#finding her content has just been so joy inducing for me!! but also shes my little guy and im squeezing her like a sponge

[sillyfairygarden]

i just love pearlescentmoon so fucking much she just makes me so happy!!!! her silly little videos are just this pocket of joy for me!!!!!!

[anonofseasons]

Maybe it's due to not having spoons (fibro and the heat are getting to me bad), but my mood is up and down, and my feelings about Seasons are going up and down with it?

I'm like, "Oh this part is cute and I'm excited to share it!" and "Cal, shut up, please, you're being annoying. Keep it to yourself!" No one has said I'm being annoying. I just get super self-conscious now, bc... history of being told I'm annoying. Also, it's rather recent that I'd tell my now-ex that I was excited about something - that I'd finished a first draft or gotten a map drawn - and she'd respond with stuff like, "Did you see the witch Bath and Body Works diffuser?" (I had to beg her to congratulate me. I would do so for her when she had accomplishments, but mine? Meaningless.) Back to Seasons, though. I've been anxious that it's too long. I'm not out to set some arbitrary word count limit here. I mean "Was this really necessary, or did you just get too self-indulgent, and now you have too many loose ends to tie up?" (This is exacerbated by my writing out of order and fearing I'll forget something by the end.) That's just my brain, there. Worried that I was excessive and have made a mess, rather than a coherent story. I'm also worried that I sound so egotistical now that I'm finding joy in talking about my writing/characters. (This ties in with the first issue, that I should "shut up" haha...) I had such a weird process for years. I enjoyed the process of creation, but I... thought I was shitting out garbage. Characters, writing style, story, everything. Someone once told me years ago that I wrote nothing but man babies, and someone else later said the same thing. Second person also said my writing style induced their synesthesia so they couldn't stand to read my stuff. There have been other things, those are just some examples. It's so painful. I don't feel like I can become a better author if I don't have helpful criticism, but I've certainly had the destructive stuff launched at me. I'm still working on myself. I was only 13 months ago I got self-conscious and decided to stop sharing any of my writing publicly, so I locked up everything on AO3 in a private collection, I deleted or hid everything on google docs and other sites. And I struggled to finish Rascal (which I posted the final chapter just a few weeks before that and then ended up locking it up, haha), and now I'm struggling a bit with Seasons. I don't always struggle with ending stories, but... sometimes I do, and it definitely sinks my mood. I'm lucky in that some people have found my writing and been supportive. I'd be fucked if I didn't have @yume-x-hanabi being so supportive and nonjudgmental. She's a good writing buddy. And I have another friend who also just checks out my writing despite meeting her through fandom as well, even picked up Seasons despite the heavy content. ;A; That's a blessing. But sometimes I'm still working on saying, "No, I do love myself and these things. It doesn't matter what other people have said. They're a few people. They were mean. They don't define you or your work." Still, it sneaks up on me and leaves me scared that I have more work ahead. That I need to get better and better now, because if I want a career out of this, I'm going to have to bust my ass. And it's funny... I do enjoy the process of writing, I love building characters and writing stories and creating lore. I just wish after it was all done, I wasn't fearful that I just hot-glued a bunch of steaming shit together, and I refuse to see it...? XD; (Sorry that's a disgusting mental image, but... it wouldn't hold together, is my point.) Anyway, sorry if you read this for rambling so much. It's kind of negative. I gotta cheer up. ;A;

[yannowhatigiveup]

My One And Only - Chapter 18

Previous | Next | Master List

Hey! Welcome back to another chapter of MOaO! I won’t be able to update this as much as I want to (I’m not really updating it as fast as I won’t to right now but I’m trying) as exams are coming up as well as other various things. (I just realized that I haven’t said this earlier I’m so sorry, Ramadan Kareem to those who celebrate it!) Also, thank you so much for 128 followers!

"...I believe I found a way to subdue Hawkmoth"

————————————————————

Her eyes repeatedly scanned the page, making sure she was reading it correctly.

"It won't defeat Hawkmoth" Damian carefully pointed out, not wanting to diminish her excitement. "But it'll be able to stop him for some time, a month or two at most"

"Do you know what this means?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. "We'll be able to have some peace of mind! We'll be able to prepare ourselves! The whole of Paris! Who know, maybe we'll be able to get some clues on his identity as well as Mayura's as well!"

By the end, Marinette was spinning around the room, her slight giggles of happiness appeared here and there. Damian chuckled at her delight, seeing her happy was probably one of his most favourite sites in the world, that and seeing her flustered.

"I understand that you're excited but what do these cryptic messages mean, 'a tear of joy'? Did I translate that correctly"

She giggled at his confusion. "No that's one of the ingredients for the power up. Speaking of ingredients, I need to get some" Her bluebell eyes quickly scanned over the tablet again before she speed walked out of the hotel with Damian on her arm. "We're going to Master Fu's old place, he still has some ingredients we could use"

The two walked in silence, there was a topic that they needed to discuss, the end of the week was approaching fast.

"Maybe in the small time of peace, I can get Father and my brothers to help"

The bluenette chuckled slightly but not out of amusement. "I almost forgot, you'll be leaving in a few days" her gaze fell to the ground before she looked up at her boyfriend, solemnly. "It's gonna be a lot different, huh?"

He squeezed her hand gently with a comforting smile on his face. "It will be but I'm sure we'll handle it"

The couple grabbed the necessary ingredients and made their way back to the hotel. They dropped them off at the hotel room before making their way upper to the restaurant to get some food. Their dinner was quickly interrupted by a rockstar coming to congratulate his niece.

"Nettie! You're rock'n'roll! Your song is a huge hit!" Jagged exclaimed once he reached the table, he only seemed to register there was another person there once he sat down. His moderate cyan eyes widened in recognition when his gaze landed on the green-eyed boy. "You must be Damian, you look just like you're old man Brucie"

Damian shook his hand when the rockstar had offered it. "I am, Mr Stone"

"Uncle Jagged-"

"You break my niece's heart, I'll send Fang to eat you"

"Uncle Jagged!-"

"And I will gladly let you"

"I approve of your relationship, I just wanted to give the shovel talk since it sounded fun"

Marinette gaped at the two males on her table. "Dami, don't encourage him! I've already got Gami waiting to spar with you"

"Ah yes, my son's girlfriend is just as scary as Penny" Jagged visibly shuddered in good nature.

"Wait, Luka and Gami got together? Without telling me?!" The bluenette huffed, offended. "And to think I'm his honorary cousin"

Jagged chortled at her reaction while Damian had a faint smile playing on his lips. The rockstar decided to take his leave shortly after that, not wanting to draw some unwanted attention. He did manage to leave a pair of blushing teens as he told them to "Use protection!" before departing. Marinette was utterly embarrassed while Damian was flustered. Once dinner was finished, the couple went back to Damian's hotel room to discuss what they were going to do next.

Doing his best to help, Damian passed the ingredients to his girlfriend who then mixed up said ingredients in a pot.

"Can you get the Tear of Joy, Dami?"

The green-eyed boy looked through the ingredients until he found the slim bottle with a minuscule amount of clear liquid. He eyed the water as it squished in the bottle, it seemed so ordinary despite the great magic it could create. Damian could almost see the water taunting him with its mystic properties, he could just about feel it as he brought the bottle closer to the cauldron.

"This is it, correct?" The ravenette showed the blue-eyed girl the bottle in his hand

Her eyes lit up when presented with the vial. "Yes, that's it" As she removed the cork that was sealing the bottle shut, Damian asked a question that was lingering in the back of his mind.

"What exactly is the tear of joy?"

Marinette turned to smile at him. "It's a tear of joy"

"So a tear caused by laughter?"

"Precisely" She looked up at the ceiling wistfully. "I remember, when Syren attacked, Master Fu was trying to decode what a 'tear of joy' was. It took some time but we managed to figure it out in the end" She sighed. "It's great that we managed to find out about 'power-ups' but if we found out about them sooner, maybe more people would've been saved."

He put his hands comfortably on her shoulders. "What did Syren do exactly?"

She stopped dead in her tracks. That wasn't the reaction that Damian was expecting, whatever had happened with this Akuma must have been bad to induce this response.

The bluenette sighed and looked at the green-eyed boy straight into his emerald eyes. "Syren was one of the most dangerous Akumas we've ever had to deal with. She flooded all of Paris with her tears, only a few hundred people managed to reach the rooftops in time"

A breath quickly sucked in through his lips, the scene itself sounded horrible, imagining it even more so, having to actually see it must have been... traumatic.

"But Ondine is doing much better with Kim. And it's all in the past, we've learnt how to deal with the memories!" Her smile hurt to look at. His girlfriend had to deal with so much and she couldn't even express her negativity without fear of becoming an akuma. Damian placed a kiss on her head as she finally got the lid off of the bottle.

Both teens watched in anticipation as the droplet rolled down to the bottle's lip, teetering over the edge. It fell in. The concoction then shimmered a silvery blue. Grabbing a bottle, Marinette poured some of the liquid inside it, looked at the bottle and hummed in satisfaction. She quickly put all the equipment used back in a box and cleaned up any mess made. Once she was finished, she turned to the boy standing over her.

"I'll bring these back to Master Fu's old apartment then I'll drop this bottle off at my house, you can tell Tikki and Plagg that they can come out now"

The contents of the box shifted to one side, Damian helped steady both the bluenette and the box before going to the kwamis. Once the kwamis where comfortably with their owners, Tikki in Marinette's purse and Plagg in Damian's hoodie pocket, they made their way to the apartment. It still technically belonged to Master Fu, he rest hadn't rented it out so they were free to roam around. After putting the equipment away, the couple strolled to Marinette's house hand in hand. The bluenette went up to her balcony, with Damian close behind, and hid the bottle under her pink-striped deck chair, away from the sunlight.

"It needs to 'mature' in the moonlight, I guess. So when the moon is out, I'll take the bottle out" Marinette gestured for Damian to follow her as she went back down to the bakery portion of her house. "I'll give you some Camembert with the power ups infused. But I'll have to make it first!"

She hummed as she went upside to retrieve other substances that Master Fu had taught her to create. In the moment she was gone, Plagg appeared.

"I hate transforming!" The black kwami whined, settling in the boy's hair.

"What's so bad about it?" Damian raised an eyebrow at Plagg's outburst.

"It ruins the beautiful taste of Camembert, and it tastes weird"

"Quit your whining Plagg" Tikki's squeaky, but still relatively scary, voice rang out as both she and her owner returned.

"But Sugarcube-"

"No 'but's Stinky Sock!"

Damian watched with quiet amusement while Marinette giggled, handing him a wheel of Camembert.

"The cheese is cut up in different slices, each representing a different power up. I'll explain which is which on the way back to the hotel"

Damian put the wheel in his pocket before taking the bluenette's hand. "I look forward to it"

~~~

Each power up was simple enough, they all had a different colour corresponding with it's ability, making it easier to memorize. The couple walked by a dark alley as Damian check the time. Passing his phone to the bluenette next to him, Marinette took one glance at the time before dragging the two of them into said dark alley. It was time for patrol. Once both were done transforming, Noir and Ladybug made their to the assigned rooftop. When landing, Noir took his staff and looked through the help guide to get a better idea of what weapon he was working with. Spinning the staff with his hands, he separated the staff into two separate batons. He hummed in contentment.

"Grayson never gave me his escrima sticks for missions. I suppose this is good training if I ever want to use them"

The two rods snapped back together with a satisfying snap. Continuing to look through the articles on his now full staff, Noir didn't even notice when Ladybug moved to stand behind him. In one swift motion, the spotted heroine pulled down the black hood that was shielding the black cat-themed hero's face.

"La-"

Her covered fingers stroked his black cat ears, she giggled as his cheeks flushed. The feeling itself was unusual to the green-eyed hero, he had never felt anything remotely similar before but he wouldn't say he didn't enjoy it. It was just... unexpected. The spotted heroine, however, quite liked making the stoic Noir flustered. His ears felt so much like a real cat's that Ladybug was nearly taken aback, she got used to it after her shock, though. Noir found himself leaning into her touch but looking at everything but her in embarrassment.

Had his ears not been occupied he probably would've heard the two other heroes arriving, he only knew they were here as he saw them in his peripheral vision, rolling his eyes as he noticed them snickering.

'Angel, Rena and Chien are here'

Ladybug's head snapped in the direction of the two other heroes, one of her hands left his head as she she greeted the fox and the dog.

"Hello Rena Rouge, Chien" Ladybug greeted them casually, something Noir knew he couldn't do at that moment.

"Hello to you too LB! Hey Noir, did the bug find a way to tame you?

He mumbled a reply.

Ladybug giggled before turning to properly address the other heroes. "I've been thinking of adding three more members. I know it's a lot since you, Rena, have only just been announced as a permanent user and you, Chien, have basically just joined. But Noir and I found something that will require their help. I have a hunch that Hawkmoth might try something like Guerrier but with the same level as Syren"

The fox-themed hero nodded. "You need all the help you can get. So who do you have in mind?"

"A Snake, a Bee and a Dragon" The spotted heroine answered with no hesitation. "We'll need a snake as it is... intuitive"

Upon registering the description, Chien chuckled. "Isn't that the point?"

"Perhaps" Ladybug hummed with a smile on her face. "A dragon can control elements, a strong power would be useful. The bee miraculous's power is immobilization-"

"Paralysis can be very beneficial when trying to stop an akuma" Noir provided his input.

"Yes. So what do you think?" The spotted heroine looked between the three heroes standing on the rooftop with her. Noir hummed approval while Chien gave her a thumbs up.

"You always have the best ideas, Bug!" Rena voiced out her agreement, Ladybug let out a sigh of relief she didn't know she was holding.

"Then I'll go get them now shall I? We gotta teach them as fast as we can" The blue-eyed heroine took the yo-yo from her hip, spinning it with a flick of her wrist. "I'll send them here and then you show them the ropes"

"Aye aye Captain!" Chien saluted and Rena followed suit, only after a quick laugh. Noir rolled his eyes in good nature while pulling his hood back up, flicking his cat ears before doing so.

Hurling her yo-yo at a nearby building, Ladybug hissed through the air, her yo-yo latching onto another building as she neared the previous. Soon enough, she landed gracefully in a quiet area where two familiar figures were strolling hand in hand.

"Ladybug?" A boy with dyed hair questioned, a bluenette with short hair and almond eyes next to him.

She nodded before pulling out two miraculous from her yo-yo with, presumably, unlimited storage. "Luka Couffaine, Kagami Tsurugi, these are the miraculous of the Snake and the miraculous of the Dragon. They grant you the powers of Intuition and Perfection. You will use these miraculouses for the greater good, can I trust you?"

Luka and Kagami shared a knowing look then turned to the heroine in front of them.

"You can count on use Ladybug"

"We're honored to be chosen to fight by your side, my Ladybug"

She gave them the miraculous and watched as they both transformed into Viperion and Ryuko. "The others are waiting at this location." She showed them a map on her yo-yo. "I'll meet you there once I finish with a task a have to do." She hissed through the air once more, thanks to her yo-yo, and landed on a rooftop that was very familiar now. There stood a blonde, leaning on the banister.

"Ladybug?" Chloe's confused voice rang out.

"Hello Chloe Bourgeois" Ladybug took something from her yo-yo. "This is the Bee miraculous, it grants the power to immobilise your opponents. Should you choose to help us-"

"I can't"

"Pardon?"

"I said I can't" The blonde looked solemnly at the heroine. "I've been an utterly horrible person, I don't deserve to be a hero. Especially after... Queen Bee"

"People can change Chloe" Ladybug put a hand on the blonde's shoulder. "As long as they are given the chance to. Do you want to take this chancep?"

Chloe stared at the miraculous before looking at the heroine with a determined expression.

"I won't let you down, Ladybug"

~~~

Ladybug soon returned with a bee-themed heroine, named Honey Bee, by her side. After a brief reintroduction, the patrol began. Rena Rouge took the west side with Honey Bee and Viperion, Chien and Ladybug took the East while Ryuko and Noir took the North, they had already checked the South. Most of the patrol was done in silence, other than the odd 'nothing wrong here'. Ryuko had been the one to start a conversation

"You're the new wielder of black cat miraculous, correct?" The dragon user questioned Noir. He recognised it as the beginning of an interrogation.

"It certainly seems that way" Ryuko hummed.

"You fancy Ladybug, don't you" The question obviously took him aback. "Do you consider yourself... worthy?

The cat-themed hero didn't hesitate. "No"

He saw her raise her eyebrows.

"Ladybug is too virtuous for this world, there's not a soul in this entire universe worthy of her affection"

The dragon hummed in satisfaction. "You remind me of the boyfriend of one of my friends. Though I have yet to be convinced that he should date said friend, you have proved yourself worthy of Ladybug. I approve of your relationship even though it isn't my place to make such a decision"

"I am pleased" Despite the fact that he is a leader in this team, he's content with the fact he has the great dragon user's approval as she is the most intimidating of the team, other than Ladybug herself.

"Also don't mess this up, Ladybug is a Queen " Ryuko casually pointed out.

"Glad I am not the only one that thinks so"

"How can you not? Have you seen her?!"

"She's a goddess"

"You have my approval again"

~~~

Noir and Ryuko were first to arrive as they had finished their patrol early, the rest of the team weren't too far behind, however.

"Alright" Ladybug began once everyone returned. "Honey Bee, Viperion, Ryuko, it'll be best if you memorize all of Paris. That way, when there's trouble, you'll know your way around."

"I found that an aerial view is the fastest way to know the city like the back of your hand!" Rena Rouge pointed out.

"That's also the way I did it!" Chien chimed in,

"Yep! If you don't mind, there's something I'd like to discuss with both Rena Rouge and Chien. Noir, will you join us?" The spotted heroine turned to the heroes named.

"I ought to" He replied flatly.

"Alright then, follow me!" Ladybug hissed through the air followed by Noir with his staff and Rena and Chien with their enhanced abilities. Soon they landed in an alley. "I know you already know this, Rena, but I think it's fair if Chien knows too"

"Fair that I know what?" His gaze moved between the two heroines before landing on the black cat hero, silently begging for answers, to which Noir returned with an unconvincing shrug.

"That you know this. Tikki, spots off!" A blinding red light filled the narrow corner they were in, Rena shut one of her eyes while Chien shut both, Noir was shielded from the light thanks to his hoodie. Then, a certain Marinette Dupain-Cheng stood where the spotted heroine once was.

"Wh- Bu- How-" Chien spluttered as his brain combusted with all the information that was flowing through it at once. Marinette giggled at his confusion, Rena full on laughed, clutching her stomach while Noir merely smirked. "But, but I saw you standing next to Ladybug! Wait no, yourself? My brain is melting! Wait, you two knew?!" The dog-themed hero screeched.

"She's my best friend" Rena shrugged with an innocent expression, her transformation dropped. Chien stared in shock.

"She's my girlfriend" Noir mimicked Rena Rounge's shrug while letting his transformation fall too, leaving Chien the only one transformed.

"Okay THAT makes sense, you're both deathly attr- Wait, did you say best fRIEND?!" Chien shrieked and detransformed.

"ADRIEN?!" Alya exclaimed, Marinette and Damian watched in amusement.

"As entertaining as this is-" The green-eyed boy cut in before the pair would attract unwanted attention. "-Marinette needs to explain the reason why she revealed her identity to you"

The bluenette nodded. "You see early today, at school, I had this 'miraculous burn' I guess you could say from Guerrier's attack. Thanks to Alya I'm feeling better but that resulted in getting my identity revealed. So to avoid anymore incidents like that, I also told you Adrien. I can't tell the rest of the team yet as I don't want them to go all protective over me, you'll three will have enough overprotectiveness"

"Not wrong there, girl" Alya said without shame.

"I know I have to tell them my true identity at some point but right now it's better just to have you three know."

"We understand" Alya and Adrien said in unison.

"Great, now let's go back to the others so we can tell them patrol is over"

~~~

It was sunset, the orange cotton clouds contrasted beautifully with the darkening blue sky. A cool wind blew through the air, cold enough to make one shiver but not enough to catch a cold. Walking hand in hand, a couple made their way to Le Grand Paris. The bluenette looked up to the noirette next to her, leaning onto his arm covered by the Robin-themed hoodie and smiling while doing so, she closed her eyes to savor the moment.

"Angel?" Damian brushed the stray hairs on her face as she pulled away to look at him properly.

"You know, I'm really going to miss this" Marinette raised their conjoined hands as they approached the hotel doors.

He hummed and in response, put his arm around her waist to pull her closer while going through the elevator doors. "I am too"

They soon reached the hotel room, the kwamis roaming around for food once they got inside. Food in hand, Tikki and Plagg sat of the coffee table, leaning on one another as Damian turned on the screen to watch a movie. Once he was comfortably seated, Marinette joined him, snuggling into his side. He brushed his fingers through her silky midnight hair. He was going to miss this, deeply. What would life be like going back, without the beautiful bluenette physically next to him?

'I do not want to find out'

———

Provisional Cessation, It was created for the purpose of temporarily stopping a miraculous from being used if any harm were to come to the user. It would also deem it unusable for a certain period of time if the miraculous were ever come into the wrong hands. The reason Master Fu didn't tell Marinette this information was because the last time a user tried this power up, they were put into a magical induced coma, it was too risky.

———

Taglist:@little-bluestar,@miracleofadisaster,@frieddonutsweets,@jjmjjktth,@genderfluidmoma,@starlit-dreaming,@icerosecrystal,@lolieg,@kashlyn,@mochegato,@eggadoodle,@walkingthroughonautopilot,@toodaloo-kangaroo,@lady-bee-fechin,@weebjai1

[writingsbymo-mo]

Stocking Stuffer

🎄🎅🎄🎅🎄🎅🎄🎅🎄🎅🎄🎅🎄🎅🎄🎅🎄🎅🎄🎅🎄🎅🎄🎅

❆ Day 10 of our 12 Days of XXXmas Collab 

❆ Summary: Tomura has a special gift for you and you’re so excited to find out what it is. You think it’s some delicious jello just for you to enjoy but it’s not in the way you think. Tomura wants to feed your coochie right.

❆WC: 1.4k

❆Contains: gelatin eggs, some egg laying, teasing

❆TW: being stuffed with eggs

Anon wanted some gelatin eggs shoved inside by Shiggy and it’s finally here!

🎄🎅🎄🎅🎄🎅🎄🎅🎄🎅🎄🎅🎄🎅🎄🎅🎄🎅🎄🎅🎄🎅🎄🎅

On this cold December night, you awaited for your special gift from your one and only Tomura. To your surprise, he actually promised to give you something this year. You weren’t sure what to expect from the King of Villains himself. Maybe it was the one thing you always wanted? No matter, you were brimming with joy for his gift. Under the warm covers, you sat patiently for him to enter the room.

Thump thump thump

The sound of footsteps rushed through your ears. Heat rose in your cheeks as you shuffled to sit up with an excited smile.

“Close your eyes now player two if you want your surprise,” Tomura purred. With a sigh, you closed them. “Ok, they’re closed.”

The door creaked as your spine tingled, hearing the crescendo in his footsteps.You could feel his wide smile focused on you even from across the room.

“Good girl. Keep them closed just like that.”

Suddenly, the room became warmer...until a rush of cold swept over you. “H-hey! I was cold…,” you grumbled. The blanket covering you was now gone. His steps stopped as a few things were dropped on the bed followed by the mattress bowing in front of you, causing your body to lightly bounce. “You won’t be needing the blanket when I’m done with you.”

Your spine tingled once more. Warmth pooled in your abdomen as your pussy twitched at the simple phrase.

The room was silent, except for the sounds of soft breathing and the low clicks from in front of you. ‘Is that noise coming from your surprise gift? Just what was it?’ you pondered for a few minutes. You figured Tomura as someone who would give an unconventional gift or something of the likes. He was taking longer to get ready than you thought. “U-um Tomura,” you made a brief pause and sighed, “can I open my eyes?” The anticipation only made you ever the more impatient.

“Not yet. Just have to take these off you first.” 

“Ah!” Something cold slipped under your waistband when a sudden rush of air hit your legs and pussy. It was his hand...and he had destroyed one of your favorite pairs of panties...again. “Tomura...why did you do that?” you pouted.

Tomura couldn’t help but giggle, “well since you were growing impatient, I thought I’d speed things up a bit. Now you can open your eyes.”

You slowly opened them and stared in shock and confusion at the contents in front of you. He actually made something for you.

There sat ten gelatin eggs of red and green in a jello mold fresh from the fridge. Each one was the same size as the eggs you purchased from the store. Directly next to the eggs was a bottle of lube. An odd placement of sorts. Well, it looks like it’s gonna be a long night of fucking with some jello to snack on.

“You made these?!" You looked up at him with sparkling eyes. He simply smiled and nodded. "Awww thank you Tomura!” you reached out to grab the gelatin when three fingers grasped your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. Your brows furrowed, confused once more.

“I didn’t make those for you to put in your mouth player two,” he snickered as he grabbed an egg and the bottle of lube, “these are going in your niiiiice warm pussy.”

You stared, flabbergasted. "Wait...what?! Those are going in...in my—"

Lube squeezed onto the egg with a squelch as Tomura rubbed it around. He met your gaze, amused at your cluelessness turned to a surprise. A smirk spread across his face; his body leaning in with the squishy egg in hand. "Heheh, you heard me. I saw it in a hentai recently," the cold gelatin grazed your clit as he began tracing your folds with it. His smirk widening with every noise escaping your lips as he continued, "the girl laid helpless, moaning with every single egg was being shoved inside her until they popped out when she came."

The contrast of the cold gelatin against your sensitive pussy made it difficult to concentrate on him talking. Hearing that they pop out of the girl when she came...but what if you didn't? Could they get stuck? A low sigh snapped you out of your thoughts.

"I know that look on your face player 2. Don't worry. If they get stuck, they'll just have to stay in you until they melt."

Before you could muster a sound, something cold, squishy and wet pushed slowly inside your pussy. Shivers jolted through your body as goosebumps rose to your skin's surface. A soft cry left your lips in shock. The egg massaged your walls the deeper it went, pink flesh accommodating around it in its wake. You remembered seeing ten of them in the cartons....only nine more to go…

In and out his fingers went in a steady rhythm leaving a stark contrast of temperature from the gelatin. It was unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. Breathy moans fell from your lips as you shuddered in delight. The faint rhythmic squelching filled the room, being lulled into a lust induced haze.

“Looks like you’re starting to enjoy it. Hmmm...” Tomura slid his fingers out, now poking your swollen bud, relishing in your sweet cries. “I’d say, you’re ready for more!” He gave you a manic laugh, prepping the next egg. “In we go now.”

"T-Tomura, wait I’m not–" your breath hitched with another cold, squishy egg prodding at your entrance.

He counted as each one was pushed into you; one, two, three, four....each number, a record, a goal to him.  His wide eyes and laughter piercing your ears.

Each one pushed and rubbed your fleshy walls, sliding deeper and deeper the more he squeezed inside. One by one, they went in. The ever tightening of your fleshy insides only made Tomura push harder, increasing the constant friction. Your eyes shot open as you cried out. The first one finally kissing your cervix sent shivers throughout your whole being. So full, so delightfully numb. It made your eyes water with a sigh of content.

"You liked that didn't you? Oh but we're not done yet. I want to see how many I can stuff before you break."

"N-no Tomura...n-no more! I-I can't...it's too much!" No matter how much you begged and pleaded, it never reached his ears. Oh no. It never would.

"It's only the last one. Just take it like a good girl unless...you want me to wear my special hoodie every time we go out."

