#she has like 3 brain cells and somehow manages to look like she has sense half the time anyway

[cantagirldrawinpeace]

Certified cutie patootie (she is very violent 😌)

[fiapartridge]

quinn x oona | how they met pt. 1! 🚙🌃✨

author's note: this is like kinda how they met??? like when they first saw each other, but they haven't learned each other's names yet, you know???? anyways hope u enjoy their little universe! send in asks for this au!

Who has a party at 2:56 AM on a Tuesday in the middle of February? Stupid ass people, that’s who, and Oona was ready to blast a hole through the wall that connected her living room to the apartment beside it. Honest to God, the only thing that was stopping her from going full-on Hulk on that piece of thin fiber cement was, well, the landlord and her roommate, Grace Castellan (Gracie to everyone who knows her, and ‘that one talkative white girl’ to everyone who didn’t).

Oona met Gracie in her first year at NYU. They were in their Intro to Theatre Studies class when Gracie talked up the ear of anyone in a 10-mile radius of her, and the only person who didn’t mind and actually enjoyed Gracie’s endless tangent of how blackholes are somehow exactly like the Kardashians’ reality show, was Oona. They sat next to each other for the rest of the semester, and once they graduated college, they decided to move back to their home city of Vancouver, Canada where, coincidentally, they both were from, using this time to audition for roles and hopefully land themselves a part that will guarantee them a ticket to Hollywood, or at least a ticket back to New York (rent is hard to manage there when you’re living off of small commercial roles and hand modeling gigs).

As Oona sat on her living room couch, a snoring Gracie and her long pajama-covered (they have unicorns on them) legs were limp across Oona as she tried to push her tired limbs off and slip towards the door without making a peep. But, much to Oona’s sheer luck (she isn’t a very lucky girl), a peep was made and there Gracie was, sitting up in so much alarm you would think that an intruder just busted through the door and screamed at her to put her hands up.

“I DON’T HAVE ANYTHING! OONA HAS MONEY STORED IN HER UNDERWEAR DRAWER! PLEASE DON’T KILL US!” Gracie screamed, still half-asleep and disoriented.

Oona groaned, lightly slapping Gracie’s cheek. “No one’s here, you psycho. I’m just getting up to go somewhere.”

Gracie peeled her eyes open, brushing her messy hair with the tips of her pink-and-white-painted fingernails. “Where are you going at,” she took a moment to check the Apple watch on her wrist. “2:56 AM?”

Oona walked closer to the door, slipping on a pair of Uggs and tying her hair into a messy bun, pulling out strands to frame her face correctly. “Do you not hear that? They’re louder than your brother was at that time we went to the mall and he was screaming at you to buy him that ugly RC car.”

Gracie shivered. “I’ve gotten a lot of weird looks in my lifetime, but those 40 year old women in the toy aisle of Sears? I still get chills.”

“See? Now I’m going to go over there and make them wish they never even moved here.”

Gracie rolled her eyes. “No way. The last time you said something like that, you ended up being the one apologizing. You’re the biggest pushover I have ever met.”

Oona scoffed. “Am not! I just—”

“Want everyone to like you,” Gracie interrupted. She was right. Gracie was always right when it came to Oona, but Oona would never admit that. She was a people pleaser, but who was that hurting? If she said yes to everything and if she was nice to everyone, then no one was sad and no one got what they didn’t want. Well, except for Oona.

Sighing, she said, “I’m just gonna go talk to them. Maybe they’ll come to their senses.”

Gracie laughed, tilting her head back slightly. “Yeah, right. I saw them on the elevator last week; they’re hockey douchebags to the max.”

“They can’t be that bad.”

“They’re having a party at almost 3 AM, if you combined every player on that team, they would probably make up one brain cell, and I can smell the beer from here, but yeah, sure they’re great people.”

“Fine, fine,” Oona huffed. “But I’m still gonna talk to them. Maybe they’ll change,” she smiled, a too optimistic smile for a dire-looking situation. Because who ever heard of a hockey player changing his ways? No one, that’s who.

Opening the door, Oona walked the small five steps over to the neighboring apartment. She knocked once, twice, three times, even. Nothing. The blaring music must’ve drowned out her pounding knocks. Just as she was about to go in for a fourth, the door opened and her body quickly went with it. 

“Woah there,” a voice echoed through her ears, holding her body up as his hands softly gripped her arms. She stumbled back, landing on her two feet and managing to stay vertical despite the embarrassment rushing through her cheeks and the small little voice in her brain telling her to get the hell out of there immediately. 

The man standing in front of her was tall, taller than anyone she knew, and he had short blonde hair and the clearest green eyes she had ever seen. He had an accent that she wasn’t too familiar with. German maybe? Or possibly Swedish? 

“Um, do you live here?” she asked, tapping her nails against the metal frame of the door. And looking beyond the tall Swedish man, she could tell that it wasn’t much of a party, but a hangout. More tall men were lingering in the living room, beers in hand and potato chips spilled on every counter. On the center island in the kitchen lay an abandoned plate of celery and carrots, most likely a tribute to their strict hockey diets that apparently no one was following.

He shook his head.

“Okay,” she talked slowly. “Um, do you know who lives here?”

“Yep.”

Breathing deeply, Oona tapped her fingers a bit harsher against the doorframe, still maintaining a gentle smile on her (now) slightly red face. “Can you bring them here? I need to talk to…whoever it is.”

Nodding, he turned around, cupping his mouth with his large hands and yelling, “Huggy!” before waving him over to where they stood at the entryway.

Huggy? Oona chuckled at the nickname. Who nicknames a ferocious hockey player Huggy?

But as the shorter boy moved through, somehow, still energetic bodies and met the two at the door, Oona felt something crawl around her stomach and make the fading red of her cheeks come back in harsher hues. His hair was a chestnut color and it looked soft and smooth, like you could run your hands through it a million times and it still wouldn’t be enough. He wore a gray hoodie and black jeans, his hands in his pockets as he smiled politely at the blushing girl.

“Can I help you?”

Her mouth ran dry as she licked her lips. She tucked the thin strands of black hair behind her ear and proceeded (or tried to proceed). “It’s 3 AM and I’m trying to sleep,” Oona said, hoping he would take the hint and quiet down a bit.

He scoffed, smirking with his cute lips and his cute hair and his cute gray hoodie that looks so soft you just want to wrap your cold body in it. And it probably smells good, too. It probably smells like his scent in the mornings, woodsy yet fresh like white linen sheets and candles that would make you think he has a woman living with him, but nope. That’s just him. But Oona’s just guessing. Not to make things weird or anything. She’s totally not dreaming about what her handsome neighbor’s hoodie smells like because that would be weird—haha. Totally weird.

He leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over themselves, and while he wasn’t as tall as the man that initially opened the door, he made Oona feel just as small. His smile was infectious, but not in a big ‘bring it in, let’s hug way,’ but in a more sultry way. Like you can feel a rollercoaster rumbling in your stomach despite him not saying a single word. 

“Are you?” he asked.

She laughed at that because there was no way that he was serious. It didn’t even sound like a question, God it sounded like…like flirting? But that wasn’t even the bizarre thing, no the bizarre thing was that somehow made Oona 10 times angrier. Why was he flirting with her? Does he think that she’ll just fall into his trap and let it all slide? Does he think that she’s just a stupid girl that he can get to do anything he says? Because that’s not Oona Hashimoto. Not in the slightest. And if he wants to play that game, then fine. 

Let’s play that game.

She stepped closer, her hand landing on his bicep as he stuttered for a moment. Like he was on high alert all of a sudden. His eyes wandered down to her hand, and then he relaxed because she was falling right into the palm of his hand, so he thought. She raised her head, staring him right in his deep green eyes. She pouted a bit, changing her whole demeanor. Because they’re playing the same game here. It’s just a matter of who will crack first.

“Please?” she asked, gazing up at him with brown doe eyes. “I won’t say a word after tonight. Just do this one thing? Please?”

He sighed, straightening up and causing her hand to fall off his bicep. “As much as I’d love to do that,” he grinned. “I don’t want to.”

Her brows furrowed, her doe eyes turning into burning rage, and lips turning from a pout to a pissed off frown. “What do you mean you ‘don’t want to?’”

He shrugged. “Exactly that. Goodnight,” he smiled before placing his hand on the door and slowly shutting it before Oona held it open, scoffing.

“No, you don’t get to be an asshole and then just shut the door on me. All I’m asking is for you to just turn down the music!” 

“Yeah, well it sounds like the person being loud is you,” he pointed. Bending down to Oona’s level, he whispered, “You’re shouting.”

“You are insufferable, you know that?”

“Yeah, you said it a couple of times. Can I go now or do you want to keep going?”

Oona crossed her arms, fury burning through her veins as she watched him smile as if he did nothing wrong. As if he was enjoying this. “Go to hell.”

“See ya there, neighbor.”

[spider-man-199999]

Pacifier pt 3

pairing: Peter Parker x Fem!Reader;

word count: 5K

part1 part2

warnings: mentions of sex ; Peter is younger than the reader, but still 18. Reader is around 20. Peter is trying to pin reader even though he is younger.

summary: In this one you’re hired as Morgan’s babysitter (and low-key underpaid Stark!assistant). Looking after a little girl isn’t too hard, but looking after her “big bother” as well, definitely is.

an: Peter and reader are just Tony's kids at this point. I've never really written anything about people actually being in a relationship so apologies if it's kinda sucky.

"No, we're not making an official Avengers tik-tok account, forget it." You told Peter, who had been begging you for days now.

"But it's going to be soo good! People will see the silly, goofie side of everyone and that way we can build more trust!"

"Pepper, please back me up here!"

"Peter actually has a point." Pepper said.

All of you were sitting at the dinner table, it was the first family dinner since the Starks had come back from their vacation.

"Tony, please!" you looked at him, begging him to support you this time. "Do you seriously think anyone would want to participate in supid dance trends or prank wars?"

"I'm a great dancer!" Tony said, he was taking Peter's side to mess with you.

"I cannot believe this is actually about to happen. Imagine making Steve do a tik-tok dance. Or anyone for that matter. Imagine Tony doing the makarena in the iron suit!"

"It's going to be hilarious, exactly my point!" Peter whined, drinking some of the orange juice he had poured for himself.

"I'm not doing the makarena, I have a daughter!''

"Should have thought about it before backing up Spider-man on that one!"

"Should have thought about it before back up Spider-man on that one!" Tony mocked your tone "The world should see what these hips can do! We're definitely making a tik-tok account now!"

Your "relationship" with Peter was still in the closet, since the first month wasn’t over, you didn't really feel comfortable sharing it with anyone, especially Tony. Peter on the other hand was pretty much settled down. He spent every free minute he had at the tower just to be with you, which was really getting in the way of your studying. He was a lot of help with Morgan, most of the time you felt like both of them shared one brain cell. It made so much sense now why Tony loved Peter like his own son. And that being the case, your secret relationship with him was in the clear.  

You gave Morgan a tissue, helping her wipe away some of the food that was on her face. She giggled because the corner tickled her nose, turning to look at you. You smiled at her, petting her head as she continued eating with her spoon, spilling most of the contents all over the table. 

"Tony, do you even know what tik-tok is?" you asked.

"I'm not that told, of course I know!"

"It's that video app that Morgan watches on your phone." You explained anyway, sure he had no idea what the conversation really was about. 

"It's that? Then no, we're definitely not making a tik-tok account."

---

Somehow Peter managed to persuade all of you into this. But if you think about it, he persuaded you into dating him, he could practically get anything he wanted. And because of this absurd idea, you were now setting up a phone on a tripod, placing it in the middle of the living room. Peter was next to you in his spider suit and the other Avengers were talking on the couch while you two worked. 

"So you guys have to go rounds?" you asked, looking over at Peter. He had his mask off, holding it in one hand. 

"Yeah, and after we film, we have to put the names after every round with an X on an O, depending on who managed to hide in time."

"Sometimes I think you started this whole thing because you don't have any friends." 

"I have friends?"

You took a few steps back, seeing what was in the frame. 

"Yeah? Like who? And you're not allowed to say me, we're not friends."

"Well, there's Ned and MJ."

"I don't think this is going to work out."  You said, looking at the others. "You literally have gigantic, muscular men, trying to hide in a minimalistic living room. And then there's also the Hulk."

“Did you just thirst over muscular men right in front of me?” Peter laughed, placing his hand on your waist. Usually you would tense up when he did that, but since you were now dating, you didn't.  "Trust me, it will be fun!" 

"Mask on please, get everyone in position." 

He nodded, putting his mask on and telling everyone to gather in front of the camera and pose. You stood behind the phone, looking at the frame. Everyone was in it. They were gathering like they were about to take a picture, standing in cool superhero poses. 

"Okay guys, you look poster worthy. I'll count to 3 and all of you have 5 seconds to hide somewhere before the camera takes a picture!" you explained. Peter had ran through this with them before but you felt the need to explain again. "1, 2, 3..." 

And you pressed record. Pure chaos was unleashed after that. Peter shot a web and stuck to the ceiling, Thor jumped over the couch along with Cap, laying flat on it so they were not visible. Hulk just grabbed the couch with both of them on it, lifting it and putting it in front of him sideways, while the others just fell on the ground on top of each other. Natasha practically jumped on an armchair that got knocked over from her force and got out of the frame entirely. The 5 seconds were over and you were barely holding in your laughter at that point. You had expected this to go badly but not nearly as bad as it actually was. 

You did a few more rounds, each one more ridiculous than the previous. And after that you got to work, writing out the winners and losers to each round in your notes. Now all that was left was editing it and posting. 

—

You were sitting at your desk, biting your lip as you were concentrating on figuring out where to place all the names and scores on the screen so they wouldn’t block out any important things in the video. Or should you have them appear at the end? Your work was interrupted by Peter walking in your room, making your head turn. He had the mask in his hand, still wearing the suit. 

“Hi, pumpkin!” he said, which made you raise an eyebrow at him and squint your eyes in displeasure. 

“That sounded ridiculously cheesy and I really hate it.’’ 

“I thought introducing some kind of pet name into this relationship would be nice, I need to change your name in my phone.” 

“Think of another one.”

He walked over to you, a gentle kiss was immediately placed on the top of your head while his eyes wandered to your phone, looking as the video played with half of the scorings written in the middle of it. 

“Ooo, did I win?” he asked, his hand resting on your shoulder.

“Mmmm, you didn’t lose definitely, but you lost a point on the third round when you stuck yourself in fetal position to Hulk’s back and he started spinning in circles trying to get you off.” 

“That’s not fair! I hid well!”

“But the camera still saw you, I don’t make the rules.”

He kissed your cheek before laying down on your bed. You finished up the video and hit upload before following him. It was still new and uncomfortable for you to be affectionate with him in public, but your room offered a safe space to try. You wouldn’t shut him down when he tried making a move on you in front of the others like you used to do, but initiating intimacy yourself was really out of the picture. He put his phone away when he saw you get up, opening his arms. You lay on top of him as he wrapped his arms in a warm embrace. You relaxed your weight on him, head pressed against his chest. Cons to having a spider-man boyfriend was you were never worried you’d crush him.

“I need to say something and I don’t want it to turn into a fight.” he said, making you look at him.

You placed your hands on top of his chest, resting your head on them as you watched him. 

“What is it about?” you asked.

“Since the month of us trying to date is almost over…” 

“Pete… I know what you’re gonna say and the month isn’t over yet. Please don’t let it get over your head before it actually happens.”

“But we’re a week away from a month!”

“I know but a lot can happen in a week… You know exactly how much.” You told him, referring to the time you two had spent alone together almost a month ago. 

“Okay, okay, baby mice steps. I get it.”

“Precisely.”

You tried to relax after the conversation, laying your head on his chest while he stroked your back gently. For some reason it was just not working to calm you down. You turned to look at him again and he was already staring, a soft smile painted across his lips. A soft sigh escaped yours, your hands reaching out to wrap around his neck and pull yourself closer to him. Still feeling uneasy from what he said, you slid your body on one of his sides, hiding your face in his neck. He giggled softly because you tickled him in the process, squeezing you gently.

“I’m sorry.” you mumbled against his neck, your hand drawing soft circles on his chest. 

Peter hummed softly, raising your chin with his hand to place a soft kiss on your lips. 

“It’s okay, I know I’m impatient.” 

“No, I think you’re being reasonable. I’m the one who’s overreacting.”

He kissed you again, slowly and gently, his lips moving against yours while he still held your chin with his hand.

“You’re alright, babe. Baby steps.” 

You nodded, letting your head fall on his shoulder this time, placing soft kisses on his jawline.

“Baby steps.” You repeated in a whisper.

You enjoyed cuddling with him more than you had anticipated, neither of you expected your primary love language to be physical touch. But Peter didn’t mind that even one bit, he loved touching you for comfort, his hands were on your legs whenever you two went somewhere with the car, no matter who was driving. He would make sure to place his hand one the small of your back whenever you two would pass each other in a hallway. His knee would touch yours under the dinner table when he was over. It was subtle and it brought the both of you so much comfort and adrenaline. You were basically hiding in plain sight. 

You had no idea if Tony was onto the two of you yet or not. Peter was over way more than he used to be, he even sneaked in a few times during the night. The alarms wouldn’t go off because, well it was Peter after all. It wasn’t like you were trying to sneak in someone who wasn’t registered into the security systems. And Tony adored the kid, so he was extra happy about having him around more. Things were going pretty smoothly if anyone had to ask you.

—

You hated to admit, but Peter was right. This whole tik-tok thing was an absolute hit. It humanized all of the Avengers so much that people started trusting and liking them more than ever before. You were getting millions of likes and comments on all of the videos you uploaded, which were more or less different trends. It was annoying that you had to run the whole account, like you didn’t have enough work to do. 

Today you filmed the tortilla slap challenge with Bucky, Natasha and Sam. Peter desperately wanted to join it but everyone was against the idea of him publicly announcing his secret identity, especially for a tik-tok. So you made him mop up the floor after, since he wanted to be involved so badly. 

All of them went into a meeting straight after that, leaving you with 10 minutes to run and grab a coffee for everyone. The 10 minutes you had were definitely not enough to make it back with so many cups. And to top it all off, the Parker family was on a mission to make it extra difficult for you. Peter was spamming your messages begging you to listen to “Yellow hearts” by Ant Saunders because somehow it was “exactly describing the relationship you two had.” And you were walking down a street, trying to reply to a message, hands full of coffee cups, when you ran into Peter’s aunt - May.

“Oh, Y\N! Lovely seeing you!” she said with a bright cheerful smile, making you look up from your phone. You were trying to support the cups with your chin while you texted, because all of them couldn’t fit in the paper bag. 

“May! Hey!” you replied once you shook off the surprise, shoving the phone in your back pocket.

“How are you, sweetheart? I’ve been hearing about you lately, but not seeing enough.” she smiled, placing a hand on your arm as she spoke. 

“I’m alright, a little busy actually. Are you here to pick up Parker JR after the meeting?”

“Yes, and I thought I could drink some coffee while I’m waiting. Peter recommended the place.”

“He did, didn’t he?” you asked, trying to mask how frustrated and overwhelmed you were becoming. “I need to run, I’m already late.”

“It’s okay, we can catch up another time? Dinner over at Queens this week?” she asked, but you were already walking away from her. 

You turned your head to look at her in a little bit of a shock, not expecting a whole dinner invitation to her house. Your fears turned out to be true, Peter had told her about dating you.  

“I’m very busy, I’ll tell the spider whenever I can.” You smiled politely at her before walking away, in the most rapid pace you could manage without actually running.

--

“Hey, kid, these are for you.” you heard Tony say as he walked into the living room.

You were helping Morgan with a coloring book, or rather watching her color in it from time to time while you read through your biology textbook. Exams were coming up and you didn’t have a second to spare. Tony’s voice captured your attention, making you look up and see him hold a beautiful bouquet of yellow and white roses, decorated with little daisies.

“For me? Thank you Tony, but that’s so weird.”

“They’re not from me. They were left for you at the door.”

“The front door?”

“No, by the doggy door.”

You rolled your eyes at his comment, getting up to look at the flowers yourself. In the meantime Tony took the card out reading out loud. You tried stopping him by grabbing the card but he lifted his hand up, making you jump to try to get it but failing. 

“Thank you for coming to dinner last night, love, your secret boyfriend.” he read, looking at you in shock “You have a boyfriend?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Does Peter know about you having a boyfriend?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Yes, and he’s not sending you flowers at your door for having dinner with him. Who is he?”

“Tony, you’re not my dad.”

Your words made him snap out of his protective mode, giving you the flowers and the note. You took them in your arms reluctantly, reading the note to be sure he was actually right about what was written on it. Tony looked at you with an expression that you couldn’t really decode, it looked like shock, pain and worry at the same time. You were going to kill Peter, for real this time.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to sound like that.” you said, breaking the silence that had fallen upon the two of you.

He placed an arm on your shoulder, squeezing it lightly. 

“Nothing to apologize for here, I know I can never replace your parents, I’m not trying either.” Tony gave your shoulder a pat, turning around to look at Morgan, who had stopped coloring and was now listening to the two of you.

“Thank you… For worrying about me, I appreciate it. I know I don’t say it enough but I value your presence in my life, or rather my presence is yours.”

“Please don’t make this more awkward than it already is.”

“Usually I’m the one who says that.”

“Would you look at that, your boyfriend has made you cheesy.” 

You shook your head in disgust from his words, watching him as he walked over to Morgan and lifted her up in his arms, spinning around as he hugged her. It was your queue to leave before it got any weirder, so you gathered your books and left as fast as you could.

Shutting the door of your room behind you, phone on your ear as you had already dialed Peter’s number. He picked up on the fourth ring, right before you gave up on this call. 

“Hey!” His cheerful voice on the other side of the line.

“What’s with those flowers?” you asked, cutting right to the chase.

“Don’t you like them? May said it was what I was supposed to do after you came over for dinner and she said flowers would be a ni-”

“I love the flowers, but Tony found them before I did.”

“Oh.”

“Thank you for not being dumb enough to not sign your name on that card.” you sighed, placing the bouquet on your desk next to the messy piles of notebooks. “Now he thinks I have a boyfriend.”

“But you do have a boyfriend.” he laughed softly. You could hear his smile on the other side of the line.

“I know this label makes you very happy, I’m glad it does, but please be more careful next time.”

“Alright, bet, next time I want to bring you flowers I’ll stick them to the ceiling of your room with my webs so no one else can see them.”

“Now that’s a thought.” you laughed, looking at the ceiling just to make sure he hadn’t already done that.

In reality, you weren’t mad at him for sending you flowers. You loved them, it was a very nice gesture and it made you feel warm on the inside. Sure, it wasn’t the best way to receive them and it stressed you out, but at the end of the day, you had a very good boyfriend that wanted to make you happy.

— 

Peter walked in the apartment holding a red rose in his hand. His smile was spread across his face as the elevator door opened in front of him, leading him into the big living space. He came here straight from school, after his Math quiz. He didn’t bother going home first to leave his backpack, went straight to a flower shop to get you a rose and head to the Stark tower so he could invite you on a very special date. He expected you to be watching over Morgan alone and it caught him by surprise when he saw Tony sitting on the couch. You were standing next to him, reading over something which he had probably given you. Tony turned his head, noticing it was Peter with the side of his eye. 

“Hey, kid.” he said.

Peter froze in his spot, his heart pounding in his chest from the fear of how this was going to play out. He had to think of something really fast. He threw the rose in the air as Tony’s head moved to face you again for a second, shooting a web at it to stick it to the ceiling. 

“What’s with that rose?” Tony asked a second later, after he processed what he had seen, turning fully around to look at Peter.

“What rose?” Peter replied, looking around, his hands empty now. 

“I swear you were holding a rose just now.”

“No, I wasn’t. Maybe you saw my Math quiz with this big red A written on it.” The paper was folded in half and shoved in his back pocket because he was in such a rush to get here, he didn’t have time to put it in his bag. He took the paper out of his pocket, showing it to Tony. 

Their conversation made you look up at Peter. You knew he was lying. The tone of his voice sounded nervous and like he was going to crack under the pressure. 

“You need to work on your lying skills.” Tony said, turning his back to him and looking at you again. You looked at Peter, then at Tony and your gaze fell on the papers. 

“Everything seems fine.” You told Tony, handing him the red folder back. He had hired some new engineers for his labs, helping him and wanted you to review their work just in case. It wasn’t like you were majoring in engineering, your passion was biology and biochemistry, but you just knew math well enough to spot any mistake if there was any.

“Okay, thank you. You’re free now” He told you, reading through the folder again. 

Ten minutes later Tony was still sitting on the couch, reading through the folder. You and Peter silently decided to study on the kitchen table across from each other. You were already engrossed in the textbook you were reading, highlighting, writing things down in your notebook, sticking sticky notes in the book. You were trying your best to ignore Peter’s constant fidgeting in his seat, the annoyed flipping through pages with sighs escaping his lips. His hands moving on the table when he would get bored, making you flinch in your seat, worried he would try to touch you in front of Tony. You heard silent ripping of paper, trying to ignore it, but Peter threw it a small paper ball at you to get your attention. You looked over at him, annoyed by his overall behavior in the last 10 minutes. Both of you had finals knocking at your doors and he was doing everything in his power to distract you. He pointed at the ceiling as soon as your eyes met, making you look in the direction. And there it was, the rose Tony was talking about earlier, a single red rose, webbed onto the ceiling. You wanted to burst out laughing but held yourself back, looking at Peter again. He was writing something, passing it to you a few seconds later.

“Will you be my prom date?” it read, looking at him and shaking your head no. You had already told him a million times you were not going to do it. He pouted, putting his hands together and locking his fingers into a prayer, begging you to say yes. You shook your head again, giving him back the note. 

“What the hell are you two doing?” Tony asked, making the two of you jump in your seats. 

He had been looking at the two of you for the past 5 minutes, he saw the rose as well, saw Peter begging you and you declining. He was standing by the table. This whole time you felt like you were in detention with Peter, and now that Tony caught you, the feeling got deeper. Neither of you said anything, staring at Tony in shock. And since you wouldn’t speak, Tony took the paper and laughed. 

“I don’t think her boyfriend is gonna like that.”

“Her boyfriend?” Peter asked, looking at you.

“Yeah, she has a boyfriend.”

“I don’t think he’ll mind.” Peter continued. 

“I definitely think he will.” 

“No he won’t, he’ll be quite happy actually.”

“What is making you think that?”

“Because it’s me, I’m her boyfriend.”

