#// ah yes i still need to add her bio

[obsidiancreates]

Double Donnie

"So, fellow Donatello. I have a query for you."

"Sure." Donnie drops a bit of the "ooze", as they call mutagen in this dimension, into the chemical compound.

"Why bio-chemistry as your science of choice?" Donald leans hazardously close to Donnie's project. "Because I noticed that it holds you back from making some truly incredible tech otherwise by dividing your time and practice, and I can't figure out why anyone would ever do that to themselves."

"You do chemistry too, I've seen it."

"Yeah, as a side-science. Tech and machinery are clearly superior."

"Mm-hmm, sure. Now, back away, would you? There's a good chance this'll explode."

"I am used to explosions."

"This is a chemical explosion."

"Yes, so there will be the lack of my usual shards of metal, and, running screaming from flying pieces of shrapnel!"

"At least we relate on that experience." Donnie adds one more drop of ooze. The mixture bubbles, turns pink, turns red...

POP!

Donnie groans and thunks his head against the worktable.

"There there." One of the robotic arms of Donald's battle shell pats Donnie on the head. "This is simply what happens when you mess with an inferior branch of science."

Donnie lifts his head to scowl at Donald, one of those strange red representations of a bulging vein overlaying itself on his forehead and giving off a faint heartbeat sound. "You're telling me you're a mutant of combined turtle and human DNA made from a mysterious substance, and you didn't want to figure out how all of that worked?!"

"Never had the strong urge, no! Why would I, when I had robots to build!" Donald throws his arms out, and his various pieces of tech surround him in a blink! He smirks at Donnie.

"And I had DNA to test and compounds to make! Our passions went in opposite directions, that's all there is to it! ... Actually, thinking about it, it's very possible this was the multiverses way of balancing the universes, directing us into situations that fostered different passions in different fields. Not that I don't love robotics, of course, but I find myself in a lot more situations where my bio-chemistry comes in handy."

"And I, my beautiful beautiful tech."

"Fascinating. Even though our interests are nurtured from the time we're too young to know what situations we'd deal with, we both ended up with our interests perfectly suited to what we'd need most when we became heroes. This implies some level of existence of Fate, which, come to think of it, if further supported by the many consistencies across universes-"

"Sorry, the many?"

"There's a version of us that lives in the year 1987. We don't need to talk about them right now. Their Raph sounded a lot like me and I still don't know how I feel about that."

"You have a lot of feelings, so I'm not surprised that they become hard to differentiate from each other."

"Yeah, well, a complex mind breeds complex emotions."

"That is not the case."

"Anyway, if I wasn't passionate about bio-chemistry, I would never have been able to make retromutagen and stop the Kr- uh, the... other guys. If you didn't have your passion for tech, well, same story! Sort of."

"Let's not talk about that ever again actually."

"Sorry."

"Wait, is that what you're doing there? Creating a reversing agent to the oozequitos?"

"I'm hoping to. I just, feel bad for some of the people your Mikey told me about. Plus, it's pretty nice when the people who want to kill you aren't incredibly strong mutants."

"I don't know how much that'll matter here, honestly. Also, this seems dangerous to have around us. I'd rather not suddenly turn back into a regular turtle."

"Relax, it doesn't even work yet. I'm really having trouble adjusting to the laws of this universe. Did you know that your April took me to her high school the other day? No-one batted an eye!"

"Ah yes, your humans are much more likely to scream, and point, and shout about 'Oh no, horrible hideous monsters!'."

"Thank you for the reminder," Donnie grumbles. "That's another reason I pursued bio-chemistry. When I was young I hoped I could possibly find a way to turn my brothers and I human as well."

Donald tenses up, his face twisting into disgusted horror. "You... want to be human?!"

Donnie scoffs. "Um, yeah? Like I said, our dimension is a lot less friendly to us. We can't even go out in the daytime unless there's something bigger going on, like millions of rats swarming."

"... Has that happened to you?"

"More than once."

"Your dimension sounds like the worst place to ever exist. But aside from that, explain why you want to be human other than wanting life-essential sunlight and vitamin D intake."

"Well, to go to school sounds nice. Connecting with other scientists. Meeting people besides my brothers and humans we know because of kidnappings and their attempted vigilante careers. Generally having the same opportunities that a human does?"

"I see, I see. But you're stronger than a human in your dimension, right?"

"Yeah."

"And faster?"

"I suppose..."

"So what's the problem?"

"Wh- what's your problem?! You don't feel like a freak?!"

"Not really, no."

"How- we- we have shells! And our hands only have three fingers! And we're green!"

"I don't understand, now you're just pointing out the obvious. Ooooh, wait, you're listing things that make us different from humans."

"Yes!"

"I don't know if I'm equipped to handle this, actually, because I find your train of thought very hard to follow here. May I direct you to Mikey, or perhaps the cloaking brooch shop?"

"... The what?"

"Cloaking brooch. They're used by Yokai to disguise as humans and live amo-"

"YOU HAVE A WAY TO MAKE ME LOOK HUMAN?!" Donnie bolts out of the room.

Donald blinks after him, and then taps his forearm screen. "Angelo, I think Other Donnie may need one of your Doctor personas to pay him a visit. Yeah, yeah apparently he deeply hates himself for being a mutant. I know, I don't get it either. Anyway I think he's tearing the lair apart trying to find a cloaking brooch. No, I don't know if he's touching your kiiiii- oh, no, he is, he's going through the kitchen cupboards. Try not to kill him."

[teeth-cable]

Heres an issue I've been thinking on that I don't see anyone talking about in them critical space. I wrote a long ass ask to another blog about how Vivziepop sucks at portraying ethnic groups but its was and since your on the topic of Vivziepop FUCKING up basic religions I want to send something more organized and specific. I have an issue as an ethnically Jewish person with Rosie.

I will preface this by stating I am disconnected with my culture but I am trying to reconnect and I am not practicing. I actually would welcome people more connected than me or practitioners to add to this or correct me.

So we know Rosie is supposed to resemble a Jewish mother... I feel gross with that phrasing because there's a lot. Like again I'm disconnected but why did Vivziepop have to specify Jewish Mother? Like this almost feels like a stereotype and the best faith things I could guess is Vivziepop just thinks jews are a religious group or is just ignorant in general. The thing about our religion is that it's mostly closed... Like typically as far as I'm aware you can only practice if you are ethnically Jewish. So she wrote this in an official document highlighting a character specifically being jewish in a way that feels gross.

Another thing is you literally can't have a setting set in hell with Jewish characters because Hell doesn't exist in the Torah (the holy book) like all that stuff that Jesus said contradicts what was already written which is why Jews don't worship or see Jesus as the Messiah. I'm unsure if he is viewed as a prophet or not. I know in Islam he is seen that way.

I forget the name of the afterlife but basically when bad people die they only suffer for a year and everyone goes to the same place.

Also Rosie possibly being Jewish makes no logical sense because to be Jewish your mom has to be and her mother before her. It's a matriarchal aspect though there are a few places that accept patriarchal descent that is a recent thing. Rosie is Hellborn last I checked and sinners can't reproduce with Hellborns so.... How the fuck is she Jewish?

Then her being a cannibal is very off-putting because a lot of people who barely know anything about Judaism know that Jews usually have a specific diet practice. Now not everyone knows the name of it but it's called Kosher. And yes not everyone practices it is still widely known we aren't supposed to like eat stuff that comes from pigs. It's a bit fucked that the only Jewish character is a cannibal... That probably is connected to some anti semitic stereotype somewhere that I'm unaware of since there's a fuck ton.

Also Vivziepop wants an ethinically accurate cast but instead of specifically asking for a jewish actress she mentioned someone who sounds like a jewish mother... What does that even mean?

Like unlike the goblins from the series that must not be named, this reeks of ignorance instead of malice. Especially, since we know Vivziepop absolutely refuses to do research for her shows that require literally more than a 10 minute google search.

Like you can't fully separate an ethnically Jewish character from the religion itself unlike uh a character from Spain can be separated from Christianity. Like our blood and religion are deeply tied together especially as we are being prosecuted throughout history and still managing to survive it all because of it.

Like if you absolutely want a jewish character in Hazbin your gonna need a sensitivity reader and have to make them a sinner.

The character I see get talk about most about antisemitism in Hazbin Hotel is Mimzy and Rosie is just an "Ah-Ha!" moment for critics because her leak bio directly confirmed it. While there can a discussion if Mimzy can technically count as an Jewish stereotype because we don't know if she's Jewish or not, I found Rosie to be more egregious because Viv used the line, "Rosie has a strong presence and confident energy as a Jewish mother." First what is that even supposed to mean? And second by this description Viv see Rosie as a Jewish character and will code her as such.

I think the critics forget Rosie will be a recurring side character in the show which is why we haven't seen many discussions yet about what it means for Rosie's character to be Jewish coded.

I will said Viv's ignorance is getting to a point of malice to me since she very aware of the criticism she gets for characters like Velvette and Alastor and her not doing research and purposely spreading misinformation because of it is icky. Like this woman has to know eventually she can't just keep making up information of POC groups and religions out of nowhere and has to hire someone from those groups to help her. If Viv really did care about researching about these group for good rep she would have consulted with them first. If Viv hired a Jewish person to help her write Rosie, she would have learned about the problems you addressed with Rosie being a Hellborn who is jewish and the weird implications she added like making the only Jewish character into a cannibal. Viv has claimed Hell is supposed to take inspiration from different religions and cultures but that's just not true because Viv's hell is clearly christian inspired with a hint of demonology elements.

I'm unsure how she would even make the idea work in the first place if Christianity's hell is supposed to be the main setting in Hazbin Hotel and Helluva because different religions have different rules and interpretations of Hell, Heaven, and the characters, heck some religions don't even have Heaven and Hell like what we discuss here.

[caspercryptid]

coffee shop au but it's still mafia. like the coffee shops are fronts. but the actual goncharov cast are just workers on the cafe side (2 rival cafes ofc, sofia runs the other).

Alright. Hi. Hello. I didn't get to sofia but feel free to send a follow up ask if you want the wlw.

my tip button's on, ko-fi in bio, help keep a disabled writer alive and kicking and writing, and i'd just like to say in advance. That my prose is not normally this purple. I blame goncharov.

also if you get to the end of this and go. Is he just giving Andrey the kubric stare while his internal monologue is going? yes. Yes he is.

___

Goncharov had been accused, on occasion, of overthinking. 

Usually by Katya, when she was in one of her moods, the sort of moods that left deliberately round little cigarette burns on the tables, the couches, his suits. They were perfect, lacking the carelessness of bullet holes, her cigarette at a 90 degree angle with the fabric as she looked him directly in the eyes and said Котёнок, you think too much. You write entire worlds into simple little gestures. Not everything means everything. He hadn’t looked her in the eyes, had instead looked at the cigarette burn, forcing her to look at it too, and she’d sighed, muttered something apologetic about the old frost burn nerve damage in her fingers. He didn’t believe it for a minute. Her trigger finger was perfect, and so was her aim. Always had been, whether it was with a gun or a cruel word. 

So perhaps it was only a cup of coffee.

Perhaps Andrey only wanted a cup of coffee, only happened to be here on the shift Goncharov had taken to make himself appear as the friendly manager of the coffee bar. That, and the boy he’d hired to do this job had met with an unfortunate accident. That had happened several times now. Frankly, that was business. He didn’t spare it too much thought. People in his proximity tended to die one way or the other, either by his hand or otherwise. Death followed him like an old friend, like an old enemy, like Andrey always had. Perhaps he’d come to see Andrey as the death of him, following him. Perhaps that’s why they’d grown so friendly, lately. 

Well, perhaps not too friendly. Andrey had tried to stab him last week. But wasn’t that just the way of it, now? They needed to keep up the pretense. Enemies they had always been, and enemies they would remain, even if Andrey understood him like no one else did, both stranded in this strange place, too hot, too balmy, too far from home. It felt strange to long for the kiss of the cold, the one that left him so breathless he thought he’d fall into the water of the Neva and finally sleep, the empty dreamless sleep of a man who’s had the last of the ecstasy wrung from him, a life well lived and well past time to end. 

Ah, he was doing it again, wasn’t he.

He looks up at Andrey, who is still standing on the other side of the counter, a somewhat patronizingly patient expression on his face. He is not entirely sure how long he has been standing there. There is a script here, the nature of which Goncharov is unused to, though he is used to scripts. Has his life not been a script? Has he not played his role, and played it well? A loyal son to the end, a loving husband. He would have been a father too, had Katya permitted. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps they did not have the kind of love that allowed it. Perhaps this was no place for a child, this strange country, these strangers. He can hear the clocks ticking. 

But no, that’s the foot of a man in line behind Andrey, who is still waiting, still patient. Always patient. 

“--What will it be?” he asks, adds a halfhearted, “-sir.”

Formality. As though they are strangers. As though they were ever strangers.

Andrey lifts an eyebrow, like he finds the honorific curious, but that’s the only acknowledgement he gives it. 

“Cappuccino.” he says, his voice dark and rich as the coffee. 

“Right away, sir.” Goncharov says, savoring a bit, this pretended distance that allows two men bound in moral combat to stand within arms reach of each other without violence. He could close his hands around Andrey’s neck from this distance. He could touch his face. He won’t, of course. Why would he do that. What purpose would it serve.

He starts the machine. 

The stream of steam reminds him of the train leaving the platform, the last time he left home. It had been so cold. It’s strange to see it in a hot country, like his breath in the wind, like the steam on the windows the last time he and Katya had been entangled, in a car, on the side of the road. He blinks that away, feeling strangely guilty for thinking about Katya now. The steam is gone, much like the breath of warmth from his marriage. How long has it been since she reached for him like that? Does she reach for Sofia now? Or for no one at all. He wonders if she’s lonely. How strange it is, to be lonely in the same bed as someone else, to look into their eyes and see only yourself. The coffee grows cold in his hand, like katya’s hand in his, and then there’s a warm hand on his shoulder.

“Goncharov.” Andrey says. “Please give me the cappuccino and stop staring at it.”

Ah, he’d done it again. 

He’s momentarily annoyed at Andrey for breaking the farce, the impersonal fantasy, but remembers a moment later that he’s wearing a tag with his name on it. Ah, they are still here. Still playing the game. Aside from the warm touch of his hand. On his shoulder, not his neck. Why was his touch so gentle? It would be easier to bear his hands on his neck than the touch to the shoulder. And then Andrey’s hands are on his, confounding him as he removes the coffee from his hands, drawing it away.

"thank you." He says, and leaves, without paying.

[galaxietm]

“You guys have always been the ones braver than me. It makes sense that you’re the ones who have keyblades while I don’t; but that doesn’t mean that I can’t do something to try to help, right? I want to protect you just as much as you and the others have tried to protect me.”

            ↳  ♡ muse bday edits / Momoka Suzukaze (original character / February 10th)

[sockablock]

hey are requests still open bc I am still FULLY CRYING about Molly coming back to life holy SHIT. I have a thing I want to request and that’s Molly having to come to terms with whatever changes his body went through - new blood hunter abilities, longer hair, the much larger scar from Lucien’s v gory death - after he comes back to life.

Molly doesn’t ask what happened to Nott. He doesn’t ask them where they are. He doesn’t even ask who Essek is, and only gives Caduceus a friendly pat on the shoulder before turning away and wandering off.

His feet are bare on the soft teal grass. This time of year in the Blooming Grove, faint glowing insects hover around his ankles. The leaves of the old blue wisteria trees hang like a sheet across the sky. He is wrapped in a cloak of quiet moonlight, grey on the graves as he passes by.

Eventually, he comes to a lone headstone. It is long, and flat, and smooth. He sits down.

If he is different in any way, nobody says. It’s taken him a few days to find his words again, and it’s clear that his memories are still trickling back. Veth had joked that he used to be more entertaining, but they all know that his returning in any capacity is already nothing short of a miracle. To the Mighty Nein, he is still as miraculous as before.

To himself—to Mollymauk, he thinks he’s a bit leaner. He’d never really been one for rigorous training—not aside from what it took to throw a sword and catch it—and yet, this body seems hardened, now. It’s still a bit sore in some inconvenient places, and the tall one, Caduceus, mentioned that he shouldn’t do anything too strenuous to avoid opening his scar. This newest mark runs like a seam down his shoulder to his navel, making the rest of his scars look like paper cuts. He isn’t exactly sure how to feel about that, yet. Beau offered to help him design a tattoo to cover it, and he isn’t sure how to feel about that yet, either.

A faint breeze runs through the Grove, tousling his hair. It’s longer now, and Molly might have liked that more if he’d been around to enjoy it. He suspects that he might have been, in one way or another, though not nearly present enough to make the executive choices. Otherwise, he might have tried braids. Maybe hair dye. Not  only that, but the...what had Caleb called him? The “previous occupant” had taken off Molly’s horn charms and necklaces. For the second-life of him, Molly can’t remember if he’d kept them. He can’t remember much about the last ten months—which might be alright. He doesn’t know if he wants to.

(He does remember some things, though. He remembers taking his shirt off the first night at the Grove and seeing the other scar left behind. It is closed now, and healed well over with blood magic, but when Molly reaches up and traces it down, he can feel how the cut drips into his abdomen. He remembers how it felt to have the blood pouring over, to boil with fury and die of shock, under the stars.)

He looks at them now. They haven’t changed a bit.

Another wind kicks up. Molly isn’t sure exactly what time of year it is, but he shivers. The Clays are kind, but the whole family towers over Molly, so their spare clothes fit him poorly. Firbolgs are also—well, furred—and Molly suspects that this borrowed tunic is on the thin side. His tail curls inward as he realizes he’s going to sneeze. He feels his muscles tense, he breathes in—

And suddenly, something warm is draped across his shoulders. He glances up.

“Oh. Yasha?“ His voice is strained. It feels as if Molly hasn’t spoken in a year, but at the same time, he feels like his throat is worn. Almost like he’s been giving frequent speeches with wild abandon. Now that he’s had some time to recover, the combined effect sounds like someone trying to remember how to talk, but only being allowed to do it through a rusty pipe.

“Come to join me in my musings?” he still says, stubbornly.

“She’s not the only one. ‘Sup.”

Molly doesn’t have to turn to know that Beauregard has walked into the rows of graves just behind Yasha. The two of them have been pretty attached to each other lately, except for when Yasha comes to check on Molly. The strongest part of him, the part that hung on the longest, is privately quite pleased by this.

“And you’ve given me your cloak.” He grins, but just at Yasha. “How kind of you, my dear.”

Okay, so not that privately.

“I was worried you’d be cold,” Yasha says, concern endearing. “Sorry your old coat wasn’t doing better. Jester says she can probably Mend it, or try to paint you a new one—“

Molly waves his hand. “No, no need, dear. I should do it. It’ll give me a thing to work on.”

Yasha nods. “I’ll let her know.”

Distantly, Molly can hear footsteps approaching. He counts four, maybe five pairs, if one of them is lighter. After a moment, there’s the sigh of cloth, and six pairs are walking.

Movement joins Molly on the headstone. He turns, and now Beau is seated beside him. Yasha stands like a guardian at his back.

