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greenninjagal-blog · 8 months

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Deja Vu pt 12

Hey, pretend it hasn't been eons since the last update!

If you’re new around here you can find the first chapter [here] or if you just want a refresher you can find the previous chapter [here!]

Summary: Remus is falling, and he's just now realizing that he's been falling for a lot longer than he thought he'd been.

Word Count: 10901

Read on Ao3 || Hero Worship Series || My General Writing Masterlist

The thing about freefalls is that there’s absolutely nothing freeing about it, but there’s a whole lot of falling.

Sometimes minutes, sometimes seconds, sometimes years and eons and eternities and blinks: sometimes Remus doesn’t realize he’s falling at all because his brain has mentally reset too many times and he forgot there was ever a feeling that was not falling and then the weightless, worriless feeling becomes its own type of prison because he can’t do anything but fall.

It doesn’t feel like falling though. It feels like floating, like if he closes his eyes he wouldn’t be moving at all, like he could breathe and float and enjoy the dose of overwhelming euphoria that comes from his brain trying to make sense of all the alarms going on inside of him. He’s stuck and he’s floating and time means nothing, and existence means nothing, and Remus Regis means nothing.

Here’s the other thing about freefalls: they don’t end softly.

The sidewalk outside a skyscraper in Detroit that he gave himself access to on a Tuesday afternoon at 3:46 pm, the water surface that tastes like cement when Remus’s foot misses a step on the bridge railing on a summer night so hot it feels like his skin is peeling off, the rocky bottom of the shallow end of the pool from the hotel balcony when Remus got too curious, too tempted, too alone, the windshield of an SUV at 3 AM.

There’s no cushion. No parachute. No hidden cartoon trampoline or careful hands wrapping around his waist to drag him back from the plunges that he’s taking bites out of like they’re all midnight secret pleasures.

Remus steps off that solid sturdy ledge and there is no other ending. There’s no way for him to say wait, no way for him to scream hang on, no way for Remus to think I didn’t mean to lose control like this, please let me take it back, please let me kiss Janus one more time, please let me try on Virgil’s sweatshirt just for a second, please let me see that Roman fucking does care just this once—

Remus would know.

They don’t end softly. But they do end.

But hey, maybe that was for the best. Remus had spent his whole childhood choosing who gets to live and die. He’d been selfish and arrogant and Roman Roman Roman and now the universe was telling him he used up all his good will: the headaches and nose bleeds were all warning signs to knock it off and instead Remus flipped a coin in the air and told Janus that he was going to see this through.

((Remus is twenty one and he knew kissing Janus was like letting go of the railing. Is it any surprise that there’s no soft ending to this either?))

Remus’s body had curled on instinct: wrapping himself around the kid— Logan’s kid brother, Remy— so that Remus would hit the ground first and maybe his body would break the fall for the kid so he didn’t die due to Roman’s shitty ass powers and poor Library structural upkeep and Remus’s own stupid part in all this.

He’s never jumped with someone else before. Never had something to hold close as the tattering, violent winds and the heavy iron chain of gravity, and the long, drawn out, endless, breathless space between his heart’s rapid fire beating and none at all, work in tandem to make his last moments the most memorable. But despite it all, Remus’s arms wrap around Remy’s head and the impulse to protectsavekeepalive consumes the last of his mind.

(He can’t be older than sixteen, maybe seventeen, he can’t be any more enamored with his older brother, he can’t be aware yet that all older brothers are shit and they stand at the top of staircases in houses that don’t feel like home and they say I don’t need you, Remus— )

The noise around them turns to static and Remus can’t hear Remy’s scream, but he can feel it in how Remy clings desperately like he hadn’t been fighting to get away like a wild animal less than thirty seconds before.

Remus braces for the floor, for the pain, for the end because he doesn’t have any type of control and there are no soft endings and he was an idiot for ever thinking he’d get to have anything soft in his--

R emu s wak es up thi nki ng abou t sh ards of gla ss in his spine, barbed and jagged and clinging to his insides, because his inner organs are much warmer than the cool night air and much more accepting than the windshield frame.

There’s blood in his mouth, cotton in his throat, a bursting, bulging headache behind his eyes. The rest of his body almost feels like nothing in comparison. His limbs are a distant memory, or maybe a dream? He can’t quite remember what it’s like to have them, even as his left arm wavers in the air over his head and limp and heavy and Remus shakes it just to see if his wrist will fly off and toss his hand into the fuzzy world around him.

He’s lying on the ground.

His spine is still intact by some miracle. His skull isn’t shattered and his brains aren’t spilling across the white porcelain tile floor he’s on. He doesn’t even think his ribs are fractured although they ache and whine with bruises that match every other part of his body. If it weren’t for the dizzy, distant feeling of needing to vomit up all his organs Remus would think he just fucking died and this was his shitty prize in the afterlife.

He blinks a few times trying to… trying to focus his mind on anything. The taste of saliva in his mouth, or the scent of coffee and Lysol hovering in the air, or the pins-and-needles feeling of his fingers twitching as if they had lost all blood circulation in the blank space where Remus’s brain refuses to make any connection as to what is going on, what had gone on, and what is going to happen now.

It’s like scratched DVD in a video player: his memory plays perfect scenes, Blue Ray edition of his tragic life, right up until the floor breaks— until his arms wrap around Remy— until he tries to brace them both for the impact— then there’s a jump-skip-scratch and Remus is staring at blurry, fuzzy drop ceiling tiles and the outline of fluorescent lights that do not belong in the public library that Remus spent all of the night prior memorizing the layout of.

There are desks, a couple dozen, all around him; a giant window, partially weeping condensation and the blinds slightly bent that colors the entire set in a gold-yellow filter; cement brick walls painted a truly inspiring shade of off-white and if Remus squints he can make out pencil sketches of dicks dusting over the closest wall. But the masterpiece that ties it all together is the shitty poster handing right over Remus’s head, staring down at him in some type of mockery.

You miss 100% of the chances you don’t take, it reads. There’s a hockey puck and a net and fine white print of a “Wayne Gretzky” that makes Remus want to claw his skin off.

Remus is twenty one and he’s staring at a shitty drop ceiling feeling like he’s seventeen again and one of Roman’s friends just laid him out in the five seconds the teacher turned her back after the bell rang to release them. Remus’s lungs hurt as he laughs because— because his head swivels around and the cloudy surroundings begin to piece themselves together, creeping out of the fog to say hello, hello, do you remember the worst years of your life, Remus? We remember you!

He is not in a library. He’s not in the library. Remus thinks he’d rather be dead in that library than lying on the floor in a high school classroom.

It’s not even a classroom he recognizes. But the suffocating feeling of his mother forcing his jaw open and the powdered pill taste overwhelms all the other sensations in his disconnected body. The memory of snipped comments from his teachers rings in his ears, living ghosts that Remus hadn’t been able to shed no matter how loudly he’d screamed and hadn’t been able to outrun no matter where he’d gone. His eyes are burning, but he’s certain that if he closes them he’ll wake up again as that same stupid seventeen year old that let Roman’s shitty friends ruin his life on the blind hope that Roman wouldn’t turn out like them too.

Remus had met people who said they peaked at high school, that college had broken their spirits and grinded their souls to dust, that life after schooling was lofty and uncertain whereas high school had been crafted with such rigid rules and a constant social struggle that surpassing expectations had been a breeze that they no longer could grapple with not having. Remus doesn’t know much about normal people, normal lives, normalness, but he remembers very vividly thinking of blood dripping off his lip onto the boys locker room bathroom tile and knowing that he’d met people whose cruelty peaked at high school too.

((Fourteen year old Remus had been excited for high school. Seventeen year old Remus had gripped the edge of a gas station sink debating which hurt worse: getting run over, or knowing that Roman had chosen those asshole high school friends who were going to kill him at a party Remus hadn’t been able to convince him not to go to over his own brother.))

The sterile silence breaks suddenly with a soft snore, and abruptly Remus is very aware that the reason he can’t move the right half of his body is because there’s someone on top of it.

There are no soft ends to freefalls, but Remus’s chin is pressed against the dark curls of Logan’s younger brother who is completely asleep on top of the other half of Remus as if they hadn’t ever been in danger at all. The kid is drooling, lips barely parted, salvia dripping out onto Remus's leather jacket. The fake bomb vest Remus had been wearing is completely crushed, the edges of the cardboard digging numbly into Remus’s ribcage as the kid just curls up on him like a human sized koala.

“What the fuck,” Remus rasps out.

The kid doesn’t stir. Remus uses his still strangely disconnected left hand to shove at the kid’s body, bapping his face just enough to wake him, but the kid’s face scrunches and he nudges his face deeper into Remus’s chest, perfectly content to continue using Remus’s like a giant awkward pillow.

“Kid. Kid. Damnit fuck— Remy.” Remus says. Then louder. “REMY! Fuck, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

He shoves the kid off his right arm in a slow painful movement that is not made easier by the fact that Remus can’t feel anything that had been pinned underneath the kid, but after all the shoving, Remy still just gratefully curls up on the floor as if he found that just as comfortable as a king sized bed in heaven itself, and lets out a drowsy mumble of syllables and goes back to snoring.

Remus’s head throbs distantly as he tries to put anything together, come to some reasonable conclusion, remember if this was some part of Janus’s plan that he cleverly forgot about. He shifts slowly trying to leverage himself into a sitting position and still Remy doesn’t make any move to wake up and start screaming.

There’s a tsunami of panic in the back of Remus’s mind, blocked behind a glass wall made of confusion, just so that Remus can wave to it casually, experiencing microdoses of jitters that usually would have put him into a frenzied state of needing to drive a car into a guard rail. He needs to get up, he needs to find Janus and Virgil, he needs to find out if they’re okay, if anyone is okay, he needs to figure out what the fuck miraculous thing happened to save them both and why Remy then decided to curl up on a known villain, who may or may not be the most wanted man in the country and take a fucking nap.

He needs to— he needs—

They’re both at the back of an empty classroom and had been awkwardly crumpled against the back wall. Several of the desks closest to them are spread in some sort of weird ass pattern which, at first glance, Remus had assumed all teachers who needed to be on pills much more than Remus ever needed to be liked to put their desks in, but at the second, more clear glance, all the desks at the front are lined up in exact rows facing a wall mounted white board with the words “Homework: pg 234, odd problems ONLY!!” printed on it in blue expo marker. In the back closer to where Remus is, the desks were tossed out in some chaotic, nearly artistic design, swirling inward.

But the more Remus looks at it, the more purpose everything has: almost as if someone or something had rolled a giant human-sized, bowling ball into only the third row of seats.

It’s another second before Remus notices that where the figurative bowling ball would have ended is exactly where he just woke up with Logan’s kid brother solidly asleep on his shoulder.

“Ah,” Remus says to an empty classroom. “Fuck.”

Remus isn’t a genius, but well. He can see the future and Janus can shapeshift into animals and Virgil can talk to targeted people on frequencies no one else can hear. There must have been a reason Logan and his brother were both at the FBE.

All of Remus’s bones crack as he stands up, even bones Remus hadn’t been sure he had anymore. His neck aches so dramatically that would have made Roman jealous of its performance and his ribs are certainly whining like a little bitch and the taste of blood in the back of his throat might be real or it might be a side effect of reenacting a swan dive off a hotel balcony in a thunderstorm this time with the supporting cast of a teenager who may or may not be able to teleport on command. The clock on the wall is covered up with a handmade poster stating that a watched clock doesn’t learn math and Remus thinks that he hates this teacher more than he hated any teacher he actually had.

He squats back next to Remy, watching him sleep for a long second, the subtle in….hale and ex….hale steadily unconcerned in all the ways contrary to most people when a sociopath is this close to them. He’s got all the marks of being Logan’s brother, to be honest: the same nose shape, same eye shape, the same hair color although there’s a distinct lack of gel in his hair compared to Logan’s over-saturation. He’s wearing a black, unzipped biker’s jacket, and skinny jeans with white T-shirt that reads “I’m SLEEPING” in Times New Roman Font, like a joke that someone had half heartedly put together and abandoned half way through.

Remus taps his fingers on his knee twice before he makes up his mind. “If you wake up now, I’m going to shove a calculator down your throat.”

And then he starts a quick process of checking the kid’s pockets for his phone. Jacket pockets, inside jacket pocket, jeans front and jeans back as quick and formal as a bouncer at a casino checking someone for bugs. Remy snores deeply, and his breaths even out again and Remus steps back a healthy distance, filled with a relief he’s not going to acknowledge, and holding a slick black iPhone with a kawaii coffee cup hand painted on the case.

It's one thing to be on the FBI’s most wanted list for super villainy. It’s another thing for him to be on the list for the combination of an empty classroom, a sleeping teenager, and Remus’s reputation for being unhinged.

((Seventeen year old Remus remembers a party that he begged Roman not to go to and twenty one year old Remus sucker punches him in the face so he will shut up and stop bringing those memories up.))

The lock screen is a picture of Remy and Logan standing in front of some model spaceship. Logan’s expression is uncharacteristically open and excited, as if he’s experiencing true joy in the face of a hunk of metal. He looks….normal. Human. As if Remus hadn’t watched him die, as if Remus hadn’t feared that smug smirk on his face, as if Remus hadn’t heard Logan use whatever his bullshit superpower was to utterly dismantle all of Remus’s part of the plan, start a gunfight that could have killed them all, and look fucking good while doing it.

Remus could play the logic game here: the back right pocket is where Remus found Remy's phone, so it's a 56.734% or whatever likely that the kid uses his right hand to unlock. But in all honesty Remus “Eeny-Meeny-Miny-Fuck-This”-ed it and chose the right hand.

The kid’s hand is limp and cold as ice. It startled Remus for a whole moment, sending cracks along that glass wall holding back his panic. It if weren’t for the obvious respiratory movements, Remus would have thought he was handling a four-day-old corpse in the middle of a winter snow storm.

But he presses Remy's thumb to the sensor (a very logical finger choice and not at all picked at Eeny-Meeny-Miny-Fuck This again) to unlock it. And then, once Remus has congratulated himself on his very exciting first time hacking the mainframe, he swipes away every. Single. One. Of the billions of notifications the kid has. Even as he's doing it the kid gets fourteen more, each bright and shiny and terrifying to someone who only gets notifications when his phone is almost out of battery.

Instagram reels being sent by four people, text messages from a group of people who don't know how to say everything they need to in one message and aren’t afraid of double-quadruple texting, TikTok videos alerts, gacha game reminders, six calendar notifications for today alone--

The home screen is a selfie of Remy in a big group of kids, all laughing and smiling and holding boba cups and peace signs in the middle of a cafe. It's a bright day in the photo, and several school backpacks shoved under the table as if all the kids had run to this cafe after school on a whim. Probably Remy’s based on how he’s in the middle of it all, looking rather smug for someone who’s personal space had been reduced to a negative.

"I bet you and Roman would get along fucking great," Remus says.

Remus still stares at it for a long minute longer, analyzing the various smiles and fending off the bitter gritty feeling in the back of his throat that comes from nowhere and everywhere all at once.

"Whatever," Remus says, clicking the call button.

Nearly a dozen suggested contacts pop up when Remus starts painstakingly typing Janus’s phone number, with someone having the same number until the very last digit. Remus's thumb hovers over the call button, his eyes flicking to the dutiful clock in the top left corner of the screen (already crowded by new notifications again).

Math has always been one of Remus's more average skills: his perception of time and his ability to count are probably superior to any living being on the planet, but a childhood plagued by the constant visions of the most important person in his life dying meant that his focus had never actually been on his classes. His report card read out half the alphabet, but he especially cheesed his way through his math classes, using a hand full of futures to copy the answers off tests of various studious kids around him, instead of actually learning how the fuck to solve a triangle.

((Remus had been seventeen when Mrs. Copperson had decided to start making him take the her pop quizzes and tests out in the hallways by himself on account that his psychiatrist mandated drugs made him a distraction in her class and Remus liked adding "uck" after the giant red F's she stamped on his papers.))

Still, it throws Remus for a loop, checking the time and then the date because at most he thought he managed to buy Janus twenty minutes of distractions so that he could download the FBE's records and upload a virus that Virgil made which had the defining features of being able to eat through the rest of the system like acid and leave the FBE and Janus’s mother with nothing. When Remus had woken up in the stillness of this classroom it felt like his entire body had been in stasis for eons; a crumpled ragdoll that didn't need bones, left forgotten in the back of a closet or a computer suddenly being booted up but the whole rest of the world didn’t exist anymore thanks to one apocalypse or another.

In fact, Remus thinks that he might have just woken up from the best sleep he's had since he was eight.

But despite the surge of energy, the distant rolling anxiety, the strange suffocating stillness of the atmosphere, and how deep of a sleep Remy is in, the time reads of less than seven minutes since Remus guessed he'd been in the library surrounded by gunshots, clinging to a railing, and facing Roman’s maybe-brainwashed ass.

Remus thinks he might have spent all of it just getting his fucking barring on the new surroundings and the sleeping child and not being dead and buried in a library he’d never stepped foot in before today.

Janus and Virgil probably hadn't even made it out of the library themselves yet, assuming the entire library hadn’t come down with them.

Remus closes out of the call screen, searching through Remy’s apps for a news app that he doesn’t have, before Remus caves and pulls out DuckDuckGo. The top stories are already flashing on the screen: six different news sites with live reporting videos of what is happening at the FBE center in Portland. Remus taps on one that has a frozen picture of Kidnapped Virgil’s panicking face as the thumbnail.

“—et Down! Everyone, get down!” The female reporter is yelling. Underneath her, the border headline of the new site spells out Karen Davenport: Reporter. LIVE ON SCENE. As if the background wasn’t already enough to show what was going on. The tinted glass windows of the library shatter over the frame, and the camera fumbles as the glittering shards dance through the air to the tune of gunfire.

“Are you getting this?!” The reporter yells, caught between fear and excitement. Her hair is frizzing, a strand of it stuck to her pink lipstick, as she crouches with the other reporters and civilians at the front of the crowd, ignoring the police and hired guards and common fucking sense trying to back them away. The camera doesn’t seem to know what to focus on, struggling to jostle between the reporter and chaos in front of them.

Several people rush out of the doors of the library, nearly tumbling down the staircase and into the crowd, screaming. Remus’s heart thunders as he looks at the glimpse of faces contorted in horror for the people he’d recognize or a flash of those blue-grey eyes that no other person in the world has.

“John, are you seeing this?!” the reporter repeats. “I’m here, live at the newly registered FBE headquarters in—”

The camera and the cameraman pitch to the side, disrupted by the chaotic crowd rightened only at the last second before it topples to the ground. Remus has to wonder how much the person behind the screen is being paid, and how they could possibly think it's enough. The bruises on Remus’s ribs ache distantly and his tongue remembers the taste of tear gas and blood and—

By the time the camera rightens again, Virgil is skidding on the platform at the top of the concrete stairs leading up to the front of the shuddering-but-still-standing library. His mask is down, hung around his throat, and displaying his fangs for the world to see. Janus tumbles into him, nearly knocking him down the flight, and his mouth moves in a WE CAN’T LEAVE HIM way although the crowd and the reporter are too loud for Remus to truly make it out.

Virgil grabs Janus by the shoulder, yanking him down several inches and a blast of Patton’s white, power stealing light explodes over their heads in a narrow miss that makes someone to the left of the report scream so loud it peaks the microphone.

“Where is The Prince?!” The reporter’s mic picks up from someone nearby as the camera zooms in on Janus and Virgil arguing. “He was just here!”

“—where it appears a super power aided fight has broken out with no sign of The Prince. Twenty minutes ago, the controversial twin brother of the Prince, previously identified as Remus Regis, armed with a hostage, charged into the building igniting what was sure to be a direct confrontation with The Prince. However, no new information could be captured by our cameras until moments ago when gunfire from inside the building signaled some type of gunfight breaking out. Sources have even suggested that the Mezzanine level inside the building has taken significant damage and gave way— HEY!”

Logan materializes from the side, ripping the microphone away from the reporter with all the finesse of someone who previously owned it. His black jacket is dusted grey with the dust from the collapsed level inside and there’s a scratch along his hand that’s bleeding bright red. Still he shoves the reporter back and brings the microphone up to his own mouth even though his gaze isn't on the Library or the camera.

“The Prince was inside,” he says to the crowd of people still pressed together at the barricade line. “He managed to move fast enough to save all of those underneath the collapse and barely sustained any injuries himself. Statistically—”

“Give that back!” The reporter says lunging at him.

