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angelicamerlinbarnes · 3 years

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Fifteen people who found out about James, Sirius, and Remus and the one person who never did

To clarify: James, Sirius, and Remus are queerplatonic partners in this case, or QPP's. This means that they're essentially special friends, ones who indulge in physical and emotional connections that are typically thought of as beyond platonic.

ONE: Peter Pettigrew

By fourth year the Marauders are legends. Everyone knows them as the fun-loving band of brothers without any cares in the world. Only the four of them know the true nature of the Marauders - bloody, battered, and bruised.

One day Sirius and James are fighting, an explosive sort of argument where Peter hides behind his curtains while peeking out through a crack in them and Remus reads calmly on his bed. Then suddenly the shouting stops, and Peter’s jaw drops open while Remus looks up from his book.

There, in the middle of the room, are Sirius and James, Sirius’ hands on James’ face and his mouth on his lips. Sirius pulls away before James can respond, covering his mouth with his hands and tearing up while James blinks in shock and Peter stares.

Then, Remus starts laughing, and James drags Sirius into a crushing hug, pressing kisses all over his face before finally pecking him on the mouth and then letting go. Peter squeaks out a garbled question when Remus rolls his eyes and says, “What, no love for me?”

Immediately, Sirius and James tackle him onto the bed, the three of them collapsing into a mess of laughter and kisses while Peter stares and stares and stares.

TWO: Marlene McKinnon

In an act of drunken desperation to forget her own confusing sexuality (girls are super hot but the idea of being in love makes me wanna throw up, for reference), Marlene flirts with Sirius at a party. His eyes are dark and alluring and he’s addicted to dancing, so it’s not exactly difficult. But just as her hand snakes up his arm, Remus appears, wrapping himself around Sirius and kissing him happily, Sirius melting against him.

Marlene steps back in her shock, creating just enough room for James to stumble over tipsily and start making fun of Sirius’ ears; that is until Sirius leans down and kisses him too just to shut him up, pulling back with a laugh so loud it rings in Marlene’s ears as she runs for the comfort of Dorcas, who simply smiles and slips her hand through Marlene’s blonde curls and kisses her until she can’t feel anything anymore.

THREE: Minvera Mcgonogall

In fifth year, Mcgonogall is awoken by a bawling James Potter at her door, sobbing uncontrollably and blubbering about something she can’t really understand. Eventually he calms down enough that she manages to get that he’s upset because he just found out that Sirius and Remus are dating.

Mcgonogall is terribly confused - haven’t the three of them been dating for years?

“No,” James says. “We’re just friends. Friends who kiss and love each other more than anything but aren’t in love with each other. I know… I know that doesn’t really make sense. I’m just… I’m just scared that since they’re boyfriends, or whatever, they won’t… they won’t…”

Mcgonogall opens her mouth to respond when Sirius’ voice cuts through the chaos -

“Won’t what? Love you? Because if you think that my being in love with Moony means I’m going to stop snogging you at every available opportunity then you’re an even bigger idiot than I thought, Jamie.”

James looks up with a grin even as the tears still stream down his face, taking in the sight of a grinning Sirius and Remus, whose hands are tightly clasped between them. Mcgonogall watches, blinking in shock, as James bounds over to them and laughs as Sirius dips him in a kiss and Remus rolls his eyes.

“Come on, you morons,” he says, dragging them away as Sirius tries and fails to kiss him silly, laughing.

FOUR: Severus Snape

Sixth year is when shit first hits the fan. The Prank is a tear in their carefully cultivated tapestry, one that sends all three of them exploding in different directions. Severus is on his way to the infirmary for some more dreamless potion from Madam Pomfrey (and to check on Remus after the traumatic mindfuck that was last night’s full moon) when he sees the shitshow begin.

Remus is lying in a hospital bed, confined by bandages and fatigue but looking no less terrifying as he bites insult after insult towards Sirius. (The only one of these Severus remembers is “I thought you loved me, asshole!”, and only because Sirius had fled the room in tears after it was spoken.) James tries to sit down at Remus’ bedside, but before he can Remus breaks down in tears.

James reaches out to hold him, but Remus shoves him away, screaming until James leaves, his head hanging low in defeat. Severus approaches carefully, holding out one of his bottles of dreamless sleep.

“Here,” he says softly. “So you can forget, for a little while.”

Remus looks up at him and smiles weakly.

“Thanks,” he rasps, and Severus leaves with a nod, deciding it’s better to quit while he’s ahead.

FIVE: Lily Evans

Despite all of the horror of the Prank, it is less disastrous than one might think. There is a war coming; Severus has sworn to Remus himself that he will never tell and has also started searching for the cure for lycanthropy while he’s at it (not that he’s found it; he never will); and Sirius Black and Remus Lupin love each other more than words can say and will no matter the consequences, everybody knows that.

And Lily, she misses Severus - no one else understands that, but she does. She loves him.

She’s studying with Remus one day, their backs against the wall and knees to their chests, and ends up asking him how Severus is doing, eventually winding them down a conversational path about lost love and finding hope anyway. Remus, however, collapses into tears talking about Sirius and how much he misses him and loves him, still.

Lily doesn’t know what to do; Remus Lupin does not cry, at least not in front of anyone. Before she can panic too badly about it though, James is there, on his knees in front of Remus and whispering quietly to him, taking his hands and kissing his knuckles in between murmurs of affection. Sirius stands behind him, hands clenching in and out of fists as he tries desperately not to touch, but that only lasts a few moments before Remus is laughing through his tears, making grabby hands for Sirius.

Sirius squats down hesitantly, gently wrapping his arms around Remus, who pulls him down by the neck and jaw and kisses him and kisses him and kisses him as James smiles tiredly, passerbys whoop and stare, and Lily looks at James and feels her heart flutter in her chest. He smiles at her, and she flushes, then stands and heads for the opposite corner, where Severus is leaning against the wall, his nose in a book.

No words are needed between them. She pulls him in by the tie, and there’s a single feeble whoop for them, too - Lily smiles at the sound of James’ voice, hope sparking in her chest as her eyelids flutter closed.

SIX: Regulus Black

Regulus, struggling under his parents’ stifling regime alone since Sirius left, can’t say he’s not shocked when Sirius drags him up to a Marauders sleepover in the Gryffindor dorms one night. Peter isn’t there - Remus says he’s staying with a Hufflepuff named Max he’s into - but Remus, Sirius, and James all gravitate towards one bed, Remus lying on his back with James’ head on his stomach, running his fingers lazily through James’ curls.

Sirius beams at the sight of them and jumps in beside them, and James leans up and pecks Sirius on the mouth, who smiles. Regulus’ heart twinges at the sight - his brother has so much more love than he does, and Regulus won’t deny that he’s always been just a little bit in love with James Potter - but then James smiles at him with those twinkling eyes and Regulus’ heart calms.

Sirius draws him close by the hand, pulling him into his side and kissing the top of his head. They laugh and wrestle and joke around until eventually Remus falls asleep in James’ arms, and James is not long to follow. Regulus lies awake long after, nestled into Sirius’ side, the silence comforting like a warm blanket. Until Sirius murmurs, “I love you, Reggie,” and drifts off, and Regulus is left staring at the ceiling, alone.

He knows, Sirius’ hand over his heart, that this is his brother’s way of saying goodbye.

SEVEN: Hope & Lyall Lupin

“Criminals” is not a word Lyall Lupin would use to describe Sirius Black and James Potter, but maybe it should be. Because they break into his house on Christmas Eve the boys’ seventh year, the moon already rising in the sky. Lyall tries to stop them, but Sirius Stupefies him with cold eyes and transforms into a hulking dog right then and there, trotting down the basement stairs as James follows, breaking Remus’ chains with his human hands and ushering him out the door before taking his stag form.

Lyall and Hope watch in shock from the kitchen as Remus turns and Sirius and James tame him easily, the wolf nuzzling them like old friends. By morning, they are still out in the yard, the sun rising, now fully human. At first Lyall worries for his son’s modesty, but Sirius has already wrapped his shirt around Remus’ waist, and Remus, barechested in the sun, is holding James’ head to his, muttering in Welsh as James tries desperately to breathe, apologizing over and over for a gash on Remus’ chest put there by his antlers. Remus smiles, and Sirius hums a Queen song under his breath, and Lyall can’t hear everything his son is saying but he catches just enough -

“Mae'n iawn, fy nghariad. Shhh, annwyl.” (It's alright, my love. Shhh, dearheart.)

EIGHT: Albus Dumbledore

The news that Regulus has died comes on a Wednesday. Dumbledore is the one to deliver it, with a heavy heart and a heavier theory in his head. He notices that James is there, in Sirius and Remus’ home, but does not question it, only offering the story of the Horcruxes to Sirius, who sits on the couch. As the words pour out, dry and frail, Sirius’ face pales to ghostly white. Remus emerges from the kitchen with tea just as the final phrase leaves Dumbledore’s lips -

“Your brother died a hero.”

The tea clatters to the floor as Sirius reaches for his wand on the table, pointing it towards his head and getting out “Avada -” before James and Remus are on him, James wrenching his wand away while Remus locks Sirius in his arms, gently coaxing him down onto the floor and rocking him back and forth as he breaks down. James returns from hiding the wand and wraps himself around the both of them, breaking down with Sirius and pressing tearful kisses to every inch of skin he can find. Remus looks up at Dumbledore with glassy eyes and says -

“Please take your leave, Professor.”

Dumbfounded, Dumbledore does.

NINE: Dorcas Meadowes

Dorcas has lived with Marlene since school - Dorcas was in love with her, and Marlene liked sex and liked Dorcas in a “we can be best-friend-partner-lovers forever, mkay?” way. But no one else can understand that - the fact that they’re physically intimate but not a couple, that they’re married by law and spirit but not in love, that’s not something anybody gets. So when Marlene dies, Dorcas locks herself in their home, for grief and madness alike.

One day, Sirius comes to visit her. She doesn’t know why - Lily is about to have a baby, Voldemort is specifically targeting the Potters, their husband Snape is a fucking spy, and Remus is undercover amongst the wolves. All this and there’s a traitor in their midst - Sirius has no business visiting a grieving woman when there’s a war on.

But war there is, and visit he does.

Dorcas makes him tea, and they converse quietly about Marlene for a time. It’s when Sirius’ apology comes that she snaps -

“You can’t possibly understand what it’s like to lose her. She’s - she was my everything. My other half, a part of me, my - my wife. Not just a friend but not a lover… well, not in anything but the physical sense anyway, but - she was my life.”

Sirius stands, throwing his hands out to the side.

“You think I don’t understand?” He says, laughing and running a hand through his hair. He blinks back tears, then thrusts his left hand her way. “I know exactly what you’re feeling. That grief, that fear, I - I feel that every day.”

Dorcas shakes her head, batting his hand away.

“Remus is the love of your life, not your - your, I don’t know, partner? You can’t -”

“James,” Sirius interrupts, desperately, and Dorcas shuts up. “Jamie. My Jamie. Well - Remus and I’s Jamie, really.”

He smiles - a broken, broken thing.

“I understand, see?” He says, twisting his wedding ring around so instead of a moon it shows a black set of antlers. “See? I know. I understand. I do.”

Dorcas stares, quietly, and then starts laughing. It’s a foreign, unwelcome sound, and Sirius reels back in shock. They stand there, opposing each other, until suddenly the laughs ebb out into sobs, and Sirius pulls her to his front and doesn’t let go.

TEN: Mary MacDonald

The day Harry is born, Severus isn’t even there. He’s deep into Voldemort’s forces by now, only holding contact with Dumbledore out of necessity, and James and Lily are both exhausted, missing their husband with a newfound intensity and knowing Voldemort wants to kill their newborn son. Sirius and Remus are there, Mary too, and as Lily sleeps with Harry on her chest and Mary holds her hand, Sirius and James fight.

Loudly.

(In the hallway, of course, but still.)

Remus is helpless in between them - Mary hears very little of what is actually said. Bits and pieces here and there -

“You can’t protect him by -”

And “We need you, dipshit!”

And “I swear to fucking Merlin, Jamie -”

But nothing really solid. She watches through the window as they scream, until suddenly Remus reaches out and pulls James into a kiss. Mary drops Lily’s hand in shock, and watches with a gaping mouth as Remus lets go of James to pull Sirius into him, kissing him passionately and without reserve. Finally, when he pulls away, he glares at the two men and seethes something just loud enough for her to hear -

“Listen up, you idiots. That child needs our protection. That means hiding. We know fuck all about the future but this is war. Our baby is not gonna die because the people who love him can’t let him go.”

Sirius and James both nod sagely, James leaning in to peck Remus on the mouth - “Sorry, Remy.” - before he wanders back inside the hospital room. Outside, Remus collapses into Sirius’ arms, the two of them holding each other and rocking back and forth. James looks up at Mary from the other side of Lily’s bed and smiles wryly.

“Shit, huh?” He mutters, and Mary, speechless, nods.

ELEVEN: Fleamont & Euphemia Potter

Fleamont and Euphemia Potter go into hiding when James and Lily do, knowing they could be tortured for their whereabouts despite not knowing them. Remus comes bursting through their fireplace on Halloween, covered in cuts and bruises and coughing with baby Harry cradled against his chest. Through hacking breaths and with glassy eyes, he tells them their son is dead with his wife and Sirius has been arrested for their murder, along with Peter’s and some Muggles’. He kisses their foreheads and tells them to take care of themselves, leaving with the last words he ever says to them -

“I loved your son. So did Sirius. We - I will do everything I can to protect Harry. I promise.”

He disappears through the fireplace before they can respond, leaving them to grieve.

TWELVE: Walburga & Orion Black

After leaving Harry with Dumbledore, who assures him the child will be given to the custody of his living father as soon as he’s emerged from his undercover work (a lie, Remus later learns), Remus makes his way to Regulus’ grave. There’s no body there, of course, but Remus never got to say goodbye to the boy he considered something of a son, and he figures now, when he’s lost everything, is as good a time as any.

It turns out he’s not alone - Walburga and Orion Black, not yet locked up in Azkaban for their crimes, are there already, and spit in his face for daring to grieve their son when he’s a werewolf who supposedly turned their other one queer and heady. Remus stares them down, and in a calm voice with his hands in his pockets tells them -

“I loved Regulus like a brother. As for Sirius… well, he married two blokes. Oh -” He smirks. “And he was damn good in bed, too.”

Walburga lets out a shrill scream, turning her wand on Remus, and he holds his head high as he disarms both her and her husband and promptly kills the two people who made his husband’s life a living hell for sixteen years. As he stands there, staring at their still-warm bodies and always-cold eyes, he can feel no remorse - only a deep ache, loss and regret plaguing him with age long before his time.

THIRTEEN: Molly & Arthur Weasley

Twelve years pass without so much as a breath from Sirius or Remus. James is six feet under and Harry is thirteen, and after the havoc that occurs at Hogwarts his third year, they settle at Grimmauld Place, together. Molly and Arthur are tasked with bringing them essentials and information, and take notice of the fact that the two rarely leave each other’s sides. They’re wearing their wedding bands, which Molly does not fail to notice are marked with antlers as well as moons and pawprints, and Remus has another ring around a chain on his neck with only a pawprint and a moon. They look tired and worn out, Sirius more than Remus, and one day Molly pulls him aside to ask him privately if they’re doing alright.

Remus gives her a wry smile, his eyes twinkling just the slightest bit as he answers, “Yes. Of course.” Molly asks him again, saying she’s worried, and Remus shrugs, looking through doorways to Sirius, at the table with Arthur.

“I’ve had twelve years to grieve. Getting Sirius - getting my husband back was the greatest happiness I could ever ask for. But Sirius, he… he was never allowed to truly mourn. He’s still…”

He gets this distant look in his eyes and startles when Molly touches his arm, offering a small smile.

“I’ve had time to grieve our partner, is all I’m saying,” he murmurs. “Sirius needs time before he can even begin to forgive himself for what happened to James.”

Molly keeps her shock inward, squeezing Remus’ arm once before ushering her husband out the door. Watching from outside as Grimmauld Place folds back into itself, she thinks she sees two silhouettes in the window, melting into one.

FOURTEEN: Nymphadora Tonks

Nymphadora Tonks falls in love with Remus Lupin almost the moment she meets him. He’s handsome, he’s funny, he’s kind and smart and brave - what else could you want? And she thinks he likes her too - even if her cousin is desperately in love with him, which she would have to be blind not to see. But she knows this the way she knows the rhythm of her heartbeat in her chest - Remus Lupin was born to be hers.

So imagine her surprise when his response to her confession is to shake his head and laugh.

“I’m a married man, Dora,” he drawls, standing and flashing his ring towards her around a glass of whiskey. “I thought you knew that. I am sorry to say I cannot return your feelings… beyond my marriage, age, and lycanthropy, you must have noticed that women are not… my area.”

Tonks flushes red, jerking back in shock. So her cousin…

“Is it Sirius?” She blurts, and Remus turns towards her again, his eyes twinkling. He nods.

“Yes,” he answers. “Though, I had a second husband… long ago, and a partner more than anything…”

With a distant look in his eyes, he leaves her heartbroken at the dining room table, but not before she sees him slip into a waiting Sirius’ arms, holding him close to his chest as they dance, their eyes closed and two rings bearing antlers hanging between them.

FIFTEEN: Hermione Granger

She starts to wonder, right around the beginning of her fifth year, why Harry seems to have no interest in hanging out with anyone besides her and Ron. Now, she and Ron, they’re in love with each other; Hermione’s neither daft nor blind. But Harry’s in love with them both too, she realizes, and his closest relationships outside of that are past platonic but far from romantic: she can’t call what he has with Luna or Draco “normal”. The summer before her sixth year, she travels to Grimmauld Place, needing some time alone to think before the war envelopes them all. But she finds, when she arrives, that she’s not alone - there, at the dining room table, is Remus, holding a glass of whiskey and wearing three identical rings on a chain around his neck.

“Professor Lupin?” She asks, and Remus smiles wryly. “What’re you doing here?”

Remus sighs, leaving his glass on the table as he stands and grabs his coat.

“Just a bit of reminiscing, my dear,” he says. “No matter. Off we go now, this place belongs to Harry and we have no right to…”

He trails off, his eyes glistening, and Hermione watches his Adam’s apple bob and averts her eyes to the rings, each holding a different two of three symbols: a pawprint, a moon, and a pair of antlers. One of them is the one Sirius used to wear around, always a little loose on his finger from all that malnourishment… Remus must have just grasped it before he fell through the Veil. At the thought, her breath catches in her throat.

“Sirius was your…” She says, and stops when Remus flinches. He gives her a kind smile and nods.

“Yes,” he says. “And James as well, though that was different. More of a… friend, partner - soulmate? -” Hermione coughs. “- than a lover. But, yes. Not that it matters now.”

Hermione’s heart stops in her chest.

“Of course it matters,” she fires back. “You loved him. You loved him, and he’s dead.”

Remus looks down at her, his smile gone, and shrugs.

“All things end, Hermione,” he murmurs. “Especially good things.”

He opens the door and has one foot outside when he turns back to her and says, “Miss Granger?” She looks up at him from her hands, shaking and devoid of rings, and nods.

“Yes?”

Remus smiles, his eyes sad.

“Tell your Harry we love him. All seven of the Marauders, even if some of us never really got to meet him. And tell him… tell him that even if he didn’t die for him or raise him, his father loves him.”

Hermione’s brow furrows, but she nods.

“Of course,” she promises, though she has no idea who the other three Marauders are and could not even begin to guess what Remus means by his comment on Harry’s father. “I will.”

Remus smiles one last time, tips his invisible hat to her, and disappears out the front door and into the night.

ONE: Harry Potter

Remus marries Tonks, but doesn’t love her. Teddy is an accident, and only his in name. Remus will only ever have one son, and his name is Harry Potter.

In the Battle of Hogwarts, Remus Lupin dies with three rings around his neck and a secret in his chest. He does not tell Harry. He doesn’t want to burden him.

Their love, along with them, is dead and gone anyway. But when he sees Sirius and James in the white light, for the split second between life and death -

He wonders.

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adam-dumortains · 3 years

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Unit Bravo learn about the Detective and Bobby’s Past | Part One

Note: Hey! I had some free time so I thought I’d do a quick drabble about the detective revealing her past with Bobby to Unit Bravo.

Pairing: Detective Adam Du Mortain

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Detective Kingston fell back on the chair with a groan. Before she had made her way to the warehouse, she was stopped by Bobby. Incessantly pestering her with questions about her progress with the case, her protection of the town and Unit Bravo. Bobby had a talent of making Adaline feel as though she was never good enough. It was something he had done since their time dating. An insecurity that never really left her.

“Are you okay, Adaline?” Nate asked as he placed a hot mug of tea down in front of Adaline. Adaline smiled warmly at Nate. She was lucky to have found such a close friendship with Nate. He always knew the right thing to say or do when she sad.

“I’m okay. Just… Bobby.” She grimaced. Nate offered a sympathetic smile.

“Oh. That guy,” Felix’s face scrunched in disgust. “What were you thinking?”

“Felix! That is impolite to ask.” Nate scolded, shaking his head in Felix’s direction.

“Sorry, Adaline. I just can’t wrap my head around how somebody as great as you ended up dating such a moron.”

Adaline laughed gently, followed by a shrug. “He wasn’t always like that.”

Felix’s brow raised. “Then what happened?”

“Felix!” Nate reprimanded, but he couldn’t ignore the peaking curiosity he was also feeling.

“It’s fine, Nate. We are a team, and friends, I have nothing to hide from any of you,” Adaline smiled gently. “I guess we always kind of knew each other. In school, I mean. He was always slightly cocky but I never had much interaction with him. We were in completely different circles. Anyway, we ended up going to the same college by complete accident.”

At this point, each member of Unit Bravo’s interest was directed on the story. They were all thinking the same as Felix whenever they saw Bobby.

“I guess we just naturally gravitated towards each other because we didn’t know anybody in college and we only knew each other. I had no idea he was even there until I went to a welcome party on the first week of college and bumped into him. I was…” Adaline coughed awkwardly. “Very drunk. To mask how nervous I was moving out of Wayhaven for college. And I guess one thing lead to another and-”

Before Adaline had a chance to finish, she was interrupted by Adam’s hand slamming against the table. A complete accident in a moment of jealousy at the admission between the detective and Bobby.

The interruption made Adaline’s throat hitch. The thought that Adam was jealous ignited a heat within her. Was he truly jealous? Does that mean he does care about her in the way she cares for him? She didn’t dare to get her hopes up, swallowing the heat down her throat.

‘Bobby is an insufferable idiot. How could Adaline fall for that?!’ was swimming through his head and before he knew it, his hand was slamming the table. He coughed awkwardly, shifting in his seat. “My apologies, Detective. Please… continue.” The last sentence came out of his throat strained. He didn’t want her to continue but admitting that would mean he would have to admit the growing jealousy in his stomach. Felix’s eyes sparkled at the scene in front of him.

“Uh, yeah. You can kind of guess the rest. And then he asked me out on a date and it went from there. I thought he was just confident at first. It was something I admired. He knew what he wanted.”

Adam flinched at the last sentence, the words cutting deep. He knew Adaline and him were complicated. He knew he was denying his feelings for her. And yet, she was here, discussing about how she once admired Bobby for being the complete opposite.

“So when did he turn into such an ass?” Mason remarked, causing Adaline to chuckle. But the chuckle wasn’t as genuine as normal. There was a slight pain in her expression as she looked back on her time with Bobby.

“He just… He changed when we started college classes. It became about being the best all the time. Everything was at an expense of him being the best. I was never good enough for him in the end. My hair wasn’t perfect enough. My make up wasn’t right. I was too sarcastic, or I wasn’t outgoing enough. It was a never ending list,”

Adam frowned. How could Bobby have Adaline in such a way and not be in complete awe of her? How could anybody think she was not good enough? His eyes scanned her face. It was pure beauty. His eyes softened and it took him everything not to wrap his hand around hers and take the pained look on her face away. Instead, he frowned and put his hands on the table to try and ignore the urge pulling him towards her.

“I found out he plagiarised my work I had been working on for weeks. But I was dumb enough to forgive him.”

“Why?” Felix asked.

Adaline sighed, thinking hard on the question. She knew Felix meant no harm and he was simply curious. She also said that there was nothing she would hide. “I wanted to feel wanted,”

Another cut to Adam. Something he, again, wasn’t giving to her. He turned his attention to the window, looking outside.

“I grew up without my Dad and Rebecca was always away working. Bobby… gave me the idea that he wanted me. Not in a sexual way… but in a way that he wanted to spend time with me. At first anyway. I found out a while later that I wasn’t the only girl he, uh.. wanted.”

“Then why did you stay?” Felix asked.

“Because, when you think you love someone, it makes you stupid sometimes.”

“Did you love him?”

Adam’s attention snapped back to the detective, much to his dismay. His heart was pounding against his chest waiting for Adaline to answer. He knew a “yes” would feel like a knife ripping into his chest. He knew the detective would have obviously have been with other people before, but it wasn’t something he enjoyed to hear.

“No. I thought I did at the time. But I realised I was in love with the idea of being wanted. The idea of love, I guess.”

The room was quiet. The deepness of the conversation hanging in the air. Adaline sighed. She didn’t care for Bobby romantically anymore, but it was still a painful time in her life.

“Well. I think it’s safe to say, he is a real moron and it’s his loss.” Felix smiled. A genuine, soft smile as he placed his hand over Adaline’s.