Special hoodie? That would only mean....his cum stained ahegao hoodie that he always wears when he's gaming...still crusted with cum from the last time he used it.... You whimpered in defeat, shifting your gaze away from him with a pout, “f-fiiiine….just...just do it…AAAAH!!!–”

Your whole being jolted, shuddering in a string of cries. The last cold, squishy gelatin squeezing its way past your opening. Tears fell from your eyes. Every minute shift, every press, where cold and warm met, it set your loins ablaze.

Squelch, squish, squelch, squish

The sounds of the egg doing what it could to shove its way in; the others shifting, making room. Low, frustrated grunting swept past your ears. “Come on...just one more...you can take it…”

“F-FUCK!”

A loud pop and it was in. All ten. From your cervix to your entrance barely holding all the eggs in, you were filled up with ten gelatin eggs. Tomura stared in amazement and pride, watching your hole quivering, trying to keep them all in.

The bed caved as he shifted now looming over you, leaning down towards your face. “That’s my good player 2. You took them in so well,” he hummed and nibbled your neck.

You moaned in surprise once more. His thumb and index finger rolling your sensitive clit around again. You bit your lip and squeezed your eyes shut, gripping the sheets. The numbness intensified as the jolts of pleasure only increased. You couldn’t hold back anymore.

With one last tug of your clit, your eyes shot open with the loudest cry you could muster. One by one, the eggs popped out of you, leaving a trail of fluids between your thighs wherever they laid.

Once so full, now so empty.

You collapsed on the bed, engulfed by the mattress, catching your breath in the afterglow.

Tomura cupped your left cheek and ran his other hand through your hair, never looking more joyful in his life. “Did you enjoy your present, my player 2?”

Eyes half-lidded, you give him a soft smile, “mmm...yeah...it wasn’t what I expected but...I enjoyed it,” you rasped.

“Heh, well, that was only the stocking stuffer. The real present comes later.”

🎄🎅🎄🎅🎄🎅🎄🎅🎄🎅🎄🎅🎄🎅🎄🎅🎄🎅🎄🎅🎄🎅🎄🎅

We know this year has been a rough one for a lot of us, so our little group got together to do this Lil’ collab to try and bring some fun to this time of the year, and also help the ones of us who are experiencing difficulties.

Each fanfic from our collab will have the writer’s commission info or tip jar,check their works and if you like it, feel free to help ✨✨✨✨

✨✨We all hope you have happy holidays ✨✨✨

❆tip jar/ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/momo0953 

[brave-clarice]

“Clarice” Liveblog: Episodes 5 & 6

Since these are extraordinarily late, I tried to keep them more concise/focused than before. I’m sorry for how long it’s taken me to (almost) catch up. And to the handful of you who’ve enjoyed these and encouraged me to do them: thank you!

Episode 5, “Get Right With God”

the music at the beginning of this episode might just be in the maintenance guy’s headphones(!) but it was still a…Choice.

there’s something so tragic about watching Clarice be unable to use her legs… :’(

this whole scenario feels like a twisted parallel universe version of the end of Hannibal.

glad to see Ardelia finally has her priorities straight and is going to fight for her best friend! let’s forget her Episode 4 subplot ever happened.

good: the warrior finding a weapon even in the direst of circumstances!

bad: those damn moths are back. at least this time they might be drug-induced.

“she worked Bill alone” no, she didn’t. not really. (Hannibal: I’m right here.)

stop trying to make Likable Paul happen, it’s never going to happen!!!

I HATE the “Reesey” nickname, y’all. HATE. IT.

plus, we know that her dad called her “Baby”?

her father’s appearance doubles down on the end-of-Hannibal vibes...Not Sure If Want.

wow, Clarice is being literally tortured? thanks, I hate it!!!

really doubt that Clarice’s Pinto used to belong to her father (who drives a truck in the books??)... weird flex.

and how would she even have gotten it? her mother would either have driven that car into the ground out of necessity or else have sold it for the money the Starlings needed so desperately.

Pintos also weren’t super high-quality cars and were definitely not built to last ~20 years.

Clarice already being able to chat with her father whenever she needs to really undermines the therapy Hannibal will eventually give her, but…I guess they’ve already accepted they’ll never make it that far?

“you’re trying to get in my head” yeah, and she’s doing it, too–’cause she learned from the best!

“you get an answer, I get an answer, Felker.” she’s Hannibal’s girl all right.

this episode’s had flashes of brilliance before diving back into…whatever tf watching one of your favorite characters of all time being tortured is.

I really wanted Ardelia to say that no, but Clarice was like a sister to her.

it took FIVE episodes to get some lamb imagery, but we’ve been looking at moths for the entire season?!

oof, Clarice voicing her own insecurities about her childhood abandonment and using them to twist Felker’s arm...painful but smart.

HANNAH!!!

I would die 4 baby Clarice

after all that, Clarice is going to apologize to Ardelia about last week? this episode SUCKS.

Good: Clarice playing mind games with Felker like Hannibal did to her; Ardelia going to bat for her bestie, lamb flashbacks, baby Clarice, and HANNAH!

Bad: So much. Clarice being medically tortured multiple times, moth hallucinations, the several-years-premature (imo) Daddy-as-Guardian-Angel plot device, “Reesey”...did I mention Clarice getting repeatedly tortured?!

Ugly: Krendler backstory + making out with his wife. Ew.

Wow, this episode was a hot mess, and I kind of hated it. I loved Clarice’s really Hannibalesque approach to Felker, and I’m so thrilled that Hannah got mentioned at all (tho...did they need to be so heavy-handed with the helmet and gun and everything?) Also nice to see Ardelia behaving much more in-character. That said, it was sickening and imo totally unnecessary to further traumatize Clarice the way they did. To make her almost helpless.

Clarice, and by extension Rebecca Breeds (who is fantastic and deserves better), has been given very little range so far. She’s frequently been shown as miserable, afraid, desperate, traumatized, angry, resentful, but I also want to see her joyful, laughing, silly, relaxed...something else that will give her depth. Her life wasn’t miserable 24/7, 365. It was just unfulfilling. We got glimpses of this in the first two episodes. PLEASE bring it back!

And rn I’m questioning how Clarice’s career can possibly drag on for another six years after this. Her apparent PTSD is already interfering with her job performance as it is--this experience is only going to make it worse. Her “body count” in Hannibal was around five, iirc, and that was enough to slap her with the “Death Angel” moniker. In the show at least four people have died in close proximity to Clarice in the space of like...a week. How does she come back from that, even as the savior of Catherine Martin? It’s a PR nightmare for obth Clarice and the FBI.

They’ve also sort of forgotten that the Martins existed while continuing to flesh out Krendler’s (?!) character? It’s weird.

I almost don’t even want to watch Episode 6 after that. But here goes...

Episode 6, “How Does It Feel to Be So Beautiful?”

the freaking MOTHS again, I hate them!

frankly, yeah, Clarice should be on leave.

Clarice’s nondescript monochrome suits and constant ponytail are just so boring. in the book she’s described as never having to put effort into making her hair look good--so why is it always pulled back in this show?

I’m not sure it’s very in-character for Clarice, at this point in her career, to go over her boss’s head to get out of admin leave (one she really needs to take tbh) even for the sake of solving a case

lol what the actual hell @ AG Martin guilt-tripping Clarice, who was very recently tortured and almost died, for not calling Catherine back? Clarice is not Catherine’s therapist!

THIS is what my Vogue-reading heroine with burgeoning great taste wears for a night out? so disappointing.

never in my life did I think I’d be sitting through Krendler’s personal drama in a show ABOUT CLARICE STARLING.

her costume sucks and her hairstyle’s from years in the future, but dang does Clarice look gorgeous.

and I love thinking of her getting a taste of the luxury she’ll enjoy with Hannibal. :)

you know what? I think I was actually fine with them forgetting that the Martins were in this show.

whyyy is Krendler being made so sympathetic?!

now Catherine Martin “loved to sew” just like Frederica Bimmel? hmm. (tbf, maybe this is in the novel, and I’ve just forgotten.)

her gift for Clarice is sweet, though.

so beautiful, indeed

Christ on a cracker, that confrontation between the Martins was painful to watch (not a criticism). this show’s AG and her daughter are very much two of a kind in terms of emotional manipulation.

I stan one (1) doofus

now either Catherine’s gaslighting Clarice...or Clarice’s trauma (over BILL! again with this!) is so pervasive that it’s twisted her memories. either way, I hate it.

so Krendler’s lawyer is dirty and that’s why he’ll (probably) turn against Clarice? but WHY? why can’t Krendler just suck?

Good: Clarice looking gorgeous, Ardelia continuing to fight for Clarice, female characters in positions of authority everywhere

Bad: Clarice’s underwhelming costumes, Clarice’s primary/worst trauma apparently STILL being Buffalo Bill & having Clarice break down crying again (and NOT over what happened last week, which would tbh make a lot more sense).

Sad: Shaan’s backstory about his wife, everything involving Catherine

Ugly: Krendler subplot. Ugh.

I just don’t know how I feel about this installment. Wish I cared more about the overarching conspiracy plot, but I’m really only here for Clarice and Ardelia. And while no show can stand on the shoulders of a single character, for a show about Clarice, there seems to be quite a bit of screentime devoted to her bosses, Martin and Krendler, and even to her team members. And all without Clarice herself getting much character development. They don’t seem to be exploring much of her character other than her traumatic backstories, and I’m no longer very hopeful that she’ll be much more fleshed out in the last four episodes, either. It’s a bummer. I really think Rebecca could shine like Jodie did if she were given a chance.

Most of the scenes with the Martins were visceral and felt so real that it was hard to watch. That said...the AG Martin/Catherine content all strikes me as being somewhat detached from the rest of the show, as if the writers are making it up as they go along with no real end goal in mind.

Man...these two were rough going. Very little humor or warmth and absolutely no joy. Of course the source material is dark, so a somewhat dark crime drama is to be expected, but I really think the show needs a slightly less intense, bleak and (dare I say it?) unpleasant episode. But they writers have really dug themselves into a hole by zeroing in on Clarice’s PTSD. And unlike in Hannibal, there’s no love interest with whom she (and by extension, the audience) can flee her misery and pain. 

I'm cautiously optimistic about the rest of the season. A lot of the ingredients are there, and despite my many criticisms, it’s been great to spend time with a character I love. Fingers crossed that they finish strong!

[marlahey]

(and I'm feeling like) it was only ever you

a little voice fic pairings/characters: bess/samuel, general ensemble, ella the pupper being loved the most warnings: language, excessive sexual tension episode tags: fills in some of many gaps between 1.08 sea change and 1.09 sing what I can’t say cause I got wine drunk instead of finishing this before the finale as planned. +post-finale rating/warnings: explicit. read: resolved sexual tension aka les sexy times.  lyrical title courtesy of: part of me – by the coast (watch their fanvid set to this song and prepare to cry)  notes: so @brilligbraelig told me there was no fluffy fic in the tag, which– sorry. we’ve been in sad time hours for WEEKS and I blame the writers for never giving bess a moment’s peace. I’ve never really been one for cavity-inducing sweetness, not because I don’t love some pure joy, but as a writer I’m always a little more interested in the messier moments that just enough longing brings. if the question is ‘how many times do bess and samuel need to share a bed?’ the answer is yes.   this is for the samuel and bess protection squad on twitter (join us!) for being the coolest group of people ever throughout this wild ride, and also for @missgoalie75 and her love of colton’s bedroom eyes.  p.s: sometimes I ignore capitalization rules at will because of the vibe. 

*

bess is tired.