Both of them are much, much wearier, Molly notices. Even though it’s been less than a year since his “death,” Beau is riddled with new scars from combat, and Yasha’s tattoos have gotten much bolder. Oddly, that’s reassuring.There’s something in the fact that Molly’s body changed, but theirs did too. And even if he can’t remember it, that’s something they have in common.

On the other hand, though, it makes him feel...he shakes his head. He gazes outward.

He asks, “Why did you follow me, then?”

Beau responds first. She does so with a snort. “Of course we’d follow you, you idiot. You were our friend—or...okay, technically, at the time you’re actually a crazy cult leader—“

“No, I meant—“

She cuts him off. “Right, yeah, details. Not important. Listen, it...it was a whole long thing, and it was complicated, but the important part is that we really, just really wanted you back. That’s why we did any of it. All of it. And why nothing could stop us.”

“Not even me?”

“Hell, no. Since when could you stop me?”

Molly chuckles at that. He glances at Yasha. “Is that true?”

“Which part?” she says. Then she says, “Yes. It is.”

He matches the tiny smile on her face. Then he turns back to stare at the woods past the graveyard while behind him, the rest of the Mighty Nein come to a halt.

His smile widens. “What I was actually trying to ask, though, is why you all followed me here. Just now. I thought you were going to prepare for dinner?”

“My parents took over,” Caduceus says. “They told us to take a break.”

“Besides!” With a burst of jewelry and her flouncing skirts, Jester squeezes onto the other end of Molly’s headstone. “We wanted to spend more with you!”

“Now that you’re interesting again,” adds Nott, taking a seat at the base of the stone with Fjord. He reaches up to wink at Molly, “Hey, roomie.”

“I thought I should get to know you as well,” says the new voice. Molly remembers that his name is Essek. “We, ah...we are both purple, so that is something we already have in common.”

Molly laughs at that. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Caleb. “It’s like there are two of you now. Like your shadow. Or a duplicate.”

“I am still the funny one,” Caleb says. “I plan on defending that title. Even from you.”

Molly laughs again, and this time, he does turn. He can see that the whole group have gathered around him now, sitting beside him, standing behind him, in the grass.

They are all so tired. They are all much stronger. Molly has gathered from the scars on their bodies—as well as from the scars on his own—just how powerful they must be now. He knows that he isn’t the same, either. Sometimes his blood feels like its boiling. Sometimes he is moving, and he can swear that it’s through snow.

But the Mighty Nein are here. There are nine of them, now. And that, he thinks, in and of itself, must be a miracle. And as he looks at them now, drinking their presence in, he thinks...

Maybe some things haven’t changed, after all.

—

✨ Ko-Fi Link in Bio! ✨ | Requests are OPEN

[novelconcepts]

Jamie & Dani short prompt- Online Dating au meeting online and being from bad past relationship. Thank u

This is probably a bad idea. It is, isn’t it? Almost certainly.

Why is she here?

Dani Clayton has been playing this particular set of thoughts--bad idea, terrible idea, why would you do this?--on repeat for three days. Ever since setting up that dating profile. Ever since realizing there isn’t much use in setting up a dating profile if you’re not going to use it. 

Oh, it’s all fun and games, building the thing. Find a photo that accentuates all the best parts of your face--Dani, after an hour of careful consideration, wound up going with one that accentuated her hair, more than anything, but she suspects the same idea counts. Then, the profile. What do you like? Teaching, long walks, new experiences, bad coffee. What don’t you like? 

Men, she’d thought, and snorted aloud into her wine before settling on: Deep water, accordion music, expectations, being called Danielle. 

A little more flourish, tipsy keystrokes, a casually-framed short-version of her life. Perfect. And then...well, then you hit the publish button, don’t you? You decide, for better or worse, to jump off this diving board and see just how far you can stand to swim before the energy gives out on you.

The faces appearing before her hadn’t been bad, certainly. Pretty, most of them. Interesting, a few. Still, she hadn’t swiped right on any--once or twice, because she’d forgotten which way meant yes please, but mostly because no one seemed quite...right. Which, she’d thought, was silly. The whole point of an app like this is to cast as many nets as possible and see what comes up. The whole point is to have fun. 

But every time she’d hovered over a promising image, a woman who likes dogs, or plays the violin, or goes rock-climbing in her spare time, she’d thought of him. Eddie. Who had taken one yes to a single date, and tried to make a whole life with her out of it. 

Eddie, who had taken her two decades to pull away from. 

What if the women here were the same? Not Eddie, exactly, but--presumptive. What if they believed a swipe-right was as good as a marriage proposal? What if she got bound up in conversation, and then a date, and then a relationship with someone else who just didn’t fit right?

Left. Left. Left. 

And then: the mistake.

She hadn’t meant to swipe right. Exactly. She hadn’t planned, maybe is the better way of putting it, on swiping right. She’d only wanted to look at the woman’s profile a little longer. Only wanted to inspect the facets this woman had put out on display with almost resigned simplicity. 

Some people, Dani had by now realized, wrote poetry and paragraphs to describe themselves. 

Jamie Taylor had bullet points.

“Gardener. English. Likes: Plants. Stories. Tea. Dislikes: Bullshit.”

The end. That had been quite literally the sum of it. Gardener. English. No bullshit.

But the picture, somehow, Dani hadn’t been able to look away from. Not because of carefully-arranged lighting, not because of a curated model-clean image--but because the woman appeared to have posted the photo almost under duress. It came in profile, as though someone else had done the job, her head turned toward the camera as if interrupted. Her hands were buried in a flower pot. Her clothes were simple--a tank top, a silver chain resting against the jut of collarbones, a pair of worn-looking jeans with holes in the knees. Her eyes--some fascinating color Dani couldn’t quite place--looked somewhere between amused and irritated. 

She looked real. 

Stupid, Dani thinks now--because that was probably the idea, wasn’t it? This woman, Jamie, had planned to look exactly this way. Real. Vexed at the idea of putting herself out there. Reluctantly available. 

It was a ploy, certainly--but one that seems to be working, because not only did Dani accidentally-not-accidentally swipe right, she found herself texting the woman. For hours. She’d expected much less, had figured this Jamie person would be as brief in text as she had been in bio, but...

Jamie had talked to her. Willingly. Teasingly, with more humor than truth, maybe, but with no sign at all that she was sick of Dani’s questions, bad jokes, nervous assessment that I really don’t do this, I honestly don’t get it. 

I don’t, either, Jamie had replied, and that had felt like enough of a reason to keep testing the waters. Enough of a reason to keep the conversation going back and forth, back and forth, until nearly two in the morning.

Shit, she’d said. I need to be at work in four hours. 

Shame, Jamie had replied, her tone already searingly familiar over text. Own your own business, make your own hours. Far wiser approach. 

I’ll make a note of it for when I found an elementary school, Dani had replied, laughing. She hadn’t said she’d already been in bed for an hour, the phone resting on the pillow beside her head so she wouldn’t miss the buzz of a new message. It had seemed perfectly reasonable at the time, with wine-warmed blood and the happy haze of good conversation. Jamie made her laugh. Jamie put her at ease. Jamie might not have been real, but she felt real, and that was good. 

Better than anything she’d felt in years, if she was honest with herself. 

Still, when the next day had come and gone with no message, she’d thought, Fair enough. Jamie had been good virtual company for one night. It was more than she’d expected to get out of this app.

Far more than she’d expected, particularly when Thursday night rolled around and her phone buzzed.

Teacher, yeah? No school on Saturday?

Correct, Dani had replied, as amused by the out-of-left-field text as she was irritated with how her stomach had flipped over upon receiving it. You have figured out the complexity of the American school system. 

I am a genius, Jamie sent back, followed quickly by: Drinks tomorrow night? 

Drinks. A thing that people do. A thing that adult people do for date reasons. 

She isn’t real, she’d thought, even as her thumb was punching back: How’s 8? Miller’s?

A mistake. Definitely a mistake. Because the app had been a lark, and the conversation had been too easy, and the fact that she can’t quite pick out the colors in Jamie’s eyes from a single photo is making her crazier than she’d like to admit. 

A mistake, saying yes. A mistake, suggesting the local pub-like establishment around the corner, whose beer-and-burger specials had kept her fed on too many evenings spent working late. A mistake, because once this goes south--as it’s absolutely bound to, as everything Eddie-shaped always has--she’s going to lose her favorite hangout in the deal, too.

And yet: here she is. Standing at the door, wondering if the outfit chosen for the evening festivities--tight jeans, pink blouse, hoop earrings--is too much or not nearly enough. 

What am I doing here?

Maybe, she thinks with mingled alarm and hope, she won’t even have showed up. Maybe it’s all part of the ruse: look approachable, look human and normal, look a little too beautiful in the most grounded way possible--then, cheerfully, invite a woman to drinks and just don’t show. A fun story for whoever comes next. Can you believe she thought I’d want to meet her after one night of texting?

“Dani?” 

English, Dani thinks with a sudden rush of heat. Right. Somehow, she hadn’t quite been prepared for the accent, which--coming out of this woman, draped with languid ease at a table--is truly a little more than Dani thinks she can handle just now. The accent, combined with the mess of curls dragged back from her face, and a dress sense that manages to be both casual and deeply attractive at the same time, is...

“Jamie,” she says, her voice a little lower, a little more hoarse, than is truly necessary. The woman pushes up from her seat, a small-framed figure in a black button-down, suspenders, ripped jeans. She’s pressing a hand toward Dani, offering a firm shake as though they are business partners, not an off-the-cuff bad idea of a date. “You look--”

“Never been here before,” Jamie says, almost apologetically. She gestures for Dani to sit before dropping back down in a sprawl that implies exactly the opposite of what her mouth is insisting. “Wasn’t sure about the, ah, dress code.”

“You--you did fine,” Dani tells her, wishing suddenly she’d gone for a dress. Or a  different human body altogether. She feels too tightly-strung, too anxious for the easy smile on Jamie’s lips. “Um. You’re very. In person.”

“Very,” Jamie repeats, a hint of uncertainty in her voice. “Is very American for wish I’d gone left, after all?”

“No. No. Absolutely not. That.” Bit too forceful, she suspects, judging by the smile spreading into a grin. “No, it’s just--your picture didn’t--tell me you’d be so...”

“Clean?” Jamie suggests innocently. She raises her hands, wiggling her fingers in a small wave. “Scrub up fine, when I need to. Seemed to call for it.”

“And you...sure did answer,” Dani says stupidly. “The. Call, I mean. I’m sorry, I really don’t do this often.”

Something seems to soften in Jamie, her smile less teasing as she leans across the table. “Hey, no worries here. Same person you were talking to the other night.”

Dani nods, embarrassed, and flags down a server. Drinks ordered, she draws in a deep breath.

“I mean, I haven’t done this in years. Or. Ever, I guess.”

“A first date?” Jamie asks. When Dani doesn’t answer, she adds in a knowing tone, “A date with a woman?”

“Both,” Dani says honestly. “My last relationship was--well, I mean, we were engaged--”

Jamie whistles under her breath, reaching up to scratch her head. “Blimey. What happened?”

“He’s...him.” It’s too much to go into on a first date, too much to explain, even though talking to Jamie over text had been so dangerously easy. “My best friend growing up, but that was...growing up.”

Jamie nods thoughtfully, tilting her chin in thanks when the server deposits two full pint glasses and a basket of fries on the table. “Rough time, sounds like. I can relate. My last relationship also did not go well.”

“Was he also a man who thought you’d be all too happy to quit your job and take care of a bunch of babies?” Dani asks, perhaps a little too bitterly for the occasion. Jamie flashes another grin, sipping her drink.

“She was a woman who thought I’d be all too happy to take the fall when she got busted for possession.”

Dani gapes. “Oh. Oh--I didn’t know--I’m so--”

Jamie shrugs. “She wasn’t wrong. I was nineteen, and deeply stupid. Live and learn, as the poets say.”

“Which poets?” Dani asks, smiling a little. Jamie’s brow furrows.

“John...Lennon, possibly? Hard to say. Anyway, relationships are a chore and a half, but the greatest people in the world tell me thirty is too old to play musical bedframes, so. Here we are.”

No bullshit, thinks Dani approvingly. For what little she’d put into her profile, Jamie evidently hadn’t been lying about that.

“You haven’t been in a relationship since you were nineteen?”

“In my mind, I was still in the relationship at twenty-four, when they let me out. She didn’t agree. Found out she’d been married two years, by then.” Something darkens in Jamie’s eyes for a moment. She sighs. “Like I said. Not my finest. But I am, as they say, a shining beacon of reform these days.”

“Now, when you say they,” Dani teases, grinning. Jamie nods decisively. 

“John Lennon. Definitively.”

There it is, thinks Dani, watching Jamie pop a fry into her mouth. There, the easy roll of conversation from the other night. As though they’ve known each other forever. As though two people who have thus far failed irrevocably at relationships make a perfect match.

Easy, she thinks. Don’t go wild, now. 

“So,” she says, when the comfortable silence between them has grown a bit too comfortable for the setting, “who are the greatest people in the world? The ones who tell you thirty is too old for...did you say musical bedframes?”

Jamie laughs. The ring of it curls gently around Dani’s head like a soft hand, a sound she’ll find herself replaying later with a skipping heart. 

“Not many willing to put up with a grump of my caliber, but Hannah and Owen fight the good fight. So long as I at least pretend to try.”

“Let me guess. They set up the account for you?”

Jamie makes a sort of gesture in the air with the hand not holding her glass. “Threatened to bury me in puns and children, respectively, if I kept putting it off. Owen’s still grumpy about the photo choice.”

“I liked it,” Dani says without thinking. Jamie raises an eyebrow.

“Well, you did swipe as much. Mind if I ask why?”

Walked into this one. Still, she doesn’t mind as much as she probably should, not with the genuine curiosity in Jamie’s eyes. “You looked--don’t laugh.”

“No promises,” Jamie says, but with the gentle tone of one who knows exactly how much to tease before it’ll hurt. The idea warms Dani in a way she’s not quite ready to look at yet.

“You looked real,” Dani says. “Like you weren’t going to play games, or waste anyone’s time. Like you just wanted to be happy in peace.”

“That is,” Jamie says, holding out a fry for Dani to take, “sort of the idea, yeah.”

There’s an almost puzzled cast to her smile, like she didn’t entirely expect this answer, and is pleased by it at the same time. That same sense from the photo sweeps over Dani now--that this woman is authentic, even if she’s not always shiny, that she’s kind even if not entirely clean. That she doesn’t have any interest in muddled expectation or living a comfortable lie.

“And me?” Dani asks. She doesn’t entirely mean to--but she’s sure, in asking, that Jamie will answer. Jamie is unlike anyone else she’s ever met, the first person she’s ever known to meet each question head-on. 

“Honestly?”

Dani nods. Jamie seems to consider it, turning it over in her head as she twists a fry between her fingers like a cigarette. 

“All of it.”

“That’s,” Dani begins to laugh, “that’s not--”

“No,” Jamie says, and she isn’t smiling, exactly. Her eyes have a sort of shine Dani likes very much, but there is no hint of teasing in them now. “Really. All of it. You’re...very pretty, and that’s--but the way you described yourself. Like you didn’t care to be anyone in particular. You like new experiences, and bad coffee. You hate being called Danielle. I...I wanted to know why.”

“It’s not my name,” Dani says simply. Jamie gives a brief laugh, her hand moving across the table to lightly brush Dani’s fingertips. 

“I wanted to know why all of it. Why do you like bad coffee--”

“It’s the only kind I know how to make,” Dani says automatically. “Just sort of leaned into it.”

“--and teaching--”

“I want to make a difference,” Dani says. 

“--and where you most like to go on those long walks--”

“Anywhere I can breathe,” Dani says. Her fingers are hesitant, tracing the tips of Jamie’s. There’s something electric about this, about barely touching, about barely knowing someone and still wanting to give them neatly-packaged secrets shaped like the mundane. 

Jamie is smiling. “See, that. I like that. All of it.”

It’s nothing, Dani thinks reflexively. A collection of details. A sparse approximation of a life. Eddie knows all of this, and then some, and never matched up to knowing her.

But this woman, leaning across the table with one hand outstretched, looks so different. Watches her with steady interest. Is listening to every word Dani says, though the bar is growing crowded around them, and soon, conversation will become a task instead of a gift.

“Would you,” Dani says, feeling certain that some mistakes are not as bad as they seem, “like to take one of those walks?”

“Tonight?” 

“Yeah. Tonight.” Emboldened by the smile, by the curl falling into Jamie’s eyes, by the knowledge that she still can’t quite make out what color those eyes are, Dani takes her hand. It’s so easy, she thinks she could do it even without looking. “Right now.”

No bullshit, she thinks. No expectations. Just Jamie looking at her like she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing. Dani can’t blame her. This isn’t at all what she’d thought she was getting, walking in tonight. 

But there’s something about it--something about the feeling that she’s been here before, or should be here forever, or will always find her way back to a woman who looks at her just like this--that almost makes her feel brave. Almost makes her feel wonderful. She rises from the table, laying cash beneath her half-empty glass, and feels a pleasant jolt in her chest when Jamie follows without another word.

If this a mistake, she thinks as they step out into the brisk evening air, it’s one she’s hungry to make. 

[soulmate-game]

Continuation of the story from Day 1, because you guys requested it enough that I started Thinking, lol.

Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020

Day 3: Siblings

—*—*—*—*—*

Dinner. One day after meeting her father for the first time. She had managed to postpone any sort of… socialization and emotional bonding, during their meeting earlier for everyone to choose from Marinette’s initial sketches for them and generally consult some more, by once again steamrolling everyone with Professionalism and Business Marinette.

But no longer. She couldn’t escape. Staring at a giant wooden, elaborate door like it was her pathway to Prison—

“Stop dramatizing everything in your head, Mari,” Adrien fondly scolded, gently rapping the side of her skull with one knuckle. “I got things to do, for your company I might add, so I can’t stay. But, you’ll be fine,” he leaned in, smirking at her and winking as he lowered his voice. “Besides, you’ve been through way worse than a little family reunion, Bugaboo. You’ve faced down way scarier people than the Waynes. You got this,” he encouraged before giving her a solid clap on the shoulder and a chaste kiss on the cheek, walking back towards their sleek but understated dark red car. Rented, of course, for the business trip, but nonetheless very nice.

Adrien had driver’s licenses for just about every major country. Marinette stopped questioning it a while ago.

She waited until he was gone before throwing her hands up. “Scarier people, he says. Like the Bat clan isn’t known for being some of the most intimidating heroes and vigilantes in the spotlight,” she grumbled. When she turned around, it was to the door already being open, and she jumped a bit in surprise. She hadn’t heard anyone answer the door, but sure enough Alfred Pennyworth stood there holding the door with a small smile, with Bruce Wayne and all of Marinette’s siblings gathered behind him. At least this time, nobody had their spouses or children. Every one of them was smirking, some more sharply than others (Damian).

