#Because that logic carries through the opposite way too- if she loses the case that has implications for every normal stalking victim

[please-picturemeintheweeds]

Adding to the both can be true list:

the public should have access to carbon emission data for billionaires/corporations

individual humans are entitled to safety and privacy

See, even if she's not the worst offender when it comes to a private jet... she still uses excessively, though

[goldenkamuyhunting]

Ramblings and crazy theory time about GK chap 266 “Pinky Finger Bones”

So... with this chapter we begin digging into what happened in the past. Into what happened to Wilk... but also into what happened to Tsurumi.

He clearly stared into the abyss and the abyss stared back at him... but what’s worse is that Tsurumi became much more scary than the abyss itself.

By the way you might notice a resemblance with the quote “He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.” [‘Beyond Good and Evil’  Friedrich Nietzsche] which loosely means “When you confront evil, make sure it doesn’t influence you.”

Well, it’s clear Tsurumi not only let himself influence, he sadly became worse than the ‘monster’ he was fighting.

But let’s go with order.

The cover… is more like part of a flashback scene.

It shows Tsurumi and Tsukishima in Vladivostok, in 1897. Therefore we’re at the point in which Tsukishima was released from jail and was working as an intelligence officer with Tsurumi in Russia.

They are shown alone, but it doesn’t necessarily mean they went there alone, as Tsurumi could have other men with himself, to create a spy network. Or not.

We’ll find out only if it’s relevant to the plot so, for now, I’ll let it on hold.

Anyway Tsurumi and Tsukishima talk of how, since Vladivostok is the only Russian port that doesn’t freeze and can be used all year round, it’s a strategically vital point for Russia but also for Japan. Central had made appoint to let Tsurumi know they need to conquer it if they go at war with Russia.

At that point a Russian man spot Tsukishima and starts asking him if he is Japanese and knows a man named Hasegawa who disappeared without a trace 6 years ago.

As Tsukishima struggles to understand what he says (he’s clearly not well versed in Russian yet) the man talks about the bodies of Hasegawa’s wife and daughter, but we don’t get to hear what he says about them.

Tsukishima turns to discover Tsurumi has disappeared and, searching him, he finds him in front of Hasegawa’s burned photo studio.

Tsurumi’s expression, which Tsukishima can’t see, is interesting. His eyes are shadowed by the brim of his hat (while Tsukishima aren’t) and his eyes are stretched thin, many stress lines under them.

He’s probably lost in painful memories, which are likely now wrapped by the hate he feels for who caused his tragedy.

When Tsukishima reads on the sign ‘Hasegawa photo studio’, he realizes it’s the name the Russian was talking about. I’ll be honest, the coincidence is a little too forced. I mean, to have a random Russian guy asks to a random Japanese (let’s remember Vladivostok HAD a Japanese district so Japanese people is not that impossible to spot there) if they knew Hasegawa who disappeared 6 years ago and, COINCIDENTALLY, this Japanese is with the guy who, in the past, was Hasegawa, a guy who apparently doesn’t hear the question and marches straight to Hasegawa photo studio (they weren’t that close, Tsukishima lost sight of Tsurumi and had to search for him) so that Tsukishima can connect some dots back then and a lot more in the present is... well, way too providential.

It would be different if that Russian had a reason to check all the Japanese he were to spot and had done so for 6 years but no reason is given. We aren’t told he was Fina’s relative (Fina has a family to whom she was supposed to return the day she died)... and therefore pretty invested in the tragedy and it’s clear he’s not part of the secret police or he wouldn’t give Tsukishima random details. Tsukishima isn’t even standing near Hasegawa’s house at the time he was questioned, so it was possible to speculate they knew each other.

That guy who spoke with Tsukishima was just a Russian who woke up that morning and decided, spotting some Japanese, to ask him about a guy who disappeared 6 years ago for... no apparent reason beyond plot convenience.

But okay, let’s go on.

We’ve left Tsukishima connecting the photo studio with the guy the Russian mentioned, relying to Tsurumi the Russian guy mentioned ‘something’ about that man’s wife and daughter.

At this point I wonder if there’s a reason why we aren’t told what that something is. I would think that the fact that their bodies got burned up in the fire wasn’t something to discuss or wonder about but maybe... there’s more?

I don’t know.

Anyway Tsukishima wonders if Tsurumi knew Hasegawa, which really, seems logical enough as Tsurumi came there to watch his burned shop and Tsurumi denies it, saying there’s plenty of Japanese people in Vladivostok (which again make weird how the Russian guy asked them if they knew about Hasegawa). Tsurumi then claims Hasegawa should have been odd for wanting to open a shop away from the Japanese district, his eyes hidden by the brim of his hat and I facepalm here because he’s basically lampshading that Hasegawa had to be a spy for wanting to do so...

which seems uncharacteristically careless from him... unless he wanted Tsukishima to actually question him further... to push him to talk because maybe he too needed to talk but couldn’t... but Tsukishima is evidently ignorant in spy matters so he doesn’t get the hint.

He doesn’t lot go though, as Tsukishima remembers Hasegawa was Tsurumi’s mother’s maiden name, whom he noticed when Tsurumi went to pay his respect to her grave.

Tsurumi compliments for Tsukishima’s good memory and deflects Tsukishima’s suspicions saying it’s a common name in Niigata.

So we’ve some info about Tsurumi to ponder about, like how his mother is dead and how he was an Hasegawa so there’s to wonder if he was related to the ‘Hasegawa senior’ which whom he supposedly came in Russia as a teenager.

Was the guy his father using his mother’s maiden name? Or a maternal uncle? Can it be there was originally an Hasegawa Koichi and Tsurumi and him swapped (swapping identity with someone was a common spy technique)? If that’s the case was Kouichi a cousin of Tsurumi?

Or the guy never existed and it’s just a cover story? Hard to say, interesting to speculate.

Anyway we jump back to the present and to Tsukishima, a vein popping on his check, connecting the dots and realizing ‘that Hasegawa’ was actually Tsurumi.

Tsurumi then goes and says that 50 years ago some of the more extremist Ainu gathered up a great quantity of gold dust and were planning something... and here I pause again.

So, does this mean whose extremists did take a part of the hidden gold? Or that they were the gold’s guardians, aware of where it was hidden?

If it happened 50 years ago, unless the gold was stolen by the hideout, this means the extremists were the same guys who knew about the hideout. So, Ariko’s father could have been one of them as well as Asirpa’s grandfather (my bet is he’s the one who knew where the gold was).

Anyway the Ainu’s plan in order to fight the shogunate was to get a captain of the imperial Russian navy to divert Russian warships, munitions and such to them... and I think Tsurumi is exaggerating matters a bit because it’s really not enough to own warships, you also need men to drive them and I’m not sure how many Ainu there were who could do it but whatever, maybe back then was easier to pilot warships and use them to go to battle... but still, I kind of feel it would be complicate for him to ‘smuggle out’ Russian warships... I mean they aren’t exactly of the size you might ‘lose track of them’.

Going on.

To explain why the Russian captain would be willing to do so, Tsurumi says it’s common among soldiers who’re stationed far from central command to do as they prefer, which is something Tsurumi is intimately familiar with as he’s doing the same in Hokkaido.

However everything ended when the ship on which was the Russian captain crashed into a passenger ship in what’s called the “Russian warship Kalevala incident” of 1867 (which is completely fictional as no such thing happened in the real world) in which both ships sunk carrying everyone on board with them.

Timeline wise 1867 is also the year in which there’s the restoration of the imperial rule, with the Boshin war starting in 1868.

According to Tsurumi, since the Ainu lost the Russian captain willing to sell them weapons they should have felt at total loss about what to do with the gold.

Tsurumi then claims Wilk came in Hokkaido to search for that gold so that this was the start of everything that happened afterward.

Asirpa asks Sofia if this means it was Tsurumi the one who taught Wilk, Kiro and Sofia Japanese.

We can’t see Sofia’s face, as she’s holding her head down, but she’s sweating and panting, thinking back to when she held little Olga.

Clearly that incident of which she felt responsible still weight a lot on her, like an open wound that never healed... which in a way makes her similar to Tsurumi. Tsurumi though is trying to get revenge for that incident... while Sofia is trying to make up for it. 

She then notices that Tsurumi has moved really close to her, his hand still holding the finger bones of Old and Fina, rubbing them.

We can see Tsurumi’s head is inclined on a side, in a way that reminds me of how Usami looked at the dead horse... although Usami was tilting his head on the opposite side.

In normal body language, tilting the head on a side indicates sincere interest and curiosity... and it can fit both situations too... only Noda also makes it creepy, as if both Usami and Tsurumi were interested yet completely detached, as if they were watching something alien to them, the angle being just a little bit too much to feel natural.

Tsurumi then goes on claiming that, on the day his wife and child died, he was the only one the secret police was after and if Fina hadn’t picked up Wilk’s wanted poster she wouldn’t have come back. Tsurumi through tried to date the blame to even sooner, claiming that if Wilk and co had never gone to his photo studio, his wife and child might not have been killed.

Sofia’s eyes are locked on Tsurumi’s hand rubbing that finger bone, as if she were hypnotized... and I’ll repeat what I said before.

Sofia has spent all those years after the death of Fina and Olga trying to make amends. As she believes her cause will bring benefit to the Russian people (and therefore to people like Sofia and Olga), she continued to fight for it, giving up on Wilk, the man she loved and on ‘happiness as a woman’ all to fight for her cause and atone for that innocent lives who died that day.

Of course meeting Hasegawa again and being blamed fully for those deaths is a big blow to her, it’s the trauma, the sin, she never overcome but tried to by doing something constructive, something she believed would be positive for the others.

It’s worth to remember Sofia came from aristocracy, she didn’t need a better Russia to live an easy life, she could have just continued being a pampered princess and instead she devoted herself to improving her country.

We can argue the methods she chose might not be the best, and how they put in danger innocent people, but the aim is selfless.

On the other end we’ve Tsurumi, whose family fell in disgrace... likely short after the Meiji restoration and possibly due to it.

He went in Russia as a spy probably in an attempt to prove himself and improve his and his family’s life, likely married in order to have a cover but ended up falling in love with Fina and he clearly adored his daughter, Olga.

Still he continued his job as a spy even if that put in danger his own beloved family, he continued teaching Japanese to Wilk and Co even if he knew they were partisans and, ultimately, for some reasons, he get discovered by the secret police.

Somehow he finds out they’re coming from him so, instead than denouncing himself, he sends away Fina and Olga without explaining Fina nothing.

Even if she promised not to, Fina could have gone back for other reasons, it was coincidence it was just because she saw the wanted poster.

When Wilk and Co shows up at Tsurumi’s house HE LET THEM IN, before telling them they can’t come anymore. He could have denied them entrance and send them away, he could have told them he was a wanted man and the secret police was about to jump on him but no, he let them in.

When the secret police arrives he doesn’t just hand himself to them but stop to talk with them at the door, knowing inside he has three revolutionaries who will realize the police is circling the house and that will feel threatened. When they start attacking the police he doesn’t tell them the truth but let them discover it from the Russian policeman and then he hands them a machine gun so that they can fight the police.

Tsurumi was an ACTIVE cause of the incident as much as Wilk and Co if not MORE because he has something to lose and that he was exposing to risk, Fina and Olga.

Yet now he’s shifting all the blame to Wilk’s party, trying to use Sofia’s sense of guilt to get leverage on her and force her to be cooperative so that he could get the gold and get revenge over Central.

Now... I’m positive that Tsurumi suffered A LOT for the death of Fina and Olga, that it was traumatic for him... but while Sofia is trying to make up for it, Tsurumi is just trying to take revenge, trying to frame the death of his beloved ones as something that has a meaning because it becomes an helpful step in his climbing to get the gold and the control of Hokkaido.

In fact, and I’ll flash forward a bit, Tsurumi wants to know what purpose his wife and daughter served in the world, claiming they died because of Wilk and Co and therefore they should give him some sort of compensation.

In this way he uses his own loss to extort information from Sofia so that he could accomplish his goal.

Mind you, all this is a way to cope with pain that’s similar to Sekiya’s, who wanted to know why his daughter had to die, but, differently from Sekiya who was completely blameless for his child’s death, which was merely an incident he had no control over, Tsurumi was also actively to blame for his wife and child’s death and he’s trying to cope with his pain by shifting the blame on others and by trying to turn those deaths into meaningful steps on the way to his original goal, improving his own life.

Ironically, as he loved Fina and Olga, it’s unlikely reaching his original goal will bring him solace, it’s another copying mechanism to excuse himself, if he can justify his wrongdoing to them as a necessary step on the way to his goal, he believes he will feel better... which is clearly a lie. This is not the way to cope with such a traumatic event but it’s a common mistake, an attempt to dim the pain by not coping with how he’s responsible for his own loss.

I pity him for how terrible his pain should be... but there’s no turning around how his way to cope with it IS terrible in any possible way.

But let’s go back a little to Tsukishima and Koito who’re eavesdropping on the conversation.

Tsukishima remembers how, during the war they tried getting control of Vladivostok... and how Tsurumi told him they should expand the territory for Japan’s sake and that they should make certain that their comrades were sleeping in Japanese soil. Now though he (and Koito if his white irises and vein popping are to be taken as a hint) is pissed off because he fears Tsurumi’s goal is just his own personal way of mourning his wife and daughter...

...and I facepalm again. Hard.

Now, okay, Koito can be pissed off, he made clear he uphold certain values and that he believed Tsurumi was doing it for a selfless reason only, the well being of his own soldiers, plus he had never experienced being poor so he can’t understand why people would want to be rich. He’s young, he was used and lied at but still wanted to trust Tsurumi to be more noble than he was so okay, he can be angry.

Tsukishima though was okay with tailing after Tsurumi even when he didn’t know which is true goal was...

...even when he believed Tsurumi might not have a true goal...

...just because he wanted to believe what Tsurumi was doing would benefit the ones following him... and now he is upset because Tsurumi had a goal... but one that was beneficial to Tsurumi? How was Tsurumi not having a goal better?

And how this change the game, really?

If Tsurumi’s actions were genuinely better for the men in the 7th, they remain beneficial regardless of Tsurumi’s ultimate goal, which isn’t meant to harm them, after all.

And just because Tsukishima decided to sacrifice his love story with Igogusa (which, Tsurumi’s lies or not, was something Tsukishima decided on his own)... well, this doesn’t mean everyone has to do the same as him.

But whatever, as anticipated before, Tsurumi used Sofia’s sense of guilt to ask her to tell him and Asirpa what happened in Hokkaido. He’s clearly talking about the Nopperabou incident and he explains he believes Sofia should know about it due to the letters she got from Kiroranke.

Well, the good thing in all this is that, if Tsurumi is asking her about the incident, this seems to hint that, as I speculated, he doesn’t know exactly what happened (unless he’s sure Kiro had false info which he relied her... but I doubt that’s the case).

In his anger, Tsukishima fails to understand that asking Sofia about what happened in the Nopperabou incident might:

- give Tsurumi clues about where the gold was (the incident took place when the Ainu moved the gold)

- tell him if there’s more people involved who could try to get into Tsurumi’s way

- make Asirpa feel guilty for the dead Ainu and more prone to help Tsurumi,

All this of course depending on what truly happened back then... but I think Tsurumi has some theories in this regard and he’s asking merely because he thinks Sofia’s words, which Asirpa won’t question because Sofia wouldn’t have any reason to lie, would be beneficial to him.

Sofia starts crying at all this, breaking down and admitting what we already knows, that Kiro believed ‘Wilk changed’.

The only new addition to all this is that it confirms Kiro believed Wilk changed because Asirpa was born... but this doesn’t really tell us if Wilk changed the day Asirpa was born or later, as the change could have been gradual and we saw that Kiro seemed to have a good relationship with Wilk after Asirpa’s birth

(and we know, for Wilk’s own admission, he wanted to raise Asirpa to be a guerrilla fighter capable of leading the Ainu...

...and taught her how misplaced sympathy could become a weakness and who’s weak gets eaten, how they can’t hesitate to kill (a bear cub) for fear of being cruel or they’ll die (of starvation)).

Kiro also said Wilk saw a light in Asirpa, a light of hope for the Ainu,

...which also fits with how Kiro himself entrusted the future to Asirpa and Sofia,

...and how Asirpa’s name means ‘future’.

Long story short, we still don’t know anything new as it was clear Asirpa ended up affecting Wilk but how and why Kiro believed this constituted betrayal worth killing him is completely up to speculation.

I stand my ground on the fact I believe if Kiro thought Wilk had to die, it was because he believed Wilk betrayed the partisan cause, which, among partisans, has always been a crime punishable with death.

Still I genuinely doubt Asirpa’s birth caused Wilk to turn into a pro-imperialist or that it caused him to stop caring about the minorities... and since Kiro didn’t try to kill him prior to the Nopperabou incident, I’ll say the problem didn’t exactly start with Asirpa’s birth.

On the other side I don’t think Kiro is lying, he genuinely believed Wilk changed.

We’re clearly missing how Wilk changing became something that caused or was connected to the Nopperabou incident and made him worthy of being killed later, without even being questioned.

Ogata hinted that Kiro might have been afraid Wilk would reveal something about Kiro to Sugimoto...

...but I somehow have troubles seeing Kiro killing all those Ainu since Kiro seemed reluctant to kill Inkarmat, who was clearly a big hindrance and didn’t want Sugimoto, who was a potential hindrance, to be shoot.

Besides Kiro clearly didn’t know where the gold was, so I’ve troubles thinking he would just murder all those Ainu without even trying to get info from them.

Could it really be possible Wilk make a 180° turn and wanted to hand the gold to the Japanese even if, apparently, when he was arrested, he was trying to escape in Karafuto with the gold so that he could bring it to his companions?

Or did he wanted to hand it to the Japanese authorities because he came to believe the Ainu, the partisans and the revolutionaries wouldn’t know how to use it to benefit their cause and would only make matter worse?

Difficult to believe so as, even if we’re to assume he decided that fighting was wrong, the gold could be used in small parts to improve Ainu’s life by buying necessities for them if times were to become harsh (just think at how the locust attack damaged Kirawus’ village food resources... if they had some gold they could have bought the missing food).

Or was Wilk trying to use it to BUY the Ainu’s freedom from the Japanese, not with weapons but with the gold itself, buying the whole Hokkaido island in Boutarou’s style, therefore betraying the Russian cause as they would remain to their own devices? It would seem an aiful naive plan from him besides it was hinted he still wanted to pursue his own dream of a far east federation for minorities by how he clung to those gold coins up till the time he was captured.

But still, we’re missing some big piece of the puzzle... which we don’t get in this chapter as the story kind of goes back a little to show us Sugimoto and Shiraishi in the bottlecar, just out of the church Sugimoto is in.

They had seen Koito get into the church, meaning they got there before Tsurumi started speaking with Sofia and Asirpa.

Shiraishi would like to rush in to rescue but Sugimoto is uncharacteristically prudent, saying Shiraishi they should go call Hijikata, because if they rush in they could be in numerical disadvantage.

Shiraishi though is worried of what Tsurumi could do to Asirpa but Sugimoto insists Tsurumi should know he can’t rely on information gotten with torture so, differently from Tsukishima, he figured out Tsurumi will try to get information from her of her own free will slowly.

Shiraishi is still worried and references how Tsurumi behaved oddly in the volume version of what happened in Karafuto (because in the magazine version the poor guy actually acted in a pretty normal way) then notices Sugimoto is actually wishing badly he could rush in and decides Sugimoto might be right.

Honestly I should give kudos to Sugimoto for managing to figure this out. From after Tsurumi got his hands on Asirpa he had been uncharacteristically smart, analyzing his opponent (Tsurumi) and understanding his moves, from how Tsurumi wouldn’t part with Asirpa to how he wouldn’t torture her but try to get info out of her willingly.

On a sidenote actually you can get reliable info through torture if you manage to keep control of your victim (meaning if he lied to you torture will just start all over) or if you’ve someone to use to blackmail that person but whatever, let’s go on.

Sugimoto and Shiraishi decide them to go call Hijikata, slam the car against a pole and fly out of it.

The chapter ends here but if Nikaidou is really around there to keep guard as Tsurumi told him to do...

...and spot Sugimoto we can count on him to go in berserk mode, scream ‘SUGIMOTO SAICHI! MY NAME IS NIKAIDOU KOUHEI. YOU KILLED MY BROTHER! PREPARE TO DIE!’ and reveal to everyone how Sugimoto and Shiraishi are there, possibly interrupting the whole interrogatory and letting us wonder for many more chapters WHAT IN THE WORLD HAPPENED DURING THE NOPPERABOU INCIDENT. So please Nikaidou, don’t be around or scream discreetly. We don’t really want you to bother Tsurumi, Sofia and Asirpa NOW.

[drev-the-procrastinator]

the mando fic for the wip title thing

As promised, I made this into its own post. @purplecarseat and @lastwordbeforetheend, here thanks for the asks, and hope you like this! 

Right, so the Mando fic!

This is the first Mando fic I came up with, not too long after the season 2 finale, and I've been kinda calling this like... the opposite of a fix-it fic? Like by coming up and possibly writing this I'm doing the opposite of manifesting, I'm manifesting for this to never happen in canon ever, you know :') This one's gonna be long too, I might put it under a read more. We'll see!

EDIT: This is definitely going under a read more, it's like 4k words or something. It's like, half notes, half almost-prose, so um. H. Hope you like it? Buckle up boys, this is a long one ajhdalsfhklaskfja

Right, so! Hm. Where to start. 

Let's try this. It's about 100 years after the season 2 finale. We follow Grogu, entering a bar or an inn or some other establishment. He's now maybe a teenager - I'm not sure how age works on his species - but he travels the galaxy alone, doing what? I'm not sure! He trained in the ways of the Jedi from when Luke picked him up to the destruction of the Jedi academy in the hands of Kylo Ren. He'd perhaps finished the necessary training by then, or was away by complete chance, but he survived, and spent the next few years running and hiding from the First Order. That threat is gone now, but he's still touring the galaxy. 

Maybe he's still looking for his dad, even though he knows, logically, that humans only live for a hundred years if they're lucky, and he was already older than his dad when they met, but... Or maybe he's looking for other Force-sensitive children? The Jedi way doesn't seem to be working since they've now failed spectacularly twice in a rather short tim, so maybe he's kind of doing his own thing. Maybe he's going to the children and teaching them to control their abilities and to live with them. He's trying to make sure no one else has to be separated from their parents and family, like he was. 

Anyway! He's been going around for quite some time now, and now when he walks into this establishment, he spots all kinds of patrons, including... Mandalorians. It's not that unusual - I don't know what happened to Mandalore, but there are more Mandalorians around now, he's witnessed their growth in his time travelling the galaxy, and he comes across them from time to time now.  He tries to talk with them whenever he can, which is usually when they're not hostile towards him, which isn't that rare! They are, however, rather guarded towards outsiders, which he knows he is, he did knowingly choose the path of the Jedi all those years ago after all.

Even so, he has learnt things about Mandalorian culture from those chats, and some Mando'a, too, but not much. Sometimes he's just had to sit near a group of Mandalorians to try to learn Mando'a by listening to them, when he's been desperate. He has learnt a lot though, different beliefs, dialects, clan names, clan signets - he's seen dozens of those, heard many stories behind them. These Mandalorians all have some part of their armor painted red - honoring a parent, he knows. Maybe Grogu doesn't see the signet well at first? He's too far away. The shape is a kind he doesn't remember seeing before, but it's somehow familiar. Maybe he creeps closer, gets a table near them, sits down to eat his food and to listen, brush up on his Mando'a, if they'll speak any, it's not always the case. 

Then. Suddenly. He hears it. A name he only vaguely remembers, but remembers anyway, despite hearing it only once or twice ages ago. A hundred years. Idk if it's just the Mandos in red beskar, or if they have someone else there too, but someone calls one of the Mandalorians by their surname. The sound of it cuts through the chatter of the establishment. Djarin. One of the Mandalorians was called Djarin.

"Tell them it's from Din Djarin-”

"-Carry this for Din Djarin until he is well enough to wear it-"

It's like he's been hit by lightning, energy crawling all over his skin, like he's supercharged. Hope surges in him, but dies as quickly. It's been too long, and surely, if it were him, he would've recognized him? And it's been too long. Even so, he turns in his seat to look at the group. He's close enough now that he spots it. The sigil, on the right pauldron. The vaguely familiar shape. 

It's a mudhorn.

-Him, in his small pod, straining, lifting a giant horned creature, using the Force for the first time in years, after the Dark, Dad looking at him in wonder, the two shiny pieces of his armor covered in mud-

Grogu doesn't sense the familiar, safe presence he remembers, but it must be the same signet. It must. One of the Mandalorians turns their helmet just a bit but he can tell they're looking at him now, so he turns to his food and tries to merely look fascinated by the beskar, even if it is kind of rude, and not like. Like he's seen a ghost, which is probably pretty close to how he feels. 

He probably finishes his food - it would feel rude to eat when others can't - and makes his way to the table where the Mandalorians are. He speaks Mando'a to them to get their attention, ljust a greeting, and they're surprised he knows any, and the discussion starts from there. He tells them he's quite fascinated by the culture and has taken any chance he gets to talk with Mandalorians. Even if his Mando'a isn't very good. He says he hasn't seen their signet before, and they tell him it's a mudhorn. Clan Mudhorn.

They introduce themselves, just a little, they're still cautious, but give their first names at least? One of them, a younger boy, a teenager maybe, is called Din, though he's not the one referred to as Djarin. Grogu remarks it's not a very traditional Mandalorian name, to which they tell him it's probably not, as the boy is named after the founder of their clan, and he was a foundling himself. "Oh", is all Grogu can say, because he's sure now, these people are from his clan. Their clan. Their little clan of two.

He asks about the story behind the signet, and they tell him quite eagerly! It's grown and been both simplified and exaggerated, polished, but Grogu can recognize the battle he remembers. He's in it too. Saving their ancestor - saving Dad - and to his surprise, the story doesn't end there, but instead includes also the betrayal and the redemption, when he was exchanged for beskar and when he was rescued. He didn't guess Dad would've felt so guilty about giving him away; he'd rescued him, Grogu had already forgiven him then.

They're still a little cautious, but maybe they've heard form other mandos that the little green guy with the big ole ears that speaks Mando'a is a cool dude, so it doesn't take that much for Grogu to get some more stories out of them. Like how their clan started to grow, a.k.a. how Din found his second foundling,  and the third, and how he was the Mand'alor for a sec, and how he did not like it at all, and of other things he did, and then, eventually, Grogu gathers the courage to ask what happened to him.

