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tennessoui · 2 years

Note

Omg pleasee do “Don’t be fucking rude.” for kuwtsk in honour of the iconic scene from the other keeping up with 🤣🤣🤣 (no one hitting each other with a bag though 😅).

hey hi!! hello!! this IS set in the KUWSK universe (ao3 tag here) in honor of it breaking 800 (!!!!!!!) kudos on ao3 and also yes it's just an iconic line from the Kardashian show lol

so this original draft (no written words just me thinking in my mind and coming up with dialogue and text) had it be a story where one of the twins (10 years old) tells the other twin "don't be fucking rude" and KUWSK obikin freak out and point fingers at each other because well I know for sure I DID NOT teach the child that word so YOU must have taught the child that word!!!

and they go on and on and fight very pettily about who cursed in front of the baby and WHOEVER did it should just ADMIT IT because the more times anakin sleeps on the couch the crankier he gets (obi-wan is allowed the bed because he has a bad back and anakin still loves him even if he taught his kid how to say fuck)

and then it's padmé who said it around them by accident while on a business call.

BUT i JUST wrote a KUWSK fight so even though i love writing them petty and dickish towards each other, this happened instead:

(1.8k)

Obi-Wan is in the kitchen making the twins hot cocoa.

It’s a bit of a complicated process, seeing as how Leia thinks she’s lactose intolerant because her best friend at school is, so now she’ll only drink coconut milk and soy milk. Luke hates coconut milk with a strange sort of passion that only ten year olds who have recently come around to the concept of liking and disliking things can.

Leia is not lactose intolerant, but Anakin figures they should respect her dietary wishes and Obi-Wan agrees.

But they’re out of soy milk. So instead of whisking milk to simmering temperatures in one pot, he’s got one pot on the left eye of the stove and the other on the right eye and two children on both of his legs.

Fuck, the milks look the same.

Which one was the coconut again?

He’d try it himself, but he’s allergic to tree nuts. Surely he put the coconut milk in the pot to his right. Right? That’s the leg that Leia is clinging to, so it makes sense that that would be the decision he made.

Which would mean the left pot would contain the 2% milk that Luke favors.

Right?

Damnit.

With his free hand, he texts Anakin. Anakin love, will you stop at the store and pick up some soy milk?

The response rushes back immediately. My plane literally just landed.

Congratulations! He texts, adding the cocoa powder to both milks before they start to curdle. Now, about that milk…?

Did you even cook dinner? For your starving husband who has toiled away for the last week in order to put bread on the table? Anakin’s fingers must be flying across his keyboard.

I’m sure you did a lot of toiling in the harsh sun and ocean paradise of Scariff.

It was a work trip, Anakin replies. Obi-Wan sniffs. His work trips have never been nicer than a two day stint to Alderaan for a conference, lodgings not included.

Tech companies.

Instead of picking up that thread of bickering, he adds the smallest amount of cinnamon and vanilla. The twins like the Healthy Living brand best, he texts his husband.

Obi-Wan, I’ve been grocery shopping for them for ten years, Anakin texts back. You’ve done it MAYBE ten times.

This is fair criticism. But also, The last time I went you threatened to throw the tomatoes I lovingly chose at my head.

They were bruised! You picked the ones from the bottom of the pile! Why!

This is an age-old argument that Obi-Wan could have in his sleep. I thought the best tomatoes were the ones that weren’t exposed to light!!

THAT’S POTATOES BABY!!!!

“What are you smiling at, Obi?” Leia asks.

“Just your daddy being silly,” he tells her after sending a text that says you forgot the comma, baby.

Anakin sends back a winking emoji and a Sorry,,,,,Professor,,,,,,, and Obi-Wan is in love all over again.

Soy milk, he texts back before pocketing his phone.

Now the most pressing question: would it be better to give the maybe-coconut-milk-maybe-regular to Luke or to Leia? Luke would surely kick up a fuss if he has to taste coconut. Like Leia’s lactose intolerance, a disease that can appaarently be transmitted through close contact, Luke has discovered a new and sudden deadly allergy to tree nuts that matches Obi-Wan’s perfectly.

But Leia will throw up a huge stink as well, if she doesn’t get the coconut milk.

And Anakin is thirty minutes away, probably an hour if he really did just land.

Obi-Wan turns off the flames and strokes his beard thoughtfully. As always when he’s stuck in a situtaion he doesn’t quite know how to solve, he thinks about what the greatest parent he’s ever known would do.

It’s of little help this time. Anakin would probably just point and laugh at him, because his husband’s propensity to be an asshole sometimes outweighs his natural parenting talent.

“Alright, darlings,” he decides. The truth is neither of the children are actually allergic to tree nuts or dairy. If he gets it wrong, he can correct the mistake instantly by just switching the cups. It’ll just be a bit of complaining, but it’s not like anyone’s life is really in danger.

Carefully, he pours both pots into plastic souvenir mugs (the kids are too old to not find sippy cups offensive, but that doesn’t mean Obi-Wan trusts them to not accidentally shatter glass and then cut themselves to death on it by accident). “Who wants whipped cream?”

Leia apparently tolerates the lactose in the whipped cream. “My body is very smart,” she had said primly, when Anakin had pointed out the dairy content of a can of whipped cream to her a few weeks ago.

Obi-Wan thinks it’s because it looks very fun and Luke always requests extra. Luke will request sprinkles if he thinks he’s been good enough to deserve them.

He hasn’t yet figured out that Obi-Wan always gives him sprinkles if he asks. This is probably for the better.

He sets the hopefully coconut milk hot chocolate in front of Leia, whose eyes light up at the bright red mug. Luke is similarly excited for his shockingly pink one, piled high with whipped cream and made with (hopefully) 2% milk.

—---

Obi-Wan is wrong.

An hour and thirteen minutes later, he’s still hearing about it. Not directed at him, of course. The twins know better than to be so openly rude to their Obi, who they know will probably cry about it or stop giving them treats when Anakin is looking away. But that doesn’t mean they haven’t shut up about the pros and cons of coconut milk and cow milk since.

Obi-Wan had even offered to run to the store himself and get soy milk, seeing as how Anakin is taking his sweet time coming home himself. Obi-Wan’s last hope in the entire universe is that their daddy’s arrival home will snap them out of the petty bickering, because Obi-Wan is going to pull out his hair.

He’s moved rooms three times now. They just keep following him.

“Coconut head!” Luke tells Leia. It’s admittedly very rude, but Leia has taken to mooing at him every time he says anything at all, so Obi-Wan doesn’t know who really has the high ground of maturity here.

“Children, please,” Obi-Wan rubs at his forehead. This is all very frustrating, especially because it’s his mistake and he knows Anakin would never have made such a mistake, but Obi-Wan has not been sleeping well. For the first time in years, his bed is too big.

He’s lonely. Anakin has been gone for too long and now he’s going to come back to his old husband near tears as one child probably swears off animal products for good while the other decides to become a carnivore, and—

“Husband! Children! I am home!” Anakin calls from the entryway, and Obi-Wan is not ashamed at all for how fast he rushes to throw his arms around him in a tight embrace.

“Fuck Scariff,” he murmurs fervently into his husband’s neck, pushing him up against the wall by the mirror. “Never do that again.”

Anakin laughs, sounding slightly breathless and smelling of travel, and bends his head down to kiss the only part of Obi-Wan he can reach: his ear. “Need I remind you that you’re the one who led that month-long study abroad?”

“I understand now,” Obi-Wan promises, nuzzling further, closer. “That was stupid of me. The twins are trying to kill me. Will you love me when my hair isn’t red anymore? I’ll be gray-headed by the time they’re sixteen.”

“You’re in luck,” Anakin tells him, pushing him away enough so that he can tuck a loose bit of hair behind his ears worshipfully. “I think the idea of you as a silver fox is really sexy.”

Obi-Wan kisses him. It’s a miracle the twins haven’t interrupted them yet, so while they’re busy, he takes his hello kiss with both hands gripped firmly in Anakin’s traveling coat and his mouth open wide.

“Baby,” Anakin pants when they separate. “Baby, I have to tell you something.”

“What?” Obi-Wan breathes back. Anakin makes him feel so many things. So many twisted, beautiful, wonderful things, that sometimes it’s hard to think straight.

“Baby,” his husband tells him solemnly, pushing him back with one hand so he can bring whatever he’s holding in his right hand up to eye level. “You’re my soy-lmate.”

Obi-Wan blinks at the carton of soy milk in his husband’s hand and then back at Anakin. “Are you late getting home because you stopped and googled soy puns in the parking lot of the grocery store?”

“It was our driveway, but yes. Ab-soy-lutely.”

“I’m never sleeping with you again,” Obi-Wan marvels, taking a step away. “This is the death of all things holy and divine.”

“That’s so sweet, baby, you see heaven when I touch you? And never soy never, I think I’m quite convincing.”

Obi-Wan wants to throttle his husband. “I can’t believe I had good news I wanted to tell you. Too bad we have to get a divorce now.”

Anakin pouts. Obi-Wan wants to kiss it off him because the man is ridiculous but he’s his and he’s going to be his forever. Death do them part, etcetera etcetera etcetera.

“Don’t be fucking rude,” Anakin says, roping him back into his arms and leaning back against the doorway. “I got you the soy milk. Give me a proper hello.” “In the hallway?” Obi-Wan replies in a murmur. The kids are yelling in the background, and there are noises that should be concerning, the banging of things and loud crashes. But Anakin is here, in his arms. “I expected soy much better from you.”

He can feel Anakin’s grin against the side of his neck when the man buries his face there, arms tightening.

“What’s the good news?” He asks, pressing a single, delicate kiss on his neck. “You’re killing me here, Kenobi.”

“Kenobi-Skywalker,” Obi-Wan corrects absently, running his fingers through the blond curls he loves so dearly, it might just kill him one day. He thinks about the children he loves beyond all words in the other room. He thinks about the papers on the table, the ones sent from the agency, the ones telling them that they’ve been approved for adoption. He thinks about the man in his arms, so trusting and beautiful and perfect. He thinks dying from love isn’t the worst way to go.

“Kenobi-Skywalker,” Anakin repeats worshipfully, like he agrees even though he doesn’t know anything at all about the papers just yet. “Wait—” he tenses and then pulls back, frown marring his face. “Why is our daughter mooing?”

Obi-Wan sighs, reality rushing back into their bubble. He separates them completely and grabs the soy milk from Anakin’s lax hands. “Anakin love, when she’s mooing, she’s your daughter."

#asks #KUWSK #obikin #prompt fill #they're gonna adopt baby rey btw #obi-wan telling anakin was also supposed to be in this + anakin's reaction #but that felt like it would make the ficlet much too long to actually do that justice #obi-wan is going to really struggle when the kids are 13 and rey is in her terrible twos phase #he's going to careen towards that breakdown #but anakin will be there to help him and that's love <3 #also i told myself when i finished this i would go to the store and buy myself bagels so brb #:D

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twotapbuz · 3 years

Text

This fic was inspired by this post by @swampythesweetsketch. I’ll post the fics for the rest of 1010 as soon as I finish them.

You were hired to be a personal bodyguard for Eloni

Along with the standard supplies(1010-themed uniform, flashlight, pepper spray, body camera), you were given a watch that would alert you to Eloni’s location whenever he was in trouble

This along with the job wouldn’t be out of the ordinary if it weren’t for the fact that neither of the other members of 1010 had personal bodyguards

You would soon learn why after your fourth concert

You had been approached by two lost fans that were looking for the meet & greet table when your watch suddenly began to beep rapidly. “Eloni must be in trouble,” you thought as you excused yourself from the duo and quickly hurried to the idol’s location. Eloni had somehow gotten to an alley near the venue. You weren’t really sure what to expect. Had a fan tried to kidnap him? You had heard stories from other security staff about crazy fangirls trying to take them or at least pieces of them. You reached the alley and found Eloni being hoisted by a group.

“Freeze!” you said while holding up your pepper spray. This diverted the group and they looked at you. “Drop the robot, now.”

“And if we don’t?” mockingly replied one of the “fans”.

“I’ll send this video to Neon J and have you banned from any future 1010 events.” you tapped your body camera. The threat of not seeing “the loves of their lives” caused the group to practically drop Eloni and they all scattered.

“Thank you.” Eloni got up. “You’re the first guard to catch them before they threw me into the trash”

“No problem, just stay away from alleyways.” you began to write an email, informing Neon J that Eloni had been safely retrieved. “ We wouldn’t want to-wait... the trash?” you stopped and looked up at him.

“Yeah, they usually throw me into the trash. One time I got thrown into a nearby pond.” Eloni admitted, embarrassed.

“And how often does this happen?”

“Around every other concert.” Eloni began to lean on the alley wall

“Yeesh, no wonder Eloni needs a personal guard,” you thought. “Wow. I knew the fans were a bit crazy, but I didn’t think they would go this far.” you tried to pick out your words carefully, trying and failing to not upset the robot.

“I just don’t understand why they hate me so much?” Tears began to fall down Eloni’s face. you froze, unsure what to do, before moving to comfort him.

“Hey, I’m um really sorry about what’s happening to you… if you want, I could maybe give you some advice?”

“Really?”

“Yeah” you looked at your watch. “We should head back to the venue, Neon J is worried about you.” Eloni wiped the tears off his face and began to walk beside you

“I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“It’s not a problem.”

You unofficially become Eloni’s PR Manager:

After that moment, you would help Eloni with his image before every event(it was the only time you would see each other as you had no reason to be near Barraca Mansion, and giving Eloni your phone number would be unprofessional).

“You’re supposed to be the funny guy of the group, right?” Eloni nodded. “Well, give me a joke. Let’s see what you got.”

“Ok. What did the fish say when he swam into a wall? Dam.” Eloni shot finger guns at you. You stared at him. “Why do fish live in saltwater? Pepperwater makes them sneeze!” Eloni said, less confident.

“...I see. In the nicest way I can say this, you need new material, Eloni.”

“What? But I spent hours researching jokes on the internet!”

“That’s the problem. Everybody has heard of these jokes. If you want to be funny, you gotta be original. Here.” you handed Eloni a piece of paper. “There’s this restaurant in Dream Cast called The Mind Palace that hosts comedy hours every Saturday at 7 pm. I was going to go, but something came up, so you can have my ticket.”

“Really? Thanks!” Eloni smiled

-----------

“So, how was the show?” It was the Monday after the show and you were curious to hear Eloni’s new material.

“It was great! They’re definitely gonna love my new material!” Eloni pulled out his phone and began to show you a video. It was 1010 doing a tour around Vinyl City. Eloni paused the video and pointed at himself. He was dabbing. Between the Eloni in the video dabbing and real-life Eloni looking so proud, you couldn’t help but chuckle and this adorably dorky display. Eloni liked your laugh.

While the new material definitely got Eloni some fans, it still wasn’t enough. So you began to inquire about some of his hobbies

“Another way to get people to like you is to seem relatable. Do you have any hobbies?” You asked

“I bake in my spare time”

“Perfect! We can make a YouTube account and post some of your recipes there. Cooking channels are very popular, I even follow some myself.”

Your advice ends up working and Eloni begins to have his own fan club

He’s given the same love that his brothers are.

You’d think this would be the end of your job, afterall, you were hired to keep Eloni safe from angry fans, but now they all love him.

Instead, the lack of necessity for your job is strangely never brought up by Neon J and you continue business as usual.

You’ve got a crush on Eloni:

You recognize that you’ve got a crush immediately

Ever since Eloni became popular, the two of you’ve had fewer opportunities to talk to each other as he was constantly approached by fans

Having to stand by and watch Eloni be constantly flirted with made it pretty easy to realize your feelings

You decide to ignore these feelings

After all, your relationship was purely professional

Ok maybe all those times you accompanied him all over Vinyl City were just excuses to hang out, but still, your relationship was professional

And his number was saved in your personal phone and you two often texted each other

Even if your relationship was more than professional, Eloni had a lot more choices than you and you didn’t want to ruin what you had

Eloni realizes he’s got a crush:

It first started when he saw a stage technician flirting with you. Eloni got annoyed by this, but he didn’t know why.

It took a while for Eloni to realize his feelings. He at first mistook his crush as just being glad that you were his friend

Eloni also began to think about you a lot. Not just about your advice, but he also began to be reminded of you wherever he went.

It wasn’t until the middle of a baking stream that he realized that he had a crush on you

Eloni tries to flirt with you:

Attempt #1, the 1010 style:

Eloni decided to make his move.

“Hey, Y/N!” You turned around to face the green robot. “Have you thought of joining 1010? Cause you're definitely a ten out of ten.”

“That was a really good one! You should definitely use that during the concert.” You replied, unable to tell the difference between Eloni asking if his lines were good and him flirting with you. Eloni hid his disappointment, but I guess that’s what happens when you use someone as practice for your pickup lines.

Attempt #2, the sweet way:

Eloni decided to take a more “traditional” route by giving you a box of homemade chocolate. And by giving you a box of chocolate, he would place it on top of your locker and would tell you it was him when you opened it.

Eloni waited for you to show up, but you never did. He was about to search for you when he was suddenly stopped by Neon J.

“Troop, this is Emiro.” Neon J gestures to the robot next to him, “He’ll be your bodyguard for tonight.”

“What happened to Y/N?”

“Y/n had an allergic reaction to something they had been eating. Thankfully, they had an epipen on them, but they're taking the rest of the day off.” With that, Neon J left Eloni with the realization that you were probably allergic to the chocolate he made. He was definitely not telling you that he made it.

Attempt #3, third times the charm:

This time, the rest of 1010 decided to devise a plan to help their brother.

They knew Eloni would probably never confess outrightly and while his feelings for you were obvious to Neon J and them, it would take a bit more effort for you to notice.

NSR was hosting a party on the anniversary of the company's creation. And with parties came a lot of security.

You and several other members were assigned to go undercover as party guests and report anything suspicious

This meant that instead of your usual attire, you wore a dress/suit

You still had your watch(the Eloni signal) with you as it also doubled as a radio that you could use to notify staff of suspicious activity

You had been casually chatting with other NSR staff when your watch had started to beep rapidly

Eloni was in trouble

You immediately rushed off to find him, it had been months since he last needed to signal you so it must’ve been bad

You turned around the corner to where Eloni was, only to be met with Haym.

“Haym?”

“Oh hey Y/N! How's it going?”

“Hello, Haym. I’m sorry, but I can’t really talk right now. I’m looking for Eloni, but my watch says he’s right here.”

“Don’t worry, I know where he is!” Haym proceeded to push you into a nearby room. You try to open the door only to find that it was locked. You tried to call someone on your watch, but it was gone. Haym must’ve taken when he pushed you.

“Haym, what the hell is going on! Let me out!” You said while banging on the door. He was kinda your boss, but you had a much more casual relationship with the other members of 1010.

“Y/N?” A voice said behind you. You turned around only to find Eloni. You could tell because of the green eyes and cheeks, which dimly lit the darkroom.

“Eloni? Is that you?” You couldn’t really tell due to how dark it was.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Good. Do you happen to know why Haym locked us into this room?”

“Well, my brothers thought it would be funny if….” Eloni hesitated.

“Please tell me this isn’t some messed up version of seven minutes in heaven.”

“What, nonono!” Eloni’s fans began to whir loudly

“Right, sorry. Not like I’d have a chance anyway,” you mumbled that last part

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, Well it’s just you're a famous idol and you’ve got a lot of fans, you know?

“Who cares if I’m famous! That doesn’t make you any less incredible than you are. You’ve made me so happy and you helped me become popular! You were my first fan and I would love to go on a date with you! Eloni froze after realizing what he said.

“Wait, you like me?”

“Yeah”, Eloni blushed, I have for a while. I understand if you want to forget that this happened. I’m really sorry and I-“

You cut Eloni off with a kiss.

“Don’t worry. I feel the same way.”

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

“I’m going to the roof to stargaze. Would you like to join me?” Eloni asked. You had managed to unlock the door, and by unlock, you kicked the door open.

“Well I’m supposed to be out on the lookout for suspicious people,” Eloni’s face began to slightly falter. “But, my main objective is to keep you safe, so It’s best if I go with you. After all, you know how crazy fans can get.” With that, the two of you headed towards the roof.

“Well, that was really cheesy,” Zimelu said, peering his head behind a corner, before getting smacked by Rin.

#nsr #no straight roads #nsr x reader #eloni x reader #1010 #nsr 1010

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neverendingdream111 · 3 years

Text

GENSHIN IMPACT AS IDOLS

- one of the groups consists of: Zhongli, Childe, Venti, Xiao, Diluc, Kaeya and Albedo

- Zhongli is the leader and the oldest obvsly and his smooth deep voice is to die for

- He's also the visual along with Albedo (tho everyone here is gorgeous, ngl)

- Childe constantly switches between rap and vocal, but he's mostly recognized for his amazing dancing (he's the main dancer for a reason)

- Venti is the main vocal and possibly writes most of their songs (sometimes Albedo helps him)

- Funnily enough, Venti is often confused for being the maknae while in reality he's the second oldest in the group

- Xiao is the main rapper

- He refuses to sing but would do it if asked (rarely)

- and he's the real maknae - even tho he hates it he can't do anything about it (and everyone, especially Venti and Childe, loves teasing him for it)

- Diluc and Kaeya are the other rappers along with Xiao and they are related in some way tho both refuse to reveal anything to the public (but everyone is convinced they're brothers)

- they don't get along most of the time and argue constantly, but it only amuses the rest of the members and the fans absolutely love their arguments bc it more often than not turns into a rap battle

- and let me tell you, they completely kill it

- then, we have Albedo. He and Zhongli are the most peaceful ones and most likely keep the team together bc if not those idiots would've caused absolute chaos eons ago

- His voice is angelic, everyone adores it

- Childe and Kaeya are the most chaotic duo especially together

- they have the stupidest ideas and like to mess around

- and they are perfectly aware of their god-like looks and also have the audacity to use it "against" their fans (not that anyone complains)

- they are partners in crime when it comes to teasing Diluc

- Kaeya does it on a daily basis and Childe found it funny and decided to join him on causing inconvenience to others, lol

- Xiao, even though he's an idol, hates interacting with humans but makes an exception for fanmeetings, concerts, interviews and such because Zhongli raised him right--

- he has a soft spot for cats and would have one at the dorm if it wasn't for Venti being allergic to them (although he doesn't see any problem with it)

- speaking of the dorm, it's the pure definition of destruction

- Childe and Kaeya being the little shits they are room together and they are that kind of roommates that would blast music on full volume in the middle of the night just because they felt like it (but obvsly they do it to summon a demon in the form of sleep deprived Diluc because they know he's a light sleeper)

- Venti at some point moved in with them bc he felt like it and it's totally not because Xiao kicked him out--

- Zhongli and Diluc share a room because they both know how to appreciate a moment of peace and they just like each other's company; their perfect afternoon on their day off is sitting there with a cup of tea each and exchanging stories they've heard and/or experienced

- Albedo is probably the only person Xiao would room with excluding Zhongli (and maybe Diluc but it's debatable) because he's calm and collected, doesn't talk too much unlike the other three and when he does talk it's nice to listen to him

- also, the sound of sketching calms him down

- Venti somehow lives in all of the rooms in the dorm. First he roomed with Xiao and Albedo, but he got kicked out by the maknae. Then he gravitated towards Zhongli and Diluc but after a few days the redhead got so annoyed with him he ended up with Childe and Kaeya. The three of them share a braincell, that's why they get along so well, but even though he lives with them he sometimes ends up in the other rooms but that's just him

- he likes a change of scenery, ehe

- Zhongli's the dad of the group

- whenever someone has a problem they automatically go to him

- also, even though they are a really chaotic group, they are equally capable of working together (main reason why they are so goddamn awesome on stage)

- Xiao might act like he doesn't care but he does. A lot

- every time one of his hyungs is having a bad day he subtly tries to cheer them up. He feels awkward with words in these moments and physical contact isn't really his forte but instead he does things like buying them their favorite snack, or opting to watch their favorite film with them (even if he absolutely hates it he still would watch it)

- everyone obvsly knows what he's doing and they appreciate it

- Childe and Kaeya actually aren't as easy-going as they like to appear on stage. They are really emotional human beings and are probably most affected by hate comments and such

- Diluc, as much as he despises their attitude and teasing he has to endure bc of them, cares about them a lot and usually he's the one to knock some sense in them when they believe the haters or just have a bad day. He may not like their behavior but he's not heartless and deems them as family (even tho he wouldn't admit it)

- Albedo isn't a lot older than Xiao, maybe something around a few months, so everyone thinks of him like a second maknae and just because he gives off the vibe, y'know

- He loves drawing and sometimes does a sketch of one of the members or recreates a fanart of them he saw on Pinterest (cue to the fans going wild)

- He, alongside with Diluc, often cooks for them. They both are amazing cooks and I refuse to believe otherwise

- Venti has a playlist prepared for every occasion and uses them accordingly

- he also has playlists dedicated to every member of the group and it's his way of cheering them up or being there for them when they are separated

- as for the run episodes, well.... It can be described in one word

- chaos

- they're even capable of riling Zhongli up!