“Would you like to come in, Miss Dupain-Cheng?” Alfred asked, waving his hand to gesture to the fact that there was plenty of room for her to enter. Blushing, she did just that, taking a breath and forcing herself to actually look at the family she had just met instead of down at her glossy navy blue pumps. Jason, the man with the white fringe in his hair. Second Robin, current Red Hood, her mind supplied, spoke up with a grin and his arms crossed over his chest.

“You don’t look so suave anymore, little Queenie,” he teased. Marinette instantly made a face, screwing up her nose.

“No. That nickname is vetoed. One of my friend’s nicknames is Queenie, and not only will she never let me live it down if she finds out someone called me that, but, just no,” Marinette dramatically shivered. “Most of my friends call me Princess nowadays anyway,” she shrugged. “Adrien started it, and it somehow caught on. It’s too much work to protest at this point.”

“You’re not good with crowds,” the soft spoken woman, Cassandra, decided to add. Marinette winced, shifting on her feet even as she followed the group to the dining room.

“Ehhh. I’ve gotten used to dealing with press and stuff, to a certain degree anyway considering my alias. And wearing my Business persona always helps in consultations. But, I’m not…” Marinette bit the inside of her cheek, clearly a little uncomfortable as she looked around. “The best at… actually talking to people outside of my small group of friends.”

Bruce sighed as most of his kids chuckled or snorted at that. Dick, the oldest but second-shortest of the men besides Tim, came over and draped an arm familiarly over Marinette’s shoulders. He still towered over her though, so he had to slouch a bit to do so.

“Ah, that would be the genetics. Let’s hope you stay where you are at instead of getting as bad at communication as B,” he told her cheerfully. She raised an eyebrow at him.

“What about Damian?”

“He’s even worse!”

“Tt,” said teenager tutted, rolling his eyes as they entered the dining room and he was able to come up to Marinette’s other side. “That was mostly how I was raised before I met Father. I have gotten a lot better than I used to be, Grayson.”

Dick gave him a smile, graciously relieving Marinette of the close contact in favor of rustling Damian’s hair despite the fact that the younger Wayne was taller than him already. “Yes, you sure have! But you still need improvement, baby bird.”

Soon enough, everyone managed to get seated around the large dining table. Bruce insisted that Marinette take one of the seats next to him at the head of the table, across from Damian, since this was her first family dinner. Dick sat next to her, Jason across from him, followed by Tim and Duke on Damian’s side of the table. On the other side of Dick sat Cassandra, and then Stephanie. Alfred served everyone before also taking a seat at the table, on the opposite end from Bruce.

And, true to BatFam tradition, everything was a little awkward for the first minute or two. Marinette didn’t know what to say, and nobody quite knew where to begin. Dick would normally start a conversation, but he was trying to glare into Bruce’s head a silent message of “talk to her, damn it.”

Finally seeming to get it, Bruce cleared his throat and turned to Marinette. “So, I wanted to ask. When do you find out about being my daughter?”

Several people around the table closed their eyes in mourning for Bruce’s social skills. Marinette though, just smiled in slight relief at the decision of how to start talking being taken from her.

“Oh. It was in stages, really. When I was ten, we started our unit in school on genetics. I don’t usually care enough about science to do much more than the school requires, but genetics captivated me for some reason. I researched it almost obsessively at home for a while, almost instantly realizing that there had to be a reason that I had blue eyes when none of the rest of my family did. After a week or two, I found my Maman and Papan’s adoption papers in their room,” she blushed, tugging on one end of her bangs, which she had framing her face since she was wearing her hair down that day. “I uh… I’ve always been a little nosy. I never told them that I found the papers, to me it was just the answer I needed. I didn’t think about it at all after that, and my obsession over genetics went away. It wasn’t until I was thirteen that I decided to look into my birth parents,” Marinette sighed, shoving a bite of food in her mouth to buy her time before continuing. Everyone was focused on her, and it was a little unsettling. Every one of them had a sharper gaze than a normal person, and it made her feel like she was made of glass and everyone else could see right through her. “I was going through a lot, back then. I wanted someone to be mad at, I wanted to be able to blame my DNA for the things that had happened.”

“Things?” Bruce interrupted, back straight and eyebrows drawn down. “What things?” Marinette giggled, tilting her head instead of answering and just letting her eyes study him. Bruce Wayne, Batman, the Dark Knight. Original vigilante of Gotham city, one of the founding members of the Justice League. Famous for his secrecy, intimidating presence, and intelligence. Then she switched her gaze, one by one, to everyone else at the table before leaning back and taking a sip of her soda.

“Do you guys know anything about the situation Paris experienced for four years?” She asked, instead of directly answering. It was Tim who frowned, leaning forward to look at her and reply.

“I heard very vague rumors of weird things, but nothing concrete enough to investigate. What happened?”

Marinette hummed, deciding to sum it up for them. “The short version? When I was thirteen, a classmate of mine spontaneously turned into a giant rock monster and destroyed a good portion of the city. Turns out, that was the first of many attacks by our city’s very own supervillain, Hawkmoth. He had a magical artifact that allowed him to take advantage of anyone’s negative emotions to give them powers and brainwash them into being, essentially, temporary villains that he used for his own means. Two heroes showed up out of nowhere, powered by similar magical artifacts, to combat him and free the people he corrupted. Ladybug and Chat Noir, the original Parisian heroes and the leaders of the team that later had to form.”

Jason frowned, along with everyone else at the table. Finally, it was Duke who asked:

“How did we not know about villains in Paris?” To which Marinette just gave him a dangerously wicked smirk that was far too similar to Damian’s for anyone’s comfort.

“Because I do my job,” she told him flatly, sipping from her cup as everyone stared at her in various amounts of shock. “That’s why finding out that my biological father was Batman made so much sense. That’s why I wanted to find out who my birth parents were. I wanted to blame the heroism on genetics. And, it doesn’t look like I was exactly wrong.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Yeah, that was how her first family dinner and subsequent identity reveal went.

Luckily, considering that Bruce had hired MDC for a pretty long job, Marinette was able to finish school online instead of going back to Paris for it. There was no real need anyway, they had defeated Hawkmoth and gotten Adrien emancipated so for now it was calm in Paris. They didn’t need their heroes anymore, for the time being. This meant that Marinette and Adrien, along with a few employees that helped measure and cut fabric and do secretarial duties they needed help with, got to stay in Gotham while Marinette went back and forth to Wayne manor, Wayne Tower, and back to their temporary home.

After about a month, Marinette was comfortable enough with the Waynes that she found herself lounging in the bat cave as she sketched, though she kept raising her eyes to the glass tubes that held old uniforms. Damian was sat across from her, essentially laying out over two chairs while he played some game upside down on his phone. He might usually be a cold brat, even for a sixteen year old, but even he liked to abuse the way furniture should be used and ignore the world via technology.

But he still caught her constantly wandering gaze.

“You don’t like them.”

“They suck!” Marinette immediately agreed, slamming her sketchbook on the metal briefing table. “Your Robin outfit is the only passable one there is! The colors aren’t even the issue, even high fashion designers can appreciate a good color clash moment. But what was Father thinking?! Putting Grayson in that glorified onesie— why are there no pants?! Jason’s at least as a cape that can cocoon his body and prevent anyone from seeing the disaster beneath. I should thank Tim for at least upgrading the suit to having pants, but he still kept the outside-underwear look that I cannot forgive. The attempt at fashion, though, is appreciated. Disappointing, but appreciated.”

“That pretty much sums them all up,” Damian quipped, getting a snort of amusement out of his sister. Maybe that was one thing he had grown to like about her. She didn’t reprimand him for his sense of humor, and usually she even laughed along. The more morbid humor would get a playful shove and a glare, but no real animosity. And she understood him on a different level, too. One he appreciated even more.

“You said, yesterday, that the Cure brings back everyone who dies during a Miraculous-related incident,” Damian spoke up again after a moment, pointedly not looking at her. “Did you ever count?”

Marinette, this being one of the reasons he was quickly growing fond of her, immediately understood. She sighed, closing her notebook. She might have only been two years his elder, but she had had what felt like a lifetime of more experiences than he did, usually in the friendship and social department though. They were roughly equal in their heroism experience, which was weird to think about, but Damian still valued her input. It was different from the rest of the family.

“It was different in Paris than it would be for anyone else. I didn’t keep track of the number of people who died,” she finally answered, taking her hair out of its work bun and running her hands through the midnight black locks. “But I kept track of how often. Since nobody remembered their deaths, I guess I felt it was my responsibility to remember my failures for them. My former best friend, Alya. Over the course of those four years, she died seventeen times. Her boyfriend, Nino, died fourteen. The Mayor died three times. Chloe, my current friend and former bully, died twenty-two times,” she grimaced at Damian’s shocked expression, nodding grimly. “During those first two, maybe two and a half years, she was one of the primary Akuma targets. She was still either an active bully or in the beginning of trying to change for the better, so she caused a lot of negative emotions everywhere she went. Things got better once she matured a bit, though. Anyway, there’s this girl I used to babysit. Manon. She died five times before she was even ten years old,” Marinette shook her head, that look of age and exhaustion that Damian saw in every Wayne and every hero he had ever fought with seeping into her eyes. “My parents, they died thirty-seven times. They were constantly worried about me, and ran into danger on several occasions trying to find and keep me safe. But I could never tell them who I was. I physically could. I had the power to sit them down and say; Hey, I’m Ladybug. Stop running out and getting yourselves killed. But I never did. I valued my identity first. So I usually ended up seeing, in the middle of a fight, one or both of them squished under falling debris. Or drowned. Frozen solid. Burned alive,” she paused, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “So no. I don’t understand what it was like for you, to count bodies as you felled them. But hell, if it doesn’t feel like I should. Logic doesn’t mean much in the face of emotion, especially guilt. I know I didn’t kill the people I care about, but every single one of their deaths weighs on me like I was the one that caused it.”

Damian nodded, and they shared a few moments of peaceful, contemplative silence as they both ruminated on their less than pleasant memories without fear of being yelled at for what those memories contained.

“But, I do have a secret,” she admitted softly, attracting her brother’s emerald-eyed attention again. The normally cheerful woman was much more subdued even than before, sapphire irises self conscious and vulnerable, which was rare. She licked her lips, even more rare considering her love of her light pink lipstick, and moved off her chair so that she was, instead, sitting on the cold stone floor. Without hesitation, Damian joined her.

“Technically, it didn’t happen. It was a timeline that my friend, the one who I gave the snake Miraculous, essentially erased when he reversed time. But I remember it even though I shouldn’t. How could I forget?”

“You took a life,” Damian whispered, grimacing in empathy. “First time?”

“And the second, and the fifth,” she admitted. “Viperion had to try seven times before I stopped repeating it. But it was always the same person, back during our final battle. I killed Gabriel Agreste seven times. But nobody but me and Luca will ever remember.”

Damian and Marinette both knew it wasn’t the same as Damian’s childhood. They both knew that they would likely never fully understand one another’s trauma. Not the nuances of it. But they did understand the important parts, the broad strokes. Despite their vastly different lives, they understood the big parts that shaped one another.

That was why Damian took to her so quickly. If he had been younger and still bratty, naive, and angry at everything, then it would be a different story entirely. But he was matured, more willing to let himself feel sympathy. And that made the difference.

“You never forget the first person,” he remarked.

“No matter the age or timeline,” she agreed. “I saw how hard it was to stop. How sickeningly addictive it can be, but I hate what it makes me more than I like how it feels.”

“... me too,” Damian whispered. “Me too.”

—*—*—*—*—*

“Wooo!” Marinette cheered as she flew through the air, her hands latching onto Dick’s. There was no audience, but there didn’t need to be. Just the two of them, doing a routine that they’ve been working on during the few chances they had for the past several weeks. Marinette had never done trapeze before Dick helped her learn, but her time swinging through Paris streets helped tremendously alongside her general Gymnastics experience.

Marinette and Dick flipped through the air, swinging from bar to bar, Dick occasionally catching and tossing her again. They soared through the air, both curling through two flips before landing on their respective platforms with matching wide smiles. Marinette, chest heaving a bit since she was slightly out of shape (meaning that she wasn’t at all out of shape, only out of practice when it came to swinging through the air for any length of time. There’s a difference). She met Dick on the floor, who proceeded to ruffle her hair happily.

“That was awesome! Looks like you finally got the routine down,” he praised. She laughed, elbowing him.

“I bet I’m better on the balance beam,” she challenged, making Dick grin widely.

“Oh you are on!”

—*—*—*—*—*

“Ya ever died before?” Jason asked, making Marinette chuckle.

“Two-hundred and eighty-seven times.”

“You started as Ladybug at thirteen, right?”

“Yup. No training or mentor for the first year either.”

“Yeah, then that sounds about right. Wanna go break all the traffic laws?”

“Only if we take your bike.”

“Fuckin’ Duh. What else?”

—*—*—*—*—*

“You stalked Adrien?” Tim asked, smirking that insufferable smirk of his. Marinette groaned, flopping back onto the sofa.

“No! I didn’t mean it that way, anyway. I just took a lot of pictures and spied on him.”

“Yup. You’re Bruce’s kid,” he remarked, tapping away at his laptop. Marinette narrowed her eyes.

“You have noooo place to judge, Mister ‘Dick Grayson is the only person alive who can do four somersaults in the air!’ And ‘Yes, I‘ve known that you are batman since I was eight. Look at all these pictures I took when I— what was your terminology again?”

Tim rolled his eyes, but a grin was peeking through. “Yeah, yeah.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Four months later, and Marinette was staring down at all the garment bags she had painstakingly filled. Outfits for every single one of her new family members. It took a while, but they were ready for the Wayne Gala. Adrien slung am arm over her shoulder.

“You’ve outdone yourself again, Princess,” he praised, grinning at the array of coveted outfits they were about to transport. “But one teensy weeny, tiny little thing.”

“What is it, Chaton?”

Adrien grinned. “Do you have a dress for yourself? Bruce invited you, too, didn’t he?”

Marinette’s face drained of color, right as a knock sounded on the door. Adrien, seeing as Marinette was so far into Panic Mode that she could not be reached at the moment, went to open the door. A second later, plastic was all Marinette could see. Blinking, she raised her head.

It was Cass, holding out a pink garment bag with Marinette’s name on it.

“Thought you would forget,” was all the other woman offered as explanation. Marinette, after gaping for a moment, slowly took the bag from her. Cass smirked. “Present from WE.”

Marinette laughed.

“You guys are the best.”

—*—*—*—*—*

@momothefemur @ladybug-182 @starlightshield @trippingovermyfeet @greatcatblaze @sam-i-am-0222 @bluesimani @ruelukas22 @acoolspacegirl

[thr-333]

Mismatch- Part 3

Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020

Ah Irony, I trust this wont be the last I’m seeing of you

First < Previous > Next

----

‘Sorry, Nino told Adrien that you guys said to go ahead!?’ Chloe explained.

“Looks like Liela’s at it again,” Marion tells Marinette.

“Of course she is,” Marinette was already hailing a cab

‘Lila must have told Alya who told Nino or something’ Marion responds.

'I am so sorry we’ll come back to get you’  

‘Dont worry bout it we’re getting a cab’

‘Dont let kags kill anyone’ He adds

‘No promises’

Marinette grabs Marion by the arm, dragging him over to a cab. Just as she's about to climb in someone grabs her, arm pulling her away. Reflexes kick in and she makes a jab at their stomach. They block her punch, but let go of her arm. Marinette looks up to see a black haired blue eyed boy who couldn't be any older than them.

“This isn’t a real cab,” He explains quickly, taking his phone out to snap a picture of the stunned driver.

“Oh? Oh!” Marinette processes, realising she just tried to punch him for helping her, “I am so sorry!”

“It’s ok, good reflexes,” He compliments, they step away from the cab as it speeds away, “I’m Tim,”

“Marinette,” She shakes his offered hand, “This is Marion,”

“Hi, thanks for that,” Marion nods towards where the ‘taxi’ was, “How could you tell?”

“You live around here long enough you learn to spot them,” Tim answers, “are you two french?”

“Yep,” Marinette chirped, “We’re on a class trip,”

“Where’s your class?” Tim frowns looking around.

“Ummm… they kinda….” Marinette looked down at her shoes.

“Left us,” Marion finishes for her.

“They left you? In Gotham?” Tim asks, the twins nod avoiding eye contact.

“Where are you staying? I’ll drive you there,” Tim decides.

“You don’t have to do that!” Marinette gestures wildly, wide eyed.

“We’ll be fine on our own,” Marion adds, because yes they did almost get in a fake cab, but it wasn't as if they couldn't have dealt with it.

“It’s all right,” Tim tells them, scanning the cars around, “Look my rides here,”

The twins turn to see a limo pull up, a well dressed driver steps out of the vehicle.

“Good Evening Master Tim, how was your trip?” He asks, taking Tim’s bag.

“It was fine Alfred,” Tim says, “would you mind if we dropped these two off at their hotel?”

“Not at all, Master Tim, I am Alfred Pennyworth,” Alfred greets the twins, “May I ask your names,”

“Uh, Marion, and this is Marinette,” Marion replies, “You really don’t have to, we’ll be fine,”

“It’s no trouble at all,” He tells them, “Where are you staying?”

“Wayne hotel,” Marinette goes to grab her bags to find them gone, turning to see Alfred already placing it in the trunk.

“Witchcraft,” Marion whispers to her, Marinette nods. She always made sure to at least be touching her backpack, as it held the Miracle box.

“Come in,” Tim offers, already sitting in the Limo.

The twins concede climbing in after Tim a little awkwardly. He had somehow gotten ahold of a travel cup and was holding it like a lifeline.

“I’m surprised you're staying at the Wayne hotel for a class trip,” Tim takes a gulp of the probably scalding hot coffee.

“Marinette submitted an amazing essay to the Wayne Foundation and won the trip for the whole class,” Marion dodges her kick, Tim hides his smirk behind his cup.

"We submitted an essay,” Marinette corrects, glaring at Marion for shaking his head.

“Thank you for the ride,” Marion changes the topic.

“No problem, I really don’t mind, the longer I stay away from the manor the better,” Tim replies sleepily.

“Why's that?” Marinette questions, concern written all over her face.

“Loud, too many siblings” Tim quickly clarified, “I need more time with my coffee before I deal with them,”

“I think I can relate,” Marion mutters, ignoring Marinette's look, “How many siblings do you have?”

“Officially? Thr-Two brothers,”

“Unofficially?” Marinette prods.

“Feels like half of Gotham most the time,” Tim sighs, making them chuckle.

“You two must be twins?” Tim guesses.

“Unfortunately,” Marinette sighs.

“You love me,” Marion scoffs.

“Unfortunately,” Marinette repeats, Tim cracks a smile.

“If it's any consolation you seem to get on much better than I do with my siblings,” Tim takes another long sip from his coffee.

“If it’s any consolation we’re always fighting,” Marion parrots, sharing a knowing glance with Marinette. Fighting? Yes. Fighting each other? Only when Chat Noir gets brainwashed.

“So what are you looking forward to in Gotham?” Tim asks.

“Lots of things,” Marinette and Marion start to tell Tim all about their(civilian) plans. Tim suggests places every now and then, he points out the hotel as they start to get closer.

