#i intended to go a lot further than this but brain? fried.

[meatriarchived]

born mila mesaroš in the dead of serbian winter, nancy was the youngest child of six - evening out the mesaroš children to three sons and three daughters. her parents, katarina & aleksandar, were kind folk; loving and doting on their children, warm and inviting to neighbors. truly a pair of ideal mother and father to most peoples' eyes.

her five older siblings? spitting carbon copies of their parents; kind, helpful to others, affectionate with one another. until the years passed one after the next, and and their baby sister started to unnerve each of them.

nancy - or mila still at this point - was an outlier, a very quiet infant, very quiet toddler. rarely did she cry, rarer did she seem to crack a smile. she was a stoic child, who stared and observed the others in her family ore than she ever truly interacted with them.

even when her older sisters tried to coax her into playing around with them, even when her brothers tried to step in protectively when other children would tease or bully her, she hardly ever reacted to their gestures. to what made them care for her, want to look out for her. they were concerned, and voiced those to their parents; it was mirrored in them, how their youngest just appeared so... dulled, so subdued, in comparison to the rest of them.

and aleksandar and katarina, they both desperately tried for her. truly, they did.

from having her seen by doctors to biting tongue and visiting local healers with... different practices, none seemed to offer any clear or even remotely helpful insight on her cold demeanor.

and so, their parents opted to instead try working with their youngest and her differing personality rather than attempt to change it to better suit themselves. they slowly began to ease up on their doting natures, giving the child space from them rather than following her about lost and confused. they allowed her space to go out alone rather than be crowded by her sisters or her brothers. allowed her some solitude. and after a time?

mila smiled at them at the dinner table. and they were overjoyed.

[oxygenbefore1775]

stalemate

zeke x gn!reader

tags: fluffy suggestive stuff (as fluffy as it can get with zeke)

cw: suggestive (kisses and stuff), chess and a lot of it (there's gonna be some chess terms thrown around just for the show - no need to understand them to know what's going on), zeke being zeke (needy pos that is), coercion elements (very mild)

wc: 2.2k

summary: perhaps challenging zeke to a game of chess was a bad idea - so chivalrous of him to offer you his help to defeat him, though

a/n: don't perceive me, i barely understand the chess theory myself

Stalemate is a situation in chess where a player's king is not in check, but they have no legal moves left, resulting in a draw

Such a poise coming from someone whose lips were twisted in a shit-eating grin. Both annoyed you to no end already, slowly chipping away at your composed facade — but the combination of those two? You could already sense the steam escaping your ears. Truly, both of those opposites could only coincide in Zeke.

"Any moment now," his calm voice prompted you to make a move, although you had stalled for only ten minutes longer than expected.

It was ten minutes too long — considering your own knowledge in chess, you shouldn't find this so hard to navigate through this game. But you did. You bit on your lip as you stole a glance at Zeke before finally moving your bishop across the board. The challenge of the game was all courtesy of his.

All pleasure that you intended to find in this leisure game of chess with Zeke was nowhere to be seen now. Some mental exercise was always welcome but not at the expense of your own brain cells that ended up being fried in the unfolding mental gymnastics. Too bad it was only you who was laboring over each move.

He was a monster at chess. And just like one, he was tearing you to shreds.

Your lips curled into a malicious smirk, catching up on his hesitation.

But not this time.

Zeke quirked his brow at your choice of the move.

Finally, you got him in a predicament that he'd be forced to ponder over to search for the best solution. Spolier - there was none since the strategy you devised in such a short span of time was impeccable. He would have no other choice but to back down his attack and ultimately weaken his control of the board center. You couldn't help but to give yourself a mental pat on the shoulder as you imagined him losing more and more advantage in the game. Your careful planning would leave him totally crushed, utterly defeated, absolutely destroyed, unequivocally--

Zeke took your queen.

You had to lend a second look at the chess board to finally register that the queen, your queen, was indeed removed from the game by one of his rooks and lied by Zeke's side.

How could this have happened? Virtually nothing could predict this move happening in your mind. All the defenses that you've put up ended up being ultimately useless since Zeke easily slid one of his figures behind your line of defense. Good thing that you were thoughtful enough to do the castling earlier or else the king would also be endangered right now.

A glint of mild interest ignited in Zeke's eyes upon seeing you so distraught about the move that he spent maybe a minute contemplating. It just started to get fun for him.

"I hope that was intentional." The soft mockery in his tone puzzled you as your brows knitted together in confusion, prompting his explanation. "You letting me take your queen so easily? It better be the first step to the closing game or else it'd be pretty disappointing."

The tiny vein on your temple started pulsating with anger as you composed yourself.

"Just-- shut up."

Of course, you had no aces up your sleeves that would tip this miserable predicament into your favour. A fact he was well aware of.

Good thing he listened and indeed stopped riling you up even further. Another word out of his mouth and you would've skipped over the entire anger phase right over to tears.

It was your turn again. After being cornered up with his previous attack, you were all out of moves, let alone useful ones. In a desparate attempt to bring him back into the game as soon as possible, you opted for taking at least a bit of advantage back to your side.

Your hand already hovered over one of your pawns, ready to grab it, when you noticed Zeke's unbroken gaze on you. His pursed lips were a subtle sign of his disapproval, the silent one which was by far the worst one.

Frustrated, you threw your hands in front of yourself. "What?"

This in turn perplexed him. Dumbfounded by your sudden (and quite rude for his taste) inquiry, he looked at you in confusion, benevolence coloring his features in a halo-like light.

"Why-- why are you staring at me like that?" you had the courtesy to elaborate although your voice was bubbling with irritation.

"You were the one to tell me to shut up," unabashed he replied. "Can't I express my critique in some other way then?"

You were determined to prove all his attempts at annoying you futile. As if he wasn't already getting off of the fact that you were losing to him, flaunting his chess skills in the process.

"Alright." you asked calmly as you caved to give him the response he wanted. "What is your critique?"

With your permission granted (not that he cared for it that much), he took a second look at the chess board. This brief moment of scanning was of no use to him, admittedly - he knew what was wrong way before that.

"A pawn to b4? Quite unproductive, if you ask me."

"You just had to point that out." Completely devoid of witty remarks, you simply crossed your arms on your chest in meek retalliation. You pressed your lips tightly when they began to tremble.

For the first time during the game, his voice aquired a slightest hint of seriousness. As if a sudden bout of compassion had befallen him.

"Do you want to win that badly?" he tried to meet your gaze as he asked this question to gauge your honest reaction.

Who doesn't want to outsmart the Zeke Yeager? It'd be akin to David and Goliath situation, safe for the physical altercation followed by the lethal outcome. And this would certainly humble Zeke a bit, as he was known to get on your nerves, brandishing his intellectual exclusivity.

To your luck (or rather not), you were the only one vain enough to try and pull it off.

"Of course," you huffed under your breath. "But seeing as you bash me at every turn, there's no way."

This begrudgingly uttered confession returned the sly expression to Zeke's features — the one he's had for the duration of the game. The one that made you distrust his last question even more.

"Maybe I can help you to win this stupid little game," he began in an alluring tone, stroking his beard as if pondering his countless options of aiding you.

You, however, were not in the slightest bit amused nor intrigued.

"Really? Just like that?" your voice dripped with sarcasm, an eager response propmting him to finally reveal his real intentions.

There was no way for him change his mind all of the sudden. Zeke was never the one to go easy on you in all sorts of games - especially now as his imminent victory drew closer and he seemed to get a high at the expense of your frustration. What could possibly convince him to take pity on you now?

Turned out, you were not wrong in your suspicion.

"Of course not," his answer, as expected, didn't surprise you. "My assistance has a price."

You wanted to drop all of your defences and start giggling at the sight of his features dripping with triumph. His over-confident demeanor seemed almost childish sometimes.

"A price," you mocked, an amused smile tugged at your corners. He responded in kind, as if you both were in on the joke that was about to take place. "Ok, name it then."

if he's the one suggesting it, you'll go along with it. How bad can it be? Not that washing the dishes for the next week or taking charge of cooking would be all that burdensome - not that he does those chores regularly anyway.

Instead of responding verbally, Zeke gently tapped his finger against his cheek, as if directing your attention to the spot. Throughout the exchange, he held an unbroken eye contact with you, to see if you were watching him. But it was unnecessary. His gesture was all too familiar to you.

"You dick," you accused him, clearly unamused now. "No, no way."

He smiled at the way you violently shook your head no, turning away from the chess table in a plain refusal.

"C'mon, just a liiittle kiss," he reasoned (more like whined, really), "Not like you've never done this before."

As competitive as you were, this was something you couldn't bring yourself to do.

You wagged your finger at him, reinforcing the fact of your disapproval. "Not in this climate," you rebuked. "It's extortion."

"It's barter and quite fair one at that." Zeke remained relentless in his persuasion attempts, like he wasn't the one with the higher ground. "A kiss for a hint. And, if you uphold your part of the bargain, you'll be able to win."

The gall to assume that you'd agree to trade your affection in exchange for useful information even just once, not to mention multiple times all for the sake of a tainted victory. Did he really deem you this weak-willed? You'd give him no such satisfaction.

"Thanks but no thanks," you cut him off bluntly, directing all of your attention back to the chess board. "When I beat you in the game, I'd rather it be a clean victory."

When - it's if, rather but you couldn't afford to give up so easily.

Your refusal did nothing to upset him, though. As if nothing had happened, he returned his attention to the game, too.

"Your loss," he stated, pressing his lips to hide a grin as he made a move that he spent mere seconds thinking over but managed to tip the scale in his favor. "I win either way."

And you thought he had been merciless before that. Well, he was now. It is only after your refusal that he shed all the self-restraint and went into full obliteration mode. At this point it wasn't about winning for him anymore rather than stripping you off your valuable figures, completely ignoring openings for potential checkmates.

Much to your dismay — yet to his triumph — this tactic of his seemed to have worked as your despair grew from one loss of a piece to other, removing all logic from your play style. The already miniscule chance of deafeating him thawed with each of his devastating moves. It seemed as if he wouldn't stop until you had only the king left at your side.

You caved once you lost most of your pawns and each one of the paired pieces. Turned out, you were mistaken about your own moral compass and intellectual capabilities. Maybe the end does justify the means.

"Alright, fine," you exclaimed, getting increasingly exasperated. "Let it be your way."

Ready to abandon your dignity (not that there was much to begin with), you plopped your hands at the either side of the board to reach over to the opposite side of the table where Zeke was.

"But I'm gonna win, right?" You had to make sure before sealing the agreement with a kiss.

"Well, not anymore."

You suddenly stopped leaning forward, mere inches away from his face.

The glare you sent his way must've shot the sharpest and biggest of daggers since Zeke rushed to deliver an explanation at the sight of you. "You would have, if you had agreed sooner," almost analitical tone of his voice failed to soothe your frustration. "The best you can settle for now is stalemate."

A draw it is. Quite a good result, admittedly, especially from the game of chess with the Zeke Yeager. And you had only yourself to blame for stalling so much. You took a deep breath to compose yourself. Although the impulse was strong, Zeke did his best not to flaunt his favourable position over you. Even so much as a hint of non-verbal 'i told you' from his side and he would most certainly fall from your grace.

"Why do I love you again?" you whispered under your breath as you were about to press your lips against his cheek. You crinkled your nose as the stubble tickled your skin.

"I ask myself this time to time, too." he replied, sham embarassment dripping in his tone as he melted under the touch of your lips.

Suffice to say, you weren't capable of harboring anger for a long time, let alone towards Zeke. Who was he but an insufferable yet starved for affection man in your eyes?

At the tenth kiss mark it just got ridiculous, to the point when you couldn't suppress your laughter as you leaned over the table, risking to knock over the pieces on the board, time and time again for the exchange to take place. Your dignity right now was of little importance - Zeke would never stop reminding you of this day but you couldn't care less as long as you got that coveted result (even if it was achieved through less than fair means).

Your lips hurt by the time the stalemate was announced - something you weren't aware they could do.

All out of breath, you leaned back against your chair, taking in the piece configuration on the board that finally put the end of this back-and-forth 'barter'.

"I'm never playing chess with you ever again," you firmly stated, watching him rise up from the seat.

"What a pity," his voice failed to convey the sincerity to his statement as he began putting the pieces back into the board - not that he cared for the way you'd perceive him anyway. "Gotta think of other ways to lure the kisses out of you now."

"You could always ask for one, don't you know?"

"I know," he assured, "But it's more rewarding this way."

[who-is-sunny-d]

There’s a lot I need to say that I haven’t known how to say for a long time. Lately, I’ve been stuck in this weird hole where I feel nothing, and I think it’s because I was so stressed out that I either fried my brain, or my brain cut off emotion to protect my body. Either way, I’ve been tired a lot and when I’m awake, I just feel like I’ve been hollowed out inside, and it’s almost like I’m stuck between wakefulness and dreaming.

My face has been slack and forming it into an expression takes work. I can’t get excited about anything, and yet I’m not really depressed. I just am. I have no interest in my hobbies or even in moving away. So I don’t know, maybe that’s the exact definition of depression, but I mean… I’m not actively sad. Just numb.

So I thought maybe while I’m in this purgatory would be a good time to say the things I need to say as unbiasedly as possible, or at least without being skewed in any direction by emotions.

I need to give out a lot of apologies, even if I’ve already done so, and I want to add to those by listing some of the things I liked about each person. I hope this won’t come across like a suicide thing because that’s not it at all. I stopped thinking I would ever die young. In fact, for a while I stopped thinking I could die at all, given how many times I tried and failed. But then I found this hard lump in my left breast that seems to be growing and can now be felt through my shirt, and with my life being on a very delicate cusp, I have a lot of concerns about my own mortality and how long I might even have, which is another reason I’d like to do this now. Because if I keep putting it off, I might never get to say all the things in my head.

So, without further ado, let’s get started.

To Courtney:

I know I said a lot of really gross things online. I am sorry. It’s hard to feel anything but anger and sadness when everyone who says they’ll never leave you eventually does and you never get the closure you need from anyone, so you’re always just stuck reliving the endings in your mind repeatedly. It can lead to a lot of toxic build-up, and for me, I always let that toxic build-up out online where I can get rid of it and send it to the void, which as you know by now is what I was trying to do that started all this.

I should have been smart enough to know that continuing to do that would just make things worse, but when you refuse to talk to me and I still have questions and things to say, what would you have me do about it? What can I reasonably do about it? Still, I know it wasn’t that. I don’t know what else I could’ve done, but I know now it wasn’t that.

And I should’ve just known, I mean. My words have power that I can’t control, and you’d think I’d have learned after what happened to my son and how my idiot words probably caused it. But I didn’t learn. I keep talking, and it keeps ruining everything, which is why I’m just not going to talk anymore. I want the words I say within this post to actually do some good rather than hurt anyone else, so I am truly sorry for my words that hurt you.

And I would like you to know that I really enjoyed having you around. I loved seeing your beautiful art. I appreciated you letting me be there for you when you were having the worst time. I liked when we’d play animal crossing together or watch movies together. I was hurt because when you started dating, those times I enjoyed so much just stopped. I was sad because you weren’t around as much. I missed you. And I should have just been grateful that there was still an open line of communication with you, because now that’s gone, and I can’t get it back, and I really wish I hadn’t caused it. I should’ve talked to you about the thing you wanted to discuss, even though it made me feel cornered and uncomfortable. What are boundaries among friends? I have only one, generally, and it’s “please don’t ever ghost me, and if you intend to, at least have a conversation with me first so I can have closure.”

I am genuinely sorry if I crossed a boundary with you. But to be fair, in order to have your boundaries respected, you need to clearly establish them. And you never did that with me. So I couldn’t know. But that’s not an excuse, just a helpful tip for the future. I love you always, even if you don’t want to be my friend again. Take care of yourself, and best of luck on your artistic pursuits. I believe you can do anything you set your mind to. <3

Robin:

I’m afraid to say much because I fear this could be used against me, even though it’s just a blog post and not an email or anything direct, but in case you ever stumble upon this, I want you to know that I’m sorry for everything I did. I will say again, it’s important to end your relationships responsibly so that everyone can have the closure they need, and you didn’t give me that, so I had to just figure things out on my own, which was hard with the mixed messages you kept putting out. You did a bad job being decent to me and I’m not afraid of being honest about that. Everything I did or said after you left was because you refused to ever have a conversation with me, and I needed that.

But even though you were horrible to me in most ways, even before you left, I will always appreciate what you did to help Faron. It would have been so much harder going through all that without you. So I thank you for all the ways you took care of him, all the ways you helped me by just being there through that… and I’m sorry you expected me to heal faster than I did, but you will never (hopefully) know what it’s like to lose your own flesh and blood child. It was unfair of you to expect me to get better when things kept getting worse and to then leave me for it and make things even worse, and it was inhuman of you to take my last living child away knowing what happened to Faron.

All I needed was one conversation, and you refused to ever have one with me. I cannot take the blame for that, no matter how hard I try. You handled things so poorly and caused more damage to me than you could ever know. But I forgive you. Because it’s all I can do at this point. Good luck in your marriage and in your life. I hope you’re happy, and if you’re not, just please learn from what happened with us, and handle it better. Please never hurt anyone else like you did me. Cheers.

To Eddie/Ben (Just for clarification)

I’m sorry that things went down the way they did. I really enjoyed talking with you. I enjoyed your art and your company and the fun little gifts we exchanged.

I appreciated the fact that you cared enough to read the things I wrote, even if Robin wouldn’t touch them. I think we could have been great friends if Robin had just handled things better and not fostered such hatred for me.

I also appreciated you sending photos of my daughter. I felt I deserved those and Robin refused to acknowledge me as a person and a parent to the point that she literally took my parental rights away from me. The things you did to me near the end were monstrous. I want to forgive you, but it led to me getting my daughter taken away, and she means everything to me, so I’m sorry, but I just can’t forgive that. I will say, however, that I hold no animosity toward you and I wish you and Robin luck with your future. In another life, we could’ve been the best of friends. I’m sorry it couldn’t have been this one. Take care of Ivy for me. Let her know that my absence from her life has nothing to do with my feelings about her. I will always love her no matter what she chooses to be or do or become. I just saw her following a path that I went down with Robin and didn’t want her to feel she too had to go down. I was concerned with her future leading to her getting into a relationship like mine with Robin later in life, always doing more than she should ever have to do to try to be what they want, even though it’s impossible to please them.

Please just understand, I didn’t want that for her and it seemed that she was heading that way. I know I can’t make you understand, as someone who hasn’t had a daughter and watched her grow, and grown to adore her more than anything. But someday maybe you will, and I hope when that day comes, you will be able to understand what I meant. Take care of yourself please, and everyone else. I am sorry again that things ended the way they did. I wanted to be your friend.

To Ivy:

I love you. I always will. I can only imagine the lies you have been told about me, and I’m here to tell you that none of them are true. I loved you since the moment I found out I was going to be your mom. That never changed. I still love you now, I miss you every single day, and I fought for you. But I lost. And I’m sorry that I lost. You mean the whole entire world to me, and I’ve just been muddling through without you.

I am so afraid that now I won’t get to see you again. I love you so much, my baby. No matter who you are, who you become, what you believe, or what you choose. You’re always going to be the apple of my eye. Even when I’m gone, my love for you will never die, just like Faron’s love for us is still alive.

Please always be yourself. Never let anyone make you believe you have to be anything else to deserve their love or their respect. You are who you are, and if that’s not good enough for someone, they don’t deserve you. But you will always be good enough for me. I promise you. You always were, it’s just that I don’t always clarify what I mean by the things I say, so I gave your dad the wrong impression and here we are.

That’s on me for opening my stupid mouth like always. But please believe me that I never felt anything other than pure love for you my lovely darling. I’ve missed you so much all this time. And if I never get to see you again, just remember my love and know that it’s always there for you, even if I’m not. Be strong, Bee. You have been stronger than anyone your age should have ever had to be, and I’m so proud of you. I love you forever no matter what. Good luck in your life. xoxo, Mom

That’s all for now. Everyone else I can write physically. But for those few I couldn’t, I hope this came out the way I intended it to. It’s always so hard to know if the things I say will mean to others what they mean to me, which is why so many relationships die out of a misunderstanding or a misinterpretation. If you have any questions, you’re free to ask me. Otherwise, thank you for reading this. I won’t say anything else after this, not on here, not anywhere, because my words just always come out wrong.

So I guess this is also goodbye. I hope you can remember some parts of me fondly. I wasn’t always an asshole. I got that way from so much pain and suffering alone. I don’t know how much time I have to try to turn it around, but I think keeping my mouth shut might be the best place to start.

Take care, everyone. I love you all so much and I only want the best for each of you, regardless of the ways you may have damaged me (Ivy obviously excluded; she never did a thing to damage me). I hope you have long and happy lives filled with the best things. :)

X,

Sunny

[the-firebird69]

Luke’s Death scene

Now he dies later no he grabs the whole thing and says he was incinerated and a clothing device was placed around him and he didn't incinerate because the stupid clothing was there she figured it out and had to leave and she got out and she said what happened so tell me if it's taking a severe beating and the max are going after him. And here's the joke he's handing off all those guys to the empire and he doesn't really want to and he's not doing it to start a fight but it is starting a fight and it's in movies and it's in TV and what they think is if anything other people have to fight them and they do but they feel like they're doing their job and I'll come back because it happened for so long and the max fooled them and it's terrifying we awful they're horrifyingly stupid and my son is stuck in the middle of this idiocy and he knows what we're doing and we don't have to let the max have them and what happens in hell stays in hell they don't know what's going on they're not smart enough to do it and they're not smart enough to even try and they don't ask people and they don't protect people who can check and they're very very lame and very dead

Thor Freya

And I know you're trying bja but this fight is a lot harder than it seems. I watch my family and slowly disappear completely and you guys are hellbents on doing things they're not really that great and it's kind of a huge let down but I know what you guys are trying to do in a large part you were not eating your way to the top they were eating a lot of Kentucky fried Chicken and Burger King and it made him plump and they liked it but you know you're going to be remembered as a rebel if this happens and Tommy f is out of line and feeding the max and they don't take it as a sacrifice they take it as his because it starts a war between himself and the warlock because of you and Trump disappearing and they will try to find you and it's not a huge pyramids okay they're below ground and it's not really hard to figure out where and tell me if you're wrong lately you've been wrong but used to do things correctly and now it's not working

Zues Hera

I have to grab them because they're bothering me no and I see it's probably a mistake but I can't help it and I know you know what it's like they get under your skin and if you have half a brain it's too much smart and you can't put up with 50 threats a day from the same a****** and that's what it is and he says it's almost impossible you guys should have slowed down on us but you can't the empire's got you we saw it tonight and it's ridiculous and you want to run the maneuver on his people and it's going to hurt you and he was right the max can't let you do it at all cuz you're going to go in there and ruin things they said it too you want to bring devices so it's all over really

Tommy f

We'll just see about that I understand the cinnamon I decided to fight them and decide a while ago but really I solidified it and said I might not win but I have to and he respects it that's what he's saying this might be a few months away or further I do appreciate him saying it now for Christ's sake we went down there and a lot of us understood it that's pretty ballsy no pun intended and really Miley Cyrus that's ridiculous but that's what our people are like and he's like all right but okay that's nasty as hell he says it's not radioactive that's cover up makeup for Christmas it's gross for Christ's sake you shouldn't know that but you can see it's different on her butt we're not massively attractive but it gets a spy so does Budweiser and other stuff and we need to have stuff and we're bringing it out and we're going the other way down to Southern route cuz this is hell I'll tell you those crabs have to go and they see all the ships and a lot of them are leaving and after time the others will there's not enough food in here and they'll probably block the food from getting here there's a crew that went East it's true too so that might work out in the rain thing might work out and for Christ sake Jason just dig the hole LOL that would have been terrific haven't you tried to he tried to get the idiot out there at night with a shovel said it might just work and he was saying it too he said we don't want to see you out there with a shovel at night you can try early morning when it's a little bit of sun he says good I got to get it out of there so you can do what the cable TV guy does and you just leave the grass and you dig under it can you pull the dirt out a little bit at a time he said wow that's screwy sucking with a French connection here or something the French underground you said we are working but this is going to be terrible I don't want to be grabbed in some sort of tube and then he's having a rough time okay but he says he's going to become George Washington is Max playing to put him back in the hospital that's really stupid. But we're not going to let him do that but still this George Washington thing is bothering me. I wasn't around when George Washington was oh yeah he's my brother... It's a little sick he's very young and he's saying all these jokes and you feel a little queasy he just starts rattling the s*** out of us and he says good it's training he'll be a Jedi at any time now and really you're going to need it if you get put in a tube.

