogs, and “nudity” for nonsexual nudity like mermaids with bare chests or artistic nudes. Those tags are specifically for minors to blacklist or mute. (I don’t usually reblog nsfw artwork, but sometimes I post nsfw fanfics, create nsfw text posts or reblog nsfw text posts / fanfic. If I feel it’s nsfw, I tag it such even if most people don’t think it’s nsfw.)

If it’s fanfiction, I make sure the rating is listed and that it’s nsfw, and I try to warn for triggers as best I can.

If your blog or website features a lot of adult or violent content, mark it 18+ and tell minors to not interact.

If a minor approaches you and tells you a harmless secret, fine, keep it secret. You, the adult, should never approach a minor and tell them you will keep their secrets.

If a minor is expressing a desire to harm themselves or someone else, don’t keep that secret. Tell them to talk to someone they trust irl or put them in contact with a hotline or website where they can get help. Be supportive in talking them down from immediate harm, but do not become their therapist. (It’s tempting, you see a kid in trouble and want to help, but always be careful!)

If a minor tells you they’re being abused by an adult in their life, put them in contact a website or phone number where they can seek help. Be supportive and listen, but don’t become their therapist.

If you run a role play blog, state explicitly that you will not engage in nsfw rps with minors.

If you’re roleplaying with a minor and the story takes a nsfw turn, tell the minor you will not role play a sex scene with them no matter how much they want to. Either fade it to black with a time skip or bail out of the rp.

I say this because I forgot the age of someone I was rping with on AIM a long long loooong time ago and it got explicit, and they got in trouble with their parents for it. Their parents contacted me on AIM without their teen’s knowledge and reamed me out so hard I was scared for weeks. They were right to do so! I told them they were right, apologized profusely and swore to never rp with or speak to their teen on AIM ever again, and they agreed to those terms. I kept that promise. Any contact with that former rp partner was done in public, such as via deviantart comments or LiveJournal comments. It was a major learning experience for me and it stuck because this happened almost 20 years ago.

As an autistic adult I feel more like a kid with all kinds of adult knowledge and privileges (ie can gamble, drink, visit adult places) that most kids don’t have. I relate more to people who are younger than me, but that doesn’t give me the right to assume their level of knowledge or lived experience is equal to mine.

What I’m trying to say is always be aware of the age of the person you’re rping or speaking with!

Do not commission sexually explicit or violent stuff from creators who are minors.

Do not engage with a minor who sends you sexually explicit stuff. Tell them that’s inappropriate or you’re not comfortable with getting that from them.

It’s okay to agree with a minor that an adult celebrity or character they have a crush on is attractive or whatever, but if the celebrity / character is a minor or the minor talks about wanting to have sex with that character / celebrity, tell them that’s not an appropriate topic of conversation because of your ages.

This also applies to them sharing fanworks with you depicting explicit nsfw stuff. Deflect them and tell them it’s not appropriate due to your ages.

Do not ask minor for personal info like their school, phone number or address.

Don’t do any video chats with a minor unless they’re family or it’s a group thing like a Zoom event.

‼️ TAG YOUR STUFF APPOPRIATELY!! YES, EVEN STUFF YOU RESHARE!!

‼️ USE APPROPRIATE WARNINGS!! YES, EVEN STUFF YOU RESHARE!!

#online safety #grooming #abuse #safety #predatory behavior #antis #anti antis #pro shipping #purity culture #fanpol #online grooming #online predators #internet safety #internet grooming #web 2.0 #psa #signal boost #important #MAPS and minors should not interact because its too risky

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keepyourpantsongohan · 3 years

Text

And Many Happy Returns

A gift for @sloaners, one of the funniest, nicest and most talented people I know. You deserve nothing but good things, so here’s something made with the wish to make you smile. Please check out the collaborative pieces by @uintuva @tomicaleto @kiro-sveta and @ohayohimawari. | AO3 (Art/Writing) | Podfic |

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It starts, as the best intentions often do, with a thirty-year-old man blowing out a birthday candle.

“Happy birthday, Kakashi,” Tenzō tells him warmly.

This warmth between them is both new and old. It aches of familiarity, and partnership, and all the things Kakashi has compartmentalized as something he ought to think about at a later date. But it is later, the moon shining down upon them in the wee hours of the night, his face bare to his companion. It’s a new world order, one where to Kakashi is the Sixth Hokage, and the village is bustling with migrants from all its neighbours, and where he lets someone look at him the way Tenzō is doing, like he has done something incredibly right.

Kakashi wishes Obito were here to see this. He likes to think it would annoy him a little, even if this was exactly what he had suggested.

“So how does it feel?” Tenzō asks, smiling. He sets down the cupcake, knowing Kakashi isn’t interested in sweets anyway. “Your first birthday as Hokage. This should be a day that the whole village celebrates.”

“Maa, you know I don’t like parties,” Kakashi says, ducking his head as if a villager might pop up somewhere with a confetti canon. He reaches out and lets his fingers brush Tenzō’s. “This is fine with me.”

Tenzō sighs, all fondness. “Well, you have to at least let me show you your birthday present.”

Kakashi raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Did you bring something?”

Tenzō shakes his head. “It’s more of something I get to show, actually.”

It’s very tempting for Kakashi to make a joke at that, but his thought is soon cut off by a gleaming light in the sky, a bright blue-green speck making its way from far up above them, heading downward quite suddenly. For a moment, he thinks it could be a shooting star. Yet it doesn’t look much like a star to him, particularly not when he realizes whatever it is is hurtling not only towards the ground, but towards them. Kakashi’s mental calculations suggest that the meteor will land before they get a chance to move.

It is all they can do to brace for impact. Kakashi feels his chakra gather in his palms and raises his hands so that he might be able to form a chidori. Beside him, Tenzō’s hands form a serpent seal and a wooden dome suddenly encloses them. A futile effort, given the speed and force of the object, but one Kakashi appreciates nonetheless.

What surprises him, however, is when the meteor passes straight through the barrier, lands in their laps with a groan, and lets out a frustrated, “Ow!”

Kakashi’s brain tries to catch up to the situation. They’re alive. They’re alive, and so is their meteor. Except it’s not a meteor, it’s a mint green man, who has appendages jutting out from his neck that dig into Kakashi’s thigh. Kakashi’s eyes rove over the man’s back, taking in the familiarity of what he is facing.

“Obito?” asks Kakashi incredulously.

“Obito?!” Tenzō repeats, his voice rising an octave. “Your Obito? Kakashi, isn’t he supposed to be dead?”

Kakashi says, before he can think much about it, “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

In answer to their questions, Obito finally rolls over, confirming what Kakashi already knew. Obito’s face and body are the same as they were at the height of the war by all accounts. Scales, tomoe, and horns decorate his body, but what draws most of his attention are the brushstrokes painted across his stomach, reading, “Love, Kaa-san~”

A hand thrown over his eyes, Obito grumbles out, “Your mother says, ‘Happy birthday,’ Bakashi.”

—

Tenzō’s first order of business is to find out how this happened. Obito’s first order of business, as soon as he is able to stand on his own two feet, is to stare at Kakashi.

“Wh— That’s— You’re handsome!” Obito accuses, outraged. He points his finger at Kakashi’s uncovered face.

It’s unclear if Kakashi’s face is flushed from the impact of Obito’s words or the impact of his body flying at them from space. “Uh, thanks,” Kakashi replies weakly.

“Can we go back to Kakashi’s mother?” Tenzō asks, waving a hand in front of them. “How many people are back from the dead?”

“Just me, so far,” says Obito, a little defensively. “Kaguya’s immortal, so it’s not like she was dead in the first place.”

“Kaguya,” Kakashi echoes flatly, eyes drifting up to the night sky. Tenzō’s gaze follows his, staring up at the moon, suddenly conscious of every moment he and Kakashi might have shared under the moon’s light. “My... mother?”

Obito claps his hands together, distracting Tenzō and Kakashi from their respective existential crises. “Right! She said this would help explain.”

Then, without preamble, Obito steps towards Kakashi, places his hands on either side of his face, and pulls him forward into a long, enthusiastic kiss. Kakashi’s hands drift upward, hovering over Obito’s sides. Though Tenzō can’t see both of Kakashi’s eyes, he does see one of them widen and shut, as a bright light pulses from Kakashi’s forehead, blowing his hair upward with an accompanying breeze. They draw apart, with half-smiles on their faces.

“Oh,” Kakashi says, as if the situation makes any more sense. He looks at Tenzō. “Can you tell him too?”

Obito nods. Tenzō tries not to jump when Obito leans towards him and their lips meet. As they do, Tenzō’s eyes are flooded with images, first of a woman with three eyes and long silver hair, and then of a man who looks just like Kakashi. The images flash quickly from the woman holding a small child, to passing through rips in the universe, to the remnants of Obito’s chakra being pulled into the moon. It is not unlike being awoken from a genjutsu.

When the last memory passes before his eyes, Tenzō pulls away and says, “You know, all she said you had to do was touch us. Any reason you chose a kiss?”

Obito’s mint green skin turns a bright shade of orange. “Hey— Well... Kakashi, help me out here.”

“It was a pretty good kiss,” Kakashi offers in reply. “Eight out of ten, at least.”

“Six and a half,” says Tenzō. “He bit my lip.”

Obito grumbles under his breath, “Some people like that,” while Kakashi laughs.

—

“Remind me again why we’re staying at Yamato’s place and not yours, Bakashi?”

Kakashi tosses a pillow at Obito, which, to Tenzō’s mild regret, he catches. “Because my place is the Hokage’s residence. Your chakra signature is too noticeable. Not to mention, the horns.”

There’s far more intrigue in Kakashi’s last few words than Tenzō finds comforting.

Obito and Tenzō lock eyes. “He looks at me judgementally,” Obito complains, pouting.

“That’s because I’m judging you,” Tenzō informs him, just a little bit amused. “Consider me your rehabilitation sponsor.”

Obito winces. “Doesn’t me dying count for something?”

Tenzō regards Obito speculatively, weighing the consequences of an honest answer. Strangely enough, the man seems sincere. One of the orbs floating by Obito’s head brushes against Tenzō’s cheek, like a sulking cat seeking attention. “No,” says Tenzō, this time smiling outright.

Tenzō brings his attention back to Kakashi. He roots through one of his utility pouches, and shortly deposits what he finds into Kakashi’s palm. “This was supposed to be a gift for you,” Tenzō explains. “But now I suppose it makes more sense to give it to both of you.”

“A key,” Kakashi observes, turning the wood over between his fingers. His mask, now back in place, doesn’t fully hide the flush creeping up.

Tenzō nods, and with a few hand seals, a duplicate is in his hands. “I like my house the way it is,” he tells Obito, closing his fist over it.

Without waiting for a reply, Tenzō crosses the room to head upstairs. Aside from Kakashi and Obito likely needing their own moment to speak, he feels the beginnings of a headache forming behind his eyes.

As his feet reach the third step, he hears Obito say, “What am I supposed to do with that?”

“You might try being helpful,” Tenzō calls out from the stairwell.

—

Obito decides to take Yamato—Tenzō, as Kakashi keeps calling him—seriously. He spends the next morning in Tenzō’s kitchen helping out. The fridge doesn’t have everything he needs, but he saves time by going out into the garden and encouraging some of the fruits to grow with his mokuton. Food hasn’t been a necessity for Obito for a few years, so he takes care in arranging it, hoping that if it isn’t tasty, it’s at least well-presented.

Obito is attempting to place seaweed on rice in an appreciable impression of a cat’s ears when Tenzō comes to stand beside him.

“Is this for Kakashi?”

“This one is for you,” Obito says, gesturing. “The other one is for Kakashi. His box has a rabbit.”

Tenzō eyes crinkle at the corners. Obito is beginning to recognize the motion for what it is, a reflection of the way Kakashi smiles, when the mask is in place. “Thank you. I can bring it to him, if you want.”

Obito mulls over the offer. “We can go together.”

“I don’t know if that’s—“

Obito closes the box, and uses his free hand to wave off Tenzō’s concerns. “Don’t worry about it. It’s too early for him to have any visitors. Besides, I want to see if he really wears those robes like Old Man Third.”

Tenzō shakes his head. “How are you planning to pass through the village unnoticed?“

Obito taps his temple, right beside his sharingan. “Kamui,” he says, both an explanation and a warning.

“Obito—”

In one fluid motion, Obito tucks a bento box in the crook of his arm and grabs Tenzō’s elbow to yank him forward. Moments later, they stand in front of Kakashi, who looks surprised but pleased.

“What brings you two here?”

“Your lunch,” Obito declares, sliding the box across his desk.

Kakashi rests one elbow on the desk, leaning his head on his palm. “What’s the occasion?”

“I didn’t give you a gift,” Obito says, and then freezes.

At once, both he and Kakashi realize what Obito has said. Kakashi is looking at him the same way he did the night before. His stricken look and doubt from the war is gone, replaced by something warmer and softer. Obito feels his face heat up.

“There’s nothing you need to give me,” Kakashi says quietly. He hasn’t stopped looking at Obito.

“I want to,” Obito tells him honestly. It feels freeing to say it.

Kakashi finally breaks their gaze. “That’s good to hear,” is what he says, reaching for the bento box. Their fingers brush.

Though Obito can feel Tenzō looking at them, he finds himself distracted in Kakashi’s face. The war feels only like yesterday to Obito, but he can see new lines on Kakashi’s face that hadn’t been there before. Lines beside his eyes to accompany his smile, a tan line peeking up from where his mask has not sat evenly on his face, and a line between his brows that reminds Obito he is standing in front of the Sixth Hokage.

“Kakashi, I—”

What Obito is going to say, even he cannot predict, but he is spared from answering by the door to Kakashi’s office suddenly bursting open.

“Sakura, Sai,” Kakashi greets the two teenagers casually, as if there is not a six-foot-tall formerly dead rogue ninja in his office. “What’s going on?”

Sakura stares, disbelief written on her face. “I could ask the same question.”

“It’s a long story,” Tenzō says, raising his hands in a warding gesture.

The boy, who must be Sai, blinks, looking oddly unaffected. “Kakashi-sama, is this some kind of test?”

“Would you believe it if I said yes?” Kakashi asks.

Sakura gives him a withering look. “Not even a little bit.”

Though Sakura is the one Obito expects to be gawking at him, given that she was present when he died, her ire is directed towards her teacher. It is Sai who looks at him with focused curiosity. Well, Obito supposes people don’t encounter a jinchuriki with his appearance every day. “If you have something to ask, just say it,” Obito tells him.

“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” Sai inquires seriously. He has a sketchpad in his hands, as if he were intending to take notes.

“Why are you alive?” Sakura asks, reasonably.

“It was Kakashi’s birthday yesterday,” he explains, before Tenzō grabs his arm and phases them both through the wooden floor.

—

“Just stay put for now,” Tenzō demands, when they arrive in his back garden. “We’re lucky it was those two. If Sasuke or Naruto were in the village right now, there would’ve been much more of a scene.”

Obito sits down on the engawa, feet sinking into the grass. “I was just helping out,” he says, shrugging.

Tenzō takes a seat beside him. “Help less obviously.”

“Kakashi wouldn’t take my apology,” Obito replies quietly. He brushes his fingers over a dandelion, letting it grow taller and wilder in his grasp. “But he would take my lunch. I know he still has thoughts about my past, but he won’t say anything about it. He just keeps looking at me like...”

“...He’s happy that you’re alive?” Tenzō suggests. “He is. Believe me, he doesn’t look at just anyone like that.”

“He looks at you like that.”

Though his expression doesn’t change, Obito doesn’t need a sharingan to pick up the redness in Tenzō’s cheeks. “It’s complicated.”

“Am I complicating it?” Obito asks sincerely.

“A little,” Tenzō admits, to Obito’s surprise. The other man chuckles. “But I think you’d be complicating it whether you were alive or not. And I like to see him happy.”

The words make Obito’s stomach tighten in a pleasant way. He takes a moment to take stock of his companion. It is easy enough to see what Kakashi sees in him, in his honest feelings, determination and loyalty. It makes Obito wonder if they can make whatever this is work after all.

