#anyway i could fix richard

[smol-soop-spoon]

the amount of "i can fix him" energy henry winter (or any other tsh character tbh) produces in people should be studied

[noirshitsuji]

richard is babygirl and also a dumb bitch and also he was right about everything

and henry fucking knew it, too

[shierak-inavva]

doodles from work of cillian murphy as ëol and richard armitage as fëanor 😮‍💨

[clownkiwi]

i'll be entirely honest, as much as i dont care about the unfunny hell cartoon on youtube & dont wanna touch it, i really only care about richard horvitz' character & his wife. theyre both very adorable & the whole show shouldve been about them rather than brandon rogers & his fucktoy

[stevesbipanic]

@steddielovemonth Day 24: Love is the only thing we can take with us. 

@thefreakandthehair

Steve looked around his room, it would be the last time he did. He could hear his parents still arguing downstairs. He knew he didn't have a lot of time, soon he'd hear his father's footsteps coming up the stairs.

"You're no son of mine!"

Steve hadn't felt like his son in a long time anyway. When he thought of dads he thought of Hopper at his graduation or Wayne watching the game with him. He'd called Hopper, Dad, when he woke up in the hospital and saw the previously dead police chief at his bedside. No, Steve Harrington hadn't been Richard Harrington's son in a long time.

He knew he didn't have much time, but he'd been planning for this moment, the day they would find out. It was inevitable, small town, nosy neighbours. Steve kept his room impersonal for a reason, it wouldn't last forever. Kneeling quickly he grabbed his box, it was all he would need.

The clothes he actually liked wearing weren't in this closet anymore, the beemer had always been in his name. Nothing else in the house mattered but this box. The last piece of Steve in these four walls.

"Steven?"

He'd asked her to call him Steve all his life, she didn't.

"Can't you see what you're doing to your mother?"

Maria Harrington hadn't been Steve's mother in a long time. Mothers were there for their kids when they woke up from nightmares. Claudia never judged when he woke up screaming on the couch. A true mother looked after their son when he was sick in bed, soup and comfort and love. Joyce brought him soup last winter, when the flu had him stuck in bed, he didn't even call, she just knew.

"I know, I'm leaving now."

"Please, Steven, there are places we can go to fix you," she cried. Mothers don't think their kid's heart needs fixing.

"You were supposed to be a real man!" Richard yelled as he passed him down the stairs. Fathers are proud of their sons growing into protectors and carers.

"This will never be your home again!" Was the last thing Steve heard as he closed his car door and placed the small box on the passenger seat. Parents always have a home waiting for you, even when they think you're wrong.

"Steve?"

Wayne is the first one to spot him as he arrives at the trailer. It's sunday, family dinner at the rotating family table. Tonight was meant to be at the Munsons.

"Steve, honey? You ok?" Joyce is the first one to touch him, worry in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, son." Hopper is the first one to read his teary eyes like a book. They all knew where he'd been.

Claudia gingerly took the box from him, "I'll put this in your room, sweetheart, let Eddie know you're back home."

Steve could hear the kids yelling around the picnic table outside; could smell dinner cooking. Robins laughter piercing though the air and Eddie's boombox playing loudly.

"Baby?"

There he was.

"Hey, Eds, think we'll have to move up that moving date, if it's ok?"

Eddie's features softened from worry to sympathy, "Course, sunshine, although I'm still surprised Joyce and Hop didn't kidnap you months ago.

Later, when he'd given everyone hugs goodbye, some were a bit tighter than others, he sat on the bed with his box.

"You wanna unpack that alone, or want help?"

"You can look, it's not a secret, just special," Steve replied, patting the space next to him. Eddie plopped himself down beside his boyfriend, lifting the lid.

Inside was a mess of bits and pieces. Eddie reached in and took out a stack of photos. Steve at his graduation, a big smile with Hopper's arm around his shoulders, Dustin beaming beside him. Robin putting Steve in a headlock at the quarry last summer, he refuses to say he let her win. Eddie at his first show back, scars on full display. And countless other memories.

There were also little toys from the arcade and pebbles and ticket stubs and letters and a full life story of one Steve Harrington told through the love of his family.

"This was all I went back to get, all I needed. Wasn't expecting them to know about you already, but I knew they'd find out one day. Couldn't let them have this, not after they spent so long trying to take my heart from me."

"I think it's high time we clear some space around here for all this, Stevie, time to let your love be out on full display."

When Steve fell asleep that night, wrapped in the arms of a boy who went to hell from him and staring at the new photos on the wall, he truly felt home.

[angeldreamsoffanfic]

“So how did you know?”

“Know what?”

“Y’know, how did you know.”

“Dingus, I’m gonna need you to spell it out for me here, the Russians did a number on how many of my braincells are actually working.”

“How did you know that you liked girls?”

Robin Buckley immediately pushed herself up so she was resting on her elbows, head tilted to catch Steve Harrington’s eyes in the low light of their hospital room.

They weren’t originally even going to go to the hospital, if Robin was being honest. They had just wanted to slip away back to their respective homes, but then Melissa and Richard Buckley caught wind that Robin was hurt. Then the both of them realized that Steve’s parents (if Robin has to use that term to describe them) had less than zero intention of sending anyone to pick up Steve.

Then EMS made the light suggestion of both of them probably needing to go to Hawkins General Hospital… and well, while Melissa and Richard did tend to lead toward more natural remedies… one couldn’t fix a concussion or a drugging with an unknown substance with essential oils and hope.

“Robbie? Did you OD over there?” Steve had himself up on his elbows, easily mimicking Robin. That’s the thing that makes the inside of Robin ache, that he’s so like her. She knows that she’s an only child, knows that, but sometimes Steve’ll just… do something and it makes her question it. Makes her wonder how she spent so long without him, without another brain and two legs and arms and so much hair. “Robbie?”

“No, I am still alive.” Robin slowly spoke, before she let out a soft sigh. “Why do you ask?”

“Like-” Steve huffed as he shook his head from side to side, before he used the one hand that was free from the pulse monitor and saline drip to card through his hair. It’s sleep ruffled, and if he uses product (Robin is sure he does), it’s for sure gone. Steve looks up though, and his eyes are so earnest that it causes something to hurt inside of Robin. “never mind just ignore- fuck - just ignore me.”

“I couldn’t ignore you if I tried, you idiot.” Robin let out a huff, and she winced as the PICC line in her arm shifted as tilted to be able to fully face Steve on her side. “But I just, dingus, this is out of left field for even you.”

“How so?”

“Did you even know that, that people like me even existed until a couple of hours ago?” Robin kept her voice soft, especially as Steve huffed out an indignant sounding sigh. Robin sighs though, and then she cards her own hand through her hair, and forges onward. “I think I’ve just… always known.”

“Always?”

“Yeah like-” Robin shrugged, a careful movement of her shoulders. “When I was like, eight? My uh, parents sent me to this camp thing- like summer camp kind of like what Dustin went to? But with, y’know, with the swimming and archery and dude I was fucking awful at it.” Steve let out a soft and watery laugh at Robin’s rambling, and that gave Robin enough power to continue. “But we uh, had these like songs we had to learn? And there was this uh, girl counselor there that had to teach me because you know, that was her job.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, and uh. She couldn’t have been older than I am now but man…” Robin let out a slow whistle, and allowed herself to fully melt into the hospital cot she’s laid up on. “All I could think was that I just wanted to be with her. Like not even kissing because I thought kissing was gross then, still do now kinda but anyway- I wanted to like, hold her hand and shit. Do the cheesy stuff I’d seen in the movies, y’know?”

Steve huffed out his own laugh, and he tilted his head to lean against his pillows instead of facing Robin. Robin watched though, quiet for once, as Steve swallowed once and then twice- before he cleared his throat.

“I knew it existed before you.”

“What?”

“It.”

“Dingus-”

“Girls liking girls.” Steve’s voice is barely above a whisper, even as Robin can hear him gulp in a lungful of air. “And boys liking boys.”

“You did?” Robin kept her voice quiet, gentle, as coaxing as she could- especially when she could see Steve’s throat bob. “Dingus?”

“I…” Steve doesn’t continue, and that’s enough.

Enough to Robin that she pushed herself up, and ignored the pain that ricocheted down her spine like needles. Ignored Steve’s hurried ‘what are-’, as she stumbled out of her hospital bed and right to Steve’s. She made sure to drag her IV pole and the monitor with her, situating it as best as she could next to Steve’s. Robin huffed quietly as the pain trickled down her spine, and she couldn’t help but smile as Steve curled his hand carefully around her wrist and tugged.

Robin got comfortable, let Steve fret over her as best as he could, his fingers only ever-so slightly trembling as he made sure that the line in her arm wasn’t kinked up. They were pressed close, side to side and hip to hip, and Robin tilted her head down until it was rested on Steve’s shoulder.

“Wanna keep going, Stevie?”

“No.”

“But?”

“I…” Steve huffed again, a small indignant noise that Robin mimicked.

They sat like that then, just the two of them for a moment, before Steve continued slowly.

“I’ve never, told anyone this- like I’ve told Tommy H. so much shit about me - but this is… Robin this is different.” Steve speaks in a hurried and stilted way, like he’s stringing together bits and pieces of sentences, and it shouldn’t work.

But it does because he’s Steve and she’s Robin.

And truthfully, Robin likes that. That they’re Steve and Robin. SteveandRobin. RobinandSteve. Likes that the two of them are so in tune that even her own mother didn’t want to separate them.

That had to mean something in the end, didn’t it?

“Tell me, whatever… whenever.” Robin murmured as she turned her head so she could press a soft kiss to Steve’s shoulder. The hospital gown is thin enough she can feel the heat of his skin from up under it, and that’s grounding. Grounding even as Steve drew in a shaky breath, audibly swallowing again. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m here.”

“I didn’t uh, notice Tammy in Ms. Click’s class or uh, you for a reason.” Steve slowly spoke, eyes wet, and Robin can hear his sniffle as he tried to reign his emotions back. “Ms. Click made him sit uh, right by her desk at the front of the room.”

And oh.

Oh.

If that doesn’t immediately settle something that just usually writhes around in Robin’s chest.

“Him?” Robin is gentle, gentler than she thinks she’s ever been.

“Uh, yeah… Eddie Munson?” Steve huffed out an almost dry laugh, the only thing that he does that ever remotely reminds her of his time as his high school “King Steve” persona. “He uh, got this bat tattoo right before that year’s Thanksgiving break and all I could do was just… gawk at him.”

“And then what?” Robin knew she was pushing, searching for information, but she can’t help it. Not when Steve is right next to her, hip to hip and thigh to thigh. Not when he’s like her. In all the ways that matter.

“I went home and screamed into my pillow.”

Robin immediately smacked Steve’s thigh with the knuckles of her left hand- grinning in triumph when Steve let out a squawk of laughter.

“Eddie Munson?”

“What about him?”

“He’s… he’s a total dud!”

“No he’s not!”

“He stepped in my mashed potatoes once! That is totally total dud material!”

“No way!”

“He wants to be like, like a metal singer!”

“He has a band! Dreams!”

“Do you even know if he can hold a tune?”

“Well, no-”

“Total. Dud.”

Robin grinned wide as Steve launched into a very quick defense about Eddie, and she decides then and there that Steve and her? They’ll be just fine.

Especially if she can get Eddie to come into Steve and her’s orbit just a bit, to see if the crush is still there.

Because while Robin may not have all of the gay knowledge in the world, there is one thing for a complete certainty that she knows.

The black hanky that Eddie kept in his pocket?

Well…

Robin chuffed to herself, before she tilted so she could lay on her side- nose tucked into the place where Steve’s neck and shoulder met.

Right before she falls asleep though, Robin does a very important thing on a mental whiteboard.

You Rule: 1

You Suck: 0

hope you all enjoyed! truthfully think this is one of my favorite things i have written. love platonic stobin. <3

[strangemaleswaps]

Strange Job Swap

“Oh it's beautiful!” exclaimed the customer waiting in line. I handed her a nicely decorated cake for her son's birthday.

“It's no big deal. Just doing my job.” I acted like it was no big deal, but really I was gladly accepting the praise!

“This is perfect though. Have you considered being an artist?” she replied with a slightly more serious look.

“Yes I have actually…but the job market is tough.”

“Aww you'll get there eventually! Don't give up! Well anyway, you made my day so for that, thank you!”

“You're welcome.” I was a bit sad though, because she was right; I SHOULD be an artist. I recently earned my bachelor's degree, but yet I was still stuck in this dumb hick town, working as a grocery store cake decorator. I may have been good at what I do but I wouldn't want to do it forever!

At least my co-workers are pretty decent, especially my fellow bakery buddies, Chase, Amber, and Domingo. Amber was cool and didn't take anyone’s shit, which is why I loved seeing her because I didn't have much confidence when dealing with unruly customers. Domingo was very sweet, and even though he didn't speak very good English, he's hella good at his job. And Chase, well…he's hot! His bleach blond hair somehow always caught the light at a perfect angle. I don't know how I even kept my focus when he's working next to me.

At the end of my shift, I clocked out, and decided to buy a couple groceries like I normally did. I scanned everything at the self-checkout, put the receipt into one of my bags, and started walking towards the exit. The store had 2 exits on either side of the front, but I only took one because the other had a certain asshole at it - Richard.

