#I'm aware this is like the most bizarre team I could have come up with

[chronosdawn]

Finally managed to complete Swarm Disaster difficulty V in HSR thanks in major part to Aventurine :')

[spencerified]

Hiii, well, English is not my first language, sorry for that. I'm not a writer, but a big reader, so welcome to the community ^^

I was thinking about a reader who works in BAU, gets kidnapped, and for some reason the su-des was filming, and the reader is forced to confess that she like Spencer, (The whole team saw it).

As if the su-des were playing a game like truth or dare, and ended up reluctantly confessing that, the reader having a lot of confidence. If you read this and do it I would be very grateful, ily^^♡

(Can be fem!reader or g!reader, it doesn't matter, I repeat, if you read it and do it I will thank you for the rest of my life)

hiii!!! first of all thank you so much for trusting me with your request 🫶 this came out a little (a lot) longer than I thought it would but i hope it's still what you expected and that you enjoy it!! any other requests are very welcome ♡ lots of hugs for everyone

✿

"Stop."

You're relieved that your weak attempt, your last resort at trying to get the Unsub to show you mercy, makes him stop in his tracks. You still feel the ghost of the edge of a knife itching against your skin, when it was unclear if he really wanted to hurt you or if it was just an attempt at getting you to break. To get you to spill your most deepest, darkest secrets, the ones hidden within the depths of your heart. 

Hidden even from Spencer, who looks at you from (presumably) miles away, through a sketchy live transmission sent to Garcia. Untraceable, of course. He desperately wishes he could just snap his fingers and make it all go away. Every tear, every ache, every whisper of pain. Wants to build a world where you won’t know suffering ever again.

Hotch's voice when he first trained you for what Penelope called 'The Non-Fun Parts of The Job' resonates in your hazy mind. Be aware your surroundings, he said, and you wonder if he might be disappointed on the other side of the camera haphazardly propped up a few feet in front of you, it's red light mocking you with each blink.

"Why are you doing this?" You say, emitting now only a pitiful vestige of your voice which is usually never afraid to speak on anything. It seems amusing to him because seconds later, a cheshire grin blossoms in his face, causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand. 

"Oh, you have no idea who I am, do you?" He says. You've never thought a person could inflict so much fear with only a look and a few words. "I don't remember you either, so no hard feelings. But the BAU has... humiliated me. Took everything I love away from me. My family, my job, my friends..." His voice grows low to the point that if you weren't so on edge, you would have to strain your ears to hear him. "They may think getting away for years feels like a reward to me, but they don't live what I live. 

Watching the TV waiting for the next time the BAU finally remembers me over the rest of the cases they have to push away to the… dusty corners of their file room because of their incompetency and decides to spread my picture all over the news once again... it's no way to live." 

The man's voice is so calm you constantly wait for the other shoe to drop. Like when you're so scared on a rollercoaster and your only option is to close your eyes and wait for the inevitable drop. It doesn't come. It seems like years of inflicting pain on others, and then years of hiding away from the consequences are an upstanding process on how to numb a person.

Spencer sees it too. He sees that this Unsub just won't lose control, and that scares him. Because someone this put together – in a rather bizarre way, wouldn't even bat an eye were he to decide on hurting you. And Spencer would have to watch it all, powerless, scribbling over and over again over his wide map spread out on the conference room's table. 

"I'm sorry..." You lie through your teeth. "That you have to live that way."

Fake empathy towards him, Hotch echoes on your head again. You must be reliving his instructions in your head as a way to keep your cool. You bite your lip so hard you fear it might bleed when you realize you're doing it. He's delusional, you reason. He thinks the BAU wanting to catch him for murdering at least 7 couples in public parks is somehow a way to wrong him. 

"Well, thank you," he says, a bitter tone bleeding into his words. "But it's not enough. Luckily for you, you know just what to do that will be." 

"I don't have any secrets," you confess. Outside of the BAU, you don't have a very interesting life. Go home, say hi to the neighbors in your building, sometimes smile at someone while shopping groceries. No burning, forbidden love affair – mostly because the only candidate you want is endearingly oblivious –, no superhero side quests that would make for an interesting conversation at lunch break with your coworkers. No skeletons in your closet, no secret vices or scandalous secrets that would obliterate your pristine reputation amongst your coworkers. Not even one involving the most important one of them. Of course not. 

"I'm sure you do. Everyone does," he circles your chair. You want to sob when you lose sight of him and feel his presence looming on the back of the chair. Not knowing when your life could potentially be taken away from you is jarring. 

"I don't," you say. You don't need to use the word 'please' for him to know that you're begging for your life. "I really don't." 

Pull yourself together, you think. This is not how a BAU agent must react when faced with a threat. But then again, you've only been here for less than a year, and maybe you just don't have it in you to keep your cool the way the rest of your team would. You take a harsh deep breath. 

Spencer has a rather uncanny ability to tune the world out. When he's engrossed in his job, his books, his facts, it's easy to lose himself on them. Specially when the only person who usually listens to him when he externalizes them is away. 

Not away, he thinks. That makes it seem like you're taking a vacation. A small voice in the back of his head wonders where would you go if you were given the chance to. Then, he remembers he might never find out if he doesn't figure this out soon. The case has the team's complete and utter attention, and he knows these are some of the best minds in the Bureau. But he still feels like it's his responsibility to figure it out; he can't help but think that it's what it's expected of him. He wonders if that expectation stems from being a prodigy, or because he's so close to you that it only makes sense it would be him. 

He feels a rush flowing through his veins when he feels like he's close to figuring it out. Then, he's harshly brought back to the reality where he hogs the conference room's table with his map and the team scatters over the rest of the room, working on who-knows-what, by a series of worrying hurried breaths of yours. 

"Okay, okay!" You say, when he roughly yanks you by the hair to keep you still. The knife you thought was previously discarded hovers over your ear. 

"One clean slash, and you'll be out like a light."

You don't find it in yourself to want to test the veracity of that theory out. 

So you realize your only shot at getting out of here might be giving him what he wants. You can't stall anymore, and one side of your brain tells you that it's your team, they'll get here in time, and the other asks itself if that might be a thing that just happens in unrealistic crime shows. 

"I..." You start. You wonder if Spencer is watching this. You would rather have every agent in the FBI hear this, all 35,000 of them, instead of him. You whimper when the knife inches closer to your skin. You can't die. Not here. Is keeping your perception of dignity worth losing your life? "I like my coworker." 

It doesn't satisfy the Unsub. "Which one?" 

You want to refuse to answer, to curl into a ball and cry until you recover the false sense of confidence you walk around with that has now been shattered. You'll get it back, eventually. Not if you die. So you toughen it up, and breathe deep. "Spencer." 

It sounds so stupid. A mere speck in the grand scheme of things, of problems and situations anyone would expect an FBI agent to have. But it's the hardest thing you've ever had to say.

And it's the hardest thing he's ever had to hear. If it were in any other situation, he wouldn't have put it past him to jump in glee. You, with your head always held high, never one to shy away from showing who you were to the world, with your gentle soul that lured him in even when he tried to keep his heart safe from rejection... You liked him. But that's not his focus right now. Even if every single train of thought in his brain has come to a catastrophic halt, he has to focus, because he can't take one more second of seeing you trying to keep calm with a knife to your throat. 

A picture of Hannah Davis, one of the victims from the original case, hung up on the wall behind you ends up giving the Unsub's whole act away. Still, it doesn't make a lot of sense for Hannah to have hung up a picture of herself in her own house, so the team splits to cover both the boyfriend's house and Hannah's. 

It's just a precautionary measure. Spencer knows exactly where you are.

"Oh, Dr. Reid. Idiots interrogated me about once or twice as a witness and he was a real boom with the ladies at the precinct back then. Let me tell you, if I had his charm, I wouldn't have had to resort to killing couples to get off." 

The Unsub lets go of your hair with no warning and your head hangs down as if you were a rag doll. You find it in yourself to hum uninterestedly at his sick attempt of joking. 

You don't think you've ever felt your heart beating as hard as it is right now. And when you tune out the sound of the man talking and rambling about God knows what, you realize that the thumping you hear in your ears isn't your heart. That maybe the creaking on the stairs isn't a product of your delirious mind conjuring up a sequence where you magically get saved from the bad guy.

You sigh when the man behind you yanks you back again. This time, you feel the need to put on a facade. Make it look like you’ve come to terms with it; if this is how you go, then so be it. The knife on your throat makes your heart rate pick back up, but you don't whimper. You wonder if you're trying to keep it together for yourself or because you are ashamed of the image your team will have of you after this if you don't.  

You hear Morgan kick the door down. Usually, you're on the other side of this. You help talk an Unsub down, and then make fun of Morgan after for kicking the door instead of opening it like a civilized FBI agent. Talking them down doesn't always work. Sometimes, you end up with another casualty added to the case. In the worst outcome, you end up with two more. You're not as unafraid as you thought. Please, God, you think. This cannot be the end. 

Morgan screaming at the Unsub to put the knife down falls in deaf ears. It's only white noise to you now, and maybe that stems from the fact that you have been held hostage for what felt like days with no food, no water, no sun, and you feel so close to it being over. Soon, you'll be on a hospital bed, eating food that only the thought of makes you feel nauseated but even that is better than this. Maybe Spencer will sneak you a treat. Or maybe that's wishful thinking. 

As you're dwelling on what the consequences of him potentially hearing your confession might be, you hear a gun go off. You don't even react when the pressure exerted on the right side of your neck, the weight of the arm holding you in place suddenly fades away as your head falls forward. 

You hear the thud of a body hit the ground. Maybe we can still be friends, you try to reason. Spencer drops his smoking gun to a side as Morgan tries to untie your hands behind your back. Maybe he'll reciprocate, or is that too much of a delusion to have even in your incoherent state? Spencer holds you in his arms when you have nothing pushing you back against the chair anymore. 

"I'm sorry," you sob into his shoulder, not an ounce of strength remaining in your body. You were not made for this. Not made for withstanding this kind of torment. If you mean the torment of being kidnapped, or the torment that awaits you once you're not hysterically sobbing in front of the man you're not ready to admit you love, you're not sure. "I'm so sorry." 

"Hey," he says, tenderly. You don't know how much time it's gone by since the last time you saw him. The only thing you know is that this kind of gentleness is now unfamiliar after harsh hands engraved themselves all over you. "Hey, it's okay. What are you sorry for?" 

"I'm sorry," you say, worn out, the words echoing around your head like a DVD screensaver. You then register his question. "For saying that." 

You don't specify what. It's not necessary; it never has been with Spencer. Somehow, you both know exactly what the other means, with just a glance, a brush of an arm when somehow you find yourself trapped in his orbit once again. 

"It's alright," is it? Part of him wonders if being with you might have become even more unattainable now than it was before. If you'll push him away because the memory of the circumstances of your confession is too painful to bear. His hand hovers in the air before he finds a moment where he feels like you won't get up and run away from him if he touches you. You shudder, but ultimately stay right where you are. "Don't cry. You're okay." 

Are we okay? You have to ask. But maybe right now is not the moment. Maybe right now all you want is to be held before everything goes down the drain. You've hit rock bottom, and everyone probably sees it too. Spencer just wishes you find it in your heart to let him be the one to help you out of there. You don't need to yell for help if you have him – the most minuscule mutter of your burdens will be enough to have him snapping into action. He knows what it's like to give every sign that you could ever think of and still have them ignored. He isn't about to let you go through that. 

"We're going to go home now, yeah?" You nod. When you come to it, your fingers ache from holding onto his shirt so hard you want to apologize to him in case you had hurt him. You don't find the words. The rise and fall of his chest had lulled you into the deepest, calmest sleep you have managed to get in a while, even before the kidnapping happened at all, and in this moment, you almost swear that it'll all be okay. 

When you wake up, there's a steady hold in your hand as the ambulance rocks back and forth. 

"God, they need to get that street fixed," you say. You don't recognize your voice, the rasp in your throat being the only thing to confirm that it is indeed you speaking. It takes you a moment to realize that the hand that holds yours firmly is Spencer's. 

You'd be lying if you said you weren't scared to look at him. What would his expression be like? Disgust? Perhaps Morgan made him ride with you until they got to the ambulance. Perhaps he offered to do so because he wanted to do something nice for you before he completely tore your heart to shreds by saying he doesn't like you back. Perhaps-

"We're almost there." The way his voice manages to shut every deprecating thought in your head should be studied. As a reflex, you turn your head to look at him. You wish you hadn't, because the way he looks at you like you're a masterpiece – a rather flawed one, even if he doesn't think so, isn't helping the ache in your chest. Your first thought is that it's awe, but then you think you might want to get that get that checked out when you get to the hospital. 

You barely notice his hand shifting around yours, until it holds your wrist, his thumb pressed softly but firm against your pulse point. He can probably feel the way your heart quickens when he leans in to take a look at your face. 

"Does the light hurt your eyes?" You nod, sluggishly. He turns over to look at the paramedic who sits next to you. You feel a little bit of relief at the fact that no one's hovering over you. It means you're okay. It's all minor. And mostly psychological. Spencer starts listing studies and tests they apparently need to run on you, and while you love the way he rambles, you don't think you can keep up with him without getting a stroke in the process right now.

You doze off again. God, you needed that. You hadn't closed your eyes for more than a couple of seconds during all of your stay in that house. Stay. You don't know what else to call it. 

Emily stayed with you while they checked you out and in her words, it was like you were moving on autopilot. It was unnerving, but the doctors had informed her that there was nothing wrong besides a couple of nasty bruises you would have to spend extra concealer on. 

Spencer offered to stay overnight. One can only imagine how unsettling it was for him to lift his head from his book to see you sitting up like a spring at 2:45 am. 

"Hi," he says, his voice a hushed breath as he sits on the edge of your bed, smiling awkwardly at you. There's no one else in the room, but it's like if any of you speaks louder than a whisper, the bubble you're in will burst. Your chest heaves with hurried breaths, and you rub your eyes.

"Hey." You're already dreading this conversation. Is there any way to go back to before you were kidnapped and forced to confess you're in love with your best friend/coworker? Anyhow, you don't want to stay in the dark anymore and hurry to speak directly to the point. "I don't want things to be weird between us." 

"We haven't even talked for a minute, what do you mean?" 

You let out a short, humorless laugh, which could be easily just interpreted as a hum. You scramble over the clutter that is your mind right now to find a topic that will help you evade the awkwardness. "... Why are you still awake?" 

He didn't expect you to ask that, if the way his gaze drifts to the side is anything to go by. 

"The book was very... interesting, to say the least," he blatantly lies. You don't know if he's a bad liar or if you're just an expert in the Spencer Reid sciences. 

"I'm sure it was." 

You don't speak for a minute. A minute and 33 seconds, he counts, and you're heading strong for a second one when his voice breaks the uncomfortable atmosphere. 

"Listen, I..." 

"I know you heard it." Everyone probably did. And it'll be less humiliating if you act like you don't wish you could just crawl out of your skin and hide. "I'm sorry. I just didn't want to die." 

"I'm glad you said it." 

You don't know if he's glad you said it because otherwise you would have probably bled out before they even got to the house or because the fog that used to sit atop of whatever weird tension you both seemed to develop whenever you were the last ones in the conference room, paired to interview a witness, or sharing the big couch on the jet, is finally cleared up. 

You can't lie and say you're not relieved you did, too.

"I'm glad too," you say, mostly to yourself. Where do you go from here? Spencer knows a lot of things, none of which seem useful at the moment. He's almost tempted to bring Morgan in for moral support; otherwise, he's about to perform the worst ridicule he's ever had the pleasure to star in. 

You wait for him to speak. He doesn't, and instead stares at the bedsheets that look like their sole existence is an offense by the way his brow creases. 

"You look like something's bothering you," you say, tentatively testing the waters. Can you already joke with him, or is it too soon to pretend like everything's okay? "Is it not a nice pattern?" 

He smiles for a split second. You didn't realize the air had been lacking from your lungs until this very second. "The pattern is geometrically off. If you look at it closely, you'll see that the diamonds aren't quite aligned properly. It seems minor, yet it's still evident enough to unconsciously make the pattern less appealing to the eyes. I suppose that's what you get with mass-produced and machine-made products nowadays."

You smile warmly at him. Only then it's that your chest tightens as the realization of just how much you missed just hearing him talk about things that would have never even crossed your mind in a thousand years, dawns upon you.

"Sorry. I forgot my magnifying glass at home." 

"I see you didn't left the wit back there." You smile at him. It feels foreign. Just a second ago you were avoiding looking at him like the mere action of doing so would make you burst into flames on the spot. Your smile is like fuel for the burning courage consuming his insides as he opens his mouth again. "I... I think- No, sorry. I mean, I am certain that..." Okay, Spencer. Great way to start. He tries to gather his thoughts, which proves to be a much harder challenge when they're all a jumbled mess. 

"You like your coworker too?" 

"Yeah," he says. His lips curl into a warm, genuine smile that does wonders at speaking of the deep affection that harbors in the depths of his soul. One only reserved for you. He's quick to repress it because he doesn't want to seem stupid. 

You don't let him throw you off your feet. "Dr. Reid, can you wait until I don't feel and look like a bus just ran over me to confess your unconditional and undying love for me?" 

He wouldn't have expected a different answer from you. The confidence you wear on the outside is a mask for the way he makes you melt like a bar of chocolate in warm weather on the inside. You don't need him to answer to that. He touches your hair, and you turn to look at the bag of skittles placed on the bedside table, and you know he'll gladly wait until you don't feel like you've been stripped of all your defenses. Until you feel like yourself again. 

[polis-fandom]

Patrick Gibson featured in the "Wonderland" Magazine Summer Issue 2023. Pictures by Rhys Frampton.

from @/rhysfampton @/lukebensoncreative @/livi.av on Instagram.

Shadow and Bone's Patrick Gibson on becoming fan-favourite Nikolai Lantsov and the power of the Grisha fandom.

[interview transcript under the cut]

PATRICK GIBSON

Shadow and Bone's Patrick Gibson on becoming fan-favourite Nikolai Lantsov and the power of the Grisha fandom.

Words by Ella Bardsley

Season one of Shadow and Bone saw the world (willingly) catapulted into the Grishaverse, and the entrance of Nikolai Lantsov in season two definitely gave us a reason to return. Taking on one of the most beloved characters in Leigh Bardugo's novels, OA actor Patrick Gibson plays the Ravkan prince who spends a fair amount of time sneakily disguised as the infamous privateer, Sturmhond. No spoilers here, but the prince's future was left more than uncertain. Now that the second season of Shadow and Bone has come to a close, and we're waiting for confirmation on the third, we caught up with the 28-year-old actor on his preffered Grisha power, weirdest audition, and what he's looking for in his next role.

Ella Bardsley: Hey Patrick! What's been your most bizarre audition in your career thus far?

Patrick Gibson: That is tough. There have been some shockers. But nowadays a lot of the time you're doing self-tapes at home. Generally, the weirdest are doing intimate and romantic scenes with close friends or family. Ah yes, there have been a few of them. Nothing quite bests the acting skills like having to convincingly flirt with your own dad.

EB: What was your reaction when you first read the script for Shadow and Bone season two?

PG: I was excited. That's one of my favourite parts of the process. Getting to sit down with this crisp new script and discovering for the first time what exactly it is you're going to be doing for the next few months and getting to dig out your character in more detail. I have been a big fan of our showrunner Eric Heisserer ever since he wrote Arrival , so it was awesome getting to read what him, Daegan Fryklind, and the incredible team of writers had created that first time.

EB: What has been the most surpraising fan reaction or interaction you've had since the release of the show?

PG: I have to say, it's always so lovely meeting or interacting with people who are fans of the show. You're often in a vacuum when you make something, and so to get to meet people who connect with it and are brought joy by it is really nice. A group of fans made a book for me with messages and pictures recently, and it was really touching.[*] They put a lot of work into it. And I'm also aware that it's not really about me. People are passionate about and love the character which is cool because I get to share that enjoyment with them.

EB: As an actor, what was the most challenging aspect of portraying Nikolai's character, and how did you approach it?

PG: Stepping into a character that is so loved by fans of the books is a daunting thing in itself. I found treading the line between honouring who he is on the page while allowing myself to add my own spin on it was one of the more challenging elements. For the most part though, I just had a lot of fun. There was absolutely some wishfulfillment in there for me. Playing a character who carries themselves in a carefree way is always fun and encourages you to make bold choices and let go.

EB: If you could switch roles with any other character in Shadow and Bone , who wolud it be and why?

PG: I honestly tried to think who, but everyone is so perfectly cast I couldn't imagine it any other way.

EB: If you could have any Grisha power from the series in real life, which one would you choose and how would you use it?

PG: I would say a Durast. I'd like to be able to build things, heal people, and manipulate objects on a molecular level.

EB: Do you find yourself delving into rabbit holes while you do research for a role? What's your creative process?