- tho he mostly opts to watch the chaos from the sidelines, snickering under his breath, he ends up in the crossfire from time to time

- contrary to popular belief, the most competitive ones are Diluc and Xiao

- they are so set on winning they sometimes forget that it's all a game

- Childe once got an elbow to the face in one episode but still no one knows who did it (it was Kaeya--)

- Albedo is just... There, tho he does enjoy it. More than he would admit

- Childe and Kaeya are dying of laughter most of the time and do stupid things that probably only they understand which makes the other laugh harder

- and Venti absolutely loves being the host: it gives him a perfect view of his friends who half the time have no idea what the hell is going on and, of course, power

- the fanmeetings are just the other excuse for them to make fun of each other and fool around

- fans don't mind it one bit because it is honestly hilarious to watch the utter chaos unfold

- even when they are signing albums and merch they throw comments here and there to provoke the other

- especially Xiao bc he's a softie when it comes to their fans and as long as the girls don't do anything... Weird, he doesn't mind interacting with them and sometimes finds himself actually enjoying the contact

- while we're on the fanmeetings--

- Zhongli is absolutely wonderful. He's the kind to delicately hold your hand, look into you eyes and smile softly while focusing entirely on you and what you have to say, indulging into conversation as well

- if it wasn't for the staff members reminding him that the time's up, he would spend at least an hour with every fan

- Childe is so excited he grins so much his cheeks hurt, and would look at you like you just made his day. You can be stuttering, super nervous and anxious and he'd just say it's completely fine and that you should take your time, even if the staff says that you should move to the next member

- Venti is the one that talks a lot, but would shut up and listen to you. He especially likes playing with your hands or just some games like rock-paper-scissors

- he also loves it when some fans show him their singing and he encourages them to go on, synchronizing with them and making an amazing duet

- Xiao is, like I've said before, a big softie. He really appreciates the fact that people find their music nice and genuinely like to listen to it. Would probably ask you questions like "what's your favorite song?", "What do you think of this album *gestures to the one he just signed*" etc

- he DID wear cat ears once because a fan gave them to him and they looked kind of cute

- he didn't hear the end of it for two weeks minimum and Childe and Kaeya probably have the pic as their wallpapers

- Diluc is the most... normal one? I mean, he enjoys the meetings a lot, but he doesn't show his excitement as much as the others. Conversations with him are like talking to an old friend that understands you and it's just so... wholesome

- he's honestly surprised when he gets gifts from the fans. He does appreciate it of course, but he just doesn't really understand why you would go as far as to give him something for no particular reason please give him lots of love he needs it-

- Kaeya is the one with the audacity to flirt with you. Loves seeing the blush on your cheeks and just enjoys annoying people. Though he sometimes stops it out of mercy and opts to talk with you like a normal human being--

- most protective of their fans. Sees one in distress or being picked on, immediatly steps in or tells a staff member to handle the situation

- Albedo is somewhere between Zhongli and Diluc's behaviour tbh. He's really sweet, loves talking to the fans and gets super excited whenever one of them shows him a fanart - especially if it's an original idea

- now let's get to the best part

- as lovely and peaceful as they are on a daily basis, they turn into freakin devils on stage

- kind grandpa with a calming voice? Who's that? A goddamn satan entered the chat

- ooooh, the cat lover? Sorry, we only have a mf demon available

- don't even get me started on the Childe-Kaeya-Diluc trio--

- all in all, they may be annoying each other night and day but they still love one another like family and their bond only strengthens when they stand in the spotlight

I had this idea today and, well, it turned out like this, hope you enjoyed! I also may be doing some sort of continuation to this with Xingqiu, Chongyun, Razor and Bennett as a trainee idol group so let me know if you'd like something like this and if you have any ideas for other groups!

02.05.21

~Nana

#genshin impact #genshin impact hcs #zhongli #childe #xiao #venti #diluc #Kaeya #Albedo #genshin impact as idols #idol boygroup

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ultimatetornshipper · 4 years

Text

To bee or not to bee - a Jasonette fic

@moonlitceleste I almost let this die, I honestly really wanted it dead but alas it was clearly meant to bee

(WARNING: contains puns, angst, crack and fluff. You have been warned)

If you don’t want to read my sarcastic/funny/fangirl commentary, skip the brackets

I have another bee movie au, i didn't plan it ("I don't claim to be proud. But my head won't be hung in shame. I didn't plan it. But the light turned red, and I ran it. And I'm still standing. It's not what I wanted, but now that it's right here. I understand it. A story written by my own hand" as quoted from Waitress), it just happened and i just couldn't resist. I'm not sorry

So what if instead of dying Joker turned Jason into a bee. Because Harley convinced him and told him that people were talking shit about him because he's named the Joker and they don't think he's funny. It surprisingly works. (Obviously Harley was the one who made the plan and did the magic I mean really what do u expect of Joker?)

Ok so now Jason’s a bee right? And he’s like 15 because .~:°*plot*°:~.

They look for him and Jason’s like flying around like, “Guys! Guys I’m right here!” Poor kid. (I mean I would make it funny but like angst)

Obviously they don’t understand him because he’s a fucking bee and Joker cackles madly and Harley laughs too but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes and it's kinda that laugh u do when ur supes overwhelmed and sound maniacal but like soft (I’m a simp for Harley being portrayed as the complex and beautiful character she id leave me be)

Jason is very sad. And also quite pissed

Not knowing what else to do he follows Batman home, he listens to them trying to find him, watches Dick freak out and Alfred wipe a tear the rest of the family doesn’t see.

Jason tries to approach Alfred, hoping he somehow recognizes what happened

He doesn’t, Alfred closes him in a glass and paper and takes him outside.

He sneaks back into the manor and sleeps in one of the flowers (it's a red tulip because aesthetic) next to his bed. He cries himself to sleep. (Can bees cry? Is this possible? Is this like a thing??? I don't need sleep i need answers)

The thing is even tho he's now a bee, he still has the durability of a human, so even stepping on him won’t crush him and he still has a human lifespan

Because Harley isn’t a monster and what Puddin didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. (Simping for Harley Quinn strike 2)

After a while at the manor and following them he decides he can’t stand it anymore. Alfred has thrown him out three times and Dick freaks out each time he sees him as he’s a tad allergic (read: he would die if stung)

Which is how Jason found out that getting hit with a newspaper wouldn’t kill him.

He leaves.

He’s a bee and it’s not like he knows about a way to reverse it.

But there was someone who might.

He goes to Arkham.

Luckily, Harley was still there. (YAY we get to see mah gurl)

He flies into her cell and she just watches him, then she seems to click. She gives him a small smile, “Hi birdie,” (she puns, honestly would make for a better clown of Gotham and I saw an idea for that once where she steals Joker’s title once and I’ve been yearning for it ever since)

She holds out a finger and he lands on it, she laughs but tears come to her eyes,” Hey at least you’re not dead. That was his original plan you know? To kill you with a crowbar. I convinced him this would be a cruller fate. I guess maybe it is, but at least this way... Ugh how the hell did I get here,” (Harley angst, honestly it’s all just self service at this point)

He simply stared at her as she cried, and he felt his heart clench. From here she looked so sad... not crazy, just broken.

She took a deep breath and looked at him seriously, “Look kid, there’s a way to get you back to normal, you just need to find someone, they’re called the Guardian of the Miraculous. They can help, I don’t know who or where they are, just follow your instincts. And come say hi when you get back, yeah? I could do with the... healthier company. And remember, I bee-lieve in you,” (Gasp what a shock, you mean to tell me Miraculous magic is gonna be involved in this Maribat au. Well I never what a shock. Also puns. Oh and she’s so nice to him. We love Harley in this house)

He sat there and studied her for a while more, there was more to her than it seemed. Than what he’d assumed.

But for now, he had his own problems to deal with.

She gave him a small wave as he left. (Adorable)

He left and started considering his options, as a bee, it would probably be safest to stay inside, away from birds and things that would view him as a snack.

Staying in Arkham seemed like his best option, as bad an option as it was.

Most of the prisoners wouldn’t have a second thought about trying to crush him.

A strong scent of flowers and plants suddenly came to his attention.

Of course! Poison Ivy. (Round 2 of me simping for beautiful, complex, badass women. Too bad Catwoman ain’t here.)

He followed the smell to her cell and saw her staring out of her small window. He was still taking a chance, but she loved plants and flowers and bees were important to those, weren’t they?

He flew to the window bars and sat on one. The moment she spotted him she smiled widely, in a soft way he hadn’t seen on her before. (Ahhhhh my darling plant redhead. I love writing the Sirens as soft badasses. Also has anyone noticed how rare brunettes are in superhero worlds? Like both in Marvel and DC but like irl brown is like a pretty damn common)

She held out her finger, “Hey there, little guy. A little far from home, aren’t we?”

She had no idea.

He landed on her fingertip and watched in awe as a flower and a few leaves formed on her hand. She let the flower grow itself around one of her window bars and held her finger next to one of the petals.

“There you go, it’s all I can manage with my power dampers. I haven’t had company in a while,” she said softly as he crawled into the flower. He made himself comfortable.

She laughed to herself and he saw her shaking her head, “Talking to a bee, well, I guess stranger things have happened,” (yeah ur crush is dating a green haired murderous psychopath and you get beat up by a billionaire in a batsuit on like a biweekly basis)

The flower was soft and warm and felt safer than he expected it to. He found that he could move between the petals but decided to curl up in the middle. (It's a pink rose this time because fuck yeah flowers)

He slept better than he had in days.

The next morning he took his leave, stopping only at the manor to say a mental goodbye.

Then he headed off.

Jason flew a lot the first few months, our boy was smart at least, travelling with a cruise ship on its way to Europe.

It was Spring in the Northern Hemisphere so he had until Autumn until it was in his best interest to head south to avoid the snow. He decided to head towards Africa when summer started coming to an end. (I have no reasoning for this, just that I want to)

His first spot would be the United Kingdom. Then he'd go through the rest of Europe following his instincts.

At least it was Spring.

Jason diligently searched through England, Scotland and Ireland but found nothing.

By the time he was done he realized it was time to start heading South. He’d decided to take another cruise to South-Africa, where it would be summer, he searched through the country until April. He would admit that he didn’t feel drawn to anything in any of their 9 provinces so his search wasn’t as diligent as in England. He didn’t feel anymore drawn to the neighbouring countries like Namibia or Botswana either.

(Once again no reasoning for why I picked these countries, I mean the French Hugonotes went there when they were fleeing from the French Catholics who wanted them dead so I guess I could make up some bullshit about Mari having an ancestor in common with someone there or maybe it was just the ship he could easiest get access I don’t know, you make something up)

Which was why he decided to go back to Europe as soon as April hit.

He hitched another ride on a cruise headed for France.

It’s been a year since he got turned into a damn bee.

He was sixteen now and while he’d seen some amazing things all through South-Africa (a place that proves that humans really do have a weirdly obvious way of naming things I mean the Amazon river and Chad Lake are just more examples really) as well as the United Kingdom, all he really wanted was to go back home, to be human again.

When he gets there he diligently makes his way through France, eventually arriving in Paris.

He lands on the tip top of the Eiffel Tower. As in the point of the antenna because why not.

During his year he realized that birds and other animals tended to avoid him, sensing his strangeness so that was at least one positive.

He stared out over the city. Well, the one good thing about this was definitely the views he’s been allowed to see.

That was until a massive explosion hit.

“What the fuck?” he said out loud, searching for the source. No one understood him, human or bee, but talking to himself reminded him of his humanity.

He found the source of the explosion but just as he started flying to its general direction, a blinding white light shone followed by a horde of ladybugs that were fixing everything that was wrong. (Imagine how scary this would lowkey be irl tho? Just a shit ton of Ladybugs descending on Paris my dude)

He decided that he needed a night’s sleep before he could even begin an attempt at deciphering what had just happened. He flew lower, finding a nice little balcony right above a bakery. And it had flowers. (I’ll give u five seconds to guess who this balcony belongs to)

He flew down, exploring.

He turned around when he heard a loud thump from behind him. What appeared to be a super heroine in red spandex with black spots had landed on the balcony.

She detransformed and started to talking to a floating bug- fairy thing. Strange. Though it wasn’t like he could judge, as an ex superhero sidekick who was thought to be dead but was actually a bee.

She disappeared down her trapdoor and he made himself comfortable in one of her flowers.

He slept soundly until somewhere during a night another thump woke him. He looked out of his sleeping spot to see a cat superhero stand on her balcony. He leaned down and knocked on her small trapdoor.

Ah, a teammate of hers, they were probably meeting about something, he thought as he heard her open up.

It didn’t take him long to realize that even though they were teammates, the cat, Chat Noir he later learned, was not aware of this fact.

Oh this was rich.

He couldn’t bee-lieve his eyes. (ok so Jason used self-referential puns but can you really blame him? It’s really just me and my pun problem so don’t blame the kid)

He was going on and on about his feelings for Ladybug, the girl’s hero form, that were clashing with his feelings for another girl he fenced with, while she listened, clearly fed up with it.

He also claimed that he thought that maybe they were one and the same. Which, to Jason, was hilarious as he was literally saying this to the actual Ladybug’s face.

Marinette- he learned from the Cat’s ongoing blabbering, he was a real blab-bee mouth, - was clearly tired, nodding half asleep, probably having heard it all before.

When he finally left Jason went to sleep again, incredibly amused and even more thankful that he was fluent in French. ( u think this is plot convenience? Just u wait mah dude iz about to get worse)

The next morning he decided to follow her to school. Which was how he learned of her huge crush on a boy named Adrien Agreste.

After learning the boy could fence thanks to Marinette’s obsession interest in him, he got suspicious.

Could it really bee? (not a typo)

After seeing the boy transform a month or two later for patrol he laughed like he hadn’t for over a year. It very much was. He'd spent the time staying on Marinette's balcony and decided to stay another week before moving on and continuing his search, after all, he couldn't stop now that he finally felt like he was getting close.

The next day she got home crying, claiming that Adrien had started dating someone else.

Kagami, she called the girl. Probably the fencer if he had to place a bet.

“I’m sorry, Marinette,” Tikki told the girl.

“That boy's an idiot,” he said, speaking his mind, another thing he’d gotten use to being allowed to do without consequence.

Marinette nearly jumped out of her skin, she looked around and he realized that she could hear him. He hadn’t really spoken too much before, at least not when she was around. He was usually content with watching her do whatever she was doing that day.

“Tikki, did you hear that?” she asked, Tikki nodded, her eyes landing on him.

“Oh,” the kwami said softly, flying over to him, “Oh, you poor thing, who did this to you?” (Tikki is the first ever mom friend and u can fight me on this)

He stared up at her, flying so that they were eye level.

Marinette gaped at them, heartbreak seemingly forgotten, “Tik- Tikki, are- who are you talking- are you talking to a – Tikki is that a bee?!” she finally spluttered out.

“No,” Tikki said, studying him, he felt his heart twist in hope and his stomach roll in surprise. Did she know?

“I mean yes, but no. He’s a boy whose been turned into a bee,” Tikki explained, turning back to Marinette.

“Oh,” Marinette said softly, turning to him. She held her hand out and after some hesitation he landed on her finger. She looked at him then back to Tikki.

How did they know? Would he really be that lucky? Was this real?

“Uhm, how?” she said, staring at him in disbelief. He tried shrugging but realized he couldn’t anymore- beecause of his- well if you haven’t caught on to the fact that he’s a bee by now you should really start from the beginning of this story.

“I don’t know, but Joker and Harley Quinn were involved,” he said.

Marinette stared at him in disbelief, blinking a few times. She sat in shock a few moments longer. (Our darling is an awkward lil bean, and while in media awkward is portrayed as cute, irl it isn’t, it’s just well… awkward. And we’re writing a serious and realistic fic about this sidekick of guy who wears a batsuit/billionaire's ward getting turned into a bee and falling in love with a magical girl fighting a butterfly man- none of this unrealistic nonsense)

Tikki flew over and sat on Marinette’s shoulder while her holder processed the information, the kwami stared at him sweetly, “What’s your name?”

He swallowed, he hadn’t said his name in ages, it stirred up something (emotion, it’s called emotion, Jason, you know? The thing Batman can’t process??) in him, “Jason Todd,”

Marinette seemed to finally snap out of her daze, “That sounds American. Are you American? Wait if Joker and Harley are involved then you’re probably from Gotham. Are you? Wait I’ve seen the name Jason Todd somewhere. Weren’t you some rich guy’s ward? It was all over the news last year, Alya wouldn’t stop talking about it for a month, she had a million theories. He was – you were announced dead two months after Robin was taken captive by Joker, everyone thought he was – you were killed. Joker made outrageous claims as they arrested him... saying that they’d never find Robin... that he’d all but disappeared in thin air... that he wouldn’t be the only one wearing stripes... I remember because he put a really weird emphasis on the words be and stripes and...,” her eyes widened and she gasped as she looked at him in what could only be described as pure shock. (Yes this happens, people can talk for this long and since I personally know headcannon that Marinette is ADHD this long ass paragraph is just another Tuesday bud)

He sat there, surprised that she figured it all out so quickly. (yeah bub it’s called plot convenience and it’s because of me, the writer, I don’t wanna focus on secret ID shenanigans, I got other plans for yall, also Mari is smart, don’t underestimate her)

“You’re Robin,” she breathed, “they turned you into a bee. Wait- How the hell did they turn you into a bee?!”

He chuckled, “Bee-lieve me I’ve been asking myself that question for more than a year,”

She bit her lip, seemingly contemplating his words and ignoring his pun, “Tikki do you know anything that could help? Do you think Miraculous magic-,”

He felt his heart stop, he flew up to her face, flying at eye level, “Wait, did you just say Miraculous? Harley said if I could find the Guardian of the miraculous, they could help me, do you know where they are? I’ve been looking for so long,” (‘°;~*.plot convenience.*~;°’)

Marinette blinked at him and Tikki's face dawned with realization.

“I’m the guardian of the miraculous,” Marinette said softly, “Tikki, that means I can help him, right?”

Tikki nodded and he had to dial down the hope in his heart because the look on her face told him there was a Kim Kardashian sized butt on the way.

“We can help him, but we’re gonna have to wait. (don’t look at me like that, do u want them to have time to bond or not?) You’re not trained enough to pull it off yet. If you were to do it now, all three of us would be out of commission for far too long, especially with Hawkmoth on the prowl,” Tikki said.

They must’ve been able to sense his sadness because they were staring at him with an incredible amount of pity. The amount was quite unsettling actually and he suddenly felt a primal like urge to pun. (An extract from my book: “My unhealthy coping mechanisms and how to use them,” specifically Chapter 8: “Humor hides the pain”)

Suddenly Tikki’s face lit up, the whiplash of her expression change throwing any notion of punning out the window.

“Well, there’s one thing we could do,” she said, excitedly, zipping buzzing around “If he wears a miraculous, he'll return back to human form while transformed,”

Marinette perked up at the idea, but confusion soon overtook her features, “But Tikki, most of the miraculous are bigger than he is,”

Tikki waved her away,” It’s fine it’ll work,”

“Ok,” Marinette said after a bit of thought. She stood and he followed while she started climbing down her skylight,” I’m thinking you can try each of them out for different patrols and then we’ll see which one matches you best. This could be fun, having some fun sized company while figuring out how to defeat Hawkmoth,”

He laughed, flying near her ear, “Fun sized, huh? I’ll have you know I’m considered tall in human form, unlike some of us,”

She laughed and rolled her still tear stained eyes, and so, the beginning of a bee-autiful friendship bloomed.

Marinette walked to her closet and Jason took in her room. It was very pink, but in a well-balanced way - it wasn’t completely overbearing. His eye caught on a few pictures of Adrien Agreste on her wall but figured now wouldn’t be a great time to bring it up. (Look he’s already more emotionally aware, #foreshadowing of character development)

She removed a big box from her closet. She opened it and it was filled with what appeared to be a bunch of scrap materials. At the bottom she removed a bigger bundle of black and red fabric and he flew closer.

She put it in her lap and Jason had to do a double take when he realized that her hands were glowing and what the actual fuck- it was a box now -fuck fuck fuck- why was it a box? How? What- Jason was pretty sure he did not sign up for this.

She put the box down in front of her and to his relief she opened her mouth to speak as she lifted the lid, so he’d understand everyth- and its jewellery.

The box contained jewellery. Animal themed jewellery by the looks of things.

He then realized that these were probably the other miraculous.

She looked over each artefact before handing him the yellow and black hairclip.

Out of all of them, she picked the bee miraculous.

“Hilarious,” he replied dryly, giving her a look, he realized too late she wouldn’t be able to register- on account of, well you know… (if u don’t know by now, you don’t get to find out anymore)

She gave him a grin and replied, “I certainly think it is,”

Her teasing expression turned into one of worry, “I mean we could switch it out if it makes you uncomfortable-,” (being a sassy people pleaser with no filters really do be like this tho)

He laughed, “Don’t worry, I’m only teasing. What do I do?”

Marinette opened her mouth to answer before obviously realizing that she didn’t have an answer. She turned to Tikki and the kwami had a fond smile on her face before turning to Jason. (Just Tikki casually mentor- moming Mari because Fu is useless)

“Just step on the miraculous, it’ll sense that you’re human,” the creature replied.

When he stepped onto the bee miraculous, its kwami appeared.

Pollen stared at him for a few seconds before she realized what was happening.

After an explanation about her power set and what exactly he could do in suit, he transformed.

He felt his human body appearing. He was taller and more built than he remembered being. His flying clearly had physical consequences then, not that he was complaining.

His suit included a pair of bee wings. His hair was longer than he remembered it being too.

He had a black leather jacket and combat boots. With it was a pair of practical black leggings and a yellow t-shirt with three thick black stripes. (The three stripes represent each one of his families, the Todds, the Waynes and The Dupain-Chengs, because I can) He also had a pair of black gloves. His boots had yellow laces. On his face was a black and yellow striped domino mask. The top sat on his hip. The bee miraculous sat on the middle of his chest in the form of a broach.

He all but sprinted to the mirror. He stared at his face, his blue eyes and his nose that never healed quite right after breaking it that one time. His black hair was messy and stuck up every which way, his cheekbones were as high as always, and he had a little bit of stubble and it was so familiar and so new all at once.

He touched his face, barely registering the tears flowing down his cheeks and laughed in relief. He was human again. This was real! He could- he was closer to normal than he ever thought he’d get to be.

He turned to Marinette who was staring up at him in shock. He picked her up and spun her around, laughing in joy. And after a moment she joined in. He put her down and put his hands on her shoulders, smiling widely, “Thank you. Thank you so much,”

She smiled up at him, a slightly sad look on her face, “I’m sorry, it’s not permanent,”

“Don’t be sorry. For the first time I have hope. It will be permanent eventually, and till then, I have you with me, right?” he squeezed her shoulder, still high on the feeling of hope and warmth and familiarity.

When he was overcome with the sudden urge to pull her into a hug, he didn’t resist.

He held her close, resting his chin on her head, “Damn, I missed this. Hugging, I mean. I haven’t... it’s been so long,” (not that he got all that many hugs from Bruce “emotionally constipated” Wayne)

She wrapped her arms around him, “I can imagine,”

They stood there a while before the time for patrol came along. She transformed and they made their way to the Eiffel tower, where they met Chat.

The cat themed hero rose his brow questioningly, “I thought we didn’t recruit new heroes unless it was an emergency?”

Ladybug smiled nonchalantly, “It’s Guardian business, he’s gonna be a permanent fixture in our team for at least a few months so we might as well get used to working as a team,”

Chat Noir eyed him wearily and he stepped forward, sticking his hand out, “Hi, I’m Blackback, nice to meet you,”

Chat Noir shook his hand and gave Ladybug a sceptical look, “An American? Really?”

“Please Chat, he's not American, it’s just the glamour hiding his actual accent,” she replied simply, shooting Jason a worried look.

He couldn’t give away his identity, but he was also technically a bee, he didn’t really have an identity to give away. So, her behaviour was strange. Unless she wanted to give him an identity somehow?

He couldn’t stop thinking about it for the rest of patrol.

When they got home Marinette revealed that she wanted to give him the fox miraculous. If they asked Trixx she would be able to design the costume in a way that allowed him to look like a normal civilian, without the mask.

Trixx's glamour was also stronger than the rest so his true identity as Jason Todd would be protected.

And she could help him fake an accent.

Since Marinette was a year younger than him he could just pick up where he left off school wise.

She convinced her parents that he was an exchange student in desperate need of a place to stay because the person he would’ve stayed with backed out last minute.

They agreed easily and Jason decided to not question it.

It was his third family. His second if you only counted non abusive ones. First if you wanted one with a healthy family dynamic.

They got him a fake birth certificate and name. He went with the alias Thomas Grayson. He thought it was kind of funny, and it paid homage to both Bruce and Dick. It gave him something from home to hold on to. (Jason isn’t really salty about not being avenged in this au, he didn’t die and Talia and the pit madness wasn’t there to egg on his anger. But maybe if I ever get back to this au we could do a thing with it… guess we’ll have to wait and see ;-) no promises tho)

He built himself another home with Marinette and her family. And before he knew it, he was happy again. He felt secure.

Through the weeks, he ingrained himself into Marinette's life. In a blink of an eye, they were best friends, and he couldn’t imagine life without her.

He loved living with her family as she trained to be strong enough to turn him back to normal.

He grew close to Marinette’s friends and was her shoulder to cry on about Adrien. He and Adrien got along pretty well, and he and Marc and Rose traded Literature jokes. Max would join in when it involved Shakespeare.

Then Lila happened. (She’s a staple in Maribat fiction. U can’t have Maribat without Lila. Or well u can but that’s usually a very specific au)

Her lies started out simple enough. Then she started manipulating everyone and he, Marinette, Chloe and Adrien were one scheme away from being ostracized. They sat in the back row.

They ignored her sneers and let her lie to her heart’s content. Then one day she said something that made both Marinette and Jason freeze.

“You know, I was childhood friends with Jason Todd (I know she usually gets the names wrong but like her knowing the name just makes this next bit better) You know, Bruce Wayne’s ward who died a while ago? It was just so sad. He grew up in a nice family but his parents both died in a car accident and Brucie took pity on him. He even let us keep in contact afterwards, since our parents were such good friends. We all miss them dearly of course. We were neighbours the year we lived in Gotham, you know? We'd play every day-,” she started fake crying, “Oh it just gets too much sometimes,”

But to Jason’s shock Alya didn’t move to console Lila, in fact, she was staring at the brunette in shock.

He turned his gaze to Marinette to see the girl wearing the biggest, coldest, most satisfied smirk. She rested her chin on her hands and grinned at Lila in a way that made shivers go down his spine.

He turned back, this ought to be good.

And it was.

Alya absolutely lost it.

