#until someone gives him good reason to be mean at which point the snippiness comes out see: orange intros

[larrythefloridaman]

maybe J0hn for the character bingo? owo

love this man ive been attached to him since he first showed up <3 dont have too much new i can think of to say about him though

[luimagines]

Back again with four is wind's ancestor stuff!

Just going further into the period of time that wind needs to accept the idea that four is his ancestor instead of time is a little rougher than I first said it was.

Wind probably struggled a lot with the jealousy against twilight and at first it was okay, it wasn't really brought up much at all, but whenever he saw twilight and time being close it did sting. Then when they visit Malon again it's even worse to him. Like maybe the three of them are just talking about stuff, but with jealousy tainting his vision it looks almost like they're the parents and son together which just hurts even more.

Also he doesn't talk with anybody about this and just let's it all stew inside of him. And even then, to who can he talk about it? He refuses to talk about it with time as he wouldn't be able to handle the disappointment coming from him. He also doesn't want to talk about it with twilight. It's just awkward you know and who does that??? Not him. Warriors is not an option either, also because he's scared of the disappointment and just, he would try and find a solution for it rather than just letting him vent. Four is just a no go. All he wants to show four is him being happy with four and nothing else, though this might bring some resentment with it tbe longer he lets the jealousy stew. All the others are just in general not an option for him either for various reasons.

Of course four does still try to hang out and stuff, but notices wind's lack of general interest in it even though wind does try to hide it. But four does go and talk about it with the others and the general consensus is to let him be for now. Clearly they all also noticed wind's behavior too, but hope wind can resolve it with himself or come to them for help with it.

Of course wind doesn't and just goes and let's it all stew even more and more to the point that he can get snippy to twilight and four at times.

This is where the others try and talk with him, but them it just doesn't go well, either because they're not good at that sort of thing or wind's refusal to budge in it and saying that he's got it under control.

Heck, even legend gives it a try and slap some sense into him! That four is a good guy and that he should be happy that he's related to him! ( meanwhile legend still has to say that he's likely related to sky to sky, but that's a problem for an other time.) And that this behavior is clearly hurting four. Which it is, although good at hiding it, it's eating him alive that someone could just be really disappointed in being related to him.

But it just doesn't work, though wind learns to hide it better, because the last thing he wants is for four to feel that way. That is, until somehow they find out that wild is related to twilight due to the spirit animal thingy only coming to help to those that are related to it. And twilight being well Wolfie and wolfie having helped out wild during his adventure it was easy to put 2 and 2 together.

Wild doesn't mind honestly. Honestly just finds it funny and makes jokes about being related to a wolf and stuff. (Honestly an other favorite headcannon)

Wind sits quietly through the whole ordeal, staring into the fire as it dawns on him that that meant that wild is also related to time. And he can feel it boil rapidly back up and while he does try to calm down, he just was too late and just finally let's all the jealousy out screaming at everyone and nobody at the same time. Though, before he can register what he had even done he's running from the camp they had sat up.

When he finally found a place to hide he feels terrible, he didn't mean to, but it happened. He felt disappointed at himself for this as it's just not like him at all.

Meanwhile four is just stunned and honestly distraught, because honestly, was he that disappointing??? He liked to think that of course he's not disappointing, but clearly he was for his decendant. So much so that he freaked out like that. It finally causes him to spiral and the others are quick to pick him up and comfort him the best they can.

Wild just feels guilty for accidentally having caused this whole ordeal, but time is quick to squash that idea and says that this has been stewing for longer and that this was just what broke the camel's back.

The other's that aren't good with comforting are just at different stages of either anger or disappointment in wind for having done this rather than talk about it to any of them.

After a bit four goes to find wind, wanting to talk to him himself. When he finds the boy he can see that wind has been crying and is clearly still deep in the self pity. He sighs at it and sits down next to wind. Wind of course tenses up at it, to him this was the worst option of all the links. And it's even worse, because four is disappointed in him, his ancestor is disappointed in him. He knows he deserves it after what he did, but he still hates it.

They talk about it long and hard. It's both a bit of a painful, yet cathartic talk. One that was needed way sooner, but Wind knows that was his fault as well. Four forgives him in the end, but does say that it doesn't mean that he doesn't forget as Wind did hurt him with this and it would be a while before all the hurt will be gone. Wind promises to let the jealousy go and that he truly didn't mean to hurt him.

After that they walk back with a warning from four that the other's would like to talk with him too.

Four probably would have started that conversation with something like- "....Do you really hate being my relative that much?"

It's enough to shock Wind into spilling his guts. At first Wind would have tried to defend himself but instead he only gets worked up the more he spills his inner thoughts. The dam has been opened and it was going to take a miracle to get it to close again.

Four is taken aback from the force of Wind emotions but he has enough forethought to wait patiently for him to finish his tirade before he gets to speak again.

Then the real conversation can start.

When they get back to the camp, Time is the one to steal Wind away before the others can get their two thoughts in and Time gets to do the Dad tm stare that Wind has come to hate just as much as everyone else.

Now that Wind has calmed down, Time will have to do a little digging as to why Wind acted the way he did and what he's really thinking. He eventually would get to the end of it though and set things straight between them.

When they return, Time calls off anyone for dog piling on Wind- if they want to talk to him, it can wait until the next day.

Wind is thankful because he's crying a lot lately and he doesn't have the energy to keep having this conversation over and over again.

[narrators-journal]

Hello, I hope you are well, can I ask Yandere Akutagawa who probably hates you for how you make us feel? I may degrade you but get mad if someone else does

I hope this is good and is what you wanted! I'm a little rusty with Yandere content, so it might be a bit subtle here. I hope you enjoy nonetheless!

As a new low ranking mafia goon you had expected some harsh bullying from your coworkers, but that didn't mean you couldn't despise them for it, or have the occassional breakdown in the headquarters bathroom or something. That was actually how you'd met your first friend-like person in the organization, Higuchi had found you fighting to not cry in the bathroom one day, and instead of belittling you for the moment of weakness, she gave you a paper towel to dab the tears from your (s/c) cheeks and assured you that she understood your predicament.

In all honesty, the harassment wouldn't be that bad if it weren't for one specific man. Akutagawa Ryuunosuke.

Akutagawa was a violent, hostile, rabid dog of a man who took any possible chance to insult you without mercy. It didn't even have to be anything that would get you into trouble or annoy him, he would belittle anything he could about you as a person, not just your work for the mafia. It had quickly lost all of the leeway you had for newbie-hazing. At least now you had a reason to blame for the prickly mafioso hating your guts. Turns out he isn't a fan of his fashion being labelled 'hot topic tween goth.' After that, you just avoided him as best you could, which seemed near impossible with how much he continued to pop up in your life, even after you'd insulted him.

Of course, Mori would pair you with the goth pretty frequently despite your reluctance, Akutagawa had a pretty variable set of jobs he could be assigned to and thus would be a good on-the-job teacher for a newbie such as yourself, but after you'd insulted the goth he didn't leave you alone like you might've thought he would. Instead, he seemed to pop up a lot more frequently, even outside of the jobs you were paired with him on. Of course, you would see the pale vampire at the headquarters when you weren't working with him, but now you had gone from seeing him maybe once a week for a task or to retrieve or deliver ill-gotten cash, to seeing him a distance behind you in the hallway of the headquarters almost every other day, or in one of the spare sitting rooms the goons had overtaken and claimed as a sort of 'break room' on nights when you'd stay super late into the night and should've been alone.

However, you couldn't really accuse the hostile man of stalking you just to glare at you or spit insults. After all, Higuchi had always had a very valid point as to why you were running into him when you brought the occurrences up, and you'd be labelled a loon for thinking he'd been trailing you just because you had spotted him in the grocery store. So, you opted to keep your mouth shut and just ignored him whenever you could get away with it.

Though, every once in a while a snide remark or two slipped out, like one had on the day he limped into the headquarters after another spat with his rival, Atsushi Nakajima.           "You look like a cat's half digested dinner," you snorted, watching the wheezing vampire flop into one of the fancy velvet chairs in the empty break room. He was still glowing a pretty vibrant red, with his coat ribbon lashing like the tail of an angry cat, but he ignored your comment and instead focused on wrapping his slashed up arm and leg in bandages. Then, just as you were beginning to leave the room to find your own place to do some paperwork, you felt fabric slither around your neck to tighten into a razor-wire choke-collar and yank you none-too-gently over to the chair Akutagawa sat in.

You weren't likely to cut an impressive figure with your (e/c) eyes wide with shock at the sudden attack, and fear at the feeling of Rashoumon's sharp edges biting into your (s/c) skin to draw blood under your bully's cold, humiliation-filled glare,          "I think you're beginning to forget your place here, newbie." He spat, his raspy growl dripping with venom, "Not only do I outrank you, but I am much stronger than you. You are nowhere near Jinko's strength, fucking Higuchi is more of a threat to me than you are, so the next time you want to feel more significant than you are and insult me, I suggest you have a fucking grave dug beforehand." He got right in your face as he spoke, barring his teeth at you with sin-worthy wrath in his grey eyes, but, just for a moment before the lethal ribbon threw you away as easily as he would a gum wrapper, he hesitated. It was brief, only a few seconds, but Akutagawa's anger lessened, and instead he leaned forward just a hair. Just as quickly as it appeared though, the moment was gone. His fury returned with a vengeance and the ribbon that held you captive launched you across the room, sending you sliding across the floor and into the wall hard enough to crack it just a bit.

You took the hint and scrambled to your feet as soon as you got some air into your lungs, coughing and wheezing as you fled the room before Rashoumon could be sent through your spine next.

Admittedly, being snippy with the vampire after he'd already been embarrassed like that hadn't been a shining example of your best timing, but you tried to move past it, and that weird moment of hesitation, and label it a learning experience. Your fellow goons however, caught wind of your confrontation and did not give you such kindness. They instead turned it into more ammunition for snide remarks about how intelligent you were.

          "Hey! Look who just walked in!" A goon you had yet to learn the name of almost crowed one day when you were eating lunch in the breakroom, just trying to watch some tv before your next job when Akutagawa had come in. "Hey, (y/n), wanna try and see if he'll knock your braincells back into place?" You just glared at the man while he continued to call you stupid and just try to instigate whatever fight he could it seemed. You didn't fall for his trap though, keeping your mouth firmly shut and not responding to his insults or assumptions of how masochistic you were. No, you instead simply returned your attention to the tv and blocked out Akutagawa's existence until you finished your lunch and left for your job.

Thankfully, it was a solo mission, a new extension of trust from Mori, and a prime chance to not only prove yourself, but to get away from the assholes you worked with. So, by the time you returned to the mafia headquarters, you were feeling pretty good and had almost completely forgotten your earlier run-in with that asshole of a goon around your lunch time.

Of course, the sky was dark by the time you returned from the job, so on top of your improved mood, you were also spared further heckling since everyone else had finished their work and gone home for the night. So, you were gratefully able to fly through the report you had to write about the mission, and cataloging of the goods you'd distributed without issue. It wasn't until you stopped by the bathroom to change out of your clothing and into some more comfortable, not-dirty clothes before your walk home that you smelled the stench of blood.

It hit you like a brick as soon as you had opened the bathroom door. The whole bathroom reeked of the dizzying smell of iron and death so badly that it poured out into the empty hallway. All it took was a few steps inside to investigate for you to spot the source of such a strong stench. A corpse huddled into the far corner across from the stalls.

Through your stinging tears, you could see that it was likely one of the other mafia goons, and judging by the one bloody tuft of hair you could see amongst the chunks of flayed flesh...it was the same goon that was messing with you earlier. Since your only identifier was the shredded and blood soaked suit that the heap of shredded flesh and spilled entrails somewhat wore and a bit of hair, you couldn't say for certain, but something in your gut told you it was the same man.

      "You know, you should really grow a spine." You whirled around to face the doorway as soon as the raspy voice spoke, (e/c) eyes wide and your hand instantly falling to the small pistol you had at your hip. But, instead of some demented intruder out to murder any mafia goons they found, you were instead met with Akutagawa. Your worst bully.

For a moment, all you could do was stare in shock, your brain frantically scrambling to recollect its composure under the pressure of an almost primal terror, just letting you stammer out a shakey,         "What?" before your legs began to turn to jello, the thick blanket of coppery blood in the air making your stomach want to escape out of your mouth. However, you put your hand on the cool glass of the sink and bit back the urge to vomit. The last thing you wanted was to give the sadistic mafioso more ammo against you in his harassment, and if he was the goon-slaughtering-psycho, you didn't want to go out because you were too busy retching to defend yourself. However, he didn't attack you. He just stood in the doorway and glared at the mutilated pile of flesh as if it had insulted his family for a moment before speaking again,         "You're supposed to be a mafia member, (y/n), you can't just let people use you as a doormat, it reflects poorly on the organization." he chided with a derisive sniff, "Grow a damned spine and begin to stand up for yourself. No one's going to 'defend your honor' like this..." He trailed off, fixing you with a cold, irritated look for a long moment before he turned on his heel with a huff, "Clean that bastard up, before he stains the linoleum anymore than he already has."

With that, Akutagawa stomped off back to wherever he'd come from. Leaving you to deal with the bloody carnage you'd discovered, and to ask yourself why he had even been here. It was the middle of the night, most everyone should be home by now, but the goth had appeared only a moment after you'd entered the bathroom, how had he shown up so quickly? He didn't bring Mori or anyone else, so it wasn't like he'd discovered the body first...

You got a sick feeling that he'd been the one to leave such a nightmarish scene. And that he'd been waiting for you to find it or something.

[fruitless-nonsense]

Well… turns out I have a lot of opinions on characters I don’t even think strongly of. Who knew?

No joke, this is probably not as thorough as I like, but this idea came to me and I have so much to say that I don’t know how to structure it. Okay? Let’s talk about Damon Salvatore!

If you read any of my previous posts, you’ve probably gotten a decent idea of how I feel about him from my quick snippy remarks. I genuinely believe he is the worst character in the show. Yes, other characters can be more boring than him. Yes, there are people that can be more infuriating than him. It’s not simply who his character was, it’s how the writers wouldn’t stop messing with him that convinced me he was utter trash. Sit back, cause this could take awhile.

Let’s start with season one and the two brothers. Theory time! I’m strongly of the opinion the writers wanted a love triangle between Elena, Stefan, and Damon from the very beginning. Not that crazy to believe considering this show was born off the heels of Twilight’s grossing fame, not to take credit away from all the other shows at the time which featured a love triangle or two. From fanfics to original stories written by tweens I read when I was thirteen, love triangles were huge back then (in a way they still are fairly popular, but not like back in the day. Now I feel old). So they wanted a love triangle? Sounds cliche enough to be in the vampire diaries, what’s wrong? Well, there’s a bit of an issue with the candidates, or more specifically candidate. You see, Edward was a creep and Jacob was an incel, but you can say they weren’t monsters (well by my standards they were, but by YA standards they were pretty normal). I mean, the movie made a point to say the Cullens didn’t feed from humans, and they’re only seen killing in self defense, meanwhile Jacob is treated like a good person throughout despite everything. My point is, at least at the beginning, the story didn’t want to paint either candidate as irredeemable. Back to tvd season one, Damon tortures Caroline, kills Zack, two random humans, and that one football coach/history teacher, mentally and physically tortured Vicky Donavon before turning her against her will and made it impossible for Stefan to remedy the situation until he ultimately had to kill her to save Elena, and this is all from the first seven episodes.

Now, I used to think at least Damon was a fun villain, but was he really? I mean, yeah he could be funny, got a few chuckles outta me, but besides humor and violence what was his character? For example, in season one we are introduced to Stefan, a supposed “good vampire” who has taken a liking to Elena due to similarities between her and his ex before admiring how much better of a person she is and wanting a true connection with her. We later learn that his experience with his ex Katherine was extremely one-sided as he was compelled to love her to satiate her needs. Even later (still season one), we learn that his only drinking animal blood is because he is a ripper or “blood addict” as I call it cause even one taste of human blood and he’ll go on a rampage. So by seasons end we have a character who was a victim of serious abuse (which is never truly addressed in the show btw) and carries a rare vampire trait that makes not being a murderous psychopath incredibly difficult, yet he still tries to beat the odds and not hurt people. This is a lot to learn about a character in its first season, and it helps us gravitate towards wanting him to succeed. Stefan is what you would call a good character (at least for now). So that was all we got on the first candidate, what about option number two? Well, he’s funny and he likes to kill people, that’s about it. That ripper gene that Stefan’s fighting, Damon’s not someone who gave in to the gene to explain why he’s so murder happy, he doesn’t even have it! There’s nothing making him be a bad person, he just is one! Why? Your guess is as good as mine. The most we get is learning he had real feelings for Katherine and was never compelled to love her as an explanation for why he hates Stefan so much. Wow, two brothers at war over a girl one of them doesn’t even like. You can’t even say it was because Stefan turned him, because Damon says it blank that it’s cause of Katherine in 1x20, so don’t. So Damon kills for no reason, hates Stefan for a stupid reason, and has no personality traits outside of humor, murder, Katherine, and hates Stefan. With all of this on the table, my question is this, how do the writers expect me to pick Damon over Stefan in this love triangle with everything we got in season one? And the writers realized this.

Season two starts this long “arc” asking if Damon can be redeemed, or that’s what the writers wanted. Second theory: the writers realized they couldn’t justify Elena picking Damon over Stefan without ruining her character (lol), so they decided the best way to keep this love triangle idea afloat was to redeem Damon. The theory comes in when they realized they couldn’t completely redeem him because they had written themselves into a corner and being a murdering psycho with quirky one liners was his entire character, therefore redeeming him would take away what made Damon himself and so likable among fans (not me). I’m gonna pull the rug from under ya, remember when I said klaroline was not actually a love story, but was positioned and is still believed to have been one despite this fact? Same applies here. Did Damon ever go through a redemption arc, or did the writers want you to think that he did so they could have their cake and eat it too? Is there any actual story progression that show growth in Damon as a character? Nope. He’s sadder, wouldn’t say that’s him being a better person. In the early seasons, his characterization feels more like a seesaw than an arc. Sometimes he’s chill and helping with a plan, and the next episode he’s biting a chunk out of more innocent bystanders while abusing more women (*cough* *cough* justice for Andie). The longest I can say he was a genuinely decent person was in season six when he was trapped in the prison world with Bonnie (cause she’s the only character that would put up with his bs). Everywhere else, an inconsistent character, and I feel like that was intentional. They wanted to keep Damon how fans liked him while making him seem like a better person. An example is the introduction of Enzo, which I think was a ploy by the writers to make it seem like season five Damon was interacting with a season one Damon to show how far he’s come, but that doesn’t stick at all (mostly because Enzo’s crimes in the show compared to season one Damon’s feel less psychotic and malicious). All in all, to me Damon on his own was a truly boring character and even more boring villain. No motivation and no personality outside his infatuations. Which leads me into the worst plot line of my entire cw experience: Delena.

If you haven’t noticed, I hate this ship with a fiery passion. The only reason I think it’s slightly better than klaroline was at least the writers tried to write a story with them (keyword tried). I said they would have to ruin Elena’s character to have her choose him over Stefan, and I was right! Not only does she cheat with him (2x22 and other scenes from season three), it’s never explained why she likes him in the first place (actually in season six they say it’s cause he gave her Stefan’s gift necklace despite being in love with her, which is so stupid it made me laugh). Furthermore, why does Damon develop feeling for Elena? Supposedly it happens while he’s still obsessing over Katherine, so is that it? The turning point which pushes them together is revealed to all be fabricated by a sirebond. For real, the only reason Elena fell out of love with Stefan is because a bond out of her control made it impossible for Stefan to help her through vampirism and thus she had to lean on Damon for support. I know the show states the bond didn’t create her feelings merely heighten them, but it did isolate her from everyone else she loved and made it so she had no choice but to rely on Damon, and that’s not exactly better than the former. Let me say it louder for the kids that were corrupted. Codependency. Is. Not. Healthy. It’s toxic, and the trope in romance needs to die a horrible death. And the show knows it’s toxic, they bring it up all the time in season five and six thinking that will excuse them to keep going with it. Sorry hun, self awareness does not give you a pass. The worst part is the pacing. I mentioned the sirebond storyline in season four which takes up a huge amount of the season with them debating if her feelings were real before abruptly deciding Elena doesn’t care. Great conclusion, but it gets worse. Season five is pretty thin as far as a story, so what fills the run time is a storyline straight out of fifty shades. Fighting, sex, fighting, sex, breaking up because they aren’t healthy, sex, fighting followed by getting back together followed by more fighting and more sex. I can’t tell you what was gained after everything that transpired in the season. Lastly is season six which took time away from the first interesting villain since season three to give us an amnesia storyline! I’d tell you more, but if you’ve ever seen a movie you could probably explain it exactly. All that time that could’ve been spent in better ways, was given to something I stopped caring about by season fours end.

Honestly, the fact that the show treats this like the greatest love story of all time makes me less angry and more concerned, because the audience who watched this show weren’t adults who understand what love really is, the people who watched this was made up of mostly tweens and teens. I can’t get too mad, this trope is everywhere, girl helps abusive guy be better person while sapping away all her energy in the process was done before and is still being done today. All I ask is that the young adults who remember this show fondly understand how wrong this is. How people like Damon should not be pitied and relationships like Delena should not be celebrated. Ship whatever you want, but please tell me you’re okay. Are you okay? In conclusion, Damon is trash and Delena wasted my time along with being extremely toxic and abusive. Goodnight everybody!

[bigskydreaming]

Also if people instinctively reaching for their “its just my interpretation” arguments as a rebuttal to that post about issue #416 could just not, I’d super appreciate it, thaaaaaanks.

See, the problem I have with that is like....no its not. Its really really not. If your fic or your meta is otherwise DIRECTLY referencing specific story beats of that specific ISSUE, like Dick not having talked to Bruce in over a year, or Dick not knowing Jason even existed until he saw it on the news, or Dick leaving Jason his phone number, or anything of the like.....it is not at all unreasonable for me to expect you to acknowledge the story beats of that very same issue that all of those things are written IN RESPONSE TO. 

You can yell at me about how the firing is just a retcon til the cows come home, but y’know what? It was a retcon that was reiterated IN THAT VERY SAME ISSUE. In it, Dick reiterated what the firing looked like from his perspective, how he waited around for two weeks for Bruce to change his mind before packing up and leaving with opportunities for Bruce to say something every step of the way....THAT is the SPECIFIC sequence of events that Dick’s anger about all of this comes from.

So its extremely disingenuous to try and pair that anger with the pre-Crisis ‘better version’ of events where Dick gives up being Robin all on his own and becomes Nightwing while still on good terms with Bruce...because that version of events has its OWN corresponding aftermath that was written in direct response to THOSE character choices. Like the aftermath where right after becoming Nightwing, Dick turns around and offers Robin to Jason himself, as he of course is already well acquainted with Jason by then. See, that’s kinda part of why Dick and Bruce are on such better terms in that version of events. It has a lot to do with Bruce not adopting a whole other son without so much as a phone call to let Dick know his family had expanded.

Now you can mix and match to your heart’s content, that has NEVER been in question. Especially since as so often said, its a fandom past time to take a match to canon and watch it burn. You don’t have to adhere to aaaaaanything you don’t want to.

BUT.

If you want to talk about INTERPRETING the canon? That is subject to a different set of standards. Because you’re acknowledging that the source material exists as a point of RELEVANCE to you.....and the fact is....the source material is the SAME for everyone discussing it. Now, people can and do have different interpretations of that same material, this is obviously true. But ACTUAL. GENUINE. DISCUSSION of it.....requires that all parties at least discuss those interpretations in good faith, and make an honest attempt to address the material as it is.

And that is not what happens in this fandom. Because you damn well KNOW that for all your talk of the firing just being a retcon......its still the specific version of events the “Dick being mad about Bruce giving Robin to Jason” thing is directly meant to reference and BUILD off of. Retcon or not, it is indisputably the FOUNDATION upon which the other character choices of that very same issue are built atop of.

