#but considering previously stated that they aged him down

[holopossums]

so about that twitter q&a...

[motherlvr]

Your Morally Gray Neighborhood Spider-woman

SPOILERS FOR ATSV, this includes the plot of ATSV

Word count: 2.9k

Pairing: Prowler! Miles Morales x Spider-woman! Reader, Earth 1610! Miles Morales & reader

This is a continuation of Part 1 but may be read as a stand-alone. this will probably be the last part of this for now, thank you for reading!

Summary: During a minor identity crisis, you question your morals. Further adding to your list of problems, it seems like Miles has a twin brother he failed to mention to you.

Warnings: nothing too serious, established relationship with Prowler! Miles, possessive miles, Major spoilers for ATSV, not canon, minimal cursing, jealousy, reader is so silly sometimes, i got sappy at the end sorry, fluffy ending

A/N: just know that if u interact with any of my works then i literally love u with all my heart

You weren't sure where your morals lie, but you assumed they were in the gray area. Matter of fact, you must be colorblind.

Could you even be considered a Friendly Neighborhood Spider-woman anymore? You were sure it was against your moral code to be dating a guy that you had previously described as a "cold-blooded killer." Who were you now? The Morally Gray Neighborhood Spider-woman? It wasn't nearly as catchy. Maybe you were an anti-hero now. Is it possible for a Spider-person to be an anti-hero? Surely not, you thought.

Interrupting your thoughts was the buzz of a phone. Miles' phone. You soon realized your present state, burrowed against your boyfriend on his bed. He had a suffocating grip on you, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go. Letting you get a breath of air, he loosened his grip on you to check his notification.

He slowly unwrapped his arms from around you and started to rise from the bed. He pressed his lips to yours before saying, "Lo siento, mami. Uncle Aaron needs me." He started putting on his Prowler gear.

To be frank, you were sick and tired. You've heard the same excuse over and over from Miles. At this point, you didn't understand why he was being so cryptic. What secret is there to hide if you already know he's the Prowler?

"Miles, enough with that vague shit. You keep acting like you're Batman or something." You sass, rolling your eyes at him and laying up in his bed. It was surprising how much he let you get away with. If anyone else had said that to him, he'd claw their throats out, surely.

"Let me come with you, Miles." You suggested, immediately jumping off his bed to follow him. He didn't like that idea. Not one bit, and it was clear on his face. "Hermosa," Miles started, but you interrupted him, pointing a finger at his face. "You know damn well I am fully capable of protecting myself. Just let me into your life, Miles. I want to see what's so important that you have to go and ditch your girlfriend yet again." You dramatically sigh, hoping he'll cave. After a few moments, Miles eventually gave in. "Fine. C'mon, princesa." He sighed and gestured for you to follow him.

He led you to what seemed to be a sketchy, dull, and grimy basement. If he wasn't infatuated with you, you'd wonder whether he was plotting to murder you down here. Upon further inspection, it was actually an apartment. As your eyes scanned the eerie room, you noticed chains hanging on the walls and an abnormal amount of weapons. However, there was also a large flatscreen and a kitchen. You could only assume that this was their Prowler Cave.

Other than the random civilian tied up on a punching bag, it looked like a fairly normal room. Almost cozy, if you were being generous.

Speaking of, why was there some poor boy restrained on a punching bag? You could barely see him due to the punching bag being larger than him, but from your current standpoint, you could only assume he was around your age or younger.

Miles stepped in front of you, holding a hand out to prevent you from taking a step further. Curling your lip in a frown, you shooed his hand away and continued walking, but stopped before the hostage could spot you. He stayed behind, lurking in the corner.

Miles' uncle greeted you both, "I've got a surprise for y'all." Apparently, Miles had let his uncle know in advance that you were welcome into his Prowler cave.

Miles, ever loving his dramatic entrances, jumped down from the corner he was lurking in. You had to stifle your laugh.

Uncle Aaron rotated the punching bag, revealing the unfortunate boy that got restrained upon it. Your jaw fell to the ground. You couldn't believe what you were seeing. How was this possible? You started to wish you had paid attention during Physics.

Attached to the punching bag was a near-identical copy of your beloved boyfriend. His eyes were wide full of fear, and for a second, you felt pity for him. Uncle Aaron left the room, leaving only you and the two Miles.

"Your dad is still alive?" Miles asked his impersonator, astonishingly unfazed by the fact that there was a copy of him staring him directly in his eyes. "What?" The impersonator questioned. "Your father, you said he's still alive." Miles repeated, his voice piquing with interest. "Yeah." The copy replied in a low voice. His face had no remnants of fear, it morphed into confusion instead. "Who are you?" The fake Miles asked, his eyebrows furrowing. He reminded you of your boyfriend in that way.

Your dearly beloved Prowler opened his mask, "I'm Miles Morales. But you, you can call me the Prowler." He said, his accent exposing. Those simple two sentences had more of an effect on you than they should have.

"If I don't go home, our dad is going to die." The fake Miles says with fear in his voice. "Your dad." Miles interjects coldly, lacking sympathy. The hope was slowly fading from the other Miles' face. He shook his head and said, "Please, you have to let me go." with more assertiveness than before. Your boyfriend leaned closer to the fake, "Why would I do that?" he inquired.

Deciding to interrupt their stare-down, you stepped out of the darkness and made yourself known to the fake Miles.

His face lit up with recognition. He whispered your name, "Is that you?"

"First off, how do you know my name?" You questioned, raising a confused brow. This whole situation was starting to creep you out. As you stepped closer to him, both of your spider-senses went off.

"You're like me." You both said in unison.

Your boyfriend was watching this interaction, narrowing his eyes. The fake Miles was only giving your boyfriend more reasons to keep him confined here.

"Look, you've got to help me. In my universe, you were my girlfriend too. Except you weren't Spider-woman. Don't you have a sense of morality? Hasn't anyone told you that with great power comes great responsibility?" The poor guy was practically begging you. You were sure that if he wasn't tied up on a punching bag, he'd be on his knees pleading with you. Which would be a fun sight to watch, you think.

You scoffed at the fake Miles Morales and replied, "You said it wrong. It's, with great ability comes great accountability." Rolling your eyes. This impersonator couldn't even get the quote right.

"That's not-" He cut himself off. "Whatever. You've got to help me, please." The fake Miles pleaded with you. He started to glitch, this universe was taking a toll on him already. As you stared into his eyes, he reminded you of a miserable, dejected puppy. Unbeknownst to you, the less-menacing Miles Morales was only stalling to charge up his venom strike.

Fortunately for him, he didn't need to resort to his venom strike just yet. That would only make this situation harder for him to get out of. He wasn't planning on getting on the bad side of another Spider-person.

"I think we should help him." You broke the silence, turning to your Miles. He was about to argue with you when you continued, "Not only because he's a fellow spider-person, but also because it's harder to resist someone when they look exactly like you, Miles." You grinned, teasing him.

As always, Miles couldn't deny you. He growled to his other self, directing the clone's attention away from you. "You're lucky my girl was here to save you this time, spider. I would've had no issue leaving you here to watch you rot."

As you untied Miles from the punching bag, he mouthed a "Thank you" to you and said,

"Do you guys happen to have a watch that can teleport me back home?" in all seriousness. It was almost comical. "No, but maybe I could help you out." You responded. "I have a good friend, Peter Parker. He's a scientist that specializes in quantum physics, I bet he could help. He works at Alchemax." His eyes seemed to lighten, "You know a Peter Parker?"

On the way to Alchemax, your boyfriend decided the phony version of himself was getting too comfortable with you. He was asking you way too many questions such as,

"How did you become Spider-woman?" The same way you did, Miles.

"How long have you been Spider-woman?" Ever since I got bit by a spider.

"Why are you with the Prowler?" He's not such a bad guy. A few seconds passed and you said, Nevermind. But that's what makes it exciting. You wink at him.

And that's when your lover decided to step in. He interrupted whatever Miles #2 was going on about. "Shut up for once." He snarled at him, towering over his clone. Within a second, your boyfriend had his copy in his grip with his razor-sharp claws in his face, a warning. You noticed sparks flying from the other Miles' fingertips. Why don't I have electric powers? You pondered. Not wanting to witness a homicide today, you pulled your boyfriend away before he could get the chance to slaughter himself. Or at least the morally good version of himself.

Your Miles snaked his arm around your waist possessively. He glared at the other Miles through his screen mask, but you were sure Miles #2 felt his sinister stare. He and you were walking a few paces ahead of his duplicate.

Some days, you weren't sure whether you wanted to kiss him or throttle him during his sleep. Although you couldn't deny that a part of you liked seeing him like this.

“Settle down, babe. He’s not my type.” You reassured him. He almost felt appeased, until he rethought your words. “Not your type? Mami, we look almost identical.” Your Miles said with irritation in his tone. You laughed at his confusion as you shook your head.

Although they were nearly identical in appearance, you noticed clear differences. For instance, your Miles had an intimidating and menacing presence. While the other Miles had more of a "Friendly Neighborhood Spider-man" energy to him.

"No, I mean, he's a little too dorky for me." Your boyfriend seemed to approve of your response, gazing at you. You shivered under his watch.

“I heard that." Miles #2 muttered, following behind you two.

Miles’ gaze was still set on you. He didn’t intend on breaking it any time soon. Although you couldn't exactly see his eyes, you could feel his stare. Nervously glancing the other way, you avoided eye contact. Because you knew that if you looked at him again, you'd pull him in and wouldn't be able to pull away. You felt like you were pinning for him all over again.

You glanced back at him, "Miles, stop staring at me. I might kiss you.” In an instant, his mask was off. He pulled you into a searing kiss, cupping your head with his hands. You reciprocated immediately.

His kiss was demanding and forceful. You could hear the thump of your heart, increasingly becoming louder. It was only a few moments long but felt like forever. He pulled away sooner than you'd liked, leaving you desiring more. “Had to show him that you’re my girl. Sólo mía. Right, princesa?” He stared into your eyes, making your heart pound impossibly faster. You cheekily nodded, the words being lost on your tongue. Miles smirked in satisfaction and closed his mask as you all approached Alchemax.

You strode into Alchemax like it was your second home and looked for Peter's office. Your boyfriend treaded right by your side, while the other Miles strayed behind you like a lost puppy. Which essentially, he was.

Successfully finding Peter's door wide open, you knocked. He looked up from his pile of work. Peter greeted you with a smile, "Come on in. It's great to see you, kid. But, uh, why is the Prowler in my office?" He said to you, his voice barely above a whisper. The Prowler in question was menacingly yet quietly standing in the corner of Peter's office.

Peter looked slightly green, but you consoled him. "Oh, don't mind him. He's my boyfriend." You shrugged. Peter shot you an extremely concerned look, judging your taste in guys, no doubt.

You simply smiled and patted him on the shoulder, "But anyway, Peter. This is Miles, he’s from a different dimension." You pointed at Miles, who stood stiffly next to you.

"We were hoping you could help us create an inter-dimensional teleporter. Or rather, a watch that can jump universes?" You told Peter.

The scientist seemed fascinated by this information about the multiverse. “That's a specific request. Lucky for you guys, I've been working on a prototype. Be wary that it is just a prototype, so there's no guarantee it'll work." Peter said.

"Great! I just have to make sure I get out of here before I either glitch to death or Miguel and his spider-team show up to beat me to death." Miles awkwardly said, scratching the back of his head. His glitching issue was getting worse the more time he spent in your universe.

Spider-team? No one's ever told you about this. If this "Spider-team" really did exist, why weren't you invited? No, you take that back. You could name a couple of reasons why you weren't invited, starting with your boyfriend who was standing next to you in his full Prowler suit. This is what you deserve for not being a Friendly Neighborhood Spider-woman, you sigh.

"Let's hope this works then." Peter says with an unsure tone. He cuffs the watch around Miles' wrist and changes the settings.

Silence falls upon the room as you all observe the watch flash for a moment, and then go dim again. How anti-climactic.

"Oops, sorry guys. Wrong settings." Peter Parker awkwardly laughed and fumbled with the watch again, and then said "Alright, this one should work."

Suddenly appearing to your right is a captivating portal of sorts. It was in the shape of multiple hexagons and had an orange hue. You couldn't take your eyes off of it, you'd never seen something so alluring. Other than your boyfriend, that is. You chuckled at your inner monologue.

Peter was ecstatic, “The other scientists doubted multiversal travel existed, but this is a critical discovery in the history of science!”

Miles, the Spider-Man one, was bewildered. He could finally go home and save his father. “Dude, this is awesome! I can't thank you guys enough. Maybe I'll see you guys again sometime." He smiled, referring to Peter and you.

Miles #2 seemed to be leaning in for a hug when your boyfriend interjected. He stood in front of you and glared at the phony version of himself, "Not too friendly now." he scowled.

“Chill, man! I didn’t mean it like that!" Instead, Miles gives you a two-fingered salute and fist-bumps Peter. "See you around." He finally says, jumping into the portal and wasting no additional time.

The portal closed behind him and you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. Maybe you weren't a morally gray neighborhood spider-woman after all.

Who were you kidding? You're dating a murderous asshole. You must've been guilty by association.

You just hoped that the dorkier version of your boyfriend made it to his universe, and wasn’t sent to a completely different one yet again.

Shaking off the thoughts, you told the scientist, "Thank you, Peter! You were a big help." You hugged Peter and waved him goodbye. "Anytime, kid." He replied. Your prowler followed you out, his hand settling on your waist.

As you returned to Miles' house, you sat on his bed with him and said, "You know, your cooperation has to count for something. Even if you were just brooding the whole time."

"I'm the Prowler. I wasn’t brooding, ma.”

"Whatever you say." You rolled your eyes at him. "Anyway, you didn't kill him, so that's a start. I'm proud of us!" You gleamed at him as you mentally patted yourself on the back.

"You know I love you, ma. But you talk too much." Miles said, pulling you by the waist into his embrace.

You knitted your eyebrows as you replied, "Babe. It runs in every Spider-person. Didn't you hear how-" This time, Miles was the one shutting you up by pressing his lips to yours in a surprisingly soft kiss. His gentle lips moved against yours, and you couldn't help but melt into his touch.

You smiled into the kiss, deepening it. You didn't need words to show him how deep your affection for him lies. If you could, you'd freeze time to forever stay in his hold.

-----------

Dating the public’s enemy number one had to be diminishing your PR. Not that you had one, anyway.

Initially, you worried that your terribly different lifestyles would inevitably lead to the end of your relationship. The Prowler and Spider-woman was an unlikely combination, after all. You snuck out at night to fight crime and restore justice, while he snuck around with his uncle to be a hitman of Kingpin. But you loved him like no one else could.

He invoked emotions in you that you weren't completely familiar with. Your mind was consumed by thoughts of him. You couldn't breathe with him around, nor could you control how fast your heart throbbed. But you would gladly suffocate if he was the one taking your breath away.

And you had a feeling that your sentiment wasn't unrequited.

-----------

hermosa - beautiful

lo siento - i'm sorry

sólo mío - only mine

princesa - princess

[katyswrites]

don't call me 'baby'

PART 6 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: Sugardaddy!Steve, SMUT (18+), angst, discussions of past trauma, daddy kink, ddlg dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, slight breeding kink, dirty talk, semi-public sex, exhibitionism, jealous!Steve, overstimulation, swearing, sexual harassment/men being gross, alcohol use, smoking, age gap, no use of y/n

Wordcount: 9.2k

A sugar daddy modern AU, a whirlwind summer romance in Italy, and two people from completely different walks of life, somehow finding each other in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. But, what will happen when summer ends?

PART 6 | honey, hell is when I fight with you

You left Steve’s apartment and made your way home in a daze. After studying the save the date and reading it approximately a hundred times, you shoved it back into the drawer and shut it. You moved quickly after that, your only thought being that you needed to get out of this apartment before Steve got back. You gathered your discarded dress off of the floor, only realizing halfway to the door that you were only wearing a robe. You paused, then scoffed inwardly - Steve probably wouldn’t notice if a few things were missing from his closet, and even if he did, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. That’s how you found yourself pulling a t-shirt and pair of sweatpants out of his dresser, nearly in shock that he even owned anything like that. You pulled them on quickly, hardly caring that they didn’t fit right, pointedly ignoring the fact that the clothes smelled like him - his aftershave, a hint of smoke, and something so distinctly Steve.

You tore out of the elevator and stumbled onto the street, blinking in the bright morning light. You stalked up and down the streets for a while, realizing that you really didn’t know your way around this side of the city - Steve’s chauffeur had always driven you to and from here, and you had never had much of a reason to come here previously. After what felt like ages, you found a bus stop, luckily with a line that would take you back home. You didn’t remember much of the journey home after that - it was all in a blur, the blood rushing through your head making your ears roar, your hands shaking and breathing heavily. 

A million thoughts ran through your mind, forehead pressed against the glass as the city flew past. The image of Steve and Nancy was imprinted in your mind, the text of the invite practically memorized. You felt your eyes burn, but did everything within your power to not let any tears fall. The initial shock was already wearing off, and you found yourself fluctuating through a range of feelings: Devastation. Regret. Sadness. Anger. As the moments ticked by, anger seemed to be winning. 

You felt like an idiot, an absolute fool for not considering this as a possibility. Steve had felt too good to be true, and it’s because he was. It explained so much, really - why he rarely talked about home, evaded questions about his personal life, why he traveled so much for work… were those trips to other cities and countries just back to the United States, a quick rendezvous to see his wife? You felt stupid, small, and used. And that was why, with each passing moment, you became angry. 

Steve is lucky that you weren’t still at the apartment when he came home. If you were, there’s a good chance you would’ve killed him. How could things have gone wrong so quickly? Twelve hours ago, you were writhing beneath him, Steve whispering sweet nothings into your ears as he touched you everywhere. Just two hours ago, you had woken up in his bed, waiting for him to come back with breakfast, blissfully unaware. But now… now, you just wanted to scream, to wish you had never met him. You’d rather be run down and broke if it meant you never had to feel like this.

You were still working through these thoughts as you made the walk from the bus stop to your apartment, moving on autopilot as you went up the stairs and opened the door, fumbling with the keys thanks to your blurring vision and shaking hands. You made enough of a ruckus that Robin was glancing over from where she was seated on the couch, grinning.

“Hey! I was about to send a search party, but I’m guessing that the night went pretty great -”

It was a miracle, really, that you had held yourself together as long as you did. But, the moment the door had clicked shut behind you, and you saw Robin’s beaming face, you lost all semblance of composure that you had been holding onto. You felt the tears start to fall, fast and hot, and you let out a choked sob.

Robin was up off the couch and to you in seconds. It was like a dam had opened, the tears flowing, your body convulsing as you fell into her arms.

“Oh, babe,” she whispered, “what did he do?”

You just pulled her tighter, burying your face into her shoulder as the wave of devastation finally, truly set in. You were an absolute mess, and it was all Steve Harrington’s fault. You decided then and there that you would always hate him for it.

******

The first thing he did was text you. When you heard the telltale ding from your phone, you instinctively knew it was him. Your nose was runny, your eyes red and puffy as tear stains dried on your cheeks, warm and sticky. Robin has unearthed some chocolate from the cupboard, scrolling through Netflix for something comforting to watch. You glanced down at your phone, your stomach turning at the sight of his name on the screen:

Hey! Is everything okay? I thought you’d still be here. If you had somewhere to be though, I understand - errands this morning took longer than I thought. I hope you had fun last night.

You rolled your eyes, scoffing as you read it. This, of course, was followed immediately by another round of tears, albeit more quiet and soft. You couldn’t help it - despite feeling cried-out, your vision blurred as you felt the tears start to fall again. It felt ridiculous, to let him make you cry like this. You should be furious, over this already, but it still just made you sad, as stupidly simple as that sounded. 

You felt Robin’s eyes on you, and you just turned your phone for her to look. She rolled her eyes.

“Oh, fuck him - if I ever see him out in the wild -”

“I’m just - I’m not going to respond,” you said, voice a bit thick and hoarse still. 

“I mean, if I were you -”

“But you’re not,” you snapped. “And I just don’t want to talk to him, okay?”

Robin went quiet, staring down at her hands.

“Yeah - okay, no problem -” she said, voice quiet. You felt a surge of guilt run through you.

“Robin - hey, I’m sorry. It’s not you, I’m just -” you sighed, pinching your temples.

“I know,” Robin said softly. “It’s okay - I get it. I mean, fuck him, right?”

You feigned a thin smile, wiping your eyes.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Fuck him.”

Robin leaned back, opening up her arms. You took the invitation and laid down on your side, putting your head in her lap and facing the TV.

“What’re we watching?” you asked quietly.

“Whatever you want, babe,” she replied, running her fingers gently across your scalp.

And, for a while, you pushed Steve from your mind, fell into a state of acceptance, and let yourself appreciate having someone like her in your life, when seemingly everyone else had let you down.

*****

Steve texted you four more times that day, the first coming a few hours later. The longer you went without responding, though, the quicker he sent a follow-up, each message growing increasingly frantic:

Is everything alright?

Are you free to talk right now? I just want to make sure you’re okay.

This is going to sound stupid, but I’m freaking out a little - can you at least let me know you’re alive? And that you made it home okay?