“Ah!” Marinette exclaims, turning to Marion, “We were meant to check in as a class, will they even let us in?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they do,” Tim assures them. When they pull up at the hotel Alfred opens the door and Tim gets out with them.

“Thank you so much,” Marinette takes her bags from Alfred, giving him a smile.

“You’re welcome Miss,” Alfred smiles back.

Marion also gives his thanks and they follow Tim into the building. Marinette admires the architecture, brainstorming ideas for designs. Perhaps she can make improvements to the outfits they’ll be using at the concert. Tim goes straight to the front desk and explains the situation. The receptionists hands over the room keys, telling them their classmates had already grouped up, three to a room.

“That was surprisingly easy,” Marion muses, as they walk towards the elevator, “Thank you,”

“My pleasure,” Tim answers easily, as they step into the elevator, “I must be off,”

They give their goodbyes, letting the doors close as Tim walks away.

“He was nice,” Marinette hums in agreement.

“Hopefully there's more people in Gotham like him,” They step out of the elevator.

“There will be,” Marion assures, “Meet back here when they go to sleep?”

“No, I’ll text you when everyones asleep and you can teleport in,” Marion nods, both know Kaalki won’t be impressed.

They go their separate ways. Marinette knocked on the room door that was opened a few moments later by Kagami.

“I am sorry,” Kagami immediately apologizes, “I should have known better and asked you myself,”

“Don’t worry, we’re fine,” Marinette gives the girl a hug, rolling her suitcase into the room.

“Marinette, you need to see this place, although it’s as good as daddys hotel,” Chloe grabs her by the arm. Leading her through the well furnished and decorated living room with a kitchenette to the side.

“You do live in the penthouse suite,” Marinette looked out the floor to ceiling window, displaying the view of the city, itching to grab her sketchbook.

“True, but they didn’t put me in the penthouse, so it's their loss,” Chloe guides her to a room with a large bed, bedside tables with flowers on them and a mirrored closet door. “This is yours,”

Marinette went to grab her suitcase only to see Kagami behind them with it. She thanked her and got settled in. Once she was unpacked they sat together in the living room to talk about tomorrow.

“You’d better not go wandering off, Gotham is dangerous,” Chloe wagged her finger at Marinette.

“And you’re going to protect me?” Marinette threw a couch cushion at her.

“Well, duh, I was Queen Bee,” Chloe bragged, catching the cushion and throwing it right back.

“For, like, month, years ago,” Marinette caught the pillow, sending it to Kagami, “Weren’t you replaced with Bumble Bee?”

“It was a mutual decision,” Chloe caught the pillow that Kagami hesitantly threw to her.

“Right,” Marinette said in a disbelieving tone, knowing full well that Bumble Bee was just Chloe’s new alias. “I think I’d rather stick with Kagami,”

“Rude,” Chloe threw the pillow at her.

“Didn’t we all agree Kagami was as good as any bodyguard?” Marinette asks, throwing the pillow to said girl.

“Excuse you, we said she was better than any bodyguard,” Both gave her inquisitive looks, “What? I’m just stating facts!”

“Of course,” Marinette caught the pillow, still smiling.

“I am!”

“I believe you,” Marinette threw the pillow back at her.

“No you don’t!” Chloe throws the pillow forcefully at her.

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Marinette chucks the pillow to Kagami.

“You’re infuriating Dupain-cheng,” Chloe huffs, catching the pillow from Kagami.

“I can show you some… moves,” Kagami hesitantly speaks up, as Chloe throws the pillow at Marinette, “For self defence,”

“Sure,” Marinette puts the pillow down, standing up with Kagami.

They spent the next half hour with Kagami instructing Marinette on basic fencing moves. With the cardboard wrapping of the now empty Toblerone block.

“Where is she going to get a sword?” Chloe was scrolling through her phone, “Unless you want her to carry that around everywhere,”

“What do you suggest?” Kagami challenges defensively.

“Like this,” Chloe takes over, showing both Marinette and Kagami how to break out of certain holds to get their arm free or how to disarm an opponent.

“Where did you learn this?” Marinette watches as Kagami practices the motions of disarming Chloe's hairbrush gun.

“I told you, I was Queen Bee and I took that job seriously,” Chloe drops the hairbrush, Kagami kicking it away.

“Didn’t you tell all of Paris your identity and then send a train out of control,” Kagami asks, retrieving the hairbrush.

“I was young and naive,” Chloe sighs dramatically, had to her forehead.

“Three years ago?” Marinette stands up to try and disarm Chloe now.

“Four actually,”

“Oh, my mistake,” Marinette rolls her eyes trying not to disarm Chloe too quickly.

They carry on a little longer before Marinette sends them to bed.

“We have an early day tomorrow, we don’t want to be late,” She pushes Chloe towards her room.

“Coming from you? That’s rich,” Chloe laughs.

“Whatever, go to sleep,” Marinette closes the door on Chloe's protests.

“Goodnight Marinette,” Kagami nods, walking to her room without a fuss.

Marinette goes to her room, firing Marion a text.

“Alright dude,” Nino turns to Marion, “I’m with Alya, we all know who Adrien has a crush on-”

“Everyone!?” Adrien sits up from where he’s lying on the couch.

“Yes, everyone,” Nino deadpans.

“What about Marinette?” Adrien turns pleading eyes to Marion.

“Oh not Marinette, she's as clueless as you,”

“What’s that meant to mean?” Adrien frowns defensively.

“Anyway,” Nino interrupts, “Dude, who do you have a crush on?”

“Ummmm,” Marion shifts uncomfortably from where he’s perched on the couches arm rest, “... It’s sort of a celebrity crush,”

“Oh? who?” apparently that was not the answer that would make him lose interest.

“It’s not really important, not like anything could happen,” Marion looks at Adrien for help, but he seems just as curious as Nino.

“Just tell us,” Nino pushes.

“It’s a hero,” Marion immediately realises that just got them more interested. “... From Gotham,”

“Batman?” Adrien guesses.

“No!” Marion shouts, “No! He’s old enough to be my dad, geez,”

“Alright, alright, who is it?” Nino placates leaning forward on his arm chair.

“..... Red hood,”

“Isn’t he a rouge?” Adrien asks.

“No!.... Maybe, he’s still a hero ok?” Marion curls up defensively.

“Why do you like him?” Adrien is grinning, shifting closer to Marion.

“I don’t know,” Marion rolls off the armrest, onto the couch next to him.

“You have to like something,” Nino gets up to sit on his other side.

“I don’t know, maybe because he looks good in his suit?!” Marion shouts.

“You’re not that shallow,” Adrien pokes him in the stomach.

“Ugh, fine,” Marion relents, “He works with Batman right?”

They both nod.

“He’s just so unlike everyone else he works with, I just kinda…. admire how he can just be…. be himself.” Marion curls up under his friend's stares.

“You’ve put a lot of thought into this,” Adrien teases, Marion huffs.

“He does look good in his suit though,”

“Wait a minute, is this why you always wear that MDC outfit?” Nino is clearly holding back laughter.

“No!” Marion bushes at the memory.

They were doing a practice interview about his newest song. Marinette had designed his outfit based on Red Hood's. It was something he had endured endless teasing over as he insisted everything had to be perfect, not that the great MDC would make anything less.

“Were there any problems that arose from the design MDC?” The interview asked, moving onto the outfit choice.

“We had some minor disagreements about the hood,” Marinette gestured to the outfit Marion was wearing. A red hoodie underneath a faux leather jacket(not that you could tell) on the back there were flying red bats embroidered up the side. He was wearing a black domino mask with red detailing in place of the helmet. It was the outfit they chose to alter into their vigilante costumes.

“She was getting very frustrated over it,” Marion teased, “I told her it didn’t need one,”

“His name is Red Hood! Why doesn't he wear a Hood? Robin wears a hood,”

“He looks cool without it,” Marion defended.

“You’re just saying that, cause you have a crush on him,” Marinette teased in a sing-song voice.

“MD!” He shouted, pulling the hood up to hide his blush, MDC laughing at him, he groaned. “Please tell me the cameras aren't rolling,”

“Don’t worry, nothing we say is being recorded,” The interviewer was luckily professional enough to not laugh, but was certainly amused, “I take it we will be omitting that from the real interview?”

“Yes!”

Unfortunately for him one of the staff members had been secretly recording. They leaked the footage online, getting fired, but not sparing MCD from the whole world finding out. The fanbase had been going crazy ever since they announced their concert in Gotham. Many imagining meet-cute moments or theorising that they were already dating. He shakes his head at the memory.

“I just think it looks cool,” He comes back to the present.

“Because it’s based on your crush?” Adrien teases.

“Nope, you don’t get to tease me about this, I haven't seen you not wearing something Marinette made you in years,” Marion cuts Adrien off with a raised eyebrow, looking down at his Ladybug onesie Marinette made him.

“Fine,” Adrien turns to Nino, “It’s up to you now,”

“Has Marinette made you anything Red Hood related?” Nino grins.

“Nooooo,” Marion moans, draping over the couch.

“Do you have a onesie based on him as well?” Marion finds his saving grace when his pocket buzzes.

“Stooooooooop,”

“Never this is too good,” Nino teases, “Did you bring it with you?”

“That's enough for tonight!” Marion claps his hands, standing up.

“Awwwww,” They both moan in unison.

“Nope! I don’t have to put myself through this, goodnight to you,” Marion walks straight to his room before they can protest further.

He locks the door behind him. Plagg and Kaalki are in the room chatting, they fly over to Marion.

“You ready to go Kaalki?”

“I am not meant to be used for something as trivial as a taxi,” The Kwami complains.

“We just need to grab out suits, this will be the only night, I promise,” The Kwami gives him a nod, “Kaalki full gallop,”

He transforms and opens a portal into Marinette's room.

“Ready Bug?” He asks, stepping into the room. He opens another portal to their room in Paris.

“Of course,” They step through the portal, followed by their Kwami’s, into their room as quietly as possible.

Marion drops his Marinette pulls out their costumes from the closet. They were disguised to look like regular clothing, but could be altered to quickly change.

“I don’t know how you talked me into this,” Marinette takes the hoodie he usually wears, reaching under a secret fold and unzips the hood.

“Come on bug, our hero-selves cant be seen in Gotham, and you know full well we wouldn't stand aside if someone was getting hurt in front of us,” Marion takes the body of the hoodie from her, flipping it inside out to the black side.

“True, but why do we have to do nightly patrols?” Marinette finishes pulling on her leggings, flipping her usual white jumper with a cherry blossom pattern inside out to the same red shade as the hood.

“It would look pretty suspicious if we just showed up when our class was in danger, now wouldn’t it,” Marion fasten the yellow belt around his waist, slipping his baton into the holster and pulls on his on his boots, hopping slightly.

“I think you just want to be a vigilante,” Marinette takes his Red Hood jacket, flipping it inside out to black with yellow trim.

“Well, it’s exciting isn’t it?” Marion takes what would usually be Mainette's skirt, flipping the pink inside out to the green and unzipping it along a black line, “We get to test out our skills without miraculous, and we don't have the fate of the city resting on our shoulders,”

“You could a least try to take it seriously,” Marinette flips her beanie inside out to the black side. Pulling it on after the severed hood, lining the holes up with her eyes and pulling the hood up.

“I am taking this very seriously,” Marion says with the biggest grin. Taking Marinette's infinity scarf, running his hands across it to find the secret fold. Flipping it inside out to a green with yellow and black trim. He pulls it over his head, yellow stripe to his hairline.

“Whatever," Marinette fastens her holster with a baton around her left leg. They both pull on their black gloves. "Lets go,”

Marion transforms back and opens a portal to a rooftop far away from the hotel. They take off across the roofs, using their batons to pole vault across alleys, to land on roofs and fire escapes. As they race, taunting each other, they survey the streets below. Marinette stops, crouching down as Marion catches up. A young woman was being chased by two thugs.

“Let’s go,” She whispers, using the fire escape as a firemans pole. Marion follows suit.

They land in the alley as the girl gets backed up against a wall, clutching her purse. She looks straight at them, Marion gestures her to stay quiet as they sneak up behind the thugs. Marinette takes the one on the right, as he lines up behind the left one. Marinette attacks first hitting the right one over the head with her baton.

“What the-” Marion cuts the left one off by sweeping his legs with his baton, sending him crashing to the ground. He pins them down, tying his wrist together with one hand, “You little fuc-”

Marion stuffs the mans own hat in his mouth. He then ties the crooks legs together for good measure. He looks over to Marinette, her thug unconscious, she was comforting the victim, offering her a cookie from a hidden pocket.

“Thank you,” She takes the cookie hesitantly.

“Not a problem,” Marinette gives her a winning smile.

“Wow, this is really good,” She mumbles, with her mouth full, “Um, who are you,”

“Don't worry about that,” Marion slings his arm around Marinette, "We're just your friendly neighbourhood strays,"

“Ignore him,” Marinette pushes his arm off her, “Do you want us to walk you home?”

“Uh- yeah, thanks,”

“I love your outfit by the way,” Marinette tells her, as they leave the alley way. Marion walks behind calling the police to come pick up the thugs, explaining what happened.

“Hey, can I get your number so the police can get your statement later?” Marion interrupts, as they follow the girl to her apartment.

“Of course,” He hands over the phone, letting her hang up.

“I haven’t seen you around before,” She hands back the phone, Marion walking on her other side.

“We’re new to town,” Marion smiles at her.

“I can tell,” They both give her inquisitive looks, “You’ve smiled more in the last five minutes than most Gothamites do their whole lives,”

“You’re exaggerating,” Marinette chuckles.

“I’m serious, you’re going to blind someone,” She laughs with them.

They walk her to her apartment, holding polite conversation the whole way.

“This is it,” She announces, “Thanks again,”

“No problem,” They both say, turning to leave.

“Wait…. Um,” They both stop looking back at her holding her phone, “Can I get a picture?”

“Of course,” Marion bounces over to her, Marinette taking the other side.

They give the same big smiles they do as Ladybug and Chat Noir. Marion throwing up bunny ears behind Marinette's head. They say goodbye and run off to find someone else to help.

“Whatcha doing Tim?” Dick looks over his shoulder, still in his Nightwing costume fresh from patrol.

“I ran into some French students who were left behind by their class at the airport,” Tim scrolls through a word document, complete with pictures of smiling teens doing a mixture of charity work and sports among other activities. “They won the Martha Wayne educational trip, I was just looking through their entry,”

“They got left behind, in Gotham?”

“That’s what I said! I actually caught them just before they got in a faux taxi,” Tim reaches the end of the rather long essay.

“They could have been mugged, or kidnapped!” Dick slams his hands down on the desk.

“I know , Dick,” Tim rubs his face, “The worst part is they didn’t seem at all surprised about it either,”

Dick leaves Tim to his work to change, muttering to himself.

“Is everything alright, Master Dick?” Alfred appears with food for after patrol.

“What if it happens again?” Dick asks.

“I assume you’re referring to the lovely twins Master Tim met at the airport?” Alfred nods knowingly, Dick nods back. “Well hopefully something similar doesn't happen tomorrow for their tour of Wayne Tower,”

“.... Alfred can you place me in charge of the tour?”

“Consider it done, Master Dick,” Alfred leaves him to get changed.

He finishes changing into regular clothes as the Batmobile pulls in. Batman and Robin exiting.

“We need to discuss security measures for the upcoming concert,” Batman tells the room, they gather around,

“MCD is known for his advocacy of superheroes, so we can expect a few villains to make trouble,” Tim pulls up a picture of MCD with MDC as they walk down the red carpet for some event.

Dick is amused that the picture he pulled up had them in Batman and Robin themed outfits. MDC wearing a beautiful black dress with the bat symbol subtly incorporated into the bodice. Her dress trailed behind in sharp points like Batman’s cape. MCD was wearing a suit with a red shirt, his tie green and some yellow detailing.

“You are going to be professional aren't you?” Damian gives them both pointed looks.

“Whatever are you talking about?” Dick asks innocently.

“You two are always jabbering on about these two,” Robin glares.

“We do not-oh that reminds me, if we’re going to be guarding this event we have to invite Jason,” Dick addresses Bruce.

“He is worse than you two, going on about that interview,” Damian must be rolling his eyes under the domino mask.

“Come on little D. how often does your celebrity crush like you back?” Dick smiles, remembering the night Jason called him yelling in excitement telling him about the leaked footage. He had also asked him to get Tim to find out who leaked the footage and have them fired.

“I don’t know and I don’t care,”

“As for actual security measures,” Batman redirects the conversation.

“Master Jason has arrived,” Alfred reports, coming to stand with them.

“Speak of the devil,” Tim mutters.

“BRUCE YOU MOTHERFUCKER,”Jason bursts into the bat cave, “I need to know these things!”

“We were just talking about the concert,” Dick tells him.

“What? No! Why didn’t you tell me you adopted more!” He yells at Bruce. “I need to know when you’re planning to traumatise more kids!”

“Jason what are you talking about,” Bruce only lets a hint of irritation into his voice.

“THis,” Jason slams down his phone to a screenshot of a tweet. It showed a picture of a boy and girl, both with black hair and blue eyes, following Tim into a limo. Written underneath was;

Wayne Twins? How long has Bruce Wayne been keeping them from Gotham? Are they adopted? Or could the Family resemblance be more than coincidence?

#wayne twins #Bruce Wayne's secret children #aren’t they just adorable

“What is this?” Bruce asks Tim.

“They’re the one who won the Martha Wayne educational trip, their class left them at the airport, I gave them a ride,” Tim briefly explained, noticeably omitting the taxi part.

“Wait so you didn’t adopt them?” Jason picks his phone back up.

“No, Jason, I didn’t,” Jason’s eyes narrow.

“... Are you going to?”

“... No, I’m not,”

“Keep an eye out,” Jason not at all subtly whispers to Dick, “He hesitated,”

“What are we going to do?” Damian cuts their growing argument off.

“We could release a statement?” Tim suggests.

“Drawing attention to it will only fuel the flames, let’s just let it die out,” Bruce decides, getting nods of agreement.

“By the way Jason, we were talking about security measures for the MCD concert,” Dick changes the topic.

“Without me!?”

They go back to making security plans for the concert, including Jason.

“I think we should have someone inside,” Jason looks over the blueprint of the venue.

“Of course you do,” Damian remarks snidely

“You little-”

“Bruce!” Superman's face pops up on the main computer, “You can’t just take in new kids without warning!”

“They aren’t my children,” Bruce clenches his fists, “The pictures with Tim are taken out of context,”

“What? I’m talking about the new Robins-,”

“THE NEW WHAT!” Jason and Damian shout at the same time.

“What are you talking about?” Bruce probably asking that question more times today than he would like.

“Uh, this,” A picture is sent through a screenshot of another tweet that was steadily becoming viral.

The picture had two teens in masks on either side of a civilian, giving the biggest smiles that had probably ever grace Gotham. The boy giving the girl bunny ears. Underneath was written:

Almost got mugged tonight and was saved by these two. Didn't tell me their names. They kinda look like Robin right? Also they gave me a cookie? It was actually good too.