Because there is another version of events, yes. The pre-Crisis version where Dick gives up Robin. But as I said, that version DOES NOT HAVE Dick angry or resentful....because a key component of it is that all three of them, Bruce, Dick and Jason, are already a family in spirit. There’s a true succession of Robin from Dick passing it down to Jason.

And a lot of you guys know this too. Especially the ones most likely to reach for that “let us have our interpretation!” arguments. Because the Dick Grayson corner of fandom has posted about it a LOT. In fact, we kinda churn out a crap ton of content for this fandom. Headcanons, ficlets, informative posts, etc. And there’s a very curious phenomenon that exists.....

Literally anything I or certain other DG fans post that is inclusive of the whole family, or does not reference any specific event that’s infamous within fandom for pitting Dick against another Batfam member in a ‘who was right, discuss” kinda way.....that tends to circulate WIDELY in fandom. We’re talking upwards of a thousand notes, regularly.

In comparison.....the informative posts that are chock full of panels pointing out how canon actually goes in these specific instances.....tend to top out at a couple hundred max. Its pretty much just fellow DG stans who reblog them. Everyone else, despite them going through the same initial routes of circulation....are very good at pretending they don’t see them.

Because see, misinformation - and make no mistake, that is what we’re talking about here - RELIES on a lack of like.....actual information provided to the contrary to thrive. 

For instance, if it were as common knowledge that in the pre-Crisis version of Dick becoming Nightwing, he makes Jason Robin himself, as it is say.....that the firing Dick as Robin story is ‘just a shitty retcon’......people might start to ask in greater numbers, like, okay, so why DON’T more people write Dick making Jason into Robin after giving it up himself? Why have Dick so bitter at Bruce and/or Jason, if in the only version where Dick gives up Robin, Dick passes it on himself? If you’re gonna go with the one, why not the other?

Because we all know damn well that’s not a difference in interpretation. That’s a conscious CHOICE to TRANSFORM the source material by stitching together two different sides of a cause and effect chasm. The events transpiring after Dick finds out Bruce made Jason Robin himself ARE NOT MEANT to reference the inciting event of Dick giving up Robin himself. You can make that happen, sure. But you have to MAKE it happen. There is no point in the comics where you can honestly, genuinely point to the comics and say this right here shows Dick being mad about this, where ‘this’ is Bruce giving Robin to Jason SPECIFICALLY after Dick gave Robin up, rather than being fired.

A choice has to be made there, for that to happen, if one has the ACTUAL information about how that really played out in the comics rather than just misinformation. And not everyone in fandom trusts everyone else to make the choices they would like them to make with the source material, do they?

After all, isn’t that the REAL root of all this?

See.....its no secret to any of us that nobody’s been all that happy with the actual comics aka source material in years. Meaning most of fandom, myself included, is here for meta and fics based on previously written comics, or our own adaptations of the material.

And fandom, being interactive, unlike canon.....is something that CAN be influenced by other fans.

So why don’t we all just stop fucking pretending that we’re not all trying to influence what the overarching fandom narratives are, shall we?

Oh, you can say this is just me projecting, but I’ve got plenty of instances of hypocrisy to point to that say otherwise. And THAT is the true source of my hostility in so many posts in this fandom.

Because its the very same people who loudly cry “let people have their headcanons” and “let people have their interpretations” and “stop trying to tell people there’s only one true version of canon to go off of” who NEVER. EVER. fail to show up on posts like that last one, the SECOND they start to circulate ‘too widely’ throughout fandom. There is ALWAYS someone waiting in the wings the minute a post like that starts to top a couple hundred notes, ready and raring to shoot it down with some kind of derailment or condescending reminders to everyone who might see it that ‘that’s just a bad retcon for people obsessed with misery porn’ or something like that.

And what exactly should we be calling that? When people show up every single time I make a post about the importance of Robin as a name to Dick, in order to make a big stink about how it being his mother’s name for him is just a retcon? Even though....did I say it wasn’t? Does it being a retcon mean it doesn’t exist? Am I not allowed MY interpretation of a story that very much does exist in canon, am I not allowed to reference other stories where that specific retcon is specifically linked to?

Or how about if I say, post a headcanon about Alfred getting snippy with Bruce about not reaching out to Dick after he leaves home, where within the headcanon itself I specifically reference a clear version of the story where Dick is fired and its eighteen months before he and Bruce speak again? Does this story not exist in canon? Am I not allowed to base stuff of it? It would seem not, given the way people jumped to derail that one by adding in additions about Dick being upset with Bruce about college, which is an entirely different continuity that in no way intersects with the specific events I reference, where they’re estranged for a clear reason that is directly raised within the headcanon itself. People even acknowledge “OP is entitled to any version of continuity they want” in that one, but are like....this one is wrong though, and true fans prefer the one that isn’t just misery porn meant to validate Dick’s teenage angst. With people all too happy to reblog that one while gleefully pointing out the tags that completely derail the post about a clear point in canon by making it entirely about another unrelated point in a different continuity in order to invalidate the initial headcanon or whatever.

Don’t even get me started on when we dare reference stories where Bruce is actually physically abusive to Dick, or when we link Dick’s actions in stories that acknowledge the emotional abuse or neglect of certain key moments in his life TO those inciting moments directly and say “hey its kinda shitty to act like Dick was just being a standoffish brat here when Dick’s attitude is actually directly based on the last time he and Bruce interacted being when Bruce told him to get out and leave his keys.” LOLOL nooooo, that’s not allowed to stand, because see, the ONLY possible reason we could have for even CONSIDERING those stories in character or in continuity, is because of the aforementioned addiction to misery porn or else because we’re just trying to smear Bruce to make our own fave look better.

Never mind that another popular refrain for a lot of the people I’m talking about here is “you don’t know what people are thinking or why they like the things that they like” so, y’know. It is a tad irritating to see that double standard applied, like I mean. Just speaking personally, I’m a survivor of childhood physical and sexual abuse with a lifetime’s worth of C-PTSD and permanent estrangement from my abusive family, so like....those stories where Dick is abused by a figure he never thought would hurt him and now has to reconcile that with still loving and admiring that very same person and still wanting to be family.....like, hey guess what, those themes are part of why his character resonates for me in particular and so they’re kiiiiiinda key for me to explore for a lot of reasons. And given that this fandom looooooves to talk about some people writing dark shit to cope, I find it veeeeeery curious that people are so willing to shut the fuck up and say nothing about incest, rape and pedophilia fics even if they don’t like them themselves......but will still come out of the woodwork to condescend about there being absolutely no valid reason for anyone to ever engage with content where Bruce is abusive even just in one singular instance.....nah. Its literally just cuz of the misery porn addiction.

But see.....the thing at the heart of all this is the simple fact that this hypocrisy doesn’t exist just for the sake of hypocrisy. It exists because we actually all DO know how much power and influence fans can have in an interactive environment like fandom.

After all, the entire reason that Dick Grayson fans are so often posting informative panel-filled posts about what ACTUALLY happens in canon stories that are DIRECTLY cited in many meta, fanfics and headcanons, just.....in a totally backwards way that just so happens to fail to mention that its not intended to be an accurate depiction of the canon its definitely mentioning its in reference to....

The entire reason for this is because of how thoroughly fandom has crafted a specific narrative for Dick Grayson’s character that is based PURELY on their own characterization wants and needs and has very little to do with the actual canon of the character.

Its not a coincidence that so many fans just so happen to genuinely, truly believe that Dick was a grade A asshole to Jason while he was Robin, and there’s a wealth of canon out there somewhere to back it up. No, this happened because of fanFIC narratives where this is the case, and these catching on, and being encouraged by the initial writers of this trope and its fans and so on and so forth until it became the overarching fandom narrative and not only didn’t require any canon basis to be so....it barely ALLOWED for any talk of the contrary. Dick Grayson stans had to yell and churn out posts like that last one for YEARS to make a DENT in this fanon conviction, and do NOT even approach me about it being an issue of tone and ‘if we’d only asked politely’ because lol. No. We did. You can find the clear shift in the tone of my posts from when I first re-entered the fandom years ago to when I just got frustrated with the willful avoidance of WHY so many fans like myself are so annoyed by certain fandom convictions......and even then, it was about the hypocrisy. It was about how loudly other people crow about letting them have their headcanons while literally shouting down ANY post we made about wanting space to just have our CANON-canon.

Pro-tip: that thing where if you just ignore someone long enough on a certain point, they’ll inevitably start to get frustrated and then you can point to their tone as being the problem and claim that was the issue all along? Yeah. Its not slick. This fandom didn’t invent it. Its always very transparent, and very obnoxious. 

But the point is.....fandom absolutely has the ability to override canon narratives with their own version that’s then formative for new entrants to the fandom who never even BOTHER with the source material and just are here for the fic. And so its dishonest as FUCK for people to not only MAKE no distinction between what’s genuinely their interpretation of the canon and what’s their transformation of it, with INTENT......but to weaponize fandom’s aversion to content-criticism to shout down even ATTEMPTS to introduce discussion of the actual source material by claiming oh you’re just trying force your preferred narrative on everyone else. Aka that thing THEY’RE actually doing themselves by once attaining a fandom wide narrative they like, maintaining a stranglehold on it and doing their best to dissuade any narratives to the contrary staking a claim alongside that.

Because again, it all comes back to the fic. See, as a Dick Grayson fan, I’ve made no secret of the fact that I turn to fic for what I can’t get from canon...and its frustrating as hell to see writers that loudly talk of being BETTER than canon and “RIP to canon but my Batfam loves each other” in a lot of cases DELIBERATELY make Dick in particular look WORSE.....and then act like they have no idea what we’re talking about when we try and tell fans who take these narratives at face value that uh, they’re lacking some extremely relevant context and nuance. Or in some cases, outright facts.

And I will happily laugh loudly in the face of anyone who tries to claim that they don’t feel similarly about fics that characterize their own faves in ways they don’t like.

Yeah, try telling me that after years of some of you writing fics that specifically exclude all reference to the events of Nightwing #30 when talking about Dick’s death or Spyral.....while still including every in canon instance of people bagging on Dick for what he only did in canon because of Bruce’s abusive writing. There’s kinda a vested interest in keeping fandom relatively free of talk of Nightwing #30 then.....because weirdly, people who write about a DIFFERENT take that’s not hostile to Dick seem to end up putting the blame on Bruce for that situation. Bizarre, I know. People attributing blame to the character who was actually abusive in the canon and being cranky that the victim of said abuse is held up as the sacrificial lamb in everyone else’s fics? Whodathunkit.

(Also a point of irritation - it never had to be just one or the other. This is where the whole ‘maybe its YOU guys who were projecting all along when you said the only reason we could have for talking about Bruce’s abuse was an intent to smear the character’ bit is a thing. See, fun fact: if you were going to ignore an issue or two in order to completely flip the narrative of what really happened with Spyral and dominate the fandom landscape for a couple of years....it never had to be Nightwing #30 that was the ONLY issue you could leave out in order to not make Bruce look like an abusive asshat. Like, there was always another option right there in front of you. You could have instead chosen to also leave out Grayson #12, aka the one where Dick informs everyone else he’s alive.....then you could very easily just sliiiiiide in reference to Bruce and Dick quietly informing the whole family of his status and his mission while insisting on keeping it quiet for his safety. Voila. NOBODY has to be an asshole then, and the whole family gets to be in the know. But see, most people didn’t actually have a problem with someone being an asshole in that story. They just didn’t want it to be Bruce, and didn’t mind it being his actual victim. 

Even though, lol, just another FYI.....abuse victims having things flipped on them so it looks like they’re the true problem and their abusers are completely innocent is a HUGE thing that happens a lot in real life, so FYI about that FYI.....anyone who does say, gravitate towards Dick Grayson specifically because of how he’s impacted or might be impacted by abuse from his father, like.....is proooooobably not going to have a super fun time with diehard commitment to making this particular fictional character the true mastermind of his family’s misery and abusive instead of the abused. Weird huh.)

And round and round it goes. Where it ends, nobody knows.....because it doesn’t. fucking. stop. The number of ways in which fandom has willfully flipped the narrative so that Dick is the aggressor instead of the aggrieved is just absolutely ridiculous. This guy has been punched by every member of his family except Duke and Alfred, and somehow he’s the one characterized as uncomfy to be around because of how volatile he is. This guy is the only one who has actually been KICKED OUT of the manor, and somehow that gets glossed over and considered out of character while he apparently definitely did very much do this exact specific thing to Tim, I hear.

And like broken records, people squawk ‘let us have our interpretations/headcanons/etc’ any time we try and make a stink about how no, actually, that’s NOT HOW IT WENT....and at the EXACT SAME TIME....most of these exact same people show up on every post that uses ACTUAL information to make Bruce or Jason or Tim or whomever look like the actual problem in a story where they were actually problematic, like, the SECOND a post gets popular enough....to derail, to condescend, to shout it down with how its just a retcon or its out of character or its just a bad take or how fans with taste know better than to take it seriously.

And why do you care? Like, if we’re all supposed to just live and let live and everyone’s allowed their own interpretations, why this everpresent need to show up all the time with a superior, patronizing ‘oof, this is just not good’ the second one of YOUR faves is in the hotseat, while condescendingly boxing out any posts informing people of how no, actually, Dick and Kory’s breakup WAS linked to Mirage and Dick and Donna’s infamous fight WASN’T the way its commonly talked about and oh yeah there was brainwashing there too and etc, etc....see, when WE do that, we’re just overacting stans who can’t stand others not liking our fave. Instead of just....trying to correct misinformation so more fans can at least engage with the character from a starting point of zero instead of a negative integer. 

So why this hypocrisy? Oh yeah, because you don’t WANT the misinformation corrected. Because see, when the misinformation IS corrected, fic writers en masse....make different choices. And that’s why ever since more people started picking up the refrain of “well no actually Dick DIDN’T hate Jason, here’s the proof”.....there’s a lot more stories out there where...shockingly....Dick doesn’t hate Jason. Which bizarrely, does not really work well for the people who WANTED Dick to hate Jason and made a point to SHAPE the narrative to make him hate Jason.....because it wasn’t about that just being their interpretation, and it never was. Because the CHOICE to cut out Dick’s ‘justification for feeling slighted’ by being fired as Robin and pair that specifically WITH Dick resenting Jason for Bruce still making him Robin instead of Dick doing it....that has a narrative cause and effect within a lot of the fics that go with this. It gives Jason eternal underdog status that makes it easy to root for him while positioning someone specifically to blame for that underdog status and unfair playing field, and it also keeps focus off Bruce as the cause of any issues between his sons due to choices HE made, thus one singular figure is positioned as the obstacle to family unity....and that figure isn’t Bruce.

And no canon to the contrary will be acknowledged as legitimate.

Convenient huh?

Especially paired with the ‘thou shalt not con crit on another’s fic’ fandom commandment. Because when you can’t complain about any fanfic depictions whatsoever without immediately and inherently being cast as the rabble-rouser by default.....the ability to shape and dominate a specific fandom narrative becomes veeeeery key. After all, another popular fandom phrase is ‘we’re not the DC writers, complain to them about canon.’ But when there’s no canon complaint to be made to DC specifically, because its not canon we’re actually upset about, and we’re not ‘allowed’ to criticize fandom depictions because people are allowed to have their interpretations......all you have to do is stand your ground and insist that the fandom depictions of Dick are nothing BUT ‘interpretations’ and not acknowledge aaaaaaany of the places where you consciously make the decision to transform canon choices and behavior around him.....and voila. You’ve wrapped everything up in a neat little logic trap. Quite the fait accompli. There’s really no way for anyone to say or do anything ABOUT this little situation here without being ‘disruptive,’ ‘divisive’ and ‘having a negative impact on fandom harmony.’

Its just always gonna be a little weird to me, how much your positivity culture looks a lot like plausible deniability culture instead.

But whatever. That’s just a me problem I guess. Definitely not something anyone else in fandom has anything to do with. Just like they have nothing to do with derailments or condescension or counter arguments to so many of the canon-based Dick Grayson posts I make, and this is also all my doing...wait...hang on. I think I got mixed up again somewhere. Dang it.

[immortalonus]

Where You Belong: Chapter 3

A/N: I hate this chapter so, so much. Unfortunately, I also couldn't find any way around it. If I got anything wrong, chances are I just missed it, so feel free to let me know.

Read on AO3 here.

“...Humans with ghost powers!? Crazy, right?” Valerie snorted, then paused.

“Or humans that turn into ghosts, or ghosts that—stay human when they die or whatever. The important thing is that there was a part of Ellie that was real. And if it hadn't been for Phantom, I'd have just left her there with Plasmius, to do whatever—to hurt—to—”

Valerie took a moment, struggling to admit out loud what she had already begun suspect for herself.

“—kill her. he was gonna murder a little girl, mama, and if Phantom hadn't convinced me she still had some human in her, if I hadn't listened to a ghost, I woulda let him.”

Phantom, if she hadn't listened to Phantom, specifically. It was a detail that still irritated her every time it came up.

The ghost boy had been so persistent, for so long in his charade of being a “good guy,” that most days, she simply tuned him out.

And truly, was that so wrong?

Up to that point, Everything Phantom had said in his own defense had been nothing more than talk. Oh, he said sorry, he said he felt bad about it, but at the end of the day, what had he done?

Ruined her fathers job and her life, then fled the scene like the criminal he was.

Stole for the hell of it and couldn't even be bothered to take the blame when he got caught.

(Valerie still had no idea why the ghost thought an “evil mind controlling clown guy,” was a reasonable excuse, at all, for anything.)

Who was always ready to fight, but never to help.

Never, not once, in all the wretched aftermath of the Grey's financial dissolutionment, had Phantom come to their aid. Not in the immediate events that came after, nor during the process of her father's dismissal, when he could well have stayed his expulsion simply by appearing, proving Damian Grey's assertions of spectral interference months before he would have been otherwise believed.

Not during the move from her childhood home to her current residence down in Elmerton. Too strapped to hire assistance, it had been down to Valerie, her father, and Fenton, who had taken his weekend off to help her move instead.

No haunting the creditors who dogged their every step, even now.

Hell, he couldn't even be bothered to tell the public that it was his fault her life was ruined! In private, yes, where he knew no one could hear. But never where it mattered, to whom it mattered, since that would require Phantom to actually give something up for once and admit what he did was wrong. Which he would never do, because Phantom, like all ghosts, was a fundamentally egotistical creature, right down to his very core.

No, Valerie had good reason to believe that she had Phantom all figured out: A showboating prig, full of hot air and false excuses, distinct from other ghosts only in his capacity to fool the masses into believing he was ever anything more.

Then Elle happened.

The ghost girl's mere existence had managed to throw Valerie's world into a whole new tailspin, leaving her reeling even as events conspired to yank more and more of her footing out from under her, teetering on the edge of her own understanding as all her convictions suffered blow after blow.

Living ghosts.

Ghostly humans.

Friends acting as enemies.

While enemies acted as friends.

“I woulda let him kill her.” She repeated, “Just like I let him kill—end—All those other ghosts I gave him, just handed 'em over for whatever freak experiments he had cooked up.”

Just like she had snuffed out who knew how many other specters during her own patrols.

How many of them were still alive in there, she wondered, underneath the ghost?

Her mother's brows seemed to furrow in response, worried, no doubt, over what exactly her daughter had done.

“I didn't mean it mama, it wasn't my fault! It was all Plasmius, you know Plasmius? That knockoff Nosferatu all the time picking fights with Phantom. He used me and he lied, and—“ Valerie licked her lips futilely seeking moisture from a mouth gone dry.

“He played human to do it.”

Valerie felt a flush of rage and shame wash over her at the words. She had been used all over again, played for a fool and manipulated just like her so-called “friends” had used her before, dangling control and importance in exchange for the very essence of her soul.

To learn that she had struck the same deal with a different kind of devil, that all her power was a tool in someone else's hands had curdled into an ache that rivaled the raw burn of a whole new betrayal.

Because unlike the A-listers she'd run with not too long ago, or even Phantom, who she'd always hated, Vlad Masters had been a man she'd seen fit to trust.

“Plasmius was Masters, and—God, they even share the same first name—My sponsor, the guy who gave me my first suit, trained me up, even kept me and daddy off the streets when things were at their worst. And me stupid enough to think it was 'cause he cared.”

A hard exclamation escaped her throat at the thought, to forceful for a scoff, too sharp for laughter.

No such thing indeed.

“Everyone's out for something. Masters—Plasmius, he was out for Phantom, and I was just the pawn that was supposed to get take him out.”

That's part of what scares me too. Why was Plasmius so dead set on Phantom? Why'd he sink so much money into taking him out? Why does Phantom hate him back?”

And it was peculiar, how much Phantom seemed to hate Plasmius. Valerie had thought for a long time that it was some kind of territory dispute, a conflict over a rare and valuable thin spot between realities. After years of chasing after Phantom, however, it became more and more clear that the ghost boy's resentment of Plasmius went beyond that of simple competition.

The mere mention of the vampiric specter was enough to turn Phantom tense and snippy, as though the mere thought of the other ghost irritated him, somehow. After witnessing the two up close, Valerie's suspicions had cemented into certainty: Phantom hated Plasmius, and he hated him personally.

“There's so much I don't know, and no one to tell me. Plasmius doesn't know that I know, and until I get out from under him, that's how it's gotta stay.”

How Valerie was supposed to get out from under Plasmius was another question entirely. Plasmius, in Vlad Master's guise, was the sole reason the Grey family had managed to keep on top of its debts for as long as they had. To make matters worse, he also provided most of the materials Valerie's suit consumed for its more elaborate systems and weaponry.

Even so, the temptation to throw it all away and smash Plasmius' smug face against her boot was a strong one, stayed only by the fear of what would happen to her father if she tried.

“Phantom went squirrelly on me too,” she said. “I thought maybe I could get something from him, since we never ended that truce. But in the end, he was still just a ghost.”

She hadn't wanted to go to Phantom, in those days between Elle's escape and her decision to plunge into the Zone, had felt too much like would be admitting something, somehow, to do so. Had it not been for the fact that Phantom was her sole and only choice, she was sure she would never have asked at all.

Once she'd made the decision to do it, he'd been easy enough to track down. She found him—where else?—but In the middle of a fight, duking it out at altitude with one of the countless animal ghosts that regularly made their way across the paltry excuse for a veil stretched across Amity Park.

The fight had been easy, the conversation that came after it, much less so.

How could someone be alive and dead at the same time? Were they alive and dead at once? all the time? Did they alternate at will? Were they born? Were they made? How many were there? A lot? How did she spot a human-ghost if she saw it? Was there a way to tell? Or did you have to guess?

Phantom had been the one to tell her that these human-ghost, ghost-human things could exist in the first place, which had lead her to expect, rather despite herself, that perhaps he could explain them, too.

So it was only natural, really, that in that moment precisely, he had chosen to clam up. He knew nothing of these miraculous hybrids, could find out nothing concerning them, and as to finding them, he had no clue at all. Nevermind that it had been he who had first told her such beings were possible in the first place, the ghost was a veritable well of ignorance, utterly unable to aid in her pursuits.

“Ghosts are narrow minded and selfish, they go round everywhere like they've got blinkers on both sides of their head. You stick an idea in front of their nose, and they grab it if they like it, and shove it away if they don't. They don't consider where you got the idea from, they don't think about why its there, they don't even goddamn care why you picked it up in the first place. All that matters is somethings blocking their little slice of the world, theirs, specifically, 'cause they wouldn't never consider any other kind.

That was Phantom's problem, he wanted a truce yeah, but his way, not mine. A truce for beating things up, not a truce for trusting and talking or or anything that might give trouble to him. That wasn't how he wanted it to work.

He was even worse with Elle. She's the only other one I could talk to—not counting you, ma—who could tell me anything about anything about what was going on!

And Elle, I couldn't track her down. When she said she had places to be, I thought she meant like Phantom when there wasn't anything fun for him to hit, not just gone! I tried tracking her, I did, but it didn't work. Either staying human hides her, or she's run too far to track.