You didn’t say a word the entire conversation. A few weird looks were shared between the three of you in complete silence. You felt like you wanted to die. Peter turned to stare at you, waiting for you to confirm it. Tony was staring at you too, unsure if this was real or another attempt of Peter’s to flirt with you. Then he laughed, Tony started laughing loudly and sincerely. He was laughing so hard you could see a tear running down his cheek. Peter whined, throwing his head back in frustration from his reaction. 

“It’s true! Tell him!”

You gulped, looking at the still-laughing Tony. 

“It is.” you almost whispered, hoping he wouldn’t hear you. 

“Wait.” Tony stopped, looking at the two of you with furrowed brows. “Really?”

“Yeah.” you said, nodding softly. 

—

The lights flashed softly as you walked in, blinding you for a second. You tried to walk in a straight line but the lights did not help you at all. You grabbed Peter’s arm for support, scared you would miss a threshold that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere and trip. Peter looked over at you in concern, thinking something had suddenly made you anxious. You looked at him as well, blinking rapidly, trying to adjust to the light changing all of a sudden. Your hand was holding his biceps, squeezing it softly. He placed his other hand on yours, patting softly. He stared at you until you nodded that you were okay now and you could continue walking. Of all the cringe things you were expecting to see tonight, a disco ball was definitely not on the list. 

“Penis Parker with an actual date to prom? This will go down in history as the biggest plot twist!” You heard a somewhat familiar voice from behind you, turning around only to be faced with Flash. 

“Oh, it’s that annoying guy.” You said, looking at Peter, who nodded in agreement. 

“Wait, I know you, you were at my party once.”

“Unfortunately, yes, I was.”

“Why are you with that loser, ditch him, you should be my date instead.” Flash said, reaching a level of annoyance you didn’t even know existed.

“Sorry, I don’t do charity work on evenings but you can try the homeless kitchen in Queens on Saturdays and Tuesdays, I’m usually there to help on those days.” you told him as Peter wrapped his arm around your waist. “Plus we’re kind of already matching.” you pointed at Peter. “Your costume wannabe will clash with my dress and that’s a big no from me.”

Peter was trying his best not to laugh as you were absolutely destroying Flash verbally. It brought back memories from when you used to do the same with his attempts to flirt.

“Jesus Christ, I don’t want to know what kind of sado-maso sex you two freaks are having.”

“Did you just call me a sadist? I didn’t know you could read people so well, Flash!” you asked, looking at Peter for back up.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Peter said, pulling you closer to him and walking the two of you away. “That was brutal, can’t let you ruin his ego on his prom night!”

“Someone had to do it!” you whined, your hands crossing in front of your chest.

“We’re here to have a good time! Come on! Let’s dance and not think about Flash.”

“Remind me, how exactly did you convince me to come to this? I hated my own prom and I’m definitely hating yours too.”

“You want me to remind you?”

You nodded, his hands resting on each side of your hips as he looked at you. His forehead pressed against yours, placing a soft kiss on your cheek. 

“Are you sure you want me to remind you here?” he whispered in your ear.

You nodded again, looking at him. Your arms still crossed on your chest. 

“In front of all these people?” He asked with a fake shocked expression on his face, pulling your body closer. You rolled your eyes at him, his arms wrapping around you, chests pressed together. 

Your heartbeat accelerated as you looked at him, faces inches away from each other. His hot breath glided across the skin on your face, making your eyes fall shut as his lips gently touched yours. His fingers dug into the soft skin on your back. You rested your hands on his chest as he kissed you, consciously trying not to ruin his suit by grabbing anything you shouldn’t. He wasn’t that careful tho, his other hands scrunching the fabric that was so perfectly wrapped around your waistline, in desperate attempts to feel your body closer to his.

“Did I remind you?” he asked, breath heavy as he broke the kiss seconds before.

“You basically just admit to seducing me into this.” you told him, your head resting on his shoulder as he rocked the two of you gently to the rhythm of the blues that was playing in the background. 

“You can never just fall on your back, can you?”

“Never!” 

The two of you laughed, him kissing your forehead as you continued swaying, wrapped in each other's embrace.

---

taglist (If you want to be added or removed, please DM me!)

@asthmaticcchoeee @ivyquill

[goodlucktai]

If you’re still taking prompts could I suggest maybe some Mikey and Splinter goodness? Preferably 2k12 (because we are all in need of more of them, right?) but whatever floats your goat :) I’ll read anything from you lol :3

unfortunately i still have rise brainrot so have this humble beginning of a human!splinter au instead <3

x

For all that his imprisonment felt like it aged him by decades, Yoshi really wasn’t gone for more than three years. He finds out when he drags himself into the blinding lights of the Manhattan rush hour and staggers drunkenly to a bodega to snatch up a newspaper. 

Three years. After all the things he’s seen and done, that is what he can’t believe. The date is far more impossible than Hidden Cities and yokai masquerading as beautiful roadies. Three years.

His talent manager, a short, round woman who never liked Big Mama for reasons Yoshi had previously shortsightedly misconstrued as jealousy and now considers a god-given gift of clairvoyance or at the very least insane intuition, is near-apoplectic with rage but somehow not angry enough to have deleted his number. Hers is the first call he gets when paparazzi pictures leak of “Lou Jitsu Spotted in Midtown! Thrilled Fans Speculate Secret New Project in Works!”—which is a fair assumption, given that he’s still dressed for the Battle Nexus and looks like he just rolled out of a warzone. 

“What secret project is it, exactly?” Hala demands in that very level tone that only ever precedes her losing her absolute shit in a big way. “Something your agency should know about, maybe? Something you should have explained before you dropped off the face of the planet for MULTIPLE YEARS?”

“Probably,” he says weakly. 

He’s more than a little bewildered. For so long, his only interactions with any living creatures were the pit fights he was thrown into. He doesn’t know how to handle the sense of normalcy in a phone call from a friend. It’s hostile, sure, but not in an immediately life-threatening way, and Yoshi has to stare really hard at the Caller ID so his face doesn’t crumple with overwhelmed tears when Hala says his name. 

It’s not entirely surprising that his townhouse is still here, exactly the way he left it before that ill-fated dinner date, given that all fees and payments are set up to come out of his accounts automatically—but it’s still a lot to process. That he could just walk out of one world and into another one. Step through a vaguely familiar door into a former life. 

For years he didn’t have anything but an empty cell. It shouldn’t be possible that he could be surrounded by wealth now. He doesn’t know what to do with the luxury furnishings. He’s almost certainly staining his sofa beyond repair just from sitting on it. 

He got home six hours ago. He’s been in a stupor since then, with a precious bundle of stolen cloak and baby turtles sleeping soundly in the crook of his arm. 

“—even listening to me? Lou, I swear to—”

“No, I am,” Yoshi lies. “Uh, look, can I call you back?”

“Oh, do you have something more important than your entire career to deal with?” Hala asks icily. 

The littlest of the four babies opens its eyes. They’re a perfect mirror of Yoshi’s own, warm brown and human. It’s hard to guess how old they are, but they’re definitely old enough to smile, and the little one proves it. 

It makes a quiet noise, something between a babble and a coo, and lifts one pudgy hand up toward Yoshi’s face. 

The call is on speaker and the noise must carry. Hala cuts herself off mid-word, surprised; then she exhales slowly, as if in understanding. Whatever it is she understands Yoshi must have missed entirely, because his whole brain is preoccupied by giving this tiny reaching creature whatever it wants. Lifting his arm and dipping his head, until the spotted turtle can paw around at his cheek and nose with its miraculous little fingers, clumsy and curious and delighted. 

Like it has some kind of good opinion of Yoshi already. Like somehow it’s happy to see him. 

It’s only been about three years since Yoshi was spirited away. That means Yoshi is not quite thirty years old. He feels ancient, and at the same time absurdly young. 

He never, ever imagined himself with children. It’s something he and Big Mama talked about as their relationship progressed. He couldn’t imagine bringing a child into the world, potentially saddling them with the Hamato mantle and all the pain and loss that came with it. He couldn’t imagine leaving them the way his mother disappeared from his life. If you’d asked him even a day ago whether or not he thought he could open his heart up like that again Yoshi is pretty sure his answer would have been a resounding no. 

But now there are these four fragile creatures, no longer animal, not fully human, who don’t have anywhere else to belong in the whole world. Four babies, so small that Yoshi’s heart leaps with panic at the idea of letting them go, with green-toned skin and three-fingered hands and eyes the same shape and color of his own. 

Their tiny faces ease Yoshi out of his shock—bring him sinking back into his body, and all its pain and hunger and exhaustion, all its proof of life. 

Yoshi forgets about the ongoing call in his opposite hand until the spotted turtle starts to squirm and almost dislodges its siblings and Yoshi moves to support them and finds a phone in the way. 

Hala is silent on the other end of the line. He remembers, belatedly, that he never answered her question. 

So he says, “Yes, I do.” 

[writing-funsies]

OP characters as besties p.2

p.1 | p.2 | p.3 | p.4 | p.5

characters: Zoro, Chopper, Nami

warnings: none

notes: all platonic hc's

Zoro

you train together

nap together

drink together

and antagonize that perverted cook together

the two of you are always competing to see who's stronger

Zoro wins every time

but you say he actually lost because you're way cooler

how are you cooler?

because you can walk in a straight line and not get lost

a short fight follows your teasing

you two share one brain cell

and somehow he ended up pawning it off to Nami because he owed her money

which means no matter how hard you try

your plans always lack common sense

you jump right into the most drastic option

without a second thought

though, there's hardly ever a first thought

(like Zoro's big plan when facing Mr. 3)

Zoro isn't a particularly friendly-looking person

so when you're walking around on a new island

either everyone approaches you

or you use him for Scary Dog Privileges™

you try to make him carry the things you buy

and sometimes he will

but most of the time he refuses to

if you trick him into carrying your stuff

he's gonna be real angry

which makes him look even scarier

and means you can walk around with no interruptions

he's got your back

and you've got his

7/10 

he pushes you to be better, to be stronger

but will 100% get lost and blame it on you

Chopper

if you want to learn about medicine

he will explain it to you in the easiest way to understand

he loves to sleep on your lap

and thinks you're so cool

fusses at you if you train too hard

or if you get seriously injured

doesn't like it if you pull too many pranks on him

(like jumping out of a closet wearing a scary mask)

but will forgive you if you shower him in compliments

if he sees something that he thinks you'll like

he'll get it for you if he can

you two have long talks about his past 

he tells you all about living on Drum Island

and Doctorine

and Doctor Hiriluk

when you play hide and seek

he always loses

but if you play tag

he always wins

shares his food with you

possibly the best at being a hype-man

he just compliments you in the sweetest ways without meaning to 

like an offhanded remark about how you smell the best

or that he couldn't have imagined a best friend as amazing as you

if you call him a raccoon

at first, he'll be confused

huh, what do you mean y/n? did you hit your head?

but if you continue to refer to him as one

he'll yell at you

I'm a reindeer! a reindeer, damn it!

10/10

reliable and sweet

but won't go with you through a haunted house

Nami

charges you a million berries before letting you take on the title as her best friend

it's a revered position

and she can't have just anyone claiming that spot

she won't charge you any interest on the payment though

(that's the perk of being her bestie)

okay but when you two go shopping together

she always manages to talk down the price

definitely the best person to spend money with

Nami enjoys a more luxurious lifestyle

so expect to be dining and shopping in high-priced areas

your poor wallet would be empty after an hour

Sanji makes you and Nami and Robin only the finest of treats

either the cook is absolutely devastated by how close you are with Nami

or he worships you just as much

Nami doesn't let anyone scam you or harm you

there's no pulling any fast ones over on her

which means you're also immune

she will get annoyed if you contribute to a mess that she has to clean up

but she can't stay mad at you

teaches you about navigation

it's her life's passion

so you pick up a lot of tips and tricks on how to accurately gauge the weather

and how to properly chart a topographical map of islands

you also learn how to take care of the tangerines from her home

she's fiesty

but she does care

so if you get into a spot of trouble

she'll be right there to help you out

8/10

loyal and smart

but will give you a bill at the end of the month for eating her tangerines

[blossom-hwa]

Prologue (CHAN) - |Breathe, and Live|

And so we begin the fluff :) Enjoy single dad chan!

Pairing: Chan x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, slice of life, single parent!au

Triggers: allusions to sex

Word Count: 1.7k

Chan is lost, so lost, and sometimes it feels like the walls are caving in. But he’ll make it, he knows. He has to, for the two little boys cradled in his arms who he loves more than anything he has in the world.

SKZ Masterlist | Breathe, and Live | Touching Stars (TBZ teacher!au)

She tells him at precisely five fourteen in the afternoon, voice dead but panicked, on a crowded bus full of people, words crackling over the phone.

“Chan, I’m pregnant.”

The walls are silent. His laptop, too, since he paused the track to pick up the call. He can’t speak, can’t breathe. It deafens him. It squeezes at his head, pounds against his temples, fills his ears with static buzzing.

His vision blurs. Something rises in his throat.

Chan thinks he might throw up.

How? his mind screams. He’s always been careful, always used a condom. She takes birth control, takes the pill every morning after. It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t fucking make sense.

But you can never be sure, the rational part of his brain unhelpfully supplies.

The droning voice of his old sex-ed teacher back in Australia fills his mind. “The only way to be sure is to practice abstinence.”

Back then, he’d snorted quietly in the back with his friends, elbowed them and smirked and didn’t bother paying attention to the rest of the lecture. What was the point, anyway? Chan may not be as cautious as his parents – the impulse decision to stay in Korea for university, even after his family moved back, is proof of that – but he’s tried to be careful with this. Cautious, respectful, caring.

That kind of thing would never happen to him.

Somewhere, somehow, he hears her saying his name. Between the noise in the background and the ringing in his ears, it’s muffled. Disjointed.

“Okay,” he manages to choke out. “Okay.”

What else can he say?

Her voice sounds hoarse now, even over the tinny phone speakers. She’s crying, or on the verge of it – Chan’s known her long enough recognize the catch in her words that signals the lump in her throat. “I – Chan, I don’t –” She gasps. “I don’t think I want to keep it.”

It takes a moment to understand. But the minute he does, there’s only horror. Sharp, clear, precise. It pierces his chest, breaking through the foggy cloud of his brain.

He wants to scream, yell at her, how could she think of that? How could she not want to keep the child that’s depending on her?

But his sister’s voice cuts through his swirling thoughts. “No uterus, no opinion.” Hannah’s dark eyes, quiet but challenging, flash across the restaurant table, voice cutting through the debate going on across from her. “You don’t own anyone’s body but your own.”

He’d agreed then. He still agrees now.

So he takes a deep breath and tries to understand. They’re young. Stupid. He’s in his last year of university, she’s on a gap year. They’re barely old enough to function in society on their own. It’s understandable. And more importantly, it’s her body. Her choice.

Another deep breath, a bit shakier this time. He settles his mind. “Come home first,” he says quietly, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. “Come home first. We’ll talk about it then, okay?”

There’s a sniff on the other end. “Okay,” she breathes. “Okay.”

The call ends. Chan sits still for a moment, staring at some random section of the wall, thinking but not really seeing. The paint is peeling. The lights are glaring. The university studio, the place he thinks of essentially as a second home, suddenly feels cloistering. Unwelcoming. It feels like some disgusting, warped metaphor for his life.

He buries his head in his hands and tries to breathe.

. . .

Chan can barely face her parents. It’s not that he doesn’t want to. He really wants to tell things upfront, give them his apologies and promise that he’ll do anything to help them out, but they just look at him with smoldering, narrowed eyes. There’s no endearment in her mother’s expression anymore, no quiet pride in her father’s, as though he was another son. There’s only hatred. Disgust. Disappointment.

With a thick tongue and embarrassment coloring his face, he swears up and down that they used protection. She doesn’t say anything, just looks down with a sort of hopeless expression on her face and occasionally nods or shakes her head in accordance with what he’s saying.

They blame him. That much is certain. Privately, Chan thinks that’s a little unfair, but given that the woman bears the brunt of the pregnancy much more than the man, he lets it go. It’s understandable. After all, he blames himself a lot, too.

His parents act a little better. They’ve known him for all twenty-one years of his life, known how he always tries to treat people with respect, with care. Chan can still hear the disappointment and worry in their hushed voices over the phone, but it’s okay. It’s better than hatred.

She doesn’t want the child, she makes that clear. Her parents don’t want it either. They want to adopt it out.

On the other hand, Chan, well… it’s fucking hard. He’s barely finished with university, barely gotten started with his life. And he’s in the damn music industry. Unless he makes it big, there won’t be a lot of opportunities to sort out his life.

But he wants the child. Even though it’s going to be difficult taking care of her through the pregnancy, then making a path with the baby in tow, he wants it. He doesn’t want to give this up.

So they settle. She’ll have the baby. Once it’s born, she’ll take care of some of the bills if she can. Otherwise, Chan is the guardian.

It isn’t so bad, not at first. There’s the morning sickness to contend with, but they live together. It isn’t too hard for Chan to take some time to take care of her. They make the doctor’s trips together, and seven weeks into the pregnancy, they find out they’re having twins.

(Well, Chan is having twins. Her face screws up just the slightest amount, not in disgust but not in something nice either. Chan elects to ignore it and focuses on his own happiness.)

He works like a madman, sending off tracks to companies, submitting others for homework. He performs when he can, picking up any possible extra paychecks. She works, too, so money isn’t an issue yet. Chan also thanks all the higher beings above that she’s on a gap year, so he’s the only one adding homework to the equation.

The storm starts brewing in the fifth or sixth month, maybe. They’re having two boys, and they like to remind her that they’re there. She doesn’t feel well a lot of the time and has the crankiness to prove it. Still, she helps when she doesn’t have cramps, though she does complain about the weight gain.

But the number of nights where they’re up at odd hours only increases. The boys like to kick. Their mother wants to scream. Chan doesn’t even think he has a brain at this point – any cells up in his head have just been pounded to mush.

On one bad night, when she’s almost crying of exhaustion and the babies won’t stop fucking moving, Chan brings out his laptop. His fingers fly over the keyboard, tweaking soft beats, changing notes, composing a short little melody.

It’s rough, nothing substantial, something completely opposite from the polished tracks he makes for class. No lyrics. There’s just a simple piano melody backed by some guitar chords and it’s probably not going to do anything to help but Chan’s this close to just ripping out his hair and screaming for the entire city of Seoul to hear. He has to try something.

He almost deletes the track by mistake and has a mini heart attack, but he saves it with shaking fingers and brings the laptop over to the bed. She’s lying there, hair a mess, eyes red, but there’s some relief in her gaze as he puts the device on the sheets next to her and hits play.

It works. It fucking works. The babies slowly stop kicking, and she eventually falls asleep.

For just a moment, Chan sits on the edge of the bed and takes in the calm, soaks in the silence broken only by the track playing softly in the background. He rubs his eyes once, twice, clears the fog that obscured his vision.

Maybe he can do this. Maybe he can raise these two kids, even if he’s the only parent they have. Maybe there’s the tiniest fucking chance in the world that he can really be a good father, someone for his children to look up to and love. Maybe there’s a chance that he can really have this family.

Four months later, she gives birth to two healthy baby boys. Jisung is born first at 11:58 p.m. on September 14, while Yongbok comes next at 12:11 a.m. on September 15.

Chan holds them close as soon as he’s able, in awe of their tiny faces, their tiny limbs and tiny eyes.

How did he manage to create such life?

“Give them English names,” she says tiredly, her voice barely a whisper. She looks at them too, a bit sadly, with some care, but distantly. “They’re yours.”

A tinge of bitterness spikes in his chest, but it dissolves as he looks back into the faces of his two boys. She’s right. They are his. So he decides on Peter for the baby beginning to wake on his left arm, and Felix for the boy still sleeping soundly on his right.

She’s up and out of the hospital in a matter of days. A week later, she moves back into her parents’ home, leaving Chan standing in the doorway of their apartment, two babies in his arms.

“We’ll make it together,” he whispers, watching her car disappear down the street. “Together.”

Jisung makes a little gurgling sound. Felix scrunches his nose.

The tiniest of smiles slides across Chan’s face. Yes. They’ll make it together.

He takes a breath, then heads back inside.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for Chan, he’s going to need it :/)

[riversofmars]

Hi all! So sorry this update took a while, I got side-tracked with the RiverDoctorPromptWeek which was a lot of fun :D But now that that's over, back to business! Hope you like this next chapter! <3

Chapter 13: Into the Lion’s Den

Torchwood Two Hub, 2021

“I did not expect that to be down here,“ Jenny observed, sounding thoroughly impressed as they followed the Doctor into the Torchwood Two hub.

“Looks can be deceiving,“ Vastra mused but she was surprised as well. Humanity really had improved on their defences since the time they lived in.

“Thank you for coming, Doctor,“ Kate greeted them, her expression one of relief. She felt better already for having them here. She looked the Doctor up and down, her new body would take a bit of getting used to but her identity was still unmistakable.

“That’s… the Doctor?“ Gwen raised her eyebrows, mumbling to Martha who was just as surprised.

“I’m sorry to be pulling you away from whatever you’ve got going on…“ Kate hadn’t expected the Doctor to arrive with as big an entourage as she had. She eyed the Doctor’s numerous companions with interest and, in the Master’s case, concern.

“I actually think both our problems might be connected.“ The Doctor didn’t stop to chat, she carried on along the corridor to where she presumed the main working area was.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a cell, would you?“ Vastra asked, giving Kovarian a little shove to walk along.

“Who is she?“ Kate asked with a frown.

“Long story but locking her up would be most helpful,“ the Doctor retorted.

“I’ll see to that,“ Gwen volunteered. They were set up for all eventualities in the hub.

“These are my friends Vastra, Jenny and Strax.“ The Doctor made their introductions as they reached the main area.

“And this…“ Kate had read the files on what had happened with Daniel Barton. It couldn’t possibly be…

“Oh don’t mind me…“ The Master looked around the room, hands in his pockets managing to somehow look bored, and yet scan his surroundings with interest. It was disconcerting.

“Doctor is this a good idea?“ Kate reached for the Doctor’s arm and stopped her in her tracks.

“I told you, I was busy too, there is a lot going on…“ The Doctor replied, watching, as the two Osgoods regarded the Master with surprise and distrust. The last time they had encountered the Master hadn’t ended well. She chose to disregard it for the moment, there were far greater concerns. “You said there were disappearances and potentially experiments going on? Any idea where I can find whoever is behind this?“

“We lost contact with Ryan, Graham and Jack when they were following a lead to an address that seemed to be connected to this project.“ One of the Osgoods spoke up, trying her best to ignore the Master who seemed to be intent on freaking them out as much as possible. He maintained a predatory smirk and mumbled threats. The Doctor hated his sense of humour.

“Daniel Barton is providing funds, that’s about all we know. The address was planted as a trap, we should have realised that,“ Kate continued ruefully.

“We had but they wanted to investigate regardless,“ Martha interjected. It wasn’t that they hadn’t realised that it was a trap, they had just decided to take the risk and it hadn’t paid off.

“Daniel Barton, eh?“ The Doctor regarded the Master with a frown.

“I don’t know what you’re looking at me for,“ the Master snapped, taking her meaning.

“Well, it’s quite the coincidence, isn’t it,“ the Doctor shot back sarcastically.

“Well, who knows maybe it was the Thirteen all along that’s been playing you and been working with the Kassavin.“ The Master rolled his eyes at her.

“Very funny.“

“Just saying, maybe I have been a good boy all along,“ he carried on mockingly.

“Shut up,“ the Doctor groaned, annoyed. She felt herself being pulled back and forth between wanting to trust him and remembering that experience had taught her not. The Master had been a genuine help at Demon’s Run - in his own destructive way, but a help nonetheless. But for whatever reason, the coincidences just kept happening, stacking the deck against him. It was beginning to look purposeful.

“So what is he doing here?“ Martha asked with distaste, recalling her own unpleasant experiences with the renegade Time Lord.

“I found him,“ the Doctor answered vaguely.

“Is he connected to this somehow?“ Kate asked, wondering if it might not be advisable to put him in a cell as well.

“Don’t know yet,“ the Doctor replied thoughtfully and the Master groaned, exasperated.

“Doctor, for the last time, I was sitting on Gallifrey while all this happened…“

“Then why does he have your face?!“ She snapped and he just stared her down, holding her intense, questioning gaze.

“I’m not following…“ Martha shook her head to herself.

“Nothing for your weak little ape brains to worry about!“ The Master exclaimed with surprising rage.

“Get it together,“ the Doctor snarled, her voice threatening as she stepped up to him.

“Stop goading me. I don’t know anything about it.“ The Master didn’t move back, if anything, he stepped even close, his eyes twinkling with madness, his darker instincts seemed to be struggling for control and he was just about holding them at bay.

“Perhaps if you could tell us what you have been doing… you said you thought there was a connection?“ Kate interjected, hoping to calm the situation.

“We have to find where their hideout is.“ The Doctor turned away from the Master, abruptly changing her priorities. She made her way over to the Osgoods at their workstations. “What sort of scanning equipment have you got here?“

“State of the art and then some but what are you looking for?“ One of them asked, relieved to be back in an area they felt comfortable with.

“Time Lord life signs. Scan for people with two hearts. If we connect the hub to my TARDIS, we should be able to do it,“ the Doctor explained, crossing her arms in front of her chest as she considered the logistics.

“You believe other Time Lords are behind this?“ Kate asked, surprised.

“If things are connected then yes, for sure. One particular Time Lord, that is.“ The Doctor nodded. “Chances are the Thirteen will be wherever they’re keeping Ryan, Graham and Jack. And my son.“

“Your son?“ Martha was the first to echo in disbelief while the other UNIT members just stared at the Doctor in shock.

“He was kidnapped, we have been chasing after his kidnappers ever since,“ Vastra interjected sensing that the Doctor’s mind was already on other, more practical matters as she leaned over the computer screens.

“Doctor I’m so sorry, I had no idea…“ Kate started saying but the Doctor wasn’t paying attention.

“He’s bound to have a Time Lord life sign too… between River and me…“ She explained to the Osgoods and took one of their keyboards off them to start typing.

“Right, okay, let’s get to work,“ Martha interrupted the stunned silence, calling them all to action.

——

Unknown location

“Tempting offer, mate, but I don’t think you can just turn people immortal,“ Ryan replied, looking around the room.

“Talking of immortal people, where is Jack?“ Graham asked, noticing his absence.

“Oh, he will be quite useful. He may not have the kind of immortality we are looking for but he might be just what we need to differentiate the genes,“ the blonde man answered graciously.

