#i need a real earnest murder attempt on both of their parts before i can be insane about them

[laceratedlamiaceae]

Pitching an episode called Fuck, Marry, Kill that's just 3 montages of Izzy fucking random guys, Lucius and Pete preparing for their wedding, and Ed and Stede trying to kill each other spliced together

[staripheral]

➺ 𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙏 1 & 2 𝙈𝙀𝙉 𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙁𝙊𝙍𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙄𝙍 𝙎/𝙊 𝘼𝙁𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝘼 𝙉𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏 𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙍𝙊𝙍

𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 : 𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝, 𝙥𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙘-𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙧, 𝙝𝙮𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣

★ JONATHAN J. would wake to the slightest of movements, the quietest of whimpers, and to the tiniest of tremors raking through your body as you were squeezed to his muscular side.  He was an extremely light sleeper, something he naturally acquired to remain vigilant (because a certain adopted son of the Joestar Family surely had it out for him).  Immediately, his eyes blinked open and he moved onto his side, cooing gently into your ear and rubbing slow circles with his calloused fingers on your hip.  While he had hoped to simply coax your dreams into something more delightful, you awoke with a loud gasp after a few moments of experiencing his earnest touch.  You hesitantly turned your head towards his large figure in bed and felt the tears trickle from the corners of your eyes; you could see the pain in Jonathan’s eyes as well as his own features contort to express his discomfort of seeing you in such an agonized state.

“My love, please… tell me what troubles you?” He pressed a tender kiss to the crown of your head and brought up his palm to feel the skin of your complexion, carefully brushing away the several tears you could not find within yourself to hold in.

“J-Jojo… Oh, Jonathan, it was horrible!  You-- You were murdered, and I was forced t-to watch the life drain from your eyes and--” Jonathan’s brows furrowed further, witnessing your pain: your damp cheeks, red eyes, and uneven breaths.  He pressed himself further towards your shaking body underneath the silky sheets, and removed his hand from the side of your face only to replace it behind your head and press your face into his bare chest.

“How I hate to see you so upset, my love… But, know this.  I will never leave your side, not even for an instant.  My soul is bound to yours as yours is to mine.  Never shall I part from you, in life or death, and I do not plan on leaving you alone in this lifetime, my love.  I am positive I am to remain by your side for the rest of eternity… and no man, woman, or enemy could ever remove my promise to you, ⌜f/n⌟.” His kind words only made your tears flow stronger, and he panicked for a moment, wondering if he had been out of place to say such things.  But, when he felt your wails begin to even out into soft, short breaths and your trembling vanished, leaving your body moving with every inhale and exhale, and eventually your tears came to a stop, he found he could relax at last seeing as you were not in torment any longer.  “Sleep well, my love.”

He pressed a kiss unto your lips and pulled away with your hand in his, holding both atop his broad chest.  Goodness, what he wouldn’t do to ease the pain of the one he loved most.

★ DIO B. had not been in your presence the moment you had been awoken from your night terror.  Your hands would not stop shaking as they gripped the sheets and pulled them off your damp body and you found that you barely had the strength to move your feet to plant themselves atop the soft rug by your bedside.  You stood up, having to bring a hand to the footboard to support yourself, and a hand to your mouth to stifle an oncoming sob.  There was only one person you trusted yourself with in this kind of state, but he was nowhere to be seen-- at least, not yet.

You wrapped your arms around your torso in an attempt to comfort yourself and your voice echoed through the Joestar Mansion, searching for your beloved.  Eventually, you heard his voice call out to you and you ran (or, at least walked as fast as you could) towards its source; the den area.

The door was cracked open just a sliver and you gazed inside, spotting Dio on the loveseat, reading a novel in the dead of night by himself.  You squeezed through the entrance and closed the door as delicately as you could.

“And what is it that would require my utmost attention in the midst of the night, my dear ⌜f/n⌟?” Dio questioned, not even looking up from the place he was in his book, although you could tell you had his ears open for you, as he had not turned another page in his book.

“...Dio.  It is nothing… I-I just wanted to keep you company.” You whispered, coming around the side of the loveseat and remaining at his side, giving him space to himself, but also being close enough that you were able to feel his warmth from afar as well.  You feared he would push you and your stupidity aside, calling you out for allowing yourself to be overcome by your fears.  Although he was soft for you, you knew he still had his own limits, which you deeply respected.

Dio looked over at you slyly, his usual smirk gone and his eyes narrowed in suspicion.  “After seeing you sound asleep in our chambers, I’m not quite so sure that you could have awoken just for a bit of attention, hm?  What dreams plague you this late?”

You sighed.  Nothing gets past his watchful, crimson eyes.  As you wiped the tears from your eyes, you began to recount the atrocious visions that haunted you; that of death, destruction, and deceit.  Dio nodded thoughtfully, having put down his book, but still staring into the flames of the pit before him.  You wrung your hands harshly, trying to quell your emotions as best you could.

He suddenly took your right hand in his and pulled you towards him so that your back lay against his chest and he picked his book up once again.  “Perhaps you would like to read this with me, to get your mind off of the foolish fantasies you dream of?  After all, how can anything harm you if you are here in my company.” He said, mocking you slightly.

If he were being honest with himself, Dio would admit that this situation made him uncomfortable, almost out of place.  But when he felt your head slightly nod against him, he found himself reading aloud, the only thing he could do (or at least knew what to do at that moment) to provide you comfort in that very moment.

As he read chapters upon chapters, with his deep, rich voice running dry, Dio felt your figure cease its subtle movements and slump into another deep slumber.  He carefully slid out from underneath you and kneeled beside the loveseat, tucking his toned arms underneath the back of your knees and the length of your shoulders and lifting your limp body into his arms, carrying you back to your chambers, where he intended to join and guard you from any more dreams that wished to terrorize your good-natured soul.  

“Don’t believe in such trivial fantasies, my dear.  I would never allow for us to part.  Even fate itself will not be enough to divide us.  Sleep well, dearest.”

★ JOSEPH J. was a very, very deep sleeper.  No man alive could devise a wake up call loud or obnoxious enough to make him arise from his sleep.  But… a woman such as yourself happened to find out what woke him up on the day that you experienced a terrifying dream.  You had tossed and turned, cried out and begged for help, yet no one had come to rescue your pitiful self.  You awoke with a start, your figure flying up from its position in bed.  Joseph’s heavy arm that had once lay across your waist had been tossed to the side, and his eyelids remained closed while his snores filled the quiet room.  You clutched your chest in an attempt to control your breathing, tears dripping down onto the covers of your bed as you tried to maintain composure.  You had to leave the bedroom, and fast, lest you feel even more suffocated than before.

The loss of your presence woke up the goofster.  There was no heat, no mass weighing down the bed in the space next to him; you were gone.  That was his motivation to open his eyes and look at the time by the clock beside him.  2:31 AM.  The horror.  

Joseph knew he would not be able to sleep without you by his side, so he begrudgingly sat up and exited the bedroom, rubbing his tired eyes and groaning at his sore muscles.  His bare feet padded against the floor, making a loud entrance into the kitchen, so loud that he had not even heard your quiet, muffled sobs as you sat on the floor, back pressed against the cabinets with your face buried in your hands.

His eyes softened.  He grew quiet.  He was never quiet.  You were scared to even look up at him.  Was he upset?  Was this another trick of your mind?  You were so lost, so confused, shaking so violently in your nightgown that you became so sure that this was real.  Your gaze finally moved upwards to look at Joseph, who had approached you with soft, saddened eyes as he kneeled before you.

“Jo,” --you hiccupped-- “Jo… I-I’m so sorry, did I wake you?” You attempted to wipe the tears away vigorously, poorly covering up your terrified state.  Joseph, the ever-observant man that he is, knew better than to fall for your words.  You were so scared.  He could practically feel the fear radiating from your body as his fingers extended to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear and cup his palm against the side of your neck.  “Joseph?”  You asked timidly, as he remained silent and reached your hands out to touch his face.

However, you were the priority in Joseph’s mind, and in no way would he let you suffer as he often found himself after troublesome nights, especially when you were always there for him in his times of need. Instead, he moved his hands to grip your sides and smoothly lifted you to sit atop the countertop, leaving you squeaking in surprise.  This side of Joseph was so unfamiliar to you… yet you loved it all the same. 

His hands tenderly smoothed up and down your sides before engulfing you in an embrace.  He wordlessly connected his lips to your temple, holding them there for what seemed like forever until he finally felt the sobs rack your body, your pain being released into the air.  Joseph’s teeth clenched as you gripped his shirt in your dainty hands, cries filling his unusual silence as he let you rid yourself of the suffering you were experiencing.  He only moved to either smooth the back of your hair by running his fingers through it idly, or to press the lightest of kisses to your temple, so that you knew he was there, that he would not judge, and that he would always protect you from the bad, even from within, until you fell asleep, peacefully breathing against his shoulder with your arms wrapped around his neck.

Joseph was a chatty, intolerable brat at times… but he always, always wished to bring you the kind of serenity you’d introduced into his life.  And he realized that sometimes, just by being at your side he was able to help rid yourself of the demons that lived inside of you, as you had saved him from the demons that once lurked within him.

★ CAESAR Z. woke to your piercing shriek sounding out in the middle of the night.  He moaned something incoherently to his amore as his eyes desperately tried to open, only fully widening as he felt a petite hand shake against the bulk of his bicep.  “C-Caesar, please wake up!”

He sprung up into a seated position to look at you, his frazzled partner.  His head whipped back and forth for signs of any potential danger.  When he found nothing strange, his head turned back to you to figure out what was wrong.  Your lips wobbled, your eyes producing streams of endless tears, and your hand shook as you gripped his arm again.  “Y-You’re alive!?”

“Of course I am alive, tesora, what made you believe I wasn’t?” He questioned, gingerly taking your face in his hands, bringing his forehead to yours, and furrowing his eyebrows in curiosity.  “Did you have a night terror, ⌜f/n⌟?”

Your waterworks were the only response he required to answer that question.  As he wiped away your tears and nuzzled impossibly closer to you, your own hands clutched at his sides, as to ascertain for themselves whether he was reality or some sort of dream.

“Oh, tesora, please do not cry.  I promise you, I am real.  Do you feel my hands on your face?”  You nodded, the air around you feeling a lot thinner than it did before.  You began to wail in a panicked state.  “Shh… It is alright.  My lips, right here, “--he kissed your left eyelid--”and here,”--then pressed another to your right eyelid--”are real.”  His hands began to peel away from your cheeks before you desperately tried to grab at them.  He could tell you were so scared, so vulnerable and afraid of losing him, as he was of losing you.  “Amore-- I’m here.  You can touch me, I won’t disappear.  I will not vanish.  My place is here, loving you forever.  I am not dead, nor will I be anytime soon.  Oh, don’t cry… please breathe with me.”

His continued coos of affection, his whispered words of encouragement, and his gentle touches provided you comfort in due time.  His words were laced with a velvety, relaxing tone that surely would’ve put you to bed much sooner had you not been so frantic in your state of mind.

“I’m so sorry, Caesar… I’m so sorry for waking you up and bothering you with my mindless nonsense.” You spoke quietly, forehead still pressed to his as you laid down next to one another for the second time that night.  He shook his head immediately, his bangs tickling the skin of your forehead.

“Don’t ever apologize… You were scared, and not over something such as ‘mindless nonsense’.  I want you to reach out for me, to find solace in me, tesora.  I want to cure you of your fear.  I want to save you from your darkest thoughts.  You mustn’t be sorry, tesora, for everything that has happened does not bother me in the slightest…  I adore you, ⌜f/n⌟ .” He spoke calmly, slowly so that his words would lull you into sleep, hopefully this time blessed with happiness.

Caesar smiled as you snuggled in close and thanked him for everything.  He did not say anything in return and made sure you were comfortable before shutting his eyes once more.  ‘No,’ He thought to himself.  ‘Thank you, tesora, for giving me everything.’

𝙖/𝙣 : 𝘰𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘪 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘪 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴.  𝘪'𝘮 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘰 𝘸𝘦'𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘴 𝘮𝘦 :')) 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩!!  𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘢𝘥𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘦, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵!  𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 <3

[itsnothingofinterest]

A recent topic of discussion I’m seeing lately is whether or not Endeavor will or should die before series end. And surprisingly, even from people who don’t really like him & are willing to rightly call him out are saying he should live. For a variety of reasons too; such as death being the easy way out of consequences for him, that he’d become a martyr if he dies, it’s better if he lives to make things up for his family with his actions, and other such points. So I just wanted to get my own complicated thoughts on the matter out there.

Because I happen to agree with all of those points.

But I also still think Endeavor should die.

And to be clear, that’s not because I think he’s a bad person (although I do; he’s a type of horrible equal yet opposite to the League really). Actually, when I think about it, I find I don’t much care for if he deserves to live or die or what it would mean for his character; I only really care about what it would mean for the people around him and their relationship with him. Really, my view on the matter is Fuyumi’s in reverse; which is to say I think him dying would take his family members in a good (or at least more interesting) direction.

Mainly Shoto & Touya, although it’s not like I don’t think the rest of the Todorokis lives wouldn’t be improved by a severe long term reduction of Endeavor in their lives. There’s just, y’know, more to talk about with those two.

Shoto

For Shoto, I’ve mentioned this before, but he’s in a really weird place with Endeavor, with obstacles of various natures in the way of really addressing his issues with him or reaching the conclusion it seems he’s supposed to reach with him (and also his character's conclusion in general). Obstacles that I think Endeavor dying would help remove.

For one, Shoto’s not really thought about his own feelings on his father for the longest time; always putting that on the back-burner in favour of how Endeavor is useful to him in one way or another. Whether that be as a good mentor & networking connection, or as a tool to mend his family’s hurt, or most recently as someone who can bring him to Touya or Touya to him. And I’m not exactly sure that’s healthy.

And that’s why I think Endeavor dying might actually be good for Shoto; it would force Shoto to stop thinking of his father in terms of his utility and finally address his own feelings towards the man. All that stuff he’s put aside because they’d interfere with more pressing matters, won’t interfere anymore. He might finally be able to actually resolve his conflict with him. I mean, he’d have to if Endeavor were dead; you kind of get the final word in that scenario.

It would also make ‘forgiving’ his father, something he’s foreshadowed to do eventually & to some extent, easier and more palatable for him. See, to forgive someone who’s still alive and active is, in part, ceasing to hold what the forgiven did against them and no longer look to hold them accountable. Which would be somewhat off-putting with Endeavor, who hasn’t really made up for what he did, or done much to apologize to Shoto at all. If they’re dead though, then the act becomes a lot more about letting go of your own anger for your own benefit. Which I am into, because I am far more interested in what is for Shoto’s benefit than Endeavor’s.

Additionally, I kind of just think Endeavor being gone for good would be good for the structure of Shoto’s story arcs. See, Endeavor has this horrible habit of making his family’s story lines all about himself; and Shoto, a supposed major character, suffers from this more than anyone else. The Todoroki story line, which is meant to be his story line, has stared Endeavor for so long now. Even Shoto’s basically let him take the lead. It feels like Endeavor being permanently removed from the picture one way or another is the only real way to make Shoto the star of his own arc again.

Dabi

Dabi is also a character that’s made to revolve around Endeavor, just in more obviously unhealthy and downright destructive ways. His only goal in life seems to be ruining Endeavor and all he stands for, happily destroying himself and whatever else must be sacrificed along the way; in fact I’m not unconvinced he’s planning a murder-suicide with his abuser, he’s so single-mindedly and self-destructively focused on ruining Endeavor.

And so one day I had a thought. “What would he do, if Endeavor died, and he was still alive?”

It’s a question I’ve thought about a lot, because he does in fact have things going for him outside his dad. He’s got a found family that supports and cares about him, he’s got a cushy job (if his underlings get broken out of jail anyway), and he’s got plans for the future. He just doesn’t expect to be there for it or take any direct part in building it. But he might if he inadvertently has no choice.

This is why the idea interests me so much: if Endeavor were dead, what would Dabi do? Would he finally start working with his fellow villains in earnest and open up to them? Would he be able to find new purpose, maybe taking direct action towards bringing about the future he wants? If so, how would he do that? I mean I doubt it would all be good & healthy, because if it was then Shoto wouldn’t really need to intervene to close out the Todoroki plot line; but it would all be forward progress for a guy who’s been stuck in the past since he was a kid, and that’d be an intriguing development.

(Also, just to throw out an idea to consider in this idea we’re considering: If Endeavor were to die saving Touya, whether from an external threat or by making sure he survives his murder-suicide attempt, that could have a further interesting effect on him. Like, I don’t think it’d mean Touya would forgive him by any means, but it would likely leave him very confused and unsure of things, and maybe Shoto could make use of that in saving his brother.)

In short, I think Endeavor should die for both his sons’ character arcs. His, preferably permanent, absence from their lives feels like it may be a necessary ingredient in their growth, independence, and reconciliation. And if a character I don’t particularly really like has to die for that; a more than fair trade I say.

[thiswasinevitableid]

62. you set off the fire alarm and I have a test tomorrow, and I might strangle you

Sternclay, sfw, please!

Why do fire alarms only go off in March? The one time Stern set one off (he fell asleep studying and the dinner he was reheating started smoking) it was in that endless stretch of time where the snow is no longer festive but will keep falling for at least two more months.

More importantly, who is responsible for interrupting his carefully planned out six hours of sleep before his midterm at eight this morning?

He stands in the freezing cold with the building’s other three occupants; the single man who looks like he stars in lumberjack porn and the girlfriends who live on the ground floor.

“Sorry” The other man mumbles, “I was making doughnuts and the oil I was using got too hot without me noticing.”

Stern runs a hand through his hair and keeps his voice low, “Why were you cooking with hot oil at three in the morning?”

“When I can’t sleep, I bake.”

“Can I suggest a less flammable hobby in the future?”

“Hey man, it was an accident. And it’s not my fault they stuck the fire alarm too high up for me to get to it before it called the fire department.”

“Too high? You’re taller than I am and I can reach mine.”

“My ceilings are higher and it was tucked between the cabinets and the roof.”

“Oh yeah, ours is in a super-weird place too.” Aubrey, one of the ground-floor neighbors, pats the offenders arm, “it’s okay Barclay, it’s just a little smoke.”

“That may be the case for you three, but I have an exam that’s worth thirty percent of my grade in six hours and I need my goddamn sleep.”

“Yeesh, man, chill out. They’re already waving us back in.” Aubrey points to the door of the three story house.

“I timed everything to optimize my sleep schedule so it actually is a big deal.”

Barclay glowers at him, “Look, I said sorry. But maybe get used to the fact the world doesn’t run on your schedule, mr. control freak, and fucking get over it.”

Stern keeps a smile flat as he bites out, “go to hell” and heads upstairs to salvage what’s left of his schedule.

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

The crash from downstairs comes at nine p.m; he has a huge day at his internship tomorrow, but Stern doesn’t hear any sounds after it, and he is not about to let a neighbor die on his watch.

“Barclay? Are you okay?” He puts his ear to the door, the heater drowning out all ambient noise.

“Nope, not really, agh, fuck, the doors locked, lemme try to stand-”

“Stay put.” He runs upstairs, grabs his wallet, and uses his debit card to trick the lock, “Shit, what happened?”

Barclay is clutching his forehead, blood between his fingers, and his ankle is swelling. “I got really dizzy, caught my foot on the couch and then my forehead on the table on the way down. Ow, fuck, it better not be broken” he growls as Stern kneels to look at his foot, “I’ve got a shift in six hours.”

“I can’t tell. You should get to a hospital; if it’s injured and you try to work on it, you might have an even worse fall.”

“Fuck, I’m not even sure I can afford the ambulance, let alone the fucking E.R.”

He knows Dani and Aubrey are out, “Any family in town, or a boyfriend?”

“No, if there I woulda called them.” He snaps, then tries for a slow inhale, “sorry, it just, it hurts-”

“I can take you in my car, that’ll be one less worry.” Stern helps Barclay up, gets him to his sedan, then tells him to hold tight while he gets something for his head. He ends up grabbing the first clean fabris he finds, which is how Barclay ends up in the E.R while holding a “Roswell, NM” tank-top to his forehead.

“Sorry to ruin your, uh, souvenir?” He mumbles as they wait for the doctor.

“It’s for a good cause. Besides, I know how to get bloodstains out of fabric.”

“That...that makes you sound like a serial killer.”

“If I were a serial killer I would wear things that could stain.” Stern winces, “sorry, I read too many true crime books.”

“I just don’t have the stomach for them. I like fictional mysteries but real ones?” he shivers, “makes me think an axe murderer is gonna break into my place. I mean, you did it with a credit card.”

“If you’d had the chain thrown it might have been another story. “

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Barclay shifts in the plastic seat, “you, uh, you don’t have to hang around. Know you got a rigid schedule.”

Joseph runs a hand through his hair, “I’m sorry for being so annoyed last week when you set off the alarm. I’m not always great at handling changes.”

“To be fair, doughnuts probably weren’t the best stress baking choice.”

“Did they turn out?”

“Nah. I’ll have to try ‘em another time. Did, uh, did your test go okay?”

“Yes. I, um, I got a perfect score.”

Barclay laughs, the sound like warm honey, and Stern blushes at looking so deeply nerdy in front of someone with a smile like that.

“Mr. Cobb? We’re ready to see you.”

The bearded man gives an slightly awkward wave as he follows the nurse through the double doors. Stern returns the gesture, pulls up the chess app on his phone, and settles in to wait until his neighbor is done.

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

Barclay comes out his nap the scrchh of a brush on tile. His first thought is that he’s so late for work he’s unavoidably fucked. His second one is who the fuck is in his bathroom?

His ankle twinges, jogging his memory; he got back from the hospital at 11:30, no stitches needed on his head but bedrest required for his ankle. He’d been contemplating how to convince his manager to let him shift from the warehouse to somewhere he could sit. Joseph raised an eyebrow and asked for his phone while telling him to go get into bed. All Barclay overheard was a polite, steely voice mentioning the labor laws in Dane County and how it’d be a shame if someone were to arrange an OSHA spot check. The last thing he recalls before falling asleep was Joseph telling him he had the next day off.

That doesn’t explain the cleaning sounds, though.

“Oh, you’re up.” Joseph pokes his head in from the hall. His hair is coming loose from his usual slicked-down style and he’s in a V-neck and sweatpants instead of the suit Barclay sees him in most days, “I hope I didn’t wake you; since you gave me the spare key I thought I’d check on you when I got back from my internship and leave you some take-out from the Thai place around the corner--you said the green curry was your favorite--but then I thought I should wait until you got up to see if you needed anything, so I, um, I cleaned your tub while I waited for you to wake up.”

Barclay isn’t sure what part of that is the most baffling. Or the most touching.

“Why the tub?” He eases his legs over so he’s sitting on the edge of the bed.

