#one tiny bit of good news and who knows what repercussions that could bring considering the conspiracy theories already starting

[basingstokemercury]

yeah at this point those cute cowboys are basically the only thing keeping me sane I don't think that's an exaggeration

spent hours of multiple days just crying and hanging on to the hope of finding time for this watch

just uh a small distraction from the fact that with the way things are going I and my family could well be killed in the next few months

[heart-stomper]

Unspoken Trust, Unspoken Fears

Gathering my thoughts on Sasha and Marcy’s dynamic before S3 proves me wrong shows us what’s going on with these two.

It’s time to look at The Dinner and Battle of the Bands, and then use it as a guide to read the room in True Colors.

No worries! You just gotta speak their language. - Sasha, Reunion

Or in this case, know when to stay quiet. 

Sasha gets really really frustrated this episode. Like, so bad, that if that Volcakeno didn’t erupt, she might have been the one to end the friendship. Even Marcy and Grime couldn’t calm her down. But that’s the thing, before this point, they were the only ones to get through to Sasha without provoking her.

Grime keeps Sasha in line; she rolls her eyes and is clearly annoyed every time she has to hold herself back, but her willingness to keep it cool shows she ultimately agrees with Grime’s plan and sees it as the best path to success.  When Marcy chimes in, it’s with a helpful answer to Sasha’s question. She reminds Sasha of why they stopped Doing Thing by explaining how their plan failed. She avoids judging Sasha for it, and frames it as the repercussions of their actions, as a group. Marcy is on Sasha’s side, so Sasha doesn’t put up any defenses. When Sasha decides to avoid arguing with Anne however, it isn’t for Anne. It’s for the plan, for her and Grime.

Marcy has enough faith in Sasha to believe she’d never want to purposefully hurt Anne, but is careful about broaching the subject. Sasha feels attacked very easily, and will quickly trivialize or downplay things if she feels the other person is being unreasonable or doesn’t ‘get’ her.

And that is the only time Marcy speaks up besides The Big Argument. She only jumps into actual conflicts if things get too heated. Otherwise, she just lets Sasha do her thing, and lets Anne argue with Sasha... sort of.

This isn’t collaboration. It’s a hostile takeover. Why do things always have to be your way?

Now, for the bait and switch. Let’s talk about Marcy’s behavior in Day at the Aquarium and New Wartwood, and Sasha’s in Toadcatcher and Barrel’s Warhammer… while tying it all back to Battle of Bands!

You didn’t tell me you were writing a song! Let’s do it! I mean, if that’s okay with you, Sasha.

In A Day at the Aquarium, Marcy’s first instinct to Anne saying she’s going back with the Plantars is to make a plan. To show that it isn’t actually what will benefit Anne’s Goals. She doesn’t even consider opening up as an option, and avoids saying anything that could cause conflict. New Wartwood, Marcy tries to chat with the citizens of Wartwood and get to know them. But when that doesn’t work, she decides that impressing them with her knowledge and usefulness is bound to make them like her. It has to.

It does seem simpler.

Trying to win people over by claiming a plan is of mutual interest and necessary, carefully choosing which words to use, viewing relationships as a puzzle to be solved… this isn’t the sort of thing Marcy needs to do to get along with someone like Anne. It’s how Marcy copes with Sasha. Sasha lashes out and belittles bad ideas. Sasha has to be convinced the plan benefits her, suits her. Vulnerability and love aren’t enough to make her care, so Marcy does what she can to prove she’s worth being around. She might even sometimes wonder if Sasha actually likes her, or just likes what she can do for her. She rather not find out.

Whenever she’s afraid of people not liking her, or is worried that she’ll lose them, she dives right into those bad habits. She can give her opinions, but they aren’t supposed to get in the way of what Sasha wants. She’s supposed to say “That’s amazing! What do you think Sash’?” not “Let’s do it!”

Listen. There’s another reason why I’ve been training so hard. To protect the one person I know I can count on right now. You. You’re right, I already lost one friend. I’m not about to lose another. - Sasha, Toadcatcher

In Toadcatcher, there’s that scene, where Sasha looks at the BFF picture and the wind cuts off Anne for a second so it’s just her and Marcy. This is where Sasha is at. Anne might have rebelled, but when Sasha reunites with Marcy? Oh, she’ll show Anne, one way or another. They’ll get her back (like, joining the team or revenge wise, depending on Sasha’s mood.)

Listen here you buffoon! What’s it gonna take to prove that you should follow us? - Barrel’s Warhammer

Aaaand Sasha freaks out royally when she learns the two are alone together and doing just fine. On some level, she fears Anne and Marcy “getting along without her” because it means they might decide they don’t actually need her to make plans; that she isn’t necessary to have fun. In the The Sleepover to End All Sleepovers, we see that isn’t as big a catastrophe as Sasha seems to think it’d be. As time goes on, the girls do gain a healthier relationship to their feelings about Sasha, but that doesn’t mean they’d want her gone even if they don’t need her there. But Sasha doesn’t know that, she doesn’t even consider it till reuniting in The Third Temple. All she knows for now, is that she can be a bit... much... so if she isn’t in control, if her way isn’t “the best”, why would Marcy put up with her either? 

Listen. If things get too wild out here, just give me a signal and I’ll call the whole thing off. 

 For sure, teach it to us Anne. 

Every Sasha plan starts with an empty reassurance. So much of Sasha’s dialogue follows a pattern where she says stuff like “we’ll call it off” (she did not call it off) and “for sure, I don’t mind” (she did mind) that it could be it’s own game. Sasha talks the talk, until it gets in the way of what she wants.

Sorry guys, but we’re way to close to bail. I am not going back empty-handed.

It’s good. I just have a few tiny notes that I think could make it even better. ... Boom! Fiixed it! 

If they just follow her lead and let her fix it, everything will work out. They should believe in her and trust her. After all...

That’s not true! Besides, we did it. ... You’re not actually gonna throw this all away are you?

I just wanted all of us to succeed. I was just being a good friend. Why couldn’t they see that?

It all worked out, right? Percy and Braddock made it out okay even if she didn’t follow through on her promise. They won, she’s reliable. But of course, Sasha lost something more important than their belief in her abilities, she lost their trust. In Battle of the Bands however, Sasha recognizes that Anne and Marcy don’t want to follow her ambitions and will be pushed away by them just like Percy and Braddock were. So she takes it upon herself to end things, accepting that she’s lost.

Sorry it took so long.

Except this time, she manages to realize that maybe “what she wants” is to be there for her friends. Sasha’s finally had the space to relax and really think about what she wants, at least a little. This isn’t a real battle after all. Doing things her way all the time isn’t as important as she thought. Maybe she should trust in her friends more. A change of pace isn’t “wrong”, just different. It’s fun.

Sorry we lost, Sash’.

Just like Percy and Braddock, Marcy knows Sasha is capable. She understands that Sasha just wants the team to succeed. That’s why she apologizes when Grime beats them in the competition. She wants Sasha to know she appreciates what she did, but keeps it a bit indirect. She gets Sasha probably didn’t want to push them away. Marcy tried to catch herself and back Sasha up, but when Sasha had her argument with Anne, she stayed quiet. She couldn’t bring herself to go against Anne. 

That was ultimately for the best, as Sasha learned a valuable lesson. Except... She’s in too deep with the rebellion to back out now. This is the episode she’d spill the truth and give up on the whole thing, except... Grime. A part of her knows leaving would make Grime her enemy. She can’t risk that. So, she keeps going with the plan. She decides she’ll somehow win it all back. Because the thing she’s actually most afraid of, is losing another friend. 

Sorry things got a little crazy back there. You guys good? ... Sheesh, don’t be a sore loser. Look, I’m gonna stay here and get this toad regime off the ground, but I can totally send you two home if you want. Or, you can stick around and give me a hand! So what’d’ya say?

Sasha’s final offer; the last chance she’s giving the girls to stop acting weird and go back to being her obedient friends who do what she wants. Sasha lost at Toad Tower, but now she’s won. So Anne should go back to normal, she’s supposed to, like some unspoken “rule”.

And Marcy is supposed fall back in line too. The offer and apology are just as much a plea directed at her. Sasha’s trying to be generous, in her own awkward way. She has bit her tongue so far. She’s thrown a temper tantrum or two, but she hasn’t been this forward in asking Marcy for help till now. She wants Marcy to say that everything’s okay. Make it clear she doesn’t think she’s the bad guy, and that she forgives her and wants to be there for her. That they’re on the same page again. She wants Marcy to help make Anne look overly dramatic and silly for making such a big deal of all this. Sure, if Anne figures that out by herself, that’d be great, but if Marcy could just speak up.

But she doesn’t. Of course she doesn’t.

Marcy’s too busy worrying about Anne’s reaction. Knowing that she’ll be upset about this. She doesn’t dare side with Sasha, and is disappointed and betrayed that she actually did something like this. Marcy already has her own secret plans, so when she finally tries to calm things down, all she can give is a non-descript “we can still fix this”. And then, she’s once again shocked when she sees Sasha threaten Anne and the Plantars. Seeing Sasha act so willing to actually hurt people rather than just push them around... it finally hits her just how serious “tried to kill them” was. And of course, losing Anne or being sent home with her would completely mess up her own plans.

Sasha’s isn’t a vulnerable person. She’ll go on about loving her friends if it makes her look good, but she actively avoids doing anything that could be seen as “weak”. She wouldn’t dare ask Marcy to drop Anne and choose her. If Marcy isn’t speaking up, she can take the hint. She still isn’t on her side, and so she gets sent to the dungeon along with the rest of them.

Marcy accepts that Sasha has become an obstacle, but a part of her still hopes the three of them can work through all this. If they do things her way, nobody has to get hurt. She'll figure out a way hold everything together, fix everything, like always.

And then Andrias betrays her.

Yeah, what plan?

Sasha stops talking once she realizes what’s going on. Quietly fuming as Marcy explains herself. The music box, the suggestion to take it back to Andrias... that wasn’t Marcy being the sweet, supportive friend who Sasha thought she could always rely on, who believed in her... that was Marcy using her. It was never going to become their plan; Marcy never trusted her and was actively working against her. Sasha lost Anne, and she never had a chance at getting Marcy back, either. 

Sasha smacks Marcy away when she desperately tries to justify herself. She doesn’t want to hear it anymore. She’s furious that Marcy thinks they could be friends after something like this, after she’s manipulated them and claimed it was for their sakes. This whole time, her goal had been avoiding the move with her parents. And coming here has only torn them apart even worse.

Marcy reaches out to both girls. And when Sasha rejects her, she clings to Anne, hoping at least she’ll find it in her to forgive her. That she’ll understand she cares about them even if she messed up. Marcy knows they’d probably never pick her over their families or ambitions, so she told herself this place offered those things too. Made them all better people. But as she says her excuses out loud, she can’t find a single one that feels right. She was just afraid of losing them, and now, she’s managed to hurt them on top of that. 

But the thing is. After all that. Despite how betrayed and hurt and angry Sasha was, she looks like this:

Sasha realizes this must be exactly how Anne felt about her betrayal. It isn’t just an abstract “hurt” or “bad thing” anymore. She can also sympathize with how Marcy feels and why she did it, at least a little. She can’t imagine being able to forgive this, and yet... when she looks to Anne with that apologetic look, she isn’t just hoping Anne will forgive her. She’s also asking for permission to forgive Marcy. Pleading that they all still have a chance to move past this together.

[wlfkssd]

Midnight Caller

based on the prompt ‘hvithelred + midnight / early morning hugs’ sent in by @issadoragreen <3

summary : after a rough week, and with hvitserk not answering his calls, aethelred (thel) visits the lothbrok house at midnight to see him.

warnings : smoking, brief mention of ragnar yelling at hvitserk, mentions of divorce and a bad impression of gimli from lotr. a little bit of angst, not much though.

pairing : hvitserk x aethelred. small appearances from alfred, rollo, ubbe. as well as a tiny flirtation between ubbe and thel. 

words : 2,380.

notes : aethelred is referred to as thel a lot in this fic. just because it’s a little more modern.

The dial tone continues in its monotony and Thel shakes his head, lowering the phone from his ear before he hangs it up again. He stares at the screen and his brows instinctively pull close and tight.

Why aren't you picking up, Hvitserk?

"Any luck?" Alfred, his younger brother, stands in the doorway. He looks anxious; hands buried so deep into the single, long pocket of the oversized, borrowed hoodie to keep him from picking at his fingers in worry.

"No. It just keeps ringing." Thel's defeated and to pretend otherwise would be idiotic. Perhaps Hvitserk doesn't want to talk to him. Perhaps he doesn't want to see him anymore. "I should go over there and see if he's alright."

"At this time of night? What would mum say?"

That's hardly a threat and they both know it. Life at home hasn't always been plain sailing, especially with Alfred's illness and the fact that it's clear he's the favourite. But Thel doesn't mind. Quite the contrary; sometimes that leaves him free to do just about whatever he likes without much fear of repercussions.

Still, this? Maybe his brother is right. It's no time to be showing up unannounced.

"You're right, Alfie." That garners a smile from Alfred - nickname having been with him, practically since birth - and he turns to leave for his own room just as the dial tone strikes back into life.

Some seconds pass, long and unnecessary in Thel's opinion. He can only imagine what the excuse will be.

"Hello?" Ubbe's voice is quiet, softer even than usual and something about it sends a tingling jolt straight up Thel's spine. They're best friends - more like brothers, really - but some things just can't be denied.

"Is Hvitserk alright? He's not answering his phone."

There's a silence and Thel hears the heavy sigh come through loud and clear. In fact, it's far too close to the receiver for comfort.

"Our father came home." Four short words that set the scene for the whole conversation and the coming night. So easily let out and yet their weight now holds itself in the space between the two boys. "He has a way of speaking that isn't always what you would call nice."

And that's putting it lightly. In truth, Ragnar had come home after three long years of globe-trotting and demanded to know which of his sons intended to take over their family business. It was sudden and off-putting and had ruined the last of everyone's Sunday night.

He'd barely spoken to Ivar, choosing instead to focus on Ubbe and Bjørn as his successors. And why not? They are the oldest of his sons. Why wouldn't they want to inherit his empire, his wealth, his standing in Scandinavian society?

Because, for one, Ubbe had told him, he was still in school and wanted very much to become something other than what had come before him. Bjørn had said much the same; giving details that he was going into business with their uncle Floki for a while.

That left Hvitserk and Sigurd and being faced with a father he hadn't seen for years, yelling into his face and asking if he's man enough, wasn't the ideal reunion.

It also explains exactly why none of the brothers have been at school for the past two days. Now Thel understands and his heart eases off its hammering just a little.

"Do you think Hvitserk would see me, if I came over there?"

For the first time in the conversation, Ubbe seems to relax. The sigh slips into something more amused and he hums, lowly. "I think so, yes. It's a shame you like him so much. I could use someone like you right now. Calling at midnight and asking to come over, just to see me."

Shame indeed. Were it not for the fact of Ubbe's younger brother's charm, Thel might have eventually fallen out of friendship and into love with him, instead. But both know it's not to be and there's a moment of comfortable silence.

"I'm on my way, then."

They hang up and Thel takes a deep breath, relieved that the sudden silence isn't anything he's done.

Dressing warmly, Thel makes his way down the stairs and out into the night with a single thought; how can he cheer up his boyfriend?

Several different ideas run through his mind as he walks the short distance from one house to the other. He could pick a flower from each of the gardens on the way and present them to Hvitserk. He could jog to the 24-hour corner shop and buy him some sweets or a large bag of popcorn. Or he could just bring himself and the space between his waiting arms that so perfectly encompasses the one he's chosen to show and give his heart to.

That sounds about right. Sappy as it is.

Coming to the Lothbrok house, Thel slows and considers his ways of entrance.

Knocking on the front door is definitely out. That's far too obvious, isn't it? Plus, he doesn't know who might be sleeping. There is a light on in the living room but the windows blinds are all the way down and disturbing whoever is inside might not end well. Especially if it's Ragnar.

As he's standing there, looking at the house, a throat clears and sends him almost out of his skin.

"Staring won't get you anywhere." Flame of a lighter flickers into life and, for a few seconds, the identity of the voice shows itself. Then it's gone. Thel stands his ground, though, relief filling his veins now instead of fear.

"And scaring the shit out of teenagers won't get you anywhere, either."

Tongue kisses teeth in a gesture of disappointment at the language and Rollo stands up, causing the lamp above the side door to come on, illuminating him. The sterile shade reminds Thel of a hospital.

"What are you doing here, Aethelred?" Rollo asks on the exhale of his cigarette, smoke blown in a steady stream as his eyes focus on the boy before him. "It's a little late for studying, isn't it?" His expression holds so much knowing.

"I'm here to see Hvitserk." And that's all the explanation he's going to give.

"So it's true then? The two of you-" Rollo cuts himself off as he takes another drag on the cigarette, which now looks as though it's due to be snubbed out any moment. He holds in the smoke to delay but lets it out as he comes closer, towering over Thel the way one does when he should be feared.

Flicking away the cigarette gives a single notion.

Threat.

Instead though, it's an embrace that passes between them. A hefty one in which Thel is lifted quite literally off of his feet. And a hearty laugh bellows uncaring from Rollo's chest, still rumbling as he lets go and claps both hands to the teen's shoulders, looking him over.

"You're both terrible at hiding things, you know. Anyone with eyes can see your affection for each other." Maybe in the dark it's easier for him to say things like this; the veil of night covering all manner of distress at discussing affairs of the heart. Lagertha and Siggy have both torn him apart in their own ways but love spreads just as much as anything else. "Now," he sniffs and clears his throat, squeezing one of Thel's shoulders. "Do you need help getting into his window?"

"What?" What, indeed. Thel blinks up at Rollo, brows coming together as they had earlier over the screen of his mobile phone. "I was going to use the front door." He lies and hopes it's convincing.

It isn't.

"Nonsense. You English need to have more adventure." Rollo observes, all the while leading Thel towards the overhang beneath Hvitserk's bedroom window.

They come to stand, looking up at it together. From on the ground, it doesn't seem too daunting but Thel isn't keen on breaking a bone when he's got a big game at the end of the week.

"You expect me to climb up there?" Thel shakes his head, wishing he had asked Ubbe to wait up and let him in. Better than risking life and limb for the sake of adventure. In fact, he's sure Hvitserk would prefer he arrive in once piece and upset Ragnar than show up and immediately have to spend the next day and a half in the hospital with him because he fell.

"Come on. I'll help you."

Bending at the knees, Rollo widens his stance and lays his hands palms up in front of him, interlocking his fingers. He gestures for Thel to come closer with a jerk of his chin. Silently his eyes say he'll never forgive Thel if he doesn't find the courage to at least try it.

"Oh, fine. Fine." Thel huffs and, putting one hand firmly on Rollo's shoulder, he lifts a foot and places it into the waiting hands. One swift motion sees him launched up and onto the overhang. No problem whatsoever.

Rollo gives him a thumbs up for good luck and disappears, presumably to smoke some more.

Then it's just a glass pane that separates him from the one he loves. It feels strange to think, let alone to say, especially given that each of them is so young but, apparently, when you know, you know. And he knows.

Crawling on his hands and knees, uncaring as to the scuff to his black jeans, Thel gets close enough to see his own breath fog up the window and he pauses to peer inside. One hand cups over his eyes, blocking out the light of a nearby streetlamp.

Hvitserk is on his bed, curled around his blanket. One leg on top, one beneath. He wears only a pair of bottoms - Thel's, he notices. They're a loose fit and black and the pull strings are frayed from years of play and fretting. They're old but, somehow, Hvitserk makes them new. He makes everything new; vibrant.

The catch is unlocked so he doesn't even have to struggle with it before he's pushing up the window and slipping through. Hvitserk would say he's like Tom Cruise in Mission: Impossible but that's difficult to believe.

Cool air moves the curtains and breathes life into what is otherwise a morbidly still room. Hvitserk's mobile phone lays dormant on his bed, placed in the concave created by his rounded position. As though he just watched Thel calling and calling and chose to ignore it.

No.

Maybe he couldn't bring himself to answer. Shock does strange things to people. Aethelred's own parents almost divorced when his father found out Alfred wasn't his. But they worked through things, eventually. So he's all-too-aware of just how debilitating that emotion can be.

"Hvitserk?" Thel whispers into the dark. It's the softest he's ever spoken and thinks, perhaps, he didn't actually make any sound at all. So, he tries again, not wanting to startle Hvitserk too much if he wakes.

"Mmm?" The noise is an obvious sign of exhaustion and Hvitserk doesn't turn over, immediately. He clearly thinks it's one of his brothers; come to disturb what little sleep he's managed these past few days. "What is it, Ubbe?"

Chancing the gesture, Thel sits on the side of the bed and tentatively lowers a hand onto Hvitserk's exposed shoulder. "It isn't Ubbe. It's me."

"Hello... me." For the first time in days, Hvitserk smiles. His eyes are still closed but that simple touch to his shoulder - naked skin prickling at it - is enough to lift his spirits from even the deepest of depths. "How did you-?"

"Your window was unhooked. I've told you about leaving it that way. Strangers could get in." The hand moves from bare skin to sandy braids and Thel's long fingers gently sweep through, earning him a contented sigh.

A contented sigh that precedes Hvitserk's eyes opening heavily. He blinks, adjusting to the light. "Did you climb up here?" His brows furrow at the thought and he turns over fully now, onto his back. The side of Thel's face that is visible looks to be smiling but it's hard to tell.

"Your uncle tossed me." Doing his best impression of Gimli, Thel ducks his face and laughs. It's almost silent but the moment is one of utter closeness, despite the humour, and after a minute, even that dies away, leaving nothing but the gaze of a sad boy looking into the face of the one he knows can rescue him.

Abruptly, Hvitserk embraces Aethelred's waist; not sitting fully but no longer laying as still and placid as he had been.

"I'm sorry I didn't answer you before. My father-" The very fact that Hvitserk buries his face tells them both all they need to know about the life of that conversation. It needs to be cut short.

"Ubbe told me everything. So you don't have to explain."

It isn't made clear exactly what it is Hvitserk has to do but by the way Thel directs him steadily with a hand at the back of his neck, the other having moved now from soft hair to rubbing at the space between his shoulder blades, and kisses him, it doesn't appear to be anything too taxing. Just be kissed. Even he can manage that now.

For a long moment, there's nothing in the world but them and it's blissful. All the heavy decisions in their futures and all the things they've done wrong in the past just melt into nothing. They're living for the moment.

Lips leave their tender mark on one another as Thel pulls away, briefly, nose bumping Hvitserk's, along with a touch of their foreheads to bring about the signal of parting. Not that it lasts long. Tiredly, Hvitserk shuffles further towards the wall, letting the blanket tangle itself even tighter into his legs and Thel kicks off his shoes and strips down to his shorts.

As they get comfortable, skin presses against bed-warmed skin; the soft, downy hair of Thel's soft tummy tickling the small of Hvitserk's back. Naturally, a groping hand reaches and finds an arm to pull over and a hand to hold in the darkness. The same lips, too, now part and breathe as one, chests rising and falling together.

"Will you stay until I fall asleep?" The question comes around a yawn and Hvitserk hugs Thel closer to him, looking back briefly and offering himself up for another kiss. Aethelred gives it, freely, leaning in for a series of small, affectionate pecks. Each brings about a satisfied sigh.

"I will stay until you fall asleep."

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “Ghost Driver” Part 2

When The Joker says you’re his, it means you’re essential to him because he needs your services for his own gain; it literally has zero affectionate connotations. Turbo is The King’s Ghost Driver and although she’s a legend, her life is far from perfect.

Part 1

Four Days Afterwards, 7:47pm

“Good evening, madam. I am tonight’s entertainment,” Frost blurs out as soon as you open the door and instantly regrets his pun. “Sorry, that was stupid to say,” he apologizes.