“Agreed.” Mason nodded, causing Adaline’s eyes to widen slightly in shock. She searched his face but found that he was being completely sincere.

“Adaline… thank you for being so honest with us. It’s an honour that you feel comfortable enough to tell us things like this. Truly.” Nate smiled, meaning every word.

“It is important that we can be honest with each other. It will make working together much easier.”

Adaline’s eye’s quickly moved to meet Adam’s at the sound of his voice. She smiled softly at him, but she could feel the disappointment in her chest at the general reply. They’d done this exact thing a million times before. “I agree,” is the only thing she could muster as she got lost in his green eyes.

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walkerwords · 4 years

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“Moment of Clarity” Rick Grimes x F!Reader

Summary: After arriving in Alexandria, Rick is on edge. The two of you had been together since the fall of the prison and after noticing his stressed demeanor, you decide to steal him away for a bit to try to see what is going on inside that head of his.

Word Count: 3958

Warning: None

Song I Wrote To: “So Will I” by Ben Platt

Note: Set pre-negan, I just really wanted to write a cute little moment with Rick. I realized I don’t write him enough, but complain that there aren’t enough rick imagines so here ya go! NOTE: this is only a one-shot.

----------

Alexandria was a lot more than you had expected.

Since the only experience you and the rest of the group had when it came to “communities” were Woodbury and the nightmare that was Terminus, everyone was on edge.

You had been with the group since Atlanta and you and Rick had only grown closer since the day he stepped out of that truck and took Carl into his arms. Your romantic relationship with the former deputy had began on the road after the fall of the prison. You were worried about sharing your feelings with him because of what had happened to Lori, but the two of you just...fit and everyone else had seen it too.

When Rick had first kissed you, it had taken you by surprise. You, Michonne, Carl, and Rick had been hiding out in a house when you had broken down in a spare room after everything had happened. Rick had found you and calmed you down and took you into his arms. As soon as you stopped crying, you pulled out of his embrace and then, without warning, Rick had taken your face in his hands and kissed you, pulling him against his chest.

It was after that moment that you knew you were his forever. After Terminus, when you had seen him running from the slaughterhouse. You had run to him and you swore then that you’d never leave him again.

Finding Alexandria had seemed like a dream. You hadn’t felt this safe and secure since the prison. Not to mention the reality that the safe zone was so...normal.

The leader, Deanna, had welcomed you and your band of misfits easily. When she had interviewed you, you had Judith with you, giving her dad a break. You kept the child close to your chest as if shielding her from the stranger before her. Deanna had asked you routine questions and then eventually had you ask Daryl to join her.

As you passed Dixon outside, he had pressed a kiss to Judith’s brow before entering the house and the sight alone had brought a warm smile to Rick’s worried face because he knew that no matter what happened next, his family would remain by his side.

You assured him that night that he was right and that if he needed them to, you, Daryl, Glenn, Maggie, and the others would by his side when something went wrong or if Alexandria was not what it seemed. And so far, you had kept that promise.

You lay alone in the bed you shared with Rick. His constable uniform was draped over the chair in the corner and you couldn’t help but smile at the memory of the first time you saw him in it. Michonne and Rick were natural-born leaders, but there was something so odd about seeing them in a uniform like this.

They were warriors and while you knew Rick was glad to always help people, he had admitted to you last night that he was feeling like a fraud with the jacket on. You understood that. It had been a long time since he wore a uniform, since he had held any authority that he didn’t have to take for himself.

Rick was the best leader any of you could have asked for, but you knew it weighed on him heavily. Especially after losing people like Lori, Shane, and more recently with Tyreese and Beth. However, he did seem to forget that nobody expected him to be perfect, not even you or his children. You were hoping to make him see that which is how you found yourself planning to steal him away for the day.

Getting out of bed, you got ready for the day. Deanna still had your guns, but she still allowed you to carry your knives. As you strapped them to your thighs, you headed downstairs.

Carl and Judith were at the table with Michonne. You ruffled Carl’s hair and kissed the top of Judith’s head. “Good morning,” you greeted.

“Sleep well?” Michonne asked. You nodded, taking a seat next to her and grabbing some bread off the table. Olivia had brought some over the night before.

“Better than I have in weeks. I think my body has finally realized a Walker isn’t waiting in my closet,” you said. Michonne laughed.

“I hear that,” she said. “I guess we all have some adjusting to do.”

“I keep forgetting we’re not still on the road,” Carl admitted, leaning back in his own seat. “Do you think we’ll be able to stay?”

“I don’t see why not, but we never know, Carl,” you said and he nodded.

“I know, I’m just tired of running.”

“Me too, kid,” you told him honestly. Carl was one of the only people who knew you as well as his dad did. He had to grow up very fast after the Turn and then when Lori died, he developed steel-like skin and never looked back. At times, it was hard to remember he was still just a teenager.

“Do you have any plans today?” Michonne asked.

“I was thinking of looking around some more,” you said with a shrug. “Do you know where your dad is, Carl?”

“He went to talk to Deanna early this morning. He said he didn’t want to wake you,” Carl said. You smiled slightly. Even in the Apocalypse, Rick Grimes was still a gentleman. “I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

“Ah, don’t worry. I’ll find him,” you said, getting to your feet. “Be good for your brother, little one,” you said to Judith as she wrapped her little hand around your finger. Your heart melted at the action and gave her another kiss before waving to the others and heading out your door.

The rest of Alexandria was waking up for the day and your new neighbors waved to you. You awkwardly waved back, but kept your focus on your search for your boyfriend. Walking down the main road, you scanned the many houses.

Carol was speaking to Olivia on her porch as she fiddled with the cardigan around her shoulders. You and Daryl had both scoffed when you had seen her trying to play Martha Stewart. You knew why she was doing it, but it was too alien to see a woman like her so...clean.

Speaking of Daryl, he was once again in Aaron’s garage, the door open, as he worked on his new bike. “She’s looking good,” you said, approaching him. Daryl looked up at you, a screwdriver locked between his teeth. He grunted in greeting. “How long till she’s up and running?”

“Not much longer,” he said, taking the tool from his mouth. “Ya want first ride?”

“Obviously,” you said with a bright smile. Daryl rolled his eyes, but you could see the small smile on his face. “You seen Rick?” He nodded, pointing down the road.

“He and Glenn are down by the gate. He’s tryin’ to convince the Monroe moron that we need more watch points,” Daryl explained.

“How do you think that’s goin’?”

“Like I said, he’s a moron,” Daryl said with a scoff.

“Fair enough.” You knew he didn’t like Spencer. Hell, nobody did, but he was Deanna’s son and you all had to get along with him. Except for Daryl. He had nearly sucker-punched the guy a day earlier when he tried to make unwanted advances on Tara which were obviously futile. Spencer backed off immediately, but then and there was when Daryl labeled himself as the group’s main protector and nobody argued with him.

“Ya alright?” Daryl asked, wiping the grease from his hands as he stood.

“Fine, why?”

“Dunno, ya got that look on yer face,” he said, flicking the hair out of his eyes.

“What look?”

“The look that means yer up to somethin’,” he teased.

“So, my usual face?”

“Exactly,” he said and you bumped his shoulder.

“Asshole,” you muttered. “I’m gonna go meet up with Grimes.”

“I’ll come with, I gotta talk to Glenn,” he said as he followed you. Your friendship with Daryl was something you cherished deeply. He had had your back since the quarry. His brother, Merle, had liked you too and since losing the older Dixon, the two of you had naturally gravitated towards one another.

Walking down the street with him, however, felt...odd. It felt like something out of a bad movie. Two people who had seen enough horror to last a lifetime walking down a road with manicured lawns and laughing children seemed like some kind of long-winded joke.

“Judith was restless last night,” Daryl said suddenly.

“Yeah, makes sense. New place and all. She’s never actually been in a proper house now that I think about it.”

“This place is good for her,” he said. “She and Carl need it.”

“Then let’s try to make it work, okay?” Daryl nodded, chewing on his thumb. Something he had made a habit of. It drove you crazy, but you had come to accept his odd quirks.

As you arrived at the gate, you could practically feel the tension rolling off both Rick and Glenn as they stared at Spencer. Nicholas stood behind his friend glaring down Glenn and you knew it was only a matter of time before those two got into it again.

“We’re not a military base, Grimes,” Spencer was saying as you and Daryl grew closer.

“No, you’re just an idiot,” Glenn said with a smile and Daryl snorted next to you, grabbing the others’ attention.

“Alright,” you interjected, “break it up boys. I think there is enough hostility in this world already.” As soon as Rick saw you, he visibly relaxed. Spencer took a few steps back as you walked up to Rick and he opened his arm to you. “Hey, you.”

“Hey yourself,” Rick murmured. You looked back at Spencer and Nicholas.

“I’m stealing him away for a bit, try not to need anything,” you said as you tugged him towards the gate.

“What are you up to?” Rick asked, letting you lead him away. From the back of your jeans, you produced his colt and offered it to him.

“I grabbed this on my way to see Daryl,” you said. “Are you up for a walk?” Rick took the gun and holstered it before glancing up at the walls and then back at you. You knew he was feeling claustrophobic and a smile slowly spread across his scruffy face.

“Absolutely,” he said, turning to Daryl. “We’ll be back in a bit.”

“Alright,” Daryl said with a nod. Spencer and Nicholas watched as you took Rick’s hand and led him out of Alexandria, Glenn locking up behind you.

“Where are they going?” Spencer asked.

“Out,” Daryl said with a shrug.

“It’s not exactly safe…” Nicholas added. Daryl just stared at them for a moment.

“They have weapons, they’ll be fine,” he said before turning and walking over to Glenn. “Idiots,” he said as he met Glenn on the way back up the road. Glenn laughed and grabbed Daryl’s shoulder.

“See, this is why we’re friends,” Glenn said. Daryl rolled his eyes.

“Whatever.”

————

In the hot Virginian sun, you and Rick walked the perimeter around Alexandria.

Taking his hand in yours, you let them swing between you as you kicked at the dry leaves that littered the forest floor. “You know,” you began, “I checked on Carl last night before I went to bed and it was so weird to see him tucked into an actual bed.” Rick chuckled, nodding his head.

“I thought the same thing that first night. I hadn’t seen him that comfortable since this whole thing began,” Rick said.

“Well, Alexandria is secure, Rick,” you said, “It’s about damn time he’s felt safe. Noah and Judith too. The prison, while it was safe, there was always the threat of the Walkers breaking down the fence and of course, the Governor. After all the time on the road, they deserve a bit of normalcy.”

“Normal, right,” Rick laughed. You rolled your eyes, knocking his shoulder with yours.

“Okay, smart-ass. As normal as we can give them,” you said. Rick smiled at you, but then his face fell back to his usual worried expression. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” you asked.

“I just sometimes think this place, these people,” he said, “it’s just a bit too good to be true.” You nodded, understanding completely. Everyone in your group had been skeptic from the moment Aaron had brought you in. It felt like slipping into a Twilight Zone episode.

Oddly, Michonne was the one that was urging everyone to give Deanna and her community a chance, and considering she had immediately seen what Woodbury was from the start, you trusted her judgment. However, you knew that Rick still had his concerns.

“Are you thinking about leaving?” you asked and your tone wasn’t accusatory or filled with malice. You were genuinely curious about where his head was at right now. Rick mulled over your words for a few moments before shaking his head.

“No, but I can’t think of letting my guard down. A place like this can fall at any moment and if it does, we need to be gone before that can happen,” he explained. Rick’s thumb began creating circles over the back of your hand as you walked.

“I know you’re worried,” you said, “and I hope you know that if it ever came to that, that I would be by your side. I’d go with you without question.” Rick smiled over at you and then pulled you into his side.

“How did I get so lucky?” he whispered in your ear.

“The world ended, baby,” you told him with a wink. Rick chuckled and kissed the side of your head. “And whether you like it or not, you’re stuck with me, Grimes.”

“I got no issue with that, (Y/N),” he said.

“But you still have concerns,” you said. It wasn’t a question. Whether he realized it or not, you could read him like a book no matter what. “Our people are going to be fine. You have to give them more credit.”

“They aren’t who I’m worried about,” he revealed.

“Then what is it, Rick?” you asked, pulling him to a stop. He sighed, glancing around at the trees as if he could see the answer between their trunks.

“What if…,” he trailed off, trying to collect his thoughts. You waited patiently. “What if I lose myself again? After Shane and then Lori… Our family needs me now more than ever and what if I can’t handle it?”

“That’s not going to happen, Rick,” you said. “And if does? We’ll handle it. Nobody expects you to be perfect all the time. We’ve all seen what this world has done to people. It has taken something from all of us, but we’ve always come back. Hell, we know loss too well.”

“I feel like I’m not doin’ enough,” he admitted.

“It’s all in your head,” you assured him. “I know none of this has been easy, but I am not going anywhere. Do you hear me?” Taking his face in your hands, you made him look you in the eyes. “I’m. Right. Here.” Rick nodded and leans his forehead against yours.

“I know,” he whispered. “This place is going to need a lot of work, (Y/N). We need to teach them how to survive or more people are going to die. And if we can’t? I don’t know how I’m going to keep them safe. I failed too many of us already.”

“Is this about Beth?” you asked. Rick’s eyes fell close at her name. Beth’s death had affected all of you. Maggie, Rick, and Daryl had taken it particularly hard. You knew Rick had seen Beth as his responsibility for a while now. They had grown closer since he had saved her father from the Walker bite.

Rick hadn’t hesitated when Daryl had located the youngest Greene at Grady. He had done everything he could to get her back. You still remember the relief on his face when Dawn had let her go and he took her in his arm and kissed her head. Then everything had gone wrong with the exchange and you had to watch as Daryl nearly shattered right then and there in that hallway. “It wasn’t your fault, Rick,” you said softly.

“I should have… I should have never trusted the deal. We should have gone in there fully armed and taken her back. I told Daryl and Maggie that I would bring her back to them.”

“Nobody could have predicted what happened to her,” you said. “Beth was as strong as anyone I knew and I miss her with everything I have, but her death was not your fault.”

“He cared about her,” Rick said and you knew he was talking about Daryl.

“I know.” Rick leaned heavily on you as you ran your hands down his back. “You can’t carry the weight of everyone’s pain on your shoulders, Rick.” He pulled back and looked down at you, scanning your face with adoration in his eyes.

“You always do know the right things to say, beautiful,” he whispered. You smiled up at him, letting your hands trail down his neck. He glanced at your lips, but before you could pull him to you, groans reached your ears. Rick sighed. “Never a good moment, huh?” he asked as he stepped back and pulled his knife from his belt as the Walkers stumbled towards you.

“Wouldn’t be a good date without Walkers,” you joked, unsheathing your own weapons.

“Is that what this is? A date?” he asked, with a slight chuckle.

“What can I say? I’ll take what I can get,” you said before going after the Walker closest to you. It lunged at you, but you were faster, driving your blade into its skull before it could grab hold of your arm. Rick was taking out two on your left as you kicked out at the one that snuck up on your right. It fell to the ground and you drove your knife between its eyes.

Rick shouted behind you as he fell to the ground with a large Walker falling on top of him. You ran over and tackled the creature, rolling it off of Grimes. It snapped its jaws at you but you jammed your knife into its mouth, cutting through the rotten pallet. Black blood dripped onto your face as you shoved it off of you. “Ugh!” you groaned as you sat up.

“Are you okay?” he asked. You nodded, trying to wipe the thick substance from your face. “Here,” he said, offering his hand. Rick helped you up and examined your face, trying not to laugh.

“It’s not funny,” you said with a scowl.

“No, no, definitely not,” he said as he took the canteen that hung around his shoulder. “Head back.” You tilted your chin to the sky as he poured cool water on your face, rinsing the foul blood from your skin. “Thanks for the save.”

“And look what I got for it,” you said with a pout. Rick used his sleeve to wipe the blood from your face and then rinsed your hair out as well.

“Not really how I imagined washing your hair,” he said in a low voice.

“I’m sure we can do something about that later,” you said as you shook out your hair and looked up at him. He was still trying not to laugh and eventually you gave in, laughing along with him. “Okay, maybe it’s a bit funny.” Rick began laughing louder as he slung the canteen back over his back. Taking you in his arms, he smoothed your hair from your face and tilted your chin up.

“It’s very funny,” he said as he leaned in and kissed you softly. You melted into the kiss, clutching at his wrinkled shirt. Even with the many corpses that surrounded you, you never felt happier than when you were in his arms. Rick’s hand cupped your jaw as he kissed you deeper, sighing between your lips.

When he pulled back, he slid his hands down to your sides and began swaying back and forth. “What are you doing?’ you asked.

“Dancing with you,” he said with a smile.

“You’re insane, you know that?” you asked, but rolled your hands over his shoulders and played along.

“I know.” He leaned his head on top of yours as you swayed. Dropping your head to his shoulder, you breathed him in. You never thought that you would ever have this, have something like him and every moment you spent together, it made you feel whole.

Rick took hold of your arm and spun you out only to spin you back into his chest. You giggled as he took hold of you again. “Only you would want to dance in the middle of woods surrounded by dead Walkers.”

“Don’t act so surprised, (Y/N). You knew what you were getting into when you kissed me the first time.”

“Actually, you kissed me.”

“Did I? Huh,” Rick said with a cheeky smile. “That makes sense, I always was a good judge of character.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Grimes,” you said, tapping his nose playfully. Suddenly, his expression turned serious again.

“I should have told you before, (Y/N),” Rick said, tilting his head and sliding his hand up to caress your cheek.

“What?” you asked.

“I love you,” he said softly. As soon as the words left his lips, you were near to tears. You had waited for him to say those three words for a while now. You had wanted to say it first, but you didn’t think he was ready yet and you didn’t want to push him. “I love you so much.”

You took his face in your hands as well and as a tear rolled from your eye, you smiled. “I love you, Rick Grimes. I have for a long while.”

“I’m sorry it took me so long to say it,” he said.

“Don’t apologize,” you whispered, “but say it again.” Rick grinned at you.

“I love you,” he said with a kiss to your forehead. “I love you.” He kissed your cheek. “I. Love. You,” he said as he placed a firm kiss on your lips. You threw your arms around him as he lifted you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist and he backed you up to a tree. He kissed you fiercely, trailing kisses down your neck and back up. He made the circle three times before you were breathless.

“I hope this means we can make this work,” you said as he peered up at you.

“I think we can,” he said. “And like you said, we’re stuck with each other now.”

“No going back,” you promised.

“No going back,” he repeated. You leaned down and kissed his softly, just the slightest pressure on his lips.

“You know,” you whispered, “I kind of miss the beard.” Rick let out a laugh as he grabbed you around the waist and threw you over his shoulder. “Rick!” you yelled out as he gripped the back of your legs.

“I think I’m going to want that shower now,” he said with a grin. You laughed at that, running your nails down his back. “Come on, beautiful, let’s go home.”

Rick set you down and took you by the hand and together, you headed back to Alexandria with a new outlook on your future. Because no matter what happened next, you would face it together with your family behind you. Always.

TAGS: @felicisimor @thanossexual @yes-sir-hotchner

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livesincerely · 4 years

Note

you're hurt kiss

Jack winces, flinching away. “Fuckin’ hell.”

“Hold still,” Davey orders, tightening his grip around Jack’s wrist to hold him in place. “I’ve almost got it.”

He leans closer, doing his best not to block the last rays of light peeking in through the window, and finally manages to pull the last piece of gravel out of the heel of Jack’s hand.

“Fuck,” Jack hisses through a grimace. “God, that stings.”

“Maybe that will teach you not to pick fights you can’t win,” Davey suggests, very evenly. “Idiot.”

“Aw, Dave,” Jack cajoles, offering him a crooked little half smile—the one that usually makes Davey’s heart race just looking at it. But right now Davey can’t see anything past the blood dribbling from his split lip, the scrapes and bruises that paint the side of his face in reds, blues, and purples. “Don’t be mad at me, I didn’t mean’ta get hurt.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Davey agrees, carefully wrapping a bandage around Jack’s hand and tying it off with a neat knot. “You never do. And yet, here we are.”

“They had it comin’,” Jack insists. “Not even a month since the strike and the DeLanceys are already back to their usual bullshit. Someone had to tell ‘em what for.”

“Sure,” Davey says dryly. He wets a rag and wrings out the excess, then starts carefully wiping the blood and grime off of Jack’s forehead, chin, and mouth. “And naturally, you had to tell them what for all by yourself, without telling any of us what you were planning or where you were going.”

Jack’s expression falters, unconsciously ducking his head as he avoids Davey’s gaze. “Uh...”

“Stop moving,” Davey says, curling his free hand around Jack’s jaw and tipping his head back towards the light. “Jack, what the hell were you thinking?”

“Davey—”

“Oh, wait, I know,” Davey continues. “You weren’t thinking. You can’t have been. Otherwise you wouldn’t have gone through with such a stupid fucking idea.”

He turns Jack’s head from side to side, checking for any other bits of dirt he may have missed. Satisfied that the wound is clean, he reaches for a clean cloth, maneuvering Jack’s head around for a better angle.

“You’re smarter than this, Jackie,” Davey says, brow furrowed as he dabs gently at Jack’s split lip. “I know that you’re smarter than this. Running in swinging, half-cocked with no one to back you up? If any of the others had done something that reckless you would’ve strung them up by the ears.”

Davey shifts a bit closer, thumb brushing lightly against Jack’s lower lip as he works.

“And picking a fight with the DeLanceys? God, you’re lucky they didn’t send the police after you. I swear, Jack, of all the dangerous, moronic stunts you could’ve pulled, this one really takes the cake—“

Davey happens to glance up, and whatever else he might’ve said dies away. Because Jack is looking at him, and the sheer yearning in his eyes makes Davey’s breath catch in his throat.

Jack’s eyes find his own and their gazes lock. Davey almost feels dizzy with it—with the depth and richness of it all—his heart pounding double-time in his chest.

Davey sways forward, almost unconsciously, and Jack mirrors him, throat working around a heavy swallow. It’s almost like a gravitational pull, the intensity of the way they’re drawn towards each other.

They both lean in, achingly slowly.

Jack’s eyes flutter shut, his mouth parting slightly in anticipation, but instead of closing that tantalizing distance, Davey presses a gentle kiss to Jack’s brow.

He lingers there for several seconds, then pulls away.

Jack lets out a trembling exhale.

“Stop getting your face bashed in,” Davey commands softly, smoothing a hand through Jack’s hair, then lacing his fingers together at the nape of Jack’s neck. “I mean it, Jackie.”

“You’re killin’ me here, Dave,” Jack says, relaxing into Davey’s hands, turning his head and pressing a kiss to the inside of Davey’s wrist as he does.

“Depends on how you look at it,” Davey says, working his thumbs into the tense muscles of Jack’s neck. Jack sighs, melting that much more. “Maybe you just aren’t thinking about it the right way.”

Jack’s hands find their way to Davey’s waist: delightfully warm even through the fabric of Davey’s shirt. “And how, exactly, should I be thinkin’ about it?”

“You should think of it as an incentive,” Davey murmurs. “An incentive to start taking better care of yourself. Because I’m not in the habit of kissing reckless idiots, and I’m not looking to start now.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jack rumbles, his eyes sparking with promise.

Davey licks his lips. “You do that.”

00000

@wide-eyed--wonderer

Tag List: @yahfancyclamwiththepurlinside @corbinthecowboy

#newsies #javid #jack kelly #davey jacobs #*the writing desk #*ask game #*ask #bits & bobs #*editor's note #let's cut to the chase series #oh look more anxiety writing

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innenofutari · 5 years

Text

An Analysis of Vanitas’s Personality (meta)

I’ve always wanted to write some little meta for Vanitas no Carte, more specifically Vanitas, who probably is one of my favorite characters overall. I can’t help but find his entire character so well-built and intriguing! Most notably how he is written to be the center of the story- he’s like a “key” to the “catbox”; once you understand him, you can understand the themes and mysteries of the story (or at least that’s what I believe Mochijun is going for currently).

Diving into his mindset is, let me tell you, one hell of a confusing ride. But, at the end of it, I think I managed to form my own interpretations pretty well. Also, considering that he’s the type of character meant to be a mystery, feel free to agree or disagree with this meta, after all this is only the way I view things, and your interpretations aren’t any less valid than mine. With that being said, you better sit down because I’m one motherfucker who talks your ears off I’m so sorry.

1. Vanitas’s “change of mood” in the manga:

I think I want to start by talking about one of the things about Vanitas that caught my attention while reading the manga for the first time, and this is Vanitas’s “attitude change”. While I was reading, it was so subtle and gradual that I didn’t even properly realize until halfway through the catacombs arc. That instantly piqued my attention and I, a moron as I am, went “Wait didn’t this idiot act completely differently ten chapters ago?”. So why, exactly, did this dumbass change his demeanor so drastically? Well, he kind of didn’t, really.

At the start of the series, we all know Vanitas looked to be in “a good mood”; he laughed all the time, constantly wore a smile on his face and seemed like he was having fun with everything around him, yet suddenly, he got grumpier, angrier, snapping at the smallest things and so on. This never had anything with his temper and feelings, but everything to do with trust.

Now, what exactly do I mean by “trust”? I’m sure everyone reading this already knows, but I’ll talk about it anyway because it’s almost three in the unholy morning and I’m running solely on cans of soda.

I’ll start by saying that there is no more effective way to conceal your feelings than by wearing a grin on your face; one smile can mean a multitude of things, and it’s very hard to tell anything about a person based on that. The “smiling tactic” is an extremely effective way of obtaining information without unintentionally giving any to the person you’re trying to take information from.