“It’s satisfying. And I, um, I clean when I’m stressed.” He wipes his hands on the rag in his front pocket, “I was worried about you, and my internship was murder today. They’re mounting a case against one of the biggest employers in the state and everyone’s on edge.”

“Heh, kinda makes me glad I work at WalMart.” Barclay takes the crutch Joseph offers him and hobbles into the kitchen, “oh, uh, if you want to try some cake, there’s leftover cinnamon spice cake in the fridge.”

“I think I will, thank you.” He bends into the fridge and wow has his ass always been that nice, “can I grab you a drink from in here?”

“One of those pre-bottled Kahlua things in the door; have ‘em for a friend but one sounds good right now.” He watches Joseph open it for him, setting it down before he pulls out Barclay’s chair for him. Normally, the kind of fussing and light ordering around Joseph has directed at him makes him bristle. This last day, it just made him feel safe and cared about.

He could get used to this.

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

“Good lord, we’ve even got a flood warning.” Joseph sets down his phone as rain attempts to pummel the house to dust, “Some days I wish we lived closer to one of the lakes but this is not one of them. Should we check to see if Dani and Aubrey need any emergency supplies for if we have to shelter here? I always keep more than I need.”

“Nah, Dani’s got a strong self-sufficiency streak; got her a bucket emergency kit for Christmas last year.” Barclay pops the cork on the Pinot Grigio they got for dinner, “and I don’t think they forgot your semi-drunk promise that if they ever had to run from a flood they had full permission to break open your front door to be safe on the third floor.”

“I meant it, drunk or no.” Joseph takes down the plates and portions out the carbonara; he’s been trying to cook when he has time, both because he likes it and because it gives him and Barclay something to talk about. Not that they need the help.

Things changed after the trip to the E.R; Barclay would bring Joseph fresh cookies or pie. Joseph would offer Barclay rides when their schedules overlapped. Barclay introduced him to his favorite trivia night spot. Joseph took some of his cookies to a worker-owned bakery where a former co-student worked, which led to Barclay getting a new job.

Now they see each other almost every day, whether that’s watching movies on Barclay’s cramped couch or joining Dani and Aubrey for board game night.

He’s pleased with how the pasta turned out, even more so with the fact that when their legs bump together beneath the table, Barclay doesn’t pull away.

They’re on the couch, chatting about the recurring themes in ghost movies, when the storm starts in earnest. The sky is so dark it may as well be nine at night, the lighting and thunder performing a cacophonous two-man show across it. The closer the thunder gets, the more Barclay tenses.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah” a thunderclap makes him jump, “I know it’s silly but I fucking hate thunderstorms, I have since I was a kid.” He chuckles, “my mom would always end up making a pillow fort for me to hide in.”

“We could do that now.” He offers, tapping his foot against Barclay’s own.

“Know this might be hard to believe, but I wasn’t always six-two.” The other man teases.

“Don’t count me out just yet. Wait here.”

It takes some precarity and most of his thumb-tacks, but soon he’s waving Barclay to come join him.

“Holy shit” Barclay laughs as he sees the bed and part of the floor in Joseph’s tiny bedroom are curtained in blankets, “do you ever half-ass stuff?”

“No one can ever prove I haven’t.”

“Uh huh.” Barclay climbs into the fort, “that’s Joseph speak for ‘no.’”

Joseph plugs in his UFO lights and follows him in, “I’ve failed plenty of times.”

“Not on this. Man, this is gr-” A thunderclap makes him jump, nearly knocking one blanket down, “uh, maybe if I…” He lays on the bed, Joseph deciding it’s the least awkward option to join him in that position.

“You really didn’t have to do this.” The green of the lights add a charming tint to Barclay’s eyes.

“I wanted to.”

His friend looks away, keeps his gaze on his feet as he murmurs, “How come you’re always so nice to me?”

“Because we’re friends.”

“It’s, uh, it’s not because you want something from me?”

“Of course not. Barclay,” he touches the cooks arm, “anything you’re thinking is a favor with an ulterior motive....well, it isn’t. It’s something I did to look out for you.”

“What if I, uh, I didn’t think it was favor hunting and was, uh, a different word that started with “F’?”

This time, when the thunder sounds, Barclay nestles closer to him.

“Oh, Barclay” he drapes a protective arm over his waists, “I didn’t mean it to be. At least, most of the time. There were, um, sometimes when I was more flirtatious than I’d have been if it were anybody else.”

“Do you...want to flirt more?” Barclay mumbles into his shoulder.

Joseph tips Barclay’s chin with his hand, brings their lips together as lightning flashes through the window. When he pulls back, Barclay’s eyes are wide. He kisses him once more just to see if he can make them entirely pupil, then whispers, “I hope we can do more than just flirt.”

“Joseph” strong arms slip below and across him, “fuck, babe, if it’s not flooded tomorrow, promise you’ll let me take you out tomorrow?”

“I’d like nothing better, big guy. In the meantime..” he rolls so Barclay is atop him, “I have some thoughts on how to keep your mind off the storm.”

[lizhly-writes]

i do not have anything very new for you this week.  i do, however, have this revised version of the first chapter of the ‘villainess’ side of my heroine-villainess isekai bodyswap story, which is, essentially, a full rewrite.  i have made some changes that have brought our pov character a little more in line with my mental image of her.  to quote someone that i had look at this: ‘Before mina seemed more refined like she kills u by poisoning u thru ur tea and then "ohoho"ing as u slowly lose consciousness and die, and now mina seems like she kills u by straight up ripping ur spine out lol’

i always did wonder why i never saw the ‘original’ villainess in otome isekai stories do some major physical damage for funsies, y’know?

warning: this thing is 2k+ words long. 

Why’s it so fucking loud.  Who’s screaming bloody murder in here?  Shut up, I got the worst headache and whatever slick steaming pile of shit you think you are, you ain’t making it better.  If you won’t keep that hole in your face quiet, what if I just heal it closed?  You won’t get a choice then, how about that?

I’m laid out flat on the floor, too. It’s wet, there’s something soaking in my shirt and my hair.  It better not be vomit.  Three fucking faces of Knight, how much did I drink last night.

I crack an eye open. “Th’ fuck’s goin’ on.”

There are people with the dumbest fucking faces staring down at me.  “You’re awake!” one of them exclaims, like everyone else has useless holes for eyes.  Course I’m awake, that something you really feel you gotta tell the world?

“Shit, really?  Wow!  Never woulda guessed,” I say as I drag myself to my feet.  Urgh, feels like I drank my way through the entire bar.  Did I get run over by a carriage or something too?  I’m real fucked up — balance off, arms and legs ain’t landing right, everything aches, and I got clothes on that look like I stole them from a crackpot fashion student.  

Though, hey, looks like everyone here is dressed like that.  Maybe it’s the crackpot fashion student side of campus. I’m in some really shiny cafe, by the looks of it.  The aesthetic here is… really something.  Didn’t know we had this kind of place at the university.

Let’s put that aside for now.  I crack my neck and ignore everyone talking at me as I give the entire place a once-over.  No sign of Emily or Asher, which doesn’t sound right.  If I’m this messed up, normally Asher’d be right there with me.  Emily, at least, would’ve tracked me down and tried to kick me in the head or something.  Not that I’d need a kick in the head, it hurts bad enough as it is.  Maybe enough that I can say that I’ve knocked something loose.  Hearing’s definitely off, it’s doing funny things to my voice.  Not liking that very much at all.

“How much is a drink ‘round here?” I say, because while alcohol got me into this, I’ve heard great things on how alcohol can get me out of this.

“I don’t think you need a drink,” says an absolute fucking killjoy from somewhere behind me.

“‘Scuse me?” I say as I do an about-face.  The killjoy in question looks boring enough that I’d forget him instantly if it weren’t for the eyes.  Real pretty shade of blue, nice enough that probably some asshole’s tried yanking them from his skull.  It’s a wonder he still has them!  Maybe he’s a good enough fight that people don’t bother, huh?

He doesn’t react when I step in for a closer look — yeah, there we go, left eye, the scars are barely there, but it looks like someone’s been using their nails to make an attempt.  Honestly, you’d think he’d flinch a little with me getting that close to his face, it’s not like his glasses’ll be any good at protecting him.  But no, he just stands there and says, “I think you need first aid.  You might have a concussion.  I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re bleeding.  A lot.”

…Hmm.  

“Am I?” I say.  I reach for the bits of me that I’d hoped hadn’t been sitting in vomit and… yeah.  My fingers come away red.  

Trace a little further up to the back of my head, and there’s the head wound.  Not as deep as I’d think, but it’s there, along with a very long braid I don’t remember getting.

Maybe I am concussed.  Should’ve noticed both of those things a lot sooner.

“Yeahhhhh, okay,” I say.  “Lil later, then.”  After I fix myself up, maybe.

“I think you’re actually supposed to avoid drinking after a concussion altogether,” says Absolute Fucking Killjoy.

“Fuck you,” I say. Of all things, that’s what gets him to flinch.  Interesting priorities he’s got there.

About the drink, though.  He ain’t wrong.   I know how head wounds work.  But those rules on what to do with them?  That’s for other people.

“You need a doctor—”

Please.  Last time I needed a doctor was years ago.  

This kind of thing, it’s easy enough to take care of.  So easy that it should be already healed up, but whatever.  Just a little concentration, and —

And.

...What's this?  

“That’s new,” I say, squinting at the crackling light running over the palm of my hand.  Real fancy, real nice to look at.  Doesn’t feel like much, but I bet I could make something like this hurt if I wanted to.  Nice little add-on, this.  I like what I got — I’m the best with what I got — but power is power.  Nothing wrong with having a little extra in your punches.

Except this ain't anything I can do. This ain't anything I should be able to do.  That’s pretty fucking strange, isn’t it?

“What are you doing,” says Killjoy, voice sharp.  

The face he’s making is probably hilarious.  It’s less interesting than the way light curls over my fingers, trailing over my wrist as I twist my hand this way and that.  If I let it, maybe it’d spread further up my arm.  How much higher could it go, really?

I don’t get to find out, because Killjoy snatches my hand, snapping his own fingers over it until only light you can see has to fight its way out from where skin meets skin.  And then it’s not even that, dying away until it goes dark completely.

Oh this bitch.  

“Well, ain’t you forward, huh?” I say, baring my teeth.  “What d’you think you’re doin’?”

“You’ve got a concussion,” Killjoy reminds me, like he thinks I forgot.  I ain’t forgetting nothing, got it?  It’s easy to take care of — just a little thought, and maybe it’s taking a little more effort, but the skin knits up just fine.

I sweep a hand lightly over the back of my head, just to make sure everything’s in order.  The swelling’s gone down, the bruising’s gone, eyesight seems pretty clear.  Headache and bodyache’s still there, which is annoying.  There’s been some improvement, but that’s not what I’m looking for.  It should be gone.  Is it not physical damage, then?  What, is it psychosomatic or something?  That’s a shit explanation.

It’s only after my self-checkup that I realize that Killjoy is still talking.  “— can take you to the clinic,” he’s saying, sounding very earnest.  He’s still holding my hand.

I shake him off impatiently.  “That’s unnecessary,” I say, and push open the shiny glass doors so I can find Asher or Emily or someone and go on with my life.

I don’t get more than a few steps outside before I realize I’m running headfirst into a problem. Namely, that the outside that greets me is not the university.   Not even close.  Not unless the mayor sent the entire city crashing down and decided to rebuild from the ground up.  Not unless everyone collectively decided to take overly-caffeinated fashion students’ advice when it came to everyday wear.  Not unless somebody made far too many innovations in automobile development and decided to implement them on every vehicle I can see here.  Not unless all of that happened while I was passed out.

No.  I should have noticed that before, too.  I don’t pass out.  Alcohol fucks me up, sure.  But I’ve never drunk so much that I got knocked unconscious.  I’ve never been able to drink enough to knock me unconscious.

…I remember now.  I didn’t go out drinking last night.  No, what happened was that some asshole attacked me— or, you know, tried to attack me for maybe a solid minute before I started beating the shit out of him for daring to ambush me.  I was doing quite a good job, if I do say so myself. I know I broke some bones, broke his face, had my hands around his neck, and it would have only taken me a second or so more -- just one good squeeze! -- to pulp his windpipe, and he would be dead. 

But I didn’t get to that part.  The last thing I remember was putting just enough pressure on his throat to make him choke, and then… nothing.  That’s it. That’s all I have before I woke up in the cafe.

I’m missing something.  I know I am.   It’s pissing me off.   

That fuckwad.  What did he do?  Clearly I made a mistake letting him breathe for more than a minute or so, I should’ve just killed him on sight.  If I find him again — no, when I find him again — I’m going to squeeze the answers out of him and grind his skull into paste, I’m gonna make him wish he was never born, I’m gonna make sure he’s in so many fucking pieces no one can tell his —

“Hey,” says Killjoy, because I suppose he followed me out or something. “We really need to get you to a doctor.  I know it doesn’t seem like a big deal, but even if it’s not a concussion, it’s safer to get it looked at, you know?  You said you were on university insurance, right? So it’s not like it’s even going to cost —”

And then he shuts up, because I have him by the collar of his shirt and he’s suddenly bent over enough that he’s barely an inch away from my face.

“Please.  Would you kindly keep your mouth closed,” I say.  “If not, I’m afraid I’ll have to make you choke on your own teeth.  Do I make myself clear.”

Killjoy doesn’t close his mouth.  It’s hanging open gently, his pretty blue eyes wide and shocked.  But I suppose he understands the spirit of what I’m asking for, because he doesn’t say anything, even when I let him go and kindly push him back upright.

Well, no, actually, there is one thing.  There’s a name he whispers: Allison.  But it’s so quiet that I can generously pretend I can’t hear it and let him keep his mouth in one piece.  I leave him standing there, and set off.

Where?  It doesn’t matter.  I walk through black-paved streets and stone-slab sidewalks, speed past too-tall buildings and too-bright colors and hoping for — I don’t know. One familiar building.  Something, anything, that I can recognize.

But… nothing. It’s like I’m an entirely different country.  An entirely different world.

How long was I out?  Am I missing memories?  What did that sad excuse for an ambusher do?

As if this day couldn’t get any better, Killjoy finds me at the entrance of a tiny, cramped alleyway, shadowed by buildings rising tall around.

“You just never fuckin’ give up, do you?” I say, sharp smile sliding easily across my face. I don’t know where I am, but I know I’m a fair distance away from where I started.  He can’t have just coincidentally run into me.  He had to have either followed me or known where I’d end up.  It doesn’t matter which.  Either option means that he’s still thinking of me.

He starts when I turn around and face him — he probably didn’t expect me to figure out he was there that quickly, huh? Well, I have to give him credit, he really is quiet.  And he stays quiet, too, even as he scrambles backwards when I start stalking towards him.

“You gonna tell me I need a doctor again, huh?”

Go on.  Say it.  I gave you a warning, I told you what I’d do to you, it’s not my fault you can’t listen.  I’m looking forward to it, actually!  Thank you for showing up just when I needed stress relief!

“… not Allison,” Killjoy says, so softly I barely hear it.

“Pardon?”

“You’re not Allison,” he hisses, and oh, is that a sight — his eyes are aglow, the light behind them illuminating their blue so that it shines against the darkness.  How pretty.  How valuable.  Even more so than when I thought the only thing that stood out about them was the color.  Really, how good of a fight must he be that he still has them?

I’m gonna find out.

[deafwestnewsies]

be my first last kiss

You can plan on a change in the weather or time, but you'd never planned on him changing his mind.

jack kelly x davey jacobs

read it on my ao3!

Earnest to goodness, Jack Kelly was going to murder Racetrack Higgins.

No, Anthony Higgins, this was the sort of thing that makes you pull out the tarnished christian name of a friend (or so you thought) you’ve known since he was toppling over on baby-fattened legs. Anthony Higgins would die by the sword of Jack Kelly.

He just had to get this godforsaken Youtube video filmed first.

You’re doing this for the cash, Jack grumbled to himself as he passed through the metal doors of a nondescript building on the Lower East Side- it was the kind of place being slowly taken over by hip and fun corporations promising Asian-fusion bars and eco-friendly thrift stores while edging out the relic businesses built on the backs of immigrant dreams. Jack couldn’t stand areas like this, the air thick with wasted luxury, so he rarely left the barrio. Why would he? Spot Conlon slept in the bedroom next to his. Katherine Plumber and Sarah Jacobs ran the bookstore that bought his baked goods and sold them for decent money. Medda lived down the street with her plethora of children, and Racetrack still beat the known path, doing tricks on the street corner for spare change and internet views. Davey- David. David Jacobs wasn’t there. It was right where Jack wanted to be.

Much unlike the dim studio where he now shuffled his feet, waiting for the perky young PA with bright red streaks in her hair to come back with further information about the video he would be shooting. Jack wasn’t a stranger to this small production company; He participated in a few Youtube videos back before they had millions of subscribers, he played truth or dare with lots of liquor and a complete stranger, he confessed about the first time he fell in love so it could be put to pathetic music.

Cash where you could get it, right?

“Kelly, right?” Cherry Streaks was back with a vengeance.

“Jack, actually,” he corrected.

“So you’re going to stand over there where the little blue X marks the spot and wait until the producer, Adam, starts asking you a few questions. The first one might be a test for our boom guy. Answer honestly, we can pretty much tell when you’re making up a story by this point. After that, the main part of the video will begin. Got it?” She was pointing wildly with a Number 2 pencil that had previously been stuck through her ponytail, and she smelled faintly of jasmine. Jack felt dizzy.

“Wait, I thought this was one of those ‘Choose who’s the best kisser out of ten strangers’ type of deal?” I mean, that’s what Race told me- oh God. Oh Santa Maria. Oh Saint Francis.

The young woman smiled like she was keeping an excellent secret. “Have fun, Jack Kelly.”

Walking off at her ominous dismissal, Jack stood where he was directed. The fluorescent lighting made him sweat under the knowledge that he had virtually no idea what he was doing there, Race had lied to him so that he would participate in some sort of sick, horrible scheme, and for all he knew, behind door number three could be his third grade teacher with a baseball bat and a basic multiplication grudge.

“Jack! It’s nice to see you again.”

Romeo was walking towards him with that easy gait Jack had memorized so long ago- Romeo had shot the original videos on an Amazon tripod and the unfounded hope of human connection, and now he owned the entire shebang. Jack dropped his tense shoulders to give him a warm smile. “Romeo. Boy, am I glad to see a friendly face.” Jack lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “You’ve got a production assistant who actually does work, so I’m assuming we’ve died and you earned a really nice deal in Heaven?”

Romeo barked out a laugh. “If I’ve died, do not resuscitate. I’ll never be able to look at another bodega meatball sub after cooking food bought in a real grocery store.”

“Rub it in, why don’tcha?” Jack punched the shorter man on the shoulder. “Listen, Romeo, you gotta tell me what I’m in for, a buddy totally sold me out for the cash and I have no clue what this project is gonna be like.”

Before Romeo could respond, a tall, lofty man behind the camera cleared his throat. “Darling? We’re ready to begin when you are.”

“Jack, meet Specs. Or Adam, but we all know how well nicknames stick. Specs, this is the old friend I was telling you about.” Romeo ended right above Specs’ elbow, and it was all Jack could do not to laugh.

The man fixed his thoughtful gaze on him. “It’s nice to meet you, Jack. You’ve got a real presence on the camera. Have you ever considered acting?”

“I’m afraid I’m, uh,” Jack flexed a paint-stained hand. “Strictly canvas, as they say.”

Nodding as if that was a phrase people commonly used and not something Jack invented on the fly, Specs then clapped his hands together. “Folks, let’s film this sonofabitch.”

---

“I’m Jack, and I’m a twenty-four year old artist living in New York City.”

“Have you ever been in a relationship?” Specs questioned from behind the camera.

Jack blinked in surprise. “Sure. One throughout high school, another in college and a little bit beyond. I wouldn’t call myself a heartbreaker or anything.”

“Do you stay friends with your exes?”

“One of ‘em, yea. It was more of an amicable thing, you know. She ended up being a lesbian. And I am… not.” His clumsy fingers tugged at a constricting collar.

“And the other?”

“Just because I’m not a heartbreaker doesn’t mean I can’t be a real asshole sometimes,” Jack nervously chuckled. (Davey had laid out rose petals, for God’s sake. Rose petals.)

“Was this girl the high school girlfriend, or the college one?”

“Boy,” Jack quickly corrected. “Man. I guess. He was in college- four and a half years.” (It took him four days to clear away the rotting flowers, the bleeding color slowly seeping into his carpet. Katherine found him delirious with whiskey on the bathroom floor; Sarah couldn’t bear to walk through his front door.)

“How’d you meet him?”

(He twisted in his high-backed blue chair. “It’s habláis in el presente.”) “Freshman year of high school actually. Spanish class. Funny story, actually, that other girl I dated? His sister. Broke her heart for his. He was so mad at me that we didn’t talk for like, months after.”

“It was six and a half months, actually.”

Of things Jack was expecting to see today, Spiderman was more likely than David. A flash mob singing death metal, maybe. Pigs flying through the polluted air.

“I was told to come in. I now see why.” David’s eyes narrowed behind his thin wire frames, different from the heavy Ray-Bans that he had dedicated himself to sophomore year of high school. Jack hated that he looked older, wiser, and all around… better.

Specs cleared his throat before the bewildered set of men (one more angry than the other, both desperately avoiding eye contact) could demand what sort of sick joke this was. “Can you introduce yourself?”

They broke up on a Tuesday, an insignificant, momentary Tuesday. Fourteen months ago. (Yes, fourteen months, like their terrible split was a baby that Jack was nurturing bit by bit. He refused to round down- fourteen months ago, he left David Jacobs.) So when David ran his thumb across his jawline, a nervous tick older than his younger brother, Jack couldn’t fathom why he felt so relieved. Some things never did change. “David. Jacobs.” David’s jaw flexed as he looked into the camera. “I dated Jack for almost five years.”

“Tell us about your other relationships.”

“Unfortunately, I spent the better part of high school and college pining after a total cocksock. Not a whole lot of time for casual dating in between.”

A deep silence permeated the studio as two boom mic operators swapped awkward glances. Jack didn’t attempt to defend himself- he was sort of a cocksock. David Jacobs had asked him to uproot what little life he had in New York and move to Santa Fe for a prestigious, so-accolated-you-could-cry medical school, and Jack Kelly broke up with him over containers of kung pao chicken and scattered rose petals. He was a cocksock, a dickhead, and complete asshole. An ex-boyfriend of mass proportions.

“Okay, so.” Specs was wiping at his glasses with the tail of his shirt. Jack wanted to snap them in half. “Today’s video is entitled ‘Exes kiss for the first time since their breakup’. If you need more explanation…”

“I think we’ve got it.” David snapped, clenching his fists rapidly.