The reason why you look puzzled is not his joke, but another motive: you never saw Jonny wearing anything else besides a suit or military gear; the fact that he’s standing in front of you wearing a pair of shorts and a t-shirt is quite intriguing.

“Hi,” you move aside so he can come in.

“Did I wake you up?”

“I fell asleep watching a movie,” Y/N smiles at his comfortable attire. “No big deal. Did Mister Joker send you?” the subtle question indicates you want to find out the reason for his visit.

“No... I was just thinking… maybe we could… and it’s entirely up to you, no pressure… maybe you would want to go and watch the fireworks with me. I have food and sleeping bags, plus an ice chest with drinks in my truck.”

You seem confused.

“Mmmm, you know what? Forget about it. That was completely idiotic to suggest,” Frost realizes that asking a freshly divorced woman to get out of the house after she was kidnapped and starved into her ex’s basement only four days ago it’s not the most brilliant idea he ever had.

“You had me at food and fireworks,” you wink at his insecurity. “The drinks sealed the deal. I’m confused on one detail: do I have to change or can I come in my PJ’s?”

“PJ’s are perfect.”

“Awesome!” you grab the keys from the coffee table. “Where exactly are we heading?”

“Fire Creek Hill, it’s one of the best spots to enjoy the view,” Jonny replies.

“Isn’t that closed to the general public?” Y/N inquires and his logic makes you laugh while exchanging your socks for flip-flops.

“I doubt we’re considered the general public. I had to pull some strings though,” he admits, overjoyed you actually agreed to accompany him.

Not that he shows it in any other way besides the invitation he barely mustered the courage to extend towards The Joker’s Ghost Driver.

*************

9:03pm  

“Oh, it’s starting!” you excitedly nibble on your Alfredo pasta.

The first fireworks bloom in the distance and Frost opens the cooler, pointing out the goodies he salvaged from the liquor store.

“Pick your poison: we have a bottle of premixed margarita, wine, whiskey, tequila and…,” he fumbles around,”…try to contain yourself: water!”

“You definitely bought some of my favorites , including the food. How did you guess?” the bubbly Y/N smiles.

“I pay attention,” Jonny mentions. “So what’s gonna be?”

“Margarita please,” you hold the plastic cup and can’t help snickering as he pours the liquid.

“What?” he suspiciously bites on his cheek.

“Nothing really… I was imagining you without the beard,” you decide not to keep it a secret.

“Damn!” Frost snorts. “I had it for years; didn’t consider shaving because our employer would freak out. Stop giggling, it’s not funny! He totally would!” Jonny elbows you.

“I bet you have a baby face underneath all that facial hair; if you shave I can promise a new nickname will arise: Baby- Face Frost.”

“Shut up!” he chuckles at your quirky proposal. “Yet I can’t deny it has a certain ring to it.”

“See what I mean? It might work!... Oh my God, that’s a huge one!” you gasp, distracted by the sparkling night sky. “What are they celebrating? 150 years since this piece of crap town was founded?”

“Apparently,” Jonny sighs and watches Y/N bundle up in the sleeping bag.

“Thank you for the feast,” your tone changes to a serious one. “I didn’t have this much fun in the back of a truck in a long time. Go ahead, laugh!” you pout at his reaction. “I’m aware how it sounds like; I didn’t mean it that way!!!”

“Still funny as hell!” Jonny is getting a kick out of the conversation.

“Psst! Hey, Casanova!” The Joker’s mop of green hair pop up from behind the car’s high railing.

“Mister Joker!” you get startled by his unexpected presence.

“Boss, what are you doing here?” Frost utters in disbelief.

“Why aren’t you answering your phone, huh?” J ignores his henchman’s inquiry.

“It’s in the glove compartment, sir. I’m enjoying the…”

“Pardon me for interrupting your date,” The King of Gotham huffs.

“We’re not on a date,” the attempted explanation gets cut short.

“Sell it to whoever wants to buy it,” The Joker growls at Jonny’s words. “I had to follow the signal from your cell and trace your location; what a marvelous bonus to find my Turbo also!”

The eerie grin makes you finally speak up:

“Do you need help with anything Mister J?”

“Do I?” he plays dumb. “Probably.”

Why does he have to ruin the night? Frost reflects, annoyed.

Nobody knows, but if he could spend ages in your company, he believes it would be an eternity well spent.

And The Joker had to ruin it.

Goddammit!

“Can you patch me up?” J takes of his jacket, revealing a blood stained shirt.

“What happened?” you and Jonny jump off the vehicle.

“I got myself in a little bit of a situation,” he grumbles. “It’s a clean wound; the bullet came out on the other side.”

“We should take you to the doctor, boos; you need stitches!”

“Thanks for your concern, Doctor Frost,” The Joker sassily remarks. “I’ll go in the morning.  I have more important matters to take care of tonight.”

You peel off his garment and assess the damage; he can’t hold it in:

“I bet you wanted to do this after I texted you my nudes, huh?”

You have to admit he caught you by surprise with his statement and the best solution in this situation is to cooperate:

“Been dreaming about it quite often.”

“Ha! I knew it!” The Clown cracks up. “Were you dreaming about it during your date?” he teases more.

“We’re not on a date,” you frown at the blood gushing from his wound.

“Interesting,” J expands on the subject. “At least you two have one thing in common: you’re both delusional.”

Frost rolls his eyes without J noticing and you signal him:

“Can I please get the whiskey? I need to disinfect this.”

“You have whiskey on your date?! Excuse me, non-date,” his majesty’s obnoxious temper emerges again.

You don’t engage for the moment, just open the bottle that Jonny gave you and splash a generous amount on the laceration.

“Jesus Christ!!!” The King shouts. “Be gentle woman, I’m fragile!!!”

“Sorry Mister J,” you mutter and Frost is certainly approving your tiny revenge scheme. “Can you please turn on the lights on your car? It’s getting dark and I can’t see what I’m doing,” you address The Joker’s sidekick. “Do you have a first aid kit in your vehicle Mister J?” you gesture towards his SUV parked a few feet away.

“I should,” a demented smirk flourished on his lips. “In the trunk!”

“Take a seat in the grass Mister J; I’ll go get it,” you urge the patient.

“Boss, are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the doctor?” Frost offers and instead of obliging your request, J pursues your steps because he doesn’t want to miss Turbo’s reaction.

“It’s fine, I’ll survive until morning time.”

You lift the trunk and gasp, stunned: your stellar ex-husband is tied up in there, duct tape over his mouth, clearly enjoying the repercussions of a confrontation due to bruises you can discern at a first glance.

“Oops, forgot about him,” The Clown yawns, bored.

Adam starts wiggling and mumbling whilst you can’t react.

“The fucker shot me!” your employer hisses. “Had the nerve to try killing me when he’s the one sleeping with MY girlfriend!”

“What’s the plan, sir?” Jonny intervenes, worried at your stunned attitude.

“The plan is simple: since Y/N is intimately acquainted with our guest, I’m willing to work out a deal. I don’t wanna to be accused of not listening to my associates.”

Adam keeps struggling and you finally reach and remove the duct tape.

“Honey, honey please!” he immediately rambles on, panicked. “You know I was joking about your weight, right? You don’t have to lose a few pounds! I admit locking you up in the basement was a huge mistake, ok? OK…? I’m sorry! I swear I’ll never cheat on you in the future. We can work things out, can’t we?” a glimmer of hope alleviates the somber perspective of his imminent demise once you begin searching his pockets.

He has the false impression you’ll untie him when in the matter of fact you are hunting down for his house keys so you can reclaim all the items you bribed him with when he signed the divorce papers.

Bingo! Treasure attained.

“So do you know him or not?” The Joker taps his fingers on the cold metal of his gun.

You take a deep breath, place the duct tape on Adam’s lips and sneer:

“I never saw this asshole in my life!”

“The lady has spoken!” J slams the trunk, unnerved. “Frost, you can go home; Y/N will take me to the warehouse on 8th street: she can borrow a car from there and split. I’ll send someone in the morning to bring it back.”

“Boss, we can leave your SUV here and I can drive you both…”

“DID I STUTTER?” The Clown growls, unhappy with Jonny’s shenanigans.

“No sir.”

“Mister J,” you distract his menacing temper. “Do you want me to bandage your injury now?”

“Nah, you can do it at the warehouse.”

More fireworks illuminate the skies and none in the small group is watching them anymore: the show is over for everyone involved.

You wave at Frost and hop in The Joker’s car as he positions himself in the passenger’s seat; you can tell something is off, besides the obvious of course.

If you’d have to speculate, you would say that his behavior is of a man who wasn’t hurt just physically, but on a different level he doesn’t understand yet: J went after your ex-husband alone when he doesn’t take unnecessary risks; enough proof to indicate he loved Ella and sought revenge for her betrayal without any of his team’s help.

You wonder what he did to the woman: did he kill her? Or worse?... You won’t dig to find out regardless.

The truth is you are The Joker’s Turbo and the statement works in reverse too: he is your Joker who undeniably needs cheering.

And you always deliver. That’s why you’re his.

That’s why you appreciate he made an effort to compromise on Adam’s predicament even if he didn’t mean it.

You steadily drive on the trail until you arrive to the main road, then suddenly accelerate with a specific purpose in mind. You take a sharp turn on Morrison Avenue, already at 100 miles per hour.

“What are you doing?” J bitterly enunciates.

“Why am I your Ghost Driver Mister Joker?” you reply with a question.

“Nobody can catch up with you.”

“Yup, the car to catch up with me hasn’t been assembled. Here they are, Gotham’s finest!” Y/N boasts at the lights glistening behind. “They always have a nightly patrol on Morrison Avenue ready to catch law un-abiding citizens,” you exclaim and J’s smirk widens at your proposition. “What do you say we make them work for their donuts, hm?”

“That’s my girl!” The King gives his blessing while Turbo speeds up the street in a frenzy.

************

11:58 pm

You barely returned to you apartment after the random factors which cut your rendezvous short when the cell chimes: a message from Frost.

“Did you make it home safe?”

“Yes,” you text.

“I’ve been busy. Wait, I’ll send you a picture.”

Downloading picture…

“Holy… shit!!!!!” you yell at your phone because the image depicts a portrait of a freshly shaved Jonny Frost.

“Do you like it?” the sentence appears on the screen concomitant with a knock at the main entrance.

“Who is it?” you drag your feet on the carpet.

“Me.”

As soon as you are standing in front of him, Frost hides his nervousness the best way he can; and he’s not a nervous individual per se.

“I thought you might want to take a closer look…,” he enters the hallway and you slowly lock the door behind him.

You don’t say anything, just touch his face and he pecks your wrist, confessing a secret he kept bottled up for years:

“Do you know I’ve been in love with you from the first second I saw you?”

Y/N doesn’t have to calculate in order to whisper:

“That’s a long time.”

“What’s the verdict?...“ Jonny insists. “You approve the change?”

“Yes,” you kiss him and he holds you tighter, thinking that if he could spend ages in your arms, it would be an eternity well spent.

 Also read: MASTERLIST

You can also follow me on Wattpad and Ao3 under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[logansanderslove]

Logan 3.0  (3/?)

CO-AUTHOR: @demented-dukey

Summary: Remus is an incorrigible flirt, and Logan can only bear the innuendo for so long until something has to give. Passions erupt, but there are more lasting repercussions than either could have predicted, including a significant transformation to Logan himself! How will these new changes affect the delicate balance of Thomas’s mental state? When a new dark side threatens the lives of several of the other sides, will Logan and Remus’s love be strong enough to save everyone, including Thomas?

Ships: INTRULOGICAL

Sanders Sides: Logan, Remus, Thomas, Roman, Virgil, Patton, Deceit

Fic type: Drama, Romantic, Action, Flirty

Trigger Warnings: No character deaths, but a lot of very close calls. Consensual knife play and bloodplay, and lots of bloody fighting and monster attacks. If you’re sensitive to unsympathetic characters, some parts flirt pretty close to that, but there’s also a lot of extenuating circumstances to explain the situation, and there’s a happy ending once you get through the angst and misunderstandings. Self-harm and references to such, and suicidal tendencies.

MASTERLIST

Chapter 3: What’s Happening?

Hours later, Logan's eyes fluttered open, a small groan escaping his lips. Oh God, his head hurt. He went to sit up but a sharp stab of pain restricted him from doing so. He glanced down to see his shirt had been removed and the wound inflicted by Roman had been bandaged and cleaned.

Looking around, he raised his eyebrow at the dark-colored room, the maces and morningstar hanging on the wall, all the many knives that lay scattered and were stuck in the walls and ceiling, the...posters of unicorn porn?

He sighed.

This was Remus' room.

He smiled, then forced himself to sit up, sucking in air through the intense pain. Once he was upright, he put a hand gently to his throat, feeling the sting from where Roman's tight grip had almost killed him. He concentrated on trying to heal his wounds, but his head started to pound so he stopped with a hard breath.

He heard a sound, then turned to see Remus rise up. He met him with a smile.

"You're awake!" Remus chirped, holding a tray of food. He hurried over, placing the tray on the bed, sitting down next to Logan. The silver tray was tarnished, and the silverware was clean but dotted with water spots - something Patton would never have tolerated in the Light Sides' kitchen. The food on the tray was also non-standard fare - a bowl of what smelled like spicy gumbo, black coffee so strong it could crawl out of the cup, applesauce with what looked like raisins and anchovies, and a shredded-carrot coleslaw. "How are you feeling, Lo-black-and-blue-berry?"

Remus frowned, "I tried to find some Crofters, but I think my bastard brother raided my stash the last time he got a bit peckish."

Logan smiled, leaning against his boyfriend. "It is fine, Remus. Good thing I have MY store of Crofters hidden where Roman will never find it." He said. Then he smirked. "Inside my bookshelf. And other places around my room." He said, then he closed his eyes as he scooted closer. "Thank you for taking care of me, love."

"I could do no less for my knight in shining armor," Remus purred, honored that Logan was sharing his secrets with him. He cuddled Logan, encouraging the side to lean against him. All the skin on display was distracting now that Logan was awake, but Remus forced himself under control - there would be time to draw on that canvas later. "You have performed admirably in your cause, and have earned a reward. Name your boon, and I'll grant it."

Logan smirked. "You are over the top, like your brother. But it works on you." He said with a wink, then his lips curled up in a smile. "How about just a nice cuddle?"

Remus grinned, "I can do that!" He tugged a dark green blanket over them to keep Logan warm. "We can cuddle as long as you desire! The others can pound on the door until Doomsday and we won't be disturbed." He leaned close to whisper into Logan's ear, "My room has very thick soundproof walls and doors."

"I'm guessing for obvious reasons." Logan stroked Remus' cheek. "We can save that for another day. For now, my head hurts and I just want to rest in your arms, love."

"As you wish, darling." Yeah, Remus was sappy and quoting romance movies. So sue him, Roman didn't get all the romantic tenancies in the divorce. He wondered why Logan hadn't vanished away his own injuries yet - Remus had tried while Logan was unconscious, but that was another power that was beyond his abilities - but if Logan wanted a bit of hurt/comfort, Remus was more than willing to indulge him. He cradled Logan close, nuzzling Logan's neck and sighing happily.

~

Patton's eyes went wide in shock. "HE DID WHAT?!" He exclaimed as Roman nursed the lump on his head, the Prince's eyes narrowing.

"Logan hit me!" He then bit his lip. "I have to say, he has a pretty mean left jab." 

He shook his head. "But STILL! HOW COULD HE POSSIBLY LOVE MY BROTHER?! WHAT DOES HE SEE IN HIM?!"

Patton blinked owl-leshly behind his big glasses. "Back up. Logan loves Remus? When did this happen???"

Roman waved his free hand in the air in frustration. "I don't know. I caught them nearly fornicating on the couch, but this is the first time I've seen Logan give Re the time of day."

Patton bit his lip. "Do you think the others know? Like Virgil?"

As if summoned by the sound of his name, Virgil rose up. "Yo, what's up, people?" He took one look at Roman cradling his head and Patton's worried face, then his gaze caught on a smear on the carpet, and he screeched, "IS THAT BLOOD???"

Roman nodded. "Uh...yeah....about that..." He sighed, rubbing the back of his head ruefully. "I MAY have...uh...stabbed Logan."

"YOU WHAT?!" Patton shrieked.

"Vicious, Princey." Even Virgil looked wary of Roman now. "What did he ever do to you?"

Patton was freaking out, "Where did you stab him??? Is he all right? Where is he??? WHY DID YOU STAB HIM???"

Roman frowned. "He was mocking me! Pushing me! He was TAUNTING ME TO HURT HIM!" He shook his head. "He...he wasn't himself....it was like someone had flipped a switch and suddenly he was a darker version of himself." 

Patton wrung his hands together. "But...where is he?" He wondered, and Roman sighed.

"Best guess? Remus probably took him to his room after I knocked Logan out." He held up his hands at the wide eyes from the other two. "HE WASN’T HIMSELF! AND HE WAS CALLING ME STUPID AND EGGING ME ON! IT WAS HIS OWN FAULT!"

Virgil rolled his eyes, "Way to be responsible with a lethal weapon. Also, bee-tee-dubs, 'He was asking for it' and 'It was his own fault' is kinda victim-blamey, dude."

"Maybe we should go check on Logan?" Patton said, fretting with the sleeves of his hoodie.

Virgil shook his head. "No use. I've been to Remus's room before - the thing's solid as a fortress. Nobody's getting in or out unless Remus allows it, and if he's gone feral, the drawbridge will be locked up tight. We'll have to wait for Logan to come out on his own."

"I guess... that'll be all right? As long as Thomas is still doing okay...?" Patton said.

"Yessssss, because that is what you should be focusing on," came a hiss from the shadows, causing them to jump as Deceit appeared.

"Deceit!" Patton yelped in surprise, "Did you know about Remus and Logan?"

Virgil crossed his arms in defense, eyeing the snake, "What do you mean?"

Deceit ignored them and focused on Roman, "You said Logan was acting totally normal? He wasn't suddenly a darker version of himself?"

Roman raised his eyebrow. "Uh, yeah?" He rubbed the back of his head. "He's got some serious pent-up anger in there."

Virgil started chewing on his thumbnail nervously.

"That... doesn't sound like Logan at all." Patton murmured hesitantly.

Roman rolled his eyes. "The guy seems to have no emotions 98% of the time. All of that has to go somewhere." He turned on Deceit. "Why do you ask, anyway?"

Deceit sighed, an exhausted Lord-why-did-you-curse-me-to-deal-with-these-morons exhale of breath. "Because it's totally not possible for an aspect to change, and Thomas would be completely fine if the seat of his mind and logic also controlled his anger and fury."

"You think... Logan's going to become a Dark Side?" Patton whispered in shocked disbelief.

Roman's eyes grew wider than the moon when he considered it. Had he been the one to push Logan over the edge? What if Thomas lost his logical side because of him?!

Roman spun around and grabbed Deceit's shoulders, shocking the other side.

"Deceit, I need you to go to my brother's room, find Logan, and bring him back, okay?! We need to make sure Remus won't turn him into a Dark side!" He said with panic.

Deceit raised his eyebrow, then shook his head. "It does work like that, Roman. Remus can turn Logan into a dark side. And Logan is the one who is doing it to himself." He drawled out, but Roman shook his head.

"I don’t care! You're the only one who can actually get into his room! GO!"

"I am definitely going to fix this entire situation." Deceit drawled, skepticism dripping from his voice as he sunk out.

Deceit reappeared outside the door to Remus's room. He knew there was no point in knocking - Remus wouldn't be able to hear it, and even on a good day, the chaotic side was likely to ignore a polite greeting just to be contrary. With a twist of his wrist, Deceit summoned a tiny grass snake and lowered it to the ground. If Remus was in a bad mood (which was extremely likely), then the color of the snake might be the extra lure needed for Remus to grant him an audience. "Find Remussssss." Deceit hissed to the snake, "Tell him I need to sssssee him."

The snake bobbed its head once, tongue flicking out to taste the air, before turning to face the door. There was a tiny crack under one corner of the door, small enough that only the smallest of Deceit's snakes and Virgil's spiders could crawl through. When Remus was truly throwing a fit, he plugged up the hole, but most of the time it was available for emergencies. And Deceit figured this could be categorized as such. 

~

Remus drifted awake from some lovely blood-soaked and scream-filled dreams when he felt something smooth slip around his wrist. For a moment he wondered if Logan was surprising him with handcuffs, but the thought vanished when Remus felt the sensation slither up his arm. He cracked one eye open, watching the gorgeous green snake rear up and taste his cheek in a friendly way. "Really, so soon?" Remus groaned, closing his eye and snuggling back against Logan.

Logan twitched in his sleep, then opened his eyes when he heard a small hissing. He raised his head, rubbing his face tiredly as he reached for his glasses. Once he put them on, he was confronted by a very small little green snake resting on the pillow beside Remus' head. He raised his eyebrow.

"I assume this is one of Deceit's snakes..." he muttered, then he gently shook Remus awake. "Love, there is a snake on your pillow trying to get your attention. I think Deceit wants to talk to you."

"Nooooooo." Remus clenched his eyes closed, clinging to Logan. "Five more minutes," he whined.

Logan sighed, then rolled out of bed, a difficult task trying to escape Remus' cling. But he managed, and he stood up and went to the door, unlocking and opening it to see the snake-faced man standing before him. Logan frowned.

"What do you want, Deceit? We were asleep."

"Sssso sorry to bother you," Deceit snarked, eyeing Logan carefully from head to toe, making note of his shirtlessness and visible wounds and bruises. His gaze returned to Logan's face, and he squinted as he looked deep into Logan's eyes. "The other sides are not concerned about your welfare, and they would never send me to check on you."

Logan nodded with a sigh. "Ah. I assume that Roman told them everything, including my loss of temper?" He frowned. "I can also guess that he told you I hit him when in reality, he did far more damage to me." He twitched his shoulder and gently put a finger to his jaw, then his neck. "And he called ME aggressive."

Deceit nodded towards the bandage on Logan's shoulder. "There was no mention that you might have been wounded. Although I can totally understand why you're still injured."

The tiny grass snake had returned, winding up Deceit's leg. Deceit reached for it and let the snake slither inside his sleeve. They were joined by a sleep-tousled Remus, who embraced Logan from behind and rested his chin on Logan's good shoulder.

Logan smiled as he reached back to rub Remus' cheek, then he sighed. "I tried healing them and vanishing them. It won't work, Deceit." He then crossed his arms. "It does not matter, though. Did you need something other than to ask me how I am?" His voice turned slightly bitter. "Has Roman come down from his high horse yet of saying that it was my fault? Because I know that he would blame it on me. As usual."

Deceit shrugged. "Everyone knows Roman is the most reliable source of information, and you are definitely the only one to blame." He buffed his nails on his cape, and remarked offhandedly, "There was no talk whatsoever of you becoming a dark side yourself."

Remus started, "Wait, what?" Logan? Becoming a dark side? Of all the random and crazy thoughts that popped into Remus' head, that was one he'd never thought about. But... it kinda made sense... and if Virgil could transition, it was possible that the reverse could happen too... "Is that even possible?"

Logan scrunched up his face, rubbing his chin. "...In theory, I believe it could be possible..." he lifted his head with a raised eyebrow. "But why in the name of Newton would they ever suspect me as having a transition? What would possess them to consider that I would ever turn to a Dark Side?"

Deceit looked Logan dead in the eye, "I'm sure I don't have the foggiest clue. It is completely logical to get into a fight, and very normal for you to aggravate Roman into violence."

Nipping Logan's ear, Remus said, "Not gonna lie, it was hot to see you egging him on."

Logan closed his eyes with a sigh, then shook his head. "Perhaps you are right that I was a bit illogical. My actions were quite… unnecessary. However, I still do not entirely see why they would think that I would be becoming a Dark Side."

Logan turned his head to meet Remus' eyes with a questioning gaze. "What exactly are the qualifications for one to be classified as a Dark Side?"