The camera frame latches on to Janus and Virgil as the camera man probably tries to help his coworker get the microphone back. In those precious seconds, Janus’s head snaps over his shoulder and he shoves Virgil back, pushing him down the stairs and towards the crowd and sets himself in front like a human shield. There are too many voices picked up by the reporter's mic— the fight between her and Logan has it jostled in every direction and the confusion must have jostled the settings, but Remus feels his stomach sink all the same when the library doorways fill with those guards and their guns.

“GET DOWN!” Virgil’s voice booms in the area, echoing off the buildings like a scream in a cavern. The rest of the windows in the library and the surrounding buildings shatter at the sudden pressure, the screen of the camera fractures, but it still gives a decent view of Janus throwing off his stolen lab coat, and the acute tips of his wings slicing through his shirt.

Remus feels like he’s underwater. Like he’s stuck floating in space as his arteries burst from the low pressure. Like he’s watching another (and another and another and another and anoth—) future and he can’t change it despite the fact that it's not 3 AM and there’s no thunderstorm and he’s not falling.

Janus’s wings erupt from his back, flaring outwards and unfurling like yellow and black caution tape, covering the civilians behind him like a burning shield. Virgil grabs the nearest person, Logan, and yanks him and the reporter under the cover, under the protection of Janus, and Remus wants to scream at them to forget the people, to leave them, to run, but he can’t breathe around the sweltering terror that sweeps through the open area leaping from the phone screen right into Remus’s chest.

“—police would know better than to fire into the crowd—” Logan’s voice says desperately.

“Oh MY GOD!” The reporter screams.

The light seers into his eyes with crackling, horrific popping noise. It's like popcorn, or Pop Rocks, or the Pen Clicker Douchebag Olympics and all Remus can think of is the noise that the bones in the human bone make when bullets splinter.

The camera does not catch Janus’s face, and the microphone doesn’t catch his screams over everyone else’s, but his body jerks, his wings tremble, and blood sprays up into a mist over the crowd. Remus thinks he might be dying too, thinks that he might have stopped breathing, that he’s seen Janus die a million times and it should have stopped feeling like he’s being ripped open.

“JANUS!” Virgil’s (unmistakable, indisputable) voice yells, sharp and cracking like lightning, and the blowback over the microphones would break the eardrums of anyone listening with earbuds.

“— multiple people have been reported to have survived being shot that many times!” Logan’s voice tries.

The camera gets a single shot of Virgil’s eyes widening, of his mouth opening, of his hands reaching out to Janus as he drops, wings still flared out trying to protect people who were too stupid to leave, who won’t even thank him, who don’t know his coffee order or how he likes to organize his stacks of stolen dollar bills or what size oxfords he likes to wear.

And then Virgil looks up, at the top of the stairs, opens his mouth, and everything explodes away from him. The camera frame flings into the air, swirling around in a epileptic nightmare of colors before slamming into something and the frame goes completely black.

On the news app, holding a phone in both his hands Remus stares at the “[The video you are watching is experiencing some connection issues]” message with white knuckles, but the video stays cut off, the screen frozen and broken and dark and Remus is left drowning during what feels like the end of the world from the other side of the universe a million years after it's happened.

“H-ha,” Remus’s mouth twitches, a rumble clawing up his throat with fingers made of his stomach acids. He desperately covers his mouth with a hand, pressing the meat of his palm into his lips if only to keep the laughter from tumbling out into the air like a freefall because there’s no such thing as a soft end and Remus was stupid for ever thinking so.

He thinks for a moment, that he’s back on that staircase staring at Roman knowing that what he says next is going to be the wrong thing, that he’s on the ground at a mall blinking away visions of flame grilled corpses and words that Janus doesn’t mean, that he’s in a crowd staring at an empty stage seconds and seconds and seconds too late for someone who trusted him more than Remus ever deserved to be trusted.

(How can he always be too late?)

The ground is solid and sturdy under his feet, but Remus is falling anyway. Suspended in the middle of a jump he hadn’t meant to take, his stomach is swooping with the acceleration pressing up into his lungs until he can’t force them to accept any oxygen anymore and his limbs are tingling in that disconnected way that makes them seem like they belong to someone else, something else, somewhere else.

He had fallen asleep, fallen into a wonderful dream, fallen and kept falling and forgotten that the real world didn’t end softly. A scream creeps up Remus’s throat, inch by inch, wriggling and thrashing and tearing horribly against his lungs.

His fingers tremble over the phone, fumbling through the apps for the phone even though he knows what's going to happen, he knows what’s coming, he knows, he knows, he knows.

The buttons are not stiff. Remus’s knuckles are not bleeding and they don’t leave behind traces of his blood as he dials. There’s not a gritty feeling along his teeth and the bottom of his mouth from the Cliff Bar that he ate at a rest stop an entire lifetime ago. His knees tremble to the sound of the ringing, leaving him swaying in the too-long silences, in the bated breaths, in the calm before the hurricane that’s left him at the only survivor when he was supposed to be the only casualty.

The line is ringing and Remus is standing in a high school classroom, shaking apart even though he knows that Janus is not going to answer. The line is ringing and Remus is standing at a payphone knowing that his mother didn’t try half as hard for him as she did for Roman.

The line is ringing and Remus is listening to a generic voicemail and his fingers are canceling the call just to start it again because maybe this time he’ll pick up, maybe this time Janus will huff at him for not believing in him, maybe this time Janus will snap about Remus not following a plan, maybe this time Janus will pick up the phone.

Remus remembered leaving his own phone in his bag, stuffed inside a pair of socks that he stole from Janus the second week they’d been together. He knows he watched Janus leave his in his own bag, grinning as Virgil and him had been bickering about if pumpkins were a fruit or a vegetable. So he knows, he knows, that Janus doesn’t have his on him, that answering a phone call would be the least of his concerns after— five, six, seven— bullets landed in him, that no matter how many times Remus’s fingers dial out the number, Janus still isn’t going to miraculously answer and beg him to come home and call him the wrong name anyway.

He’s twenty one and Janus is not going to pick up the phone call.

He’s twenty one and he thinks he’s been falling for far too long. He’d gotten too used to the jolt of adrenaline and taste of the winds. He’d been treating his four-year fall like a never ending dream that he could live in forever, and now he was waking up with a start in his bed with all his muscles contracting and remembering that the real world is a fucking nightmare.

Remus could have call himself a free fall expert, with all the times that he’s tipped himself over the edge, with how many times he’s merged himself with the concrete sidewalks, with the number of times he’s seen the great THE END to his own story but this… this—

He’s been falling for so long he forgot he’d been falling at all.

“I need to go back,” Remus gasps out.

The idea latches on suddenly, and Remus is suffocating in it, trapped in a void that’s approaching absolute zero at rapid speed. The anxiety swelling around him crashes down like a guillotine’s blade, sharp and merciless in all the ways that Remus has always known the universe to be and forgot anyway.

His hands are shaking and his knees give out but it's fine because he landed next to Remy’s sleeping form. He reaches out and shakes the kid’s shoulder, hard enough to jolt his entire body.

“Kid, Remy. Wake up. You gotta take me back. I need to get back to him.”

Remy's head lulls to the side, his skin an icy cold compared to the burning in Remus's veins. There's no movement behind his eyelids, no sudden jolt that knocks him awake, no grimace of his face or swallowing as he drags himself back to consciousness.

“It’s time to wake up!” Remus says. “You have to take me back!”

Because if he can get back he can— he can— Janus was on the ground, they were shooting at him, Virgil was screaming and Remus can see the future and they need him. If he can get back Janus can tell him what he needs to do to save him and Remus will kiss him and tell him and tell him he’s stupid and he’s sorry he left him. If he can get back— He needs to get back, he has to get back because they need him and Remus pinches hard on Remy’s cheek, but even that doesn’t cause the teenager to flinch.

“I have to fix this. Take me Back! Take me Back There! TAKE ME FUCKING BACK THERE!”

Remus shakes him, and Remy’s head makes a dull thud as it bumps the ground with each shove. Remus barely notices; his brain is counting every second he spends here, scrambling to catch the passing breaths like they're grains of sand in an hourglass counting out Janus's life while Remy dreams so soft and peacefully.

“REMY!”

--There’s no bump or bruise or anything under the dark curls, and Remus doesn’t even have a memory of hitting anything on the way down, not even the fucking floor and so there shouldn’t be shit causing him to be this fucking out of it. Janus was dying and Remus was here with an idiot fucking teenager who was sleeping like they had all the fucking time in the Fucking World. If it weren’t for Logan, if it weren’t for Remy, if it weren’t for Remy’s fucking horrible power that Remus didn’t ask for him to use--

--There’s no bump or bruise or anything under the dark curls, and Remus knows too much about being splattered on the ground to think that they might have hit it like that, to think they might have died, to think that the bitchass kid in front of him is doing anything other than pretending like they have time to pretend to be asleep when Janus just took seven bullets for people who don’t love him and wouldn’t care if he was dea--

--There’s no bump or bruise or anything under the dark curls, and Remus took the brunt of whatever hit they did have, was ready to fucking die when Remy did whatever the fuck he had to get them out of there, wasn’t going to let Remy get hurt and he didn’t get hurt so Remus shouldn’t need to keep shaking him to get him to wake up because they need to get back to Janus who just got shot and shot and shot And Shot AND SHOT and Remus needs to fix it because Janus wasn’t supposed to die, he wasn’t supposed to be alone, Remus promised to stay, promised to help, why aren’t you waking up What is wrong with youwakeup,WakeUp WAKEUPWHATDOESITTAKETOWAKEYOUUPDOYOULIKETHIS?DOYOUTHINKITSFUNNY? STOPMESSINGAROUNDHE’SGOINGTODIEICAN’TFIXITICAN’TSTOPITWHATDIDIEVERDOTOYOU?--

Remus blinks his eyes, just barely manages to stop himself from ramming the kid's head into the porcelain tile floor again.

His hands are around Remy’s head, cupping his ears, and Remy’s limp body is impossibly still, barely breathing and the golden yellow light reflects off the poster over them creating a red hue over his pale skin.

There’s no blood.

Remus can’t breathe anyway. His hands are trembling, his fingers stiff and robotic and bending like metal spoons when he pries them off Remy’s uninjured head. The kid’s skull lulls to the side, a soft huff, another snore, and Remus thinks he’s losing his mind.

The cold silence of the classroom has the walls closing in around them, the cinder blocks exchanging knowing looks because even if Remy didn’t wake up, even if that future— those futures— didn’t happen, even if Remus backs away now and swears never to get near the kid again, the sticky feeling of brain matter on his hands won’t leave.

He can't be older than sixteen.

There’s something in Remus's throat that tastes like blood and feels like live bees and burns like tear gas and hot sauce. He scrambles away from the kid, slamming into a desk so hard that his ribs displace further than the desk does as he flees the room.

((He remembers running through halls like these once, remembers his nose feeling like it was broken when one of Roman’s friends grabbed his hair and slammed his face into his locker after the last bell, he remembers leaving his bag behind in his panic to get away, scrambling on nearly on his hands and knees with blood from his second broken nose trailing down his lip. He remembers the laughter of billions of students as he ran away, and he remembers Roman waiting impatiently at his car later, asking where he was, why he took so long, doesn’t he know that Roman has play practice at the community theater today? Why would you deliberately try to make me late? I’m not even going to ask what happened to your backpack. I should have just left you here, Re. Come on, Let’s go.))

He remembers blood on his hands and on his face and a hundred billion bathroom mirrors that show a person he doesn’t recognize and hasn’t recognized for a long time.

The posters on the walls are colorful smears and Remus wants to drag them down one by one and tear them apart as he runs. His shoes skid on the polished tile and he takes the corner so sharply he slams into the lockers and remembers the sound of a sleeping teenager’s cranium shattering under his fingers.

Remus hits the ground, panting, laughing, choking, crying until the world around him blurs. He’s suffocating on oxygen that tastes like tar, on breaths that congeal in his lungs like molasses, on gasps that harden like stone in his tightening rib cage. It burns worse than a fireball to the face, searing, smoldering, scorching his entire body.

And Remus— Remus can’t— he can’t get it to stop, every inhale throttles in his throat wheezing out through the hundreds of puncture holes in him that match every gunshot wound that Janus is currently dying out from, eons and realms and miseries away, because he believed in a promise that Remus had never been able to keep to anyone.

Stupid, idiot Remus.

Murderous, psychotic Remus.

Sick, sick, so fucking sick Remus.

Who kills— who killed— Roman. Remy. Who got Janus killed and dragged Virgil in this. His parents. Those people at school. Those people on the street. Everyone. All the time. Sick, stupid Remus.

Who can’t just fucking seem to kill himself and make it stick.

Fuck. Fucking Fuck.

He can’t breathe.

He’s aware of every oxygen atom fizzling in the air around him, laughing as he gasps for some type of stability, like he’s on the Mezzanine Level of a library that’s centuries away, feeling the floor crack under his feet and staring at a brother who doesn’t love him and probably never has. His throat is sandpaper and dried stucco and blood and every version of I love you that he never said to his father and when he blinks his eyes, the ghosts of every person he didn’t save, couldn’t save, hadn’t saved, are screaming around him because he can’t do anything right, he can’t save anyone, he’s a murderer and always has been and he’s been pretending this whole time that it was Roman’s fault, but it wasn’t, was it?

It’s just Remus. Sick, stupid Remus. Who should have died getting hit by a silver sedan going twenty over the speed limit instead of Roman.

It would have been better if he had. It would have been right. It would have been— It would have been—

Fuck. It would have been good.

Because if he hadn’t survived, Mom would have never known how to be disappointed, Dad would have never stopped coming home, his friends would have never turned into the monsters that he’d brought out in people. Janus never would have been attracted to a Casino where rumors of a person who never lost were and he never would have died a billion times for something as meaningless as money and Virgil never would have been dragged back into this fight kicking and screaming just to watch his best friend, his lover, his everything die in front of him.

Remus laughs, tears dripping off his chin into the polished floor, splattering over the shadowed silhouette of his reflection. He presses his forehead into the tile, squeezing his eyes closed because if he can’t see— if he can’t see it then— then— fucking then—

It would have been better if he hadn’t been born. All he’s done is ruin things and people and places. He’s brought out the worst pieces of people, like a magnet for every terrible thing that the people he loves are capable of doing: he’s stained through the family portrait and leaving black smears on everything he touches.

He’s seventeen again standing outside Roman’s room staring at a closed door and wondering why Mom didn’t come to break them apart, why Dad hasn’t been home for dinner in months, why the future he saw didn’t line up with what happened and why he can’t stop laughing and why he hurts and hurts and hurts and why Roman seems so certain that he’d be okay without Remus when Remus had given him everything there was to give of himself? Why is he the only one hurting? Why is he always the only one hurting?

He’s seventeen and he’s twenty one and he’s eight and he’s eleven minutes younger than Roman and he wishes that he’d just died instead of growing up.

Because— Because if he stares at his reflection and sees that kid, that stupid idiot sick little kid he’d wrap his hands around his throat and s-squeeeeeeeze just to put him out of his misery because it didn’t get better. Because it only hurts more. Because he wanted to be so right that he stopped listening and maybe those pills had made him better and—

Remus wheezes against the stranglehold on his own lungs, painful and grating and choking as his eyes fight against tears he didn’t give permission to leak out. There’s a person staring back at him in the polished white tile floor, and he looks like a boy who he once saw get run over by— fall off of— dropped a toaster in with— scissors— keys—

A hundred million deaths and Remus didn’t learn from any of them.

There’s a reflection of every person Remus didn’t want to become staring at him and then there’s not because there’s a purple blob covering right where his right eye would be.

Remus gasps for air, sucks in, gulps, and his fingers scrabble over the item: small, round, fits in his palm. His thumb grinds into the imprint on the flat side, his nail chipping along the irregular shape, the irregular grooves, the irregular scratches and gouges and furrows.

The color is plum purple with intersects of off-white eroded with wear until its nearly gray and Remus hysterically remembers bruises on his own skin, on his throat, on his ribs, on his shoulders, on his knuckles. He’s staring through burning eyes, through lava tears, through ashy eyelashes thick with slag and he’s thinking, a coin, a casino coin, a casino chip, a promise made between business partners in a hotel room of a place that housed a million deaths for both of them before Janus’s death had meant anything to him.

There’s a snake on the coin, jaw agape, with fangs on display inviting danger, courting risk, encouraging peril because it’s survived it all anyway. There’s gash across one of the unseeing eyes, notches in the scales, scrapes along the trimming edge from Remus’s special brand of stupid, idiot carelessness, but the dirt and grim has been cleaned from it by Virgil’s gentle, kind hands. There’s a coin in his palm that Janus once bet with, bet on, bet for.

Remus’s lungs ache and weep and Remus squeezes the coin to his chest, and breathes.

His chest shudders in rebellion too short, too quick, and Remus’s fingers ache from how they cling and hold and stay. He breathes, he breathes, he breathes. Even when it feels like he’s trying to move a mountain, even when it feels like he’s trying to climb his way to space, even when it feels like he’s trying to un-bury himself from the grave his family put him in at eight years old.

Remus is twenty one years old and he breathes.

When it stops feeling like he’s drowning after every breath, when the fireburningacidic sense pitters out like a resilient spark being snuffed along hot coals, Remus finds himself sitting against a row of olive green lockers. His head feels cotton stuffed all over again and he uses his sleeve to wipe his face numbly, only managing a wince when he tries to uncurl himself from the ball he coiled into. His spine creaks, twinges, complains and whines and Remus makes an awful noise when he straightens out and takes another look around himself.

Right. Hallway. Highschool. Right.

“Fuck,” Remus rasps.

The hall is empty, and Remus almost laughs at the passing thought of hundreds of students being in the building peeking out of the classroom to see a wanted supervillain having a breakdown in the corridor. He’d be the picture perfect symbol of “Reasons to Stay in School”, and he could almost hear the squeaky voice of a well-meaning, underpaid educator clicking their tongue and saying “And this is what will happen if you don’t clean up your act and focus on passing your classes. Do you want to be this type of embarrassment to yourself?”

Jokes on them, Remus thinks idly. He’d been an embarrassment to himself for so long he didn’t know how to be anything else. He was— is— a mess, the stain and splatter on a blank canvas that ruins it for the artist, the blemish in a glass that causes it to shatter at the slightest touch.

He’s also alone, and not falling, and holding a coin made of a thousand promises. He’s a mess and he’s Janus’s mess.

The thought sends a pain down his throat, an itch that only another round of sobs would satisfy. If he closes his eyes he can picture Janus sitting next to him dressed up in that suit he likes, yellow and gold and dangerous. He can picture those blue-grey eyes that only ever looked at him with kindness, and hear his haughty tone repeating that he does have a poker face thank you very much, and smell the cardamom scent that follows after him like a cloak. If he lets himself sink, he knows he’ll fall into that memory of Janus carding his hands through Remus’s hair, warm and gentle despite all the ways that Remus continued to fuck up.

But he can’t let himself. Remus shakes with his whole body, dislodging the warmth of the anamnesis.

He’s not sure where he is, or what he is, or who he is anymore. But he knows he can’t stay here. He knows he doesn’t want to stay here.

His list of other places to go is short— achingly, brutally short— but it's okay because Remus is not exactly in the mood to do a lot of thinking. He feels like someone came and stole all his skin while he wasn’t looking, like he’s raw and exposed for all the world to see and not in a fun way. The walls aren’t leering at him; they’re sharing side eyes with each other, snickering and whispering about Remus just loud enough for him to know they think he’s irrational and weird.

There’s a chill ghosting along his limbs that he hadn’t noticed before, something plucking at his skeleton, wrapping him in a cocoon of cold. He feels sluggish, and distantly hungry. The thrumming of his headache is back, pounding in his skull like a car alarm someone set off in a hit and run.

He drags himself back to his feet, hugging the lockers as his legs wobble and his vision blurs. It clears after he gives himself a frustrated tickticktick of a second.

He can’t go back to that Library. Remus’s mind creates the picture of it without prompting: the gaping broken structure marked off with caution tape and police officers and all private security; News reporters and cameras flashing because horror sells more than common sense; Roman. The frozen picture left of the news video has Remus’s lungs combusting. How many people got caught underneath? How many people got hurt when Remus managed to get out without more than bruises? There’s a body cooling at the top of a concrete staircase for everyone to see, a martyr made of love for strangers who never fucking deserved it.