She ripped Lila a new one and frankly? Jason was impressed. (Alya has a temper and she’s a fangirl, and we all know how we get when someone gets something wrong about one of our hyperfixations, even if it’s an old one so like yall can imagine how bad Lila had fucked up)

When an akuma flew in towards Lila, Alya grabbed it, staring the girl down with a fury he didn’t know she could possess, “Don’t you dare! Do you think I’m blind? I’ve seen how easily you get akumatized and this time I’m not letting it happen!”

Of course, Alya then got akumatized but hey it beat another version of Lila.

Everyone made up but they weren’t quite as close as before. Their group tended to consist mostly out of him, Marinette, Chloe, Adrien, Kagami and Luka.

Other than that incident and akuma attacks, life was pretty good.

In fact, it was great.

He and Marinette would spend nights on her balcony, laughing and slow dancing. They star gazed and went on patrols. He helped her when she got nightmares and she returned the favour. They went on long walks and spent the holidays together. They crammed for tests and he played model for her designs. They worked in the bakery and hung out with their friends both in and out of suit. They’d joke about his technical bee-ness and he and Chat drove her mad with puns. In retaliation she’d introduce him as her bee friend to people or only give him honey and bee themed things. (ok this sentence sounds weird but I mean like when she brings them sweets from the bakery to snack on while working and stuff.)

And one laugh, memory and fight at a time, he started to fall. (I just want good things for Jason, and really can you blame me?)

Through the months, he kept up to date on the news about Bruce Wayne and Marinette held his hand each time a new kid joined his brood. She reminded him that no child could be replaced and reassured him that of course Bruce would want him back when they figured everything out.

And if he didn’t, she’d kick his ass into space, and he’d stay with her family in Paris- a family she made sure he knew he was a part of.

He helped Sabine in the kitchen and was the only one who came closest to beating Marinette’s Ultimate Mega Strike 3 record. Tom taught him to shave and bake. He was integrated into their family and they treated him as part of the family.

But even if they were giving him everything they were, he missed Bruce. And Dick. And Alfred. And Barbara. And Gotham. He missed them all so much. He missed home.

So, 14 months later, when Marinette told him they had a meeting with the Justice League about the Hawkmoth situation, Jason felt his heart skip a beat.

“What?” he asked softly, his eyes brimming with tears (Marinette taught him how to emotion, you see. So Jason is emotionally stable-ish enough to cry without feeling embarrassed about it), “I get to see him again?”

Marinette nodded and hugged him from behind, “I’m planning on telling him what happened. Is there anything you can tell him to verify who you are?”

Memories from a million years ago entered his mind, “Yes,”

She took his hand and took a step back, “And I think I can fix you before we go, I’m strong enough. But I’d still like your help in the final battle, I mean I know you’re going home but...,”

He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and smiled, “Of course, Pixie. I’ll always be there for you when you need me,”

He pressed a kiss against her forehead, a movement so familiar it was practically a part of him. He pulled her close and cried into her hair.

“What if he doesn’t believe me?” he asked softly, after a while, resting his chin on top of her head.

“He will,” she replied, tightening her grip around his waist.

They both knew she had no guarantee of that. That she had no way of knowing for sure. Neither of them did. And it scared him more than he wanted to admit.

The next day they do the magic turning back thing. It freaks him out quite a bit but not as much as her revealing the miraculous freaked him out the first time, you get kinda used to the magic shenaniganary. They’re both passed out for an hour afterwards and when they wake up, he holds her, crying, because he was finally, finally back to normal and this was real and permanent, and it was over.

She cried with him and held him, and they then went out and he wore a shirt she made for him, and they got ice cream the next day. They celebrated some more and went to the park with the squad and they had a picnic.

It was better than he ever could've imagined.

While the sun was setting, they stood back on her balcony, where they first spoke all those months ago, slow dancing. He pulled away and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled at her as the orange light of the sunset shone on them. (So aesthetic)

“Thank you, Marinette, for everything,” he says as he rubs his thumb across her cheek. His hand holding her face. She puts her hand over his and closes her eyes, savouring the moment.

She opened her eyes again and smiled, “I’d do it again and more, if it meant I’d get to be with you,”

He started leaning down, “If I lost you, I’d fly all over the world just to find you again,”

She raised to her tip toes, faces millimetres from one another, blue bells meeting ice, “So it was all worth it in the end?”

He moves closer, eyes searching hers. “Definitely,” he breathes.

She closes the distance, and he picks her up and spins her around. They break apart and their laughter fills the air.

(now that’s enough fluff, allow me to drown you in angst)

The next day they stood on the Eiffel tower. She took his hand, “Let’s recap. I go in, we have our Hawkmoth meeting, then I ask if I can speak to Batman and Nightwing alone. Then I tell them I found you, then I give them – are you sure it’s necessary for me to give them your blood, hair and a cheek swab? Isn’t that overkill?” (Batman is serious about his no kill rule, but he’s also serious about his there’s no such thing as overkill rule)

He shook his head and she sighed, “Okay. Then I give him means to contact me and I come back. Now remember they might take a while to process and they won’t necessarily call immediately-,”

“What if they never call?” he asked, gripping her hand tightly.

She ran her finger softly through his hair, “Then you have us to help you get through it,”

He nodded, she kissed his cheek and stepped through the portal with Queen Bee, Chat Noir and Viperion. He and Ryuuko stayed behind as backup, he wielded the Fox miraculous these days, but kept the name Blackback, always wearing a black leather jacket no matter the transformation.

He and Ryuko discussed fighting styles, she was kindly trying to distract him, and if it had been anything else he needed distracting from, it would’ve worked.

So passed the slowest forty-five minutes of his life. Chat Noir and Queen Bee exit a portal and so the wait for Marinette and Luka began.

She and Bruce were talking now. Bruce would know he was alive. This was make or break for him. Luka was nearby to act as back up worst-case scenario.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, followed by someone taking and rubbing circles on his back. He looked down to see Ryuuko on his one side and saw Chat Noir on his other.

“We’ve got you,” Chloe said standing in front of him, hand on his unoccupied shoulder.

He swallowed and nodded. She squeezed his upper arm and met his gaze, “Breathe, you’re safe, honey,”

So, 30 more minutes pass. They sit down and somewhere along the line Chat goes and grabs a dozen croissants from the bakery.

In another situation he might’ve laughed. He’d baked this morning’s batch and now he got to eat some of it for free, of course, technically he could get others for free too but-

The portal opened behind them and Ladybug and Viperion stepped out. He noted that she didn’t have the bag of his DNA with her anymore.

She smiled softly at him, “Now we wait,”

And wait they did.

They waited two weeks.

And then the burner phone that's number they'd given Bruce rang.

Jason froze, Marinette jumped up and ran to get it.

He couldn't move as she walked over and put the phone on speaker, she grabbed his hand and he held onto her for dear life.

"We can both hear you now, Nightwing," she said.

There was a beat of silence on the other side of the line, "Can he- If you're- can I speak to him? In- um- private?"

Marinette looked at him, and he nodded. She took the phone off speaker and handed it to him.

He held it up to his ear and squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on the circles Marinette were drawing on his hand with her thumb.

"He- hey Dick," he said. He heard his brother's breathing hitch, followed by a few seconds of silence.

"When did Batman find you?"

"25th May 2017,"

"Who's your favourite author?"

"Mary Shelley tied with Jane Austin,” he replied.

Dick stayed silent for too long and before he could stop himself the words fell from his mouth, desperation clinging to each syllable,” My favourite- my favourite playwright is Shakespeare, and my favourite school subject is English. If I could pick any day job it would be being a writer. My favourite colour is blue. Alfred has a secret fear of dolphins. You have had a ridiculously huge crush on Barbara for years and she had no idea, and I found a picture you drew under your old room's bedside table of you two getting married. I folded the picture up and hid it in a small box of memories I kept in the farthest corner of my closet under clothes I never wore. I have a round scar on the lower left side of my back where Willis Todd burned me with a cigarette when I was 5 that you don’t know I know you know about. My first Christmas at the manor you found me in the rose garden cutting a few off to take to my mother's grave and I was terrified that you would yell at me but instead you drove me to the graveyard and that was the day I decided to give you a real chance. I despise carrots but I eat them when Alfred makes them because I don't want to be a burden. And I-," he choked on a sob- when had he started crying?

He took a shuddering breath, and swallowed some of his tears, trying to make sure the words got out right, "I've missed you guys for every single second that I've been gone,"

His stomach tied itself up in a million knots as the silence stretched on. He could hear Dick moving the phone.

"Can I speak to Ladybug again please?" A female voice he didn't recognize said.

He handed the phone to Marinette and pressed his hand over his mouth to try to contain the sobs. He felt like a knife was twisting his stomach. He couldn't even hear what Marinette was saying. (I’m going through something irl and as a result u guys get to read angst by the bucketloads and I regret nothing)

Dick didn't want to talk to him. He should've just answered the question, he shouldn't have given all the extra information. Now they were never going to believe that it's really him and he would never see them again. Maybe they knew it was him and they just didn't want him-

"Jason, breathe with me," he heard Marinette's voice. His eyes latched onto hers like a lifeline, he became aware of her hands holding his.

She took his face in her hands and rested her forehead against his, in a motion so familiar that it came as easy as breathing. Well as easy as it usually was to breathe, right now excluded.

After he calmed down, she explained to him what they discussed. They would go to Gotham and meet and discuss things from there.

They wanted to meet him, but they still didn’t completely believe that it was him. He knew this for a fact because they had organized for M’gann to be there to confirm what he was saying. (Yassss M'gann my darling girl, I adore out lil Martian)

Marinette had suggested that they meet in the Batcave in an hour. Everyone had agreed. He assumed she had a plan as to why she wanted to wait. And he trusted her, so he waited for her to explain.

“I want to take the team, as backup. If you’re not comfortable with it, I want to at least take Luka. I would suggest just letting one of us wield is miraculous, but his Second Chance Timer limit is an hour so it would be most beneficial,” she said, gesturing with the hand that wasn’t holding his.

He nodded, sitting up straighter, but not releasing his grip on her hand, “We can bring the team, it’s smart to have backup. Besides if things go haywire, we have Luka to stop us.”

“Then let’s go get our team, love,”

(oh, I should probably mention that only he and LB knows everyone’s Identities. Or well rather no one knows like officially. Like everyone lowkey knows everyone's and a few of them have officially revealed themselves to each other, but not everyone is officially revealed to everyone and Mari and Jason are the only ones who aren’t officially revealed to anyone else, it’s kinda like the vibes of knowing your best friend is queer but not saying anything because they haven’t officially come out yet but like you know because they ain’t nearly as subtle as they think. Like that aesthetic.)

Anyway, 50 minutes later, they’re all gathered on the Eiffel Tower. Jason saw Marinette give Luka a nod to reset his timer. Suddenly he was enveloped in a light with a scratch that wasn’t there a few seconds before on his cheek, his expression quite annoyed.

Marinette immediately furrowed her brows, “How many times?”

Viperion shook his head, “Don’t worry, only one so far, but they try to restrain us. We’re gonna have to try plan b this time,” Everyone nodded, they waited two minutes before the agreed upon time and Mari opened a portal, but instead of appearing out in the opened, they hid in the shadowy parts of the cave.

Jason used his illusion to hide them from any observant eyes and they spread out a bit. He and Mari stayed together, Cloe flew to get a higher perspective and hide Viperion on one of the cave’s many ledges while Chat just moved a few feet away to have a slightly different hiding spot. Kagami dropped into her wind form and was flying above them to eavesdrop, she’d go to Luka if she heard anything of importance so he could go restart again.

They’d be one step ahead of the Bats no matter what they pulled, after all, they had all the time in the world.

They watched them all get into position as time neared. Jason didn’t know all the kids but recognized them from the news.

Dick, Bruce and M’gann stood near the bat computer with Barbara – who was in a wheelchair but that was a realization to deal with later- and Alfred.

The minute they were supposed to appear Jason cast another illusion to make it appear as though they had arrived. As expected, weapons and restraints immediately swarmed on them, each kid going for a different miraculous member. Too bad the images turned into orange dust as soon as they touched them.

The tiny one in the Robin uniform was red in the face and immediately started throwing a tantrum, “Father! They’ve tricked us-,”

Before he could get another word out, Chloe mass-venomed the horde of kids that we’re sent to attack them. He counted Black bat, Red Robin, Batgirl, Signal and Robin. They were all frozen in the middle of the room and before the others near the computer could move, Kagami trapped them in a (rather large) ring of fire. They had enough space to move around comfortably but if they tried approaching the edge the flames would grow larger.

Batman growled and his eyes searched through the cave, but he wouldn’t see them, no matter how hard he searched.

Jason stared at them. Dick was also searching the cave, but he seemed to look more hopeful than angry. Alfred seemed his usual calm self and Barbara was glancing around the cave more subtly. He didn’t bother looking at the rest of the batkids because M’gann was staring right at him, staying right where she was despite her ability to fly.

“Hi, Jason,” she softly spoke into his mind, he felt emotion overwhelm him, she’d known him before everything, and she knew it was him and it was a lot.

He knew she wasn’t probing around his brain for information like he was sure Bruce had asked her to, she didn’t have to, she knew it was him.

“Can you please tell me why we’re surrounded by fire?” she asked.

“We have a time traveller,” he replied.

“Ah, not a fan of Bruce’s restrain and question method, then? Can’t say I blame you, though I do think you’ve proven your point,”

“You really think it’s a good idea to release all of them?” he asked sceptically.

“… Good point. Maybe leave the brood in the middle in whatever frozen state they’re in and just let us in the fire out. They really just think it’s too good to be true… Jason, I won’t let them hurt you,”

“Okay,” he agreed softly. He turned to Marinette and gave her a slight nod. She returned with one of her own.

They walked over to Kagami’s ring of fire and he held their illusion until they were right in front of it. He held on to it for a bit to make sure everyone else would be able to stay in position. Chloe would keep the cavalry venomized and Chat and Viperion would stick to the shadows, unless necessary.

Jason dropped the illusion and watched four heads snap to him. M'gann simply gave him a soft smile and a nod of encouragement.

Kagami moved herself to stand next to Marinette and turned back into her human form, glaring at them with a silent warning.

Their attention was elsewhere, though. For a long time they just stood there and stared at one another in silence. They studied every part of one another they could see.

His eyes caught on Barbara’s wheelchair and he felt ready to destroy whatever put her there. She met his eyes and he held her gaze. She must’ve seen something there because she gave a small smile as she allowed a few tears to escape her eyes.

“Miss Martian?” Batman broke the silence like a cheap dinner plate, shattering it in a matter of seconds.

“It’s him,” M’gann answered without a hint of hesitation.

It was Alfred that moved first. He took a few hesitant steps towards him and before Jason knew it the man was in front of him. Alfred reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, desperately studying him for a moment before pulling him into a hug only Alfred could give.

It took Jason a moment to respond but when he did he returned it wholeheartedly.

After a few minutes they pulled apart and it took him a moment to realize that they’d both started crying. When he looked up Dick was only a few feet away. The moment Alfred stepped away Dick pulled him close.

“I thought you were dead, kid. I thought I’d never see you again, I thought I lost even more family. You were too young, too innocent. Fuck Jason,” Dick whispered, tightening his grip, “I’m so glad you’re alive,”

Jason held on to his brother and that night they cried about terrible endings and broken beginnings. They cried about lost time and found family.

It wasn’t the end yet, Hawkmoth was still terrorizing Paris and he had no idea what Bruce thought yet. There were all his other kids, his brothers and sisters. There were his teammates and the incredible story of how he’d been turned into a bee of all things.

They had a lot of catching up to do.

But just for a moment, a strand of a singular moment, he had his brother in his arms again and he was back home. His first real home.

Things weren’t perfect, as things rarely are but it didn’t matter. Because part of the beauty of life is how it builds and breaks us in a cycle of love and loss.

And that night they laughed with a lightness and joy none of them had fully been able to hold onto in years.

I hope you guys enjoyed!

This is lowkey totally gonna be the au I go to when I don’t know what to write lol, maybe write a bit of what happens afterwards or a part of everything during the year he lived with Mari them or just y’know shenanigans

#maribat #jason todd #marinette dupain cheng #jasonette #bee movie au #aka the deep dark hole within the deep dark hole #I've been working on this for a month #probably more #my brain held me captive with this au it held me at gunpoint and stalked me and wouldn't leave me alone until i wrote it #me: casually attempting to write anything else #my brain: *slaps me with ideas for this* NO #and the worst part is there's more that's not written just bull my brain came up with #and i can't believe I put angsty life philosophy writing in a CRACK AU #THIS IS THE VERY DEFINITION OF A CRACK AU #WHY #I AM SO INVESTED AND I'M MAD ABOUT IT #i enjoyed writing this and that fact alone infuriates me #blame moonie for this #and u know what blame bugabunny too #(fuck i hope i got their name right)#if it hadn't been for the two of them discussing this again i would've forgotten all about it and i woulda been allowed to write #my kaldur x marinette fic in peace. or my lila time loop fic. OR LITERALLY ANYTHING ELSE #anyway i tried to make his outfit red hood esque but like only the parts i liked about it #aka the leather jacket and the combat boots #I don't know how i feel about the fact that i wrote this but what's done is done #*sigh*#jason x marinette #why me #nightwing fluff #but also angst

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ravennm84 · 4 years

Text

Career Advice

Hi everyone!! This story was inspired by a news anchor that I saw on TV, and thought to myself “what would happen if Alya asked that woman for an internship and showed that woman the Ladyblog.” There wasn’t originally going to be Alya redemption, but I decided that the girl needed some love too. Warm-Fuzzies and please enjoy!!

Alya was practically vibrating in her chair as she sat in the reception area of TVi News. She had heard from Aurora and Mireille that there was a summer internship opening and that she should submit an application. She had spent an entire week working on her resume with her mom’s help, citing her blog as experience. Her mother had told her that she might want to double check all her stories before going in, but already knew that she’d be fine. After all, she was an awesome reporter.

There were four other people in the room with her, and she was definitely the youngest. Two of them looked like they were university age and the other two probably attended lycee. That meant that they likely had a bit more experience than she did, but Alya was confident that her blog would set her up for the win. Not only that, Lila had put in a good word for her with the higher ups of TVi News. All she had to do was nail the interview and the internship was hers!

It was about an hour and two interviews before her turn came. Holding her head high; she grabbed her tablet and portfolio, straightened her skirt, and walked in as smoothly as she could in her heels.

The person conducting the interview was Claudia Ramonte, a no-nonsense kind of woman that always seemed to be on a deadline. She preferred people always be on-point and despised people that wasted her time. She was a legend in the industry, she had been an investigative journalist for over 20 years before going into semi-retirement by helping run the company and hiring new journalists. It was said that she had an eye for who had talent and who was just playing journalist. And if you fell into the latter or made the mistake of insulting her craft, you could kiss any hopes of making it big in the industry goodbye. So as soon as Alya shut the door behind her, she put on her most professional smile and extended her hand to her.

“Mme. Ramonte, Alya Cesaire, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She gave her a slight smile as she shook her hand. “When I saw that a kid in college was applying for the internship, I thought that you were either an idiot or you had a pair of steel balls. Show me which one it is.”

A little taken back but her forwardness, Alya’s hand shook slightly as she pulled her resume from the file and handed it to her. “As you can see, I’ve been running my blog, The Ladyblog, for close to a year and a half now.”

“Everyone and their mothers have blogs nowadays, Cesaire.” The woman scoffed as she tossed Alya’s resume onto her desk and turned to her computer, typing quickly. “Every candidate I’m interviewing today has at least two blogs, multiple news articles in their school newspapers, or videos from their college news or radio stations. What is it about your blog that makes you think that you are more qualified than any of them?”

Alya faltered for a second but wouldn’t be deterred, she was an awesome reporter and she would get this internship. “I’ve conducted multiple interviews with different celebrities; including Ladybug herself, other heroes of the Miraculous Team, the daughter of a diplomat who is also Ladybug’s best friend…”

“So have others, Cesaire.” She sounded bored, as she continued reading something on her computer screen.

Squaring her shoulders, Alya kept going. She refused to back down when she was so close to her internship. “I have also done extensive work on recording akuma battles and have compared my footage to other sites. None of them get as close or in depth as I do.”

“And why do you think that is, Mlle. Cesaire?” Her voice going cold

Alya blinked, not expecting the question. “Um… well-”

“Reporters and journalists are not to engage in dangerous situations that are considered life threatening. Whether someone is part of a staff or freelance, they are not to enter danger zones on their own, which you have apparently done numerous times. I will admit that when it comes to journalism, it is never without risks; but no story is worth your life.”

“But there’s no real danger, Ladybug always-”

“A terrorist is a terrorist, Cesaire.” The chill in the woman’s voice gained a hard edge. “And the attacks that have been done by the akumas have, on more than one occasion, shown the potential to be fatal. Should there be even a single time that Ladybug and Chat Noir not pull through, that could result in thousands of deaths. If you think that any credible news source would allow their people to do what you’ve been doing; then you’re more than an idiot, you’re a reckless idiot.”

Then she turned one of her computer screens towards Alya, which was queued up to the Ladyblog. “And from what I’ve seen from your blog in the two minutes you’ve been in my office; you are not only reckless, but mediocre in your work as a journalist. I have looked through multiple posts and have yet to see a single credible source mentioned. So tell me, how can you think that you are qualified to work here if you cannot follow the most basic rule of journalism and check your sources?”

“I can assure you, everything I post is completely true!”

“And I’m just supposed to take your word on that? Hardly.” She turned the screen back to herself, then started playing the first interview she had done with Lila. Mme. Ramonte played it for only 15 seconds, in which Lila claimed to be Ladybug’s best friend after she had saved her life, before pausing the video and looking at Alya. “If Lila Rossi, the daughter of a diplomat, had been saved by Ladybug, there would have been multiple articles and recordings of the incident. I just did a cursory search and the only link that came up connecting Rossi and Ladybug is your own blog.”

Alya was speechless. She wanted to say that Lila was telling the truth, but what reason would there be for Mme. Ramonte, who continued playing Lila’s interview, to lie? She stopped the video again a few seconds later, after the tale of saving Jagged Stone’s kitten from being run over by a plane on an airport runway. The look the legendary journalist gave her was that of total disgust and anger.

“Do I even need to list all the things wrong with

this story?” When Alya didn’t say anything, Mme. Ramonte went off on her, practically ranting. “Firstly, Jagged Stone has been quoted multiple times as being allergic to animal fur, and would not own a cat. Second, no one would allow a minor onto a airport runway, as it would be seen negligence and possibly as an act of terrorism. Even if she had saved some cat from being run over and Jagged had been grateful, no self respecting musician would write a song about a minor that was not their daughter, as doing so could have him labeled as a pedophile. You are very lucky that M. Stone has not seen this interview, because if he had, you would have been served with lawsuits for slander. So, I’ll ask again. Is there anything to keep me from saying that you are nothing more than a wannabe-journalist that isn’t fit to work at a news stand?”

She wasn’t even sure how to respond. Alya had been so sure that her blog was perfect, but after what Mme. Ramonte had said and how she was looking at her, she really did feel like an idiot for believing what Lila had said. Especially since she should have known better.

She now remembered when she flew to Spain with her parents when she was younger and how far away the landing strip was from the airport. There was no way Lila would have been able to see a kitten from that far away. Alya also remembered how she wanted to go outside and play, but her father told her that only authorized personnel were allowed outside at the airport. Then there was Marinette, the designer had mentioned how she couldn’t do certain designs for the rock star because he had fur allergies from when he was a kid.

Oh no, Marinette has been saying for months that Lila was a liar. Ever since she had seen Lila’s interview. And since she designs for Jagged Stone, she would know that Lila was nothing but a liar. She was also the one that got me my first exclusive with Ladybug, so she’d probably know that she was lying about that, too. And I had the nerve to tell her that she was just being jealous… I’m a terrible friend and an even worse journalist.

Looking back up at Mme. Ramonte, she was barely able to hold back tears as she shook her head. “No, Madame. There is no excuse for such shoddy journalism, it doesn’t even deserve to be called that. I apologize for wasting your time.”

The woman’s features softened slightly, but not by much. “You’re still very young and have a lot to learn about journalism, Cesaire. If I ever see you in my office again, I’ll expect more from you than any other candidate. That means looking out for your safety, knowing what is okay and not okay to publish, and checking your stories through multiple, reliable sources. I would also recommend killing your blog and starting new, the Ladyblog will become toxic to your career if it continues. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Alya couldn’t help but stare at the woman across the desk from her. Despite not deserving it, Mme. Ramonte had given her very sage and constructive advice that just might save her career in the long run. If she killed her blog now, started a new one or two, and followed her advice; by the time she finished lycee, she might be able to use them as proper references for her future career.

“Thank you, Mme. Ramonte. I won’t forget this.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Cesaire,” she waved her hand dismissively. “I’m going to remember this and I will be telling other news sources about your blog as well, to make sure you never repeat these mistakes again. So, if you are really set on being a journalist, don’t just prove it to me, prove to everyone that you are better.”

“Still, thank you. Have a nice day, Mme. Ramonte.” Alya stood from her chair but paused before she turned to walk away. “So you know, I think I’ll be doing one final post on the Ladyblog, to admit my mistakes and all the things I reported incorrectly on my blog, along with the sources to back it up. Sort of a final expose to rid myself of the bad energy from my blog, so I’ll be able to move forward.”

The woman gave a nod of approval. Before waving her out of the office.

Alya kept her head high the entire way out of the building while doing her best to remain calm, or else risk attracting an akuma. As a bit of a cleanser, she sent a text to Marinette.

To FashionGurl: You were right about Lila. I’m so sorry for not listening to you. Can we talk on Monday?

A few minutes later, she got a text back.

To FoxyJournalist: You can come by today if you want to talk.

To FashionGurl: Sorry, I’m going to be busy. I have a new story to write about that liar, one that will have multiple sources, showing everyone exactly the kind of person she is.