Remus blinked. Today was full of new and interesting thoughts he'd never stopped to ponder before. "I... I don't know? I don't think there's...like, a list or anything? Everyone just said... I mean, I guess it up to whatever Thomas thinks? Or, maybe not just Thomas..."

"Morality." Deceit hissed. "...would definitely not have the final say, and dear Patton has complete control over his own powers." He shrugged, "In the end, it isn't up to each side to choose their own alignment, although Morality was not the one to set up the alignments in the first place, and does not unconsciously enforce the alignment as part of his powers."

Logan's eyes went wide. "Wait, WHAT?! So, if Patton starts to think of me as becoming a Dark Side all because Roman threw a temper tantrum and I may have gotten a bit frustrated, Patton can turn me into a Dark Side?!" He exclaimed, letting out a hard breath as Remus wrapped his arms around him.

Logan felt like his chest was going to explode. Just because he had lost his nerve a tad and then Roman had to go and tattle on him when he was the one who really did the most damage, he could become a Dark Side without wanting to...because Patton would fear him…

What would happen to Thomas if Patton dubbed him as a Dark Side?

His eyes then shot open, glancing down at his wounds as something clicked in his head. "Oh, god..." he muttered.

Deceit rolled his eyes, "It definitely works like that," he muttered under his breath, "I love how everyone always listens to me."

Remus had briefly examined the idea of Logan going dark and found he kinda liked the idea. Lo already looked good in black! And maybe his room would be moved closer! (and maybe the others would be less likely to interfere with two dark sides dating than they would a light/dark relationship - after all, if Logan was already corrupted, nobody could accuse Remus of corrupting him further). But it was obvious the idea was causing Logan distress, and Remus did NOT like that. He began rubbing Logan's shoulders in a gentle massage, wary of his injuries, and manifested a couple shadowy tentacles from his back to wrap around them both, hugging Logan around the waist.

Logan let out a long shaky breath, then he looked back up at Deceit. "Listen, I'm rather concerned right now and my neurons are firing faster than I can process. So can you honestly explain what you mean, and how this is happening? Simply and honestly, Dee."

Remus gently latched onto Logan's good shoulder with his teeth - not really biting, just mouthing the flesh and imprinting his teeth into the skin. The distraction helped keep him from talking and possibly saying something wrong, and he really wanted to listen to this conversation - he didn't think Patton could force anyone to become a dark side, but he didn't really remember his own split with Roman very well, and he personally never asked to be a Dark side... everyone just kept telling him he was, and he'd never questioned it. He'd never even really considered trying to become a light side since Roman was always already there.

Deceit grimaced and took a deep breath. "I... am," he hesitated, and forced out, "not an expert. You don't," a wince, and a correction, "do know as much as I do. I am," and here, Deceit, obviously swallowed down a word before continuing, "concerned about Thomas's well being. You do," a brief cough into his fist, "have control over your own alignment."

Deceit hesitated, "That being said..."

"The mindscape is... fluid, and it does (cough) conform to the will of the majority. It would (ahem) be wise to speak with Patton at your earliest convenience so that any misunderstandings are..." and here, Deceit gestured vaguely, indicating a clearing of the air.

Logan nodded, a small smile on his face. "Thank you, Deceit. I know how hard it is for you to do that, and I appreciate you telling the truth."

He glanced at his wounds. "The reason I was extremely concerned is the fact that I cannot seem to vanish away my injuries, but that may be in part to my mindset not being strictly to one side at the moment. You must be in full concentration to be able to do so, and I think that all this talk of me turning has completely disheveled my inner workings." He frowned. "This brings up the troubling question as to what effect this is going to have on Thomas."

He spun to Remus, causing his boyfriend to detach his teeth gently. He stroked Remus' cheek. "I must go and talk to the others at once." He bit his lip, squeezing his eyes shut, then Remus watched as a dark blue t-shirt appeared on him. When Logan opened his eyes he stumbled, putting a hand to his head. Remus barely caught him as Logan let out a worried sigh. "Yes, something is definitely wrong." He walked to pull on his shoes, tying them messily as his head was still pounding, then he stood and walked to the door, meeting Deceit's eyes.

"Alright. Let us go talk to the others."

Deceit glanced at Remus, "Perhaps, it would not be better if you stayed here."

Remus bristled, "Like HELL I'm staying behind! Roman tried to shish-kabob Lo the last time he saw him! Besides, he can barely stand on his own!"

Deceit sighed, "I assure you I would not do everything in my power to keep Logic intact. But you are welcome among the light sides, and you would never cause a sensitive conversation to get out of hand."

Remus glared at Deceit, but then glanced at Logan to see what his boyfriend thought.

Logan hesitated, then he sighed. "Re, I think Deceit is right. I don’t know what Patton or Virgil would do to you, but I'm well aware that Roman would gladly kill you. So please," he rubbed his boyfriend's cheek. "Just stay here, love. I'll be fine."

His eyes were slightly uncertain, a hint of fear encased in them, but he took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he sank out with Deceit.

Remus stared at the spot on the floor where Logan had sunk down. He... he knew it was probably for the best, but it still hurt, and he still Did Not Like letting Logan go without him. Anger and fear churned in his belly, and he swiveled on his heel, snatched the morningstar off the wall, and headed out a back door of his room into the depths of the subconscious imagination. He was itching to get a little bloody, and fighting some of the monsters that lurked down there would hopefully do the trick.

~

Deceit and Logan rose up in the common area, to the others’ surprise.

"You did it." Virgil said, his tone disbelieving.

"Did you have any doubts?" Deceit smirked.

Virgil scoffed. "Always," he grinned.

Patton hesitantly approached Logan, "Your shirt..." he murmured, then looked into Logan's face, eyeing the bruises with concern, "Roman said you were hurt???"

Logan crossed his arms. "I believe you should rephrase that statement to 'Roman hurt me', then you will have an accurate handle on the occurrences." He stated blandly, shooting a dirty look to the Prince who sat on the couch. He then turned back to Patton. "And yes, I am wearing a different shirt one, because my other one was completely blood-soaked," he again glared at Roman. "And two...this was all I had the strength to conjure."

"Can I..." Patton said, gently laying his palm on Logan's chest, "I think I can try to..." he closed his eyes and focused his energy on healing Logan's wounds.

Logan flinched, shoving Patton’s hand away with a small cry. "GAH! That hurt! Why did that hurt?!”

Patton looked horrified, looking between Logan to his hand and back again. "It's not supposed to hurt!" Patton echoed with a cry. "Why..." he searched the faces of the others, confused and worried.

"The plot thickens..." Virgil muttered, drawing his hood up over his head and scrunching down into his hoodie.

Logan swept his eyes around the others in fear, his normally strong composure beginning to break down.

"Guys, I don’t know what's going on, okay? All I know is that I can’t heal myself, and if I try to use too much energy I almost pass out. I just..." he shook his head.

He left out the part where his head had been pounding and he couldn't really distinguish which of the Sides was which at the moment, but he knew that soon they would notice.

They all knew something was wrong with him. But they just didn't know what. And what scared Logan the most was that he had no idea what it was either, and there was no logic in anything that was happening. 

He wasn’t him.

~

Deceit would have left, but he'd given a promise to Remus that he'd keep an eye on the geek, so he forced himself to stay. Logan wasn't looking so good and was likely to start swaying on his feet at any moment. With a sigh, Deceit caught Logan's elbow and lead him over to the couch, sitting him down in the edge seat as far away from Roman as possible, before plopping down on the couch next to him. He manifested a glass of water and offered it to Logan, subtly slipping some painkillers into his hand in the process - all the tension in the room was starting to give Deceit a stress headache, and he could only imagine what it was doing to Logan.

Logan gladly took the offers from Deceit, taking a painkiller with a sip of water before setting the cup down with a shaky breath. He held a hand to his head, blinking hard as he tried to keep his eyes from blurring even more. The others all looked at him with worry until Logan finally shook his head.

"De-Deceit, can you...can you explain why...why this might be happening? As you told me ear-earlier?..." he struggled to get his words out, trying incredibly hard to keep a tight grasp on consciousness. He had no idea what was happening to him, but it seemed to be speeding up.

He met the hesitant eyes of the snake man, but his own pleading look got Deceit to cave.

Oh yeah. Deceit was so glad he'd decided to stay. But Logan was one of the least insufferable sides Deceit had the displeasure of knowing, so he capitulated easier than he might normally have. "I am totally an expert in the matter, and I would love to explain it to everyone." Deceit snarked, and then took a deep breath, "The mindscape never changes, and every side always stays the same. Thomas's needs never change, and so every side is never at risk of losing or gaining various abilities depending on the needs of the host."

Deceit glared at Roman and Patton, "General consensus of the more powerful sides never plays a part either because the mindscape doesn't conform itself to their subconscious will. Anyone shunned by Thomas's preferred sides won't find themselves... compelled towards the dark sides."

"Wait, this is my fault???" Roman exclaimed, "I can't get mad that Logan's getting freaky with my brother, because my anger is sending him to the dark side???"

"This is only your fault," Deceit said to Roman, but his gaze was fixed on Patton.

Patton looked around with wide eyes, then he pointed to himself. "W-wait, you're saying that I'm also a reason Logan is like this?!" He said with immense concern.

Logan lifted his head with great effort, taking a deep breath. "Yes, Patton. Th-that is what he is s-saying..." 

God, thirty more seconds and Logan would be on the ground. The room was reeling for him, his eyelids feeling like they were made of lead. He barely glanced to the side to see Virgil staring at him, the Anxious Side seeming very concerned.

"Lo? You okay?" He asked quietly, but Logan shook his head, a shaky breath escaping his mouth before he collapsed from the couch to the floor, the frantic shouts disappearing as he blacked out.

Roman leaped forward to try to help the others pick up Logan from the floor, but Deceit blocked his path, hissing until Roman backed off. Patton was freaking out, afraid to touch Logan in case he hurt him again.

Deceit allowed Virgil to help him pick up Logan, glaring at the others if they got too close. "He should be in his room." Deceit murmured so only Virgil could hear, his own complicated thoughts the only reason he was able to speak without an obvious lie. Was Logan's room really the best place for him? Would Remus' be better? Deceit would rather keep Remus at a distance until Logan had recovered a bit - the confrontation with the light sides had not gone as well as he'd hoped, and the chaotic side was likely to go feral in retaliation once he found out.

"Yeah, Lo's room would be the best." Virgil agreed, and Deceit took comfort in Virgil's opinion. "We'll take care of him for now, you guys," Virgil said to Patton and Roman, "and we'll reconvene later when Logan's feeling better."

~

Once Virgil and Deceit had brought Logan to his room, they laid him down on his dark navy blue comforter, resting his head on the single grey pillow. Lo's room was very simple as he tried not to clutter it up; it distracted him from getting work done.

Virgil sat down on the edge of the bed, then looked up at Deceit as he placed his hand on Logan's arm.

"What's happening to him, Dee? Things have just been getting worse and worse and..." he took a few deep breaths, calming himself down so as not to have a panic attack. "What do we do?"

Deceit grabbed the desk chair, wheeling it over so he could sit by the side of the bed. "I don't know," he admitted sadly. Not exactly a lie - he had some suspicions, but he was flying as blind as the rest of them. He looked at Virgil. "You... what was it like? When you transitioned?"

Virgil sat straight up, then met Deceit's eyes. "Nothing like this, I can assure you that. It..." He took a deep breath. "It was more of a warm and fuzzy feeling, like when you come in from the winter and you get to wrap yourself in a cuddly blanket." He smirked a bit. "I know that sounds super cliche, but that's just how it felt. But..."

He looked down at one of his best friends. "Lo really seems to be in pain. Do you think his primary functions are short-circuiting or something? And who's to say what'll happen to Thomas because of this?!" His anxiety really started to kick in, then he sighed. "Is Lo gonna become a Dark Side?"

Both Deceit and Virgil turned their gaze to the man laying on the bed beside them

Logan's skin was starting to glisten with sweat, his breath short and ragged. Never had the Logical side looked so weak.

Deceit shrugged. It was easier to talk to Virgil, easier to say what he wanted to say when he wasn't sure himself what the truth was. "I... think it's up to Logan to decide. There are... many factors, but..." Deceit sighed, and shrugged again. "Thomas controls us, we don't control the host unless he allows it. Logan changing... is an effect of something already happening to Thomas, not the other way around."

"Maybe we should... check on Thomas? See if he's doing something to cause this?" Virgil suggested reluctantly but didn't make a move to sink out. Neither side wanted to leave Logan when his health seemed so precarious.

Deceit manifested a damp washcloth and began to wipe down Logan's face.

Logan moaned quietly, flinching at the touch of the cloth. The other two caught each other's eyes, then a sound behind them made their eyes go wide.

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO HIM?!" Remus shrieked, running to his boyfriend's side. Shaking his head as he stroked Logan's cheek gently, he turned to face Virgil. 

"WHAT. HAPPENED."

"NOTHING!" Virgil hissed defensively, instinctively cowering away from Remus's wrath. "Pat tried to heal him, but something went wrong, and he's just been getting worse. We don't know what's going on either."

A dangerous, deadly calm settled over Remus's face. "Patton did this?"

Virgil glared at him, "NOT what I said. Calm the fuck down, dude, you're not helping."

"I CAN'T CALM THE FUCK DOWN!" Remus shrieked, causing Deceit and Virgil to wince.

Another small groan came from the bed, and Remus spun to take Logan's hand in his own. "Lo?..." he said quietly, then all three of the men grew wide eyes as Logan slowly opened his eyes, a small smile growing on his face as he met the gaze he loved so dearly. 

"Remus..." he murmured, and Remus nodded silently. He scooted closer, leaning down to kiss Logan's forehead, then he turned to Deceit and Virgil. 

"You two should go and see what's up with Thomas. I'll say with Lo." He said, and after a short exchange of glances, Deceit and Virgil sank out. He turned his attention back to Logan, who held his arms out as if begging for Remus to lay with him.

Remus couldn't deny his love anything, even when he wasn't lying half-dead and delirious with fever. Remus quickly removed his shirt and gently laid down next to Logan - he knew body heat was supposed to be important for hypothermia, so it stood to reason that it might also help regulate a fever. At least, Remus hoped so - besides, he rarely needed an excuse to start taking off his clothes.

Remus sighed happily, encircled by Logan's arms and hugging him back. He was still lowkey worried, but at least Logan was still responsive.

Logan leaned into his boyfriend's hold, taking a deep breath. "Remus, I think I know what's going on." He said with a slight shake to his voice. After an intrigued look crossed Remus' face, Logan continued.

"I believe that I am becoming what is called a 'neutral side'. I had only ever theorized the possibility of it actually happening, but now that I consider it, this seems to make sense."

"If anyone could become Neutral, it'd be Logic," Remus smiled, then considered, "...though, is that still what you are?" His eyes widened and he rushed to correct himself, "Not that I'd love you any less if you changed! Obviously not! You could turn into a bat and I wouldn't love you any less! Probably more! I love bats! They have funky black wings! And you would look cool as a bat! But if you aren't a bat that's cool too! I just..." Remus wound down from his excited babble, "I just want you to be happy."

Logan chuckled, nuzzling closer to his boyfriend. "I am still Logic, Re, but I believe that I will now also be controlling Anger and Fury." He took a deep breath. "In all honesty, I knew that there was something more to me. I've known for years. I just didn’t know what it was. But now I can see that the feeling that was building up inside of me was exactly that. Anger."

He took a deep breath, then a smile crossed his face. "I must say, that now that I am aware of what it is and that both of my aspects are clear, I have a new clarity in my head that I've never had before."

"So I was right!" Remus chirped happily and poked Logan in the chest. "That calm of yours was hiding a storm."

Logan bit his lip, then sat up, finding that he had much more strength than before. "No use in delaying the inevitable."

When Logan sat up, Remus feigned disappointment at being dislodged from his comfy spot. "There's lots of use in delaying the inevitable," he whined. "The last time you left a bed didn't go so well. What do you think's gonna happen this time?"

Logan sighed again, closing his eyes. "What happened last time only happened due to the fact that I wasn’t complete. But now...." 

Taking a deep breath, he stood up and closed his eyes, lifting his head. As Remus watched, his boyfriend began to change. His blue shirt turned to his black button-up, but a sharper version. His jeans turned black, his shoes turning to all black Vans. His hair turned darker, shorter, and a bit spiky, then a dragon earring appeared to wrap around his right ear while a black cuff stuck on the other, star-shaped charms dangling from the cuff. 

Logan let out a long breath, then turned to face Remus wholly, whose eyes had gone completely wide. Logan's tie was now all black paisley, and his logo was no longer just his brain, but had a hazard sign behind it.

Logan ran a hand through his hair before opening his eyes, a grin on his face. "Now I'm complete."

Remus stared, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, at the new version of his boyfriend. "Fuck me..." he breathed, intending it in every possible meaning of the phrase.

Logan crouched down and stroked Remus' cheek. "Maybe later, love. For now, we should inform the others."

Remus leaped out of bed and pounced on Logan, pinning him to the nearest wall. "Definitely later," he demanded, capturing Logan's mouth in a hot and brutal kiss that left them both breathless. Remus panted, trying to catch his breath, "We? You want me to come with this time?"

Logan smirked, a new look that completely captivated his boyfriend. "Of course. But promise me that you won't try to kill anyone." He leaned forward. "If you behave, then we can get naughty later tonight." He bit the edge of Remus' ear, kissing his neck afterward.

"How does that sound?" He whispered.

Remus whimpered shamelessly - after a lifetime of being touch-starved, every kiss and nibble Logan bestowed was driving him wild. "I would kill for you," he said, his voice dead serious for likely the first time in his life. "Not killing... will be harder... but I'll do it. For you. I'll do anything for you."

Logan met his eyes sweetly. "Good. Then let's go." He kissed Remus' cheek before taking his hand and sinking out.

[yaboylevi]

hey vivi how are you? hopefully you’re doing good ! question in your personal opinion do you think that we stopped seeing eren’s caring side towards levi bc of what happened in RtS arc? do u think like in a way he resents? or feels betrayed by levi’s actions? i mean eren trusted levi kinda blindly i would say so maybe he felt a little deceived by levi ? anyways i’m just curious on ur thoughts on this, have a good day! :D

Okay hi, so…I got this question once in the past already and I decided to not reply for various reasons. I didn’t really feel like replying to this either, as you could guess by how long it took me to actually reply (I actually typed a full answer 3 times in these 2 months but deleted all of them aahh). But I have a question for y'all I would really love hearing an answer to: Is this a common interpretation/headcanon in the ereri fandom recently?

So, anyway… if they were real people experiencing such a development, based on MY feelings and how I’d react, I would say yes, it would be normal for Eren to have developed a sort of resentment once things calmed down a little and he thought back on how absolutely unfairly Levi treated him back then: he agreed to give Eren the serum only to take back the offer at the last moment; he basically told him to shut down his own feelings, dismissing them, when Levi himself couldn’t do the same; he lost his patience and punched him in the face with such strength that he made Eren lose half of his teeth. I understand why it happened: Levi is not emotionally mature at times, imo, and it was a charged development with important lives at stakes and they were all mentally and physically drained. But he didn’t even apologize.

Granted, no one apologized. However, Eren and Mikasa were made to feel responsible for everything that went down by a number of people (Hange, Floch, the other military in Paradis), and were punished for it. I don’t feel Levi held them responsible because I think at one point he realized he acted worse than them and also understood why they all behaved that way.

Either way, Levi never apologized, even though we could argue that Levi telling them to never regret their choice (as if they even had a say in the matter…) and ruffling their hair was a sort of double apology (i.e: I forgive you and I hope you can forgive me). If it was real life, it wouldn’t be enough, in my opinion.

So long story short, I would feel betrayed alright, if I were Eren. Because Eren has always believed Levi was the better man, someone he could count on to be fair and mature. Levi was none of those things during their altercation on the rooftop.

But if I were to look at the whole situation through the lenses of what is ACTUALLY portrayed in canon, I feel the answer to your questions is no, as it isn’t given the proper depth, for 3 reasons:

1. It seems like there were no grudges left amongst all of them. Especially in chapter 108, they all behave naturally, as they used to do before the timeskip, before the Shiganshina fiasco happened (Isayama would’ve shown it to us if it wasn’t the case). I feel there is tension only between Eren and Armin. Also, there aren’t many instances where the 104th need to rely on Levi’s mentorship as before because they aren’t at war, and international matters are in Hange’s hands so they all rely on Hange when searching for an opinion. But I would like to believe that, when Eren couldn’t see eye to eye with his friends, he consulted with Levi, because they often talked about “feelings” rather than “actions” (so it doesn’t matter if they’re at war or not in their case), they have very similar opinions and went through similar experiences in the past. But so far there’s nothing that supports this in the manga. There’s just that tiny panel of Levi saying that they’ll talk later, but I feel it was forgotten/unimportant. Anyway, no grudges mean they have all forgiven one another because they all understood the others’ actions in Serumbowl…or Isayama simply didn’t care about exploring such conflict amongst them because he had other, more important things he needed to tackle in the story, so he made all of them forgive each other off-screen, with no repercussion whatsoever on their relationships.

2. Eren and Levi barely interact during and post-timeskip, and what we see of their relationship is a shadow and/or a copy-paste of what has already happened in the past (Levi kicking Eren, Levi thinking back only to their first encounter as if everything that happened later on had no weight, Levi acting as Eren’s bodyguard, Levi thinking of Eren as hope). Nothing new, whereas Eren’s relationship with other characters has changed quite a bit.

If we consider it from Eren’s point of view, he stopped opening up to his friends after talking with Yelena, but before that, he was quite open about his opinions with both his friends and Hange and Levi. Levi, though, during these moments, felt distant, opinionless, almost like a background character. And it’s true, Eren kept secrets from his friends and comrades, but he was justified, considering the military’s and Hange’s treatment of Eren himself when it came to his titan’s powers. He always spoke his mind in every other instance. We don’t see Eren and Levi talking, because…I don’t know. But I don’t see resentment from Eren, nor from Levi. And Levi, oh, he should have a lot to talk about. Not only with Eren. With Mikasa, too, about their shared family. With Hange, about Erwin. But he’s just…there.

So the fact that two characters who used to share so much screen time together, who shared such a relationship where one of them used to guide the other, and the other used to open up to the mentor in private in the past, and who both used to play into the same themes of the story, now share close to no screentime, conversations, and themes, makes me think that it is either just to show Levi’s distance to their cause as a whole and Eren’s frustration with everyone in general, OR Isayama simply has no intention of keeping their relationship relevant anymore. And this last point brings me to number 3.

3. Isayama has dropped a significant amount of relationships or characters throughout the series, and sometimes it was very disappointing (Annie, Bertolt, Historia, Ymir, Mike come to mind). I didn’t think it could happen with the series’ most popular character and the protagonist, as they had consistent importance together throughout the whole series until the change of POV in the Marley arc (so for 80 chapters), but it may have as well happened for real.

With Levi dead or out of commission most probably until the end of the story - and so he will never meet with Eren again to have one of their usual talks - and with Eren in the middle of probably the last fight of the story where he will almost certainly die, I can see closure for Eren only in regards to his friends of the 104th. That’s also where the main focus of this whole arc has been. No closure for Levi re:most of his “bonds”. And again, in Eren’s memories in ch120, we see a shot of Levi from the Female Titan Arc, even though Eren and Levi had other relevant conversations down the road. Couple this with Levi’s flashback of an Eren from their first meeting in volume 2 (?), and I get the feeling Isayama has no intention of making them relevant to each other ever again. He decided to 1. make Levi’s character about revenge - and I’m curious to see what he will do with Levi, because he has already punished him for it so I’m waiting for a conclusion - and to emotionally separate him from the main cast, and 2. to make Eren a solo player who may have absorbed Levi’s teachings in (maybe) the wrong way, but his mentor won’t ever be there to confront him about it, because it’s not important as long as Armin, or someone else among the 104th, will act as Eren’s moral compass.