Do I need to send out a search party? Because I will, if I have to.

Then, around 4pm, the phone calls started. The first time your phone buzzed, you ignored it and let it go to voicemail. For a while, you opted to just leave your phone in your bedroom and stay in the living room with Robin, ordering takeout and watching terrible reality television. It almost took your mind off of things. Almost.

At some point, Robin broke out a bottle of wine that had been hiding in the back of the pantry. It was pretty cheap, which you probably wouldn’t have noticed before. But lately, you’d only been drinking the good stuff. Still, it got you a little tipsy, made you relax just a bit, and you soon found yourself laughing like a child with Robin over something so silly, you couldn’t even recall what it was. Then, it was getting late, a little past midnight, and you remembered that Robin had work in the morning. 

You probably would too, soon. You’d likely have to go back to the coffee shop, and ask for your shifts back. That would be easy - the gig at Enoteca might be harder to get back. You had enough money banked from Steve’s allowance that you’d be fine at least for a while. But, before the semester started back up, you had to begrudgingly accept that you’d have to get back to your shitty jobs again. But, that was a problem to deal with tomorrow. For now, you put on a brave face, and bid goodnight to Robin.

“You sure you’ll be okay?” she asked from the bathroom doorway.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Not right now. But… I’m dealing with it. Don’t worry too much about me, okay?”

You knew she’d probably let you sleep in her bed with her tonight, if you asked. You’d do the same for her. But it felt childish, and you had a feeling you already weren’t going to sleep well tonight. So Robin frowned, but nodded, murmuring, “Yeah, alright.”

You soon found yourself in your bedroom, alone. The moment the door shut behind you, you let out a deep, shuddering breath. For the first time since arriving home that day, you were actually alone. 

You moved slowly, pulling on your pajamas and sliding under your covers. You sagged with relief, the weight of the day fully sinking in. You were exhausted, so deeply that it seeped into your bones. For a moment, you wondered if you would sink deep enough into the mattress that you’d fall right through, and never come back up.

You were letting your eyes flutter shut when your phone buzzed on your nightstand. You groaned, rolling over and squinting at the brightness of the bluelight. Steve’s contact name was on your screen - you suddenly found yourself thankful that you didn’t actually have any pictures of him, because the thought of seeing his contact photo on your screen right now was too much to handle.

You had been letting it go to voicemail all day. But, this time, you pressed DECLINE.

The screen goes dim. You click it on, and see a notification:

Steve Harrington

Missed Call (8)

You shook your head, laughing sardonically. You should’ve been spiteful, and left that wedding invite out on the bed for him to find, so he knew exactly why you didn't want to speak to him.

Despite yourself, you pictured it again in your mind. The photo of Steve and that woman, smiling and picture-perfect against the sunset. The giant diamond on her finger, the way his arms were wrapped around her. And, her name: Nancy Wheeler.

You knew that you shouldn’t do it. But, you were so morbidly curious. So, despite better judgment, you found yourself opening up Instagram, and typing in her name.

You scrolled through a few, until you finally spotted a profile called @nancewheeler with an icon that you were 98% sure was her. You tapped on it, only to find it to be private, much to your disappointment. Although, maybe it was for the best - what were you expecting to find? Photos from her wedding? Posts with Steve, wishing him a happy birthday, going on trips, spending holidays together? That would only be more painful.

She had more than a respectable amount of followers for an average person, and she looks just as beautiful in her tiny profile photo as she did on the card. The profile reads:

emerson 14’. columbia ‘16. permanently peckish.

IN → NY

You bit your lip. Even with these small scraps of information, she seemed smart, cool, and more put-together than you’ve ever been.

Next, you went to Facebook - you found her profile, but it looked like it hadn’t been active for several years. The last public update was in 2018 - it was photos from a Christmas party. And, sickeningly, Steve is in the pictures, laughing as she’s curled into his side, both donning Christmas sweaters and paper crowns.

Steve looked younger, and maybe the happiest you’ve ever seen him. You closed it quickly, feeling stupid for the way your eyes burned when thinking about it. Next, you Googled her name - and, a lot came up. She was a writer for the New York Times. She’s published some hard-hitting stuff - exclusive profiles, breaking news coverage, in-depth exposes ranging from political cover-ups to tainted city water supplies to sexual harassment in Hollywood. You hit the paywall after a few articles, but you scrolled through the headlines. She was the real thing. Of course she was. How could Steve not fall in love with her?

You closed the browser and shut off your phone, throwing your covers over your head and burying your face in the pillow. You willed sleep to overtake you, but instead, your phone buzzed again. You huffed, twisting around and snatching it off of th nightstand. You declined the call again, put the phone on Do Not Disturb, and rolled back over.

This time, though, you let the tears fall. You had been holding them back ever since your breakdown with Robin earlier. But you weren’t done yet, and you had known it - but now, you sobbed into your pillow. You weren’t sure when sleep came and put you out of your misery, but your last thoughts before drifting off were of Steve, and how you hated him, but not as much as you wanted to.

*****

TWO DAYS LATER

“Seriously, it’s fine,” you assured Robin. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

“I know! It’s just… I feel shitty for going on a date while you’re… well, you know.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Just because I’m going through a tough time doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t have fun.”

Robin crosses her arms.

“I’m just saying -”

“Robin! This is what, your fifth date with Vickie? Sixth? You like her - I see the way you talk about her. Just go - seriously, I’m just going to be here, watching TV and eating leftovers. Go have fun on my behalf, yeah?”

Robin pondered it for a moment, then nodded.

“Yeah, okay - but, if you need anything -”

“Just go, will you?” you said, smiling. “I think I can be alone for a few hours, you know. Or… maybe more than a few, if it goes well -”

“Ugh! Gross!” Robin cried, grimacing.

“What’s gross about me wanting my best friend to get laid? If you don’t come home, I’ll just assume that you’re hav-”

“Okay, you win! I’m leaving, maybe forever!”

“Bring an umbrella!” you shouted.

You laughed, settling into the couch and turning your attention back to the television as you heard the door click behind her. The apartment was quiet - you hadn’t really had it to yourself in a while, and as comforting as Robin’s presence was, you were glad to be alone for a bit. And, although it was bittersweet, you couldn’t help but feel giddy that things seemed to be going well with Vickie - after hearing Robin rave about that cute girl in my art history class for a whole semester, you had told her enough was enough, and she should buck up and ask her out. Occasionally, you were capable of giving out good advice, it turns out.

A storm was raging outside, the rain pounding against the glass as the wind whistled. It was forecasted to pour all night, much-needed relief after an unusually hot and dry past few weeks. To you, that meant a night in sweatpants, getting under the covers early, and falling asleep to the sound of the rainfall. To you, that sounded just fine.

Even though it had only been a few days, you found yourself thinking of Steve less than you thought you would. Granted, that wasn’t much. But, it was something.

To say you got your heart broken would’ve been dramatic. He wasn’t your boyfriend - outside of bed, there was nothing affectionate between you two. Your relationship had been an arrangement, a transaction, and nothing more. No, instead, you just felt used - he knew exactly what he was doing. And, you had been stupid enough to fall for it. When you thought of him, you just felt dread, a stroke of anger, and ultimately settled on defeat. He still called, and occasionally texted - asking what was wrong, wondering if he did something, demanding an explanation. He had left voicemails, too - you hadn’t brought yourself to listen to them. Hearing his voice was too tangible, too real. Besides, there probably wasn’t much he could possibly have to say to you. You had considered blocking his number several times - Robin had practically demanded it. But, every time you tried, your finger hovered over the button, and you just couldn’t bring yourself to.

It was a little past 8pm when you heard a knock on your door. You were munching on popcorn half-watching a Netflix rom-com while mindlessly scrolling on your phone. You jumped, glancing over the couch towards the door - was it Robin? It must be, if it wasn’t somebody ringing the buzzer  from downstairs. Maybe she was locked out. That would be really early for her to be back, though - unless somehow, something had gone terribly wrong on her date. The thought of that alone was enough to form a knot in your stomach. You leapt up from the couch, practically running to the door. You were so frantic, so worried, that it hadn’t even occurred to you to check through the peephole and see who it was.

You braced yourself as you unlocked and opened the door.

“Why are you already -”

Then, you froze. Because, standing there in the doorway, dripping with rainwater and shivering, was Steve Harrington.

His eyes widened when he saw you, his chest heaving - he must’ve run up the four flights of stairs. After a few seconds, once the initial shock wore off, you straightened up, moving to immediately slam the door in his face.

“Wait, hold on-” he started, catching the door in his hand. You considered trying to slam it even harder, hopefully to catch his fingers in the process, but you decide to relent. 

“Please,” he said, voice a bit softer. “I - give me five minutes to explain, yeah? If you don’t like what I have to say, I’ll walk out of here, and never come back. I promise you.”

You held his stare, pointedly trying to ignore his pleading eyes, and the way it made something in your chest crumble. Fuck.

“Goddammit,” you muttered under your breath. You sighed, taking a step back and opening the door, only just wide enough for him to shoulder his way in. You took a few steps back, crossing your arms and popping your hip. He was smart enough to keep his distance, standing on the other side of the room. 

It was only now that it occurred to you that he had never been in your apartment. You had always made him wait downstairs, embarrassed by how small it probably would seem to him, how juvenile and messy the place looked. You also became acutely aware of your oversized threadbare t-shirt, your old sweatpants, the fact that he had never exactly seen you like this before. You felt the blood rush into your cheeks, the self-consciousness suddenly all-consuming.

No, you thought, I’m not the one who should be ashamed here.

So, you straightened up, holding firm. This was your home - he wasn’t much more than an intruder in it.

The way he was looking at you wasn’t unlike how you imagine prey looking at a predator, unnervingly wary, frozen in place. After it became clear that you weren’t going to be the one to initiate the conversation, he took a deep breath.

“Okay, so - I have a feeling why you disappeared on me.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, do you now?”

Your words were curt, tone biting. 

“Yeah, well - okay, look - I’ve been really worried about you. I thought something had happened. Or, maybe I scared you off with something I said, or did… but, I thought it was crazy to come over here, even though I thought about it about a hundred times -”

“Well, yeah, showing up unannounced to the place where I live, in the pouring rain, in the middle of the night - that would be crazy, good thing you didn’t -”

“Yeah, I get it. But, the point is, I didn’t know why you left, or what happened, until now. I was cleaning up around my place, and - all of my stuff kind of has its place, you know? And, I saw my spare phone charger plugged into the wall, and I thought that was weird, because I didn’t remember putting it there… or pulling it out of its drawer…and that’s when I knew. You saw - what you saw, it isn’t what you think -”

“Isn’t it?” you asked. “Because to me, it looks like you had a wedding last September, Harrington. Let me guess - you had to come live abroad for what, six months, and couldn’t go that long without getting laid? I mean, you’re just like the rest of them -”

“Baby, no -”

“Don’t call me that!” you cried, not even realizing how close it was to a scream until it came out. You felt your eyes welling up, starting to sting, and you internally scolded yourself for letting him already get you like this.

“You don’t get to call me anything, I’m not your anything -”

“I’m not married!” he finally said, screaming to be heard over you.

You stopped mid-sentence, pausing for a moment, then scoffed.

“Do you really expect me to believe that? I saw it - Nancy, is it? Is she back in the U.S., just completely oblivious?”

He winced visibly at her name, like it was something foul.

“I wouldn’t know, considering I haven’t spoken to her in a year!”

It’s silent for a moment, both of you breathing heavily with frustration, too worked up. You opened your mouth to say something, but the words died on your tongue. He was still holding your gaze, unrelenting. There was something in the way he was looking at you, something saying please. You just held your ground, arms still crossed, mouth shut.

Steve took a moment, shutting his eyes and exhaling deeply, gathering himself.

“I - she called it off. Like, two months before the wedding. We - we had been having some issues. I ignored them, because I wanted to make it work. I really did. But… she didn’t, I guess. So, we went our separate ways. I haven’t seen her since she moved out of our - my, place. I swear to you - I didn’t lie to you.”

You bit your lip, letting your eyes drift downwards to the floor to avoid his gaze as you considered what he was saying. He had a lot of reasons to lie - but, there wasn’t much evidence suggesting that it wasn’t true. You nodded slowly.

“That’s not true,” you said.

“What?”

“That you didn’t lie. That’s not true.”

“I’m telling you -”

“No,” you interrupted, snapping up to meet his eyes again. “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt for like, 5 minutes, and believe you. Believe that you aren’t with her anymore, I mean. But - you still lied. Back at the coffee shop, when I asked why you didn’t want a real relationship.”

His shoulders sagged a bit.

“What makes you say that?”

“You said you’re too busy - married to your job, don’t have time, all of that. And yeah, maybe that’s partially true. But don’t tell me that Nancy isn’t part of that. She is, right?”

He stared at you for a moment, considering what you were implying carefully, and nodded slowly.

“Yeah - kind of.”

“You don’t have to tell me everything that happened, but I need you -”

“No, I’ll tell you,” he conceded. “Can I sit?”

You nodded in the direction of the couch, watching him as he slowly walked over and sunk down. You stayed standing, holding your ground. He sat there for a moment, and you could tell that he was trying his best to compose himself. After a deep breath, he started talking.

“Nancy and I met in college, my junior year. We didn’t go to the same school, but we were both living in Boston, ran in similar circles, all of that. I’ll be honest with you - I was crazy about her, from the second I met her. And, I don’t know, it felt right, I guess? Or, maybe it didn’t, and I just wanted to lock it down, hold onto her. She also came from a good family, my parents loved her, all of that. So, after she finished grad school, I was already working my way up in the company, so I proposed. I’m sure a lot of people thought I was crazy - we were still pretty young, you know? I honestly was shocked that she said yes. I guess that was a sign, right?”

He was hardly looking at you as he told the story, his words careful and measured. His voice was quiet, solemn. 

“So, we were engaged for a while - things kept getting in the way. Or, maybe we were searching for reasons to delay it all, I don’t know. Looking back, here’s so much I didn’t know. But, I was working a lot - long hours, late nights, traveling constantly. And Nancy was making her own name, always busy - she’s a journalist, a really good one. So, we hardly saw one another. And when we did, it was like we were strangers. Or, even worse, we kept fighting about stupid shit. Like, who was supposed to wash the dishes, schedule mix-ups, the wedding guest list. I think we were just both stressed with work, and we were both starting to figure out that we had less in common than we thought. And then… one night, at a friend’s wedding, Nancy got drunk. Like, really drunk. And she didn’t do that often, and I was honestly happy to see her letting loose. But then she had a little too much fun, started stumbling, feeling sick, and I tried to get her to leave. And, that’s when she started being brutally honest about everything.”

His voice got thick for a second, and he paused for a moment to pull himself together. This was painful for him - really painful. The kind of pain that you can’t make up. 

“I won’t get into everything she said, but - I replay that conversation in my head, constantly. It brought a lot of things to light - we didn’t love each other the same way, and we didn’t want the same things for the future. She was totally blackout, of course. So the next day, when she was sober, I told her what happened, and asked if she meant it. She couldn’t answer me. And you wanna know the most pathetic part? I still wanted to fight for us, to proceed with the wedding, figure it all out… but I guess it got her thinking. I came back from work a few days later, and she was gone. She packed up all of her stuff, left the ring, and a note. And that was it. I haven’t seen her since. So yeah, you’re right - I’m not looking for a relationship. Because I don’t need anything like that to happen to me ever again. You wanted honesty? There, you have it.”

He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees, holding his head in his hands. 

This was a version of Steve you’d never seen before. There was a lot about him that you still didn’t know, sides you haven’t seen, you knew that. But this…

There were now a few more things about Steve Harrington of which you were absolutely certain, adding to your ever-growing list. He was heartbroken. He was scared. A part of him, however big or small, was still yearning for Nancy, wistfully mourning what could have been. And, he was telling you the truth.

In theory, he could’ve been lying about the whole thing. He could have fabricated some detailed, believable story about his forlorn ex-fiancee, playing up the heartbreak, putting on the performance of a lifetime. But you just knew - from the way his voice had sounded, the way his body sagged and deflated, the way he was now staring at you to gauge your reaction: he was being honest with you. And, everything about your arrangement, the way he spoiled you, his desperation when you were in bed, his stony persona outside of it… all of the pieces were falling into place. And you had just spent the last two days in agony for nothing.

He wanted you to say something, you knew that. But, you didn’t say a word. Instead, you kept his stare, slowly crossing the room until you were right in front of him. He never tore his gaze away from you, eyes following as you slowly sank to your knees, down to his level. 

“So, are you gonna say some-”

He didn’t get a chance to finish, because you were kissing him, soft and slow. He stiffened, then relaxed, easing into the kiss. He brought his hands to your face, grasping you gently as he pulled you close. 

“You don’t have to -”

“No,” you said firmly, cutting him off. “Stop talking. There’s only one thing I want to do right now.”

“What?” he breathed.

“Make you forget all about her.”

His eyes widened, and you were on him again, situating yourself in his lap. You started kissing him again, but more hurriedly, hungrily. He responded, melting back into the couch as you straddled him, wrapping your arms around his neck. He groaned against your lips, his tongue finding its way into your mouth. You let him, smiling at the way the telltale bulge was already growing in his jeans, the way he moaned when you brushed over it.

It had only been a few days, and you realized then how much you had missed him, as silly as it sounded. But the smell of his cologne, the taste of him, the sounds he was making under you, everything that was Steve - it was addicting.

So, the pair of you found your way back to your bedroom, gnashing teeth and tongues, whimpers and groans into each other’s skin, and hardly any actual talking happened after that.

*******

That night, you did your best to keep your promise to make Steve forget all about Nancy. With the way he was screaming your name by the end of it, you considered it a success.

You kissed him all over, pressing your lips and dragging your tongue over him until he was practically putty, begging you to touch him. And you did, wrapping your mouth around where he wanted you most. And, you had your fun, making up for your pent up frustration - you edged him, teasing and pulling him right to the peak until he was begging for release, practically crying. He was a mess, babbling a nonsensical cacophony of sweet praises, filthy promises, calling you his good girl and baby. When you finally lowered yourself onto him, you made him look at you as you rode him. You experimented with how far you could push it, forcing his fingers to your clit as you did. 

Oh, daddy, you had moaned, looking down at him smugly. Does this feel good? Do you like when your good girl rides you? I bet you do. C’mon, daddy - make your girl cum, yeah? I need to cum on your cock, sir. Cum inside me, you know you want to -

And he did, just like that, a desperate mess beneath you. You were so worked up, the rollercoaster of the last few days coming to a head, that you followed moments later, pulling him close as you came down from your highs together, chests heaving.

Afterwards, he had kissed apologies into your skin, whispering all the ways he was going to make it up to you. You just quieted his worries, whispering, “Is there anything else I need to know?”

“No,” he replied softly.

“Okay. Then the rest we can handle.”

And that was that. You didn’t even say anything when he fell asleep, right there in your bed. Instead, you buried yourself into his side, and had a peaceful sleep for the first time since the night of the gala.

Things went back to normal after that. Or, something like it. There was of course an explanation needed for Robin - she had nearly thrown a plate at Steve when she saw him in the kitchen the next morning. It took some talking down, and a series of death glares shot in his direction, but when you got her alone, she eventually decided to believe you, allowing Steve Harrington to live to see another day. It was easy enough, considering that the conversation quickly pivoted to the fact that Robin had spent the night at Vickie’s. She just blushed, punched you in the arm, and grumbled something about minding your business as she stalked back to the kitchen.

No, things weren’t back to normal. Yes, you and Steve resumed your arrangement, going out to nice dinners, having (incredible) sex after, and continuing your payments. He even gave you back the earrings you had purposely left back at his place the morning you had stormed out, despite your insistence that they were far too opulent. But, he was persistent, and they now sat on your nightstand, glimmering even in the dimmest light.

But, there was something new now. It was unspoken, barely tangible. For all you knew, the feeling was one-sided. But, Steve had shared this personal, vulnerable side of himself with you. You knew far more about him than you ever had before, and more often than not, you couldn’t help but notice the air of melancholy that followed him at all times, subtle yet unshakeable. And, you had shown him more of yourself than you had intended, too. You could be stubborn, and spiteful, and would much rather throw up walls and run than face the possibility of putting yourself in a position to be abandoned. Your immediate jump to a conclusion about Steve’s marriage, and your reaction after, was enough to prove that. He had seen this ugly, not-so-reasonable side of you. But he had come back anyway, and he continued to take care of you in every sense that he had been before.

A few weeks later, he texted you in the morning like he often did:

Hey there - are you free tonight at 7?

You found yourself smiling at the message, only to immediately catch it and stop. You responded:

yep - ill be ready for you

He responded almost immediately:

Perfect. I’ll see you then - maybe wear the necklace I gave you, that first one? I like seeing you in it.

You felt your face heat, the novelty of him telling you what he liked to see you wear still not completely worn off. You felt yourself smirking as you sent back:

anything for you daddy

You saw him start typing. Then stop. Then start again.

Christ - I’m in a meeting. You’re going to pay for that later.

Still feeling bold, you sent one last message:

i really hope so 😉

That was how you found yourself out to dinner at yet another 5-star restaurant, sipping wine and perusing the menu. You were debating with Steve whether to get appetizers or not when you heard a familiar voice calling your name. You looked up, eyes shooting towards the direction it came from, and immediately smiling when you spotted him.