Even when August is literally choking him, and Vanitas is clearly in pain, his smile stays on, unwavering, from the beginning to the very end of his interrogation. Later, August himself even acknowledges that he himself couldn’t discover shit about Vanitas after all, since Vanitas is so well guarded.

His smile also serves another purpose other than to omit, and it’s exactly to extract information from other people.

Vanitas relies a lot on charm and charisma to gather information. He knows people are more willing to talk to someone friendlier, who wears a smile on their faces all the time and to who they can feel a sense of security and trust towards.

Based on this, it’s pretty safe to assume that with Noé at first was the same, wasn’t it? His enthusiasm at the beginning never really existed (although I still believe his instant interest towards Noé is pretty real, like he gravitated towards him). He uses his smiles to conceal, to gather information and also to taunt people (e.g. Astolfo), but it’s not truthful.

For me, Vanitas’s sudden “change” was one of the biggest proofs of his trust on Noé, and marks the beginning of when he truly started to see him as someone he could (kind of) confide in. You could argue that Vanitas jumping in the Altus portal was also a sign of trust, but I disagree. That still felt weirdly “calculated”, he knows someone with a personality like Noé’s would never let someone die in front of their eyes, so he gambled on this possibility. Vanitas trusted his own understanding of Noé’s personality, not Noé himself. However, what would he even gain by acting grumpy next to Noé? Nothing, right? He’s just exposing himself needlessly.

Now the question, what exactly sparked this sudden change in the way Vanitas felt about Noé? For the when, I think it’s pretty obvious what scene it was.

This scene is very important for many reasons. Each of Vanitas’s expressions here tell their own story and capture the nature of his contradicting feelings so well. But, I’ll get to these “contradictions” in a second, now I wanted to talk about something else: “hope”.

It’s no news to anyone that Vanitas is like, depressed as shit and is pretty much passively suicidal and, of course, entirely disillusioned with the world and society as a whole. He believes people and vampires alike are inherently selfish, twisted beings. Creatures so wicked that there is no point to even reason with them. Vanitas doesn’t have any hope whatsoever, both in himself and others. For him, the person is already drowning before even stepping into the lake.

Even so, I firmly believe that there is a side of Vanitas that wished so fervently to be proven wrong. Even though he was dead set on his beliefs, he wanted someone to come and crush them. To prove him that there is good in this world, that he was being a damn fool this entire time. But no one ever stuck around enough to do that. They were all unable to truly reach out to him.

Noé gave him the hope that there was a person who could convince him. That there was a person who could understand him, reach out to the depths of his heart and get past his lies. He willingly sets up this façade of this cold, unfeeling jerk who has no care for others and always does as he pleases, but he’s always wanted someone to look past this. Yet, at the same time, he’s deathly afraid of this possibility.

In the first picture, his face is in awe, as if he was looking at salvation itself. However, that all crumbles down when Noé says he is staying with Vanitas and the implications this has. That’s what he is terrified of. Aaaand with this we move to the second section of this analysis! (Damn this is getting so lengthy I truly became that one freak who writes a thesis worth of analysis of a drawing).

2. Vanitas’s fears and contradictions:

I think it’s really obvious to everyone that damn this dude got some issues regarding forming relationships with other people. It’s pretty safe to say the only friend he has is Noé, and that’s such an easy thing to overlook, mainly because of how he acts around others. You could argue that he’s friends with Dante but… that’s not quite so. Dante is, in fact, fairly good at reading Vanitas (which, unpopular opinion, is not a hard thing to do given how emotional he is, but let’s get to that later) but between them there is an emotional barrier neither is willing to cross. They’re more like close acquaintances than anything.

Well, this isn’t groundbreaking, but it’s pretty obvious Vanitas is terrified of forming any meaningful bonds with others. Thing most obviously showcased in the notorious chapter 12:

This panel… is a tricky one. It’s totally up to the reader’s interpretation and it could mean a myriad of different things, especially since very little was revealed about his past as of chapter 39.

I personally see this scene as showing Vanitas’s fear of attachment, laced with a tinge of self hatred. There is nothing Vanitas fears more than getting close to people and caring about them, he himself sees this as a weakness and something he absolutely must not have. On a side note, it is also possible that Vanitas thinks so lowly of himself that he thinks anyone that would seriously love him was completely out of their minds. Or both, who knows?

But what is so interesting is that… he can’t. Vanitas knows he should be cold, calculating, use people as pieces and discard them, knows he shouldn’t be emotional or act on impulse, knows he shouldn’t express any kind of feeling whatsoever and keep the concealing smile. Yet, he just fails so miserably in every single one of those. Vanitas cares a lot, more than he’d ever want to admit, he does completely reckless and uncalled for things for no reason other than it pissed him off, so of course he gotta get the last say because he has the mind of a teenager on their rebellious phase.

Say, can you think of any, any at all, conceivable explanation of what Vanitas could possibly gain by making that speech for all vampires to hear during the ball? There is none. If you think from his perspective, the only thing that little spectacle of his brought were disadvantages for himself. So why? Because he felt belittled, humiliated, and he’s prideful as all hell, so of course he had to prove how none of that was even remotely true. He wanted to affirm himself. In the thinking process of a cunning, one hundred percent unemotional man, that was a completely unnecessary move.

It’s almost like Vanitas wants to become someone he’s not. He wants to act a certain way (to prevent even more pain?), but, ultimately, he cannot. It’s even funny how he fails spectacularly on keeping his expression “blank, without information” because even when he tries, his emotions all show on his face. It’s amusing how quick he is to try and cover said blunder with a laugh and a smile.

These contradictions are very deeply linked to his trauma, even if we don’t know the full extent of it it’s fairly obvious. What drives his wish to act so differently and thus his contradictions is, most of all, fear.

This part is pretty straightforward, in fact. In the end, Vanitas is afraid of forming bonds with others in fear of losing them, he knows firsthand how much it hurts (of course, he also doesn’t want anyone to discover his past). But that’s not all, remember how I mentioned that Vanitas’s expression only darkened in the clock tower (chapter 11) scene when Noé said he had decided to stay with him…? Well… I think Vanitas might think he brings misfortune to whoever gets involved with him. Like he is some symbol of disaster and doom that does nothing but kill those around him. If people care for him, they will suffer, but if they hate him, they will be completely fine.

Despite his insistence of being detached to all people and being a cold asshole because that’s what he must do, to avoid getting hurt, to avoid having weak points, he also craves so very badly for intimacy. He wants to be close to someone, to make an impression on someone. After all, during his whole life I doubt he truly had any meaningful relationships with others. But love only results in pain in the end, so what other strong emotion is left? Of course, it’s hatred.

Aaand this brings us to the last section of this analysis! May be a tad biased and controversial, but as I said, this is merely my opinion and I’m just as much of a random person on the internet as you! My opinion is no better than yours.

3. Vanitas’s relationships: Mainly Noé and Jeanne

As I said above, Vanitas wishes fervently to have some kind of relationship with someone, no matter which type. Since love is a no-go, he opted towards having someone feel intense hatred towards him. Because a strong emotion is a strong emotion, isn’t it? After all, hatred must be better than indifference.

Getting this out of the way, I do not think Vanitas truly loves Jeanne as of chapter 39. It’s glaringly obvious he does not, his way of showing true affection is not the way he does with Jeanne. The way he acts around her is much closer to the façade he tries to be. As I see it, this ties into Vanitas’s wish to explore intimacy and affection, even if a broken, twisted kind of. Another proof of this is that he doesn’t push her away like he does with people he knows he’s starting to grow fond of, but instead keeps her closer.

That is exactly due to the belief that she will always, always hate him, and so, there is absolutely nothing to fear. He can explore all these things and experience being the brunt of a person’s intense feelings without any consequences.

This is a very harsh thing to say, but I think Vanitas is using Jeanne as a “convenient female” he accused Dominique of being to Noé.

It’s also worth noting that in the one chapter he truly got somehow intimate with Jeanne he tried to avoid it in many ways, even trying the usual “flirting” to purposefully gross her out. By the way, can I just point out that this scene truly shows just how estranged from affection he is? He has none of the suave façade, he’s a blundering mess.

About the topic of whether Jeanne likes Vanitas or not, my answer is, too, a clear no as of chapter 39. Vanitas and Jeanne together are a combination that spawns all the disaster on earth, considering how manipulative and emotionally stunted Vanitas is, and how gullible and affection starved Jeanne is. It’s a recipe for disaster. Jeanne is not used to affection, she was mistreated during most of her life, treated as something below humans and vampires due to a thing that was completely out of her control, and then, melting at any sort of affection, no matter how twisted the person may be.

To be fair, I think overall Vanijeanne will develop immensely, and their relationship will grow into something else, more healthy? Who knows! I just think it’s undeniable that in the future Jeanne will have a big, big impact on Vanitas and vice versa. (Disclaimer: I will not tolerate any ship hate whatsoever and everyone is allowed to ship whatever they want regardless of the nature of said ship).

Shifting the focus away to Noé and Vanitas for now, there are some little things I would like to talk about and juxtapose with Vanijeanne, since parallels are my thing.

Parallels between Vanoé and Vanijeanne may not even exist and are just my mind overthinking (hell if this whole post isn’t just a big overthinking) but I would like to talk about what my sleep deprived mind came up with. First off, I think it’s safe to say that Vanoé’s relationship is depicted as complete opposites, opposite worldviews, personalities, fuck even color palettes! And the story as it is shows that they bring the absolute best out of each other and learn by staying by the other’s side. The whole narrative pushes the two halves of a whole idiot a lot.

Noé is naive, pure, idealistic but still possesses certain “selfishness” (like how he felt he was selfish when Louis died but he lived), while Vanitas is cunning, wicked, cynical and would throw his own life away for one corn chip. It’s like they were two people fated to meet.

Vanitas and Jeanne, on the other hand… are kind of similar, but only in certain ways, mostly due to trauma. Jeanne, too, only lives for a sole objective, the same way Vanitas clings to life using his self assigned duty to cure curse bearers. Jeanne and Vanitas both, are people who have essentially gave up on life, on the world, and on themselves. People who purposefully push themselves away from happiness, in fear of the consequences.

I think, at least right now, this is the main reason why they cannot see eye to eye (aside from Vanitas being an asshole). To understand Vanitas and reach out to him, one must see him with “love”. Without love, Vanitas’s struggles, trauma and suffering cannot be seen. If you look at him with eyes full of hatred, he’ll be exactly who he wants to be seen as; a cold, heartless bastard who toys with people and cares for no one other than himself. Jeanne doesn’t have the ability to see the world as purely as Noé does. She cannot find love even in seemingly irredeemable people such as Vanitas. Yet, at least.

That’s the main reason why I think Vanitas isn’t afraid of being near Jeanne, and that’s the main reason why Noé is probably such an… illogical existence to Vanitas. Vanitas, too, cannot see love in the world, and yet, Noé does. Noé catches every single small detail about him:

Whew! That was… one big fucking post! If you’ve reached this point, thank you! I write meta for fun only and to share my interpretations for you guys! Also, the last bit probably sounded very ship hate-y but I swear this was absolutely not my intention.

Actually, the true meaning of this whole post was that I wanted to make an Umineko reference with Vanitas no Carte and I have succeeded. Play Umineko, you guys.

#vnc vanitas #vanitas no carte #vnc #the case study of vanitas #meta #vanoé #vaninoé #vannoé #analysis #long post #vnc jeanne #noé archiviste

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mirainawen · 4 years

Text

Some headcanons for The Long Road that absolutely nobody asked for

Who’s the messiest one:

Everyone has their places that they are the messiest one in.

dean: when he cooks, he does not clean up the kitchen afterward. he reasons that cleanup is sam's detail, because that splits the work 50-50. most of the time, sam is okay with this because he doesn't particularly enjoy cooking and is tired of takeout. he'll bitch dean out in three circumstances: 1, he hasn't been there (fair), 2, he wanted to eat out (less fair), 3, DID YOU REALLY HAVE TO WRECK THE WHOLE KITCHEN TO BAKE A FRICKIN PIE (least fair).

when it comes to the state of his room, though, dean falls right between sam and adam. it's his space, so he reasons everyone can mind their own business. sometimes he is really on top of it; other stretches of time, he'll let things pile up / get out of place before he'll do something about it.

you so much as leave a to-go cup in Baby, though, and God help you.

sam: between the three of them, sam tends to be the most orderly and tidy. BUT, leave that man alone to his own devices in the library? he's probably fallen asleep atop an entire table of "organized chaos" of open books, pages of notes, a new (unimplemented) filing system, a dozen bookmarked tomes, and a couple dozen pens lost amid the chaos. sam in research mode + cross-referencing & digitizing & organizing the men of letters' archives into a streamlined and interconnected, coherent system is...a lot. just like A Lot. and it Shows. (and sam's loving every minute of it. utterly geeking out in his own head.)

adam: is a disaster child. he'll let shit pile up until he has to deal with it, or is otherwise bitched at enough by (usually) sam. he doesn't have a lot of stuff, so it can't reach actual problem levels in the bunker. but he's totally the kind to be like, "what the hell? how long has this been here? hey, guys, when did we eat at burger king? oh god, we should definitely toss that at the next gas station. what? no i'm not going searching for a trash can right now" about his car.

Who feels the most uncomfortable about PDA:

it is, get this, sam. i know, i know. hear me out. when given the option, adam can and will be affectionate within reason. he's the most uptight and gunshy about it at first, when he just gets out of the cage; tends to withdraw from people getting too close, always on edge; as a survivor of the most Traumatic Thing in the Universe, that is more than fair and expected.

once he's had time to find his footing with sam & dean, however, he'll greet them with a bro-hug, when appropriate, a slap on the back, a nudge of the elbow, lowkey affection like that.

dean came back from purgatory more affectionate than he'd ever been before. much more readily will not only greet with a hug, but say goodbye (even in 'casual' partings) with a hug.

that leaves sam, who used to be considered more mushy than dean by these terms. dean's lowkey affection he's used to. adam's? nah. no. especially in the first 5 years, for the amount of time that adam does it (before shit gets Real Bad). after adam gets out of the institution, he gravitates more towards sam naturally, even when pissed, and sam's kinda lowkey why is he in my personal space??? weird. because it doesn't innately fit the same kind of way it does with dean. post-reintegration, he's more affectionate after they've found their footing again. he tries to make up for the Bad Years with more slaps on the shoulder kind of affection. boy's trying.

Who’s the funniest drunk:

sam is a disaster drunk. he's the biggest lightweight of the three of them, which is funny because he's also the biggest, just like the biggest in general. dean becomes so much fun in unexpectedly different kinds of ways. like, he can be talked into karaoke. or doing some stupid shit he's gonna regret in the morning because odds are it's not gonna end well.

but adam is straight up hilarious. that sharp wit comes out, and all his inhibitions (and image) are gone so he just straight up cracks the worst jokes ever and gets away with it. they land. somehow they land. maybe because sam & dean are also drunk. maybe because he is just that funny. maybe it's that he has a tendency to get blackout-wasted and do stupid shit that makes no sense whatsoever, like shower with his f*ckin socks on and dean is never gonna let that shit die.

Who texts the most:

adam or dean. during large periods of time in the first 5 years, adam will leave dean on read and dean texts because read receipts means he knows when adam is checking his messages and therefore he knows adam is at least alive, if not entirely alright. by that view, dean texts the most.

but for random shit, that would be adam. he'll text dean something like

with either no caption, or something like: this reminds me you need to hit the gym, or looks like you have competition and doesn't give further context. dean doesn't mind because at least it means the kid's not dying in a basement somewhere.

he'll kick his ass for the fat comment later

Who reads the most:

it goes in this order:

sam "i read this entire book in one sitting cause i had the time, and now i am awake at 1am because i can't decide if i want to start another one since i have down time" winchester

adam "does it have cool illustrations? no? fine, at least tell me the lore on boobries is correct" milligan

dean "what job has the least amount of reading?" winchester

Who has the most embarrassing taste in music:

eff. ing. adam. even in his own car (where, hey, the rules are driver picks the music dean!) he's only allowed a certain amount of time for his "whiny teenage garbage music" (thanks dean) before he has to change it to something a little more tolerable (rock, at the very least). heaven help him if he hints at something country with dean around. dean will be like, sit your ass down it's time for REAL music 101 and put on Metallica for the 8th time.

Who’s better with kids:

adam, with dean a very, very close second! so close, they probably tie. adam, early on, isn't good with anyone because fresh-out-of-the-cage (even post-institution for a bit) makes him kind of a hairs-breadth triggered bomb when it comes to people of all ages. but adam a bit more balanced? a natural. he grew up around extended family, friends, wanted kids of his own someday.

sam, however, is the absolute worst. a pure disaster moron in this arena. when adam is de-aged? dean didn't think it was possible for sam to suck so much at something. (don't worry, the boy found his bearings. but oh man...the road to get there, paved with more potholes than road.) BUT when sam really tries? like if he lets himself relax and lowers his inhibitions, he can do pretty well. but he's mostly just Highly Uncomfortable around kids, and like, it Shows.

Who’s the one that fixes things around the house:

dean. put that boy in the garage, under the hood of a car, great. can do it all. put that boy in front of a little home repair? renovation? by god he'll figure it out. and he won't put a hole in the wall shut up sammy. he takes pride in the upkeep of the bunker.

sam, however, is much more content to just be like ah man i wish we had a shelf here. or, oh right we need to remember to do xyz and then sit back and wait for it to Magically Take Care of Itself.

Who’s got the weirdest hobby:

hobby? what the hell is that? a homeless person?

Who cooks and who cleans up:

dean cooks, sam cleans. adam cooks, sam and dean will rock-paper-scissors for cleanup. or leave adam to do it. sam is never allowed to cook. he's a horrible cook. they'd literally rather eat out than let sam cook. sam, of course, is highly insulted, but also like...he knows dean & adam are better cooks. they just are. yes, fine, he'll wash the dishes again.

every now and then he gives it a shot. surprisingly he makes really good pancakes. he'll cook just to force one of the others to have to cleanup when he's tired of being on dish duty. dean & adam are not impressed when he tries to leverage sandwiches for dish duty.

sam, somewhat sloshed on a saturday night will be like, guys! guys! hey why don't i make us food and dean and adam are like, duuuuuude. ...wait, no. sam- and he's like, no, guys, i got this, and brings them microwave burritos. and THEN they're like hey! no! this does NOT mean we're doing dishes!

#the long road #supernatural #tlr headcanons #dean winchester #sam winchester #adam milligan #ioannemos #i'm tagging you in this even though you did not ask for it

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violetsmoak · 5 years

Text

Philtatos [1/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20101543/chapters/47615902

Blanket Disclaimer

Summary: During a patrol where Red Hood and Red Robin cross paths, Jason is infected with the blood of the Eros, the ancient God of Love, who informs them that they must track down his missing bow and arrows, or Jason will go slowly mad with an obsessive desire--for Tim. Though overwhelmed by the sudden attention being paid to him, Tim sets to work trying to solve the case, before Jason succumbs to madness. In the meantime, Jason discovers that there's more than godlike powers at work here, as well as a legacy that reaches back through the sands of time.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

Beta Reader: None at the moment, but if anyone’s interested, message me through Tumblr.

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #art #gods in disguise #wings

Canon-Compliance: Follows the New Earth continuity, with elements of New 52 (ie the ones that don’t completely contradict everything that happened pre-Flashpoint). Ignores Rebirth completely. So, up to about 2016 in terms of publication dates? Robins War happened, but Red Hood hasn’t met Artemis or Bizarro, and nothing bad has happened to Roy ffs!

———————————————————————————————————–

“Of all the warehouses in all the towns in all the world, you grappled onto mine.”

Tim suppresses a groan at the faux amusement even a voice modulator can’t disguise and prepares for the likelihood that his careful planning is about to go to shit. It’s as irritating as the customary flutter in his stomach.

He shifts out of his crouch at the edge of the warehouse skylight and inclines his head to the right, taking in the familiar leather-clad figure and expressionless red helmet. He’s not sure how he didn’t sense the larger man approach or at least hear the tread of his boots.

Jason knows how to be quiet when he needs to be.

Quirks of being a Robin; the habit of creeping around like a living shadow doesn’t disappear, even years after the fact.

“This isn’t your warehouse,” Tim replies at last, careful to keep his tone neutral and not betraying his irritation. While he doubts his predecessor would try to take him out from behind (he’s 89% sure, at least), Red Hood has tried to kill him several times and in several ways in the past.

Jason acts as if he didn’t hear him.

“Might be time to go back to school, Timbers, if you can’t even recognize a Casablanca reference. I thought you’re supposed to be the cultured one.”

“Except for Star Wars, I prefer my movies to be from the post-John Hughes era.”

“Heathen.”

It’s hard to tell if Jason is shuddering in disgust, or in response to the biting November chill; either is possible. Leather isn’t known for its insulating properties.

On nights like this, Tim can’t help being way more in awe of former Robins. When he wore the colors, he had thermal warmers built into his suit—Dick and Jason used to do this job in short-pants.

“Anyway, I’d never buy land here,” Jason continues, a deceptive nonchalance in his tone putting Tim on edge. “It’s right in a flood zone. I dunno about you, but I had enough floods to last a lifetime.”

“Hood, what are you doing here?”

“Should ask you that. I thought you were in California or something. Team-building exercises with the other kiddy heroes or whatever it is you do.”

Tim ignores the way his heart jumps at the notion that Jason gave any attention to his whereabouts. “Business trip. What’s your excuse?”

“Missed the smell of smog and sewer. Needed to get my fix.”

Right, because I really expected him to tell me the actual truth.

“Uh-huh.”

The two former Robins size each other up for several seconds, and not for the first time, Tim curses the helmet hiding Jason’s face. He hates not being able to read people, but in his experience, not being able to read Jason has the potential to turn deadly.

“Are we done?” Tim prompts.

“Yeah, we’re good. Now make like a Bat and step off.” Jason’s reached into his side holsters—and yes, there are the modified M1911 pistols he favors. Tim’s awareness of his position between Jason and the skylight grows. “I’ve got a creep that needs to fear of Hood put in him.”

There is an implicit order to back off, but Tim squares his shoulders.

As if that’s ever worked on any of us.

He has no intention of relinquishing his case, and not just because he dislikes Jason’s style of justice. Tim gets sidelined enough by both Batmans and Robin whenever he’s in Gotham, he won’t knuckle under because Red Hood also demands it. Tim might be a bit in love with the guy, but he knows how to compartmentalize.

His feelings are inconvenient, but he’s resigned himself to them. He can pinpoint the exact moment it started to happen.

(His childhood fascination with Robin doesn’t count, even if it was watching Jason bulldoze his path through petty criminals that made him breathless and giddy in a way watching Dick never had.)

Tim blames the waffles.

No, that’s not right; he blames himself for asking Jason to stay for the waffles.

And the talking.

Which led to the joking.

Which led to that one moment where Jason, with syrup all down his chin, laughed at one of Tim’s throway remarks. Laughed, not sneered or scoffed, but genuinely laughed. It was unguarded and untouched by bitterness, warm and rich and his smile was that cocky twist Tim could remember from so many years ago. Something in Tim’s chest pulled tight, his mouth going dry, and he felt lightheaded.

He should have known at that exact moment, because that’s what happened with Steph, when he looked at her one day and realized, he liked her.

Except with Jason, Tim thought he was just recovering from his surprise that his predecessor agreed to stick around for a while. And that they were getting along and that Jason was laughing.

After that, it was a slow roll toward the inevitable that he unknowingly (totally knowingly) ignored. He’s always excelled at shielding himself from his own feelings—had to be. But every time they met each other on random patrols that crossed over, or amid the monthly major crisis involving the whole Family or when Tim ran into him at the manor visiting Alfred, that buoyant emotion returned, stronger each time.

Sometimes he lets himself imagine that Jason gravitates to him more than anyone else. It fills him with the same dizzy warmth as whenever Jason gives him a look—one of those conspiratorial ones like he and Tim are sharing a joke, except half the time Tim doesn’t know what the joke is and the other half he’s sure it’s him, because what moron falls for the guy that’s tried and almost succeeded in killing him more times than he likes to admit?

He keeps quiet about his feelings, though. It’s not as if it’s something that will ever pan out. It’s simiar to having a crush on a celebrity; fun, if a little sad, to dream about, but never serious. In private, he figures he has a better chance of a healthy relationship with Lynx than with Jason.

He’s accepted that and intends to go on with his life.

“I lose you somewhere there?”

Jason’s voice startles Tim out of his head—he realizes he’s been silent for about thirty seconds—and he gives himself a mental shake. “Just trying to figure out your angle. This isn’t really your…thing.”

“Shows what you know.”

Arguments with Jason are an exercise in futility and Tim refuses to justify his continued involvement in his own investigation—call if professional pride. Instead, he restructures his plan for apprehending his target, accounting for the new and often volatile presence of the Red Hood. He wasn’t looking for a team-up, but he’s pretty sure that’s what’s about to happen.

Tim sighs inwardly.

Just because he’s used to his plans imploding because of Jason, doesn’t mean he has to like it. As to why Jason’s here, it only takes a mental review of the case to figure it out.

“Bunny Vreeland?” he guesses.

“Got it in one.”

Tim nods, because given the specifics of this case, that would be the angle Jason focussed on.

A spate of burglaries have occurred across the city, resulting in Gotham’s elite families and institutions losing valuable pieces of art. Normally Tim would leave a case like this to the GCPD—it should be pretty open-shut, since every theft that’s occurred has been witnessed by the victim.