And it is kind of disappointing. It feels like wasted potential and abandoned character development. But I’m also biased about it.

–

tl;dr:

1. Eren has stopped talking to everyone in his group of friends after talking with Yelena. Levi is the one who feels the most distant in such group prior to that.

2. The fact that Eren hasn’t opened up to Levi about certain things could be: a. because we still haven’t been shown this (but I gave up on it, as new important memories were highlighted in ch120 and Levi’s not part of them); b. Eren doesn’t believe Levi has answers for him anymore or that his opinion is valid, as following the Serumbowl fiasco (but there is nothing that supports this in canon); c. Isayama just doesn’t feel their relationship is important to the story anymore.

3. My personal opinion is that Isayama just decided to take a different route with them singularly, in particular axing Levi’s character, and they will never be relevant to each other ever again.

[stillthewordgirl]

LOT/CaptainCanary fic: (I Don’t Believe in) Destiny (ch. 8 of 11)

Leonard Snart is back, finally pulled from the timestream where he's spent the last four years. But he wasn't alone, and the repercussions of that will echo through the Legends, the Time Bureau, and beyond.

And maybe, just maybe, they'll bring everything around full circle.

Can also be read here at AO3 and here at FF.net.

Ch. Eight: A Tiny Moment of Truth

For a while, after she steps out of the portal back in her office, Ava considers not telling Druce what Sara had said to her about the Legends’ plans for the Vanishing Point.

She’s still not sure why Sara had told her, after all. Was it a trick? She can’t even consider that Sara would actually betray her team. That would never happen. But this Snart? Maybe…

She wants to believe that the crook is a passing fling--but she’d also recognized that fond look in Sara’s eyes. For all their differences and their agreement to split, she misses having that look focused on her.

And the hell of it is, Ava thinks, standing in her office and staring out the window, that Snart had looked at Sara the same way. And he’d removed himself from their conversation, when everything about his posture had said he didn’t want to. He sure as hell hadn’t done that for Ava’s sake, or because he’d been scared. He’d done it for Sara.

Does he really love her? Does she really love him?

The thought hurts.

Ava, you have a choice to make.

A choice not to tell Druce? But Sara wouldn’t have told her then. She must want Druce and Ava and the bureau agents to be there.

Why?

*

The next week is, quite frankly, one of the strangest of Leonard’s life.

For the most part, since his return, he’s been an outsider plopped into the middle of the current Legends’ lives and routine, with a number of people he knows almost nothing about and an unexpected role as the captain’s unexpected lover. But it hasn’t mattered so much, given how whirlwind it’s all been. He’s used to rolling with the punches.

But this week? This week lets him get a glimpse of what their lives have been like, the dynamic Sara and Mick and the others live with on a daily basis now.

They have a chore and dinner rotation now, and there’s a thriving market in trading duties going on. Those who can and like to cook can almost always find a way to get rid of most other chores, something Leonard—who'd been responsible for making sure that he, Lisa, and, often, Mick ate reasonably for much of their youth—appreciates. He cooks up an excellent (if he does say so himself) stir-fried chicken with rice his first night on dinner duty and lets the offers to trade roll in.

(Sara, who admits she can barely boil water without burning it, is rather smug—at least until she realizes Leonard has every intention of driving just as hard a bargain with her as with everyone else. And offering to trade certain favors doesn’t work, especially when Constantine happily and shamelessly offers to do the same—and Leonard makes a mostly joking show of considering it.)

Everyone, at this point, knows that Mick is a writer. Zari is the proud owner of the right to read any finished works first, but there’s generally a clamor to pass around manuscripts before he sends them out, something Leonard gets to witness the first night they’re parked there. Leonard’s a little regretful that that particular right is no longer his, but he’s so pleased to see Mick’s work getting appreciated that he just waits his chance to read with everyone else.

Constantine, apparently always fond of a challenge, has decided that seducing an android is next on his list. Gideon seems fairly amused by this. Although she never—to Leonard’s best guess—takes him up on his suggestions, she flirts back with increasing skill, something that amuses the other Legends a good deal.

Raymond and Nora are besotted with each other, but that doesn’t keep Nora from puncturing Ray’s ego and occasional tendency to lecture good-naturedly on his pet topics whenever she can. Leonard is rather delighted with this, really, and the two trade zingers at every opportunity.

Charlie, though she decries Leonard’s taste in music, decides he’s quite all right anyway after Mick regales her with stories of some of their escapades in both crime and prison. The shapeshifter, Leonard thinks, isn’t nearly so tough as she likes to appear, but well, neither are he and Mick at this point.

Heywood, who Leonard eventually concedes to call Nathaniel, still eyes Leonard warily, but they reach a truce over the ship’s historical library and, perhaps oddly, bad sci-fi movies.

And over it all is Sara, more a long-suffering big sister to most of them than a mom, for the most part, for all her jokes otherwise. She referees and praises, scolds and organizes, and Leonard’s pretty sure they’d all do anything for her.

He thinks he probably looks a bit besotted, too. He doesn’t care. They end every day tumbling into bed with each other, and the captain’s quarters are increasingly considered “theirs.”

In all, the Legends plan and train like a team. They tease like siblings. They live, and eat, and squabble like a family.

It’s like a good crew planning a heist; it’s like life at its best when he and Lisa and Mick were younger. And Leonard’s increasingly aware that he doesn’t want to lose this. He doesn’t care if he looks like he’s lost his touch, that it seems like he’s gone soft. The dreams and nightmares of the timestream have given him a new perspective on the life he could lead...and he wants it.

He’s fairly driven to succeed at the Vanishing Point anyway, but that’s even more of a push. He throws himself into his “lessons” with Nora and Constantine, for all that none of them are really sure what they’re doing.

“It’s like trying to teach someone to swim when they’re standing in the ocean waves and you’re a mile away,” the warlock admits morosely after one frustrating session midweek. He leans back a bit precipitously in the chair he’d claimed in the rec room where they’ve been meeting. “You have this odd energy about you, and you can feel it. But I really can’t quite see it, mate, and even I don’t dare quite tell you what to do with it. It’s erratic. You could send this whole ship back to the Stone Age without meaning to.”

Nora sighs, gathering her legs up underneath her as she sits on the sofa. “At least we know that you can feel it and grasp it now,” she tells Leonard. “But John’s right...”

“Of course I am, love.”

“...we don’t have any good way of testing it out.” She bites her lip. “I wonder if this would work better with the ship in the timestream.”

After a second, Constantine sits up, nearly losing his balance. “That’s brilliant. Gid...”

“I truly hate to nix that idea, Ms. Da...Nora.” Gideon’s been trying to remember to use first names at everyone’s request. “But I’m uncertain how the timestream would react to that. It might be a perfectly safe experiment. Or...” She pauses. “...it might cause turbulence. Time waves or a temporal storm. Or worse.”

“Not good, then, love?” Constantine sighs.

“Not good at all, John.”

After a long few minutes of thoughtful silence, though, there’s a noise at the door, and Gideon’s android avatar walks in. Constantine puts the front two legs of his chair on the floor with a whump.

“No worries, we weren’t going to try anything hasty,” he tells her. “Or could you just not go a few hours without seeing me?”

Nora rolls her eyes at Leonard, who smirks.

Gideon gives him a sweet smile. “I see you all the time, John,” she informs him in an equally sweet-as-sugar tone. “Ship, remember? Even when you...”

“Ah, you don’t have to divulge all the gory details, love.” He winks at Leonard. “Unless the others want to hear them, of course.”

“Well, I certainly don’t,” Nora cuts in tartly. “Hello, Gideon. Do you have a suggestion for us?”

“I do, actually.” The android puts a thin white candle in an old-fashioned candlestick down on the table. “Mr. Sn...Leonard. If you can feel the temporal energy about you now...do you think you could use just a tiny bit?”

Now, that’s interesting. “Maybe,” Leonard acknowledges, getting up and strolling over to the table. “What are you up to, Gideon?”

“I’m suggesting starting small scale.” She pulls a box of matches from the pocket of the dress she’s wearing—humanoid Gideon had been rather appalled how many of the patterns for female clothing in her databanks hadn’t had pockets. “Think of the timestream as a body of water, of sorts—a river with an enormous capacity, or a constantly moving ocean. It’s very powerful, and very deadly, and if you mess with it unprepared, you will drown.”

Leonard leans against the table, studying her. “Unless you’re a...Waverider,” he points out after a moment. “To continue your metaphor.”

Gideon dimples at him. “Indeed,” she agrees, carefully selecting a match. “However, a small cup of water is a different matter. It may hold enough to drown you, if used very carelessly, but it is considerably safer.” She strikes the match, then lights the candle as Nora drifts over to watch.

Leonard frowns at it, then lifts an eyebrow at her. “You want me to try to...be a cup of water.”

“No...” Constantine sounds intrigued. “She wants you to try to control the equivalent of one.” He gives Gideon an impressed look. “I am surrounded by brilliant women on this ship.” Then, unable to resist, he gives Leonard a wink too. “And men, of course, mate. Don’t be hurt.”

Leonard ignores him, watching the candle as wax starts to run down the sides. “ ‘Fraid I’m going to need a little more information.”

“Try controlling just a little temporal energy,” Gideon tells him, motioning to the candle. “And turn time, just around this candle, back just a few minutes. To before I lit it.”

Leonard blinks. “Just like that?”

Constantine gets to his feet. “Won’t that be a lot harder than doing something larger?” he asks. “Such fine detail work?”

“Just because you tend to be a blunt instrument, John, doesn’t mean that everybody else is.”

Leonard hears Nora’s giggle in response, but he’s focusing on the candle, intrigued.

Feeling the crackle of energy around him, ebb and flow, time itself, holding him steady in the nothing.

A presence? Not quite. But not quite...not.

Blue light, all around him.

He reaches out, with his mind like Nora had told him, and grasps...a handful. No more. Lets a little trickle out. And then he stares at the flame—flickering, restless, beautiful; Mick might have had a point all these years—and flings that mental hand out, toward it.

Something shifts. Nora gasps, and Leonard distantly hears Constantine curse. And the candle...the wax stops, then flows backward, gathering back up into a single pristine column, and the flame winks out.

And then things feel normal again.

Leonard lets out an unsteady breath, then looks around. Nora and Constantine are staring at him and both look shocked, even the unflappable warlock. Gideon is smiling.

“Yes,” she says with satisfaction. “Just like that.”

*

Mick used to hate remembering his time as Chronos. So much so that he'd pretend that he barely remembered it. Even to the point of appearing actively dim—even more than his usual act—to the others on board.

He does remember it, though, or at least a good bit of it. Sometimes the details are distant—Gideon had told him once that the human brain simply wasn’t meant to live through that kind of time—and he’s still capable of losing pieces, but he remembers.

(No one, not even Snart, realizes just how much Gideon had talked him through the time after he’d returned to the team. She understood like none of the others did—she’d been at the mercy of the Time Masters too, before Hunter “freed” her, in a way. That’d been when he’d first started thinking of her as another person, and not just a ship.)

It’s funny, but he doesn’t mind as much now when Blondie wants to pick his brain about what he knows, the things he’d learned through all that time, though some of it’s now foggy indeed. And it’s kind of worth it to watch the others’ faces.

He’s just done that, held forth on temporal theory for a good five minutes and watched Blondie, Haircut, and New Girl go from interested to impressed to just a little blank as he gets out of the realm of what they really know, even Haircut. He smirks a little, smugly, at them after, planning to wait a minute or two and then explain it.

But then everything gets interrupted when Spooky Girl and British both nearly run on to the bridge, both looking excited and maybe a little alarmed.

“You didn’t feel anything? Out here?” Spooky Girl asks urgently, looking at all of them. Mick shakes his head, glancing at the others, whose confusion over his speech are now fading into confusion about what’s going on. (Damn it.)

British laughs a little wildly. “Gideon,” he says breathlessly, turning to shake a finger at the android, who’s following them side by side with Snart, “you are brilliant. Stunningly so.”

Gideon smiles at him serenely. “Yes,” she says, “I know.”

Snart’s wearing an expression that doesn’t seem to know whether it wants to be satisfied or shaken. Mick studies him, concerned, and gets a half-shrug in return.

“What happened?” Blondie says urgently, looking from Gideon to Snart. “Do I have to start yelling to get someone to tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Mr. Snart used a small portion of temporal energy to successfully walk back time by a few minutes,” Gideon announces to her. “Just in a very small portion of the ship, it’s true. But he did it.” She folds her arms. “Now, he just has to work his way up.”

That’s the cue for everyone to start talking at once. Mick himself lets out a long breath. He knows that he’d been starting to get worried that Snart wouldn’t be able to do what Mary Xavier had claimed he’d be able to do, but he hadn’t quite realized that everyone else on the ship had been just as worried. Including Snart, that usually arrogant and oh-so-proud SOB.

This isn’t much. It isn’t even close in scale, and they only have a few more days. But suddenly, Mick’s sure this will work. The Time Bastards won’t even know what hit them.

If anyone can do it, Snart can.

*

Druce is pleased by Ava’s news. So pleased that she immediately regrets telling him, even despite her conviction that Sara had wanted her to do so.

“He’ll be right where we need him to be, then,” the Time Masters says, satisfaction in his voice, as he paces Ava’s office. “They’re playing right into our hands.” He glances again at Ava. “If you’re sure of this, director, this is even better than delivering Mr. Snart into my hands here. You are sure of it?”

Ava stifles her urge to snap. She folds her arms and looks down her nose at him. “Very sure,” she responds, knowing her tone is clipped, an attempt to remind Druce that he’s still a prisoner. Technically. “Now, Master Druce, I believe it’s time for you to give me some information as well.” She powers on as Druce gives her an inquiring look. “Snart. He didn’t steal anything physical, did he? What does he have to do with the Oculus?”

Druce gives her a very patronizing smile, one that immediately raises her hackles, though Ava fights to conceal that reaction.

“Very good, my dear,” he says, facing her. “No, Mr. Snart…‘stole,’ shall we say…an enormous amount of temporal energy from the Oculus wellspring and the timestream. More than enough to, when regained, take us all back to the correct time, harness the supernova for the wellspring, and create the Vanishing Point as it should be.”

Ava keeps her expression steady as she continues to watch him. “And how, precisely, will you obtain that energy from him?”

Druce’s smile gets, if possible, even more condescending. “There’s a fine human tradition of power through sacrifice, you know,” he says. “That should work nicely.”

Ava only waits a beat, as if she’s not surprised—and on some level, she’s not, though she’s still struggling with it—before nodding curtly. “I’ll get a team together,” she says brusquely. “The best of the best.” The ones I trust most.

But Druce actually chuckles at her. “No need,” he says. “I already have a…team. Ten of your best agents. I’ve even already explained the whole thing to them.” He pauses. “Would you like to be the 11th, Director Sharpe? It seems you have earned it.”

Ava can only stare at him.

*

It’s one thing to know that Leonard should be able to do what Mary had said. It’s quite another thing to see him do it.

They can’t do too many test runs, especially not ones of great size—he’ll need the largest share of temporal energy for the Vanishing Point. But Gideon insists that smaller-scale tests should continue to allow Leonard to get a feel for the idea, and he’ll know what to do when the time comes.

And that’s why Sara’s standing in a field outside the ship with only a day to go, watching him undo any damage the other Legends have done.

He’d undone the blaze Mick had caused first, mainly because it’d threatened to spread. (Sara had laid the law down after that—nothing that could cause trouble if Leonard couldn’t fix it.) Then he’d righted the dead aspen Ray had knocked over and put all the leaves back on a living one when Zari had dislodged them with a ridiculously hard gust of wind.

Charlie, grinning, had shifted into a fox and trotted off into the undergrowth and emerged with feathers on her ruddy muzzle, licking her chops. Leonard had taken one look at her expectant look and said, flatly, “No.” Whatever unfortunate bird she’d consumed had gone un-resurrected.

That was just as well, Sara thinks uneasily. That was a particular can of worms she did not want them to open.

But now, Gideon had brought him one last challenge—a rock, a flat piece of limestone—with the flat fossilized impression of a leaf in it. She’d simply handed it to him with a smile.

A small thing, but potentially, Sara knows, very, very old. She watches, holding her breath, as Leonard studies it, closes his eyes…

And hands a green leaf, fresh as if it were newly plucked from a tree that surely no longer exists, back to Gideon.

Ray, watching, whoops and high-fives Nate, while Mick simply nods in satisfaction. The others celebrate more or less according to their personalities as Sara finally takes a breath, a long, slow one, and lets it out.

Leonard looks at her, an odd expression on his face—not the smile she’d almost expected, but then, she’s not smiling either. Despite the victory, despite the optimism. This is all too real, and it has the possibility of changing all too much.

Her own words, from years ago now, echo in her head.

For better or for worse.

[doctor-spencer-ried]

Just a Crush (IV)

Pairing: Spencer Reid X Reader

Hanahaki Disease AU

Summary: You end up making a great discovery that pushes the case forward. Or at least, you think it will.

Warning: blood, illness

Masterlist ~ Part 4 (Word count: 1671)