The greeter position was removed a long time ago, but they bring it back for employees that have been injured or are too old, so that they can keep their jobs. Now this old guy named Richard had surgery a long time ago and became the greeter while he recovered. But yet he never went back to his old position.

He always stays at one specific entrance, and the reason I hated him so much was because he's racist. Part of his job has him checking customers’ receipts to make sure they didn't steal anything, which seems pretty unnecessary when you have those anti-theft machines at the exit. But I've seen him. The only people he checks the receipts for are minorities. It's not a subtle thing either; he’s super friendly, greeting and saying goodbye to all the white people passing but when it comes to someone who's not, his demeanor suddenly changes. 

My luck must've run out today, because I found the sliding glass doors at my usual exit were broken and currently being fixed. The area was blocked off by a barricade, and I knew there was only one other way to leave. I headed over to the other exit, and there Richard was, waving goodbye to a white mother and her toddler. He was wearing his typical gray uniform shirt that was clearly too small, because you could see his gut and nipples trying to poke through. Gross.

I moved through the aisle, trying not to draw attention to myself, but it was all for nothing because right on cue, Richard walked up to me and gave a great big (and so obviously fake) smile.

“Hello sir, can I see your receipt please?”

“Richard, it's me, Marco. I work in the bakery. You've seen me a million times before.” His smile suddenly faded, and his eyes narrowed, as if every ounce of happiness in his body just vanished.

“That's no excuse. How do I know you aren't stealing?”

“Because I want to keep my job?”

“Don't backtalk to me. You seem awfully suspicious today.” He then reached for his walkie talkie and started to page a manager. I really was able to walk out with no repercussions because I truly didn't steal anything, but there's a chance he would page the Asset Protection lady, who was almost as awful.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” Nobody answered him. Thank god.

“Am I free to go now?” I said happily. The anger returned to his face.

“Just don't let me catch you stealing again. Or there'll be consequences!”

“Yeah…suuuure.” I walked out the door, into my car, and back home. I can't believe some people honestly. I was so sick of this town! I needed to move away real soon.

When I got home my dog, Kenny, was excited to greet me as usual so I let him outside to do his business while I got into my running clothes, prepping for a run. As I let Kenny back in, I went to check the mail and found a weird envelope in between the bills and spam. I opened it up and it was a letter addressed “to whom it may concern”. I threw it away without a second thought but Kenny suddenly ran up to the trash can, took it out, and placed it back in front of me.

“You really want me to read this, don't you boy?” I said cheerily as I patted him on the head.

“To whom it may concern,

Are you struggling with your current job? Unhappy with the life you have? Well I have just the cure for that! We are now selling happiness inducing coins for only $1 with free shipping! One flip of this coin will guarantee you will soon get a job you love! Get it fast before it all runs out! Just follow the link on the back of this letter if you are interested.” - VV

I wondered who or what VV was supposed to be, and $1 with free shipping sounds too good to be true, so this seemed like a scam. I also wasn't a superstitious person,  but for some reason my gut was telling me that this was a good idea. Kenny seemed to think so too as he was wagging his tail under the table and I read. I followed the link listed on the back of the page, typing in each random letter and number combination into my phone and ordered the lucky coin. I went to bed that night feeling a little more hopeful.

The next day at work was just like the previous day, only the door was fixed so I didn't have to walk out the exit Richard was standing at. We did make eye contact though, and he shot me a dirty look. I got home to find that the package had already arrived, which was awfully quick. I cut open the box and inside was a golden coin with a picture of a brain on it. The other side had a picture of a person with their arms spread wide. It was a really weird design. I read the instructions.

How to use:

Flip the coin

No matter what side it lands on, you'll be guaranteed happiness in your new job!

It sounded so lame, but I followed the instructions anyway. I flipped the coin the air, and slapped it on the back of my other hand. Tails. Nothing happened. I guess it was just $1 so it wasn't a huge waste of my time. It's pretty cool looking so maybe I could display it on my dresser or something.

I felt especially tired the rest of the night, but I was fine because I had a day off tomorrow. I was gonna go to the park with Kenny, as well as do a few errands. I was just glad I had time away from my job.

The next morning my alarm went off for some reason. I must've accidently set it by mistake. The weirder thing was Kenny wasn't there. Normally at the sound of my alarm, he comes running from wherever he was sleeping, and jumps on the bed to get me up. But there was nothing. When I started to truly wake up and become more alert, I realized that my alarm was set to the default or something. Instead of my usual calming piano, it was an annoying ringing. I opened my eyes to see what was happening. My vision was blurry, but I could tell I wasn't in my own room.

What happened? Did someone kidnap me? The alarm clock wasn't even on a phone, but rather it was an actual alarm clock. I had no idea what was going on, but I reached over to turn it off so I could think. I'm certain I must've been kidnapped somehow but why? And why would they set an alarm clock? I couldn't see but felt around the nightstand for a clue and found a pair of glasses. When I tried them on, just like that, my vision returned to normal. I had perfect vision before! Why did I suddenly need glasses? I reached up to scratch my head and found my hairline was incredibly receded. I was balding! I looked down with my now clear vision to find an even worse fact. I was chubby!

I sat up and stared at the foreign gut and two large man tits, as well as numerous graying chest hairs. I ran my hands through the hair, pinching them to make sure they were real. I pinched the tits as well, and felt sensations I've never felt before as they wobbled when I let go. I ran my hands through my face and felt a mustache and double chin, and began feeling nauseous at the thought of what I actually looked like. I didn't see a mirror in the room so I walked out the door trying to find a bathroom. The fat jiggled all around as I ran.

I got to the bathroom and nearly puked on the spot when I saw who I was. Richard. Oh god no. Of all people, I had to look like this racist bastard? I stared at myself and grazed my hands along my face. Suddenly I felt angry and started pinching it instead, as if I was doing the same thing to the real Richard, but denial didn't help; that was my face and it hurt. I touched his mustache and pinched it, as if it would come off. 

Just then I heard the doorbell ring. I didn't want to interact with anybody looking like this but until I figured out how to fix it, I knew I had to pretend to be Richard. I answered the door to find the mailman.

“Howdy Rich! Woah uh.” He stared at my chest. I forgot I was still shirtless. Having this much fat hanging from my body was almost like answering the door naked. “I see you've lost some weight!” he said, obviously lying.

“Oh uh, thanks.” I replied, trying to imitate Richard’s voice, which was pretty easy considering I've mocked him before.

“Well anyway, not much today; just a letter.” He handed me a letter with a purple stamp on it.

“Well uh see you tomorrow!” The mailman went on his way and I closed the door. I opened the letter and found a note similar to the lucky coin advertisement.

To whom it may concern,

Good morning! I trust that your lucky coin worked well? Welcome to your new life! As promised, you now have a job that you love. Unhappy with the results? Just flip the coin once again, and make sure it lands on what it landed on before! If not, however, your fate is sealed. Best Wishes! - VV, Venefica Viola

Shit. They're not lying though. Richard did love his job. And since I was in his body, I now had that job! But who is this Venefica Viola? It sounded like Latin somehow. I walked back to the bedroom to find Richard’s phone. Luckily he didn't have any lock screen pin so I could easily get in. I searched for a translator, dodging the random pop up ads that were everywhere on his phone and looked up Venefica Viola.

Violet Witch. So magic is involved somehow. I needed to get my coin back so I could undo this! It must still be at my own house. Shit! I just realized why the alarm clock went off. Richard worked today! He had perfect attendance and never uses his PTO, so not going in was gonna look suspicious. I glanced at the clock and realized I only had 20 minutes. 

Even though I'd love to see Richard be humiliated by going to work in his underwear, I decided that it wasn't worth attracting attention so I looked through his clothes to put on a work uniform. I found a pair of boxers and accidently flashed myself when I completely forgot I didn't have my own dick either. It was all wrinkly, but honestly a lot bigger than I thought. No. I was not about to get horny over Richard's dick! I found what he normally wore to work and put the rest on. I found tucking the shirt was more difficult than usual, as I had to pull it over my belly.

I guess I could make this work…for now. I hated to admit it, but Richard wasn't all that bad looking. It was his personality and habits that made him so repulsive, but now that I was in control of him, he didn't look all that bad. Maybe I could even turn things around for now and do something nice for the people I know he hates. I grabbed the car keys on the nearby table, and drove to work.

I walked in the store, put Richard's nametag on, and clocked in. I nearly started walking to the bakery area but stopped myself. I guess I'm really going to have to be a greeter for a day. This feels humiliating. I made my way to the front entrance and just stood there, waiting for customers to enter or exit.

Soon enough customers began arriving and I tried my best to act like Richard, though one customer asked if I was all right because I guess I overdid it. I didn't ask any customers to show their receipts though, because I might as well take advantage of being a greeter. I noticed Domingo at the checkout and when he bagged up his groceries, he approached me first instead of the door. He hastily grabbed his receipt and started showing it to me. I wasn't about to let this happen.

“No no it's ok. You don't have to show me the receipt anymore.”

“No?” He looked shocked.

“Checking receipts is stupid anyway. I don't need to do it anymore.”

“Really? I can go?”

“Yep! Have a good day.” It was unnerving seeing him so scared at the sight of me, but he smiled like normally did as he put the receipt back in the bag and walked out.

As I moved towards the break room to take my break, I noticed someone who looked awfully familiar walk through the door. It was…me! I mean Richard. It must've been; if I was in his body, he must've been in mine. It became more obvious by the way he was walking, taking big steps as if he was used to having his gut swinging around…like mine was now. God I hated this. I had to talk to him to sort things out. He smirked as I approached.

“Hey!”

“Oh it's you. I mean me. I mean,” he paused for a second and rounded his mouth into an even bigger smile, which looked uncanny with my face. “The old me.”

“What do you mean ‘the old you’”?

“Well seeing as I'm much younger now, while you're much older, I think the term is appropriate.”

“Well yeah, but not for long. I'm going to switch us back.”

“Oh no you're not! I may have preferred being white, but I’m enjoying youth again! Oh, and don't worry. I saw that coin thing and that letter this morning, and I made sure it would never see the light of day again. You got that…Richard?” 

He called me that in the same mocking tone that I always use to call him. I can't believe this!

“Y-you can't do this! I had a future!”

“That's my future now old man. You know maybe I could be a model with these looks. Maybe make one of those, what do you kids call it? OnlyFans?”

God no, I'm an artist, not a pornstar. He can't do this!

“The greeter is a real fun job, Richard. Enjoy it. You're hired!”

[firemenenthusiast]

the tag is so cute but lmk if this works cs the post is still up 💔

https://x.com/SexualLoverz/status/1778850070810542313

basicalky tho shes riding his face while hes cuffed n all, i can go into more detail if it doesnt work js lmk x

shout out to stacie for the request ! (and for waiting for a damn long time for me to write, im sorry 😭)

—“influence”

sub!kai x reader

summary: based on the link above (account got suspended btw), kai is a dumbass who is easily influenced by zac who’s NOT a good person 🤯

warnings: 18+, smut, p link, sub!kai, no actual penetration, face sitting, face riding, cunnilingus, name calling (bitch & slut) 😢, cumming in pants, restraints (m! receiving)

a/n: guess who’s back LMAOOO guys uni is no joke im getting my ass beat

hate’s maybe too strong of a word to describe your dislike towards zac but everything he does pisses you off. it’s like theres physically a bad bone in his body navigating him in making stupid and evil decisions. like telling kai to stop others from taking the blue, resulting in chaos on the ship since richard’s no longer here to keep things in line. he was also the one who thought it was a good idea to have a party, celebrating god knows what, eating and wasting every resources you guys had on the ship.

he was also the reason the ship’s data room got destroyed and everyone had to clean up after him. the ship’s up and running again now, thanks to christopher. but the reason you hate zac is because he’s such a bad influence to kai. you couldn’t blame kai for the things he’d done, he wouldn’t have done them if it wasn’t because zac told him to.

maybe he just felt like that was his calling, like he had a purpose on that ship, leading him to do everything zac told him to eventho they’re stupid. in reality he’s more than that, he’s actually really smart, and good with electricals. he’s also really nice to you, it’s just that he tends to do the stupid things zac tells him to do because he thinks he’s not good enough. he needs to feel like he’s important, which is why he never wanna leave your side. you make him feel special, and needed. between that and the lack of blue in his system, he had grown to be really clingy with you. and his needs, his certain needs, now washing over him like a big perpetual confusing wave

you hear his stalking steps behind, following you through the ominous hall connecting the working quarters to your dorms. he’s been after your back all day, and now he’s even sniffing the trail of scent you left behind. “you smell good” he starts, throwing his head back while dragging his hands down his face. he is getting ridiculous. now he’s sniffing you around like an animal ? “did you shampoo ?” he continues, making you halt your steps for a moment to take his dumb words in before continuing to walk. shaking your head in disbelief that you’re responding to his question, “they sent me the new ones to sample so yeah, earlier” you explain, telling him about the new shampoo they’ve formulated, experimenting with improved ingredients from the lab. “can you stop for a moment ? where are you going anyways ?” he hasten his steps behind you, pondering on how are you walking so fast. before you know it he manages to quickly grab your hand and intertwine his fingers with yours. now that you’re forced to stop, you turn and raise your chin to look at him, who’s grinning.

“i need to report back to them, kai”

“what ? like now ?”

