#I think the pins are brand new since I could only find them at the Tomorrowland pin traders

[sketchinfun]

Batuu at night

Some night time pics of Batuu from the other day, since I rarely get to see Galaxy’s Edge in the evening. I love how this part of the park is lit, and it has an entirely different vibe vs during the day. Also I found a super cool pin that is a lightsaber that actually lights up! I wore it around Batuu during the evening and the light is surprisingly bright.

[kudossi]

and a yellow moon glowed bright

Years later, when Ivypool herself is only a memory and before she’s completely lost to time, she’ll look over ThunderClan, wherever they might be, and still look for her daughter in every face.

The stories have it wrong already, and the truth will be dust before long. Bristlefrost isn’t alive in their memories. She’s twice-dead, drowned in black, choking water, a light snuffed out too soon. Bristlefrost was the prodigy — the daughter cats dreamed of, the first to find her voice and her paws, the leader of her siblings, the apprentice who did not graduate even earlier than she did because there was no prey in the forest to be found, not because of any failings on her part.

Cats starved, that long winter. Not Bristlefrost. Never her daughter, her clever, resourceful last-born. And she had once occupied this spot, designated for deputies, even though she’d never had an apprentice of her own. Would never have an apprentice of her own, now, even though she deserved it more than anything. Even though she’d deserved to stay deputy, but had given the role over with a smile, no hint of dark ambition in her gaze.

Ivypool steps into the deputy position under a brand-new leader with a whisper instead of a bang, the pounding of blood in her ears the only reminder that cats had been here before — that cats had died here before, and that Bramblestar’s first deputy becoming leader was a fluke, an odd quirk of fate. It hasn’t been done in living memory, nor long before that. Leaders do not usually step down, and when they do, they rarely stay with their Clan, or even within reach of their territory. First deputies do not often become leaders in turn. Usually this event is a bittersweet one, with a body or bodies laid out in the clearing, their eyes closed swiftly to avoid the rigor of after-death, but this is almost-peaceful, with only the murmurs of those who could not easily accept change as detractors.

Ivypool will die long before Squirrelstar. She’s—surprisingly okay with this, but she thinks she’s been at peace with her death since before Hollyleaf had stepped between her and a deathblow from one of the only friends she’d ever had.

(“You were my friend!” Ivypool screams in her worst nightmares, Hollyleaf’s blood dripping from her pelt.

“I was never anyone’s friend,” Hawkfrost murmurs in return, something aching-sad in his voice, Hollyleaf’s lifeless form pinned under his claws. “I was born to what I am. We’re the same, you and I.” He pushes the black cat away from his paws with disgust — not for the body, but for Ivypool herself. Blood bubbles from the horrible wound at the corpse’s throat. “She should have been the one,” he says sometimes, in the ones that shatter her already pieced-together heart. “She died in your place.”

“I know,” Ivypool says, and she does know — she knows it more than anyone else alive.)

“It should have been Hollyleaf,” she says to Squirrelstar, quietly, at the end of one of their dusk meetings.

Sorrow flashes in Squirrelstar’s gaze, but it’s buried as soon as it comes. “It’s you,” she says. “It has always been you.”

It is not a truth — not in the way Ivypool remembers them from her childhood — but it is not a lie, either. Hollyleaf chose her, in the way dying deputies might choose their successor. She is always an echo of another cat burned by starlight. It is a comfort, sometimes. In others, she begs the spirit who’d saved her life for mercy, for clemency, until she runs out of breath.

(“I’ll find her,” whispers a voice Ivypool had almost forgotten, in dreams she forgets as soon as she wakes. “I’ll walk the skies ceaselessly, I promise you.”

But there is no bringing Bristlefrost back, and a part of Ivypool has died with her.)

When Ivypool wakes, her Clanmates breathe around her, steadying her rabbit-quick heart. Fernsong’s tail wraps snugly around her flank, Thriftear curled only one nest behind, and she does not lose her breath at the way Flipclaw’s dark tabby stripes curl over his spine. She hasn’t in a long time, she knows, but the impulse is there, sharp as ice underneath her ribs.

(She’d once thought his brown tabby pelt a punishment from the stars. She loves her son, would give her life for him, but the feeling that StarClan may have meted some punishment down in the shade of his pelt remains long after he’s received his warrior name.

She’d begged Bramblestar to give him a suffix that was as unassumingly kind and silly as her son always was. Instead he’d given him -claw, as if to remind her of her failings. She is not sorry to see his form slip into the elders’ den, bereft of the nine lives he’d once so jealously hoarded.)

[snowy-vee]

ALL MINE (4)

CHECK MY PINNED POST!

DAILY CLICK!!!!

DON'T STOP TALKING ABOUT PALESTINE JUST BECAUSE THE STRIKE IS OVER! NOBODY WILL BE FREE UNTIL EVERYONE IS FREE!

oblivious loser bsf! ellie williams x posesive popular bsf!fem reader

n/a: 2.9k words! I hope you all enjoy, I have change some things so the story MAYBE won't end in 6 chapters, I love reading comments or answering questions, so FEEL FREE TO DO SO. Any misspelling will be edited later on

You enter the house talking on the phone. You take out your boots and went directly to the fridge grabbing a water bottle.

“No, shit, Jesse, of course I’m giving her space but I think you don’t get that it’s been two weeks since I last saw her”

“If I don’t recall wrong, you made some cheer girls spy on her”

“Shush, what was I supposed to do? She was suspended for one week so I knew I wasn’t going to see her and that she was going to still mad at me the next one, so I put April and Sav to do a little… research ¡I am worried! She hasn’t even come to the house to pick up her clothes, her backpack, yes, but her clothes are just like the last time.”

When you went to fight Abby at her department, you didn’t, Ellie had done enough job, so you just screamed at her and made her tell you what the fuck happened between them at the locker room and years ago. Abby, tired of this bullshit, told you everything from A to Z, and you felt more like a piece of shit.

Now you understood everything, at least saw the situation with a different light, you did slap Abby and told her to stay away from you or you would sue her for spreading your pics around campus. Since then, no contact between you two, not even in class.

“Well, you fucked up big this time, what can I say?”

“Thank you, you’re the best, How does it feel that she’s with your ex and you’re still in love with her?”

“One, at least I can talk with Dina without problems, our friendship is good, Two, they are not together yet. How’s yours with Ellie? Oh right, hanging in a thread”

“Blah, Blah, Blah… Where’s my fucking couch?” You turned around going on the living room to sat down on your couch but it disappeared, it was there this morning when you left.

“How would I know? Where’s your couch?”

“That’s what am I asking, Jesse!” You were going to freak out. You heard the water of the bathroom running, there was someone on the house “I think there’s someone in the house…”

“It could be Ellie”

“Her keys are not in the entrance, I will call you later…” You said walking slowly towards the bathroom, you could hear Jesse telling you to don’t hang the call but you did anyway. Once you where in front of the door, It opened and you screamed.

The voice of Ellie screaming at unison with you made you stop. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

She said with a hand on her chest looking at you as if you were crazy. She obviously just took a shower and was wrapped in a towel with her hair soaked and wetting the floor. You felt relieved that it wasn’t a burglar, you nodded slowly reassuring yourself and saying that it was only Ellie… ¡Ellie!

“You’re back?”

“Well, still my house too, so yeah, you have a problem with that?” She said in a defensive tone, of course her guard wasn’t down yet.

“No, of course no! It’s just that I am surprised”

“Don’t be, this doesn’t mean me and you are friends again”

“I know… Do you happen to know what happened with the couch” You asked with a sad frown looking at her walk to her room.

“Yeah, I burned it in a remote clearing far from here”

“Why? It was brand new!

“It was dirty because of someone” she simply said closing her door. You had a confused look on your face as you were processing what she told you.

You locked yourself in your room, you did miss her but at the same time you had to find some words to tell her and you had zero idea what to do, God, she was burning things now, maybe you were the next. Ellie was walking around the house, you could hear her steps on the kitchen and the TV on, she was cooking something while watching one random quiz show.

The warm feeling that you had knowing that she was finally back at home allowed to take a long nap, a very long one because once you woke up, the sun was gone and you regretted it. You had homework to do and exams to study, you had to take it seriously since cheer wasn’t your major, you were studying something that your parents agreed on but you did not enjoyed that much.

They were donating monthly to the cheer team in exchange that you aced everything else, otherwise you would be expelled from cheering and from the team, even the coach knew that. Ellie always helped you and made it easy to study but she didn’t this time, obviously, so you had kind of trouble studying.

With your things to study you went to your kitchen, leaving everything on the table, you were going to study there but also eat something, you were hungry. You opened the fridge, empty except some sodas and protein bars… maybe in the pantries? Nothing caught your attention but the pan in the stove. Ellie had cooked one of your fav foods, was she torturing you? She knew that you weren’t going to grab the food nor ask her if you could, you bit your lip and sighed resignedly, protein bars would be.

Time flies while you were working in your homework, sometimes looking over Ellie because it still felt surreal that she was at home, she could feel your eyes on her but she wasn’t going to give you any attention or so she thought before you started groaning annoyed that you couldn’t understand a lot of things. It was making her nervous and irritated her a little, mostly because she knew that you stressed yourself easily over anything and that made the process more difficult and also because she couldn’t help you, you two were on a Cold War.

“What is it?” She said getting up from the only small chair of the living room.

You turned the computer around and showed her the topic, she started helping you and you were focus, of course you wanted to use the opportunity to talk but first enjoy her help. None of you realized how fast the time passed that until you let a small yawn.

“Maybe, that’s everything for today” Ellie said returning to her cold-self. Shaking your head you grabbed her hand.

“Please, don’t… I can’t spent another day without talking to you”

“We are talking”

“Don’t play dumb, I finally know what happened back home, I finally understand more your anger, Abby told me everything”

Ellie raised her eyebrows, waiting for you to start talking. She wanted to know what truth have you heard and if it was the right version of it, and it was, Abby told you the truth.

“So you went to her again?”

“That’s all you have to say? And it was not like that” You rolled your eyes looking at her “Whatever, what I want to say is that I wished you could’ve told me back then”

“Would it have changed something?”

“I have no idea, maybe?”

Ellie scoffed. “So my word was not enough? Telling you not to mix with Anderson?”

It was going to be difficult to try and have a conversation when Ellie still hurt and was defensive, which you get and that’s why the nap was a need, you were mentally prepared for this.

“I’m not saying that, but I thought it was something stupid like she stole your game box, not your girlfriend” You tried to explain.

“Okay, but you still had something with her knowing that I was in bad terms with her, why? I mostly want to hear why? I’ve been racking my brain searching for a reason”

“Because of you” Ellie opened her mouth to respond but you covered it. “Shut up. Let me finish, I did it because of you, Ellie, I’ve been in love with you since god knows when and I tried so hard just to be your best friend but I couldn’t”

Ellie eyes softened slowly. “Every girl that tried anything with you, I scared them off, I used the ‘power��� of being popular and I used to make them stay away from but then we came here and there was so many people that did not fear me or knew me and you were getting along with a lot of people, I was afraid you were going to finally find a girl that matched your type”

“Why you never told me that?” She said taking your hand out of her mouth, holding it now.

“I’ve tried! Millions of times but somehow you had a new girl in your radar or you did not read the signs, eventually I grew tired of it so I tried to keep you for me. The first time I got with Abby, was only a kiss in a game but that made me popular somehow and I was starting to get more attention because of the rumours, at the same time I saw how you looked at Dina when she was dating Jesse and how you started to talk with her when they broke up even if it was briefly, I knew you were getting interested in her”

“I have nothing with Dina…”

“Can you let me finish? Damm” She murmured a little ‘sorry’ and indicate for you to continue “That irritated me and I was thinking on ways, it’s going to sound bad… on ways to hurt you because of how you made me feel, like I would never be enough but I did not wanted to hurt you directly because I am your best friend, nothing else, you weren’t doing anything bad, just being social and flirting. Abby told me she find me attractive and ¡Bang! Match made in hell, it was perfect, because I knew how much pain you’d feel and it would be equal at mine.”

“So it was intentional? You wanted to hurt me?” She let go of your hand looking at your eyes.

“No! Well, yeah, I didn’t realized how dumb I was being but with you and Dina getting to know each other more, you lying to me to go see her… It was too much. I’ve been with a lot of people in front of you and you’ve never reacted until Abby, so it was the only person that made you protective of me while I tried to get rid of Dina”

You took a deep breath and exhaled softly, nodding slowly. “But this two weeks, I did some thinking, more like mini therapy and I’m ready to be your best friend and stop pushing myself on you on any way and let you be the judge of your love life. I don’t want you out of my life, you’re my everything and if it’s only as a best friend that I can be, I am ready and I know that I hurt you and that is going to be difficult to trust me again but I hope we can reconnect slowly again”

Ellie felt kind of guilty knowing that she neglected your feelings and kind of made you that way, she could’ve rejected you sooner… or accept you sooner, anyway what was done was done.

“I- I think that I accept your apologize”

“You think? Is that a yes or no?”

“I don’t know, I have to think about it and it will take time. Even if we start acting like before, my trust on you has been hurt” You nodded. Of course, you were aware of that but how long was she going to take? Also, you just confessed that you love her and she is not going to say anything to that? That made your heart kind of itching, you wanted to scratch it and, in the process, tear it out.

“I understand… Can I hug you?”

“It’s better that you don’t” Oh. Ellie already took out your heart and ate it in front of you “We can start slowly, I can help you studying and let’s go from that”

“Okay”

“You can’t interfere in any of my love life, nor go back to Abby, this time I won’t make you promise that you will, I just hope that you wanting my friendship back is enough to keep you away from her” Your mind was spiralling thinking about how much build up you had to do to rebuild what you had with her. “I’m kind of tired… I’ll go to sleep now, night”

She went to her room an closed the door. You were left alone in the kitchen and still with a little homework unfinished, but you had a new plan in the move, now that you had a green light you could start it.

“I’m going to the 24h store! Be right back” You yelled grabbing your jacket and keys, putting on your shoes and calling Jesse.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

The music of the bar was mostly soft rock and the smell of alcohol and cigarettes was everywhere, you finally saw Jesse playing pool in his red varsity jacket with some guys of the football team.

“Hey, guys!” You said in your cheer tone, making them all smile. “Mind if steal your teammate for some time?”

“All you want, darling”

They started cheering Jesse’s name and patting him on his back as you pulled him out of the bar to the back part of it so no one could catch you talking and interrupt.

“They must be thinking we’re going to fuck or something”

“Ha! In your dreams” You let your back rest on the wall as you look at him taking out a cigarette “Give me one”

He light his up and came in front of you putting on in your lips and connecting both cigarettes to light up yours, all this keeping eye contact with you before taking a spot besides you, leaning his back on the wall too, that made you and he laughed.

“I’m sure that works like charm with the ladies”

“You can’t imagine” he shrugged “So what was that you wanted to talk about?”

“I will help you with get back with Dina” He started coughing because of heat you said, you raised your eyebrow blowing the smoke on his direction.

“What? Why? Is this one of your crazy plans?

Your relationship with Jesse was more of a partner in crime than anything, if any of you had this weird planning on something you could count on the other to support and help and he knew of your dying love with Ellie, so he was sure you wanted to help yourself more than help him.

“Don’t you still love her? Why don’t fight for that love back? You guys were cute”

“You used to gag every time you saw us”

“That was before”

“Before what? Before she and Ellie started something?” You nodded shamelessly, you had no problem admitting that you wanted Dina out of the picture ASAP. He stayed in silent for sometime, he was reconsidering the offer, most of your plans never failed and he truly wanted Dina back. “I don’t want to force Dina back in to my arms, I want her to be with me because she wants”

“Duh, my plan won’t work if she don’t want, this has to go smoothly, Ellie has given me second chance but with the agreement that I wouldn’t mess into her love life”

“Yet here you are” he smirked. “You are such a bad best friend”

“That’s why I want to be the girlfriend, now that all the mess with Cat and Abby is out, she doesn’t have to evade me in that aspect any more”

“Because you already cheat on her once” You hit her shoulder and he laughs “Don’t get mad at me, get mad at yourself! I’ll do it, but it better work, how much time is it going to take?”