Stupid Phantom wouldn't help me with that, neither. It was just 'oh she's fine,' this and 'why do you care' that, like I can't worry about a human girl wondering on her own without nobody to make sure she's even fed!”

Not only had he been absurdly reluctant to answer her questions, but even had the audacity to wonder if they were at all related to her continued association with Plasmius. It was an insult, beyond all doubt, as though he didn't know how little choice she had.

As though he wasn't the one who forced her into making it.

“I guess so far as he figured, if Elle wasn't being kidnapped, then she was fine. It didn't matter that she's a kid, or alone, or was stealing apples just to eat. She was strong enough to survive on her own and not melt, and that was good enough for him. He just sat there when she left, too, watching her scat like any other ghost."

Did he know how far she intended to run, or simply fail to understand why he should care?

"No matter how well he thinks he means, Phantom can't help the human parts of her. Just because she could beat any man that tried to take doesn't mean that she doesn't get—scared, or lonely, or—“ Valerie wriggled uncomfortably in her pallet of dust. “—Or that she doesn't need people. Phantom can't give that, and Plasmius is a sick piece of shit, so that left me. Just me. If I let that go, then Elle'd be alone for real.”

The worry in her mother's gaze didn't lighten, exactly, but it did shift, consternation giving way to curiosity mixed with a hearty topping of concern. It was easy to imagine the question she would have asked, if she could but speak.

“Then what is it do you think you're doing all the way out here, hm?”

Valerie sighed. This, at least, she had a clear answer for.

“I'm on a mission. There's this thing called the infini-map. Don't have all the details, but with a name like that?” She scoffed, “don't need 'em. Whatever it is, its good enough to send Plasmius into a fit just at the idea of laying claws on it.

If I could get something like that, imagine, I could find Elle in a heartbeat. No more lookin', no more running blind and hoping for luck. And when I find her, I could use it get out from under Masters thumb for good. Use it, sell it, whatever, with that thing, it would be easy. Me and daddy could be set for life.”

At the time, the idea had seemed brilliant. With her search for Elle stymied, and rental payments approaching their inevitable due, she had latched onto the idea of a Ghost Zone mission the instant her so-called benefactor had brought it up. It was a chance to bleed “Mister Masters” of a little more of his money, without actually having to tolerate his presence for any length of time. Even better, it presented an opportunity to do right by her father while staying far away from the quiet anger, the soft, dispirited sense of regret that had seemed to overtake him as jobs remained scarce, and Valerie continued to hunt.

Perhaps most selfishly, it was the opportunity for the Red Huntress to become what Valerie had had always wanted her to be: A free agent, no puppet masters, no expectations, just the world, and herself within in it.

It was one thing she truly did not regret, even now, lying in the dirt looking up at the memory of a memory ripped to tatters in her hands. Whatever else happened in this strange, wild place, it was her decision, her choice. She was finally in control.

Thinking of control, there was another reason why she wanted to speed up her search for the ghost girl.

“Elle's a good kid, but she <i>is</i> a kid, with a ghost in her she don't even know to fear. I'm not sure how long she can fight it like that without anyone to tell her what's going on. She needs someone who knows about ghosts,who can show her how to fight back, 'cause if she doesn't, I'm not sure how long she'll last until she ends up Plasmius."

“Or Phantom.”

It was an ugly theory, but explained a great deal. The identical looks, the raw antipathy towards Vlad, in particular, or how a full ghost could see himself as related, somehow, to a being that was something so much more.

All ghosts came from somewhere, and Valerie rather doubted Elle was truly Plasmius' only attempt at capturing a hybrid of his own.

“'Cause I think they're the same kinda thing. It explains why Plasmius wanted her so bad, and they change the same way, too. They go from being a ghost, ectosignitures and all, to being alive. Not some fake, but breathing, heartbeats, everything. There's something in them that's really, truly alive.

Plasmius and Elle, they're both alive," she whispered, "but only Elle's human, and I don't know how long that's gonna last.

I can't stay stupid about all this ghost shit, neither. There's so much they won't tell me, and Elle's my ticket to figuring it out. If I can find her in time, I could fix it. Bring her to the Fentons, maybe, take out the ghost before it gets too big, make cash, move out me and daddy and Elle all together. Either way, this is how I do it, right here, right now. This is my chance.”

No more being lead around like a particularly witless donkey for his carrot wielding master, no more suppressing every violent impulse that threatened to take her over any time she chanced to look “Mister Masters” in his insufferable face, no more long, interminable periods of her nose against a grindstone day after day, scraping her fingers bloody against poverty's wall in the way her father seemed convinced was better, somehow, for all the pain it so obviously caused him.

“I know it's risky, but it's worth it, it's gotta be. If I can get the infinimap, then I can fix everything, all at once. I won't owe nobody nothing, and I can start fixing things again, for everyone.”

And perhaps her mother agreed, as the shadow that had gathered against her brow seemed to ease, relaxing back into something more serene.

Valerie smiled, running her thumb over the place where her face once was, pointedly ignoring the sensation of absence in favor of the smiling visage still shining across her display.

“See, I knew you'd see it my way.” Valerie was pretty sure she'd had to have gotten her sense of adventure from somewhere, after all. “It's hard, but I'm fine. And when this is all done, it'll be more than fine, it'll be better.

Just you wait.”

Overlay image: Session end.

The memory of Theresa Grey vanished slowly, victim of her daughter's own reluctance to see her go. But vanish she did, sunshine grew pale and laughter faded, memory crushed into data and erased of meaning, and Valerie was once again alone.

She sighed, finally allowing herself to lower the photograph as she reached over for her other parcels, which she began collecting into a small bundle atop her chest.

Technically, she could reach over to put her mother with her boots and rations instead of the other way around, but found herself suddenly disinclined to do so. Without the stress of the day to keep her going, she found exhaustion pushing down at her very bones, keeping her pressed against the meager comfort of her body warmed hollow of dirt.

No, lifting herself up as little as possible seemed a very enticing proposition indeed.

She grabbed both her boots, then her gloves, peeled off to reveal the same skintight leather which coated the rest of her, the remains of her wallet, and a single, battered bag, too smooth for leather, too thick for silk: All supplies from her earlier run in with the thieving insect from before, pared down to those goods and supplies she could actually use.

She chose not to dwell on how few of them there were.

Her mother came last, placed gently at the head of the pile, where she could look it over one last time.

She should have done this sooner, she knew, perhaps even the moment she entered the Zone. Keeping the photograph on her physical person was too much of a risk, one born of foolish sentiment and thoughtless desire. She had just wanted so badly to keep one good thing with her, somewhere tangible and real, she'd disregarded the threat she put it in.

Because if there was one thing death was guaranteed to do, it was steal everything and everyone it thought was yours.

Valerie placed her hands over the small collection, reaching once again into the inorganic hum prickling ever at the edges of her mind.

Unit_1 selected (Gen_Storage:)

Report

Status: Stable (20% full)

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Intake request:

Intake selected? (Y/N)

>Yes

Processing…

A flick of her mental fingers, and it was done. Boots, bag, and all turned into their own kind of mist, dissolving into the small pocket dimension that followed her always, shadows diffusing into the surrounding light, the weight of them dissipating until nothing but the memory of their pressure remained.

Valerie brushed her fingers over the space they left behind, a half smile tugged at the corners of her trembling lips.

“Goodnight, Ma,” She whispered. A grief like seaglass hung heavy on her heart, smoothed over edges cut no longer, though the heft of its sorrow lay leaden even yet.

“Sleep good now, you hear?”

No voice answered in response.

Valerie no longer expected it to.

Deep in the realm of the dead, a figure turned on its side, curled against itself on its small outcropping of stone. Legs up to its chest, arms clenched tight around its shoulders as it heaved, breath by mortal breath, seeking some moment of repose.

[bosspigeon]

sunshine on a rainy day

Pairing: M!Detective/Mason Word Count: 3669 Summary: Unit Bravo helps Juni with rooting through the sodden mess of his bedroom, and Mason tries to figure out just what the hell is going on with the detective.

I have no excuses or explanations for this. It’s just self-indulgent corny nonsense.*shakes Mason like an Etch-a-Sketch until he can acknowledge his goddamned feelings*

Please check out this cover of “My Girl” by Kele Okereke that inspired this whole thing, because it makes it gay and it brings my little homosexual heart so much joy~

Mild CW for references to sex/m*sturbation

Things are still… weird, with Juni.

Of course, he’s pretending they aren’t, and he’d be very convincing if it were anyone but Mason he’s trying to convince.

His smiles are too brittle, too tense, and they don’t make his nose scrunch up like they should. His laughs are too-sharp and high-pitched, strained with effort, and he hasn’t snorted once. He radiates tension the second Mason looks his way, hides behind his hair like he’s afraid to look him in the eye. When Mason first met the detective, he thought he was soft. Too soft. The sort Mason would chew up and spit out if he cared enough to bother, but then he dug a little deeper, hit a nerve or two, and found that shiny spine. He found that, when pushed, Juni had bite.

He may have gotten a bit addicted to the bite, and now that it’s gone, he feels completely off-kilter. Juni still responds when he flirts, of course, blushing and fumbling like always, but it feels… different, somehow. And it has since the bakery.

He apologized, and he thought that would make it better, but it hasn’t, and now he’s caught between frustration and what might be... guilt?

Clearly, he’s hurt Juni somehow, and he’s not sure how to fix it.

Why do you need to fix it? Why do you care?

He shakes it off. They’ve got more important things to worry about right now. He’s got to keep his head in the game.

“I’m sorry,” Juni says miserably, again, and Mason wants to shake him. What part of this is his fault?

“It’s not your fault,” Nate says kindly, before Mason can get snippy and make Juni withdraw into himself even further. “You can’t be blamed for bad luck.”

Juni snorts, grabbing his arm. “If I didn’t have bad luck, I’d have no luck at all,” he recites, like it’s something he’s said before. He’s wearing a t-shirt that says “I Just Hope Both Teams Have Fun” and it’s a bit odd to see his arms without the cover of his usual sweatshirt. He keeps rubbing at his inner arm and the bird inked there. A self-soothing gesture, as if he’s not used to exposing so much skin. His nails are bitten all to hell, too. A mess of tells, this man.

“That’s the spirit!” Felix says cheerily, punching the air. The look Juni gives him is dry as a desert, and Mason feels a twist of something hot and acidic in his gut he can’t name. He wants to chuck Felix in a dumpster at least once a day, but the urge hits him like a truck out of the blue, and he can’t pinpoint the reason.

Fuck, he’d kill for a smoke.

“I’m still sorry,” Juni says again, squeezing his forearm. “For, y’know, the whole squad needing to babysit me for this.”

“It’s no trouble at all!” Nate exclaims, as if the very thought that Juniper believes their helping him sort through his soggy belongings to see what can be salvaged to be a chore is somehow an insult. “We’re happy to help.”

Juni gives Nate a soft-eyed smile that lights up his whole face, and that acid feeling burns more.

“You cannot be left unaccompanied,” Adam says stiffly, eyeing the horizon as if the Annunaki will swoop down on them in a parking lot in broad daylight. “It is best that we move as a unit when able, to ensure your safety.”

Juni ducks his head, still smiling. “Thank you guys,” he mumbles, and then he almost keels over when Felix slings his arm around his shoulder to shake him. Mason stifles a growl, and while Felix doesn’t notice, Adam and Nate both glance back at him with twin unreadable expressions he meets with the blandest look he can manage.

“I, for one, am looking forward to snooping through your place some more,” Felix snickers. Juni pushes him off.

For the most part, the flat is still in one piece, most of the damage contained to the bedroom, though the floor in the hallway is a bit waterlogged as well. Nate tuts in disappointment as the warped boards creak pathetically underfoot, no doubt mourning the fancy pattern to the antique wood. Mason can smell the water damage, mold and rot that no doubt caused the collapse in the first place, and the choking reek of plaster dust.

Juni sighs as he pushes open his bedroom door. The mess is even worse than Mason thought it would be, from what Juni told him. The bathtub that apparently crashed through his ceiling is gone, but the gaping hole remains, still shedding debris onto the ruined bed. The heavy antique bed frame itself is cracked clean in half, the mattress sagging in the middle, and Mason's chest squeezes.

Juni was right there seconds before an entire fucking bathtub came down on top of it. He could have been crushed.

He jolts when he feels fingers on his wrist, and when he looks down, Juni isn't looking directly at him, but towards him. "You can wait outside, if you want?" he suggests softly while Nate goes trotting into the room to cluck and fuss over Juni's bookshelf. "I know it smells kind of gross in here." His nose wrinkles a bit, and Mason hears the thick clicking of his throat as he swallows uncomfortably. No doubt, the smell’s not doing him any favors either, hyper senses or no.

"Did you bring a mask or something?" Mason asks rather than replying, gesturing to the plaster dust settled all over everything, floating in the air now that they've disturbed it. "Your lungs are already shitty enough."

Juni flushes a pretty, rosy pink and fumbles hastily for his bag with a little blurt of, "Oh, yeah!" He puts it on, and Mason wants to groan. Of course it's got a stupid little cat mouth on it.

"Juni," Nate calls, his voice heavy with sadness. He's holding a book in his hands as carefully as if it were an injured bird. "You have a collector’s edition of The Velveteen Rabbit?"

"Had," Juni corrects, his eyes crinkling with a sardonic little smile Mason can't see, but knows the shape of intimately enough to picture. “It had reproductions of the original lithograph illustrations too.” He gives Mason a quick sidelong look before pattering over to take the book from Nate and sadly try to peel apart the pages.

Felix sidles up to Mason with about as much subtlety as a bathtub through the ceiling while Nate assures Juni they can salvage the book, and likely a good amount of the others, if they are very careful. The younger vampire gives him a startlingly critical look that he tries to hide under his usual smirk. "You guys are ridiculous," he scoffs. Mason snaps out a hand to cuff him, but Felix dodges and rabbit-punches him lightly in the ribs. It’s surprising enough from someone as ambivalent to fighting as Felix is that Mason doesn’t even think to dodge, and when he glowers at him, Felix glowers right back.

It’s not terribly impressive on him, but points for trying.

“Be nice to him,” Felix hisses, and this time Mason is ready enough to swat his hand away before he can get jabbed again.

“I’m plenty nice to him,” he drawls, affecting an easy smirk.

Felix studies him for a long moment, then looks him dead in the eye, smiles glibly, and says, “You’re so pretty.” He reaches out like he’s going to pat Mason’s cheek, but he dodges and stalks away to help Adam move some of Juni’s heavier furniture that might still be salvageable. Felix makes a beeline for the bathroom, probably to rifle through Juni’s medicine cabinet or something.

Juni leaves Nate to meticulously pick through his bookshelf and slip blotting paper (which he made sure to bring the second Juni voiced his doubts the small collection of books in his room would be salvageable) between the pages and setting them aside to pack up and take back to the warehouse, where he has the supplies to take care of them. He starts bagging up clothes, while Adam and Mason prop his mattress against the wall to get it out of the way. He’ll have to get a new one for sure. Just being close to the damn thing makes Mason want to retch with the smell of the mildew. Juni drifts by to start bundling up his bedding, and his knuckles skim against Mason’s lower back.

A shudder rolls up his spine, and he settles as his senses calm down enough for him to actually assist Adam. The mattress isn’t heavy for them by any means, but it’s bulky enough to be a pain for just one of them to carry.

Juni is setting to work boxing up all his little trinkets and knickknacks (and he’s got a lot of them) when Felix comes barrelling out of his bathroom with something purple held victoriously above his head.

“Hey, Juni!” he yells, and all of them, even Juni,  wince at the volume. “What’s this?”

Once he’s stopped, and is no longer a brightly colored blur in the vague shape of a vampire, Mason can actually see what he’s holding aloft like a trophy. Once he realizes what it is, he can’t help but smirk. Before he even looks at Juni, he can feel the heat radiating off him, his blood rushing, his heart rate spiking.

Even if Mason didn’t know what a goddamned magic wand was, Juni’s reaction would be a dead giveaway.

Faster than Mason has ever seen the detective move, he bolts across the room and snatches the thing out of Felix’s hand, hiding it behind his back. “Where did you find that?” he yelps, his voice pitching high and cracking.

“Your closet,” Felix says brightly, his eyes glimmering with mischief. He’s clearly caught on. “Should I not have touched it?”

“It’s clean!” Juni squawks, his face almost glowing red. “Don’t be gross!”

“Man, now I really wish I’d picked that locked box in there open,” Felix cackles, and Juni smacks at his shoulder and then breaks for the bathroom before the vampire can make good on that promise. He slams the door behind him and Mason hears the click of the lock, while Felix laughs so hard he has to brace himself against the wall and hold his stomach.

Adam and Nate are deeply focused on their own work, admirably pretending they haven’t noticed anything going on outside their little tasks.

It takes a while for Juni to be coaxed out of the bathroom again, but even mortification that makes him blush so ferociously that Mason can feel the heat of him from three feet away wouldn’t allow him to shove his duties off on someone else. He does bring a small wooden trunk out of the bathroom with him, closed with a little heart-shaped padlock that Felix could break off easily if he wanted to. Juni seems just as aware of that risk, so he guards the trunk with his goddamned life, even going so far as to sit on it and glower at Felix while he helps Nate pack up all his waterlogged books and fragile little trinkets.

Mason does give the trunk a very pointed look, trailing his eyes up the detective’s body and meeting his gaze with an easy smirk, just to watch him flush even redder, and while he does go so red the smattering of freckles across his nose almost disappears, he looks away sharply and hides behind his hair.

Mason barely resists pulling an Adam and crushing the weird little ceramic owl he’s packing away.

The rest of the day goes pretty uneventfully afterwards. He and Adam move and dry off furniture, drag stuff that can’t be saved outside to be thrown out, Nate delights in every interesting little antique he finds and mourns the damage done to them, Felix flits around and pretends he’s helping when he’s really just having fun rooting through the detective’s things, and Juni helps where he can and avoids Mason’s eyes as they track his every move. Even if they didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to shake the awareness of Juni, wherever he is in the room.

After they’ve packed everything they could into the Agency SUV, they head off. Juni is quiet on the ride back, sitting close to the window with a box of junk in his lap. Felix is between him and Mason, completely ignoring the odd tension and distracting the detective by asking about whatever random tchotchke he pulls from the box. Mason just stares out the window and tries to ignore the niggling desire to light a cigarette, only slightly mitigated by the fact that he doesn't even have one on him.

Later, once they’ve hauled everything to Juni’s room (or in the case of the books, to Nate’s room to be subjected to the tenderest of mercies) Mason sits on the roof alone for a long while, staring consideringly at an unlit cigarette and twisting it between his fingers. His head feels heavy with everything weighing it down, a twisting, confusing mess writhing in his skull. He tries, once again, to direct his thoughts to easier things, but every time he tries to think about Juni squirming underneath him, thighs squeezing his hips, gasping his name, his thoughts inevitably turn to gentle fingers on his cheeks, a bright laugh lighting up his insides, hazel-green eyes looking up at him with… with what?

He growls and shoves the cigarette back into the pack, cramming it into his pocket.

“What does this mean for us?”

Since when is there an “us?”

He falls back onto the roof with a thud, the rough surface making his skin scream with prickling discomfort, but he ignores it. He closes his eyes, tries to quiet the jumble of his thoughts. He unleashes his senses just a bit, driven by instinct and a need to focus on something, anything else, and takes a slow, deep breath. He hears the low murmur of Nate’s voice somewhere below, in the den. Adam’s there too, naturally. He can’t make out the words, but the conversation is easy and familiar, soft with intimacy.

He snorts. The two of them are fucking ridiculous. You’d think they’d have realized they’re basically married a couple centuries ago, and yet…

Felix isn’t hard to locate, though he’s deeper in the warehouse, where the bedrooms are. He’s loud, as usual, so Mason can hear him a bit better, but still he’s not quite close enough to make out words. He focuses a little harder, relaxes his body and exhales slowly. Along with his voice, there’s a light twanging, which eventually strings together into a rhythm. Music? Felix listens to music often, but it’s usually louder, faster-paced. Grates on Mason’s nerves like absolute hell, but this is slower, brighter. And then he hears Juni’s voice, and his senses rush in like a hungry dog spotting a rabbit.

A laugh, low and sweet.

Mason is rolling to his feet and off the roof before he even has a chance to think about it. It’s the work of a few seconds to slip through the window, and he keeps his footsteps light as he slips through the warehouse like a ghost. He passes the den and glances in. Adam and Nate have their heads close together, talking in low voices with files laid out neatly on the coffee table in front of them, two glasses of wine carefully placed a safe distance away from their paperwork. Adam gives him a quick look over his shoulder, and the ever-present tension in them eases somewhat. Mason nods and continues on by.

The twanging music gets louder as he stalks down the stairs, Felix’s bright voice more raucous than ever, but it’s easy enough to tune out when he hears Juni’s answering laugh floating from Felix’s open bedroom door.

“Are you gonna stop heckling me and make a request?” he asks, and Mason can hear the sunny plunking notes of a ukulele under the words, as if the detective is absently plucking the strings as he talks. Mason vaguely recalls Felix triumphantly hauling the little green instrument from underneath Juni's shattered bed frame, scuffed and covered in wet stickers, and Juni sighing sadly at the broken strings.

“Well, what do you usually play?” Felix asks, his bed creaking. Mason can picture him flopping around like a drunk fish, and he has to stifle a snort.

“I mostly just do covers and stuff.” A rustle of cloth, Juni’s shrugging. “I’ve written a few things, but I’m already giving myself heart palpitations performing in front of people, so I think actually performing something I wrote myself would kill me outright.”

“Well, you’re performing for me, aren’t you? And you seem pretty calm.”

“Since when are you people?” Juni snorts.

Felix barks out a laugh. “Rude!”

There’s a bit of a tussle, a discordant twang, and Juni yelps. “Careful, careful! I just replaced these strings, asshole!”

Felix gasps, affronted. “I’m telling Nate you called me that!”

“No, don’t tell Mum!” Juni whines, and they laugh together more.

Mason shifts from one foot to the other, pressing a hand to his stomach as if that’ll help quell the strange feeling there.

“Stop stalling,” Felix prods, and Juni shifts and sighs heavily. “Fine, fine, but don’t make fun of me, or I will cry.”

“Scout’s honor!” Felix chimes, and Mason wonders where the hell he heard that phrase.

They’re both quiet, and then Juni strums at the strings, just dabbling a bit before he actually starts plucking a rhythm. He takes a deep breath, as if bracing himself. “I’ve got sunshine on a cloudy day,” he croons, and Mason perks up almost instinctively, sunshine echoing in his ears. Juni’s singing voice, much like his speaking one,  is soft and a little breathy, but it warbles with clear nerves. “When it’s cold outside, I’ve got the month of May…”

Felix gasps, delighted, and Juni falters for a moment, but doesn’t stop.

“Well, I guess you’d say what can make me feel this way? My guy, I’m talkin’ ‘bout my guy...” Mason slides forward, towards the door as if pulled on a string, and he sees Juni sitting at the end of Felix’s rumpled bed with its blindingly bright sheets, cross-legged with his back mostly to the door, but Mason can see his face in profile. Felix is lying at the head of the bed on his belly, with his chin propped up on his elbows.

His golden eyes flicker to Mason, and he smirks, raising his eyebrows and sticking his tongue out quickly, before Juni notices. Which he likely won’t, eyes closed, dark lashes fanned out across his freckled cheeks.

There’s a smile curling his lips, small but happy, and it only widens when Felix begins snapping in time, laughter coloring the lilting notes. “I’ve got so much honey, the bees envy me. I’ve got a sweeter song than the birds in the trees…” He leans into the chorus, rocking back and forth along with Felix’s snapping. "Well, I guess you’d say, what can make me feel this way?"

Mason braces a hand on the doorframe, if for no other reason than to stop himself walking into the room. He has no idea what he’d even say, but he knows he’d spook the detective, skittish little human he is, and break whatever odd spell has fallen over them both.

Juni’s voice gets stronger, bit by bit, as he settles, rising with confidence. He hums along to his strumming, and the smile that lights up his face sticks behind Mason’s ribs, along with the words of the song.