To FoxyJournalist: Can’t wait to read it!!

~oOo~

What followed for Alya was a very long weekend writing out every story/lie that Lila had ever told her and the class, research into Lila’s old schools, staking herself out in front of the Italian Embassy until Ambassador Rossi came out so she could introduce herself, and then a long conversation at a cafe with the very angry and distraught mother. There were a lot of questions, show-and-tell with the videos on Alya’s blog and news reports from Lila’s old schools, and then the recommendation that she go to speak with M. Damocles and Mme. Bustier.

Monday morning saw Alya going into the bakery before school, telling Tom and Sabine the truth about Lila, and then grovelling at Marinette’s feet for being such a terrible friend. One thing she did not hesitate to show the Dupain-Chengs were the records and news reports she’d found pertaining to Lila’s old schools. Tracking Lila’s social media, Alya had found three schools and discovered the kind of mayhem the girl left behind.

One school had a perfect student named Gaia, much like Marinette, bullied until she was expelled. Another school showed another popular girl named Alessia had “fallen” down a flight of stairs and broken both of her legs, a few ribs, and one of her arms. Even though there were multiple eyewitness reports that Lila had pushed her, the Italian girl moved before she could be brought up on charges. The report from the most recent school made all of them sick. A girl named Ludovica had been stalked, harassed, and bullied over social media beginning the day Lila joined the school until the day the girl committed suicide. A quick backtrace on the account showed that it had been set up by Lila Rossi.

It was quickly decided that Sabine would be going to the school to have a word with the principal and teacher. Alya gave them a thumb drive with a copy of all the information she had found, she had multiple copies, so that if they decided to pursue legal actions, they had evidence to back it up.

At school, Alya went to class while Sabine took Marinette M. Damocles' office to speak with him and Mme. Bustier, since the woman was decidedly absent from the room. She had barely sat down when Lila entered the classroom, spouting off some story about meeting Ryan Reynolds over the weekend. Alya barely suppressed her snide grimace before hiding it with a smile.

“Really, Lila? That’s amazing! Did you get any pictures? I would love to post them on my blog?”

Now that she was watching, she saw the girl flinch when asked for actual evidence before putting on a sugary sweet smile. “I didn’t get a chance, my phone died.”

“Oh that’s annoying. Where did you see him?” She asked, pulling up the movie star’s Twitter account. “Because you were here in Paris over the weekend but according to his social media, he was visiting his home town in Canada this week.”

Alya definitely saw the girl scowl that time. “Oh, he just said that so he could come here without anyone knowing. He’s researching a role here in Paris and I was showing him around until my mom called me home.”

“Didn’t you just say that your phone was dead?” That got the classes’ attention, as they had just heard the girl say that was the reason she hadn’t taken any pictures. Lila was about to spout some new excuse; but Alya, who was now channelling her inner Mme. Ramonte, raised a hand to cut her off.

“Don’t even bother coming up with another lie. I know you’re full of crap and it spills out of your mouth with every word you say. And before you try to accuse me of lying, taking Marinette’s side, or bullying you; I think you should know that I spent the majority of the weekend looking into everything you’ve told us.”

The entire class watched the Italian girl’s olive skin turn a sickly white. But Alya wasn’t finished, this girl had been attempting to do the same to Marinette that she had done to Gaia, Alessia, and Ludovica. And as her BFF, she was not going to stand aside and let that happen. “I have piles of evidence that you were never in Achu and have never met Prince Ali, you were just playing hookie. I’ve got evidence that you are perfectly healthy and have never suffered from any of the diseases or ailments that you’ve claimed to have since returning to school. I’ve also got evidence that you have never met any of the celebrities that you claim to know. That includes Ladybug.”

Not so surprising, Lila attempted to turn everyone against Alya by turning on the tears. “That’s not true! I would never lie about all of that. You’re just saying that because you’re mad at me for not getting the internship!”

When the class looked back at Alya, they were surprised to see her grinning like a fox. “Did I forget to mention exactly how I know you weren’t in Achu? Or how I know you're perfectly healthy and don’t know any of those celebrities you’ve claimed to be close to?”

She paused, mostly for effect before going in for the killing blow. “Your mom and I had a very in depth conversation yesterday when I ran into her outside the embassy. She wasn’t happy about your interviews on the Ladyblog, and she was confused as to why you were claiming to be Ladybug’s BFF when you’ve been telling her for months that she and Chat Noir were a couple of lazy, incompetent, and downright terrible heros; which was why the school was closed.”

If it were possible Lila paled even more before turning to run out the door. The door swung open just as she was reaching for the handle, and was met with an upset Mme. Bustier. “You are needed in the Principal's Office, young lady.” To the surprise of everyone there, Lila attempted to shove her way past their teacher. But the woman was faster and grabbed the girl by the arm in a firm grip before escorting her out of the room.

When the first bell rang a few minutes later, M. Harpele came in to act as the substitute until Mme. Bustier was finished with her meeting.

Marinette returned to class before their teacher did, smiling bright as the sun and visibly more relaxed than anyone had seen her in weeks. She sat down beside Alya and gave her a tight hug while whispering “thank you” over and over.

“I take it things went well for you instead of Lila?” Alya grinned.

Marinette giggled. “She tried convincing her mom that all of us were akumatized and were trying to ruin her life, but she wasn’t buying it. Especially when M. Damocles showed Mme. Rossi her school records. Mom demanded that Lila give a formal apology and confess everything to the class, or she would get the Board of Governors involved. When Mme. Rossi found out that Lila tried to get me expelled, she lost it and started talking about a catholic reformatory school in Italy. Lila looked like she was going to be sick when she heard that.”

“It’s not perfect, but it’s what she deserves.” Alya shrugged before looking Marinette in the eye again. “I’m really sorry, girl. You’re my BFF, I should have listened to you when you told me Lila was a liar.”

“No, I don’t expect you to listen to me every time. I just wanted you to check things out and make sure that you weren’t being taken advantage of.” Then her brow creased. “I’m curious, what brought all this on?”

“Let’s just say that I just got some much needed career advice.”

#alya redemption #lila salt #ml fic #lila karma #friendship #alya salt

738 notes · View notes

imagining-supernatural · 4 years

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The Work Call

Part 18 of Seventy Percent

Series Summary: When you left on your trip to Vegas, you’d planned on letting loose for one last weekend before heading back to reality and getting your affairs in order so your best friend wouldn’t be left cleaning up your mess when your cancer finally ended your life. What you hadn’t counted on was waking up married to a celebrity who has a knight-in-shining-armor complex, connections with an oncologist, and amazing insurance…

Chapter Summary: You call your boss to get some work to do in your free time and do a little flirting ;)

Word Count: 2,258

With Sebastian off in Georgia for a week, you felt like a teenager whose parents just left her home for alone for the first time. Suddenly, you could break all of the rules. Not that your rule-breaking was something that would get you in too much trouble…

Since the press seemed to have gotten it through their heads that you were off limits, you finally had your privacy and space back again. As a result, you were taking advantage of the last few weeks of autumn before the snow came. After your hospital appointments, you walked down the street to a cute little café and sat in one of the over-sized, plush chairs for a bit. You’d either bring a book or your laptop.

On Wednesday, the café cat apparently decided you were okay and hopped up into your lap, purring loudly as you read. You’d snapped a quick selfie and sent it off to Sebastian.

Me: [image attached] Don’t be surprised if you come home this weekend and I’ve catnapped ol’ Misty here

Sebastian: What if I’m allergic to cats?

Me: Sucks to be you, I guess

Me: The apartment’s lonely without you

You stared at the last text you’d sent, suddenly overthinking it. Sure, you were married. And, sure, you were wearing his ring now. But you two hadn’t really discussed what that meant, exactly. So was that last text too strong? Too forward?

Hell, you didn’t even know what you’d meant by it.

Sebastian: Don’t know how I feel about being able to be replaced by a cat

Sebastian: Maybe I need to up my game

Up his game?

Shit, it had been so long since you’d flirted with anyone. So long since you’d even considered a relationship. After your hellish life growing up, you’d put all of your focus into school. You were determined to set yourself up for a better life than the one you were born into. Then you graduated and worked hard to secure your place at your job. School only taught you so much, and you needed to be able to apply what you learned to real life.

Once you felt secure in your professional life and you were finally ready to start exploring a relationship, you found out you had cancer.

So to say you were woefully underprepared for this situation would be the understatement of the year.

Me: Luckily for you, I like Jenny’s coffee so much that I don’t want her to hate me for stealing her cat

Sebastian: You still thought a cat would replace me

Sebastian: That hurts, sweetheart

Sweetheart. In writing.

Me: I’ll find some way to make you feel better this weekend

Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

Why did you never read over your texts before you sent them?

At least you hadn’t put a winky face emoji. Now that would have been a disaster.

Not that you didn’t want your relationship with Sebastian to keep going. You did. But there was a lot more pressure riding on this than there was back in high school when you went to the prom with Brad Trayton, or in college when you slept with the guy from your Chemistry 101 lab three times before having to break it off with him because he always smelled like bacon.

This was Sebastian Fucking Stan. And you were married to the guy. And you were in a literal life or death situation. If things went badly with him, that would make the rest of your cancer treatment very awkward, to say the least.

Sebastian: I’m sure you will…

Sebastian: I gotta go to a script reading rn. Skype tonight?

Me: Of course

You’d been Skyping with Seb at least twice a day since he left on Sunday night. It was almost like he never left, in that regard.

But with him gone, you found that you had a lot of free time on your hands. With your body starting to get used to the cancer treatment, you also had a bit more energy and nowhere to put that energy to good use.

So you called your old boss back home, dialing his direct extension to avoid getting his assistant. The press might have backed off, but thanks to the updates from Jasmin, people who knew you were still reeling over your marriage.

“Plathway.”

“Hey, Brendon, it’s Y/N.”

“Y/N!” he exclaimed, and you could just imagine him leaning back in his chair. Brendon Plathway was your mentor and had grown into a close friend. Of everyone in your life, you would say he was the closest thing to a good father figure you had. “How are you doing? I’ve seen your name on Facebook a few times.”

“I’m doing pretty good, all things considered. I’m in a clinical study in New York and the doctors are optimistic that it’ll work. They’re hoping I’ll get the tumor out sometime in February.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Brendon said. “And that husband of yours… he treating you well?”

“It’s not… it’s not quite like that. But yeah. He’s great.” It was a pretty decent segue into the reason for your call. “He’s actually out of town, shooting for a TV show. So I have a bit of time on my hands and was hoping—”

“Y/N Y/L/N?”

The unfamiliar voice interrupted you before you could finish. You looked up to see a guy about your age with a newsboy bag, notebook, and tape recorder.

A fucking journalist.

“I thought it was you. You mind if I ask you a few questions?” He didn’t say it like a question, nor did he give you time to respond before he sat on a stool beside you and set up shop on the small table. “If I could write an article on you, it would just—”

“I’m actually on a phone call right now.”

“Oh, I won’t take too long. I just can’t pass up this opportunity. You’re quite the enigma. No one’s gotten your side of the story.”

“And neither will you. I’m not going to answer any questions.”

He completely ignored you, flicked on the recorder, and put his pen to paper. “People have been saying that you planned your rendezvous with Sebastian Stan in Vegas. What do you say to that?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I have no comment for you.”

“I thought you’d appreciate the chance to get your story out there. There are some nasty rumors spreading—”

You cut him off before he could continue. “I know my story and the people I care about know my story. I will not be answering any questions for you today.”

“Do you feel no guilt for being the reason Sebastian Stan’s reputation has taken a massive hit?”

“I’m going to give you one more chance to leave me the fuck alone before I call the cops.” He opened his mouth, but you spoke over him, voice lowering to a red-hot hiss. “And if you write a single word of this conversation or make any sort of insinuations that I said anything at all, I will slap you and whatever blog or magazine you work for with a libel lawsuit. Don’t even think about trying to manipulate your recording because you’re not the only one who has been recording this conversation. The phone call you interrupted was with my boss and it’s company policy to record all incoming and outgoing phone calls. He’s a witness that I repeatedly rejected your attempt to start an interview and anything else you say can be construed as harassment. Have I made myself clear?”

He stared at you, wide eyed. Guess he hadn’t expected a cancer patient to be so blunt. Nevertheless, he gathered his things and stood. Just before walking away, he muttered, “You didn’t have to be such a bitch about it.”

Once he was gone, you groaned. “Sorry about that, Bren.”

“Is that something you have to deal with often? That’s horrible.”

“No. Not since I got sick because stupid reporters were sticking their germy microphones in my face and Seb threatened them with lawyers.”

Brendon hmphed. “Well, you sounded like you had that speech prepared. Sounded like you’d said it a few times.”

“Before he left, Seb made sure I knew how to threaten any reporters like that. Luckily this was the first time I’ve had to remember what he told me.” The reporter had shaken you, and it took a few deep breaths before you felt calm enough to continue with your conversation. “Anyway, back to my original reason for calling… Are there are projects I could jump on long distance? I’ll probably only be able to put in about ten to fifteen good hours of work a week, but it’d be nice to have something to do other than wait for new episodes of my shows to come on Hulu.”

“Let me poke around the office a bit. I know there’s a big one coming up next week. Rachel’s heading that one. You’ve worked with her before right? She’d probably appreciate your input. Trent is in the middle of one for a pharmaceutical company, but he’s not feeling too sure about it. I’ll see if he wants you to try and hack the system and find holes.”

“Anything. I’ve worked with both of them before and I think we work well together. I did quite a few initial proposals before I left for Vegas and I enjoyed those more than most people do.”

He promised he’d send any projects your way that he could. After a few more minutes of catching up, you ended the call and headed outside to wait for Sean in the chilly fall air.

“How was the reading?” you asked later that night. “Any juicy plot lines?”

“Not that I can tell you,” Seb replied. The phone in his hand shifted as he settled further into the hotel bed that Marvel was putting him up in. “But it was good. We’ll start shooting tomorrow.”

“Excited to lube up your arm?”

He laughed, head falling back against the headboard. “I take it you finally did some research on me?”

“A little. The hospital was running behind today, so I was there a bit longer than I planned and I fell down the YouTube abyss of interviews. Anthony seems like a fun guy to work with.”

Sebastian grinned. “He is. Speaking of work, did you call your boss?”

“Yeah.” The reminder of the phone call – or rather of the interruption – made your roll your eyes.

“Didn’t go well?”

“No, no. It did.” You knew your news was not going to go over well with Seb, so you took a minute to get settled into the bed. It had been a long day and laying down felt good. You turned your laptop on its side so your face would still be the right way on Seb’s phone. “Brendon’s gonna check around work and find some projects and work to throw my way. That’s all good.”

“Then what is it?”

With a deep sigh, you began. “While I was on the phone with him, some hipster reporter dude interrupted.”

“Son of a—”

“It took a minute to get it through his thick skull that I was not going to give him a story but he finally left. It just kinda took a bit out of me.”

“God, Y/N. I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yeah, it’s not,” you agreed softly. “But you prepared me. I handled it. Then Sean made me eat dinner with him and his wife. She’s an amazing cook. Sometime when you’re home, they want to have both of us over. And when this is all over, we definitely need to think of a hell of a way to thank him for everything. He’s done so much more than a driver gets paid to.”

The two of you brainstormed for a bit about how to repay Sean for his kindness and friendship. Then your conversation moved on to different subjects, bouncing around for a bit until you yawned for the third time in five minutes.

“You seem more tired than usual. You doing okay?”

“I’m fine. I mean, I haven’t been sleeping well, but that’s your fault.”

“My fault?” he asked.

“Yeah. You made me sleep next to you for two weeks then you just up and leave me alone. It’s rude, Mr. Stan.”

Something in your words sparked something in his eyes that filled you with… excitement?

“Well, Mrs. Stan…” His words were accompanied by a wink that stopped your heart. Forget your brain tumor. Sebastian was going to be the source of your death. “You only have two more nights before I’m home for the weekend.”

Flirting? Were you flirting?

“Two nights with you and five nights without you is just not a fraction I like.”

My god, you were flirting.

“If you can convince Marvel to move their studios to New York, I’m all game. Until then, we’ll have to make the best of those two nights.”

“Make the best of them, hmm?”

“Yeah,” he said in a low voice. “Mackie’s commentary on The Voice isn’t as good as yours. I’ve been waiting to watch the new episodes until I’m with you.”

The unexpected twist made you laugh out loud. It didn’t escape your attention how his eyes crinkled at the sound, affection flooding his expression. “The Voice on Friday and Dancing With The Stars on Saturday?”

“I’ll pen it in my calendar, sweetheart.”

“Ooo. I’m pen-worthy. That’s so much better than pencil-worthy.”

“You’re white-out-worthy, baby. I’d white-out plans I have with someone else to pen in plans with you.”

Fucking hell. Baby was a new one.

If he’d put on half this much charm on you in Vegas when you were drunk, it was no wonder you’d married him.

“Then I guess I need to go erase the pencil plans I had for Saturday evening and make room for you. Maybe even buy a special pen just for you.”

“Maybe wait for tomorrow? You’ve had a long day. Seems like you need a good night’s rest.”

“You too, hun.” The pet name felt foreign on your tongue, but it somehow felt… right? “Shooting starts tomorrow. You need to be ready to keep up with Mackie’s energy.”

“He wants to meet’cha, you know. Apparently I haven’t shut up about you.’

“Gimme a few more weeks to get used to this treatment and maybe I can spend more than three seconds around him without needing a nap,” you joked. “Unless he only has that energy when there’s a camera on him…?”

Seb laughed. “That is him all the damn time.”

“Then I better let you go for the night. You’ve spent the last few weeks shlumping around with me. Gotta get your rest to keep up with him tomorrow.”

“And you gotta get your rest so you can hand out candy tomorrow.”

“I’m excited for that, actually. Trick or Treating really slowed down back in Utah lately. I think last year I got, like, maybe three groups of kids?”

“You’ll get your fill this year. A lot of the kids in the apartment complex go to every door. Just be careful, okay? I don’t want you getting sick.”

It took twenty more minutes before you were finally able to say your goodbyes and hang up. You stared at your phone for a moment before placing it on the side table beside Sebastian’s bed and turning off the light.

Houston, we've got some flirting!!! Also can we just take a minute to appreciate how amazing Sean is? But things seem to be looking up!

CHAPTER 19: THE LONG DAY

#sebastian x reader #sebastian stan x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel fanfic #fluff

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deathonyourtongue · 4 years

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Winter Passing | Chapter 2

Summary: Injured and left for dead in the middle of a nowhere state, he traverses peaks and valleys for days without seeing any sign of civilization. Just as death’s icy fingers begin to coil around him, he finds a cabin in a clearing. Terrified from years of being told fairy tales and ghost stories, he nevertheless knocks on the door. When he wakes, he finds not a demon, but an angel, long removed from the insanity of the modern world. Pairing: Slightly AU!Henry Cavill x OC Word Count: 1.6K Warnings: None for this chapter A/N: As always, like if you want to be added to the tag list. Message me if you want to be removed.

@radaofrivia @crushed-pink-petals @henrycavillfanpage @kirasmomsstuff @bluestarego @redhairedmoiraandtheliferuiners @safiras @honeychicana @agniavateira @henryfanfics101 @fatefuldestinies @lifeofrileyp

Olivia did her best to keep from laughing at the man slumped in front of her hearth. His reaction to her home, and to her, was one for the record books. Most people who crossed onto her land were curious, some talkative to the point of being obnoxious and some too scared to even say more than a hello for fear she would put them in an oven or make them part of the house. She wasn’t sure why grown men and women still held onto childhood fairytale nonsense, but in the stranger’s case, with his expression as if he’d seen a ghost, his first words were icing on the cake, and Olivia had to cover her mouth to keep the noise from escaping.

When sobered enough to maintain a straight face, Olivia stepped into the living room and crouched down so she was eye-level with her patient. “Hi. I’m Olivia. You passed out on my porch. What’s your name?”

“H-Henry.” The man answered, his eyes still drooping from what Olivia could only suspect was a concussion. She’d have to task Gunnar with keeping him awake lest the fatigue take hold.

“Henry. From the old Germanic meaning ‘Home Ruler’.” Olivia murmured more to herself than to anyone else, swirling the name around in her mind as though it were a vintage wine. “Do you remember what day it is?” She asked, moving to sit cross-legged on the floor next to him, one hand extending tentatively out to check his head for any more bumps now that he was sitting up somewhat.

“It’s Monday. Worst day of the week,” Henry grumbled despite a soft smile thrown in her direction. “I don’t remember much of anything. Definitely don’t remember how I got here. Have you called the police?” He gave her the added information without Olivia needing to prod, Henry’s question making her smile.

“No. Usually I wait until my visitors are coherent before making assumptions and calling for help.” Winking at him, she chuckled and helped him shift to a more comfortable position resting against her couch.

“Don’t try and stand just yet. Pretty sure that with the angle your leg was at when you slumped into the doorway, you’re gonna be hurting if you try. So you don’t remember how you got to the bottom of the mountain?” Olivia asked as she stood once more, moving to the kitchen to start on breakfast and some peppermint tea for her guest.

Monday was her day to include mending in her practice, and it seemed as though the universe was sending Olivia her greatest challenge yet. Discreetly, she saged the kitchen, paying special attention to the cup Henry would drink from, hoping that along with the mint, the sage would begin to cleanse him of any of the negativity his incident had brought through her door.

Henry watched Olivia move about the kitchen, barefoot and so in tune with her surroundings that it made him wonder if she had made the house with her own two hands. Far more graceful than his ex, it seemed almost like she had a trail of stardust propping up every movement of her arms and legs. It may have been the concussion affecting his vision, but Henry was enthralled nonetheless.

“Are you allergic to anything, Henry?” Olivia asked, breaking Henry’s reverie as she pulled eggs from the basket on the counter, butter from the dish, and a ham from the ice box. After a moment’s pause and the realization that she had no bread, Olivia grabbed grated potato from the ice box and placed it next to the ham, switching her original menu from an omelette to a breakfast hash for better balance.

“Not last I checked,” he replied, his smile lopsided and boyish, Henry’s attention moving only briefly to Gunnar who’d made his thigh resting place for his fuzzy head, the dog huffing out a great sigh as though he knew his owner was in for a long night with their new guest.

Olivia finished off his tea with honey, adding a single lavender bud in the bottom to help with the wearing off of the adrenaline she could still feel coursing from his every pore. Whatever had happened, it had been bad enough to force him to walk all the way to her place injured, and no one did that unless they absolutely had to.

“Here. Drink slow and just know you’re safe now. Nothing’s broken, or dislocated, but I don’t want you in a rush to leave here because the injuries you do have aren’t exactly minor. Do you feel dizzy?” She asked as she handed over the mug, noting the almost imperceptible tremor in his hands as he took the drink, another sign that if she didn’t get him fed, bathed, and into the downstairs bedroom soon, he’d be in a world of pain.

Henry went to nod, but the room spun too hard, forcing him to take deep breaths in order to make it stop. When the wave of seasickness passed, he managed a weak smile and said, “Yes, the room’s still moving quite a bit.”

Olivia resisted the urge to ruffle his curls, blinking it away and silently questioning herself on the matter, wondering if maybe she’d been too long removed from human contact. Going back to her stove, she checked on the hash and found it ready to plate.

“Smells amazing,” Henry commented as she approached, two plates perched in one hand, a mug of strong coffee in the other. “Gunnar, scoot,” she spoke softly to the dog, getting a half-hearted growl before he jumped up onto the couch, wedging his head promptly between the two humans, intent on not only staying in the circle of conversation, but of seeing if there was anything worth eating on their plates.

“Here,” Olivia grinned, giving Gunnar a piece of ham, swearing she could see him smile as he scarfed it down.

“He’s quite the character,” Henry chuckled, graciously accepting the fork Olivia offered before looking at the plate with an elated grin.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Olivia replied, side-eyeing Gunnar, the dog simply huffing in response.

“Looks amazing too. One final test left,” Henry joked, giving her a wink.

Olivia admired the fact that, despite everything he seemed to have gone through given his injuries, he’d still managed to retain his humor. It was rare in her limited experience with men, and she found herself smiling around her first bite, appreciating the company of someone other than Gunnar for the first time in a long time.

They ate in comfortable silence, occasionally sneaking glances at one another, Olivia in fear that Henry would fall asleep, and Henry in curiosity that this was the life Olivia had chosen for herself. He couldn’t understand why anyone, let alone a woman by herself, would choose to live in the middle of nowhere, off the grid, and with little more than a dog for company.

When they finished, Olivia made quick work of the plates, cleaning them before the remnants could dry and stick. Not having running water was tricky at times, but she always made it work, no matter the circumstances.

“Okay, you stay put for a bit--stay awake--and I’m gonna fill the tub. We’ll get you cleaned up, then over to bed for some rest. Sound good?” Olivia asked, wrapping the shawl tighter around herself before slipping on her coat and stepping barefoot into her boots in preparation for bringing in the four buckets of water she’d need to heat over the hearth in order to fill the clawfoot tub that rested in the sunroom across from the kitchen.

With the first bucket filled, Olivia dumped it in the sparkling tub before crouching down and lighting the firebox beneath the ceramic. She slowed her pace on the second, giving the fire enough time to do its work before another layer of frigid water was added. By the time she was on the fourth, the water was nearly too hot; the last bucket took it down low enough to get into, and by the time she got Henry in, it would be the perfect temperature for soaking.

Olivia glanced quickly over the bundles that hung above the tub, picking a handful of Tujah, Wintergreen, Wormwood, and Mugwort, before adding Sage and Willow Bark to the mix. Satisfied with the amount of pain relief the plants would provide, Olivia moved back to the living room, concentration clear in her features.

