#hummingbird keepsake

[sehtoast]

Satisfy Me (Homelander x Reader PowerSwap!AU)

18+ | 3.4k, stalking, masturbation, mostly mutual masturbation, graphic violence, powerswap au, gender neutral reader | Fic Directory

Ask Prompt: Non supe hl x HL reader. Like the reader has his powers, and he's just a regular guy.

You find him by chance. Could've been any of those little ants down on 36 assigned to your old suit's preservation, but it was him. 

What an ordinary fellow he was, too, running around in those little blue sweaters over his dress shirts, his soft box-dye-blonde hair, those pretty blue eyes behind dark framed glasses. It drove you nuts, but that was the best part. 

John was the best part. 

You fixated on him from the moment you saw how he handled a literal part of you, how he touched your suit with care and grace, expressed how much of an honor it was to be picked to take care of you. 

And you? You were bigger than life itself! The fucking Homelander, for crying out loud. Of course he should be honored to preserve and maintain your old suit; it's you for fuck’s sake. So why was it that his anxious little demeanor was so endearing to you?  What was it that made his promise to keep something of yours in tip-top shape turn him into the center of your attention?

Why did you find yourself lingering on 36 far more often? Going down with the excuse of wanting to see progress on the display, but really just wanting to see him, talk to him, learn about him. 

Your gloved hand on his shoulder makes him nervous. You can hear his heart beat as quickly as a hummingbird’s wings as he glances up at you. His cortisone spikes, but not in the wrong way. You rile him up. 

It's adorable. 

You begin to watch him. You follow him along the route of the subway, trail him from his stop to the school where he picks up his son, then to his apartment. You float up at the same pace that they ascend the stairs until you're lingering outside the window to his bedroom, watching him sleep. 

This becomes your routine, and god help anyone who tries to take you away from it.  

You sneak in a few times when no one’s home. Roam between rooms, investigating every little piece of his life. You borrow a sip or several from the milk in the fridge, peek at the living room, investigate the bathroom. You learn the boy's name is Ryan from the little wooden letters mounted on the wall above his bed. There's not much of note in the kid's room save for action figures, lego sets, and a few stick figure doodles labeled ‘me and dad.’

John's room is where you have your fun. You start at his desk, sifting through papers and soon-to-be-due bills. You wiggle the mouse at his computer and find his desktop background to be a picture of himself and Ryan. You're almost offended that it's not a picture of you and all your star-spangled glory. 

Almost. There's better things to do than care about that. 

There's a closet full of clothes to run your fingers over, a drawer of underwear from which you can pick your new favorite keepsake.  You settle on a pair of dark red briefs, holding them to your nose to inhale deeply, groaning as the scent of him fills your lungs.  You make your way over to the nightstand where you find a drawer with a stroker and lube hidden inside a ball of paper towels.  You smirk and toy with it for a time, tongue jutting out to lave over the inside, hoping and praying that there’s even a drop of him left in there. 

And then there’s his bed, full of his scent.  You lay on it and press your face into his pillow, breathing in several deep, focused breaths.  Underneath a smell that is so uniquely him, you find a hint of something woodsy and herbal.  It tickles your nose sweetly but you focus more on his natural aroma than that of his products. You want to stay more than anything. You’re surrounded by him in every sense of the word. All of your senses are bombarded by parts of him; the only thing missing is the man himself.

You roll on your back, eyes shut as you picture what it would look like to gaze up at him from that angle.  How he’d look leaning above you, sweat on his brow as he drives into you over and over and over again… How he’d pant and gasp, exerting himself just to please you, just to pump you full of his love and devotion.

God, you hadn’t even realized you’d snaked your hand into your pants during the fantasy.  You shut your eyes and continue anyway.

Your mind wanders back to him. You’d touched yourself to the thought of him quite a few times, but doing it in his bed?

Delicious…

You imagine wrapping your legs around him, featherlight lest you crush his pelvis.  You roll him, straddling his waist as you come down hard on his cock.  Beneath you is where he looks best.  Squirming and panting, hips thrusting to meet you in desperate, sloppy motions.  You’d be so good to him, too.  You’d ride his cock until he saw stars, until the only word that could come out of his mouth is your name…  

You’d let him pump you full of however many loads that pitiful, human body of his could muster, until you’re dripping with his come and he’s yours inside and out.

Maybe you’d mark him up, too.  Leave some handprints at his hips, some bite marks where he’s soft… Wouldn’t be hard… Wouldn’t take much to mar that perfect skin with your claim of ownership.  Some hickeys at his inner thighs, maybe an extra special one right where his cock meets his groin.

Your salacious fantasies come to a head at the same time as your pleasure.  You grind against your hand as you picture what it’d be like to milk his cute little cock.  Suck him dry, watch him beg and plead, let him squeeze your head with his legs as if he could possibly make you stop.  You’d eat up every ounce of him and spit it back in his mouth.  Make him go down on you with a mouthful of his own come.

“Oh, fffuck!” You howl, writhing on his bed, fist gripping and pressing his blanket to your nose. Your underwear are soaked, but you couldn’t care less.  Not as you pant heavy breaths, your body blissful and surrounded by him.

You linger for quite a while, only breaking away for your regularly scheduled visit with him. 

You had asked for a lesson about The Federalist Era - not that you really gave a shit beyond getting to consume his time. John was all too excited at your sudden interest and he offered to stay late just for you. Ryan would be with his mother, as was the case for every Friday to Sunday, and he’d have nothing but time for you. 

He meets you in your penthouse with a textbook and it's everything you've got not to devour him whole. He’s so precious.  You keep your gloves off, brushing your fingers over his as you point to parts of the text you ‘didn't get.’ You do everything in your power to keep him red and blushing.  You scoot closer, hover in his space, lean over his shoulder.  You practically eye-fuck him every time you look at him.  You toy with him all night until he finishes his lesson.

He stays for another hour just for the hell of it. Just to spend time with you. It's not until he's yawning that he entertains the idea of heading home. 

“Why don't you let me fly you?” You offer, smirking at how he deeply he flushes. 

“Oh, I mean... I don't- I just-” He stammers. “I’m just a little scared of heights, you know?” 

You scoff a laugh at his confession, taking him by the hand and leading him to your balcony. He doesn't resist you whatsoever. 

“C'mon, Johnny! I won't let anything happen to ya!” You wrap your arms around his waist and begin to hover. You whisper in his ear, “I'll protect you,” and you can feel the way he shivers before nodding.

His arms wrap around your neck, textbook dangling from one hand as he presses himself against you. The higher you rise, the tighter he holds on. 

“Good boy.”  You breathe soft and low, thumb rubbing circles at his lower back.  “I’m a much better ride than the shit they got down there.”

He clings to you the whole way home, only realizing after you've dropped him off that you somehow know where he lives. 

You drive him wild. You stir a feeling in him that he hasn't had time to focus on in so long, and it's to your absolute pleasure that you get to linger and peer through his roof that night as he takes care of himself. 

John fucks his fist with reckless abandon, then his toy that he just can't help but imagine is your hole. You focus extra hard, trying to make your senses pick up on everything happening in that room.  You can smell the salt of his sweat, the pheromones in the air, the scent of his precum.  You hear every little gasp and moan, every groan that rattles out of his pretty little mouth.  The sound of lube squelching in his stroker riles you up so much more, and you’ve half a mind to burst through the fucking wall and mount him.  

You tease yourself in time with him, knelt on the roof so perfectly that no one could catch you.  You gaze through matter with hooded eyes to watch him, and it’s the most beautiful, tempting sight you’ve ever seen in your life.  You can’t remember a time you’ve been so fucking horny as you are right then.

He comes near violently, shouting, “H-Homelander!” as he does. Your eyes roll back and a quivering moan rips from your throat as you come apart with him.  He called your name.

He called your fucking name.

He’s already yours...

He works the next day for some overtime pay. Nothing stressful, just some extra document filing. You're preoccupied with filming away from the tower, much to your heavily expressed ire, and he's bored. 

He's bored for the whole day, wishing you'd come by.  He stays extra late, hoping beyond hope that you’ll meander in like you don’t actively choose to come down to such an insignificant level.  

But you don’t.

He’s thoroughly bummed out as he steps off the train, walking the rest of the way home in the dark.   He knows you didn’t forget about him; you’re just busy.  Even the world’s greatest superhero’s gotta take care of their commitments, right?  He’s deep in thought as he makes his way down the cold street.  The yellow glow of the streetlights sets a somber feeling deep in his heart as he shuffles further along, passing the occasional stranger, hands in his pockets.  He should’ve worn more than a sweater and a scarf.  He had no idea it was gonna be so chilly.  Or maybe he’s just so used to running hot after spending time around you.

God, had he really caught the attention of Homelander?  Like, really caught it?

He’s heard stories– god knows there’s enough to go around.  Was told by more than a few of his coworkers in the archives that it’s dangerous to even be around you.  That there was a good reason that the loneliest spot was always at the top.

He didn’t like that, though.  What he did like, however, was you.  The way you look at him as though he’s worth wanting.  You give him your full attention and fuck, you always come back.  It’s like he matters now.  He’s not just some orphan-turned-moderate-success trying to raise his son and keep from drowning under the oppressive cost of New York’s rent.  Well, he still is, but he’s all of that and he’s got the attention of The Homelander!

And he finds you sweet.  Like a big, scary dog that only likes him.  He wants to know more about you.  As much as he likes history, he’d love yours even more.

He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he neither sees nor hears the man sprinting up behind him to grab him by the scarf.  John chokes harshly as he’s dragged into an alley, kicking and thrashing to no avail.

He’s thrown on the ground and he wants to get back up, fight for what little good it’d actually do, but there’s a clicking sound directly in front of his face and–

He freezes.  Eyes go wide, skin chills far colder than the air alone could ever turn it.  A pit forms in his gut and oh god he’s fucking helpless.

“Empty yer fuckin’ pockets,” demands the gunman, motioning down with the barrel of the firearm.  He can barely see them as more than fuzzy silhouettes and he realizes that he’s lost his glasses.

He pulls his wallet and phone free shakily, laying them gently on the ground before raising his hands up in surrender.  He watches the man who grabbed him go through his wallet, and he hears a scoff.

“Twenn’y bucks?”  The man slurs exasperatedly.  “Yer life ain’t worth twenn’y, son.  Ah shit… we could sell ya!  I got a guy needs a good piece’a meat to throw ‘round in his dog fights.  Should see the way the mutts fight over fresh food.  Y’look like good bait.”

John blinks rapidly, eyes wide and panicked as each word settles in.  He tries to shuffle backward, but he’s grabbed by the ankle and yanked back.

“Bet he’d go for a few hundred.  He don’t stink.  Not a ton of meat on ‘im, but there’s enough,” the gunman muses.  “Shit, Gordy, we might as well.  Fuckin’ twenty bucks… Ain’t even worth the effort to–”

John hears a sound like fabric flapping, and suddenly everything goes silent.

Silent, until he hears you.

“Howdy ho, boys!”  You greet, though your tone couldn’t be further from inviting.  “Say, what’s got two idiot fucks like yourselves out tonight, eh?”

John pats at the ground, desperate to find his glasses. He needs to see this- needs to see you. His heart pounds in his ears so loudly that he can’t hear what the men say to you, only the sounds of shrill, agonized screaming.  Something warm splats against his cheek and a deep, unsettling feeling in his bones tells him that it’s blood.

“C’mon, boys!  It’s not that bad!”  He hears you chuckle, followed by a flash of red and more howls of pain.  “You guys! It’s not like I’m, oh, I dunno, feeding you to a pack of dogs?”

As he scrambles, he feels the cracked lenses of his glasses and puts them on in time to see just what you’d done.

His assailants kneel on the ground, their arms laying next to them. He swears he sees bones jutting out of their legs.  

You’re elbow deep in one’s chest, smiling sadistically with every crunch and squelch as you rip free a blood drenched length of bone and shreds of muscle.