Jack stepped half an inch closer to David and began murmuring under his breath. “Davey, if you don’t want-”

“Don’t call me Davey.” His eyes were alight with flame- Jack’s chest caught fire.

Of all the things that felt domestic when dating Davey Jacobs, kissing him never managed to become routine. Davey kissed like he earnestly meant it. The gears in his brilliant mind would grind to a halt so he could dedicate himself to the lilting curve of Jack’s mouth, a gentle sweep of warmth when the artist’s mouth was otherwise preoccupied with his needless words, and the world would spin on a delicate axis. (Jack’s shoulders rose to meet Davey, the physical ache of being someone’s other half drawing him forward. Davey had avoided him for so long, Jack living on a diet of lingering stares and a brief touch of the hand, that kissing him felt like a dying man knelt at a replenished well. How did they exist for so long without this innate knowledge of the universe? Could he stand to go on a single second longer without the praise of Davey Jacob’s lips?) Of all the things Jack missed about spending his life with Davey Jacobs, kissing him was certainly one of them.

There was a moment where the pads of Jack’s fingertips brushed the nape of David’s neck, a habit borne from the small noise it would draw from the back of his throat, and the steely corporate floor felt more like the worn carpet in the old thirty-second street apartment. Jack could feel his thready pulse with the gentle press of a thumb.

Davey was a fan of the dramatics- he would pull away from a passionate kiss in the middle of a busy New York street to stare into Jack’s eyes, foreheads gently touching and cheeks furiously blushing. Now, he simply drew back. Took a step away. Swiped at his lips with the back of his hand.

Jack felt like he was falling. (“If you ever break up with me,” Jack began. He laughed at Davey’s unexpected shudder, the honest and visceral kind. “Make it quick.”

“What about when you break up with me?” Davey peered over his glasses.

Crinkling his nose, Jack quickly answered before the other boy could detail any breakup preferences. “I’m not an idiot, Dave. ‘M not going anywhere.”)

---

He stared at the limp fifty dollars in his hand. Romeo had apologized, explaining that the people who had organized this got half the cut, and handed them both an envelope- Jack, one with “Tony Higgins” that he planned to run through his shredder, and David, one with “Sarah Jacobs,” which made Jack gawk in disbelief.

Jack didn’t want to walk away; David’s feet were shuffling against the worn pavement.

“It’s funny,” David started. “I listened to a lot of Taylor Swift to get over you.”

He winced. “Sorry?”

“Please. I know she’s been your top artist since 2013.”

(Katherine walked through a worryingly unlocked apartment door. “Is that... Begin Again? Jack, what the fuck are you doing?” She had seconds to worry about the cluster of wilted flower petals her heel had put a hole through before Sarah pointed at the pair of legs sticking out of the bathroom’s entrance.) “Yeah, okay. Fair. But… funny? Did I miss a joke?”

David closed his eyes to roll them, as he so often did when he was trying to be polite, and it hurt to be on the receiving end. “We just had our last kiss. You know, like-”

“I’m Joe Jonas?” Jack interrupted, bewildered. The semi-glare he received in return was all he needed to know- “Right. Dickhead. Listen, Dave- David, why didn’t you tell me you were back in town?”

There was a brief moment where something unrecognizable flashed over David’s face- pity? Regret? Dejection? It was quickly replaced by a soft smile tugging at the edge of his lips, his eyes glazed over with a practiced professionalism. “I’ll see you around, Jack. Have a good day.”

David turned and walked down the street, and Jack just missed the passing moment he chose to look back.

---

Comment on EXES KISS FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE THEIR BREAKUP by IncredibleKinsey: those two dudes are all mad and then just make out like that????? yeah okay call me when the wedding happens

[thebleacher]

Aggretsuko Season 3 Review: My Slightly Hotter than Lukewarm Take (Spoilers!)

Ok so I just finished Aggretsuko season 3, and what I will say is that I enjoyed it. Forget the nitty gritty, as a whole, I enjoyed the series and I was dying to know what happened next. (Spoilers ahead)

As far as the storyline, I would say that I would have never expected for the series to have a sudden development involving idols but I think it ended up being quite interesting and the new characters were good. 

Last few seasons, I often got quite stressed because there were a lot of bullshit ppl like Director Ton or Anai who were literally so crazy and shit. Ironically, for the above mentioned two, I actually liked their involvement this time. I honestly thought it was hilarious when Anai and Haida went to drink LMAO. I was also surprised that Director Ton actually offered to pay for Retsuko’s debt. Like, ofc what he said after was bad (like giving up dreams/focus on work etc), but I do think that a sincere part of him wanted to alleviate this pain for Retsuko. But ofc, Retsuko wasn’t just doing it for the money.  

In this season, I am quite glad that Hyodo-san, Manaka and the two others (LMAO CANT REMEMBER THEIR NAMES) were nice ppl who just had earnest dreams but poor accounting skills (LOL). I still do have my suspicions that Hyodo-san might be a composer but that idk cos we never got to see more. But it’s cute imo that he works so hard to give the OTM girls their dream. I would like to see more of that development and backstory tbh. 

And ofc as usual, Washimi and Gori-buchou were fab. I love them so much. Tbh fenneko was also great HAHA. 

Ok but now we get to our more main-ish characters for this season.  Firstly, I have never been a huge fan of Retsuko. I do believe that she is self-sabotaging and very stubborn. Especially in the beginning, she deadass splurged on a VR bf and I think this is a me-thing, but spending over $300 on merch is insane. That I can’t condone but ig #plot. Either ways, Retsuko literally needs to open up more and stop being such a pushover. 

However, this is where my slightly hotter than lukewarm take begins. 

As a non-japanese, I think we collectively forget some cultural elements to this show. When Retsuko started in the first season, I remember previews being like, Retsuko represents how we (really more the Jap audience and population) feels when we are restricted and cornered by society and the world. And tbh, she still is!! And I think now that this show has gotten more international acclaim, we sometimes forget the cultural elements. I would say as an asian who has lived in western society, the way asians compose themselves (not to mention, one of the most typically controlled asians, japanese), we tend to hold back more and try not to bother others. I think this is exemplified by how Retsuko tries her best to be diligent and hardworking throughout her life. She does it because she wants to please and because it’s what she has to do. 

In other reviews, I have also seen people criticize the romantic elements of this particular season. However, I thought about it, and other than time constraints, perhaps there’s just more to it that will be discussed later? 

If you consider this, Haida actually is quite similar to Retsuko. He is also very indecisive and timid. It’s why he never asked Retsuko out and never tried to do anything. (Also cos Retsuko literally never gave him the time of day and this idrk why) I think the last part where he says he wants to be a safe haven for Retsuko and to protect her, perhaps that was also culturally more traditional. But ofc, even in Japan, with progressing times, women also want to be regarded as more than objects to be protected. (This part is more of me speculating though)

But I do hope that the Haida and Retsuko thing can be more fleshed out later. I was particularly disappointed that Retsuko did not even say anything when Haida straight up got hurt from protecting her. (If you can’t tell by now, I actually really like Haida) I also saw some reviews saying they were upset about Haida insulting Retsuko, but tbh, I did not even see it as offensive. Ig bcas a part of me knew that Haida was there, egging her on so that she could actually vent. I also think that it might be the first time either of them have been honest/candid with each other. Bcas while both of them did the death voice, they were speaking the truth. 

The last two points is that firstly, RIP Inui LOL cos she’s actually a nice girl and seems cool. But ig she chose someone who has been blindly in love/crushing for 5 years. I think that she will be able to find better but I do feel bad for her. 

Last point is that I was genuinely VERY surprised to see such a dark thing happen in this season. Pen knife for attempted murder/assault? That’s scary. And stalking? Tbh these are all very real things idols face and it is definitely not ok. (both in Japan and Korea tbh) I think that that progress was very realistic and something I did not expect, but was a thoughtful and appropriate plot progression. 

Overall, I really liked what happened but am very sad I will have to wait for a long time before new content comes again. TuT  Either ways, good show, good laughs, good feels, much excite.

[soukokuwu]

heaven in hell

     genre: fluff      pairing: fyodor x reader      warnings: some religious references/themes; bonus points if you can see who i projected them both as      word count: 1.7k      synopsis: you and fyodor go through thick and thin together.      - requested by anonymous: fyodor with a childhood friend s/o who takes part in his murderous shenanigans — at one point she tells him: “it’s strange. when i’m with you, no matter how bad things get, i’m not afraid.”

White daffodils and crimson pomegranates.

Silk dresses and flower crowns.

That’s the sight that accompanied your beauty the first time he saw you. How old was he then? Eight? Nine? Somewhere there. He didn’t place much significance in that moment. How was he supposed to know then that you’d mean so much to him now?

The daughter of a wealthy family, someone who seemed to have everything. Everything but freedom. Even someone like you, who was constantly surrounded by people, must’ve felt lonely. The empty praises and fake kindness from those who surrounded you.

You hated it, Fyodor could see it. He had found you ravishing, and that was never a secret. That was what drew him in. At first. In all honesty he thought you’d be plain, a blank canvas in the mind, like a drone that only operated on commands.

But as he spoke to you that day, under the shade of the pomegranate trees, Fyodor found his expectations exceeded. The way you vocalised your opinions, the way you spoke of politics and disdain for the sinful nature of humanity. Then, only then, was Fyodor completely entranced.

Where he thought you grew flowers because you loved to see them grow, you admitted it was not; you liked to watch them fade and die. Like there was something worth admiring about a necessary death. A certain duality lived in you — like you could be the goddess of life, and yet at the same time, a ruler of all that was dead.

Fyodor found something in common with you that day. Both of you would kill for the sake of a better world, if only you had the means. That was the first time you spoke of him as that. It was when he confessed his perception of an ideal world — a world without ability users.

“Kill any one of them, that makes you a murderer,” you had commented once.

“But if I kill millions of them, that makes me a conqueror.”

You had turned toward him with a playful smirk then. “Kill all of them — that makes you a god.”

A wildflower — that was what he saw you as.

You grew from what you perceived as nothing. That house held no meaning, your choices were never actually yours to make and family was just an empty label tying blood relatives together. Where you used to be scared of going against your family, you stood up to them. Renounced everything they promised you, called them out for being nothing but self-fulfilling bastards.

You chose to run of your own accord, but that was not what your family spoke of. They spread rumours of how you had been seduced by evil, bribed by the demon, manipulated to leave your nest. They spoke of how you were stolen, not cast off. They were adamant on how you were dragged away from paradise and into hell. They omitted how you were the one who pounded on the its gates yourself just to escape the real devils parading as angels in their own personal form of ‘heaven’.

There was a sickness in them. Rising like the bile that leaves that bitter taste at the end of your throats. You hated it. And so you ran to him, to Fyodor, with only your hatred for such greed in tow. You had absolutely nothing. Yet ironically, with nothing to your name, you stumbled upon everything.

Whatever it was initially, it had bloomed into something more. Much akin to friendship on fire.

Only a beautiful soul such as yours would kiss the damned. That was how he viewed all ability users at first, and that included himself. But you? You didn’t have any — you were all human, pure, untainted, this way. You didn’t think of him as a damned being though. Much as you viewed certain deaths necessary, so were certain evils. And if Fyodor viewed himself as damned, you argued to put it to good use.

“You are not the devil, you are a god.”

You always reminded him of that. Until it was ingrained in his mind. And just like that, you became the most influential person in his life — the reason he does anything for the dream of a better world in the first place. Not only for himself, but also for you.

That’s why you followed him wherever he went. Fyodor deemed himself god and you were his one loyal, devoted follower. No — he viewed you as his goddess, one worthy of standing beside him as an equal. Although he does not say.

He was still doubtful you’d follow him away from Russia, leaving the safety of familiarity for foreign lands. Fyodor was preparing to leave you, to say farewell. But you showed up with your luggage in tow this time, carrying with you the smile he called home. He found it fascinating, how with each step toward him it’s like you brought springtime with you, and with each step away it felt more and more like winter. Lucky for him then, you’d always stick close to him.

You became his partner-in-crime, a goddess standing strong beside her god, the bride to his ruler of ‘hell’ (as they used to call him back at home — you were nothing like your parents though, you thought being with Fyodor was like heaven on earth), minus the deceptions because he could manipulate everyone, but he would never want to do that to you. Only you.

Every scheme, every murder. You had a hand in it. There were other subordinates, sure. But you were his right-hand man. There was no other he’d trust more than you. And you hid in the shadows, far deeper than any of them did.

But not for tomorrow. For tomorrow they needed a female. And you had volunteered.

Fyodor isn’t one to worry, much less one to admit it. Although you can always tell when something is off. Tonight is one of those times.

You’re on the balcony, looking out at the view before you. It’s a nightly routine for you, to stand here and just enjoy the song of the breeze, along with the choir of stars that blanketed the sky, seemingly endless. There’s something more tonight though — Fyodor. He’s right there behind you, bony, icy fingers nestling against your stomach, cheek resting against your back.

He’s the first to break the silence by calling your name.

“Yes, fedya?”

Fyodor exhales gently through his nose before he says anything, the warm air hitting the back of your neck now that he straightens up. “Мне так повезло́ тебя́ встре́тить,” he whispers in your ear.

He celebrates inwardly as he sees the smile creep up on your face. You’re trying not to grin silly, but you fail miserably the moment he leaves a chaste kiss on your earlobe. “I consider myself lucky to have met you too, Fyo.”

“Are you not worried, lyubimaya?”

He knows he is. He’s always preferred to keep you safe behind the screens, never let the enemy even know of your existence if he can help it. He’s not worried about whether you’re capable of carrying it out properly, no. He has the utmost confidence that you’re the best person for the job. As you did for the few previous times you had to help out. You’re intelligent, capable, tough. Perfectly able to kill anyone you had to. But you are also the only thing he is afraid of losing.

You turn around in his arms and cup his cheeks in your hands, giggling slightly as his cheeks grow rounder from being held. Your gaze shifts to his purple orbs, finding it endearing how you’re the only one who gets to see his hardened gazes melt into an earnest plea for answers.

Fyodor can’t help it; the way his vision wanders to your body — your torso. He only has to furrow his brow ever so slightly for you to know exactly what’s on his mind: the last time you went on a mission, how you had severely underestimated the enemy, how they had stabbed you and nearly killed you. Not a day goes by that Fyodor doesn’t think about it. The man is dead now, yes, but he can’t get the sight of your scar out of his mind. A reminder of how he had failed to protect you.

“It's strange. When I'm with you, no matter how bad things get, I'm not afraid.”

Your words snap him out of it. He swallows the lump in his throat. He appreciates your attempt at easing his worries, you can see that from the slight pink tainting his pale skin. His thumb rubs over the spot of your scar through your shirt.

They say that when you lose someone, you’ll only ever regret the things you don’t say. Is this what he’s feeling now? The taste of loss — however false it may have been now since you’re safe and alive — is still fresh on his tongue. Nothing will stop either of you from continuing with this. So maybe, this is the least he can do, isn’t it? Let you in? After all, you’ve been with him for as long as he can remember.

“Я хочу́ провести́ с тобо́й всю оста́вшуюся жизнь,” he mutters with a serious expression before he releases you from his embrace and turns around. “So you better not fail tomorrow.”

As he disappears back into the room, you lean back against the railing and smile to yourself. Over time you got used to his shows of affection. People who knew always commented on how he doesn’t show enough — but to you he shows plenty. Fyodor has never said he loves you. It’s always said in a roundabout way because that’s just who he is.

But what you heard earlier? That must be the best one yet.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you too, Fyo,” you whisper after him into the night. Because you’ve never said you love him either. But just like you, he already knows.

tags: @yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes

[olivias-rodrigos]

Jughead is suffering from nightmares and has a particularly distressing one. Luckily Betty is there ready to soothe his worries away. Or, basically how 4x17 should have ended.

----

Jughead awakes with a startle, his head quickly leaving the keyboard, the vision of a creepy video tape imposter wearing a Betty-like mask still lingering in his mind. His back aches from his slumped position in Betty’s desk chair and his beanie is resting askew atop his disheveled hair. He had fallen asleep midway through trying to write his book report on ‘Call of the Wind’ and dreamt of a nightmare filled with musical numbers and insecurities.

The nightmares were nothing new and had consequently plagued his slumber since his most recent brush with death. His dreams now generally consisting of vivid recollections of that night in the woods when the preppies had tried, but most importantly failed, to murder him. Seeing himself lying bloodied on the ground whilst Betty begged him to hold on to life was enough to leave him waking abruptly with sweat on his brow and a pounding headache most nights of the week. The only thing guaranteed to help calm him was the comforting weight of Betty’s head resting on his shoulder, her arms draped over his body.

However, as a result of his cumulative lack of sleep and his increasingly heavy study load Jughead was beginning to struggle, both physically and emotionally. On especially horrible nights, such as tonight, when he collapsed from sheer exhaustion, he dreamt of a life where his worst fears became his reality. Tonight it was a life where Betty decided to be with Archie instead of him.

Squeezing his eyes tightly closed he tries to erase the image of them together from his mind and remind himself of his recent conversation with Betty in the bunker. He was the only man for her, she’d said it, an earnest look in her eyes as she tried to make him believe it. 

He hears her now, placing her book down on the nightstand next to where she was reading in bed. He knows she’s watching him warily, giving him the space to breathe that he needs after being awoken by a nightmare. This one was worse than the others. They’d fought, a horrible fight, about their future together, about how he wasn’t trying hard enough for her and then she’d left him... for Archie. It wasn’t real, none of it had actually happened. They didn’t fight, she didn’t choose someone else and deep down he knew that, but his insecurities leak out from behind the cracks in his armour as he wonders, what if?

‘Jug...’ she whispers from her position on the bed, the worry evident in her voice.

Slowly he turns around in the chair, wincing as he sees her face and his mind automatically remembers the words she said to him in his dream. She was so angry, but this Betty, his Betty wasn’t angry, she was looking at him, concern pouring from her sleepy eyes.

He watches as she stretches her hand out towards him, fingers reaching for him.

‘Come here Juggie’ she motions softly.

He breathes a soft sigh. Maybe being near her will erase the memories of his dream. Standing slowly he pushes his beanie further down onto his head, his security blanket in place, as he closes the distance between the desk and the bed. Tentatively taking a seat beside her he feels her hand immediately come up to run along his jaw. Feather light touches attempting to soothe him.

‘Was it that night again?’ Betty asks.

She’s fully aware of the recurring nightmares about his near death experience and it would be easy to let her think that tonight was the same. He considers not telling her. Afraid she might get frustrated at his recurrent insecurities, but he knows she’s better than that, she’s better than anyone. Plus, they’re trying to be more honest with each other.

‘Mostly,’ he says, still not having the courage to look at her, but he continues regardless.

‘But tonight, there was more. It was you and me and... I know it was just a dream but...’

As his sentence trails off Betty’s soft hand moves to cup his jaw fully, turning his face until he’s forced to look into her eyes. She smiles softly at him, giving him the prompt he needs to continue.

‘We had a fight, a really bad fight. You were angry that I wasn’t taking my school work seriously, that I wasn’t trying hard enough for our future and then you... you decided you wanted to be with Archie instead’

He rushes the last part out, eyes downcast so that she can’t see his vulnerability. A few seconds pass before he hears her shift and feels the soft touch of her lips on his forehead. The kiss gives him the strength to look up and he’s met with Betty’s tear clouded eyes. She reaches for both his hands, threading his fingers with hers as she holds them tightly.

‘Firstly, Jug... there is no future where we are not together.’ She says softly, earnestly.

‘And, secondly, I’m sorry.’

She sees his eyebrows shoot up and his mouth start to open in protest.

‘Now, before you interject, I know it’s not my fault and that’s not what I’m apologising for.’ she says knowingly. ‘I am sorry though that you are having these nightmares Jug. That you’re working so hard and not sleeping. That you’re feeling insecure.That you’re worried you aren’t trying hard enough when I can see you’re trying harder than anyone.’

She squeezes his hands softly and earns a small smile.

‘It’s all because of this stupid thing, it won’t let me forget.’ He mumbles angrily as he touches his head where his scar rests, faded, now barely visible under the curl of his hair.

Betty shoots him a knowing look, ‘It’s not only that scar, it’s these ones too,’ she says as she unlinks a hand to place it over his heart. 

She can feel it beating loudly against her palm.

‘They all stem from pain Juggie. Some, physical...’ she motions up to the faint line on his head, ‘and some emotional. The blow to your head may have started all of these nightmares but the pain was already there.’

She shuffles closer until she’s basically sat in his lap, rejoining their hands and using her thumb to rub soft circles around his palm.

‘It’s all the pain you’ve endured from all those times when you’ve invested your whole heart into something or someone and they have let you down.’

He knows what she’s saying is true. It’s the time the drive-in closed, despite how much effort he put into keeping it open. It’s his Mom leaving with Jellybean. It’s all the time and effort he put into his work at Stonewall Prep only to have it count for nothing.

Interrupting his thoughts he hears her whisper, ‘I won’t let you down,’ her emerald eyes flickering with promise and determination.

‘You’ve given me your heart Juggie, your scarred, beautiful heart and I’ve given you mine. We’re not going to let each other down... I love you.’

The smile that tugs at his lips is beautiful and weightless but she leans forward and kisses him before it has the chance to fully blossom. The soft touch of their lips as they dance together eases any lingering worries from his mind. She loves him, only him, and all of him.

They stay that way for what feels like eternity, slowly making out, relishing in the gentle push and pull of their lips, before the need for sleep takes over. Slowly untangling himself from her embrace Jughead eases back the covers and they climb underneath together, Betty’s head coming to rest in its usual spot against his collarbone as she readies herself for sleep. He hopes he won’t wake tonight, that he’ll be able to sleep peacefully, but he’s thankful in the knowledge that if he does Betty will be right beside him, always.

Just before his eyes drift closed he remembers one final component of his dream that he wants to share.

Chuckling quietly into the darkness he whispers, ‘You’ll never guess what else happened in my dream Betts!’

‘What?’ She replies curiously.

‘I was singing.’

He feels her soft chuckle against his chest, ‘Definitely a dream then Juggie.’

---

NOTES: Please be kind, I haven’t written anything in years, but enough of you wanted to read this that I felt like giving it a go. I figured it couldn’t be any worse than Riverdale, right? Thank you for reading. *GIF also by me @elizabethjughead​ *

Tagging a few super supportive people who were keen to read it: @beanie-betty, @itsnotoktohit, @riverdalenerdlol, @those18minutestares​

[upstartpoodle]

👀👀 :D

Thanks for the ask! This first one’s from my vampire couple AU, some various bits and bobs of which can be found here.