#new Robins #Robin #Batfam #OMG their smile are pure sunshine #send help I might be blind

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #248: “To Save the ETERNALS!”

October, 1984

Scarlet Witch: “It’s raining ETERNALS!”

Hallelujah?

This is a pretty striking cover. The white background is what sells it. Having an actual background would busify the cover too much.

So last times on Avengers: Bored after giving the chairman role to Vision, Wasp takes Starfox’s invitation to crash a party hosted by Sersi, a truant Eternal. Some other Eternals come to fetch Sersi for a Big, Important Eternal Thing and Wasp and Starfox end up getting dragged along when they try to stop the kidnapping.

After Sersi and Ikaris recap the Eternals’ ENTIRE HISTORY, Starfox realizes hey he’s an Eternal too! So he gets invited to the big, important Eternal Thing. Which is turning into a giant flying brain. As ya do.

But jerk fiend and eventual Great Lakes Avengers punchline Maelstrom takes advantage of all the Eternals being a giant brain and attacks, knocking out spectating Avengers Wasp and Captain Monica Marvel.

So thats a lot.

Vision and Scarlet Witch arrive in Greece after seeing Maelstrom on the video phone.

While Vision flies off in a big hurry, Scarlet Witch goes back into the Quinjet for some good exposition.

She continues to be worried about how Vision has been acting lately. Because after seeing Maelstrom, Vision barely said a word during the flight to Greece and kept pushing the engines until Wanda was afraid they’d blow up. But since he just took off and she can’t fly, she calls up what files the Avengers have on Maelstrom.

Which is Benn Grimm, the Thing, reporting on Marvel Two-in-One #72, where he teamed up with Black Bolt to fight Maelstrom who claimed to be the son of a renegade Inhuman. In the end, the Thing tossed a tube of anti-terrigen gas in his face and then Maelstrom appeared to die in an underwater cave-in.

Vision returns from his reconnaissance and does Wanda a startle so she finally unloads on him for how he’s been acting.

Scarlet Witch: “You don’t seem to be thinking at all these days! We haven’t had a real conversation since you became Avengers chairman! Half of our trip to Washington was taken up by a private meeting you had with the president! Afterwards, you didn’t even have the decency to tell me what you talked about! I had to hear from a reported that you’d discussed making the Avengers chairmanship a cabinet level post! We used to be so open with one another! What is happening to us? What is the matter? Is it me?”

Vision says ‘its not you, its me’ although in the context of him being at fault and not breaking up with her.

But he promises to do better and that she’s important to him.

Which would be heart-warming and romantic if he wasn’t making this face over her shoulder.

Why.

Anyway, with uh whatever that is handled, Vision reports what he found on his scouting nyoom.

He found the Eternal city on the side of Mount Olympus because of course its there.

Although. Wait. Where do the Olympians live? Are they neighbors? Do the Olympians live in another dimension or something? I vaguely remember something like that.

And Vision found Maelstrom who’s wearing a silly techno-harness connected to a big machine and has Captain Marvel and Wasp chained up at his feet.

You have problems, Maelstrom.

Not least of which is that his big scheme is to absorb the giant brain to make himself more powerful.

He blabs his plan to the Wasp who woke up when she sensed the opportunity to sass.

Wasp: “You seem awfully sure of yourself, Maelstrom.”

Maelstrom: “Ah, the Wasp! Back among the conscious, I see! Yes, I am quite confident... Supremely confident, you might say.”

Wasp: “But not so confident that you felt you could keep us here untied!”

Maelstrom: “If you are trying to shame me, it will not work. I am quite without shame!”

Curses, he’s immune to petty ego games.

Wasp also assumes he’s an Eternal which he’s quick to correct. No, see, his mom was a Deviant. And I guess his dad was an Inhuman, based on the Thing’s report on him. But its not like he wants revenge for all the Deviants being compressed into a giant cube.

After all, the Deviants killed his mom and raised Maelstrom in their slave pits.

In fact, after Maelstrom absorbs the giant brain, his next plan is to release the Deviants from the giant Deviant cube one by one and then do harm to them.

But, yeah, no. He does look like an Eternal. Easy mistake to make. The Eternals have been making that mistake as Maelstrom has just been hanging around for days with all the Eternals assuming he’s just some Eternal.

He’s actually maybe a little bit regretful that he has to kill them all to absorb the giant brain since the Eternals have actually been nice to him?

Maelstrom: “But power belongs to those who are willing to seize it!”

Interesting guy, Maelstrom.

He starts absorbing the Uni-Mind and totally spaces out doing that. But unfortunately, Wasp is in no position to capitalize on it because he put some leech manacles on her which are preventing her from shrinking. And Captain Marvel is completely out cold.

But Vision sneaks up intangible through the ground as he do like to do and intangibles his fingers into Maelstrom’s harness, shorting it out.

The energy discharge knocks Vision on his ass unconscious but Maelstrom just has to take a knee.

He yells up at an ominous figure standing up on a tower for not telling him that Vision was sneakign up on him. Maelstrom obviously thinks that this Deathurge is his minion but Deathurge has differing opinions.

Deathurge: For so long have I been with Maelstrom, yet still he does not understand! Still he thinks of me as his lackey! When will he learn... it is a darker power I truly serve!

Kinda wonder why he’s here. He doesn’t seem to be helping Maelstrom’s great brain heist and mostly just seems to... stand on a tower and look ominous.

But while Maelstrom was distracted yelling at a guy, the Uni-Mind breaks free of Maelstrom’s siphon and then explodes into a bunch of Eternals again.

Because it would be very improbable if that happened.

Your plan scheme just got Wanda’d, Maelstrom.

Huh. When I saw the cover, I wouldn’t have guessed that Wanda is the reason why its raining Eternals, hallelujah.

Goes to shows.

But since it was very improbable indeed that the Uni-Mind would explode into peoples, Wanda is wiped out.

Captain Marvel starts waking up and Wasp orders her to bust the chains, don’t even think about just go go go.

And Monica Marvel CHOOOMs the leech manacles.

It’s probably a testament to her power that she can bust right through the power dampening handcuffs but Maelstrom immediately hits her with some pink with kirby krackle which apparently is an energy field for sapping strength and down goes Captain Marvel again.

>=|

Wasp dodges the pink energy and gets out of the way so Vision can shoot his forehead laser at Maelstrom.

I sometimes forget he has that thing.

Vision: “Yes, Maelstrom, I have found your weakness! you are vulnerable to energy that is not purely kinetic! That is why you required the power siphon to absorb the psionic energy of the Uni-Mind!”

Maelstrom insists that he’ll still kick Vision’s ass except we’ll never know if he was talking out his ass or not.

Starfox wakes up from being a giant brain and decides to go punch the bad guy.

Except except except.

Punches is kinetic energy. Fool that he is, Starfox just recharged Maelstrom.

Starfox: “I am Eros, called the Starfox... son of Mentor! The blood of the Eternals flows in my veins... and I am an Avenger! Thus I have the greatest stake in seeing you fall!”

Maelstrom: “No doubt! But you’ll not accomplish it this way!”

And then suddenly giant Maelstrom just picks up Starfox and hurls him at Vision who is forced to super-dense catch Starfox instead of intangible out of the way and let the idiot hit a wall head first.

Hm. Guy absorbs kinetic energy and gets beefier? So he’s like a less stylish Sebastian Shaw?

That’s not a flattering comparison for you, Maelstrom.

Makarri, Thena, and Ikaris of the Eternals wake up and also try to jump on and pummel Maelstrom.

... God, its like they weren’t even paying attention.

Good thing they’re immortal because they have no survival instinct among them.

Maelstrom throws them off and then whips out the pink bio-kinetic energy again, using it to crowd control the Eternals.

Then he announces that yeah, sure, the brain thing was foiled. But he absorbed enough information while he was draining the Uni-Mind that he has an even cooler plan for even greater power now.

So his new plan is to just leave. And go do something else.

‘Walk away with no further conflict you say? Nuts to that!’ - Scarlet Witch, presumably.

In fairness. This isn’t really a no harm, no foul situation.

I wouldn’t give Maelstrom over to the Eternals to add to the Deviant cube but he’s just going to do more asshole things if he walks away.

Starfox wants to go over and start punching Maelstrom again because. I DUNNO! The man is supposed to be smarter than this!

Vision stops him and tells him that instead he’ll need to use his pleasure power on Vision’s mark.

Starfox is startled that Vision knows about his secret weirdo power but this isn’t the time for a conversation.

Instead its time for microwaves.

Vision signals Captain Marvel to do her thing and she flies at Maelstrom, turning into infrared and microwave radiation, toasting Maelstrom up.

Then Wasp pew pews with her pew pew, while staying ten feet away so he can’t absorb any kinetic energy. That’s apparently why her stings sucked when she tried shooting him before. She got too close.

Well, her stings are bio-electrical so him absorbing her bio-kinetic energy would probably weaken them? Probably?

Maelstrom actually panics a little because the Avengers aren’t being dumb. They’re pelting him with energy attacks from a distance, wearing him down and not giving him a chance to build up his energy stores again.

I’m proud of you, guys. I knew you could fight smart if you put your minds to it.

Then with Maelstrom weakened, Starfox tries to use his PLEASURE BEAMS and tells him that actually we’re all friends here, won’t you be our friend?

Starfox: “The others will tell you I’m not one to hold a grudge! Besides, you really don’t want to hurt anyone! You’ll be much happier giving yourself up!”

Maelstrom: “Giving... up? Y-yes, that does sound nice. I... No!! What are you doing to me?!?”

So since Maelstrom succeeds his will save against the persuasion check, or something, Scarlet Witch just casts a spell of ‘on your knees, asshole’ and makes Maelstrom fall to his knees.

Realizing that he might actually be defeated, in the city of his mother’s enemies no less!, Maelstrom calls out for Deathurge to attend him.

Deathurge: “At last, the call I have longed for!”

Hmmmm. Maybe Maelstrom should have been more specific.

I admit that its very possible that this is exactly what Maelstrom wanted Deathurge hanging around for. But having a guy standing by to kill you so you don’t have to tally an L sure is an interesting way of going about things.

Also, the narration says spear but Deathurge’s weapon is clearly a very anime scythe. A dude in Bleach had two of this exact weapon.

Captain Marvel, as the nyoomiest of the Avengers, flies at Deathurge as the “spear” returns to his hand. He tries to hit her with the “spear” but it goes right through her and then she goes right through him when she tries to tackle him.

Since they can both be intangible, Deathurge declares this a stalemate and drops down into the ground. Captain Marvel tries to follow as x-rays but loses the ominous weirdo.

So that was a thing that happened.

Maelstrom sure folded like nothing once people who knew how his powers work actually started fighting back.

And I can’t even ding him for explaining his powers because he didn’t. Vision just did his research.

Anyway, even though the Uni-Mind ritual was interrupted, the Eternals still learned what they should be doing. Since the Eternals have grown stagnant on Earth, THEY’RE GOING TO SPAAAAACE!

Most of them anyway.

Ikaris, Sersi, Thena, Valkin... Lets just say the main Eternals are going to stay on Earth.

The Eternals chosen to go out into space form a Uni-Mind again, grabs the Deviant cube, hurls it out of the solar system, and then takes off into space.

“So does the Uni-Mind, in all its wisdom, protect its native world from the Deviant menace.”

Eeeesh.

I thought squeezing them all into a cube was bad enough, now you’re sending them into space forever? You couldn’t find a planet where they can’t hurt anyone and just dunk them there?

Back down on Earth, the Avengers and Eternals watch a giant brain fly into space.

Wasp: “To think, this all started with Starfox and me crashing Sersi’s party! I certainly never expected to be in Greece at day’s end, watching the Eternals leave Earth!”

Really makes you think. That its a good thing that most Avengers’ day job is being an Avenger.

Captain Marvel asks Starfox if he’s sorry that he didn’t go with the giant brain and he says participating in one Uni-Mind thing was an incredible experience that he wouldn’t have missed but he’s a free spirit and there’s a bunch of stuff he still wants to do on Earth.

Which Sersi certainly agrees with.

The Avengers offer her a lift back home and she has perhaps the greatest of attitudes about everything that went down.

Sersi: “I hope my friends in the city have kept the party going! If they haven’t... well, we’ll just have to start one of our own!”

That’s the spirit!

But meanwhile, halfway around the world in a secret underground lair, Deathurge pops out of the floor.

Villains are villainous and all but you can’t beat the class of “secret underground lair.” Step up, heroes.

Deathurge struts over to some tubes and goes Everything Has Transpired According to Plan.

Because inside one of the tubes (or maybe all of the tubes??) is a fresh new Maelstrom body!

Deathurge: If all goes as you have planned, you shall soon awaken within this newly prepared body, ready to live again. And, as ever, I will stand by... ready to attend... Until all your lives have been lived!

Well!

No wonder Maelstrom has a dude standing by to pop him. He’s got extra lives!

Anyway, that was the unexpected Eternals three-parter nobody called for. But Avengers is the place to go to tie up loose ends from other books and concepts.

Avengers’ll accommodate you, they have room in their hearts and publishing schedule.

Follow @essential-avengers​ because there’s more Maelstrom coming! Wait, is that anything people want? There’s also Hercules! I know people like Hercules! He gives the best hugs! Also like and reblog if you like to reblog.

[matt0044]

“I can believe in spandex-clad superheroes, aliens and mayhaps some demons but I draw the line hard at phantoms.”

Clearly these are the Flat-Earthers of the Power Rangers universe.

Dino Fury has arrived and a new showrunner in the form of Simon Bennet with Chip Lynn stepping down. So far, it’s made a good first impression with the theme song. I’m not opposed to “Go Go Power Rangers” being a consistent leitmotif of the series. I only wish the song was just longer to appreciate it more.

Buzzfe- I MEAN, Buzzblast reporter Amelia Jones reports in with her editor-in-chief to insist on a change of pace from the usual celebrity gossip and investigate Dinohenge out in the woods. Rather than a Gym or a Juice Bar, we get ourselves a Social Media outlet that’s pretty crowded with plenty of hussle. I’m actually reminded of VR Troopers with the whole newspaper angle they got.

As Woody use to say, “What an ideeeeee-ah!”

Jane allows Amelia to go off on her little ghost hunt, not being one for the paranormal. Somebody’s clearly never been to Briarwood before. Yeah, I’m pretty sure that those in the Power Rangers universe would be more open to the supernatural going down. Unless it’s a matter of what’s been scientifically proven such as new aliens regularly coming down to screw us Earthlings over.

Amelia meets Ollie by way of snagging him with her net launcher. I... guess you can just purchase them no questions asked, second amendment and whatnot. The comedic banter is pretty well grounded and less over the top compared to seasons prior. It helped that they’re among the Rangers as we get to know them and they learn of each other. Though I wouldn’t rule out comic relief yet...

Got my eye on you, Garcias. :P

Amelia leads Ollie to Dinohenge where his mother, Dr. Akana, is analyzing the circle of dinosaur statues just laying around. Her drone even picks up signs of an underground chamber only to be interrupted by Warden Buzzki- I MEAN, Warden Garcia. The copper tells them to pack it in while leading the doctor off.

Amelia and Ollie stay to clean up while having another ghost debate because again, nobody saw Mystic Force. Speaking of, a violet colored knight beams in with a scanner honing in on an energy source he seeks. The two hide while watching him blast open a way into the chamber below. As you’d expect, they decide to just walk away quick and call the ward-or they just rush ahead blindly.

Yep, they’re Power Rangers.

They follow Void Knight into the chamber where sentries are lined up one by one in a circle with a lot of advanced tech. The villain busts open a door to reveal a humanoid Solonasaurus and a Red Ranger in stasis. Our resident Alpha tries to reanimate his leader only for Void Knight to damage the controls.

Ollie rushes in with one of the Chromafury Saber along the wall before Amelia launches another net at Void Knight with maximum volts. Solon tries to toss a Power Key at them in order to command the Hengemen with their Sabers. However, Void Knight is quick to recover and seizes of the foot soldiers for him.

Amelia and Ollie are preoccupied by the enemy grunts while Void Knight localizes his exact target within a compartment nearby. Solon finally revives Zayto and brings the Red Ranger back to action. Amelia and Ollie soon even the odds by morphing with their Power Keys, psyched that they’re real superheroes. I love how Ollie claims that they’re get Zords based on the news.

I’m guessing Cassidy and Devin are the ones on the scene.

Void Knight retrieves a containing full of ooey-gooey slimeballs known as Sporixs, a no doubt topical type of villain, before Zayto engages him. The soundtrack has certainly gotten an upgrade this season with the brand new composer. The action leads to the Sporixs being unleashed from their containment unit. Void Knight cuts off the exit in order to pursue them outside.

Void Knight finds one that manages to grow into what will be first Monster of the Week and teleports off with the cretin while the other scatter. Back in the base, Amelia and Ollie demorph with their morphers camouflaging themselves as watches Beast Morphers-style. Zayto also demorphs in order to reveal himself as an alien human with antennae that can read minds. I smell a moral episode.

Zayto reads their character bio-I MEAN, their minds to assess if they’re truly trustworthy and confides his backstory in them. He lead an order of knights to defend his world from the Sporix, creatures born of pure destruction, in a neat mix of Ryusoulger footage and original footage. They drove them off Rafkon but soon learned that their next target was Earth when the dinosaurs still lived.

Zayto’s posse had the most metal idea of riding the Dinosaurs as their steeds against their foes. Now that’s one remake of Mystic Knights of Tir Na Nog we need. However, they are visited by none other than the Morphin’ Masters who connect Zayto’s order to the Morphin’ Grid. Yes. They actually took a one-off lore tidbit in the Season One episode “Big Sisters” and really expanded upon it.

Zayto’s order was sadly lost in their efforts to contain the Sporix before he went into stasis for whenever a new threat arose to seize them. Now they’re loose and hibernating after being spread all across the surrounding area. This not only gives us a good reason that they’re sticking around their setting but also adds a bit more of a chaotic factor to the Monsters of the Day formula to come.

Void Knight is tough but not leading a motley crew of world conquerors. Rather he’s a lone wolf hunting for the Sporix for his own ends, making the Macguffin of this season one and the same as the Monsters of the Day. By proxy, the Sporix are individuals until themselves with an evil nature to them. Who knows when and where they’ll spring up or how they operate under their own devices?

Zayto gladly recruits Amelia and Ollie in his new order of Dino Fury Rangers, starting us off with a trio just like with Beast Morphers. I guess the tradition still carries on after the Disney Era. I love that Zayto’s the Red Ranger but also a mentor with Solon as his Alpha 5. It turns the Red Ranger rookie trope on its head and even makes everyone else on the team the Watsons to his Sherlock.

Alright, Simon. You hooked us. Now reel us all the way.

[sockablock]

once upon a time, I wrote a little oneshot about consecuted-caleb — today, I present to you, the official Pt. II

— — —

“But what do you mean, you won’t see her?”

“Ach, I didn’t say I won’t—”

“But you are not saying yes, Caleb. You haven’t said you will.”

“I just need more time. This is...a lot to process.”