As Juni trails off with a dreamily sighed, “I’ve even got the month of May,” Felix claps loudly and cheers, an enthusiastic audience of one. Mason winces back away from the door, scowling and shaking his head.

He should leave. Either leave, or butt in just to watch Juni get all flustered, but something holds him still, keeps him quiet.

“I think I know that song,” Felix says slowly, and Mason doesn’t need to see his face to know the teasing smirk spreading there. He narrows his eyes suspiciously.

Juni snorts. “Everyone does, Fe. It’s from the 60s.”

“Yeah, but you sang it differently,” Felix presses. “Thinking of someone in particular, were you?”

Mason looks around the door frame just in time to see Juni whack Felix solidly with a pillow. “It was a cover!” he exclaims, his cheeks going ruddy. “A cover of a cover!” He smacks Felix with the pillow again, a solid whump muffling the vampire’s bell-like laughter as it hits him in the face. “Don’t make it weird!”

“I’ve got sunshine,” Felix warbles, snatching the pillow before Juni can swing a third time and hugging it to his chest.

“It’s a cute song!” Juni insists. “I like cute songs! I’ve got a ton I could have sung, but I picked that one, because I heard a cover once that made it about a guy instead of a girl, and you might not be aware of this, Felix, but I am a homosexual.”

Felix’s hand flies to his mouth, amber eyes going  comically wide. “No! You? How long were you planning to keep this from me?”

Juni very carefully sets his little green, lovingly restored ukulele to the side for safekeeping before he tries to wrestle the pillow back from Felix so he can hit him again.

Mason figures it’s a good time to take his leave, before Felix decides to use his presence as a scapegoat from the detective’s wrath.

He slips up the stairs, his head heavy, something… just something stirring in him he can’t even begin to parse.

Juni’s soft voice follows him back to the quiet of the rooftop, a gentle strain chasing itself around in his head.

Sunshine on a rainy day...

[fragileizywriting]

friends (part two)

AO3 | Start Here | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

This… this is not fun.

He wants to be in bed with Marinette.

He wants to be under the thick covers on a cold and freezing morning and curl into her warmth and never leave. Is it the cat part of him, or the demon part of him that means this? After all, demons don’t like the cold— it burns through the hellfire that covers their soul and makes them all almost insufferable. His dad, too, is inconvenienced by any amount of freeze— he doesn’t get snippy but he’s seen the way that frown has transformed his father’s face into a disgruntled god.

But cats are no different, either— making it a habit to curl up in the warmest place and hide until it’s warm enough to move. Winters are hard for Chat when he’s not in hell, and Marinette always teases him for him retracting into his cat form almost for days at a time, trying to use his fur to keep the frost from seeping into his body. The cold and Chat Noir do not do so good.

Whatever it is that makes him hate this, he listens to it, souring his mood by thinking of all the things he’s missing without Marinette near.

Why hadn’t they just invited Marinette along? It’s not like she doesn’t ever come with them sometimes. She enjoys the experience of being on Luka’s boat, even if it is to collect ingredients on her own, and Chat Noir has always very much enjoyed her company. If Luka’s feeling up to it, which he often is, he goes collecting for her. Marinette’s list is never that long, given that she stocks up on everything she can get her hands on, but sometimes she’s in need of more.

Algae, rocks, a specific crystal that regrows every two weeks or so. Snails, any bottom-feeders that Luka can lure and trap for her, and definitely whatever type of ocean or lake plant she’s looking for. Every time Luka resurfaces with a new item, Marinette is so quick to smile and so quick to thank him, turning and spinning around on the deck to show Chat the new item before she puts it in a jar for storage.

But without her, this whole fishing moment is just… exhausting.

Truly, of all things he’s done in the past week and a half— this takes the cake as both the most mundane and the most unnecessary thing to do.

He’s built fence posts, he’s seen his mother and almost passed out from dehydration— he’s seen his father and gotten his whole world tilted onto its side and backwards— not to mention the bite marks and suture in his skin. He’s kissed Marinette— done more than just that, actually— and finds himself rubbing at the tattoo on his chest the more and more he thinks about being away from her. The seal burns purple against his hand, reminding him that he’s far from his witch’s magic, and that his entire body and soul misses her.

Today’s fishing is just too much.

Luka agrees with him— he knows it— because the naga’s eyes are closed as the sun beats down on their shoulders, warming their skin and bodies to the point of laziness. Chat can barely keep his eyes open, looking out to the lake, his eyelids getting heavier and heavier as the sun continues to bake them alive.

Just their luck. The two people who struggle the most to focus when there’s a patch of sun are now subjugated to an entire afternoon of it— what he wouldn’t give to just transform into his cat form and lounge for the rest of the day, yearning to be in his witch’s lap as she pets through his fur.

“Why is it so sunny?” Chat complains into the silence, trying not to close his eyes for too long. This is perfect napping weather— all he has to do is just rest his head and… “Of all days for it to be ridiculously sunny.”

“It’s good for the festival,” Luka answers, looking just as out of it as he is. It’s laughable, of course, that a water creature such as Luka would absolutely go frozen stiff at the prospect of baking under the sun. Even though he’s not a snake— or at least, that’s what Luka always argues whenever he brings it up— he certainly acts like one. He looks ready to lay down and coil up, let his blood be warmed up by the sun, and stay that way for days.

“What’s going on with the weather this week?” He sniffs, not exactly stopping himself from laying back down on the deck of Luka’s boat. The Liberty doesn’t even budge under their weight— she’s a solid, heavy barge that is more long than tall— it offers barely any protection from the elements coming from the sky. It’s a floating platform, essentially, which is perfect for nagas who frequently spend most of their time in the water and have a tough time climbing up the sides of their boats from how slippery they are— and the boat is also long enough to house a superfluous amount of nagas, as well as their long tails comfortably, should they feel the need to curl up instead of letting their tails hang off the boat.

And it fits the fish as well.

Lots and lots of barrels of fish.

“The constellations are starting to move.” Luka answers, almost sounding a bit too serious. The tip of Luka’s tail sways in the water with the gentle current that is too soft to genuinely make a dent in the barge’s lazy course to the middle of the lake. His plumes open instinctually wherever his tail meets the water— a sway of fins that only come out when there is enough moisture. He is more sea serpent this way, than an actual snake— and his tail glitters with sparks of gold underneath the clear water. Fish swim by next to him, curious as to whose fins are swaying like a tree in a breeze, and Chat Noir admits— even if it’s to himself and safely away in his head— that he understands why nagas consider themselves sea serpents instead of just snakes. “There’s a celestial storm coming. Did you not know?”

“This sounds like a horoscope,” Chat doesn’t let the idea settle into his head. “Celestial storm? Don’t pull at my tail, Luka. You won’t believe that my parents are gods, but you’ll believe in celestial storms?”

He snorts. “No one believes you when you say your parents are two divinities.”

“At least it’s more believable than hearing you talk about how a ‘ tornado will come from Orion—’ or ‘ an earthquake has been predicted because of Antares—’”

Luka smiles good-humouredly. “Idiot, nothing of that sort. Naga use constellations to guide themselves across the sea, you pruned lion.”

“‘Pruned lion’,” Chat mutters, resting his clawed hands against his chest. Rubbing and rubbing and rubbing away at the seal. “I’ll show you a ‘pruned lion’.”

“There’s not much paper we can use on the sea. Clay is a good substitute, but they’re too heavy when using as maps, so we navigate by using stars. We can tell when stars aren’t in their place,” Luka continues, as if he’s barely heard him. “And they are most definitely not in their places. Just last night, eight northern constellations moved closer south.”

Chat’s feet dangle off the edge of the platform that makes the Liberty, and his toes sink into the water. It’s lukewarm, heated by the sun that beats down and down and down, but much easier and cooler than the damp and still air above.

He has half a mind to dunk himself body and whole into the water just to cool off, but knows that his hair will dry in the shape of a dandelion if he does that, so it’s a stern no. There’s no way in hell he’s going to worry about how his hair dries while trying to fish with a naga by his side. Besides, getting ready for the festival will take him a lot longer if he has to tame his hair— he doesn’t mind getting brushed by Marinette when she corners him, but his fur usually snags into knots and it’s painful. “Fine, fine. I believe you— you don’t need to get all technical on me. I’ve just never heard of a celestial storm before.”

“Probably not, since you don’t need to use stars to see like we do. The celestial storm just brings indication that there will be a large magical gathering soon— it’s nothing inherently serious.”

Interesting. “You mean like the festival?”

“Exactly. It’s something to be cautious of, that’s all— it just ends up confusing lots of naga who are trying to travel somewhere new for the first time. There might be a lot more naga at the festival than usual, since the stars are pointing in this direction.”

“That’s not too bad— no one has anything against your kind, anyway. Witches and magic-users from all places are coming here to see the infamous Ladybug, after all— they want to get her good wishes on behalf of my mother— so it’s not like a big deal to see more of you.”

There’s laughter in his voice. “‘The one who can cast good fortune on even the sick and the dying’, yes, I know. But unfortunately, no— the magical gathering isn’t the reason for the stars warping. It’s something bigger than that. Bigger than her. Constellations only move when sages or gods show up.”

Well. Well well well. He doesn’t really need to think about it, now does he?

“How long have they been moving?”

“They only started four days ago.”

“Have they shifted back?”

“No.” Chat doesn’t need to look at him to know that there’s a question forming on his face. He knows Luka too well by now. “Your questions are oddly specific for someone that never heard of this storm before.”

“Well, good to hear. You don’t need to worry about all that— but thank you for the confirmation.” He spreads his good arm out as far as he can reach it. He ends up hitting Luka in the chest, and the naga hisses out, startled— but other than that, they match each other by slowly cooking in the heat. Luka’s heartbeat is slow against his palm, and Chat has no real reason to pull away, so he just leaves it there on his jacket. “Everything will go back to what it once was after the festival.”

“I thought you said you didn’t believe in horoscopes. Why are you fortune-telling?”

“Because my dad isn’t going to set the festival on fire just because he’s up here.” Maybe. There’s a strong likelihood he won’t, given that he’s already caused too much mischief.

“Right, right. Your ‘father’. You think Plagg is here?”

“The stars said so, didn’t they?” He flashes a smile, even though they’re not making eye contact. It’s instinctual to try to get a rise out of the man sitting next to him. “Relax. I won’t let him set fire to things— Marinette’s been making all of those charms for the past three months, it won’t go to waste.”

“Remind me to get a handful of them, since I’m going to be spending most of it next to you,” The driest thing in the world is hearing Luka’s voice go flat. “The last thing I need is to catch fire from your terrible luck.”

“Wh— rude. I don’t have bad luck, that’s just a myth— but I’ll gladly walk underneath a ladder for you in order to give you what you deserve. Anyway, I thought you were going to find yourself someone new to fancy? What was the whole point of the molting?”

“The two people that I actually cared to court are currently taken. I’m not disappointed, but I’m rather bored of humans otherwise.” Luka’s breath deepens as if he’s falling asleep at the idea of spending that much energy finding someone else. “If someone were to approach, I’ll at least give them the benefit of listening, but you won’t find me looking for new people.”

“You’d make a good familiar to whatever witch shows up to you tonight,” Chat oof!s hard when Luka’s hand does the exact same and hits him on the chest. He snorts on instinct, thinking a second or two longer on the idea. “Do you have an animal form like I do?”

“I’d rather not tell you, just in case you get ideas. But I would hope that she would like me for more than just a pet, unlike Marinette.”

He ignores his comment. “Most magic users can create some sort of animal form for themselves, no? Humans can’t, but I’m sure a naga could. Are you sure you don’t have a snake form?”

“I’m still not telling you the answer.”

“I’m imagining a faceless witch wearing you like a scarf as she brews,” For some reason, he imagines a white snake wrapped around a neck, even though Luka’s tail is very much blue. “You’d be happy getting to laze around while your lady works.”

“I should give it a try with Marinette one day. You wouldn’t mind sharing, would you, kitty-cat? After all, she doesn’t mind sharing you with me.”

“Funny.” He tries his best not to laugh, but he’s weak to the comedy of this whole day. It’s beyond painful to keep the laughter in, of how this day has been just another bizarre domino in the whole scheme of the week.

“It’s good to hear you laugh,” Luka sighs. “I was beginning to worry you actually hated me. Ever since this morning you’ve been snippier to me than usual— you’re not actually worried I pose a threat of some kind, do you?”

Wait. “Are you insecure?”

“You two are my closest friends.” Luka doesn’t meet his eyes when Chat lifts up from his spot to look down at him with furrowed brows. “After Adrien passed, I didn’t have many people, you know.”

Wait. “Hold on, you knew Adrien that well?”

“I didn’t know you knew who that was.” Luka raises a brow.

“Marinette talks about him.” Never mind the other things…

“He was my first friend when I was very young.” He shrugs, still giving Chat the stink eye like he doesn’t actually believe him. “Naga aren’t as scary as people think, but humans are prejudiced to their own kind all of the time, so it’s not hard to believe that they won’t be to nonhumans too. Adrien brought me into the friend group before he got sick.”

Adrien, Adrien, Adrien. Always Adrien, isn’t it? “Was he the closest friend you had?”

“Probably. Nino and I were always really good friends, back in the day. But Marinette and I got rather close after Adrien’s passing. I would see her almost every day if I decided to stay nearby.”

Oh. Oh. “No wonder you were so uncomfortable with the idea of her moving a demon into her house.”

His eyes go flat. “A girl I liked suddenly bringing a demon home? Anyone would’ve been worried.”

Chat can’t force himself to stop chuckling. “I guess I can see why you were… not the nicest person to me at first.”

“She’s never been afraid of you, but I think that just made me even more worried.” Luka gestures towards Chat’s direction, as if that helps explain better. “It doesn’t take much brainpower to realize what a Ladybug needs a Chat Noir for. Forgive me for not buying the little nonchalant act between the two of you, but I can read the little pearl like the back of my hand, after all.”

“So you know about the miraculous cure.”

“Yes. Anyone with reading eyes can put two and two together, kitty-cat. Information isn’t kept that hushed about it.”

He ignores the needling smile gracing Luka’s features. “How well exactly did you know Adrien?”

“Well enough to know that his sickness was strange. His death was stranger. The smell on Marinette’s clothes was horrid, when she’d ran into me in the woods while stricken with grief and crying. We were all terrified by it, obviously, but Marinette seemed to be the most affected— probably because she was the one to try to see him the day he died. Nino, Marinette, and I were the most affected.” He sighs. “I don’t think Nino’s ever actually talked about it that much, but they were best friends.”

“Smell.” Chat winces. “What smell?”

“Same smell that’s coming off your stitches on your arm. I recognize the smell of hellfire anywhere, it sticks to my nose for weeks. I’ll never forget the first time I smelled it sticking to Marinette’s clothes.” Luka laughs bitterly. “Running down the path in the woods towards the ocean like she was crazed. Death clinging to her dress like she was his daughter.”

“Hellfire. You smelled hellfire? Are you sure?”

Luka’s looking at him curiously, now. “I’m positive. What’s on your mind?”

Adrien’s room had been covered with the smell of… hellfire? That’s just further proof that something definitely happened— one more thing pointing to his own relation to Adrien. One more damning evidence that his past life could be tied to Marinette’s wish. If only he could get his memories back to actually prove it as fact, though…

He flattens his ears across his head, looking back out on the water. “Don’t— don’t mention this to anyone what I’m about to tell you. Promise me you won’t. This can’t start a crowd.”

Luka’s eyes turn to gold as he squints. “Of course.”

“Marinette and I found out that there could’ve been foulness in his death. Odor or otherwise.”

The naga pauses. “Are you saying a demon of some kind could’ve been the reason for the smell?”

“I don’t want to tell you something only for it to be wrong later, but the basic answer is that Adrien most likely didn’t die from an illness after all.” He licks his lips.

“You’re saying that Adrien’s father might have summoned a demon for some reason?”

“No. I have no idea what it could be, but, if there was hellfire involved, there’s definitely something to do with hell in this poor boy’s death. We don’t have all of the information yet, but I think it’s a little bit more difficult than just pointing fingers.”

Luka’s quiet for a long time. There are gears turning in his head too, no doubt, trying to piece together all of the information. “Gabriel could… most likely be at the festival tonight.”

His head snaps up. “What? He will?”

“A couple of my kind saw his ship sailing close by the shore and where our dens are. He left— or, rather, fled, now that there’s an implication that he could’ve been responsible for something to do with Adrien— town years ago, and never came back. It’s been completely silent from him, deciding to even move countries, but I think he’s here for a blessing of some kind by a Ladybug.”

“Shit.”

“Agreed.”

“Shit.”

Luka sighs. “It’s just speculation, of course. I have no idea if he even knows that Marinette is Ladybug, never mind the fact that he might not be stopping by after all. He could just be here to visit family friends, and is using the festivities as a genuine and good excuse. What will you two do? Confront him?”

“I don’t know.” Chat answers honestly. “I genuinely don’t know. My dad doesn’t know much of the story, either— and he’s usually on top of his game on paying attention to these types of things, but got distracted the day it all happened. It’s not often you hear of a human getting caught in the crossfire of hell matters— but we’re all stumped, so it’s not like we can pin it directly on Gabriel with no reason. I’m going to need more information.”

Luka is surprisingly not as agitated with the whole thing as he’d expected. He’d expected surprise, or confusion, not genuine contemplation like he is now. The naga hums at the back of his throat, attempting to piece things together himself. “Do you think Adrien is still out there, maybe?”

“Well… He’s not dead,” Well. Are demons considered alive in the first place? Is this a moral or philosophical question? At what point is Chat Noir even considered alive? And if he really was Adrien, would he consider Adrien to be dead in this case? Rebirthed as Chat Noir? His head hurts. “As far as we know. Maybe in a sort of limbo state. What a mess.”

“This sounds a lot more confusing than I thought it would be. I can’t imagine this is any easy on the two of you. Adrien was my best friend and it’s hurting me to hear about it, I can’t imagine what it’s doing to the little witch.”

“She’s been… a little bit confused about it, too. I can’t wait for the festival and get her to relax about it— yesterday it was nonstop. The both of us, honestly, need to stop thinking about this for just a bit. You and I should keep an eye out for Gabriel just in case. I don’t know what he looks like, but, anything that’ll get us closer to the truth I’ll do it.”

But Luka’s smile is kind, and Chat can sense he’s trying to skirt the subject away and get him to think of other things. “Sure. I didn’t have plans, anyway, so that’s fine. And I’m sure you two managed to distract each other at some point yesterday, right?”

“By the grace of my mother,” Chat mutters under his breath. “This entire week has been monstrous to us, Luka. Every day has been a discovery, I don’t even know what to do or how to handle it. Not to mention that even my father thinks you and I are a good match together, did you know that? The amount of years I’ve aged each day in this disaster of a week would’ve turned a human into dust by now.”

Luka turns, belly-side down, hiding away his pale under-scales in favor of showing his long blue-and-diamond-patterned back. He ends up dunking more of his tail into the water, and those ghost-like fins blossom from underneath his scales like a billowing sheet. The water is hazy from all the glittering gold and those glossy, feathery fins. “Perhaps I’ll listen more often to what you have to say about your family, after all. Is he truly the king of the underworld?”

“Shut up,” Chat really can’t stop himself from laughing, because he doesn’t have any emotional handle on any of this. “If you have any luck, you might see him visit the festival and actually find out. Maybe I’ll have all my friends meet him, so that you all can stop making fun of me when I say it.”

“What in the world is the king doing here?”

“Visiting his son, you noodle.” He slips his eyes shut.

Ah, this is more natural territory for them both, isn’t it? He can almost feel how easy it is for the two of them to slip back into banter. “Careful, now. You’re implying that I’m tasty.”

“And also very easily chewable, what do you think about that?” He’s bit into Luka’s tail a few times, and each time he’s felt how the muscles had shifted under those hard scales. It’s amazing his teeth can even penetrate the scales from how genuinely hardened they are, but he supposes that anything is possible with a jaw strength like his. He cracks back open one of his eyes, looking at Luka, who continues to just look at him with humor swimming on his face. “Hey, how come you aren’t fishing?”

“I am fishing, you idiot.”

“Bullshit. Where’s your fishing pole?”

“I’m not fishing with a pole today.”

“What?” This gets Chat Noir to sit back up, looking around. He blinks hard in the sunlight, willing his eyes to focus without hurting his vision. His pole at the far end of the barge is completely still, resting in a small divot carved into the boat, the fishing wire still swaying with nothing grabbing onto the bait. He narrows his eyes at the single pole, looking around for Luka’s, which is no doubt somewhere on the boat, only to come up with nothing. “Have you been using your net this entire time?”

“And if I have?”

“I thought we said no fishing with nets this time.”

“We said no fishing with Marinette this time.” Luka’s eyes are absolutely vibrant and gold as Chat Noir turns to look back at him in the eyes. He looks a little bit more awake than he does, but that’s probably because Luka’s cooling off in the water with most of his body in it, while Chat continues to bake. “You and I get too distracted around the little pearl, you especially more now. And the festival needs fish— the last time I went pole fishing with you, I got a hook stuck in my dorsal fin.”

“That was your own fault, noodle.”

“Again with calling me tasty,” Luka sighs. “Honestly, Chat Noir, it’s a miracle Marinette’s fallen in love with you when you’re so keen on flirting with me, instead.”

“At least I don’t injure myself while flirting with her, and don’t realize that my hook was next to one of my fins before trying to cast out my line.” He rolls his eyes. He remembers the nasty gash, and how the translucent fin had bled for what looked like to be far too long for a simple cut, and how Marinette had spent so long carefully stitching the feathery membranes back together with suture, willing for the fins to heal. There’s a scar still left behind on that fin, but it’s hard to see unless he’s close enough to really look at the little veins and how they’re slightly wobbly.

Luka snorts. “Of course, of course.”

“That’s what you get for flirting with my Lady.”

“So childish. You’d think I’d be allowed to talk to a good friend of mine without her familiar puffing up his chest.” Luka sighs, unraveling his jacket on the waist. The pearls on his sleeves shine all sorts of colors as his shoulders shift, and he folds the garment carefully with his long claws. Every bead is delicately sown in, and he knows that Marinette has obsessively looked over the pattern work, as well as the stitchwork, with amazement and gluttony.

Would she be happy if he bought a naga jacket for her? Maybe in a dark red color, or a white as similar as Luka’s and a red sash? Something pearlescent, though— a plain white jacket wouldn’t match the paleness of her skin. It would look as if she’s wearing nothing at all.

“Loverboy, I’m going to go check up on my net. Stop swimming in your thoughts and focus on fishing. Cast yours as well, won’t you?”

He registers that he’s been drifting off into thought, rubbing at his tattoo across his chest, still thinking of her. He thinks about what Luka’s said for a little while, trying to remember if he’d been making a point, only to realize: “I didn’t bring mine.”

“Use my spare, then.” Luka laughs. “I’ll be back in a second— try not to get lonely, kitty-cat, okay?”

Luka slips off the boat entirely with a gentle splash noise. Chat watches with mild interest as Luka’s long and elaborate tail starts to plume again, filling out with all sorts of fins now that he’s entirely in the water, disappearing under the boat into the shade where no doubt many fish are hiding. He reminds Chat very dimly of a betta fish, with how gentle and fanish the fins are. No doubt that naga are incredibly good hunters in the water, but Chat Noir can’t help but wonder why they look so delicate and so easily tearable once they’re subjected to a humid environment.

He looks back to the empty barrels behind him with a sigh. Maybe his mother will bless him with good fortune, although, in all honesty— it’s doubtful. Very doubtful. He’s just going to have to do this by hand, it seems, to which he sends a quick prayer to his father— hopeful that instead of blessing him with good luck, he gives Luka enough bad luck for him to win.

And maybe he’ll be able to stop thinking of it for a few more minutes, too.