“Some months, we need to let them at least some weeks together and then interfere between them, my friendship with Ellie still is fragile but she adores me too much, we will be back at normal, while that happen…” You flicked the cigarette butt onto the ground and stamped it out, exhaling the last puff. “You have to tighten your friendship with Dina, be more flirty, romantic but not too much that you make her uncomfortable, enough to make her remember how good your relationship was”

“And what are you going to do?”

“Be the friend Ellie deserves and helping her through the hard times” you take out your phone to call an Uber to go back home, your job here was done, you just had to wait and have faith that Jesse was going to do a good work.

“You truly are something else” Jesse sighed walking back to the bar and giving you a last look.

“I’m just taking care of my girl”

Meanwhile, Ellie was at home contemplating her ceiling and thinking that maybe this time everything was going to be easy and that maybe this was a small bump that your friendship had to overcome to become stronger. She was so weak when it came about you, she tried so hard to stay at Dina’s but she was sometimes searching for you on campus without realizing that, sometimes it seem as if you were the one that started the cold war. How wrong was she about it…

taglist;; @boobdrug @lovelyxbaby @pedropascalsbbg@cherryimaa @yumimak @amberputh @cattjull @carylinflors @ghostlyfangs @teawithnosugar @azxulaa @elliesexual @gato-chino @divinesdior @yumimak @abbystoy @gosomewjere @isitadinosaur @sourgummywormsss @rhehhwfehwfqd @bubblymilktee @mulan-but-gay @liasxeatt @lookforthelight1 @slynxs @doveocean @onlinelesbo

for people who asked me to be tag but it's not, sorry, it's not letting me tag you, I'll try later or next chapter <3 I'm going to ask for 250 notes to post the next!!!

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

PLEASE I need more punknoir headcanons if you have any I LOVE these I LOVE those two <333

(If youre comfortable with it any first kiss HCs?? I would LOVE to see your thoughts)

Oh I HAVE SO MANY SO MANY CUTESY STUFF and also I do have a First Kiss HC!! But this is long as hell so I'll probably post that set of HC next!

Thanks for this :) !

A LONG-ASS LIST OF FLUFFY-ASS PUNKNOIR HEADCANONS

Peter is actually REALLY good at rubix cubes now, especially after Gwen introduced him to speed-solving. He does it as a (slightly-nervous) habit now

Since the rubix cube was invented in 1974 - and Hobie is from 1978 canonically - he is ALWAYS picking up new ones and new designs from his universe to give to Peter

Peter loves them a lot and always keeps one on him, just for boredoms sake

Hobie always chuckles when he hears the sound of Peter clicking away on his rubix cube in the next room

They're both HARDCORE night owls

It's never really 'sunny' in either of their universes, because - one is noir and the other is London

But even then, they like to stay sleep in when they can, and Hobie will keep Peter in bed as long as possible, panda-hugging him like a sloth in the mornings

Their love language is sharing things - it's like words of encouragement, acts of service, and receiving gifts all in one

Hobie and Noir aren't the type to buy many things, or need anything to be brand-new, so books become their way of being with each other always

Noir likes to scribble neat notes in the margin in grey pencil, while Hobie covers his in bright post-its covered in sharpie and hi-lighter.

They've read each of each other's favorites, and always treat each other's books with care. Hobie introduces Peter to so many newer publications his world doesn't have yet, meanwhile Peter finds Hobie the best out-of-print or even non-destroyed books, copies that were destroyed in facist book-burnings in Hobie's world.

They kinda have an anarchist collection and archive at Peter's place

Being with Noir is one of the only times Hobie is super quiet

Hobie loves to listen to the rain at Peter's place, or listening to the scratchy 30's radio playing in the next room. He loves closing his eyes to the crackle of Noir's vinyls, or the sound of Peter typing away on his typewriter as Hobie lays on the couch

Even when Noir is at his place, it's a peaceful kinda quiet

Hobie lives on a canal-boat, so no rent, and no landlord, which Peter loves. And on foggier London nights, he and Peter can float the boat out on the river, sitting in the fog together

Hobie introduces Peter to a lot of new music

His favorite in Hobie's collection is Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen, and any other operatic, classical style rock.

They're pretty low-key about their relationship. They're not hiding it, they're just not that big on PDA outside of hand-holding and cheek kisses

But they're still very intimate in public in a different way. Hobie and Peter always asks each other for their opinion in front of others. Peter is always acting chivalrous towards Hobie, and Hobie always speaks highly of Peter.

They may not be making out in public, but their own version of PDA could be just as subtle and sweet, even down to Peter adjusting Hobie's pins, making sure the words are facing up

Or Hobie flicking a piece of colored lint off of Noir, or leaving small bright, collage-style origami for him

It take's Gwen maybe a couple weeks to catch on

She can tell Peter and Hobie are like IN SYNC, like spot on with each other. And that they crash at each others places a lot, but she figures maybe they're just planning some anarchist stuff together

Besides, Noir isn't all that romantic - especially compared to other Peters. He and Felicia don't have that complicated history, and MJ is a friend (i think). So it doesn't really occur to her

Until one day her, Hobie, and Noir are hanging out at Hobie's place and she notices Noir already knows where everything is

Noir knows exactly how Hobie likes his records to be put back, or how much sugar Hobie likes in his coffee and tea

And she's like 'lol u guys are like soulmates'

and Hobie just goes 'glad u noticed.'

and Gwens like 'WAIT'

Peter unironically calls Hobie his 'lover'

Hobie ironically and teasingly calls Peter his 'lover' (he usually sticks with partner, but often goes with boyfriend if he knows it'll get a reaction *ahem* Miguel *ahem*)

They bond over the mutal feeling of 'what the fuck is this technology bullshit' A LOT

Neither one has a proper smartphone (ever since they learned about Siri they call phones wiretaps)

Noir only uses a typewriter and says screens hurt his eyes and the most technologically advanced thing Hobie with entertain is an arcade cabinet or MAYBE a Playstation 1.

But Peter also likes having Hobie explain things to him

Simple things even. SO many times people tell Peter what happens in WW2 in their worlds. It's..not fun to say the least

He likes sitting around, listening to Hobie explain things like the best movies from the 60's, or the best color TV shows

They have a date-night tradition where they try out something 'modern' (aka 1970-2023) and rate it, then write it down somewhere

So far, they both really like the Exorcist. Watching to together for the first time was one of the best dates they've had

(Imagine being from 1933 and watching the Exorcist with no prior context wouldn't that be wild)

Their apartments look SO COOL now that they're together!!

Noir's black and white apartment, covered in shadows and bright pop art posters. Hobie's bedroom half desaturated, half covered in zines and supplies for protests

You know how in old cartoons there's the trope of a dude in a trench-coat and when he opens it it's full of watches as stuff - Noir's coat is like that, but with patches

And Hobie will take newpaper clippings from Peter's Bugle and use them in art and collages because Peter's writing inspires him a lot

He'll use slogans from Peter's writings in his protest art, and use Peter's melodramatic sayings in his song lyrics

------

(once again not proofread because my brain dont do that sorry for typos i do be like that sometimes)

if you made it this far - thxs and i hope you have a rad day

[borrowedtimeandspace]

Confusion Is Nothing New

Studying

Inspired by this list of g/t prompts

AU: Time After Time (Twelve AU)