If he goes back, walking on his own two feet, he’ll fall to his knees next to that body, and that fall will have so much collateral damage that Janus’s sacrifice would mean nothing.

He can’t go to Virgil’s apartment again. Remus knows that like he knows he can’t trust himself to drive a car without losing track of the speed limit. If he thinks too long about Virgil’s apartment, he’ll remember what Janus’s lips taste like, what level of softness Virgil’s clothes feel like, what warmth and safety and hope could be like, and the stability that is keeping Remus’s feet underneath him will give away. If he goes to Virgil’s apartment he’ll remember everything that could have been and he'll try to figure out he's supposed to do without....without.

And if then he’ll tumble off Virgil’s little balcony and the thing that crawls out from the splatter— because something will crawl out— will take a retribution in pieces from every person it sees after that.

((His bones are humming, rumbling, vibrating with the horrible horrible urge to go anyway.))

He can’t go back to the hotel room he shared with Janus just three days ago, before Roman had reappeared, before the world knew his name, before Janus was Janus and before Remus let himself admit that he wanted to be loved like loving him wasn’t a fucking nightmare that got people killed. For all Remus knew the organization of the parking lot, and the sounds of the city at night, he couldn’t remember the name of it as much as he could remember the taste of rain during a thunderstorm.

He breathes. Forcibly.

Remus is awake, jolted out of a dream he didn't know he'd been in and now he doesn't recognize his surroundings anymore and doesn't think he can fall back asleep ever again.

There's no Idahoan Mall. There's no stolen cars with seats reclined enough for Remus to throw his feet on the dash. There's no generic diner with waitresses that will scream over a kiss. There's no casino with sparkling chandeliers and smiling strangers waiting to be business partners.

That’s nothing new. Remus hasn’t had a stationary place to stay since he was seventeen. He slept in cars and in back alleys and hotel rooms he jimmied the lock to. He hitchhiked his way from the east side of the country to the west with nothing but a bag of two outfits and a pair of boots he stole.

Now he’s twenty one and doesn’t even have a bag.

Well. Remus blows out a breath. He doesn’t have his bag yet. The fragments of the plan are coming back to him, like broken puzzle pieces: Janus had drafted up the entire thing on the napkins on Virgil’s coffee table until Virgil had relented into giving him paper. For all that Virgil had been stubborn about not being involved, he’d been drawn into the planning phase like a comet falling into a blackhole, vetoing ideas left and right as a one man council and poking holes in others like he’d been possessed by a bored second grader left alone with a hole puncher and a stack of report cards.

Janus had picked out Linda Maddock the chocolatier and her daughter as his own way in (after several arguments over how to approach the situation: Janus had wanted to give the mother plausible deniability by not telling her at all, and Virgil’s voice had found a pitch that could make glass shatter), and negotiated Remus’s way in with an antsy vampire who didn’t like the idea of having all those eyes on him for such a long time (a whole five minutes). After about an hour of pointless back and forth, Remus had stepped in to personally promise that Virgil wouldn’t be the center of attention for more than thirty seconds; Remus would steal the show himself or he’ll brighten the ever present spotlight on Roman. Virgil had been soothed with promises of being labeled as a victim of a horrible kidnapping, and subsequently forgotten after he’d been “saved” just like all of Roman’s other damsels-in-distress.

“Alright, fine. Fine! Stop looking at me like that!” Virgil had said, chewing on his lip with his fangs. “You both have a way in. How are you idiots going to get back out? Other than in body bags after this blows up in your faces.”

They had a bunch of contingency plans for their exits. The first was if everything went according to plan and it meant that Janus would sneak his way out through the back entrance of the library and then welcome himself in from the outside through the front for the cameras to catch, swooping in to drag Remus out before anyone could figure out what happened. It incorporated time for Janus to throw a few misleading comments about where he’d been, and for him to flash a smile at the cameras, both of which Janus had insisted were non-negotiable points for himself and Remus had kissed him for it.

If Janus got found out and an alarm got pushed, he was to ditch the flashdrive entirely and get himself out by any means, Remus would leverage the bomb threat over Roman and the security until he got outside and then Janus would find him and fly them to safety. If Janus didn’t meet up with him again (meaning he got caught or injured enough that he couldn’t heal), Remus was supposed to use the crowd to get away, stealing what hats and other clothes he could until he was a few streets away and felt safe again. If no alarm went off but Janus wasn’t appearing for their escape, (meaning that something worse than being caught or injured was going on) then Remus was supposed to ditch entirely, use the crowd to escape, and let Virgil figure out what happened.

If Roman called Remus’s bluff immediately, the whole plan was to be ditched and both him and Janus were to leave by any means possible.

If Dragana Witchall appeared at any point, the whole plan was to be ditched and they’d escape by any means possible.

If aliens attacked—

Remus is pretty sure they had everything covered except for what to do when Logan steps forward and steals the whole show. Revealing the bombs were fake, incentivizing the gunfight with innocent civilians around, having Remus suddenly outnumbered and forcing Virgil out of hiding just to save his life…Remus hands shake thinking about freefalls.

In every version of the plan they said goodbye to Virgil at the library, never to see him again, but amidst the gunfire Remus had hesitated leaving him there and it had caused their escape opportunity to explode into fragments and bring the Mezzanine level down on their heads literally.

But also in every version of the plan, their place of residency to lay low after it all is a motel several counties away that Virgil drove to after he’d done the honors of tossing the molotov cocktail through the library window at nine thirty and checked into and left their bags at.

So. That’s where Remus’s best bet is to gather his unstable, unsteady, un-fucking-believable thoughts and figure out what to do next. The Motel. He can get Janus’s things. He can get his own things. He can figure out a plan to get Janus’s body back and he can bury it somewhere safe and gentle and and and—

He takes a step away from the lockers he’s leaning against and the batshit fucking insane amount of exhaustion yanks at his bones. As if someone amped up the gravity on earth and Remus was the only one to get the fucking memo, or maybe the one who fucking cared to notice all the hard work the universe was doing.

The thought nearly drags a laugh out of his abused strained lungs: wouldn’t that be grand? If the universe took gratitude that Remus was paying attention to it and decided to repay it with even the tiniest smidge of kindness? Wouldn’t it be amazing to wake up in a few seconds and realize his entire life was just one nightmare that never happened? Wouldn’t it be fucking fantastic if he could shed this reality the same way he shed every single one of his deaths?

The more he looks around the less the hallways mimic the ones that he’d grown up in: the brick pattern here is off-white and green and he grew up with gold and reds and blacks, the walkways are wider, polished and there’s no graffiti on any lockers that point out exactly who everyone had collectively decided didn’t belong. The lack of real color has him feeling off-balanced and the haze of weariness has his footsteps dragging like a dream he didn’t remember entering: there’s a taste in the air that reminds him inexplicably of being in the middle of a crowd and seeing flashes of white light wrap around him until there’s nothing left of the world he knew.

He only barely knows where he ran, barely realizes that he’s retracing his blurry fuzzing panicky paces until he’s nearly walking right by the only classroom with an open door.

Remy is still laying there, on the floor, unharmed and asleep, chest rhythmically lifting and falling with a deep unconsciousness. It feels like no time has passed, like all the time has passed, like the world is gone and they’re the only ones left, and at any second Remus will turn around and find a billion people behind him watching and waiting to prosecute him for the mistake he makes.

He hovers in the doorway, hands dragging along the fringe of his shorts, and fingers catching on his fishnets. His feet are waiting to walk away, to sing adios as he leaves the kid right there, to forget about the feeling of brain matter on his hands and the shine of blood on the off colored brick walls.

No one would have to know about a future that didn’t happen, and he could keep running away.

But Remus can’t help thinking of the snippets of blurred futures where Remy got shot in that library for the crime of being behind Remus when he dodged and how Logan screamed like the world was ending. Remus can’t help but think of a home screen of a boy surrounded by more people than Remus can count. Remus can’t help thinking that people would miss the kid in front of him more than they had ever missed Roman Regis’s weird younger brother.

“Okay,” Remus says to himself. “Okay.”

He’s not Janus. He’s not a shield to defend against attacks, throwing himself forward without a hesitation to take the brunt of something he won’t survive. He’s not and never has been, but if Janus were here he could never leave this kid to wake up alone after dying or near dying or almost dying or dying-but-not-this-time or not-dying-but-I-thought-I-was. Remus is not a comfort, but even he wouldn’t wish that feeling on anyone.

He shoves his way into the classroom before he can think anymore. The desks flinch apart with a little persuasion from Remus’s hands, jolting like they’re afraid of him, of what he did to Remy, of what he could do again. The small shrieks of noise pick and pluck at Remus’s resolve, until he’s moving on adrenaline and animal brained instinct only.

((There’s a phone on the ground, face down, with a coffee cup winking up at him, and Remus’s hands shake as they pick it up. It’s not covered in blood and his hands are not sticky and there’s a billion notifications dinging on the screen and not a single one talks about a murder that just happened on live TV to a man whose last act was trying to protect people.))

But he can’t think about that. He won’t think about that. He told himself not to think anymore, and so he doesn’t, not until he has Remy’s arm pulled over his shoulder and he’s dragging him towards the hallway again, and then after that, the only thing Remus is focusing on is getting them both to somewhere far, far away.

[Next Chapter]

#deja vu au #Remus sanders #Janus Sanders #Remy Sanders #Lets goooooo #sanders sides #demus #dukeceit #tw: panic attack #TW: temporary character death #Remy's existence is enough to get him into Situations(TM)#That Feral Type of Love That Makes You Commit Crimes

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skeletood · 1 year

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OHHHHH SO MANY THOUGHTS TO SHARE

Holy shit. Probably the hardest I’ve laughed at any of the new seasons releases so far. Absolutely speechless

Hellhole:

- SOOOOO HAPPY to see them riff again it’s so corny and silly

- Beavis gets to hell and his first thought is where all the biker dudes are? interesting interesting *puts this in my notes

-oh my god already some amazing facial expressions

no wonder this dude ends up with so many cracked teeth in the future

- the boys being inexplicably immune to death never gets old to me

- THE DARKNESS PART HAD MY HEAD IN MY HANDS SHUT UP. THANK **GOD** IT WASN’T ANOTHER ESCAPED SNAKE SITUATION DEAR GOD IVE NEVER BEEN HAPPIER FOR A BAIT AND SWITCH

-hehe :] sillies

Overall thoughts: Another great ep this season good job guys, gave me a lot of good little laughs

The video segment was whatever but Arianna’s eye candy so like. All good :]

Take A Bow:

My god. I had absolutely no idea what was going to happen on the way in to this episode and I was NOT prepared for what it gave me and put me through

- already starting the ep strong with some GREAT facial expressions

so fucking real i used to do this to my guy friends when i was their age. not quite enough to put them in the hospital but like. yea lmao

- (monotone) “Take a bow” HAD ME DYINNNNGGGGG

- knowing about all the flavors of mountain dew what a goddamn nerd (knows everything about the different monster flavors)

- “Cherries don’t taste red at ALL. They taste all barfy” little kids complaining about foods they dont like is so silly, thank you for being your childish self its so refreshing

oh man. fuck. its butthead characterization time! finally some good fucking food. oh man here come the waterworks IMAGINE me getting stupid over an emotionally stunted idiot with a big head:

- “not until youre better beavis” first of all shut up. second of all shut up.

- “It’s like, I didn’t mean to hurt him. Feeling bad sucks.” WE KNOW BABY. WE KNOW. SO PROUD OF YOU FOR ADMITTING IT HUN :((((( the fact that bro cant even acknowledge he HAS feelings unless he’s alone. the volumes that speaks to me. man

if you had told me a week ago these were real screenoshots i wouldnt have believed you. at all. cant wait to see the looks on the faces of all the “ohh stop looking so far into it its just a stupid lowbrow cartoon” people like shut the fuck up!!!!! youve clearly never experienced real friendship before and are so pissed off cause u dont know what it looks like

- not pictured here is where they had to forcefully remove butthead from the room bc he was freaking out after thinking he killed beavis. If you disagree youre just wrong sorry!

- not only is this a funny as hell angle but man. we already know damn well he doesn’t want beavis to die but its nice to hear him say it. also he’s right, it was really funny. take a bow :]

- a lot of really good beavis screams this episode too

- BOY. HOW DO YOU KNOW WHAT “COVID” IS. MR JUDGE IM STRIKING THAT FROM THE RECORDS BUT YOURE ON THIN FUCKING ICE AKJSDSNA

- “-and his friend would have died of grief shortly there-after” I’m- I need a minute. LIKE WE ALREADY KNEW THIS BUT. THANKS FOR ADMITTING IT.

- also, god is a whiteman i guess kasjndsajkd

In conclusion: both fucking great episodes. I am always EXTRA excited for Butt-Head characterization moments, it just makes him so much more human. Not to mention how happy I am to see that they toned down his cruelty JUST a touch. I honestly didn’t notice how bad it had gotten last season until i compared it to how this one is going so far, it feels more like older seasons butthead again :] Like dont get me wrong i LOVE it when he’s mean its just who he is but it should come more out of a place of stupidity/no real self awareness than like. idk wherever it was coming from last season. These boys are goin soft on us and to that i say: thank god. It’s nice to see them act human. Take a bow has EASILY taken old man beavis’ place as my favorite ep so far and ngl its going to be tough to beat. Funny episode that had me chuckling throughout the whole thing AND nice Butt-Head moments? Oh Mike, you shouldnt have u///u

Anyways lemme know your thoughts :]

#bnb spoiler tag #skeletalk #AUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #basically is what i got from these new eps

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goodoldfashionedengineer · 2 years

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Two hours passed since I watched the TOH season 2 finale. There was a lot to take in. The fandom is probably discussing season 3 but season 2 only now became available in my country and that's why I'm only talking about it now.

Here are my thoughts about TOH season 2 in no particular order:

I strive for a friendship like the kind Lilith and Hooty have

Showing that the Golden Guard acts like a teenager is the best they could have done after revealing that he is a teenager

Speaking of Hunter: It was so great to see him in a team

And caring about Flapjack. What a duo

I love the filter they used on the voice with the diaries

When Hooty ate the letter I got soo mad

I really wanted to punch our favourite tube demon in that moment

But only in that moment because he does care about his residents

I wish we learned more about Gus. I want to learn more about him

His despair when the illusions kick in

Calling himself dumb because "ge should have known" even though he was supposed to be the smart guy

Why do some witches have these magic "boosts"? Gus' eyes turn blue and he is in an illusion. Willow's eyes turn green and ranks appear out of the ground. Why is that? Will we get an explanation to this? It only happened with a specific type of magic

I knew Belos was Phillip when he said he was in the human realm and then proceeded to talk about how nice it is there. Added with the diary entry of Phillip talking about the reflections of the lake, my beliefs only grew stronger

RAINE! RAINE WHISPERS! I like them so much. They don't really seem like a rebel because of their stage freight but they nail it.

Raine's Rhapsody. Eda's Requiem. That... That episode did something to me emotionally. Like someone poked at my heart.

I am more invested in adult characters in cartoons if they are established well. So Raines is an awesome addition

Raine and Eda are star-crossed lovers. I don't know how often I said it while watching the series. They are. They are so beautiful. They care so much about each other.

Raine introduced Eda to Apple Blood, her favourite drink

Raine and Eda met each other but they alread had such a strong bond that they decided to attack a coven head and they didn't even have to say it.

Raine wanted to keep Eda safe. And Eda just ignores the suspicious stuff Luz says if Luz mentions Raine

"Rainstorm"

I'll talk about Raine again

It's so refreshing to see a cartoon family where noone is abusive or absent but it's not completely perfect, not by far.

I am speaking of the Clawthorne family

Her mom didn't disown her, she wants to help but didn't realise that she was causing more harm than helping

Lilith in that episode was me. Lilith, I understand you. Oldest child struggles with being overlooked because you are "self-sufficient" (which you only are because you had to be)

I cried when Gwendolyn apologised to Lilith. That was really nice to see. I rewatched that scene three times and it did help

Eda's dad doesn't hate her

Eda blames herself for the attack

I like how that one was revealed. In a dream of a past memory

Hunter starting to dig a grave because he failed. He did what we all want to do in these moments. And he is still joking.

I was confused when Darius was nice to Hunter because he finally made friends. I was confused because I saw Darius as that bad guy because he captured Raine.

That he is against the Emperor as well makes much more sense

Hunter has a Penstagram account

It took me way too long to realise that those skulls the Titan Trappers wear are just masks

This found family in this show

Eda being vulnerable after always being represented as this snarky clever witch. She cares about her loved ones. She didn't fight Lilith to get into some stupid coven, she sees Luz and King as her children

She regrets not accepting help

Flapjack flying to Hunter was such a nice moment. Hunter believed genuinely that the Emperor was great by giving him magic, letting him keep all magic, gaving him clothes and food and one day off a year

Belos gave Hunter a way to do magic

But Flapjack was his

Birds represent freedom and Flapjack was the first step in freeing himself from Belos

So nice to learn that Eda carved Owlbert with her dad and now she wants to carve a Palismen with Luz

Hunter is a nerd (affirmative)

I like how Amity stopped her dad of giving her a hug. You don't need to forgive someone everything just because they are family

I like how Alador changed sides and wants to get to know his kids. It took way too long tho. But Odalia is suffocating. No weekend of in five years?! Come on. That's going to lead to a divorce

I also like how they give backstories even to small characters. Lile Edric.

Also those cloaking stones are so smart

Lumity was dorky and awkwardin the best way possible

Amity wanting to be an awesome girlfriend. And knowing just what her GF would say

I laughed so hard when it was revealed that Amity was the only one who bought the Good Witch Azura books

I cried so much when Luz picked flowers for her dad.

And Amity was with her

Why did Belos look like this in his mindscape

Do I already want to talk about it?

The season finale?

Okay, let's get over this

The plan with making Eda Coven head seemed so risky and I had a bad feeling.

It was right

Maybe they should have gone with Darius plan

It was so painful to see Eda getting a sigil. That was her thing, being the most powerful witch because she wasn't bound to a coven and was wild

And she gave it up for all the people she loves

I looove The Collectord character design. When he is imprisoned but also when he is free. A child with unimaginable powers obky a Titan could compete against.

He is a child but is overpowered. Not a teen, a child. This was so awesome

Even when dying Raine is doing everything to keep their promise and keep Eda safe...

I didn't got closure on that ship

I didn't got any closure

What happened after they where stranded in the human world

Probably going to find out in season 3

I thought because the episode was called "King's Tide" King is going to transform into his giant Titan form and gain new powers or something like this and save the day

Instead he saved his big sisters by letting go

I am probably going to make another post but those are all my thoughts I can think of in this moment so I am going to stop there. I am soo overwhelmed.

#the owl house #owl house #toh #toh season two #edalyn #the owl house eda #raine whispers #hooty my beloved #lilith clawthorne #toh hunter #toh flapjack #toh gus #toh king #eda clawthorne #toh belos #toh season 2 spoilers

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financialsmatter · 2 years

Text

Sunday Funnies, If You're Not Offended...