PG: I've found the process varies depending on the job, although it does always have similiarities. It always starts with the script, digging through it for clues. I find the best writing keeps giving you things the more time you spend with it. That process of digging is exciting, you might read the same line a few weeks in and are suddenly struck with a realisation or make a mental connection, I love when action has a physical element or a skill that's required to develop. It just means you get to spend more time with the character floating around the subconscious. I really do think as you're learning skills, if you have the character somewhere in mind, it solidifies it. You get to live with the character in a different way.

EB: What's your on-set pet peeves?

PG: I don't really have any! I have things that get me really excited to be on set. I mean, maybe people complaining? When people forget the privilege they have to be doing this job as an actor. I've felt both sides of it... being so hungry to work I would do anything, and being exhausted and fed up and wishing you had a 9-5. And yeah, it's still a job, but it's important not to lose sight of the joy of it.

EB: Finally, in what kind of role you want to see yourself next?

PG: Genre-wise, I don't have any particular preference, but I'm always looking for that thing I can get lost in. When you find something and know this is what you want to make your world for the next few months. I'm drawn to stuff that's intangible[?]** or seemingly "weird"[?]** stories that are given scale by the detail and care they're told with. There was a film recently called Full Time by Eric Gravel , which I think perfectly encapsulated that.

*[OP pauses the transcription to squeel with joy. Patrick is very likely refering to the fanbook gifted to him during ASOCAS 2 Empire Convention in Paris in May 2023. My artworks are in there, and he saw them, and his jaw dropped, and this is still the highlight of my life]

**[note: I can't decipher those two words from the pics, this is my best guess.]

[electrasev5nwrites]

Ninja Daily: AIC 19

Aiko heard running in the hallway seconds before any of her students did.

Stupidly, her first thought was that someone in Konoha had heard the news that Kirigakure had announced there had been a change in leadership and that all burnt personnel were invited to return. But she'd only told Mei to take care of that yesterday… The information had probably been released in the afternoon or late morning. Konoha wouldn't know less than 4 hours after the fact.

Maybe they'd know tomorrow.

"Hikari-san! Hika-gah!"

'Oh. I should have predicted this.'

A scuffle ensued what seemed to be less than a meter from her hotel door. Someone yelped.

Keisuke and Yuusaku looked at each other, but Ryuusei just sighed and leaned back on his cushion.

There was a sound suspiciously like someone whispering furiously right outside the room.

Aiko closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head. This was an obvious set up. But Naruto wasn't aware of that. If she expressed her displeasure, she'd hurt his feelings. Fucking Konoha. "Yes, Naruto-kun?" she called.

The door to their hotel room slammed open triumphantly. Iruka still had Naruto by the collar, but that didn't appear to be dampening his enthusiasm. "I didn't know you were in Konoha!" He pointed at her accusingly. "Why didn't you tell me, ne? Ne?"'

"I thought that Hatake-san would tell you," Aiko passed the buck innocently. Kakashi didn't get enough shit from his team. He could use some more. "Hello, there. You're energetic today. I saw your match- congratulations on making it to the finals. Is this the jounin who is helping you train for the tournament?" She nodded towards Iruka.

The chuunin reddened. That was bizarre for a moment until she remembered that she was suddenly in his age group now. Being guessed a rank high by a foreign jounin could inspire mixed feelings, she supposed. Was he flattered or embarrassed about being outranked?

Naruto didn't seem to notice any of that. "Nah, this is Iruka-nii!" He dragged the young man into the room for show and tell.

The suffix hit her like a needle, sinking through her skin and scratching at the hard edges of her heart. That wasn't…

She kept her smile fastened on. "It's very good to meet you, Iruka-san. I'm flattered that you wanted to come visit."

"It's nice to meet you," Iruka said, a little stiff in his bow.

"She's my relative," Naruto told Iruka in a way that Aiko was absolutely certain meant that he'd already told Iruka that several times.

'This is not subtle at all. What are the odds that Naruto just happened to find out I'm in town on accident? Zero?'

The Hokage wouldn't risk her alone with Naruto. But if he'd let Naruto figure out she was in Konoha when he was with Iruka-san, then, well, there was no chance that Naruto would be alone with Aiko. The ANBU nearby were probably paying careful attention. If Iruka was too distressed, they'd be able o step in quickly.

She indicated that the guests should sit, because what the hell else could she do?

"Hey, who are these guys?" Naruto plopped down next to Yuusaku, as if he'd only just now noticed them as more than scenery.

"Her genin team," Yuusaku responded. His expression wasn't entirely friendly. "And you are?"

"My distant relative, Naruto-kun," Aiko said. She let just a bit of steel slip into her tone. "We're not sure of the relation. We met in Wave."

"You were a civilian then." Naruto frowned at her uniform. "I thought you didn't wear ninja stuff. How come you're in that now?"

Well. He wasn't entirely wrong, but the poorly hidden amusement on Keisuke's face could be a problem. "I prefer other clothing, but I'm currently representing Kirigakure," Aiko explained. "It's most appropriate to wear a variation on the uniform."

Naruto scrunched his nose, but he didn't contradict her.

"I've heard a little about how you met." Iruka had finished checking out the room and was seated just a little too close to Naruto, keeping himself between Aiko and the genin. His smile was slightly lopsided and wow, how had she never noticed that he was actually really cute? "Were you vacationing in Wave, then?"

There… there really was no good answer to that. She smiled back just as pleasantly. "I do love the country." Lie, a damned lie. The countryside could kiss her ass. She liked some nature, but nature that was more along the lines of gardens and parks. Not sunburn and bugs and the way a shirt stuck to your skin in muggy heat. Fake nature, basically. "How about you? What is your job, if you're not Naruto's teacher?"

"I was his teacher, actually." Iruka was still tense. "At the Acade-"

"Kakashi-sensei says that you're fast!" Naruto bounced on his zabuton. That was something of a feat since his legs were crossed and he was leaned over to clutch at his ankles. "How come you didn't help right in Wave? Sasuke-te-" here he glanced at Iruka "-Sasuke-san said that he thought you weren't strong enough. Are you strong? Do you like to fight? Can we spar sometime? Hey, there's this jutsu I could show you, I'm really-"

Iruka bopped Naruto on the head, expression long-suffering. "Naruto-kun, Hikari-san can only answer so many questions at once."

Aiko glanced at her genin team, who were spectacularly unamused. There was really no need for them to sit through this conversation, was there? Not least because Iruka was watching their reactions and they were not as subtle as they thought they were.

"It's Aiko, actually," she corrected. "Keisuke, Yuusaku, Ryuusei. Why don't you go entertain yourselves? You've had a long day."

Yuusaku and Keisuke stood up quickly, but Ryuusei took a moment to give the Konoha shinobi an unfriendly look.

She met his eye and raised an eyebrow.

"Would you like coffee?"

He directed his question to Iruka, the clever little bastard, so she couldn't tell him no.

The chuunin blinked, flustered. "Oh. That would be lovely, thank you." He glanced at Naruto. "But…"

"Apple juice for the short one," Ryuusei agreed. "I'll be back shortly, Konoha-san, genin-san, Sensei."

Aiko watched him go with grudging respect, because he was probably going to weasel his way into the conversation by bringing himself a drink too. That had been fairly well done, without any explicit disrespect or disobedience.

"Why is it Aiko?" Naruto's brow was furrowed.

She blinked. "Because that's what my parents named me?" Aiko said dumbly, before she realized what he meant. "Oh, Hikari is a childhood nickname," she lied. "Sorry, I mis-understoood what you were asking. Tsunami-chan prefers it. I use Aiko professionally, however."

Naruto nodded. "Hikari-san," he said firmly.

Which was sweet and well-intentioned. Damn. She wasn't going to be able to get him to use her real name without making him feel that she was telling him they weren't close enough for him to use 'Hikari'.

'I should take a vow of silence. How do I do talk myself into these corners again and again?'

"I didn't know that Naruto-kun had relatives," Iruka brought the conversation back on track, because he was a dog with a bone like that. "How is the rest of your family? Do they live in Kirigakure?"

There was a heartbeat where she realized that it was fairly logical to assume that she had come from another branch of the family tree and there was no particular reason to assume they were all dead.

She glanced at Naruto. The blunt, honest answer was, 'Everyone I've ever known is gone, with the exception of a distant relation (with whom my relationship is complicated and possibly antagonistic and involves more eyeballs than two people usually have),' but that was rather dark territory to get into. Plus it would require far too much exposition.

Naruto looked very interested in the answer.

She tried not to wince. "Ah…"

The genin seemed disappointed, but not surprised. Well. He hadn't expected to find one relative, so he was probably still counting his luck as good.

"I'm sorry, that was rude, wasn't it." Iruka rubbed at the back of his neck, looking sheepish. He wasn't, he'd gotten what he'd been digging for.

'Wait. It's Iruka, not Kakashi. He's looking to protect Naruto's well-being, but he's not out to fuck with me just to see where I'm sore. He probably does regret having to ask. He's only doing it because he cares.'

"Ne, Hikari-san, maybe you could train me too." Naruto's eyes were bright. "Iruka-nii is busy and Kakashi-sensei only cares about stupid Sasuke and the guy he found to train me is a real jerk. He's a loser and-"

Chakra roared on the table. Aiko grabbed Naruto's arm and pulled him backwards with her.

'Shit, shit, what is-'

"So you ditched your training to chase after a woman, huh? Maybe you've got some potential after all."

Naruto groaned before the smoke had parted enough to reveal Jiraiya posed dramatically on Aiko's low table.

Slowly, her eyes ran down, past his smug expression, wild hair, crossed arms, boldly spread legs, and landed on his sandals.

His sandals, which were on the table where she ate. His outdoor shoes. The shoes with which he walked. Outdoors.

"You!" Naruto pointed rudely. "No one wants you here. Leave!"

Unthinkingly, Aiko reached out and pushed Naruto's arm down.

Naruto might have glanced at her a moment for the correction of manners, but he was more invested in picking a fight with the Sannin.

"Show some respect, brat!"

Her stomach lurched. She was still looking at the shoes on her table. There was a dead bug on the side of his left shoe, dangerously close to touching Jiraiya's second to last toe.

'That's disgusting.'

"To a guy like you? No way!"

She let go of Naruto, and belatedly noticed that Jiraiya had already dismissed the summoned toad he'd used to reverse-summon into the room, like the drama king that he was.

"What could that mean? You don't know enough about how lucky you are to know me to even be grateful!"

She wanted, dearly, to reach out and pull his ankle so that he came toppling down in an undignified heap.

But she was a foreigner, and he was a very highly placed and decorated Konoha veteran. His godchild could scuffle with Jiraiya with impunity. But she had to be more careful.

"Ha!" Naruto scoffed. "For what, wasting my time and-"

Aiko looked up to try to catch Jiraiya's eyes. He just looked jovial, barely seeming to notice her while he bickered with Naruto.

"Shinobi-san," she said, and he focused on her too quickly to hide that he'd been paying attention already. "Would you mind taking off your sandals when you enter my hotel room?"

She sounded a lot calmer than she felt. Because she felt like breaking those shoes over his head.

Jiraiya blinked at her, nonplussed. "Eh?" He lifted a foot to look at it, as if he'd had no idea that he'd been so terribly rude. "Well, would you look at that?" He gave his shoe a vaguely betrayed expression. Then he seemed to shake it off, ignoring her request. "Hey, hey!" Jiraiya pointed at her and …hopped? "Don't you recognize the great Toad Sannin when you see him?"

He was just fucking with her.

In that moment, she knew what she had to do.

Aiko let her face convey only polite confusion. "I'm sorry. Who?"

His face fell, but only for a moment. "I see it's time for an introduction!" He clapped his hands and, oh god, how had she forgotten that he'd choreographed a dance while he introduced his accomplishments? "er of fine literature, master of fuinjutsu, lover of beautiful women, the fabulous, the unmatched, the only Jiraiya!" He finished, hovering in the air expectantly, leaned to the side.

She very deliberately fixed her face into mild confusion. "I've never heard of you," Aiko said apologetically. "That all sounds very nice, though. I hope that one day you'll be famous."

Jiraiya blinked. "What." He looked stricken.

"Good luck," Aiko said in her sincerest tone.

He was very quickly turning red.

"Naruto." The genin looked thrilled by the turn of events when she looked back at him. He was grinning toothily, rubbing at the fabric of his left sleeve with his right hand. "Is this the person who is training you?"

"The person who is training you," Jiraiya repeated numbly. "The person… who…. a genin…."

Naruto nodded, sparing Jiraiya only a glance. "Yeah!" He quit fiddling with his sleeve so that he could cross his arms. "I told you that he was terrible! And he's a huge per-" Naruto's squawk was cut off by Jiraiya lunging to put a hand over the genin's mouth.

"He's delirious," Jiraiya said apologetically. "Doesn't know what he's saying."

Naruto struggled, but she could hear that his rebuttal was high-pitched and furious.

"Is he," Aiko said doubtfully. "What are you teaching him, then?" She gave the older man a once-over that was brief, dismissive, barely interested. "You're… a taijutsu specialist?" She let her voice convey nothing but polite inquiry, which in itself was verging on an insult by virtue of how pointedly polite it was. He certainly did look like a taijutsu specialist…

Well. He looked like a bear, actually. He was so big and hairy.

He made a sound like a teakettle. "I'm a sage," Jiraiya stressed. "And a seal master. The best in the world!"

Her expression didn't waver, still fixed into not much of anything with a tiny hint of a smile. "Ah." She let her brow furrow slightly. "You're teaching him fuinjutsu, then?"

Jiraiya frowned. "Well, no," he said. When he moved to scratch at the back of his neck, Naruto escaped and loudly gasped in sweet, sweet air. "He's a bit young to teach anything that dangerous."

"Oh." And she finally smiled, sweetly and stupidly. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know. Seals seem kind of difficult, you know?" She brought a hand up to her mouth and made a deprecating shrug. "I don't think I could do it."

He bought it, puffing up with pride. "Well, you know…." Jiraiya smirked. "It takes a quick mind and years of study. It's incredibly difficult! But anyone could do it really, anyone could do it." He waved off the compliment vigorously, but he was basking in it.

'Holy shi- I can't believe he bought that. He really wants to believe that women will fawn over him, doesn't he?'

Option one: he would underestimate her long-term, giving her leverage in which to act without Konoha's knowledge of her abilities.

Option two: he would remember this conversation a month or so down the line and feel like the world's biggest, dumbest ass.

Both would bring her amusement in the coming months, so she hardly cared which.

She blinked, doe-eyed and sweet, pulling on the Hikari persona. "Can I see something?"

Naruto made a choking sound.

Jiraiya tossed his head back and laughed. "Well, now, I don't know about that!" He leered, and it was supposed to be sexy maybe but she felt like cackling. "You could be a quite an inspiration, but I'm afraid I don't know you quite well enough for that, sharing fuinjutsu is so personal. Maybe we could spend a little time together…"

"Okay, time for us to go." Iruka scooped up Naruto from behind like an errant puppy, flashing an exceptionally false smile. Naruto squawked as his feet came off the ground. When Iruka bowed, he brought Naruto with him like a surprised, life-sized doll.

It should have been adorable, but it actually made her skin crawl because, ew, she was thinking about puppets now and she didn't need that kind of negativity in her life.

"Well, how about what you're teaching Naruto-kun?" She tilted her head. "I'm very interested. I think he has a lot of potential."

Of course she hadn't said that just to see Naruto perk up. That would be ridiculous. She wasn't so sentimental.

Jiraiya's face fell a bit, but he seemed to think that wasn't enough to put him off. "You really like the kid, huh?" He leaned over and snatched Naruto by the collar and pulled him out of Iruka's grip before the chuunin could back away to safety. "Me too, we're very close, me and this kid. You know, we have a lot in common, you and I- I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name. Naruto, don't you know you're supposed to make introductions if you know a pretty girl?"

Naruto hissed. "I wouldn't introduce you to-"

When Jiraiya's hand clapped over his mouth again, this time, Naruto bit. Aiko could only tell because of the vaguely grossed-out look on the Sannin's face. His hand didn't so much as twitch.

'This is tiring. I know the idiot act works for him, but I'm not sure how long I'll be able to put up with it.'

"Uzumaki Aiko," she said. She bobbed into a bow. "It's good to meet you. I'm looking forward to seeing what you teach Naruto-kun." She made an apologetic face. "Unfortunately, I need to go find my students, so…"

Iruka, who knew perfectly well that she was lying, met her eyes and seemed relieved.

'God, did he think I was going to flirt with Jiraiya? He was worried about having to sit through that?'

Well.

'Maybe I did, but in a joking way. Let's face it, it's pretty funny to have Jiraiya fawn over me. He'll never know why that's fucked up and weird.'

"Of course!" Jiraiya gave a gallant bow, backing towards the – the window? He pushed it open with the hand that wasn't restraining Naruto. "Do you know the onsen on the west side of this district, it's very close, I was thinking that the boy could use some water-walking practice. Let's meet there at 9, don't forget to bring a swimsuit." He bowed again, grinning. "I'm sure that a lovely Kiri nin like yourself could have all sorts of useful pointers about the fine art of fighting on water that even this one can understand."

'Good god, that's condescending. Does he think before he talks?'

She resisted the urge to rub at her temples. A slow understanding of Tsunade's methods was beginning to wash over her. "Have a good night," Aiko said, instead of anything she wanted to say.

He crowed something back and leapt out the window. It was probably meant to be dramatic, but Naruto wailed protest when the Sannin dragged him with and that really killed any cool that might have been established.

Finally, Aiko let her posture slump and put her face in her hands. "That man," she began, and then didn't have anywhere to go with it.

The wind pulled on the curtains, a gentle rustling the only sound. After a moment, a socked foot made a whisper against the tatami.

"Yes," Iruka agreed, sounding tired. "That man."

They stood in silent empathy for a moment.

Iruka sighed. He fidgeted.

Aiko opened her eyes to see that he was still looking at the table ruefully.

The look that Iruka gave her was heavy with meaning.

"Yes," Aiko agreed. She shook her head. "I hope he doesn't teach Naruto those awful manners."

"Naruto's manners aren't great in the first place," Iruka said mournfully. "He doesn't stand a chance."

"He might improve, just to contrast with Jiraiya-sama," Aiko disagreed.

Iruka gave her a quizzical look. "I thought that you didn't-"

"Of course I do," Aiko said factually. "I have all his books. I've been to the last three film previews. I just choose not to encourage bad behavior."

He seemed to struggle with this information, mouth working over the words, 'bad behavior' disbelievingly. He gave her an incredulous look, as if he was about to point out some hypocrisy.

"I'm a grown woman," Aiko warned. "I hope that you're not about to imply-"

"No, of course not." Iruka held up his hands, because his parents hadn't raised a fool. "I would never." His face flushed pink.

She subsided. "Good."

There was a knock and the fusuma slid open. Ryuusei blinked at Naruto's absence, but he let himself in. "I brought the drinks," he said, holding coffee up as if to stave off Aiko's temper with it.

She stepped over and took two of the four drinks before he could set them on the table. "Thank you, you're such a thoughtful student."

Ryuusei paled at the smile she flashed him, which was a little weird. She was being nice. Watch her, being nice. She wasn't hitting anyone at all. That was an accomplishment.

"Anyway, here you are, Iruka-san." She put the coffee in his hands and ignored the 'erk' sound he made in surprise. "Oh, and you brought sugar too, how thoughtful." With her newly free hand, Aiko took the container from Ryuusei. She smiled brightly up at her too-tall-genin. "Thank you, but as you can see, Naruto-kun left. It'd be a shame to waste his drink- why don''t you go find your teammates and see if one of them wants it?"

He hesitated a moment, clearly on the verge of protesting. But Ryuusei took the order for what it was. "Yuusaku loves apple juice," he said. He gave Iruka a resentful stare. The expression made his narrow face look pointier than usual. "It was very nice to meet you."

Iruka made a sound of agreement that actually seemed incredibly dubious about the pleasure. His eyes darted between Aiko and the genin. He managed a weak smile.

"Goodbye," Ryuusei said, somehow imbuing the word with malice. "I hope you have a lovely evening."

Aiko stood a moment after he'd left, wondering.

"Ah." Iruka cleared his throat. "Your student is a little…. protective, then?"

"I'm not actually sure," she said thoughtfully. Aiko shook it off, because it didn't really matter right now. "Let's just-" She remembered that the table was defiled in time to head off that suggestion. She frowned, because she wasn't willing to risk the tatami and there weren't many places in the room where a spill wouldn't have expensive consequences. "We can sit on the futon and have our coffee."

He made a high, embarrassed sound.

"Just don't spill," Aiko ordered. She took the head of the mattress and gave him an imperious look while she sat the sugar container between her legs and opened the top carefully.

Gingerly, Iruka sat down as far from her as possible while still sitting on the bed. He was holding his coffee like it was a shield.