Word Count: 2,039

Note: I live! And I come bearing dorks because I miss these two.

~~~

“Right,” said Bill around the hair grip between her teeth. “Hit me.” 

Just to the side of the vanity mirror, where all of Bill's focus remained as she got ready for her night out, sat Zepheera with a stack of flashcards. She pulled one from the top; it being the size of a poster, it was a bit of an awkward maneuver to make it stand so she could see what was written on it.

“ ‘The phenomenon in which two particles are linked to the point that they share a state of being no matter how much distance in space is between them',” Zepheera read aloud.

Bill hummed in recognition, then took the pin from her mouth to hold back the strand of hair she'd been twisting. “Quantum entanglement,” she answered.

“That's it,” Zepheera confirmed, tossing aside the card. 

Since their reunion, she'd taken to listening in on Bill's tutoring sessions with the Doctor. Seemed a bit silly to carry on hiding when they all knew she was nearby, and certainly felt less creepy. Now she could actually pay attention to what the Doctor was teaching her, watch him get wrapped up into the chosen subject matter, and see Bill's expression light up to learn something brand new.

Zepheera was more of a spectator than a fellow student. She was hardly assigned homework, it was more of an excuse to spend time with the Doctor and Bill when they weren't sneaking off in the TARDIS under Nardole's nose. Or getting into other trouble, like the incident with Bill's short-lived flat-share.

She still gave a shudder thinking about those alien woodlice. They weren't pleasant for anyone, but even less so for the borrower who was just about as tall as they were long.

Then out of the blue, the Doctor ended a session by producing a set of flashcards. He gave them to Bill and suggested Zepheera join her for the weekend for some study time. When asked what for, since the Doctor was more the type to assign essays than give tests, he only said that it would be mutually beneficial for the two of them.

When Bill shrugged it off as the Doctor being his odd self, he'd given Zepheera a wink and smirk that almost looked conspiratorial. She couldn't fathom what for, though, even now. Still, she'd hardly complain about spending the weekend at Bill’s.

“Your go, then,” said Zepheera as she reached for the next card in preparation for her ‘turn’. Finding the idea of simply quizzing Bill boring, they both agreed to more of a back-and-forth approach.

Bill bit her lower lip in thought, unable to let her brow crease as she worked meticulously on her eye makeup. “So… you're, like, three hundred years old, right?”

“Something like that,” Zepheera acknowledged with a light chuckle. “Though most of that time was spent in the twentieth century, so don't expect any help with history beyond that point. That's more the Doctor's purview.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of Bill's lip, and before she could think twice about it, she asked, “Is that just a borrower thing, living so long?”

Zepheera let the extra question slide since the whole point of their ‘game’ was to bring a little light-hearted fun into the mix. “More of a me thing, really. Long story, alien nonsense in my childhood. Everyone else ages at a rate pretty similar to humans, as I understand it.”

If she hadn't been occupied with turning her huge card around to read it properly, Zepheera might have noticed the slight fall in Bill's smile. She quickly brushed the thought aside and refocused on her eyeshadow.

“Alright, what's next?” she sighed.

“ ‘A literary device involving the comparison of something abstract to something tangible’.”

Bill was quiet for a moment, wracking her brain for the exact term. “Metaphoric… no! Metaphysical conceit.”

“That's the one,” said Zepheera encouragingly.

With a glance toward the borrower, Bill muttered, “Why is it that the poetry ones are harder than the physics?” Then, catching herself in a question, her look hardened as she asserted, “That doesn't count.”

Zepheera hid her amusement behind the card she chucked aside. “By all means,” she waved vaguely for Bill to carry on with her turn. By then, Bill had put away the eyeshadow and started in on a liner, with mascara on standby. 

“Can I…?” She paused to reconsider her phrasing, despite the lack of technicalities being enforced in their game. “I've got a borrower-related question, if that's alright.”

Those were becoming more and more common. Now that things were basically in the open, Zepheera had begun to trust Bill with some knowledge of her people and how they lived. She didn't freely share this information often, but she wouldn't shy away from the topic nearly as much as before. Still, she appreciated Bill respecting her privacy. “Of course.”

“Are there others living on campus?”

Zepheera didn't answer right away. Worried, Bill winced. “Too much?”

“No, it's not that,” insisted Zepheera. “I just haven't exactly been all around campus. Lots of different buildings, y'know. Once in a while I'll find signs of people making shelter, but I haven't run into anyone.” Despite Bill's focus remaining far overhead, she gave a shrug. “It’s to be expected, honestly. School campus isn't quite the ideal place to settle.”

“Why's that?”

“Well…think of it in terms of real estate,” Zepheera explained, once again overlooking the follow-up question. “Sure, there's plenty of space for shelter, but a school campus isn't exactly designed for long-term survival. Most buildings are missing things like a steady supply of food, or amenities like access to clean water or gas. It's why human homes are better suited for us, as all that and more are within reach more often than not.”

Bill gave a thoughtful hum. “So if anyone else did live on campus, they'd probably be pretty far apart, even if they're permanently settled,” she inferred.

“Exactly. I sort of got lucky that the Doctor practically lives in that office. And thought he was clever about where he hid his nibbles.”

At that, Bill bit back a giggle, not wanting to put a wobble in her eyeliner. She put the finishing touches on before moving on to her mascara. “Alright, almost done. How ‘bout one more each?”

“Works for me,” Zepheera agreed as she pulled one last flash card. “ ‘A quantum principle regarding a physical system’s ability to exist in multiple states simultaneously until measured’.”

“Ohh, that's that Schrödinger's cat thing, innit? Er, superposition.”

“Yep!” Zepheera tossed the card onto the short pile that had formed over the course of their game.

When Bill didn't immediately have a question in return, Zepheera shot a look upwards. It was difficult to tell if she was thinking, or simply concentrating on the task at hand for the moment.

That mystery was solved as Bill asked at length, “Does it ever get… I dunno, lonely? Living so far apart from other borrowers?”

Zepheera blinked. It was a simple enough question, no more personal than any Bill had asked before. Yet it felt so thoughtful and full of concern without judgement.

“I mean…sometimes,” she admitted. “But it's sort of how we do things. We keep spread out because the more we gather in one spot, the more likely we are to be noticed. Making friends as a borrower is either a conscious journey or an act of chance. Sometimes both.”

Choosing not to go into the finer details of her self-imposed isolation from her own kind, Zepheera put on a grin for Bill. “I'm alright, though. Between you and the Doctor, I've got plenty of company these days.”

Bill gave a knowing smile as she closed her mascara and sat back to look herself over. “All right, done!” Satisfied with how her makeup turned out, she turned to Zepheera properly for the first time since sitting down. “Are you sure you don't wanna come? Kinda feels weird just leaving you here…”

“Oh, don't worry about me,” Zepheera insisted as she stood up and gave her limbs a stretch. “I can occupy myself. Besides, it's your first date in weeks! It'd be weirder for me to be there, if anything.”

Unable to argue with that, Bill shrugged. “Alright. One of these nights, I'm taking you out to the club, though.” 

Zepheera smirked, unable to tell how much of that was a joke or a genuine promise. “I’ll be sure to bring something to wear.”

As if taking the cue, Bill got up from the vanity and gave herself one last once-over in the mirror. Some of her pre-date jitters were coming in now that she wasn't distracted from them, and she fussed over the smallest details.

“How do I look?” she finally asked Zepheera.

The borrower simply smiled, more than used to the way her friends could loom when they stood. Bill had very little to worry about, she thought. She'd chosen an outfit that was casual without seeming low-effort, and her makeup perfectly matched the look and accentuated her warm brown eyes.

“Gorgeous,” was the word that slipped out. Zepheera blinked and followed up quickly with, “She's gonna love you.”

Visible relief washed over Bill as she gathered up her purse and started toward her bedroom door. When she reached it, she turned back to tell Zepheera, “Heads up, Moira's probably gonna be back in an hour or two. May or may not have a man in tow.”

Zepheera held a thumbs-up over her head and hoped it came across over the distance. “Duly noted.”

“Right. See ya later,” Bill gave her one last grin on her way out.

“See ya, Bill!” called Zepheera across the room before the door closed.

She could almost forget how much ambient noise humans and other giant humanoids made simply by being there. Every movement rustled their clothing and shook the world even in the gentlest of motions. And even when they kept still or slept, their huge breaths rushed in and out of lungs much bigger than any borrower.

With Bill out of the flat, the silence left behind rolled over Zepheera like the tide.

It left nothing to distract her from the odd feeling creeping up on her throat. Like her heart was trying to sneak out of her chest through it, and she only just took notice because it started pounding out of nowhere. On top of that, there was a cold spike in her stomach that she couldn't explain. 

Illness was rare among borrowers, and never came on so quickly if it did at all. Zepheera might have thought she was anxious about something, but she couldn't put her finger on it. There were no threats here, and she'd just been having a lovely time with Bill.

And now Bill was gone. 

Zepheera caught herself wishing she had taken her up on the invitation to come along, but quickly shook that off. As much as she could handle herself out in the world of giants, and trusted Bill to have her back if anything got out of hand, it was a date. Having Zepheera around would only distract Bill from having a good time and potentially make the date awkward.

It took a few breaths for her to rein in the strange sensations tightening her chest, and then Zepheera turned her back to the door. She tucked the used flash cards under the main stack, pondering what their purpose was once again. There was no quiz coming Bill's way, knowing the Doctor's teaching style.

That look he'd given her before they left his office… Maybe he knew something Zepheera simply hadn't caught on to yet. Wouldn't be the first time, though it felt different than every instance of him flexing his near-infinite knowledge of the wider universe. This seemed oddly…personal.

With that confusing thought, coupled with the equally confusing (and distantly familiar) feelings wracking Zepheera's person, she heaved a sigh and marched to the back of the vanity. Her fingers combed through her short brown hair as she vanished behind the mirror on her way into the walls.

Though her height had been a fact of her existence for over three centuries, very rarely did Zepheera feel this tiny.

[marshallpupfan]

Marshall Merchandise Update!

Got some interesting new additions for my collection to show off today! Eventually, I need to show everything off again... as soon as I get things organized again. I still have items I bought from early last year that I still haven't found a spot for yet. I've been slacking! lol

First off, this lapel pin... being graciously held up by Wolf O'Donnell. There's probably a "can't let you do that" joke in here somewhere, but I can't think of any right off hand. 😅

This was actually sent to me by a friend, who recently paid a visit to Nickelodeon Universe (an indoor theme park). While she was there, she seen this and got it for me, hoping it was something I didn't have. Fortunately, it wasn't! A fine item for my collection, indeed! She'll likely see this post later, so if you're reading this, thank you again!

Actually, I believe she also went a year or two ago and managed to find the Meet & Greet Marshall wandering around. She even got a picture & video with him, too. I was quite envious! 😄

Next, this "magic towel" thing. It's also being held up by another wolf - this time, it's Wolf Link, from "The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess". Can you tell I'm a bit of a Nintendo gamer? lol

Anyhoo, I was just doing some shopping with my mother in a dollar store when I happened to stumble upon this. It was only $1.25, so... why not get it? The artwork isn't the best, but hey, I still like it.

Next, one of those "Good 2 Grow" snack containers! Actually, funny story about this one. I was at a gas station, not expecting to see anything pertaining to PAW Patrol, when I seen one of these that someone left at the front near the cashier. However...

It was actually one of Zuma, which surprised me, since they usually pass him up to focus on the main four. I meant to post about it on Twitter/X, but like usual, I forgot. In any case, I decided to track one down, and I soon found one of Marshall at Walmart. It was the last one, too! Unless I'm mistaken, they also had one of Liberty, so I guess they went beyond just the six original pups this time. Nice!

As you might recall, we've actually seen products like this before, about a year or two ago. Back then, it was just the pups in their regular outfits. This time, they went with a superhero theme, no doubt due to The Mighty Movie. I'm not sure why they went with Super Paws and not the Mighty Movie outfits, but maybe these were easier to mold. Who knows, but hey, I quite like it when older outfits get brought back, instead of them getting forgotten in the sands of time.

I just wish we could see THIS outfit again someday. It had a brief reappearance in that "Mighty Pups Save Adventure Bay" video game, but that's it so far. Sadly, at this point, I doubt we'll ever see it again.

Er... guess I got a little distracted here, sorry!

Last, and absolutely not least, is this brand new item! Something I knew about for many months and couldn't wait to get a hold of one for myself! It's "Storytime with Marshall" by Leap Frog!

(In hindsight, taking these pictures in front of my monitor may not have been the best idea. Hopefully they're not too hard to see. 😅)

This thing is legitimately super awesome! They really got his likeness down so well here! I mean, seriously, just look at it! It's so cute! It's easily one of the best pieces of merch I've got in my collection now!

According to the box, it can do quite a lot. It includes 40+ stories, which I assume are based on various episodes (I haven't listened to them yet, but I also assume they focus on different pups, going by the buttons on the front... yeah, it's a shame there's no Rocky or Zuma again, I know). It has a sleep timer, to help lull the little ones to sleep at night before shutting off and all that. Additionally, it teaches "core learning skills" or something, whatever that means. That's cool and all, but of course, for me, I just wanted it because I absolutely love how it looks. It'll look great on one of my shelves! lol

I'll admit, I'm glad this came out before the new animation style got applied. While I like Marshall's updated season 11 look so far (I might make a separate post about that later), his original design is still my #1 favorite. A part of me hopes to keep collecting more merchandise of THIS Marshall, but I know that, by next year, they'll probably retire this design and start using the new one, permanently. Guess I'll enjoy it while it lasts. 😅

And that's all for now! I currently have another item coming in the mail; Marshall's new Rescue Wheels big wheel vehicle + figurine. It's been delayed, but it's supposed to show up at some point next week. Hopefully, the remaining Rescue Wheels merchandise will show up in stores soon enough, and I'll be able to show them all off soon. I might also have to buy a Boomer figurine, too. lol

[jakeluppin]

a couple asks ago, you said "whenever I start working on my novel, the first song I listen to is Pin" and now i'm super curious about your novel!! care to share any details??

okay so i have two (well, i have like twenty i've done bits on since i started writing but two that are still somewhat being worked on now) but one of them is barely anything beyond a rough idea so i'll focus on the one that's more legit

i wrote about 90% of a first draft (about 60K) and then realized there were some fundamental issues with it so i started over

i have about 16K done of my new draft, some of which is brand new and some of which is revised from the first

it's a ya romance because that's where my heart has always been

for main characters we have (which as i'm writing these i realize i am So Bad at describing characters in this way whoops):

jake - jewish trans guys who is only out to his older sister (rachel). at this point, their parents are gone/dead (i've been back and forth on exactly what went down) so rachel's raising him. he's been in love with his best friend (caleb) since basically forever. he does stage crew for his school's theater department.

caleb - jake's best friend. he's gay. he has a crush on their mutual friend peter. he's one of those people who are just so loving that it's so easily to just get lost in. but also a total dick at the same time?

peter - he's really into theater, always in every production, which is how jake and peter met. just before the story starts peter and caleb were running lines for something and peter kisses caleb. described by other characters as being the nicest person you've ever met.

and then there's asher - his family just moved to town as his mom is the new cantor at jake's synagogue. he's also into theater and auditions for the fall musical, alongside peter. jake and caleb are there watching and jake hears him sing and is like. oh. shit. i'm in love. it's not revealed until midway through the book but asher is also a trans guy.

it's basically just a coming of age love story where jake finds himself and love and it's just really gay and jewish and probably very self indulgent but who cares?

oh also i have switched which musical they do multiple times for various reasons and right now it's Newsies but it may change again. but obviously asher, my beloved, is cast as davey jacobs so it is pretty perfect in that regard

gonna just throw some random lines/short scenes from draft two under the cut because i can. feel free to not read them haha

“You can’t seriously be doing homework now,” Caleb scoffs a moment later. 

I look up from my assignment and just shrug. “I’m simply not as invested in this as you are,” I offer.

“But you should be. For me. This is an important moment in my love life.”

I chuckle. “I love you, Caleb, but I think overall if I was as invested in your love life as you are, that would be a little weird.”

“Nope. I’m pretty sure it’s in the best friend manual that you’re supposed to care about it as much as I do. Sometimes maybe even more.”

“Can I have a copy of this best friend manual? I want to check the exact wording on that.”

“Sorry, only one copy was made and I keep it under lock and key.” Caleb smiles bright, and I roll my eyes in response.

--

“But seriously, you were amazing at your audition. I’m not just saying that or anything.”

“Thanks. I grew up singing. I think my mom might have disowned me if I didn’t end up with a good voice.”

“Really?” 

Asher laughs again. “Wow, you are gullible or I am not as funny as I think I am. But no, my mom would not have disowned me if I didn’t have a good voice.”

It’s this moment that Rabbi Finkle steps out of her office and says, “Asher, don’t lie. No self respecting cantor could stand to have unmusical children, just like I couldn’t stand to have children who do anything but read torah all day.” She smiles at us both, light in her eyes.

“Isn’t your oldest an atheist?” I ask.

“Yes, but he still reads torah ever day.” She laughs.

--

“So how was it?” I ask, sliding in Caleb’s car. He smiles wide as he turns to face me.

“Peter was amazing. Obviously. There’s something just, sexy about watching a guy dance.” He pauses, sighing, and then says, “I’m really gay.”

I laugh. “Really? I had no idea!”

“Yeah, not like I told you for the first time when we were like, nine or something.”

“Oh yeah, that definitely never happened.” 

Caleb chuckles and drives off. 

I can vividly remember when Caleb came out, the emotions so strong they stay pressed in mind. I can remember his fear, his hesitation, as he told me in a small voice that he liked boys. I can remember the confusion, not understanding what he meant, not sure what that meant for me. I can remember the happiness and his smile when I said there was nothing wrong with him “like liking” boys. I remember the ache I felt, when after telling him I like boys too, he told me “girls are supposed to like boys.” That ache I didn’t understand, that ache I couldn’t place for years, that ache that would come when Caleb would refer to me as a girl. 

“Were you scared telling me?” I ask a few minutes later, even though I know the fundamental answer.

“Of course,” he says. “I was nine. I was gay. And you were my best friend. Why wouldn’t I be afraid?” 

I nod in agreement. It’s something that, of course, I can understand. Just the thought of it causes anxiety to crawl up skin, pulling tight at my throat. It stops me from saying the things I want to say, things I know I need to say. The things I can’t imagine ever actually telling him.

Like: I’m in love with you.

Like: I’m trans.

Like: Yes. That means I’m guy. Which, if you remember the I love you part, would make me gay too. Or bi. Not totally sure about that yet.

Like: Main point being, I want to be with you and date you and I know you probably don’t or won’t ever see me as anything but your girl best friend but maybe you could. 

Yeah. Probably a good thing I’m not saying any of that.

--

“...Honestly, the challah was so good and reminded me of mom’s that I had a breakdown. Standard stuff, ya know. Who doesn’t have breakdowns over delicious Jewish foods?”

“Are you even Jewish if you don’t have breakdowns over delicious Jewish food?” Asher counters.

[spikybanana]

@wolfstarmicrofic - prompt: dark/key - hello folks happy chinese new year. which means they're chinese today :) [cw: talk of food]

Harry pushes open his godfathers' front door to the sound of Remus shouting up the stairs.

"Sirius! Sirius? Oh, hello there Harry" Remus waves at Harry with a rolling pin in his flour-covered hand, and chuckles. "Didn't even hear you come in. I really thought we aren't old enough to be deaf yet."

"Alright Moony?" Harry finds his lips twitching up, accepting a flour-less pat on the back.

Remus gestures vaguely at he roof. "Want to see what your dogfather is up to up there?"

"I thought he'd gone out."

"Well no, there's his key on the wall right there."

"Ah, he must have forgotten it then. I bumped into him at the store." Harry says, dropping the bagfuls of fruits on the kitchen counter, "He was determined to get the right kind of vinegar for the dumplings."

Remus snorts. "He likes to pretend he can tell the difference. You know, I think Tesco's plastic bottle works just fine. Did he take the bike, then?"

"Ye. I saw it parked outside the shops."

"You never see him forgetting his bike keys." Remus shakes his head, and Harry laughs. "More likely he's not even locking it anymore. I keep saying, nobody here would bother stealing it. The moment anyone sees someone other than a crazy old man on that thing, they'd know something's off."

As they speak, the living room window slides open, and Sirius pokes in his head before he proceeds to climb through the window. "Now who are you calling a crazy old man?"

"Oh my dear lord." Remus mutters, though his voice is fond. He shoves the rolling pin at Harry, hurries to take the bags off Sirius and helps him through. "Don't remember the door bell?"

"What's that? Never heard of it." Sirius grins, blowing a strand of silver hair from where it fell out of what Remus has dubbed the drunk McGonagall bun.

"You're not a day past seventeen in your head."

"Have patience, we're a few years off from seventy yet— oh hello Harry, pass me the rolling pin?" Sirius says as he weaves fluidly through the room, "besides, Moony-dear— the man who refuses to retire has nothing to say about ageing gracefully."

"Oh, maybe next year." Remus waves a hand dismissively, and Sirius and Harry snorts at the same time because he's been saying the same thing for a decade.

Then, they get to task, descending upon the pile of half-rolled out dough and dumpling filling on the living room table. They've been doing this for two and a half decades, every Chinese New Year's Eve, ever since the end of the war. If you asked Remus or Sirius, they'd no longer agree about why this started. Sirius says that Remus missed hope, and Remus says Sirius wanted to replace what he hated about his family. But Harry remembers that first year, how they barged into Harry's miserable apartment and chased him out of bed, shoved a cabbage into his hands claiming they've dug out Remus' mother's recipe. It had been such a mess, none of them quite knew what to do and Hope's instructions said little more than "proved dough, no yeast; pork filling; boil". It took them all day. In the end, all the dumplings came out precariously shaped and half of them disintegrated in the pot. But as they packaged some of the less malformed dumplings to Ron and Hermione's families, Harry thought— that was the most any of them had laughed, since the war.

After that, it just kept happening, year after year. Harry would bring along his friends and then his kids, and they banter through the afternoon into the night, while making an amount of food that could give Molly Weasley a run for her money. Every year, they tell the story of how Hope once taught James' whole family how to fold dumplings, and they laugh about how Sirius would religiously stick to Hope's preferred brands of seasoning. Every year, they try to put up the state-run celebration programme, only until Sirius inevitably turns it off in anger. They've never made it to the New Year's countdown.

"Merlin's bloody balls. How do I always forget what narrow-minded bigots they all are." Sirius would say, throwing down the remote that may or may not be vaguely smoking.

"Not all of them," Remus would reply lightly, "Ma had loved the traditional operas, back in the day."

And now, after all of Harry's kids have grown out of the firecrackers, it's quiet again. But they're still here, the three of them.

"It's not yet dark out. The days are getting longer." Remus says, as he starts kneading the second batch of dough.

Sirius hums, leaning back and watching Remus' forearms appreciatively. "Weather's beautiful out there. 'S bloody cold, though, I miss when I could stave through a winter with the leather jacket. At least the night will be clear."

Remus snorts, shares a side glance with Harry. "See what I mean, Harry? Old man still thinks he's a teenager."

"We balance out perfectly. Not all of us have been old men since we were a teenager."

"To be fair, Remus, he's right. You've dressed like this for as long as I've known you."

"Oh no darling. Moony's been dressing like this for as long as I've known him."

Remus calmly flicks pieces of dough at Sirius, who's laughing roaringly. And Harry thinks only about how it means more than the world, that these two men, after their whole lives, could have this easy warmth and happiness with each other. He thinks, no, he wouldn't give this up for the world. He'd be right here year after year, helping them through the frankly ridiculous amount of dumplings they still insist on making and mailing out. And after he leaves for the night, Harry just knows that they'd be out in the garden, arm in arm under nothing but stars. Remus will pretend he can recognise anything beside Sirius' namesake, and Sirius will pretend he's looking at the stars at all, and the new moon is kind, as will be the year they begin at each other's side.

[wof-reworked]

Thoughts on Thorn?

First off: sorry for the delay, this was sent to me during my drunk "send me opinions" moment but I only saw it when I woke up and was. very hungover and embarrassed lol. Will try to live up to the original idea tho (plus I am like 3 shots in so you did get your wish in the end !!)

ANYWAY. I really like Thorn. I wish we saw more of her being the leader of the Scorpion Den and what her actual life looks like bc rn it feels like she's become basically Sunny and Qibli's loving mom who all but shows up with cookies for them and their friends when she gets screentime. I think a lot of fandom oscillates between ignoring her and trying to pin some hypocrisy or villain arc on her bc she killed Preyhunter, which. btw. I do have an ancient draft about when I was rereading Sunny's book and taking semi-annotated notes. It's ruthless, but it's not the unwarranted murder people want it to be- she has no reason to trust the Nightwings and Preyhunter opens the convo being rude and challenging her. It's definitely there just as a fakeout to make you think Thorn is Bad News so the parent reveal is more shocking, but I think it shows a really cool and cunning side of her that I wish got more screentime.

Her and Stonemover are also one of my favorite side pairings in the series, not in that they could ever be together again but like. c'mon now. I'm a good sucker for a self made tragedy. I do genuinely believe they could've stayed together forever/become a truly happy couple if Stonemover didn't get in his own head and fall prey to the narrative about animuses and the Nightwing superiority complex. I find the way he describes her as "straight out of his favorite scrolls" as genuinely really romantic, and I LOVE LOVE LOVE m/f pairings where the girl is the headstrong, ruthless one and the boy is a flustered, hopeless romantic who wants to be her pet impress her and win her over. They have some really fun gender fuckery in their relationship and I think it's a missed opportunity to discuss wof's inverted gender roles, what with Queens being the standard. I like to hope they could (platonically) co-parent Sunny after some hard, necessary conversations, but Stonemover is really the big problem in that reconciliation because he's so stuck (ha) in his self-loathing and regret.

I think Thorn is a great side character, and I don't need her to be anything more than that. I would LOVE a winglet or smth like that about her time with Stonemover, but I feel like after the dynamic I've built in my head it would let me down. I think Stonemover should be a boygirl and just a little trans and Thorn should be a butch she/he lesbian but that's my own brand of interest.

tl;dr: that woman is so queer and so cool 2 me <3. I wish she wasn't shoehorned into a relationship w Smoulder since it feels like it was just added because Tui didn't want her "to be stuck as single forever" which is a lame way to approach a woman who absolutely did meet the love of her life and it just. didn't work out. I wish we let stories like that sit a little longer and showed her being happy with her found family of the Scorpion's Den pursuing casual relationships maybe but being happy with the life she's built that's filled with love from so many different places.

[futurewriter2000]

Conversations - pt. 2

A/N: I have all 30 fic titles written on paper and in a jar, so I kind of pick them out and this one came out, so I’m doing this one for now. Hope you like it. We’ll see where this takes us shall we, don’t think I won’t make a nice lil angsty plot twist.

xx

It seemed that some form of a friendship was built on that day. The two of you started to talk as if you had known each other for years. You had suddenly felt something extremely new inside your body, experiencing for the first time in your entire life; comfort. 

From all the people that you had met, you didn’t think James Potter would be the one that would make you feel quite comfortable and safe. It was as if you wanted to be around him all of the time. Besides that, there was something new starting to build in your soul... Something you would call a consciousness. 

You never considered yourself to be smart or intelligent, neither did you consider yourself to be anything special in this world but talking to James made you feel like you had been holding back on some parts of yourself that you did not know existed yourself. You would think that all you had to do in your life was finish school, get a job and work until you die but something opened up inside of you. Something completely new- a brand new you. 

Never realising that the both of you went up to the bleachers more times than you ever confessed, it was only the two of you never really went the same time until now. You had always managed to get schedules from all the Quidditch teams. It wasn’t hard to get, it was literally pinned on the public board next to the Great Hall all year. So you always waited around hour to two before you went there, just missing him. It was similar with meals in the Great Hall. He was an early riser, you were a late one. He always came first and you always came last minutes. Somehow, the two of you were like day and night but as opposite as you were, the two of you were somehow identical in your way of thinking.

“Hey there!” he caught up with you and started to walk by your side. 

Your whole body lit up like a candle that has been sitting out there cold most of nights. You beamed at the sight. “Hi! I thought you were already up there.” 

“Nah.” he waved his hand. “I’ve been causing some ruckus with the boys, so I’ve been running late.”

“Want to tell me what you did this time?” you eyed him and he laughed. 

“I think you’ll find out soon enough.” he winked and grabbed two brooms on the bottom of the bleachers. “I left them out here for us.”

“Why?” you raised an eyebrow.

“So we can fly up there.” he chuckled. 

“I’m not flying up there when I can have the stairs.”

“You’re joking?” he laughed. “You hate the stairs.”

“Does not mean I won’t get a nice bum out of it.” 

He started to laugh and threw you the broom. “Stop joking. It’s easier, come on.” he climbed and so did you, pushing yourself off the ground. 

“God, I haven’t flown since our first year.” you laughed as you made a circle or two.

Bewildered, he turned from the bleachers and after you, making his position right next to you. “You fly?!”

“We all do, JJ.” you smiled. “You know, since our First year.” 

“Yeah, but you’re not bad.” he followed you.

“I’m not bad, but I’m not Quidditch material also.” you rolled your eyes. “Wanna race?” you narrowed your eyes and he laughed. 

“You read my mind, (y/l/n).” 

The two of you tried to go as fast as you could on those old school brooms, turning sharp corners and twisting around. The two of you even flew over the lake, passed some of the students then turned back around to the field. 

As you said, you weren’t bad, but you weren’t Quidditch material either. You loved to fly, skate, rollerblade, ride a bicycle and do all sorts of things, but you never committed yourself to any of them. You were simply just a natural at these things, but you weren’t in love with them either.  

The two of you landed on the bleachers, laughing and laying down. Nothing was specifically funny, but the whole journey pumped the two of you with adrenaline that whatever you did seemed to be funny enough to laugh. 

“I can’t believe you never joined the Quidditch team. You would have evolved your skills sooner rather than later. You could become a professional at some point and we would play together at the World Cup.”

“Your dreams reach far but I’ve never been a sports type of girl. I always preffered books and arts over anything really.” you sat up, seeing him doing the same. 

“So is it a painter, writer, pencil hand-drawing...?” 

“I love all of it. I just love art in general. I see it everywhere, you know. In nature especially, in people, memories, objects. It’s quite an odd quality to have.”

“Yet it seems to be a really good one.” he cut you off and the two of you met eyes for a brief moment, letting the candle in you burn and melt. 

“Yeah,” you shyly turned away and brushed your hair behind your ear. “I’ve never really paid much attention to it, but you asked which one and I think it would be writing.” you finished and waited for his response but all he did was listen, so you continued. “I never really had much material or time to draw certain things, since drawing and painting takes time. You really have to have a large amount of time on your hands to start a project, but with writing, it is simply just sitting down, pen and paper and you start. You can do anything with art, releasing yourself to the imagination. You can create characters or beings, cities and objects. You can create secrets that never exist or people to your liking or to your hatred. You really have infinite choices.” you started to smile brightly, making James observe every facial movement you did and all of those were so interesting to read. 

He never really much paid attention to people, but you seemed to have this light inside of you that made you shine so brightly. He remembered you before speaking any word to you in all his 7 years he had known of you. Your lips were in a thin line, your eyebrows straight and showing no emotion- then there was your whole aura or energy that seemed to be closed off to anybody, restricted even and intimidating yet everybody knew when you had entered a room. It was as if you were calling people through your silence. Speaking to you for the first time made him nervous, but when he did, you seemed to be more relaxed and open to a conversation than he thought you would be. He let loose quickly and he seemed to trust you just as fast. Something about you pulled him to take interest in you, but he did not know how he would take that. You were an absolute beauty compared to him. You showed your culture, your lineage through your looks, and you had those elegant and attractive movements that just made people in awe. It was as if you had held power you did not realise you had and every day, he gets to know you more and more, he finds out that you are the most humble person in this whole school, kind as well, nicely mannered and you have this depth to your character that you continously find out with him next to you. You say something and he can see the realisation hit your face. It makes him excited and brightens his entire day. 

So how come a beauty like you, does not men kissing your feet?

“You know you’re really beautiful.” he started and you shot your head to him, confused. 

Your heart sunk into the depths of your stomach yet somehow still beat really fast in your chest. The sweat started to come out of your every pore, yet the wind made sure you cooled down. “Thank you.” you murmured out, barely.

“How come you don’t have a boyfriend?” he continued to ask questions that hit like bullets. 

“I-uh-” you stuttered for the first time in forever, just telling your journal a few days ago how you made no emotional reactions to anybody or anything. That was mostly related to joy, anger and sadness. Now there was another emotion at play, the one you never thought you’d be familiar with. “I dunno.” you shrugged and avoided the eyes that started to pierce into you. 

Your hands started to get clammy and you felt like you couldn’t breathe in your clothes. Why was he asking you these questions and why is he looking at you like that? Oh, his eyes are getting dark as the sun starts to set and you are setting yourself to explode from anxiety. However, you seemed to compose yourself. 

You tried to let loose as much as you could, putting your legs over his just as you usually did. You turned your head back at the stars that started to show in a darker shade of blue and you smiled. 

“I’ve always been picky with everything, even boys. I’ve never thought about them, really. It’s always been something else on my mind, so I have never took any interest in any of them... besides that-” you choked on your own words as he started to move his hand up and down your thigh, caressing it gently and innocently. “Uh- yeah...” you swallowed thickly as he pulled you closer to him. “I-uh... I thought that- umm... I’ve must have lost that train of thoughts.” you laughed nervously as he approached you, observing your every movement with his seductive eyes. 

“You said you’ve never took any interest in them...” he hummed, his lips only a breath away from yours. 

“Yeah...” you said, hearing no word that came out of his mouth as his hand was the only thing you have felt and thought of, meanwhile his lips were a second away. 

‘Him. It’s him.’ - you heard a voice in your head. ‘You want him.’ - it continued.

The tension between the two of you was extremely heated, letting your soul know that it was burning all of you from the inside out. Your gut was twisted in a knot, your chest heaving from the lack of air and it felt like this one moment would last forever. 

“Just kiss me already.” you seemed to say without any control and he leaned in, his lips crashing into yours as his hand gripped your thigh. At first you couldn’t find the flow of it and you thought you didn’t like it but the moment he pulled away, you could feel a tingle on your lips that wanted it back. Your heart felt like it was scratching under the surface to pull him back. So you did, you pulled him back to you, feeling that same fire multiply inside of you. You had caught the flow of it and it was sensational. His hands gripped your waist and before you knew it, your whole body moved on top of him. You felt as if you had no control, kissing him deeply, passionately and with every inch of power you had inside yourself. He kissed your neck and you heard yourself release a sound, you had no idea you could. 

You felt as if you could trust him with anything, even your body that you never thought you would give a glimpse to a living thing. Now there he was, breathing so heavily into your breasts and kissing them. All you could do was hear yourself release those newly found moans. It just came out of you and it felt as if it was the most natural thing in the whole wild world. You knew you wanted your lips everywhere on him and his lips everywhere on you. 

It was only supposed to be a conversation, though, right?

[giggly-squiggily]

Hii can i request lee mitsuya and lers draken and baji

Of course you can, anon! I've gotcha covered!

CW: Swearing- the Toman Gang are all potty mouths and need their own brand of soap (especially Baji) (Affectionate); angst, light mention of homophobia

Cloud 9 (Taglist)

@duckymcdoorknob, @baby-tickles2022, @cupcake-spice13, @myreygn

“Mitsuya’s hiding something.” Baji growled, side eyeing the mentioned man in the distance. “What’s he so tight lipped about?”

“Knowing him, it’s probably sewing related.” Draken shrugged, not bothering to move from his spot lying back. It was Friday, and with no immediate Toman meetings or homework assignments due, the tattooed highschooler’s only plans were to work out, sleep, and take Emma out somewhere nice. “Leave him be- you know how he gets when he’s in ‘the zone’.”

The ‘zone’ was their loving way of saying Mitsuya becomes a hermit during his projects- not talking to anyone, grunts as his only form of communication. He turned up to Toman meetings looking like he’d been at work all night, dark circles under his eyes and bandages on the tips of his fingers. It was a bit unhealthy, but not even Mikey could pull him out of it, so they’ve unspokenly agreed not to bring too many projects up if Mitsuya looked particularly ragged.

“That’s the thing- last I checked, he’s not working on anything!” Baji waved a hand to emphasize his point. “I haven’t seen him with his notebook at all.”

That was new. Draken opened his eyes, brow’s furrowing in thought. “No notebook?” That was the usual sign he was entering the ‘zone’.

“And his fingers! They look fine!” Baji nodded more, talking with his hands. “He’s got no bandaids, and there’s no needles anywhere! He’s definitely not in the ‘zone’. Something else is going on.” Baji looked back towards Mitsuya, squinting. “You think he’s mad at us?”

“Unlikely. You know how he gets when mad.” Draken sat up, following Baji’s gaze. The other didn’t seem angry at the least. If anything, there was a noticeable droop to his shoulders. “Think he’s upset?”

“Hm…” Baji got up, slapping dust off his thighs. “One way to find out.”