“Eddie?”

And there he was: Eddie Munson, your dear friend. He had his long curls tied up into a loose bun, his shirt more unbuttoned than buttoned, a camera slung over his shoulder. His tattoos peaked through the rolled-up sleeves and on his collarbone, and you could swear he’d gotten more since the last time you saw him. You practically jumped up out of your seat, giddy as he came right up to the table. You threw your arms around him, pulling him into a warm embrace without a second thought.

“Ciao, bella,” he said endearingly, laughing in your ear. He pulled back, looking you up and down as he continued in Italian, “Look at you! Did you raid a model’s closet, or something?”

You giggled, rolling your eyes.

“Oh, stop - don’t act like you’ve never seen me look nice!”

“You always look nice, sweetheart. It’s been so long!”

“I know!” you said excitedly. “I mean, it’s been crazy so far this summer. I -”

You stopped yourself, then just shrugged.

“It’s been busy, that’s all.”

It was then that you regained awareness of Steve, who stared up at both of you from where he still sat at the table. His brow was furrowed in confusion, and you realized he probably barely caught a word of what you and Eddie had been saying. You caught his eye, and smiled.

“Eddie, this is my - well, uh… this is Steve,” you said in English, gesturing between the two men.

“Steve,” Eddie said warmly, extending his hand. Steve took it, shaking his hand firmly. Taking your queue, he continued in English, “Pleasure to meet you. You’re lucky to know this lady right here, you know.”

You felt yourself blushing, and shook your head vigorously.

“Eddie -”

“I’m just being honest, bella!”

Steve finally spoke up, taking a second to clear his throat.

“I, uh - how do you two know each other?”

“Oh, well, we both are at the university together,” you explained. “Eddie was actually a teaching assistant for an art history class I had to take. It wasn’t exactly my thing, but he really is the reason I passed.”

“Oh, c’mon, you excelled in that class. You’re smart -” Eddie started.

“So… you guys are… friends?” Steve asked tentatively.

“Yes, the dearest of friends,” Eddie answered. “We just don’t get a chance to see each other too much lately, since I finished school.”

“What’re you doing here, anyways?” you asked.

“Oh - the restaurant hired me to take some photos for their website. Pictures of plates of food, the space, ambience, that sort of thing. Not exactly my passion project, but it pays the bills, right?”

“Eddie’s a photographer,” you explained to Steve, turning to glance back at him. “And, well, a musician - his band is great. But, he’s an amazing photographer, a real professional -  you should see his stuff!”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve said quietly.

“But, darling,” Eddie started, “you really should model for me again. I swear, these gigs are killing me - I want to shoot something beautiful again!”

You felt the heat creep up into your face even more, and just shook your head.

“Oh, stop it -”

“Model?” Steve asked, sitting up a little straighter.

“Yes!” Eddie said enthusiastically. “Our girl here, she’s a marvel in front of the camera - I used her for so many projects in school, even shot her for my final portfolio. She’s like my - ah, what’s the English word… muse! Yes, my muse.”

“Is that so?” Steve asked slowly. 

“He’s exaggerating, I just posed for a few projects he was in a pinch for -” you started.

“And I need to feel passionate like that again. You should come by the studio, seriously, I’d feel alive again -”

“Totally!” you exclaimed. “Text me the address, let me know when you’re working. I’d love to come by!”

“Beautiful,” he said, grinning in the way Eddie always does. “Well, I’ll leave you back to your meal, but it was lovely to see you.”

“Same,” you said, beaming. He leaned forward, leaving a kiss on each cheek, and he set off back behind the bar, setting his camera on a tripod as he returned to work.

You settled back in your seat, smiling to yourself. Steve was just staring at you, his face neutral.

“So, you and him… you’re close?”

You shrugged, bringing your eyes back to the menu.

“Yeah, you can say that. He really helped me with getting a better grasp of Italian, too - you should’ve seen me that first year, I was so lost. He’s a nice guy, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve said quietly. “Seems… friendly.”

For the rest of dinner, Steve was strangely quiet. Not silent, exactly - he still laughed at your jokes, chimed in on the stories you told, and, his breath audibly hitched when your hand found his knee under the table. He paid the bill quickly, both of you simultaneously deciding to book it to the car as fast as you could. He yanked open the door and gestured for you to go in, quickly following and slamming it shut behind him. As the car peeled away from the sidewalk and towards Steve’s apartment, a silence fell between you. The entire ride was silent. When you  arrived at Steve’s building, you both exited the car and went upstairs without a word. Something was off - it was enough that you couldn’t really bear it anymore, and once you were through the door, you just blurted it out.

“Is everything okay?”

“Hm? Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”

You shrugged.

“It’s just - you’ve been kind of quiet. Something on your mind?”

Steve stood on the other side of the island in the kitchen, arms crossed. 

“Eddie,” he mumbled.

You raised an eyebrow, confused. “What about Eddie? Do you know him or something?”

“No, no - but… you do. He just seemed… is there something I don’t know?”

“What do you mean?”

“Were you and him ever… well, you know…”

That’s what this was about? Eddie? You found yourself starting to laugh, palm to your mouth as you shook your head.

“Oh, God no. We’re just friends, and always have been.”

“Someone should tell him that.”

You rolled your eyes. “No, you don’t get it - he’s like that with everyone. He’s just, so… like that. Seriously, he could flirt with a brick wall. And he probably would, to be honest.”

“He was calling you his muse -”

“He’s dramatic like that -”

“And what kinds of pictures was he taking of you, exactly?”

You furrowed your brow, Steve’s face set like stone. Then, realizing what he was implying, you felt your face heat.

“Come on - my clothes were on, if that’s what you’re asking. But, quite frankly, even if something had happened between me and Eddie, it’s not really any of your business.”

His face faltered for a moment, and you realized you had struck a nerve. You sighed, pressing your hand to your forehead.

“I just mean that… you don’t have anything to worry about, okay? He’s just a friend.”

Steve’s jaw clenched, and he nodded.

“Okay.”

Part of you was pissed off that this conversation was even happening. But another part of you was thrilled. The thought of Steve actually being jealous… It was new. It was exciting. And, you couldn’t deny the way the thought of him being worked up like this, and just a bit possessive, over you… your heart fluttered in your chest. So, you just smiled slyly, taking a step towards him.

“It seems like someone’s jealous,” you murmured.

“I’m not -”

“Yeah you are,” you said, now nearly face-to-face with him. “Does it piss you off? The idea of me and Eddie? Do you think about him… touching me? Me screaming his name? You must’ve thought about it, right?”

You noted how his hands were clenched into fists at his side, and you smirked. You were close enough that your noses were nearly brushing, and you could practically feel the heat radiating off of him.

“I don’t get jealous,” he whispered. “I don’t do that.”

“Prove it,” you said.

Then, he was on you, crashing his lips into yours. He was desperate, greedy, taking your face in his hands as he kissed you like it was the last thing you’d ever do. It was a blur after that - stumbling into his bedroom, shedding clothing on the way. He held your shoulders, keeping you in place just where he wanted you, practically manhandling you as he posed you towards the mattress. You had to do everything you could to suppress your grin - a lot of the time, you were in control, Steve moldable like clay in your hands. But this side of him… it was thrilling. 

“Here’s what you’re going to do,” he practically growled, hovering over you. “You’re going to do everything I say. You’re going to lie there, and when I’m done, you’re going to cum three times, at least, got it? Just so you don’t go thinking anyone else can do this for you, baby - just me. Got it?”

Your stomach flipped, and you nodded. His eyes were dark, and part of you wondered where this version of Steve had been hiding this whole time. Maybe you needed to piss him off more often.

“Yes,” you breathed.

“Yes what?”

“Yes… yes, daddy.”

That was enough to get him going. He practically pounced, kissing you fast and hard, and perhaps a little messily. He worked his way down your body, practically tearing off your bra like it was some horrid contraption meant to keep you from him. Your back arched as he took one breast in his mouth, the other in his hand, massaging it and flicking over your hardened nipple. You gasped, threading your fingers in his hair.

“Could just touch these tits all day, baby,” he whispered into your skin. “Really could… but you want something else, don’t you.”

You bit your lip and nodded, watching as he pressed open-mouthed kisses into your skin, making his way down your navel, your hips, and then skipping where you wanted him, opting to ghost his lips over your inner thighs instead. You groaned in frustration, hips bucking as he continued to take his time.

“Patience, baby,” he breathed. 

He brought his hand to your center, running his thumb along your slit until it was coated in your slick.

“Look at you, already so wet for me, and I’ve hardly touched you. Were you thinking about me, already worked up before you even got here?”

You pinched your brow, nodding as he brushed the pad of his thumb over your clit, a barely-there touch. You shivered, practically whining his name.

“What’s that, baby?” he asked sweetly.

“Fuck - touch me, for god’s sake -”

“I am touching you -”

“You know what I mean!”

“Not sure I do,” he said coyly, coating more of his fingers in your wetness, still avoiding where you wanted him most. You groaned, realizing you’d have to play into his game to get what you wanted.

“Fuck me with your fingers Steve, please -”

And he does, easily plunging two fingers into your cunt without a moment’s hesitation. You gasped, throwing your head back as his thumb found your clit. He rubbed deep, slow circles, pumping his fingers along your walls. Your hips involuntarily bucked as he brushed against that one spot inside of your, knowing your body by now like the back of his hand. You were already close, worked up far too quickly to the point that it was embarrassing.

“Fuck, you’re already squeezin’ me, baby. Are you close? That’s so fast, princess. You’re such a good girl, fucking yourself on my fingers. Can you scream my name while you cum? Are you able to do that?”

Instead of answering, you fisted the sheets, hips moving with his hand as you chased your high. It hit you out of nowhere, the heat pooling between your thighs and spreading through you, blissful and rapid.

“Fuck, Steve - fuck, I’m coming, shit, Steve, it’s so good -”

He just hummed approvingly, pulling his fingers out of you. You huffed in frustration, still mid-orgasm, your cunt clenching around nothing.

“What the -”

Then the words caught in your throat, because he dove in, pressing his tongue against your still-sensitive clit. You were still coming down from your high, and he hardly gave you a moment to breathe. He worked you through the rest of your orgasm with his tongue. But, he didn’t stop. He continued, lapping at your pussy while you twitched and convulsed. You were too sensitive, tears stinging your eyes at the overstimulation. 

“Oh, fuck - oh my God, Steve -”

You reached down to where he was settled between your legs, gripping his hair. You tugged perhaps a bit too hard, and he just groaned in response.  He groans as you tug on the brunette strands, arching your back with the movements of his tongue. You planted your feet into the mattress, moaning as his tongue circled your clit. 

You weren’t even sure if you had ever stopped coming, the reprieve from your orgasm moments ago practically nonexistent. Your legs were shaking, and you were screaming, maybe the loudest you ever had in bed. The words were tumbling out of your mouth, because it was too much, it was everything, your mind going numb.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck - Steve, god, just like that - it’s so good, it’s too much, I’m gonna cum again - oh fuck -I”

It took one more circle of his tongue over your clit, and you were done for - your back arched enough that your head came off the pillow,his name on your lips as you screamed, tugging harshly on his hair as you saw stars behind your eyelids.

He continued to work you through your orgasm, hands placed firmly on your hips as he licked lazily at your folds, pressing deep thumbprints into your skin that you knew would leave bruises.

You felt tears running down your cheeks, your entire lower body still shaking as he brought his face back up to yours. His mouth and chin were glossy, his grin devil-like.

“What a good girl,” he whispered. “Was that good?”

“Mm,” you murmured, hardly able to find the words. “So good, thank you.”

“Can you do another?” he asked, dropping the mask for a moment - you considered for a moment. You reached down and ran a finger over your clit, wet and puffy, wincing slightly at the stimulation. But you just bit your lip as you looked up at him.

“I promised you three, sir,” you breathed. “I’m gonna cum three times, just like you asked.”

His eyes darkened, and he grinned wickedly.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

“How do you want me?” you asked, propping yourself up on your elbows. He thought for a moment, then glanced over his shoulder. 

“Up against the glass,” he said, voice low and rough.

You followed his gaze to the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, overlooking the whole city. Your eyes widened, your heart nearly skipping a beat.

“Yeah?” you asked sweetly. “You gonna fuck me so everyone can see?”

“The whole fuckin’ city, baby.”

You were on your feet in an instant, bounding over to the window. You pressed your back against it, the cool glass seeping into your skin as he stalked towards you, unbuckling his belt. He was practically fully dressed still, in stark contrast to how you stood bare before him. You realized then and there that he intended to keep it that way - he was going to fuck you fully clothed, still in his suit from dinner. 

“Turn around,” he said.

Oh.

You nodded, doing as he said. You felt him behind you, his breath against your ear.

“You’re fuckin’ dripping - got you nice and ready for me.”

“Anything for you, sir,” you whispered, casting a glance at him over your shoulder. “Do your worst.”

And he did. Without warning, he entered you from behind in one rough push, making your gasp and mewl around him. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, hips snapping against your ass. “That’s it, baby - you can take it, can’t you?”

“Yes,” you breathed, “fuck me, please -”

And he did, pounding into you hard and fast. You cried out, palms pushed against the window. Your breasts brushed the cool glass, and he picked up the pace. You squeezed around his cock for good measure, knowing that you were practically soaking it. He pressed his face into your shoulder, lips against your skin.

“So good for me, baby - letting me fuck you, after all that? Who else makes you feel this good?” 

“Nobody?” you sighed.

“What was that?”

“Nobody. Just you.”

“Damn right,” he said, voice cracking. “This pussy is mine - I can’t wait to cum in it, what a good girl - my princess, my baby, so good for me. Can you cum again? Can you do that?”

You nodded weakly, following his movements as you threw your ass against his hips. He had never taken you from behind before, and the new angle was enough to nearly send you over the edge. There was something so primal about it, so thrilling - the image of him thrusting into you from behind, your naked form pressed against the glass. Rome sprawled before you, and though you were too high for anyone to actually see you, part of you liked to imagine that they could, any passerby on the street able to see Steve Harrington fucking your brains out.

“You should see yourself, all fucked out on my cock like this - are you close again? Are you gonna cum?” he breathed, skin slapping against yours. You reached down, rubbing fast circles on your clit to help get you to your peak.

“Yes, oh god, yes - fuck, Steve - daddy - fill me up, please, harder. Fuck your little girl, let everyone see, please -”

And that was it for him. He let out a guttural groan, his spend filling you up as he came. He thrust into you a few more times, and you clenched around him as you followed, coming with a cry. You threw your head over his shoulder, shaking and clenching on his cock as you came for the third time that night. It was white-hot, devastating, the scream you let out feeling like it was ripped form your fucking soul. You had had a lot of orgasms with Steve, him drawing feelings out of you in bed that you had never had before. But this - there had never been anything like it.

As you both stood there in silence, his cock still buried in you while you breathed heavily in unison, you knew two things for certain: first, you needed to get Steve jealous far more often. And second - he had completely, utterly, ruined you for anyone else. You tried your best to ignore the terror that set in with that thought, and kissed his shoulder instead, holding onto the bliss for as long as you could.

author's note: I know the wait was long for this, so thanks for sticking around! It's also barely proofread, so if there's mistakes... just act like you didn't see them. As always, shoutout to Em for fueling the fic, and getting me to actually write. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

[cupids-chamber]

EVERYONE wants to live through a fairy tale romance, and y/n especially wanted too.. In the end.. Did y/n get the fairy take they craved?

READERS GENDER NOT SPECIFIED 2.0k words

WARNINGS/TAGS: Implied yandere and slightly implied violence (Reader remains unharmed), mentions of injuries (Just reader taking care of Deuce's wounds), Fluff to angst to fluff.

The two of you met while you were children, your parents had been close friends, so it was a given that the two of you would see each other frequently. Personally, you didn't mind, as Deuce had been an easy going and rather extroverted person, though careless at times, he considered your feelings even at such a young age.

He made sure to share his toys whenever you were around, carefully cooperating in your childish schemes, so as long as he avoids getting into trouble with his mother.

The two of you played pretend quite often, acting out scenes from your favorite play and or stories with great expertise, joking along with each other about how one day the two of you would find your true love, a trope often found in fairy tales that children indulge themselves in.

A common memory the two of you shared, was when Mrs. Spade would read you a storybook, which oftentimes preached of love and affection. Something that seemed silly, disgusting, maybe even a little embarrassing in the eyes of other children, filled you with anticipation, as you craved a love similar to those storybooks. Deuce often recalls moments where you'd preach of love, how you claimed that you'd have your own fairytale, it was rather amusing to say the least.

As the two of you grew older, you both developed mutual feelings for one another.. rather than the true love you had always craved, you received a blissful first love, with your longtime friend. That however didn't last long, as the perfect picture and romance broke, as reality hit the two of you.

Having had a notch for intimacy and communication, a long distance relationship didn't seem savory, but as Deuce planned to make his way to NRC, you realized there was very little you could do, your mind told you to rethink your decision, as the words left your mouth. There, the night before Deuce had left, you had called things off, ending things once and for all.

You had expected the delinquent to lash out, or have some sort of excessive reaction, as for the longest time in which you have known Deuce, he was perceived as a rather emotional being. Oftentimes as a child he'd break down over the tiniest conflict. However, he had no excessive reaction, his eyes which previously shone, turned dark and gloomy, while his face remained unreadable.. After a few seconds of awkward silence, you began to walk away, finding that it would be in your best interest to give him space.

Deuce let out a shaky breath as your form disappeared from eyesight, before he broke down in tears, his knees had given up on him long ago, yet he managed to put on a perfect front in front of you, 'had he done something wrong? or maybe he offended you in some sort of way!' The thoughts of self degradation filled his mind, as he began mumbling underneath his breath, about how he could change, had you asked him too. In fact, he'd be more than willing to rip his heart out and display it for all to see, had you asked him to do so.

All this time Deuce did his best to replicate the delicate mannerism in which those unrealistic stories of love had shown you, the ones of which you praised in your ramblings of love, the unfiltered emotions of pure excitement enlaced within your words, the memory never quite left his mind.

He had taken a liking to you for a while, ever since you were little children. Despite his timid and shy nature, he had approached and conversed with you with ease. He remembered a story his mother read to him once, about how a poet had fallen hopelessly in love with a nymph, then she had bopped his nose, and flashed him a affectionate smile, stating that one day he too would find his nymph. At that very moment, the small child was rather certain that you were his nymph.

Deuce had developed a habit of lashing out at other children and or grow overly emotional in matters which concerned you, rather than use logic like his teachers and comrades had recommended, the boy used violence, and threats.

Though if he was being honest, you never enjoyed violence or the sight of blood, in fact you hated the stench of blood, oftentimes you'd scold him and advise him to stop. 'But how could he?' For everytime Deuce ended up in a fight, you'd treat his wounds, carefully wrapping the bandages around the wounded area, 'how could he stop, when at that moment he was the center of your world, for at that moment your eyes only looked his way'

The next morning Deuce was met with disappointment, as you hadn't bothered to see him off. Mrs. Spade took notice of her son's puffy eyes, and sore throat, he looked restless and tired, and honestly she was unceremoniously surprised by the fact that you hadn't come to see Deuce off, as she was still under the assumption that you two were a couple.

Deuce left his hometown on a rather resentful note, making his way to Night Raven College, one of the most prominent schools of Twisted Wonderland, he recalled how elated you were when you found out he was accepted into the academy, hugging him tightly, your embrace was comforting and warm, a contrast to his reaction which was shock and relief.

The days at the school was rather tiring, Deuce had changed his ways, reforming himself for the school, and unluckily for him, he was put in Heartslabyul one of the most strictest, if not the most harsh dorm to be in. From there he had made many new friends, with whom he'd team up with to cause chaos and mischief. Yet in the back of his mind there was you, always.. you..

His mind was clouded with images of you every night, where he'd become restless, tossing and turning every time. You had been a disease plaguing his mind, much like a song, he couldn't quite get out of his head. He had no control of himself when he had printed all those pictures he had saved of you, pinning them ever so carefully on the cheap board, until it was fully covered. Like a addicted man, he'd scroll through your old text messages, and low quality audio tapes, getting high off the few memories he had saved of you.

Your voice was lovely, and he craved to hear it one more time, and to his utter luck spring break was approaching, the thought of seeing you again filled him with unfathomable joy, how he hoped that you would take in account his changes of behavior and judgment, he didn't notice when Ace was petting his shoulder, trying to catch his attention.

"Huh?" Deuce voiced his confusion, as Ace flashed him a slightly concerned look "Hey man.. are you ok? You've been out of it lately." Ace's genuine worry threw him off guard, however, Deuce quickly recovered, flashing him a smile "I'm fine, just excited to go home, that's all!"

A week before Deuce had returned, you visited Mrs. Spade, despite cutting it off he had still updated you and sent you mail, in hopes for a response, his desperation for you knew no bounds. Mrs. Spade, a woman who was your second mother at heart, seemed to sense your worries, as she helped you settle down. While she made tea for the two of you to share, you opened up about the two of your breakup, and every now and then Mrs. Spade would chirp in, providing vocabulary, advice, and humorous input to keep your mood afloat. Somewhere along the lines, she had convinced you to try and rekindle your relationship with Deuce. 