“You shouldn’t be so close to the window at sunrise, sir,” came a voice from behind him, familiar enough that, though he stirred at the sound of it, he did not turn around to greet the intruder into his solitude. “The light will burn you if you aren’t careful.”

“I am always careful, Tankard" he returned dully, barely twitching as he saw the man in question come to stand at his side through the corner of his eye. Mr Tankard, his attorney, looked the same as ever – dressed from head to toe in black, skin white as a sheet against his dark hair and eyes, unblinking and intense as they ever were. His words did little to reassure the other man, however, and with a short, sharp sigh, George reached over and pointedly pulled the drapes fully together so that no light could pass through them at all. In response, Tankard sent him a small nod and offered him one of the two glasses clasped in his bony hands, filled with a viscous red liquid which George could tell from the smell was not wine.

“With the compliments of Tom Harry.”

George raised an eyebrow at him, lips pinched in a thin line. He did not take the offered glass.

“That is human blood,” he said, his tone stern. “What has he done this time?”

Tankard had the grace to look a little sheepish.

“A gang of men attempted to rob and murder him on the road,” he said. “Completely ineffective, of course, but...well, we are both well acquainted with Tom and his...temper. He got a little carried away.”

George’s eyebrows travelled even further up his forehead.

“And his intentions in presenting us with this...essence of unwashed brigand was meant to achieve what, exactly?”

“Perhaps he didn’t want to waste a good meal?” replied Tankard with a shrug, making no move to withdraw the offer. George snorted decisively.

“I’m not sure I would describe it as ‘good,'" he retorted, his tone scathing, but nevertheless he plucked the glass from his hand and took a reluctant sip. He forced down a shudder as the coppery tang hit his tongue – no matter how many centuries passed, there would always be a small part of him that would be repulsed by this.

“It is human, sir,” Tankard pointed out carefully – he was, after all, well-acquainted with his employer's slight squeamishness in that regard, no matter what benefits human blood offered to their kind over animal. “And it is a long time since you last fed. Or, for that matter, rested.”

“I have no need of rest,” George replied with a frown; he and Tankard were well acquainted enough that he might almost have considered him a friend under different circumstances, but nevertheless his bizarre attempts to mother him irritated him. By now, he was several centuries too old for such treatment, for all that the man seemed to forget it on occasions. “There is much which requires my attention. And besides, I can’t see that it would do me much harm. I am already dead, after all.”

“Undead,” corrected Tankard cautiously. “But that doesn’t mean you are invincible.”

And this one is from the soulmate AU from the month of AUs which I’ve completely forgotten about and has, true to form, been ending up far, far longer than I was trying to make it.

A while passed—perhaps half an hour; she was not entirely sure—before she heard the light tap of boots approaching her along the floor of the hallway, and she turned about to see who it was. George Warleggan, neat and prim as ever and dressed elegantly, though not exuberantly, for the occasion, sent her a small, tentative smile from where he lingered in the doorway, waiting for her acknowledgement. There was in his expression, as there had been all evening, a slight whisper of embarrassment, an awareness of his intrusion into their midst that the other members of his party had failed to notice upon inviting themselves to dinner. Just as when they first arrived, the look on his face told her he would quite easily depart if she requested of him to be alone, but after a little time of solitude to compose herself, she found she no longer wished it. She smiled back at him, and he took it as a cue to approach, coming to stand beside her at the hearth.

“You played beautifully tonight, Elizabeth” he said. There was such earnestness in his voice that it might have taken her breath away had she not been so familiar with it. His affection for her always seemed to shine through at its greatest when he complimented her, but really, even if he had deigned to talk to her of nothing but interest rates, it would have taken a blind man to have remained ignorant of it for long. His austere face had a way of lighting up when he saw her, which she, unlike her husband, had not failed to notice—indeed, it was a wonder Francis remained so ignorant of his friend’s feelings, or else he might have been inclined to be doubly jealous.

“You’re very kind, George,” she thanked him demurely. Though she took care never to encourage his attentions, she had never been discomfited by them. He was never too forward—indeed, she wasn’t entirely sure he realised the obviousness with which he displayed his affections; George was a very private man but, in this, he rather wore his heart on his sleeve. In many ways, it made him rather agreeable company—particularly as an attentive listener. She had always been rather fond of him in her own way, even prickly and awkward and aloof as he could sometimes be, and now, when she didn’t think she could bear to see Francis or Ross, he was a welcome change. “Nevertheless, I think some praise must go to Mistress Demelza. She was in very fine voice this evening.”

She had no idea why she had brought up Demelza when her very purpose of coming here had been to forget about the whole situation. But then, it would have seemed ungracious not to acknowledge her new cousin’s skill, no matter how it made her feel.

“I suppose she was.” George tilted his head in polite agreement, but there was no real interest in Demelza or her singing in his voice. At that, Elizabeth felt a strange measure of relief, though why, she could not possibly have said. “Though it was perhaps a little intimate for mixed company. But then, that is often the way with soulmates.”

Elizabeth blinked.

“You believe them to be soulmates?” she asked. From what she knew of George’s opinion of Ross, she would have expected him to subscribe to the other school of thought concerning the gossip surrounding his and Demelza’s marriage.

“It is not a matter of believing, unless Francis has been telling lies,” George replied. “Though that I somehow doubt. He never could keep a straight face to save his life. Or, more pertinently, his dignity.”

Despite the lie—or rather, the unspoken truth—that was surrounding her own marriage, Elizabeth allowed herself a small laugh. From what she had heard of his schooldays, Francis’ antics would not have left him a great deal of dignity to cling to had each of them been discovered, and she told him as much with a slight smile.

“But what has Francis to do with the matter?,” she added, for the brief flicker of amusement had done little to quell her confusion. “Has he said something about it?”

“Well, he mentioned to me that he had seen…” George trailed off, a little frown marring his brow. “Forgive me, but has he not told you?”

It was Elizabeth’s turn to frown.

“Told me what?” she asked.

George had the grace to look a little awkward.

“About Ross’ soulmark,” he said, slightly bashful. “Like I said, he mentioned in passing that he had seen it.”

Ross had a soulmark. A soulmark which bore the name of his scullery maid turned wife. It was what she had half hoped, half dreaded, what she had known to be true the moment the pair had stepped through the door, but hearing it confirmed, no matter how prepared she had thought herself for the news, hit her squarely and unexpectedly. She barely knew what to think. And Francis. Why had he thought to tell his friend of the fact before he told his wife?

“How does Francis know?,” she asked instead—after all, she knew exactly why he had chosen not to tell her of his discovery, deep down. “Did Ross show him?”

George shrugged elegantly.

“I don’t think so,” he replied. “It was only mentioned briefly in the course of the—ah—conversation.” From the way he spoke, Elizabeth suspected that the main subject of the conversation had been one not meant for her ears. “By the sounds of it, he simply happened to notice it.”

“Notice it?” Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot up. If it were anywhere it might be conventionally ‘noticed’, surely she would have also spotted it that evening. So where…?

“Well, to be fair, I suspect, come summer, the entire population of Sawle will have noticed it as well,” George replied drily. “Ross does rather have a habit of parading about the clifftops half-clothed by all accounts.”

There was a slight note of irritation in his voice that he could never quite conceal whilst on the subject of Ross. Elizabeth did not know what had happened between the two men to make them dislike one another so thoroughly—indeed, she had thought Francis had been exaggerating when he had described their mutual loathing, before she had seen the pair interact. The barely contained enmity between Ross and George, however, was not what was on her mind. What she was thinking of, once again, was the way Ross had looked at Demelza, and the way Demelza had looked at Ross, how intimate and private it had been, and George saying how it was often the way with soulmates, calm and knowing, as if the fact of the matter couldn’t possibly be questioned.

“Yes,” she said, before she quite realised how abruptly the words came into the conversation. “Yes, I suppose it is that way with soulmates.”

It was half an admission of what she and Francis were very much not—after all, what experience had she of the way the bond manifested itself? George was shrewd enough to spot the implication, but she doubted he would need to. Francis did rather have a habit of telling him anything and everything, up to and including things which he would better have kept to himself.

“Indeed” George said, looking at her askance in slight bemusement, and Elizabeth felt a sudden urge to turn the conversation away from the slightly odd moment. She searched about in vain for a new topic.

“Were your parents soulmates?” she settled on. It was not an entirely polite thing to ask of a general acquaintance, but considering he was the godfather of her child, she felt that asking George could not be considered too unseemly. Nevertheless, the look he sent her was distinctly surprised.

“As a matter of fact, they were” he replied with a frown, though he did not expand upon the admission. He looked a little uncomfortable, she thought. She didn’t know much about Nicholas and Mary Warleggan, beyond what she had seen of their portraits at Cardew, and the ages their son had been when they had, respectively, died. His father had survived his mother by less than a decade, she remembered hearing. Perhaps it had been a broken heart as much as anything else that had served to have him join her in the grave.

“My parents never bore each other’s names,” she said, attempting once more to steer the conversation away from an unpleasant topic—if her thoughts on the matter had been grim, she was sure that George’s would be doubly so, and she’d no wish to upset him. “I don’t think either of them had a mark at all. My mother certainly doesn’t.”

They had been singularly ill-suited, her mother and her father, with his kind heart and her shrewish nature. Indeed, she could not help but feel that it been her mother’s constant sniping which had sent him to his grave in the end. Though she said none of this, some of it must have shown upon her face, for George sent her a look which had a decidedly sympathetic quality to it.

“I imagine that is quite common,” he said, with one of those brisk little nods of his. “It must happen that way often, especially if one places status and breeding above affection in a marriage.”

Elizabeth couldn’t help but recognise the truth in his words, but something about them made her turn to face him fully, a frown on her face. It occurred to her as she gazed at him that he may well find himself in just such a marriage one day. He’d no need to marry into money, but for status, well that was another thing altogether. Perhaps, some time in the future, he might marry some well-bred girl with a name and connexions, but whether she would love and respect him… Considering his seemingly endless uphill struggle in gaining the acknowledgement and respect of his peers, she worried not.

“Do you think you might ever marry your soulmate?” she asked, him, before she could quite consider whether it was wise. He looked at her oddly, his vivid blue gaze searching, almost wary. There was something there in his eyes, something loaded and full of a meaning that she could not quite put her finger on. Eventually, he spoke.

“No,” he said. “No, I daresay I shan’t.”

END OF YEAR WIP MEME

[darks-ink]

Living So Dangerous

Phantom had tried to kill her. It was undeniable. Now she just had to end him before he could finish the job.

Prompt: Val thought Danny tried to kill her, when Technus was possessing her suit.  After a bitter and brutal fight, they actually get a chance to hash some things out. Prompt by: @hpwot Word count: 5,048

[AO3] [FFN] [more Phic Phight fics]

Content warning: serious injuries, serious misunderstandings. Happy ending!

---

Valerie’s new suit buzzed angrily in the back of her head. Like a rush of static, like the clicking of tiny plates of metal, like the fury she’d been holding in her chest since Phantom first ruined her life.

It was… bizarre. She wasn’t sure where she got it from. It was definitely no normal tech, but… but not using it was no option. Leaving the town in Phantom’s hands? Absolutely not.

Humming. An internal alarm. Another ghost near Casper High.

She sighed, raising her hand. Asked if she could please leave to go to the toilet. Her feet carried her outside, to a hidden nook, before she knew it.

Valerie clicked her heels together, remembered that this suit didn’t do that, and then startled when it did it anyway. It was… controlled by her thoughts, possibly. That was her running theory, anyway.

Metal pooled from… somewhere. Someplace she didn’t want to think about. It coated her, shifting into sturdy plates of black and red.

She called for her hoverboard, mentally, and watched more of the liquid metal pour of the soles of her feet. It formed something like her old hoverboard, but not quite, split almost entirely in two huge prongs.

Her hands felt out the helmet, so different from the soft mask she’d worn before. It was hard to tell that she was really wearing it; her vision was almost unhindered. She had spent quite some time in front of the mirror, carefully running over the new suit. Checking the inventory, checking the strongest and weakest parts. Checking that the helmet really did hide her face.

Valerie Gray was no fool. Wherever this suit had come from, she didn’t trust it.

Still, there was a ghost out there. And only one ghost hunter she trusted to deal with it.

The hoverboard lifted off of the ground before she’d even finished the thought. Thankfully, the ghost was easy enough to spot.

Both of them were.

One was some sort of animal ghost, something cat-like but with a reptilian tail. It ran over the street, claws tearing up the asphalt, people screaming and forced to jump out of its way.

Behind it was Phantom, because of course. The ghost was chasing the cat, barely catching up on it.

And Valerie knew that he could go far faster than that cat was going.

She could feel her heart pounding, the rush of blood in her ears. How dare that ghost. After he’d ruined her life, after that violent attempt at murdering her. Still he pretended to be a hero?

Wind whistled past her, careening past the sharp edges of her suit. She pressed lower against her hoverboard. Diving, diving, diving.

The board flattened out just above the street, losing none of its momentum. In front of her, the two ghosts took a bend. Shit.

A twist so sharp it led her into a spiral—losing her precious speed—carried her around the bend, too. Phantom had put on a burst of speed, finally catching up to the other ghost. He hit it with a blast of green, the cat stumbling into the street, down.

Valerie hit the brakes, stopping on one side of the cat. Phantom hovered on the other, his Thermos already in his hands.

“Phantom!” she snapped at him.

“One moment!” he yelled back, like they were here just to have some sort of casual conversation. He uncapped the Thermos, quickly snapping up the other ghost. “Okay, got it. What’s up?”

What’s up? What’s up?

She felt her anger roil, and her suit responded in kind. The plates on her shoulder shifted, clicking apart to reveal a gun. Aimed straight at Phantom, of course.

“Woah, hold on,” the ghost stammered, clicking the Thermos onto his belt with one hand and raising the other. “Come on, Red, there’s no need for that.”

“No need for it?” She clenched her hands, the edges of the metal pressing into her flesh despite the armor. “No need for it?! Says the ghost who tried to kill me!”

“Kill you?” he echoed, blankly, before yelping and ducking just under a shot of pink ectoplasm. “Red, I never—”

“I’m not listening to your lies for another second.” She fired another shot at him, Phantom barely evading it by dodging upwards. “Get back here!”

“No thanks!” Phantom sped higher, grimacing when he saw her following him. “Can we do this some other time? I kind of have something to get back to!”

She growled wordlessly. The next shot hit him in the arm.

Phantom yelped, dropping a few feet before catching his flight again. “Red! Can’t we just talk about this?”

“I know what I saw!” She exchanged her gun for a bigger one, a more powerful one. It felt comfortably heavy in her hands, the buzz of it charging resounding in her chest. “And I’m not letting my guard down just so you can finish what you started!”

“I didn’t—” He swore, a shield barely blocking the shot. “Valerie!”

“How do you know my name, Phantom?” Her heartbeat sped up even further. She’s pretty sure he had used her name in the past, but it never really stood out to her.

But he tried to kill her, mere days ago. He knew who she was outside the suit, and he was prepared to kill her. What was stopping him from going after her father to lure her out? From attacking her in a situation where she can’t suit up?

He shielded another blast. “What’s gotten into you?” he yelled over the sound of the ectoplasm splattering apart. “Why are you so angry today?”

“You tried to kill me!” she snapped back, trying to command the panels on her gauntlets to open for more guns to shoot at him. “And you’re pretending it never happened!”

“What are talking about?” he dropped his shield, trying to give her some kind of earnest look, eyes big and watery. “Valerie, I never even wanted you hurt!”

“Tell that to my old suit and the hole you punched in its chest!” She fired all three guns, just out of sync from each other. Phantom dodged the ecto-gun, but hadn’t seen the two guns on her gauntlets.

He dropped another few feet, his jumpsuit seared on the arm and leg, exposing reddened skin. “You weren’t even in that!”

“Guess I got lucky.” The smaller guns weren’t doing it; she needed the big one to really lay the hurt into Phantom. “But you won’t.”

She managed to summon the smaller cubes, now. The three of them hovered over her shoulders. Locked onto Phantom.

Fired.

The ghost dodged all three blasts again, releasing a relieved sigh.

Didn’t see the fourth blast coming.

Phantom crashed down onto the roof of a nearby building. The pained noise he produced almost sounded real.

Valerie dove after him, quickly. Didn’t want him to get away.

It didn’t seem like he had any intention of doing so, however, because Phantom was flattened onto the roof. The blast has burned off a large portion of the jumpsuit on his chest, and damaged the false skin underneath. Damaged it so badly, in fact, that green ectoplasm bubbled up from it.

Bingo.

She hovered just over the roof as Phantom pushed himself into a seated position. “Stay down, Phantom, or I’m putting you down.”

“What is wrong with you today?” His glow flickered brighter for a moment, swirling violently. “I didn’t even do anything!”

“I’m not falling for that!” She charged another shot into the gun, felt the energy pulse throughout her entire body. “Now smile for the little birdie.”

He grunted, suddenly dropping backwards. Gone.

Fuck, he’d phased through the roof.

Valerie dragged her ghost scanner to the front of her mind again. Come on, she really needed its help right now.

Or… maybe not. Phantom hovered at the side of the building, tangible again. Pressed against the wall like she could somehow miss his glowing ass.

It was just so… so enraging. This stupid little ghost, and his stupid little trick, and his stupid dumbassery. It made her wish she could strangle him.

But she’d settle for absolutely wrecking his shit.

Her suit pulsed with energy, and it felt like a light bulb turning on in Valerie’s head. Now there’s an idea.

She was in full control of the suit. Could control it mentally. And anger… anger was entirely mental. So what was stopping her from pouring her anger into an ecto-blast fit to obliterate Phantom?

Valerie dove after Phantom, trying to bunch up all her anger into a little ball of fury in her chest. The ghost spotted her too soon, however, pushing off of the wall.

Another chase. No matter; his injury slowed him down. She could keep up, now.

But, god. Was it infuriating to see him dance like that, twirling through the sky like he hadn’t done anything wrong. Like he was just having a jaunt through the city.

Her anger felt electric, red-hot and boiling. She was right on his tail.

Valerie fired.

Phantom must’ve heard the noise, somehow, because he twisted to look. A stupid mistake, but one she’d gladly take.

The enormous pink ecto-blast hit him right in the stomach. Right below where she’d already injured him.

He screamed, flung into the ground with enough force to leave a crater. Didn’t dissipate, though.

She lowered herself to the ground as well, her hoverboard sliding back into her feet. Landed on the edge of the crater, stumbling a little. That blast had taken all of her anger, all of her energy.

God, she just felt tired now.

Phantom groaned, lying in his crater. His entire front was covered in ectoplasm, splattered all over his arms and legs and even his face.

She…

She didn’t feel as good as she thought she would’ve. As she should’ve.

This ghost tried to kill her. The only reason why he hadn’t succeeded was because she’d gotten lucky. Because some other ghost had hijacked her suit.

So why did she feel so bad about it now? Yes, he looked like a mess, but ghosts didn’t even feel pain! All his pathetic groaning was just a show!

But her anger had stilled to just a little cinder. A spark with no real heat behind it.

“How are you still kicking?” she grumbled, just loud enough that Phantom could hear. A quick glance confirmed that the park was empty. That, at least, was good news.

Phantom groaned, hands pressed to his torso. Stained his white gloves green with his own ectoplasm.

Not much of a victory, was it?

Valerie stepped over the edge of the crater, carefully. Slid down until she stood crouched over Phantom’s downed body. “Can’t you just give up? Or am I going to have to drive a fist through your chest like you tried with me?”

“I— I didn’t.” His voice was drawn taught with pain. It wasn’t real, Valerie knew, but it sure felt like it. “Wasn’t you.”

“Yeah, no shit.” She lowered herself even further, eyes roving over Phantom’s body. That last ecto-blast had certainly done some damage; his jumpsuit had burnt off to the point where most of his front was exposed. The skin was clearly burned, even if it bled in green instead of red. “I was lucky I wasn’t in that.”

“Knew you weren’t,” he said, voice soft and faltering. “Saw you.”

She felt her breath hitch at that. “So, what? Was it just for intimidation? Did you hope that destroying my suit would stop me from going after you?”

“No. Yes. I—” He coughed, the sound sudden and harsh. Rattled his entire body.

Phantom hissed through his teeth, eyes clenching with imagined pain. “Wanted the suit gone. Both of us safe.”

“What?” Was he… was he really pretending he was keeping her safe? “Ghosts would’ve come after me, whether I’m armed or not!”

“Armed or actively hunting… different.” He shifted slightly, one hand feeling out the edges of his injuries. “They wouldn’t have, anyway. I think.”

“No?” She scoffed. “Why? Because you would’ve stopped them? Big words for the ghost three seconds away from destabilizing.”

He groaned again. “Won’t,” he said, like he could just will it into being. Maybe he could. Ghosts were strange things. “They’re… looking for amusement. No fun if the target won’t fight back.”

“Amusement?” she echoed, despite herself. Was that all they were, to ghosts? A fun toy? “Is that what you are doing? Fighting others, destroying this town, destroying people’s lives, for fun?”

“No.” He shook his head, shifting rubble with the movement. “They do. I protect.”

“Didn’t look like protection when you buried a fist in my chest, pal.” She prodded him in the upper arm with a finger. “You gonna destabilize or do I need to hit you again?”

“It wasn’t you,” he insisted. The hand he’d been moving came to a halt on his chest.

It started glowing blue.

“What are you doing?!” she snapped at him.

He flinched. The glowing didn’t stop.

“Cooling,” he hissed through his teeth, forced.

Cooling. He was cooling his injuries, with her standing right over him. For fuck’s sake, what was wrong with ghosts?

“You really think that ‘it wasn’t you’ is good enough, Phantom?” It wasn’t as heated as she wanted it to be. She wasn’t as heated as she wanted to be. She just felt burnt out and tired. Wanted this day to be over.

“What else do you want?” His hand was moving, slowly. Left ice coated over his injuries. Finally, he opened one eye to peer at her. It was blue, now. No longer that vivid green but an equally vivid shade of blue, literally glowing.

Since when do ghosts change eye-color like that?

“I want you to just tell me what the fuck you want from me! That stupid dog of yours ruined my life, and then I finally got some control back by hunting ghosts, and you’re constantly in my way! You destroyed my equipment, in a way that could’ve killed me if I’d been in it! And you have the nerve to tell me that you’re keeping me safe!”

“I am, Val.” His free arm shifted, and Phantom pushed himself up slightly. He was curled up on himself, still, the icy hand pressed against his injuries. His face twisted in pain.

It didn’t feel nearly as fake as it had, before.

“Ghost hunting is dangerous, Valerie. Your suit can’t protect you from everything.” He was looking at her with both eyes narrowed, now. Two slits of icy blue. “Your employer won’t care if something happens to you. He’ll just move on to the next opportunity.”