But about the foundlings. How the clan began to grow. If you thought Din "Mandadlorian" Djarin could turn off his dad instinct once it was activated, you'd be sorely mistaken. Granted, it took some time, but once the wound of losing literally everything scabbed over a little and the pain of having to have given up his child eased somewhat, he did find more kids for himself to parent.

I think the first foundling would've been, hm, not quite as young a child? I think maybe she were a teenager, or even a young adult. She wasn't a foundling, per say, but Din probably took her under his wing anyway? Maybe she was a young Mandalorian from a similar covert as the one he'd been in, but she'd survived some attack on it, as the only one, and crossed paths with Din, who then first was just gonna teach her to, idk, do bounty hunting, help her join the Guild, but then she stuck around. She would've already had her own name, so she's of the line the younger Din Grogu met is a part of.

The second would've been a small child again, this would've been around the time of the First Order's existence? They would've come across a village destroyed by an attack by the order, and from the ruins Din would've discovered a young child. Not much older than Grogu was, really. He would've taken them in, and raised them. Eventually he did adopt them both, and this younger child would've been given the name Djarin, because they wouldn't have found their original name, other than the first name. And the first child would've gotten married and the spouse would've joined the clan, and they'd found more foundlings, as would Din, too, eventually, I'm sure, and not all of them were kids? But he probably adopted them anyway. With the Mandalorian adoption vow.

There would've had to be a realization from him, though, I think at first he took his time saying the vows because he hadn't said it to Grogu when he'd had the chance and he would've felt like it'd been a betrayal to say it to these kids but not his son, the one who taught him to love like a parent. But he would get, quite quickly, that him loving these kids doesn't take away of the love he has for Grogu, and that it's not right by them that he would reserve a place in his heart only for one child. He can and should love all of them, and he does realize this, and does adopt them, and loves them all like the bestest single space dad he is. Grogu is happy to hear that; he was such a good parent to him that he's glad that other kids have had the chance to have someone love and protect them the same way he was loved and kept safe. He does feel a pang of sadness as he does everytime he hears of the adoption vow, and feels a little as if he's been forgotten since they don't know his name in the stories, but he does know they only had a relatively short time together, so it's no wonder then, if compared to the many years the others have spent with Dad, he had been a little forgotten.

The way the founder died, though. Family is important to all Mandalorians, but seems to be even more so to Clan Mudhorn, Grogu observes. When he hears about the story of the clan signet, they tell him that's not the only story everyone in the clan knows by heart. There's also the story of how the founder died, and the first time he's not brave enough to ask and no one offers to tell him, but later he gathers his courage and does ask. And they tell him.

Grogu hears of the restless times of the rise of the First Order. The chaos. Bloodshed. Tyranny. The clan had been more or less in hiding on a planet, trying to lay low and stay out of trouble, but they'd been found and attacked. For the beskar, for some other reason? Were they on Mandalore? Was that attacked again, by the order? Maybe? Whatever the reason, it had been calm, too calm, like the calm before the storm, and then the attackers had come. The founder had died protecting his family, the Mandalorians tell Grogu, he'd bought them time to escape. 

He'd saved the oldest of the foundlings, his first daughter, really, who'd been the mother of the eldest of the Mandalorians Grogu met in the inn, an older woman going by the voice and what the Force was telling him. Her mother had been pregnant with her at the time of the attack, and her life was directly saved by the founder of their clan, Din Djarin. Grogu's Dad. 

It's like a thread, connecting Grogu and his dad and this woman, through the decades. Something concrete, tangible proof that he, Din, Dad, had lived and been alive and existed in this world. Sometimes Grogu thinks it might all have been a dream he dreamed up in between hiding from the Empire and hiding from the Order, because a year feels like such a short time for him, sometimes, and it has been so long. But no. This person is proof. His father had saved her. She is alive because he existed. Just as Grogu is.

The final thing the founder had done before going into battle, they tell Grogu, had been to hand an object to his eldest daughter, something that'd been the Child's, and to make sure he would get it. And she had promised. That's the reason this story has been passed on with the story of the signet, to keep the promise and deliver the object to the Child, should their paths someday cross. 

What happened to the Child, Grogu asks  - he doesn't know if they haven't passed on his name or if they just don't want to share it with an outsider - and the Mandalorians tell him the clan founder tried to keep the child safe, but he wasn't strong enough and failed, and even when he rescued the child, he knew he couldn't provide for him in the ways the child needed, so he was given to the Jedi to raise. This is what happened, Grogu knows, but his heart aches to hear Dad thought he wasn't good enough. Grogu would've gone back, he tried, after the temple was destroyed, he's been trying, but...

And he tells them that it's not so simple. That even if the founder failed, he still came back for the child and saved him, and let him choose his own path, and loved him so much and so purely that he was able to let him go, to let him follow the path he'd chosen. And that he was the greatest buir the child could have asked for, and that anytime the child was terrified, anytime they were scared, anytime they felt they were not brave enough to take another step, there was the beloved, familiar voice telling them to not be afraid, and always the child found the courage. And the child tried to come back, he really did, but the galaxy was so big and the child so small and he could not find his way back until it was too late.

And it seems like the older Mandalorians had guessed, by now, but Grogu takes out the mythosaur pendant he's had all these years, and tells them it's from Din Djarin. 

And they welcome him home. 

Later, when they take Grogu to the rest of the clan he is introduced to everyone. There are so many. Their clan of two has grown so big. There are more than one species, too. Many foundlings. Not all choose to follow the Way, and the ones who do not are let go, to find their own paths, and loved all the same. 

He asks what they did to his Dad's armor. Most of it went to the foundlings - of this clan and of others who might've needed it - but for two parts. The right pauldron, which is now passed on from clan leader to the next, with the original clan signet, and the helmet. They'd thought the helmet was destroyed, it was stolen by the people who'd attacked their clan way back then, but they'd recently heard rumours of a helmet of pure beskar found in some stashes of the First Order that had been unearthed somewhere. No one knows where it is, though, but they're planning on getting it back, someday, somehow. Grogu promises his help in that endeavour. 

The clan also finally fulfills the eldest daughter's promise. The object is delivered to the Child. Grogu sees it and kind of wants to cry. 

It's the ball. The knob. From the Razor Crest. He takes it and probably does cry a little. It has so many memories written into every tiny scratch and groove. He thanks them, but when they offer him a place to sleep he declines and goes to the inn or his ship. He is not Mandalorian, he chose the path of the Jedi, and that's it, he thinks, sadly. He doesn't think he can really be a part of this clan, this family, because he chose not to be, you know? He's pretty sure you have to be born or brought into the Mandalorian Creed, to be raised in it, or at least adopted. He hasn't been, or someone would've mentioned it if he had, and as if he'd ever call anyone else his buir. No way. So, this is it, he thinks, he knows what happened to Dad, he can move on now, he guesses. 

That night, before bed, he examines the ball again. It looks a little strange to him, not as he remembers. Didn't it have a hole in it where it got screwed onto the gear stick on the Crest? It did, it must have. Grogu remembers turning it with the Force, around and around until Dad noticed and gave it to him. It doesn't have it now. That's strange. It's like... it's been filled in with something.... He fiddles with it and he must press or nudge something, or maybe it was the Force he used, but something pops out. It's an old fashioned holo-stick? Like an usb stick, but like, space-y.

It takes him some time until he finds a player (or maybe we'll just have the ball play it, idk) and he plugs it in one night, alone on his ship (or that same night if we skip this ahdkshd). A hologram flickers to life. It works! There's a small moment of triumph before his breath freezes. That's Dad. In the hologram. The armor and the helmet and the voice. All of it. Just like in his memories, just blue and flickering and transparent as holos are. But it's Dad. 

Grogu doesn't know when it was recorded, and he doesn't particularly care. He just listens to Dad's familiar, soothing voice.

What he tells him, though. If Grogu is seeing this, that means he couldn't keep his promise. 

"I'll see you again. I promise."

Ni ceta, ner ad'ika, he says, he hopes he can destroy the stick when they meet again in person and he can tell this to the kid face to face, but it has been. Restless. Recently. So he thought he'd make this, just in case. 

He wants the kid to know he has said these words to himself a hundred times, in his mind, out loud, and they have been true in his heart since at least the moment he looked upon the face of the child he had risked it all for, faced stormtroopers and all of the guild, that one night on Nevarro, when he'd shielded him and gently stroked his tiny little head, content with that being the last thing he would ever get to see but full of guilt for not being able to give this child a better life. Since then, at the very least. But, even if he can't say them to the kid face to face, he swears he has said them and meant them every time. They will hold true until the end of time, even after he's gone and joined the manda, even after this recording is gone and no evidence remains. 

Here, he pauses and takes off the helmet, and Grogu looks upon the face of his father for the second time in his life. He has gotten older, of course, grey streaks in his dark hair and wrinkles on his face, but he is still the same man, the same safe presence, with the same gentle sadness, the same overwhelming love in his eyes as that day that ended up being their final together in this world. Grogu has to blink away the tears blurring his vision to drink in the image of the one who saved him, one who protected him, one who cared for him as the first person after the Dark, the first one who loved him. His father. His buir. Dad.

Ni kar'tayl gai sa'ad, Grogu.

The hologram of his father smiles a little, almost like he can see Grogu's hand touch his face on the hologram, desperate to let him know he heard the words and has wished, known, to hear them for so long, and that he loves Dad, so, so much. Dad once again says he hopes he'll get to tell him in person, but that even if he won't, they'll be true all the same. He hopes Grogu has found his path and place in the world, and that whatever it may be, Jedi or Mandalorian or both or neither, he is, and will forever be, so proud of him. 

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum. That's the last thing he says, before clearing his throat and a little awkwardly putting his helmet back on. It's so like Dad that Grogu almost smiles. When Dad leans forward to stop the recording, he stops for just a second with his head bowed. Grogu doesn't know if it was on purpose or just by coincidence, but it is the perfect spot for him to lean his head forward towards the hologram, and for a second, just a moment, he can almost feel the coolness of the beskar gently press against his own bare forehead, through the years and parsecs. Then the hologram flickers out, and he is left in the darkness. 

However, there's a warmth in his chest he hasn't felt in a long, long time. It will stay there, forever, long after the members of their clan have passed and joined his father in the manda, centuries, even after the recording will be unusable and he will have long forgotten his father's face and the sound of his voice, the knowledge that he was there and he existed and he loved him, loved Grogu, so thoroughly and deeply and so much, that will stay.

Tonight, though, they're both bright and clear in Grogu's mind, and the warmth in his chest blazes like a thousand suns, and even as he sleeps, and his tears dry on his cheeks, he smiles. 

And that's the fic. 

Hope you liked it! I've also got like, hm, a companion piece? It's like a shorter one shot, about what exactly happened to Din, like how he died? I've got that written in actual prose, not this half-ramble-half-fic format, but I didn't add it here becuse this is long enough already. If you'd like to see that, too, hit me an ask or a reply! I'd be glad to share that too! Hurted me to reread. 

Oh, and since I mentioned a song that inspired the space fic, this one's go two, too; Shelter by Porter Robinson & Madeon, and The Truth Is A Cave by The Oh Hellos, especially the bit that goes "I was blind to every sign you left for me to find", via the logic that like... after the stuff that went down at Jedi School, Din and Grogu kept looking for each other in the galaxy but kept just barely missing each other all that time, until his mortality caught up to Din, after which Grogu still kept looking. But, as he said, the galaxy is so big, and he is so small. There was also a third song for the part with the hologram, but I've forgotten what it was because I didn't write it down anywhere. :( It might have been Arctic by Sleeping At Last... I really don’t remember, and this annoys me a whole lot rn. Hm. >:/

In any case! If someone wants to see the part with Din, let me know, and I hope you enjoyed my ramble. Thanks for asking about it!

[come-on-shitty-boys]

//nine years time. kuroo tetsurou//

Request: Hello can you write royal kuroo promising y/n when he comes back they will both marry. But it has been 9 years and y/n married someone else to finish their duty as a royal. Then a month later kuroo comes back.

Warnings: none???

Word Count: 2.2K

Notes: hi yes i love you. please drink lots of water, okay?

“I won’t be long, I promise.  A year at the most and then,” he raised your hand up towards his lips, placing a lingering kiss against the skin of your knuckles before continuing, “we can finally get married, just like we’ve always wanted.”

The war had been waging for far too long, but with the kingdom’s final move on the horizons, it was only a matter of time before this would all be settled and an air of peace would once again fall over your home.  You should’ve been happy, ecstatic even, that everything would go back to how it used to be before this entire conflict started, but the young man in front of you, that you had been so captivated by from the first time that you met, was about to leave to stand with his military.  After all, some member of the royal family had to be present to negotiate the peace treaty and with his father becoming too old and frail to make the journey, it only made sense that the prince should take his place.

But, the goodbyes and the warm feeling of Tetsurou’s hand engulfing yours nearly brought tears to your eyes.  He was still going away to war and that title of “prince” just added a bigger target to his back.  And even if it was only going to be for a year, those days would seem like an eternity as you waited for his letters and counted the weeks to his return.  

“You’ll wait for me?” Tetsurou asked, raising his hand to lay it gently against your cheek.

“I’ll wait as long as I must to be with you, my prince.”

But, that first year had ended with a letter announcing that things had not gone to plan.  They would be staging a siege to cut off the supply lines of the enemy, but there was no telling how long they would be there, waiting for a surrender.  

Hopefully they will see that their efforts are futile and I will be able to return to you quickly.  I miss you more with every passing day and I want nothing more to have you in my arms once again.

Take care, my love, and I will see you soon.

K. Tetsurou

By the end of the second year, the letters had slowed.  Monthly letters now came at a snail’s pace of one every few months.  And by the third year, they had stopped all together.  No matter how many letters that you penned to your prince so far away, there was never anything in return.  It was only after the fourth year that you stopped trying to reach him, giving up and letting the worst possible outcome consume you.  

It was really the only logical outcome that your brain could come up with.  If he was still alive, he would’ve written to you.  He wouldn’t have just ignored all of your letters.  He would’ve gotten in touch with you somehow.  The loss of the kingdom’s prince, your first and only love, was the only explanation.  And it tore you to pieces.  He was meant to come back to you, officially make you his.  Tetsurou was supposed to meet you in town when he rode back in with the rest of the troops and give you the kiss that you had been waiting so long for.  But, there was none of that and there never would be any of that, because he was gone and he wasn’t coming back.  

The fifth year without him was the worst.  You found yourself struggling to carry out your day to day tasks, unable to see the purpose in carrying on if he wasn’t able to be there to give you tender kisses on your temple at the end of the day and hold you tightly within his arms.  There would be days when you would see something that was so distinctly Tetsurou that you would quickly turn around and hastily walk in the opposite direction so that no one could see the way your eyes glistened with tears that wished to fall.  You would lie awake and read his final letter to you over and over again, skimming your fingers across his name as if that would be enough to bring him back to you.  You would anxiously wait for the mail every single day in the off chance that maybe, just maybe, this would be the day in which a letter would come announcing his return.  But there was never anything apart from the occasional invitation to a ball or a letter from a friend that only brought sorrow to your heart when you realized that it wasn’t the letter that you were hoping for.  

But, it was year six when you met him.  The man with the bright smile and the shining eyes.  The man with the most cheery laugh that you had ever heard.  He had spun you around the ballroom for what seemed like hours, telling you stories about his travels, cracking jokes in an effort to see you smile all over again.  Yes, Bokuto Koutarou had made you feel something that had been void from your life since the letters stopped coming.  The way that he gripped onto your hands in excitement as he asked you for yet another dance had your heart fluttering as you nodded your head.  You were barely able to get a yes out before he was dragging you back out towards the center of the dance floor, giving you a low bow as the music began.  

In that sixth year, he had made you happier than you had been in a very long time.  There wasn’t a moment of sadness when he was there to brighten your day, his smile more contagious than the plague, and a heart that had the capability of producing such raw and honest emotions.  He was so intoxicating that you found yourself thinking of the prince that had originally stolen your heart far less than usual.  Whether you were awake or asleep, Bokuto consumed your thoughts, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to complain one bit.  

Because in the seventh year, when he was given your parents’ blessing and he asked for your hand in marriage, you couldn’t stop yourself from saying yes, thoughts of finally being able to marry a man that you loved so wholly bringing a smile so wide that it pained your cheeks.  But, it was also in that year that you found yourself sitting down at your desk in front of a piece of parchment, a quill sitting next to a bottle of ink.  In year seven, you drafted your final letter to Kuroo Tetsurou, a goodbye to set your mind at ease, to be able to guiltlessly move forward with your life.

Tetsurou,

I hope that this letter finds you well.  It has been much too long since I have last had the pleasure of hearing from you.  Perhaps the war has needed your full attention over these past few years and, if that is the case, then I cannot blame you for not taking the time to write to me.  But, there is something that I wish to tell you.  

Seven years ago, I made a promise to you.  Do you remember that?  I promised that I would wait as long as I must to be with you, to finally be able to marry you.  But, I am afraid that today I have broken that promise to you for I have accepted a marriage proposal from another man, one that makes me as happy as you did.  He brings me a feeling of happiness that I only ever felt with you. 

My prince, I waited as long as I could.  But, the silence had worn down on me to the point that it was unbearable.  I had waited in sorrow for a letter that never came and when I needed a light the most, he was there, shining brighter than any star in the galaxy.  I hope that you will forgive me and I wish you all of the best in your future.

Best,

Y/N

And you had folded up a letter with the name of a man who would never read it, but still, when the day broke the horizon the next morning, you met the postman at the door, a piece of folded parchment in your hand, a letter that would fall on deaf ears.  

It wasn’t until the eighth year after Tetsurou’s leave that you took a new last name.  You found happiness in Koutarou, a sense of peace that only he could offer.  His joyful laughter echoed through the walls of his manor as he lifted you from the ground, spinning the both of you around and around until he was sure that he would collapse as the room continued to spin even after he was sure that his feet had stopped.  But, he couldn’t have been happier.  Being here, in a home that had felt so lonely for a long time, now with someone that he loved more than anything in the world, Bokuto wasn’t sure that there was anything that could’ve made his life better.  

It was also in that eighth year that Bokuto realized that there was one thing that could make his world even brighter and it came in the form of a small bump that you carried with you everywhere you went.  His little bump.  A child that unified you better than any wedding band or string of vows ever could.  Everytime that he would look at you with your growing stomach, he could feel his heart swell, a new sense of pride filling his chest at the idea of becoming a father to his beautiful little baby.  

In year nine, the two of you became parents to a precious baby girl that had Koutarou wrapped around her finger from the very minute she was born.  With his wide golden eyes and silver locks, she was more beautiful than you ever could have imagined.  It was as if after all of your years of turmoil, the gods were blessing you with the perfect life that you had always envisioned, but a different man was by your side rather than the one that you had always pictured as the father of your children, your loving husband.  Yet, despite your life not turning out exactly how you had planned, there was nothing that you wanted to change.  You were finally happy and at peace with losing your first love.

But a letter had arrived in the mail.  One that announced that the war had finally drawn to a close and that the troops would be arriving home the following week.  

“It would be nice to go.  We could see the soldiers back and then we can go visit the shops downtown, stop for lunch, and do whatever else you’d like for the rest of the day,” Koutarou suggested, laying the letter down on the dining table.  “But, we obviously don’t have to go!  If it may upset you, then maybe we shouldn’t,” he added quickly.”

“Koutarou, please.  You have nothing to worry about.  I’ve come to terms with his death a long time ago.  I think a day in town would be perfect.”  You smiled warmly, laying your hand over his, letting him lace his fingers with yours.

There were very few things that you were expecting after nine years, but the look on Kuroo Tetsurou’s face when he laid eyes on you that day, the returning troops at his back, was unforgettable.  There had been an all too familiar sense of longing in his expression when he had initially recognized your form, but when his brain registered the man who had a protective arm wrapped around you and the small bundle of blankets in your arms, the adoration had fallen from his eyes only to be replaced by a sad look in his eyes, one unlike something you had ever seen cross his face.  The prince that you had fallen in love with all of those years ago, now looked like he had aged 20 years, whether it be from the stress of war or from the realization that his one love had continued moving forward in their life, even he wasn’t sure.

Yet, despite everything in his body telling him no, Tetsurou dismounted from his horse, long legs carrying him easily over the distance that kept you from him.  It was in that ninth year that Kuroo Tetsurou was careless and crashed his lips against your own, a desire to pull you closer to him and finally feel your body against his that had been stopped by a baby.  A baby that started crying when Tetsurou’s body bumped against it.  A cry that snapped him back to reality and had him pulling away from you.  Remembering that the child in your arms was not his.  Remembering that after nine long years, you were no longer his.  

[milknette]

day 08 - secret dating

you secret's safe and no one, has to know i’m your getaway.

tumblr month: @auyeahaugust

links: ao3 | ff.net

IT happens gradually, then all at once.

First, it starts with Mylene and Ivan. Wholesome. And, Alya and Nino. Perfect. Then, Juleka and Rose. Adorable.

But afterwards, it somehow extends further; to people outside of their class. Nathaniel and Marc. Kim and Ondine. Sabrina and some boy in another class. Even Chloé had gotten a girlfriend over the summer, with Kagami finally accepting her after months of the former's wooing.

By the time they all return to class, Marinette, to her complete surprise (and in some parts, horror), finds that the apparent theme for their return to class is romance— and as far as everyone else is concerned, she's the exception.

(Except that Marinette's not. Not really— though she can't exactly yell that truth into the sky or anything.)

Instead, she huffs, braves through the lovey-dovey atmosphere, and takes a seat.

Only for Alya to rush right beside her, Nino in tow, to completely rub it in her face.

"Someone looks a little sour today," she smirks, eyes bright with amusement. "Not liking being back to school?"

"I just don't understand what happened to everyone after the break!" Marinette complains, waving her hands around in evident confusion. "What made everyone so weird!?"

"Love," Alya shrugs, saying it almost too simply. "Everyone spent their respective summer together, and dating just came as the most natural step." She turns to Marinette, shaking her head. "And if anything, you're the weird one here! Girl, you're the only single one left."

Well, she begged to differ.

Marinette shakes her head, then points at a pair at the other side of the room. "What about Max and Alix? They aren't dating anyone either!"

Alya rolls her eyes. "They're not interested in dating, remember?" She points out. "It's their choice to be single. You're single because you have no choice."

"That's not true, I—!"

"You…?"

Marinette pauses mid-sentence, and after an evident battle with herself, finally heaves a sigh of defeat. "Nothing," she finally grumbles, looking down.

God, the whole superhero-secret-identity thing was increasingly becoming a pain to deal with.

And the whole  superhero-dating-superhero  thing made it all  that much  more complicated.

"So I'm right," Alya decides to settle their conversation, crossing her arms over her chest. Marinette can't protest, and she only nods, though her expression shows anything but agreement.

"Fine," Marinette exhales, taking a deep breath to calm herself down. "But it's not that easy to find someone to date! I'm busy, and I don't really know anyone else my age outside of here," she gestures at the school. "And as you said, they're all taken. So I guess I'll just have to wait!"

She hopes that's enough to get Alya off her case.

Her best friend did take more kindly to reasoning and logic rather than a straightforward I don't want to date (because I have a boyfriend), after all.

But to her soon-to-be-realized horror, Marinette's statement does the complete opposite.

Alya shares a glance with her boyfriend, who smiles and nods. "Glad that's the only reason you're not out dating!"

"... why?"

She slides a paper through the desk. The glaring letters, couples coupon!, instill in Marinette a feeling of dread she never felt even in previous battles with Hawkmoth and the akumas.

This can't be real.

"Because that means you can't say no," she grins.

This is a joke.

"Tomorrow afternoon, at the café we visited last weekend," she continues.

This is a misunderstanding.

"Nino's friend will meet you there."

This isn't what she thinks it'll be, of course.

"Have fun on your blind date!"

Damn it, Alya.

.

.

Ladybug stops outside Adrien's room, and knocks on the window.

He's barely awake when he walks over, but the sleep almost fades away immediately as they lock eyes. Instead, he beams and runs toward the window, unlocking it so she can enter.

"What are you doing, Milady?" He asks, eyes sparkling. "I thought we weren't patrolling tonight?"

"We need to talk," she instead says.

Adrien panics. "Wait," he begins to flounder. "If this is because you're disappointed that I'm me— that I'm Adrien Agreste, I promise that I can be better, please don't take my Miraculous, or even worse, break up with me, milady, I love you so, so, much and…"

"What? No," Ladybug's quick to shake her head. "I'm not breaking up with you."

She can almost hear the relieved exhale that escapes his mouth. "Oh, phew! That would've been a catastrophe…"

Ladybug feels a smile form on her face. "So, losing me is even worse than losing your Miraculous, huh?"

He's flustered. "I mean— I do take my job seriously! And I love being Chat Noir. It's just that… I can't lose you, either." Adrien walks toward her, then presses a kiss to her knuckles. "Milady, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

She flushes red, then looks away. "Same to you."

Adrien beams, then sits down, gesturing for her to sit next to him. "So what did you want to talk about?"

It's hard to decide what to say. So she decides to tell it to him straight.

"I'm going on a date with someone else tomorrow."

It's a terrible idea.

He panics, again. "Wait, so you're not breaking up with me, so… you want an open relationship?" Adrien looks almost scandalized. "I'm not sure how I feel about sharing you with anyone else…"

"No!" Ladybug interrupts, shaking her head vehemently. "It's just… for my civilian identity. My friend wants me to go on a blind date, and she can't know that about you, so…," She sighs, then looks down at her lap. "I had no choice, I'm sorry."

Ladybug's surprised when his hands come to hold her own. "Hey, as long as you know you're meowne," he smiles. "And I'm yours— I don't see a problem with it."

She's about to thank him, when he suddenly continues. "You know, this wouldn't be an issue if you just told me who you were…"

"You know I can't do that."

"But you know my true identity!" Adrien argues, gesturing to himself. "I don't understand why I can't know yours."

"I know because I'm the Guardian," Ladybug tries to reason with him. "That's the reason I know everyone else who holds it—"

"But I'm not like them." Adrien finally argues, sighing as the words leave his mouth. "We got our Miraculous together. We were partners, before we became a team of superheroes. I was here for you, with you, since the beginning. And… I thought you trusted me."

The last part comes almost as a whisper, but she can hear it loud and clear. Ladybug takes a deep breath and shifts, staring him in the eye. "I do trust you," she attempts to explain. "It's just… complicated."