So, when Deuce had returned home, you greeted him at the door, the air surrounding the two of you was rather awkward, at least on your part, Deuce was ecstatic to see you again, tho he kept a rather composed expression, returning your greeting, mirroring one of the greetings he had read previously in one of those silly romance books you had read and boosted about. 

You paid no mind to the gesture, finding it unsettling to see Deuce this calm, instead you took notice of how his hair was no longer dyed an irky, eye stinging blonde, and how not a single injury could be found on his visible body. It made you hum in satisfaction, a gesture Deuce was all too familiar with.

It took some convincing to get Deuce to spend time with you, 'why was he being so difficult when he was the one sending love letters to you, every other week.' Though the letters couldn’t quite classify as love letters, It was odd nonetheless, Deuce's actions seemed all too familiar, yet you couldn't recall anything of this sort.

This weird upsetting feeling continued in your many outings together, the air always felt unfamiliar and rather suffocating.. the way he poured tea, all the way to Deuce’s manor of speech.. all seemed like a well scripted act.. One would call it, straight out of a fairy tale. Something you've grown to despise, true love and love at first sight.. etc. Everything seemed illogical and unbecoming, they weren't real.. After all, you've grown past such childish whims, and dreams. 

You were so concerned with your own thoughts that you had failed to notice the glare that Deuce would send to any man near you, how his breath hitched when he caught the scent of your perfume/cologne, a obscene blush creeping onto his face, the way his eyes glowed obsessively around you, how the small handkerchief, and other useless trinkets of yours would go missing, you failed to see the obscene and unsettling expressions that he showed openly, the way he stare so intently at you, analyzing your every move, while he figured out what action he should return to appease you. Maybe a part of you had recognized the red flags that seemed all too apparent for the other town folks around you, you just chose to ignore it. 

When you had finally confessed to him, once again like before.. What you had hoped to see was a flustered man, inexperienced in the terms of love, yet instead you saw Deuce with an unsettling smile, his cheeks tainted red, as he gently embraced you and kissed your forehead. You overlooked the action, passing it off as maturity, you couldn't expect Deuce to be the same person he was, when you had first confessed to him.

However, over time the walls of a once blissfully unaware paradise came crashing, as the signs seemed all too transparent.

Deuce's actions, words, and everything seemed all too familiar to be simple coincidence, you skimmed through your memories searching for an answer.. an answer you couldn't find, no matter how hard you looked. It wasn't until one day, where you stumbled across the old storybooks that Mrs. Spade had read to you in the past, did you remember. It was as if certain puzzle pieces fell into place.

You compared all of Deuce's behavior, and aligned it with the descriptions, written ever so neatly on the fine parchment paper, of each hardcovered book. If you had known about this sooner, you would have found it sweet and rather lovable, however your mind was no longer that of a child, who believed in fairytales and or the aspect of true love, the gesture proved to be more alarming than tooth rotting sweetness.

Deuce had gone to so many lengths to keep you around, but it made you question, 'had you ever known or met the real Deuce Spade?', it seemed up to this point your relationship had been built on lies, it was only then it clicked, and memories from your childhood filled your mind, how Deuce would treat you differently from others, how he'd get particularly violent with other men around you, all of which didn't seem too abnormal, appeared to be much more sinister than before.

Maybe the violent and intolerable, Deuce... was the real Deuce Spade, and maybe you have been led to believe a rather cruel but sugar coated lie.

It was only then did Deuce's words reach your ears, as you, for the very first time met his dim eyes, void of affection.

© cupids-chamber, do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

[professoruber]

Who is Leonardo Hapoon? (Spy X Family Analysis and Theory)

During the Cruise Ship Arc of Spy X Family, Yor is tasked with protecting the last surviving members of the Gretcher crime family from the new boss of the Ostanian underworld; Leonardo Hapoon.

While it is not explicitly stated, it does ppear that the man in the white suit shown in this image is Hapoon, as Shopkeeper is talking about Hapoon’s actions and the white-suited man does not appear as one of the hitmen mentioned.

What makes Hapoon stand out is that he appears identical to a previously shown important character... one of the scientists who experimented on Anya.

Both Hapoon and this scientist are shown with dark hair with a single bent strain of it covering their foreheads. Along with round glasses and similar facial structures. It seems very likely these are suppose to be the same person. Given Anya’s young age, this scientist is confirmed to have be active only a few years ago so its very plausible for him to sitll be active and involved with the underworld.

This same scientist was also later shown to have been involved with the experimentation of Bond. 

According to Handler, there are rumours that the subjects of ‘Project Apple’ were sold off on the black market after the new Ostanian government shut it down. This would fit in with Hapoon, who appears to have been a lead scientist on this project, being heavily involved in organised crime to such an extent that he is able to seize control of the largest criminal organisation in Ostania. 

Perhaps when the ‘new administration’ axed his work, he turned to the black market to continue it. Or perhaps he was already involved with the underworld. It is difficult to make any assumption since we no little of his motivations. 

The scientist who is likely Hapoon states Anya needs to learn to use her powers for ‘world peace’, 

By contrast, it is mentioned a few times that Hapoon is apparently seeking a war between the east and the west. This would go against the scientist’s stated desire for ‘world peace’. Of course, it's quite possible Hapoon was lying to Anya or his underlings. While he may be believed to want war, the only attempt by those hired by him to start one was done without his instructions. 

While this scienists/crime lord appearing multiple times is certainly mysterious, what makes him even more so is this:

This is Corporal, a friend of Twilight from his childhood in eastern Westalis. 

Notice his dark hair, the cresent strain of which is covering his forehead, and his round glasses. Or what about those large round ears also shared with the scientist?

If this kid is unrelated to Hapoon then this is a major concidence considering he shares such distinctive features with the man. Hapoon also does not look much older than Twilight himself, and it is completly plausible for them to be about the same age.

It is shown later on that ‘Corporal’, along with Twilights other friends, ended up enlisting in the Westalis army during the Westalis-Ostania war. At this stage his face does not entirely resemable that of Hapoon, but is is worth noting he is only a private. It was established earlier when Twilight lied about his age that you need to be at least 18 to enlist, meaning he is still a teenager and likely not fully developed.

His friends, including ‘Corporal’, end up dying due to the operation they were assigned to being reckless and poorly planned. Only their dog tags returned though, with bodies not being mentioned. We know desertion existed during this war, Frankie himself deserted from the Ostanian army.

If Hapoon witnessed the horrors of war firsthand could that motivated him to take morally dubious actions in the name of world peace? If his friends died due to poor planning could that have motivated him to experiment on mind-reading children and future-seeing dogs so that a lack of information is never a threat again? If incompetent Westalis military officers are responsible for his hardship could he have turned against Westalis in revenge?

We can’t be certain, but I do feel at the very least that the character design similarities between the scientist, Leonardo Hapoon and Twilight’s childhood friend are all too similar to be coincidences. 

And what will Twilight do when he meets up with his assumed dead friend who now rules the Ostania underworld?

EDIT:

So I’ve been told that Hapoon’s design was changed in the release of Volume 7 (thank you @hhellenn), which admittedly does weaken this theory by making them not as similar and adding some more credence to the possibility that the initial similarities were a coincidence…

But even still, I do think it appears likely Hapoon and the scientist are the same person. As per this image, the change she’s mostly in the form of his hair now being brushed to the side instead of dangling over his forehead. He still has the round glasses and oval ears, as well as the same hair colour and similar general facial shape.

Plus there is also the connection with Corporal as well having an uncanny resemblance to the scientist, indicating there is meant to be some kind of connection between all tjis.

However it’s difficult to say for complete certain until we get a better look at Hapoon (instead of just a brief shot in the background).

[rocksibblingsau]

Can I hear your Bergen thoughts and headcannons?

Absolutely! Keep in mind these will be poorly organized and jump around a bit.

So I know with the first movie there's a lot of 'trolls are drugs' jokes, but the thing is I like exploring this from a serious standpoint. In nature there are lots of plants that naturally have these effects or can gain these effects (think those videos of squirrels eating rotting jack o lanterns that have fermented into alcohol).

It's also not uncommon for some animals to have immunity to the effects of a plant, but consuming that animal would give you that effect. The possibilities of Trolls either just 1. naturally producing a chemical that produces the effects or 2. interacting with something that, while they have immunity to its effects, Bergens don't is VERY fascinating.

So we know Bergens falsely believe they can't be happy, which leads to a lot of questions. How had none of them ever noticed they were happy? Does love not fall under the 'happy emotion' umbrella? How can they tell likes from dislikes if they don't believe anything can make them happy? We know Bridget and Gristle misinterpreted that feeling (which I'll share more thoughts on in a bit), but I think we should consider the likelihood of misinformation.

Chef was doing whatever she could to ensure the continuation of Trollstice to cling to her power and title of minister of happiness. Let's consider what effects a Troll might give a Bergen that they would mistake it for 'true happiness'. Euphoria, lowering stress, mild and pleasant hallucinations, possibly dilating the pupils which might make the world seem 'brighter'. Those things wouldn't accompany REAL happiness, so they would seem like two different things. If you're a random Bergen and the royal chef and minister of happiness feeds you a troll and tells you THATS what happiness feels like, you wouldn't ever assume any other feeling is happiness.

A side note, I like to think that as a side effect, falls, stumbles and accidents go up 300% on Trollstice and it's not really looked into.

Believing Trollstice was the only chance to be happy would be very beneficial to royalty as well. You'd be risking a lot to go against the very people who could make you happy, and you'd likely agree to a lot of things you wouldn't normally as long as Trollstice was on the line.

I think things go further than 'trolls are drugs' and 'government conspiracy theory' though. Emotions are weird things. Happiness can feel like the urge to jump up and down, run around, flap your hands, the list goes on. I noticed that for Bergens to be called 'miserable', a lot of the time they just seem overly apathetic?

Consider this. You feel hungry. It's a feeling your body has that compels you to eat. You eat, and the feeling goes away. Same with thirst, tiredness, etc. These are feelings that give you an urge, you perform the urge and the feeling goes away. Every day you feel those things and do the things they tell you to do.

Then one day you get the urge to jump up and down. You do, but the feeling doesn't go away. It's annoying. It's like a buzzing sound in a previously quiet room. You want that feeling to go away.

What if Bergens 'default' is a sort of empty state? Any emotions they attempt to work through relatively quickly to make the unfamiliar feeling go away, but under the effects of Trolls, they likely wouldn't be bothered by the euphoric feeling. Gristle's first assumption about the happiness he felt was that it was his body trying to tell him about it's physical state.

Part of them 'learning' to be happy would be teaching them what emotions felt like, and not to lean away from them just because feeling them might be new and uncomfortable. Which considering the target audience is of the age where emotions ARE very big and scary and overwhelming could have been a very cool inclusion.

This was very messy, as I'm tired and so bad at organizing my thoughts sometimes, but this is my take on how Trolls exactly effect Bergens and a bit on why Bergens never figured happiness out on their own.

[2-lines-and-a-circle]

Details, details, details… Book 6 Malleus and Vil

Please note that you're free to disagree or agree with any of my takes. Just be respectful!

I absolutely adore the way Yana Toboso writes her details. Everything matters, it may not matter at the moment, but it’s going to matter in the long run. In fact, I find it fun to see the details come back at us later on in the story.

Spoiler warning!

In book 6 when Vil turns into an old man due to being close to the underworld I was living in that moment. If you previously remember in book 6 Vil mentions his look on beauty and how he felt on aging. Basically, Vil remembers his overblot monster, the thing behind him during his overblot, he sees the Evil Queen when she’s old. When he learns the overblot monster is a deeper look on the user he’s not sure what to think. Perhaps he wasn’t as beautiful as he made himself out to be. Which made sense as Vil states that he associated beauty with youth, so to see the opposite shocked him.

Which essentially sets us up to almost expect that it’s going to be Vil who turns old. In the end Vil will have to come face to face with the looks of aging. That of course takes a big mental toll on Vil as he practically cries for the rest of the story. To be fair I think anyone would be shocked to go from young to old that fast. Not to mention that Vil would have been stuck in that position if it wasn’t for Malleus.

Of course, as strong as Vil is there was very little chance of him being able to go back to normal all on his own. So, to see Malleus change him up shows us a number of things. First, Malleus remembered his previous favor that Vil owed him, which he is now able to repay. This gift of beauty, which correlates to Sleepy Beauty who is granted the gift of beauty. Although it's given by Flora, it’s another fun detail that goes to show how strong Malleus is. Plus, I believe Malleus has mentioned something similar to this in his Valentine’s card.

In return this gets Malleus thinking about how truly alone he’ll become. Malleus visually sees that in a blink of an eye everyone around him will wither and die. Lilia in return compares human life to that of a thread on a spinning needle. While human lives are weak, when bounded together human lives create strong bonds. We see from Lilia’s words that he values humans greatly, but for Malleus he’s left wondering.

Once everything has returned to normal, Malleus is still left questioning the very things he’s learned. Which is when Lilia tells Malleus to remember to not be so down because it’s not a face the next head should have. This sets us up as a reminder that Malleus views Lilia as a parent figure but is blocked by his position. I think this small detail sets us up for the major plot points in book 7.

The scene right after this one is another small detail for book 7. Lilia, who is considering playing games late at night, causes Silver to worry. Here we’re shown that Silver is able to clearly state his feelings towards Lilia. There is no position he has to be wary of, to Silver, Lilia is his father whom he can treasure. With that Lilia continues on without a worry because he has his home right there. As long as those three are with him nothing could bother him. Lilia truly loves them.

Now how is Malleus in this situation? Well, he’s a hot mess and leads us to book 7.

[dayurno]

recently reread ur de-aged kevin fic and in the end notes you said you were thinking of doing a sequel w neilandrew being de-aged and just wanted to throw my hat in the ring to say yes pls! you genuinely have such incredible writing and characterization and would LOVE to see your take on it!

wawawa i plan to write it!!!!! i did start a little bit after finishing de-aged kevin and had to scrap it off because i didn't like it, so it might take a little longer. nonetheless i feel like i have no reason not to share it so i'll attach under the cut the scrapped version of kevin with de-aged andreil for your enjoyment :=) if its a little wonky i ask that you bear with me theres a reason why i didnt keep this version

//

There is a little garden behind Fox Tower where you could fit a dead body without any real effort.

Not that Kevin would know, of course. But he is sure that he has never seen anyone besides himself tend to the ground there — perhaps once in the past there was another athlete who enjoyed gardening, but such a character has not been around for at least a few years. It took Kevin almost an entire week to entirely weed out the square of dirt between Fox Tower’s backdoors and the fence where Palmetto State University property ends and Fox Perimeter starts. 

Despite the loneliness of it, the ground is quite fertile; as patches of earth left alone by humankind often are. No one ever comes with Kevin when he gardens — Andrew finding it too soft a hobby and Neil, too pointless —, so there is no worry about someone else intervening with his flowers. Worlds apart from Evermore, Kevin quite enjoys the alone time tending to this garden provides, so he makes a habit out of it. 

He’s not sure how well he is doing. His first attempt had been to plant daylilies, because the name had amused him and they were considered beginner plants, offending as the thought is. Daylilies, Kevin’s come to find, are low-maintenance, highly resistant and pest-free — three things Kevin cannot relate to, despite them sharing a surname. Those turned out fine, but one cannot go wrong with daylilies; they’re too easy. The only way Kevin could’ve killed them is if he was an absolute moron.

His second attempt — and the one he is currently keeping a close watch on — were tulips. They’re harder to care for than their predecessors, and take up more of Kevin’s time than he had previously imagined, though he doesn’t fault them for it. He’d gotten seeds from a shop a few blocks down to where Andrew usually buys his cigarettes in Columbia, and hadn’t bothered to ask for more information; Kevin’s first mistake, he realizes.

His tulips have… multiplied. Perhaps too much — hopeless, Kevin sits amidst the rows and rows of golden ladies, dainty-looking but quite surely outnumbering him, and wonders how many more of them could cause a natural imbalance in the area. For how they spread over the garden, Kevin is not sure he wants the answer. Their yellow bulbs seem to mock him. 

Deciding this is now above him, Kevin wipes the dirt from his knees and springs up. He breaks the stem of a few tulips that have already bloomed, mindful that they must reserve their energy for a future reblooming, and checks for rotten bulbs before leaving. Surely, with time, his little garden will recover well enough so that it is not fully covered in tulips. Surely he’ll be able to plant something else, then.

If anything, Kevin is at least happy they don’t have thorns. Gathering the handful of flowers he’d cut off, he returns to his dorm, mindlessly wondering to himself if they have a vase wide enough to fit all of these tulips. When their whiny door pushes open under his weight, Kevin announces his arrival by calling out, “Do we still have that big vase from last year?”

No reply. Frowning, Kevin settles his flowers on the kitchen counter and glances over to where Andrew’s wallet and keys sit at their coffee table, even his half-finished pack of cigarettes left untouched. It is highly unlikely for Andrew to leave without at least one of those three items, creature of habit he is. How weird.

Grabbing for his phone, Kevin sees a flash of motion from the corner of his eye, and is just quick enough to sidestep a little body hiding behind the back of their sofa. The idea of something as small as this just hanging around their dorm is so baffling Kevin can hardly compute it, communication between his eyes and his brain coming to a screeching stop as he takes in the sight in front of him.

There’s a child. There’s a — there’s a child. 

He is quite small. His hair, a gentle wheat-like thing, curls softly over his forehead, leading down to big, round brown eyes and a thin mouth. The child’s face is very tender, his cheeks flushed from exertion, but he does not meet Kevin’s stare with any such feeling — instead, his eyes widen slightly, and he stumbles back like he’s been hit.

For a moment, Kevin even worries he hasn’t sidestepped as well as he thought and indeed had hit this child on accident. Taking a few steps back himself, Kevin asks, “Who are you?”

It seems like the kind of question the child should ask him, instead of the opposite. The little boy tilts his head back to look at Kevin — and he does have to tilt it very far —, before steeling himself to answer, “I’m—I think I live here now?”

“That…” Kevin hesitates, “can’t be right.” The child’s eyes water slightly. Growing more and more panicked by the minute, Kevin immediately retracts it. “But I’m sure it is, if you’re saying it.”

The tears don’t fall, but they don’t quite recede either; the little boy's face is so fair it starts to look splotchy soon enough, red dusting his nose and cheeks. “Are you my new brother?” He asks, with all the certainty of someone who’s had many new brothers before. A nagging chill runs up Kevin’s spine.

“I don’t believe I am, since I don’t have any siblings,” Kevin limits himself to replying. He crouches down to meet the child’s stare, eyeing his tulips from above his head. Kevin really needs to get that vase soon; it’s not good for them to be out in the open like this. “Can you tell me your name? Why are you here? Where are your parents?”

The little boy eyes him suspiciously. He answers none of Kevin’s questions, but he informs, “There was another little boy too.”

“Right. Well,” Kevin stumbles a bit, unsure of what to say — and what to believe in, even. Children often see things that aren’t there for adults; he does not want to see any manner of spirit today. Or any other day. “Can you go get him for me? Then I can help you figure out what you’re doing here.”

“What else… can I be doing here?” The child asks, frowning lightly. “This is a new home. They—at the last one, they didn’t want me. And I have to be somewhere.”

Recognition shivers through Kevin. “I see,” he replies past the lump in his throat. “I think I might understand. The—the little boy that you mentioned, did he have blue eyes? And, and red hair?”

Andrew crinkles his little nose. “Was orange, not red.”

Oh. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. “I understand it now.” Kevin’s thighs tremble too much for him to hold his crouch, so he sits back on his heels, kneeling at Andrew’s height. “How old are you? If you don’t mind.”

Andrew blinks at him for a moment too long before showing Kevin his spread palm — it is unbearably small, chubby, and quite pale, too. “I’m five,” he says.

And he is. He is five years old. He is very five years old by the looks of it, which is not the age Andrew Minyard should be, because before Kevin left for his garden, he was pretty sure the Andrew he left behind was twenty-one. 

“You’re five. Okay. That makes sense. Of course,” Kevin babbles, having gone half-stupid from shock. That this could be happening to him — that it could be happening to them again, after Kevin had spent a week of last month being six years old and with no recollection of it. What kind of rotten cosmic joke is this? “I see. Okay, well, let me just—” He rubs a hand across his face. “Hello, I’m Kevin. I am a collegiate athlete. That means I play Exy for a university. Have you heard of it?”

“Exy is on the TV all the time,” Andrew counters, but it seems to be all that he knows. He looks a little hesitant before he nods; tight and anxious. “Hi. I’m Andrew Doe.”

Without a surname makes one a John Doe. Kevin’s heart squeezes. “Hello, Andrew,” he greets, trying to work his face into something gentler. “I understand what you mean now. You called it a new home, correct? It’s not like that. I think what happened here is…”

“Do you work for my father?” A small voice cuts Kevin’s sentence short. He whips his head around to meet a boy a good few inches taller than Andrew leaning against the doorway of their bedroom, his hair a light ginger. When Kevin’s eyes meet his, Neil — Nathaniel? — hunches in on himself in self-reproach, placing little hands in front of his head. “Sorry. I spoke out of turn.”