~~~

It took them less than five minutes to wander over, taking a seat on each side of their friend. “Ay, Mitsuya.” Draken threw an arm over his shoulder in greeting, starting the other into alert. “What’s up? Why are you sitting here like it’s a funeral?”

“I’m not…” He began, fading off then. A shadow passed over his face, resealing his lips. “I’m fine.”

“The hell you are. We’ve known you since middle school, you really suck at lying.” Baji grumbled as he lightly shoved him. “If someone’s giving you shit, I’ll kick their ass.”

“Baji, what did I tell you about resorting to violence.” Draken glared.

“Says the guy who threw Takemitchy’s entire house at Mikey.” Baji shot back.

“It wasn’t an entire house, it was more his front yard.”

“Same thing.”

“It’s not-”

“Guys, please.” Mitsuya cut them off, sounding incredibly tired. “If you’re gonna fight, can you do it somewhere else? I’m not in the mood.”

 Oh yeah, something was wrong. “Mits. What’s going on for real.” Draken asked, returning his attention to the teen. “You know you can talk to us, right?”

Mitsuya bit his lip, hiding the slightest hint of a quiver. “I’m fine, I swear.” He grunted, voice thick. He started to stand, but Draken’s arm was like iron. “Draken, let me go.”

“Mitsuya-”

“Ken.” His voice was firm, eyes hard. “Please. Let me go.”

Government names. This was serious. Draken pulled his arm back, freeing the other. Mitsuya started to leave.

“Oh hell no, like that shit’s gonna work.” Baji reacted before anyone could stop him, grabbing Mitsuya around the waist and pulling him down. Almost immediately they were fighting, elbows going and fist connecting. “Baji, get the hell off!” Mitsuya growled.

“Kiss my ass! You’re gonna talk! One way or another, I’m getting an answer!” Baji twisted, quickly pinning the other down against the cool gravel. With fast hands, he had Mitsuya’s wrist pinned beside his head. “There.”

“Baji…” Mitsuya hissed, expression dark. “Let me go. Now.”

“Oo, scary. Like that’s ever worked before.” Bounding up both hands with one of his own, he dropped the other to his waist, starting to tickle. “Come on, talk to me, you ass!”

“Er! N-No! Stahahap it!” Mitsuya grunted, immediately squirming beneath the touch. Draken was about to step in and pull Baji off when he took a look at Mitsuya’s face. While he was certainly annoyed, he wasn’t uncomfortable.

Maybe this wasn’t a bad idea afterall.

“Oo, stubborn are we? You know how the saying goes- Sewed lips will be snipped!” Baji grinned as he ran his hand towards his ribs, making the gray haired teen spasm with a snort. “Don’t make me get my scissors, Mitsuya.”

“Whahahahat kind of mohohoohorbid saahahahhaying is thahahahhat?” He grunted out, bubbling over with laughter. “Yohohhoohur insahahhahane!”

“And you're stubborn. Aye, Draken- help me get this ass to talk!” Baji nodded towards the taller man, narrowly avoiding a fist to the nose. “Aye, watch it!”

“Kihihihihiss my ahahhhahahss!” Mitsuya tried to swing again, but his wrist was caught easily by Draken. “Drahahahhaken hehehehehelp!”