I got to get out of here and yeah it means I'm not going anywhere

Bja

Cooler after you had a taco that was us yeah I asked who I taught you how to talk not taco or cooler Jesus Christ who's doing that stupid s*** he's saying the mask and his influencing Tommy f we got to get the hell out of here so damn dumb and yeah I guess that means I'm staying here I'm going to try the shovel says remember just cut a slit like a footlong and you're pulling out only one shovel with in the middle that's stupid as hell you don't even have to dig it out and then you take it over to where Jason got stuck because of you and then you're fixing to what you did but you can't do that so it's back to square one yeah I guess I can't and somebody killed the tree if you kill the tree you get to leave wow that blows I may have knocked that top off it it was already dead s*** yeah Mom did it she had the tree cut down and she left tell me after superstitious

Trump

I'm going to get you a creamer it says no you're not my name is not creamer really that's stupid no it's not yes it is no it is not you're not going to get me you'd have a large you tub of lard get on to Harley-Davidson figure out what's really happening piece of poop. I probably should do that I don't get possessed like I look like I am in Star wars. And no I'm not right there in Life the movie yeah I might be that's where they come from is Mars I guess it's not Titans it would be Martians I accidentally skipped one or two he says

Tommy f

I like to sit around whatever it and smoke cigarettes down here they probably should in cigars you got to tell you something if you don't stop that I'm going to be worried now if you do stop that both of it and you're saying you don't want to ever have crawdaddies in your entire life again I swear if you take a huge s*** in a restaurant and ruin the night I'm going to laugh my ass off all night long he says way to go there Rocco is my name is Rocky raccoon and he's rocket raccoon...

Hera

This is utter nonsense no they're talking egotarian stuff and really martians are after Titans I think what about hoffians smaller but yeah they were there too I guess I'm going to go around the whole thing it says I think we have too many monsters it's kind of true we need robots I'm going to have them coming out of our ears

Thor Freya

Olympus

[beyondthebarrier]

Starker Festivals Summer Bingo

Prompt: Didn't Know They Were Dating | Title: Rising to the Occasion | Ao3

Summary: The media seems to think that Tony and Peter are dating. In fact, so does Rhodey. And Aunt May. And the team...

Don't worry. Tony sets the story straight.

This is my first proper Starker fic so bear with me!

It wasn’t abnormal for Peter to be alone when he woke up, if he was being honest. Tony was rarely still in bed in the mornings, presumably quick to dismiss himself from the actions of the night before. Peter never minded, usually always able to find the man elbows deep in some project that he might be able to pick the genius’ brain about.

“FRI, can you start me some coffee?” Peter asked quietly, his voice a little raspy from sleep.

“Of course. Good morning, Peter.”

“Good morning, FRIDAY.”

Peter got to his feet, finding his sweatpants from the day before and Tony’s discarded Black Sabbath shirt before making his way directly to the kitchen for the promised cup of coffee. It took a few sips for him to realize that he heard voices coming from the living room - he’d assumed he was the only one in the penthouse. He recognized the second voice easily though so he wasn’t shy about heading that way.

“Look who’s awake,” Tony announced with a smile when Peter and his bedhead popped up in the open door frame. Rhodey looked his way and Peter waved around his coffee mug.

“Hope you’re here on your own accord and not because he dragged you for some nonsense, Colonel,” Peter greeted with a smirk towards the man in question.

“I’m not here for damage control this time, miraculously,” Rhodey replied easily, chuckling.

“In that case, I’ll leave you two to it. Tones, I’m gonna shower and head downstairs. It was good to see you, Colonel!”

As Peter made his way back towards the bedroom, Rhodey looked over at Tony and sighed at the look on the billionaire’s face.

“He looks good on you, Tony.”

--

“Here, May, I’ve got it,” Tony swooped in, grabbing the woman’s empty plate before she could fully get to her feet. Peter rolled his eyes but stood as well, his own empty plate in hand.

“I don’t know what you’ve done to him,” Peter started, exasperated. “This man would rather buy new dishes than wash them at his own house and then he sits here and readily offers when we’re over here. Please, I need to know your secret. I’m tired of coffee rings in all the mugs.”

“Oh it’s easy, Peter. He’s scared of me,” Aunt May said in a faux whisper, winking at Tony before she settled on her sofa with the rest of her glass of wine as the boys worked to clean the kitchen. Tony washed while Peter absentmindedly dried and put away dishes, chatting away quietly to the older man. When Peter turned back to face the man, Tony quickly smeared soap bubbles onto Peter’s cheek, grinning. With a laugh, Peter reached into the sink, splashing the man with the water in the sink, despite the expensive suit Tony was wearing. Tony didn’t seem bothered as he grabbed the young man around the waist and pulled him in close for a hug, getting him wet as well. Peter squeaked, making Tony lean his head back in laughter before kissing Peter’s forehead and letting him go. Only Tony noticed the look that May was giving them both and he just smiled before turning back to finish cleaning.

As they left, Aunt May wrapped both men in crushing hugs to say goodbye. As Tony helped Peter into his jacket, he looked over his head at the woman, smiling.

“It’s our turn next Sunday, May. Be at the penthouse at seven.”

--

“I thought the little spider was supposed to be here? I brought ale for him to try!” Thor announced, holding up a large jug full of… well, not even Tony was eager to try the liquid sloshing around. Peter had been excited with the prospect of an alcohol that would give him the proper effects but Thor was right - Peter was nowhere to be found.

“Maybe he’s just running late,” Tony replied with a casual shrug, even as he slid his phone out to send yet another text to the missing member of the team. It was meant to be a little game/movie night and Peter was usually the one coercing him into attending so his lack of punctuality was bothering Tony. However, it wasn’t until Natasha and Steve also pointed out Peter’s absence that Tony excused himself. They weren’t sure exactly where he was going until they saw the suit fly off from the landing deck, heading in the direction of a shitty little apartment in Queens.

When Peter didn’t answer the door, Tony let himself in with his key, calling out Peter’s name frantically. It was a studio apartment and Peter groggily sat up in bed, blinking at the man who had just rudely interrupted his sleep.

“Pete, there you are. You’re missing game night, why are you- You’re burning up, sweetheart!” Tony sat on the edge of the bed, the back of his hand pressing against Peter’s forehead.

“M’cold,” Peter mumbled, trying to wrap the blankets around himself again so he could lay down.

“When’s the last time you’ve eaten?”

“Not hungry..”

“Okay, you’re definitely sick,” Tony pointed out, jumping to his feet to search the kitchen for food. Peter spent so little time here now that the cabinets were practically barren. There was certainly no cans of soup or really… anything. With a wince, Tony reached for a half-empty jar of peanut butter and a spoon, heading back to the bed.

“Tones, m’not hungry,” Peter whined as he scooped peanut butter out of the jar.

“Sweetheart, you need calories. Just a little bit and some water and I’ll let you go back to sleep. Your body will kick this in no time but it needs fuel to do it,” Tony said firmly, lifting the spoon to Peter’s lips. He opened them, accepting the spoon reluctantly and smacking his lips as he tried to get the peanut butter down. Tony got up, fixing him a cup of water. Between the two of them, they painstakingly got a full eight ounces of water and four big spoonfuls of peanut butter into the enhanced man before Peter gave up, flopping back into the pillows.

“Are you going back to game night?” he asked Tony, a rather pitiful look on his face. Tony shook his head, laying down beside him and wrapping his arms around him.

“No, I’m not going anywhere. Go back to sleep, I’ll be right here,” he assured, running his fingers through Peter’s sweaty curls and kissing his forehead.

--

Peter had decided to leave the tower for his lunch break, the idea of a sandwich from the deli down the block on his mind all morning. It was a beautiful day and he’d been looking for an empty space on a bench when he noticed the pointing in his direction from a few people by a magazine stand. He glanced down at himself, trying to see if maybe his shirt had come untucked or he had trash trailing on his shoe but he didn’t spot anything. However, he did hear the words, ‘Tony Stark’s boyfriend’ come from someone’s mouth and his stomach immediately twisted. He couldn’t stop himself from going over to the stand, dreading the idea of seeing Tony’s smiling face on a magazine cover with some- Oh. It was him. Peter laughed, picking up the glossy booklet. They’d attended a gala on Saturday evening for SI and the photo on the cover was the two of them all dressed up and smiling at each other in front of some rose bushes. ‘Tony Stark and boyfriend, Peter Parker, Rose to the Occasion.’ Peter scoffed at the title, setting it back down and reaching for his phone. He wasn’t sure Tony would find it as amusing as he did but he was just relieved that it hadn’t been someone else on that cover.

Thankfully, Tony didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. He had already known about it, getting the alert from PR hours before, and even seemed a little concerned that Peter might be upset about it.

“Do you want me to put out a statement about it?” Tony asked him over the phone, as if sensing Peter’s slight discomfort.

“You won’t be rude about it or anything, right? Just clarify, sweet and simple?” Peter asked, noticing that he was still garnering a bit of attention. Thankfully, New Yorkers themselves were usually nonchalant about that kind of thing so it was only the tourists that were trying to draw attention to him.

“Of course. I’ll get it out right away,” Tony assured him.

Peter had no reason not to believe him. He thanked him, hung up, and moved further away from the news stand. He muted his phone before digging into his sandwich, taking advantage of the rest of his lunch break before heading back to work. It wasn’t until he was in the elevator going back up to R&D that he noticed his phone was blowing up. He sighed, expecting a tweet or something from Tony laying out the truth but what he found caught him off guard.

Relationship. Tony said relationship. He hadn’t claimed that they were just friends or fuck buddies or whatever. He said relationship. Peter was so hyperfocused on the words that the next thing he registered was FRIDAY’s voice.

“Mr. Parker? Mr. Parker, are you alright? Your vitals are concerning, should I alert Mr. Stark? ..Peter?”

“No! No, FRIDAY, no, don’t alert him, I’m fine!” Peter scrambled to answer, glancing up to see what floor the elevator was at currently. “Please don’t. I’m fine. I’m answering you, I’m fine!”

FRIDAY reluctantly agreed not to tattle just as the elevator stopped at his floor. Peter wasn’t feeling very fine, despite his protests, as he stepped out. He expected lots of stares and whispers, perhaps even direct comments about him ‘dating the boss.’ But there was nothing. Either nobody here had seen it yet or they just didn’t care. That certainly helped matters as he made his way to his table, intending on trying to focus on work but finding himself scrolling through the comments on the post instead. It was full of congratulatory messages from strangers but their friends didn’t seem very surprised. Rhodey, Nat, Ned, even Steve commented, all seeming as if this was barely news to them.

Peter got to his feet, heading back to the elevator to get to Tony’s lab. As the doors slid open on Tony’s R&D floor, Tony was standing there waiting to get on. The man flashed him his signature smile, stepping aside so he could get out.

“I was just coming to see you. May texted, said you seemed a bit out of it. Are you okay? I know the attention can be a lot but if I repeatedly make it clear that I want your privacy to be respected, it shouldn’t get too bad. Trust me, the fangirls will go rabid when reporters get too in-your-face about something,” Tony explained, leading Peter towards his office. Peter didn’t respond, staring straight ahead as Tony closed the door behind them. “They’ll want to protect you at all costs,” Tony continued, heading for the sofa instead of his chair. Peter remained standing, still just staring. Tony finally realized something was up and quirked an eyebrow at him, curious. “Pete?”

“Boyfriend.” Peter said blankly, staring at the man.

“Um, yes? I also have a name you can address me by.”

“Boyfriend.”

“Oookay, that works too. Peter, what’s wrong?”

The younger man started pacing the length of the office and Tony sighed, covering his face with his hands for a moment before regaining composure.

“FRIDAY, diagnose him. Fever? Has he been drugged? Is he having a psychotic break?”

“Sir, it appears that Peter is in a state of shock,” FRI replied easily. “His heart rate is elevated but nothing to be concerned about.”

“Shock over what?” Tony asked, watching as his partner continued to pace. He could practically see the gears turning in the boy’s head.

“It seems that Peter was not aware that the two of you were dating, Sir.”

Tony let out a humorless laugh while Peter came to a halt, his cheeks tinting pink as he stared at the floor. Realizing that there may be some truth in what FRI was telling him, Tony got to his feet, carefully approaching Peter.

“She’s right, isn’t she?” He asked softly, frown lines deeply engraved into his forehead. Peter refused to respond, not even looking up. Tony sighed, cupping the man’s chin and gently lifting it. “Pete? Is she right?”

Instead of answering, Peter’s face crumpled.

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbled, hiding his face in his hands. Tony immediately pulled him into his chest, wrapping his arms around him securely. “I didn’t know that’s what this was.”

“That means I fucked up somewhere, Peter. Not you,” Tony soothed, rubbing the boy’s back. “If it had just been sex, I could understand, but Pete, sweetheart. I go to Sunday dinners with your Aunt. I host Sunday dinners for your Aunt. I take care of you when you’re sick, I let you wear my clothes.. Baby, we practically live together.”

“You never asked! You never used the words dating or boyfriend or-or-or relationship or anything,” Peter defended, lifting his head to look at the older man.

“Eight months ago, we laid in bed and I told you that I never wanted this to end. That I wanted forever with you,” Tony explained. “You agreed. I thought we were pretty clear from there on.”

“I thought that was pillow talk!” Peter exclaimed. “I’m so angry right now that it’s not even funny.”

Tony frowned once more, immediately letting Peter go and holding his hands up in surrender.

“Angry? You’re angry that I thought we were dating?”

“I’m angry that I’ve been holding back for eight months because I thought I wasn’t allowed to have you! I don’t kiss you first or touch you first or cuddle you whenever I want because I didn’t want to be too much for you!”

Tony’s face broke out into a grin, seeming relieved.

“Well, let’s rectify that right away.”

[cupcakemolotov]

Match My Heart to Yours

Okay, since the Exchange reveals have been pushed back until Thursday (for very, very good reasons) I have decided to post a tiny thing to hopefully tide people over. I do sort of intend to write more on this, but I have been stalled for a few months which means I need to change things up. So here is the first bit, hopefully you all like it!

You can also read it here on A03.

Synopsis: Enzo has an plan. Caroline has some serious doubts, because first all, werewolf, hot or not. Alpha, even. A political marriage to a man with his dimples seems like a terrible idea.

                                                            -

Caroline paused, chopsticks hovering over her container of fried rice. Across from her, Enzo looked relaxed, no real tension visible as he reached for another eggroll. “Excuse me?”

“Gorgeous…”

She narrowed her eyes at his placating tone. “I should have known your offer to pick up dinner two towns over was a bribe. You don’t even like Chinese food. You cannot be serious.”

Her witchy best friend would walk through fire for her, but perfect egg rolls an hour after they’d been picked up should have dinged as an obvious bribe. Though this was not nearly big enough. 

“Would I have made the drive if I wasn’t serious?” Enzo asked, sighing when her expression didn’t budge. “You know what I do. What I really do.”

Her gaze dropped to his wrist were a tattoo wound along the bones and tendons, the ink black and red, starkly visible against the olive of his skin. Usually he used the modern advances in makeup to hide what no magic could, because sometimes people were less understanding about this particular quirk of his magic than others. She’d never had a problem with it, but she was human and had no desire for his services. 

Caroline speared a piece of shrimp and narrowed her eyes in warning. “I am very aware of what you do with your magic when you aren’t perfecting fireballs and lightning strikes, Enzo. No need to be rude.”

“Care…”

She chewed carefully, giving herself a moment so she didn’t do something stupid like throw the food at him. The wood floors were brand new. “I’m human. No witchy bloodlines for ten generations or more, and definitely not a werewolf. São Paulo proved that. In spades. So, seriously, there is zero reason for your magic to like me for this.”

A faint grimace. São Paulo had not been a good time. Not for anyone. 

“You know it doesn’t always work like that,” he said patiently, dunking his egg roll repeatedly into the sweet and sour sauce, his expression wry. “Sometimes my magic has a mind of its own.”

She rolled her eyes. “Enzo, tell me something I don’t know.”

A small laugh escaped him. “True.”

“Have I ever done anything, absolutely anything, that would make you think I’d want to have a matchmaker stick their nosy magic in my life?” Caroline set her chopsticks down and started closing containers, her appetite gone. 

A sigh. “No.”

“Damn straight. Isn’t there some kind of ritual involved? Blood magic? The romance novels I read on this subject insisted consent was a factor and blood had to be given willingly, much to the displeasure of several southern mamas.”

He deliberately finished his eggroll, sauce-soggy rice paper and all, chewing methodically. “Normally. This isn’t a… usual situation.”

“Normally?” Sitting back, Caroline waved her hand. “The food buys you an explanation. So start talking.”

Enzo leaned back, chair creaking, and ran a hand through his dark hair. “Look, you’ve been in Europe the last, what? Six months?” 

“Eight, and should I be hurt you weren’t counting?”

He snorted. “You spent the last eight months chasing diamonds. Busy enough you even stopped answering texts in a timely manner, so I imagine you haven’t kept up with what’s been going on.”

“Excuse you? What text did I not respond to?”

“Emoji’s are not words, Caroline.”

Caroline pressed her chin to her palm, gaze narrowed. “Stop being old, Enzo. And let’s be clear. It’s not like I was chasing just any diamonds. These were expensive. The kind of expensive we peons can never actually afford to legally own.”

Enzo rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen your rate sheet. You do just fine.”

She grinned at him. “Thank you, I do very good work. But what does my previous job have to do with the completely ridiculous proposal you brought me?”

“Mason died.”

Caroline arched a brow. “Yeah, I saw. That was impossible to miss. International news, all those TV Pundits talking about who would take over as the US Alpha, blah blah politics. Since he had the bad taste to die outside of a challenge fight, I didn’t have time to worry about it.”

Enzo put the plastic lid back on the sweet and sour sauce, his expression unhappy. “That’s the problem. He did die in a challenge fight.”

“Huh?”

He sighed and pushed his chair back. “This is a bit of a complicated story. As nice as these chairs are, something a little more comfortable might not be adverse.”

“You’re not getting any of the beer in my fridge until I’m sure I’m not kicking you out.” She narrowed her eyes. “The odds are not in your favor.”

“Cruel, but I suppose well deserved.” His chin tipped towards his car, expression amused. “Is now a good time to mention the cheesecake in the trunk of my car?”

“Enzo!”

He laughed and sauntered into her living room, flopping his favorite squishy chair. Caroline picked the couch. She motioned for him to start talking, and he slouched a little further down.

“Look, a lot of this isn’t common knowledge, alright?” Enzo grimaced. “Though it should be and I’m not sure how much longer they are going to manage to keep a lid on how badly the Council screwed this up.”

“Cover up?”

“Among other problems.”

“Mason was their darling.” And, she knew, some factions had whispered, their pawn. She reached up and shoved her bangs back to hide her wince. “Losing a wolf so pro-witch would have been a blow. Losing the top Alpha who was also pro-witch is a political travesty.”

“Political travesty or not, Mason’s dead, and they’re going to have to deal with the new Alpha. He isn’t known for his tolerance.”

“Most werewolves are suspicious of magic,” Caroline pointed out, curling one leg underneath her. “Can’t really blame ‘em, with how they ended up as werewolves. Vengeance, magical curse. That sort of thing tends to sour peoples opinions, and then you know centuries later, they really improved things with their required silver legislation.”

“Yeah, you’re not wrong, but that’s not the kind of tolerance I am talking about.” He leaned back against the chair, and lifted his foot towards the coffee table, pausing, gaze darting towards her narrowed eyes. His foot thumped back against the floor. “The short version is that Mason was challenged, he lost, and the Witch’s Council, for lack of better words, bungled the announcement.”

“How do you bungle an announcement? Challengers have official channels they have to go through and everything.” She pointed at the TV. “They’ve even started wanting to televise the damn things, like it’s some kind of wrestling bout and not a fight to the death.”

Enzo rubbed a hand down his face. “From everything that I’ve been able to tell, Mason just… didn’t expect to lose.”

“That makes no sense. Mason wasn’t young, even by werewolf standards,” Caroline said slowly. “There have been rumors in Europe that he should have been disposed of as much as a century ago. They aren’t really sure why the packs here haven't risen up against him, particularly after the whole issue with his nephew abducting his bride after she’d been paired by the matchmakers to someone else.”

“Tyler Lockwood leads more with his dick than his brains,” Enzo agreed. “And that should have weakened Mason politically, spurring a few challenges. That it didn’t…”

“It’s only been ten years, and that isn’t that long for a werewolf,” Caroline pointed out. “It’s reasonable that the family of the disappointed groom would just now be in a position themselves to pick a fight. Hayley’s family is old blood but not particularly powerful.”

Enzo gave her a dry look. “When do werewolves ever wait to pick fights?”

“When they are going up against the top Alpha in the US and need public opinion behind them. The general public expects a dominance fight or a natural cause of death for all alphas,” she said dryly. 

He nodded in approval. “For someone so disparaging of politics earlier, you do have an excellent grasp of the situation.”

Caroline tossed a cushion at him, which he caught with a grin. “Please, my Mom was the Sheriff and Dad, well, you know Dad. Conspiracy theories and hatred of anything that so much whiffed of the unnatural. But none of that explains what actually happened?”

“We think Mason was using magic to win his challenge fights.”

Her lips parted. “But that’s… the packs would riot. Because something like that…”

“It’s something the Witch Council had to be involved in.”

She inhaled sharply. “That would be a disaster.”

“It is a disaster,” Enzo said bitterly. “There have already been two executions, and several investigations are still pending. We’ve managed to convince the new alpha to hold back the public announcement, but he’s losing patience. We need a solid infrastructure of a plan in place, because humans don’t do well with surprises of this kind, and right now we’re barely holding the alliances together.”

“And what?” Caroline asked exasperated. “The remaining Council has decided to hire a matchmaker? They think since the new Alpha is single, they must be in want of a partner? You’re going to announce the change of leadership, the challenge fight, and then announce he agreed to be matchmade?”

“Something like that.”

“Who is going to trust the Council after something like this?” She shoved her hair away from her face. “If I was the Alpha, I wouldn’t touch anything that they touch with a ten foot pole. That includes matchmaking.”