“yes, now”

“they can wait”

moving the strand of hair out of your face, you sigh at him. looking up at him through your lashes, your face clearly unamused. “no kai, unlike you who clearly has nothing better to do they’re actually working and contributing to the ship” you squint your eyes as you say that, making him take a step back to scoff at you. if only he could channel this newfound energy or hormones on something else, he would’ve actually made a difference. like maybe fixing and updating your database thats turning obsolete from how ancient it is, or come out with a new security system. that would’ve made you drool over him, even reward with after a hard day of doing men’s job. instead, he’s been chasing you around the ship all day since yesterday, snooping up your ass, waiting as you do chores hoping to get in your pants. like you said, it’s the lack of blue

you gesture your hand around signalling that you’re done here if he doesn’t have anything else to say, too tired of him to even roll your eyes. he’s frustrated to say the least, confused with his own neediness, struggling to navigate the feelings. he could’ve just gone to any other girls on the ship, they’ll gladly let him into their dorms but he doesn’t want that, he doesn’t want them. what the both of you have is something sacred to him that he refuses to jeopardise. even so, you’re starting to give him blue balls, he’s wondering how can you be so composed, as you’ve also stopped taking the blue while he’s sweating and fidgeting. “go find something useful to do kai, leave me alone”. it’s not like you’re mad at him, but it hasn’t been long since the last time you gave in because of his pleas.

“why are you being such a bitch ? zac’s right, girls are fucking difficult” kai’s towering over you, letting go of your hands. he almost gave up when you start walking away before he continues his petty tantrum. “you act like you’re sooo important, always doing this and that, acting like you don’t want me” you’ve turned your heels away from him long ago, ignoring his silly words that are far from insults. you were about to block his voice out of your hearing before you hear him, “walk away all you want but we both know you were begging for my cock like a slut” you’re lucky the hallways empty or else anyone could’ve heard him easily. his last words flicked a switch inside your head, making you turn around to quickly stomp towards him. he can’t be serious.

he could’ve accepted and just walk away like a man but decided to act like a bitch instead, whining around that you wouldn’t let him get his dick wet. you reach over for his shirt, pulling him by fisting the fabric on his chest, your bodies almost colliding. you can feel his warm breath fanning over you as he falls quiet and his face drops. “you’re so fucked, kai” you say as you start dragging him by his shirt, walking across the hallway before taking a turn towards his dorm. he struggles to follow your steps with you pulling him forward, forcing him to bend a little. he almost trips over multiple times on the ship’s floor. as you stop in front of his dorm, you push him forward, he almost stumble over his feet. “unlock it” you order him, to which he quietly obeys, pressing his code into the lock display.

you push him inside quickly before locking the door behind you to avoid anyone noticing. after making sure it’s just the both of you, you step forward, making him step back before his heels hit the side of his bed in the small compound. he’s forced to sit as you settle between his legs, his head tilted upwards to look at you, too scared to look away. “im so tired of you running your mouth,” you begin, lifting your hand to cup his cheek, smoothing your thumb over his clear skin. he’s starting to regret the things he said to you, nervous anticipating what’s going to happen now that he’s pissed you off. “do you think you’re better than me ?” you ask him softly, waiting for his answer patiently as you can clearly see him keeping in his answer, his eyes trailing somewhere else. moving your fingers over his lips, you play with them, gently pulling at the bottom one. you smile at him.

“so you do think you’re better ?” before he could give you any response, you thrust your index and middle finger pass his lips, pushing down on his tongue. “you’re pretty, kai,” you say, as you thrust your fingers further. “but sometimes you can be such a bitch” your fingers are now slotted snug against his tongue, he struggles to keep himself from gagging as his eyes are becoming glossy, small tears pooling at the corners. he shuts his eyes for a moment before shaking his head, he tries to make out something but they’re mumbled because of your fingers. you coo at him before retracting them and cupping his cheek. he’s short of breath yet wastes no time, “m’sorry” you shake your head, giving him a look before firmly tapping his cheeks with your saliva covered fingers. traces of spit sticks onto his face as you push him down by his head, his hand grabbing at your wrist.

you quickly push your pants down with your free hand before quickly getting on top of him on the bed. he’s starting to smirk from seeing you sitting pant-less on him, thinking that you still gave in after all. he raises his hands to place them on your waist, before even starting to rub at your exposed thighs. you smile at him as you take his hands, guiding and placing them on your covered tits, earning a soft small moan from him. he’s happily kneading at the soft flesh as you reach over beside the bed, where there are drawers. you pull out one of them to fish out something before placing it over his hands, zip tying them together swiftly.

he was too caught up in the feeling, eyes closed and all to notice what you’re doing. he looks as if he’s panicking, trying to break the zip tie off but the friction’s hurting his wrists. “fuck- i said i was sorry ?” he lets out, his bent knees moving around and hitting the wall. you let out a sigh looking at him, as he returns a wide eyed look at you, hoping for you to take the zip tie off. “please baby ?” he tries again, before you move over him, your knees settling on each side of his head, your pussy hovering right above his face. “don’t baby me”.

you couldn’t be bothered to look at him as you run your hands through his tight curls, tugging slightly at the roots before settling all of your weight on his face, his mouth open to take your pussy. just as he flattens his tongue to lap up your juices he lets out a hummed moan, the vibration sending chills down your spine. you tighten your grab on his roots, making him hum, his tied hands behind you flailing around, tortured that he doesn’t get to feel you. one thing kai is if he’s not anything else is he’s a pussy eater, and he can so it for hours. he gets off from eating pussy, and does it like nobody’s business. but you’ve never sat on his face, though he’s begged you to before. you weren’t comfortable with the thought but you know this will shut him up.

he continues his laps against your pussy as his tongue licks at the sensitive nub, before gently sucking on it, making you whine loudly. you quickly snap out of the feeling to control your loudness, with the compound walls being thin as ever and people outside that might hear. kai doesn’t have to worry about his sounds as they’re all muffled by your pussy, so he’s moaning and whining against your folds each time his tastebud indulges your taste. his cock’s hard in his pants, begging to be let out and touched. so kai settles for the next best thing he could get right now, his tied hands cupping over his hard on and rubbing across the bulging length.

the friction of the fabric of his pants against his cock makes him feel good, he’s moaning as his hand rubs over his sensitive tip yet nothing compares to sinking inside your warm pussy. if you give him a chance right now he’s willing to kneel before you and beg for you to let him fuck, he’ll promise to do all the work while you just lay down and be a pillow princess. unfortunately his mouth is covered and pressed down against your pussy. not that he’s complaining, he gets to suck and lap the juices off your folds.

you’ve had enough of him having fun so you start grinding down, moving your hips back and forth, your pussy rubbing against his mouth and his nose. all you can see now is his eyes, glossy with long lashes staring back at you, his eyelid heavy from the pleasure. he’s moaning uncontrollably underneath you now that you’re grinding against his face, your clit nudging at his nose making you moan, your fingers tugging down at his roots. his hands are cupping his hard on, obvious bulge poking through his pants. his bent knees are flailing around from the pleasure, his hips bucking up into thin air, not quite enough to turn the restraint on his cock into pain. his waist hovers over the bed, as he speeds up his lapping against your folds. all while he’s tortured by the blood rushing to the tip of his cock, he’s overwhelmed by the sweet taste of your pussy and scent pushing down against his face. you let out a whine as you feel his lips sucking at your hole, slurping up the wetness leaking out with his tongue before fucking your hole with it.

he’s now fucking you with his tongue, sending you waves after waves of pleasure that’ll eventually come down sooner or later. “mnmgh, fu- so good kai” your praise fills him with more excitement to please you, as his slurping on your sex makes loud noises in the compound. “fuck, kai- you-you’re gonna be good after this ?” your question comes out staggered and whiny, the pleasure invading your words. he nods against your pussy, his nose nudging against your sensitive nub. “mmnhgh- oh my god, f- you’re gonna stop calling girls with that word ?” he nods rapidly, the repeated nudges of his nose making you twitch. the knot in your lower belly tightening as you pin his head down by his hair, before grinding harder against his face. you could feel his plump lips sucking on your clit. arching your back from the pleasure before looking down, you see his brown eyes already set on you, looking away just to watch your body move and writhe on top of him.

“oh my god- kai, fuck- gonna cum” you’re now borderline bouncing on his face, your hips twitching as you chase your high. he knows that you’re about to cum as he speeds up his tongue fucking into your hole. “gonna give you my cum” you hear him let out a muffled sound, as you’re busy chasing your orgasm. his hands are rubbing and squeezing down on his covered length, trying to calm the blood rushing that’s making him rock hard. you let out your final whine before moaning hard, your hips halting its movements against his face as your orgasm washes down, and you’re cumming on his mouth.

you begin to raise your hips to hover over his mouth as you immediately hear him moan, his tied hands tugging at the back of your shirt. “fuck!” curses flow out of his lips as soon as he gets to speak. his hips are bucking hard because of his twitching thighs. your breasts are heaving, trying to catch your breath and settle down. you turn your upper body to look behind you to notice the small beads of white seeping through his pants, and the bulge poking through it twitching around. your eyes go wide at the view of him cumming untouched in his pants before turning back to look at him who’s smiling at you, his eyelids droopy from being pussy drunk.

his smile is crooked and he’s seconds away from passing out. you cup your hands over your mouth for a moment before leaning down to gently kiss him, your fingers running slowly through his curls to massage his scalp. you reach again into the drawers to find a scissor, before turning behind to release his hands. he immediately reach up to wrap his arms around your waist, before you pull them away to slowly rub at his wrists. “mmhm” your gentle touch offers him some relief, making him hum in contentment. the traces of the zip tie leaving red marks as your fingers smooth over the skin.

you tsk at the obvious imprint of the restraint on his wrists, which are probably hurting like hell yet he’s too awestruck to complain. you’re still on top of him, sitting on his steady chest as he just lets you inspect his hands, too worn out to even do anything. “i love you” he mumbles out. you take his hands and place them together against your chest before leaning down again to kiss his lips. he gently returns the kiss before letting you kiss all up his cheeks, nose, eyes and forehead. “promise to be good, kai” his glossy eyes search into yours as his hands roam across your waist.

“maybe”

taglist: @radioloom @r4vn @themoonchildwhofell @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @love-me-pls @szapizzapanda @luckystrikerealness @fuckshitslover @khxna @juniperhasfallen

[dameronology]

couples therapy (frank castle)

summary: you go to couple's therapy with frank castle. it's just as terrible as you can imagine.

warnings: so much language. at least 10 f-bombs.

enjoy xx

Couples therapy felt like a stupid fucking idea, to be honest.

There was only three feet between you and Frank; you wanted to be closer but at the same time, you wanted to drop kick his loud-talking, argumentative, defensive ass to the other side of the city. No, scratch that. The country, or maybe even world. Somewhere far enough so that you didn't have to look at his stupid face but somewhere close enough that you could still reach out for him in the night. Somewhere far enough so that you couldn't hear that gravelly voice that made your skin crawl, but somewhere close enough so that he could still whisper horny sweet nothings in your ear.

And it was thoughts like that that made you realise why you were here.

There had been a few weeks of tension; that had grown into two months of shit bubbling under the surface. You were mad at him. He was mad at you. You couldn't bring it up because he'd accuse you of overreacting and he couldn't bring it up because even before all the PTSD-causing-crap he'd lived through, Frank was shit at coming to terms with how he felt about things. Vocalising his emotions wasn't his strongpoint. Revenge and killing was. So, safe to say that this was his personal form of hell. Anyways. That shit had hit the fan eventually and now it was splattered all over the room and it was covering you both and no matter how many metaphorical showers you took, nothing would fix this except the clean slate that emotional catharsis would bring you.

Maybe you'd break up. Maybe you'd stay together. Maybe it was all up to the gaunt, old man in the chair opposite you who reminded you a little too much of John Kramer and was draining $50 an hour from your bank right now. Did they do Groupons for couples therapy?

"So," he began. His name was Doctor Richards. He was a little too quiet for your liking. "Tell me...why are you here?"

Frank let out a gruff laugh. "Isn't that what you're here to tell us, Doc?"

"No, actually," he shook his head. "You explain your problems to me and I'll give you reasonable solutions to try and fix those problems."

There was a moment of silence, and Doctor Richards glanced at you.

"Is he always this defensive?"

It was your turn to laugh now.

"Uhhh, not always," you replied. "Not with me, at least. More so with other people."

"So he's more open with you?" the doctor raised his eyebrows, but then glanced between you. "Emotional vulnerability is a good sign. A sign of life - of course, unless, this has changed over the course of your relationship."

"It hasn't," Frank firmly said. "I laid myself bare the day we met. That hasn't changed."

"He's right," you nodded. "I just...I think you have a hard time articulating your feelings, Frank. Sometimes when you do open up to me, it turns into an argument."

"That's bullshit," Frank muttered.

You cleared your throat and turned to look back at your relationship saviour. "We're here because we argue too fucking much, doc. If I say nothing, he gets mad. If I respond, I'm overreacting-"

"- because you do overreact!" he interrupted you.

"Maybe because you never let me fucking talking talk!" you snapped.

"Guys!" Richards cut you both off. "This is a safe space and I'm going to give you both a chance to talk. That's how you get to the bottom of things."

You glanced at Frank. "Can I go first?"