His stomach should churn at the sight of you shoving the gunman’s body to the ground.  It folds in half without a spine to support it, and it’s objectively the most terrifying thing he’s ever seen. The other man whispers to himself, which must really piss you off.  He sees it in your eyes.  Yet, he’s not scared.  Not of you.

“Greedy little thing, aren’t ya?”  You muse as you stare down at the man.

John can hear him reciting a prayer.

“God? No.”  You kneel down to pat his cheek, staining his skin a deep red.  “No god. The only one in the sky is me.”

He watches you wedge your hands into the man’s mouth, effortlessly ripping his jaw and head apart, splitting him down the length of his neck.

John watches in a mix of awe and horror as you continue tearing all the way down through the chest cavity.  There’s a sick look in your eyes.  Like you’d done this before.  

Like you were comfortable doing this.

So why the fuck wasn’t he afraid when your gaze flickered up to him?  Why did the shakes of his body quell the minute your blood stained hands reached down to loosen the scarf still tight from when he’d been dragged?

You’re drenched in blood.  The pungent liquid soaks you, drips down your collar and into your suit. It’s all over your face, coating your hair, resting thick on your eyelashes.

His hands come to settle at your cheeks, thumbs smoothing through the viscera as he gazes up at you in awe.  Your grip on his arms is featherlight at most, and he’s amazed.

You are a creature of unfathomable violence.  You have ripped and torn through an incalculable amount of flesh, committed sins far greater than even his mind full of historical horrors could imagine, and yet…

You hold him as though you’re afraid to break him.

Even as you gather him in your arms and fly away, you’re so gentle with him.  Considerate and kind, courteous and caring as you bring him home.  Your boots leave bloody prints across the hardwood floor of his bedroom as you walk him to the bathroom.  You’re on autopilot and that nagging voice in your mind berates you for prioritizing some simple mud person over yourself, over the thrill of the kill. 

“Are you hurt?”  You hear him ask, and it leaves you deeply confused.  Are you, The fucking Homelander, hurt?  Are you, indestructible force that you are, in pain?

He forces you to sit on the edge of the bathtub as he scrambles around for supplies.  You’re not sure why you let him move you around.  Hell, you’re not even sure why you let him wash the blood from you.  

Worse yet, you let him strip your upper body bare.

You let him see the truth of your suit and what you lack beneath.  You’ve got the power of a god, certainly, but you’re so regular underneath the facade. But you can’t find it in yourself to care as he wipes you clean with a warm, wet cloth.  Not with the way he holds the back of your head and removes the evidence of just how far your love for him will push you.

At some point your eyes lock and his hands stop moving.  

Time stills, but he does not.  He leans forward and takes you in a kiss so soft that you wonder if it even counts.  Just a peck at first, barely even a graze of his flesh against yours.  When you don’t pull away, he comes back, this time brushing his lips to yours with the slightest bit of pressure.  His lips are soft, his kisses unsure until you finally reciprocate.

Then?

Oh, then he devours you with a need fit to rival your own.  His arm wraps around your upper body and pulls you against him, all while your own hands scramble to grab at him.  Your breaths mingle together, fanning hot and heavy against each other.  He tastes blood on your lips, and you taste the remnants of his afternoon coffee.  The scent of iron mixed with him surrounds you, and god it is the most exquisite aroma. 

His taste, his scent, his touch, his sweet little gasps…

You want it all.

He pulls away once he, fragile human that he is, gets dizzy.  John giggles breathlessly against your mouth, tongue sliding over his lower lip to lap at your lingering taste.  You smile in return, indulging in something you’ve never quite felt before.  His hands still roam, and you’ve a pretty good idea of exactly where this night will end up once he’s got the rest of that pesky blood wiped from you. For now, though, you’re satisfied even if you’re not entirely satiated.

After all, you’ve truly proven yourself to be–

“My hero…”

[alchemisland]

Gun stuffed into your mouth, Tuesday evening

Lend ear, Roman

Mental noise gentled

Heavy mantle offlifted

Bleeding earphones leak

Dull sound of dumbed hummingbirds.

.

Gimme tea no nettles

Shotgun lemniscate

Scattershot breath

Feeling cold metal

Shook like near-done kettle

Making keepsakes of possessions

Possessed by legions of Satan’s Chiefs.

.

Browning Version

Keats’ passion for Chapman’s Homer

I have a go: his darkening jocks bark-brown 

Pants browning as a plucked bindweed lily petal.

.

Song of Achilles in mad dog’s register

Eerie battle song in steel key

Screaming monks from the gyring Cathedral swear Osiris is Irish.

[lucascecil]

Seventh Doctor - Project: Blue Box

TV Stories

◆ Time and the Rani

◆ Paradise Towers

◆ Delta and the Bannerman

◆  Dragonfire

◆ Remembrance of the Daleks

◆ The Hapiness Patrol

◆ Silver Nemesis

◆ The Greatest Show in the Galaxy

◆ Battlefield

◆ Ghost Light

◆ The Curse of Fenric

◆ Survival

Audio Adventures

- 7th Doctor Adventures

◆ Last of the Titans

◆ Return of the Daleks

◆ Dominion

◆ The Trial of a Time Machine

◆ Vanguard

◆ The Jabari Countdown

◆ The Dread of Night

◆ Bad Day in Tinseltown

◆ The Ribos Inheritance

◆ London Orbital

◆ Scream of the Daleks

◆ Operation Dusk

◆ Naomi’s Ark

- Main Range

◆ Unregenerate!

◆ Bang-Bang-a-Boom

◆ Flip-Flop

◆ The Fires of Vulcan

◆ Red

◆ We Are the Daleks

◆ The Warehouse

◆ Terror of the Sontarans

◆ 1963: The Assassination Games

◆ The Defectors

◆ The Sirens of Time

◆ The Genocide Machine

◆ The Grey Man of the Mountain - ★★★☆☆

◆ The Fearmonger - ★★★★☆

The Fearmonger is a story with a lot of say about the social politic scenario it was made and that uses of its themes to work perfectly with the regulars and their relationship - that brings them closer by putting the trust Ace and Seven have in each on check. A good start for their ternure in audio.

Complete review: here.

◆ Dust Breeding

◆ Colditz - ★★★☆☆

◆ The Rapture

◆ The Shadow of the Scourge

◆ The Dark Flame

◆ The Harvest

◆ Dreamtime

◆ LIVE 34

◆ Night Thoughts

◆ No Man’s Land

◆ Nocturne

◆ The Dark Husband

◆ Forty-Five

◆ Shadow Planet/World Apart

◆ Muse of Fire

◆ The Flying Dutchman/Displaced

◆ The Magic Mousetrap

◆ Enemy of the World

◆ The Angel of Scutari

◆ Project: Destiny

◆ A Death in the Family

◆ Lurkers at Sunlight’s Edge

◆ Protect and Survive

◆ Robophobia

◆ The Doomsday Quatrain

◆ House of Blue Fire

◆ Black and White

◆ Gods and Monsters

◆ Afterlife

◆ Revenge of the Swarm

◆ Mask of Tragedy

◆ Signs and Wonders

◆ You Are the Doctor and Other Stories

◆ A Life of Crime

◆ Fiesta of the Damned

◆ Maker of Demons

◆ The High Price of Parking

◆ The Blood Furnace

◆ The Silurian Candidate

◆ Red Planets

◆ The Dispossessed

◆ The Quantum Possibility Engine

◆ Project: Lazarus

◆ Master

◆ Valhalla

◆ Frozen Time

◆ The Death Collectors/Spider’s Shadow

◆ Kingdom of Silver/Keepsake

◆ A Thousand Tiny Wings

◆ Klein’s Story/Survival of the Fittest

◆ The Architects of History

◆ The Shadow Heart

◆ The Psychic Circus

◆ The Monsters of Gokroth

◆ The Moons of Vulpana

◆ An Alien Werewolf in London

◆ Persuasion

◆ Starlight Robbery

◆ Daleks Among Us

◆ The Two Masters

◆ Warlock’s Cross

◆ Subterfuge

◆ The End of the Beginning

◆ Dark Universe

- The Companion Chronicles

◆ Bernice Summerfield and the Criminal Code

◆ The Prisoner’s Dilemma

◆ Project: Nirvana

- The Lost Stories

◆ Thin Ice

◆ Crime of the Century

◆ Animal

◆ Earth Aid

- Classic Doctor, New Mosnters

◆ Harvest of the Sycorax

- Short Trips

◆ The Devil’s Footprints

◆ Dark Convoy

◆ Doctors and Dragons

◆ The Riparian Ripper

◆ Inside Story

◆ The Shadow Trader

◆ Crystal Ball

◆ The Shrine of Sorrows

◆ Dead Woman Walking

◆ Critical Mass

◆ Washington Burns

◆ Forever Fallen

◆ Police and Shreeves

◆ The Hesitation Deviation

◆ Twilight’s End

◆ The Night Before Christmas

Books

◆ Timewyrm: Genesis

◆ Timewyrm: Exodus

◆ Timewyrm: Apocalypse

◆ Timewyrm: Revelation

◆ Cat’s Cradle: Time’s Crucible

◆ Cat’s Cradle: Warhead

◆ Cat’s Cradle: Witch Mark

◆ Nightshade

◆ Love and War

◆ Transit

◆ The Highest Science

◆ The Pit

◆ Deceit

◆ Lucifer Rising

◆ White Darkness

◆ Shadowmind

◆ Birthright

◆ Iceberg

◆ Blood Heat

◆ The Dimension Riders

◆ The Left-Handed Hummingbird

◆ Conundrum

◆ No Future

◆ Tragedy Day

◆ Legacy

◆ Theatre of War

◆ All-Consuming Fire

◆ Blood Harvest

◆ Strange England

◆ First Frontier

◆ St Anthony’s Fire

◆ Falls the Shadow

◆ Parasite

◆ Warlock

◆ Set Piece

◆ Infinite Requiem

◆ Sanctuary

◆ Human Nature

◆ Original Sin

◆ Sky Pirates!

◆ Zamper

◆ Toy Soldiers

◆ Head Games

◆ The Also People

◆ Shakedown

◆ Just War

◆ Warchild

◆ SLEEPY

◆ Death and Diplomacy

◆ Happy Endings

◆ GodEngine

◆ Christmas on a Rational Planet

◆ Return of the Living Dad

◆ The Death of Art

◆ Damaged Goods

◆ So Vile a Sin

◆ Bad Therapy

◆ Eternity Weeps

◆ The Room With no Doors

◆ Lungbarrow

◆ The Dying Days

◆ Illegal Alien

◆ The Hollow Men

◆ Matrix

◆ Storm Harvest

◆ Prime Time

◆ Independence Day

◆ Bullet Time

◆ Relative Time

◆ Heritage

◆ Loving the Alien

◆ The Algebra of Ice

◆ Atom Bomb Blues

[16magnolias]

Encantober Day 10: Animals

Bittersweet Family Feels, (Stuffed) Animals

***

She doesn’t know they’ve kept them.

Every single one.

The unicorn – uni-donkey? – she made Luisa for her thirteenth birthday is still displayed on her bed, front and center in a place of honor.  

The little capybara she’d made for Dolores when she was nine and Dolores was fifteen sits displayed on a shelf in Dolores’ room, beside the carved wooden hummingbird her padre made for her.  

The chameleon she made Camilo when they both turned twelve is stuffed in the organized mess beneath his bed.  If anyone ever found it, he’d deny he even knew it was there, but he knows exactly where it is and sometimes he takes it out and squishes it whenever he’s feeling particularly frustrated.  He always apologizes to it afterward.

Pepa and Julieta were her first recipients, way back when she was six years old, when Agustín had begun giving Mirabel sewing lessons. The little stuffed heart and the little stuffed sun that she’d made as a result were given to her madre and her tía, respectively. Pepa still has the little sun – a sad little faded yellow blob of a pillow with a lopsided smiling face – tucked away in a keepsake chest so it doesn’t get ruined when she rains.  And Julieta still has the heart, displayed with love on a shelf in her room.

She’d also made a rat.

A sun, a heart, and – a rat.

She made the rat hoping one day her tío would come home and she could give it to him.