saint c’s is quiet tonight; al shoos her away from the bar with a stern, surprisingly fatherly firmness and hands her a tray of shots. she blinks at him. there aren’t any parties of four left. he points at samuel, prisha, and benny loitering at the back of the club until she finishes. bess doesn’t follow. al sighs. “go have one with your friends on me, okay kid? i swear, watching you stress out sometimes is gonna give me an ulcer before my next birthday.”  bess stammers a thank you and walks off with the alcohol before he can change his mind. she should apologize, she thinks. he’s been nothing but kind to her despite all the ways in which bess is hardly employee of the month right now. she should start an apology tour at the table, where prisha’s head is thrown back with laughter at something benny is saying, his hands outspread. these people are too good to her and she doesn’t deserve it, sometimes.  samuel notices her first (like always it seems), tracking her progress across the room. he tilts his head, a silent okay? and she moves her mouth in an approximation of a smile. his own lips quirk, like he’s trying to smother a laugh. she should be annoyed; she’s just grateful they aren’t fighting anymore— or worse yet, that it’s weird.  they still haven’t talked about that night. samuel seems perfectly content to pretend it never happened, except for the way he touches her with so much more ease than before— like he no longer has to hesitate before he’s pulling her in, taking her hand, squeezing her shoulder or the bend of her elbow in a way that’s more reassuring than bess can really describe.  maybe there’s a song in there somewhere.  “special delivery,” she announces at the approach. “drink fast, before al regrets giving us these.”  “my man, my man,” benny croons. “we love you boss!” he calls, twisting to find al rolling his eyes from behind the register. the shots clink on the tabletop. bess hesitates, just a second, before leaning in to toast prisha. samuel’s eyes meet hers again over the rim of his glass. she tosses her head back before she can overthink any of it. “anyone want another?”  benny and prisha grin; samuel shakes his head. bess does the mental math back to her last meal. one more certainly wouldn’t tip her over, but she’d be a fool not to recognize her own unsettledness. she springs for second shelf tequila; al smacks her hand away from the limes she’d cut herself not two hours ago.  “no reaching over, you know that.” the closing porter pours and dishes lime and salt with disinterested, immaculate practice. bess presses an extra five into his hand and gets a silent tap on the inside of her wrist in thanks. she’s not normally into the whole process of tequila, but benny enjoys it. something silly in bess hopes that the bursting sting of lime will just wash all her chaos away. by the time she’s tilted her head back down a second time, samuel’s eyes are sliding away. her throat is curiously warmer than liquor normally manages. it feels like she’s caught him at something.  “earth to bess!”  “hmm?”  prisha looks amused, damn her. “you up for it?” “up for what?” benny’s smile is equally conspiratory.  “dancing?” her first instinct is god, no. she and prisha haven’t gone dancing in what feels like years— bess still has a fake ID from the one and only time they snuck into a club at 19 years old, skipping the bar entirely for the pulsing beat of the dance floor. but she deserves this, doesn’t she? after everything? everyone’s looking at her now, probably expecting her to say no (samuel’s definitely expecting her to say no), and maybe bess needs another shot after all because, “sure.” tumbles out of her mouth before she can stop it. prisha and benny high five. samuel’s muted surprise is oddly delightful; bess wants to keep pulling it out of him, suddenly. “you coming too?” she asks. it’s not supposed to be a challenge but he raises one eyebrow as though bess had just asked him to duel. “well i’d be lame if I said no now, wouldn’t i?” that settled, bess excuses herself to grab her things from the back room. when she returns, benny is chatting with their night porter as he divides tips. she has to swallow an anxious lump before she can walk over.  “hey.” “hey.” he returns her tentative smile and she hates herself. “ready to go?” “i’m sorry,” bess blurts. “about the other night. i was so awful to you and you were just—” “bess, hey.” benny’s hands land on her shoulders. “don’t worry about it, okay? i know you have a lot going on right now.” “that’s not an excuse,” she insists. “you’re just being a good friend and a great manager and i shouldn’t have bit your head off for...” for not letting me give up. shame locks the words in her throat. how is it that she was the first person to let go of her own dream? bess has to take a deep breath. “i’m just really sorry.” he just looks at her for a long moment.  “if i forgive you,” benny begins gently, “will you forgive yourself?” the question feels like a sucker punch.  “cause i do, bess.” she can’t remember the last time one of her dearest friends was so serious. “i forgive you, and you gotta forgive yourself now cause we got work to do, yeah?” good god, do not cry. “okay.”  “okay.” benny pulls her into a hug, squeezing tight. “we got you girl, alright? i told you, we’re in this together.” those are familiar words. bess lets them wash over her. how had she forgotten? where had she let herself fall that her friends couldn’t pull her back into the light?  “c’mon.” bess accepts her saint c’s envelope with a grateful smile and benny steers her out of the club, his arm around her shoulders. “there’s fun to be had tonight.” “let’s go, bess!”  she lets prisha drag her forward, laughing despite herself and looping her arm through her best friend’s as they head out into the warm night air.  “where the heck are those boys?” prisha asks at the next corner. benny and samuel of course, are following at a more sedated pace to her one track mind. bess catches samuel’s eye and he smiles in that crooked, amused sort of way she hasn’t seen in ages— not since they shot more love, it feels like. relief is such a strange feeling for the moment, but there it is.  * bess isn’t tired anymore. she has no idea when she became such a homebody (though louie’s social worker may thoughts) but her exhaustion from the day seems to disappear the moment the bass finds a home behind her ribs. prisha presses a tiny glass into her hand and bess doesn’t think.  the vodka sears on the way down. it makes her gasp a little, like a livewire shock to the system. bess can only look up to see samuel wave from the bar before benny’s dragging her onto the floor; she loses sight of him in the crush of bodies and the pulse of the music carries her away.  samuel’s still there, some two or three songs later. just before they lock eyes, bess notices something very serious in his expression, something she can’t put into words fast enough, that draws a strange shiver from the base of her spine.  then he smiles, familiar laugh lines and narrowed eyes, and it’s gone.  bess remembers the way he’d so easily coaxed her into a silly dance set to their own music. have things gotten so strange between them that they could never go back there? not if she has anything to say about it. “I’m not drunk enough yet,” he objects, but his fingers close around hers even as he says it and she knows she’s won. samuel follows her so easily back to benny and prisha– like he’d follow her anywhere maybe, if she asked, and then suddenly bess is the one not quite drunk enough—  and then the beat pulls them in again.  it’s silly at first, just like before. at one point samuel and benny do the chicken dance to a hip-hop song and bess thinks she might die with laughter. she presses against prisha, hips and shoulders. her best friend spins her out; bess nearly stumbles but samuel is there, catching her by the elbows, drawing her in with that same teasing smile that had eased her nerves on that warm summer afternoon. she can see the memory of it reflected in his eyes. bess wants to fall into it headfirst. she steps closer just as samuel pulls her in; her hand lands on the back of his neck; his fingertips slip under the hem of her top and brush the shy skin of her hip.  samuel pauses, like a silent question, until bess coaxes his body back into the swaying rhythm with her own. her head feels heady, her body overwarm almost, but bess doesn’t want to stop because there it is again, that serious look— bess wants— “dance, dance, dance is my lung—”  “fuck no!” the moment—or whatever that was—grinds to a halt. samuel laughs so hard that she can feel his shoulders shaking. for several seconds they just look at each other, then over at benny who’s having the time of his life, and then bess is doubling over too.  samuel leans close to be heard over the din. “drink?” his breath brushes her ear and bess tries not to shiver, nodding enthusiastically in a vain attempt to cover for herself. they’ve lost prisha and benny to the worst song ever, so samuel keeps a firm grip on her hand as they snake their way back to the bar.  there must be some kind of special on shots tonight. bess can only stare at a bartender pouring no less than twelve in a perfect row for a huge group of women. one is wearing a tiara and white sash. that trying not to laugh smile tilts samuel’s mouth while they wait their turn. the sardine pack of people presses them together from hip to shoulder but he doesn’t seem to mind. the bar curves around in a skinny oval, drinks being served on either side. as servers slide back and forth, bess notices a guy looking at her from across the way. staring, more like it. the glint in his eyes makes her stomach turn. before bess can glare, turn away, or even shudder, samuel’s arm slides around her. his fingertips trace the curves of her rings on the bartop— affectionate, possessive almost. bess turns her head and samuel winks before leaning forward to touch their foreheads together. “pretend i just told you something hilarious.” his mouth hovering over hers is almost too distracting— his free hand pinches her side to help her along and giggles jump out. bess doesn’t resist when samuel tightens his grip and pulls her closer against him. he presses his mouth to her temple just above her ear. “he’s gone.” bess does shudder now, though for a different reason altogether. “thanks.” samuel just squeezes her once before releasing her. their shots arrive finally, amber liquid glowing strangely in the light.  “still good?” he asks, and bess nods firmly. “still good.” she meets his eyes as she brings the shot to her mouth. samuel is still looking at her when she puts the glass back down. inside her, it seems. “c’mon.” he says. samuel looks almost fond now. bess blinks; a trick of the light? is she that tipsy already? “we’d better go find those two.” she just takes his hand and follows.  * bess is... well. she’s not sober.  benny had waved goodbye from an uber outside the club. they’d made it three quarters of the way to the subway station before ananya had called, quickly devolving into an impassioned conversation and prish too, vanished into a cab and promising to call when she got to her— girlfriend’s? house.  “have fun you two!”  and now: “i’m fine, sam.”  his mouth twitches. “don’t think so, b.”  yikes, she hates that. bess rolls her eyes, pointing at her station stairway. “you’re literally going in the opposite direction. it’s like...” she has to look at their cross streets and do the math. “eight stops. at the most.” samuel nods. “all about figure eights. love an even number. let’s go.”  bess knows she should just let this go and stop being so stubborn. but something in her just can’t be stopped. samuel sighs, dragging her by the elbow across the sidewalk, out of the way of a clearly aggrieved businessman who disappears down the steps.  “bess. just tell me something.” it’s hard to meet his eyes, intent as they are. “would you let prisha take the train home by herself tonight? if you were going... I dunno, home with me?”  her stomach flips, surprising, terrifying, thrillingly pleasant. it’s all the shots.  samuel’s ears go pink under the glow of the streetlight. “you know what i mean.” she’s stubbornly quiet; he ducks his head, refusing to be deterred. “bess.” “ugh, no. of course not!” “because you think she can’t take care of herself?” bess rolls her eyes. “she’s my best friend, you know that. it’s just what you do.” “right.” she hates the way samuel’s looking at her now, the way he had when he’d laid all her fears out bare in the close space of his apartment: so certain and so kind. “so why do you think i’d let you take the train home alone?” for a moment, she can only stare. maybe it’s the alcohol, but samuel has never quite looked so vulnerable. bess doesn’t have the right words (maybe there aren’t any) so she just drags him forward by the shoulders. samuel exhales sharply, a faint laugh in her ear, but he wraps both his arms tight around her— an embrace that somehow feels more intimate than their pretence from hours before. bess endeavours not to think about it too much. “c’mon bestie,” she says when she pulls back. samuel does laugh fully this time, wide enough to show his teeth. bess thinks back to the night of their first gig, the sound of his valerie chasing hers in echoes. it’s a wonder anyone’s more stubborn that she is.  samuel ushers her down the stairs with a sweep of his arm and bess laughs too. *   bess loves her dog. she’d convinced samuel he should probably come in for water, or tea, maybe an advil. ella had poked her head out from bess’ room and when she turns around from her perusal of the fridge, bess finds samuel fully sitting on the floor, ella laying between his legs, stroking her head. “who’s my sweetest girl?” he coos.  her heart something funny inside her chest. samuel looks up, his obvious joy so bright in the dim light of the kitchen and bess is nearly choked with the possibility that she’d nearly pushed him too far away to ever see it again.  “bess,” he says, his cheeks dimpling, “her ears are so soft. like, they’re the softest thing i’ve maybe ever felt in my life?”  wonder of wonders.  she can only nod in emphatic agreement. how many shots have they had?  “you’re lucky,” samuel continues, still making ella’s night by never stopping in his affection. bess’ eyes get stuck on his hands, the motion of his fingertips and the turns of his wrists. “my parents never let us have pets and my building doesn’t allow them either.”  “you know ella would love if you came over and pet her all the time.” she gets that muted surprise again, which melts into something bess isn’t sure how to name.  “would you like that, el? hmm?” he leans down to kiss the top of the dog’s head. “wanna spend more time with uncle samuel?” how is it that her most loyal companion is somehow more intimate with samuel than bess is? and why on earth would she ever have a thought like that? “so,” she says, maybe a bit too high-pitched for her own liking (ella looks up at her and bess wants to glare), “we have water, tea, popsicles, half a bottle of jack.” samuel laughs and shakes his head. “i thought we were sobering up?” bess shrugs. “so, popsicle?” he laughs again and it warms her inexplicably all the way to her toes.  they have water, following ella into bess’ room, toeing out of their shoes when she jumps onto the bed. the dog puts her head on samuel’s lap and stares balefully up at him until he resumes his gentle stroking. bess leans back against her wall. she’s looking at ella and pretending she can’t feel the heat of samuel’s gaze on her face. if she thinks too hard about it, bess remembers wishing she could share a moment like this with someone else. she doesn’t regret anything that lead her here, but something in her is too afraid to meet samuel’s eye, like he’d be able to read the truth of that in her face and that she’d have somehow ruined tonight, this quiet moment of warmth and contentment. she leans her head on his shoulder and he turns his cheek into her hair. when bess finally looks up, samuel’s face is vey close.  is he looking at her mouth? is she leaning?  “are you drunk, bess?” he asks softly. she stops. considers. “yes. you?” samuel’s smile is a little rueful. he nods. “i should go.” bess understands. it’s late. they’re tired and inebriated. he has to go all the way back to his. they almost... and yet she says, “stay.”  he blinks. “what?”  this might be a terrible idea. “stay.” “but—” she rolls her eyes. “what makes you think i’d let you go home alone either?” the surprise is plain now. he looks that almost-vulnerable again. bess is oddly satisfied. “are you sure?” it’s strangely hard to keep his eye even as she points out, “we’re fine, right?” he nods again, a little slower. “and it’s not like we’ve never shared a bed.” when bess finally manages it, samuel’s gaze is very soft. “true.” and just when she thinks he’s going to refuse her still, he says, “okay. thanks.” how do you tell someone out that you just don’t want to be alone out loud?  thankfully samuel doesn’t make her voice it. he just smiles as bess gathers something approximating pyjamas and crosses the room. “sorry i don’t have anything that would fit you,” (he snorts and she’s warmed) “but you know, make yourself comfortable however. come get a toothbrush from under the sink.” and so that’s how they end up side-by-side in the cramped bathroom of her and prisha’s apartment, brushing their teeth. samuel makes faces at her in the mirror and it should be strange, to be t-shirt and shorts/boxers open with him. but he’s seen down into the root of who she is, so isn’t all this less? he’s humming something familiar as she washes her face, catching her surprised reflection.  “it’s yours.” bess casts her mind back. “from–” “that first night, yeah.” she nearly drops her face towel. bess has never shown him that song. samuel shakes his head with a chuckle, a familiar you’re a weirdo. “it would be just like you to play something that gets eight bars stuck in my head for months and never sing it again.” “i...” bess can’t pinpoint a reason besides her own fear, like a karmic penance for one of the most humiliating nights of her life. “i can’t believe you remember.” there’s a truth in his eyes that neither of them are willing to admit they can see.  “wanna work on it?” she asks impulsively, determined now to redraw a better memory, “maybe tomorrow?” samuel’s grin is so wide it’s almost hard to take in all at once. “this mean you’re gonna actually do that open mic?” bess shrugs. she needs to escape this tiny room all of a sudden. “maybe.” he doesn’t push her further and she’s grateful. samuel hesitates at the edge of her bed as bess pulls up the cover.  “oh my god, just get in the bed samuel.” and he does. their knees touch. bess turns out the light but there’s still just enough to see him looking at her. drunkenness has made her warm and sleepy.  “what?” “for the record,” he says, “i know what i think of you.” it feels like they’re teetering on an edge. “cool grandpa?” they laugh so hard that ella jumps from the foot of the bed. samuel looks so fond that bess doesn’t know what to do with herself. “yeah. that’s it.” “night samuel,” she whispers.  “night bess.” * (she wakes up before the sun, tangled up in him.  for once, rather than overthink it, bess just closes her eyes and goes back to sleep.) * bess can’t stop smiling. before she could even look at samuel after getting offstage, benny had lifted her off her feet and proceeded to all but bulldoze everyone in the club to get her in front of jeremy’s record label contact. could he tell that she’d just been kissed within an inch of her life? it feels like it’s written all over her face. bess can barely remember what she said, but his personal contact card is currently burning a whole though her purse. al buys them a round. (she finds ethan lingering in the back. what he says to her is somehow a surprise and not both at once. what she says to him, in the end, feels long overdue.) prisha insists everyone come back to their place to celebrate, and they pile into ubers. louie exalts her as a true artist the entire ride and even phil seems impressed. true to form though, he’s a roledex of weather facts as bess and prisha frantically pull out every candle or flashlight in the apartment; their lights flicker ominiously every so often as the storm beats down their windows. benny puts a playlist together and tries to order pizza. by some miracle, it actually arrives; everyone pools together for a 150% tip. so it feels like ages before bess looks up to find samuel leaning against the alcove of her living room, watching as louie begins a spirited debate on the best numbers in hamilton.  bess nods her head toward the door of her bedroom. she’s expecting him to make a silly face with his eyebrows or hesitate, but samuel’s mouth just curves up on one side, like that’s all he’s allowing himself, and follows. “for the record,” he says as the sounds of the party fade a little behind them, “the answer will always be satisfied. no contest.” god, how had she never seen him before? her bedside lamp is still working. bess fishes out a pale white whale from childhood, one that changes colour as you tap. she grins at samuel, who’s leaning against her closed door and smiling like he’s not even sure what to make of her.  “you’re incredible, you know that?” her face heats, pride and embarrassment both at once. “so are you. i can’t believe we got through that song.” “all you, bess.”  she wants to roll her eyes, but refrains. “the electric was a great idea.” samuel’s eyes drop when he smiles; the familiar humility in it reminds bess of the reason she wanted to talk to him in the first place.  “i know what you did tonight. before you showed up.” he looks up then, a little sharply. samuel’s always had a good poker face but bess can see it still, that guarded look. “what did i do, bess?” saying it out loud makes her feel like she’s in a movie. bess steps forward. “you told ethan to come. for me.” “are you upset?” “no. i just want to understand why.” samuel’s gaze is as steady as it’s ever been. “i just want you to be happy.”  she feels unraveled, somehow.  “then why did you...” even in the poor light, he flushes. “why did you kiss me?” samuel looks at the floor, then back at bess. her heart beats in double time. “he didn’t show, or so I thought. and I didn’t want to...” he laughs lightly, almost at himself. “throw away my shot. I guess I wasn’t really expecting you to—” try to press him into the wall? “to kiss me back, or even what that might mean, but I wanted to show you, or tell you that—” she’s close enough to touch him now. samuel’s hands cup her elbows, very gently, like he needs to ground himself. but he looks bess right in the eye. “even if you didn’t want me, i’d choose you first. every time.”  her heart free-falls.  “bess.” he squeezes a little, catching her eyes. how long have they been standing in this moment of after? “please say something.” “i told him we couldn’t work,” she says in a rush. “and i don’t even know if it was really because you and I—” bess stumbles but samuel hangs on, his grip on her unwavering, “but i think part of me always knew it was just...like, a fantasy? we barely even knew each other and i always hated myself a little for being that girl trying to steal someone else’s partner and i wasn’t dealing with any of my shit until—” samuel just waits. the realization feels too big, but there’s no going back now. “until i met you.” he looks almost stricken. bess lets out a strange, wondrous kind of laugh. she puts her hand on samuel’s chest. she’s the one who needs steadying, now. he draws her closer without looking away from her face, like he’s helpless to it.  bess can’t remember the last time she felt so sure of anything. all those those expressions that always felt hidden in his eyes seem so plain, now: surprise, fear, hope. “i choose you, samuel. though i probably don’t even deserve to.”  she can see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows. samuel’s hand brushes her hair back away from her face, tracking the curve of her ear. just before she’s about to freak out, he asks, “are you drunk, bess?” she nearly laughs. “no. are you drunk, samuel?” he shakes his head. she understands that serious look, now. it’s wanting. he wants her.  samuel goes to pull her the rest of the way in— “bess!”  louie’s voice and a loud knock on the door springs them apart. the lights go out.  “bess, we’re going now. and the lights are out. do you have a source of light in there? are you coming to say goodbye?” samuel lets out a long, low “fuck.” she has to clap her hand over her mouth. his nearly silent laugh ghosts over her skin as he presses his face into the curve of her neck.  (samuel kisses her there, just once, but it’s enough that her knees tremble a little and she can feel the shape of his smile too.)  “i’ll be right out!” bess calls to her brother. his shadow moves away from the door. hysterical giggles shake her shoulders. samuel’s hands slide up to hold her face. “do you wanna—” “come home with me.” she can barely make out his features in the dark (except for the want) but bess’ stomach drops anyway. the irony of no electricity is funny when she feels like sparks might burst from beneath her skin.  “okay.” * bess is deliriously happy. samuel puts down his guitar and barely lets the door close before he’s pressing bess against it with both hands. his palms are heavy and warm on her hipbones; bess wants to rock up against him but there’s a certain thrill in it, how strong he seems.  she has no idea the last time she was kissed like this.  despite how fierce it feels, samuel lets her lead. he doesn’t open his mouth until she does, touches his tongue tentatively against hers at first pass, tugs so gently on her lip with his teeth until she makes a noise like a whimper.  she should tell him maybe, that samuel made her completely forget herself, back in the alcove at saint c’s. but then bess just lets her hands find their way back into his now slightly damp hair. she’ll just relive it instead. she scrapes her nails over his scalp and samuel’s breath comes up short; it returns in something that sounds like a groan, or a snarl, and oh.  bess has to take deep breaths of her own when he pulls back, a wide-eyed glance to her face to make sure she’s alright. she can only nod. samuel’s fingertips squeeze her waist as some of that urgency seems to fade from his eyes. he trails his mouth slowly from her lips to her jaw; she tilts her head instinctively to give him room and samuel finds that same spot on her neck from her own bedroom.  his teeth and tongue press a little harder than before; he gets a gasp for his efforts. her legs feel unsteady again. bess grabs at the open sides of his button-down until samuel shrugs out of it. it drops to their feet. he doesn’t protest when bess pushes him gently, walking backwards across the apartment with his arm tight around her.  he doesn’t let go when his legs meet the edge of his bed. bess would fall into him if not for samuel keeping them upright. he drops to sit, pulling them apart, and finally bess has to take stock of herself. samuel’s face is so open, his smile so wide in a way she’s never seen before.  “still good?” he asks. bess nods.  “still good?” samuel laughs lightly. “i’m great, bess.” he reaches for her hand, his thumb brushing each of her rings in turn. “we can stop whenever you want.” she’s the one standing but bess feels smaller, strangely. instead of replying, bess steps out of her shoes. samuel’s eyes seem to darken as she slides her jacket from her shoulders and lets it pool on the floor. bess leans down and brings one knee to the bed, by his hip, balancing herself with one hand on his shoulder. samuel’s inhale is impossibly loud as he instinctively supports her with a sliding grip up the back of her thigh. bess’ skirt isn’t that short but she’s glad she didn’t trade it for jeans before she left. samuel’s face betrays how pleased he seems by her choice.  once she’s finished effectively straddling him, bess looks down from her perch.  “hi.” samuel’s knuckles stroke up and down her leg. goosebumps ripple and he smiles. “hi.” bess takes his face in both her hands and leans down as samuel tilts his chin up to meet her. she’ll never tire of kissing him. it feels like she can’t get close enough; he must have the same idea because his arms wrap around her back until bess is sitting firmly in his lap, their hips slotted together.  “can i touch you?” samuel asks against her mouth. bess nods, maybe too quickly, but she can’t bring herself to be embarrassed.  guitar callused fingers slide beneath her top. samuel reaches the slim band of her lacy bralette. he pauses, but bess leans into his hand and then he’s tracing the curve of her breast. his thumb brushes a little roughly over her nipple; bess feels an abrupt ache between her legs. “that seems pretty,” samuel murmurs in her ear, like a casual observation. “it’s a matching set,” she replies, trying not to sound too breathless. “for luck.” he pulls back with wide eyes. bess wants to laugh but she’s too busy dealing with this rush of blood to her face. she sits up carefully so they don’t knock heads and reaches for the edges of samuel’s t shirt first; he drags it over his head in one smooth, practiced motion. shit, he’s hot.  he’s staring as bess unfolds herself to stand back on the floor (her legs are still unsteady but he doesn’t need to know that) and goes to pull off her own shirt. samuel’s eyes don’t leave her face until the fabric coming over her head pulls her from view. when bess blinks him back into focus, he’s gone a little slack-jawed. she nods at his jeans and the speed at which samuel divests himself of them has her biting back a giggle. bess’ face feels hot but there’s a frisson of pride that straightens her spine. she’s not even half an arm’s length away from him. samuel touches her stomach, just above the waistband of her skirt. “can I?” bess has to swallow before she can nod. just like before, samuel stares at her face until the last half of her outfit joins the rest of their clothes in a heap. samuel’s eyes trail from her eyes to her feet and back. it takes everything in bess not to fidget. she expects to see heat in his expression but there’s only wonderment and tenderness.  “fuck, you’re so beautiful.” she has no idea what to do with that. samuel tugs her into his lap this time, intent. his kiss is searing. bess rocks into him, just once, just a little. that grip on her thighs returns, tighter. bess can only gasp a laugh into his mouth when samuel stands, holding her up against him, and turns to lower her with a kind of breathtakingly slow care onto his bed.  bess lands on her back, samuel now the one leaning over her. desire coils low in her stomach. he gently shifts her hips so they’re both actually parallel with the long edges of the comforter.  she feels inexplicably, unbearably, fond of him.  then samuel looks away. he exhales, like he’s embarrassed.  bess frowns in concern. “what is it?” samuel shakes his head. “when you look at me like that, I can’t catch my breath.” oh. it feels so strange to be the steadier one. bess reaches for his cheek, drawing samuel’s eyes back to her. “guess you’ll just have to distract me, then.” he laughs, but then as he leans down, samuel’s smile fades and bess remembers. he wants her. she can feel it. his hand slides, pleasantly rough, over her skin, sliding beneath the band of her bralette. bess seizes samuel’s lip in her teeth as he strokes back over her breast. he teases her nipple and the moment bess manages to wriggle out of the garment and tosses it away, samuel’s swapped his hand with his tongue, her other breast now teased by his clever fingers. she gasps again and she can feel him smirking. samuel diverts his mouth’s attention to her other side. bess focuses on her breathing. the storm still lashes against the windows but it feels like nothing compared to the roaring in her blood. bess slides her fingers up the nape of samuel’s neck and a few things happen at once: samuel’s free hand finds the damp junction between her legs; bess pulls his hair a tiny bit harder than intended; his teeth catch her nipple with just enough firmness that bess’ back nearly arches off the bed, along with a keening noise she didn’t even realize she could make. samuel freezes immediately. he looks up and bess has no idea what her face looks like, but all she can say is, “do that again.” he leans back down, his teeth scraping over her other breast; when he tugs, bess does too, so hard that samuel hisses.  “sorry,” she pants, “sorry.” he shakes his head, a firm denial. it might be the dark, the lightning, or the fact that bess is so fucking turned on, but samuel’s expression has veered far past wanting— into hunger. he practically leaps back up to her mouth, a kiss so fierce that their teeth nearly clack together. “your hands,” he says, like it enrages him almost, “in my hair, holy fuck.”  oh was right. “you’re one to talk about hands,” bess retorts. “can you please just–” samuel leans back. “can i please just what?” he looks smug the bastard. it would be like them to bicker in the middle of sex, wouldn’t it? but his tone is so serious when he says, “tell me what you want, bess.” that she has to squeeze her thighs together.  “please touch me.” “where?”  bess is going to kill him. samuel touches her cheek with surprising gentleness, and kisses her there. “here?” he does the same to her neck. “here?” her shoulder. he marks the valley of her breasts, the slope of her navel, the jut of her pelvic bone. “samuel,” bess says. it sounds like a plea but she doesn’t care. she can only reach his shoulder now, the back of his neck. he may have shivered but she can’t tell because she’s too busy trying to keep it together.  he finally finds the elastic of her underwear.  “okay, bess?” this question isn’t a joke. bess makes sure to meet samuel’s eye; the mixture of that desire and care makes her dizzy. “yes. please.” when his fingers have finally slid inside her, bess says “samuel,” at a level of breathlessness she only ever gets when she sings. he touches her with the same care and confidence as he does any of their instruments, until her legs tremble; samuel finds a beat with his tongue against her clit that’s so good bess has to cover her mouth when she comes.  samuel crawls back up the bed towards her. he leaves a kiss on the inside of her knee, and her shoulder, just an inch or two from where he had the first night she’d stayed here. bess feels very safe, suddenly.  “still good?” samuel asks again, a more raw edge to the question this time. bess can only affirm silently as she leans up a little to kiss him. she can taste herself in his mouth, can feel the weight of his arousal against her. bess presses up and samuel groans.  heat pulses again between her legs. “do you want,” bess starts, putting her hands on him, straining against his boxers. samuel’s whole body seems to twitch. he pulls her wrists away though with a bruising kiss.  “i’m just dying to be inside you, if that’s cool.” her stomach flips.  “very cool.” samuel smiles and goes willingly when bess rolls them over. he reaches blindly into a bedside drawer. bess catches sight of a pair of glasses and makes a mental note to ask about them when her mind’s not currently so occupied.  “shit, are these even in date?” samuel squints at the packet in his hand. “god, have i not had sex in this long?” bess can’t help but laugh. they giggle their way through confirming the expiry date, getting rid of samuel’s boxers, and rolling on the condom in the dark. for a moment they just look at each other. bess hasn’t ached like this for anyone in a long time.  “tell me what you want, samuel.” his adam’s apple bobs as he sits up. “c’mere.”  samuel pulls her forward and bess lifts her hips to line them up. he swallows her tiny gasp as she sinks down onto him; it’s been a while for her, too. samuel anchors her with one hand splayed across her back, waiting silently until bess has adjusted to the stretch.  bess rocks down experimentally and he makes an almost strangled noise in the back of his throat. a soft kiss lands on her forehead, a starkly tender inverse to nearly everything that’s happened so far, and maybe even to what they’re about to do. it settles bess and breaks her open both at once.  “okay?” he asks carefully. she nods, wrapping both her arms around his neck. “you’re amazing, you know that?” samuel murmurs over her lips. his own hips swing up towards hers and wow. “bess.” she was right, before. he’s strong.  they get a rhythm going quickly enough, like another harmony that comes so easy. the angle has bess’ clit pressing with beautiful pressure against samuel’s pelvis; she clenches down just as he thrusts up. he curses and it just stokes that flame hotter inside of her. after a certain point bess can’t even speak anymore. she has both her hands in samuel’s hair and he’s latched back onto the curve between her neck and shoulder, teeth and tongue and words like, fuck and tight and good and bess— “samuel i—” he looks up at her face like he wants to commit it to memory.  “bess.” and she’s gone again. * when they’ve caught their breath and tidied up, bess and samuel find themselves side by side in his bathroom, a sweet reflection of that night from weeks ago. she’s glad she thought to bring her toothbrush. samuel keeps staring at her in the mirror.  “what?”  does she have toothpaste on her face? he just shakes his head, the way he does when he laughs to himself.  “nothing. you just look better in my t-shirts than i do.”  bess rolls her eyes but her face feels hot anyway. “weirdo.” it feels good not to have to wonder as they head back to his bed. samuel drags her immediately towards him beneath the covers, his cool hands greedy beneath her borrowed sleepwear as her back curves against his chest. he plants a minty kiss above her shoulder-blade where his shirt’s slipped down. bess shivers and he leaves another on the back of her neck. “sorry,” he murmurs, and bess flips around to look at him.  “for what?” the storm broke finally, and amber light of the street through his windows feels just as safe and warm as it had before. but samuel is the one who seems afraid, now.  “i don’t want to freak you out.” “you’re not freaking me out,” bess insists. “tell me.” samuel hesitates. bess reaches out to touch his face.  “hey. i don’t scare that easy either, you know.” he exhales a faint laugh. it’s so rare to see samuel seem unsure, or fragile. it makes bess feel thrillingly off-centre.  “i don’t think i’ll ever be able to stop wanting you.”  she’s falling.  “and not just—” samuel nods vaguely at their general closeness. “this. i mean all of it. the music, your family, everything. i know it’s probably a bad idea to start things with bandmates or whatever but i just—”  bess doesn’t let him finish. she can only pour all her affection for him into a kiss, taking samuel’s huff of surprise in her mouth even as he reaches for her waist to pull her closer, then on top of him.  when she pulls away he seems a little dazed.  “you make the bad days okay,” bess says firmly and samuel smiles with such near-adoration that she understands it now, that loss of air. “so we’ll figure it out, okay? one day at a time.” samuel nods. “okay.”  and he pulls her back down. * bess wakes up with words in her mind.  samuel’s grip is so tight that at first she doesn’t think he’ll let her go. but bess manages to slide away, picking up his hand gently and lifting his arm. she looks at his sleeping face and kisses his knuckles.  samuel’s lips curve a little and if she looks too hard she could be in love with him already.  she knows where he keeps blank sheet paper in his production area. bess finds a pen and a coffee table book about new york parks; she sits on the edge of the bed to scrawl, humming to herself.  she doesn’t realize he’s up until a familiar press of lips lands on her neck. bess will never stop shivering and samuel will apparently never stop smiling about it.  “hi,” he mumbles. his voice is low and gravely with sleep. bess files that away under the list of things that does something to her. samuel hooks his chin over her shoulder and bess lifts her work to accommodate his arms sliding around her waist. “new idea?” bess nods. “thinking about what you said to me.”  she’s circled can’t catch my breath at the top of the page. samuel goes very still. it feels like it could crush them, the weight of this kind of intimacy. but at least bess doesn’t have to carry it alone. “wanna write with me?”  she turns her head to look at him; samuel’s surprise will never not be thrilling.  “will you let me add a back beat?”  he’s already reaching for his guitar. bess laughs.  “i could maybe be persuaded.” the way his eyebrow lifts makes her stomach jump. “duly noted.” (they do finish the song, eventually.  the morning just gets away from them first.) 

[thetypedwriter]

Imaginary Friend Book Review

Imaginary Friend by Stephen Chbosky Book Review 

This is undoubtedly the weirdest book I have ever read. 

You might be thinking… but, thetypedwriter you read fanfiction! This can’t be the weirdest thing you’ve ever read! Things like ABO universes exist!

You would think that, wouldn’t you?

But no. 

I shall endeavor to give you a spoiler free synopsis of the book first followed by my thoughts and criticism, but note that this is an endeavor for a reason. I have now explained this novel in depth to two different people, and both times I have found myself completely and irrevocably stuck on how to even begin, let alone end. 

With that forewarning, here we go. 

The novel surrounds a single mother and her young son moving to a small Pennsylvania town in order to escape the tragedies of their past that include the passing of her husband and her current abusive boyfriend. 

However, while things in their new home start out well-they find solutions to unemployment, poverty, the son’s dyslexia, etc, things start to go awry when Christopher, the son, is lured into the Mission Street Woods at the edge of town by a voice only he seems to be able to hear. 

As Christopher continues to listen to the voice in the form of a cloud, or a plastic bag, or even inside of his mind, he starts recruiting his friends to build a treehouse in the woods that will transport him to a different time and place. The voice, lovingly called the Nice Man, instructs him to finish the tree house by Christmas Day. 

Or else everyone will die. 

As Christopher struggles with newfound powers and responsibilities, coping with two different worlds, his mother struggles with her son’s sanity, the town struggles with anger, blame, and temptation, and what follows is the chaotic descent of a small town into the throes of good versus evil, love and loss, and most importantly, trying to differentiate what is real versus what is imaginary. 

In the simplest terms possible (a facetious statement if there ever was one), I thought this was going to be a thriller mystery book about a single mother and her young seven-year-old son Christopher leaving their home and her abhorrent abusive boyfriend in order to start a new life with hope and potential. 

And it….is? 

But it doesn’t stop there. Chbosky crams so many genres, themes, motifs, and messages into this book that when you think about it, it’s unsurprising that it’s over 700 pages long with the tiniest, most miniscule font I have ever had to squint at. 

However, make no mistakes like I did, this book is horror. 

Yup. You read that right folks, horror. 

To preface, and I might have mentioned this in another post for another book at some point, but I vehemently dislike horror of any kind. This extends to books, movies, shows, etc. 

I understand that horror is a great joy and pleasure for a vast amount of people and that it contains its own literary merit, tropes, and rules, and I can appreciate that for what it is from afar, but I personally take very little enjoyment from consuming anything horror related (I apologize to all the Stephen King fans out there in the world). 

I did not fully realize the extent to which this book was a true horror. 

This is entirely my own fault. I was very much blinded by the rosy colored glasses from college when I first read The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Chbosky’s first and only other novel. 

Perks is wonderful. It is a tragic, yet fundamentally hopeful and loving bildungsroman that shows the beauty and the pain of growing up and accepting yourself. The movie with Emma Watson is what dreams are made of. 

I committed author fraud when I picked up Imaginary Friend based on the pure speculation that I would most likely like it since he had written Perks, a book I adored as both a reader and a teacher. 

I’ve warned readers against this in the past, but it seems like I should have taken my own advice: just because an author has written one good book or one book you like, does not automatically mean you will like their second book, or any of their other books for that matter. 

This cannot possibly ring more true for Stephen Chbosky, as not only are his two books completely different in narrative and structure, but also vastly different in genre and purpose. 

I should have stuck with my gut and realized that I probably wouldn’t like this book based off the synopsis, the genre, and yes, even the cover (it looks scary to me, okay?), but I said noooooo, it’s Chbosky, you have to read it!

And this is where we ended up. 

First of all, I didn’t hate the book. 

I can recognize that it is extremely well written, well crafted, and well developed. I can enjoy a slew of characters, and oh boy are there a multitude to pick from, and I can give credit where credit is due. 

Chbosky is a talented writer. There is no doubt in my mind about this. The way he crafts words, the way he plays with texture and space, and with fonts and sizes, is nothing less of sheer brilliance. 

He undoubtedly is also masterful at motifs, foreshadowing, and symbolism. Notably, there were so many recurring objects, colors, metaphors, and so on that were sprinkled out so consecutively and intentionally throughout the novel-some I didn’t even pick up until the end-that I was left reeling from how immensely talented and brilliant he is. 

Things like his use of baby teeth, blue moon, and fogs/clouds/mist struck me in particular. I know this seems like gibberish, but Chbosky truly came across as understanding what he wanted to portray and how he wanted to deliver it. 

However, the biggest compliment I can give to Chbosky is the sheer magnitude of his imagination and creativity. This book almost overwhelmed me through the use of ideas and concepts I had never really thought of before. 

Alternate dimensions? Check. 

Supernatural powers? Check. 

Incredible use of diction and figurative language? Check and check. 

Chbosky had so many wild and tantalizing beautiful turns of phrases, expressions, and descriptions that it left me with the same sort of gasping epiphany that Maggie Steifvater’s writing always leaves me with, the feelings that writing can be so utterly beautiful and compelling, that it can be all-consuming as well as never ending with its potential to stun, to create, and to warp to unique needs and purposes. 

It definitely was a reading experience quite like any other I’ve had. 

Be that because of the horror genre or because of Chbosky’s odd, yet addicting writing style and this has definitely become a book that left me more than a bit dumbfounded. Although I’ve sung its praises and admitted to my own faults at this point, this book isn’t without flaws. 

To me the horror genre itself is just not my cup of tea like I’ve stated. Strike number one. 

Second, the book was...abysmally long. Atrociously long. As I’ve also said before, I do not mind large books. In fact, big books when you’re reading something you love is a true blessing. Finding that fanfiction at 3am that hooks you immediately and you look up to see its 300k? Amazing. 

Starting a new book series that you fall in love with body and soul and realize you have several installments left in the series to gorge and devour? Ecstasy. 

Sloughing through a single book that starts to drag on and on repetitiously for what seems like forever? Borderline hell. 

This book could have been 300 pages shorter and still contained everything Chbosky wanted to accomplish. It could have had the same brilliant writing, messages, and motifs, but without all of the never-ending back and forth between worlds and battles that just kept popping up time and time again. The abominable length considering its content is strike two. 

Last, the ending was a bit of a cluster. At this point in the novel, so much is going on, you are being exposed to so many pov’s that it’s almost stress-inducing, and events taking place are cataclysmic and 10/10 on drama. Chbosky bit off more than he could chew here. 

The book choked itself at the end, which, after reading for 700 pages is not the feeling you want to have. The ending left me befuddled, disappointed, and also bereft of a conclusive end and explanation for the shitstorm that had just rained down. It was not the ending I wanted, could understand, or could even really grasp. Strike three. 

This book has a plethora of merits followed by three enormous criticisms. If you like horror, then you’ve already crossed hurdle number one. If you can accept it’s repellant length (let alone have days upon days of free time to actually ingest said behemoth) then that’s hurdle number two. 

Hurdle three is up to you. Perhaps you would like the ending where as I found it lacking in structure, content, and answers. I like my endings tied up with neat little bows. I don’t like to be left thinking...hmmmm what does this mean? 

If I am going to read your massive book, I deserve an ending that satisfies the journey. Authors telling readers that it’s up for interpretation makes me want to strangle something. It comes across as enormously pretentious to me and oftentimes lazy. 

In the case of Chbosky, I think he had given himself so many loose threads that the neat little bow I desired was next to impossible. 

So he didn’t even try. 

Score: 6/10

Recommendation: If you love The Shining, are lacking bouts of creativity and imagination, have lots of free time during Quarantine, and don’t mind having an Inception-esque ending where you might not get all the answers you want, while being tasked with concocting it for yourself, Imaginary Friend might be your new best friend. 

Bonus: Here’s a pic of my kitty photo bombing this book shoot. Hope she brightens your day!

[raz-b-rose]

The Secrets we Share

Part one

This is the second and (for now) final part to this AU. 

11527 words. Enjoy

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21737908/chapters/56487616#workskin

___________________________________________________________

Marinette pulls back from the kiss first, gazing lovingly at Damian. “I love you, sorry again for overreacting” 

“We both have weaknesses, but we have all the time to help each other” Damian kisses her forehead, taking her bag to her room. Marinette only hums in response. 

Marinette couldn't believe the changes in her life in just one week. Master Fu had passed, she was the new supreme Guardian; her parents were proud of her, and she hoped her mother understood when she told them about the wedding. She was raised within the temple's traditions after all, but she had also raised her to carve her own path despite Fu’s desire to raise her as the next supreme. 

Marinette froze for a moment, watching Damian move around her apartment with ease, grinning wildly at the thought of this becoming her everyday life. Her and Damian together, best friends and partners. Partners. Marinette focusses on that word. She thinks about her days as a vigilante. It had been two years since she had last transformed with Tiki, since she had last doned the monacer of Ladybug and assisted others. She feels something bubble up in her chest that almost matches the excitement of her future with Damian. She could become ladybug once again. 

Damina glances behind him to Marinette relaxing to the sight of her smile. She was his retreat from everything crazy and stressful in his life. No matter what happens in the field or on missions, he would always have her to return to. Her smile, her joy, and her kindness will always be there for him. 

“Hey Chéri, I should let you know that we have just one more thing in common” Marinette is still grinning wildly, coming forward to join their hand together. 

“What is that Habibti?” Damian finds himself caught up in her excitement. 