“I wasn’t hired by the Council, though a couple of my… co-workers have taken those contracts.” He seemed to consider his words and then shrugged. “I was hired by Bekah.”

“Rebekah Mikaelson?” She said, brows arching high. “Why is she involved in this? And I thought you two didn't get along. The last time you were in the same room, she lit your precious robes on fire.”

Enzo’s mouth curved into a slow smile full of male satisfaction. “She’s an odd one, but it’s not the worst way I’ve had someone flirt with me.”

“And the time she declared matchmaking the worst magical school in existence and she hoped you did the world a favor and never reproduced?”

“Charming, isn’t she? I don’t think she really likes children in general.” He looked unbothered. “The bit about my magic was just an attempt to be clever. Her insults have gotten better the more she gets to know me. I appreciate her dedication to getting my attention.”

“Yes, and that is what I am going to put on your gravestone. You finally got the attention you always wanted.” Caroline shook her head. “Insults and spells aside, why did she hire you?”

“Because the Witch Council is right, in a way. It’s going to come out that Mason lost a challenge fight and the witches tried to cover it up.” Enzo reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “A werewolf who is newly matched has more appeal than a single one, and it’s not a terrible way to divert the press.”

“Is he worried about appeal? Why are you worried about his appeal?” She threw up her hands. “He killed Mason. He is now unequivocally in charge. Why does appeal matter?”

“We need stability.” Enzo’s face went grave. “We can’t afford a year of dominance fights when we’re already struggling with sorting through Mason’s people for traitors. Announcing a match buys us time.”

Caroline froze. “You want the year truce.”

“We need that year, Gorgeous. I’m not sure we’ll survive without it. Pairing off the new alpha? It’s the only way we’re going to get it.”

“And you want me to marry him? Why?”

“Why not you? You’re smart, resourceful, and not bad on the eyes. That you're from a small town will add to your appeal. Small town girl meets werewolf Alpha, and it’s a match. People will love you.”

“I’m a Finder, Enzo. That’s not exactly the most politically correct of jobs.” Her gaze narrowed. “Am I even going to be able to keep working if I agree to this?”

“Once things stabilize, sure, why not?”

“You’re really selling this.”

Enzo shrugged. “You know that one of the true weaknesses of Mason’s was that he refused to find a mate or even attempt a match.”

There had seemingly been a good reason for that. Werewolves were blessed with supernatural strength, a lifespan that more than tripled a normal human’s, and were highly territorial. Most of the time, those instincts could be driven towards their pack and maintaining the careful balance that the world existed in. A werewolf in love was a dangerous creature. Werewolves fighting over their lovers more so.

It was why Enzo’s magic existed. 

“Uh huh,” Caroline drawled, unconvinced. “You're really going to tell an Alpha he can’t claim what’s his unless he agrees to a match, the very thing the last alpha decried as unnecessary. How’s that going? I bet not well.”

“The sooner you say yes, the better, then.”

She glowered at him, but he looked unrepentant.

“Seriously Enzo, matchmaking magic or not, this cannot be your best plan. I cannot be the absolute best idea you have for this.”

“Why not?” He leaned back. “From where I’m sitting, it’s a fantastic plan.”

Caroline’s jaw dropped and she stared at him. He was serious. She knew that set of his jaw, the glint behind his eyes. Matchmaking wasn’t a science, it was magic. A fail safe, a terrible and beautiful promise: that somewhere out there, somewhere, maybe, a soulmate existed. And if you were lucky enough, maybe magic would find them for you.

“Enzo, seriously this time. Why even ask me? You know I’ve never been interested in matchmaking with a werewolf or witch. I like my life.” She spread her arms to include the house. “What you're asking me to do, asking of me, it changes everything. Why?”

He was quiet for several moments, his gaze unfocused. When he spoke, his voice was strangely serious. “My magic likes the match.”

She considered that, shifting to hug her knees to her chest. She’d been friends with Enzo since she was seventeen years old and she’d dragged his half unconscious body out of a car wreck that should have killed him. In turn, he’d been there for her when her mom died and her dad disappeared. He’d helped her get established in her career of choice, even though he’d been disapproving of the reasons why she’d chosen to go into it. 

She trusted him. 

Enzo liked to hide what he could do because he was so good at what he did, and she’d seen him drunk more than once post-match. His magic was not… unkind, but it wasn’t easy, what it demanded of him. To put two people together, with the intention that they’d make a relationship work for possibly hundreds of years. The weight of success and the pain of failure were both so heavy. 

Enzo did not match lightly. 

His magic liked the match. 

Her stomach flipped as she really considered what that meant. No such thing as soul mates, Enzo always insisted, just the endless probabilities of human lives narrowed to a single red thread between two people. And here, he said, was her chance to see if this probability would work for her. 

She couldn’t decide what that made her feel.

“You swear this isn’t about Dad?”

A tip of his head. “While I have no compunction about putting a few hundred werewolves between you and whatever mess he left behind, it’s not about him. You were right. My magic should never have considered you for this. You’ve never wanted to find a match, and honestly, I’ve always liked that about you. And nothing about this is going to be easy. But when Rebekah brought me his blood, all my magic could see was you and the potential you two had together. I could no more deny you the chance to say yes than breathe.”

She groaned under her breath. “This could be a disaster. You know I hate politics, and I’m an only child. I’m terrible at sharing. He’s alpha. Nothing he does is his alone.”

“I know. The circumstances are unusual, so they’ve been willing to negotiate generous terms if things don’t work.” Enzo grinned. “No one wants to trap either of you, not when all parties know that magic isn’t infallible.”

She eyed him. “I don’t like it when you think you’ve got it all figured out.”

A laugh. “Come with me to New York. Give it two years. A year for the truce, a year to fortify whatever weaknesses his enemies attempt to manipulate. At the end, if you want out, no one will stop you. I’ll dissolve the marriage myself. No loopholes.”

Enzo never dissolved marriages. That, more than anything, told her how serious he was about giving her an out. How badly they needed to truce. 

“I guess you really do have this all figured out.” 

“I wish I did, but we both know that’s impossible with something like this. I can only read the magic, and tell you what I see. But I’ll do everything I can to help you.” He smiled ruefully. “We’ve gotten good at hiding bodies, what’s a few more?”

Caroline wasn’t sure she should have found that comforting, but she did. “And just who am I agreeing to consider marrying?”

Enzo suddenly coughed and stood, a familiar hint of devilment twisting his lips. “Klaus Mikaelson.”

She spluttered. “Klaus Mikaelson? You want me to marry Klaus? He killed Mason?”

His smile widened. “Yes.”

Caroline gawked at him. Before she’d gone to Europe, Klaus Mikaelson had been the third most powerful Alpha. Young, handsome, devastatingly charming, he made people forget just how terrifying he could be with a pair of dimples that raised the blood pressure of every woman past puberty. 

He was also Rebekah Mikaelson’s half brother. 

Enzo had been entertaining her for years about the Mikaelson sibling dynamic. Klaus had not been spared in those stories, and while she’d never met him, she knew two very important things: he was built on lines that had always, always snagged her attention, and the sharp temper of his wolf, the brutality of his temper, hid a clever, agile mind that made him dangerous to underestimate.

“Enzo!” She protested. “Klaus?”

Sliding his hands in his pockets, he spun towards her door. “Yup.”

“Just where do you think you are going?”

Enzo tossed her a grin over his shoulder. “To get your cheesecake. You didn’t think I lied about that, did you? And you might as well fetch me that beer. We both know I’m not going anywhere until tomorrow, at the earliest.”

Caroline stared at his back as the door clanged behind him, heart hammering in her throat for a hundred reasons she couldn’t explain.

[ssa-babygirl]

Out of My League [Part 1]

Pairing: High school!Spencer Reid x Popular!Reader

Word count: 3.7k (god i don’t shut up do i)

Summary: Spencer begins tutoring you in chemistry, and the two of you bond (I would say no pun intended but fuck it that was GOOD so I’ll say pun intended)

Warning(s): Mentions of bullying, mental illness, some swearing, I made one joke about herpes??? sorry if thats a sore spot with anyone, light angst and pining, Reader POV

Author’s Note: Here it is, folks!! The first official part! I’ so grateful for all the feedback I got on the prologue, I’m glad y’all are liking it, I hope you like this part just as much!! Next part I’m gonna have some baby spencer, and by that I mean whole ass adult spencer that just looks baby

[Previous Part] [Series Masterlist]

You absolutely despised chemistry. It’s boring. It’s simultaneously stupid and ridiculously complicated. You weren’t dumb, you were a decent student in all your other classes, but science was never your strong suit. You preferred literature over litmus paper any day. Unfortunately, your failing grade was bringing down your entire GPA, just below the requirement for you to stay on the cheerleading squad. Your coach recommended you get a tutor, or else you were off the team. So you went to the library to see the peer tutoring program, and all of them were booked. The next best thing would be the kid genius in your class. He was probably a better first choice, honestly, but you figured he’d be booked with other students too.

He wasn’t like other kids in your class, not just because he actually cared and was a good student, he was also twelve years old. The kid was a prodigy. He was bullied a lot because of this because no one really understood him. That’s probably why he looked so terrified when you approached him after class one day.

“Hey, Spencer!”

His eyes grew wide as he stared back at you, saying nothing.

“I was just wondering if you were available for tutoring?”

“Oh, uh, um, y-yeah, in chemistry?”

“Yeah, what are your rates like? Like say we do an hour every other day, how much would that be?”

“Oh! N-no charge.”

“Really?”

“The first couple of sessions can be a trial run, I don’t want your money if you’re not benefiting from it.”

That made you smile, this kid was so nice and you just wished that people actually cared about that instead of the dumb shit they bullied him for. Sure, he was skinny and short and dorky and you know, a literal twelve-year-old boy, but if someone would take time to know him, they’d see he’s a good kid.

“That’s sweet of you, but I don’t wanna waste your time if you have other students.”

“I don’t, so that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Great! Are you free after school today?”

He nodded and avoided all eye contact before scurrying out of the room to his next class.

~~~

You met up later in the library. You greeted each other politely with simple hi’s and hey’s and nothing more. Then it was time to pour over your books for an hour and try to force the puzzle pieces into place and hope something finally clicked. Balancing molecular equations physically hurt. Just when you thought you got it all right, Spencer reminded you that you still had to balance the oxygen, which was always bonded with something else, which threw off the whole equation. Every time you made a mistake you just let out a groan and set your head on the table.

“It’s a lot of math, a lot of people have a hard time with it, don’t feel bad.”

“I’m so fucking stupid.”

“You’re not! It’s an easy mistake.”

“You don’t make mistakes like that.”

“That’s because I’ve been taking advanced math classes for the past two years, I’m good at this stuff.”

“You’re good at everything, you're a literal genius.”

“There are people who aren’t geniuses who are good at this sort of thing, just look at Johnny Abrams in our class. He answers every question Mrs. Gustin asks and I once saw him put his backpack on his car’s roof and start driving ‘cuz he forgot it was there. He’s just been practicing. That’s why we’re here, right?”

He always reassured you. Always told you that you weren’t stupid. You weren’t dumb. He always smiled when you got questions right and told you you were doing a good job. When your hour was up, you said goodbye and went home. 

Spencer’s mini lectures aside, most of your sessions were sparse in the conversation department. The first time he went off on a side about some chemistry facts, you couldn’t keep up. You just sat there, jaw hanging while he went into detail about saponification, which wasn’t even in this lesson.

“Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“Did we learn that in class? Cuz if we did, I’m screwed.”

“No, not yet at least.”

“How do you just… know that?”

Spencer avoided your eyes once again, something he did more than spouting random facts, “I read a lot.”

That’s how it happened the first time. All it took was you asking one question about different types of reactions for him to launch into another spiel. You figured you’d have to know it at some point, so you started writing down whatever you could catch from his fast-paced speech, taking notes in bullet points.

“And that-- Oh. Y-You don’t need to do that, that’s not even on the curriculum.”

“Well, I gotta keep up with you somehow, right?” You glanced up from your page and flashed an almost challenging smirk as you saw him stifle a smile as he avoided all eye contact with you, as per usual. He then cleared his throat and got back to the actually assigned chapter.

The more he went off on tangents, the more he realized you weren’t stopping him. He was actually able to make chemistry sound interesting to you, which is strange, but it was easier to understand through how he explained it all. Something told you that he wasn’t used to having someone listen to what he said, because he just lit up when he talked about this stuff. He was clearly passionate about it, so why would you make him feel bad about it? He always apologized, but you always reassured him it was no big deal. 

You didn’t know it at the time, but the kid was falling hard. This pretty, older girl was paying attention to him and didn’t think he was annoying? The bar may have been on the floor for young Spencer, but you were perfect to him. Eventually, he was able to look you in the eyes when you spoke to one another, he even smiled at you when you joked with him. That was another thing: you joked with one another now. You both warmed up to one another as your sessions continued. You said hi to each other in the hallways, you ruffled his hair as a greeting, he accepted your high-five requests every time you got something right.

You still didn’t talk outside of class much, which is why he was caught so far off guard by you calling his name from across the cafeteria as you approached his table.

“Hey, dude! Is it cool if we squeeze in an extra session today? I got a test tomorrow.”

“Y-Yeah, no problem, but, uh, it’s Thursday. Don’t you have practice after school?”

You did. And you had to be there because you had a competition this weekend.

“Yeah, I was wondering if we could meet after?”

“When does it end?”

“Five.”

“Library closes at four.”

“I know, but would it be too much of a hassle if I just… Pick you up tonight and we head back to my house to study?”

You could physically see his brain shut down in his eyes. After he realized he needed to respond, he picked his jaw up off the floor and gulped hard.

“Or you can stay after and hang out at practice and I can just drive you home?”

“Y-Yeah, um, yeah, tha-that works, I can, uh, yeah, we can do that.”

Spencer brought his books and homework and tried his hardest to not make it obvious he was staring at you while you danced. You looked like you were having so much fun and he loved seeing you happy and smiling with your friends like that, it was hard for him to look away and focus long enough to read a sentence, which is saying something, considering it does not take him long to read a sentence. 

After practice wrapped up, you told him to go wait by your car while you changed out of your uniform. The girls in the locker room were talking just as loudly as always, only this time, it was about something you actually cared about hearing.

“I mean, really, what was that little creep doing watching us today?” You heard one girl sneer.

“So fucking gross, I don’t wanna know where his prepubescent head was.” Another girl laughed.

You had to step in. You had to say something.

“I’m his ride home. He’s my chemistry tutor and I have a test tomorrow, so back off the kid, he didn’t do shit to you anyway.”

The squad learned to watch their mouths around you after that.

~~~

The neon glow of the golden arches shone through your car’s windows as you pulled into the McDonald’s drive-thru line.

“This isn’t your house,” noted Spencer, sounding confused.

You grinned, “Oh, shit… no way! Wow! I’m so glad my tutor is a genius! I would have never guessed this was not my family home!”

He let himself laugh for a moment, “Okay, okay, fine. Why are we here?”

“Uh… to get food? Duh.”

“But what about your food at home?”

“My mom’s visiting my dad, he works in D.C., and I haven’t gotten a chance to go grocery shopping this week, so I can’t cook for you. What do you want?”

“You don’t have to get me anything.”

“No, I insist, it’s almost dinner time. Lemme get you something. As a thank you for squeezing in an extra cramming sesh?”

“It’s fine! Really.”

“Hey, Reid, come on,” you attempt to stifle a stupid giggle as you gesture to the rather large window displaying the playroom inside, “you are a guest in my home!”

Spencer shakes his head and chuckles, but doesn’t dare let you think he found you funny, “I’ll have chicken nuggets.”

“Happy meal?”

He tried to look offended at your clarification, but he quickly dropped the facade, “Yes. Extra fries, please.”

“Of course, buddy.” You pulled up further to the ordering station, catching a glimpse at the menu and the ads they had displayed on it, “Oh no way! They have Strawberry Shortcake toys! I used to collect those when I was a kid!”

Spencer saw the look on your face and couldn’t help but smile at your childlike excitement, “Do you want my happy meal toy?”

You bit your lip and hesitated before throwing all shame to the wind and saying yes. Because it was Spencer. He got excited over chemistry, he had no right to judge you on your old Strawberry Shortcake doll collection.

After you got your food, you drove back to your house, and you ate together at your kitchen island while Spencer quizzed you on the last chapter. He had asked you eighteen questions so far, and you had answered all of them correctly. 

“Okay, this last one is for the Strawberry Shortcake--”

“Her name is Orange Blossom.”

“Whatever, this last one is for the Orange Blossom toy: Which type of reaction is represented by this equation?” He showed you his notebook where he had written a molecular equation.

“Substitution.”

“Correct! Now balance it.”

Your shoulders slouched as the pride drained from your body.

“Please don’t make me.”

“This is going to be on the test, Y/N, you have to know it.”

“What’s one wrong question, really?”

“You and I both know she’s not going to put just one balancing question on the test.”

“Fine.” You grumbled, grabbing a pencil and sliding his notebook closer to you. You worked it out after a few minutes, but everything looked right, and judging by Spencer’s proud grin, everything was.

He reached for the figurine, still in the plastic bag, and handed it to you, “You’re gonna do great tomorrow, Y/N.”

You took Orange Blossom from his hands and danced around the kitchen with it, overwhelmed with the sudden feeling of confidence you gained from nailing this practice session. You heard Spencer’s small laugh from behind you, causing you to turn around and face the boy as he lovingly mocked you.

Studying at your place became a regular thing after that, even when your mom was home. She loved him. She always invited him for dinner if she was home. He rarely took her up on the offer, but it was nice having him around the house with you. Study sessions turned into just plain hanging out. You spent more time bonding over Doctor Who than chemistry some nights, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

~~~

When Alexa Lisben invited him to meet her at the football field you were skeptical. You had good reason to be. She was never very nice to you or Spencer. You were able to be civil with her for the sake of the cheerleading squad, but something about her just didn’t sit right with you. You tried to warn him, but he wouldn’t listen. He seemed offended at the notion that Alexa would do something horrible to him. How dare you imply that the only reason someone would be interested in him would be to pull a fucked up prank?

“I’m not like you, Y/N, I don’t have a line of people waiting around for a date, no one’s ever had a crush on me before, and-and now that someone other than you is being nice to me, you’re telling me that they have some sort of ulterior motive?”

“Spencer. I know these girls, I’ve seen the guys they go for--”

“And I’m not like them?”

“No! You’re a sweet kid, you’re nothing like those guys and they’re gonna take advantage of that.”

“I really wish everyone would stop saying I’m just a kid!”

“You’re not! That came out wrong--”

“Listen, Y/N, I’m going whether you want me to or not, so if you really want to keep babying me, by all means, stay after and wait with me.”

“I don’t wanna baby you!”

“So stop it!”

You didn’t want to fight with him anymore, you weren’t his mother. “Ok, Spencer, fine. I’m sorry. You should go. How about you meet me in the library after and you can tell me all about it over McDonald’s? My treat.”

He warmed up and agreed.

So you waited in the library until four, and then you started to get worried. You went to grab something from your gym locker before you left to look for him and heard some girls from the squad gossiping about “the little dork.” Your blood started to boil as you heard the way they talked about Spencer. Your jaw only clenched harder as you recognized one of the girls’ voices as Alexa Lisben’s.

You poked your head around the lockers that divided the aisles and tried to manage a calm voice, “Hey Alexa? Spencer actually said he was meeting up with you today, do you know where he is?”

She just laughed and said, “I can’t believe you actually care about that loser.”

“He’s my friend.” All attempts to remain level-headed were tossed aside, “Where the fuck is he, what did you do to him?”

You could feel yourself starting to cry. It’s your fault, you weren’t there, you tried to warn him, but now you don’t know where he is or what he’s thinking or--

“Check the field.”

You sprinted out to the football field and saw him stripped down to his briefs, blindfolded, and tied to a goal post. You could kill Alexa. You actually considered turning right around and unleashing hell on that locker room, but your friend needed help. He was crying so hard he didn’t hear you coming until you called his name. You immediately went to untie him and grab his clothes from the fence beside him.

“You were right.” He sniffled, “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, I’m not mad, I’m sorry, I should have been there, I could have helped you--”

“No, you couldn’t. There were too many people.”

“How many were there? Who did this?”

“Y/N, please--”

“No, Spencer, tell me what happened.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it!”

You know when to stop, so you just shut your mouth while he got dressed, “Get in the car, I’m taking you home.”

You didn’t say a word to him as he buckled his seatbelt and you could tell he appreciated it. You just drove to McDonald’s and got him his usual. You parked in the parking lot and ate your food in almost silence, save for the radio in the background.

“You don’t have to tell me what exactly happened, you could pretend none of this ever happened, I won’t mind, it’s okay, but I just need you to know, Spencer, say the word and she’s dead. I have so much dirt on her, you have no idea, I can destroy her.”

“Don’t.”

“Okay, I won’t. At least give me names. I will personally make sure none of those boys ever get a date again.”

“Y/N, please.”

“I’m serious, I’ll tell everyone they have herpes.”

“I know you are and that’s what scares me, please don’t, I don’t wanna make things worse.”

You decide to drop it because if he doesn’t wanna talk about it, he needs a distraction.

After you finish your food, you ask him “Your house or mine?”

“Yours. Please.”

You drove back to your house and got yourselves set up on the couch in front of the TV, turning on an episode of Doctor Who that you had recorded. You made him popcorn as he curled up on your couch, clutching a pillow. You were mostly quiet for the rest of the night, but when you did talk, it was to ask him a question about the show or if any of the science was accurate. It was the best you could do to keep him mind off things. Eventually, he fell asleep and you felt too bad to wake him. He got up by himself around midnight, jolting awake as if from a nightmare, and considering how the last few hours had been for him, it probably was one.

“Hey, bud, I’m here, it’s me.” You didn’t touch him, knowing he got overstimulated sometimes when he got really stressed, but he felt around for you on the couch next to him, needing to know you were really there this time. You patted his hand when it reached across the cushion for you.

“What time is it?”

“Way too late for you to be here, let’s get you home.”

He nodded, slowly rising to his feet and looking for his backpack, which you reminded him he had left in the car. Your hand hovered above his head for a moment before he lazily drifted into you as he walked. You took this as an okay to touch him, so you ruffled his hair before loosely slinging an arm around his shoulders as you guided him to your car.

The drive back to Spencer’s wasn’t too long, thankfully, because you were sure his parents would be furious with him and the kid’s been through enough today. You wanted to take all the heat without making them think you kidnapped him. The lights were still on when you pulled into the driveway. They were probably worried sick about him.

When you knocked on the door, a frantic woman with short blonde hair opened it. When she saw Spencer, she grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him into the house, never breaking eye contact with you.

“Who are you? What are you doing with my son?”

“He didn’t do anything wrong, Mrs. Reid. I’m Y/N, he’s been tutoring me.”

“How do you know me? Spencer, what did you tell her?” She looked at him and back at you, “Get off my property and stay away from us!”

“Mom, she’s a fr--”

“Go up to your room, don’t come out.” She didn’t sound like an angry parent reprimanding her son, she sounded almost... scared.

A million alarms were going off in your head, and you needed to try to get through to her, “Ma’am, I’m sorry, he was helping me study and we lost track of time, it’s not his fault.”

“I don’t care, I don’t know you, get off my property!”

You decided it was best not to argue, so you hurried back to your car and drove home as quickly as possible so you could shower and go to bed and pray that Spencer would be okay tonight.