She finally finishes with the first stack of charms when Alya ends up knocking on the door. There’s a breeze gentle enough to kiss her cheeks brushing up against the windows— she’s let the panels of the house open enough to catch the draft. It’s light, as gentle as a cloud against her skin as she works, and barely stirs the fire from its slow attempt to reignite from the coals. The breeze is good for her heart, she supposes— every once in a while stopping in her attempt to complete her task in order to bask in how content she feels.

Her heart is full.

Of thoughts of Chat Noir, of thoughts of them, of thoughts of being happy. The thoughts she hadn’t given the chance to breed and fester are suddenly in full swing in her chest and mind, allowing her to gaze longingly out the window, wondering about him. There are many things to do in order to get the festival up and ready, and many of them will have to be done at the fields on the other side of town, but she’s certain that she’ll be able to finish a second or third stack of charms before she has to slip out of the cottage and go start the physical preparations.

Alya’s here to collect her, no doubt, just like Luka had said she would.

She’s brought Nino along, too, and Marinette is quick to grin and pull the two close enough to smother them into her shoulders. “Hello!”

“Hello there, Mari!” Nino twirls her, pressing their foreheads together. As like many people in her life, Nino is much taller than her— he makes up for it by bending his back as much as possible to be at her height. “I haven’t seen you in so long. How have you both been?”

“We’ve been well,” She laughs, cupping his cheeks with her hands. He lets her, eyes squinting behind his glasses, looking at her with friendly affection. “Much much better now, recently. The rain finally letting up is much better for the farm— oh, but I’ve missed you both. When was the last time we spoke?”

“Far too long.” He muses, breaking away enough to allow Alya to crush her into another hug. Her friend’s arms are warm, and comforting, and so definitely sweet. Living in the cottage away from town is mostly good, and allows her to work on her potions in peace— but it doesn’t allow her to see her friends as much as she wants to. The two of them are always so busy running their tavern, and renovations to Marinette’s own shop have made her daily check-in to their eatery almost impossible. “Where is Chat? Don’t think I forgot about him— I haven’t seen him in forever, either. Where is that cat?”

“Out fishing with Luka, unfortunately. They’re at the lake, if you’d like to go join them?”

“Absolutely not,” Nino breaks out into laughter as he unlaces his boots. “The last thing I need is to be caught in the crossfire between the two of them. It’s usually fine, I enjoy their banter and their desperate attempts to find reasons to touch each other without making it weird, but I’m trying to look my best for the festival.”

“And I’m sure you can’t do that when you’re in the middle of getting your hair scorched off.” Marinette can’t stop laughing.

“You and everyone else,” Alya rolls her eyes, letting go of her so she can breathe and not cough into her sleeve. Alya hugs like she has a vendetta. “What are you trying to look good for, anyway?”

“The more presentable I look, the more likely people are willing to give us tips in the end, my dearest.” He waggles his brows. Oh, the two of them are so lovely— Marinette watches with a yearning and heartful gaze as Nino bends Alya back in his arms, dipping her low, a firm arm underneath her waist. Even with only one shoe on, and his feather in his cap dangling dangerously low to brushing against their faces through the entire action, he’s nothing short of having heart eyes for the woman in his arms instead of dissolving into giggles like Marinette is. “I may be a good player, but we all know that only the truly most handsome get the money at the end of the day.”

“Then it’s good fortune for us that I have the most handsomest man in the world by my side,” Alya smiles so warmly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Oh, the two of them— Marinette is helpless to give a little sigh at how perfect the two of them are. “We’ll be rich in no time.”

Love. Love love love.

By far one of the most important things that Marinette has ever been able to witness firsthand is the way the two of them look at each other— her heart is ready to explode. She hasn’t touched the cookies in a couple of days, still trying to get the bitter taste of love sick out of her mouth and away, and looking at the cookies gives her a slight nausea, but the core principle is still there.

Love.

She’s so giddy and warm.

“Oh! Come on, come into the house for breakfast, join me at the table. I’ll get a new pot of tea out, does that sound good?” It’ll be good for her, too— it’s a good thing she has those herbs on hand, or else she would be worried about any developments in her body she isn’t ready to have— the problem now, of course, will be to make sure neither of them pick up on her dropping additional leaves into her cup. Alya is persistent and keen and notices just about everything there is to notice, which means that unless she’s genuinely distracted by Nino, it’ll be impossible to dissuade her from asking questions.

Marinette readies herself, turns to the kitchen, and beckons the two of them to finish unlacing their boots while sitting the iron kettle on the oven to heat.

“Awh, I’m sorry, Mari. We’ve already eaten breakfast,” Nino has to help Alya, of course, because her petticoats are far too long and her stays are too thick with boning for her to bend properly for her feet.

“Oh? That’s alright. I think I have something you both will enjoy snacking on while I continue working on my stuff.” Marinette grins when they finally make it to the table. She moves the charms away and clears most of the space for there to be enough room for the three of them— she drops the unfinished charms into a corded bag, for now, tying the little string. “So. Do you remember the lover cookies?”

“Do I? The same cookies that made Nino realize that he did, in fact, have feelings for me?”

“Hard to imagine a time that you two didn’t date,” Marinette giggles. “But yes, those exactly.”

“I always knew I loved you,” Nino pouts. “My problem was I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Telling me ‘I love you’ would’ve been enough, you know.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” Nino sighs. “We were all so caught up with the loss of Adrien that I didn’t know how to do anything.”

Marinette stops wiping at the table with her apron. Alya and Nino always remind her that she’s not the only one who misses their old friend. She never wanted to bring Adrien back because of her love— she wants to bring him back for everyone’s sake. Luka, Nino, Alya— their friends miss him. So dearly and so much— and talk about him as if he’s simply moved town, instead of being gone forever— but she’s never actually… explained that she plans on bringing him back. And now with the complicated mess of Chat Noir possibly being Adrien…

Oh, her head hurts. Just when she thought she could survive five more minutes not thinking about this tangled web. It’s as difficult to navigate as Plagg’s magic.

“Right, yes— I remember.”

“Mari?” Alya tilts her head, looking at how she massages her temples. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes— yes I’m okay. I just wish he were here.” Marinette smiles small, trying her best to ignore the way the seals on her ears burn. The two of them look at her with knowing gazes— they know she’s consumed some of the cookies herself. What they don’t know is that her heartache is actually pointing in an entirely different direction… or, perhaps, the same direction after all— just the person has a different name now. “I miss his laughter. I miss him— so I made lover honey cookies a couple of days ago, but I’m still in the process of making more, along with the charms. Would you two like to try them?”

Nino looked pained. “Are you making them for the festival?”

“Just in honor of our friend,” Marinette shares a private smile with herself. “It was his favorite, after all. It’s almost been ten years since he’s been gone.”

Alya’s eyes widen, looking down at the plate that Marinette puts in front of her with wide eyes. “Oh, how interesting. A cat shape?”

“Chat’s idea,” Marinette eagerly waits for them to try some, smiling a little bit wider. The cookies don’t snap in their mouths— still moist enough and sweet enough that it’s more of a chew than a crunch. The two of them hum appreciatively as Marinette takes a bit of time to pat off her apron clean of dirt. “What do you two think? Still good?”

“This tastes wonderful.” Alya sighs. “How is it that you make things taste like a whole fantasy? I feel like I’m biting into a cloud.”

“Guess it’s just part of my luck,” She giggles. “What do you think, Nino?”

“I think that, if I weren’t already with Alya, I’d confess my love to her on the spot all over again.” Nino’s face pinks. “This cookie is so strong. Did Chat try some?”

“He did.” She tries to hide her blushing and focuses instead on some dried-up flour on the edge of the table. “We both got love sick from all the cookies we ate. We probably ate a whole batch and a half, honestly— don’t do it. You’ll get overwhelmed with love.”

Alya hums with the cookie in her mouth, sharing a look with Nino. “Oh, really?”

“There’s no need to act all mysterious,” She shies, hiding her hands behind her, wringing her fingers through the laces of her apron. She looks to the single fire lily in the vase, how beautiful the blossom’s orange petals are, smiling to herself. “The cookies don’t make you feel love, but rather just amplify the feeling, and you two definitely know that. It wasn’t hard to put the context of his purring together with why we were getting overwhelmed.”

“Y—” Their eyes widen. Alya gasps. “So— he— you—”

Are there stars in her eyes? It feels like there are stars in her eyes. “We… talked about it.”

And other things. Lots of other things. Where was that bag of herbs, again?

“Chat Noir finally managed to confess?” Nino has to sit down from shock. “Holy hell!”

She sets out three tea trays, ignoring the way Alya looks at her knowingly when she sprinkles ginger root into one of the porcelain cups. Alya will accost her for that one later, that much is certain. “Wait, you— uhm. You knew?”

“Everyone does! Everyone knows that your familiar’s affections for you are much more than just friendly. Chat Noir has always— always— had his eyes on you, and has never concealed it.” Alya rolls her eyes. There’s a glitter in her smile, something that wasn’t there before, just proving to Marinette that she is absolutely going to get hounded the moment the two of them are alone. “I didn’t even need gossip for that one. His eyes follow you everywhere.”

“Oh. So, everyone, huh?” She blushes.

“Anyone with eyes can tell, yes.” Alya takes a seat next to Nino. She grabs for another cookie, nibbling on the tail, “Everyone could tell your affections for him, too. I was hoping something good would come out of it. Good to see that everything is well, in the end!”

“So are you two… together?” Nino doesn’t let Marinette steam behind her hands for very long. “Actually actually?”

“Uhm— well— I hope so. I think so. We talked about it—” Alya’s snorts cut her off, hiding a ‘yeah, and more’ under her breath. Marinette steams harder. “Uhm— and I really do think we’ll be together for a long time.”

“Is that even allowed for demons?”

“I don’t think we’re breaking any rules,” She rubs at her earlobes. Yet another thing to consider… “Uhm. Maybe I’ll have to talk to him about it. Who knows? He could be fine, considering his father—”

“Is 'the king of hell'.” Alya curls her smile. “And so, with a kiss, Marinette has accepted his propaganda.”

They have no idea how confusing it gets, do they? To know that Chat Noir could absolutely be telling the truth, and furthermore— the shenanigans that Plagg caused? She snorts behind a hand, thinking of how to even begin breaching the topic of a god stopping by to prank a witch and his demon son. Even if he really isn’t the king of hell, he’s certainly showing that he’s living up to the name… she can’t stop giggling. “Let’s hope he’s telling the truth. Why don’t you two enjoy some more cookies while I work on more of my charms? Or should we go to the field now?”

AO3 | Start Here | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[parkertech]

Tattoos & Tears — CHAPTER 4

a/n: on everybody's 18th birthday, they get a tattoo of their soulmate written on their wrist. for you, it's your best friend who you thought you got over. who even has a girlfriend of his own.

warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, jealousy, angst

———————————————————————

MJ was rudely awoken by the morning sun blinding her eyes. She mentally cussed it out in her head, before checking the time. She groaned at the realization that she had to get ready, and turned over patting Peter’s shoulder.

“Pete...wake up...” she whispered. It was Peter’s turn to groan, and he buried his face in his pillow, his eyes still closed. MJ giggled at how much of a couch potato he was being, before running her hand through his hair.

“It’s 7:00 Peter...come ooonn...” He only groaned even louder in protest. He could feel MJ’s body heat, and instead of it being comforting, he found it the opposite. He scooted slightly away from her, and sighed feeling the cool mattress under his skin.

“I don’t wannaaaa...the days gonna be full of boring lessons, and boring teachers, and boring people...”

“Yeah, everyone’s basically boring.” MJ replied. She jumped out of Peter’s bed, grabbing an outfit she left in his closet. “Well, besides your friends, of course.” Peter hummed and nodded in response while MJ left his room to his bathroom to take a shower.

With MJ’s last sentence, he was reminded of all his friends. MJ, Ned, Betty, Y/N...

Wait, Y/N!

He shot up from his bed, realizing he had a big priority on his hand today. All the memories of last night came back, and he mentally cursed himself all over again.

Okay, he needed a plan. That was his thing, that’s how he got MJ as his girlfriend. And that worked out. Even though he technically couldn’t check any of those things off...

Peter started making the list mentally. Okay, step one. Apologize for being a dick. Even if he wasn’t secretly sorry. It was Brad Davis for crying out loud! But that still didn’t mean he controlled you. Step two, basically be your bitch. That would soften you up a bit. Hand her the homework if she needs it, give her notes for the day, etcetera, etcetera. And if all else fails and you’re still mad at him, step 3. Leave her alone.

But what if he doesn’t want to?

No no, not about you, Peter.

If you were really mad, you would just need space to soften up. Then he’d try again. Peter took a breath, letting his plan sink in, before getting ready for the day.

MJ beat Peter to school, when she realized she was going to be late if she waited for him. As she was taking out all her textbooks and notes for her next class, she felt a pair of arms wrap around her. She turned around, only to be cornered by Peter himself, who had a bright smile on his face.

“Hey, you.” He said cheery. MJ couldn’t stop the matching smile that came across his face.

“Hey to you, too.” Peter chuckled a bit before leaning down and pressing a kiss to her lips. MJ’s cheeks immediately flared up, and she could tell she was blushing. There was a slight fire in her that she couldn’t put out if she tried.

But Peter didn’t feel it.

He was expecting the butterflies, and the flushed cheeks, but he felt nothing. The only thing he felt was a slight discomfort, as he pulled away with a confused look. He could hear tingling, and knew it was his spider sense.

“What’s wrong?” MJ asked. Usually he would continue his affection, but apparently today was different. Peter turned to look down a hall, and his spider sense turned off once he saw you.

Except you weren’t alone.

There you were, leaning against your locker with a bright smile on your face, laughing at something Brad Davis said. He had a casual arm leaning against the locker above you, and he was slightly towering over you. Peter also took in your appearance. You were hearing a white, long sleeve scoop neckline shirt, along with a dark blue denim skirt that stopped in the middle of your thighs. You had soft, yet gentle makeup on your face, and your hair was a little more neater today.

You were dressed to impress someone.

And that someone was Brad.

Peter grit his teeth a little, before turning back to MJ.

“Nothing, just thought my spider senses sensed danger.” MJ nods with an ‘oh’ face, before turning back around and continuing rummaging through her locker. Peter took this chance to look back up at you. Brad was now smiling at you, and he could see his eyes trail up and down your body. Peter’s chest grew tight, and he felt that familiar jealousy from last night, all because he was checking you out.

Jesus, why was he being so weird?

He knew it was a problem if he could address it himself. MJ shut her locker, and grabbed his hand. Peter took the hint, and walked her to her History class, but his eyes never left the not -so-subtle flirting Brad was doing. And he could tell you enjoyed it.

But little did Peter know, he was far from right.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Peter looking at you. You knew you needed some kind of way to distract yourself. Plus, you needed to keep your lie going. You killed two birds with one stone, and pretended to be interested in Brad. You felt a little bad, honestly. Brad didn’t deserve to be lied to of such a thing, and it made you feel more guilty when you could tell he was into you.

It was easy to pretend to have the same feelings. You giggled at all his jokes, even if they weren’t that funny, maybe touched his bicep a bit, but that was it. The only thing motivating you was imagining it was Peter. You heard the bell rung, and turn to your locker grabbing one last book.

“That’s us. Do you wanna walk to class together?” See, if this were really Peter, you’d be a stuttering, blushy mess. But it isn’t, so you’re not. Brad smiles at your offer before nodding.

“Yeah, maybe we could also sit next to each other?” Brad really was too naive for his own good...you wanted to sit with Peter, but he was probably sitting in between MJ and Ned by now.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Brad waited until you locked your locker before walking down the sea of students to your class. It was silent except for his little comments, but it was a kind of peaceful silence. As promised, you and Brad took a seat in the middle next to each other.

Peter was occupied talking to Ned about his new Millennium Falcon LEGO set, until you walked in the room. With Brad. God, why is he always there?

He practically glared daggers at him, and he pulled a seat next to you. Of course, he was sitting next to you now. He only temporarily moved his eyes when the teacher came in to start the lesson. He stole occasional glances, and when the teacher assigned partners for a new project, guess who volunteered to be your partner?

“Okay, so we can continue doing this at my house?” You asked Brad. Peter growled a little. You just started talking to him and he’s already going to your house? Great.

MJ spotted his tense stance, and gently put her hand on his shoulder. He flinched a little, but nonetheless played it off.

The bell finally rung after what felt like an eternity, and MJ telling him to wait for her was the only thing stopping him from speeding away in annoyance. Him, MJ, Betty, and Ned, all sat in a table, across from each other. He expected you to sit next to them per usual, but he didn’t see any sign of you.

“Guys, do any of you see Y/N?” He asks. Betty’s eyes widen a little at the mention of your name, but she plays it off by looking around. She spots you a few tables down, and points.

“There she is.” He looked where Betty pointed. You had one of your notebooks open, writing away to it. Peter didn’t realize it, but he was admiring how your tongue poked out a little when you were very concentrated, and when you brushed your hair behind your ear because it was getting in the way. It showed more of your face, and for some reason that made his heart swell. As quick as the view was memorable, it became trashed the second Brad came into view. You looked up at him and smiled for what felt like the hundredth time that day. When Brad sat down next to you, he notice he had two trays of food, and handed one to you.

Get a load of this fucker.

Peter was full on fuming now. He could tell you were having fun with him, and it just made the anger in him rise even more. He knew the rest of the day wasn’t gonna be good if he kept seeing you two like this. Most of the lunch period was spent looking and glaring at you and Brad. Peter rarely payed any attention to his friends’ conversations, and only responded with one worded sentences. MJ noticed him being off, because she notices everything, and thought he was having a bad day. Maybe it was just this once. She decided to give him space. If something was wrong, he would tell her. She was certain of that.

“I’ll be right back.” He mumbled to his friend group. Betty and MJ eyed him, and Betty’s eyes widened when she realized he was walking to you.

Does he know? Did he somehow figure it out? Shit shit shit shit!

Peter sat across from you, which snatched your attention from Brad to him. You smiled at him while Brad just gave him a weird glance.

“Hey, Peter! What’s up?” He furrowed his eyebrows at how friendly you were being. Were you really going to act like last night didn’t happen? Or was he making it a big deal when it really wasn’t?

“Can I talk to you? In private?” He glared at Brad a bit, and it was very noticeable. You were about to call him out on it, before Brad intervened.

“It’s cool, I’ll just throw away our trash and let you guys talk, okay?” You nodded as Brad took your tray full of trash and his own, going over to the trash bin.

“So what did you wanna talk about?”

“I wanted to say sorry...for how I acted yesterday...” Peter’s aggressive demeanor was quickly turned into a shy one just by standing across from you.

“Oh, that? It’s okay, I was just in a snippy mood. Probably because of the alcohol.” It was easier to sugarcoat it instead of telling the truth. Eventually he’d wonder why you were so mad and figure it out. Peter wasn’t stupid, just not that observant.

“No, I feel like it was my fault mostly. I mean I’m the one that brought it up, even though I know I can’t control your love life, I’m sorry about that too, and I-“

“Peter I said I forgive you. It’s okay.” You stopped him mid rambling and his cheeks flushed in embarrassment. His palms suddenly became sweaty and he placed them on his thighs instead of in front of him on the table.

“Okay. Cool. Yeah.” You nodded and he awkwardly nodded back, before going back to his seat. He joined in MJ’s conversation a little unwillingly, while Betty took her chance to sit in front of you this time.

“What was he talking about?” She whispered. You shot your head up from your notes and furrowed your eyebrows.

“What?”

“He doesn’t know, right? About your tattoo.” Your eyes widened and you looked around, making sure no one heard you.

“Betty! Ssh! Don’t say it so loud! No, he doesn’t. He was just talking to me.” Betty sat there staring at you for a few seconds before asking another question.

“When are you gonna tell him?” You scoffed and shrugged before turning back to her.

“I don’t know. I don’t think I have to. The tattoo is probably wrong anyways.” Betty furrowed her eyebrows.

“I’m sorry, why are you acting like it’s not a big deal?”

“Maybe because it’s not. A flaw could’ve happened, who knows.” Betty glared at you, obviously annoyed. How did you go from having a full on panic attack to acting like it’s nothing?

“Really? So being in love with him isn’t a big deal?” You clenched your jaw, just wanting her to stop. You didn’t want to think about anything of last night, and Betty wasn’t really helping.

“I was drunk, okay?” But you meant it.

“I don’t think you would have a full on breakdown about that, even if you were drunk.”

“Betty, I don’t want to talk about it anymore, okay? I’m hanging out with Brad, and I think I might actually be into him. I don’t want a stupid fucking tattoo to ruin that for me!” Betty was way more confused now. But she didn’t have the energy to argue. She rolled her eyes a little, putting her hands up in defense, before leaving the table and going back to Ned.

When school hours were over, Brad went over to your house as planned. MJ went over to Peter’s house as usual, except he wasn’t as enthusiastic about it. He’d rather be alone. With you.

That was all that was on his mind. You, you, you. He mentally scolded himself, constantly repeating that he had a girlfriend to focus on instead. To get his mind off of you, he decided to go through a Star Wars marathon with MJ. He ignored her protests and stayed silent, which was unlike him. He’d banter to her saying it’s overhated, but he didn’t have the energy today.

The distraction didn’t work, though. He knew literally every line, what was going to happen, yadda yadda yadda. It just made him more bored. Peter looked down at MJ spooned up beside him, her eyes closed and her breathing slow. He carefully and cautiously moved out of his place between the couch and her, and didn’t waste any time to put on his red and black spandex and jump out the window.

When Peter started patrol, it was near sundown. When he checked his phone, it was 12 in the morning. He knew MJ would be up by now, and the thought of that annoyed him. He didn’t know why, but now he kind of found the thought of hanging around MJ really negatively. It’s not her as a person, it’s hanging out with her as her boyfriend. As Peter stared at his bedroom window, his thoughts ran wild.

Did he want to break up with MJ?

Peter knew the answer but wanted to try and prove himself wrong. He knew he couldn’t. But he didn’t want to hurt MJ. Sure, breakups happen, but someone gets hurt. He doesn’t want to hurt anybody. Especially someone as good as MJ. The thought of it made his eyes water. Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, squinting his eyes shut and groaning a little.

“Peter, is everything okay with you?” He heard his new A.I.—E.D.I.T.H. ask. He figured out a way to transfer E.D.I.T.H. to his suit, since the glasses Tony gave him were a bit too big. He never threw them out, of course. He wanted to keep some part of him, besides the suits he made for him.

“Yeah, everything’s fine, E.D.I.T.H.” He knew based off his annoyed and upset tone he was far from right.

“Your heart rate hasn’t been picking up whenever you’re around Michelle.” E.D.I.T.H. stated. Great, he was trying to doubt himself and here goes a computer who literally knows everything. “Is everything okay between you two? I don’t see you argue.” That last word made his mind flashback to yesterday. When he was on your fire escape. It made his heart clench in the worst way possible.

As if the poor boy hadn’t been thinking enough, he went deeper into his mindset. And the deeper he went, the more and more you came up. He saw your smile, how bright and happy it was. He heard your laugh echo in his head, remembering the corny science pun he told you that made him laugh too. He kept getting flashes of you looking at him, of him spending time with you at your place, and how every time you were around you made him smile. He felt that tingle in his stomach, and his hands getting clammy under his suit, and hearing his heart beat in his ear drums. All of this was obvious signs of nervousness.

Peter also thought about MJ. But her smile wasn’t that bright. Her smile didn’t make him mimic it. Her laugh didn’t have as much power as yours did. He saw their moments together, but MJ being replaced with you. He felt his heart tug painfully, instead of any nervousness, and all of a sudden the lightbulb in his head clicked.

“Peter?” E.D.I.T.H. called his name one last time. Peter’s voice cracked as he finally replied to her.

“No, E.D.I.T.H. Everything is not okay between me and MJ...”

———————————————————————

a/n: hehehe that cliffhanger

Taglist 🏷 (requests are open!)

@marvel4geeks @ladykxxx08 @chloecreatesfictions @joyleenl @witchything @pluckypete @yourneighbourhoodclown @whatareyouhidingpeter @elamvlfoy @trumpettay

[geekkatsblog]

Grey's Anatomy season 17 episode 4

(Get these characters some Ragu sauce because they've been through enough.)