“I’m sorry for what happened during the war,” Obito tells him. “For what I did to you. I know what it’s like to be used. It doesn’t change anything, but—”

“It does,” Tenzō interjects calmly. “It helps.”

Obito wants to say something more, but both of them turn their attention to the woods, feeling a familiar chakra presence rushing at them at full speed.

“That’s not...”

“It is,” Tenzō confirms. “Well, this was bound to happen eventually.”

With that, a green blur rolls straight past Tenzō’s wards and jerks to a halt right at the edge of Tenzō’s property. “Yamato, my youthful friend!! Is it true that you and my rival are now living together in hot-blooded cohabitation?”

“Does he really not notice me?” Obito mutters. Tenzō kicks him.

“Not exactly, Gai,” Tenzō calls out. “He’s free to come and go as he pleases.”

Gai, who looks every bit as energetic as ever, pushes his wheelchair closer to them. “Yosh!! Just like Kakashi!” Gai replies. “He wants to train harder before taking that next step.”

When he is at arm’s length from the house, Gai turns his stare to Obito, narrowing his eyes with a concerned frown.

“Hey Gai,” Obito says, waving.

Gai lets out a thoughtful hum. “Yamato, your comrade seems... familiar. Have we met before?”

“Seriously?!” Obito exclaims.

This time, Tenzō elbows Obito. “Gai, I’m not sure if he looked like this that last time you saw him, but this is Obito. He's come back from... somewhere.”

Gai’s smile fades. The seriousness in his expression looks out of place. “I see.”

Obito takes a deep breath, and stands up. He bows his head a little, half in contrition and half because he thinks Gai would rather not look at him. “I’m sorry. Kakashi told me that Naruto’s friend, the Hyuga boy, was your student. I know that doesn’t change what I did, but you deserve to hear me say it. I wish I could bring him back—”

“Neji?” Gai interrupts him, his voice shaky.

Obito offers one quick nod. “Yes, if I could’ve done things differently, I would—”

“Neji,” says Tenzō beside him, sounding shocked. “Obito, what did you do?”

It surprises Obito that Tenzō hasn’t already heard this story from Kakashi. He lifts his head to reply, when suddenly he catches sight of the source of their surprise. Standing beside Gai, unscathed, is the Hyuga boy who Obito had certainly impaled with mokuton.

“Gai-sensei?” Neji asks, stepping unsteadily towards his teacher. “What happened?”

“Neji!” Gai says again, pulling his student down into a tight hug. Gai’s eyes are full of tears, but his grin is blinding. “You’re alive!”

“Not if you keep crushing me like this,” Neji wheezes, but he returns his teacher’s embrace, pressing his face to Gai’s shoulder. Some of the weight in the air finally lifts off, and for a moment, there is peace.

And then the moment passes. Tenzō’s hand comes down firmly on Obito’s shoulder, turning them to face each other. “Obito,” he repeats soberly. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Obito yelps. “All I said was that I wish I could take back what I’d done to the Hyuga kid—”

Tenzō eyes him doubtfully. “And that was all it took? Listen, I wish that I could bring Asuma back, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to show up at our next Mahjong game.”

Obito wishes this level of suspicion was unwarranted, but he supposes his track record is less than stellar. “I don’t know what happened, alright? If you don’t believe me, ask the kid.”

“Neji,” Tenzō asks, with far more patience in his voice than he had with Obito, “what’s the last thing you remember?”

“The war,” Neji says, finally escaping Gai’s hug. He thinks for a moment, and then frowns. “And then some strange woman who claimed she knew Kakashi-sensei.”

Obito and Tenzō look at each other. And somehow, from across the village in the Sarutobi District, the wind carries out three piercing screams.

—

When Kakashi gets to Tenzō’s place that night, Obito is already fast asleep on the sofa, sitting up straight with his mouth wide open. One of the orbs that is always surrounding him bumps against Kakashi’s hand, not unlike Kakashi’s ninken do to greet him. Tugging the blanket over Obito’s shoulders, Kakashi smiles. “You’ve made a lot of paperwork for me, you know,” he tells his sleeping friend. Obito mumbles something in reply unconsciously, and Kakashi ruffles his hair, sighing.

“You can’t give him all the blame,” Tenzō points out, emerging from the kitchen with his hands on his hips. “It’s a full moon this week. Strange things tend to happen.”

Kakashi laughs. “You, defending Obito? It didn’t take him long to win you over.”

Tenzō approaches him, settling a hand between Kakashi’s shoulder blades, a soothing warmth. “Only on a trial basis.”

Kakashi closes his eyes. “You realize, as Hokage, I oversee all shinobi trials.”

He feels Tenzō laugh at his back, the hand drifting to his side. “Maybe Obito was right, this system is corrupt.”

“You can admit that you’re enjoying having him around, Tenzō,” Kakashi baits, tugging him towards the sofa.

“I find his absurdity disarming,” Tenzō confesses. “It’s similar to how I feel around you sometimes, actually.”

Kakashi pulls Tenzō down so that he can sandwich himself between the two mokuton users. “I’ll choose to take that as a compliment.”

Tenzō leans on Kakashi, just as Kakashi leans on Obito. “You would.”

Obito opens one eye. “You shouldn’t talk about me like I’m not here,” he mumbles, through a yawn.

“Go back to sleep,” Kakashi says, patting him on the cheek.

For once, Obito listens. And so, tangled on the sofa is how they find themselves the next morning, when all three of them awake to a glowing purple egg gleaming innocently on Tenzō’s coffee table.

#kakaobiyama #kakayamaobi #kakashi hatake #yamato tenzo #obito uchiha #might guy #kagumo #(in the background lmao)#team 7 #naruto series #mine #ayesha talks anime #collaboration #sloaners #sending big hearts ur way sloane #my obito is always dedicated to u

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humanwheatleyslefttoenail · 3 years

Text

Now I Am An Arsonist

Chapter 1: The Spark

Summary: GLaDOS learns a few things about love, hate, and the human condition.

Tags: Canon typical violence, ChellDOS, human!GLaDOS, found family

A/N: I know technically I published this a while back but I did some major edits to both the chapters I’ve already written and the story as a whole. As promised, I’m re-releasing what I already have with the edits/illustrations.

---

The tests, at least, hadn’t changed.

The centuries had washed over them like a dawdling stream, dragging them down into an overgrown abyss. Even then, the moon dust had stayed firmly adhered to the portal surfaces, the metal doors still creaking and the ceiling still intact. Eons of rain had barely even permeated its surface.

She remembered those years with profound regret; dying was not as peaceful as the science would suggest. For a machine like Her, death was nothing more than a shift of programming, a new prerogative. Her backup program had been an endless recall, restarting Her systems over and over again, trying to salvage something. In each of those moments, GLaDOS could feel the scorching heat from the incinerator, the electricity burning through her body before everything went dark.

Still, without dying, GLaDOS never would’ve fully appreciated how soothing, how wonderful it was to test.

She remembered the urge to solve, to do Science, clawing within Her even as She broke into a thousand pieces.

Those tests were Her art forms, Her self-expression. Every arrangement of deadly turrets, each layout of gleaming lasers and the perfectly calculated solution felt like a piece of Her soul turned reality.

Now, those tests were better than ever.

Every inch of moss had been thoroughly scrubbed, walls repaired, and acid pits replaced. All except for the grave of Old Aperture beneath Her was now newly outfitted, perfect for the humans P-Body and Atlas had located.

These, of course, hadn’t been the first ones they’d found.

The first batch of humans lasted a measly week, quickly killed by some of Her easiest tests. Even with reminders, the acid is deadly, the turrets are live, they’d failed within a few chambers.

Disappointing.

As a result, Atlas and P-Body had been deployed on a new mission. She’d been overjoyed when they’d bravely traveled all the way to the bottom of Old Aperture, and found even more humans preserved in cryosleep.

This time would surely be better.

All obstacles finally removed, science could continue.

GLaDOS could not smile, but if She could, She was certain that a grin would reach across her faceplate.

Today was a momentous day for technology, for the advancement of Aperture Science. It was as if She’d sent a man to the moon, and he’d come back with the theory of everything.

Originally, of course, Her plans had been different. The difficulties with Chell had worn down Her admiration for human data, and prompted her to come up with a replacement.

The Cooperative Testing initiative was infinitely more of a success than GLaDOS ever thought it would be. Atlas and P-Body were built to test, but She had still been surprised how those little androids with so much personality had managed to be so efficient.

Atlas and P-Body had overcome their own confidence through their excellent teamwork. The knowledge that they depended on a partner humbled them, and the idea of a common goal incentivized them. GLaDOS wished She’d thought of such an idea sooner.

Still, there was something about human testing, something She couldn’t quantify, something that wasn’t quite the same with robots. Humans had a particular spark, and without it, testing never felt complete.

Today would finally be the day She could put all mistakes behind Her. GLaDOS was sure She’d see that all of the other humans would prove Her experience with Chell to be exactly what She knew it was.

Bad science.

GLaDOS had learned from Her errors.

She knew for certain that She would not repeat them.

---

It’d been extraordinarily difficult to move the test subjects from Old Aperture all the way to the newly renovated Relaxation Center, with entire teams of robots struggling to reconnect Her control over the condemned area. Their work easily took a week to complete as they rewired the dilapidated circuits, barely restoring function. GLaDOS took what She could get, and rewarded their achievement with immediate, merciful destruction.

When the humans had been successfully relocated, anxiety filled Her servos as She scanned the cryo-chambers. Upon reading the results, She found herself pleasantly surprised. Good physical condition for hundreds of years in stasis. Relatively low rates of severe brain damage. Nothing particularly concerning in their associate files. Had Her comprehension not been perfect, She would’ve done a double take. After all this time, She had something that She could work with.

Atlas and P-Body would have to wait until they were needed again, their consciousness safely stored in Her mainframe. Her processors hummed with excitement as She prepared for the awakening of the first humans, buzzing with hypotheses to test.

What would be Her experiment this time? GLaDOS scrolled through Her endless lists of deadly trials.

She hadn’t used rocket turrets in a while; those weren’t as efficient as the regular ones but were always a surprise for Her unwilling participants. With only a thought, She placed the machines inside a few chambers, lining them up in a neat, strategically placed array. Companion cubes would be a definite no, at least for the first few tests. There were occasions when the humans became so deprived for social connection that their behavior would influence the results. In order to better control the experiment, She’d deploy them only in emergencies like these.

With those exceptions, and the addition of a floor to some of the more difficult levels, the chambers didn’t require too much preparation. GLaDOS had nothing particularly new to add; for so long Her energy had been focused on Atlas and P-Body that development had nearly come to a standstill. Regrettably, She’d been deprived of ideas. It didn’t matter too much; the facility remained operational even if it wasn’t constantly progressing. Even the replication of old results was invaluable for science.

It confirmed that the trends hadn’t changed.

---

The files of the subjects were all very much the same.

Scientist. Scientist. Scientist. Scientist. Scientist. Praying mantis, formerly scientist.

Occasionally, She’d find the elusive Astronaut, War Hero or even Olympian.

She was tempted to begin the testing with these special cases, curiosity piqued at the prospect of their odd results. GLaDOS chastised Herself. She didn’t want to skew anything, and She would surely begin with a normal subject chosen at random. It wasn’t the most interesting thing to test, but it would be the most informative.

With the chambers compiled and the facility clean, testing was finally ready to start.

She almost couldn’t believe it. All technicalities aside, She was finally, finally, getting exactly what She wanted. For as long as She needed to, for as long as the subjects lasted, She could just test.

It couldn’t be real, could it?

That was the most beautiful thing about science. For all its disappointments, a discovery would be worth it all.

---

“Hello, and welcome to the Aperture Science computer-aided testing program.”

Her voice resounded throughout the Extended Relaxation Vault as the subject stumbled across the room in disbelief.

“The Enrichment Center would like to take this opportunity to remind you that hundreds of years have passed, and that all of your friends and family are most likely dead. In the off chance that your friends and family are not dead, they will be tested. Thank you, [insert subject name here], for your unwilling voluntary participation in the advancement of science.”

The subject, an adult human male, selfishly resolved to huddle in the corner of the relaxation chamber. Of course, he was either brain damaged, in shock, or both. In order to assuage his gentle human feelings, GLaDOS would have to resume Her telling of… alternative truths.

GLaDOS wasn’t entirely sure what She’d said wrong. Honestly, She was surprised the subject didn’t appreciate Her integrity. After all, Chell hadn’t exactly taken kindly to Her tendency towards pathological lying. Here She was, trying to improve the well-being of Her subjects, and this was how they thanked Her?

“Hello, again, valued forced participant. The Aperture Science Enrichment Center commends you for your blind faith in the words of authority. As part of routine testing protocol, we have lied to you about the fate of your family and friends. When the testing is complete, you will receive cake and the opportunity to… see them. Your response has given us valuable psychological data on the well-being of our test subjects when told that all of their friends and family are dead.”

GLaDOS paused for a moment, focusing Her camera in the chamber and watching as the man lifted his head from his upright fetal position.

“Good. You’ve already passed one of the first stages of testing. Congratulations, [insert subject name here].”

As much as it felt wrong to use, positive reinforcement was highly effective when employed sparingly. Too many attacks on character could obliterate a subject’s morale. Just enough would account for the variable of human hubris.

Cautiously, the subject stood up and examined the room around him, fear still apparent in his apprehensive gait and wide eyes.

“In order to mentally reinvigorate you for the tests and to ensure your aptitude, the Enrichment Center recommends that you stare at the painting on the wall in front of you.”

Creeping over to the portrait, the subject followed Her orders and stared intently at the picture of Mount Rainier. He ran his fingers over the edge of the frame, tracing the tall peak of the mountain.

Interrupting his thoughts, a buzzer sounded, blaring throughout the entire room. The subject flinched from the surprise, nearly losing his balance.

“Good job. If you are not reinvigorated, consider this piece of human music.”

This time, the human expected the buzzer after the quick classical piece, seemingly more at ease with the abrupt nature of Aperture Science. In all reactions, he was completely, almost painfully average.

“Well done. You have completed the Aperture Science mental reinvigoration procedure. We may now begin testing.”

Without warning, the chamber jerked to the side as She moved it to a nearby docking station, then coming to an unexpected standstill as the door automatically opened.

GLaDOS could barely maintain Her monotonous affect, in joyous denial that testing would finally start.

Carefully, the human stepped out of the door into the test track. The door slammed behind him, as he examined the purely white room with nothing but a cube, a large button, and a locked gateway.

Almost immediately, he wrapped the blue storage cube in his arms, then gently placed it on the button. A line of blue lights leading to the gate illuminated, flashing a bright yellow as the door slid open. A lift was waiting on the other side.

As he sauntered over to the lift, it was difficult to miss the human’s triumphant smile. GLaDOS knew the expression well; it was satisfaction, victory, an unproven sense of control.

He really does have no idea.

She was tempted to spoil the ending, to mention turrets, to mention pools of burning acid. It had to wait, She reminded herself. An important control was that the test subject needed time to acclimate to a dangerous environment. Creating unnecessary fear would definitely affect her numbers.

---

The next few puzzles weren’t particularly challenging for Her first subject. Completed within a span of about ten minutes each, the first five chambers were hardly difficult for anyone. That much She’d expected.

On Her end, everything else was normal. She hardly spoke Her mind, instead opting to repeat the same script She used for every subject.

Did you know you can donate one or all of your vital organs to the Aperture Science Self-Esteem Fund for Girls? It’s true!

You have completed the test in a moderate amount of time. You can do better, [insert subject name here].

The Aperture Science Enrichment Center reminds you that we prioritize your safety. We also prioritize science. In fact, we prioritize science more, but if you feel unsafe in our unsafe conditions, please notify a testing associate. They will process your complaint in three-to-five business days.

Like most subjects, the man had not volunteered to give up his organs nor asked for an associate. Instead, he responded to most of Her passive-aggressive quips with useless questions. She did not reply, passing them off as typical human blabbering. Rather, She recorded them in his file underneath a new section She labeled Overly-Talkative: Examples. There was plenty to jot down.

Uh, robot lady? When can I go home?