Except, none of the witnesses seem to be able to recall anything that happened. And somehow, the extant security footage has offered no answers either. As for museums and galleries, those meant to be on guard with security were discovered…doing other things. A lot of them were found in some rather compromising positions, both alone and when working with a partner.

(Tim suppresses a shudder. He could have gone his entire life without seeing the footage a sweat-stained, middle-aged rent-a-cop taking care of himself the Natural History Museum’s security office.)

None of the victims remember how they ended up that way.

That sort of thing, he’d normally suspect it involved Poison Ivy, but she always leaves spores or trails of toxin behind. Every crime scene so far has been clean of any trace evidence.

Whoever is cutting a swath through Gotham’s art collectors has a specific taste—paintings, sculptures and wood cuttings with decidedly risqué themes. Given the behavior of the witnesses and security personnel, it’s entirely conceivable that there’s a metahuman with some kind of… pheromone projection ability running around Gotham. That alone wouldn’t draw Jason’s attention. Except, the latest person to fall prey to the thief was a teenaged girl. And while the age of consent in New Jersey is sixteen, the consenter in question needs to remember giving it to be valid.

Hence Red Hood’s involvement.

“That happened yesterday,” Tim points out. He’s not sure what is more annoying to him: the fact he’s been on this case for a week and Jason thinks he can show up and take it from him, or that Jason’s been looking into it for less than twenty-four hours and has already tracked down the suspect. “How did you figure out you should come here?”

Okay, so it’s probably the latter.

“It’s art, right? Whoever’s doing this need somewhere to store the pieces, even if it’s only waiting to sell them off. And it’d have to be somewhere easy to get in and out of without drawing attention. I kept an ear out for any property changing hands around here that was inside the theft radius.”

“I checked recent property purchases, though. There haven’t been any for the past two months.”

“Well, there wouldn’t be any records of it if it was a handshake deal—which this was,” Jason replies. “It might not be on the record, but this place is now under the ownership of a Steven Howard.” He tilts his head to one side, and Tim suspects he’s being smirked at. “Why, what overly complicated scheme did you come up with to find this guy?”

There’s that teasing again, although the amusement is more genuine this time. Tim hopes the cowl covers enough of his face to hide the flush in his cheeks.

“I used tonight’s WE charity auction to showcase several pieces remaining from my parents’ collection, specifically those that fit the tastes of our thief,” he explains. “It was a last-minute decision, but I know a certain reporter that’s more than happy to plaster my name across newspapers and social media everywhere.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

“I was hoping to catch the guy in the act, but I got intercepted by a bunch of Lockheed Martin reps and couldn’t get away.”

“Probably for the best, or he’d have put the whammy on you, too.”

“Maybe.” He doesn’t say he would rather it had been him than the event organizer; the poor woman had been frazzled enough before succumbing to the wiles of the mystery thief. “I had a contingency if it happened.” Specifically, a taser in the sleeve of his suit. “Luckily, I left microtracers on the stolen pieces and used the GPS to find where they were taken.”

“How did you manage that? This guy’s been knocking out every electrical device he’s gone up against.”

“Devices that are turned on, yes. You don’t need a GPS to be turned on to trace it—”

His explanation trails off as the computer in his cowl alerts him to someone setting off the motion sensors he planted a half-hour earlier. The thief was gone by the time Tim arrived at this warehouse, but he knew he would be back.

Showtime.

The shipping area is surprisingly empty but based on the security-feeds he’s hacked into dozens of stolen relics—paintings, sculptures and photographs fill the office. The ones he used as bait—a series of Edo-period shunga—have been placed with some prominence in the middle of the room.

He adjusts the screens within his cowl, toggling through nine different enhanced vision modes before he settles on heat-vision. Since cameras don’t seem to pick up this thief, he’s hoping thermal radiation will be a better bet.

Leather shifts and out of the corner of his eye, he notices Jason crouch down beside him.

Looks like he’s fine with us teaming up, at least.

Out loud, he says, “Wait for my signal. We have to confirm before we engage.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” is the snarky reply.

Tim rolls his eyes and settles back into his observational position.

Jason doesn’t like silence, or at least that’s what Tim thinks because he can’t think of a single instance where they worked together that the older vigilante didn’t run his mouth. Even now, he only manages for several minutes of quiet, shifting his weight back and forth impatiently, before he asks, “So what’s your interest in this? Gotham’s elite getting duped isn’t really your thing anymore. The way I hear, you’re a lot more international these days.”

Tim’s eyes don’t leave the window.

“This is international. There were similar crimes committed in Boston last week, which stopped once the thefts started here in Gotham. Before Boston it was St. John’s, before that Dublin, London—as far as I can tell, it originated in Amsterdam.”

“What’s in Amsterdam?”

“Besides spider assassins and stroopwafel? Catwoman. Except it can’t be her because when the second spate of incidents started up in London, she was in Innsbruck casing the Swarovski exhibit.”

“Then how’d you get a beat on this guy? I got nothing from the security footage. It’s like most of it was erased or malfunctioned.”

“It wasn’t easy. Vague witness statements and enhancing whatever footage was available, which barely helped. By accident, I caught something reflected in a shop window and that was the most tangible evidence.”

“So the guy doesn’t show up on cameras, but still has a reflection. So not a vampire.”

“Not human, either, I think. Somehow, this guy made it from Dublin to St. John’s without being flagged by any checkpoint or even Customs. There are no flight manifests, commercial or charter, that include passengers of his description. Or line up with his times of disappearance. I’ve got a second-hand witness description of him in a Boston lounge at ten o’clock last Monday. Fifteen minutes later on the same day, someone saw him walking around the Wedgewood Museum here in Gotham.”

“That’s where the first theft took place.” Jason makes crosses his arms. “Even if he had access to a plane that travels Mach 1, he wouldn’t get here that fast. Meta?”

“It’s the only explanation that makes sense, since it looks like whatever his powers, he can turn them off and on at will. Probably only uses them when he’s committing the break-ins.”

“And the—wait. There he is.”

They both go silent and watch the suspect enter.

It’s a bit anticlimactic.

Steven Howard looks nothing like a suave master thief that can stir up lustful feelings in anyone. Slender, perhaps as tall as Tim but with a slighter build, dressed in skinny jeans, several layers of shirts and thick black gloves. His dirty blond hair is literally filthy, hanging in the mats that white people try to pass off as dreadlocks, and he’s wearing tinted shades. Inside. At night.

Jason is just as unimpressed.

“Are you kidding me?” he hisses. “This scrawny, pale douche wearing sunglasses at night? He looks like someone didn’t realize Woodstock is over.”

They continue to observe as Howard shuffles into the middle of the room, carrying a huge paper bad with what appears to be enough Batburger to feed twelve people.

“It seems consistent with the descriptions I have,” Tim says, doubtful. “He just… doesn’t seem the type.” Jason is already standing, ready to dive through the skylight and confront the guy, but Tim stops him, throwing an arm out in front of him. “If he’s a meta, we need to have some idea of his capabilities first.”

“Or we knock him out before he knows we’re there and figure that out later.”

“If you want to get hit with whatever pheromones he gives off, be my guest, I promise I won’t take any blackmail videos,” Tim says, and that at least makes Jason pause and reassess.

Below, Howard places the takeout on a pile of crates, and strolls over to the Japanese prints. He considers them carefully for several seconds, before shucking his gloves and reaching forward, stroking his hand across the surface. Then, he presses his forehead against it, fingers caressing the edges.

“Clearly not concerned with artifact preservation.”

“That’s weird, right? Rich people don’t usually walk around feeling up pieces of art?”

“I don’t know, Hood, do you?”

“I’m not rich.”

“You steal literal fortunes from gangsters.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like I keep much of it. And I didn’t grow up with a silver spoon in my mouth like a few other people I could name.”

“Bite me.”

“Kinky.”

The other man is obviously being a smart-ass, but Tim still clenches his fist and hopes his cowl is low enough on his face to disguise the flood of color in his cheeks.

Down below, Howard straightens up and tugs his shirts off.

“What the hell?” Jason hisses. “We’d better not be out to watch this guy beat off in front of a painting!”

Before Tim can respond, the lights in the warehouse flicker, as if hit by a sudden power surge. Howard rolls his shoulders, like he’s warming up for exercise, and there’s an odd snap that echoes even this high up.

Two enormous feathered appendages erupt from the man’s back, like something out of a video game, except this is real life. One minute there’s nothing occupying the space behind him, and a beat later feathers flare out to both sides, spanning almost the entire office.

“Holy shit. Are those… wings?”

“You mean you’re seeing them too? And here I figured I haven’t been getting enough sleep.”

“Knowing you, probably not.”

“Still want to jump in without a plan?”

“Shut up.”

Tim’s fingers fly over the keyboard of his wrist computer, manually inputting characteristics since he can’t seem to capture the guy’s face on his device. “Whoever or whatever he is, he’s a complete ghost. He doesn’t show up on any of the usual databases. Which is surprising, because, wings?”

Jason shakes his head, slow as if trying to dispel disbelief. “One thing’s for sure, this is definitely our guy…”

There is a squeal of tires from behind them, and Tim’s head whips toward the loading dock below the warehouse. He fiddles with his wrist computer, tapping into satellite imagery to see from the angle he can’t. A half dozen black SUVs swerve into the lot and a wave of men pile out, dressed in black and carrying a varied assortment of firearms.

And there goes the rest of my plan…

⁂

Jason creeps to the edge of the warehouse roof to check out the new arrivals, cursing against the newest complication; Red Robin showing up on his patrol and skinny white boys with wings weren’t bad enough, now he’s got to deal with gangster too?

This was supposed to be an easy night. Break a few bones, shatter a kneecap or two, then go finish off that leftover pizza.

He suspects that whatever this is, it’s going to take up the rest of his patrol.

“Who is it?” Tim wants to know, no doubt fiddling with his fancy tech to, like, use satellite imagining figuring it out instead using his eyes.

Nerd.

“I’m seeing a lot of Kalashnikovs and Makarovs,” Jason replies, tapping his comm so he doesn’t need to shout and give away their position.

“Russian? Ivgene maybe?”

“Bratva, I think. Those guys’ve been trying to push into Gotham since Alex Kosov got arrested and the Odessa Mob started to flounder.”

“Hm. I think you’re right. I’m going over the list of theft vics again, and Ishmael Knyazev is on it.”

“Knyazev…why does that sound familiar—wait. Like Anatoly Knyazev? KGBeast?”

“His younger brother.”

“Shit.”

“I’m pretty sure those Degas’ down there in the warehouse belong to him.”

“Guess he holds a grudge…”

Down on the pavement, the men spread out, a bulky guy bearing some resemblance to Slade Wilson but without the muscles gives orders. He barks at his men to surround the building, ordering them to retrieve the paintings and whatever else appears valuable, and detain the thief for their boss to speak to.

Jason snorts, because he knows what constitutes a Russian mafia talking-to. Steven Howard, or whoever he is, is about to have a lot in common with a plucked turkey. Assuming he goes quietly, which Jason isn’t entirely sure of; they still don’t know what wing-boy is capable of.

As he returns to the skylight, he notes Tim already standing and doing a pat-down check of his equipment.

“If they’re here to address a grudge with this guy, we need to get down there before it gets ugly. I figure we have about four minutes before they infiltrate the place.”

“What happened to not just jumping in?”

“About two dozen Bratva members.”

“Yeah, so? What should we care?” Jason counters. “A bunch of scumbags tearing each other apart sounds like a night off to me. And if Feathers there takes a bullet or three, even better.”

Tim faces him dead-on then, and Jason can imagine the reproachful look beneath his stupid cowl. “Theft isn’t a capital offense.”

“Rape is.”

In his mind, anyway.

“Not according to New Jersey Law, and we don’t get to make that call. That’s what the courts are for, and that’s where this guy is going after I interrogate him.”

Jason huffs and narrows his eyes. “We really gonna have this discussion now, kid?”

Tim bristles and turns away.

“No,” he retorts, “because we don’t have time. I’m going in—with or without you.”

And without sparing another glance at him, Tim takes a running leap and jumps through the skylight to mitigate impending disaster.

Jason remains still for a beat, watching as Red Robin plummet through the air to the warehouse below, glass and metal exploding around him, and then curses.

Because, of course his replacement is going to make it his business. Jason’s perfectly content to let these low lives take each other out—death by mobster is a pretty karmic fate for a rapist, in his opinion.

Tim hits the ground several feet behind their mark, who whirls around and stares with wide eyes. The feathers in his giant wings puff up, and he bends into a defensive crouch, a snarl upon his lips.

“Who the—you! What are you doing here?” ‘Howard’ snaps, clenching his fists.

“Getting you out of here before you become a pincushion,” Red Robin growls, snapping a hand outward to grab at him. “And you’re going to answer some questions.”

“Don’t touch me—!”

“Then get moving, or we’re both—”

Apparently, Tim’s estimate was about three minutes off, because there are muffled explosions from the entrances of the warehouse and then the mobsters are piling in, shouting commands and threats, guns in hand.

“—in trouble.”

Several men fire warning shots into the air, some of which bury themselves in the frame of the portraits nearest Tim and Howard, who gives a growl and shoves away from Tim, stalking toward the incoming threat. His wings flare up in anger. “You brutes dare to—!”

But his approach startles the mobsters, who apparently weren’t expecting to encounter a shirtless winged man coming after them.

Easily startled and trigger-happy—never a good combination.

Tim’s leg snaps out, sweeping Steve’s feet out from under him, just in time to save him from the next wave of bullets ripping through the air where his head was. As Tim lands on the ground with one hand, he uses his other to throw a fistful of R-shuriken that embed themselves in the shoulder of the nearest mobster, who drops his gun with pained curses.

Ah, hell.

Jason leaps over the ruined frame of the skylight.

If anyone asks later, it’s because he doesn’t want to explain to Alfred why the poster child of the family got killed in a mob shoot-out on his watch.

(And yes, just Alfred, because while everyone else can go fuck themselves, the number one rule of the family is that you don’t upset the kindly old Englishman that puts up with literal batshit.)

But the reality is, he’s not about to let the only Bat he trusts become riddled with bullets.

Tim isn’t his family, or a friend—they don’t know each other well enough for that—but there’s always been a kind of certainty to him, so Jason knows exactly where he stands with the other vigilante. And that he can turn his back on him without having to worry about an incoming knife or a nerve-strike.

When they first met, he zeroed in on Tim because of lingering resentment and a burning desire for vengeance on his replacement, misdirected as that might have been. Now that he’s mostly over the madness of the Lazarus Pit and endured a few grudging family team-ups in the face of Gotham’s usual psychopaths, his tendency to cross paths with Red Robin feels like it’s motivated by something more complicated. There’s a connection between them, a shared experience of being the replacement that no one really wanted, constantly measured against the legacy of their predecessor and then cast aside with painful ease. They’re outsiders in the family, in a way that neither Dick nor Damian will ever be, and in his own screwed up way, Jason is a bit protective of the kid.

(Not that he intends ever to admit that.)

So yeah, going after Tim isn’t really a choice.

Can’t promise I won’t shoot that winged fucker for causing all this trouble, though.

As he lands in a heavy crouch, Jason notices Tim’s mouth part in surprise; he can’t help being insulted by that.

Sure, they’re relationship can at best be described as limbo, but the kid should know by now Jason no longer hates him with a fiery passion. If he must partner with any of the Bats, he sticks close by Tim, and not only because he has less trouble asking him for help than Dick or Bruce.

(Seriously, the last time he called in a favor with Dick, he couldn’t even get the word out.)

Tim, back on his feet now, sends another hapless gunman flying in Jason’s direction with a well-placed right hook; the guy’s eyes go wide at the sight of the Red Hood, who swings and backhands him into unconsciousness. As the body goes limp, Jason grabs the falling gun with one hand, and uses the other to prop the mobster up as a shield.

Shoving him out in front of him, Jason ducks behind the body to avoid the rain of bullets now coming at him courtesy of this guy’s buddies, carefully inching forward behind his human shield.

“No killing!” Red Robin snaps from across the room; he tosses a tiny device at two more guys, and as it explodes, a controlled concussive blast knocks them to the ground.

“I’m not killing anyone.”

“You’re not exactly preventing it!”

“Everyone’s a critic…”

Still, at the next opportune moment, he throws the man aside and shoots the guns out of the hands of the three shooters, before whirling around to kneecap the fourth that sneaks up from behind him.

One of the injured men tries to come at him again, this time with a knife, but Jason ducks the clumsy blow with ease, punching him in the gut and dragging him into a headlock as he doubles over. He swings him to the ground, takes another shot to hobble him, and then ducks as the two other mobsters crowd him.

Howard looks like he’s trying to inch away from the firefight, but he’s sent back to the ground with a well-placed tap from Red Robin’s bo staff.

“Don’t go flying off just yet,” Tim growls, then vaults over him and puts himself between the winged man and another cadre of mobsters, sweeping his cape in front of them both to shield them.

Must have upgraded it to be bulletproof since I last saw him…

Jason throws one arm up to catch a downward swing from his nearest opponent, twists his body to avoid his comrade, and then strikes the latter in the face, rolling and twisting the arm in his grasp to send the man backward. Both now on the floor, he downs them with two precise shots to the knees, and then stalks forward to finish another with a front-kick to the sternum.

Nine down—how many left?

There’s a lull in the gunfire, and Jason engages his helmet’s infrared system to find the remaining mobsters; they appear to be retreating for the moment, but the thermal readings suggest they aren’t going far.

“Got an exit strategy?” he prompts, backing toward Tim and their hapless charge, guns still primed to shoot.

“You seriously still need to ask?”

“Does it involve going up? Because I don’t think that’s going to work.”

Tim follows Jason’s gaze toward the skylight where the Slade lookalike is perched, disengaging the safety on what Jason recognizes almost too late as a Dragunov.

And ten to one the fucker’s primed with armor-piercing rounds!

There’s only time for Jason to get one person down and to safety, and between the winged bastard that caused all of this, and Tim, there’s no contest.

He vaults forward as the first shots thunder through the air, throwing himself at Tim as bullets careen into Howard. Jason doesn’t know if it hits him anywhere vital, but they do pierce through the thick wings, sending him to the ground in a crumpled heap.

Several of the same bullets plow into Jason’s shoulder when he can’t quite move out of the way in time. He feels blood blossoming across his skin—not the numbing, bone-deep ache of a major injury, but more of a graze—as he lands on Tim’s less than cushioning body.

“Christ, kid, eat a sandwich,” he growls, tightening his hold on the kid and rolling them both out of the path of fire. With an inelegant inchworm crawl that should embarrass anyone trained by Dick Grayson, he manages to get them over to a bunch of crates to provide cover.

It’s just in time, too, since another stray bullet glances across Jason’s helmet; this isn’t as lucky as the body armor. The screen shatters and his comm fizzles out from the force of the shot, and Jason snarls out a breathless oath at the pain and sudden disorientation.

There’s another dull roar, a second round of automatic fire, and this time its Tim knocking him out of its path, dragging them lower down behind the crates.

A beat later, Jason senses fingers scrabbling at the catches of his helmet—

“Ja—! Hood—you alrigh—?!”

And then the helmet is off, and Tim looms over him. He is surprisingly clear in Jason’s vision considering the hit he just took. The cowl hides his eyes, but the way his jaw clenches suggests worry.

Something shoots through Jason then, hitting him like a blow to the gut, as if someone snuck up behind him and sucker-punched him. But there’s no one near him except Tim, probably wouldn’t coldcock someone while he’s down.

For a moment, Jason imagines the entire world slows, and the roar of gunfire fades out, replaced by a puzzling whispering that drowns everything else out:

“—should e’er I go, will you go with me--?”

“—come back to me—”

“—I would that you would leave them all to perish—”

“—bury us together—”

There’s a harsh, swooping sensation in his stomach and Jason gasps for breath, the pain of the action refocussing him on his immediate surroundings. Sound returns, the echoing words bleeding into Red Robin’s voice in an eerie double timbre.

“Hood, answer me! Are you okay?!” Red Robin demands, and then lowers his voice into a hiss, “Jason!”

Physically shaking his head to clear it, Jason forces his concentration past the strange haze surrounding him and pushes the other vigilante away, pausing only briefly to assess that he hasn’t been shot too.

“Not cool, man, secret identity, remember?” he grumbles.

“You’re still wearing a mask,” Tim shoots back, but what would normally sound waspish for him sounds tense. “Or half of one at least.”

Jason grunts in response, digging into his pocket for the spare domino he keeps on hand, peels the backing off the adhesive strip and fixes it to his face. He peeks around the edge of the crates to study the sniper up high, while Tim cranes to check on their mark; Howard is still moving, shoulders and wings shifting like he’s trying to get up. They need to get him out of the line of fire, much as Jason would rather not, and stop the guy from bleeding out.

Another barrage of bullets demolishes the top edges of the crates.

“Police are on their way,” Tim tells him, flicking something on his wrist computer.

“Awesome. Just in time to identify our corpses.”

“As if you haven’t had worse,” Tim snorts, studying the projected display. “All the exits are covered; unfriendlies on our four, six and nine.”

“And the one up top.”

Another bullet embeds itself three inches from Jason’s head. He and Tim consider each other for a second, and the younger man digs another handful of gadgets from his bandolier. He juts his chin at the skylight, his meaning plain, and Jason nods.

Simple enough plan. Of course, it’d be nice if there was something to distract them a bit more. I really don’t want to get shot again just now—

Their buddy Howard decides that’s the optimal moment to try to get up again, pushing himself to his feet with a snarl. His wings unfurl with a whump sound, the blast of air rippling from them sending a few of the nearer mobsters staggering. It has the added effect of drawing their attention, and for a moment, there’s a lull in the amount of projectiles heading for Jason and Tim as the gunmen focus on the new threat.

“That’ll work.”

“Go!”

They burst out from behind the crates, Jason already shooting several rounds at the sniper up top, while Tim flings a handful of circular pods at the nearest enemies. This first wave of devices are knockout gas, which downs the two closest mobsters and makes Steve cough and stagger.

Jason’s target pulls back to avoid his attack, but isn’t fast enough, ends up taking a shot to the calf and staggering forward. He plummets to the ground, and there’s a familiar sound of bone cracking—Sorry, asshole, that sounded like a femur—and then Jason swings around to take out the trio sneaking up on them from behind.

Tim automatically ducks beneath his arms, neatly avoiding the barrage of bullets, and tosses another handful of gadgets; this time, upon contact, wires snap out and wrap around the attackers, making several overbalance while the others lose grip on their weapons. Jason’s clip is empty now, and so he drops his own guns, pulls out the modified grapple gun and fires; it punches through the shoulder of one guy, and Jason retracts it, pulling him forward and then downing him with a punch to the jaw.

Red Robin’s last device is something metallic that lands in the middle of the floor and vibrates with a startling intensity; Jason’s about to make a lewd joke, when his grapple is tugged out of his hands—along with every other metallic weapon nearby, which collect in a pile around the device.

“Really?” Jason grouses.

“Like you really need a weapon,” Tim shoots back; he’s already got his bo staff primed and ready—Must be made of some non-metallic polymer this time around—and sweeps the legs out from under some stragglers.

Jason decides to show his feelings on the matter by plowing forward and brawling with the remaining members of the mob. He doesn’t pull his punches, listening to the snap of forearms and crack of broken ankles and cries of pain.

And as suddenly as it started, it’s quiet again.

The warehouse is in ruins—along with quite a few of the relics.

Howard gapes around. “You animals. You absolute savages! You just…look at this!”

“Hope you have insurance,” Jason quips.

“Don’t really care if you don’t,” Tim adds, bringing out one of the remaining pods; he snaps it open before Steven can say anything, and rope wires explode outward to wrap around him, wings and all. “Now, let’s go have a conversation before the police show up.”

Grabbing hold of the guy by the front, he fires his grapple and flies upward; Jason stares after him for a bit longer than a blink, shakes his head. After tugging his grapple out of the pile of weapons (with more difficulty than he’d like), he follows.

Sirens scream in the distance, as he and Tim face down the winged man who is teetering a bit as he tries to keep balance.

“Well, that’s just rude,” he mutters, his pinched expression reminiscent of Damian’s permanently constipated look. “And a waste, really.”

He closes his eyes in concentration, and the wings vanish, causing Tim’s bindings to loosen. Both Tim and Jason leap forward to grab him in case he tries to make a run for it, but he sidesteps them with surprising ease.

“Knock it off, I’m not going anywhere,” he snaps before they can try again. “What’s the point, you just destroyed my pad.”

“You’d think you’d be more bothered about having been shot,” Tim deadpans, and then studies the shirtless man with a frown on his lips. “Or not.”

There isn’t a sign injury on him.

“I heal fast.”

“Good to know,” Jason says.

Without another word, he snaps head forward and headbutts the pasty-faced bastard. Who crumples to the ground once more.

“Hood!” Red Robin cries in protest and recrimination.

“What? It was that or a bullet.”

Red Robin pulls him backward and away from their detainee, mouth turning downward. Jason intends to mirror the expression right back—he isn’t in the mood for Tim’s bitch-face—but his vision falters a bit, tunneling a little as it settles on Tim’s form.

Okay, so that was a bad idea. If I didn’t have a concussion before…

“Man, you really shouldn’t have done that…” their winged detainee mumbles, picking himself back off the ground and glares at Jason through bleary, bloodshot eyes. “I mean, if you weren’t screwed before by the bullet, you definitely will be now.” His gaze flicks to Tim, and the corner of his mouth ticks up in a way Jason doesn’t like. “Probably quite literally.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Jason snaps, finger itching towards a trigger once again.