“Bend your knees. Tell me which one hurts worse,” she instructed, watching the confusion on Henry’s face turn to realization. Slowly, he did as asked, wincing when he bent his left leg. It was all the answer she needed. “Okay, I’m gonna pull you up, and when I do, put your weight on your good leg, got it?” With Henry’s nod, she extended both hands and waited for his grip to firm before pulling him towards her, catching his large frame just under his arms when he came up too fast.

“Easy, easy,” she coaxed, slinging his left arm across her shoulders, Olivia making herself a veritable crutch for him to use.

With nothing but natural light to illuminate the room, some of the bruising on Henry’s face became more apparent. “Hit the dash pretty hard, huh?” Clicking her tongue, she shook her head, grateful he’d made it as far as he had in more or less one piece.

“You reckon it was a car accident?” Henry wondered, still having no recollection of how he came to end up on Olivia’s doorstep, nor of the events leading up to it. Whatever the cause, he was thankful he’d ended up in such experienced hands.

“I’ll turn around. The cloth is for...well, you know....modesty, once you get in,” Olivia explained, needing to stay only so she could evaluate the injuries hidden by his clothing and make sure that he’d be able to get out of the deep tub without further causing harm to his already battered body.

Henry took one look at the small square washcloth, and couldn’t help the smirk that crossed his face.

“Love, I hate to say it, but that? Won’t be enough for modesty.”

#henry cavill x oc #henry cavill fic #henry cavill #alicia vikander #winter passing #deathonyourtongueoriginals #fic

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mariequitecontrarie · 4 years

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To Make You Feel My Love

Summary: Rumplestiltskin returns Belle’s heart at the pawnshop. This time, Belle goes after him. Notes: Hey guys, long time, no see! This S4 fix-it has been occupying real estate in my brain for ages. What if Belle had gone after Rumple and we had more than the rushed scene on the pawnshop floor? Thanks to @galactic-pirates for making this a better story! Rating: T Word Count: 7600

On AO3

WILL SCARLET

Will Scarlet is running late, but even though he’d kept Belle waiting at the pawnshop long past supper, his circular thoughts make his steps down Main Street plodding and uncertain.

He wants to resent Rumplestiltskin for ruining his relationship with Belle, but he can’t find fault where there is none. Gold had kept his distance, giving Belle a wide, respectful berth. From what Will had seen, he hadn’t been near the pawnshop, Granny’s, or the library, nor any of Belle’s favorite places.

Hell, he’d been an absolute gentleman.

Until this morning, when Belle had gone to babysit Mary Margaret and David’s Neal Junior. Only then did Rumplestiltskin make his move, cornering Will in the pawnshop. And what Gold told him had changed everything. Learning that Regina was controlling Belle twisted Will’s stomach with disbelief. Is he worried about Belle and what Regina might do next? Certainly. But that isn’t the problem. The blow to his pride is the real sucker punch.

Will pats the precious cargo tucked inside his jacket. His ego doesn’t matter now. He has a job to finish.

Of course, Will cares for Belle. When he met her at Archie Hopper’s birthday party, her sparkling smile and wit had captured his attention right away, and he hadn’t been able to resist asking her to join him for pizza and a pint later that week. They’d chatted long into the evening, and although they didn’t find much common ground, she was fun to talk to. Who wouldn’t enjoy keeping company with a fine lass like Belle? She’s kind, thoughtful, and intelligent. But she’s also more complicated than he anticipated. Too independent, too strong-willed.

Still too in love with her husband.

For the first time in months, Will allows himself to think of Ana. Even though she was often plotting and scheming, being with Ana had been easier somehow. He’d been needed, appreciated. But Belle French Gold didn’t need anything Will Scarlet could offer.

Three weeks into their awkward romance, it’s becoming more obvious by the day that Will is little more than a placeholder.

Like any dating couple, he and Belle spend time together, but always on her terms. Mostly at the pawnshop, sometimes at Granny’s, but always in public and usually with a mountain of chocolate cake between them. It’s Belle’s favorite dessert, and she’s always trying to push a forkful down his gullet. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her he’s allergic to chocolate. She loves her books, stashes them everywhere. There’s even a stack of them at his apartment, although she’s never crossed the threshold. But he’s not much for reading, which is another point against him. Unlike Gold, who clearly shares Belle’s passion for words.

Last week he was searching through the shop drawers for a misplaced ledger when he discovered a book war tally between them, with little notes and quotations scribbled in the margins in two sets of handwriting. He’d quickly buried it in the back of the drawer.

Yeah, the Dark One has more in common with his girlfriend than he does.

Now, as he’s trudging back to the shop with Belle’s heart in a box, he’s still processing the knowledge that without her heart, any emotion or affection she showed him wasn’t real. The worst part is, he didn’t know. He hadn’t seen the difference in a heartless Belle anymore than he would know the difference between Guinness and Beamish when he’s a dozen pints in.

Gold’s visit had blown him out of the water. Concern from someone who really knows her, and for all his sins, truly loves her. Rumplestiltskin wouldn’t have approached him to get Belle’s heart if he hadn’t been desperate.

Much as it irked him to hear the truth from the Dark One, Rumplestiltskin is right; Will doesn’t know Belle as well as he believes. Perhaps he doesn’t know her at all.

So much for boasting about stealing his wife’s affections.

Continuing his plodding pace down Main Street, Will passes the library, then Granny’s. The recent rain has left large cold puddles on the street and his boots make a sloshing sound as he wades through them. The sun is beginning its evening descent, leaving a chill in the dusky air. His wool socks are damp and cold and starting to smell.

Every step brings him closer to his meeting with Rumplestiltskin and the inevitable end of his relationship with Belle. A moment he both dreads and anticipates.

He sidesteps a deep puddle in the middle of Main Street, pausing to take stock of the shop and the box in his hands. The store lights glow from within, casting a message of welcome onto the gloomy, shadowed streets. Through the blinds, he glimpses Belle, standing sentinel over Gold’s domain. Other than its dust-free shelves, everything is as it had been while she and Gold had run the store as husband and wife. If asked she would deny it, but Belle had taken to spending more time puttering around in here than she did at the library with her books.

All along she’d been waiting for Gold to come back. She’d banished him from Storybrooke and then planted herself at the one place to which he would always return. Almost as if daring him to find a way back into town and into her heart.

And today Gold had stormed the shop with a plan to literally win her heart back. It was a fairytale come true, romantic to even the harshest cynic.

Will takes a deep breath and opens the door. As he wipes his sodden boots on the mat inside, Belle greets him with a weary smile. A bag of Granny’s takeout awaits his return on the top of one of the display counters. He tries to croak out a hello, but the box behind his back holding Belle’s heart is slick in his damp palms. He digs his blunt fingernails into the wood, scratching the grain.

May as well get this over with. He shows Belle the box, revealing the crimson heart within. She spreads her hand across her breastbone, her body recognizing its missing heart.

Gold enters the shop through the back door, executing the plan exactly as they had discussed. His power and presence are magnetic, and the lamps seem to flicker in homage. All the energy in the room rushes toward him, ready to obey his every command. Belle’s eyes widen like the saucer that matches her favorite teacup, and Will clamps down on his back teeth. She takes a few steps back, raises a hand in protest, asks Gold why he’s here. The objection is token at best. Even without her heart, Belle’s emotion for Rumplestiltskin is a tangible force.

Will drops back to stand in the shadows, watching, listening, playing his part. Gold commands Belle into Will’s care, his tone laced with resolve and regret.

He’s so stunned by the naked adoration on the Dark One’s face when he returns the heart of the woman he loves, Will barely hears a word.

With Belle’s heart returned to its rightful place, Gold promises not to bother her anymore, but not before another moment passes between them that is so raw and private, Will is embarrassed to have witnessed it.

When he lifts his head, Rumplestiltskin is out the door, and Belle is staring after him like her whole world is gone. Will grasps her hand--a feeble attempt to offer comfort--but she shakes loose of his grip and stares off into the night after Rumplestiltskin, worrying her naked ring finger with her other hand.

Will is resigned; maybe even a little relieved?

There’s nothing left to do but say goodbye.

xoxo

BELLE

What Belle really wants is to feel alive again, to show herself and everyone else in town how capable she is of moving forward, of living a life that doesn’t include Rumple.

Since she banished him from Storybrooke six weeks earlier, advice for nursing her broken heart had come from all sides. Archie prescribed exercise and healthy eating; Granny suggested throwing herself into work; Snow thought she needed to slow down and take more naps.

For a little while, she tried following the suggestions of her friends, but every antidote left her stumbling through her days like a child lost in a fog. Food has no taste, her work at the library seems meaningless, and on the rare nights when she can fall asleep, Rumple follows her into her dreams.

She hasn’t seen him since he came back to Storybrooke, but last night’s dream of standing next to him at the well was so real. When she woke, she felt the warmth of his lips on hers and a peculiar pain in her chest. A royal blue coat she hasn’t worn in ages was draped across the foot of the bed. Odd. She stuffed it into the back of the closet and pulled out the new light pink one.

Eventually, people claimed, it would get easier. Nothing more than a silly platitude, really, but for the last couple of days, she’s struggling to care. She can’t pinpoint when she started to feel this way. All she knows is she would rather sit in the dark with a blanket over her head than face the world.

Will, bless him, is the one bright spot lately. Only he is without judgment; the only person who simply sits quietly at her side without talking, and without offering “101 Ways to Get Over Rumplestiltskin.” Maybe it’s because he loved Anastasia, the Red Queen, who had also made many wrong choices. Maybe it’s because deep down, they’re not expecting anything from each other.

Whatever the reason, he doesn’t demand anything of her, and for that, Belle owes him her gratitude.

xoxo

Granny’s, Last Night Belle sat in a booth opposite Ruby, sipping on her second glass of a new concoction called a Long Island Iced Tea.

Granny promised the combination of cola, liquors, and lemon tasted just like the real thing, so she gave it a try.

Belle doesn’t know why it makes any difference if the fake tea tastes like the original, but Ruby showed up at her house tonight demanding they relax and have a girls’ night. Too tired to argue, she put on the emerald green top and leather skirt Ruby fished out from the back of her closet and here they are.

At least the strange prickling sensation on her tongue and the curious humming in her veins means she’s feeling something. She’s been not quite right for the last few days. Not sick, but not well either. Maybe she should pay a visit to Doctor Whale.

Ruby took a long swig of her drink, a bright red fruity one called a Cosmopolitan. “So, are you still seeing Will?”

It was an odd question, considering she’d had dinner at Granny’s in this exact same booth with Will the night before. Ruby had even been their server.

“We were here together last night,” Belle said. “You swiped some of my curly fries, remember?”

“Oh yeah!”

“Will and I are doing fine,” she said. “Honestly, it’s refreshing to be with someone who’s simple and honest about who they are.”

Ruby giggled around her straw. “A super sweet way of saying he’s boring.”

Belle frowned. Was Ruby trying to confuse her? No one else has questioned her choice in dating Will, and several people have volunteered the viewpoint that both she and the town are better off without Rumplestiltskin in the picture. She hadn’t asked, but since when did that stop anyone?

“You’re always friendly to Will,” she pointed out.

“It’s one thing to be kind to a customer and a member of this town. It’s another to think he’s good for my best friend.” Ruby laughed again, but the shrewd tilt of her head made Belle feel strange and transparent.

She searched for something to say, a way to make Ruby stop giving her that look. “Will is kind. He gave me a rose.” There, that was something.

Ruby snorted. “I’ve read your story in Henry’s book. He’s not the first. Gold-”

Belle held up a hand, cutting her off. “I know who the roses came from.” When they were dating and when they were married, Rumple used to bring her flowers all the time. Often he brought home roses, but sometimes it was peonies and other times wildflowers. They used to enjoy discussing their different meanings. She toyed with the lemon slice floating on top of her drink. Surely she and Will had many things in common, she was just too tired to list them right now. “Will and I both like hiking.”

“Mmmmm. And has Will read any good books lately? If I remember right, you and Gold used to compete to see who could get through the Great Books first.”

“I had no idea you were such a big Rumple fan,” Belle said sarcastically.

She was starting to feel like a contestant on one of those bizarre game shows people watched during the day. Ruby hadn’t objected to her marriage to Rumplestiltskin, but she hadn’t been supportive, either. More like a silent bystander. Suddenly she was jockeying for position as president of his fan club? Belle waved Granny down, hoping to order some chips. Crunchy, salty chips might make her feel better. “So Will’s not a reader, so what?”

“So call me crazy, but I want to see my best friend happy. And with someone who’s happy with her. But Will doesn’t look like a doting boyfriend. Every time I see him, he looks like he’s in pain or halfway to the bottom of a keg.”

“He’s had a tough time,” Belle said, still trying to catch Granny’s eye. “Besides, some people aren’t comfortable expressing emotion.”

“Rumplestiltskin could be the coldest bastard alive,” Ruby said. “But when it came to you, there was never any question about his feelings. His love for you was written all over his face.”

Belle wasn’t sure what to say. Normally, such an impassioned speech would have started the tears yet again. A few weeks ago, she’d even cried in front of Hook, and they were hardly best friends. Being reminded of Rumple always made her chase her choices down the rabbit hole, wondering if she’d been too hasty in sending him away.

Now she only felt tired.

“Come on, Belle. You can lie to yourself but you can’t lie to me. Wasn’t it at least a little bit exciting?” Ruby leaned her elbows on the table, her eyes sparkling with secret conspiracy. “Being married to Rumplestiltskin?”

Belle gnawed her lip, trying to decide how to answer. The drink was starting to make her forehead feel numb. Perhaps she was imagining it, but Ruby seemed to be looking at her with an expectation akin to hope.

“I suppose...yes, I guess it was,” she admitted. Rumple had vexed her, confused her, but when she was with him, her nerve endings were always on fire. He’d made her feel alive, and she was transfixed by his darkness as much as she had celebrated the light.

Ruby nodded, shifting further forward in her seat. “You loved the excitement, the idea of rehabilitating a monster. Told me so yourself.” She took a long pull on her drink.

“He’s not a monster!” Belle snapped. The denial was a reflex, charged with an emotion she didn’t feel. A few other patrons in the diner turned to look at her, curious about who was yelling, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

Jumping to Rumple’s defense was a habit. A meaningless habit. She took a deep breath. “But that wasn’t...Rumple is...there’s no excuse for what he did but he’s still not...that.” What had he done, anyway? Belle couldn’t seem to remember.

She pushed her drink back and forth, wanting nothing more than to abandon this ridiculous evening and go home. But her legs were numb and if she left the table, she might not make it to the door before collapsing in a heap.

What was wrong with her? She really did need to call Whale, but then she would have to explain her symptoms. Difficult, considering she doesn’t know what the problem is, and she dare not bring up the word ‘depression.’ She’s not taking any more of those wacky antipsychotics he had her on when she was in the hospital last year.

At the cash register, Belle noticed Regina picking up a to-go order. It was the first time Belle has seen her today or had she been in the shop earlier? Awareness flickered on the edges of Belle’s consciousness but the feeling floated away as quickly as it came.

Across the table, Ruby snapped her fingers. “Belle? Did you hear me?”

Belle blinked. “Sorry, what?”

“I said I didn’t mean what I said about Gold. I’m sorry.” Ruby gave her hand a squeeze. “Are you okay? Maybe I shouldn’t have dragged you out tonight. I just miss you. We haven’t hung out in a while, but you don’t seem to be having much fun.”

“Forget it, I’m fine.” Belle let her eyes drift shut. “Just tired.”

“I know, sweetie,” Ruby soothed. “And I know you miss Gold. No matter what he’s done, you love him. I worry about you now that he’s back in Storybrooke, though. If he comes to find you, you won’t be able to stay away.”

Annoyance flares for a moment. Ruby thinks she’s weak. They all do.

She could stay away from Rumple if she really tried. She has a new boyfriend; Rumplestiltskin was no longer the only man in Belle French’s life.

“It’s over,” Belle said. “Rumple won’t get to me again.” She lifted her chin, daring Ruby to contradict her, but it didn’t matter.

How could she expect anyone else to believe her when she didn’t believe herself?

xoxo

Belle’s heart feels right inside her chest, strong and sure. Her ribs wrap around the familiar organ, holding it safe and snug. And when she holds her breath, she can feel the warmth of Rumple’s fingers on her heart, his fingers cupping her shoulder, strong yet tender.

She takes another lungful of air, holds it close to feel his phantom touch again.

Yesterday’s memories come surging back, and she almost falls to her knees with their force. At Regina’s urging, she had called Rumple to the well. He came, of course, as he always did when she asked. She’d seen his wounded husk of a heart. Then she’d kissed him. Seconds later, she’d ruined the tender moment with nasty words she didn’t mean to say. Words Regina put in her mouth.

The dream she thought she had was real.

It’s tempting to blame Regina for this mess, but she had walked right into this with her offer to help. Still, she is beyond weary of playing the ‘Use Belle to Get to Rumple Game’. Can’t anyone think of a better way to solve problems?

Fingers reach for hers, seeking to comfort, startling her. Will. She’d forgotten he was there.

His hand is warm but wrong, the fingers too short and thick, the palm too square. It doesn’t fit; they don’t fit.

She shakes him off, her full focus on watching her love walk away until he’s swallowed by the night.

How like Rumple to return her heart and then walk out the door with it all over again.

“Belle,” Will says, breaking into her thoughts again. “What can I do?”

This she recognizes--the consuming need to be something other than helpless. It was what drove her to help Regina yesterday. That, and she hadn’t seen Rumple since he’d been back in town. Regina had given her an easy excuse.

“Rumple’s sick,” she answers, staring at the outline of her reflection in the glass front of the shop. “I didn’t understand what he meant about his black heart. Not until he returned mine. Then I remembered. I saw him yesterday in the woods, by the old well.”

She decides it’s better to leave out the details, like how she’d compared their kisses and told Rumple he was lacking. The truth is, the brief pecks she’s shared with Will don’t come anywhere close to what Rumple makes her feel, and there’s no reason to hurt him.

“Figured it was something like that.” He takes a step closer but doesn’t attempt to touch her again. “Gold was the one who told me your heart had been stolen. He asked for my help.”

“Thank you.” She isn’t sure if she is grateful for his part in returning her heart or because he had allied with Rumple to do it. Rumple prided himself on working alone, and it was entirely out of character for him to trust anyone else with what needed doing. More than suspicious, Rumple asking Will for help was downright frightening.

A sign, she fears, of how weak his heart is becoming.

The idea of Rumple hurting and alone makes her dizzy with worry. Outside, droplets from this afternoon’s rain roll down the windows, little pin drops of light in the blackness. In the glass, she sees the bloated reflection of Will’s takeaway dinner from Granny’s sitting on the counter, the turkey melt and fries within long since gone cold.

It’s only been a few minutes since Rumple left the pawnshop, but it feels as though a lifetime has passed.

“What would you do if Anastasia was in trouble?” she asks Will, still facing the dark street. They haven’t talked much about each other’s past loves. Belle only knows that Will left Wonderland heartbroken and came to Storybrooke to heal and find a fresh start. She’s been equally quiet about Rumple.

“If this were Ana, I would give anything to be there for her.” Will sounds wistful. “For all her faults, there’s still good in her. In Rumplestiltskin, too, I’d wager.”

Will is quiet for a long moment, then asks the question. “Do you still love him?”

It’s an out, Belle realizes. He’s setting her free.

A tear runs down her cheek, and she turns to face the man who made her first few weeks without Rumplestiltskin a little easier. Will is a wonderful person, he’s just not the person for her “I do love him,” she whispers.

“Then fight for him. Go.” He nods toward the door.

Belle wastes no more time in hurrying after Rumple. They both know Will won’t be there when she returns.

The cold air hits her face and she squints into the dark, half-expecting Rumple to have vanished into thin air in one of his impressive parlor tricks. He’s nowhere in sight, so she picks a direction on instinct, splashing through frigid puddles as she runs on sheer hope, mindless of her soaked shoes.

It doesn’t take her long to catch him, and she pulls to a stop right outside the library doors.

“Rumple, wait!”

He stops walking away and turns, his forehead wrinkling with worry. “Belle, what are you doing out here in the cold? Are you okay?” He glances at her chest, where he’d replaced her heart mere moments earlier, and Belle looks down at her blouse. She’d run out of the shop without her coat.

“I should be asking you that question.” His face is ashen and his breathing shallow, pale fingers clutching the edges of his overcoat.

His rigid jaw softens at her concern and he looks at her like he's her husband, instead of someone she used to know. The way he looked at her scant minutes ago when he returned her heart. “Yes, well. Poison consuming your heart from the inside out will tend to have that effect.”

“Where are you staying?” She waves back toward the shop where the car is parked around the side. “I’ll drive you.”

“The cabin.” He tries to disguise a shiver.

“With Cruella?” She suddenly remembers hearing from Snow and David that Maleficent and Ursula had also been there with him. His evil dream team.

Taking in the worn sight of him, she tamps down on the urge to remind him that more nefarious plans won’t fix the current mess. To anyone else, he would appear healthy. Only she sees the brokenness behind his proud, well-dressed exterior. In all the years she’s known him, he’s never needed sleep, never felt the bite of winter air. Tonight his eyes are dark shadows, reflecting exhaustion, and he’s shivering in the cold.

“Come on.” She takes his arm, steering him in the direction of the car, and he allows himself to be led down the sidewalk.

He hadn’t asked for her help; then again, he never does. No expectations mean no disappointments.

Belle can’t help but wonder if he’ll ever trust her enough to take what she offers. This, she supposes as they walk arm-in-arm down the block together, is a start. xoxo

RUMPLESTILTSKIN

Rumplestiltskin isn’t sure what he expected when Belle chased him down the street and insisted on driving him somewhere, but coming back to their old home wasn’t on his list of possibilities.

The weakened state of his heart has made him careless and he’d nodded off in the car, his forehead pressed against the passenger side window. He’d woken up to find the car already parked in the driveway as if by magic, then followed Belle into the house as docile as a lamb.

Out of habit, Rumplestiltskin heads for the den and crouches before the hearth to start a fire. Back when life was good, relaxing in front of a good blaze was one of their favorite ways to spend a quiet evening. Belle would read, stopping now and then to laugh or read a passage aloud for his entertainment; he would make tea for her and pour whiskey for himself, then settle in the leather armchair to review paperwork from the shop. Occasionally, he would simply stare into the flames and think.

He hasn’t been here since she banished him from Storybrooke, and he’s surprised to see how little has changed. He expected Belle would have moved into the apartment above the library. But from the piles of books stacked on the floors and the warm, comforting aromas of paper and vanilla in the air, he can tell she’s been living here. Half-burned candles are clustered on the dust-free coffee and end tables, and a throw blanket they bought together is slung over the back of the leather sofa. He wonders if his suits are still hanging in the master bedroom closet.

Belle has been living here where they’d lived as husband and wife. Hope kindles in his spirit like the embers glowing in the grate. Maybe Belle still feels something for him, or perhaps all these creature comforts tell of evenings she’s been spending here with Will.

Will is the better man, that’s certain. Honorable, strong, caring. Rumplestiltskin simply counts himself a lucky bastard for having Belle in his life for as long as he did. How he talked her into marrying him, he has no idea.

In truth, he never expected her to say yes.

Knowing his failings as a husband doesn’t remove the sting of feeling replaced. Will is such a better kisser than you are. Those were the exact words Belle said to him yesterday at the well.

And gods, do they hurt.

He can’t fault Belle when Regina played puppeteer with her heart, forcing her to do and say things she didn’t mean. But what if she had meant it? Wasn’t there a grain of truth in every lie?

He focuses on the fire, punishing the log as he pretends Will Scarlet’s skull is on the other end of the hot poker clenched in his fist. The embers stir to life and before long, he has a strong blaze going. At least he can still do this right.

“Thank you,” Belle says quietly, coming to stand beside him. Her shoes are gone and she’s bundled into the old blue sweater she keeps tucked in the foyer closet. She holds out her hands, letting the fire warm her chilled fingertips. Her hands are always cold; such an odd contrast to her warm, generous heart.

Why she’s brought him here, he has no idea, but he’s helpless to do anything but wait for an explanation. His heart aches with the sort of physical pain he hasn’t felt in two hundred years and he can barely keep his feet. Moreover, he doesn’t have the strength to teleport away even if he wanted to escape.

Belle’s heart now restored, he doubts she is a pawn in another trick. Besides, this is Belle. Guileless, compassionate, beautiful Belle. Not for a moment does he believe she would hurt him of her own volition. Darkness and pain changed a person, though. He knows this better than most. He also knows he exposed her to harsh amounts of both. His wife. The one he’d sworn to love and protect until death. He is unworthy of her, which is why he returned her heart and entrusted her to Will.

So why isn’t she with him now?

“Shouldn’t you...where is Will?” He turns toward her, using the light of the fire to search her expressive face for answers. Is she smiling, frowning, biting her lip? He loves every little sign that tells him what she’s thinking.

She presses her lips together as if measuring her words. “You and I have things to say to each other.”

“But I thought the two of you were getting on.” Gods, he sounds like a village matchmaker. All he wants is for Belle to be happy, even if it’s not with him.

Her forehead crinkles the way it does whenever she’s thinking. “We’ve gone out a couple of times. Our relationship is simple. No complications. With Will, what you see is what you get.”

“And with me?”

Her laughter is tired, but at least she is smiling. “With you, nothing is simple.”

The truth in those words is indisputable, but it’s also one of the reasons she loves him or at least used to love him. He has no idea how she feels about him anymore, and her passionate kiss at the well yesterday has left him even more confused.

“Long ago, you told me love is layered. A mystery to be uncovered.” He smiles a little, remembering that day in his castle with fondness. He presented her a rose with a flourishing bow, and she’d not only accepted it, she’d liked it. And he’d fallen stupidly, hopelessly in love with her.

“And so it is.” She lifts her hands toward him, the arms of her too-large sweater sagging down to brush the top of her ribcage. “May I take your coat?”

She folds his overcoat neatly, the way he likes, and drapes it over the side of the leather armchair in the corner. His old chair. Does she mean for him to sit there? Before he can ask, she moves to the sofa and sits, patting the cushion beside her. Inviting him closer, but not too close.