She eyed him, a little amused at how weird he was being. She put four spoonfuls in her coffee and then offered him the sugar.

Iruka declined with a headshake.

Her eyebrows shot up, but she didn't comment. She dumped in another spoonful of sugar and then sat the dish aside. They drank in silence for a moment. She glanced at the chuunin under her eyelashes… he was steeling his jaw, as if he was about to face terrible odds on a mission or go to a parent-teacher conference or something.

Aiko was starting to feel guilty about how powerfully uncomfortable he seemed to be. And a little insulted, but mostly guilty.

It was so bizarre- he'd never been intimidated by her before, and he'd known a lot more about how dangerous she was.

'Then again, he'd known me as a student. Even though my rank became higher than his, we still had that history. That makes a difference, I'm sure.'

"You can relax, you know," she offered after a moment. "I'm not about to leap over and ravage you just because we're alone in a room." Well. She considered that. "Unless you want to be ravaged? Because, actually, I was thinking earlier that you're good-looking. Do the kids keep you in that kind of shape, or do you also run missions?"

He gave her a trapped look and attempted to drown himself in his coffee.

"Alright." She held up her hands, one still holding her coffee. "I can take a hint. No ravaging."

Iruka finished in record time and practically leapt to his feet to awkwardly hover over her. "It was very nice to meet you." He bowed, holding the empty cup to his chest. "I've heard so much about you from Naruto-kun. I'm sure you understand why I wanted to come along."

She decided not to stand up as well. He might find it a bit intimidating, in the flustered mood he was clearly in.

"The same reason that someone made sure Jiraiya-sama tagged along?" Aiko asked dryly. She didn't indicate her Kiri headband. She didn't need to.

He gave an apologetic grimace, despite the fact that she was absolutely certain he'd had nothing to do with that. "Yes, well…" Iruka moved to fidget, and then stopped.

She took pity on him. "Yes, I understand." Aiko raised her eyebrows incrementally. "Thank you for your interest in making certain that Naruto-kun doesn't end up kidnapped or murdered by a strange foreigner."

Iruka turned bright red.

"I'm being serious," Aiko dismissed. "That kind of thing happens, and he really doesn't seem like he's wary enough. I don't plan on killing him, but he shouldn't be putting his hopes on the benevolence of someone he just met. It's good that you have his back." She did stand up then, so that she could give him a bow in thanks. "I don't have a lot of relatives, so it'd be a shame if his good nature ended up getting him in trouble."

Iruka was still red, but it was a different kind of embarrassment now. He glanced at his feet. "Well… I'm glad that you're so understanding, Aiko-san. I do worry about him. He doesn't have much family, either…."

"And his teacher is kind of…" She trailed off politely, because there was no where she could go with that statement without crossing into rudeness.

"Jiraiya-sama?" Iruka asked warily.

She shook her head. "Hatake."

Iruka winced. "Yes," he agreed wearily. "He is." He gave his empty cup a mournful look, and then seemed to look about for a place to set it. When she indicated the ruined table with a nod, he winced but complied. "Well, have a good night. I won't intrude any longer."

"Good luck teaching Naruto-kun manners," Aiko said, because she was newly invested in this. What kind of barbarian might he end up, in a world where she wasn't there for him? His role models were Kakashi and Jiraiya and that was just plain concerning.

Iruka sighed. "I do my best."

"If you can keep him off the furniture and using doors, you're doing good work," Aiko encouraged. She moved to open the door and stepped aside, letting him out. "It's very nice to meet you."

"Of course, of course." He moved past her, and bowed out the door. "The same."

She let the door shut on that awkwardly polite end to the chaos that had interrupted a rare team bonding moment.

'It feels premature to assume that I'm done being invaded for the night.' She gave her door a wary look. 'But… that's probably all. Konoha isn't a completely blunt instrument. Anything more than that would stretch incredulity that anything could have been a coincidence.'

She wasn't totally convinced that Konoha would live up to her prediction. But either way, she had to leave, and the sooner the better. Shizuka had asked for a day to go over their rough agreement with her advisers. That was completely reasonable, weighing both her need for caution and Aiko's need for haste.

'Of course, that urgency does mean that they know I'll be under pressure to agree to any changes, just because I need this done as soon as possible.'

Shizuka seemed a bit soft for that kind of power play against a more powerful country, but you never really knew about a person. And Aiko could see circumstances wherein she would take advantage of that sort of leverage, so she couldn't truly resent the possibility.

It just… made her nervous. That was all.

Despite wanting to just get it over with, she took her time getting ready. It wasn't too early, exactly, but it was better to run more on the 'punctual' than the 'early' side of the spectrum. Showing up as early as possible without being rude would make her seem desperate.

'No,' Aiko corrected. 'Being desperate makes me seem desperate. There's no point in playing these games- they know that I need their help.'

Her expression, caught in the middle of pulling her hair into a braid, was rueful. She scrunched her nose at her reflection and finished quickly. The only thing left- would it be better to wear shinobi gear or civilian? She gritted her teeth, weighing the rhetorical statement that different outfits would make. If they did make it to Iron, as she hoped, coming in armor might give an unintentionally hostile impression to her hosts. Or would it convey more power and authority?

"Ugh." She rolled her eyes and pulled the awful striped sweater over her head. She threw it on the floor. "I'm thinking too much about this. I'll pick something that I like."

She'd brought her entire wardrobe in seals- and why not, it wasn't heavy or anything- so she managed to find a kimono that should be suitable in short order. She went with red and gold motifs on blue fabric and paired it with a pink and red obi. Aiko took a step back to admire the effect. She frowned.

'This is either a really good outfit, or a really bad one.'

For a moment, she missed Karin like she would a rib. Karin would have an educated opinion. Or Naruto, actually, he'd always been better at this than she was. He probably hadn't had to learn that in this world- he'd had no sister who wanted to cheat on the stupid tests. Shame. Sakura was missing out- she could have used a second opinion too, her choices were always so painfully dull.

Well…

There were worse crimes than being bad at pairing kimono. At least she'd tried, and she didn't look intimidating. She shrugged it off and concentrated to find the gatehouse outside Nadeshiko where she was expected.

"Ah!" That was a voice she didn't know.

Aiko dodged the kunai on reflex, blinking at the person that she'd startled. Ah. Right. They were expecting her to walk up, probably. Walking was rather traditional. "My apologies." She nodded to the guard, noting that the young woman's brown eyes were wide. "That was a bit rude of me."

"I am so sorry," the guard breathed. Her hair was frizzing in the humidity. Oh, no, was that going to happen to Aiko, too? She should go somewhere less wet as soon as possible.

"No, no," Aiko waved off. "You reacted well. I wasn't thinking about how that would appear. Here you are." She leaned over to pry the kunai out of the wooden wall and hand it back to its owner. "I believe that I have an appointment?"

"Yes."

Both Aiko and the gate guard looked over. And then up.

She had already known perfectly well that Tokiwa was intimidatingly tall, but that somehow didn't diminish the effect.

"Good evening," Aiko said after a pause to process just how big the other woman was. "Will you be taking me to Shizuka-sama?"

Tokiwa nodded. "Please follow me," she said. "I'm afraid that you will be seeing her in a different location today."

That turned out to be a private residence fairly near the gates. Shizuka was dressed for travel, in the most workmanlike shoes Aiko had ever seen on a kunoichi and carrying a full set of gear.

Aiko and Shizuka took a moment to eye each other, caught in a mutual moment of slightly unpleasant surprise.

"We picked opposite strategies," Aiko said after a pause. She ran her fingers over her kimono. She hadn't brought weapons at all, hoping to present a peaceful front to the civilian. Mifune-sama was reasonable and intelligent, but he was not over-fond of shinobi.

Shizuka glanced down at her armor. "Perhaps I have overcompensated."

"No, no, I'm too casual," Aiko disagreed to be polite. She looked at the ax on Shizuka's back. She really, really wouldn't have expected that choice. "I feel under-prepared now."

Tokiwa sighed.

Shizuka startled. "Oh, yes. We made a few changes to the contract, as you'll see." Her fingers shook a little as she handed it over.

Wary, Aiko settled back to read through the wording, looking for any traps or tricks. The meat of the agreement all seemed to be there:

Kirigakure was offering their military and political protection to Nadeshiko, in exchange for economic contracts and humanitarian relief. Kirigakure would be bound to intervene in Nadeshiko's conflicts for the duration of the treaty, but Nadeshiko had no such obligation to Kirigakure if Kirigakure was facing another of Nadeshiko's allies. It was set to last for a year, at which time it would be formally revisited. The contract would compel Kirigakure to escort any civilian shipment of desired goods upon request for reduced rates, and import fees would be waived for the year.

Ah. They'd been reduced import rates before. Aiko looked up, raising an eyebrow.

Shizuka looked a little embarrassed.

Well. She would have agreed to worse.

"Let's sign this, then." Despite her words, Aiko carefully rolled the treaty up and tied it with the red ribbon that had been on top. "In front of Mifune-sama, I think. If that is acceptable?"

"That is reasonable," Shizuka said. "How, ah, if I may ask…"

"It's a transportation technique similar to Hiraishin," Aiko explained. That sounded like a lie, but it would be a stupid one to say right before offering to use it, so hopefully Shizuka would delay judgment a moment or two. But of course- "How would you like me to demonstrate proof, before I may escort you to Iron?"

Shizuka hesitated, glancing at Tokiwa. Her expression was mildly rebellious. "No demonstration but that will be needed."

"I will, of course, be accompanying you." Tokiwa interjected.

Shizuka's jaw clenched.

'There's something weird going on here and I need no part of it. Sticking my nose into other peoples' business only ends in tears and accidentally annexing a country. I have no idea what I would do with Nadeshiko. What is their economy like? Oh, god, I'm just not ready for that.'

For her sanity's sake, Aiko valiantly pretended not to notice any tension at all. "Alright then. I need to be in physical contact. And I'm afraid that this errand might take some time, since I haven't done more than send a letter to his office that I planned to come. I can't be certain that he found time in his schedule, but I hope that for a meeting involving emergency relief, he'll forgive the breach in protocol."

Shizuka blinked. "Oh." She seemed to rally. "I had wondered if you had managed to send word in such a time frame."

Well. Truthfully speaking, leaving a letter in an envelope marked 'Urgent: To Mifune-sama, From the Godaime Mizukage' on the gate guard's desk when he looked away was not any sort of proper protocol for arranging a meeting.

But it seemed a sort of middle ground from 'giving no notice at all before showing up' and 'leaving the letter in a more convenient but creepy location, like in his personal office'.

And it was the kind of letter that you would at least look at, because you were alarmed if nothing else. That had probably been an alarming experience for all involved. She was a little sorry.

The smile she gave Shizuka back was queasy. "Of course." To forestall any more awkward questions, she held out an arm. Shizuka delicately laid her soft palm on the back of Aiko's hand. She felt oddly like she was on a romantic walk.

Then Tokiwa stepped over and took Aiko's other hand before it could be offered. She wrapped her fingers around Aiko's wrist with just a little too much force.

That felt a little less romantic. It felt a little like a reminder that Tokiwa's hand could reach around Aiko's neck, too. She glanced up at the blonde woman dubiously.

The expression she got back was too blank for comfort.

'Right…'

She forced on a smile. "Let's go, then." Well. "We might have to duck," Aiko shared. "People are often twitchy when you just appear in a place. Be sure not to strike back on reflex, that only escalates the situation."

"That seems reasonable," Shizuka said, her words split between the entryway and the space outside of Iron's capital city where visitors could be received. She jerked in shock, pulling her arm back. Tokiwa squeezed Aiko's arm, and then let go as well.

The man sitting at the gate might have been the same one she'd seen yesterday. It was hard to tell- she'd only seem him from behind. But he didn't seem happy to see three shinobi appear, and it was the same shift, so, probably? "Nadeshiko, I assume?" He held up a sheet of paper.

"And Kirigakure," Aiko corrected, holding up her hand. She stepped away from the other two to make it clear that there were two groups. "Does that mean that Mifune-sama could find the time to meet with us?"

His eyes, deeply set under his brow and shadowed with lines, narrowed. "Yes." The samurai examined them all. "I'm afraid that any weapons must be left at the next check point."

Shizuka made a perturbed sound and touched the handle of her ax, but she didn't actually protest.

"Of course," Aiko agreed. She folded her hands in her sleeves. It was chilly in Iron, much colder than it had been in Nadeshiko. Snow was actually falling. "Is there anything else that we should keep in mind?"

"No." He waved them on. "You are expected at that building, with the red tiled roof."

Aiko craned to see the building he was pointing at. Ah. That should be easy enough.

"Your appointment is for 40 minutes from now." He continued sourly. "Please hurry. It is best to go through security and be at least ten minutes early to the waiting room."

Shizuka bowed gracefully. "Thank you. We will see ourselves out, then."

Aiko found herself trailing the other woman a moment, before she made an effort to keep up.

'How is it that I'm the one in a kimono, but she seems all delicate and princessy?' Aiko wondered. 'She has an ax as long as her arm.' She pursed her lips. 'Maybe I could have asked her about the obi. She seems like she might be better at that than I am.'

Next time, perhaps.

In contradiction to every experience she'd ever had with bureaucracy, Mifune-sama was early to the appointment.

She felt a tinge of guilt. Mei was expecting her in an hour. That probably wasn't going to happen.

"Good evening." He nodded to all three of them, gracious and formal. "I know your face. Nadeshiko no Shizuka-sama. I'm afraid that your companions are a pleasant mystery, however."

"Yes." Shizuka bowed low. "This is my assistant Tokiwa, a jounin of Nadeshiko. She completes my party." She gestured to Aiko. "I have the honor of introducing Kirigakure no Uzumaki Aiko, Godaime Mizukage."

Mifune didn't hide his surprise quite well enough.

'To be fair, he probably expected a famous Kiri-nin. People always do. Can't imagine why.'

"I see." He turned to Aiko fully and gave the same sort of bow he had given to Shizuka. "I had not heard of the change in administration. I admit that I am surprised."

Aiko bowed back. "It is a recent honor," she said delicately. "The announcement that the Godaime has been chosen was made this morning. However, my appointment is not yet public knowledge. Outside of Kirigakure, only those gathered here can claim knowledge."

Shizuka blinked twice quickly at that.

Mifune's eyes narrowed, but he seemed more puzzled than displeased. "I am honored." His mustache quivered as his mouth moved, looking for the perfect way to phrase the question. "Iron has had regrettably little to do with Kirigakure in past years. I confess to some surprise."

In other words, this was a very strange group and he wanted to know what the hell she was doing. Aiko liked him.

She smiled. "One of my first hopes is to establish good relations with Nadeshiko." She nodded to Shizuka. "Shizuka-sama has kindly agreed to a partnership to address Kirigakure's current situation and move towards a future relationship of a more stable nature."

Shizuka took over. "We were hoping to ask you to act as witness when we sign the preliminary agreement. Aiko-sama opined that Iron's oversight would provide international legitimacy and make clear to all that both parties intend to honor the treatise."

Mifune shifted his gaze to Aiko, considering the request. For a moment, he didn't speak. "May I see this agreement?"

"Of course." Aiko pulled it from her obi and held it out with both hands. He took it with a polite murmur and a small bow.

He gestured towards the table. "Might I-"

"Of course," Aiko repeated. A moment later, Shizuka added, "Please, do."

He gave them a look she couldn't interpret, but at least it wasn't hostile. "Please, have a seat." Mifune waited until they had before finally slipping off the ribbon and unrolling the scroll. His lips moved just a little as he read.

It was rather short, so far as these documents went, bare of legalese and layers of protective clauses. But it was, quite clearly, written to be a preliminary agreement. So that wasn't too unusual.

Aiko squirmed a little as his eyes clearly moved down the page. Mifune was clever enough to read between the lines and realize that the document was not what Kirigakure would have written if they were doing well. She knew he would have to be appraised of the current situation, to some extent, but it was still viscerally uncomfortable to knowingly reveal her country's weakness.

It felt like an eternity, but it was likely about four minutes before he set the paper down and returned his attention to his guests. "It all seems to be in order." Mifune looked at Aiko, hard. "What has happened in Kirigakure, if I might ask?"

She fought the urge to look away, or to close her eyes. "The Yondaime Mizukage saw fit to release the Sanbi within the village when he was challenged," Aiko explained. "We are in considerable distress due to infrastructural damage, interruption of normal operations, and the effects that my predecessor's policies had on our economic production."

Mifune nodded, drinking that in. "How are your hospitals?" he asked.

It seemed a bit of a non-sequitor, except for the part where Mist's healthcare was abominable. The recent struggles had given her a bit of a schooling in the many things they were not equipped to deal with. The injuries from damaged buildings or jutsu crossfire were on that list: the sheer scale would have overwhelmed them even if their personnel had been better-trained. And the fight had taken out powerlines, leaving much of the city without electricity at all, which compounded the problems facing the many households who could not access running water. Things would get worse before they got better as cleanliness went down and Kirigakure began to face the hottest parts of summer without electricity to cool buildings or store food safely.

And. Two weeks ago, a hospital generator had given out. Three infants on artificial respiration had died before it could be restored. She'd brought them back, but how many times could she do that? She couldn't revive everyone who should have survived Mist's hospitals.

Some of that might have shown in her eyes. Her answer was a more diplomatic, "I hope to make improvements to our facilities and begin training more medical personnel in the near future."

Which was honest, but not as honest as, 'I don't want to think about it because it's really terrible and there's not much to do until we stop the other ways the city is hemorrhaging. And I'm not qualified to do anything about it, anyway. I want Sasuke to come and fix my life but he's currently twelve and useless.'

Mifune seemed to have been expecting that answer. "I see, I see." He stared at her. "I do not know if you are aware, but Iron has fine schools and medicine."

Aiko blinked, considering what he might be implying, but he was already moving on.

"That is a discussion for another time, I suppose. Forgive an old man his digression." Mifune pressed the scroll flat. "I believe that I would not be hard-pressed to witness this agreement. I imagine that you are eager to begin the work at hand."

"Nadeshiko has begun some preparations in hope that this meeting would go well," Shizuka agreed. "We are eager to lend our assistance to an ally. We believe that an initial relief shipment might depart tomorrow, or the day after."

That was news to Aiko. Good news. She blinked off her surprise, feeling her stress begin to subside.

Mifune nodded approval. "Very well. Shall I call for a pen?"

They were patient for a moment as he did just that. His assistant returned quickly with the aforementioned pen, as well as a stamppad. Mifune thanked her with a bow. "Tea, I think," he said quietly. The woman nodded and left.

Well, then. When he looked at her, Aiko gestured politely towards the treaty.

Mifune's lips twitched. He shook his head. "You should go first, I believe."

Oh. Fair point. Aiko inked her name and title carefully. She took a moment to lift the pen tip, admiring the way "Godaime Mizukage" looked next to her name for the first time. It was surreal, but it looked good. She put down the pen and pulled out her inkan.

Mifune set down the little round stamp-pad quietly. It was red- she made the stamp in red and then drank in how it all looked together.

Before anyone could think she was being odd, Aiko bowed out of the way and set the pen down on the table. Shizuka took it up next. Mifune examined the signatures for a moment, checked the seals, and then left his own. He held it up for perusal, and then to let it dry. "If business is concluded, perhaps we might enjoy tea and then conclude this meeting?" he asked.

Aiko and Shizuka both agreed.

'I might actually make it to Mei on time. Or close to it. Mifune doesn't waste time, does he?'

They made pleasant conversation that none of them enjoyed, in all likelihood. But it was blissfully free of politics, so Aiko soaked it up. Mifune saw them out personally when they were done, wishing them both the best of luck in their endeavors and promising to send a notarized copy of the agreement.

Aiko took Shizuka and Tokiwa home, and thanked them for the success of the meeting and the efficacy of their relief efforts. Her watch was burning a hole in her pocket, but she was successful.

It was 9:28 when Aiko took herself to her office in Kirigakure and let Mei in. Mei was already waiting, of course, but at least Aiko had managed to be punctual.

The expression on Mei's face was grim enough that she might need to hold onto that small sense of accomplishment to help her get through the night, however.

"What do you have to report?" Aiko asked, fairly certain that she didn't want to know.

Mei sat down and crossed her legs at the knee. "Let's start with the good and work our way through the mundane to the worrisome, shall we?"

"I like that plan." Aiko agreed. "Please tell me good news, and I'll tell you mine."

"The foundation and first level of the first complex are completed." Mei managed a tired smile. "With the exception of plumbing and electrical wiring, of course, but they will be easy to add." She paused. "So far as these things go, in any case. It will still take quite some time."

Aiko nodded. "That makes sense. And Yamato-san is…?"

"Not as affected by his teammate's capture as we might have hoped." Mei's lips tightened.

"You think that he's managed to contact someone?" Aiko asked, feeling a line of stress appear in her forehead. This job was aging her like crazy.

