#Omit is a liar

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

The truth about that Dogbowl Fight

This Windors episode only confirmed what the whole world could see: MEgain, Sparry & Omit twisted & spun a normal brotherly spat into a tale of an abusive (red mist) man who breaks dog bowls & necklaces from former girlfriends. 🙄

Sparry is a foolish man child.

[amygdaline]

Thinking about the different relationships characters have with “Truth” in Axiom’s End and Truth of the Divine...

- For Nils, truth is a human right but some people are more human than others. Nils’s slogan is “truth is a human right.” But his actions in TODT paint him as either cognitive dissonance-ing himself away from his own lies, or as a blatant, corrupted manipulator. Truth is a human right, except when he secretly blackmails Kaveh, schemes to indoctrinate his children for gain, and requests political favors in exchange for information. 

- For Kaveh, the means to truth do not justify the ends if the means cause more suffering than the ends prevent. Kaveh worked with Nils on at least one of the same projects, outing government atrocities that Sol was wrapped up in. But Kaveh believes this is a truth that needs to be outed to save lives and hold the government accountable, not to get his name in an article or book. When he has the truth of what Nils is willing to do his own integrity as a truth seeker and human being helps him make the easy decision to never want to work with Nils ever again. 

- For Cora, lying is seen as a way to protect herself and protect others, but if she goes too far it does the opposite. Cora tells little white lies, usually in the pursuit of peace. “I believe you,” she says when she doesn’t believe somebody, but doesn’t want to fight. She manipulates and minces interpretations of Ampersand’s comments for the sake of keeping peace. Her omissions of truth rarely cause great harm but neither do they ever help anything. However, as her illness progresses, little white lies snowball until she’s lying about the state of her own mental health, until she breaks. She hurts herself and her loved ones by proximity.

- For Luciana, it feels like telling the truth has only caused harm in the long run. Luciana wants to believe in her own goodness, and therefore cannot conceive that she would ever do something like breaking a NDA or hurting her family. She’s so concerned with being correct that she hurts her family, anyway. And still, that truth hurts. 

- For Ampersand, the truth will only make you suffer, so omission is an act of self-sacrifice; his instability for your stability. Ampersand always lies by omission, telling half truths or distracting from the real truth. He’s exactly like Cora but to the extreme, omitting truth because he believes the truth will hurt those around him. However, he’s gone so far down this hole of omission that his problems never get solved; he hurts himself, he hurts all his loved ones, and he knows he needs help but feels too broken to seek it. 

- For Nikola, there is no reason why he needs to lie or omit; the end is near, anyway. Nikola only tells the truth, as he understands it. His truth is pessimistic but his actions optimistic, something Kaveh notes about their friendship. When he says he’s ready to die but takes care of his body and mind, he isn’t lying about wanting to die. He wants to have hope but he is compelled to let the humans understand the odds of their hopelessness, all the same. 

- For the pequod superorganism, truth is a tangible thing they can hold in their hands, and they consume it like their sister-species “consumes” planets. The general pequod society, if Nikola is right, thinks that they can keeping going and going and going, that the universe is a black-and-white thing they can pull apart. But Nikola sees it as something bigger and incomprehensible than either pequod or human beings. There is a divinity- the unknown- which they can never touch. But the superorganism will keep trying to understand, anyways. They will destroy themselves and the miracle of other intelligent life in their endless pursuit of black-and-white.

- For the human superorganism- particularly the USA where the story is set- truth is only a tool. General Porter thinks he deserves the truth on the basis of his position of power and very likely his ethnicity and sex. He wants to use it to kill people. The general government agencies depicted, including ROSA, think they deserve to know everything they can squeeze out of Ampersand, even at the expense of their alien guest’s health. Political parties want the truth by any means to use it for their own political campaigns. Even those with less power- middle class to poor people- use truth and speculation of the truth for their own agendas, to discriminate against others, particularly Jewish and Muslim communities. The truth here does more harm than good, fought over like a commodity, manipulated and repurposed. You have the truth, now what? “He was a hero,” “he was a species traitor,” he’s great for views.

[trexalicious]

"Omid has the energy of a goblin..."

Quote from @countesscuriosity 2022

[dadatello]

Do Minitello and Leo know about Raph and Mikey then?

"We know the basics. It's rough on him, so we try not to bother him too much about it."

[coffee-without-anesthetics]

kazui is. uhh surprisingly forward with stuff in french woah

[youssefguedira]

ANOTHER wishlist item for diabolik 3 diabolik chi sei that i've been thinking about a lot lately on account of realising that actually there are a good number of inconsistencies/later additions in canon backstory-wise, is the potential for diabolik to just be straight up lying to ginko. like i don't want them to make all of it up and i also recognise this would be hard to translate into a film setting where diabolik is presumably narrating the backstory part (speculation based on chi sei's structure) but i do think the funniest way to resolve there being stuff that was added later that isn't addressed much in chi sei is to just. imply that diabolik is lying. because realistically he's talking to ginko, who is his enemy, and also diabolik spends half of his time lying about things. and you want me to believe that man is telling the truth??

[ggomos-maribat]

Double Lives

Damian was certain that his wife was keeping a secret from him.

He trusted her with his life, of course—Marinette had kept a number of things from him in the earlier stages of their relationship, like her experience and trauma in Paris. He knew not to pry, and eventually she opened up. He was glad that some burden was taken off her shoulders.

But this was different. She was deliberately trying not to get caught; she took care to hide her phone from his view, and there were days she'd come home very late. When asked, she'd get irritable but also nervous around him. Damian didn't want to assume things right off the bat, but he did hope she would finally grow comfortable to talk it out with him. And so he resisted using his ‘resources’ to peek into her life—what kind of distrusting partner would he be if he did that?

He knew, too, that he was being awfully hypocritical. He was still yet to sit her down and reveal his vigilante alter ego to her as well as his family's. Damian would swear he planned to rip the bandaid off when they got engaged. But he couldn't bring himself to do it, out of the fear that she'd leave him. As far as he knew, Marinette wanted a normal quiet life after living through the Evil Butterfly Man's reign of terror. Telling her his identity would just put a target on her back, if there wasn't any already after she became a Wayne.

He couldn't imagine his sweet innocent wife exposed to the horrors of vigilantism.

Still, even though he had his own secrets, it felt quite frustrating not to know hers. That was what Damian was thinking one dark night when the door finally opened, signalling her arrival from work.

“Damian?” Her eyes widened. “Why are you still up? You shouldn't have waited for me.”

“It's alright. I couldn't sleep anyways.” And I will be sneaking out for patrol later. He stood up to kiss her cheek—

But froze upon seeing a red mark right at the base of her neck.

Marinette hummed tiredly. “Next time, don't wait for me if you're tired, okay?”

“. . . What's that on your neck?” He dared to ask.

Her hand immediately flew to the spot on her skin. For a split second, her expression changed into a hint of annoyance. “It's—it's . . .” she stammered, “I accidentally hit myself.”

“You hit yourself?”

She nodded meekly.

Damian stared at her for a moment. There was one thing he knew about his wife: she was a bad liar. But she was expert at omitting things, partly because she probably knew he wouldn't interrogate her further. He knew that she was aware it was the vaguest of explanations but she never tried to elaborate.

He mustered out a smile. “Be careful next time.”

She let out a nervous laugh and squeaked out a ‘yes’.

“By the way.” He took a deep breath, “I visited your office this morning.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, and your secretary told me you hadn't punched in for the day yet.”

The silence between them was thick.

“Ah . . .” Damian could practically see the gears turning in her head. “That was . . . erm, I had to run an errand before work! Yeah . . .”

“I see. I was hoping to have lunch with you earlier but it seems that you're busy nowadays.”

She cursed in French under her breath.

“I'm really sorry, Damian.” She fidgeted with her fingers. “I'll make time this week. I promise.”

She hurried off to their bedroom, leaving Damian with his thoughts.

He really really didn't want to assume the worst. But his heart was racing and when he looked at the signs, they were clear as day. His mind started to spiral a little, wondering where he could've gone wrong, wondering if he didn't spend enough time on her or if she felt that he wasn't giving enough effort.