“What do you know about my employer?” she snapped back, ignoring the way she felt like he’d dumped a bucket of ice over her. She barely knew her employer. He was Vlad Masters, yes, but what did anyone really know about the man? No one even knew he was still interested in ghosts, in ghost hunting.

Phantom snorted. “More than I’d like to. He’s not a good man. What kind of person gives ghost hunting equipment to a fourteen-year-old?”

“I— He trusted me!”

“More than he trusts any of his employees? Any of the professionals he can hire?” Phantom angled his head slightly. His eyes felt like they were staring right through her. “Or are you just a good pick because he’s got power over you? Who would ever believe you?”

“Vlad Masters is a good man!” Her anger flickered, but did not ignite again. Damn her, why hadn’t she just gone for the weaker shots, instead of burning through everything in one go! “He tries to keep us all safe!”

“He’s brought more ghosts into this town than I have, even if I count myself!” Phantom shifted, but stilled immediately with a hiss of pain. “Ignoring the animal ghosts that he’s made himself, he’s responsible for all kinds of shit. Skulker, you remember him? He’s one of Vlad’s hires.”

She hadn’t used his name. Phantom shouldn’t have known Vlad Masters was the one who’d given her the equipment.

“So just the one ghost, who seems fixated on you anyway?” The attempt felt feeble, but she pushed through anyway. “Not exactly convincing evidence, Phantom.”

“What about the ghost king? Pariah Dark, who dragged this town into the Ghost Zone?” Almost his entire front was covered in ice, now. His glow seemed weaker than it had before. “Why do you think he was here? Hunting for a priceless ghost artifact?”

A priceless ghost artifact which Mr. Masters had had. Which he’d just passed onto her, because he trusted her. Or because he wanted her to take the fall for him?

Phantom must’ve sensed her hesitation, because he continued, despite the wavering in his voice, despite the way he shook. “And Plasmius, the vampire ghost. You don’t see him often, but you’re feeling his impact, I can guarantee it. There might be more— I would bet that there’s more.”

“You— You don’t have any proof of this. Can’t have any proof of it.” She stood up, straightened herself to her full height to loom over him. He was just a despicable ghost. He didn’t get to do this.

“Yeah, because Vlad isn’t stupid enough to leave that stuff out and about.” Phantom rolled his eyes, lifting his hand off of his torso. Its blue glow faded, and in sync, his eyes shifted back to green. “You can ask some of the humans, if you don’t trust my word. All of the Fentons, bar Jack, dislike Vlad for a variety of reasons. I know that Danny and Jazz know about Vlad’s connection with ghosts.”

“So you want me to let you escape, to let you live another day, just so I can follow up on those lies?” She scoffed. “Fat chance.”

“You asked for proof.” Phantom had to twist his head to stare up at her, eyes still narrowed. “Come on, what will it take to convince you? I’m trying, Red. Throw me a bone!”

“I just want someone to be honest with me for once!” she snapped before flinching. She hadn’t meant to say that. Well, fuck. Truck over it, Valerie! “Nothing is ever fucking real. It’s all false relationships and lies, through and through! And the few honest things I get to have get ruined because of ghosts! Because of you!”

Phantom stared up at her, wide-eyed. “Valerie, I—”

“No, shut up! I’m not done!” She balled her fists. The metal plates dug into her hand through the gloves, but she didn’t care. Not anymore. “I had everything I could’ve wanted! But then that stupid dog of yours lost my dad his job, destroyed our stuff, and now we’re broke as shit! All my friends abandoned me, and I had to get a job just to help support my family! Goodbye, spare time!”

She breathed out, noisily. “But I got ghost hunting gear from some anonymous source! And yeah, it was a little sketchy, but it let me make a difference! I got to help! Even if it was hard, at least it made me feel like I was doing something! And I— I made friends! Or… A friend, at least! It was nice!”

Her shoulders shook with tension. “Until I watched you plunge a fist through the chest of my suit.” She stared down at Phantom, but he’d turned his face away. She couldn’t read his expression anymore. “And that’s when I realized I couldn’t have any of that anymore. Because you—and other ghosts, but mostly you—were gunning for me. Because you would kill me if you got the chance.”

“Valerie—” he started, feebly, not even turning his head to face her again.

“I don’t want to hear it,” she snapped back. “I… You took away the one thing I had control over. You destroyed my suit, and now you’re telling me that the guy who gave it to me was just using me as a tool? That I’d never been in full control of what was going on?”

Her next exhale was wet. Shaky. “You really… You really can’t imagine what that’s like.”

“Valerie,” he said again. Turned those big wet eyes up to her. “God, I… I mean, obviously I can’t empathize with all of that, but… You think I never went through any of that? I mean—” He laughed. It was quaky and humorless. “I died, Valerie. How much else can you lose, right? And now I’m just trying to help my hometown, and what do I get as thanks?”

He waved a hand over his torso. The sprawling injury—the combined surface area of both shots—was covered entirely in ice, but that couldn’t hide the vicious green underneath. She’d really done a number on him.

“Ghost hunters are after me all the time. The town changes its mind on whether I’m good or bad on a whim, like everything I did before that moment didn’t matter! Like I’m not constantly trying to save everyone, like I’m not doing my constant best!”

Phantom laughed again, leading it into a hacking cough. “And yeah, sometimes I mess up. Sometimes a ghost slips past, or I don’t stop them until they ravage a factory. But, fuck. Doesn’t everybody screw up sometimes? Isn’t that just part of being human? Or was that supposed to leave when we die, when we become a ghost? Because, ooh boy, I think I might’ve missed that step.”

“You are a mess,” she countered, but it didn’t feel as heated as she’d intended. She let herself slump down, until she sat next to him. “If this is all so terrible, why don’t you just… leave. You’re a ghost. Go back to the Ghost Zone, or whatever.”

“The ghosts won’t stop coming just because I’m not here, you know?” He sighed, pulling up his knees and resting his arms on them. The ice on his stomach creaked. “They’ll keep attacking, constantly. Do you know how many ghosts invade this town on a daily basis? How many people could get hurt if I’m not watching, 24/7?”

He huffed out something that was almost a laugh. “The Fentons sure don’t. I thought about it, y’know? Taking a break, at least, see how the town would fare without me. But there are so many ghost attacks that they don’t know about. That you don’t know about.”

“Because you stop them before we can. So if you did leave, we’d learn about all those attacks, too.”

“You’d all run yourselves ragged.” He shook his head. His hair was stiffer than usual, stained with his own ectoplasm. “Even if you and the Fentons coordinated, you would all have to deal with almost constant attacks. At all times. How many ghosts do you think attack at night, when you guys are all asleep?” He laughed, bitterly. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

“So why didn’t you take that break?” She turned to narrow her eyes at him, not that he could tell with the helmet. “Show us why we were wrong?”

“Because that’d hurt people.” He moved to run a hand through his hair but stopped almost immediately, grimacing at the ectoplasm on his glove. Instead he turned to unleash his big green eyes on her once more. “It’d hurt you, and it’d hurt the Fentons, and it would hurt everyone else in the town. I couldn’t… I can’t let that happen. Hurt so many people, just because a few of them sucked.”

“Sounds like catharsis to me.” She shrugged. “It’d be an eye-opener.”

“It would hurt countless people. People like you. People like my friends, like my family.”

It felt like her heart stilled in her chest.

His family?

“You have family living in this city?” She squinted at him. He looked like a teenager, yeah, but everyone knew ghosts didn’t age worth shit. He could be decades old, centuries old. “Friends?”

Phantom froze. His glow flickered, like it kicked up a notch. “Um,” he said, and she realized that he hadn’t even meant to say that.

Wow.

What a heart to heart they were having.

“Well, that explains why you’re trying so hard.” She forced herself into a more casual sitting position, draped a hand over her leg, like she wasn’t coated head to toe in ghost-proof armor. “I bet way more people would be open to your help if they knew the real reason, Phantom.”

“I do want to help everyone,” he snipped back. His glow softened again. “It’s just… Yeah, my family and my friends are the reason why I keep fighting, even when everyone else shits on me. When my own family rants about how despicable I am.”

“They don’t know?” She ran her eyes over him. He didn’t look… all that strange, for a ghost. Pretty human. Yeah, she didn’t recognize him either, but… “How can they not?”

He shrugged. “Might be willful ignorance. Would you want your kid to be me?”

“I guess that that explains why you knew it wasn’t me in the suit,” she begrudgingly allowed. “You would’ve recognized me outside it, too.”

“That, and I spent plenty of time hanging around Casper High to recognize the bigger players.” He raised his hand, but then paused to stare at it. Seemed to think better of whatever automated motion he’d been going for, because he dropped it again. “That place is a ghost magnet like you wouldn’t believe.”

Well, now there was a reminder of all the class she was accidentally skipping out on.

“Yeah,” she said instead of lingering on that thought. “I guess that that’s fair.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the ghost hunter and the ghost.

“Look, Val. Ghost hunting is rough business.” He gestured at his iced-over injury. “Trust me, I’d know. I just… didn’t want you to get involved if you didn’t have to. You’ll get hurt. You have gotten hurt. But… But it was wrong of me to try and take that choice away from you. To try and take that little bit of control out of your hands.”

Now there was an apology she hadn’t expected to get. Almost destroy a ghost, and he apologizes to her? Phantom had issues, man.

“Well, uh. Thanks, I guess? For the apology.” She felt awkward, now. Thrown off of her footing. “Sorry for shooting you. And… all the blaming and stuff.”

“It’s not the worst injury I’ve gotten.” He shifted, hissed in pain. “But it’s up there. Yeesh, Val, how’d you even get that much punch into a single shot?”

“I, uh.” She rubbed her hand in her neck, the plates clicking against each other. “The suit kind of… works on a mental link? So I figured I would try and pour all my anger and frustration into it.”

Phantom blinked at her, stunned. “Well, damn. That’s one way of doing it.”

“It felt… relieving, in a way, I guess. But now I just feel bad about shooting you down.” She nudged his leg with her own, gently. “Can I… Is there anything I can do?”

“Honestly? Can you take patrol duty this night?” He laughed, uncertainly, playing with the hem of his gloves. “I’m gonna need some proper medical care for this one, I think.”

“Ghosts do medical care?”

He raised an unimpressed brow. “We get injured, why wouldn’t we do medical care?”

“Fair enough.” She sighed, pushed herself upright. A moment of hesitation, then she held out a hand for Phantom. “Deal. You need more time for that injury?”

“I’ll manage.” He took her hand, let her pull him up. He was startlingly light, which surprised her until he remained floating in the air after she let go. “Thanks. And, uh. Thanks for the talk. I’m glad we finally got through all this shit, even if I had to get shot down for it to happen.”

She let out a startled laugh. “Yeah, well. Thank you for the talk, too, even though I just shot you down.” After a beat of hesitation, she held out her hand. “Truce?”

“Truces are only temporary.” He made a face. “And I’m not too big on those anymore because everyone always breaks them by suddenly shooting me.”

Phantom held out his own hand, just away from hers. “Allies?”

“Semantics,” she grumbled, rolling her eyes. She took the hand and shook it. “Fine. Allies.”

He floated around her, slowly. “So, um. Before I leave… You said that this suit works with a mental link?”

“Yeah?” she turned to match his rotation, narrowing her eyes. “Why?”

“It’s just…” He blew out a noisy breath. “Technus made it, and I don’t trust him to make human-safe material. I know your identity is a big deal, but you might want to consider getting it checked out, just to be safe. Ectoplasm poisoning is a terrible way to die.”

Now that was an awful thing to drop on someone like that. “Phantom, what the hell! Who am I even supposed to ask for help with this?!” She balled her fists, feeling the flame of anger rear its head once more. “The only ghost experts are the Fentons, and they’ll go crazy over something like this!”

“The parents, yeah, but the kids are way better with this sort of stuff.” He gestured at the Thermos on his belt—it had gotten dented at some point during their fight. “Where do you think I get this stuff?”

“Oh. I guess I just… assumed you’d stolen it, like the Fentons keep claiming.”

He rolled his eyes. “Typical. But really, ask the Fenton kids. I think the son is about your age, right? Not sure how well you know each other, but… he’s reliable. He won’t tell anyone if you don’t want him to.”

Reliable, Danny Fenton? Now that was something you didn’t hear very often. At least it would give her an opportunity to explain why she broke up with him.

“I’ll… keep it in mind,” she told Phantom. “Anyway, I promise I’ll do patrol tonight. Go take care of that injury.”

Phantom grinned down at her, saluting playfully. “Gotcha. Bye, Val!”

“Yeah. Bye, Phantom.”

She watched him leave. Confirmed that there was no one watching, and let the armor retreat back under her skin.

Maybe she would take up his advice.

[bollywood-and-phoenix-feather]

manic hours opened yesterday and @just-another-trans-twink and I went on a 24-hour zukka lockdown. this was the result!

essentially: more sokka and azula content is absolutely necessary in this fandom, so here are five times sokka and azula collaborated for the better, and one time it was definitely for the worse

Read on AO3 above!

1. the gaang threatens murder

Sokka hadn’t felt this anxious in nearly six years – since the end of the war. Well, not counting the numerous attempts on his boyfriend’s life; those set him on edge for weeks afterwards. Today was different, though. It wasn’t just he and Zuko and the guards who were unusually tense and hyper-alert. The whole palace felt like it was holding its breath, terse silence stifling in the late summer air.

Sokka checked his timepiece. Thirty minutes until Azula arrived to move into the palace, hopefully (or unfortunately?) for good.

Zuko had been back in contact with his sister for years now. He’d been to visit her in the hospital many times, and she’d even visited the palace occasionally. The fact that she and Zuko could now hold a conversation without setting each other on fire was testament to how she’d changed. Even the doctors said she was better, more stable.

But Sokka still didn’t trust her - couldn’t trust her, after everything she’d done to Katara, Suki, his dad, Zuko… they were his family, and he had to be ready to protect them. Sokka wasn’t the only one that felt that way. Zuko might have started to trust her again, but everyone else was skeptical.

Katara was pissed; Sokka didn’t need Toph’s seismic sense to know that. She, Aang, Toph, Suki, and a few other Kyoshi warriors had arrived a few days ago for extra security. Zuko had stubbornly maintained that it was unnecessary, but he’d finally conceded it was probably a good idea after Sokka had asked them to come anyway.

Zuko, in his earnest quest to be a good brother, wanted to give Azula a proper welcome to the palace, with a small celebratory dinner with their closest friends - which were Zuko’s closest friends, since Azula didn’t really have those anymore. Ty Lee and Mai declined to come, and he was pretty sure everyone else had only agreed to come to provide moral support and physical protection for Zuko. Sokka was just hoping a fight wouldn’t break out.

-

Dinner was, well. Tense.

Katara did little but pick at her food and glare icy daggers at Azula, who pretended not to notice, acting coolly unperturbed by the tension around her. Suki looked relaxed, but Sokka knew better. Her fans sat on either side of her plate, ready for a fight, and she never quite shifted her weight to the back of her seat. Toph might have been the only one actually having a good time, irreverently picking her nails and drinking more sake than a person her size should have been able to.

Aang was desperately trying to ease the mood, chattering on far too cheerfully about new trade routes between the Earth Kingdom and Southern Water Tribe, while Zuko passively nodded along, glancing over at his sister occasionally like he wanted to talk to her.

“... so then, shipments will move primarily between Akahime, Kyoshi Island, and the Southern Water Tribe, like they did when I was a kid! Or was a kid for the first time, I guess! Huh. Anyway! This is gonna be great because it’s a relatively short and easy trade route but the quality of goods -”

“Aang,” Sokka snapped, physically unable to listen any longer. “I love you like a brother, but that does mean that if I have to listen to you recite the trade proposal that I helped write for any longer, I will shave your eyebrows off while you sleep. And Katara -” Sokka whirled on her - “I know you’re upset, but can you please return my water to a liquid state? And everyone else’s, for that matter? Otherwise someone’s gonna have to deal with a hungover Toph tomorrow, and it sure as hell isn’t gonna be me!”

Sokka glared at his sister across the table. Her face was stony, her eyes slightly narrowed. Was this going to end well for Sokka? No. Did that mean he was going to back down? Absolutely not.

“Fine,” Katara muttered through gritted teeth. With a twitch of her fingers, the ice filling everyone’s cups of water melted back to liquid - all except Sokka’s.

“Real fucking mature, Katara - ” he began, and then she flicked her fingers out towards him, melting the water in his cup and sending it right at his face.

“You little shit!” Sokka shrieked in what he was sure was a very, very manly tone. As he rose to confront his sister, Zuko and Suki turned to exchange a fond look, both of them struggling to hide their laughter. Sokka took a breath, feigning sincerity. “You know what? I take it back. You’re ALL a bunch of assholes.” He yanked the tablecloth towards him, sending food and drink flying, before attempting to make a hasty escape.

Chaos erupted. Katara bent the water off herself and onto Zuko, apparently declaring him guilty by association. Toph began shooting grape-oranges at people with alarming precision, while Suki deflected them just as easily. Sokka didn’t get more than a few steps away from the table before his feet were earthbent into the floor.

“You’re not going anywhere, Snoozles!” Toph bellowed, now pelting him with various fruits. He tried to dodge without falling on his face, and was only saved by Zuko grabbing both his arms to keep him balanced. Sokka looked up to see Zuko with a wide grin on his face, and Sokka, hopelessly-in-love bisexual that he was, had barely started his usual inner monologue about how beautiful Zuko’s smile was when Zuko leaned in to smear egg custard on his face.

Just as Sokka opened his mouth to voice his betrayal, another shrill scream split the room: “Are you fucking kidding me?!” Everyone turned to see Azula standing in the corner of the room, irate, steaming the water off her shirt and picking a few stray noodles out of her hair. “I lost to you?! You?”

Tense silence returned, dragging on as everyone tried to anticipate Azula’s next move.

Toph, who had remained unscathed by using the metal plates as shields, and who was somehow still sipping from a full, intact glass of sake, broke the silence. “Yep,” she said, popping the “p”.

Azula stared at Toph for a few moments before sitting down, a look of resignation on her face. Hm. That was new. So was the “Whatever,” Sokka thought he heard her mutter under her breath.

Slowly, everyone returned to the table to pick at what was left of their food and exchange uneasy glances with one another.

Aang cleared his throat. “Did anyone try the chicken? I thought the chicken was lovely.”

-

“I’m going to bed. Are you coming?” Zuko’s hands rested lightly on Sokka’s shoulders, and Sokka sleepily tipped his head back, away from the scroll he was reading, for a kiss. Zuko smirked, a few strands of hair that had escaped his topknot softly framing his face, and obliged.

“I’ll be there soon, okay? I just have a couple more things to take care of,” Sokka murmured in response. As usual, they were up late working in their study. (Technically, it was Zuko’s study, but Sokka almost always worked in here and was steadily covering any available flat surface with his scrolls, reference books, and blueprints. Not that Zuko was complaining.)

Zuko hummed, “Okay, love you,” against Sokka’s lips, before striding out of the room. Sokka waited until his footsteps had faded down the hall before rising, hoping he remembered the way to Azula’s room. He really didn’t want to ask for directions.

A few minutes and wrong turns later, he found Azula. She yanked open her door before he had really finished knocking, snapping an acidic “What?” in his face.

Sokka shouldered his way inside, closing the door behind him and choosing to ignore the fact that she could fry him like a pig-chicken in an instant if she decided it was worth it. He couldn’t think about that right now; he had to do this.

“Listen,” he growled, not bothering to hide the years of hurt and anger behind his voice. “I don’t know if you’re actually better or if this is part of some elaborate scheme of yours, and you know what? Right now, I don’t really care. You’ve hurt too many of the people I love. But you have Zuko convinced, and I guess -” His voice cracked, and he took a breath, trying not to wince visibly. “I guess that’s all that matters right now. He cares about you. A lot. So if you hurt him again, know this: consequences be damned, ending you will be my sole mission. Understand?”

Azula, level and unflinching, arms crossed over her chest, held his gaze for a long moment before huffing and breaking eye contact to inspect her nails. “Bold of you to assume I can be killed, Water Tribe.”

Sokka could only continue to stare, gritting his teeth to prevent his mouth from drifting open in astonishment. The fuck kind of response was that? What did that even mean?

Apparently satisfied with her nails, she turned her face back up to look at Sokka, a new, hard glint in her eyes. “Don’t worry about me. The threat is mutual. Guards!” A royal guard stepped through the door, standing at attention. “Please escort Ambassador Sokka out. I need my beauty sleep.”

And before Sokka could even begin to form a response, the door was closing behind him, and his feet were guiding him to Zuko’s chambers.

2. the gaang goes crafting

Sokka placed two thumbs on his temples, rubbing vigorously before giving up his headache for a lost cause with a sigh. This was the second Four-Nation (well, three-nation plus Aang) diplomatic council meeting he had attended, and as both the Southern Water Tribe representative and a young man who had seen far too much over the past few years, he was deeply frustrated.

When he'd been younger, he'd sat through enough war meetings to know how they usually went: chaos and argument, with Hakoda listening carefully before picking out the bits and pieces that mattered. It was a lot like hunting: waiting and watching for the correct moment to strike. Sokka had learned long ago how to listen, and listen well.

Unfortunately, it seemed like he might be the only one. The Earth Kingdom generals had not taken kindly to being placed in a small room with their Fire Nation counterparts, and every word out of their mouths demonstrated all too clearly that the war, for them, was not yet over. Zuko's position was still precarious - twice-banished and once-crowned - and so he could only do so much. The Earth King's travels had clearly done him some good, but the bar for improvement was unbelievably low. And Sokka did not yet have his dad's ability to command the room.

So this wasn't, at all, like hunting. It might actually be more like the moment after the hunting was over, when the offal was thrown to the polar bear dogs and they went wild, howling and yelling and stomping down the snow.

"I know that face," came a snide voice to his left.

Sokka jumped and drew his sword, mostly on instinct. Azula met his eyes over its point, and then pushed it away, lazily. Sokka let her.

"You're thinking," she said. "If you were my brother, I would say it was a rare feat. But you're not him, are you?"

Like everything Azula said, this question was a test, or a game, or both. Sokka rolled his eyes and chose not to play. "What do you want?"

"I want what you want," said Azula. "And I can help you get it."

Spirits. Even when she was trying to help you, she sounded like she was planning world domination. "Tell me how to get General Wu to shut up for more than five minutes, and then we can talk."

Azula examined her nails. They were much shorter, now, than they had been at the start of the war, so the effect was less like a predator picking its claws, and more girlish; it made her look her age, for once. Sokka wasn't sure if Azula knew, and if not, he certainly wasn't going to tell her.

"General Wu's daughter is studying at the Royal Fire Nation Academy, in her third summer. That means she's currently memorizing the fifty-eight rhetorical principles, and she's probably been practicing them so much that he can recite them by rote. If you bring up the one about the value of being concise - "

"He will finish it, embarrass himself, and then keep quiet for at least the next five minutes so that I can shut down his stupid air-balloon outreach plan." Sokka blinked, surprised at the words coming out of his own mouth. "Did I just agree with you?"