“Sorry, Mits. First you talk. Until then.” He grabbed both wrists now, holding them high and exposing even more tickle spots. “Get him good, Baji.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice!”

“No no no no nohoohohohohohohohooho!” Mitsuya squealed out in mirth as both of Baji’s hands came into play, drilling into his ribs and squeezing along the space below them. “Ahahahahhahahabsoohohohohohluhuhuhuhutely nohohohohohohot! Stahhahhahap it! Bahahahhahahajihihihihihihi!” Mitsuya’s face was starting to tint pink, his smile wide and his eyes squeezed shut. It was much better than earlier. “Cohohohohohome ohohohohon, I’m shehehehehrious!”

“Hi serious, I’m Draken.” Draken snickered at his own joke, earning a giggly glare from the other. “Ready to talk?”

“Nehehehehhehehever!”

“Shame. Baji, try his feet. He’ll die.”

“Oo?” The long haired teen lit up at the info, flipping around with a gremlin like giggle. “His feeties are ticklish, are they?”

“NO! No thehehere nohohoht!” Mitsuya squirmed more, trying to break out. His eyes were light with laughter, the earlier pain fading away bit by bit. “Dohoohhn’t you dahhahare!”

Baji didn’t respond. Instead, he looked over his shoulder with a mischievous grin as he yanked off a shoe, running a finger along the socked sole.

The reaction was glorious. Mitsuya let out a shriek like cackle- his entire body jolting as if he was electrocuted. “Wahahhait!”

“I think we found a good spot!” Baji grinned, diving in and attacking relentlessly. Mitsuya swore as he flailed about, his laughter filling the air with each scratch and scribble. Draken gave up on holding his wrists, laughing just as hard as Mitsuya curled in on himself, holding his belly as tears of mirth dotted his eyes. “Ready to tell us?”

“YEHHEHEHEHS I’LL TEHEHEHELL YOU! NOW STAHHAHAHAP!”

“Baji, let him breathe.” Draken called out, stretching forward and wiggling two fingers under Baji’s arm, making him squawk and fall to the left.

“Uncool!” He stammered, flushed slightly.

“Deal with it.” Draken told him good naturedly, looking down at a now exhausted Mitsuya. “Feeling better?”

That earned him a halfhearted glare, but the other nodded, panting. “I’m…better.” He looked away, eyes clouding. “It’s been a bad day, that’s all.” When the other two waited, Mitsuya carried on. “This is gonna sound stupid as hell, but…do you two think I’m too weak for Toman?”

Draken gaped, Baji nearly choked. “HUH?” Both squawked in shock.

“See, I told you it was stupid.” Mitsuya sighed.

“No, no- don’t shut us out.” Draken recovered, making Mitsuya look at him. “It is stupid- the idea you’re too weak. Mitsuya, you’re one of the founders of Toman. The First Division Captain. How the hell does that make you weak?”

“Seriously; clearly whatever made you think otherwise never seen you fight.” Baji nodded in approval. “Shit, you nearly took my ass out, and I’m the best fighter there is.”

“Yeah yeah…I just-” Mitsuya looked like he was struggling to speak, debating on what to say. “Recently…someone was talking shit about me. About Toman. I guess they forgot I was in the sewing club, or they chose to say it there just so I’d hear it.” Baji tensed, ready to kill. Draken glared at him before nodding for Mitsuya to continue.

“They were saying a captain and a founder shouldn’t be such a…I don’t wanna say it, but you know what word it was.” Now it was Draken’s turn to look furious. “They said I’m only good at making dumb things like flowers and shit, and that it was a mistake for me to be in Toman.” The words gutted him, like they were being thrown his direction as he spoke. “I know I shouldn’t listen to it but…what if they're right? What if I am Toman’s mistake?”

“They’re not. You’re not Toman’s mistake.” Baji glared fiercely, a protective tone sharpening his voice. “Don’t ever say that.”

“But what if it’s true, Baji?” Mitsuya argued, angry now. “What if I am, and all this time I’m just holding back Mikey and his dream? Then what?”

“The only ones who can decide if you’re a mistake is Toman itself, and to think we’d ever call you that is an insult to both the gang and Mikey’s dream.” Draken sounded tired- even to himself. Still, he raised his chin as he met Mitsuya’s eye, putting every ounce of conviction in his voice. “You’re the farthest thing from it.”

“Hell yeah, and besides- where would we be without you?” Baji shook him lightly. “We can’t sew for shit; we’d look stupid at meetings and fights without you.”

“So I can sew.” Mitsuya grumbled. “Big deal-”

“And you’re a lot calmer than us when it comes to group disputes. So far I think you’re the only one who can handle a problem without resorting to his fists.” Draken nodded in agreement, mildly eyeing Baji. The other didn’t seem to notice.

“Guys-”

“And you’ve got an amazing taste in movies and shows.”

“You know how to make the best snacks we’ve ever tried.”

“You’re smart and help me with homework when Chifuyu’s busy.”

“And you give good advice on gifts and other matters of life.”

“You’re hot-”

“Guys, guys, enough.” Mitsuya was laughing now, wet with newly formed tears. “I get it, I do. I’m sorry for ever believing what that asshole said. I know Toman wouldn’t think I'm weak.” He shook his head as he wiped his face. “I just…I guess I needed to hear that. Thank you.”

Draken nodded, satisfied. Baji looked pleased. “Good.” The blonde smiled, the expression growing wicked. “Now- let’s get Baji.”

“Heh?” Baji blinked.

“Good idea.” Mitsuya grinned, sitting up the best he could.

“Wait- what are you two-” Baji scrambled back, starting to stand. “Oh hell no, stay away from me- I’LL FART ON YOU!” Baji booked it, running for safety while Mitsuya stayed on his trail, easily outrunning the other and taking him down.

Draken laughed as the area filled with Baji’s clown-like cackles. Later, he’d find the piece of shit who dared to hurt his friend and insult Toman.

That was later. For now, he’ll stick around and help these two out.

I hope this was good!

[tanoraqui]

responding to @shrikeseams’s tags on this post separately bc it was getting long...

#tbf i think fandom puts too much weight on Turgon being the Staid One #since most of his cautious behavior is... after his wife died. and while he's trying to keep at least his daughter from Death By Doom #he was down to cross the ice in the first place! it's not like he turned back with finarfin! #IDK what KIND of hellion he was at tirion formal events. but HE WAS A HELLION LIKE ANY FINWION COUSIN. #I just haven't pinned down his specific brand of bastardy yet 

...because they are good and right and I DON’T want to fall into that Turgon characterization trap. Looking back at the text, Turgon first stood with Fingolfin to tell Fëanor he was a fucking idiot for swearing that Oath he just swore and like hell were they going anywhere with him, but after Alqualondë and the issueing of the Doom he was with Fingon in being, “bold and fiery of heart, and loath to abandon any task to which they had put their hands until the bitter end, if bitter it must be.” He was, if not eager for rebellion, certainly #inittowinit once they’d started.

I think that very “this is still a terrible idea but now that we’ve started, I’ll see it fucking accomplished” is what cuts deepest later, after Elenwë’s death. The end is too bitter already; he doesn’t want to be here and he doesn’t want their daughter to be here. Ulmo warns that a time will come when hidden refuges are their only hope and it rings true in his heart. And he finds some pride and joy again in the city he builds, in its long peaceful rule and (for a while) its continued safety even after the peace is shattered and burned elsewhere. Even as he felt Doom closing in on them, and he sent seven different crews to try to reach Valinor and plead for aid before all fell...

That said, I still think young Turgon prided himself on being more sensible than his older brother (and certainly more sensible than his younger siblings - a category which, again also includes Finrod’s younger siblings). Someone in this family has to be responsible, and it’s clearly not Fingon, and it’s rarely Finrod! The heavy, heady duty Must fall to him, Turukáno, or all will be lo-

oh, well, if the food fight is already started, then he’s going to throw a bowl of mashed potatoes are Carnistir’s head. For what he said about Irissë earlier (which Turukáno nearly punched him for at the time, too, and was only stopped by Findarato grabbing his arm and Tyelkormo elbowing his own brother sharply in the ribs.)

(Side note: my real hobby is referring to Noldor by their Quenya names when talking about them as children who had no idea how bad fighting could get.)

Tldr: I think Turgon’s brand of childhood bastardry is that he rarely initiates the hellion-doings, but he WILL escalate them, and afterwards might accept responsibility but might also loudly protest to his parents that it wasn’t his fault.

Relatedly, I think Finrod always had very good instincts for when it was important to be responsible, eg, when the world is dark, your grandfather is dead, and your uncles are on the verge of civil war; or when you meet a new species and need to negotiate your extended relatives into giving them land; or when an old friend’s grandson comes to you with a request for aid...or, once upon a time, when doing something would genuinely upset someone, whether they be one of his siblings or the artist whose ice sculpture looked really enticingly climbable, or genuinely upset the increasingly delicate balance of power in Tirion...

Conversely, however, that instinct for when responsibility is important means he always knew in his heart that almost all state dinners are 100% fair game for tomfoolery, hellionship, bastardry, and, dare I saw, shenanigans. And Finrod and Turgon were - you know JD and Turk from Scrubs, the “We’re not married.” “Dude, we’re a little married.” “I know. I love it”? That. So...

Edit: “will not start the fight but WILL escalate it, especially in personal retaliation” does still make Mandos the Turgon of the Valarin family

[anonymous-astronaut]

How about a seasonal ask: The Mercs all put their names into a bucket (Spy checks carefully this time), and every one of them draws a name, only putting it back if it's their own name. The reason? The Administrator has ordered them to participate in a mandatory Secret Santa Exchange. Who winds up getting gifts for who, and what do they give each other?

Omg i love this idea! I’m gonna assign them to each other at random, let’s see how it goes!

Scout: He got Medic! This is a little frightening to him, Scout is low key scared of the doc and is a little worried the he might get his organs stolen if he doesn’t get the right gift. But on the bright side, at least he didn’t get Spy! Another plus is that Scout thinks Medic is super easy to think of gifts for, I mean the guy just likes doctor stuff a birds right?? Scout gives him a mug that says “#1 Boss” with the “Boss” scratched out in sharpie and replaced with “Doc”, and a caricature of Medic and his birds that Scout drew by hand. Medic finds these gifts hilarious, he pins the drawing up in his lab and uses the mug regularly.

Soldier: His Secret Santa is Scout! Soldier does not think for a single second about what Scout might actually want, he only thinks about what (in his own unique opinion) Scout needs. He thinks Scout is far too scrawny, so Soldier gets him a huge tub of protein powder or straight up leaves a whole ham shank in front Scout’s bedroom door. He also hade makes an America-themed baseball hat, which is the most thoughtful he can manage to be since Scout actually does wear that kind of hat. Scout tries his best to pretend he likes the gifts, but he’s a little unimpressed. You couldn’t catch him dead wearing the hat, except maybe on the 4th of July, but he will eat the ham shank (or hit something with it.)

Pyro: They got Engie! They are very excited about this, but also a little worried because they aren’t sure if their gift will be good enough. It’s not like they can get him engineering tools or something like that, because Engie either already has it or needs something so specific no one would know to get it for him. Instead, Pyro decides to hand-decorate some cookies for him. The cookies range from snowflakes to unicorns to flames, even a little mini sentry. Engie loves it, he thoroughly enjoys savoring the cookies when he winds down each afternoon, and he thinks the decorations are right cute.

Demo: Demo drew Spy’s name, and he thinks of it as a sort of fun holiday challenge for himself. He knows he could just get a bottle of wine for the guy and call it a day, but he wants Spy to be surprised and impressed with his gift and knows that cheap wine won’t cut it. Demo does his research, he figures out which brands Spy prefers and gets him a new pair of gloves, a fancy lighter, and imported French Cognac. It’s pricey, but it’s worth it to see Spy genuinely shocked that the gifts are up to his standards.

Heavy: Heavy got Pyro and honestly, he is stumped on what to do. The only thing he really knows about Pyro is that they love fire, but he can’t think of a reasonable or responsible way to turn that into a gift. He’s pretty sure they like unicorns and stuff like that, and he does know how to sew, so he decides to make them a stuffed animal out of fire resistant fabric. It’s hard to sew and is very stiff for a plushy, but Pyro absolutely loves it so Heavy considers it a success.

Engie: Engie drew Soldiers name. At first he thinks it’ll be a piece of cake, Soldier isn’t exactly quiet about his likes and dislikes. But the more Engie thinks about it, the more he realizes how hard it is to think of a good gift. Ends up getting him something super practical, like a new razor or supplies for cleaning out his rocket launcher. Despite the fact that it’s wrapped, Soldier doesn’t realize it’s a gift and thinks it’s just a weird supply drop.

Medic: The doc got Sniper. He honestly doesn’t put a lot of thought into it, in Medic’s mind he has better things to do than worry about what present to get. Plus, he knows Sniper is pretty reasonable and won’t have a fit about it if he doesn’t love the gift. Sniper gets a six pack of hard cider and some store-bought Stollen with a bow slapped on it left outside he’s camper door. Sniper thinks that’s a pretty sweet deal, you won’t catch him complaining.

Sniper: He got Heavy. He wishes he knew more about the guy, but figures he can come up with something good anyway. He gets him some quality chocolate and a warm hat cause he figures Heavy’s bald-ass head gets cold in the snow. If he finds the time, he whittles a little ornament of Sasha out of wood. Heavy appreciates it, he especially enjoys the chocolate and is very impressed with the ornament.

Spy: He got Demo (it was completely a coincidence that they got each other lol.) Spy has absolutely no idea what to get him. Giving him alcohol seems like the obvious answer, but he has no idea what Demo drinks and doubts he could stomach purchasing such low quality liquor anyway. After a little consideration he ends up getting him a fancy and stylish Sporran. Demo definitely wasn’t expecting that, but he thinks it’s great fun and immediately gets out his kilt to try it on.

[searidings]

hi, i just love you and your writing

can i suggest something - you are in love (taylor swift) and supercorp

i cannot listen to that song without going yeah, that's them

(also on ao3 if you prefer)

Five years from now, Kara is going to reach across the table at Noonan's and take her hand. She's going to look deep into Lena's eyes, biting her lip as her thumb rubs gentle circles into Lena's palm, and her voice will barely rise above a whisper when she asks, “When did you know?”

And when she does, five years from now, Lena will think back to this moment.

This moment, which is as close as Lena's come to happiness since she'd woken up ziptied to a chair in her brother's office. This moment which, despite the fuzzy feeling of her unbrushed teeth and the pungent aroma of burnt toast filling the air, is perfect.

Kara, bed-warm and sleep-heavy, is gazing beseechingly down at the charred remains of a slice of a bread as though if she only pouts hard enough, its edges will un-blacken and its corners will stop smoking.

“I'm so sorry,” she says as Lena rounds the screen separating Kara's bedroom from the rest of the apartment and perches herself on a barstool, tugging her borrowed sleep shorts a little lower down her thighs.

Kara's tone is mournful, her face so forlorn she looks to be one deep breath away from tears. “I wanted breakfast to be perfect, since it's your first time staying over and if it's terrible you might not want to stay again and I, I really want you to stay again, but I don't know why you would since you probably have a private chef waiting for you at home and I can’t even manage toast—”

“Kara,” Lena interrupts, biting at the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing as Kara's bottom lip trembles. “It's fine, really. I once set fire to my dorm kitchen trying to boil an egg. And besides,” she winks as blue eyes meet hers. “I like to give my personal chef the weekends off.”

Kara huffs out a relieved chuckle, her face brightening. “Oh, well, in that case,” she grins, a sparkle returning to her eyes. “I'd better feed you up before you go home. Never let it be said that I don't look after you.”

Lena can't help the smile that pulls at her as the warm bright feeling in her chest grows and grows. She tugs the sleeves of Kara's sweatshirt over her hands, fighting the urge to fidget as the blonde orders a frankly obscene amount of food from the brunch place on the corner.