But he pushed all those thoughts away and followed her to bed.

***

One Saturday afternoon saw Robin and Superboy in the Watchtower's breakroom, talking about Damian's predicament. He hoped his friend could at least contribute an objective outsider's perspective in his dilemma and encourage him to broach the topic with Marinette.

“She's cheating,” Superboy deadpanned.

“She's—she's not,” he argued back, “Perhaps I am just reading too much into it . . .”

“Um but the hickey? The late night escapades?” Superboy frowned. “I don't know about you, but I don't think there's any other explanation for it.”

Robin bit his tongue. No, it's not possible. He loved Marinette terribly, and he knew—he could feel the same love from her if not more.

His friend sighed, “Look, I know it's hard to believe. Even I don't think M can be . . . unfaithful but you should confront her about it.”

“I can't. I can't face her like that when I am still keeping a secret of my own.”

“Then tell her you're Robin. A secret for a secret, hm?”

Robin didn't even want to think about how messy that conversation would be.

“It's all just about communication,” Superboy continued. “If you're worried she won't accept you, take my mom and dad as an example—”

He stopped talking, indicating that he sensed another presence nearby. Just on cue, a fuming Ladybug stomped into the breakroom, heading straight to one of the refrigerators.

The two men watched as she muttered angrily while looking around for food—Robin could see the clear exhaustion on her tensed figure. The Parisian heroine had joined the Justice League after the Hawkmoth fiasco became public; the heroes were quick to recruit her but not before she voiced out her complaints about the League neglecting her city. Though she hadn't revealed her identity to anyone, she had formed bonds with the other heroes her age, not excluding Robin and Superboy.

Superboy winced when she kicked the fridge door.

Ladybug did a hundred eighty, showing both the fires of hell and sleepless nights in her blue eyes. “You don't happen to have an extra stock of Kryptonite, do you?”

Superboy looked at her warily. “What happened this time?”

“Your dad assigned me to another magic-involved mission!” She tugged at her hair, sitting beside them. “I thought I made it clear I didn't want to be involved in too many missions especially if it's non-miraculous related ones!”

“You could . . . tell him that?”

She shot a sharp glare at them. “You don't think I did? They're insisting it's miraculous related when Constantine hasn't even confirmed anything! Just because Paris was terrorized, it doesn't mean miraculi are going to pop out from everywhere! These missions are affecting my normal life!”

It was a common complaint for heroes who had alternate civilian lives, but Robin was a bit surprised that she was that open about her feelings.

“And—and Batman too!” She pointed a finger at Robin. “I know Monsieur Furry's guilty about the Paris thing and all and me not having a mentor but he keeps checking on my progress after missions liked a damned helicopter parent! “

Before either of them could reply, she continued ranting, “I was going to meet an important client yesterday but they just had to call me in to help with the mission! And then it goes on until freaking midnight! What about my precious sleep?! Then Zatanna accidentally used a spell on me—it hit my neck and now it looks like a hickey!”

Her head dropped onto the table. “How the fuck do I fucking explain that to my husband?!”

Robin and Superboy looked at each other, wide-eyed.

“You—you haven't told your husband that you're a hero?” Superboy asked carefully.

Not lifting up her head, she replied with a muffled voice, “Of course not! I can't do that to him! He's already exposed to enough danger because of his last name! I just can't tell him ‘ hey mon amour so I'm actually that heroine from Paris on top of my emotional PTSD!’”

Robin swallowed. That was Marinette's name for him.

It ticked too many boxes.

He started to subconsciously connect the dots: catching his wife absent at work at the time the magic-wielding team of the JL was away on a mission; Ladybug sharing that she finally linked up messages from her yoyo to her personal phone; his wife coming home late, tired and fatigued from head to toe when all she was supposed to be doing was designing.

“I'm sure he'll come to understand your circumstances,” Superboy consoled.

“He won't.” The heroine sat up, revealing that her eyes were now welling up with tears. “He probably hates me right now because I'm sending the wrong signals. What if he thinks I'm just taking advantage of him for his money? His family already hates me! What if he's filing for a divorce right now?”

Robin felt the nudge from his friend, as if to tell him to do damage control. Superboy abruptly stood up, spouted out an excuse about being called by someone, and left the room to the two of them.

Ladybug sniffed, “Sorry, you probably didn't want to hear all of that.”

“It helps to get your problems off your chest.” Robin awkwardly patted her head. In truth, she was really Marinette, he wanted to pull her into a hug already.

He coughed. “Why—why do you think your husband's family hates you?”

“Oh . . . I don't know, but his father’s always distant. Whenever I'm at a family dinner, they're just very quiet,” she replied sadly. “I know they're good people but I felt like I didn't belong somehow. My husband keeps saying they adore me though.”

Robin wanted to sigh out loud. His father still had his guard up because he believed she was a civilian, hence there was a side of her family they could never show her. It was always quiet due to Alfred's stern lecture about behaving in front of Marinette lest they accidentally spill something they shouldn't.

“It sounds like your husband cares a lot about you,” he told her, “Don't you think he would trust you if you told him the truth?”

“But I can't! I don't know where to begin!” She pursed her lips. “He's always been good to me and he never steps the line even if I'm obviously lying. I just . . . I thought I could tell him before we got married but I was too scared and I didn't want to ruin what we had.”

“But he won't think any differently of you, would he?”

“No . . .”

“Then you have nothing to be afraid of.” He smiled a little. “It may come off as a shock at first but he will accept it in time. You will be stressing yourself out even more if you keep thinking about the worst scenarios.”

She stared at him. “When did you get so wise?”

“Ever since I started thinking about what my wife was doing.”

She tilted her head. “Huh?”

It was unmistakable. Those gleaming blue eyes were Marinette's.

He was such an idiot.

“She keeps coming home late, hides her phone every time I'm near,” he listed, gauging her reaction. “Last night, I found out she hadn't come to her office even when she said she was working, and I caught her with a strange mark on her neck.”

Her eyes slowly widened as she seemed to come to the same realization. The heroine's gloved hands flew up to cover her mouth. “Damian?” she whispered.

He checked if the coast was clear and slowly peeled off his domino mask to show his full face. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you habib –”

He was cut off by her warm lips, her arms winding around his neck. Damian immediately melted into her touch, relieved that they finally divulged their secrets. He wouldn't have to be worried about introducing her to the hero world after all.

He was extremely relieved, in fact, that he hadn't noticed his father and eldest brother stroll into the room.

“ROBIN! Are you cheating on your wife?!”

Robin pulled away from Ladybug, withholding a sigh of exasperation. He put his mask back on and turned around to see Batman looking constipated and Nightwing utterly shocked.

"How could you do that to—to . . ." Nightwing cried out.

"Leave us." He glared.

"Robin—" His father's voice was tinged with disapproval.

"Leave. Us."

Fortunately, the two scurried off. Damian faced his wife, who seemed as flabbergasted. He was worried since it was her identity that was at risk, unless he embraced the unexpected cheating allegations.

"Oh my kwamis," Ladybug said softly, "I called my father-in-law a furry ."

"It's deserved." He rubbed up and down her shoulders. "What do you want to do?"

"Oh um . . ." She ducked her head. "Maybe go home and I'll—I'll explain everything from the beginning."

***

Damian had to recount his life story after his wife shared hers whilst they cuddled in bed. After they talked, he was surprised to learn so many new things about her—he thought he had her memorized already, even before they exchanged vows. At the same time, he was mentally kicking himself for thinking that Marinette was never closely involved in the war against Hawkmoth.

Of course she was Ladybug.

Of course she was a hero.

So while she was spiraling at the number of times she'd unknowingly mocked her in-laws in the suit, he was regretting not telling her the truth sooner. If they'd opened up years ago, he would've stayed by her side during missions, helping her deal with the troubles of having a masked alter egos, and sharing his own experiences with her. A stronger bond would've formed between them, because they both understood the hero's life after all this time.