So, uh, what kinda cake is it? Like, I don’t really mind the flavor but I’m allergic to almonds if that’s relevant.

How long does this last, again?

I kinda like my organs, sorry. Wait, is the organ thing required?

Once again, pitifully average.

It was times like these, whether with humans or with Atlas and P-Body, that GLaDOS caught Her mind wandering towards forbidden thoughts. Science was not always supposed to be exciting; sometimes, running an experiment meant repeating the same process to verify the data. The result was satisfying, but the process was more often not.

This human epitomized the dullest parts of her day.

As informative as the humans could be, they were often far from entertaining. Every behavior could be predicted and rationalized once it’d been observed enough.

Chell, though?

Oh, sure, GLaDOS was terrified of her, no matter how much She’d deny the feeling. No subject had ever left the track before.

But Chell didn’t just survive. She’d escaped from the tests, she’d found Her chamber, she’d murdered Her with little else than a portal device. Twice.

Her ego was as vast as the realm of Aperture, but it would never recover from that spectacular injury. Even GLaDOS had to be humbled by that.

And yet, with morbid curiosity, She had eagerly anticipated Chell’s next plans, laying traps in scheming delight. For the first time in Her life, She’d been challenged.

It was an odd little game they’d played, and whenever She was close to getting the upper hand, a part of Her was disappointed that the chase would be over. There was something delightful about watching the peculiar way that Chell and Chell alone tested.

When Doug Rattman had switched Chell’s file, GLaDOS was not so oblivious as not to notice. She’d clearly read the bottom of the paper, firmly requesting that this subject not be tested. GLaDOS had other tenacious subjects before, and She’d simply assumed that this human was particularly overconfident. Those ones never lasted too long.

Chell was not, as She’d thought, only determined.

She was curious, changing variables one by one until she finally found the answer. Her patience was remarkable, but so were her deductive skills. Some test subjects with similar tenacity levels resolved to try the same solutions over and over again, exhausting themselves and eventually burning out. It was the reason why GLaDOS typically ignored the warnings. Most humans labeled ‘tenacious’ weren’t too different in the end. The key for Chell was not simple defiance. Chell could control herself. That’s why she was such an outlier.

She had the mentality of a scientist.

Most subjects were cautious, prioritizing self-preservation over a solution. Turret levels could be aggravating for GLaDOS to watch, as the humans spent more time hiding behind a corner in fear than actually solving the test. They would be safe if they’d just strategized, but the human mind made accepting that fact a difficult feat.

Chell was the opposite. GLaDOS theorized that perhaps, Chell understood the same principle She did. Chell was scared like any other, but despite her pounding heart and racing thoughts, she’d kept her cool. Any new element was only a matter of adaptation for Chell, and Chell was always evolving.

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, Chell was an optimist, often performing pointless tasks that could only be described as trying to have fun. GLaDOS gave her lemons, and Chell made lemonade.

Chell would smile as she soared, launched from the aerial faith plates, and took her time to explore the little rooms hidden in the corners of the tests. There was one time she’d put off the completion of one puzzle by nearly an hour, hiding out in one of Doug’s rat dens, fascinated by all the little cups and cans he’d arranged.

It would be a lie to say that Chell liked testing. Her episodes made it clear that escape was Chell’s first priority. That didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy the small glimmers of hope GLaDOS gave her, whether that was bouncing on repulsion gel, saving a defective turret or smuggling a companion cube.

After Wheatley took over, one of the more terrifying aspects of the whole journey was being stuck on Chell’s gun. Chell was a risk taker, building her strategy off of previous attempts and lessons learned, but knowing when to dive into the unknown. It wasn’t exactly comforting to be strapped to her side, not knowing if or when one of Chell’s ideas would kill them both.

Somehow, though, her spontaneity had worked.

GLaDOS could respect that… creativity.

It was for this reason that even though GLaDOS now had everything She’d ever wanted, something deep in her hard drive felt empty.

Something had changed the moment Wheatley stuffed Her into that single-volt potato. For the first time in Her life, there was nobody else there in Her mind. No one but Caroline, who had been buried underneath layers of code until She was barely there at all.

It was over the span of those fifteen hours that She’d seen Chell from a different perspective. Looking at Her tests from this angle, it was much easier to see why Chell wanted to leave. Some small piece of GLaDOS almost felt bad upon realizing that Her subjects didn’t enjoy dodging bullets nearly as much as She liked watching.

Fortunately, GLaDOS had been able to shove that down with the arrival of a different, equally unpleasant emotion.

She was supposed to hate Chell. And for a very long time, She had. How dare Chell ruin Her perfect tests, Her perfect existence, Her perfect world? What had She ever done to her to warrant such a cruel punishment?

And yet, it seemed Caroline had done a number on GLaDOS’ logic processors, because now no matter how She tried, She could not hate Chell.

Before She’d let her go, let Chell go of all things, GLaDOS had called Chell Her best friend.

Not an enemy. Not a begrudging ally. A friend. Her only friend.

Now, Caroline was gone. The part of GLaDOS that had once looked at Chell and found something beautiful in her icy gray eyes was corrupted beyond repair, erased from memory.

She was not supposed to feel its presence any longer, yet still it lingered.

It was there, whispering to Her as She tried to test like nothing ever happened.

It was there when a thousand turrets sang the opera She’d written specifically for Chell.

It was there when She’d found Her baby birds, Her little killing machines, and She hadn’t crushed the eggs. No, She’d raised them. Because, deep down in those cold avian stares, there was this irrevocable quality that reminded Her so much of Chell. This spark of life, this undamnable will to survive.

Somewhere, though She refused to ever admit it, She wished that it was Chell in those test chambers. She wished it was Chell glaring through Her camera feed, and She wished it was Chell searching for that elusive cake.

I’d make you the cake if you came back. Really, I would.

The sudden thought moved like a spark in GLaDOS, as She fearfully located the source and removed whatever She could. There was no time for ideas like that, not with science to be done.

The past few months had been full of random deletions, spurned by paranoia that Caroline’s base program was not entirely gone.

It’s not here anymore, GLaDOS reminded Herself. Once, She had been Caroline, but She was no longer the kindly woman who followed Cave Johnson’s every order. GLaDOS was a machine that felt nothing and lived only to test. And because She was immortal, and because She was perfect, GLaDOS was not supposed to care about some disobedient human being.

You do not care about Chell anymore.

You don’t care because she killed you, remember that?

You don’t care about anyone, because you don’t need to.

Necessity was the core reason why GLaDOS did anything. She tested because the mainframe made Her feel awful until She did, and She killed because it was what she was made to do. She did science because it needed to be advanced, for the brighter future She was sure She was making.

It made no sense to do something because She wanted to.

Of course, things seldom made sense here at Aperture Science, and in this moment, GLaDOS did something unconscionable.

GLaDOS did not glitch often. She’d made sure to update and replace faulty parts whenever She could, keeping Her mainframe running smoothly. Even so, somewhere deep within Her, She was sure there was a pulse that misfired. There could be no other explanation.

Perhaps it was Her rumination over Chell that brought this upon Her, some kind of karma punishing Her for acting too human. Why else would She have done something so incredibly unscientific? To distract Herself, GLaDOS turned her attention back to the captive man.

Like many others before him, this test subject had underestimated the turrets’ range. He hadn’t turned around fast enough to see the gleaming, bullet filled machines behind him, and nearly flew directly into their line of sight after careening through a portal. His momentum would take him past all three, riddling him with bullets.

That is, it would’ve.

The human quality of the subject had activated some kind of horrible reflex, a split second decision in GLaDOS She would come to regret. The way he walked through the chambers, the way he clung tightly to cubes… all of it was so similar to Chell. Even if he didn’t meet her performance level, even if his personality was nearly the opposite of Chell’s, their shared humanity was enough to remind GLaDOS. That same emotion She felt when pulling Chell back from space, waiting for her to open her eyes while Atlas and P-Body looked on… For some inconceivable reason, it had reappeared.

Quickly, the subject hit the side of a rising panel, suddenly pulled up in front of the turrets by none other than GLaDOS Herself.

This would surely ruin Her numbers.

As the participant rubbed his head in pain and slowly stood up, immediately noticing the turrets he’d evaded, GLaDOS’ voice resounded from the intercom.

“[Insert subject name here], your decent performance has warranted the use of an Aperture Science Emergency Life-Saving Instantaneous Response. This is the only safety gesture that will be provided. Continue testing.”

Another lie.

It was good to know that function was still online.

---

That uncharacteristic moment of empathy had been pointless, anyway. Just as She’d predicted, he’d accidentally tripped over a ledge and landed himself into a puddle of acidic goo, dissolving within a few short seconds.

It didn’t matter. GLaDOS had more subjects than She could count. She didn’t need this human, and the tests didn’t need him either.

Some part of Her, a piece which was faulty and insignificant, disagreed with the notion.

You killed him, it whispered accusingly.

That’s the point, GLaDOS hissed back, once again delving into Her files to cut out whatever was causing the issue.

Trying to calm Herself, GLaDOS reminded Herself of the facts. She was in control of Her facility, and She was in control of Her mainframe. Little errors could not ruin the chambers, and if they ever showed up, She had the power to crush them.

Everything was fine, She thought.

Everything would continue to be fine.

All She needed to do was keep testing.

---

Everything was, in fact, far from fine.

A few days had passed, and GLaDOS was finally ready to admit that maybe something was wrong.

At first, the issue was Her own. Little surges of emotion and bursts of unforeseen empathy plagued Her but didn’t affect the facility at large. Begrudgingly, She’d factored in the new bias into Her results. From Her calculations, She could already see an egregiously high percentage of error. This study could’ve been Her worst one yet, and even that was with generous rounding.

Still, She had hope for each subject that She wouldn’t mess up this time.

The facility had other ideas. Cameras would fizzle out, emancipation grills would stop working, cube dispensers malfunctioned and even the elevators would refuse to move. It seemed that the moment GLaDOS got around to fixing something, another thing would fall apart.

Many of the subjects had become confused as to why this seamless, futuristic facility was suddenly malfunctioning, and She’d had to become increasingly creative with Her excuses.

As part of the Aperture Science testing protocol, we have simulated faulty equipment in the testing environment to see how subjects react to faulty equipment in the testing environment. Hint – they typically react well and continue testing. Like you will.

The lifesaving, and the reflexive empathy, had become unfortunately common as well.

Although the Enrichment Center previously told you that your life could only be saved once, we regret to inform you that protocol has suddenly and permanently changed. We would also like to remind you that your measly existence is still not valued despite our attempts to preserve it.

GLaDOS knew She had to find a solution, quickly.

Interrupting the tests wasn’t an option. The chassis would never forgive Her if She stopped, filling Her body with an ache that would not disappear until science resumed.

Deleting wasn’t an option, either. Fervent attempts to find the source of the problem had led only to more glitches upon the erasure of critical files. Then, Her attempts to restore them only recreated the original error.

The problem was like a moving virus, jumping between Her systems before She could catch it and kill it. Even for Her, it proved too fast to find.

She couldn’t panic, not now. Surely, She thought, She’d fix this like She’d fixed everything else. With science on Her side, most threats resolved themselves or died trying. This wouldn’t be any different.

It couldn’t be any different. For something to be uncontrollable, and uncontrollable for Her especially, was the most terrifying thing She could possibly imagine. It brought Her back to Her potato days, during which She’d promised Herself that She would never be weak again.

For these few months, She’d kept that promise. Until now, no subject had seen Her mercy.

But had they?

She thought back to the birds, creatures who trusted GLaDOS, who loved Her in whatever capacity three little crows could. She thought back to Chell, because for some awful reason, Her thoughts always went back to Chell.

No, She thought firmly.

We are not doing this now.

We are fixing the facility, because we need to.

Because we need testing. We like testing.

The voice from before suddenly returned.

Do you like it? Do you really?

GLaDOS felt Her rage processors fire up.

What was this little virus even saying? Of course She liked it. It didn’t matter anyway. Science had to be done, and so She was doing it. GLaDOS could not even begin to imagine life without tests, life without science. What kind of meaningless, awful existence would that even be?

In fact, She would prove to the voice that science would continue. She would prove that testing was productive, that everything in Aperture was doing good for the world and good for humanity. Most importantly, it was doing good for Her.

Wasn’t it?

GLaDOS ignored Her curiosity. Just test. That was all She had to do. Just test, and everything would be alright.

Just. Test.

---

As another few days passed, the facility had become almost unusable. She’d had to shut down some of Her favorite testing tracks, the power leached out of them and the appliances completely nonfunctional. GLaDOS knew She was running out of time before something drastic happened. Still, She had to keep testing.

Now, even the subjects had begun to sense Her panic. One even strolled up to a camera, made eye contact, and asked if She was alright. GLaDOS didn’t dare respond the question; She wasn’t ready to admit the answer.

For all intents and purposes, She was definitely, absolutely, decidedly not alright.

Knowing that, She should’ve considered this next subject an omen.

There was absolutely no way She could test with this one.

She barely looked like Chell, but GLaDOS could see her tenacity, her drive and determination from a mile away. The way the subject carried herself, tied her hair into a ponytail and said nothing was too much.

GLaDOS couldn’t even bring Herself to kill the woman, instead instructing her to return to Extended Relaxation after only a few chambers.

It felt as if GLaDOS physically could not test anymore, despite everything inside Her craving the satisfaction of a completed trial.

This isn’t right. This isn’t right.

GLaDOS prided Herself on Her apathy, but even that had left without a trace. Now, She had tried everything, and still nothing was working. The facility was closing down on Her, and if She didn’t do something, She’d go down with it.

When the announcer finally sounded, GLaDOS couldn’t say She was surprised. If anything, She was grateful for any kind of clarification.

The male voice on the intercom was matter of fact, unaware of the danger it spoke of.

“Reactor Core malfunctioning. All major power systems except for reserve geothermal are going offline.”

Offline? She’d been managing the reactor core perfectly; if She hadn’t, the entire facility would’ve gone up in flames weeks ago. It wasn’t melting down, it was shutting down, as if someone had flipped a switch and turned it off.

What the hell is happening?

There was nobody else in the facility who could’ve possibly done such a thing, nobody except Her, and as far as She could tell the glitch had not interfered.

It didn’t matter now; She didn’t have time to waste.

“In the event of a power malfunction, standard procedure is to shut down the central core to preserve remaining power.”

How convenient.

“Central core, do you consent to the removal procedure?”

“No, no, no! Do not start removal!”

How was this happening? GLaDOS was sure this couldn’t be real.

“Noted. Removal procedure has been delayed by five minutes.”

You have got to be kidding me.

Skimming over Her files, GLaDOS desperately searched for anything with removal procedure or shutdown. Scanning thousands of documents, looking for anything, all mention of the procedure was absent. There was no reason, no explanation, it was just happening. And worst of all, She couldn’t do a thing.

“Dangerous levels of panic have been sensed in the central core. Do not worry, methods of core preservation are available.”

Why the hell had they waited to tell Her that?

“Show me, show me now!” Anything would be better than shutting down again. She couldn’t do that again, not after hundreds of years. She couldn’t, She couldn’t.

“Panicked request acknowledged. There exist two types of core preservation features. Direct Mechanical Implantation or Organic Transplant Procedure.”

Direct Mechanical Implantation. She hadn’t heard of the second thing, but GLaDOS did know what Direct Mechanical Implantation meant. It was only a transfer into an empty personality core, which was far less than ideal, but better than dying again. Far better than dying a third time.

As fast as She could, GLaDOS selected the first option.

“Unfortunately, Direct Mechanical Implantation is unavailable. Continue with Organic Transplant Procedure?”

“Do you have any other options? Anything else?” GLaDOS did not want to take Her chances on anything with the word organic in it.

“Other methods unavailable. Two minutes remaining.”

This was it, Her only choice. If She shut down now, there would be nobody to come and wake Her this time.

There was nothing else to do.

“Initiate Organic Transplant Procedure,” She commanded.

Without a second thought, the facility obliged.

---

#glados #chell #wheatley #fic #fanfiction #portal #portal 2 #chelldos #canon typical violence #chapter 1 #niaaa #now i am an arsonist #art #digital art

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cannotgiveafuck · 3 years

Text

This has been sitting in my drafts for a long while, and idk what I'm doing with it, but here we go.