It was only fair.  She made one for two, she had to make one for the third triplet. 

The rat sits on her shelf in the nursery for nearly two years before it disappears.  When she asks Casita what happened to it, the house simply shrugs its shutters and clicks its tiles. But by that time, she figures her tío isn't coming back and even if he did, he wouldn't feel left out because she was pretty sure her tía didn't have hers anymore either, and so it doesn't really matter. 

(Bruno still has it, in his home within the walls.)

Her padre has a little stuffed needle with a little smiling face because eight year old Mirabel thought it was the funniest thing - the one needle that would never injure her father. 

Tío Félix got a little stuffed tiple for his birthday when Mirabel was nine years old, and he keeps it in the same case he keeps his music in.

Even Isabela – Isabela keeps the little stuffed animal Mirabel made for her when Mirabel was seven and Isabela was thirteen.  It’s a little lopsided potato with a goofy face and green leafy hair and a little felt straw hat, too.  It’s so ugly it’s adorable, and Isabela keeps it hidden in her room in a place where neither Mirabel nor Abuela will see it. 

She’s never made a stuffed animal for Abuela.  She’s made other things – plenty of practical things, plenty of pretty things – but she’s never found anything quite right for Abuela in the lovie department.  ‘Snuggly’, ‘cuddly’, and ‘warm’ are not words she’s used to describe her grandmother…in a long time.  Abuela might have accepted a six-year-olds’ attempt at a stuffed art project, but now?  At fifteen?  It would just be seen as another way she’d messed up.

(She doesn’t know they’ve kept them.  All of them have kept the things she’s made for them.  Every single one.)

She hopes, as she bites the thread to break and tie it, putting the finishing touches on the jaguar she’s made Antonio for his gift ceremony, that he’ll appreciate it and remember how much she loves him whenever he snuggles it.

She doesn’t realize it, but they've all hung onto the stuffed animals she's made them, as surely as she is hanging onto hope that one day, she'll be special enough to earn a miracle of her own. 

She doesn't realize it, but she is already a miracle - she is already the thread that holds her family together. 

***

[noisycowboyglitter]

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The image of a hummingbird holding or interacting with the puzzle ribbon could represent:

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The adaptability and strength of those on the spectrum and their families

Hope for understanding and acceptance of neurodiversity

The delicate balance of supporting individuals with autism while celebrating their unique qualities

This combination of symbols creates a powerful and visually appealing image that could be used in various contexts, from awareness campaigns to personal tattoos or artwork for autism advocates and families.

The Awareness Ribbon for Autism is a widely recognized symbol used to promote autism awareness, acceptance, and understanding. Typically, it features a puzzle piece pattern in vibrant colors, most commonly a spectrum of blues, or a multicolored design representing the diversity of the autism spectrum.

Buy now

This ribbon symbolizes the complexity of autism spectrum disorder (ASD) and the interconnectedness of the autism community. The puzzle piece motif represents the mystery and complexity of autism, while also suggesting that individuals with autism are an essential part of the larger community puzzle.

Often displayed during Autism Awareness Month in April, this ribbon appears on various items such as clothing, accessories, and promotional materials to spark conversations and increase public understanding of autism.

Hummingbird memorial gifts are thoughtful tokens designed to honor and remember loved ones who have passed away. These gifts often feature delicate hummingbird motifs, symbolizing joy, love, and the continuity of life. Popular items include:

Buy now

Garden stones or wind chimes with hummingbird designs

Ornamental sun catchers or stained glass pieces

Jewelry, such as pendants or brooches

Customized picture frames or keepsake boxes

Memorial plaques or benches for outdoor spaces

Decorative throw pillows or blankets

Sympathy cards with hummingbird themes

These gifts aim to provide comfort, preserve memories, and celebrate the spirit of the departed. They're often chosen for their beauty and the hummingbird's symbolic connection to spiritual themes.

[amitapaul]

26/16

#24GloNaPoWriMo #amitasinfinity

Format Final

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Prompt Dated : 2024 April 16

Response No : 1

Poem No: 26

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Prompt : An abstract, philosophical kind of statement closing out a poem that is otherwise intensely focused on physical, sensory details.

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Featured Poem

Our featured participant today is Sarah Zimam, who brings us a riddle in response to Day 15’s stamp-based prompt.

They’re teeny weeny works of art

They’re portraits set in crinkled frames

They’re open windows to the world

They’re other currencies and names

They’re passports made for birthday cards

They’re fairy- sized photography

They’re sticky tickets anywhere

They’re lessons in geography

What are they ?

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Poetry Resource :

Today, our daily resource is PoemShape, a blog where you’ll find poems, close readings, art, and interviews.

April 4, 20244 Replies

I know those strains

I know those strains you’re whistling now

You hear the music too—

Seductive little madrigals—

O yes, I’m sure you do.

You talk to me about the starlings

I say it’s chickadees.

Let’s both of us debate the birds

And never mind the bees—

The bee that flies melodiously

To kiss the neighbor’s flower;

The neighbor’s hummingbird that sips

The nectar from the bower.

We both of us know that refrain.

Our better angels wring

Their hands all while we hum the tunes

Those other angels sing.

I know those strains

by me, Patrick Gillespie April Fools 2024

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Prompt :

Finally, here’s today’s (optional) prompt, taken from our 2016 archives. Today, we challenge you to write a poem in which you closely describe an object or place, and then end with a much more abstract line that doesn’t seemingly have anything to do with that object or place, but which, of course, really does. The “surprise” ending to this James Wright poem is a good illustration of the effect we’re hoping you’ll achieve. An abstract, philosophical kind of statement closing out a poem that is otherwise intensely focused on physical, sensory details.

Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota

BY JAMES WRIGHT

Over my head, I see the bronze butterfly,

Asleep on the black trunk,

Blowing like a leaf in green shadow.

Down the ravine behind the empty house,

The cowbells follow one another

Into the distances of the afternoon.

To my right,

In a field of sunlight between two pines,

The droppings of last year’s horses

Blaze up into golden stones.

I lean back, as the evening darkens and comes on.

A chicken hawk floats over, looking for home.

I have wasted my life.

James Wright, “Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota” from Above the River: The Complete Poems and Selected Prose.

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Poem Title :

The Corner Room with its Sunny Balcony

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A wooden bed painted white, stark, four legs and mango wood slats

No headboard or side rests replaced your ICU bed

Piled on it still lie cotton bed sheets, pillows and pillow covers.

Steel trunks , neatly labelled, full of your clothes, for different seasons

From thin summer mulmuls to cotswools and thick sweaters

Lie piled against the walls on every side.

A table with the trays and little cartons that held your daily medications

Knickknacks presents keepsakes your glasses and prayer beads

A flower vase and a fruit basket, guards one corner.

The balcony with its plants in flowerpots

Your bathroom with its set of floral buckets

And matching basins, bathstools and soap dishes

Are taken care of, cleaned, dusted, aired and watered everyday.

Life after life is a matter of faith.

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Poet : Amita Sarjit Ahluwalia

Poem 26/ 16th Day

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#24GloNaPoWriMo

[colgantesparallevarcenizas]

Colgantes para llevar cenizas

If your family member has been cremated, maybe you are wondering if you will find special things you certainly can do making use of their ashes. In addition to interring their ashes or sharing them in keepsake-sized urns with other family, you are able to choose to place some in a pendant to wear.

Pendants create a lovely and lasting tribute to your family member that may be worn for special occasions or for everyday wear. If you're thinking about creating this original tribute to your family member, continue reading to learn about these pendants and the types available. 

What's a Pendant for Ashes?

Colgantes para llevar cenizas are mini-urns that permit you to carry a small amount of your loved one's ashes with you. The pendants could be positioned on a ring or, sometimes, a bracelet. This way, you are able to take your family member with you wherever you go.

Cremation jewelry has become a popular way to honor loved ones and share ashes among family members. As you'll see below, pendant types are plentiful and allow you to find the perfect pendant to keep in mind your loved one.

How Much Do Pendants for Cremated Remains Usually Cost?

The price of pendants for cremated remains will depend largely on the material it's produced from and the degree of craftsmanship required. For instance, stainless steel is going to be less costly than 14k gold-plated, and gold-plated will definitely cost less than 14k solid gold pendants. Artisan-crafted jewelry resin and glass pendants may also be more costly than mass-produced items.

Popular Types of Pendants for Ashes

If you're looking for something creative regarding cremation ashes, consider placing a number of them in a pendant urn. This way, you are able to keep your family member with you most of the time. Below are a few samples of the forms of pendants available. 

Animals

Whether you're commemorating a family member who had been an animal-lover or you wish to keep your furry friend near to your heart, these animal-themed pendants are only the thing.

Angel dog pendant urn

This angel dog pendant is perfect to keep the ashes of your beloved furry friend with you most of the time. It is sterling-plated and hypoallergenic. It comes with a 20” chain and a filling kit to simply help with adding your dog's ashes to the pendant urn Colgantes para llevar cenizas.

Hummingbird cremation urn pendant

Hummingbirds embody the essence of elegance and beauty. They are here 1 minute and gone the nex, which reflects on the character of life. Consider a hummingbird pendant if your family member enjoyed these beautiful creatures or if you appreciate the symbolism. This pendant could be customized with a birthstone gem and engraved charm along with your loved one's name and dates.

Angel cat pendant urn

If you're looking for a pendant to keep your furry feline with you after they've said goodbye, you won't wish to avoid this angel cat urn pendant. It features a pet with angel wings and a treasure heart. It's coated with sterling silver and comes with a chain and filling kit to produce filling the small urn along with your kitty's ashes easy.

Sea turtle cremation urn pendant

If your family member adored the ocean, spent holidays in Hawaii, or was passionate about helping sea turtles, then this sea turtle pendant is one you wish to see. It includes a darling sea turtle that's big enough to put on a small part of cremains and could be personalized with a birthstone charm and an engraved charm that features your loved one's name and dates.

Horse pendant urn

For individuals who wish to commemorate a horse enthusiast or equestrian or carry some ashes from their beloved horse with them, this 14k white gold horse pendant is perfect. It includes a trotting horse that is clearly in motion using its tail and mane flying in the wind. The pendant holds around 1 cubic inch of ash.

[nurseshannansreviews]

☀️"Dream big, beautiful girl. Reach for the stars. Because you can do hard things. You can learn anything. You can be anything. So whenever you feel like something's too scary or hard, remind yourself that you can do anything. If you believe in yourself, nothing can stop you." ☀️ I gave Zelah these two inspirational engraved bracelet gifts from the @Ovl_Collection today. I love how their jewelry comes with a keepsake card with a heartfelt message tailored to the piece and its meaning. I chose rose gold for both of Zelah's bracelets. The "I Can" bracelet is engraved with a hummingbird on one side and the words "I can" on the other side. The Forever My Sunshine bracelet is engraved with a sun symbol on one side and plain on the other. ☀️ The Ovl Collection is a new brand of jewelry empowering women and girls through meaningful, inspirational pieces. Right now you can get 15% off your entire order with my code: NURSESHANNAN at www.shorturl.at/tEHO4 . . . . . . . . . . . . #kidinfluencer #toyreviewer #toyunboxing #toyreview #organizedmom #californiablogger #californiamom #productreviewer #organization #getorganized #organizedhome #prodoctreviewer#momblogger #californiablogger#organizedmoms #organizedlife #organizedliving (at Southern California) https://www.instagram.com/p/CkXMdNgLkDE/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[fanartfunart]

Fly Away

Episode 1: Paon Lilas (*Lilac Peacock)

Ao3 Link (If I actually continue this, check my Ao3 of the same name “Fanartfunart”.. Considering how much mental real estate it’s taking up, I probably will.)

An au in which Adrien didn't succeed in trying to 'sneak' into brick and mortar school and therefore also didn't get the Black Cat miraculous..... but he did find a pretty peacock. (It's in his house... I mean....) Ladybug and Féline Sombre (Who uses She/They. Black Cat hero name thanks to @broadwaytheanimatedseries) get some help from the mysterious peacock miraculous holder, but Ladybug isn’t sure he’s 100% doing this for good.