Not long after, she finally decided she was ready to tell the Waynes who she was. ‘It would do more harm than good if I kept hiding it anyway,’ she reasoned. He did agree, since she was part of the family, both as Ladybug and Marinette. The others would surely be overjoyed (and less overprotective) if they found out that she was a hero. What Damian found strange, however, was Marinette seemed to worry that Bruce's opinion on her would change and he'd become ‘distant’ as Batman as well.

“Remember, Batman is afraid of you,” he had reminded her over and over again.

(And Batman would be ecstatic to discover that Ladybug was his daughter-in-law, but Damian would never tell her that. The caped vigilante had grown fussy over the Parisian heroes as his way of ‘making up’ for the Paris incidents . . . But at the same time, he cowered ever so slightly when Ladybug raised her voice on him. Damian's siblings blamed Ladybug's black hair and blue eyes for triggering the adopt-itis.)

And so Damian and Marinette decided to arrange a family lunch to break the news to everyone. It was then Damian remembered that there was one issue he hadn't resolved yet.

“If you don't tell Marinette today, I'm telling her.” Dick glared at him from across the table.

Damian glanced at his watch. His wife wasn't present yet, and had sent him a message about picking up pastries from Paris first.

“Tt. That would mean revealing our identities, Richard.” He crossed his arms.

“Just because you have the mask on it doesn't mean you can do that to her!” Dick argued. “Does Ladybug even know you're married?! ”

“What did he do to Pixie-pop?” asked Jason.

“He---he—” Dick was once again trembling in anger and disbelief.

“We saw him kissing Ladybug.” It was Bruce who replied. “Damian, I never expected this from you. You will have to talk and apologize to Marinette.”

“You did what?!” Jason stood up so abruptly that the utensils clattered.

“What the fuck?” Tim exclaimed.

Stephanie gasped. “What the hell Damian?”

“Holy shit,” Duke whispered.

Damian could only stare at the entryway of the dining hall, hoping that Marinette would arrive soon. If he was left with his family any longer, they'd be beating him up and disowning him.

“I have . . . a reason,” he said through gritted teeth. He couldn't exactly tell them right off the bat, since Marinette wasn't there yet.

“Open . . . open relationship?” Cass frowned.

Suddenly, a bright light appeared at the ceiling—a portal— and from it, a figure dropped down, much to everyone's shock. Ladybug, unified with the Horse miraculous, grinned at them with an armful of boxes filled with croissants and macarons.

“Ladybug?” Bruce gaped.

“Your daughter-in-law actually.” She lowered the sunglasses, showing her narrowed eyes. “And your worst fucking nightmare.”

“W---What?”

Damian could barely control his laughter, seeing his father frozen.

She detransformed completely and scowled at Bruce. “This is technically your fault, furry old man! If you didn't keep agreeing to send me on those magical missions, I wouldn't be so tired and caused a misunderstanding in the first place.”

Damian didn't have time to shield himself from the eruption of noise on the table. With his wife's theatrical reveal, everyone was in different states of shock. Tim stood up quietly to face a wall with a blank stare, entertaining another existential crisis. Duke choked on the water he was drinking. Jason was crouched on the floor miserably with his hands over his face, perhaps because of the times he complained to Marinette about Ladybug's uptight methods. Dick's jaw was completely unhinged, and he was slapping himself every minute or so. Stephanie passed a hundred dollar bill to Cass.

And Bruce. Poor Bruce was paler than their porcelain plates, speechless and unmoving.

Damian exchanged a wide smile with his wife. He loved her so much.

[becauseplot]

Philza Minecraft is a survivalist. 

Everyone knows this. He's the "Hardcore guy." He's an expert in the inner-workings of the natural world. He's vigilant. He knows how to hold his own in a fight, and he knows when to cut his losses, too. He knows how to keep himself alive. By extension, he knows how to keep his team alive as well. It only makes sense that they elect him as the leader of red team.

Philza Minecraft is a team player.

This is why he's always happy to go grinding for materials when the team needs it. Even if he tends to get a little distracted sometimes, wandering too far, forgetting to check global chat or talk in the team vc, he checks in with his friends and does what he can to keep morale up when everyone is feeling down. He recognizes the ease with which Cellbit operates in this environment, so he lets the man call some of the shots, or give Phil instructions. After all, Cellbit led the Ordo for months. Phil trusts his judgement. Why not play to their strengths? 

Philza Minecraft is an adapter. 

His biome doesn’t matter, nor his circumstances, nor his equipment. He’s started over more times than he can count. Working under stress isn’t something that hinders him, nor changing environments. If the game of the day is complete the tasks, he can complete the tasks. If the game of the day is kill a player, he can kill a player. He might hate it, but he can do it. For the sake of his friends, of his team, of his kids, and of their collective survival, he can do it.

There is something else worth mentioning. 

Philza Minecraft is a liar. 

Oh, but you’ll never catch him in a lie, because it’s never what he does say. It’s what he doesn’t. It’s the details he omits. It’s the parts of the tale that he glosses over so that the bedtime story isn’t quite so scary. He’ll give you everything he wants you to have and hold the rest of it close to his chest. Or, more accurately, he'll slam it in a locked box and shove it under his bed with the rest of his monsters. 

He was an asset to the Empire. 

Back then, he always asked the right questions: not "why," but "how," and "when." Back then, he knew he was valuable, so he kept himself alive. Back then, "the Angel of Death" wasn't so much a nickname as it was a title he earned. A rank.

He never became a general. The promotion was there, and he was more than qualified, he just never took it. He was content to let his friend take the helm, because Phil knew what he was.

"Knew." "Was." Was, was, was. (Come on, now, Phil. Don't be daft.)

Philza Minecraft is a liar; the man he lies to the most is himself. Yes, Purgatory is fucked and twisted, and he hates what it forces him to do, but not because it's hard. No. Because it's far too easy.

At the end of the day, what matters most is that Philza Minecraft is an arrow. Let someone else nock him in a bow. Let someone else draw him back, point him in a direction, let him loose, soar, fly. Resources, gear, tasks, points, kills, blood---it makes no difference. Philza Minecraft won't stop until he hits his target.

[minustwofingers]

cool about it teaser

pairing: closetedfem!reader x ellie

request? yes, by @gold-dustwomxn (:

summary: life in the apocalypse is hard enough. the last thing you need is unrequited feelings for your best friend—who is very much off limits. so you'll just be cool about it. really cool about it. set in a loose interpretation of canon where i toy around with the timeline and storyline just the slightest and this is also a bit of a slowburn

warnings: ur closeted asf, queer angst, gross men, explicit language, substance use

a/n: hey guys i haven't really been posting much recently, but i wanted to at least post two scenes from this series so u guys have an idea of what to expect...also so u guys can tell me which one you want me to work on more (love is a laserquest or this one). i hope u enjoy...sorry this one is a little disjointed! (there are many events that happen between the two scenes im sharing w u as a little treat)

I. (opening scene)

The revelation that your feelings towards your best friend had become complicated arrives with the dead of winter. It’s strange, really, how something within you came to life just as the rest of the world began to die. 

If you were wiser, you’d find ways to explain it away, to rationalize all the weird thoughts in your head. You’d cite the chill in the air. The holiday spirit running through Jackson. The desolation that came with your only outdoor companions being the brown corpses of deciduous trees and infected that hadn’t frozen in the winter storms that kept battering Wyoming. 

But with age came wisdom, and both of those virtues were in short supply in a post-apocalyptic world. So, you resign yourself to cataloging away these feelings and pretending like everything was absolutely normal and cool. 

The bad thing about having good things, you think to yourself bitterly one day as you watch Ellie’s eyes light up as she rambles in her room as you sit on her bed about a comic book Joel had found her, is that they’re risky. High risk—high reward. Ellie was special to you in a way that no one else was. And using this logic, losing her would bring such an unforeseen devastation that you weren’t sure that you could go on. 

So, normal. Cool. Chill. Because you cannot afford to fuck this one up. 

“I love when you tell me about your comics,” you tell her in a way that’s definitely not sappy sweet and gooey. 

She smiles crookedly back at you. “You’re such a fucking liar. I know you couldn’t give a shit about these.” 