"Of course you did," said Azula, smiling. Her palm was sparking a little, in the way it did before she said something about collective power for utter domination, etc., so Sokka took the opportunity to head her off early.

"Come back to the library with me," he said. "We still have nine generals to go."

Azula looked at him. Sokka looked right back. He had the upper hand here, and he knew it - Azula must have been bored out of her mind after months nothing interesting to do but watch the path of the odd frog-fly. As far as Sokka knew, she wasn't even allowed out of this wing of the palace unattended, let alone permitted to read anything more recent than her great-grandfather’s time.

"Fine," said Azula, finally, feigning boredom. Sokka smiled.

-

Zuko stared. "What is this?"

"What does it look like?" said two voices at once. Sokka and Azula looked at each other in brief, honest shock, before turning back to him as one. Zuko swallowed nervously and resisted the urge to draw his swords.

"Um. It looks like the librarian is gonna be mad at you for defacing the general's royal portraits," said Zuko.

"What did I tell you?" said Azula, scornful. "I knew he wouldn't understand."

"We just have to give him a minute," said Sokka, patiently. Zuko stared. We? he mouthed.

"Oh, well, let him be," said Azula. "Zuzu - " she began, sweetly, and Zuko didn't even flinch this time - "you take all the time you need. If you have questions, we will be in my chambers."

"In your chambers," agreed Zuko, haplessly. "Why?"

"We're finishing the border agreement," Sokka threw over his shoulder. Azula was already halfway down the hall.

"The border agreement. The one that - they've been working on that for months! What do you mean you're finishing it?"

"Oh, you know, teamwork and whatever. It wasn't that hard." Sokka grinned brightly at Zuko, giving him a large thumbs up, and then skipped after Azula.

3. the gaang does science

As much as Zuko was unnerved by the...alliance? working relationship? collaboration? between Sokka and Azula, he had to admit that they were making great progress. They had resolved the border agreement, a messy affair Zuko was sure would take the rest of the year and possibly also Aang’s moderation to conclude, in less than a week.

That had been months ago, and since, they had gotten everything from education reform bills to reparations proposals approved by the council and various world leaders. Sometimes Zuko wondered who was really running the country right now. He didn’t mind, though. It was fun to watch the dusty old men on his advisory council squirm in meetings when Azula sat in the corner, staring them down and taking meticulous notes.

Plus, he got more sleep this way.

Zuko rose and stretched after signing off the Power Duo’s latest proposal for terracing the mountainside of a nearby village to grow rice. Dismissing his constant internal struggle over whether their partnership should make him thankful or fearful for his safety, he went to find Sokka. He got more time to eat in places that weren’t his study now, too. He’d thought a surprise picnic by the turtleduck pond might be nice; it’d been so long since he and Sokka had been able to go on an actual date.

He’d already asked for a blanket and a basket of food to be sent over to the pond, so all he had to do was find Sokka, who…wasn’t in his office. Zuko frowned; he must be outside.

Zuko headed towards the courtyard behind the building instead, lost in thought about their last date - Sokka had talked him into seeing The Ember Island Players’ most recent atrocity, which had lived up to Zuko’s rock-bottom expectations, but they’d gone swimming afterwards, and then -

Zuko’s train of thought (and the accompanying flush in his cheeks) was cut off abruptly by the truly alarming sight greeting him in the courtyard.

Azula was elaborately strapped and tied to Sokka’s back like a baby hog monkey, her arms falling in front of his shoulders to tighten a couple last straps. Both were wearing large, ridiculous, leather-framed goggles that fit snugly around their eyes. As Azula worked with the straps, Sokka unfurled two triangular pieces of cloth that bore suspicious similarity to the wings of Aang’s glider. The bottom part of the cloth appeared to be attached to his boots, the top edge to his arms.

Before Zuko could even say, What the fuck, Sokka? , Sokka grinned over his shoulder at Azula and said with far too much vigor, “Ready?”

Azula, clearly still focused on the straps, snapped, “I’m always ready. Are you sure this will work?”

“No, but there’s only one way to find out! That’s science! Sokka-POW!” And with that, Azula lit a massive flame under her feet, sending them both flying above the roof of the palace. Immediately, despite Sokka’s best efforts with the cloth flaps, they careened wildly out of control before plummeting directly into the roof of the residential hall on the opposite side of the courtyard.

As he sprinted towards them, calling for his guards to send a healer, he could think only two thoughts: (1) spirits, please let them be okay, and (2) if they’re not dead, I’m going to kill them.

Crashing through the door of the building, he found Sokka and Azula on the (very charred) floor, a few small fires surrounding them, which he snuffed out with a wave of his hand. The two were still mostly strapped together, Sokka rolling around on the floor in an attempt to dislodge Azula, while she tried to undo the straps at Sokka’s front with mixed success.

Zuko unsheathed one of the daggers at his waist and willed himself not to breathe fire as he launched into a tirade that bald-ponytail, sixteen-year-old Zuko would have been proud of. “What the fuck were you two thinking! Are you stupid? Don’t answer that, smartass,” He glared pointedly at Sokka while he sliced his way through their bindings. “What would I have done if something happened to either of you? There’d be a fucking diplomatic crisis, I’d have a dead ambassador and a dead sister and a very, very angry Southern Water Tribe -”

“In my defense,” Sokka muttered hoarsely, head lolling back onto the floor, “my dad would definitely believe you if you told him that I did something like this.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” He sheathed his dagger and whirled on his sister. “Azula,” he pleaded, “why?”

She shrugged, and offered only, “Science.” A smirk spread over her face, splitting streaks of soot. “Maybe if you’d let me read a book published in the last two hundred years, then I’d know it was a bad idea.”

Zuko’s imminent death threat was cut off by Sokka’s chuckling from the floor. “Nice one, ‘Zula. Up top.” He raised his hand weakly for Azula to give him a high five.

I can’t believe I’m in love with this concussed idiot, Zuko thought (not for the first time). Healers rushed in to save the two from Zuko’s remaining wrath. “I’m telling Katara,” Zuko muttered.

“Nooooo, babyyy, please don’t tell Katara, she’ll -”

“I’m telling Katara, mostly because you deserve to be yelled at by someone else, but also because she and Aang get here in a week, and I don’t know how else I’m going to explain why it looks like a comet crashed into the palace. And, you know what? Royal decree - you two are not allowed to hang out unsupervised any more.”

Azula glared at him - less her old I’m-going-to-mount-your-head-on-the-palace-gates glare and more the usual your-existence-tires-me glare that he saw pass between Sokka and Katara so often. That was better, though, and Zuko decided that he would take it. Sokka just pouted, jutting out his bottom lip and batting his eyelashes. Zuko found this look cuter than he should, and Sokka knew it.

Zuko steeled his resolve. “I’m telling Katara, and I’m not going to stop giving you shit about this until we’re approximately eighty, okay? But you can read whatever you want in the library. Happy?”

The Power Duo cheered, and Zuko couldn’t hold back a soft smile.

4. the gaang hoards the brain cells

Maybe it was a lifetime of being the oldest sibling and also the responsible sibling, or maybe it was just because he had grown up around Katara, but despite all appearances to the contrary (see: the as-yet unrepaired roof of the residential hall) Sokka was actually a great influence on Azula.

Part of this was definitely due to the fact that Azula, like, listened to him. Sokka wasn't sure that he'd ever been around someone who did what he said without question. Zuko supported him, but in a boyfriend kind of way; sometimes Sokka would jump in with a plan fully formed, and then Zuko would make him explain it back and work out the kinks; other times - and especially in fights - by the time Sokka had come up with a workable plan, Zuko was already in the middle of it, flaming-feet first, and Sokka had to improvise (brilliantly, but desperately) to keep up.

Katara, conversely, never actually listened to him. She just did what she wanted. If what she wanted happened to line up with Sokka's exact plan, she would never admit it. It was her right, really, as a younger sibling; Sokka knew this, and he loved her.

But Azula understood his plans almost before he said them out loud -  most of the time because she was thinking the same thing. And somehow, out of everyone - she respected him the most; sometimes Sokka felt like she was trying to earn his approval, like she knew that if Sokka trusted her, so would Katara, and even Zuko. If she was a sail, Sokka was just a rudder, steering her: they didn't have to be pointing the same direction, but their boat would never crash.

Sokka frowned, trying to imagine himself as a boat. Would his wolf-tail be the rudder? Or would his whole body just be triangle-shaped?

It didn't matter. (It did. He would figure it out later.) Right now, he needed to talk to her about some of the villages at the southern border; heavy rains had induced mudslides, wiping out shrines and causing the spirits to run amok. Sokka thought that maybe, this village might be a kind of Heroism Starter Pack for Azula, that they could - what was that noise?

Sokka looked down. The castle floor should not be splashing his feet, and yet it was; he was standing in a giant puddle. He looked up, suddenly focused; there was a trail of muddy water making its way down the hall.

Sokka followed it. The water grew muddier and deeper as he went, and Sokka despaired for whoever would have to clean it up. Finally, he caught up to the source: his very bedraggled sister, and his equally soaked boyfriend, trudging toward the baths.

"Um," said Sokka. "What's happening, here?"

Katara turned around. "Well, someone had to do it." Her hands were on her hips, her nose upturned.

"Yeah," agreed Zuko, smiling. "We took care of it. It was fun."

Don't get him wrong - Sokka was all for Zuko's little smiles, and Zuko having fun, but - "Take care of what? What did you do?"

Zuko and Katara scowled, eerily identical. "What we did," Katara said, edging from 'self-satisfied' to 'fiercely righteous', "was settle the spirits and save the villagers, since obviously the Earth kingdom civil forces don't have the bending knowledge to do it yet!"

"Yeah, like I said," said Zuko. He was frowning like a kicked puppy, which was unfair to Sokka specifically. "We took care of it."

"Oh," said Sokka, relaxing. "That's great! So you guys talked to the villagers?"

"Um," said Zuko. "About what?"

"...the mudslides. And, like, preventing them? The tiered rock formations?"

Zuko stared at him, a little furrow forming between his eyebrows which meant he was totally lost. Katara avoided his gaze, shifting from foot to foot.

"Katara," said Sokka, using his absolute best big brother voice, "remember my designs? Which I told you about last week?"

"Look, Sokka," said Katara, gently. Sokka frowned and crossed his arms; Katara had not been able to fool him with that voice since she was about ten years old, and she knew it. "We solved the problem. The spirits are settled and everything is okay now! Your designs were great, but we just...didn't need them?"

Sokka stared her down; Katara stared back.

"If you're going to -" "Well, what exactly was your - " they began, at the same time, and Zuko sighed; before they could really get into it, a rush of heat interrupted them, shrinking the puddles on the floor to sad little piles of dirt, and blowing Katara's hair dramatically into her face. Sokka stifled a laugh.

"I think the real question is, what did you actually do?" Azula asked, appearing from the shadows. She was holding Zuko's Blue Spirit mask, which was dripping with mud.

"Dramatic entrance high-five," said Sokka, because she deserved it, and because she was going to be on his side. Azula obliged, and then raised an eyebrow to Katara and Zuko, who reminded Sokka a bit of blow-dried cat-herons.

"We're not dumb," said Katara, smoothing down her robes. "We entered the village in disguise, and then cleared the mud and repaired the shrines. The spirits calmed down pretty quickly after everything was fixed."

"Right," said Azula. "Until the next time it rains. You know, what might have worked better would be to educate the villagers about flood barriers, or perhaps even offer them assistance in moving their shrines."

She sounded about as scornful and sarcastic as usual, but Sokka knew better; her ideas were legitimate and compassionate. He was so proud. Their murder baby was all grown up and trying to save people.

Katara did not pick up on the fact that Sokka was swelling like a pig-chicken about to crow. "You don't know that - "

"What we do know," interrupted Sokka bossily, "is that at some point it's going to rain again, and then the villagers are going to sit and pray to the Blue Spirit and the Painted Lady instead of building these custom-designed flood barriers on the mountain."

Zuko shuffled his feet. "I didn't really think about that."

"Zuko, I love you," said Sokka. "but in my humble opinion? No, you did not."

"I don't agree," began Katara, but Azula cut her off. "I do. I feel the same way Sokka does."

Zuko stared at her, like he was desperately trying not to ask: about what? But Azula was biting her lip and kind of looked like she was about to break into hives, so Sokka let her have this one.

"Here," he said, thrusting his plans into Katara's arms. "I support the fact that you guys got to do your dramatic spirit thing, but now please go back and give them my plans."

Azula brought two fingers up to her nose, showily. "And do take a bath, please. I doubt the villagers will appreciate your particular stench.”

5. the gaang plans a proposal

“...and that’s why you can’t trust General Yin, but you can use him to gain influence with Ambassador Xi and her supporters,” Azula finished, emphatically pointing at a few points on the elaborate web of papers tacked up on the wall of Sokka’s quarters. It’s not like he’s slept in there in years, anyway.

Zuko’s bed is much nicer. Because it has Zuko in it.

Sokka jotted down a few notes from Azula’s monologue, absentmindedly passing her their (stolen) bowl of noodles. He dropped his pen and rubbed his eyes. On to more important work. “So,” he said. “I’m proposing to Zuko. Wanna help?”

Azula met his eyes and stared him down. Sokka waggled his eyebrows, smile as big as his face.

“You’re serious,” she realized.

“Of course I am! It’s the biggest tactical challenge of the century, because Zuko is the most suspicious guy we know and he absolutely cannot suspect.” Sokka tossed her a scroll. It was long - and detailed. “What do you say?”

“With my help, this will be the best proposal ever made. Together, you and I are unbeatable!”

“Cool beans,” said Sokka. “Plan over breakfast tomorrow?”

-

Zuko stared at Katara. Katara stared at Zuko.

“Okay, so. I love your brother.”

“Obviously.”

Zuko shifted in his seat; his tea was untouched. “No, I mean. I really love your brother. He’s - the love of my life.”

Katara narrowly resisted the urge to say: if you love him so much, why don’t you marry him? Then, abruptly, she got the point.

“Are you asking for my blessing?”

“No,” said Zuko, and in response to Katara’s murderous glare, backtracked immediately. “Yes? I mean. I already asked Chief Hakoda.”

“Oh,” said Katara. Then, more gently, and possibly because she was worried Zuko might pass out, she asked, “What do you need my help with?”

“Planning,” he said, letting out a breath. “I want to propose and do it right, but Sokka’s the plan guy. Everyone knows that. And I thought, that since you know him, you could - “ He cuts himself off. “Forget it. It was a dumb idea anyway.”

Katara wills him to meet her eyes, because she is completely certain that they are actually sparkling. “Zuko,” she says, hand to her heart. “I would be honored.”

-

“Hello, Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe. Your boyfriend, Zuko, here. Well, you probably know me because of...all the time we spend together. You know, dates and other things. Like meetings - “

Sokka’s hand was suddenly on his forehead. “Zuko, babe, are you feeling all right?”

In short succession, Sokka examined his eyes, ears, and tongue, and took his pulse (ripping his robes open to do so). Zuko flushed, which just seemed to make Sokka more concerned.

“Sokka!” he growled. “I’m fine. Everything is fine. And also normal. Fine and normal.”

“Of course!” said Sokka, laughing a little maniacally. Maybe he was spending too much time with Azula. “Fine and normal. Why wouldn’t it be?” He laughed again.

“Uh, guys,” said Toph. “Are you two okay?”

Zuko blinked, and came back to himself. In front of him were ten to fifteen very important diplomats, and all of his best friends. He was in public, at dinner. And his robes were ripped wide open.

Sokka was suddenly jerked back in his chair, presumably by Azula. His eye twitched. “Nothing to see here, Toph! Look! I’ve finished my dinner!”

Toph frowned. “You haven’t, and I can tell when you’re lying.”

“Fine, I’m not hungry!” Sokka declared. “What are you, a cop?” His eye twitched again. “I have to go now, for unrelated reasons. To, uh, review some paperwork. Bye!”

He was gone so fast Zuko was pretty sure he left a little dust cloud behind. Toph looked nonplussed. “But,” she said, “I am a cop.”

Katara reached over to help Zuko straighten his robes, giving him a sympathetic look. He felt Suki’s glare from across the room. When he and Sokka had started dating she’d threatened to - quote - remove his entire spine from his body by way of his mouth if Zuko broke Sokka’s heart, and with the way Zuko was acting right now…he couldn’t blame her for being suspicious.

Katara followed his gaze. “Hey, Zuko,” she said, brightly. “Didn’t you have that - thing?”

“What thing?” said Zuko. Oh, god. He had forgotten something, hadn’t he? He -

Katara pinched his arm, hard. “You know. That thing. That you had to do in your chambers?”

He couldn’t lose face any more than he already had. “Of course, Katara,” he said. “I will go now to do that thing.” Zuko stood up and retreated with dignity, praying that whatever it was, he would remember when he got there.

The table was quiet in their absence. The diplomats - who seemed to be inured to this sort of thing - soon began chatting peacefully, or placating Aang, who had helpfully pulled out his usual marble trick.

Azula watched Katara steadily over the table; Katara refused to meet her eye. “What,” Katara said, finally. “Is there something on my face?”

Azula leaned forward, bangs shadowing her face. “Tell me everything you know.”

“About what?”

“You know what!” Azula snapped. “Is my brother planning to propose?”

Katara shifted in her seat. “Unlike you,” she began, haughtily, “I know when to retreat. So, fine. I will tell you some of the things I know.”

“Where,” Azula demanded, “and when?”

“Princess, Sparky,” Toph said, irritated. “Don’t you get it? It doesn’t matter whether you know, because those two dumbasses haven’t figured it out!”

This brought the table to a halt. Even Aang stopped his marble, because it was true: Sokka and Zuko might together be the force that had liberated Boiling Rock, but when it came to each other? That famed intellect went sailing out the window.

Katara deflated, laying her head on the table. “We’ve got our work cut out for us, don’t we?”

Azula reached out and, wonder of wonders, patted her arm with something close to sympathy. “Might as well get started.”

-

Zuko paced his chambers restlessly. What had he forgotten? Oh god, was it something related to the proposal? His hands flew to a fold in his robes, finding the necklace he’d engraved for Sokka - a smooth, deep blue leather band with a perfect moonstone pendant, which Zuko had engraved with a dragon and a wolf, nested together in a loving embrace. He sighed in relief.

Spirits, Zuko was so in love with him. He was desperately trying not to fuck up this proposal, but it seemed he was fucking up the not fucking up and -

He needed to take a walk and clear his head. He could almost hear his uncle sagely murmuring, “You rarely find answers in a crowded mind, Nephew.” Or something like that. Zuko made his way from his and Sokka’s room to the turtleduck pond. It seemed he was usually able to find answers there; it reminded him of his mom.

Approaching the pond, he saw a familiar figure sitting at the base of the cherry tree, already starting to bloom. Sokka seemed lost in thought, staring down at something in his lap, but jerked to attention once he heard the rustle of Zuko’s boots against the grass.

Zuko sat down next to his partner, nerves momentarily overshadowed by the sweet, peaceful movement of wind through the branches of the cherry tree and his abundant love for the man sitting next to him. Zuko reached up to brush a stray blossom from Sokka’s wolf tail, cradled his face to run a thumb over his cheekbone. “Hi,” Zuko murmured, gently pressing their foreheads together. “I’m sorry.”

Sokka pulled back slightly, face contorted in confusion. “For what? I’m the one that should be apologizing. Zuko, I -”

“Apologize? For what? I’m the one who acted like an absolute ass. Ugh, spirits, ‘Zuko here,’ what was I thinking,” He dropped Sokka’s gaze, his hands drifting towards his lap, getting painfully frustrated once again. “And then I just - I couldn’t - fuck!” Zuko was interrupted by Sokka’s hands grabbing his hips and pulling him onto Sokka’s lap, and by Sokka’s lips meeting his.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Sokka murmured in between tender kisses, and his lips were soft and warm and everything Zuko wanted right now and for the rest of his life, and if he had to keep this a secret anymore, Zuko thought he might literally die.

Zuko pulled away, just enough to look Sokka in the eyes. “Marry me,” Zuko breathed. “Please, Sokka. I love you so much, and I don’t know where I’d be without you, and I - I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” Zuko only realized he was crying when Sokka ran his thumb under Zuko’s good eye, brushing away tears while Zuko fumbled in his robe for the necklace.

At the sight of the necklace, tears began to spill from Sokka’s eyes, too. “Zuko… it’s beautiful, I - yes. Zuko, yes.” Zuko released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, and they were kissing again, and then all of a sudden, they weren’t, because Sokka, the absolute fucker, was laughing uncontrollably.

Zuko immediately began imagining worst-case scenarios. What if he didn’t mean it? What if the past five years with him have been some extremely elaborate prank, and -

Sokka, noticing his now-fiance’s abrupt silence, attempted to quash his laughter and held Zuko’s hands - still clutching the engagement necklace - in his own. “Zuko, love, hey, look at me. I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing because, well…” He pulled a small pouch from one of his pockets and opened it to reveal two delicately engraved golden bracelets, traditional Fire Nation engagement gifts. One held the image of a dragon; the other, a beautiful motif of waves crashing against a shore. They glinted warmly in the moonlight alongside the pendant of the engagement necklace. “I’m laughing because I had the same idea, I guess. I love you so much, and I want a life with you. Will you help me put this on?”

Zuko first let Sokka slide the bracelets over each of his wrists, then lifted his hands, shaking slightly, but steadied by Sokka’s warm touch, to clasp the necklace behind his neck. The tension bled out of Zuko, and he melted into Sokka, pushing him to the ground and kissing him senseless, from his mouth to the stone now resting at the base of his throat.

Sokka started laughing again, and Zuko joined in, overjoyed at the beauty and the absurdity of it all, at how lucky and in love he was.

6. the gaang commits arson

Librarian Hirai had been working at the royal palace since before Firelord Zuko had been crowned, going on forty years, now. His vast experience hadn’t prepared him for everything, certainly; the time with five Kyoshi warriors and a badgermole had been unprecedented, and he wasn’t sure he was going to lift the ban on platypus-bears in the palace anytime soon.

Hirai’s experience, however, had prepared him for this: the Fire Nation’s most formidable duo, Ambassador Sokka and Her Highness Azula, together, with access to children.

Hirai did not know the children’s names. He classified them solely on their capacity to irritate him; the only name he knew was that of the youngest, Tenzin, because the sweet child had never caused him any trouble. Naturally, Tenzin was to be found nowhere near this unholy gathering: instead, Hirai saw the bouncy one (liable to cause things to fall over), the Princess (insolent, with her fathers shamelessly wrapped around her finger), and the Teenager (arms always crossed, eyes forever rolling).