Warnings: Canon typical violence.... Not much else? Tell me if I need to add anything.

A/N because Brick and Mortar schoolers never know that’s what they are: "Brick and Mortar school" is a homeschool/online school method of reference to in-person schools before calling it “in-person” was a thing. I 100% think Adrien would use that phrasing. (if the writers knew it existed...Tho. Idk if there's a French equivalent)

-*-

Adrien knew he shouldn’t be doing this. This was a worse idea than trying to sneak his way into brick and mortar school. He’d only seen it by accident. He wasn’t even doing very good at committing to breaking into his father’s mysterious safe. This was the third time he’d come back down to find out what was behind that painting.... He should really not be doing this. But...a secret compartment behind his mother’s painting was just… too interesting to ignore. He unfurled an umbrella to cover himself from the cameras his father probably had in the room. Inching his way to the painting of his mother. 

...He had had far too much time to think about this. He only had to punch in the code once (his mother’s birthday- frankly, his father really needed a code harder to guess), for the safe to click and unlock.

The contents… were not what he anticipated. It looked like a keepsake box, not a super secret compartment. He ghosted a hand over the frame of his mother’s photo, blinking away the lingering sadness. ...A peacock brooch? He picked it up, tumbling it in his hand. It almost hummed with energy. He tilted his head, brow raised.

Footsteps.

Adrien frantically closed the hidden compartment and glancing for a hiding place. The umbrella closed over his head just as he dove for the curtain. That… might bruise. He flattened himself against the windowsill, going on his tip-toes on the barely-there window ledge. 

From the distinct clack of dress shoes on the floor, his father had entered the room. Adrien held his breath, hearing his father’s footsteps come closer. A strange whirr. Then silence. Adrien stood there for a long moment, feeling the edges of the peacock brooch dig into his clenched fist. Heart hammering. But father never called for Natalie, or his bodyguard, or moved, or anything. It was eerily quiet. The umbrella peaked out of the curtain. He popped open the umbrella to find… no one. 

"What?" Adrien whispered to himself. He frowned, and tiptoed out from the window, before racing out of the room, down the hall, and outside. Once safely in the garden, he dropped the umbrella. He slid down into the grass, taking deep breaths. 

The brooch vibrated.

Wait. The brooch vibrated? He opened his hand. He had to shield his face from the burst of light. He opened an eye to see… a tiny… hummingbird? No, it was a peacock. Why is a peacock… floating? And Tiny? And why isn’t he sneezing? Are miniature peacocks hypoallergenic? “What the...”

“Ooooo, hello!” The creature said cheerfully, “Lovely weather isn’t it? Beautiful flowers! Nice to be outdoors for once isn’t it? Are you my new miraculous wielder? You’re so cute! You look almost like…” tears welled up into the miniature peacock’s eyes. Adrien looked around frantically. It kept talking unintelligibly between sobs, gesturing vaguely.

“Are you… okay?”

“Noooooooo.”

“Right. Er-” Adrien frowned, clearly it wasn’t going to make sense if he asked what was wrong. He opted for distraction. “Do… you want something to eat?”

“Oh sure!” The tiny peacock’s tears cleared up immediately.

Adrien blinked at the sudden change in mood and nodded “Let’s… Let’s go get you something to eat… I guess. Er, what are you?”

"Oh I'm Duusu, a kwami, I can grant the power to hone emotions into constructs."

He tilted his head. The image of Ladybug summoning her Lucky Charm came to mind. "Like… a superhero? How?”

"Well you are transformed by a magic phrase, and once transformed, you can create a sentimonster out of vibrant emotions. Whoever holds the Amok, the item imbued with power, can control the sentimonster."

“Oh, cool!”

"It is! Do you have any mangoes? I love mango."

“We’ll see.” Adrien glanced at the peacock brooch and stuffed it into his pocket. He looked back at the door inside, then Duusu. “Actually, can you… hide? Just for now-”

“Oh yes! Don’t worry! I know the Kwami and our wielder's identities are a secret.” The kwami zipped into Adrien’s over-shirt inner pocket and settled there. It felt… almost natural. He smiled a bit to himself and went to find out if they had some good fruit for the tiny peacock. 

-

The TV played in the background while Duusu had another sudden breakdown about… something. Adrien still wasn’t sure what. He was starting to feel very out of his depth. 

“Duusu.... Duusu. D- Duusu, do you want to talk about it?” There was a pause before the tears flowed even harder. Adrien was reminded of a sprinkler.

His eyes were pulled to the TV, with a flash of red and black blurring on the screen. Followed by an Akuma. Ladybug and Féline Sombre. He glanced at the Kwami. “Duusu… you mentioned you can give me powers, right?”

“Mhm! You just have to say ‘Spread my feathers.’”

“Alright! Duusu-”

“OH! Wait I didn’t-”

“Spread my feathers!” The transformation felt so natural, like he was made to do this. He struck a pose and smiled behind the fan that materialized in his hand. “Alright, let’s go help Ladybug and Féline Sombre.”

He didn’t expect to start… feeling, seeing emotions. Although he supposed that made sense for the power set. They were everywhere- it was like being dropped into the deep end of a pool, surrounded and covered. Fear, worry, frustration, annoyance, determination. Stronger emotions felt… bigger, somehow. The world was full of colors and feelings he’d never expected. He lept across rooftops, feeling like he was flying. His own elation from the truest sense of freedom he’s ever had in… ever; a bright vibrant bubble. He stumbled to a stop as he spotted Ladybug.

Ladybug was determined… and scared? He didn’t expect that from Paris’s hero. She kept looking around, searching for a plan. The redhead cat hero dove in from above and smacked the Akuma with their baton. Her baton was then immediately captured and swallowed by the plants under the Akuma’s control. Féline Sombe pulled desperately before eventually giving up and vaulting towards Ladybug. She was scared too, he noticed, and frustrated.

The Akumatized person was angry. So so angry it was overwhelming. He almost couldn’t see the person behind their anger. “It’s only a matter of time before Chloé Bourgeois and the litterers of Paris pay!” The plant-covered Akuma cackled. 

Chloe?! Well that’s not good. One of his only friends is in danger?

“Bonzaniac is just gonna grow bigger if they go anywhere near the Eiffel. We need to prune this plant before it’s unmanageable.” Ladybug told Féline Sombre, wrapping her yo-yo around the Akuma’s legs, straining to control Bonzaniac’s movement.

Féline Sombre gestured widely, “If I touch them I’ll just become Cat-nip! How are we supposed to stop them?”

Ladybug called her Lucky Charm, ending up with a polka dotted fishing pole. “How’s that supposed to help?” 

The peacock hero frowned and… Chloé? What’s she doing here? Bonzaniac noticed her as well, it seemed, because the plant growth reached toward her. Chloé’s fear grew rapidly and immediately. He plucked a feather from the fan, imbuing it with power. He dove from his perch on the roof down towards Chloé and Bonzaniac. 

“Fly away, darling amok.” The feather fluttered into Chloé’s necklace. He grabbed a traffic cone and hurled it at the plant tendrils, keeping it from touching Chloé. Féline Sombre quickly took over the idea, batting away the tendrils with a trash can lid. (That made Chloé cringe.) A purplish mask of light illuminated Chloé’s and his own face. “Chloé, I am…er- Paon Lilas. I can sense your fear. Let me help you turn it into safety. I can grant you a construct to protect you.” 

“Then just do it already!” Chloé cried, “Please just don’t let it turn me into a sticky sappy gross tree!” A large golden bear materialized in front of Chloe. It roared and Chloé gasped. “Mr. Cuddles!”

Ladybug was... understandably confused. “What? Another Akuma?” She furrowed her brow and deepened her fighting stance.

“OH! No no no, uh, I’m Paon Lilas." He flourished his fan with a bow. "I’m here to help.”

Ladybug’s suspicion grew, but he didn’t have much of a chance to explain himself as Bonzaniac roared and turned on him, aiming their plant tendrils towards him. “Hey! I’m not really the roosting type of bird!” He dived for cover behind a car, patting himself down, “Come on, is the only weapon I get a fan? Why couldn’t I get a baton or something like that?”

The gold bear attacked Bonzaniac, knocking them down. Bonzaniac grappled the bear in plants, taking the plants away from protecting their back.

Ladybug gasped, "There! They only have so much plant matter! Féline, destroy as much plant matter as you can, Paon, distract Bonzaniac! I'm going Akuma fishing."

The two other heroes nodded. 

"Cataclysm!" Féline Sombre yelled, summoning black destructive energy around their hand. She ducked and weaved towards the center of Bonzaniac's plant mass, jumping out of the way of grasping tendrils. 

Paon Lilas whistled "Hey Bonzaniac, have you heard about Fast Fashion? I use all my outfits that way. Never worn the same shirt twice!"

The Akuma roared "All. That. WASTE!" They focused a massive amount of plant matter towards him. 

"Didn't think that'd work so effectively," he muttered under his breath. He lept out of the way, and back around the bend of the car. The plants wrapped up around the car. He whooped in triamph.

Féline Sombre finally managed to hit Bonzaniac, severely reducing the amount of plants in their control. Ladybug swung the fishing pole and caught a necklace from in the middle of the thicket of plant matter. She crushed it under foot and captured the purple butterfly that fluttered out. 

Mr Cuddly the sentibear sat on the Akuma victim. Paon frowned and glanced at Chloé. The gardener looked dazed and confused.

“Now who do you think you are?” Chloe said, crossing her arms.

The gardener smacked the side of the over large bear. “Wh- you! You littered in my garden! And refused to simply pick it up!”

“So what? That's not my job," Chloe huffed, crossing her arms. The sentibear huffed with her.

Paon snapped his fingers, pulling the amok from the necklace, the sentibear disappearing. Chloe gasped, pouting.

"Mademoiselle Chloe," Paon sighed softly, "How would you feel if someone threw trash into your beautiful hair and refused to help clean it up?" Chloe grabbed her hair, and Paon saw her horror at the concept. "Exactly. That garden takes just as much work, or more, as your hair. I suggest apologizing."

She pouted, "Fine, your garden was pretty or whatever, sorry I messed it up." She flicked her hair over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. "There. I apologized."

Féline Sombre and Ladybug chatted in the background. Féline grabbed their baton and with a light salute, she vaulted away. 

Paon's Miraculous beeped. That... meant something right?

"Birdy!" Ladybug called, walking toward him, her own Miraculous beeping. "Where did you get that Miraculous?"

"Oh… um…. Funny story-"

"I'm sorry, but you need to give it to me. It doesn't belong to you."

"What?" Paon took a step back, "Why?" 

"It's been lost. I'm going to take it back to the original owner."

Paon paled. Did Ladybug know his father? Or did his father find the lost miraculous without giving it back? Did his father know what it was? What would happen if his father found out he took it? The bubble of elated freedom popped. "That… sounds like a great, morally right thing to do… but… consider…” He took a soft step back, glancing up to find a path of escape, hands raised surrender. “I can't. Sorry, bye!" Paon ran, leaping up and away.

Ladybug moved to go after him, only for her miraculous to beep again. Sabrina had run in just in time to comfort Chloé, so Ladybug sighed and ran in the opposite direction.

Adrien tripped over himself as he detransformed in a back alley. His legs weak, and head dizzy. "Woah- is that normal?"

Duusu looked up at him with sad eyes. "I meant to tell you. The miraculous is broken... If you continue to use it... it will hurt you."

"... Does it hurt you?"

Duusu thought for a moment. "The transformation? No.... It is nice... to see another use it's power so kindly."

Adrien glanced down. He looked at the broach clipped to his overshirt. The lightness... the freedom. He nodded firmly. Unclipping it from his shirt and instead clipping it in his inside pocket. Hidden. "I'll be careful. Come on, let's get something to eat...” He rubbed his head, “I feel like we both need it."

-

Marinette just barely managed to make it to the bakery before the afternoon rush.

"Marinette! How was school?” Tom called, opening his arms for a hug. She happily took her place in her father’s arms.