“Am not!” You throw a punch at her arm, feeling your heart twist as she just grins wider. “For the record, I do give a shit. Many, actually.”

“That sounds gross.” 

“Your words, not mine.” 

And it’s absolutely gut wrenching how she can just smile at you like that, like she’s not holding your heart in her fist.

“So, uh, Cat,” you blurt out. You’d been staring at her for too long. “Dina said that you two were—uh…” 

You wave your hand around in the air like you’re sifting through thousands of possible word combinations. In reality, you know exactly what you need to say to get the answer you’re searching for. You just don’t want to ask. 

“Well…” She blushes. Her eyes drop to her hands, where her fingers are toying with the bits of cuticle she hasn’t already torn off. 

“I knew it!” you croon, hoping that the boatload of dread that just dropped in your stomach isn’t as obvious as it feels. “Tell me everything.”

“Nothing to tell,” she says. “Nothing yet, at least. It’s stupid but—I just noticed that she hangs around me a lot, you know? And, like, touches me more than she needs to. Shit like that. I dunno.”

The wound deep inside you splits like the fake grin on your lips. “Wowwwww. Look at you!” 

Ellie rolls her eyes. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I mean,” she says, her eyes twinkling conspiratorially, “What about Eddie? Jesse told me that you spend a lot of time with him.”

“We’re patrol partners,” you offer. It’s not a lie. You’re just choosing to omit the part where Eddie spends half his patrol staring longingly in your direction while you pretend not to notice. 

“I know that.”

“It’s…” You gnaw on your bottom lip. “I don’t know how I feel about that right now.” 

That’s not a lie either. Eddie is…nice. All the other girls like him, except for Dina (she has Jesse) and Ellie (she has another very obvious reason). He’s attractive. At least, that’s what Bonnie tells you. Apparently the buzzed hair and heavy bluntness found in all of his features is considered hot. 

But just because you’re not into him now doesn’t mean you could never be. That’s what your mother used to say about your father—she hadn’t liked him upon their first meeting. But it changed with time, and you’d rather have someone than be all alone. 

Ellie hums, picking at the cuticle of her thumb. “He likes you.”

“So I’ve heard.” 

“Well,” she says, “I heard Jesse’s putting on another bonfire tonight. Want to walk there together after dinner?” 

You spend another evening staring across the fire at your best friend, watching the warm glow of the flames warp and distort the shape of her and Cat, pressed up against each other and smiling wide. You aren’t sure why it makes you so uncomfortable to see them together. Homophobia? No. Maybe? You recently learned that that was a thing, but you don’t consider yourself bigoted, and being a homophobe is more of an opt-in situation, right? 

But when you try to reach deep inside to find a more plausible answer, there’s nothing. 

It’s your detachment from reality that lets Eddie drape a heavy, hard arm over your shoulder. 

“Hey,” he whispers into your ear. His breath is hot and warm. 

“Hey,” you whisper back, wanting nothing more than to get away. Thankfully, Ellie is too preoccupied with Cat to even look your way. You’re sure that you’d die if she saw Eddie touching you like this. 

“You look really pretty tonight.”

“Thank you.”

It’s like someone shone a spotlight on you, hung a sign on your neck that said, I am perceived and desired by men. You don’t know why this makes your skin crawl so much. 

Eddie’s fingers are tracing patterns on the flesh of your arm. You find that you’re grateful for the extra layer your sweatshirt sleeve provides. You don’t want him to touch you—don’t want to know what it’s like for him to deliberately make contact with your skin. 

The next time he speaks to you, it’s in a murmur that you suppose is meant to sound seductive. “You’re quiet today.”

“Just a little tired.” And now you feel guilty, because Eddie really hasn’t done anything wrong. It’s you who has an issue with a boy who’s perfectly nice and clearly likes you. 

He laughs like you’d said something funny, tightening his arm so you press into his side. His body is blazing hot like a furnace, and it feels hard and foreign.

II. (scene from somewhere in the middle )

“Sorry!” You titter at the crowd of your friends who formed at the sliding glass door. “Um—sorry.” 

It seems to be the only thing you can say. 

“Cat,” Ellie says, an edge of desperation in her voice. “Cat, please, it’s not like—”

“I’m pretty fucking sure of what I saw,” snaps Cat. She turns to Eddie, a vicious glint in her eyes. “Didn’t know your girl swung that way.” 

And then she shoves past the mass of people, Ellie kicking off from the deck railing with a stream of apologies falling from her lips as she follows behind. 

Eddie walks forward, confusion the dominant emotion in his wide face.

“Uh—I didn’t—”

“I’m really drunk,” you say to him, feeling the tears begin to spill down your cheeks. “It’s not like that. I promise it’s not like that. I don’t know why I did that.”

“Hey,” he says, opening his arms. “Come here. Why are you crying?” 

“I don’t know,” you sputter, stepping into him and pressing your snotty face into his shirt. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Fuck.”

“It’s really okay.” His hand finds the flat part of your back between your shoulder blade and rubs circles. “It’s just a chick. If it were, like, I dunno, Jesse, I would’ve been angry.”

“You’re not mad?” you ask, pulling away to look up at him. Maybe there’s something tonight you didn’t ruin. 

He smiles down at you. “‘Course not. Some guys find that shit hot, you know. Two girls kissing like that.”

The smile that seemed so innocent at first sends a sharp, chilling pang through your chest. He doesn’t seem to notice your hesitation in the way your face falls as his head dips to kiss you, doesn’t seem to register the disgust you exhibit until you have to shove yourself away.

“I’m really drunk,” you repeat, looking anywhere but his face. “I want to go to bed.” 

“I can come—”

“No.”

final a/n: like i said so sorry about how disjointed this is. i just want to get a feel for what my readers are more interested in for now!!

[ma1dita]

truth be told

can be read as a standalone, but part one can be found here: liar, liar

this was a request! here

words: 3k

summary: After everything, only the truth remains. A continuation of your life with Sirius. Loosely follows the events of the books. Sirius Black x fem!reader

warnings: one use of y/n, ANGST guys if i cried writing this you will too, non-descript smut for the plot, ending open to interpretation, Sirius deserved a better life. star-crossed lovers strike again!

a/n: it has been months but i wanted to get this right. Saddest shit I’ve written in a while, hope you enjoy! Let’s rant about how the Blacks have the saddest character arcs…. And this has an open ending, tell me what you think happened!! Tunes attached at the end for your reading pleasure.

(posted: 12/18/23)

—

There’s always a proper explanation for drastic life changes. Surely, there’s a reason this keeps happening to you.

At the very least, this time around you feel as if you owe it to your dead friends. You’d never thought you’d be the one to outlive all of them, with how much the world has gone to spite you, but then, you heard about Harry Potter. It was never fair, the way he lost loved ones that you loved too. Perhaps it was sympathy or your ongoing savior complex, but 12 years gives you a lot of time to ponder past transgressions.

So when Remus sent you an urgent letter about Peter being found alive, arranging your international portkey to meet them at Hogwarts immediately was a no-brainer.

Professor Remus, who is so eloquent with words, just casually had to omit the fact that your ex was also back in the picture. And that he was the most wanted wizard in Britain. Truthfully, your life has been much quieter since him. There’s truth in these details…

Now, as you follow Severus Snape to the Shrieking Shack under the guise of catching your ex red-handed, something about this scene feels familiar.

The seed of doubt that was planted back then still lingers as a big and scary thing, all twisted and it rips open old scars for those involved. It makes you stop in your tracks at the entrance of the base of the Whomping Willow and you can't help but be struck by the thought of how much things have changed since that fateful night all those years ago. And yet, somehow, it is all the same.

A pang of guilt stabs at you. The night was supposed to be about catching the big bad Sirius Black, but you couldn't help but be reminded of how important he had been to you back then, and how you loved him. Love him. It was almost as if you were playing the part of the traitor rather than looking for one...

You’re 33 now, after all. What else could go wrong?

—

You hesitate outside the entryway, listening to voices from your past and present intermingle, and the thundering in your heart drowns out the sound of your heavy breathing. Godric, and they said Harry has his life threatened every year? Isn’t Hogwarts supposed to be the safest place on Earth?