"What is?!"

"I don't want you to be disappointed with me!" Ladybug finally shouts, shrinking back as her statement hangs in the air.

Adrien's at a loss for words, and before he can even attempt to respond, Ladybug tears her hands away and stands. When he gets his bearings, she's already one foot outside the window.

"I'm sorry," she only says. "I think I just… I just need to process everything." Ladybug smiles, though it's evidently conflicted. "I'll see you soon, Chat."

Then, without another word, she leaves.

.

.

Marinette paces in front of the cafe, thumbs twiddling together in apparent nervousness.

Her mind's full. She can't concentrate on the impending date at all— her conversation with Adrien, with Chat Noir, still as fresh in her memory, replaying in her mind as if it were a bad omen.

She yawns, a direct result of a dire lack of sleep. Marinette spent the majority of the night speaking with Tikki, seeking her advice on the matter; and her only response was, "listen to your heart".

Marinette knows what her heart says. What her heart yearns for.

She just doesn't know if she has the strength to say it.

When a stranger calls her, it takes three times for him to say her name until she notices.

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng?"

That was probably her date, then.

Holding back the intense need to snap at him, Marinette takes a deep breath. She smiles, then turns toward him.

"Yes, that's me. You're Nino's friend, the—?"

She pauses.

Everything seems to slow down and fade away. The world stills. Her mind stops.

All she can see is him.

"I— uh," Adrien scratches his head. "Yeah, that's me. Sorry, I had no idea this was a date, Nino just told me I was meeting a friend until a few minutes ago, and…," he flounders.

Now that was familiar.

"I'm just in love with someone else, so I don't think I can go through with this, I'm so sorry I made you come all this way—"

"You always did apologize too much."

Adrien looks up, evidently confused. "I'm sorry, have we met before…?"

"So you love me, but you can't recognize me at all, huh?"

"No way…"

Marinette smiles, and it's a mix of nervousness and excitement and fear and love and everything else all at once. "Hi, kitty," she begins. "I hope this isn't too disappointing, but…"

She can't say another word, because suddenly she's being scooped up and carried as Adrien holds her in his arms. He's beaming, and his eyes are almost overflowing with joy.

Marinette feels her heart full. When he sets her down, his hands never leave her waist.

"Milady," he breathes, burying his nose into her neck. "I love you— so much."

"My chaton," Marinette replies, full of care. Full of joy. Full of admiration and awe that this was truly happening. That the fates had worked completely in their favor.

"I love you too."

[blxwjobsforclones]

Betting - Din Djarin x reader

Warnings: Smut, and Mando being a cute boy

Words: 4201

Tags: @littlevodika @hxldmxdxwn @maulieber

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

We were in the middle of space, three hours away from the nearest planet. We had been traveling together for about eight months and if someone had ever told me that they would end up in a Razor Crest, with a Mandalorian and a baby of an unknown species who had clear Jedi skills, I would not have believed him. I would have asked him how much alcohol he had drunk and would have dispensed it quickly. Yet here he was, deep in that strange situation, from which he had no intention of leaving soon.

A situation that knew how it would end.

I accepted, or rather, I offered to help Mando, who lately insisted that he call him by his real name, Din Djarin, in his "adventure" of taking the adorable baby with his family. First because it was obvious that she did not know much about children and second and more importantly, he had taken an unconditional love for the little boy and was more than willing to risk my life for his safety.

My relationship with Din Djarin had become somewhat ... complex. We had become a kind of parent for the baby, each in her role and that had united us deeply. Not to mention the countless occasions when we had fought together and saved each other's lives. We definitely had a pretty strong bond. Thanks to that, he had managed to get his to open up with me, enough to tell me about his culture and his past. Mandalorian customs were very interesting, like the topic of the helmet, we ate separately so that he could have a quiet lunch and take it off without worries. I was completely unaware of his face, but I had gotten so used to his deep voice, to the point where I had come across as sexy at times. I sighed, complicated fell short.

I finished putting the blaster in the armory after I had cleaned it and went up the stairs to the ship's cabin. The little boy was asleep in his capsule, which we had repaired between the two a few days ago to make it more comfortable and he was snoring softly, completely oblivious to our world.

I leaned back into Din Djarin's seat slowly.

“Has the child been asleep for a long time?”

He touched a few buttons on the control table and then turned the seat to turn, did not give me time to move, so I was a second away from stumbling. His hand suddenly appeared to grab me, circling my waist and pressing against him, causing me to end up sitting on his lap. Instinctively I leaned against his chest and we stood there paralyzed for a few seconds. I looked directly at him or I think, it was difficult to know with his helmet, from the way he tilted his head I think he was looking back at me.

"Sorry." I cleared my throat loudly.

“You're good?”

I nodded, perhaps with too much energy. I had never been so close to anyone, much less sitting on top ... He removed his hand from the small of my back very slowly, automatically I felt a kind of emptiness. I got up, putting some distance between us, taking a quick look at the little one. He was still snoring peacefully.

"Just ten minutes ago." I looked at Mando again, frowning. "The boy has just fallen asleep. From your breathing I'd say you don't plan to wake up anytime soon. Maybe we can sleep for a few hours straight.

“That would be a novelty”

“And you say so. I think he'll be more comfortable downstairs and so will we. I need to get up from this seat for a while”

I smiled at him sincerely and took the little boy very careful not to wake him, he fit me perfectly in one arm. I placed it on the cushion of the ship's single bed, a place designed only for sleeping. Din Djarin had accommodated him for the baby before we met and had placed a rather large training mat on the floor in front of the door. A mat on which we took turns sleeping and watching. We had been wandering through enemy territory for the past few months, this was the first time we had not been in danger, so perhaps we could relax a bit. I closed the security hatch so that the child did not wake up with the least noise we could make and I turned.

Mando was already there, occupying one of the brass boxes that we used as seats and I think he was waiting for me. I sat across from him and unthinkingly planted my elbow on top of the other box we used as a table. He bowed his head, I would like to know if he ever smiled, I hoped yes, he was the most mysterious guy I had ever met in my life. I did, provocatively. He mimicked my movement by bringing his arm closer.

“Are you sure?”

“Are you afraid of losing, Mando?”

We put our hands together.

“I already told you that you don't have to call me that”

We close our fingers tight

"Does anyone else know your real name besides me?" He shook his head, surprising me a little.

“Not only you. I had never told anyone. Last chance”

I widened the smile, trying not to be distracted by his answer.

“I do not think to retire. Do you want to bet something?”

He shrugged slightly as I held on to my seat so as not to lose my balance when we started.

“There is nothing I want to bet against you, (Y/N). Maybe the cleaning of the ship ...” Was he kidding? It was the first time he had joked with me.

"Done, because I do want to bet something." He cocked his head to one side in a curious gesture. "A question." There is something I want to ask you for a long time, it is not personal, just curiosity, but I do not know if you will answer it, for the whole subject of the Creed of the Mandalorians.

“Cleaning against a response. Done. Ready?”

“Prepared”

And then we both press and push to the opposite side, our hands barely moving. I had been educated in combat since I was a child, my training was hard and yours was. We were practically on boards. And there we stay for the next few minutes. We had resistance capacity and we shared the stubbornness. I clenched my teeth.

“You are mine, Din Djarin.”

“Do you want to double the bet?" His voice sounded harsh, as if he was also clenching his teeth.

“I have enough with what I have.”

And then it happened, after a little bit of pressure, my hand twisted to the opposite side, I put up as much resistance as possible, but my arm ended up hitting the table. I released the air he had been holding and raised both hands in front of him in surrender, looking at him.

“I bow to the winner, but I warn you that there will be a rematch.”

“Anytime.”

I really hoped he was smiling under that pretty helmet. I leaned back a little.

"Well, what part do I have to clean?"

"Actually the dirtiest thing is the landing ramp and the drive wheels, that they run out of oil can be a problem"

"It seems fair to me."

I got up to fulfill the bet, but his hand on my wrist stopped me.

"I didn't say it has to be now, (Y/N). I am more curious"

I frowned, returning to my seat, really intrigued.

"Your question."

I raised an eyebrow, smiling slightly.

"But I lost the bet."

He reached up a gloved hand and brushed a lock of hair from my eyes, leaving me a little surprised. That ... it had been an extremely tender gesture, which he had not done until now and had just carried out as if nothing had happened.

"I would have answered your question anyway. With or without a bet, go ahead."

"Agree. You have told me a lot about Mandalorian culture and I find it fascinating, but there have been certain topics that you have never commented on ..."

He nodded, leaning a little closer to me.

"What do you want to know?"

"The Mandalorians not only care for orphans, but also for their own children, as you once said."

"So is."

"That means that the Mandalorians get married or ... at least they have relationships ..." I cleared my throat. "... intimate with other Mandalorians. Which logically implies that you remove your helmet in front of another person, is that the only case where that is allowed to happen?"

He tensed a little. I couldn't know him from his facial expressions, obviously, but from his physical postures. I don't know what he was expected to ask her but that probably won't. It took him a few long seconds to respond and when he did, his tone of voice had decreased, it was softer and more serious at the same time, my only clue to know his mood and that was unknown to me.

"Yes. It is the only case. Creed Mandalorians are paired for life, believe it or not, so only that other person can see their faces and perhaps their own children when they are very young, but it is not usual."

"How do they know?"

My curiosity about his culture was beginning to worry me, but I had told him practically everything about mine. She was in favor of reciprocal relationships.

"The what?"

"Well ... whether or not they can remove the helmet with that other person. Let's see, I am not saying that they are all like this, since you are the only Mandalorian I have ever met, but you do not seem a very open people with the subject of emotions. No offense. And also, it gives me that there has to be some ritual or special tradition to communicate to the other person that you are in love."

The breastplate of his chest rose as he took a deep breath.

"Yes, there is a ... traditional way." I didn't know if he was going to leave it there or if he would tell me everything, but the intrigue of his prolonged silence suddenly made me nervous. He was not at all prepared for her next words, even though his voice was firm and there was no doubt in it. "The way to tell that person that you are hopelessly in love with her, is to tell her your real name, the one you were born with."

The air stayed in my lungs. But ... that meant that ... He ... he was ...? I knew his real name, I was the only one who knew ...

"Din Djarin ..." I muttered more to myself than anything else, but of course he had listened to me

"Yes." My mind was a bustle of thoughts from here to there and everyone ended up in Command.

"When you told me the first time you seemed to be nervous and I didn't understand why ..." I wasn't able to take my eyes off the crack of his helmet.

"Never, in all my life, had this happened to me with anyone, (Y/N). In reality it is something unusual for Mandalorians, establishing this type of relationship is not common. That does not mean that my feelings are not clear."

I didn't know what the hell to say to that. I stood there, processing his words. He waited with infinite patience for me to react, what he felt was confusing and profound and he did not fully understand it. What he was clear about was that he doubted that he could maintain the connection that he had with him with any other person. So I got up, moved the armchair away from the middle with a movement of the foot and stood in front of him, raised his head to look at me from his height. I took a breath.

"My name is (Y/N) (S/N)." He nodded softly and I raised my hands to hold his helmet on both sides. Beskar was the coldest metal I had ever touched. I swallowed hard, tremendously nervous.

He nodded again. He knew this was a gigantic step, no one, no one else had seen his face since she was twelve years old. He had not revealed his face to a single living being, as his Creed dictated. And there I was, holding up that representative helmet so that I could look him in the eye. Retaining the air in my lungs, I removed it entirely and set it gently aside before looking at him. When I did, I bumped into an attractive dark-haired, brown-eyed man with a small goatee-shaped beard around his mouth. He was ... exotic, I couldn't think of another word to describe him, I hadn't met anyone with those traits

For the first time, as far as I knew, we looked each other directly in the eye. And something I had never felt in my whole life exploded in my chest. The connection that I had created in my mind was real, very real. Without being very aware of it, I stroked his cheek, feeling his skin against mine. He sighed against my palm, still watching me

"You have beautiful eyes, Din Djarin."

"Nothing comparable to your beauty."

Hearing him speak without the echo of the helmet was tremendously pleasant. Her voice was so much softer without him. His words were loaded with sincerity and affection. I leaned down, not sure how to do that, but decidedly I framed his face with both hands and slowly approached, closing the space that separated us. I had to get down on my knees to be able to keep up with him, our noses brushed, suddenly we shared the same air. His intense brown eyes looked decisively at my mouth, once again he brushed a few strands of hair and held them at the nape of my neck with his hand. And then he leaned in. Our mouths were just a few millimeters apart, the anticipation of that act was killing me ... We moved at once.

Our lips barely touched at first, I couldn't even remember the last time I had kissed a man, but that minimal contact was unmatched. His mouth moved against mine, intensifying the sensations a little, I had no idea if this was the first time he had kissed a woman, but if it was, he was not bad at all.

How could something so delicate be so fucking intense?

I kissed him back, our lips moving curiously, feeling and exploring. We ran out of air, but it didn't matter. I tangled my fingers in his hair, it was really straight and soft, he did the same on the nape of my neck, caressing my cheek with the other gloved hand. In the end we parted in a gasp, trying to breathe, face to face. We looked at each other and the intensity of those pretty brown eyes managed to melt me ​​inside. Without stopping to think about it, I approached him again, he replied passionately. This second kiss became a little more expert, more demanding, we let ourselves be carried away by it. I parted my lips, brushing hers with my tongue, getting an immediate response when our tongues met midway. At the time that happened I felt as if a lot of bombs had exploded in my stomach, pressing on my belly.

I clung to him, who, taking me by surprise, grabbed me by the hips making me straddle his legs. Still kissing me, he pulled his hands away from me for a second so he could remove his gloves, then brought them back to my back, hitting me. I bit his lower lip, tugging on it and in response he took control of my mouth, sighing in it with desire. I got as close as I could, realizing that our numerous layers of clothing were beginning to be a nuisance. So with some awkwardness, I reached for the clasps on his breastplate and playing along, Din Djarin began to untie the laces that held my corset.

We took off our superficial clothes while still kissing each other, both sides fell to the ground loudly since they were reinforced with metal plates. I ran my hands over his chest covered only by a shirt, realizing that that breastplate concealed a strong and worked body, Mandalorian training was effective for it I guess. I think everything we had been holding back for the last eight months exploded at once, especially when his fingers slipped under the fabric of my shirt, caressing my sides, slowly lifting the garment. My hands became fists on his shoulders. He cut our stifling kiss delicately, giving me a little respite. His thumbs brushed the sensitive skin on the bottom of my breasts ...

"may l?"

His voice was deep and tremendously sensual. I was wondering if I could get naked and I didn't want anything else at the moment. I nodded, biting the inside of my cheek and raising my arms to let him do it. He gently took it from me, throwing it into a minor place. He watched me, releasing the air I was holding. His eyes slowly rose to meet mine.

"You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen, (Y/N)."

He leaned forward and placed a sweet kiss on my collarbone, just above my breasts. His hands returned to my skin, down my hips, caressing me. I shuddered in his arms. He had assumed it was his first time doing this, but now he was no longer so sure.

I sighed loudly when his lips found my left nipple and kissed it provocatively. It was an incredible feeling that made me shiver, the pressure in my lower abdomen increased and I wriggled on her legs. It was my turn, his shirt was a nuisance at the time. I yanked her up onto his back, Din Djarin did the work for me, pulling apart for a second to take it off, letting me see her fibrous body. I automatically ran my hands over his torso. He had some scars here and there, obtained in some combat without a doubt. But it was ... sexy. I think I had never thought that a man was sexy, at least not the ones I had known in my life until now. His hand reappeared on my cheek, pulling me toward him. We kissed and this time I leaned in close, sticking my half-naked body to his, sitting on top of his hips. I immediately felt what our closeness had awakened in him and I liked it, I liked it very much. His open palm wandered down my back, down to my ass. I groaned into his mouth as he squeezed gently.

Then Mando wrapped an arm around my waist and lifted us both effortlessly, taking us somewhere I couldn't see, I was too busy with the dance that kept our tongues. He knelt with me tangled in him, the soft blanket we put on the training mat contacted my back. He lay on top of me holding onto his hands so that I didn't have to support his weight. A primitive sound escaped from his throat when I made him descend a little more, with my legs on his hips, hitting our most sensitive areas. That sound sent a direct shock to my lower abdomen, drawing a deep sigh in response. Suddenly our hands were everywhere on each other's body, caressing and provoking in their wake. I left his lips, bringing my mouth to his neck, bit him carefully, Din Djarin groaned against my ear and was not far behind in our erotic game.

He moved forward, creating a delicious friction between our most intimate parts. Despite his pants and mine I felt like he had given me a real shock. It seems that we decided at the same time that they were hindering, since I brought my fingers to the closure of his just as he unbuttoned mine. He gave me a deep kiss before sitting up to take them off, getting rid of mine on the way. Now yes, we were completely naked facing each other. We stood there, looking deeply into each other's eyes, with a primitive desire written in them. He leaned towards me but I didn't allow him to descend again, I sat up, holding onto his shoulders and wrapping my legs around his hips, sitting on top of him. His right arm covered part of my back, holding me against him, his other hand caressed my cheek with infinite delicacy, while I put my arms around his neck.

"Are you sure?"

"More than anything else"

He nodded and kissed me as intimately as possible. I got down and he pushed. We whimpered in each other's mouths, Maker, it was too incredible a feeling to not carry it out more often. When Mando was inside me we remained immobile for a few seconds, just kissing each other, getting used to that deep union. So I wrapped my fingers around the nape of his neck and he squeezed my hips and we started to move.

At first the rhythm we set was slow, smooth and provocative, when the sensations began to take their toll on both of us, our calm dance turned into an almost wild dance. I put a hand on the mat to keep my balance and he ended up on his knees, holding us both. Our grunts and groans bounced off the walls of the ship, nothing else existed in the world, just us. I descended faster, meeting him halfway, desperately craving that deep friction. His mouth was everywhere, my jaw, my neck, my breasts ... I didn't know where he got the concentration to kiss me like that, when I was so lost in it, that I was hardly aware of anything else but us. I couldn't tell how long it had been, when a nice whirlpool began to form in my lower belly and I let him know by pressing closer against his hips. Apparently he was not far behind me.

He possessed my mouth as we both came amid a scream of pleasure. After that I dropped completely backwards, completely ecstatic. Din Djarin descended with me, holding himself on his elbows above me, I could feel his breathing as fast as mine. He bit down on my chin sweetly, demanding my attention. I kissed him and that kiss was an unwritten declaration of everything I felt for him, even of which I had not been aware until now. When he finished he hugged me, burying his face in my neck, his naked body on top of mine, completely relaxed, like I'd never seen him before. I ran my fingers through his hair in slow, loving circles.

When he raised his head to look at me, a pretty, wide smile framed his lips. I returned it without hesitation.

(masterlist)

[missmeltycat]

i see u have an oc for the real ghostbusters!!! i dunno if u already paired them or anything but can u do some pairing headcanons for each guy and janine maybe too??

Ohhh wow. OK. This is definitely an interesting challenge. Amusingly, waaaaay back when (We are talking a long time ago) she was paired with Egon, but I have made a number of changes since then and she’s not now.

OK, let’s do this! *Cracks knuckles*

Egon Spengler

Probably takes a LOT of time to actually get anywhere because... Well... It’s Egon!

Either happens as a moment of experimentation seeing if there’s anything between them worth pursuing or not, or part of an adrenaline rush moment.

GUILT. REGRET. “OH GOD WHAT HAVE I DONE! I’M NORMALLY SO LOGICAL!”

Sex? What’s that? Oh, that thing that only happens once in a blue moon?

Nights spent reading together. Egon tries to teach her things since she’s not a scientist like he is.

Kisses are quick and fleeting. Pecks and nips, rarely deeper unless adrenaline or hormones play a part.

Equipment experimentation made purely for Rae’s build and work method.

Love language of reminding the other to eat/drink/sleep. Cleaning of glasses. Maintaining fitness equipment.

Night’s out at the opera/theatre.

Dates at the museum. Egon explaining in great depth about everything.

Rae dragging him to the gym. He doesn’t enjoy it until she gets him to think about it from a scientific and biological standpoint. (He wears a sweatband.)

Yes. Problems with Janine. Oh boy.

Arguments are quick, never long-lasting. Usually a sudden explosion of irrational anger, followed by parting ways in different rooms and coming together with apologies laced with tremendous guilt.

Rae’s family are pretty pleased with Rae’s choice.

Pros:

Sweet and considerate pairing

Comfortable silences and just existing in each other’s spaces

Mutual respect

Maturity

Dependability

Cons:

Janine conflict

Occasional fights due to differences in interests and intellect

Late nights make for cranky people

Egon is all logic, Rae is all muscle - Technically opposites

Egon’s attitude could rub Rae the wrong way, as it can come off as slightly big-headed

Rae can be a bit rough. Egon not so much - Ouch!

Peter Venkman

Probably happens after a fight. Sudden!

Lots of angry, make up sex

Huge amount of flirting

Dates to fast food joints, pizza parlours and ice-cream shops. Possibly music venues

Fights over expenses. Let’s face it. If Peter can get out of paying, he will

Playful punch-u-punch-me matches that usually end up with Peter with bruised arms

“Goals? How many places we can do it in. The storage locker is next!”

Bets. Lots of bets. “Ten bucks says Ray can’t X.” “Ten bucks says Egon messes up.” “Ten bucks says Slimer eats X.” Occasionally “Ten bucks and I’ll eat X” and “Ten bucks says you can’t lift X, Rae!”

Gaming. Competitive gaming. Peter will sulk if he loses.

Evenings spent sleeping happily

Table hockey with utensils and condiments

Kisses are passionate, dirty, messy, lots of tongue

Love language? You mean making out lots? Yeah, that...

No shame in PDA, but not sentimental in nature. More like copping feels

No pressure. More like friends with benefits.

Arguments are usually about Peter’s flirting, or immaturity. They last a while and always end as if they never happened.

Rae is active, Peter prefers slobbing when he can. Rae tries to get him active, he tries to get her to chill more.

Creativity in the form of music. When people say they’ll make sweet music together? They were wrong in this case. Terrible music is more like it. But it’s all good fun.

Rae’s family are charmed by Peter. Wary, but charmed nonetheless.

Pros:

Fun and humour

Amazing physical encounters

No pressure or expectations

Passion

Creativity

Cons:

Immaturity

Overly flirtatious with others (Peter)

Lazy and active don’t mix all that well

Hot tempers

Trust issues

Ray Stantz

Known as ‘The Rays’

Lots of shy glances (Ray)

Self-confidence issues and inadequacy worries (Ray) because Rae works out and he’s... Ray

Anxious confessions

Sweetness, consideration, caring words and actions

Absolutely 100% serious. No room for messing about when it starts

Love language of soft touches, fingers over the hair, face cupping and cheek stroking... Oh and FOOD!

Nights spent on the sofa in blankets and PJs with popcorn

Sex? “Oh boy, are you sure? I mean, are you a hundred percent sure you wanna? I’m not hurting you am I? Am I squishing you too much? Sorry, was that right?”

Cook together a lot. Ray isn’t quite as good, so Rae (Who is knowledgeable on nutrition since she works out etc) often finishes off the dishes and lets him take credit

Dates could be anything. It doesn’t need to be fancy, as long as they’re together.

Kisses are sweet, tender, passionate without being over the top and usually combine with fingers in hair

Mutual respect and love/fascination of the paranormal, ghosts and creatures

Alternating big spoon, little spoon and always very comfortable

Fights? Not very often, but usually doesn’t last long and ends in flowers, chocolates and lots of snuggles

Soft neck kisses, breathless terms of endearment, wandering hands, confidence boosting body worship

Rae lifting Ray with one arm for training, resulting in gushing

Fawning, doodling, love-sick teen type behaviour

Comfortably discuss the future together without awkwardness

Rae’s family are surprised by Rae’s choice, but are absolutely happy with him

Pros:

Sweet and caring

Dependable and loyal

Kind to animals, ghosts and other such creatures

Willingness to always be better

Cons:

Self-confidence issues

Sometimes naive

Occasional know-it-all behaviour

Curiosity that almost kills the cat

Can’t cook so well and has questionable ingredient choices that border on imminent food poisoning danger (Ray)

Winston Zeddemore

Happens smoothly, gradually over time as the pair gain the bond naturally through companionship

Chill as fuck, but absolutely committed and serious

Love language of gifts and showing off in public

Dates at ball games and other sporting events, sometimes at sports bars showing various games

Clubs and music venues until extremely late

Workout buddies

Love to tease Peter together

Will chill out to horror movies together on the couch

Sex is passionate, but considerate, full of respect but occasionally borders on kinky. Sometimes in the shower. Did that door get locked? Oops!

Will discuss relationship stuff anywhere, no shame

Kisses are deep, long-lasting, skin-tinglingly good

Sports in the park on afternoons off

Will gladly spot Rae when she lifts weights

Games of catch with equipment and contests with how far or how high things can be thrown

Rae cooks his favourite meal every month just because

He will give her full body massage after her workouts

Arguments are strong, as they are both strong willed people. They last a little longer than they probably should, with lots of huffing and passing messages through other people. Making up, though, always the best part

Mutual enjoyment of harder music genres

Rae tries to encourage him to be more active in the group, as he’s sometimes overshadowed by the others

Always help each other out and share chores equally

Nudes exchanged. Absolutely

Rae’s family take to him quite quickly and are absolutely pleased

Pros:

Active

Mutual respect

Openly proud and shows off the other

Responsible 

Loving and passionate

Open to new ideas

Cons:

Strong personalities, so sometimes clash

Sometimes shies away from challenges

Some PTSD issues (From the canonical military experience)

His passion for things sometimes trump other things, such as date nights or other promises

Janine Melnitz

This one was a random one and happened as a result of harmless flirting at the reception desk, probably as an assurance that Rae wasn’t after Egon, but it ended in something surprising for both

Bitching to each other about the guys a lot, a little club of two

Janine drags Rae shopping a lot, mostly to spend time together, but also because Rae can actually carry the shopping with no problem with her muscles

Dates at fancy restaurants and wine bars where Janine gets dressed up and Rae feels uncomfortable in a dress

Janine will offer to give her make overs, which always amuses the guys

Love language of comforting hugs, washing each others hair, giving each other shoulder massages, doing small things such as put incense on when the other is feeling stressed out and little notes left around for each other to find

Mail order flowers

Both of their apartments become used equally as bases and it’s never known which they will be at at any given point

Arguments are loud and sometimes vicious in nature, which prompts the guys to demand they make up. Usually ends with crying and hugging and huge apologies

Nights binging series or movies with pizza, ice-cream and soda

Will both kick Peter’s ass if he’s not careful

Intimacy is usually sweet and loving, but with a spark of passion. And, yes, absolutely open to others to join... By others Janine means Egon

Kisses are sudden and big smooches, or quick pecks on the fly

Janine will phone to make sure Rae is OK when out on assignment, sometimes becoming a nuisance. She will also threaten everyone to look after her, or she’ll kick the crap out of them

Rae’s family are a little shocked over her choice, but completely pleased with Janine.