She feels exposed like this, face bare and hair sleep-mussed, unshowered with unbrushed teeth, huddled inside borrowed clothes after the impromptu invitation to stay over when last night's movie marathon ran late. It's a far cry from the regimented composure she fights so hard every day to project, and something in her chest twists anxiously.

Kara is a reporter, after all, and National City really doesn't need any more reasons to hate Lena right now. The darkest corner of her mind – the one which has been waiting for the other shoe to drop, for everything to come crashing down ever since the whirlwind of Kara's too-good-to-be-true friendship had come blazing into her life – still worries that this may all be an elaborate ruse. A trap, a way to get close to her in order to assess her weaknesses, to bring her down with an inside scoop.

But in their six months of friendship, Kara's never given her any reason to believe she has any kind of ulterior motive. And despite the suspicions and anxieties hammered into her by a lifetime of hurt, Lena knows now that even if this is a trap, she'll take the bait willingly. Especially if it means Kara will keep looking at her like there might just be something in Lena that's worth her time.

"Hey,” the blonde says gently, leaning back against the counter opposite and pinning Lena with a searching look. “You okay? You kind of zoned out on me there.”

Lena jumps, blinking back into herself with a start. “Yes, sorry. I was miles away.”

The blonde only smiles, flicking on the coffee machine at her elbow. “You sleep okay?”

“Very well, thank you,” Lena answers, fighting to lessen the formality of her tone, to soften the edges her harsh childhood had sharpened into a fortress to keep the world at bay. “Your bed is surprisingly comfortable. I had a great night's sleep.”

"Perhaps the company had something to do with it,” Kara winks as she turns to pull two mugs down from the hooks at her shoulder. Lena thinks back to the smell of Kara's sheets and the soft pulls of her breathing, to the warmth of Kara's ankle against her calf and the strong fingers that had wrapped themselves in the sleeve of Lena's sweatshirt in sleep, anchoring them together. She blushes.

Kara only smirks, pouring their drinks and grabbing the milk from the fridge. “Well, the food's all ordered, it should be here soon,” she says over her shoulder, the waterfall of her golden ponytail mesmerising in the bright rays of morning light filtering in through the vaulted windows. “And you don't need to head off in a hurry, unless you have plans—?”

She glances back at Lena, who shakes her head. “Great!” she grins. “’Cause I was thinking, maybe we could check out the botanical gardens, since it's such a nice day? Oh, and there's a new bakery right across the street that I've been dying to try—”

Lena listens to the blonde's excited rambling with an endeared smile plastered to her face, feeling happy and warm and wanted with every fibre of her being. The feeling is new but so welcome she could cry, and Lena wonders – not for the first time – how she ever got so lucky.

Kara's presence in her life is like sugar in her coffee; meant only to sweeten that which has always been bitter.

Lena's always taken her coffee black. Softening the blow was never much her style.

But here, now, perched at Kara's breakfast bar with her hands wrapped around a steaming mug the blonde has brewed to perfection, sunlight streaming in and highlighting the angles and planes of Kara's face, the way she’s smiling at Lena like there's nowhere else in the world she'd rather be, she realises her reasoning is twofold.

Sugar isn't just appetising. It's addictive. And now that Lena's had a taste of sweetness, she's hooked.

In this moment, Lena knows. She's in love.

-

Four years from now, Kara is going to reach across the table at Noonan's and take her hand. She's going to look deep into Lena's eyes, biting her lip as her thumb rubs gentle circles into Lena's palm, and her voice will barely rise above a whisper when she asks, “When did you know?”

And when she does, four years from now, Lena will also think back to this moment.

This moment, which may well be one of the lowest of Lena's life. And she's had some doozies.

The two bottles of wine she'd managed to mainline between Sam leaving to orchestrate damage control at L-Corp and Kara arriving and attempting to confiscate her glass have well and truly caught up to her now. She sways heavily on her stool, the room spinning. Tears sting her vision and guilt scorches her throat as she presses a hand over her eyes so she won't have to look at Kara's face anymore.

“Please, just— just, stop believing in me, okay?” she slurs, heart full to shattering with the faces of lead-poisoned children. “I am not worth it.”

She hears Kara sigh, and the room falls silent for a long long time. Lena drops her head fully into her hands, fighting the nausea that's taken root in the pit of her stomach. It could be the booze that's causing it, of course, but it could also be the incessant headlines baying for her blood, the bullet James had taken for her that she'd fully deserved, the curse of her family finally fulfilling itself.

The guilt, the worry, the crushing disappointment of the knowledge that despite her very best efforts, she'll never be anything but a monster— it's too much to feel. It's too much to bear.

So, Lena drinks.

She drains her glass. She pours another. Kara watches, silent and disapproving, fingers twitching against the granite countertop between them.

Lena finishes her glass. Splashes the last dregs of the bottle into it, blood on ice. Still Kara watches, motionless and mute. It's only when Lena's swallowed the last of the red and is lurching unsteadily to her feet to source another that she moves, a hand reaching out to encircle her wrist.

Shame ignites beneath her skin and she pushes Kara away. Snaps at her to go home, to learn to recognise a lost cause when she sees one and just give up already. Kara refuses with a stoic shake of her head, and Lena sighs.

They repeat the same routine three times en route to Sam's wine rack, the blonde shadowing her every step. Each time, Lena wobbles, head fuzzy and room spinning. Each time, Kara steadies her, and Lena flinches from her touch like her palm is a brand, snarls at her to leave, to cut her losses, to just fuck off. Each time, Kara refuses.

She eventually retrieves the wine after a number of unsuccessful attempts but overbalances on her toes, bottle slipping from her grip as she sways dangerously. And then Kara is there, glass bottle caught a split second before it can shatter, a firm arm at her waist that will not be rebuffed.

Lena struggles, shoving and protesting, but this time Kara does not give in. “Enough,” she says quietly, firmly, blue eyes burning a mere inch from Lena's own. “Lena, enough.”

Lena's unsteady legs buckle further and Kara’s basically holding her up now, walking her slowly over to the couch and she shouldn't be this strong, surely, shouldn't be lifting Lena onto the cushions quite this easily. But it's such a minor concern when weighted against the fact that Lena is personally responsible for the hospitalisation of children that her mind brushes over it, forgets it immediately.

"Please go home,” she slurs as the blonde arranges her on the couch, as she stashes the unopened wine far out of reach and sets about finding blankets and pillows in various cupboards. “Please, just— leave me alone.”

“No,” Kara says, almost snaps, glancing back over her shoulder. Partially hidden in the linen cupboard, her face is cast deep in shadow, a splinter of half-concealed truth. “I made you a promise, I gave you my word. I'm your friend, and I will protect you. Always.”

She crosses back to the couch, soft blankets and pillows held out in invitation. When Lena refuses the offering Kara sighs, draping a knitted throw over her anyway and perching on the cushions beside Lena's hip. “I'm not going to leave you, so you might as well stop asking,” she hums, softer now, a hand reaching toward her that Lena no longer possesses the strength or coordination to bat away.

Long fingers make contact with her cheek, with the mussed curls tangling in her eyelashes, and Kara sighs. “You are not your brother,” she murmurs, fingertips grazing Lena's cheekbone, sliding back to thread into the fine hair at her temple. “And you never will be. There's too much light in you to allow for that kind of darkness, so put that fear down, Lena. Let it go. Be free of it.”

Tears spring unbidden to her eyes. “I poisoned children.”

Kara tilts forward and Lena wonders if it's just that her vision has upped its spinning, but then warm lips are pressing against her forehead, soft and delicate as gossamer wings. Kara's mouth moves against her skin, breath damp and sweet and unmistakeably her. “You saved the world.”

Neither one of them moves. When Lena speaks again, the words hit the elegant hollow of Kara's throat. “I don't deserve your kindness. I don't deserve you.”

Kara's lips are still on her forehead. “I don't care.”

Lena feels as if her throat is splitting open, every last fear and hatred and worry and insecurity gushing out of her in an unstoppable stream. “I'm scared.”

“I know.” Kara's lips press once more, and then withdraw. They watch each other in the dim light from the kitchen. Lena's vision is beginning to blur at the edges. Kara's hand is still in her hair.

“You will get through this,” the blonde whispers, so earnest Lena almost manages to believe her. “We'll figure it out. Together.”

Heart in her mouth, tongue sticking behind her teeth, Lena's eyes slide closed.

The sweetness of Kara's words, her gentle touches, seep inside her like honey. She doesn't deserve it but God, she wants it. She wants to be worthy of Kara's faith in her more than she's ever wanted anything in her life. She wants Kara more than she's ever wanted anything in her life.

And it's telling, she knows, that she's just lost the trust of all of National City, that she has no way of easing those children's suffering and no way to prove that she isn't the cause of it, that she's finally living up to the Luthor name she's been running from ever since she'd learned what it truly meant and yet in this moment, with Kara's hand in her hair and the ghostly imprint of her lips on Lena's skin, none of it seems to matter.

In this moment, Lena knows. She's in love.

-

Three years from now, Kara is going to reach across the table at Noonan's and take her hand. She's going to look deep into Lena's eyes, biting her lip as her thumb rubs gentle circles into Lena's palm, and her voice will barely rise above a whisper when she asks, “When did you know?”

And when she does, three years from now, Lena will also think back to this moment.

This moment, which stands alone as an oasis of calm in the turbulent tumult of the past days, weeks, months of chaos. Lex's escape from custody, Eve Teschmacher's betrayal, James’ shooting, the Harun-El serum, the whole shitty totality of it all has been weighing Lena down like an nth metal chain around her neck.

And Kara, Kara hasn't been around. The one person who has always managed to ease Lena's suffering has deserted her when she needs her the most and it feels like she's been sliced open, cracked in two.

She tells her as much, when Kara at last comes to see her. Tells her she's missed her, tells her she needs her, all but begs her to stay. And what does Kara do? She leaves.

And when she leaves, Lena is gripped by a panic so intense she fears she may never breathe freely again. So terrified is she that Kara is gone for good, that she's forced away the best thing that's ever happened to her, that almost before she knows what's happening she finds herself at Catco with apologies dripping from her own tongue.

Anything to get Kara back. Anything to keep her.

Lena apologises. Kara apologises. Lena cries, and Kara holds her, and tells her that the decision to help her brother when he was dying of cancer doesn't make her the monster she now believes herself to be. And standing on her office balcony with Kara's fingers wrapped around her biceps, with her own tears spotting dark on Kara's blazer, Lena manages to believe her.

When she's collected herself, smoothed away the wetness coursing down her cheeks, she speaks. “I really want to help you with your investigation on Lex.”

Kara's face lights up; Lena's whole world along with it.

“I'd love that,” Kara says, voice quiet and still a little tentative in the wake of their new truce. “But first— would you, um. Would you like to have lunch with me?”

Lena blinks. “Don't you want to get started on the exposé?”

“I do. But—” Kara's face is still painted that earnest shade from earlier, when she'd smoothed her hands over Lena's shoulders and whispered you are a brilliant, kind-hearted, beautiful soul against the sensitive skin of her neck. Lena feels her cheeks heat up at the memory, at the intensity in the blue eyes still roving her face.

Kara shuffles her feet but her gaze is clear, unwavering. “But you were right. I've spent too much time recently prioritising the wrong things. So, I want to work on this exposé with you, and I want to bring your brother down. But first, I'd really just like to have lunch with my best friend.”

Lena's heart trips in her chest. “I'd like that too.”

So, that's what they do. Kara asks her to wait, which she does, idly tapping out a few emails on her phone. And then the blonde is back, far quicker than should have been possible, with her arms full of takeout bags from the café on the third floor and she's taking Lena by the hand and leading her to Cat Grant's private elevator. She presses the button for the roof and Lena's gaze jumps to her face but Kara only smiles, and squeezes her fingers. “Trust me, it'll be worth it,” she hums, her excitement infectious. “You'll be safe with me.”

And Lena believes her.

That's how she ends up sitting at the edge of Catco's roof on a clean sheet Kara had borrowed from the builders on the second floor, heels kicked off, Kara's red blazer draped around her shoulders. It is worth it, she'll admit; the view from this high is phenomenal. The sun burns bright in a cloudless sky, glinting off the glass-sided skyscrapers of the business district, the glittering waters of the bay beyond.

Kara had picked up Lena's favourite salad, some flatbreads and dips, and they drink kombucha and eat strawberries in the sunshine. They talk and they laugh and they catch up and there's no more fighting, no animosity, no megalomaniac brothers or backstabbing secretaries or worlds needing to be saved. There's only them, she and Kara, and it feels like all she will ever need.

The blonde's hands are braced behind her on the rooftop and she looks happy and carefree as she regales Lena with stories of her upstairs neighbour's antics, and Lena feels the tight knot of tension that had taken up residence in her chest begin to unfurl.

"Hey,” Kara hums, pushing up straighter as Lena licks strawberry juice from her fingertips. The motion brings them closer, their shoulders brushing. “Look up.”

Lena does. High above them, a huge murmuration of starlings whirls and swoops through the air. Thousands of birds move together as one, a vast wave cresting but never breaking against the blue canvass of sky.

“Wow,” Lena gasps, awed.

Against her side, Kara hums. “Yeah.”

They watch the birds for a long moment, captivated by the ceaseless swirling and diving. When Lena at last tears her gaze away from the sky, Kara's eyes rest intently on her face. "Here,” the blonde murmurs, reaching out. The pad of one finger makes feather-light contact with her cheek. Lena's breath catches in her chest.

Kara holds out her finger, proffering the stray eyelash she'd captured with a smile. "Make a wish,” she whispers, her fingertip an inch from Lena's mouth. Her eyes never leave Lena’s.

Lena looks from Kara's face to the eyelash, and back again. From somewhere deep inside her heart, the truth bubbles its way to the surface. “I don't need to.”

Kara smiles, a brilliant, beautiful smile, and Lena knows. The stresses and anxieties of their current crisis feel far away here, harmless as birdsong. She's meted out forgiveness, received it in return. For the first time in her adult life Lena has communicated an issue with a loved one and been heard, understood. She has admitted her own mistake without having it spell out the end of her relationship.

Lena smiles back. The weight of the world sublimates into nothing beneath the bliss of a simple picnic in the sun.

In this moment, Lena knows. She's in love.

-

Two years from now, Kara is going to reach across the table at Noonan's and take her hand. She's going to look deep into Lena's eyes, biting her lip as her thumb rubs gentle circles into Lena's palm, and her voice will barely rise above a whisper when she asks, “When did you know?”

And when she does, two years from now, Lena will think back to this moment.

This moment, which has sapped the both of them to the bone. Another fight, another screaming match, another quick-fire back and forth of accusations and recriminations. Another night of cursing and crying and choking on all the things they never said before this, on all the things they can't now that Kara's secret has detonated in the shrinking space between them like a nuclear bomb.

Another round of bloodshed, and for what?

Lena sags against the arm of the couch, exhausted. Her face is hot, scratchy with salt from the tears still drying on her skin. She's dehydrated, probably, and half hoarse from shouting, tongue blistered with the bitter sting of betrayal.

Across the no man's land of her living room, Kara slumps against the floor-length windows, drops her temple to the cool glass. She's breathing heavily, cheeks wet, posture battered and eyes dark-bruised beneath the force of Lena's wrath. As Lena watches, her eyes slide closed.

It's been three months since Lena found out. Three weeks since Kara found out that Lena had found out.

Every night since, they've done this. Every night, Kara has shown up on her balcony and begged, pleaded, apologised, cajoled, defended, rebuffed, and sobbed. Every night, Lena has unleashed the hollow agony of Kara's deception masquerading as anger in her chest, incinerating the both of them in the fires of her desolation.

She would have expected the wounds to have cauterised by now. To feel some kind of release, the relief of catharsis. Or at least, to have expended some of her fury after all this time.

She hasn't.

They've been at this for three hours already this evening, and gotten nowhere. Kara's skin is pale above that fucking supersuit, face drawn and complexion sallow.