As Severus raises his wand to attack Sirius, you step into the light and wordlessly stupefy your colleague, his body dropping to the floor like a bag of rocks. Multiple pairs of eyes meet, some in fear and confusion, but you are immediately drawn to him, his presence calling something within your soul as it did 12 years prior. Sirius Black, your lost love, all covered in grime and more suffering than man. He has that look on his face, the one he’d get when he was about to make a point— and it irritates you so quickly that it’s almost debilitating.

The rush of emotions as you see him again floods you with a memory of a time like this long ago. It hits you like a tide that washes over your senses, the way one breathes in saltwater, all nostalgia and raging hurt, and as you gulp in oxygen, breathing heavily. For a second, the shadows in this dark room look like the friends you lost on a night this, one you no longer talk about.

Guilt, anger, and love all vie for your attention but your mind goes numb as Sirius steps closer, his face twisted in a wry smile as he meets your gaze.

"Hello, wife." He whispers, his voice tinged with affection and regret. He’s different now, older… starved. Sirius steps closer to you blinking slowly, hand grazing your wrist like he’s afraid you’re a figment of his imagination again. He’s spent a lot of time over the years imagining you. But then the anger comes back to the forefront of your brain before he can do anything about it.

You sock him hard in the jaw, and he crumples to the ground like paper. What a scene— Severus lying unconscious behind you, Sirius keeled over holding his jaw, and the Golden Trio stares at you with open mouths.

“Who even are you?” A ginger boy holding a ball of fur almost howls in disbelief. Is that…

“Good to have you back, love,” Remus says with a knowing grin, and then all you can hear is Sirius’s laughter. Despite the blood dripping from his lips he laughs, so filled with enjoyment that he hasn't felt in years.

“Someone’s gotta keep you two in line,” you huff, looking around quickly as you point your wand at the damn rat of a man hiding in the grasp of these children.

“Put him down so I can hurt him,” You spit, and Peter Pettigrew, ever the petty little man launches himself at you going down in a flurry of multicolored sparks and misfired spells.

“Kill him, baby, kill him! You knew it wasn’t me, didn’t you? I’ve been waiting for this… 12 years of it! In Azkaban!” Sirius chortles, almost rocking on the floor in glee, finding this hilarious.

“Quiet you git, or I’ll make sure you’re next!”

A low growl comes out of Remus, and you realize revenge will have to wait once more, pushing the Trio out of the shack. One thing is clear in your mind as you run for your life.

You have got to stop testing fate.

—

Tomorrow, you turn 34. What better way to celebrate than to pay a visit to your ex-boyfriend after he escaped from Azkaban? Clearly, Remus Lupin thinks it’s his best idea yet.

“He’s not doing so well, (Y/N). Can’t seem to adjust at Grimmauld Place and find a new normal…” Remus mutters over the floo network late at night.

“I don’t think normal and that place could ever belong in the same sentence,” you say with a furrowed brow. From one prison to another, you think.

“I just… I thought I’d floo you because I’m running out of ideas. You know… you knew him best.” The fireplace illuminates your face in the small apartment you’ve been residing in for the past month since your return.

“Does it matter? We’re strangers again, just bound together by hazy memories. I wouldn’t know what to do…”

“But I think you do, and he wants you there. Just doesn’t know how to say it. For some of us, memories are all we have.” The image of Remus’s head was getting licked at by the hot flames, and the idea of being in front of Sirius again, not for Order business, but to be even a friend, after everything…

You felt like you were on fire too.

“Isn’t it ironic that the happy memories hurt more than the sad ones, Rem?” Silence greets you from the other end of the fire, both of you knowing that it’s the truth

Sirius sees you approaching the house in the early morning as he watches out the window after another sleepless night. His body jerks up from his hunched position at the bay window, wiping at the corners of his eyes. You came. You’re here. For him.

He meets you downstairs, daybreak peeking in rays of blue and purple behind you, the frame of the doorway separating the two of you along with the realization that you’ve missed each other for longer than you’ve known one another.

You step back into his space, and he takes your coat quietly, scared to make another mistake, scared to push you away like he has many times before.

Something akin to grief holds you there in the foyer, staring at each other in a new light, faces changed by the life you should have lived together. For right now, there’s nothing more to hide, nothing less than the simple truth that you are two different bodies with the same souls. There is no struggle in the way your hand reaches out for his chest, to feel the steady beat of his heart, and for the first time in a while, you both feel alive.

“Sirius…” you whisper. No nicknames, because what do you call him after all that? The man who left that night with hushed promises and left you to handle the wreckage.

The world keeps moving and he’s still stuck there in that cell. In this house. Sirius can’t seem to walk away from what haunts him, but at the sound of your voice saying his name he smiles.

No one’s said his name that kindly to him in years. Not in the way that you do.

“Happy birthday, gorgeous.”

—

You’re 35 now, and you’ve realized that it takes time. Time is all you have when your love is in hiding. You’re caught again between the blurry lines of friends and something more, but the work that has to be done comes first before anything.

And it is driving Remus mad.

You moved into one of the many spare rooms at Grimmauld Place when Remus did, to keep Sirius company and organize affairs for the Order. But to watch you two dance around each other awkwardly makes him want to claw at his skin more than he already has.

“Friends stick together. We help each other out,” you say nonchalantly and Sirius’ head bobs as he helps you put the groceries away one day. Remus is not as amused.

There are a lot of things to fix here, with the house swarming with dark magic and cursed artifacts. You all spent weeks researching the combination of anti-sticking charms to tear down the family tapestry.

Wretched Walburga’s painting was almost one with the foundation of the building, so you found a way to magic it shut forever. To take down the bad memories brick by brick, hurt and shame—if that’s what he wanted, you and Remus made sure it was what he would get. It’s what he deserved. When you finally showed Sirius the closed-off wall, without the invidious glare of his birthgiver, he thought he could kiss you with the happiness it brought him. You have a way of doing that, so intentional with your words, and how you’ve been caring for him, giving him the room he’s learning to occupy again…

So he did.

Hesitantly, then desperately drinking you in like a man left starved, and he had years of a fill to catch up on. He could drown in you if you’d let him.

And you did.

You kissed in the middle of the living room he was once damned in, legs hoisted over his hips as you fall onto the sofa. Frantic movements, kisses conveying words left unsaid, and at one point you both cry in pleasure and relief at being in each other’s arms again. If everything’s gone wrong in life, dear Circe, was this finally right.

His thrusts are slow as he gazes at you from above, hair moved out of your face to properly see you. Calloused hands roam your body that he wishes to reacquaint himself with from the inside out, from your skin to your bones.

“It’s okay,” you sigh as you touch his jaw, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m scared to ruin this. To ruin you.”

Your hips slow as you reach around to hug him. Sirius had long come to terms with the fact that he ruins everything he touches, and you’re not an exception in a long line of proof. You gently pull his body down before rolling over him, placing kisses everywhere you could reach. The crease in his forehead, his sunken in collarbones, the lean of his chest until your eyes and lips fall upon the dark etch of your name on his ribcage, under his heart. It joins the many other tattoos that grace his slender body, but it’s the only one in bright, devastating red. Your eyes meet again.

“I…they kept trying to take the necklace away. I had to remember you somehow. I’m sorry,” he says bashfully, eyes flickering to the ceiling in timidity, and the apology slips out from his lips. It makes you smile at how far he is from the arrogant man you once knew.

“Then ruin me then. Again. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Your approval stokes the fire in him, hands grabbing for dear life to feel you more underneath his fingertips and with the movements he makes from under you, striking hard like he has something he needs to prove. As you sigh into his neck and hold tightly onto his hand, you think of how loving him has always been red. Necklace or not, that has always been the truth.

Naked underneath a throw blanket that might scar Remus’ senses when he gets back from his mission and surrounded by the construction job of a house he once hated, Sirius breathes easily with you resting upon his chest. He hasn’t dreamed in a long while, but here, he can conjure images of finally marrying you and making this house a home.

“What are you thinking about? Tell me the truth,” you whisper, and he stops breathing, thinking you’re already asleep. Your fingers rub a mark on his neck lovingly.