“I used to be a vigilante as well, and I had to quit when I moved here for school, didn’t want to step on any toes, but now I can help again, this is wonderful” 

Damian stiffins, varying images of all the terrible things that could happen to Marinette flying though his mind before settling on Barbra in a wheelchair. His grip tightens his breathing labored. 

“Marinette I-” She simply cups his face, eyes shining in understanding. 

“Because Tikki is effectively immortal, that trait is shared with me when I am transformed with her. There is nothing to worry about.”

“Tikki?” As if responding to the name, the same small red fairy-like creature flies up to his face, almost causing him to go cross eyed. 

“There is nothing to worry about Damian. If anything, Marinette would be better protected than you.”

“How does that work?” Marinette had moved them back to the couch, continuing to smile as though Damian was not in the middle of a panic attack thinking about how she could die horribly. He would love to have her beside him at all times, but maybe not all the time. 

Tikki only grins at him. Damian looks to Marinette to see the grin reflected on her face. They did not see the issue here. Marinette could not be in the field. She must have done community service or something. There is no way his Habibti fought crime as a teenager, right? 

“Because I am immortal, unless something were to happen to my earrings, which would be very challenging to manage mind you, when I share my powers with another that trait is shared with them as well.” 

Damian is still struggling to grasp the calming logic of her statements. “Even if she can’t die she could still be seriously hurt '' Damian doesn't want to be overprotective, but he's going to be overprotective. 

Tikki only shakes her head, the movement soft. “I absorb any damage she takes, for life threatening injuries however, i can only absorb so much,” Damian stops breathing all together, “so she would be left with anything from a bruise to a laceration.”

“Nothing a first aid kit can’t handle.” Marinette appears at his side, handing him a mug of tea. When had she moved and made tea?

“But you could still be-” He starts to argue, but Marinette's change in tone causes him pause to hear her out. 

“Damian, I have been shot on three different occasions, here, here, and here.” She points to her hip, head and finally her heart. Damian followed each movement of her finger with fascinated horror. “I was only left with a bruise for each of them, I will be ok.”

They have a stare off for what feels like hours, Damian can see another creature join the huddle on the couch, but keeps his focus on Marinette. Her eyes aren’t hard, instead they are understanding but she won't back down from this. “I also have healing magic, for the next time you get hurt”

“I don’t get hurt” Damian tries to say with an air of pride, but even to his ears he can hear the weakness of the lie. 

“Yes you do, mister I got shot and didn’t say anything” Marinette gives him a pointed look, before giggling at Damian's crestfallen face. 

“How did you know?”

“Oh please, I have been training with magic since I could walk, specifically that healing magic” She says with a wave of her hand. He closes his eyes, taking multiple deep breaths. 

What are the facts of the situation he has control over? Marinette knows magic. Marinette can bond with an immortal being effectively making her immortal while bonded. Marinette has been shot before. Marinette is here. Marinette had been a vigilante. Marinette had been a good vigilante. Nobody as far as he knew had heard of any such thing from Paris. Marinette is going to be his partner in everything. Everything. Damian opens his eyes to her sky blue ones, relaxing once again into their depths. 

“Ok, but we start slow, I need time to adjust.” She just smiles softly at him, rubbing her hand along his shoulder. 

“Of course Chéri, it's only fair,” Damian relaxes some more, thankful at her cooperation. “You don't know how amazing I am as a vigilante yet” Damian scowls at her, eyes darkening in that competitive way they always do when Marinette goads him on. 

“Is that so” He grins wickedly, carefully placing both of their cups on the coffee table. She eyes him with excited trepidation, waiting for Damian to strike. He glances behind her, tilting his head in confusion, and strikes when she also starts to turn back. 

“Are you as good as you say if you fall for such an easy trick?” He teases while he tickles her, proud at the belly laughs he is eliciting from her. 

“Stop Dami, stop” She squeals, trying desperately to put distance between them, her breaths short and joy filled. 

“I dont think I’m ready to” 

“Dami!” She laughs out, soft pawing at his face, tears of joy mixing with the tear tracks from earlier. With that Final plea, he stops kissing her quickly and gently. He doesn’t need her passing out from lack of oxygen after all. She simply pulls him down into a cuddle, humming contently. Pulling each other close, their warmth mixes together, making for a comfortable nap inducing environment, but both know they can’t take a nap, not yet after all. 

Damian glances over to see Tikki and the other one, sitting cheerfully on the window sill, observing the city streets below. 

“What,” Damian starts to ask Marinette then thinks better of it, after all they were clearly sentient beings capable of holding a conversation. 

“What exactly are you?” He sits up, facing each of the small beings. They glance between each other before coming over to sit on the coffee table. 

“We are called kwami, but to be exact we are the personification of certain ideals or desires.” The small horse looking one answers, licking away at a sugar cube. 

Damian glances to Marinette for clarification. They did answer his question but it left him blind to certain details that Marinette is sure to have. However Tikki is the one to answer his unasked inquiry. 

“We should start at the beginning, as we do with all newcomers to the Order,” Tikki sends a pointed look to Kaalki, who just rolls her eyes before focusing on her meal. 

“There was a woman named Tikki who lived in China during the Xia dynasty. She learned of magic through travelers and taught herself the most powerful form of magic at the time, creation magic. She loved to create new things, especially things to help others.”

“While she was traveling her older sister fell ill to what was an incurable disease at the time.” Marinette laughs softly into her hand as Damian leans forward, grasping his hands in front of his face in total concentration on Tikki’s history lesson. 

“She quickly switched her focus to healing magic, desperate to save her sister's life. During her quest she experimented with imbedding jewelry with healing effects to stop or even just slow the effects of the sickness.”

Tikki leaves the coffee table to continue her story next to Marinette's earrings, touching them softly. “Because of her love to create, her love for her sister, and her desire to heal I was brought into consciousness, a part of her soul, so to speak, being imbedded into the earrings.” 

“I became everything she desired and held dear. I can create as well as heal and was the first miraculous created.” 

“Do you share her memories?” 

“No, I am simply a personification of her will.”

“Is that why you are immortal, you are neither alive or dead?” Marinette is impressed that Damian was able to grasp that truth so quickly. 

“Exactly.” 

“What happened after?” He is not so much as eager to learn what happened, but rather gain the knowledge necessary to join this world of Marinettes. 

“She returned home just as the sickness was taking its final hold, we worked together to heal her, becoming Hóng fūrén.”

“Did she create the rest of the miraculous?”

“No,” Kaalki answers him this time, having finished her sugar cube she settles in on Marinette's other shoulder. “When other magicians learned of what she created, they traveled to her, eager to learn her secrets.”

“The first was a man by the name of Plagg, who had lost a loved one to the same sickness that almost took Tikki’s sister. He had heard of her miracle and hoped that she could return his loved one to him.”

“I hear a but in there,”

“Bringing people back from the dead will always have consequences, as you know” Tikki says gravely, her stare is filled both with pity and resentment. He doesn’t think that the last one is aimed at him however. Marinette stiffins. 

“Damian-”

“We can talk about that later,” She doesn’t look reassured, but nods in acceptance, “Thank you, please continue” Damian reaches up to rub his chest where the sword pierced. There was no scar, but the memory of the pain was enough for Damian.

“Even though they could not help him in his original request, he still desired to learn her new way of magic as well. He then created the ring of destruction, his desire to rid the world of the illness being his main driving force.”

“Each of the Miraculous were created by different magicians and added to the collection. Tikki and Plagg went on to be the founders of the order, seeking to use their magic to help everyone around them.”

“What caused them to hide from the world?”

“A traitor by the name of Jin Yong. He had been unsuccessful in creating anything, much less a Miraculous. He attempted to steal all of them for himself, and killed Plagg in the process.” Marinette always hated this part of the story. 

“By this time Tikki and Plagg had married, and started a family. In her rage, she wielded both the creation and destruction Miraculous. Jin yong was quickly dealt with but her rage still needed an outlet.”

“She unleashed such raw magical power, that she carved up the nearby mountain range. The other magicians feared her, quick to submit themselves to her, and follow any order she had to give. She then declared that from thereforth, all Miraculous would be kept in a box, and named herself as Supreme Guardian, who is the only person capable of opening the box.”

"She then traveled as far west as she could before stopping in what is now Tibet. There she built the temple and erased all traces of the miraculous from the world.”

Marinette plays with her fingers, small tears gathering. Damian rubs small circles in her back, quietly processing what he just heard. That much raw power in the wrong hands could be disastrous. 

“Marinette, is announcing the Order to the world the wisest idea?” He was trying to be gentle, but the idea of being incapable of fighting against such a threat scared him. 

“Yes, Supreme Guardian Tikki also placed a spell over all the miraculous. As long as I know who holds the Miraculous I can order it back to the box. Stealing one is difficult but not impossible. It has happened before.” 

“Damian,” Kaalki draws his attention away, “ Not every Miraculous can manage that kind of power. Not every person can handle that kind of power. Tikki only could because she had created the Miraculous, her bonding with it being much more intimate than can be managed today.” 

Damian frowns in confusion, “So how does this whole bonding thing work anyway?” 

Marinette seems to brighten a little, quick to answer him, “The longer you wear a miraculous the stronger the shared magic between Kwami and human become. You also have to physically fit, spiritually sound and mentally strong to even transform with a Kwami. Anyone can wear a miraculous, but not everyone can wield one.” 

“That makes me feel a little better.”

She giggles softly, sipping her tea softly. Tikki and Kaalki had moved from her shoulders now sitting softly in her lap. Marinette seems to be working herself up to say something, so he waits patiently for her to collect herself. 

“We have had this power that could be shared with the world for centuries, just sitting there in cowardice for what may or may not happen. When Plagg first convinced me to transform with him and take a run on the roof tops, and I stopped a mugging, I knew what I would do with the Order should I end up leading it. I would build a team to help the world.” 

She gives Damian a hard stare, “I will help those who need it.” He can’t help but smile at her and berate himself even further. Her heart is too good, kind, and compassionate. 

“You will accomplish all those things Marinette. I will help you any way I can.” 

“I know. Thank you Damian” Marinette feels a peace within her soul. The Order could look down on a Supreme being in a relationship all they want. She would not be as strong without Damian at her side. 

“So why have I never heard of vigilantes in Paris?” Marinette at least has the gall to look embarrassed. 

“As a part of my training, I would bond with a different miraculous every two weeks. When Plagg talked me into transforming and testing my powers in Paris, instead of at the temple, I loved the rush from pouncing on people and surprising them. Because I had a new look every few weeks, no one ever made the connection.”

“And then she had to start getting her friends in on it too,” Tikki chimes in in exasperation. “It was hard enough keeping her nightly adventures a secret, but adding more people to the mix every few months was getting challenging.” 

“And yet I built myself a good team” Marinette huffs. They went on to bicker about Marinette's youth. Damian can’t help but dread that this would also now be a part of his new life. Kwami everywhere all the time. It would definitely take some adjusting. Damian frowns at his now vibrating phone, the caller ID confusing him even more. Standing he distances himself from the others, not wanting to disturb them with his call. 

“What is it Brown?” She only ever called him when there was a daytime emergency. 

“Damian you need to talk to Tim, this isn't ok.” 

“I don't need to do anything you say” Damian feels his good mood souring quickly. 

“No, Tim is a wreck. You haven't talked to anyone for days.”

“Who I choose to speak to is none of your concern.” Stephanie tries to interrupt him but Damian speaks over her, “I am not responsible for how Drake is feeling”

“You men and hating to talk things out” She snaps, Damian only rolls his eyes, after all just what had he and Marinette been doing for the last hour? 

“There is nothing for us to talk about. He has apologized but the fact of the matter is he doesn't trust me, therefore there is no reason to speak until that is repaired first” Damian clenches his fist at admitting such a thing to Stephanie of all people. 

“Of course he trusts you Damian,” 

“If he truly trusted me, then this would not have happened” The silence on the other end is unsettling, Damian can only stand there, waiting for her to say something, but he knows she can’t find a way to refute his claim. “I believe you have no right to speak to me about such matters as well Brown, last I heard you weren’t even on speaking terms with Drake yourself”

“That was a low blow Damian” She growls out before cursing him out and hanging up. Damian trembles, Stephanie reigniting his original anger from the last week. He jumps a little, meeting Marinette's worried gaze. 

“Damian?” 

“It’s nothing, just Drakes, whatever she is right now, meddling with something she has no right to.” Marinette retakes her seat on the couch. They had talked about themselves, but not how he felt with his family. Clearly it was still unresolved and had led to a lot of stress for all parties. 

“Does Tim do things like this often?” She asks so quietly, that Damian almost missed her question, the roaring in his ears grew louder. 

“Do what?”

“Investigate people?”

“It is his prefered job. He investigates to find all the information so that we don’t have any blank spots.” 

“Then why was his investigation of me bothering you so much? He does it to other people so why can’t he do it to me?” He can tell she is playing devil's advocate, but the question still bothers him. He can feel his anger growing stronger.

“I asked him, and Todd, not to. To meet you like normal people.” She hums, nodding her head slightly in agreement. 

“That request does change everything. And why does that feel like a breach of trust to you?” Damian tightens his fists, a headache coming on from his tightened jaw. Marinette runs her thumb over the back of his hand, that's when he notices her breathing steadily. In, out. In, out. Damian starts to match her pace, his body loosening with each exhale.

“They question every choice I make. Always acting like I’m in danger. However only when I make ‘life changing decisions’” Damian states dryly, “any other time they behave as though they do not care for me.” Marinette only nods, he can tell by the look in her eye that she is processing the information, tucking it away. 

“I know I can be uncommunicative and impersonal at times,” Marinette offers a small smile, “but I thought that I had made headway in building better relationships with my brothers. Don’t tell them this but I do care for them and have come to enjoy their company” 

“This sounds like normal sibling drama then.” Marinette smiles, “No need to be angry. Tim and Jason care too, in their own way. They need to find a different way to show it though, you too mister” She runs her finger down his nose before pecking it quickly.

“I don’t know how to approach them at the moment, but I don’t want to lose them either” Damian confides in her, knowing his vulnerability is safe with her. 

“It doesn’t need to be today Damian, a lot has happened already.” She stands pulling him with her. “But it needs to be soon. It becomes harder the longer you wait.”

“I will Habibti, don’t worry. Thank you.”

“You can talk about anything at any time Damian.” She smiles softly one last time before leading them towards the door. “I am hungry, and i think food would help both of us right now” 

They enjoyed a peaceful meal, phones set on silent, just the two of them ignoring the outside world of responsibilities until a later time. Damian asked more questions, Marinette asked her own in return. The couple shared everything they hadn't before, finding solace in the fact that they truly understood the others' struggles like no one else could. 

The late afternoon sun offered a cozy setting as they returned to Marinette's place, the Kwami glad to be home for free reign once again. And the two of them did what they did best. Separate activities in the same room. 

Marinette returned to her dress, as it was still due for completion that week. Family emergency or not, fashion projects are to be completed. Damian returned to his book, quickly reimmersed in it, but even that couldn't hold off the exhaustion that builds when emotional stress is in play. Damian is stirred from sleep, Marinette giggling at him.

“Hey sleepy head, I think you need to go home to get some proper rest” She places a marker in his book, before walking away. Damian lays there for a few moments adjusting to consciousness. He sits up a little too quickly when he notices the time. He is late for patrol. 

He jumped off the couch, pulling his jacket on in a panic, cursing softly as he gathered the rest of his things. Maeinette wonders over, concerned. 

“Is everything ok? Did something happen?”

“No, nothing like that. I am just late for patrol” Damian pecks her cheek but the touch of her hand stops him at the door. 

“Is that a good idea? You seem really tired.” He kisses her once more, less rushed this time.

“I will be ok. I’ll see you tomorrow, promise” Marinette hugs him tightly before finally letting him leave. She stands at the door for a moment, before turning back to her dress. Damian would be ok, she could feel it. Her gut was almost never wrong anymore, Marinette frowns at her embroidery, almost. 

Tonight was not a good night. Damian scowls into the streets below. The coms were unusually silent. When he had signed onto the comms everyone gave him short crisp answers. His father, he could understand, but Todd and Drake refused to talk to him, and after the fuss Stephanie made, he expected Drake to be grovelling once again. 

“Boys, we got trouble down by the docks, looks like Penguin is making a move.” Oracle informs. Each gave a confirmation before launching to the docks. Damian moved quickly, the thought of Marinette waiting for him at the forefront of his mind more than ever. 

“Robin and Red Hood, come in from the north. Red Robin and I will come in from the west.” Batman orders before going silent once again. Damian is almost to the docks when Red Hood comes up on his right, their paths converging into one. 

“Robin, she got back today right? Did everything go alright?” Damian is caught off guard by his question and almost missteps off the roof. He opens his mouth to respond like he always had when they try to pry, but Marinette's words from that afternoon cause him pause. He needs to find a different way to show that he does care for his brothers. What better way to start then being more open about his life. 

“It went well.” 

Now it was Jason's turn to be surprised. Damian was not one to willingly give information on his personal life. It took poking and prodding with the figurative crowbar to even get him to open his mouth, and even that didn’t always guarantee you'll get what you wanted out of him. 

“That's good to hear.” He could practically feel the tension drain from the coms, Babs mutters a small praise and he winces. He knew they could feel the tension, he felt bad that Babs could as well. “Sorry Oracle”

“Refocus, now that that is out of the way, and then you can talk more.” 

“Yes Ma’am” 

Damian scowls as the distant sound of sirens grows louder. Just what they didn’t need. “Red Robin and I have converged on the smugglers. Some are trying to escape your way, be ready.” 

The boys move faster to intercept before the police arrive. Damian swings down, landing harder than intended on the pavement, bringing five men to an abrupt stop. They are all dressed in beanies and black clothes. A few have traditional guns while the others have spearguns guns.

“Evening boys, would you mind dropping the weapons and surrendering peacefully?” Red Hood saunters in from the rear, catching all the cornered men off guard. With a grunt, they all start to pull their guns. 

Without further words, the boys attack first, subduing the ones with the spearguns first, fearing the nasty wound that could leave more than that of a regular gun. After all, they have dealt with those before. One of the men, after losing his gun, tried to fare in hand to hand combat, Damian simply tripped him, knocking him out cold with an elbow to the throat. Damian turns around to find himself at the end of a gun, and no time to move. 

Red Hood bashes the man in the back of the head with his gun, simply nodding at Damian, who could only sigh in relief. It wasn’t the first time he had been in that sort of situation since meeting Marinette, where all he could think about was how upset and angry she would be to learn how he died. Now that she knew, he wondered if she would be angrier or just heartbroken. 

Red Hood walks over, clapping him firmly on the shoulder. “Not yet Robin, you have plenty of time ahead of you.” Damian glances at him with narrowed eyes, he can feel his mask constrict with the movement. How had he managed to glare 24/7 when he was younger? 

They boys turn at the sound of their family landing behind them. Red Robin fidgets next to the bat, their difference in height would have made it comical if not for the seriousness of the situation. Damian simply nods to him, sending a small smile his way. That was more than enough to show the young man that the blood between them had been cleared. He relaxed immediately, offering his own smirk in return. 

Bruce watched the interaction, glad that the boys had made up in their own way, but couldn’t help the roll of his eyes at the dramatics of it all. But it's your fault that they are terrible at these things his subconscious whispers to him. Bruce scowled at the intrusive thought, his pride making it difficult to admit fault. 

“The police have already started inventory on the unit of drugs they were trying to move into the city. Pick up will be here shortly, Robin come with me to oversee processing of evidence.” Both men set off, Father and Son into the night. 

Batman turns off his comm unit, motioning for Robin to do the same. While Damian’s relationship with Bruce hasn't always been the smoothest, they have both tried. Damian tried to be everything he valued in his Father, and Bruce tried to emulate the things Damian thought of as important. Unfortunately for both of them, that did not include expressing emotions or confrontation into personal issues as priority. 

“I look forward to meeting her.” Damian rolls his eyes at the attempt for normal father son bonding conversations. They had never been Bruce's forte, but he refused to cease the attempts. “She must be a wonderful woman.”

“Wonderful because she caught my attention?” 

“Wonderful because she brings out the best in you.” Bruce smiles, knowing Damian was testing his responses. He may not be the best at conventional relationships, but he picked up a thing or two from Alfred over the years. 

Damian is caught off guard at the response. “The best in me?”

“She must have said something today or performed an action in the past to influence your earlier behavior with your brothers” Damian thinks over his words, realizing the truth within the statement. He grins before voicing his next thought. 

“If she has held such an influence over me for so long, you must be slacking in your abilities, old man” Bruce simply raises his brow, a trade mark look if anyone who knows Batman were to give him one. 

“Maybe” And with that the conversation comes to an end for now, as he turns the comms back on, meeting the commissioner behind the taped off scene. Robin shadows Batman, a working system for the last few years now. Damian however is processing the day while observing the hustle and bustle of the crime scene. Once everything is settled and they are retiring for the night at the cave, suits locked up and equipment put away, Damian sends a small wave to his family before heading back to the city. 

His brain battles with itself before he finally crashes onto his bed, sleep over taking him. The night was a normal one, with the regular adrenaline. No matter how hard he tried to rethink about his afternoon, his body needed to rejuvenate itself. Thinking could wait, recharge could not. 

It is well past twelve when he finally awakens, a small headache at the front of his head. He checks his phone to find a text from Bruce, asking if they would be coming to dinner at the Manor. It was Dicks last night in town before returning to Jump City. 

Damian ended up staring at his phone for over five minutes. Finally he placed a call, hoping she was available. He chuckles as she picks up the phone, her frantic yelps coming over the line.

“Damian finally! Are you ok?”

“Yes Marinette, I am fine.” He laughs.

“Thank goodness, what's up?”

“Would you be available for dinner at the manor tonight?”

“Of course! What time?”

“I’ll pick you up at three-thirty. We usually eat around four.”

“Perfect, I’ll see you soon! Love you!” Before she hangs up he hears her call for Tikki, claiming a need for her opinion on outfits. Laughing one last time, he responds to his father's text before rising to get ready. 

Now that things were mostly patched with Tim and Jason, dinner wasn’t looking to be an uncomfortable affair. He was however still apprehensive to introduce her to his family. But, if she could handle his past confessions, then she could probably handle his family just fine. If she could handle leading a whole organization at twenty-two, she could handle his family. 

After a quick walk for Titus, and running a quick errand, it was finally time to pick up Marinette. As he approaches her building once more, she waits on the sidewalk, eyes peeled for his car. Her face lights up as she spots him, her hair cascading gently around her face, framing her freckles and eyes perfectly. 

“Hey there handsome, did you have a good night?” With the click of her seat belt, Damian returns to the line of cars eager to leave the city.  

“We managed to intercept a shipment of new drugs Penguin was trying to introduce to the city. Not a standard night but not a new scenario” Damian shrugs, not finding it as weird to talk casually about his nightly activities as he thought it would be.

Marinette nods, giving him a weak smile, “That is relieving to hear, I was worried for you”

“I assume that is going to be a standard for us now” Damian scowls, thinking once again about all the horrible what-ifs and undesirable futures. 

“Yes but i feel like it's not that different from other couples” Marinette reaches over to take his hand, Damian notices she's trembling slightly, but decides not to bring attention to it. 

“What do you mean? I believe we are in a unique situation.”

“ Well what about Military, Officers, or any other profession that has a life threatening aspect to it? Any couple apart of those lives worry for safety and health just as much as we are now”

“That is a very true point, however I maintain our uniqueness with that not every couple fights crime as vigilantes together” Damain gives her a quick pointed look before returning his focus to the road. 

“And the average couple can be affected by unexpected injuries or death as well,” Marinette continues as though Damian hadn’t spoken, staring out the window as the grey and muted red buildings turn to a forest of green with the ocean peaking through, “No we are not the different after all” 

Damian doesn't respond for a moment, his mind focussing between her trembling hand, to her hyperfocus on safety and wellbeing standards in other couples, and finally on the scrunching of her face as though she is trying not to cry. 

“Are you trying to reassure me or yourself?” His tone was gentle, and quiet; his brothers would never believe it. Damian no longer had any qualms about having Marinette by his side no matter what. He needed her, just a week of thinking he had lost her, had him in a wreck,. He doesn't know what would happen if he were to actually lose her. 

“Myself,” She continues to stare out the window, but she seemed almost calmer now, “The vigilantism aside, we would have a decreased risk of losing each other, but not a nonexistent risk.” 

Damian knows that she is processing her thoughts, and smiles to himself, waiting patiently. “I love you Damian, it's painful to think about life without you,”

“Then don’t, don’t focus on the what-ifs, the negative possibilities, or the inevitable future.” Marinette finally looks at him then, eyes narrowed but a smile beginning to form, “Focus on today, that we are together”

“Are you trying to reassure me or yourself?” She parrots, giggling at his unimpressed look. “Empathy is so very interesting, we can so clearly see how to reassure someone else of our own fear but struggle with our own advice” 

“Never have more true words been spoken” Damian chuckles, taking her hand in his own, the car settling into silence once more. The calm atmosphere is cracked when Marinette's hands begin to tremble once again.

“Relax, Mari. They will love you”

“Yes but there has been so much drama surrounding myself that I can’t help but be a little more than nervous.” She thinks back to the phone call Damian received yesterday, unsure of how this ‘Brown’ person would receive her. 

“No reason to be unless you are truly uncomfortable with everything that happened? You never did tell me how you felt about all that?”

“Oh yea,” Damian scowls. Of course she forgot this had affected her too. Her own privacy to be exact. “Well is everything cleared up between you guys?”

Now it was Damians turn to be uncomfortable. “We haven't talked, but I let them know I was no longer upset.” Damian mumbles, thankful that he is driving so he had a reason not to meet Marinette's eyes. 

“Hmm, perhaps I should talk to the boys,”

“Why?”

“Well they did listen to my phone call, that is definitely something we need to discuss” Her tone was off. It was like she was trying to sound serious but sarcasm laced ever syllable as well. If he hadn’t glanced at her just then, he would have missed the smirk, now leaving her lips as she tried to school her expression. 

“What are you up too?” 

“I am up to nothing Damian. This is a serious conversation.” Yea no, not even Dick would fall for that. 

“I trust you will tell me what you really want to talk about with them later.” He wouldn’t pry anymore, but he wasn’t going to drop it either. Marinette only smiles softly at him, reaching her hand to trace his jaw line. The action leaving him distracted and hyper aware at the same time. 

“All in good time Love, just trust me on this one.” 

“You play dirty” He growls out, grip tightening around the wheel. Again she laughs, repeating her earlier action. 

“I know you love me” She teases cheekily, before bringing their conversation away from the topic of family and onto miscellaneous, trivial ones. Damian responds idly, enjoying having her back in his presence. Soon they reach the broad gates of Wayne manor, hidden behind the thick foliage making Marinette feel even more like an outsider. 

Damian climbs out of the car, waiting for Marinette to join him at his side. He glances behind him confused when she does not appear. A quick glance shows that she is still in the car, fists clenched as she takes a few deep breaths. Damian waits patiently for her to finish. 

When she finally climbs out of the car, her face shows confidence, while the trembling of her hands betray her nerves. Damian’s larger hand swallows her, Damian likes to think he is absorbing her nerves, and the smile she sends his way almost makes him believe that. 

“Oh I almost forgot” Damian reaches into his pocket, pulling a small box out. Marinette smiles softly at him before giving her hand to him to accept the ring. It is a simple silver band with one small pink stone embedded in the ring. It was perfect for the seamstress, nothing to snag on the fabric. 

“You didn't have to do that Damian”

“You are my fiance and tradition dictates I present you with a ring as a symbol of our status” Marinatte tries not to laugh but fails, breaking down into small giggles. 