Pros:

Playful banter

Reliable, responsible and loyal

Conscious of feelings

Pretty badass, let’s face it

Cons:

Cranky and overly emotional 

Jealous

Sometimes clumsy to the point of endangerment

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One: Magical Loopholes

Chapter 26: Helpful Unsettling Progress

His experimenting was paying off. Every day, every night, every hour was all about finding his loophole, finding his way across the border and back to his son. The beakers he'd taken to the town line to collect pieces of the magic proved to be the most useful, so useful he'd gone back and collected even more on them to experiment with. It was necessary experimentation. The Curse was magic that had never been cast before, which meant that being broken in the way it had been, there would be no spells to fix it. He was going to have to find his own loophole, make his own magic to combat it. The first step in making custom magic? He had to know what he needed. He had to look at the magic he had to go up against, so he knew what to do to counter it. The result of his experimentation was knowledge, learning more and more about the magic surrounding the town at its borders. He'd learned quite a few things from his experiments.

First, the magic at the boundary appeared similar to the Curse that held Storybrooke in thrall for decades. It was magic that fed off itself and other magic, probably coming off the town now. That simple fact meant that the magic at the town line wasn't an impenetrable barrier, as Belle had suggested earlier. In fact, it was the opposite of a protective wall. It was a cage. The magic at the boundary would leach magic from anything or anyone magical if they crossed it. It would do this to sustain itself, to keep itself fueled and working. People in Storybrooke were from a magical realm, and they were walking around magic all the time now. For any citizen of Storybrooke, walking through it was like moving through a magical detoxifying wash.

This information left him with two important conclusions to begin working with his magic on. The first was that whatever magic he used to get through the town line either had to be so strong it would overwhelm the barrier so he could walk through and keep his magic, or the magic that he used had to mask his magic somehow to make the magic at the border believe there was nothing there to take. The second thing he could work on was a protection spell, one that was strong enough to cover the town. He wasn't sure if that information was going to help him cross the border to find Bae. In fact, he didn't even think he needed to begin work on it until after he returned. But he knew that because of how the magic at the border worked, everyone in Storybrooke, including Belle and eventually Baelfire, would be helpless against any outside forces that decided to show. People outside of Storybrooke who were not around strong magic in their day-to-day lives, they could come into Storybrooke without risk of losing anything on the way out. That could be irrelevant. It could be that nothing ever came to pass from it, but he'd rather be safe than sorry.

The second problem he encountered with the magic at the town line was a problem that he hadn't actually seen for himself because he'd been taking extra care not to touch the magic he collected in the beakers until he understood it a bit more. It was the problem he'd only heard about from David. The problem of memories. He hadn't experimented with that yet; he didn't know why the border took memories as it sought to strip people of magic, but he had some theories and a couple of conclusions based on what he'd heard.

First and foremost…he wasn't about to even try and take Belle with him over that line. So far that he knew, there was only one dwarf who had gone through it. Dwarves, in addition to carrying the remnants of a magical town with them, were innately magical. The magic would have fed on that first. He didn't know what would happen if a normal, non-magical human, like Belle, crossed over the line. Would it affect her differently? Identically? He didn't know. And he wasn't willing to experiment with her to find out. Second, his magic was more powerful than a dwarf's magic. Until he knew whether that was better or worse, he couldn't experiment with it on himself either. As far as where he might go after that, he didn't know, but it was enough to be called "a start."

At the very least, he had to design magic that would be very strong or very weak, that would protect memories while keeping them intact, and in the future, he would need a protection potion great enough to protect the town. It wasn't a lot to go on, but it was enough. He was proud of himself…until he found his way back to Belle again.

Belle made him remember.

He found her one afternoon in the kitchen surrounded by chaos. The table was set for two, the place smelled of dinner, and there was a casserole on the stove, but there were shards of something broken all over the floor, and he could see steam beginning to rise from a kettle that would begin to whistle any second now on the burner. And there was Belle was at the sink holding arm under the faucet.

"What happened here?!"

"Burned myself," she mumbled while she shook her head. His stomach gave an uncomfortable squeeze. She was hurt.

"Let me see," he demanded, shutting off the water and holding out his hand for her.

"It's fine."

It most certainly was not fine. Raw, red, angry skin that would no doubt blister if he didn't fix it marred her arm. He rallied his magic to heal her but was distracted when the tea kettle finally began its whistling. Instinct assessed each task to be done, and he left her side to pull the kettle off the stove before anything caught fire and they had a bigger problem. All the while his feet crunched on whatever was broken on the ground. It was only then that he realized her own feet were bare.

"What broke?"

"A teacup," she responded with frustration in her voice. He'd had a good day at the shop doing his work. Her tone made him suspect she'd had the opposite.

"Let me see," he repeated, stepping back to look at her arm. This time, when he gathered his magic for healing, he let it move over her skin, making it perfect and pure and whole once more. It wouldn't even scar. With a bit more magic, the shattered teacup was restored, sitting perfectly upon the counter, ready for use, and her feet were protected. All was well again. He looked up at her, expecting to find relief. Instead, she pulled her arm free, crossed them both over her chest, and leaned back against the sink. The frustration wasn't just in her voice. It was in her face too.

"You didn't have to do that," she commented.

He stepped away from her. She was angry. With herself or with him or the day, he didn't know yet, but he could feel that she was angry and upset about something. He made sure to keep his eyes on her so they wouldn't drift to the basement door. Did she know?

"It's not a problem."

"You didn't need magic for a teacup! It's too much a temptation-"

"Too much a temptation to make sure you don't injure yourself on a shard of broken glass or stay in pain from a burn?!" he questioned. She was angry because he'd used magic to clean and heal? She wanted to stay hurt? To have to clean up the mess? To risk cutting her feet?

"Ice, cool water, and a bandage would have worked just fine for that."

"You would prefer to remain injured?" he questioned, knowing that it was a trap. The only answer in this case was "yes" or "no". She wasn't a sadist who enjoyed pain, so he knew that the answer wasn't "yes." That only left "no", which was why he healed her. And suddenly, he felt as if her mood were rubbing off on him because he was beginning to feel irritated too. Why were they arguing about this? Why were they arguing at all?

"I would prefer not to have to rely on magic for the slightest things! You know how I feel about magic, and you know better than to use it on anything…even the smallest of things! Before you know it, it'll consume you again!"

He stared at her silently for a moment. Her words, her tone…she was picking a fight, and that wasn't like her at all. Not to mention it was a fight that he couldn't understand. Yes, he had a feeling he knew her opinion about magic which was why he practiced it after she went to sleep, but they'd never had a conversation before about temptation, and he'd never promised not to use it. Her argument was weak and fueled by something else, he suspected.

"Is something wrong?"

"I don't suppose things are better in town?"

"Unstable," he answered automatically, without even thinking about it. It wasn't a lie. Things might have been better, but it was still too unstable for his tastes to take her there. There was too much risk, too much danger, and far too much at stake. She asked every day, but she never questioned him like this.

"Still? After all this time, the town hasn't put itself back together yet, hasn't calmed down in the slightest?!"

"With Mary Margaret and Emma gone?! With David in charge and Regina running free?! No, Belle, what do you expect?!"

"And you've had no word on the whereabouts of my father or Gaston?"

"I told you I took care of it, didn't I?!" he spat as his stomach clenched. For a second, a very brief second, he almost wondered if that was what this was about. If she'd somehow discovered that "taking care of it" meant throwing both her portraits away first thing when he'd gotten to work. But logic told him there was no chance that could happen. No one knew she was here, no one knew the drawings had existed, no one would have told her, at least not without him knowing. "It's going to take some time Belle!"

Her chest rose and fell with a great sigh as she stared at him. He could see her jaw moving, the way she was biting at her cheeks and mouth almost nervously. But she never said anything. Just stood there looking at him, like she expected something.

"Belle, why don't you just tell me what's wrong. Tell me what's bothering you so I can fix it!"

She took a few shallow, calming breaths, looked around the kitchen, and swallowed. "I'm bored, Rumple," she stated quietly. "I want to leave this place. I want to do something besides sit here all day, besides feel like I'm still just a caretaker!"

She wasn't a caretaker! Cooking and cleaning, he hadn't wanted her to do those things; she'd done them on her own. He'd told her a dozen times!

"I've never asked-"

"I know!" she shouted. "I know you didn't ask me to do those things, but if I don't, then what else am I supposed to do all day?!"

And that was the problem. This place for them was inevitable because she was right. He didn't want her to be a caretaker, but if he didn't take her out, then what else was she supposed to do.

She was growing restless.

She didn't want to be cooped up in the house all day. She wanted to be out, exploring the town, meeting people, seeing the world. He wanted that for her, truly he did. But with Regina free and Mary Margaret and Emma Swan still not back from wherever they'd disappeared to, not to mention Belle's inexperience, taking her out into the world scared the shit out of him.

Things were better in town, he knew that. Ever since David and Regina had tangled and they'd made the discovery about the town line, there was a change in Storybrooke. Things were almost starting to feel normal again. Kids were going to school, the buses ran on schedule, Town Hall was open though he was aware that Regina had been asked to step down because one morning he'd awoken to find a copy of the Mirror freshly printed and on his doorstep for the first time since the Curse broke. On Main Street, businesses alongside him were opening again, Granny's appeared to be packed with usual patrons, there was a clean-up in process, roads were being repaved, lights that the wraith had destroyed were being replaced. If there was ever a time to take Belle to town, it might have been now.

But he didn't trust it. He feared too many people would use her against him, and with a new goal of leaving Storybrooke in mind, he couldn't risk people discovering her, only to leave her vulnerable. And what if they ran into her father?!

Anonymity would be her greatest cover in the future. But she didn't know that yet because he still hadn't told her about Baelfire. He meant to. He wanted to. The opportunity had presented itself a few times, but the words never came out. He knew that until he told her, until he laid out his plan for her, it would be like this. He should just tell her! Now!

But then he heard a shuffle from across the room and realized that she'd pushed herself off the counter and was coming toward him. Just like she did every night when he came home, he found her arms around his neck. She held on longer than usual, long enough for him to finally shake himself from his stupor and put his arms around her, to realize that she'd gone soft against him.

"Tell me what to do," he begged in her ear.

The words should have been "I have something to tell you." They should have gone into the living room and talked about Baelfire. He should have explained it all to her right then and there. Instead, he just whispered, "tell me what to do to make you happy."

The answer wasn't what he wanted to hear.

"Nothing."

[fuckyeahharryhart]

PART 2 HARRY HART FAN FICTION Because they better give him a good story for the last Kingsman. In case they don’t, I wrote something myself.

PART 2

FAN FIC

KINGSMAN III: REDACTED

MULTI PART SERIES:(My version of Kingsman 3)

Harry Hart x Original Character

Warnings: Reference to violence

Word Count: 5,900

OVERVIEW: After the events of Kingsman, The Golden Circle, Harry, Eggsy and the rest of the survivors rebuild their agency to it’s former level of integrity. A new player arrives unexpectedly, carrying memories of the past that will change the future of Kingsman.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Harry and Eggsy try to discover who this new players is, how they were at the right place and the right time, and what they know about kingsman. A marksman of that caliber isn't someone to take lightly.

------

Bloody hell. Harry's hand was still stinging with heated pain from having his key fob, of all bloody things, shot out of hand. His knee was out of sorts from dropping, face down, to the pavement. Hearing gunshots ring out from, not one, but two different directions did not improve his mood or his state of mind.  Continuing to roll as he hit the ground, he switched to his side so he could draw his weapon. But first, he turned toward the direction of the original fire. That was the shooter who caught his interest. A marksman with the precision to shoot a key fob from that distance, within centimetres of his hand without (well without significant) injury was someone not to underestimate. He could make a shot like that. He had plenty of times at the Kingsman shooting range. But that was aiming at a non-moving target in a controlled environment, under the best of circumstances. The only other time he fired a shot that exacting was in Cambodia. While wrestling a certain Agent Whiskey for control of a firearm, he was able to free Eggsy from a lasso looped around his neck by shooting clean through the rope. He assumed landing that shot was 1/4 luck, 1/4 technique and 1/2 his sheer force of will.

Very few marksman possessed the natural talent, training and skill to land that shot. Even less in London proper and he was almost certain that all of those individuals even close to that level, were under Kingsman’s employ.

Under the cover of shadows and partially hidden by a gate column, he spotted the shooter. At the same time, the shooter spotted him and they made split second eye contact. Obviously, the shooter did not want to be witnessed judging from the displeased look that he had noted. But rather than ducking out of view, they kept their stance, provided cover fire until the area was cleared and the threat was gone. And then, without a moments hesitation, the person holstered their weapon and turned abruptly in the opposite direction and began to walk off with long, measured steps. He and Eggsy dusted themselves, gestured to the other, nodded and made off in opposite directions in the attempt to cut the person off at the path. As he smoothed down his suit and adjusted his cuffs, he was quite certain that he was never going to enjoy a peaceful evening again.

——

She didn’t waste valuable seconds checking her phone, grateful that she took the extra time to map her locations in her head. Quickly referring to her orientation, she saw three viable options. Directly in front of her was the Royal Academy. Though it was vast and beautiful and filled with courtyards and eaves, arches, doorways, ideal to drop a tail, it was also closed and quiet. There was no crowd to get lost in. A single person moving in that space would surely be noticed.

She weighed her two other options against each other. Both were about equal in distance. No more than a 10 min walk in either direction. To her right was Mayfair. Situated in the heart of the city, it was one of the most expensive and exclusive areas of London with swanky five-star hotels, shops, restaurants, bars and pubs. Bond Street was sure to be packed with people enjoying the nightlife. Perhaps in another lifetime she could enjoy an evening out in such a place. Not at the moment.

On the plus side, the streets were more random, intersecting at odd places, without the usual grid format. That gave her more exit options. They would less likely follow the same path. Downside, as much as she would enjoy an elegant evening out, she was not appropriately attired. Of course, there would be the usual strong of tourists and visitors that would be similarly inappropriately attired. Even though she would blend in with part of the crowd, she didn’t want to stand out in anyway. Plus, if she needed to tuck into a shop or a restaurant, she wanted to blend with the locals and not the tourists. And she wasn’t going to do that with her nondescript outfit.  Or, she would find herself in a situation where someone would ask to take her jacket. She would have to politely refuse because of her shoulder holster and her gun. They would insist. Then it would become an uncomfortable situation for everyone involved. Awkward and uncomfortable would be hard NOT to notice.

A ten minute walk to her left would drop her in ever trendy Soho. A little louder, a little more rowdy and relaxed, Soho was more happy hour than cocktail hour. The way there would have more traffic, both car and pedestrian, but it was also more direct and brightly lit. More importantly, she would be able to blend with the locals, not just the tourists. Maybe even slip into a pub or bar for the glass of wine she so desperately could use. There would be more viable places to manuever, evade, and find cover. More opportunity to lose a tail. And less likely for a messy confrontation.

Though she didn’t stick around long enough, she was fairly certain that the two men were following her.  She kept in mind that they were trained with the same skills and likely had the same natural talent and instincts as she did. Part of her plan was to move slightly against instinct, find the ideal move and then, proceed with something slightly different. But they had to be thinking the same thing.

Shit. The shooters might still be in the area. Depending on whether or not they had backup, if this was an isolated threat on a personal level or if was on an organisational level, she couldn’t be sure that the coast was clear in that direction. When in doubt, take precaution. There were too many unknowns, too many unanswered questions and her preference was to get away without further contact. Since she couldn’t do it clean, she wanted to avoid any additional messiness.

Typical, she thought, making her way through the last of the shoppers and the first of the evening revellers. At the moment she was making progress and feeling more in control of her circumstances, some prick with a gun comes in and has to spray bullets over all the blocks that she spent the last month building. With care and precision, she arranged and rearranged, stacking and re-stacking, until she had created a platform where she could make her move. All her variables were in place. She calculated the possible outcomes and was so close to having a plan. There was some satisfaction, knowing that she had put an equal damper on their scheme, but when success of their plan meant the death of two people, and her plans would only work if those two people were alive, It didn’t leave her much of a choice.

Evasion was as much about mindset as it was movement. She took a mental pause, reset her outlook. Plans only fail if you allowed them to fail.  Plans change and hers just did. Focus on clearing out first and then she could regroup and consider her options. If she let her frustrations distract her, she would end up missing details and she had not come this far to make bad decisions. Even in the smallest circumstances, she learned how to turn off emotions, cutting off thoughts and inconvenient emotions. Unfortunately, it was usually the thoughts about the situation she was in, that caused troubling emotions, such as her frustration at the turn of events. But if she walled off those thoughts for the time being, she would be more likely to operate with logic and clarity.

To her advantage, she had a head start, she knew the situation she was dealing with, two known variables on her tail, one unknown threat that could possibly be armed and still in the area. Likely, all three of them knew the area so there was no upper hand in that case. Two would be on foot, probably split to cover more area. It was to her disadvantage that there were two of them, but would be easier to confront them individually if it came to that.

She assumed that they also saw her as a threat. Regardless whether or not her actions had saved their lives, she was still an unknown, an armed and dangerous, one at that. She had to expect hostility, possibly aggression if confronted. It was a situation she would prefer to avoid.

Her steps were light and relaxed. She paced herself neither too fast, nor too slow. Rushing would call attention. She avoided looking around overtly, but she used her periphery to scan the people and places around her. On the plus side, two handsome men in Saville Row bespoke would definitely turn heads. Especially the tall one, who stood inches over the average person. They couldn’t take off their suit coats either. Not with their own weapons and shoulder holsters.

She took a quick left off the main road. A few blocks over and then she could make another turn toward Soho and break up the straight line she was currently traveling. Maybe stop in Central for a quick diversion. Stay on the move. Be aware of her surroundings. Those were her two priorities. Casually checking her 360 along the way by using any reflections she saw, footsteps, noises she heard, neck stretching every few steps to check blind spots. And for a little while, she did just fine.

That is, until she found herself caught in a standing rear choke hold. Fuck.

———

Wherever the hell this person had materialised from, Harry thought, these were not the customs of a novice agent. From weaponry, tactics and evasion, their actions were one hundred percent on point. They should be only a suggestion in the wind by now. The single reason he was able to catch them unaware was because of new Kingsman tech. Just developed, airborne nano GPS trackers. Designed to mark a large group of targets from a distance, they were tiny particles, almost invisible by the naked eye. Programmed to navigate toward the wavelengths of infrared radiation emitted by the human body, specifically at the signature of 12 micron.  Best for outdoor use, or in large open spaces, these capsules were broken and released into the air where the prevailing wind would transport the nano GPS transmitters and attach to the nearest known radiation signature. The tracking range could vary depending on the windspeed, air density and how many capsules were released. They were handy to track large crowd movement, not typically used to track a single person. But it was all he had on hand. Since the street was empty at the time, they had a good chance that some GPS attached. Using the process of elimination to rule out unintentional attachments, they could isolated the movement they were looking for. They were looking for someone who moved like a spy.

This person, whoever they were, made all of the decisions that he would have and then added some surprise evasion tactics that he wouldn’t have thought of. They surely would have gotten away if not for the trackers. It wasn’t absolutely necessary that they locate the person. But they were an unknown entity. He wasn’t sure if they were an adversary, an ally, or a neutral player. Neutral players were not known for being experts at tradecraft. That left adversary or ally. With the events of the past two years and the most recent destruction of Kingsman by the Golden Circle, unanswered questions usually returned on their own, carrying an unfavourable answer.  Granted, the person saved their lives, but they already knew too much of Kingsman. Knew of threats of which Kingsman was not aware. So when chance invited him to make a move, to quietly sneak behind the person at the last second, he took it.

——

This is not why I spent four weeks planning, she fumed silently. Her mood was grim. Of course it would be at this exact moment that she registered the slightest contact from behind, like a passing breeze brushing against her. But she knew displaced air when she felt it.  Based on her position, facing forward, added to the position he was in, directly behind her, also facing forward, that would have to equal a rear standing choke hold. Instantly, she countered, dropping her chin to her chest like it belonged there, denying him the chance to press his forearm against the front of her neck. A chokehold had two purposes, either to crush the windpipe, resulting in death. Not the outcome she was looking for. Or, to cut off blood to the brain via the carotid artery, leaving her unconscious. Which wasn’t much of a consolation prize. Either way, she had just about 12 seconds to act. Since both options were less than desirable, she shielded her throat as best she could and waited for the window were she could counter like a small, but fierce animal.

The strength of his grip said that he wasn’t going for either option, but told her he using the hold as a restraint. So, she had that going for her, she thought darkly. Yet, he still had the capacity to follow through on either option. There was no give to his grip. Twisting out of the hold was not an option without more leeway. Not one to be held in a vulnerable position, her goal was to escape. Several ways presented themselves, few of which incorporated an unrestrained elbow or kick to the groin. Her aim was not to incapacitate, regardless of how satisfying that may be, but to extricate herself.

Based on sheer size and strength, she was highly disadvantaged. But, as a woman in the field, only relying on your strength, you’d get beaten every time. Women didn’t have to fight harder. They had to fight smarter. Not only did she have to use her size and weight to her advantage, she had to use his size and strength against him. With the obvious discrepancy in height, not that she was short. Five foot nine made her taller than average, but at 6’ 2”, he was also taller than average. Her best option? Leverage. Literally.  Use him as lever. It was the move where he would be at a disadvantage and she would have the clear advantage. There was some consolation to be found, knowing they were also expert spies, but not enough to spare herself the embarrassment of being caught. Summoning her nerve, one deep inhalation, she thought, and she would be ready.

He smells nice.

The thought landed without warning. It didn’t merely land. It hit her. It hit her hard and with feeling. Her concentration stuttered. It was the scent of wood, leather, spices and a hint of something warm, rich and slightly sweet, like a velvety dark chocolate. And then there was a breath of something unexpected. A note she couldn’t identify. It was him, she realised. That was his smell. It was a good smell. A masculine smell. She was suddenly aware of his wool suit against her chin. She noticed the pinstripes against a navy as dark as the sky. The crisp white of his French shirt cuffs and the gold of his cufflinks that held them in place.

Her senses were wide open. They always were on hyperdrive when she was out in the field. That was expected. She relied on them to send her signs that she didn’t have the time to look for. But now, they were receiving all the wrong signals and sending all the wrong messages. Intensely. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the shadow of his hand. His large, wide palm was warm on the back of her neck.  By pressing her neck forward and down, it was this hand that locked the chokehold in place.

What the hell? she thought. She felt the strength of his forearms underneath her own palms. Her hands were gripping him so tightly she could feel the cords of muscle through his sleeve. Suddenly, her body became all too aware of his own. The sensation of him, the entire length of his body against hers, awakened her own. He wasn’t just standing behind her, he was bearing the whole of his body into hers. Thus, she was counter balancing with equal force. Generating heat and pressure between them.  Realising how close, how intimate, how physical, literally, their contact was at that moment, overwhelmed her reason, her logic, her objectivity. And most of all, she was aware of the man behind her. Not as a target, or a mark, or a tail or a problem to be solved. It was him. It was Harry Hart.

He must have sensed a slight shift in her energy because once that random, startling thought struck home, she didn’t dare move until she knew where it was heading and what she was going to do with it. She probably stopped breathing. Maybe that’s what he noticed because all of a sudden she felt dizzy and lightheaded. Maybe he was holding her a little tighter than she thought. He must have noticed a change because just as suddenly, his grip loosed by a fraction, not enough to escape, but enough to jar her back to the present. He was confusing her and she was angry at being confused.

She was on pause and someone had just hit the reset button. Instantly, she made her next move and she went into action fully committed. There was no hesitation in a move like this. To her advantage, their height difference meant that he had to lean down slightly to get his forearm around her neck, which shifted his center of gravity slightly forward. With his tight grip, she pushed against it, creating the energy of opposing forces to gain momentum. With her neck guarded by her chin, she quickly dropped down to one knee, gripped tightly onto his wrists and forearms, leaned back into him to get the tiniest bit of additional momentum, and then bent forward as sharply as she could from her waist, throwing the full force of her weight into the move and tucking in as tight as possible. Sure enough, with his weight already off center, using her body as a fulcrum, a pivot point, and using his height as a lever, she forced him to tumble over her head.

Normally, after a move such as this, that put her at a tactically advantageous position, she would either evade or go in for an attack move and neutralise the threat. This was not the way she wanted to introduce herself to these two men, but it looked like fate wasn’t giving her any options. She was not prepared for this situation. She didn’t have claim over the next move.  It could be either of theirs. Brushing her hair away from her eyes, she cursed herself for not having a hair tie, of all things. She paused for a moment. Her cap got knocked off during her manoeuvre. Wonderful, all these identifiers, now facial features, and the damn hair. She should handover her passport and smartphone and just get it over with. How did this evening turn so sideways?

She took a mental pause. Footsteps. His colleague. Who didn’t know what he was walking into. She quite certain it did not look like afternoon tea.

When she heard the brushing noise of a weapon being pulled out of its holster she went back on high alert. They had most definitely past the “direct contact” portion of the evening. As much as she did not want to do them harm, she was more than willing to talk, she equally, did not want to be on the interrogation end of a gun. She had another split second to decide her course of action. Two was much more complicated.

All three of them knew the rules of weaponry in the field and in engagement. Never pull a gun in a circumstance you’re not willing to use it. Never aim at a target you’re not willing to shoot. It wouldn’t have been her first choice, but when she had a lethal weapon aimed in her direction, it left her with few options.

She never had an opportunity to use it before, but it was ideal for this circumstance and what she had planned. She palmed her carbonfiber graphene tactical knife, short, less than 5”in length, from its discreet sleeve at her hip.  It’s description stated, “A device for specific close quarters combat manoeuvres in very focused special circumstance scenarios with high impact.” This circumstance would fall under that category, she thought.