Welcome back to this week’s edition of the Sunday Funnies where, last week Twitter seems to be holding the spotlight on headlines as Elon Musk is being compared to Hitler by Alyssa Milano. Meanwhile, potential presidential candidate Kanye West (aka Ye) not only has lunch with Trump at Mar-a-Lago but also speaks out on the Alex Jones show about how he likes Hitler. LMAO! But then he gets censored AGAIN from Twitter for posting a picture of Elon Musk without a shirt. WAIT! What happened to Musk’s freedom of speech? LOL! No, you just can’t make this stuff up. And Sam Bankrun-Fraud – disgraced FTX CEO – apologized profusely about FTX blowing up and taking down the entire crypto industry with it. Adding, of course, that he didn’t know what was happening. Except the records clearly show how FTX recycled taxpayer money sent to Ukraine right back into the Democrats coffers* to help rig the election. (*Note; RINO Mitch McConnell was the recipient of $2.5 million) And then we had O’Biden’s appointed deputy of nuclear waste (and known sexual pervert) Sam Brinton charged with a felony and lying to the police after he stole a very expensive suitcase from the airport luggage carousel. Several weeks later Brinton claimed innocence saying: "If I had taken the wrong bag, I am happy to return it, but I don’t have any clothes for another individual," Brinton told the officer. "That was my clothes when I opened the bag." He later apologized to the police for not being "completely honest" but said the bag was taken due to tiredness. However, security cameras showed Brinton taking the bag from carousel before removing its tag and hurrying away. And you wonder why our government is screwed up? Flying under the radar last week was everyone’s favorite company (Apple) openly supporting the Chinese government in their harsh treatment of the lockdown of millions of citizens. And actively aiding China in crushing dissent. Hmmm! If they do that with China what would stop them from doing it here? Based on that, it appears Apple’s best days are behind them. Ironically (or NOT) Big Tech Censorship is looking a lot like the dark figures of the past. And these are just a few of the multitude of antics we’re seeing on a regular basis that leads you to believe that the entire world has gone insane. And that’s exactly why we publish the Sunday Funnies. You see, we use our funnies/memes/cartoons in an effort to counter the madness and frustration that accompanies Turbulent Times. Because when it’s all said and done, we all need to laugh every now and then. Why? Laughter is good for your soul. And it’s healthy to be a bit silly…especially in the face of fear mongering, medical tyranny, and especially the threat of WWIII. It’s all the more reason why we won’t apologize…especially if our Funnies just happen to hurt some Progressive/Socialist/Communist/Globalist’s feeeellwwings. And please remember: The Sunday Funnies are not just about our nations bizarre state of politics/finance/beliefs. It’s about awareness of what’s happening in the world that we choose to poke fun at. And, if our funnies/memes/cartoons/etc. provide you with a laugh or two – and/or open your eyes to some stark realities – then we consider that a victory. So, when things tend to get a bit overwhelming, we believe it’s best to remember that Humor is Waaaayyyyy better than Hatred…which is contrary to what the world wants you to believe. And we hope you see the Sunday Funnies as a refreshing oasis in the middle of a parched, dry, and increasingly dark world that we’re living in. As always, we remind you: As difficult as things might appear, Evil Always Overplays its Hand…And Righteousness Prevails. Thanks again for joining us on this crazy journey we’re on and remember America Was Built by the Brave, Not by the Fearful… ********************************** Before His ‘Transformation’ Doesn’t Sam Brinton Resemble Matt Damon? ************************************* Before it Became Trendy to Hate Elon Musk, Alyssa Milano – another celeb has been who called Musk a White Supremacist – She Was One of His Greatest Fans. So, In Protest, She Ditched Her Tesla to Buy a Car Made By a Company That Was Founded by Hitler…LMAO! *********************************** But it Appears that Alyssa No Longer Has the Same Love/Worship for Elon *********************************** As a Result, Alyssa Gives Credibility to the Saying: “You Can’t Fix Stupid” ************************************ What Happened Here vs What’s Happening in China Now *************************************** When Liberals Try to Compare Trans Rights With Gun Rights… ************************************* Piecing Together the FTX Meltdown, We Learn How Many Pigs Profited from the Crypto Scam ***************************************** What Does China and Canada Have in Common? ************************************* Meanwhile in Canada, Justin Trudeau’s Alleged Father Speaks Out… ************************************** Another Reason Why Girls Are Smarter Than Boys ************************************ As Christmas Gets Closer Even Beloved Cartoon Characters Become Subject to Mood Swings ************************************* And During Christmas We Also Rejoice in Some of the Simple Pleasures of the Holidays *********************************** If You Have Travel Plans for the Holidays, Remember What the Covid Scam Has Done to the Travel Industry ************************************** Meanwhile, Facebook Continues Their Incessant Lying About Their Fact Checkers… ********************************** And Facebook Isn’t the Only One Lying About Their Fact Checkers ********************************* As Usual Celebrities Announcing They Are Leaving Twitter is Met With the Standard Response ************************************ And Speaking of Lying And Hiding the Truth… ******************************************** If You’re Wondering Why We Haven’t Heard Much About the White Supremacy Crisis Lately… ****************************************** And Speaking of White Supremacy, Let’s Not Forget About Planned Parenthood ************************************* Most People Missed How Frauduci Lied in 2020…and What Happened As a Result of His Lies **************************************** According to FOIA Released Pfizer documents, 31% of People Who Took the Jab Either Died, Were Permanently Disabled or Ended Up With Severe Side Effects **************************************** Why Marketing Relies on Old School Math… ************************************ Liberals Now Say that Horses Are Homophobic ******************************** How Christmas Ads Have Changed… ************************************* Looking At the State of Our World Today You Would Likely Conclude… ************************************** Before You Remodel Your Kitchen, It Pays to Remember How Long You’ve Had Your Old Appliances ********************************* ********************************* That’s all for this week’s edition of the Sunday Funnies. Unless, of course, you want to see more risqué and/or R-Rated memes. You can find them (HERE). As always, we hope you enjoy our memes/cartoons/rants etc. and that they bring a smile to your face. We definitely love to hear your comments so keep ‘em coming. And although the world seems pretty dark these days, we encourage you to see why you have a lot to hope for in 2022 and beyond (HERE). In the meantime, be sure to share these funnies with friends and family members. Caution: They may get offended. But remind them…It’s important to laugh together and laugh often. And be sure to tell them… We’re Not Just About Finance. See You Next Sunday… Invest with confidence. Sincerely, James Vincent The Reverend of Finance Copyright © 2022 It's Not Just About Finance, LLC, All rights reserved. You are receiving this email because you opted in via our website. Read the full article

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strawberry-nugget · 3 years

Text

Bloom Later | S. Todororoki / Reader

Summary: a shameless self insert about sharing feelings, interests, and even remains of unfortunate situations with Todoroki. Or the one where Todoroki turns into a comfort character because I'm trying to cope about having second degree burn scars

Warnings: mildy sexual situations, heavy sexual tension, reader has anxiety, other than that it's pretty fluffy, minors do not interact

Disclaimer: since this is a very personal work my experience with my burns scars is what applies to me, I am not taking away anything from other burn victims, I hope you know you're beautiful and powerful for getting through such a difficult situation. All characters are of age/20s

Word count: 3.5k

Most of your evenings are spent watching superhero cartoons.

It's the most inevitable in the first stages of the fate of a superhero, planted in their heads from the early childhood years as they zap through kids channels on the TV; watching Superman blow his villains to next year with his icy breath, jumping from one furniture to another after a new episode of the amazing Spiderman and admiring Batman for eliminating evil one night at a time despite his lack of powers.

Shoto Todoroki, ever the hero, has forever been deprived of this. Born and raised into abuse, fighting his way out, has only found peace after permanent scarring now, in his 20s with you, on this ratty rundown couch in your apartment that you cling onto dearly, in the collection of superhero shows you own.

And it's rather enjoyable because your interests are fairly common. You talk about the recent comics issues of the heroes that you like religiously and there's a sparkle in his eyes when he lets you finish and talks about his, even more so when you analyse your knowledge on any hero that he likes.

Shoto is sweet, in the way that he bought you a whole lot of three years worth of Batman issues so you can have physical copies to add to your collection because you simply gifted him a DC Comics encyclopedia out of the blue. He says it's refreshing he gets to live such an exciting part of one's childhood even now and you tell him there's no age in enjoying the things that you like, that he's not late to anything.

And there's the part of you that longs so much for him that it feels unreal.

It's been like this ever since you met him through a mutual friend -Camie- two years ago on the first days of June. You, very close to a breakup without even knowing so, Camie trying to convince herself that she wanted Shoto a few moments before embracing her true self and coming out and the man somewhat enticed by you -to the point a small hangout between the two of you almost turned to a make out session.

Keyword, almost. You've tried to keep everything you've ever felt for Shoto deep inside of you, locked away by swallowing the key, shoved in the closet with a stick and forcefully shut closed, but it's almost impossible.

You've thought about him at night, on your own, he's helped you get over your break up, you've bonded over so very, so many similarities and common interests that you've come to end up being a nervous wreck with shaky hands whenever you merely do so as lay eyes on him.

And then there's this intimacy that you share with him, the carefulness in the way you hug, because there's so much tension between the two of you that anything could be inappropriate, anything wrong could ruin the friendship that you've built. You often think of him slamming you against the wall, kissing your neck, you've wondered what his lips taste like whenever your faces are just centimeters apart only for one of you to pull back, to set things straight.

You're sure that had his fangirls known about you having such intimacy with him you wouldn't be able to go online -and you want to have that ability because in times he's gone for months and when you can't rely on his poor online communication skills to see his face you rely on his posts, on the posts of his friends and you find yourself texting him over and over at times and then none at all. He always makes up for the time he's spent away with a bottle of booze that he buys wherever his heroic missions take him.

So there's tonight for you; Justice League Snyder's Cut playing in the background, cognac filling cup after cup and Shoto curled on your couch with his warm, blue turtleneck and his baggy jeans -both articles of clothing hugging his body so beautifully in all the right places that you can't help but stare and choke on your spit from time to time- everything is topped with the worst snowfall you've seen coat Musutafu in years.

In other words, it's already 11.30 pm and he's trapped in here. But the movie is four hours long and Shoto and you had already talked about the fact that a sleepover might be needed to get through the night and you had initially been fine with that -of course- but now you're not sure you can actually do this tonight.

You've already watched an hour and a half of the movie -you actually loathe how slow paced it is- when Shoti turns to look at you, lower lips tucked under his front teeth, tugged until his skin turns white. He's turned his gaze onto you one too many times tonight but this one is different; you press pause on the controller in your hands and instantly the screen freezes.

"You okay Sho?"

"Okay?" He blinks "yeah more than okay, I actually uh," His dual colored eyes look around the room "I need to pee, be right back"

You watch him get up and instantly you feel cold; you try to blame this on the fact that he's warmer on his left side by letting your logic push your stupid heart in its place before it takes up the whole room. You're right, you know you're right and even if there's no harm in making a move on him there is something definitely still holding you back, something you're scared he won't like about you.

"I'm back" He announces and startles you so that you jump slightly "sorry for scaring you"

You nod, pulling your sleeves over your fingers "I'm good Sho, come sit next to me again 'm getting cold"

He smirks at you and he's so cute at doing so that you almost pout, or you actually do pout, because Shoto squints his eyes as he stares at you, as if trying to make out what you're pouting about

"Am I doing anything wrong? Did I say anything that hurt you?"

"Oh, i- uhm"

God this is so awkward. You think… you think this is the end of you, for your heart is fluttering in a peculiar way and Shoto's eyes are fixated on your form and they look warm and icy all at once and it's too much.

And despite being sure the man was into you two years ago when you met, despite being of age that your experience let's you know whether someone has the feels for you or not, there's a doubtful voice in the back of your head that says he would never like you this way. You're too much of a nerd, too plain for him and you think you're erotic when you probably look so ridiculous in his eyes.

"...I would have loved to see some of the bat family in this, it has so much potential and…"

But he; he looks so beautiful talking about his interests, so much that you lean into him a slight bit, not knowing when or how this little rumble started, but still enjoying it anyway.

"...dont you think?"

"Mhm" You nod your head but you have no idea what you're agreeing with. It's only then his mouth shuts closed, thin lips pressed together softly dual colored eyes staring into yours once again as he leans back into the couch.

He eyes your breathing chest and in return you choke on a breath.

You make a mental note to try and look from his eyes to his lips and then back to his eyes -advice courtesy of TikTok and in your defense you've only just wanted to find out if it actually works- and you exhale so shortly that he should be startled.

But it looks like he's counted down all of your breaths, like he knows what your future moves are going to be; you wonder, does he know the thought of him is not-so-reluctantly crawling under your skin, raising the hair at the nape of your neck? Your chest stiffens so very heavily that you almost choke again.

The two of you, dense as a pile of bricks, are probably going to be staring at each other until all sexual tention on the room is thrown out of the window in the cold, piling snow in the streets of Musutafu.

"I, uh-"

Shoto blurts out his first choice of words and it's enough to know the inevitable has finally happened, you've ruined it, in between your cowardness and his stupidity you've grabbed a butter knife and cut through the sexual tention with such ease. You hold your breath and shut your eyes and puff your cheeks in disappointment and behold and await for his world crushing words.

But they never come. Instead you find your world taking a rather horizontal pov to it. It takes no more than a second to realise Shoto is laying you down, hands resting authoritatively by your sides; one next to your burning face and one with its thumb to the curve of your stomach

"Can I kiss you?" He asks, and he doesn't really have to, but he knows your ex gave you a cinematic first kiss before you had to get to the train to head back to your hometown, and he fears crossing boundaries with you.

Your heart is pounding in your ears, and you can't, you can never, take a decision for yourself but this time if you don't act now and if you don't act right you're going to mess everything up royally.

And so you cup his face with your hands and take a swan dive into his face.

It's too much, too soon and you manage to hit his face with yours more so than you manage to kiss him. Perhaps it's for the best, for he squints his eyes melodramatically and smooths your cheek with his thumb, bumps your nose with his, ghosts his lips over yours.

"I'm so sorry, Shoto, fuck, I'm so so sor-"

"Shh, it's fine" He whispers and the change in his voice has you weak in the knees "I wanted to take my time with it but I don't think I can wait any longer"

To say you feel your core throb would be such an understatement. You've never had someone long to kiss you that much, you've never felt this drunken way, you've never wanted to know what it feels like to kiss lips you've only ever dreamt of this much.

And there's raw energy in that kiss, tangled between short breaths, woven into how romantically his lips are dancing against yours. You've never been kissed like this, you've never come close to feel as good as this kiss feels. You know, you could probably die right now and the piece of heaven this kiss has given you will be enough to last you the rest of this eternity.

You can't help smiling like an idiot, every five seconds you've got to pull back, give yourself some time to come to terms with your reality.

By the time Shoto is smiling too, you think, you've accented into a space in time, where your tongues don't have a single body they belong to, they're wet and unkind in the way they fight against each other and they're too eager to engage in battle again and again until saliva is dripping down your cheeks, until Shoto lets out a silky moan and detached from my out mouth as suddenly as he attacked it to launch a new attack on your chin and travel down your neck.

There's not a single point of return between the two of you. You want to have him, you want him to have you and you don't want to wait any longer (it's exactly what you've always feared would happen were you to allow your lips to touch his own; the lack of self control in your bloodstream that screamed of his name only)

"Am I going too fast?" He asks when he pulls back, tugging his hands inside and out of his pullover, slowly taking it off his head but throwing it in an unknown corner of your room with inhuman force and speed

"No" You breathe out

"Great"

It's probably a bad time to think about this, but when Shoto's hand manages to reach under your shirt and his thumbs, eager to locate your supple breasts roam around your frame as he grabs onto you, you freeze.

There's one too many things you and Shoto have in common. You share similar tastes in music, you're both comic book nerds, you like all the same foods, so many talents to match but there's something that can beat all of those and it's the only thing he doesn't know about.

That being you're a burn victim yourself.

Shoto doesn't, he can't know about those because he's never really seen your torso without makeup, and you always like to wear even the slightest bit of a cardigan to match with your outfit, not to hide any scars, but out of your own stylistic choices.

Of course, you or rather circumstances, playing their foul game, you've seen a plethora of shirtless pictures of Shoto on his profile, in his gym Instagram stories that he says his pr team forces him to upload every once in a while and even on the cover of Vogue Japan; his pictures paired with empowering quotes for all burn victims to embrace their beauty.

And you too embrace the beauty in healed scars that look just like the ones on his body, a few tones lighter than your skin tone but completely healed and sometimes you feel lucky you've only been burned with water and you feel lucky that you can't see the scarring on your face (read: the water poured all over your face).

And in fact it's not that you're feeling insecure about it, having it to be viewed as a birthmark for your whole life, having older love interests not take notice of it despite the smaller, yet visible less-healed scars scattered amongst the bigger picture of your body, it's only Shoto that makes your spit pool in your throat.

So much that when he tries to take off your shirt you stop him.

And you can't take your eyes off of the discolored marks on his skin that look nothing like the scar on his face. He looks at you and his chest, panicked.

"I thought these weren't visible i-" He backs up to himself, looking around for his pullover "I'll cover up-

You grab his wrist in protest and for the first time the frog that sits at the end of your throat decides to take a leap out of your mouth and let your voice be heard

"It's not you it's- fuck how do I say this?" You curse under your breath and he remains silent, almost sat onto your crotch "there's nothing wrong with you I just-"

"I know, it's weird, you're weirded out, I get it, it's weird for people to encounter this in real life-"

"I know"

"And I shouldn't have taken off my shirt so I'm sorr- did you say you know?"

You nod, reluctantly. Your brain is a soup of accusations to yourself, an endless wonderland of guilt because you've ruined -you've ruined, you've ruined- this moment with Shoto, you've ruined two years if anticipation and now he's going to be sick of you, and how much of an idiot you are, and he'll get mad for not knowing about what you haven't told him sooner.

"How?"

You look at him, the frog finding its home at your throat once again. The phrase you want to utter is just so difficult to voice "just take off my shirt" Yet you say it nonetheless

"Let me put on mine first"

"Shoto just take off my shirt"

"I insist I do my part-"

"Please take off my shirt" You cry out, though you don't know if you're ready for this yet.

Perhaps you're rushing into this, you think, but it's too too late because your idiotic hands are merged with Shoto's, guiding them to the hem of your clothing and you're found tugging your shirt off of you over your head. The lack of bra is evident, it has been evident since Shoto came here but it's not the nipples that have been stiffened by the cold that actually catch his attention -they do too- but there's more to your chest that his eyes are feasting on.

And it's something he could so easily distinguish, he has his own canvas stained by this paint as well.

"You…" He trails and you turn your head away. Ashamed? Confused? You've no idea. You only think you owe him an explanation.

"Boiling water. I was three, I poured the kettle all over my face, it got to my stomach my upper back my arms, my neck, i- I do know what it's like"

Shoto is looking at you, mouth slightly agape, the tips of his fingers outlining the borders of your scar, the one over your breasts; it runs on top of them, it marks right under.

He doesn't say anything for a while, but he does seem to be in deep thought before his moment of surveillance is cut short quickly when your hands come to cross over your chest, making him keep his fingers to himself.

"You never told me" He admits, plainly, it hurts just a tad to remind yourself that this is his usual tone.

"I didn't want to trigger you" You curse under your breath, your hands clinging tighter over your chest "and now I'm fucking things up"

"Trigger me?"

"Burn marks and all"

But Shoto is so kind that you think you might explode. It's a kiss to your lips that confirms it as eventually, he ends up resting his lips over yours to seal your mouth shut, confident in his movements, sweet even. His expression is not far from his usual poker face save for the squinted hooded eyes and the newfound rosiness in his lower lip. It sends chills to run down your spine when he's staring into your soul like this.

But once you gulp the stress that's gathered all around your heart starts to slowly scatter. You relax your back against the couch and Shoto relaxes over you moments after he manages to peel your number hands away from your chest.

And you lay with his head resting on the bone of your chest, feeling the warmth of his left side coax you into ultimate peace of body and mind.

"You can't trigger me, I promise"

"But what if you look at me and realise you're tired of looking at scars for once in your life" There's a long pause, you need a few seconds to seep into what you said "i mean, you, you'll get tired of seeing scars on others or… I should probably shut up"

Shoto laughs shortly and your chest vibrates in warmness "how do you come up with these?"

"My… insecurities?" You ask, popping your head upwards to look at him, though he quickly shoves it down, followed by an order to relax. You breathe again and he's right, his weight on you increases and you feel like an idiot that cannot get used to a cuddle "I suppose I try to put myself in your shoes and try to view myself in your eyes"

"You can do that? I thought you were quirk less!" He states, almost too stunned and you contemplate on whether he means it or not. The answer to your question comes when he pops up from your chest and laughs it off silently, fingers lingering at the side of your face.

"I'm not going to get tired of you. Are you going to get tired of me?"

You shake your head, he so awfully dead panned that you're startled

"I'm relieved honestly, to know someone can share my concerns"

"You get to live with it" You comment silently to which he agrees, humming into your chest

"At least we share a fear of kettles then too"

You laugh at him through squinted eyes, shoving your hand onto his face. Is it a reach that you think it's cute when he kisses your palm? "I take boiling hot showers" You lean into his ear, whispering like it's a secret to be held

"Me too. I think it's a trauma response."

You laugh again and as Shoto lifts his torso up, dedicated to launching a kissing attack to your neck once again, the cups of whiskey still linger on the coffee table, the snow is coating the streets heavier than before and the movie is long forgotten. Your hero gets to live the happy moments in which he drowns himself in as much love as he wants after an everlasting game of cat and mouse, left to wonder what may his future hold.

#todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki x reader #shouto todoroki #Bnha

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qqueenofhades · 3 years

Note

did you watch lucifer season six and what are your thoughts pls and ty

Ahaha. Yes. Yes I did watch it. Then I cried for a literal hour and attempted to compose myself, only to start crying again when I lay down and kept on thinking about it. Then I had more feelings. Then I slept like the dead due to emotional trauma. Then I reblogged gifsets and had More feelings. Then @buffaluff and @flynnanimal watched it and also required emotional support due to drowning in their own tears. So, uh... we're all fine here now. How are you?

My main takeaway from the final season was the sheer amount of love for the characters, story, and fans that you could feel shining through all the episodes, and which made SUCH a refreshing change. I had feelings in my tags the other day about how a show about the devil was constantly goofy, hopeful, loving, and uplifting, rather than all the grimdark nonsense they could have easily done with it. (As I said, just imagine it as written by the GOT idiots?? NO THANK YOU.) The writing really loved everyone and wanted to give them a proper ending and emotional journey, and it wanted to show the fans that they weren't stupid for having invested six seasons of effort and emotion into this, and just... that is so much rarer than it should be? Compare all the movies and TV shows that treat their fans like the enemy, that want to outsmart them at all costs even if it means changing major plot elements, that ferociously guard spoilers and think that "shock value" means good writing, by throwing hackneyed cliche upon cliche and making everything Depressing, and just... Lucifer had its hiccups and slow points and missteps, of course, but I am SO glad they didn't do that. The entire show consisted of Lucifer slowly but steadily progressing toward being a better man, despite mistakes and setbacks and sometimes a little too much will-they-won't-they. (Season 3 was the only one where I got bored and skipped over the filler episodes with Pierce/Lucifer/Chloe in order to get to the end).

That is an essentially simple premise, but they stuck to it, and they didn't try to create more drama by randomly wrecking what they had already established. I wrote a fic all the way back in mid-season 2 (In Nomine Patris) that ended up predicting quite a few of the future characters who had not yet appeared on the show at that time, including Eve, Michael, and Azrael, and several plot points, including the very major one of Lucifer returning to hell for the sake of his daughter with Chloe. And while this might mean that I am just that good at guessing TV shows (I would like to think this....) it also means that the writers set expectations, followed through on those expectations, and didn't suddenly derail everything or turn it totally on its head just for the sake of cheap shocks. As we can all attest, they certainly caused PLENTY of drama, anguish, pain, and suffering, but they did it in a way that remained faithful to the overall premises of the story and the characters, and wanted to see them become the best versions of themselves. I cried my eyes out at the end and then thought, "hey, I might want to watch the whole series again," which, if you ask me, is the mark of doing your job right. There have been so few TV endings recently where I didn't immediately swear off the whole thing or have to pretend that canon didn't exist, so yeah.

As I said, it was just refreshing to watch something that had that essential deep generosity at its core, where the message is that everyone is worthy of love if they make the hard and painful effort to change and become better, and that even if earthly things feel small next to all this messy celestial drama, they still matter, and that you are loved no matter what. I loved that Amenadiel became God and Lucifer returned to hell as a choice in order to help all the trapped souls be able to work through their guilt and go to heaven. There were obviously certain echoes of The Good Place in that ending; I don't know if it was something they had planned all along or if the success of TGP, another series asking deep questions about life, death, morality, and human nature within the framework of a goofy heaven-and-hell sitcom, influenced it, but either way, it worked so well. Even if it tore my heart out and stomped on it on the ground, it was fitting and oh so lovely to see Lucifer, once the most selfish being in the entire universe, following in Linda's footsteps and becoming selflessly dedicated to helping other people. Just. Chef's kiss.

And of course, Deckerstar. The Hades and Persephone vibes were IMMACULATE this season, and while it did take Lucifer and Chloe the best part of four seasons to get together, they never significantly backslid, never had third-party issues or cheap cheating storylines once they were officially a couple, and Tom Ellis and Lauren German REALLY killed it this season in particular. It was never easy for them and sometimes the drama went on a little too long over the course of said six seasons, but the love story was beautiful and incredibly meaningful and always true to the fact that the actors and characters and writers (not to mention the fans) all loved it so much. They were so much the emotional heart of this, and when they went to hell together in episode 6x03 (where they turned into cartoons because wHAT even IS this show), Joe Henderson said in an interview that this was to give the fans a view into Lucifer and Chloe's future (after) lives post-6x10, and to offer them a basis to write fanfiction. I mean... the showrunner saying to the fans "here, we love you, have something to write fic about!" is likewise pretty shockingly rare. It's again an example of how this show always audaciously poked fun at itself, never took itself TOO seriously, and was always welcoming its fans and the people who loved it to do so, rather than making them feel stupid or taking joy in wrecking beloved characters or plots.

Obviously, I loved Rory, the badass lesbian half-angel goth Deckerstar child straight out of My Immortal (seriously, she was SO edgy, it was amazing), because of the fact that Lucifer's entire arc was always about feeling abandoned by his father and that he was going to have to face it for himself. Dorky Devil Dad Lucifer trying his absolute HARDEST to bond with his daughter was simultaneously hilarious, adorable, and heart-wrenching, and yet again, the Growth. We all remember when he could barely tolerate Trixie touching him, and now we're here. Also, any variation whatsoever of "this is just a brief moment of time that we must be apart, love is eternal and stronger than death and we will never really leave each other" as a line is guaranteed to make me bawl my eyes out. So that was fun.

I got a big kick out of Ghost Dan running around and trying to get everyone to see him, and had feelings about seeing him in heaven with Charlotte and his beloved Pudding Pops at the end. I had feelings about how they handled Ella finding out the truth (or rather demanding to know why nobody had told her) and of course, I obviously loved Maze and Eve and their goth/femme wedding and the fact that they got a good three-season romantic arc (indeed, I wanted more of them). My god, Trixie is SO BIG, she used to be a tiny little nugget. I love that Linda was the moral and emotional rock all along, from the first episode to the very last, and that Amenadiel was Deeply Vindicated when Charlie's wings appeared at his first birthday party. I love how Lucifer in s6 is absolute thousands of light years from Lucifer in s1. And as ever, Chloe was Perfect. I am happy that I spent six seasons with these characters and saw them become better, and that I was never made to feel like an idiot for trusting the writers to end everything in a beautiful and emotional way. Because, well. They did. Sure, maybe I could go back and pick at a plotline here or a detail there, but I don't terribly feel the need to do so? It might not have been perfect, but it was perfect, and I am so grateful that it existed.

#lucifer #lucifer spoilers #deckerstar #anonymous #ask

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nincompoopydoo · 3 years

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DEBRIS AND MISERY

WELCOME BACK, AGENT ; PART 4 / ?

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader WORD COUNT: 2.5k SUMMARY: You're back at your desk job at the TVA, suffering the consequences of your mistakes that led to your crash on Sakaar. However, Mobius has a better job for you than doing just paperwork. A/N: I feel like this one has more platonic mobius x reader than loki x reader lol but you know, this loki is meeting her for the first time again. please leave comments, criticism or love, whatever, I love to hear from you guys who are reading this. enjoy xo gif by @alligatorlokis from this gifset WARNINGS: Swearing. Paperwork. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERPOST ; MASTERLIST

The sweet musky smell almost lulls you to sleep as you skim through the case file of a Loki variant, pictures and text of monochrome glaring under the unforgiving fluorescent office lighting. It’s a harsh reminder of your mishap; a simple overlook during a mission that sent you crashing onto the wasteland of Sakaar. According to the reports as you stood on the pedestal, pleading your innocence to the judge, you were there for an estimated 600 years. Maybe more.

The thought of spending six centuries stranded on a planet sends a wave of pain through your skull—it’s overwhelming information but unsurprising. You do feel like you’ve spent 600 years on that God-forsaken planet.

Now, your once fugitive days have been replaced with the return of being trapped behind a desk and having to recount every event that took place during your time there. Word for word. You despise the TVA’s love of paperwork—it’s a fucking nightmare.

The collar of your shirt feels itchy against the back of your neck, bringing your nails to graze it furiously.

You decide to ignore Miss Minutes' cheery voice despite your agitation, your name rolling off her southern accent. It hints at her chagrin towards your disregarding nature.

"Are you even listenin' to me?"

Her voice lacks all sense of her once constant sunny disposition. You spare the projection a glance, watching her rubber-hose-like arms curve to her where you assume her hips would be. She looks at you with an expectant raised brow. You don’t say anything, keeping eye contact as you snatch an empty event report template, spinning in your swivel chair and away from the glowing tangerine clock.

With pursed lips, you swipe the scatter of mess away, revealing an orange typewriter that sits idly within the expense of your stacks of case files and your collection of vintage Earth cassettes. You hear Miss Minutes' sigh as she strides to the other end of your desk, perching on top of a dusty stack of pending paperwork.

“C’mon, it’s just a test,” the animated clock says. You spare her another look as you feed the report template into the roller forcefully. Bing! The return bar dings unceremoniously as it nearly startles Miss Minutes off the stack.

“That is exactly why I’m refusing to listen to you,” you mutter with annoyance, fingers already flying across the keyboard, punching letters onto the event summary section. The loud clickety-clack of the keys makes it impossible to hear over it. “I don’t get why I need to take a test when I clearly know everything I need to know.”

“Well, you were gone for a very long time and we just wanna test your memory on policies and procedures here at the TVA—”

“Then, why didn’t they come and get me earlier? From the moment I stepped foot on Sakaar, I did everything I could to create a Nexus event or even just a spike and you only came when? When I met Loki.”

Your eyes are now on her startled figure, clicks and clacks coming to an abrupt end. You’re upset over your arrest, the whole hoo-ha at the courtroom, and everything before that. Your behavior is nearly childish but understandable to those who express empathy. You feel like you were being used, prioritizing the capture of the Loki variant that has been causing a ruckus to the timeline. But, it is your job to protect the TVA and the sacred timeline. Although you feel that the TVA should be protecting its employees as well.

“Look, I am not taking that test and that’s my final word. Everyone knows I am capable of handling myself. Plus, I do have tons of paperwork to refresh my memory on policies and procedures if that’s what you’re worried about.”

The cartoon clock nods but with hesitation. However, you do make a fair point. Thus, with a swish and a blip, Miss Minutes disappears into thin air, and you’re left to your own devices once more.

Finally some goddamn peace.

As if the universe doesn’t loathe you enough, someone calls your name, approaching from behind you. A groan escapes from your lips, scowling at the glaring keys of the typewriter.

“What?” you spat. In a swift motion, you swivel in your seat and turn to look over your shoulder.

It’s Mobius, approaching you with sudden caution. You let your shoulder sag with relief, happy to see a familiar friendly face.

“Glad to see you’re back and still feisty.” Mobius hesitantly taps your shoulder, flashing you a small consoling smile. Your expression, however, remains unchanged. “Well, you guys did find me after all.” He spots the glimmer of melancholy in your eyes; they avert back to face the typewriter, hands resting on the keys. Mobius shoves his hand into the pockets of his brown slacks, shifting to lean against the edge of your desk. He knows to tread lightly around you after what happened. You’ve changed with wrinkles of age and crinkles of exhaustion. Sakaar must have not been kind to you.

Yet, you’re here, at your desk; alive and well.

“Hey, what’s got you all wound up?”

It’s a stupid question, really but it’s a question to show he still cares. You have every right to be upset. However, you have every right to be thankful. You would have been pruned. Desk cleared and cassettes discarded—it would be as if you never existed. Renslayer would have never given you any mercy after the act you pulled. Disobeying orders and recklessly throwing yourself into danger with the risk of bringing the whole TVA down. You’re impulsive on missions, but it’s your unrelenting determination that drives you to be one of the greatest analysts Mobius has ever seen.

You’re also a friend. A great one. And he isn’t planning on losing one.

“Please prune me, Mobius.”

Your statement comes off as intentionally sarcastic rather than truly meaningful.

“What? I always thought you adored paperwork.” Mobius hears you groan, burying your face in your hands, elbows propped up on the desk. “My back is already hurting, and I have a migraine just thinking about typing out reports of my time on Sakaar. I think it’s quite clear I adore paperwork.” Your muffled voice tinges sarcasm heavily.

Laughter erupts in his chest. He's glad that your sense of humor never changed. Then, the moment quickly passes and he senses a sudden change in the air. You turn up to look at him.

“What was my Nexus event?”

It’s abrupt, almost arbitrary but leads him to even more confusion. Mobius finds himself frowning. “You don’t know?”

You blink. “That’s the one thing they never told me.”

He shifts in his seat on the edge of your desk, blinking up to the ceiling in thought. “Well, from what I heard...it was because Loki willingly helped you. And it wasn’t for his own advantage.”

It’s your turn to frown. “Wouldn’t that be Loki's fault?”

“Apparently not. It was all you.”

You laugh in response; it comes out like a puff of air. “Well, then. That’s a first. I guess I can finally add manipulation to my list of skills. Plus, pick-pocketing weird cosmic fruits.”

Mobius laughs and taps your shoulder again.

“C’mon, take a walk with me. I’ve got a new case that I need your help with.” You shoot him a quizzical look, eyes catching sight of a thick case file in hand—must be important. “I thought I was supposed to be on desk duty.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to sit behind the desk the whole time,” he shoots back a clever answer with a raised eyebrow, beckoning you to accept his offer. Your laugh comes off as more of a snort. It’s the first one in a while. You stand on your feet, stretching your limbs as you shrug on your coat that was hung over the back of your chair.

“Plus, you’re under my supervision,” he says before turning on his heel, heading for the exit. You watch him raise a hand, his back to you, gesturing for you to follow as he pushes through the wooden door. You hum with amusement, trailing behind him.

The winding hallways feel hollow, mundane walls lacking any color of brightness the TVA tries to bring to the space when in all fairness, orange isn’t much of a fun color now that everywhere you look, there’s a tinge of tangerine somewhere. The posters that adorn the walls are your least favorite parts of the headquarters’ decorative choice. You pass one that says 'Always Watching' in big bold letters, ominously glaring at you. The words are far from comforting, almost inhumane—a jarring reminder of where you are and where you stand in the hierarchy of this bureaucratic organization.

Mobius clears his throat from beside you, pulling you out from your thoughts. In a weirdly discreet manner, he hands you the case file with an outstretched hand. You take it, eyeing him and his odd behavior, there’s an unexpected shift in the air.

Then, you glance down, reading the scrawled words on the file that reads: Variant L1130, Loki Laufeyson.

Your strides come to an abrupt end, whipping your head up to see Mobius’ sheepish smile. Your eyes are wide, and you’re shaking your head in utmost objection.

“No, no, no. No. Absolutely no—”

“C’mon, it’s just—”

“No, Mobius. Nuh-uh. I swear, if I have to deal with another Loki, I will prune myself. I literally will.”

You're shoving the file to him, as he attempts to suck it up to you like the optimistic idiot he is although he very well knows once you’ve made up your mind, you cannot be swayed. You’re stubborn, rebellious—it’s what makes you dangerous. Yet, the TVA are pessimists. It’s Mobius who truly recognizes your accompanying positive characteristics that make dealing with your spontaneous character worthwhile.

Then, coincidently emerging from the door of the locker room is Loki himself, dressed in a dress shirt, tie, and slacks—clothes and color schemes accustomed to the TVA’s dress code. Mobius can practically see the wires in your brain short-circuiting as soon as you lay eyes on the God. Your eye twitches and from that, he knows you’re about to go mayhem. It’s the mayhem that’s going to break out on him like a hurricane devouring everything and anything in its way.

“You hired him?! You hired a Loki?!”

Your voice is loud, startling Mobius and Loki as passersby stare at the commotion you’re causing. You find yourself hunching in response, shoulders sagging as if it’s supposed to help with averting the attention away from you. Still, your expression doesn’t falter, and you’re staring at Mobius like he’s nuts.

Your voice comes off as a whisper, tone still harsher than before. “Mobius, are you insane?—”

“Just, let me explain,” he cuts you off with a raised palm to you. You purse your lips, sparing a glance to Loki who seems amused by the looks of the conversation that’s turning to more of an argument because you’re directly questioning your colleague’s sanity in public. Nevertheless, you decide to hear him out.

You watch Mobius sigh at the sight of your raised brow. “We have a variant. A Loki variant that’s been killing our Minutemen and I believe it’s the same one that threw you to Sakaar. So, to hunt down a Loki, what better way than to source the help of another?”

Silence. You’re giving him that deafening silent treatment once more. You’re thinking, he can see the mechanics in your brain running like a steam engine. He observes the way your eyes flicker between him, the file, and Loki who attempts to hide his confusion of you and the whole situation.

You’re not his superior, not even close, but he’s hopeful for your approval of his plan.

You cross your arms, shifting in your stance. “Which Loki is this?” You gesture to Loki with a tilt of your head. Mobius heaves a sigh, a hand to his hip and the other waving in the air.

“He’s, uh, he’s from 2012—”

And you’re back to causing mayhem.

“2012?! Mobius! That’s the worst one yet!”

“Now, hang on just a minute—” Loki interrupts, voice tinged with bewilderment and resentment but with two sharp looks directed his way, he instantly shuts his mouth.

You and Mobius are now back to your whispered debate.

“Look, as much as I hate to admit it, the TVA’s survival all depends on catching this variant and that means our survival. He has potential for change, so much of it...You just have to trust me on this.”

Mobius makes an excellent point but you can't help but feel the queasiness rising from your stomach. It feels like bile. You begin to feel the weight of the case file in your grasp becoming heavier and heavier. It’s the thought of risky business, and you’re almost upset as to why Mobius thinks it’s such a brilliant idea to pull you into this case after the stunt you pulled.

“Care to explain why I'm involved in this? You do know I’m being scrutinized for every move I make, right?”

Following your question, he glances at Loki who seems to be growing impatient, eyes wandering around the hallway. He leans forward and lowers his voice though his pitch raises, like when he's excited about a breakthrough.

“Because I know you’re capable of getting Loki to trust you. It happened once, there’s a high chance it’ll happen again and that’s good enough for me.” He watches you blink once. Then, twice. He continues, “And you’re being scrutinized by me. So, does it really matter?”

You’re silent again but in deep thought and not out of spite. Your troubled eyes find Loki’s. He’s already staring at you and for a moment, you see an unknown glimmer in his eye, expression nearly vulnerable but in an instant, he seals it away from you and averts his gaze, busying himself with straightening his pecan brown tie. It’s a small sign that he must have heard what Mobius said to you quietly. Nothing more.

Your gaze returns to your colleague and you pull yourself together, heaving a deep sigh. “Fine, but I still think you’re insane.”

Mobius beams down at you in an almost proud manner. “Welcome back, agent.” And with a turn of a heel, he waves for Loki to follow as the three of you head down the hallway. Loki quickly catches up beside you, much to your dismay. “So, what’s your story?” he leans into you with a curious smirk. You keep your face forward, shoulder back, and chin up as you reply with a monotonous tone. “None of your business, daddy long legs.”

In your peripheral vision, you note how the God retracts in response to your reply, brows now furrowed as he glances down to his legs in an almost sheepish and innocent way.

You struggle to fight down a growing smirk.

Mobius looks over his shoulder for a moment and catches sight of you and Loki’s expression after your exchange.

It looks like the two of you would get along just fine.

TAGLIST:

@lareinedususpense

@poubxlle

@mystoragehatesme

#loki #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader #loki imagine #loki laufeyson imagine #loki x you #loki laufeyson x you #loki series #mobius x reader #mobius #ravonna renslayer

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batsandbugs · 4 years

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Bats Bugs and Boomerangs Chapter 1

A/N: Hey everyone, coming at you with another series! This is actually for a late secret santa gift exchange! My recipient was @m3owww! Her fandoms were Maribat and Avatar the Last Airbender, so I thought: Why not both? She already had a Maribat characters in the show type fic, so I created a fic where they watched the show. It slowly spiraled out of control though, so this is Chapter 1. I’ll eventually have the batfam (and Marinette) react to the whole series, so comment here and on ao3 what you want to see. So Phi, this is kinda like the gift that will keep on giving? Maybe? I hope you like it anyway. Enjoy!