“I want you to call me anything else. Baby, sweetness, darling…” he muses with a crackly voice.

“I don’t like my name. You’ve always known that. I don’t think it’s ever been mine. But I have always been yours, even when I didn’t know it. Even if you don’t want me.”

You press yourself closer to him, if that’s even humanly possible, gripping onto his soul.

“Husband it is then.”

—

At 36, you didn’t think you’d be having this fight with him again.

It wouldn’t be Sirius if he didn’t put up a fight. The man who’s spent his entire life fighting to get everything he wants or even a fraction of what he felt he needed. So why would loving him be any more simple?

He won’t easily admit that he’s never experienced life the way he wanted to unless he was with you, the only constant, his only calm. But there’s no way in hell you’re letting him rush out into the night again to never be seen.

“Harry needs me, my love. I need to protect him! You need to stay here,” Sirius bites back at the desperation writhing through his being, needing for you to understand that he wants you safe too.

“I’m tired of fighting you, babe, I can’t…” Your hands slam onto the dining table as he paces around it, running away from you again as he grabs things he needs. The lack of air in your lungs is making everything rush to your head, anxiety making you spiral as you chase him again, reaching out for him like trying to grapple with smoke.

“I can’t do this. I’m not letting you leave without me again,” you wail, and he’s not listening, hyperfocused on saving one of the few people he has left to live for. He laces his boots haphazardly, keys being thrown into his jacket pocket, and it all boils over.

“SIRIUS!” you scream. He stops in his tracks and looks at you in the moonlight, face illuminated by the kitchen window. You’re crying, shaking, with your hand still outstretched for him to hold. He pulls you into his arms and kisses your forehead with all the love he can muster.

“I...can’t lose you again. Could it be easy this once? I’m not the enemy here. Please don’t fight me on this,” you heave between soft sobs, hands crinkling his shirt to keep you grounded.

“You’re coming.” he surrenders, and you nod, both of you knowing it’s the truth. The blue light of a refashioned heart necklace lights the space between you. Fear fills the air again, and he silently grabs your jacket, zipping it up and tucking the pendant underneath your shirt. His thumb brushes over your jaw in an unhurried moment as he looks at you long enough that you wish to stay here forever.

“I love you.”

“I know, husband. I love you.”

Your hand grips onto his and you apparate to the Department of Mysteries.

—

The quiet tragedy of your love will never truly leave your ribcage, and Sirius’s quite literally etched in the skin and bones of him, under his heart.

One moment, he’s fighting for his life with you beside him, and the next, he’s falling. The love never disappeared, though it appeared differently the second time around. You couldn’t love each other the same way twice, with everything that’s changed since the beginning of it, but the love was there. It evolved with you. It endures.

You’re the only family he needs, and this point is further solidified when his cousin sends a killing curse his way, and his saving grace is you letting go of his hand to to blast her into oblivion. He trips backward to the Veil all the same.

“Wife…” he breathes out, being pulled in by nothingness. Your body turns slowly and your eyes meet, his hand out his hand stretches to reach yours. His eyes reflect the red glow of the pendant on your chest, and then you know what to do.

“Husband!” The sound of your voice brings a smile to his face and he shuts his eyes not needing to know how this will end because you’re here, and barely a breath away.

There wasn’t even a second thought to grab his hand, and the both of you are falling, falling again. Hands intertwined, both ringless, yet all the more secure and true. This is how it was meant to be.

—

“I can’t decide if time

Is my enemy

Or my friend

Time takes the pain away

But time takes you away too.”

-Whitney Hanson

taglist (OPEN): @jsjcue

love me some tunes! I listened to these three songs while I wrote: cedar by gracie abrams, adam's ribs by jensen mcrae, the alcott by the national (ft. taylor swift)

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

Saturday Funnies 😂

[thebeetleb0y]

I think it’s so interesting how important it was to Louis that Daniel knows that he didn’t mean for photos that weren’t his to be in those portfolios. That Daniel understands that he would never try to pass someone else’s work off as his. And I have two theories as to why that is(well I think both are true at the same time tbh).

Theory One:

Those pictures are the one thing that he’s actually done for himself because he wanted to since becoming a vampire. I mean think about it. He was clearly very passionate about his photography. Proud of it! He was showing it to other professionals for their opinions. He picked it up on his own with no influence from Lestat or Claudia or Armand. He just enjoyed it. Now some could argue that it’s just him holding on to the remnants of his humanity and that’s true to an extent but I genuinely believe that he also just enjoyed having a hobby to himself again that he had discovered on his own. I mean think about it, he only gave it up because of Claudia and Armand. So for someone(Armand maybe?) to have put work in there that wasn’t his for Daniel to look at and assume is his feels like an invasion of him.

Theory Two:

Louis knows something isn’t right. He knows his memories aren’t entirely his. He knows there’s gaps missing. Things that don’t add up. Dates that don’t add up. That’s why he chose Daniel again. He could have chosen anyone else but he chose Daniel. Why? Because he knows at least subconsciously that Armand won’t just kill Daniel like he would anyone else. That Daniel can actually get to the bottom of things and get the truth surfaced. So when he noticed there were pictures in there that weren’t his he knew he had to draw extreme attention for it to Daniel. Even draw attention to Armand’s possible involvement in the situation. He knows Daniel is remembering, and he wants Daniel to remember so that he can help Louis remember.

Mind you these are all theories and all assuming that any of the story we’ve been told so far is true at all. They’re all liars and omit whatever they want to omit until called out. I just am so excited to see where this goes

[trexalicious]

Omid in a nutshell when talking about the Harkles...

[goth-mami-writer]

🩶As Close as Strangers🩶

~{Pt. 2 by request}

🩶@leonw4nter @torisvr 🩶

~(Au) Leon Kennedy × f!Reader drabble

~{Find part one here}

(This one's kinda long 👉👈 srry)

《Leon stared at you now, hoping for what you might offer as some sort of explanation as to why he'd been left out of your son's life if he was indeed the father.

Did you think he'd say he was uninterested in the responsibility? There had to be something- something outlandish for you to omit such a truth for so many years that were crucial.

Years that Leon would never get back as a father.

“What- you thought I'd call you a liar? Or tell you that I had other plans?”

He asked from across the room after you returned from turning on the boy's nightlight, and you sat back on the couch with your heart heavy.

The reasoning for your lie was simple. It wasn't that you believed Leon didn't have the morals to uphold his part of the responsibility. It was the opposite. Leon would've been a wonderful father. But he would've put that hard work to the side to help you raise a child, and the guilt would've consumed you.

If it were anyone else, you would've been on the phone the moment you read the test. But it wasn't just anyone. The child you carried then belonged to Agent Leon S. Kennedy.

“I had just watched you shake hands with the governor in DC. You knew that night that you had a pretty big chance of moving up. We all did. Especially me.” You said beginning to explain,

“I couldn't…I could never ask you to take a step back from that. That's your career, Leon-”

“That's my son.” He said, cutting you off to point upstairs, having heard enough.

He somewhat understood that you wanted him to have the career he had always been chasing. But even if he worked hand in hand with the president himself, he wouldn't have put a child on the back burner. Or a wonderful girl to raise that child all alone.

He put his locked fingers behind his head tensely when he stood from his seat and he paced the floor now with the thought of what was next. You felt your heart racing with the fear of him leaving and never looking back.

He rested his hands on his hips and asked with the first hint of curiosity that came into his mind regarding the son he didn't know,

“What'd you name him?”

You were quiet for a moment before telling him your son's first name. It wasn't the first name that you thought might cause him to look at you funny.

It was the middle name.

“Ethan..”

You took a deep breath a finally said, pulling your robe tighter nervously,

“Ethan Scott….”

Leon's whole body turned to face you but you only stared at the ground. You had named him somewhat after his father. Only because he couldn't have his father's last name. Leon scoffed, holding back a laugh when he said quietly,

“I didn't think you'd remember my middle name.”

You shrugged, shaking your head just the same and said,

“Full of surprises, yanno.”