“Is that what your experiments are about? Making people immortal? You’re not doing a very good job, are you, if you’re killing them,“ Ryan snapped, pulling against restraints that had been fixed to their wrists. They had to find a way of getting out of here and get help, else they would be next in a long line of dead bodies.

“Every attempt takes us closer and we’re confident, we’re almost there now. You could be our first successes,“ the man carried on with charismatic confidence. He seemed awfully convinced of what he was promising.

“If you’re so sure about that, why don’t you try it out on yourself?“ Graham shot back, trying to get out of his restraints as well but to no avail.

“No need, I already have that ability, it’s your species I’m concerned with,“ the man answered and Ryan and Graham exchanged confused glances.

“What?“

Before they could ask any more questions, the door opened at the far side of the room.

“Padrac! There you are!“ A familiar voice barked.

“What…“ Ryan and Graham couldn’t believe their eyes as they watched the Master strolling into the room.

“Impossible.“ Graham shook his head. “She said you’d died on Gallifrey!“

“Did she now?“ The Master barely regarded them with a glance but it seemed to have picked the other man’s interest, who appeared to be called Padrac.

“You know of Gallifrey?“ He raised his eyebrows, surprised. He clearly hadn’t realised who they were.

“’Course we bloody do!“ Ryan snapped but focused his attention back on the Master: “We stopped you once and we will do it again. Just you wait, the Doctor will be on her way, once she realises this has been you all along.“

“The Doctor, ey?“ Padrac smiled, intrigued.

“I very much doubt that, you see, she’s pretty busy right now,“ the Master retorted. “You are the last thing she’s concerned with.“ Then he grabbed the other man by the arm. “Padrac, we need to talk.“

——

Luna University, 52nd Century

“Wow,“ Yaz breathed, looking out of the window as they made their descent to the moon’s surface. The university campus was quite a sight from above. Large domes were keeping the emptiness of space at bay and provided pleasant living conditions for the people below. They docked to what appeared to be a space port, for lack of a better word. It was a tall structure that stuck out between the domes and provided passage into the area below.

“What time period are you from?“ River asked, watching the fascination play on her young face.

“2020,“ Yaz answered absentmindedly as she moved away from the window.

“Ah, a little way off then, Luna University is the hub of academia in my time.“ River gave her a kind smile as she picked up Dorium who scolded her for tipping his box a bit too much. River chose to ignore his protest as they left the shuttle.

“What is your time?“ Yaz asked as they found their way to an elevator that would take them down to the surface.

“That’s a question and a half…“ River chuckled. “My parents were from your time, 2010 or something there about… and I lived there for a while… until the Doctor whisked me away and stranded me here, 52nd century… I guess I consider it my time, that’s where I spent most of my linear life… and it’s where I died. A time traveller doesn’t really have a home but Luna University is as close as it gets for me,“ she explained as they rode the elevator to the surface.

“It’s where you live when you don’t jump through time?“ Yaz understood what she meant. The elevator opened and they stepped out into the foyer of a large building of massive stone and impressive architecture. It reminded Yaz of a class trip they had taken to Oxford once where they had passed by the university. This appeared to be the Oxbridge of the future and it was very impressive.

“I teach here, too,“ River revealed with a smile. “This way.“

“Archeology, wasn’t it?“ Yaz asked as she looked around the entrance area, signs and arrows on the floor indicating which way each department was situated. “Isn’t that cheating when you can visit any time period?“ She realised she was falling behind a little bit, getting distracted by the sheer impressiveness of it all. She quickly caught up to River again.

“I certainly am the most hands-on archeologist out there,“ River chuckled. “Admittedly, not everyone is a big fan of that… but I don’t usually mention the time travel bit. Here we go…“ She grimaced a little, then put on her best smile as a middle aged man hurried to meet them. Quickly, she closed the door on Dorium’s box so as not to draw attention. A muffled protest came from the box but River gave him a little shake to be quiet.

“Ehh… Professor Song?“ The man greeted her, stammering, utterly surprised to see her by the looks of it. He was rather short and unimpressive looking, his suit was ill-fitting and there was a stain on his tie.

“If I have missed any classes, I’m very sorry, my last expedition ran over,“ River explained.

“Ran over? We received word from the Lux Cooperation that you died during the expedition,“ the man replied, utterly stunned upon seeing her. It was understandable given the circumstances.

“As always, accounts of my death have been vastly exaggerated.“ River gave a brilliant smile and a crystal clear laugh, hoping to put the matter to bed, just like that. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get to my quarters…“ She didn’t want to waste time on idle chit chat.

“Well…“ The man went slightly pale around the nose and uncomfortably tugged at his collar to loosen it a little.

“Where are my things?“ River frowned.

“Storage. We tried to reach out for your family but when thirteen different people turned up claiming to be your spouses we decided it best to keep your affects sealed for the time being…“ He answered awkwardly.

“What can I say, I’ve had a good life, didn’t expect them all to come back and haunt me after my alleged death,“ River sighed, though oddly touched that the Doctor would go to such lengths.

“Quite.“ The man cleared his throat. “I’m just gonna need some identification, bio-scan or… just to prove you are who you say you are, you understand… doesn’t happen every day someone returns from the dead…“

“Here, hold Dorium.“ River handed Yaz the box. Dorium complained loudly and the university clerk jumped away from them in shock at the talking box. “Lead the way,“ River sighed at him exasperatedly. “There better not be anything missing!“

——

Torchwood Two Hub, 2021

“Here we go, that should do it.“ The Doctor had finished linking the Torchwood computers to the TARDIS and transferred Time Lord biodata prints across for reference, now it was just a matter of time.

“Scanning now…“ One of the Osgoods announced.

“Two here, that’s the Master and me…“ The Doctor smiled enthusiastically when the first results came in. It was working.

“I still can’t believe you brought him here,“ Martha huffed.

“As it happens, I have been very helpful through this process,“ the Master shot back.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,“ Mickey backed up his wife.

“It might be easier if you start scanning where you lost track of your friends?“ The Master ignored their quips. “Idiots.“

“Doctor, does he really have to be here?“ Kate asked softly, stepping closer to the Doctor. “No-one seems comfortable with having him around.“

“Well, I don’t like being here, and I don’t like playing nice, I would quite happily murder each and every one of you but we can’t all have what we want, can we?“ the Master bellowed, losing his temper at last.

“Master!“ The Doctor snapped, her eyes shooting up to him. They had been toeing a fine line and it was becoming increasingly hard to justify his presence to the others.

“Sorry. Sometimes my emotions run away with me,“ the Master took a deep breath and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Doctor!“ The Osgoods chanted in unison and the Doctor returned her attention to the computer screens.

“There we are!“ She exclaimed excitedly. Finally they were getting somewhere! “But… that’s not possible…“ She frowned, leaning in closer, doubting the findings and her ability to interpret them in equal measures.

“What is it?“ Vastra asked, concerned.

“There are three Time Lord life signs there…“ The Doctor revealed after a moment’s consideration. “Even if the Thirteen really came here and that is where they’re keeping my son, there should only be two…“

“They must have succeeded,“ the Master announced. “With their experiments.“ He laughed and shook his head: “Making more Time Lords, just after I thought I’d wiped them all out… that’s what you think they’re doing, right?“ He looked to the Doctor.

“We have to go now,“ she said, straightening herself up. They had no time to lose. They had no idea what exactly was going on in that place but it was entirely possible that the Master was right.

“I hope you’re not expecting to go alone,“ Kate spoke up and the Doctor looked around, finding everyone getting to their feet, determined faces looking back at her.

“No, I’m not. I’m quite happy to bring down the full force of Torchwood and Unit down on them… whatever it takes to get my son back and stop them,“ the Doctor smiled with vengeful fury behind her calm facade.

——

Luna University 52nd Century

“I can take it from here, thanks.“ River took the key card from the university clerk that had insisted on walking them to the storage area personally. He also insisted on asking the most impertinent questions about what had actually happened to her during the expedition and why she was only returning now. By the time they reached the storage locker, River had had enough.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to…“ The clerk started but River interrupted curtly:

“Quite.“ He handed over the key card and when River made no attempt to open the room in his presence, he finally got the message and departed.

“How long have you been dead for?“ Yaz asked as the archeologist unlocked the door at last.

“I’m not quite sure… but it is getting dusty in here, isn’t it,“ River commented as they stepped inside the room and flicked the lights on. They were garish and bright, almost clinical and all of River’s personal effects, her furniture, her books, her life - for all intents and purposes - looked incredibly lifeless, as if they were entering a morgue.

“What exactly are we looking for?“ Dorium asked, as River opened up his box and set him down on a sideboard.

“Well for a start, this,“ River replied when she opened the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a blaster gun. It appeared out of charge as she checked it over but that was easily remedied.

“Is the Doctor happy about you carrying a gun?“ Yaz raised her eyebrows, remembering many passionate speeches about how terrible guns were.

“Never but they’ve given up arguing,“ River answered with a smirk and attached the gun to her belt.

“Is that ‘cause they always lose the argument?“ Yaz chuckled. Her eyes fell on a box on the desk, full of picture frames that had probably once decorated said desk in the professor’s office. She picked up a picture of River and a tall, white-haired man. They were standing on a balcony, a beautiful sunset stretching across the sky behind them and two large towers of stone in the distance. Yaz turned the picture over, there was a note on the back that read “The Singing Towers, Darillium. “She said she used to be a white haired scotsman…“ Yaz mused as she turned the picture back around and smiled. It was a beautiful picture for sure but what was even more remarkable was the expression on the Doctor’s face. So full of joy and adoration. While River was looking at the camera and smiling, he was looking at her, as if the rest of the universe ceased to exist.

“Yaz?“ River drew her attention.

“Yeah?“ Yaz looked up, blushing a little, quickly she put the picture frame back where she found it, embarrassed. She probably should have asked before looking at her personal effects.

“Can I trust you?“ River asked, searching her expression for a truthful answer.

“Of course, why do you even have to ask that?“ Yaz was genuinely surprised.

“I don’t know you. Vastra, Jenny, Strax, Dorium even… I have history with them, you’re… new,“ River explained and it was obvious that she wasn’t trying to be unkind or distrusting, she simply had to ask before they got any further. “And for what we’re about to do, I need to know I can trust you, completely.“

“Of course. The Doctor is one of my best friends and to think what you’ve been through, both of you… whatever you need, River. I mean it.“ Yaz nodded, her assurances genuine and determined. After everything that had happened to the Doctor, Yaz wanted nothing more than to make sure she got her family back and found some happiness at last. It was long overdue.

“Good. I thought so.“ River smiled and waved her along.

“What exactly are we going to do?“ Yaz asked and picked up Dorium’s box as they carried on further into the room.

“We’re gonna be the cavalry,“ River revealed, she seemed to know exactly what she was looking for.

“And how do you intend to do that?“ Yaz frowned, stopping as River did too, in front of a large cupboard.

“Here we go!“ River announced, full of enthusiasm.

“An old cabinet?“ Yaz asked, confused. It was pretty, solid oak and classical craftsmanship but she couldn’t see how it would help them in their quest.

“I would have thought by now you would check every cupboard for extra dimensions,“ River chuckled as she opened the door.

“It’s a TARDIS?“ Yaz exclaimed as it opened up into a vast room in its own right, fully furnished with computer screens and a control console.

“Let’s go and see what that wife of mine is up to. I imagine there might be trouble as she hasn’t been around to pick us up yet.“ River grinned.

——

The TARDIS

“Are you sure it’s such a good idea to just fly in there?“ Kate attempted to be the voice of reason as they piled into the TARDIS.

“I’m done messing around,“ the Doctor retorted as she started working the controls.

“Just like back in the old days…“ Martha hummed looking around the control room. The Osgoods had agreed to stay behind and provide intel as needed. Everyone else was crowded into the control room.

“Everybody ready?“ The Doctor cut through the chatter. She was tense, it felt like they were finally getting somewhere and she was eager to get going.

“Ready when you are,“ Kate confirmed and there were nods all round. Without further ado, the Doctor launched the TARDIS. Their journey only lasted a few seconds as suddenly, they were knocked forwards, almost as if they had crashed into something. The TARDIS was shaking, instead of grinding to a halt as they had expected, it felt more like they were spiralling.

“Not as easy as all that, is it?“ The Master called over the racket with amusement.

“They’re using some kind of force field, I bounced right off it,“ the Doctor explained, ignoring the Master’s quip.

“If these are Time Lords we’re dealing with, I’m not surprised they prepared for that eventuality,“ Vastra pointed out, just as the Doctor managed to stabilise them.

“Let me try,“ the Master stepped up to the console, pushing her away.

“Don’t be stupid,“ she snapped, giving him a shove in turn but he ignored her, focusing on the controls.

“I’m not being stupid, in fact, I’m being extremely clever, now move,“ he snarled and after a moment’s consideration, the Doctor gave him room.

“Doctor, is this a good idea,“ Vastra mumbled to the Doctor who was watching him work. Before she could reply, the TARDIS ground to a halt.

“We’re in,“ the Doctor realised, surprised. She started laughing with relief. “How did you do that?“ She had watched closely but she couldn’t quite explain what he had done but she didn’t care, he had succeeded. She reached out to touch the controls, scan their surroundings when suddenly, the power started draining. The TARDIS wheezed and whined, almost as if she was in pain. The yellow crystal pillars started dimming, the lights were going out.

“Doctor, what’s happening?“ Kate asked, trying to remain calm as concerned mumbled erupted amongst the companions.

“I… don’t know!“ The Doctor’s fingers flew over the controls, trying to work out what was going on, trying to hold on to her oldest friend but the screens flickered off, the buttons stopped responding and the humming died down. “She’s shutting down!“ She exclaimed, in near panic. They had just landed in enemy territory and the TARDIS stopped working. Why was this happening?

“Oops… we’ll isn’t that unfortunate…“ The Master chuckled and utter silence fell around them, all eyes on him. Before anyone could say as much as “Told you so“, the silence was interrupted by a loud transmission:

“How nice of you to join us, Doctor, raise your hands everyone as you exit the vehicle in an orderly fashion.“

“Padrac?“ The Doctor mumbled, recognising the voice instantly, she was stunned. How was he here? What did he have to do with this? Maybe the Thirteen wasn’t working alone after all… Working with Padrac and probably even working with the person that had led them into this trap. The Doctor looked to the Master who grinned. Despite her better judgement, despite the many lessons she should have learned over millennia… she couldn’t believe she had fallen for it again. He started laughing now, clapping his hands together, enjoying his moment of triumph as silence fell in the lifeless TARDIS.

[internalsealpanic]

Radio Silence

Summary: You take Tim with you to a family reunion hoping to monopolize his time. You may have forgotten to tell him a few things. For example, the haunted radio.

masterlist

a/n: I’m sorry for the wait. I forgot that I am no longer used to describing atmosphere. This isn’t my best work but I hope you like it. This was based on my family’s tradition of sitting in the dark on Halloween listening to scary stories on the radio. This is mainly Tim Drake x Filipino!Reader because I realley wanted to try my hand at a bilingual character. You will see misspelling of words in the dialogue. That’s intentional on my part. There will be translations.

“Yes, Nay, he’s the one in the picture,”

“No! It’s the guy with-” You blow out an exasperated breath. You hear Tim snicker behind you and you dedicate half your brain cells to coming up with the best way to kick his ass.  “Yung mukhang Koreano. Yeah. Yeah. Dat one.”

“Yes, he looks more like a white boy. Mistiso.” You explain curtly.

“Yes, he’s smart. I hab standards,” Tim raises a disbelieving brow at you. You stick your tongue out at him but nearly bite it off when your grandmother speaks again.

“What do you mean doubtful?!” Tim looks absolutely delighted. A cheshire smile curling on his lips as he leans back into your couch. You glare at him then at your phone then at the ceiling then past that to glare at whatever god was up there.

“THAT WAS ONE TIME! Justine was an-” You mutter trying to remember the word.  “- an anomaly and you know it!”

“…..”

“Ok der were 2 anomalies!”

“3”

“Ok maybe Tim is the anomaly, but seriously, Nay, he’s fine,” You snarl, the jaggedness of your Gotham accent rearing its head. You wince but do not apologize. This will bite you in the ass later but you didn’t say it. You don’t like the taste of the word.

“No. I mean if you don’t want us to embarrass you at the church social then- Yes, I have been going to church,” You can see Tim rolling his eyes and mouthing liar with a twitch of his lip in the corner of your vision. “No, he’s not the showy type. Nay, I gotta go. The food’s burning,”

“Yes, Nay, I lab you bery mach,” You sigh into the phone letting your grandmother’s lather your tongue cutting into the briskness of your consonants. It held the same euphoria as taking off your shoes after a particularly long day.

“Unless you’re Dick, you can’t burn cereal,” Tim cut in carting you away from your reverie.

“Watch me, Drake,” You huff throwing a pillow at Tim almost making him drop his cereal bowl.

“So, can Gotham survive without Red Robin for a weekend?”

“Shouldn’t you have asked me this before telling your grandma that you’re taking me?”

“I’m just double-checking,”

“How considerate,”

“To be fair, your schedule is already volatile as is,"  You huff snuggling up to him on the couch. It was too cold in Tim’s apartment. You think a rich kid like him could afford to turn up the heat. Though, you aren’t exactly going to complain about an excuse to cuddle him.

Tim doesn’t make a move to push you away. Instead, he wraps his arm around you pulling you closer. This was the type of easy affection you two had become accustomed to. This was also the thing that will make your Schrade even more convincing. "True, but I asked Cass and the others to cover for me. Plus, your grandma sounds like she likes me,”

“Considering you don’t have a criminal record and aren’t currently being investigated, you immediately rocketed to the top of her list,” You answer absentmindedly stirring your cereal and taking a bite.

Tim whips his head to you and gives you a concerned look which you return with a smile full of cereal. He blanches at you, shaking his head and grabbing the remote to unpause the Star Trek episode you two were watching. You both prop your feet up and chew your cereal slowly, not feeling any reason to hurry.

How long has it been since you started? You’re pretty sure it was 1 AM when you started.

As if reading your mind, Tim looks at his phone, winces then turns back to the screen without another word.  You quirk your brow at him but decide that there is some truth to the saying ignorance is bliss.

You were gonna hate yourselves come noon.

 It’s noon, the sun has the audacity to show itself,  and you hate yourself.

You definitely, unequivocally hate yourself.

You groan in the passenger seat, head pressed against the cool window. The faint warmth of the sun glancing off your skin makes the tinges of nausea circling the periphery of your senses come to life. Your stomach does a cartwheel and you think- you’re sure you’re going to throw up but you aren’t gonna do that.

No way in hell are you gonna do that. Not when you’ve finally conned your way into monopolizing Tim’s attention for the weekend.

Ok, yeah, sure it was the result of some miscommunication between you and your cousin who then passed on the miscommunication to the whole goddamn family but that’s just what you call a happy accident.

You blow out a breath, greedily taking in all the coolness of the glass pressed against your skin calling your mind back to your body. You weren’t really good with handling the not sleeping thing.

“You ok?” Tim asked his eyes flickering between you and the alarmingly empty road. There was worry in his eyes whether it was the fact that you looked like shit or the fact that the road you were on looked like the opening to a terrible 80s slasher flick. It was Halloween after all. It would be pretty perfect. Dread licks at your stomach at the thought.

You let the silence lapse. In the corner of your eye, you see Tim’s hand tighten on the steering wheel. You stare at the expanse of farmland stretching to the horizon debating whether to humor his question or to let him stew.

“I’m fine,” You picked the third option.

“You don’t look fine,” Tim deadpans, turning to you.

“Stop looking then-” Tim scowls at you his pouty lips pulling into an angle. You sneer. “-You don’t look too good yourself, Kirk,”

Tim makes an offended noise. You look at Tim, really look at him, for the first time in hours. Tim, as per usual, looked obnoxiously handsome even though he was running on at most 30 minutes of sleep and had eye bags running down his face. Somewhere lost in his contemplative expression was the blindingly obvious hint of self doubt. You’ve seen it tons of times.

You peel yourself away from the cool glass to look Tim in the eyes. Dread swims in the pools of teal looking straight back at you. Tim’s mouth edges between a pout and a frown. You soften, shifting in your seat angling until your body is facing his.

“Whatever it is you’re overthinking it,”

“You don’t even know what I’m thinking!”

“Ay,” You chuckle and shake your head. “Tim, it’s you. You overthink everything. I don’t need to be a mind reader to see that,”

 Tim huffs. Maybe he was overthinking things.

“ ‘sides, I don’t see why you would be nervous 'bout meeting my family,”

Has it occurred to you I want to date you for real at some point? Tim thought a little frustrated.

You laugh when he frowns but instead of teasing him any further. You flick the radio on. Your hackles rise as it crackles to life. A smile flickers on your face when ‘All-star’ comes on. You cry out, a noise of shrill joy filling the air.

“Oh my god” Tim breathes, running his long fingers through his dark hair. “You absolute dork,”

“Kettle. Pot.” You grin.

Tim snorts as you loudly sing along with the radio. Unfortunately for him, your enthusiasm for the song was infectious. Somehow you both managed to miss every beat of the song.

You somehow felt like you were definitely forgetting something.

6 cans of monster and 5 things of 5-hour-energy drink later, you arrived. Tim’s nice-looking car pulls into the dusty gravel driveway of a rather large and old colonial looking house. Seeing the robust form of the large house looming in the distance injected your veins with a stifling source of dread. 

You love your family to bits but sometimes their presence weighed so much. You can feel their words already pecking at you, drawing pit and pieces of your self into frayed fibers. All you can think about were the comments hushed behind palms and the dissecting gaze of dark eyes. Your mouth feels dry and you can already feel your feet pivoting back towards the car.

Tim reaches for your hand, lacing his slender fingers between yours.  He smiles at you squeezing your hand. You can feel him rattling from his own anxiety but his effort steadies you. You grin at him and squeeze back.  

Your teeth click the entire walk up to the large oak doors. Tim squeezes your hand again, his teal eyes sweeping over you with a concerned glint. You furrow your brow and somehow he understands and raises his hand to knock on the door.

The door bursts open. Music and laughter wash over you as hands hurry you into the front hall.

“Nay! Dito na sya! May dalang gwapo!” (Mom, y/n’s here and they brought someone handsome.)

About 20 heads turn to look at you. Tim feels some embarrassment from the attention but that doesn’t last too long as in the space of about 5 seconds, those 20 heads were swarming you both, pulling you into hugs, shaking your hands, and ruffling your hair in varying degrees of force and order.

“Beh, you’ve grown so big” Your aunt coos squishing your face.

“Nena, look at this guy,”

“Tita, he doesn’t have any tattoos,” Your little cousin marveled looking bug-eyed as she lifted Tim’s shirt. You swat her away but take a quick second to subtly admire Tim’s sculpted abs. Your aunt scolds him and your uncle drags you to the main room where more guests were sitting chattering or screaming at a foreign horror movie.   

All the apprehension bundled into your stiff shoulders dissolves like seafoam against the overwhelming warmth of the festivities. The raucous laughter drags the roughness of Gotham away from your tongue. In place of your slow, careful syllables are quick clattering consonants and concise vowels. Your vowels were still elongated and angled to a sharp point unlike the nearly musical words of your cousins but as you said before ‘Gotham has its way of burying itself in your bones’. Tim just never thought about how saliently it showed itself in words. He wonders how his accent (folded, neat, and sterilized) sounds to you. He wonders how dull he sounds to you.

You have teased him about it. You’ve teased him endlessly about the way upper-class Manhattan just rolls off his tongue, how Alfred’s British affectations worm their way into his syllables. What you don’t tell him is how the smooth velvet of his words lull you into a hypnotic state that steals every bit of oxygen from your lungs.  What you can’t make yourself tell him is that you would gladly spend your whole life listening to him read a fucking phone book. 

The festivities were lively and informal. Jokes flying every which way. All alternating between your native tongue. You laugh into your drink, hiding the hesitant curve blunting your infectious smile. Tim nudges you to ask what’s wrong but you simply nudge him back and shake your head as if he had said something funny. Your relatives didn’t seem to notice your demeanor or if they did they left it alone.

Tim decides to leave it alone for now. Instead, he leaned into the flow of conversation. His years of speaking at galas working their magic on your aunts. They bombarded him with questions. Most of which sounded like screening questions at the embassy. You snarled at them more than once to knock it off but Tim shook it off. He knows they’re just worried about you the same way he worried for you. Well, not the same way but it was their way of showing they cared. He lets himself be immersed in the conversation.  It’s more like he tuned into the sweet sound of your laughter but made sure to dedicate enough restraint to not look like a love-sick puppy.

“Tanga!” (MORON!)

“Baliw!” (Crazy!)

“E gago ka pala, di ba halata yun?” (No shit sherlock, isn’t it obvious?)

Tim is at best confused as he watches the volley of words between you and your cousin. Your voices rising above the blaring karaoke. Anthony (?) clamps a hand on his shoulder and laughs as he watches you and Martin (?) hurl insults at each other. In the corner of your eye, you watch his reactions checking if he understood a word. He isn’t fluent but he understood bits and pieces. He’s heard you mutter angrily about customers enough times to distinguish an insult. 

“Dun worry about 'em. They won’t fight. They’re stupid but they’re not that stupid. ‘Sides, they’re too afraid of Nay for that,”

Tim gives Anthony a doubtful look. Anthony chuckles at him, clapping him on the back urging him to keep watching. He does if only to make sure you’ll be alright. When he does, he tunes into your words. Tim marvels at how musical you sound as you trade another round of rapid-fire jabs with Martin, how at ease you seem. Tim makes a mental note to get you to teach him. Though, he wasn’t entirely sure how he would justify it.  Admittedly, part of it was just wanting to spend more time with you.

He can probably swing it.

A surge of protectiveness crowds his veins when Martin grabs at you but his hand is swatted by a cane. The air crackles with a sharp snap. The room plunges into silence.  A small woman with silver hair stands tall and imperious at the other end of the cane. You and your cousins stiffen.

“Hi Nay,” You trail off with a distinct lack of grace. You swallow the lump forming your throat, robbed of any coherent thought by the stinging look in her eyes. You felt bare under her gaze. Layers and layers of skin peeling beneath the weight of her attention. Fury flickers like firelight across her dark eyes. Your skin suddenly felt like lint and you were sure you would catch fire.

A pause.

A bated breath held for what felt like an eternity.