~~~

Your phone rang early the next morning. You rolled out of bed to answer it, sprinting to the hall table to take it off the stand. Checking the caller ID, you realized it was from a number you didn’t recognize. Answering it, you heard Spencer’s voice on the other side.

“Hello, this is Spencer, is Y/N home?”

“Yes, you woke me up on a Saturday morning, where else am I gonna be, kid?” Your voice was scratchy as you struggled to fight off the sleep still clawing at your throat.

“Sorry about that. I was just calling to apologize for last night.”

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”

“N-No, I’m not in trouble, I just wanted to explain why my mother was all--”

“She was worried, I get it.”

“N- she… My mother is a paranoid schizophrenic, she doesn’t do well with strangers. She doesn’t even remember what she said to you last night, she was having one of her episodes. She was just confused.”

You didn’t know how to respond. You were so shocked by his sudden revelations, you just stayed silent. You didn’t want him to think he scared you, so you had to say something. And apparently, that something was “Oh.”

“She wanted to apologize, but she’s just a bit embarrassed, so I called for her.”

“N-No, it’s okay, I…” It was suddenly so hard to say you understood because while it made sense to you, you wouldn’t fully understand what he or his mom was going through, you didn’t understand it, but Spencer didn’t seem to mind. He was just glad it didn’t bother you. After the events of yesterday, he couldn’t afford to lose you.

“Tell her I’m sorry I scared her.”

“Will do. She said you could come over so she could apologize personally and meet her if you want.”

“I’d love to. And Spence?”

You felt him take pause. You never called him that before, “Yeah?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t wanna scare you.”

“You wouldn’t scare me, dude, you can tell me anything.”

“Really?”

“I promise. I’ll see you Monday?”

Spencer nodded, but you couldn’t see him, so he spoke up through the lump in his throat, “See you Monday.”

Taglist ~~~~~~

(Lmk if you wanna be added!!)

@lawnmoa @ellvswriting @reidsmyhusband-emilysmymistress @baby-pogue @rottenearly

[debbielouocean]

ask for nothing and that’s all you’ll get (this rule does not apply to jen harding) (2/2)

PART 1

jen harding/judy hale (also on ao3)

When Jen first started thinking about Judy like that, she could only keep reminding herself- 

“You’re not even gay,” Jen muttered, sinking down further into the bath and deliberately blocking out where she’d just had her hand and who she’d been thinking about. “What the fuck is wrong with you? She’s your best friend.” 

And that was pretty much the only thing stopping her. She could hide behind the facade of being straight all she wanted, but she really wasn’t that committed to it. What she was committed to was not hurting Judy, who was her best fucking friend. 

The worst part was, she’d promised Judy she would tell her. Judy had looked at her with those puppy dog eyes that barely worked when Henry tried it and she’d folded instantly. She probably would have signed over her car if Judy had asked for it. 

Actually, the worst part was that Jen was positive that Judy wouldn’t bring it up again. She’d wait. Patiently. Until Jen was ready to talk about it. Which meant it would hang over them for weeks, awkward and tense, until it bubbled over and threatened to ruin everything. As if it hadn’t already done so. 

A knock on the bathroom door interrupted her self-deprecation. 

“Jen? We’re gonna be late!” 

“I have never been late to one of the kids’ activities and I’m not gonna start tonight, Judy.” It was true. Hard to be late to things you had no intention of going to. But she was pulling herself up out of the tub anyway and grabbing a towel. 

Against all odds, it was a Charlie activity tonight. Pastor Wayne had somehow managed to convince him that an extracurricular activity would benefit him and he’d joined some sort of robotics club. The dismissive, off-hand tone he’d used when he’d told Jen about the robot fight club meant that she was absolutely gonna be going to every single robot battle and she’d fucking figure out what all of it meant. She’d even read a book about it if she had to. Because she hadn’t seen Charlie this invested in something that wasn’t a video game in years. 

They were going, non negotiable. And it was going to be a nice, normal evening focused on Charlie for fucking once and not on her. She was not going to make tonight about her.

So she waited by the bathroom door, towel wrapped tightly around her, until she could be sure she’d heard Judy leave her bedroom. 

-------

An hour and forty-two minutes later, she found herself squished beside Judy in an Applebee’s booth. Charlie’s team had done well, placing second overall and qualifying them for the next competition. So they’d come to his favorite chain restaurant to celebrate. Jen was proud of him; she couldn’t have imagined Charlie from a year ago being this invested in something for school. 

“Just think about how cool this is gonna look on your college applications,” Judy said, leaning across the table excitedly. She’d been way into the whole thing, screaming and cheering for Charlie the whole time. Charlie had claimed embarrassment but Jen could tell he loved the attention. “Extracurriculars are super important.”

Jen groaned, picking at the cheese fries in the middle of the table that everyone else had deemed too hot to eat. “Can we stop with all the college talk? I’m not emotionally ready for any of that.” 

“Agreed,” Charlie said, overwhelmed by the idea of college. “What’s really important is that I’m pretty sure I can make the toaster shoot fire.” 

“If you so much as look at the toaster funny, you’re gonna be grounded until you do go to college,” Jen said, shutting down that idea before her whole kitchen ended up in flames. 

Their waiter came back a few minutes later with their food, having hardly given them time to finish the appetizer. Henry chatted excitedly about his new favorite show and Charlie didn’t even give him any shit about it being for babies. Even though it totally, fully was. Overall, Jen was pretty sure it had been a very successful family evening. 

And then it was over. And she was tucking Henry in and kissing him goodnight and saying goodnight to Charlie. Reminding him one more time that she was proud of him and that he was making good choices for himself. She could have sworn he even smiled at her before closing his bedroom door. 

Judy was waiting for her in the kitchen, a smile of her own seeming to be permanently plastered on her face. She was sitting at the counter, staring out the window and barely seemed to notice Jen walk into the room. 

“I’m gonna have to start locking up all the appliances in the house that Charlie deems nonvital,” Jen said, eyeing the espresso machine she’d wasted too much money on. 

Judy jumped a bit, clearly having been thinking about something else. But the smile didn’t leave. “Oh, I’m sure he wasn’t being serious. He knows better.” 

“The boy got caught selling drugs. I’m not certain he knows anything,” Jen said with a little huff of laughter. It was weird how easy it felt to make jokes about her son, the former drug dealer. He’d really made a lot of progress in a very short amount of time. 

“Hey, be nice to him,” Judy said, fighting back a laugh of her own. “He’s doing so good.” 

“No, no, you’re right. He’s amazing,” Jen said, pulling herself up onto the bar stool beside her. Judy leaned over, dropping her head onto Jen’s shoulder. 

“Thank you for letting me come,” she said softly, her hand landing on Jen’s thigh. Jen let her eyes close, briefly letting herself pretend that everything was wonderful and fine and that Judy’s hand on her thigh didn’t cloud any of her thoughts. 

“The boys would have killed you if you hadn’t,” Jen said, eyes still closed. She tilted her own head to the side, letting herself bury her face in Judy’s hair. Which smelled like a whole fucking orange. “And then they would have killed me for not making you come.” 

“You will literally never have to make me come to anything,” Judy said. Her hand rubbed little circles on Jen’s leg, somehow both really nice and absolute torture. “You guys are like my family, you know. I love being a part of this.” 

Jen sucked in a deep breath, inhaling even more citrus. Judy was going to be the fucking death of her, she was certain of it. “You are family, Jude. There’s nothing ‘like’ about it.” 

Opening her eyes, she watched Judy discreetly trying to wipe her eyes. 

“Are you crying?” Jen asked in disbelief. They’d almost definitely been over this before. Like ten times at this point. But Jen still wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer, squeezing her tight. “God, you’re such a sap.” 

Judy laughed, still a little teary. “You love it, don’t even try to deny it.” 

She was right. Jen couldn’t help but smile at the completely over the top emotions Judy had no problem expressing on a near constant basis. 

“I must be going soft,” Jen said, “I’m just gonna have to take a golf club to another car to balance things out again.” 

“I won’t take the blame for it this time.” 

“Which is unfair because this time it would actually be your fault.” 

They sat in silence for a few moments, comfortable and content. Jen’s arm around Judy’s shoulders and Judy’s hand on her thigh. Jen couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so happy. And she was only a little bit disgusted with herself. 

Only a little bit disgusted with myself, Jen thought, immediately regretting even thinking that when she was hit with immense disgust at herself for the way she was brushing her fingers up Judy’s bare arm. Because there was no fucking way that would be allowed if Judy knew what she’d done with those same fingers in the bathtub that morning while thinking about her. 

Jen was sure Judy felt her freeze up. Because the hand that had been drawing circles on her leg froze, too. 

“I’m feeling pretty tired-” 

“What the hell has been going on with you?” Judy interrupted, pulling out of Jen’s arms and looking her in the eyes. Jen flinched back, drawing her hands up to her own chest. And then immediately dropping them because Jen Harding did not do vulnerable. “One minute you’re fine and we’re good and then it’s like the very next second…” 

Judy trailed off, waving her hands a bit like that clarified things. Not that Jen needed anything clarified. She knew exactly what Judy was talking about. And she didn’t even look mad about it. Just… sad. 

“Did I… do something?” Judy asked when Jen didn’t respond, her voice smaller than Jen had heard it in a while. 

Jen’s eyes went wide, quick to reach out and lay both of her hands back on Judy’s shoulders. 

“No, no, honey. I promise, it’s not…” Jen sighed, squeezing her eyes shut and willing herself to get through this god forsaken conversation. She opened them again to make sure Judy was paying attention and knew she was serious. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

Judy frowned, but nodded anyway. Jen could practically see the wheels turning in her head, doing the same fucking thing that Jen always did, too. Blaming herself and forcing things to fit together to tell that story regardless of how hard you had to push to make it happen. 

And she knew she had to tell her. Because this wasn’t a Judy problem. It was a Jen problem. And it wasn’t fair of her to make Judy think otherwise. 

“I think I’m in love with you,” poured out of her mouth way faster than her brain could keep up. Definitely wasn’t how she’d intended to phrase that one. “I.. I am in love with you. Pretty positive about it.” 

“Jen-” 

“No, just listen for a minute, Jude,” Jen said, trying to be gentle about it and trying her damn hardest not to cry. Because she wasn’t soft. “I know it’s a pretty shit excuse for acting like a cunt but I promise you, I am handling it. Just give me like, two weeks to readjust and we can forget about the whole thing-”

“You’re in love with me?” Judy said, her voice going all soft again. Jen could see the tears starting to well up in her eyes and was not feeling another round of ‘Judy cries and Jen awkwardly holds her while thinking about how nice her hair smells and then feeling guilty about it’. 

“I’m handing it. You don’t even really need to worry about it.” Jen wished she felt as confident about that as she hoped she sounded, because ‘handling it’ had not been going well so far. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Judy said, the softness that had been present before quickly replaced with confusion. She didn’t pull away from Jen, though, who still had her hands on her shoulders. “I’m supposed to just forget that you’re in love with me?” 

If Jen hadn’t been sure that she’d fucked everything up before, she certainly was now. Because Judy was right. Your best friend being in love with you wasn’t really something you just forgot about. 

“Well how else do you propose we handle this situation, then, Judy?” Jen knew she was almost yelling. She knew she was getting angry, but her self control was slipping. And she was more than a little defensive. “What’s the other option?” 

“You let me fucking love you, Jen!” Judy yelled right back, letting the tears fall as she said it. 

Jen froze again, speechless for the hundredth time since she’d met Judy. Who kept managing to surprise her, somehow. All she could think to do was to stand up, tug Judy closer and press her as tightly as she could against her chest. So she did. 

“You really want that?” Jen asked, disbelief coloring her voice. “You know what I’m like, Judy. I’m not an easy person to be with.” 

“And you think I am?” Judy asked, still a bit biting. Like she wasn’t going to let her off that easily. Judy was always the first person to defend Jen, even from herself. “Jen, I know you. You’re all intense and beautiful and magnificent. I don’t give a shit about easy.” 

“I am maybe a little bit intense,” Jen agreed, threading her fingers through Judy’s hair. She heard her sigh; a tiny sound of relief. Like Judy had been waiting for this conversation to happen, too. Like she’d wanted this, somehow. 

“And beautiful and magnificent,” she said. Jen could feel Judy’s fingers digging into her waist, holding her close. “You’re like the sun, Jen. You’re just… everything.” 

Jen laughed despite herself, pulling away from Judy for a moment, only to reach up and cup her cheeks. She brushed her thumb over the tear tracks that were barely visible in the dim light of the kitchen. “I feel like I’m always asking you for more, Judy.” 

“I like it when you ask me for things,” Judy said. She leaned into Jen’s hand, a soft smile on her face. Jen felt her lips brush against her palm, just barely ghosting over her skin. She was hit with desire; something she’d been pushing down for weeks now and felt like she was finally allowed to feel. 

“You never ask me for anything.” 

“I usually don’t have to ask. That’s one of your biggest secrets, Jen Harding. You’re generous. You gave me so fucking much and I’ve never once had to ask for any it.” Judy gestured around them with her hand. “You gave me your whole family, Jen. How could I ever possibly ask for anything else?” 

Jen knew she was crying. She knew it. But it didn’t really hit home until she felt Judy mirror her own movements, reaching up to wipe her tears away. 

“You could ask me for anything and I’d figure out a way to give it to you,” Jen said, knowing it was true. Judy could ask her for the fucking moon and Jen would invest in Space X. She sniffled a bit, trying to pull herself back together before things got really embarrassing. She was already soft, she didn’t need to be weepy, too. 

Judy was still looking at her like she was her whole world. And Jen was so certain that Judy had always looked at her like that. God, Jen thought, how the hell was I so self-absorbed that I didn’t see that before? 

“So,” Jen said, breaking the silence they’d fallen into, “what, uh, what now?” 

She watched Judy ponder the question for a moment, wishing she could hear her thoughts. Judy bit her lower lip, looking every bit like Jen’s wildest dreams. Finally, after what seemed like ages, something seemed to click in Judy’s mind and she smirked at Jen. 

“I get to ask you for something,” Judy declared, putting her hands on Jen’s hips. Jen’s brow furrowed in confusion, unsure where she was going with this. Judy leaned in closer, pushing up from the barstool to stand eye level with Jen. “Can I kiss you?” 

Jen let out a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh of relief before she let herself fall forward and close the distance between them. And just like all the rest of her, Judy’s lips were so fucking soft. She felt bold, all of a sudden, confidence kicking back in now that she’d gotten confirmation that she wasn’t alone in her feelings. When Judy hummed into the kiss, Jen decided that soft might be nice, but she could do better. She parted her lips, pulling Judy in closer and letting her tongue trace across her lower lip. Judy quickly gave in, letting Jen take over and just falling into her. 

Because Judy was right. Jen really, really was a giver. And Judy wouldn’t even have to ask. 

[janaikam]

I Can’t Help Falling in Love With You - Kwami Swap

Whoops didn’t mean to miss yesterday! Time just got away from me!

This is Day 5 of @luxyweek

Part 4

Read on AO3

“Are you done yet?” the green thing asked.

XY had been screaming for maybe 10 minutes at this point, but he didn’t care. There was some floating green thing in his room, and it just talked to him. Omg it just talked. Instead of screaming this time XY started to hyperventilate and pace his room.

This was not happening. He just passed out after a long day. He was dreaming. He had to be.

“Deep breathsss,” the thing instructed, putting its paws on XY’s face.

He could feel the cool touch of the thing’s paw hand thing. The fact that XY could feel it told him that this was most definitely not a dream. In dreams you didn’t feel anything, and he was most definitely feeling things.

“My name is Sass. I am the kwami of intuition,” the thing bowed a little towards XY, which helped him calm down a little.

“Hold up green dude. What’s a mommy?” XY started, looking around the room for any cameras. This could all be some elaborate prank for one of those tv shows.

“Kwamiss are magical creaturess that give holderss magical powerss through their miraculousss. Mine iss the power of intuition,” Sassy explained calmly. “When you transsform I resside in the bracelet there.”

XY glanced down at the now light purple bracelet. “Why does it look girly?”

Sassy’s tail unfurled, and the kwami had an almost surprised look on his face. “Um, the miraculous dissguissess itsself to match the ussser. It looksss that way becausse on ssome unconssciouss level you want it to look like that.”

“I think it messed up. I’m not wearing this. It’s too girly.” XY huffed and held out the bracelet to Sassy. The kwami took it in his little paws, and it transformed into a blue-green bracelet with a snakehead in the middle.

“Woah, now that looks cool! I’d totally wear it if it looked like that.” XY took the bracelet out of Sassy’s paws, but the jewelry immediately turned back to its plain light purple color.

He frowned. “Why won’t it stay the same?”

“It’ss dissguissed that way sso people won’t recognize the sssnake miraculouss when itss holder iss detranssformed.”

“Well, I don’t want it then. You can hold on to it.” XY tossed it back to Sassy who scrambled to catch the piece of jewelry.

“In that casse, if you could just return me to Ladybug I’m ssure-”

“Did you say Ladybug?” XY interrupted. “Wait do you turn people into heroes?”

“Yesss...Oh my, I fear a misstake hass been made. I mussst immediately be returned to Ladybug.”

XY considered what the Salami said. If he could turn people into heroes, then he could turn XY into a hero. That would be so cool. He could help Ladybug defeat akumas and replace Chat Noir entirely. Album sales would go up once people realized he was an amazing hero. Even Luka would fall for him. He could see it now.

“How do I transform?” XY could barely contain his excitement as he bounced in front of the Safari.

“I’m not ssure that’ss besst. Bessidess, I’m famished. My last holder wass unable to feed me. So even if I told you how to trassform, it would not work.” Sassy’s floating took on a nervous nature, but XY ignored it.

There was something interesting about what Sassy said. But he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“If I gave you something to eat, would you tell me how to transform?” XY asked. He needed to get on this Kalamari’s good side otherwise he would never become the hero Paris needed.

“I ssuposse sso,” Sassy responded.

“Ballin’.”

--------

The fried chicken he ordered from room service was perfect for Sassy. When it arrived, he dived into the food, eating as much as he could.

In between bites of food, Sassy explained how his powers worked when XY was transformed. He informed XY that the bracelet would allow him to become a hero, and XY was debating putting on the girly looking bracelet.

He couldn’t help but wonder what else it could look like when he remembered how it looked when he first picked it up. It was a grey color, which didn’t make a whole lot of sense to him.

“Hey, this was silver before, why is it this girly purple color now?”

Sassy’s expression turned to one of fear at XY’s question.

“Different holderss have different lookss. The miraculouss musst’ve noticed that you did not intend to wield the ssnake, so it would have stayed like my previouss holderss until you intended to activate it.” Sassy looked concerned at XY’s face. If XY had to guess, Sassy was worried about how he would react knowing someone else had a cooler bracelet looking color.

“That doesn’t make sense because that Luka guy had this before, and it didn’t change for him.” XY waited for Sassy’s explanation, but when it didn’t come XY realized what it meant. “Wait a second. Luka was your previous holder, wasn’t he?”

Sassy nodded reluctantly in confirmation.

“Oh, this is too good. You gotta tell me how to transform now.”

------

XY wasn’t the biggest fan of his superhero look. For one, his suit had no capes. How were people supposed to know he was a hero if he didn’t have a cape? Plus the suit was dark green with no obvious symbol identifying who he was. Plus he had this weird green mini piano thing. He wasn’t sure the point of it, but it fit snugly at his waist.

Once he transformed, XY started running across the roofs of Paris to get used to the new powers that Sassy had given him. It was a really cool feeling and one he kind of hoped he would never get used to.

XY was headed straight towards the pirate ship that Luka lived on so he could show off his new look. He was certain that Luka would be amazed.

Landing on the deck of the boat was a tad bit difficult. There was a bunch of trash lying around, so when XY tried to land he ended up slipping on a ball and crashing into a drum set. The cymbals on the drum created a loud sound that was sure to have woken anyone right up.

Sure enough someone had woken up and was making their way up to the top of the ship.

XY scrambled to pull himself up into a hero pose, and he just managed to do it as Luka’s flashlight shone on him.

“I am Cash Money! The new protector of Paris!”

The light got brighter as it moved closer to XY, and he had to squint so the light didn’t blind him.

“XY!?” Luka exclaimed. “How? Why!? You need to detransform right now!”

XY pouted. “Aw, how did you know it was me?”

“For one, your name kinda gave it away, plus I’m pretty sure you stole my miraculous the other day.” Luka turned off the flashlight moving closer to XY. “At least you’re not Hawkmoth.”

“Hawkmoth is totally not cash money. I could never be him. I’m cash money 24/7,” XY proudly stated.

He paused for a second, wanting to detransform but realizing he had no idea how to.

“Uh, how do you detransform?” XY blushed, embarrassed that he needed to ask Luka for help.

“Say ‘Sass, scales rest’,” Luka instructed.

“Sassy, scales rest.” A bright flash of green flew over him, and XY was back in his normal everyday clothes.

“Now can I have my miraculous back?” Luka held out his hand patiently.

“Not so fast. I know your secret, so I need some kind of compensation for this.” XY took a step closer to Luka, but he hadn’t realized he was on some kind of stage so he fell forward.

“Woah!” Luka exclaimed, catching XY before he could hit the ground.

It was at that moment that the lights around the ship turned on, so XY could properly see Luka.

“Um. We’re home?” a soft voice questioned. XY looked past Luka to see the girl from the other day and another older woman.

Luka quickly let go of XY and turned towards the two women. XY glared at Luka. If XY had been anymore distracted he would’ve fallen flat on his face. It would’ve been a disaster for his public image.

“Oh, Luka, I didn’t know you were having a friend over! We’ll just get out of your hair, so you two can just carry on,” the colorful older woman said. She pushed the girl, Tools?, towards the bottom of the ship. “You boys have fun!”

XY wasn’t sure if it was just the lighting, but it almost looked like she winked towards them before disappearing under the ship.

Luka turned back towards XY a light blush on his face. “Sorry about that.” Luka coughed. “So, uh, what did you want?”

“What?” XY blinked in confusion. What would he want?

The weird encounter with who he assumed to be Luka’s mother had completely shut down his brain. Did she think they were a couple or something like that?

“To keep my secret,” Luka continued, waving his hand to his wrist.

“Your secret...right...uh what was that again?”

“Yeah, nice try. Just give me back my bracelet.” Luka reached out towards XY’s wrist, but the musician reacted faster, raising his hand above his head.

XY grinned. It was gonna be almost impossible for Luka to grab the bracelet since XY was a few inches taller than him.

Luka tried jumping up to grab ahold of the bracelet, but XY kept his arm further away so Luka couldn’t reach it.

“Ah, ah, ah.” XY wagged his finger in front of Luka. “In order to get this bracelet, I’m gonna need a kiss.”

“A kiss?” Luka stopped his attempts and stared at XY. “That is the last thing I expected to come out of your mouth.”

“A kiss on the cheek and you can have your little bracelet back.” XY patted his cheek and turned it towards Luka.

He couldn’t see Luka’s face but based on the sigh of reluctance he heard, XY knew he was gonna do it. After a couple of moments without feeling anything, XY turned to ask Luka what was taking so long, only to have his lips meet with Luka’s.