Lena knows how she feels. The singular exhaustion that is her rift with Kara has sapped her in every way imaginable. She can't sleep. She barely eats. She's no longer interested in work, research, friends. There's nothing in her life that isn't tainted by the shadow of the lies her best friend told and kept telling, every day for four years. Lena doesn't know how any amount of screaming and crying is ever going to get them past that.

Across the room, Kara sighs. It might be the saddest sound Lena has ever heard.

“Should we keep doing this?” she asks after an interminable silence, voice rough with tears still building. Her eyes are still closed.

Lena manages, with exorbitant effort, to raise her drooping head. “What?”

“Is there a point to all this?” Kara asks quietly, hunched body sliding a little further down the glass. "The explanations, the fighting?”

Blue eyes blink open. The weight of the sadness in them is unbearable. Lena struggles to find it within herself to care.

“Lying to you about who I am is the single biggest mistake I have ever made, and if it will make even one single shred of difference I will apologise to you every day for as long as I live,” Kara says into the aching chasm between them. “But I can't keep doing this. Not if it won't change anything. I can't— I don't want to keep hurting you.”

An hour ago, Lena would have scoffed at a sentiment like that. Would have parried back with some piercingly dry comment about how the blonde should have thought about that before she decided to betray Lena's trust as soundly as she possibly could.

Now, though— now, she's just too tired.

“So, should we keep doing this?” Kara whispers, throat working. “Or— God, Lena. Should we just— should we give up?”

Green eyes meet blue, two shattered hearts haemorrhaging between them. “Is that what you want?”

“No.” Kara's voice is loud, fiercely determined in the face of Lena's hesitant whisper. “God, no. Never. I don't ever want to give up on you, Lena. I don't ever want to give you up.”

Kara straightens then, with a strength Lena cannot imagine mustering herself. Perks of being a superhero, she supposes. Perks of being Kryptonian. The thought stakes another shard of ice through her bleeding heart.

“But I know that I've spent four years calling the shots for both of us by keeping you in the dark,” Kara continues. “I've taken away your agency. I've taken away your choice. I won't do that again.”

She sucks in a deep breath, a little of Supergirl's regality seeping back into the defeated slump of her shoulders. “So, I'm doing what I should have done from the start. I'm being honest with you, and hoping that you'll be honest back. I'm asking what you want.”

Kara's fingers twist anxiously before her, bottom lip bleaching white beneath the nervous pressure of her teeth. “Do you think we should keep doing this? Or do you— fuck.” Her voice cracks, the tears brimming in her eyes once again breaking free. “Do you want to give up?”

Jesus Christ. Lena never knew that the prospect of doing the right thing could hurt so much.

“Fuck,” she mutters as she kneads her knuckles over her closed eyelids, digging in until white lights starburst across her vision. “Fuck, Kara.”

“I know,” the blonde whispers from across the room, brittle and broken. “I know. I'm sorry.”

Lena slows her assault on her own eyelids, pinching thumb and forefinger hard at the bridge of her nose instead. “I want to give up,” she mutters, and in the taut silence between them she hears the blonde gasp, watery and thick.

Lena blinks open her eyes to find Kara's face crumpling, every facet of her seeming to fold in on itself even as she visibly fights to keep herself upright.

Lena sighs, and hates Kara, and hates herself even more. “I want to, but— I can't.” She sucks in a ragged breath, hating the truth that's just fallen from her lips, hating the lies that had necessitated it. Hating everything and everyone and most of all, hating just how much she's hurting. “I can't give this up.”

The tiniest spark of hope flares to life in Kara's eyes. Lena hates that she notices, hates that she cares, hates that the sight eases the tight knot of devastation clawing at her ribcage just the tiniest bit.

She also knows that this was inevitable. She knows that, though she hates Kara, though she's nowhere close to forgiving her, though she has no idea how they can rebuild from here or even if she truly wants to try, a question like Kara's could only ever have one answer.

In this moment, Lena knows. She's in love.

-

One year from now, Kara is going to reach across the table at Noonan's and take her hand. She's going to look deep into Lena's eyes, biting her lip as her thumb rubs gentle circles into Lena's palm, and her voice will barely rise above a whisper when she asks, “When did you know?”

And when she does, one year from now, Lena will also think back to this moment.

This moment, which is barely even a moment at all. It's more like a dream, warm and faded and fogged in darkness, seconds stolen when sleep should have long since claimed them.

Kara's nightmare had woken them both. In the month since they'd pulled her out of the Phantom Zone, she hadn't slept alone once. Often, she stays with Alex, curling into her sister's side the way she would when they were just kids after one too many late-night horror movies. Once, she stays with Nia, tucked up snug in a borrowed pair of puppy print pyjamas.

Mostly, she stays with Lena. It's natural and unspoken and easy as breathing, the way Kara will show up at her place after a Supergirl save or Lena will let herself into the blonde's apartment after a late night in the lab. They cook dinner and watch Celebrity Masterchef and brush their teeth elbow to elbow at the bathroom sink and when Kara is inevitably tugged screaming and sobbing from her night terrors, the way she presses her face to Lena's neck and her hand over Lena's heart is natural and unspoken and easy as breathing, too.

Kara's racing pulse has calmed a little, her grip on Lena's body beneath her losing some of its urgent desperation. After a long moment of Lena's hand stroking her hair, of gentle reassurances and lips pressed to her temple the blonde pulls back, just enough to rest her head on the pillow facing her.

In the dim light filtering in through the bedroom window Kara's pupils are blown, her face solemn. There's something in her heavy gaze that Lena can't identify; something weighted and potent that prickles goosebumps up the length of her spine.

"Feeling better?” she whispers into the inch of warm air between them, reaching out to tuck a sweat-matted curl reverently behind the blonde's ear.

Kara catches her retreating hand and holds tight, twining their fingers together on the narrow swathe of pillow between them. If either of them were to move so much as a millimetre, their clasped hands would press against their lips.

The blonde nods and sure enough, the soft heat of her mouth brushes the back of Lena's knuckles. She shivers.

Kara is still watching her, the intensity of her gaze causing Lena's heart to thud hard in her throat. She squeezes lightly at the fingers threaded through her own. “What?”

A pause, heavy and sweet as overripe fruit. Kara blinks once, slow. “You're my best friend.”

Lena swallows down a sudden swell of emotion. The blonde nudges closer and when she speaks, the wet seam of her lips catches on the angle of Lena's bent knuckles, painting her skin with the words.

“You're the most important person in the world to me,” Kara whispers, breaths skating fire-flashes across Lena's fingers, voice muffling out past the mouth pressed to her skin. “You know that, right?”

Lena's voice deserts her in the wake of the quiet words. She leans forward instead, presses her lips to Kara's fingertips where they rest against the back of her own hand. It's answer enough.

She hears Kara's breath catch, feels the disruption mirrored in her own chest. Both their mouths are pressed to the joined hands clasped between them. If they were to move their fingers down even just a fraction, there would be nothing separating their lips but a promise, a prayer.

Kara's eyelashes flutter in the semi-darkness. The tip of her nose brushes Lena's own. Neither one of them moves their hands.

They only gaze at one another a long moment, and Lena wonders if the blonde is memorising the planes of her face the way she's memorising Kara's. She could look at her forever, be happy here with her forever, and in this moment, Lena knows. She's in love.

For the first time, she wonders if she might not be the only one.

-

Right now, Kara is reaching across the table at Noonan's and taking Lena's hand.

It's been three weeks since they'd taken down Lex for the last time. Three weeks since Kara had stormed into the Tower's med bay to cup Lena's bloody, bruised face in her hands; since she'd brushed her thumbs feather-light over Lena's split eyebrow and purpling jaw and growled don't you ever scare me like that again. Three weeks since she'd leaned in and pressed her lips to Lena's.

It's been two weeks and six days since Lena, confined to a gurney but utterly uncaring thanks to the warm Kryptonian curled against her side, had pressed her aching face to Kara's shoulder and first whispered that she loved her. Two weeks and six days since Kara had first said it back.

It's been two weeks and five and a half days since Nia had walked in on Lena in Kara's arms, lips pressed to her neck and hands wandering beneath her sweatshirt, and promptly shrieked the place down. Since their friends had exchanged pointed glances and relieved sighs and congratulated them on finally making it official, their expressions ranging from overjoyed to exasperated to plain exhausted.

It's been two weeks and four days of she and Kara dating; of morning kisses and shared showers and the perfect partner at game night and all of Lena's wildest dreams coming true.

It's been less than a minute since Kara had admitted, hushed and wondering, that she'd known she was in love with Lena ever since she'd found herself suddenly prepared to poison National City's entire water supply rather than let Lena fall. That she hadn't been able to fully it admit it to herself until she'd found herself suddenly prepared to alter the course of all of history in order to get Lena back.

And right now, Kara is reaching across the table at Noonan's and taking her hand. She's looking deep into Lena's eyes, biting her lip as her thumb rubs gentle circles into Lena's palm, and her voice barely rises above a whisper when she asks, “When did you know?”

And now that she has, Lena is sure of her answer.

The highlight reel of her relationship with Kara lays itself at Lena's feet, each precious memory between them stretching out like a roadmap of her growing affection, with every hard-won step leading her right to this moment.

And in this moment, Lena knows. She's in love with Kara. Really, she always has been.

[darkherolovercroissant]

Unforgivable

Simon Ghost Riley

Library 📚

Warnings: This is a cowboy au story, so mature themes. mature language and themes. If you are uncomfortable with these themes, pls don’t read…. Also I saw that @caveofbats wants more cowboy ghost stories, so I’m pushing through my sickness and creating a story.

__________________________________________

The roads as dusty as they were, seemed to be tainted with the blood that was spilt by those who choose to introduce chaos in such a calm town. The sherif was constantly pinning up bounty posters, hoping some sorry sod will stumble in and take a chance at fifty dollars. No one seemed to take any and the crime rate only went up, which in turn hurt the town as people fled and others put up warnings to stay away if they could.

However, one person seemed to think the warnings were stupid as these rich and arrogant bounty hunters that looked down on these “cheap bounties” since it wasn’t over one hundred per head. The way he walked into town to see worried looks from the few that remained , strutting into the sheriff’s office, he started unpinning posters and waved off after he received information for the first one.

Promised more information for the return of the criminals, he strutted out to his horse that was hitched outside. Riding out into the desert hills, he began tracking and soon the criminals would learn that there was a ghost on their trail. The games began and he was going to finish them one by one. If no one was going to, he might as well show everyone how it’s done.

Looking up the hill, he adjusted his cowboy hat and smirked underneath his mask as his first capture was within a few feet. Soon they would be seeing the ground as he hoisted them over his horse and brought them into the town and right into the jail house.

Days turned into weeks and weeks into months as Ghost haunted his victims all over the country. Some thinking they’d be safe up in the snowy mountains, but they’d be hunted even after the snow covered their tracks. They hid in tiny villages, but the civilians were more than happy to rat them out for a few dollars.

Every poster started adding up and he was just coming out of the gunsmith with a new scoped Carcano rifle when the sheriff was staring at him with a brand new bounty poster. Slinging the gun over his shoulder, he took the poster but almost fainted when he saw the price on this one’s head.

“Fifteen thousand!? What did this bastard do?” Ghost asks as he tries to think on what they must of done to accumulate such a price.

“Riley Black . A bloody bastard for sure. They take pride in killing and robbing. They hang their victims and use them for target practice, but by the time we find the bodies, they’re long gone. Last we heard, they were down by Hutches creek, that’s just south of tumbleweed. My guess they’ll be hitting them next.” The sheriff huffs

Ghost nods and mounts his horse and prepares for the three day journey he’s facing when the sheriff stops him.

“Look son, you’ve been a good help. Im just gonna warn ya. This one will be more challenging for more than one reason. While Riley is dangerous, you’re also going to be dealing with multiple bounty hunters. Now that they’re back on the market, you’ll be dealing with more than just a cold killer.” He nods

—————

The desert got quite cold at night and Ghost decided it wasn’t fair to his companion to continue tonight after the work they’ve put in, so he sets up camp while looking at the poster. Getting a good look at the sketch and seeing those haunting eyes looking into his equally haunting ones.

“Im going to have fun bringing you in, Riley” he mutters before tipping his hat down and falling asleep.

———

The morning sunlight had been burning for already five hours and Ghost had made progress over the hills as he tries to reach tumbleweed before Black. It was going great until something caught his eye.

Pulling out the Carcano rifle, he looks through the scope to see a body hanging from a tree. What looked like a young woman, but unfortunately she wasn’t the only one.

“Bloody hell. The bastard really is sick” Ghost mutters

Riding up closer, he shoots the rope as three bodies fall to the ground, one after the other. They were still warm, so they were obviously fresh kills and looking at the shade of red that stained their clothes, they were done just this morning.

“You can’t have gotten far. You’ll pay for what crimes you committed” Ghost says as he takes the shovel from the side of his horse’s saddle and takes the time to dig three graves.

As he marches onwards, he spots smoke coming from a small camp. Not thinking anything of it, until he saw that familiar hat.

“Looks like I’m going to be much richer tonight” Ghost snickers as he urges his horse to quietly take him to you.

“Riley Black?”

He turns around with a hand on his revolver at the unfamiliar voice. Coming to a standstill with some guy in a skull mask with a fancy gun, he just huffs before turning back to his cup of coffee.

“Who May you be, huh?. Some kind of bounty hunter? You don’t look like the sort.” Riley snorts

“I got a poster with a big price below YOUR name. Now, we can either do this the hard way, or the easy way.” Ghost huffs

“I have no interest in going peacefully and I know you need me to come in alive for that big price.”

“Unfortunately” Ghost snarls

The rushes of horses galloping their way put the conversation on pause as what Ghost was warned about came true.

“Friends of yours?” He taunts

“I work alone” he replied

“Charming. Tell ya what, you help me take them down and I’ll give you what you want, or you can miss out of a big pay.” Riley smirks

He aims his rifle at the group of bounty hunters as Black grabs his rifle and begins to take the vultures out one by one.

As they started getting closer, he swapped to his cattleman revolvers and began dropping them faster now that he was closer to his targets.

As the last man fell off his horse, Ghost grabbed his lasso and pushed Riley Black to the ground.

“I can offer you more than they’re offering. I got more money than they could even dream of” he tried squirming which earned a kick in the gut.

“Oh just shut up. You’re going to see the punishment for your crimes.” Ghost was beyond annoyed at this target. Taking a good look at the beautiful creature that he once rode around the country, he untethered it and hitched it to the saddle of his and mounted his trusty horse and started making the trip back to the heartlands.

————

Riding into the familiar town, the sheriff was the first to greet him as he dropped Black down on the porch of the sheriff’s office.

“They’re all yours sheriff.” Ghost groans as he stretches.

“You might have won, but I’ll go out knowing that you and your friends failed to help all those innocent people. Who’s really the bad guy here, huh? Cause I’ll tell you something sheriff, there’s no good guy in this scenario.” Riley smirks

The sheriff hands Ghost his money and he hears him scoff.

“Money tainted by blood. Do you feel proud of yourself?” Black taunts

Ghosts hand grabs his face and makes him look him in the eyes.

“My money isn’t tainted by blood the way yours is. I kill people sure, but it’s people that need killing. I also don’t leave my victims up in places for the other innocent people to see.” He says before leaving.

———

As he leaves the saloon that night, he hears your name briefly before the judge orders for you to be sentenced to death by hanging. Untethering his horse, he walks back up towards the sheriffs office looking for more work.

“Unfortunately I’m all out, go check out that town out west. I think it’s called Oakville, they may have work for you.” The sheriff chuckles

Ghost just nods and heads out west with his new line of work laid out infront of him. As he strolls into the small town, he meets familiar eyes that light up when they see him.

“Long time no see, sir” the Scottish accent makes its way into Ghosts ears.

“Anything good McTavish?”

“Oh boy you’re gonna love this next one. Some crazy bastard robbing banks. Got a whole gang with him. At least ten of them.” John smiles

“We’ll need a gang of our own if we want to take them.” Ghost sighs

“Already on that sir. Ain’t that right sir?” John smiles

Ghost turns to look behind him as he sees familiar teammates walking over.