"Yes."

Shuffling uncomfortably in your seat, you glanced down at your hands and cleared your throat. There was so much on your mind but a complete disconnect between your brain and your mouth; translating your thoughts into feelings was hard at the best of times, but even harder under pressure. You didn't want to say something to upset Frank, even less to hurt him.

"I..." you trailed off. "I've always been someone who likes to talk about things, you know? I like to communicate, especially with the people I love, so I'm always open when something upsets me or doesn't feel right. Conversation is important to me but I think you're different, Frank. You like to think and not feel and when you refuse to talk to me about shit, it hurts. It's like you can open up to me about all your feelings except the ones about me and in my mind,. those are the most important ones."

Frank didn't respond; he just looked at you.

"For someone that chats so much shit, you sure seem to keep quiet on a lot of things," you continued, voice dropping to a murmur now. "I'm not overreacting when I respond the way I do. It's just fucking frustrating."

He looked away, brown eyes staring blankly at the wall behind Richards for a moment. That was the first time in the better part of three years that you's actually seen Frank quiet.

(Save for when he was sleeping, and the time he almost died in the middle of your living room).

"I like to keep certain things quiet," Frank finally spoke. His eyes flickered from the wall, down to your new therapist. "I work a night job, doc. It gets stressful. I deal with some heavy shit."

"It's an overused saying, but a problem halved is a problem shared," Richards replied. "You have a partner who is willing to listen. One who I assume knows their threshold, and would tell you if sharing it was too much."

"He's right," you said. "When you shut me out and bottle it up, it builds up, and then you get shitty with me and it manifests itself in every part of your life. Of our lives. Because we're intertwined as shit, Frank, and you can't pick and choose what parts you share with me."

Frank sniffed. "Well, hell. Look at us breaking ground."

"A lot of people come into couple therapy assuming it means their relationship is over," Richards said. "That's almost never the case. It shows you're both willing to work on it."

Your eyes fell to the floor for a moment. Frank had been strangely willing to come here; it wasn't something you'd thought about too much before now, but his willingness felt like hope to you. This time a few years ago, he would have walked away at the first sign of trouble. Now he wanted to take your hand and walk towards it.

"I can't tell you about all your problems based entirely on this conversation, but I can...I can share some introspection from a third party perspective," Richards said. "Frank, you have a partner whose willing to listen, but...maybe they go about saying it in the wrong way. Maybe it feels forced, or like they're not letting you do it on their own terms."

"I guess," Frank murmured. "What if I don't want to share? What if...what if I just want to protect them from all this dark shit?"

"You can choose what you share," he replied. "But if you choose not to share, you have to communicate that."

--

The apartment was tense when you and Frank got back. It had been a tense two hours; talks of communication and honesty, of sharing your lives and being partners. It had been okay for the first hour, but as soon as you hit the second you felt like you'd kind of gotten the point. You and Frank weren't the worst couple in the world, and couple therapy was fucking boring. That had been your main take away.

You threw your keys on the side, dumping your jacket as you entered the flat. Everything was as you left it; washing up from breakfast in the sink, pile of boots by the door, a letter pinned on your notice board about an increase in rent. All things that were headaches in themselves, but simply just contributing factors to a bigger, ongoing migraine. Frank was behind you, dragging his feet and huffing.

"Something you want to share, Frankie?" you asked, glancing over your shoulder.

"That felt like bullshit."

You snorted. "I felt like I was being listened to for the first time in months. Maybe that speaks volumes."

"Oh, come on," he rolled his eyes. "How are we leavin' couples therapy and you're already having a go at me?"

"Sorry," you murmured. "Honestly, Frank, I'm just fucking frustrated. I've said all I need to say but...whether or not you wanna listen and actually work on it is what counts."

"Are you dumb?" Frank asked, but quickly regretted his choice of words. "Shit. Baby, I'm sorry - I didn't mean it like that-"

"- how the fuck did you mean it then, Franklin?"

He paused, holding his hands out for a moment. "I just sat in a cramped room with some Jigsaw lookin' motherfucker for the better part of two hours, listening to you complain - rightfully so, don't get me wrong - and tryna take notes on how I can be a better partner to you. Maybe it's not obvious, and maybe it won't be for hot a fuckin' minute, not until I've got my ducks in a line, or just shot em all, but just...I will try, okay? I need you to be patient with me but..."

Frank took your hand, placing your palm on his chest. He covered it with his own large one, tangling your fingers together and pausing for a moment.

"I need patience...please?"

You nodded, letting him squeeze your hand. "Yeah. Shit, Frankie, I'm sorry. I love you."

He smiled. "I love you too."

"We'll be okay, won't we?"

"Of course we will."

[yandereunsolved]

- ,, Yandere Austin Sommers - ,,

"I've got the hungies~"

"Stop calling it that."

"Whacha gonna do about it? You're my pretty little prisoner."

"I'm surprised you haven't just chosen to dig your fangs into my neck yet."

"Hey! I care about consent."

"You have killed multiple people I have held dearly in my heart. Did they consent to that?"

"They consented to it when they first put their grubby hands all over your body."

"Oh, great. You're even more insane than I first thought."

"I'm a writer, darling. We visionaries are all a little insane. Like the artist Richard Dadd. He was famed for his supernatural art, but he suffered from nasty psychotic episodes. He once thought that he had been taken mentally hostage by the god Osiris. I could only dream of such things."

"I hate you."

"With a burning passion...? That gives me an idea for a new manuscript!"

"You go do that."

"Aww, you aren't the least bit interested in it?"

"Not even a little."

"Too bad. I am telling you anyway. Two star-crossed lovers meet, one a dashing artist with undeniable swagger and the other his unwilling muse. The artist suffers from psychotic breaks, which can only be fixed by his lover's touch. It does get pretty intimate. Perhaps we should recreate some of the scenes already vividly appearing in my prefrontal cortex."

"In your dreams."

"You're always in my dreams~!"

"..."

"Why are you giving me that look?"

"I'm still hungie."

( @slutforgarlogan )

[ethicaltreatmentofcowplants]

Watch Party: New Start

To be read co-currently with this. Warnings for WooHoo references. And terrible screenies.

KIM: So what do we think, ladies? Will the Ice Queen cometh? SARA: Kim, c'mon. I think that she's actually rather lonely. KIM: Really? Up in that big old house of hers? SARA: Exactly. CECILIA: Does your bartender's intuition tell you that, orrrr the fact that her husband is an out-and-out wanker? [All three laugh.]

KIM: So. What do we think of her chances? CECILIA: If it weren't for the fast-paced nature of these things, I'd say fairly decent. But Araminta is quite reserved. KIM: Exactly. And everyone else is being so quick off the mark. If you ask me - whiiich you won't, but I'll say it anyway - she needs to act faster and sooner than she's ready for. CECILIA: Really? Before she is sure of the contents of his character, and of her own feelings? Why, how very Charlotte Lucas of you. KIM: I'm just stating the facts!

SARA: Anyway. More importantly, Team Leo or Team Dodo? KIM: Well, both are better than that hobbit, Celia. CECILIA: Agreed. For me, Team Dodo all the way. Leo would never let anyone come between him and his mirror. KIM: Really? I think that I could come between him and his mirror. CECILIA: Seriously, Kim? KIM: Oh, c'mon. Where's the risk-reward factor otherwise? People don't go to Leo because they want the white picket fence. I could fix him. CECILIA: Says woman who is worse. [Cecilia and Kim meet eyes, laugh]

ROSAMUND: Evening, ladies. Thank you for inviting me. I took the liberty of bringing a Tartosan vintage from our cellar. CECILIA: And we will most certainly liberate you of that Tartosan vintage. SARA: It's no trouble at all, Rosamund. We... we weren't sure if Richard would be at home, and if you might like the company. KIM: Speaking of which - won't Richard miss this, ahem, 'grape juice'? ROSAMUND: Oh well. What doesn't Richard miss this days? KIM: [quietly to Cecilia] I think she's already been pre-gamming.

KIM: Really? A solo date? And our girl is the one going? Henford-on-Bagley represent! CECILIA: A solo date if Leonardo doesn't show... KIM: Yeah, at this rate he's going to crash the wedding in a white gown of his own. And have a deeper cleavage than the bride. SARA: Well, it makes sense. You'd want to build the friendship first, wouldn't you? That's a good foundation for any relationship, don't you think? ROSAMUND: Ah. Ehm. Yes.

ROSAMUND: Oh. Oh my. KIM: Well he's not as smooth as his brother. That's for sure. SARA: I'd say that lack of artifice is refreshing. CECILIA: And I'd say that he's been eyeing her like some prize winning pumpkin ever since they arrived. SARA: Celia. Just how much have you drunk? ROSAMUND: Not enough, I'd say. At least for my part.

SARA: Oh my - look. He popped the question. And she's accepting! ROSAMUND: Oh dear. Oh my Watcher. This is something that no mother should ever have to see... KIM: More grape juice, Rosamund? Or something stronger? ROSAMUND: Definitely something stronger. In fact, I think that I shall get it myself. Cecilia, if you don't mind? CECILIA: It's okay - they're doing the good old 'Fade to Black.' ROSAMUND: I still have seen too much...

ROSAMUND: Well, thank you ladies for having me. And to you of course, Cecilia, for hosting. SARA: Our pleasure, Rosamund. Same time tomorrow night then? CECILIA: Nice of you to offer up my house like that. KIM: You're the only free woman among us all. Of course it has to be you. Can you imagine how our husbands would react if we're cheering this on like some football match? ROSAMUND: Oh, I think that I can do you one better. Richard should be out for the night. CECILIA: Then don't mind if we do.

[just pretend that Rosamund isn't right there in the background lol]

KIM: Well. That went better than I thought. On every count. CECILIA: Yes. She - Rosamund, although both are applicable, I suppose - was clearly trying. It was rather sweet. SARA: And she has excellent taste in grape juice. CECILIA: Just between us femme Sims. Why do you think she's still with her husband? KIM: Well it can't be for the WooHoo, that's for sure. I'd be smiling a lot more if it were the WooHoo. Normally she could outcurdle Agnes. SARA: Kim. KIM: Okay okay, I admit. She was actually alright company. And who knows? If we keep her around, we may get some real dirt...

[soulmate-game]

Work burned me out, middle management positions are draining. What was supposed to be an angsty oneshot is now… yeah I’m continuing it. Not a full series, just a two-parter… hopefully.

Edit: I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK THIS CLUSTERFUCK OF AN EMOTIONAL ROLLER COASTER IS, but BUCKLE IN BECAUSE IT PROBABLY DOESN’T PASS SAFETY REGULATIONS! HOOOOO BOY

Part 1

—*—*—*—*—*

“…” she stared at the being in front of her, face frighteningly blank. Next to her, Bruce fidgeted.

“I’m not going anywhere, so you either gotta learn to love me real quick or get lost quicker,” the child snarked from where he was sitting upside-down on the bat computer chair. “And don’t call me Richard, my name’s Dick.”

“I don’t remember you working with a fetus, Batman,” Marinette slowly drawled, emphasizing the vigilante’s name despite none of the three of them being suited up. Dick shot up with a cry of indignation.

“I am not a fetus! I’m fifteen! I’ve been Robin since I was twelve!”

“Nope,” Marinette countered, unmoved. “I started out as Ladybug when I was twelve, and I was never as small as you,” she blatantly lied. Dick was already taller than her, which wasn’t much of an achievement considering that she was five-foot-one-inch tall. “You are six years old, tops.”

Dick let out an almost inhuman screech of complaint. Even as he rambled on angrily about how wrong she was, Marinette only nodded as if he proved her right about something.

“That was a good squawk though. Definitely a birdie.”

It took another twenty minutes before Dick ran off to tell on Marinette to Alfred, giving her and Bruce some alone time. With which she used to whirl to him and immediately hiss in equal parts fury and worry;

“Please tell me he wasn’t—“

“The timeline is gone,” Bruce reminded her, bracing her by putting both his hands on her shoulders. “He doesn’t remember.”

“Still!”

He let out such a heavy sigh that he seemed to deflate with it, his dark circles growing more pronounced.

“He wasn’t supposed to be,” he admitted softly. “When he turned sixteen, last time, I allowed him to form his own team of teen heroes. Supervised from afar by myself of course, not that they knew that. I had given them the order to stay back and guard their city, but they disobeyed me and snuck onto the battlefield anyway.”

Marinette rubbed at her temples, nodding. “Teenagers have a habit of doing that. This time around, can we ask Bunnyx to supervise them? She has all the energy of a teenager, so she’ll fit in, but the maturity of someone trusted to guard all the timelines.”

Bruce paused, thinking of what little he knew of the pastel rabbit themed hero, and then reluctantly nodded. “That… might be for the best. And giving them more opportunities to train with…” he hummed, hand on his chin. “I might actually change things up, in that case. Instead of jumping to put teens on their own in a tower, the old Justice League headquarters is more protected. And if we started with the ‘sidekicks’,” he gave very purposeful air quotes, “of other Leaguers, it would create a better support system than letting teenagers run around with… really, not enough regulation.”

“Gotta love hindsight,” Marinette agreed with a nod. “The whole teenagers by themselves thing only worked for my team because we were overly traumatized and each saw different apocalypses before we turned sixteen. Bunnyx could fix them herself back then, but still.”