The upper hand was all she needed to gain, to have a moment where they would be forced to listen to her. Grace, eloquence… She tossed those out the proverbial window. Her words would have the hardest strike. The most impact. Not her knife, not her gun, not any weapon. Now was not the time for finesse.  Once again, she had to turn shitty odds in her favours before the man she just flipped could reorient himself.  She wanted to be sorry that it had come to this, but she was just making her counter move. It didn’t matter if it was personal or not. This part, at least for her, was the business aspect of her work. Similar to negotiating a deal, but using weapons and lives as bargaining points.

The knife firmly in her grip, she raised the blade and held its lethal edge against his carotid artery with enough pressure to be VERY uncomfortable, and almost, but not break skin. He was smart and followed the direction guided by pressure of her blade hand and rose with her to a standing position. She stood behind him, angled slightly toward one side. He knew that any counter move on his part, which there were many he could take, and in this case his strength and mass would be at his advantage. She was in a very vulnerable physical position and he could take her down easily. If it weren’t for the knife at the side of his neck. The blade was very small, very light and most of all, it was very, very sharp and designed for close, personal combat.  Easy to handle, low pressure point. Which meant, whether or not his move disabled her he would, no doubt, be pulling away with nothing less than a very serious neck wound.

“Stop.” she called out firmly. “Gun down on the ground.”

The man who was under her knife, indicated, Do what she says.

He placed his gun on the ground and stood with his hands in the air.

She knew he was weighing his options, just as she did her own.

Her voice was clear and just loud enough so he could hear her where he stood.

Seriously, like this was what she needed. Did they really have to go through all this fuss?  Spies could be exhausting.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

She kept her voice conversational. Of no consequence or concern and certainly not threatening.

“Do you have enough time to disarm me and get help for your friend, Harry, before he bleeds out?”

She felt the slightest flinch when he heard the sound of his name. Not Arthur or Galahad. His given name.

“You’re quite fast, Eggsy, but not that fast.”

Now Eggsy’s turn as his eyes narrowed both suspicious and surprised. Not Galahad. Not even Gary, but Eggsy.

Ok, making progress, she thought. She had just shown her first card. She knew exactly who they were. Not just their code names. Their real ones.

To drive her point home.  “Just the tiniest amount of pressure on his carotid artery, thats all I need. 68 seconds until he loses consciousness. My knife, which you probably can’t see from where you are standing, but he can certainly feel,” she nodded her head toward Harry, “is designed to pierce fast and deep. If I had a regular blade, he might come out clean, but not with this one. Please, sincerely, think twice, for his sake, about making any sudden movements.”

Good. Neither of them made an attempt to move. Not even a twinge. She continued. She didn’t know how long the odds would be in her favour. At this point, she was playing fast and loose. Something she rarely did and she was not used to. One of her biggest strengths was her ability to prepare. This was not a scenario that she had imagined.

“I know either of you could disable me, but not without me doing a fair amount of damage first.”

It wouldn’t be her first choice to do harm, but she was in no mood for additional fuckery and she wanted to make it abundantly clear that, though she was no match for them in terms of brute strength, she had plenty of ways to dominate a fight using strategy. She wasn’t stronger, but she could be smarter. She wasn’t above shedding blood to prove that she was not to be underestimated.

“I didn’t start this fight, but I’m more than happy to finish it.”

She added, “You see how well trained I am. You should be asking yourself why i haven’t killed him, or either of you, already.”

Did they really have to be so obstinate? Obstreperous. Truculent?  They should have been asking themselves that question after she took the first shot. They could very easily be dead right now if it were not for her.  She needed to prove to them she was not a threat to their lives. Against all of her training, she laid her second card down.

 “And ask yourself,” she repeated. “perhaps why, then, I would let him go.”

Very carefully, very slowly, and very deliberately, she softened the pressure against his neck until the blade was no longer making contact. She continued to draw it far away from him, far enough to clear so not to do any damage, before she began to lower it. She took a few steps back, hands up, the knife still visible in her right, but with a carry hold, not an active grip.

Imagine her surprise when Harry turned on her, twisted her wrist until she had to drop the knife. Not without force. She resisted the split second she saw what was happening. She knew in this case, she didn’t have an immediate out, but that didn’t mean she had to make it easy for him. Rather than conserving her energy, she fought him and fought him with force, until she saw his face grimace with the effort.

Good, she thought.

She made some pretty satisfying contact before he was able to push her all the way back against the red brick warehouse. The wall gave her less room to maneuver. She landed one last, very satisfying kick to his shin. It wasn’t a fancy move. There was no technique involved. She just put all her grit behind that single kick and the connection she made was very gratifying, despite her situation. She hoped it left huge bruise to remember her by. It was obviously painful and hurt him enough that he shoved her away fairly hard. The back of her head knocked into the bricks with a force that she wouldn’t have considered gentlemanly.

Well, she did have a knife to his carotid just a few moments ago, she countered. She supposed turn about was fair play. This time, he was able to get his forearm across her throat and braced his right wrist with the circle of his left hand. Standing arm bar hold. She had no counter this time, seeing since Eggsy had his gun again and it being much harder to escape a bullet than a choke hold. So, that move did not have the impact that she thought it would.

She knew they had to have this conversation, but she was pissed. At them, but she admitted, begrudgingly, that she was mostly pissed at herself for letting her guard down. To be fair, they really had no idea who she was. And until they did, she would remain a threat. But she still had one more card. She was just waiting for the chance to use it.

——

What the bloody fuck had just happened? Harry Hart was not one to get caught off guard. But he was miffed that it happened this evening. Not only once, but three bloody times, and he had just quite enough of whatever fuckery was happening around him. First, the key fob, then the chokehold, then the bloody knife. Well, my dear, he thought, two can play this game. He wasn’t above fighting dirty. Sometimes the situation insisted on it. It seemed as if this was one of those times.

As soon as she let down her guard sufficiently enough for him to act, he twisted her arm, forcing her to drop the knife. But she wasn’t making things easier for him, or for herself, for that matter. Even though he clearly had the upper hand, she fought him the entire time. She, too, apparently wasn’t above a little dirty dealing when she landed a kick to his shin. A very hard, directed kick, not meant to disable, not in an attempt to escape, a kick just purely meant to cause him pain. A bit more than cheeky. He finally pushed her, maybe just a tad harder than he anticipated, until her head knocked back and hit the warehouse wall behind her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eggsy had taken the opportunity to retrieve his gun and provide cover. Her eyes quickly darted in the same direction, confirmed the same thing that he saw and then stared at him furiously. Whether the fury was directed toward him or to her change in circumstance, most likely both, he could not be certain.

Making sure his arm bar would prevent any further roughhousing, Harry spoke, adopting almost the same conversational tone as she had. She wasn’t sure if he was matching her tone to respect her or mock her. This time she felt free to show as much aggression as she felt like. There was no consequence at this point. She tossed her damn hair out of her face.

——

As she flipped her hair to the side, Harry, by instinct, began to document her features so, if needed, he could provide a detailed description of her should it ever become necessary. Tall, 5’ 8 1/2 - 9. Slim build, but athletic, lean muscular rather than simply thin. Age was hard to determine, she looked both very young, but her eyes, they were both wise and melancholy. A look that only came with time and experience. Her eyes seemed to say that they had already seen too much. She was anywhere from mid twenties to mid thirties. He noticed that her eyes were grey. Grey, and they had a slight almond shape to them. Tilted just enough to give her an air of mystery. Dark lashes, dark hair and much of it. Long. Wavy. It was shiny and looked very soft. Dusky fair skin with just an undertone of warm olive. Cheeks pink, with displeasure, he thought, or embarrassment, certainly not because she was flattered by the attention. Her mouth was small and delicate, her lips pressed together in a firm line. Also pink. She was quite becoming. Beautiful even. He tried to determine her ethnicity, but found himself unable to place her exotic, yet subtle, delicate features.

Harry caught himself.  He wasn’t just documenting her features. It wasn’t bloody like him.These were not the most appropriate thoughts for the moment.

She noticed him noticing her. She didn’t know what he was noticing, so she grew even more frustrated. She obviously didn’t care about keeping her expressions to herself any longer. It was quite loud and clear what she was thinking. It was written all over her face.

He came back to his words. In his calm, deep voice, he asked her three simple questions.

“Who are you? Who do you work for, and why did you shoot at us?”

A firm set to her jaw and with equal composure, she answered his questions without hesitation, but in her own order.

“I” she emphasised, “didn’t shoot at you.” she added under her breath, “I was aiming for your key fob.”

“I work for no one.” She halted, her eyes pulling their full attention to hers.

She laid down her last card.

“My name is Gwendolyn Mycroft.” she took a meaningful pause. “My father saved your lives.”

Glancing between the two of them, she saw that, as she intended, she had hit home. She added.

‘So, I suggest you release me, and let us go to a place where we can discuss this in a more civilised manner.”

She saw that both of the men were in a state of shock. She could understand. The evening hadn’t gone the way she expected either. She waited for a response that was something other than a blank stare.

“Do you like scotch?” Eggsy asked.

Well, that was a good of a start as any.

-----

If you made it this far, Thanks for reading!! Comments, questions, likes are always appreciated. Always feel free to reblog.

[robin-the-enby]

Drabbles

Pairing: personalized (so me as MC, can be viewed either as platonic or romantic)

Summary: just a few drabbles

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR VINCENT'S, ISAAC'S (IF YOU SQUINT) AND LEO'S ROUTES!!! Description of mental health issues (I can't specify, bc I don't know what's wrong with me) (it's escalating from the least to the most angsty drabble), suicide intention

A/N: This. Is. Super. Angsty. I've been struggling lately and this is for my comfort only, I'm posting this for the small chance you'd like to read it and maybe find comfort in it yourself. I must warn you though, this is triggering.

* * * * *

Opposites

"Truth is...I'm not like most people." Vincent confessed, his eyes never moving from the canvas.

It was a warm and sunny day and Vincent asked Robin to keep him company, while he painted. And who was she to turn down The Vincent van Gogh?

However, this sentence quite caught her off guard. "I mean, you're a vampire..." she said and he chuckled, the sound so light and carefree it made a smile appear on her face as well. "Although that is true, it's not what I meant." his hand worked effortlessly on the painting that was slowly unravelling in front of her "I don't feel things like other people do." he explained.

The made her confused. What did he mean? As if sensing her question, Vincent continued "Ever since I can remember, I never felt any negative emotion. Sadness, anger, envy, all those things are foreign to me."

Suddenly, his smile felt completely different, despite never changing. It was strange seeing him talk about such a glum thing with such a gentle smile on his face and look in his eyes. Then again, she couldn't recall a single moment, where Vincent would be angry or any type of negative...

It came to Robin that this was probably an intimate subject for him and she certainly didn't want him to feel pressured into talking about this with her. When she voiced her concerns, he turned to look at her "There's nothing to worry about Robin. After all, you said you wanted to get to know me better, so I thought you should know." he assured her with a smile, finally looking at her.

Then the conversation stopped and they were both left in silence. Not an awkward one, perhaps Vincent was just giving her time to process it all, which was something she definitely needed.

Robin layed down on the warm grass, putting an arm over her eyes as she listened to the soft sounds of Vincent's brush gliding over the canvas.

What did that feel like, not feeling negative emotions? For a fleeting moment she thought it must've been nice, but then all the downs of it dawned on her. Not being able to be sad when someone close to you dies. Not being able to get angry at someone mistreating others... She'd hate herself if she wasn't able to feel these things and yet she wouldn't even be able to do that.

"Thank you for telling me that Vincent." Robin said quietly, her voice loud enough for him to hear. "You went quiet all of a sudden." the painter pointed out. "I just imagined what that must be like." she shrugged her shoulders.

If he told her something so personal, it only made sense that she tells him something about herself too. Robin had an idea of what she could tell him, but the thought of confessing something like that made her anxiety shoot through the roof, insecure thoughts filling her mind.

Robin hesitated on her next sentence, choosing carefuly every word "I think I have the opposite problem." His head perked up at her words, his whole body turning to face Robin, yet she still layed with her eyes covered, not looking at him. "What do you mean?" it was now his time to be confused.

"I think too much about everything. Small things, big things, things that aren't even happening to me. I like to think about it all, ponder and view from all the different angles. It's my biggest gift and a curse as well." she removed her arm and gazed at the blue sky, not wanting to be envelopped by darkness when she says this.

"A lot of things happen in the world. All the time. Sometimes...it gets too much. I feel like I'll burst with all the thoughts and emotions raging like a storm inside me and then I'm just...numb." Out of the corner of her eye, Robin could see Vincent tilting his head to the side a little. "It's like my whole mind just...shuts down and concentrates on the simplest tasks, like doing my work, eating, sleeping. I can be empty like that for months and months. The truth is," she paused to turn her head to look into his eyes, those bright blue oceans, that no longer looked happy, but rather concerned "the truth is that there's so much pain in my mind, that it refuses to acknowledge it anymore." Robin shifted her gaze towards the grass as she began to play with it "Or so I've been told."

The silence that followed was much heavier than the previous one. Robin thought it was because this time, Vincent didn't smile. No, he was frowning. Just like he did for her, she gave him time to process it, secretly hoping that she didn't ramble too much.

But after a while Vincent smiled again, though this time she thought it was for her sake only "Thank you for telling me Robin." She blushed at his words "Are you sure I didn't talk too much?" she asked bashfuly to reassure herself. Vincent nodded, chuckling "Of course not. After all, I said I wanted to get to know you more too, didn't I?" he smiled at her and the afternoon continued as peacefully as ever.

Purpose

One of her most favorite things in this new life she was living was napping with Leonardo.

She was never a good sleeper, so she'd come to him and ask him if they can nap together and he never declined, much to her joy. After some time, she stopped asking. She saw him sitting on the library floor, that droopy look in his eyes and she just plopped down next to him and leaned her head on his shoulder and he understood.

Today, she found him in his room, laying in his bed for once. Once he saw it was Robin who entered, he scooted away to make room for her and she joined him. They layed on their sides, facing eachother to save as much space as possible.

But today was different. While Leonardo's sleepiness always made her relax and fall asleep as well, it seemed today even he couldn't sleep. And so they talked. At first it wasn't anything serious, everything and nothing, their voices hushed, so they wouldn't ruin the quiet atmosphere and besides, there was no reason to be loud.

But as the conversation went on, the topics started getting more serious and so turned the tones of their voices as well.

The deep sadness Leo's eyes held as he told her about his alchemy experiments was surely engraved in her mind for the time being.

"I think that because your lives are limited, it gives you purpose."

She took in that sentence for a while, before she giggled. The sadness that plagued those beautiful golden eyes was quickly replaced by confusion and before he could think she was making fun of him, Robin tried to explain, not realizing where would this sentence take her "I'm sorry. I'm not laughing at you, I swear!" she wheezed breathlessly between giggles.

Leonardo quirked a brow "And what are you laughing at then?"

Not long after she managed to calm down her breathing and the realization that she'll really have to confess something she hasn't told even the doctors in her time dawned on Robin. She suddenly didn't feel like laughing at all.

"Well, the irony of the situation." she started sheepishly. Leonardo didn't seem much wiser, so she took a deep breath and collected her thoughts for a short while.

"I actually think the opposite." another deep breath and a sigh "Stop me if I ramble too much, alright?" she looked at him and he smirked at her in a way that told her that he knew this isn't going to be a happy topic, but in no way in hell was he going to stop her. Curious bastard, Robin thought with a grumble and shuffled closer to him, that way she wouldn't have to look him in the eyes.

"This happened a long time ago, but it stuck with me. I don't remember what I was doing, I just remember, I stopped in the middle of completing the chore, for some reason, and thought to myself: Am I happy?

And do you know what the answer to that was? No. No, I didn't feel happy. To be completely honest, I didn't feel anything. But that didn't make sense, everything was going fine, I didn't have a reason to feel this way or in this case, not feel.

I started thinking about it, monitoring myself more and I realized just how numb I really am most of the time. Of course, I started to question it. Why was this happening? Why did everything feel like a dream? Why did the days, weeks, months go by, while I felt like I lived in a bubble, one that numbs everything, makes things feel muffled.

I started questioning my life. Was anything really real? Was I real? It didn't feel like I was. How does it even feel, being real? I should know, I am... Aren't I?

It started out so small. One stupid question. One easy question.

The more I thought about it, the more disconnected I felt. Every day I felt more numb. I wished I could just stop everything, but I couldn't. I carried on doing the things I was supposed to do. Go to school, do my chores, socialize with other people. I didn't know why I was doing it, it didn't make any sense, but at the same time, it was the only logical thing for me to do, something I was used to, I couldn't just stop, that would only make this chaos worse.

And I suffered through it all. When somebody asked, I didn't lie. I had no reason to. I knew there were people who'd gladly help me, but fear of annoying them and upseting them made me stay away. If they would leave, I'd truly lose my mind.

Nothing made sense anymore. My life, my choices, nothing. I was clinging to any at least a bit logical thing in my life, because everything felt so pointless, so abstract and absurd. I thought I didn't matter. That nothing I'll ever do will matter.

I still think so. I still don't feel anything most of the time, I still think everyone on this planet is worthless, even though saying it out loud feels wrong. I'm just too numb to care at the moment."

She didn't want to look at him. Through her whole speech, Leonardo was as quiet as a mouse. Finally his rich voice sounded above her head "Why didn't you just stop thinking about it then?"

Robin smiled dryly "Because it felt like I was avoiding the subject. Like it was a responsibility that I just have to get over with and I'll finally be able to breathe again."

Leonardo was quiet. Her words were strong, nothing like he'd ever heard before. There was a real pain in those words and he, as much of a smooth talker as he is, wasn't sure he could say anything that would change her mind.

So he opted for just holding her, until he'll be able to make her smile again. And perhaps a real smile this time, one she'd truly feel.

Sung woes

(I'll pretend I can sing and play the piano in this one XD)

Inspired by: Irony - English cover by Lizz Robinnet

Soft knocks sounded through Mozart's room, the great composer huffing in annoyance and turning away from his desk, where he was working on his newest piece.

Opening the door he found Robin nervously shuffling in front of him. "What do you need?" Wolf asked boredly.

"W-well, you see, uhm..." she stumbled over her words. Mozart rolled his eyes impatiently "Get on with it already." he groaned out. Robin tensed "I wanted to-to ask you, if I could play something on the piano, maybe..?"

When he just blankly stared at her, she waved her hands dismissively in front of her "O-or not! It doesn't matter, if you don't feel comfortable, I get it, hehe." she tried to laugh it off.

Mozart was in fact considering letting her play, since to this moment, he didn't know she was capable of it. Curiousity winning over his obsessive cleanliness, he sighed "Fine. Just don't get it dirty or anything."

Robin quickly nodded and rushed to the music room.

When the door closed behind her, the composer stepped back into his room, but instead of continuing his work, he headed for the bed. He sat on it and listened carefuly for any sounds.

At first, a few random melodies rang through the air, to warm herself up, he presumed.

Then, a seemingly cheerful melody, although muffled by the wall, floated from his music room.

It sounded light and airy, but had a sad undertone to it. He thought about maybe coming to listen, but quickly discarding the idea, for he himself hated being interrupted.

And it would stay that way, had the woman in the next room not started singing. Mozart couldn't make out the words from his room and so his curiosity won.

Quietly, like a thief, he crept out of his room, towards the white door to his music room. He could now hear everything much clearer and had to admit, Robin wasn't half bad. But the music was louder than her voice and it bothered him. He desperately wanted to know what the lyrics were about.

Maybe he could open the door, just a tiny bit, so the sound could escape?

Is this how others pass this room when I play? the composer wondered with a frown, feeling a bit ashamed.

If that's the case then just hear my plea: Pick me up and drop me into unfaltering sleep!

The sudden change in melody startled Mozart from his thought's, the slight glimpse of the song's lyrics worrying him. There was no way now that he'd turn away.

He reached for the knob and with the speed of a snail turned it around, making sure no potentional creaks could be heard.

He flinched at the sudden increase in volume and opened the door wider, so he could comfortably watch her. If she noticed him, he could just say he was checking if nothing happened to his piano.

What he wasn't expecting, was a hand on his shoilder and a joyful voice whisper too near to his ear for comfort "Peeping into your own room, are we?"

Mozart quickly recovered from the surprise, quickly pulling his face away from the door and facing an unlikely duo that isn't seen unless a certain physicist is present.

"What are you two doing here?" Mozart hissed at Arthur and Dazai, both writers smiling innocently. "I just noticed the sudden change in the songs, so I figured someone else must be playing and that alone is a wonder. I needed to see it with my own eyes. I didn't know Robin could play." smiled Arthur.

"I'm wondering where did all the sadness come from. Toshiko-san looks always so happy, I wanted to see what has made her so sad?" Dazai's smile turned a little sad and sympathetic, as if he knew exactly what was happening.

"How do you know she is sad if you didn't hear the lyrics?" asked Arthur. "Don't you hear? It's not the lyrics, it's the way she sings. Only an idiot wouldn't notice that." Dazai answered. Mozart nodded "I only was able to make out bits of it, but it doesn't sound very positive.

Arthur's expression turned serious "Well then we should confront her about it, singing or not." and pushed past the composer, him and Dazai hot on his tail.

The sudden arrival startled Robin and the music stopped for a short while. She didn't look at them, she didn't want to, if she did, she would break down and the song would be left unfinished.

Just as Arthur opened his mouth, her voice cut him off "Step back from me, please, leave me be, this so deceitful road that I stumble on is never going to end." her voice was soft, before suddenly increasing again.

"It's getting difficult to maneuvour and it's just worthless to try and run away, so I'll just hold my hands over my ears and block out all this noise. How can I live not knowing what life is? Sometimes my dreams seem to be more realistic, obviously I can't be called happy, then what am I after all? "

The way Robin sang felt like she was talking directly to the three men in the room with her and left them speechless.

She gently put the lid on the piano keys and quietly stood up, drying her hands on her skirt. Muttering a quiet thank you to Mozart she made a beeline towards the exit, trying to get away from the situation and probable interrogation as quickly as humanly possible.

A certain Japanese writer caught her sleeve before Robin could slip past him "That was truly beautiful Toshiko-san." he said with a smile, although the tone of his voice was nothing but serious "But if you ever need to talk... My windows are always open." joked Dazai at the end, prompting a chuckle out of her. Arthur and Mozart stayed silent, neither of them being the type of person one would come confess to.

"Thank you Dazai, really, but...I'm alright." and with a smile she was gone. But neither of the men could believe her words.

The thought came out of nowhere.

Momentary relapse

Now would be a good time to do it.

And so she did. She tied two scarves together and put them in a bag, ready to go.

The middle of the night, the sky clear, stars littered the black canvas like pearls. Would this be any other night, she would stop and admire the view above her, but tonight everything that didn’t have to do anything with her goal was a potential distraction that could change her mind.

Her brain already decided she was gonna do it and she went along with it, chickening out now would only be cowardiness, Robin thought. And if there was anything she learned from the geniuses she residet with, it was bravery.

Tiptoeing out of her room, Robin quietly crept through the hallway past all the resident’s rooms.

A muffled melody could be heard in the music room and light shone from under Arthur’s door. They must be still up, thought Robin and it made her feel strange. Would they realize tommorow morning that she must’ve went past them while they were still awake? Would they feel guilty? She hoped not. It would be best if they just forgot she ever existed.

Robin wasn’t naive. She knew she was loved and very much so, she also knew that by ending her life she would hurt those who loved her, but they were strong, stronger than she was anyway, maybe it would take a while, but they would get over it eventually.

Once she was out in the garden, Robin breathed a tired sigh of relief. Focusing only on her way she made her way through the garden, towards the forest surrounding the mansion. How hard could it be? You just have to find the right tree, pick a branch strong and high enough, tie the end of the noose around it, put your head through the actuall noose and the rest is easy, right? She could figure it out once she gets there, it’s not like anyone was following her.

“Ehm. Where are you going?”

Too soon. Robin winced. She was so consumed by her thoughts that she didn’t notice Isaac stargazing in the garden. Stupid, she reprimanded herself You should’ve expected something like this. It’s okay, you can lie your way through this.

“Hi Isaac.” she smiled her best smile at him. It felt strange, acting so casually while her end was nearing.

The air between them grew awkward, so Isaac coughed slightly and said “It’s not like it’s my business or anything, I was just surprised to see you here, and so...” his voice grew quieter as his confidence dissapeared. Mary smiled a him “It’s alright, I was just going in the forest for a stroll.” Isaac lifted an eyebrow “In the middle of the night?” “Yes, it will be an adventure! The forest can be quite spooky at night.” she grinned in response.

The physicist looked towards the dark woods, then back at his friend. “I will acompany you, if that’s okay.” Robin blinked at him in surprise. This wasn’t how it should’ve gone! He would only complicate things! But saying no could be suspicious. While Isaac took her surprised look as confusion “There could be wild animals and knowing you, you would definitely get in trouble.”

His words nearly made her cry. Once again she was reminded of how much she was actually loved. And so she agreed.

Side by side they walked deeper and deeper into the woods. While Isaac was looking up at the sky, Robin inspected all the threes around them. “We’re pretty deep in, how would you know your way back?” the man beside her wondered. Robin’s heart dropped. How was she supposed to answer to that? Maybe if I stay quiet, he’ll drop it. But that didn’t seem to be the case. “Well?” Isaac turned his head towards her.

“Uhh...I-I don’t know.” she shrugged her shoulders and laughed nervously. Isaac squinted his eyes and looked at her with a strange expression on his face. “What do you have in that bag anyways?” he asked curiously. Robin quickly shoved her bag behind her back to hide it from view, as if that would make him forget about it “Nothing important, really.” she quickly said. Perhaps too quickly. “What time is it?” she changed the subject.

Isaac blinked at her in surprise, then looked towards the sky once again “It’s close to midnight I think.” he muttered. “Well then, shouldn’t you be getting back? I mean, I don’t want you to starve, just because you’re too considerate.” Robin pushed on. “What about you?” Isaac asked as Robin started pushing him in the direction of the mansion. “Oh don’t worry about me for once. I remember the way.” she waved him off, said a quick goodbye and sent him on his way.

Isaac didn’t like that at all. Surely if she didn’t want to spend time with him she’d tell him, no? He just wanted to keep her company, since he heard from an unusually glum Dazai she hasn’t been feeling very happy lately.

Now that he thought about it, there were some red flags in his mind and the whole situation left him suspicious. Deciding to trust his gut more than logic, Isaac turned around and went to look for Robin, all the while trying to push the worst scenario out of his head.

He found her not far from the place he departed from her. She was facing a tree, holding something in her hands... "Robin?” he called out to her softly. Said woman jumped around, revealig her pale face and the object she was holding. 

A noose.