“You look like you need to sit down,” she says. “Maybe you could tell me about New York?”

“All right.” Gold sinks slowly into the opposite cushion of the sofa, trying to make it look more like a choice than a need. The weakness of his heart is making harsh demands on his body and his legs wobble like a new colt, even when he’s off his feet. He rubs his fingers together, considering where to start his story. He’s not proud of the craven alliances he made with Ursula and Cruella, or of tricking Belle into thinking he was an Oxford linguistics scholar, or of releasing a Chernabog to get back into town. As for his hellish five weeks in the city, he’d rather forget about flatlining in a hospital bed and nearly dying at Zelena’s hand.

But Belle’s face is alive with interest, the way it had been in the Enchanted Forest when he returned from errands in far off kingdoms like Camelot and Arendelle. She would pour tea for both of them, steaming and sweet, and beg him to tell her about his adventures. It dawns on him that he’d promised her a honeymoon; that trip was meant to be the first leg of her long-cherished dream to see the world.

Until he’d stolen her hopes with his deceit.

When he looks at her again, she’s huddled beneath her blanket with her feet tucked under her knees, waiting for him to begin.

Belle relishes nothing more than a good story, and the least he can do is describe a place he’s been to that she longs to see, even if his visit was anything but a vacation. So he reclines against the back of the sofa and begins to talk, describing the flashing lights, bright yellow taxi cabs, and bustling sidewalks. Buildings so tall they chased the stars. Theatres, food trucks, Central Park bursting into bloom. The wonderful, lively madness of New York.

Belle listens with rapt attention, her shoulders hunched toward him in anticipation. And so he digs deeper, into the darker aspects of the city, telling her of roaming the streets without magic, seeking warmth from a fire in a trash can under a bridge, microwaving ramen noodles swathed in a ratty bathrobe, sleeping on a sagging couch in the dank, third-floor flat he shared with Ursula.

He tells her the skies are blacker in New York than in Maine because the bright billboards and digital signs eclipse the starlight. He even admits to collapsing in Neal’s old apartment and almost dying in the hospital, stopping short of telling her how frightened he’d been. How he’d longed to call her like he had the last time he was dying, but he didn’t think she wanted to hear from him. Details about Zelena and the potion that jump-started his heart will have to wait.

“I don’t expect you to understand, Belle,” he says when he finishes his tale. They both know he doesn’t mean his talking tour of New York City.

“But I do understand, Rumple. I do.”

While he’d been speaking, she’d come closer, until she’s almost sitting on his side of the sofa. Now she reaches for him, lightly resting her palm over the back of his hand. “All you really wanted was to come home. And if all those decisions led you here, then I’m grateful.”

So she hadn’t wanted him banished for good. Relief at being welcomed, even in this small way, eases the burden of hurt he’s carried all these weeks.

“Thank you for telling me,” she says. “And for getting my heart back. I didn’t get a chance to say it back at the shop.”

He averts his gaze from the compassion in hers. Those angel eyes saw the good in many devils, him most of all. “I deserve everything that happened to me. That’s why I left you with Will. I-” he stops as his chest hitches with another pain and she squeezes his fingers “-soon my heart will be completely black and there will be no love left inside me. The man you saw good in will be gone. I’m not worth...you shouldn’t bother.” He finishes with a wheeze.

“When it comes to you, you’re fond of telling me what I’m supposed to want and think and feel.” She wags a finger, her frustration a tangled web between them. “Why don’t you let me decide what is and is not worth the bother?”

The boldness of her devotion continues to astound him.

When he held her heart in his hands earlier tonight, he’d felt the strength of it. A heart untouched by dark deeds, young, strong, so full of love. Each heart has a unique life force, an imprint of the one to whom it belongs. He’s used, stolen, and crushed more than his share. Tonight was the first time he’d ever returned one. Restless, he shifts on the sofa, trying to get comfortable. When that fails, he tries to rise. “I really need…” He falls back against the cushion. Damn this infernal weakness! His focus needs to be on getting that wretched Author to rewrite his story, to keep the Dark One from overtaking his soul, but he can’t control his own limbs. Even magic, his oldest, darkest friend, is failing him.

“What you really need is to let me help you,” she says. “Will you?”

His breath is growing short, and he shrinks into the corner of the sofa with a groan. Gods, his chest burns, but he doesn’t want to be an obligation or a heroic duty she feels honor-bound to carry out. “You want to help me for the sake of the town? To protect them from the beast? Or because a hero always helps people?”

She puts her hands on his shoulders, the pressure of her fingers demanding that he look at her. He does, only to find bright blue eyes swimming with tears.

“This isn’t about being a hero,” she says. “I want to help because I care about you. It’s like I told you at the well yesterday and again tonight, I’ve seen your heart and I do understand. Despite everything, I have faith in you.”

She lets go of his shoulders, and he wants to weep with the loss of her touch. Instead, he focuses on her offer of help. “What do you have in mind?”

“Tomorrow, I’ll go with you to see this Author of yours. But first, rest. You’re in no condition to go anywhere tonight, Rumple,” she says. “ Take off your jacket.”

He almost laughs at her order. Despite the cloak of sadness and exhaustion surrounding them, Belle is unflinchingly direct. He attempts to struggle out of the garment, nearly ripping it before she smooths her hands down his arms again, easing him out of the sleeves.

Her hands fall to unbutton his waistcoat and tie, her teeth scraping her lower lip in concentration. “What are you doing?” he asks, though it’s fairly obvious she’s disrobing him here in the den.

“Don’t worry.” Aware of his sense of propriety, she shrugs. “I’m making you more comfortable.”

Again he wonders what Will would think about them being here together. He wants to ask again, but with the new understanding building between them, their intimacy is as fragile as a chipped china cup.

Belle edges to the far end of the sofa, then pats her legs in invitation. “Stretch out.”

Too tired to argue, he unlaces his shoes and removes them, then eases down until his head and shoulders are cradled in her lap. He settles on his side, accepting her comfort, but facing away from her to watch his red striped socks flicker in the firelight.

Their bodies throw shadows on the wallpaper as evening melts into night, enrobing them like a warm blanket. They’re quiet for a long time, and only the rhythmic tick of the grandfather clock and the crackle of the fire enter the silence.

Staring into the fire with the warmth of Belle’s body cradling his head and her faint scent of roses and vanilla, he feels safe for the first time in many months.

Safe enough to ask the question that’s been puzzling him since he came back to town.

He shifts in her lap so he faces the ceiling, turning his head upward to see her face. “Why did you stay here in Storybrooke after I left? You could have traveled, seen the world. You still can. Will and you could-”

“There is no Will and me,” she interrupts, her fingers brushing back the annoying piece of hair that always falls across his forehead. “There never really was.”

He sucks in a breath, a rush of hope making his ruined heart beat triple time. “What do you mean?”

“Will is a good man.” He studies her expression. She smiles fondly when she talks about him, but no excitement lights her features the way it does when she talks about her books or learning something new. “Spending time with him was pleasant, but I think what we were both looking for was an escape from past hurts.”

The reminder that he is the cause of Belle’s pain makes him wince. “I’m sorry, Belle. And I know no number of apologies can make up for what I’ve done.”

He feels the weight of her hurt in her sigh. “I know, Rumple. I’m not angry with you, but I’m not sure I’m ready to forgive, either. After I saw your face again for the first time, with my heart, Will and I both knew it wasn’t right. I knew I could never love him the way…” She trails off, pressing her lips together. “I’m not saying I’m ready to be with you again, I’m not. And I might never be.”

They fall silent again, leaving him plenty of time to think over her words. What she’s given him tonight is enough. Time is the ultimate healer. Someday he might have the chance to earn her love, to become worthy of her. If he can get his heart working properly again.

Her cool fingers stroke his forehead in rhythmic motions, and he lets his eyes drift closed, savoring this stolen moment of peace.

“Can I see it again?” she whispers. “Your heart?”

“You’re the only one I trust with it,” he answers. He sits up to remove it from his chest--ugly, black, and cold--and gives it to her. She curls her fingers around it, cradles it in her palms like a precious object. Tears sting his eyes and he can almost feel her holding it.

With her eyes on his, she lifts the husk to her mouth and places a kiss on the flickering red core. The tender brush of her lips touches his soul. Perhaps he merely conjures the image of his heart glowing brighter with her kiss, but there’s no mistaking the surge of energy he feels. True love is potent magic indeed.

She places his heart back against his chest, and he guides her movements, allowing her to press it home.

“Let me do something for you now; something I should have done long ago,” he says. “Your heart, I want to protect it.”

It had been foolish of him not to have done this years ago. Blinded by the arrogance of power, he assumed he would always be by her side, protecting her. Now he must ensure that no one--not Regina, nor anyone else--will ever be able to control Belle again.

More importantly, he must make Belle feel his love in the only way he can while he still has the strength. Before the darkness consumes him for good, leaving nothing more than a black void, wretched and evil. “But the price. You’re so weak.” She bites her lower lip, no doubt confused by his urgency.

“I’ll pay any price. To me, the cost of you being hurt again is far greater.” Weeks, days, maybe mere hours remain before his heart turns to stone. And the weaker his heart becomes, the more volatile and unstable the darkness inside him will become. If the darkness escapes, not even he knows what will happen next. “Please sweet-” he stops, swallowing the endearment. He has lost the right to speak words of love. “Belle. Allow me to do this.”

A wobbly nod signals her acceptance, and he leads her to stand facing him between the sofa and the fireplace.

“Close your eyes, my love.” He places both hands in the center of her chest, careful not to touch the upper swells of her breasts even through the layers of fabric she wears. The powerful thrum of her heart seems to burn through her clothing, singeing his fingertips. It’s as though her heart has a mind of its own and understands what he must do.

Calling on all the love he feels for her, he channels the purest of magic. No darkness tonight. Soon a shimmer flows from his hands and into her body, and he sees a light so clear and true the den is illuminated as a brilliant summer day. Even the air is warm and sweet.

The force of the magic knocks them both backward and they reach out, catching each other. Together they stagger back to the sofa where he collapses, wrung dry from the exertion of conjuring the spell.

Sweat has beaded on his brow, and he feels Belle wiping it away with the soft hem of her sweater. Arms encircle him, pulling him close against her body.

“I feel warm,” she murmurs into the top of his head. “Safe.”

“The protection spell,” he slurs against her chest, his words thick and drowsy. “Makes you warm. Makes me tired.”

“Sleep now,” she urges, beginning to once more stroke his hair. “I’ll protect you. And tomorrow we’ll see the Author.”

He smiles through his exhaustion--his darling, wonderful, brave Belle--and lets his eyes drift shut.

They are far from whole, but with the truth out in the open, they are better tonight than they’ve been in a long time, maybe ever. Despite his many sins, she chooses to see the best in him. So he honors her choice with one of his own: he chooses to keep fighting, trying to be the good man she sees.

In truth, he’s terrified of tomorrow. He doesn’t want to die. But with Belle’s love on his side, this old husk of a heart will never give up.

###

THE END

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #rumbelle angst #rumbelle fix #fix-it #belle gold #rumplestiltskin #will scarlet #mqc writes #to make you feel my love

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norbert-weber · 4 years

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https://www.aier.org/article/an-education-in-viruses-and-public-health-from-michael-yeadon-former-vp-of-pfizer/

➖➖➖Dr. Michael Yeadon is an Allergy & Respiratory Therapeutic Area expert with 23 years in the pharmaceutical industry. He trained as a biochemist and pharmacologist, obtaining his PhD from the University of Surrey (UK) in 1988.

Dr. Yeadon then worked at the Wellcome Research Labs with Salvador Moncada with a research focus on airway hyper-responsiveness and effects of pollutants including ozone and working in drug discovery of 5-LO, COX, PAF, NO and lung inflammation. With colleagues, he was the first to detect exhaled NO in animals and later to induce NOS in lung via allergic triggers.

Joining Pfizer in 1995, he was responsible for the growth and portfolio delivery of the Allergy & Respiratory pipeline within the company. He was responsible for target selection and the progress into humans of new molecules, leading teams of up to 200 staff across all disciplines and won an Achievement Award for productivity in 2008.

Under his leadership the research unit invented oral and inhaled NCEs which delivered multiple positive clinical proofs of concept in asthma, allergic rhinitis and COPD. He led productive collaborations such as with Rigel Pharmaceuticals (SYK inhibitors) and was involved in the licensing of Spiriva and acquisition of the Meridica (inhaler device) company.

Dr. Yeadon has published over 40 original research articles and now consults and partners with a number of biotechnology companies. Before working with Apellis, Dr. Yeadon was VP and Chief Scientific Officer (Allergy & Respiratory Research) with Pfizer.

Below is a transcript of the video above:

My name is Dr Michael Yeadon.

My original training was a first-class honours degree in biochemistry and toxicology. Followed by a research-based PhD into respiratory pharmacology; and after that I’ve worked my entire life, uh, on the research side of the pharmaceutical industry – both big pharma and also biotech. My specific focus has been inflammation, immunology, allergy in the context of respiratory diseases (so the lung, but also the skin). So I would say I’m a kind of a deeply experienced inflammation, immunology, pulmonology kind of research person.

I initially became concerned about, the, our response to the coronavirus pandemic towards the middle or back end of April as early as that. It had become clear that if you look at the number of daily deaths versus the date the pandemic had turned. Really, pleasingly, already the wave was fundamentally over, and we would just watch it fall for a number of months – which is what it did. And so I became very perturbed about increasing restrictions on the behavior and movement of people in my country and I could see no reason for it then and I still don’t.

Government’s response to emergencies is guided by the scientific group who sit together under the Scientific Advisory Group for Emergencies or SAGE. So they should provide scientific advice to the government about what’s appropriate to do. SAGE has got several things wrong, and that has led to advice that’s inappropriate and – uh, not only has had horrible economic effects, but has had continuing medical effects in that people are no longer being treated properly.

SAGE took the view that since SARS-CoV-2 was a new virus that they believed there wouldn’t be any immunity at all in the population. So, I think that’s the first thing. I remember hearing that and I puzzled, because I already knew – because I read the scientific literature that SARS-CoV-2 was 80% similar to another virus you may have heard of called SARS that moved around the world a bit in 2003, and more than that: it’s quite similar, in pieces of it, to common cold-causing coronaviruses.

So, when I heard that there was this coronavirus moving across the world I wasn’t as worried as perhaps other people were, because I figured that since there are four common cold-causing coronaviruses, I figured that quite a lot of the population we’ve been exposed to one of those viruses, and would probably have a perhaps substantial protective immunity. And just to explain why I was so confident everybody knows the story of Edward Jenner and vaccination, and the story of cowpox and smallpox. And that the old story was that milkmaids had very, uh, clear complexions: they never suffered from things like smallpox, that if it didn’t kill you would leave your skin permanently scarred. And the reason that they had the protection was that they were exposed to a more benign, related virus called cowpox.

Edward Jenner came up with the idea that if it’s cowpox that saves the fair maid – he reasoned that if he could give another person an exposure to the cowpox, he would be able to protect them from smallpox. Now, he did an experiment that you can’t do now – and he never should have done it – but apocryphally, or really, or maybe you’re ill, we’re not sure. Edward Jenner acquired some of the liquid from a person infected with cowpox. Relatively mild pustules that then go away. And he got some of this and he – he scraped it into the skin of a small boy and a few weeks later, he obtained some liquid from some poor person that was dying of smallpox and infected the boy. And, lo and behold, the boy did not get ill and that gave birth to the whole field of what’s called vaccination. And vax, the vaccine’s “vac.” It comes from “vaccus,” the Latin name for cow. So, we are really familiar with the principle of cross immunization.

I’ve thought quite a lot about, you know, the vulnerable people in in care homes and there’s an awareness that, even though people really careful using PPE and so on, but that’s only going to go so far in a kind of, hot house environment where people are pretty close together in a care home. So the question I’ve had all year is: once one or two people, you know, got the virus in a care home, why wouldn’t almost everyone get infected? And of course the truth is, they didn’t. And one interpretation of that distinction is that a large proportion of people in the care homes had prior immunity.

At this time of year, about 1 in 30 people have a cold, caused by one of these coronaviruses. And just like the protection against smallpox provided by previous exposure to cowpox, so people exposed to having had a cold caused by one of these coronaviruses they’re now immune to SARS-CoV-2. So, 30% of the population was protected before the start. SAGE said it was zero – and I don’t understand how they could possibly have justified that. There’s a second, and equally fatal, unaccountable error that they have made in their model. The percentage of the population that SAGE asserts have been infected to date by the virus is about seven percent. I know that that’s what they believe and you can see it in a document they published in September called “Non-pharmaceutical interventions” and it says sadly more than 90% of the population is still vulnerable.

It’s unbelievably wrong. And I’m just going to explain why: they’ve based their number on the percentage of people in the country who have antibodies in their blood. And only the people who became most ill needed to actually develop and release antibodies around their body. So, it is certainly true that the people who have lots of antibodies were infected. But a very large number of people had milder symptoms, and even more people had none at all. And the best estimates that we can arrive at is that those people either made no antibodies, or so low amounts that they will have faded from now.

A recent publication on the percentage of care home residents who have antibodies to the virus very, very interesting. This time they were using high sensitivity tests for antibodies and they carefully picked out residents that never were PCR-positive: these are people who never got infected. And they found that 65% of them had antibodies to the virus; they never got infected. So I believe there was high prevalence of immunity in that population prior to the virus arriving. Big story in the media, recently, was that the percentage of people with antibodies against the virus in their blood was falling. Now, this was cast as a concern that immunity to SARS-CoV-2 doesn’t last very long. Well, you know, anyone with knowledge of immunity would – would just simply reject that. It’s not the way immunity to virus works – that would be T-cells. So, if the antibodies are falling gradually over time – which they have – from spring to present, the only plausible explanation is that the prevalence of the virus in the population is falling, and that’s why the antibody production gradually subsides.

Less than 40% of the population are susceptible. Even theoretical epidemiologists would tell you that that’s too small a number to support a consolidated and growing outbreak, community immunity, herd immunity. So, SAGE says that we’re not even close, and I’m telling you that the best science, by the best scientists in the world, published in the top peer-reviewed journals, says they’re wrong: that more than 60 of the population are now immune, and it’s simply not possible to have a large and growing pandemic.

Really good news, genuine good news, to hear that there’s data emerging from the vaccine clinical trials, and we are seeing vaccines that raise not just antibodies – but they’re also producing T-cell responses. This is great; back to proper science, proper immunology. That’s how immunity to viruses works. So, my surprise though, and it’s just annoying that when we’re talking about, uh, the percentage of the population that’s still susceptible we only talk about antibodies, like seven percent from SAGE. Why are we not talking about the 50% that have got T-cell immunity?

And so you might be thinking if Mike – and Dr Mike Yeadon is telling you these things… – or how come the pandemic isn’t over? Well, this may come as a surprise to you, but I believe fundamentally it is over. The country has experienced almost a complete cycle now of the virus sweeping through the land, and we are at the end of it. London was –was horribly affected in the spring, and somewhere in early April they were experiencing several hundred deaths per day from people dying with similar symptoms in respiratory failure and, uh, inflammation. And at the moment the number of people dying of SARS-CoV-2 in the capital is less than 10. So it’s down by 98, or something like that. And, the reason it’s down, is because there are now too few people in London susceptible to allow the virus to magnify, to amplify, to get an epidemic. And, and they would have been hit by now, because they were the first place hit in the spring. And I think what we’re seeing now in the Northeast and the Northwest would be the dying embers of the spreading out of this virus. And I’m very sorry that it is still true, that a small number of people are catching it, getting ill, and dying.

So why aren’t the media telling us that the pandemic is over? It’s not over because SAGE says it’s not. So SAGE consists of very many scientists, from a range of disciplines – mathematicians and clinicians – and there are multiple committees. But I found to my surprise – and I’m actually going to use the word – horror, that in the spring, all the way through the spring and summer, SAGE did not have on their committee someone who I would call a card-carrying immunologist; a clinical immunologist. I have to say I think that in the spring and summer SAGE was deficient in the expertise it had. They should have armed themselves, you know, with – around the table all the people required to to understand what was happening, and they didn’t do that. People asked me then, “Well Mike, if it’s, you know, if it’s fundamentally over, why are we still getting hundreds of deaths a day from SARS-CoV-2?” And I’ve thought a lot about this. There is a test that’s performed where people have their noses and tonsils swabbed, and then a test (called a PCR test) is performed on that. And what they’re looking for isn’t the virus – you might think it’s looking for the virus, but it’s not. What they’re looking for is a small piece of genetic sequence; it’s called RNA. Unfortunately, that bit of RNA will be found in people’s tonsils and nose not if they’ve just caught the virus, and they’re about to get ill, or they’re already ill. It’s also going to be found if they were infected previously weeks – or even, sometimes, a small number of months ago. Let me just explain why that is.

If you’ve been infected, and you’ve fought off the virus (which most people do), you’ll have broken, dead bits of virus. These are tiny things smaller than your cells, perhaps spread all the way through your airway, embedded in bits of mucus, maybe inside an airway lining cell. And so over a period of weeks or months you bring up cells that contain broken, dead pieces of the virus that you have conquered and killed. However, the PCR test is not able to detect whether the viral RNA has come from a living virus or a dead one (as I’ve just described). So I think a large proportion of the so-called positives are, in fact, what I call “cold” positives: they’re correctly identifying that there is some viral RNA in the sample – but it’s from a dead virus. It can’t hurt them, they’re not going to get ill, they can’t transmit it to anybody else. So they’re not infectious. So that accounts for a large number of the so-called positive cases. These are people who’ve beaten the virus. Why are we using this test that cannot distinguish between active infection and people who’ve conquered the virus?

This test has never been used in this way – and I’ve worked in this field. It’s not a suitable technique it’s a – it’s the kind of technique you would use for forensic purposes, if you were trying to do a DNA test to establish whether or not a person was at the scene of a crime. You would not be doing these tests by a windy, supermarket car parking; what looks like plastic marquee tents; on picnic tables. It’s not suitable at all – and it definitely shouldn’t be done in the way it’s been done. It’s subject to many mechanical errors, should we say, handling errors. If this was a test being used for legal purposes, for forensic purposes like a DNA identity test, the judge would throw out this evidence; would say it’s not admissible. It produces positives even when there’s no virus there at all. We call that a false positive.

As we’ve increased the number of tests done per day, so we’ve had to recruit less and less experienced laboratory staff – and now we’re using people who’ve never worked professionally in this area. What that does is it increases the frequency of mistakes, and the effect of this is that the false positive rate rises and rises. So, if you had a false positive rate of one percent – which Mr. Matt Hancock [British Secretary of State for Health and Social Care] told us was roughly the number they had in the summer – then if you tested a thousand people that had no virus ten of them would be positive, astonishingly. If the prevalence of the virus was only one in a thousand, that’s 0.1% – as the Office for National Statistics told us it was through the summer – then if you use the PCR test only one of them will be positive and genuinely so. But if the false positive rate is as low as one percent, you’ll also get 10 positives that are false.

Some people did say to me, “Well, there’ll be a higher percentage of people coming forward for testing in the community,” so-called “Pillar 2” testing, because they’ve been instructed only to come if they’ve got symptoms. But I call B.S. on that one. I don’t think that’s true. I know lots of friends and relatives who’ve been told by an employer, “Well, you’ve sat near someone who’s tested positive, and I don’t want you to come back to work until you’ve got a negative test.” I’ve seen information from many towns in the North – certainly Birmingham was one; Manchester was another; Bolton – where councils (and I really think they were trying to be helpful) were out leafleting the people of their cities saying, “We’re going to come round and swab you all because we want to track down this virus.” Now once you start testing people, more or less randomly, instead of [those] having symptoms you get the same amount of virus in the population as the Office of National Statistics found which is, at the time was, one in a thousand. And I’ve just told you Matt Hancock confirmed during the summer they had a false positive rate of about one percent. So that means out of a thousand people 10 would test positive, and it would be a false result, and only one would test positive and it was correct.

This test is monstrously unsuitable for detecting who has live virus in their airway. It’s subject to multiple distortions that are worsening as we get into the winter. As the number of tests done per day increase[s], the number of errors made by these overworked, not very experienced lab staff increase[s]. I think it’s not unreasonable to say a best guess of the false positive rate at the moment – what’s called the operational false positive rate is about five percent. Five percent of 300,000 is 15,000 positives. I think some of those positives are real; I don’t think it’s very many. Now, the problem with this false positive issue [is] it doesn’t just stop it at “cases”: it extends to people who are unwell and go to hospital. So people who go to hospital having tested positive – and it could be a false positive, and I think most of them are at the moment – if you go to hospital and you’ve tested positive previously, or you test positive in hospital, you’ll be counted now as a Covid admission.

Although there are more people in hospital now than a month ago, this is normal for autumn. Regrettably, people catch respiratory viruses and become ill, and some will die. I just don’t believe it’s got anything to do with Covid-19 anymore. There are more people in intensive care beds now than there were a month or so ago. That’s entirely normal as we move through late autumn into the early winter: those beds become used. But there aren’t more people than is normal for the time of year, and we’re not about to run out of capacity, certainly at a national level. But I think you know it is going now: if you should now die, you’ll be counted as a Covid death. But that’s not correct; these are people who might have – have gone to hospital having had a broken leg, for example, but they’ll – three percent of them will still test positive, and they’re not, they haven’t got the virus. It’s a – it’s a false positive, and if they die they’ll be called a Covid death – and they are not. They’ve died of something else.

One of the most troubling things I’ve heard this year was Mr. Johnson telling us about the “Moonshot” testing everybody often, maybe every day, is the way out of this problem. I’m telling you it’s the way to keep us in this problem: that number of tests is orders of magnitude higher than we’re already testing now, and the false positive rate (however low it is) will be far too large to accept. It will produce an enormous number of false positives.