“Best to do better by the new generation,” Bruce agreed with her unspoken statement. “I can still put that old team together again when they’re older, support their development elsewhere in the meantime.”

“Oh, and now that we’re done on that topic,” Marinette snapped her fingers before pointing to the staircase that Dick had disappeared up. “He’s going to make my life a living hell, isn’t he?”

Bruce groaned, offering her a lopsided grimace of apology. “He’s a menace,” he agreed. “He’s scared away any woman I’ve brought to the house, even though most of them are completely platonic. I have to make the press believe the whole playboy thing somehow, and inviting my friends over to chat is the easiest way to do so without breaking hearts for real. Dick hasn’t caught on yet,” Bruce rubbed his forehead. “His antics to scare away Selina Kyle are legendary already, and she’s sapphic. She couldn’t be attracted to me if I was the last man on earth.”

“Could have fooled me,” Marinette teased, suddenly impish. “She’s catwoman, isn’t she?”

Bruce narrowed his eyes, saying only: “Chat Noir. Year one.”

It was Marinette’s turn to grimace. “Point taken. But in my defense, he took way too long to realize he’s gay and watched too much anime at the time.”

Bruce let out one of his unfairly charming chuckles, changing position so that his arm was around her shoulders and pulling her to his side. She fit there surprisingly well, for someone almost half his size. She leaned into him, and the both just soaked in the comfort of one another for a long moment.

“You know,” Bruce started for a while. “If you want to stay in Gotham, we can make you another alter ego so that you don’t accidentally lure Shadow Moth here. Tell that fox of yours to make it seem like you’re in Paris and take some of the weight off of your shoulders for a change. Blackmail Constantine into charming some jars to keep the butterflies in until you can purify them.”

“Hmmm.” She closed her eyes. “Ladybird sounds nice. Fits with the bird thing that Robin has going for him.”

Bruce laughed. “That’ll really annoy him,” he warned, amused. Marinette’s close-eyed smile was pure mischief.

“That’s the whole point. I’m not letting a fetus win against me, bat-boy.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette wasn’t speaking to Bunnyx. Bruce didn’t know what they had said to one another, but he could guess it had to do with Jason.

With his baby, who he just buried. The boy Marinette had thought of a son ever since he first brought him home. She had even smoothed things over between Dick and Jason, which he had considered nothing short of a miracle at the time.

But that miracle was nowhere to be seen now, with Marinette every bit as despondent next to him as he was. He wanted to be angry with her, he did, but he couldn’t. He had seen her blow up at Bunnyx, seen her try to hold her status as Grand Guardian over the bunny holder.

Bunnyx had simply said that she wouldn’t answer to Ladybug until after the grief passed then, and ran away into her burrow.

“Is this the payment?” He heard her whisper, her voice hoarse and broken. “For the do-over? We passed the old timeline. We took down Shadow Moth. Is this the price?” Tears dripped down her face silently, she didn’t seem to notice them. “Was I not a good enough mother? Should I—“ she stopped herself, shaking her head. He didn’t ask what she was about to say. Maybe he should have.

—*—*—*—*—*

Tim was great. He was too much like Marinette at times, which made Bruce’s chest ache, but he was a great Robin. A great son. His experience with Marinette proved priceless when it came to helping curb Tim’s overworking habits and caffeine addiction.

But not even Tim could find where Marinette had disappeared to, even with his detective skills surpassing Bruce’s already.

Tim was the first son of his that didn’t get to grow up with Marinette at all.

—*—*—*—*—*

“It’s fine, Baobei,” she whispered, stepping to the side. Behind her was the waterfall that hid the tunnel to the Batcave. “He’s not the one to blame. He did his best, even now he’s doing his best.”

“Then why does—“

“Because other people need him, and he has too big of a heart to turn them away,” her mouth tilted a little, smile lopsided and sad. “Timothy didn’t replace you. He just forced Bruce to live again. Bruce didn’t kill Joker, because he didn’t want to taint another child with the sight of murder.”

“And you?” The voice was dark, deadly, gruff. Older, and yet… so achingly familiar. She smiled at him again, soft and sad and… proud.

“I don’t have one,” she lied. She had tried, tried so hard. Bruce had gotten in her way first, and then the very same desire to not taint more children with the image of death.

But her baby needed a scapegoat, and she was willing to throw herself on the fire for him.

“That’s why it’s fine,” she repeated. “If this is what you want. Just, please. Let it end with me.”

This time, Marinette made sure she had the Time miraculous safely in her pocket. Nobody would interfere with this.

The bullet sent her into the flow of the waterfall, red flowing behind her like the carpet she used to walk down with Bruce whenever she released a new collection. She felt no regret as she closed her eyes and fell.

—*—*—*—*—*

The shot hadn’t been fatal. Red Hood might have been mad with Pit Rage, but his fondness for his only true mother figure was ever present. He simply wanted to see if she was serious about taking that shot.

His regret was immediate when she didn’t even try to dodge. The bullet had only grazed her shoulder, but she didn’t seem to notice that. She had been so ready to die— to let him kill her— that she had passed out before hitting the water. He dragged her to the Batcave, knowing he had a lot to answer for.

Bruce wished he could have found her sooner, found both of them sooner. But at least they were back.

—*—*—*—*—*

“… I mean,” she rocked on her heels. “You are growing a bit old for Robin…”

Tim glared at her, not appreciating the insight.

“Bruce is stuck in the timestream, and you aren’t doing a thing about it. I don’t hold your opinion very highly right now,” he snipped back. She snorted, glancing away.

As if that little stunt to “kill Batman” could ever fool her. She’d been there for the real thing, thanks, she could spot a fake a mile away. “He’s got Bunnyx going to find him. She owes me big time, let her do the heavy lifting for a change.”

“How many years have you held that grudge?” Barbara asked, eyebrows raised as she wheeled herself towards the bat computer. “Even Jason thinks you should have let it go by now.”

Marinette scoffed at the exact same time as a certain someone tutted next to her, making them look for a moment like a perfect pair.

Crossed arms, a scoff, annoyed glare? If a DNA test hadn’t already proven otherwise, they might have thought Damian was hers.

“Fetuses don’t get to judge me,” was her only argument before she turned on her heel and walked away.

“I am not a fetus! Lady Marinette, I am ten years old!”

—*—*—*—*—*

Bonus:

Jason was curled up around Marinette, despite being told numerous times not to crowd her on the med-bay bed. He argued that he shot her, so he gets to nurse her back to health.

Did she use her blood, tainted by years of use of the Ladybug, to purify his pit madness? Yes. Had he figured that out yet? Nope.

“Love you, Mom,” he murmured in his sleep. Marinette, who had been awake for about an hour already, smiled to herself.

“Love you, Baobei.”

[itsgrimeytime]

Magnolia in May (Part One) || Rick Grimes (TWD) x Greene!f!reader Regency AU

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Song Inspiration (in honor of Speak Now Taylor's Version): Enchanted by Taylor Swift

Summary: Your town was small, not the smallest you knew, but anyone of high fortune was the gossip of the week. Predictably, Richard Grimes was a thing of whispers -rumors of a search for marriage among the grassy hills. You weren't one to buy into town gossip, but something about him... just seemed a little too intriguing.

TWS: mentioned infidelity, abandoning children, and rumors.

[[ A/N: Is a Southern accent accurate for this time period? No, no it is not. Do I care? No, no I do not. Pride and Prejudice vibes. You are the sister of Maggie and Beth, and the daughter of Hershel. For plot purposes, I've decided you're the oldest. I was twirling my hair and giggling at this soooooo... And yes it is a quote from The Princess and the Frog. Anyway, thanks for reading!! ]]

"Oh, please," Maggie laughed, "-a rich man? Here? Never."

You added in a shushed voice, as it was late in the night, "Last man I saw around here was Mr. Knightley, and I'd surely say he's much too old for my taste."

The giggles filled the candle-gleamed room, it was coated in a special shade of orange -almost like a sunset. You thought it'd be a nice painting were you to ever find the motivation to paint.

The rumor that had been spilled in the quiet of the night was a man with a vast fortune on the hunt for a wife -nothing was known about him. Just that he was rich and wife hunting was enough for some people. Most people.

"I heard he's quite handsome," Beth whispered -across the room in her single bed, while you and Maggie shared the double.

You quipped, "I supposed someone imaginary might be so."

The pillow that went flying across the room only allowed more giggles to surmise in the dim room -an aura of pure joy.

Beth, who was now smiling but still wished to be taken seriously, "I'm serious! Cassandra a few towns over said she saw him in his carriage."

"I'm not so sure you should be looking in carriages, Beth," Maggie retorted -laughter on the tip of her tongue.

"You two are despicable," hissed across the space, as yet another pillow flew toward the bed.

It was such a far-off idea, really. A visitor? Here? Really? Alexandria was a far too quiet town for anyone to even travel to. Everyone knew everyone and so a visitor would only be talked about rather than be approached; eyes across the road, everyone would be waiting for a mistake. For something to spread.

"If there is such a man," you spoke, leaning back against the bed after the giggles were silent and the candles extinguished, "-I'd say he's rather brave for it."

You woke up that morning to the birds chirping -bright and sing-songy. It was like an alarm to you, pleasant noises against the cold of the morning and you thought just for a second... Maybe you could sleep in just a few more moments.

"Girls! We must be up and ready," her voice echoed up the stairs -pointed and sort of squeaky, "-I have some grand news!"

Naturally, your Headmistress had halted those plans -always eager to instill proper behavior. It was her job, after all. Your father had hired her, shortly after your mother had passed -a sickness not even your father could fix. It was a difficult decision, but with three young daughters and no mother, you never really blamed him. In order to excel, you needed to be married, and to be married, you needed to be proper.

"If I could, I'd hold the house on my own. But, I'm getting older and I'm not what I used to be."

Your father was much looser on restrictions, and you and your sisters would've never gotten this far with your Headmistress Elisa, tragically. She was quite the bore.

Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you pulled yourself up -beautiful birds washed out by Ms. Elisa's fussing. Quickly brushing your hair back into something more presentable, you shook and woke both of your sisters, whispering that you'd stall until she came looking.

"Headmistress, Father-" you spoke, adjusting your dress (the one you'd hardly worn because it was terribly out of fashion) and stepping out into the open, "-good morning."

Your father was at the table, head flickering between a file laid at his fingertips -a patient, you assumed. He often took cases home that irked him or needed more thought than what he could do at the clinic. Drastically careful with the personal details, you really only learned of medical issues instead of the faces behind them. Your father was adamant in never went farther.

"Good morning, darling," Elisa smiled, a little frustration in the pull of her lips -probably at the noticeable lack at your sides, "-good to know someone listens to me."

And then she paused, eyes racking along the dress you'd chosen in a split second -as you knew she would.

"Oh, no no no-" she echoed, tsking as she pinched the fabric in her hands -eyes analyzing the fabric, "-this won't do, Dr. Greene, we need much better dresses for the girls-"

"Headmistress, I'm sure I could find something more fitting, I foolishly assumed this was just breakfast-"

"Better dresses?" he questioned, file laid closed by his hands, "Whatever for?"

That was when your sisters had joined, hair not perfect but much better than you thought it would be on the time limit. Their dresses were much the same, evidence of a lack of current fashion trends -you flinched at the Headmistress's gaze settling on it.

"Well, now that everyone is present," she spoke, tone clipped and posture impossibly straight, "-Alexandria is expecting rather prolific company."

Father straightened then, attentive to the prospect, "And who may this be? Would I know them?"

"You must-" her voice was almost dreamy at the prospect of such a lavish living, "-the man's rather well-known in Atlanta, rather, the family is. Rhee, darling."

Your father paused seeming to take in the information -like he was trying to remember if he'd known the name, or maybe specifically the person.

"But-" your Headmistress grinned, the most excited you'd ever seen her, "-there’s even more! The younger man of the Rhee name, he's close friends with the man who owns the large estate only a few miles off of here."

"It's safe to assume they'll both be around, then?" Beth asked with the shyness that reflected her age -she was rather doe-eyed.

It had always caused you to worry, your youngest sister out in the world. She was capable, really, just a smidgen naive, and such a beautiful girl can't afford to be naive.

Before the headmistress could answer, Father seemed to add some things together -the furrow on his brow prominent, "Wait, the man who owns the estate? You mean the one off the road around the Henleys?"

"The one with the lavish fountains, yes," Elisa answered, a bit disinterested in this turn of conversation.

"I know Mr. Grimes," he stated -a sort of empathy deeply seeded into his tone, "-and knowing him makes me certain he is not looking for a mistress. Not after the first one."

You pursed your brow, a bit confused by the wording, "Is the man a widow?"

Your father faltered, a bit of uncertainty flattening upon his lips, "Well, not quite, dear. He lost his wife, yes, but not the way you think."

"If you count 'running off with a soldier' losing her, you mean."

Father's face stiffened, "Miss Elisa, it's rather disrespectful to speak of a man's life that way."

"Just the truth, Hershel," she leaned in to you three -whispering the rest, "-I heard it was the man's own best friend."

"If you must know, I'd much rather tell you correctly. Mr. Grimes is a man I rightly respect," your father sighed, a bit of defeat on his tongue but you honestly couldn't say you weren't interested, "-She did run off with a soldier, General Walsh -I believe. And it was Mr. Grimes most trusted companion, a friend from youth from what I understand. Left him and the children about 2 years ago."