Mei hesitated. "I do not believe so. However, it may well be that the second shinobi-"

"Raidou?" Aiko asked for clarity.

Mei blinked, unsure.

"That's the second Konoha shinobi we captured," Aiko explained. "That's who you mean, right?"

"Yes." Mei clearly decided not to ask why Aiko knew so many Konoha nin. "That one. Raidou-san may well have been able to send word before he was captured. We do not know what information he managed to gather, but I am fairly certain that your identity was not among it. Other nations may be aware of our weakened state, however."

"And the vultures will come." Aiko wrapped her ankles around one of the legs of her chair. "Nadeshiko signed the agreement tonight, with Iron no Mifune as signatory witness. We can expect an initial delivery within a week, although I do not yet know exactly what it might contain."

"That should provide some reason to at least consider the wisdom of assuming Kirigakure is weak enough to act against," Mei agreed. "Nadeshiko is not strong, but they are active. And Iron is fairly strong, as well as respected. Until it is clear that our relationship with them is minimal, others may be wary of upsetting Iron and risking an embargo or other repercussions."

Aiko smiled. It was tired, but it was genuine. "Any more good news?"

Mei shifted slightly in her seat. "Your contractors arrived on our outermost island this evening," she said. "From Wave- a master bridge-builder and a staff of ten."

"Ten?" Aiko tapped her fingers against the desk. "It's not as good as I hoped, but it's not as bad as I feared. If they're on the outermost island…" She tried to think of how long that would take civilians- a large group of foreign civilians who would need to pass layers of customs. "Not tomorrow, but the day after?" she said, half-asking.

"I believe so, yes." Mei's eyes narrowed in the way they did when she was moving on to the next topic. "The sewer mainline on the west district has been repaired to functionality."

"Thank god," Aiko said with feeling. That had not been an enjoyable supervisory visit. "A few buildings in the area were cleared for habitation once that had been addressed, right?"

Mei nodded.

Aiko searched a memory. "A few residences, a bank, and…" she trailed off, frowning.

"A convenience store," Mei prompted. "We'll see what can be done with that, perhaps they can help supplement the food distribution system."

Aiko nodded. "I look forward to seeing what you do with it, then. Oh, I have all that paperwork." She fished it out, but opened the folder instead of handing it over. "There was something strange- a Kida-san was mentioned in the office personnel-"

Mei hummed acknowledgment. "Yes, I transferred him to deal with the problem of finding housing and routes for the civilian contractors."

"Hm." Aiko frowned. "That wasn't what I intended, but.. that's fine, then." She laid the folder on the desk. "The new requests and reports, please." She blinked at the stack Mei handed over- mostly because she didn't hand it all over.

"This," Mei waived, "is our strange and concerning item. It was left in your office. No one admits to leaving it. And as you can see-" she flipped it around- "it is addressed with what might be considered inappropriate familiarity for a letter to the Mizukage's office," Mei finished dryly.

Aiko felt a headache coming on. She knew the handwriting, of course, but she didn't need to. There was only one person in the world who would write her a letter and draw little cartoon representations of them in the 'To' and 'From' spaces. Obito's face was a sworl, which Mei had probably interpreted as pointed anonymity and not an incredibly distinctive calling card.

"Whimsical." She felt like going to bed and never dealing with this.

Mei offered the envelope up.

She didn't want to take the envelope. She took it anyway and held it gingerly. "I'm going to be honest with you- I know who sent this, but I have no idea what they would want, or how hostile they are."

Mei frowned. "Leaving it in your office is an inherently hostile gesture," she said.

'That's what I thought when he met me in a park at night and sent flowers to my apartment and any number of weird things. And it never turned out to be accurate- sometimes the interaction was an absolute disaster because he's such a screwed-up person, but he wasn't intending to be hostile or intimidating.'

"No, not for him. Not necessarily." Aiko shook her head. "He has a long history of failing to understand boundaries like that. It's not necessarily malice."

Obito was just seven different kinds of fucked-up. It didn't mean he was safe, but it did often mean that he meant well. The problem was that what he thought was good and helpful was often bafflingly insane.

"So… You are good friends, then?" Mei ventured. She seemed disinterested, but she was probably wondering if she would get a clue as to where Aiko had actually come from.

Aiko winced. "We were," she hedged. "And as things are, we might be even so far as wronging each other goes. I'm not sure where we stand. I think that putting him in prison for three years and gouging out his eyes sort of balances the kidnapping and surgery, but he might feel differently. The last time we met, he wasn't…" she trailed off. "He wasn't as hostile as I had feared. Admittedly, I didn't give him much chance to demonstrate good or bad faith."

Mei actually rubbed at her temples. "That is probably for the best, when dealing with someone who might be holding that type of grudge," she agreed. "Those pictures were not drawn by a blind man, are they?"

'I appreciate that she doesn't sound certain about that. I like to think that I bring excitement into her life.'

"No." Aiko pursed her lips. "He's picked at least one eye up somewhere, which means- well, I think I know who did the surgery for him. He's more than capable enough, and they'd be in contact." She scowled, thinking of Zetsu. What a creep. "Well." She glanced at the envelope. "Might as well."

Mei leaned forward as Aiko ripped it open and pulled out the letter. It only took a moment to read.

"Thank you for fixing my window," Mei read aloud, because Aiko's voice had failed her completely. "Let's see a movie."

Frogs were calling outside the window, keeping the cicadas company. There were the only things that Aiko heard for a few minutes.

"It's some sort of code," Mei said. "Do you know-"

"Yes," Aiko agreed. It was better to let Mei think that was code. The inverse would involve far too much explanation. "I think I know what he means." She slid the letter back into the envelope and put it in the pile with her papers. "Thank you. Is there anything else that we should deal with?"

Mei gave Aiko a dark look, clearly unhappy about being left out of the loop. She was silent a long moment. "No." The older woman leaned back in her chair, flexing her ankle. "I don't believe that there is."

Mei's attitude left a bad taste in Aiko's mouth, but she chose not to comment. "Alright, then." She raised her eyebrows. "I won't be able to meet tomorrow until 11, I'll be taking care of something else before that- procuring more funds. Please pass this on to Utakata-san-" she laid out a sealed envelope- "and direct Chisato-san to make the arrangements I've outlined here for the Nadeshiko delegation that we're likely to see within four to six days. I'd like her to meet them at the outer gate, as you can see, so Ao-san will be supervising the interaction." A piece of stationary went on top of the envelope.

It felt like there should be something else. She took a moment to think- but no, there wasn't. Aiko sighed. "You may go. Thank you."

"Thank you," Mei echoed, gathering up her papers. "Have a pleasant evening."

"Of course, you as well." Aiko waited until her subordinate had left the room to begin to frown.

'Mei is starting to take liberties. I'm not certain that I like it.'

Something should be done, but not tonight.

'One thing I can do is limit her influence- I need to balance her out, promote someone trustworthy and competent and divide responsibilities. If Mei is starting to think she can make decisions without telling me, or that I need to tell her what I'll be doing…'

It just didn't bode well.

She blinked. "Wow," Aiko said. She frowned, examining her feelings. "I'm more worried about Mei than Obito. That's… that's a change in priorities."

To be fair, Obito had dropped off the map for a long time. He was unpredictable in many ways, but she was still fairly certain that he would have contacted her in a much more dignified, dramatic way if he had a fight in mind. Something like slipping out of the shadows when she brought Zabuza and Utakata to Kirigakure, for example. That was classic drama-king Obito. This?

She looked at the sketches again, mildly amused by the scowl on her own cartoon face. Obviously inaccurate, she had an incredibly sunny disposition, thank you very much.

He was communicating that he wanted a ceasefire. By thanking her for a favor she'd done him, and by calling on their shared recollection of fun times they'd spent together, he was invoking the best of their relationship.

'A movie, huh… Icha Icha's not out at the moment, but I bet that if I looked, I'd find one of those ghastly princess movies playing at the theater in Iwa that he likes. That's where he'll be watching for me.'

It was too late tonight, and she was too busy tomorrow. But the day after- she could give that a try.

"I'll see what he wants, at least." Aiko held the paper out, giving it one last look. Then she thought back to the feeling of fire, how it coursed through her blood when she used the Rinnegan. She gave it a try, breathing out a simple lick of katon on memory and without a handsign. It caught the paper aflame, but sputtered and died in her mouth too easily.

Well. She spat water out before her fingers could get singed and dropped the smoking, dripping remains of paper into the bin.

"I'll practice that."

Aiko stretched. Involuntarily, she yawned.

Oddly, she didn't want to leave. The office wasn't luxurious, but it was fairly comfortable. And no one was attempting to spy on her here. She didn't have to pretend to be someone else. It was exhausting, dull, and frustrating, frankly.

"I'd better get back to Konoha," she told herself, hoping that would somehow make getting up easier. "I've got to arrange a break in training the boys for me to spy on Jiraiya. And maybe get a swimsuit- he's going to get me wet if he can. And he probably can." Aiko sat expectantly for a moment, waiting for the urge to be productive to wash over her. It didn't come. "Ugh." She tilted her head back. "Okay, I sit for two minutes. Then I go back to Konoha."

[hockeymarriage]

oh I'm so sorry but also the rest of this article killed me dead I swear to god

Then I asked an innocuous question about his 2010-2011 season being derailed by injury, and suddenly he couldn’t find the words. He looked off into the distance and shook his head. Even in the midst of disappointing seasons, most athletes are on auto-pilot. They are somber in a completely reasonable, media-savvy way. Crosby is a master at this game. Not Malkin. He looked like he was ready to run out onto Fifth Avenue to challenge anyone in sight to an impromptu street hockey game.

I’ll never forget this moment. It had been an unbelievably trying off-season for Malkin. He had just lost close friends Igor Korolev and Gennady Churilov in the KHL air disaster, and it was clear that his heart was still back home. “I wish I could be in Russia at this moment,” he said. “I have to watch everything on TV and see how hard it is for the families.” When he wasn’t on the ice, he was rehabbing his knee and coordinating fundraisers to benefit the bereaved families back in Russia.

It would have been completely understandable if his mind was somewhere else at that moment, and yet there in the players lounge, he was verbally paralyzed with frustration. He was thinking about his adopted home and the people he felt he let down with a disappointing season. Despite hoisting the Art Ross, Conn Smythe and Stanley Cup in 2009, Malkin clearly still felt that he owed Pittsburgh something more.

“I not have good year,” he finally said. “First time I not play in playoffs. It was a tough moment. I feel like I can play but my knee not ready.”

There are some bizarrely dressed, weird-bearded people in NHL circles who will always question the passion and commitment of Russian-born players. Malkin has had to deal with this sentiment his entire career, and even after he became the first Russian-born player to win playoff MVP, some in the media jumped on two injury-plagued seasons as a sign of weakness. Malkin was well aware of that growing chorus.

“I read newspapers and sometimes people say if you win one Stanley Cup, you’re lucky,” he said. “They say maybe we get lucky in Game 7 against Detroit, so I want to win again. You win second time, it’s more important.”

I’ve had the great fortune of covering the Penguins for two years now, and people tend to ask me the same curious question about the players I interview.

Is he cool?

Which, if you think about it, is a strange thing to ask about a person who is paid millions of dollars to shoot a puck. I mean, if sports is just pure escapism (a popular claim of the anti-sports crowd) then why does it even matter if an athlete is ‘cool’ or not?

I think it’s because hockey, to the fans who truly love it, is about much more than mindless escapism. Penguins fans fully invest their hearts in the team because they feel like the players, even the ones who come from the other side of the earth, truly and honestly care about the people watching them on the other side of the glass.

In a sportscape littered with numbnuts, used car salesmen, bulbus human sacks of recruiting violations, compulsive contract-wafflers, unabashed bad persons and the shin-kicking carnival barkers who cover them, hockey is the one last bastion untouched by the greasy hands of ESPN and the gravitational pull of the sports troll-o-sphere’s black hole.

I do not know if Evgeni Malkin is ‘cool.’ But I do know that he really, really cares. And that’s what hockey fans really want to know. That’s what’s more important than Stanley Cups and scoring titles. That’s why, tonight, when the Penguins and Flyers line up for the national anthem, when the house lights go down and the electric quiet fills the air, hockey fans will open their hearts in a way that fans of other sports can’t fully comprehend.

This article appears in the April 2012 issue of Pulling No Punches.

"...when he talked about Sidney Crosby coming back he literally would lose his breath."

[yutzen]

Just Prime

(another non-main crew prompt fic, with prompt provided by Making Up Monsters. This one is admittedly bizarre)

Monster who's not a ten, but also not a five. A solid, nicely round seven.

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

"So far, so good. This little team of so-called rejects I've gathered has given me results, and in these terribly uncertain times that's all I can ask for. The real question is whether it will be enough results to sate my newfound wardens. So far so good, but that's with great emphasis on 'so far'."

The sound of pen upon paper came to an end, replaced by a brassy hum - which was followed by a long and forlorn sigh.

In the flickering candlelight, the fuzz-framed face of something very much like a cyan-furred moth could be seen in darkness, and even in their lidless eyes - reflecting hundreds of pinprick-sized flames - their annoyance was visible. "What do you want now?", their whispery voice asked to the murk behind their wings.

The Nirhaq tried not to wince when a single hand was laid upon their collar, a hand with four long and thin digits ending in perfect points. They didn't need to glance back and see the intruder looming in to know exactly who it was. The faintest hint of a deep, violet cloak - one tesselated with triangular and quadrilateral patterns alike - drifted into the corner of their vision, and that was all the confirmation they needed. Yet the voice that followed settled it, a ringing declaration that seemed to come from the very walls rather than the figure behind them: "Agent Felmyzhunn. The Chalk Sage wanted to see the progress in your current work".

"In these quieter hours I need to remind myself that I've been lucky. As far as failures to crack the Vaults go, I certainly got a little fortunate. As far as sudden, unwanted meetings face-to-face with the bloody Chalk Sage go, I may be the single luckiest of all. But as far as escapes from the Vaults go, or raids of their particular knowledge like the one I attempted, or even just uninvited visits to the Tower... I could've been far luckier. There's so many out there, within the Hives and outside them, that didn't end up saddled with a construct as problematic as this one - in far more senses of the word than I'd prefer." "Ironic, really. Some of the Bannerbound clans do consider their total number lucky. I wonder if that's why my warden tries so much to look like one."

A click preceded the moth's next few words, with a singular fuzzy limb pointing a pen into the dark. "You can see most of those results in the workshop, if you had bothered to pass by it on the way to my study. But you had to be thorough, I'm sure." A shake of their head scattered tiny scales all over their desk. "Well, I can give you thorough: All the assorted good and plenty you've asked for is either gathered there, or on the way here in an unmarked crate, hidden among a book shipment. I've kept perfect track, and I can show you the math; I know you and your boss love that."

The feeling of those pointed fingers on their collar vanished... or rather, flickered, returning within moments as the one behind them became just a little more visible: The all-encompassing cloak, those elongated fingers that didn't seem to have actual joints... And the face beneath the hood. Easily mistaken for a Bannerbound thanks to their glowing indigo eyes - and their abundance and distribution didn't hurt, either. An odd number of eyes wasn't unheard of for them; three in a line with two above and below each edgemost light was perhaps too symmetrical, but not too odd.

Yet the obsidian head that held them - with a kite shape as the face and six triangles to complete the rest - would be much harder to explain. And the voice that rang out, one that sounded like the very room had become a bell, would be a dealbraker: "I have certified it. Your progress, collectively, is acceptable. However, the matter of you remains. Have they become aware of who you are?"

The moth groaned in response, rubbing the sides of their fluffy head with their graspers. They sounded slighted by the question while they answered it: "They know me as five different people, so no. Their boss has seen me as only three of those, in fact. So the misdirections are all in place as usual - that's my specialty, remember?" Antennae flicked in the air, and wings flapped in irritation, scattering dust... But their colors remained utterly dull, coal-black and without any patterns nor glyphs upon them. Why bother, before a creature(?) that saw right through it? Why try the Bellbound's tricks on someone as detached from linguistics as this one?

They then snapped themselves out of that thought to add a few muttered words. "That was rhetorical, before you say anything. You know it is my specialty, one of the reasons why you're here to begin with."

"As far as I'm aware, the creature I'm burdened with has more in common with an abstract musing, or the clicks of a calculator machine, than with anything that breathes. One of the Chalk Sage's little tricks I'm sure, bringing something like this to life (in a manner of speaking). A walking hovering conundrum with a solid conceptual base around which everything else gravitates. An unsolved equation that they've tasked me with, and it will keep tasking me until it's solved - presumably, with a process and final answer that the angular bastard approves of."

Another flicker of the figure behind them, now coupled with the distant shuffling of items - mostly paper - all over the abode, and the room-rattling voice buzzed his ears again. "I have certified this to the best of my ability. This adds up correctly. Therefore, the matter of your next steps remains. You must be made aware of them if you aren't, and be reminded of such if you've forgotten them." Lord below, even if it didn't even rattle the windows or any of their cups, it sure felt like it was going to bring this place down. And again they felt digits upon their fuzzy collar: Three on one side, four on the other. Pointed and perfectly smooth...

And they shrugged them off, practically climbing onto the desk to avoid the entity's touch. They refused to look at the intruder in the eye, yet couldn't help but turn their head towards them just for their voice to be heard in its aggravated entirety. "How exactly do you expect me to forget the rest of your plan, when your maker took steps to practically burn it into my mind? Damn near made it a fundamental factor of my life - maybe literally! Narrowed me down to a line in a blackboard where a letter is this whole arrangement. I know how they work."

Yet the intruder didn't even twitch. They only brought back that damned brassy voice that drowned out all thought. "Your awareness of the process is a concern. In knowing it, you may interfere. In your knowledge of cognitive linguistics, you may have dictated unknown terms to yourself, and with them detached your mind from the task. I will not permit this, and must ergo confirm it has not been attempted. Please remain still."

And those digits all planted themselves onto their body again, sinking through the fuzz to reach the chitin beneath. The singular second that followed was utterly unpleasant, one of the deepest violations of privacy they could conceive.

"But it isn't just math, clearly. That's too raw to be brought in like this beyond one of that one's usual instantaneous tricks. This is a a thinking entity, and thus a manner of thought had to be put in there. Knowing a little of how those esoteric mathematics work, a little bit of symbolism had to go in there, something with some subjectivity. A thoroughly comprehensible core at the bottom of it all, that can have more meanings than just its simple mathematical value." "And so, I've come to understand the base of this entity, the very base of the equation it represents, the bottom that forms the depths of the X (though not the whole, because then I'd be free), is a singular, one-digit number. " "By all the hints I've had, I've narrowed it down to seven."

"Your adherence has been certified." Thank goodness for that, the Nirhaq thought as their mind stopped reeling from the intrusion and those damn fingers pulled away from their fluff. They thought about yelling, calling it out on personal space, but after a hard grip that threatened to crack their pencil, desisted. What would a being like this know about privacy?

Still, they offered the biggest snub they could by turning back to their writing, talking to the darkness rather than to the being's face as the sounds of scribbling returned. "Anything else you need to metaphysically manhandle me for? Or are you done checking on me, and will actually let me do my job? You and I both know we've got a strict time table, and that your very presence here is an interference. I know, you're going to call it irrational - tough luck, I'm what you've got."

"More than once I've wondered: Why seven, of all numbers? A ten would've been perhaps more powerful, and certainly more imposing. A one is something I would've never evaded, simple as it'd be. And some horrendous prime number making a mess of any equation, that would've been the doom of me if I had tried working through this in any other way. Or would it?" "As I thought more about it, however, I've had my realizations. A ten is too simple, as would be a one, I would push right through even with their great subjective meaning. A three or four digit prime I would've pushed right through, because such numbers are so unheard of they hardly mean anything, even to an experienced mathematician. Something else would've been more proper."

Again the room was rung like a bell - or so Fel's perception would say, they still hadn't figured out how much of that was real. "This is correct. The report is complete, and for the most part satisfactory. But the matter of their inquisitiveness remains. You have chosen effective but dangerous proxies, and you will need to either temper or misdirect their curiosity before they find who you are, or your link to the Chalk Sage."

They could only groan in response, at first. "Don't you think I know that already? You never get good results with fools, so you have to play it dangerous, as I always have. Believe me, them not finding out what I am, let alone who, is in all of our interests. I'm working on that, taking active steps, you'll see those soon enough if you just let me take them." They finished with a dismissive wave of their empty grasper, towards the distance. "Now shoo."

A flicker, and the intruder was gone. Neither cloak nor polygon were there to reflect the candlelight... In part, because with its sudden departure, said candle had gone out.