"Not great.. Chloé caused another Akuma."

Tom sighed and shook his head, releasing her with a pat on the back. "At least we have Ladybug and Féline Sombre. Come on, if you can't learn in peace at school you can learn some more Dupain-Chang classics!"

Marinette chuckled and nodded, heading over to get ready to work behind the counter.

The door chimed, signaling the entrance of a young blond. She stared at him. He seemed oddly familiar. She started picturing him against all the blonds she knew, although her brain was still somewhat stuck on the Peacock Miraculous holder…. She really needed to talk to Master Fu about that. 

The boy stumbled. He was just about to faceplant into the counter before Marinette, intending to catch him- shoved him. He fell on his rear instead. 

“OH, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” Marinette cried, moving to pull him up to his feet. He was surprisingly light, ohmy and now she just manhandled him like a human doll.

“It’s okay! You saved me from what was probably a worse fate.” He giggled awkwardly, "Thanks... I’ve been.. a bit dizzy today, I guess."

"Oh, I hope you feel better, anything I can do to help?"

"Heh, I was looking for food. Got some, er, fruity stuff?"

"Fruity, fruit. For sure, fruit." Marinette stared at him a bit longer. Finally the images and fashion magazine clippings clicked next to the boy’s face. She gasped "Adrien Agreste! You're Gabriel Agreste's son! He’s my favorite fashion designer!"

He laughed awkwardly. Rubbing the back of his head. "Yeah… That’s… that’s me."

"You probably hear that all the time, sorry! But! Fruit." She walked over to the counter and gestured at the prepared goods. "Macaroons are always good, and there's some a couple of fruit Eclairs, brioche and jam-"

He smiled somewhat stiffly, before frowning at the eclairs. He made a subtle 'come here' gesture. Marinette looked down at the eclairs herself, unsure what exactly made him frown.

He sighed, adjusting his overshirt. (Duusu settled nicely into the pocket again, glad to have been able to choose his treat.) "I think one of those is good.... Er... actually, I think two." 

He handed her the money, and she handed him the pastries. "Thank you."

She smiled, "Thank you! Come again soon. Just try not to trip, that's usually my thing."

He laughed. "Actually…” He takes a bite of his eclair, with a smile “I think I will definetly try to come in again."

"Oh! Okay, cool!"

He waved and walked out of the establishment with a small smile.

Tom leaned over as she watched him leave. "Flirting with the customers?"

Marinette gasped dramatically, "NoOo dad no. He's... just a friend."

Adrien leaned against a wall and sighed. Duusu floated up into view, taking a section of eclair. "Ah young love..."

He shook his head, "...She's just a friend..." He gasped, glancing back at the bakery with a smile, "A friend."

-

Marinette frowned, "Wait, Master Fu, do you think he could be working with Hawkmoth?"

"It is a possibility. I wouldn’t be surprised if the butterfly and the peacock had been nearby each other. If you can find out where he found it, it may help us find Hawkmoth.”

“Hm, he didn’t seem like he was with Hawkmoth. He was helpful... And he actually got Chloé to apologize?”  She was still bewildered about that. It wasn’t the best apology ever, but she still actually did it.

“The peacock wields the power of emotion, Peon Lilas will be able to sense emotion. He can very easily use that information to manipulate others into doing things for him. Even something as simple as an apology.”

She frowned, considering, “I think I understand.”

“Be careful, the peacock is not to be underestimated. Make sure you and Féline Sombre are prepared for what he might do next."

She nodded firmly. "I will be.”

-

Gabriel Agreste stared at the paused frame from the newscast on his newest enemy. Emile's painting ajar and missing a vital item. "Natalie... Where is the surveillance footage for this room?"

She silently pulled up the footage, scrolling through to find an umbrella blocking their view of their thief.

Gabriel growled under his breath and stood up. "Time to catch a runaway bird, it seems. See what you can find from the rest of the cameras in and out of the building. If there's anything or anyone out of place, you tell me immediately."

"What will you do sir?" Natalie asked, already scanning through footage on her tablet.

"Someone found and stole the peacock miraculous from right under our noses. I need to find a way to protect my identity and a lure for our heroic peafoul.”

[universestreasures]

Carly Post Dark Signers Arc Divergences

Developed With @masterofaster​ 

Carly fully remembers what happened when she was a Dark Signer. In fact, when she was revived not too long after the defeat of Godwin, she was floated right into Jack’s arms. A heartfelt reunion (To be written out with Crix), including a kiss, occurs and Jack and Carly officially start their relationship. 

She has nightmares regarding her time as a Dark Signer for the first few months, and whenever that happens, she would always call Jack who would comfort her in the form of dropping what he was doing and going straight to her apartment. 

Due to not pulling his weight, Jack is kicked out of living with Jack and Yusei (though is still a member of Team 5D’s). He, of course, turns to Carly for help, the reporter taking him in to her small apartment.

Of the two, Carly is the breadwinner. She has managed to get a stable job at the local city paper, having left her previous job and awful boss. It’s very time consuming work, but it is one she enjoys. 

As for Jack, he takes the role of unofficial house boyfriend (Even if he sucks at doing housework, but he’s learning!), and sometimes does modeling gigs with Carly taking pictures. They work well together, as any good team should.

Carly runs the official Jack Atlas fan blog (think of like the Ladyblog from Miraculous but for Jack), and gets all the exclusive scoops. It’s a good way for her to show her love for her boyfriend, but also to remind Jack that he has so many fans who still want to root for him.

News of their relationship is public, but it isn’t something the media reports on or anything like that. In fact, Angela doesn’t find out about it till after Carly and Jack get married after the series concludes.

Carly is present during the Crimson Devil mini arc, not wanting Jack to go alone and wanting to document the temple and the returned Nazca Lines. Seeing the hummingbird geoglyph brings back memories of her time as a Dark Signer. Jack, of course, is there to help her, and she cheers him on during his duel with Red Nova. 

When the city is evacuating when the Arc Cradle is going to fall, Carly desires to go with Jack. She doesn’t want to separate from him, but he sends her off with everyone else promising to return back to her and create the future they both truly deserve.

Prior to leaving Neo Domino City and having his final duel with Yusei, Jack brings Carly is brought to the she and Jack often frequently visit and where they had so many precious moments. During this outing, Jack proposes to her, giving her his mother’s old ring he kept as a keepsake for all these years. It’s one of the reasons why Jack was so certain about his future. He knew the road to become a king, and who he wanted to forever walk that road with him. 

[haztobegood]

💜Digging Deeper💜

@newleafover and @alienfuckeronmain tagged me to answer these interesting questions! I tag @himynameiszayn @beelou @evilovesyou​ @jaerie​ @runaway-train-works​ @oopsandhiforever​ if anyone wants to answer these too. 

1. Do you prefer writing with a black pen or blue pen? black in my lab notebook at work and blue on loose paper, and in college I always had a rainbow of colored pens to take notes with

2. Would you prefer to live in the country or city? It changes all the time. I want to live close to the city for concerts and restaurants, but I also want a little farmhouse with wildflowers all over the yard.

3. If you could learn a new skill what would it be? I want to be fluent in so many languages. 

4. Do you drink your tea/coffee with sugar? yes I prefer sweet drinks

5. What was your favourite book as a child? I loved the Amelia’s Notebooks series by Marissa Moss so much when I was little. They were written like diaries and looked like composition notebooks. I loved the idea of keeping a diary with doodles all over and a bunch of keepsakes taped to the pages. 

6. Do you prefer baths or showers? Showers

7. If you could be a mythical creature, which one would it be? Werewolf

8. Paper or electronic books? ebooks! I used to always carry a book with me, so it’s great to be able to carry hundreds in my phone where ever I go

9. What is your favourite item of clothing? my collection of concert t shirts

10. Do you like your name or would you like to change it? I have a love/hate relationship with my name

11. Who is a mentor to you? I never thought I would have a mentor, but one of my colleagues has become one and it is really helpful to have someone with so much STEM industry experience to help me in the early stages of my career.

12. Would you like to be famous and if so, what for? Nope

13. Are you a restless sleeper? I don’t move hardly at all when I sleep

14. Do you consider yourself a romantic person? Yep

15. Which element best represents you? Earth

16. Who do you want to be closer to? So many people, but I am a capricorn so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

17. Do you miss someone at the moment? always

18. Tell us about an early childhood memory. When I was around 5 years old, I wanted to be a radio DJ on the local country radio station when I grew up, because I could think of nothing better than to spend your whole day at work listening to music. That dream was short-lived  because I hate public speaking and hearing my own voice on recordings.

19. What is the strangest thing you have eaten? It’s not weird to me because I grew up with it, but in theory it sounds like a strange food, so I will say pickled fish

20. What are you most thankful for? Family

21. Do you like spicy food? No

22. Have you ever met someone famous? Other than when I’ve gone to meet-and-greets for bands, I once met Halsey at a Catfish and the Bottlemen concert. It was a super awkward encounter 😬

23. Do you keep a diary or journal? I’ve never been able to keep a journal despite numerous attempts, but I do keep a monthly planner where I track habits and goals with stickers. Right now I have some holographic dinosaur and glittery flower stickers!

24. Do you prefer to use a pen or a pencil? For most things, pencil. At work pencil is not an option, so I tend to be really particular about how smooth a pen writes. 

25. What is your star sign? Capricorn

26. Do you like your cereal soggy or crunchy? somewhere in between.

27. What would you want your legacy to be? That I was kind

28. Do you like reading, what was the last book you read? I love reading! I omstly read fics now, but the last book I read was Canotras by Carolina de Robertis and it was a very good book, 10/10 would recommend.

29. How do you show someone you love them? I make things or give gifts.

30. Do you like ice in your drinks? I am indifferent to ice 

31. What are you afraid of? failure

32. What is your favourite scent? campfire by the lake

33. Do you address older people by their name or surname? Usually just their first name, unless they were a teacher.

34. If money was not a factor, how would you live your life? I would buy a little house in a suburb and travel a ton

35. Do you prefer swimming in pools or the ocean? When I was little I spent so many days at the pool that it wore out its appeal. I’ve only seen the ocean once and it wasn’t somewhere I could swim, so I don’t know if I would like swimming in the ocean

36. What would you do if you found £50 on the ground? Finders keepers

37. Have you ever seen a shooting star? yes, one summer my friend had a birthday party sleepover where we slept in a tent outside during a meteor shower 

38. What is the one thing you would want to teach your children? To be willing to try new things 

39. If you could get a tattoo, what would it be and where would you get it? I already have a snail and a hummingbird. I want a set of three triangles on my wrist next. 

40. What can you hear now? The 40 year old air conditioner unit in my apartment (why can’t it just stop working already so I can get a quieter, more energy efficient one 😩)

41. Where do you feel the safest? at home

42. What is the one thing you want to overcome/conquer? My anxiety of talking on the phone

43. If you could travel back to any era, what would it be? The sixties for the music

44. What is your most used emoji? 😂

45. Describe yourself using one word. Cryptic

46. What do you regret the most? Believing the person that told me there would be available parking in the lot at the radio station for the meet and greet I won at a radio station. I am usually very anxious about parking in the cities, but they said there was plenty of space, so I didn’t plan for any extra time. My friend and I ended up parking nine blocks away and missed half of the event and I’m still pissed about it. And now I’m even more anxious about parking any time I go into the cities.

47. Last movie you saw? Titanic was playing on tv, but I only saw the second half after the ship had already hit the iceberg so I missed all the good romantic bits 😢 and the last one in theaters was Spies in Disguise

48. Last tv show you watched? I started watching Golden Girls this winter and I’m on season 4.

49. Invent a word and it’s meaning. Coronastalgia - the longing for events that were cancelled because of the pandemic 😩 rip to my 4+ concerts I was looking forward to

[glitterbugstore]

Excited to share the latest addition to my #etsy shop: Torino Pewter Keepsake Jewelry Brooch Pin Earrings Set Hummingbirds Bird & Flower Heart Trinket Box #gray #animals #earrings #no #pewter #victorian #trinketbox #minijewelrybox #torinojewelry https://etsy.me/377IkwE #annesglitterbug https://www.instagram.com/p/CGYJkv0FMtQ/?igshid=1dk65m48vgtc7

[tysonrunningfox]

Ripped: Part 24

Guys. This is...this. 