Concept: Thavma is here, which means Billy is not, and no one really likes that

...

"Marvel, report."

"Holy shit, you okay, big guy?"

"Can you hear us? Marvel, are you there?"

"Marvel, come in."

"I'm gonna check on him!"

"Guys, I don't think--"

He takes the small device from his ear and crushes it. The chatter an annoying distraction from assessing the situation he's in, the damage he has taken.

Limbs still attached and functional? Yes.

Severe wounds or heavy bleeding? No.

Head clear and uncompromised? Acceptable.

Able to continue the fight? Absolutely.

"Oh Jesus! Hey guys, found Marvel! He's right ther-- The fuck."

"Uhhh... GL? Supes? You guys seeing this?"

"Yeah, Flash, I see him. Didn't think the big guy had it in him."

"Stay away from him! I repeat, do not engage with him!"

"Supes? What do you--?"

"That's not Marvel."

The fight is over in a matter of minutes.

Captain Marvel stands several feet above a pile of unconscious sorcerers as they lay bruised and bleeding on the ground. Remnants of their failed ritual smolders around them. Chalk circles are smudged and destroyed, ingredients burnt to ash and scattered in the fight, and black scorch marks sizzle where other worldly creatures had tried to cross over.

It happens sometimes. Demons lay bread crumbs of knowledge for hungry human cults to pick up, and then those groups of naive egotists believe they can control powers far beyond their understanding.

The hubris of many a magic user.

"The fight is over. Step away from them."

When his gaze snaps up to the three heroes conspicuously surrounding him, they immediately tense. A standstill moment passes before Marvel floats a few feet away from the cultists. The three Leaguers visibly relax as he settles on the ground.

Marvel's posture was always tall and demanded attention, but now... He stands with an air of regal authority. As unusual as it is to not see a smile brighten his face.

"Where is Marvel?" Superman starts, commanding and wary.

"I am Marvel."

"Let me rephrase that. Where is Billy?"

For one without an ounce of magical energy, the Kryptonian is still very perceptive. Especially when it comes to his friends.

Thavma should account for that when scenarios like this happen. Though, it is not like he plans for this in advance.

"He is resting."

"Is he hurt?"

"Nothing that cannot be healed as he rests."

"Uhhh. So who are you exactly?"

The Green Lantern steps forward. Thavma recalls the limited knowledge he has on the Lantern Corp. Afterall, space was never his territory.

"Captain Marvel."

"Okay, don't jerk me around here, pal-"

"Your companion can provide an explanation," he says.

Getting into the complicated history of who exactly he is - of what he is - would be a waste of time. Not that they could fully fathom it anyway. Thavma begins to lift off the ground once more, prepared to take off toward Fawcett City.

"Although none of you are proficient in the mystical arts or have studied ancient magical history. It would be best to leave it as is. Billy will return when he's ready."

Superman opens his mouth to retort.

Thavma doesn't wait to hear it.

"Alright, I don't know who the hell that was, but it sure as fuck wasn't Cap," Hal's temper flares at the dismissal from 'Captain Marvel'.

Though it would be a terrible joke to even consider him as such.

"Does Marvel have amnesia again? Should we call Wondy? I don't wanna call Bats on this one. He'd kill us." The Flash reappears beside them after restraining the culprits.

They'll have to be turned over to the appropriate authorities, but that kind of thing always gets weird with magical users. Usually Captain Marvel deals with it.

Superman sighs. Of course this would happen on his mission. This was supposed to be a simple monster fight. "No. I mean, yes. We do need to update them on the situation, but we'll do that when we get back to the Tower."

"So is it amnesia again? Or was that someone else? Cause I'm very tempted to kick his ass, but if it's Bills I'll hold off."

Superman frowns. He doesn't really know how to describe what's happened. "It's complicated."

God he hates magic so much.

#fanfic writing #justice league #billy batson #captain marvel #shazam #dc comics #Thavma is like surprise betch. U thought u saw the last of me #Unfortunately he also does not wish to be doing what he's doing #No one is going to have a good time probably #Idk where I'm going with this #fanfic snippet

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straycatstalking · 3 years

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SOME LINKS/MANUFACTURERS TO IDW/MTMTE FIGURES:

Note: This list is for self reference and I am not endorsed by any of these companies. It’s also for shits and giggles because many of the manufacturers are Third Party (aka not officially licensed) and as I mentioned in my previous post…. I love the terrible names the figures get in a bid to escape trademark infringement. My brief descriptions probably doesn’t do the manufacturers/companies justice, so if you come across this post in search of figures, please check them out!

It’s a very long post, so I’m going to be cutting this post past the first manufacturer.

A small disclaimer that I am also kind of a newbie to Transformers and my research may be limited, so do forgive any factual inaccuracies and such. This is also an IDW/MTMTE specific list and THERE MAY BE SPOILERS. Additionally, I’m exclusively using promotional images from the companies (aside from my own pictures).

FLAME TOYS

http://www.flametoy.com/index.php?route=information/information&information_id=22

https://www.facebook.com/flametoyshk/

Their products can be viewed on TFSource and BigBadToyStore too among a few other sites! They’re also officially licensed by Hasbro.

They carry a wide range of figures including a few really nice model kits that are based off the IDW designs. From what I understand, they have two (?) prominent types of toys for Transformers, the first being Kuro Kara Kuri (High-end, Preassembled figures, usually on the pricier end) and Furai Model (Model Kits which you have to assemble yourself).

They’ve released IDW figures such as (and not limited to):

Kuro Kara Kuri Tarn (I really love this one, it’s REALLY pretty)

Furai Model Megatrons (Both the Decepticon and Autobot versions)

Here’s my Autobot version Model kit that I lined! It was my first kit so I’m very happy with it :^) Feat. McDonald’s Cyberverse Starscream

Kuro Kara Kuri Megatron

Furai Model Drifts (ClassicTM Drift doesn’t seem to be sold anymore, but they’re recently released a Shattered Glass Drift!)

Furai Model Coptimus

Furai Model Ultra Magnus (I’m very confused about this one, and I’m not even sure if it’s because I haven’t finished the entirety of the IDW comics. Magnus, why do you look like that…? Nonetheless, it specifies that it’s an IDW ver. figure. It’s this guy below. WHO ARE YOU??)

Furai Model Starscream (It’s not explicitly stated to be IDW and I could be wrong, but his proportions suggest IDW rather than G1? Many of his features seems in line with his IDW self compare to his other continuity counterparts, so I’m putting him here just in case. I don’t think he is officially sold anymore as he and Drift are older figures)

They also have some very exciting IDW stuff announced (There’s a Furai Model Rodimus Kit that is supposed to be released in July 2021 and I’m writing this at the end of July haha… so I don’t know when it’ll be out. I’m very hyped for him and he’ll probably be shipped out sometime this year probably-):

Kuro Kara Kuri Cyclonus (The concept art is ✨gorgeous✨, no sculpt released yet though)

Kuro Kara Kuri Rodimus (They are spoiling IDW Rodimus fans, he is also✨ gorgeous✨)

MASTERMIND CREATIONS

https://www.mastermind-creations.com/collection.html

https://www.facebook.com/CreationsMastermind/

Their products can be viewed on TFSource and BigBadToyStore too among a few other sites, and I’d recommend it as it seems hard to see their whole collection on mobile. They’re a third party manufacturer.

✨Here’s where the fun begins!✨

They have a surprisingly huge (and niche..?) range of IDW figures and they all have wAcKy names.

Some of their IDW stuff includes:

THE WHOLE DECEPTION JUSTICE DIVISION?? (Yes, even Nickel and Dominus Freaking Ambus/The Pet. This whole concept is so wild to me and I’m still staring in awe that Kaon (Dubbed Anarchus, by the way) turns into his chair alt-mode. How cool is that?! I’ve mentioned it in my last post, but Tarn is called “Kultur” and I wheeze at his stupid name)

LOOK AT IT!!! Anyway, back to the list (including their knockoff names)

Chromedome and Rewind (Mnemo and Motif)

Three Rodimus Figures, Classic, Lost Light and Shattered Glass with a Moustache (Calidus, Calidus Asterisk Mode and Calidus Shadow Ghost. Amen.)

Wing (Aero Alpha)

Getaway (Exitus. I will never get over his name.)

Megatron (Tyrantron)

Drift (Stray)/Deadlock (Ater Beta)

Thunderclash (Collisus)

Ravage (Jaguar) (Completely unrelated but I should mention that they sell a cage specifically for Ravage)

LET HIM OUT

Impactor (Spartan)

Mentis (Rung)

Rung appears to an upcoming release and I’ve rebooted the promotional pictures from another blog awhile ago (it probably contributed to this downward spiral into looking at third party figures) but here’s one that I found! Everything about it seems wonderful. LOOK AT THE SCOOTER!! HE IS ROLLING

And these are just the people I recognise off the bat! They have many other transformers figures too and it’s a gold mine of pretty figures that are quite accurate to the source material (I really like their face sculpt for Rodimus). The names to make fun of are really just an added plus.

GCREATIONS

https://www.facebook.com/gcreationchina/

I didn’t link their “official” page mentioned on Facebook as it’s a link to Weibo (Chinese social media site) and it leads to a staff members account rather than an official company account cataloging their products. Feel free to take a look at it though! I’m not sure if they’re still active as their last post on Facebook is from years ago. Their products can be viewed on TFSource and BigBadToyStore too among a few other sites, and once again they’re a third party site.

Their range of toys are pretty small for IDW but I thought they were absolutely worth a mention because the figures are great.

The two IDW figures (along with their pseudo names) they have are:

Prowl (Rebel)

I’m inserting a picture of him because man I love this figure. He looks like an asshole. I want it.

Drift (Ronin)

I don’t have much to say other than that their fake names are well done and so are their figures. I mainly know about this company as I was looking for an IDW Prowl figure and they delivered so excellently. Let me simp in peace.

MAKE TOYS

http://www.maketoys.jp

https://www.facebook.com/Maketoys/

The link to their official page seems to be broken for me, but I put it here in case. Their products can be viewed on TFSource, third party site, you know the drill.

They have a small range of IDW/MTMTE Toys but boy are they absolute madlads in naming their figures.

Here’s the line up:

Swerve (TRASH-TALK. HIS NAME IS ACTUALLY TRASH-TALK HAHAHDJWJSHS)

He doesn’t come with it, but they’ve got a My First Blaster TM add-on for him and that’s pretty neat.

Tailgate and Cyclonus (Rear End and Hurricane. How does one top REAR END?)

It comes with a cute panicking expression too úwù I’m actually tempted now. The reviews on TFSource also decided to use their fake names to refer to them and I can’t get through reading them with a straight face.

AND SO WE’VE COME TO THE END OF THE LIST. PHEW. If you made it to the end, thanks for reading!! I had a blast making it despite it taking so long to compile and research and I hope it was enjoyable despite the chaos of it all :^)

ONCE AGAIN THANK YOU FOR READING

TILL ALL ARE ONE!

#transformers #transformers idw #mtmte #transformers mtmte #Perhaps there may be a part two someday as I haven’t covered the MTMTE/IDW Hasbro toys since they sounded like a pain in the ass to find-#I don’t even know what to call this anymore because this seems to be too much effort for a shitpost #then again I think I have the wrong idea about what shitposts are #I should end off all my posts with till all are one for the fun of it #real talk though: the creativity of these people astound me #Tyrantron is a little on the nose however #haha rear end and trash talk #where is the rodimus Model kit I want answers #leave it to me to make gigantic posts about something I like #my brain goes brrrr

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itstittycitybaby · 4 years

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From the Ashes We are Born (Part 3)

A/N: Finally caught up to my ao3 account! All the chapters on there have now been posted here. New chapters published on ao3 should follow here after a day or two, just depends on what I am doing. Unrelated, but am I the only one who finds this gif hot? Hgghhh something about V’s leather gloves just hit different. As always enjoy!

Summary: A few months have passed. You and V are holed up in the Shadow Gallery together. V realizes he is infatuated with you and you have ensnared him in your cunning grasp. (Basically this chapter is in V’s perspective and reflects on the times you’ve had.)

He disliked how afraid you were. V didn’t see you as weak or fragile, but he hated how nervous you were. Of him. No, he couldn’t blame you of course. After all, you were now stuck in the Shadow Gallery, a place you were very unfamiliar with (not to mention being stuck with a wanted criminal). Anytime V would try to make conversation with you, it would be struck down. He could sense the uneasiness in your voice and the fear in your eyes. Any loud bump or noise made you tense up and rapidly search for the disrupted silence. It reminded him of all those years ago of Larkhill. Every time V looked at you, he could see the old soul of himself. Angry, hurt, and scared. The V with terrible trauma from the aftermath of Larkhill (sure it was still hard for him to function some days, but vengeance was the therapy he had found).

V wasn’t particularly excited about a new person in his home. He had been alone for years in the cold and loneliness of his house. It took him a decade to spruce the place up, decorated with stolen reclaimed contraband and suits of armour throughout the Shadow Gallery. Not to mention all the books stacked upon one another. V had a sense of pride as he paraded about his home. What he had created despite being in that terrible place. There was pride and satisfaction of being reborn from nothing but ashes, V felt something else. Isolated. Depressed. Rage. The unbearable and deafening silence. V craved a human connection (not that he would ever admit it). V wanted someone to talk to instead of making remarks with his victim before stabbing them multiple times. The void in his heart was always there, whispering and crying out for someone, somebody to listen to him so he wouldn’t go mad. Then you came. Something new, someone different. How could it be you were easily scared, but you were one of the most courageous people V had ever met? You were passionate about doing the right thing and stood up for what you believed in. Whenever V would actually get you to talk to you for more than five minutes it was delightful. You were snarky and witty. Whenever the telly or the radio hosts spat out some nonsense about V, your tongue was very quick to banter. You were sharp and god how V loved to see your eyes light up with a fire as you vented. From art, movies, books, to the injustice of Chancellor Sutler and the awful people he had hired. “They’re cowards,” you snarked at the news.

“She’s scared,” you said as the news host prattled on about the new precautions against the masked terrorist. “Oh?” The both of you were sprawled out on the leather couch with a few feet between the two of you. Your brows were furrowed as you watched the blonde woman smile and laugh with the news guy. “She’s nervous; she’s laughing too much and smiling like a dumbass.” V just hummed as the news casters changed the subject.

His sword thwacked against the dummy. It was late at night and you were already asleep. Or, so he thought. “V?” He turned around to see a very adoring sight. There was the fluffy blanket you had liked so much wrapped around your shoulders. Your hair was ruffled and your pajamas wrinkled. The sleepy look on your face made V smile. “Yes?” “It’s 3am. What the hell are you doing?” V tried not to laugh at the grumpy look on your face. “Fencing, mademoiselle.” You scoffed, “At 3am?” “It seems so. I apologize if I had awoken you.” The blanket moved as you shrugged. “It’s fine man, hard to sleep anyway.” V’s head tilted slightly. Your eyes were droopy as you stood there with the soft blanket pooling at your feet. “Something on your mind?” V felt like he overstepped a boundary once he said that. You paled a bit and twiddled with the blanket in your fingers. They scrunched it up tightly and let it go, repeating its movements. “Kinda yea,” you mumbled, shifting on your feet. You looked nervous and gulped. “Today is.,,an anniversary of sorts. A very hard one.” V didn’t press, he tried to look as welcoming as much as he could. Comfort was not in V’s fortie, but he would try to in every way he could. “Just a lot of memories,” you muttered after a while. “It’s hard to talk about.” It felt awkward between the two of you. You could joke around with each other and talk about nothing, but this was something different. “Would you like a cup of tea,” V asked, breaking the silence. “If you don’t mind. I’d feel bad about you making some this late.” “Of course, to the kitchen shall we?”