"And it came to me, after pondering that most of the math done by folks is on the lower end, in head and paper, and oft with at least one number below ten - and so those numbers would pack the most thought-borne heft. Five and ten, despite their size, are simple, far too much of a base - the Chalk Sage wanted to impose something complex on me that I couldn't wiggle through with ease, forced to follow their steps. Yet eight and nine can be decomposed to threes and twos with ease, so they could hardly count." "Seven, however, is a deceptive prime, low enough to underestimate yet high enough to be bothersome in such napkin mathematics. Even those with quick heads for math can be tripped up or bogged down by a stray seven, unable to separate it into neater multiplications. Not to mention a genuine bother to divide with, one very good way to start getting complicated number strings. Even its additions have their little surprises if you rush through things." "And therein the thing. That is why it's a seven. A number all are familiar with, that some cultures even assign meaning to, in the perfect decimal sweet spot to trip me up, as I metaphorically try to solve the equation throughout any path that isn't the one the Chalk Sage has laid out before me. It's almost diabolical, really. But I wouldn't expect anything less when it comes to ideas brewed in the shiny black sphere that one calls a head."

Felmyzhunn sighed, and searched for their lighter under the desk. "Even in this they all have to be so difficult", they muttered throughout their rummaging. Finding the flinty little thing quickly enough, the moth brought back the light and continued to write upon the journal on their desk...

With florid, twisty calligraphy, the Hivetongue words blending together with each other until parsing them was a puzzle. Less of a journal page and more of abstract art where each brushstroke was a singular word, curving and cursive, spread throughout the paper. Not the greatest cypher against most spies Fel knew, even if it would stall them for some time, but perfect against a being of order and logic, that would parse normal writing in a millisecond.

The moth's wings flicked in place now that they were alone, and slowly, over several seconds glowing azure glyphs manifested upon them, filling the air with glimmering blue scales... And in the blink of an eye that wasn't there, to any such partial onlooker that might've cracked the code, those glyphs were gone, as were the wings, and the very moth that bore them. Instead, hunched over the exact same desk with the exact same pen in their slimy hand, an azure Ifchi with drooping cyan gills continued with the exact same sentence the moth had started. Or at least, so it would seem.

"Alright Fel", the axolotl spoke to themselves (or perhaps himself right now), "let's pull this off. Next step: A dead drop for the bat. She does need to know her catch arrived safely anyhow."

"Still, I will figure something out, towards a path I like better. And maybe that this lot likes better. It's going to be difficult, and it will probably bring some stumbles, thanks to the nature of my warden. But I need to persevere. I'm not going to be free until I've pushed through to the end, or until I've been dragged to the end of the Sage's path instead because I failed, which I hope I won't." "And I'm quite sure I won't. In the end, when you look at it, mathematics are just another language, and like any other, I will speak it as fluently as I must. As the Bellbound do."

[happyocelot]

I don’t really have a specific prompt, but my fave team 8 situation is when they’re a spy team…

Send me Team 8 Prompts!

***

Thanks for the request! I hope you like this. Set right before the Last, with Kiba and Shino being total shippers and trying to figure out what’s going with NH haha.

***

"Code blue, Shino! I repeat, code blue! She's coming this way!"

"Kiba, code blue is a hospital warning commonly used in Kirigakure to warn of patients who – "

"Whatever! Code blue!"

"I insist that you do not use unsuitable medical terminology to describe emergency situations such as – "

"SHE'S COMING THIS WAY!"

"Yes, I am aware – what are you – mmmph!"

"Will – you – just – be – quiet!?"

"I can't believe that you of all people are warning me to be quiet – "

"Yeah? Well, believe it. Imagine what Kurenai-sensei would say if she saw you yelling at the top of your voice on a spy mission!"

"I believe that would be you, Kiba, not me."

"I'm NOT – "

"You are shouting at the top of your voice for the second time on this excursion now. I do not think that you should be so hypo – "

"CODE BLUE!"

"..."

"What? Why are you sighing?"

"...Never mind."

"What is it, man? You know, if you keep acting all repressed like that, one day you'll blow up like a volcano."

"..."

"What?"

"...It's nothing. Let's get the disguise ready."

***

Hinata rounded a street corner, smiling brightly, a ball of yarn clutched to her chest. Then her eye caught the bizarre sight on the opposite side of the road.

She stared.

It was Kiba and Shino, if Shino had decided to wear the tackiest sunglasses in the ugliest shade of neon green he could find, and then ride on Kiba's back, and Kiba had decided to ride on Akamaru's back, and they had decided to cover themselves in a sweeping black cloak as though they were members of Akatsuki to create the weirdest and most disjoined disguise possible. Like that one person Sakura had told her about, Sasori.

Hinata sighed. Well, this was what Kiba got for insisting that those awful sunglasses would look perfect on Shino. A simple transformation jutsu would have accomplished so much more. They really were hopeless on spy missions without her.

...Although she wondered who they might be spying on. Tsunade-sama wasn't the type to assign two-man squads on these missions with no backup, no matter how overconfident Kiba was.

Truly, she was the only sensible person on this team.

[lovethisletters]

The Bat & The Lantern || Batman x Reader

Hi, lovely! I had so much fun writing this (I'm not gonna lie, I was quite nervous at first, since I don't know that much about the whole green lantern universe, but guess it turned out...ok?) so I hope you enjoy it as much as I did and to be honest, I would like to revisit this story again in the future!

Little disclaimer: The reader is a Human green lantern but similar to star-lord she lived the majority of her life in space, that's why she's so oblivious as to whom Batman is, also this takes place during Dick Grayson early years as robin (12-13).

Word count: 2233!!!

Summary: Reader is a new member of the Justice League...but Batman doesn't seem too happy about it.

Keys: Y/S/N: Your Superhero Name | Y/N: Your (real) Name.

Hal Jordan was your friend since you joined the green lanterns (which it was barely 3 or 4 years ago)

Basically...you were "new"

But that didn't stop your fellow green lanterns (?) From seeing all your potential.

Everyone is convinced that with the right training and perseverance, you will become one of the greatest green lanterns of all time.

So, it didn't take long before you proved yourself to be capable enough to join the big leagues.

More specifically, The Justice League.

Hal was the one to introduce you to his companions.

The Amazonian, the human looking alien, the speedster, the other Alien not so human looking, the half robot; everyone was so nice to you since they met you.

Everyone except...The grumpy bat.

When you first introduced yourself, he didn't even bother to be as welcoming as the others.

He just stood there, looking all big and serious that you almost thought it was a statue or the poor guy had catatonic lapses or was way too shy or socially awkward to approach you.

You felt bad, so you approached him instead.

—Hi! I'm Y/S/N...—You said enthusiastically before being abruptly interrupted.

—I know, I heard your introduction already—His voice so devoid of any kind of emotion that you may as well had been talking to a machine.

"Scanning complete, Batman"

A voice inside his cowl informed him, it sounded like an older man with a British accent.

—Thank you, I'll check it later.

That’s when it hit you…the reason why he was watching you so intensely and standing so incredibly still: He was scanning you.

Fucking. Son. Of. A. Bitch.

You stayed there, your face paralyzed with surprise and anger, without knowing very well what to answer; you didn't want to cause a scene on your first day, but this man was just so rude; That is not an appropriate way to receive a new member. yes, it is normal to have suspicions, but you would appreciate if he had the decency to let his suspicions be known when you weren't present.

—she just introduced herself and already on with the paranoic behavior, Bats? seriously? —Hal stepped in your defense.

—this is a routine procedure; I'm just being cautious.

—He was like that at the beginning with all of us too, don’t worry he’ll warm up to you in no time—Wonder woman whispered in your ear after watching your uncomfortable expression.

Ultimatedly you decided to listen to the amazonian and let that one slide, “is normal to be wary of new things anyways” you repeated yourself.

As the months passed you have grown quite frustrated. Between all the missions and meetings even though you felt your relationship with the rest of the team grow closer and they began to trust you and respect you; your relationship with the Batman stayed pretty much the same.

Yes, there was a bit of progress….a bit.

He was bit more talkative to you, a bit more “friendly”, a bit more trusting.

But it was always just a bit never actually fully a teammate to you, your relationship felt more like distant coworkers.

At the beginning it didn’t worry you too much, until your lack of communication started to mess with your performance in the missions, sometimes something completely bizarre and unexpected would happen and because both of you didn’t know each other very well, the mission would take the double amount of time to resolve since you couldn’t coordinate at all.

One time he almost ran you over with his batwing…

The whole thing was kinda funny looking back on it but at the time you were furious (rightfully so)

In his defense, he didn’t knew you were there…I mean…you basically where standing in his parking spot (not that you knew there was such a thing, most members could fly or at least jump really high, so you kinda always forgot he couldn’t…and to be honest you didn’t know his exact powers)

—Sorry—was all he said as he got out of the strangely shaped flying vehicle and directed only one glance at you to make sure you where ok before entering the building, always maintaining that characteristic calm and cold demeanor.

One day you entered the hall of justice earlier than usual only to find an unexpected guest sitting in one of the empty chairs his gaze fixated on a book, he was wearing a rather colorful suit of some sort matching his green mask, then you realized when you were close enough…he was a C H I L D.

You panicked, why was a child here? Is he some sort of mini spy? How was he able to get through the security system?  Did he touch anything dangerous?

This and many more questions ran through your mind, the child noticed you were looking at him and only gave a polite nod as a greeting before returning his attention to his book.

Perhaps a school trip that you weren’t aware of was taking place and this kid strayed from his class? Perhaps he was looking for one of your teammates to ask for a photo and got lost and decided to wait here for his teacher? That will explain why everyone wasn’t here in the meetings room, perhaps they were busy giving the (hypothetical) group of children a tour?

—Hey kiddo! Are you lost? —you began the conversation in a friendly tone before kneeling down a little in order to appear less imposing…after all he was a child you didn’t wanna scare him.

He looked at you so incredulously.

You could almost hear him think “ma’am wtf are you doing???” through his expressions.

—What’s your name?

—Ummm…uh…Robin?­—He spoke like it was something obvious  while signaling the “R” symbol on his chest.

—Robin, uh? What a pretty name! tell me Robin…why are you here? Are you lost?

Poor boy he was so confused, you didn’t know who he was? Didn’t any of the members told you about him? And more importantly…Why where you talking to him like if he was a 5-year-old?

—No, ma’am…I’m just waiting for Batman.

“Batman? Was he a fan of Batman of all superheroes?”  It surprised you a bit, usually kids tend to like superman or wonder woman more since they are nicer and charismatic, and Batman was the opposite.

—Sorry Kiddo, I don’t think he’s one for photos, perhaps you could ask the others some other time! ­— you began explaining trying to dissuade the kid while guiding him towards the exit.

—He’s not here for photos—smooth as ever…the Bat was behind you.

—He’s my sidekick.

Your jaw dropped, a sidekick? He’s a CHILD! You knew superheroes had sidekicks, but you never knew they were that young!

Before you could even begin to protest, Batman ignored you, looking down at the child and instructing him to collect his things.

—Hurry, you’ll be late for class again. — He said before disappearing behind the door that led to his parking spot.

Robin quickly followed, hanging his backpack over his shoulder before stopping in his tracks directing an apologetic smile towards you and saying:

—Don’t worry miss, I can take care of myself! — He must have noticed the concern on your face before leaving.

Since that day your routine changed.

You would wake up earlier, many times you’ll be the first to arrive to the Hall of justice, and even have breakfast flying on your way there all for one thing: Robin.

Once you learned he was Batman’s sidekick you couldn’t help but worry over that poor child, “what if he gets hurt? Is he eating/sleeping/resting properly?” you just couldn’t help yourself.

At first it was just checking on the kid by just…seeing him in the morning and greeting him casually but there were times he wasn’t there, and you would panic internally and there was no other way to calm your anxiety until you would ask the Bat about the child.

He would always replay shortly: “He’s at home” “He’s at school” “He’s busy” and your conversations always would end there.

One day that Robin was there however, instead of your usual ‘greeting nod’ he started talking to you.

He asked you all sorts of things (that weren’t compromising to your real identity ofc) “What’s your favorite color?” “What music do you like?” “What’s your favorite movie?”

And it started from there.

The conversations with Robin grew not only more frequent but also more personal (as personal as someone with a superhero lifestyle can be), to the point it had become a routine for you to come early and talk to the boy, sometimes you had breakfast together or even helped him with his homework before the Bat would take him to school.

Perhaps it was because you didn’t have many acquittances here on earth, but Robin became family to you.

And family takes care of each other.

It had been a rather difficult and spontaneous mission; Lex Luthor was starting to act a little bit fishy (more than usual) using his connections and money Luthor had been acquiring/robbing very specifically concerning items all over the US, his next objectives: a Radion sample being investigated in a secret laboratory in Star city and a Dionesium sample...contained in the Wayne tower laboratories...

The team decided to split to put a stop to Luthor’s minions and his plan.

The Bat insisted the rest of the team should go to Star city, telling them that he and Robin could handle it, but everyone was immediately against it: Luthor had already collected relatively powerful items and being the intelligent motherfucker he is, probably transformed some of those items to give to his goon’s so they might have a chance in harming any of the members if they were to interfere.

Ultimately, the team agreed you and cyborg would accompany them to Wayne Tower.

Robin was stoked, he would get the opportunity to fight alongside you! But Batman…not so much…he kept trying to lose the two of you on the way there; fortunately, cyborg put a tracker on the batwing, he wasn’t going to get rid of you that easy.

Upon your arrival, you could spot several men (armed like if they were military but with a much more upgraded equipment) already leaving the building, carrying two tanks (presumably full of that substance Martian Manhunter had mentioned before) and heading to a truck without any plates.

Long story short: you organized a plan as quickly as you could but…something went wrong…Cyborg and Robin were supposed to create a distraction while the two of you recovered the tanks without damaging them, since the properties of the substance within remained unknown.

But something went wrong: You and Batman failed to coordinate and so you were spotted by the henchmen, they started aiming their weapons at the two of you, initially you thought a force field generated by the power of your ring would be enough...oh no, honey, you’re so wrong.

Sonic weapons were able to not only break your concentration quickly, but also made your ears bleed! One after another you kept re-making the fields, but the sonic waves so deathly and loud just kept coming.

You don’t know how but you were able to stand your ground long enough to make cover not only for Batman and allow him to get the tanks back safely but also for the rest of your team and give them a slight advantage to take down as many of Luthor’s minions as they could.

And then…you passed out.

You woke up at the infirmary in Justice Hall, your head a mess and wrapped in bandages, you had broken your arm because that shit inside a cast too for some reason…and…your ring was gone!

Panic!

No, never mind it was on the nightstand next to the chair in which batman was sitting on.

WAIT…next to the chair in which batman was sitting on?!?!?!

—How are you feeling? — you didn’t know if it was him suddenly talking or the genuine concern on his voice that startle you, so you just nodded slightly while he approached you.

—Can you hear me properly? —Surprisingly you could, but you still were a bit taken aback by his presence.

—I…­—Before responding your brain reminded you of the fact that you didn’t had your ring on, hence your secret identity was revealed to Batman. Your hands practically flew to your face in embarrassment. You didn’t know why but without your mask you felt naked and vulnerable.

He noticed.

His gaze studying your pained expression before he let out a small sigh.

—I came here…to thank you…and apologize— hesitantly his hands moved to the back of his cowl.

—You not only put yourself in danger for Cyborg and Robin, but you also concerned yourself with my safety even when it was probably my fault that we ended up in that situation —He admitted pressing a hidden button loosing up his cowl before finally taking it off and reviling the most gorgeous man you’ve had ever lay your eyes on.

—And for that I thank you and apologize…sincerely—Such sudden action left you speechless for a while, Batman not only had thanked you and apologized, but he had entrusted his identity to you.

—I think-…I think we started with the wrong foot; you know? —You finally were able to respond, breaking the silence that filled the room and surprising him slightly by your sudden declaration.

—Let’s start again…Hi! I’m Y/N—You imitated the same friendly voice tone you first used to talk to him.

The lips on the man in front of you curved forming a subtle almost imperceptive grin.

—Hello, Y/N, I’m Bruce…Bruce Wayne.

 ♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤

 WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! IT. TOOK. SO. LONG. Sorry :c

I had a bunch of ideas for this request but ended up going with this one since I wanted to expand on their beginning, I’m still trying to figure out a way to write Bruce and this was my first attempt, so…sorry if it was…bad :c I’ll try harder next time!!!

Any errors you might see, please let me know; English is not my first language so I’m trying to improve.

In the final scene I wanted Bruce to show he recognized the Reader as an equal so that’s why he took it off…still I felt like it could improve.

 ♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤

I will forever thank you if you go check out my other profile: @aileysmirnov​ where I post things about my OC: edits, one-shots, imagines, art, etc. If you like Greek mythology and the bat family maybe you would get to be a little bit fond of her as much as I am!

Anyway! Thank you for reading!

[meggannn]

i'm interested in hearing your thoughts on garrus being shoe-horned into the best friend role if you want to talk about it!

I may not be able to talk about it as much as some people who are super Garrus-critical, but yes I can try!

this really becomes a problem in ME3 more than the other games. basically my understanding of Garrus’s writing in ME3 is that they were well aware that of the fact that he was a fan-favorite, and didn’t want to threaten that, so they made it his crux. they took most of the fandom’s feelings for Garrus and decided to reflect that in Shepard’s relationship with Garrus, but by doing this, they basically ended up pretending a relationship had been there throughout ME1-2 that existed in some player’s heads. of course, Mass Effect is an RPG (well, sort of) so in theory... your best friend could be whoever you want to be, so with that in mind, it’s a little strange for a dev team to go “your best friend is this one character and we will write all of his scenes around that assumption.” unless they really want to play up the fanservice, I guess.

when he’s introduced in ME1, people joke about how they would never not recruit him, but it is a possibility—you could run through the entire game having only met Garrus in the Citadel Tower and never spoken to him again—in which case by meeting him again in ME2, it is a little strange to see that guy you barely remember from the Citadel in the last game show up, but not entirely unwelcome, because at least you, like, recognize him. it’s a little odd how you banter like old friends by making fun of his scars, but what is straight-up bizarre is how in the next game, ME3, Garrus talks about how he was there with you fighting Reapers from the beginning. of course, not a lot of people would specifically go out of their way to avoid recruiting Garrus in ME1, and very few people probably naturally avoided him standing by the elevator in ME1 (which is the only way to not recruit him if you don’t find him in Dr. Michele’s clinic), so the odds of someone not recruiting him in ME1 are low unless they intended to, but it’s still possible.

come ME2, I think they chose to forget that. a few lines have changed in 2 if you don’t recruit him in 1, but not many. remember in ME1, Garrus was an optional squaddie, who had an optional side quest, and his relationship with Shepard there was very much superior/subordinate, or as some people interpret it, more mentor-like. the most personal they get is when they talk about their jobs, the difficulties they face making moral choices, a bit about their families, and Spectrehood. it’s a nice introduction to Garrus’s character but the lines are drawn pretty clear between their roles; by the end of ME1, given the canon dialogue, the closest I’m personally willing to believe of their relationship from helping him deal with Saleon is “subordinate I am fond of,” or post-Saren after Garrus leaves the Normandy, “ally I can call on later.”

and then Shepard dies and is gone for two years. by ME2, when you meet up with him again, I actually find this jump from “subordinate” to “ally/friend” works for my Shepard, but it might not for people who never really engaged with Garrus or even liked him on the SR-1, or those who weren’t thrilled with the idea of him... basically running off to kill as many people as he could on Omega after Shepard got themselves spaced. if you don’t romance him in ME2, he has so little content in ME2: his recruitment mission, post-recruitment convo, loyalty convo trigger, loyalty quest, and post-loyalty convo. if you romance him, you get several more scenes, but compared to other romanceable companions like Miranda or Jack—whose attitudes toward you change the more you talk to them—or even Samara, who you can just chat with while looking out at the stars, Garrus’s platonic relationship with Shepard seems to stall after the Sidonis quest: you gain his loyalty for the suicide mission and then you’re assumed to be all cool. realistically, they could’ve given us a lot of reasons why Garrus might not want to talk—he’s probably still reeling from getting his face blown off and confronting his betrayer again, or if you don’t let him kill Sidonis, maybe he could’ve gotten pissed at Shepard and confronted them—but that’s me trying to justify a lack of content. truthfully there’s very little non-romanceable Garrus content in ME2 to build up that “best friends” angle they want to sell in ME3.

in ME3, you DO get more content that shows how naturally “at ease” he feels working with Shepard: his recruitment mission, longer conversation trees when he joins, more banter from squaddies—including Garrus—on missions, him inviting you to go bottle-shooting, a scene with him after every main mission where he asks you how you’re doing, if you miss Ash/Kaidan, mutual struggles over the burden of leadership, worrying over his family, etc. by this point though, if you didn’t romance him, he’s treating you like his best friend even though he basically ignored you all of ME2. again, you could rationalize that time as his social awkwardness on a Cerberus ship, or him dealing with trauma, but in my friend’s words, it’s really more of bioware telling-but-not-showing that they really wanted you to like this guy but waiting until the last game to give him consistent scenes with the player that reflected that closeness.

on paper, Garrus makes a lot of sense to be close to Shepard, because assuming you recruit him in ME1, he’s been fighting Reapers with Shepard in every game, but also... so has Joker or Chakwas or Tali, for the same reason; so does Ash or Kaidan, for being the only Alliance teammate who was there at the beginning and end (assuming they didn’t both die); so does Liara, for being there every game and only abstaining in ME2 because she was still dealing with the fallout of saving your life (there’s lots of criticism of her being “forced” on the player too and while I agree with some of it, that’s a topic for another time lol). Bioware does introduce Garrus early in each game—I don’t know if this was intentional, because they knew he was so popular so they wanted to give him to the player early—but then he has so little to say in ME2, the game about building relationships, that introducing him early just means he stands around for half game talking about calibrations. a lot of fandom, especially shakarian fans, end up filling the gaps of ME2 with their own headcanons, myself included, to make the relationship development feel a little smoother, but the trouble there is when we start treating it like it was always canon for everybody.