Our story begins on a frosty winter evening, outside Gotham at Wayne Manor. Marinette sat in the library working on an assignment for her History of Fashion class. She was alone, because Damian, Dick, Tim, and Bruce were out on patrol, with Barbara on comms. Tikki, unless eating or involved with a transformation, spent her time sleeping due to the freezing weather. While the other Kwami either resided in the box or roamed the grounds, and generally stayed out of the human's way.

Marinette gazed out the window, snow falling softly through the air, covering the ground and the tree branches. A crackling fire warmed the room. She shifted, and a painful ache shot through her leg. Marinette glared at the offending appendage, which was the reason she wasn’t out with the team tonight.

Her Miraculous could cure any injury sustained on the battlefield, it didn’t help her one bit when it came to her own natural clumsiness. She hadn’t paid attention as she’d walked out of class one evening. The dim lighting hid a black ice patch and she slipped and fell. Thankfully, her ankle was only sprained and not broken, but she would be out of commission for at least two weeks. Probably more if Alfred got his way.

Speaking of the elderly butler, he strode into the room carrying a tray of tea and cookies.

“Good evening Miss. Marinette. Need another refreshment?”

She sighed at the cold coffee dregs in her mug. “That would be nice, thank you, Alfred.”

He hummed, grabbing a teacup, and pouring her a serving. “How does your leg feel today? I notice you were leaning heavily on Master Damian after supper.” He handed the cup to her and the warmth was a welcome sensation for her chilled hands.

“Yeah, he’s been nice helping me around.” Nice was a misnomer, more like extremely overprotective. He point-blank refused for her to stay at her own apartment, mostly due to its location on the fourth floor with no elevator access. He all but forced her to watch him pack her essentials to bring to the manor while she recovered. Since then, his attentiveness in ensuring she had what she needed within reach and helping her to class had grown. It was a tad smothering considering his usual aloofness, but she enjoyed his actions for the affection it implied.

“It’s throbbing and hot and feels worse than it did three days ago.” She took a tiny sip of the tea and relaxed into its spiced aroma. Alfred made the best tea.

He nodded. “It will feel uncomfortable for a while until it starts to mend. Just continue to rest and remain off it and you will be back to carousing around the city like the rest of them in no time.” He poured his own tea and seated himself in the plush armchair across from her spot on the couch.

“Oh, Alfred you say that as if you would not be right there along with us if age allowed,” said Marinette with a grin. The stories Dusu could recount about the elderly miraculous holder were nothing short of entertaining, and she knew damn well Alfred had the same need for action as the rest of the Waynes and their assorted allies.

“I’d do nothing of the sort,” he said primly, taking a sip of his tea to hide the tiny smirk on his face. Marinette couldn’t help but laugh.

The rest of the evening was spent in pleasant silence. Despite the pain in her leg Marinette pushed through it and finished her assignment, while Alfred read until it neared time when patrol ended. He bustled up the remains of the tea and promise her a fresh cup when he finished seeing everyone arrive safely.

Later, although she could not say how long, she was buried deep in a book and didn’t notice when Damian entered the room until he sat next to her on the couch.

“Good evening angel.” His hair flopped in his eyes, loose and damp from the shower. In his hands, he held a tray with two cups of steaming tea.

“Thanks.” She took the proffered cup of tea with a smile. “How was patrol?”

“Boring,” he sighed. “You certainly are not missing anything.” If he wouldn’t have taken offense to it, Marinette would have described the look on his face as a pout.

“What about the drug seller Tim tracked to the lower docks?”

Damian shrugged. “Gone silent after we busted the last shipment. Seventeen years in and maybe the criminals finally figured out committing crimes in the same city as a relentless vigilante team is a bad idea,” he said with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. Marinette couldn’t stop herself from giggling. It was a common joke among the family that Gotham’s criminals never learned.

“I think it means we’re doing our job right,” said Tim walking in with a steaming mug. Marinette opened her mouth, but he cut her off. “Don’t worry, it’s decaf.”

“Like Pennyworth would let him drink anything else this time of night,” scoffed Damian, while taking a sip of his tea.

“I’m perfectly capable of monitoring my own caffeine intake, thanks,” Tim said in offense, seating himself across from the couch in the reading chair previously abandoned by Alfred.

“No, you’re not,” called a voice from the hallway. Dick walked in with a large mug of what was undoubtedly hot chocolate. “The last time he didn’t check your drink after patrol, you used coffee instead of water to brew another pot, and then added four whole bottles of five-hour energy. You didn’t sleep for three days.”

“I also solved five crimes, figured out where the Penguin was hiding, and streamlined the dropbox submission system for Wayne Industries. Life requires tradeoffs.”

“No that’s just you, ignoring basic human necessities. Anyway, besides Tim’s caffeine addiction, what are we talking about?” asked Dick.

“The reason for the lack of crime,” offered Marinette.

Dick shrugged, “Happens every year because of the weather. Even criminals get cold. They’ll return to their usual transgressions once the weather warms.” He took a sip of his hot chocolate.

“Tt. Weak,” muttered Damian.

Tim rolled his eyes. “Not everyone receives extreme weather training under threat of dismemberment, demon brat. We should take the opportunity to enjoy the break.”

“Tim, your version of a “break” involves paperwork,” chided Dick.

“It’s not my fault the rest of you people don’t have lives. I’m a remarkably busy person. And what is this, the-criticize-Tim-hour?”

“Oh, only an hour?” smirked Damian. “I thought it was a continuous event, one could choose to participate in whenever the mood struck. I will have to file all my complaints immediately.”

Tim pouted. “Marinette,” he whined. “Can’t you control him?”

She shrugged, “What do you expect me to do? I’m his girlfriend, not his minder. Besides, they criticize because they care.” She laughed when all three boys snarled their noses at the prospect of feelings.

“Marinette, angel, please; never say that again. I criticize because I am right, and they should know it. Not because of any high-minded ideals such as genuine affection.”

“Okay, okay, enough,” said Dick. “If we have a bit of a break, we should do something! Together, as a family. I think Cass and Steph come back in two days.”

“Grayson, just because your girlfriend is off-world visiting family and you have nothing to do does not mean it holds true for the rest of us.”

“Exactly!” exclaimed Tim, “Except not quite, because I don’t have a girlfriend, but I just said I’m busy. R&D is rolling out a new prototype next week, and I have two board meetings scheduled and-”

“Not to mention,” Marinette cut Tim off. He could talk about his schedule forever because he just had that many events. “I can’t move around, what would we even do? Play games?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “The list of games officially banned in our family includes, but is not limited to; Monopoly, Uno, Checkers, Risk, Risk: Legacy, Twister, Jenga, Clue, Guess Who, Poker, Chess, and Go Fish.”

“Oh…” muttered Marinette.

“And that doesn’t even include videogames.”

“After the Wii Bowling incident of 2013, the media room wall was never the same,” Dick said, shaking his head in despair.

“I actually apologized for that, okay?” exclaimed Damian. “Why do you always have to bring it up?”

Marinette fully intended to ask about the incident later. “Okay, so games are out.”

“Ooh,” Dick’s eyes lit up, “How about we call a Family T.V. Event?”

Tim groaned, “The last time we did that we blew up the shed, and got the police called.”

“Well, we won’t watch a crime show.” Dick turned to Marinette. “Jason picked; we watched Breaking Bad.”

“I can see how that would spiral out of control.”

“The time before that, we set fire to the media room and started a familial feud,” Damian pointed out. “Game of Thrones,” he added when Marinette looked to him for clarification.

“Even worse.”

“Okay, fine, so we don’t have the best track record picking shows. But I swear I have a good one this time.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Avatar: The Last Airbender.”

Tim snorted. “What? Like the kid’s show?”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Really Grayson, a cartoon? I know you are developmentally stuck at five, but not all of us are.”

“I’ve never watched it, but I’ve heard good things about it,” said Marinette. She knew there was a French translation of the show, but she preferred to watch media in its original language. Before moving to America, before dating Damian, her English had not been strong enough to confidently watch a show and understand all of it.

“Perfect!” exclaimed Dick. “I know you three and Cass haven’t seen it, and neither has Bruce or Alfred. I would bet Jason’s seen some of it, but I’ll have to check. Barbara and I have, but that’s fine, she loves the show. We’ll have to see about Steph too, but I’m sure she’ll enjoy it regardless. There are awesome characters, battles, suspense, comedy, and it’s not likely going to inspire us to blow up the shed or tear each other to pieces!”

“I have in no way agreed to this Grayson. Drake back me up.”

Tim paused for a moment, stuck between his need to disagree with Damian and the need to get out of Dick’s crazy plan. Unfortunately for Damian, the former won out. “Actually, you know what, a show could be fun. The episodes are what, thirty minutes? Shorter than Breaking Bad and Game of Thrones.”

Damian groaned while Dick responded happily, ignoring his brother’s distress, “Around twenty minutes actually. We could have the whole show finished in about a week or so.”

Damian turned to her, eyes wide and hopeful. “Marinette, please tell me you are on my side?”

She patted her boyfriend’s arm, “Sorry, mon amour, I’m stuck either way. Might as well watch a show.”

Damian flopped against the couch with a pout. “Betrayed. I have been grievously betrayed by my own brothers and girlfriend. What is this world coming to?”

“Woo!” exclaimed Dick, a wide grin splitting his face. “This is going to be great.”

“This is going to be awful,” moaned Damian.

-0-0-

It took a bit of convincing on the part of Dick to get Bruce and Alfred to agree to the venture. Marinette, after learning the full details of the last two Family T.V. Events, was wholly unsurprised. She also did not know the full extent of what Dick did to get Jason to agree (apparently, he and Bruce were fighting, again, so this was expected.) although it probably involved a bribe. But by the week’s end, the entire family was together, all under strict orders (and puppy-dog eyes from Dick) to be on their best behavior.

Which, without a doubt, not a single one of them knew what that entailed.

The arguing started with seating placement, then about who controlled the remote, then over the distribution of snacks, drinks, blankets, and pillows. At one point Jason pulled a knife, which prompted Damian to pull his knife, suddenly Cass had two shurikens visible (where she even kept them while wearing a tank top and shorts, no one could say), and then everyone was yelling with sharp pointy objects in hand.

Once the argument was firmly under control, Alfred collected the weapons and placed them in a wicker basket, along with all the mobile devices, until the episodes for the night were finished. The only one allowed to have a phone was Barbara who was in charge of checking police scanners for any major trouble while the family took the evening off.

Marinette seated herself curled up against Damian on the edge of the couch. She set her foot propped up on an ottoman so it wouldn’t get jostled, and she could continue to ice it throughout the evening. Damian secured their own bowl of popcorn, so they didn’t have to share it with the others.

“Alright, here’s how we’re breaking this down,” announced Dick, who won the battle for the remote, and therefore the episode schedule. “The episodes are short, at least, much shorter than the last show we watched.” He directed a pointed look at Jason.

“I make no apologies.”

“We’ll watch half a season a day, ten episodes apiece. The closed captions will be on but try to keep the chatter to a minimum.” Marinette held back a laugh. Damian explained no one kept quiet during these nights. Watching the show wasn’t the point of these events; if that were the case then they would just watch it all on their own time. The point was the time spent together. This is why even Bruce, emotionally constipated and single-minded in his pursuits as he was, put away the suit for a few days to watch T.V. with the rest of his collected family. Talking was expected.

“We will, if you will,” called Stephanie.

“I take offense to that.”

“Aw just sit Dickie, let’s watch the show,” exclaimed Jason.

“Yes, Grayson you already wrapped us into this pointless venture; we might as well get it over with,” Damian grumbled. Marinette found his hand in the folds of their shared blanket and laced her fingers with his. He squeezed her hand, and, when he was sure no one else was looking gave her a small smile. Marinette smiled back, he pretended to be such a grouch, but deep down he was a giant softy at heart.

Dick frowned, saying “Fine, fine, you don’t have to be spoilsports about it.” And pointed the remote at the T.V. starting the first episode.

-0-0-

It didn’t take ten seconds before the commentary began.

“Four elements?” exclaimed Tim. “Are you serious? I could name at least a dozen off the top of my head. How are there only four nations? 0/10 completely unrealistic. Political infighting alone-”

“Ah, shut up, replacement.”

“Ruthless fire nation?” said Stephanie. “Methinks a little propaganda might be occurring here.”

“A hundred years!? What, has no one competent been born the entire time?”

Marinette shrugged. “The disadvantages of finite magic systems, Dami. It's learned indifference.”

“Honey, after a hundred years that’s not hoping, that’s naivety,” said Stephanie in response to Katara’s impassioned speech.

“She’s right!” exclaimed Dick.

“We know that, but she doesn’t.”

The show moved on to Katara and Sokka in a boat. Sokka held a spear above the water.

“Is he hunting that fish?” growled Damian.

“Ah yeah, I forgot you may hate the entirety of Sokka’s character,” said Dick with a grimace. “Whoops.”

“She’s not very good at the water moving, is she?” asked Marinette

“Waterbending,” Dick and Barbara said in unison.

Sokka chided Katara about her weird water magic. “Oh, he’s not going to be a dick for the whole show, is he?” asked Steph.

“He gets better.”

“They grew up here right?” asked Damian, as Katara and Sokka become caught in a rapid. “How did they not anticipate an event like this.”

“I knew I should have left you at home. Leave it to a girl to screw things up!”

“HEY!” shouted all the women in the room.

They watched as Katara’s fury built and broke the iceberg behind her.

“Good. Use anger, anger is alright,” Cass commented for the first time.

“Okay, you’ve gone from weird, to freakish.”

“This punk is just asking for a beating isn’t he,” growled Jason.

The beam of energy shot into the air after Katara and Sokka broke open the ice. “That’s not going to cause any trouble,” said Tim, rolling his eyes. “Nope, not suspicious or completely conspicuous at all.”

The scene switches to a metal ship.

“Finally! Uncle, do you realize what this means?”

“Oh, look, the bad guys,” deadpanned Tim. “I was right.”

Jason grabbed a handful of popcorn and shoved it into his mouth “What happened to his fucked-up fa-”

“YOU’LL FIND OUT!”

The scene switched back to Katara and Sokka. The figure is revealed to be a hyperactive little kid.

Damian frowned“Oh, I won’t like him either, will I Grayson?”

Dick tilted his head, “Eh.”

Then Appa is introduced.

“Father, could we-”

“No, Damian.”

They watched the children depart, and the scene moved back to the Fire Nation ship.

“Even if you're right, and the Avatar is alive, you won't find him. Your father, grandfather, and great-grandfather all tried and failed.”

“Well considering the Airbender child has been in an iceberg, it’s not surprising they failed.”

“Because their honor didn't hinge on the Avatar's capture. Mine does. This coward's hundred years in hiding are over.”

“Is it just me or does this angry, emo prince remind anyone of demon spawn?”

“Todd, shut your mouth before I remove your tongue.”

Marinette leaned in close, “Maybe just a little like you.” Damian looked at her with a betrayed pout.

The scene switched and they watched Aang lie to Katara about the Avatar.

“The air child is guilty. Will cause problems later.”

“Narrative Cass, it’s narrative.”

Damian scoffed. “Miscommunication is plot convenience, and it’s a sloppy one at that.”

They watched Aang’s dream of how he ended up in the iceberg, him waking up to Katara and his introduction to the village.

“Well, no one has seen an Airbender in a hundred years. We thought they were extinct until my granddaughter and grandson found you.”

“Extinct?”

“He went into the ice and woke up to find the world different. Anyone getting serious Captain America vibes here?” said Jason, tone-deaf to the clear horror on Aang's face.

“Jason, he just found out his people potentially went extinct!” chided Marinette.

“It's not for stabbing! It's for air bending.”

“Please tell me the main character is not a pacifist,” begged Damian.

“Well, he is a monk,” said Barbara with a sorry look.

“I sense he's filled with much wisdom,” Katara says as Aang sticks his tongue to his staff and it freezes.

“I switch back and forth between liking this girl and not. One second she’s got gumption, and the next she’s all starry-eyed and naïve,” grumbled Steph.

“I wonder who that reminds me of,” Damian whispered into Marinette’s ear. She felt her cheeks heat up.

"I'm not naive," she shot back.

He raised a hand with two fingers close but not touching, "You're a little naive." Marinette huffed, but silently admitted to her boyfriend's point. She had a tendency to believe the best in people; she saw it as a strength and appreciated it in this Katara character, but it was so far from how Damian viewed the world, it honestly confused his siblings when they first started dating.

Damian confided in her that he found it inspiring. She had been through so much, understood the cruelties of others, and still could see the good in people.

The scene switched to the Fire Nation ship again, and Iroh explained the concept of firebending to an irate Prince Zuko.

“Finally, a display of actual competence,” exclaimed Damian.

“Enough! I've been drilling this sequence all day. Teach me the next set! I'm more than ready!”

“My tutors would have skewered me if I dared to act in such a manner,” he commented again, softer than the first time. More so that only Marinette could hear. Damian’s family was more than aware of his childhood and what it entailed; Marinette slowly learned with comments like this. She squeezed his hand again and received a small smile.

The scene shifted back to the village where Sokka’s failed “warrior lesson” occurred, and then-

“We don't have time for fun and games with the War going on!”

“What war? What are you talking about?”

“Where have you been, frozen in ice for a hundred years?” joked Dick.

They watched Aang offer to take Katara to the North Pole to find a water bending master. The two children go and play with the penguin creatures, but the tone shifted when an old Fire Nation ship appeared on the screen.

“Bad ship” muttered Cass.

“If you want to be a bender, you have to let go of fear.”

“There are so many things wrong with that statement I don’t even know where to start,” said Tim.

They watch Aang and Katara enter the Fire Nation Ship and wander talking about the war.

“Aang, how long were you in that iceberg?”

“I don't know. A few days, maybe?”

“I think it was more like a hundred years!”

“Are you kidding me?” yelled Jason. “How are they just figuring this out now?”

On-screen Aang stepped on the line of wire, tripping the traps.

“Tt. Amateurs.”

"See, she told him it would be a bad idea!"

A flare rises through the air.

“That’s not going to cause any-”

“Oh, shut up Tim.”

The Fire Prince once again appeared on the screen.

“The last Airbender!”

“I was right,” he mumbled.

The screen faded to the credits, and Dick turned to the group.

“So? What do you think?”

“Slow.”

“Nobody has any sense.”

“Are any of the characters actually likable?”

He frowned. “Okay, okay, so the first episode isn’t the best. I swear it gets better. Back me up here Barb.”

Barbara nodded. “He’s right, it takes a few episodes to build the characters up and we see some genuine action. But by mid-season, I swear you’ll be hooked. And then we’ll get to season two and the best characters will arrive.”

“Hey,” Dick exclaimed, pointing a finger at her. “No spoilers.”

“I thought it was fun,” Marinette offered. “It’s very clearly a kid’s show, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing.” She wasn’t going to say each and every person in the room had childhood traumas, and a show full of lighthearted fun was probably just what they needed. She could think it, but she wouldn’t say it.

“Thank you, Marinette,” said Dick with a smile.

“I rather enjoyed the elderly tea drinker,” intoned Alfred. “He’s more than he appears to be.”

“Uncle Iroh? Yeah, he’s the best!” commented Barbara. "But everyone is great."

“Alright, episode one finished, nine more to go.”

“Let’s hope it’s more enjoyable than the last,” uttered Damian, a chorus of agreement followed his statement, but when the show started up everyone grew quiet again.

Marinette was sure whatever happened next, it was bound to be interesting.

Tag List (Although it is on ao3 too)

@m3owww @your-resident-chimken-nuggie @loveswifi @fusser90@animegirlweeb @ihavehomeworkbutistillhere

#damian x marinette #maribat #maridami #damimari #mlb crossover #ml x dc #marinette dupain cheng x damian wayne #marinette dupain-cheng x damian wayne #moodboard #damientte #damianette #marinnette dupain cheng x damian wayne #mlb x dc #characters watch the show #maribat watching atla

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novantinuum · 3 years

Link

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T

Words: 1.2K~

Summary: His family’s not present, the third time he runs away. They never see the creature he becomes.

Early corruption AU.

Howdy. To be honest, I don’t have any more buffer finalized for this fic at the moment, but I really, really wanted to post this. Chapters 18-25 are entirely plotted out, though. (There’s some lore headcanons in the author’s notes of the AO3 version!)