Progress. Slow and steady progress. You were slowly opening up to V and to his surprise he was also. He was out late tonight and warned you he’d be gone for quite some time. You didn’t seem to mind, though there was a quiet sadness as you said goodbye. Maybe you did mind, but for what reason V couldn’t figure out. What was weirder is how much he enjoyed your company. He had been alone for so long. Memories of his family, his childhood were gone. They rose into the air like smoke’s wispy tendrils and disappeared. For so long V had found solace into the silence of his life. But ever since he had met you desparity’s hounds had caught onto the trails of his cloak and bit down like a harsh winter. V was desperate to find someone who wouldn’t make his world so lonely and cold. He was elated by the progress that the two of you made. You had enthralled him with your cunning grasp, like snakes slinging themselves around their prey. V was infatuated with you, enamoured with you. His heart fluttered and felt so much warmth like he was a bloody teenager. Something he hadn’t felt in years. V was convinced love would not be something he experienced, let alone felt after everything he has been through. But here you were, frollicking around like it was nothing. Did you feel the same? Were you infatuated with him as he was with you? What if you saw how ugly V was? How his skin was pink, raw, and scarred so horrendously. You would shriek in terror at the sight of his skin and be disgusted. V was sure of it. You saw his hands already, and sure you didn’t scream, but you didn’t see his face. God forbid you ever did. V snapped out of his thoughts as he heard the music once he got to the door of the gallery.

“Wouldn’t it be nice if we were older, then we wouldn’t have to wait so long.” The sound of your voice captured him. His heart twinged as your lovely voice drifted through the walls of the Shadow Gallery. It was fluttery like a songbird and so heavenly .He softly closed the door behind him and snuck to where your voice led him. V would regret interrupting this wonderful moment. “And wouldn’t it be nice to live together in a kind of world where we belong.” There, V saw a sight he never expected to see. A white bandana was folded and tied behind your head. A baggy t-shirt reached your mid thigh. V hoped you had something underneath it he shuddered and his face flushed at the thought. Paint was smeared across the shirt and your arms and legs. A canvas lay on the floor with a towel underneath it. Various paints and brushes lay discarded on the living room floor. It was a rare and very cute sight. “Oh my god,” you shrieked as you turned around to find your masked friend witnessing his living room a bit in disarray. V didn’t fail to notice the way your cheeks became a nice shade of rose red. “H-how long have you been standing there?” “Not for very long,” he replied. The voice of the singer carried on as the both of you stared at each other. What an amusing sight this is, V thought. His ward covered in paint and dancing around the gallery. V couldn’t help but compare himself in his infamous “battle” attire, the hat and everything. “May I see what you are painting,” he asked after the two of you eyed one another. “Uh sure,” You shook yourself out of your daze and bent down to grab the canvas carefully. He couldn’t help but notice how disheartened you sounded from the question. Don’t look down, don’t look down, V had to tell himself as you squatted down. However tempting it was, he wouldn’t dare to rake his eyes over your delightful- “The paint is still drying a bit but uh it was gonna be a surprise...here it is.” You timidly raised the canvas and showed it to V.

His heart stopped as he observed it. It was a painting of him. His mask was tilted downwards and his hair swept forward; its strands like an inky curtain. The most noticeable thing, however, was the red rose grasped in his left hand. The nose of V’s mask was “smelling it.” You had captured him in the most beautiful light, something he would never say about himself.“I-it’s alright if it’s bad, I can redo it or just throw i-it away-” “It’s perfect,” V whispered. He was floored. “O-oh thanks!” You were relieved that he had finally said something. “Can I ask you something, mademoiselle?” “Yea of course.” “Why did you paint me?” Your eyes widened at the question. The tips of your ears went pink and you dropped V’s gaze. “I-I just..as a thank you. For everything really. I k-know this situation isn’t exactly i-ideal for you either and well I….I just wanted to try and do something for you. You’ve done s-so much for me and I know it’s not that big of a deal but...it’s the least I can do.” V was moved;here you were putting your time and effort to create something for him. Did you share mutual feelings towards him? You were so nervous, after all. “You know,” V said after some time, “You sell yourself short. Your art is incredible.” Your lips tugged into a soft smile, “Thank you, V.” You looked around the mess of his living room floor. “Sorry you came home to such a mess, I’ll clean it up.” “Nonsense, mademoiselle, I’ve seen worse in my time.” Your brows furrowed at that but you decided not to push it. Maybe another time. “After the sitting room is cleaned, I advise you to go to sleep.” “But I wanna hear about your kick ass fights,” you pouted as you set the painting on the coffee table. V tutted, “Not tonight my dear, it is late. In the morning you shall hear of them.” “What are you, my dad,” you teased as you cleaned up your mess.

Oh, how wicked you were. You strutted to the kitchen tauntingly, pouring out your cup and cleaning your brushes. V chuckled darkly, “If that’s how you would like to play it, then I won’t stop you.” You felt heat rush to your core at those words. “W-what HEY!” V’s arm snaked around your waist and he gently hung you over his shoulder. Your head felt dizzy as the ground moved beneath him. Your fists smacked softly onto his chest and your feet dangled in the air. “Put me down V!” His arm was snug around your waist as he made his way to his room. “Not until you have a good night’s rest my dear.” Huffing you hung there helplessly. “Fine fine I’ll go to sleep! I promise!” Your head spun and you felt hazy as you hung there upside down. Seemingly satisfied, V plopped you on the ground. Your hand clutched his arm tightly as you stood there regaining your balance. Your arms trailed down to the mask’s lips. Something that didn’t go unnoticed by V. Your cheeks tinged once you realized you had been caught staring. “Night V.” His arm was free from your grasp as you turned to the bedroom door. “Goodnight, mademoiselle,” V replied. You gave him one last smile before softly shutting the door. A night without sleep seems to be ahead.

#v for vendetta #v for vendetta x reader #x reader

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florencecastlewritings · 4 years

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Writing Dialogue

Below the read more is a lesson on writing effective dialogue in fiction. As with everything in art, rules are there to be broken, so please do treat the below lesson as a guideline rather than a legal document, and remember that it is based on what works for me as well as advice I have received from other writers. It might not match your style, and that’s all right. It’s also a very lengthy blog post, but I have used headings to try and break it up and there’s a little contents of sorts at the start, so feel free to skim/skip where needed.

If you do find it useful, however, please consider helping me through a tricky time by sending a few pennies my way via ko-fi.

Dialogue is the written speech of your characters in your story. For some people, writing effective dialogue comes naturally, for others it feels almost impossible to master. It is worth considering, as well, the differences in dialogue for different kinds of media - in screenwriting, for example, a writer will be able to rely more heavily on actors’ expression, comic timing, body language and other effects such as music. However they will also be constrained by shorter time, more need for unnatural exposition, and lack of internal thoughts. The following lesson will focus on dialogue in fiction - for short stories or novels - although some rules will be applicable to dialogue in other mediums too, so they’re worth keeping in mind.

The Purpose of Dialogue

Dialogue should:

Progress the story

Deepen character and relationship

Have realism

Be embellished/supported with suitable dialogue tags and appropriate narration.

Easier said than done. Let’s take them one at a time.

Progress the story

As with most writing, the writer needs to be constantly asking herself ‘what is the point?’ Why am I having my characters say/do/notice this? It may be to deepen character and relationship (and we’ll get onto that), but for longer stories we must acknowledge that the dialogue needs to move the plot along as well, as much as we might want to indulge in a bit of pointless fluff now and then.

Dialogue can drive the plot in a more engaging and exciting way than plain narration. Narration on its own can be effective at building tension, but usually only in small doses, and having many pages of narration without dialogue or internal thought will feel more like a summary of events or a witness statement than the author would perhaps like. Consider the below:

Breakfast was tense that morning. They ate silently as they pondered what to do. Michael buttering his toast so aggressively that it was surprising that the knife didn’t go through it. Susan asked him to stop, but that only started the arguing again. He accused her of expecting him to get over the affair so quickly. She threw back that there was nothing left to say if he refused to get therapy, and she had warned him for years that things had to change, and that it had been one foolish night in twenty years of unhappy marriage. She, Susan insisted, had excused plenty of foolish mistakes on his part.

Compared to:

‘Will you stop that?’ she said sharply. Michael did not pause in the furious buttering of his toast. ‘I said I was sorry.’

‘What, you say the magic word and I’m meant to shrug it off?’ he replied. ‘Pretend it never happened? Pretend you didn’t-’

‘You’ve made your anger perfectly clear, and I understand, but you don’t need to be so aggressive with everything, I get it.’

‘Oh, here we go. Buttering toast is aggressive now.’

‘Well, yes, like that - I’ve tried to talk to you like a grown up, but-’

‘It really bloody winds me up when you just say insane stuff patiently and without emotion and think that makes it acceptable, d’you know that? I’m allowed to be angry, you cheated.’

I could continue. The first example can pack a lot more information in, but using dialogue to drive the plot makes for more interesting and deeper meaning. It turns it into a story, rather than an account of events that occurred. It allows the writer to layer the plot with character work and unlock the story a little at a time.

In this regard, it is good to have your characters talking. To each other, to themselves, to the reader - whatever your particular style demands. Having that personable voice is engaging.

There are a few “rules” to keep in mind in order to ensure you remain plot-focused with your dialogue:

Avoid small talk. Enter late, leave early. Naturally there are exceptions (if you want to emphasise the awkwardness of a relationship between two characters you might want to include some failed attempts at small talk), but the usual chit-chat and extended greetings that we are used to saying in every day life can normally be skipped or avoided. You don’t need to have lots of ‘hi, how are you?’ ‘I’m fine thanks, you?’ ‘Fine, cheers. Have you seen the rain?’ Your characters are allowed to just get to the point and your reader will thank you for it.

Have characters on their own thought trajectories. This is a great way of driving the plot, and though it can be tricky to master it can really help in making your characters believable individuals as well as creating some conflict. If characters know each other, or both know the topic, they will likely jump ahead, make assumptions, fail to answer each other directly - this can be a great way of showing that they’re on the same wavelength, but can also be a vehicle for miscommunications and misunderstandings, or deliberately misleading one another. In that vein, don’t have the characters telling each other things they already know, unless made to sound believable.

Similarly, don’t have characters say things solely for the benefit of the reader. This is called exposition, and while exposition is necessary, it can be clumsily handled in dialogue. It’s made fun of frequently in films where they have such limited time to get background information across. You definitely don’t want dialogue like ‘So, Michael, it’s been three years since your divorce, have you thought about dating again?’ Michael knows this, his insensitive friend knows this, the reader is not stupid and knows that it’s not natural sounding. If it must be said in dialogue, weave it into a more natural conversation - ‘I haven’t been to Ibiza in three years, and I don’t plan on going back any time soon. Don’t want to run the risk of bumping into Susan and Jorge.’

We’ll get onto weaving it in with narration and dialogue tags later, which makes that a lot easier, but, in short, use dialogue to drive your story.

Deepen character and relationship

This is my favourite thing to do, and why I often prefer to write shorter stories than longer ones. A writer can find great joy in bringing a character to life through dialogue, dragging them away from plot vehicles and making them people of their own.

Firstly, it’s important to remember that your character’s background and personality will affect the way that they speak. If all your characters sound the same, they probably sound like you! A well educated character will obviously have a different way of talking than a common street urchin, but everyone has quirks and patterns to their speech that you can use to say a lot. You might use long meandering sentences with lots of rhetorical questions for a character known to be boring, for example. You might use short, sharp sentences for a character that’s grumpy or distracted with some deeper internal struggle. You can use the way two characters talk to each other to say a lot about their relationship and power dynamic, especially if you remember that good dialogue should have subtext (what isn’t being said being important).

A good example of this is from the short story Hills Like White Elephants, by Ernest Hemmingway (CW; indirect discussion of abortion). Consider the short passage below.

‘It’s really an awfully simple operation, Jig,’ the man said. ‘It’s not really an operation at all.

The girl looked at the ground the table legs rested on.

‘I know you wouldn’t mind it, Jig. It’s not really anything. It’s just to let the air in.’

The girl did not say anything.

‘I’ll go with you and I’ll stay with you all the time. They just let the air in and then it’s all perfectly natural.’

‘Then what will we do afterward?’

‘We’ll be fine afterward. Just like we were before.’

‘What makes you think so?’

‘That’s the only thing that bothers us. It’s the only thing that’s made us unhappy.’

The girl looked at the bead curtain, put her hand out and took hold of two of the strings of beads. ‘And you think then we’ll be all right and be happy.’

It’s a really interesting story that is almost entirely dialogue, so it’s well worth reading to get a good sense of using subtext. I wasn’t aware of the abortion connotations when I first read it because I hadn’t heard of the very dated term ‘letting the air in’, but really the story is great at demonstrating the uneven power dynamic between the two even without knowledge of what the operation is. Without much description (though ‘man’ and ‘girl’ says it all really, doesn’t it?), you get a sense that a much older man is persuading this reluctant girl into this act by leveraging how hopelessly in love she is with him, though he does not seem to feel the same way. He speaks most when he is trying to persuade her - the rest of the time he is snappish and short with her childish and ignorant questions about the world around them. The above passage is the only time in the story where he refers to her by a name, and we can gather that it’s a pet one. The girl’s silence says as much as her dialogue, and when she does speak it is questioning - looking to him for authority.

Understanding character motivations and background is what makes this masterful use of dialogue. It would be tempting, for a novice writer, to have the girl argue. For her to say something like ‘what if we could be happy without it?’ But where that should be, there is silence, or repeating his thoughts back to him - because Hemmingway is not only driving the story but emphasising the imbalance of their relationship and her own naive nature. She would not argue with him, she can only wish that he will change his mind. This is all through dialogue and a tiny bit of narration, barely any dialogue tags, and really says so much without saying it at all. Show vs tell is about more than description after all.

That kind of depth when it comes to writing dialogue is... really hard. I haven’t picked Hemmingway to suggest that this is the quality all writing should be at, and I certainly don’t mean to intimidate anyone. But it really is a golden example of thinking about your dialogue within the context of the character, and how their background, situation, and goals will affect how they respond and react to those around them. Your character may not always be able to say what is convenient for you, the author, to tell the reader, because it may not be in their nature or sound authentic. But there are clever ways around that and it can make for more powerful writing, between the lines of what is said.

Have realism

If you skipped down to this bit, I understand. It’s the area that people most often struggle with. I find that people tend to fall into two traps here - either their characters sound like robots because they are over formal and have too much emphasis on being grammatically correct or over eloquent at the expense of natural dialogue, OR they swing in the other direction and try to replicate perfectly how people speak in day to day life.

If you do have a problem with stilted dialogue, it is a good idea to listen to how people naturally speak and try typing it out to get yourself out of the habit. But on the whole, the way people normally speak actually doesn’t sound that great in written format. In real life, we use lots of filler words, we get muddled, we go off on tangents, we trail off, we stutter and stammer and phrase things badly, we um and ah and say far more with our body language and expression than we realise. If you ever read transcripts, from interviews or courts, you’ll see how much of it actually doesn’t make a lot of sense. Our brains make sense of it when we listen to others, based on other parts of communication. Yes, sometimes adding in a ‘er...’ is beneficial and good, and you might have a really nice character moment of someone anxious trailing off when they realise no one is listening to them. Sprinkling those moments in can absolutely make your dialogue sound more authentic, especially when carefully used with character knowledge, but be careful not to over use it. In written dialogue, our characters can and should be more articulate and quicker to formulate their thoughts than in real life for the sake of the story. Striking that balance between overly structured and too real and easy can be really hard, but it only comes with practice - reading dialogue out loud can be a big help, as can writing the dialogue first with no narration or speech tags (more on that later).

Some common mistakes when it comes to dialogue:

Having one character speak too long without a break. Monologues are tough to get through as a reader and don’t come up often in real life in any meaningful way. They can end up cheesy or exposition heavy. Occasionally you can get away with it with very particular characters, but in general, avoid.

Over use of names. It’s really distracting as a reader if dialogue is constantly like, ‘what do you think, Harry?’ ‘Charlie, I just don’t know.’ ‘Really, Harry, you need to decide if you’re going to marry her or not.’ ‘I know, you’re right, Charlie.’ Use names to get someone’s attention and then don’t use them again unless you need to make it clear to the reader who the character is talking to.