What we should do is stop mass testing. Not only is it an affront to your liberty, it will not help at all: it will be immensely expensive and it will be a pathology all of its own. We’ll be fighting off stupid people – mostly government ministers – I’m sorry to say, who are not numerate, and do not understand statistics. If you test a million people a day with a test that produces one percent false positives, 10 000 people a day will wrongly be told they’ve got the virus. If the prevalence of the virus was say 0.1%, like the Office of National Statistics said it was in summer, then only a tenth of that number, uh, 1,000 would correctly be identified. But you can’t distinguish amongst the 11,000 who have genuinely got the virus and who are false positives. Moonshot, I think, will have a worse false positive rate. It’s not fixable, and it’s not necessary either. The pandemic – having passed through the population not only of, of the UK, but of all of Europe – and probably all of the world quite soon – it won’t return. Why won’t it return? Well, they’ve got T-cell immunity. We know this. It’s been studied by the best cellular immunologists in the world.

Sometimes people will say, “Well, it looks like the immunity is starting to fade.” You’ll sometimes see [statements] like that, and when I saw the first headline like this I remember being really quite confused, because that’s not the way immunology works. Just think about it for a moment. If that was how it worked it could kill you. When you had to fight it off, and if you had successfully done that, it somehow didn’t leave a mark in your body. Well, it does leave a mark on your body. The way you fought it off involved certain pattern recognition receptors, and has left you with – as it were – memory cells that remember what it was they fought off. And if they see that thing again it’s very easy for them to get those cells to work again in minutes or hours, and they will protect you. So the most likely explanation is it’ll last a long time.

So I read a bit more about this so-called tailing off of immunity – and I realized they were talking about antibodies. Just incorrect to – to think that antibodies, and how long they stay up, is a measure of immune protection against viruses. I mean you can tell I’m – I don’t agree with this. It says there have been some classic experiments done on people who have inborn errors in parts of their immune system, and some of them have inborn arrows that means they can’t make antibodies, and guess what: they – they are able to handle respiratory viruses the same as you and me. So, I don’t think it’s harmful to have antibodies, although some people are worried about the potential for amplifying inflammation from antibodies, but – but my view is that they’re – they’re probably neutral, and you definitely should not believe the story that because the antibody falls away you’ve lost immunity. Again, that’s just not the way the human immune system works.

The most likely duration of immunity to a respiratory virus like SARS-CoV-2 is multiple years. Why do I say that? We actually have the data for a virus that swept through parts of the world 17 years ago called SARS, and remember SARS-CoV-2 is 80% similar to SARS, so I think that’s the best comparison that anyone can provide. The evidence is clear. These very clever cellular immunologists studied all the people they could get hold of who had survived SARS 17 years ago. They took a blood sample, and they tested whether they responded or not to the original SARS, and they all did. They all have perfectly normal, robust T-cell memory. They are actually also protected against SARS-CoV-2 because it’s so similar, it’s cross-immunity. So, I would say the best data that exists is that immunity should be robust for at least 17 years. I think it’s entirely possible that it is lifelong. The style of the responses of these people’s T-cells were the same as if you’ve been vaccinated and then you come back years later to see, has that immunity been retained? And so I think the evidence is really strong that the duration of immunity will be multiple years, and possibly lifelong.

There have been but a tiny handful of people who appear to have been infected twice – now they’re very interesting, we need to know who they are and understand them very well, they’ve probably got certain rare immune deficiency syndromes. So I’m not pretending no one ever gets reinfected, but I am pointing out that it’s literally five people (or maybe 50 people), but the World Health Organization estimated some weeks ago that 750 million people have been infected so far by SARS-CoV-2. That means most people are not being reinfected, and I can tell you why that is: it’s normal. It’s what happens with viruses, respiratory viruses. Some people have – have called for “zero Covid” as if it’s some political slogan. And there are some people I’ve heard calling for it almost every day; they’re completely unqualified to tell you anything.

Something that’s really important to know is that SARS-CoV-2 – it’s an unpleasant virus. There’s no question about it, but it’s not what you were told in spring. We were originally told that it would kill perhaps three percent of people it infected – which is horrifying. That’s 30 times worse than flu. We always overestimate the lethality of new infectious diseases when we’re in the eye of the storm. I believe the true infection fatality ratio of Covid-19, the true threat to life is, the same as seasonal flu.

So there’s no reason why you would want to try and drive Covid to zero. It’s a nonsense – that’s just not how biology is. And all the means I have heard, uh, proposed, as ways to get us there are much more damaging and pathological, I would say, than than the virus itself. It’s simply not possible to get rid of every single copy of the Covid-19 virus, and the means to get you there would destroy society. Forget the cost – although it would be huge – it would destroy your liberty, you would need to not go out until you’ve been tested and have your result back. And I have described how the false positive rate would just destroy it from a statistical perspective. I don’t believe it can be done: it’s not scientifically realistic, it’s not medically realistic, and it’s not what we have ever done.

As the virus swept towards the UK in the – in the late winter and early spring I too was concerned, because at the time we were told perhaps three percent might die. So when the Prime Minister called for a lockdown I wasn’t pleased about it, but I understood that we should try this. But it’s important that you understand, that when we look at the profile of the pandemic as it passed through the population, that it was clear that the number of infections every day was falling. We’d passed the peak quite a long time before lockdown started. So we took all that pain, that locked down pain which was multiple weeks – I don’t remember exactly how many multiple weeks – we took it for nothing. If there was a really important effect of lockdown on the number of people who died, or the rate of it, you should at least be able to order them. Like, these people had locked down, and these didn’t – and you cannot. All heavily infected countries’ shapes are the same, whether they had locked down or not. They don’t work. I don’t know why anyone is allowing you, know you, to be pushed into this corner.

I don’t think we entirely know why it is that some countries were hit harder than others, but I have to say I think scientifically the smart money is on a mixture of forces. One would be this cross immunity. Although China had an awful time in Wuhan, in Hubei province, it didn’t spread elsewhere in the country, and I suspect that meant because a lot of them had this cross immunity. And I think nearby countries, in the main, had lots of cross immunity. So that’s one possibility. The other one, though, is in terms of the severity of what did the virus do to a particular population. We’ve seen devastating effects in countries like UK and in Belgium, uh, France, and maybe even in Sweden, and much smaller numbers of deaths in other countries like – like Greece and in Germany. And you might think, “Well, was that was it something that they did?” And I wish it was true, because if it was something we did we could learn from it and do it and it would work in the future. But there’s no evidence whatsoever that it was anything humans did. The passage of this virus through the human population is an entirely natural process that completely ignored our puny efforts to control it.

So there is this theory – I don’t like the name very much – but it’s called “dry tinder.” If people in a country who are vulnerable for to dying in the winter (usually of respiratory viruses), if you have a very mild winter season, like UK did – we had a very mild seasonal flu last year and the year before and so did Sweden – then what happens is there are larger number of very vulnerable people who are even older than usual, and – and I think that’s why we suffered a rather large number of deaths. It was still only 0.06% of the population, equivalent to about four weeks of normal mortality. But countries that had very severe winters recently, and Greece and Germany certainly had very lethal winter flus in the last two years. I think then, they had a smaller population of very vulnerable people, and that is the main reason why they lost fewer people. It’s not to do with locking down, it’s not to do with testing, or tracking, or tracing. I personally don’t think any of those measures have made any difference at all. So Belgium and UK and Sweden were particularly vulnerable, whereas adjacent Nordic countries – I – I get fed up with hearing about this, uh, idea that they locked down and that’s why it saved them and afraid the other Nordic countries had normal flu epidemics the last two or three years. Sweden, like UK, had very mild epidemics: you can just go and look at the number of deaths, it’s sub-normal for UK and Sweden. And now we’ve got a supra-normal, a larger-than-normal, number of deaths from Covid.

Now there may be other reasons, I’m not saying there are not but I think those two main forces – the amount of prior immunity and the so-called “dry tinder,” what vulnerable fraction of the population did you have as a result of seasonal flu being intense or not – I think that accounts for most of it. And it’s – it’s just puberistic and, uh, and – and kind of silly that our government and advisors tell you that doing things that have never worked in the past, like lockdown are going to make any difference to the transfer of respiratory viruses. I don’t believe it for a moment. There’s no scientific evidence behind it and there are much stronger scientific hypotheses that do explain it. You might think that in terms of numbers of deaths – excess deaths – that Covid has produced such a large number that this will be an awful year for excess deaths, but surprisingly not. 2020 is lining up to be about eighth in a list since 1993.

Roughly 620,000 people die every year in this country. They say in life we are also in death – and it’s true, it’s been awful for those who have been personally affected by illness and death, but it’s not particularly unusual in terms of the number of people who’ve died. So one of the things I’ve noticed has happened in – in recent years is that we almost seem to be moving, uh, you know post-science, post-fact as if – as if facts don’t matter. For someone who’s qualified and practiced as a professional scientist for 35 years I think it’s deeply distressing that, I don’t think you should listen to me if I talked about – I don’t know, the design of motorways or something – like, I don’t know anything about motorways or – or how to grow trees better, I don’t know anything about that. But I do know quite a lot about immunology, infection, inflammation, and the way infectious organisms move through a population.

I’ve no other reason for giving this interview other than I really care what happens to my country – and we have to pull ourselves out of this. And I personally believe the way forward is twofold, it’s not difficult. One, we should cease mass testing of the mostly-well in the community immediately – it only provides misleading and grey information, and yet we’re driving policy almost completely based on it. It’s definitely wrong, we should not do it. Use the tests in hospital – I’m not saying don’t test – don’t continue mass testing, and for God’s sake, don’t increase the number of tests. It is a pathology all of its own which must be stamped out by right thinking people. And I’m afraid the people on SAGE, who have provided the modeling, the predictions, the – the measures that should be taken, that their work is so badly, and obviously flawed – lethally incompetent, that you should have no more to do with these people. They should be fired immediately. And the effect of that advice has been to – have cost lots of innocent people their lives from non-Covid causes, they should be dismissed and reconstituted using an appropriate group of skilled individuals – especially avoiding any who might even have the suggestion of a conflict of interest. I think we’re right at the edge of the precipice. I really hope that we can pull back.

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cozycryptidcorner · 5 years

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The Unlikely Alliance, Chapter 2

Hey, everyone! A donor who wishes to remain anonymous has paid for a continuation of Sally and Ronan’s story! Please enjoy. I’d like to thank both the original commissioner and the anonymous donor for their support!

You can read the first chapter here, if you haven’t already!

The watercolor wash of yellow and orange begins to dry as Sally starts mixing the perfect shade for the bright red foliage of the surrounding trees, the large window on the side of the living room giving her the perfect view without her having to go outside in the cold. Three mugs sprawl out in front of her, one for cleaning the paintbrush off, one for untainted mixing water, and one for her tea that she might have accidentally placed her brush in once or twice. Gently blowing on the first layer of paint to get it to dry quicker, Sally glances up at the old clock, mentally calculating how long Ronan has gone. About… two hours at this point.

She can’t look at her phone to call or text him; it’s been turned off and placed in the safe that Ronan has in the basement. There is a single, ancient-looking landline with Ronan’s phone number scribbled on a notecard to the side, and when Sally had lifted the receiver, she heard the telltale hum of the connection. Even though she had debated calling him, she didn’t want to come off as clingy. Hanging out by yourself in a cabin that’s so far away from civilization with only a single ratty old dirt road to get to and from it can give anyone an extra dose of nervousness, so it’s not like she’s irrational with wanting company. While she could just hang out in the room Ronan had presented as hers earlier in the day, with the gorgeous cross-stitch piece hanging in a frame on the wall, she feels strange sitting on the bed as if she’s invading someone else’s space.

Instead of spiraling down with her insecurities and fears, though, she begins to paint a beautiful maple tree. A part of her wishes she could have her phone to play some of the music she wants to hear, but at least there’s a little portable radio that she has tuned to a station with a decent array of music. The only downside is, of course, the advertisements that she can’t just skip after five seconds or pay for premium access, leaving her to suffer through it. By the time Ronan gets back, she’s already shouting alongside the ’BIG MAC is BAC’ commercial with great success.

“I leave you for what, a few hours, and you’ve already been brainwashed by corporate propaganda.”

She hadn’t heard him come in since the radio had been turned up to the maximum volume to try and drown out her anxiety. In fact, Sally has been so wound up that she is one hundred percent prepared to stab him in the eye with the back of her paintbrush, knuckles white against the wooden handle as she spins around. At the sight of him, hands full of grocery bags in the posture of someone who will only make one trip from the car to the fridge even if it kills him, she lets out a sigh of relief, setting the makeshift weapon back down on the kitchen table. Maybe she should turn down the radio, even if it’s just a little bit.

Ronan sets the reusable (reusable!) bags down on the counter, the plastic-like material crinkling slightly as he does so. As he unloads the different groceries down- bread, eggs, bacon, and so on- he’s already separating some of the items away from the others, putting almost everything away except a select few. Within moments, he’s got a cast iron skillet on the old gas stove, lighting a match to ignite one of the burners. Oil, then vegetables, stirred with a wooden spoon, the smell almost becoming too much for Sally’s empty stomach to sit quietly. She tries to distract herself from the hunger by clearing away her art supplies out from the center of the table, setting everything carefully to the side.

After just a moment of mixing on heat, he adds eggs, waiting just a moment before lifting the panhandle with a cloth, shaking it back and forth for a moment, flipping the omelet with nothing more than the help of physics. Sally almost bursts into laughter, but she’s too shocked to do anything more than stare as it finishes cooking. Ronan slides the food onto a plate he had quickly rinsed and dried, placing it just in front of her as if he’s a professional chef. After the moment of shock wears off, Sally picks up the fork and takes a bite, and, okay, she won’t lie. She was expected it not to taste anywhere near as good as it does.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you can cook?” She asks, incredulously, as she shovels an unladylike amount of food into her mouth. “I wouldn’t have ordered all the takeout if I had known!”

“You never asked.” Ronan’s mouth curves in a slight smirk. “And besides, I never turn down free food. Or the opportunity to not work as hard.”

Sally lets out a puff of exacerbated breath because of course, but doesn’t feel the need to complain as she eats the rest of the food. Of course, she volunteers to do the dishes, might as well offer up some productivity, so while she starts filling the sink with sudsy water, she watches Ronan’s movements like a hawk. There’s something about the awkwardness of invading someone’s house that feels like it’s increased by threefold because… well, it’s Ronan, and she doesn’t know anything about it. The fact that she is in his cabin with a hypothetical window into his life, it feels strange.

Once the dishes are done, Sally realized how little there is to do. Yes, she can finish this painting today, and another one tomorrow, and another one after that. But with the limited amount of things to use as subject pieces, ohhhhh noooo, she’s going to get so restless. Pulling all her supplies back from the corner of the table and spreading everything out again, she tries to distract herself with the inevitability of cabin fever as she continues painting each and every leaf that she can see. The few hours before dinner fly by quickly, as they tend to do when she’s engrossed in her work, and Ronan is soon back in the kitchen, working on whatever recipe he has up his sleeve.

“Question,” Sally starts as Ronan sits across from her, “and feel free to shut me down if you think I’m acting xenophobic, I’ll knock it off. I know that werewolves feel the urge to change during the full moon, but I don’t think you’ve disappeared in the couple of months you’ve been with me.” Inwardly, she cringes at her choice of words. Sounds almost like they’re a couple.

Ronan cocks his head to the side slightly, eyes flickering in thought. “Well, you know how people who are violently allergic to things have epipens, right?” At her nod, he continues, reaching into his pocket and pulling out something about the size of a thick pencil. “Werewolves have something similar. If we feel the need to turn, we’ll slam this into our thigh, and that should stave off anything for a good couple of hours, which normally is enough time to get away from whatever the trigger is.”

Oh, it suddenly makes sense now. “That’s convenient,” she says, unable to think of any other words to describe having to stab yourself whenever you felt on the edge of a frenzy. Good isn’t quite the term she is looking for since this isn’t really a situation that could be construed as positive.

Ronan shrugs as though it’s nothing. “It’s easier than being locked up in the slum camps.”

Sally bites down her tongue and doesn’t say anything else. Once a were ends up in the slum camps, whether it was for petty crime or a fully fledged change in a populated area, it is very, very difficult for them to get back out. Even if they do, they need to have a human sponsor, an upcoming job with on the book wages, and those are the only two qualifications that she, a person who has lived a somewhat sheltered life, knows about. She has little doubt that there are so much more hoops those poor people have to jump through simply to be able to walk around unchained again.

Silently, she pokes at the food on her plate, scrambling for a way to turn this conversation somewhat positive, but the first thing that pops into her head is, “I’m glad that you’re the one protecting me.”

There is a pause, during which she is mentally kicking herself before Ronan responds. “This is the best job I could ask for given the circumstances.”

Which isn’t really an affirmation of any kind, more of a double-edged sword. They finished their food in silence, and Sally immediately started clearing the table. There’s no dishwasher, which she is only momentarily grateful for since that’s thirty minutes she doesn’t have to think about how she should be productive. Instead of hanging out in the living area with Ronan as he begins to clean and oil a wickedly sharp looking hunting knife, Sally finally decides to retreat to the room she’ll be staying in.

While it might not even be close to the most luxurious place she has ever been to, it most definitely is the homiest. And, as Sally thinks about it, homey is something she favors much more than whatever money can buy. Home is someplace that someone works to get, their emotions bleed through the surface, their love and hard work pouring into every crevice of the log walls and wooden floor. At the same time, Sally feels almost like she shouldn’t be there, that she is intruding on someone else’s life, and that she doesn’t deserve to catch glimpses of what Ronan is like outside of his job.

In any case, she lays down, the sheets stiff from years of unuse, pillow so saggy beneath her neck that she has to fold it in half for any kind of support. While the curtains have been drawn shut from whenever Ronan was last here, Sally eyes them suspiciously, as though someone might be on the other side, biding their time. With the tossing and turning she does, it’s a miracle she can even get a wink of sleep in the night, her heart thumping at any kind of creak the house sounds as it settles. That’s the thing about different buildings, they make unique noises in the night. It’s funny how little it took for Sally to forget that just from living a single year in an apartment.

Just as she had predicted; the next days of monotony begin to drive her mad. Sally tries her best to stay busy, she does, but she can only do so much homework without her professor’s instructions before she begins to lose it. She’s painted almost every interesting position out of the windows, and then gathered up some random objects from the cabin and tried making a still life. That painting only partially developed before she got bored of the subject material and abandoned it, still taped to a random piece of wood board she found for stability. Ronan walks with her outside, but only in short, quick bursts, not nearly enough to make Sally feel less isolated from the rest of the world.

Even though Sally would rather very much prefer that Ronan doesn’t leave her side, he still has to go out and buy food, without her. She watches him leave in another motorcycle he had stashed away in the adjacent shed (apparently he has more than just one), since taking her car might catch the attention from the wrong person. The moment he leaves from view, she begins to feel nervous once more, and even while she tries to rationalize it, you really can’t logic anxiety away.

Before she has a chance to spiral, the door knocks.

Her mouth goes dry.

Ronan always just strolls through the door like he owns the place, because, you know, so someone knocking would mean that this is someone else; theoretically, she thinks, trying to calm herself. Ronan might have just forgotten his keys, the ones he used to… leave… on the motorcycle. There’s a hunting knife that hangs on the wall like some antique trophy, so Sally stands on the tips of her toes to snag it before approaching the door. Biting her lower lip from nervousness, her fingers close around the cold doorknob as she tries calming her breath. Then, slowly, she opens it.

It’s a little girl, only about as tall as her waist, clothes filthy, puffy hair full of dirt, leaves, and twigs. The side of her quivering mouth is dripping with blood, her faded jeans ripped around her left knee. The eyes, though, are what catch Sally’s attention the most; bright, ruby-red, the color vivid enough to feel like it glows against her dull, earthy skin. In a small, mousy voice, she asks, “are you Ronan?”

“I- um, Ronan isn’t here right now, can I help you with anything?”

Wrong thing to say, apparently, because the little girl sticks out her lower lip, tears filling her eyes, and begins to bawl as if Sally had just straight slapped her instead.

Immediately panicking, she bends over, trying to get to the little child’s level, and begins to let out a hasty bit of comfort. “It’s- it’s alright. Ronan should be back any minute, really, he just went out to get food.” She realizes that she still has a machete the size of her forearm in hand, and not only is it probably terrifying the kid, but it’s also too late to do anything about it. Camly, robotically, she places it up on the coat hanger shelf that sits on the wall, directly to the side of the door while the girl goes hysterical.

Sally has never really needed to deal with a screaming child, and as the girl’s breath comes out in uneven gasps and chokes, tears clearing away the dirt from her cheeks and chin, she just sort of stands there, watching for a moment in complete befuddlement. Without any other idea of what to do, Sally ushers her in, setting the girl on one of the couches while she searches for something to wipe the grime with, going through the drawers frantically as she temporarily forgets where anything is with the impending stress. Finally, Sally is victorious, lifting up a small washcloth before running it under warm water from the tap.

The little girl doesn’t protest as Sally begins to gently scrub the mud off her face, her sobs slowing down to quiet, miserable hiccups as she gradually gets cleaner. Now, Sally doesn’t exactly have anything that could possibly fit this girl’s skinny, tiny frame, but there is no way she is going to let this poor creature stay in those dirty clothes a minute longer. One of her painting shirts should do the trick, and since it exists merely for the express purpose of getting dirty, Sally doesn’t mind its fate too terribly. Sally helps the girl change after she locates the shirt, slipping the oversized thing over her dusty hair, the stick-like arms popping out of the sleeves after Sally reaches through the holes to help guide her hands.

Soon enough, Sally has a much calmer child sitting at the table, pouring glass after glass of water for her to drink as if the poor thing has gone days without. There are billions of questions circling inside Sally’s head, what is a child doing out in the forest, why does she look like she just clawed her way out of hell, and how exactly is Ronan involved with this, but she starts with something small, something easily given up. “My name is Sally, what’s yours?”

The girl looks up at her, like a deer in headlights.

Sally feels almost guilty, the poor thing looks like she’s ready to be punched in the gut at any moment. “It’s alright if you don’t want to tell me, that’s you’re choice to make.”

It takes only a moment of silence. Quietly, as though the girl fears some kind of reprimand, she speaks. “Bernadette.”

Sally tries not to revel too hard at this step in the right direction. “Bernadette? That’s your name?” At the girl’s nod, Sally tries offering some encouragement for the show of trust. “That’s such a beautiful name! Not quite as fancy and pretty as plain old Sally, huh?”

Bernadette’s mouth twitches upward in a way that reminds Sally of Ronan, the hesitancy for showing any positive emotion was so on par that she gets an overwhelming sense of deja vu. Just as she’s about to start wheedling the story of why a kid that can’t be more than eight years old is out and about in the deep wilderness, more knocking comes from the door. It’s not like the girl’s knocking, which had been quiet and timid, but loud, demanding. Bernadette’s eyes glance up to drawn curtains as if they would suddenly disappear to reveal her worst nightmare lurking on the porch.

As Sally approaches the door, she feels her heart lurching in her stomach as she hears thick, dull sounding footsteps just outside on the porch. If this were a few months ago, Sally would automatically assume it’s Ronan, clomping on the wooden porch and waiting to be let in. But something is off about the rhythm of the steps, the sound of the boots, ticks and shows that someone would only catch if they are just shy of being intimately familiar with a person.

Carefully, she retrieves the machete back from the top of the coat rack, gripping it so tightly that her knuckles turn white. There is no peephole to look through, so Sally just opens the door quickly in the hopes of throwing whoever it is off their game, giant knife hidden behind her back in a not so subtle manner. “Can I help you?”

The sight of this man makes her skin crawl.

For one, his smile is far too wide for her comfort. It reminds her of that one man her dad still does business with, one that watched her with eyes a little too hawk-like when she was younger, showering Sally with strange compliments that made both her and her dad uncomfortable. Second, while his uniform is of a police force, it isn’t exactly one that Sally is intimately familiar with, but she is confident that Ronan must be. CCU is embroidered on his uniform, just above the left pocket, and she knows that he isn’t here for any humans.

“Can I help you?” She asks, hoping her dull green eyes will help put him off.

“Pardon the intrusion, ma’am, but I’m here to do a scheduled checkup to the were resident listed in the lease.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Sally doesn’t know where Ronan is or when he’ll be back. “Um, I’m sorry, my bod- er, boyfriend, will be back from the grocery store shortly. Can you come back in a few hours?”

The officer waits for a beat, blinking his icy eyes only once. “I didn’t realize that Ronan had a girlfriend, nor one so… human, as you seem.”

Sally forces a smile and begins to shut the door. “I’ll let him know that you stopped by, nice meeting you!”

He sticks his foot in the threshold, stopping the door just as Sally thought it was all over. Calmly, she opens the door again, throwing up a poker face so quickly that even trained detectives don’t even notice.

“Will that be all?” She asks, her tone an unfriendly an echo from when she first opened the door.

“Mmm, we’ll see.” He digs through his pockets, retrieving a folded piece of paper. Unfolding it carefully with his pale hands, he flips it around and shows a picture of a little girl, hair in careful, precise braids. When the officer shoves it towards her, she takes it reluctantly, not wanting any part of this in the slightest, needing to play along only until he leaves. “Have you seen this girl? She’s been missing from her family, her poor mother is absolutely frantic.”

Even though she tries to only pretend to look over the picture with no real intention of memorizing it, she realizes that the sparkly red eyes look familiar. Too familiar. Something in her face must have given it away because the officer snatches the picture back victoriously.

“Where is she?” He asks, voice no longer holding up a facade of friendliness.

Lie. “Oh, her,” Sally waves her hand nonchalantly. “I don’t know. She came looking for money and scraps, so I sent her to the nearest poor house. Don’t know what a were kid was doing all the way out in the forest, but it can’t be anything good.”

Out in the distance, Sally can hear the steady putter of an oncoming motorcycle. She does her best to not show any shred of excitement as the officer’s face twitches, ever so slightly. “And where would that be?”