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. Thank you! <3

____

“I’d like to thank you all for coming on such short notice,” Peridot addresses the small crowd sitting before her on the top of the hillside above the temple. Garnet and Pearl are in attendance, as well as Amethyst, Bismuth, and Lapis— the individuals who supported her in making her latest breakthrough possible. Also present is Greg, Connie, and Connie’s medical professional mother, who she doesn’t know well enough to remember the name of. Resting behind her is a double-sided chalkboard— the surface facing her audience empty— and a tall, mysterious contraption obscured under a white bed sheet. “Before we begin, I must disclose that this system has only gone through rudimentary testing, so success is not guaranteed immediately.”

“Anything’s better than nothing at this point,” Steven’s father says, loosely tugging upon the large hunks of grass surrounding him within his aimlessly flexing grip.

(Silently, Garnet places her hand on his upper arm, beckoning for him to relax, to take a deep breath and unwind.)

“Y-yes, of course,” she stammers in reply, suddenly hyper-aware of the spotlight she’s called down upon herself, and how fervently everyone gathered here desires her success. Swallowing hard, she attempts to recollect her wits. “And now, to introduce my new technology.” She yanks a sheet off of her invention, positioned beside her. “Tah-dahhh!” she intones with dramatic vibrato, wriggling her fingers towards the bizarre towering device.

It stands as tall as Garnet, long and skinny with a solid base. Attached to its top is a small satellite dish retrofitted with a plethora of navigation system components from an old decommissioned Roaming Eye. Thick bundles of wires wind around the central pole holding the dish aloft, connecting to a cluster of human computers. If one were to look inside those computers, they’d quickly realize that many of their chips and cords have been replaced with the same exceedingly common hard light circuitry that’s used in energy transfer systems in Gem settlements. It’s a glorious combination of Gem and human technology, a celebration of the radical change both species are able to accomplish, working hand-in-hand.

(And most appropriately, it’s a hybrid, much like their missing friend.)

“So how is this... thing... supposed to work?” Connie’s mother says, appearing more confused than impressed by this display. Connie herself sits in unnerving silence beside her, her darkened, hollow expression a stark reminder of what the stakes of this mission truly are. There’s far too little hope amongst the members of this audience already, so any further failure may threaten to destroy resolve altogether.

Unable to fully meet the teen’s eyes, Peridot’s gaze drops to her feet. She flushes deep. “I, um... well,” she begins, adjusting her visor as drops of sweat bead upon her forehead, around her gem. “The theory of it is essentially that, uh—“

“It’s a location tracker,” Bismuth chimes in, swiftly rescuing her from under the crippling pressure. “We think we can triangulate Steven’s exact position on any planet with it.”

“Uh- yes, precisely!”

She briefly pauses to allow hard light to refresh her form, running all the way from her core to her furthest extremities. She’s fine— it’s fine. This is brand new tech, and it’s not solely her fault if it fails to succeed in its role on the first, second, or even third run. While it crushes her to entertain the very thought, what she truly needs is to forget about Steven for a moment. Forget about the pressure. Forget about the stakes. Her job right now is simply to explain the basic principles of this machine’s operation in a manner that her audience might understand. Nothing more, nothing less.

“As an introduction to this technology,” she says, picking up a stethoscope-like device that’s been wired into the base of the tracker and extending it towards the crowd to showcase, “I have invented a method to extract precise resonant frequencies from any Gem, using this. These frequencies are a unique identifying mark amongst Gemkind... think of it almost like a Gem fingerprint. Of course, Steven has both of these things,” she states matter-of-factly, placing the extractor tool down on the top of the hollowed-out computer and slowly beginning to pace back and forth in front of her creation. “Fingerprints from his organic parentage, yes. But given he inherited his mother’s gemstone, he inherited her resonant frequency as well. This frequency... is what we’re going to track.”

Peridot pauses for only a few seconds, just long enough to allow her friends ample time to bask in the logic of her unquestioned genius. There’s no time to dawdle! She worked hard on this project, and she’s only just now approaching the crux of its operation.

“Now, what some of you may be wondering,” she charges right ahead without so much as asking for questions, “is how any of this information is helpful. Why, Steven is missing, Peridot!” she exclaims, throwing her arms outwards. “How could we ever hope to retrieve the information needed to locate him when we don’t know where he is? And to answer that, I present my most important finding.”

She clicks her fingers, beckoning Lapis to join her at the front of the small crowd. Her hydrokinetic friend rotates the chalkboard on its axle to reveal the other side, which has various graphs and schematics hastily taped to its textured surface. She gestures towards two of them, a spectrogram showing a direct read of one of her test subject’s unique frequency over time, and another showing a read of the same Gem’s frequency, but derived from a different source. The resultant peaks and valleys of this second frequency are less sharp, but still immediately familiar in shape.

“In the past few days, I have conducted a number of experiments with volunteers from Little Homeschool, and have discovered that when two Gems fuse, an imprint of the fusion partner’s resonant frequency is saved in both gems. The more frequent the fusion, the stronger this imprint is. My current theory is that storing this information allows for easier synchronicity upon successive fusions, but— that isn’t strictly relevant to this mission. What this means is that we can extract Steven’s unique resonance from any individual who has fused with him.”

“Any individual?” Connie chimes in suddenly, her hands clasped in a vice-like grip in her lap.

Recognizing how desperately the human wishes to be a pivotal part in finding her best friend, she offers her a thin, regretful smile. “Regrettably, no. I apologize for my lack of clarity. This procedure will only work with Gems.”

“Then I’ll do it,” a voice cuts in from the crowd.

Simultaneously, everyone turns to meet the speaker’s gaze. Peridot’s brow creases with surprise as Pearl stands to her feet, her posture wrapped in a shawl of hesitancy. Out of the three Gems in attendance here who have fused with Steven, she has to admit— Pearl was not the one she expected to volunteer first.

“I am, of course, the individual who has fused most with that Gem,” she says, clutching her hands against her chest. “Maybe not with Steven himself, but... it’s like you said. He inherited her frequency. Her song. And I know firsthand that its melody is unchanged.”

#su #su future #peridot #pearl #su fanfiction #connie maheswaran #greg universe #priyanka maheswaran #bismuth #my writing stuff

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dameronology · 4 years

Text

the one where he catches feelings (mando x reader)

summary: after months of trying to hide his feelings, the thought of you with someone else is another to push the mandalorian over the edge

warnings: swearing, jealousy, implied smut

enjoy!

- val xx

p.s this has barely been proof read because i am the worst

The Mandalorian didn’t quite understand the concept of feelings.

How could he? Before you, the nearest thing he’d ever got to a relationship was sleeping with the same person twice. He had long surpassed that number with you but that wasn’t the complicated part. He hadn’t even worried about catching feelings when you’d agreed on the casual arrangements - he was the Mandalorian. And the Mandalorian didn’t catch feelings.

But contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t a droid. He wasn’t an emotionless void with a beer in one hand and a blaster in the other. Din Djarin - the human being behind the mysterious metal mask - was very, very capable of catching feelings. What had started as a casual arrangement between two touch starved friends had booted him up the arse and sent him into a death spiral.

Not that he’d ever tell you . Absolutely not. Never, not even if you paid him a million credits. In fact, it was probably a good thing that he had to keep that tin can on his head 24/7 for fear of you being able to read his expressions of adoration. If the idea of you seeing his facial expressions was that terrifying, the possibility of you finding out about his actual feelings was enough to send him into a state of catatonia.

That is exactly what brought him into his current dilemma. You’d docked up on a planet for a few weeks so that the kid could stretch his little green cankles and catch a few frogs - and on your first night, you and Din had crossed paths with a former flame of yours in a cantina. You’d agreed to go out for a drink with him and now all he could was watch in horror as you made yourself look beautiful for another man. He didn’t like that one bit.

‘Mando!’ Your voice echoed throughout the cockpit as you kicked open the door, the smell of your perfume immediately overwhelming his senses. ‘Have you seen my boots?’

‘Y-your boots?’ He blinked in surprise, trying to act as though your appearance hadn’t just knocked the air out of his lungs.

‘The things that go on my feet?’ You thinned your eyes at him. ‘Tauntaun got your tongue?’

‘No...I just…’ he cleared his throat, standing up. ‘You look nice.’

‘Oh, thank you.’ Now it was your turn to blink in surprise. His compliments were usually only the balls-deep kind (make of that what you will).

Din knew that he had no place to be upset about the fact you were going out for a drink with another guy. You weren’t exclusive - far from it, in fact. You weren’t his partner; you could only be described as his partner-in-crime-and-occasional-babysitter-who-he-sometimes-shagged.

Good luck finding a Valentine’s Day card for that title.

‘This guy.’ Din cleared his throat. ‘Were you and him...serious?’

‘Are you asking if he was more serious than us?’

Us. Us. Us.

He replayed the word over and over in his head. It sounded so right - us. You, him and the Child. A small, ragtag family of two parents and their weird, wrinkly child. It felt so perfect, the sort of thing that could finally give him a sense of security after years on his own. Din had never considered himself the kind of guy who wanted any of that; but then again, he’d considered himself a lot of things before he met you.

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I was just curious. If tonight goes well, you might end up staying with him and I need to consider how that would affect the kid-’

‘- you’re full of shit.’ You cut him off.

You knew that he liked you - and you liked him. Why else would you stay holed up in this absolute garbage can of a ship with him? You sure as hell weren’t doing it out of common courtesy. But you also weren’t going to wait around for Din to get off his ass and tell you that he liked you. The difference between him and the man you were seeing tonight is that the latter had asked you out.

‘But you can’t tell me it’s not a possibility.’ Din’s voice was cold.

‘You’re right.’ You shot back. ‘Maybe me and this guy will fall in love, get married and adopt ten frog-ass looking babies.’

‘Y/N.’

‘Be realistic, you tinhead.’ You lightly thwacked his helmet, leaning down to press a kiss to the side of it. ‘Remember that our frog-ass looking baby needs to be fed at 11 and asleep by midnight.’

‘He’s been in my care longer than yours, I know what I’m doing-’

‘- and if he goes toilet in his robes again, there’s some clean ones hanging up by your bed.’ You gave his shoulder a light squeeze. ‘See you later.’

‘Stay safe.’ And don’t fall in love with him

Din was silently kicking himself. He wanted you to be dressing up for him, getting ready to go out on dates with him - not whoever this...this nerfherder was. If only he could pull his head out of his shiny, beskar ass and just tell you. But he couldn’t. That’s where he fell short.

And so he watched you walk off the Crest, a trail of perfume in your wake and the Child peeping out from his crib to wave his stubby arms at you. By all intents and purposes, you were his second parent; he was even more attached to you than he was to Din. He would babble and cry whenever you were absent, something that proved to drive the Mandalorian insane for the rest of the night.

The Child wouldn’t shut up - he was crying one minute, giggling the next. If he wasn’t bawling and staring aimlessly at your empty seat, he was practically climbing the walls, performing surprisingly impressive acrobatics as he leapt from the switchboard and onto Din’s lap.

‘I know, kid.’ Mando reached out to him, placing him gently in his lap. ‘I miss her too.’

It was approaching 2AM by the time you got back.

You entered the jet as quietly as possible, holding your shoes in one hand as you clambered up the ramp. The night had gone fine - the guy you met was clearly into you. He’d had his hand on your thigh the whole time, his intentions staring right back at you the same way your reflection did in Mando’s helmet. After final call, you’d covered your half of the bill and left.

You’d spent the whole night wanting to be back here - laying with Din and the kid, watching some ridiculous cartoon on the old holovid player in an attempt to entertain him. It was the never life you thought you’d want but things had a funny way of working out. They’d both fallen into your lap by chance and you were wondering how you’d even considered going out with someone else.

Mando was sitting on the edge of his bed, the Child snoozing quietly in his arms. Most of his beskar was scattered on the floor; he was only wearing the helmet and the shirt and pants that went underneath. That was usually a sign that he was relaxed, at ease for once in his damned life.

He would argue otherwise but you knew he’d probably been there hours, not having the heart to move and wake him. Below the armour, he had a huge fucking heart (and it belonged to you, obviously).

‘Hey, can man.’ You quietly greeted him. You took a seat beside him, softly taking the Child from his arms. ‘How you doing?’

‘I’m tired. He wouldn’t settle all night.’ Din replied. ‘How was your date?’

‘It wasn’t a date.’ You lightly elbowed him. ‘I just...it was just drinks.’

You slowly stood up, placing the Child in his crib. You closed up the lid and turned back to face Mando; the room was dim bar one small lamp, the light of which bounced right off his helmet and into your eyes. You wanted to rip the damn thing off and just look at him - read his face, his expressions. Then you might have known what the fuck was going through that mind of his.

Sometimes you could read him like a book - but a book where every other page was missing. He had some tells; little actions and noises that you understand. Other times, he was completely off with you. He’d make love to you in the night and treat you like an old childhood friend the next day.

‘Why does it even matter to you?’ You continued. ‘Why do you care so much that I went out with another guy?’

‘I told you. If you stayed here, on this planet-’

‘- you know I wouldn’t do that!’ You cut him off. ‘This planet is much less of a shithole than this damned ship but you know I would never leave you or the kid.’

‘I can’t be sure of that.’ He bluntly replied.

‘You are so stupid, Din Djarin.’

The Mandalorian knew that shit was about to get real when you pulled out his real name. You usually called him Mando, or some variant of affectionate, armour-related nickname. The last time you’d used his real title was when he’d almost died, months ago. Other than that, it was reserved only for the most dire of situations.

‘Why?’ He stood up. You took a step back when he did, momentarily forgetting that he was a six-foot-man in a suit of steel.

‘You know why.’ You jabbed your finger into his chest. ‘And if you weren’t so scared to say it, I wouldn’t have even thought about looking at another man, much less let him take me out for a drink and kiss me and touch my leg the whole damn night.’

(Most of that hadn’t actually happened but it was simply for argument’s sake. Go big or go home, after all).

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Great. So you won’t mind that I’m meeting him again tomorrow.’

(Another lie).

‘I’m fine with that.’

(Also a whopper).

‘Maybe I will stay here.’ You said. ‘See where my relationship with him goes, because at least he has the balls to tell me how he’s feeling.’

(Stop with the damn lying).

You turned on your heel, boots clattering to the floor as you marched towards the refresher. Before you could reach the ladder, Din had hit the switch on the only light in the room. Darkness suddenly overcame the hull, causing you to stop in your tracks. A moment later, there was a clunking sound, the sound of beskar echoing off the walls of the ship.

His helmet hitting the floor.

He suddenly grabbed you, pulling you towards him with such force that your chest hit his with a thump. You were going to complain, to tell him that you wanted to sleep, dammit -

- Then he kissed you.

Din had kissed you multiple times before but not like this. It was hungry, bordering on desperate, as if to say you’re not fucking going anywhere. And you weren’t. You had no intention of ever straying from him or the Child or the ship but you needed him to be honest with you.

And this? This felt pretty damn honest.

‘I’m not good with words.’ He murmured against your lips. ‘I never have been with you.’

‘Just say it.’ You whispered. ‘I’m right there with you.’

‘You promise?’

‘I prom-’

‘- I love you.’ He cut you off before you could finish. ‘You’re everything to me.’

‘I love you too.’ You softly smiled, hands roaming around his shoulders in an attempt to work around the darkness. ‘There’s no-one else.’

I know.’ Din pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. ‘Except that little womprat.’

‘Our little womprat.’

tags: @obirain @lizzyolanda1966 @thisisaredflag @aty-cgca7

#din x reader #din djarin x reader #din imagine #din djarin imagine #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian imagine #mando x reader #mando imagine #star wars imagine #star wars fanfic #star wars x reader #star wars imagines

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ducktracy · 3 years

Note

Hi Eliza! I'm currently working through my extensive watchlist, and I wanna ask a Daffy + Porky aficionado for opinions on Duck Dodgers! Is it good? Have you finished it? Any other thoughts? Sorry if you've already discussed this before, I haven't had time to use tumblr for the past year or so LOL! Hope you're doing well and I'm happy to see how far you've come!

HEY THERE ANON!! this has been ruminating in my inbox for MONTHS so i hope this wasn’t a life or death decision!! :’) thanks for being patient!!

i enjoy Duck Dodgers and would say yes, give it a go!! i have my fair share of gripes with it (as i do with all modern LT adaptations—I TRY NOT TO BE THAT PERSON i just instinctively compare compare compare to the originals which is a habit i’m trying to break) but i can very honestly say i’ve enjoyed what i’ve seen!

i’ve seen the entire series, but can’t remember it all—i think some eps (mainly season 3?) i’ve skimmed through instead of watching in full, but i’ve seen most episodes numerous times! i feel like in my book it’s more… forgiving? LIKE… Daffy can be pretty dang dumb and jerk-y in it which i don’t usually like, and normally i’d pitch a fit over a show that has Porky crying tears of joy after Daffy finally learns to read because he couldn’t before, but it doesn’t take itself very seriously at all/doesn’t feel forced/isn’t cynical in its delivery and so i laugh at it in the moment rather than thinking of How Wrong It Is HAHA so i’d say that extends to much of my view on the show!! it’s very lighthearted and i can sit down and enjoy it for what it is

Daffy is stupid but he’s not incompetent which i can excuse—there are even some episodes that have heavier plot lines and some specials and stuff so if you’re into that GO FOR IT!! i have a hard time holding my attention to those things (which isn’t the show’s fault, i have the attention span of a gnat and even an 11 minute cartoon is too long for me nowadays) but i like that it switches things up and actually has Daffy take some initiative for a change since he IS Duck Dodgers

i love the backgrounds—the character designs can be hit or miss for me sometimes especially as the series goes on, but the backgrounds are gorgeous and worth checking out. other LT characters make appearances too which is fun (such as the 2 part special where everyone catches a virus that turns them into Elmer Fudd), but it mostly centers around Daffy and Porky which i will never object to!

I WISH I HAD MORE TO SAY!! it’s been awhile since i’ve sat down to really analyze an episode. i don’t have any outstanding gripes with it—i don’t jive with certain characterizations (but that’s my own pickiness because my standards are literally impossible), and there are a lot of Very Skinny Sexie Women designs (Queen Tyrah’nee is the most prominent, i really like her but am not a fan of the pencil thin hourglass waistline design. i wish she looked more like Marvin or just more adjacent to the LT style rather than Martian but Sexy) that make me roll my eyes (and some episodes have said Sexy Women falling for Daffy or vice versa or whatever which isn’t exactly my priority when it comes to LT but that’s an early-mid ‘00s cartoon for ya) but i never once thought “wow i can’t stand this” and can’t think of an episode i really hated or disliked.

so i’d say GO FOR IT!! Daffy and Porky’s roles are basically an extension of the later Jones shorts with Daffy as the overbearing leader and Porky as the more competent wiseass sidekick—sometimes they can get a little harsh and Daffy can get a little too rude to Porky who just takes it which is a pet peeve of mine but it’s not nearly to the extent of shows like TLTS, and they have their moments where they work as a team which is refreshing. i’d say it’s worth scouting out!

and YOU’RE ALL GOOD!! i don’t mind repeating myself anyway HAHAHA but DD isn’t something i’ve talked about a lot on here besides posting the occasional video clip. there are a lot of very funny lines and moments and it’s actually something i CAN just sit back and watch without comparing (too much) to the originals, which is nice! GOOD LUCK AND ENJOY!! hopefully someday i’ll have some more articulate thoughts on the matter LOL

#and THANK YOU BTW THAT’S VERY KIND!!! :’))) thank you for the kind words and even asking to begin with!! i hope you enjoy (or have already #SORRY FOR THE WAIT)#i have 90+ asks in my inbox i really gotta get on top of these sorry gang #anonymous

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pl-panda · 4 years

Text

To Marry a Vigilante: Part 3

MASTERLIST || First || Previous || Next

Disclaimer: Masterlist

------------

The dinner was an interesting affair. Everyone was gathered around a large table that could easily fit several more people. Marinette was sitting between Damian and her mother; on the opposite, Tim, Stephanie, and Cass took the seats. She was glad that they were all people she knew well enough. It was overwhelming. Before, Christmas was always just her and her parents. Occasionally, Nona came too. And there was this one time when she was five when her great-uncle visited. This was much too crowded.

Damian gently squeezed her hand, reassuring her that it was alright. She ate some, but the nerves made her lose appetite quickly. She was in Gotham. Celebrating Christmas with her husband’s family. Husband… She was going to have a panic attack. She wasn’t ready.

“Habibti. It’s okay. Everyone here’s a friend.” Damian whispered into her ear, seeing she was spiraling. “Nobody is going to judge us on anything.”