Kevin blinks. “No,” he answers, softening his voice. This is—this is not the time to doubt whether gentleness is achievable or not; this is the time to force it until it breaks, or until it gives. “I don’t work for your father. I’ve never even met him before.”

 Neil pales. Perhaps the idea that someone does not know his father seems outlandish when Neil has been raised under his dominion — Kevin is sure it feels that way, for Neil to look so stricken.  Often when you are this small and your parents are the overlords of your world, it feels strange to learn that they are not the end-all-be-all of everyone else’s.  

Like a little tour guide, Andrew steps forward to explain, “I think you might be here because your mom and dad went away and children have to live somewhere.” 

…Of course, being five years old, his understanding of the situation is about as good as Kevin had expected. Andrew’s explanation of the foster system is fairly good, all things considered, but too realistic for a child his age. He should, at least, still believe that they mean to find him a family instead of sending him from home to home because there is nowhere else for him to be.

Neil pales even further. “Is that true?”

“Is true. Is what happened to me.”

“Alright, alright,” Kevin intervenes at last, and two pairs of eyes turn to him; both hesitant in their own way. He coughs into his fist, deciding that honesty is the easiest route. “To be frank with both of you, I’m not sure why you’re here, either. But… thank you, Andrew, for trying to explain it.”

The little Andrew’s face does something unguarded and surprised before he looks away, blushing lightly.

Kevin keeps his eyes trained to his tulips. “I don’t know what happened for you to get here, but you’re welcome to stay until we can figure this out.”

He is eyed with suspicion from both sides. “I,” Neil shakily starts, the beginning of a meltdown creeping into his voice, “I want my mama. Where is she?”

“I’m sorry,” Kevin replies, and finds that he means it, “I don’t know. If I knew, I’d take you to her.”

He would do no such thing, but it is important to say it, anyway.

Springing upwards before Neil can bring out the waterworks, Kevin takes a few steps next to where he’d put aside his tulips and returns with one in each hand. “Here,” he says, kneeling to their height again. “Want a flower? I just got them from the garden.”

Andrew’s hand reaches for it, but does not bridge the distance, hesitant. Neil doesn’t even try to get it. “Flowers are for girls,” he tells Kevin. 

“Hm. Do I look like a girl to you?”

“Yes.”

Kevin supposes that was a mistake on his part. It’s always the hair with children. “Well, I’m not,” he argues — argues! — with five-year-old Neil. “It’s very rude to not accept a gift.”

Neil eyes him, squinting quietly. He takes a few steps closer, looking more relaxed now that he’s figured Kevin is not working for his father. Coaxingly, Kevin offers one of the tulips in his direction — the bigger one, standing proud and yellow and delicate. It took a great effort for them to look this healthy. “These are called golden ladies. They’re perennials — that means they grow no matter the season. I plant them myself.”

A little hand curls around the stem of the smallest of Kevin’s tulips, catching it with all the clumsy delicacy of children who have yet to learn a finer touch. Letting Andrew take it, Kevin's mouth twitches. “Don’t worry about thorns, there’s none.”

He doesn’t mention the eco-system smasher Kevin had accidentally become in the process. Hopefully, no one notices the terrifying increase of tulips in Palmetto for the upcoming springs. 

Andrew doesn’t answer him, eyes trained to the tulip. The yellow of the inner petals matches the pale of his hair; makes him look more flower than child. Sweet, sweet boy.

Kevin turns back to Neil. “Won’t you take it even if you don’t like them? I don’t have a vase yet. I’m afraid they’ll just rot if you don’t take them.” This is a lie — but it’s a fair one. Children shouldn’t be so restrained.

The idea of imminent destruction seems to convince Neil to walk the distance between himself and Kevin to take the flower in his little hand. He says nothing. Kevin can’t tell if he likes it at all — he’s so put-upon.

A little hand flutters in the general direction of Kevin’s head. “Why is your hair…” Andrew asks. 

“What? Long?” The child nods. “What’s wrong about it?”

“It shouldn’t be like this.”

Well, that’s rude. Kevin huffs softly under his breath, absent-mindedly combing his fingers through his hair. “When I was a little over your age, I had a friend — a brother — who liked my hair like this. I think I just grew used to it.” 

It’s not the full story, of course. He can’t tell them about Riko, and how much of his preferences Kevin had taken as law out of admiration, at first, then fear, later on. He can’t explain, either, that his hair staying this way is his own way of mourning — a childhood left unfinished, a little boy abused into the insanity of Riko’s final years, brotherhood yet to be tainted by blood and jealousy. Children this young can’t tell Kevin carries all the marks of the grieving. 

“Oh,” Andrew replies. He looks like he wants to ask some more, but he doesn’t. 

“I can teach you how to braid it later, if you want,” Kevin offers. He has not even a sliver of a clue about what children should do in their free time. In his time, his mother took him all around the world during her trips, which didn’t usually leave Kevin much time for playing; then, after she died, Exy consumed most of his time between little league and Tetsuji’s endurance bootcamp. “It’s a useful skill. You can impress your future wife with it.”

He knows well enough that Andrew is never, ever going to get a wife; still, Kevin knows no other way to frame the importance — or, rather, mask the lack thereof — of this to him.  

Andrew nods politely. He, for one, is taking this much better than Neil seems to be — for good reason, Kevin imagines. Already registered in the foster system, Andrew must be used to adapting to new homes, new siblings, new adults with an eccentric knack for gardening and haircare. He’s indulging Kevin. A five-year-old!

“Well,” Kevin clears his throat, suddenly a little embarrassed. “Are you hungry? It should be almost lunchtime.”

No answer. It’s almost like dealing with the adults Andrew and Neil again.

Lunch is bland and unimaginative; Kevin follows the recipe obsessively, unwilling to make children choke down trash. It’s one thing for their adult selves to indulge Kevin in his lack of culinary talent, but children don’t yet have the taste buds for experimental food, nor the desire to put up with their caretakers’ inability to cook. More than once he resists the urge to add more spice — or even more salt. 

While he cooks, Kevin allows Andrew and Neil to get acquainted with each other. They talk quietly, eyeing the other with no less suspicion they eyed Kevin with, and seem happy to do their own thing. Skittish, for sure: but can they be blamed for it? Kevin doesn’t expect them to hit it off immediately, especially with Neil’s under-socialization. In the week or so Kevin should have them, it is likely they’ll progress on that front. 

Polite like a trained dog, Andrew waits by the kitchen doorway to help Kevin with setting the table. He’s far too small for such a task — he’ll drop any glassware Kevin gives him. Still, unwilling to let the child feel useless, Kevin asks him to set some napkins and cutlery out. Yes, that should be enough.

“Thank you, Andrew,” he says when he is done finishing up on their plates. Looking at the portions, Kevin is inclined to think they are far too much for someone of their size, but he doubts either have had access to an unrestricted meal in quite a while. At their age, Kevin knows he hadn’t. “It is very kind of you to help with the table.”

Andrew tilts his head towards his food without comment. He is almost unnervingly polite. It’s not the Andrew Kevin knows, and the contrast feels scathing.

Despite the children’s best efforts, their meal is not quiet. Kevin is not good with children, but he likes to think he is good with Andrew and Neil — as good as one can be, anyway. He prompts them into conversation by asking questions about their interests, their lives, their routines; half of it is trying to figure out how to care for these two, and the other half is emulating a chewed-out memory of how Kayleigh used to talk to him. 

She was never the kind of parent who baby-talked to Kevin. As soon as he was able to, she tried to engage him in conversation — however loose that concept can be for a five-year-old. Kayleigh, from what he remembers of her, had the ability to make anyone feel listened to; Kevin doesn’t remember ever doubting she cared for his childish babbling about toys and daycare, even if nostalgia had colored the memory a soft mouth-pink. He only wishes he would’ve gotten at least half of her social adeptness. From Kayleigh, all Kevin got was green eyes, a gaping hunger for success and an inescapable attraction to troubled men.

“I play Exy and I like books,” Kevin offers in trade for information. It’s — well, he doesn’t have many hobbies. The gardening and the cooking are a late product of much of Dr. Betsy Dobson’s insistence that Kevin must make something out of himself that isn’t Exy-related. “I like cooking but I’m not good at it. And I like gardening but it takes a lot of work so I don’t do it all the time.”

“It’s not that bad,” Andrew tells him, motioning to his food with small movements. He finished his plate in record time, inhaling Kevin’s poor attempt at a caesar salad like it’s a five stars meal. On the other hand, Neil is halfway through with his and looks done already. “Your food.”

“Not that bad?” Kevin tilts his head slightly, amused. He’ll take it, he supposes. “Thank you, Andrew.”

Hesitant, like perhaps he fears Kevin will be angry at him for it, Neil picks up the conversation where he left off to say, “I like… horses. But, um, like toys.”

 “Horses, I see,” Kevin repeats, a bit hopeless. Children’s interests are so loose. “And what else?”

Neil flicks him a suspicious glare. “What else?”

“I gave you four of my interests. A conversation has to be equal.”

Looking as if Kevin had sprouted a second head right in front of him, Neil does not do as he is asked so much as he stares at Kevin, mouth open in a little o. Has no one asked this child what he likes before? It feels out of character for the Butcher of Baltimore, sure, but Neil’s mother had seemed to care for him, at least from what little Kevin had heard about her. 

“No?” Kevin tries after a few moments of silence. “I’m just trying to be friends.” 

“Why would you be my friend?” Neil asks, putting down his fork with surprising care; as if to ensure it makes no noise. Even his voice is small and unobtrusive, despite the words. “Adults and children aren’t friends. Adults want children to be quiet.”

Kevin hides a wince. He hadn’t imagined the Butcher of Baltimore, in all his serial killer glory, would have indulged his child in conversation — and by the way Neil acts, he could’ve guessed for himself that most of Neil’s childhood had been trying to stay out of his father’s way. But no one ever wants to assume the worst out of a loved one’s suffering;  Kevin had held out hope there’d be at least a silver lining in Neil’s horror stories.

It is not unlike how Kevin and Riko were raised in the Nest, anyway. Their private tutors were stern, and despite much of their trying, there was no place for childhood in Evermore: they were told to keep quiet or else. The Master would often say that they were not to act like children — it hadn’t occurred to him up until now how cruel it is to forbid a child from being childish.

“Well, if I’m asking you, don’t you think I want to know?” Kevin argues. “Not all adults think the same thing. Do you think the same thing as every other child?”

A pause. Neil shakes his head, looking somewhat green, as if he had just realized what he said. From Kevin’s other side, Andrew stares anxiously. 

Rubbing a hand through his face, Kevin slowly puts out, trying to enunciate his words as gentle as he can make them, “I am not angry that you spoke your mind. It makes sense, what you said.” He shakes his head a little. Only a few minutes in, and he’s already ruining it — Kevin’s no good for anything that doesn’t involve a racquet. “But I would not have asked if I didn’t want to know. Do you understand?”

A small, careful nod. Kevin will take whatever he can get. 

“Good.” Kevin starts to gather the empty plates — his and Andrew’s —, and motions towards Neil’s half-finished one. “Do you not like it? I can make you something else, if you want.”

The sudden shift in conversation visibly vexes Neil, but, politely, he replies, “...Not hungry.”

From beside Kevin, Andrew flinches. Hurrying to dispel it, Kevin says, “It’ll be in the fridge in case you want it later.” Piling the plates into one of his hands, Kevin offers the other one to Andrew. “Come on, you didn’t get to tell me what you like during lunch.”

The child watches Kevin’s hand — the right one, smooth and unscarred if a little crooked from the years of gripping racquets — warily before accepting it, threading his little fingers through Kevin’s. His hand feels unimaginably small; so fragile it is a wonder it even exists. Kevin is reminded of the first time he saw a baby bird, back in Dublin: he’d told his mom he couldn’t tell if it was super ugly or super cute. She’d laughed for what felt like an eternity after.

Still sitting politely at the table, Neil watches their joined hands, frowning. Kevin can’t tell what he’s thinking — wouldn’t be able to even with an adult Neil —, but the face he makes claws at his heart. “N—” not his name,  “ah, do you want to come with?” 

Thus invited, Neil follows them into the kitchen. Kevin washes the dishes and listens as Andrew tells him, a little shyly, that he likes Sesame Street, street cats (“Really?” Kevin asks. “Aren’t their claws a little scary?” to which Andrew seems to lose some respect for him on the spot), chocolate and amusement parks, when he is allowed to go. It's a fairly common list — Kevin didn’t know what he expected a five-year-old version of Andrew to like. Something a little more unorthodox, perhaps.

But children are the same everywhere, at any point. Andrew soaks up the attention Kevin gives him, happy to answer all questions, if a little insecure on why Kevin would be asking them. Knowing where Andrew was at this age, he doesn’t doubt it’s been a while an adult has actually spoken to him with some level of care for what he has to say: when was the last time Andrew has actually felt companionship? Someone who hears what he says and asks questions about it? 

It feels sacrilegious to stop now. Already out of dishes to clean, Kevin scrubs and re-scrubs their plates until his hands ache as he asks Andrew questions, not unaware of Neil’s watching eyes.

“And how is it? California?” Kevin asks. The next thing he says is a bold-faced lie, because he’s visited Jean before, but he still says it. “I’ve never been. I heard it’s beautiful.” 

He’s heard no such thing. Jean seems to think California is where meaningful art goes to die, but he can’t tell Andrew that.

“Is okay,” Andrew tells him, propped up on a stool next to Kevin. His little legs swing mindlessly. “The traffic — there’s traffic. And Disneyland.”

“You’ve been?” He asks again.

“Oh, um, no.”

It’s expected. “I have not either,” Kevin relates, making it sound like a bigger woe than it really is. His hands are rubbed raw at this point, and the soap pricks at the skin of his palms — soon, he’ll have to stop. Just a little more. “I don’t think I’d like it, either way.”

Andrew watches him curiously. “Why?”

“I don’t like crowds.” It’s not as easy as that, but Kevin leaves it as it is. The prickling sensation of the soap starts to crawl up his wrist, and he decides it is time to stop. Drying his hands off on a nearby cloth, Kevin prompts, “How about some dessert?”

It is the first time he’s ever said those words, and they horrify him, but the quickly-hidden flash of interest in Andrew’s face is worth breaking his streak for. From the stool beside Andrew, Neil frowns lightly. This child is too serious — Kevin tries to remember if he was like this back in little league, but his memory is not the best after so many hits to the head.

He rummages through their freezer. Andrew’s adult self is fond of indulging — there are a few half-eaten ice cream cartons tucked beneath frozen peas and other such vegetables, though most of them are flavored a cherry liqueur Kevin will most certainly not feed to children. Scavenging further he is able to retain a sealed chocolate carton, the frost covering it making his fingertips tingle. 

This has to be too frozen to eat. Helpless, Kevin turns to look at the two five-year-olds as if they have a better idea. It’s weird, now, to be the person Andrew and Neil look to for answers — Kevin is used to it being the other way around. He is caught thinking that he’ll probably struggle in the coming days, without his two little shadows making life easier for him. 

“I think if I microwave it a little bit, nothing’s going to happen,” Kevin mumbles to himself, aware that he is not inspiring much respect as an authority figure. He’s no Andrew, after all: Kevin’s still himself, despite all his best efforts to be someone else. 

The ice cream loses some of its original texture in the microwave, but, if anything, Andrew seems to enjoy it as Kevin passes him a bowl. Neil does not accept one himself, politely saying he doesn't like sweets, and the lack of attitude from him is disturbing. Kevin is used to Neil being a force of nature — seeing him this quiet, this contained, is not easy. It makes him think of the iron-shaped scar on his adult self’s chest. All that dead skin. 

Unwilling to let him be left out, Kevin cuts some slices of apple for him, which Neil takes with some degree of gratefulness. The little boys settle in front of the TV while Kevin manages to find a children’s channel, looking small on their ratty dorm carpet. Kevin isn’t sure children should be this small in the first place — he’s not sure if they are little because of genetics, or neglect. How much can you hurt a child until they disappear?

Kevin sits himself with them, cross-legged. He is too old to see the appeal of children’s television, so most of it is watching them from the corner of his eye and finding out what to say to Aaron to get him to come and help. 

You 14:36

Hello. I think whatever happened to me last month just happened to Andrew and Neil. 

As in, they have turned into five-year-olds. If you’ve forgotten. 

When there is no immediate response, Kevin huffs to himself and snatches a picture of their two little heads pending towards each other, deep in conversation about the show they are watching. Kevin is, at least, relieved to see them interacting at all: Andrew might have been to kindergarten already, but Neil has always been undersocialized, all tutors and nannies. If Kevin can’t be his friend, then at least Andrew can. 

The picture gets him a quicker answer.

Aaron 14:45

what the fuck what the fuck what the ufck

why doe sthis keep fucking happening to you 

Like it’s his fault!

You 14:45

This is not the kind of thing I can control. 

They are good children. Polite. Easier to deal with than I was, I wager. But  I need you to come and help. 

Aaron 14:47

why should i

what makes you think i could help you

You 14:49

Because he is your brother. 

Before Kevin can read Aaron’s answer, something hooks on his hair. Looking down, he finds Andrew’s hand hanging a few inches away from it, alarmed and wide-eyed at being caught. Behind him, Neil looks just as queasy, as if this had been their joint effort. 

“Can I help you?” Kevin asks, raising his eyebrow a little. When he gets no response, he concedes, "You can touch. Don’t tug or pull. And keep it away from your mouth.”

No response. Kevin doubles down, “It’s really fine. Here.” He pulls his hair out of its low ponytail, letting it curtain down his shoulders and back. It’s not often he lets his hair down like this — it can be too much of a hassle. Kevin ought to cut it one day, but the thought still makes him a little sick to think of. “As long as you’re careful.”

An hesitant little hand inches closer and closer, still warily watching out for Kevin’s reaction. When Andrew finds no resistance, he combs little fingers down the length of Kevin’s hair, faint and amazed. He’s not very gentle — children are too clumsy for it, still, and there is some tugging. It doesn’t hurt, though. Kevin allows it.

Resigning himself to being played with, Kevin gives them his back, leaning his elbow against the couch. Another pair of little hands clutches at a chunk of hair, and he knows Andrew has convinced Neil to get in on their impromptu hairdresser salon. At least they’re playing, Kevin consoles himself as he feels a pull on his scalp. At least they’re getting along. 

“I have hair ribbons on my desk,” he offers, knowing what he is setting himself up to and still going through with it. “Colorful ones. Satin. Would you like to see them?”

A pause on the tugging. “Really?” That was Neil.

“Yes. But I’ll have to get up to get them.”

“I can do it,” Andrew tells him, the ever-helpful little waiter. He’s so polite — Kevin wonders if they taught him there is a higher chance of getting adopted if you treat the foster parents with subservience. Probably. “Where is it?”

“Andrew, it’s fine—”

“I’ll do it. He’s still playing, so I’ll do it.”

So kind, giving Neil time to play by himself. Kevin, helplessly charmed, would allow him anything. “Okay. Thank you.” Motioning vaguely in the direction of their desks, he says, “It’s the one with the shelves on top of it. Yes, that one, with the books. Be careful not to hit your head!” Watching Andrew narrowly duck under a shelf gives Kevin half an aneurysm, but the child seems no less interested in his quest. “First drawer. There. Did you find it?”

“Yes,” Andrew replies, shoving a chubby fist into the drawer and pulling out a handful of hair ribbons, all different colors and sizes. There was an organization system to it, and his careless pulling has clearly ruined it. A little disheartened, Kevin doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “This?”

“Yes. Please keep the drawer closed.” 

The drawer snaps shut, and Andrew makes his way back to them, freshly acquired ribbons falling over his fingers and wrist in colorful flops. Kevin doesn’t see him sit back down, but he feels Andrew’s hand on his hair again. “Why do you have shelves?” Neil asks after a few moments of silence, their hands working ribbons in his hair via extremely clumsy braiding. “Um, just you, I mean. The others are empty.”

That he’s asking anything seems like a blessing, when the child is so quiet. “My—” Kevin hesitates. How to even describe it? “My… friend built them for me. The shelves. He got annoyed at me for leaving my books everywhere.”

 It’s true. Just as Kevin loathes Andrew’s habit of leaving his cigarettes anywhere, so does Andrew loathe Kevin’s astray book piles across the living room, left half-read or unfinished in his haste to get to class or practice. The shelves had been less of a compromise and more of a surprise: one day, they were simply sitting above his desk like they’ve always been there. Kevin never asked Andrew if he built them, but he figured the wood splinters on his fingers were reason enough. It took a lot of arguing for Andrew to take them out the right way, instead of just letting the splinters break on their own.

“Oh,” Andrew says, entirely unaware of the story being about his older self and focused on tying a bow on Kevin’s hair. “Where is he?”

“There’s two of them, actually. They’re away for work.” Kevin leans his head closer when the tugging starts to get a little painful. “What are you doing back there, anyway?”

“It’s pretty,” Neil murmurs, defending his work. Kevin doubts it is, but he’s happy to even have the little Neil’s attention at all. 

“You know how to braid?” He asks, trying to steal a look and getting his head gently moved back by Andrew. “By the way, what’s your name? You haven’t said.”