“Iha(Iho), It’s been so long,” She says, softening. Her wrinkled face stretches into a kind smile that made you think of freshly cooked vegetables.  Her cane folding to her side as she loops her arm over your shoulders. “It’s nays to see you,”

A choked sound comes out of you and you feel something shake loose. “Missed you too, Nay,” You breathed. Tim feels awkward, fidgeting in his place.  

The soft smile on your grandmother fades a little. Her sharp eyes appraising Tim. The look wasn’t particularly venomous, but it left Tim feeling like he’d been cut open and analyzed. He wasn’t entirely sure of why you were all so scared of her before but now he fully understood.

She relinquishes her grip on you and urges you to go back to Tim. You frown a little, giving her a suspicious look which she returns innocently.  You let out a little breath before walking back to Tim’s side. She gives him another long once over before silently strolling away. His stomach churned but eased at your touch. You still look uneasy but you don’t fuss over it. Not when Martin decides that he wasn’t quite done with bickering.

 The festivities went on as normal. Maybe with a little less cussing going around. But Tim barely noticed when your laugh, free of any hesitance, echoed sonorously in his ear as he held you close. 

Roz presses a drink into his hand. “Congrats, you’ve survived round one of Nay’s hazing,”

“Round one?” Tim hiccups into his drink. He coughed. The beer was strong. A strangely potent amount of alcohol that made his throat burn.

“Yeah, Roz, that was more like round 2.” You mutter sullenly, distinctly taking no sips of the drink Roz had also handed you. The paranoid Bat-part of his brain screams that he’s been poisoned. He’s struggling not to let it win over but your conversation wasn’t helping.

“Nay will eat him alive,”

“I mean. She’ll do it nicely,”

“Pfffft, right! Ok, Tony, name one time she’s been nice.”

“How about-”

“The thing with Y/n earlier doesn’t count,”

“Why not?”

“There was a hidden agenda,”

“Oh shit! The bitch is right- Ow! You are!”

You look at Tim apologetically and squeeze his hand. Somehow this does not calm his nerves, but he tries his best to ease into his touch.

 On the trip here, you warned him that it was going to be exhausting. He assumed, incorrectly, that you were exaggerating. After all, he’s survived snobby rich people and his family. Your family seemed nice. He can survive a nice family dinner.

But what you neglected to tell him was that it would be sheer chaos.  He definitely wasn’t prepared for the sensory overload.  The house was almost unbearably loud compared to the manor. Every corner was filled with people chattering, playing games,  eating, and doing anything to entertain themselves. Sure, Tim was used to chaos but he was more accustomed to short bursts. He wasn’t quite as prepared for the seemingly endless stream of conversations and liquor.

You had definitely not prepared his poor unassuming introverted ass well enough. Not even halfway through the night, Tim was ready to crash. The 20 minutes of sleep he got beforehand had not helped. 

You, the angel that you are, guide him away from the party. You drag yourselves down the wide yawning corridor to the grand staircase.

Lit only by the thin veil of moonlight, the house showed its age. Walking up the stairs and walking through its hallways was like falling through time. The halls were lined with paintings, all landscapes and still-lifes. He’s thankful for that small mercy. His head swimming in liquor, he is reminded of the portraits at Wayne Manor and how their eyes burned at you as you passed.

The lack of portraits doesn’t make the house any less creepy mind you. Religious fixtures line the halls, crucifixes affixed to every arch-like mistletoes. There were doll-like statues of hollow-eyed saints at every corner table. It might have been the dancing moonlight but Tim swore he saw one of them move. Tim suddenly wishes he hadn’t ingested so much liquor.

Before long, you make your way to a bedroom. How the hell you knew which one to put him in was anyone’s guess. You lead him into the room. Touch gentle and careful as you coaxed him in. Soft jazzy music echoing hauntingly. The dancing moonlight and the solid shadows of the room highlighting your gorgeous features, drawing his attention to your plush lips. You lean over him to make sure he was indeed still part of the living. Liquid courage surging in his face, he presses his lips to yours. It’s cautious. He gently runs his hand through your hair, pulling you towards him with a push. The press of his lips is restrained, more of a question than a demand. Slightly chapped lips press against your sweet and searching.

Tim remembers the warm press of your lips, the way the pads of fingers trail against the soft fabric of his shirt, your warm breath fanning against his cool skin, then nothing.

Knock

Knock

KNOCK

Tim grouses into his pillow. Tim was having an absolutely wonderful dream. He could still feel your warm lips against his.  Tim squeezes his eyes trying to go back to sleep.

Knock

KNOCK

KNOCK

‘1 AM’ the antique analog clock at the nightstand reads.

“I’m up!” He lies burying himself further into the thick sheets.

His brothers really needed to stop breaking into his apartment at 1-

KNOCK

KNOCK

KNOCK

Tim nearly falls out of bed when he remembers where he is. He jams a shirt over his head and some sweatpants before stumbling to the door.

“Hey Tim, you coming?” Anthony asks through the crack of the door.

Tim opens the door a little wider. “Where?”

“Outside,” Roz shrugs vaguely.

 “Whe-”

You step out of your room, extremely hesitant. Your knuckles were turning white from apprehension. You look at Tim, surprise plain in your eyes. You flinch heat rising to your cheeks. Tim remembers the texture of your soft lips. He wishes that wasn’t a dream. You glare at your cousins who give you a confused look. 

“Roz, he-”

“Awwww, ‘insan, you’re actually coming?” Martin mocks clapping you on the shoulder drawing, what Tim considers, an adorable squeak from you. His heart almost leaps from his chest when your warm body presses further into Tim’s side. You can’t hear it but Tim’s breath stutters in his chest.  He loops his arm around you protectively. Martin gives both of you a sly conspiratorial look.

You scowl at Martin. Glaring with as much intensity and intimidation your burning cheeks would allow. Roz swats him over the head making him almost topple down the steps before Anthony even gets a chance to rebuke him. Instead, Anthony turns to you, brows furrowed. “You sure you want to come? Nay said-”

“La a!” Martin protested. Roz rolls her eyes and swats him again. “Dipshit’s right. Nay didn’t say jack,”

“Then why did you swat me?”

“E, I felt like it e,”

“Bish, whose side are you on?!” He snarls but before he can lunge at Roz, Anthony is already dragging him by the scruff of his neck.

“Shhhhhhhhhhh! Not so loud. The kids will hear us,”

“I for one will not help you wrangle tita’s crotch gremlins,”

“We’re going to be late and Nay is going to unleash hell upon us,”

Anxiously, you tug at Tim urging him to follow your cousins as they filed out through the back door.

 “Where are we going?” Tim hisses.

All four of you share a look.

“We’ll explain,” You promise.

 The journey was eerie. Punctuated by the fact that none of you explain jack. The walk was entirely silent, devoid of bickering or any sort of conversation. He can see the silence driving both Roz and Anthony mad. You honestly look like you’re going to keel over. The odd thing was that even the birds were silent. Not a single sound penetrated the thick canopy of juniper trees.

You wonder the woods guided only by the thin ribbons of silver light peaking through the thick clouds of leaves. Tim can feel your pulse as it thundered in your chest. No matter what was going on he would keep you safe.

You arrive in front of a rusted gate half a foot shorter than Tim. It was small, easily climbable with plenty of spiraling pieces to stick your foot into for purchase if needed. Your eyes cut to Roz who fished out a key he’d seen perched on one of the coat racks.  Hesitantly, you held your hand out for the key. Roz, on the other hand, all but slammed it into your hand, grinning in a mix of absolute glee and relief. Your teeth click as you worked the lock. He wants to suggest just going over it but you seem quite adamant and he wasn’t about to push your nerves.

Finally, the lock gives in.

You all file in one at a time in a sort of practiced motion. Beyond the gates was a path with its stones polished from a shine from use. The scarce light coming from the canopy of trees rippling against them. It lit the rest of the way still keeping the surroundings in deep shadow.

The path ended in front of a small dilapidated stone structure that seemed too small to house anything.

“Age before beauty,” Martin jeers, bending down dramatically urging Roz to go in. She, in turn, shoves him in with a swift kick. The dark interior of the structure swallows him whole. Her dark eyes cut to you. You swallow but ultimately you shrug off Tim’s hold and relinquish your death grip on Tim’s arm. You let out a shaky breath as you step over the threshold. Just like Martin before you, the shadows leave no trace of you.

Tim reaches for the last bit of your swaying blanket. Roz taking the chance shoves Tim over the threshold, his vision goes pitch black.

“See you there, lover boy~”

The darkness is all-encompassing making his eyes completely useless as much as he tries to adjust them. Instead, he strains all of his other senses. He feels the press of moss-covered walls closing in on him. The staircase only seemed wide enough to let one person pass at a time. The stairs wind in shallow predictable patterns. The scent of moss and burning firewood grew heavy as he made his descent. Distantly, he could hear the soft padding of your shoes against the stone but he also heard the crackle of jazzy music. It was the kind he only heard from the old black and white movies Bruce and Alfred watched. It was oddly familiar but he couldn’t place it. The smooth baritone of the singer rattles in his head. A shiver of mild discomfort travels up his spine.

After what feels like an eternity, Tim emerges. His eyes slamming shut from the sudden brightness of his surroundings. He blinks, eyes adjusting to the light. His eyes take in his surroundings.

He was in a clearing. It was man-made, constructed using the same stones that lined the path you’d taken. The stone walls were covered in moss and ivy, but the stone that did peak out reflected the moonlight freely raining drown from the clear autumn sky. In the center of the space, sit 9 people including yourself. All cast in the warm glow of the crackling bonfire. It is a living thing, raging and casting shadows sharpening and obscuring features.

“I’m so glad you could join us, Timothy,” Your grandmother calls out as she fiddles with the nobs of the old radio perched in her lap. It crackles uncooperatively despite her efforts. He can’t pry his eyes away from it even as he takes his seat next to your shivering form.

Without much thought, Tim pulls you close. You tremble, teeth still clicking eyes wild and fixed on the radio. The radio is a curious thing. It’s an old model. It’s sleek but dotted with various nobs and switches. If he had to guess, it was something out of the 1960s. In the periphery of his senses, he hears Roz and Anthony step out of the staircase and take their places in the circle with Roz sitting right next to your grandmother.

Your grandmother stops fiddling with the radio then turns to Roz who is now comfortably seated. Your teeth chatter and your shoulder hitch as they silently converse. Roz inhales then exhales. Her dark eyes sweep over all of you making sure she had your attention. Based on the silence and the still forms, she did. She sits a little straighter, her shoulders rolling back.

She throws herself into a tale. It was a story she’d heard long ago about a man, a house, and a secret. Her calm voice carries over the soft roaring of the bonfire. It wasn’t the scariest tale Tim had heard but Roz told it well. Well enough to draw squeaks from several people including yourself.

Tim relaxes catching on to the turn of events. He lets you press into his side as you make your feeble attempt to get away from the story. Tim chuckles at the amount of theatrics you’ve all put into building up to this little gathering. However, all his smug skepticism vanishes when Roz finishes her story.

The static from the radio vanishes. Its various nobs move without assistance and its switches click into place.  The same baritone voice carries from the radio. Tim doesn’t hear what it says as his mind reels. He turns to you and opens his mouth to ask but Anthony begins his tale before Tim can even formulate his question. Beside him, you fidget with his sleeve shaking hands clenching and unclenching on the fabric.

Tim remembers how much you hate ghost stories. You’d once gotten sick with a fever just from watching horror movies. At this point, you were on the verge of tears. Your breathing slowed abnormally as Martin finished his story. The radio predictably did not whirr to life after his story. Through your chattering teeth, you give your cousin a vicious smile which he volleys by sticking his tongue out petulantly.

It’s your turn.

You squeeze Tim’s hand twice before worming out of his grasp. You flutter your long lashes, lightcatching in them looking golden as the fire flickered urging you to delve into your story. You roll your shoulders and let your blanket and apprehension slide away in one smooth action.

You tell your story.

 Your countenance still and grave as you tell a story of crossroads and terrible choices.

The radio huffs, seemingly amused by your effort.

“Well, y/n,” The radio coos. Your name drips like molasses from its speakers. It’s unsettling how crisp it sounds. Its voice absent of static as it addresses you. “You sure do know about bad choices. I believe so does that young thing- Pardon me. Young things swimming in the harbor. They’re just a tinsy bit cut up about it.” The radio teases almost sounding gleeful. You nod gravely, stomach reaching the floor.

Harbor?

You settle back down into your seat. Tim nudges you, cocking his head to the side to question you. Your fist clenches and unclenches in your lap before you look him in the eyes again.

“Case,” You mouth silently.

It clicks.

The harbor.

 The bodies.

That’s what the radio meant.

Someone clears their throat urging Tim to tell a story. He stumbles through a half-remembered urban legend he heard from Steph awhile ago. His mind far too preoccupied with the new information to really devote to any theatrics.

 His turn passes.

And the stories continue as he mulls over the information.

It’s your grandmother’s turn. Your hand grips Tim’s arms white-knuckled. You attempt to swallow down the fear but it catches in your throat constricting your airway. The flames dance casting her face in sinister shadows that bring out all the sharp angles in her features. Her smile curls cruel. Her bony fingers trace the seems and delicate patterns embossed on the old radio. Static erupts loud then dies down just as quickly. Her smokey voice fills the air. Heavy and commanding. The story spills from her lips smooth and velvety slick with gore and unspoken horrors. None of you dare to speak. Some don’t even breathe. Your hands scrabble for purchase on Tim’s shirt as you bury your face in his chest. You feel him wrap himself around you shielding you the best he can. Ear pressed to his chest, you can hear Tim’s pulse hammering. The terror soaking through to his bones. He remains steady. Unflinching even as the story reaches its climax.

The flames flash, fade, then flicker.  

The radio crackles.

The smooth baritone of its voice distorting into something undeniably inhuman.

Shadows dance.

Their hands reaching out as the flames did. A hard yank from one of them nearly topples you out of Tim’s arms.  He shifts you both away from their grasp. He glares fiercely at them making sure you’re safe.

Sorrowful moans fill the air but your grandmother is undeterred.

With a shrill cry from the radio, everything dies down.

The shadows retreat.

The fire simmers down now small and tame.

Everyone lets out a breath. Both of you could feel everyone unfurl. Tense muscles, locked jaws, tight chests all loosen with the end of the story.

For a long moment, the entire circle is still. Then your grandmother stands up. The rest follow her in a mostly quiet procession up the steps.

“Roddy was harsh this year,” Martin whines.

“Nope, you’re just terrible at it. I mean hell even y/n got an answer. It was creepy as all shit but they got an answer,”

“Uh- Is it a good time to ask what just happened?”

Your cousins turn to you.

“You really didn’t tell him anything, did you?”

“How do you propose I bring up the demonic radio?”

“Pffft,”

“Pirst, it isn’t demonic. Do you really think Nay would have kept it if it was?”

“She lets Martin hang around,”

“…….”

“Dis is a good point,”

“HEY”

Tim clears his throat.

“Raaayt, Ok so… once a year we tell the spooky radio stories so we can get answers or our future told,”

“Was the whole creepy walk necessary?”

“Nope,” You answer in chorus.

“It’s just our way of psyching up for it,”

“It’s your guy’s way. Tita at least let’s me hum songs,”

“Well excuse me for not wanting to listen to you sing,”

“Is there anything else you guys want to tell me?”

“Aside from y/n really not wanting to tell-”

You snarl at your cousins, red-faced and bearing your teeth. Martin and Roz cackle as they run. Anthony has the decency to at least look slightly apologetic as he runs.

“Y/n… What aren’t you telling me?”

“Tim, I- I’m- Damn it- I-” You put your hands on your face. You try to calm your breaths. “Look Tim, I-”You take another breath. “I’m sorry. I kissed you but you were drunk-”

“Wait that wasn’t a dream?” There’s a flicker in Tim’s chest.

You look at him mortified. You want the ground to swallow you whole. “Yeah, I- Tim, I know it’s- I’m sorry.”

He remains silent.

Your stomach feels like it’s going to burn up.

“I-”

“I want a redo,”

“A what?”

“A redo,” 

a/n: I will rework the ending at some point but thank you for reading! 

 taglist:   @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes,  @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders (I wanna drag you into Terry hell), @l-horizon11

[randomoranges]

tech this comes before relationship status: conjoint but also is it’s own thing based on my own thoughts and whatnot. i really like the idea of edward, somehow, being jello about isabella. sometimes i forget about her and recently i remembered her and then went - oh but okay she was totes there at ets birthday and ed was there!!! and then i just put these two random ideas together and here we are

Jello 20XX

 It’s a quiet evening at home, after a busy day out. They’re both lounging on the sofa in the living room, Étienne conveniently using his body as a pillow, when Étienne’s cell phone breaks the comfortable semi-quietude of the space. He lazily extends a hand towards the coffee table, where he’s last left his phone, and after some foraging, he retrieves the device and spares a look at it.

 Edward expects his boyfriend to let the thing go to voice mail, as he often does, but then Étienne sits up and answers the call, motioning to him that it won’t be long. Edward thinks little of it and offers to give him some space for the call, but Étienne lets him know he can stay so he does, far too comfortable to move.

 At first, Edward pays little mind to the conversation and does his best to tune it out, but it is rather difficult to do with Étienne sitting a mere few feet away from him.

 “Oh, you’re totally right – it has been ages!” Étienne says with a laugh and Edward starts his game of trying to narrow down who could be on the other end of the line.

 “Oh my God, I know! But, yeah, it would be so cool to hang soon now that we can again!” It must be a friend of sorts, clearly. Someone who doesn’t live in the greater Montreal area. Edward starts being invested in the conversation and steals glances at his boyfriend, trying to read the emotions off him to help him solve the mystery. Étienne looks comfortable and happy – edging on excited. This is a good call, obviously and he’s surprised by the unexpectedness of it.

 “Yeah? That could work, hang on, lemme check,” Étienne brings his phone away from his ear and taps away at it, most likely looking at the calendar. “Okay, so three weeks from now works. I’ll be home and I have nothing really planned. I might have to move a thing, but it’ll work.” He grins, pleased and laughs when his friend responds on the other line.

 In three weeks from now, they’ll both be back in their own homes, miles and miles and miles away from each other. He’ll return to his everyday life and Étienne will, apparently, have a guest to entertain. Étienne will wine and dine his friend, like he does with all his friend, and show them a great time. Étienne is good at that, Edward knows. He wonders what type of friend this is – who it is and whether or not he knows this person. He’s eliminated some names from his game, but Étienne knows far too many people for this to be easy.

 “Of course – well, obviously you’ll stay with me! There’s gotta be some perks after all. Plus, it’s been literal years. It’ll be good to catch up.”

 Emma is eliminated with this new information. She lives too close to Étienne for the two of them to spend more than two months without seeing one another. It would be a tragedy, in Étienne’s opinion and outright cruel, in Emma’s words.

 “Okay – yeah, it’s still there,” Étienne sits up again and folds his legs over and grins, bright and eager and excited, “Can’t wait! I’ll see you then! Yeah – me too! Okay – yeah you too! Bye!” He hangs up, then, and flops back with a grin that speaks of mischief and fun to be had in the future. He looks down to his phone, as if confirming this all happened, and then laughs when he receives a text, supposedly, from the person he’d just been speaking with.

 Edward watches from the corner of his eye as Étienne quickly responds to the message, puts his phone back where it originally was and then returns looking for his original position on Edward’s chest.

 “Good call?” He asks, finally, once Étienne is settled and he doesn’t seem to be willing to share any information.

 “Yes! Just found out Isa’s gonna be in town for a thing, in a few, and so she was wondering if we could hang.”

 “Oh.”

 Ah.

 Isabella.

 Right.

 Edward has – conveniently – forgotten about her.

 The conversation makes more sense now.

 “I have not seen her in ages so it’ll be really great to catch up! I mean – we’ve spoken and such, but like – it’s always different when you can spend time together.”

 He knows that much. He lives through that much. Edward knows. He makes a noise of commitment, but otherwise doesn’t add anything else.

 He’s – not exactly sure how he feels about Isabella.

 (Okay, he does, but he likes to believe that he’s beyond petty emotions like jealousy. Especially when he’s not even sure why he’s jealous.)

 (Well, he does, but – he’d be digressing.)

 Edward doesn’t exactly know the specific day and year that Étienne and Isabella became friends, but she seems to have appeared in his boyfriend’s life around the turn of the century. He forgets who was visiting where, but they ended up bonding over mutual interests and struck a friendship through it. After some time, their friendship had turned sexual and even though Étienne had told him time and again that Isabella was just a friend to him, albeit one with a few extra perks and benefits, Edward was – jealous.

 And it annoys him that he’s jealous. Notably, because at first, he had no right to be. He and Étienne had a falling out. He’d gone off and eventually figured himself out, before starting something with Calvin. It only made sense that Étienne would do the same. Regardless of what he called it. But, it seems as though Étienne is genuine when he says that he and Isabella are just friends. He likes her, yes, but as a friend. And Edward can tell that it’s the truth.

 The problem is that for years now, he’s been jealous of this woman he’s met once, briefly.

 It had started at Étienne’s big party, a few years back now, when they’d been slowly rebuilding their friendship. Edward had been invited, he’d finally decided to go, figuring it would be good and also because deep down, he wanted to go and for some absurd reason, he thought that Étienne wouldn’t be actually seeing someone that way. As if Étienne was supposed to forever remain single. Which made no sense. Étienne was allowed to do and see whomever he pleased. Just like he was. But, Étienne hadn’t mentioned anyone in their numerous chats and so Edward had assumed, until they’d all been at the party and she’d been there.

 Friggin Isabella.

 Étienne had introduced them and Étienne had made a joke saying it was a good thing Edward hadn’t asked to crash with him, since Isabella was staying at his and it had – stirred something ugly in the pit of Edward’s stomach. Which made no sense, at the time (and still now), because he was in a relationship. With Calvin. And he was totally over Étienne. Totally. That was done and over with. Book closed, chapter done, he’d moved on, merci, bonsoir – as they said.

 Yet, hearing those words, seeing Isabella stand close to Étienne – seeing them laugh and dance together. The way he leaned into her space, the kiss she stole from him, the thought of what they’d do together once they’d return to Étienne’s place...

 Oh, Edward had felt things.

 He ended up writing the whole thing off as just shock and surprise, really, but once back home and alone with his thoughts, he’d revisited them and had eventually admitted to the fact that yes, he’d been jealous and that maybe – just maybe, he still cared for Étienne in a more than just friends type of way.

 Luckily, for his own sanity, Étienne also felt the same and by some miracle, they’d managed to get their act back together and he was quite content with his life now. He had Calvin, he had Étienne, and his two boyfriends did not seem to totally mind the presence of the other. It was great. Better than great – it was goddamned near perfect.

 Étienne was free to do whatever the hell he wanted and even though Edward was perfectly aware of the fact that Étienne slept with other people and it did not bother him – for real, Isabella still, for some reason, got to him.

 And he didn’t fucking understand why.

 (Lies, he did know why. However, admitting to it felt really stupid.)

 Reason 1: Even though it had been literal years, there was still some stupid part of Edward’s dumb brain that still couldn’t fully wrap itself around the fact that Étienne would genuinely and truly want to be with him for so long. (He was actively working on that and it really did help that he currently had said boyfriend close by, draped over him, occasionally looking at him as though he’d personally hung the moon for him.)

 Reason 2: Somehow, his brain also liked to convince him that one day, Étienne would really miss being with a woman and leave him to be with one. Hence, Isabella was a worthy candidate for that role. (This made no sense. At all. Then again, fears were often irrational.)

 Reason 3: Edward didn’t mind Étienne sleeping with other human people, for he knew that Étienne would never get as close to them as he would with him. Étienne would not and could not fully open up to them, given the fact that he was semi-immortal and that they would eventually die. Therefore, Étienne could totally be himself with him. Isabella, however, was just like them and was more – sophisticated than he could ever even care to be and so, she had the extra advantage over him. Therefore, it could be possible for Étienne to develop a real bond with her and ultimately pick her over him.

 And obviously, Étienne was totally allowed to do that and he’d respect his boyfriend’s wishes, but Edward loved the bastard too much for his own good and did not want that to happen. (He’d get used to it, if Étienne loved them both and – oh God, oh mighty God – was this how Étienne and Calvin felt? At first? How they still felt? Maybe? It was horrible. He was horrible. What had he done to them?!)

 “Hey – you okay?”

 He blinks and realises that he’s been extremely quiet for an abnormally long time and very much lost in his own head. Étienne looks at him worried and Edward tries to school his face into something that may pass off as normal.

 “Yes. Absolutely. So she’s coming over. That’s great! I’m sure you’ll have tons of fun!” Even to his ears, he sounds off and he really hopes Étienne won’t notice.

 “Édouard.” His boyfriend says in his don’t mess with me tone.

 Étienne notices.

 Shit. Fuck. Câlice. Merde. Ugh.

 “Oh my – Oh my Lord – are you – holy shit, you’re jealous, aren’t you?!”

 His dumb stupid boyfriend looks too fucking pleased with this news. He shouldn’t look this pleased. He should be annoyed. Hell, he’s annoyed at himself. Étienne should humour him and be annoyed.

 “No.”

 Stellar answer, really. He should win an acting award, at this point.

 Étienne sits up and pulls him up so that he can properly look at his face and gloat – the fucker. “You are! You’re jealous of Isabella!” He laughs, amused and Edward doesn’t get it. He’s never understood Étienne, but this is a new level of incomprehension even for him. The man’s insane, he already knew that, but this – takes the cake.

 “Okay, sue me, I am – be normal about it.” He huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, wanting very much to disappear out of here. Forget about all of this and just – return to normal.

 “Aww, Eddy, it’s cute!”

 Edward gives him a look. Sometimes, (often), he’s not convinced Étienne has stopped the drugs. No sane person would react this way.

 “It’s not cute – it’s lame. You said I had nothing to worry about. I trust you. Yet, here I am, coming up with stupid scenarios.”

 “Oh?”

 Sometimes, Edward wonders why he can’t ever shut up. This is such a time. Obviously, Étienne wants to know his dumb scenarios. Étienne is always curious.

 “Just – it’s stupid. Forget it.”

 “Nah-ah.” He sits closer to him and pokes his chest until Edward, who tries valiantly to defend himself from his boyfriend’s incessant bothering, gives up and abdicates.

 “Like – I don’t know – something lame. Like you’ll just – leave me and go down south where it’s warm back at hers and have a torrid love affair and leave me to rot in my frozen waste land.” He raises his hands up in frustrated surrender, his cheeks warming up and Étienne, bless him, erupts in loud laughter.