He opened the door, unwilling to overstay his welcome after noticing the rain had finally let up but you noticed his hesitation. He couldn't move any further without asking one last thing that had tormented him even as he drunkenly stumbled here in the dark.

“So-” He stuttered with only one foot outside,

“He doesn't…have any dad in his life at all?”

You were slow to answer only because you knew that he was easing carefully around what he really wanted to ask. You crossed your arms, leaning on the side of the foyer wall when you tried to determine what he really meant,

“Are you trying to ask if I'm still single?”

Leon winced away from the truth and looked away, giving you your confirmation that it's exactly what he meant. You turned only for a second and he heard as you disappeared to find something from a shelf or maybe a drawer since he could only listen.

You returned with a small book that Leon recognized as a photo album when you came into the light again. He saw your phone number jotted on the back of one of the many photos and listened as you began quietly.

“These are some of his baby pictures. We'll be in your city next week. Just call me if….you wanna see him.” You mentioned offering the small booklet of photos to him.

Leon held it tight in his grip and half smiled, thanking you in silence for giving him something to hold onto. He told you he'd call when he could before leaving off the porch and you closed the door quickly so not even the night air could see you fall apart so fast.

You didn't know what felt worse. Being without him, alone and in silence. Or having lost him a second time.

~Washington, DC.

~That next week

You were chaperoning Ethan’s class field trip that afternoon with several other parents. You rode a charter bus through the city on the way to the White House but all you could think of was the last time you were in this city. Five years ago.

It wasn't the sight seeing or the work that'd brought you to the capital.

It was just the thought of Leon and where he was.

He had called you the night before, almost to your surprise, but he asked where in town you'd be. When you answered, he took a minute to think before asking several more questions - trying to pinpoint exactly where you'd be and at what time. But he never confirmed where he'd be himself. Which made you curious.

The charter bus stopped on the street curb outside the north entrance, and you helped Ethan away from his seat, straightening his uniform before he got off the bus excitedly.

The class was counted out on the paved walkway before being ushered inside, and you stayed close to Ethan in his line of classmates but remained to the side holding your sweater as you walked aloof with the tour.

You walked down the infamous Cross Hall, feeling the renowned red carpet under your black pumps but your eyes wandered. You saw many faces of federal agents and USSS lining the hall now as the students walked behind the tour guide. Some wore suits and some wore tactical vests that supported a weapon across their chest.

One pair of eyes hidden against the wall followed Ethan from the moment he arrived, remaining silent and watchful as the small boy piled in with his class. Those eyes found you now as well, and covertly, they began to move closer.

You felt people huddling in behind you to listen in, and you tried to stay out of their way. But suddenly, when you began backing away, you felt the collision of a tactical vest meeting you from behind.

You turned to see Leon standing there behind you now and he asked with a whisper and a careful smile,

“Is he having fun?”

You went wide-eyed seeing him here. He had an earpiece in, and his federal badge was clipped to his vest. He looked so different now, unlike the other night, but you liked it. It looked right for him.

“Since when are you a part of on-site here?” You asked, trying not to smile too wide, but you were thrilled that he was here. Usually, on the premises, security wasn't a part of his job, so you had to know what he was doing.

“It's just for today-” He said, omitting the small truth of why he'd opted to be stationed here, strangely for only one day. He shook his head and clarified more truthful,

“...I wanted to see him.”

You smiled a little more in love now, and you looked to Ethan in his assigned group at the front. He would never know how close he was to his own father, but you could only watch in awe as Leon knew that too as he looked ahead as well.

The students were led out to the gardens on the south lawn next, and you waited behind in the long Colonnade Hall, watching his class through the many paned windows. You heard someone enter the deserted hall behind you and saw that Leon had found you again.

He still wore his earpiece and tactical attire, but he'd moved his large gun to his back now as he approached the window beside you quietly. You felt like strangers again, unsure of what to say, and you tensed your hands together stiffly.

You knew you wanted to ask him if he's willing to at least meet his son anytime soon. The distance between them now wasn't easy to watch, but maybe it was karma after all the hurt you caused him in keeping this secret.

“I've been thinking about a few things.” He said in a mutter, some of his pushed back hair falling onto his brow now as he turned to you.

You asked what was on his mind as you turned now as well. The words were just there behind his lips, you watched them trying to make their escape from his throat but he faltered, unsure of how to even begin to explain the many trains of thought he had at one time.

“Leon-” You said trying to steady his inner turmoil,

“This is up to you. I don't want you to change your life because I lied, and it's the right thing to do now.”

“No-” He said in reply, still struggling with so many things at once to tell you and the only way he could get his point across was closing the gap between you with a heavy, fated step,

“I know what I want.”

His hands moved up to your face with a desperate quickness when he pulled your lips to his own. He kissed you needfully like it was as an instinct that told him to do so. You melted into his touch and felt freed at long last by the kiss that haunted you since the last time you saw him in this city.

You pulled away with a heavy breath, having clutched onto his vest to keep him close without realizing it. Your eyes fluttered open, realizing you were still standing right in front of the large windows as your heart raced. Leon held you by your shoulders now, just as breathless and lost as you when you spoke finally,

“This isn't the best place to do this.”

“I've thought about you for five years. I can't help it.” He replied with his head resting against yours as he held you, going slowly as he explained what he had thought of in the days since finding you again.

“I don't know how we'll make it work. But I don't want Ethan to go without his dad anymore. And I don't want us to go without being together.”

He swallowed heavily, finally having the fire in his throat to say what had been holding onto for years. He knew it then, and he knew it the night he thought of you, stumbling drunk in the dark and the rain.

“I love you. And I should've told you before you left. Things might've been different.”

You could only smile, closing your eyes again to lean against him. You shook your head, hating yourself now after seeing how easy this actually was, and you mentioned sweetly before kissing him again,

“Looks like we got another mission together after all then, huh? We'll get it in a pinch.”

He smiled against your mouth, in love to hear that you both were working together both for each other and for Ethan.

~~

You walked your son back to his bus on the White House lot leading to the curbside. You felt him turn around to get one last look and then said in his tiny, curious voice,

“There's people on the roof, mommy, look!”

You turned, noticing his fixation with the federal agents on the roof in tactical vests, toting their AK’s on surveillance from above. You mentioned that they were there to make sure everyone was safe and not breaking the rules.

When you noticed another silhouette take shape on the rooftop, you smiled widely to see that it was Leon staring out to the lawn from over the edge, undoubtedly making sure that Ethan got back on the bus.

You crouched down onto your son's level and pointed upwards to the rooftop, making Leon's heart race from afar. He'd kill to know what you were saying as you pointed straight at him.

“You see that one there?” You asked softly.

“Yeah.” Ethan nodded.

“I know him. His name's Leon. Leon Scott.”

Ethan's eyes widened, saying excitedly that they both had the same middle name, and you smiled brightly seeing the joy it brought him. You looked back to Leon, who still stood in awe that even from a distance, himself and Ethan were face to face now.

You told Ethan to wave up to the roof, and he did so adorably with his little arm reaching up to swing back and forth. He put his arm down, noticing that Leon didn't wave back, and he asked you almost sadly,

“Can he see me?”

“He can see you, baby.” You assured him, looking in the distance as Leon stood motionless. He felt the lump in his throat wad up tightly seeing his son waving at him for the first time. He cried all night looking at his baby pictures, and this felt so much worse.

Leon raised his hand up after clearing his tight throat and gave Ethan a minute, nonchalant salute by the temple and winked lovingly, even though he knew the boy wouldn't see it.

You watched as Ethan smiled widely, looking back to see if you noticed. You told him to come along so they wouldn't miss head count and he walked alongside you, holding your hand as he bounced down the walkway, still turning around to see Leon on the roof every step of the way.