“Also,” Damian leads her towards the ‘house’ once more, “I want to see how perceptive my family truly is” 

They walked inside, the liveliness of the manor there, but muted to the back of the house. The couple start to move to the back only to be halted when Damian is tackled to the ground. Marinette can’t help but gasp as he slides back to the front door.

“Uncle Dami! 

Damian carefully sits up, hugging the small girl to his chest. She may only be nine now, but she grew into her tamaranian strength everyday. “Hey there power-pop, stronger than the last time I see.”

The girl giggles, she lifts Damian off the ground, hugging him tightly. “Mom has been training me everyday. I can lift a small car now!” Her eyes are a bright green, alight with an energy that only a child knows. 

“Can you now power-pop? Do you mind putting me down, I would like to introduce you to someone.” Damian gasps for breath, rubbing his side. He was bound to have a few bruises by tonight, as he always did after seeing Mar’i. “This is Marinette.”

Marinette watches in temptation as the girl turns her attention to her. Her posture is relaxed, open and friendly. She was well muscled for her age, and probably the tallest as well, standing close to Marinette's shoulders, who was only 5’3’’. Marinette couldn’t help but love the contrast of her vivid green eyes to her midnight hair and sunset skin tone. She would grow to be a beautiful woman. 

“Hi I’m Mar’i.” She chirps, bouncing a little as she approaches Marinette for a hug. 

“Be gently power-pop, she's not used to your strength.” 

“Ok Uncle Dami.” Marinette gasps a little, if this was gentle, she felt bad for whatever kind of hug Damian received. 

“It’s nice to meet you too Mar’i you want to hear a secret.” The girl's eyes light up at the question. She nods eagerly, leaning in close.

“My friends call me Mari, just like your name.” Marinette whispers, side eyeing Damian with a smirk. He frowns at her, clearly put off by being out of the loop. 

“Really!?”

“Yup, do you think you could help think of another nickname for me?” Marinette continues to whisper. 

“I will think really hard! Do you have any superpowers or are you super cool like my dad?” Before Marinette can answer, a man enters behind her standing behind Mar’i with his hands on her shoulders. 

“Mar’i what have we said about asking those kinds of questions. Not everyone is Meta or comfortable admitting they are Meta. You are free to talk about yourself, but don’t ask those questions.” 

“Sorry Dad, sorry Marinette.” 

“To answer your question Mar’i, no I don't have superpowers, but I can perform magic and have magic friends. Would you like to meet them?” Marinette smiles at the girl, relaxing when the excitement returns to her eyes. 

“Can I? Where are they?” 

Tikki and Kaalki fly out of their hiding places, smiling at the girl as well. She giggles when Mar’i only grows more excited, firing off questions a mile a minute. With a defeated shake of his head, the man holds out his hand to Marinette. 

“Dick Grayson, it's a pleasure to finally meet you.” He moves them off to a sitting area beside the entryway. 

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, likewise. Your daughter is precious, I can’t imagine how much of a handful she must be though.” 

“You have no idea,” he chuckles with a glance back at his daughter, “Mar’i Grayson if you want to fly, go outside.” 

“Com’on Tikki and Kaalki I want to see how high you can fly!” The adults all show variations of amusement and exasperation at Mar’i’s excitement as she darts out the front door, the kwami close behind. 

The adults left in the room jump, the sound of breaking glass and swearing echoing from down the hall. Dick only pinches the bridge of his nose muttering to himself. “I am so thankful I don’t live here anymore”

Damian only shares a look with Marinette, who is already moving down the hall to investigate. He watches as she takes quick glances at the pictures lining the walls, Alfred putting careful attention into each and everyone. Damian wasn’t fond of pictures, but had realized at a young age that they helped recreate the good memories. 

The sounds of an argument grow as they come closer to the kitchen. Damian knew what kind of scene awaited him behind the swinging door, Marinette however would be horrified. She was as meticulous in the kitchen as she was with her sewing. She cleaned as she went, and put everything away after it was used. Her kitchen was never left with a blemish, and she almost took his head off the first time he tried to help her cook dinner. 

He watched as she pushed open the door, taking in the scene in front of her. Tim stood with his back to her, a handheld broom clenched in his fist as he waved it around to emphasize his words. 

Jason stood glaring on the other side of the kitchen island yelling back. Alfred stood off to the side, exasperated at their antics, choosing to continue cooking, leaving the young men to their own devices. 

“What has Alfred been teaching you?” Jason shouts, gesturing wildly at the broken glass and pasta sauce splatter from floor to counter to ceiling.

“To cook unlike you, at least I can be in the kitchen by myself without it bursting into flames.”

“Yeah because all you know is how to use the microwave.”

“Says the king of microwavable dinners for one”

“Why you-” Jason stops from leaping over the counter at Tim, his eyes widening at the sight of Marinette standing in the doorway. Tim turns in confusion before also freezing in what could be fear or shock, Damian couldn’t tell. 

“Hello Miss Marinette, it is wonderful to meet you after all this time.” Alfred comes over, taking her hand in his own. Marinette smiles at him, his hands are soft, but not as soft as his eyes. If this man was a part of Damian’s family, then she truly had nothing to worry about. 

“I feel the same,” Marinette can feel the love he has for his family. Though he continues to age more each year, he continues to serve them with all the care he can give. “I look forward to getting to know you.” Alfread plays with Marinette’s ring, giving her a mischievous smile before turning back to the stove. 

The boys still hadn’t moved, they stood defensively, waiting for Marinette to strike. From their viewpoint they feel like cornered prey, Marinellte the Lioness, waiting for the proper moment to strike. Both men begin to sweat, the mess quickly forgotten. She gently takes the broom and dustpan from Tim, leaning down to sweep up what she can, thankful that she had not removed her shoes at the door. They watch with trepidation as she cleans their mess, until all sauce she could reach is wiped up and the kitchen just one step back into order as it was before. 

“Alfred, what are you cooking? It smells delicious.” The boys flinch as Marinette finally speaks after the long silence. 

“A simple dish for the boys to learn and Miss Mar’i’s favorite. Spaghetti with corn bread.”

“Wonderful, I have not had many dishes related to American-Italian food, I can’t wait to try it” 

“You can thank the boys here, they did most of the work” Marinette finally turned her full attention towards them, giving them a soft smile. 

“Thank you for cooking dinner for us.” Damian is trying his best to contain his laughter, they could only give her a shaking nod of their heads, eyes still wide. She only continues to smile at them, gently taking the spoon from Alfred. 

“Why don’t I help the boys finish dinner, that way you can relax for the night. Spend some time with Mar’i?” Alfred pats her cheek gently.

“Thank you Miss Marinette, the cornbread is on a timer and the noodles only need to be drained soon, vegetables are also on a timer.” Damian walks with Alfred back down the hall, smiling proudly alongside his grandfather. 

"Those boys are in for a surprise Damian" Alfred chuckles, leaning on Damians arm. 

"She's up to something, that's for sure" with one last backwards glance at the swinging door, Damian leads Alfred to the sitting Area, joining Dick and Bruce in the relaxing environment. 

Back in the kitchen Marinette hums softly, continuing dinner preparations while the boys have tried to distance themselves as far as they possibly can from the young woman. 

Jason sits stiffly on his stool, hands gripping his knees until his knuckles are white. He sends constant glances at the door, wondering if he should run or face her lecture like a man. Her humming was starting to put him on edge. Marinette Dupain-Cheng has not behaved like one would expect in this situation. Jason was flying blind. 

Tim, on the other hand, is trying to control his shaking by sitting with perfect posture for once, hands folded neatly in front of his on the marble top. With a glance you would picture him to be perfectly calm, if it were not for the beads of sweat on his brow or the constant fidgeting with his hands. He too was confused and on edge. He knew few women on a very personal level, and each and every one of them scared him, but at least he knew what to expect. Marinette being completely calm and unreactive left his head spinning. 

Both boys were used to yelling and even fist being thrown. Not gentleness and kindness. Just when the silence was getting too much to bear, she spoke again. 

"I must thank you both, you would have made a paranoid old man feel very justified" she sends another one of those smiles over her shoulder before turning back to the pasta mixture. 

“What?” They echo off each other. 

“My master saw a movie one day where they were listening in on phone calls. After that, he insisted we talked in code with each other when it related to temple business.” Content that the food was good to leave alone for a moment she turns to face the boys, almost laughing at their equally confused and tense facial expressions. 

“Glad we could help?” Tim is at a loss for how to proceed. Damian yelled at them, shouldn’t Marinette too? How would Damian even find someone this polar opposite from him? This must be a mind game, no other explanation. Tim would not lose. 

“Can you please just get this over with, we can take anything you have to say” Jason finally snaps, instantly regretting his tone but he couldn't take the drawn out punishment any longer. Hugging Bruce for twenty-four hours would be preferable to this. 

“And what, Jason, am I getting done and over with?” Damian had mentioned his brothers every so often, only in passing stories or complaints. It was quite easy to see who was who. Jason was known for being a hot head, quick to speak. Tim on the other hand, Damian had bragged about being taller than him, and well, he was clearly the shorter of the two. 

“Yelling at us for everything we did to you.” 

She smirks at them, leaning on her elbows staring at them in such a way they couldn’t help but feel as though she was searching their souls. Maybe she was; they didn’t know what kind of magic she knew afterall. 

“Oh that, I don’t care about that.” She shuts off the timer, removing the bread carefully while the boys processed her words. 

“You-you don’t care that we listened to your phone call?” Tim is the first to speak.

“Or the background check we did on you?”  Jason finishes. The boys relax a little, but again Tim is waiting for the rug to be pulled from under his feet (like that hadn’t been happening since she stepped foot in the kitchen). Jason had stopped looking at the door, hyperfocusing on Marinette body language. She was relaxed, moving about the kitchen like she had cooked within its walls her whole life. 

“Nope.” She says it with such sweet innocence, they obviously had different perceived notions on the seriousness of the topic. 

“Why?” 

“Because it's your job. How many times have you had to do something like this and it helped you save countless lives?” She easily finds the strainer in the first cabinet she checks. 

“Uh,”

“I can say I do not like or prefer my privacy being overstepped, but how can I hold that against you? How can I be upset by something that you do to protect people, especially those you love.” 

“What?” Each boy's response continues to be more intelligent than the last. 

Marinette giggles, “So no I am not mad at you guys for those actions.”

Tim narrows her eyes at her words, “That insinuates that you are upset with us about something.”

“Yes I am saddened by one thing and that is, that you don’t trust Damian.” She has stopped smiling, giving each boy a heartbroken look. She gives them time to think, finishing dinner preparations. 

“Of course we trust him,” Jason starts, offended that she would declare such a thing. Look at them with such disdain and judgment. Who was she to judge him and behave like she knows everything. 

“Yeah, he always has our backs, we would have died more times than we can count if he wasn’t there” Tim is now also on the offensive. Why did he fear her words again? She clearly knew nothing and was only on Damians side, her view of the situation had been tainted. 

Marinette watched each boy express their anger and pain. She sighs a little at their pride, but hopefully this conversation wouldn’t be too painful. 

“You trust him with those things, yes, but do you trust him with his own decisions?” Seeing that they didn’t have an immediate response, she continued on. 

“Have you ever let Damian make any decisions on his own? Even if you knew they could or would result in mistakes?”

“Of course we have, we aren’t Bruce or Alfred after all.” Jason grumbles, still put off by where the conversation was heading. He would rather she had just yelled at them by this point. 

“Then why didn’t you listen to him?” The sound of her stool scraping against the floor sends a feeling of unease through the room. 

“Because we-” Tim falters. “Because we thought we knew best” He finishes weakly.

“We just want to protect him,” Jason adds in defense, “We have been through things like this before. Better safe than sorry.”

“And is it better?” She takes a hold of their left and right hand respectively. “Is it better to lose a relationship with your brother or be there for him when he needs it?” 

She lets them process her words, their eyes are looking anywhere but at her, brows creased with thought and worry. 

“But he could have-” Jason starts angrily before glancing at Tim, the door, then Marinette. Jason couldn’t finish, she might not know, and the last thing he needed was to say something to break them up and get on Damians bad side again. 

“You were afraid he could die again?” The boys wanted to be shocked he told her, but clearly Marinette was a special woman. She squeezes their hands, the boys feeling calm and comfort now instead of anger. 

“We are all human. We all make mistakes,” Tim flinches, “But if we don’t, then how are we supposed to gain knowledge and growth?”

“But some mistakes are irreversible.” Jason mumbles.

“That is true, and those are the most painful.”

“We have made some of those mistakes, and we know how it ends, we can help stop him from living with our regrets” Tim argues, desperate to show Marinette how much good he meant, that he just wanted Damian to stay safe. 

She only smiles, “And that is a desire I never want you guys to push away, but you can’t protect him from everything. You can’t control everything, and you most certainly can’t control another person.”

Jason felt like he was slapped across the face just then. When had he started to behave like Bruce? When had he become so overbearing? 

Tim felt the knots retie in his stomach, and the constriction of his lungs retightened. He didn’t want to be controlling, but he needed to be in control. Now he was frustrated by this clear paradox. 

“Instead,” they focus in on her words, as the tone is a hopeful one, “Share with him your knowledge, give advice when he asks, and most importantly,” They are breathless now, completely captivated by her voice and eyes. Her eyes are intense, clearly this point needs to be taken to heart, while also having a soft edge to them, she isn’t angry, she is patient. 

“Be there for him when he needs you. It is better to have a relationship then a partnership isn’t it?” She waits a beat for her words to sink in before hopping off the stool to finish dinner, leaving the boys to process. 

“Thank you Marinette,” Jason is the first to speak, coming to stand beside her, helping her plate everything. “He picked a good one” She flushes at his words, flattered and embarrassed. The three adults are now content, a relationship of understanding growing between them. 

To bring a sense of normalcy, Jason launches into as many embarrassing stories of Damian he can recount while they finish dinner and set the table next door. Tim chimes in every now and then to correct him, or add detail, but otherwise stays out of the conversation. Marinette laughs heartily at each story, glad that there was still something to learn about Damian. She is glad to finally meet his family, after all she missed her own overseas. 

“And then he comes home with a cow right, don’t know how or where and he refused to tell us.” Marinette giggles at the idea of preteen Damian dragging a cow through the front doors of the Manor. They are walking the halls to retrieve the family for dinner when raised voices from the sitting area give the three adults a sense of urgency. 

Rounding the corner Marinette watches as a blond woman bares down on Damian, her finger in his face. He only looks annoyed, staring her down with narrowed eyes. Rather she would be bearing down if not for the height difference. She was almost standing on her tiptoes to get into Damian’s face. 

“You haven’t changed at all in the last decade!” The woman yells. “Stubborn and wrong to a fault again!” Her face flushed red, muscles tightened and her entire posture tense. 

Damian flinches, his body shifting only the slightest. The only outward sign that what was said hurt him. His arms wrap tighter around his body, spine straight. Marinette narrows her eyes before marching over and pushing herself into the woman's personal space. 

She takes a step back, blinking in surprise at the smaller asian woman invading her space. Her eyes widen when she finally processes who exactly is in front of her. “You-” she snaps her mouth shut however, her sentence unfinished. 

Stephanie is unsure what kind of person she is dealing with. While she stands defensively in front of Damian, her petite stature leaves her confused on whether or not she was truly a threat. However when Stephanie looks her in the eyes, she knows the answer to that question. There is more to her than there seems. Her eyes are hard in the iris, no other sign showed her clear anger at Stephanie. Or was Stephanie imagining the anger? She looked like she was going to cry more than anything.

"Steph that is enough" Tim grabs her hand, pulling her from the room. "Even I know that was uncalled for." She flinches at his quiet anger, bowing her head.Alfred continues to observe his new granddaughter. While she did well to hold herself with dignity, it was clear that she was just as upset as Damian about the words spoken. Marinette sighs deeply before turning to face the occupants of the room. Jason had taken a seat next to Dick at some point, whispering fiercely into his ear, a smug grin on his face. Marinette turns to Bruce, extending her hand. 

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you” 

“Likewise,” Bruce is surprised at the sight of the ring as she pulls her hand back. He was unaware that things between the two were so serious. One glance to Damian solidifies the fact in Bruce's mind. He looked so relaxed and in love, despite the tense situation just moments prior. 

Even as Damian grew up, his tough personality made it difficult for him to let people get close to him, and for people to desire to get close. Bruce thinks Damian never truly realized how lonely that was until he had graduated highschool. He was overjoyed for his son to finally let someone into his heart and to freely give his away. That was a truly proud moment for Bruce. 

“Please continue to stay by Damians side.” He does not quite know why he would request such a thing from her, just that he did not regret asking once he saw the resolve on her face. 

“I can’t imagine leaving him” Bruce nods, glad to hear her words, "and I apologize for the chaos i have brought to your home" 

"My dear, you have done no such thing. Their nightly activities have left them high strung and on edge" Alfred gently reminds her, "They get a little stuck in their heads on occasion" 

Marinette looks like she's about to argue with him, but a gentle touch to her shoulder from Damian has her smiling politely at Alfred instead. 

"Learn to accept you're not responsible for everything" Damian scowls at her, that only has her scowling right back. 

"I was just-" 

"Being ridiculous like always" Damian quickly finishes for her, giving her shoulder another squeeze. 

“What is it, my little bumgorf?" The room turns at the sound of the newcomer, Marinette gasping softly. Her skin was a glowing amber that contrasted like a sunset with her vibrant red hair. Her otherworldly green eyes were bright with joy. Marinette had never seen a more beautiful woman who would honestly make a great model for her line. That skin tone. 

 Dick rises, giving the woman a chaste kiss before settling his arm around her waist. “Marinette I would like you to meet my wife, Kori” 

“Nice to meet you” Marineete once again extends her hand but Kori pulls her into a hug, Marinette laughs. 

“Oh I’m so excited to have you join the family” 

“I can’t wait to get to know everybody”

"Mom, I'm hungry can we please eat now? Mar’i is pouting, both kwami sitting contently on her shoulders. 

"Of course my little bumgorf." The women decide to move to the dining room, the men following behind. Jason claps Damian on the back, pulling him into a hug. 

“Sorry for not trusting you. Marinette is quite the woman and you are very lucky.” Before Damian can respond, he moves ahead, cheeks flushed the slightest. 

“Wow, she can get Jason to apologize willingly” Dick laughs, before following after Jason, “Jay! Come back here” Father and son are left alone in the hall, both slowing their pace the slightest.

“I was unaware things were this serious” 

“She accepted everything about me”

“Everything?”

“She forgave me for my past actions,” Damian hesitates for a moment, but decides to push forward, “She said she loves me no matter what” 

“That is a very special trait to have” with that Bruce leaves, but not before gripping his youngest son's shoulder, the fatherly pride at his growth, both emotionally and physically. He is a fine young man. He can feel the emotions welling up, and quickly makes his leave, not comfortable with the vulnerability he associates with 'mushy' love. 

Damian smiles at his father's retreating figure and chuckles. Some things never change and he is thankful for that. Dinner goes smoothly for the rest of the night, Stephanie making up with the members of the room, the Kwamii introduced and questions answered. Dinner finished and goodbyes exchanged, Marinette promising to visit Kor’i and Mar’i soon. Damian and Marionette find themselves sitting in the car, each processing the night. Marionette seemed content with the outcome of the night humming softly to herself. The moon was still yellow and low in the sky, signifying the night had only begun. 

“So you gonna tell me what you talked to my brothers about?”

“You.”

“What about me?” 

“How sometimes the relationship is more important than the choices the other person makes.” Damian does respond right away after that, eyes narrowed in thought. 

“How did they take that?”

“Very well I think, but change doesn’t happen overnight so I’m sure their first reaction will be an overprotective one for awhile, so please be patient” 

“As long as I have you here to help me, I know I can change too” Marinette sighs happily at that, returning to watching the passing scenery out the window. Marinette watches in fascination as they approach the Wayne Tower in the middle of the city, entering the underground parking garage. Damian pulls into the secret entrance, parking the car in the large makeshift HQ. 

“Wow this is so cool. How does no one know that this is here?”

“We are very careful,” Bruce enters from a side room, already dressed for the night ahead. “Damian why did you bring Marinette here?” Bruce was already fond of his daughter-in-law to be and didn’t want her too close to the vigilante life. 

“I’m going out with you guys” She casually answers while exploring the area, looking at anything and everything. 

“What?” Jason and Tim say at the same time. One sounds incredulous while the other doesn’t seem too surprised. 

“I haven’t been out in so long, I can’t wait” She ignores the mens bewildered stares, looking towards the elevator. “Does that go all the way to the top?” 

“Yes, I’ll take you as soon as I’m ready.”

“Ok” She patiently waits for her love, continuing to examine the central computer station. “Look at this girls, isn’t this amazing. Imagine if we upgraded the temple with this stuff.”

“It would increase our appearance of wealth I guess,” Kalkki sighs, trying to not appear pleased at the obvious wealth her supreme has found herself in. 

“Come Habibti, we won't have all night,” Damian enters again in uniform this time. He wore a simple red and black ensemble, the trim of his cape and belt a muted yellow. His uniform differed from the other Robins with it being a tunic instead of a jumpsuit. His cape also had a hood and easy access to the sword on his lower back.

Marinete giggled all the way up to the top, Damian sending her questioning looks, which only made her laugh harder. Jason and Tim had decided to ride with them, curious as to why Marinette wanted to go to the roof. Exiting outside, Marinette takes a deep breath, enjoying the cityscape against the rising moon. With a quick flick of her fingers, she is engulfed in a deep red light. 

Damian admires her new look unabashedly. She wore what looked like a sleeveless tunic that went to her knees over a fully black bodysuit. Her tunic was red with black spots, trimmed in yellow with matching yellow tinted goggles. Her hair was hidden by the hood of her tunic and she had beautiful translucent wings at her back. 

“We match” She giggles again, dancing over to him on the tip of her toes. 

“At least I’ll know you’re mine” He caresses her face, hand trembling the slightest. Marinette can’t help but find the feel of his glove uncomfortable, clearly it was meant for grip, but she stayed still, letting Damian calm himself before they went out for the night. 

“Now please don’t be mad at me love, but I haven’t done this in so long” She starts after Damian had had his moment, slowly backing away  before taking a full run off the side of the tower. The boys gasp in fear, while Damian takes a deep breath through his nose. She can’t die, she can’t die. She can’t die. The mantra plays heavily in his head when he marches over the side, ready to chase after her. He watches as she free falls, her laugh ringing out through the city, possibly unnerving for the native. But to hear the joy she has behind it, he hopes everyone else is infected by it too. 

Marinette enjoys the feel of the wind around her, the hold gravity has over her stomach. She laughs at the feeling of adrenaline once again in a long time. Man she missed this. Finally she releases her wings, taking off through the Gotham air, dancing between buildings and gargoyles. 

She can feel him coming up behind her and slows herself enough for him to grab her, enjoying the sensation of being in her love's arms while swinging through the air. They touch down on a darkened rooftop, Each catching their breath. 

“You didn’t tell me you were a thrill seeker” He doesn’t sound mad, just reserved to the fact this this would be his life now. The worry and fear for her safety would never go away. But all in all, if it meant her joy and laughter, he would endure. 

“I haven’t free fell in so long, that was amazing!” She is still catching her breath, and still in his arms. As they both level out their breathing, they get lost in the other's gaze. 

“I love you Habibti,” Damian leans down to her, resting his forehead against her own, chuckling at the small antenna in the edge of her hair line. “I love you my little bug”

“And I love you my gorgeous Robin” She rises up to meet his lips, finding her home with him, and content with her choices. Ready to take on the world with him by her side. Partners in everything for the rest of their lives. Till death do they part. 

[wxyvision]

Seek The Golden Sun

For Challenge 1 of the Daybreak Writing Challenge

Genre: Angst? fairytale au, dystopian au??

Idol/Group: Jungwoo and Doyoung from NCT

Based on: Snow White and Rose Red. I changed quite a bit of the story to make it more angsty but if you squint hard enough maybe you’ll find some references to the original fairytale! (The boys appear later on if you’re wondering where they are)

Word count: 3,360

A/N: Idk what this is to be honest. I’m not the best at dystopian but I tried my best lmao

Gyeoul used to remember it so clearly. The town was once bustling with life. Every corner turned led to a busy road. The sights, the smells, the sounds far away but not forgotten. She could barely remember the days that she used to pass by the large bakery, distinguishable not only by its heavenly smells, but also by its odd shape. Now? All that was left behind was the shell of the paradise it once was. Gone too were the people that kept the town alive. Several years earlier, there had been a great rebellion, and in the weeks that followed, people started to flee one by one. None of those remaining knew where exactly they went. None of them heard a single word from any of them again. Had they packed up and fled to another town to start a better life? Had they even had a happy ending? Gyeoul could only imagine what could have happened in such dangerous times. Still, perhaps they had had the right idea to leave. And she would have, if she didn't have her sister to worry about. Yeoreum was always known to everyone as the warm one. Pretty much everyone in the town thought of her as a friend, and she thought the same of them. She was full of laughter, despite all of the chaos she'd seen. Her sister, on the other hand, was more quiet and withdrawn. Gyeoul was far happier reading or tending to their garden - or what was left of it. Sure, the only books that hadn't been destroyed during the uprising were fairy tales, and she'd read all of those a thousand times over, but she couldn't care less.

The two sisters were inseparable. They spent almost every minute by each other's side, as they had done since they were young. But now, as Yeoreum spotted two figures dressed head to toe in dark grey clothing, this was threatened. She looked back at her little sister sleeping peacefully and made a promise to herself that she would do whatever it took to keep her safe. Yeoreum rushed about, though being careful not to disturb her sister. Luckily, her and Gyeoul were similar enough in height and body shape that she was able to slip into her sister's clothing. She had heard rumours that the rebel leader wanted to kill anyone who opposed his rule. After the uprising ended and he had seized control over the surrounding areas, Yeoreum had reluctantly given her support in order to keep her and her sister safe from their guards. But now, it seemed, the protection didn't extend to Gyeoul, only her. Yeoreum slipped on her sister's white coat and removed the necklace from around her neck, placing it into Gyeoul's clasped hands. "Stay strong." She whispered before leaving the house as quietly as she could. She hoped that her sister would be alright on her own. The thought of being apart from her broke her heart, but she knew that escaping at this point would be impossible. This was the only way she knew. As soon as she stepped out of the house, the guards escorted her away. Yeoreum's heart pounded but she reminded herself to stay calm. Panicking would only make things worse for her, she thought. The guards led her to a military-like truck, rammed full of other people from various towns. It felt as though she was being transported to some sort of prison. Yeoreum fell forward as one of the guards slammed the tailgate shut. Two rows of faces stared down at her, making her feel self-conscious. She picked herself up, barely being able to sit down before the truck started to move.