“That’s not important,” Tim interrupts. “I want to know who this guy is. Metas tend to avoid Gotham.”

“Well, darling, I’m not a meta.”

“Then what the hell are you? Because those wings ain’t human,” Jason growls. “And this is the only time we’ll ask nicely.”

The winged man draws himself up, somehow managing to loom despite the fact he’s perhaps an inch taller than Tim and narrows his eyes at them like he’s looking at vermin.

“I am Eros,” he says, lifting his chin, “the God of Love.”

⁂⁂⁂

Next Chapter

#jaytimweek2019 #jaytimweek #jaytim #jaytimbingo2019 #fanfic #jaytim fic #batfic #tim drake #jason todd #eros (new earth)#mythology #art #gods in disguise #wings #violet writes #drama #angst #introspection

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

GRAVITY (Branjie) - Lyonne-dlm & Saiphl

Grav·i·ty /ˈɡravədē/ The force that attracts a body toward the center of the earth, or toward any other physical body having mass. syn.: attraction, attracting force, downward force, pull, weight, heaviness “GRAVITY ATTRACTS OBJECTS TOWARD EACH OTHER.”

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So we are back, back, back again.

Now jumping into the Branjie train with the beginning of a slow burn collection of how Brock and Vanessa started dancing together and never stopped doing it.

We hope you enjoy the first part of the ride.

We want to thank MistressAQ for the beautiful work she did by editing and suggesting for this project.

Also, we wanted to share the song that inspired the idea of this fic. We tried to describe a bit how this happens, but we’re adding the reference so you can picture the whole routine together.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=emTePWNepkk

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GRAVITY

Juilliard was a mean environment, if anyone wasn’t able to reach perfection, then that was not the place one should be. They both knew that was their last chance. Neither of them really eager to work together.

Vanessa knew she was good, at least good enough to keep her scholarship. Her notes were an impressive parade of congratulations and high distinctions. Except for the one she feared the most, the class that gave her a reputation among fellow students as “the girl who burns dance partners.” With each year her options dwindled and now, in what must be a cruel joke of destiny, she was trapped in an incredibly complex piece with the only dance partner that she could happily throw down the stairs. Both the proverbial and physical ones.

Brock knew the teacher made him dance with her because he was good enough to mitigate the “Vanjie Effect,” but also to break him out of the comfort zone he and his twin sister built around them. He heard for years now the teachers saying “your technique is impeccable Brock, but I feel nothing when I see you dance with Lynn, you seem to be disconnected.” He was screwed, it was too late in the year to find a partner with the technical quality to match his. The only possible partner available, was the one he feared the most. The girl who was literally unable to dance with a partner.

They’ve been working together for the last month and a half. First learning to understand each other, and then, to put up a complex choreography to get the final note for their Pas de Deux class. Truth to be told, they weren’t bad together. They were actually amazing, as if they were born to do that exactly: dance together. What was the real burden, was they had a hell of an attitude issue to each other. Vanessa really enjoyed teasing him, and Brock was more than pleased to piss her off.

They were running one last rehearsal before the actual performance. They’ve been locked in a studio for the last three hours. Vanessa was tired and in need of anything that could raise her blood sugar. Brock, as every other day, was being an ass.

“Seriously Vanessa, I’m not going to fail this course because you can’t jump,” he said, turning to take the remote and stop the music.

“You know I can jump, but I need to have something to eat, otherwise I’ll faint,” she clapped back. Maybe if she had something to eat, she could be less cringy.

“You’re weak.” He said, looking at her reflection on the mirror.

“And you’re an asshole.” She slid gracefully to his side just to put her hand on his shoulder, knowing he wouldn’t like it.

“Let’s do it again, from the top… and you have to make that jump work.” Brock took Vanessa’s hand as if it was infected and tossed it away in disgust.

The music started again. Brock took his position laying on the floor and took a deep breath, counting in compasses. His long body in full display, the defined lines of each muscle showing with the motion. Vanessa exhaled, she hadn’t noticed she has been holding her breath. Vanessa took two graceful steps, bending to blow lightly on his back. His arms, in one fluid motion, are thrown in the air to find her. Their fingers intertwined in one hand, the other Brock had working as support to make her fly above his head.

Vanessa landed on the tip of her toes while he fell to her feet, as practiced. There was something incredibly sensual about that movement, something that made her feel powerful, invincible. He turned up looking for her, a sense of loss on his face. That is, until her hand brushed his bicep while passing by. Brock shivers… and doesn’t understand why. That girl is frustrating, loud, and impossible, but each time they dance, it’s like the world stopped around them, just to see them gravitate to each other.

They’re almost two minutes into the six minute routine when he has to lift her up again. Except this time Vanessa’s ankle doesn’t support her enough to jump and they both fall.

“Fuck! I told you, YOU-HAVE-TO-JUMP-VANESSA!” Brock says, giving his back to her, assessing with practiced ease the motions of his left arm, which held most of the impact of his fall. He gets back on his feet, oblivious to the girl still struggling on the floor, assessing the state of her ankle.

Vanessa bit her lower lip while doing tentative circles with the sore ankle, relieved at being able to move it, otherwise she’ll fail the class by default. A slight taste of blood floods her mouth, she’s been so tense that her body was tired and wasn’t responding as she needed. One last turn to the ankle, a contorted face and a strangled moan, the one that makes him turn to her.

“Are you ok?” Brock asked dryly, finally looking at her and leaning to check if she needed some help.

Vanessa tossed loose hair out of her face. “I am… let’s do this, at least one single time has to be right.” She stands by herself, barely suppressing the sting of pain pulsing on her foot. “One more time Mr. Brightside, then I’ll go get something to eat.” She said, drawing a couple more circles with the tip of her hurting foot and supporting her weight, assessing her possibilities.

“Ok, just jump this time right? I’ll do the rest.” He walked towards her and she seemed to realize how close they were, so she lightly slapped him away. She started walking to her spot. Brock stared at her, unable to keep himself from holding the stubborn girl again while she stumbled back to her starting position. “Do not force yourself Vanessa, we have to do this in front of the jury in few hours, I don’t need you making me fail.”

Vanessa hissed, half from the pain, and half resisting temptation to slap his face. She was nervous too, her scholarship and permanence at Juilliard depended on this performance, and of course, Brock Hytes wouldn’t make it easy for her. “Shut up and play the music… I’m fucking starving.” Brock shrugged turning to the stereo, muttering unintelligible things. He went back to lay on the floor, this time with eyes wide open in case his dance partner fell.

The music filled the tense silence between them, both easily engaging on the fantasy of the choreography. Electricity running down their bodies while the light brushing of their limbs. The steady support of his arms, the natural playfulness of her body, all of it melting in a perfect symphony of fluidity and sensuality. On that soft moment, when they looked into each other’s eyes, there it was, the weird connection that made them fit together like the pieces of a puzzle. Vanessa shivered and Brock stumbled, cursing under his breath. Unavoidably and still dancing, she gravitated to him, taking his time to recover the rhythm.

Brock lifted her up; she felt light as a feather. She was light as a feather. He started spinning, holding her steady by the waist, hungry for the sensation of her hands on his cheek. Longing to get lost on every trace of her chocolate eyes. Detailing all the little things he could see inside, the light green freckles in the iris, and how the white light reflected their color in sparkles of golden. Landing her once more, he regretted letting her go, and she suddenly felt cold without the shield of his lean body.

They kept dancing until the last part of the song came. The little move at the end when they both held hands just to lay them on her cheek. The intensity of the moment was unbearable. He knew he had to step away, to come apart from her, but his feet seemed to be glued to the floor. Vanessa looked at him, confused, still unwilling to be the first to lose his baby blue eyes from sight. He took a deep breath and not even thinking, he leaned and kissed her. It was gentle, soft and unexpected. It was tender but still full of desire and lust.

Vanessa snapped from the moment, breaking all contact, and slapping his face as hard as she could. “What the fuck are you doing you moron?!” She hit his chest with a tightly closed fist. “Do you think this is a joke? my whole life depends on this number and you decide to play the fool?!”

Brock stared at her, wounded and confused. “Now it’s my fault?”

“Yes, it is… you kissed me idiot, YOU FUCKING KISSED ME! this can’t happen on the performance!” She yelled to mask the fact she was about to cry.

“Then fuck you Banjie girl, for once in all your life someone finds you slightly interesting and you react like if you were punched in the gut.” He said, regretting almost immediately the sarcastic tone of his words.

“Well, fuck you then, and you better control yourself on the final performance. I twisted my ankle because you didn’t lift me, and will have to work double if you plan to screw my work.” She went to the stereo to recover her CD. “You better be on time for the performance, or I swear I’ll skin you alive.”

“As if you were good enough to make it up without me.” The bile rising through his throat with those words, he knew he was being unfair. He couldn’t help it. His face felt hot, and not just where she’d hit him. “Better you get that fucking ankle good for the performance, I won’t cover your ass if you stumble.”

“FUCK YOU HYTES!” And with those last words, he heard the door of the studio slam shut. Brock screamed in frustration before he picked his things up and left the place.

The performance was going to be a fucking circus.

Vanessa ran to the nearest place where she could be by herself for a bit. She locked herself in a stall of the dance studio’s empty bathroom. Agitated and confused, she tried to regain composure. Inhale… exhale… inhale… exhale. As her heartbeat diminished, she recalled the scene. The music, the choreo, the moment they got lost on each other. The tension always dense between them getting thicker which each movement. The deepness of his eyes capturing her whole attention and then, the kiss. A kiss she didn’t know she craved, but didn’t know what to do with once she got it.

Her ankle shooting in pain for the speed of her run on the hallway. “Fuck you Brock… fuck you”, she muttered, not knowing at all if her anger came from of him kissing her, or the fact that she wanted more. She wanted much more. Reflexively she put her hurting limb over her other knee, massaging and moving the ankle with a hiss.

Brock was a distraction, a huge one, and if he insisted to do things like that , he would become even more of a problem. She didn’t understand at all how to feel about him, about her thinking of him or about what to do with that damned kiss. Frustrated, she just punched the door of the stall with a very tight fist. “Damn it!” she cursed when the pain reverberated through her whole arm, tears sliding down her cheek.

“Great… like, great now I’ll have to cope with this too…” she said, assessing now her hand and knuckles. Going to the mirrors and looking at her messed up self, she started the sink and cleaned her tear stained face “You need to get this together Vanessa.”

Brock was a whole other story, he couldn’t tell he was mad, he was just confused and kind of aroused. One thing he came to know, was that Vanessa made him nuts. Her loud unnerving self and the natural way she cursed, like it was a part of her; something that made him beyond curious. After the first week working with her, he realized that her biggest trouble was a clear inability to follow instructions. Brock grunted in frustration; he’d been paying more attention than intended in the last weeks, and finding himself aroused after her slapping him was truly fucked up.

He didn’t know what she was doing to him but damn that girl had an effect on him.

Before he could even notice, he had walked the distance between the school and Central Park. Obfuscated he adjusted his bag strap to his back and started jogging. Nothing cleared his mind better than doing some physical activity. “First of all… she’s obnoxious” he said to himself between rhythmic breathings. “Obnoxious, loud and vulgar”, he added with a huff. Knowing by the word what would his sister, Lynn say, he could clearly hear her voice in his head, reminding him: “and you like it, so stop being a prick.” He sped up, shaking his head both to clear his mind, and to answer to his thought. ”You like her loud mouth” a soft smile spreaded on his lips. “Ok… supposing I like her loud mouth, that doesn’t help she curses like a sailor,” he said under his breath, now trotting to the lake.

“You have to admit it’s charming when she does it,” Lynn’s voice said, he nodded in response. Reaching the shore of the lake, he sat by the water, finding a fallen branch to play with. “It’s charming, and she makes me feel like I can be me around her. I don’t have to worry about what I say or how to behave, she just let me be.”

That simple admission was comforting, he had never liked the way they have to be chivalrous around all the other girls. Vanessa was frantic and direct, and she never feared to speak her mind out loud. “Well dude, that’s a start, and you can’t deny she’s hot”, he laughed, truth to be told, Vanessa was good looking and the natural curves she had, accentuated by her years dancing made her such a sight for sore eyes. “Yeah, she is hot…” he said, inhaling deeply with images of her delicate frame dancing on his mind. “So… you wanted to kiss her.”

Brock lowered his face, which was turning beet red. “Yes… No… Fuck!” The voice in his head laughed again. ”You want her so bad It’s driving you crazy,” he grunted again, one thing was admitting to himself he liked the girl, and another totally different to say out loud he wanted her. His hands started buzzing with the memory of holding her tiny waist, “Guess I’m screwed” he sighed, clapping his hands together to mitigate the buzzing. “Why? she reciprocated the kiss”, Lynn’s voice nagged. “All you have to do is ask, if you dare to, of course.”

He rolled his eyes, the sensation of Vanessa’s slap on his cheek still fresh. “If you don’t remember, she slapped me. There’s your answer.” The bitterness in his voice crystal clear, he had never been rejected by anyone, and Vanessa just made very clear that she didn’t want him. Those last words, making his head shut up. The beeping of his watch snapping him back to reality made him jump. Brock quickly stood up, leaving the pointy branch he had been playing with forgotten on the grass. He ran back to the school.

Vanessa was sitting on the bench outside the studio, swollen hand holding the CD, makeup freshly done, and an ankle brace holding her ill foot. She was a nervous mess, and the fact that they were supposed to perform in five minutes and Brock was nowhere to be seen getting her snappy. Brock sprinted to her, his hair slightly damp from the shower. “I’m sorry I’m late, last minute complications.”

Vanessa looked at him, radiating anger. “Look who finally decided to show up… they’ve asked for you and I had to tell them you were on your way” she said dryly. “You better not fuck this up. If I get expelled because of you, I hope you had your last prayers.”

Brock huffed. “Listen Vanessa, could we please try to do this and leave whatever happened outside?” He pressed the bridge of his nose, trying his best to keep himself chill. She nodded in response, rising to her feet. “Just remember to jump and everything will be fine.”

Vanessa punched him in the shoulder, immediately hissing in pain. “Fuck you Brock… FUCK YOU!”

“Let’s just get this shit show going.” He bent to pick up the CD that fell from her hand. In that moment the door opened for someone to call the both of them inside. The teacher looked puzzled watching while they entered without even looking at each other.

Brock gave the music to the teacher and then joined Vanessa on the dance floor. He laid on the floor taking a deep breath, counting until the music started. In that moment, just like it had in rehearsal, everything faded around them, the music and the choreography flowing harmoniously between them, each motion precise and on point. The soft touches and the eye contact yelling all the apologies they couldn’t tell. When the moment came, Vanessa jumped effortlessly, trusting blindly on the firm grip of Brock in her hands.

He felt like he was high. High on adrenaline and the green apple scent radiating from Vanessa’s body. She felt like she could fly. For a moment, when he was holding her up above his body on the floor, she could picture memories of home, the place where she felt safe and sound. Gravity was non-existent for a second. One last jump, the one when he took her to spin around looking to each other’s eyes and he pictured himself looking at those eyes for the rest of his life. He put her back on the floor, intensely lost in her eyes, a sudden sadness taking over his when their intertwined hands laid them on her cheek. When he stepped away, an overwhelming longing spreaded through her, stretching her left arm to uselessly try to reach him and finally falling to the floor all curled over herself. She didn’t know why, but started crying. Then the music ended.

The teachers’ applause brought them back to the moment, when Brock approached to her stretching his hand to lift her up. He saw the tears in her eyes and made her turn to bring her close to him, giving some time to wipe the few tears that fell down her cheek. He pulled her close to his chest, making her melt on that single motion. Still embraced, they bowed, and then separated to listen to the notes of their teachers.

Most of the comments were praises and a couple of corrections on the execution. The Dean inviting them to keep dancing together, cause what they made on that piece was magic. Finally, they were dismissed and with no words, they went to their locker rooms.

Later, Vanessa was sitting in one of the hallways, waiting for Brock to appear. When he finally came, he was with a couple of friends, they were laughing. The moment he saw her sitting there, he dismissed his friends and bent down, “hey stranger.” His voice as soft as she had never heard him She mouthed a “Hi” that he responded with a smile and stretching his hand to lift her up.

Once on her feet, she smiled at him “Thanks for not messing it up.”

“Hey! anytime” he said, playful and returning the smile.

Vanessa bit her lower lip, doubting for a second on what to say next. “I… shit-”

He laughed. “I know, but if we’re going to keep doing this, please, avoid slapping me.”

“Who said I want to keep dancing with you?” she asked, curious.

Brock rolled his eyes, still smiling. “Because you’re here and I want to do it. I want to dance with you Banjee Girl.”

“Alright, I won’t slap you if you promise something…” she said, lowering her voice

“What?” he asked, raising a brow.

Out of nowhere, she tiptoed and kissed him, this time soft and tenderly. “Promise you’ll keep doing this.” She whispered to his lips. As an answer to her request, he kissed her once more.

#rpdr fanfiction #gravity #dance school au #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #lyonne dlm #saiphl #m/f au #ballet au #dance au

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satireknight · 7 years

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TMNT S03E05 - Sky Turtles

That’s one of the advantages of being a cartoon: it doesn’t cost extra to simulate zero gravity!

So the Turtles are being weighed, and Michelangelo shows how seriously he takes this by actually eating while he’s on the scale.

And he’s around 190 pounds, which... wow, that shell weighs a lot. Given that they’re all about five foot tall and exercise three hours a day, he shouldn’t be registering that much unless he has a serious weight problem.

In fact, he does have a weight problem because of his pizza dietary habits, which the other turtles tease him about, before Splinter lays down the law and puts him on a diet. Considering the crap he eats, I’m kind of amazed that they didn’t do this years ago.

Then he floats right off the scale.

And the rest of them follow suit, floating around the room like balloons. When Donatello asks (Splinter, for some reason) what’s happening, Splinter says, “I have my suspicions, but it is too soon to tell.” I assume he means who’s to blame, not the technical reasons for gravity going wonky. That department seems more like Donatello’s.

Of course, he’s probably right, because Shredder is gloating over the gravity-altering device he’s using right now.

“With it, I can control gravity, and force the city to obey my every command!” Shredder, you do know that there is more to the planet than New York, right? Sometimes the show seems to forget that fact.

Krang wants Shredder to lay off on the antigravity because the machine is only just being field-tested, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned from this show, it’s that Shredder has no patience for anything. So he cranks it up so it will affect above the subterranean levels. Which it does.

Burne D-Bag Thompson immediately blames the Turtles, because... well, they exist and he can’t fire them, so they must be to blame for stuff. You’d think he’d be deliriously happy that something weird happened so he can broadcast news reports on it.

However, Shredder has pushed the device way too far and it starts sparkling. Or sparking. It’s hard to tell.

I’m pretty sure that gravity, or the lack of it, affects water too. Vernon should be getting giant blobs of water right in the face.

Actually, the antigravity in general doesn’t quite act like actual gravity-free environments in general. For one thing, if someone switched off the gravity in a room you were standing in, you likely wouldn’t move until you propelled yourself somewhere. Newton’s laws still apply.

Anyway, all the Channel 6 people crash to the floor, as do the Turtles. The Turtles got lucky; one of the objects floating around was a giant knife, and thankfully nobody landed on it.

Also, someone animated Donatello with really big feet in this shot.

Does Shredder learn from having pushed the machine too far and breaking it? Nope! He decides to push it in the other direction and cause damage that way.

So the Turtles spend two hours driving around searching for some sign of gravitational weirdness, and Leonardo says that maybe everybody floating off the ground was just a “freak of nature.” Uh, you don’t get to talk about sciency stuff anymore.

Also, you can apparently see gravity.

This time, the gravity has INCREASED rather than vanishing, which somehow flips the Turtle Van upside-down.

That’s how increased gravity works, right? It makes you flip upside-down and do handstands?

Actually, the show does feature the possible effects of hypergravity - buses collapsing, street lamps bending, etc. I’m just not sure why the Turtles are just forced to stand on their heads, or why their van flipped around rather than being compacted.

Meanwhile, Rocksteady, Bebop and two Foot Soldiers are being sent up with magic boots that cause them to be unaffected by hypergravity.

Then there’s a wacky side scene where two rich ladies are complaining to a store owner about how their feet can’t move. They seem to be fine, except their feet are stuck to the floor. Because that is how gravity works, right?

The Turtles are not too happy about Rocksteady and Bebop approaching with weapons, since they’re stuck in place. Also, Leonardo yells an alert several seconds after everyone else has noticed the impending peril. He seems a little off in this episode.

They manage to lure Rocksteady inside and throw him off-balance, allowing Donatello and Leonardo to grab his boots. Unfortunately, that means they’re exposed to his feet, which can double as a biohazard. Seriously, Donatello knocks him out with one of his own socks.

They manage to toss the boots on Michelangelo’s feet... somehow... which means Michelangelo can now get upright and move as much as he likes. That’s how gravity works, right?

He encounters the Foot Soldiers in their antigravity boots, but his nunchuks are not exactly working right due to the increased gravity, causing them to be vaporized. Remember: people don’t get vaporized, just weapons. Also robots. Guess how he gets rid of the Foot Soldiers.

Donatello also notices that the birds flying by are unaffected by gravity. Because that’s how gravity works, right? So if they can get to the Turtle Blimp, they can freely get around New York without hindrance.

Unfortunately Michelangelo only has four new antigravity boots, which means that the other three Turtles have to share them. As in,it’s good those things are roomy, because some are double-loaded.

And if I were Leonardo, I’d be cursing the idea of sharing stuff ever again. Having done three-legged races, I’m pretty sure all three of them would end up face-down in about five seconds max.

Wait, why is Bebop is the Turtle Van? Only Rocksteady was captured. If he had been captured too, there wouldn’t have been any need to share.

Since the incompetent morons have proven to be incompetent morons, Shredder decides to go up himself. And Krang is probably planning some “me” time, since he doesn’t seem terribly invested in the events of this entire episode, especially since Shredder keeps botching things.

Holy fuck, why is Michelangelo clinging to that? It’s weird enough that the Turtles have a vehicle that only seats one person, but poor Michelangelo is forced to hang on for dear life in the back? Is someone punishing him?

So it turns out the hyper-gravity only extends about a dozen feet up... which raises the question of how they got the Turtle Blimp up in the air.

“Do those insufferable Turtles really think they can get the best of ME?” Well, history has shown that it does happen.

So Shredder decides to pump the machine in the other direction, with “ultra-reverse-gravity.” Whatever that means. I assume it means things are going to start shooting off into space. Of course, he apparently hasn’t noticed that the machine is practically on fire now, and Krang is having an aneurysm.

“What’s a cat doing up here?” It’s official. Leonardo is having a slow day. Hopefully he’ll get over it by the next episode.

So yes, things are floating up into the sky and generally cluttering up their airspace. Not a lot of people, oddly enough.

And buildings have started to rip off their foundations and float away, which... really should cause more panic than it does.

Then Rocksteady and Bebop come hurtling by, and... why is Bebop affected by the antigravity? He’s wearing BOOTS.

Just then, April calls them for help, because a peril can’t pass by without April somehow getting in trouble. Apparently she and Irma were just casually hanging out on the roof... like we never ever see them do... when the reverse gravity hit, and now they’re hanging on for dear life.

Just then the building rips loose of its foundations and floats into the sky. Fortunately a single grappling hook can grab it, tow it across the sky, and be used to tie it to another building that inexplicably is not ripping loose.

“You ladies... okay?” Why the solicitous tone, Leonardo? Are you trying to impress someone?

And Irma comments that she could kiss them if they had lips. Um, kissing back isn’t required, you know. Given that Donatello is the nearest to her, I think he might be in danger.

“Do you see that stupendous dish?” “Why thank you, Donatello.” Yes, it’s official. She’s on the road to sexually harassing everyone’s favorite nerdy Turtle.

So Donatello has finally noticed the energy waves radiating from the place where the machine is, and his idea for stopping it involves lifting a satellite dish from Channel 6. April and Irma, in case you’re wondering, are still hanging on for dear life.

Also, Burne Thompson is hanging onto the top of the antenna. Was the entire crew just sitting on the rooftop waiting for disaster to strike?

“Yeah, do you mind? We’re only trying to save the Earth from total disaster!” Ah, Donatello, using common sense against a Grade-A douchebag. Always a futile gesture.

So they fly the glider in and aim the satellite dish at the antigravity.

And it causes an explosion. As satellite dishes do. Somehow this causes the machine to be reversed, and all the buildings immediately fall back onto their foundations, which means no actual damage was done. Except the foundations are all destroyed, quite a few of those buildings wouldn’t be floating in the right position, and Channel 6 was actually towed to a different location. Oops.

Krang amps up the power to the machine, which causes some sparking and shaking for the Turtles.

“The only thing better than maximum power is SUPER maximum power!” Because that’s how technology works, huh? Isn’t Krang supposed to be a genius?

Apparently not, because the machine he built finally tears loose of its moorings and flies up into the sky, knocking Raphael off the glider in the process.

This confirms for them that gravity is now normal again. Unfortunately that means that Michelangelo is now unable to lift the entire satellite dish by himself, and drops it.

Also, Rocksteady and Bebop land rather heavily on Shredder, and they run off because the episode is almost over.

Also, lava only causes mild second-degree burns, correct?

So because Donatello is way nicer than he should be to a douchebag like Burne, he repairs the satellite dish. That’s nice and all, but how are they planning to get it out of the sewers in one piece?

Oh, and shippers can be delighted by what comes next.