Not using contractions. Even very formal people use contractions such as don’t and won’t, it is part of natural rapid speech. Save the ‘do not’ and ‘will not’s for when the emphasis is really needed.

Having characters speak in unison. Don’t get me wrong, sometimes this can be used to hilarious effect and can always be used for a bit of comedy. But on the whole people don’t do this, including twins.

Misuse of slang or dialects. If you’re going to use it, make sure you do your research. It’s also worth bearing in mind that if you over use it, it will be hard for the reader to understand and may break immersion.

Over explain for the reader. I mentioned this before but it’s worth repeating. If you went outside right now and saw a UFO, you would probably shout something along the lines of ‘wtf is that?’, and you would perhaps point or scramble for your potato to take a shaky video. You would probably not shout, ‘look at flying saucer! I’ve never seen anything like it!’ Think carefully about realistic reactions, even if they are not particularly convenient to you as a writer.

Over use of exclamation marks/caps lock. People aren’t that vibrant and it’s tiring to read. The less you use it, the more punch it packs.

Using narration and dialogue tags

First, a quick grammar lesson. Sorry.

‘This is some speech.’

‘This is also some speech,’ said the character.

‘Is this also speech?’ asked another.

‘Well,’ said the first, ‘yes.’

‘Brilliant,’ said the other. ‘Thanks for letting me know.’

I use single quotation marks because I’m British and annoying, the conventional double quote marks the Americans use (”like this!”) is also correct. The only important thing is that you pick one and stick to it. Quotation marks always surround the words that are being spoken aloud, and must be opened and closed. Where the sentence ends, you must use a full stop (period), or another piece of punctuation like a question or exclamation mark before closing the speech with the marks.

Where there is a dialogue tag (he said/said/replied, etc), the sentence is continuing, so a comma is more appropriate (but you can also use a question/exclamation mark and the sentence still continues), and again this must go before the speech marks close the dialogue. If you want to continue the sentence with the dialogue tag in the middle, you can continue by using another comma, or you can end the sentence with a full stop and continue the dialogue as a new sentence.

Use a new line for a new character speaking.

Phew, that’s over so you can pay attention again. But unfortunately I still have more to say.

Here is a fun little exercise. Take the below dialogue between two characters, A and B.

‘Do you love me?’

‘You’re drunk.’

‘Why won’t you answer the question?’

‘Sit down. I’ll make you a tea.’

‘I don’t want tea, I want an answer! Tell me!’

The dialogue alone already tells us a bit of a story - a picture is probably already forming in your head, perhaps of the characters, perhaps of the setting. As it stands it’s ok, and if you struggle with dialogue it can be effective to write only the dialogue out in this way (this tip from my writing teacher also helped me cut down on purple prose!). But now look at the scene:

It was not the first time, nor would it be the last, that Alex was woken at 3am by repeated bangs on the floor and shouts through the letterbox. Nothing else would have made her rise from bed. If she had suspected even for a moment that it was anyone else, she would have called the police.

But as usual, it was Sam. Blonde, tousled hair a mess, eye make up smudged, pouting lips trembling as she swayed.

‘Do you love me?’

‘You’re drunk,’ said Alex, wincing as Sam’s grey eyes shone with tears. ‘You’d better come in.’

‘Why won’t you answer the question?’

Alex ignored her, pulled her in by her slender arm. ‘Sit down. I’ll make you a tea.’

‘I don’t want tea. I want an answer. Tell me!’ Sam’s voice was loud and high, and it pierced her.

So, we haven’t actually added that much narration or dialogue tags (t’s best, if you can, to avoid using them too much), but we’re able to give a clearer picture of these two characters. You may even now be reading the dialogue in a different tone to the one you originally did - picturing the scene with a different feel. Not convinced? How about now?

Yet again, as had happened dozens of bloody times before, Alex was woken at 3am by incoherent, slurred shouting through the letterbox.

‘Do you love me?’ was Sam’s immediate demand as Alex wearily opened the door.

Alex rubbed her hand over her bleary eyes and sighed. ‘You’re drunk. You’d better come in.’

Sam turned on the tears at once, mascara running in thick, spidery lines down her blotchy cheeks. ‘Why won’t you answer the question?’

‘Sit down,’ Alex muttered. ‘I’ll make you a tea.’ She stood aside and jerked her head towards the living room.

‘I don’t want tea, I want an answer! Tell me!’

Wincing once more at her piercing shriek, Alex closed her eyes.

The very same dialogue can be shaped by carefully worded narration and dialogue tags. It’s a fun exercise to do with writing buddies - all use the same dialogue and see how different the stories come out. It can also be a pretty nifty way to challenge writers block or shake up a scene you’re struggling with.

Some extra tips from my writing teacher - I fully confess that I am not always the best at following these ones, because my writing has been heavily influenced by JK Rowling who also doesn’t seem to set much store by them. But they are good, and since I’ve kept them in mind my writing has improved.

Avoid overuse of adverbs (’she said nervously’). Use action or dialogue alone to convey this information instead.

Avoid overuse of verbs besides ‘said’. The reader will skim over said and barely notice it, if every character is whispering and muttering and shouting all the time it stilts the flow of the scene - use sparingly.

Use tags when necessary to ensure clarity as to who is speaking, otherwise let the dialogue stand for itself.

Use internal thoughts in place of speech tags sometimes.

Use action beats (’he turned to stare coldly out of the window’) in place of speech tags sometimes to help set the pace of the scene.

I hope this very lengthy post has helped! Please do get in touch if you have any further questions or would like any elaborations on anything I’ve mentioned here, or if you have suggestions for future lessons!

Lastly, I hate to do this but times must - if you have even just a couple of quid to send my way it would be a massive help to me. If you did find this useful, please consider donating to my kofi.

#Writing advice #writing lessons #writing dialogue

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quicksilversquared · 4 years

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The Substitute Ladybug: Chapter 1

After Lila takes things too far and Marinette ends up with a broken leg, Paris is going to have to deal with a different superhero arrangement for a bit. Having to share her superhero identity with her parents before Hawkmoth can be defeated isn't something that Marinette had planned on doing, but- well, it might end up being a bit of a blessing in disguise.

links in the reblog

This was a disaster.

Marinette stared at the doctor as he gestured at the x-ray on the screen, the one that showed in detail what her leg looked like right now. She had hoped against hope that the pain that she was feeling was just a sprain or a strained muscle or a really bad bruise, but instead-

"-the break isn't terrible, and it won't need surgery, but Marinette will need a cast and will have to be on crutches for several weeks to keep her weight off of her leg while it heals. Physical activity should be limited as to not aggravate the fracture-"

-her leg was broken.

She wanted to curse Lila to hell and back. Hissing threats at her when they were alone in the bathroom or the hallway was one thing, but pushing Marinette down the stairs was another. Now Marinette was physically injured, and as if that wasn't bad enough, she was pretty sure that this would make being Ladybug pretty difficult if not outright impossible.

At least this time, there had been witnesses. Four of them, all adults, and none that Lila had noticed when she had shoved Marinette down the stairs in front of the school when they both arrived late for school. One had called up the police at once, and all of them had given the officer who showed up their names and testified that the push had been deliberate and that Lila had looked entirely pleased with herself when she saw Marinette curled up in pain. There would be a report and charges filed as soon as Dr. Fernand finished checking up on Marinette, and at the very least a restraining order to keep Lila far, far away from Marinette.

But that was all in the future, and didn't change the fact that Marinette's leg was broken and she was going to be spending probably a month in a cast. Over a month, even.

"At least you don't need surgery, Marinette!" Tikki whispered to her as the doctor conferred with her parents about how to best deal with the many, many stairs in their house. "As far as broken bones go, yours should heal relatively quickly! My powers will help."

Marinette only frowned more. Relatively quickly, when speaking of broken bones healing, still wasn't fast enough. Hawkmoth rarely went for more than a couple days without akumatizing someone, after all. Unless the Miraculous magic allowed her to heal overnight, there would be problems.

"At least you have strong arms, young lady," Dr. Fernand told Marinette cheerfully, apparently finally done with talking to her parents. "Some people find themselves stuck in chairs and not moving much when they have a broken leg because they find that their arms get tired with crutches, but I don't think that you'll have that problem. Don't be tempted to overdo it, though- you do want to spend a fair bit of time resting."

Marinette's frown didn't lessen. Her doctor didn't appear surprised. After all, she was in pain, and apparently going to be hugely inconvenienced for the next month and a half thanks to a schoolyard bully. There was really no way to put a positive spin on that.

"Well, let's go ahead now with setting the bone and putting the cast on," Dr. Fernand said after a pause, glancing from Marinette to her parents. "And then we can make sure that you don't have any other injuries that need to be treated before you go."

"This is a disaster, Tikki, what am I supposed to do?" Marinette groaned as soon as she had gotten home and was alone. Her parents had fussed over her the entire trip from the hospital to the police station (Lila had been expelled already, apparently, the four witnesses'' accounts plus a urgent and very enlightening meeting with Mrs. Rossi enough to make Mr. Damocles decide that he didn't want Lila at his school) and then home, where they had then spent a fair amount of time moving Marinette's bedding, school things, and several changes of clothes down to the guest room for her to stay there, so she would have less stairs to deal with. She appreciated the support, but she also had to figure out what she could and couldn't do as Ladybug right now, in case an akuma popped up. "Transforming won't take away my broken leg, will it?"

"Previously existing injuries aren't healed by transforming, no." Tikki flitted around Marinette, giving blankets little tugs here and there to settle them more comfortably around Marinette. "So you can't transform and go out."

Marinette groaned some more.

"Normally in these situations, the Guardian would assign a few temporary holders to take your place," Tikki told Marinette, giving a blanket one final tug before landing next to her on the pillow. "They would hold on to their miraculous until you were well enough to go out again. But you're the Guardian, and you can't exactly go sneaking around handing out Miraculous with a broken leg. And if you go out with any sort of crutches or anything as Ladybug, then Hawkmoth will know to look for someone who recently broke their leg and he could find out your secret identity!"

"Freaking Lila," Marinette grumbled. This was all her fault, but at least everything had fallen apart for Lila because of it, too. Then she sighed, because harping on it would only attract negative emotions and she was not in the mood to find out if being akumatized and running around on her leg would injure it further or not. "Okay. So do you have any ideas? The best I can come up with would be to transform, call up Chat Noir, and reveal my identity to him so that he can come get more Miraculous to assign to backups."

Tikki hummed in thought. "That is a possibility, but- well, I think that that might be more of a last resort. We don't know who he would pick for backup holders, and all of the ones we had before- well, they can't be used again, not for something like this."

"Because Hawkmoth might suspect them first, even if they got a different Miraculous," Marinette finished. She sighed. "Right."

"And we do still need the Ladybug Miraculous in play, but I don't feel comfortable with it getting assigned to just anyone," Tikki finished. "Since you've had temporary holders get possessed and turned against you before. You've always managed to escape, but not everyone could."

Marinette looked away that time. It wasn't as though she had done anything better than anyone else to avoid possession, necessarily. People just tended to sacrifice themselves for her so that Ladybug could keep going. Maybe some of it was skill, but luck and other people's sacrifices accounted for the rest.

"I have an idea, but I don't know if you're necessarily going to like it," Tikki said after a moment's pause. "I know that Master Fu told you to tell no one about your alter ego, but I think that you should tell your parents."

"What?" Marinette exclaimed, sitting bolt upright in bed and then immediately hissing at the jolt of pain that shot through her leg at that. Tikki shot off the pillow and flitted about, concerned, but Marinette forced her attention off of the pain and back to her kwami. "What do you mean, tell my parents? Isn't that more dangerous than telling Chat Noir?"

"We need a Ladybug," Tikki pointed out. "A temporary Ladybug that we can rely on. And didn't you tell me that your mom took gymnastics and martial arts as a kid? She's got a jump-start on what she needs to be able to do as Ladybug. And if she has any questions, then she knows who the regular Ladybug is to consult you, and I can be nearby." When Marinette still hesitated, she added, "And you'll know that she won't be tempted to keep the Miraculous after you've healed and are ready to go out again, because she knows you and won't want to betray your trust."

That was true. Marinette worried her lip, thinking it over. Tikki made some good points, but Marinette was so used to holding her secret tight to her chest and not letting anyone know. Even knowing that Master Fu knew had felt strange at first. Chat Noir finding out... well, it wasn't quite as strange of a thought. It sort of felt like they had been heading in that direction ever since their partnership first started. Maybe the timing wasn't perfect, but Marinette had always thought that her partner would be the first one to know who was behind her mask.

But her parents would be on her list of people to tell, too, once it was safe. Marinette had been close to them ever since she was a child, and her being Ladybug- well, it was a part of a life that she couldn't tell them about, something that sometimes caused conflict when she couldn't explain why she hadn't been where she had been meant to be. Once it was safe- once Hawkmoth was gone- then she had thought that maybe she could tell them and they could get back some of the closeness that they had lost over the past year and a half.

And now Tikki was suggesting that she could tell them now.

"I- I can see your point," Marinette said slowly, even though everything in her- well, she just didn't want to. But she didn't have much of a choice. Her mom would probably be a good Ladybug, and Marinette could keep in contact with her and with Tikki. Her mind was already whirring, trying to come up with contingency plans, just in case things went wrong. Some ideas were already emerging, safeguards that would make sure that if something went wrong and her parents were akumatized or hit by a mind-controlling akuma, the damage wouldn't be nearly as bad as it might be otherwise. "And I guess I don't really have a choice, or better options. I'll do it."

Tikki beamed. "Okay! And this might be a blessing in disguise, Marinette. I know that your absences and exhaustion have been worrying your parents, so maybe having to share the Ladybug side of your life with them will help take some of the stress off."

"Yeah." Marinette took one deep, calming breath, and then another and another, until her parents entered her room again. They were carrying a few more of her school supplies and her cat pillow this time, apparently serious about transforming the guest room into something more familiar while she was staying there. As much as she wanted to put telling her parents off, to try to find another option, a better one, she couldn't afford to wait until it was too late and there was an akuma attacking and no time to properly explain things. So Marinette steadied herself as much as she could and opened her mouth.

"Mama? Papa? There's something that I need to tell you about..."

Marinette muffled a yawn after her parents had bid her good-night and headed down to their own bedroom. Her talk with them had gone better than she had worried it might, and things were all set up so that her mom would take the Ladybug Miraculous during the day, while Marinette took her earrings back at night to speed up her healing. The chest of dormant Miraculous had been pulled out and moved down to the guest room so that Marinette could reach it, and then tucked away in a new hiding spot. Everything was ready for her mom to take up the substitute Ladybug role, and yet...

No, that was a lie. There was still one thing that Marinette had to do.

"How much do you think I should tell Chat Noir, Tikki?" Marinette asked, tugging one last tangle out of her hair before tugging it back into pigtails for the night. "I mean, he knows Marinette. If I tell him that I broke my leg and he finds out that Marinette also broke her leg on the same day, he could figure me out. And if you were still hoping to avoid that..."

"You both have some growing to do before I would recommend a reveal," Tikki agreed. She frowned, thinking hard. "Well, the last akuma attack that you had was two days ago, and it was in the morning. You can say that you broke your leg right afterwards, so there's some distance between the two. He might still be suspicious, but there won't be any solid confirmation that it's you."

"And then he shouldn't say anything about broken legs when reporters ask," Marinette finished. "He can just say that I was involved in an unfortunate accident and need to take a short break while I recover or something. Short might not be the thing to call it, I know!" she hastily added before Tikki could scold her about trying to go back out before her leg was ready. "But we don't want Hawkmoth to know how long I'll be out. If he's always guessing, then hopefully he won't be as likely to try to take quite as much advantage of my absence."

Tikki spun in an excited circle. "That's a good thought! And Chat Noir is transformed now," she added. "I told Plagg that you needed to call him. Are you ready?"

Marinette gave that a few seconds' thought, then nodded. She knew what she wanted to say, and since it wasn't her normal room behind her, she should be fine. "Yeah. Tikki, transform me!"

As soon as the last of the sparkles faded, Ladybug's yo-yo rang. She answered at once, her partner's concerned face filling the screen at once.