A/N: My knowledge of behavioral analysis is limited to this show and my Forensic class, so there may be holes and incorrect analysis.

~~~

Sleep will help. You’ll get some sleep and then wake up ready to work. No problem. That’s all you need. It’s just a cough after all.

It’s not. You were wrong, so wrong.

You hands shake as you wipe at your lips, your chin, your cheeks. It doesn’t help, just smears the crimson across your pale skin. With labored breath, you look down towards the hotel sink. Blood drips down the white porcelain. Your blood. It pools in the basin.

Among the blood lies something that makes fear tingle through your heart. A single, delicate white rose petal. Its pure color is stained with that goresome crimson.

It was never supposed to happen to you. You've heard of the cases. It’s not rare, but also not common. You barely know anything about it, but you know it’s bad. Fatal.

It’s called Hanahaki Disease.

You shakily step out of the bathroom and shut the door behind you. Your entire body aches, your mind struggling to wrap around what is happening. Your legs give out from under you once you reach the bed. With a groan, you drag yourself to the middle of the mattress and curl up, arms wrapping around your stomach.

Anxiety overcomes you as your thoughts run rampant. What if you get fired? They could force you to leave the BAU until you get the issue under control. How do you even do that? You remember there’s some kind of surgery to cure it, but the repercussions were lengthy. You hadn’t bothered to read them.

You rub your eyes harshly, trying to banish the thoughts. You would rather focus on the cause.

Hanahaki disease, an illness caused by unrequited love.

You can’t brush it aside as a tiny crush now it seems. You almost want to laugh at the bitter fate life has planned for you. You pushed it aside every time, always dismissed the emotions that swelled in your heart at the sight of him.

Now you have to face it. It’s useless denying it.

You’re in love with Doctor Spencer Reid.

And he doesn’t love you back.

---

It’s the next day when the team comes to visit you. You cleaned the bathroom, getting rid of the evidence of your sickness, and did some research on it late into the night. A poor choice really, considering it made the dark circles under your eyes more prominent. Your really getting sick of the concerned looks they earn you, though.

“Why didn’t you go to the hospital, (l/n)?” Hotch asks from the foot of your bed, looking ticked, but yet again, that’s how he always looks.

“Because I’m fine,” you insist for the billionth time, blatantly lying through your teeth, “It was just all the fumes and stuff.”

“You had a panic attack, (y/n).” Forget you Morgan.

“Forgive me if the scene was a bit graphic for my tired mind,” you bite out sarcastically.

“I’m taking you off the case until you’re better.”

“What? No!” You protest, shooting up in your bed, “I’m the one who started the profile and research on this case! I’m not dropping it because of a little cough!”

You know you shouldn’t question him, but even the heat of Hotch’s glare can’t make you back down. There’s no way on earth you're letting him take you off the case.

“(Y/n), just listen to him, you need to get better,” Emily tries to reason with you.

“No,” you’re stubbornness flares up, “We’re close to getting this guy, I can feel it!” Your turn to Hotch, “I swear I’m feeling fine! Whatever was bugging me is gone, it won’t get in the way of work again. Please Hotch, I’ll take a sick break when we finish or something.”

Your begging seems to work because Hotch lets out an exasperated sigh. A small grin of victory forms on your lips.

“Fine.” He budges. “But you need to take the rest of today off and recover. You can come back tomorrow.”

“Thank you!” You resist the urge to fist pump the air.

Hotch shakes his head with a fond smile, “Come on, let’s go and let her rest.”

As they’re about to leave you call out for Emily to wait a moment. Something has been nagging at you the past few minutes, like an itch of awareness that scratches at your lungs.

“Where’s Spencer?” You had noticed as soon as they entered that the young doctor was absent.

She raises an eyebrow at you, lips pursed before she replies, “He’s talking to the first victims’ parents. He thought it might be possible that the unsub has a connection to his first victims.”

You nod your head. Of course Spencer would think of that. The first victims may have been old friends of his and they could have been his stressor.

“He and J.J. went there an hour or so before we came here.”

He’s with JJ? Something bitter rises in your throat as you lean back against the headboard. Of course he would be. He’s always around her. Of course he chose to go do that instead of visit you.

“Thanks Em, see you tomorrow.” Your words come off distant, but she seems to get that you want to be alone now.

After wishing you a good day, she leaves. The room falls into silence.

You sigh and close your eyes. The other day you thought you had a moment. You felt so close to him and you thought he may have, for just a smidge of a moment, felt the same. But you guess not. He'll never see you like that. He’ll only ever see you as a little girl, a little sister, who cannot take care of herself and needs constant protection.

It takes a moment to realize that a tear has made its way down your cheek. You wipe at it hastily.

Blinking away the remaining moisture in your eyes, you make up your mind that you need to get out of this small room. You need fresh air to clear the fog from your lungs. Forget resting. You need to breathe and this room is suffocating.

After grabbing your bag, you quickly make your way down the stairs and out of the hotel. You barely register where you are going, too focused on the crisp evening wind that hits you. It helps erase the thoughts that plagued you moments before. Your feet lead you down the sidewalk aimlessly, which doesn’t concern you in the least. Sometimes it’s nice to just walk without a destination in mind.

---

You take a moment to stare at the building in front of you. Why would you come here of all places? What part of your subconscious thought it would be funny to lead you here?

The greenery from the third set of murders stands in front of you, shimmering glass and all. It sits almost peacefully among the trees and brush. You know there is nothing peaceful about it though. Days ago it was filled with screams and cries of agony and fear.

With a deep breath, you take the remaining steps to the smashed door. You might as well take another look since your here. Hotch is going to kill you, but you really can’t seem to care at this point.

You open the door and slip inside.

The light is softer here, filtered through the green panes of glass that make up the cylindrical building. You bask in the warmth of the room for a moment before you begin walking between the isles. Each is filled with flowers, exploding from the pots and filling the room with color.

You used to love flowers. Their grace and beauty always enamored you as a child. You remember how you used to prance around with a flower crown on your head and a giant smile plastered on your face. It seems cruel that that part of you could be stripped away by this sickness.

Your steps slow when you reach the back room. It’s only a small moment of hesitation though. You step in, holding you breath as your eyes flicker to the blood stained floor. Flashes of the lastest scene flicker through your head. You force them away. You need to keep a clear mind if you’re going to look for something new. Last time you were razor focused on the chairs, the door, the drag marks. You didn’t bother to look around the rest of the room and perhaps the police made the same mistake. There has to be something else here.

The room seems simple, organized. The unsub probably didn’t touch anything if he didn’t find it necessary. In fact, he seems to have kept the chairs as far away from the wall of young flowers as he could. Strange.

You run a finger along a wilting petal of one of the flowers. The other plants all seem healthy, as if they've been watered, likely by the granddaughter, but these are dying. She probably can’t stand coming back here.

You shake your head. Not pertinent to the case.

Your eyes lazily trace over all the shelves to look for something, anything you could have missed before. It seems hopeless. Everything is absolutely normal. That is, until your eyes trail along the bottom shelf and catch a glimpse of something...different.

You immediately drop to your knees, hands shuffling to shove the small pots aside. It’s buried between them near the back of the shelf, but impossible to miss if you look.

A single, white tulip with wilting petals rests on the wooden shelf. Your fingers tremble as you pick it up and bring it closer to your face.

Blood.

Speckles and splotches of blood coat the pure petals of the flower. You lean back on your feet, excitement rushing through you.

Finally! You finally have a piece of evidence that can lead you to the unsub! It all makes sense now, why he killed them.

The grin on your face slowly fades the more you think about it.

He has hanahaki disease. Just like you.

He’s suffering. Just like you.

He’s devolving because he’s dying.

….Just like you.

Part 5

[redandpointy]

⭐star⭐

ohhh. the scene I *really* want to talk about isn’t public yet. well. the first of a few.

So i guess maybe I’ll talk about the genesis of the whole series?

I got back in to WoW at the end of Draenor. I got caught up on the lore - reading the wiki entries and the books and pulling bits and pieces together and generally catching up. And it was all kicked off by someone in my raid team referring to Jaina as a “total bitch” when we did mythic siege after we all got our AOTC and being confused. So i read what happened to one of the characters I had really loved in WC3. (I still disagree with that guildie)

But I empathized with Jaina again and I really liked this teeny relationship she’d been written into with another soft magic nerd. And then we started to get information about Legion and there were bits and pieces coming out of the alpha that had me worried because WoW’s track record with female characters was not good. There were signs it was getting better, but still...

In my personal life, work was going well, but I was not as appreciated as I should have been but I was so afraid of not having a job I stayed. It was an okay job but they could have treated me better and it led to some serious workaholic habits I am still finding hard to break.

I was also just ending close to three years without writing anything that wasn’t RP. It was... not good. RP is fine and well and good and I love watching people do it - but I cannot tell *my* story doing it. I can be a GM and facilitate stories of others and that is wonderful and fun - but it is very much not *my* story. RP and, well, people, get in the way of *my* story and *my* characters. And once I truly realized that, it was better - because I could write my characters and I could do the RP thing and they were separate entertainments but for a very long while I tried them, unsuccessfully to be the same thing - because some people can bully/charm/influence their way into it being the same thing. But once I dropped that I was free.

And then right about then the Evil Ex, who I had been supporting financially for a whole year, who had been living with me after being in a long distance relationship - ghosted. A year. He got an “amazing” job in another part of the state and I was going to follow when I got a job offer. after a month - ghosted.

That was a bullet dodged. But it hurt. And at the same time, I was kicking some major ass at work and was losing a lot of weight and feeling pretty awesome and was really enjoying my current set of fannish things and was exploring the tumblr and fandom and so on and had kinda sorta thought about some writing in WoW. And I as far more interested in everything going on in the fandom and the news and in my head in WoW than I was in SWTOR and... I had some cool scenes I wanted to see. Some very grand, very epic battles and some very soft character moments and I considered “Did I want to get back into writing?” because I solidly hadn’t for close to two years and what I wanted to write was... not the big ships or the most popular thing and did I want to struggle in the same obscurity I had before and would that bother me?

And I also thought about the rumors of what would happen in Legion to the various favorites - because a lot of the time it seemed the thing I loved was the thing that was discarded or jossed or tossed aside or grossly underused or turned into a shitty trope I had seen and was happy to never see again.And so I decided that I wanted my epic visions. And I decided that I wanted my safe, happy AU bubble where things were as *I* wanted them to be with the “right” choices and Fuck. Canon, whatever it would be.

But I have this problem. I don’t like being OOC. I don’t like it when things come out of nowhere even if it’s “cool” like... there is a basis, a shared canon experience even if you or I reject parts or don’t know about things because it was in weird apocrypha - there is a basis. and part of the fun is taking that basis and expanding on it.So to bring about my pillowfort of self-care fanfic in the *legion* era, I had to start earlier. Much earlier. There would things which would need to have been different or changed prior. And those were very exciting possibilities.And, most of all, poor Jaina needed some goddamned therapy.So I started writing what became Red Crane in very late november. and I wrote... a lot. A LOT. I think I had close to a 50k buffer of words, some of them prose, some ideas, some side notes and side stories by the time I finally got the nerve to post in Jan 2016. Because I was originally just going to write for me because I needed it. And in that I was the most successful I have ever been in a creative endeavor. I was in a headspace barren of fucks and it was magically productive.The bulk became Red Crane. Over the december holidays I had an idea. and that too needed to have some substance at the base. And that was when I had ot think “do I want to start this epic muti fic project?” and I decided “fuck it, why not? no one is going to care but me and I need more rooms in the pillow fort.” I started Life-binder, because there was a story there too and I knew how it ended - I wrote the ending. but I needed to construct the beginning and to establish that solid base.And IN January I decided I had a buffer and momentum. and fuck it, I would post. I might be eaten alive by fandom, but mostly they probably would ignore me and my tiny ship. I set myself a goal - I would post at least once every 14 days if I couldn’t post once a week. and for the duration of Red Crane I met that goal, save for the final two chapters - one because they were large and two, because I needed to start Spell-Weaver at the same time.

The repercussions of deciding to write are... large. I met a whole host of new friends because of it. Because of them and because of the strange therapeutic act of getting back to me being creative for myself I ended up being far more confident and I kicked an incredible amount of ass at work (which I was not really recognized for) and then had the bravery to take a chance and ended up landing a job at a very selective company I had always wished I could go to. I mean hell, even the writing practice was key in me moving onwards and upwards to a much healthier place.

I am 100% where I am right now in life because I decided to write Red Crane and get Jaina some goddamned therapy.

[non-tintedglasses]

1st lesson of 2018: It’s (Clout over Basic Decency) Everyday, Bro

CONTENT/TRIGGER WARNING: MENTIONS OF SUICIDE, DEATH & MENTAL HEALTH

For those who have no idea about who this generic American high school jock-looking guy is, the guy above is Logan Paul, an American Youtuber and “actor” notorious for having a obnoxious personality, an even more annoying brother and an equally brainwashed “Logang” consisting of children and pre-teens.

On the 31st December 2017, he uploaded a vlog where him and his friends went to the Aokigahara forest of Japan (also known as the Suicide Forest)  and filmed their “spooky adventure”. During this 15 minute vlog, he stumbles upon a dead body hanging from a tree, films it up close, focusing on certain bits of the corpse & make jokes on it, and uploads it to YouTube for millions of underaged fans to see. In other words, he had no consideration for the culture & laws of the country he was visiting, nor for those who could potentially have flashbacks or suicidal thoughts from this video, and certainly not even for the dead.  As expected, this has garnered a ton of backlash from Japanese & non Japanese people alike, especially those from the YouTube & mental health community and suicide/self-harm survivors or those who have lost someone to suicide. This lead to Paul issuing two apologies on Twitter and YouTube, which seemed incredibly insincere to many. After all, if you have to issue a second apology because you mentioned how you get views & film for 460+ days more than the word “Sorry” and end it with “Peace ✌️ #logang4life”, you bet no-one is going to take your second one that seriously. 

However, what was more harrowing than his actions, were his fanbase that were defending those actions. I can’t blame them, they’re children & they don’t know better. However, despite the fact that their idol told them specifically in his second apology not to defend his actions, they completely ignore that very statement & go on to post many bizarre reasons as to why people should “just let it go” and why they shall forever stan Logan. They even go on to spread xenophobic hate on people who criticise him (case in example, Reina Scully).  Some examples of things I’ve seen in this video is “He’s human like the rest of us. Everybody makes mistakes”, “Can we stop all of the hate, it’s a new year!!”, “It’s not like he killed someone” and even someone saying “That dead body should be lucky that he appeared in Logan Paul’s video” Little do they know, they are completely belittling the fact that a person, who seemed like he was stuck in his completely dark and abysmal mind, took his life, and how his loved ones now have to deal with the repercussions of bereavement and loss; and that another person saw that as an opportunity for exploitation & a joke. They make death seem like a joke, just like their idol did. Which is why I have a few points to address:

Dear #Logang or Logangsters or whatever the hell you’re called,

I understand personally what it’s like to be infatuated with a celebrity. I get a certain light, happy feeling whenever I see my favourite celebrity & I think to myself “Yeah, this person is literally gold!” You also probably get this feeling on a frequent basis whenever you see Logan. I also understand that being part of a fandom makes you feel a sense of belonging & unity. But ask yourselves this. What drew you to this guy? Why do you enjoy his videos?

Is it because he’s attractive? (which in that case, they’re plenty more fish in the sea) Is it because he’s a “maverick” and “living life to the fullest”? Is it because he “appreciates” his fans and the people around him?

The reason why I ask you this is because I really want you to consider his actions. See, whenever you are obsessed with a celebrity, it’s easy to throw moral compass out of the window; it’s easy to forget what’s right and what’s wrong. However, you cannot deny the fact that it is common sense to not film a dead body and to make jokes about it, irrespective of what your coping mechanism is. Even if you have a tiny lapse of judgement, people would have the sensibility not to edit that footage and upload it with a clickbait title for your cult of 15 million children to see. It’s also common sense to not run around a foreign country, disturb its people and nature & treat it as if it’s your playground. I cannot, for the life of me, understand how you find disrespect funny? As far as “living life” is concerned, I’m pretty happy sitting down and leading a calm “boring” life rather than be an obnoxious inconvenience to those surrounding me.

“But.. he’s human?? Haven’t we all done mistakes?” Let me educate you on what a mistake is. It’s stepping on the back on someone’s shoe whilst walking (I should know about that). It’s occasionally forgetting the odd birthday. It’s accidentally spilling something; in other words, something small & occasionally forgiven. However, being disrespected, even after your death, is something the majority of people can’t tolerate. On top of that, he’s a 22 year old, fully developed adult who has the ability to differentiate right from wrong; He isn’t a kid who needs people to constantly educate him on social etiquette and sensibility. He saw an insensitive bait for views, he took it, he screwed up, and now he needs to be held accountable. 

“He just wanted to raise awareness about suicide. Doesn’t that make him good?” This video had the same impact as “13 Reasons Why”. The complete opposite.                                                                                          There are several other ways to raise awareness about suicide, other than going all the way to a suicide forest to exploit someone’s death for views; Sitting down & thoroughly explaining why mental health should be a top priority, explaining the effects of going through suicidal thoughts, self-harm & mental illnesses, and providing resources & helplines to help those who are distraught is more convenient, correct and cheaper (but why do that when you’re an obnoxious brat with a couple of thousands of dollars & yes men to spare?)

“I’ve forgiven him. At least he’s said sorry”   Please, spare me the naivety. To be frank, his apologies (if you would like to call it that) is the equivalent of saying sorry after shooting someone in the leg. If this guy wasn’t a celebrity & if this didn’t get the backlash it received, he would have slithered away in his anonymity. Another reason why he’s apologising is because he wants to salvage the tiny amount of respect that he has so that he can guilt-trip you into liking him again. One of my favourite YouTubers, Nathan Zed, once said in a video that “You have a choice. Entertain & educate, or entertain & manipulate”  It doesn’t take a donkey to realise that Logan is doing the latter. As one tweet rightfully put it, he views you the same way as he sees that dead body: as a way to earn money. Please listen to yourself.

Even to the parents of these children, you have an equal responsibility of monitoring your child’s internet access. In fact, you have a larger responsibility of monitoring what content your child sees, since YouTube are failing to fulfil that very responsibility (with many examples of inappropriate content related to child exploitation on the YouTube kids app not being taken down). I’m not a parent myself, hence I have zero rights to talk about parenting, but all I know is that if my younger loved ones were watching these kind of people that encourage them to forget all human etiquette & join their “cult”, I would tell them to think about the consequences that their actions could face. And possibly break their device & delete their accounts while I’m at it.

You may choose to ignore my advice (after all, it’s mostly a free world and you can choose whatever you want to do). You can “dab” on me like I’m a hater. But when you choose to condone the actions of a celebrity who self-admittedly screwed up royally, and when you look back at this ten or fifteen years later, you would probably think “What the hell was I thinking?” If you think about it, for one person who spouts blatant and shameless ignorance about such sensitive issues, there would be another person who would be thinking that their death would bring nothing but a sigh of relief to those around them and choose to leave. I hope and pray for nothing but that you educate yourselves and become more aware of the effects of depression and suicide. Because as far as I know, if we take out the time to listen and empathise with those who are suffering with such illnesses and lend them a hand, I swear that you could give someone a reason to smile and to live (and to possibly do something Logan Paul couldn’t do, even if he tried). And if this is the generation we could become, then would raise my head high and be proud to be part of this.

Last but not the least, to those who are surviving these dark moments. Please get yourselves the help that you need (I will be reblogging some hotlines, websites and resources as soon as I upload this). I, along with all of the people of this world, have no idea how tomorrow would turn out, but the only way you could know is by being there. And regardless of how tomorrow turns out, I would certainly welcome you with open arms and stand by you.

PS: By the time this post comes out, you would have probably found out that Youtube has severed certain ties with Logan Paul. But considering that him and his brother are still trying to gain sympathy (and subscribers), his head won’t be coming out of his arse any time soon. So please still think about who and what you’re watching.

[webcricket]

Catch a Falling Star

Characters: CastielXReader ft. Sam and Dean Winchester

Word Count: 2497 (Part 3)

A/N: Part 3 of a Soulmate AU mini-series.

Summary: What if angels didn’t end up just anywhere when they are banished by sigils…what if sometimes they end up exactly where they need to be? Turns out you are Castiel’s grounding stone, and it’s more complicated than either of you realizes. Enter Sam and Dean Winchester, their pesky demonic conundrum, and their antic disposition. In the aftermath of meeting you, Castiel is too obstinate for his own good (never fear, loyal readers – the universe is way stubborner).

Completed series Masterlist:

webcricket.tumblr.com/post/165166387163/catch-a-falling-star-masterlist

Since his roundabout return to the bunker nearly a week ago, Castiel’s heart and mind relentlessly whirled, tangled at odds in an ever escalating maddeningly discordant fisticuff waltz. The more he tried to forget you, to concentrate his interminable energy on assisting the Winchesters with their demonic snafu, the more he found the allure of your existence an inescapable temptation of thought toward which his heart invariably beat with redoubled determination.

In the process of healing you – his divine grace saturating and reviving your failing organs to rekindle your soul’s fading attachment to the world – he could not avoid an intimate brush with the very essence of your being. Unencumbered by the clarity-muddling nuisance of bodily barriers, your soul resonated with pure joy and recognition at this comforting contact in the midst of profound physical agony, leaving no doubt in either of your hearts as to who he was to you and you to him. He did not anticipate the reverberated thunder of this fleeting but direct incursion upon the carefully constructed battlements shielding his own heart.

Dissolving his defenses as he fought to tear himself from you, you imparted sensations the angel could not shake off, even now, thousands of miles away – an impression of wholeness when he did not realize he was incomplete, and an infinite longing colored by unconditional need. You needed him just as he was – fallen, damaged, brimming with regret, riddled with flaws – for all the reasons he deemed himself most unworthy. Castiel knew what it meant to love and be loved, the Winchesters taught him this important lesson – what he felt for you soared beyond the comparatively simple concept of love.

Had he been a moth, rather than an enduringly pragmatic angel, he’d have already succumbed to a thousand deaths by attraction, paper-thin wings fatally scorched in a graceful and all-consuming flight into an irresistible blaze. He envied the moth at having no option but to blindly follow base instinct into oblivion without fear of the fiery repercussions. Try as he might, Castiel could not envision himself in your life without the terrible tempest of ruin and devastation that doggedly overhung him ultimately extinguishing your flame. Every path of thought led him to the same inevitable heart crushing conclusion.

“I’m getting tired of spending money on these high-brow hotels,” Dean’s husky voice barely registered in the angel’s reverie as the elder Winchester flopped into a chair at the map table beside him, “The concierge at the last one gave me the heebie-jeebies. Those beady eyes of his followed me everywhere like some creepy painting.” Dean shuddered at the recollection.

“It’s not even our money,” Sam countered, tossing his bag on the floor, settling into a chair opposite his brother, “and I’ve seen your growing collection of those little carved hand soaps.”

“That’s not the point,” Dean swung his feet up to rest on the table, vaulting an eyebrow at his brother, questioningly wagging his chin in the direction of the more-unresponsive-and-morose-than-usual seraph, “and besides, they’re adorable.” He fished the newest addition from his inner coat pocket, inspecting the smooth curves of the marbled purple laughing Buddha-shaped soap as he rolled it between his fingertips and brought it to his nose for a deep whiff.

Sam studied the far off bearing of Cas’ gaze and shrugged his ignorance when Dean peered back over at him from smelling his prize.