Ao3

000000

The ride to the station in the back of Grisly’s unmarked car is a blur that smells like the heavy stink of Hiccup’s anxiety, blood, and the new car scented air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror. Grisly hums continuously, a tune that elevator designers would find too festive, and Hiccup can’t decide whether he’s better off thinking or not thinking, not that he seems to have a choice aside from staring wide eyed at the back of the passenger seat, arm throbbing from being wrenched behind his back.

He stumbles when Grisly half shoves him in front of a wall striped in foot wide increments, nearly smacking his forehead on a crisp number 6 before regaining his balance. Grisly produces a plastic board displaying a six-digit booking number and Hiccup’s name in block letters, the roman numeral ‘III’ included at the end like this is some kind of cosmic déjà vu, before handing it over and stepping behind the ancient mugshot camera.

Hiccup’s dad was arguing about funds to get that camera replaced when he died, and his presence haunts the room like a poltergeist too disappointed to step in as Hiccup’s savior.

“Say Guilty,” Grisly teases, canines sharp and somehow bright even though he’s standing outside the circle of garish light from the halogen lamp dangling above Hiccup’s head. “My boy, at least try not to look so stunned, I will be bringing Astrid a keepsake when I see her next. Not that she’ll be keeping anything for long.”

Astrid.

Her name snaps him out of his daze and his heart thuds back to life, slamming so hard in his chest he’s worried about it making him throw up what he kept in at her apartment. Grisly’s going to go after her, he has to stop him. There has to be a way to stop him, and Hiccup drops his booking number, reflexively struggling against the handcuffs.

“Now, Hiccup, this still has to look good in the system,” Grisly shoves the board back in his hands and he elbows the wall hard enough that it sparks up his arm, like the time he got caught trying to twist out of his dad’s stolen handcuffs and had to talk fast. “Some of that stubbornness you’re so famous for.   Show me how brittle that strong chin is.”

Grisly taps his own chin and Hiccup grinds his teeth, standing up straight and holding the board at a coquettish angle in front of his chest.

“Be sure to get my good side.” Hiccup is in the system. He’s stuck here as long as it takes to process him, and as long as he’s not in a cell, as long as he can see Grisly, Grisly can’t get at Astrid. She is safe as long as Grisly is with him.

Ask a few hundred Trip Advisor reviews averaging a solid four point two, he can fill dead space and captivate an audience.

“Right profile then,” Grisly indicates that he turn and he sighs, anything to keep sound coming out because if it stops, the paralysis might set back in.

“Wait,” he says as the camera flashes, heartbeat too fast and off kilter, like a hummingbird in a slowly tipping cage, “All Right, in the creepy comic sans note that you obviously wrote—”

“I thought it sounded like you,” Grisly steps into the light, only serving to wash the last ghost of color out of his cheeks, “blathering on like you do, saying nothing of substance.”

“Comic sans?” Hiccup snorts, breathing deep and leaning into his longest, best known role.

His dad used to say that he talked like his life depended on it, but Hiccup never anticipated the real test would be other people’s lives. People he loves.

“It’s easier to read.”

“Choosing Comic sans might be the worst thing you’ve done.” He watches Grisly’s narrow nostrils flare, the first crack in his manic veneer, and the little lively Snotlout in the back of Hiccup’s mind brags that antagonizing Grisly was the right thing to do all along.

It got real Snotlout shot, of course, but for Grisly to take the same tactic now he’d have to get Hiccup away from the cameras, which he can’t easily do mid-arrest.

Grisly starts patting Hiccup down by the desk in the intake room, thin, dry lips quirking when he touches the dried blood at the neck of Hiccup’s shirt and Hiccup turns his gag into a laugh.

“Are you dyslexic? I thought that was a myth.”

Grisly pats his front pocket before shoving his hand deep enough inside that parts of Hiccup retreat as far as they’re able.

“Do you want to hear that I was bullied? That I was small and slow in school and that made me cruel? Does it make your situation easier to deal with if you pity me?” His grin spreads slowly across his face, the only part of him that seems alive, and his fingers curl in Hiccup’s pocket.

“What happened at Astrid’s apartment might be your thing,” Hiccup makes eye contact with the outdated, image only security camera in the corner and takes a deep breath before glaring down at Grisly, “but it’s not mine.”

“I’m doing this because I want to. Because it’s fun to make you and your friends and the police run around like scared chickens in their coop while the fox locks himself in with them.” He stands up, pulling a ring of keys out of Hiccup’s pocket with a self-satisfied chuckle. The keyring reads ‘Benson’ and Hiccup’s blood runs cold. “And as much as you frustrated me, all of it makes catching you so much better.”

“Well Mr. Benson definitely has enough money to sue me for identity theft,” Hiccup clears his throat, “so that’s not…great.”

“This is…brilliant,” Grisly’s breath smells like death. Not rot. Not the cloying, tired scent of road kill in the sun. The moment of death itself, when the electric impulses that used to be human evaporate into the air in a cloud of static and pain. Like he breathes that in and lets it seep slowly through him, preserving him in its singular, inevitable eternity. “That idiot woman is still looking for these, I can’t wait to tell her I found them in evidence.”

“Ruffnut got a fax from the condos,” Hiccup whispers to himself, and Grisly’s eyes sharpen, grin deflecting to grimace.

“I thought you were smarter than this.” Grisly steps away, rooting through a locker for a jumpsuit and shoving it at Hiccup, who drops it. “Your clothes are evidence. You can change behind the curtain.” He points at a small corner of the room separated from the rest by a shower curtain and Hiccup holds his hands up to be uncuffed.

Hiccup takes his time changing, pausing with his shirt off to scrub as much of the dried blood from his neck and jaw as he can, trying not to inhale. He waits for Grisly to make a run for it, to go after Astrid and Snotlout and leave him in the hands of another officer, but he just paces the room, his footfalls padded like a predator on the cusp of making prey aware of their presence.

The floors creak though, cheap rubber-backed rug squeaking against peeling linoleum, the decay of the room protecting Hiccup like history always seems to.

The jumpsuit and the underwear issued along with it are too big, threatening to fall down as he adjusts the orange cuff around his metallic left ankle. Grisly must see what he’s doing because he comments, voice smooth enough to highlight how rough it was before the pause.

“Usually I’d take something that could so easily be used as a bludgeon,” he sneers when Hiccup pulls the curtain back, “but in your hands…”

“If I’m so scrawny, why me?” Hiccup doesn’t pick up his own clothes, instead waiting as patiently as he can feign for Grisly to re-cuff him, far too tight this time, and add the pile of fabric to his evidence bag.

“It doesn’t take bodily strength to wield a knife,” Grisly points at his temple, “only strength of mind.”

“So that’s why you chose to frame me?”

“What does it matter? It’s done.” He checks his watch, which is impossibly immaculate given what the shiny band spent the morning reflecting. “Or almost done. It will be soon.”

“Then what’s the harm in telling me why you chose me?”

“I never had children—”

“Thank God,” Hiccup rolls his eyes and Grisly tries to ignore him, jaw twitching. He’s not a man used to being antagonized and the cracks are spreading.

Snotlout is smart, Astrid is brilliant, if Grisly is loud. If he’s off kilter, maybe they’ll react quickly enough. Maybe it’s about knocking him off his game while he’s still flying high from his morning indiscretions.

“Clingy, slimy little vermin—”

“Right, kids are slimy, not blood or—”

“But I was under the assumption that at some point they stop with the incessant questions.” Grisly’s voice trembles as his volume expands and Hiccup shrugs, forcing the motion flippant.

“I didn’t.” He exhales, “what came first, the Admiral Hiccup Haddock collection or you choosing me as your prime suspect?” He can’t help but be curious and given everything else going on, he hates himself for it. Or at least he tries to, maybe some hate manages to wedge itself in his brain next to everything else.

“Like I said Mr. Haddock,” Grisly doesn’t like repeating himself but seems compelled to tie off loose ends, “I’m in the business of making money, you and your tour are not.”

“But Heather…” Hiccup can’t help but laugh, a real shocked laugh that makes him worry that part of his brain is floating away with the controls and his confident ruse, “are you saying you framed me for murder because Heather is more marketable than me?”

Grisly doesn’t like being laughed at and his expression darkens, like he’s burning through his morning’s effervescence faster than he’s used to, and Hiccup wonders how long the camera will really protect him.

Not that it matters. Snotlout matters. Astrid matters. It’d kill him if he didn’t get to tell her how he feels, but in the context of this situation, that’s kind of a moot point, isn’t it?

“When I told you not to pity me, I meant it,” Grisly growls, rough as his grip on Hiccup’s arm. A purposeful, strangling grip that’s too practiced to make an empty threat. A grip that promises. “I crawled from under the weight of everything that made me pitiable. Born in a country that had no use for me? I made myself indispensable. I took the chances others would not, I made the choices that coddled, weak people could not, and I took control. I didn’t beg in the streets like a dog, I caught the dog, ignored its squeal and made the streets better.” He hisses, a fine mist spraying across Hiccup’s face as Grisly leans in, practically primed to bite, “I take control.”

“Dead people don’t really have a say though, so is it really control?” Hiccup’s voice doesn’t shake even as his knees do.

“Yes,” Grisly checks his phone with the hand not cutting off circulation to the part of Hiccup’s arm not already deadened by cuffs, the bright screen illuminating his face at an angle that questions the humanity of his features. The sharp jaw, the thin lips, the hollows of his cheeks still shadowed like every kill he makes drags him halfway down after the victim, “the judge is ready to see me about your bail.”

“So I wait in a holding cell,” Hiccup’s throat tightens at the thought of letting Grisly out of his sight. At different blonde hair in his hand, blood soaking a different floor.

“No,” the superficial cracks on Grisly’s veneer spread outward along his geometric edges and for the first time, Hiccup sees something like hesitance mirrored in his usually blank eyes, “he wants to see you too.”

“What’s to stop me from telling him all of this?” Things aren’t going according to Grisly’s plan, for maybe the first time since Hiccup stumbled across a body he wasn’t supposed to yet, and he dives in this time with his eyes wide open. “Maybe it doesn’t need to get to trial—”

“Go ahead,” Grisly’s smirk is cruel now instead of indifferent, like the lock is broken off of the predator’s cage and he doesn’t care that the zookeeper has a gun, “if you want to assume I’m the only one capable of cleaning up the rest of this mess.”

He’s not working alone. There must be NWF members willing to step in and Hiccup thinks of Snotlout, vulnerable in a hospital bed. Astrid, vulnerable in his apartment, finally soft after fighting it for so long. After twenty-five long years, Hiccup finally has motivation to be quiet.

He must nod and something in his numbed expression must look like understanding because Grisly practically drags him out of the door and down the hall to a small office sometimes used for legal rituals when the county courthouse is full. No one has to tell Hiccup to sit on the small plastic chair inside. He isn’t surprised when the door locks behind them.

He is, however, surprised to see the judge.

“Honorable Judge Treacherous,” Grisly tilts the title into something pedantic as he takes the floor, pacing back and forth with steps as even as the heartbeat Hiccup saw him stop couldn’t have been. “I understand you wanted to see the suspect in person to set bail, an unorthodox decision for a man in your…lofty position—“

“Captain Stoick Haddock was an old friend of mine,” Judge Treacherous leans his elbows on the desk and looks at Hiccup over his glasses, down his repeatedly broken nose. Hiccup knows his dad can take posthumous credit for at least two of those breaks and he swallows hard, fidgeting in the too tight cuffs on his wrists.

The jumpsuit makes him feel guilty, but not as guilty as his bloody clothes would have.

“Friend?” Hiccup asks, over-used voice croaking around the question until he clears his throat. “I didn’t quite get that impression.”

Judge Treacherous laughs, “I didn’t get the impression dear Stoick was raising a serial killer.”