From down in his seat at their desk, Essek scoffs. He is watching Caleb pace the length of the study, his posture growing more impatient by the second.

“Caleb,” his voice borders on stern. “Caleb, it will be worse if you put it off. Trust me, you have to speak with the Queen. Or the Skysybil, at least. They will know what to do.”

Caleb drags his hand through his hair. “Do they?” he asks. “Are you certain, Essek? Because I have a feeling that once I tell them anything, I will not be able to take it back. My life is going to change very drastically, and...and I do not know if I want that to happen.”

Essek sighs. “Caleb, if you really are...Consecuted, then things are going to change no matter what. This is not something that can be put off. This is your soul, Caleb. It cannot be ignored.”

Caleb shakes his head and turns around. “I’m not trying to ignore it, Essek, I am just...gods. Are you...are you sure?”

“Do you understand what I am saying right now?”

He waves a hand. “We have done this already, Thelyss.”

“And you have recounted the memory to me,” Essek agrees. “That is fairly good proof, I would say.”

“But...Consecution? How could that be possible? And why am I only finding out now?”

Essek scratches his chin and leans back. “I admit I am wondering that also. You are...what? Already twenty? Fifty? Er...how do humans...”

This is enough to give Caleb pause. “Really?”

Essek shrugs. “I have not met many of you, before.”

“I believe that,” Caleb huffs. “And I am thirty-three. Which, if I understand your point, makes me an adult.”

“Right,” Essek nods. “So it is quite late for your memories to be reasserting themselves.”

Caleb winces a little, at that. “Can we not call them my memories, yet?”

“The memories,” Essek amends. “Usually, they resurface when you are young. You are sure that you never saw flashes of y—of other lives in the past?”

Caleb considers this. “What...at what age do they normally occur? Or what developmental stage?”

“When a youth transitions into adulthood,” Essek says. “Near the end of that process.”

“Ah,” says Caleb. Now he is still. “That, er...was a complicated time for me.”

“From what I remember about watching my brother age, it was complicated for most of us.”

Now Caleb is fidgeting, though, and that is surprising even to Essek.

“No,” he says, slowly, haltingly, almost hesitant. “Er...you might misunderstand. I have...no real memories of that time. The ones that I do are...vague. And unpleasant.”

Essek is quiet. They both are, for a while. Distantly, they can hear a door shut and close; the rest of the Mighty Nein are busy at home.

“I am sorry,” Essek says eventually. It is not particularly soft, or gentle, but he means it.

Caleb nods. “Thank you.”

Then the Shadowhand claps his hands. “If...that is the case, then...perhaps we should focus on just this instance. When you remembered, what was it like? How did it feel?”

Caleb, a little hesitantly, thinks back. “There was...I felt something when it happened. Er...a sort of light. Something...very warm. And very bright.” He grimaces. “Is that another symptom?”

Essek shakes his head. Caleb notices, for the first time, that Essek looks nearly as harried as he feels.

“I do not believe the Luxon holy,” Essek says, “but describing it like a disease might be...unfair.”

"Sorry,” Caleb says quickly. “I did not mean—”

He waves a hand. “It is fine. And...well, do you trust me?”

Caleb hesitates for a moment. He can’t help it.

Essek doesn’t fault him. “Trust me on this,” he says instead. “I am quite good at Dunamancy, no?”

This time, a smile tugs on Caleb’s lips. “That is true.”

Essek nods, and motions for Caleb to sit. His chair creaks.

This time, Essek’s words are softer, delivered with a little more tact. “Everything that I know about the ritual points to...it points to this being Consecution. Your description of the light only serves to solidify my conviction even more. It is...possible, for whatever it is worth, that this could just be some sort of...side effect of your studies, but I highly doubt it. The memory you had is too personal, to solidly in your point of view. Not to mention your sudden acquisition of a new—or rather, old—language.”

“It could come in handy,” Caleb manages. “It will make talking to shopkeepers more interesting.”

He meets Essek’s gaze. His smile wanes.

“I...have spent so much of my life being Ca—well, being me. For so long, I...I have carried the burdens that being me entails, the sins, the regrets, and the dreams all alike. But...I do not know how to be anyone else. I do not know if I...can.”

Essek studies his face. He watches the candlelight weave through his hair, in his eyes.

He exhales. 

“Alright. It’s...you’re right. Let’s wait.”

Caleb jolts to look at him. “What?”

Essek sighs. He rubs the bridge of his nose. “Believe me, it goes against quite a lot of what I know, but you do have a point. You need time to process this. I should not push you to speak to the Queen so quickly. And, ultimately, it is your life. Your choice.”

The flames dance gently between them.

“I am here, though,” he adds softly. “If you would like someone to talk to.”

Caleb’s shoulders relax. He nods, and lightly touches Essek’s arm.

“Thank you.”

Essek chuckles. “You are welcome. Although I...hope you would not mind me saying that I am rather curious about how your...particular situation came to be.”

Caleb breathes out a little laugh as well. Then he seems to start. Essek realizes at about the same time.

“Ah.”

“It makes the most sense, ja?”

“Gods, and there...there are...you are not the only case. Though most of them were...younger.”

Essek looks around the study. He waves his hand for good measure, then leans back when he seems to decide they are alone.

The expression he gives Caleb is amused at best. At worst, roiling in guilt.

“I think I might owe you another apology. For...complicating your life further. In rather unexpected ways.”

Caleb shuffles in his seat. “We shall have to see just how unexpected, I suppose. But...for what it’s worth...thank you.”

“Do not thank me yet,” Essek sighs. “We still have to see, no? Although,” his lip twitches, “it would appear that you were a rather educated mage in the past. Final spell incomplete or no, Azadrun’s series is a complicated sequence. If you continue to remember, you might end up teaching me something.”

Caleb huffs at his attempt at humor. “Perhaps I can repay what I owe you, then. You have, after all, taught me quite a bit.”

“No,” says Essek almost immediately. “No, you do not owe me anything. Not...now.” He looks down.

He starts when Caleb takes his hand. 

“Essek?”

His wretched gaze returns. He finds himself staring into a pair of blue eyes.

“Yes?” he breathes, because he has to.

“I would like someone to talk to. And,” Caleb’s brow lifts, “it would be nice if that someone were you. Least of all because you are the Dynasty’s resident Dunamantic expert.”

Essek, despite himself, laughs.

“Then you have him,” he nods. “Of course you have him. And...whatever this means, whatever you...you wish to do about this, you have him no matter what. I will do what I can to help you.”

He feels Caleb squeeze his hand.

“Thank you.”

He looks back into those eyes. There are a thousand things he wants to say. Some of them, he knows, he never should and never could. Some of them are bursting to be freed and to be heard.

He sits back and laces his fingers.

“So,” he tilts his head. “What will you tell the rest?”

Caleb freezes. His arm goes slack.

“Oh, gods. I hadn’t even thought of that.”

— — —

✨ Ko-Fi Link in Bio! ✨ | Requests are OPEN

[rokutouxei]

you are still the sun that shines for me

part 8 of atelier heart

ikemen vampire: temptation in the dark theo van gogh/mc | G | 3030 | [ao3 in bio]

Life couldn't get any better. You enjoy what you do here, spending your life without regrets with the person you love the most. That is, until you meet her. The woman who still loves Theo.

CHAPTER 1

maybe love stays / maybe love can’t / maybe love shouldn’t. When Love Arrives, Sarah Kay and Phil Kaye

A sight that would change the life of everyone who sees it. That was what one of the head sponsors of the gallery called the show when you and Theo finally showed them the results of months of long work. An extraordinary compliment, to say the least. Standing there under the bright lights seeing the works of your new-artists-and-also-close-friends there for the world to see… all you can do is grin in delight.

Theo can do anything.

Great with his words, even better with his actions, hardworking to a fault and with a persistence and endurance that’s extremely admirable. Then, under all that, a heart that’s molten gold, filled with nothing but love and passion. The fact that he’s so also strikingly attractive, his eyes piercing, is also bonus points on anyone’s book, for sure.

You’re so glad to be able to help him out with his dreams.

You walk around the gallery to mingle with the artists and congratulate them with the success. They throw the compliment and the gratitude back to you and Theo, and you fall back into a comfortable kind of banter. For a moment, you dream of the future: little family of artists and art dealers, standing up and rising towards a new tomorrow for art.

You turn towards where Theo is across the room, and the both of you share a smile at each other when you make eye contact. He’s currently talking to some patrons, and while you’re lucky that you’ve met a lot that aren’t as backward, there are still high-paying ones with great influence that are, at their very core, still rather misogynistic, so Theo had said he’d take over this discussion himself.

He’d asked you to enjoy the exhibit, have some of the food, ask the guests of their thoughts in his stead. (“You say that as if it’s hard—that’s the fun part!” you’d told him.)

While watching the coming and going of people, for a reason you don’t understand at that moment, you’re drawn to a particular pair of guests: a young boy, maybe in his pre-teens, fumbling awkwardly in his suit, and a woman in her late 30s, walking with him. A mother and her son, perhaps. They seem to be having a lively conversation with each other with every painting, discussing it with an intensity that probably mimics yours and Theo’s.

Perhaps they’re patrons of the arts too?

You get an odd urge to come up to them. You don’t fight it, knowing fully well you still have a job to do—again, check on the guests—so taking a sip out of the champagne you’re nursing, you approach them.

The boy steps into the next section of the gallery before you can get there. Well, you’re not really as good at kids as Theo—so that’s probably for the better.

“Bonjour, madame,” you say with a short bow. “Enjoying the exhibit?”

“Very much so, yes,” the woman says. “Are you perhaps one of the artists?”

“Oh, no, just an organizer.” The woman looks surprised, but oddly pleased—maybe she does this sort of work, too? You beam. “How are you finding it?”

“Brilliant, I have to admit,” she answers you. “The curators really had an eye for the style. Not the usual—no, near scandalous, but beautiful. Hard to take one’s eyes off the canvases.”

The two of you fall into a rather lively discussion, one topic flowing into another. What started with a rather sharp analysis of the painting you’d found her in front of (“the intimate brush strokes even at the tiniest of details really is what makes it so much more… dreamlike.” “I agree! All those little things in dreams that doesn’t seem to make sense, but make it all the more true in that moment.” “Exactly. It adds a personality to it, and with these colors—“ “These colors!”) slowly evolved into a quick back and forth about art, aesthetic, and culture. You get so into the discussion you almost don’t notice the young boy having finished his rounds at the gallery, now standing behind his mother, listening intently at the discussion.

“It’s so lovely to have someone as invested in this that’s a woman as well,” you finally comment, your champagne flute empty and your confidence soaring after an exciting conversation. “Sometimes I still get stared down when I talk to clients.”

She nods, a little sadly. “I can only imagine. I was not born of money, really, but I have a bit on me, and that’s really the only way I can get most of the influential powers to listen to what I have to say.”

“Oh?” That piques your curiosity. “Do you run a gallery or an artist workshop too, madame?”

She waves you off. “Nothing of the sort. I’d just inherited a grand array of valuable paintings—beautiful, yet, like most of these kinds of art, very much still misunderstood and looked down upon.”

“A consideration of the style, perhaps?”

“Yes, very much so,” she says. “They’re… intense, to say the least. But just because it is not understood now, doesn’t mean it will not be of importance in the future. So I’m looking forward to connecting with galleries, like this one, perhaps, and museums, bring his paintings out into the world.”

His paintings. Oh, how much like Theo. “That’s a remarkable goal.”

“Rather absurd for but a woman like me, I’d say,” she comments, a dry laugh at the end. “This wasn’t my mission, just one I have to continue. Besides, they’ll do better in galleries like this than hanging in rows in my kitchen.”

“Someone once told me the best art in the world is still hidden, waiting to be found,” you say. It was Theo who had told you that.

She nods. “For sure. And you’re doing your fair share of searching, if this exhibit is any clue.” She turns away from you for a moment, and then her eyes widen at the sight of something. You’re about to turn around to peep what it is when she turns to you abruptly. “I’m sorry, but I have someone I must talk to, so I’ll go ahead.” She turns to the boy. “Lieveling?”

“Can I stay a little longer with her, mama?” the boy asks. You’re… surprised, to say the least, considering he’s just been listening quietly the whole time.

Mama. Had you misheard that, or was that not exactly French in sound? Wait… what did she call him?

“As long as you’ll behave,” the woman says. Ah, the woman! You hadn’t even gotten to ask her name! You’re about to ask when she turns and—“I’m sorry, I’ll come back for him really quickly. You may leave him if you have somewhere else to go; he’s a big boy, he can handle himself.”

This time, with annoyance. “Mama.”

“Yes, yes.” The woman bows and starts to walk away, off into a corner where you saw the shadow of a few of the richer patrons disappear into much earlier.

Perhaps she’d recognized one of them? Maybe it’s related to the paintings she was talking about earlier—perhaps she’s about to reach out. You silently wish her good luck in your head as you turn to the boy in front of you.

Not knowing where to begin, you say: “How old are you, can I ask?”

“I just turned ten,” he says. “Being ten is great. I don’t want to be treated like a little boy anymore.”

You take note of that and straighten your back. He’d probably hate if you crouched to meet him eye to eye—not that you’d need to do much of it, considering he was pretty tall for a ten-year-old boy. “Ten is a fun age to be. Well, what does the big ten-year-old want to ask me?”

“Can you talk about the paintings a little more?” he asks, refusing to look you in the eye, looking around the exhibit pensively. “You and mama… really understood each other, and I can’t keep up with her…”

You narrow your eyebrows. So the expression you’d seen from him earlier was less of excitement, but more of… confusion? Asking questions to his mother about what he couldn’t understand, and less of enthusiasm of the artwork? “Your mama made it sound like you live in an art-filled house.”

“We do,” the boy admits. “And that’s why it’s hard. I’m ten now and sometimes I still don’t understand what she’s saying. I get it, they’re pretty, but… then what? Machines—those make more sense to me. All the art and feelings… I don’t get it. They’re like magic to me.”

A boy with a passion for art who hasn’t found his footing in it yet, the words to brace himself with, the road to walk. You used to be just like that too. This is a great way to pay it forward, you tell yourself. “Well, I’d love to talk to you about the art pieces, mon apprenti. But first—I’ll have to know your name.”

You introduce yourself with a bow in French, thinking a little roleplay won’t hurt. This is still a child, after all, and you want to be at least an enjoyable tutor. He plays along, taking your hand in his in a little formal bow.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, mademoiselle. Je m'appelle Vincent Willem van Gogh.”

Something inside your chest squeezes.

The little boy finally looks up, granting you the full strength of his gaze for the first time that whole day.

Deep, striking sea-blue eyes, just like Theo’s.

-

If Theo were to be completely honest, he would say he hated dealing with these patrons in particular. Misogynist and backwards, he couldn’t even bring you with him to discuss with them because they would just end up spending more time slandering your skills and knowledge about art than actually working out a good deal. But connections are things to be made, not broken, in this trade, and so with a half-hearted smile and a kiss from you to his cheek, that day at the gallery, he’d sent you off to enjoy the art while he talked with the stuck-up rich old men.

At least they have some interesting thoughts about art and money to entertain him, he thinks, as he nurses a glass of whiskey (“Just one! You’re not going to make me carry you home!” you had reminded him, jabbing at his lightweightedness, so he was taking his sweet time with it). He sure would rather have better, deeper conversation, the likes that stimulated the mind and kept him asking for more, but he can’t be picky in a place like this when he–

“Monsieur Theodore?”

A small voice that sends ice down his spine. He steels his features, but he can’t do the same to his heart.

He turns around and something deep inside of him, one that he’s long kept in dark sealed boxes in the shadows of the labyrinth of his mind, breaks.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she says, a small, elegant curtsey. “Je suis Johanna van Gogh.”

The part of him that’s human, the one he says has long died, the one that he’s buried, comes back to life in a searing flash of regret and pain. She looks older now–well, a near decade since he’s up and gone–the lines around her eyes deeper, but she also looks finer, more mature; the small blossom he’d left so long ago has now bloomed into a beautiful flower. Oh, his sweet Jo.

He tries his best not to look if she’s still wearing the ring he gave her on her left hand.

He doesn’t hear himself reply, as he tries not to bite down the words. He doesn’t know anymore if he’s lying when he says he is pleased to meet her. “It’s nice to meet a fellow van Gogh.”

She laughs, a little awkward one that’s full of pain. “Yes, a real interesting coincidence.” A beat; Theo sinks into familiarity. That hesitation, the way she pulls quickly backward into herself to rearrange her composure when confidence quickly fails her. She turns away for a moment—which Theo uses to step closer—before she faces him once more, her gaze making him feel small.

“I’m sorry for asking, but… have we met somewhere else before?”

And Theo wants to say yes, because besides the more obvious signs a decade leaves on a human body, Jo looks the same as Theo has kept burned in the backrooms of his memory. They’ve met before—he recognizes her. Her lovely, dark brown hair ever so impeccably styled practically and yet with a subtle kind of charm. The dimples on her cheeks, so deep he used to joke with her and poke a finger into it. The golden caramel color of her eyes, so wide and eager and passionate.

Jo had always been rather plain, and that’s what’s made her really beautiful. There was no need for excesses with her: everything was just exactly as was needed. And it seems that the years haven’t changed that in her, either. Her deep blue dress is fashionable but not extraordinarily so; her smile calculated for politeness but with enough genuineness in it to be truly lovely.

She’s exactly the same, and that’s why it hurts, that’s why Theo wants to say—

Yes. “I don’t believe so, no.”

She continues to look into him and it takes all his strength to not look away.

“I’m sorry, it’s just–my late husband was named Theo as well, and just–”

“I’m sorry to hear,” Theo fills, doesn’t want to hear the rest of it. There’s a knot in his throat and he’s trying not to think about it.

Why did he have to look so different? What curtain of reality is hiding him from the woman he loved most, in that past life? Why didn’t she recognize that it was him she was talking to?

Did he want her to recognize who she was talking to?

“Thank you,” she smiles. “I heard that this entire exhibit wouldn’t have run up without you. Congratulations.”

“I wasn’t alone,” not alone, not alone, not alone, “this was the hard work of the artists and my business partner.” Partner, partner, partner.

“It’s excellent work,” she comments, then pulls back. “Not–I’m not trained, of course. But my husband, he was an art dealer too, loved his career, it rubs off.”

“Art is a good thing to lose yourself into,” he finds himself saying. Theo doesn’t know what he’s saying anymore. He’s choking on the inside and he doesn’t want it to show. Who is he to tell her what’s good for her? When he’s the one who’s left all those wounds on her by leaving her? “It’s a beautiful thing, it grows.” Fills the empty spaces. There’s a thorn in his chest that’s becoming more prominent by the second.

And it hurts only worse when she beams. “Yes, that’s absolutely right. I have much to learn, he’s left me so much behind–aha, maybe one day I’ll ask for your help–and there’s so much I want to do.”

“You’re a passionate woman, Madame Johanna. You would surely make him proud.”

You will. You do. You always have.

She smiles. A steady, confident smile, the one that had made him fall in love with her what seems like a million lifetimes ago. “Thank you, Monsieur Theodore. Excuse me if it may seem rude, but it’s so hard not to think of mijn Theo when I see you.”