[daffietjuh]

Five times Kyle tried to ask Alex out and failed, and the one time he succeeded

A/N: I blame this entirely on @likebadgal-riri! You put this in my head! I’ve never written Kylex before, but here it is. Here are our lifeboat babies for S2! Our emotional support ship. 

1.

Alex had just gotten back into town. Kyle even went to the parade. He wanted to go talk to him, but he chickened out. Alex had looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. It was the same look he’d had on his face when they were kids, and Kyle would coax a secret out of him. The same look, but on a much more deliberately closed-off face. He’d grown up since they were close, that part was obvious, but he’d also become so much harder to read. Kyle hated it.

He wanted to be close to him again. Be able to read his face like he used to. He wanted to be able to read his eyebrow raises and his sighs and the way he’d press his lips together.

But he was scared. He wasn’t like Alex, he wasn’t brave like he was. He was just the kid that turned his back on his best friend. The one that left a guy that already didn’t have much. The one that hit the kid that was already getting beat up enough.

The wave of shame made him feel sick. So he left. He walked away from the parade and headed to the Crashdown. He was going to eat some fries. He’d regret it later, but he didn’t care.

Arturo smiled at him knowingly when Kyle came in, but he didn’t say anything, which Kyle appreciated. He just brought Kyle his fries and left him to eat in peace. When the bell at the door signalled the arrival of a new customer and Kyle saw the wide grin on Arturo’s face, he knew immediately who it was. There was only two people that made Arturo Ortecho smile like that. Liz, who wasn’t in town, and Alex.

‘Alex, my boy.’ Arturo smiled brightly as he came from behind the counter and disappeared out of Kyle’s sightline.

‘Hi mister Ortecho.’ Kyle could hear the tell-tale tapping of Alex’s crutch on the linoleum floor. It made a swoop of dread dip through Kyle’s stomach and his fries suddenly tasted like ash. Alex almost died. He came so close to having to stand at the back of the crowd at Alex’s funeral.

He turned on his seat so he could see him. Almost like his mind demanded a reassurance that Alex was there and breathing.

He hadn’t been prepared for the wave of… something unfamiliar. Alex, despite his clear discomfort, looked great. A little more pale than Kyle remembered him being, but strong. His jawline was still sharp and his cheekbones still looked like those of a supermodel. The scar over his eyebrow was new and there was some colour high on his cheeks and his eyes were still warm and soft. Kyle wanted to stare at him over a candlelit dinner table.

Wait.

What?

Oh. That was new.

Alex’s eyes darted to him, and his smile turned harder and sharper. Anger. He still recognized that emotion.

‘Valenti, you couldn’t stare harder if you tried.’ Alex said and his voice was lower than Kyle remembered it. ‘Careful, people might start to get ideas that you’ve missed me or something.’ It was maybe a little bit of a low blow, not that Kyle didn’t deserve it. He would have said something snarky in reply, but his brain was still hung up on that dinner date he’d thought about for only a split second.

‘Good to have you back, Manes.’ Was what he said. Surprise flickered over Alex’s face for only a second before Arturo swept him away with the promise of fries and a milkshake.

2.

It wasn’t really breaking and entering if your father had owned the place, right?

That was what Kyle told himself at least when he approached the door of his father’s cabin with a block of wood, intending to just… break a window. That was all. He wasn’t expecting the voice behind him.

‘You know, you could just knock. It’s less of a felony, but it’s also less dramatic, so it depends on what you’re going for here.’ He wasn’t sure what his body did, just that he nearly dropped the wood on his foot and whirled around. Alex was there, looking like he hadn’t been sleeping well, crutch tucked under his arm. He looked calm though. Not like this bothered him much, but maybe that was just his poker face. Alex had always wiped the floor with him at poker.

He ended up inside with Alex, and the whole thing came out. His father left Alex this place. His father had seen that Alex needed someone, someplace and he’d given that to him. He’d been there for Alex, after his death. He needed Alex to understand, what his father had thought of him, what Kyle thought of him, now that he wasn’t blinded by teenage bullshit.

‘You’ve got it wrong, you know.’ He said. ‘My dad didn’t leave you that key because he thought you were weak. He would never have thought that about you.’ And neither have I.  ‘You’re the bravest person I know.’ He said without giving himself the time to overthink it. The way Alex looked up at him nearly floored him. Those eyes and that soft smile and the tiniest hint of warmth in his face. It was enough for him to want to try and coax that out more. He needed Alex to smile more. He wanted to be the reason for Alex to smile more.

So while they were bantering like they were kids again, “This is the part in the horror movie where the audience starts screaming no don’t do that”, Kyle had to fight his smile and focus on the actual, literal skeletons they may have been about to find.

They didn’t find skeletons, instead Kyle found a half-sister. One that had died ten years ago. He felt like he was on a fucking rollercoaster, and he’d never liked those very much. Alex was watching him closely with concerned eyes as he walked him out and Kyle felt like he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve Alex’s concern, his forgiveness, his love. Not that he had any thoughts of Alex still loving him like he’d loved him when they were kids. He had broken that, all by himself. It was on him to fix it.

And he would try, but not today. He’d ask Alex out to get some beers another day, as a friendly thing, with Alex, his friend.

3.

He accepted that he now had a thing for Alex when they ended up working together in the bunker for hours. When he had time to familiarize himself with Alex again. The way he’d tap his fingers on the keyboard, even when he wasn’t typing. The way he’d bite his lip in concentration. How he’d shift his leg every so often, but didn’t acknowledge that he was uncomfortable whatsoever. How the blue lighting of his screens made him look ethereal, otherworldly beautiful. Which was kind of funny because aliens.

He opened with “I know you don’t like me, and that’s cool, but all this is a lot” he nearly said that they could go have dinner. Instead he said they should go have a beer sometimes. Alex sighed, but he didn’t say no. It was a start.

He felt so off balance around Alex, it was almost hard to believe that Alex couldn’t tell. Alex who had eyes like a hawk and saw everything. Maybe that was why he suggested Alex should go talk to Guerin. He didn’t think Guerin was good for Alex, hell, he didn’t think he was good enough for Alex. Not with the way Alex had been looking every time Guerin was so much as mentioned. The guilt and the pain that was written all over Alex made Kyle want to snipe and sneer at him. But he also saw that Alex wasn’t at that point yet. He wasn’t angry, just confused and hurt.

Maybe a talk was exactly what they needed. So Alex could see that all Guerin would ever do was hurt him. He wasn’t even sure what exactly happened between them. All he knew was that the darkness in Alex’s eyes, the forced smile and the painful longing looks were Guerin’s fault.

Guerin, who was, apparently an alien.

So instead of asking Alex out to dinner, Kyle told him to go talk to the man he’d been in love with for ten years. He just wanted Alex to be happier, and if Guerin was necessary for that, he’d push Alex in that direction, but if it turned out he wasn’t the thing that would make Alex smile more? Kyle had other options.

4.

Caufield was a nightmare in so many different ways. Kyle found out his father had been killed by an alien, but also that he’d been a part of what was basically a war crime. The systematic imprisonment and torture of aliens. Kyle felt sick thinking about it.

‘Alex and you, huh?’ Guerin’s question was… slightly jealous? Which was fucking ridiculous. Alex had told him about Guerin sleeping with Maria. To his credit, he’d been exhausted and on his way to tipsy and Kyle had coaxed the story out of him because he’d looked wrecked. Guerin had gone and slept with the best friend of the guy he was supposed to be in love with. That didn’t really spell “love” to Kyle, that took away his right to be jealous as far as Kyle was concerned. Not that there was anything to be jealous off.

Alex’s brother had made Kyle want to throw his oath aside and bash him over the head with a fire extinguisher. The alarm going off was the only thing that stopped Kyle. Alex running further into the building about to blow made Kyle feel sick to his stomach. Would he have done the same for Kyle? Probably, it was just Alex’s nature. Self-sacrificing. He believed that he had something to make up for. Kyle didn’t believe it for a second. What their families had done, was not on them. His father’s crimes were not Alex’s to atone for.

Running away from a building about to blow wasn’t as cool as it seemed in the movies. In fact, it fucking sucked. Alex grit his teeth and Kyle refused to let him fall behind, he would have carried him out of there if he had to. Alex pushed him behind the truck first. The explosion was like a punch directly to Kyle’s heart. The look on Alex’s face was a second hit.

Alex didn’t really talk about war, or what it was like, so when he started talking, Kyle stayed quiet and listened. His hatred for Jesse Manes grew by tenfold. Alex had always had a kind heart. He had been a gentle soul. One that believed in love and that good would prevail, he’d believed in happy endings, and now he was questioning if he was the evil? Kyle hated it. He hated Jesse and he hated anyone else who had ever told Alex he was anything but kind and wonderful, himself included. He’d spend the rest of his life, as long as Alex would have him around, making up for his lapse of judgement in high school. Where he’d thought his reputation was more important than the boy with the soft eyes and the kind heart.

5.

Things just got worse after that. Every time he spend an extended amount of time around Alex, his brain would just start chanting “ask him out, ask him out, ask him out”. As it turned out, it was hard to focus when that happened.

Especially when things went from bad to worse to godawful and Alex ended up on his doorstep at noon, looking like he hadn’t slept in three days with the simple words:

‘He didn’t show.’ Kyle didn’t have to ask who he was talking about. ‘He said he’d come back and we’d talk, and he didn’t show.’

He just pushed the door further open and let Alex in. He looked as close to tears as Kyle had seen him in a long time, and if Guerin had shown up at his front door in that moment, he would have broken his nose. No one should ever make Alex Manes look like that.

‘How long did you wait?’

‘All night.’ Alex’s voice cracked and he followed it up with an annoyed cough. ‘I guess I deserve it. I left so many times, it’s only right he leaves me too.’

‘No.’ Kyle said and Alex turned, he looked almost surprised. ‘No. Don’t say that. You don’t deserve to get hurt Alex. If he cares about you at all, he shouldn’t hurt you like this, no matter what you have or haven’t done. Which, by the way, you didn’t have much of a choice in. You couldn’t have stayed, you would have been court-martialled.’ He could already hear Alex’s next argument coming. ‘And when you were seventeen doesn’t count. You were young and scared and you saw an opportunity to learn how to fight back, that’s not on you, that will never be on you.’

Alex watched him for what felt like hours. His frown slowly disappeared and was replaced by a shaky smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes and he still looked like he was about to keel over from exhaustion, but he didn’t look quite as shattered anymore.

‘You’re a good man, Alex. You deserve to be treated like it.’ He added, just for good measure. He actually could have said something there, it was a good leadup. He’d treat Alex right. He knew Alex was a good man. He wasn’t going to sleep with his best friend (…..anymore). He’d take him on dates and hold his hand and love him and treat him like he deserved to be treated. But now wasn’t the right time. He knew that. So he just offered Alex a beer and kicked the voice in his head to the curb, now was not the right time.

+1

It had been months. The “relationship” between Maria and Guerin had fizzled out. Kyle was unsurprised. It was based on lies and at the cost of someone they both claimed to love. Maria found out about the alien thing. Kyle had seen them around each other, and they tried, he had to give them that, they tried to make it work. But it was clear that there wasn’t much there beyond liquor and trauma fuelled hook-ups. Guerin’s heart wasn’t in it, and Maria’s heart was broken. One half longing for a man she knew would never love her like he was supposed to, and the other half longing for a broken friendship, one maybe broken beyond repair.

And Kyle? Kyle put all his time and effort not spend trying to resurrect Max or get to know Rosa into helping Alex figure out who he was without the Air Force and without Guerin.

It was amazing. Hearing Alex laugh, warm and free at one of Kyle’s silly jokes. Watching him listen to old albums with Rosa. Watching as he taught Isobel how to defend herself, his proud expression when she kicked a dummy so hard it fell over. Seeing how he systematically dismantled project Shepard. How he used his powers for good, to take down evil, how he proved his father had created his own downfall. He’d treated Alex like shit, for years, he should have been broken or angry at the world, instead he made it a better place. He proved he was stronger than his father, stronger than Kyle, stronger than Guerin. He refused to give up. He took care of Liz as she worked herself nearly to death, he let Isobel cry on his shoulder and faced a screaming Guerin without flinching.

‘Why won’t you let it go!? He’s dead. Gone! Stop trying Alex, just leave it alone! You’re good at leaving, we both know that.’

Alex stopped Kyle from breaking Michael’s nose with a simple gesture and a soft “no”.

‘He’s hurt and terrified and he misses his brother. It’s okay.’

‘No it’s not.’ Kyle said, still seething. ‘Get out Guerin. Don’t come back unless you’re ready to apologize to Alex.’ Guerin had tears in his eyes when he stomped towards the ladder and climbed out of the bunker. Kyle couldn’t find much sympathy for him, especially not when Alex sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. He was upset. He hadn’t shown it in front of Guerin, but he was upset. He was letting Kyle see it.

‘Let’s go for dinner.’ Alex looked at him, question in his eyes. ‘You and me, let’s go have dinner.’

‘Like a date?’ Alex asked, his face wasn’t as unreadable to Kyle anymore, but he still couldn’t quite tell what Alex was thinking in that moment.

‘Yeah, like a date.’

‘If you’re just doing this because you feel bad for me-‘

‘No. That’s not what this is at all.’ Kyle said firmly. ‘I wanted to ask you out when I saw you on the day of the parade.’ Alex blinked at him, soft smile spreading over his face.

‘That long, huh?’ Kyle shrugged.

‘You weren’t ready, there was other things going on. So I waited.’ He simply said. 

‘You waited for me.’ Alex said like he couldn’t quite believe it, so Kyle stepped closer to him and took his hand.

‘Yeah.’ He said, squeezing Alex’s hand as a reassurance he was here and he was real.

‘Why?’

‘Because you’re worth the wait.’ Kyle had hoped for a fond smile and maybe some kisses, instead he got a solid punch to the chest and a Alex-Manes-special-eyeroll.

‘You’re an idiot.’

‘But I’m your-‘ Alex cut him off with a kiss and that might have been exactly what Kyle had been going for.

[simptasia]

hc questions 5, 6, 7, 26, 44 & 47 for any or all of the science team members if you want? :)

oh bless!! thank you!! i’ll go with My Beloved Three, as usual, the sci trio

Cleanliness habits (personal, workspace, etc.)

my hcs on this have wobbled over time but overall i imagine dan, char and miles are all like, fairly, neat. tho they all have a tendency to leave papers around

and miles doesn’t make the bed as much. cuz imagining miles napping in rumpled quilts is a very cute mental image. hair disheveled

i think a good term for whats going on with dan and char is Organized Chaos. they’re both scientists (and a musician) for heck’s sake. it doesn’t look like they know what they’re doing but they do. but ur not gonna walk into their house(s) and be like “ugh gross what the fuck”. it’s nice. dan tends to make the bed

and i imagine dan keeps The Rat Room (yes, you heard me) immaculate because you reeeeeeally want that area to be well cared for

as for personal, lets get this out of the way, none of them are yucky. but dan is showering the least, just due to absent mindedness and hyperfixation. like ya really get into a project and then suddenly oh fuck i need a shower. but thats relative. he’s not a stinky gross boy. i imagine miles washes the most because like, he has body piercings and those GOTTA be cleaned every day, especially the downstairs one. miles values his dick, he don’t want an infection

also its amazing how much more you shower/bathe when you have a partner. or in this case, two partners. in general and for sexy purposes. hell yeah

well thats enough of me picturing these three showering, moving on

Eating habits and sample daily menu

its odd how often i’ve pictured these people eating together

dan: eats the least (and for once that isn’t a skinny joke, he could eat cake every day and he’d still be like that) because for the most part he doesn’t have much of an appetite. he eats what he needs, with random bursts of being really hungry (it’s a neurodivergent thing). i imagine he has a extra fondness for pasta and can put a surprising amount of it away when he wants to. tho typically for ease, he’ll stick to noodles. he takes his coffee mild and decaf. i hc him as a vegetarian due to not being able to process meat. his body also cannot handle alcohol and the one time he tried it he needed to be hospitalized. his ice cream preference is vanilla with chocolate sprinkles. or honeycomb. favourite vegetable is capsicum (which he’d call a bell pepper because he’s american), favourite fruit is pineapple. on that note he likes pineapple pizza. overall he eats simple but isn’t against trying new things. he has a very neutral disposition towards food

char: of the trio, i define charlotte as the Loud Passionate One so obviously being a big eater goes with that, likes a big breakfast (eggs, sausages, sometimes french toast!), sometimes skips lunch when she’s working at the museum due to focus, has a ravenous sweet tooth (i haven’t been subtle that i’ve made her ADORE chocolate but in general i see her liking sweet things), she can handle eating less tho because she’s gone on plenty of expeditions and such. so i think she eats a lot under normal circumstances because, like, she can. i don’t think i need to tell you what her ice cream or starbucks preferences are, do i? takes her coffee with three sugars, two coffees and creamy. likes mochas and hot chocolates too. with marshmallows. naturally, her fave kind of chocolate is galaxy because she is an English Woman. another fave of hers is cadbury’s creme eggs. but lest you think Good Lord Sapphire This Woman’s Entire Body Is A Sugar Molecule, don’t worry she does eat well. like veggies, fruits, meats, she’s fine. of meats, she has a fondness for fish (i have no further information, im terrible with fish. but she’s a pom, so...). favourite fruit is pear, favourite vegetable is peas. likes a bacardi, or rum and coke

miles: he eats a “normal” amount but he’s a grazer. which means, not so much Set Meal eating than eating/snacking thru out the day. he takes his coffee black, no surprise, but with sugar! see, its a metaphor. for him. likes fried eggs and hash browns. his fave food is very cheap mac and cheese. i think in general he really likes cheese. he doesn’t have complicated tastes, like, he grew up poor. he likes seafood (in particular fish tacos) but not lobster as he discovered when he got cashed up. he likes salty food but likes sweets too, in particular i can imagine him snacking on m&ms, skittles, gummi bears. little things. doesn’t have a fave vegetable because he doesn’t care enough, to him veggies are things to eat so you won’t die. doesn’t hate him but isn’t excited to eat ‘em. fave ice cream is mint choc. he’ll drink whatever (except for vodka) but is used to beer. thinks pineapple on pizza is an abomination, espech since he really likes pizza otherwise. i consider him a food opportunist, like, oh theres food here? yoink. or like, oh hey, if everybody else is eating, i’ll have whatever’s going on

....i feel like whenever i write hcs about these guys my brain takes on their tone. like, that was a lot of short, eh whatever, sentences for miles there

Favorite way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time

dan:

- reading (really depends on how you define Wasting Time). also he composes music and when he was alive, that was considered wasting time (ugh)

- sometimes even just doing hobbies or work or whatever, even then, he tends to have this feeling of never doing enough due to his Perfectly Healthy And Supportive Upbringing [seethes] so uhhhh basically, anxiety? like this was a dude raised to think anything other than his work was a waste of time. it didn’t exactly work but a decent amount of that Pressure has to still sit with him

char:

- watching tv, espech star trek

- not a waste of time if you’re enjoying yourself

miles:

- card and board games (weren’t expecting that, were ya? i’m not saying that's his Fave Thing To Do, but he considers that a good chill out thing to do. something to do when ur bored but you don’t feel like watching tv or having sex)

- “it’s something to do”

Do they have any plans for the future? Any contingency plans if things don’t workout?

dan:

for original lifetime dan, it was Do Science, Make Mom Proud (tiny voice: and maybe spend the rest of my life with charlotte. if i’m lucky. maybe. please? love?) cuz i imagine dan, although very focussed on the future, actually doesn’t think/care about HIS future. i just don’t think he cares about himself enough

limbo dan is like Make Music, Love Charlotte. which is fair. and then Love Miles on top of that. so yeah, just wants to be a good musician and husband. and one day, father. with char actually in his life in this world, thats def on his mind. he won’t bring it up tho, he’ll wait for her to mention it :3

(dan’s canon contingency plan for things not working out is hydrogen bomb)

char:

alive char, like, ADVENTURE! ISLAND! SOLVE MYSTERIES! that makes it sound like she’s a fucking scooby doo character. i mean, her Goal was to find the island and find out what the fucky duck is going on. she did that. and overall his goals seem like adventure/career orientated. i hc that this version of char never intended on getting married or having kids. she wasn’t Against the ideas and she’s certainly had romances but she was more thinking of other things. (that and i think deep down char thought nobody would ever wanna marry her)

in limboverse There Is No Mystery but she still has her great job(s), that is she works at a museum and i think she goes on expeditions sometimes. so theres that, she’s got the great career. really, her Plan for the future in this world is live the live she couldn’t before. she (and dan!) died young so they’re gonna like, actively adore each other and get married and have kids. and also miles is there. ha, that sounded so rude. she loves miles too. (besties/fuck buddies turned Hey You Wanna Join Me And Dan’s Relationship and miles like... yeah sure)

miles:

step one: get money to fill gaping hole of sadness in chest

step two: ????

step three: die

and even my limbo miles whomst i’ve put with dan and char doesn’t have any plans for the future, besides like, do his job and maybe become a dad again (context: i hc that miles had two kids with richard when he was alive). so he’s still chilling but without the depressing ache of loneliness and bitterness

so basically long story short for all of them (in limboverse): Love & Family

Superstitions or views on the occult?

ohooo i like this one

dan: didn’t grow up believing in magic and such (which is super ironic because his mother is a fucking other) but he has a very open mind. i think he’ll believe it if he’s thrust into the situation. it’s interesting really, dan is known as the science guy and that's great but he’s super fucking accepting of not science shit. tho of course, he’s not seeing the island time travel as magic but science. but more importantly, he regards miles’ powers with zero doubt or questioning. he doesn’t even seem confused, he is absolutely on board with miles being able to talk to dead people. this all implies miles told him off screen and dan believes him

so basically he’ll accept whatever is presented to him as true

which honestly, is what a good scientist is like. the trope of the scientist character who is ultra non believing of the supernatural, even when they’re seeing it before their eyes, is annoying. like, you know the ones? the ones who get angry about it. the overly skeptical scientist. hate that. dan is not that

and his character arc includes embracing free will over destiny so there's that

char: she’s not superstitious and doesn’t believe in magic or the supernatural at all. tho thrown into bizarre situations she’s like ???? but has to accept it. and she KNOWS something is up with the island. she knows its different. i just mean, under normal circumstances she’d regard magic stuff as funny nonsense. i hc that char, in living life, doesn’t believe miles can speak to the dead. really fucking weird this isn’t addressed in the show but hahaaaa they wasted char! anyways and like, if presented with the concept that dan’s brain damage is being healed by the island, she’d look confused, say thats impossible but she’d think on it

what i’m saying is she’ll rule out magic concepts at first, on reflex. but would grow to accept them, especially with stuff she knows/has repressed

she doesn’t believe in ghosts, psychics, visions, magic healing and all those exist in her world, so it’s all a matter of experience

miles: WELL WHADDYA THINK

actually it’s funny. miles has magic powers but he’s 0% superstitious and i imagine outside of his own powers, he really doesn’t believe in the occult. i hc that until he personally proved otherwise, he grew up thinking he was mentally ill. and once he realised it was true, thought he was some kind of freak

and he’s incredulous when he finds out hurley has powers too. tho miles, being miles, does roll with the punches a lot in the show, he’s skeptical when it comes to hurley's power. and i find that interesting. also i fucking love how when hurley describes his power, miles says “thats not how it works”, like ???? babe???