“Hey, Cas?” Dean prodded. Answered by silence, he leered at his brother, mocking Cas’ gravelly baritone, “Hello Dean, Sam. Any luck locating Crowley’s super-secret demon loot box that you’ve been searching for for weeks?”

Sam grimaced at the crude edge of Dean’s tone.

Dean dropped his feet to the concrete floor, the hard rubber soles of his boots striking with a sharp thud. He inclined forward, stretching his arm across the map table to place the bubbly Buddha in front of the angel and, fittingly, in the vicinity of the Far Eastern world. “Ground control to Major Tom,” he cleared his throat.

Cas remained unaffected, preoccupied by his inner tumult.

“Earth to Castiel?” Sam chimed in.

“Hey, rocket man!” Dean thwacked Cas on the upper arm.

The angel’s blue eyes shifted into focus.

“Where the hell were you?” Dean badgered, staring keenly into his friend’s strained aspect.

Cas blinked, regard flitting between the brothers and landing on the miniature lavender-scented Buddha presently occupying Tibet. “I’ve been here in the bunker waiting for you to return,” he offered matter-of-factly, “for the last 5 days, 9 hours, and 17...”

“Were you daydreaming?” Sam interrupted, brow knitting dubiously.

“I don’t dream,” Cas flatly replied.

“You know, since you got back from New York you’ve had your head in the clouds,” Dean stated. “What kept you there so long anyway?”

“Perhaps if you hadn’t predictably chosen the same type of motel accommodations over the last decade plus,” Cas redirected, demonstrating some part of his awareness had been paying attention to the preceding conversation, “this group of demons would not be able to so accurately anticipate your movements and you would not now have to stay in costlier hotels to hide your whereabouts. You might also consider temporarily switching to a different mode of transportation.”

“Duly noted,” Dean scoffed, “now about New York.”

Cas narrowed his eyes, jaw clenching – he wanted Dean to let the matter go. He also knew from their shared history that Dean would absolutely not let the matter go without some explanation and assurances that Cas wasn’t doing something his friend deemed stupid or rash. The angel exhaled sharply, “I was attending to a personal matter.”

“Uh huh,” Dean smugly meditated, reclining in the chair to again prop his feet on the table, “last check, unless you’re knee-deep in the Heavenly crap show again, Sammy and I are pretty much it when it comes to your personal matters.”

Cas rolled his eyes derisively, although Dean’s assessment was not entirely inaccurate.

“You didn’t text, you didn’t call,” Dean continued, “you were gone for almost a week. What am I supposed to think?”

“Dean,” Sam joked, endeavoring to lighten the mood, “you sound like a clingy girlfriend. Give him a break. It’s not like he’s seeing other hunters.”

“That’s it Sammy! There’s a girl!”

Cas fidgeted uncomfortably and looked away, body language affirming the validity of Dean’s insinuation.

“Who is she?” Dean smirked, victorious.

Cas crossed his arms stiffly across his chest.

“We need details,” Dean waggled his eyebrows, “right Sam?”

“No, we really don’t,” Sam waved his hands to signal he wanted nothing to do with the interrogation.

Cas audibly sighed, glaring at Dean, imploring, “Please Dean, just this one time, leave it be for the simple fact that I’m asking you to.”

Dean misjudged the dourness of the expression darkening the angel’s eyes and the solemnity of his appeal, opening his mouth again to pester his friend for more information.

“She’s my Lisa,” Cas growled under his breath before Dean could utter a single syllable. He had not forgotten Dean’s explicit warning never to mention the name again of the woman Dean loved – the woman nearly killed by association when the hunter tried to hold on to a passing shot at an ordinary life once upon a time. Cas elected to bring her up, not to hurt Dean, but in hopes of imbuing a seriousness to his own request which Dean might understand with as few words as possible. The angel miscalculated that enough time had passed for her name not to provoke a response other than one of intense rage.

Instantly explosively charged, Dean shoved back from the table. Overturning his chair, sending it skittering across the floor, he bolted upright to grab the angel roughly by the collar and haul him to his feet.

Cas chose not to protest, figuring Dean owed him far worse than a mild bit of manhandling on that count.

“Guys!” Sam sprinted around the table. “Enough!” he demanded, wedging an elbow between them to pry Dean’s clamped fingers from Cas’ throat.

Dean reluctantly let go with a frustrated snarl.

Sam nodded an unspoken plea for truce toward the placid angel, turning and leading his grumbling brother in the direction of the kitchen, mumbling that Cas hadn’t meant anything by it.

Castiel retreated to his room via a different hallway.

The tiny Buddha did not approve of anyone’s particular approach to mindfulness, although after the raucous continuous blare of classic rock anthems and non-stop brotherly bickering over the merits of certain songs on the hours-long journey to the bunker, he did relish the silence.

Castiel lay curled in bed on his right side, hugging his knees, his vessel having spontaneously adopted the position during the course of his unavoidable ruminations about you. He couldn’t say, one way or the other, whether it was more or less comfortable than sitting hunched over on the edge of the mattress with his head held in his hands.

A hesitant tapping echoed on the shut door followed closely by a slightly slurred muttering, “Cas, can we talk?”

Cas could say no, but he knew the bull-headed Winchester would eventually open the door regardless. If the situation were reversed, Cas would most certainly do the same. He said nothing. Sitting up, he swung his legs to the floor, silently beginning to count, “One…two…three…four…” The knob rattled – Cas surmised from the modicum of patience required not to burst through the door immediately that Dean would be only moderately inebriated.

The door swung wide. Freckled skin flushed, green eyes dulled, and smelling of at least a third of a bottle of cheap whisky and two, no make that three, beers, Dean rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “You mind if I?” he gestured into the room.

“By all means.”

Dean ambled over to the desk. He disinterestedly straightened the skewed lampshade only to make it worse and then knock the entire lamp off balance trying to fix it, saving it from careening to the floor at the last possible moment. Suspiciously eyeing the lamp, he slid out the chair. Pivoting it on one leg to face the angel, he lowered himself heavily onto the wooden seat. “Love what you’ve done with the place,” he motioned at the stark walls.

Cas’ blue gaze drifted around the bleak space. It was true he hadn’t changed a thing save for the often transient addition of himself since he selected the room as his own. In retrospect, it occurred to him this didn’t reflect too kindly on Sam and Dean’s meaningful invitation for him to live there. He resolved to rectify the sparseness at the next available opportunity. He began to apologize for bringing up Lisa, “Dean, I owe you an apolo-”

“Don’t,” Dean cut him off, holding up a palm, “I overreacted. You asked me nicely to shut my big mouth about it and I didn’t. It’s on me.”

Cas agreed – he thought it best not to say so.

The two friends sat in awkward reflective self-loathing silence until Dean cleared his throat in preparation to speak.

Cas imperceptibly cringed, knowing from experience this could go one of two ways depending on the degree of philosophical Dean felt obliged to wax. Either Dean would bring up something relevant to the dead end case they were working as an excuse to leave, or he would offer the angel sage advice about humanity as if Castiel hadn’t been observing humanity since the dawn of time.

“You know,” Dean fixed his best seriously sincere not-quite-drunk-but-not-exactly-sober gaze on the angel, “you should give that girl a chance.”

Cas peered back impassively – unsolicited advice it was.

“Not that I know anything about her, but I can see the effect she has on you plain as day. You’re shook man. I mean, it’s never going to be cookie cutter, but if you have a shot at happiness, don’t let that go. Hell, you’ve spent your whole life mixed up in fight after fight. Theirs, ours, yours, Heaven’s, Hell’s, ours again. Maybe it’s high time you took a break and tried living on your own terms. Quit being so damned righteous and be a little selfish for a while like the rest of us apes.”

The reference to the uncouth name habitually used by Uriel and Zachariah for humans garnered a rare small smile from the angel.

Dean cracked a waning smile in return, speech dithering, voice faltering, “Look, I’m not saying it’s easy. I’m not saying it’s not something else to regret when it’s gone. But Cas, it’s worth every minute.”

Castiel’s heart drummed rapidly in his chest, empathizing with Dean’s words. Yet his façade and resolve remained unflappable.

“Right,” Dean wiped his cheek with a flannelled sleeve and slapped his knees to clear the air, “Sam got a lead on that box in Harrisburg. We’re heading out early morning.”

Cas nodded once, “I’ll come with you.”

“Good,” Dean headed for the door, “and if you change your mind, New York isn’t that-”

“I won’t change my mind.”

And Castiel didn’t change his mind – not while brooding in the backseat of the Impala tuning the brothers out in a deific trial of both patience and endurance on the uneventful 19-hour drive to Pennsylvania.

Not when he brazenly forayed into the offices of the abandoned coal factory ahead of the brothers and was taken off-guard by two angel blade-wielding demons who seemed to be expecting his arrival and had decorated the walls accordingly with Enochian power inhibiting symbols.

Not when the second bulkier demon got the upper hand, twisting Cas’ arms uselessly behind his back while his compatriot buried a blade deep enough in his shoulder for the angel to bleed grace.

Not even when the same smug demon delved his fingers into the gaping wound, using Cas’ seeping blood to complete the décor with an angelic banishment sigil painted crimson on an otherwise barren exposed steel beam. Cas didn’t change his mind, but he passingly wondered why they were bothering with the theatrics of a banishment sigil when they could easily end him then and there.

Mind still obstinately made up, the angel managed to writhe free when the far door crashed inward, palm swiftly diving across his injured shoulder to press the brute demon’s forehead.

With Cas indisposed mid-smiting, the partner demon sliced his own palm, slapping it to the sigil to dismiss the weak and wounded angel from the confrontation just as Sam and Dean burst onto the blindingly bright scene.

Blazing on an unknown course through the upper atmosphere for the second time in as many weeks, Castiel succeeded in hanging on to the unraveling thread of consciousness long enough to keep his vessel from burning to ash. Crumpled in a steaming carbon-smudged trench-coated heap like a spent shell casing, he peered out into the murky darkness. His vision bleared by a familiar approaching luminescent glow. Bathed in the relief of this radiant light, he closed his eyes, welcoming the serenity only a moth freely flying into flame understands.

Part 4:

webcricket.tumblr.com/post/163505599370/catch-a-falling-star

[silvcrbow]

the somewhat comprehensive history of niya reynaud silverbow

          I keep meaning to actually write out Niya’s book-by-book bio, but I haven’t gotten around to it until now. Canon characters are a part of this, but of course, if we write you’re totally not obligated to follow these plots, this is just Niya’s default & might come up in backstory w/ other muses!

pre-tmi --

          Niya Reynaud grew up in the Shadow World as a mundane with the Sight. There was always speculation around who her father was, but if her mother knew, she wasn’t telling. As long as Niya could remember, she’d lived with her mother, Talia, in a tiny apartment above Madame Bones’ House of Voodoo. As soon as she was old enough to walk she was helping out in the shop with customers of both the mundane and Downworlder varieties. High Warlock of New Orleans, Madame Bones (or “Auntie” as those closest prefer to call her), was an ancient warlock so old her name has been lost to history, and some say even herself. The night of a full moon, Talia was making a last minute delivery in the French Quarter, when she was attacked by a werewolf. Madame Bones brought her home and helped her through her first change. After that, nothing in Niya’s life would ever be the same. Though she’d skimmed the surface of the Shadow World her whole life, having a werewolf parent meant she was thrown headfirst into the chaos. Over five years, she found herself befriending members of the New Orleans pack and the New Orleans vampire clan, warlocks young and old, and occasionally she bumped into Shadowhunters from the local Institute, but they tended to keep to themselves.          Several years later, a werewolf, baring a suspicious similarity to the wolf who’d turned Talia, appears in NYC, attacking and killing several mundanes. The Lightwoods track him across the country to New Orleans, where the werewolf is determined to finish what he started: Opening the Gates of Guinee, and releasing the forces of hell on the mundane world. With the help of the Lightwoods, Niya manages to summon a Loa, protector of Guinee, Maman Brigitte, and convince her to lock the gates. Brigitte agrees, but leaves Niya with a cryptic riddle regarding her own heritage, and a warning: “The gates will open, sooner than you may think. They were always meant to. The boy who wields their power will be a greater threat to this world than anything you’ve ever known. You say you want to protect this world? When the time comes, and you will know, you must answer the call.”

tmi --

           In the year leading up to the Mortal War, Niya keeps in touch with her new Shadowhunter friends. Her family, particularly Auntie Bones, is against the idea of her fraternizing with nephilim. But luckily, a certain warlock in Brooklyn loves his exotic purchases, and Niya is constantly being portaled to the city in order to deliver them. No one could fault her if she stayed a bit longer than necessary. Niya becomes close with the Lightwoods, Mayrse even goes so far as to say that she’d be a good candidate for Ascension, supposing the Mortal Cup ever resurfaced. Though only a mundane, Niya didn’t have to work hard to fit in, she knew way more than average about the Downworld thanks to Madame Bones’ extensive library on the subject, and she wasn’t half bad in a fight. But, more than that, she was good at parties and ever better at charming overbearing parents. Anything to bring a little fun into the stuffy Shadowhunter world.           That all changed when the Mortal War began and Madame Bones banned Niya from leaving New Orleans. Though far removed from the action, the city still felt the repercussions. Tensions were high as locals worried that they would be next. They were the unofficial capital of the Downworld, what if the Circle’s poison spread? The head of the New Orleans Institute, Mariah Rosewain, did her best to dispel these notions. Her family had always been in support of more integration between the Shadowhunters and the Downworld, but her out spoken opinion only drew more attention to the city, and when Sebastian Morganstern began his own crusade, the New Orleans Institute was among the first to be attacked. Niya spent most of this time relegated to working the back room of the voodoo shop, and for a long time she would resent that her family hadn’t let her do more to help. When the Dark War ended, and the Clave sent word that they were looking for new recruits, Niya realized this was what Maman Brigitte had prepared her for, and she decided to join the new class at the Academy.

tfsa --

          The Academy was both everything and nothing like Niya expected. The Shadowhunter-born students were just like every other nephilim she’d met: arrogant, annoying, and occasionally ignorant. But what she hadn’t planned for, was how much she actually liked being there. For once she could fight without someone constantly standing over her shoulder, worrying about her, and she was damn good at it. The first year went by in a blur of bland meals and grueling training sessions. But before the semester came to a close, Talia Reynaud sent a cryptic postcard to the New York Institute baring only a photo of New Orleans’ St. Louis Cathedral and the message, “It’s time she knows the truth.” So Niya was greeted with a Lightwood and a warlock in her dorm room, pulling her through a portal to the city, with hardly a word of explanation. The local Shadowhunters kept a cache of weapons in the loft of the cathedral, but they weren’t the only things hiding there. Niya discovered a letter, that when opened blasted her into a memory of the past.           Lady Mirah of the Seelie Court was known for throwing the most extravagant Mardi Gras balls in New Orleans, and Talia Reynaud had gone to her fair share when she was younger. It was at one of these parties she met a handsome stranger, who wore a masquerade mask that covered one of his eyes. It was love at first sight. Only, Talia had a firm rule against falling in love with Shadowhunters, and the faint scars covering his body proved that he was one. Though he tried to explain, he hadn’t been a Shadowhunter in a very long time, Talia refused to listen. She was so upset she didn’t even noticed his mis-matched eyes, one bright blue and one black. It was for the best, Thomas knew he would have to return to the Wild Hunt in the morning. Months later, he returned to New Orleans, hoping to find Talia. And he did, but he also found a baby girl. Knowing it was too dangerous for him to stay, Thomas left New Orleans forever, but he left behind a letter and his favorite adamas carved bow.            When Niya was finally released from the memory and the faerie magic that put her there, she found the signature at the bottom of the letter, “Your father, Thomas Lightwood.” According to the family tree, he was a descendant of Eugenia, and part of a branch that had been lost to history. It wasn’t hard to see why, Shadowhunters had never been very accommodating to their own who chose to intermingle with Downworlders. So Niya returned to the Academy and floated through the rest of the semester, unsure what to do with this information. It made sense now, her aptitude for weapons and her innate ability to fight. But she couldn’t tell anyone, not with the Cold Peace. She’d heard rumors about how that played out for the Blackthorns. So she pretended she was a mundane, that she was normal. Until summer break came, and a group of vampires decided to stage a coup against Carmen’s reign. Niya found herself tangled in the middle, and it didn’t end well for her. Her only options were to use an amisso rune (with the stele she’d stolen from Jon Cartwright), or be turned. She went for the former, resigning herself to a brutal Louisiana summer wearing long sleeves.           Niya was determined to keep her secret. Though of course her mother and Auntie Bones already knew, so did Carmen and Michelle who’d been there when she used her rune, not to mention the Lightwoods of course, and Magnus. The only people Niya found she was any good at lying to, were her friends at the Academy. Then the day came when Helen Blackthorn was put on display, and Niya realized just what the stakes were for her. If the Clave was willing to do this to someone who’d been raised one of their own, what would they do to a half-breed who’d been raised by Downworlders? So she told her closest friends at the Academy, some of which didn’t take the lies very well. A few days later, on a routine mission, Simon fell through a portal into Faerie, and without thinking twice, Niya dived in after him. She was hit with a feeling she hadn’t felt since her father’s magic had trapped her in his memory. The power that could only be felt by being close to someone who shared your blood. A certain Unseelie Prince, younger brother to Thomas’ father. And someone who wasn’t necessarily thrilled to discover he had another Shadowhunter relative. But Kieran helped her find her way back to the mundane world, where she did her best to repair things with the friends she’d alienated with months of lies. Including George, who she’d always hoped would be her parabatai once they Ascended, but of course, for one of them, that day would never come.           Niya drank from the Mortal Cup, playing the part of a mundane Ascending, and when asked if she would choose a new name, she briefly considered her father’s, but that would raise too many questions. So instead she looked to the adamas bow that she’d taken as her own weapon, and decided, “Silverbow.” 

tda --

          After graduation, Niya was assigned to the San Fransisco Institute, where she was given a roommate: the insufferable Annalissa Youngblood, youngest child of the Youngblood family that ran the institute. To say Niya was unamused with being handed a babysitter at least six years her junior would be an understatement. But she suffered through it, and she did her part, even though she felt like she was missing something. She’d forgotten how to fight without someone by her side. Even though she’d never really had a parabatai, she still felt the loss as if she had. She distanced herself from the Youngbloods, venturing further out, taking missions in partner with the Seattle Institute and occasionally the Los Angles Institute. It was on a mission to the latter, she crossed paths with Kieran again. There would be no cheerful family reunion here, instead just another warning: “The Unseelie King knows you exist, and he won’t let half-breeds taint his bloodline.” The King was the reason Thomas had been taken from his Shadowhunter family and given to the Hunt, and Niya was not eager to find out what he did with his female descendants. So she stuck with the Blackthorns, they needed her help more than the Youngbloods did anyway.           That path eventually led her to the Scholomance, where she intended to craft a plot to kill the King before he could kill her. But there, training with Centurions and Kieran, she gained back the confidence she’d once had in her own abilities, and realized that she wanted more than just survival, Niya Silverbow wanted to be a Centurion. Even if it meant telling the Clave she had faerie blood, even if it meant that she might lose everything, she had to try. Talia Reynaud didn’t raise a quitter.

[holdfloofyfluff]

Unintended, Chapter 2

Summary: The best relationships aren’t those you go looking for, but those you fall into accidentally.

Characters: Sinbad, Ja’far, and company

Pairing: Sinja

Rating: Explicit

Chapter: 1

Read on Ao3

Ja’far returns from her lunch meeting to find a tiny pink orchid on her desk.  Much more tasteful than anything she’d normally chalk up to Sinbad -- not to mention it doesn’t block her work -- but Sinbad has always categorically disliked giving or receiving cut flowers.  Something about growing something beautiful only to slowly watch it die.  Ja’far always thought it a bit morbid, considering flowers were just an industry like any other crop, but everyone was allowed their hang-ups.  

As she rounds her desk, Ja’far sees a little note stuck below it reading “Dinner?” with a winky face.  Of course a winky face, Ja’far thinks.  Silly me, thinking Sinbad could ever do something entirely classy.  She then has a moment of panic that a stray assistant might have seen the note and gossip is already circulating.  It’s unlikely that someone has been in her office during the hour she has been away, but if they were, Sinbad’s handwriting is recognizable to most palace workers.  

Just then, Ja’far’s panicking is interrupted by the office door swinging open, and she rapidly shoves the note in a desk drawer.  

“Ja’faaaar,” Sinbad sing-songs as she spins through the doorway, looking far too pleased with herself.  

“Sin.” Ja’far drops her startled posture and sighs, then grabs the note back out of her drawer.  “What did you think you were doing?”  She holds the offending missive up for Sinbad to see.

“Giving you flowers?  You didn’t like them?”  Sinbad’s face falls.

“No, the flowers are very nice.  I mean the note.”  She waves it around for emphasis.

“Asking you to dinner?”  

“Sin, anyone could have seen this!”  Ja’far screeches.  

“And then they would have known you have a date.  It’s not that big a deal,” Sinbad puts her hands up in protest.  

“Everyone in this palace recognizes your handwriting, Sinbad.  They would have known I had a date with you!”  

“Oh.”  Sinbad looks sadly at the floor.  “I guess that would be bad.”  

Ja’far crumples the note up and shoves it back in her desk to be disposed of later.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to yell.  You were just trying to be cute, and it’s not that I wouldn’t tell people, it’s just....”   

“I know,” Sinbad sighs.  “Lord knows I’ve faced enough opposition for my gender already.  It’d be bad if rumors like that started circulating.”  She frowns in annoyance, then perks up.  “Anyway, dinner?”

Ja’far can’t help but smile a bit at how excited Sinbad looks.  “And where are we going to go, where no one can see us?”

Sinbad had not thought of this, as accustomed as she is to all her trysts just being public knowledge.  “Uh, we can’t just go somewhere and pretend it’s a normal dinner?”

“Definitely not; not without talk, at least.  We always go out in groups when we go.”  

“Damn.”  Sinbad rubs at her chin thoughtfully.  “I’ll make you dinner!  We can go to the beach or something.”  

“No.”  

“No?”  Sinbad had thought it was quite a good idea, plus there might be Ja’far and bikinis.

“I am not eating your atrocious cooking.  I’ll bring the food.”  

“But I’m the one who asked you!”  Sinbad is pretty sure making your date cook for you is bad form.  

Ja’far is more than a little entertained that after breaking every rule of dating etiquette since age sixteen, now Sinbad wants to do things by the book.  “I like cooking, Sin.  It’ll be fun.  I haven’t had a chance in a while.  Just… bring wine or something.”

Sinbad pouts and looks a little wistful.  “This is never going to be normal, is it?”  

“No,” Ja’far laughs.  “Even without professional repercussions, I don’t think we’d be capable of a ‘normal’ relationship.”  

Sinbad turns a bit self-conscious.  “Yeah, I know I’m not the easiest personality to live with.”  

“Don’t lose your bravado like that for me, it looks unnatural on you.”  Ja’far chides her.  “I’m not exactly a domestic goddess, either.  If we’ve survived each other’s company this long, I imagine we’re in the clear.”  

Sinbad straightens.  “I’m sorry.  This is just one of the few things I’m not good at.  And you’re right, we’ll be fine.”  

Ja’far pats her cheek.  “You’re good at a great many things, but definitely not at feelings.  Don’t worry about it with me.”  

“Funny, how everyone thinks I’m above such things, when really I just don’t know how.”

Ja’far smiles.  “Life hasn’t exactly given us time for normal emotional development.”  

“It’s too late for me now, I’m already stunted.”  Sinbad puts a hand to her forehead and feigns distress.  “I’ll come meet you at seven?”  

“Sure.”

“And leave all your stupid hats and scarves!  It’ll be dark by the time we get there.”

Ja’far just grumbles about how Sinbad has never known the true pain of a second degree sunburn, and returns to her work.   

The cooks look at Ja’far a bit oddly as she grabs ingredients and then tucks herself into a corner out of the way to work, but enough of them remember her spending much more time in the kitchen in the earlier days of Sinbad’s rule, and let her be.  A few newer ones ask what she is doing, and Ja’far just makes the excuse that she’s missed a couple dishes from her childhood, and wanted to make them, which isn’t completely untrue.  

Once completed, Ja’far eyes her finished products with a bit of skepticism.  It’s not exactly the most cohesive meal, but she and Sinbad have never been anything resembling picky eaters, and she is quite pleased with each individual dish.  She packs it up into various bags and boxes, and totes it out of the kitchen and back to her quarters.  She’s not quite sure where Sinbad is taking her, but their island isn’t very big and it should all keep for long enough.  

It’s just past six in the evening when Ja’far returns to her room.  She putters mindlessly about for a few minutes, getting distracted by letters on her desk, and then remembers her original purpose.  Ja’far tugs a backpack out from beneath her bed, puts towels on the bottom, boxes of food above that, and a picnic blanket on top, so they will be accessible in the order she needs them.  The part of her brain forever stuck in her younger days of traveling and surviving also wants to tuck emergency rations and supplies into the space remaining, but she resists.  A few flasks of water are strapped onto the sides and she deems it complete.  