Maggie, who'd been silent until now, asked, "Children?"

"Yes," your father added, a little forlorn, "-he's to raise them himself. I find I empathize him."

"More reason for him to be on the look," your Headmistress tsked, "-who wouldn't want a maternal figure for their children? It'd be truly shameful."

You bit your tongue at the implication, heavy stares at your father, "I'm sure he has their best interests at heart, Headmistress. It's not right to assume a man's honor just on rumor alone."

"Not right, indeed," Father agreed, turning back to his file so slightly, "-if he is looking for a mistress, as you say he is, he'd be a wonderful suitor for you girls. So, I'm not very opposed."

And then the Headmistress was off again, fiddling with each sister's hair and pulling out old fabric for ribbons (she asked for new ones, and was met with the conundrum of dress or ribbons). She'd especially fussed over you, being the oldest of the group -she wished to have you married first. "The longer you wait, the harder it'll be, trust me, deary."

Needless to say, you were quite joyous that Headmistress had still sent you on your weekly visit to the shops.

It had intially started much like how this morning had -a wish for anyone to ask for your hand or even begin courting you. After that ended (only because any man in a ten mile radius was either not rich, happily married, or much too old), she'd requested you simply because you were the most trained.

Maggie was in a bit of a rebel streak, Headmistress surely feared any time she left the house without supervisor, and Beth? Well, she was rather well-composed but still naive. The first -and last- time she had gone, she'd spent much more than you'd probably spend in a month. Local men had swindled her and she hadn't even noticed.

You were a middle ground, already having your rebellious streak and fully knowing how to stand your ground.

That morning the market was busier than you expected, as you navigated through the stalls each one only smelling better. Your first stop was always fruit, as the better stock would always be taken early you urged to get the best... reasonably.

The man who ran the stall was kind, had a wonderful smile and always remembered your name, you found you always remembered his : Mr. Elliotts.

He was old, and seemed to only really have the fruits to his name -he was rather fond of talking and had told you a lot. You knew much about the man, and dreaded the day he'd close up shop -you'd miss him if he did.

"Hello, miss," his voice was big and grand, tone ever-so-happy to see you, "-I've got quite the selection for you today. All your favorites."

"After my heart, Mr. Elliotts?"

He laughed, a jolly sort of laugh you would've expected Saint Nick to have when you were young, "Funny, don't let your father hear that one, eh? I've got all types of berries for you, specially grown."

"Oh, thank you," you said, grateful.

Mr. Elliotts was not a clean man, you knew that much, his facial hair was overgrown, and his face was always dusted in a healthy spatter of dirt. It had always just seemed more natural to you, than the other cleaner stalls decorating the square. You knew very well you were often the only customer of his, just because he looked like he'd gotten the fruits himself.

"No problem," he grinned -big and toothy.

Once the conversation had settled, you'd ordered your berries with a sense of ease -merely pointing gently at the types just in case he couldn't hear you. You were comfortable with him and were rather fond of his presence. So even after packing away the fruit you'd bought into your basket, you still stayed near.

After the first few stories though, there was something odd.

On your arm, the basket rested -poised prettily, properly. It felt like a familiar weight at this point -used to the trips that you'd become rather excited about. But what wasn't was the slight tug on your dress -you'd barely noticed it, merely feeling like a gust of wind.

On instinct, though, your head turned to check it -eager to keep your dresses in good condition so your Headmistress wouldn't lose her head. And when you had, you'd met an unfamiliar face.

It was a little girl, her hand cinched on your dress and pulling on the fabric -intent on getting your attention. She was blond, a mess of curls gracing her head only alluding to what she had been up to earlier that day -you couldn't help but smile at her.

"Well, hello, little one," you hummed, crouching down to her side and looking around for anyone that had been looking for her, "-where are your parents?"

The little girl didn't speak, as you thought she might know a few, only leveling with your basket -brown eyes heavily focused on the fruit within. You pursed your lips, watching her as her little tiny hand extended toward you -open and shutting her fingers in a grabbing gesture.

You smiled, still flickering in the crowd for anyone with that familiar worry, "You want one?"

Still crouching down, you fished into your basket -grabbing one that she could hold and gently placing it in her palm. Her grin was a little toothy, as she with ease ate the blueberry -dribbles of the vivid blue making a mess along her mouth.

And then, a voice with an unfamiliar accent spoke about the crowd, "Judith? Where are ya? Have you seen a little toddler 'bout yay big little pink dress, blonde curls-"

Without so much as an extra thought, you gently grabbed her clean hand -keeping her close to your side. Your eyes wandered to match the voice of the man, guiding Judith back to her home. The market was a little too busy to go just on noise-

And then, you saw him.

A tall man with pushed-back brunette curls that were elegantly brushed behind his ears, and a pinch of worry in his eyebrows. He was currently turned to an older lady -crouched slightly to speak to her appropriately. You could see the brush of stubble across his jaw, and a hint of bright blue eyes.

You spared a thought, he's quite pretty. Before pushing it away, and trying to gather his attention, "Sir? Hello, excuse me-"

The man spun to your attention, blue eyes settled intently on you -a bit in shock. You immediately realized he was quite finely dressed for such an occasion, a neatly pressed white shirt and brown vest -a sort of detailed satin. Sleeves elegantly rolled up from the heat, he still looked starchly overdressed -you brushed at your dress insecurely. He seemed to start to say something-

"Dada," the girl, Judith, squealed -escaping your hand to run to him.

The man stalled for a second, eyes still set on you -before seeming to shake his head back into shape. He crouched down to match her enthusiasm, arms open wide and grinning, "Jude, thank god."

Pulling the girl to his chest, he stood. Eyes uncertainly settling on you, but still with an expert air of gratefulness, "Thank you so much, you really don't know what you've done for me, Miss uh-"

"Greene," you answered, unused to such affection displayed by a father -you found it rather charming, "-Ms. Greene. And really there's no need, I'm glad to help. She's a sweetheart."

"No, no, really-" he spoke, still a little uncertain, "-Is there anything at all I could do for ya? You have no idea-" And then he paused, looking towards his daughter with a peculiar eye (the smudge of blue still prominent on her lips) and then your basket.

"Oh, right, sorry-" you apologized, straightening the basket on your arm with a sort of nervous fidget, "-I just bought them from a stall, Mr. Elliotts, she seemed to want one. I apologize if I overstepped-"

"Could I buy ya more?"

You stalled, "I... what?"

He paused, thinking over his own words, "Well, she ate one and I'd like to thank you-"

"Sir, she only ate one," you answered -smiling at the odd idea he'd explained, "-trust me, it won't be missed."

"I insist," he carefully spoke, Judith bouncing gently in his arms a passive sort of affection you found rather endearing.

You opened your mouth, rather unused to such forward generosity -especially for something so simple as what you had done, "Well, it wouldn't-"

And then, as if the world had heard the offer (and hated you), the church bell rang -a sort of melodic noise that brushed over the center. You usually enjoyed it, keen on the tone that settled over your skin, but this time, you didn't.

"Oh, is that the bell?!" you stopped yourself, frantically looking up at the swinging golden symbol, "-I'm so sorry, I'm going to be late for breakfast. Perhaps next time?"

"'Course," he responded -the low rasp of his voice sounded quite melodic itself, you noted, "-'til I see you again. Enjoy your breakfast."

"Right, yes-" you shook yourself out of your stupor, and you think you heard him laugh, "-you and Judith enjoy your day as well, okay?"

"We will," he said -a semblance of a grin brushing across his face, you turned a bit crimson at it. All perfectly white teeth and dashing charm, "-Goodbye, Ms. Greene."

That was the last you heard, as you hurried across the courtyard -not very eager to listen to your Headmistress screech about timeliness and its importance to a proper woman. You'd imagine she'd nearly die if she could see you running through the courtyard now, actually.

You thought, just for a spare second, it might be worth it.

[disillusioneddanny]

Eloped in Space Part Four

Dick Grayson had never felt so utterly betrayed in his entire life. Bruce? Married? And he didn’t even tell Dick? He wasn’t even invited to the wedding! How could his adoptive father do this to him? And that had to be a typo, maybe the twink was 20 but–what was better? His father marrying someone who was 200 hundred years old or someone who was 20 years old? He had kids older than 20! It would be so fucking weird for Bruce to marry someone so young. 

It was also, unfortunately, something he could one hundred percent see his father doing. Regardless, the vigilante had made the trip from Bludhaven to see the twink and see what the actual fuck was wrong with Bruce. 

“What do you think is going on?” Jason asked, falling into step with his older brother as they started towards the manor door. 

“No clue. I’m more confused than anything,” Dick admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. Jason frowned but nodded in agreement. Alfred opened the door for them, his face pale white.

“Alfie? Are you okay?” Jason asked, brow furrowed. 

“Apologies, Master Jason. I think that I may still be in shock,” he murmured, stepping back to let the boys in. “Everyone is in the sitting room already.”

“So, he’s actually married?” Dick asked, eyebrows shot up to his hairline. 

Alfred nodded. “Yes, Master Daniel is quite an interesting being, I must say. But, I have never seen Master Bruce as happy as he is right now. Not even when he was a child, it’s odd.”

“Daniel?” Jason asked. 

“He prefers to go by Danny,” Steph said, coming out of the sitting room, a wide grin on her face. “He’s amazing and I love him so much. Damian has stabbed him at least five times and Danny hasn’t even blinked!”

“What?”

“I think it’s a game now. He keeps speaking to Danny in different languages and is getting angrier and angrier every time Danny responds. Honestly, this is the best thing Bruce has ever done.”

Dick and Jason shared a confused look before following the girl into the sitting room where the rest of their family was waiting. On a large couch sat Bruce and a young man who looked no older than 25 sat together, Bruce had his arm wrapped around the man’s waist, a fond smile on his face. Danny was currently waving his arms wildly as he told a story to his captive audience. 

“Anyway, and that was the day I learned that I am faster than the Flash and I just think that this is impressive,” Danny said with a grin. Bruce just let out a fond chuckle before he glanced up at the brothers. 

“Darling,” he murmured, tugging on his ear lightly. “Everyone is here now.”

Danny looked away from the bats and grinned at Dick and Jason. He quickly stood and bound towards the brothers. “Richard! Jason!” He exclaimed before he stopped in his steps. “Oh Moonbeam, you’re right. Jason is very contaminated, we’ll have to fix that,” he said before his eyes flashed a familiar Lazarus green. Jason immediately took a step back from the man and shot Bruce a startled look. 

“What the fuck? You talked about us to some stranger?”

Danny pouted. “No, he barely said anything except the bare bones explantations. But, I do know that you reek of contaminated ectoplasm which makes sense if you took a dip in what my Starlight calls Lazarus Waters,” Danny said, tilting his head to the side as he observed the vigilante with those frightening green eyes. “Anywho, Richard Grayson, also goes by Dick, detective by day Nightwing by night. Avid lover of puns and former gymnast. It’s nice to meet you,” he said with a small smile, two little fangs sticking past his lip. He then looked at Jason. “Jason Todd-Wayne. Died and came back to life, former crime lord, current Red Hood. Interesting fascination with guns that has Bruce slightly concerned. It’s nice to meet you both, I’m Bruce’s husband, Danny. You guys can call me Danny or if you feel so inclined, call me Dad. I don’t care,” he said with a grin before he pulled the two into tight hugs.

He skipped back to Bruce and slipped his hand back into his husbands and leaned in close. Bruce just gave the man a dazzling smile before he looked at his children and pseudo children. “I know that you all must have a lot of questions. This is a rather big change, so Danny and I will do our best to answer them to the best of our ability.”

“How did you meet Danny?” Steph asked, practically frothing at the mouth at the couple. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She had never seen Bruce so happy, so soft! He was like a different person. 

Danny smiled and shrugged. “I needed some help investigating some pools of ectoplasmic waste that had made it into these realms and Bruce was apparently the only Justice Leaguer who was insanely knowledgeable on them. He kept calling them Lazarus Waters though and I was so confused,” he said with a laugh. 

“Wait-what did you want with the waters?” Jason asked, brow furrowed. 

At this Danny’s smile widened even further, looking just a little less human. He looked at Bruce. “Should I show them?”

The man shrugged his shoulders. “Darling, our family is made up of detectives. If you don’t, they’ll just start investigating you,” he said with a mirthful smile. 

Danny nodded and two large rings of light surrounded Danny before he shifted into a new form. Gone was the gangly twenty something year old and his place sat a large, looming being. Danny’s hair turned stark white, his fangs elongated, eyes shone Lazarus green. He was the definition of eldritch horror with his too long claws and green skin. He was a nightmare. 

“Holy fuck,” Jason whispered, eyes landing on the crown with blue flames that licked up in the air. His knees nearly buckled beneath him as he stared at the being, something in his very soul telling him to bow. It took everything in his being to not do so. 

“This is High King Phantom, king of the Infinite Realms and ruler of the dead,” Bruce said with a smug smile. “And my husband.”

“Danny, you’re too bright,” Duke whined, covering his eyes from the bright green glow that emitted from Danny’s form. Danny let out a squeak of surprise and swiftly shifted back into his human form and ran over to Duke. 