I know it seems weird to complain that such a popular character should’ve had even more content—there are lots of other characters just as or more deserving who got really screwed over (coughs Ashley)—but in my ideal world, they all would’ve had more content lmfao.

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 36

💖 first time reader click here 💖

Venom + reader = symbiote. More canon typical violence and mentioned cannibalism (Venom eats bad guys). Some angst at the end - reader really went behind the Avengers' backs, huh? But it's gonna be okay.

Is this how babies feel in the uterus? The darkness was nearly impenetrable but at the same time comforting and warm. It wasn't dry and it wasn't wet; it just was. I was floating in weightless space, subtly feeling the echos of a battle, hearing the sounds of struggle as if I was underwater.

"MORSEL, I WILL CONSUME THESE HUMANS. IT MIGHT FEEL SLIGHTLY UNPLEASANT." Venom's voice seemed to reverb in my skull, bringing my awareness to us. We. We are Venom.

"Don't eat Cabre, he's been possessed. Put him out if you can, but don't hurt yourself. I have very little information about this demon thing," I said - well, I thought, hoping Venom would hear me. A possessed enhanced mutant person was bad but a possessed carnivorous symbiote was nightmare fuel. I also didn't want Venom to hurt themselves; the sonic gun looked painful enough already.

I felt rather than heard the agreement coming from Venom; for a brief moment, the three of us were Venom as the symbiote entered Cabre's body to alter his chemicals. The sensation was foreign, unpleasant, and I shuddered at the violation. The sense of comfort that came once Venom returned fully to me was inexplicable. I began to understand why Eddie didn't want to part with Venom; the symbiote's continued presence felt quite comforting.

Very similar to how I felt when I sat with Tony, him inside of me, for hours, with our bodies joined and minds working in quiet agreement.

"HUMAN MATING RITUALS ARE BIZARRE," Venom sounded baffled and slightly disgusted. "AND THEY ARE NOTHING LIKE A PERFECT SYMBIOSIS. PLEASE DO NOT COMPARE YOUR PRIMITIVE URGES TO OUR SYMBIOSIS."

I gasped inwardly, doing my best to distract myself from the crunching and wet noises that managed to break Venom's barrier. "Would you rather I barf inside of you?" I snarked, giving into the urge to roll my eyes. Not the time to be picky-choosy, Chtulhu.

"YOU DO NOT WANT TO WASTE PRECIOUS ENERGY RIGHT NOW. WE STILL HAVE A LOT TO CONSUME AND I WILL NEED TO REPAIR EDDIE." The symbiote announced patiently, a sense of deep longing beginning to seep into our bond at the mention of my uncle's name.

The points Venom raised were valid and I was as eager to be Just Me as Venom craved to reunite with Eddie; I receded, racking my brain for something to focus on to be able to ignore the cannibalistic experience and not "waste precious energy". "I have a subdermal tracker installed, tap it three times to activate it if you need backup," Belatedly, I remembered about my cyborg experiment.

Venom appeared to contemplate it. "NOT NOW. THIS BATTLE IS NOT VERY HARD." They finally concluded as a particularly piercing scream echoed in my ears. "YOUR MATES WILL BE ANGRY IF THEY FIND OUT. WE CAN MAKE SURE THEY DO NOT FIND OUT."

As surprised as I was at the extended courtesy, I had to face myself and my lies sooner or later anyways. "We'll tell them anyways. I'll take the blame, you play dumb together with Eddie. Consider it a trade," If I could, I would be rubbing my face right now. "I took you out to an all-you-can-eat human buffet, you took me out to take care of a problem. We're even."

Venom snorted as I felt the random crunching and squelching noises slowly begin to quiet down. "FUNNY MORSEL," I assumed it was a compliment as the feelings that leaked through the bond were actually quite fond. "THE OTHER MORSELS SHOULD BE GRATEFUL. WE WILL BRING POSSESSED HUMAN TO THEIR DOORSTEP. WE DID THE JOB FOR THEM." However, it was obvious the kind feelings didn't quite extend to SHIELD or the Avengers. I struggled to comprehend how Venom planned to take all three of us to the tower anyway, with both Cabre and Eddie being out of commission and me currently being, well, Venom.

I needn't have worried, however. There was a slight pressure on one of my shoulders followed by a brief, ten-minute strange sensation of flying, the added weightlessness making me drowsy in the darkness of Venom's fluid body. As soon as it stopped I heard voices that seemed faintly familiar - names that I recognized, but not quite sure from where.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" The yelling reached my ears through the layers of symbiote, making me cringe. Tony's piercing shriek of shock hurt.

"Could you please not be so loud, it fuckin' hurts," I moaned without a thought, hastily shutting up when the voice that spoke my words roared.

"Pri... Princess?" I heard glass shatter; focusing my eyes was hard and the field of view was funky to say the least; I towered over Tony's shaking form by at least good few feet. Subconsciously, I felt the need to taste the air - my engineer boyfriend recoiled at the same time I realized I had stuck out my-Venom's-our tongue, feeling the familiar salt and musk as if I just straight up licked Tony from head to toe.

"Believe me, this is just as weird for me," I spoke, trying to control my and Venom's combined limbs. Deeply inside my brain, I swear I felt the symbiote's snickering. "Venom, can you unattach yourself from me? Please?" I begged, absolutely hating Tony's expression of fear and confusion.

"WE HAVE TO DIGEST FIRST," The symbiote replied unapologetically but took control over the limbs, carelessly dropping Cabre at Tony's feet. "YOUR MERCENARY. SAME-DAY DELIVERY, NO RETURNS," We grinned together. I had felt Venom rummaging my brain for an appropriate joke and supplied it myself. The adrenaline rush arrived late, something I suspect was Venom's handiwork, and I basked in the sudden influx of joy and exhilaration.

Tony slowly slid down the wall, landing ungracefully on his ass, staring straight up with unblinking eyes. "Friday, please assemble the Avengers. And make Bruce bring me booze, please," I've never heard Tony this dejected.

I, on the other hand, was feeling really strange. Joyful one moment and confused the next, I let Venom handle most of the business as my mind faded in and out of focus, limbs growing heavy with each breath that I took. Or I didn't? Panic set in when I realized I couldn't breathe, couldn't inhale.

"CALM DOWN, MORSEL. I AM SUPPLYING YOU WITH THE OXYGEN," Venom's voice interrupted my panic attack as I once again was deposited in the calm, comfortable darkness. "SHE IS FINE. SYMBIOSIS CAN BE STRESSFUL FOR FIRST TIME HOSTS. I WILL GLADLY RETURN TO EDDIE AS SOON AS THE CHEMICALS IN OUR SYSTEM ALLOW ME TO SAFELY WITHDRAW." I heard more voices and I assume Venom calming down the newly arrived Avengers. My mind was still murky, like when Venom dulled it on purpose when they were eating people. Eating people. "I SUGGEST YOU PREPARE A WASTE BIN. MORSEL WILL MOST LIKELY FEEL SICK."

Oh boy, did I feel sick! As soon as Venom retracted back into my skin, I hurled, Steve catching the most of it by pushing a large bucket right in my face whilst Bruce gently rubbed my back. I avoided looking at the contents even though I consciously knew that there wasn't much more than water and bile, having previously felt first-hand exactly how Venom digested their food.

"I'm a dumbass, please put me out of my misery," The words were spoken seriously. Physically, I felt the best I've ever had: aches and pains I had gotten used disappeared and my body felt invigorated. Mentally, however, I felt drained, confused and so, so alone in my skin. As if my brain itched. Someone was talking and I heard none of it.

"Shh, come here, come here," Eddie's voice was drowsy as his arms wrapped around me, scratching that lonely itch in my brain. I grasped at him, hiding my face in his chest, missing most of what was being said. "Yeah, it's not exactly painful, more like... You feel not whole for a few hours after you separate. Not the best feeling, especially if the separation was forced," His voice bore the same pain I seemed to be experiencing at the moment. So alone in my skin.

Another large palm landed on my back as I sighed in contentment. "I'll take her. Do you guys need something?" Bruce's voice reached my ears, my brain finally agreeing to recognise human speech.

"A shower and some chocolate would be great, thank you," Eddie's voice receded further and further away as I freely, finally fell into Bruce's embrace.

"I warned you, Tony," Natasha spoke softly, coming over to brush my hair out of my face. I opened my eyes to see most of the team wearing identical looks of astonishment and worry, their eyes focused on me. Natasha was the only one who had respect clearly written on her face. "C'mon, let's go sit down so you can tell us what happened."

I avoided their eyes, fitfully clutching Bruce's arm as all of us sat down on the couch in a pile of superheroes. I guess I could be counted as one too, after the stunt I'd pulled. The mercenary was nowhere to be seen; Bucky's shirt bore bloodstains so I assumed he took the man to the underground levels where he and Natasha kept a few cells for off-the-record interrogations.

"So?" Tony's voice was hard; he avoided my face, too.

"Planned a plan. Executed the plan. It mostly worked, except the merc was possessed, too. He took out Eddie, I volunteered as a host. We ate the croonies," I stuttered slightly, fighting with myself to call the things by their names without having to throw up. "Grabbed the merc, grabbed Eddie and went home." I stared straight ahead, only partially aware of Bruce's disappointed sigh behind me.

"And it never crossed your mind that you shouldn't be doing this? All this hiding, this lying?" Tony asked, finally settling his hard stare on me. "There are professionals already working on this. It's not your job." His words were harsh but truthful.

Only this truth didn't sit well with me. I'd been monitored for years; there were too many secrets kept from me, too many what-ifs hung over my head. It was made worse by the uncertainty: did Tony know? Did Natasha know? Who else was hiding the fact that there had been a target on my back all along?

"Isn't it?" Anger began to creep in. I shrugged off Bruce's arm. "Isn't it my job to know your little organisation has been onto my ass for years? Isn't it my job to know I would have ended up in that position anyways, considering the fact that at least one hostile mutant gang wanted me to help them take over the world?" I stood up, interlocking my hands behind my back to conceal the shaking fingers. "Isn't it may fucking job to make sure that someone does something about the fact that my family is going crazy from helplessness?" I finished, looking directly at Tony. I hated seeing him recoil but some things needed to be said. "If you expected me to sit and do nothing while this bullshit is happening, you do not know me. At all."

"Years?" Barton interrupted in confusion. "I didn't even know you existed until Peter brought you over."

"Yes, Bird, years," I began to pace in agitation. "Apparently, many people think I'm much smarter than I am. I'm sure Cabre will be happy to tell you all about it," I sneered, stopping in front of the window to look at the dim, sleeping city. "Everybody seems to know about me more than I know about myself. I'm sick and I'm tired of people telling me what to do."

The silence behind me was telling. Maybe they really didn't know or maybe they just didn't really care. I wasn't naïve, I didn't expect gratitude for doing what I did but understanding would have been nice. Paradoxically, Venom's attitude was the most humane out of the whole gang. I hated being disappointed in people but ultimately, their safety and happiness was much more important than my feelings. They gave me a family - even if it was for a brief moment - and I owed them for it.

"Princess," Stephen's voice returned me back to reality. "We do not blame you. At least, I do not. We just want to know why didn't you trust us to help you," He pleaded quietly.

"It's not that I don't trust you. It's the fact you still consider me a child, some wilting flower. And perhaps, sometimes I act carefree," I inspected their reflection in the darkness of the glass pane. "But the truth is, I do not forget and I rarely forgive. And I definitely do not appreciate some random motherfucker messing around with people that I love," As soon as those words left my mouth, the heaviness from my shoulders disappeared. "And I don't regret it. I will burn down everything and everyone if I have even the slightest chance to protect what's mine."

A sharp intake of breath, someone choking on a sob. I closed my eyes, not ready to see the disappointed faces of my family - in moments like these, their heroic nature on stark display, I realized how much I did not fit amongst the do-gooders. The work I did was forever going to be the ungrateful kind; that much I've known forever but it didn't make facing that fact any less hard.

Soft, feminine hand landed on my shoulder as Natasha's perfume invaded my personal space. "I'm proud of you," The spy said quietly, wrapping the arm around my shoulders. "You did everything we couldn't do. That's a big deal if you ask me."

"And just like that, we're supposed to be okay with... This?" Steve's voice sounded exhausted.

"Yes," Bucky replied darkly. "If it was me in that place, you would have done the same. Oh wait," His tone turned sarcastic. "You did do the same. So, shut up, punk. We're lucky bastards if we have a person like that on our side."

I expected tears but none came. I felt nothing but relief, painful, as if I had spent weeks and weeks cramped up in a small space, unable to freely move and breathe.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit @littlegasps ​ @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie @mikariell95 @gladiosamicitias @warrior1-19 @toomanyrobins @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming

[lonelier-version-of-you]

I was looking through your blog for something (found it dw) and got reminded of that episodes Tony Mchale was supposed to have written and I'm so mad now we're at the actual end of the show and we got robbed of that lmao. & one day I want a full expose of how and why writers and producers got a green light to finally go full on with Henrik because this is a such a 180 to how they've had to stuff everything into subtext for him for the last decade. what changed I really wanna know.

I know, right?? I'm really curious and confused about what happened to the episode Tony McHale was supposed to write. I know people were speculating this time last year that it was gonna be Jac's original exit - the version that got scrapped due to COVID - but now that Jac's back, and Rosie seems to have just wanted out of there until Harper and Wallbank (the producers at the time, and the ones who made her do the awful breakdown story) were gone... I doubt they would've dragged McHale back to write a temporary exit. Unless Rosie hadn't told anyone that she was planning on coming back eventually. Or her plans changed and she originally didn't intend to come back. Hm.

(See, this is why I want another Holby book. I really want to know what the fuck was happening behind the scenes in the show's final years, because there's been some weird stuff going on. Jac's "permanent exit" that wasn't. Sahira's bizarre return where she wasn't Sahira at all. The utter lack of promo for Henrik's CSA storyline despite it initially being hyped up as "his biggest storyline yet" - I was well aware that Holby didn't give a fuck about CSA survivors, but I was very surprised that they didn't even pretend to give a fuck about us, I honestly expected at least a "we're doing a historical abuse storyline for Hanssen, here are all the charities we worked with, now praise us" article. Bernie coming back from the dead like she's an EastEnders character. I could go on.)

And WRT Henrik: SAME. Honestly, I always thought that we were way more likely to see Jac or Connie made canonically bi than Henrik, and yet here we are?? It's wild now to go back and look at old posts where I complain about how Holby "would never be brave enough" to give Henrik a boyfriend.

Like, the obvious assumption is that it was a "the show's ending, fuck it" thing. But the writers suddenly started dropping in hints about Henrik's bisexuality again as soon as the abuse storyline (and there was that tweet Gleeson liked about Henrik being bi), and that was pre-cancellation. Ed Sellek has said he was working on the script for the 'locked in the closet' ep when he got the news the show had been cancelled, so presumably Russ's introduction was planned pre-cancellation too.

So we went from HEAVY subtext that was about as "canon and queerbaiting at the same time" as it gets (2017-2018), to nothing either way for ages (2019-2020), to the show putting in obvious references to Henrik being queer but none of them being acknowledged in the publicity, and the most any of the BTS team did was like tweets...

And then suddenly October 2021 came along and the floodgates opened out of nowhere and now we have Henrik having an explicitly romantic relationship with a man on-screen, publicity articles saying things like that Russ gets Henrik "hot under the collar" or "Can Hanssen keep a secret from the man he's falling for?", the official Holby Twitter encouraging people to come up with ship names, and the literal script writers making fun of people for saying there was "never any hint" of Henrik being bi and saying they must have not been paying attention to the Gaskell storyline.

What. Happened. I, too, REALLY want to know.

[cblgblog]

I'm curious about your take on Wakanda being wronged hard in FaTWS, and by Bucky specifically? I haven't seen many people talk about it, but I'm just angry and confused as to why Bucky was to careless and rude towards Ayo and the Dora Milaje, acting as if their anger about Zemo was an overreaction. Hell, Walker got more respect from him in the end than the Dora did

I'm looking at the writers' perspective here, it was their decision and I'm wondering why. What was the thought behind it? Why did they make Bucky so insensitive? At first I thought it had to be some arc, but nothing came from it. I'm wondering what made them look at this series and think "Yes, let's make Bucky screw over the people that helped him".

It wasn't just him wronging Wakanda, it was his behavior towards Sam too, how he was so ignorant during the cop scene, dismissive of Sam's feelings, and obsessed with the shield to a point of lashing out at Sam for things that weren't his fault. Why was this a choice that was made? Bucky didn't have much personality in the other movies, they could've done anything but they chose this, and I think more people should talk about how wrong that is. Not for Bucky, but for the black people in the series who were wronged.

Okay so here’s the deal. One, I’m white, so know that going in, take my take on this for whatever it’s worth accordingly. Two, I haven’t watched the eps since they aired, with the exception of a couple scenes, so my memory—not so much of events but of specific nuances of how Bucky reacted to them—isn’t fresh.

I say that last part specifically because of Bucky and his interactions with Sam, because ultimately they bother me much less than the Wakanda stuff, and here’s why. Bucky is, to varying degrees depending on situation and episode, a dick to Sam about the shield for most of the series. Undoubtedly. But I get that, to a point. He at least explains his feelings in 1x05, why he reacted like that, and admits he fucked up. He had all his feelings for Steve wrapped up, incorrectly, in that shield, so when Sam just tossed it aside (from Bucky’s perspective), it caused him to freak out/lash out. Which was never fair to Sam, but at least culminated in Bucky recognizing that. Sam keeps saying to him that the two of them have not lived the same experience, the shield and its legacy do not mean the same thing to them, and Bucky finally realizes that. He acknowledges that neither he nor Steve grasped the full reality of the situation, and he apologizes. Does that erase what came before? No, but it’s not supposed to. It’s him acknowledging his own ignorance and trying to do better.

So, at least there’s an arc there, which is the other reason his stuff with Sam bugged me less. There was an evolution in his thinking, there was a change from wah wah, you gave up the shield, to oh wait, I kinda get it now. He realizes that his reactions were wrong, even if his feelings were understandable. Which, on a human level, I think they were. It’s a very human thing for Bucky to equate that shield directly to Steve, and take Sam’s rejection of it as a rejection of Steve. It’s understandable how he got there, given the bizarre nature of Steve’s time travel shenanigans, the nearly endless nightmare that Bucky’s life has been since he fell from the train. Losing yet another 5 years when he’s already lost 70+, all the unprocessed guilt and grief that isn’t helped by him having actually the worst therapist ever, oh my God this woman sucks at her job, she’s funny, but she’s awful. His feelings, I believe, were valid, given everything that went down. His reaction to them—the lashing out, whining, refusing to see Sam’s side of it—his reaction was not valid. But at least he gets to a point where he realizes that. At least there’s an arc.

Could they have found a different way to create conflict in the series? Sure, and I’m not gonna argue with anyone who wishes they had. For me personally, I was okay with it. Bucky’s ignorance and misplaced anger made sense to me. Bit of an aside, one of the few scenes I rewatched for this (because Youtube and knowing exactly where it was) was the cop scene, because you referenced. I’m assuming you mean the bit where Sam gets stopped, gets the ‘calm down sir’ treatment. I didn’t think Bucky was a dick in that scene? He seemed aware of what was happening, given his angry, “No he’s not bothering me, do you know who this is?” It’s actually one of a relatively few instances in the first 5 eps where Bucky does seem genuinely aware that he and Sam don’t live in the same world, even when they’re walking the same street, right next to each other. So, as far as illustrating that, and Bucky coming out of his own feelings long enough to pay attention to Sam’s, I thought it was one of the better scenes.

So, Sam and Bucky, I’m less bothered by. Bucky and Wakanda? That’s a hot garbage fire.