but overall his attitude on the island is like “well. this is happening”

i do think thru his life, despite his power, he doesn’t believe in All Magic or occult or whatever. i also hc that he attracted those kind of people who are REALLY into astrology and auras and stuff like that and he found them exasperating. (i think he’d be a lot more okay with it if it was claire who was talking about astrology and palm reading with him. he’d be endeared when its her)

and i think he thinks other psychics he’s met or seen on tv are straight up bullshit. he can believe he has it but he’s skeptical of other people. just assumes they’re scammers. hell, he was a scammer. who just happened to have the power. he was like “well i have this, i may as well get some use outta it”

oh and in limboverse, they all kinda have to accept their situation. and they take it with ease due to appreciating getting happier lives

How do they express love?

a dan who loves you will pet your face and look at you like ur his entire reason to live. a char who loves you will squeak at your jokes and will never once let you feel bad about yourself. a miles who loves you is sorry he isn’t better at this stuff but he really is trying... sure we can cuddle if you wanna, that’s cool v///v

the dan and char we saw in the show was them holding back and i find that very amusing because they were HEART EYES AS FUCK for each other and so affectionate and so soft hearted, like oh my gosh. canon show dan/char is them when they’re pining... when they’re not even a couple (yet, damn it)

imagine them at full power

i figured it out, dan/char couldn’t be an Official Couple because then jeremy davies and rebecca mader would have destroyed us all, especially me

anyways. they’re both very protective of each other. they... they touch each other a lot. like a lot for people who aren’t dating and whomst don’t think the other one loves them. like char is surprised when dan says he loves her. that fucking astonishes me. HE’S NOT SUBTLE. char are you okay???

dan is more open about the love than char, seeing as he said it. and double downed on it. char i feel was holding back for different reasons than dan. dan was holding back (fucking barely) because of eloise’s Love Will Only Bring Pain upbringing, which’d give somebody a serious complex. so he was adverse to actually pursuing a relationship AND i figure he thought “she wouldn’t wanna be with me anyways”. but char i imagine, a deep seated insecurity and need to be defensive, but also! dan was like REALLY mentally unwell before the island. and that's the dan that char knows (and loves) but she’d feel guilty if she pursued anything with him. like she’s taking advantage of a brain damaged person

ah fuck i went on a big thing about why they didn’t become a couple instead of like.... the question. how do they express love? like they did in the show. smiles, touches, longing gazes, protectiveness. they would die for each other

as for miles, how does he express love? Not Well. at first

whoever is the first person he fell in love with (i imagine richard), he was not good at... being open about that. i don’t think miles is good with love. lived his life pretty detached/bitter about the concept, which i imagine is due to having cynicism about life and death. everybody you love is gonna die, so why bother? (his mom dying hit him pretty hard) so uhhh its gonna be... baby steps

slowly becoming more open about liking somebody, becoming more affectionate, more... uh, couple-y (and later throuple-y). it’d take time and he will always be miles, but hey, he gets there. he’ll still always have his snark but he won’t be a Genuine Asshole to people he loves. heck, i imagine he’ll be downright soft in the right situation. and he can be gentle and kind. he’s a salty boy not a cunt

but i digress. basically he’s a little “yeah, yeah, i love you too, shut up” about it but he does have that soft gooey center. basically those who know him, and love him, know his true heart. it’s just a part of being miles “defensive walls” straume

feels love (and even that takes him a while to realise, cuz he hasn’t been a romantic relationship kinda guy, most of his life his relationships have been a Just Sex thing), not Great at like... Doing Love, you know what i mean? but like once he’s used to it, he can be quite a tender little pudding cup, actually

[louandhazaf]

Louis and Putine

I nearly fell off my chair when I saw this. LOL. Please accept my profuse apologizes for how long this has taken me to write.

I’m going to choose: 

Kissing…to distract. and I’m also going to make it a Tomlinshaw because it’s been a minute since I’ve written one and also because I have exactly zero idea how to do Louis/Poutine as a crack fic… uh… because I don’t know how to do crack fics. Anyway, without any further ado, drumroll please……..

“Nick, my feet are going to fall off,” Louis whines for the fourth time in five minutes.

“It’s around here somewhere,” Nick mutters, staring at the open Google Maps app lighting up his face. 

They arrived in Montreal later than they had planned, due to a minor car-searching snafu at the border caused by Nick apparently trying to smuggle an entire produce section out of Vermont.

Unfortunately, that small (er, ridiculously long) bump in the road meant that they missed their anniversary dinner reservation. It also meant their airbnb host was unavailable to hand off the keys at the appointed time so they had to wait for them to arrive. Which would be fine, in theory but Louis had long passed feeling peckish and was now practically feral. And, Louis didn’t have so much as an apple to tide him over as his hanger slowly got the best of him… because Nick’s slip up meant they were all confiscated.

“Nicholas,” Louis snaps. “I swear on all things holy that if you don’t pick a goddamn restaurant in the next three seconds I’m going to leave you.”

“If you don’t want to spend our anniversary together than leave. I deserve better.” Nick pops a hip, eyebrows raised in a challenge, before he looks back down at his phone, muttering. His head snaps back up to look Louis in the eye and he adds. “This is supposed to be the best poutine in the city and if we can’t dine at Toqué! then you better believe I’m getting you the next best thing.”

“Dine” Louis scoffs, mocking Nick. “You should consider yourself lucky that I’ve stuck around this long.”

Nick rotates his phone in his hand, looks up in confusion across the street, then back at Louis. “It’s right here, your highness,” he says, pointing to a neon monstrosity. “You can stop being an ass and come have a nice dinner with me or you can find your own dinner.”

At this point he’s coming close to eating his own shoe, but poutine will do. 

Spinning on his heel, Nick waits at the crosswalk. Louis follows. Because he really is quite hungry, as much as he needs a break from Nick after the extended car ride.

They get settled in their booth, and Nick orders for them both–something Louis normally finds charming in an old-fashioned, stupid, sort of way. But this time it sets off another flair of annoyance. 

Nick plasters on his fakest smile when the waitress walks away. “Not exactly plan A, but this isn’t too bad.” The whole ‘fake it ‘til you make it’ thing normally works. 

But not tonight.

“It’s shit, Nick.” It’s louder and more biting than Louis truly intends, and Nick rears back. 

Instead of coming back with another cutting barb, Nick clenches his jaw. He’s been so much better at relaxing his jaw–where he carries stress–and his headaches have mostly disappeared. Louis waits another moment. But Nick’s resolute, staring out the window, unblinking. 

The noise of the restaurant, glasses clinking and loud belly laughs and the group of co-eds cheering for the Habs playing on TV mounted on the corner, washes over Louis as he and Nick sit in silence.

When the waitress returns with their drinks, Nick gives her an easy smile, then avoids Louis’ eyes as he drinks half his pint in one go. 

“Easy,” Louis says, softly. 

Nick’s jaw clenches again, the bone pushing out against his skin. He looks up at the TV then, keeps his eyes locked on the screen, even though he’s never watched a minute of hockey before.

And Louis knows he’s been a little shit. It’s not like it’s brand new information that he acts out when frustrated; Nick’s been with him for five years, and now, officially, married for one. Nick’s not expecting an apology, Louis knows that. It’s well documented between the two, Louis’ complete inability to admit when he’s wrong, or has crossed the line. Louis’ working on it. He is. He just… it’s easier, sliding back into their old patterns. Letting time pass, letting them cool off, until they tentatively, gently, return to their normal. 

But it’s their anniversary. And Nick really did plan this whole thing for them and it’s probably not entirely Nick’s fault that they were caught up at the border. Louis’ even willing to admit–to himself–that had he actually packed the night before, like Nick suggested, and not waited until after they were supposed to have already left to figure out what he wanted to wear all weekend, that the trip probably would’ve gone a little, a lot, smoother. 

Louis wants to smooth his thumb over the stubble covering Nick’s sharp jawline. But Nick’s across the table and still not looking in Louis’ direction and Louis’ not sure how to close this gap between them, tonight. He picks at his napkin.

The waitress gets another bright smile from Nick as she slides the bowls of fries covered in gravy and blobs of… cheese? in front of them. Louis pokes at it with his fork. 

“Cheese curds,” Nick says, reading Louis’ mind. 

“What the fuck are cheese curds?”

Nick blinks twice, then rolls his eyes and digs in. 

Louis honestly hadn’t meant it that way–accusatory and grossed out. He has no idea what cheese curds are or why they’re on top of fries and gravy.

But it’s got to be better than shoe leather, so he shoves a heaping bite into his mouth.

It’s salty and has a bit of spice and the cheese curds have a spring to them which contrasts with the softness of the fries and the whole thing is fucking delicious. 

A few bites in, and he’s already feeling better, his mind’s hunger-fog clears, the anger disappears, he sits up straighter and has another bite. Nick’s still hunched over, head down, and won’t raise his eyes to meet Louis’. 

It’s his fault Nick’s not enjoying this meal he had so looked forward to, and as the rest of his brain and emotions go back to status quo, the guilt eats at him. 

He kicks Nick gently, without a fully formed plan. Nick looks up, confused. Louis smiles, and the one Nick returns is half-hearted at best. He might be shit at apologies and acting like a grown-ass man, but he is pretty good at making Nick laugh.

He reaches across the table and rubs at Nick’s fist around his near-empty pint glass. Nick looks up again, and Louis gives a forkful of poutine a lip-smacking kiss. “It’s delicious,” Louis says, before shoving it in his mouth. 

“Told ‘ya.” There’s a bare hint of a smile there, and it’s possible Louis can salvage the night. 

Now that he’s got Nick’s attention back, he really lays into it, over-exaggeratedly making out with another forkful, eyes closed, tongue wagging, until he hears a snort of laughter. Then he eats it, and picks up another forkful to repeat the process, until he gets a peal of laughter. 

After he swallows the last bite he can possibly eat, he licks his lips again, then has a few sips of his beer to wash down the saltiness. He inhales deeply, slowly exhales, then takes Nick’s hands in his, across the table.

“Thank you, dinner was amazing.”

Nick nods, a sheepish smile on his face, and his cheeks flushed. 

“Nick,” Louis says, then bites his lip as he tells himself just to say it. “I’m sorry I was such a dickhead today and ruined our anniversary.”

Nick tilts his head and through his giant smile he lets out a huge burst of laughter. “Holy shit. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“You absolutely deserve better but since for some reason I’m the lucky fuck you ended up choosing, I’m going to do better by you. I promise. I’ve got the rest of our lives to prove it to you.”

Nick squeezed Louis’ hands. “I’m looking forward to it.”

[send me a ship and a number, I’ll write a kiss]

[airyravenmaid]

Lightning Never Strikes Twice

Well, I fuckin’ did it. After much convincing from a certain Lightis server I joined like last month, I finally decided to post this and the other thing I wrote. However, to clear up any confusion, I must let you all know that though NoctLight obviously happens in my Versus XV AU, dem nerds were in no way love at first sight (which doesn’t even exist anyways lol). In fact, things didn’t start picking up until like super late Chapter 5, then went from there (for better and worse; this is centered around XV’s storyline after all XD), but this takes place during the beginning of Chapter 3 where Light first joins the team, so blah.

But, okay, since that’s finally out of the way, here’s where it all began for this Wonderland of a little sub-universe I created from two FF games I so happen to enjoy combined together. I can only hope you guys like this piece too, and I can very highly consider publishing the other thing I wrote. Happy reading; have lots of fun doing so! 💘

“A prince? You’re asking me to help escort… a prince.”

“I wouldn’t exactly say ‘escort’. What I’m asking you to do is more to accompany him and his retinue until they reach Altissia.”

“Why me of all people? And if they’ve been gone for a while, don’t you think they’re fine on their own?”

“Believe me, I know they are. But after… recent events here in Insomnia, there’s no such thing as being too careful.” Out came a peach colored folder full of photos and official documents, all on her and basic history she was sure a certain ‘new world creation phenomenon’ had preserved and written in for public records even in its neighboring dimension. No other explanation served, so she continued to listen intently with reluctance swallowed. “Says here you’ve had quite a bit of military history as the sergeant of something called the ‘Guardian Corps’?”

“Correct. Since my teenage years.”

“And your superior officer was a man named Amodar?”

“Lieutenant Amodar. That’s right.”

“I see. Keep in mind, I wouldn’t hire just any old nobody off the streets to do the job. Looking it over very carefully a few times, someone with your experience looks to be the right fit. Question is, can you actually do it?”

“Doesn’t matter if someone can or can’t. Some things in life you just do.”

Taking that as a firm agreement, the man known infamously as “The Immortal” closed the folder of the former soldier’s documents and officially sealed her new mission. With everything said that needed to be, directions to the next train stopping near her destination in Duscae, and a formal salute, she was off carrying the needed profiles of the four men she was to meet. He himself at the time needed to leave for a checkpoint in a place known as “Hammerhead”, so when her part of the deal was to come, she’d be ready as she ever would for it.

Or so Lightning so wanted to believe. Truth of the matter was, this new mission she sorely hoped would be her absolute final one was the dead last thing on her mind. From the whole Purge travesty with the long-abolished Sanctum that inadvertently turned her into a “dreaded” l’Cie to waking up from a crystal slumber after five whole centuries only to have thirteen days total to save her loved ones and others from impending doom, to say she was sick and tired of fighting for her life was an unfunny understatement.

But, the forces of fate she lived to fight were, as usual, on the opposing side. Because there she found herself; slumped against the window of her train seat wearing the outfit she’d long dubbed the “Heartstealer” from her first times wearing it, even further away from her new home with the loved ones she once again had to leave behind for the time being. Promises made to come back after her “short trip” she vowed to keep at all costs. And no spoiled little prince or his merry band of bodyguards was going to get in the way of her own decisions.

“Next stop, Alstor!” the conductor announced, the train pulling up at the closest station to where Lightning was asked it go. It’d still be a walk away from the actual spot, but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t manage.

‘Where did Cor tell me to go again?’ Lightning wondered in her thoughts, looking at the specific directions given. ‘The “Coernix Station”? Doesn’t sound like much of a waiting area.’

Looking around her while figuring out which way to go after what, Lightning seemed to truly take in how alien the place felt to her. It wasn’t at all like anything she’d experienced years ago back on Cocoon, or even the short time she spent journeying in Nova Chrysalia. No, the Duscae region itself had more of a… retro, much simpler feeling to it. But, whatever it looked like, she had more important things to do than sightsee a place she never intended on seeing again for the rest of her life after she was done.

“Still seems like quite a walk,” Lightning commented, glancing up at the frontmost direction to see no leads on the station. “Best take a shortcut so nobody shows up to a missing recruit. What’s…? ‘Alstor Slough’, huh? I’ll just cut through that.”

Rolling up her navigating directions, Lightning took a turn that led her right along a path going through a grassy area full of pinkish wooden plants growing out from the bristled plains. So long as she stayed on that one path and went the right way, nothing could go wrong for the armed former soldier. Staying on guard was second nature to her, so any mysterious creatures lurking around would have to deal with her first and foremost.

And as if taking heed of a secret cue, the first unlucky volunteers caught sight of her and stepped forward. Well, Lightning wouldn’t say so much stepped as she would a group of pale, sickly-looking mutant wolf-like creatures with teeth sharper than her own blade charging her way.

“Your funeral, not mine,” Lightning stated, unsheathing Blazefire Saber from the case strapped to her body. In the blink of an eye, the gunblade unfolded itself into its sword form, giving its owner the okay to run at the first of the strange creatures to cut right through it.

Lightning didn’t have any sort of clue what she was fighting, but she cared just as little at the same time. The wolf-like mutants in spite of their ferocious appearances didn’t seem to be putting up much of a fight either, considering how easily the woman was cutting through them like a hot knife against cold butter. One tried so foolishly to take her down from behind, only to be silenced by Lightning whipping around and firing a strategic bullet out of her weapon’s giant pistol mode before it unfolded back into a blade to effortlessly take down its brethren.

With one remaining in sight, the beast lunged to try and take a fatal bite of her. Instead of any sort of flesh or muscle, however, it stopped rigged in its tracks when it received a unpleasant mouthful of sword cutting right through the back of its head. Lightning ripped her weapon from the creature, giving it one more cautious slash to ensure it’d truly died. Now surrounded by lifeless carcasses of the pack, Lightning folded Blazefire Saber back into a gun and resheathed it, walking along her way as if uninterrupted.

“Not much of a fight,” she commented, brushing herself free of dust or dirt. “Here’s to hoping the other creatures here are smarter than them.”

Throughout the rest of her trek, Lightning only somewhat got her wish. As she’d consciously expected, more of the same beast tried to make a meal of her, but she valiantly cut her path open again going through each one. By her arrival even closer to her goal than before, Lightning was looking rather scuffed up. It wasn’t anywhere near as bad as fights she’d been more used to, but there was still hoping the Coernix Station had some refreshments to give her more of a boost.

‘Here we are,’ Lightning thought, walking uphill and crossing over to the actual rest area across the road. Her stomach growled a few more steps in, the woman knowing better than to ignore hunger and risk collapsing in the most unorthodox way possible. “Let’s see what’s at that ‘Crow’s Nest’ place.”

“Welcome, Miss!” a man she assumed to be the diner’s cook greeted her once she sat down at the bar. “What can I get for ya today?”

Lightning looked up at the menu and its three most prominent choices being promoted. Fries and salmon anybody with a brain could recognize, but the beverage and names of all the choices were absolutely alien to her. “Are you… ‘Kenny’?”

“Who, me? No! The food here’s just named after our mascot, Kenny Crow! I’m sure you’ve heard of him, haven’t you?”

“Kenny who?”

“Oh. A foreigner, are ya? That’s okay, everyone has their first time to the Crow’s Nest at one point! What would you like?”

“A plate of ‘Kenny’s fries’ will do. And a bottle of… Jetty’s? Do you have a mascot named Jetty too?”

“Nah, that’s just the name of Kenny Crow’s trademark mineral water! It’s good, you wanna try some?”

“Sure. A bottle of that too’s good.”

“Comin’ right up!”

As good as the salmon looked, Lightning only had so much Gil on her to spend at the moment, so spending 1,400 of it on a plate of cooked fish wasn’t a smart option. Instead, she paid the 200 Gil owed for her fries and water and waited patiently until both showed up. Since she was able to enjoy the meal, now all that remained for Lightning was for the “royal retinue” to show up and pick her up for the mission. Joy, she thought without a hint of it in her head. Travelling with strangers she didn’t know or care about in an unfamiliar world. Etro knows what could await her then.

The fries digesting in her gut replenished plenty of energy lost fighting monsters in the infested plains, and the quarter-consumed Jetty’s water bottle helped a plenty. While checking out the “Shop & Café” next door to see if she needed anything from it, Lightning saw an unfamiliar, sleek fancy black car parked in front of where others like it would sit to refill its tank. She would have thought nothing of it, were it not for the four young gentlemen in black clothing close to her (physical; how old she really was as a result of her awakening from stasis was something between only her and her loved ones back home) age range inadvertently proving themselves as the owners of said vehicle.

From the shop window, Lightning picked up on all four faces, opening the documenting profiles she was given on one of the small white tables in the shop. Looking between the clear headshots and the men outside, she had a match. Before being given the chance to pack the documents up, she heard a voice belonging to one of them speak up and get closer to her proximity.

“—Here we are! Finally meeting ex-sergeant Lightning Farron!” the rather perky voice chirped, its source a scrawny spiky-haired, blue-eyed blond with youthful freckles and a weird section of flannel hanging out from under his top. “Man, I’d bet he’s this tall, burly, really hairy fella— probably something like Gladio, but even more gruff than that!” He took a look into the shop she was in, catching the sight of her but not yet fully processing reality. “Yeah, and he’s gotta be really strong with his petite figure; soft, luscious lips pink like the rose, breathtakingly alluring blue eyes, wavy pink hair, and—!” The wide-eyed look on his face quickly informed Lightning the realization struck him quicker than her moniker. “—Is actually an extremely beautiful woman?!”

“Run that by me again?” Lightning questioned, folding her arms and cocking her head to the side.

“Err, uhhh… I—”

Another man stepped in before the first could snap fully out of his stupor, this one taller and more mature looking with slicked up auburn hair and viridescent eyes able to properly see through oval-shaped glasses. He saw her too, only holding up information given to him prior to see if it was right. “‘Lightning Farron’?”

“Who wants to know?” Lightning asked, ever-rigid towards the man with the befittingly fancy accent.

“Ignis S. Scientia, advisor to the Prince of Lucis. I trust you’ve been informed of us by a one Cor Leonis?”

Okay, at least she could be sure they were definitely the right people, now by physical appearance and name in the profiles. “Oh. So, you have to be the ‘royal retinue’ I’ve been put on the escort mission with. In that case, yes.” Lightning gave Ignis a formal salute of honor to show courtesy, not minding his stoic expression not moving an inch from its default form. She ignored the blond examining her at several angles, dismissive of whatever was going on in his head. “Former Sergeant Lightning Farron, at your service, Ignis Scientia. A pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Farron.” Ignis on the other hand gave her a formal half-bow, already on her civil side with his polite first impression.

“Uhhh… huh,” the blond one stuttered, unable to fully digest Lightning’s physical form as if she were some ethereal goddess walking among the mortal realm.

“...Can I help you?” Lightning half-hissed, already running low on patience for that one’s brainless nonsense.

“Don’t mind Prompto, he gets easily befuddled meeting new young women,” Ignis warned her. “Come with me. You might as well make yourself more acquainted with the other two while you’re at it.”

Following Ignis with the one named Prompto not too far behind, Lightning saw only one of the missing two men she had yet to meet. This one she figured to be the tallest, the incredibly muscular build pairing well with the gruff long dark chestnut mullet hairstyle and noticeable scar running down one of his rust-colored eyes. Well put together as he was, Lightning remained unaffected by physical appearance alone, though her hands now rested on her hips with the profiles in her grasp rather than be folded in her stubborn arms.

“And who’s this here, Iggy? Don’t think I’ve ever seen this one around these parts before,” the tall and muscular one mentioned, his tone giving off hints of a flirty vibe.

“Our newest recruit for the journey’s course,” Ignis answered.

“Really? You’re Sergeant Farron, huh?” Now his eyes were on her, almost as carefully as Prompto’s were but a lot less clumsy.

“That’s me.” Lightning skimmed through the files until she found a match on the burly one’s features. “‘Gladiolus Amicitia’, I assume?”

“King’s Shield in the flesh. But, calling me just ‘Gladio’ is perfectly fine. Gotta say, wasn’t expecting such a pretty face like yours to go with a name like ‘Lightning’.”

“Is that supposed to mean something?”

“Nah. Cor recruited you for a reason, so you’ve gotta have lots of fighting spirit in ya. Otherwise, the Marshal wouldn’t have even considered you.”

“Experience, I’ve got. ‘Fighting spirit’, on the other hand, is what I’m not allowed to get rid of nowadays.” Lightning unveiled Blazefire Saber, flicking her wrist forward to unfold it into its sword form to both the awe of Gladio and Prompto, and the intrigue of Ignis. “So long as I’ve got this by my side, I’m stuck in the battlefield once again.”

“Some sword you got there, Sarge. A little small if you ask me, though.”

“And why’s it have a trigger?” Prompto wondered, running a finger over the rim until Lightning pulled her gunblade away from his reach. “Just for decor?”