On the theme of desperation for female attention, Raphael and Leonardo seem annoyed that she’s giving so much credit to Donatello and has doled out only kisses for him.

Seriously, I love that Leonardo, the mature one, is also pissed off that he’s not getting a kiss.

April comes over to bestow some more kisses on them... only for them to get cockblocked by Michelangelo at the last minute.

You know he’s going to get punched in the head by Raphael for this. He was THIS CLOSE to actually having a woman touch him.

Oh, and the final indignity is that he brought those five pizzas for himself alone, on the basis that he didn’t like being lighter than air.

VERDICT:

Not bad. Not hugely good either, but a decent episode.

Probably my biggest problem with the episode is the schizophrenic way that the gravity is depicted; sometimes it’s a lack of gravity, sometimes it’s reverse gravity, sometimes it’s really strong gravity. Not to mention that stronger gravity is expressed through handstands and feet stuck to the floor.

It’s not a terribly complicated plot, mostly revolving around the Turtles trying to navigate the different gravities, with a few obstacles to overcome along the way. The ending part is cute, though, especially with Leonardo and Raphael desperately vying for platonic kisses as well, after getting mortally offended that Donatello was getting all the love.

And Shredder’s big plan is basically “Step 1: Mess with gravity; Step 2, something something; Step 3: PROFIT!”, which really makes it seem like he nabbed onto Krang’s kewl new toy and went wild without actually thinking anything through.

So overall, kind of a wisp of an episode, but not a badly-done wisp. We’ll get more substance next time.

Grade: C (Average)

#tmnt #tmnt 1987 #teenage mutant ninja turtles #satireknight

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aleatoryalarmalligator · 7 years

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My life story, Part 42

I was beginning to have a poor attitude towards society in general. I had always been a little off, a girl who walked around imagining things that weren't there, dazing off, obsessing over small interests, talking to myself just a little. I had been bullied in small ways, belittled by teachers and abused by my family, but I had more or less kept this sense of innocence about me. I think late 2004 was the year that I became resentful. I used to keep a journal for instance, and I would chronicle the lives of my fellow students, noting if they had had a rough time that I had noticed, or if they were dating someone. I never dehumanized anyone, no matter who ridiculous or mean to me they were as a person. This was starting to change around then. I would see society as this towering feeling of oppression, and the people around me as one choreographed mass of human-tools, sucking up whatever was given to them, be it the top 20 radio hits, television shows, what people wore or dressed like, religion, political parties. It seemed homogeneous and empty to me now, and people around me were smiling slaves working for whatever force it was that Zack had always told me about. It was baffling to me that I had once been somewhat taken in. I had never of course succeeded in fitting in because I was already been too weird to belong to these people truly, but I had more or less gone through my entire life unquestioning.

It was hard for me to smile. I truly felt alone and opposed to almost everything around me as I walked down the halls. There was a thick skin between me and everyone else. I had been shamefully open with high school jocks who had always looked to making me perform my silly ideas out in the open. I had always trusted that the world made sense, your friends were really your friends, society was mostly good and also not worth thinking about, and the latest fad was popular because of it's merit alone. Now I was guarded, and slightly on the attack if anyone intruded my space, and willing to tear anything apart to find something not to like about it. I suffered from black and white thinking, and a need to dismiss people, places, things and ideas without truly studying them. The things that were good were almost religious to me in nature, my aesthetic taste had transcended to a moral objective truth. The bad was corrupting, evil and by it's very existence, an insult to me personally and everything I loved and found worthy of defending. I didn't see a lot of middle ground.

As I am much older now, I know my way of thinking at the time was largely due to fear and a lack of trust. I was beginning to develop a set of defense mechanisms, and one of those defense mechanisms was a very oversized ego about my own opinions and what I liked and what moved me being better than the fake feelings that were sold to the masses. I didn't think I was great or anything personally – as I was very insecure in all reality, and I would not say that it really developed into true narcissism in the DSM sense. I was giving myself certainty I believe. I was setting up an enemy to confront my own pain really. The modern world was too confusing and I was rejecting it in some way to embrace a cultish tribal feeling against the rest of the world as a whole. The enemy was some force that I didn't understand. It seemed to dictate the lives of every seeming adult I had ever known, and every aspect of the society I lived in, and yet it didn't have a face. Zack of course, in his cliché' things he had read or heard called it The New World Order. So I blindly clung to that feeling of an impending need to cling to the art I held dear, in much the same way a Christian might cling to their faith and be willing to die for it.

The only person that I emotionally felt open to was Zack. And I was bent on keeping him around. But I had chased him away. I had some luck with him after I had used Noah to make him jealous and then changed my mind, but in a sense he never quite sat at the lunch table with us. I remember one day quite vividly. Zack and the rest of us had snuck into the small seldom used basketball court. Zack had taken his shoes off. He was talking about love, and about how loving people was the one thing that the freemasons couldn't stop us doing. He talked about how he had this deep painful and profound love for everything in the entire world. I admired him, and wished I could be more like him. He somehow convinced me to take off my shoes and hippie dance with him. And then he told me, looking me straight in the face, that 'Everyone deserves to be loved, Renee'. I really felt blown away by this statement. It kind of tore down the defenses I was making. And it felt good, even for a moment, to escape from the inner prison I was living in. The notion that everyone deserved love rehumanized everyone. The hordes of mindless jocks and popular girls no longer seemed like empty shells, but uncertain souls trying their best to maneuver and often stumbling through life trying to find meaning and love in some form just as I was. Of course, Zack was also the same person who told me that the entire school had been replaced by robot replicas. I had never bought into it, much as it seemed right to agree with whatever Zack believed. So I cannot entirely verify that Zack knew what he was really talking about. But I held onto that statement, and for many years of my life, I think it kept me sane, and I held it near to my heart, like a psychological locket I wore under my clothes.

There was also a day where Zack introduced me to a very strange and odd technique for 'waking yourself up' when you were beginning to feel like you were dying inside and becoming 'one of them'. He walked out of the school, ran and leaped as high in the air as he could and forced himself to land on his knees. He threw his entire body into it. His knees were scraped and bloody and stung. At first I was hesitant, but I took a deep breath and did the same thing. We must have looked insane to onlookers. We started doing it over and over again till our knees were bloody. Sarah tried it but didn't care for being in pain, and Samantha probably thought we were morons. There was something addictive about the pain of jumping and falling. You were throwing yourself to the winds, using yourself as a weapon and at the same time accepting that you were your own weapon. The stinging pain was surprising and addictive. Both of us had bloodied knees by the end. There were times when I wondered if Zack was trying to start a cult. He talked about the world very much like a cult leader at times, and liked creating barriers between the world and a small following.

Ava showed up midfall one random day. She now had a license and wanted to drive around. She took me in her car and instantly put on Manic Monday by The Bangles and driving the car in sharp circles till we were both sick. Typical Ava. We were all mad about the war in Iraq, but none of us understood why. It just seemed like something an evil corrupt group of powerful men decided on arbitrarily. Honestly, I was mad for the sake of being mad. I didn't care about war on a grand scale, nor could I really comprehend it. I just felt strangely against it at the time. Ava was probably more aware of what was happening than I was. She had a friend named Emily with her, who was a quiet mousy girl. Ava, Sarah and I got in her new vehicle. She bragged about her never ending gas card. She could basically drive around however she liked, with nothing stopping her. We got in her car, and throughout the afternoon, went through our town, and all the neighboring towns looking out for Support Our Troops magnets. I guess we felt that stealing these magnets was the ultimate act of defiance against the government. I think we stole twenty or more. The only time any of us got caught was when Emily got caught. They called her to come to the car, and she got chewed out. But she was small and mousy and they chastised her but left her alone.

In history class one day, one of the classes I paid no attention in still, I was randomly called upon in front of the class to explain what I thought what the government was for. I immediately told everyone that the government was there to push people down and make them subservient and submissive to the real masters of the world. Mr. Bradley looked at me surprised. He told me I was wrong, but seemed amused overall. The rest of the class looked at me like I was crazy. At some point, a preppy girl named Mary stood up and explained that people like me didn't belong in America. She said that if I didn't like America, she would like to see what they would do to me in Saudi Arabia. I was annoyed, but I didn't get much of an opportunity to defend myself. But this was by and large how people in the school felt about me. If I didn't like it, they would just assume that I disappear.

At this point in my life, I was very invested in my sort of self-righteous atheism. I think this is probably fairly common with first-year atheists in middle and high school. It wasn't enough to have my own personal developed sense of the world – I had to make sure others knew they were wrong in their faith. I still have retained many of the beliefs I had back then, but honestly, half of my reasons for not believing in a higher power were more based on a mistrust for church, and an incredibly limited historical look at Christianity specifically. I knew next to nothing about Islam, Judaism, any of the beliefs of Asia. My thinking was so all or nothing in those days that I scoffed at anything that didn't hold up to my version of reality, or didn't seem obvious to me. Basically, I was beginning to turn into Ayn Rand, though I didn't know who she was at the time. This is why, in the present, I kind of understand why some people gravitate towards objectivist thinking, towards believing in 100% free will, anarcho-capitalism, and a more traditional libertarianism (I was never a tea-party or Obama is a Muslim type of person). I have retained nearly nothing of this former belief system of mine, and I chock it up more to having to personally try to rationalize what I had personally grown up with. You don't want to believe that the world has failed you, or that the people in your life have let you down. There is a strange satisfaction in believing that you are 100% in control of your own destiny, that your life doesn't belong to anyone else but you – unaffected by society or anyone around you, and that if everyone behaved as free and openly selfish creatures than there might be something honorable to derive from that.

The truth about it was that I was actually dealing with a combinations of realizations about the world, and an enormous amount of emptiness and grief. It was easier and more favorable for me at the time to see the world as an eat or be eaten kind of world, where my value was only as good as the amount of my own dreams that I could make happen. It was easier for my to divorce myself from being a victim in any way. It also made it a lot easier for me to judge other people and condemn them when they did and said things I didn't agree with. It was a way to keep myself guarded from trying to love and understand others. And honestly, the only thing that I held dear that I kept an open mind about was that one time Zack and I hippie danced and he told me that everyone deserved to be loved. It undid the belief, but I couldn't seem to live on the day to day with that understanding. It's a tall order for anyone to buy into for one, and so much easier to live in a world where you can dismiss the pain of others as being self made.

So in history class, I sometimes, in a very arrogant manner, would question and harrass Mr. Bradley, about his Christianity. He was of the belief that the world was only 6000 years old. He went to church every Sunday and had always been very religious. It was obnoxious on my own part. I wasn't trying to learn anything new, as much as I was demonstrating that I was smarter than him, and could mentally overpower him. I tried to tell him that religion was invented for people like him to be ruled over. I at times accused him of being a puppet of those in power. I mocked him, and eventually made jokes that he was secretly cheating on his wife to date a man. It was incredibly rude of me. He took it well all things considered. I eventually pissed him off though, and he called me up to his desk one day and told me to knock it off. Which I definitely had coming. It would have been one thing had I paid attention in class and known to question what was being taught in that class. I could have used our lessons in history to question his logic on bigger things, in a respectful manner that would have given us both something to take home and think about in a bigger context. But attacking him because of his religion, however scientifically in the dark his beliefs were, was really messed up on my part.

I still was babysitting more than ever. I started seeing my position in a different way however. For the last several years, I had helplessly fallen into a sense of distress, self pity and resignation about what my parents forced upon me every weekend. But at fifteen I started seeing my position as a blessing in disguise. One of the realizations that came to me was that Allison and David were people. I hadn't really treated them like they were, but I was beginning to clearly see that now. Secondly, I felt excited that I might have the potential to mold them into cool people. I looked over my empty childhood, mostly siphoning through bad music, movies, styles, searching for something meaningful and falling short always – lucky when I found a small seed of something valuable in the garbage of the mainstream. I had no one to guide my thoughts or beliefs. My father and mother didn't think people had many layers and didn't acknowledge any of us as individuals outside of their understanding. They had no concern or curiosity for what any of us kids believed or what we felt about things personally, or how they impacted us. My father had some strong opinions and he would often tell us about it, but this was very much a one sided discussion. I started seeing myself as being responsible for improving Allison and David's life.

I also started seeing this as a power grab, mainly against my father. He had belittled me and pushed me down in any way he could and made me feel like nothing. There were elements to how he knocked me down that I would never recover from, but I could start taking the power back in increments and he would not even know. His kids could slowly become decreasingly his children and more my own. All I really had to do was befriend them and gain their respect. Before this time, I had never been able to appreciate or differentiate the difference between fear and true respect. For my father, he saw no difference. For both of them really – mother and father, this rule held/holds true. They would do what they could get away with. They had no respect for anyone save themselves.

But what they did seem to respect was anything that put fear into them. And likewise, when either of them wanted to feel loved or validated, they would do something mean. They were criminal in this sense of the word. And it was strange, but even with all the influence they had over me, even underneath my own power trips, I had more class and benevolence towards the world. I saw the beauty in being kind when there was nothing to be gained. I could see the value in being patient and open – even when I was having difficulties getting by without my own personal closed off nature. Obviously, I still retained some of their opportunism, but I didn't generally see my friends and family as tools, even when I considered myself to be some kind of libertarian. It was strange, but there was something about that previous year that had really opened my eyes. I understood how to love people because that person was who they were and not because they offered me anything. I appreciated what pain had taught me and the finer details of what it meant to be a person. I accept that the world wasn't meant to be easy. And unlike them, I quite defiantly decided to live my life with a sense that I was going to try to be honorable.

I also saw the value of making friends out of both Allison and David so that I could have friends. I wanted to include them in my struggles, and perhaps this was a little selfish, but given they were growing up in the same homes that I was growing up in, it felt necessary to start seeing the three of us as being able to help one another out in some way. I wanted to reach them emotionally and make them understand me. I didn't want to admit it, but even with Sarah, there were things I just never felt understood for. She didn't seem to care about anything. She didn't get mad, or feel motivated. She loved dreaming about being a rock star, but what I wanted to see was anger and passion and I saw very little of that. Sarah had this void in her personality, and she often times would cave to whatever felt easiest. She was more interested in being comfortable than making her dreams come true, and she wasn't as readily ready to fight for a cause like I was. It bothered me, but at the same rate, she seemed to understand me in a way that people can't understand about themselves. Like, she seemed to perceive when I was going to feel hungry, or how I was feeling even when I myself didn't quite know. But in other ways, she simply didn't seem to understand. And that's what I felt Allison and David could be good for.

I started reading to them every night. I started to read A Child Called It one day to them after school. I remember reading it in one go. I knew the book, having read it a year previous, and the story was very painful and sad. Allison and David's faces were both streaked with tears by the end of the evening. Especially David, who was particularly sensitive. I warned them about never trusting authority or the government in any way. This did little to no good naturally, since I didn't know what the heck I was talking about and believed every website I came across that had some conspiracy theory to spread. A lot of it was lies. Some of it was downright detestable. I really just didn't know. In an attempt to 'see through the bullshit' I was myself just as naive as I had been before, and maybe even more so.

One thing that was most memorable was my starting a home tape of something I called The Clown Show. Allison had this karaoke machine with a tape deck in it. It was the same one used to tape I'm A Big Man that summer. There were knobs that I could control my voice with. I distorted my voice to where I sounded like this clown voice. It wasn't quite male, nor was it quite female. It sounded like me and it didn't. I was able to create this weird echo, and I was this character, a clown, who ran this fucked up insane talk show that you could listen to on a weird broadcast that was hard to get on an AM station. I had this insane chanting audience, and I made these awful dissonant jokes that I would laugh at. I wanted it to be creepy and upsetting, but not like an overt and obvious killer clown in a cliché sense. It reminded me an awful lot of what Tim and Eric sometimes was if you watched Adult Swim late at night. Or more specifically, it reminds me an awful lot like the work of this really bizarre lo-fi musician that has been around since the 70's named R. Stevie Moore. I really could never explain that to anyone unless they listened to it, and it's incredibly unlikely that anyone would know unless they heard. There is a lot of random singing, random vintage commercials, psychotic sounds. Very strange tape music.

Allison and David were several characters. I had David make these weird impromptu car commercials, Allison would sell soap in a soft voice. Then I would have them be guests on the show. I would interview them for the audience, and they would come up with these insane answers that they perceived adults would say. David was Billy Idol, except he clearly wasn't. And Allison was Britney Spears. Then they would sing a song that Allison or David made up on the top of their head that they perceived a musician like Billy Idol or Britney Spears would sing. I made these tapes, and I would show them to people. Most of the time people said it made them feel really empty, disturbed and slightly nauseated. They were funny, and horrifying at the same time.

Zack and I were just starting to get close again. It had only been about six weeks or so since school had started. I had managed to drive him away, had to contend with his girlfriend for awhile, and then had to win him back. I seemed to be doing it. I came to this sense of calm about him. I just had to accept that I was still very much in love with him and always would be. I wasn't going to worry about the future, or worry about the attention I was being given. I was simply going to love him, for whatever that was worth. I had to forgive him. I had to forgive everyone. I was not going to give up my own sense of identity, but I wasn't going to try to hurt him to prove something petty to myself about who I was. I was going to expect nothing, and just be happy to have him around.

And then one day we were in health class. He sat next to me and scooted his desk up next to mine. Earlier that day he had come to me and explained that there was a school assembly last hour. He wanted to make sure that I was sitting right next to him. I was very happy. It felt like maybe things were going back to normal. So in health class, we were just waiting for the bell to ring and the intercom to sound so we could go to the gymnasium together. I remember people looking over at us strangely, perhaps judging us as the class freaks, trying to figure out if we were dating. I felt this soft sort of confidence inside.

Then the intercom came on and we all assembled to the gym. As Zack and I were walking together, Cody Smith – Ava's ex (It might be worth mentioning that the Smith household left him in Kendrick even though they had moved), came up to Zack and told him to come with him. Zack looked at me, and then looked at Cody. He smiled and told me to save a spot for him. I felt really rattled and confused. I went into the gym and saved a spot for him, but as everyone piled in, Zack didn't show up. I looked around. And then I spotted him, though just barely. He and Cody, were running out the back door by the boy's locker room, going out the secret way through the weight lifting room. Zack had been quickly convinced to skip the assembly. And he had forgotten all about me. And I had this really bad feeling that he was never coming back to school again.

Two weeks went by, and he didn't come to class. There was no word of him at all. Samantha knew nothing. Soup hadn't heard anything. I kept telling myself that he was just skipping for a few weeks like he had last time, but something about this felt a lot different. For one, he had been seen skipping the assembly, and if he returned they were waiting and ready to put him in several days of suspension. So why would he even want to come back? Secondly, he had just turned sixteen and he was legally able to leave school now. He never liked school. He liked playing music and smoking pot all day. So why would he want to be here?

I had troubles smiling. Noah was now talking to me all the time. He was friendly enough and I liked him. But he was incredibly engaged in trying to get my attention now. He wanted me to read his Invader Zim comic books, and I didn't really get into them. He wanted everyone to listen to Ween. I didn't like Ween that much. He wasn't pushy or anything. But he bothered me for some reason. And I mostly just missed Zack. I started comparing Zack to Noah, and finding that Noah annoyed me. I felt like Zack had been taken away from me and been replaced by this other person. I didn't want Noah. I wanted Zack. Eventually, one day at lunch break, as I was sitting in the parking lot, Zack and his father drove up unexpectedly in his father's red pickup. His dad didn't look too happy. But he was there to sign Zack out of school. Zack was quitting for good. He ran to us briefly, but his father didn't want to wait around. He was only able to explain what was happening, before he was called back to the truck and they drove away.

I was despondent and I felt empty. It was one thing when I had felt betrayed, or broken. But this was another thing altogether. I was somehow going to have to make it through life without him. Somehow, a big portion of my life had just floated away, and left this big empty space. I avoided everyone around me. I was short tempered with Sarah when she asked what was wrong. Noah came up to me at one point and offered me chewing gum and tried to be nice to me in a very Meyers-Briggs INTP kind of way. I took it resentfully. And yet, the world went on, and for the most part nobody paid too much attention. Nobody really seemed to understand what I was going through. And I had set it up that way. I hadn't been honest about how I felt. Which was of course what kept me safe, but also kept me trapped.

PART 41 - http://tinyurl.com/y84kmttv

PART 40 - http://tinyurl.com/y8aj6kmq

PART 39 - http://tinyurl.com/y97vprft

PART 38 - http://tinyurl.com/ycr7la8q

PART 37 - http://tinyurl.com/y8trssqd

PART 36 - http://tinyurl.com/y9ygq9q8

PART 35 - http://tinyurl.com/ya5xhe2f

PART 34 - http://tinyurl.com/yc6y4p69

PART 33 - http://tinyurl.com/y87449dz

PART 32 - http://tinyurl.com/ycetanep

PART 31 - http://tinyurl.com/yae3o4rd

PART 30 - http://tinyurl.com/ybht9aul

PART 29 - http://tinyurl.com/ybfcr9j2

PART 28 - http://tinyurl.com/yagdlo47

PART 27 - http://tinyurl.com/ydcj5fgf

PART 26 - http://tinyurl.com/y73nvl73

PART 25 - http://tinyurl.com/y6v6pgoj

PART 24 - http://tinyurl.com/ycak5d8r

PART 23 - http://tinyurl.com/yac6sk3g

PART 22 - http://tinyurl.com/yat6cfnw

PART 21 - http://tinyurl.com/y783egno

PART 20 - http://tinyurl.com/y8jskymt

PART 19 - http://tinyurl.com/rfhbms8

PART 18 - http://tinyurl.com/ycrznrwk

PART 17 - http://tinyurl.com/y77unlng

PART 16 - http://tinyurl.com/yadpsv8c

PART 15 - http://tinyurl.com/yb3lt6k5

PART 14 - http://tinyurl.com/yb4cfedq

PART 13 - http://tinyurl.com/yalanq9s

PART 12 - http://tinyurl.com/yc79mw94

PART 11 - http://tinyurl.com/yc9qhj84

PART 10 - http://tinyurl.com/yb734w24

PART 9 - http://tinyurl.com/yc2t6vfw

PART 8 - http://tinyurl.com/ybl37utq

PART 7 - http://tinyurl.com/ybvo283g

PART 6 - http://tinyurl.com/kbc9dwu

PART 5 - http://tinyurl.com/msnz4am

PART 4 - http://tinyurl.com/k9x8esg

PART 3 - http://tinyurl.com/mwp9atx

PART 2 - http://tinyurl.com/lbt6xq2

PART 1 - http://tinyurl.com/l8xbvg8

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dothewrite · 8 years

Note

Seijoh has a female manager, and she happens to be Oikawa and Iwa's long time childhood friend — she and Oiks are completely oblivious to each other's feelings, like everyone in the team already knows except for them? Hehe sorry if this is too specific!!

Oikawa? A lady killer? In his dreams, maybe, but when it comes to actual matters of the heart I promise that he’s a clueless amoeba. Cue, Iwaizumi to the rescue. I hope you enjoy this little fic of silly!

Now Iwaizumidoesn’t think that he should be considered a very observant person. Sure, hepicks up on things that he needs to, but he doesn’t have the persistence to beable to really uncover something that someone’s actively trying to hide. Whichmakes this all the more pathetic, in his opinion, because at this rate even ablind pigeon with a faulty sensory system would be able to notice the amount oftension in the air each time the two of them are in the same room.

Out ofeveryone too, they’d all banked on Oikawa being the perceptive one. Heck, hisentire volleyball career is based on him being the most observant out of all ofthem- the one who picks up on playstyle, predictive movement and analysing potentialplays. He literally does this every day,so why, why does this idiot not notice the incredibly suffocating atmosphereeach time they finish practice?

IwaizumiHajime is no matchmaker. But sometimes enough is enough, and if this is what ittakes to stop the betting pool from growing into unrealistic proportions (Imean, he’s a high schooler, he can’t afford a car for goodness’ sake), actions must be taken.

He startswith the small things. They’re in the same club, sure, but they’re in the sameschool too, and the same year. Itshouldn’t be that difficult, he decides, even if both of them are blind asbats. Attempt one involves him really awkwardly standing in the middle of thecorridor waiting for both of them to show up after school to shop for new trainers. It’s possibly theworld’s most cliché plot, but he’s getting points for effort, not originality.Both you and Oikawa look at his shoes with raised eyebrows and Iwaizumi sighs.Alright, they’re pretty new, but he supposes he can make a sacrifice for hisbest friends. His idiot best friendsthat give him so much grief about overspending on the way to the store that hewants to chuck them both in a trash compactor and be done with it.

It doesn’twork, of course. He just ends up with a frayed temper, two highly amusedfriends and an empty wallet. He swears never again to treat either of them todrinks, because a cappuccino should not cost more than a meal and be made withbeans imported from Atlantis or somewhere.

His nextattempt goes a little better, if a little less effective. They don’t actuallymanage to spend time together, but he manages to corner Oikawa in the lockerroom right after practice and squeezes some truth of out of him. Iwaizumisettles for 75% truth, because any higher and it’d be an impostor.

“Do you likeher?” He asks a bewildered Oikawa, straight and to the point.

“Who?” Thegit tilts his head in feigned ignorance and Iwaizumi smacks him.

“Who elsehave you been staring at all the time with that pining expression on your face?”

“Iwa-chan, Idon’t pine,” Oikawa scrunches up hisnose like the mere insinuation that he could have human feelings is beneathhim, “I merely admire.”

Iwaizumirolls his eyes. “Pine, admire, pop a boner for- it’s all the same. C’mon, thetruth.”