 “Oh, you precious thing!” He wipes a tear from his eyes – imaginary or not, Edward cannot tell, and he’s vexed by Étienne’s gleeful pleasure of his misery, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, that’s exactly what we’re gonna do – but I have every intention of coming back to your – and I quote – frozen waste land so you can properly warm me up as well.” Étienne noisily pecks his cheek and it only makes him flush darker still. Étienne is being merciless in his teasing and he knows it was coming, but it’s still not fair.

 “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” He asks from the comfort of Étienne’s loose embrace around his shoulders.

 “You have no idea. But, if it makes you feel better, I would never string you on and if ever I did develop actual romantic feelings for her, I would let you know. And if ever I stop loving you – or if ever I want us to just be friends, I would let you know. I respect you too much to not give you that courtesy.”

 Edward sighs and leans his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder, “I know, I know and I appreciate that. And – I don’t want you to think that I don’t want you to do whatever it is you wanna do. Far from it. Which is why I feel stupid for even being jealous in the first way.”

 “Emotions are stupid and often times make no sense. If anything, it just means you care about me and our relationship. That’s the way I see it. We’re good, so don’t worry about it. And you can always talk to me about these things, yeah? Just like I can talk to you about my own insecurities and general fucked up thoughts.” Étienne kisses the top of his head and this time, at least, it’s not patronising or teasing.

 “Yeah, I know – thanks.”

 “No problem.”

 They fall back, silent, and Edward, finally, is convinced that this is all behind them. This will just be a distant memory and he’ll never ever have to remember this ever again.

 “But wow, can’t wait to tell Calvin you were jealous. He’s gonna get a kick out of this.” Étienne grins, while Edward groans. The bastard.

 “Oh my God, don’t.”

 “He’ll never let you live it down.” Étienne ads and pokes his sides again.

 “You’re not letting me live it down either!” Edward retaliates by pushing Étienne’s hand away and trying to get to his sides where he’s tickling.

 “Do not – Edward Murphy do not – don’t you dare!” Étienne shrieks, as he tries to get away from him, but Edward seizes this opportunity for some good revenge.

 “Watch out, Maisonneuve; you’re mine.” He manages to trap Étienne and he shows no mercy as he reaches for all of Étienne’s most ticklish spots, his boyfriend’s peals of laughter resonating in his ears. It remains to be seen as to who will get the last word between the two of them.

 FIN

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: Yellow Gerbera (Pt 4 of Torin’s Story)

(A/N: I originally planned for this to be the start of a single ‘chapter’ but to hit all the points I wanted to I realized I would need another part because it got ridiculously long. 

Anyway, we get to meet a new friend! And here’s your reminder/confirmation that the ‘I’m not even into women!’ comment Torin makes in a panic in the previous chapter is Torin coming out as gay. Happy pride. Note that Torin was thought up as gay originally probably over a year ago, so this isn’t some pride month ploy. Torin is a gay, anxiety prone mess that needs therapy and friends. And we are doing the best to get him those.)

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // PART 4 // Part 5 // TBC

~~~

“Enough.” 

Torin snapped his gaze back up to the Elven Queen as she stood. He had nearly forgotten she was there, speaking aloud his memories as the world faded around him. Through the corner of his eye he could see that the patch of light that wandered the floor of his cell had shifted considerably. The pale golden pinks of approaching dusk barely kissed the ground. 

Queen Islanzadí drew herself up before him, expression unreadable. “Enough. I must meet my war council.” A tension that Torin had been unaware of building suddenly released, and he slumped slightly. So she wasn’t stopping to kill him. That was a good sign. He stood slowly, joints sore, and stepped back further into his cell before pausing.

Unsure if it was the right thing to do, Torin awkwardly shuffled his feet and bowed low. “Y-yes, ma’am.” When he straightened the elf was regarding him with what he thought could be the barest hint of amusement, as well as some mild thoughtfulness. 

“One of my people will come to you shortly.” The door to Torin’s cell clicked shut, guided by silent magic. The display made him shiver again. “I cannot confirm your account until tomorrow at the earliest, and cannot trust you to roam free. However, that does not mean that you will remain here in your own filth. You will bathe and be provided with new clothing before we next meet. 

“If you cause any disturbance or attempt to flee, you will be killed without hesitation. Am I clear?”

Torin heard himself speak in affirmation, but his mind was reeling as the Queen departed down the ward’s hall. 

‘Confirmation.’ So some of the men from the High Security Ward had survived the battle. He wondered if they would be truthful when asked about their former comrade, and the consequences for both if they were not. 

Suddenly lightheaded, Torin stumbled to his cot and collapsed on to it. His face pressed against the cool cinderblock, providing some anchor to the world. Every nerve tingled with static, fizzling anxiety and long forgotten hope all clamoring for the top spot in his consciousness. The dulled realization that he had forgotten to ask if the elf he had met back then was alive drifted through his mind with a pang of guilt before it too faded. 

It took til the sun had set and the moon had risen to peer over the rim of the world for Torin’s overstimulated brain to wrestle the revelations and relivings of the day down. He shifted in his cot and sat up, back to the wall, as he laid out the processed information in simplified pieces to take them in with an emptied mind.

The elves were fully in control of Gil’ead, not the Empire. The Elven Queen, Islanzadí, had visited him at his cell. She was interested in the fire-eyed elf that had been imprisoned here, and in Torin’s interactions with her. The Queen would come speak to him again, probably tomorrow, and another elf was going to come and take Torin somewhere to bathe and give him a new prison uniform. 

The last pieces to the day’s puzzle lingered in the young man’s mind as he tucked the rest of the information away. 

Torin was not exactly a prisoner anymore, but was not free either. Not only that, but the question that had stayed with him since his arrest may yet be answered.

‘What happened to the elf after her escape from Gil’ead?’

A knock against the cell door roused Torin from his thoughts. He stood, a bit more than surprised that anyone would be so kind as to knock, and warily approached the barred window. “Y-yes?” His throat was dry from his earlier speech. 

An elven woman was outside, peering into the cell with the same curiosity Torin once held as he looked in on the imprisoned elf all that time ago. “Stars watch over you, Torin Aldsson. I am Naela, of House Varan.” Her voice was the pitch and tone of a shallow river gliding over rounded stones, a smooth, rich alto with hints of lilting tones and rolling ripples.  

“It is nice to meet you, Naela.” 

The young man could not help but feel a small sense of relief as his gaze caught on the woman’s hazel eyes. It was clear, through them, that Naela carried the same power as the other elves Torin had encountered. But there was something different about the way she held it, almost cupped in her hands. There was a softness, almost gentle touch at the edges. 

Her eyes were...warm. Like laying in the beams of light that graced the ground on a chill day. Whereas the imprisoned elf’s eyes blazed with an undying fire of ferocity and determination, and Queen Islanzadí’s were the sharp, crisp chill of a winters day, Naela’s eyes were the warm sun of approaching autumn, the last vestiges of warmth and comfort at the edge of the cold seasons ahead.  

Torin wondered. If the elf from before were safe, with friends, away from this awful place and free from pain...would her eyes look the same? 

With a murmured word and a gentle tug, Naela unlocked and opened the door. “The Queen has assigned me to be your guard.” She stepped aside, offering a clear path into the hall. “If you would follow me, please.”

Torin went to fall in, but stopped at the threshold of his cell. It felt as though iron shackles had snapped around his ankles, pulling tight as he tried to step over the invisible line separating him from the world outside the four little walls. A wave of panic washed through him, ice cold to the point that it made his lungs seize. 

What if there were spells set on his cell? What if he couldn’t leave? The world seemed to tremble at the edges, and for an instant he felt his foot moving back, away from the door back to the relative safety of his cell–

Gentle hands on his forearms snapped the world back to an anchored clarity. Naela was in front of him, concern tipping her sharp brows inwards. “You are safe, Aldsson.” 

Torin could not stop his shaking. He wanted to believe her, he really did. But how could she know? He had only left his cell with another guard before. What if there were things set in the stones to kill him if he left? Or what if the burns on the imprisoned elf’s feet were a result of an escape attempt? What if–

Naela was speaking, then. But the words were...different. They were not in common tongue, yet deep in the marrow of his bones, the very cells of his nerves, Torin somehow...understood. He did not know what she had said but in that moment he understood her meaning, that there was absolute truth in her words. 

“Listen to my voice, Alddson. You are safe. Nothing will harm you here.” 

The trembling eased to a manageable level. 

“Would you like me to help you?” Torin nodded mutely. Following the pressure that the elf exerted on his arms, unable to resist, the young man took his first steps out of his cell in months.

The hall was the same as it always was. But in that moment, as Torin breathed deeply and tried to get his hammering heart under control, the air felt crisp and clear. The lights felt bright, almost too much so. Beneath his bare feet, the cool concrete felt polished and mirror smooth. 

It felt...good. And at the same time, everything almost overwhelmed him. 

“Are you back with us, Aldsson?” The young man focused back on the elf that still held his arms. Her concern was evident through the tilt of her head and tightening around her eyes. 

A pang of guilt and shame washed through him. This woman had come to let him out of a dank and filthy prison cell, and instead of thanking her and doing the only sane thing and walking out, he had to have her physically drag him through the door like a nervous cat from under a bed. 

“Yes.” Torin instinctively flexed his fingers, that telltale itch and tingle forming in his muscles that was only pacified through worrying at his knuckles. “I’m s-sorry. I don’t– I didn’t–”

“Do not be sorry for this.” Naela’s voice was firm, and the combination of that and the soothing pressure as she squeezed his forearms drew Torin’s eyes back to hers. “You are feeling things that are natural for some after such isolation.” She suddenly smiled at him, bright and reassuring. “If it will make this easier for you, I can keep contact with you as we walk. Would you prefer to remain indoors? There is a path that does not lead outside if you are not yet ready.”

A soft blanket of solace settled over Torin’s shoulders. He gave Naela a shaky smile, and nodded. “Thank you. I’d like that.”

With a reassuring pat to his arm, the elf shifted to a position slightly behind his right and settled a hand on his shoulder. Together, the elf and the freed man moved to the stairs.

~~~

Despite Naela’s gentle presence, Torin felt a twinge of unease in his stomach as they passed the door that led to the High Risk Ward’s open-floor showers. Another turn saw the two pass the ward common room and finally stop at the small barracks, where Naela held the door for her charge to enter and beckoned him to the door at the back.

Torin followed obediently, eyes darting to take in the state of his former bunk. Second on the right, lower berth. Like all the other beds it had been stripped, the mattress removed and placed elsewhere. The footlockers were pulled from their places beneath the bunks and sat lined up in front of the empty frames, all cleared of their contents.

With a jolt of sudden homesickness he had not felt since childhood, Torin remembered that the last picture of his family was in his locker when he was arrested. He wondered if it had been thrown away, and made a mental note to try asking Naela if there were any prisoner effects left in the lockup. 

“This is to be your room for the time being.” Naela pressed her hand to the door at the end of the barracks, unlocking it with another spell. 

Torin blinked. “This is the Captain’s room though....” He followed his guard inside, taking in the space. He had only been inside twice before, and had spent most of the time staring at a particular cracked cinderblock in the wall as the Captain berated him for whatever he had done. 

The space was well over half again the size of his cell, but was still quite small. There was only room for a soldier's bed along the far wall, a writing desk beside the door, and a small dresser to the right. At the end of the bed was another door, revealing a tiny bathroom with a toilet, sink and shower. 

Naela clasped her hands behind her back, hiding a small grin. “The Queen thought this would be the most convenient accommodation until she could investigate your claims.” She gestured towards the dresser and then the shadowed washroom when Torin turned at her voice. “There are several sets of clothes of various sizes for you to find your proper fit once you have washed.”  

For a moment, Torin couldn’t speak through the sudden lump in his throat. He turned back to survey the room and hide the watering of his eyes from the elf, warmth blooming in his chest. 

This was the kindness those of his own race had abandoned. The simple right to basic living conditions, to proper hygiene, space to move more than two paces and enough light to see and not feel oppressed by constant gloom. To be suddenly provided with it all, even when he could not leave and was still technically a prisoner…. 

‘...So the Queen is not as cold as she puts off. At least, not entirely.’ 

Torin wiped his eyes and breathed deeply before facing Naela again. “Thank you.” Feeling mere words not sincere enough to convey the wealth of emotions now inside him, Torin bowed.

Naela laughed and took the young man by the shoulders to right him. “You don’t need to bow to me, Aldsson!” 

The sound of laughter, after so long, made Torin smile. “Are there any restrictions that I should follow while here?” 

“Ah. Unfortunately, the washroom door must remain open, but I will turn my back when privacy is needed.” Torin nodded. The decreased privacy was not something he was unfamiliar with. He was living, and often showering, with twelve other men before his arrest. And it was not like the cell he was in previously was the most private of places. “If you find yourself needing anything, do not hesitate to ask. I will remain at the door.”

Still smiling, Torin nodded. It took a locking of his muscles to prevent it from turning into a bow again. With another word of thanks, he hurried to the first shower available to him in months, elation bubbling in his chest.

~

Yellow Gerbera: Warmth, sunshine, friendliness.

[darkpoisonouslove]

Winx Club Season 7 Thoughts Part 1

I am kinda anxious starting this season because it is the only one I have seen nothing from. I have heard plenty about it, however, and none of it was good. Combine that with the unpleasant experience that season 6 was and I am not too thrilled but at least I will have watched everything once I have this out of the way so here I go for it.

I have to say that the intro isn’t too impressive.

7x01:

- Told you Stella has the stamina for a marathon if she has the right incentive. Why are they at Alfea again, though? And acting like they’re freshmen again? Not to mention that they have sneaked into the school more successfully when they had a lot less power.

- Jeez, I thought Griselda caught them but it was a monster... A fairy animal. K, Faragonda taking care of it was kinda cute but why don’t they know about the Nature Park? And why is Faragonda being so stern? It’s more than we have seen from her for a very mild offense (by Winx’ standards).

- Ugh, Stella with the fashion again. And why is there such a rift between her and the other girls? This is getting annoying already. Not to mention that Bloom’s voice sounds like Stella’s from the previous seasons.

- Kiko can never catch a break, huh? Especially when there are other animals/pixies/selkies/etc around.

- I thought that the barrier was only letting through those pure of heart or something like that. It probably would have been better considering that our villain will have fairy magic (I know something about this). What stops the animals from running away, though? And since when is Faragonda so into animals? She said she created the park but we have never seen her actually take care of animals or anything.

- A digmole? Wasn’t there something like that in Pokemon?

- Dammit! I was just excited to see what happens when a fairy animal attacks another fairy animal and they were like “That doesn’t happen.” Oh, I guess fairy animals are too good to have actual animal instincts or anything. I want to see a carnivore fairy animal that eats other fairy animals and I want to see how they deal with it. That is just a normal thing. And it would have been more interesting. And Roxy is acting like an animal attacking another animal is the worst thing ever. I have some bad news for you, hon.

- They really lost against a bird? And does this episode plan on introducing the villain of the season? There has been zero plot so far.

- Oh, villains! At last. I thought they were going to eat the digmole but nope. Kalshara is somehow planning on turning them into an army. Brainwashing them I guess? Brafilius is already annoying and it has been one scene. This is off to a good start.

7x02:

- The secret of the Ultimate Fairy Power is entrusted to the digmoles????? And why does she want an army of fairy animals? Could’ve picked anything but sis is just over here looking at the cute animals and going “Yep, a fearsome army that does make!” I mean, turning cute animals super evil has so much potential but I would not trust this show to even consider it, much less do it.

- Brafilius is already annoying as fuck. At least the previous villains were somewhat competent but this? He’s a clown! Kiko could beat him! What the hell were they thinking? At least Kalshara turning into the cat thing was super awesome! I really loved it.

- “It’s not like we can go back in time...” And you know they’re gonna go back in time. That sentence just screams it.

- Why would the Stone of Memories send them back in time? And why has no one tried to steal it? You could fuck so much shit up with that! Also, why did they think they could pull off time travel? Much better writers have tried and haven’t managed without creating as many paradoxes as possible. This show was a goddamn mess even before that. Besides, in season 3 there was a room in Alfea that could access any place in the past, present or future. They should have just used that but then there would have been no Butterflix transformation and shit.

- “Little time machines”? So now there are more stones? Also, they are changing the goddamn past by even being there! They are going to meet people that couldn’t have met them in the normal time line and that will change things in one way or another. This is incredible bullshit and they haven’t even stepped into the past yet.

- Great going. Just jump in the past (they don’t even know how many years back they went) without changing clothes or anything. They could give life to new words and slang before their time. Besides, Stella has her fashion thing so it would have been cool if she’d figured out what was appropriate for the time period and changed their clothes.That would have been a great usage of her fashion obsession but it never comes up when it would be actually relevant and useful.

- The crest proves that they are at Alfea? Not like, I don’t know, the entire goddamn campus? And how is walking into the main gate “not attracting attention”? This is stupid as hell.

- Why is Griselda acting like a principal even as she’s a student still?

- Oh, so now we get a change of clothes. But how will they blend in when everyone else is wearing the exact same uniform and they are just there in their specific colors? Even the clothes aren’t the ones from the uniform. And now Roxy totally looks like a Bloom clone.

- Of course, Faragonda is a major klutz just like Bloom was when she first arrived at Alfea. And, of course, Bloom can sense it’s something familiar.

- How did they get to the exhibition before Faragonda? And poor thing, she doesn’t seem to be a favorite of Headmistress Mavilla. Actually, Mavilla sounds a lot like Griselda and she seems to trust her so why didn’t she make Griselda Headmistress? Or was it not her choice?

- Of course, Roxy, the literal fairy of animals, has no idea that the animals can do all those things, much less how to make them do the things. Amazing.

- My god, Faragonda is such a dumbass! She is brave but I think she is trailing the line between brave and stupid a little bit too clumsily. How did she not die? For real? I mean, this is the thing here - in the original time line, Winx weren’t there to save her. So how did she not die during this reckless adventure she threw herself in?

- Well, at least they finally started doing something. I know they are allegedly trying to be undercover (Mavilla is shit as headmistress if she didn’t notice there were outsiders on her show in her very own fucking yard!) but they should have tried helping even sooner.

- Young Faragonda looks so much like Flora. I swear they just slapped Flora’s design on the screen, touched it up a little and thought it was good to go.

- Oh, that other fairy that just showed up is Kalshara, isn’t it?

- Why are they in the Headmistress’ office if they’re trying to stay undercover? Also, I already don’t like Mavilla. She seems like such a snob.

7x03:

- Why the hell are Winx in class? They shouldn’t be there. But, of course, we can’t have a scene without Winx in it.

- Damn, Kalshara’s metamorphoses are just on point. But her attitude is legit that of a witch and I am kinda surprised no one has caught on to that. Though, on the other hand, all of the teachers seem so hellbent on the students’ performances instead of on actually teaching them learn how to do things. Under Faragonda’s management, the school seems much more relaxed and friendly.

- Omg, Faragonda really took the book. She is such an idiot! Also, she should definitely ease it on criticizing her students after the shit she herself pulled. She legit stole the book AND miniaturized Mavilla’s fairy animals? What the hell Faragonda? Did you have any brain cells when you were young?!?!?! I can only explain this with her growing up as a witch and not realizing that what she did was not okay.

- Oh, Bloom actually figured out that Kalshara can’t be trusted 30-40 years into the past? She could have turned evil after that! She could have had a daughter that could do the same magic. This deduction does not make sense.

- Wow, they really did drop in the correct moment, right before Kalshara got her weird transformation. And Faragonda is so responsible for what is happening. Nice one!

- So Kalshara forced a metamorphosis on her brother and is now using him as her servant? I feel bad for him now. Even if he is incompetent and annoying. It is her own damn fault that she forced him to remain with her.

- Why do the digmoles look pink now? They weren’t pink before.

- Lmao, Faragonda turned Kalshara into a kitten. That was just... kinda dumb, really, but anyway.

- Love how Roxy didn’t get the Butterflix transformation even though she did all the same things that Winx did. The bullshit is real. Also, the Butterflix transformation sequence is so unnecessary. I wanted to watch all of it like I do every time it is the gaining of a new transformation but it just annoyed me too much so I skipped it.

- Wait, if she erases their memories, no one will remember that Brafilius and Kalshara escaped and someone needs to take care of them. I mean, if someone had taken care of them in the past, none of this would have been happening. Why is everyone stupid?

7x04:

- The digmoles dug up Faragonda’s office? Wow, okay. But why is she being like that with Stella? Though, I guess she wouldn’t remember her own fuck-ups if they were erased from her memory. But wait, in order for Mavilla to erase the fairy animals from their minds, she must have erased all their education at Alfea as well. What the hell? None of this makes sense.

- Yeah, no one has seen the statue before. And Faragonda could have helped them figure out what they changed by telling them what was up with the statue but nah. She doesn’t seem worried that they changed the past even if she warned them to try to avoid exactly that. This season is already exhausting as hell.

- WHAT are they wearing? Gorgeous, my ass. At least all their boyfriends are good liars.

- They aren’t even gonna elaborate the Nex and Layla thing? Like, they didn’t exactly officially get together in the end of season 6. And he is still an asshole so why is Layla even with him? He’s making digs at her friends and she isn’t even noticing?

- “This mission is for girls”? Wtf?!?!?!

- Oh, god, they really stole at least some of the fairy animal designs from Pokemon, didn’t they?

- Wait, how will they know they have found the animal with the first color when they have no idea what the first color is?

- Wait, Roxy knows that the digmole was kidnapped and instead of wanting to protect it, she’s all “it can take care of itself”? What the fuck? Also, Nex keeps being an asshole and why is Helia starting to act like him as well?

- I thought fairy animals didn’t attack each other? Why are those two fighting and mocking each other? *sigh*

- Great! So the digmole went with Roxy despite everything and she managed to get it kidnapped again as well as lose her Stone.

- Why the hell is the recap for the next episode the exact same as the one that was in the end of 7x03?

7x05:

- Roxy, it can always get worse than that. At least the others aren’t mad at her.

- Man, why is Brafilius doing more work than Kalshara when she is the more competent one? It would have been easier for her to get the job done but she is a lazy fuck and that will get her defeated in the end.

- So Roxy can’t travel without her stone and one stone can only take one person? I guess that’s why they use those chairs in the teleportation sequence. I just don’t understand why they didn’t use the link between the Stones to figure out where Brafilius is instead of needing Roxy to tell them where he’s going.

- WHAT THE FUCK ARE THEY WEARING?!?!?!?! Stella, I think you have not grasped the concept of camouflage well. This thing is gonna get you killed if you need to run or do anything, really, instead of just stand around. No one loves it, Stella. No one!

- Are you kidding me? The costumes are actually working?! And I have to say that they would have had their wings pierced if they’d transformed so the costumes actually saved them. I can’t believe it. It is just too stupid but it happened.

- Why is that dinosaur acting like a dog? And why are they so relaxed about it? If the mother finds them, they may not live to see another minute if she thinks they’re a threat.

- A fun game? This is not a dog, goddammit!

- That dinosaur is literally a T-rex and they are making it act like a dog. What the actual hell? Also, wtf was that with the other animal that almost drowned them in a river of tears. Where did the writers get their inspiration for this season? Also, I kinda have a feeling that that is the animal they are looking for because, boy, does it not blend in.

- A giant spider again? We’ve already done that! In the same show! Not to mention that the giant spiders have been so overdone in media in general! But twice in the same show? Come on!

- Oh, Butterflix has special powers as well? Of course, it does.

- Oh, come on! Bloom’s hands were practically free at first and she has fire! She could have freed herself!

- Why is this animal in the colors of Layla’s outfit? And did she just bond with it? Omg, she did. Wtf? Are these animals gonna be relevant again? Oh, wait, it’s coming to the present too. Not like it will die lonely without its species. Why not tear it away from its natural habitat? Makes total sense.

- Ugh, I am gagging over Nex’s “flirting” and “romanticism”. At least Squank (is that how you write this? I honestly don’t care enough to look it up) kiss-blocked him and that was the one good thing in this episode. Why does Layla even look at him? He is so obviously a jerk!

7x06:

- Oh, Kiko AND pixies AND the fairy animals? Oh, goodie! And why tf are the Winx in class? What more is there to learn?! They can do everything, except defeat a damn spider.

- I am surprised the pixies didn’t drown. But at least everyone is being patient except Cherie. Why are Layla’s bonded creatures such crybabies?

- They are learning metamorphoses now? Really? How convenient.

- Why is everyone being an asshole to everyone? Wizgiz is terrible to everyone. He was allegedly very concerned about the fairy animals but now he is mad. Bloom is being an asshole to Locket even though it is not the pixies’ job to take care of their pets. I just can’t take this anymore.

- Wow, Layla figured out that the pixie thing was not a good idea? I am impressed. Why don’t they just leave Squank in the park? They can’t keep it on campus with how easily it is upset and causes trouble.

- Why is Roxy not going? It’s not like they’re headed for the past. She could go.

- Why did she say “my parents live there” instead of “this is my home”? At least we’re seeing Flora’s parents. And her father is such a dork. It is refreshing after all the fathers being so serious and composed. But her mother is such a peaceful disaster. I don’t know how she does it. At least the plants were kinda cool.

- Hello, Miele. So they just forgot that we already know about her being a fairy and going to school and then they show a flashback of it? It’s like Bloom doesn’t remember the flashback and Flora does? Wtf?!

- “Do you know where we are?” “In the middle of the forest.” Somehow, that is not reassuring or specific enough.

- Not like they’re hurting the giant fungi or something. This episode kinda reminds me of the evil willow in season 1, except that one was interesting.

- So Butterflix works only on non-nature? Well, I have bad news for you. Most of what you’re constantly surrounded by is nature!

- Why are the fungi stripping them of their transformation? How the hell? You know what? Whatever.

- Oh, damn. Even Flora got trapped. This is starting to get a little interesting. Not that they won’t be saved somehow - probably by Miele who sneaked after them - but I am starting to feel a little tension. I can’t believe it.

7x07:

- Didn’t she have to find the place where the fungi originated? Miele is just sprinkling them wherever and it’s working. Because, of course, it is!

- Flora, you would have died if Miele hadn’t saved you! And you have pulled so much shit over the years. You really don’t have the right to criticize her. At least she let her go with them.

- They’ve already ridden the ladybugs back in season 3. But that’s too far back for the writers to remember even if they brought back the ladybugs.

- They already fought the fungi. But can’t they use their energy to give nature energy so that it can fight the fungi that they can’t with their powers? Yup, that’s what they’re doing.