“But I didn’t make any gifts for the Kents. And I didn’t know your eldest brother had a daughter! And I’m a total klutz. I will probably knock over the tree and it will fall and set the house on fire and you will end up homeless or someone will get hurt and then your family will hate me and the Kents will hate me and I…” she kept whispering faster and faster until she was finally starting to feel the need to breathe or pass out. The jury was still out.

Seeing her daughter’s panic, Sabine also grabbed her hand and squeezed it lightly. “Honey, let’s go get some fresh air.” She said loud enough for people close to them to hear before leading Marinette outside. Nobody batted an eye when the pair passed them.

Once the two were in the back garden, Mari felt her legs give up under her and if not for her mother, she would have probably collapsed. The woman held her tight and led the girl toward the bench, which was luckily not covered in snow.

“I’m so sorry, Maman. I don’t know… I just felt so overwhelmed. There were all these people and I was really meeting my husband’s family and friends for the first time and I guess I was not prepared for all this…” She was speaking fast.

“Don’t worry sweetie. I understand. Did I tell you how, when I met your Nona for the first time, I accidentally flipped her over my shoulder and pinned her to the ground?” Sabine asked, smiling understandingly at her daughter.

“No! Really?”

“Yes. Well, in my defense, she surprised me with a gun that shot candies.”

Marinette couldn’t help but giggle at that. It did seem like something her Mémé would do.

“She was shocked at first and I was afraid I hurt her. Instead, after that, she decided that I was apparently worthy of dating her boy and gave us her approval.”

“So… the moral of this story is that I should flip Talia over for them to accept me?” Mari asked with a cheeky grin.

“That too, sweetie. I can even lend you something from my bag if you want a more… permanent effect.”

“Maman!”

“Fine…” Sabine grumbled goodheartedly. “You don’t need to worry about fitting in or how they will perceive you. I’ve seen how that boy looks at you and I approve.” She smiled. “That’s all that should matter.”

“Thank you maman. I’m glad you’re here.” She hugged her mother as the two sat together on the bench, enjoying the evening chill until the cold became irritating instead of refreshing.

-------

When the two returned, the dinner was nearing the end. Marinette noted seven burning holes on the ceiling but didn’t comment. There was also a plate on fire next to Jason that he seemed adamant not to acknowledge. Also, Mar’i and Jon were levitating above the table and playing rock paper scissors, except they used the props. Silently, Marinette walked to take a seat next to Damian. Her mother went over to talk a bit with Bruce about something.

“Um… Why is Jason’s plate on fire?” She asked, very much confused.

“Tt. He wanted a souffle on fire.”

“We’re already at desserts?” The girl asked, surprised. In the corner of her eye, she saw Cass staring at Tim and Stephanie with a strange gaze. It wasn’t hostile, but rather, she couldn’t really name the emotions present.

“Yes. I saved you some maracons. You love the strawberry ones, right?”

“You made me prefer lemon ones.” She smiled. “The subtle sourness really brings out the sweetness.”

“Of course it does Angel.” He smiled. “Sadly, we sit next to Brown, who will devour anything with sugar in it.”

A devious grin appeared on Mari’s face. “Really now?” She reached over into her purse to pull a small box where she kept the power-up cookies for her Kwami. “Tikki… will you mind if I give her a burnt-red one? You know which…”

For a moment, it looked like the Kwami wanted to protest, but then the small goddess noticed the plate of cookies was empty. “Go for it, Marinette. It won’t hurt her.”

“Stephanie! I’ve got a spare macaron I can share,” she smiled at the blonde girl.

“Gimme!” She almost leaped like a gremlin, her eyes in a slight daze.

“Uh-oh. She is experiencing a sugar rush. I think she ate the whole plate herself,” Tim spoke from his seat, eyes slightly worried.

Mari handed over the macaron and watched as Steph ate it. It took only a moment for her face to flush red and tears to appear in her eyes. “Water!” She said with a hoarse throat. Tim handed her a glass, but when she downed it, the burning only increased.

“Oh no! I forgot to warn you! It was made with ground hot pepper instead of flour… silly me!” Mari said, keeping the cute smile on. “I would advise milk.”

When Stephanie ran to the kitchen, followed by Tim laughing and Cass and Damian smiling, the older boy turned to Marinette. “You are devious.”

“She shouldn’t have eaten so many cookies,” the girl shrugged. After that, she actually started to enjoy the evening. It might have started a prank war later on, but for now, she was safe.

---------

After dinner, the crowd moved to a large living room where adults took seats on the couches or chairs while most kids and teens sat on the fluffy carpet. Alfred was walking around and handing the wine glasses to adults and hot chocolate to the youngsters. Clark opted for hot chocolate as well, which earned him a round of teasing.

Since everyone was staying the night, there was no need for designated drivers. When Tim and Stephanie tried to get their hands on alcohol, Alfred slapped their hands. More laughter followed.

Marinette sat there, cuddled into one armchair with Damian, observing everything and looking cute.

“...I’m just saying, Bruce. You could smile a bit more in costume too. It wouldn’t kill you.” Clark finished a short speech.

“Work and homelife should stay separate,” Tim spoke up from his spot on the floor.

“Which doesn’t stop you from smiling. You’re not a Buckingham Palace guard.” Lois pointed out.

“To be frank, you could smile a bit more often, B.” Dick supported the enemy.

“It would be bad for the image,” Bruce mumbled. “If anyone saw Batman smile, it would ruin my years of hard work.”

“Diana disagrees.” Kor’i smiled. “She actually said once that ‘a smiling bat looks pretty handsome’.”

“I’ve seen a smiling bat!” Mar’i shouted from her spot on Jon’s knees, the two of them acting like nice siblings. It secretly irked Damian, but he wouldn’t ever voice that thought. “There was a cartoon!”

“That’s nice, sweetie.” Sabine couldn’t help but rub it into Bruce some more. “Did he also have a cape, like Bruce?”

“Yes! And he walked on two legs!”

“See? I think your image doesn’t need to suffer.” Tom joined his wife. His English wasn’t that good, but he could get by. “Maybe you could get a cartoon about Batman? Ladybug had her own movie and a song dedicated to her.”

“Ladybug?” Jonathan asked. Marinette immediately tensed at the mention of her superhero name. She definitely did not want to reveal herself to everyone here. It’s not that she didn’t trust any of them, since all of them knew about Batman and co., but she felt uneasy. The fewer people knew, the better.

“Parisian superheroine.” Sabine clarified.

“We sure didn’t hear about her back in Smallville.” Martha insisted, smiling. “Then again, we don’t really keep with the news from the old world.”

“There was this terrorist in Paris that used magic to turn people into temporary villains. He was finally defeated recently. I think you’ve seen all the ladybug decorations.” Tim explained in broad terms.

“Ah! Right. I was wondering about the ladybugs…”

Damian noted that his beloved was tense and decided that it was a moment good as any other to spring up the surprise. He shifted slightly, signaling that he wanted to get up. Marinette, who was still holding her cup, immediately sprung onto her feet. She thought he maybe wanted to leave somewhere or speak with his father alone.

Instead, Damian hit the side of his hot chocolate cup with a spoon three times, gathering everyone’s attention.

“Tt. I wanted to say a few words. This will be important so shut up you lot.” He cleared his throat before continuing in a mostly emotionless voice that most people associated with his ‘Ice Prince’ persona. “Marinette. When I first met you, it was not from our own free will. The bitch that is my mother forced our hand and tied us together. But we got to know each other out of our own free will. Nobody forced me…” His head snapped toward Dick. “Tt. Don’t you dare, Grayson.” Seeing his brother raise his hands in a surrender gesture, he carried on. “Nobody forced me to come to Paris. Definitely, nobody forced you to actually accept my courting. To this day, I am left wondering why an Angel as you would actually agree to go out with me, but here we are.”

The people watched with rapt attention. Marinette just stood there, unable to voice a coherent thought. She had no idea what was happening, but a deep red blush had made its way onto her face when he praised her.

“You were so full of passion and joy and it reminded me a bit of Jon, but without the irritating factors.”

“Hey!” The boy protested. A murderous glare from Damian shut him up quickly.

“As I was saying, you were perfect in my eyes. I was taken away by your kindness. There are no words to describe my feelings.” His tone was still emotionless and monotonous, but Marinette could see that he was doing his best to actually see this through. “I can say without a doubt that I love you, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

All air was suddenly sucked from Mari’s lungs when he fell on one knee and pulled out a small black box. Inside was probably the most beautiful ring she had ever seen. There were three flowers on a golden band. In the center of each, there was a shining diamond, surrounded by smaller stones. The petals were made from pink stones that she suspected were also diamonds. Were there even pink diamonds? All in all, it looked beyond words.

“Will you do me that honor and become my wife?” When he finally asked, she could feel the world spinning. This was… this was better than in any of her daydreams. And not only because instead of Adrien there was Damian.

The words died in her throat. She had to sit down to not faint. “Yes…” She whispered weakly, so only Damian could hear. The boy smiled brightly (a rare sight to be sure) and put the ring on her finger.

Her gaze fell on the band he had on his own hand. It was silver with a large black stone in the center of the band, surrounded by eight diamonds. The Black Cat Miraculous she realized.

An applaud arose from several places in the room, but some of the guests were confused.

“Aren’t you two too young to get married?” Johnathan asked, scratching his head.

“Tt. Technically, we are already married where I come from. This is for my wife’s content and nothing else.”

“Married?!” The old farmer asked, scandalized.

“Tt. That’s what I said. Now can someone please get my Angel some water? I think she is about to faint.”

“Um… I would also be very interested in the story…” Clark joined his father. He wasn’t exactly that much scandalized, but confusion was clear on his face.

“I promise I will explain everything. I think we should give the two some breathing space…” Bruce proposed hesitantly.

“I will help get Mari to her room. I think she has had enough excitement for today,” Tom offered.

“I am also turning in for the night, Father. I trust that between you and Miss Cheng they will get a full story. Sans the private parts of course.” He glared at him.

“I will make sure of that.” Sabine quickly cut any protests.

“Good. Good night everyone. And Merry Christmas or whatever.” With that, he left, wanting to catch up with Tom and Marinette.

----------------

Masterlist // Next

#fanfiction #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #miraculous lb #tiger miraculous #maribat #marinette dupain cheng #maridami #fluff #arranged marriage AU #batman #BatFam #damienette #Damian Wayne #Damian al Ghul #marinette x damian #class salt

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papabirdurskeks · 3 years

Note

I ask this both for Baron Dark, Ariandel and SkekSo !

Give me a character and I will answer: @ben-the-hyena

Oh boy a triple feature! :D Here we go, folks!

Under a read more cause its going to get long but each listed character will be split apart evenly!

First up is Baron Dark!

Why I like them: He is just bombastic in personality! He lives loud in his actions and words, participating in most of the action himself while also showing he is a threat and menacing altogether! I also like that he is one of the few villains that shows he cares for his crew as a “family” (at least for most part of the series before being overtaken with obsession to have power more on his own). Given the dynamic we are given from the show, its obvious he cares and treats them all on a level of respect as well, something so rare to see nowadays! And I also enjoyed that his reasons to take over and do the shit he did in the series, “Because I can!” is just as refreshing and fun to see in a villain too! And again, his design is a top tier design I love overall! Its menacing, powerful, and outright amazing! Definitely adds to the character and how well he works in effect to keeping my attention! Like just look at that design! And his VA did a wonderful job of adding to that charm that is just delightful to see in his personality! Overall, he is totally a villain I would love to see more of in the future!

Why I don’t: I say my dislikes often fall on the usual tropes of a kid’s show of the 90s. He talks too much when he could be doing things himself and falls victim to the typical “I am too powerful” but doesn’t think of the obvious steps ahead that will be his downfall. But honestly, its so small I don’t find it jarring or that bad to be in the way! It was the 90s and aimed at kids at the time, so we can’t expect TOO much out of that xD

Favorite episode (scene if movie): Oh man, that’s a tough one cause every scene/episode Baron is in he totally slays it! Its either a tie from the first episode to the very last one cause the stakes of start and finish are so well done, I love it all!

Favorite season/movie: Obviously, the TV series is the best version of him! The comics sucked and turned him too OOC from what was initially given! Like how does one go from point A to be Z so freaking fast? xD

Favorite line: “Because I can.” Yeah, not gonna lie this was indeed my favorite line of his xD

Favorite outfit: Honestly, the outfit he gains near the end of the series is by far my favorite! Its like a mix of the Bejeweled Catacomb Saints and Mictlantechutli put in one and its befitting of the Baron given his gain in power!

OTP: Baron and Cyborn are my OTP and are married, fight me.

Brotp: Definitely Brotps with the rest of his henchmen though I see them more being like his adoptive children!

Head Canon: Baron is of indigenous background! I also like to headcanon that the white tuft/strands in his hair are truly his and have been there since birth! (I have so many more HCs for him but I will keep it short cause it can go all day x’) )

Unpopular opinion: Don’t think I have one, at the moment at least.

A wish: To have gotten more information/lore on him and the entire cast, honestly! I would have loved to see more of his character explored and what more he could have had to offer as a series main villain! Hell, the whole damn series had so much to offer! And just the relationships he has with the others and what more he could have done post season and before! So much potential there to be explored! I honestly would not be objecting to a reboot/revival or continuation of the series!

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: Though with that said, if a reboot does come around, don’t turn it into the mess of current cartoons we have. Not that they are all bad but most of them have been very disappointing in keeping my attention and liking. Keep the same type of messages it had before! It worked beautifully as it did then and still does work now! I’d love to see the same formulas used while also updating it to be more gritty and mature like they did for Castlevania! Just... Don’t turn it into a cringe worthy mess that will ruin Baron and all the characters in the series! Don’t do what the comics did!

5 words to best describe them: Charmingly evil, badass, fun, conniving bastard, and menacing.

My nickname for them: Mega dork (affectionately speaking)

Next is Ariandel!

Why I like them: Oh boy, there is a lot to say in terms of why I like him but I will try to keep it short and simple for time purposes! His design is top tier for me! Like a rotting skull like face? Check! A monstrous body much like a bird’s? Check! And to add he is a giant Corvian, which are one of my favorite enemies in Dark Souls III! His personality also differs from the usual loud, bombastic, and proud characters I tend to gravitate for. Instead, he’s withdrawn and rather sad to look at and hear. You know he’s going through a lot but don’t know exactly what it is. In game, one can sort of get hints as to what has gone on behind the scenes but at the same time, its still vague and hard to really pinpoint what really did happen. So he has that air of mystery to him that I honestly adore in many characters as it leaves room to explore deeper into their lore! But I also find his personality relatable as well as sympathetic. But that’s just me, I can gush about him all day but I will cut it short here x’)

Why I don’t: To be honest I don't have any reason not to like Ariandel other then the small fact that he followed Friede and let the Painted World rot in such a terrible state. But that is so minor of an issue to me to really make a difference, lol. I adore this giant bird man!

Favorite episode (scene if movie): I have to say the scene where he ultimately snaps and breaks out of binds after seeing Friede's lifeless body before him is my favorite scene of his. The amount of pain and anguish heard in his scream and the way he moves prior and after; I can very much relate to that feeling. Sometimes, actions truly convey the emotions better in the most powerful means necessary. And this scene alone truly nailed it.

Favorite season/movie: He's only ever seen in the Dark Souls III DLC, so obvious answer points to the DLC!

Favorite line: "When the Ashes are two, a flame alighteth. Thou'rt Ash, and fire befits thee, of course..."

Favorite outfit: Uhh, he doesn't really wear any clothes save for his cape? So I guess the cape does him well as he is, though I always draw him without it xD

OTP: To be honest, I don't ship him with any canon characters within Dark Souls. Friede does not deserve him..

Brotp: Ariandel being best friends with the Ashen One is my ultimate Brotp! Just think of how much of a valuable ally he could have been!

Head Canon: I know his origins are debatable, as either theory I have for him can be plausible but I often lean more towards the idea of him being half Giant and half Corvian! IDK why but I just like it a lot more x’)

Unpopular opinion: While Ariandel is partly responsible for what happened to the Painted World, I still feel he was manipulated overall and probably at one point did have a change of heart before being forced into complete isolation. He plays more the role of the willing/unwilling accomplice then the actual perpetrator of the crime.

A wish: He could have had a happier ending without having to die for Friede. I know, its Dark Souls. Such a thing is expected to happen in the Soulsborne series but its a wish, right?

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: That anything beyond the infatuation he had for Friede took place. Just.. No. He loved her but never could ever have her in that sense and never did. Just no, she is horrible to him.

5 words to best describe them: Sad, lonely, birdman, withdrawn, and tragic

My nickname for them: Papa bird

And lastly for skekSo!

Why I like them: I think its as obvious as the case for Baron Dark. I like evil, smug bastards that shine through their wickedness and don't usually hold back. In the case of skekSo, I actually didn't care for him at first but then after my second viewing of the show, I started to like him more and enjoy his villainy! He's selfish, arrogant, vain, and conniving and I love it! Added that his design is really appealing to the eye and how he carries himself out, I gotta say he's one of the few villain characters from a show that makes the turn around for me to like them instead of hate them more. Also, his voice. Can NOT go wrong with that voice cause DAMN, its good and shows just how powerful a villain can be with a voice like his. And those eyes. Oh man, those eyes!

Why I don’t: Despite his villainy being the main point that caught my attention, its also a part of his downfall too. His constant greed and arrogance pushed him too far into doing what he did and ultimately cost him everything in the end; including loyal allies that end up dying for him in the long run. I hate how easily and quickly he changes his mind when actual logic is put into perspective of his plans and how quick he is to dismiss someone else when they don't please him anymore or things don't go his way for the smallest things. And yes, that is part of his character, I know that. That is what makes him as scummy as he is and why I love how trashy he is. But I also can't ignore just how easily he pushed skekVar away and believed skekSil despite knowing just what a lying bastard he is. IDK, it just feels too obvious but at the same time, it is what it is and I am not upset about it in the least x)

Favorite episode (scene if movie): Honestly, I enjoyed all the scenes with him in the show but mostly in particular with his interactions with skekVar, especially towards the end of the series. It showed a peak part of his vulnerability in his character that honestly I doubt he ever shows to anyone else. He spends most of his time pushing others around and making them fear him but with skekVar there is a sort of mutual respect going that really speaks out in a different way. Maybe I am just reading too much into it, but I always did enjoy how they interacted with one another!

Favorite season/movie: Well, skekSo didn't get much screen time in the movie other then him dying and turning to dust so.... Definitely enjoyed him more in the show then the film xD

Favorite line: "NOOOOO!" (Yes, this scene is still very infamous to me for personal reasons but the way he carried out his "no's" cracked me up each time xD)

Favorite outfit: Honestly, the main outfit he wore throughout the show. It's just so regal and goth, I love it! And as a goth and fashion enthusiast myself, I am all up for the style he has! The battle armor he wore near the end made it a tad more laughable to be honest.

OTP: I started shipping him with skekVar but ended up with an OT3 of skekVar and skekZok. So now all three of them live in a happy relationship with each other in my noodle~

Brotp: I see him being on neutral terms with skekMal!

Head Canon: I feel that even in the show it wasn’t seen or given, but he did feel a lot of remorse and regret after the loss of skekVar. He seemed very close with him and spoke with skekVar with more trust then he did the others. Perhaps in secret he did mourn the General’s loss.

Unpopular opinion: Does this count as an unpopular opinion? I know most people see him with just a few strands of hair but I tend to see him with a head full of long flowing white locks he keeps hidden beneath his clothes. It adds to the extra layer of vanity for a proud Emperor such as he! He looses it over time the darkening consumes him and withers down his health.

A wish: To see what he was like as an urSkek prior to being split up into a Skeksis and urRu. Yeah, I know people don't care or like the urSkeks all that much but honestly, I would LOVE to see more urSkek lore and see what it was that made SoSu so special among his peers. It was said, after all, he had a voice that could move the stars but was conflicted and consumed with darkness. Honestly, I want to know why and who he was prior to all of this mess! SkekSo even says in the show he still has nightmares of the life before so I wonder, what they were and how it was! So much potential here, man!

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: I don’t think I have any of these to be honest? At least with skekSo. Not that I can think of on top of my head now.

5 words to best describe them: Proud, absolute piece of shit, pretty, conniving, and menacing.

My nickname for them: Stupid idiot

#Matla answers #non doodle reply #skekso #baron dark #father ariandel #headcanon territory

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