Gyeoul woke up to hear the sound of a truck driving away. She sat up from her bed, her sister's necklace promptly falling to the floor. Her heart dropped. She raced to the window, just managing to catch a glimpse of her sister staring back at her before the truck disappeared off into the distance. Her lungs hurt as though she had breathed in acid instead of air. This couldn't be happening. What was she without her sister, her flesh and blood? How was she supposed to cope without her? It was something she didn't even want to consider, but it was already her reality. She scrambled outside in her pyjamas, waiting for Yeoreum to come back. This had to be an evil prank, but she knew that Yeoreum would never put her through that. A loud growl to her right caught her attention. Had one of the guards caught her? Was she going to be kidnapped and punished? All sorts of scenarios flooded her mind, but none of them could prepare her for what would happen next. She turned her body to face the direction of the noise. A large, raven-coloured bear stood in front of her now, staring directly at her. The bear took a step towards her, and Gyeoul instinctively took a step backwards. All of a sudden, the bear stood on his back legs and growled once more. Knowing what usually followed, Gyeoul braced herself for her inevitable death. She fell to the floor, curling into a ball. Yet the bear's teeth and claws never once ripped into her skin. Growls thundered around her, abruptly ending with a thud that made the ground around her tremble. Once everything had gone quiet again, she lifted her head, nearly jumping out of her skin at the sight of a smaller black bear whimpering and limping away. What had happened? She turned around to see the bear from before sitting behind her. When it caught her gaze, it bowed its head before nuzzling against her. Had this fierce animal actually protected her? She lifted a hand to brush the fur of its neck, only to be met with a dark red liquid. Gyeoul rushed inside and collected some cloth to tend to its injuries. It was the least the bear deserved, she thought. The bear let out a high pitched howl as she dabbed at its neck with the cloth. Her heart wrenched at seeing the animal in pain, but she had to clean the wound. The bear relaxed, resting its head on her shoulder to give her better access to its neck. When she was done, her heart settled back to its usual rhythm. Perhaps not everything in the world was there to harm her, after all.

For the next few weeks, the bear visited Gyeoul every other day, keeping her company and easing her heartache, even if it was only a little. She missed her sister deeply, but she had no idea of where the rebel stronghold was. No one in the town knew. If they did, surely their friends and family would already have been rescued by now, if they were even still alive. She made it her mission to find out. She had to find out where they had taken Yeoreum to. Nothing else mattered much to her. Gyeoul still held out hope that someone would be able to help her, but as of yet, she had met no such person. Until one day. It happened whilst she was walking through the woods, taking refuge amongst the trees from the seemingly never-ending heatwave. She nearly missed them, but the occasional sniffle drew her attention to a hunched figure at the foot of a tree stump. "Hello?" She called out to them, and the sniffles immediately died down. The figure looked over their shoulder, slowly standing up. The man was short and scruffy, and there were thick bags under his eyes. His fingers were adorned with bejeweled rings, which seemed out of place compared to the rest of his appearance.His tired eyes looked up at Gyeoul. "My family… our soil has dried up and we have no food left. We have absolutely nothing!" He cried, falling to his knees. Gyeoul looked back in the direction of her house. She and Yeoreum had been surprisingly lucky this year, so they had extras to spare. Gyeoul knelt in front of him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"If you wait here, I can help you. I have some to spare." He nodded and she collected some food for him, making her way back to the clearing in the forest. He rushed over to her, snatching the crate of food from her and examining its contents."Humph." Gyeoul was taken aback. "Is this all I get? Useless!" He complained, turning away from her, glaring back at her over his shoulder. Perhaps someone like him wouldn't be of any help to her, after all.

It was some time later, and Gyeoul was beginning to grow restless without her sister. Surely someone must be able to help her find her, but who? There were barely any townspeople left anymore, and those that stayed mostly kept to themselves now. At least the drought had ended, although there was still no end in sight for the heat. Now, there was water for the garden and for taking a bath after a long day of tending to her flowers. Water had also returned to the nearby lake several days ago, and hopefully soon the wildlife would do the same. Gyeoul was sat by the side of the lake, reading one of her fairytales. This time, however, she didn't feel any sense of joy from doing this. Recent events only served to remind her that such stories were just that, stories. There was never going to be a fairy godmother to wave her wand and magic all of her problems away, nor was a handsome prince going to wake her from a poison-induced sleep with "true love's kiss". All of a sudden, she heard frantic splashing about in the lake and looked up from her book to see the same man she met before. Instinctively, she jumped in the lake to save the old man from drowning. She held onto him as she helped the two of them back on land. "Hey!" He called out to her, eyebrows narrowed. "I didn't ask you to jump in there after me, young lady." Gyeoul was, once again, dumbfounded. Did he not realise what could have happened if she didn't jump in there after him?

Folding her arms over her chest, she gave him a stern look. "Maybe you should learn some manners. Someone gives you food because you're hungry and you don't even say thank you. Someone saves you from drowning and you shout at them. Maybe next time I ought to stand by and do nothing!" Gyeoul turned away and walked back home, picking up her book on the way. She didn't look back at the old man, not even once.

Gyeoul never usually ventured out, but she'd heard about a man in the next town over who knew where the rebel hideout was and decided it wouldn't hurt to visit him. This town was not much different from her own except the style of the buildings. Here, the houses were much taller, and more of them were still intact, unlike the ones back home. She made note of the house's address, confirming to herself that she was at the right place, before knocking on the door. A familiar grumble came from behind the door. Of all the people she had to seek out, why did it have the be the rude man? "Ah, you. What d'ya want?" He asked, scrunching his nose up. Gyeoul blinked,  surprised that she had ended up here.

"I heard that you know where the rebel hideout it. Can you tell me where it is? My sister was taken and I really need to find-"

"I'll help you. If you help me move my stock." He pointed at the stockroom with his thumb. Gyeoul was close to turning around and leaving. She couldn't believe that he was asking for help after being ungrateful to her before, but she needed to find her sister. Without a single (verbal) complaint, she did as the old man told her to. She stepped into the room he had pointed to, picking up one of the boxes. A slam of metal rang out behind her, causing her to snap her head to look over at the source of the noise. Figuring that the door had shut due to a breeze, Gyeoul attempted to push the door open, only to be met with resistance. So this was the thanks she got for helping the old man. She really should have said no this time. She slumped on the floor, bringing her knees to her chest. How was she supposed to find her sister like this? Everything felt hopeless at that point, but a thundering roar outside gave her a flicker of hope. Gyeoul pounded her palm on the door, begging for someone to help.

"Stand back!" An unfamiliar voice called out from behind the door. She scooted over to the corner, waiting for whatever was supposed to happen. In a matter of seconds, the same black bear she had befriended came crashing through the door. She rushed over to it, hugging it. A few tears slipped out of her eyes, relieved to be free from the old man's cruel trick. "I spoke to the old man. He says that he knows where the rebel hideout is. If he's true to his word, then he can help us." The voice said. Gyeoul stared blankly at the bear. There was a sigh. "No, it's not the bear talking. It's me." She looked up to see the town mayor riding on the bear. She had almost forgotten how stunning he was, but she had little time to care about being so close to an attractive man given the current situation. He patted behind him, indicating for me to sit behind him. She climbed up onto the bear carefully with the help of Mayor Kim.

"Can we really trust him? He tricked me into here after being rude to me for helping him before. What's to say he won't lead us down the wrong path?" Gyeoul questioned, suspicious of the old man's motives. "And how did you know where I wanted to go? How did you know I'd be here? What do you mean 'help us?" She gripped onto his shirt to stop herself falling as they started to move.

"You sure ask a lot of questions, don't you?" Jungwoo chuckled to himself. "Sometimes you need to have faith in people. I've assured him that this is no joking matter. He knows better than to trick the mayor." Gyeoul nodded. "Let's say the bear and I have a special bond. I've been deploying him to check on the townspeople and he seemed distressed today, so I saddled him and he led me here to you. When he saw me, the old man told me what had happened. The other part… it's not important." He turned his face away from Gyeoul, a pained expression etched on his face.

The journey to the rebel hideout was long and by the end of it, both Gyeoul and the old man were grumbling. Mayor Kim, however, stayed relatively silent the whole time. The only times he spoke up was to ask the old man where to go. Gyeoul couldn't believe he could be so trusting. She certainly wasn't, not when it came to him. When it came to Mayor Kim, however… well, that was a different story. He seemed to be one of the few higher-ups who actually cared about the people. She wished that he would speak more, but he seemed a man of few words. "Mayor Kim, I hate to disturb you but can we stop somewhere? I'm getting thirsty." Gyeoul asked.

He turned to look at her, giving her a small smile before pulling a bottle out of his bag. Their fingertips brushed as she took the bottle from him. "Please, you don't have to call me Mayor Kim all the time. Call me Jungwoo. It makes us feel more friendly, don't you think?" She returned his smile, thanking him.

"All of this is very well and all but how do you plan to infilt-" the old man spoke up, just as Jungwoo's bear approached a large grey building. Tall, twisting spires burst from the roof, towering over them and casting a dark shadow. The door opened with a loud creak. "Well that was easy."

Jungwoo hummed. "Too easy. Be on guard." The bear cautiously walked towards the open door. Nothing had happened so far, but surely infiltrating the rebel hideout shouldn't be so easy. The door to the hideout closed with a slam behind them. Was it a trap? Gyeoul was beginning to think so. 

Until…"Gyeoul!" A familiar voice called out. Gyeoul got off the bear, looking around for her sister. With a hum, lights flooded the large space. "Gyeoul!" Gyeoul turned around, laying her eyes on her sister, who was surprisingly unharmed. In fact, she didn't look distressed at all. The sisters hugged each other tightly as Jungwoo and the old man also got off of the bear. Jungwoo looked around, seeing a familiar figure walking towards him. It was as if time suddenly stopped still. He was safe. And warm. And… the leader?

"Is that really you?" Jungwoo's voice was shaky as he approached the fair haired man. He grinned back at Jungwoo, pulling him in for a hug.

"Why didn't you come with me? You could have saved yourself all of that trouble!" The older man scolded him. "You know I wouldn't have ever put you in danger." His expression softened. He was just glad to have his brother back.

"You're the leader? You're the reason we're in this mess!" Jungwoo's voice became even more strained, refusing to believe that his brother could possibly involved in something so terrible.

"No!" Doyoung shouted. His younger brother jumped back, afraid. Doyoung sighed. "No." He repeated, calmly this time. "We've been trying to trace people to rescue them from the nearby towns and cities. We freed us. We can be happy now. It was never our intention for anyone to get hurt, surely you know that. We overthrew a corrupt system and rescued those who were trapped in unsafe areas. Come on, I'm your brother. Do you think I'd ever hurt you? Or anyone?" 

Jungwoo looked up at him, a tear rolling down his cheek. He looked back at Gyeoul. "I.. Of course not. I just missed you. You didn't tell me any of this." Doyoung pulled him in for another hug, squeezing him tight.

Doyoung's gaze wandered and fell on the old man. "I see you rescued another friend. Welcome, sir." He approached the old man, who looked on at the brothers in confusion. He hadn't thought about this.

"You might want to keep an eye on him. He's somewhat of a trickster. I think he's also allergic to saying thank you." Gyeoul crossed her arms over her chest. 

Doyoung stared at the man in silence. "He can go free, I don't take prisoners." The door swung open and the old man breathed a sigh of relief, beginning to walk away. "But," Doyoung's voice rang out, making him pause. "I hope this journey has taught you something. Do not take people's kindness for granted. From now on, I hope that you will give back the kindness that was shown to you, and learn to see the error of your ways." The old man stared back at Doyoung, head hanging down in shame before wandering away into the distance. The two brothers stared at each other, hardly believing that they would be reunited after so long spent apart.

"Well, that's not the way things were supposed to turn out." Jungwoo chuckled to himself, scratching the back of his neck. Doyoung and the two sisters looked at him, wondering what he meant. "I was supposed to infiltrate this place, defeat the rebels and rescue my brother and Gyeoul's sister, but as it turns out, they didn't need rescuing!" The others laughed along. "Honestly who knows how I was planning to defeat you, though."

[tommyparkerr]

Promises BONUS I | Peter Parker x Reader

So, it’s not absolutely necessary for you to have read my series Promises before reading this, but I would highly suggest it! (You can find all the links in my masterlist located in my bio!) Plus, I’d be the happiest girl in the world if you did. :) For everyone who HAS read it, I hope you enjoy the first of the many bonuses I have planned. Ask and you shall receive!

Also, I kinda sorta am entering this as an entry to my own writing challenge? I took a prompt from it because I realized this fic had the exact same line, so...yeah. Join my Fix The Endgame Irondad Writing Challenge! I’m in desperate need of Irondad as of late for...*clears throat* obvious reasons. It’ll be fun, plus you get to add to a healthy dose of Irondad if you do! Check out my post for details :)

Prompt: “Take it back.”

Words: 3.2k

Warnings: No more angst, just fluff (hence why I’m writing the bonuses)

-Masterlist-

P R O M I S E S  -  B O N U S  O N E :

Three months later...

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Peter asked you for the tenth time today as he loaded up your things into the car. 

“Peter, we’ve been over this,” you said with a smile and roll of your eyes. 

He pursed his lips. “I know, but...I just wanna make sure, ya know?”

You took a step closer and cupped his face, bringing it down to plant a small kiss on his lips. “Peter,” you said quietly, your thumb stroking his cheek, “I’m ready.”

He nodded with a sigh. “Okay, I get it. I’ll stop asking.”

You giggled and pecked his nose before lowering back down to the ground. “We already told May, hun. We’ve got to tell them before she does or we’ll both be dead.”

“She said she’d keep it a secret!” Peter argued. “Is that the only reason you’re doing this?”

“Peter, honey,” you laughed, “you know your aunt is actually a terrible secret keeper, right?” Peter grumbled in acknowledgment but didn’t reply, leading you to go on. “And no, that’s not the only reason I’m doing this. I want to do this, Peter. It’s been four months now. Besides,” you said with a shrug, “I won’t be able to keep hiding my bump for much longer. I’m actually surprised no one has figured it out already.”

At that, your husband’s face lit up and he moved to kneel in front of you. His hand lifted your shirt just enough to lay a hand on the bare skin of your small-but-there baby bump.

“Hey, baby,” Peter said, his lips parted into a smile. “We’re going to Grandma and Grandpa’s house soon and we’re going to tell them all about you. So please don’t get too scared if you hear yelling or someone you don’t know yet touches you, like Grandma May did yesterday when we told her. They’re just excited, bug.”

As he continued to speak to your baby, your heart seemed to grow and your entire body seemed to warm. You couldn’t help but lay a hand over Peter’s as a smile broke out on your face, too.

“Hey, Peter?”

He looked up finally, his eyes twinkling in pure joy. “Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Peter’s grin grew larger, and he let your shirt drop back down as he stood to kiss you. “I love you, too,” he said just before his mouth met yours. 

After a few minutes of soft kisses, you gently pulled away and leaned your head against his chest. “We’re going to be late.”

“As if Tony’s ever been on time.”

“We are going to his home, Peter,” you giggled. “He doesn’t need to be on time.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Peter sighed, stepping back and moving toward the front door. “Why do you have to be so smart all of a sudden?”

You watched as Peter’s face fell after processing what he’d just said. A sick sort of smugness rose up in you (because years ago he wouldn’t have even realized the weight of his words and now, after spending a prolonged amount of time with you, he so clearly does), and when Peter turned to face you he was met with raised eyebrows and pursed lips. 

“Would you like to rephrase that, honey?” you asked with a small smirk, crossing your arms and tapping your foot for dramatization. 

Your husband swallowed. “You’re the most intelligent, most kind, and most beautiful woman I ever could’ve dreamed of, you always have been, and I’m an idiot?”

At hearing his response, you couldn’t help but let out a small giggle. You attempted to hide it, but maybe it was better you failed; otherwise, Peter may have gone into a stress-induced seizure. 

“Wait—you’re not mad?” the brown-eyed boy asked, blinking in surprise. You just giggled again, going up to him and reaching under his arm to open the door. Peter stumbled after you, locking the door to your apartment and fumbling for the other set of keys stuffed inside his coat pocket so he could unlock the car before you reached the doors. “Were you just messing with me? Y/N? Y/N!”

Your only answer was laughter.

---

“That wasn’t very nice, you know,” Peter grumbled as he parked. “Giving a man a heart attack at the ripe age of twenty-four is neither helpful nor desirable.”

“You’re still on that?” you laughed. “Peter, that was like”—you checked your watch—“an hour and a half ago!”

“What? I’m supposed to recover from a near-heart failure in an hour and a half?!”

You laid a hand on his, shaking your head and chuckling to yourself. Going along with the joke, you said, “Your healing factor will kick in soon enough. Spider-Man, remember?”

Peter grumbled something to himself and got out of the car, coming around to your side to open your door and help you out; your belly may not have been big yet, but it was growing and it was different and it was just enough to sometimes throw your already terrible balance off-kilter.

“I love you, Spider-Man,” you said softly, standing on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. 

Peter hummed, annoyance apparently forgotten, and pulled you into his side, kissing the top of your head. “Spider-Man loves you, too.” 

You smiled and settled into a comfortable silence as you walked toward the compound. It didn’t last long, however. 

“Well...most of the time.”

He’d said this jokingly, but after being shoved into a nearby wall Peter chose to point out much more seriously how ‘surprisingly’ strong you were for a girl. 

You raised your brows. Peter gulped. 

And thus began heart attack number two for the day. 

---

“How’s work, Y/N?” Pepper asked as she continued working on whatever dish she was making tonight.

Before you could answer, Peter grinned and said, “She got the promotion.”

Pepper dropped the wooden spoon she was using out of surprise. Luckily, Tony had anticipated it and snatched it up before it hit the ground. 

“You what?” 

You bit your lip to hide a large grin. “Yeah. Yeah, I got it.”

Pepper blinked a few times. “But you didn’t even tell us you were applying for it! I mean, you told us about it and you told us that it had a lot of good benefits and you told us you’d be interested in it, but you also told us the position wouldn’t even open up until whoever held the position retired in a few years!” You opened your mouth to try and explain that that particular person had retired early and referred you to take their place, but before you could Pepper shook her head and swept you into a hug. “Nevermind all that—I’m so happy for you!”

You smiled and returned her hug, knowing it wouldn’t be the last emotional one tonight but not revealing anything that would let Pepper know that. Peter grinned from behind you, eyeing Tony and sharing a contented look with him. 

“She said it, kiddo,” Tony said with a surprisingly genuine smile when Pepper stepped away. “We’re happy for you.” You accepted his hug and hair ruffle as if you were his own kid; and, you guessed in the same sort of way that Peter was his son, you were his daughter. 

“Thanks, old man,” you grinned, ignoring the scoff he gave you in return. 

“Well, I just have to let this simmer for a bit, so if you’d like we can move to another room while we wait,” Pepper said cheerily. 

“That’d be great,” Peter quickly accepted, knowing your back was probably starting to ache and comfortingly but inconspicuously rubbing it as he led you to your favorite couch in the sitting room. You held back a sigh of relief as you sat down; you had expected to experience some back pain, as it was one of the most common symptoms during pregnancy, but you hadn’t been expecting to experience it this early. 

“What about you two?” you asked. “Is there anything new with you?”

Tony waved a hand as if to dismiss the topic at hand. “You know, even with one of us being an Avenger slash one of the universe’s mightiest heroes and the other being CEO of the world’s most successful enterprise, we haven’t seen much excitement lately.”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “I think what my husband means to say is we’d love to hear more about this promotion you’ve worked so hard for.”

Peter managed to cover his laugh with a cough, but you couldn’t hide your small smile in time. Tony grinned at your reactions and leaned back into the couch, crossing his arms behind his head. 

“Well,” you started when you were sure you weren’t going to laugh as soon as you opened your mouth, “I do get a lot more vacation time with the promotion, along with the option to work from home on days I’m not really needed in the office which is something I’m really looking forward to. It seems unreal, but I guess with great responsibility comes great power...or something.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, catching on with an eye roll and an amused shake of his head. “Or something.”

You grinned.

“How many days of paid vacation do you get, then?” Pepper asked next, eyebrows furrowed in concern. 

“Fifteen,” you answered. “But I’ve only been working there five years, so when I make it to ten years it then goes up to seventeen, and when I make it to twenty years I get twenty days. But that’s not including the sick or extended maternity leave.”

“Extended maternity leave, eh?” Tony spoke up with a twinkle in his eye. “You’re already figuring out how to cheat the system—I like it.”

This time Pepper pushed Tony aside until he was forced to fall sideways into the cushions, and it’s a good thing she gave that so much attention because if she hadn’t, she and Tony would’ve seen the look you and Peter had shared with each other and put the pieces together before you could reveal it yourselves. 

“We’re, uh, thinking of taking advantage of some of that vacation time here in about six months or so,” Peter started. “I get eleven days a year, so I’d still have some leftover by the time I went back to work.”

“Oh, good!” Pepper exclaimed. “You two deserve a break! Where are you going? New Zealand? I know you’ve always wanted to visit New Zealand!”

“Pep, you obviously haven’t heard the way this kid talks about England—they’re definitely going there,” Tony said, sitting back up.

Ignoring him, Pepper went on. “Or Thailand! I’ve heard you talk about Thailand a lot! And you eat Thai all the time—not that I blame you.”

Tony was about to open his mouth again to probably throw another guess into the conversation, but Peter interrupted before he could. “Actually...we were thinking something a little closer to home.”

“Okay, so Pepper was wrong,” Tony said, acting as if he hadn’t proposed an overseas country as well. “So...what? The Bahamas? Hawaii? Hell, Alaska?”

“No,” you said, taking the lead with a smile. “Home. We’re going to take a vacation at home.”

It was almost comical, the looks of confusion that appeared on their faces. It was something you rarely saw, and rarer more when it came from both of them. 

“Home,” Pepper repeated slowly, testing the word out on her tongue. “Okay, and what exactly does that mean?”

“It means,” Peter said, interlacing your fingers, “that while we appreciate the joke about cheating the system, Y/N didn’t get the promotion with extended maternity leave until after we found out.”

Silence. You gently laid a hand on your lower abdomen where your bump was slowly starting to show for emphasis, in case they hadn’t caught on. 

More silence, and then-

“Take it back.”

“Tony!” Pepper exclaimed, her eyes wide and blown up with mortification as she smacked him on the chest. 

“What? Being a dad makes me old enough, but a grandpa?”

You hid the smile on your face at Peter’s troubled expression. You knew Tony was joking, but Peter was a sensitive person who often took things too literal and everyone in the room (but Peter) knew it. 

“Seriously, Pep! I’m too young for this!” Tony was smiling, laughing at his own humor, but Peter didn’t see. He was too busy looking down at his lap. After that, one look from Pepper got him shutting up pretty quickly. “Kid,” Tony said more seriously now at seeing the look on his son’s face, standing up and taking a few steps forward to clap his hands on Peter’s shoulders, “I’ve never been prouder.”

Peter sagged in relief and threw his arms around his mentor-turned-father-figure. You didn’t even try to fight the hormone induced tears that came with the scene. Pepper smiled at you understandingly and made her way over, wrapping you in a gentle hug and whispering a small but heartfelt congratulations in your ear. 

By the time you broke apart you realized Tony was rambling in the kitchen while ‘cooking’ dinner, Peter obviously not listening to a single word. He was rather watching you with a loving smile and his own set of tears in his eyes, accepting Pepper’s hug and kiss on the cheek as she repeated Tony’s words and hurried to go fix whatever dish Tony was probably on the verge of ruining. 

Peter sat you both down again and scooted close, grabbing your hands and resting your foreheads together. “This is really happening,” he whispered softly in something resembling disbelief. “We’re having a baby.”

“We’re having a baby,” you repeated, letting your eyes fall shut at the odd sense of warmth that ran through you at the words. 

“Kid, are you even listening to me? This is important stuff, I'll have you know!” Tony’s voice floated in from the kitchen, making both of your grins enlarge. 

“Yeah, yeah! I’m listening, Dad!” Peter lied with a laugh as he pulled his head away from yours, letting you rest against his shoulder. 

“That’s what I thought! Now, I better be the only grandpa on this side of the family! You better not be asking Steve to be anything but an uncle; the same goes for the rest of the team! And while we’re on the topic, I still stick with my belief that ‘grandpa’ makes me sound old and uncool. I’m thinking Pops? Is Pops good with you guys?”

You couldn’t help but laugh into Peter’s shirt at Tony’s way of showing enthusiasm.

“Grandpa Pops! Got it!” Peter replied. 

“Watch it, Parker! I will resign from my grandfatherly position, effective immediately, if your kid calls me Grandpa Pops!”

Peter had nothing to say after that, only joyful laughter escaping his lips. You lifted your head and mindlessly brushed a stray curl off of Peter’s forehead. 

“I don’t know,” you quietly said with a small shrug and mischievous grin. “I think Grandpa Pops has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“The day our little girl calls Tony ‘Grandpa Pops’ is the day hell freezes over and he kills us both,” Peter responded with a chuckle. 

“Little girl?” you repeated quietly, your heart skipping a beat at Peter’s slip up. 

Peter blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I, uh...yeah.”

A soft smile tugged at your lips. “Did your spidey senses tell you that, too?”

His cheeks turned even darker, but his smile grew. “No,” he replied. “Just a feeling.”

Your heart jumped again and you pulled Peter down for a kiss, ignoring Tony’s one-sided attempt at a conversation. 

“I think it’s a girl, too,” you whispered with a smile against his lips. Peter grinned at that and pulled you in for another kiss, one hand delicately cupping your face and the other resting protectively over the small bump that would soon be your entire world. 

“Hey, as long as that baby’s around we’re keeping it PG in this household!” Tony scolded, and you giggled, pulling away from your husband’s lips. 

You expected Peter to blush and stutter like he always did when you were caught showing PDA, so you were caught by surprise when he instead rolled his eyes, said, “Oh, screw off, old man,” and kissed you again, this time lasting much longer than before. It was your turn to blush, but that soon went away along with Tony’s indignant sputtering as Pepper led him back into the kitchen. 

Now it was just you and Peter and baby—your baby—and with another skipping of your heart, you realized this was your future. Not nervously listening for knocks on the door that would no doubt tell you your husband was dead. Not failing to calm down your crying child because they just wanted their dad and didn’t understand why he hadn’t held them in so long. Not figuring out how to be both a single mother and a widow in mourning.

No—your future was filled with tender kisses and ‘I love you’s and bright smiles in the mornings, fake gags when your child saw your tender kisses, sleepy yawns as they responded with ‘I love you, too’s, and giggles as they ate the Mickey Mouse shaped pancake on their plate. 

“What are you thinking about?” Peter murmured, and it wasn’t until he said something that you noticed you’d stopped kissing him. You wondered how long he’d been watching you. 

“Our future,” you responded quietly with a small smile. 

A smile spread over his lips too as well, and he raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you breathily laughed, looking into the brown eyes you were determined to love for the rest of your life. You raised a hand to brush over his cheek, letting yourself memorize the feel of the smooth skin. “Our future.”

Peter took your hand from his cheek and interlaced your fingers, lowering them down to his lap. He placed a small kiss on your forehead, then on the tip of your nose, then slowly connected his mouth to yours. “Our future,” he whispered against your lips. “I think I like the sound of that.”

“Yeah?” you said with a grin, your eyes fluttering shut. 

“Yeah,” he confirmed, moving your interlocked hands to rest over your stomach. “Our future: you, me, our little girl, and whatever impossible things life decides to throw at us next.”

“Like calling Tony Grandpa Pops?” you grinned

Peter chuckled and closed his eyes, brushing his nose against yours. “I love you, Y/N Parker.”

Even after two years of marriage your heart still jolted at being called the Parker name, and, quite frankly, you didn’t think your reaction would be any different sixty years from now. Because sixty years from now you would still love Peter as much as you did yesterday and still be wondering what you did to deserve such a pure, beautiful soul. Because sixty years from now your children would be all grown up and you’d be left with much, much more than what you have now, and your love for your husband would have multiplied tenfold over the years. 

Because sixty years from now you’d both be in your rocking chairs sitting the same way you are now, saying your ‘I love you’s knowing that each one could be your last but not regretting a single thing. 

“I love you, too, Peter Benjamin Parker,” you whispered, your eyes closing and your hand squeezing his. “I love you, too.”