- Yeah, I think the glowing eyes suggest that something is happening.

- They are finally using their powers in a more interesting way! I cannot believe it. But isn’t Flora gonna bond with the magiwolf?

- Flora’s special spell looks both pretty cool and powerful. I just love me some glowy magical auras!

- Did they bond? They did, right? But why didn’t Flora hear him speak like Layla did with her fairy animal? Anyway, I love it! It is so adorable! And very mischievous. Do they really think that taking it to Alfea is a good idea? They do need to learn how to take care of their fairy animals and keep them in check instead of threatening to destroy the whole school.

- Flora, Flora, Flora. Smh. It can always get worse! At least they figured out that the pixies can’t get the job done. Winx can’t get the job done, let alone the pixies.

7x08:

- At least they are spending time with their fairy animals. But I am not a fan of them being so pushy, and especially Flora. She has always been so patient with plants but she is being so insensitive to Amarok. He’s a magiwolf! He’s not used to living in a fucking dorm!

- Man, Nex is such a damn asshole! At least this time Layla actually said something even if it was not nearly as much as it should have been. (She should just dump him tbh.) I just wish Helia hadn’t been dragged into the mess as well.

- Why is Flora mad at Helia? He hasn’t done anything wrong. He is even helping keep Amarok occupied in a more peaceful and orderly manner. One again, why is everyone being an asshole to everyone else?

- That cat is so fucking adorable! I want one! Who has a stone that can teleport me in the Winx universe so that I can get a kitty?

- “Cheeky losers”? Yeah, they totes talked like that in the Middle Ages. What the hell? Did no one figure out that they are going to have to make the medieval people speak in a period-correct manner? Apparently not.

- That kitty looks like a dangerous little beast. I am rethinking my desire for one.

- If they wanna stop the guards/soldiers/whatever without hurting them, why not just use some morphix? That can solve their problems.

- Why are people afraid of the fairies? What the fuck are the Earth fairies doing at this precise moment? They should be around at this point/still.

- It would have been so interesting to see what would have happened if Barfilius had been unable to get back to the teleportation chair and had been stuck between different times. And he could have hitchhiked with Winx when they were coming back or something. At least there would have been a point to his incompetence.

- What the fuck is this Rainbow Company and why the fuck did the writers think it was a good idea to include them? Wait, did Rainbow just drop their own company’s self-inserts?

- Those clothes I dig! I am not entirely sure how accurate for the time they are but I like the way they look.

- Well, they’re acting in a medieval play now. I have run out of “what the hell”s to give.

7x09:

- I am honestly not a fan of Musa falling for the valiant medieval musician. What is she gonna do? Take him with her like they’re doing with the animals?

- So the kitty is cute again and I want one again (even though it seems to be only one).

- I don’t think Kalshara particularly cares about Brafillius but it’s cute that he thinks she does. Especially since he has been shown to be scared of her.

- What the hell are those creatures that Brafilius summoned? That does not look like native Earth species. And poor donkey also.

- Did Musa just get caught because she was being distracted by a boy? Yeah, she really needs to get her shit together after Riven.

- Don’t tell me Orlando will fight Brafilius with music!

- Yeah, Musa definitely looks like she is handling this.

- They’re really being pretty useless in this season and having to get nature to do their job for them. And how convenient that they got the Butterflix transformation by barely doing anything for it (Mavilla was even shocked and said it was impossible).

- Wtf, did Musa just summon water drops? But the visuals of her special spell were so damn cool! THAT was actually pretty creative.

- She bonded with the cat, I knew it! It was pretty obvious that that was gonna happen.

- They are really finishing the play? *sigh*

- Did Musa just disappear in front of the entire crowd? Talk about a poor decision. They just stopped freaking out over the magic.

7x10:

- Yeah, Brafilius couldn’t even try to figure out if the cat has the First Color but why haven’t Winx tried? They have the perfect opportunity now that the cat is bonded to Musa. (And boy, what a snobby cat. I can see how it can look like Musa when she starts pouting.)

- Okay, Nex actually trying this time and taking to Squank was kinda cute, ngl. If he keeps being like that, he can stay.

- Helia really do be competing in origami with a cat... And getting destroyed... Quite literally.

- Why don’t Winx try to take care of their own damn animals! They are the ones that are bonded to the animals, yet they keep pawning them off on their boyfriends and then getting all sulky when something goes wrong. Well, the animals are primarily your responsibility so if you can tone the criticism the fuck down, that would be great.

- Omg, the bat metamorphosis! Kalshara has the best power!

- Now they wake up! Couldn’t pay attention to the racket sooner!

- They left KIKO in charge of these very massive, very wild animals? Wtf, he couldn’t even handle the pets in s4.

- Oh, the kitty can communicate? First origami, now this.

- Is that bird gonna be Stella’s animal? Yep, it will. But it’s spelled, right? Can the bond unspell it? That will be nice.

- Oof, Kalshara spelled the animals. And Winx’ powers aren’t supposed to work on them... right?

- Stella, it’s obviously spelled! You didn’t do anything wrong! Just use your brain instead of your anxious heart.

- Oh, she actually did! And they bonded! I think that was the cutest bond so far. But she named her bird Shiny? Okay, Stella.

- Stella’s special spell is pretty plain compared to those of Musa and Flora and even Layla.

- Oh, they fucked up Kalshara and Brafilius’ hideout. Finally. We’re gonna change locations at the very least. It gives the illusion of something happening.

7x11:

- Those tigers don’t look very fairy-animal-ly.

- Stella is really gonna make the animals wear clothes? Wow, they really outdid themselves this time and I don’t mean that in a good way.

- So... shiny eats gems? Interesting.

- At this point I’ll take Bloom x Sky over the fairy animals nonsense.

- Lmao @ Squank scaring Critty out of her mind. But poor Brandon with Shiny. I’m afraid she might eat him as well if she manages to get close enough to “kiss” him.

- What the hell, Stella? Here’s a simple equation for you - dying = no more fashion!

- Come on, Stella! You’ve faced so many monsters over the years? Why are you scared now?

- Okay, that’s definitely magical and definitely dark. But they have faced worse things.

- Poor baby tigers! But why don’t Winx just use their nature powers?

- Finally! And Nex was actually being useful this time. Plus, look at those super cute tiger cubs! Precious little balls of fur!

- Soooo... why are half of Winx handling this and the other half aren’t? There is legit zero reason for that. And Stella’s special spell can reverse the effect of the wild magic? Why the hell didn’t she use that back on Linphea... Oh, wait. That’s right. Their powers were taken by the fungi. Okay, this checks out for once. Surprisingly, I am also amazed that I remember as far as 5-6 episodes back. I wouldn’t have guessed it.

- Okay, yeah, the tiger cubs are so cute that they could turn a person good indeed. But, please, don’t take them to Gardenia!

- Oh, my god! What the fuck are tigers gonna do in Gardenia?! They could have found them a safe place with people who know how to take care of them in their native country! That would have been a better idea.

7x12:

- Roxy is “borrowing” the fairy animals? Tell me she’ll get her own!

- What the hell happened? And how does such a small bird knock out such a big wolf?

- My god, Flora is really getting on my nerves this season by scolding Amarok so much. Shut up, Flora! You’ve had your klutz moments too! And you are the one that took a magiwolf out of the damn forest and are trying to make it live in a dorm!

- Are you telling me that there are only, like, 7-8 planets? Because that is how much globes they have there and they seem to imply that they have covered the whole universe in their monitoring of the fairy animals.

- Are we going to see Tecna’s parents again? I am so excited! Oh, and they had Timmy over without even telling Tecna? That is actually kinda adorable! It means that they are really getting along with him!

- Where did Brafilius go? Back in time but when exactly? At the creation of techno magic? Don’t tell me he’s gonna fuck it up completely? Yep, he did!

- Tbh I expected more chaos. I guess only the droids are techno magic and the rest is just plain technology. Oh, and the cars are freaking out.

- Well, Brafilius is trapped now. If they don’t fuck up, they can have him arrested.

- Tecna is sure getting poetic for someone that is so technical. Her magic is always so damn awesome, though! How have I not noticed before this rewatch?

- Dammit, they’re gonna miss Brafilius again!

7x13:

- Oh, goody. Only Bloom hasn’t gotten her fairy animal... Aaaaaand it just showed up! I mean, this unicorn’s hair is legit made of flames! It is obviously gonna be her animal. She even said she always wanted a unicorn (just like any girl ever) in season 4.

- Who’s working in the rescue park when Winx are running around in the past?

- The pixies just really caused a mini storm? And how is holding on to each other while floating aimlessly in the air “taking cover”?

- Why are they on Earth again? How come they met 1/3 of the fairy animals on Earth?

- Even the pandas aren’t cute enough to make me care for this episode when it is so fucking useless. Half of it is done and nothing has happened. And real life pandas are actually cuter. Sorrynotsorry.

- Wait, what? Is all the bamboo... a simulation? Wtf happened there?

- Oh, thought the unicorn was trying to make the into shredded cheese but it just trapped them instead? Boooooooring.

- It’s wild magic, we know! It was obvious. Except Stella is trapped and she can’t unspell it with her special spell.

- How convenient that her fire powers are working on a unicorn that was shooting fire blasts out of its horn. You know, totes like a dragon. Of course, Bloom just managed to unspell it even though that should be Stella’s specialty.

- Not a song! Oh, thank god, it didn’t last long.

- Don’t tell me that the unicorn has healing powers... Well, of course it does! And it can also speak to all of them even though the other animals can only speak to their bonded fairy. Right.

- Oh, come on! If the unicorn could counteract the wild magic, why did it even get changed by it?! The “cure” was right there in its body!

- Well, this emotional resolution ain’t shit.

I did do part 2 here despite my reluctance (but hey, it wasn’t that bad).

[artificialqueens]

Urgent Exit Required (Diamond Chaney) - Ortega

fic summary: "She’d always thought, really, how bad could a relationship between two colleagues ever be?

She supposes now, standing on the flyover with a rifle in her hand, she sees exactly why that rule is in place. Usually she has problems falling for straight girls, this time her error’s been falling for a bent one."

(In which Lawrence works in anti-corruption, and Ellie is the corrupt officer wrapped up in an organised crime gang.)

a/n: please in the name of Jesus, Mary and Joseph and the wee donkey, read the trigger warnings!!!!

this is a Line of Duty AU based entirely off of the final episode of season 3 because apparently i'm unable to consume any media without turning it into a fic! big big thanks to Juno who was chill about me posting this as she's also concieved of a Line of Duty AU that looks like it'll be AMAZING so keep an eye out for that!!

if you enjoyed then feel free to leave some love, even if it's just to scream at me xo

trigger warnings: because it's based off a gritty tv show, please be mindful that this fic features gun violence, injury and death (to be absolutely clear: one of them dies) so if you feel this fic is not for u then don't force it and please click off it!

if uv made it this far then pls enjoy this heavy slice of angst that has absolutely 0 grounding in reality whatsoever xo

***

Lawrence doesn’t think she’s ever been more aware of her heart than she is now.

She means that in every sense. Physically, it’s all she can feel; it’s swollen in her ribcage as it batters in her chest, working overtime to keep up with the adrenaline that’s coursing through her veins like a forest fire as she pounds across the dual carriageway, hurdles over the central reservation and sprints past cars as though they’re nothing less than flies that simply need swatted away. She’d normally conduct more of a mental risk-assessment before essentially playing professional chicken on a busy main road. She’d normally think through every move carefully; strategise, stack up the options, Sherlock in slow-motion. It’s what’s got her to where she is today, but today isn’t a normal day. And where she is now is on a road bridge, positioning an AR-15 onto a high railing so it looks down onto a near-silent residential street. The blood’s roaring in her ears and her mouth’s so dry that she can taste the inexplicable tang of metal and her heart , Jesus Christ she never knew it could beat this fast.

Lawrence has been in situations like this before. It’s not like she’s never held a gun; in anti-terror she’d become as desensitized to them as one human could be, and she’s come to regard them as a grim necessity to her job just like her badge, her lanyard, her pocketbook. As stress levels- adrenaline levels- go, she’s been exposed to her fair share. High speed chases, hurtling through the city in a Vauxhall with an ART on her way to arrest a potentially dangerous criminal. She’s been ambushed in a warehouse and tied to a chair and had her hand forced into a vice by a gang of men in balaclavas, and that still , as insane as it sounds, didn’t have her heart beating like it is just now.

Because this is all different. Because she knows it’s only a matter of time before that car appears, and she knows who’s travelling in the passenger seat.

She’s not religious, so she hopes instead of prays. For what, she doesn’t know.

For both of them to come out of this alive, perhaps.

***

It’s always strange to watch one of their own crack in the interview chair. The bravado they begin with, the smug cushioning of their own status within the ranks rendering them completely disbelieving of the idea they could ever be brought down.

Then comes the little telltale signs. The sipping of the water, the clearing of the throat. The slight pause that starts to come before their answers, on stage in the middle of the dress run forgetting their script and the only lines they’ll be fed are the standard infuriating “no comment”. And then comes the shattering of the glass. When the three of them kick down the sandcastle and watch it crumble and whichever bent bastard they’re charging this time leaves with their tail between their legs and metal around their wrists.

Except it’s not the three of them. It’s just Superintendent Black and DC Chaney. Because DS Boyle (Aurora), her colleague (her friend), is being held in a cell. Framed for the armed robbery she hasn’t organised, framed for the attempted murder of a woman Lawrence knows she’d never even so much as say a bad word about, let alone lay a hand on. The fake number plates on her car, the drug money banknotes found in the boot.

Things that Lawrence would never in her wildest nightmares have considered Ellie Diamond to be capable of orchestrating. Things that don’t match up with the Ellie who bought her coffee and left it on her desk in time for her starting work. The Ellie that wrote shite jokes on pink post-its and stuck them to her monitor (What do you call a happy penguin? A pen-grin). The Ellie that held her close and whispered condolences and apologies and words of comfort after they’d interviewed and arrested Aurora.

Lawrence has tried to separate the two in her mind, but she knows she can’t. She knows that the Ellie she’s come to know and the Ellie that’s done all these things are one and the same, and that’s still something she’s trying to wrap her brain around. But she’s in the chair in front of her in a muted baby pink suit, the colour clashing so violently with the matter at hand, with her solicitor and a glass of water and her pink acrylics tapping against the table, and she’s cracking just like they always do. The evidence against her is piling up, and suddenly she is just another criminal.

Joe leans forward against the desk, eyes narrowing. “DI Diamond, I think we have earned the right to ask you the question...will you kindly tell us your whereabouts between ten and eleven am on the morning of the fifteenth?”

The morning that Tayce Szura-Radix was struck by Aurora’s car in a brutal hit-and-run. The morning Tayce had thought she was about to meet Aurora. The morning that Tayce emailed Joe a list of names linked to the OCG. They all know it wasn’t a coincidence.

The morning that confirmed all of Lawrence’s worst fears.

Ellie holds Joe’s gaze, the stubborn glint in her eyes contrasting with the tense energy she’s emanating from every pore. There’s a silence before she answers in which Lawrence holds her breath.

“I don’t think I need to answer that question.”

The urge Lawrence fights to roll her eyes is a battle between David and Goliath.

“Don’t you?” Joe smiles patiently at her, blinks calmly in an almost reptilian way. Joe knows they’ve not played their ace yet, and the pair of them have got all the time in the world.

(Well, they don’t. They’ve got an hour until Aurora is either charged or released, and it’s looking like it’ll be the former. Lawrence can’t let that happen, even if it is Ellie in the chair opposite her.)

“It’s a voluntary interview,” Ellie explains. Her voice is fast and breathy as she speaks again, almost choked with nerves. “And I’m only here because it’s my lawful duty as a police officer to assist in a criminal enquiry.”

“Of course, DI Diamond, of course you are,” Joe nods, calm and placating. “In fact, we can stop this interview right now if you like, but of course it would leave this question hanging over you, hanging over your career. Or you could do the honourable thing and offer us an answer. Exclude yourself from our enquiries. That’s assuming you have nothing to hide.”

Ellie looks down at the table, frozen for a moment in time. She looks to her solicitor as if he’s the last liferaft off the Titanic, leans over to him for advice. What she receives doesn’t even seem as if it’s the equivalent of a rubber duck from the way she reaches across for her glass of water again, sips for a second, clears her throat.

As she leans back in her chair and folds her arms, Lawrence finds herself wondering if Ellie’s ever played poker. She hopes she hasn’t, for her dignity’s sake if nothing else.

“I was at my flat,” she says quickly, as if she’s trying to make up for the time she’s spent in silence. “I was on surveillance until late the night before, and I slept late.”

Lawrence’s heart jumps as Joe continues questioning.

“So you were in during those hours.”

Ellie nods quickly. “Yes.”

Lawrence can’t help herself. She’s bitten her tongue through most of the interview, not trusting herself to speak. Silence is a virtue she rarely possesses, and somehow she’s managed to keep her resolve til now. But whatever Ellie was to her before, whatever her feelings were (are?), she’s still a detective that’s being handed an opportunity to catch a criminal on a silver platter.

“Say that again,” Lawrence says, calm but insistent. When Ellie’s gaze is ripped from Joe to fall onto her, Lawrence can’t read her expression. Her mouth moves slightly as if she’s about to speak, then clearly elects not to.

Lawrence keeps her own face blank as she continues, no telltale signs of her broken heart on display. “You’ve just said you were in your flat between ten and eleven am on the fifteenth. We’ve got that on tape.”

Ellie’s eyes dart between Lawrence and Joe. “Wh…”

Joe, for her part, is still fixing Ellie with that patient expression. “It’s a very simple matter, DI Diamond-”

“No, no. DI Diamond’s already answered the question,” Lawrence interrupts, leaning forward against the desk. She selfishly allows an angry glint to appear in her eye, one that sets off a flicker of fear in Ellie’s in turn. “Haven’t you?”

Ellie’s like a statue as she stares at Lawrence, unable to answer. The only sign she’s still sentient is her sporadic blinking with her long lash extensions that Lawrence examines every detail of as she continues to stare at her. Eyes that Lawrence had once looked into and felt butterflies that now only turn her stomach in the worst of ways.

“You’ve mentioned, when questioned, something you later intend to rely on. In court,” Lawrence states, the ��t’ of ‘court’ bouncing through gritted teeth and making Ellie’s gaze dart back to Joe, clearly a less threatening option.

There’s a silence where Ellie sits, slack-jawed and cornered, before she shakes her head, rubbing her perfectly made up face with her hands quickly. “No, look...I might have made a mistake, just...give me a second to think.”

“Take your time, DI Diamond,” Joe says, humouring her. They both know there’s no hope for Ellie to pull an alibi out of her ass at this stage of the game.

“I’d been up late, so I…” Ellie stammers.

Even after everything, Lawrence still fights the urge to feel sorry for her.

There’s a moment where Ellie freezes for a second, then looks to Joe with what appears to be renewed confidence. She reaches into the inside pocket of her suit jacket, pulls out her phone.

Lawrence narrows her eyes, question marks immediately appearing in her mind.

“If I just check my phone...you know, times of texts I sent and that. That’ll probably help me remember…” Ellie mutters, looking down into the screen.

She keeps staring at it. Her finger is poised over something, something she’s waiting to press. Something she’s waiting to send? Immediately there’s a red flag wrapped around Lawrence’s thoughts.

Ellie’s eyes are stuck to her phone as she opens her mouth again.

“You wouldn’t, um. You wouldn’t have gone into my flat that morning, Lawrence?”

The red flag is joined by alarm bells. She knows. She knows that Lawrence knows that she wasn’t in her flat that morning. Lawrence can see Joe look to her, but she’s not answering. Instead, she’s got her eyes on that phone just as much as Ellie. Watching. Waiting.

And then Ellie’s finger hits the screen and she looks up at Lawrence. There’s an assurance to her gaze that Lawrence doesn’t like. “Like...alone?”

Lawrence isn’t answering her. She doesn’t owe her anything. They’re staring at each other- no warmth, just steel- and it’s so intense that Lawrence almost doesn’t hear anything.

But then there’s the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking outside that cuts through the silence. The starting pistol for all hell breaking loose.

***

Lawrence supposes a lot can happen in a minute. She rests the rifle against the railing of the bridge, flicks the safety off with her thumb and holds her breath as she waits for the blacked-out Range Rover to appear from its hiding place within the identical red brick houses. She wonders how she'll live with herself if her shot hits Ellie. She's a good aim, but she's not that good. Regardless, if the car appears she's taking the shot, decision-making process be damned.

She also supposes a lot can happen in a year. Ellie's transfer from the AC-9 Witness Protection Department to AC-12 in order for her to help aid the investigation into the ambush of former DI Tayce Szura-Radix was an unwelcome one at first. It had always been Lawrence, Joe and Aurora, the dream team with insurmountable trust in each other. A new girl from outside that circle wasn't exactly going to assimilate well into that, no matter how cheerful or friendly she was.

Or how beautiful.

But, little by little, Ellie fell in with the department as naturally as the seasons changed. The more interviews Lawrence conducted with Ellie she got to see how sympathetic she could be towards victims and indeed how steadfast and unforgiving she could be with witnesses. The more time Lawrence worked with Ellie she got to see how efficient she was, the quick turnaround on any of her tasks and the way she followed up enquiries like a dog with a scent easily impressing her. The more late-night surveillance ops they spent together Lawrence got to find out how funny Ellie was, the other girl making her snort with hysterical laughter as they played silly games of snog, marry, avoid in the lull between any suspicious activity.

The thing is, there’s only so much time someone can spend with a girl like Ellie before they start to fall for her. At least that’s Lawrence’s theory, although maybe she’s just talking from experience. As much as she’s committed to her career and as much as she wants to rise through the ranks (and yeah, she’s earned the right to boast about how much she’s achieved so young), she’s still a lesbian in her twenties who’s never had a girlfriend. Okay, she’d never do what Aurora did and spark up something with a witness and disgraced corrupt officer, even though she supposes it doesn’t matter now that poor Tayce is fighting for her life in a hospital bed, God love her. But she’d always thought, really, how bad could a relationship between two colleagues ever be?

She supposes now, standing on the flyover with a rifle in her hand, she sees exactly why that rule is in place. Usually she has problems falling for straight girls, this time her error’s been falling for a bent one.

It hurts to remember. As much as those memories of falling for Ellie make her happy, they’re tainted now. Knowing the girl she’s fallen for could’ve ended someone else’s life. Knowing how much she’s wrapped up in armed robberies, drug trafficking, organised crime. But there’s still the ridiculous part of Lawrence that screams, she’s just a pawn. She’s not to blame. She’s small fry, and there’s bigger fish out there.

Fighting past those thoughts and digging deep, Lawrence narrows her eyes at the street below her and curls her finger around the trigger. A lot can happen in a minute. A lot of memories can fly through her head.

***

It all happens so fast. One guard turning his firearm on another outside the interview room and then shooting through the glass walls, the gunshots loud and pummeling Lawrence’s ears as she ducks down under the desk. When they stop, she can only look up to see Ellie sprinting over the carpet of broken glass, running across the office with the guard following behind her. Not in pursuit. As protection.

Lawrence doesn’t think. She dashes up from behind the desk, snatches up the assault rifle from beside the guard who’s bleeding out on the ground and sprints after Ellie, only stopping to snatch up her tactical vest and shrug it on whilst she’s running.

She is not letting her get away.

As she leaves, Lawrence can hear Joe shouting; ordering someone to CPR the wounded guard, to lock down the building. When Lawrence reaches the balcony of the atrium just before she takes the stairs, she can see Ellie hurtling through the main doors, the police officer following behind her pointing his gun at anyone in their way.

She can’t believe Ellie’s wrapped up in all this. Still, that’s the nature of the job. Sometimes it’s the ones that were blatantly bent from the start, sometimes it’s the ones you’d never expect. Sometimes it’s the girls who wear the diamante hair clips and sing along to the radio in the office and squeeze your hand with a gentle smile when you’re tired and flagging. Life’s not like the kids’ movies Ellie loves so much, the bad guys aren’t always clear cut. Although she supposes Ellie’s the perfect modern-day Disney twist-villain if ever there was one.

As Lawrence runs out into the street her heart sinks to find that Ellie and the guard are already a fair distance down the road, their guns ensuring that shocked passers-by leap out of their way quickly. She doesn't think she's going to be able to catch them on foot, and her mind makes the risk assessment of trying to shoot at them in such a public setting.

The truck that's fast approaching on the road makes the decision for her.

Lawrence runs out into the street, wielding her badge (as if the driver can see it from high up in his cab) but luckily the truck stops anyway, and she hoists herself up to cling to the side door, commands the driver to follow Ellie and the guard as fast as he can and not to stop.

The driver obeys and Lawrence shouts directions at him through the window as Ellie frantically pounds the pavements in the rapidly decreasing distance. The lorry keeps up well thanks to the lack of traffic lights on the road, and Lawrence eventually hops off as Ellie sprints down a pedestrianised side street with the guard at her tail.

Lawrence narrows her eyes, aims…

And then a family steps into her path. Dad, Mum, boy, girl. Perfect little nuclear setup smack bang in front of her target line. Lawrence curses loudly, sprints past them and down the scrub of industrial wasteland parallel to the one Ellie disappeared down with the guard. With a pang to her heart, Lawrence considers the barren dirt that frames the path and the washed-out colours that surround her. Old warehouses and scrap metal and the brown of old grass. Insipid and sepia and so Not Ellie.

She skids to a halt, though, when she sees two figures running across the way; baby pink suit, firearms uniform. They’ve slowed to a jog now, it’s no longer the fast-paced marathon it was before. Lawrence takes advantage of their unsuspecting position, and she cocks her gun as she shouts from the distance between them.

“Armed police!”

Both of them whip their heads round as they freeze in fear, and as the guard aims his own gun Lawrence fires two shots towards him in panic. She knows any injury (or death, God forbid) would be lawful, but it never makes it any easier. The guard falls to the ground, disarmed and no longer a threat.

And then it’s just her and Ellie.

Ellie’s got her glock trained on Lawrence as she stands rooted to the spot, blinking at her with those huge lashes and breathing heavily. Her eyes are wide and frantic, panicked. She shouldn’t be in charge of a gun.

“Drop your weapon!” Lawrence shouts, adjusting the gun for emphasis.

“Drop yours!” Ellie retorts childishly, not backing down in any sense. It’s fitting, Lawrence supposes, that they’re still bickering to the bitter end.