This episode has been the best for the season so far, I loved it.

_________________________________________

Jackson and Jo

(Never thought I'd have to put them in a title together.)

Jackson and Jo I was intrigued at first when they were being just friends but then they swapped it and slept together. At this point I'm not sure if I like the pairing it's kinda odd borderline cringe, but maybe it'll change. It might be because it came on so suddenly and different. They've pledged to be a friends with benefits thing which is for the best, because Jackson really does go through clothes like he does clothes, but we all know how that is going to end up, someone is going to catch feelings and I don't think it's going to be Jo.

Honestly I'm not sure what they're doing with Jackson. He hasn't had a plot in a really long time it seems like they're just using him as a general filler to put the ladies in relationships, and where did my baby Harriet go she carried the show for the few seconds she was in it last time.

Other than their new arrangement neither Jackson nor Jo have any pressing plots at the moment.

___________________________________________

Link and Amelia

(Currently carrying the Grey's relationship game.)

Before we get into it can I just express how adorable it was seeing Amelia gardening and mothering. She's really doing a great job.

And Link and his one man band serenading his son is adorable as well. He's an awesome father as everyone knew he would have been.

The pandemic and the possibility of Meredith dying is getting to them, as it would for anyone in their positions. I loved that he sat with Amelia and allowed her to feel all her feelings. Link has been the only partner Amelia has had who actually listened to her instead of talking over her concerns and dismissing them and in return she sat with him and allowed him to process his grief in the way he preferred to. Their levels of communication is on point right now and I am excited to see where it goes. Then there's also the scene where she's afraid for Meredith, her and Meredith had a rocky start and even now they don't have the best relationship but still it's great to see the moments where they let us know that they do care about each other.

___________________________________________

Nico and Levi

(At this point I'm sad to put these two names together up here.)

I shipped those two so strong at the beginning but now I just want Levi to stand up for himself and leave Nico hanging, give him some time to let him realise what a good thing he is messing up. I'm still seething at his hypocrisy calling Levi a baby gay and lowkey pressuring Levi to come out to and move out of his mother's basement only for him to find out that Nico hasn't come out to his parents either and worst of all basically left him homeless by putting him out.

I was sad to see that Levi was falling down the same rabbit hole again. Levi hunny you deserve better. At the beginning of the episode when they had that awkward hi moment I was like oh no here we go again. Jo's reaction to finding out about them was perfect their friendship really has grown on me. It was a little odd at first but I approve of them as each other's persons, and for Jo to let him know he's worth more until Nico gets his crap together.

___________________________________________

Owen

Oh Owen, no just no, he miss diagnosed a patient because he didn't look at the whole picture and just saw a piece, however he took the time to educate himself so I'm feeling a little better, I was expecting him to get mad or offended but he wasn't he took it in stride usually some of the doctors would tend to get snippy at the resident's when they pointed out that they made a mistake but he didn't. This is a common mistake made where doctors don't take into concept ethnicity when they're diagnosing patients and I'm glad they touched on this topic.

Owen has no other current plots at this point to touch on, at least until him and Teddy talk again.

___________________________________________

Richard Webber

Meredith better be alright and come out unscathed, because if she does that will destroy Webber. He was so stressed all episode trying to make the decision of whether to put Meredith in the trial or not and I could only imagine the panic that went through him when he heard her mention George. Finally he made the decision to put her in the trial. Her reason for putting her as her POA was because Richard tends to be calm in most situations but she underestimated how important she is to everyone in the hospital they were all literally only interested in her during the briefing, and seeing him in her room all the time was adorable she was alone yet not alone at the same time because he was always in the room watching over her. He is the father that Meredith never had.

__________________________________________Bailey

(Her plot is apparently coming next week)

She really didn't do much other than educate Owen, worry over Meredith and express her concern about her parent's recent move to an assisted living facility.

Seeing her and George together again warmed my heart and seeing her on the beach with Meredith was a surprise as well especially because the few conversations they had in season 16 were the most I'd seen them talk about things that didn't involve work, but they've been together from the beginning along with Richard and been with her through it all, they're all a family and even though her and Meredith have their ups and down they have a similar relationship to Amelia and Meredith they fight sometimes but when push comes to shove they are there for each other.

___________________________________________

Teddy

(A moment of silence for season 5 through 7 Teddy. May she rest in peace.)

Her plot wasn't so much as about her as it was about Meredith but I understand her concern about Meredith dying under her watch. The whole hospital was basically looking over her shoulder with pitchforks for incase she screwed up. It's a lot of pressure when Meredith Grey is your patient, and after the whole her being heard cheating on Owen with Tom by the whole OR the eyes were probably sharper than ever.

But then onto the worst part, her going to visit Tom. Now I know he said he was going to move on for his own sake, but out of all the times they broke up or separated he has never actually ignored her he would have answered even if it was to say go away and even so he has Covid and wasn't answering the door, why didn't she try to open the door or call 911 that's concerning. She could have even threatened to call the ambulance first just to make sure he wasn't really ignoring her. That would have gotten a response from him for sure. But I just can't fathom how she just left after getting no answer from him.

___________________________________________

Maggie

(Get it hun.)

Her and Winston are so cute and they haven't even met in person yet. Seeing the way how they handled the whole dinner with his father was a nice moment. The dinner was super awkward and he managed to make me hate his dad in one scene. This one seems to be the real deal for Maggie she isn't freaking out at the pace like she usually does and took the invitation to family dinner quite well. I'm glad to see she's no longer a cheerleader but now has a life of her own and probably soon maybe even a plot.

___________________________________________

Tom Koracick

(Take Owen instead.)

NOOOOOO not Tom, we haven't gotten to see his character development yet. And why has he been through as much as someone who has been on the show since season 6 give the dude a break man. The whole time I knew he was going to get worst being asymptomatic doesn't necessarily mean that you won't get them later plus the fact that they sent him home alone was enough to know that something was going to go bad.

First thing first the rest of the doctors are sickening the way they treat him, can he come on strong and be a douche yes but I remember Bailey telling George at one point when he was making fun of Karev that they still had to be on his side even if they didn't like him. They are not on Koracick's side they just sent him home to rot and now it may very well cost him his life. I know Meredith is the sun but they could have at least kept Tom in the hospital to just to monitor him or if that wasn't able to happen they could have kept better tabs on him to make sure he was ok.

Am I the only one who's seeing Helm as his intern later in the future? They clearly have the same taste in video games and they would get along better when he becomes more open to people. Plus idk Helm just reminds me of someone in Nuero or even cardio, she has that tough attitude and strong drive like Cristina and Stephanie etc.

I don't think he's going to die though or at least I hope he's not going to die. Bailey's mother is there for a reason I more see her as the one to die.

___________________________________________

Meredith

Last but certainly not least is Meredith am I the only one who suspected that George was next Ellen Pompeo and T.R Knight have a good relationship off set. If anyone was coming back it was going to be George. I can't see Eric Dane coming back. Chyler is filming Supergirl in Vancouver I think and the others are still alive which makes it more unlikely for them to show up on the beach unless if they heard about Meredith being sick and came back to help or something.

Either way I was ecstatic when I saw George, as I said at some point before he was one of those characters that I didn't like before but the more I watched the show the more I appreciated him until he became one of my favorite characters on the show. He's every bit as 'Georgelike' as I remember him. The only thing was I was a little peeved at the fact that she got to be close to George and talk about her kids with him and not Derek but as I realised later apparently Derek is death and when she reaches him it means she choose to live. Which I'm ok with I guess it was good just seeing them again, and it was even better when we got to see the 4 OG's sitting together again even if it was just in a dream.

She has to pick her kids, they need her and so does GreySloan, she needs to live.

I'm hoping she recovers soon, as much as I would like to see even more visitors at the beach. Has Meredith not been through enough? Although this is as peaceful as I've seen her to be completely honest.

___________________________________________

Next week is looking extremely dramatic already.

Meredith seems to be getting better although who knows how long that will last.

Koracick is worst like I said before I don't think he will actually die but something extremely dramatic is going to happen besides him being near death it might be another peice to the Teddy, Owen and Tom love triangle seeing that they're both working on him.

And the last part I saw was Bailey's mom I knew her talking about her parents all of the sudden meant that something was going to happen to one or both of them. Unfortunately I think she might be the one to die Grey's has a habit of bringing in secondary characters when too many primary characters are at risk. Plus it'll give Bailey her plot which I'm lowkey ok with because Chandra Wilson's Emotional scenes are always on point.

[blobbyclouds]

Hi, do you have any headcanons on the 6 main love interests (or 8 if including second term) experiencing jealously?

I decided to just do the main 6, hope that’s alright! 

warnings: swearing

-Damien LaVey-

His aggressiveness makes him quick to jump to conclusions, but his laidback nature counterbalances it just enough to give you space 

It’s not that he doesn’t trust you, it’s that he doesn’t trust other people to keep their hands off his amazing s/o

His tail starts flicking from side to side when he’s getting jealous, and his casual stare is steadily turning into a glare at the person you’re talking to 

He gets snippy and moody and he won’t tell you why for awhile, just keeps his arms crossed. He gets better as your relationship goes on though, thank goodness

He’s clingy, and his kisses are a bit rougher and his hold is a bit tighter

He doesn’t mean to be over protective or anything, and tries to let you handle things in your own, but he really hates seeing people flirt with you 

It’s kinda instinctual for him to step in

What can he say? Demons are simply very… territorial of what belongs to them 

What’s his is his, no questions asked 

When you’re spending a lot of time with someone he doesn’t completely trust, he’ll just happen to start bragging about himself around that person to make it clear they don’t have a chance 

Whenever someone is getting too touchy or lovey dovey with you, he’ll come in to steal a quick kiss and sling an arm around you

It’d be cute if all of hell’s fury wasn’t burning in Damien’s eyes

The challenge in his eyes is impossible to miss, he’s clearly ready to fight if they don’t back off right away

And goodness forbid someone actually kiss you or ask you out, Damien will literally rip them away from you

Once they back off he nuzzles the top of your head and mutters, “Mine”

-Miranda Vanderbilt-

9/10 she’s oblivious to any flirting towards herself, let alone you 

So it’s hard for her to get jealous in the first place when she can’t even pick up on flirting 

She’s most likely to get jealous when you spend a lot of time with someone she thinks could be a threat 

When she’s jealous she’s a bit more uptight and proper than usual, and especially snippy to the person making her jealous

Holds your hand a bit tighter, might even be bold enough to steal a kiss

Might have her serfs set up a distraction to get you away from that person

And she decides to give you an expensive “just cause” gift, like jewelry or a new phone

So when that person you’ve been hanging out with an awful lot asks where you got it, you’ll say, “Oh, it was a random gift from Miranda! Isn’t she such a sweetheart?”

And then they’ll glance at her while you admire your gift again, and she can give them a tiny little smirk

So yeah, she’s the pouty and petty jealous type

Casually mentions how she’s ya know, royalty, around that person to make their social standings very clear

And may, just accidentally, mention the number of guards and mercenaries she has at disposal 

Just to make things extra clear for them :)

Best part is is that she does it all with a cute little smile :))))

So when she has your attention again she can flash that person an extra big victory smirk

-Liam De Lioncourt-

R o a s t s them, over and over and over again

You think you’ve seen Liam at peak witty comebacks and sharp sarcasm

Well you haven’t until you him jealous. When he’s jealous, there is no hope of thinking of comebacks against him

He tries to hide his jealousy because he’s not exactly proud of how often it hits him. He’s just a bit insecure, because he still can’t wrap his head around the idea that someone like you wants to date someone like him 

So when someone starts trying to get romantic with you, he can’t help but get really defensive about it

He actually gets jealous quite often because of how insecure he is

The first time he notices someone being just a bit too sweet on you his whole body tenses and he can’t focus on anything but you 

He’ll tell himself and you it’s nothing, but it’s a nagging worry

He’ll be more clingy and touchy, maybe a little distracted because he can’t get rid of the worry that he might not be the best match for you anymore

Later on when you and a bunch of friends are at a party together, that person is now shamelessly flirting with you and Liam’s lowkey pissed

His arms are crossed, his ears are twitching and tilted down, his fangs are accidentally a bit more visible than usual 

Then that person makes a snarky comment towards Liam and they’re doomed. He’s always been an analytical person, so he’s hitting every weak point he can

By the time he’s finished, that person is thoroughly backing off, Polly is stunned into literal silence shocking, I know, Vera has a look of genuine surprise, and Damien is applauding and giving Liam a thumbs up

After that Liam is embarrassed for causing a scene and drags you out of the party

Soft cuddles follow where Liam just buries his head in your chest and apologizes for making a big deal out of it, but you smile, say it was actually cute, and pepper his face in kisses until he’s a blushing tomato

-Vera Oberlin-

She doesn’t get jealous often since she’s confident in you, her social power, and your relationship 

She knows you wouldn’t go after anyone else and that most people fear her enough to back off her s/o

She’s both amused and irritated when random people flirt with you. Like, “You actually thought your lame pick up lines would work on them?”

It’s so pathetic it’s funny 

When she does get jealous, it’s usually for a good reason and it isn’t pretty 

She’ll saunter over to the person who’s been hanging out with you all night, showering you with too sweet compliments and being just a bit too touchy for their intentions to be completely platonic

She puts an arm around your shoulder and asks you to introduce her to your little friend, her voice and glare implying her immediate dislike

Lowkey just toys with them? Because she’s more annoyed than actually threatened?

Her mindset is basically: “Honey, do you actually think you can compete with me? Actually? I can shower my darling in whatever gifts they want, book them dinner with their favorite celebrities on a regular basis, and have 10x more elegance and class than you’ll ever have”

Casually roasts them to hell and back

All while being her suave and sweet self to you

She’s won’t go out of her way to hide her jealousy, she doesn’t see the point really

“You’re hanging out with them… again? Love, do you really have to? I’m not sure how to feel about them…”

That said, she’d never stop you from hanging out with anyone. She respects you, and she’ll give you polite space

Of course while also making sure that the person doesn’t forget that she’s your girlfriend

-Scott Howl-

Okay, you have to seriously overstep some boundaries to make this good boy jealous

He’s oblivious and tends to think the best of everyone, to the point he thinks that everyone being nice to you is literally just being nice to you

He can’t really tell when someone has ulterior motives

Usually he has to see that you’re visibly uncomfortable or someone has to tell him that someone is quite obviously flirting with you

Then he’ll do something

Werewolves are territorial (especially of their mates) so someone flirting with their partner is not taken lightly

In fact, if Scott weren’t around when someone was flirting with you, another member of the pack might step in to help you 

Scott will step in and try to be polite at first, just wrapping an arm around your shoulder to make it clear you’re taken

When you go to parties he might casually offer you his jacket to wear so that it’s extra clear you’re taken

If the person doesn’t take the hint he’ll drop a few more hints like kissing the top of your head. He might even straight up remove you from the situation if you’re uncomfortable or if he just really doesn’t like the way the person is talking to you 

Always apologizes for being jealous, he feels bad about it :(

He feels lots better when you hug him and tell him he has nothing to worry about

-Polly Ghiest-

Actually… adorable when she’s jealous? Straight up cute???

She gets this little pout and her eyes narrow when she sees someone leaning just a bit too close to you for comfort

“Is that weirdo... flirting with them?”

Amira looks and shakes her head. “Looks like it.”

“Hold my beer.”

She’s get all affectionate and lovey when she’s jealous, like wrapping you up in a big random hug, stealing a few kisses, casually mentioning how much she loves you 

Right in front of the person who was flirting with you 

And then she’ll turn to them with a little smile all like, “Sorry, didn’t see you there” :)

She’s always proud to be your girlfriend, and at parties when she gets a little too tipsy (basically every party) she’ll end up yelling about how much she loves her incredible, wonderful, best in the world, s/o

You’re blushing like an idiot but it’s sweet

It also makes it very clear to anyone with decent hearing that you’re taken

So anyone trying to make a move on you must be doing so with the full knowledge that you have a girlfriend, which makes things more awkward

Because trying to say “I have a girlfriend” isn’t going to deter them much when they already know

Luckily, Polly will be there to swoop in and bring you to the dance floor or snack bar with her arm wrapped tight around your shoulders

If she must, she will rally her closest friends (Vera, Damien, Amira) to provide a distraction for you two to slip away from someone who is just being relentless ahem, Interdimensional Prince, ahem

[forevercloudnine]

new 52 scarebat ship meme

(I had @heroes-etc​ give me more questions, but for scarebat this time, since we talk about it 24/7 but I never post about it. These are from this ship meme.)

4. Their favorite physical feature on each other?

There’s only one feature of Bruce’s appearance that’s scarier when he’s not wearing the batsuit, and that’s his creepy blue eyes. Especially the way Greg Capullo draws them where they’re sickly pale and have ridiculously constricted pupils.

So his eyes would definitely be in the running for Jonathan’s favorite feature, even if seeing them would require Bruce’s mask to be off, which is something New 52 Scarecrow explicitly avoids. Yes, that character trait only exists to justify why Batman’s identity is still secret after Scarecrow mind controls and subsequently institutionalizes him in “Gothtopia,” but I think it’s interesting so I’m going to pretend it’s not shoe-horned in there for meta reasons.

Actually having to see Bruce without the cowl on would definitely permanently break the illusion of Batman as a nightmarish inhuman bat demon, which I’m sure is a large part of the appeal for anyone as obsessed with fear as Jonathan Crane. But Bruce’s creepy eyes would be a serious consolation prize. 

Bruce’s favorite of Jonathan’s physical features is rough, because Jonathan is famously not great re: physical features. I’m going to say his mouth, because a) that’s where the snark comes from, and b) the New 52 establishes that in one of their earlier encounters, Jonathan had sewn his own mouth shut, so it’s one of those things where a bad first impression turned positive later on leads to more fondness than if you’d made a good impression in the first place.

I just looked up the panel where he does it and I DID forget how incredibly gross his lips look here, which makes the fact that I have chosen it as Bruce’s feature seem really funny in retrospect. But I do think that seeing Jonathan’s mouth healed and unmutilated would be a reassuring reminder of how he’s stabilized since their first encounter, at least to the point that he isn’t hurting himself anymore. Also, Bruce buys him a lot of chapstick.

Bonus alternate answer that did not make it into the Google Doc:

9. How open are they with their feelings?

Bruce and Jonathan are both pretty competent deceivers in the New 52; Bruce always, Jonathan depending on how the writer is feeling (though you could argue that Bruce just has a stronger grip on reality, while Jonathan’s skill at obfuscation varies with how lucid he is).

...I was going to use Detective Comics #23.3 as an example of Jonathan being a good liar, but actually upon re-reading I’m realizing that only 1/4 rogues buy his attempt at manipulation. So maybe he’s considerably worse at hiding his intentions than he thinks he is. Regardless, he doesn’t ever attempt to disguise his obsession with Batman.

Whether or not he’d express romantic feelings or try to hide them is debatable. There’s no Masters of Fear equivalent in the New 52 establishing that he was ever mocked or punished for expressing romantic feelings for someone, though there is a flashback panel in his origin emphasizing that he was always lonely in this regard (and coincidentally doesn’t specify that his interest is in women, which is fun).

In Green Lanterns #17 he has some internal monologue about how fear is his romance and he needs Batman to feel it, but it is an INTERNAL monologue, so it’s not clear if this is something he would express to Bruce or keep to himself. Or if he’s even fully processed it himself, given how incredibly out of it he is in this comic. Most of his spoken lines are just kind of screaming incoherently. Bruce gets pretty snippy with a Green Lantern at the end of the issue for suggesting that Jonathan should be punished for his crimes as if he were in control of his actions. 

Bruce is a similarly complicated answer, since for all his deceptions and shadowy mystery he pretty much wears his heart on his sleeve when it comes to romance. It’s just that his heart doesn’t express or process emotions the same way as anyone around him, which can create conflict. His (seriously underrated) love interest during Scarecrow’s origin arc, Natalya, spent most of her time dating him thinking that he didn’t care about her for this reason. He was trying to express that he loved her, but he mostly did so through complimenting her skills, which she never took as serious declarations of affection because he wasn’t being straightforward and she was insecure.

Jonathan does not himself seem like someone who would be especially secure in the idea of another person having romantic feelings towards him, so I assume that while Bruce might THINK he’s being open with any romantic feelings he develops, he would in reality just be really confusing.

13. How do they react to being away from each other?

I actually think that in general, Jonathan is one of the few people who would have no issue dealing with Bruce’s tendency to unexpectedly go AWOL for long periods of time, given that he himself has a tendency to fixate on his work to the exclusion of everything else.

But New 52 Jonathan specifically probably has pretty serious abandonment issues due to his father putting him in “the pit” and dying before he could take him out, meaning that Jonathan was waiting for his dad to come back for him for God knows how long, until Jonathan Sr.’s employers finally sent the police to investigate. 

So while in general I think he wouldn’t be very clingy, any impression that Bruce had died or otherwise wasn’t coming back for him would probably be incredibly triggering. If Bruce could assuage this reaction by occasionally sending updates that at least indicated he was still alive, then I doubt Jonathan would have any problems with his absence.

(@heroes-etc​: bruce sending like a checkmark emoji once a day. jonathan hears his phone ping, looks at the screen, and goes hm. good. and doesnt respond.)

Bruce meanwhile has no problem ditching literally any love interest at any time if something crime-related comes up, unless he’s considering quitting the cowl for them (as Joker probably accurately fears will happen with Catwoman in Prelude to the Wedding). But I don’t think he’d stop being Batman for Scarecrow, nor would Jonathan ever want him to — he’s interested in Batman, not necessarily Bruce Wayne.

But even though Bruce wouldn’t have an emotional problem with distance, I think he would get similarly paranoid if they went too long without contact, though for different reasons than Jonathan. Unlike some other villains (*cough* Joker and Riddler), Scarecrow has machinations that don’t require getting Batman’s attention, so if he decided to continue with his less legal experiments, he would not feel compelled to get Bruce involved. While the “World’s Greatest Detective” would probably not have an issue keeping an eye on Jonathan while he’s in Gotham, he’s considerably less capable of that in space. And Jonathan is definitely a rogue he would be obsessed with keeping an eye on, even if he reformed. 

Batman & Robin Eternal established that Dick’s first supervillain conflict AND first mission leaving the country was chasing Scarecrow across the world for an entire summer, which is kind of insane considering how early it was in Batman’s career. Like, he did not have an army of children to watch Gotham for him while he was gone. He had one child, and he took that child WITH him. He left Gotham undefended for months, JUST to catch Scarecrow. Sooo that in of itself implies he wouldn’t be great at keeping his distance.

15. Does their view of themselves differ from their partner’s view?

Well, Jonathan occasionally sees Bruce as a giant bat demon, so yes.

Outside of that very obvious differing view, Jonathan in general sees himself and the rest of the rogue gallery as more vital to Batman’s identity than Bruce considers them; the extent to which he’s right varies depending on your interpretation of Bruce’s character, but it’s definitely not something Bruce would ever consciously think or say. 

This is related to something that’s definitely a misconception of his, though, which is that the majority of Batman’s job revolves around supervillains like him. In Kings of Fear, when Jonathan blackmails Bruce into letting him come on patrol with him (which is a whole thing in of itself), he’s shocked at how boring most of Batman’s work is. Which probably goes along hand in hand with sometimes seeing Bruce as an almost mythologically inhuman figure. 

In his defense, it’s not like he has a lot of context for what the minutiae of Batman’s job is like. He’s either fighting Batman, hiding from Batman, or imprisoned by Batman in Arkham, a place where everyone else also spends all their time fighting or hiding from Batman. Which would really skew your perspective.

Interestingly, Bruce and Jonathan are both people who pride themselves on being extremely self-aware. Both of them probably inaccurately. You can rant about how you have a perfect understanding of your troubled mental state all day long, but if you’re still dressing up like a monster at night to indulge the power fantasies you created as a traumatized child by scaring the hell out of people, there’s probably a level of self-realization you haven’t gotten to yet.