---

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[sevenseasofrog]

Lads ‘n Lasses Chapter 4

single sex schools are never boring

high school!ben x fem!reader

2.7k words

a/n: lol hi, Me for the first time in about 10 billion years. I kind of hate this Chapter?? But I’ll put the next part up tomorrow which should be better :-)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

As the autumn colours became deeper and the summer temperatures began to fade, you began to feel as though you were dragging yourself through each day, the thought of your plush duvet at the end of it keeping you motivated. Luckily enough though, it wasn’t just you who the changing seasons effected, and your friends were also beginning to look a little more disheveled with each morning that passed by, and it soon became clear that everyone was desperately in need of a break from the school routine. By the final week of term, motivation to even get out of bed each morning was severely lacking, and it seemed to be the same for Ben. Some mornings the pair of you didn’t even have the energy to speak, still content in each others company though, leaning on each other when you finally flopped down on the tram’s plastic seats.

You hadn’t forgotten that you were supposed to be coordinating your friend’s costumes for the mysterious Halloween party you knew very little about, but it definitely wasn’t your top priority- especially since your workload in and out of school had increased rapidly only a few weeks after the start of the new term. Since the gathering was set to take place on Friday, it was Tuesday that you figured you had to at least start thinking about how terrible you wanted your four closest friends to look. After a few hours of careful consideration and research you found yourself rather impressed with what you had come up with. If they wanted a group costume, a group costume they were going to get. It was perfect, inducing childhood nostalgia and characters which seemed to parallel your friends personalities, the five of you were going as none other than the Scooby-Doo gang. You couldn’t help but feel at least a bit proud of your master plan, but decided to keep it under wraps, just to add to the suspense. You spent the rest of that night drawing out meticulous plans, giving yourself Thursday and Friday to finish them. Out of instinct however you left the next day free, knowing that it was highly likely you would be spending the evening out somewhere to celebrate the beginning of the short break from school.

As he had done for the past five weeks or so, Ben had waited patiently outside your house for you to stumble out the front door, usually looking a little disheveled. Believe it or not, this was one of the things he had begun to admire most about you, little to your knowledge. The fact that your hair sometimes fell across your face, still messy from the previous nights sleep, and more often than not you would have acrylic paint splodged over you like some form of radioactive dalmatian. Both of these were the little things Ben had started to pay more and more attention to, and he couldn’t help but find himself smile whenever he thought of you.

“Last day of your first half term then Benny boy” you spoke with a grin. “Ready to go back down South yet or can you handle a little more of this?”

He couldn’t help but let out a laugh, “I think I’ll cope y’know, maybe a little longer, might even make it to Christmas!”

“You bloody better Jones! otherwise I’ll have no reason to even leave the house in the morning, then I’ll drop out of school, adopt a load of cats and drink cheap wine every day because I never got any a levels.”

“What a pity that would be” He retorted, with blatant sarcasm. You rolled your eyes and gave a gentle shove before the pair of you continued the walk to the tram stop in a content silence.

Eventually, you made your way onto a tram and flopped down on each other. You closed your eyes, enjoying the warmth of the autumn sun and found yourself dozing a little, this didn’t last long however.

Ben flicked your cheek before he spoke, “y/n, wake up you big loser, what are we doing after school?”

“I was wondering how long it would be before you asked, I don’t really care though. Won’t it just be easier to wait till the others get on and ask them?”

“We’re seeing them on Friday though, and Saturday I guess, and probably most of next week too”

“You have a most interesting way of thinking Jonsey. But you’re not wrong. What are you suggesting?” You spoke, followed by a smirk, “Won’t you be seeing me today, tomorrow, the day after that and next week however?”

“Shutup and come to mine tonight okay? We can have a takeaway from wherever you want and we can make up shitty excuses as to why we can’t do anything with the others because right now I can’t really be bothered with anyone else.”

You felt a little taken aback, but unsure as to why. Ben had spoken with a twinge of emotion in his voice, and suddenly seemed a little wound up- most out of character.

“Alright. You got me, but only if we’re having a chinese?

“Suits me”, he spoke with a smile, seeming somewhat relieved, before you both sank into each other in the seats. Even making the cold plastic seem a little more comfortable.

School has been productive. Well, as productive as you could have made it given that you only had some art coursework to finish and given that Ben’s sudden decision that he didn’t want to see anyone else that evening was playing on your mind. You had scrubbed the last of the dried acrylic paint off the battered brushes you had kept for god knows how long and were about to put them back into your bag before being interrupted by the lunch bell. Figuring you should reconvene with Maria and Niamh, you began to head towards the common room so that you could grab some lunch before heading to the library for the rest of the afternoon.

“y/n! hello? care to join us here on planet earth?” Niamh waved a hand in front of you, you had forgotten about your mediocre salad and had started daydreaming mid-conversation.

“shit yeah, sorry, just tired, i was sorting out the outfits for friday until like 2 this morning or something like that”

Maria chimed in too at mention of Friday, “oh yeah! the costumes, I’d forgotten about those, they’d better be-“

You felt your phone buzz in your pocket, undoubtedly your mum checking if you were staying in school or leaving after lunch. “One sec, let me just check this”

Benny:

Call me when you can. i’m going home.

You couldn’t help but wonder whad gotten into the boy, shocked by the sudden character change, you figured this was your call to leave and find out what the hell was going on with Ben. Now all you needed was an excuse to leave.

“Shit, sorry, erm… it’s my mum…she’s locked herself out and needs me to let her back into the house…” You scrambled to pack your bag and put your blazer back on “duty calls… I’ll see you on Friday night yeah?” You signed out at student services and began to walk towards the met stop.

benny: incoming call

“Ben what the hell are you playing at? where the fuck are you?” You heard the frustration in your own voice and couldn’t help but regret it.

“Why do you sound like your running a marathon?” Because I’m speed walking like a lunatic to come and find you thank you. “I’m nearly at the tram stop.”

“Right, ok… wait for me… I’m nearly there”

“see you then.” He hung up.

You continued the walk, thoughts racing, surely someone had just said something to wind him up? Nothing worth overthinking really? You eventually found Ben after what seemed like an eternity of walking and he stank of smoke, he had a cigarette between his lips and it was certainly not the first one of the day. “You going to tell me why I had to up and leave or are we going to pretend it never happened?” You demanded.

“We’re not talking about it until we get home” He said, slightly muffled. As if on queue, one of the yellow trams pulled into the station and Ben put out his smoke before dragging himself onto the empty tram, you followed, still feeling slightly bedraggled. The boy threw himself onto one of the chairs, visibly frustrated, you sat on the row behind and began digging through your bag, simply looking for something to do.

The tram ride was long, painfully so. The silence between the two of you was deafening, something you never expected to happen, but it was clear that Ben needed space from the moment you met back with him. You reached your stop and the two of you stood up, briefly making eye contact with each other.

“I need to erm, get some fresh clothes from mine if that’s okay...on the way to yours..These aren’t exactly.. y’know.. comfortable” You spoke, gesturing at the suit you had worn the past two days.

He gave a curt nod, and you continued the walk away from the platform. You quickly unlocked your front door and shoved a few essentials in a bag, along with an oversized shirt and some joggers, well aware that this would be a long night. Ben has waited downstairs, waiting to head back out again a little further down the road to his house.

It was definitely bigger than yours, and much more modern. It wasn’t that you disliked newer houses, you just felt a somewhat alienated stepping into something that felt more like a spaceship than a house. Each to their own though- that’s what you had always figured.

“Gonna tell me what’s got you in a tizz or do I get the joy of guessing?” Desperate for some hint of the Ben you knew to return.

“We’ll go upstairs first yeah, then we can get changed or whatever” He began to trudge up the stairs and you followed. By the time you caught up with him in his room, Ben already had half of his clothes off, and although now definitely wasn’t the best time, you had to admit to yourself that topless Ben certainly wasn’t a sorry sight as you slipped into the marble en-suite.

“You’re killing me Ben. What’s happened for the love of God?”

“People happened.”

You checked yourself over before unlatching the bathroom door again. For the record, the old grey pants paired with the extra large shirt you had brought at some past gig certainly wasn’t your best look, but it was going to have to do for now.

“C’mon grumpy you can tell me all about it like i’m your very own agony aunt” You grabbed his wrist and flopped onto the bed,causing Ben to follow with a thud.

“So what have people done to you to cause such a commotion Benny? You’ve never been like this and you’ve got me proper fussing about you” He rolled onto his back and began to speak.

“They’ll do anything to drag you through the dirt. I haven’t put a foot out of line and half of the idiots at school have decided they don’t like me for it. It’s so fucking stupid I don’t know why it’s bothering me...It just is and I could honestly-“

“Ben it’s probably pissing you off because that’s a normal human emotion I’m afraid…”

“But it’s not just that and it’s another stupid thing honestly I don’t know what my problem is because it’s got nothing to do with me and-“

“One thing at a time okay? Start at the beginning and then if you want, you can tell me what else is getting to you.”

You felt bad for Ben, you really did, he hadn’t done anything wrong and it was clear he didn’t have much experience in handling his emotions. You threw a packet if tissues at him after he began to snivel and kept brushing his face. It was clear he trust you, this was something which brought a strange relief over you that you couldn’t quite explain. The main thing you could do do help Ben was to listen to him, and boy was he glad that the pair of you had all night.

You had migrated downstairs at around 8pm to order food, normally you would have both sprawled out separately over two of the three sofas in the front room, but when you came back from a trip to the kitchen for glasses of water, Ben had parked himself at the end of where you were sat.

“I was cold.” He looked up at you, as if trying to read your thoughts.

“I never said anything Jones! If it was anyone else I’d have told them to move but I think you can be an acception” You had honestly been expecting some sort of reply, and it came as a bit of a shock to you when you looked up to find Ben staring at the t.v. absentmindedly.

“Ben? what’s up?”

“Sorry it’s just, it’s not worth it don’t worry..” he trailed off

You have a stern look, “Anything you think or say is worth my time Ben, I really mean it.”

“It’s just. Jones. that’s what they call me, at school and, I don’t really know why it bothers me but… I’m not Jones, I’m Ben and, it bothers me-“ His eyes had gone slightly glassy again, “It bothers me because they don’t care about me, they care that I score tries and bring the team up the leaderboard. That’s Jones. I don’t even think Ben likes rugby, but what else can you do when it’s expected of you.”

“One thing at a time yeah?”

“I told you it’s stupid”

“yeah you did, and I completely disagree, it’s Benny from now on”

“No one's ever really called me that to be honest..”

“Does it bother you?”

“I think I like it.. but only you can get away with it from now on”

You leaned back onto him as the pair of you waited for the takeaway to arrive, you had sincerely hoped that Ben felt a little better at least, it was glaringly clear that he was more worried that unloading his problems would simply pass them onto you, and you had taken the opportunity to reassure him that you weren’t there to judge him at several opportunities.

You had been talking about this and that until a wave of fatigue hit you at what must have been around half one in the morning, Ben had insisted that you should go upstairs and sleep in his bed and he would take the sofa.

“Ben you’re my best friend I’m pretty sure I can cope with sharing a bed with you, we’ll both be out like lights when we get up there anyway”

You both made your way up the stairs, leaving the remainder of the takeaway to deal with in the morning, and fell onto the the mountain of crisp white pillows. You burrowed your way under the duvet, waiting for Ben to follow. “Y’know.. this is really comfy. Makes my bed feel like a fabulous pile of rocks.”

“Does the job I suppose”

“à le matin mon aimie”

“à demain”

You felt yourself drifting into a deep slumber, unsure as to weather or not Ben was still talking. “I know it’s late but are you awake?” You gave a grunt, which the boy opposite you took as a response.

“At school right.. well where else would it be.. and I don’t know if it’s true but I thought I’d tell you just in case but erm.. People were saying Lewis has a thing for you and I know you’re supposed to be my best mate but it bothers me because-“ he gave a sigh. “It bothers me because I think I like you, and I know it’s only been two months, but you’re more than I could ask for in a friend and-“ He realised that he had been greeted with silence. “y/n” Ben had to admit to himself that he was a little disappointed when he realised you hadn’t heard a word he said, already fast asleep. He wasn’t sure if he’d tell you again in the morning, or if it would ruin what he felt was one of the best things he had in a long time.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

@fatbottomedbitch , @crazyweirdocalledfriday , @borhapandshawn , @benhardyjones , @simplyvictoria-93 , @virtualsheepeat

Sorry that my tag list is a bit dodgey, pretty sure that usernames have changed so let me know if you want adding :) xoxo

[indiacater]

Hiya!! I'm new to the trr fandom. Can you recommend some writers that you think are worth reading? Thanks ❤️

Let me break this down so it will be easier to navigate.

Read at you own discretion: (Seriously, the people listed here either have written stories that require a support group or will be getting a support group for their written content)

@drakewalkerwhipped

Her Autumn Blues story is literally the definition of glutton for punishment. Last weekend I started a support group because her latest chapter set really set her readers off. If you choose to read that story first read her Supposed to be series first. Also her polyamorous stories are very highly recommended.

@bobasheebaby

She is the Queen of Darkness and she takes great pleasure in that. Some of her stories I do need to warn you to read at your own risk. Like her From the wolves series and her Consequences of a fling. Her Crimson Rain series is wild.

Highly recommended

@ao719

The fandoms Queen of Angst. Her stories always involve drama. She could write full fluff to save her own life. She has been called the incarnate of the evil queen Regina. Aside from that she's a great writer and is apart of the CGW girls (Cordonians gone Wild)

@leelee10898

Another of the CGW girls. Hers are very Leo focused though, but do take place mainly in the TRR world. She's is literally Leo's Princess and her stories will back that up.

@speedyoperarascalparty

Another one of the CGW girls and Drake's little kitten or Drake's kitty mama. 🤣😘🤣. Trust me when you read her stories you'll understand that. Yeah her stories are Drake centered. Their sweet and funny, and sometimes a bit dark, but worth reading

@hopefulmoonobject

Her series Finding the one is beyond amazing. I can't stop reading it. It's so good. She and @ownworldresident collaborated on another story called Something Unexpected. Its amazing.

@ownworldresident

Her stories are amazing. Her series the Mark is on the edge of your seat amazing. There is also her first series You, the lion. Like @hopefulmoonobject is a shifter style story so if that doesn't draw you in I don't know what will

@elles-choices

Her TRR stories will stir up emotions in you. I'm saying that's a good thing. Her Godsend series is going into its third installment and if its anything like the first two it's going to a rollercoaster of emotions.

@cocomaxley

Another of the CGW girls. Her stories involve Rashad. In canon he's basically a background character but in these stories he's more fleshed out. The stories involving him are hilariously fun and it just leaves you smiling.

@riseandshinelittleblossom

The CGW group would not be complete with someone who loves Maxwell to the Max! Yeah that was corny, but I'm not changing it. Seriously her Maxwell stories are sweet and fluffy and very racy. She writes for other characters but Maxwell is always slipped in.

@syphaxs

If you love stories that involve drama, messy love triangles and overwhelming erotic scenes then her stories are what you need. Her Between a rock and a hard place series is award worthy and there is her Price of Love series is filled with angst, sexual tension, smut,drama. Seriously it's off the charts. She has another story called the Flower Prince and its amazing but she has yet to repost it (hint, hint). I encourage you to read it if she does.

@whenyourheartskipsabeat

If you're looking for wholesome, tug at the heartstrings angst and drama, then her stories will give you that. In a short amount of time she's become one of the more well known writers in this fandom and it's very deserved.

@a--world--apart--fic

Okay if you enjoy period pieces, love triangles and forbidden romance then this story will give you that and so much more. Written by the crack ship queen herself @boneandfur and another writer whose sadly no longer active on the platform. She bringing the story back with another writer, so in the meantime you can catch up on that and read some of @boneandfur stories. Her stories will throw you for a loop.

@blackcatkita

Her Consequences Of Secrets series is everything. Its erotic, dramatic, heartbreaking, rage inducing. So much emotions that will make you dizzy. Her drabbles and one shots are worth reading as well.

@katurrade

Queen of the Slow Burn. She has turn tension fueled slow burns into an artform, where when the characters are finally together you feel literal relief. Her mobster story serves as the example. Which had become so popular that other writers made their own mob style stories. I mentioned @bobasheebaby Crimson Rain, it was inspired by that story. (Again read at your own risk)

@barbaravalentino

Her stories are mostly erotic with a bit of fluff mixed in. They are the perfect stories to read if you just want to read something passionate.

@umccall71

Her stories are wild. Especially her Little Black Book series which takes you around the world and around the bedroom. 😉😚😂

@alicars

Her stories are sweet and heavily dramatic. Like her lies and love series. Her one shots are lighthearted and a joy to read. So you get the best of both there.

@sawyeroakleyscowboyhat

Currently has and ongoing series that featured Liam and tackles the stigma of wanting children, and the insecurities that having them can have.

@blackcoffee85

If you're looking for fluffy drabbles that will brighten your day then this talented writer gives you that in abundance. She's amazing.

@walkerismychoice

Her TRR stories are mostly NSFW, so I whole heartedly encourage you to read them. Her Queen of my Heart series is so random because it mimics the bachelor in a way and there so much more there.

@mrsnazario1223

Her stories don't come without warning. Her TRR stories are dark as abuse and murder, and manipulation, but they are just so good. I do recommend.

For now those are some writers I recommend. Hope you enjoy reading them. And I just also want to say

[vaguely-concerned]

I’m back! Temeraire Let’s Read:Tongues of Serpents

- Tharkay literally shows up at the beginning of the second sentence; STRONG start, I highly approve, great improvement on every level

fsdafhsadkjlfh cooly tossing tables and throwing people’s drinks in their faces in the bar brawl fkjsdhfksdalfhasdj this ain’t his first rodeo huh

- these dumbasses having to clean up from the bar brawl before going home so their dragons don’t go out there and demand to have a word with the dudes who bullied their lil boys... oh my  g o d 

- “it was true, if one wished to be very particular about such things, that laurence was a convicted felon”  t e m e r a i r e... ~*technicality schmechnicality*~ it was barely treason at all really  

also temeraire being in super protective mother hen/older brother mode over the eggs is perfect  

- Jane Rolands bluff, jovial letter writing is Everything

- “Have Temeraire throw him overboard,” Tharkay had suggested laconically, when Laurence had escaped to his quarters for a little relief and some piquet . . . “He can fish him out again later,” he added, as an afterthought.

A VISIONARY. An unmitigated joy. “Have Temeraire throw him overboard”. He says what we’re all thinking. 

- AAAAAAAAH MUTUAL FIRST NAME BASIS!!!! THIS IS NOT A DRILL WTF HAVE THEY BEEN DOING ON THIS TRIP TELL ME IN DETAIL WHEN THE SWITCH HAPPENED PLEASE (also I really like that the first instance we see is “But Tenzing, I cannot trust myself” b/c that was literally the whole point of that scene in VoE. laurence... yes you can. tfw your crush is the goodiest of twoshoes and can barely move for it and doesn’t even knoooow)

- y’know if Laurence could get over this thought that asking a direct question to a friend is just ~*intolerably rude*~ he could get so much shit done 

(I guess tharkay, clearly a follower of the rosa diaz school of ‘no one is ever going to know shit about me’, is like fuck yeah I’ve struck gold with this one)

- “So spake the pot” oh I do love Actually Pretty Chill Dad William Laurence finally letting the snark out more frequently, it suits him very much (I guess his main claims to fame in a lot of circles is a) treason and b) spoiling his dragon rotten)

- rankin’s name is mentioned and everyone’s like HIIISSSSSSSS and RIGHTLY SO FUCK THAT GUY JUSTICE FOR LEVITAS

- temeraire is talking to the egg about consent and saying he’ll make sure it won’t have to do anything it doesn’t want to fjklsadhfkaslhfsd my heart

- lol lol lol weeeell in hindsight who could’ve guessed captain and second in command of the dragon pirates would have a materialistic superficial kid huh

- . . . Granby said, with a look half affection and half exasperation oh granby baby still carrying that torch huh

- lol lol lol just the implication of sara maden and laurence silently tops up his drink and he’s like ‘cheers’ and they’re both quiet for a moment flskdfs 

if you think about it that must’ve been such a wild day in his life tho -- like first  Laurence furiously fires him for being gone at a crucial moment and then immediately unfires him when it turns out he’s been chasing a lead and being the only goddamn person really working on solving all their problems (as is his wont), then he finds out his ex is getting married and steadfastly pretends it doesn’t even bother him, lol what are feelings I heard only losers have them (extremely relatable -- I guess he must have known it was in the cards though, because he specifically tells Laurence at the beginning he didn’t intend to go back to Istanbul, so it’s been over for a while?) then they go on a life and death chase through the sewers, and THEN, before he knows it, after half a book of being kind of a mistrustful dick to him, Laurence does a 180° and is there offering eternal friendship with big soulful eyes after seeing him get upset one time and y’know I guess I see why that got to him lol 

- aw man I know it’s never going to happen but I am getting sort of wistful and teary-eyed over this pirate (cough cough I mean legally sanctioned privateer of course) AU that’s going entirely to waste

here are some tags I left on this superb piece of fanart: #I just got to the part where tharkay makes the suggestion and like... I know it's not happening #but what a shimmering tender mother of pearl dream to carry in one's heart lol #just a lil pirate family out there wrecking shit #temeraire would get wind of what the east india company actually does and they'd inevitably turn against them and fuck 'em up... *sigh* #fix it fic: the boys kiss and the east india company is stopped from committing further atrocities! all is well

so that’s basically my position on that

- “I’m sure there’s nothing too dangerous out there, in the fucking untamed Australian wilderness,” Temeraire said, tempting fate to a frankly anxiety-inducing extent 

- hell yeah demane is the only one with presence of mind to actually find some food; you go buddy <3

- my boy tharkay slinking off in the middle of the night without telling anyone and solving everyone’s problems... *dabs at eyes* just like old times

- oh wow rankin really is just a piece of shit in every way huh

- fhasdklhfsadfsad temeraire being like ‘I know tharkay is a strong independent human who is perfectly capable of making his own decisions and don’t need no dragon... but also he’s clearly one of my humans tho why is he riding on another dragon :(’ THE CUTEST SHIT

- temeraire silently dissing his dad over refusing to believe in ghosts ~*except*~ for the holy spirit adslfhaskjdlhfs

- demane taking in the strange little hatchling... im crey... he truly hits me straight in the heart every time

also laurence steadfastly Doing The Right Thing and following his convictions is so deeply healing after all that bullshit he went through in the last book... makes me feel all safe and calm inside haha

- actually when you think about it it’s so fucked up that they apparently just straight up murder dragons with birth defects in england as a matter of course b/c like. dragons come out of the egg fully sentient and capable of understanding what’s being said around them. kulingile literally understood every word they were saying as they discussed whether or not they should be KILLING HIM.  j e s u s  thank god for demane and laurence’s stubborn insistence on being good

- temeraire going straight from mother hen to extremely impatient and jealous older brother the moment an egg hatches never gets old. all these dumb little babies just complaining and stealing his crew ugh (HOW FUCKING CUTE is him deciding kulingile could be a scholar or something tho #dragon rights)

- “I wish,” Temeraire said to Laurence, “I do wish that other dragons were not always thinking me peculiar . . . it makes one doubtful.” BABY BOY NOOOO he’s just so sweet and he’s so secretly scared that laurence might resent him a little after the whole treason business and OW right in the parental heart that fucks me up

- Temeraire’s indignant “Oh!”s always soothe my soul it’s so adorable

- little emily roland yelling “damn you all for cowards!” after a bunch of grown men fleeing while she reloads her gun and takes aim again is incredible poetic cinema (and also demane joining her... I love the bond they’ve got going on in the background here)

- aw poor sipho :( at least he still has temeraire to nerd out with and stuff but that’s some difficult shit to process for a kid

kulingile bobbing around tethered to temeraire like a small balloon at a fair is such an image, what a blessing, temeraire’s exasperated brand of babysitting is so funny

- laurence being a Dad to the kids in his crew... mana from heaven

- YESSS they crossed the endless miles of DEADLY AUSTRALIAN WILDERNESS so laurence could be MORTIFIED as the emperor’s adopted son at a party this is the content I am here for

- hell yeah let’s play a round of pimp my captain!!!!!!!!!!

“And,” Laurence said. “And you are certain that this should be appropriate for the occasion; not, perhaps, excessive?” I can’t  b r e a t h e  he can’t even say shit because his dragon boi is so happy fsaldfjsldhfasjlh and then granby making fond fun of him what a beautiful cherry on top of this sweet sweet laurence being embarrassed sundae 

- william ‘I’m here to kick ass and describe menswear in fastidious detail and I’ve already kicked my own ass twice today’ laurence strikes again

- this description of the dragons sitting around squabbling as they watch shiny sparkly things is the most endearing few pages in modern literature do not @ me

- it’s kind of fucked up that the emperor of china is giving laurence more of the sort of warmth and validation a father should than his actual dad ever did lol. u did good curing the dragon plague, weird european adopted son I am proud of you

- every time temeraire is really upset about something my soul suffers a small wound

thank god he doesn’t actually know what opium is really used for most of the time yet (also I am obligated to divulge that I am entirely charmed by tharkay’s sardonic yet clear eyed cynicism on the issue, I cannot be anything but what I am and he hasn’t had enough proper page time in this half of the book so I will take what I can get)  

- ...I kind of just realized that I imagine the sea serpents basically as long-ass gyaradoses... OH NO

I will say I respect the ‘give no fucks’ vibe they give off -- it’s a real ‘we’re here to eat fish & party and if you try to get in our way we’re gonna have you as a snack’ mood and I cannot fault them for it

- iskierka is such a fuckboi it’s glorious 

- nOOOOOO tharkay is leaving again fuck ;_______; is his life just an endless procession of semi-unwillingly having to go back to istanbul again these days 

Temeraire did not see why Tharkay should have to go so far, only to deliver news; and particularly when he did not seem as though he wished to go, very much. DDDDDDDD: THIS SUCKS you know that when a) he’s letting it show and b) temeraire notices it that he is dragging his heels big time over this lol

‘there can be very little to call you back to this part of the world any time soon’ LAURENCE YOU 24 KARAT IDIOT YOU ARE HERE HE CAME TO AUSTRALIA FOR YOU ALREADY WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS

all that said whenever I see a ‘Tenzing’ on the page my heart does a happy little dance. ah well now let’s settle in and wait for what horrible catastrophe will happen now that tharkay is gone... come back soon buddy

- ooooooooooooh that is so good, using the last chapter + epilogue to show how the... idk moral wound I guess laurence received victory of eagles has finally healed, that’s so reassuring. he just wants to do good things for good causes and can’t be badgered, cajoled, threatened or convinced to do anything less anymore and it’s all so sweet and well earned. that’s some good development through this book too, from ‘tenzing I cannot trust myself’ to this. excellent stuff

- while I did quite enjoy this book for the character moments it is incredibly weirdly structured? like the beginning drags a bit with the quite uninteresting colony politics and stuff but then they’re finally travelling and then... nothing really happens plot wise before the sea serpents freak the fuck out at the end there lol. I’m mostly a character-oriented reader tho so I’m pretty fine with it.

ETA: actually now that I think about it I’d say that my biggest gripe with this book is that it doesn’t engage at all with the perspective of the native australian people? even though one of the dragons settles down with one group? god knows it’s not like there was no time to dive into it, considering all that time spent in the fucking wilderness lol

we’re going to the inca empire next tho apparently fuck YEAH!!! that’s such an underexplored and extremely interesting part of history, my body is Ready

[lucille-goosille]

Suicides - Guy de Maupassant

To Georges Legrand.

Hardly a day goes by without our reading a news item like the following in some newspaper:

"On Wednesday night the people living in No. 40 Rue de——-, were awakened by two successive shots. The explosions seemed to come from the apartment occupied by M. X——. The door was broken in and the man was found bathed in his blood, still holding in one hand the revolver with which he had taken his life.