Oikawa looksrather indignant at being put on the spot with his uniform pants safely out ofreach and behind Iwaizumi, so it’s not like he can make a break for it. So,laboriously, he answers. “Is it that obvious?”

“Shittykawa,I’m pretty sure the school’s going to make banners out of your mooning faces ifit gets any more obvious.”

Oikawa’seyes widen. “So the team knows?!”

Iwaizumisnorts. “Of course the team knows. I’m pretty sure the only one who doesn’tknow is her.”

“You’re not goingto say anything are you?! Iwa-chan, don’t tell me you’re going to turn traitor.”

“Okay,”Iwaizumi frowns and presses an accusing finger into Oikawa’s heaving chest. “Firstof all, you’re both unfortunately my best friends and absolute morons, so there’sno ‘turning traitor’ when I’m on nobody’s side. Secondly, you should tell herbefore we all go broke from betting on you two.”

“What’s thebetting pool at?” Oikawa seems to perk up at the idea, and a wicked smirkcreeps over his expression. Iwaizumi feels like he’s signing himself away to ademon when he tells him.

“Around 17-kyen.”

Oikawa letsout a low whistle. “Wow, I’mflattered!”

“You shouldn’tbe,” Iwaizumi mutters irritably, but he knows it’s not going to make adifference either way. “Hurry the fuck up and admit it.”

“Why? I’mgoing to make someone rich, y’know. So much money isn’t to be scoffed at as astudent.”

“Yeah?”Iwaizumi’s quite done at this point. His point’s been made, and the idea’s beenplanted. There’s nothing left for him to do this evening, so he pulls back andstarts packing his things into his bag. Oikawa just stands there with his backto the wall like he’s been pinned there by some invisible force of theuniverse. “Look,” Iwaizumi finally says, hefting his stuff over his shoulderwith a hand on the doorknob, “sure, someone’s going to go rich, someone’s goingto go broke- but you’re gonna be stuck here with those feelings of yours untilsomeone graduates and you’re never going to be able to tell her how you feel. So,man up.”

He doesn’tglance backwards to see Oikawa’s expression before he leaves. He catches youreye outside in the hallway, waiting for both of them to walk home after school,and Iwaizumi lifts a hand in greeting.

The bestnews he’s heard all week, he thinks, is that he doesn’t need to make an attemptthree. Honestly, there’s not much else he thinks he can do other than go to youand confront you about your feelingstoo (which, he thinks he should have done first because you’re miles easier totalk to than Oikawa), but all that is saved, thank goodness, when he receives atext at two thirty in the morning from Shittykawa telling him that he’s goingto talk to her tomorrow at practice.

It’s thebest sleep he’s had in ages, and he finds himself actually looking forwards topractice afterschool that day.

It’s apretty average day- all three of your meet at the crossroads of your respectivestreets to head to school together. Oikawa’s got his arm around the both youand Iwaizumi, as usual, and there’s almost no difference from any other day-that is, if both of you hadn’t been around him since he was born. There’s noescaping the eyes of a hawk. You’re in a different class from both of them, butIwaizumi notices the extra chirpy ‘see ya!’ that Oikawa offers you, and thelittle bashful smile that colours your cheeks before the two of you part tostart the day. Iwaizumi does the decent thing, and doesn’t mention it at all.He doesn’t even look at Oikawa knowingly, which he thinks he deserved at leastfifteen brownie points for.

The thingthat gives it away for the team, however, is during practice. Oikawa’s as sternand serious as always whenever there’s volleyball involved, but this afternoonhe barely spares you a glance, not even when you’re directly handing him hispersonal bottle that he’d forgotten at home this morning. Hanamaki only nudgesIwaizumi in the ribs rather painfully, and jerks his head towards the non-spectacle.Yahaba just scoffs at his wimp of a captain, and even Issei, usually the one who pretendshe’s not interested in it out of respect for you, shakes his headdisappointingly.

“That’scold,” he murmurs to Iwaizumi, and Iwaizumi has to agree. “Is he planning ondoing something today?”

“That’s whathe messaged me,” Iwaizumi murmurs back, and Hanamaki makes a suffocating noisein the background.

“I knew ourcaptain was a tsun,” Hanamaki comments, “but she’s too sweet to even notice thathe is. She probably just thinks she’s done something to piss him off today.”

EvenKyoutani makes a disgusted face at the sound of that, and Iwaizumi, again, hasto agree. “She knows him so well but when it comes to some things…”

“Theydeserve each other,” finishes Issei, and the whole team just nods in assent.

“The blind leadingthe blind- or something,” Yahaba just tuts as he waves the betting sheet aroundin the air, and they all gravitate towards him, eyes never leaving yourslightly put off figure the entire time. Everyone holds their breath collectivelywhen you make a move to return to the coach’s side, but Oikawa places a veryshaky hand on your arm to stop you.

“Wait-“ hebegins, and you find yourself heating up in ways you thought were only limitedto industrial sized ovens.

“H-hm?” youstutter, and you look mildly frustrated at your own tongue for that. Oikawa, onthe other hand, doesn’t notice it at all and instead pulls you to one side inwhat he thinks is an inconspicuous corner. The only people who don’t notice arethe coach and the teacher, and the rest of Aoba Jousai watches on with baitedbreath.

“I,” Oikawastarts, before he removes his hand from you and starts to pull at his shirtnervously, “Iwa-chan told me something the other day.”

You nod,anticipating a story of some sort that ends with Oikawa being roasted, again.

“He saidthat we’re going to graduate soon, and…” his tongue trips him over severaltimes, and you feel your nerves run laps around your pulse. “That I should saysomething before I regret not… saying…”

“This isn’tlike you, Tooru,” you joke, a small smile gracing your features because it’sthe only way you know how to comfort him right now, “you’re usually so sure ofanything you’re going to say.”

“Well that’sbecause usually I know exactly how it’s going to be received,” Oikawa respondsproudly before deflating again. He’s blushing, which is a natural wonder initself and you can’t help but mirror it four-fold. You’re too busy staring atthe floor, but Oikawa catches the way your cheeks redden and your lower lip beingworried between your teeth and he can’t help but resign himself to his fate.

That “I’mcompletely in love with you”- and he wants to die right there because that’s absolutelynot what he wanted to say. It doesn’t sound cool at all, and the team sort of has a small stroke because they’d neverexpected their wuss of a captain to say something so bold. A stuttered, ambiguousconfession perhaps, but not this.

Your face islike a fire alarm. You press your cheeks between your hands, hoping to coolthem down, but no such luck- at least Oikawa looks absolutely mortified, whichkeeps your embarrassment company at least.

“I…” you’reflailing in your mind, “r-really?”

Oikawa lookshorrified, but he nods anyway and despite all odds, despite the incredibly embarrassing, for the fourth time,atmosphere, a wide smile breaks through your face and there are almost relievedtears clinging at your lashes.

“Thankgoodness!” You exclaim with relief, “I thought that I’d have to graduate withoutanyone ever knowing!”

“Knowingthat… I like you?” Oikawa’s lower lip starts to tremble.

“No, idiot,”you grin at him, your own lips equally wobbly, and the two of you must make aridiculous sight. “That I like you too.”

And then,Oikawa evaporates. Or rather, he feels like he’s about to, but what happensinstead is that you’re tugging him into a fierce hug that he can’t do anythingbut reciprocate, and faintly out of his consciousness he hears clapping goingon.

“Idiot,” yourepeat into his chest, and he smiles too, because now that the embarrassment’sgone, he’s finally realizing what’s happening and good lord, he wishes he weren’tsuch an idiot, like you said, and did this earlier.

“I’m ahandsome idiot, at least,” he tries to argue, but it’s all silenced when youpull him down by the towel around his neck and press a soft kiss against his lips that just won’tshut up. He does, finally, when he realizes that it’s okay to actually do thisand not just fantasize about it, and his arms wrap around your waist to pullyou in deeper into the best kiss of his life.

Iwaizumifeels exceptionally pleased that evening when he walks home, alone. He doesn’teven mind that its’ chilly and he forgot his jacket in the locker room, becausehe’d been far too pleased with the huge bulge in his wallet made from Hanamaki’stears.

“I thoughtwe were friends,” Hanamaki had wailedat him, but Iwaizumi had only shrugged, and even Issei threw an unsympatheticstare at his best friend.

“Cold hardcash,” Iwaizumi had replied, before closing the door behind him and feelinglike all his trouble had been well paid for.

#oikawa tooru #female original character #iwaizumi hajime #team seijou #sfw #fluff #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu #i writes the haikyuu

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bigskydreaming · 5 years

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What’s the status of Jimmy Hudson these days anyway? I stopped reading during the Poison arc because it was killing too many of my brain cells and I had to save some for the whole rest of my life I still have left to live in case I ever need them.

Like is he still fucking around in space all possessed by an out of control Venom symbiote, aka a potential candidate for the rumored ‘seek and rescue’ squad of X-Men to go save from that, or like, does he need to be full on rebooted cuz he died? And if so, what’s the sitch on alternate reality mutants getting the resurrection treatment, do they qualify, or is Xavier like ugh, good riddance? LMAO.

(Look, I need my little baby disaster sniktling, he is the ONLY one of Logan’s kids who actually wears flannel and whomst among the others could Logan possibly pass down that essential character trait too? I mean, Gabby would totally wear it too, but like...ironically).

#look i just like jimmy he's such a moron but he's a GOOD moron #and also I shipped him with Young Bobby and like I wouldnt ship him with adult Bobby but the age difference between them isnt that big #and so in like #a hundred years or so they could make for a very viable couple #and it would make Daken mad that his mess of a younger brother got with the guy he's been sorta kinda circling for decades figuring #that they'd get around to getting together EVENTUALLY #and now thats been THWARTED and all the other available immortals are like.....old and stuffy #and when Daken thinks someone is stuffy #like #thats BAD #and so he's sulking but he cant actually admit that he's JEALOUS without admitting that he kinda sorta did actually like the Ice Dork #so instead he settles for making loud and obnoxious remarks to everyone who'll listen #like OF COURSE the two most useless immortals the mutant race ever produced would naturally gravitate to each other #which isnt obvious of him AT ALL

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badonkodank · 8 years

Text

Better Kept Secret

ao3

Chapter Five: Burdens Best Shared

As soon as he stepped outside, Stan found his feet taking him towards the docks, towards the Stan’O’War II, and though he hadn’t actually seen where Ford had gone, he was sure he was heading in the right direction. A small smile flitted across Stan’s face at how appropriate that was even as he shook his head, telling himself there was no good reason to be even a little amused right then, not when the reason he was going out was so unpleasant. It was probably just his nerves getting the best of him too, but still, not appropriate.

The bit of nostalgia that washed through him was welcome though. It had been a lifetime since circumstances had been such that one of them had gone to the boat and the other had just known where to find them, yet it seemed there were some things that had been ingrained into their very beings. It was a place both of them seemed to naturally gravitate, as if that one little craft on the water was one of the dimensions Ford sometimes spoke about, one made specifically for them.

During childhood the boat had been their play-thing, somewhere they went for fun, to indulge in daydreams of fantastic adventures and better futures. When they were teens it had been their hideaway, their place where they could forget about their troubles, trading them in for work and lulling conversation that ultimately made both feel at ease. Now… Stan wasn’t sure what it was to them now, but he was comforted with the certainty that, no matter what happened, so long as they had that boat, they’d be all right. Even if the road to reaching that “all right” was painful.

Stan shook his head to drag himself out of the musings and rolled his eyes at how “Ford” they’d sounded. It was weird hearing long-winded, sentimental, smart-ish-maybe things coming from his own brain sometimes and he reminded himself with a small snort to leave that sort of thought to his brother. Ford was better at it anyway.

The sigh that left him was drowned out by the sound of water lapping gently against various posts and hulls, and Stan slowed his pace so his approach would at least be quiet. He didn’t want to freak Ford out any more than he already was. Though, when the Stan’O’War II finally came into view Stan stopped, the sudden lack of movement involuntary but nevertheless helpful as he decided in the same second to collect his thoughts as well as locate exactly where on the boat Ford was.

Although, it took no real effort to spot his brother; Ford stood, back to him, leaning heavily against the boat’s railing as he stared out at the starry sky reflected on the slowly rolling waves. Stan wondered what sort of face his twin was pulling right about then because it would have at least given him something to go off of in terms of gauging the overall mood, and then shook his head roughly for how dumb that was. Now you’re just stalling and you know it- his face won’t tell you much, and you know that too. Go.

Taking a deep breath as if getting prepared to dive into the water beneath his feet (and he supposed in a way he might as well be), Stan got going once more. He tried being quiet when stepping onto the boat but internally winced when he stumbled and noticed how Ford’s shoulders tensed. So… on a scale of “Sucking” to “Utter Fuckup” for how he was already doing with this, Stan would say he was around “Epic Failure”.

Could’ve been worse, he supposed.

It took Stan a moment to swallow down the mounting anxiety brought on by that mess-up, but one he had he went to stand by Ford, making a conscious effort to put himself at what he knew by now to be the perfect distance. It was far enough away to prevent his brother from feeling claustrophobic or uncomfortable, but close enough to make it known that he wasn't just there to admire the view. And if the way Ford's fingernails scraped at the paint beneath them was any indicator, he understood that.

As expected, though, he said nothing to even acknowledge Stan’s presence, which left him in the awkward position of having to figure out how to break the silence in a way that would immediately put them on the right conversation track but still keep things light enough that Ford didn’t feel like he needed to run again. The fact that nothing was coming to mind other than his typical, “So… what’s up?” or “Stars’re pretty…”, was frustrating beyond all imagining and he had to fight off another grumble of “idiot” that he knew would only be rewarded with a glare from his brother.

Again it struck him as both odd and funny that under any other circumstances he’d have been able to talk circles around Ford (in some departments anyway), but now he could barely even think up a proper sentence starter.

Everything he could think up fell flat a second later when he imagined how much more awkward it would make things, and it didn’t help that the longer he let the silence persist the more closed off Ford’s body language and expression became. It made Stan worry that if he said nothing for any longer his brother might be unwilling to speak with him at all, and that made the man jittery to point he decided it was better to say something bad than nothing at all.

However, as had become more and more frequent recently, Ford cut him off before he could start with a heavy sigh that sounded tense and tired, his head and shoulders drooping as the air left him.

“We can’t ignore this anymore, can we?”

Stan hated how resigned his twin sounded, how utterly defeated he looked as his gaze dropped to the water below them.

He had wanted to know what Ford had been keeping from him for the longest time, and there was no doubt about it that it had something to do with what had happened because Ford certainly had never been like that before going through the Portal. However, now that the option to find out was right in front of him, Stan didn’t want to hear it.

He’d thought that if he just found out sooner rather than later then things would be better, because at least he would understand where Ford was coming from when he said and did things that made zero sense to him; had thought it so often that he’d gotten angry with his brother when he didn’t tell him, but seeing Ford’s reaction to possibly having to say something now made Stan retract those ideas.

Sure, he still did want to know -he wanted that more than anything- the only problem was that he didn’t want to find out like this.

He wanted Ford to talk to him because he wanted to, because he trusted him, not because he felt like he owed him an explanation. He didn’t want to see his brother looking so conflicted and nervous (afraid). And Ford did look conflicted, like he too was having some internal struggle that Stan might not ever understand.

“We can, actually.”

The answer slipped out softly, hanging in the air for longer than Stan expected it would as Ford stared at him, stunned and not sure what to say.

Stan would’ve needed to be blind to miss the hopeful but confused look in his brother’s eyes. All he could do was shrug and hand Ford the coat he remembered he was holding onto.

“It’s fine, Ford. Don’t worry about it.”

At that point Stan expected his silence, but that didn’t make it any less uncomfortable for him. However, when Ford wrapped the coat around himself and sighed quietly in what could only have been relief, the air became lighter. That was, until he spoke and Stan found himself blinking in surprise out how swiftly his brother changed the subject and diverted the attention onto him.

“Back there, you remembered something. What was it?”

Ah. Yes. That. He’d almost forgotten about that.

The question from his brother wasn’t necessarily unexpected, but Stan had sort of hoped he would wait until the morning to bring it up. Granted, Ford had never exactly waited to ask before, so why he’d thought it would be any different this time he didn’t know. He was willing to tell him -he trusted Ford with everything in him- but he had been silently rooting for a delay on it. At least long enough for him to figure it out.

Oh well.

Stan wasn’t sure if his sigh was contained inside his head or not as he thought back to everything he’d seen earlier that evening. If he was going to be honest, he still couldn’t differentiate which reality had been the memory until the point where he noticed Ford standing there, but, he supposed if he thought about it carefully he could figure it out.

Using what he remembered being there when the memory had finally stopped, Stan pieced together some semblance of a proper explanation, and he figured it was accurate because the more he thought about it, the more familiar it became.

“That guy, the one who did this,” Stan pointed to the gauze that covered the cut in his neck, “his name was Paolo. Paolo Zinteni. He’s part of the, uh… I think it was the Canadian mob that worked under the Mafia family here. Can’t believe he’s still alive, to be honest. He’s at least ten years older than us- ages well, so he’s got that goin’ for him if nothin’ else at least. Heh, though I guess nobody will be able to tell now…”

Ford flinched at the reminder of what he’d done and Stan winced at the tactless words. Stick to the past, moron.

“Right, anyway,” He cleared his throat a little awkwardly, “I ran into him and his goons a couple months after what happened in Columbia- you remember that one. I think I was try’na keep my nose clean? Yeah, didn’t work that way. Guess word spreads when popular guys like Rico get outsmarted by scrappy kids.

“Anyhoo, I ran into him and they’d heard’a me, so naturally they offered me a job. It a… I didn’t wanna do it- at least I think I didn’t? Whatever, they convinced me, or forced me- the details are a little fuzzy there. Hm…”

Stan let his gaze drift to Ford, looking to gauge his reaction so far to see if he should continue as he realized the memory was drifting into territory they hadn’t exactly gone into great detail on during their previous discussions about their first decade apart. By the looks of it, Ford was either actually taking it fine or faking it well. Whatever the case, Stan took it as an okay to keep going.

“They had me as a mule or somethin’- don’t really remember much on that...”

A lie, and probably one Ford saw right through, but Stan didn’t want to burden his brother with the details. Hell, he didn’t want to mention the details when just thinking about having to swallow those balloons was making his stomach twist painfully. Not his fondest memories.

“But when I got back from a trip I may or may not have been stopped by the feds. I dunno how they knew who I was, but they did- actually, now that I think about it, it was probably my record. Yeah. Duh. But, uh, they picked me up and said I either tell em where Paolo’s gang was, or I go to prison. I sure as hell wasn’t going to prison again.

“They had me meet up with Paolo and the guys so they could follow me and make sure I wasn’t setting ‘em up, or somethin’ like that. ‘Bout halfway through the meet Paolo figured something was up and that’s when things went south. I think I got stabbed- but nothing serious, obviously. Everything after that is… that’s where it cut off.

“I guess after however many year he put in the big house Paolo got out, heard I died but never really forgot my face. Saw me back here and… well, mobs and mafia are like this weird, fucked up family, and they do this stupid thing where they vow or whatever, to find and kill whoever screws ‘em over.

“He’s got good memory. Unlike me, ha.”

Ford was quiet for a beat longer and Stan said nothing because he understood it was going to take a minute for his twin to process everything. It was a lot to take in when he’d only ever hinted at some of the less pleasant parts of his life.

Sure, Ford knew about his time in that Colombian prison with Rico and Jorge. He knew how they’d tried to kill him -even if he still didn’t know how- and he knew there was more he hadn’t been told, but Stan would bet the million bucks he didn’t have that Ford hadn’t taken into account the vast amount of tough, gritty situations living on the streets put a person in.

Now, whether that was just lack of thought (and Stan knew Ford had done his best to forget him at times, so it was possible) or denial on his brother’s part, he couldn’t be sure.

Whatever the case, the way his hands were slowly curling and uncurling in a clearly agitated manner led Stan to believe he hadn’t exactly considered how dangerous his life had been. Not that it mattered. It was all in the past, so there wasn’t any need to be getting huffy over it.

Sure, Stan didn’t think he’d ever forget what he’d gone through, but at the same time it wasn’t something he often thought about. Those memories were buried under a mountain of newer, better ones.

Those memories were shadows in the closet, the things that went bump in the night, the monsters that occasionally had him waking in a cold sweat... But they were only memories. They couldn’t hurt him now, anymore than that demon triangle could, so there was no reason to treat them like a huge deal.

It did make him wonder, though, if that was the only memory that hadn’t been restored until now, or if there were more. He’d thought he’d recovered everything before, but he supposed when you forgot your entire life and the things you did remember fit into perfect chronological order, then you would think you’d remembered all there was.

Still, at the moment, it didn’t matter.

When it became clear that Ford didn’t quite understand the unspoken sentiment, Stan shrugged again, letting the movement catch his twin’s eye as he spoke, sounding completely unperturbed.

“But hey, shit happens. It’s pretty much water under the bridge at this point.”

Ford said nothing yet still and Stan bit his tongue to keep from going on; there was no use blabbering when his brother was obviously absorbing the information. He was so quiet, in fact, that Stan found himself almost missing when he muttered, “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

He did hear him, though, and Stan couldn’t help but scoff, the sound not so much derision as it was surprised amusement, making Ford blink and frown slightly before Stan rolled his eyes.

“Quit bein’ sorry for things ya can’t control, Si-ah-Stanford. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve apologized more than enough already… for now.”

The snort that the added last bit pulled from Ford made a smile tug at the corners of Stan’s mouth. At least even when he was making his brother think about unpleasant things he could still get a laugh out of him. It was nice, knowing he was still good for something in regards to Ford, even when somber situations such as these dulled most of the mirth.

“Maybe so, but I am nonetheless,” Ford said before his expression fell once more and he was looking out onto the water.

Stan wished he’d stop doing that since it was more annoying than anything when he was obvious about trying to hide what was running through his mind.

“Oi, don’t go all mysterious, brood-master on me. What’s up?”

Ford sighed heavily and tilted his head back to stare at the stars that were slowly beginning to dot the sky. Stan didn’t follow his line of sight, more intently focused on the short flashes of emotion he caught as his twin spoke.

“Stan… I want to tell you why I reacted like that, but-”

“Hey, Ford, I said you don’t have to-”

“But I want to. I owe you that much, don’t you think? After all, you’re willing to share-”

“I don’t want you telling me cuz you “owe” me, Ford.”

He straightened out at that, no longer leaning against the railing as he whirled on Stan, throwing his arms out in exasperation, his voice climbing higher, frustration cracking the words in a way that reminded Stan of Dipper.

“Then what do you want?”

He couldn’t help it when his voice rose until he was almost yelling to match Ford’s volume. “I want you to tell me because you trust me!”

“I do trust you! Wha- What made you think I didn’t?”

Stan opened his mouth to reply but found no words came out when he noticed how hurt Ford seemed over his thinking he didn’t trust him. It made Stan ask why he didn’t just tell him earlier that week before all of this happened, but it sounded childish even in his mind. There were the occasional moments when Stan could say he knew how to act like a mature adult.

However, Ford’s change in demeanor, as well as his sudden adamant desire to say what was on his mind, did beg the question: Why now? Stan decided that one was okay, so long as he worded the question right.

“Why do you want to all the sudden?”

Ford blinked owlishly.

Okay, he wasn’t expecting that...

“W-what?”

Stan kept his tone level as he repeated the question.

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

His earlier bravado disappearing in an instant, Ford went to turn away again. He was stopped only by Stan’s hands grabbing his shoulders. There was no way he was going to be allowed to get out of this now.

“Huh-uh, none of that crap,” His brother flinched and Stan conceded that he had sounded harsher than he’d meant to. Taking a breath, he spoke again, sure to be soft so Ford actually listened.

“Just tell me why and I’ll leave you alone- you don’t have to say anything more.”

Any fight that might have been present in his twin before bled away as Ford bowed his head, apparently finding sudden interest in the woodwork beneath their feet as his shoulders drooped, his fate accepted.

He was still quiet for several beats, but Stan didn’t worry about pressing him any further; they had all night and he knew Ford was only collecting his thoughts, not being stubborn.

“You have to promise you won’t hate me.”

He felt his brain short circuit as his hold on Ford went limp and he looked at his brother with the most baffled expression he’d ever worn in his entire life. A strained sound eventually made it past his lips that Ford would likely later describe as the keen of a dying Banthar and it took Stan a minute to realize he was laughing, which in turn would explain the odd way his twin was eyeing him.

And he knew this wasn’t funny, but for the life of him he couldn’t stop himself, because of all the reasons Ford could have had for keeping to himself, that was the one Stan had least expected. So… maybe it was a little funny.

“Me? Hate you. Jeez, Ford, relax!”

“I’m not- I’m… being serious, Stanley.”

He knew that. He knew Ford was being serious, but the small voice coming out of his brother helped to drive home just how serious. This wasn’t like when they were kids, and the “of course I won’t hate you” sentiment wasn’t implied like he’d thought it was… Ford... really did need to know.

He really thinks I could hate him?

“Ford,” Stan sighed heavily to kill any nervous, residual laughter, before looking his twin in the eye. “I promise I won’t. I thought after everything we’ve been through it would be pretty obvious that I could never hate you. If I was gonna hate you don’t ya think I woulda done it a long time ago?”

Ford shook his head a little harder than necessary and Stan resisted the urge to roll his eyes even while something weighed heavy in his gut. He didn’t believe him… did he? Stan had always thought his brother had hated him on some level or another that he never spoke of, but not once had he entertained the thought that Ford might think he thought the same.