“No, that’s real. When I don’t wanna use the blade, I just shoot my targets.”

Prompto let out a loud gasp of excitement at the revelation, starry eyes now glued to Blazefire Saber. “You use guns too?! Ooh, ooh! Show us a demonstration?! Pleeeease?”

“Rather not. Wouldn’t wanna cause a scene at such a little rest stop.” She folded it back and put it away while Prompto’s face fell disappointed. “It’ll be worth the wait once we get moving.”

“That is, as soon as His Highness comes back. He should be just about finishing up his talk with the Crow’s Nest owner momentarily,” Ignis guessed. “Seems a friend of ours required our assistance, and Noct’s asking for directions on where to find the missing dog tags.”

“As in the one for pets, or the one for soldiers?”

“The second one,” Gladio answered. “I’m sure you’ve had some when you were in the line of duty where you’re from, right?”

Before Lightning could answer the question, footsteps approached the group. Turning her head, she’d found the last of the retinue; the Lucian Prince himself. His photo seemed to add up with his appearance; messily spiked hair blacker than the night sky, eyes a shade of navy blue as modest as his current expression. For royalty, Lightning figured, he certainly didn’t dress the part. How he acted, however, was beyond her knowledge and concern for the time being.

“Hi there,” he greeted her politely. “Guys, who’s this?”

“This, Noctis, would be the team’s latest addition that Cor informed us of,” Ignis told him, the prince’s face shifting to a noticeable disappointment at the news. “I’d like for you to meet former Sergeant Lightning Farron.”

“Oh. So this is who’s joining the team the rest of the way? That’s… great.” You’d have to be deaf to not hear the blatant malcontent in Noctis’ tone, especially so when he looked at Lightning.

“I know, right?!” Prompto cheered, he himself elated at the woman’s presence in stark contrast to his standoffish best friend. “Dude! Her weapon? It’s a gun and a sword all in one! It’s like the 2-in-1 of weapons! You should see it!”

Noctis didn’t seem to entirely believe such a silly claim, merely accepting it as the other boy’s typical excitement at whatever. “Thanks, Prompto, but I’ll have to pass. Alright, and you’re ‘Sergeant Farron’, then?”

“The one and only.” Lightning pulled out His Highness’ profile, looking over his name with a raised pink brow. “‘Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum CXIV’. Who has their home as their middle name? You don’t see my name being ‘Lightning Bodhum Farron’ or anything like that.” Then again, Fang and Vanille were two exceptions to that, but even that was based more on Oerban culture than nobility.

“You didn’t exactly see me asking for your help either, and yet here we are.”

“Wow, Princess, mind telling me what just crawled up your ass and died?” Gladio scolded, as taken aback as the other two by Noctis’ snarky comment towards the equivalent of a new guest.

“Recently? A lot of things including my home town,” Noctis bit back. “Look, it’s nothing personal towards someone I don’t even know, but you heard Cor; he didn’t have a reason to worry about us anymore.”

“Him not being worried does not equate to rejecting another pair of hands to ease what lies ahead for us,” Ignis reminded him. “Someone with Lightning’s militant combat experience wouldn’t be anything except highly beneficial.”

“Yeah, so quit acting like a rude little punk in front of the new girl and suck it up,” Gladio growled. “‘Cause from here on out, you’re stuck with her.”

“It’s not my problem on whether or not he wants my help,” Lightning clarified to the elder two of the group, her frigid teal eyes making full contact with Noctis’ cooled midnight ones. “Frankly, Your Highness, you’re not the only one who wishes I wasn’t here right now. But, I still have a mission to complete. So, here’s the deal: we go to Altissia and back to settle what you need to, then after, we part ways forever as if you never even met me. Sound fair?”

“Fine by me,” Noctis agreed, shrugging indifferently.

“It’s fine by me too. Now, quit complaining.”

“Great start,” Gladio sighed sarcastically, not looking forward to any possible future discord between one of his best friends and the ex-soldier.

Lightning waved off Noctis getting inside the car, turning her attention to Prompto still inspecting her like she was some sort of murder suspect. “Okay, what’s with you? If you’re not gonna actually ask me something, then take a picture. It’ll last longer.” FLASH! “...Were you seriously waiting for me to say that just to do it for real?”

“Not exactly, but why pass up such a nice photo op anyways?” Prompto wondered, looking at the new photo of the scowling, but otherwise elegant-looking Lightning taken on his camera. “Wow! You are really photogenic! Of course, I wasn’t exactly expecting you to be a girl in the first place, but either way, it’s a good kind of surprise.”

“You didn’t know I was a girl? How?”

“Well, when I heard we’re joining up with someone named ‘Lightning’, I kinda figured you were… a guy? You don’t hear about a lot of girls called that, anyways.” Prompto had his hands up, Lightning’s scowl giving him the impression she was going to react poorly if he didn’t think his words through well enough. “It’s not a bad thing! Boy or girl, we’re really happy to have you aboard!”

“Most of us, anyways,” Ignis corrected, glancing over at Noctis’ apathetic expression as the prince could only be thinking of how much he didn’t want the extra help from anybody.

“Tomato, tomahto, Igster! Give Noct a little time and he might consider lightning up.”

“Prompto, we haven’t even gotten back on the road yet,” Gladio warned with disdain. “Don’t make Lightning already regret having to travel with us.”

‘Wouldn’t say he’s made me do something that’s already there,’ Lightning scoffed internally, flipping to the last profile. “‘Prompto Argentum’, huh?”

“You got it! My name can mean ‘quicksilver’ if you put it together. So, you could say I’m about as fast as ‘lightning’ myself. Coincidence?”

“More like a cruel irony.” Lightning rolled her eyes openly at Prompto’s flirty comment, but the boy didn’t let up all that much.

“Oooh, so witteh. I can tell you’re gonna do just fine with us!”

The honk of the Regalia’s horn courtesy of Ignis in the driver’s seat cut their conversation even shorter, Prompto hopping into the middle seat next to Gladio in the back. Lightning seemed lost in thought while ensuring everything was with her and accounted for. Once she left that station with the other four, Etro knew how long it’d be until she was finally free to go and be back alongside her actual loved ones she’d worked so hard to have a happy ending with after 500 years worth of utter Hell. That in itself would have to wait; for now, there was one last important task she had to put up with and earn herself a peaceful start over for real.

“Come on, new girl! We don’t wanna hit traffic!” Prompto called out to her, waving his hand high to get her attention.

“Be right there,” Lightning sighed, getting into the leftmost backseat behind the driver’s one and buckling in next to Prompto. “So, what’s our first order of business?”

“We’re meeting up with my sister, Iris, in Lestallum,” Gladio said. “She thankfully made it out okay from the attack on Insomnia.”

“But, she didn’t say to come right away! Just when we’re able to get there,” Prompto stated as the Regalia finally drove away from the Alstor Coernix Station and onto the road. “And word on the street is there’s a Chocobo Ranch not too far away from here! Wouldn’t hurt to check that out, would it?”

“There’s no time for that. Lestallum first, chocobos later,” Gladio retorted, far too concerned about his younger sister to agree to partake in a casual visit just yet.

“Maybe we’ll be able to do both,” Noctis suggested. “But whatever’s the most possible right now is what’s first.”

“Never thought visiting chocobos would be one of the choices,” Lightning commented, already dreading where things possibly might go if they stop at the ranch despite she herself liking the creatures just fine.

“There’s never a wrong time to ride some chocobos. Can’t really blame Prompto for wanting to see the ranch; the big things are pretty cute!” That had to have been the first time Lightning heard Noctis’ voice go up an octave from excitement in her presence, something that surely wouldn’t last next time he was to have an actual conversation with her. “I kinda hope we do stop there first just to see and maybe ride a few.”

‘Nice to see our priorities are where they should be,’ Lightning sarcastically commented in her mind, leaning with her elbow propped on the roofless side window as the road wind blew parts of her roseate hair backwards. “Day one…”

Staring out from the car at her surroundings, Lightning recognized the Alstor Slough, having been the only area she’d actually been in on the current route. Aside from that, no place she’d been in long enough compared to the world she was in now. It went without saying that Lightning was definitely not in Nova Chrysalia (or the long-felled Cocoon, but at least her birthplace didn’t have anything comparable to Eos like her closest bet with the former world’s Gothic city of Luxerion) anymore.

If it was going to be a while before she contacted the others at home outside of digital communication, then it was about time the ex-Guardian Corps soldier made do until her awaited mission completion arrived to finally let her rest. In no way did she approve of it in the first place, but as she was used to: mandatory duty was mandatory duty, regardless of her exact feelings on the matter.

[consilium-games]

A Rambling and Brain-Fried Post on Hermeneutics

It's a godless and blighted hour (11AM) as I write this, and scheduling heartache has left me swirly-eyed and sleep-deprived. Lately I've absorbed a pretty specific combination of media that's led me to think dazedly about hermeneutics, basically "systems of interpretation of a work of media" such as stories. And in light of my past couple games, and a game whose premise I haven't finished chewing on, I think getting some thoughts down (and maybe even some discussion?!) might help someone. I don't know, maybe me?

Inciting Events

By now anyone reading this has heard of Undertale. Spoilers happen here. The creator of Undertale recently released a . . . possibly-related videogame called Deltarune. I say possibly related with good reason, and I don't intend to directly spoil the game as it just came out, but it gave me interesting questions about narrative interpretation--hermeneutics--more generally. I also will probably talk a bit about Doki Doki Literature Club! which you might not have encountered or played. Some high-level spoilers will occur. This post will contain zero 'fan theories', as that has nothing to do with my game-design beat--rather, academic theories on "how do people approach interpreting stories" has a lot to do with my pretentious narrativist game-design ethos!

Also of note, I've watched a playthrough of a videogame called Witch's House, and without spoiling that, it struck me that one of the puzzles will behave drastically differently, depending on whether the player reads one of the ubiquitous hints. Meaning, not only do the hints constitute a mechanic, but discerning how to trust hints becomes a game objective. And further, since "reading a hint" is an in-game action, but recalling a hint is not, the game may behave unpredictably to the player who reads a hint, doesn't save, dies, and reloads--and doesn't read the hint again.

Lastly, I've revisited some analyses of Don't Hug Me I'm Scared, and it put me in mind of discussions about This House Has People In It and The Cry of Mann, and in particular: discussions about those discussions, arguments about how presenting interpretations can color people's formed interpretations. And last warning, I'm still pretty brain-fried, I'll blame that if I end up rambling incoherently.

Setting Out

There's a lot of literature about literature, and literature about literature about literature. Perhaps some day people will spill ink about ink than anything else. Fortunately, we haven't yet entered a boundless singularity of self-referentiality. So I can afford to stake out a couple terms I expect I'll mutter:

hermeneutic: a specific approach, strategy, or philosophy to understanding a work. This can be totally informal ("Christian songs are easy to write, just take a pop song and replace 'baby' with 'Jesus'") or very rigorous ("Derrida's analysis of identity puts it to blame for religious and nationalist fanaticism"), but just treat it as technical shorthand for "approach to understanding a thing".

auteur theory: mostly used in film analysis, in our backyard it means "the author of a work arbitrates its meaning". So, eg Stephen King can definitively and canonically say "Leland Gaunt is an extradimensional alien, not Satan, the Adversary and the Prince of Darkness, from orthodox Christianity". And if King says this, that makes it true and the audience should understand Needful Things in light of this fact King told us with his mouth but not with his story.

Death of the Author: by contrast, 'Death of the Author' means that once a work has an audience (the creator published it, or put it on Steam, or hit Send on Twitter, or just played a song on their porch), the audience has liberty to interpret it however they please, and the creator's word about What It Means has no more weight than the audience. Which would mean that if King tells us Leland Gaunt is an alien, and Needful Things is closer to Lovecraft than King James, that's cool--it's a neat theory, Steve, but I think it's about . . . (Note: I don't know if King has made this claim, but Needful Things does have a few weird neat textual indications that Gaunt is some kind of Cthulhu and not the Lightbringer.)

code-switching: technically from linguistics, borrowed into social sciences, in this post it means a creator of a work putting something into the work that implicitly or explicitly prompts the audience to consciously alter or monitor their interpretation. As a very simple example, suppose someone says with a straight face and deadpan delivery, "I'm a law-abiding citizen who supports truth, justice, and The American Way." Now, suppose they make air-quotes around 'law-abiding'--it rather changes the meaning, by prompting the audience to reinterpret the literal wording.

Okay, I . . . think that'll do. So hi, I'm consilium, and as a goth game designer it should come as no surprise that I like my authors with some degree of living-impairment. Interpreting a text has an element of creativity to it that the creator simply can't contribute on the audience's behalf. More than that though, there just seems something off about the idea that, say, a reader of Needful Things might read about Sheriff Alan Pangborn, and interpret the specific way he defeats Leland Gaunt as allegorical of how cultivating creativity, community, and empathy can help prevent the dehumanization of consumerism and capitalism--only for King to say "no, Alan was just a parallel-universe avatar of the Gunslinger and thus could defeat Gaunt, who was just an extradimensional eldritch predator". If King were to say such a thing after audiences have gotten to know and love Alan on the terms presented in the text, and King were to come back with "maybe that's what I said but that's not what I meant"--my response would have to be a cordial "interesting theory, but it doesn't seem supported by the text".

So, I generally like Death of the Author! But . . . but. I've taken to gnawing on this idea in this game-design blog because--of course--It's More Complicated Than That. Roleplaying games as a medium work about as differently from other media as, say, sculpture and songwriting. And despite essentially just putting bells and whistles and protocol on top of possibly the oldest human artistic medium--storytelling--RPGs have a lot of weirdness they introduce for analysis and critique.

For example, my reservations on Death of the Author! Specifically: taking "in-character, in-game events and narration" as the work of interest, and "the other players at the table" as the audience, what happens when you describe your character Doing Something Cool--based on a mistake? We need a teeny bit of "creator as arbitrator of meaning", so we can at least say, literally, "oh, no, that's not what I meant"! Otherwise, the other players' "freedom of interpretation" leads to your character doing something nonsensical and now they have to have their characters respond--they have a worse work to create within.

This gets at something pretty foundational in treating RPG stories as art: almost any other medium has a creator create a work as a finished thing, and only then does an audience ever interpret it. Whether plural creators collaborate or not, whether the work exists as apocryphal oral tradition and mutates through telling, whether some audience members take it up as their own with flourishes (such as with a joke), there still exists this two-stage process of "author creates" and then "audience interprets". Except in stories within roleplaying games as generally practiced.

In RPGs, the creators almost always constitute the entire audience (I'll ignore things like "RPG podcasts" and novelizations of someone's DnD campaign here, as they make up a vanishingly tiny minority). The audience of the work not only creates it though--they experience the work almost entirely before you could ever call the work 'completed'. Even if we falsely grant that every game concludes on purpose rather than just kinda petering out because people get bored, leave college, have other things to do, or whatever else killed your last game, players experience the story in installments that don't exist until the end of the session. So "interpretation" gets . . . weird.

Basic Hermeneutics

On a surface level, the story of an RPG usually doesn't demand a lot of depth and analysis: some protagonists, inciting incident, various conflicts, faffing about as the PCs fail to get the hint, some amusing or tense or infuriating whiffs and failures along the way, and charitably, some kind of resolution to the main conflict and dramatic and character arcs. Usually metaphors tend to be explained straight up ("my character's ability to 'blur' things reflects her own weak personal boundaries and over-empathization"), and motifs often even moreso ("guys, seriously, what happens every single time your characters see spiders?"). A lot of this comes from necessity of that very immediate, improvised, as-we-go nature of the medium! You have to make sure your audience gets what you intend them to get--because in mere seconds they'll create some more story that depends on the bit of story you just created. And back and forth.

But, quite without realizing it or meaning to, we can't really help but inject other chunks of meaning into stories we help create. Maybe even chunks of meaning that contradict others' contributions at the table. Spoiler alert: I do not have a theory or framework to address this. The Queen Smiles kind of digs into this, but this goes beyond my current depth. So, what can we conjecture or say, what scaffolding could we build, to build a more robust "literary theory of game stories"? I have some basics as I see them:

Auteur theory (creator arbitrates meaning)

This can only apply to one player's contributions, not across plural players.

Necessary, for both basic clarification and because perfectly conveying the ~*~intended meaning~*~ frankly just doesn't work as a thing you can do off the top of your head when your turn comes to say what your character does.

GMs (where applicable) shouldn't use this to defend poor description or ill-considered presentation of "cool things for PCs to care about and cool things to do about it"--just because the GM intended the cop to be sympathetic doesn't make him so, and if he's not sympathetic . . . the protagonists will not treat him so.

Dead authors (freedom of interpretation)

Players can try this out on their own characters, and should, but should ask other players about their characters if something seems odd, confusing, intriguing, or otherwise. "You keep making a point of meticulously describing your character's weird nervous tic. The exact same way every time. How come? What's it mean?"

Players of course can answer engagement like this any way they please, including stabbing themselves with the quill: "you figure it out, if your character were to ask mine, mine would supply her answer which I may or may not know".

GMs (where applicable) should really lean on this: improvise, throw ideas and themes at the wall, and frantically build on top of the audience's ideas, since those ideas clearly resonate with the audience.

Code-switching (deliberately modifying interpretation)

We all do this all the time: the dragon is not telling you to roll for your attack, after all. The GM is, by switching between narrating the world, and communicating with a player.

More subtly we do this when switching between "what our character believes" and "what we players reasonably expect". Your costumed superhero might think of herself as righteous vengeance incarnate, but you hope everyone at the table knows you think she's conceited and delusional at best, and a full-bore psychopath at worst. This hopefully doesn't mean you play your psychopath superhero any less sincerely, but it does require a bit of ironic detachment, you know something about her that she can't know about herself (beyond that she's a fictional character, of course).

Even more subtly, sometimes weird game interactions (of the rules, other PCs, other players) imply things we wish they wouldn't, but can't quite control, and often everyone knows this. "Why can't you muster up your courage one more time?!" "Because I ran out of Fate points," your character doesn't say. Instead, your fellow authors share a look over the table, and gingerly tiptoe around an obvious, character-appropriate thing, and seize on some other thing to say or do, hopefully just as obvious and character-appropriate. But, everyone switched codes, from "characters doing things for reasons" to "the rules inform our story, and we follow them because they help".

Prepaid analysis (game-specific themes or arcs)

A lot of games have some baked-in themes right off the shelf, and provide good starting points and directions of inqury for interpreting a story born out of playing them. Monsterhearts deals with teenage cruelty and queer sexuality. Succession deals with faith, one's place in the world, and how these relate to morality. Bliss Stage tumultuous coming-of-age and taking care of one another, or failing to. If you use eg Lovesick to tell a story that you can't approach or interpret in light of "dangerous, unstable, desperate romantics"--you probably picked the wrong game. You should pick a better game.

Besides these themes, many games also have more abstract ideas--arcs or processes--that they really enshrine. Exalted gives Solars (mythical heroes patterned after ancient folklore) a mechanic called "Limit Break" which mechanically funnels a Solar toward destroying themselves with their own virtue. Likewise, even if you somehow excise Monsterhearts' focus on teenage cruelty and sexuality, you really shouldn't play if you want to avoid social stigma as a theme, because most of the mechanics hinge on it.

We players often deliberately bring in some themes and ideas we'd like to play with, too. "I want to play a character whose determination will be her own undoing--and probably everyone else's." Or even just "I really like themes where physical strength is tragically and stupefyingly unhelpful". Those make for great starting points and prompt good questions to interpret stories!

I know someone with more literary theory and less sleep deprivation could add a few basic givens, but I think this at least goes to show we have ground to stand on and territory to explore. And probably more importantly, it points out some useful kinds of questions we can ask about the story of a game and how to interpret it. So, why did I ever bring up Undertale back there?

Audience Awareness

The following works have something in common: House of Leaves, Funny Games, This House Has People In It, The Cry of Mann, The Shape on the Ground, Undertale, and Deltarune. Besides "being very good", they all explicitly pose the audience as an entity within the story--but, they do it in a very unusual way.

See, the story of a Mario game is about Mario even if the player controls Mario--and though it's a subtle distinction, this also applies to eg Doom, where you play as an explicitly nameless faceless protagonist, intended to be your avatar. Even in the most plot-free abstract game, if we can salvage out a story (if perhaps an extremely degenerate and rudimentary one like 'how this game of chess played out'), the 'story' happily accommodates the audience within it.

That's not how the list I gave does things. Not at all.

Instead, the works I listed single out the audience as something else: in House of Leaves, unreliable narrators call out the unreliable interpreter reading the narrative. In Funny Games, the audience doesn't participate--but the audience watches, and the film knows this, and singles the audience out as complicit in the horrible events that unfold. This House Has People In It casts us as the prying NSA subcontractor watching hours of security footage and reading dozens of e-mails, and makes it clear that even our Panopticon of surveillance doesn't give us a complete account of reality. The Cry of Mann casts us as gibbering voices from an eldritch plane of cosmic horror. The Shape on the Ground poses as a disinterested and clinical psychological test, but it clearly has some ideas about what would lead us to take such a 'test'.

And then there's Undertale and Deltarune. Last warning, I'll say whatever I find convenient about Undertale and probably '''spoil''' something about Deltarune in the process. I do not care.

Hostility to the Audience

If Undertale itself had a personality, one could fairly describe it as "wary of the player": it plays jokes and tricks, but it knows the player is a player, of Undertale, which Undertale also knows is a videogame. It gives you ample chance to have a fun, funny, and sometimes disturbing game, with a lot of tempting and tantalizing unspoken-s hiding juuuust offscreen. But Undertale's point as a work involves giving you the chance to not do that while still, technically, engaging with the game.

Namely, the Genocide Run. By killing literally absolutely every single thing in the game that the game can possibly let you kill, the game very purposely unfolds entirely differently--and on multiple playthroughs, the game will outright take notice of multiple playthroughs, and challenge you for--in effect--torturing the narrative it can deliver by forcing it to deliver every narrative. Let's think about that for a moment:

Most videogames have some kind of excuse of a narrative, and lately, many have really good, nuanced stories to tell--and many of those even go to the (mindbendingly grueling) effort of delivering a plurality of good narratives that honor your agency as a player--maybe even a creator, as best a videogame can with its limitations.

But, what can you say about a story that has multiple endings? Or multiple routes to them? And what can you say about a story that, in some of its branches, simply goes to entirely different places as narratives? It strains the usual literary critical toolkit, to say the least.

Now, a game like Doki Doki Literature Club! approaches this exact same idea of addressing its story as manipulable by the player, of the player as an agent in the story, but in a pretty straightforward way as far as "a narrative that works this way": the narrative already describes "and then the player came along and messed everything up". All of the player's different routes serve this one overarching narrative: the game has an obsessive fixation on you and wants you to play it forever (which, given its nature as (roughly) a visual novel . . . perhaps asks quite a lot).

Undertale takes a step back from even this level of abstraction, though: the implicit and often hidden events of its world and narrative unfold / have unfolded / will unfold, and a given player's "story" consists of "what the player does to this multi-branched narrative-object". The game judges you to your face for contorting its weird timeline-multiple-universe meta-story . . . but lets you do it, to prove the point it wants to prove.