"M. X——was fifty-seven years of age, enjoying a comfortable income, and had everything necessary to make him happy. No cause can be found for his action."

What terrible grief, what unknown suffering, hidden despair, secret wounds drive these presumably happy persons to suicide? We search, we imagine tragedies of love, we suspect financial troubles, and, as we never find anything definite, we apply to these deaths the word "mystery."

A letter found on the desk of one of these "suicides without cause," and written during his last night, beside his loaded revolver, has come into our hands. We deem it rather interesting. It reveals none of those great catastrophes which we always expect to find behind these acts of despair; but it shows us the slow succession of the little vexations of life, the disintegration of a lonely existence, whose dreams have disappeared; it gives the reason for these tragic ends, which only nervous and high-strung people can understand.

Here it is:

"It is midnight. When I have finished this letter I shall kill myself. Why? I shall attempt to give the reasons, not for those who may read these lines, but for myself, to kindle my waning courage, to impress upon myself the fatal necessity of this act which can, at best, be only deferred.

"I was brought up by simple-minded parents who were unquestioning believers. And I believed as they did.

"My dream lasted a long time. The last veil has just been torn from my eyes.

"During the last few years a strange change has been taking place within me. All the events of Life, which formerly had to me the glow of a beautiful sunset, are now fading away. The true meaning of things has appeared to me in its brutal reality; and the true reason for love has bred in me disgust even for this poetic sentiment: 'We are the eternal toys of foolish and charming illusions, which are always being renewed.'

"On growing older, I had become partly reconciled to the awful mystery of life, to the uselessness of effort; when the emptiness of everything appeared to me in a new light, this evening, after dinner.

"Formerly, I was happy! Everything pleased me: the passing women, the appearance of the streets, the place where I lived; and I even took an interest in the cut of my clothes. But the repetition of the same sights has had the result of filling my heart with weariness and disgust, just as one would feel were one to go every night to the same theatre.

"For the last thirty years I have been rising at the same hour; and, at the same restaurant, for thirty years, I have been eating at the same hours the same dishes brought me by different waiters.

"I have tried travel. The loneliness which one feels in strange places terrified me. I felt so alone, so small on the earth that I quickly started on my homeward journey.

"But here the unchanging expression of my furniture, which has stood for thirty years in the same place, the smell of my apartments (for, with time, each dwelling takes on a particular odor) each night, these and other things disgust me and make me sick of living thus.

"Everything repeats itself endlessly. The way in which I put my key in the lock, the place where I always find my matches, the first object which meets my eye when I enter the room, make me feel like jumping out of the window and putting an end to those monotonous events from which we can never escape.

"Each day, when I shave, I feel an inordinate desire to cut my throat; and my face, which I see in the little mirror, always the same, with soap on my cheeks, has several times made me weak from sadness.

"Now I even hate to be with people whom I used to meet with pleasure; I know them so well, I can tell just what they are going to say and what I am going to answer. Each brain is like a circus, where the same horse keeps circling around eternally. We must circle round always, around the same ideas, the same joys, the same pleasures, the same habits, the same beliefs, the same sensations of disgust.

"The fog was terrible this evening. It enfolded the boulevard, where the street lights were dimmed and looked like smoking candles. A heavier weight than usual oppressed me. Perhaps my digestion was bad.

"For good digestion is everything in life. It gives the inspiration to the artist, amorous desires to young people, clear ideas to thinkers, the joy of life to everybody, and it also allows one to eat heartily (which is one of the greatest pleasures). A sick stomach induces scepticism unbelief, nightmares and the desire for death. I have often noticed this fact. Perhaps I would not kill myself, if my digestion had been good this evening.

"When I sat down in the arm-chair where I have been sitting every day for thirty years, I glanced around me, and just then I was seized by such a terrible distress that I thought I must go mad.

"I tried to think of what I could do to run away from myself. Every occupation struck me as being worse even than inaction. Then I bethought me of putting my papers in order.

"For a long time I have been thinking of clearing out my drawers; for, for the last thirty years, I have been throwing my letters and bills pell-mell into the same desk, and this confusion has often caused me considerable trouble. But I feel such moral and physical laziness at the sole idea of putting anything in order that I have never had the courage to begin this tedious business.

"I therefore opened my desk, intending to choose among my old papers and destroy the majority of them.

"At first I was bewildered by this array of documents, yellowed by age, then I chose one.

"Oh! if you cherish life, never disturb the burial place of old letters!

"And if, perchance, you should, take the contents by the handful, close your eyes that you may not read a word, so that you may not recognize some forgotten handwriting which may plunge you suddenly into a sea of memories; carry these papers to the fire; and when they are in ashes, crush them to an invisible powder, or otherwise you are lost—just as I have been lost for an hour.

"The first letters which I read did not interest me greatly. They were recent, and came from living men whom I still meet quite often, and whose presence does not move me to any great extent. But all at once one envelope made me start. My name was traced on it in a large, bold handwriting; and suddenly tears came to my eyes. That letter was from my dearest friend, the companion of my youth, the confidant of my hopes; and he appeared before me so clearly, with his pleasant smile and his hand outstretched, that a cold shiver ran down my back. Yes, yes, the dead come back, for I saw him! Our memory is a more perfect world than the universe: it gives back life to those who no longer exist.

"With trembling hand and dimmed eyes I reread everything that he told me, and in my poor sobbing heart I felt a wound so painful that I began to groan as a man whose bones are slowly being crushed.

"Then I travelled over my whole life, just as one travels along a river. I recognized people, so long forgotten that I no longer knew their names. Their faces alone lived in me. In my mother's letters I saw again the old servants, the shape of our house and the little insignificant odds and ends which cling to our minds.

"Yes, I suddenly saw again all my mother's old gowns, the different styles which she adopted and the several ways in which she dressed her hair. She haunted me especially in a silk dress, trimmed with old lace; and I remembered something she said one day when she was wearing this dress. She said: 'Robert, my child, if you do not stand up straight you will be round-shouldered all your life.'

"Then, opening another drawer, I found myself face to face with memories of tender passions: a dancing-pump, a torn handkerchief, even a garter, locks of hair and dried flowers. Then the sweet romances of my life, whose living heroines are now white-haired, plunged me into the deep melancholy of things. Oh, the young brows where blond locks curl, the caress of the hands, the glance which speaks, the hearts which beat, that smile which promises the lips, those lips which promise the embrace! And the first kiss-that endless kiss which makes you close your eyes, which drowns all thought in the immeasurable joy of approaching possession!

"Taking these old pledges of former love in both my hands, I covered them with furious caresses, and in my soul, torn by these memories, I saw them each again at the hour of surrender; and I suffered a torture more cruel than all the tortures invented in all the fables about hell.

"One last letter remained. It was written by me and dictated fifty years ago by my writing teacher. Here it is:

  "'MY DEAR LITTLE MAMMA:

  "'I am seven years old to-day. It is the age of reason. I take   advantage of it to thank you for having brought me into this world.

  "'Your little son, who loves you

                   "'ROBERT.'

"It is all over. I had gone back to the beginning, and suddenly I turned my glance on what remained to me of life. I saw hideous and lonely old age, and approaching infirmities, and everything over and gone. And nobody near me!

"My revolver is here, on the table. I am loading it.... Never reread your old letters!"

And that is how many men come to kill themselves; and we search in vain to discover some great sorrow in their lives.

[spread-the-plague]

The Apothecary and the Witch

(This story is taken from an RP I did with @vxlkyrieonline over a year ago. Thanks, Angie, for letting me write this up, and also for proof-reading!)

If one were to venture through the deepest, thickest parts of the forest outside Adlersbrunn, they might come across a most curious establishment. The stench of sulphur and rot emanates from this run-down, wooden shack, turning all but the iron-willed away. This ghastly dwelling is the home of the Apothecary, a masked man who claims to be able to produce the most potent poisons in all the land.

It is unknown if the Apothecary wears his beaked mask as protection against the foul ingredients he uses, or if he is merely trying to conceal his identity. Nevertheless, it only adds to the sense of horror one gets when stepping into his domain. He seems to derive an unholy amount of joy upon hearing how his concoctions are to be used. A menu is provided, if the buyer wishes to inflict a specific torture upon their victim, such as the feeling of being burned alive or stung by a thousand hornets. Each vial of liquid is lovingly crafted to induce the most painful death upon its victim.

Today, though, his vile store is closed. The Apothecary has business elsewhere.

The Witch of the Wilds is not hard to find, if one knows where to look.

Her shop is almost the exact opposite of his. It is cosy and welcoming, with fragrant boxes of herbs and flowers adorning every windowsill. A bell chimes as the Apothecary steps inside, and a beautiful young woman looks up from behind the counter, smiling. At first, the Apothecary thinks that he must have the wrong establishment, for the rumours he has heard about the Witch spoke of a chaotic, volatile enchantress. Surely she cannot possibly be the sweet girl standing in front of him.

But then the young woman greets him warmly, by name. It is a cardinal rule of magic that knowing a person's true name gives power over them, and it is said that the Witch always knows everyone's name, the instant they step into her shop.

The Apothecary, having gone many years without hearing his real name spoken aloud, is immediately intrigued.

"Do you know of any curses?" he asks casually, eyes wandering over the scrolls and trinkets on display. The Witch smirks and hands him a little pamphlet containing her rates. The Apothecary chuckles behind his mask. Charging a price for her miracles. How devious.

"Of course I do, dear," she replies. "What witch worth her salt does not?"

Oh, he likes her.

"Now," the Witch says, bringing her hands together. "Can I interest you in anything? A small hex, perhaps? A new poison?" Her voice drops a little lower, a little more coy. "A few minutes of...ah, shall we say...inspiration?"

That certainly piques his interest. As vicious as his current recipes are, it has been a while since he created something new. With the Witch's magic guiding him, he could make something truly appalling. Under his mask, his eyes widen with excitement.

"How about...all of the above?"

"Of course! Of course." She swings around to set her elbows on the counter, leaning in close, smile turning from coy to smug. "Let's talk price."

The Apothecary wonders what she would charge for something so intangible. It would have to be something her customers would care about losing, otherwise there would be no point in taking it. He ponders for a moment.

"Do you want my soul?" - if he even has one, after everything he's done - "I won't be needing it."

The Witch laughs.

"That piddly little thing? Please. Inspiration does not come easily, E̵̢͡҉l̢͜͝͠m̕͜͟e̸͟͡͞r̢̀͜͝. You might drum it up on your own - late nights, crumpled papers, frustration and heartache. For me to simply give you something so precious requires me to take something equally precious to you. Unless you would like to find it on your own...offer me something a little more tempting."

The Apothecary sighs, silently cursing to himself. What else could a witch - this witch - want? He has very little to bargain with. He suspects she'd laugh again if he offered her his firstborn. Volunteering any of his poisons would get the same response, too; they both know she is far more powerful than him.

"Perhaps..." the Witch prompts, noting the large pause, "your time?"

He blinks. "What exactly does that mean, now? I can hazard a guess, but I'd like to know all the terms and conditions."

"One fewer year spent in this world, left to your own devices, for every five minutes. When you die, I will whisk you back here...and you will spend the time you sold to me under my employ, for me to use as I see fit. You are dismissed when Death sees fit to come for you."

"Very tempting, I'm sure. What, pray tell, would you have me do?"

She smiles unreadably. "We will have to find out, won't we? Much can change in a few decades. So. What say you? What is one year for five minutes of genius, after all?"

The Apothecary thinks. He is not typically a gambling man, not when it comes to the few assets he does have. One year off his lifespan is one less year of chaos he can cause, of research, of experiments, of torturing innocent souls. Of fun. Becoming an indentured servant, even to the Witch of the Wilds, sounds decidedly not fun.

The promise of arcane inspiration is decidedly alluring, though.

"Let's bargain," he says, daringly. "I'll give you my left hand."

The Witch raises one eyebrow. The silence is its own question.

"I need it to perform surgery." the Apothecary continues, babbling slightly. "I'm sure I could make myself some replacement, but there would be no replacing the feeling of playing with viscera."

"And you are asking me to tell you what it would be worth?" she asks, unimpressed.

He winces. "I sense the answer will be 'not much', but I'm curious."

The Witch pauses for a moment, calculating.

"Forty-five minutes," she says.

Forty-five minutes! He was expecting a lot less. He would surely fill an entire book with ideas in forty-five minutes. And he needn't use it all in one go, either- those forty-five minutes could last him months; years even. The thought is dizzying.

He can't say no. The Apothecary whips off his glove with a flourish.

"Do you want to do the honours, or shall I? I always carry a knife."

"There is no need to get blood on my counters. How barbaric." the Witch says primly, taking a step back. Her fingers begin glowing yellow. "This may pinch."

"Do excuse me," the Apothecary says, rolling up his sleeve. "My excitement tends to get the better of me, especially when mutilation is involved."

"I can tell. Hold up your hand."

The Apothecary grins wildly as he extends his arm. All his hardships - being chased out of countless villages, the lonely weeks without customers, the long nights of insomnia and malcontent - all of it seems worth it just for this, just for this moment.

The Witch circles his wrist with her hands, about two inches away from the surface of his skin. When she moves her fingers away, the ring of yellow light remains, hovering, a bracelet of metaphorical teeth.

"Are you sure about this?" she asks. It is a formality. She knows he is, but she must ask anyway.

He is breathless, but he answers anyway. "Yes."

Her left hand curls into a fist and she pulls. There's a flash of gold light, a searing pain like someone tugging a hot wire mercilessly through his arm, and then-

His hand falls to the counter-top, disembodied, twitching wildly. He is left with a stump - just slightly rounded, smooth, more perfect than any surgery could create. She pulls a white cloth out from under the counter and efficiently snatches up the hand, taking a moment to look it over closely before wrapping it into immobility and tucking it back out of sight.

"Now," she hums, lips curving back up into that smug, knowing smile. "your purchase."

The Apothecary looks down in awe at the space where his hand used to be. He can still feel fire burning through the ghost of his fingers. Could he learn how to do that? Could she teach him? Even if it were possible, it would certainly cost him much more...ah, but it would be worth it.

While he ruminates, the Witch reaches for one of the dark glass bottles on the shelves behind her - the one she selects is dark blue, cylindrical and narrow. The stopper comes out of a little basket just below the shelf. She sets them side by side on the counter in front of her before cupping her hands, bringing them close, curling in on herself as if cradling something precious, and closes her eyes.

Between her palms, a mist begins to condense. It is all colours at once, and no colours at all. The way it roils hints barely at patterns nobody has seen before before it twists itself inside out, flowing onwards. It sparks, occasionally at first and then more and more intensely as she focuses, until it seems less like she is holding fog than a miniature storm, lightning crackling in its depths.

When her eyes open, they are glowing white. Her face is blank. She extends her arms until her hands are right above the mouth of the little bottle, and the mist trickles down in, impossibly heavy-looking, curling and puddling against the glass.

The glow fades as she pushes the stopper in. She blinks once, twice, sighs. The Apothecary stares at her, absolutely enchanted.

"When you are ready," she says, pushing the vial forward, "uncork it, hold it under your nose, and inhale." The smugness is a little dampened now, replaced by satisfaction. "I suggest you have pen and paper handy."

The Apothecary takes the tiny vial, staring at the contents. He knows he will have to resist the urge to run tests on the mist. He will never, ever be able to replicate its properties.

"Will do, my dear," he says, pocketing it. He cannot say anything more eloquent than that. And when he leaves, he knows he must absolutely never return, lest he gamble away his lifetime, his attainments, and his entire body.

Or, horror upon horrors, ask her to dinner.

[writersindigestion]

tipped | edward nygma x reader

“what goes up, must come down.”

reader gender: female

words: 2536

warnings: SUICIDAL IDEATION, mention of gore, violence, abuse, paranoia, trauma, ed didn’t stopped being evil while i was gone. he’s not dark!ed, he’s just ed, and edward is a villain.

notes: hey there, kiddos. sorry it took me so long. i’ve had this part done for a while, but i’ve got another bajillion words to add. i cut it in half once again for your ease of reading. please leave a comment or shoot me a message! gonna try my best to get back into writing!

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART SIX

also available on: AO3

The next morning, she put on a plain dress that extended just past her knees, made her hair appear presentable, and made way to the church. [Y/N] had used the phone just for a few minutes yesterday, attempting to find the cathedral’s number from the directory. When she got the information she needed, she made contact and asked when confession was.

Lucky for her, it was sooner than she’d hoped.

The confession booth was small and claustrophobia-inducing, and her paranoia rang vicious bells all around her psyche. She swallowed her fear, however, and crossed herself. “Forgive me, father, for I have sinned,” Her tone was low, quivering, “It’s been… Probably close to a decade since my last confession.” Was it doubly wrong to lie to a priest?

She interrupted herself, “Pardon me, father… That wasn’t honest.”

“Take your time, daughter. I am listening,” The priest calmly replied, his age-wizened voice spreading over her like a warm breeze.

“I’m not Catholic. I have never been,” [Y/N] breathed, trying vainly to soothe her nerves, “I’ve never been to confession, nor would I know how to give confession…”

He did not speak, and so she continued.

“I’m am guilty of a great many things, father, and I don’t know that I’d ever personally been able to atone for them, but I need help,” She said, fighting through the strangle of tears, “I wrote down what I have to say… It might not be safe to say such things out loud. Forgive me.” Her fingers pressed a well-folded piece of paper through the decorative gaps in the confession booth, hoping beyond hope that he would accept it.

The priest took the note from the woman, taking just a few short minutes to read it in its entirety. He made a small sound of grief, of pity, and received a small sob in return for his acknowledgment. “Is this what you need me to do, my daughter?

[Y/N]’s cries became ugly, sloppy, but she couldn’t help it. Her heart was so shattered, so suffocated beyond repair. It seemed like a century had passed since a stranger had so easily offered their assistance. “Please, please - it’s all I could ever ask for. I’m so scared, I’m so-”

“You need not plead any longer. It shall be done as you have asked,” He interjected softly, and she heard him rise from his place, and step quietly from the booth.

She did not follow. She didn’t want to leave the sudden comfort of the tiny room that protected her from unwanted stimuli. She didn’t want to leave the little box of forgiveness for a world that was tinged with green.

When the priest returned, he extended his hand towards her and guided the woman from her hiding place. His expression was grave, and he could barely stand to look at her.

Her blood went cold. She’d been so close. She could’ve tasted freedom only seconds ago, just to have it snatched from her needy grip.

The father undid his collar, frustration in hands that had been so peaceful for so long. He gripped the cross that rested around his neck, and gracefully removed it, before turning to place it around the head of [Y/N]. It pained him to see the look of confusion, of loss in her eyes.

“God has forgiven you, daughter, and I must ask that you forgive me in return,” The priest lamented, before turning away from her, “It seems it is no longer my place to offer advice - but may you also forgive yourself.”

He would not make a return to his place in the Catholic church.

An old, feeble nun gripped her by the elbow, gently leading her into a side room, away from all the stained glass and overused pews. She sat her down at a table; a simple, landline phone lies in its round center. The nun’s hands grasped [Y/N]’s shoulders just moments before she left her alone.

With bated breath, the isolated woman awaited his call. When the phone finally rang, she still hadn’t fully prepared herself, listening to the ring for several seconds more, her teeth gnawing at the skin of her knuckles until her lips were painted with blood. There would be no ignoring him. She picked up the phone and did not speak.

“Once again, you color me surprised, Miss [L/N]. Using a priest to do your dirty work? Terrible. I hope you don’t mind that I took a page out of your book, then,” Edward began, sounding quite like a man who had just won the jackpot, “Don’t bother responding. Just follow my instructions, and no one will be hurt. You have God as my witness.”

She couldn’t breathe. She wished that she wouldn’t.

His voice was crisp, commanding, “Turn around. There is a set of stairs - take them to the top. When you get to the balcony, wait for further direction.”

[Y/N] didn’t move - she didn’t want to, certainly, but her legs felt like gelatin just sitting down, how would they ever carry her all that way?

Edward didn’t relent, barking into the receiver, “Move - now!”

She scrambled to her feet, dropping the phone on the table and beginning her ascent. Flights passed her by, and she peered out of the windows as she marched towards whatever fate was sure to meet her. The people below were busy - probably content, and absolutely oblivious to her peril. In one of her frequent moments of morbidity, she saw her intestines decorating the cathedral spires, painting the church’s outside walls with the blood of a sinner.

This isn’t your fault, you didn’t deserve this. This isn’t your fault, you didn’t deserve this. This isn’t your fault, you didn’t deserve this.

In the middle of the balcony sat another telephone, its winding cord disappearing off towards a distant wall. When it rang this time, she didn’t hesitate to pick it up.

“Nicely done - you’ve proved you can follow instructions, imbecile,” Ed vibrated, the sick sound of joy clearly evident in his words, “What I will ask you to do next is very simple. When I hang up, you will climb onto the balcony ledge. I hope your balance is good, [Y/N], but you won’t be there for long.”

She spoke lowly into the phone, “Do you want me to jump? Is that what you’re looking for? Cause... I’m not exactly afraid of heights…”

“Did I tell you to jump? Clearly, I’ve overestimated your ability to listen. I would say that insubordination deserves punishment, but we’ll have plenty of time for that later,” He chattered, hardly able to contain his excitement.

“Just looking out for you, Eggma. I know you want this to be as painful as possible.”

“It’s adorable to see you pretend to know anything about me,” Ed teased, completely ignoring her jab before his tone grew serious again, forceful, “Get on the ledge, or people will die.”

He hung up before [Y/N] had the chance to ask who he planned to hurt. She placed the phone lightly back in its place and smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress. In her overwhelmed state, she nearly forgot to be afraid, but the knocking of her knees together reminded her that she was still wasn’t as strong as she needed to be. Could she not be like Jim Gordon? Or Chryssie? Or Kristen? Or the priest? Why did she crumble when it mattered most? Why couldn’t she stand her ground? Tears rampaged down her face for the zillionth time in the past months, and she pressed her hands to the stone ledge, pushing herself up onto it.

Her eyes were immediately trained downwards, the safety of the confessional booth was now light years away. She calculated that the balcony was roughly over one-hundred feet in the air and that a nice tumble onto the thin rug below would effectively kill her. The prospect of death was tempting, tantalizing, and the urge rested against the small of her back. [Y/N] stared at the pews, all aligned in perfect little rows for the masses to gather in during sermons. She imagined, like she always did, that none of this had happened to her. Kristen hadn’t died, Jim Gordon never went to prison, her sanity was never stolen, and Edward Nygma was never born.

The fantasy had yet to fail at comforting her.

An acronym was what broke through her daydream, an acronym that she’d heard for a generally happy several months of her life. In any other situation, perhaps it would have been a blessing to hear those four letters.

“G-C-P-D!” A strong, booming voice cracked the foundations of her reverie, bringing the woman back down to Earth with a figurative splat.

Jim Gordon gazed up from the ground floor of the church, seeing the teetering form of [Y/N] [L/N], a former coworker that he’d known so little of during her time at the precinct. Cursing to himself, he started for the stairs, his partner taking the lead in coaxing her down.

“Miss [L/N], we are here to help you!” Harvey Bullock called upwards, raising his voice despite the silence of the cathedral, “Suicide is not the answer - please step down from the ledge, and we will get you the assistance you need!”

Typical Harvey. He was well-meaning, but not completely helpful. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes at his words, fighting the urge to laugh out loud. No one appeared to notice, however, thanks to the distance between them. She put her hands up in surrender, turning just slightly to step back onto the level ground, when she spotted the slithering form of Edward Nygma, winding his way between the officers behind Bullock.

Suddenly, she remembered why the implications of suicide had been so tempting. He stared up at her, his expression unreadable regardless of her vantage point. What alarmed her most was the curling of his right arm through the crook of her girlfriend’s elbow.

She let out a cry of frustration, of exasperation - would [Y/N] never be free of this man? Would her friends ever be safe? Would she ever have control of her life again?

While she would have loved to continue her turmoil over taking a leap, the strong arms of James Gordon wrapped around her middle, tugging her, unwilling, from the balcony ledge. Having just breached the boundaries of hysteria, she let out a deafening shriek, catching the marble rim with the tips of her fingers, stopping Jim from tearing her away from what felt like the only escape she had left.

The detective’s brow furrowed at her resistance, but he knew he shouldn’t be surprised. She was a woman in distress - distress that reached the point of wanting to die. Inwardly, he tried not to think about how close he’d been to the same position in the recent past.

Granted, he’d been hypnotized by a psychotic madman, but it didn’t mean the impulse wasn’t there. A part of him considered her reasons, to which he’d collected just a few, and wondered if she was being coerced as he was.

He pushed the thought into the back of his head for later, pulling firmly on the woman’s waist until she lost her grip on the ledge. What really surprised him, however, was how rapidly her hands went from the stone to his eyes. Jim let out a grunt of pain, his face pinching together in an attempt to avoid the assault, his arms still wrapped around her to keep the woman from jumping. What hurt more than her fingernails against his face, was how goddamn loud she was screeching.

“You can’t do this to me. I have nowhere else to go!” [Y/N] screamed, battering around the man’s head, frantic in her attempt to get him off of her. This would likely be the last chance she got in a long, long time - if she had any idea where she was headed.

The struggle didn’t last much longer. A few more officers joined Gordon’s side, one of them making an executive decision to tase the suicidal woman. She immediately dropped, stiff like a board, but the cop held it for almost fifteen of the thirty recommended seconds before Jim reprimanded him.

“Officer, stand down,” He bellowed, lying [Y/N] on the ground before she could get hurt during the fall. When he was sure his colleague had stopped, he leaned down to check on the female who’d been so keen on dying just moments before. With help, James pulled her back to her feet, letting her use him as a crutch.

As they started to lead her downstairs, she grappled with her feelings, with her body, with her tongue - mostly unable to form words. This was the only time she’d be separate enough from Edward to tell them what was going on. But was he listening? How would she know? Was his plan still to hurt innocents if she didn’t cooperate, as she’d done thus far (she assumed)? Had she even cooperated at all? What was for dinner?

[Y/N]’s teeth were clicking and chattering far too much for her to even attempt to speak in the first place. She didn’t quite feel herself getting tased - or at least didn’t feel the electricity coursing through her - but she definitely felt the effects. Her muscles locked up all over her body - head to toe, and back again. Screams of pain, of terror, of confusion - they tore up her throat and sat, paralyzed, underneath her tongue. She had said so many things, asked so many questions, pleaded for them to stop hurting her, but she was dumbstruck, and in reality, said nothing at all. Now that the tasing had ceased, she felt around her cottonmouth for the syllables that had been so deeply swallowed.

This wasn’t the first time she’d been tased. Curious fifteen-year-olds tend to do stupid things around unsupervised stun guns. One that was used for public defense, however - it was a little more effective. Consciously, she knew that it didn’t particularly hurt, but the sensation was so very, very uncomfortable. And while she would never go out of her way to get electrocuted again, if the opportunity arose in a social situation, [Y/N] probably would. Stupid? Yes, but she enjoyed playing devil’s advocate for the sake of experience.

Maybe that made her a little like Edward, she thought, but there was an incredibly fine line between playing devil’s advocate, and just being the devil.

Was it appropriate to think about the devil in God’s house?

In her mental limbo, she’d missed her chance entirely to tell the cops what was going on. If the walk had taken any longer, the battered woman probably would’ve forgotten what was happening in the first place. They rounded the corner, coming back into the central chamber of the church, and [Y/N] was greeted with a new perspective on the place that she’d nearly jumped from. Suddenly, ghostly images of her fallen corpse spread across her cerebrum, painting the wooden benches with her blood. She promptly bent in half, her vomit narrowly missing Jim’s shiny combat boots.