Sally offers a shrug. “I don’t know, aren’t there ones in every city? She’ll find it.”

Then, miracle of all miracles, Ronan pulls up. Sally can already see that his muscles are tense, ready to fight, but still cautious about having to go toe to toe with this man.

“Ah, Mr. Kazimir! How nice of you to join us. I was just chatting with your girlfriend!”

Ronan didn’t even give much of a reaction to the last bit, just as Sally had hoped. Two grocery bags in each hand, he walks over, calmly standing to the officer’s side. “Did you need anything, sir?”

“No, no, just doing a wellness check. You didn’t come in for your annual appointment, as promised, and haven’t answered any of your cell calls. The only reason you haven’t been arrested yet is that your boss has been vouching for you.”

Ronan looks exasperated, but he does his best to keep his cool. “That was yesterday, wasn’t it?”

The officer chuckles, giving Ronan a not-so-friendly pat on the shoulder. “Well, if I had a girl with a body like that, I might forget a few things here and there, too.”

Neither Sally nor Ronan laughs along.

“Is that all, sir?” Ronan asks, voice tense.

The officer sighs, “well, there is a kid on the run from the institution, but your girl says that she sent that runt away. Now I have to go look all over town, maybe even out in the next.” He looks at Sally, almost petrifying her with the murder in his eyes. “Next time,” he says, voice no longer holding a shred of faux friendliness, “just invite the child in and wait for me to show up, eh?”

“Sure,” Sally says, trying to keep it together.

Ronan waits until the officer gets into his sleek, fancy car, driving off with the roar of an engine before coming in. Sally steps away to the side as he does so, letting the machete hang limply by her leg as she closes the door, locking the deadbolt. For a moment, everything is completely silent, then Ronan turns towards her, eyes livid.

“You turned away a- a- child? What is wrong-”

“Will you shut up for a second?!” Sally surprises herself by her tone and how much his words hurt. “Do you honestly think I’m that- that malicious? That I’m stupid? Is that what you really believe about me?”

Ronan blinks, half shaking his head, and is about forming another sentence when Sally beats him to the punch.

“I thought you would know me better than that.”

One of the bedroom doors creeks open behind her, and by the look in Ronan’s eyes, Bernadette must have stepped out. Without another word, Sally stares him down as the little girl takes a step into the short hallway, the floor creaking against her slight weight.

“I was hiding,” Bernadette says, her voice timid and airy.

Sally immediately spins around, dropping the anger so Bernadette won’t have to witness the ugliness of it all. “And that was a very, very smart thing to do, honey. If that man had come in, I wouldn’t have been able to stop him.”

Bernadette nods, and actually smiles at her for the first time, showing off a gap where her front teeth should be. Without another word to Ronan, Sally takes the bags from his hands, then sets them on the kitchen counter to take stock of what they have to use for dinner. Bernadette is probably starving, after all, and Sally wants this little girl’s first meal to be a good one.

“Thay man is going to be back with a search warrant,” Ronan says, “once he realizes there is no sign of the girl out in town.”

“Then, I guess,” Sally pulls out a loaf of bread, “we should think about moving on, huh?”

“Running would look suspicious.”

“And staying for him to find her is a better alternative?”

Ronan closes his mouth tightly, knowing that she’s right. “Not only did that CCU guy see your face, he probably is going to figure out that there’s a hefty price on your head once he starts asking around. There’s no way I can transport you anywhere, anymore, at least nowhere with federal were regulators.”

Sally presses her hands against the counter, hoping the pressure against her palms will help steel her nerves. “Give me my cell phone, I’ll call in a favor.”

“Sally-”

“I said to give me my godda-” she lets the curse word sizzle out as he glances over to Bernadette, “- just get me my phone.”

Ronan stares at her, just for a second, but doesn’t utter another word of argument as he spins around, retreating back to the safe. As he does so, Sally taps her fingers against the fake granite, and asks Bernadette, “what are you feeling for dinner? Grilled cheese? Pasta?”

Her ruby eyes sparkle, if she were any hungrier, she might start drooling on the floor.

Well, Sally doesn’t want the kid to eat herself sick, so she can’t just slam down a feast of unprecedented carbs, no matter how much she wants to spoil her. “Why don’t we start with some grilled cheese and soup? It’s warm you right up.”

Ronan comes up, just in time for Sally to relay the dinner plan to him, handing her the phone.

Calmly, despite the butterflies ramming up and down in her stomach, she walks over to her room. After shutting and locking the door, she flops onto her bed, watching the cell phone’s screen light up as she turns it on for the first time in what feels like years. After typing in her password, her thumb hovers over the phone app for a minute, listening to the muted voices of Ronan and Bernadette on the other side of her door.

Breathing in and out, trying to get a hold of herself, she types in the phone number she’s had memorized by heart.

It only rings once.

“Sally?”

Deep breath. “Hey, dad. I need a favor.”

#exophilia #sfw #werewolf #werewolf boyfriend #monster boyfriend #monster lover

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theodorerr · 5 years

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It's not on the list of prompts but I saw this a while ago and thought you could definitely make a cool short story out of it :) "Whenever I'm around him my stomach starts to feel all weird and fluttery... I think I might be allergic to him!"

(Plus, from the other anon: “Time to ruin everything”)

It’s been going on for weeks now and Liam really tried his best to ignore it, but he physically can’t anymore. Theo is not even doing anything, just chilling on his bed scrolling down his phone and there’s a good five feet between them, but Liam’s body is still reacting to the Chimera’s presence, his stomach a chaos of weird sensations he’s starting to get familiar with and he just can’t take it. It sucks, because since after the fight against the hunters he and Theo have grown pretty close, he would die rather than say it out loud but they’re almost friends now, and Liam actually enjoys his company, so he really doesn’t want to do this, but here he goes.

“Theo.”

Time to ruin everything.

“Yes?”

“I need to tell you something, but you have to promise you won’t get mad at me or blame me.”

Theo immediately glares at him, already mad, because nobody ever listens to Liam and he clearly still can’t be trusted. “What did you do.”

“No, see, that’s already wrong, it’s not something I did, it doesn’t depend from me, I’m just as much a victim as you are. Promise you won’t blame me.”

“Whatever, I promise. Now tell me.”

You’re not supposed to roll your eyes like that while promising something and Liam considers making Theo aware of this fact, but his mouth has other plans and he finds himself just blurting it out. “You can’t live here anymore.”

Liam is the one that just said that, and he’s also the one showing a bigger reaction to it: his eyes widen and his hands fly to grab his own hair in panic, all of it while Theo stares at him completely impassive.

“Okay.” He says after a few seconds and then he’s slipping his phone in his pocket and standing up to leave, as if nothing happened.

“Okay?” Liam repeats incredulous. That’s it? "You don’t even wanna know why?”

Theo shrugs and Liam visualizes himself tackling the chimera to the floor. “It’s your house, you don’t have to justify yourself if you don’t want me here anymore.”

“So you don’t want to know why.” Liam repeats slowly, a dangerous edge in his voice. Now he visualizes himself punching him.

“I’m going to pack my stuff.” Theo announces and he actually walks out of the room.

“You are actually leaving” Liam follows him, his fists closing automatically as a low growl grazes his throat. “Just like that.”

“Are you seriously getting mad at me right now? You’re the one throwing me out.”

“You can bet I’m mad!” Liam yells, his blood boiling in his veins and coloring his cheeks. “How can you just leave? Without even asking why? I can’t believe you’re being such an asshole right now, why are you not mad at me?!”

Finally Theo turns to look at him, an exasperated spark in his eyes. “You asked me not to blame you.”

“I also asked you to stop stealing my favourite hoodie but guess what. And give it to me, you can’t pack it with your stuff, it’s mine!” Theo actually growls now and a second later Liam is been hit in the face by his hoodie.

“You’re mad.” He states, immediately wearing it so Theo will have to steal him too if he wants it.

“Am not.”

“Yes, admit that you’re mad, come on.”

“I am not mad, I’m calmly packing my stuff and moving out of your house without being mad or blaming you one bit, just as you asked.” Theo insists and it’s so annoying how controlled he is as he barely pays attention to Liam and folds his shirts as if his life depended on it.

“Oh my god, you’re such a liar! Standing there, pretending you’re an angel while you’re secretly blaming me even if I asked you not to do that. And you don’t even ask why! You fold all your stupid shirts because God forbid you get creases on your shirts, that’s what would upset you! Creases! That’s all you care about! I hate you so much!” At this point Liam jumps on the bed and starts punching Theo’s pillow with all of his strength, faster and faster, with no mercy. “I hate you!”

“Liam, stop punching the pillow.”

“Liam, stop punching the pillow” Liam mocks him, giving a final punch just to prove his freedom. “Stop spying on me and everything I do, you creep.”

“You’re in my room.”

“It’s not your room, you’re leaving, remember?” Liam mutters bitter. “You’re leaving and you don’t even care.”

“I’m leaving because you want me to leave, stop blaming this on me!”

Theo yelled and Liam feels like yelling too now, but eventually he just sighs, trying to pat the pillow back to its original shape.

“Look, I don’t want you to leave, I just don’t know what else to do. I’m sick.”

“Clearly.”

“No, like, physically. In my stomach.”

“What?”

“I tried to ignore it but it’s getting worse. Every single time you walk into a room, my stomach goes crazy. I can’t do anything about it, I just get sick. And I know it’s going to sound bad, but there’s no other explanation: Theo,” Liam takes a deep breath. “I’m allergic to you.”

There. He said it. They can find a solution together now.

Except that Theo just gave him the most hateful glare ever and left, because of course he chooses to get offended by something Liam has no control over. Of fucking course.

“Theo, wait! You can’t blame me, remember? And you can stay at Mason’s until we figure out how to fix this, I bet Deaton knows a cure, maybe it’s something about you being a Chimera? Like, who knows what kind of weird stuff there is in your blood, no offence but it’s one hundred percent your or the Dread Doctors fault if I’m allergic to you, not mine. I’m the normal one here! Theo!”

The entrance door downstairs slams loudly and Liam starts to punch Theo’s pillow again.

Fuck him, getting mad at him for this. So childish.

Liam ends up fighting with Mason too because apparently being sick is something to be ashamed of nowadays and siding with your best friend instead of with an ex murderer is démodé, so when Liam opens the door he’s expecting to see Mason with an apology cake or an apology pizza or an apology something.

But there’s no pizza or cake in front of him.

“So, the thing your stomach does when you see me, going crazy, would you also define it as painful or is just unsettling? Can you give me three words to describe it exactly?”

There’s no Mason either.

“I…yes, unsettling is a good word for it. Fluttery too. And Annoying. Yes, definitely annoying.”

“So no pain.” Theo nods thoughtful.

“I wouldn’t call it pain, but it’s still unpleasant. Also we don’t know what could happen if I just keep exposing myself to the thing I’m allergic at, I could die, just because it doesn’t hurt it doesn’t mean that-”

“Just answer the questions, Liam. Preferably with a yes or no.” Theo holds up a hand to shut him up and Liam is so offended by that, but he also doesn’t talk until Theo puts the hand down. “Does any other part of your body react to the subject in question too? Your neck for example?”

“What does my neck have anything to do with this, I told you it’s the stom-well, now that I think about it, if we’re too close the sides of my neck get kinda hot. Like, something in my werewolf blood that react to your chimera essence maybe? Because it happens sometimes, it just flows somewhere all of a sudden and that’s annoying too.”

“Mhmh.” Theo mumbles, clearly starting to put the pieces together. “What about excessive sweating? Confusion? Rushes of adrenaline for no reason? Are those symptoms familiar too?”

“Oh my god, yes. What is it Theo? Do you know? Is it bad?” Liam doesn’t want to die.

“What about your heart, anything weird with that?” The heart? Theo thinks he has a heart sickness? Those are bad, god, it’s bad. He’ll die young, like all the best people do.

“I don’t know! I never paid attention to it, I think…it’s okay now.”

“I see. So this is a safe distance.” Theo nods and then he takes a step closer, and then another one. “What if the subject gets closer. Like now.”

“Nothing, it’s still oka-shit. It’s going really fast. Shit. What it is, Theo? Tell me!”

“Do you also find hard to breath?”

Liam is gasping. He’ll die, he’ll die.

“A little.”

“I know what this is.”

“You do? Did the Dread Doctors planned this? They turned you into a poison for werewolves, didn’t they! Oh my god, do we have an antidote? We need an antidote, I can’t die, the world needs me Theo, what will everyone do without m-” Liam is still panicking when Theo grabs the front of his shirt, drags him out and slams him against the wall. That’s not how you treat sick, probably dying people, but before he can complain about it Theo has shoved his tongue inside Liam’s mouth and there’s no doubt anymore, Theo is poison and every single part of Liam’s body is catching fire.

When Liam finds the strength to move his hands in Theo’s hair and stop him, he already moved to his neck and Liam tries to force his fingers to try and pull him away, but the trail of fire Theo is leaving on his bare skin is making all of him weak and all he can do is moan in desperation because the sickness got to his mind and he doesn’t even want to defend himself now. This is how he dies.

“You’re not allergic to me” Theo says eventually, taking a step back to admire what remains of Liam. Which is some kind of shaking pudding. “You have a crush on me.”

Liam frowns because oh, that actually makes sense, but before he can react in any way the door is slamming next to him and he’s alone outside. “Hey!”

“I like you too, but you’re staying at Mason tonight to reflect on your actions. Next time you’ll think twice before throwing me out.”

#thiam #ask #prompt

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defdaily · 4 years

Text

[TRANSLATION] HIGH CUT Magazine August 2017 issue - JJ PROJECT: You are my destiny

High Cut 203 July 2017 JJ PROJECT : You are my destiny

Translated by igot7_markp

B-boy Lim Jaebeom and Park Jinyoung from Jinhae met for the first time in 2009. It happened during JYP Entertainment 5th public trainee recruitment audition in Seoul. Two boys, whose registration numbers stood one after another as 24th and 25th, were able to leave behind 10 thousand people and get the first place together for the first time in the history. They debuted in drama "Dreamhigh 2" together, released album as JJ Project, promoted with group GOT7 and their hearts literally beat in synch. After 5 years JJ Project came back again. Now in their twenties. JB and Jinyoung, who were involved in producing music and writing lyrics for all 8 songs, stayed humble throughout the interview, but also slightly radiated self-confidence and ambitions. Story of two men, whose side profiles look alike, and who without regrets dedicated themselves to everything, without highlighting specific point but concentrating on every single one at once.

LIM JAEBEOM

Our indestructible relationship with Jinyoung is that kind of relationships, when later you'll be side by side even under the gravestone

Q: After 5 years JJ Project's still staying together and released album on July, 31. You uploaded on homepage "track cards" where you personally read one line from the songs you've written yourself. "Fade Away" lyrics was the really strong ones. "Always shutting my mouth, claiming it's love, you make me forget what kind of person I am" – is it something you've experienced?

JB: Both experience and imagination. First song's theme is the one that always big and common – "thing that bothers me". Sinking into that theme, I wrote basing both on my experience and imagination.

Q: You have been involved in producing and writing all 8 tracks. Which song one was the hardest to write?

JB: "Icarus" and out title track "Tomorrow, Today". Even though the theme of "Icarus" was clear picking right words were hard, therefore I had really a lot of worries. In the beginning when I started working on "Tomorrow, Today" I wasn't entirely sure what I should write about. Park Jinyoung PD-nim cleared it out for me. But for me it's more important to think of what I wanted to write when I've just listened to the music (for the first time). It was difficult to write lyrics about feelings you have, standing on the crossroad not sure of the choice you should make, so people of my age can empathize with it.

Q: I heard that the first thing you do in the morning after getting up is reading three lines from the book out loud? Seems like regular reading also helps you with writing.

JB: Ah, this is completely in the past. (laughing hard) Now as soon as I open my eyes in the morning I'm feeding the cats.

Q: Thinking of it, you own three, right? Nora, Koonta and Odd. Actually I was wondering if those scratches on your arms are cat's work.

JB: That's right. But scratches are not from the cat I own but from the stray cat. I was feeding stray cats and decided to slightly touch them. (smiles) When I walk down the street and meet cats, I don't want to scare them and just quickly go to the nearby convenient store and buy can of tuna to feed them. I also make sure that some food is remained. Because this is the only thing I can do for them.

Q: Seems like you are "Cat's Butler" to the core. I heard you had to be apart with your beloved Nora but now you are back together.

JB: Yes. In fact, originally all GOT7 members used to live together in one dorm, but now a few people moved out. In the beginning I shared the room with Youngjae and it suddenly appeared that kid is allergic to cats. That's why I asked members to change room arrangement a little bit, but all of them refused. (smiles) So I had to leave Nora in the other place for a while. When members moved out and each of us had separate room, I brought her back and she recognized me. When parents drove Nora back to me, she kept crying in the car. But as soon as I appeared in the car and said "Hi, Nora" she stopped crying immediately.

Q: No one wanted to change the rooms with their charismatic leader? (smile)

JB: I gave up a lot. (smile) I'm not sunbae for children, it's more like we are people of the same age group who are working on music together. But I'm really straightforward. That's why when I'm going around in conversation, I'm not sure children understand it and it feels awkward. So instead I'm just extremely cautious, when I talk.

Q: During JJ Project promotion you put GOT7's leader role slightly aside, right? To be honest it's kind of relieving, isn't it?

JB: It is. Really relieving. But I still have another burdens. Two people need to cover space that was filled with 7 people. Since me and Jinyoung don't have really entertaining character, I am worrying a lot if it will be too serious.

Q: I found an interview you gave when you started first activities. Back then it was 19 years old JB. You were asked to describe your teen years in one word and that word was "secret". How about JB's twenties?

JB: I'm still 24. For now, if you ask me, the word is "Vain". There are people who say that you shouldn't think too much and enjoy the time during your twenties, but if I think twice, I think I could have done a little bit better. If to say concretely, I could have been more careful and smart – and now it's a pity.

Q: But after debut you continuously worked hard. After JJ Project you filmed in "Dreamhigh 2" and then after GOT7 debut you promoted quite successfully.

JB: I'm just like that. I often think only about regretting things. With this album, too, when I listened it fully and finished mastering, I felt unsatisfied. "I could have done a little bit better. It's already late to fix it, right?" – this is what I was thinking about. (smile) I put efforts not to lose the heart I had in the beginning (rookie mindset).

Q: If you started to talk about rookie days, as I remember, you were a b-boy before becoming a JYPE trainee, right? I heard during each practice you only ate 1000 won worth vegetable crackers.

JB: Ah, back then we didn't have practice room, so we practiced in metro station. Since I was a student I didn't have money, but because I danced a lot I got hungry fast. Three packs of vegetable crackers costed 1000 won at that time, so I ate them as the refreshment.

Q: You applied for JYP auditions and shared first place with Jinyoung-ssi, right? Then you debuted together as JJ Project, filmed together in "Dreamhigh 2", made it together to GOT7 and now you are coming back as a duet once again. Your relationships must be really indestructible.

JB: Yes, they really are!! Seems like we will be side by side even under the gravestone. (laughs hard) I accidentally saw what fans write. How I do something or Jinyoung does something and we are copying each other's moves exactly in the same way. Unconsciously.

Q: In 2012 interview to the question "JJ Project's position?" you replied "Bottom". Now?

JB: Still bottom. Even though we gained some proficiency, after being left for 5 years I think we need to consider it as starting from the bottom again. The music that was there 5 years ago and music that is coming out now is significantly different. And there are so many skillful singers in the music world nowadays. (smile)

Q: Then I will change my question. Till what floor you want to go up during this promotions?

JB: Hm…If there are 10 floors, I guess till 3,5? The situation when you have already passed the third floor and on your way to the fourth?

Q: Is there a tip you want to give to fans so they can enjoy this album more?

JB: I can't recommend anything. Please, check everything. We put a lot of effort in it. Not only into music, but also into other things. In order to our face and body not look fat, we skipped dinners and got slimmer. (smile) We paid a lot of attention to everything – starting from music video and finishing with clothes. Even when we left the studio we kept sending and receiving ideas via mail, so songs would become even better. We really worker hard. So, please, check everything. (smile)

PARK JINYOUNG

"The day" is the song, I wrote in the plane, when I listened to music and started longing for parents

Q: When decision regarding JJ Project was done, how did you feel?

JY: I honestly asked the company: why now of all time? Since I though there a lot of things we had to accomplish as GOT7. Then I received reply from company that we would represent GOT7 and show people the different color of the group, so it would help GOT7 to grow more. I was infatuated with this answer. (smile)

Q: I guess during album preparations you have also felt how much you have improved yourself.

JY: Somehow comparing to us 5 years ago, we allow yourself more. Ah, and my throat stopped aching. When we prepared first album, my voice broke and also I didn't sing a lot. I only did rap and sang occasionally so my voice had gone. This time my voice cords definitely became stronger. I feel like I found comfortable tone for my voice.

Q: I heard the lyrics you have written are poetic. Especially, "Coming Home" lyrics. "When the emptiness passes, the cold wind blows. When the longing passes, the spring rain falls"…

JY: This is the lyrics I wrote in the airplane while listening to New Age's song. Suddenly I missed my parents so much and felt really melancholic. So I wrote down what my heart felt. When we composed album I found the song that suited those lyrics a lot.

Q: Looking at lyrics, team colors changed significantly after 5 years.

JY: I think it's just two opposites. It's been really bright back then. This time it's a light-beat youth song, which we can sing and dance to.

Q: Which song is your favorite?

JY: My solo song "The Day". I wrote the story I wanted to tell a lot. I can explain what this song is about in one sentence: "That day, when I thought everything was good, that day, when it went away from me so easily and it felt like the world will crumble down, it's vanishing like it was nothing". I live with the thought that things I always liked aren't really good things and things I disliked aren't really bad things. No matter how great the sadness or happiness was, after 1 year the memories of it will start vanishing.

Q: When you read the lyrics you've written yourself, haven't it made you embarrassed or cringe?

JY: I did it with one thought. "I must do it. I can only go home after I finish it smoothly. I have no time. I need to go (home) fast". (smile)

Q: I found an interview that you gave after debut in 2012. In it you explained your teen years as "Preparation". How will you explain your twenties in one word?

JY: Twenties are "Warm-up". (Isn't it and teen years' description same?) Undoubtedly different. Making analogy with health, teen age is like changing clothes. Twenties is like exercising on running machine and riding the bicycle to make your body slightly hot. Since I'm only 24, I haven't "sweated" yet. I guess sweat will appear at 29.

Q: In that interview you talked really detailed about your ideal type. "I'd like if she has something to say when we're sitting in a café and talking. And I wish her face would be natural. Even if she does something to it, it should still be natural in my eyes. I like big eyes and well-defined features. No fringe, just long natural hair falling down her spine. About clothes – just jeans, shirt and converse".

JY: I remember why I said this. It was influenced by Shin Minah sunbaenim's "My girlfriend is a nine-tailed fox". Whenever I receive questions about my ideal type, I describe main heroine from the film or drama I watched and was impressed by. That's why I don't have ideal type now – I didn't watch love story movies recently. (smile) Although I watch movies a lot.

Q: Your hobby is "watching movies alone".

JY: I watched 5 movies over the last few days. "Dunkirk", "Hedwig", "Amazing Spiderman", "My love" and one more. "Dunkirk" is like three part space novel, that cross each other. I like it even more because it has short running time. I cried watching "My love". It's a real story, so tears come out naturally. I'm happy when I watch movies alone. You can fully concentrate not caring about others. And also each time I watch movies I talk to myself. When character does something disappointing, I'm saying: "Aigoo, why are you like that?". I can't do something like this in front if others. (smile)

Q: Even being really busy you find time to watch movies. Do you master your acting?

JY: I really watch it without any thoughts; though people say you should go to study while watching. (smile) No matter how good actor plays, it's not easy to analyze acting. I also visited Pixar Animation exhibition recently.

Q: When you come around don't people recognize you?

JY: When they recognize they are like "It's Jinyoung, right?" and I reply "Right, but sheesh". They recognize me, but since they are not fans, they don't follow me. (smile)

Q: You are constantly busy with one thing or another. You played a role of university student who haven't had girlfriend even once and dreams of becoming a civil worker in 2017 web-drama "Magic School" produced by JYP Pictures, right? The shooting has just finished. It's the first time you play twenty-years old, isn't it?

JY: It is. Even if it's an act, I liked to experience the living of ordinary 20-year-old. Thing I envy the most is an opportunity to live with your family under one roof. It's been a year since I last visited my parent's home.

Q: I visited fan-café on my way (to the interview). You pay a lot attention to fans, so they gave you a nickname "Fan-Jal-Al" (the one, who knows fans). When I looked through SNS, what caught my eyes is that whenever GOT7 fans went to the trips they dress their official goods' dolls "GOTOON" and make prove shots with it. Have you known about it?

JY: No, really? (Manager: You haven't seen even once?) Since I don't use SNS, I didn't know at all. Wah, I'm so sorry right now. Sincerely, thank you. Even though traveling is the time for yourself, they are even going all the way long to bring GOTOONs and dress them. Once the interview finishes, I will search and take a look for sure. When I go for a trip, I will also take a picture with goods and upload it.

Q: Fans highly anticipates JJ Project's comeback. 5 years ago when you were asked "What is JJ Project's position?", you replied "20th floor underground". In your opinion till what floor you will be able to climb with this album?

JY: 5th ground floor? Because on the 5th floor JYP management office is located. Our company's top floor. (laugh hard) I don't have regrets about this album. We have done everything we could. We put our stories in it. Please, enjoy it a lot.

Translated by @igot_markedby7

Interview and photos scans - @GGOONERR_

#got7 #GOT7 JB #GOT7 JAEBEOM #GOT7 INTERVIEW #GOT7 TRANS #JB INTERVIEW #JB TRANS #JAEBEOM INTERVIEW TRANS #DEFDAILYinterview

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