Bruce however is at least self-aware enough to regularly be able to analyze his way out of fear toxin induced hallucinations, which Jonathan is unable to do — when he’s not depicted as having become immune to his fear toxin due to overexposure (as he is in Green Lanterns #17), he can be defeated with the same formulas that Batman regularly manages to resist (like his honestly embarrassing breakdown in Nightwing #50). 

Which ties into the difference between how he sees himself and how Bruce sees him: Jonathan obviously visualizes himself as a “master” of fear. He actually has the same internal monologue about fear and trauma that Bruce does in Batman: The Dark Knight #13: “Make it your own... run to what you fear... stare it in the eye... until it whimpers and backs down.” But Bruce doesn’t see Scarecrow as conquering his fear; he sees him as addicted to it, to the point of his own detriment.

Which is interesting, because Jonathan clearly sees his Scarecrow persona as a way to regain control after being victimized by his father’s fear experiments throughout his childhood. I guess Bruce’s perspective would be that Jonathan’s father instead got him addicted to fear as a child, so his attempts at agency as Scarecrow are just a) reliving his trauma over and over and b) compulsively inflicting his own trauma on others. There’s probably some truth to that, even if overall it’s probably an oversimplification (and coincidentally pretty much EXACTLY what Riddler argues Bruce is doing by “funding” Batman in Batman Annual #4, so there’s that).

20. Did either person change at all, to be with their partner?

The obvious answer here is yes, because Jonathan is a supervillain with no regard for human life while Bruce is a superhero who has dedicated his life to protecting people. So presumably one or both of them would have to make serious compromises to be together. HOWEVER. Scarecrow’s primary motivation is to research, understand and inflict fear, while Batman’s modus operandi is making his enemies afraid of him. So despite their contradiction in morals, they’re uniquely positioned to advance each other’s goals, were they to ever join forces.

Bruce never has a problem using fear toxin on Scarecrow, presumably partially out of an “eye for an eye” sense of poetic justice, but also because Batman is practical and it’s a nonlethal weapon that’s always available to him while fighting Scarecrow. If he could have fear toxin customized for his own use, it’s hard to imagine him being unwilling to use it. In Gothtopia he actually advocates for using what’s leftover from Crane’s new formula on all the inmates at Arkham, which seems about as insanely morally ambiguous as it gets. Arguably, putting fear toxin in his smoke bombs would be considerably less wrong than drugging mental patients out of their mind when they’re supposed to be receiving therapy (this is also the issue where he illegally releases Poison Ivy because she did him a favor, which is both morally questionable and relevant to the current topic).

Jonathan obviously already thinks Batman is the most interesting possible case study in fear; it’s why he keeps coming back to Bruce and Gotham despite being one of the more independent villains in Batman’s rogue gallery in the New 52. So though he would have to give up actively kidnapping people (which would be a huge sacrifice, I’m sure), teaming up with Bruce would give him unrestricted access to his favorite test subject. Unfortunately, it seems very possible that he would fall back to old tricks if he ever felt that he’d gotten everything he could out of a partnership with Bruce. Fortunately, that would probably take a VERY long time.

[fanficfeeling]

Don’t Cry - Geralt x Reader

A/N: Once again, my deepest apologies that this took so long. I’m in the process of moving right now, so everything’s been getting put on the back burner! I’m trying to speed up the requests. This also became sort of a little passion prjoect for what I’d do when I was feeling stressed, so even though I tried to keep the heavier topics held back, that probably bled through a little bit here. Hope you enjoy none the less!

Request:  May I request “don’t cry” for Geralt? 😊 please and thank you! for Anon!

Warnings: Language, stress/a breakdown, life getting heavy, getting fired, angst but like just for the reader and no one else and it all works out in the end

Word Count: 1914

Requests are open!

~~~

It was all just getting to be a little too much.

First, your parents had been pestering you about trying to marry you off. For the sake of your own pride, you had to had fight them on that, at least.

Then, it seemed as if everything in your life was changing  just a little too quickly. Many of your childhood friends had been moving away for some reason or another. Your parents were about to move into a better house, anyway, so even if they couldn't marry you off, you'd still be moving to the other side of town with them. On top of it all, you'd gotten a new job.

You worked at the local tavern as a server, and it was rough, to say the least. Fast-paced, demanding, sometimes all-consuming. Everything stacking on top of each other, plus all the other little things irritating you about your day-to-day, were culminating into some sort of breakdown of your sanity, you could feel it.

The best part about your job so far had been getting to meet Geralt of Rivia. He had shown up while traveling, as your village was often an easy resting point for travelers, and while everyone else had cowered away from the big, scary witcher, you had been fascinated. When everyone else refused to serve him, you jumped at the opportunity. He had seemed... disinterested, at first, at the way you eagerly served him with a smile, but you made a few more attempts to talk to him. Trying to get him to open up to you, you forgot about a lot of your problems, just for the evening.

By the end of the night, he promised he would be back to see you again soon.

~~~

"Darling? Wake up! You're going to be late for work if you keep sleeping in like this!"

You sigh, sitting up, and rubbing your eyes in discontent. All you want is some rest, but of course, you couldn't be granted even that much.

"Dear, did you hear me? I said-"

"Yes, mother! I heard you!"

"Well, get up then!"

"I am."

You don't mean to be snippy, but you know that if you sit with her before you leave, she'll start nagging you about all the things she thinks you should be doing. You get dressed slowly, and go about as much of your morning routine as possible within the confines of your own room.

When you finally exit, you head straight for the front door.

"Dear? Where are you-"

"Work."

"But shouldn't you-"

"I'll eat at work."

You don't mean for the door to slam behind you - alright, maybe you do just a little bit - but it does.

Your walk to work isn't exactly a walk in the park.

You're taking your time, trying to enjoy the stroll, when suddenly your life is flashing before your eyes as someone's rogue cart almost runs you over. You watch as a farmer goes running after it, yelling back to you, "Sorry! So sorry!"

He's already gone, but you mumble to yourself, "It's fine." You take a deep breath. "It's completely fine."

Soon after, you get stopped by an old friend.

"How are you? How've you been?"

"I've... been." You respond, meekly, not being able to muster up enough energy to put on a happy mask.

"Sounds like you're having a rough time of it then! What's the matter?"

Someone to listen to you? Finally?

"Oh, it's just a couple of big things on top of a lot of small things, and it's just really building up recently. My parents won't stop nagging me even though I'm grown, and my new job is a lot to handle, and I just-"

"Eh, sounds like just a lot of nothing you need to shake off. Just go with the flow of it, why don't you?"

The words leave a bitter taste in your mouth, "Ah, maybe you're right. I really should be on my way, have to get to work." You make a hasty exit, remembering why you had all but stopped talking to that friend a while ago.

You're musing on the fantasy of having someone to listen to you complain without judging you, when suddenly you feel a deep whack against your back.

"Ow!" You yelp, rubbing your back where your spine aches and spinning around, only to find a group of children chasing after the ball that had just attacked you.

"Sorry!" They all chime, some giggling, some looking apologetic. You can't stop yourself when you fix them all with a sharp glare, proclaiming, "You all better be careful or you're going to end up hurting somebody!" Some of them have the decency to look alarmed, and they all scamper off at your words, as you turn around, hoping to walk off the light damage you received.

Next, you find a black cat crossing your path. You might not be superstitious, but goddamnit, on top of everything else, this has to happen.

Finally, you make it to your place of employment. Inside is already chaos.

Your coworkers scramble around, trying to lighten the load, and customers talk and sing and chew loudly, and you're just about already completely overwhelmed.

The bartender spots you quickly, and immediately barks at you to, "Get to work!"