“Me either,” Hiccup blurts, fingers numb with instant regret.

“Is that a confession?” Grisly’s eyes sparkle, somehow reflecting blood no longer in front of him.

“This isn’t a trial, Mister…Gruesome, was it?” Judge Treacherous curls his lip and Grisly stands up straighter, rigid like a scarecrow itching for dawn. “When will the officer…Ah, here, Detective Eretson,” Treacherous skims through a stack of papers in front of him, “when will I be meeting this Detective Eretson?”

“Well, as I’m sure you can see from the entire case history I’ve presented to you, Eretson has proven ineffective—“

“Sorry I’m late,” Eretson’s accent cuts through the creak of the poorly hung door as he walks inside, smoothing his suit jacket and standing shoulder to shoulder with Grisly, “train ran slow.”

Hiccup never though Eretson’s presence could be comforting, but the way he glares at Grisly seeks to change that. Grisly’s suddenly tense shoulders back the notion up as he turns around, blood leaching from his face like it leached into Astrid’s carpet.

Astrid.

Panic grips his heart like a steel vice and he repeats the mantra of his morning to himself. Hiccup is in the system, he’s not going anywhere, and as long as he can see Grisly, Grisly can’t get at Astrid. She’s safe as long as Grisly is with him.

Eretson must see his panic, because he catches Hiccup’s eye and nods, his expression as unreadable as always and maybe Hiccup is lying to himself but there’s something comforting there. Something solid. And while Hiccup knows that the detective’s solidity isn’t necessarily rooted in his favor, it’s clearly planted against Grisly and that has to be good enough for now.

“Good old Berk public transportation,” Judge Treacherous attempts small talk, skimming through the file in front of him, “I thought you’d called me here for an offense you caught Mr. Haddock committing this morning.”

“Yes—”

“Where is that information in the case file?” Treacherous slides the manila folder towards Grisly, who bristles.

“I haven’t had a chance to include it,” his voice is mellow even as the hands folded behind his back twitch. “but the rest of the file is—”

“Very thorough,” Eretson cuts in, “it’s been my case for months—”

“And yet I’m the one lucky enough to stumble on the answer,” Grisly grins too bright, his façade slipping another inch under Eretson’s even stare.

“Stumble, right,” Eretson raises an eyebrow, “lucky.”

“Mr. Ghastly, I have to say I’m a bit confused to be summoned so early in the morning to set bail for a case I’ve been seeing discussed on the news for months.” Treacherous folds his hands, “if you honestly believe Stoick’s boy is the Grimborn Copycat killer, I couldn’t in good conscience let him back on the streets.”

If Grisly was pale before, he’s chalky now, complexion abandoning its noble cause to cling to the last dregs of life as his expression freezes into place like a wax effigy stretched over limestone.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that if there’s even a chance that Mr. Haddock is connected to everything in this file, I’ll be making the decision to hold him without bail until a trial can shed proper light on the situation.”

“If there’s a chance—shed light—” Grisly sputters, “more than enough light has been shed, I saw him with my own two eyes, holding a girl up and slitting her throat—”

“I’ll need details for the report,” Eretson cuts in, voice level, and if Hiccup weren’t sworn to silence, he might laugh. Or cry. Or hug Eretson’s leg like the child Grisly accused him of being and hide.

“And I have those details,” Grisly struggles for his composure, a predator walking on wet tile for the first time, a janitorial bureaucracy rendering millions of years of evolution useless, “but to issue a remand without bail—to put this boy’s disrespect of the law on our taxpayers—”

“Taxpayers who pay taxes for the legal system to keep them safe from alleged serial murderers,” Treacherous would bang a gavel if he had one, but he doesn’t so he thumps a meaty hand on the desk. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”

“You haven’t even read the file! And you call yourself a judge,” Grisly’s voice cracks like his composure did as he flicks through the file, dropping half the pages on the floor, “the assailant worked backwards through the Grimborn murders, I caught him in the act of the first this morning. It stands to reason that he’s done with his spree—”

“You’re assuming someone reasonable doing the reasoning,” Treacherous looks to Eretson and then to Hiccup, his tone almost apologetic as he digs in his heels. “Letting a proposed serial murderer out on bail would be the end of my career.”

“House arrest then,” Grisly tries, “he lives with a cop, it’s perfect, there’s no sense in using the city’s resources to hold him at an overpriced jail.”

“Overpriced?” Treacherous snorts, “I picked out the bathroom tile myself, it was very reasonable.”

“Also, your Honor, the officer that lives with Mr. Haddock is currently suspended and on medical leave,” Eretson adds and Treacherous laughs before signing a piece of paper, presumably with his official recommendation.

“Held without bail until the trial,” he sets his pen down, “if the boy has already killed four people, I don’t trust an injured, suspended cop to keep him contained if he decides to work backwards through Bundy.”

“Look at the file!” Grisly shouts, the predator’s paw caught in a trap as he fought to remove a thorn, “it’s immaculate, from his research to the timing of the murders. Everything points to him! Every last drop of blood—”

“Mr. Garish, that is enough!” Treacherous stands up, towering even over Eretson, Hiccup’s dad’s ghost finally stepping into a pair of familiar if un-ideal shoes.

“It’s Grisly, your Onerous.”

The silence rings like high pitched static, the fire alarm between beeps.

Eretson clears his throat, “On second thought, maybe this case is better suited to Mr. Grisly’s particular talents.”

Hiccup’s stomach falls out from under him, and he looks around for confirmation that his ears aren’t making up worst case scenarios, like his actual situation isn’t bad enough. Eretson is patient in professional silence but Grisly’s face is contorting in confusion and rage as Judge Treacherous raises a doubtful eyebrow.

Grisly talks first, voice small, “You do?”

“Seeing how this is going, your Honor, I agree with Mr. Grisly, I might have been over my head with the unique complexities of the case.” Eretson gives Hiccup the barest ghost of a nod as he defers to Grisly with a subtle duck of the chin that’s anything but reverent.

“Well, finally someone is seeing sense,” Grisly attempts to regain his quiet, stealthy tone but instead his voice wavers, something uncouth bleeding into the edges.

“You can see my commanding officer about the transfer paperwork,” Eretson points vaguely down the hallway then turns back to Treacherous, “Captain Anderson, I know you two have worked together in the past.”

“I don’t know if I’d say ‘together’ quite so loud, Detective,” Treacherous chuckles, “that was off the books.”

“Apologies.”

“And if that is your decision, Eretson, I’m afraid you’ll have to leave the courtroom.” Treacherous looks between him and Grisly, reacquainting himself with the changing situation.

“I think it’s what’s best moving forward.” Eretson nods, looking every shade as competent and a hundred times more mysterious than Hiccup has ever seen him.

“Once the transfer paperwork is complete and the file is updated,” Treacherous slides what’s left in the folder pointedly at Grisly, who trips over his own feet to bend and pick up the mess on the floor, looking more like the Ms. Moore, the condo manager, than Hiccup ever could have imagined, “then we can move forward discussing any warrants your investigation might need. Anything else?”

“No.” Grisly clutches the disorganized file to his chest like someone just used it to bludgeon him and he’s still recovering from the shock.

As soon as the door closes behind him, Eretson clears his throat again, approaching the desk with a natural sort of ease, “I was wondering if Grisly selected a public defender.”

“No, he did not, as he completely violated protocol.” Judge Treacherous laughs again and Eretson’s smile is slow and reserved, but unmistakable.

“I’d like to offer to represent Mr. Haddock moving forward.” Eretson presents the solution like it’s not impossible and Hiccup and Treacherous trade confused glances. “Is that a problem?”

Treacherous starts slowly, “Are you…”

“I’ve passed the bar, yes, I’ll have my paperwork faxed over.”

“Obviously,” Treacherous nods to himself.

“I’ll be taking the back interrogation room to speak to my client then, I’ll address having him moved to the county jail when we’re through.”

Grisly wants to kill Astrid and Snotlout, Grisly is on the case now. Grisly framed Hiccup. Eretson turned over the case to him, even though Eretson has never shown anything like trust in the man. Eretson has gone from savior to traitor to…lawyer in the most confusing five minute span of Hiccup’s life, and that’s saying a lot for someone who is currently being framed for a slew of violent murders.

Eretson sits down across the table in the interrogation room and starts babbling in legal-ese, the words going into Hiccup’s ears like the strumming of an out of tune base guitar until he opens his mouth, unsure what’s going to fall out until it does.

“You’re a lawyer?”

Eretson pauses, eyebrow raised, ghost of a grin haunting the corner of his mouth, “That’s what you’re asking? You should be asking my rate.”

“What’s your rate?” Hiccup parrots back at him and Eretson folds his hands on the table.

“You help me bring Grisly down,” he starts, deadly in a way that makes Hiccup want to hide behind him again. “And whatever you can get Jorgenson to throw in. Now, let’s start with what actually happened this morning.”

“Ok, ok…let me think,” he tries to pull back the veil of blood separating then from now and blushes when he succeeds, “so I was with Astrid—”

“I know,” Eretson surprises him by blushing himself, the pink in his cheeks exactly at odds with the rest of his appearance, “after that. Let’s start when you left the apartment.”

“Oh. Right.” He rubs the back of his neck, “wait, you know? How do you know?”

“I was—in the interest of full disclosure regarding the case,” Eretson clears his throat, tone more formal as his face reddens, “at your residence along with Jorgenson this morning—”

“Snotlout?” Hiccup frowns, “is he ok? Is Astrid ok? I have to—Grisly’s going to go after them—”

“They’re somewhere safe,” Eretson nods, all business again, “now back to the beginning, tell me what happened when you left the apartment.”

00000

The county jail stands on the corner where Big Top 24/7 Video used to, in direct sight of the back of the police station. Hiccup can see his dad’s office’s window from the tiny, barred window of his cell and he remembers being nine years old visiting his dad at work and wondering why his dad couldn’t make time to take him to the circus.

After the rumors that the pollution in Berk’s shipping lanes was deforming whales were scientifically corroborated in the mid-nineteen-seventies, trucking took over. Of course, trucking companies were worried about carjacking in the largely impoverished downtown Berk, so a beltway smeared a swath of unpopulated buildings into a slick semi-circle of asphalt. And with all freeways come truck stops and motels with flickering Vacancy signs, and Big Top 24/7 sprung up between them like a necessarily evil lovechild woefully holding the family together.

Big Top 24/7 Video opened off of the first exit within the city limits, a round brick building with a conical fiberglass roof, painted in garish red and yellow stripes that allowed a circus motif to almost veil a secret. The advertisement of private rooms and VHS sales likely did nothing to fool passing motorists looking for a reason to take their eyes off the road for even a second, but it fooled Hiccup.

When he was a teenager looking for something—anything—worth fighting with his dad over, he used to wonder how his dad was ok with circus animals being caged and made to perform for people’s entertainment right in the station’s backyard, especially given his dad wouldn’t even let him get a dog on the grounds that he was ‘irresponsible’. Hiccup threatened to do something about it once when he was about thirteen, but his dad assured him if he even so much as tried to run in that direction, he could spend the afternoon in the holding cell.

Again, Hiccup thought that was pretty rich coming from a guy who met his wife at an illegal protest to protect Berk’s last resident population of hibernating black bears.

Big Top 24/7 Video was torn down about seven years ago for the new jail to go in, and Hiccup wasn’t talking to his dad enough to gauge any sort of reaction. He imagines now that it was something like relief, if only because it was one less thing to answer his son’s ever instigating questions about, but he never got a chance to ask.

His dad died before Hiccup put together the truth that the untouchable circus of his youth was actually a dingy but surprisingly long-lived scheme to bring truckers together in the homosexually word-playing name of VHS porn and other so-called erotic novelties.

But from where he stands now? Well, he’d prefer cheap, fuzzy handcuffs to the ones that bruised his wrists as Grisly dragged him in front of a judge who invoked his father’s name like a bar he’d never meet. He’d love a ground floor ‘private’ suite with a VHS player as old as he is in the corner that he could rent by the hour over the cell he’s stuck in now, especially because a glory hole might provide a means of escape more viable than the bars on the window.