Ja’far tugs off her work clothes and goes to get into something more comfortable.  She decides to put a swimsuit on first; it’s really not much different than underwear, and will save her the sandy struggle of changing on the beach.  Ja’far wants to just tug on her most practical, single-piece garment, maybe a shirt over it to hide her skinny body, but knows that’s most likely not what Sinbad is after, and though this whole idea is new to Ja’far, she does find herself wanting to please Sinbad.  So instead, she pulls on the only two-pieced article she owns, and then puts a baggy t-shirt and billowy pants on after it.  Sindria is still warm this time of year, but she puts a jacket on top of her backpack, just in case.  Good enough.

Just as Ja’far is going back to scanning the letters on her desk, Sinbad knocks on her door.  Ja’far opens the door and Sinbad grins when she sees her, all but bouncing on her toes into her room.  She proudly holds out two bottles.  “Red wine for me, black spiced rum for you.”  

“Oh good.  I was worried you were going to make me choke down a romantic glass of wine with you.”  Ja’far takes both bottles and sticks them in her pack.  Sinbad isn’t a very good hiker and the extra weight will only make her worse.  

“You’ll drink hard liquor out of a bottle, but not good wine.  No class,” Sinbad teases.

“Definitely not,” Ja’far agrees.  

“And you agree just like that.  No fun to tease, either.”  

“That is a learned skill,” Ja’far mutters.  “If I made it ‘fun,’ you’d never stop doing it.”  She then hoists her pack up onto her shoulders.  “Are you ready to go?”  

“Yep, let’s go out the back and try not to get seen.”  Sinbad opens the door to Ja’far’s bedroom and waves her through it.  “I can carry some of that; it looks heavy.”  

“It’s fine.  You’re bad at carrying things, anyway.”  

“No, I’m not!  I’m stronger than you,” Sinbad protests.

“Maybe short term, but long term you really are bad at it.  You’ll run forever on a flat beach, but god forbid you encounter a hill,” Ja’far says.  

“Fine,”  Sinbad relents.  “We are going to have to hike a little bit, since where we’re going isn’t really publicly accessible.”  Sinbad leads Ja’far out of a maintenance corridor of the palace, and into the lightly wooded hills behind it.  

Ja’far eyes the sheer walls of the crater that surrounds Sindria with skepticism.  “This is going to be an awfully long hike if we have to zig-zag up that until we reach water.”  

“I’ve navigated half the world, Ja’far, give me some credit.  I certainly know how to avoid a mountain.”  

Tropical foliage thwacks against the pack on Ja’far’s back as they walk.  “If you say so, but as far as I know there’s really only one entrance and exit to this island.”  

“That’s because you’re always hiding in your office instead of exploring,” Sinbad says.  

“Maybe I’d spend less time in my office if someone else was doing her share of work instead of ‘exploring,’” Ja’far retaliates.

“I get it all done eventually!  I just can’t sit still for eight hours like you can.”  

“Yes, you have been getting it done on time lately, so I suppose I should laud the improvement,”  Ja’far says dryly.  “If only I’d known I just had to do something more than scold you.”  

Sinbad winks.  “Scold and punish me any time, babe.”  

Ja’far narrows her eyes in reply.  “‘Babe’ me in public and it’ll be a punishment you will not enjoy.”  

“But I can in private?”  

“We’ll see.”  

“Ja’babe,” Sinbad comments with a giggle.

“Definitely not,” Ja’far cuts that off before it can start.  “Or I’ll start calling you Sindaddy.”

Sinbad makes a fake gagging noise and they walk until they’re right next to the looming, natural walls surrounding Sindria.  Finally Sinbad stops, pushes aside some overgrown bushes, and reveals a small tunnel.  “See?  Told you there was a way though.  They’re old lava spouts, I think.”  

“It goes all the way to the other side?”  Ja’far asks.  It seems like a bit of a security risk from where she’s standing, but she supposes there isn’t a way to close up every hole, and it might be good to have a back door, anyway.  

“Yep.  Less than a quarter of a mile from the water.”  Sinbad grabs a stone out of her pocket and focuses on it hard until eventually it lights up.  “Aha!  I’ll have to tell Yamuraiha it works with magoi manipulation.”  

Ja’far grabs it out of Sinbad’s hand to examine it, and it immediately goes dark.  

“Ja’far!  You ruined it.”  Sinbad grabs the stone once more.  “Now I have to focus all over again.”  

“Sorry.  Yamu was showing me these the other day, and she was throwing them around without touching them.”  

“Well, we aren’t all special, magical snowflakes,” Sinbad grumps.  Her stone starts glowing again and she walks into the tunnel.  “Come on, it’s not actually that far through here.”  

Ja’far follows her into the darkness, their footsteps echoing loudly in the small space.  Sinbad decides to take advantage of the acoustics and makes an exaggerated farting noise with her mouth, shouting “excuse you, Ja’far!”

“Are you serious, Sin?”  Ja’far deadpans.

“Ja’fart.”  She just falls into a fit of giggles as a reply, and Ja’far sighs.  Sometimes she really thinks Sinbad should have been born a man; it would have made it much easier for everyone else to accept her personality.  

They emerge into quickly dimming light on the other side of the passage, and Sinbad pockets her stone again.  Even with the sun already behind the horizon, there are enough stars emerging to provide light to see by.  

Sinbad toddles over the rocky coastline for a few hundred yards, scrambling up and down rough stone, before finally dropping down to a small, sandy patch nestled between dark outcroppings of sea-worn stone.  She looks up at Ja’far still on the rocks above her and holds out her hands proudly.  “It’s hard to find sand outside the harbor, but here we are!”  

Ja’far hops down to join her, and sets her backpack down on the ground.  She drops bottles heavily into the sand, and digs out the blanket she brought.  Sinbad immediately flops down onto it, pushed up on her elbows and staring out at the water.  

“Not that I’d go back, but I do miss the days we could just lie on the deck of our ship and stare at nothing,” Sinbad says wistfully.

“Me too,” Ja’far agrees.  “It wasn’t any easier, really, but it was simpler.”  

“And I was so much skinnier as a teenager!”  Sinbad has a note of complaint in her voice.

“You’re still pretty fit, Sin.  No one stays that thin forever.  Stop worrying about your appearance so much when you know damn well everyone thinks you’re beautiful.”  

“You stayed skinny!”  She points accusingly at Ja’far.  “But as soon as I turned seventeen it was just like….”  She grabs her hips and her breasts, making a small exploding noise, gesturing outwards to demonstrate.  

Ja’far laughs at her explanation.  “I think that happens to a lot of women, Sin.”  

“Yeah, but most women don’t want to run around and swing swords like I do, so it doesn’t get in their way.”  

“That does seem inconvenient,” Ja’far sympathizes, considering herself in the same situation.  She sits herself down on Sinbad’s splayed thighs and grabs her hips, squeezing slightly.  “I mean, I like them, though.  Plus, wider hips give you better balance?”  she tries to offer.

“And breasts do nothing useful at all,” Sinbad huffs.  “Whatever, at least you’re happy.”    

Ja’far squeezes again.  “Very,” she confirms, and then lifts herself off of Sinbad to reach into her backpack.

The first thing she had decided to make was not something either of Sinbad or herself had encountered until an immigrant family had brought it to Sindria when they started a restaurant; Ja’far had begged the recipe off of them because Sinbad had loved it so much.  She still sent an attendant running to get it halfway across the city at least twice a week for her lunch.   

As soon as Sinbad sees the glass cup, she fist pumps.  “Yesss.  Gimme.”  

Ja’far passes her a cup and a spoon, along with some gingery flatbread.  

“You don’t even like ceviche, Ja’far,”  Sinbad says around a mouthful of food.

“Don’t speak while you eat,”  Ja’far admonishes.  “And I don’t like cilantro, it tastes like old soap.  The rest of it is good, so I made myself some without cilantro.”  She pulls out her own cup that is much less green than Sinbad’s, and starts eating in small bites.  

“It tastes nothing like soap.”

“It does!  It’s about the only thing Sharrkan and I regularly agree on.  It tastes like rancid soap.”  

“Whatever,”  Sinbad mutters, and continues eating quickly.  Somehow, Ja’far is already finished before Sinbad is even halfway done.  “You still eat so fast!  Maybe you really are tiny because you never chew your food; Vittel was right all along.”  

Ja’far throws a small piece of raw fish and it splats onto Sinbad’s face, slowly sliding down her cheek.  “It’s not my fault I’m small!”  

Sinbad laughs and puts her hands up in a placating gesture, waving her spoon around.  “I know, I know.  I was only teasing.”  

Ja’far huffs in reply and starts shuffling through her bag again.  She plops a bowl onto the blanket between herself and Sinbad, and pulls the covering off to serve herself some.  

“Polo!”  Sinbad shrieks, prompting Ja’far to nearly drop her spoon.  

“Yes, fava beans are good this time of the year.  There’s also dill, barberries, and lamb in it; and far too much saffron, of course.”  Ja’far spoons some into her empty cup, which is probably not the most tasteful flavor combination, but she doesn’t really care if it means another dish won’t have to be washed.

“You made this all for me,” Sinbad notes.  “You could have just made sandwiches or something.”  

“Well, you complain about missing basic Parthevian dishes, sometimes.  And they serve such complicated meals in the palace; I get tired of it too.”  She sticks a spoonful of rice in her mouth.  “And it’s not all for you; dessert is for me.”  

Sinbad starts eating the polo straight from the bowl, and moans happily.  “You did this perfectly, Ja’far.”  

“Saher’s recipe,”  Ja’far replies.  “Though Drakon was the one who suggested adding the berries.”  

“I need to have dinner with them more often,”  Sinbad muses.  “I swear I sometimes forget they’re from the same place as me, even if they had a bit more luxurious an upbringing.  Everyone here is all about spicy food, but no one else wants sour stuff!”  She purposefully picks out a sour berry and cracks it between her teeth.  

“That explains why you were so excited about the lime-y fish,”  Ja’far realizes.  

“Yeah!  Fish and sour and spicy all at once!  It’s the perfect food,”  Sinbad raptures.  

“I’ve definitely got to give that family a tax break or something, they keep trying to give you food for free when you send your errand boys for lunch.”  

“Really?  They shouldn’t do that, I’m just another customer, and I can certainly afford to pay.”  Sinbad sounds a bit upset.  

“Apparently you’re a great boost to their reputation and business, but I agree.  You should go tell them yourself.  Their little girl idolizes you, you know.  Runs around the shop with a toy sword and everything.”  Ja’far smiles briefly to herself.

“I’ll go get my own lunch then, next time.  Honestly any excuse to get out of my office is a good one.”   

“You’ve always been better with people than papers.”  

“And you better be glad of it, or I wouldn’t need to keep you around.”  Sinbad bumps playfully into Ja’far’s shoulder.  

“Between the two of us, we almost make an entire useful person,” Ja’far responds.  

“Not the feelings part, though.”

“No, definitely not.”  

They eat in comfortable silence for a while, the occasional clinking of silverware on glass the only thing interrupting the soft rumbling of waves.  

Ja’far finishes her own food quickly, and then waits for Sinbad to finish hers.  Only when they’re both done does she pull her last dish out of her pack, placing the box containing it into the empty polo bowl.  

As far as Sinbad can tell, it’s a box of folded leaves with a few pieces of fruit.  

Sinbad picks up a leaf-wrapped bundle.  “A leaf pyramid,” she declares.  “Do I eat it?”

“Not unless you are fond of eating banana leaves.  Unwrap it.”  

Sinbad does so, and still doesn’t know what she has in her hands.  It’s sticky, mostly clear, and has something orange in the middle of it.  “...An egg?”  

Ja’far laughs at her.  “No, not an egg, you loon.  Just eat it.”  

She bites into it and finds it tougher than expected, and strangely chewy.  It’s slightly sweet and the middle is spicier.  “Good,” she decides, “But weird.  What is it?”  Sinbad reaches to unwrap another one.  

“Tapioca dumplings.  Different stuff in the middle than what I remember, but it’s as close as I could get.”  

“Why’s this one black?”  Sinbad prods at it and bites a corner off.  

“Because we ran out of normal tapioca, so I used the black kind.  Eat it with a piece of watermelon, it’s good that way.”  Ja’far pokes a piece of fruit in the box towards her.  

Sinbad does so, and approves.  She watches Ja’far reach for a rolled up leaf and unwrap it.  Ja’far stretches the dumpling between her fingers and smiles.  “Where did you learn to make these?  I’ve never seen food like this.”  

“I didn’t really learn anywhere, but they were my favorite when I was a kid, not that you’d have caught me dead admitting it.”  She smiles a bit sadly.  “Mahad and Vittel used to make them when we were out and wouldn’t get caught.  I would have told them off, but I liked the dumplings, so I let them.  I learned by watching, and I don’t know where they learned.  Not sure they even remembered.”  

“Murderous child with a sweet tooth,”  Sinbad muses.

Ja’far runs a hand over her face.  “Don’t remind me, I was such a dramatic and horrid little thing.  I just wish I’d told them, back then.”  

“All children are dramatic and horrid occasionally,”  Sinbad laughs.  “Told who what?”

“Told them the dumplings were my favorite,”  Ja’far replies.

“I’m sure they knew, if your horrid little self let them be made,”  Sinbad reassures her.

“You’re probably right.”  Ja’far stops tugging at the thing in her hands and bites half of it off.  “Not quite the same, but close.”  

“Well I like them,”  Sinbad decides.  “And your little leaves.”  

“I can make boxes too; they’re pretty.”  

“Show me next time, then.”  Sinbad bounces to her feet.  “Now swimming!”  

Ja’far swears Sinbad must have been born with her feet already in the water, with the childish joy she still takes in swimming.  She’s quite good at it, too, though Ja’far imagines that is more a result of growing up on the ocean than any preference for it.  Ja’far herself hadn’t actually known how to swim when Sinbad found her, though she’d learned quickly, living on boats.  She wasn’t exactly an effective fighter when a push off the edge could kill her, after all.

Sinbad already has her shirt and pants off, and is scampering towards the water.  She’s in a pale blue suit that is surprisingly modest, considering some of the things Ja’far has seen her wear.  The slit sides on the bottoms are still flashing the skin of her hip, but actually looked fairly secure.  Her top was quite a contraption, two straps going over her shoulders to criss-cross in a myriad of ways before wrapping around and around under her bust and finally tying together, presumably to give some support.  She’s gone through the effort of making sure she can actually swim in her outfit, rather than just lie around and look nice as she occasionally does on public beaches, and for some reason that makes Ja’far smile.   

She’s up to her knees in the water before Sinbad realizes Ja’far isn’t with her.  She turns around to call Ja’far over and sees her in the middle of pulling a shirt over her head, her pants already neatly folded on the blanket.  

There are, of course, no frills with Ja’far.  She is in a fairly simple, black, sporty suit, straps woven together and crossed in an x across her back, but otherwise unadorned.  Her bottoms fit neatly to her hips in one smooth line, since she doesn’t have the flesh to dig into as Sinbad does.  Her arms stay wrapped in wire, and darts usually hidden in her sleeves are instead strapped to her thigh.  Sinbad barely notices any of that, however, too fascinated with how Ja’far’s paper-white skin fluoresces under the moonlight.  Lithe muscle is visible in blue shadows as Ja’far walks over to her, and Sinbad does her best to shake herself out of her momentary trance.  

Ja’far’s feet hit the water and she is pleasantly surprised.  “It’s warm.”  

“The air starts cooling at night, this time of year, but the currents won’t be colder for another two months, yet,”  Sinbad explains.  Then she points to Ja’far’s knives.  “Aren’t those going to be heavy to swim with?”  

“Not really.  And I’m not going off into the dark without them.”  

Sinbad puts her hands on her hips.  “We’re plenty safe out here, Ja’far.”

“Famous last words,” Ja’far mutters.  The only way someone is getting her knives off of her is by prying them from her cold, dead hands.  

“Fine.”  Sinbad sees the determined look on her face and drops her hands in defeat.  “Come on, let’s go.”  

Ja’far is less hesitant to get in the water, now that she knows it won’t chill her for hours afterwards, and is quick to join Sinbad a bit farther out.  The swells are calm in the leeward waters around Sindria, and they don’t crash any higher than her waist.  She decides to do her part in this arrangement and grabs Sinbad’s hand, pulling her farther out.  “Didn’t you want to swim?”  

“Yes!  Out to that thing, ok?”  Sinbad points to an outcropping of rocks maybe one hundred fifty yards away.  Ja’far nods, and Sinbad takes a series of ungraceful, wooshing steps into deeper water, and once it has reached the tops of her thighs she dives in.  

Sinbad looks back to make sure Ja’far is following her, and then strokes out from the beach.  Part of the way she stops, waiting for Ja’far to catch up, her pale head bobbing along the surface.  The bottom is only thirty feet down, and Sinbad can see fairly well under the nearly-full moon.  She dives down to the bottom, carefully decompressing her ears, and searches for what she saw from above.  She grabs it, and kicks quickly to the surface.  

Just as Sinbad surfaces, Ja’far catches up.  “Look, Ja’far.  It’s you in the morning.”  

She is presented with a fairly large crab, flailing in agitation and pinched between Sinbad’s fingers.  She can’t help but laugh; Sinbad looks very proud of her joke.  “If it were even grumpier and naked from molting, it’d look a lot more like you.  Put the poor thing back, it’s going to pinch you eventually.”  

Sinbad releases the crab, and it floats down through the water much like a leaf through the air.  They both watch it, and then continue the brief remaining distance to the pile of rocks, though it’s become clear there is a small amount of vegetation growing on it, with their proximity.  Sinbad crawls up onto a dark rock and motions for Ja’far to join her.

“I can get in from underwater, but you might not want to try that.  We can climb over the top.”  

“Thanks,” Ja’far says as she climbs up to join her.  She’s never had the penchant for holding her breath that Sinbad does.  

They crawl up over the side and it isn’t twenty seconds before they are presented with a large hole in the ground.  Much to Ja’far’s surprise, Sinbad simply keeps striding forward, and suddenly disappears down it.  She hears a splash, and Ja’far peers over the edge to see what is down there.  Not much is visible, but she hears Sinbad’s voice echoing and telling her to jump down.  Never one to be afraid of heights, Ja’far follows, and after a quick drop lands back into warm water.  She kicks to the surface and puffs excess salt water from her lips, searching for Sinbad in the comparative dark.  

She finds her, eventually, and swims over to join her in the strange sort of watery cavern she finds herself in.  Ja’far would worry about tides in an enclosed space, but it’s clear Sinbad isn’t doing so, and she’s far more in tune with that sort of thing than Ja’far is.  

“Tide’s going out,”  Sinbad confirms, as if hearing her thoughts.  

Ja’far finally reaches her and finds Sinbad sitting on a stone shelf barely three inches below the surface of the water.  She joins her on the natural bench, and quickly finds lips pressed against hers.  Ja’far can’t see much, but she can taste the salt on Sinbad’s lips, and hear her breathing echoing in the cavern amidst the lapping of water.  She pulls back long enough to maneuver herself onto Sinbad’s lap, and then kisses her in return.  

It’s messy in the dark, with clicking teeth and misplaced swipes of tongues, but it’s fun anyway, and filled with a sort of directionless desire just to be closer.  

“Alright, fess up,” Ja’far finally breaks it off with a laugh.  “How many times have you pulled this stunt before?”  

Sinbad is a bit offended.  “Taken people here?  None!”  

“This seems far too planned out for ‘none,’”  Ja’far observes.

“Fine,”  Sinbad grabs Ja’far about the waist.  “I’ve thought about this, us, for a long time.  And I started just seeing everything that way, where I could take you, what I could show you.  So I found this and naturally that’s where my mind went.  But I’ve never taken anyone else.”   

Ja’far puts her hands against Sinbad’s face and feels her flushing.  “You really have thought about this.”  

“Yeah,”  Sinbad admits quietly.  “I tried not to, since I knew it wouldn’t actually happen, but I couldn’t help it.”  

Ja’far strokes her thumbs along Sinbad’s jaw, and then down her neck to knead softly at her shoulders.  “And you were never going to do anything about it?”  She asks.  “That’s unlike you, to not try and obtain what you want.”   

Sinbad relaxes into Ja’far’s hands on her tight shoulders, and wraps her hands around Ja’far’s narrow waist to rub her thumbs on either side of her spine.  It’s easier to admit these things in the dark.  “I hoped I’d have the courage one day, but I’m me, and you’re you, and it was never easy to just start it.  And then there were so many bigger problems and uggghhhhh,”  Sinbad trails off in a groan.  “I did have it planned out, how I’d try to get you to notice without making it weird, and tell you, but then you had to go and blow all my plans right out of the water!”   

Ja’far laughs through her nose and wraps her hands around Sinbad’s back, propping her chin on one strong shoulder and pushing her face into long hair that is starting to dry a bit crackly with the seawater.

“Oh well, at least I have you now,”  Sinbad continues.  “And for as long as you’ll let me, if that’s ok.  I planned a lot of dates in my head, so hopefully this one goes well enough that you’ll let me take you on another one.”  

Sinbad tucks Ja’far’s shoulder under her chin and tugs her close against her, content to just to sit there, think about nothing, and listen to the water and soft breaths.  Her meditation is interrupted when she hears a soft sniffle by her ear.  

“Ja’far?”  

No response.  

“Ja’far, are you crying?”  

“No!  ….Yes, a little,” is the slightly wavering reply.  

Sinbad immediately lets go of Ja’far, trying to lean back and see her face, but Ja’far resists the pull, keeping her arms locked tight and her chin over Sinbad’s shoulder.  “What happened?  Are you alright?  Oh, I knew I was going to get this all wrong and now you’re--”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Sin.”  Ja’far gives a watery chuckle.  “Stop wiggling and just hold me.”  

Sinbad complies, curling her arms gently back around Ja’far.  “But you’re crying,” she protests.

Ja’far lets out a shuddering sigh and tries to control her voice.  “Sorry; you know I’ve always been a bit teary about things like this.”

“You do always cry at weddings,”  Sinbad mutters.  “It’s kind of weird for someone I’ve never seen go on two dates with the same person.”  

Ja’far flicks Sinbad’s ear in response.  “At least I went on dates at all.”  She settles her hand back onto Sinbad’s shoulder blade.  “I just never thought I could have something like this.  I was always distracted doing other things, and I guess some part of me thought I wasn’t allowed, after what I’ve done.  I never let myself consider a relationship, because I’d never be able to explain what I’ve had to do in my life to anyone.

“But I don’t have to explain anything to you.  I hadn’t really thought about what that meant, until now.”

Sinbad tucks her arms under Ja’far’s and reaches up to stroke over matted hair and rub at her back in mindless circles.  “There are a lot of things I never knew you wanted.”  

“To be fair, I didn’t know I wanted this sort of thing either.”  

“Well we both should have guessed it, then.  You’re not so hyperactive and flighty like me, it would make sense that you would eventually want something more settled.”  Then Sinbad chuckles.  “In which case you’ve made a poor choice; I’m not a terribly stable person.”  

Ja’far finally relinquishes her tight hold to lean back and try to look at Sinbad through the darkness.  “Not in some things, and we do move around a lot, but you’ve been there since I was ten years old.  You’re one of the only constants I’ve had in my life, actually.  You’re stable where it counts.”  

“I haven’t actually slept with someone else in months,” Sinbad confesses.  “So I think I could be stable in more ways, if you want.”  

“I already know that, Sin.  And sex is complicated in our professional situations already, so I’m not…”  Ja’far fumbles.  “I appreciate it, but relationships are very strange in your particular position, so don’t worry overmuch about that part of it.”  

“It’s not like I couldn’t have,”  Sinbad defends.  “Maybe I even should have slept with them, at least the important ones.  I just didn’t want to sleep with anyone else.”  

“Cute,” Ja’far states.

“It’s not ‘cute,’ it’s…”

“It’s cute.”  

“Fine, whatever.  Leave me and my sappy self to die in humiliation,” Sinbad bemoans.  “Oh, to return to my careless youth.”  

Ja’far starts laughing and finds she can’t stop.  “For a fairly practical person when the need arises, you’re so dramatic sometimes.”  

“Only when I know I’m allowed to be.”  Sinbad lifts her chin to press a quick kiss to Ja’far’s lips.  “Let’s get back before I get all pruney.  Tide’s probably low enough that you can see the exit.”  

Ja’far whines at having to give up her comfy seat and go back into the water, but ultimately Sinbad pushes her back in, and she has no choice but to swim again.  Sinbad guides them around a few twists and turns, and then a bare sliver of moonlight is visible above the surface of the water.  Ja’far still has to hold her breath and swim underwater to get through the tunnel, but it doesn’t cause the usual anxiety, as she knows how far it is.  

Once on the other side, Sinbad starts stroking back to shore, until Ja’far grabs her ankle.  Sinbad looks back at her, trying to kick her ankle free.  

“I’m tired; carry me,” Ja’far complains.  

Sinbad regards her with amusement, as Ja’far rarely admits weakness to anyone.  “It’s not that far, carry yourself.”  

“I’ll just fall behind, and then you’ll have to wait.”  

“If I can’t hike, then you can’t swim,” Sinbad points out, and Ja’far frowns at her.  “Come on, just keep your head above water and kick.  I’ll do it too, so I won’t go fast.”  

Ja’far grumbles, but acquiesces, and it isn’t long before she can touch her feet down on the sandy bottom and walk the rest of the way to shore.  Her body cools quickly once she is out of the water and in the open air, so Ja’far shuffles towards her backpack to dig for a towel.

“I wasn’t going to comment originally, but that’s a rather big backpack for one evening,”  Sinbad observes.  “At least it’s not twice the size of your body, I guess,” she adds after, remembering Ja’far’s travel habits in her childhood.  

“Some of us like to go traipsing off into the woods without even a water bottle, and some of us like to plan properly so we have water for ourselves, and then we have extra water when we find the fool who forgot theirs.”  Ja’far emerges with her towel and wraps it snuggly around herself.  She looks up to find Sinbad is sitting on the stone, looking slightly shamefaced.

“You forgot a towel,”  Ja’far states blandly.  

Sinbad just purses her lips in reply.  

Ja’far digs back into her backpack and pulls out a second towel that she shoves towards Sinbad, who immediately tucks it over her head and shoulders so only her face is peeking out, but most of her lower torso and legs are left bared.  “I won’t make fun of your bags anymore, Ja’far.”  

“You look like a sad nun on top and a dancer on the bottom,”  Ja’far notes.  

Sinbad wraps the towel more normally around her torso.  “Happy now?”  

“I never said I was unhappy about the sad nun in bikini bottoms.”  

“What a terrible thing to say; I’d die being a nun, even if I got to wear bikini bottoms.”  

Ja’far snorts.  “You wouldn’t even last a day as a nun.”

“Probably not even an hour,” Sinbad confirms.  

Toweling her head off, Ja’far sits back down on the blanket, reaching for the bottles she had previously thrown in the sand.  Sinbad crawls off her rock and hurries to sit down next to Ja’far, grabbing for her bottle of wine.  

“I like this arrangement, because you let me drink without complaint when you can supervise me.”  

“You need supervision because it’s a problem, Sin.”  

“Hey, I keep it to night-time hours!” Sinbad protests.  “You might be able to somehow manage your stress through organization and overwork, but not all of us can.”  

“Doesn’t mean it isn’t a problem, with how much you need it.  Not to mention how you occasionally lose yourself in public, all your drunken affairs…” Ja’far trails off, not wanting to continue.  