You spend the next few hours doing just that.

~~~

The next time you get to slow down is when the entire establishment goes quiet. You almost don't notice, but one glance at the door and you could never miss the interruption. You smile and every other person in the room glowers or grimaces or frowns, as Geralt of Rivia walks through the door, quiet and large, brooding and analytical. He ignores the stares and whispers, and makes his way over to the bar, waiting, until eventually people begin to resume their conversations.

You bustle in his direction immediately, thanking the universe that at least one good thing could happen today.

"Well, if it isn't the mighty witcher, back again." You lean against the bar across from him.

You swear he smiles just a little, "I said I would be, didn't I?"

You chuckle lightly. "If the common rabble is to be believed, your word is worth nothing."

"How unfortunate then that my word is about all I have."

You nearly have to physically shake your head to shake off the spell this man casts on you. "Is there anything I can get you?"

You resume your work, trying your damnedest to stop and talk to Geralt as often as you can. He's patient, willing to put conversations on hold and resume them as your available time allows. He listens when you speak, and easily captures your attention when he does. It may have been in broken pieces, but this is the most enjoyable conversation you've had in many weeks.

You serve one table that's been at it for hours once more, and before you head back over to Geralt, you decide to stop and take a breath, just for a moment. You close you eyes and breathe deeply, blocking out the noise and doing your best to pretend you're somewhere else. An escape, for just a couple of seconds.

That is, until your boss' voice begins ringing in your ears, loudly, "What are you doing, standing around? Get back to work!"

To put it gently, you snap.

You can't sense yourself screaming, but you hear your own voice, loud, shrieking. You don't feel much of any sensation at all other than light-headedness, and a vague sense of nausea, and you see red.

The next thing you feel is arms. Large, gently taking hold of you - guiding you away. You fight it, because what the hell? But you get tugged away anyway by this force that is much stronger than you are and you soon give up. By the time you begin to come down enough to process the world around you, all you can see is the door, and all you can hear is, "-and don't come back!"

You look and see that the one who had dragged you away is none other than Geralt of Rivia, and you're stunned into silence as you process your own actions.

What was I thinking?

I wasn't.

I just got fired.

How could I do that?

Geralt leads you off to the nearest spot where you can sit down without prying eyes, which happens to be near the tree line of the forest. Without prompting, you collapse on the ground, and promptly burst into tears.

I lost my job because I couldn't keep my cool, and for what? Mother and father will be so angry, and everyone will know and think I'm a failure. Maybe mother and father are right, if I can't even handle life-

It startles you when you feel a hand gently come to rest on your back. It shocks you to hear Geralt's voice say, "Don't cry."

You look at him, and he seems uncomfortable, but not eager to leave you alone. You quickly try to wipe away your tears, mumbling, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-"

"You have no reason or need to apologize to me." That gets the waterworks going again, and whatever control you had been gaining disappears.

He sits in silence with you as you lose that control, but it seems he eventually can't control his curiosity anymore, or he figures asking will make the crying go away faster, when he asks, "What was that about?"

You manage to sniffle your way through a sentence, "I just couldn't take it all anymore, I'm sure you don't want to hear about it."

"I'm willing to listen if it would help to talk, though."

The floodgates were really released then, as you rush to speak your problems like Geralt would disappear before your eyes if you took too long. Parents. Moving. Job. Overwhelmed. No one will listen. Ages of feeling completely alone. By the time you're reaching the end of all you need to say, your tears are winding down, and Geralt hasn't said a word.

"And I know other people have bigger problems than I do, I really do, but that doesn't stop it from feeling like I'm suffocating, all the time. It feels stupid, saying I feel like I just can't do it anymore, although I suppose I just handled one part of it, but I really, really do feel that way. Laugh, if you must, but that won't change the fact that these circumstances I find myself in leave me... miserable."

"Makes sense to me."

You blink in surprise. That was the last thing you expected him to say. "What?"

"Just because you have what most would consider a good life doesn't mean it's all good, and doesn't mean it's meant for you. Most wouldn't look at me and be envious but I think I'd have quite the same reaction as you to those stressors, much sooner than you did. It's not meant for everyone."

"If only I had a choice in the matter, right?"

"You do. No one can make you do anything, least of all listen to everything your parents tell you to do or keep you in a shitty job you hate."

"Well what else am I meant to do, then?"

He examines you for a moment, then shrugs, "Come with me."

"...I'm sorry?"

"Maybe a life of traveling would suit you better."

You think back to the moment before your meltdown, how you had been desperately wishing you were anywhere else. It seems a foolish proposition, but... maybe he's right?

After a brief conversation with your scandalized parents, you were gone by morning.

[kittehkwrites-backup]

Out of Time (Part 2)

Part 1 | Part 3

Series masterlist | Main masterlist

Summary:

The team goes back to the compound to debrief and find out the two super soliders may not be the only ones out of their time.

Warnings: mentions of death (but not major)

Gifs & images aren’t mine.

The team had made into the new facility and agreed they’d meet back in the conference room, after having cleaned up and had some nourishment, to debrief and discuss the findings from the intel Nat and Tony got a hold of.

Steve was currently sitting on the edge of his bed when he pulled out a small letter box, containing copious amounts of envelopes, cards, a few small passport sized photos and some smaller scrap paper with sketches on them.

He had ran his finger over the sorted envelopes and plucked one out at random.

Steven Grant Rogers

He looked at his name and brushed his thumb over the cursive writing.

He hadn’t looked through this box often since being out of the ice and since the death of Peggy.

But today made him do it. The shocking revelation that someone else from his past may still be living and still in her youth, like he and Bucky, made him question how and why he hadn’t even looked into finding out what happened.

Shaking his head at the thought he opened the aged envelope carefully and saw the small note in her handwriting.

Thank you for your service Capt.

You got our boy back, along with many others.

I knew you’d do great things, didn’t I?

Steve could almost hear her let out a giggle as she was writing this. He remembered she said he’d be great.

She always believed in me. He thought as he finished the letter

Don’t ever think I’ve forgotten about you two.

Hope you haven’t forgotten about lil ole me.

I do recall you boys saying you wouldn’t, so I’m expecting a response this time “Cap.”

Stay safe, take care of eachother and remember,

We’re routing for you here in Brooklyn.

Go be the man I knew you’d be.

Love,

Vi

She was the only one that knew who he was, outside of those he fought alongside with, the scientists who conducted the experiment and the government officials who had access to his files at the time.

Wow he thought.

All this time and he still felt warm after reading one of her letters.

She always showed kindness to the skinny boy from Brooklyn. Never once did she treat him any differently, or favour Bucky over him. She was always fair and she always had faith in them.

He flipped the paper over to see if anything else had been written and he almost broke down

P.s.

When you come back, make sure you bring Miss Carter with you.

I’d love to meet the woman you’re so head over heels for.

xooo

Steve had forgotten he made the promise to always come back and see you. It didn’t matter if he and Bucky were sick and dying. They made that promise but not even they could’ve prepared for the events which had took place many decades ago.

He had also forgotten that he mentioned Peggy to her and so reading the letter brought so many emotions he wasn’t ready to face yet.

This was sent before Bucky fell off the train, before he went under yet he didn’t even have any recollection of getting anymore letters from her after.

He had placed it back in its envelope and was going to open another when F.R.I.D.A.Y come over the houses system

Captain, Mr Stark has asked that I send out a reminder to everyone to make way to the debriefing room.

“Thanks F.R.I.D.A.Y. I’ll be on my way”

I shall notify mr stark and the others who are already in the room.

And with that, Steve closed the box and put it under his bed before releasing a gust of air and exiting his room.

“Ok. Lay it on me.” Nick had come in to hear the mission report once the team had returned.

“Well we all know Taskmaster and his goons have been making headway over the last few months” Said Natasha as she placed the image of the man on the holographic projector.

“Well there’s been talk of him opening a training institution.” Tony took over as he stood to meet agent Romanoff on the opposite side of the table.

“Taskmaster?” This was visions turn to ask who this character was. The other members had encountered him or heard about the man from previous missions and various connections on the ground. Vision hadn’t been present for those times and had accompanied Wanda to this particular meeting since they may need their help in the future.

“He’s a bit of an oddball, I’d say. Sometimes good, sometimes bad but it’s now just mostly bad.” Shrugged Nat as she thought about saying he was a double agent of some sort but that might be hypocritical to her and he also favoured committing crimes, receiving rewards, instead of helping others like she is now doing.

“He basically caters to the highest bidder and seeing as the bad guys are the ones with the most capital, why not market to them?” Came Nick’s summary. He had been sitting back in his chair and watching the holographs each time they changed, soaking it in.

“Anyways, the intel we gathered showed locations of some of these institutions and some even had how many were enrolled and names.” Tony said as he made the map bigger and began singling out the known locations they were able to retrieve from the mission.

“There was also a list of which of those students have been traded, or their services sold to other evil organisations.” Nat spoke up as she pointed to another list tony had shared infront of everyone.

"What we’re slightly more interested in is his accomplice.”

“They call her mainly things...”

“There’s Countess V, Lady Lila, or Commander V.”

Tony and Natasha were going back and forth explaining the basics of the accomplice in question.

“How’s it gone from V to Lila? And what’s the V stand for” Sam asked raising his finger slightly to indicate he had a question. He wasn’t the only one confused on the name change.

“From what we gathered, Lila is German for purple and it seems that people that have encountered her always mention seeing her eyes turn purple. They would draw people in and put them in hypnotic trance”

“and there had been mentions in some old compromised S.H.I.E.L.D record of a “project v” where the patient also had the visible mutation of purple irises.”

“Does that answer your question Mr Wilson?” Tony’s voice came out a bit snippy causing Sam to put his hands up in surrender. Tony caught on his attitude wasn’t needed and gave Sam a look which said sorry. Sam gave back a slight nod, acknowledging the silent apology. They were all tired and wanted to be done with this so he understood it came out harsher than intended.

“We can only assume that means she possesses the ability to manipulate others which is threatening to the government and other officials if she’s deciding on which jobs to take like Taskmaster makes his decisions.” Being able to access codes and data only to give them to an enemy of the nation or state for some cash was enough to put anyone on edge, especially sine they’ve only go found out about this woman, and that she’s working for an entitled criminal.

“She was last time-stamped back in the 40’s, around the same time Mr Barnes was presumed dead, as a missing person, yet here she is now” The team knew that it was tough to mention that period in Bucky’s life but Nick knew it was important for emphasis.

“What does this person look like?” Wanda sounded. She had heard of the project back when sh was being tested on along with her brother, yet no one had an image in their heads of who project V was or the full extent of their powers, just that they were using the same methods and the serum they extracted from her at some point to test on others.

Only problem was that everyone was different and so everyone present different powers or enhancements that didn’t seem to be fully connected with all of hers.

Nick stood from his chair and made way to where agent Romanoff and Stark were standing.“May I?” He asked Tony when referring to using the device to retrieve the photo.

“By all means” Tony has stepped back as Nick put in his credentials for the database.

“We found this image under a file left open from a hydra agent working undercover.” He pushed the holographic image to the rest of the team, it rotating in the center of the table

At the sight of the image, both Steve and Bucky stiffened and the team turned to look at the two

It’s her, they both thought.

“I can assume you know this face?” The team kept watching the two men and wondered if the person that caused them to freeze on the roof during the mission was her.

“She was a friend.” Uttered Bucky. He had turned his head down at the thought of seeing her face again. Hs doesn’t know why, but he’s felt like he’s seen her before. Maybe his memory was still foggy. He was probably hallucinating is what he thought when he attempted to recall whether or not it was a true memory or false.

Even with the help of Shuri and the Wakandan doctors, they just weren’t able to unlock certain areas of his momery like they were able to get rid of the trigger words he was once controlled by.

They had suggested getting help from Wanda but he was apprehensive until now. Maybe this was the push he needed to try and fill in more gaps.

“She lived in the same building as me before they injected me with the serum when I got enlisted... I thought she’d be much older, or dead.” Steve face was scrunched up in confusion at the revelation that his first lo- well the first person he’s felt deeply for, was still alive, or at least he thought she was the same person as he remembered.

“Well it seemed that the same doctor that experimented on Steve, Dr Erskine, had a hand in this but stopped once he realised they were doing this for the wrong reasons.”Nick was leaning over the table and bring up more documents they had found or were able to retrieve.

The more documents brought up, the more the two soldiers figured the person they thought they knew probably wasn’t all she had been. This was something big to Nick also, it seemed he was deeply invested if he was willing to look for all these documents and translations that he was providing.

“So this was before Steve?” Clint asked looking at Natasha who had kept her head down.

“Not exactly. The project was a round the same time as Steve and from what we gathered, she was one of the few that passed all the tests they had set out.” Tony explained.

Nick watched as Natasha remained with her eyes down. She was playing it off as if she was looking at the files. She knew something. Nick thought as he moved his eyes off of her to look around the room.

This was something that they hadn’t expected or accounted for since they thought they had dealt with the remaining hydra super soldiers and had gotten the twins. There were no other mentions of past experiments dating back before (or during) Steve or Bucky that they were aware of, yet here she was.

Hydra was good at keeping secrets and it seemed once they exposed their infiltration in government agencies, that all hell broke loose.

“My thing is how was she able to stay under the radar for so long? Surely she would’ve made a mistake along the way.” Tony said. His posture straightened and hand under chin, contemplating how it was possible they’d have another enhanced that was supposedly younger than Steve and Bucky, yet they’re only just discovering her existence.

“And that’s why it’s concerning” Nicks voice was still monotonous but his body language displayed different.

He was tense and confused. The others were as well.

“Seems like you two weren’t the only ones that made it into the 21st century then.” Came from Sam as he kept looking at the woman on the screen. He and everyone else were at a loss for words.

The two soldiers looked at eachother and back at the picture of the woman they once knew.

How? Was the main question running through everyone’s head.

Hey everyone:)))

Hope you’re all doing good.

Love y’all ❤️

-Kai

[astxlphe-fics]

Akutagawa’s (somewhat conflicted) feelings about Mori dressing him up // Moriaku 

Word count: ~1700

Content Warnings : boss/subordinate relationship, large age gap (20 years), unbalanced relationship, controlling behaviour 

“So—” Mori holds both dress shirts in from of him, pensive. “Red? Or blue?” 

“Black,” Akutagawa answers evenly, making the man pout. 

“Black is too classic,” he protests, soon cut off by the small girl by his side. 

“It’s boring.” Elise scowls, crossing her arms, blue eyes flashing Akutagawa a glare. “You’re both boring . And you—” She points an accusing finger at him. “Just choose already, he’ll be happy and we’ll get cake.” 

Akutagawa rolls his eyes at the frustrated girl, before focusing back on Mori. “Do I really need this? I already have clothes.” 

“Work clothes maybe,” Mori easily counters. He holds the marine blue shirt in front of Akutagawa’s chest and hums. “Too dark,” he decides, putting it away. 

“I still think this is ridiculous.” 

Reflexively, he almost apologies for his snippy tone when Mori turns back to him, an eyebrow raised in disbelief, but before he does, he catches himself. A year into a relationship that mainly happens behind locked doors at the office and he’s still not quite used how little...etiquette the man requires outside of work. 

At headquarters, there is no way to forget Mori is still his boss, but outside of it, in the man’s own home, there is almost nothing to remind him of this fact.  

“Don’t be like that, dearest, a little variety can’t hurt. You simply must let me take care of it. We are going to try those on—” Mori puts a new dress shirt of a much lighter blue, along with the red one, under his nose, “— and this outfit after.” 

Akutagawa glances at the outfit in question, then the pile of clothes he’s already tried on, and he wonders just how much clothes has the man bought — they’ve been at it for about two hours now.  

Mori, ever since the beginning of their relationship, loves dressing him up. He thought, at first, that it was only Elise — his ability, an extension of himself that he dresses up to suit his tastes. He was, of course, wrong, and Mori takes some special kind of joy in helping him dress. 

Looking down at the two shirts, identical save for the color, he winces at the cheerful blue of the first. “Not this one,” he decides, and Mori sighs, closes his eyes, and whines:  

“You and Elise are always so difficult ,” and really, Akutagawa doesn’t want to be difficult with Mori, he knows he’s lucky the man even looks at him, but still. Light blue.  

“Fine,” he relents, and Mori beams and waves his hand in Akutagawa’s direction. 

“Wonderful! Now, off with this.” 

Resigned, Akutagawa opens the shirt he’s currently wearing and slips out of it — there is no changing room, and besides he’s learned a while ago that there is no point in being any degree of self-conscious about his body around Mori. 

The scars are reminder of his much he’s survived and of all the way he still has to go to be better. It’s something private, something he doesn't particularly like anyone seeing. But it seems to Akutagawa that Mori enjoys looking at them, which is kind of weird and puts him under a scrutiny he would, with anyone else, avoid. More generally, he spends a lot of time watching him undress, and Akutagawa can’t genuinely say he dislikes it. 

Those eyes on him register every detail, remember every flaw with the same calm they take in everything else, and yet at no point does he say anything about it, about the scars and the bones clearly visible under his skinny frame. 

No one ever looked at him the way Mori Ougai does. It became, if he dares say it, nice.

The man extends one of the sleeves for Akutagawa to slide his arm in, then the other, and moves back to his front to close the buttons. The fabric is crisp and cool on his skin, sign that it’s either new or just out of the dry cleaner service he uses. 

“Good!” His boss looks through the dressing cabinet and comes out with a waistcoat. “For this one, I think black will do nicely.” He laughs lightly, to himself. “See? There is still black.” 

Mori hums appreciatively when he buttons the waistcoat up as well, and turns Akutagawa to the mirror so he can get a look — the blue pops out nicely, it’s true, but he can’t help but grimace again because, well. He doesn't think it’s really his color, and he doesn’t think he likes it, but then again Mori always knows better about those things. 

Being moved around like this makes Akutagawa somehow more aware of his own body than ever before.  

“You don’t like it.” Mori crosses his arm, frowning, dejected. “But you look so handsome— ” Akutagawa’s cheeks flush at the compliment, but he still shakes his head. 

“I think red might work better,” he tells him, attempting to not disappoint too much. Some time ago, he disliked the color red, but Mori loves it, so he made an effort and found it not so bad. 

(Just a bit more time and he might find himself fond of blue, too.) 

At those words, Mori perks up while Elise groans obnoxiously. She sends him a tired look, which he interprets as “hurry up ”, so he quickly undresses again and swaps the blue dress shirt for the red one, Mori still hovering around. When it’s done and Akutagawa turns to face him, he smiles kindly, smoothing out the lapel and tugging at the bottom of it to make sure it falls right. 

Then, he tilts Akutagawa’s chin up with the tip of his finger and raises the dress shirt’s collar, looping a white tie around his neck and tucking it into his waistcoat. 

“Red always suits you well.” He takes a step back, looking him up and down. “You should wear this tonight.” 

It sounds like a suggestion. Akutagawa knows it’s not — even if he says no, the man will badger him until he agrees.  

All of this — Mori’s hands on his wrist or his hips or his shoulders, covering him with another heap of fabric and deciding what he wears and how he styles his hair and what scent of shampoo or perfume he uses — used to be... overwhelming, but not anymore, he has gotten used to it.

Now, it distantly reminds him of the way Gin used to play with the doll he bought her for her twelfth birthday. The first new toy she ever had. Carefully dressed and cared for, proudly displayed, forgotten when it became worn and used and she grew too busy and too old to play with it. 

A small, rational part of him whispers he shouldn’t be so comfortable with it, with being someone's doll, that he should put a stop to it before every aspect of his life is subject to the man’s whims. 

Akutagawa doesn’t care. Shushes it. Gives in and lets himself be what makes Mori the happiest. He does have to be careful though, or he’ll soon see the day Mori discards him like Gin’s old doll.  

Besides, the clothes look better than anything Akutagawa could have come up with himself; he's not very good at choosing them. Better trust the man's tastes, Akutagawa’s own obviously being somewhat lacking.  

So, he nods. “I will.” 

Tonight is a formal affair, and if their little fitting session was originally to find Akutagawa new clothes he liked, as the day wore on it became more of a way to find him something to wear. Tonight, Mori speaks business with a foreign organization; and whether Akutagawa is supposed to be the arm candy or the bodyguard, he isn’t sure.  

Perhaps it’s both. It’s usually both. 

“Now, you’re just missing one little thing—” 

While he disappears again, Elise raises her head from where she’s slumped on the couch and gets to her feet, watching Mori’s chosen outfit. She blinks up at him and narrows her eyes, contemplating in silence for a few seconds. “Not half bad,” she decides, before she turns away, looking for her dress, which probably means Mori is satisfied with his choice. 

Not minding his presence, she pulls her own dress over her head. Akutagawa turns away to let her change into the new one on, until she tugs on his arm to show him. 

“Not half bad,” he says back to her, making her grin. 

It’s brand-new dress, red and black, matching with Akutagawa’s outfit, which he is sure is done on purpose, somehow. Mori gets a particular joy out of making them match, for reasons that escape him.

Walking around the room, he checks that the pants aren’t too tight and that the movements of his arms aren’t too limited. 

By the time he reaches the conclusion that everything is as comfortable as it should be, Mori comes back. Without missing a beat, he grabs his wrist, holding it up, deft fingers fixing glinting cufflinks to the end of his right sleeve, then his left.  

“There,” Mori tells him softly. “Perfect.” 

Before letting go, he presses a kiss on his knuckles and spins him around, and Akutagawa’s heart does a little jump, blood rushing to his face, his ears burning. 

He glances to the mirror again. “I look…fine,” he says quietly, and Mori offers a sharp, closed eyed, knowing smile and sneaks another a kiss under his ear, at the junction of his jaw.  

“Of course, you do.” 

With the way his eyes linger here and there, Akutagawa knows he’ll have wandering hands for the rest of the night. He doesn’t really mind it anymore— it feels strangely good to have someone willing to touch him this way, to kiss him, whispering praises and flattering words in his ear like he deserves them. 

 “Thank you.” Then: “Should I expect a fight?” Those clothes don’t offer much material to fight with, though he can still hide a weapon somewhere (a small gun at his ankle, hidden in the folds of his pants, or a knife strapped to his forearm, or whatever Mori decides.) 

“No,” he finally answers. “No, I don’t believe so.” And he adds, because he is, as always, aware of what Akutagawa truly is asking: “Besides, the weather is way too nice for you to wear a coat.” 

[let-it-raines]

another kind of green (9/10)

Emma Swan spends her days in pretty white dresses and heavy layers of makeup. Day after day and dress after dress, she poses for pictures and acts like she’s in love and having the happiest day of her life with the man standing next to her.

It’s not. This is all a gig, and at the end of the day, she’s no longer the girl in the pretty dress who’s faking getting married for a magazine cover or a wedding convention. Instead, she’s the girl who probably never wants to get married.

Little does she know, she already is.

Rating: mature

a/n: I know the world is crazy right now, so I hope you manage to find something, no matter how big or small, that brings you joy 💚 

ao3: beginning | current

Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

-/-

Damn.

Her neck is killing her. There’s definitely a crick or a pull or something there that wasn’t there when she fell asleep last night and…

Emma’s eyes quickly open, taking in the plates and cups and half-eaten cake that are all sitting on her coffee table. The sun is peeking through her curtains, and the bright light blinds her enough that she’s turning and twisting her head to the solid body next to her.

The solid body next to her.

What the actual hell?

When did she fall asleep? When did Killian fall asleep? Did he spend the night here? Did she have a lot to drink last night? No, no she didn’t. There was wine, but there wasn’t a lot. Maybe two glasses which was enough to have her buzzed. She’s been careful with how much she’s had to drink because she never wants to drink too much so that everything is a hazy, gap-filled memory.

She never wants to drink enough that she can’t remember getting freaking married.

Which is exactly why she remembers everything that happened last night. She remembers sharing things she hasn’t shared in a long time, and she remembers Killian sharing about his brother and his parents and Milah.

Oh shit.

They really talked about her record and getting it expunged and possibly seeing if she could become a freaking Instagram Influencer. Her? As an Instagram Influencer? That’s ridiculous. The thought alone makes her laugh out loud, even if Killian made a good point about her using the following she does have to try to bring awareness to charities and issues and…no, that’s ridiculous.

It was her idea, but no. Just no.

But maybe she could look into working with a charity all on her own, start small, build into something when she stops being the age these boutiques and designers want for their models. She doesn’t know. It’s…she just started thinking about possibilities outside of her current line of work, and, well, trying to decide on a career path is harder than she thought she would be.

It’s a start.

Maybe.

Damn. She and Killian really covered all of the bases.

And she enjoyed it and felt comfortable, and the feeling of Killian’s hand pressing up underneath her sweater right now is warm and comfortable. It’s nice is what it is, and Emma isn’t accustomed to nice.

She’s not accustomed to any of this, even when she’s had it in the past, multiple times even. But each time it’s felt rare and slightly broken. Maybe that’s just her. Maybe she’s not made for nice and happy and comfortable.

There’s the slightest, smallest part of her that wishes maybe she could have those things, but that’s not anything she should be fooling herself with now.

Carefully, she pulls back from Killian’s shoulder and studies his face. He hasn’t shaved in a few too many days. The light spots of red and brown are coming in and overpowering the dark stubble he usually has, especially with the light shining on his face, a ray reflecting off of him so that the scar underneath his eye is accentuated and she can once again be jealous at how stupidly long his eyelashes are.

He’s beautiful. She remembers thinking on the day they met that he was hot. She couldn’t think of any other words, but now she knows that he’s beautiful.

Emma also knows that this is a dangerous game that she’s playing, and she needs to step away.

(She doesn’t know if she can.)

Right now, though, she can’t let herself stay in Killian’s embrace on her couch. She needs to be up and moving and decidedly not this close to him when he wakes up. She knows exactly what it’s like to be this close to Killian. She knows how he kisses and how it feels when he’s inside of her and...

“Okay,” Emma says to herself as she moves only for Killian to twitch beside her. She freezes, watches him fall back asleep, and then decides that she needs to officially move and to get some air.

And maybe go get her mail. It’s been a few days since she got it, and going outside to the boxes will allow her to get some air.

Yeah, mail seems like a good idea.

There’s likely mascara smudged on her cheeks and her hair is a tangled mess, and she’s sure if she runs into the snarky old woman in 3B that she’ll have something to say about Emma’s appearance. She always does, even when Emma wasn’t up late and sleeping in her makeup, but Emma doesn’t care.

She never has. People are always judging her. Her job is literally just people judging her, and she doesn’t give a shit anymore. People have been telling her who she is for her entire life, and she’s not putting up with that anymore.

Maybe the wine from last night is still lingering.

Emma takes the stairs down to the lobby, wishing she was in something other than a pair of slippers with horrible gripping, and pushes out the side doors of the building until she’s in the courtyard where the mailboxes are. There’s no one around except for someone walking their dog, and Emma turns her face until she’s at the mailboxes and turning her key.

“Bill, bill, junk,” she mutters shifting through everything, “Boston Probate and Family Court. What is that – oh shit.”

Her throat constricts, and suddenly Emma can’t feel herself breathing. She knows that she is, that she hasn’t dropped dead yet, and her heartbeat is so damn loud that it sounds like drums are playing inside of her head.

This is it. This is what she’s been waiting months for, and she forgot about it.

How did she forget about this when she has seen Killian almost daily for a month and a half? How did she forget about this when it’s a constant joke among her friends and…how did she forget?

This is all she’s wanted, and it’s still what she wants. It’s just – she doesn’t know what has this pit forming in her stomach.

Sighing, Emma opens up the envelope and reads over the papers. She doesn’t understand what most of it means, but she understands the gist of it all.

She’s no longer married, and in the eyes of the law, she never was.

Good. That’s really good.

There’s a bang of a door, and Emma startles only to see the snippy old woman from 3B walking out toward the mailbox. Shit. She is not in the mood today, and she will punch her in the face if she says something about Emma’s appearance. Quickly, she slams her box shut, turns the key, and then practically sprints across the courtyard until she’s back inside and quickly walking up the stairs until she’s back in her apartment and completely out of breath.

For the two minutes that it took her to get back to her apartment, she forgot. She forgot the papers in her hands and the implications behind them, and why the hell would Killian stay now if he has no reason to?

When did she start wanting him to stay? For real and not simply as some thought in the back of her mind.

But she does want that.

And he’s not going to stay.

Why would he?

“Emma, sweetheart, I’ve got to – wait, what’s wrong?” he asks, his voice throaty and coated with sleep. She likes the sound of it like that. She wishes she could hear it like that more.

She can’t.

Emma blinks up at Killian, at the incredible, stupid blue of his eyes and the way he has pillow creases on his cheeks and how is hair is still mussed. She hasn’t realized that he’d moved from the couch or that he’d gotten so close to her. He’s staring down at her, his lips parted, and it would be so easy to press up on her toes and move her lips against his, to feel the overgrown scruff and to…

“N-nothing,” she stutters, backing up to the door, and shaking herself out of her thoughts. Her stupid, stupid thoughts. “It’s just that, um, I went and got my mail because I hadn’t in a few days and our annulment papers came in. We’re officially no longer married.”

Both of his brows shoot to his hairline. “What now?”

“These are our annulment papers. They came through and got approved, so, you know, that’s a good thing, I guess.”

“That’s…well, that’s bloody brilliant, Swan.” And then, before she has a moment to breathe, Killian is reaching forward and embracing her. He’s as warm as he was this morning when she woke up, and Emma wants to stay here forever. It’s safe and calm and she won’t be assaulted by all of the thoughts that are coming at her faster than she can swat them away. “You’re undoubtedly the best wife I’ve ever had, but I can’t say I’m not bloody relieved. Should we celebrate?”

Emma’s arms wrap tighter around his waist, hoping he doesn’t realize even as his nose buries itself in her neck. It may be the only cold thing about him.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want to celebrate?”

“I don’t know.”

Killian laughs and pulls back from her until he’s tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. He’s about to say something, and she doesn’t know what it’s going to be. But there’s this swirling in her stomach and tightness of her throat as she stands and waits for what’s about to happen.

“I have to go,” he suddenly blurts out. “I-I apologize, love, but I have to go. I’ll text you later.”

“Oh, yeah, I – ”

“Later, Swan,” he quickly says, stepping away from her and around her until he’s opening the front door and leaving her apartment in the blink of an eye.

And just like that she’s left in her apartment with nothing but the remnants of her birthday party remaining.

The flowers Killian brought her on her kitchen counter included.

What the hell just happened?

Where did Killian go?

These aren’t really questions she wants answers to, and needing a distraction, she decides that she needs to clean. This place is a mess and is full of the mess from yesterday, and she doesn’t want that anymore. She wants clean and organized and everything she’s usually not.

She needs all of that.

Killian hurried off and left, and that’s that. It doesn’t matter to her. It’s not like he was supposed to stay around all morning and eat breakfast. That would be too much for her, for both of them, and really, they’re no longer married and there was no need for him to stay.

What there is a need is for her to vacuum her rug and to throw away these plates and to possibly go grocery shopping for fruit and vegetables and everything that is the exact opposite of birthday cake.

Damn, that icing was good.

Within two hours, Emma’s apartment is spotless. It’s cleaner than it’s been since she first moved in, and maybe Mary Margaret has a point about cleaning a little every day so that things don’t pile up. Then again, Mary Margaret is an obsessive cleaner, which has only gotten worse since her pregnancy. There’s got to be something in between.

Emma finishes folding a pair of her leggings and turns to her bedside dresser, pulling the drawer open only to see an envelope, its contents spilling out into the drawer. She hasn’t seen these in almost two months and really, she nearly forgot that they existed.

That seems to be happening with her a lot lately.

The pictures very clearly do exist, though.

Emma’s wearing a pair of leggings and an oversized sweater that hangs off her shoulder, a white bra peeking through underneath. Killian has on a pair of dark jeans, this old t-shirt she sees him favor all the time, and a leather jacket on top of it. If you just looked at their bodies, they’d look normal almost. This is how they dress nearly every day, but if you look a little higher, you can clearly see that Emma’s makeup is slightly smudged. It still looks great. Mary Margaret could be a professional makeup artist, and her makeup stays on for hours, but it’s definitely been through a day of work and a night of sex. The same with Emma’s hair. It’s not bad, but it’s also bushier than it usually would be, old hairspray causing extra volume. Killian’s hair is simply a mess, and she remembers running her hands through it right before the ceremony and…

Shit.

Does she remember part of that night?

No, she can’t. That would be impossible. It’s been months, and she’s never really remembered any of it. All she remembers of that day is working and the way that the wedding dress pinched her side. The vows seemed to go on forever, like she had to say them more than once, but then they were over and the reception started. She and Killian – oh shit.

After they slept together, they went down to the casino in the hotel, and Killian nearly got them kicked out because security thought he was counting cards. He wasn’t. He was just incredibly lucky and obviously a skilled card player, but then they…Emma doesn’t really know. The entire night was a haze, one that still hasn’t cleared, and Emma’s not sure what was acting for a job and what was real.

All she knows is that, no matter which memories become clear and which ones stay obscured, she is never drinking that much again.

She might want to stay out of Vegas for good measure.

Sighing, Emma starts putting the pictures back up only to stop on the last one, pulling it out. It’s she and Killian standing with that damn Elvis impersonator. Emma’s got her arms looped around Killian’s neck, holding on tightly, but he has his hands pressed against her cheeks as their mouths move over each other. She remembers how Killian kisses, remembers the tenderness mixed in with the passion, and that’s exactly what is happening here.

Or was. It’s what was happening.

Man, they were dumbasses.

Emma pulls her phone from her pocket to text Killian because she is apparently still a dumbass who likes to torture herself.

Emma Swan: Do you want to go for a run tonight?

She waits for the bubbles to pop up, for him to text back, and as she’s waiting she looks at the time. It’s eleven in the morning. He’s at the Academy training, and suddenly Emma feels like an absolute idiot for wondering why he rushed off like that and why he’s not texting her back as fast as he usually does.

He’s working. It’s fine. It’s all fine.

But then a reply never comes

And she doesn’t wait around for it all day. She doesn’t. That would be pathetic and needy, and Emma is not those two things. Her day is full of reading over contracts from Mary Margaret – something she does actually do – and going grocery shopping. She even stops by the studio and lets Mulan kick her ass at Pilates despite holding out hope that she’s still got a run to go on.

She doesn’t.

And the next morning when she goes to her usual path at the same time as always, Emma is surprised not to find Killian waiting for her. She starts running anyways, figuring he’ll catch up and join her like he always does, but then he never does. When she texts and asks him where he is, he responds hours later saying that his training has been crazy and that he simply hasn’t had time but will try to make it tomorrow.

She uses the gift card he gave her to buy her smoothie, and everything about it feels wrong.

The next day there’s a text waiting for her when she wakes up.

Killian Jones: I’m sorry, love. Training is kicking my ass, and my body needs a break. I’ve got exams all next week during our regular running time, so rain check?

“Rain check,” Emma whispers into her phone because she’s a crazy person talking to herself now.

She throws out his damn flowers only to dig them out of the trash later, the petals falling off.

Yeah, she’s definitely a crazy person now.

-/-

“Oh. My. God.”

“What?” Emma gasps, turning around to see where Mary Margaret is. “What’s wrong?”

Mary Margaret pops up from around a display shelf. She lifts a small outfit in the air. “Look at how cute this is.”

“I think your kid is a few months too young for that.” “Yes, but she can wear it when she’s, um, six to twelve months.” “You don’t even know that she’s a she.”

“Yeah, but there’s a fifty percent chance.”

Emma huffs and goes back to looking at the pair of earrings she was examining. They’ve been in this boutique for thirty minutes waiting for management to get back from a late lunch (extremely fucking late if Emma does say so), and she still hasn’t been able to figure out what exactly their specialty is. They’ve got baby clothes, dog beds, and regular, adult clothes, and those just don’t seem like things that go together.

“I thought you and David said you weren’t going spend money on anything that wasn’t necessary until you learned the gender for real.”

“But it’s so cute.” “Marg.”

“Why are you insisting on ruining all my fun? First, you didn’t want to get something to eat, then you didn’t want to stop at Edmond’s to look at that pair of boots, and now you won’t let me waste twenty dollars on this adorable outfit. Seriously, did someone pee in your Cheerios this morning?”

“That is the grossest saying. Please don’t say that. Ruby says the same awful phrase.”

“See.” Mary Margaret places the outfit back on the shelf and crosses her arms over her chest as she arches her perfectly sculpted brows. How the woman maintains her brows so well is amazing. “You’re in a bad mood. Why are you in such a bad mood?”

“I am not in a bad mood.”

“Ah, yes, because slamming earrings down and scowling is the look of someone who is in a good mood.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re a liar.”

A lying liar who lies.

“I,” Emma repeats, swallowing down every curse word she knows because Mary Margaret does not deserve that, “am fine. There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m as happy as can be.”

Mary Margaret hums and walks closer to Emma until her hand is pressing down on her shoulder. “You’ve been like this since your birthday. Did something happen?”

“Nothing happened.”

“When we left, it was just you and Killian there. Did something happen with you two? Did you sleep with him again?”

“Why would having sex with Killian put me in a bad mood?”

Mary Margaret smiles before flattening out her lips. “Maybe he’s a bad lay.”

“Killian is not a bad lay.”

“So you did sleep with him?”

“No, I didn’t sleep with him. We didn’t sleep together. We are not together. We are not fuck buddies. We’re nothing.”

She let her voice get to shrill, allowed herself to say too much, and she turns around because she doesn’t want to look at Mary Margaret anymore. Instead, she’ll look at what is either a sweater for a dog or a baby. She honestly can’t tell.

“Emma, that wall of yours may keep out pain, but it may also keep out love.”

“You know, that’s absolute shit.” Emma turns on her heels and looks at Mary Margaret as her body thrums. “I have been in love before. Multiple times, actually, and I’ve gotten screwed over every time. Maybe some of it was my fault. Hell, I know it was my fault with Graham, but I am not the way I am for some unknown reason. And I’m tired of people calling me prickly for not falling into the open arms of every man who shows even the slightest bit of interest in me. Having feelings for someone isn’t simple. It’s terrifying, and I wish someone could understand that for just one minute instead of crucifying me for not automatically being open to it.” “Emma, I – ”

She waves Mary Margaret away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. I – ”

“No, you’re right. Of course you’re right, and I feel so stupid for not realizing it. I know what you’ve gone through. I mean, I didn’t experience it, so I can’t know how you felt. But you’re not me. You’re not Ruby or Mulan or even David. You’re you, and if you say that something scares you, it does. Love is scary.”

Emma nods her head as she swallows down the lump in her throat. She’s got this great group of people around her, but sometimes it’s still hard for her to know that people love her. it’s hard for her to feel like she’s being listened to and understood and not judged. The only person who she’s ever felt like truly listened has been Killian.

Killian, who she is prickly to but who would never say so.

Killian, who seems to have dropped off the face of the earth in the past two weeks.

Killian, who she misses despite telling herself not to.

“And you’re not prickly,” Mary Margaret continues. “You’re lovely, and I love you.”

Emma steps forward until her arms are wrapping around Mary Margaret’s and she’s feeling her embrace move over every inch of her. “I love you, too. I’ll try not to lose my mind in a shop when we’re waiting for a meeting again.”

“They’re forty-five minutes late. I say we both lose our minds.”

“You want to leave?”

“Hell yeah. They weren’t paying you well anyway.”

They end up going to get food and going shoe shopping like Emma wouldn’t agree to earlier, and it’s a little past seven by the time Emma gets home. It’s cold outside, the November wind whipping around, but Emma’s feeling energized and like she needs to go on a run. She hasn’t gone in a few days, and she needs the adrenaline high.

She’s craving it.

Her feet hit the pavement outside of her apartment, shocks running through her body, and she manages to dodge all of the pedestrians that are clogging up the pavement with their grocery bags and backpacks and their inability to walk in a straight line. She doesn’t usually like running through the city. It’s congested and unpleasant, but before she can stop herself, she knows exactly where she’s running.

Where she’s running to.

His apartment isn’t necessarily close to hers. It’s further than anyone should run, but she’s never been one to shy away from a challenge.

(Okay, she is, but not today.)

For the briefest of moments, Emma nearly stops herself from knocking on his door, but the adrenaline is running high. She’s damn tired of dancing around and doubting herself. She’s likely about to make herself miserable, but then Killian is opening the door and standing in front of her in nothing but a pair of low-slung gray sweatpants.

“Swan, what are you – ”

And then she kisses him.

-/-

-/-

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