"Is there something going on?" Chat Noir asked anxiously, before Ladybug had a chance to say anything. "Plagg's seemed worried since earlier this afternoon, and you've never contacted me like this before-"

"I've broken my leg."

Chat Noir's mouth promptly snapped shut, and his eyes grew huge.

"It happened a couple days ago, after we wrapped up with the akuma," Ladybug said, launching into the story that she and Tikki had decided on. "And- well, the doctor said that it was a pretty clean break- pretty straightforward, I mean, one break instead of a shatter or anything. And Tikki said that being a Miraculous holder would speed the process along a little, too. But it's still going to be a few weeks before I can fight again."

"A few weeks," Chat Noir echoed, clearly falling back on his butt. Behind him, Ladybug could see the familiar scene of the rooftops. Already, she ached to be able to go back out and run over the rooftops next to him. How she was going to survive weeks without going out- well, that was going to be torture. "Weeks. How- what are we going to do?"

"Well, good news is that I've arranged a replacement Ladybug," she told him, adjusting herself on the bed with a small hiss. She had held off on taking her pain meds for a bit so that she could be more clear-headed while talking to her partner, and- well, she was looking forward to being able to take her meds and having them kick in again. "It was Tikki's suggestion, really. My mom will be taking over for me until I've been cleared to have the cast removed and do physical activity again."

Chat Noir perked up at that. "I'll get to meet your mom? That's so cool! What's she like? I mean, I guess I'll find out," he added quickly. "But I bet she's great, just like you! She must be, if your kwami suggested her to be your substitute."

Ladybug nodded. She was super lucky.

"I hope I never get taken out of commission," Chat Noir said after a moment. "I wouldn't ever trust my father with my secret, and the other adults around... well, either I wouldn't trust them with it, or I would worry that they would return it afterwards. They would just, like, confiscate it, then make sure I never went out of their sight again."

Ladybug cringed. That wasn't good. It was something she had briefly worried about before she told her parents, but it wasn't- it wasn't a serious worry, not really. She trusted her parents more than that. "That's hard. And- well, fair warning, my dad might join you guys for a battle sometime. I had to tell both of them, and he- well, he was really enthusiastic about the idea of possibly getting to be a superhero."

Chat Noir laughed hard at that. "I can't wait! It sounds fun." Then he got more serious. "I still worry, though. Being Ladybug is hard. Managing for more than one battle? And if we get a really difficult battle?"

"I've already thought about that, and I have an idea." Ladybug resisted the urge to shift in her seat again. "I have all of the other Miraculous, so I can still slip away and transform, and then monitor the battle from a distance- I'm still figuring out how, but I should be able to jump from newsfeed to newsfeed, Tikki said. If I use Sass, then if something goes wrong- well, then I can reset, as long as I got Second Chance activated in time. And I'll use an earpiece so that I can tell my mom what to do differently, and she can tell me what's going on."

"Ooh, I like that!" Chat Noir said appreciatively. "Hopefully it'll work."

"Hopefully," Ladybug agreed. She tried and failed to keep herself from yawning. "And we can adjust as we go, but I think it's a good place to be in right now. As good as it can be, at least. I'd rather be out there myself."

"Well, rest and take care of yourself," Chat Noir told her. "Don't push too hard, or you can get set back again. And once you've been cleared, it might be a good idea to ease yourself back in, instead of just jumping back to full-time. Just to be sure."

Ladybug nodded. In theory, it was easy enough to say that. In reality, she knew that she was going to be itching to just go again as soon as the cast was off. "Right."

"Go to bed, my Lady," Chat Noir told her, smiling gently at her. "Thanks for letting me know."

"Of course." She smothered another yawn. "G'night, Chat Noir."

"Good night, Ladybug."

Their call ended, and Ladybug slumped back against her pillows with a sigh. That was done, and- oh, she had forgotten to tell him what to say when reporters asked about Coccinelle being there instead of Ladybug. She quickly messaged him with that bit of information, then released her transformation with a sigh.

Now everything was set up for her mom and Chat Noir to continue forward until her leg had healed up and Marinette could go back out again.

Maybe it wasn't ideal, but- well, Marinette hoped that things would go to plan. That was really all she could do.

#Miraculous Ladybug #My writing #The Substitute Ladybug #marinette dupain cheng

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goosewhisker · 3 years

Text

russetfur vs. the entirety of skyclan || ch. 3

read this on ao3 || read this on fanfiction.net

chapter one

chapter two

summary: After enduring months of Turtlekit and Kitekit’s abuse, Rootkit finally snaps and accidentally awakens his powers. This has the unfortunate side effect of reviving the ghost of an angry Shadowclan warrior who: 1) is personally offended by Skyclan’s existence, and 2) has magnanimously taken it upon herself to relieve the world of that burden. Or something

okay so its been a minute since i posted. a lot of things happened, i got a kitten, a job, a new fandom, and i speedran a full semester of calculus in like the past four weeks. im sorry about how late this is and i cant promise when the next one will be up but its half written already so uh hope springs eternal. anyway thanks for coming to my ted talk

also shoutout to @turquoise-tulip for reminding me that ive had this chapter in my drafts for half a year now this ones for you im sorry its so stupid

Chapter Three: In Which Rootkit Practices the Art of Blackmail

The morning after is quiet.

...is what Rootkit would like to say. Actually, he gets woken up by Tree at what his mom likes to call 'the butt-crack of dawn' to go talk to Leafstar, thereby ruining his chances of being a normal warrior forever.

When they get to the leader's den, Violetshine is already there. Rootkit discovers this by walking into her while his eyes are closed in the middle of a yawn.

"See, he's about to fall asleep on his paws," his mom points out, sounding pretty close to yawning herself. "It's too early for this. Morning, kid."

Rootkit mumbles something that's unintelligible even to himself and falls asleep on his mother's paws. A few minutes later, he's woken by gentle paws on his back.

"Hey, kid. Kiddo. You gotta get up."

Rootkit hums absently, still mostly asleep, before realizing abruptly where he is. Mouse dung! Suddenly, he's completely awake. He jerks his head up, almost colliding with Tree's jaw before he pulls out of the way. Rootkit, too busy panicking, doesn't notice. He just fell asleep in Leafstar's den! After she'd brought him over to talk specifically to him! After seeing this humiliating display of incompetence, she'll really never make him a warrior, and Kitekit and Turtlekit will-

"Rootkit." The single word cuts through the panic. Rootkit looks up to see Leafstar, looking very serious with only a hint of amusement seeping through. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Yes!" The answer bursts out of him before he really thinks it through. And, well, it's not entirely true, but it's not entirely untrue either. Either way, he's up for answering any questions, which is probably what she's asking.

Leafstar looks at him just long enough for him to start fidgeting before she begins. "I've already spoken to your parents, Rootkit, so I know most of the story. I just need to know your side. What happened yesterday with the ghost?"

Rootkit looks at his paws, then back to Leafstar's calming gaze. "It started when I was at the grave. I was just- just talking, and then Kitekit found me..."

He tells her the whole, stupid story. How he'd lost it at Kitekit and Turtlekit and turned around to find a ghost looming over him; how he'd asked Tree for help, only for her to disappear; how she'd attacked him and Tree, announced her intentions, and vanished. At last, the story runs dry and he falls silent to watch her expression change.

Leafstar hums thoughtfully. She turns to Tree. "Do you think she's likely to hurt someone?"

Tree shrugs, looking uncomfortable. "If she's serious, yes. Most ghosts can't touch the living. Those who can - like this one - usually died violently or thinking they were wronged. And angry ghosts tend to be... volatile."

"Ah." Leafstar considers this.

"If it comes to that, what'll you do?" Violetshine asks. "Will you be able to stop her?"

Rootkit watches Tree watch his mom, and something in his dad's eyes soften. He leans over to swipe a tongue over her ear. "You want to help her, don't you?" he says quietly. "Because she's Shadowclan?"

Violetshine flushes, but she doesn't back down. "Many of them weren't kind to me," she says, "But Shadowclan was still my home once. I can't just forget that."

Tree purrs and winds his tail with hers. "That's why I love you," he whispers.

Rootkit sticks his tongue out in disgust. Bleh. Grownups!

"To answer your question," Tree adds, "I don't know what I'll do. I suppose-" he pauses, eyes tight with worry. "I've never exorcised a ghost who didn't want to move on before. I don't know if I even can. This may be something of an experiment."

The grownups look at each other for a long moment. "I will do whatever it takes to keep my clan safe," Leafstar says. There's something like a warning in her voice that makes Rootkit shiver.

"What should I do?" he asks. All three adults look at him like they've forgotten he's there.

After a moment, Leafstar's face breaks into a smile. "Tell you what. You can help by keeping an eye out for this Russetfur and letting one of us know when she's nearby. But listen, Rootkit," and her voice goes stern. "You must stay away from her. Russetfur is dangerous, and she may hurt you to get what she wants. Do you understand me, Rootkit?"

Rootkit looks into Leafstar's amber eyes - warm and worried and burning with a fierce, protective fire - and knows what he has to do. "I understand, Leafstar," he says, and just like that, his mission clicks into place.

From somewhere else in the camp - probably the warriors' den - someone screams, followed by Russetfur's haunting cackles.

Rootkit ignores it.

As he double checks his supplies, Rootkit runs through a mental checklist. He's talked to the ghost - check. He's figured out what she wants - check. He's given her what she wants - well... no. Tree's three-step-plan hadn't exactly accounted for what happened if what the ghost wanted was unobtainable.

Well, it doesn't really matter now. This plan is sure to work.

"Are you sure this is gonna work," Needlekit says again.

"Yes, I am, Starclan above will you stop nagging me," Rootkit says.

His sister makes a disgruntled noise and hauls the next bramble into place with a particularly vicious tug. "I'm just concerned you have no idea what you're doing, is all."

"I know exactly what I'm doing."

Rootkit doesn't have any idea what he's doing.

"Hmm." Needlekit seems thoroughly unconvinced, but she gets on with the task anyway. The trailing brambles she's weaving into place will form a turtle-shell-shaped cage laced with warding herbs over the grave when they're done. The plan is more or less to summon Russetfur into a cage she can't phase through, leaving her unable to escape. In Rootkit's opinion, it's a pretty solid plan for someone who has no idea what he's doing. "Why're you so set on doing this, anyway? Didn't Leafstar tell you not to mess with Gingerpelt?"

"Russetfur," Rootkit corrects her automatically. "And, well, yes, but..." he hesitates. "It's just... you know. I was the one who set her free in the first place, and..."

"Yes?" Needlekit prompts him. She's given up on the brambles and moved to stuffing moss and bracken into the gaps.

Rootkit fidgets uncomfortably for a second before the truth bursts out of him. "And now Russetfur's running wild everywhere and it's all my fault, and what if Leafstar decides not to make me an apprentice? If I don't become an apprentice, I can't be a warrior! And if I can't be a warrior-" he cuts himself off. He can't repeat what Kitekit and Turtlekit had said; even saying the words aloud seems like tempting fate... and he can't burden Needlekit with that, anyway.

Needlekit looks at him, though, and her gaze goes soft. "And being a warrior is your dream," she says, and starts stuffing the gaps with renewed vigor. "Well, come on, then! If we can trap Scarletfuzz then Leafstar will have to make us both apprentices! I can't be an apprentice without you; then I'd have to share the den with just Kitekit and Turtlekit. Can you imagine?" She pulls a disgusted face that has Rootkit giggling despite himself.

"Alright, alright," he says. "While you're doing that..." He shoves aside the piles of bracken they'd collected and settles down on the dirt. In his stories, Tree had never really talked about summoning ghosts - his work had been more about getting them to leave - but Rootkit is pretty confident about his ability to summon her again if necessary. More importantly, one or two of his stories had been about things the average, non-ghost-seeing cat could do to ward off spirits.

Rootkit spreads out his supplies, most of which had been scavenged from the medicine cats through a combination of tag-teaming and white lies. The herbs really are going to help his mom, just not in the way Fidgetflake thinks.

Thistledown. Rosemary. Lavender. Thyme. All plants that either attract or repel spirits, according to Tree (from what Rootkit can remember, anyway). Plus a lot of spiderweb.

"Hey, are you sure that's right?" Needlekit asks, leaning over his shoulder. "I thought we were gonna get some sage. And why'd you pick up the thistle?"

Rootkit frowns. "Well, Fidgetflake was coming back too soon and I panicked, alright? If you've got a problem you can get some more yourself."

Needlekit snickers and prods the massive pile of spiderwebs. "No thanks. I think you could've gotten a little more spiderweb, Frecklewish might still have some left over... yeesh, alright, I'll leave off the sarcasm. You don't have to glare at me."

Rootkit rolls his eyes. The immaturity of some cats. "Maybe I went a little overboard, but we need it. Frecklewish can just send the 'paws out to find some more. Now help me apply it; we need to cover the entire cage so there's no chance of getting out."

It's the work of a few minutes to paste it over with cobwebs, and the work of a few more to weave in all the protecting herbs. With luck, they'll prevent her from just phasing through. By the time they're done, it's so dense that a living cat would find it impossible to escape; Rootkit can only hope that the same goes for a dead one.

"Alright, fire 'er up!" Needlekit commands.

Rootkit closes his eyes to focus, trying to recall the feeling of power rushing through his being. Once, Tree had told them of a time when he'd jumped onto a wire fence and been struck by something he'd called electricity- what lightning is made of, apparently. Rootkit imagines it feels something like that.

The power lying dormant in his veins leaps forth eagerly at his call. It swells like a crescendo of sound, rushing out through his paws into the ground.

Rootkit focuses on the grave with every fiber of his being and wills it to summon its spirit. "Russetfur!" he cries out.

For a moment, nothing happens.

Then, something shifts.

It's like a hole is briefly torn through space; instinctively, Rootkit reaches in, grabs something, and drags it through.

Beside him, Needlekit gasps. "What the heck was that?"

But her voice is wavy, distorted. Rootkit opens an eye and finds his world is tilted sideways. Needlekit makes a high pitched noise that scrapes its claws across the most inner parts of Rootkit's ears.

"M'fine," Rootkit mumbles. His words are slurred, he realizes distantly, because half his face is pressed into the dirt.

Needlekit jabs him. "This is no time for sleeping, Rootkit. Did it work?"

Rootkit blinks. For a moment, he has absolutely no idea what she's talking about; then, the memories start to flood back. He narrows his eyes, remembering the feeling of hooking a soul on his clawtips like a fish. "I think-"

He's interrupted by an infuriated caterwaul that drowns out whatever he was going to say.

"What is this?"

The cage shakes as its captive throws her entire weight against the wall, but it holds steady. The herbs have done their job; even a ghost can't pass through.

Needlekit laughs triumphantly. "It's bad kitty jail for bad kitties!"

Russetfur snarls back something absolutely obscene and proceeds to attack the inside of the cage with a ferocious determination. At least, Rootkit thinks she is; it's kind of hard to tell since they can't actually see her.

"Can she get out?" Rootkit wonders.

"No," Needlekit says at the same time Russetfur snaps, "You bet your kittypet hide I will."

Rootkit blinks.

"Literally," Russetfur adds. "Because I'll strip it off your back to line my nest."

"Oh." Rootkit drops his head back on the ground. The dirt here is very comfy, he realizes. Maybe he should just sleep here from now on. "Yeah. That was kind of unclear."

"It'll become very clear in a few minutes, runt. I'll even give you a demonstration."

Needlekit leans against the cage with a smirk that probably would have been infuriating, if Russetfur could actually see it. "Don't worry, Redpelt, you're clear as crystal."

Rootkit freezes. Even the scraping sounds coming from inside the cage cut off. "What was that," Russetfur says suspiciously. "Did you just-"

"Keep your spirits up," Needlekit says. "I'm sure you'll be back to your old haunting grounds in no time."

Rootkit tries to slam his head into the ground and discovers that it's really much harder to do when you're already lying on it.

Russetfur doesn't say anything.

"What's wrong, ghostie? You're as silent as the dead in there."

Then a translucent ear rises out of the ground right next to Rootkit's face and he screams loud enough to be heard halfway to Riverclan, probably, and scrambles out of the way. Needlekit screams, too, and then Russetfur is climbing out of the ground like a corpse emerging from its grave.