“What are you doing?!” he asked, panicked, his worst fears confirming. Robin’s face was hard as steel, determined look in her eyes. Perfectly composed, she stuffed the deadly instrument back into her bag, marching past him towards the mansion “Nothing.”

Isaac, bewildered, quickly jogged up to her “Well, you were about to do something.” “Well, not anymore.” she huffed. “So what, you try to kill yourself and then pretend it didn’t happen?” “Yes, exactly. It was a momentary relapse, it won’t happen again.”

“I don’t want to try anymore Isaac. I’m tired. It’s been six months and things are only getting worse and worse. I’m not strong enough for this, I don’t need this, I never asked for this.” the longer she talked, the more rapid and shakier her voice became. He only squeezed her tighter “We’ll think of something.” he tried to assure her. “And what do you want to do? Isaac, this is not something temporary, not even the doctors in my time can do much about this! I don’t even know what’s wrong with me!”

Isaac quickly jumped in front of her and grabbed her shoulders. Robin turned her head down so she could avoid his gaze and pursed her lips. “You’re right. It won’t. I won’t ever let it get that far again.” Isaac told her quietly and firmly, drawing her into a hug.

The physicist quietly shushed her and slowly rubbed her back as she trembled in his embrace. He maybe looked composed but on the inside he was panicking. Truly, he didn’t know what to do. He would probably ask Comte or Leo, hell, even Arthur if that helped. They were certainly wiser or more suitable for this kind of problem. But he’d help however he could. Call it selfishness, but he would do anything to keep her here just a while longer.

[bladekindeyewear]

Book Commentary on Inversion Theory

Alright, as a follow-up to this post, it looks like there’s an actual full bit of Homestuck book commentary (around the pages nearing Rose’s grimdark transformation, Book 6 pg 115, HS pg 3305, thanks @ramiedersedreamer and @zandraxofnebulon) about how Inversion Theory (1, 2, 3, 4, 5) isn’t what we thought.  Quoting and reading it first (not the whole reddit post but that portion at least), then discussion under the cut:

"Rose is a Light player, but her blackout effects result from arguably the nadir of her role as such a hero--that is, when she succumbs to Scratch's manipulations and other eldritch persuasions, and goes grimdark. This truth would appear to lend credence to a line of classpect thinking known as "inversion theory," which really isn't without its merits. This note has just gone to the bother of describing one of its merits, in fact. However, it is possible to get carried away with this line of thinking and use it to evaluate everything that happens in Homestuck. For instance, you could say "Well, Karkat is a Blood hero, and here's where he stops being as Karkatty as usual, so that means he's being the opposite of his aspect. Which means he's being Breathy instead of Bloody. So that means a bunch of other stuff, ipso facto, Homestuck has been EXPLAINED." That's not really the way all this works. Aspect lore runs deep, but it isn't the Rosetta Stone to the story. When in doubt, it's better to remember this: rather than an underlying mystical logic where all classpect roads lead to Deep Answers, HS is a comprehensive nexus of many themes, and all roads lead to the basic idea that this is a tale about kids who are trapped in the universal struggle associated with growing up."

I... hm.  Dammit.  Is that all he wrote??  This slippery author is a master of giving us tantalizing and insightful details without committing to any hard yes-or-no whatsoever.  >:T

I’d been building myself up to reading this all throughout yesterday with gut-wrenching dread that at this late, late, late hour he’d finally given us a definitive “NO” on Inversion.  Instead we get this quite interesting but more vague “eh, there’s merits, but don’t go too far with it”.  Which is...... 

...about as potentially-optimistic as I put it in the previous post, if not moreso?

Andrew’s being careful to lavish odd praise on inversion theory, too.  Which some people are going to interpret as (Option 1) “Nice try, but dead wrong”, like the anon who put a snippet in my inbox initially, and others will interpret as (Option 2) “The big ones are RIGHT, nudge nudge, but stop applying it everywhere cause the fans who say every line of the comic means ‘ghosting inversion’ are looking at the story wrong and annoying everyone”.

As someone guilty of being one of those fans described in the latter half on occasion, I can CERTAINLY agree with THAT last part.  Andrew made it really clear with the ending of Homestuck proper -- “this side shit didn’t matter as much as you thought it did”.  I was so enamored with the classpect system that I thought almost everything was being shown to us through those lenses, at one point -- but even though perhaps more than the random reader might have thought is there, like he says, it ain’t supposed to be no Rosetta Stone.  Even when I WAS overapplying classpect everywhere, the people who did it too often in places I felt clearly un-merited REALLY pissed me off!  I can’t imagine how much more that might’ve been magnified in the shoes of someone who happened to apply the correct, lower amount of classpect and had to put up with me babbling and slathering it everywhere, much less the author’s shoes.

But there is still a big hole in his criticism, one he intentionally seems to have left there to me.  By saying “don’t look for it everywhere”, but ALSO that “there’s more than some merit to it”... I don’t think it’s a stretch to think the truth might not only be somewhere in between Options 1 and 2, but perhaps even closer to Option 2.

Aaaand HERE’s where if you’re someone who HUNGERED for me to admit wrongdoing by sticking with this theory for so long, you’re no doubt angry.  Looking at me as making excuses in the face of this long-awaited OBJECTIVE PROOF OF TOTAL THEORY DISMISSAL... WHY won’t the deluded bastard FINALLY succumb to REASON?  ANDREW HIMSELF spoke up on the issue, IS THIS NOT ENOUGH?!???

And, well... you’re right to be angry.  To be honest, I’m a fair bit pissed off too -- I could’ve used a solid “NO”, traumatizing as it would’ve been to me!

But that’s not what we got, because... *rolls eyes @ author* ...that’s not how Andrew works nowadays.  And as irritating as it is, I also have to respect it a bit.

Andrew has become pretty committed to not full-on table-flipping fan interpretations and fanworks, avoiding forcing one “correct” interpretation (see: central struggle of HS^2 and the villains labeling divergence from canon at all as “bad”) because both interpretations should be rewarded.  If something is REALLY wrong and hurts objective appreciation of the lessons he wanted to portray in his comic, like people plastering Classpect everywhere to the exclusion of the story’s central canon-escaping themes, he’s willing to shut them down... but when it comes to effective-sounding interpretations of the comic that he possibly never intended but “could” have been what he intended?  He’s REALLY careful not to step on them!  Or even sometimes DISTINGUISH them from the ones that he DID intend, sometimes, to keep as many fan interpretations alive in our imaginations as possible.

Which, as someone who pins Inversion’s entire existence on the assertion that “Andrew deliberately intended this and it’s our DELUSION otherwise”, really pisses me off at times like this.  This is a theory hinged on the idea that Andrew had been deliberately hiding INCREDIBLY clever evidence throughout the comic for these intense thematic moves.  All the SYMBOLISM we thought was pointing to inversion would lose an incredible amount of its meaning if it were all an accident.  What about all that cool imagery in the Breath and Blood post?  Did any of THAT really mean what we thought it was there for, like between WV and PM?  Was any of it REAL?  Will we ever even get an ANSWER?  The answer is “no, we won’t”, because Andrew persists in this method of keeping his cards close to his chest even if he has to take them to the damn grave, cause he knows we’ll have more “fun” not knowing ‘em.  That considerate son of a bitch.  >:(

I’m serious -- it really does make me more than a little angry.  I really do wish he’d said more to show us where we’re off-course.

But HS^2 has brought us Terezi telling us that Mind and Heart are indeed opposites.  He MIGHT be holding onto the info because we may get it later in canon itself...

Meh.  I’ll try not to hope too hard.  And I’d better clarify what I actually believe, here:

My TL;DR thoughts on Andrew’s commentary up above are that when it comes to Inversion Theory (1, 2, 3, 4, 5), he’s leaving room for some of the BIG events to have been right or almost right -- say, #1, maybe #2, and only POSSIBLY #3 or #4 -- while telling us to back off and cast SERIOUS DOUBT on stuff that could have more character-driven explanations, especially #5.

If there’s a seriously FUNDAMENTAL transformation in a character that isn’t fully explained by their character journey alone (as kids growing up), involves significant outside interference, and is reflected by countless visual cues, THEN we should want to see if Inversion Theory “has merit” in that sort of case -- while laying it up against other competing theories that account for external interference of a non-Inversion-related nature in their actions too.  Things like pre- and post-ascension Aradia or pre- and post-dreamdeath Jade seeming almost completely different characters?  Or Rose seemingly taken over by the Horrorterrors... only to do nothing to benefit them but throw her mainself at Jack and get killed so she’d be forced to ascend on the moon mission rather than God-tier-die?  I’d say Inversion is worth consideration and -- daresay -- worth believing in, in such cases.

And it still might all be wrong.  There are legitimate ways to read Andrew’s commentary above that would have people screaming that Inversion has been disproven, that the “merits” mentioned were just a nod of respect to the losing side that I’m completely overblowing.  But those seem to me like carefully ambiguous words from a carefully ambiguous man, and if there’s anyone to blame for their ambiguity, it’s Andrew.  Trust me; I don’t like it either.  He’s had plenty of practice saying things in a way that we CAN’T really draw many assumptions from.

Heck, even the Redditor transcribing this summarized their thoughts in a way that draws some assumptions I don’t believe are there:

Mostly I think it's just interesting that he's actually addressing Inversion Theory, and the gist is basically "it's a cool idea and has some merits, but the classpect system and story are not quite that formulaic." Sorry BKEW. At least we know Hussie has been paying attention to our wild theorizing.

--which is a rebuke drawn on the common interpretation that Inversion describes too “formulaic” a classpect system, especially with specific-class inversion like Seer <-> Witch and such.  But IS that what Andrew is saying? Andrew criticizes the overapplication of aspect theory in describing everyone’s actions page to page, but does that mean a quote-unquote “rigid” system (I’m not going to play out the old “specific-class-inversion-is-too-rigid” vs “youre missing the flexible potential a fixed system gives” arguments again) is ITSELF an overapplication of classpect to people’s actions and personalities? Is he perhaps hinting that only Aspect stuff mattered in Inversion cases and the Witchy Rose class stuff was just a separate thematic thing that fits by coincidence??  What does it mean? WE DON’T KNOW!  AND IT’S PISSING ME OFF AAAARGH

...I think I’ve said all I can think to say for now.

I mean, I’m glad Inversion Theory wasn’t outright disproven.  I think it’s neat.  I have a lot of emotional investment behind it, and being told it was all a worthless goose chase would have made me vomitously sick!  But as I struggled with at the end of Homestuck proper, constant ambiguity shows a fair bit of disregard of its own, and both ending AND epiloguing Homestuck not only without a “yes” on this but without even a clear “NO” has caused me more gutache and poor feelings across MONTHS than either answer ever would have given me.  I thought we’d earned that by getting through it, that we wouldn’t have to wait for YEARS and then STILL get cockteased like this.  And I wonder how much I’m going to regret, later, that this wasn’t just a clear, simple “NO”.

I’m being told there’s an upd8 just now and I should read it.  I’ll get on that.  Cy’all.

[imzadi-caskett-huddy]

House, M.D. Fanfic (15/?)

Thank you to everyone who has taken time to leave a note on my story.  I hope you continue to enjoy my rewrite of particular scenes and episodes with regards to Huddy. As always, I don't own House. If I did, Lisa Edelstein would have been offered the world to stay and be a major part of season 8.

As stated in previous chapters, the story follows the big picture laid out on the show, but with my own take on things. I do sometimes use dialogue from episodes... but there are slight changes and adaptations, as well as additions to fit what I need. We're up to the rehab and drug trial where Cuddy perjures herself for House. This is a good one, folks!

Thanks to @love-hope-faith-feels-like-a-lie on Tumblr for reading my ideas and providing positive feedback! I love feedback... good, bad or ugly. Seriously. It's like my Vicodin. So please enable me! Enjoy!

xxxxx

"If you called about wanting to schedule conjugal visits, you're going to have to work that out with the warden," he said, entering her office.

"You need to talk to Tritter," she responded, moving toward her desk.

"Not according to my lawyer."

"Your lawyer can't get the DA to drop the case. Tritter can."

"Yeah, you know what else Tritter can do?"

She lost her temper then. "Why do you have to be such a child? You are not impressing anyone, least of all me!" she slammed the file in her hand down on her desk. "You call yourself principled, but what you really are is a stubborn adolescent idiot."

"You slept with me. You still want to sleep with me. What does that say about you?" he tried to deflect.

"That's not what this is about, and you know it," she countered. "And I don't. Not when you act like this...this...manchild."

"I'm not the one who..."

"You used the rectal thermometer on him," she interrupted him. "You insulted him instead of apologizing. You flaunted your drug use in his face. And you refused to accept a deal..."

"I accepted the deal!" he defended himself.

"Not until after you stole a dead guy's pills," she pointed out.

He sighed. "Allegedly," he mumbled.

"Tritter has been opening doors for you every step of the way, and you keep slamming them shut. There are no more openings to give, House," she told him then, her last statement almost carrying a double meaning. She wasn't sure she had anymore openings to give to him right now either. "If you want one, you've got to make one for yourself," she added a little softer. She moved to grab a script from her desk and placed it in his hand. "It's for Vicodin. You function better on it. Talk to him."

xxxxx

"Did Tritter offer you another deal?" Cuddy asked, she and Wilson sitting at a table with him in the common room of the rehab facility in the hospital.

"Nope, this is all me," he said, taking a drink of water. "What, no slaps on the back? Encouraging words?"

"We're just trying to understand what this is," Wilson answered him.

"I hope this is me detoxing," he replied.

Cuddy studied him for a moment. "So this is for real?" she asked. "It's not just a show for Tritter?" Part of her wondered if maybe it was for her too. Maybe he was trying to create an opening to be with her too.

"Absolutely it's a show for Tritter," House answered, and Cuddy could feel her heart drop, her hope fade at his words. "And for the judge. Unfortunately unless it's real, there is no show. But hey, if it doesn't help my case, at least I can go to prison with heightened senses," he commented.

The look of compassion mixed with care in Cuddy's eyes as she studied him was something Wilson definitely did not miss. But before either of them could say anything, the orderly interrupted their visit. "Time's up. Group is starting."

Cuddy stood and gently placed her hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "You're going to get through this, House," she told him softly, offering him a smile.

He breathed deeply and looked down, hiding his eyes from her and Wilson. The last thing he wanted either of them to see was the way her gentle touch got to him.

xxxxx

House was sitting by the window smoking when Wilson approached. "You're not my mom, you don't have to keep checking up on me," he stated as his friend took a seat.

"How are you doing?" he asked.

"Not bad considering I just discovered I'm powerless," House replied.

"Look around. You see this big wing? It was built because this program works."

"Faulty logic. It was built because people with money think this program works. They want to believe they can buy a better world. This is nothing short of idealized despair."

"I don't even know what that means," Wilson shook his head. He sighed. "This takes time. It takes work. You've only been here for two days. You're here to find a way to deal with your pain and move on with your life."

"Right. I should be more like you...have an affair with a dying patient and move into a hotel," House countered.

Wilson sighed then and looked at his friend. "What about you and Cuddy?"

"There is no me and Cuddy."

"House, she's good for you..."

"Yeah, I know she's good for me. She makes me feel better than any drug I've ever taken, higher than any high I've ever had. But I'm no good for her. I'm no good for anyone."

He thought for a moment. "You're a coward, House. And you're going to lose maybe the best thing you could have because you're too stubborn and too scared to try for something real with her."

House arched an eyebrow as he took a drag from his cigarette. "Thanks for the pep talk," he said sarcastically. "You can go now," he added, blowing the smoke in his direction.

xxxxx

"You perjured yourself for me," he stated when he saw Cuddy walking up to the side of the jail cell he was currently sitting in.

"You were willing to take Tritter's deal for me. And you went to rehab," she pointed out softly. 

He breathed deeply. "I was going to take the deal to keep you and Wilson from having to choose whether to really testify against me or lie on the stand. Didn't quite go as planned since you ended up lying for me anyway. Thanks for that, by the way," he said sincerely. "And I only went to rehab to look good in court."

Whatever she was about to say was stopped before it could start when Wilson walked up with the envelope of meds he gotten from the rehab center for House.

"I didn't do it for you. You're the best doctor on staff. I did it to keep from losing the patients that would die while you were in jail," she stated. "You made me perjure myself. Fabricate evidence. You make everyone around you worse for being there. The only bright spot in all of this is now I own your ass. You're going to be doing double clinic duty. You're going to lecture students. You're going to attend fundraisers. You owe me. Enjoy your night in jail. Your double duty at the clinic starts tomorrow," she finished, leaving him behind with Wilson then.

Wilson just looked between the two. "What did I interrupt?" he asked curiously.

House shook his head. "Nothing."

"Didn't look like nothing when I walked in."

"Cuddy was being Cuddy," he shrugged. "You're reading way too much into this. I told you before, there's nothing there anymore. Probably never was. Those my meds from Voldemort?" he tried to change the subject.

"Yes," he handed his friend the envelope. "House, you told me you fell in love with her. She just perjured herself to save your ass. That's not 'nothing.' That's actually the opposite of 'nothing.'"

House ripped open the envelope. "You heard her. It had nothing to do with me. She was protecting the hospital. She was protecting future patients from having to die while I was in jail. She was protecting her cash flow. It wasn't to save me. She and I..." he trailed off shaking his head. "Look, I'm a horrible person. I've done horrible things. She said it best...I make everyone around me worse. Rehab didn't change that. I'm still the same screwed up, horrible person I was before. If we were together, the sex would be amazing enough to gloss over everything for a few months. But eventually I'd do something horrible again, and she would remember all the horrible things I've done. She would realize that being with me is a huge mistake, and I would rather detox from Vicodin a hundred times than have to detox from Lisa Cuddy again," he took the pills he dumped into his hand, closing his eyes in relief.

That was actually quite the revelation from his friend. He really was in deep where Cuddy was concerned. "House, you're an idiot! You never detoxed from her in the first place. She's still in your system...you see her every day! And she's never detoxed from you either! The woman lied under oath for you. She already knows all the horrible things you've done. She knows where all the bodies are buried. And she still cares about you, still tries to protect you anyway. You're scared and trying to protect yourself from being hurt again," Wilson pointed out. Pausing a moment, he continued. "If any of my ex-wives had fought for me the way Cuddy fights for you, I'd still be married to them." And then he realized the look on his friend's face. "Is that... is that Vicodin?"

"Told you I'm the same screwed up person I was before rehab," he stated with a smug smile.

"But...but those pills came from the orderly at rehab..." he trailed off. "He's been slipping you Vicodin? Why...how?"

House smiled a little more. "Yes, why would he risk his minimum wage job to give me my pills?"

Wilson just stood there, shocked, though he realized he probably shouldn't be. House was brilliant. Of course he'd figure out a way to make rehab into a ruse to get what he wanted. "Cuddy is going to kill you."

He shrugged. "Told you I would do something horrible and she would realize she can't be with me."

Shaking his head,  Wilson held up his hands in surrender. "You win. You can be alone and miserable forever."

[linkspooky]

Kumagawa + Ajimu = 0

Medaka Box is a school battle manga that isn’t at all about fighting. Instead it’s about how the characters connections to other people humanize them. How abnormals, are no more than normal people when they connect with others. The greatest example of this in the manga is Medaka and Zenkichi, the superhuman girl who becomes human through her connection to her normal and everyday best friend. 

Medaka and Zenkichi have been together their entire lives, to the point where they both sort of build their identity around each other. Medaka was only able to see herself as a person because Zenkichi saw her as a girl first and not a genius. In other words as Medaka says, you’re the person that made me, me. Medaka’s most formative memory is not with the people who praised her as a genius or showered her in affection, but with the one person who always treated her like normal. 

However, this post isn’t about them. Instead of looking at one of the most positive relationships in the manga let’s look at one of the most negative ones. 

Medaka and Zenkichi build each other up, but Ajimu and Kumagawa destroy each other. Ironically for the exact same reasons. Kumagawa and Ajimu are also the only ones who treat each other as humans, and they aer both at their most human and vulnerable when around each other, but unlike in Medaka and Zenkichi’s case this is what leads them to hurting each other. 

This is because Ajimu is a shadow of Medaka, and Kumagawa a shadow to Zenkichi, and they were both built as characters to foil a more negative aspect to their counterparts, and even in their relationship to each other reflects Medaka and Zenkichi’s like a reversed and inverted image in a mirror. 

Instead of talking about two good children let’s talk about two terrible brats. 

1. Kumagawa and Zenkichi

Kumagawa and Zenkichi are both untalented people who want to stand out amongst the talented and special people. However, the differnce between them is not something so simple as Zenkichi works hard, and Kumagawa is lazy and always tries to take the easy way or cheat his way through. 

The light novels even say so. That Kumagawa is a hard working person that always puts all of his efforts into everything he does. 

When he took up the position of Student Council President, I hadn’t expected it at all from him, but unexpectedly, as if he’d had prior experience, Kumagawa-kun properly completed his Student Council President duties.

He did his work in an unpleasant, indescribable manner that could really only be described as “completed”, and it was a very unpleasant manner from the point of view of a General Affairs Manager, but even so, even if the work couldn’t be considered splendid, I couldn’t deny that Kumagawa-kun was truly a hardworking person. [x] translation by @polaristranslations​

The difference between them is Zenkichi’s efforts have always led to self improvement. They get rewarded. He always progresses forward as a person. However, Kumagawa’s efforts never get rewarded. He never improves, he only gets worse, he only spirals down. Zenkichi could be given one thousand tries and make it on the 999th time. Kumagawa would go all 1,000 tries without ever winning once.

In the first place, even if you got infinite lives as Mario or as Luigi, you’re someone that still wouldn’t be able to defeat Bowser—but still, since you ended up dying anyway. [x]

Internally, the characters are almost the same person. They’re both relatively normal guys who try their hardest at whatever they do, and they both have aspirations to be among extraordinary people. Zenkichi wants to keep up with talented people because he believes that makes him worthy of Medaka. Kumagawa wants to keep up with talented people because he believes the world only allows talented people, or people who are strong to be safe and happy, and he idealizes it as an escape from the constant chaos and misery of his life, while at the same time feeling spiteful towards them because he’s left out. 

This is what Kumagawa also tries to get Zenkichi to understand about him in their first fight. Zenkichi and Medaka’s views on people acting out of trauma, or bad victims are a little bit black and white, they can’t possibly udnerstand why someone would want to lash out and hurt others. 

You know how a lot of people misinterpret Catcher in the Rye as the main character being unlikable, just because he presents his trauma in unlikable and not straight forward ways. Because he doesn’t directly ask for help, but rather conceals his trauma and rambles around the point. Because he at no point cries out help me like a victim? Therefore people have a difficult time seeing him as one.

That’s basically Kumagawa and Zenkichi’s entire relationship. Zenkichi cannot accept Kumagawa, because Kumagawa never asks for help in straight forward ways. he never presents himself as a beautiful victim to save. In reality thought, Kumagawa is Zenkichi, just with a lot of trauma piled onto him. Kumagawa is aware of this and tries to make Zenkichi understand, but Zenkichi just doesn’t. 

This is even lampshaded in an omake. That despite pretending to be the most terrible villain he can possibly be, Kumagawa’s personality is weirdly friendly and approachable once you get to know him. It’s because unlike Medaka, Kumagawa actually values the people around him as individual people. He values close connections instead of just trying to blankely love everybody. Which is what Zenkichi’s strength over Medaka is as well. They both are people that can connect to others on a personal level, they can harmonize others around them and their greatest strength is how they use that as a group rather than being individually strong on their own. Neither Kumagawa or Zenkichi actually need to be all that strong because their strength comes from empathy and their ability to understand other people. 

They’re both natural support characters who think they have to be the ones fighting on the front lines. They also both lose most of the fights they get into, Zenkichi’s only real victory is against Munakata at the start of the manga. Even when he beats Nianami, he says he’s still the weakest member of the group. When he goes to the jet black birdal ceremony to save Medaka, he completely fails to save her and gets stabbed and becomes a hostage instead. Even both of them are essential to Munakata’s development, as Zenkichi becomes his first friend, and Kumagawa becomes the first person that Munakata ever killed. They both go out of their way to try to help him, but in opposite ways, Zenkichi as a friend, and Kumagawa helps him by making himself a victim to Kumagawa’s killing instinct. 

They’re constantly comapred to each other in the manga, and they constantly act in opposite ways trying to accomplish the same thing at heart. Zenkichi even understands Kumagawa even when he pretends he doesn’t. 

Kumagawa is obsessed with cleanliness because he sees it as a relief from the constant chaos of his life, because he thinks he’s forced to love ugly, and unpleasant things because that’s all he will ever see. Zenkichi sees through him because he shares that same obsession, he acts like an average guy who doesn’t want to be dragged into the extraordinary but he loves beatufiul people, he’s obsessed with Medaka and part of him still sees her as something above the ordinary instead of treating her 100% like a normal girl. They carry the same contradictions within each other, it’s just for Kumagawa they blow up in his face a lot harder than they ever do for Zenkichi. 

They both loved Medaka. They both met Medaka when she was two years old, and tried to give her an answer to the meaning of her life so she would stop worrying. 

You could even say Kumagawa is just Zenkichi without a Medaka in his life, but that’s not entirely true. Kumagawa has a Medaka, it just happens to be Ajimu who is terrible. 

2. Medaka and Ajimu

Ajimu is the logical end result of Medaka’s ability to infinitely copy and gather skills. She now has quadrillions of them and is basically undefeatable. She too, like Medaka is a character that never has once lost in her life, the same way the main character of a manga never really loses. For both of them their incredible talent over others makes them feel completely inhuman and alienated from all around them, Ajimu just pushes it to an absurd extent crossing the line and becoming a “Non-human.” 

They also both are trying to pursue insane goals when they meet each other. Ajimu wants to create a perfect human, and Medaka wants to make everyone happy. Not because they genuinely want those things, but because they both want to fail. Medaka wants to be human and feel like she’s equal to everybody else. Ajimu wants to fail and prove that reality is real in front of her and alsot hat she’s a part of it. 

They’re both absurd girls, and absurdly lonely. They’ve lived their entire lives in almost complete isolation because no one has seen them as human. It’s just Ajimu has accepted that declaring herself a “Non-Human” whereas Medaka struggles with her desire to be a normal girl. If you think about it nobody in their lives has ever seen them for them. Medaka’s father sees her as an heir who has to take over his entire company the moment she turns eighteen, her other father saw her as a replacement for his sister, his brother obsessed over her to the point that it was creepy, every adult around her either put her on a pedestal or they thought she was terrifying and blamed her for their own inadequacies. The only person she had in her life who remotely treated her like a normal girl was Zenkichi. 