Zemo’s whole inclusion here, and nearly everything related to it, was incredibly botched. He’s randomly rich as fuck now, and a Baron, to match his comics counterpart. Which is not only an incredibly lazy retcon, it kills much of what made his character interesting in CW. In that movie, it was one guy, working alone, limited resources, dedicating himself to his cause. If nothing else, you had to admire his tenacity. Now suddenly he’s got a butler and a plane and piles of cash? Where was that in CW? More importantly…why? What purpose did it serve, besides making him more superficially similar to his comic self?

Why did we detour to him at all? None of his plans ultimately affect the larger narrative all that much. He starts out in prison and…ends up back in prison. Why? Why would the Dora just leave him there? Ayo says that they will bring Zemo back to face Wakandan justice…and then they just don’t. They leave him in the hands of the same people who lost him to two random dudes who were able to bust him out of prison on their own, one of those dudes being an entirely human guy, no enhanced powers, no Serum. In CW, okay, T’Challa did a deal with Everett Ross I guess, fine. But once the Americans proved they couldn’t hold him, it made no sense that the Dora would just go, okay, here you go again. They aren’t Batman. They have no reason to keep throwing the baddies in Arkham Asylum to wait ‘til next week when someone breaks out again.

The Zemo stuff had no arc to it. The only worthwhile thing was Bucky proving to Zemo that he can’t be controlled anymore, but that scene could have come about in a million better ways than it did. Ultimately, the weird little team-up with Zemo feels very cliché and contrived. It feels like a trip down a side road that dead ends to nowhere. It feels like filler, which is a particularly terrible crime when there’s only 6 episodes in the damn season.

Bucky’s dickishness towards Ayo and the other Dora really is baffling, especially when the writers went out of their way to give us that flashback, a direct, show don’t tell indication of all the Wakandans did for him. And it’s not his feelings for Steve that have him acting out this way, or at least it shouldn’t be. Steve has nothing to do with this aspect of things. Steve obviously had trust in and respect for T’Challa, and there’s no reason to think that wouldn’t extend to the Dora as well. Strong, badass women who put it all on the line for their country? Yeah, Steve should/would get that. He would have broken Zemo out of prison, if he thought it was the right call to make, but he also would’ve been like yeah, I did that, I understand that I fucked you over, I’m fully prepared to accept the consequences of that once my mission is complete, I’m sorry it went down like this. See the, “I’d like to surrender myself for disciplinary action,” he gives Phillips in First Avenger, after he goes to rescue the 107th. If it’s an authority he respects and acknowledges as having good intentions (Phillips as opposed to the Accords), Steve will ultimately give that respect back, even if he goes off to do his own thing first. He respected T’Challa and Wakanda. Bucky should have respected them even more, given his more direct connection, given the flashback scene in FatWS, given his acknowledgement that Wakanda and it’s people gave him a rare respite, a calm in the shit storm that’s been his life since 1945.

So yeah, it doesn’t make sense that he was so flippant and dismissive towards Ayo and the rest. It makes even less sense that they put up with it. It’s bad writing, that’s all I’ve got. The show is incredibly irritating, in that a lot of the plot-driven stuff is pretty fucking awful, but most of the character study stuff for Sam and Bucky is so good.

[kate837]

Valium (chapter one)

@the-moon-without-world you requested this fanfic to be written! This fic is set for early to mid season two and entails an AU of Jane having night terrors so Borden prescribes her Valium to help her sleep but one particularly bad night she gets absolutely no sleep and decides to take the Valium in the morning before work which inevitably leads to Kurt finding Jane in her safehouse on the floor high out of her mind! (This fic is angst, comfort, and fluff, OH and how could I forget crack!!) Enjoy!!

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It's a particularly cold September morning. Jane had been back with the team for four months and they had finally found some kind of normal. Nas on the other hand could be pretty hard to work with.

It was officially 8am and Reade, Tasha, Patterson, Nas, and Kurt were all at their respective 'biomes' within the NYO. But Jane... Jane was nowhere to be found.

"I already tried, it goes straight to voicemail everytime." Kurt says agitatedly. He and Nas had just walked into his office continuing their conversation from Patterson's lab.

"Look Kurt chances are that Sandstorm may have grabbed her." Nas replies desperately trying to keep up with Kurt's pace.

Kurt walked behind his office desk.

"And that doesn't concern you?!"

"She's doing the job we asked her to do!" Nas yelled.

"I'm done arguing with you."

"Where do you think you're going?!"

Kurt shrugged on his jacket and tried to walk past Nas before she grabbed his arm.

"Let. Me. Go."

"Why? So you can go make sure your girlfriend is alright?"

Kurt pulled his arm out from her and clenched his jaw. Not entertaining her, he tried to calmly answer.

"Nas-"

"What?! I was in bed with you last night and now this morning you're willing to put the biggest case of your life at risk to make sure another woman is okay!"

"You really want to do this here?"

"You're doing this on your own Kurt."

"Fine if you wanna talk we can talk." Kurt reached behind his desk and in a file to pull out a micro transparent listening device. "We can talk about that. You've been spying on me and my team for God knows how long and you expect me to care when you get jealous over Jane?"

Nas tried to reason with him but was getting nowhere, especially now. He was shutting down... Well more like shutting her out. She needed to change tactics. And fast.

"You are going to get her killed."

"What?" Kurt glared.

"You going to her safehouse to check on her will most definitely tip Sandstorm off and you will be the sole reason that she is killed! When she signed up for this operation she knew the risks-"

"How do you know Sandstorm has her?" Kurt questioned and slightly stepped closer towards Nas.

"What?"

"What if they don't have her? Have you thought about that?"

"That would be great, then she would come in eventually."

"Eventually?! You don't care about her at all do you? Your only concern is this mission!"

Kurt made a beeline for his office door.

"Kurt wait!"

The door was slightly cracked before he stopped.

"No nas, I'm done. I can't do this. Your blatant disregard for the safety of my team, you hiding things from me, bugging our offices, I'm done." With that said Kurt walked out of his office and headed straight for the SIOC elevator.

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It was a particularly hard night. It was the worst night. Shortly after escaping the blacksite, in Oregon, the nightmares came. But recently, as if they weren't bad enough, they've evolved into fully fledged night terrors. After going three consecutive days with only two hours of sleep per, she consulted Borden who prescribed her Valium to help her sleep and it worked.

Until last night.

Jane had taken her normal dose and fallen asleep within a half hour like normal. But not even twenty minutes later her protective detail, which had been immediately reassigned to her once she returned, had rushed into her safehouse because they heard gut-wrenching screams from within. Upon realization they carefully, but definitely panicked, tried to wake her. Once they succeeded their first instinct was to call Weller and update him but she begged them not to, and after seeing her in such an awful state they decided against it. Rationalizing with the sense that she wasn't in any actual danger so what need would they have to wake their boss up in the middle of the night?

Right?

Eventually Jane tried to fall back asleep, to no avail as within forty-five minutes her detail was back in her room. After that Jane realized that she wasn't going to get any more sleep and instead started to distract herself. She exercised, drew, cooked (ish), and showered.

Once five-am rolled around Jane thought to take matter into her own hands. She needed sleep! She opened her prescription bottle, got out three times her prescribed dosage, threw her head back, and popped 'em in.

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Kurt had taken the Lexus and parked about three blocks from Jane's safehouse because whether he wanted to admit it or not, Nas was right Sandstorm could definitely see him coming to Jane's safehouse as a huge red flag and decide to "cut their losses".

While walking Kurt shot Jane a quick text to let her know that he would be coming through her back door.

No answer.

He slid open her back door and immediately closed it once he was inside.

"Jane?"

He took a couple steps deeper into the house silently praying that she didn't just oversleep.

Then he saw her.... Well her hair, she was covered by the small coffee table in Kurt's direct sight line. She seemed to be laying on the ground in... The middle of her living room?

Kurt side stepped the coffee table, his first instinct being to check for injuries. He took a couple more steps before turning completely around.

OH MY GOD SHE'S NAKED!

Kurt said internally.

"Jane what are you doing?!" She obviously wasn't injured or distressed. This just kept more and more bizarre.

"Shhhhhhhh!"

"Excuse me?" Kurt said still turned around.

"Shhhh this is Jane's calm zone."

"Your what?"

"Shhhhhhh!"

What is wrong with her? Is she sick? No she's not coughing, or sneezing, or sweating, panting, moaning.....

Weller oh my God this is serious, get your mind out of the gutter!

Kurt scolded himself.

Okay okay okay so she's naked, on the floor, engaging in odd behaviors, and talking strangely..... Oh God.

"Jane are you high?"

"Ohhhh yeahhh."

Jane giggles and lightly snorts.

"Most definitely."

Sh*t.

"Okay then what are you on?"

"These little pills called Vaseline. Uh- no umm like valentine...valet??? Viola... Things."

"Valium?"

"YEAH! You're so smart, my next guess was Voldemort."

"Where did you get them from?"

"Th- that british guy, who's kind of hot."

Borden.

What am I supposed to do with her? She obviously can't go to work.

Kurt looks over his shoulder to see Jane "stargazing" at her popcorn ceiling.

"Look Kurt I found the big dipper!"

"Jane it's 11am and you're inside!"

Ugh God. Okay first and foremost I need to get her off the floor, into some clothes, fed, and then straight to sleep. Then contact my team to let them know I'll be taking the day and so will Jane. Optics be dam*ed, she needs me. And after Jane wakes up we are going to have a serious talk. Okay let's move.

#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:

Later at SIOC.

"Guys it's Weller!" Patterson yelled signaling for Reade, Zapata, and Nas to follow her to the center console of her lab.

"You're on speaker."

"Is everyone there?" Kurt asked.

"Yep you got all of us." Tasha answered.

"Great. Jane and I are taking the day off. She has a couple of... issues to work out, to say the least, but we'll be back tomorrow."

No-one of the team dared to question this initiative, so Kurt started to delegate.

"No field-work is done without my say-so. Patterson you are in charge of any and all investigative work involving the tattoos. Nas the same instructions go for you except with the Sandstorm case. Tasha-" Kurt was cut off by a loud crash in the background.

"Yes?" Tasha responded.

"Hold on." Kurt walked from his "pacing spot" in Jane's living room to see Jane on her counter top with five porcelain, easily breakable, plates in her hands. "Jane, get down from there! What are you doing?" Kurt approached her slowly. She threw another plate at the wall mimicking the crash from earlier.

"Borden says channeling your anger is good for you!"

Jane says as she breaks another plate.

"I'm pretty sure this isn't what he meant!"

Another plate.

"Jane! Okay okay okay, why are you angry?"

"Because you made me put on clothes!"

She says throwing a plate towards Kurt who just barely dodged it.

"Um-" Kurt sputters fully aware that he's still on speaker phone, and the entire team can most definitely hear this conversation.

"WHAT IF I WANT TO BE A NUDIST HAVE YOU THOUGHT ABOUT THAT? HUH KURT!"

"Jane please get off the counter."

Kurt rubs his temple then brings the phone back up to his ear.

Tasha and Reade are equally stunned and confused, Patterson is trying her hardest to stifle her laughter, while Nas is completely unamused.

"Trouble in paradise?" Reade asked.

Patterson and Tasha back away from the console and cover their mouths to not let Weller hear their laughter.

"Very funny." Kurt says and rolls his eyes.

"Okay seriously what is going on? Why is Jane talking like that? And is she okay?" Tasha questions back to back.

"Oh-My-God." Patterson says, in complete Patterson fashion, wheels turning in her brain so fast you can almost see them. "She's high."

Tasha, Reade, and Nas collectively turn to look at Patterson.

"No... No way. Jane is way too hyper-focused on this to be on something." Reade tries to rationalize.

Kurt rubs his temple again.

"Look Jane and I are taking the day, Patterson you have tattoos, Nas you have Sandstorm, Tasha you're on approvals and clearances that anyone may need from me today, and Reade you get the fun job... Paperwork!" Kurt jokes (a rare occurrence really).

"Oh come on!" Reade exclaims.

The team, even Nas, chuckles while they hear another crash from the other side of the phone.

"Jane I swear to God if you throw ONE MORE PLATE!" Kurt directs his attention back to his team. " Ok everyone I really need to go. I'll see you all tomorrow."

"What about Jane?" Tasha asks.

"Let me worry about her."

"Well at very least try not to get a concussion." Reade quips.

"I'm hanging up now."

"Wait!" Patterson says.

"Yeah?"

"Don't think I don't notice."

"Excuse me?"

" Okay okay okay? You're taking a couple of pages out of my book! I'm actually quite flattered." Patterson smirks.

Kurt lets out a light chuckle.

"I think we all have actually. I heard Reade say 'opposite opposite' the other day!"

"Oh really!"

"Hey! We were supposed to keep that between us!" Reade jokingly scolds Kurt.

"I really have to go now, I'll see you guys tomorrow."

Kurt hangs up.

#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:

Once Jane ran out of plates Kurt looped his arms around her knees and pulled her forward so she would fall over his shoulder. Then he calmly walked her back to her bedroom, where he thought she had been sleeping, and layed her down.

It would have been awkward to carry Jane to bed in only a shirt and panties in a completely platonic way, if he hadn't already done it three other times already. And counting. Plus he was glad (somewhat disappointed, if we're being honest) that she even kept on that much. Trying to control Jane had always been hard even when she first came out of that bag in Times Square, let alone now!

Kurt tucked her in for the fourth time today.

"Now Jane, I really need you to stay in bed this time okay?"

When Jane didn't acknowledge him, Kurt sighed and climbed into the other half of her bed to lay down.

"Whatareyou-"

"We are taking a nap!"

Jane gasps. "A Jeller sleepover!"

"Jeller?" Kurt chuckles.

"It's Jane and Weller, I made it up a longggg time ago."

He's gotta admit that when she's not a royal pain "high Jane" was actually pretty funny.

It seems as though having a "Jeller sleepover" was a perfect idea because once she grabbed Kurt's midsection, intertwined her bare legs with his,and snuggled up with him she immediately started dozing off.

That's when Kurt started asking questions. He figured that the best time to try and get any useful information out of her would be now, at her most vulnerable, high and tired.

"Jane?"

"Hmmm?" Jane basically hummed, her voice almost completely back to normal.

She readjusted her 'snuggling grip' around Kurt, holding him tighter. Kurt couldn't stop the butterflies he got from the gesture.

"What did you want to ask?"

He didn't want to ask her why she needed the pills. He wanted her to confide in him with that information, not scheme it out of her. Only when she's completely competent and sober will he ask her that.

"How long have you been taking Valium?"

"About four months, I think?"

Four months. So as soon as she got back from the black site, almost half a year and I had no idea.

"Can I go to sleep now?" Jane said with almost childlike innocence.

Kurt hated to deny her anything but he needed answers.

"Two more questions okay?" He stroked her hair then quickly took his hand away.

"Okay." Jane nuzzled her head into his chest.

More butterflies.

Kurt cleared his throat to compose himself.

"Earlier, when you were on the counter you said that Borden told you that you needed to get your anger out."

Jane yawned.

"Yeah, he said breaking things is a normal coping mechanism with PTSD, and actually one of the least destructive ones compared to drinking."

"Hmmm."

She has PTSD??? Of course she has PTSD she was in a freaking blacksite for three months what did you expect? And you didn't even check in on her.

"Ok last one, you said earlier that you were utilizing your "Jane calm zone". What is that?"

Jane closed her eyes.

"It's where it's quiet." Jane looked up at Kurt for the first time since he got in her bed.

"My thoughts swirl around my head all day unwantedly. They distract me, all the time. Sometimes I can't think because they're screaming. So I imagine a calm place,it's different everytime. The setting doesn't really matter, I just need quiet."

Kurt just stared at her. Whatever he was expecting her to say, that definitely wasn't it. He thought her "calm place" was just a direct hallucination from the Valium, but to know she actually uses it to.... Quiet her thoughts.

He shivered.

"Go to sleep now Jane."

He stroked her hair again. He's been refraining from touching her. High or not he would still be holding her in bed, but he was exhausted. So what the h*ll he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her even closer than she was holding him. It felt better than it should.

He was still actively ignoring his feelings about Jane but he wasn't mad at her anymore. They could even laugh and joke sometimes. He wanted to be there for her. Now more than ever. She needed him, whether she would be able to even remember today or not, she needed him.

Within two minutes of them holding each other they were both in a deep sleep. That couldn't last long enough.

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[shyficwriter]

Hope I'm not too late for this, sorry if so. Could you do one where reader one way or another shrinks into a young kid so Yondu has to care for her all the while trying to find a cure? Sorry if this prompt is too weird or if it's late, as said, and thsnk you none the less. Keep up the great work btw your Yondu x readers really warm my heart and make my day it is soooo hard to find platonic relationship stories with Yondu.

What an interesting concept! I don’t think I’ve seen anything like this before! [Edit: I just remembered there was an episode like this on Supernatural where a witch turns Dean into a kid, so apparently I have seen this before lol]

Hope you like it! (It came out way longer than expected for a drabble though! ha ha)Word Count: 6,274(Prompts are now closed!)“Watch out!”

Those were the last words you heard before turning to see a brilliant white beam of light burst forth and enveloped you.

That morning Yondu said you were coming along on a mission to steal a machine. None of you knew what it did, just that there was a client who had hired the Ravagers to steal it from a scientist on Calurnia. The most any of you could assume, based on how much the client had offered to pay, was that it was likely dangerous. And now you were staring directly in its crosshairs as it misfired.

The mission had actually been going pretty well up until this point. There didn’t seem to be anyone guarding the machine, so the heist was surprisingly relaxed. Gef was busy un-bolting the machine from the wall with Scrote, and you were waiting with the others to help carry all the other parts out once they were done.

In a way, you supposed you could blame Peter for your situation now, for if it weren’t for him calling you over to check something out you wouldn’t have walked in front of the machine at just the wrong moment when Gef slipped and fell on the controls. Now, you might have been considered one of the more bad-ass Ravagers on the team, but since none of you knew what the machine did, no one really would have faulted you in that split second for nearly peeing down your leg when the light hit you and your heart stopped in fear, assuming you were dead.

However, that’s not what happened. You didn’t die when the blinding light enveloped you. You didn’t burn to a crisp, or melt into a puddle, or develop oozing sores, or anything terrible like that.

It was over in a split second. The beam hit you, the bright light blinding the rest of the Ravager team, and then as soon as it happened, it was over.

Confused shouts picked up volume as everyone tried to figure out what happened. Of course, because the only seemingly visible trace of you was a pile of your clothing, they assumed you had been vaporized at first. Yondu was about to tear Gef a new asshole for his incompetence costing them a member of the team, until they heard a cooing noise over the commotion.

With raised eyebrows everyone looked in the direction of the noise, not sure what to make of it. Finally, Yondu cautiously walked over to inspect the sound emanating from your pile of discarded clothes, and was shocked at what he had found.

You had been turned into a baby.

You weren’t newborn, but you couldn’t have been much older than a year old. It took you a moment to realize what happened and why everything suddenly looked bigger. At first you thought you had be shrunken, but then you looked down at yourself to see that your hands weren’t your own. It was hard to see, as you were trying to fight your way out of your now much too big jacket, but you had the tiny arms of an infant, and you realized in horror that there was only reason that could be before you hear footsteps approaching you.

Yondu hesitantly pulled back the jacket to reveal a now much younger you. He picked you up and held you at arms length. He looked at you in confusion, “What the-?” is all he managed to get out, and that’s when your infant self actually did pee down your leg, though at this time you didn’t really notice as you were still panicking. All you could think was how you now embodied a baby, and how this wasn’t ideal.

Yondu wasn’t amused, having only narrowly avoided the mess splashing on him, though the crew would have found his expression funny had the whole situation not been so bizarre.

Yondu handed you off to Kraglin, who was less than happy having to cradle your squirming baby form; you didn’t exactly like being lifted and passed around. “What are we gonna do with her?” he asked.

“We gotta change her back, right?” asked Peter.

“We can’t figure it out now, boy. We stick around much longer we might get caught.” Yondu reasoned. He instructed Gef and Scrote to finish disconnecting the machine and load it onto the ship. Hopefully they could figure it once you all got back to the Eclector and had more time.

Scrote joked about just dropping you off at an orphanage on the way instead of worrying about it, but Yondu just glared at him and he got back to work.

To the dismay of Kraglin, you began to fuss. You didn’t want to wait, you wanted changed back now!

If only there was some way to let them know you were aware of everything, that you may look like a baby, but you still had your adult mind. Unfortunately for you, your reactions were quite limited due to your infant body. You couldn’t speak to tell them to piss off, so fussing would have to do.

It didn’t seem to be working. Kraglin just passed you off. “Here, entertain the baby, Peter.”

At first Peter started to refuse, but after a receiving a warning look from Yondu he relented, and begrudgingly took you in his arms. “What am I supposed to do?”

“I dunno, kid.” Kraglin said. “Just, play peek-a-boo or some crap until we can get this thing loaded up. Just keep her from fussing.” He then tossed Peter a shirt you had been wearing from your pile of clothes. “And here, might as well cover her with something.”