“...I know,” Sinbad admits after a beat.  “But I’ve been better recently, haven’t I?  I just can’t keep it all in like you do, and sometimes my head won’t shut up, so it helps.  Obviously it’s a bit indecent, but I’ve learned to just go with it.”  

Ja’far wraps her ankle around Sinbad’s.  “You’ve never even said you knew it was a problem, before.”  

“That’s because I know it is, but I don’t have a better strategy,” Sinbad replies.  “And at this point everyone sort of accepts it, or at least tolerates it.”  

“It’s alright, I guess we all have our issues, even if I have to constantly fret over your behavior.”  Ja’far pokes at her ribs, and Sinbad twitches.  “And you have been better recently.  I think this might be good for us; I actually took a night off work, ate properly, and might go to bed on time.”  

“If I have to admit I’m an alcoholic, you have to admit you’re a workaholic,” Sinbad says.  

Ja’far pinches her lips.  “Fine.  I constantly deprive myself of basic bodily needs because I consider it necessary to prove my worth through labor, first.”  

Sinbad does not so much kiss her cheek as press her face into it.  “And tonight, I’m not drunk and you’re not deprived of food or sleep.”  

Ja’far tips down until she is lying flat on the blanket, and Sinbad joins her.  “No, we aren’t.  And there are pretty stars and no one demanding anything from either of us.”  

The last of the water dries from their skin as they lie on the blanket in silence, shoulder to shoulder, occasionally sipping from separate bottles.  

All of a sudden, Sinbad jumps as Ja’far rubs a thumb gently over her eyelid.

“You’re not wearing any make up tonight.”  

“Well I figured it would all just smear in the water.”  Sinbad is a bit self-conscious that Ja’far even noticed.  

“You never go out without makeup on,” Ja’far notes.

“Is it bad?”  

“No, I like you without it.  Though I like you with it on, too.  It just makes me happy you didn’t try to put it on for me.”  

“Oh.  Well, I thought about it.  But you’ve certainly seen me in far sorrier states, it’s not like I was trying to impress anyone.  Plus now I can rub my eyes as much as I please.”  And Sinbad does so enthusiastically while Ja’far giggles.  

Ja’far rolls over and half on top of her, biting at her chin, then kissing her lips.  “You’re pretty and you know it, but are still so worried about your appearance anyway.  Don’t ever think about that with me, because I care about much more than that.”  

Sinbad kisses her back briefly.  “And you don’t give a damn what you look like.”  She snaps the strap of Ja’far’s swimsuit.  “But still wore this for me.  I don’t really care either, but thanks.”  Sinbad tickles her hands up Ja’far’s bare sides.  

Ja’far wriggles uncomfortably and grabs Sinbad’s hands, planting them on either side of her head.  She pushes her mouth against Sinbad’s and can’t remember ever being so delighted by a mixture of food condiments, ocean, and fermented fruit.  

Sinbad hums happily and wraps her hands around Ja’far’s back, salt sticking their skin together.  She lifts her head from the blanket to return the kiss for a while, and then eventually separates and lays it back down.  

“We should probably pack up and go,” Sinbad suggests.  

Ja’far starts to get up, then flops back down, her face between Sinbad’s breasts.  “But I’m so nice and warm here.”  

Sinbad sits up anyway and catches Ja’far before she tips off.  “Maybe now, but you won’t be for long.  You don’t get to drink without measuring, next time.  We might get in trouble if you start just wanting to lie around half-naked.  That’s my job.”  

“Yeah, yeah,” Ja’far grouches, but rises up to her feet.  

Sinbad quite obviously pans up and down her form, admiring the view.

“You didn’t want to ravish me on the beach?”  Ja’far teases.

Sinbad makes a mildly horrified face.  “No, definitely not.  Sand everywhere.  Zero out of ten stars; do not recommend.”  

Ja’far laughs as she starts to gather their things.  “That sounds like a story I need to hear sometime.”  

Sinbad giggles nervously.  “Ah, it’s ok.  Don’t think it’s good form to… I mean now that we’re….”  She waves her hand between them.  

“Sin, I’m under no illusions about your sex life.”  Ja’far smiles.  “And I’m not the jealous type, anyway.  I still want you to tell me everything because you’re my best friend and I want to support you, if nothing else.  Plus, you’ve had some pretty hilarious mishaps that I’d hate to miss being told about.”  

“There is most definitely such a thing as too adventurous,” Sinbad grimaces.  “And thanks, Ja’far.  I mean, I know that, but it’s good to hear, even if you do laugh too much at my misfortune.”  

Ja’far finishes packing her bag, and starts scrambling back over the rocks enclosing them.  Once on top, Sinbad grabs her hand.  They walk in silence for a while, hands swinging between them, humid air finally starting to cool, and the sounds of various frogs and insects ringing in the air.  

“I’m glad I’ve always had you, Ja’far.”  

“Likewise.  I’d most likely be dead in a ditch without you.”   

Sinbad takes a nervous misstep.  “I don’t mean just for what you can do.  You’re right, about what you said earlier.  I don’t worry with you, you know?  You know where I come from, every problem I’ve ever caused, every failure I’m culpable for, but you’re still here.  I think that’s why I want this, when I’ve never felt safe with anyone else.”  

Ja’far bumps her hip with Sinbad’s.  “Don’t sound so apologetic about it.  You’ve turned out a sight better than most kids who had to care for their parents years before puberty.  You founded a damn country before you’d even reached proper adulthood; and that’s somehow superseded by your failures?  You’re human, Sin.  It’s what makes you a good ruler, and it’s something I like about you.”  

Sinbad stops and tugs Ja’far to a stop with her.  “Can I kiss you?”  

“Knock yourself out,” Ja’far chuckles.  “And for future reference, you don’t have to ask, if we’re having a moment in private.”  

Sinbad grins and brings their lips together, and it is nothing like their previous kisses.  There is only affection and gratitude, barely a trace of the want that had spurred them before.  Ja’far’s lips are slightly chapped and stinging at the edges, where Sinbad’s are pliable and slightly tacky with the remnants of lipstick from earlier in the day.  Neither of them even open their teeth far enough for any sort of tongue contact, content simply to meet and then and separate, softly tugging each other’s lips between their own.  Eventually, they come apart, then come together again for a scarce dozen seconds, breathing slightly escalated.  Ja’far feels a strange sensation welling in her, and tears wanting to tug at her eyes again.  

“No one’s ever kissed me like that.”  Sinbad is also a bit overcome, some sort of visceral attraction that has nothing to do with sex consuming her, body and soul.  

“Me neither,” Ja’far tries not to sniffle.  She twists their hands until their wrists are nearly intertwined, wanting to wrap around Sinbad and never let go.  “Let’s get back, before we make it even easier to miss us.”  

Sinbad pushes one last, quick kiss to her lips, and then turns to start walking again.  

Ja’far squeezes her hand, sweating slightly and gripping a bit too tight, and doesn’t let go until they’re under the first public streetlight, and all the eyes to see them.

The ocean water necessitates bathing, but they stick to Sinbad’s rooms.  She has a large enough bath for the two of them, and they both want to continue their rather isolated moments out of the public eye, even if that only means the vague chance of palace staff in larger baths.  

Sinbad is quick to latch onto Ja’far, wrapping as many limbs around her as she can, and Ja’far lets her.  They don’t wash so much as soak, just breathing and clinging.  There is little lust in the equation, but it’s uniquely intimate anyway, so close together and so much quietude.  

Eventually the water starts cooling and they are forced to get out.  Ja’far dries herself and pulls on an oversized nightshirt, and Sinbad doesn’t put anything on at all.  Ja’far pushes a brush through her long, wet hair, and folds it into a damp plait, rolling it into a ball and tying it at the base of Sinbad’s neck.  

“Now you won’t strangle me, and it will be cute and curly in the morning.”  

Sinbad could melt into a pile of sleepy goo, right then, but instead shuffles herself under blankets, and tucks Ja’far in with her.  

“Do you want… um…” Ja’far is tired, but wriggles closer to Sinbad anyway, trying to get her meaning across.  She’d already resigned herself to Sinbad having a much higher sex drive than herself, and she’s willing to compromise.  

“Sex on the first date, Ja’far?  How scandalous.  And I actually kind of just want to sleep,” Sinbad replies, sounding surprised.  “Unless you want to?”

“No, sleep is definitely at the top of my list of priorities.”  Ja’far relaxes, now that the awkward and inevitable question has been resolved.  She rolls onto her back and lays her head against Sinbad’s chest and shoulder.  “Just try not to kill me overnight.”  

Sinbad wraps an arm around her.  “I’ll try, you blanket stealer.”  

“I do not!”  Ja’far protests.

“You do too.  It’s a good thing I run like a furnace and kick them off half the time, anyway.”  

Ja’far just grumbles and snuggles into Sinbad.  She certainly is warm.  At this rate, she may even stop wearing socks to bed.

[greenwater76]

Batman is best superhero. Oh and a fan character too

14 year old girl who discovers she has powerful powers because she was trying to write/draw a character and accidentally creates a cat. She then tries out her new powers and turns into a form in order to not be recognised when she goes out. She goes out as Jelly (see procreate image) and teleports into the aquarium. Batman is notified by commissioner Gordon of a giant demon-like creature in the aquarium. Batman observes her (she is aware of this) and she teleports out after looking at the jellyfish and cephalopods for about an hour. She does this again on another night and decides to talk to him.

She lays down, sort of how a dog would.“Hello. Batman, right? I’ve heard of you.” Her voice is high for the form she’s in. She wants to surprise him. 

“Yes.”

“I…” she pauses, gathering her thoughts, “I want to thank you for leaving me to myself the other day. I was really tired. A bit spacey too. Might’ve been surprised and hurt the aquatic life. You can call me Jelly.”

“...”

“Uh… Maybe I should explain...this,” with the last word, she gestures to herself. “I’m human. I think. And also from Earth. I discovered my powers recently. Or they activated recently. I don’t really know. Actually, there’s a lot I don’t know. What I do know is that about a week ago...” *transition to flashback*

Voiceover: “I was writing a character. And to do that, I usually act out scenes to get a feel for them, y’know?” She is speaking and suddenly she gestures widely and suddenly, a cat appears. “And I just suddenly had a cat. Like how I imagined the character to have done, I had teleported a cat. I was, understandably, kind of freaked out by this sort of thing, but I found myself more curious. And so, I tried to put it back.” Looking very confused, she looks from her hands to the cat back to her hands several times over. She then does the gesture again and suddenly the cat was gone. “After that, I essentially just tried out a bunch of different things and as far as I can tell, I can do anything I can imagine, regardless if it’s possible or not. I don’t know how I got these powers, or why and I don’t know if they’re taking something away from me and just I can’t tell. I don’t know what I should do. Should I use the powers how I please or act like I don’t have them? Or should I only use them if I need to save someone or something? What should I do?”

“I don’t think it’s my place to say.”

“But couldn’t I be potentially one of the most dangerous criminals ever? Shouldn’t you try to get me to use my powers for good or something?”

“You’re a child. You shouldn’t have to do anything like that. Besides, if I did talk you into using them for good, you’d most likely feel pressured to save everyone and one day you’d have to make a hard decision that would possibly break you. If you don’t know what kind of repercussions these powers are having on you or your body, you shouldn’t use them.”

“I guess. Um… If you wouldn’t mind, could I go home and think about this a bit more? I’ll come back to the aquarium sometime next week.”

“Okay.”

“Thank you for your time.” She teleports away

She wants to learn as much as she can (mostly about the universe and she thinks that it’s tragic that Earth will not know about most of the universe because of the speed of light.) she decides to explore the cosmos and bring back as much information as she can. She keeps a copy of herself on world in order to keep her normal life going and so she can fuse the two versions of herself so that the one that is exploring the cosmos doesn’t forget her humanity. One day, this interaction happens:

The she is Stone (see procreate image):

Reports of a female made of stone demanding to see the strongest being Earth had to offer. Parts of the Justice League answer since they weren’t busy. Brandishing an intricate sword, a woman made of Stone speaks, gesturing towards the members of the Justice League who have surrounded her. “Where is the strongest being that Earth has to offer? Present yourselves or regret doing so.” Superman and Wonderwoman present themselves. “You? Either of you are too weak. Diana of Themyscira and Kal-el of Krypton, bring me the strongest being. He cloaks himself in black and calls himself, ‘Batman’. You must know of him.” Surprise written on their faces, they radio in for Batman to come handle her. He arrives and she speaks, “It has been quite a while. Or has it? I’m not sure. Do you recognize me? I called myself Jelly the last time we met.”

“Jelly? You’ve undergone quite the transformation.”

“Indeed I have.”

“Why are you here? To deliver the knowledge you promised?”

“No, not yet. It is not ready. I am simply here to talk. And to show you something important. Come.” She then reaches out her hand and he takes it before she teleports them somewhere, leaving the rest of the present members of the Justice League curious and confused.  She explains that she’s been recycling worlds and been working on creating creatures to live in her amalgamation of a world with the alien inhabitants that she brought back from the brink of death. She also apologizes for the dramatic entrance. “It’s a habit from acting kind of regally in front of my subjects.” She then gives him a small keychain that is two parts, one part like her new form, Stone, the other like her sword and the sword is embedded in Stone’s chest, he pulls the sword from the chest of the figure if he ever needs her. She says that she’ll do anything he wants for a favor. Usually the favor is him, parts, or all of the batfamily coming to experience her world as esteemed guests. Their civilian forms are treated as representatives for their hero forms. Her human form is also treated as a representative for Stone. She does this because Stone is a mindset, or a different part of her personality and as a representative, she can be more comfortable and also keep the idealistic idea of Stone in the mind of her citizens. She can also be a part of her citizens as more of an equal and a ruler when she needs to. Occasionally, she will have Batman or Robin (Damian) fight some of her creations to test out how powerful her creations are. Idea for plants/animals that she makes: they are bright and colorful in the day, (pink, yellow, bright greens, orange, red, etc.) and turn dark at night (blue, purple, dark greens, bluer reds, etc.). Dragons and those tiny dinos that are like tiny t rexes with tiny heads and hunt in a pack. 

She gives Damian one of those dinos (it’s yellow and has red, orange, and pink spines.) to take care of and sometimes she comes and talks to him in the form of it. It is really one of her people. The representative of stone is to be called Yellow (after the dino). Her different forms are merely mindsets or characters she gets herself in. In the future, her and the bat family both take oaths where they are considered her people and she is to keep them alive. In the future she is more sadistic as yellow and Jelly is very innocent, even with her deeper voice. Stone is interested in fighting strong opponents and very removed. Yellow jokes a lot and is very sarcastic, she’s reckless and none of them care much for anyone who is not their people. In the future, yellow gets bored and makes Damian absolutely obedient to his mother. She orders him to kill alfred and he does so in front of the rest of the bat family. And the worst thing is that yellow wanted him to suffer, which means, she made him enjoy every second of it.

[itsadvocatesimranjeetsingh-blog]

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[logansanderslove]

Logan 3.0  (4/?)

CO-AUTHOR: @demented-dukey

Summary: Remus is an incorrigible flirt, and Logan can only bear the innuendo for so long until something has to give. Passions erupt, but there are more lasting repercussions than either could have predicted, including a significant transformation to Logan himself! How will these new changes affect the delicate balance of Thomas’s mental state? When a new dark side threatens the lives of several of the other sides, will Logan and Remus’s love be strong enough to save everyone, including Thomas?

Ships: INTRULOGICAL

Sanders Sides: Logan, Remus, Thomas, Roman, Virgil, Patton, Deceit

Fic type: Drama, Romantic, Action, Flirty

Trigger Warnings: No character deaths, but a lot of very close calls. Consensual knife play and bloodplay, and lots of bloody fighting and monster attacks. If you’re sensitive to unsympathetic characters, some parts flirt pretty close to that, but there’s also a lot of extenuating circumstances to explain the situation, and there’s a happy ending once you get through the angst and misunderstandings. Self-harm and references to such, and suicidal tendencies.

MASTERLIST

Chapter 4: Things Are Changing

Patton paced nervously in the common area, Roman's eyes watching him. "Pat, you wearing a path in the carpet isn’t going to help anything."

Patton spun around with worried eyes. "What's going to happen, Ro?! Logan is completely off, and I don’t know what to do, and I can’t think and I'm freaking out and the only way I'm taking my mind off of it is pacing and thinking about puppies so please just tell me WHAT DO WE DO?!" He cried frantically.

"You calm down."

Both Roman and Patton snapped their heads around, eyes widening when they saw Remus and a darker man standing next to him. Roman's eyes doubled in size as he stared at him. 

"L-Logic? Is that you?!" He exclaimed, and Logan chuckled.

"Yes. Although I'm not just 'Logic', anymore." He smirked. "I'm improved."

"You can say that again!" Remus grinned, helpless against the urge to show off Logan. "Sexy Pants is just chock-full of surprises!" Roman winced a little at the term of affection, and Remus counted it as a win.

"Not just Logic," Patton repeated hesitantly, "Does that mean... you're something else now too?"

Logan smirked, a gesture that neither Patton nor Roman was used to. "It does indeed, Patton. Earlier you had questioned whether or not I was becoming a Dark Side. Well, you were somewhat correct."

Roman's fingers twitched, and he forced himself not to call for his sword, despite the danger vibes he was getting from Logan. "Spit it out, Drama Turd." he snarked. "What's going on?"

"Well, perhaps if you asked a bit nicer I would be quite willing to share." Logan retorted with an unusual amount of venom, shocking the other two but only bringing a smile from his lover. 

Roman swallowed hard under Logan's stern gaze, then he nodded. "Logan, could you please explain what you mean?" He forced out, and Logan smiled.

"Of course." He adjusted his glasses, a certain grin on his face. "As you know, yesterday I seemed to be of a bit different nature. I was more volatile and ...I believe 'mischievous' could be the correct word." He sighed after a sexual mutter was given from Remus, then he adjusted his all-black tie. "That was due to the fact that I had begun to transition."

Patton's eyes went wide. "Transition?"

Logan nodded. "Indeed. I had never considered it, but I knew that the feeling that I had manifested had to have some purpose. That's when it finally occurred to me. I was a Neutral Side."

Patton was wringing his hands, "I... I guess that's okay? Logic... should be neutral? But Logan, you were in so much pain! Are you sure you're feeling better now?"

"Yes, Patton. In fact, I have never felt better in my life. Because I now know what two aspects I control." Logan replied.

Roman bit back a groan - this was like pulling teeth. With as pleasant a voice as he could muster, he forced out, "And what aspects are those, praytell?"

"Logic, ....and Anger. Fury."

Patton covered his mouth with one hand in disbelief and took a tiny step back from Logan in fear.

Roman laughed, but the sound had a note of hysteria in it. "Fury? How is Fury remotely neutral?"

Logan sighed. "I'm not quite sure you grasp the idea of what a Neutral Side is. I control one aspect of the Light Sides and one aspect of the Dark Sides. I now have more power to control both, but you needn't worry, Patton, I would never harm any of you." He then bit his lip, glancing at Roman. "Unless you were asking for it."

He then sighed, glancing at Remus, who put his arm around Logan's shoulder. "We sent Virgil and Deceit to check on Thomas. Apparently, Logan can't just become a Neutral on his own. Thomas has to be doing something that requires his aspect to change. However, now that he is a Neutral side, he's gonna stay that way."

Logan glanced around. "Virge and Dee should be back by now."

As if on cue, Virgil rose up, looking worried and fiddling with his hoodie cuffs. "Guys? We've got a problem." Virgil's gaze caught on Logan and he did a doubletake, "Oh, fuck."

Logan sighed. "Oh, dear, what is it? I'm well aware that it has to do with my transition, that goes without saying, but what's happening with Thomas?" He looked around. "And where's Deceit?"

"Dee's keeping an eye on Thomas. He's... it's bad." Virgil shifted uneasily. "Thomas was in a fight. He's sleeping now, but he's got a black eye, a split lip, and his right wrist is broken."

Logan's eyes went wide, followed by everyone else's. "WHAT IN THE HELL DID HE GET IN A FIGHT FOR?! WHO FOUGHT HIM?!" Logan's voice was rising, and Remus had to grab him and hold him gently to calm him down before his furious breathing led to something else.

The others stepped back from him, Roman staring with wide eyes. "Jeez, he really does represent Anger..." he muttered. Logan glared at him, then he took a deep breath and slumped back into Remus' arms, centering himself.

"This is going to take some getting used to..." he muttered, then he shook his head and fixed his tie. "Okay. Virgil, tell me what happened. I'm sure we can find some way to help him."

Virgil had shrunk away from Logan's outburst and Patton quickly hurried over to comfort him. "It'll be okay, kiddo." Patton murmured, hugging Virgil. "Can you tell us what happened?"

Virgil nodded and swallowed hard, clutching Patton's hand for strength. "He ... he was at a Pride event with some friends. He saw some asshole drop something into someone's drink, and the kid swallowed it before Thomas could cross the room and stop him. While Thomas's friends were helping the kid, the asshole slipped outside in the confusion. Thomas followed him and confronted him, and... that's when the fight happened. Thomas was... so angry." Virgil shuddered.

"By the time Dee and I got there, the fight was mostly over, and the police had been called. The asshole ran off, and Thomas's friends escorted both him and the kid to the hospital to get checked out."

Logan's eyes went wide. "What time did this happen? How long ago?"

Virgil shrugged, "Right around the time you and Princey were having your Mega Epic Showdown if I had to wager a guess. The passage of time in the mindscape doesn't always match up perfectly to time in the Real World, but it's a little too much of a coincidence if you ask me."

Logan sighed. "That's what I thought. Even though time doesn’t always match up, sometimes it does when big events are happening. It seems that we may have triggered something." Logan said, meeting Roman's eyes, but instead of the sneer he expected, Roman was met with an apologetic frown. "Now we have hurt Thomas."

He then sighed, taking a deep breath. "But this is a problem that really can only be fixed by me. Logic is the only way to realize your mistakes and determine not to do it in the future."

Patton bit his lip nervously. "But...what if when you're with Thomas...you turn back to Anger?" He asked cautiously, then Logan placed his hand on Patton's shoulder. 

"It is going to be alright, Patton. I will be careful with my self-control." He nodded to them all. "I'm going to join Deceit in watching over Thomas for a while. We shall be back later."

He turned towards Remus and walked over to him, kissing his cheek. "I love you."

Remus smiled, "Love you too. Go help Thomas - I'll keep your bed warm for you." he said with a saucy wink.

"I... I didn't..." Roman was saddened and horrified, "I never wanted to hurt Thomas. I'm..." He stood up, and slowly approached Logan. "I'm sorry, Logan. I was surprised and angry, and I overreacted. I should have never hurt you like that, and I'm so sorry." Roman began to cry, begging forgiveness from the neutral side.

Logan smirked at his boyfriend, then turned to the Prince. From the single look that he had, everyone expected him to send Roman flying. Never did they expect him to embrace in a hug.

"It's okay, Roman. I forgive you. Don't beat yourself up over this. We both played parts, and I was the one who started it all, so I'm going to be the one to finish it." He said, then he rubbed the back of Roman's head as the Prince continued to cry. "Shh...it's okay, Ro. It's okay..."

After a few minutes of comforting the Creative side, Logan bid everyone adieu and sank out. Remus met eyes with his brother, and an awkward silence followed.

Roman was the one to finally break it. "So...so you two truly love each other?" He questioned of Remus.

Remus grinned, slightly manically, but full of genuine happiness. "Truly, Madly, Deeply. You don't have to approve of it, bro-"

"No! No, I-" Roman fidgeted, "I don't disapprove. Not... not anymore."

Patton raised his eyebrow. "Is...is it true that Lo was the one to ask you to be his boyfriend?" He asked quietly.

Remus nodded fondly, "Yeah. I tried to turn him down, but... he's really good at talking people over to his side."

Roman chuckled, "Yeah, he is." The brothers shared a soft smile in appreciation of the brainiac.

The words felt heavy in his throat, but Roman forced them out. This was Important. "Love... is Love. I hate to admit it, but... you two... I can see it, and I think it could be good for you both."

Remus gasped, over-playing his astonishment. "Why, brother! You approve of my boyfriend? I never thought I'd see the day!"

Roman laughed, "Yeah, well... me either. Of course, if you hurt Logan, all bets are off."

"If I hurt Logan," Remus assured him, "You're welcome to collect the bloody chunks of my body after I've torn myself to shreds and put them through a meat grinder before feeding the remains to feral dogs, and then setting their shit on fire."

Patton winced, and Virgil pat him on the back. "Trigger warning, dude." Virgil chided, and Remus shrugged.

"And if Logan ever hurts you..." Roman said, "I'll make him wish he was never formed."

Remus blinked, shocked. "W-what?"

Roman's smile was lopsided, self-deprecating. "You're my brother. I'm allowed to give your boyfriend the Shovel Talk." he shrugged, "Or in my case, the Katana Talk."

"Pretty sure Logan is intimately familiar with your katana." Remus pointed out.

Roman winced, "I said I was sorry! Anyway, not the point. You're my brother, and you deserve to be treated right by your boyfriend. If Logan fucks up, no matter how powerful he is now, he's gonna be on my shit list."

"You love me, you really love me!" Remus teased Roman.

"Shut up." Roman waved him off but was still smiling.

Virgil tried to hide his smirk, but a small snicker brought everyone's attention to him. He shrugged. "What? I just never thought I'd see the day where you two would get along, and especially not when it's talking about a boyfriend."

Patton smiled. "I think it's cute, personally. I'm glad that Lo has someone to make him happy."

Remus opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, "I... I'll try." He didn't know how he'd gotten so lucky, and he still had trouble understanding what Logan saw in him, but he would do his damndest to make Logan happy for the rest of their lives.

"You're doing pretty well so far, kiddo," Patton said, smiling at Remus. "Keep up the good work."

Remus shivered, and he suddenly realized that he'd never been complimented so much by the Light Sides before. He'd never spent this much time among them without being insulted and shunned and ridiculed. They were talking to him, they were listening to him, they were COMPLIMENTING him... would wonders never cease?