Neil hesitates, hands freezing. Kevin keeps talking, “Whatever you want to be called.”

 “Um,” Neil thinks on it for a moment. He seems to be rolling Kevin’s hair nervously around his fingers now; a nervous fidget. “My—my dad calls me Junior, but my mom calls me Nat—Nathaniel.”

 He doesn’t say it like he enjoys being called either.

“Hello, Nathaniel,” Kevin tilts his head in acknowledgement, because he wasn’t raised in a barn. “I’m Kevin. It’s nice to meet you.”

Shy little thing he is, Nathaniel doesn’t answer. 

The children play with Kevin’s hair for a few more minutes before losing interest, leaving him a mess of ribbons and tangles he decides not to deal with for now. He imagines they should be put to sleep soon — children this small sleep in the afternoon, do they not? At their age, Kevin is sure he had to be made to nap one way or another, what with his mother’s hectic schedule. It’s a bit of a parenting cop-out, he is aware, but… Kevin could use a nap himself. Sure the children do, too.

He makes a show out of yawning behind his palm. Two pairs of eyes turn to him, neither particularly moved by his display. Tough crowd. 

“Maybe we can all take a nap,” Kevin suggests. Nothing.

[br3adtoasty]

Tommel Belinda

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Japanese トメル・ベリンダ

Twisted From Thumbelina

Voiceclaim Mitsuki Saiga

Gender Male (he/him)

Sexuality Bisexual (masc leaning)

Age 16

Homeland Shaftlands

Family Adoptive Mother

School Year First

Club Environmental Club

Best Subject Animal languages

Dominant Hand Left

Favorite Food Raw honey, apple pie

Least Favorite Food Canned food

Dislike Being controlled, arranged marriage

Hobby Exploring places, singing

Unique Magic: Fae’s Frolic

Tom is able to shrink himself down to a very tiny size, like that of a thumb. His speed and agility will also be boosted.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

A little quick rundown of his backstory; Tom grew up in a small farm in shaftlands where his mother often told him many stories about fairies and the fae world ever since he was a kid, hence his obsession with it. Though, one particular story stood out to him, it was about a tiny little girl who fell in love with the prince of fairies. Throughout her adventures, she was faced with many obstacles, but eventually managed to be reunited with her one true love and turned into a fairy. Tom dreams that he’ll become just like her and finally gain his own ‘wings’ just like in the story.

As previously stated in his profile, Tom is very good with animals. Whether they be big or small, he can handle them all! This is thanks to his experience with growing up in a farm and having to help with taking care of the livestock. He adores every living creatures, even those that most would consider unconventional such as bugs and snails. Nevertheless, there is one animal that he can not stand at all, is the toad, because of the villainous role it plays in the storybook he so loved.

Despite what other people might say about his height, Tom is very proud of it, saying "Tiny and cute, just like one of the fairies in the books!" and he finds it very useful bc of his habit of exploring new nooks and crannies. Also his unique magic allow him to turn into an even tinier version of himself, efficient for adventuring!

[gayrogues]

after seeing many posts over the past year or so about what level of murder and violence is in-character for the riddler, and changing my own opinion on it so many times, i’m finally writing my own take about it. i’m gonna preface this by saying i’m not writing this to hate on anyone’s interpretations, nor am i vagueing anyone who’s posted their own takes on this recently - i don’t think there’s a “correct” interpretation here, actually! i’m just here to infodump :]

first things first, the riddler does in fact kill people, we know this. but, i do think i know what comic contributed most to the misconception that he’s never killed anyone back in the early days of his character, and to the interpretation that he’s just a little guy whose crimes are mostly harmless:

(from when is a door, by neil gaim*n - censoring his name because he’s on this website and i’m afraid of somehow summoning him)

i often see this page cited by people who think the riddler should be a silly harmless guy, and it very much shaped my own cringey sanded-down interpretation of the rogues before i got deep into comics. but how true is it? (disclaimer, i know that “when is a door” is about nostalgia for the silver age/batman ‘66/etc. era of batman media, not neil gaim*n claiming that this is how every batman comic has been before a certain point - i'm not trying to actually disprove anything that was said in this page, and a lot of the examples i'll be mentioning were published after this comic.) first, let’s look at his pre-crisis appearances.

right from the riddler’s first introduction in detective comics #140, he puts some dude in a puzzle death trap. in many of his following appearances, he tones it down and mostly just sticks to stealing shit or trying to kill batman, with no civilian casualties. (not always, though - there’s a few issues here and there where he kills a random guy or tries to blow up the city, like batman #292 and detective comics #362.) there are very few issues where his crimes are almost entirely harmless, like the brave and the bold #68. this statement from jim gordon in batman #362 sums him up, for the most part:

things start getting more inconsistent in the 80s/90s part of the post-crisis era, which was when the previously mentioned “when is a door” was published. you have the question #26, which implies that the riddler has been very harmless up until this point - gordon states that the only person edward is likely to hurt with his crimes is himself, and he’s considered such a minor threat that they let him go free because prosecuting him wouldn’t be worth the effort. then there’s dark knight, dark city, where he happily tries to kill a whole bunch of people including babies for the sake of a scheme. then there’s showcase ‘94 #4, with this comment from jeremiah arkham:

then there’s the batman chronicles #3, where he’s back to casually shooting people to death. then there’s the long halloween and dark victory, where he’s some pathetic guy who kinda just shows up sometimes and isn’t enough of a threat for batman to send to arkham. you get the idea. of course, there’s more within these issues than what i’ve mentioned - in the question #26, he’s pretty on board to start killing people despite his previous harmlessness, while in dark knight dark city, both his henchmen and batman comment on his bloodthirstiness as being out of the ordinary for him. (not to mention that it’s debatable how much control he had over his actions, because he was kinda being possessed by demons.)

unfortunately i’m not going to keep going down a timeline of every riddler comic because there’s still so many i haven’t read, and this post was mostly meant to analyze his 40s - 90s appearances as many characters began taking a darker turn after that point. i have a few more screenshots from the 2000s onwards pointing to a generally harmless riddler, but there really aren't many:

(i don’t remember which one this is from, sorry)

(catwoman lonely city #2 by cliff chiang - i feel like i maybe shouldn’t include it because it’s an elseworld, but it did influence my own characterization of edward back when i interpreted him this way. i recommend this comic so much btw)

i don’t really have a conclusion for this post, or a specific interpretation i'm arguing for - i just wanted to analyze how accurate this somewhat-common fanon portrayal of him is, based on the era of comics that i think a lot of fans are drawing from. thanks for coming to my riddler ted talk :]

[anonymous-dentist]

Werewolves are born when a son is born after a couple had 6 daughters, but it can be prevented if the kid is baptized by the oldest daughter before their first transformation when they reach the age of 13. The werewolf can also spread it around by their blood or bites!

They don't transform according to the moon cycle, and instead transform weekly on the night between thursday and friday, but on lent(Is this right? Im relying on the powers of google translate for this one) their transformation gets a little out of whack. Their transformation also has some little rituals they must do before they transform that includes: knotting 7 knots on their shirts and rolling on dirt. Peeing on the shirt optional.

To cure a werewolf is a pain in the ass, so say it mildly. So first, you can stab it with a steel blade, but you can only make them bleed a single drop of blood. This also varies, some say it can cure while others say it only brings the werewolf back to their human form. Other way is to stab them with the thorn of a orange tree that was planted in a graveyard and/or on a friday. All of this while they are on their beast form.

So… thats a little something? Brazil is very big and the folklore has lot of variations, so some things may not fit other the tales of other regions, but I still think this is quite a good number of nuggets of trivia.

(Pt.2 and final)

Okay so, fun fact, not everyone in the Brazilian Werewolf Pack is a Brazilian-style werewolf!

I’ve done some research, and I’ve decided that traditional European werewolves and Brazilian werewolves- Lobisomem- are different creatures. For reference, Pac, Mike, and Felps are Lobisomem. Forever was human, but he got bit by a werewolf when visiting his sister in France in college and so he’s Different. (He’s not like other wolves)

I’ve been kinda mixing and matching Brazilian werewolf lore in my fic just because it’s REALLY hard to track down specific canons in English. But I’ve asked some Brazilian people and I’ve looked around in some websites and books, and here’s what I’ve more or less settled on:

Pac was bit and turned because he was kind of wasted one night and he tried petting a ‘dog’. Said ‘dog’ was Mike. They’re besties fr

The three Lobisomem chill with the weekly transformations (see: Cellbit commenting one time in the fic that he helped clean blood out of Felps’ car every weekend), but they also go out on the full moon with Forever so he doesn’t get lonely

Forever trying to stab Cellbit with that ‘Holy Stick’ in chapter 4 came from what I found on a website that I’m not sure google translated properly? It basically said that someone could be cured by being injured by a Holy Thing within 12 days of them being bitten, and Forever is friends with Max, who is “friends” with Sapo Peta, who is quite literally a demigod and who had pretty easy access to Holy Things

The Guys thought about turning Cellbit back in prison when they were all briefly getting along, but then they realized that A) he was somehow already baptized despite the Everything about him and thus lowkey immune to Lobisomem Things and B) he was kind of a fucking maniac

Richarlyson is baptized, but, just in case, Cellbit usually gets custody of him on Fridays and on the full moon. Unless he looks particularly Rough. Then they give Richas to Bad or Baghera to watch. (This is unfortunately common considering who Cellbit is as a person)

Forever, as previously stated, is a traditional European werewolf because he got his dumb ass bitten by a French Werewolf. So he does the usual once a month thing. He chills

[copias-sewer-rat]

If you still do asks, (you can say no!), but could I request a Mm something with the different Papas taking care of/comforting reader who deals with digestive issues?

(I deal with GERD, acid reflux and some days I literally get symptoms/pain so bad I just curl up and don’t wanna do anything 🥺)

Hi darling! I do asks of course! It might take me a bit to write them because I don’t have much free time lately but I get them done in the end.

I am so so sorry you have to deal with that... to (hopefully) make you feel better here you have the Papas taking care of a reader that deals with digestive issues.

(I tried to make this as GN as possible, hope you don’t mind, I wasn’t sure if you were asking for a m/m relationship so I didn’t want to risk it.)

I. Primo

- Primo is an old man, that we know, but with age there also comes wisdom. He is no stranger to chronic pains or illnesses. His experience has taken him to create what most siblings of sin and even his brothers consider to be the most infallible methods to fight any sickness or health disruptions.

- For sure he has also dealt with gastrointestinal issues, not all foods that he eats stay the same in his stomach as when he was younger. Nonetheless, he has learned what things to avoid.

- Primo had helped you in the past, to the point of considering each other very close, even intimate. You had tried everything he had suggested to you previously, but lately your pain had become unbearable, you needed something else.

- When you come to his quarters in search of a “magical cure” for your pain, skin pale and glossy eyes, he leaves everything that he is doing in that moment to take care of you.

- He doesn’t want you to move an inch so he lets you sleep on his bed. He lends you one of his sleeping gowns, big, long and fresh so you feel all the comfort.

- Before that however, Primo makes you dinner in his private kitchenette. He knows the importance of an appropriate diet when dealing with those sorts of problems. His go to “remedy” is water with non-citrus fruits, he will add whichever fruit you prefer. He will also make you whichever food you might want (but it need to be appropriate for your condition so mostly salads or oats).

-Primo will make you sit on his lap and will feed you small bits so you can digest your food properly, whispering how good you are doing and telling you that you will feel better soon. With the dinner he also gives you one of his most potent remedies, one that also makes you sleepy.

-You need to stay awake for a bit making your digestion before going to bed so Primo will ask for you to tell him how your day was or any anecdote that comes to mind. He will listen attentively drawing circles on your back until you fall asleep in his arms, finally taking you to his bed for a good night of rest.

II. Secondo

-Secondo doesn’t know much about gastrointestinal issues. He smokes, drinks and eats all types of food and in such quantities that if done by any normal person it would leave them in a comatose state.

-However, when you come to him in search of comfort, he will research everything he can about your condition and how to make you feel better.

-He is hesitant about helping you because he considers himself to be a bit of a brute, but seeing you in such state gives him the courage to try his best.

-Secondo will follow down to the t every single tip he finds online. Whatever food might help you he will cook, whatever medicine might make you feel better he will go and find.

-If you cannot move much he will carry you anywhere and help you with whichever task: showering, bathing, brushing your hair, whatever you might need.

-Like Primo, he will carry you to his own bed to rest, hugging you, a pillow between you two, pressed on your stomach to alleviate as much pain as possible.

-If by any chance you wake up in the middle of the night with pain or in need to vomit he will be by your side, pressing a cold towel to your forehead, rubbing your back and arms in slow motions which makes your blood move.

-He will reassure you that everything will be fine, that he is not going anywhere and that the pain will pass.

-You believe him of course, how could you not when he smiles at you so warmly and with such confidence. His positiveness rubs on you and some of the pain fades away.

-The rest of the night you sleep soundly in his arms.

III. Terzo

-Poor Terzo doesn’t know what to do to help you, so he calls Omega to carry you around.

-He goes to Primo for help. Terzo bursts in first, screaming pleads with exaggerated stereotypical Italian hand motions. If you were not in such pain you would surely laugh at his antics.

-Omega is very tender with you, he moves slowly so as to not make you feel worse.

-Primo instructs Terzo in what to do, how to make you feel better and what medicines might be the best.

-If Primo told him 5 medicines that might help you, Terzo is going to get the five of them.

-As instructed by Terzo, Omega will carry you to Terzo’s bed after you have taken your medicine.

-They will let you sleep as much as you want and if you ask, both of them will join you in your slumber.

-Your body will be pressed against Terzo’s and Omega’s chests. You would feel like a cat nested in a fort of pillows, thankful for all the contact and pressure.

-The attention makes you forget most of your pain, only leaving the usual reflex. When those occur, Terzo will squeeze you tighter, signing Italian lullabies to you until you go back to sleep, safe and sound next to him.

IV. Copia

-Like Terzo, Copia is stressed™ at seeing you in pain.

-He sweeps you off your feet and takes you to the infirmary in a rush. He almost trips a couple of times and he got lost a few times also, which wasn’t the best for your condition but he apologized profusely every time something happened that made you wince.

-He rushes every nurse there to get you anything that might help.

-The nurses can’t help but roll their eyes at how stressed he is. He is making such a fuzz that the nurses threaten him with kicking him out if he does not behave.

-The nurses recommend that you stay the night in the infirmary, so of course Copia is going to stay with you.

-He takes an armchair and places it next to your bed.

-To make you feel better he sneaks in one of his rats for you to pet and cuddle with.

-As he feels you drifting off because of the medicine, he will also try to sleep in his chair, his hand extended to hold yours during the entirety of the night.

-If at any point you wake up in pain or in need to vomit, just like Secondo, Copia will be there for you, helping you in any way possible.

-After that he will even join you in the very small infirmary bed, holding you close, rubbing your stomach so as to try to ease your pain.

- You drift off to the feeling of loving kisses on the back of your neck, feeling so much better.

----

Hope this could help a bit, also hope you get better soon darling, lots of love to you🖤

For now my ask box is always open so do not hesitate to ask for something you might want to read.

[system-of-a-feather]

Okay so like, we started talking to an old friend again that we haven't talked to in like over a year, almost a year and a half honestly and it naturally has me having to go through the "aight what have you missed in the Feathers Saga" and thinking about it made me go "ok its a good chance to make a list of Total Ws in life and recovery to celebrate a year and a half of progress" cause god damn theres been a lot

Lets GO. 1.5 Year "we got this bread" positivity post to just go "God DAMN we are doing GOOD" (not an exhaustive list though cause that requires me to remember and go through every event over a year and a half and I may be at functional multiplicity but my memory is still garbage)

Trauma, DID, and Recovery Achievements:

Identified and got a system consensus that our oldest sister is a piece of shit and basically our life long "handler" and HARD cut her off out of our life

Rebuilt really good relationship (neutral but pleasant to supportive and reliable) with our other direct family members who don't try to force us to interact with her

Identified that we are probably considered polyfragmented and very quickly accepted it cause quite frankly we don't really care

Got most parts to acknowledge that we aren't faking being Asian (I know but that was a long one I swear to god)

Basically entirely got over our 6 year long difficulty driving cars SO much to the point we have multiple parts ARGUING who gets to drive and actively WANTING to drive

Largely let go of a lot of the anger and hurt directed at our parents for their role in our childhood trauma

Largely helped our main CSA trauma holder basically fully go into PTSD remission to the point hes now an uber helpful tertiary host and arguably one of our most comfortable parts talking about CSA related topics

Cleared stabilization phase of recovery and achieved functional multiplicity as confirmed by our DID specialist at the time

Fused like so many parts ngl. I don't know if Riku 1.0 and XIV 1.0 fused with their respective parts to be Riku 2.0 and XIV 2.0 around then cause it was about the time we stopped talking but there was that, the whole Data subsystem and shit, integrating Chunn into the system and helping him renavigate that crap, Lin fusing with an inner world part and shit - lots of that XD

Became a (Zen-leaning) Buddhist which plays a decent role in how we approach our mental health and cultural identity

Finally went from "undiagnosable autistic" to "Yeah you are autistic" because functional multiplicity enabled a more clear diagnosis

LOTS of gender dysphoria shit and gender shit that is too much work to break into main bullet points

Gained massive insight into how we intend to approach our reclaiming of sexuality

Learned to literally meditate and just enjoy existing

Realized we reaaaaaalllllly have a low threshold for dealing with people who we don't actively and strongly enjoy being around

Career and Direction Wise:

Graduated our undergrad - woot woot

Got a job supporting special ed - enjoyed it made good connections but also noted that god no dealing with people so much is not our cup of tea

Got a BETTER job at a reputable university to support research on aging memory with mice that has really good benefits - really like this job but also its not our cup of tea because we don't really enjoy the monotony

Came to the decision that research wise we really would rather deal with people on the "less" than the "more" end, scratching off a lot of human-focused research interests at least for the time being and greatly narrowing our previously wide scope down to the more animal heavy side

Sitting on old topics we researched and found interest in, realized the one thing our brain kept going back to was metrics of studying animal mental states and that we really probably would enjoy that as a nice balance between our interest and what we have the personal ability to engage in sustainably

Decided we are in fact going back to our PhD now that we have decided that 1) working life as a gear in a machine is cool and relaxing and shit, but it lowkey makes us depressed with how stagnant it is and we need more going on in our work life to keep us happy so "ok we tried that, we don't like it, back to the plan" 2) we have a pretty good idea of what we want to study at least for the beginning of a PhD career that could go in different directions organically

Scheduling currently a Zoom meeting with a professor we are interested in to informally discuss graduate studies

Independence, Hobbies and Other Shit:

We live on our own, sustain our life on our own and live with our fiance who - despite being currently unable to work due to disabilities - we are able to support and sustain (also bless zen Buddhism making it easy to be happy and enjoy life on a lower income)

Made some really nice mutuals - you know who you are - yall are good company love yall

Between the parts that are co-hosting, we have so many hobbies and interests its ridiculous; but we added electric guitar, ukelele, and recently a drum pad to our musical repertoire; gardening and plant care (which we suck at which is fine) added to the hobby

Became painful morning people as a result to our job and kinda realized we prefer it sorry for being that guy

Lost the ability to do the peacock call due to T dropping our voice range like a BITCH but in returned gained Raven calls and duck / goose noises

Also learned to do finch calls

Rescued two lovebirds when we moved to an apartment with our fiance - they are lesbians and very confused about it

Adopted a cat my fiance's mom was fostering from a kitten cause shes a shoulder cat (bird) and also now because of XIV she is also a dog who plays fetch and loves belly rubs (she also has extra toes)

Consistently continued doing art, developing the story world, encouraging my writing partner to get into art, aggressively shaking all my friends to art with me

Got Lin to be obsessed with art with me as well

Kept up a 230 day duolingo streak juggling like 6 or 7 different languages (the last like 120~ days or so have been a lot more 'just keeping it up' and me just doing one lesson of Japanese a day since its the one I know the best but it HAS been kept up)

Transitioning:

Started T and stayed taking T

Got a hysterectomy GOOD BYE PCOS

Am charted for seeing a surgeon to discuss bottom surgery this month

Am charted for seeing consult for top surgery at Some Point when the insurance stuff goes through

Have long since forgone our Dead Name in almost every area and got comfortable with our Chosen Name

Considering participating in Transmasculine No Shave November out of Transpride

[wintercearig12]

Honestly, I find the surviving members of Skyrim’s Dark Brotherhood questline to be strange choices (except for Cicero). Don’t get me wrong, I love Nazir and Babette, but Festus and Gabriella (and to an extent Veezara) would have made for better, and more committed, members. My rationale for this lies in their views of the Night Mother and the old ways, which of course are resumed at the end of this questline. 

When meeting Cicero, Festus plainly states: “Mister Cicero, I for one am delighted you and the Night Mother have arrived. Your presence here signals a welcome return to tradition." Afterwards, he will expand upon this point, further highlighting the importance of the Night Mother and the traditions that previously governed the Dark Brotherhood: "Their arrival is the best thing that's happened to this Sanctuary in years. Astrid is an effective leader, but we've been rudderless for too long. Scrounging for contracts, abandoning the Tenets. The Dark Brotherhood has been reduced to a group of common cutthroats. Frankly, it's embarrassing." Moreover, although he does display some displeasure at the Night Mother’s choice of the Dragonborn as her Listener, he nonetheless accepts the decision: "So you're the Listener, hmm? Well that hardly seems fair. You just got here. The Night Mother should have spoken to me. Any idiot could see that. But, I will serve gladly, as that's my lot in life.”