Ajimu was someone who can get anybody to like her in the whole school.

「She hadn’t been such a sadistic character in the past… What happened to the kind and considerate Anshin'in-san that everybody loved…」

“……?”

He was giving off a rather timid aura, which was unusual for him. [x]

Because if everything is fake then, Ajimu can act however she wants. If they’re not real people, if they’re just programmed npcs then she can just pick the right responses to gain points with them. That’s why Ajimu is equally capable of being a very caring and loving person, but also cruel and sadistic. Neither of them are the real her, she’s equally both because she has nothing to ground her personality on, she doesn’t see other people as people. 

Which is exactly what Kumagawa calls Medaka out on, which happens immediately after he reveals how his “love story” with Ajimu ended. Both Medaka and Ajimu have a trouble seeing other people as people due to how much they have been isolated and put on a pedestal their entire lives. However, both of them are both afraid ot come down from their pedestal as well and admit they’re wrong. Their entire identity is built around being girls stronger than anyone so who else would they be if they weren’t that? 

Ajimu is just the negative result of such an attitude. Medaka is preechy and looks down on other people, but it’s never treated that seriosuly as a flaw by the plot. It’s always looked on as something well intentioned and misguided, but ultimately just something she does out of ignorance. Whereas, Ajimu has full on malice for the people she doesn’t see as people.

Ajimu’s complete apathy for other people causes her to treat others terribly. She carelessly tears Medaka and Zenkichi apart, throws everything into chaos, basically because they’re her toys and she wants to play with them. The only reason Ajimu ends up not killing anybody is because Ajimu herself doesn’t really care enough about anybody to kill them. 

Medaka’s ignorance of other people, becomes complete and utter apathy with Ajimu. Her inability to love someone as an individual becomes Ajimu’s complete and total inability to see people as even real, or anything other than manga characters. 

They both ultimately live empty lives that leaves them some form of suicidal. Medaka wishes she had never been born, and Ajimu wants to kill herself out of boredom.

What both of them want desperately is to be equal to other people, and to stop being alone, but also neither of them can let go of the fact that they are special and they think they have to stand above others which is what creates the central conflict in both characters. It’s just that Medaka believes life is epic and keeps trying to learn how she can live, she keeps growing, whereas Ajimu like Kumagawa just spirals out of control slowly and becomes more minus, more negative. 

That’s why in the end Medaka is the only one that can stop Ajimu from killing herself, because Medaka is Ajimu, she has those same suicidal feelings and can understand them. 

3. Kumagawa and Ajimu

What exactly happened between Kumagawa and Ajimu in middle school is never fully revealed, despite being so formative for many of the conflicts of the plot. However, there is a lot of subtext for what their relationship was and almost none of it is pretty. 

The most defining moment of their relationship is that Kumagawa ripped her face off. If you think about Medaka and Zenkichi as two people who humanize each other, who give each other their identity than Kumagawa did the opposite. The face is the sign of identity. When Kumagawa ripped it off, not only did he destroy her identity, he also made everyone else forget about her.

Another thing is Ajimu appears to talk with Kumagawa every time he dies, and this close proximity to her is something that makes him hate her as much as he loves her. 

It’s a pretty clear metaphor for being trapped in a relationship that’s bad for both parties, that makes you eventually start to hate the person you love specifically because you feel trapped by them. Their relationship is something that contributes to Kumagawa’s misery, but at the same time it’s something Kumagawa cannot let go of because if he does not he’s afraid Ajimu might die.

Kumagawa was doing to Ajimu what Zenkichi did to Medaka when they first met. he was trying to give her a reason, any reason to live. However, his way of saving her life was to screw her down and steal away both her face and her freedom. That is to say he made her even less of a person that she normally is. 

The general story we know is this. They met in middle school, and during that time both of them kind of experienced a “honeymoon phase” of their relationship. Kumagawa was able to feel like a normal person around her because Ajimu is just that competent at getting along with others, and at that time he basically existed to do everything she said. 

Even though you’re sitting arrogantly atop the seat of Student Council President, you’re nothing more than her puppet.

You may have heard the term “puppet government” before, but right now, you’re actually making that a reality—just like our time in middle school, our time at Hakobune Middle School.

That time—that time you became the Student Council President with a zero-percent approval rating, you had basically turned into a yes-man for me, the Not Equal. [x]

Ajimu says the first time she had expectations for another person, that is the first human being she struggled to try to see them as human was Kumagawa. However, something goes wrong most likely due to Ajimu’s suicidal nature and Kumagawa’s wish for her to live. 

My guess is that on that “day” we never got to learn the details of, Ajimu threatened suicide first and Kumagawa retaliated. Or, Kumagawa knew she was suicidal all along and he was terrified of losing her and over the course of two years those negative feelings built up until Kumagawa finally broke and acted up.

At which point they both broke each other irrepably. They started being terrible to one another. Kumagawa is specifically referred to as having trauma that outweighs all the other trauma in his life and it’s triggered when Emukae takes both of the exploding bracelets and almost commits suicide right in front of him to save him. In other words he had trauma with girls he loves comitting suicide. It’s also the one thing he’s afraid of, like when he asks Gagamaru to kill him because he’s too afraid to just jump off the roof on his own. 

When Kumagawa is describing all the negative things he has to accept in his life, he says it’s like accepting a lover. Which indicates a very unhealthy view when it comes to accepting the flaws of a lover in any relationship that you’re in.

Like some of the examples he lists are just, stuff that would happen in a relationship gone wrong. 

The reason it went wrong being in the end, Kumagawa and Ajimu unlike Zenkichi and Medaka are too similiar, they’re both too afraid of being human. It’s even implied they both hold the same kind of cynicism and minus forms of views which is why the understand each other so well.

They both see the world as an inescapable reality that’s not for them, where they don’t belong. Kumagawa because he is too weak, and Ajimu because she is too strong. They are on complete opposite sides of the spectrum, but that is how they connect with each other, because the world is not for them, it’s like they’re the only two people in the whole world.

It’s Ajimu and Kumagawa who make all the metafiction jokes, about treating real life like it’s a manga. And that’s a form of using fiction as escapism. Ajimu believes everything is fake, because the reality is that everything is unbearably lonely for her. Kumagawa uses fiction to escape, because the reality is life isn’t like shonen manga and tragedy upon tragedy is going to keep happening to him and it doesn’t matter if he’s strong or week. 

They both have this desire to become human the same way everyone else is. They both feel left out from other people’s happiness. However, they also both have the desire to escape, to run away, because things are too painful, too lonely for them and they can’t handle it. 

Which is why ultimately both Kumagawa and Ajimu can’t work together, because neither of them wants to be human because being human is vulnerable. Zenkichi even comments this, Kumagawa doesn’t want to be understood, not really, or at least not the way he presents himself. He tries everything possible to make others fail to understand him. 

Ajimu too, distances herself from reality as much as possible. She even calls herself a ‘non-human’ all the time, not because she’s some weird space alien, but because she does not want to be human. Neither of them wants to get hurt, to feel pain the same way that humans do.

Which is why they can’t work around each other. When they’re together, they both know each other so well, they both fit so naturally together, that both of them become vulnerable in a way that neither of them can handle. Kumagawa even says as much, though he presents the notion in the most warped and twisted way possible. That he saw through the fact that Ajimu was just pretending to be kind and to get along with other people, and none of that was her real self, and he tried to see through the mask. It worried him that he didn’t get to know the real Ajimu. Kumagawa at least at one point didn’t want to love the Ajimu that was kind to others, he wanted to love the real her.

But in the end Kumagawa has no idea if his feelings reached or even mattered to her. When he says as much it’s the one time Kumagawa looks genuinely sad during this entire conversation, and the panel hides his expression. 

Which is why in the end they’re relationship is so important and formative to one another. They, just like Medaka and Zenkcihi are basically the ones who humanize each other. They make up each other’s identities. But at the same time both of them are so afraid of being humans they go out of their way to dehumanize and destroy each other. 

Ajimu even admits this on the final note of their relationship together. That Kumagawa in the end was the only real person to her, the only person she could show any bias towards. That’s why she’s able to hate him and love him, because she actually sees him as a person. 

In the same light, Kumagawa only starts to believe it’s possible for him to win when Ajimu tells him he can.

That’s how formative for Kumagawa Ajimu is. He cannot accept the idea that he could win, until Ajimu finally accepted and embraced him as a person. 

That’s what it means to be close, you are equally as capable of hurting each other as you are helping each other. That’s why Medaka Box so beautfiully illustrates the power but also the vulnerability of human connection.

[grimoireweavers]

Inside the Mind

          { plotted starter for Seb and Illya ;; @ataash }

♞—-» STEM was...

Fuck, Sebastian didn’t even know how to describe STEM at all. During his time in this impossible world, he’d come across documents, journal entries, and taped recordings that offered some insight on what was going on in this nightmare and why the nightmare even existed in the first place. It helped Sebastian understand that this was some sort of experiment that took its subjects to a different plain of existence, almost like a reality within a reality.

In truth, it sort of reminded him of the movie Inception. A silly thing to compare real life to, but a comparison that he couldn’t really overlook either, because the further he moved through the ever-changing and contorting environments that seemed to make no logical sense, Sebastian very much felt as if he were moving from one dream to another, further and further down until the possibility arouse that he would never be able to come back.

Letting such thoughts grab hold of him in such a way, though, brought about feelings of hopelessness. What was the point in fighting if he didn’t understand what was going on in the first place and had no real way out of the dark at all? It would be much easier to give himself over to the corruption that seemed to infect anyone who dared to brave the false-reality. He’d even watched as the corruption appeared and took root in his best friend and partner, Joseph Oda.

Yes, his relationship with Joseph had been strained as of late. Ever since Lily’s death and Myra’s disappearance after numerous attempts to convince Sebastian that Lily was alive, Sebastian’s reliance on alcohol as a means to cope grew worse and worse. Sebastian wasn’t oblivious to his problems, as many people who spoke about why Myra ran off and disappeared wrote off Sebastian’s worries and suspicions around her disappearance as her having enough of his shit. They often blamed him for chasing her off, since they both dealt with the grief of Lily’s death in their own ways and Sebastian “couldn’t be there for Myra because he was too worried about drowning his own sorrows in a liquor glass.”

The opposite, in fact, was true. Myra kept spouting off insane conspiracy theories over Lily’s death, even going as far as to claim she was still alive. She never provided Sebastian with proof and instead of sounding able-minded, she sounded crazy. Sebastian believed in the only thing they could do. Accept Lily’s death. Grieve. Deal with their loss together. Move forward. They had to accept reality before they could ever even begin to heal and as much as it pained him to say such, it’s what Myra needed to hear. Myra never listened and the further she pushed into her crazy ramblings about Lily still being alive, it drove a wedge between them. How could it not? She wouldn’t listen to him. She was picking at the wound and letting it fester and he could do nothing to stop her.

Myra ran off without him, likely to follow these leads about their daughter that she never actually shared with him, and no one would listen to him. Because it was his fault, his drinking, and his attempts to cope with the most horrific thing that could happen to a parent. Everyone thought so. He suspected that even Joseph thought so, despite how many times he reassured Sebastian that he was on his side.

Joseph worried for his friend, Sebastian knew that.

But Joseph went too far when he actually got their chief involved in Sebastian’s developing drinking problem. Seb never pretended not to have the issue, but it never interfered with work. He didn’t show up to the precinct drunk. He didn’t go on cases and investigations intoxicated. His addiction never stopped him from being efficient and effective, it was only a way to fill the silence of his loneliness when no one else was around to ground him. And Joseph had to go and run his mouth, thinking it would help the detective get better.

How, exactly? That was Sebastian’s question.

The turmoil in their relationship made watching Joseph slowly turn into a monster, reverting first to multiple suicide attempts to keep himself from losing his humanity, to actually turning on him no less horrific, though. Joseph was the one friend Sebastian still had in the world, the one person that would always have his back, and Joseph was just... gone. Boils and protruding veins spread across his flesh and the burning, red hot rage that pulsated in his eyes as he finally turned on Sebastian were not Joseph. Fuck, Seb wasn’t even sure there was anything left of Joseph in there.

And he could feel that same evil bubbling through for him as well... It was inside of him, trying desperately to claw its way out and take control. The longer people stayed inside STEM, the more they became part of STEM, and once they were part of the machine, they would have a roll to fill. Every cog had to spin, and every piece had a part to play. Once you lost yourself, you were nothing more than a cog, nothing more than a tool to keep this plain of reality as real and as authentic as possible.

So, what, again, was the point? Sebastian didn’t know how to navigate this place. The world was always changing. The second he thought he knew where he was going, he would plummet through the ground or be hurled at full force through the sky and land somewhere unrecognizable and foreign. He barely had enough time to navigate that new section before he was tossed somewhere else. A never-ending cycle that always brought about new and dangerous terrains as well as mindless creatures that only registered him as a threat.

The Haunted, as some of the notes he’d found, were the most common. That’s what he assumed happened to Joseph. They seemed to be the most normal form of corruption STEM had over a person who’d been trapped here too long. They were almost zombie-like in the way they moved and rushed people with ravenous hunger, though they didn’t actually appear to have any interest in devouring their victims and their condition didn’t spread by bite ( thank whatever God there might be, honestly ). There were other beings, though, larger, more volatile and hostile. The Keeper, with a safe for a head and the ability to kill itself and respawn from another safe elsewhere, always carrying that awful-smelling sac full of who knew what and a massive meat mallet that could crush the head of a human with one swing. The Sadist, a Haunted that was larger, stronger, and always seemed to be wielding a chainsaw as it’s weapon of choice. The Shiyo, a water monster that Sebastian never really got a good look at because it was always submerged in murky masses, unable to be seen by the naked eye. Laura, Ruvik’s mutated woman with six long, spidery limbs that moved just like a spider would. She was quick and her hands ended in curved talons that could carve flesh from bone.

Ruvik himself, a rather average looking specter who suffered severe burns all over his body. He seemed to linger in the background, pulling the strings, rather than confronting Sebastian himself. He always had an eye on the detective, but he rarely engaged firsthand.

And those were just to name a few of the many opponents Sebastian had to avoid or put down with his small arsenal of collected and modified weaponry. Thank fuck he actually knew how to use most basic firearms. Had a person less skilled than him in survival come into this world, they wouldn’t have lasted long. Which was probably why there were so many Haunted running amuck seemingly everywhere.

He finally found himself in a decrepit city. It looked like Krimson City, the place Sebastian had been born and raised and still lived to this day, but it was difficult to tell with the way the entire city seemed to float over nothing, the ground cracking apart so that anything unfortunate enough to fall into the fissures would cascade into nothingness. Buildings crumbled and sat at odd, unnatural angles, some even leaning so heavily on the building beside them, it was a wonder they didn’t send one another tumbling over like dominos.

Supplies were his top concern. After Joseph’s turning, he’d been completely alone to fend for himself, save for a boy named Leslie that wandered in and out of the picture. Leslie was... not all there. He was almost always accompanied by his doctor, who seemed to act as a carer for him in this world, though why either of them was here, he couldn’t quite discern. He’d run into them both together and separately a few times, and Sebastian had taken Leslie under his wing to protect him twice now, only to have the boy wander off again. Every time Sebastian attempted to follow him, the world would shift, and he would be dumped out into a completely new place. Alone.

Despite his worry, he knew he needed to keep moving, restock, and keep himself alive. He wouldn’t be any good to anyone if he was dead or worse, if he allowed himself to become Haunted. Why he still had the drive to fight and push through when it all seemed to hopeless, he didn’t know. Even if he did make it out of here, what did he have to go back to?

Every time those thoughts crept up, he stubbornly pushed them down and forced himself to take another step. That’s all he could do. Take another step. Step again. And again. Do the next thing, and then the next. It was the only way to navigate and survive a place like STEM, a place that didn’t make sense.

Part of him, a very little part all the way in the back of his mind, had already accepted that he must have snapped, that he’d finally lost it, and that none of this was real. Maybe a really elaborate fever dream? Maybe he was in a coma? Or maybe he’d died and gone to Hell. Sebastian always tried to be the best man that he could be, but he’d sinned enough and hurt enough in his life that if he’d woken up dead in Hell, he wouldn’t even be surprised.

‘Sorry, Mom,’ he kept finding himself thinking.

Finally, he managed to take shelter in a mostly intact office building. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stay there long. The Living always had a way of attracting the creatures of STEM, no matter how well they hid, but he’d at least be able to stop, rest for a breather, and hopefully find some supplies that would prove to be useful.

Making his way inside, he rummaged through a few mailboxes and desks in the entryway, finding a couple of spare bullets, a questionable looking syringe filled with a liquid that was so bright, he wondered if it’d glow under blacklight, and a journal entry ripped from its spine. The handwriting was smudged and it was difficult to make out, but it said something about Ruvik working with the doctor that was always with Leslie. Strange...

There was also a missing persons poster hanging on the front bulletin board. He found a lot of those during his time here. Were they the people who had lost themselves in STEM, he wondered?

He made his way up a few more floors, checking drawers, closets, and cabinets as he went for anything that might be useful, though the building showed signs of already being searched. Drawers left open and doors hanging on their hinges suggested that someone had already looted this place. Not exactly surprising, seeing how many people had apparently been here, but Sebastian wondered if this building was not quite as safe as he first expected. Was the person still here? Was it even a person?

Footsteps from above him caught his attention and he quickly lowered himself down into a crouch, slowly moving along the wall for cover as he made his way to the stairwell at the end of the hall. If someone or something else was here, he needed to know, and he needed to put it down before it found him if it turned out to be a threat. He found himself hopeful that might have been Joseph or, for Fuck sake, even Kidman might have been a blessing at this point. Even if the Junior Detective working under him and Joseph had proven to be rather sketchy, she was at least still alive and herself as far as he knew.

Sneaking his way up the stairs, he emerged on the floor above him, and he slowly pulled the revolver hanging in his shoulder holster from its protective pocket. Cocking it, Sebastian moved towards the source of the sound, only to find a rather normal-looking man in one of the cubicle office rooms. Well, normal wasn’t the right word. Tall—far taller than Sebastian—and well built, he definitely wasn’t your average, run of the mill human. If Sebastian’s mind had been allowed to wander, he even would have gone as far as to say handsome. But he looked human, a human not infected with the curses of this terrible place. No signs of turning and no signs of hostility. Yet.

Was he even real? That was an important question in these parts. And if he was, who the Hell was he, and what was he doing here?

Sebastian debated whether or not to engage, pressing his back firmly against the hallway wall next to the doorframe as he peaked inside the room, watching the man flip through documents atop desks and rummage through drawers. So, he was likely the reason that there wasn’t much to actually take in this building, then? Maybe that was a confirmation that he was, in fact, real?

[icequeenoriginal]

Prompt: “ The language of love” Prinxiety. Please and thank you! Love your work btw!

Aww thank you!

Note: Since @sugarglider9603 and @ask-spiderverse-virgil got spammed with angst in their Spiderverse AU, I decided to write something super fluffy since I can’t do anything else but tell people to respect her wishes when it comes to angst.

Trigger Warning: Food, kissing, a reference to Intimacy and All Its Forms

Pairings: Prinxiety and Logicality (mentioned)

If you were to ask someone what the love languages, they would say, according to the famous Dr. Chapman, there are five love languages: Words of Affirmation, Acts of Service, Receiving Gifts, Quality Time, and Physical Touch. If you were to ask someone else what the romance languages were, they would say there are five; French, Spanish, Portuguese, Italian, and Romanian.

If you were to ask Roman and Virgil, they would say there are five: Physical Touch, Spanish, French, Dancing, and Singing. Logan would be appalled that would attempt to disprove someone like Dr. Chapman while Patton found it cute and would shush Logan with a kiss. But they didn’t care what anyone else thought, it was theirs and only theirs.

1. Physical Touch

Roman and Virgil were lounging on Virgil’s bed, facing opposite directions. The room was quiet except for the sound of pencils scribbling across papers and soft music playing in the background. It was a peaceful sight.

Until Virgil suddenly sprung up, head nearly hitting the ceiling due to his spider powers, and held his paper above his head triumphantly. “Finished!”

Roman threw his pencil down, much like a football player who just lost the championship game “No! I was so close!”

“Better luck next time Princey!”

Roman was suddenly struck with an idea and finished the rest of the worksheet.

Virgil tilted his head “What are you doing Princey? The bet was whoever finishes first.”

“Nope! It was whoever finishes first and who has the most correct answers. You may have bested me in speed but my smarts will avenge me.”

Virgil smirked, “If you remember that, then you remember who’s grading.”

“Yeah, it’s Logan. Why?”

Virgil sat back down and raised an eyebrow. “You really think my best friend is going to let me lose a bet to you?”

Roman open his mouth to retort but it snapped shut as he realized how right his boyfriend was. Roman gently pushed the worksheet to the side and leaned over so that he was face to face with Virgil. “You’re a monster.”

Virgil leaned in and whispered for his and Roman’s lips were inches apart. “Oh yeah? Then how are you going to defeat me, Princey?”

Roman leaned forward, captured Virgil’s lips. Virgil happily kissed him back, even allowing Roman to push him down so that he was fulling laying on the bed. In the past, even thinking of something like that would terrify him but Roman made him so calm and happy that he’d do it all day.

Roman gently pulled back and whispered as he placed his hands on Virgil’s waist “Is this okay?”

Virgil’s heart soars at those words. Roman loved physical affection but he always asked, especially after The Incident That Shall Not Be Named.  Virgil nodded and cupped Roman’s face, pulling him back into the kiss. They only pulled apart to start another kiss, then two more, then three days. They needed to practice their counting for Algebra anyway.

Suddenly, there was a banging at the door. “Virgil? Why is this door locked? What are you two doing in there?!”

Virgil cringed, he had forgotten his mother was home. He turned his head towards the door “We’re just studying Mama!”

Virgil could feel his mother’s skeptical glare through the door. “This door better be open by the count of three. One…”

Roman rolled off of Virgil and used his webbing to pick up the book he kicked off the bed during his and Virgil’s makeout session. Virgil used his own webbing to fling himself across the room towards the door.

“Two. Three.” Mrs. Storm was actually surprised when Virgil pulled the door open right on three and minimum shuffling was heard.

Virgil smiled casually at his mom “See? We’re just studying.” Virgil turned and motioned towards the bed before cringing as Roman was reading his Algebra book upside down.

Mrs. Storm raised an eyebrow “I see, then you two won’t mind leaving the door open from now on.”

“Yes, Má.”

“You know what happens when young boys are behind closed doors.”

Virgil replied, slightly more embarrassed “Yes Má.”

“And I know you want to explore your–”

“ MA PLEASE!” Virgil’s face turned bright red and Roman threw his head back laughing “Can we please go back to studying?”

Mrs. Storm smiled and rubbed his head “Alright. Oh and Roman? It might be easier to understand what you’re studying if you held the book right side up.”

If he was any other man, Roman would have panicked. However, he was Roman Marigold, actor, and superhero. He flashed his award-winning smile and says “That would make sense, Mrs.Strom, but unfortunately I do not understand it right side up so I was attempting a new study tactic.”

Virgil was able to let go of the breath he was holding and Mrs. Storm smiled softly at Roman. “I see, carry on boys.”

2. Spanish

Virgil waited until his mother was all the way down the hall before turning around to Roman. He was sitting cross-legged, smirking playfully. Damn him.

Virgil glared, though he wasn’t actually mad “That was too close.”

Roman simply shrugged and extended his arms, making grabby hands much like a toddler.

Virgil wanted to smack him, with his mouth, repeatedly. “We could have gotten in serious trouble.”

“But we didn’t~” Roman finally replied, “Now come here, mi amor.”

Virgil crossed his arms and huffed playfully “Nah.”

“ Oh mi amor, ¿por qué me haces tanto daño?” 

Virgil felt the butterflies in his stomach began to dance, he loved it when Roman spoke to him in Spanish, even if he had no idea what Roman was saying. Though, an unspoken bet had begun with Virgil losing if he sat back down on the bed.

Roman knew this, so he decided to pull out all the stops “ Te amo Virgil, solo quiero darte un beso. ¿Por favor mi amor?”

It was getting harder and harder for Virgil to budge “Sorry, I don’t understand Spanish.”

“Mi corazón. Mi alma gemela. Mi ángel. Eres tan maravilloso. Eres hermosa. Eres mi todo. ¡Te amo mucho!”

Virgil rolled his eyes before diving into Roman’s arms. He stole a quick kiss before moving to sit next to Roman, in case his mom came back.

Virgil knew his face was very red and he hides it in his hands “You’re too good at that.”

Roman smiles softly “Gracias cariño, cualquier cosa para ti.”

“You can stop now.”

“¿Pero por qué? Te hace sonreír amante.”

Virgil picked up the nearest textbook and gently smacked Roman in the face. “We have homework.

3. French

Roman threw his head back and laughed “Why must you hurt me so?!” Roman let out an over the top gasp “And you turned off my Spanish!”

Virgil playfully shoved him and used the “boost” to lean down and pull out his French textbook. Virgil bite his lip as he stared at the cover, French was his hardest class

“I still can’t believe you took French,” Roman said as he pulled out his Spanish textbook

“I can’t believe you took Spanish.”

Roman shrugged and flipped to his homework “I needed an easy class this Semester. Plus it’s my last class of the day and I need an hour to decompress before play practice.”

Virgil hummed, trying his best to focus on the foreign words in front of him. He gently placed his head on Roman’s shoulder and smiled when Roman leaned his head against Virgil’s.

“So why did you take French anyway? You never told me.”

Virgil looked away “You’re going to laugh.”

“Nonsense, I never laugh at you.”

Virgil shot him a glare

“…much anymore. Come on! I’m nosey, tell me!”

Virgil snickered “Ugh fine, only because you’re groveling.” His expression turned soft and sentimental “It was all Ms. Green’s idea. She said that if I wanted to have a better connection with Ballet, I should study the language of origin. That way I know the words to songs I’m dancing too.” Virgil began to rub the back of his neck nervously “Sorry, you probably think that so dorky.”

Roman gently took Virgil’s hands in his “Not at all. Mr. Bell got me into reading old Greek and Roman plays to see how theater has evolved over time.”

Virgil smirked, “ha, nerd.”

Roman decided to ignore that comment and kiss both of Virgil’s hands, making Virgil blushed once again. Roman peered over the book and smiled at the picture of the couple sitting in a cafe in Paris. He wondered how long it would take them to swing there.