Price, Roach, Gaz, Laswell and you all approach and suddenly Ghost is back in the saddle as the gang pulls out and heading up north to hunt this bloody bastard.

[after-witch]

Act of Contrition [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Title: Act of Contrition [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: A shimmering blue evening gown was not the last thing you expected to see draped over the sitting chair that was tucked into the corner. What you didn’t expect, however, was his suggestion for you to try it on

Word Count: 3646

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader

 A shimmering blue evening gown was not the last thing you expected to see draped over the sitting chair that was tucked into the corner. It would certainly not be the first time that Chrollo had brought back something ostentatious, something glittering and expensive; something that you (if you were to psychoanalyze him, which you did, out of anxiety first and boredom second) would guess he wanted you to admire before it disappeared into the ether like so many other things he’d pilfered over the past few months.

What you didn’t expect, however, was his suggestion for you to try it on. 

At first you thought you’d misheard, your brain still pulling itself out of a dull, listless sleep. You had argued with him the night before, and the space between you on the bed was thick and heavy with tension until you had finally slid headlong into sleep. Surely he wouldn’t try to give you a gift after you spend most of the evening reminding him that you’ll never love him, or even like him, much less feel one iota of happiness in his presence.

But then he repeated the suggestion.

“Why?” Your tone is borderline acidic, and you don’t feel the need to hide your suspicion of his intentions.

Your captor had no doubt become well-acquainted with your nastiness over the months, though he rarely reacted to it with more than a tight expression, if he even gave you that. Sometimes he simply ignored you, as if you were a child having a tantrum, not his kidnapped victim.

In some ways, it was a surprising relief. In some ways, you could consider yourself lucky. Considering his abilities, considering his past, considering what he did when he left you alone in the condo or hotel or wherever he had you situated--he might well be the type to slap the attitude off your face, gentlemanly facade be damned. He could do worse than a slap, too; far worse.

But the months had gone on with only pointed sighs and looks; and despite his rationally stated insistence that you would give in to his attentions in time, you held onto your bitterness as tightly as you could. You prized yourself on it, the way you figure that he prizes his most precious steals.

He sometimes comes back with glittering jewels worth calculable fortunes, laying them out to see the way they look when the moonlight filters in through the open curtains. He doesn’t keep them for long, doesn’t display them, just memorizes their magnificence and then whisks them off.

You can relate to the gloating. But you don’t give your greatest treasures away. You, on the other hand, wear your bitterness 24/7 like an old woman clinging to her last precious mink coat, a remnant of an era gone-by. Draped over your shoulder, haughty and visible, daring him to say something when you give him a sarcastic jab in response to perfectly-polite-inquiries about this and that. The worst (but best, you think, to you) is when you feign interest in a conversation, feign some sort of acceptance of your situation, willing your hands to get closer to his as you sit on the sofa and read; only to snap back at the last moment, baring your teeth.

You hope it hurts him, to think he’s getting an inch forward with you only to have it pulled away. He deserves it for keeping you here.

Sometimes, you almost hope he would say something, do something, only because it might be a sort of reprieve. If he gets mad or slaps you, even, maybe the solid, sticky bitterness surrounding your heart might abate just a bit.

Then again, you know this saying very well: be careful what you wish for.

“I need to see if it fits.” His expression and tone haven’t changed. Polite, cordial, matter-of-fact. You hate it.

You force yourself out of bed and give the gown a glance before heading into the bathroom. He follows, picking up his own morning routine as you wash and brush side-by-side. You think he does it to seem domestic, in his own fucked-up way. You pointed this out, once, and he’d merely given you a small smile and asked: “Do you want to this to be domestic?”

Chrollo had a habit of turning your impulsive snark around on you, so you tried to plan your barbs out more carefully in the future.

“Why do you need to see if it fits?” You finally ask, words a bit muffled by the toothbrush hanging out of your mouth. You force yourself to glance at him in the mirror. He’s finished, already drying off his face, pinning a wrap around his forehead.

He catches your gaze in the mirror, and you feel too caught to look away.

“For tonight. We’re going to the theater.”

The toothbrush drops from your mouth and lands next to the sink, splattering lathered toothpaste on the counter. You wipe your mouth with a washcloth, missing a bit and not caring, and physically turn away from the mirror so you’re face-to-face.

“Are you serious?”

For the moment, your bitterness slides off, forgotten on the floor. He’s never offered to do something like this before. Sure, he’s mentioned that you might go out--”it depends on  your behavior”--but the thought of “being good” for Chrollo made you sick to your stomach every time you were tempted. So you hadn’t been outside for months, not really--the brief gaps when he’d whisk you into a car, always by his side, then pull you into a new hotel or luxury condo didn’t really count.

He nods.

“Yes. Please do hurry and try it on, I’ll need time to find another if it isn’t suitable.”

You glance out of the bathroom door and back into the bedroom, where the gown sits, draped, shimmering softly in the morning light. It’s something you never would have been able to afford before--and the thought of wearing it now makes your skin tingle. What is his plan? Why is he doing this?

“But I haven’t been good,” you say, almost spitting out the last word. Last night, in fact, you’d been almost beastly--you recall the words “go fuck yourself” and “I hate you” being thrown out before you twisted in the knife by bringing up an ex-fling.

He laughs, quick and harsh. It seems like a real laugh, for once, and something in your chest twists. It’s been a long time since you’ve heard anything truly authentic from him. Or yourself.

“Maybe it’s a reward for me, to have you by my side.  You want to go, don’t you?”

The thought makes your stomach clench. But… you did want to go. Really. To get out of here, even for a night? To get sucked into some type of show, whatever it was? You didn’t entertain the idea of trying to escape or draw attention to yourself for help--you knew Chrollo would never suggest taking you if it was a viable option. He was just as likely to slaughter the entire theater if you whispered to an usher that you were being held captive.

No, no escape in the cards… at least not physically.

You shrug your shoulders and try to seem nonchalant about it, though you’re sure he can feel the way your skin is buzzing.

“Sure, whatever. Don’t expect me to hold your hand or anything.”

He laughs, again. It’s blatantly false this time.

***

It has been… a while since you’ve done your makeup. The pile of messy makeup wipes on the counter can attest to that--this is now your third try at a full face without messing something up. Thankfully, the third time has been the charm, and you’re satisfied with the reflection in the mirror. Chrollo had turned up your old makeup bag, and sliding on the eyeliner you used to wear to work, out with friends, in your old life felt surreal and comforting at the same time.

You’ve even done your hair, though it could be nicer. You haven’t bothered with anything but hasty brushing in the past few months, and sometimes you’re too lethargic and frustrated to even bother with that. But it’s styled, a bit elegant--if you do say so yourself.

You glance down at the trio of lipsticks he set on the counter earlier. They’re not a brand you ever wore--they’re expensive, something out of reach for anyone used to pulling cheap store lipsticks out of a bin. The center lipstick is a bold red, and your hand reaches for it. Brief memories of your mother gushing about red lipstick come to mind; she always associated red lipstick with elegance, the fanciest of events, and you’re inclined to agree. It feels smooth, impossibly so; praise be to expensive formulas.

After blotting it with toilet paper--old habits--you step back to stare at yourself in the mirror. The dress fits you beautifully. The fabric is soft, refined, showing you off in all the right places. You’ve taken your time with your hair, your makeup, and you really do look nice. You bring your wrist up to your nose and sniff--the perfume Chrollo had picked out for you was elegant, subtle. Rose petals and apples and white musk.

You feel a wave of nostalgia come over you that you push down. It’s too bad you’re going to the theater with your captor and not with your friends. Or your mom.

“Are you finished?” His voice calls from the bedroom.

The thought of Chrollo seeing you like this makes you feel uncomfortably anxious for reasons you can’t quite pinpoint. The gown is not exactly risque, but it’s designed to highlight your features--and while he has never crossed the hardest line in regards to your personal autonomy, he wasn’t beyond stealing kisses from your unwilling lips when the mood struck him. He said it was to help you adjust to the relationship, as if kissing you against your will would make you love him.

You don’t answer him and instead give your hair a final touch up before heading out the open bathroom door.

Chrollo is standing next to the vanity, wearing an elegant suit, primped and polished--and handsome. You can’t help but freeze in place when he gives you a once-over, slow and deliberate.

“You look beautiful,” he says, finally, a slight breathiness to his voice. There’s an authentic tone to his voice again, and it makes you feel queasy.

You try to ignore the way your skin feels heated and shrug, crossing your arms over your chest as you approach him.

“Are we going now?”

He gives a soft smile. “Almost. One more thing.”

You watch curiously as he pulls out a jewelry box from his pocket, then opens it to reveal two glittering sapphire earrings. You can’t hold back a little gasp, but when you reach for them, Chrollo holds the box out of reach.

“I’ll do the honors.”

You want to say no. But you’re so close to leaving, so you simply stare to the side as he steps behind you.  He touches your ear--and you flinch. He chuckles quietly and you ignore the blossoming heat across your cheeks, both from his closeness and your reaction, while he fixes the earrings into your ears.

When he’s finished, you look up. The visage in the mirror seems like a familiar stranger. The feeling you get at seeing yourself so dressed up is familiar in some way. You think back to going to shows with your friends, or going to the ballet with your mom; your little ring-clad hand gripping hers as she hurried you past alleys on the way to the theater, your sparkling white party dress shedding glitter onto the streets. You can practically feel the way the theater always hums with anticipation, the unusual heaviness of feeling alone in a crowded room as your friends left you with the tickets while they grabbed a drink or two.

The sight of Chrollo behind you in the mirror, watching you with clear intent, breaks you away.

“We’re leaving now.”

***

“I… actually really like The Sleeping Beauty ballet.”

You feel awkward. It’s certainly not the first time you’ve been in a car with Chrollo, whether your forcibly pressed against him in the back seat or in the front, blasting the radio in an attempt to prevent him from striking up a conversation as he drives you to some new destination.

But it’s the first time you’ve been in the car for reasons other than transporting you to a new ‘home.’ The first time that you’ve both been dressed up; Chrollo’s cologne wafts gently over to you, and you can’t deny that he knows how to pick a good scent.

It’s also the first time you’ve felt conversation to be a necessity, if only to find out where you were going (the opera house) and what you were seeing (a ballet).

In fact, the news of the performance makes you sit up straighter in your seat. You feel a ping of excitement, and without thinking you share it out loud.

“That’s actually the first ballet I ever saw with my mom. Do you know what company it is?”

He tells you, and you bite your lip anxiously, squaring your shoulders against the back of the seat as you start to imagine the night ahead. Then you remember the smooth red lipstick and force your mouth to relax.

You talk, instead, to keep yourself from ruining your lipstick with your nervous habit. “I’ve heard about this company’s version. Well,” you continue, “I wanted to see them perform this a few years ago, but tickets sold out so fast. I couldn’t afford the scalper prices.”

“How nice that I have tickets for this performance, then.”

“Right!” Your pitch is higher and you internally cringe. You shouldn’t sound so excited. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, but he seems focused on the road.

As the drive continues, you keep talking. Without realizing it, your voice becomes lighter, easier, and even you don’t know why you’re speaking so freely. You talk more to him on this stretch of road than you have within months, sarcastic replies and bitter responses notwithstanding. 

You talk about ballet. You talk about the history of the show. You talk about this company’s costumes--you saw them displayed in a store window and wow, were they gorgeous--and as the words come out, you feel lighter. Less bogged down by your protective anger, less heavy and hateful.

Happiness. 

It’s something that you haven’t felt in a long time. It’s a feeling that your stomach rebels against, not welcoming the sudden intrusion of lightness and lift while you’re sitting in a car next to your captor. But you push your stomach’s rebellious nature down and force yourself to remember that tonight,  you get to escape onto the stage; for a little while, you can be somewhere else.

Even being in the car tonight is doing wonders for you, you think. You must be getting close--the lights of the city are brighter and there’s throngs of nicely dressed people walking down the street towards what you realize is the theater. You see a little girl holding a woman’s hand and your stomach clenches in bitter nostalgia, but the thought is pushed aside quickly enough when Chrollo pulls into a valet circle.

You don’t have time to open the door before he opens it for you, extending his arm like a gentlemen.

“Ready?”

**

You’re buzzing on the way home. Not just from the champagne--three glasses, Chrollo having subtly waved away the usher approaching your opera box with your requested fourth. Not just from the show, which was magical and lush and everything you hoped it would be. Not just from the fact that you had a night out, away from the stuffiness of whatever luxury suite you were trapped in.

But from the thrill of feeling something, anything, other than your own deep despair and bitterness. You laughed in delight at the sillier moments, the bright-yellow Canary fairy and her trills; you cried at Aurora’s pleading vision to be set free, the first time you’ve cried at something other than your own situation in ages; you clapped and even, in the end, let yourself shout out a cheery “Brava!”

Even Chrollo seemed different during the evening. No forcible hand-holding or other niceties that had given you anxiety earlier in the evening. No unbearable condescension, only the hint of a smirk during the intermission when you--instinctively, you insisted to yourself, not because you liked his company--began an excited conversation about the events of the first Act. Did he like this part? What about the orchestra? And oh, this variation, didn’t he think it was a bit too overdone on the part of the dancer, but she more than recovered by the end?

When Chrollo helps you out of the car into the private parking garage, the air is cool and crackling; everything still feels electric, the way it always does when you come home from an event. Though as the doorman opens the private elevator leading to the condominium above, you dimly remind yourself you’re not coming home, exactly.

The swift ride up the elevator leaves you feeling dizzy. Your mind feels like it’s crashing, suddenly. From the champagne, maybe--but something else, too.

The elevator doors open into the condo suite you share with Chrollo and it hits you as you take the first step inside: you’re back to where you started the night. Trapped. The transporting, glittering events of the evening fall off your shoulders like a worn coat; you’re left once again only with yourself, with your present situation--and with Chrollo.

Your cheeks feel hot and you know the tears are coming before you feel them prickle at your eyes. The urge to wipe them away is masked only by the remembrance that you’re wearing makeup, but that doesn’t stop it from running as they begin to flow down your cheeks.

It burns, and you start for the bathroom, intent on scrubbing your face and ripping off the dress--but your entire body jerks back as Chrollo grabs your arm and prevents you from taking another step.

“Let go,” you say, voice empty of anything but the desperate need to be in the bathroom, to clean your face, to be alone with your returning misery.

He doesn’t. Instead, he pulls you back, forcing you to stand up straight as you fruitlessly fight against his grip.

“You’re crying.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” you murmur, voice edged not with bitterness this time, but sorrow. You don’t want to look at him. He’s seen you cry countless times, but you hate the way he looks at you when you do.

“Tell me why.”

You finally force yourself to look up at him, eyes blinking away the stinging tears, and you’re not surprised by his intensive gaze. He’s studying you. Analyzing. Like you’re some sort of book he can read and discover.

Maybe the champagne has loosened your tongue; maybe the night itself has loosened the tight-lipped hold your bitterness has on you. Whatever it is, you confess.

“I was happy,” you say, voice wobbling with tears. “I was--happy on the way there. I was happy at the theater. I was happy on the way home. I--I haven’t…” you rub at your eyes, smearing eyeshadow onto your fingertips. “I haven’t felt that way in months. And now we’re back and I don’t feel it anymore.” Your voice finally cracks with your last words, and you cover your eyes with one hand as crushing feelings of sadness sweep over you.

He pulls you closer to him, and you can’t fight away from his physical strength.

“Let go,” you plead. “I just want to be alone.”

You jerk your face away when he strokes your cheek with his free hand.

“Alone? Whatever for? My hypothesis for tonight was correct.”

His words make you stop pulling. Hypothesis? You sniffle and try to get your bearings, try to brace yourself. But you’re tired, and sad, and your head is swimming.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He places his free hand on the back of your head and leans in closer. The heat of his skin and the pressure of his grip makes a flushed warmth bloom across your skin.

“You see,” he whispers, his lips ghosting against the side of your ear. “You can be happy with me, after all.”