“I hope it’s not the sort that pains you.”

“Well, there is only so much time one can spend waist-high in mourning,” she says with a sweet smile. “He’s given me all that I can ask for, now it’s just a matter of getting to work.”

Theo wants to say something but his conscience holds him back. Jo has turned her gaze to the rows of paintings in the gallery, a smile filled with nostalgia on her face. Like she’s returning to a place a million years ago. Perhaps to the same place Theo is in as well, in his head.

She turns back to him slowly, the look on her face unearthing hidden wounds that suddenly feel still-too-raw. “I may not be able to do much, but you, sir—I think the both of you have the same kind of heart…I hope you get to continue what he only got to start.”

Theo feels helpless, left with nothing more to say, even if he knows there is so much left to tell. He doesn’t feel like he has the right to be part of this conversation anymore—a right he’d forfeited the day he’d left this life without second thought, blinded by the darkness of revenge.

Look at all this, Theodorus, he can hear Gauguin say in his head, the voice of the secret phantom who still lives in his unconscious, even if this was so long before, was it worth it? Has it ever been worth it?

Johanna, once his beloved Jo, does a curtsey, a quick excuse me as she finally sets off to leave. Theo tries to say a goodbye, a nice to have spoken to you, a see you again soon, but he doesn’t know if any of it has made it out of his mouth. Instead, he follows her away with his eyes, taking a sip at the whiskey that burns in his throat.

Was it worth it?

Sees her greet you of all people, and you nod at her with an indescribable look on your face.

What did it cost?

Theo’s gaze is glued onto the young boy Johanna van Gogh guides out with her, with his mother’s hair, the same sea blue of his father’s eyes.

Of Theo’s eyes.

Have you ever really ever known how much you’ve lost?

The cool tendrils of dread begin to fill him.

Across the room, you send the mother and child away with a heavy, empty gaze.

---

you are still the sun that shines for me is a 5-chapter fic that will be posted from October 25-28! catch what else is in the atelier later on in this fic. :)

[unearthcd]

natalia dyer, cis female + she/her | you know andromeda de-larouche, right? they’re twenty-three, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, their whole life? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to go tomorrow by the newton brothers like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole messy stacks of sheet music, observant glances, and the inevitable fading of all beautiful things thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is october 29th, so they’re a scorpio, which is unsurprising, all things considered.

‘tis i, again, coming to you live with a second character! as always, feel free to message me to plot or chat here or on discord (swamp rabbit#1745)!

name: andromeda nicolette de-larouche nicknames: drom, dromeda age, birth date: 23; october 29 hometown: irving, north carolina occupation: musician in various jobs sexuality: bisexual

act i

andromeda nicolette de-larouche was born the middle triplet to a financially comfortable couple right here in irving, north carolina. while the children weren’t being taught three languages and horseback riding by tutors and nannies as toddlers, you could say they were considerably well-off.

mom was a workaholic whose idea of showing affection consisted of a half-hearted head or shoulder pat, lacking in stereotypically motherly instincts. dad was more present and seemed to fill in those emotional gaps, providing genuine love and care to the family. all was well—or as well as any young, young child could tell—until they divorced. the triplets were three and their mother, without so much as a fight, gave up her parental rights over them.

drom took her mom’s departure hard once she was old enough to understand it, though most would be made to believe she was unaffected, the girl possessing a cool and blasé attitude when asked about it. in a way, she unintentionally adopted some of the woman’s traits by way of self-preservation—most notably, a lack of outwardly expressed love and attachment (save for towards her siblings). the signs of a deep and lingering pain were and are there, though, for those observant and caring enough for her to notice them.

eventually dad remarried, bringing a step-mother and her five children into the family. despite this generally happy situation, andromeda’s relationship with her step-mother wasn’t picture-perfect. despite being perfectly kind, drom was partially closed off towards her. that being said, even as a girl she noticed how kind and loving she was towards each and every one of her children—even the more difficult ones, i.e. andromeda.

that is, until one entirely average, unnoteworthy evening when a young dromeda briefly expressed an interest in learning piano at the dinner table. it was her step-mother who immediately signed her up for in-home classes. her step-mother who gifted her the instrument. the large and unexpected gesture brought them closer.

the same support was ever-present throughout the years as drom picked up more and more instruments (violin, cello, organ, guitar...), got into composing, and became involved in the local music scene and those in neighboring cities.

yes, she was a band kid. all throughout middle and high school. and if anyone gave her shit for it, she’d verbally cut them down before she could physically do so with her cello bow <3

act ii

for a while things were good—really good. home life is great, despite dad often being gone at work, a CEO and sole financial provider for the family. drom is a budding musical genius, impressing instructor after instructor. then, at the age of fifteen, things take a sudden turn.

TW: ALCOHOLISM/REHAB. dad was gone more than usual, step-mom seemed particularly stressed. while something had taken a downward turn, neither of them were initially open about it. that is, until dad was placed in rehab. this came as a shock, considering he didn’t drink often at home, instead choosing to do so at the office. andromeda didn’t take this well. it wasn’t like he was especially present before, but the thought of losing another parent, in a sense—of them having picked something else over her and the family—affected her deeply.

despite being surrounded by love, she became fiercely independent and unreliant on others. of course, she loves and is very protective of her family, but she’s also guarded and weary of maintaining any attachments. in a way, especially with her step-mother (another parental figure she couldn’t bear being disappointed by) and her father, once he returned (“ah, the prodigal father makes his triumphant return”). the only relationship she strongly maintained was hers with atty. it’s a triplet thing.

it’s not that drom was rude to her parents (aside from the occasional teenager-like remark), but she definitely wasn’t your typical loving, prime-time-movie-picket-fence daughter, either. she became... cordial. polite, but not affectionate. closed off, once again, but to a new level.

her junior year of high school she began giving music lessons to people of all ages (fellow students, their younger siblings, etc.) for extra spending cash. it wasn’t like she needed it, but she was stubborn and didn’t want to ask mom + dad.

act iii

despite a handful of university scholarship opportunities, a resume of awards, and impressive involvement in a couple short musical tours, once atty decided to stay in irving for college, so did she. from eighteen to twenty-two she attended irving university with a major in musical performance and composition.

at one point she did a study abroad program for a semester, (which i’m leaving super vague, because connection opportunity??) but otherwise her studies were based in her hometown.

post-graduation she’s managed to do a few high-profile projects (composing a track for an animated feature film, writing music for a few east coast indie films) as well as take on a couple jobs—one playing in a neighboring city’s orchestra and one being an accompanist for local theatres and dance studios. catch her in the pit at local productions. don’t bring her flowers, she’ll get embarrassed (or do, please do).

personality + fun facts

look, she isn’t a recluse, she just avoids getting too close with people. she’ll make friends, but she won’t put a ton of stock into the relationship. that way, if you’re gone tomorrow, she isn’t hurt by it.

dry sense of humor. doesn’t care to handle anyone with kid gloves. this sometimes works out in her favor, though. since she isn’t out here looking for her soul mate or found family, she’s never trying to put on a more “presentable” or likable version of herself. so if you’re still wanting to hang out, it’s probably because you genuinely like her

has a mini tattoo of the dies irae (aka classic death motif) notes on her left side ribcage

does instagram lives while composing and practicing music in her room, the little maestro just doing her insane thing

of all her siblings, she’s the closest with atticus. she won’t say it often, but she considered them a rock throughout the turbulence brought on by their bio parents. that’s one of the two relationships she will actively fight to protect and maintain. the other being atty’s daughter, gracelynn, who drom has an uncommon soft spot for. she jokes (or is she?) about making her a musical protégé all of the time.

connection ideas

i have a handful of inspo posts > here < and am starting to add more as i come by them, but i’m open to all of the angst, drama, emotions, heartbreak interesting dynamics!

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Dawn (2)

Loki x fem!Reader

ONE/TWO/THREE SHOT

Warnings: mention of past trauma and fluff.

Summary: A truce to end all wars leads to an alliance between Earth and Asgard in the form of Loki marrying a mortal. None of them what this. None except fate.

Word Count: sleep is nice. Water is super nice. music is dope nice. weather is siren-like nice. not being able to meet my dogs? not nice.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

"Is it really necessary to do this? All of this?"

"It's a custom created by the Allfather, your grace," answers the handmaiden that helps you into the soft gold of a dress that seems to be way too over the top for something as simple as breakfast.

"Your Allfather needs to get laid," you whisper loud enough for her to hear and turn red.

"I beg your pardon, your grace?"

You whine as you watch yourself in the gigantic mirror in the bathroom. "Nothing. Come on, let's go."

She picks up your clothes from last night and the bags that have your belongings from the earth. "Where are you going with those?"

She turns around and bows a little. "To clean them all up, your grace. The Prince said that they might have been sullied with the party they arrived."

"Loki?"

"No, your grace. Prince Thor."

"...okay? Anyway, where do you guys have lunch?"

"In the kitchen, your grace."

"Cool. I'll join you guys there."

"B-but your grace!"

"You don't have to end every sentence with your grace, Sybll. Okay?"

"...y-yes, your-"

"What?"

"...yes."

"Okay. See you later, Sybll."

You shut the door behind you, leaving the poor young handmaiden's heart pumping as she tries to make sense of what has happened.

"See you...your grace," she whispers in the empty room.

.

"Oh, no, thank you, dear," you blurt, bringing your hand up to avoid the servant from serving an entire lobster- at least that's what it looks like- to you, "no...no meat for me, please."

Odin seems to be taken aback a little by that request. And a smile is the only thing you can conjure up.

Where. The fuck. Is everyone else?

The large table feels a tad much for the two of you. Not mention the nausea you are feeling from overthinking about Odin's internal judgements about you.

"Is everything all right, Y/N?" Odin finally asks, the half-eaten berry resting in between his fingers and thumb.

"Yes, sir, I mean, your majesty," you stutter, feeling yourself punching in the gut for screwing the first words coming out of you in front of him.

"Do you not like to eat meat, then?"

No father-in-law, it's just that all meat comes out as vomit when I am nervous.

"I...have a sensitive stomach."

"Huh," is all he bothers to state before going back to his berry.

So all you have on your plate now is leaves and fruits sitting as the subject for an art session. 

"The gardens of the palace are beautiful, s-your majesty," you mention, remembering the flowers in full bloom you saw this morning.

"Ah, yes," he exclaims with a delight, "Frigga used to take great care of them. It is all of her hard work that blooms in those soils. Like it does in my sons."

You nod, taking a piece of watermelon and filling your mouth with it. "Mmhmm."

"You must think of me as some foolish old bastard for my way of doing things, like...like joining two worlds in a peace treaty through marriage, don't you, young lady?"

All you can do is gulp down the melon sitting unchewed in your mouth as you look at him with a blank expression.

"For an inexperienced mind like yours does not understand how crucial it is to stand united in the face of adversity."

You nod with your mouth full. "You're right. I don't. So, if you don't mind me asking, what was Frigga like?"

The lines on Odin's forehead change and he is back in time to some fond memory while he moves his food around his fingers. "Frigga was gentle as the first cool breeze that soothes you at the crack of the dawn, my dear. She was my rock. She kept Asgard running even when I was not there. That too while she had two young notorious sons to take care of." He chuckles silently and looks into some distant void, letting the sun reflect on the moisture at the edge of his eye. "She loved Loki like her own son. When the world saw a monster in him, she saw an innocent soul that needed the love and care of a mother. She taught him all the magic she knew. She had a way with him, with his mind that was always in a different direction than the rest of us. Whether she knew him or not, she did her best to make him a better version of himself."

"Would she have agreed to this truce?"

The words are out sooner than you realise and Odin is out of the trance he was a while back, the eye losing its hues.

"My sons will do what I say, woman. They are the pride of Asgard. The reflection of what expanded my kingdom and its peace stands for. And Frigga would have agreed with me. With whatever decision I took."

The words crawl over your shoulders like ants. Your nails are scraping the edges of the pie crust as silence seems to erode any feelings of respect between the two of you.

"I bet he is your reflection as well, Loki-" you stress on his name with a tilt of his head- "I bet he was your reflection that day too when he was a child and you told him he was no good as a warrior and he'd rather go hide in his mother's skirt."

The clatter of fork and knives stops. So does the breath of every servant present in the vicinity, discreetly looking at their Allfather for any reaction.

"He was your reflection when the boys from the streets teased him for being so weak for a Prince. And when he could not take the insult anymore, he used his magic to teach them proper manners. Hm?"

You pick up the chalice of wine kept for you, squeezing an orange into it before taking a generous sip. "He was also your reflection the day Thor was to be crowned king-" you smacked your lips, keeping the chalice down with a thud- "and the day he let the wormhole swallow him?"

The air is heavy. Heavier than any third person can take.

"You might be sitting in a seat of privilege, woman, but do not forget you are speaking to your king." His tone is soft but the intended weight with which they flow is not.

"Yes. I do realise my place, my king. I am but a mere human tied to a son you deem unworthy of serving any purpose to you. But here's the thing, your highness-" you look Odin in the eye, your face losing every feeling- "I am not Frigga, Gods rest her soul."

The napkin resting on your lap is crumpled in your hand before being left on the plate as you get up, dragging your chair back and turning around to collide with the servant coming with a pitcher of wine.

His apologies are cut short by you, assuring him it's no big deal before turning back to the Allfather. "It was a good talk, your majesty," you state with a full-blown bow.

"Oh and one more thing! Loki does not have some different brains that you cannot figure out. He just thinks seven steps ahead of everyone else. I found out through observation. And the one time we both had to escape being killed. You should try it sometimes too."

And with that declaration, you walk out of the hall, leaving a stunned silence with an audience and a King sitting with heartburn.

.

FUCK!

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST DOOOOO!!!!!

Your steps cannot match your heart rate at this point as you try to make your way back to Loki's room. And the constant flashbacks to the conversation you just had do not help. At all. If only the ground would crack open and swallow you right now.

You really need to keep your issues with controlling fathers in check, woman!

Well, TOO LATE! you yell back at your inner voice.

The corridors are a blur. So are the voices of people asking you if you're okay.

You didn't have to defend him like that.

You try to shove your inner voice away.

What do you even know about him?

You can finally see the door to your sanctuary, and your steps get faster than they already are.

What is Odin going to do to you now?

Opening the door, you throw yourself inside before shutting it back and letting the whimpers of weakened shallow breaths become audible.

"Okay, breathe. Breathe breathe breathe-" you take in a lungful- "yes, breathe."

Five times more and your heart finally finds a rhythm for your brain to function a bit better, bringing your attention to the wetness you feel on your stomach and realise you're still in the soiled dress with a huge blotch of wine stain colouring it in an ugly tone.

Undoing the knots around you, you walk to the bathroom to change into clean clothes and realise only when you are standing naked in there that all your clothes have been taken for a wash.

Perfect.

Your palms are rubbed hard against your face with frustrated groans before you catch a glimpse of the black fabric lying on top of one of Loki’s drawers; the one he wore last night.

Oh, screw it.

The cotton shirt slides over you with ease, flowing till your thighs, though the thin fabric barely covers much. With that taken care of, you walk over to the other drawers and cabinets to find anything else you can wear for the moment.

.

“Where were you two?!”

“Good to see you too, Sif,” Thor comments with a tone of sarcasm as a fuming Sif walks over to the brothers getting down from their horses.

“We went to inspect the new territories under Vanaheim. There was a little disturbance there last night,” Loki mentions as he twists and adjusts his shoulder with a muted grunt. No one notices for there are other pressing matters at hand.

“The Allfather is fuming because of your absence at breakfast today. Especially since-” she pauses to look at Loki and point out at him in general, which reasonably confuses both the brothers- “and on top of that things went downhill from here thanks to that woman.”

Now, this leads to the brothers to furrow their brows at Sif.

“Downhill how?” Thor asks.

“Spare no details,” Loki adds.

.

“This...is...hilarious.” Loki guffaws as he ends the sentence and this time Thor is the one to roll his eyes.

“It is still hard to believe Y/N would do something like this,” the blond states.

“Oh, Thor,” Loki purrs with a jump in his step, making his brother automatically uncomfortable, “it’s not that hard to believe once you realise she has lived the better part of her life with Stark. She has learned the snark from the best.”

“How do you even know what that word means?” Thor gasps in frustration. He opens his mouth to follow it up with a contradiction before pausing to run Loki’s words in his mind, hating the smirk building over his brother’s lips as realisation dawns on him.

“I need to talk to her about this-”

“WOAH! Woah! Easy brother,” Loki exclaims, stopping him with a hand on his chest, pausing the steps just outside the younger one’s room, “are you sure you want to do that?”

“What do you mean? Of course-”

“Thor-” Loki pats his brother’s chest as a gesture of patience- “first, talk to her only if you yourself have never defied your father.”

Thor looks at Loki with judgment-filled eyes, getting his brother’s index finger to wait and listen for more. “Second, talk to her with the thought that she barely has been here for a day and she has to spend the rest of her life here. Away from everything she knows.”

This, somehow, dilutes the smoke rising from the embers inside Thor. Loki isn’t wrong after all. “And third, don’t follow me inside. I am going to take a long shower.”

“Wha-”

“What? Sybll said Y/N told her she’ll join her for lunch in the kitchen. Now off you go,” he shoos his brother away with his hands before shutting his bedroom door behind him.

A chuckle leaves him involuntarily as he recalls Sif’s word by word description of how it all went down in the dining hall.

Good for her , he wonders, taking his armour off, there will be something to keep Odin and Thor occupied.

The arm plate stops short from landing on the table with a thud as a thought stirs in Loki’s mind, slowly invading his heart through the tiniest of veins. Letting the arm plate softly rest on the table, he lets his fingers grab the back of his doublet to remove it.

Why did she defend me in front of Odin?

The summer breeze from outside takes the first chance it gets to rub itself all over the naked chest and back of the God lost in a puzzle which isn’t that hard to solve once he has all the pieces.

Right. Forgot she had a mad father too. What was it that Stark said we were? Two kids with daddy issues.

Shaking his head, his fingers undo the first button on his pants when he hears a soft clunk from somewhere within the room. And the relaxed cat becomes the predator within a flash.

.

Why does he have so many greens and blacks?

The drawers and closets in front of all have nothing but those hues. Wait, is he colourblind?

Grunting and stomping your feet for not finding anything you could borrow from your ‘husband’s’ clothing, you close all that is opened and start to move towards the bedroom to call for Sybll for a change of clothes when faint voices are heard outside followed by a door being shut.

It takes a lot for your heart to jump in your mouth; and right now, that lot is Loki walking in the room with a smile, undoing his armour while looking at some invisible void in the distance.

Fuck!

You could not go out in front of him like this. In his nightshirt that was barely covering your assets.

Hiding behind the archway next to an Oakwood drawer, you take a peek at the God lost in some thought. There is a faint smile on his unexpectedly pink lips. What is he thinking? That thought runs away and hides in a corner as soon as it sees long pale fingers are pulling away the doublet from above his head to reveal a bod sculpted in some mountains of divine beauty not meant for the naked eye.