And without much controversy, we can conclude that point roughly summarizes to "playing games just for accomplishment and mastery doesn't give as rewarding an experience as immersing in the story and characters". The subtler point under that, though, comes out through multiple playthroughs: "immersing yourself in a story and cast of characters too much will harm your life and your enjoyment of other things". Undertale, were it a person, would probably look nervously at you after several 'completionist' playthroughs to "see all the content", and it explicitly describes this exact behavior to the player's face as something objectionable--even calling out people who watch someone else play on streams and video hosts.

"Just let it be a story"

Which brings us to Deltarune. I've no doubt dozens of cross-indexed internet-vetted analyses and fan-theories will arise in the next few months (and I look forward to them), but on a once-over the game seems to have one specific thing to say to the player's face: "you are intruding on a story that isn't about you". The game opens with an elaborate character-creator (well, for a retroclone computer RPG), then tells you "discarded, you can't choose who you are, and you can't choose who the character is either". It has fun with giving the player dialog options--then timing out and ignoring the input. It even tells the player in in-game narration that "your choices don't matter". The story itself doesn't even care very much about the player's character, instead hinging on the development and growth of an NPC, following her arc, without much concern for the player's thoughts on the matter. And at the very end, after playing mind-games with the player's familiarity and recognition of Undertale characters--the close does something both inexplicable and disturbing. This is not your story: it's not about you, your choices don't affect it, and it doesn't care what you think.

As an aside, it seems like quite a good game--but I think that comes in part because of this very drastic intent and the skill with which it executes that intent (ie, bluntly at first, subtly enough to almost forget, and then slapping hard enough to prompt a flashback).

And holding this alongside Undertale's stark (even literal) judgment of the player for 'forcing' the narrative to contort to accommodate the player's interaction with that narrative, it seems clear to me that where Doki Doki Literature Club! has fun with the idea of "player as complicit in something gross, and as motivating something cool", Undertale and Deltarune seem much more interested in making the player take an uncomfortable look at how they engage with narratives.

Defensive Hermeneutics

On one hand, Funny Games, The Cry of Mann, and Undertale and Deltarune stare back at the audience, judge them, treat them as an intruding, invading, even corrupting force from outside the work, criticize the audience for enjoying the work, and even call the audience out for engaging in detailed critique, like some kind of cognitive logic-bomb, or a cake laced with just enough ipecac to punish you for eating more than a slice.

But on the other, House of Leaves, This House Has People In It, The Shape on the Ground, and Doki Doki Literature Club all want the audience to participate, to scrutinize, to interact with the narrative and question it, as well as themselves. What does that first camp have in common besides wariness and hostility to the audience, and what does this second camp have in common besides treating the audience as creative of the work's meaning? I'll call it "a defensive hermeneutic".

Notionally, the audience has hermeneutics: ways of understanding a work. But, a creator can't help but have some understanding of the likely mental state and view of a(n imagined) audience, approaching the text in some way. A creator can thus bake in or favorably treat some approaches over others, and can even use this to guide criticism about their work.

That first group, which I'll call "defensive", has one striking common feature: the 'surface level' plots either don't matter, or have very simple outlines. Funny Games' plot is exactly as follows: two psychopaths terrorize, torture, and eventually murder an innocent family. The Cry of Mann shows us what looks a lot like a small child trying to mimic a melodramatic soap-opera, before Things Get Weird (and any extant 'surface level' plot goes under the waves). And Undertale and Deltarune give us the stock "hero appears in strange land, arbitrary puzzle-quests ensue, climactic final confrontation restores peace to the land". This serves as the set-dressing and vehicle for the actual plots--or sometimes simply cognitive messages--to get into the audience's minds:

"What, exactly, do you get out of slasher torture-porn movies? Why do you create the market for things like this?" "Are you sure about where your sense of empathy and identification points you? What makes you think you have a grip on reality enough to judge who's right and relatable, and who isn't?" "Don't just passively consume games like they were kernels of popcorn. But don't gorge yourself on the same dish, either--there's more out there, but you have to look for it."

In short: these works don't want you to nitpick the works themselves. Their entire message consists of second-or-higher-order interpretation. To put it another way, they want to make sure you don't pay attention to the handwriting, because the gaps between the words spell out a poem and the words themselves only create those gaps.

Participatory Hermeneutics

By this same token, I'll call the second camp "participatory": they treat the audience as a kind of creator in their own right--Borges did this a lot and with relish in his later years, and Doki Doki Literature Club! makes it a game mechanic. A creator using this "participatory" hermeneutic essentially doesn't consider their work 'finished' until the audience interprets it. This should sound familiar. The audience contributes meaning to the work, by interpreting it, and a "participatory" work counts on it. And, to contrast with the "defensive" camp: they use complex (sometimes even overcomplicated) plots, which matter and inform interpretation, and tie into the second-order meaning that the work attempts to convey. The "surface level" plots don't solely carry a tangled "interpret this" into the audience's brain. Instead, the surface plot has enough complexity to have a plot-hole, enough character depth to have problematic characters, and enough weight on its own merit to have unappealing implications. In other words: even without convoluted postmodern hoity-toity highfalutin' hermeneutic jibberjabber, a member the audience can find a story they can just enjoy on its merits.

Before anyone angrily starts defending the characters in Undertale or complaining about the directionlessness of This House Has People In It, I hope I've made it really clear, I lumped these works into these two categories based on an overall tendency and commonality, in approaching this one really abstract concept, and as with any work, any binary you can think of will have gradations if you look among "all works, ever". And, even more importantly:

I really love all these works, and I love what they do and how they do it. They all also have flaws, because flawed humans made them, and flawed humans enjoy them. That all said: the "participatory hermeneutic" has everything to offer for my purposes, while the "defensive hermeneutic" . . . might get a post of its own someday.

So What Now?

In aeons past, I wrote about feedback and criticism, and this seems like a good time to dust off that idea with a new application. In particular, that old post talks simply about players (and GMs where applicable) helping each other to contribute their best, and get the most enjoyment out of a game. Here, we'll look at some basic questions players can pose each other as creators of a work, rather than participants of a game or members of an audience.

So let's take that 'player survey' and repurpose it for Dark Humanities and getting a toehold on literary criticism:

Can you describe your approach to your character?

What do you want to convey about your character?

What was one thing you want to make sure we all understand?

How do you interpret my character so far?

What theme or motif do you think our characters express together?

What misconception or misunderstanding would you like to clear up or prevent?

What themes do you want to explore?

And just like the 'player character questionnaire', everyone should update and refine their survey every few sessions. As a given game goes on, for example, you might get to know one of the PCs so well that you never need to worry about "misconceptions or misunderstandings", regarding that character's motivations and personality and thematic implication. But, that character's connection with eg themes of parental abandonment might change, and when that topic comes up, you can devote a question or three just to asking things like "might your character be treating this person as a surrogate mother-figure?" Maybe the player never thought of it that way! Maybe the player thinks that would be a great idea! But neither of you will think about it without pausing a moment to consider things like this.

And once everyone has shared a bit about their characters' themes and clarified everyone else's, you can discuss deliberately pursuing an idea, through your characters. Obviously your characters have no motivation for this, but your characters don't even exist, so they don't have any say in the matter.

For example, cyberpunk naturally deals with corporate oppression, alienation, dehumanization, and technological obsolescence. But, when one PC regularly takes recreational drugs, and baits another into joining them, a third concocts elaborate revenge fantasies, and a fourth picks up broken people like stray cats and tries to parent them into being functional . . .

Maybe they all share a more specific theme of "dysfunctional coping mechanisms". The drug-user is nice and obvious--and their partner joining them in partaking perhaps has a need to belong. The vengeful obsessive might be compensating for feelings of powerlessness and vulnerability by hurting or preparing to hurt others. And the self-styled Good Samaritan and would-be Guardian Angel might be doing the opposite--just as unhealthily.

Importantly, everyone keeps playing their character, the character they made, the character they want to play. But, with some good chewy discussion about story, everyone can also look for spots where, indeed, their character might just so happen to--do something to further this sub-theme of "dysfunctional coping mechanisms", on top of the background of alienation, obsolescence, and dehumanization.

Academic, critical, literary discussion of roleplaying games as games seems like a sadly underexplored subject. But critical discussion of the stories themselves, the ones happening at each table, might as well be completely unknown--so here's hoping someone can build on this!

[mst3kproject]

409: Indestructible Man

Both this movie and last week's MUZ have an appearance by the Angel's Flight Trolley in Los Angeles, which climbs a steep hill and makes the news every ten years or so when somebody dies on it.  They're the only two MST3K movies that show it, and it doesn't actually mean anything that I happened to watch them one after the other.  It's just an interesting coincidence and I thought I'd mention it.  Anyway.

After Charles 'the Butcher' Benton is executed by gas chamber, mad scientist Dr. Bradshaw procures his corpse for an experiment. Exactly what the experiment in question was supposed to do the movie never tells us, but what it actually does is bring Benton back to life as an indestructible killing machine!  He promptly sets out to find and murder the former associates who turned state's evidence on him and sent him to the gas chamber in the first place, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake.  The police investigate this new crime spree, only to find that all the evidence points to the impossible conclusion that the culprit is a man who is already dead!

This could have been a really interesting movie, but it wasn't.  A story about a criminal brought back from the dead could explore ideas about the afterlife, about morality, about what to do with such a rare second chance.  Having a scientific rather than a supernatural motivation for his ressurection could also be cause to examine the biological nature of life and death and its relationship with the spiritual and philosophical meanings we layer onto it.  Indestructible Man doesn't bother with any of that, though.  All it wants to be is the world's cheapest monster movie.  Who needs special effects when you can just zoom in real close on a very sweaty Lon Chaney Jr?

So instead of anything thought-provoking we get a story told to us by dickhead dick Dick Chasen, who does this annoying Dragnet narration to exposit things that could be better delivered by action and dialogue.  He's supposed to be our protagonist but we're never interested in what's happening to him because his situation is never nearly as interesting as Benton's has the potential to be.  I don't think the movie wants us to root for Benton, but we end up feeling like we know him a lot better than we do Chasen, through the simple magic of Show-Don't-Tell.  Chasen's character development is him sitting in a car telling a woman his life story.  The things he's saying aren't particularly interesting, nor is his voice or the visuals that accompany the scene – in fact it's so dull it nearly brought Joel to tears!  Benton, however, actually does things to show us who he is, which is much more powerful even when the character is mute, and the things he does humanize him far more than Chasen's less-than-heartfelt speech about police work.

Chasen's motivation in the movie is to find the missing money – this is just part of his work, and he wants to be thorough.  There's nothing personal riding on it for him, and therefore it's not very compelling.  Benton's motivation is revenge.  He's mad as hell at the three accomplices who squealed on him, and everything he does after his resurrection goes towards the goal of taking them by surprise and making good on his jailhouse revenge threat.  This anger alone constitutes more convincing emotion than Chasen shows in the whole movie.  When Chasen is frustrated, he talks boringly about it. When Benton is frustrated, he breaks necks.  The writers probably figured we'd respect Chasen as somebody who keeps his emotions under control, but Casey Adams is a crummy actor so we just don't believe in those emotions, period.

What makes Benton's revenge plot even more appealing is that his intended victims, Joe, Squeamy, and Lowe, are also terrible people.  For starters, Squeamy and Joe are thieves and killers as well, and before we even meet them we've already learned that they turned on a friend so they wouldn't have to give him his share from their last heist.  The script takes some trouble to drive home that this was shady even by criminal standards – Squeamy is unable to find work as a safe cracker anymore, because others figure that what he did to Benton he's likely to do to them too.  Then there's Lowe, who was supposed to be Benton's attourney but did a half-assed job because Joe and Squeamy bribed him.  He's also firmly in the Douchebag Box.  It's hard not to take a side in this revenge plot, and the side we take is definitively Benton's.

Benton isn't even all bad.  Among the people he does not kill is his ex-girlfriend, Eva Martin.  Indeed, it seems that he cared about her very much, even after she rejected him romantically – enough to leave her a map to the missing money!  I remember when I first saw this episode, I spent the whole movie waiting for Eva to get carried off and need rescue but it didn't happen, and apparently the reason is simply because Benton respects her!  Indeed, he respects her a hell of a lot more than Chasen does – at the end Chasen goes and tells her boss she quit, because he's about to propose to her and doesn't want to give her the option of saying no!  The scene makes it hard to believe that the script was written by two women.

Aside from that one scene, though, writers Vy Russel and Sue Dwiggins also treat Eva with a great deal of respect.  Not only is she never the damsel in distress (in fact, by trying to warn Joe and Squeamy that Benton is still alive, she actually serves a plot purpose outside of falling in love with Chasen!  How about that?), she is not condemned for working at a Burlesque!  She explains how she ended up in that business and that she stays at it because it's a reliable job and she makes good money.  She's on good terms with her co-workers and they support one another when their boss is being a jerk.  I've seen way worse depictions of strippers in much more recent movies.

Now about the title.  I have from time to time taken issue with these movies and their inaccurate or misleading titles. Examples are many and familiar at this point and I shouldn't need to repeat them.  Indestructible Man ends with Charles 'The Butcher' Benton dying all over again, so is its title just another lie?  I am going to say no!  There's a big difference, after all, between 'dead' and 'destructed'.  Benton stays true to his title by being one but not the other!  The cops hit him with a bazooka, which clearly causes him a lot of pain but doesn't leave a mark – his actual death happens by electrocution, which fries his brain but doesn't destroy his body.  So for all that sucks about this ending, I can't actually complain about the title!

What does suck about this ending is that it's a complete accident!  The movie has to end with Benton's death, of course, because even if he's a fairly sympathetic villain he is still definitely the villain of the story.  In a better movie, even a better movie made in the 50's, the process that resurrected Benton ought to have been the key to killing him again – even with Bradshaw and his assistant dead, the police could find his notes and make something of them to destroy the indestructible man.  Instead, however, we get the accident with the gantry and the power cable, which seems like the equivalent of the lightning strike in The Mad Monster or the garbage truck in Blood Feast.  Nobody could figure out how to end the movie properly, so they ended it with a coincidence.  As in those other examples, it feels like cheating.

Back at the beginning of the review I observed that this story could have explored ideas of life and death but didn't.  When I think about it, I suspect it was something that came up during the writing process and was deliberately avoided.  Leaving aside life, the movie doesn't even get very deep into death, which is kind of interesting in itself because it makes Indestructible Man a rather heathen movie.  There is no hint that Benton experienced anything between his death in the gas chamber and his resurrection on Bradshaw's slab, not even anything so cliché as the tunnel of light and the voice telling him his time's not up (or whatever the opposite is for people who are going to hell).  His threat to his associates from death row, that he will get them somehow or other, suggests that he had some kind of premonition he would come back... but this isn't explored either, and might well be empty bluster on Benton's part.

I'm guessing that having been hired to write a silly sci-fi detective movie, Russel and Dwiggins explicitly decided that the story didn't have the time (or the production the money) to get into the metaphysics of the situation.  This is actually kind of a problem, since upon learning that a man has come back from the dead, the first thing anybody's going to ask him is what he experienced. If they had Benton give an answer, it would need further exploration – and if they had him say nothing, it might anger their assumed-to-be-Christian audience.  Therefore they chose to make Benton mute, so that no answer could be given.  This serves the intended purpose, certainly, but as I observed above, it also ruins any chance of the story meaning anything even without going into the meaning of life.  A man who can't talk can't introspect in a way the audience is privy to.

If you want a movie that ressurects a criminal and actually has him re-examine his life and confront ideas about mortality and morality... I'm afraid that's All Dogs go to Heaven. This, sadly, is just The Indestructible Man.

[afjakwritesarchive]

NWC 23

Another super late NWC make up!

Pairing: USUK Words: 1,562 Rating: T AU: office au Genre: Romance Summary: Arthur doesn’t know if she should let himself crush on the office’s new IT guy.  A/N: this is trash but the next two I’m about to post are better so get ready!! :)

Arthur Kirkland is on his fifth cup of tea when a man steps into his cubicle. “Hi,” he says, smiling warmly at Arthur. “You called for the IT guy?” Arthur blinks as he turns around in his chair, thick brows raising in surprise. Standing in the entrance of his cubicle was not their usual IT maintenance technician. Rather, it was a tall, twenty-something blond with a knee-weakening smile and a body that rivaled a God’s. He was the most devastatingly handsome man Arthur had ever seen, and every thought in his head flew out the window. 

“Er—yes. Something's wrong with my computer. I can't, uh…” Arthur trailed off as the man stepped further into his cubicle and leaned over him, looking at his computer. “Er… my mouse is stuck.” “Alright,” the man said, crouching in front of Arthur’s desk as he began to move the mouse around. After confirming that the mouse on the screen was frozen in place, he pulled the keyboard closer to him and began to type. Arthur watched him navigate through the computer somewhat painstakingly using the keyboard, acutely aware of how close the man was to him. “Where's Melanie?” Arthur asked after a moment, speaking in reference to the IT technician they'd had before. “She quit. Got a better job or something, from what I've heard.” The man answered. He turned away from the computer for a moment to smile at Arthur. “I’m Alfred Jones.” Christ, his eyes were an unfairly gorgeous shade of blue. Arthur’s face turned pink when they met his, wanting suddenly to fix his hair and tie. He immediately shoved those thoughts from his head, mood immediately gong sour as he realized what he was thinking of. So there was an attractive man in his cubicle! There was no point in thinking of it; yes, Alfred was good looking, but that meant nothing to Arthur. He would not allow himself to develop any sort of attraction to the man. Romance was for saps and fools, and Arthur wasn't a fool. Not anymore. Adopting a scowl, Arthur looked to his computer screen. “Arthur Kirkland.” “Nice to meet ya, Arthur.” Alfred replied, already focused back on the computer. For a moment, all was silent as Alfred worked. Then, “there we go! Problem solved. Should be fine now.” Arthur reached out, testing the mouse. “Ah. Yes, thank you.” “No problem, man. Hope to see you around sometime, Arthur.” And Alfred looks down at Arthur as he says it, a cheeky grin set upon his face, and winks. Arthur’s brain short-circuits. He pauses, his mouth half-open as he tries to think of a suitable response. Before he can, Alfred is slipping out of his cubicle. Arthur watches, gaping, as his figure retreats and eventually disappears from sight, lost in the endless sea of grey cubicles. He hears the familiar chirp of the elevator opening from afar and his shoulders slump, completely dumbfounded. What the hell was that? Despite trying to put Alfred out of his mind, Arthur spends the rest of the day mulling over the wink. His mind bounces between how dare that cheeky git distract me with teasing winks?! and it was probably an accident, surely he couldn't have been intended for his comment to be that flirtatious and calm down, Arthur. Even if he was interested in you, you do not need romance right now. Especially not from a man so handsome you forget how to think properly. By the end of the day, he's settled upon an entirely reasonable train of thought. Regardless of whether the wink was meant to be suggestive or not, there was no possibility of romance in the future for Arthur, which made entertaining hypotheticals entirely pointless. No matter how charming the IT guy was, Arthur would not allow himself to fall victim to a silly crush. He was a respectable businessman in his thirties, not a goddamned schoolgirl! There was no point in getting all worked up over a a simple action, most likely made in jest. And yet, Arthur’s mind was still occupied by Alfred as he left his cubicle and entered the elevator to head home for the day. So occupied, in fact, that he barely noticed the man standing on the other side of the elevator until he spoke. “Hey, its you again!” Said the overly cheerful voice that had been stuck in Arthur’s mind since their meeting earlier in the day. Arthur’s head jerked up, green eyes widened in surprise. At the sight of Alfred, his face flushed red and his heart rate quickened traitorously. Alfred grinned. “Sorry, did I scare you?” He asked, stepping closer to Arthur. The Brit’s eyes flitted up and down Alfred’s body, taking in the magnificent sight against his better judgment. How was it possible for a man as gorgeous as Alfred to exist? Surely someone had pointed out the unfairness that was allowing a man so attractive to exist! How could anyone normal-looking be expected to focus when in his presence? If it were possible for someone to be arrested for sheer beauty, Arthur would bet on Alfred being behind bars, no contemplation necessary. “Er—yes, a bit. I was lost in thought.” About you, Arthur’s mind added unhelpfully. “Oh? Stressful day on the job?” Alfred questioned, blue eyes bright and full of an earnest curiosity. The sight of sincere interest on Alfred’s face made Arthur’s heart flutter and he couldn't help but to indulge the romantic thoughts in his mind. Perhaps allowing himself to develop a crush wouldn't be so bad! Alfred was sweet and attractive, and there was certainly no necessary commitment to anything more. Surely it would be okay just to admire Alfred and allow himself to be pulled into a silly romantic daydream for once. Perhaps Alfred was different. “Oh, no, not really.” Arthur shook his head. “I just don't have much entertainment around here. I spend a lot of time in my thoughts to compensate.” Alfred seemed amused by this. “Well, I'd be happy to entertain you any time.” He informed with a sultry smile. Arthur blinked, flustered by Alfred’s response. Unable to come up with anymore of intelligent response, he merely nodded and looked pointedly down at the floor. Alfred took another step closer to him. Surprising Arthur, his voice was soft and somewhat concerned when he spoke. “Sorry, man, did I freak you out? I was just playing around, honest. I thought I saw you checking me out so I wanted to mess with you a little.” He explained. Arthur blinked, looking up at him. “Y-You saw me?” He asked. God, could anything be more embarrassing? Not only had he been caught admiring Alfred, but apparently the man thought it was a rather amusing joke. Arthur could hardly stand the heat flooding his system at the realization that his attraction had been a source of amusement for a man far, far out of his league and most likely straight. Arthur was beginning to remember why indulging romance was completely inane, cursing himself for being so foolish even if only for a moment. The moment he allowed himself to have even the slightest romantic inclination toward someone was the moment they had power over him. Therefore, they had the power to make him foolish or small. He'd indulged Alfred, given the man power over his thoughts and feelings, and it had backfired almost immediately. Alfred wasn't any different than anyone else, and he'd been an idiot to think so. “It was pretty obvious, dude. Don’t get me wrong, I’m totally flattered because you're super fucking hot, but I see now that I took it the wrong way. You're not interested and that's okay. I didn't mean to come on so strong, man, sorry about that. Sometimes I just act like an idiot when I meet someone really cute, y’know? I won't do it again, I swear.” Alfred said, rubbing the base of his neck with a sheepish smile. Arthur gaped at him, completely shocked. Then, regaining control of himself, he shook his head rapidly. “No, no, you’re welcome to—er, I mean, I don't mind—um… I have no problem with you, ah… acting that way.” Arthur stuttered, unbelievably flustered. Alfred brightened instantly, a pen ear-splitting grin coming to his handsome face. “Really?” He asked brightly, and leaned closer to Arthur. The Brit met his eyes and nodded. “Yes, I don't see why not, as long as you're aware of what you want.” Alfred quirked a brow. “What I want is to take you out for an early dinner right now. Did you have any plans?” Arthur blinked. “Er—No, I suppose not. But I'll only go to dinner with you if you pick somewhere with quality food, none of that fast food rubbish and no deep-fried anything!” Alfred laughed, amused. The elevator opened and Alfred stepped out, waiting for Arthur. “Alright, got it! I know a place not too far from here, c’mon!” He said, grinning happily as he walked to the exit and held the door open for Arthur. Arthur fought the smile coming to his face as he stepped through the door and walked out, Alfred falling into step beside him. As the American began to talk loudly about his day, Arthur knew with certainty that this man was different.