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I’ll try not to do that again, I can’t promise anything but I’ll figure out a way to turn down the brightness!” He exclaimed, hands hovering over Duke as though he didn’t know what to do. 

Duke gave him an awkward smile. “It’s okay, really,” he said. “I’ll just make sure to wear sunglasses or something next time.”

Danny grinned and nodded before patting Duke’s head and sat next to Bruce once more. “Anyway, as the High King, my job is to investigate any and all issues that have to do with the Infinite Realms. One of those realms is the Ghost Zone where there is this substance called ectoplasm. It’s supposed to look like this,” he said before letting the ectoplasm pool in his hand. “It’s what flows in my veins as well as most ecto-entities. It’s not supposed to exist in this universe. When I learned of the Lazarus Waters and realized that they were giant pools of contaminated ectoplasm I realized that I needed to shut it down and fast. I knew that this dimension had the Justice League as like earth’s mightiest heroes or something like that so I went to them to learn about what they knew of the waters. So with the help of Bruce, we went on a mission to get rid of them completely.”

“The Lazarus Waters are gone?” Damian blurted out, surprise etched into his face. 

Danny smiled. “No one is allowed immortality without permission from me. Not only that, but that is not how ectoplasm is meant to be used,” he said with a shrug. “So yes, they’re gone.”

“How did Ra’s react?” Tim asked with a frown. Danny frowned and looked to Bruce in confusion. 

The vigilante chuckled. “He was beyond livid. Tried to kill Danny and even attempted to use some spell to force Danny into his slave,” he said. 

“Oh! Stinky guy? Yeah, he’s dead,” Danny said with a grin. “Dead and in Walker’s prison for the rest of eternity.”

“What happened to Bruce’s no killing rule?” Dick asked, frowning. 

At this Bruce’s face fell, turning into an annoyed scowl. “Trust me,” Danny said with a laugh. “We had a very long talk afterwards that killing is bad and then I told him that as the king of the dead I can decide who enters my realm whenever I want. I’m what you humans call a God,” he said with a sharp grin. “As much as I love my sweet Sunbeam, he cannot stop me from deciding who lives and who dies.”

@mynameisnotlaura @neverlandingbird @angelheartgamer @connorsbonez @quietlyscared  @kgne-k @namichanth @magificence12  @alinmenttreasure  @phantomskeep @themirrorghost @dragonmoon2995 @numbuh-7-knd @blacksea21090 @blankliferain @avenInfear @rentatsunagi @bytheoldwillowtree @michikoy-yuki @aro-acedumbass @legowerewolf @justwannaseesomebrozawa @starscreamlover @undead-essence @skulld3mort-1fan @random-shit-writing @yinari-uchiha @dragongoblet @lesling123 @ascetic-orange @pastalavistamf @illusionwolfwriter24r8 @drowningroane @jotaroslooseeyebrowhair @daemonlogical @jogjosmowwdkfs @markus209 @fox-sama97 @that-one-goblin @immakittybear @the-legal-shipper @blackstar-gazer @spoopyspoony @mj-arts-n-stuff @cloudminder 

[humbledragon669]

S1E3 – Hard Times Write Up P2 – The Globe Theatre London (1601) and the Burbage Meta

This part of the write up for episode 3 is going to take on a slightly different format, in that it will only be covering a very short (approx. 4 minutes) section of the episode. It will also contain the details of a meta-theory I have based on the short conversation that takes place in this scene, and I’ll be analysing the comings and goings of the scene in greater detail to try and demonstrate how the theory came to fruition. I’m not going to lie – this theory is likely to be HUGELY unpopular. I am not a fan of it myself but it’s where my head canon is at, and if it were true might explain one other unknown piece of canon. So, with all that said, let’s get started.

Before we get into the weeds, I’d just like to take a moment to appreciate the soundtrack for this scene. I’ve spoken before about David Arnold’s ability to compose incidental music of all manner of styles to assist with scene setting and the piece playing in the background here is no exception. The use of period instruments, simple orchestration and playful melody do an excellent job in establishing our place in the timeline. Chapeau, sir.

Alright, let’s get the ball rolling with some familiar ground, specifically the obvious joy on Aziraphale’s face when Crowley arrives.

Look at that happy little face! It looks like pure reflex too, he just can’t help himself. Did you appreciate that little suggestion that this is a happy couple on a pre-arranged date? Well hold on to it, because things are about to get rocky.

I’m going to skip ahead a little bit, but I will be coming back to look at some of the other interactions that take place here later on. I’ll mention (briefly) that this scene is the first we learn of the “Arrangement” actually being in place and that they have invoked it “dozens of times” (the book confirms it was originally enacted in 1020). It took me a little while to twig, but the fact that they do work on behalf of the other doesn’t just mean that Crowley is capable of blessing things and using his miracles for good (the latter isn’t so dubious – they both seem to use their miracles more like magic tricks anyway), but that Aziraphale is capable of tempting people into (bad) things. Food for thought.

When I first started looking at this episode with a mind to doing a write up for it, there was one of Aziraphale’s lines that stood out to me:

The reason it stood it is because it feels almost… lustful. And it shouldn’t because he’s not talking about Crowley here, but the actor on the stage – Richard Burbage. I dismissed it because I did not care for what that might mean for our precious darlings. That’s ridiculous, right? Aziraphale desiring someone other than the tall dark prince. Absolutely.

Time for a tangent.

After I finished writing Dangerous Liaisons (a 5+1 fix-it fic I wrote based on the theory that the entire Final 15 is all just an act), I found myself wanting to fill in some of the gaps that I had touched upon in the fic. There is mention of certain events, and of declarations of love on both sides, at particular points in their history, and my brain was already whirring about if I was to write them (spoiler alert: I am 100% going to write them), what the details were. One of those events takes place in 1941, which got me thinking about Aziraphale spitting out that he did the “I Was Wrong” dance that year. Which in turn got me wondering about what that dance would have been for. Which in turn got me thinking about what the other instances of the “I Was Wrong” dance in 1650 and 1793 could have been for, and eventually I was at the point where I wasn’t just planning to write more fics about the events mentioned in Dangerous Liaisons, but my versions of how those apology dances came about as well.

At the time, I had a notion that perhaps the 1941 dance had been done as an apology for Aziraphale’s outburst in 1862 about the holy water. Similarly, I had an idea that the 1793 dance could potentially have been about the fact that Aziraphale had (very stupidly) gone to France during a war against aristocracy, dressed in finery, for nothing more than crèpes. But the 1650 dance? I had no clue.

Until I went back to this scene.

What if. What if that lustful undertone I thought I had detected when Aziraphale speaks about Richard Burbage wasn’t nothing at all? Honestly, when my brain offered me that idea, it felt like fireworks had gone off in my head. Did I like it? FUCK NO. Did it make a weird sort of sense? Urgh, so help me, it kind of did. So hold on people, I’m going to say it quickly, because I am not enjoying writing it about as much as you aren’t going to enjoy reading it.

I think Aziraphale had an emotional affair with Richard Burbage.

I think not only did Crowley know about it, but that initially he gave it his blessing. I think Crowley changed his mind when he realised how much he was hurting as a result of it. I think Crowley tried to talk Aziraphale out of it under the pretence of not wanting him to feel the pain of heartbreak when Burbage inevitably died. I think they had a huge row about it. And I think the 1650 “I Was Wrong” dance was Aziraphale apologising for it all.

Hate me now? It’s OK if you do, I kinda hate myself for thinking it in the first place to be honest.

I know you’re probably thinking “well, what on earth were the 1793 and 1941 apology dances for then? If the original dance was for something as awful as an “affair”, what could he possibly have done in later years that would have been bad enough that the dance needed to be repeated?”. I know you’re thinking it because it’s exactly what I thought when my brain force fed me this theory in the first place. So here’s the thing.

I don’t think the dances in 1793 and 1941 were for anything different.

I think all three of the instances of the apology dances were for the same thing – Aziraphale’s emotional affair with Richard Burbage. Because it’s the one thing Crowley can secretly never forgive him for, even though he gave him permission to do it in the first place.

I suppose I had better start talking to explain myself here, shouldn’t I? Well, alright then, I will, but only about my reasoning for the theory – the playing out of the dances I will be writing about in my fics.

Let’s start with the little glance at Burbage we see from Aziraphale when Crowley says he hates the ”gloomy” Shakespeare plays:

I’ve slowed it down so that you can see it, but Aziraphale’s primary concern about Crowley’s criticism is whether or not Burbage has heard it – that’s where his gaze initially goes to before being distracted by an approaching Shakespeare.

OK, OK, a single glance and a single line of script. That’s hardly a confession, is it? Well, I’m not done yet. Let’s have a look at Aziraphale falling over himself to reassure Burbage of his talents.

This sort of gushing simper is something you might usually see from a teenage girl trying to bolster the older boy she has a desperate (and inappropriate) crush on, often when responding to an attempt by him to fish for compliments or show the younger girl up. It makes me a little sick at just how desperately Aziraphale offers his support here to be honest. My feelings aside, his babbling flattery wins him Burbage’s attention, which clearly delights the angel.

I’m sure most people would be happy to believe that the reason Aziraphale denies his friendship with Crowley is because that is the standard for them both, but I think there’s more to it than that. I’m of the mind that Burbage and Aziraphale already know each other at this point, and that they’ve already begun to develop feelings for one another. Burbage asking Aziraphale about his “friend” isn’t just a general question - it’s tinged with jealousy. He wants to know who this man is, not in an attempt to garner more compliments, but because he’s feeling threatened by his presence. As well he should. Let’s also take a look at Aziraphale’s face after Crowley’s presence has been pointed out:

Does it look familiar to you? It does to me. It’s the face he pulls when he’s in trouble for doing something he knows he should be in trouble for. Just like when Nina drops him in the shit with Crowley for having a naked man in his shop:

We can also see Crowley starting to cotton on to things in this little exchange. He sees Aziraphale’s desperation and flustering, sees the human’s jealousy and possessiveness. So what does he do? He does what any self-respecting mischief-loving demon would do. He decides to join the pissing contest. You can see his decision in his expression here:

If that expression wasn’t enough to let you know that he’s entering the ring at this point, his dismissive response to Burbage’s challenge should be enough to tell you he now considers this man fair game.

I think you should get on with the play.

Ouch. Saucer of milk, Crowley? Or maybe just turn your disdain to the person you’re actually upset with? Ah, he’s got that covered, showering Aziraphale with sass when he heckles Burbage. You can see a little train of emotions going through his expression here – amusement morphs into shock and disbelief, finally indicating his incredulity with a head shake so subtle you can only just catch it in the movement of his hair.

Quick side note: in the script, Burbage gives Aziraphale a “grateful thumbs up” at the heckle. Very friendly, don’t you think?

And so we come to the hateful fateful line that got us into this mess in the first place.

He’s very good, isn’t he?

And now it takes on a whole different level of meaning, doesn’t it? This is him asserting his pride at Burbage’s talents, justifying his feelings in a thinly veiled confession, and subtextually seeking approval from the one person in the world that he would ever want it from.

Let me be clear: I do not believe that Aziraphale is sexually attracted to Burbage, or that he’s in love with him. I think he feels a deep emotional attraction to him and there isn’t a doubt in my mind that Burbage’s talent is what’s really driving it. It’s worth remembering that Richard Burbage was a real historical person, who was the resident actor at the Globe Theatre. He played virtually every major role in the company, and it is generally thought that the role of Hamlet was written for and based on him. He was possibly considered the greatest actor of his time.

Crowley’s response, which comes after a tiny pause, seems oddly out of character.

Age does not wither nor custom stale his infinite variety.

For those who don’t know, this line is an almost direct quote from Shakespeare’s “Antony and Cleopatra” (written after 1601, hence why Shakespeare makes a note of it when Crowley speaks). It’s spoken by Enobarbus, Antony’s best friend, who acts as a reasoned counsellor to Antony, offering advice unbiased by an all-consuming infatuation with Cleopatra. The pronouns have been changed in Crowley’s rendition (the resulting line in the play is about Cleopatra, so “his” becomes “her”). I have no doubt that Crowley’s subtext is pretty thickly layered here, so I’m going to try and break it down a bit:

We have a reference to age not having an effect on appearance. This is pretty obviously a characteristic of both himself and Aziraphale, immortal beings as they are.

The second half of the line he delivers is a reference to the subject having a range of moods that are unpredictable in their application.

The line as a whole takes these two ideas and wraps them in the suggestion that the subject is overwhelmingly attractive to many.

So taking all of that into consideration, I believe that the subject of Crowley’s line here is Aziraphale. He’s the one who doesn’t age, who is unpredictable and has fickle moods. It’s a reminder to himself of the things he finds attractive in Aziraphale and why others might also be drawn to him. It’s his admission that in this situation, he must be Enobarbus, the advisor, but that one day he can resume his role as Antony to Aziraphale’s Cleopatra. I mean, where else do we think he gets his 20th century first name from anyway?

That was a lot of analysis for a tiny handful of words. Aziraphale is less impressed with them, presumably because his little crush’s talent has not been recognised and he didn’t get the approval he was looking for.

The conversation that follows lets us know that Crowley has called this meeting. What’s interesting though is that according to Crowley’s opening line of the scene, it would appear that the location choice was Aziraphale’s.

I thought you said we’d be inconspicuous here.