Your breath gets caught in the moment of revelation. Wasn't he supposed to be...frail? At least that's what you thought when you first saw him. But now that you think about it, anyone and everyone looks frail in front of Thor. But never in your life would you have thought that all that layer of clothing hid a figure like this.

You won a lottery, woman , your inner voice nudges and winks at you before it is pushed into a dark corner. Though I feel bad for him for getting stuck with you , it shouts as it fades into the darkness. The muscles on his back shift when he rolls his shoulders and you feel your insides shudder. Does Asgard realise what they're missing under all that leather? Is what you question till you see marks and bruises that seem old- healed but not so thoroughly. Hmm, everything with him has a reason, doesn't it?

Your daylight musing seems to crack as you realise- with his back to you- he is about to open his pants.

No matter how enticing it seems to the dark corners of your brain, you draw yourself back from the archway, colliding straight into a drawer. You IDIOT!!

Moving on your toes, silent as a cat, your steps go backwards, past the drawers and lux bathtubs towards the balcony while your eyes stay on the archway, waiting for your heart to stop any moment that Loki showed his face through it.

One step back and you are in the balcony, your feet feeling the cold stone under them while your back collides into something equally cold and rigid. And it does not raise all those tiny hairs on your body till you can feel that cold rise and fall rise in your back.

MOTHERF-

The siren voice of the night sings right into your ear.

"Looking for someone?"

[moonlit-han]

a truth universally (un)acknowledged | chapter one

(artwork credit to @jisungieart​)

genre: rivals-to-lovers, fluff, college au, theatre au pairing: han jisung x reader chapter word count: 1.9k warnings: suggestive, swearing request: yes (@jisungsjheekies)

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

{prologue} {chapter one}  {chapter two}  {chapter three}  {chapter four} {chapter five}  {chapter six}  {chapter seven, part one}  {chapter seven, part two}

chapter one

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.” — Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen (1813)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

It was in freshman year of college, the sixth week of classes, in Shakespeare for Theatre Performance Majors (THEA 200), halfway through the class period, just as the class prepared to perform their first monologues. You’d wanted to be assigned one of Prospero’s speeches from The Tempest. Instead, Jisung got to play Prospero and you ended up with one of Rosalind’s clever monologues from As You Like It. Not that you disliked Rosalind as a character, you simply wanted to have the fun of 1) not playing a girl for once in your life, and 2) wearing a long robe and getting to wave around a long staff. (There are few things that delight more than strutting around like some self-important wizard). 

You did your best with the monologue, pretending to hide behind a tree at times and speaking to an imaginary Orlando at others. You were as pleased as a cat who’d caught a canary with how well you’d performed, and the fact that your professor gave few notes made it all the better. You liked being the best at anything you did. Jisung was called up to perform after you, and he had brought a robe and a staff. You scoffed a bit because, until that day, he’d been a fairly good actor but nothing extraordinary. Oh, how wrong you were. Yes, his participation in class thus far had been exemplary, his integration of notes seamless, and his general affect lighthearted and kind. But again, he’d only been a fairly good actor, nothing extraordinary. So, seeing him play Prospero as he called down the elements to wreak havoc at sea was unexpected, to say the least. Jisung seemed to put every ounce of energy he had into the performance, and the class clapped when he finished. He, like everyone else, had received notes from the professor, but they were cursory comments. Jisung had done the proper research to play Prospero as well as he could, and then presented the monologue better than you ever thought possible—from a college freshman, that is. And, you hated to admit, better than you could’ve done.

Thus, your rivalry with Han Jisung began. 

At first it was distinctly one-sided, but you performed so well on the mid-term that Jisung noticed he wouldn’t be the sole star of the class. From then on, you and he vied for many of the same scenes to perform, the leading roles in the plays and musicals, and even the chance to mentor younger students once you were upperclassmen. Also, you consistently tried to perform better than each other in everything you did. The unofficial title of Best Actor in the Department (created by you and Jisung for your own purposes and, somehow, represented by a child’s gaudy tiara) bounced between the two of you. It must be said, though, it became more and more like a game with your steadily maturing attitudes and values. However, the one thing you both flatly refused to do was play love interests. If the two leading roles in a play were love interests, you would find different roles for which to audition to avoid that awkwardness.

And now, you were a senior and the reality of your impending graduation had just set in. 

As you walked down the hall to the costume shop for your shift, your best friend and roommate, Miri, caught your arms and swung you around.

“Y/N! Babe, did you see the posting? They’ve announced the next production!!” Miri was practically bouncing up and down as she spoke, which wasn’t unusual for her. “It’s a new adaptation of Pride and Prejudice—who are you going to audition for?” 

“Wait, really? Pride and Prejudice? I didn’t even know there was a stage version of that,” you said as Miri swung your now linked hands back and forth. “Hmmm, I guess I could audition for Jane? I don’t think I’d go for Elizabeth, since I really don’t feel like carrying a show next semester, you know?”

“But you’d make such a good Elizabeth Bennet! You have to audition for her!” Miri pressed you.

“Mir, no, I don’t want to have too much going on. Jane will be enough for me. Plus, I’m sure everyone will want to play Elizabeth—she is the lead, after all,” you said, finally extracting yourself from your friend’s grasp.

“But Y/N—” Miri whined.

“Come on, I want to ask if we’ll have to do extra shifts in the costume shop with the show coming up,” you interrupted and continued down the hallway.

When you got off from your shift sewing and repairing garments used in the last show, you went to the audition sign-up sheet on the Theatre Department Message Board. You saw a small knot of people huddled in front of the board, all waiting excitedly to put down their names. You joined the group just as Jisung sauntered up and stood beside you.

“So, Y/N, should we break our rule and go for Elizabeth and Darcy?” Jisung asked, knowing full well you’d never agree to it. He liked to tease you and you liked to tease him, just as long it didn’t end up as flirting. That would be bad.

“Jisung, you know that’s never gonna happen. I am never going to play love interests with you. My first choice is Jane, and after that I’ll just let Professor Greystone decide,” you said as you rummaged in your bag for a pen.

“Ah, the calm and lovely Jane . . . so you’d rather have a simpler role, huh? Too busy this year?” Jisung teased.

“No,” you replied sternly, “I’d just sooner have less to worry about than more. Who are you auditioning for, anyway? Wickham?”

“Nah, I think I’d do best as Mr. Bennet—play to my natural wit,” Jisung said casually, sweeping his hair up off his forehead. “It’d be perfect!”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say, Jisung.” You’d finally found a pen and began to write your name and your role of choice under an audition time. 

Just when you’d finished, Jisung snatched the pen from your fingers. You were about to protest, but he’d already added his name to the list. Handing the pen back to you with exaggerated care, Jisung said, “See you at auditions, then, Y/N,” and strolled down the hall like he didn’t have a single care in the world.

You quickly glanced at the audition sheet again, and sure enough, Jisung had signed up for the slot right after you. Damn, that had to be the worst luck ever.

Two weeks later, the Department held auditions on Thursday and Friday afternoon in the main theatre. Most students auditioning were familiar with the space, especially those, like you and Jisung, who had performed in it before. The director, Professor Greystone, clearly wanted to see how each person reacted and adjusted to the size and acoustics of the theatre throughout their audition. The long hallway along the back of the theatre was full of students waiting for their time slot. It was eerily quiet, save for the occasional mutter as someone cursed themselves or their chosen monologue for one reason or another. Every fifteen minutes, the door would open to free one student only to swallow another into the maw of the theatre scant minutes later. All looked less stressed coming out than when they went in, but the tension in the air was thicker than strawberry jam. 

You’d been thinking about the auditions for nearly every waking moment over the past two weeks. Jisung’s comment about playing Elizabeth and Darcy had, somehow, stuck in your brain like the worst kind of repetitive song. There was a part of you that wanted to play Elizabeth—she had some of the wittiest responses to the hidebound and often dull comments made by those of her social circle, and you aspired to be as quick-witted. But, you didn’t want to risk being cast opposite Jisung. You didn’t think you could bring yourself to act, truly act, even remotely interested in him as a lover. You leaned against the wall, reading through your monologue and your notes for comfort more than anything, trying to clear your head of all else. The temptation of playing Elizabeth just would not go away, though. After another five minutes of fruitless reading and rereading, you paused. What if I did audition for Elizabeth? you thought, scarcely daring to even think it. Jisung surely wouldn’t audition for Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, right? He wanted to play Mr. Bennet so he could, in essence, play himself. It wouldn’t hurt for you to add Elizabeth to your list of potential roles—it was just another option. You’d been cast in enough leading roles in the past that there was a good chance Professor Greystone wouldn’t cast you in one again. Right?

“Y/N,” came the sing-song voice in your ear. You had to fight the urge to hit Jisung in the head as you glared at the young man who made it his business to annoy the daylights out of you.

“What, Jisung. What do you want,” you hissed under your breath, trying not to disturb the ten other people still waiting for their turn. “I’m trying to concentrate.”

“Oh, just saying ‘Hi.’ Break a leg, Y/N! Hope you get the part you want.” With that, Jisung walked back down the hall to sit on the floor with his ever-present headphones pulled down over his ears. You guessed it helped him filter out distractions. Although, it did make Jisung seem especially cocky, though, as if he didn’t need to study his lines or do anything else before an audition.

After twenty minutes or so, your audition time arrived. Of course, Professor Greystone and the other faculty had some general questions for you before you performed. They made it seem like part of the audition process, but the questions were really an excuse to let students adjust to the space. No matter one’s years of experience, the additional time always helped. Thus, the questions were simple. Yes, you’d read Pride and Prejudice—several times, in fact. No, you hadn't been aware of a stage adaptation before it was announced for the spring. No, your spring schedule was not full yet.

“Do you have any other questions, Y/N?” Professor Greystone asked, setting down her pen for a moment.

“Well, yes. Could I add Elizabeth to my preferred roles, please?” You smiled sheepishly, knowing Professor Greystone had probably expected this. 

“Of course, Y/N. I’ll consider you for the role, in addition to Jane,” replied your professor. “Could you perform your monologue for us now?”

With that, you took a deep breath, lowered your head, then raised it in character.

And then, you were done. You emerged from the theatre, a bit tired but happy with your performance. Jisung, who really was acting like your shadow these days, waited outside the door for his own audition.

“Break a leg, Jisung. You’d do wonderfully as Mr. Bennet,” you said, surprising even yourself as you gave the compliment.

“Thanks, Y/N,” Jisung said bemusedly as he watched you gather your things, settling your sweater and backpack on your shoulders. Still staring into space even after you rounded the corner at the end of the hall, Jisung bit his lip. Should I go for Darcy? he thought. There’s no way Y/N would audition for Elizabeth. She’s too scared we’ll end up being cast as lovers. Chuckling to himself, Jisung methodically put away his headphones, straightened his clothes, and took a deep breath. Opening the stage door, he thought, Hell, I’ll do it.

[lady-therion]

a prompt for elriel could be florist elain x part timer azriel ! elain needs help with her flower shop and at the right moment azriel comes around in need of a job and a temporary place to stay(; !

A/N: What a sweet prompt, anon! 

***

Boys and Flowers

***

Elain knows that flowers aren’t permanent. 

They grow and they die. Then, they do it all over again, season by season. Here’s the real magic: You never encounter the same flower twice. Each one is unique, not unlike people. 

Elain knows that people aren’t permanent either. 

Take Graysen. Or rather, let’s not. Elain’s memories of him are oil-dark and bitter. In the morning, she opens her planner and marks down the number of days since “the unspeakable incident.” Today’s tally is 43. In the margins, she writes, “I’m not numb anymore. Just sad.” Which is progress. Feyre would throw her a party. Nesta would buy her a drink.

But neither of her sisters are here. They are far away in a different state, still wondering about Elain’s decision to move and open her own flower shop. They ask a lot of sensible questions: Why open a small business in this economy? Why not just work for a local florist? What are you going to do about rent? 

It’s fair for them to worry. Money is a sore subject in their family. But Elain stands by her decision. The reason for leaving is simple: She’s tired of playing a role in someone else’s story. Here, in a town where almost no one knows her, she has the space to learn what her story is really about. 

All her life, Elain has been waiting to meet herself. 

Now she’s got her chance.

On a less philosophical note, her sisters are still right about money. Business is good, but she’s been having trouble keeping up with orders, which has been eating away at her bottom line. Her inbox is a disappointment. There are no applications for a potential assistant. Location is probably an issue. Her flower shop isn’t by any convenient public transit.

She chews her lip; a bad habit. What would she do if she couldn’t reach a sustainable quota? Her savings are fine, but they can only get her so far. Would she need to take out a loan? Could she even afford the interest? How long would it be before she goes into the red…? 

A swift knock at the door interrupts her downward spiral. Elain freezes. There’s only one person in this town who actually comes to visit. 

Over Zoom, Feyre calls him “the sexy neighbor.” 

Nesta calls him “the nuisance.” 

Elain just knows him as Azriel.  

He lives in the apartment next door. The first time they met was over a noise complaint; her noise complaint. Azriel himself isn’t particularly loud. But his lady friends? Just thinking about the sounds they made caused the blood rush to her cheeks (and other places). 

Obviously, Azriel is very generous in that area. 

But generous or not, Elain wasn’t about to lose any more sleep. 

Hi, I’m Elain. Your new neighbor. 

Ah. I’m Azriel. A pleasure. 

Right…pleasure. 

How are you liking the new —? 

— Did you know our bedrooms share the same very thin wall? 

I….what…? 

Did she regret bringing it up so abruptly? Yes. But constant sleep deprivation had already frayed her patience. It didn’t matter that Azriel literally looked like one of those Greek statues on display at the Louvre. It didn’t matter that he had eyes and tattoos and muscles that could stop traffic.  

Elain may have lost her way in a lot of things. 

But she did not lose her manners. 

And she would absolutely hold her neighbors to the same standard.

She can remember how Azriel blushed to the tips of his ears as he stammered an apology. The next day, there was a bouquet of flowers left on her doorstep (and a pair of ear plugs, the scoundrel). But after that, there were no more lady friends (that she could hear, anyway, with or without the ear plugs). 

As part of their truce, they would invite each other over for brunch at least once a week. It gives Elain something to look forward to. Especially since she still hasn’t met anyone else here. 

Besides, she finds his presence soothing. He doesn’t ask her too many questions. She doesn’t ask him in turn. Elain gets the sense that they’re both living from moment to moment. Or that they’re both running from something that they can’t give voice to. Maybe someday, they would. 

Azriel’s broody eyes gleam when she opens the door. 

And no, it does not make her heart race. It does not. 

“Elain.” 

He never says “hey” or “hi there” when he sees her. He just says her name, then smiles. Not a toothpaste commercial smile either. His smiles are quiet and tentative things, like he isn’t used to doing them often. That he would always make an effort for her in this way brings her inexplicable joy. Like watching the sun suddenly appear on a gray afternoon.

“Want some coffee?”  

“I’m getting evicted.” 

Elain’s heart drops to her feet. She opens the door a little wider. “Want something a little stronger?”

***

Turns out their landlord is a jerk. 

“So you were dating his ex?” 

Azriel drains his glass. “Dating is kind of a strong word.” 

“Hn.” Well, who is Elain to judge? “That doesn’t really seem like grounds to evict someone.” In fact, Elain is pretty sure that whatever’s going on is illegal. She thinks about calling her father. Being a businessman himself, he could probably put Azriel in touch with a good lawyer. 

Azriel waves away her offer. “It was bound to happen anyway. People are petty. And cruel.” 

Elain thinks of Graysen. She thinks about the scars on Azriel’s hands. The scars they never talk about. Yes, people can be cruel. But people can also be kind. The fact that Azriel takes the worst of humanity for granted saddens her more than anything else. 

She doesn’t want to lose him as her neighbor. 

“Where will you go?” 

“I could move in with one of my brothers for a while.” He tells her where they live. Her anxiety deepens. They’re just as far away as her sisters. “I don’t want to bother you with this either, but some of my contracts fell through. Even if I could stay here, I wouldn’t be able to make the rent.” 

Elain swallows. There are moments in life that one calls turning points. Turn one way, it will become this. Turn another way, and it will become that. There is no way to tell which path is the right choice. But although Elain isn’t blessed with future sight, she is blessed with a sense of indomitable compassion.

She proposes a plan.

“What?” 

“You can live here,” she says again. 

The silence that follows could rival graveyards. “Elain…I can’t do that. How would I pay you?” 

She tells him about the shop. 

“I don’t know anything about flowers.” 

“I’ll teach you.” 

“Elain —” 

“It’s temporary,” she insists. It’s a good thing all Archerons were born with an iron-clad persistence gene. “You can stay in the spare bedroom until you figure out your next move.” When he doesn’t say anything else, she adds, “You won’t be freeloading. You’ll be helping me out. I can’t fulfill as many orders without an assistant.” 

“I…don’t you think it’ll be weird? Sharing a space?” 

“On my life, I promise to keep your virtue intact,” she deadpans.

Azriel laughs. A deep, deep sound that comes from his belly. It is, quite literally, the most glorious thing Elain ever heard. 

“Thank you,” he says. “This is….I can’t even describe how gracious this is.” 

Elain’s body does not at all respond to this compliment in a tingly, somersault-y, or gushy way. Nope, that rush of happy warmth is probably something else. The sign of early menopause, perhaps. She should see a doctor.

“So it’s a deal?” She sticks out her hand. 

Azriel’s hazel eyes light with something she can’t describe. He reaches out to lace his ruined fingers with hers, every mark and ridge a map to something that Elain feels intent to discover. 

“It’s a deal.”

*** 

Thank you for reading, loves. 

Tagging these baes: @illyrianbeauty, @sunsummoner, @tessas-herondales, @jemma-nessian-and-elriel, @abillionlittlepieces, @tntwme, @rosehallshadowsinger, @maastrash, @julesherondalex, @wolffrising, @stardustsroses, @voiceoftheroses, @katexrenee, @highlady-brittney, @goldbooksblack,  @mariamuses, @alexisnm95, @tswaney17, @rowanismybae, @elide-lochan-salvaterre  @ourbooksuniverse, @cruelwickedthing, @shadowazriel, @a-trifling-matter, @kaliejane26, @wewhohavefailed, @elide-lochan-salvaterre, @empress-ofbloodshed, @lordof-bloodshed, @katshrev, @writer-reader-traveller, @whyyoumakemesadstahp, @captain-timetraveldreamer, @awesomethreedragons, @escapingtheconstrictingboxes, @thenameisjaida-blog, @moonbeammadness,  @leulivy, @fantasy-faes,  @poisonwhiterose, @fucking-winchester-trash, @maddieimhot@ame233, @xinyourdreamsx, @feyaelin-rowsand, @queenofillea1, @rosalesgold, @aelins-fire-queen, @rhysanoodle, @dreamerforever-5, @ben-roll-io, @azrielismycinnamonrollprimary, @hope-unswervingly, @illyriangarbage, @feysand-dot-acotar, @faequeenaelin, @illyrian-bookworm, @propagandaprincess, @musicmaam, @velarian-trash, @theshadowsinger-and-thefawn, @featherymalignancy

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