They could both fire at each other. Well, Ellie could fire at her. But as Lawrence keeps her aim steady, Ellie suddenly drops her arm to her side, sprints off as fast as she’s able down the alley again. Lawrence could shoot her like she did the guard. But the evidence Ellie can give is too valuable, too precious. She needs her alive.

And as Lawrence runs after her in pursuit, she pretends that’s the only reason she’s sparing her.

***

Selfishly, Lawrence allows herself to think about what could’ve been. She still judges herself heavily for how much she thinks about that night; the night of Ellie’s commendation award, when Ellie had been tipsy off free champagne and Lawrence had been drunk off just walking her home, the pair of them sharing a styrofoam carton of chips with their arms linked together. Ellie had been wearing this mid-length silver dress that seemed to drip with little jewels, and the way she sparkled under the streetlights had matched the stars in the sky and the twinkle in her eyes as she agreed with Lawrence about how these didn’t compare to the chips in Scotland.

As the empty carton was chucked in a bin, Ellie had begun to chat about how much she missed her home city. She told Lawrence about how she’d always dreamt of opening a hair and beauty salon on the high street in Dundee, or maybe even moving to Glasgow and opening it there. Her lips had taken on a dreamy, wistful smile as she spoke about how she’d wanted to paint the outside pink and have hanging baskets with plastic flowers hanging over the windows. How she’d keep glass jars full of sweets on top of the desk and a gingham-patterned feature wall where she’d take pictures of her clients’ hair for Instagram.

“And then I became a police officer,” Ellie had laughed humourlessly, and Lawrence hadn’t missed the disappointment in her tone. It had been Ellie’s big night, a highlight of her career. A commendation for defending herself alone against a member of the OCG with a firearm.

(Lawrence now knows that the situation had been manipulated to fit Ellie’s agenda and that self-defence couldn’t have been further from the truth.)

But it didn’t make sense that Ellie had been so hung up on this pipe dream of owning a hair salon.

“So why didn’t you?” Lawrence had tilted her head, struck by the beauty of the girl by her side all over again.

Ellie had turned to blink in confusion at her, Lawrence immediately snapping her gaze to the pavement in a show of uncharacteristic shyness. “Why didn’t I what?”

Lawrence had laughed, unable to resist the urge to poke fun at her friend-slash-colleague-slash-crush. “You are a fuckin’ goldfish! Three-second memory! Why didn’t you open the salon? Y’know. What made you join the force instead?”

When Lawrence looked at Ellie again, there’d been a frown making furrows between her perfectly carved-out eyebrows. There was a pause as their heels continued to clack against the concrete paving slabs of the street, a pause filled with words Ellie hadn’t seemed to be able to say.

“Sometimes life just has different plans for you, I guess.”

Something in her answer had troubled Lawrence but, as ever, she deflected with a joke. The night had been so perfect, and she hadn’t wanted to shatter the unspoiled crystal moment just yet.

“What a classic fuckin’ Ellie Diamond answer. No grand speeches about wanting to protect the vulnerable, no humble brags about wanting to help people, no Miss World speech about preserving life. Just life having other plans. Like your whole career’s been an inconvenience in the way of you getting to play hair salons with people like they’re fuckin’ Barbie dolls.”

Ellie had snorted a giggle, shaking her head as she brought her other arm up to rest in the crook of Lawrence’s elbow. “Playing with Barbie dolls. Girl, I am the Barbie doll!”

Lawrence had laughed along, the smile still on her face as she spoke again. “Nah. She’s plastic and out of proportion. You’re far too pretty to be her.”

“Jesus,” Ellie had muttered, the ghost of a smile still there on her lips. “An actual compliment from DC Chaney. Fuck a commendation, that’s the highlight of the night. Maybe I can take early retirement.”

Lawrence’s heart had fluttered as she’d looked at Ellie with a smirk. “Quite frankly flattered to know a compliment from me means so fuckin’ much to you.”

Ellie had only returned her smirk, a brazen glint in her eye that turned Lawrence’s insides to butter. “Too right, hen.”

Something electric had begun to charge between them from there, something magic and organic and real. Lawrence has spent a lot of time since she discovered Ellie’s involvement in the OCG trying to figure out what between them had been real, and she still argues in favour of the authenticity of that moment. The memory of reaching Ellie’s door and standing beside her as she fumbled under the mat for her spare key (having lost her original somewhere in her clutch bag) is so searing that it almost throws off Lawrence’s concentration. She grits her teeth, trying to ground herself as she adjusts her aim so that it’s right in the middle of the road. Any second now…

But the way Ellie had looked at her from under her lashes with a coy smile on her face when Lawrence had asked her if she’d had a good night still remains branded in her mind.

“I mean, apart from the fact I had to spend it with you,” she’d teased, laughing as Lawrence’s mouth had dropped open in outrage. “...yeah. I had a good night.”

“Stop talking shite. I was the highlight of your evening,” Lawrence had poked her in the arm, stupidly delighting in the way Ellie giggled in response.

“Yeah, a chippy in the middle of the street! You really know how to charm a lady. Remind me why you’re single?” Ellie had joked, Lawrence choosing to roll her eyes dramatically instead of growing offended.

“Ellie Diamond, a lady? That’ll be right,” Lawrence had snorted, only prompting Ellie’s grin to grow bigger. “And I’m single by choice, I’ll have you know. Obviously I’ve got lassies throwing themselves at my feet, but none of them meet my outrageously high standards.”

Ellie had giggled, but her laugh had faltered as she’d met Lawrence’s eyes. There’d been something unsure in them, something nervous, but even looking back Lawrence is sure they’d held a certain amount of honesty that couldn’t have been acting.

“I know you’re taking the piss, but honestly…” Ellie had said quietly, breaking eye contact to look down at the ground and the glittery silver heels on her feet. “...I don’t know how you’ve not got girls falling over themselves to be with you. Because, well. Fuckin’ look at you.”

The butterflies in Lawrence’s stomach had sprung to life so hard she’d felt ever-so-slightly ill. Deflecting, she’d shaken her head in self-pity. “Aye, right. Think it’s looking at me that’s causing the problems, doll.”

“Fuck off , Lawrence. Have you seen yourself tonight?” Ellie had laughed breathlessly. Lawrence can still remember how close they’d been, how little distance there was between them.

“Unfortunately.”

Ellie had shaken her head in disbelief, and when she’d moved to take Lawrence’s hands in her own Lawrence still swears the world had stopped turning on its axis. “Oh my God, shut up.”

Maybe that had been another time Lawrence had been so aware of her heart, the way it had thumped violently in her chest in a way that made it seem it was about to give out. She couldn’t stop the way she’d flicked her gaze down to Ellie’s lips for a split-second even if she’d wanted to.

“You gonny make me?”

And just like that Ellie had leaned in and kissed her outside her door in the pitch dark with only the streetlamps to illuminate them, a scene from a movie that Lawrence had always thought only happened to other people. The kiss hadn’t felt fake; the way Ellie had dropped one of Lawrence’s hands to cup her cheek and the intensity after the split-second of initial hesitation had only driven home how much it had seemed to mean to Ellie. How much Lawrence seemed to mean to Ellie.

Lawrence wonders if that’s still true.

Lawrence had known she should’ve pulled away sooner. She knows it would’ve helped maintain the illusion of professionalism, the illusion that the kiss had somehow been a mistake. But the smoke had been cleared and the mirror had been shattered (and Lawrence supposes now she’s got the bad luck to show for it) and she’d kissed back, matched the other girl’s longing because Christ knew she’d wanted the same thing for months.

She’d made sure to pull away first, though, and at least that had been something she’d done right, but the way Ellie had smiled sheepishly at her and loosened her grip on her hand only made Lawrence want to take it all back, hit pause instead of stop and lean in to meet her lips again.

“Sorry,” Lawrence had said, before trying not to pull a face because, Jesus Cartwheeling Christ, Chaney, apologising to the girl right after you kiss her? Nae fuckin’ wonder you’re single.

Ellie, in fairness, had shaken her head. “No, you’re fine. I’m sorry, I know how seriously you take all the regs and stuff-”

“Yeah,” Lawrence had agreed, regret coating her words. “But, y’know, we can...we can see what happens. Who’s to say further down the line…”

“Sure, sure,” Ellie had nodded, smiling as she turned back to her front door, turning the key in the lock and pushing it open ever-so-slightly. “Well. Thanks. For walking me home. And, uh. I’ll see you at work, I guess?”

“Yeah,” Lawrence had nodded, looking from the ground and back to Ellie.

It must have been the way they were looking at each other that had made Ellie begin to lean in again but Lawrence, in all her ridiculous, law-abiding glory, had stepped back awkwardly, not trusting herself to meet Ellie’s lips again only because she knew that once she started kissing her she’d never be able to break away. They’d blushed awkwardly at each other, and as Ellie pushed her front door she smiled gently.

“I do really like you, Lawrence.”

Lawrence hadn’t been able to trust herself to speak in case she said something she’d regret. Instead she’d smiled bashfully at her shoes before Ellie finally said a quiet goodnight, and then Lawrence had disappeared down the road to hail a cab, not daring to turn back and look at Ellie’s door.

She wonders if Ellie meant any of it. Felt any of it at all. If it was all just a plot to get the sad, fat wee lesbian onside, to try and get her into bed so the stupid cow would fall in love with her and tell her all the department’s secrets. She wonders if Ellie closed the door behind her that night and laughed at how simple it had been, made some calls to whoever low-life she reports to and had a good giggle about how easy it was to wrap her round her finger.

But then under the bridge not even two minutes ago…

Well. Ellie had still got in that car and sped away.

Lawrence’s arm is stinging in pain but before she can dwell on it, something enters her line of vision. A blacked-out Range Rover making its way across the road she’s pointing the rifle at.

Her finger is pulling the trigger before she can even pray the bullet doesn’t hit Ellie, and in the distance the car swerves out of control and out of her sight.

***

The first thing Lawrence sees when she rounds the corner is Ellie. Middle of the road, under the bridge, houses on either side. Her blonde hair in her face, mouth slack as she breaths frantically. She’s scrabbling at the screen of her phone with one hand- of course she’s impeded by those fucking pink acrylics- while the other is curled around the glock at her side. Lawrence knows she writes with her right hand. She’s chosen it to send the text, meaning the gun’s in her non-dominant hand.

Lawrence throws all hope of strategic thinking out the window as she skids to a halt, points her own gun at Ellie, and all of a sudden she’s shouting across at her.

“Drop your gun, drop your phone!”

She’s only managed to get two words out when Ellie’s arms switch position and the gun is suddenly trained on her. Her blue eyes are wide and panicked, but her arm’s straight. Steady. The distance between them is metres and yet it seems like nothing at all.

“Lawrence,” she says, her voice flimsy and paper thin and without any conviction. It makes Lawrence’s heart want to crack in two, but it’s past that. It’s already broken, as is her trust.

“They’re not here for you then,” Lawrence sneers, casting a glance down the empty road.

“Not yet,” Ellie scowls, a fresh sense of confidence to her words. “But they will be. So you should run while you still can.”

“I am too fuckin’ shattered to run, drop the gun!” Lawrence insists with a yell, keeping her aim steady despite her heavy breathing.

Ellie’s still got the glock trained on her, but her eyes are filled with something that doesn’t match the hardened criminal image Lawrence has to acquaint herself with. It’s something akin to betrayal, and Lawrence would snort at the audacity if the situation wasn’t so tense.

“You went into my flat that morning. You saw I wasn’t there.”

Lawrence pauses, shrugs slightly. “Not like I needed a battering ram, I knew where you kept the spare key.”

Ellie seems to remember that night as well, judging from the way her stony expression falters and the betrayal on her face only becomes more apparent. “When did you know? About me.”

Lawrence refuses to crack under the kicked puppy expression Ellie’s choosing to deploy. Instead she only hitches her rifle so it’s steady in her grip. “A lady never tells.”

Ellie gives a single snort, regret painted on her face like her perfect makeup. There’s a smirk on her lips and a slight sadness to her gaze as she speaks again. “Well now I see why we never slept together.”

If she wanted to hit Lawrence where it hurts, she’s succeeded. Lawrence pauses before weighing up her tactics, willing that Ellie’s feelings for her were real enough for her own words to touch a nerve.

“Wasn’t that I didn’t want to.”

Ellie falters. The gun’s limp in her hand now, and she takes a few steps towards her before seemingly remembering they’re both holding firearms. “Look, please. Just go before they get here.”

“I get it,” Lawrence disregards her, keeps her talking until the ART (where the fuck is the ART?) can get here before Ellie’s guys can. “Frame Aurora Boyle as the bent copper, as the one who pulled the hit and run on Tayce. She goes down and you can retire at the tender age of...thirteen and three quarters, Adrian fucking Mole. With the emphasis on mole.”

“I'm not bent!” Ellie protests in anguish, beginning to grow visibly upset. She’s cracking just like she’d done in the interview room, only this time it’s ten times harder to watch. “Tayce Szura-Radix was...I had to, she was going to leak the list of names and I...I couldn’t let her do that. It was going to be bribery originally, but then they told me to get rid of her and-”

“And she still managed to hit send on the fuckin’ email before you hit her with the car. So how did that work out for you?” Lawrence bites back bitterly. Ellie squeezes her eyes shut, her arm lowers ever so slightly. It’s the picture of a girl who’s too wrapped up in a world she knows so little about, a kid in the deep end with no armbands. She regrets hitting Tayce. Lawrence can see that.

“They picked you out,” Lawrence continues. “Made you feel special, made you feel clever, guided your career. I know what it’s like, Ellie, we're young, this is a tough fucking game. But you know everything. You really think they’re going to let you just stop, let you go have your wee happily-ever-after fairytale ending?”

“Lawrence, I know what I’m doing,” Ellie sniffs, switches the arm that’s holding the gun and aims it steadily at her with only the slightest tremble.

“Bimini,” Lawrence says simply, and Ellie’s face flinches in recognition. “They’re saying they’re going to get off their charges. You know names, dates, places. You know as well as I do they’re not at the top of that fucking tree. We’re so close to cracking this whole OCG. Money laundering, drug trafficking, more armed robberies.”

Ellie is faltering. Her eyes dart down the road behind Lawrence and when there’s no relief to her expression, Lawrence continues.

“You were just a kid. They picked you up off a Dundee scheme, got you into the force and then you had access to operations, evidence rooms, kilos and kilos of currency that can get used to frame people, blackmail people, get them off the hook and make them money. Ellie, do you honestly think you were the only teenager they’ve trained up? You know how wide-reaching this is. How many other kids lives’ have they ruined? How many other dreams have they thrown on the scrapheap? How many other wee girls aren’t ever gonny get their hair salon?”

Ellie’s expression is blank, supposedly steadfast apart from the tears that’re making tracks down each cheek. Lawrence can feel the lump in her own throat before she swallows it, narrowing her eyes to stop the tears that are threatening to spring up in them.

She’s part of the OCG. She’s corrupt. Her actions have resulted in lost lives.

And yet she’s not a killer. She’s in too deep and she’s drowning. She deserves a second chance.

“Do the right thing,” Lawrence pleads, having to readjust her own gun as she realises she’s lowered it while she’s been talking. “Tell us everything you know. Confess.”

There’s a flicker in Ellie’s eyes that makes Lawrence think perhaps this is it. She’ll put the gun down and run away with her, back to AC-12 and then to a protected witness safehouse and maybe Lawrence can still visit her, maybe they’ll work something out.

And then there’s a screeching of brakes and tyres behind her, and before Lawrence can turn around she’s struck to the ground, the side of an ugly blacked-out Range Rover scraping her left arm. Lawrence can hear herself groan in pain, couldn’t prevent her own cries even if she wanted to because fucking Jesus she’s hurt, and as the car screeches to a halt she’s willing herself with every fibre of her being to get up, catch the fuckers because she can’t let them away with this.

She can’t let them away with what they’ve turned Ellie into.

As she rolls over onto her side, though, the sight that’s in front of her is strange. The car hasn’t yet sped away, and Ellie doesn’t appear to be in a rush. Instead she’s rooted to the spot, staring at Lawrence with her jaw slack and helplessness smacked across her face.

They lock eyes, and Lawrence knows she wants to help her.

Then something takes over; whether it’s a realisation that she can’t help her or a change of heart, Lawrence doesn’t know, but suddenly Ellie’s wrenching open the side door and scrambling into the back seat, and the accelerator is getting slammed as the car drives away in too low of a gear.

Lawrence looks at the bridge she’s just run down the stairs from and knows that this isn’t over yet. Not by a long shot.

***

She’s audibly gasping. How pathetic. Countless years in the police service, the exertion she’s had to go through in fitness training, and yet this is the thing that’s got her the most out of breath in her whole career.

Sprinting down to an OCG car to see if she’s killed the criminal she’s fallen in love with.

The Range Rover has crashed into a parked Citroen, and there’s a car alarm piercing through the air as Lawrence runs up to the scene. Which car it belongs to, Lawrence doesn’t know. She supposes it doesn’t matter. There’s smoke pouring out of one of the vehicles under the bonnet which makes her panic, wonder if suddenly one of them is about to burst into flames action-movie style. She supposes the last hour couldn’t be much more beyond parody if it tried.

The doors to the Range Rover are closed. That is until Lawrence runs up parallel to the vehicle and the passenger door swings open, Ellie falling out of it with a pained grunt, bent double with her palms against the ground. There’s a nasty cut on her head that blood is already pouring out of, but Lawrence knows it’s not a gunshot wound. That seems to have been reserved for the driver of the car, and Lawrence is grateful with every embryo she possesses that Ellie wasn’t the target.

Even in Ellie’s shaken state she’s still holding her glock, so Lawrence keeps her rifle trained on her as Ellie aims messily, sways from left to right a little like she’s drunk. Even though Lawrence wants nothing more than to just drop her weapon and wrap Ellie in a hug. To tell her it’s over now, that she’ll be okay. Protected, safe.

Although the illusion that she could be any of those things is beginning to crumble to the ground as the gravity of the situation hits Lawrence like a freight train.

“Ellie, drop the gun. Put it down,” Lawrence commands from behind the gun.

Ellie disobeys her, stubborn til the bitter end. They look at each other, their gazes challenging but holding an equal amount of hurt and regret. As Ellie stumbles towards her and lowers her weapon, Lawrence in turn lowers hers. She’s giving nothing away on her expression, but the action lifts Lawrence’s heart. As she catches her breath her heart is in her mouth, wondering if Ellie’s going to drop the gun, if she’ll say something, if she realises this whole mess could be over if she just-

Click.

Lawrence’s face drops as she seems to take in what’s happening at a thousand miles an hour. The passenger seat of the Range Rover, a man in a helmet with the visor up aiming a rifle straight at her. This is it. Ellie was just a decoy to distract Lawrence long enough to be offered up like a lamb to slaughter. The dread and panic and sheer realisation that her life’s about to be ended by a round of bullets grips Lawrence to the point of paralysis.

And then she sees Ellie’s head turn, and where once before everything was fast, events suddenly slow to half speed.

There’s a raw, visceral, almost animalistic “ NO!” that’s ripped from Ellie as she steps in front of Lawrence, and then the BANGBANG, BANG of three bullets that fire through Ellie’s body before she falls to the ground. Without any prior thought and as though her body is being controlled for her, Lawrence aims her gun at the man who’s just killed the girl she loves and fires three right back, only satisfied when his helmet thrashes against the passenger window in defeat.

Lawrence’s face contorts into one of horror and disbelief as police sirens enter her consciousness, and the ART arrives. She stumbles a little on the spot as firearms officers spill out of the van and aim at her. Her voice shakes as she produces her badge.

“I’m AC-12!” she yells over to them, her words cracking as she lowers her weapon and finally, finally rests it on the ground. “I’m AC-12.”

She can barely stand to look at Ellie, but she does. Her body isn’t horrifically mangled or contorted; there’s just three red circles that’re bleeding through her baby pink suit and crisp white shirt. Her eyes have fluttered half-closed, and Lawrence’s heart shatters at the thought of never getting to see that blue again.

She races to her side, presses two fingers against her neck. She’s no paramedic, but she thinks there’s a faint pulse.

And then Ellie’s lips are moving.

“Lawrence,” she whispers near-silently, and Lawrence kneels down next to her, brings her face close.

“It’s me. It’s me, Ellie.”

Ellie takes a heavy, laboured breath. “...’m sorry.”

“It’s...it’s okay, you’re safe now. You can get to hospital and we can get you a safehouse and you can help us and we’ll help you. And we can…” Lawrence takes a second to breathe, swallowing her tears as she fights the helpless feeling that all her hopes are dying in front of her. “...we can be happy, the pair of us. I mean you canny fuckin’ die on me, you bitch, eh?”

Ellie takes another shaky breath in, not a single trace of any emotion apart from a dying light on her face as she speaks. Her eyes seem to shut further. “Loz, look at me. I’m fucked.”

Lawrence feels her face fall and her heart drop. “No, Ellie…”

“Declaration,” Ellie says quietly, and like an obedient fool Lawrence just nods, fishes her phone from the pocket of her vest.

“Get away from her!” one of the firearms officers yells at her; cold, professional. Lawrence supposes they’d never understand.

“I’m taking her dying declaration, for fuck’s sake, Sargeant, you will stand down!” she shoots back. She turns all her attentions to Ellie now, and her heart hurts and her chest aches and she’s forcing herself to look at her painted face and the wings of her eyeliner and every little lash that frames her eyes and the pink of her lips and not the ugly, leaking holes in her body because Ellie isn’t ugly, not a single part of her.

Lawrence is ashamed to admit it, but she still loves her for everything she is.

And as if she reads her mind, Ellie’s eyes flutter slowly open as if the action takes all the strength in the world, and she looks deeply into Lawrence’s as she gropes blindly for her hand, which Lawrence rushes to take. “Before...the recording. Want you to know that...us. It was real. To me.”

Lawrence doesn’t know when she began crying, but suddenly her cheeks are wet and her tears are dripping onto the lapel of Ellie’s suit. She leans close to Ellie’s side, murmurs into her ear.

“I forgive you. And I love you.”

Lawrence hears Ellie as she whispers out. “I love you too.”

And as Lawrence tells herself she needs to get it together, and that she’s still a police officer in the field and she needs to get evidence from a key witness before she…

Well. Before the worst case scenario.

...she turns her face, presses an urgent kiss to Ellie’s cheek that she doesn’t give a fuck about anyone witnessing. The implications of that can be something for her to worry about once she’s healed, grieved for a girl she both knew inside out and didn’t know at all. Instead, she sniffs, straightens up and holds the phone to Ellie’s lips.

“Come on, Ellie. Say it.”

And as Ellie’s eyes drop closed and her lips move, Lawrence tunes out the chaos of the police presence around her and condenses the moment to Ellie’s hand in hers, and the gentle wind that plays with her hair splayed out on the grass, and what could very well be her final words.

“DI Eleanor Diamond...in the hopeless expectation of death...I record my dying declaration…”

[shunsatan]

I made this very late at night when I wasnt connected with my proper senses. Enjoy

Ballsack chin (nendou)

-5 brain cells

Genuinely a nice person

Cookie monster but with ramen

Probably still understands what the teletubbies are saying

Emo (kaidou shun)

R/im14andthisisdeep

My mommy thinks I'm special

I will fucking destroy you *cries after stubbing his toe*

Passes out after holding a girl's hand

Never gonna give you up, Never gonna let you down. (hairo)

If a tennis racket got reincarnated as a person

Literally on fire

Gay

Believes in you

Leave me alone (kusuo)

Can literally destroy the fucking planet

Sweet tooth

I only take charge to benefit myself. *spends his entire day helping you*

Please stop looking at him.

Mineta (Toritsuka)

You could fill the statue of liberty with the amount of physical porn he has

So no head? *destroys a buddha statue*

Squidward level karma

Probably has a ghost fetish too

Tits McGee (auira)

Can fucking kill your family

Famous on vine and Instagram

Boss ass bitch

"Wants to have sex with the main character" cliché

According to all known laws of aviation (akechi)

Knows every fun fact ever

That one kid at summer camp who wont stop talking

Piss.

really good stalker

Ex delinquent cliché(kuboyasu)

"Fuckin push me again and I'll fuckin rip your face off bitch"

Will probably marry you if you flirt with him

Lowkey a really great man

*Shit I forgot that goodie goodies don't beat eachother to death for putting fish in the microwave*

Do you even know who my daddy is?(saiko)

Thinks he's better than u

Normal for you to see 30 people bowing down to him

"If you dont have a heated toilet then you're poor"

Generous somehow

I wanted donuts (mera)

Works 182637390 part time jobs

Blackhole stomach

Can't afford a twisty tie

Has the strength and willpower to kill you and eat you.

Regina George (Teruhashi)

Has never farted

Her fanclub is basically a cult

Men turn into mindless dogs for her scent

"Lesbian but thinks she wants to fuck the main character" cliché

Hopeless romantic (chiyo)

"Haha dont smile at me I'll fall in love with you"

Girl next door

Bubbly as fuck

Will put a curse on you if you flirt with her crush

Foot fetish (kuniharu)

Nerd

His employees and his boss want to kill him

I'll beat you up if you touch my wife *cries after stubbing his toe*

Really affectionate

Sweetheart (kurumi

Literally the best mother ever

Ditzy af

Can rip you in half

Still treats her kids like they're 5

Masochist (kuusuke

Megamind without the happy ending

Incest part 1

Would probably spit on you

Chaotic evil

Alabama (makoto

Incest part 2

Those guys from South Park who rub their nipples when they inconvenience you

His fangirls could hunt him down at any moment

Wants to fuck his sister cliché

Forever 21(kumi)

Let's totes hit up the Mickey D's

Definitely went to her high school reunion looking the youngest

Grandmother

Wishy washy af

It's not like I like you or anything!! (Kumagoro)

Grandpa

Tsundere cliché

We really hope he doesnt want to fuck his grandson

How did he manage to have sex with his wife

Who? (Takahashi)

Weird Lip Urchin

Literally just a bg character

In the very back of all the intros and intros

Snitch

Mascot 1 (amp

Expects everyone to simp for him

Cat

Likes kusuo the exact same way Teruhashi does

Narcissist

Tiny. Very small (yuuta)

A child

Fanboy

Ready to start screaming

Only fuckin w/ cyborg cider man characters

Mascot 2 (kuriko 2)

Hamster

Probably ☆☆ talks like☆☆ this☆☆☆

Lazy Tsundere

Talks with an accent (???)