Plus, he knows for a fact he looks better in largely ill-fitting themed-garb than he does in oversized, itchy orange.

By early afternoon, even he can’t conjure enough detail about the dreary view to distract himself any longer.

What if Eretson is wrong? What if Grisly isn’t spending the day tied up with paperwork and in fact, he’s already caught up to Astrid?

Grisly would gloat, Hiccup knows that. He knows it in more blood-spattered detail than he cares to remember, but the only thing worse than remembering it is foreshadowing a repeat performance, this time with the ghost of the blood of someone he loves thrown in his face.

He’s never planned a murder, obviously, so he doesn’t really have a handle on how long it might take.   He assumes it might take longer given that Grisly is surely going to try and make it look like an accident, since framing Hiccup while he’s literally incarcerated is sure to be a bit harder than framing him while he’s walking around alleys talking about murder.

But no matter how many times he tries to convince himself it could take days or weeks or even months for Grisly to clean up his mess, he flinches every time he hears footsteps in the hallway.

The stairwell door at the end of his floor creaks open and he wonders if Grisly will go for Astrid first, using the address he sent Dave’s foot to and cornering her. Another cell door swings open, scraping across the linoleum floor, and he wonders if maybe Snotlout is an easier or mouthier target to go after first.

A key turns in the exterior door to his solitary cell and he freezes, plastic slipper squeaking against his plastic foot and tearing the silence like wet paper.

No matter who it is, he’ll be stuck, for the first time in his life, with wishing he had said more even sooner and more often.

The door opens and he braces himself for Grisly’s maniacal grin, almost stumbling from the strength of his refusal to show shock when he sees Heather instead, pale and wide eyed, hair disheveled under a crooked police uniform hat.

“Thank fuck I guessed the right room,” she shuts the door quickly behind her and leans back against it, breathing hard. She’s wearing a police uniform jacket too, one that’s simultaneously way too big for her and way too short in a disarmingly familiar combination of borrowed hoodie and crop top.

“Heather.” Hiccup says dumbly, forgetting how to ask questions when he’s so busy trying to force the answers.

“I knew you were on this floor and I had to guess it’d be a smaller cell since Grisly said you were by yourself, but—“

“What are you doing here?” His second attempt at a question goes better, not that Heather gives any impression that she heard him.

“But I guessed right, so now it’s just…keys, I guess, which one of these is for the cell gate thingy.” She starts rifling through a ring of a few dozen keys, trying a couple of them in the barred gate between them but having no luck.

“I didn’t realize you’d officially joined the force.”

“Unless the cell key is on the other ring in the office that I can’t get into—“

“Was the official police tailor unavailable when they assigned you a uniform?” Hiccup laughs at his own half joke, shoulders so stiff they feel brittle, like he’ll shatter if she keeps looking through him like he’s not here.

“It’s Snotlout’s spare,” she pauses, swallowing hard and shoving one stretched cuff back up her arm from where it was covering her hand. He doesn’t need to ask if she heard about Snotlout getting shot, the sympathy almost verging on apology in her expression is enough.

“Ah, could have guessed that,” he nods, “I swim in his crop tops too. Or shirts, I mean shirts.” The joke falls so flat he almost thinks Heather is going to cry, but he’s glad she swallows it back, since it would probably make him cry too and he’s not going to give Grisly that satisfaction.

“I’m not here to chat, I’m here to get you out of this cell.” She goes back to sifting through her key ring and Hiccup frowns, nearly collapsing onto the hard, metal bench against the wall of his cell. “Just give me a second—“

“You can’t break me out of jail.”

“I have Snotlout’s badge too,” she flashes him the shiny shield in her pocket, “that’s how I got in here.”

“Yeah, I’m in jail for murder, remember? You might have heard the judge said ‘no bail due to serial killings’?” He presses the heels of his hands against closed eyelids, “you can’t just let me out.”

“But you didn’t do it,” she says with such conviction that he wants to ask if she knows who did and he resents the distance she put between them more than ever.

No, they’re both to blame for the distance. He had what he thought were better reasons at the time, but they both said things they shouldn’t have and now they’re on either side of a barred cell wall.

“I got arrested for it.”

“Yeah, but that’s—I know you didn’t do it—”

“It doesn’t matter what you know!” He shouts, louder than he knows he should, suddenly full of resentment for even the implication that she could help him. It’s easier to know that no help is coming than it is to shove off insufficient help in the name of the ill-fitting position of ‘voice of reason’. “You can’t exhume Johann for a confession and you can’t just let me out of jail.”

“Johann?” She snorts, but she gives up on the keyring too and Hiccup’s heart falls even though it’s what he was hoping for, “you think this has anything to do with Johann?”

“Doesn’t everything?”

“I…” She deflates the rest of the way, hugging Snotlout’s jacket tighter around herself and leaning back against the wall, yanking at her braid in frustration, “Admiral Hiccup Haddock.”

“You know my military career wasn’t quite that successful,” he rests the back of his head against the cold brick and stares at the ceiling, “and since when do you call me by my full name?”

“Grisly played me for Admiral Hiccup Haddock,” she continues, slumping down to sit cross-legged on the floor, keys forgotten in her lap. Maybe she just needed to talk.  

As much as he’d like to, he can’t find it in himself to blame her.

“I know the feeling.”

“Do you?” Heather snorts, “he had me go on the news and talk about how absurd the whole theory is, I—any credibility I had—“

“Right, Grimborn credibility,” Hiccup cuts her off, gesturing at his jumpsuit, “I guess I’ve got that in spades now, you know, since Grisly framed me for a series of modern copycat murders.”

“I guess you get it then.” She has the sense to look at least a little sheepish and Hiccup sighs, rubbing his face.

“I’m sure that misogyny makes it worse.”

“Absolutely,” she nods, “I’d look way less stupid decrying the now practically proven Admiral Haddock theory on the news if I were a man.”

“Right, men get to make mistakes like that without it ruining their reputation.” He sighs, “I have to ask, ok? Just…when you say you know I didn’t do it, what does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” she winces like she always has when she lies, looking up through her eyelashes, “you put spiders outside—“

“You’ve worked closer with Grisly than anyone.”

“And I’m sorry for that, if I knew—”

“That he’d play you?” Hiccup hangs his head, running a hand through his hair and trying not to think about the crust near his face. “He only chose you because you’re more marketable than me, he practically admitted it. It could be you in here.”

“The name doesn’t help your case,” Heather twirls the keys around her finger, “there has to be some way to fix this, I—you have to have an alibi, or something.”

“An alibi,” he shakes his head, “not this time, I—I can’t bring Astrid into this. Not again, especially not now.”

“She’s been involved the whole time! Hell, she was just a suspect—”

“I just can’t.”

“What’s so different about now?” Heather looks like his friend when she’s worried and there are a million logical ways to answer that question. He could start with Grisly and end there, but instead the day catches up to him and his resolve breaks, his last important secret falling out of his mouth.

“Because I love her.”

“Oh.” Heather bites her lip, uncharacteristically quiet as she fidgets, scraping some gum off of the sole of her boot with a fingernail.

“Oh?” He prods.

“Does she—I mean does she know?” She continues before he can answer, slouching a little further against the wall, “as in does she know there’s a possibility of it?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Does she know that she’s your alibi for last night in particular?” Heather gestures at nothing, verging on frustrated and Hiccup frowns at her.

“Considering she was in my apartment with me all night and we slept together, I’m pretty sure she’s aware that we were together. Why do you ask?”

“Ok, ok, no need to be so defensive,” Heather holds her hands up.

“No need? Not like you just inferred I was stalking Astrid—”

“You hang out in a lot of creepy alleys near her apartment,” she laughs, “I had to check.”

“Your confidence in me—or lack-there-of is…” He trails off, “I missed it. I—friends? Please? I don’t need any other enemies.”

“Yeah,” she nods, “no one will believe me if I publish Johann now anyway…” Something in his expression wards her off of the topic like even she’s hesitant to rock a newly patched boat. “If we’re friends again, does that mean I get to give you relationship advice?”

“No—”

“Shouldn’t it be up to Astrid if she wants to be involved or not?”

“I just…Not this time, it’s too much to risk, I can’t…of course she’d want to be involved and—”

“Well then, what the hell else am I supposed to do? You won’t let me break you out, you won’t let me find your alibi, I’ve been working for the guy that got you into this mess and defamed me and there’s nothing I can do to redeem myself?”

He likes that she phrases it in terms of redeeming herself, not helping him. It makes it distant, comfortable, and gives him analytical breathing room he hasn’t had all day.

What could Heather do?

What hole exists in Grisly’s perfect plan that Heather could bore into? Hell, how’d he get so much right about Grimborn going off of Heather’s sensationalized tour information and an Admiral Hiccup Haddock book?

“That’s it!” Hiccup sits up straight, lowering his voice at Heather’s alarmed expression. “He had to fuck up somewhere. Not on the framing for murder, obviously, he’s good at that, but at the Grimborn. If he’s saying I did it to mimic Grimborn and you find somewhere in my Grimborn research that I disagree with what the modern case says—”

“Then it points to someone with a different Grimborn theory than you,” she stands up, tucking the stolen keys carefully in Snotlout’s jacket pocket. “It’s something, I can do that.”

“It might be enough, I think Grisly’s starting to crack under the pressure.” Hiccup lets himself hope for a second, not so long that he can’t shut it down before the long, lonely night ahead, but enough to make the dull light through the window seem livable. “Get in touch with Eretson, he seems to know where Astrid and Snotlout are, they can help.”

“Right, like I’d ask Snotlout for help with research this important.”

“No, I mean Astrid, she’s…she’s brilliant, ok?”

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Heather scoffs, voice soft as she reaches for the handle to the room’s outer door, fingers lingering on the knob for a second, “take care of yourself, don’t drop the soap or—”

“Don’t remind me, I already had Grisly in my front pocket today, just…go. Don’t get caught stealing Snotlout’s keys.”

“Right,” Heather nods, somehow leaving the room a little more hopeful, if lonelier, than she found it.

[queen-scribbles]

(for OC asks #2) 5, 6, & 11 for AJ; 1, 13, & 22 for Keme; aaaand 20 for both of them

AJ

2: Do they snore at all?

She does not. But she does talk in her sleep. It’s usually just muttered nonsense, but occasionally actual words will slip in there. Especially if she’s having either a really bad or really good dream.

5: Do they prefer sunny or rainy days?

She prefers sunny, hands down. Nice as it is to curl up with a book and hot drink in rainy weather, it’s not so fun to work. Since the ratio of days she works vs has off skews heavily toward the former, sun is so much better.

6: What is their biggest pet peeve?

Irish stereotypes(stereotypes in general irritate her, she just runs up against the Irish ones the most)

11: Would they be content to sit still for a long period of time, or do they need to constantly move around?

Oh, she’s very good at sitting still for long periods of time.Whether that’s by choice for reading or star-gazing or what-have-you, or for work things like stakeouts or filling out paperwork, it takes a long time for her to get restless.

20: What’s their most precious keepsake?

Either the flannel shirts of her dad’s she keeps for lounging around her place, or the hummingbird throw pillow her mum gave her as a housewarming present.

Keme

1: Are they a light or heavy sleeper?

Light. Between her childhood and military service, she has it well ingrained she needs to be able to wake up easily.

13: Are they self conscious about anything?

The scars on her back(and a few others). Not because they’re scars or ugly or anything like that; because of the source and the pitying looks she inevitably gets when people learn where they came from. She doesn’t need or want pity.

20: What’s their most precious keepsake?

Her (Bold Hellion) boots. They’re part of the first outfit that was ever actually hers(the only part left; the rest she either outgrew or gave away bc she found someone who needed them more). They’re also good quality boots, and even now they still hold up, even if they are scuffed and worn and showing their years.

22: What’s their favorite dessert food?

Not so much a food, but hot chocolate. It’s one of those simple comfort things she went so long without; she loves it maybe more than is strictly healthy. :P