Her Highness Azula’s hand was alight with blue fire. To the courtyard and everyone within earshot, she was saying: “If you want to burn it, just go ahead. Everything important, your uncle or I have memorized.”

Hirai stopped listening, in an effort to avoid a coronary and possibly death. There was a protocol. Everything would be fine.

He moved methodically, double checking fire suppressant stations and tightening the seal on the vacuum chambers holding the oldest scrolls. He closed every entrance except the main one, and he stood guard outside of it.

This was not a long process; their royal Highnesses were still gathered like a storm cloud in the courtyard. A particularly loud storm cloud. Hirai had weathered storms before.

The ground rumbled, slightly. Republic City Chief of Police, Toph Beifong, emerged from it, and dusted herself off.

“You know,” she said conversationally, “arson is illegal. I can have you arrested for that.”

Hirai relaxed, infinitesimally. Beifong was known to be tough and fair; perhaps, after so many years, the spirits had thought to grant him an ally.

“So,” said Toph, rubbing her palms together. “Today, I’m going to teach you how not to get caught.”

It was interesting: Hirai had never before actually lent weight to the expression that one’s life could flash before their eyes. In that moment, swaying slightly where he stood, he was forced to concede that there might have been some truth to it after all.

He turned around, very calmly, and made his way to his desk. He groped vaguely for some parchment and ink, and in precise lettering dictated his resignation from the palace staff, effective immediately.

Somewhere out in the courtyard, their Highnesses’ Uncle Sokka and Aunt Azula high-fived.

[dredreadsdrawing]

Oc-tober Day 27: Fantasy

A bunch of my isekai ocs with original stories. Oofy. I will make the quickest of beginnings for em. These don’t tell the whole story, just how it starts and maybe some future details. I got carried away with some lol. Also, please don’t mind the absurd names XD I couldnt think of any, and isekais tend to have weird names anyways lol. Looking at you Miss Sidekick.

1. Second Best: Probably the one I have planned out the most and have even written like the entire plot for in a Quickie Summary ill post another time. This started as an isekai, but uh, i found no need for her to be reincarnated after I developed the story more. Still, the original inspiration for this was isekai lol.

Born in a lower noble family with high ambitions, when she was born plain, they planned to push her to be educated, but an accident defaced her at the age of three and that was it for them. They saw her as a lost cause and found it easier to give up on her. They were having another child anyways. So she was kept in the old, secluded wing of the estate, raised by maids and a single ill-kept tutor while her sister, born blessed and pretty, was spoiled. It happens. The protagonist is restless and takes to running away from the estate, going into the neighboring woods to explore. One day she finds a crying boy, hiding from his servants. She helps him and after hearing him out, they create a childish plan. To murder his step mother.

2. The Villlainess's Lackey:

A girl, let's call her Bronze, is reincarnated into an otome game she played nonstop. She was a hardcore fangirl of a particular character. Not the love interests, or the protagonist named Gold, but the hidden villainess that showed up once the characters graduate. Silver, the protagonists's own best friend turned jealous. Our girl is reincarnated as the lackey of the fake villainess, just a cliche bully trying to kick the protagonist out of high society. Bronze isn't too pleased about being stuck with her. She instead gets to working in the shadows, cornering Silver and spilling the beans on the game's entire story. On how Silver would lose. But not to worry! Bronze will meddle and lie and cheat and perhaps even murder for Silver! Silver is confused and refuses, but comes to accept the help with time. So far everything Bronze predicted has come true. But one thing she believed is wrong. Silver didn't rebel because she was jealous Gold got a guy she liked. She was jealous because she loves Gold. Love triangle shennanigans ensue.

3. To Serve (another that started as isekai but isn't anymore lol)

Eclair is a clumsy new maid, forced to take the job when her parents kicked her out. She was hired to a manor the owners never visit only to use her as a scapegoat. Her job: to take care of the young master. To her surprise, the boy of nine years is malnourished and neglected, the staff predicting his death soon. Unable to give up on such a young boy, Eclair uncovers the mystery on why he's kept secret. He's half fae, and part of his sickness is due to lack of magic. So she goes on a quest to get the boy an artifact to keep him alive, and on the way... Her clumsy ass dies. Her spirit pops out, much to her surprise, and she watches her body get up. A new aura around herself. It seems a wanted criminal has recently been caught and killed, but his soul latched on to the nearest body. Now they have to share it. (lol, yaddayadda he agrees to help the kid, they get the artifact, he slips and dies as he tries climbing the manor windows and she returns to her body with him as a spirit now, she nurses the child but as soon as he is better the fsther wants to just outright murder him so they flee the household to travel to the Fae country and along the way they get closer. Also Eclair is a lesbian and the criminal is gay and their attraction to a nonbinary stranger is a mess they need to make a peace treaty with. :'D)

4. Just a Bystander:

A gal is reincarnated as the first love interest of the Hero of the story. She's meant to be kind, passive, a stepping stone for the Hero to later abandon for more beautiful and powerful women. A stupid role in a story. Because she denied her reincarnation so much, the dick god made her mute. Still, she won't be a pawn. Before the Hero even arrives to the orphanage they meet at, she teaches herself how to read and write, a skill most adults in the village don't have. Once he arrives, the encounters start the same, but our protagonist doesn't play along. The Hero is a brat with a complex already and she ignores every bit of it, making him simultaneously dislike her and try harder to get her attention. His attempts end in a terrible clash where he is supposed to save her from a beast, bearing a scar from being hit by it, but the roles are reversed and she gets hit in the face. In the frenzy, the Hero pulls a sacred sword and is revealed to be the one legends speak of. The adults make a big deal out of his newfound glorious fate, but among the chatter comes the concern of the protagonist's face. She's already mute, and now she's been mutilated. She doesn't have much chance at marriage. She's personally not too sad about it, but to her dismay, the Hero takes it too seriously. He proposes to her and they get 'engaged' (these are children, this promise is entirely on his word, she never agreed to this). Before he goes to get trained in the capital, she gives him a letter he can't read. He takes it as a lover's note and for all the time he spends learning in the academy, he finally deciphers the looong note. It's detailed accounts of how he misinterpreted everything she did and how she has no interest in him at all. And by the time he goes back to the village she will be gone. He runs away on a stolen horse to confront her but it proves true. She got a job with a passing merchant in copying script without telling anyone and is long gone. So begins her independent life.

5. The B-Plot:

Cedar is reincarnated into a game where she is the Villainess, the one to bully the Heroine for seducing her fiancee the prince. In the story, after she is confronted, she is incarcerated and later killed in a fight with the evil forces. Cedar does not want this. So since an early age, she looks for ways out, and surprisingly comes to find she can use magic. Since this was never mentioned in the game, and magic is so rare, she hides this. With research, she realizes her engagement with the prince will mean she gives up over half her magic capabilities to him. That explains it. She will fix this. Once the time comes for her to be engaged to the Prince, she requests to add amendment to the contract, to the surprise of the adults, but they allow it. Her only addition; if three hidden words are spoken that all clauses from the engagement nullify. She would keep her magic. The adults don't realize the extent of this addition, but she holds it dear. As years go by, she trains with what little she has. She makes plans. She realizes the neighboring country is the same as a shounen novel's own isekai series and she seeks to explore it after her ban. She is ready. But.... She has also come to befriend the prince. He's an earnest kid that looks up to her. It's hard to believe his innocent voice would be the death of her. But her resolve is tight and she knows what will come. After he goes on a mission to retrieve the Transmigated Heroine, his attitude shift is clear. And he pubicly shames her at their graduation party, as foretold. Instead of crying, she asks him to repeat his words. He does. "I hate you." The air crackles as her magic comes back with force, draining him of it. She's back to full power, and it's more than she remembered. Everyone looks on with fear as she laughs. She's free. She's sad but she's free. She bids then farewell as she snaps her fingers. She teleports to her room where everything is packed. Then she teleports to the hidden shack outside school campus. She's drained after those big moves, but she has one last thing to do. A potion she brewed that just needed a little magic. She drinks it. And transforms. She won't be Cedar anymore. He will be Oak. And he's going to find the Hero of the neighboring country and join his party.

6. The Selfish Route

A kid is reincarnated as Felicia, the protagonist of a novel where both princes of the land dote on her and she marries into Queendom. Felicia lives without her parents in a manor. The staff mostly takes care of her, as her parents are diplomats and move from country to country. While she has been shown love, she’s always been a nervous wreck, pushing herself hard to get everything right as to not be seen as uneducated by her circumstances. Instead, she is seen as perfect, as she makes a big splash at the first party she attends. She regained her memory at the same age she died, now ten years old and already having met both princes at said party were they were stunned by her. If she remembers the story correctly, the first prince will visit first, named Nicole, then the second prince, named Arthur. She’s back to being nervous and decides to play things as they were written in the story. Going off track feels dangerous! Nicole is written as intelligent and kind. It should be simple enough... But her first visit... completely fails. She stumbles over herself too much, her posture and manners lack, and her gaze never meets the prince’s. He might have been written as kind, but seeing the nervous Felicia, he’s disappointed. He leaves early, and Felicia’s fear solidifies. She’s not as good as the real protagonist was. She can’t sleep that night, and come morning, her staff notices. They crowd her with love and affection, telling her they know her true worth, and that no matter what, they will always be on her side. This comforts her somewhat, and she decides for today’s visit to think outside the box. The second prince is adventurous and daring. She’s still nervous, but when he arrives, she’s already put on clothes for the outside and has a picnic ready. She tells him they’re spending the day outside. He’s confused, but agrees. Their time is spent playing games, eating snacks, and having fun. It ends with them watching the sun begin to set while under a big tree. Then they get to talking. She asks him what he likes to do, and his response is long and convoluted. But it’s essentially this. His brother is better than him at everything. She shakes her head and gets an attitude. She didn’t ask him about his brother. She asked what ARTHUR likes to do. When he doesn’t respond, she makes fun of him. He’s so worried about not being the same as his brother, but he doesn’t have anything he likes. He’s boring. This gets him to respond, and in defending himself, he realizes he does enjoy certain things more than others. Horses and riding them, weapons, learning about the forest and terrain. So she asks him why he isn’t trying to do more of that, instead of barging in on all of his brother’s lessons. Arthur takes this thought to heart, and as he gets up to leave he laughs. He tells her she’s weird, and she starts getting visibly offended. He defends himself, it’s a good weird. He was scared when he learned his brother visited her first, because he’s terrible at formal meetings, but she made this fun. She takes this compliment to heart as well, and as he leaves, she resolves to live the rest of the story not trying to follow the protagonist. But herself. And part of that change, as the year goes by, is her realizing she’s trans. He’d much rather live as a boy. His household is concerned at first, but they slowly become more supportive. It’s the same child, just named Felix now. His parents come to prepare for his coming-of-age ceremony and he’s nervous but he tells them. To his surprise, they accept him. They’ve learned a lot in their many travels, and have broadened their views. In their eyes, this country should do the same, and it’s a pleasure to have their son be the one to start it. They’ll always support him. Nice family moment. Ever since the prince visit, he hasn’t gone to more parties, having been too nervous. But he’s been the talk of nobles his age due to the second prince starting rumors. After he tried rubbing his good day in Nicole’s face, the first prince called him out for liking such a brutish girl. He said they suited eachother. From this little comment, Arthur spiraled. With Felix’s advice, he focused on his training instead of his studies, made friends and became better. But when asked about the interest he showed in the young Felicia at that tea party, he resorted to talking shit. She’s not a well-mannered little lady, she’s a weird girl. Everyone knew now, and waited eagerly for her to make a fool of herself in her coming-of-age ceremony. When the invitations were sent, to Felix’s surprise, one was rejected. The first prince’s. He saw it as a waste of time since he already judged he didn’t like him. Felix becomes scared again, but not over himself. Over the villainess, Lily, who is supposed to be comforted by the prince after being mocked at by other noble children. The day of his ceremony, Felix resolves himself to escape his staff and go watch. He hopes someone else can help her. But as he waits and hears her crying, he realizes no one will. So he steps in. She’s startled, but he calms her down. He’s clumsy in his approach, but sincere. He asks what’s made her sad, and she can’t help to be honest. She tells him that her family makes powerful enemies, and their children always target her. They pick at all her flaws, but the biggest is that she is abnormally tall. Felix comforts her and reassures her that her height adds to her uniqueness. She’s beautiful, and they’re just jealous she can easily be the center of attention. She doesn’t agree. Being the center of attention has been bad in her book. Felix laughs nervously. On that, he can agree. So he gets up instead, and promises her she won’t have people’s eyes on her for the rest of the night. When she asks why, he tells her to go look at the host reveal. He leaves and she gets up. Just as she reaches the rest of the party, the music stops and Felicia’s name is announced. Everyone waits in anticipation to see if Arthur’s rumors were true. Then the speaker changes the name to Felix instead, and out walks the boy that talked to Lily, his mother holding his arm. They dance and the room stares, some laughter hidden poorly behind hands. When the dance is over, it’s customary to wait for volunteers to start a second dance. Only then can everyone join in. Felix waits. And waits. Seconds keep flying by. No one is coming. He expected this, and resolved his heart for it, but still, he’s panicking. Just as he’s about to call it quits, he hears footsteps and looks up at Lily. She asks if she can have the honor of his second dance. He agrees. As they go through the motions, he asks her, didn’t she hate being the center of attention. She told him she does, but if she’s going to have people staring at her anyways. She smiles as they pause. She might as well have a friend by her side with the same problem. He can’t help his own smile from forming, and for the rest of the night they stick close. So starts their beautiful friendship <w< and mayhaps something more.

[hibibun]

Do Over

Series: Persona 5 Pairing: Akira Kurusu/Goro Akechi Summary: Akira tries one last time to convince him and is surprised it didn't actually end with a bullet to the head. Warnings: Implied Suicide Ideation Notes: it has been a Long time since i replayed p5 especially when i first wrote this so please forgive any continuity errors. on that note i also have not played royal and this was written long before that came out or was announced so it will have no relation to it.  AO3

Akira knew it was reckless, but he had hoped it would be more a danger to himself than anyone else. Futaba and Morgana had worked so hard putting together their plan, yet, there was one other option that kept nagging the bespectacled teen. There were conversations, looks, just things about Goro Akechi that he couldn’t ignore even with the damning proof that he was about to betray them sitting in front of him.

It was impossible to ignore that the detective was also an actor, but there times came to mind that didn’t feel fake. It was selfish and stupid, but Akira wanted to know why. Why did Goro feel like he needed to do this? What did he gain from the other murders other than a ‘crime’ to solve as he can’t have known that the Phantom Thieves would pop up to eventually take the blame for those incidents?

He’d planned to ask that and more from the other, but the minute he meets him alone by the secluded portion of Shibuya’s train station that served as one of their former hideouts, all the words he’d planned vanish.

“What did you need? The calling card isn’t going out for another week I thought.”

Speaking has never been his strong suit, nor was subtlety.

“Why did you pretend not to know we were the Phantom Thieves?” Akira asked, adjusting his glasses.

“Truly nothing gets past you,” Goro answered a wide smile forming on his face, “What gave me away?

“Pancakes.”

The word lingered as the detective took a moment to remember just what that could be referring to.

“You’re always surprising me Kurusu-san, but unfortunately, I don’t think I can tell you why I lied just yet,” he said as his genuine smile dipped into that fake one once more, “Unless you’ve already come here because you know why I can’t.”

Akira didn’t want to admit anything despite it being clear on the other’s face that he knew. Some perhaps naïve side of him had hoped Goro could be reasoned or bargained with. He hasn’t given up per se, but there’s little else he can think to say considering he’s already compromised the plan quite a bit just by admitting he was aware something’s off.

“I don’t actually. I don’t know why you’re doing this at all.”

The detective’s careful smile remained static and Akira was having difficulty now telling whether it was actually real or fake, as if Goro’s mouth hadn’t quite decided which it was making either.

“Think about it a little harder. I know you’re not stupid Akira.”

His fingers froze as he’d been in the midst of fiddling with the front of his bangs out of nervous habit. That was the first time he’s heard the other use his first name and he wished it wasn’t filled with so much malice.

“You… aren’t on our side are you? Not really anyway,” he answered, but that part was obvious. It didn’t really explain anything. He’d thought—no, hoped—different though. As if some part of Goro had wanted to be with them, but simply couldn’t for some reason. The truth that maybe he didn’t want to and that his hatred towards them was actually sincere seemed to blindside Akira and he kind of hated himself for thinking otherwise.

“You know what’s going to happen to us, but what’s going to happen to you?” Akira pushed, desperate to get his point across even if it was obvious now more than ever that his feelings were always stronger than the one standing in front of him.

“I’ll finish the job, take the credit and then… well, I’ll deliver the comeuppance I’ve been striving for,” Goro replied vaguely and it took Akira a moment to parse what he meant. The whole thing struck him as odd though. His words didn’t sound as confident as they usually did and he was left wondering if that was really what the detective wanted. Even more so, it didn’t answer the original question in the slightest as it left Goro’s fate more ambiguous than ever.

“If we both want to tear things down, why are you so against joining us? We could help you,” Akira reasoned, selfishly adding, “I want to help you.”

Goro’s eyes narrowed dangerously as he stepped closer. Akira unintentionally backed up until he felt the bar of the railing dig into his back, suddenly aware of how close he is to the edge.

“Someone like you or your little friends could never understand. I don’t care if we want the same things. I don’t even care if what you’re all doing actually is helping society or not. In the end, I just want to see that man fall from grace by my own hands, and nothing, will take that away from me,” Goro seethed, as he placed a carefully gloved hand to the other’s chest.

“You can’t help me and more than that I would never want attic trash like you to even try.”

He punctuated his point by grabbing tight the folded label of Akira’s uniform, but his hands didn’t push one way or the other. Akira was expecting it though and braced for the fall, surprised when it didn’t come. Quite frankly, it was the only thing that gave him the courage to keep talking.

“What makes you think he doesn’t already know what you’re planning to do? You’re not exactly subtle, Akechi,” Akira said, a bemused expression on his face despite the situation at hand, “You’re dead no matter what you do. Just like me.”

Just slightly, the grip the detective had on his jacket loosened and he could tell his words were affecting the other’s resolve. Despite this, Goro continued on as if he still had every intention of pushing him.

“If you know what I’m intending to do, your little friends must be trying to stop me. Considering I could end things now, you might as well tell me what it is they plan on doing.”

“That’s the thing Akechi, we don’t have a plan. You’re going to betray us, and I’m the one who will take the fall,” He bluffed, interested at this point in seeing if anything he has to say will convince him.  

“So you came here to try and stop me now? That’s pretty stupid—and pathetic,” Goro chuckled, no humor actually present in his laugh.

“No, I mostly just wanted to know why; and to be honest, you still haven’t really told me,” Akira explained and the detective hated the way his expression made his words seem almost believable. Before he could open his mouth to tear apart Akira’s words, the other broke his rhythm with a question so quiet it took him a minute to process it.

“Were we ever friends?”

Goro could admit, he had wanted that. Somewhere in between his attempts to spy on them and the times they actually spent time together, he and Akira had felt like friends. Yet, that line was so blurry at times as well. With the amount of connections the other had, why would he ever take the time to actually think of the detective in that manner? Someone like him already had everything he could ever want, even with a permanently damaged reputation and a less than pleasant living situation.

He would never have any of those things no matter how hard he tried. His reputation was built on a stack of lies that would come tumbling down the moment he let go of the trigger as he publicly destroyed his father’s life. Then where would he be? Likely dead or soon to be dead, but he told himself such an outcome was worth it. He had nothing before this and even if he had nothing afterwards, what did it matter? The last thing he could do with his life was at least ease his resentment.  

Even after losing everything, Akira had more than him, but there’s something rotten and painfully sweet that even with everything he has that he still would want someone like Goro.

“And here I was calling you my equal, but you’re stupider than I thought,” Goro eventually replied, voice tight with bitterness and a dash of fear. He hated that his words were only met with a smile. As if everything he just said was seen through in an instant because truthfully, he knew for as idiotic and thoughtless Akira was when it came to taking a risk, he was anything but a moron.

“Is it really so hard to believe me? They wouldn’t hate you for wanting to seek revenge. That’s what the Phantom Thieves do,” Akira tried again figuring one last time couldn’t hurt. The detective hunched his shoulders, his grip on the other’s lapel losing all of its hold. It was supposed to feel satisfying taking their little group down and killing Akira with them, but suddenly he couldn’t find it in him. However briefly, he had entertained the notion that this all was a trap, but of course Akira is stupidly earnest and even more foolishly optimistic.

“They’ll never accept what I’ve done. Even if they feel the same way about him, I…” He started, before Akira cut him off.

“I can’t promise you that, nor can I say whether they’d forgive you, but I didn’t feel right just letting this happen without talking to you. There’s no reason you can’t start changing now, it’s not too late,” Akira said as his own hand moved to delicately unwind Goro’s from his jacket.

“What would you even tell them? Would they believe you?”

“I’d say you had a change of heart,” Akira joked, his eyes giving away how much he wanted to make the mood lighter. Goro couldn’t help the laughter it drew out of him and violently he has the urge to intertwine their fingers while his hand was still being held.

“It’s not like I can change things now. I guess I couldn’t kill you after all,” he replied instead, drawing his hand away entirely. Goro watched the way the other’s mouth twitches up into a smile and when he opened it to answer, he can tell this time it is with complete sincerity.

“I’m touched.”

[lunelantern]

~Sasusaku analysis ~

                                      ~Sasusaku analysis ~                                ~~ Sasuke and Sakura - - pair analysis ~~                                            ~THE BRIDGE SCENE~                            (Team 7 Reunion - - after the Five Kage Summit)

                                        ----PART 3---

And Sasuke knows as well.

Sakura isn't a naive egocentric fool. She is humble enough to admit the limitations of her skills. Inwardly, she didn't think that she'll lay a single finger on Sasuke, let alone kill him.

Which makes the reader (and Sasuke) wonder why exactly is she doing there? What's her motivation? She obviously can't be fool enough to expect that she'll stop him when he survived the Five Kage and Shimura Danzo and has Akatsuki and Team Hawk as allies.

It's suicidal mission from Sakura to attempt something like this which makes us wonder whether she didn't come to plead with him to stop acting so erratically - which she does in the first panels - or kill him.

Maybe Sakura had a change of heart en route after she realized that this isn't the Sasuke that she hoped /expected /prayed to find, and her repentine decision almost cost her life.

It's subtle and barely visible as Sasuke flawlessly hides his emotions and draws the shinobi mask on his irate face, but we can depict a subtle nuance of bittersweet amusement at her foolishness; what exactly is she trying to do, facing him with such obviously conflicting and erratic approaches? Her lack of solid prior plan is unflattering to someone like Sakura, because Sasuke knows exactly what kind of person Sakura is.