Mascot 3 (warp)

Robot cat

Different animation style

"It's cute but it literally doesnt belong in our dimension"

Kinda creepy

A goddamn food.

Coffee jelly

Actually none of the mascots are actually mascots

This is the mascot

Kusuo's bride

Normal guy (satou)

Kusuo's crush

Average to the point where it's a superpower.

He likes cats.

But he also likes dogs.

For the love of god please help.me (hii)

Please help her

Immortal but always getting hurt

Cute with Bad luck

Actually dont help her you'll die

[weirdponytail]

Modern Inheritance: Yellow Gerbera (Pt 4 of Torin’s Story)

(A/N: I originally planned for this to be the start of a single ‘chapter’ but to hit all the points I wanted to will likely cover at least one other part, maybe a third. We get to meet a new friend! And Torin gets clean and has a chat and just multiple things happen and I’m already halfway through but all together it’s almost 4k words so far. So just take this short starting bit for now. Cheers!)

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // PART 4 // TBC

“Enough.” 

Torin snapped his gaze back up to the Elven Queen as she stood. He had nearly forgotten she was there, speaking aloud his memories as the world faded around him. Through the corner of his eye he could see that the patch of light that wandered the floor of his cell had shifted considerably. The pale golden pinks of approaching dusk barely kissed the ground. 

Queen Islanzadí drew herself up before him, expression unreadable. “Enough. I must meet my war council.” A tension that Torin had been unaware of building suddenly released, and he slumped slightly. So she wasn’t stopping to kill him. That was a good sign. He stood slowly, joints sore, and stepped back further into his cell before pausing.

Unsure if it was the right thing to do, Torin awkwardly shuffled his feet and bowed low. “Y-yes, ma’am.” When he straightened the elf was regarding him with what he thought could be the barest hint of amusement, as well as some mild thoughtfulness. 

“One of my people will come to you shortly.” The door to Torin’s cell clicked shut, guided by silent magic. The display made him shiver again. “I cannot confirm your account until tomorrow at the earliest, and cannot trust you to roam free. However, that does not mean that you will remain here in your own filth. You will bathe and be provided with new clothing before we next meet. 

“If you cause any disturbance or attempt to flee, you will be killed without hesitation. Am I clear?”

Torin heard himself speak in affirmation, but his mind was reeling as the Queen departed down the ward’s hall. 

Confirmation. So some of the men from the High Security Ward had survived the battle. He wondered if they would be truthful when asked about their former comrade, and the consequences for both if they were not. 

Suddenly lightheaded, Torin stumbled to his cot and collapsed on to it. His face pressed against the cool cinderblock, providing some anchor to the world. Every nerve tingled with static, fizzling anxiety and long forgotten hope all clamoring for the top spot in his consciousness. The dulled realization that he had forgotten to ask if the elf he had met back then was alive drifted through his mind with a pang of guilt before it too faded. 

It took til the sun had set and the moon had risen to peer over the rim of the world for Torin’s overstimulated brain to wrestle the revelations and relivings of the day down. He shifted in his cot and sat up, back to the wall, as he laid out the processed information in simplified pieces.

The elves were fully in control of Gil’ead, not the Empire. The Elven Queen, Islanzadí, had visited him at his cell. She was interested in the fire-eyed elf that had been imprisoned here, and in Torin’s interactions with her. The Queen would come speak to him again, probably tomorrow, and another elf was going to come and take Torin somewhere to bathe and give him a new prison uniform. 

The last pieces to the day’s puzzle lingered in the young man’s mind as he tucked the rest of the information away. 

Torin was not exactly a prisoner anymore, but was not free either. Not only that, but the question that had stayed with him since his arrest may yet be answered.

What happened to the elf after her escape from Gil’ead?

A knock against the cell door roused Torin from his thoughts. He stood, a bit more than surprised that anyone would be so kind as to knock, and warily approached the barred window. “Y-yes?” His throat was dry from his earlier marathon of speech. 

An elven woman was outside, peering into the cell with the same curiosity Torin once held as he looked in on the imprisoned elf all that time ago. “Stars watch over you, Torin Aldsson. I am Naela, of House Varan.” Her voice was the pitch and tone of a shallow river gliding over rounded stones, a smooth, rich alto with hints of lilting tones and rolling ripples.  

“It is nice to meet you, Naela.” 

The young man could not help but feel a small sense of relief as his gaze caught on the woman’s hazel eyes. It was clear, through them, that Naela carried the same power as the other elves Torin had encountered. But there was something different about the way she held it, almost cupped in her hands. There was a softness, almost gentle touch at the edges. 

Her eyes were...warm. Like laying in the beams of light that graced the ground on a chill day. Whereas the imprisoned elf’s eyes blazed with an undying fire of ferocity and determination, and Queen Islanzadí’s were the sharp, crisp chill of a winters day, Naela’s eyes were the warm sun of approaching autumn, the last vestiges of warmth and comfort at the edge of the cold seasons ahead.  

Torin wondered. If the elf from before were safe, with friends, away from this awful place and free from pain...would her eyes look the same? 

With a murmured word and a gentle tug, Naela unlocked and opened the door. “The Queen has assigned me to be your guard.” She stepped aside, offering a clear path into the hall. “If you would follow me, please.”

Torin went to fall in, but stopped at the threshold of his cell. It felt as though iron shackles had snapped around his ankles, pulling tight as he tried to step over the invisible line separating him from the world outside the four little walls. A wave of panic washed through him, ice cold to the point that it made his lungs seize. 

What if there were spells set on his cell? What if he couldn’t leave? The world seemed to tremble at the edges, and for an instant he felt his foot moving back, away from the door back to the relative safety of his cell–

Gentle hands on his forearms snapped the world back to an anchored clarity. Naela was in front of him, concern tipping her sharp brows inwards. “You are safe, Aldsson.” 

Torin could not stop his shaking. He wanted to believe her, he really did. But how could she know? He had only left his cell with another guard before. What if there were things set in the stones to kill him if he left? Or what if the burns on the imprisoned elf’s feet were a result of an escape attempt? What if–

Naela was speaking, then. But the words were...different. They were not in common tongue, yet deep in the marrow of his bones, the very cells of his nerves, Torin somehow...understood. He did not know what she had said but in that moment he understood her meaning, that there was absolute truth in her words. 

“Listen to my voice, Alddson. You are safe. Nothing will harm you here.” 

The trembling eased to a manageable level. 

“Would you like me to help you?” Torin nodded mutely, not trusting himself to speak just yet. Following the pressure that the elf exerted on his arms, unable to resist her guiding strength, the young man took his first steps out of his cell in months.

The hall was the same as it always was. But in that moment, as Torin breathed deeply and tried to get his hammering heart under control, the air felt crisp and clear. The lights felt bright, almost too much so. Beneath his bare feet, the cool concrete felt polished and mirror smooth. 

It felt...good. And at the same time, everything almost overwhelmed him. 

“Are you back with us, Aldsson?” The young man focused back in on the elf that still held his arms. Her concern was evident through the tilt of her head and tightening around her eyes. 

A pang of guilt and shame washed through him. This woman had come to let him out of a dank and filthy prison cell, and instead of thanking her and doing the only sane thing and walking out, he had to have her physically drag him through the door like a nervous cat from under a bed. 

“Yes.” Torin instinctively flexed his fingers, that telltale itch and tingle forming in his muscles that was only pacified through worrying at his knuckles. “I’m s-sorry. I don’t– I didn’t–”

“Do not be sorry for this.” Naela’s voice was firm, and the combination of that and the soothing pressure as she squeezed his forearms drew Torin’s eyes back to hers. “You are feeling things that are natural for some after such isolation.” She suddenly smiled at him, bright and reassuring. “If it will make this easier for you, I can keep contact with you as we walk. Would you prefer to remain indoors? There is a path that does not lead outside if you are not yet ready.”

A soft blanket of solace settled over Torin’s shoulders. He gave Naela a shaky smile, and nodded. “Thank you. I’d like that.”

With a reassuring pat to his arm, the elf shifted to a position slightly behind his right and settled a hand on his shoulder. Together, the elf and the freed man moved to the stairs.

~~~

Despite Naela’s gentle presence, Torin felt a twinge of unease in his stomach as they passed the door that led to the High Risk Ward’s open-floor showers. Another turn saw the two pass the ward common room and finally stop at the small barracks, where Naela held the door for her charge to enter and beckoned him to the door at the back.

Torin followed obediently, eyes darting to take in the state of his former bunk. Second on the right, lower berth. Like all the other beds it had been stripped, the mattress removed and placed elsewhere. The footlockers were pulled from their places beneath the bunks and sat lined up in front of the empty frames, all cleared of their contents.

With a jolt of sudden homesickness he had not felt since childhood, Torin remembered that the last picture of his family was in his locker when he was arrested. I hope they didn’t throw it away. Maybe I can ask Naela if there were any prisoner effects left in lockup. 

“This is to be your room for the time being.” Naela pressed her hand to the door at the end of the barracks, unlocking it with another spell. 

Torin blinked. “This is the commander’s room though....” He followed his guard inside, taking in the space. He had only been inside twice before, and had spent most of the time staring at a particular cracked cinderblock in the wall as the commander berated him for whatever he had done. 

The space was well over half again the size of his cell, but was still quite small. There was only room for a soldiers bed along the far wall, a writing desk beside the door, and a small dresser to the right. At the end of the bed was another door, revealing a tiny bathroom with a toilet, sink and shower. 

Naela clasped her hands behind her back, hiding a small grin. “The Queen thought this would be the most convenient accommodation until she could investigate your claims.” She gestured towards the dresser and then the shadowed washroom when Torin turned at her voice. “There are several sets of clothes of various sizes for you to find your proper fit once you have washed.”  

For a moment, Torin couldn’t speak through the sudden lump in his throat. He turned back to survey the room and hide the watering of his eyes from the elf, warmth blooming in his chest. 

This was the kindness those of his own race had abandoned. The simple right to basic living conditions, to proper hygiene, space to move more than two paces and enough light to see and not feel oppressed by constant gloom. To be suddenly provided with it all, even when he could not leave and was still technically a prisoner…. 

...So the Queen is not as cold as she puts off. At least, not entirely. 

Torin wiped his eyes and breathed deeply before facing Naela again. “Thank you.” Feeling mere words not sincere enough to convey the wealth of emotions now inside him, Torin bowed.

Naela laughed and took the young man by the shoulders to right him. “You don’t need to bow to me, Aldsson!” 

The sound of laughter, after so long, made Torin smile. “Are there any restrictions that I should follow while here?” 

“Ah. Unfortunately, the washroom door must remain open, but I will turn my back when privacy is needed.” Torin nodded. The decreased privacy was not something he was unfamiliar with. He was living, and often showering, with twelve other men before his arrest. And it was not like the cell he was in previously was the most private of places. “If you find yourself needing anything, do not hesitate to ask. I will remain at the door.”

Still smiling, Torin nodded. It took a locking of his muscles to prevent it from turning into a bow again. With another word of thanks, he hurried to the first shower available to him in months, elation bubbling in his chest.

[lacheri]

i don’t know if your event is still open since it is already past time from your deadline but the event in ypur navigation says otherwise so i am betting my luck ≡^ˇ^≡

i am INFJ-T, and i am a pisces ☉ scorpio ☽. i use she/her. i love to have mutual pinning trope with reiner braun. i’m someone who is studious and sometimes i based my worth to my grades LMFAO i like earth tones. i love cooking and singing, too! my love languages are words of affirmation and acts of service!

thank you for creating this such beautiful event 🤍

hi mono! I hope you like it angel! <3 (also this is so funny I literally started this the day you submitted and before I navigated through your (now old) theme, at least it's ON BRAND)

The Moon: everything looks prettier under the moon's glow. this is the card for the subconscious, for the dreamer, for hidden thoughts and feelings. this card has many different meanings, anxiety and fear lace the moon as well, but I like to interrupt this as a positive sign when it appears in a reading. it provides a dreamy cast on all things that fall under its light. this card just makes so much sense to me with you being an infj, someone who's filled with imagination and insightfulness.

ivy - frank ocean. "If I could see through your walls, I could see you're faking. If you could see my thoughts, you would see our faces."

If there were words to describe him, they escaped every corner of your mind. His blonde hair curled outwards in flicks against the nape of his neck, begging for your fingers to reach out and entangle themselves in the strands. You knew he’d be going to get it cut within the week, he always did when it grew out to be this long. Still, you could admire him, even if you were staring directly into the back of his head, daydreaming away of your could be love.

“Pass the quizzes back!” Professor Hange called out from the front of the room, handing out large stacks to the front rows of students.

You sat back in the fifth row, directly behind Reiner Braun, the theoretical love of your life. Had you even spoken more than two sentences to the man? Absolutely not. Did you know his favorite flavor of gum was spearmint, and he never could keep a pencil on his person? Of course, he asked you every single day.

It wasn’t like Reiner had a well known reputation or anything, in fact he floated like a social butterfly between so many different groups of people, it was hard to dislike the guy. He always had a charming smile on his face and a kind word to say. It didn’t take much to develop your small crush on the man sitting in front of you, and although he was mostly silent while in class, his eyes would swirl with concentration whenever you’d catch his line of view.

The sight of his sharp jawline came into your field of vision as he turned, resting one arm on the back of his chair as he met your eyes, palm extended with your paper, “Here ya’ go.”

“Thank you,” you managed to smile, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear before reaching forward, passing back the rest of the stack to the student behind you.

“I’m sure you did great,” he offered a small smile when you turned back around, the genuine kind that had your heart fluttering in your chest. “You always do.”

“I’m sure you did too,” you responded shyly, diverting your gaze to the paper now in front you, smiling as your eyes scanned the contents. A perfect score, just as you had hoped.

Reiner hadn’t completely turned around yet, darting his eyes between you and his own quiz, “Hey, can I ask you something?”

Record officially broken, “Sure, what’s up?”

“Do you think you could help me out with this class?” his eyes were shifting all over the room, his usual confident façade in tatters. “I don’t understand a single thing about biology.”

“Um,” your eyes widened dramatically, a cold sweat breaking out under your clothing. No way, there was literally no way this was actually happening.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” you saw the twinge of pink rise on the apples of his cheeks as his fingers lifted to scratch the back of his neck. “I can pay you too.”

“No, no,” you shook your head furiously, forcing words passed your teeth. “You don’t have to pay me. When did you, uh, want to do this?”

“I guess after class if you’re not busy,” his eyes flickered to the clock above the whiteboard on the wall. Please say yes, he chanted in his mind.

“No, not really. That works for me,” You'd be calling out of work right now if you had a job, cancelling any and all plans to take full advantage of this golden moment. One that had played in your head the entire semester, living in your daydreams while you ogled the blonde with a fluttering heart.

“Cool,” Reiner bit down on his bottom lip as he smiled, readjusting himself to face forward as Professor Hange began to lecture the class about their pitiful grades.

“Cool,” you breathed out, feeling a sense of relief now his eyes weren’t directly on you. If you only knew how Reiner’s heart thumped in his ears, how that smile never left his lips. He’d been working up the courage to ask you that all semester.

The library was nearly empty after the sunset, the perfect scene for your tutoring session with the ever handsome Reiner. It took all of your willpower to stay focused on the textbooks sprawled on the table in front of you, and not the warmth radiating from his body as he sat next to you, his knee brushing against yours.

“Okay, so what’s the difference between mitosis and meiosis again?” you whispered, feeling the gnawing tingle of sleepiness behind your eyelids.

Reiner broke the contact from the page in front of him, you could feel his breath hit your cheeks bones as he muttered, “Mitosis has four stages while meiosis has eight. The chromosome numbers are the same in each one though.”

“No, just mitosis stays the same,” you turned your head to the old book in front of you, pointer finger trailing the sentence as you corrected him. “The daughter cell is halved in chromosomes in meiosis. Both produce new cells and start with a single parent cell.”

“This makes no sense,” Reiner groaned, placing his head in his hands.

This plan seemed a lot better in his head, allowing the perfect opportunity to get close to you, to hold a conversation. He’d turn around almost every day of class and ask to borrow a pencil, just to talk to you. He felt bad when he’d begin to turn in his chair just to see you already extending one out for him. So, Reiner moved on to offering you gum every day. This also became the expected, and you began placing a foiled covered stick on his desk as you’d walk into class every day.

You were just so smart and so pretty, there was absolutely no way he stood a chance. He lacked the brains, lacked the courage, not to mention he didn’t have any outstanding features. Sure if he was incredibly handsome he could at least try to dumbly pull you, ignorantly stumbling over half assed compliments and actions. But he was too self aware, feeling small next to your figure. He was out of ideas, and found that he was using his last ditch efforts to finally make his move.

“Here, I’ll make you some flash cards,” you offered, taking a sharpie and some loose index cards from your school bag.

“Do you think we could do this more often?” Reiner mumbled out suddenly, a fierce blush threatening the tips of his ears. “The, uh, study sessions? I’m really lost.” He just wanted to spend more time with you.

“Yeah, of course,” you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, avoiding his gaze at all costs.

“Cool,” he breathed out, a weight lifted off of his chest. “I’m usually free after class most days, maybe we could like, get food tomorrow?”

Reiner was sweating awaiting your answer. He’d been building up the courage for weeks now to ask to be in your presence, and he felt as if he might’ve been pushing his luck. Of course, you didn’t feel this way at all, almost in a stupor that your crush had even asked to spend more time with you.

“Okay,” you smiled so softly, Reiner could feel the red heat reach the apples of his cheeks. “There’s this really cool diner in town, I’ve been dying to go.”

“The retro one? I’ve been there a few times, it’s pretty cool, and the food is really good,” C’mon Reiner find another reason to keep her attention, “Are you busy tonight, we can go now?”

You glanced down to your outfit, and deemed it cute enough to go out in public, “You sure? I don’t want to hold you up if you have plans.”

Reiner couldn’t pack his bookbag faster, fingers clumsily fumbling all the notes he had taken during your study session, “I’ll call an Uber right now.”

It was like you had known Reiner all of your life. If someone were to pass by the diner’s windows that night and saw the two of you, shoveling food into your mouths and sipping on milkshakes, they could’ve sworn that you were dating, deeply in love. The way you both leaned in across the table, toes centimeters away from touching under the booth, fingertips so close on the table, it was almost a sure sign. Reiner of course wouldn’t have worked up the courage to officially ask you out until your sixth study session, almost at the end of the semester. And of course you said yes, brain malfunctioning at the admittance of his feelings.

When you met Reiner’s closest friends, Bertholdt and Annie, he introduced you as “the smartest, prettiest girl in the whole world”, and had gotten a little too enthusiastic when asked how the two of you met.

“We had a class together and I drooled over her every single day, and finally got the courage to ask her out,” not exactly the truth, you’d think as he’d recite the story. He was leaving out how badly you had pined over him as well. Almost in denial, Reiner genuinely couldn’t believe he had somehow managed to capture your heart from the very beginning.

It seemed as if your feelings for Reiner only deepened and blossomed under the weight of your new relationship. You had only begun to scratch the surface, and you fell so deeply in love with the blonde as time moved forward. Maybe it was the universe calling to you when you had first met him in your biology class, or maybe you were just meant to be soulmates. You’d say exactly that too when your friends would ask you how the two of you got together.

There wasn’t a better matched couple, the friends would think. Strangers would agree too, catching the sight of your conjoined hands together and loving gazes and you’d sit in that diner, night after night, study sessions in the library. It had to be fate, you decided in the end. Reiner was everything you ever wanted and more, even better than the daydreams you had conjured while you stared at the back of his head. Reiner felt exactly the same, and he told you every single day how you were the best thing to ever happen to him.

LACHERI © 2021: all writing content belongs to LACHERI. I do not allow reposts or translations. this is my only account.

[marinerofthestars]

the zodai tag

bit of a late arrival to this fandom, but better late than never, i suppose!

1. How did you hear about the books? about a year ago, i was doing research on the zodiac for an urban fantasy project i’m working on, tales from omphalos, when i found the house ophiuchus info page on the zodiac website. unfortunately life got in the way and i forgot the series for a while, but a little while ago i remembered zodiac’s worldbuilding and got sucked right back in!

2. What is your favorite moment from the series so far? it’s hard to choose just one moment, but i’d have to say skarlet and rho’s first meeting in black moon for how atypical it is. we know skarlet is the hypotenuse in rho and hysan’s love triangle, but she doesn’t act like the stereotypical petty Other Woman at all. she’s charismatic, she’s genuinely fun to be around, and she has sympathetic motives and ambitions. above all, she’s actually super nice towards rho, and doesn’t let her feelings get in the way of their political collaboration. (and then thirteen rising assassinated her character. yes i am still bitter about it why do you ask)

3. Which House are you from? house leo!

4. What do you like about your House? artistry pride is something i’d really love to be a part of as an aspiring author, i have blaze and trax (both criminally underrated characters imo) as my housemates, and our zodai wield FLAMING SWORDS in battle. what’s not to love?

5. If you had to change Houses, which House would you pick? since leo really vibes with my passion for art, this is definitely a tricky question! probably either libra (police brutality is a thing of the past with bind, and their government seems like they have their act together), scorpio (much waterworld. much ambition. much cool tech. wow), or sagittarius (diversity, democracies where the voices of the young and non-complacent can be heard, and really vibrant cities are all things i appreciate)

6. Which system would you most like to visit? capricorn, no question. the zodiax is THE single most location in the entire zodiac bar none to me - an ancient complex the size of a planet, its oldest curators having access to transportation systems most inhabitants don’t even know about? an archive of humanity’s collective knowledge, so massive it has hotels and restaurants within it because leaving to sleep or eat is just so impractical? LET ME TOUR IT. LET ME UNCOVER ITS MYSTERIES I KNOW THEY EXIST (i think history is rad okay)

7. If you got to choose, which Zodiac technology would you like to have? probably...the tattoo? i don’t have anywhere enough knowledge about neuroscience/engineering to design my own, but assuming that i did, i’d love to design a tattoo that can interface with my brain and with digital art software, so that i can turn whatever ideas i have in my head into artwork!

8. Which character would you want as a best friend? skarlet. she’s six feet tall, buff as all hell, super attractive, prefers diplomacy to violence but still perfectly capable of kicking ass, and an outspoken risers’ rights activist. what’s not to love? (though knowing the type of people i usually hang out with, i’d probably end up with like. twain or gyzer as my best friend. one can dream though)

9. Which sign would you like to date? aries, because as previously stated skarlet is awesome. (a sentiment i will continue to reiterate) failing that, either libra for their sense of justice, scorpio for their ambition and passion, or aquarius for their innovative mindset.

10. Who do you hope Rho “ends up with?” (If anyone at all!) firstly, thank you for acknowledging that rho might not be interested in romance after everything she’s been through. (aromantic rho? arho?) secondly: skarlet.

this might be a little controversial, but i feel like in some regards, rho has far more chemistry with skarlet than she has with hysan. (ms. russell. i am sorry but. i have. Issues. with ‘centaur smile’ and the context surrounding it doesn’t make it any better) all of their interactions are marked by a noted admiration on rho’s part, and it’s not just merely admiration of her frankly enviable body (there’s more than enough of that, but it feels respectful somehow, there’s no five-page purple prosey ramblings on how the sweat glints on skar’s brow as she lifts weights, unlike with some people - sorry, mathias), but admiration of skar’s personality.

her charisma. her ambitions. her drive to fight for people who’ve been beaten down for millennia, to give a voice to the voiceless. to use violence as a last resort, not a first strike.

even at their absolute worst in thirteen rising, even when they’re butting heads, they don’t let it get in the way of doing what needs to be done. hell, skarlet even points out that she wouldn’t be giving rho such a hard time if she didn’t respect the hell out of rho, if she didn’t think she was tough enough to take it. there’s a sort of unspoken bond between them, a slow orbit that they’re both caught in. at the end of the series, they part way on relatively good terms, and with the hope that maybe, just maybe, that orbit might become something more than just professional acquaintance.

also their oppositional dichotomy of cardinal fire/water signs is an awesome aesthetic that i really wish was brought up more than it was in canon :( 

11. If you could record a Snow Globe, what would you put in it? only A snow globe? you’re not exactly giving me a lot of slack here in all seriousness, if i had to choose one moment to record in a snow globe, probably the moment i first came up with the idea for the urban fantasy project i mentioned above, tales from omphalos. i’ve never been devoted as much time to or invested as much energy in a project as i have with tfo, and i’d like to keep an easily accessible record of my original vision on hand. and hey, if by some chance i manage to follow in romina’s footsteps, get tales from omphalos professionally published, have it become a big success with a respectable fandom, i’d like to look back every once in a while, and remember how it all began.

12. If you had the chance to tell Rho anything, what advice/encouragement would you give her? - lies, especially lies of omission, are necessary a lot of the time to get ahead in politics and life in general use that being ahead to help out the people and groups you care about - don't trust the immortal child-aristocrats or expect them to behave in a way that won't inevitably screw you over - if you must play nice with them, figure out how to decrease gemini’s horrific income inequality, and see what you can do about exporting cell rejuvenation therapy to the wider zodiac - ferez is right, risers are the future and you need to acknowledge that going forward - skarlet is excellent at garnering support and bridging generational gaps, and while fernanda purecell is a bougie running dog, she’s got her head screwed on the right way regarding politics and institutional riserphobia; together, the three of you should be able to make some headway towards making amends for past wrongs - i don’t care if family heads have suffrage, matriarchal aristocracy (aristocratic matriarchy?) is NOT a democracy or a form of government that looks out for the rights of men/NB people/agender people/multigender people/intersex people/you get the idea - romance is by no means an exclusively two-player game, and skarlet has said she would be open to an arrangement; however, if you MUST insist on ignoring that polyamory is a thing, go for the six-foot risers' rights activist - i’m sorry about all the bullshit with your mom. whatever the end result was, whatever her intentions, it does not excuse the way she treated you and your dad and stanton. it’s okay to feel like shit because of what she did to you, and not being able to wall it off doesn’t make you weak or anything dumb like that - you’re already far stronger than she ever was. i know how much it sucks - i was in the same situation as you once - but believe me when i say that things do get better. you’re not alone here, rho. - please you gotta fight the gender binary you live in the FUTURE you gotta do it you gotta-

BONUS QUESTION 13. How would you react if your friend became a Riser? let them know that I love and support them no matter what their house, that being the way that they are is totally valid, and that anyone who says otherwise will have to answer to my fist in their face. if they’re unbalanced, make sure they have access to any resources they need (possibly including memory recap vlogs, definitely including medication and therapy to help out with any health issues they may develop).