“Tell Leon he's cool and that we have the same middle name.” Ethan said in his small voice before jumping up onto the bus, and you laughed loudly, promising his sweet little spirit that you would tell Leon everything.》

[sir-adamus]

"if Ruby hadn't lied to Ironwood, he never would've become a villain"

wrong; Ironwood turning had nothing to do with being lied to and everything to do with him being a massive control freak

first off - Ruby omitting certain details from Ironwood because she had justifiable reasons not to trust him (thanks to both experience with Oz and Lionheart both being liars who almost got the whole group killed in different ways, and seeing the state he'd left Mantle in) is not the damning action some people like to characterise it as (it is, however, pretty damning on Ironwood's part that he's openly comfortable turning Mantle into a barely functional police state plagued by monsters and only competently protected by one person)

second - Ruby very much did tell him the truth. when the situation turned dire, she decided he'd proven himself trustworthy enough at that point and he was given the whole truth, which he took reasonably well at the time. so the lying wasn't the issue

nah, the issue was when his trauma button got pressed and he started jumping at shadows, he was more than willing to lash out at anything he perceived as a threat to his authority, namely, Blake and Yang telling Robyn about Amity. instead of arresting her, like he'd ordered them to, because he demands "loyalty" (read: subservience)

and like, Blake and Yang told Robyn because they didn't think arresting her for actions she was taking without full context for what was going on (and so were thoroughly justifiable - and honestly justifiable anyway, Ironwood had exactly zero actual grounds for taking away necessary supplies from Mantle, because the Amity project could wait, people's lives, surprisingly enough, are more important. this was early foreshadowing that Ironwood couldn't give a flying fuck about the people under his jurisdiction), and this was following Ironwood repeatedly refusing to even talk to Robyn at every request to do so

which was later proved to be the entirely correct decision because Robyn was then willing to work with him when the heat went out in Mantle

(oh also he actually had zero justifiable grounds on which to arrest Robyn, hence sending in two huntresses in some trojan horse bullshit to attempt to blackbag her off the streets with no official call for her arrest)

it only became a problem when Ironwood's precious feelings got hurt by Cinder leaving a calling card (which he immediately ascribed to Salem because the man's ego is as big as the moon and he sees every action from Salem's subordinates as her personally targeting him when she clearly doesn't give a shit about him), and he screamed at them for questioning and defying his orders and not falling in line as good little brainless robots like the rest of his subordinates

it was never about the lying, it was about a paranoid, scared little man thinking he's owed mindless obedience because he's In Charge

[chrollohearttags]

Oh my god can we please get musician!eren and y/n doing that couples quiz thing that I think GQ(???) does🥹

yesss! I’ve been dying to write this 🥹😭 I actually went and watched the Teyana/Iman one and it was exactly what I’d imagine theirs to be like!

there were only a few media outlets that EJ trusted to let interview him. He was very selective and picky in who he’d allow to shove a camera and microphone in his face because they tended to be huge liars..fabricating details when he chose to omit them. However, when he was approached by GQ and asked to partake in the Couples Quiz with his sweetheart (y/n) (l/n)..on Valentines Day nonetheless, he couldn’t possibly turn it down. Whether it was his own competitive nature or the fact that he was so hopelessly in love with his lady, he was sure to ace every question. So here you guys were…setting face to face in two recliners; your legs draped across his thighs as if you were right at home. “I’m (Y/N) (L/N)..” “And I’m Eren Jaeger..” your voices eventually joining in unison with smiles on your faces. “And this is the GQ Couples Quiz.” The internet show where famous unions test their knowledge of one another. One thing that could be noted was the stark difference in his demeanor from previous sit downs. He actually looked happy to be here. Maybe that was all thanks to his lovely sidekick. The cameras rolling and aimed adjacent at you as got comfortable. In your hand, you brandished a stack of off white index cards, each one containing a question about yourself that he was expected to answer. Raising the pile to your face with a smirk, (y/n) ogled him, furrowing your eyebrows without a word before Eren would burst into laughter.

“Bro, why are you staring at me like that?” Which eventually cause you to start cackling, long before the game began. “Nothing, nothing..I’m just ready to see how much you know about me. Are you ready?”You guys were the best of friends before it blossomed into the beautiful marriage that everyone saw today..he hadn’t paid much attention to detail with anybody but that changed once you came along. Rubbing his hands together in anticipation, he’d lean up in his seat and prepare. “I’ve been ready. I’m ‘bout to set the record. Just wait.” He looked so excited and thrilled. But the true test would come when you pulled out the first card. “Alright, that’s a big claim, y’all. Let’s see if he just running his mouth. First question—“ pretending to lick your fingertips as you pulled the piece of paper. “What’s my favorite food to cook for you?” This was a no brainer. Something you thoroughly enjoyed and made for him all the time.. “That’s easy, gumbo and rice.” Smiling in pure joy, you’d nod your head. “Ding ding. That’s right. It’s my speciality.” He’d then interject with a little story about how it came to be.

“And she knew what she was doing, let me tell y’all! I’m not originally from the south so I had never tried it and one night, she was staying with me and we were a little.. ‘intoxicated.’” Doing sir quotes as to not tell the world that y’all were higher than two Georgia pines. Making you laugh as he told the story. And she was like ‘you hungry?’ And I’m like ‘hell yeah, lemme order something.’ She gets up from the couch like ‘nah bae, I got it. Imma go make us something.” Becoming more bashful every time he recounted the event but also cracking up because he was so dramatic about it. “I swear he ain’t gone ever let me forget this shit..” “Oh, I ain’t even got to the best part. So it’s like an hour later, I’m still high as shit and something is smelling good, like I’m talking out of a restaurant. I go in the kitchen, it’s a big ass silver pot on the stove, ain’t even know I owned something like that. And she’s like, ‘you want some gumbo?’ I’m thinking..I ain’t never seen somebody get high and go make an entire pot of gumbo. But slide me like two bowls..I ate it and almost cried, it was so good.” It was a recipe your granny had taught you and now, you made it for him all the time! Nonetheless, the interview would continue and you’d shoot off a barrage of questions; ranging from stuff about favorite colors, types of shoes you were down to your favorite candy. He got every last one of them right, even remembering small details he hadn’t. His eyes never came off of you once and there was so much laughter between you two, like a regular everyday conversation.

he’d tell stories about your tattoos and what they meant (even the one of his initials on your pantyline), why your favorite tv show meant so much to you, about your nickname ‘Princess’, and even your favorite hype song. “I promise you guys are never going to guess what her favorite song is to get hype to..I don’t believe it as I’m saying the shit now but..we were out driving one day and she’s in the passenger, controlling the music. I’m like ‘I love my baby but she better not turn on nothing crazy. So I’m riding along and I hear Tee Grizzly, you know..First Day Out. I’m nodding my head and I look over…and she’s rapping the entire song like it’s hers!” The dramatization from him made it even funnier because there was so much about you that he had no clue that made him fall deeper in love. From your funny quirks to the cute things you did. By this time, you had doubled over, covering your face. “Adlibs and all, I couldn’t believe it but I was like ‘..yeah, imma marry this girl. She raw as hell. Like it can’t be anybody else.”

which made you get all giddy and excited. “I told y’all, he really my homie. We like this.” Twisting your fingers around to intersect. The questions would continue on and he of course would ace each one with flying colors. The two of you would even exchange your special handshake on ones where he got the bonuses right. That’s when it neared the last question, which was another no brainer. “Last one, last one..who’s my celebrity crush?” Which made your big softie (and jealous hearted) husband furrow his brows into an obvious pout as if the answer wasn’t clear as day. “Your crush? You never— “you know, there is this one dude. He’s real tall..got long hair, from North Jersey, bunch of tattoos, real cute. Pretty smile and he raps real good. Can sing too..what’s his name?” making him smack his lips and roll his eyes all in one at your joke. Once he caught on, he’d lean up yet again and smush your face into a bunch of kisses. “I think his name is Eren or something like that. Tell him come hit my line if he sees this..” unable to get the words out before you started laughing uncontrollably. “You play too much, for real.” All in all, this was such a fun experience and when it was time to tally his score, you’d hold out your palm so they could generate the number on screen: a perfect 40 out of 40! He’d then hop out of his seat, raising his arms up his designer lettermen’s jacket as if he had just scored the winning point to a ball game. “What’d I say? Told y’all..”

even though he’d probably be bragging about this forever, it felt good to have someone who knew you better than yourself.