This would suggest that Aziraphale knew that Burbage was going to be displaying his talents and that it would give him ample opportunity to show him off. Poor Crowley has been completely ambushed.

The majority of the conversation after this point is largely business-related, but it doesn’t stop Aziraphale from returning his eyes to Burbage at every opportunity, who is relentlessly charging through his lines in the background. Interestingly, the only line we focus on him for is this “the pangs of despised love”, which refers to the heartache caused by love that ends badly. And what other way is there for the affair between him and Aziraphale to end but badly? He’s human. He’s going to die. Leaving Aziraphale heartbroken. The frame just before these words are delivered would suggest that Aziraphale isn’t actually paying attention to him when he says them (shocking), so he’s probably missed that particular point entirely.

It's touching to see that Aziraphale does still care for Crowley, despite whatever else might be going on in his brain – his main concern, at least on the surface, is that it could put Crowley in danger if they invoke the Arrangement. In truth, I think he’s also considering the possibility that he might get to stay in London to spend more time with Burbage if he doesn’t have to go to Edinburgh; it’s written all over the lingering gaze he shoots the actor’s way when he’s offered the change to “toss for Edinburgh” (*smirk*)

And just look how disappointed he is when he loses:

And as if Aziraphale had not asked enough of his demon already, he overhears a conversation between Shakespeare and the oyster vendor (named Juliet, wonder if old Bill stole her name for anything he’d written previously…), prompting him to ask Crowley for a favour. I don’t think this could be interpreted as anything other than a secret gift from Aziraphale to Burbage. He obviously thinks it’s a marvellous idea and has set his heart on having it – just look at his silent ask of Crowley:

If that little eyebrow raise looks familiar, it’s because exactly the same micro-expression we see when he silently asks Crowley to clean his jacket in episode 2:

Let’s just for a moment say that my theory about all of this is complete guff. Why would Aziraphale be so desperate for Hamlet to succeed? Why this particular play? I’m prepared to settle and say the reason he doesn’t do the miracle himself is because he’s just lost the toss and is about to go and do Crowley’s job for him, but I can’t work out why he would be so keen for this play to succeed if there wasn’t some sort of emotional attachment involved with its lead actor and inspiration. So, I’m sticking to my guns on this one. Note: I’m not going into any metafiction stuff about both David and Michael having played Hamlet to high acclaim – everything here stays strictly within the GO universe.

And, like the lovesick little puppy that Crowley is, he gives his heart’s desire what it desires, even though it isn’t him. He even calls it a “treat”, and it earns him a pretty sweet smile of gratitude.

I don’t believe that Crowley’s gesture here is without subtext. I think this is him giving Aziraphale the approval he was fishing for earlier. And Aziraphale knows it – his secondary response (after that big soppy grim) is one of delighted relief. I have no doubt that Crowley is smarting a little by this point, and that’s borne out by the fact that he now leaves the theatre alone. If we look at the ends of each of the historical scenes, there are three where one of our hero couple leaves without the other (I’m not counting the departure in 537 AD where they both leave simultaneously). One is in 1862 (where Aziraphale refuses to supply Crowley with holy water) and another in 1967 (which I obviously haven’t covered yet) where Aziraphale leaves after delivering his soul-destroying “you go too fast” revelation. The other is this one. It’s seems very fitting that the only scenes where we see one of them leaving without the other are scenes where there is emotional tension between them. More importantly for this scene though is not so much that Crowley leaves, but that Aziraphale stays, his gaze instantly returning to Burbage on the stage. Not only is his face still fixed with a soppy smile, but he resumes eating – something we will see him using as a flirting device with Crowley in future years.

There’s one last thing I want to talk about from the beginning of this scene that I think bears mentioning:

Setting aside the fact that he miracles a coin out of thin air right in front of a human’s face here, there’s something else that draws my attention. The vendor in this micro-scene gives a customer two choices: oysters or oranges. Aziraphale chooses a third option, that we as the audience are not aware is available: grapes. Is it too extreme to consider this to be foreshadowing the choice that Aziraphale will make in this scene? As an entity, we have seen him try to choose between Heaven and Crowley for centuries, but here he will instead choose a third, previously unknown, option – Richard Burbage.

So there we have it. If you’ve stuck with me this far, I really do congratulate you. And I’m sorry. I’m not exaggerating when I say that writing this all down was actually really hard to do. I don’t want any of what I’ve theorised here to be true as much as most of the GO fandom, but once the idea planted its seed I could see how much sense it made.

If you’re still reading, and don’t hate me too much, I’ve written the prologue and first chapter of the fic that goes with this meta (you can find it here). I’ll be writing the second and third chapters covering the other “I Was Wrong” dances once I’ve completed the analysis for their relevant scenes, though that does mean the 1941 chapter will be a little while in the making.

Not sure I really want to include my usual sign off here, but… questions, comments, discussion always welcome. (Please don’t throw too much abuse at me!)

[fanartist666]

Whiskey and Lead

Joseph 'Bear' Graves x Original Female Character fanfic TAGS/WARNINGS: Hurt/comfort, fix it, slow burn, angst, mentions of: PTSD, child death, canon character death, serious injury, poor mental health, divorce/separation MDNI Summary: Joe Graves is told by his wife, Lena, that maybe it's time to see other people. The biggest problem with that was the when and where, given that Joe's surrogate father figure, mentor and previous team leader, Richard Taggart, had just died, and Lena had said this at his wake. Just before things get too much, an unlikely friend of Rip's knocks him from his trance.

Part 1 wordcount: 1.6k | Part 2: will go here

A/N: just a fun little part one set up, when I started this I hadn't written anything for like two weeks, so I do apologise if this sucks lol, trying to understand writing Joe is a challenge but I like him - also if you like this version of Anubis and want more of her and also like Game of Thrones, I have a long fic called 'A Court of Dragons and Lions' on A03 where she's married to Tywin Lannister bc I'm a sucker for Charles Dance lol, anyway enjoy! Sorry for any typos too I tried but I could still have missed some

Joe’s chest heaved with rage, despair and hurt, all his emotions swirling without a way out on top of the grief he was battling through. Hadn’t he tried hard enough? Tried in enough ways? Love languages, he’d learned what they were and what they meant and fucking tried to show Lena he loved her in all of them.

“Or maybe see other people.”

Lena told him that, then of all times? At Rip’s- At Rip’s fucking funeral? Lena couldn’t have come to him with that at any other point? They were already living apart, wasn’t that enough? Apparently not.

He felt it all swell up inside him as Lena walked away and he stared, talking to this fucked up apparition of Rip telling him it was only there because he wanted it there. It was all too much, Rip had been murdered, and died alone after everything he said on that video and everything fucking else and now he was seeing shit and Joe felt like he was going to explode- suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder. He flinched and turned around to see who had tapped him.

He didn’t know the woman before him, but he recognised the concern in her eyes and the posture of a soldier when he saw it. Her mouth was moving, but he couldn’t tell what she was saying.

“What’d you say?” He asked sharply, desperately shaking his head.

“I said ‘are you okay’, but I think you’ve just answered that for me.” She repeated, and somewhere in his head, Graves registered that her accent was British. “You wanna come for a walk with me?”

The woman jerked her thumb in the direction of an exit, and Joe nodded before following her dumbly. Walking helped. His blue eyes scanned his surroundings but didn’t really take anything in, to be honest, he couldn’t even remember what the woman he was walking with looked like. He could focus on her voice, though. She was well-spoken, with a sweet-sounding voice, slightly roughened by what he assumed was tobacco.

“So, you want to tell me about what’s going on?” She asked, her tone not too gentle and not too commanding, perfectly disarming. Although he couldn’t tell if that was just because he really did need to talk about it. But something stopped him. It needed to come out, but she was a stranger. He couldn’t just unload that.

In the end, Joe shook his head. “No, no you don’t need to hear that.”

“Come on now, I know a C.O. when I see one.” She nudged him in the arm gently with her elbow, and he couldn’t not smile a little and raise his hands in surrender.

“Yeah, I guess you got me there.” He chuckled softly, vision expanding from mere tunnels.

“Alright then, tell me about that instead, there’s a good lad.” Joe’s attention was slowly turning to her words.

“Okay...” he had to shrug off the flush rising in his face at how easily he’d obeyed her order, however gentle. He didn’t want to admit how much ‘there’s a good lad’ had encouraged him, either. “my name’s Joseph Graves, n’ I’m a senior chief Navy SEAL. I’ve got my team that I inherited from Rip when he got out. That’s Buddha, Fishbait, Caulder, Chase... Buck, until a little bit ago.” He felt his voice catch on Buck’s name.

“So you’re the famous Bear, eh? Good on you, Rip spoke very highly of you.” The woman said, and the warm reception to his introduction made him perk up a little. “And I was sorry to hear about Buckley. He was a good man.”

“He did?” Joe looked down at his shoes. “Yeah. Buck was the best of us. I miss him.”

“Oh god yeah, Rip loved the shit out of you. All of you guys, but he spoke about you most.” The woman told him, and he craned his neck to look at her curiously, finally taking in her features. She was pretty, by all accounts. Warm brown skin like caramel, inky black hair and startling scarlet eyes behind a pair of aviator sunglasses. She was dressed relatively normally in a green t-shirt and black jeans. The cool of the night air didn’t seem to affect her, and he could see that she was decently muscled.

“You knew him well? How come I never met you before?” Joe asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Could be any reason, knowing Rip. And with our schedules in special forces, things can be hectic.” She shrugged softly. “Would’ve liked to meet you under nicer circumstances. I’m Anubis Demonium, by the way. Teammates liked to call me Jackal, which is exceedingly clever, and the story stupidly embarrassing, drill me for details after a few pints. Rip and I go way back. Or I suppose we did, hey?” she huffed a bitter laugh. Joe was sensing a rusty command on her, just as she’d identified on him like a hound after a rabbit. “I met Rip on a co-op, SAS and SEAL. We wanted the same target, our governments wanted to get along, it’s a long story I could be put in prison for telling you.” Anubis waved a hand impatiently as they walked along together. Bear finally registered then, as she was explaining the story, just how tall she was, because there wasn’t that much difference between the two of them, she must have been six feet, easily.

“Rip was on his last mission before becoming team leader himself and I was already a Captain of my own squad. I remember him telling me about the guys he had lined up while we had downtime. He was my buddy on that trip, his own leader told him to take note from the two of us. We got to know each other, and he kept me filled in on you guys. He was proud of you, especially. In a way I was proud of you all too. Silly to admit, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t call it silly,” Joe huffed a laugh through his nose. “He always had my back, didn’t he? I’m glad to have made him proud.. he didn’t deserve to go out the way he did.”

“Nobody does.. He was a good friend to me, I can imagine he was a good leader to you guys. Everything that happened to him was an injustice.” Anubis said softly as they walked along the street.

“Yeah, he was.” Joe hesitated. “Thank you, for... Uh, walkin’ with me. There’s a lot goin’ on and it’s helped more than you’d think.”

“S’alright. Leaders have it hard, you know?” Joe raised a brow at her, and she elaborated. “Think about it, if you’re in a team, you talk to the leader about what’s troubling you. Who does the leader talk to? Can’t talk to the team, they’ll think you’re weak. Can’t talk to your civilian friends and partners, what if they think differently of you for what you do? If we’re lucky, our own mentors are still breathing, and we can talk to them. And lucky is putting it lightly.”

Joe was floored. He stared at Anubis in disbelief; it was as though she had taken all his thoughts, his fears, his loneliness as a team leader, and put them out in the air. He could hardly find the words to agree with her, just nodding dumbly at her instead.

“Y-yeah,” he stuttered after a moment. “Yeah, you’re right. I appreciate it.”

“It really is no problem, I was in the same position as you not so long ago. After today if you ever want to talk to someone who... You know, gets it like you, or you want to go for a drink, give me a ring.” She put a scrap of paper with a number scrawled on it into his slowly relaxing hand.

“Thank you... I’ll try not to darken your door too often.” Joe chuckled, pocketing the paper.

“Nonsense,” Anubis snorted, waving a hand. “I’d be glad for the company too. I’m retired now, none of the action anymore.” She explained, correcting her expression into a smile.

“Retired? How come?” Joe asked, hardly watching where he was walking now, his eyes fixed on her like a vision from God. He watched her walk, finally taking in more and more detail, and noticing a subtle unevenness to her gait.

“Injury,” she gestured to her left side, where the unevenness was. “I’m covered in scars this side, took a decent hit from an Mk 46, lucky to be alive so I suppose the stiffness and scars are a decent trade for breathing. The rehab was hell, though.”

Joe’s breath caught in his throat. Buck used one of those. He’d seen people blown to pieces by it, and some not. Hearing that would be a story and a half, he thought.

“Jesus, that sounds like a gnarly story…” he trailed off with a breath, and felt her elbow nudge him gently. Blue eyes landed on the weird blood-red ones belonging to his new acquaintance.

“Maybe I’ll tell you it sometime.” She smiled, and Joe realised they’d circled back to the gathering. “See you around, Joe.”

“See you…” He realised that he’d completely blanked what she told him her name was, only a few minutes ago, but they’d already split up, and when he looked back, she had melted into the crowd and firelight. Looking down at the number and his phone, he thought of something that would’ve made Rip laugh, and probably her, if they really had been friends.

‘Hobbles’ Joe typed, and pocketed his phone.