Gabriella is particularly courteous towards the Night Mother: "Without the Night Mother, there is no Dark Brotherhood. The Matron deserves our unwavering support and respect.” Although she is understandably cautious of the news that you have been chosen as Listener, she still acknowledges the significance of what this means for the Family: "If the Night Mother truly spoke to you, if you really are the Listener... your destiny was written in the Void. Astrid is right to fear your power." In this way, she is recognising the dominance of the Night Mother over Astrid. Similarly to Festus, she is jealous of the new Listener, but does not belittle the Dragonborn: "What an honor, the assassination of an Emperor. And all because you are the Listener, favored by the Night Mother, anointed by Sithis. I am so very happy for you. If not a bit... envious."

Veezara is harder to pinpoint. Although his commitment to Astrid could be seen as disrespectful towards the Night Mother, I do not think it is as clear cut as this. When asking his opinion of the Unholy Matron, he will state: "Truthfully? I'm not entirely sure. It's not that I don't have the utmost respect for Sithis, and the Night Mother, and the ancient ways. I do. But I've never been much for religion. I kill because it's what I've been trained to do. It's all I know. So long as Astrid is happy, I'm happy." In essence, he recognises and accepts the importance of the Night Mother, but, due to the circumstances of his life, he simply takes things at face value: Astrid gives him both purpose and family, and so he commits himself to her above all. This is understandable when considering the near extinction of his order, the Shadowscales, and the lack of direction from the Night Mother in previous years. As he says, his role in life is to kill, and Astrid provides the means for him to do so, all else has been lost, and is therefore negligible to him. He follows what he knows.

Nazir and Babette are comparatively disrespectful towards the Night Mother. After you are revealed as the Listener, Nazir will say: "You may be the Listener, or you may just be a lunatic who's started hearing voices. Either way, Astrid is still your mistress. Not the Night Mother.” When speaking to Babette after the arrival of Cicero, she will equally display a dismissive attitude: "Two hundred years ago, I would have lain down my life for the Unholy Matron. But that is an age long since passed. Astrid is my matron now."

Having said all this, it wouldn't surprise me if this was done on purpose. After all, this situation does remind me of Oblivion, and the fact that the Night Mother knew the traitor was not at the Cheydinhal Sanctuary, and that Lucien was innocent too. The Dark Brotherhood seems to have a running theme of losing its most devoted members.

[imagines--galore]

||Mind Over Matter|| Part Six

Summary:  Evelyn is Penelope Garcia’s protegé. She is a tech  wiz, and knows her  way around any kind of security and just like her  mentor knows how to  dig deep and get into the past of anyone and has a  knack for anything  with a chip in it. Including potato chips. The one  thing she fails at  is figuring out is the mind and how it works. Rated T  for blood and   language.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Evelyn Richardson(OC)

Rating || Genres || Warnings: T+ Romance. Adventure. Family. Some language, blood and violence in later installments.

Previously - Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five,

A/N: Hope you enjoy!

Takes place during episode seven season one.

For the first time in weeks it was a slow day at the office. Those were rare days really. Considering it was the FBI she worked for. Or with? She didn't really have a clue which one it was. But it didn't matter.

Not many people had screwed up their computers or needed any dirt on someone, so Evelyn had decided to run to the nearest bakery and get herself a cream roll. She had been craving one of those things for ages and since she hadn't had the time to make one herself, had opted to get one. Walking her way back from the bakery she caught sight of a familiar figure emerging from a car. Her lips pulled into a smile as she quickly walked over to the person.

"Went to get some new books did we?" She asked as soon as she was within hearing range of the person, who jumped, startled at her sudden appearance. Evelyn snorted.

"One would think that after almost two years since we've known each other, you would've gotten used to my popping up out of nowhere." Spencer shook his head.

"Not when you do it at random. Your appearances are very irregular you know." He commented, starting to walk towards the FBI building while the red head fell into step next to him. Evelyn sniffed, pushing her glasses further up her nose as she did.

"Why don't you admit that you have no idea when and where I would turn up from unlike those UnSubs of yours?" Spencer gave her an unamused look.

"They have a pattern that they repeat making it easier for us to get a location or to predict when and where they would appear, you on the other hand." He shook his head, shrugging. "Not so much." Evelyn snorted.

"Way to tell a woman she's weird Spencer." The young genius spluttered on whatever he was about to say, just as the two of them entered the bullpen.

"I didn't!" He semi-shouted. His friend only shook her head, grinning from ear to ear as she reached up to pet him on the head like a puppy.

"Its alright. I'll take it as a compliment." She said, before turning and waving to JJ as she passed by to get to her office. JJ smirked at the slightly miffed look Spencer had on his face.

"Caught you again by surprise huh?" She asked, gaining his attention. Her words held more then one meaning but Reid turned to her.

"She is unpredictable." He stated before walking over to his desk and sitting down, riffling through the bag that held his new books.

JJ sighed as she shook her head.

Oblivious the both of them.

                                             ————————–

"Hey Evelyn? Penelope?"

Both women looked up from the respective desks to see JJ standing in the doorway a small smile on her lips.

"Hotch is here." Mentor and Protege shared a grin before standing up and following after their Team's Media Liaison. Catching sight of a familiar figure standing near the elevator the three women made their way towards him. Evelyn gave a small friendly smile at the woman standing next to her superior.

"Hello Mrs. Hotchner."

Haley Hotchner smiled and waved back at the red head, before turning turning her attention to her husband who was holding their new born son. Evelyn's blue eyes turned to look at the squirming little bundle, as she stood next to Spencer.

"Congratulations." Reid said his tone monotone as per the norm. Evelyn shoved him slightly in the back to get him to move forward. He shot her a glare, which she returned with an innocent look. She knew how Reid was cautious around babies. She had no idea why though since she had never asked. But that didn't mean she couldn't get a kick out of teasing him about it every now and then.

"He's so gorgeous." JJ said, moving forward, smiling as she watched Jack squirm slightly in his father's arms.

"Thank you." Mrs Hotchner said, her eyes shining with love and pride as she looked at her son. Evelyn waved her fingers in the baby's direction.

"Hey there handsome." She cooed as the baby turned his head in her direction.

"If you find baldness and wrinkles attractive." Reid muttered, earning him a glare from his friend, as she nudged him lightly.

"Look at his little witty bitty nose." Penelope cooed, smacking Spencer on the shoulder as she did, not taking her eyes off the baby. Just then Morgan stuck his head in the space between her and Spencer's shoulder, looking at the baby as well.

"Don't you want one of these?" The blonde asked him. Morgan hummed under his breath before grinning.

"I'll stick to practicing." The small group laughed, minus Spencer who just gave a slight frown. Just then Elle appeared from behind them, smiling lightly, as she nodded at the new parents.

"Congratulations." She said.

Both parents thanked her, before Hotch spoke up, nodding towards his wife.

"She's amazing. I'm a little terrified." He admitted, although he was still smiling.

"Well, uh, we should get going." The new mother said, as Hotch agreed with her, placing his son carefully into the stroller. Evelyn waved at the baby yet again as Reid spoke up from next to her.

"Pleasure seeing you, Mrs Hotchner."

As soon as they were out of her hearing range Penelope nudged Morgan as the two of them with Evelyn and Spencer following after them, made their way towards their desk area.

"Stick to practicing huh?" She said a teasing glint in her eye. Morgan chuckled under his breath.

"I think I would prefer the product of that practice." Morgan turned to raise an eyebrow at the red head who blushed lightly, as she trained her eyes to look at her hands that were fiddling with a string of her shirt.

"I said that out loud didn't I?" She murmured sheepishly, before looking up and continuing.

"But come on think about it. You'd have a person to care and love for, for the rest of your life." Spencer snorted.

"A person who would scream, wail and constantly want your attention?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. Evelyn scowled at him, before she smirked.

"You just described the whole of the species of human beings Spence." She grinned, prompting Penelope and Morgan to laugh at her statement, and for the latter to reach forward and patting the young genius on the back.

"She's right about that Pretty Boy." He said, just as Penelope chimed in.

"So you thinking of having big family Evelyn?" The red head blushed again as all eyes were directed towards her but she nodded.

"If I meet the right guy yes." She smiled. Penelope hummed under her breath.

"I think I would go for a small family." She said, as she started to walk towards her office. Evelyn turned to Morgan, looking up at him expectantly. The man simply raised in hands.

"I don't plan that ahead Ginger." He said, earning a small pout from the young woman. He nudged the young genius standing next to him, grinning.

"Why don't you ask Pretty Boy here?" He asked laughing lightly under his breath at the surprised and sightly terrified look on his friend's face. Before either of them had the time to say something Elle called out to Reid and Morgan. The younger man very nearly ran for the conference room with a laughing Morgan behind him, walking at a leisurely pace. Evelyn smiled as well, making a mental note to ask the question again later, as she made her way to her's and Penelope's office.

                                             ————————–

Evelyn was sitting alongside Penelope going through a series of paperwork when Hotch walked into the office.

"I need you two to run a back ground check on the Crawford's financials." He said, turning the pages of the file he was holding. Evelyn immediately dropped her papers in a considerably neat stack, turning towards her computer, while Penelope started to type into her computer.

"Evelyn you look through the father. I'll look through the mother." She ordered her eyes skimming over the window that had popped up. The red head hummed in response as her own eyes skimmed over the computer screen, while Hotch dialed the number for Gideon's office phone. Putting the call on speaker he waited patiently as the line connected. The line clicked as Gideon accepted the call.

"Gideon, we've been looking into the Crawford financials." Hotch began getting right to the point as per the norm.

"Allison Crawford spent way more money than Chris could afford." Penelope summarized what she had read. "They were in major debt." She added as an afterthought.

"And Chris Crawford wrote a number of checks for a series of visits to a therapist." Evelyn said, offering her side of the research.

"She had 2 cell phone accounts one of them billed to a separate address in southeast Washington, D.C." Penelope quickly recounted as the number flashed on the screen in front of her.

"Did you get that?" Hotch asked, as Evelyn continued to try and find anything unusual on the father.

"Yeah! We'll go check out the address." Gideon said over the phone, the line clicked before it went dead, and Hotch all but raced out of the office.

"Not so much as a thank you." Penelope muttered, playfully earning a small smile from her partner.

                                             ————————–

"Are you planning on heading home at all?"

Evelyn looked up to see Gideon standing next to her desk. She glanced around noticing how the bullpen was almost empty save for a few agents who were packing up for the day. She frowned, as she checked her watch before her eyes widened behind her glasses.

"I didn't realize what the time was." She muttered sheepishly as she stood up pushing away the night vision goggles and heat vision camera she had been fiddling with for the past three hours. Stretching her arms over her head she heaved a sigh when the aching in her back lessened, something else she failed to notice.

"Are you just leaving?" She asked, picking up her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. Her superior shrugged.

"I was thinking of grabbing something to eat before heading back home." He motioned towards the corridor.

"Why don't you come with me? It'll give us time to talk. I haven't had the chance to have a one on one with you. I'll drop you home afterwards." He suggested. Evelyn immediately nodded.

"Sure. I can leave my car in the parking lot and tell the night guard." She grinned as she fell into step next to the Agent.

"I'll bother Spencer about picking me up for work tomorrow."

Out of the whole Team Spencer and Evelyn were the only one's who lived near each other. The both of them were only a block away from the other's home. Gideon nodded, giving a small smile as he led the way to his car.

                                             ————————–

"So how's the case going?" Evelyn asked as she took a bite of her steak, chewing it quickly.

Gideon had taken her to one of the places the two of them often frequented. The waitress would greet them both warmly and the chef would wave at them from behind the counter. It was more of a diner then a restaurant and the environment was warm and friendly/ The staff knew their regulars and the two of them would order the same thing when they came there since it was something they both enjoyed.

She hadn't realized how hungry she was until the food had been placed in front of her. After that it was a few minutes of complete silence as the two Agents started eating. Gideon nodded lightly, yet his face was grim.

"Its going alright, but we're not here to talk about the case." He said, giving her a pointed look to which she responded with a nod, pushing a piece of medium rare beef around her plate.

"I know." She mumbled, licking her lips, her free hand came up to push her glasses further up her nose before it went to play with the strand of hair hanging on the right side of her head. She didn't look up. Gideon rested his hands on the surface of the table, his gaze steady as he looked at the young woman sitting across from him.

"She didn't respond did she?" Evelyn didn't even bother asking how he had known. Her lack of response had been answer enough. Nonetheless she shook her head.

"She didn't even look at me when we both went there. She just came in caught sight of me and then left." A dejected sigh escaped her as she finally speared the piece of beef and pushed it into her mouth.

"You would think that after almost four years she would've at least said hello," She paused as she shook her head.

"Thats like asking for a miracle." The red head looked up to see the older agent nod in a sympathetic manner.

"Years of rivalry don't just go away, even after a few years Evelyn." He told her, taking a sip of the drink he had ordered with his dinner.

"But I don't even know what the rivalry is all about." She protested, leaning forward in her chair slightly as she did. Gideon nodded once again.

"I know, you don't. And whatever the reason for the cold shoulder I know its not your fault." Evelyn blinked at her superior before frowning slightly.

"How can you be so sure about that?" She asked, her voice low, as it always got when she was confused. Gideon gave a small smile.

"I only had to meet your sister once Evelyn and that was enough. I am a Profiler you know." The young woman gave a small smile as she nodded.

"And from what I have gathered from your accounts about her I would say she is simply doing all this out of jealousy." He continued. She nodded.

"I know. You've told me that before." The two of them lapsed into silence, continuing with their dinner. Evelyn's head was buzzing with thoughts and possibilities on why her sister would be jealous of her, before she felt a warm large hand pat her shoulder lightly. She looked up to see Gideon giving her a sympathetic look.

"Don't sweat it kid. We'll figure it out sooner or later." He reassured her. She smiled gratefully and nodded.

                                             ————————–

The horn sounded again, making Evelyn want nothing more then to hit her friend over the head with her bag, as she ran down the driveway of her house towards his car, pushing her glasses in place as she did.

"Are you trying to wake the dead or something?" She asked, as she slid into the passenger seat. Spencer didn't even glance at her, as he started to drive down the road.

"Waking the dead is technically impossible Evelyn." He countered, missing the eye roll his friend gave him, as he continued.

"And could you come around and check my computer when you get the time. It's got a virus or something. I don't know." He shot her a helpless look, taking his eyes off the road for a second before turning back. The red head smiled. She knew her friend was helpless when it came to technology. How he had been living his life without a cellphone or a computer till she came was a mystery to her. She had been the one to introduce him with everything she thought he might need to know. And she was the one who kept him updated on the new and improved tech that came along year after year. But there were always new things being introduced and Evelyn couldn't teach him fast enough.

"Did you try to download something again Spencer?" She asked, knowing it would be the only reason a virus could get into a system. Spencer's ears turned a bright red as he mumbled an affirmative making the red head sigh and shake her head.

"I'll come over and check it out but please don't try downloading anything again till after I say so." She chided him lightly as he turned the car into the parking lot of their office. He nodded as he parked the car.

"Yes, ma'am." He mumbled, as they both got out. Evelyn took a deep breath as she straightened the strap of her bag and the front of the button up she was wearing that day.

"Maybe I should start charging you for all the repairs I do." She called after her friend, who had already begun to walk towards the building, as she ran to catch up with him. She very nearly had to jog to keep up with his fast pace sometimes.

"And walk slow!" She whined as she fell into step next to him, not even out of breath. "I know I'm short but do you have to remind me by walking so fast with those damn long legs of yours." Spencer chuckled as he opened the door, holding it open for her, after he passed through.

"Alright. I'll match your short pace." He said, walking next to her, hands stuffed in the pockets of the pants he was wearing and smirking at her. Evelyn punched him lightly on the shoulder.

"And I'll try and meet up to your high standards." She grinned at him as the two of them entered the bullpen.

                                             ————————–

JJ glanced up from the desk just in time to see Spencer and Evelyn separate from where they had entered the bullpen together. Both of them with slight smiles on their faces. She may not be a profiler but JJ had seen the way Spencer had been the previous day. Everyone on the Team was tense about the Unsub sneaking in and murdering families. And Spencer and Evelyn were no better. She knew that they were still worried of course, but it did amaze her how even with all the chaos going around them the two of them seemed to smile whenever they were around each other. JJ hadn't been around the Team for very long but she had been around long enough to know or rather suspect that whatever Spencer and Evelyn shared was something that was on a much more deeper level.

The only problem was that neither of them realized it. Which was strange because if an outside like her could see it why couldn't they? She wasn't really surprised though, neither of them seemed to be quick when it came to normal thing and she also knew that if she ever tried bringing it up both of them would simply say that the reason behind it was that they were both socially awkward.

Although how that related to this problem was something she did not or could not get.

Shaking her head JJ made a promise to look for more signs before she confronted either of the two or both of them. That was the logical thing to do.

                                             ————————–

Penelope tapped her foot impatiently as she watched the young technician fiddle with a couple of wires.

"Its a good thing the computer fried after the information was sent out huh?" She asked, her voice slightly muffled because of the small pliers she held between her teeth since her hands were busy. Penelope huffed.

"There is no goof time for my computers to go berserker." She grumbled, clearly not happy with the little predicament she was in. Her protege quickly hid a smile as he cut a bit of naked wire before wrapping it up with tape and connecting it with the right slot. Closing the lid she patted the top before dusting her hands.

"Give it a try." She said, glancing up at her friend. Penelope wasted no time in doing just that and immediately very nearly squealed with delight when her computers started to work again.

"Evelyn. You are a life saver!" She crowed, settling into her chair, or rather throne as Evelyn called it and started to reboot her entire system. The red head smiled as she placed her pliers in her messenger bag.

"No problem. I'm just gonna go see if the others are back yet." She called over her shoulder as she exited the office, but Penelope didn't even glance up from her computers making Evelyn shake her head lightly before making her way over to her main desk in the bullpen.

Not long after Spencer had exited their office with the much needed and critical information Penelope's computers had glitched and crashed. And since no virus could get into her system it had to be a wire. And that was where Evelyn came in. While the red head worked on her computers Penelope had turned to Evelyn's computer to work the case. The Team meanwhile had finally been able to crack the case and had identified the UnSub. As she placed her bag on her desk Evelyn looked up to see JJ sitting not very far away. Grabbing two cups of coffee from the coffee machine she stood next to her friends desk, taking a sip as she did and holding out the second glass of the beverage to her friend who took it with a grateful smile.

"When do you think they will get back?" She asked. JJ shrugged and pointed in Spencer's direction.

"Ask genius over there." The words were barely out of her mouth when Reid, not even looking up from his book answered.

"They will be here within twenty minutes or so. They have been gone for quite awhile." He closed his book with a snap, as he stood up as well and walked the few paces to stand next to Evelyn who was frowning worriedly as she took another sip of her coffee.

"I just hope he didn't harm the new family." She muttered her eyes trained towards the elevator of the bullpen. JJ sighed lightly as she stood up to stand next to the red head as well, her arms crossed over her chest. She had only just opened her mouth to speak when the elevator doors opened and Morgan marched out leading a man by the collar his hands cuffed behind him. Evelyn's blue eyes, narrowed behind her glasses as she glared at the man, being led to the interrogation room.

She wasn't the only one.

The whole of the bullpen had silenced as the man walked down the length of the office, every single agent glaring at the monster being led to what he deserved. The monster, however seemed to be ill at ease.

"Hello." He called to a female agent as he walked by, earning him a shove from Morgan.

"Let's go." Morgan all but growled out, steering him towards the interrogation room. They passed by the three of them and the man nodded in their direction his eyes darting from Evelyn to JJ.

"Hey. How are you?" He inquired. Whether the comment was directed at her or JJ, Evelyn couldn't tell. She was boiling with anger on the inside and Spencer subtly and almost unconsciously stepped in front of Evelyn, blocking her from the man's view while Morgan shoved him much more harder this time.

"Keep it moving." He ordered, while blue, eyes widened behind their large glass frames as they caught sight of the freshly wrapped bandage on his arm.

                                             ————————–

Her heart was heavy as she placed nearly eight files on the conference table around which the members of the BAU Team sat. Each file was a murder case that was left unsolved and labeled as a suicide case. Each case had a family of five murdered. Hotch had been able to recover the trophies Karl Arnolds had taken whenever he murdered a family.

The father's wedding bands.

Evelyn felt her own father's wedding band grow heavier as it rested against her chest, beneath her shirt, as she stood between Gideon and Hotch as the former stared into the box before he tilted the small compartment revealing the eight families Karl Arnolds had killed just because he had lost his.

                                          ————————-

Tag List - @lovelyygirl8

[1rsoldiersince2012]

Bound by Law (Matt Murdock x reader)

Words: 4381 (chapter 1)

Summary:

You and Matt met in the courtroom. Now, you may think that Matt was a knight in shining armour and defended you in the name of all United States laws, but that was not the case.