“At the very least you’ll no longer trust me.”

“Bullshit,” Stan stated without thinking about it, “But okay.”

“Y-You won’t see me the same as before…”

“Well, with these cataracts and screwed up lens I’m not really seeing anything the same.”

It was a poor attempt to lighten the mood and both men knew it but Stan could think of nothing else to do. Ford was obviously having a not-so-internal battle over what he was trying to do and say, and everything coming out of his mouth sounded more like he was trying to convince Stan he didn’t want to hear anything more.

It was as if he didn’t believe Stan when he’d said he really didn’t need to hear an explanation, and even if he was telling him he trusted him and wanted to tell him, Stan wasn’t so sure. He couldn’t be certain, though, because they’d encountered plenty of instances in which Ford put off saying what he wanted for as long as possible and took every road he could think to avoid it; Stan knew where his trust issues stopped, Ford’s kept going and it took much longer for his brother to feel comfortable letting his inner thoughts known, even around people he’d known for years.

Or maybe he was trying to dispel his own fears by letting Stan shoot them down.

“I’m serious, though,” He added when it was clear Ford was having trouble deciding where to go from there, “You don’t have to tell me anything. I get it, and I won’t be mad. And I definitely won’t hate you.”

“Heh,” Ford dragged a hand through his hair, releasing his breath in a heavy sigh. “I know. Of course, yes. I just- ahem. Yes. Okay, um-”

Stan gave his twin’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze and Ford cleared his throat again, turning his attention back to the sky as if searching for help amongst the stars. When he started, Stan made conscious effort to stay put and not lean forward into his personal space in an attempt to get a listen at his brother’s thoughts.

When Ford did speak, he kept his face towards the cosmos, and Stan wouldn’t have been surprised if he was allowing himself to get lost in them, letting the words tumble from his mouth but not registering exactly what he was saying. He did that sometimes, when he was explaining complex things over and over in as layman’s of terms as he was able to get.

“I’ve done… many things I regret, as you already know. I’m sure after… earlier, you can imagine what some of those might have been.”

Nodding slowly and feeling his throat suddenly go dry at the recent memory, Stan swallowed. He could guess where Ford was going with this, but if the churning in his gut is anything to go by he wasn’t going to want to hear it. Yet he didn’t dare interrupt, and Ford, unaware of what wasn’t spoken, kept going.

“I tried to avoid hurting anyone for as long as I could, but it seemed for every good dimension I came across there were five more that wished me ill. Bill had a bounty -an entire galaxy - on my head, I had to learn to defend myself. I-I had to survive, Stanley. I needed food, shelter, someone to turn a blind eye so I could pass safely through. I did what I had to do and-”

“Whoa, whoa, Stanford, you’re making no sense now. Slow down.” Stan brought his hands up in a clear message to stop. He could hear the panicked edge his brother’s words had started taking as he sounded more and more like he’s trying to defend himself before he’d even said anything detrimental.

Ford looked embarrassed and swallowed nervously. “Sor-”

“It’s fine, don’t apologize.”

Stan was so tired of hearing him apologize when he’d done nothing wrong. It was practically a reflex now, which was as upsetting to him now as it was during their childhood.

Once his brother collected his thoughts further, Stan was relieved to note he sounded less unsure in what he was saying, like he’d gotten a plan for the speech in mind mapped out. Good. Ford with a plan was... well he hated to say “easier”, but it was true. Hysterical Ford was just hard to manage- always had been.

“You saw what I did to those men.”

The vehement emphasis on the word “men” didn’t go unnoticed, but for the sake of the conversation Stan ignored it.

“Yeah.”

“You realize if… if you hadn’t interfered I would have-”

“Yeah,” Stan interrupted. He could tell Ford hadn’t wanted to finish that sentence; his fidgeting had gotten worse. The two shared an understanding nod before getting back on track.

“I’ve… done worse, Stan.”

Stan wasn’t all that sure he wanted to ask Ford to elaborate, but his mouth apparently ran with his thoughts before he could stop it. “...How much worse?”

“I…” Ford paused to breathe and Stan did his best not to twitch, feeling antsy even though he was fairly certain he already knew what his twin would say.

“Stanley, I can’t tell you everything- not yet, anyway. 30 years is....”

“A long time.”

“Mm,” He nodded when Stan finished for him.

The silence that proceeded after was like a heavy quilt, smothering and much too hot in spite of the cold nighttime air, but Ford’s eyes had taken a distant look to them that had Stan knowing if he wanted his twin to keep talking he’d have to get his attention.

Not that that was ever difficult. Nope. Never. It wasn’t like Ford’s mind ran a mile a minute or anything.

“Ford?”

The man startled and Stan winced apologetically, not having realized how zoned out he’d become, even though he really should have. Ford recovered quickly, though, and went on as if he hadn’t stopped.

“Before I say anymore, I just- you need to know I did what I felt necessary to survive.”

That was never a good way to get into things, Stan knew that all too well, but he could see where his brother was coming from and he let Ford know that. “I get it, Ford, and I’ll understand, whatever it is.”

Bad promise, moron! What if you don’t get it?

Shut up.

Stan was already more than aware that what it was had the potential to be twice as bad as what he’d been putting together, because not only was Ford scared to the point of having a panic attack, but Stan knew firsthand the lengths people would go to when they felt they have no other choices for survival.

“Families, Stanley. Women. Children. Anyone who came too close… or seemed threatening. You saw how I was after everything with him. I’d be lying if I said I’d never gotten to that point again once or twice. Worse. Sometimes...”

Ford trailed off but there was no explanation needed to what he was referring to, what he was talking about. It wasn’t difficult to put two and two together.

Still, there was something he was trying to say, and yet kept stopping himself before he could get to it. Stan couldn’t help but tilt his head and make a questioning noise that had Ford catching his gaze and blurting out the words before he could prepare himself to hear them.

“I didn’t always hate it. I was feral! ” Ford spit the word like poison even while he choked on it, a hand shooting to cover his mouth.

The shock that hit Stan when the words sunk in had him grabbing the nearby rail for support. The thought of Ford actually killing someone, whether it was self defense or no, would’ve been almost comical just yesterday, but now… now it left a pit in his stomach. The fact that Ford had gotten to a point so low that he’d felt he had to was… it pained him. Nobody was supposed to reach that level of desperation, especially not his family.

At least now the way Ford had fought, his movements fluid, perfect like he’d done it a million times, made sense. He probably had done them a million times. To survive -for money, or food, or whatever was offered… his brother had killed people (aliens?) and even if it was staggering, it wasn’t the worst revelation Stan had been expecting.

And hey, Stan had had his fair share of feeling good after hurting someone if it meant he got to live another day, so there was no way he would hold that against his brother. Though, Ford probably hadn’t realized all he’d been feeling was a weird mixture of triumph and relief, and that was why he thought he’d liked it. After all, Ford overthought everything negative that happened to him until he had some sort of insanely guilty conscience thing going. For a genius, he could be such an idiot.

Still, it was hard to think about Ford doing anything like that, especially when the only images wanting to flash through Stan’s mind then showed the side of his brother that laughed at puns, and loved cuddling the kids, and stayed up all night researching, but chastised Stan when he found him awake at the same hours.

The Ford that purred like a giant old cat when he was content, and did everything within his power to keep those around him safe, whether he knew them or not.

The Ford that hadn’t left his side while he’d been getting his memories back even though he could have.

Yet on the other hand Stan kept seeing the other sides of Ford. The ones that only now made sense, the parts that Ford tried to hide but didn’t always succeed in doing. The Ford that watched everyone’s movements cautiously, the one that growled like some kind of animal when he perceived he was being threatened, the one that jumped at shadows and spewed wild strings of violent curses, both in languages belonging to Earth and not, when he was working and thought nobody could hear him…

The one that could take down multiple armed assailants and almost beat one to death without flinching.

Yes, it made sense- in fact it made so much of the puzzle click into place it was amazing.

Why Ford had deflected the Portal conversations over and over and gotten so defensive whenever Stan didn’t leave it alone, why he’d been so scared to tell Stan anything regarding those days.

He understood now, and he both did and did not want to.

It became clear in a way Stan had never thought it would, and while the revelation was disturbing to say the least, Stan found he wasn’t at all upset like he’d expected he would be, and that fact didn’t surprise him like it should have.

After all, he had seen his own experiences and how they’d made him act in the past in some of Ford’s actions before. He just hadn’t acknowledged them.

Hell, he’d seen himself in that horrifying grin as Ford had been pummeling Paolo, and Stan didn’t like to admit what that said about his character any more than he liked to think about what it said about Ford’s.

Yet, it wasn’t a world shattering discovery, and it certainly wasn’t enough to make Stan hate his brother or even view him all that differently; he was still Ford. He was still a huge nerd who loved long coats way too much and was obsessed with his anomalies. Now he just had… “asskicker who was pretty awesomely terrifying when you pissed him off” added to the list.

Yes, what Ford had just disclosed was upsetting, but not in the way anyone would have expected. It was upsetting because it almost physically pained Stan to think about how awful things must have been for Ford to believe he had no other option; how scared his brother must have been. Because if his own life on the streets could measure up to even half as bad as the Portal… Stan didn’t want to think about what that meant for Ford.

The fact that his brother obviously felt such remorse for his feelings and actions that he was so broken up to the point he’d convinced himself Stan would hate him was what really drove the stake through Stan’s heart, and had his throat tightening, though.

He would never - never - think ill of his brother for protecting himself… Ford should have known that. Had he not made it clear enough to his twin? Had he needed to do a better job after those times calming Ford down after the kids had gone home?

Or did Ford truly think that little of himself when he was in that state of mind?

If so, it only spoke all the more volumes as to who his brother really was:

He was still Ford.

That’s what it boiled down to.

Yes, he’d killed people, but he’d done it for reasons he considered imperative to survival, and considering Stan had done his fair share of questionable things for the sake of staying alive (and even after he was safe), who was he to judge?

And what had happened earlier… Stan had already made peace with the fact that Ford had been protecting him. That was all that mattered.

The only unfortunate thing about everything, though, was that he’d said zero of his thoughts aloud, and it wasn’t until Stan heard Ford tentatively say his name, fear lacing the his voice heavily, that he realized he hadn’t said anything for quite awhile.

Stan meant to lead with something deep and meaningful to let his brother know everything was fine, because he knew how sensitive he needed to be; Ford had bared a part of himself to him that he could’ve kept secret.

But, as per usual as of late, the only word his throat actually produced was more of a sound, and not at all what he’d meant to say.

“Huh.”

The way Ford suddenly blanched and repeated the word back to him in a way that sounded numb and broken had Stan fighting off panic.

Shitshitshit! Say something! You moron!

“No, wait, that’s not what I wanted to say! Just, uh…”

Ford looked on the verge of tears at that point and Stan felt his heart clench painfully at the sight. It wasn’t often nowadays that his twin allowed himself to cry, and when he did Stan knew he’d better be prepared for at least an hour of quality time (usually in some form of cuddling) afterward.

Thankfully, Ford held it in at least long enough for Stan to get his voice working again.

“Look, remember how I said with those guys how it was water under the bridge? Well, that goes for you too- even though you didn’t do anything to me... well, anything like that. Ugh, no, ignore that, that was stupid. Uh, what I mean is...” Stan scowled at the floorboards, willing the correct words to come to him.

Nothing.

Figures.

Stan scratched the back of his neck. How to start? What was it that Mabel always said? “Start from the beginning. Speak from the heart. Word-vomit is better than no vomit at all!”

He sure hoped she was right.

“Look, what you did in the past… it’s in the past. It doesn’t define you and it doesn’t change who you are now. And… who you are is my brother. I know you’d never hurt me. You protected me. If you hadn’t I’d be- yeah. And I could never hate you for surviving. If I’m pissed with anyone, I’m pissed with Bill! If he hadn’t done anything to you in the first place…”

“I let him,” Ford said.

“Doesn’t matter!” Ford looked away and Stan snapped his fingers to bring his attention back, “Hey, it doesn’t. I don’t care if you let him or if he forced you. Point is, cuz of him, bad things happened. But what happened to you, it’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

The slight tremor in his brother’s hands didn’t go unnoticed and Stan swallowed the lump in his throat. The fact that Ford still harbored so much guilt for things that had been out of his control once set into motion was hard to see. He wasn’t supposed to look how Stan felt most days. It wasn’t right, and he just wanted to make it better.

“I’m not mad, and I don’t blame you, Sixer. If anything I should be thanking y- oof!”

The wind was knocked out him when Ford barreled into his chest, but he couldn’t care too much as he wrapped his arms around his brother to holding him steady. There it was. That was much, much better.

The small shuddering breaths that escaped from where Ford had his face buried in his shoulder served to make Stan squeeze harder, and when he felt twelve fingers grasp his shirt tightly the younger twin smiled, muttering quiet reassurances until the last of the tension in Ford’s shoulders bled away.

Stan had expected that reaction from his brother, but what he hadn’t expected was just how completely relieved Ford was to not have been pushed away. It made Stan want to keep hold of him for the remainder of the night and protect him from the voices in his head that had led him to think he would be rejected; made him want to shield him from the demons that haunted him still.

It had been a long time since Stan had felt that need to protect his twin, but it felt… almost good to have that back. The fact that Ford was willing to allow the comfort was pleasant as well. It had been too long since they had clung to each other like that. Much too long.

They stayed like way for some time, until the moon had risen high enough to cast a cool glow on them from above; Stan just holding Ford and listening to his even breathing and feeling his heart beating almost in time with his own. Ford occasionally mentioned how it was probably getting late but never made any attempt to severe the contact and head back to the motel.

When Stan did finally release his brother it was only because Ford had begun nodding off and nearly collapsed in his arms.

“Ack! Oi, Ford, wake up!”

“Wha-? Oh!”

To his credit, Ford did wake up- Stan just wished he’d had the sense to not move as quickly as he had, because the ringing in his ears caused by Ford’s head slamming into his jaw wasn’t exactly pleasant. The metal plate in his head hadn’t helped any either.

“Sorry,” Ford immediately mumbled, fixing his glasses before they could slide off his nose completely.

Stan waved it off and stifled a yawn, “‘S fine.”

“Maybe we should go get some rest before we head out tomorrow,” Ford suggested with a barely contained yawn of his own, “You look exhausted.”

Stan stared incredulously at his brother before dissolving into a short fit of laughter.

Of course Ford would never admit he was tired. It was an act long perfected since childhood and Stan couldn’t help but grin when he realized it hadn’t been forced either; Ford was being genuinely normal again… as far as his standards for that sort of thing went with him. He wasn’t faking being okay for Stan’s sake, he wasn’t reacting negatively to what had been discussed… He was okay.

In fact, Stan was tempted to go so far as to say that when he caught Ford’s eyes, his twin appeared at peace.

Of course, he knew they hadn’t solved all of their problems yet, and that there were still plenty of things they’d both yet to reveal, plenty of skeletons in their closets, but now, knowing Ford trusted him with the past just as much as Stan trusted him… it made the road ahead a lot less daunting.

So it was with playful nudge to Ford’s side and a knowing look, that Stan replied.

“Stanford, ya read my mind.”

#gravity falls #the grunkles #sea grunks #last chapter ya'll #stangst #hugs #It's all good #I loved writing this #especially this one #I made myself cry #heh #my writing #my ff #mine #stan #ford #do NOT tag Stan/cest

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nolongerapileofashprobably · 6 years

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Peaceful, maybe. But it was also lonely.

Dying, well, was a lot of things. It was peaceful, serene, a calming feeling settling into one’s soul that was rarely experienced during life. It was beautiful to reflect on one’s life and entertaining to remember the moments that had made it so special.

Moving to New York when she was ten was the first big memory that Michelle cherished. It was the beginning of a decent life, if she was being honest. Finding her corner in a local library and being on a first name basis with the barista in the library’s cafe. Or starting over at an age so sensitive and making herself invisible to others. No one knew her, not really.

The biggest interaction she had for her first year besides introductions on the first day was when her books were knocked over by some klutz and they had apologized profusely and stammered their way through the momentary conversation. When she got older she interested herself more into school, becoming a constant presence in the background of most student’s lives. She was always there and she was content to be an observer, never becoming truly close to anyone. For a while, that was all she needed.

But as she entered high school, being an observer didn’t hold over to well. She wasn’t moving again. She didn’t have anywhere to go for four more years. She began to want to be friends with other kids. Most weren’t worth her time and no one caught her eye.

That was until Peter Parker was absent for a week straight and then when his uncle died two weeks later. The days he was at school were when she noticed how distracted he was. At first he was just in his own head most of the day but most people gave him a break because of everything that had happened in his life. Then, he left for a weekend and came back with news that he had gotten a Stark internship. At first, Michelle would have called him out on it but the more Michelle thought about it, the more it seemed plausible.

Peter was a genius, really. There was no way she could deny that. And his uncle’s death put him and his aunt on the front page of the newspapers. It was more then likely that Tony Stark saw a bit of himself in a bright kid with no parents and only an aunt to look after him as someone else close to him had died. He probably took a chance and reached out to him.

Michelle honestly thought that was what happened for about four days, until Spider-Man showed up in the newspapers with Tony Stark almost a week later. It was revealed he had tried to convince Captain America and his team mates to accept the Accords along with Tony Stark. The same weekend Peter was absent.

Michelle was not dumb. She was almost positive it was Peter Parker under that suit catching buses and stopping robberies. From a klutzy kid to a web-slinging superhero. Peter’s big secret seemed like a brilliant thing to observe, especially his behavior whenever the hero was brought up or his internship.

Before Michelle knew it, she knew almost everything about Peter Parker, or at least the version of his school self. She didn’t mean to have all this knowledge on him, honestly. All she wanted to do is see if he would slip up and say anything about him being Spider-Man. And she was right to look for it. A few weeks into sophomore year, the idiot was talking about it with Ned Leeds whenever they were together. She guessed his best friend finally found out the news about their very own Peter Parker.

At this point, Michelle at least made attempts for conversation, or at least her version of it. She’s made a comment or two but then dismissed the conversation when she saw Peter only responding with a stare. Honestly, the kid made no attempt to actually say anything. Just sort of stared at her like she was an alien. Ned was nice enough to respond, making him her only debateable friend.

This, of course, made her more interested in how Peter Parker’s mind works. And as sophomore year went by with Spider-Man saving the decathlon team right after she had won them Nationals and Homecoming ending with Liz’s father being arrested Michelle got busier. As the newly named captain for the team, Michelle was forced to actually interact with her peers. And it was definitely for the better. Her teammates weren’t all idiots like Flash and they were decent people to get to know. Somehow, Michelle found herself grouped with Peter and Ned.

She just naturally gravitated toward them, probably because of Ned’s happiness over her calling them her friends and definitely not this weird sensation Michelle got whenever she looked at Peter.

And after a year of getting to know the two boys and hanging out with them on a regular basis (even showing Peter her hidden corner in the library and Ned the secret menu at the café) Peter finally told her he was Spider-Man. And after another six achingly long months, the two had revealed their feelings to each other in a much more dramatic way then she would have liked. It all happened after Peter was freaking out about a rumor that The Vulture revealed his identity (which he hadn’t surprisingly). He was going on about how awful he would feel if anything happened to Aunt May, Ned, or MJ herself.

MJ tried to convince him that he didn’t have to worry about her, because she was stubborn and was bound to put up a pretty good fight when her time came (she still had hundreds of books to read, if not thousands). That was when Peter had another mini-freak out about how she doesn’t understand how worried he gets over her. Which resulted in her snapping back that his worry was something everyone close to him felt every night when he put his mask on.

And somewhere in the midsts of all that, they had admitted their feelings and they had become an official couple.

So when Ned texted her that Peter jumped out of the bus and toward the flying donut, she was a bit worried. And when that donut went back to space and Peter’s cell was unavailable?

Boy did she freak out.

When Aunt May began to question whether or not Peter would come back, MJ and Ned assured her that they would see him again.

And now as she looked around her surroundings, never ending and endlessly bright without a light source, she cursed herself for believing in hope rather then facts. Instead of thinking about Peter’s fate, she should have considered why his life was in danger in the first place. Whatever happened up in space or whatever thing was happening around the borders of Wakanda, effected everyone.

When Michelle began to feel numb, she began to panic. She called out for Ned and Aunt May, but all they probably saw was her book in a pile of dust. She knew she was gone, dead. She knew her physical body was nothing but a memory and a bit of dirt now.

As for her soul?

Well those current whereabouts were up for debate. It was a never ending surrounding of nothingness. There was no one in sight, no big gate or tormenting fires around. It was as though she was a speck of dirt on an otherwise stainless surface.

No matter where she was, she knew it had something to do with what was happening on earth and in space. As she looked around, MJ wondered if this was how being a star in space felt like. Sure, looking up at them from Earth made them seem relatively close but MJ knew the reality was they were hundreds of light years away from each other. She wondered if that’s how it was. Millions of souls spread across the fabric of existence, wandering but never able to see anyone essentially because they were just so far away.

It was peaceful really. There was only one time she felt this untroubled.

It was the night after MJ found out the Decathlon team had advanced to Internationals for the upcoming summer. She had been so happy walking to Peter’s that night. Truthfully, MJ was just estatic to share the news with the two morons she adored immensely. On the same day she found out she was going to be given a full ride to Cambridge College if she committed before the upcoming November.

MJ was just brimming with good news that day and going over to watch nerdy movies with Peter and Ned seemed like the cherry on top of it all. She lasted a whole two minutes before Peter questioned her whole happy attitude, which although she found slightly insulting knew it was a perfectly normal response. Upon sharing the news, the trio ended up realizing they would be within walking distance of each other for the four years after high school.

Things just seemed to get better and better.

So when they all fell asleep, things slowed and MJ realized how lucky she was. Her arm was loosely wrapped around Peter’s chest, their legs entangled underneath the thin blanket. Ned’s soft snores filled the air and Peter’s grip on her would tightened every so often just so he remembered that she was right there in his arms and no where else.

Everything seemed to be in place and her entire being seemed to slip into a undisturbed state. A feeling she cherished as it lasted the night before MJ remember the amount of flash cards she would have to prepare for Internationals. Peter and Ned were there to give her moral support and throw candy at her when she got too focused.

And then, a few weeks later, this shit happens. First she wasn’t even on the bus Peter jumped out of, meaning the last thing she had said to him was ‘Have fun, losers,” which caused Peter to retailiste by sticking out his tongue at her.

That was their last interaction. At least May’s was they exchanging their usual, ‘Bye, love you, see you when I come home,” and Ned’s was him fulfilling his duty as ‘guy in the chair’.

MJ still had so much she wanted to say to Peter. To Ned. To Aunt May. Hell, maybe even her parents.

But where was she? In a borderless plane with nothing to distract her but her thoughts. At least, she thought it was entirely unrestricted since no matter how far she walked, she never seemed to go anywhere. Wandering to the left for some reason (who knows, maybe a change of scenery, one shade of blankness to a slightly duller one).

It seemed like forever from when she started walking. Yeah, she admitted, it was peaceful and an experience she only felt in the arms of Peter, but without anyone around her, it was lonely.

Just when she began to think of all the times she stopped herself from speaking her mind (which wasn’t a lot but even MJ had some things she had never spoken despite wanting to) she saw a silhouette in the distance. If she wasn’t already dead, she’d worry about it being a hallucination from walking so long without water.

She began to run, calling out a ‘Hey!’ That made them look up. The person got up, still a bit too far to actually see them but when they shouted back, MJ stopped cold.

There was only one person with a voice that high and squeaky.

Once the shock overcame her, she saw him, still over a hundred yards away, but she saw him. Peter Parker, wearing a new Spidey suit, was sprinting towards her calling out her name. Considering how long she walked before, Peter running towards her as she stood frozen seemed to take no time at all. Soon, he barreled into her, making her come out of her momentary stupor.

She hugged him back, her arms tightening around his neck as Peter lifted her slightly. He was mumbling something into her skin but she couldn’t make out any coherent words. All she could think about was how Peter Parker was in her arms.

And not in space.

“Peter, what the hell?” MJ asked, pulling away slightly. Her hands rested in his shoulders, which tensed as he thought about something other then MJ.

His fingers dig into his waist as he pulled her closer anyway, closing his eyes for a moment before focusing on her again. “It’s a really long story, MJ. Maybe you should sit down.”

MJ frowned, rolling her eyes as her expression changed. “On what?” She responded dully. “Peter, we’re already dead. I know how the story ends, just fill me in on the middle part. Staring with why the hell you thought it was a good idea to go into space on that floating donut?”

At that he laughed, a hand reaching up to cup MJ’s face, to which she unconditionally leaned into.

“Of course you already figured out we were dead, or a variation of it.” He grinned, sadness tingeing the smile. “I knew I liked you for a reason.”

“And here I thought it was the witty one liners and constant presence in your life.” She responded playfully.

“Yeah well, it was a lot of things now that I think about it.”

“Do tell, we have a lot of time in the afterlife.”

He scratched the back of his neck, causing MJ to put a hold on any remarks she would normally spit out.

“Yeah, now that I think about it, I’m not sure this is exactly the afterlife.”

“Excuse me?”

#spiderman far from home #spiderman homecoming #infinity war #petermj #peter parker #michelle mj jones #michelle jones #peter x michelle #spideychelle #tom holland #zendaya #im still not okay #its all because of marvel #honestly im hurt but at least we can bet on peter and mj getting closer in the sequel #i like to believe mj is in the soul world with peter #and ned is with aunt may

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