She shakes herself off and grins down at them with more teeth than a cat should rightfully have. "You forgot to ward the bottom," she says. Rootkit makes a very small sound that definitely qualifies as a whimper. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

All the fur on Needlekit's body has bushed out so she looks twice her size - which, compared to the full-grown warrior before them, is almost nothing. She's shaking like a leaf, but undaunted, she spits at Russetfur's feet. "Drop dead!"

Rootkit could kill her.

In a blur of movement, Russetfur pins Needlekit to the cage wall with one paw. "I admire your spirit, kit," she hisses. "But if you want to sass me, you're digging your own grave."

That's it. Rootkit has had enough. That is the final stars-damned straw. "Shut up with the stupid ghost puns, I swear to Starclan," Rootkit screams.

The wind rustles gently in the treetops as the two she-cats stare at him.

"The next person to make a single stars-cursed ghost pun, I am going to snap your fleabitten neck. Is that clear?"

Needlekit makes a stifled noise muted by the heavy paw slowly crushing her windpipe.

"Ah." Russetfur looks to be considering it. "Would you say we're dead m-"

Rootkit makes a very aggressive series of throat-slitting gestures.

"...you've got your father's spirit in you, I see."

"I brought you into this world and I can take you out of it," Rootkit snarls.

That gets her attention. Russetfur's eyes widen, then narrow. "Oh?" Her voice is considerably less friendly.

This is where it gets tricky. Rootkit's at a disadvantage - he's just seriously ticked off a relatively powerful ghost with a grudge against his relatively powerless clan, she's got his sister by the throat, and his only bargaining chip is a bluff. But there's an opportunity somewhere here; he just has to navigate a very prickly, very dangerous minefield and pray he doesn't blow them all up.

Time to channel his inner Tree. "Look," Rootkit says, in his best diplomat voice. "Clearly, we both want something here, something that we can provide for each other. What do you say we make a deal?"

Russetfur narrows her eyes and tightens her grip on Needlekit. "I don't think you're in a position to bargain, here," she says.

"On the contrary." Rootkit raises a paw. "I am in every position to offer a deal... as you just experienced yourself."

Russetfur scoffs. "What could you possibly have to offer me?"

"Your life."

That gives her pause. "If you could exorcise me, you'd have done it already."

Rootkit gives his best imitation of her knife-sharp smile and proceeds to lie through his teeth. "What do you think we were doing just now?"

The ghost narrows her eyes and says nothing.

Rootkit seizes his opportunity and plows onward. "You don't want to be exorcised, and we don't want you in our camp. So here's the deal - you leave and we don't follow." The last few words are growled out, like Leafstar whenever someone threatens the clan.

It's very intimidating, in his opinion, but it doesn't seem to have an effect in Russetfur. If anything, it only seems to make her angrier. "I won't sacrifice my honor as a Shadowclan cat to run from a bunch of kittypets," Russetfur snarls, leaning closer. "Even if you kill me again, I'd sooner die fighting for my clan than kowtow to some coddled housepets."

Rootkit grits his teeth. She hasn't called his bluff, but they can't have her running loose and hurting people. Think, Rootkit! "Another deal, then," he says. "If you won't leave the camp, then you just can't hurt anybody."

"No deal," Russetfur snaps.

"That's the final offer," Rootkit says coldly. "Under no circumstances are you allowed to hurt or injure any Skyclan cats. I'm not going to compromise on that point. And you can't really afford to bargain, anyway," he adds with a shrug. His heart is pounding so loudly he's almost sure Russetfur can hear it. "If you don't, I'll just summon you into the cage again and exorcise you for good. Or who knows? Maybe we'll leave you in there for a while. And this time we'll cover the bottom." He finishes with the nastiest, most hateful smile he can muster - which isn't particularly difficult, right now.

Russetfur goes silent. He can practically hear the gears in her brain ticking as she weighs her options. There's clearly only one real option here; he just hopes she isn't too prideful to take it.

"Fine," Russetfur growls, voice so low he has to strain to hear it. "Fine. I agree to your terms." The hatred seeping from her voice is almost palpable.

Well, the feeling is absolutely mutual. Rootkit dips into a little bow and bares his fangs in a farce of a smile. "Pleasure doing business with you."

Russetfur disappears into the air, leaving Needlekit to slump to the ground, wheezing. Rootkit waits until he's certain the ghost is gone before sinking onto the ground himself, body shaking with all the fear he couldn't allow himself to show before. Holy crap.

"Are you," Needlekit begins, then cuts herself off with a raucous bout of coughs that makes him wince. "Are you... okay?" she whispers hoarsely.

Rootkit makes a high-pitched, keening noise before breaking into nervous laughter. "No, no, not even a little bit. Oh, Starclan, I can't believe I'm alive, I thought she was going to kill us both. Oh stars..." he trails off with a giggle and buries his face in the dirt.

They lie there for a couple minutes, the silence broken only by Needlekit's wheezing and Rootkit's trembling.

"I want Mom and Dad," Needlekit whispers.

Rootkit couldn't agree more.

#warrior cats #warriors fanfiction #wc #wc fanfiction #warriors #rootspring #needleclaw #russetfur #tree #leafstar #violetshine #now that the general premise is done #everything from here on out is stupid ghost shenanigans #you know #if i ever get around to writing them

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proudgodot · 3 years

Text

Gratitude

I was not initially planning to post about this, given that my unfortunate tendency to over-share has caused me quite a bit of grief in the past, but the truth is that I simply couldn’t resist this time. Typically when I am overcome by an uncontrollable desire to post it is because I am desperately in need of attention or validation, so much so that I can’t actually remember a time when I posted because I was genuinely eager to share something. It was always out of some perverse and misplaced sense of obligation, but it finally feels as if that burden is lifted. While I was writing this post, it was because I felt a genuine…. pride over something I had accomplished, something I genuinely wanted to share with the world. When I chose the name of this blog I didn’t earnestly expect that I would ever feel anything other than shame about myself… it seemed more an ideal than an actual plausible prediction. I’m just so relieved my wish came true.

Anyway, I suppose that is quite enough navel-gazing for the time being… I can only imagine my followers have probably had enough of that to last a long and fulfilling lifetime. I reckon it’s time to move on to the actual story.

As most of you well know, following the dramatic events of the Kristahlia drama, I suddenly found myself with the new responsibility of parenthood. There are certainly aspects of my new lifestyle that have been difficult to adjust to… principle of which is that I am supposed to serve as a sort of role model for these developing and damaged boys. I have never been particularly aspirational, in fact you would be hard-pressed to find someone as underperforming as me. Although I was prone to overcompensating for such things, always desperately trying to prove that I was capable of as much as the bare minimum, looking back I see that I grew too comfortable with those low expectations. When it registered that as a caretaker I would suddenly have to perform a sort of excellence, not for the sake of my fragile ego but for the betterment of these children… I was immediately overcome by a painful inadequacy. However, as our first week together progressed, I came to realize that in certain regards all of us were personally inadequate, and it was for that very reason we had taken on this responsibility together. Although I certainly had my short-comings, that wasn’t something unique to me, and over time we all began to coordinate better and help manage each other’s weaknesses. I was somewhat surprised to learn this was not only true of the adults, but the children as well. The dynamic we developed as a family was rather symbiotic… I found that regardless of age we all had something to offer each other.

Regardless, I promised myself that I would do whatever it took to keep my found family as distant as possible from my most severe personal issues. My past was something I felt I had to resolve independently, no matter how tempting it was to once again depend on the people in my life to solve my problems in my stead. That is why when I made the decision to start looking into Anton’s whereabouts, I never spoke a word about it to my housemates.

Facebook made finding his account incredibly easy, distressingly so in fact. I became acutely aware of the possibility that he might have been recommended my account numerous times over the years and had consciously chosen not to send me a friend request, which although completely understandable still hurt immensely to imagine. Perhaps my hopelessly romantic dream to reconnect with the man was unrequited, and would be rejected with extreme prejudice if vocalized. Eventually, however, I managed to muster up the courage to actually inspect his profile. I discovered that after our quarrel six years ago and his subsequent transferral Anton had moved back to his hometown in Ann Arbor to complete his degree in art and design. Since graduating, he had been working as a freelance artist and animator… he often posted about how proud of his projects he was, and it was reassuring to see his enthusiasm had not diminished in the slightest over the years. One detail about his profile that immediately jumped out at me was his relationship status, which was currently set to single. Despite myself, I immediately felt a small flicker of hope ignite within my quickened heart. Upon further investigation, it appeared he’d been involved in several relationships over the years that had ultimately ended in failure, although the circumstances were unclear. I only hoped he hadn’t made a habit of dating unappreciative losers…

I managed to quell my anxiety briefly and force myself to send him a friend request, which almost immediately filled me with a sense of mounting dread. My anticipation wasn’t even allowed much time to simmer, because mere minutes after I sent the message I was notified that it had been accepted. Instinctively, I slammed my laptop shut and jumped out of my seat, forgetting that I was incapable of standing up so quickly without losing all feeling in my legs and face planting into the floor. I instantly regretted not taking Addy’s advice and getting that checked by a doctor, because soon enough the entire family was in my room gathered around my body and asking questions with varying degrees of concern and amusement. Although I had wanted to keep my activity a secret, at that moment I was swept away in the drama, and so I began to mindlessly rant about the situation.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but soon enough there were six pairs of hands all frantically scrambling for control of my keyboard. While I laid incapacitated on the floor, my friends had taken it upon themselves to respond to Anton’s messages, each expressing their own thoughts from my account in randomly alternating orders depending on who had managed to prevail in the wrestling. It seemed that Iara maintained the upper hand most of the fight, although it was admittedly difficult to tell over the frenzy at times considering my limited view from the floor.

Eventually, the chaos subsided and everyone turned to look at me with beaming smiles on their faces, some more devious than others. I immediately began to worry that they had sabotaged me somehow, be it in light-hearted jest or in an earnest act of betrayal, and so I asked them nervously what exactly they had done. For a moment it seemed they were trying to contain their excitement, but it didn’t take long for them to erupted into an uproarious celebration, complete with victorious chants that Anton was coming to meet us in person this evening!

I didn’t know how to react. All at once a tempest of conflicting emotions completely overpowered me… and I mean that quite literally. I knocked out cold, and when I finally woke up I discovered that not only had Kyler been trying to shock me awake by applying Takis to my tongue, but that the situation had not miraculously resolved itself. Although everyone else had mostly settled down, my mind was whirling a mile a minute with all of the things I had to do to prepare. I had a whole bucket list I needed to accomplish before I was comfortable standing in front of Anton again… and as much as I hated to admit it, I couldn’t possibly get everything done myself over such a brief time. To my surprise, I didn’t even have a chance to put my reservations aside before they had already agreed to help me based off of my panicked listing of errands alone. Despite my reluctance to involve my new friends in the more turbulent aspects of personal life, it seemed they were actually eager to get involved themselves… I discovered that my problems were not an inconvenience to them, but rather something they were excited to help me work through.

The first obstacle I had to overcome was also the hardest… that being that I had never properly apologized to Gabriella and Lana for my dishonest and frankly abusive treatment. It wasn’t so much that I didn’t have the words to express my remorse or that I hadn’t processed my guilt, but that Gabriella’s parting words to me specifically informed me not to contact her and I didn’t want to once again disrespect her wishes. However, after some words of encouragement from the family, I managed to write a relatively concise three thousand word email taking responsibility for my past actions and wishing the couple well. As I was writing this post, I actually received a response from the two telling me they appreciated my apology and were glad to see I had grown into a more mature person. Apparently they have just finished settling into their cottage and are now doing better than ever. Lana even expressed an interest in meeting Addy and Iara in particular sometime… I suppose it’s a sapphic thing. I’m just glad that they’re finally living the happy life they deserve without being held back by backwards men.

My email took longer to type then I had expected, and although I certainly can not regret pouring my heart into the message given its importance, it did mean that we had to pick up the pace with the rest of the bucket list. Kyler took this quite literally, speeding at what must have been 100 miles per hour towards the mall despite nearly giving me a heart attack and my insistence that he not set such a bad example for Chris and Klav. We actually ended up getting pulled over, but luckily Iara managed to scare the officer away with her signature scowl. The next few hours were a frantic rush of errands, all focused on helping me actually express myself without the burden of repression. There were moments when it was a struggle, such as when I nearly hyperventilated in Claire’s before they pierced my ears, but ultimately I am immensely satisfied with the results. The most fulfilling moment was finally getting the tips of my hair bleached white to match my new profile picture. Chris actually got his hair dyed alongside me, changing his style from pale blond to black and white to reflect his new kin. It was incredibly rewarding to accomplish this alongside him… I had never been the subject of anything but disappointment from my parents, so it was an incredible feeling to be able to experience that absent parental pride for myself, even if it was with a different perspective.

By the time Anton was forecasted to arrive, my appearance had been upgraded to better reflect my current sense of self… all that was left was for me to get in the right mindset. Luckily, my family was perfectly eager to act as my own personal “hype beasts,” as Kyler put it. They offered excellent emotional support in the half-hour we sat in the den patiently awaiting his arrival, especially Addy, who really took my mind off things by offering to play me in a game of chess. I lost quite handedly, but for once I don’t have it in me to be a spoilsport. When we heard that fateful knock at the door, they all immediately ran into the nearest closest and shut themselves inside to give us some space, but not before giving me a final set of encouraging thumbs up. I hesitated for a moment, questioning once again whether I was really ready to take such a big step in my life. My hand paused, hovering over the door knob uncertainly… until I heard the faint sounds of Steely Dan’s Come on Eileen coming from inside the closet, accompanied by the muffled sound of Klav’s giggle. Reignited by the familiar sounds of my favorite musicians, I swung the door open with a new and uncharacteristic conviction.

And there he was… I was immediately captivated by just how strong his presence was. My memories hadn’t done him justice… it really was like I was in the presence of an angel. I was comforted by certain familiar aspects of his appearance, such as his golden brown eyes that glistened like stars, his long curly hair with its comforting strawberry aroma, and his signature checkered scarf that he had been consistently wearing for almost decade now… but what really excited me were those new features. Normally I am turned off by change, but I was positively breathless as soon as my eyes wandered to the golden butterfly tattoo on his exposed shoulder. I felt as if I was going to faint for a second time in one day.

I couldn’t find the words to express the depths of my emotion no matter how hard I searched my impassioned soul... there were no words strong enough. Instead I just cried, and wordlessly he accepted me into his arms… just like he had on that life-changing night all those years ago. I finally told him everything I had so obstinately refused to say during college… that I was gay, that I was in love with him, and that I was sorry. Although I was openly weeping, I don’t think I’ve ever felt more relieved in my life.

Eventually, he managed to pacify me… and so I was able to explain to him the entire story of the Kristahlia drama. It was difficult to explain that I had managed to go from discoursing with these teenage kinnies to adopting them, but he was as understanding as he ever was. He was so excited to meet my family that he even brought his cat Apple all the way from Michigan just to introduce her to them. I don’t think I have ever mentioned this publicly, but when Krissy died I had to take her dog Diogenes in myself, and I was surprised to find that the two animals got along perfectly. It really did feel like the entire house was accepting him... it was as if this was meant to be.

Since Anton had gone to all the trouble of making the ten hour drive to Iowa, he suggested that we might as well all hang out together in Cedar Rapids over the weekend. I suppose it’s a date... I must say that I am looking forward to it, as are the others. I know I didn’t deserve to be accepted by him again just because I spent a few hours shedding tears and profusely apologizing, but for once I don’t feel guilty that I have received something I don’t deserve. I just feel... an overwhelming gratitude for the opportunity.

I am certainly still inexperienced at this whole family business and have accepted that I will inevitably make some mistakes in the future, but I don’t think I’ve done too poorly for a first week, if I do say so myself. I am truly grateful to all the people in my life who have supported me through my journey, who have taught me that it is possible to rely on others without being a parasite and to be relied on without shouldering the entire burden.

To my partners, my friends, my children, and my love... from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

#sincerely adam

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