“You know mi amor, if you master French, you could seduce me with it.” Roman reached into the book once filled with chips and frowned when his hand hit the bottom of the bowl. “Aww, there’s no more snacks.” Roman hopped off the bed and picked up the bowl “Not to worry, I’ll get some more and endure the awkward conversation with your mom.” Roman bowed and walked out of the room.

As soon as Roman was out the door, Virgil flips quickly through his textbook. He came across the chapter titled “The REAL Love Language”, the title made him roll his eyes but it had exactly what he wanted so he couldn’t complain.

Roman returned, looking unfazed from the conversation that he just had that he will not be repeating. He smiled at the sight of his boyfriend studying intensely. Virgil looked up and smiled before saying “Je t'aime romain.”

Roman nearly fainted 

“Tu es incroyable” Virgil was horribly butchering the pronunciation but that did not matter at all to Roman. Virgil squinted at the textbook, trying to pick something simple to say when Roman lowered the textbook and kissed Virgil. 

They pulled apart when they heard Grandma Storm cleared her throat, Virgil jumped back and Roman straightening up. 

Grandma Storm smirked at them, waggling her finger “Homework first boys.”

“Yes, Mama.” They said in unison.

4. Dancing

Virgil flopped onto his back, feeling exhausted “I finally finished…now I’m going to sleep for 30 years.”

Roman laid down, propping himself up with his elbow “And you call me dramatic.”

“Hush, French is hard.”

 Roman leaned down and gently kissed Virgil’s head. “Well, now you can rest.”

“I wish. I have to practice my routine at least once today. You, uh, can watch if you want. Or not! I don’t mind.”

Roman sat up “I love watching you dance nightingale. You look so happy and relaxed when you do so.”

Virgil had no idea you could fall in love with someone you were already in love it “Thanks Princey.” Virgil climbed off the bed and grabbed his ballet shoes. After he placed them on his feet, he did some stretches, pretending not to notice that Roman was totally checking him out.

After five minutes of torturing Roman, Virgil qued up his song and began to dance. It was a lyrical and a slow tempo. It was like he was sleeping, moving through his dream. 

Roman watched, hearts replacing his pupils. The sight was just so peaceful, like something straight out of a movie. He tattooed every minute into his mind.

Virgil spun over to Roman, pulling him up and off the bed. Virgil did most of the work, using Roman as something to balance on as he stood on his toes or when he needed to jump in the song to prevent him from making a hole in the ceiling.

They both knew Virgil didn’t need it but neither one was complaining.

As the song faded out, Roman “helped” Virgil do one last turn before the shared a hug.

“Thanks for your help Sir Sing-A-Lot,” Virgil whispered before kissing Roman’s neck

“No problem my dark and stormy knight.” Roman pulled back gently held Virgil’s arms “But now it’s my turn.”

5. Singing

Roman led Virgil to the bed and sat him down. He quickly grabbed Virgil’s guitar that was resting in front of the bed and played one cord. Roman winced and began to tune it. “You’re punishing this guitar you know,” Roman said in a matter-of-fact tone. 

“Not my fault, time is never on my side”

“You could just give it to me.”

“Never.”

Roman chuckled “Worth a shot.” He finished tuning the guitar shortly after that and began to play.

“Wish men say, only fools rush in, but I can’t help falling in love with you”

Virgil sighed lovingly. Roman was like a siren, his beautiful voice enchanted all who heard it. Virgil was secretly so happy that Roman seemed to sing for him to most. He didn’t care how selfish that might sound. Roman was his boyfriend and Virgil planned on keeping him for a long time.

The song ended too soon for Virgil’s taste but it meant he could reward his boyfriend with a kiss. They made out a bit more, making sure their superhearing was forced on anyone coming towards them.

Both of them loved their love languages, but they loved each other more.

~Tag list:

@corkeecoderyt @Per-seph-o-nee @Ohshrekmyheck @3milystuff  @Asymmetricalgarbage8888   @fairytailtwists  @sanders-sides-rebloger  @sanderssidesfluffyangst  @unikornavenger @0callmevirge0 @gloomingwitch @roxiefox24 @ijustreallylovesanderssides @unisaurioamorfo

[thecorteztwins]

These are some tips for good villains that I’ve written up, without relying on giving them tragedy or good intentions. Not that tragic backstories or good intentions are bad to give your villains, they're often GREAT, but you can have an interesting villain without them too, and I think they’re a topic most people already know and understanding, so I wanted to cover other ways a bad guy can be fleshed-out and compelling. “Good villains” here doesn’t mean “morally good” or even “sympathetic” but simply “interesting and well-written”. It’s geared towards bad guys you want to be prominent (perhaps the Big Bad or at least someone fairly important in the villain hierarchy, perhaps a personal nemesis to your character, etc), particularly those with a close connection to your hero (though that’s not necessary), that you want to be competent and threatening rather than comical or inept, and that you aim to make feel complex and “real” without necessarily being sympathetic at any point (though it’s fine if you do that too). It’s also geared more towards teen and adult audiences, and the fantasy/sci-fi/superhero genres (though not exclusive to them) You’ll notice that I use the word “consider” a whole lot in this list. That’s because none of this is a rule. Every character is different, including villains, so what “works” for your villain is going to vary; in fact, depending on who your villain is, some of these suggestions might be a bad idea! So take them as just that, suggestions, to think about and determine for yourself if they’re something that would work for what you have in mind. Not doing them, or even doing the opposite, will not automatically make your villain poorly written. Likewise, using common tropes and even cliches don’t necessarily make a villain poorly written either; some of the best-written villains out there employ quite a lot of cliches! Basically, think of this as simply a list of IDEAS, not necessities. And more than that, a list of OPINIONS, specifically just MY opinions. And I’m just one person, whose taste carries no more authority than anyone else’s, certainly not your own. Take what you like, and leave the rest. Because there is a LOT here. Like a LOT. It’s very VERY long with lots of points. So that’s why the cut!

- Whether your villain is a school bully or a high fantasy Dark Lord, reconsider having them OBSESSED with your hero. A lot of times when I see this, it’s just a way for the writer to prop up the hero and re-emphasize how SPECIAL they are, without the hero themselves actually having to DO anything special. They’re special because the bad guy hates them and the bad guy hates them because they’re special, and that’s why we should root for them. It’s circular and annoying in that alone, but it also reduces the villain to a mere prop who would have no character themselves (aside from, perhaps, generic “evil” traits) if you took the hero out of the picture. Consider maybe they’re NOT obsessed with the hero, or at least not more than any other obstacle to their plans. Consider the FOR ME IT WAS TUESDAY trope. Consider the villain having a life and personality apart from the good guy, and other aspects to their goals besides them. A hero-obsessive villain can certainly work, such as the Joker with Batman, but like the Joker they should still be a character in their own right too, not just a foil to the hero. For instance, Shadow-Weaver in the new She-Ra series is certainly obsessed with Adora, but there’s a lot more to her character; her favoritism for Adora is just a facet/extension of that. - Don’t make a strawman. A good villain should be more than just a 2-dimensional construct of everything evil and detestable for the hero to knock down. Give their personality the same consideration and depth that hero gets, and let them have traits that are not evil in and of themselves, such as perhaps being brave, artistic, or loyal. Some “good” traits work very well in the service of evil (a villain who is brave is far more dangerous than one who is cowardly, and one who is loyal to their evil empire is more dangerous than one who is disloyal to it) and some can simply be unrelated, such as enjoying painting or collecting fine pottery pieces. - Consider letting your hero admire something about the villain. It is very, VERY common for villains to admire something about the hero. They will often find them impressive for some reason another, and may even praise them or wish they’d join them. It is EXTREMELY rare for heroes to return the favor. And isn’t that kind of funny? What does it say, that the villain can find something worthy in their foes, but our hero can’t? Especially if this is a villain who has bested them fair and square over and over through power, cunning, or talent. It’s understandable in some cases --- for instance, it’s hard to expect an eleven year old to see anything worthy in the man who murdered his parents---there’s nothing wrong with letting your good guy admit that the bad guy is better with a sword, or has great style, or thinks up schemes that the hero could never imagine (and not just because the hero is too moral to think of such things), or wishing someone with the bad guy’s skills were on their side. These aren’t the same thing as endorsing the villain’s actions, they have nothing to do with morality or justification, any more than the villain saying they admire the hero’s determination or loyalty or resourcefulness is the villain saying they admire goodness. - This is more a “hero” tip, but...don’t fall into the hypocrisy of Protagonist-Centered Morality. PCM is when everything the hero does is uncritically framed as “good” just because the hero does it. Yes, she murders when she doesn’t technically have to, just like the villain, but it was BAD people! Yes, she uses others without their knowledge or consent to get her way, just like the villain, but it was for a GOOD reason. Yes, she loves beautiful dresses and jewels but when her rival does it, it’s because she’s vain and shallow and materialistic. Yes, she checks out the hot new boy, but when other girls gush and giggle over it, they’re brainless stereotypes unlike HER. While a hypocritical protagonist, or one that is not so different from the villain in the end, are both EXTREMELY interesting concepts and can make for a GREAT flawed hero to explore and develop, the problem with PCM is that ISN’T what the author is trying to do; they simply think that it’s all fine so long as the hero is doing it, whereas the villain is bad because it’s the villain doing it. This sort of unaware hypocrisy puts readers off VERY quickly once they pick up on it. Heroes should be held to the same standards as villains at least, if not MORE so, if we’re meant to consider them heroes. And the more pure, perfect, good, and right that we’re meant to perceive this hero as, the higher standard they should be held to. For instance, the Punisher and Sailor Moon are very different sorts of heroes, so the lines for them are in very different places---but they’re still there. You can’t have Sailor Moon act like the Punisher, and still have her be seen as Sailor Moon. Flawed heroes are great---I love them!---but they must be TREATED as flawed. We can’t be expected to root for them against the villains if there’s no difference in what they do and how they act. - In a battle of wits with the hero, let the villain be equally armed. Yes, we’ve all WANTED to leave the school bully gobsmacked with our witty retort, or to stun people into silence who annoy us, and these things are actually fine in stories. A witty hero can be a LOT of fun. But so can a witty villain. And a battle of verbal barbs between TWO very witty people can be a lot of fun to read! Not to mention that having the HERO be stunned into silence and unable to retort is actually fairly relatable; how many of us having only thought of what we SHOULD have said to someone hours later in the shower? Not to mention that if the villain keeps being made to look like an idiot incapable of making a single comeback, their threat level goes down quite a bit in the reader’s eyes, even if WHY they’re a threat is unrelated. Also...if you’re going to do this, make sure you can ACTUALLY write a witty hero. Wit is super hard, I know it’s hard for me, but it’s painful to read a scene where everyone is STUNNED at some “clever” thing the hero just said...and it’s not clever at all. - Consider letting the villain win a battle sometimes even if the hero wins the war in the end. If you hero overtakes the bad guy in each and every confrontation, there’s no suspense at all for any of their fights, let alone the final one (which should be the most dramatic and suspenseful). Giving the villain some minor victories---or better yet, substantial ones--can truly make the viewers worry what will happen. They may logically know the good guy will triumph, but you can still get them on the edge of their seats, and wondering at what cost that triumph will be. - Let the hero’s victories have a cost. If you want the villain to truly feel like a threat, let the hero have to lose something---or someone---in the course of defeating them. Maybe it’s something small, maybe it’s something huge, depending on the scale of the battle and what’s at stake, and you need not do it EVERY time, but for the biggest victories, consider a dramatic cost of SOME kind to the hero. This adds a sense of risk to dealing with the villain, and thus a sense of suspense and concern for the reader. -   Consider letting your villain take defeat with grace, or even get something out of it. While the hero’s victory costs them, the villain may in fact get a consolation prize of some sort. For instance, on the “Gargoyles” TV show,  the villain Xanatos fails to find out the hiding place of the gargoyles, but he feels fine about it because he still regained a treasure, earned a favor from the city, got to test out his new battle armor design, and has reassured himself that he wasn’t going soft like he’d worried. Why let your villain do this, while doing the opposite to your hero? For the hero, it makes their victories feel truly earned that they had to lose something in the process; it shows their dedication to whatever they’re doing, and it can give them new challenges or development---does their loss make them not want to keep going? Does it drive them harder? How does it affect them? And you can do that with a bad guy too, just like you can totally give the hero some fringe benefits to a defeat sometimes too. It just tends to be more fun and unexpected with villains, since most writers will save all the goodies for the heroes because the heroes “deserve” them; it’s almost expected that things will work out for them in the end. But if you can make it feel like the villain “deserved” it too through their cleverness or effort, it can be quite surprising, not to mention keeps things interesting since the reader is no longer able to predict exactly where the chips will fall.   As for letting them take defeat with grace...even if they DON’T get something out of their defeat, consider NOT having them flip out over it. Emotional outbursts definitely work for some villains and helps communicate something about them, but a villain who keeps his cool after a loss, even a big one, can be just as effective at communicating something about his character too (and it’s much more rare). - For a hero or a villain, let the victory feel EARNED. Regardless of which one beat the other, let the victory feel like something they MADE happen, rather than something that just fell into their laps. Even if the villain cheated to do it, they should still have to put effort into the cheating! - No stupid villains. If their plan is easy to figure out or sabotage, go back and rework it. Give them one or two contingency plans that the reader also has to contend with, or perhaps didn’t see coming at all. Note that it doesn’t matter how smart your villain is SUPPOSED to be if what actually happens in practice is your villain being stupid. Not to mention that, as with letting the villain win sometimes, this makes your hero have to WORK for their victory, which makes it feel EARNED. Keep a watch for cliches (ex: “I’m going to put the good guys in a cell with one easily tricked, poorly armed guard!”) and consult the good ol’ EVIL OVERLORD LIST. - If they’re already terrible in some specific or general way, reconsider how necessary it is they be terrible in some additional way just to show how eeevil they are. For instance, a heartless factory owner with no regard for the health, safety, or mental well-being of his employees is pretty despicable on for that alone; does he really need to abuse animals for fun too? If you want to make sure the animal-lovers in the crowd hate him, maybe it’s not that he abuses animals for fun, but simply doesn’t care how the animals in his company---such as work horses, depending on the time period---are treated so long as there’s a profit, just like how he sees humans. That way, it’s something that’s consistent with what’s already been shown of him---someone who values profit at all else, including other living beings---rather than feeling like it’s been tacked-on at random for shock value. - Especially do not use violence (especially sexual violence) to manipulate your audience if it involves children or animals. That doesn’t just make your readers hate the villain, it will make them hate YOU. There’s one comic book writer who killed a ton of people in his run, but it was the horrible death of a puppy that he got the angry letters over. Besides outraging readers, though, it’s also just a cheap tactic that a good writer shouldn’t have to rely on. This isn’t to say you can never use torture, graphic violence, rape, hurting children/animals, etc, at all---there are some truly fantastic works out there that have involved all these things---but to not reach for them willy-nilly. Be sure it’s actually necessary and that there’s no other option you can reach for, and don’t overuse it either. Doing it once has an effect; doing it ten times over decreases that effect. Which brings me to my next point... - Your villain should not be a mere vehicle for torture porn. A lot of times, it’s pretty clear to me that a writer just wants to write their hero being tortured/raped/lose a loved one/etc over, and over, and over. In addition to losing the emotional impact with repeats, this also ends up just annoying to the reader most of the time, especially since their usually seems something masturbatory in it. Not necessarily in a sexual sense, but as in some people just REALLY enjoy writing their characters suffer or trying to engender sympathy for them, and will do it ad nauseaum to the detriment of plot and development. If this is something you enjoy writing just for yourself, by all means go ahead with it, but if it’s something you intend to share or publish, consider moving on from repeatedly going over graphic, lingering ways in which your hero is yet again going to be tortured by the bad guy. - If your villain is a woman, LGBT, ethnic or religious minority, etc., reconsider any evil or cruel traits that reinforce negative stereotypes about that group as a whole. For instance, it’s probably not a great idea to have an LGBT villain be a sexual predator, or a Muslim villain who is misogynistic or religiously motivated against “infidels” for his crimes, or for you to use “doesn’t like children and/or men” as a way to show how evil your lady villain is. - If your hero is female, don’t have the male villain rape her just because. Please. I’m not saying this can never happen--we need stories about rape and survivors, not talking about it and not having stories is far worse---but there’s a real THING with writers feeling that all heroines need to face the threat of sexual assault, and all male villains are automatically ready to commit it, and it’s kind of messed up. -   Give your villain good arguments for their motive/actions that can’t be easily and immediately refuted, and that an intelligent, reasonable person (assuming your villain is meant to be one) could realistically believe. This doesn’t mean that their argument has to be moral or sympathetic at all, it can in fact be completely cruel, but it should be something that doesn’t immediately fall apart like a Jenga stack under the least bit of logic. Try thinking up ways your villain’s rationale could be refuted, and craft rebuttals towards them, strengthening their argument. After all, if they got this far, they’ve probably encountered quite a few such arguments BEFORE the hero brings them up. Of course, lots of villains are driven by emotional/psychological reasons, but most real people will still create “logical” rationales and philosophies to justify acting out their issues and doing what they want. Give your bad guy the courtesy of doing the same, especially if they’re not intended as delusional or irrational people. Their plans should likewise make sense in service of these arguments; for instance, Thanos might have a point about limited resources, but as many people have pointed out, his “snap” actually did nothing to fix it because the resources-to-population ratio remained the same, the resources were not re-distributed in any way, etc. Your villain’s means to accomplish their goals don’t need to be the best way in a moral sense---they’re VILLAINS---but they should still make some sense in terms of being EFFECTIVE. -   Remember your villains motives, one type of villainy doesn’t guarantee another. Someone who is motivated purely by profit is unlikely to join up with an ideological organization (unless there’s some way to get profit from that) Someone who is an eco-terrorist is unlikely to be interest in jewel heists (unless it’s justified by her using the money from selling the jewels to fund her eco-terrorism) And someone who is a mercenary for the sheer thrill and challenge of it, is probably not going to take a job that’s the equivalent of stealing candy from a baby. A person being morally okay with one type of evil doesn’t equate to them being down for ALL kinds, and their morality may not align with the common view. For instance, most people would consider rape to be far worse than petty theft, but maybe in your villain’s worldview, theft takes something physical and tangible and objectively real from someone, so it’s therefore worse. And most people would see human life as being worth objectively more than plant life, but try telling that to Poison Ivy! Likewise, many villains are only okay with evil IN THE SERVICE OF THEIR GOALS. Magneto is fine with mass murder, but only when it’s to advance or protect mutantkind; he’s not going to do it for funsies. Some villains don’t have any moral opposition to any kind of wrongdoing, but may simply have no INTEREST in some types, while being very interested in others. It’s hard to see Sabretooth or Hannibal Lector being morally opposed to embezzlement and white collar crime, but they’ve got no interest in committing it, because it’s not what they enjoy and/or feel compelled to do, they want to kill (and eat) people. Yet, as fine as Hannibal is with killing and eating people, rudeness enrages him. So basically, if your villain is “bad” in one way, don’t feel he has to be evil in every single way, especially if those ways don’t logically line up with his interests, goals, or philosophy/worldview. Indeed, giving a bad guy certain moral limits, with reasons that make within said worldviews, can be extremely helpful in fleshing them out and making them more interesting, even if those moral limits don’t actually make them better people in any way (ex: the rapist who refuses to rob) - The above point also means you can let your villain commit GOOD acts without it seeming out of character or undermining their evil. For instance, Hitler was an animal lover, and there was widespread support for animal welfare in Nazi Germany. Many people think that loving animals is automatically the trait of a “good” person, and animal cruelty is commonly (to the point of cliche) used in media to show how awful and evil a bad guy is. But we know from this that it’s not the case. Your opinion can do “good” things or have “good” opinions, if you do so in a way that doesn’t counteract their villainy, and in fact may make sense in tandem with it. Maybe your heartless hotel mogul helps the heroes fight a kaiju because it’s threatening his property. Maybe the villain who is obsessed with defeating the hero will help the hero against another villain because he doesn’t want to be upstaged by them. Maybe someone who hates the concept of “law” as enforced by the government, rather than determined by each individual to live as they see fit, argues in favor of same-sex marriage because they don’t think anyone should be told they CAN’T do something by the state, whether it’s murder or marrying. Maybe they want to conquer Earth, but that’s no reason NOT to help a pregnant woman; she’s no threat to them, and in fact is one of (in their mind) their future subjects, as is her child. Or, as with the Hitler, maybe they just like animals and won’t treat them badly, even while doing unforgivable things to their fellow human beings. There’s really no limit of ways you can have them do something “good” without it actually making them any less evil, which enables them to feel like more of a real person without actually risking their status as a villain. - Consider letting your villain have loved ones WITHOUT it being a redeeming factor for them. This is extremely rare; the only time villains are typically allowed to love anyone is when it’s used to show them in a redemptive light, or at least reveal they’re not as bad as they seem. There’s an idea in our society that love and evil are diametrically opposed, that “love” is an inherently “good” trait, so someone who loves cannot be wholly evil and in fact has the capacity for good, so therefore letting villain have loved ones (or had them in the past) automatically makes them sympathetic. I disagree. Love isn’t a “good” trait in itself. Lots of the worst people in real-world history have had loved ones, whom they most likely genuinely did love, and did not abuse or mistreat. In fact, caring for one’s own can be the motive behind a great deal of evil, or simply unrelated to it. A mafia don can be a loving family man, and still order other families to be killed, because those things aren’t related to each other in his mind. Of course, you can have love be a sympathetic/redeeming factor for your bad guy too, nothing wrong with that, this is just an alternative. - Let your villain learn and develop. Oftentimes, the hero will change a lot over the course of the story due to their interactions with the villain...but the villain remains the same. This isn’t very realistic. Your bad guy should be learning and growing just as much from their experiences; it just doesn’t need to be in a positive way. Maybe they learn to change tactics, to adapt and try new schemes against the hero when the first ones don’t work, instead of doing the same thing over and over. Maybe they start out as a less ruthless, less adamant villain, and get “harder” as they go. Maybe they started out with a completely binary, black and white view of things, and they’ve since encountered situations that aren’t so cut and dried, so their view and approaches have become more nuanced, but still villainous. Maybe they focus more now on not getting caught. Maybe they made new allies and enemies along the way, and develop through their interactions with them. Basically, they can change and be dynamic in an organic way that makes sense for them, without ever having to stop being a bad guy. They may even learn to be a more effective, more dangerous bad guy! - Care about consistency with your villain as much as you would the hero. If he does something “because he knew it would hurt the hero more than anything” at one point, it doesn’t follow for “he does bad things because he doesn’t understand it hurts others” to come up at a later point; if he doesn’t understand the things he does hurt others, how did he work out how to hurt the hero the most? That doesn’t make sense. Yes, I just said villains should get to grow and change, but randomly contradicting previous characterization with no explanation is NOT the same as organic development. - Don’t rely on “they’re just evil” for a motive, and DEFINITELY don’t rely on “they’re just insane”. Mentally ill villains can be done well, but it’s very tricky territory to tread, with a lot of Unfortunate Implications to beware of. But if you are making a villain who has a mental illness, that shouldn’t be what MAKES them evil. It may influence their thought process, how they reached the conclusions they did, or how they go about things, but it doesn’t HAVE to. In fact, I’d like to see more villains for whom insanity isn’t what gave them their goals or tactics, but does end up being a hindrance to them. After all, most mental illnesses negatively impact a person’s ability to accomplish tasks (work, hobbies, etc) in real life. Why not let it do the same to their ability to be a villain? It’d be a good spin on the usual trope of “insanity makes you evil” - Lack of empathy can be a good way for a person to be villain, why they can be fine with the atrocities they commit, and there are many great villains who display this. But consider also villains with a keen sense of empathy; Hannibal Lector, for instance, displays a great sense of empathy in how he can profile others, such as Clarice Starling and Buffalo Bill. He may not care about most people, but he UNDERSTANDS them deeply. In fact, a great many villains in media who are CLAIMED not to have empathy, actually do; it’s what allows them to work out how to be cruel in the most effective way, or to predict what they would do in the hero’s shoes and thus make plans for that. Your high-empathy villain might be like that. Or they might be high-empathy in a more “positive” way as is typically associated with the term, and have that be part of what made them decide to be a villain, if they’re meant to be the kind of person who has good motives but bad means of accomplishing them. This also makes for the challenge of writing someone who can have high empathy in the typical sense, and still hurt others, and how they might do that---perhaps only doing it from a distance where they don’t have to see it, hurting people en masse so they become just a faceless mass to them instead of individuals, or only hurting people they’ve dubbed as being no longer worthy of their compassion for whatever reason---as scary as it is, the human psyche can very easily decide that a certain category of “people” are not actually worth as much as other people, whether it’s because of what they ARE or what they’ve DONE. - A tragic past isn’t necessary in and of itself. It absolutely is for SOME villains, such as Magneto, but it’s not needed for EVERY villain who is interesting, compelling, or even sympathetic. It should also not be over-relied on as a shortcut to sympathy or understanding; it begins to feel like a cop-out or excuse if it’s over-done or not done well. Make the background you think fits the character best and explains them most; don’t feel the need to make it the saddest thing ever if you don’t NEED to. A little can go a long way, and a villain being UNDERSTANDABLE doesn’t have to mean SYMPATHETIC. Also, as with mental illness, do NOT rely on being an abuse survivor as a shortcut to why someone is a villain; a villain can have this in their past, but it should not be the ONLY thing that led them to villainy. It’s extremely insulting to abuse survivors, most of whom do NOT become abusers themselves as is often claimed. - Finally, as with so much else in writing...show, don’t tell. Your villain is meant to be smart? Craft ingenious weapons and schemes for them, without obvious weak spots that the heroes can easily find. Your villain is meant to be a skilled fighter? Let them wipe the floor with the hero, or at the least put up an incredible fight; don’t build them up as being the best there is at what they do, only to be felled easily to show how cool your hero is. Your villain is meant to be socially savvy? Show them interacting with others in a way that is genuinely likeable and charismatic and endearing, don’t just have someone say they’re “charming” while they act like assholes. Your villain is meant to be cultured? Let them have a discussion with someone about art or opera, or take them on a tour of their collection of Ming Dynasty artwork. Your villain is meant to be cruel? You get the idea. Whatever the trait you’re giving your bad guy, don’t just SAY they have it---write it out! Basically...treat your villain like a character! It doesn’t have to mean making them tragic or sympathetic if you want to avoid that, and that’s fine! They can still be INTERESTING! And even fun!