He knows that she has a brilliant mind, tactical and analytical skills, creativeness and talent and tremendous skills that she polished under the tutelage of the legendary Sannin and Kage, Tsunade Senju herself.

And this is the best that she can come up with? It's almost like HE doesn't recognize THIS Sakura anymore and her approach becomes a copious source of dark humor mixed into the concoction of this tragi-comedy.

Symbolically however, Sakura's indecision and her pendulating emotions are illustrative for how terrible the battle between the shinobi and the lover is, for both Sasuke and Sakura.

One can have more friends, family members, enemies, teachers, idols or brothers, but a lover is singular. SHE... Is only one. She's unique and thus all the pent up feelings percolate to one single person alone and that puts a lot of pressure on Sasuke.

As for Sakura's part, her pain is so hauntingly lucid that it's almost palpable. We can actually taste the pain on our own tongues as we hear the soul-crushing despair of her unspoken words.

"I don't care!" She states flippantly with such an implied confidence that's almost ignoramus and she follows the trite in the same manner. "I'll follow any order you give me."

Only someone with the author's superb skills can create an almost comical situation in the cusp of a tragic angst that's rapidly escalading to the peak of its drama.

By Sakura's statement I could almost picture Sasuke starting to laugh and hiss something along the lines of: "Are you stupid?"

She will follow any order, who is she, Haku?

Of course, it's just obvious that Sasuke - - as playful as Suigetsu humorously  correctly depicts him - - enters this game and starts to play.

If Sakura has no problems in following any ominous order from him that's overtly bordering the Criminal Code, if she wants to be like Haku - - a soulless disposable tool in the hands of a renewed criminal with a penchant for arbitrary murder - - then he'll treat her exactly like this. Emphasizing that if she wants to be a helpless puppet in his hands then she'll become like Karin and share her fate. He practically shows her with a real life example, her hasty words materialized.

You want to follow any of my orders and join me? Then you'll be staying in Karin place too - - half-dead and ignored.

Clearly, she didn't think about what she was mumbling and how stupid it sounded and she didn't strategize before. Sakura should have chosen her words more carefully.

It's only when Sasuke makes his intentions known to her does Sakura realize the extenct of her mistake and implicitly the fact that she is actually in real danger.

Her shock is evident as it hit home. We see the black background as we glimpse into her consciousness and souls, a familiar technique used in the manga when the author lets us glimpse into the characters minds. The transition between the exterior and interior is highlighted by the dark background.

In the end, symbolically their moment stops with the panel of her kunai wavering and stopping as she couldn't pierce through the Uchiha crest meaning that she couldn't quench her love for him as she accepts him for what he is - - Sasuke AND Uchiha.

Her falter must be interpreted in conjunction to Naruto’s words when he says that he and Sasuke will finally make amends when both of them will stop being tied to their designed role and, in a sense, Obito is right when he sarcastically  tells Naruto that he is also selfish for trying to force Sasuke to accept his life philosophy (the political triumph  of democracy as status quo). In which case, Sasuke's family name becomes a hindrance, an impediment.

But that's not the case with Sakura. No, she falters and stops with her kunai never piercing through the Uchiha crest that's sewed on Sasuke's back (she is not backstabbing him by hitting where it most hurts - - his family).

No, Sakura loves ALL of him. He accepts every part of him with his past and present, she sees him at his lowest and she still loves him with unfaltering despair. Her love stands this test, Uchiha surname is a huge burden even in Sasuke's shoulders but Sakura's unyielding love is benediction and suffices in shouldering even this burden (the Uchiha "curse" / the primordial curse).

Consequently, she eventually takes the same infamous surname, Uchiha, and wears it with pride and love, accepting, assuming what it represents, with both his flaws and qualities.

She doesn't try to change anything in Sasuke. She accepts 3very part of him. She never wavered. She loved him before and she loves him now in fact, she never gave her love a moment of respiro. She loved him continuously with same bravery and ardent passion. Sasuke attacks her when she is on the verge of laughing a physical attack as a logical self-defense, treating her as he'd treat another shinobi who attacks him, with his signature attack.

If Sakura wouldn't have attacked him, Sasuke wouldn't have laid a finger on her. He reacted accordingly to her.

When she was honest with him, his face softened.

When she attacked him with murderous intent, he retaliates never taking her lightly as respecting the strong shinobi that she has become (he didn’t take her skills as subpar, as if it was enough for him to simply step aside to avoid her attack).

She could have pour all her heart out openly and uncensored and he'd have listened to her; he always listened when she said she loved him. Never interrupting her as long as she was sincere with him.

Even so... Even if her emotions are a roller-coaster and she caved in babbling and rambling incoherences, he still calmly converses with her, in fact, Sasuke talks more to her than he normally does. Sasuke isn't a talkative person and yet he chatters with her.

"Are you really willing to betray the Leaf for me?" against, his manner of speaking reels with romantic substrate, akin to lovers` conversation. Me, you, Sasuke hardly use such personal undertone. He gives her one final chance to come clean to him because he says" really", so he tempts her playfully further appealing to her feelings, throwing her words back at her.

He knew that she was more than willing to leave the safety of her village as a child, to leave everything - friends and family - behind and become a traitor for him when she was 12, even though her lack of life experience prevented her from having a clear representation of the consequences of her actions.

What about now when the more mature Sakura DOES have the clear representation of such an act? Did her feelings change? Will she follow him blindly?

Does she still love him?

He's willing to listen, he provoked her even to answer just like wanting to confirm for himself whether she's the same woman who loves him - - who HE loves - - or a complete stranger who grow over her childhood crush (like Karin).

He also tests whether is an infatuation or genuine love for Sasuke has been an unwilling subject of women attention and flirts before (Mei, Ino, Karin, the young employees from the Land of Waves...).

She replies with a seemingly confident tone. "Yes... If that's what you want me to do."

Sasuke knows that 3 years ago, she would have so it unconditionally and he thanked her for that.

Now he's skeptical the atmosphere is not romantic anymore; is cynical, is mischievous, it's reeling in underlying ambitions and dark schemes, is mocking and ironic, is deceiving and cruel, sarcastic, bittersweet with laced irony, is trifling and clownish.

Totally different from the sincere atmosphere that melted our hearts in their farewell scene.

When the 12 years old Sakura in all her earnest innocence and naivety offered to join him and desert the village... He believed it and even thanked her for that devotion in the name of love.

But this Sakura... He doesn't believe anymore and consequently he asks for a PROOF. which he didn't in Part 1 because it wasn't necessary for he believed it.

A lover doesn't need a token for their love because love when honest and reciprocated doesn't need to be proven.

And yet that's what he asks for it and she gets trapped into his game falling badly for it. "Hmpf..." He snorts like he's amused by her pathetic attempt to lure him in a trap, mocking her and playing her game. "Then prove it." he is no more "playing at romance", he's not Sasuke the lover anymore. He's just the wicked shinobi who just killed one of the best shinobi in the Leaf.

"Kill her and I'll accept your offer." the trap is so blatantly obvious and amateurish that's even laughable. Obviously, that in order to kill Karin who's lying right at his feet, Sakura has to come ridiculously close to him - - the enemy. Which is a fatal mistake for a shinobi. You don't casually parade to Karin and pass him by with the intent to kill him and expect Sasuke to be a silent voyeur.

But one can't notice how incredibly erotic and sexy this dialogue is if deconstructed and taken out of the battle context. It is teeming with that archetypal dark and sensual bad-romance that conjure the darkest most sinfully delicious and incredibly erotic love stories in popular fiction world.

The thrill of having a dark hero who's unpredictable, passionate, dangerous, savage, the one who could give a woman glimpses of a scorching passion and fulfill her darkest desires.

Sasusaku is the very epitome of the passionate couple.

A quick glimpse over the dialogue is deliciously hot if taken out of the context and very uncharacteristic for someone like Sasuke.

"Sakura..." the way he says her name in that low baritone voice that sends delicious shivers along the spine.

"What do you want with me?"

"Why would you want to join me? What are you trying to pull?"

"Are you really willing to betray the Leaf for me?"

"Hmpf... Then prove it."

"Kill her and I'll accept your offer."

"well? Can't you handle this Sakura?" this particular line and the mocking way he says it so enticing dangerous like a bad boy... Is overly sexy. Is hot, is dark dangerous and erotic, is the exact type of fiction that entices because it oozes of pure passion. I can't help but replace the j spoken word in my head: "Can't you handle ME... Sakura?" are you capable to be with the current me?

It is hard to discern what's sincere and what's deceiving from this heated interplay between Sasuke and Sakura because it's written intentionally ambiguous and enigmatic to keep us constantly enticed and confused.

There's a fine line between shinobi and lovers and we are just as confused as the two protagonists.

Apparently, one wouldn't associate Sasuke with intimacy passion and erotica but the Uchiha is full of surprises and severely underestimated.

He is perfectly capable to "play at ROMANCE" when he so desires. When he shuts Kakashi down with "You want me to play at ROMANCE?" Sasuke automatically implies that he KNOWS how to do so. He isn't an unschooled rookie in the art of romance, he isn't the disimpassioned man that has no appetite for love and intimacy.

Not in the least.

And this is the only woman that he ever loved romantically and proved to do so only his inconsistent and dynamic character perfectly masked his emotions. He's way more subtle than the others.

He is calm up and composed, even letting her to bypass him closely knowing that she had weapons hidden under her clothes.

Objectively speaking the confrontation is absurd and lacks any verisimilitude. Sakura isn't credible and Sasuke is ironic, calm and abnormally tranquil and playful.

He's way too serene considering who he has just fought. I couldn't guess that Danzo`s death brought Sasuke a pang of relief as he's directly responsible for the downfall of Uchiha but revenge is like a drug; it never brings relief and the more you have the more toy crave for. And one would never satiate. So he experiences a momentary relief.

But that's not the case for the purpose of this entire scene is to emphasize the internal conflict between the shinobi and the lover.

[margoshansons]

The Killing Kind (17/17)

Part Seventeen. 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 

MASTERLIST

Final word count: 24.8k

Summary: The kids escape from the trip of hell and finally find some peace back home.

Warnings: Anger issues. Threats.

Notes: Man so this is it. This is the end and final chapter of this amazing series. Thank you all so much for commenting and liking and reblogging. Please remember that while she and Peter are the main ship, this is Y/N’s story. Without further ado, here is the final chapter of the Killing Kind. I hope you guys enjoy it.

Y/N ignored her limp wrist as she made her way to the hotel Mr. Harrington had decided to book last second. She didn’t want to think about how her mother might not be human. She didn’t want to think about her dad locked up in a high profile prison, legally dead to the rest of the world. She didn’t want to think about the fact that the board at her dad’s failing company needed her as the next CEO. 

She just wanted to collapse onto a fluffy bed and sleep off the pain that spun through her body. 

“Thank god you’re alright!” MJ’s body crashed into hers, the extra momentum sending her spinning. Y/N pulled away, meeting her friend’s red eyes. “I was so worried I would never see you again.”

Y/N stood there, staring at MJ. She was alive. She was here. She was safe. She was real. Y/N pulled her back in for a hug, tears escaping involuntarily.

“Oh my god you’re real” She whispered, voice breaking. “You’re here and you’re real and you’re safe.”

MJ sighed, a smile crawling across her face in relief. “I was worried you would leave me alone with that sweaty guy forever.”

The pair chuckled, pulling away to share a wide smile, tears mirroring each other on both girl’s cheeks. 

“Told you I’d be back” Y/N joked, laughter exploding from her chest. Ned gave her a small pat on her shoulder, reassurance. But she didn’t see the person she was worried about most. “Where’s Peter?”

Ned piped up with the answer, “He’s in his room. May called him, wanted to make sure he was okay after everything.”

Y/N nodded, making her way up the stairs. 

“Y/N wait!” MJ called, racing up after her. “I uh, I wanted to say that uh,”

Y/N smirked at her attempt to be more vulnerable. 

“I’m really grateful to have you as a friend,” MJ said, before turning to head toward her room, trying to hide the blush on her cheeks.

Y/N let out a breath, and she knocked on Peter’s door. The beaten-up boy stood there, phone in hand, EDITH on his face. 

“Hey” He breathed.

“Hey” Y/N replied. “Can I come in?” Peter nodded his head, stuttering out an invitation, hastily tidying up what little belongings he had left after the explosion. They stood there, hormones raging as the two tried to figure out their feelings internally. 

They had kissed on the plane.

He had given her a necklace. But what did it mean?

“Peter–” She was cut off with a quick kiss. Soft and awkward.

“That uh, that necklace means what you think it means,” Peter confessed bashfully. 

She fingered the small charm, placing a kiss near the corner of his mouth before wrapping her arms around him. They stayed that way the rest of the night, snuggling together on the bed, their shared trauma keeping them both awake, but the comfort of their embrace allowing them to fall asleep.

***

The plane ride back was going to be long if the way Betty and Flash were staring at her was any indication. She didn’t plan on accidentally revealing her powers to the two, but she seriously had no idea that they were going to be there with MJ and Ned.

“Everything okay?” Peter’s voice asked. 

Y/N stared at her now-boyfriend, grabbing his hand in earnest, plastering a smile on her face. Pretending like her dad wasn’t still alive. Pretending that SHIELD hadn’t just confirmed that everything her father had said was true after testing her DNA for any traces of Aliens. 

They couldn’t even pinpoint where she was from. Just that her energy signature matched Thor’s. 

“Yeah,” She lied, “Everything’s fine.”

She leaned into Peter’s shoulder, her eye-catching MJ shuffling in next to Mr. Harrington and the other chaperone who had been converted to witchcraft over the course of the trip. 

“I uh, I have to do something,” Y/N told Peter, who saw where her eyes were. 

“Go ahead,” Peter encouraged, “I’ll uh, I’ll take one for the team.”

Y/N smiled widely, pecking Peter’s cheek while she approached Mr. Harrington.

“Um, Mr. Harrington?” She nervously caught her teacher’s attention. 

“Y/N!” He replied, “Is everything okay?”

She shared an apologetic look with Peter. “Actually no, I think Peter’s perfume allergies are acting up around me and I was wondering if I could sit next to MJ”

“Say no more” Harrington stood up immediately, taking Y/N’s former seat, allowing the girl to sit next to her best friend.

“Trouble in paradise?” MJ asked, pulling her earbuds out. 

Y/N smirked, “Actually, I just can’t stand him. Needed an excuse to get out of there” She joked, grateful this trip hadn’t ruined the one relationship that mattered to her.

MJ chuckled at the sarcastic humor, offering her dual port to the girl as a peace offering. Y/N took it.

“So which true-crime documentary do you wanna watch today?” MJ asked, scrolling through the movie options.”We got Gacey, Lizzie Borden, Ted Bundy,”

“Oh Bundy for sure” Y/N replied, leaning into the taller girl’s shoulder. “His whole case just proves why assholes shouldn’t be allowed in our legal system.”

MJ clicked on the movie and the two girls snuggled in as the plane took off. 

“Hey” MJ nudged her friend’s shoulder, Y/N perked up.”Do you think Peter would be able to give me a ride one of these days?”

Y/N shoved her best friend’s shoulder playfully, the two giggling as they made their way home.

Mid Credits

“Hey MJ!” Peter called, meeting the girl in her neighborhood. “Y/N told me you wanted a ride?” They swung from the highest buildings in New York, MJ’s screams as she free fell ringing through the atmosphere, Peter almost sure that THor could hear her back on Asgard.

They landed in Times Square, MJ���s hair frazzled and her eyes wide in fear. 

“Yeah, that settles it” She announced, “I am never doing that again.”

Peter chuckled involuntarily at the blushing teen, her hair wild and frizzy like Y/N’s got every time they went for a swing.

“Where is Y/N?” MJ asked, “I thought she was meeting us here for coffee”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck at the question. “She’s uh, she’s dealing with her dad’s stuff.”

The relationship between the two of them was still a bit of a sore spot between Y/N and Peter, especially since Mysterio tried to kill him only a few days ago. It helped that his girlfriend felt the same way he did about Mysterio, but the relation was still there. She still had to go to the funeral. She was still a part of that fucked up family.

His reverie was broken by the screen lighting up behind him. He turned around to see Quentin Beck’s face.

“I managed to send the elemental back through the dimensional rift but I don’t think I’ll get off this bridge alive” Beck rambled, “Spiderman attacked me for some reason, he–he has an army of weaponized drones, Stark Technology”

Peter shared a look with MJ, wishing Y/N was here instead to soothe his rising nerves.

“He’s saying he’s the one who’s going to be the next Iron Man, no one else” Beck continued, before the video cut to a clearly altered video snippet.

“Are you sure you want to commence the drone attack?” EDITH”s clean voice came in over the speakers, “There will be significant casualties”

“Do It” Peter’s own voice startled him. “Execute them all”

No, no, no, no, no. That was taken out of context. All of it was!

“There you have it folks” J Jonah Jameson spat, “Undeniable proof that Spiderman was responsible for the brutal murder of Mysterio. An interdimensional warrior sent to protect our planet along with his daughter, who has now become an orphan thanks to this menace.”

Peter shook his head. Please let Y/N refute this, let her take care of this. 

“But that’s not all folks, brace yourselves you may want to sit down.”

Peter watched as Mysterio released the most valuable information of Peter’s. He watched as Mysterio tore his life apart with six words.

“Spiderman’s real name is Peter Parker!”

His picture was posted all across the square, everyone knew who he was. Everyone.

“We have an exclusive interview with Y/N Beck aka Stasis commenting on her father’s death and her relation to the masked menace.” Jameson continued.

Peter watched as Y/N stood behind a podium, lawyers on her left, publicist on her right. Her black mourning dress was covered by a green velvet jacket, but when Peter squinted, he saw the sunflower adorning her neck and he knew that she was on his side.

“My father loved creating illusions” Y/N admitted, addressing the crowds of reporters. “He loved them so much he somehow managed to create the biggest one after his death. Spiderman did not kill my father, in fact, he is the only reason I lived through that traumatic experience. My father’s death was caused by his own carelessness, and while I want someone to blame more than anyone, Spiderman is not that person. My father’s last words were about how people want to believe. So let’s believe. This child is not a menace, nor is he the hero you assume he is. Spiderman has saved our lives countless times, let’s believe in him rather than videos that can be easily doctored, thank you”

As she left reporters began to hound her once again, her publicist shooing them away while Peter watched his life and his girlfriend’s life fall apart.

Post Credits

The prison stank of sweat and testosterone but that didn’t deter Quentin as he was escorted from his solitary cell to the visiting room. His orange jumpsuit was hideous and hardly comfortable, but he could ignore all of that. 

After six months, he was finally going to see his daughter again.

She looked older. Like somehow she had aged several years in his absence. Maybe she was miserable without her dad. Maybe she was here to help him with his case. Maybe she was here to bail him out. 

Her sunken eyes hardened at the sight of him, his smile never leaving his face as he gazed upon the girl that was his light, his life, the only reason he never went mad in this dull excuse for a secure prison.

“New Jacket?” Quentin asked pointing toward the teal that enwrapped her shoulders. 

‘I know what you did Dad” was all Y/N said in response. “I know what you did to Peter”

Quentin went silent at the boy’s name. 

He deserved it. He had ruined everything. He deserved to have his life torn apart like Quentin’s was.

“It’s not just his life that has been ruined” Y/N urged, eyebrows creasing, “I have reporters daily knocking on our doors, asking all about you and Spiderman.”

“I didn’t mean for that to happen honey” Quentin leaned forward to grab her hand. She ripped it out again.

“Don’t call me that” Y/N spat. “You’ve interfered in my life long enough. Leave my friends alone or I will come in here and kill you myself.”

He scoffed. “You don’t have it in you. You said it yourself, You’ll never be like me. You can’t kill me”

His throat constricted, the blue energy surrounding his neck, squeezing his breath from his lungs.

“You forget,” Y/N threatened, anger lacing her eyes, “I inherited your temper. And we’re surrounded by SHIELD agents who wouldn’t care if I stole every last breath from you. So leave my friends alone, because love is like any other emotion daddy,” She taunted.

 “It. Fades.”

He regained his air back, breathing returning to his lungs like a drug addict to heroin. 

“Do we have an understanding?” Something dark swirled in the eyes of the girl he had raised. Something he had created. 

He nodded, the guards escorting him back to his cell, a new cellmate waiting for him.

“Hey, buddy” The grey-haired man offered his hand, “Adrian Toomes, nice to meet you.”

***

Y/N scanned the papers scattered across the table in her father’s old apartment. She officially got it in the ‘will’. It was hers now. Paid for and a home she can build for herself instead of the old musty church she had found months ago. 

She and her lawyers were currently working with Stark Industries to buildup her father’s company once again. It was all her idea. A great publicity stunt to show how much her father had respected the late hero, regardless of their rocky past. Unfortunately, that included hiring her as CEO, as well as repairing the shitshow that was their relationship with Spiderman.

Her chest constricted when she thought of Peter. Forced into hiding. Unable to even go to school. The last she had heard from him he was somewhere in Africa. Happy assured her that he was safe. But she would be lying if she said she didn’t miss him and Aunt May. 

She really only had MJ and Ned now. And while Flash was treating her better, she really only wanted Peter with her. 

The wind fluttered behind her and she sighed, upset at MJ for leaving the window open again. As she turned around her eyes met green.

A slender woman stood in her living room, dressed head to toe in a green dress that looked like it belonged at a gala instead of a run-down apartment in New York City. 

“Who the hell are you?” Y/N asked, crossing her arms in an attempt to look intimidating.

“The names Lorelei sweetpea” The woman’s silky voice uttered, taking in every bit of the teen before her. “But you can call me Mum.”

AHHHH! That’s it! Thank you all so much for your kind comments and follows and likes and reblogs. This was my first time trying something like this and I loved it! I hoped you guys enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. 

Special thanks to:

@petersblake @editsbyjenny @kaylinfayezink @leilei-draws and @santa-feigh for being there since the beginning and commenting on almost every single post, reblogging always, and recommending me.

And a very special thanks to:

@thatsuperherosidekick for always liking my posts and never failing to enter my ask box and freak out with me about this story and everything about it.

For everyone who commented, liked, reblogged, or recommended, thank you so much and for everyone tagged, thank you. You guys kept me writing this and I’m so grateful to all of you. Hugs and kisses.

TAG LIST: CLOSED

@21bruhs @maiabiovillage @spidey-holland7 @petersblake @queen-destenie @thewinchesterchronicles @filthydeatheaters

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My next series will be a Steve Harrington x reader, but that won’t be out for a little while. If you want to be tagged in that, or if you want to request more Marvel imagines, please send me an ask or let me know! Once again, thank you all so much for your support. I couldn’t have done this without you guys.