Matt was totally destroying your client, and you wanted to tear him into pieces right then and right there, because with Murdock as your rival, your head is on the firm's plate with each case. Did Matt care? No, he only cared about bringing justice, he was a human-machine, driven by the need to bring righteousness no matter the cost. Or was he just that?

Find my other accounts on ao3 and wattpad under the same name <3  

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1rSoldierSince2012

wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/user/1rsoldierSince2012

1. CLASH IN THE COURT

"Your Honor, objection." You shoot up from your seat, the heavy wooden chair painfully creaks against the floorboards of the courtroom. "Relevance. That has nothing to do with my client," you finish the sentence, holding your breath until the judge slowly nods once. 

Matthew Murdock, your rival of today and the two previous cases, blows an audible raspberry, which you would consider to be very unprofessional in the current situation.

"The judge just nodded. Ask about his relationship with his family better." You hear Foggy Nelson, Murdock's friend and courtroom partner, whispering to a quite pissed-off looking Murdock. You sit down and shuffle through papers for anything that might save your client's ass. And yours too. 

"May I continue my questioning, your Honor?" Murdock asks, fixing his red-tinted glasses. You eye him a little before rolling your eyes. All things that you managed to pull out about the case and your client point towards his innocence, you just can't lose this case. Murdock has beat you twice before, your pride won't simply allow the third time to happen.

"Yes, continue." The judge answers, looking quite bored about this whole thing. If it were not for the jury, you're sure he would've already made a decision. 

"Thank you, your Honor." Murdock stands up again, head tilted to your side a little. Weird, but what do you even know about blind people? Maybe that was his way of focusing on his environment or something.

"C'mon, focus," you mutter to yourself, and impatiently tap your pen on the papers, feeling how your heart beats in your chest.

"Mr Donovan, what was your relationship with your father after your parents divorced?" Murdock asks, walking away from his table, hand grasping his white cane so strong that his knuckles turn white as well. Although in a short moment you manage to see that his knuckles are clearly badly bruised. Blind lawyer got into a fist fight? Interesting. Maybe even more interesting than your own case.

"I saw him only a couple of times since then," your client began but didn't get a chance to finish as Matt interrupted -

"Interestingly enough, they divorced when you were in your 30s already, am I right? The average age of people who decide to get divorced is approximately 30, but your parents were already in their 50s. What actions might have influenced their decision?" 

"Objection hearsay, your Honor!" You shoot up from your chair again, looking at the three men in front of you with a somewhat wild expression. "That has nothing to do with the previously asked question."

"Overruled. Continue Mr Murdock."

You plop down on the chair again, tapping your pen even more aggressively than before. That bastard Murdock is just stalling. He didn't need to state this information about the age of people who divorce, and you were damn sure he just thought of the numbers. Besides, what does the fact that Donovan's parents got divorced when they were fifty-two has anything to do with what he's being accused of? You could feel how another hair on your head turned from brown to gray. It was probably a good idea to start dyeing your hair.

"Thank you, your Honor. Mr Donovan?" Murdock asks again, hinting at the fact that he is not going to repeat his question again. He moves a step closer toward stand where Donovan was sitting, desperately trying to make eye contact with his wife, who was sitting right behind you.

"I never really wanted to know the real reason behind their split, but I guess it was always clear to me that a day like this would come." Donovan answers, eyes following your opponent who was slowly pacing around the little space, sometimes coming closer to you, sometimes closer to him.

In the corner of your eye, you notice Foggy Nelson lean back in his chair and making himself comfortable. Are these two men really that confident in winning the case?

"Why? Or should I ask how? How was it visible that your parents were going to get divorced?" Matt asks, stopping for a mere second before continuing his little walk.

"Well, since I was a kid, I never saw them doing any parent activities together like other parents did. When the circumstances forced them to act like happy spouses, they did it. But I saw - there was no love between them, and it was just a matter of time until the papers were signed." Donovan answers and you clap to him. Internally, obviously.

"And it was no surprise to you when they, people at this solid age of fifty-two, announced their divorce?"

"No. " Donovan answers, not giving an explanation. Smart move. If Murdock wants an explanation, he'll have to ask for it. 

"Mr Donovan, your lawyer has stated that you were visiting the nursing home quite often in the past three months. I have information that after your parents divorced those ten years ago, you continued to be in contact with both of them for a while, until the contact with your father suddenly stopped only months before he was put in the nursing home. Your mother, however, you were visiting regularly. Is that all right?" Matt spills so quickly that your client has to take a moment to fully understand what he just said.

"Uh... Yes." Donovan answers, slightly doubting.

"Isn't that a little weird that after not seeing or speaking to your father for years, you suddenly remembered his existence three months ago, right before he died?"

"Uh..." Donovan was still thinking of an answer, when you stood up again. 

"Objection, your Honor. This is an accusation." You let out a desperate breath, unprofessionally leaning on your table.

"Overruled. Continue." Judge says with the calmest expression, the one that you would be more than glad to use right now. You sit down again. That is already a humiliation. Glancing at your opponent's table, you see a woman wiping her eyes with a little handkerchief. Most likely pretending to cry. If you had a case like this for the huge sum of money, you'd be fake-crying too. Nelson turns to look at you as well, shooting a polite smile. You do the same. Although this is a war zone, you were always polite, especially with Mr Nelson. Murdock, on the other hand, decided to choose you as his next target.

"Miss y/l/n, might I ask whether you knew anything about Mr Donovan's illegitimate child, Miss Darcy Donovan, who now might be considered as your client's step-sister?" Matt steps closer to your table, not looking at you, or the judge, but straight to the right side wall of the room.

"No, Mr Murdock, I didn't know anything about your client, who claims to be Mr Donovan's relative. As I was studying the family tree of my client, Miss Darcy has never appeared there." You answer, calmly, raising one eyebrow at the man in front of you. A shy grin appears on his lips for a moment before he puts on a serious expression again.

"So you're claiming, that your client had no idea that he had a sister somewhere out there, and that her existence was not a reason for the divorce of Mr Donovan's parents?" He asks, stilling for a moment, head tilted towards the judge.

"Yes, that is precisely what I am claiming, Mr Murdock. My client never knew the reason of his parent's divorce, let alone the existence of Miss Darcy."

"Miss, y/l/n, I'm sure there were records in hospitals and other resources that your firm uses, that Miss Darcy did exist, and in fact, shares the last name with your client." Murdock grins momentarily again, already pissing you off.

"Mr Murdock, in case you don't know, many people are sharing the same last names and in fact, are not even a bit related." You say, tightly grasping the pen in your hand, fake smile planted on your face. He's obviously playing around, repeating statements, trying to make you stumble. It worked once before.

"Objection, relevance, your Honor." Nelson stands up, looking a bit lost. You look at him surprised, usually partners were not the ones who dared to object their own case.

"Mr Murdock, get to the point." Judge answers, Nelson nods a couple of times and sits down. You steal a look at Donovan, who's intently watching Darcy. The latter pretends to flip through the pages of the case.

"Yes, your Honor. Miss y/l/n, I know that you spoke with your client's mother, did she say what was the reason of her divorce?" Matt asks, standing right in front of you, conveniently blocking your view of the judge. 

"No, Mr Murdock, she never revealed what you're calling "the real reason" of her split. She said that it was a mutual agreement - or to put it simply, the divorce was friendly. My client never questioned his parent's decision, as he respected it."

He says nothing for a moment. A moment too long. You look at Nelson, but he just shrugs at his partner's behavior.

"Mr Murdock, any more questions?" Judge asks loud enough for Murdock to snap out of whatever trance he was in.

"No, your Honor." He nods to the judge, turning to you upon the departure to his table, "Thank you, Miss y/l/n," and shoots a smile. Weird. But he didn't seem like a normal guy anyway.

"Miss y/l/n, any questions to Miss Donovan?" Judge asks. You quickly stand up, grabbing the pen for moral support, you must not fail.

"Yes, your Honor."

"Miss Donovan, please take the stand." 

A moment of shuffling and loud nose sniffling goes by as your client sits down at your table, and Darcy takes his place on judge's left. She briefly gives an oath on the Bible and gets comfortable. 

"Miss Donovan, might I ask, why did your mother give you this last name? Hers was Jones, if I'm not mistaken." You begin, watching the brown-haired woman intently. Even from the looks, the two Donovan 'siblings' couldn't be more different. 

"My mother, God rest her soul, told me that she wanted a better life for me... The one I couldn't possibly get under Jones name. When I reached adulthood, she told me that one day I'm going to meet my father, who was a good man. Good, but troubled." She sniffs quite loud again, and in the corner of your eye you notice how Murdock furrows his eyebrows.

"So from what I've heard, your mother simply gave you the last name of one of her latest flings?" You say, not wasting any time with politeness.

"Objection, your Honor, hearsay," Murdock stands up, leaning on the table.

"Overruled, continue, Miss y/l/n." Judge says, and you try to hide your grin as best as your can.

"Let me paraphrase that for you." You begin, "did your mother know for sure who was your biological father?"

"Um, no. I don't think so."

"And in the past she has had various, uh let me call them, relationships, right? Couple of them at the same time even?" You ask as politely as possible, this is your chance to catch her in a lie.

Matt stands up, but Foggy quickly brings him back to his seat by the sleeve of his jacket.

"Probably. I think so, yes." Darcy answers, looking for help at her lawyers.

"And she wasn't sure who was the father when she began to feel pregnant with you? Or was she absolutely certain that it was the late Mr Donovan?" You fix your loose tie with one hand, Matt audibly takes a deep breath.

"I'm... Not sure..."

"Miss, let me remind you that you swore an oath to tell the truth, so I think that's exactly what we all want to hear right now." You say, focused on the woman. Clearly the pressure of your words and the surprising silence from her own lawyers was doing its job, as she began playing with the hem of her dress.

"My mother told me that of all men she met throughout her life, Danny was the best one. But he was unfortunately married..." Darcy begins and you see an opportunity to strike again.

"But that didn't seem to stop her?"

Darcy furrows her eyebrows and thinks over your words for a moment. "My mother was a nice woman, and she...She made mistakes! Just like everybody else!" Darcy's face morphs into a crying grimmace and honestly, it was  a pity to watch her desperately trying to win the money.

"Objection, your Honor..." Murdock stands up again, visibly affected by the burst of emotions here, you're so close, you can practically touch the today's victory.

"Objection denied, continue Miss y/l/n." Judge calmly says, not wanting the breaking point of the case to be dropped now.

"Miss Darcy, now please answer to following statement, just by simply saying either "yes" or "no", okay?" You ask, slowly walking in front of Nelson and Murdock's table, already planning your journey in front of Darcy. Intimacy always seemed to work with opponent's clients. "Was your mother involved in a multiple relationships at the same time that were heavily based on sexual intimacy?"

Heartbeat. Another, after another, after another. Matt tilts his head to the side. Everything tunes out for a moment - Darcy's heartbeat picked up, she's either nervous, or is creating a lie.

"Yes. I believe so..." She begins, but you're quick to carry on with your next sentence.

"And when she had you, she had no idea who was the real father, yes?"

"Yes... But-"

"So she simply gave you the name of the last man who was involved in a close encounter with her before she noticed that she was expecting? And that happened to be Mr Donovan's father, right?" You ask, tightly holding the pen in your hand.

"Well...Yes." Darcy sighs, slightly lowering her head. 

"So you, not even sure that Mr Donovan is.. I'm sorry, was your father, hired a private investigator to find your father? All these years later?" You say, glancing at the stressed men on your right.

"Yes. But as you can see-" Darcy hopelessly begins.

"And when you got all the information about Mr Donovan, you found out that he was just buried, and his son, Mr Donovan, here, inherited a large sum of money and some property outside the city?"

"Yes, but I-"

"And then you decided that you want that money, that Mr Donovan rightfully inherited at any cost? Following my client to work and back to his house, creeping in the shadows but never brave enough to actually talk face to face?" You ask, feeling as if you're going to burst into million pieces at any moment. The courtroom is silent for a good moment, not even a fly dares to buzz around. The tension is thick, you glace back at your client and on your way to turning back your head to Darcy, your eyes fall upon Murdock, who seems to be deep in thought, perhaps ready to object your question at any given moment. It's a wonder that he wasn't doing that yet. "Yes or no, Miss Darcy?" you repeat your question again, hoping to get an answer now.

"Yes." She says just above the whisper and if any decibel lower, you wouldn't have heard it. Matt heard it loud and clear.

"Why?" you ask, now relaxed, the case was obviously an easy win, but you still had to work on it.

"I guess I was just nervous to approach him..."

"Well, I think couple of weeks are more than enough to collect the strength to approach your step-brother, Miss Darcy."

She says nothing, just silently cries into her handkerchief. You take a look at your client, he has an apologetic look on his face, but it's clear - he's not giving up the money.

"Your Honor, might I intervene?" Murdock asks, slowly standing up, Nelson fails to stop him this time.

"Go on, Mr Murdock." Judge says with a rather bored expression. You stay standing in front of Murdock's table.

"My client, Miss y/l/n, was, and still is in shock after she learned of her father's death. I do agree that stalking Mr Donovan was not the best idea but I think she went with the heart and-"

"Went with the heart to demand half of the inheritance?" You ask, taking a step closer to Murdock.

"I-" he begins.

"If I'm not mistaken, there's only one and only name written in Mr Donovan's will - and it's my client's, so Miss Darcy legaly has no rights for it. I'm sure you know it, Mr Murdock."

"What you don't know is that Mr Donovan had another will left, and it says that if no other heir is to appear until his death, all the money go to his son. But Miss Darcy did appear-" Murdock argues, nervously fixing his tie.

"Right after his death. Mr Donovan has spent the last moments with his father and surely, if he saw this woman in the hospital, he would've recognized her when she began stalking him."

"What exactly was your client doing there those last moments? If I'm not mistaken, after his parents split, he was close only with his mother." Matt says, taking a deep breath again.

"Mr Donovan?" You simply ask, feeling how your mouth became too dry to talk.

"I-um... My mamma called to say that paps was in hospital, something serious and he wanted to see me. I came there, we talk, a pretty heart to heart conversation actually, but he never even mentioned that he cheated on my mamma, or that he had a child somewhere. He just said that he regretted the time that he didn't spend with me. So in the last weeks, we were both fixing that mistake, I guess." Donovan says, and you notice how he tears up a little.

"Thank you" you say and turn to the judge, "That will be all."

"Thank you, Miss y/l/n, Mr Murdock." Judge says, Matt takes a seat. "I think we all should take a break, and the jury will be ready to make their decision, right?" he looks at the jury expectantly, and majority of them nod energetically. "Good. Let's return in 30 minutes."

You make your way towards the bathroom, which happens to be unisex one. Just as you step in front of a mirror to fix your hair, the door opens rather loudly, and no one other than Matt Murdock appears.

You stand up, dropping the pen on your table. "Go grab a coffee, I'm positive that everything is going to be okay for us, yeah?"

Donovan nods, getting up as well.

"Sorry, is this the bathroom?" He asks, smiling briefly.

"I'm sure you wouldn't be stepping in so confidently if it wasn't." You answer, following Murdock's path, which unfortunately leads to the neighboring sink.

"Ah, Miss y/l/n, pleasure to meet you somewhere outside the courtroom." he taps around the sink to find the source of water.

"You know, I honestly thought that I was going to run into you near the coffee machine but I guess life's a bitch." You turn on the water and wet your hands, the slowly tap the loose hair strands and for a while, they stick.

"What, not happy to see me?"

"I'd be more happy to see you lose today. We both know you have no chance of winning."

"Ah, never lost your confidence, Miss y/l/n, even after I beat you twice?" he smirks, and you feel the sudden urge to punch him in the face.

"Not exactly my style, I'm sure you should know that after two times. How's the business going? I overheard in the office that clients are paying you with food packets and uh, fruit bowls?" You ask, leaning on the sink with one hand.

Matt laughs, "I might share one if I win today."

"Oh, no, I would never use your kindness for selvish purposes, although I would gladly eat a donut right now. Any chance you carry one in your pocket?" You laugh as well, Matt grins.

"I don't think my pockets are big enough for that, but if I ever place one there, I'll be sure to give it to you, y/n." Matt dries his hands, leaning on the sink too.

"Oh, first name basis? Didn't think we were that far, Mr Murdock." You grin, shamelessly checking him out, it didn't hurt to know your opponent better, in and out.

"Never thought we were anything less." He smirks, offering you his elbow, clearly a sign for you to lead him out.

"So, you're so desperate for a case that you took this one? Is this how your business is going?" You ask nonchalantly, Matt furrows his eyebrows.

"Our business is going perfectly, thank you asking, y/l/N. How's -"

"You'd get much more if you worked at Hogarth, Chao and Benowitz." You simply say. "Good lawyers like you and Mr Nelson should not go to waste with cases like this.

"Is this a job offer or a piece of advice?" Murdock turns to the side, looking in your direction.

"Little bit of both, perhaps. Well," you tap his arm once, "we've reached the coffee machine. My treat? I believe you need to save money, considering today's loss."

"Miss y/l/n, aren't you too confident today? It's up to jury to decide, or have you already charmed one of them?" he leans on his cane, you put the money in machine and push the coffee button, discreetly taking a look at his knuckles, that are definitely bruised.

"The only charmer in the courtroom is you, Mr Murdock, I believe chances that you have already charmed that lady on the left are way higher." You smile, watching how the cup is filling up with hot drink.

"You think of me as a charmer?" Matt smirks.

"I think of you as a worthy opponent. Nothing more." You take the cup and hand it to Matt.

He takes the cup and smells it. "I'm forever in your debt now, y/l/n."

"Yeah, you and your partner." You click the button again, buying coffee for Nelson.

"My partner? Wait, so you, are buying drinks for me and Foggy?" Matt's smile is as big as his courtroom ego today.

"Well, I'm not a monster, you know." You roll your eyes.

"Didn't think of you as one." He says mysteriously and you feel the blush creeping on your cheeks. Not everyday you receive a compliment, especially with that attitude of yours.

"Here, I hope it's no trouble to hold another cup, or is Mr Nelson somewhere out there?" You crane your neck and look around the crowd of people, but Matt shakes his head.

"He's not here, I'll hold it." You put the cup in his hand, which is surprisingly warm.

"Friendship sixth sense?" You ask, but he just laughs the sentence away. "Well," you finally say after a moment, watching the coffee pour into the cup, "I'm good. Where to, Mr Murdock?"

"A place that is crowded? I assume you don't want anyone to see us together, as you know, as opponents, we're supposed to despise each other." He whispers devilishly.

"I like your thinking. Surely it would raise suspicions to anyone who knows us, they would probably think of us as best friends." You fake shudder and cross your hand with Matt's, taking Foggy's cup from him. His palm, that is touching your bare arm feels incredibly warm and heavy, and at this moment, you're just glad that the walk to the bench is not a long one.

"Coffee's nice." Matt finally says after a minute.

"Coffee's shit. Plus, we don't really need to talk, I don't want to lose the mood." You take another sip of the drink and lean on the bench.

Matt crosses his legs and turns to you, "What mood?"

"The mood of beating you." You simply say, downing the drink and tapping your pocket impatiently. You really needed a smoke but that would create even more distractions.

"We shall see about that beating. Maybe you were wrong all along."

"Listen, there's no way for Darcy to win. The will clearly states that Donovan gets everything-"

"If Darcy doesn't show up before his death." Matt argues, putting the cup on the bench, ready to wave his hands.

"But she showed up the day after he died." You press.

"Yes, after her father mysteriously died, and I believe that your client has something to do with it."

"What are you saying? Are you accusing Donovan of his father's death?" You say a little too loud. Couple of nearest people turn to look at the two of you, and Matt puts his hand on your arm again, leaning closer to you.

"Will you just keep your voice down? What I'm saying is that Donovan didn't even visit his father in years but suddenly shows up couple of weeks before his death? Right around the time when Darcy hired a PI? I know he's your client but doesn't that raise any suspicions?" Matt says lowly, almost whispering, his coffee breath hits your face.

"Murdock, I don't even know how to call what you're doing right now." You blow a raspberry but he squeezes your wrist a little.

"I'm not here to play sides, or to do you dirty, although I would really love it the other day, but I'm here to bring justice, and this whole thing smells shady as hell." He says and you lean forward, elbows on your knees, deep in thought.

"So if Donovan really had something to do with his father's death, although it's not possible. He died of a heart attack. Then what you're saying is that he did it on purpose when he found out of Darcy's existence?" You ask, raking your brain for any missing points, needing a smoke now more than ever.

"Yes, listen, I know it sounds crazy but it could be possible." Matt leans closer to you again.

"How would we know it? How did Donovan find out about Darcy if his mother didn't even know about the affair? And he claims to have never seen the will before his father's death. Also, that second will you brought up, doesn't make any sense. I've asked for the documents in the archive and never received it." You glance at the clock and stand up. "Whatever. It's up to jury now. They're gonna say their decision soon."

Matt stays silent, visibly lost in thought.

"You need help or can you manage through the crowd alone, Murdock?" You ask and he stands up, taking Foggy's cup and placing his palm on your elbow.

"Help would be nice, Miss y/l/n."