Peter rolled his eyes and groaned, he hated it when Kraglin called him a kid just because he still happened to be in his twenties. He sat on the ground with you, trying his best to make the adult size t-shirt fit around your infant body.

It wasn’t until now that it hit you that you had been stark naked this whole time. You were mortified, despite the fact that you supposed “baby butt” wasn’t really the same as being nude when you were an adult.

“How’d I get stuck with the baby?” Peter muttered when he was finished.

You stared at him in annoyance. You weren’t exactly fond of this situation either. You started to fuss out of spite.

“Keep her quiet, boy!” Yondu scolded.

You’d show him quiet. You fussed louder. Yeah, you felt childish, but you felt you could make an exception for these circumstances.

Peter tried playing peek-a-boo, but you ignored him. Unlike an actual baby, you actually had a concept of object permanence, and you didn’t exactly feel like playing along. Maybe if you fussed more they’d hurry up. The quicker you got back to the ship the quicker they could find a way to change you back.

Your fussing was cut short, however, when Peter got an idea. He started gently tickling your tummy, cooing out a “Cootchie Coo!” as he did so. Your fussing, to your chagrin, turned into happy giggles.

“Aw! Is the baby ticklish?” he cooed. “Is she? Is she?”

You wanted to curse at him to quit it, that you weren’t a child. But you couldn’t, because, well, at this moment you were a child and the only sounds you could make were happy giggles as he playfully wiggled his fingers over your chubby baby tummy.What you hated more, and you’d never admit, was that this was actually kinda fun. Within a few moments you no longer felt like fussing and found yourself actually enjoying the game. You decided to blame this on the fact that you were currently in the body of a baby. If you were full size you would have punched him, you were sure. Mostly.

Within a few moments more Yondu called for Peter. They were finished with the task and it was time to board the ship. This meant the game was over and you were surprised to find that you were actually kind of disappointed.

Once back on the ship a new problem had risen. Where would they put you? They couldn’t just strap you back into your seat like normal. The seats weren’t meant for babies. After some discussion it was finally agreed that Kraglin would pilot the ship with Scrote, while Yondu sat with you in his lap in the back. He didn’t really trust the other Ravagers or Peter to hold onto you properly, figuring they’d drop you or something, and so placed the task on himself.

You wanted to fuss at this. You didn’t want to sit in anyone’s lap like a child, much less your captain’s! However, once everything was settled you found you lacked the energy to start fussing. It actually was kind of comfortable sitting in Yondu’s lap, and he was humming a tune, just low enough for the crew not to hear over their conversations, which was slowly lulling you to sleep.

The next thing you knew you had woken up as you were being laid down on something cushy. You looked around and realized you were in the Captain’s Quarters and someone had laid you on the couch. Yondu and Kraglin were discussing the elephant in the room with the rest of the Ravagers from the mission.

“What the hell are we supposed to do with a baby?” Kraglin asked. “None of us know anything about babies!” He sounded anxious.

“I’m tryin’ to figure that out.” responded Yondu. “There’s gotta be a way to change her back. Gef, you get on that. Find Oblo and the two of ya work it out. Kraglin go with them, make sure they don’t mess it up.”

Gef nodded with a, “Yes, sir!” before leaving the room, and Kraglin begrudgingly followed, afraid he’d be stuck with ‘baby duty’ if he didn’t.

Scrote popped off again about being serious about tossing you in an orphanage and you glared at him the best you were able with your baby face. He wasn’t looking, of course.

You angrily, but carefully, tried to climb down off the couch. You’d show him. You didn’t know what’d you’d do, but you’d figure it out. When you successfully landed on the floor without hurting yourself you had a mind to check if you had any teeth to bite him with. A quick search of your gums with your tongue proved fruitless. No teeth. Damn. Could you walk at least? You attempted, and made a couple of wobbly steps before you fell to the floor. You rolled your eyes. You could work on it. You decided to resign to crawling on the floor for now and listening for a bit, looking around to see if maybe there was something you could throw at him.

While you were busy contemplating ways your infant form could cause Scrote bodily harm Yondu was busy scolding him. “We ain’t gonna just put her in an orphanage! She’s still a part of this crew, and that means we’ll figure it out! Get on out of here if ya don’t have anythin’ useful to contribute ‘fore I assign ya to diaper duty!”

‘Diaper duty? Shit!’ You had completely forgotten about that. How could this get any worse? While it would be funny to see Scrote have to change dirty diapers, you’d be damned if you were gonna get him change you. Geeze. You just knew you’d never live this down when you got changed back.

While you were lamenting Scrote hurriedly walked out of the room. After he was gone you heard Peter speak up again. “Uh, Yondu-?”

“What, boy?” Yondu snapped in frustration. He was just about done with this day. He didn’t want to hear anymore questions about what they were supposed to do with you.

“Where’s the baby?”

“What?” Yondu’s expression changed from annoyance to surprise. He looked around, noticing you were no longer on the couch. “Aw, what the hell!”

You sighed. You knew you couldn’t exactly expect to be given your space right now, but come on. You crawled out from behind the couch and into view before the guys could have a conniption.

“Oh, there she is!” Peter said in relief.

Yondu walked over and picked you up off the floor. “Why can’t ya just stay put?” he asked, not really expecting an answer, but getting a pout in response.

“Ugh, what’s that smell?” Peter asked, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “Warn someone next time, geeze!”

You could smell it too. Ugh! What did Yondu eat today?!

Yondu looked at him. “Don’t blame that on me, boy! I thought it was you-” then it it them. Yondu’s eyes narrowed at you. “Why ya little-”

It was then you too realized, in mortification, what the smell was.

“Peter-” Yondu tried, but Peter was already halfway out the door.

“Sorry, Yondu! I got to go do that… thing… chores- you asked me to do, bye!” and with that he ran out the door.

Yondu yelled some swears at him as he left before turning his attention back to you. “Dammit,” he sighed, realizing he didn’t have any available crew left to do this dirty work for him. “Let’s just get this over with.”

***

The next day at breakfast Yondu noticed Peter had already finished eating and before he could get away stuck him with the task of feeding you. When asked with what and how Yondu grabbed a yarrow root from the bowl on the table and told Peter to mash it up and spoon it to you. Yondu then grabbed a fruit for himself and sat down next to Kraglin to eat.

“Looks like you slept better than expected.” noted Kraglin, surprised that Yondu didn’t have a “the baby cried the whole night” story to share that morning. After weighing the pro’s and cons the night before Yondu claimed he decided to bite the bullet and keep you in his quarters so the crew could sleep. A ‘selfless act’ from their captain. In truth he was worried about putting a baby in the trust of anyone else. What could he say? He knew his crew.

“I’m as surprised as you,” Yondu admitted, taking a bite, “but she slept clear through the night.”

“Can’t complain about that.” Kraglin said.

“Nope. How’s Gef coming on that machine?”

“Well, he’s not there yet. He got it running, and he turned an adult orloni into a pup, but he hasn’t quite figured out how to reverse it yet.”

“Well tell him to hurry up.” Yondu warned. “We don’t got forever with it, eventually we gotta hand it over to the client.”

Kraglin nodded and left, finished with his breakfast. Yondu turned his attention to you and Peter, finding you fussing and Peter an exasperated mess as he tried to feed you.

You didn’t want to be fed like a child, you were sure you could do it yourself! But it didn’t matter how many times you’d grab for the spoon or throw the food back at Peter, he wouldn’t get the hint. You might be in a baby’s body, but was it really that hard to realize that you were smarter than one??

“Dammit, boy! Hand her here.” Yondu said in annoyance after seeing the mess. “Ain’t ya never fed a baby before?”

“No!” Peter cried in irritation. “Have you?”

“Well, no,” Yondu admitted, “but it can’t be as hard as yer makin’ it out to be!”

Yondu plopped you on to table in front of him, took the bowl of mashed yarrow root from Peter, and tried feeding you himself.

You started to fuss again but Yondu just stared ya down. “There ain’t gonna be any of that, missy.” He scolded. “Now ya settle down and eat it, that’s an order!”

You pouted but obeyed your captain’s orders, allowing him to feed you the rest of the mashed root.

“How’d you do that?” asked Peter, clearly annoyed Yondu was having an easier time. He attempted to clean himself off with a napkin. He swore, if he didn’t know better, it was like you were actively listening to and obeying Yondu’s orders.

“Ya just gotta let ‘em know who’s boss, boy.” Yondu said smugly, clearly pleased with himself. You internally groaned. What you wouldn’t give to be able to talk right now.

***

Later that day Yondu found himself with some free time, but unable to pawn you off on anyone else to enjoy it. He didn’t trust more than half his crew with a baby, and the other half was either away on various missions or working out a way to change you back. Eventually he just resigned himself to staying in his quarters with you. Maybe if he’d turn on the TV it might keep you occupied as well.

It didn’t work.

You just weren’t interested in watching some boring wrestling match, so you kept trying to crawl away from the spot he had designated for you on the floor in front of the TV. After about the 5th time of having to retrieve you from wandering off Yondu opted instead to sit you in his lap so he could keep an eye on you.

You began to fuss again. You were bored! If he was going to keep you cooped up in here the least he could do was let you crawl around! Hell, you could even be practicing walking or something!

Yondu turned you to face him. “Enough of that. What do ya want?” He said crossly. Part of him felt silly. He knew you couldn’t understand him.

You pouted and attempted to talk, but you could only manage gibbering babbles as your vocal cords clearly weren’t as developed as you’d like them to be yet for holding an adult conversation. In your frustration you smacked at his arm with your tiny hand.

“Yer a mean lil’ shit, ya know that?” Yondu said, a grin threatening his grouchy facade. He had to admit, you were kind of adorable. “We gotta work on that.” With that he started tickling your belly and you squealed in happy giggles. “See, that’s better!” Yondu laughed. “Ya don’t need to be sitting around looking so mad all the time!” He started cooing and teasing you, saying things like “Gitchy-gitchy! I’m gonna getcha!” and “Now who’s a happy lil’ shit? I think it’s you!”

You giggled and wiggled under his attack. Had you been in your adult form you probably would have punched him and told him to fuck off out of embarrassment, worried that it would hurt your image as a hard-ass. However, since you weren’t, you just allowed yourself to enjoy the game, just as you had with Peter. You supposed it could be worse, you could still be bored, and actually you were kind of having fun if you were being honest. It wasn’t often you just got to laugh and be care-free, so you supposed you could enjoy it while it lasted, even if you would definitely deny anything of the sort once you got changed back. Again, you had your “bad-ass” image to protect, after all.

The same could be said for Yondu as well. The only ones who ever got to see anything close to his softer side were Peter, you, and Kraglin to an extent. What would his crew think if they saw their mean ol’ captain baby-talking and playing with a giggly baby? They might think he was going soft, and he couldn’t have that. But he didn’t have to worry about that right now. He could just be carefree for a bit and enjoy the fact that he got to see you laugh, even if it was the baby-version of you. You didn’t seem to do much of it anymore these days. Probably too concerned with needing to look tough around the guys was his guess.

The game continued for a bit more until Yondu was satisfied he had tired you out. You remained giggly even as your eyelids drooped and before long you fell asleep for a nap right in his lap. He figured you could sleep there for a bit while he watched the rest of the match on the TV. Looking down at you sleeping he chuckled quietly to himself.

“Cute lil’ shit.”

***

By around mid-day of the next day Gef still hadn’t figured out how to use the machine to turn you back, but he had turned 5 adult orlonies into pups trying. The only thing he had discovered was that if the beam hit something that was already a baby, it didn’t have any noticeable effect. This wasn’t exactly progress, but it was a slight relief to know that if they hit you with it again and got it wrong that you wouldn’t disappear or anything.

Yondu was growing increasingly agitated at the slow progress, not that he’d tell anyone he was actually worried though. Not only were you one of his best workers, but he did care for you and Peter like his own children. You were his little girl, just as Peter was his boy, though he’d never admit as much for either. He definitely wasn’t going to be happy if they couldn’t change you back.

After Oblo left to rejoin Gef after delivering the news Peter sat you on the ground to crawl around and turned to Yondu. “Yondu, what do we do if we can’t turn her back?” He sounded more worried now. Yeah, you were already like his younger sister, but this was ridiculous. “Like, do we… raise her? And just wait for her to grow up?”

You heard this and you stopped crawling. You sat on the floor in disbelief. That was one outcome you hadn’t considered. Could you really be stuck like this? Forced to live with a young adult mind inside of the body of an infant? You couldn’t handle that possibility. It wasn’t fair. You were already hating every moment of this, and now there’s a possibility you’d stay trapped like this? You broke down, and wailed like the infant you currently embodied.

“Oh hey! Hey! Shhh. You’re ok!” Peter tried to sooth as he picked you up from the floor.

“What happened?” asked Yondu, concerned. “She hurt herself?”

“I don’t know. She doesn’t look hurt?” Peter said, looking you over as you continue to wail. “She can’t be hungry, we just fed her, and it doesn’t look like she needs changed.” He found a small brightly colored cup and in desperation to stop your cries tried to present it to you like a toy.

“I think that’s the first time she’s actually cried this whole time.” Kraglin noted. “I guess it was just a matter of time. It was actually starting to get weird.”

Just then Scrote walked by, and noticing your cries, coughed out the word “Orphanage!” as he walked past.

Yondu growled and called for his arrow, driving it to point right between Scrote’s eyes. “I told ya to knock that shit off!”

Scrote stood frozen in fear. “Sorry, boss! It won’t happen again!”

“Ya bet yer ass it won’t!” growled Yondu, “Go clean out the grease traps in the kitchen. Now.” He called back his arrow and Scrote scampered off to the Mess Hall, knowing the punishment was better than death by yaka arrow.

By this time you had accepted the cup from Peter solely for the purpose of throwing it at Scrote. You missed, of course, with your tiny baby arms not being able to throw it that far, but Peter took notice.

“Um, guys?” he asked, starting to piece some events from the past couple days together. “Do- do you think she can understand us?”

“What?” Yondu turned back and looked at the two of you incredulously. Surely you couldn’t?

“I mean, call me crazy, but she kinda doesn’t act that much like any baby I’ve seen, and it’s like she reacts to what we say. She stops fussing when you order her to, she never cried at all until just now when I mentioned the possibility that we can’t change her back, and she threw the cup at Scrote for the orphanage jokes. I’m really starting to think she can understand us.

You looked at Peter as he spoke and stopped crying. You excitedly clapped your hands and squealed. Yes! Finally someone noticed! Thank god, Peter!

Yondu and Kraglin looked at your display in disbelief and then to each other. That definitely looked like you understood Peter’s claim, but could that really be true?

“Hey,” Yondu caught your attention, bringing himself to be eye-level with you. “Are ya really in there? Can ya really understand us?”

Again you clapped and let a little squeal of delight. Yes! You could understand! Thank God! Maybe now they could stop treating you like a dumb baby!

The three men looked at each other alarmed. Peter quickly sat you down on the table. “Uh.. Ok. Two claps for yes, one clap for no, understand?”

You clapped twice, a happy grin on your face.

“Holy shit.” said Kraglin. “She’s really in there!” He almost seemed to pale at the thought. “So she understands exactly what’s been going on!?”

You clapped twice again, startling him. This made you giggle.

“I guess that would explain why she always looks so mad when we change her diapers then…” Peter said.

You frowned, and sheepishly clapped twice. You gave him a look that even he could read as “Trust me, if I could avoid it, I would.”

“Holy crap.” Peter said, and Yondu’s face showed he shared the same sentiment. “Ok, um, maybe this means she can help!” He turned back to you. “Before you got turned into… this, did you notice anything that might help us turn you back?”

You sadly clapped once. ‘No, I was too busy thinking I was dead!’ you thought.

Yondu frowned. “Don’t worry. We’re gonna get you changed back. Gef and Oblo are workin’ on it right now.”

You nodded. You, of course, already knew this.

Peter tried to think of a better way for you to communicate. “Um, do you think you can write?”

You weren’t sure, so you clapped three times, hoping he’d get the message.

“I’m going to take that as an ‘I don’t know.’“ he said. You clapped twice in response as he pulled a small notepad and pen from his pocket. He handed them to you.

You took the objects and attempted to write. Obviously you knew what words you wanted to say, and could remember how to write in your mind, however, you lacked the motor skills to accomplish the task. All you were able to produce was illegible scribbles. You looked up at him sadly and slumped your little shoulders.

“It’s alright,” Peter said, “We’ll figure it out. Besides, I’m sure you’ll be back to normal in no time!”

You didn’t respond, you were sure he was only trying to comfort you and didn’t actually believe it.

“I gotta admit, this does make diaper changing more awkward knowing she’s actually in there.” said Kraglin.

“Well I bet it’s been awkward for her this whole time,” Peter replied.

You clapped twice.

“Well, I mean, do we do things differently? She’s still in a baby body? Do we still help feed her? Or the diapers? She can’t even walk really, I doubt she can use a toilet on her own.”

You covered your eyes with your little hands in embarrassment, and that told them all they needed to know about that.

Yondu decided to speak up again. “Well, we don’t like it anymore than ya do, but since we don’t really gotta choice we’re all just gonna have to suck it up until we can change ya back. An’ that means ya gotta stop fussin’ all the time. Now we know yer in there an’ got a way of communicating ya can quit fussin’. Understood, missy?”

Begrudgingly you clapped twice. You were more than ready to communicate like an adult, but getting them to listen and understand was another thing.

Peter began to chuckle, “Ya know, once you get changed back, the crew’s never gonna let you live this baby-thing down,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.

You threw his pen at him. You knew he was right. They would totally try to tease the hell out of you once this was over.

“Hey now, what’d I say about fussin’, girl!” Yondu scolded, a hint of play in his voice. He scooped you up. “If yer gonna keep acting like a baby I might as well treat ya like one!” he chuckled as he tickled your tummy, making your squirm and giggle in his hold.

The other two actually laughed, a little bit of the tension lifted. Knowing you were in there and knowing they could embarrass you to pieces by teasing you about being a baby somehow made the situation slightly better.

But one thing was certain. If you had any doubts before, you were sure you’d definitely never live this down now.

***

The next day went smoother. You were less frustrated now that the other’s stopped treating you as much like a baby wherever possible, unless they were just trying to embarrass you. Everything wasn’t perfect, but it was a start.

That morning Peter asked if you wanted to try feeding yourself, and you happily tried, wanting some independence back. Unfortunately the little matter of poor motor skills came into play and it became clear that you were better off letting Peter do it for you.

Despite this, a lot of the frustration was still lifted off you, so you decided to have some fun during some off-time on the ship.

Kraglin was off helping Gef and Oblo with the machine, but Yondu and Peter were hanging out in the captain’s quarters cleaning their blasters. Now that they knew you weren’t going to go off and choke on small objects, or whatever else babies could do to accidentally harm themselves if left unattended, you were free to crawl around as you pleased. You decided to entertain yourself by throwing small objects you found on the floor at the guys and quickly hiding behind furniture before they turned. Really you just wanted something to take your mind off the fact that the client was going to be expecting the machine soon, and you were running out of time if they couldn’t figure out how to change you back.

Peter got up after the third time of being hit with your projectiles and made to come after you, threatening to sit you on top of the dresser if you didn’t quit. You avoided capture from Peter by slipping under the sofa, but Youdu pulled you out from the other side.

He laughed as you let a surprised squeal and kicked in his grasp. He flipped you upside down and tickled your belly. “I already told ya, if ya wanna act like a kid, I’ll treat ya like a kid!” he chuckled, trying to sound stern but not succeeding.

“Wait, you know what I just realized?” Peter said, looking almost shocked, with a hint of mischief.

“What?” Yondu asked, stopping his actions and allowing you to escape to the sofa.

Before Peter could respond with his realization Kraglin came bounding into the room. “Boss, we got a problem! The client is here for the machine!”

“We were supposed to bring it to him!”

“He says he got tired of waiting!”

“Well, stall him!” Yondu ordered. He turned to Peter and told him to grab some clothes from your quarters. He was going to take you and try to speed Gef and Oblo along.

***

Peter got to the room where Gef was working with the machine soon after you and Yondu did, and Yondu ushered him to shut door behind him.

Yondu told Gef that the client was there now for the machine, he had to reverse it now.

“I think it’s close!” Gef said. “Just let me test it real quick, I think I got it!”

Everyone stood back as he fired the beam at the orloni pup.

Nothing happened.

Yondu scolded Gef, and he hurried to try another combination of buttons. Again nothing.

Yondu looked furious and Gef scrambled to explain that he had only one combination left to try. This one was bound to work, and if it didn’t… well, there was nothing more they could do.

“Ya better hope this works then.” Yondu said coldly.

Everyone held their breath as Gef set up again, pushing the buttons in the final combination. The bright light filled the room and when it faded everyone looked to where the pup had been.

It had worked. It actually worked! The orloni pup was now full grown again!

Cheers of excitement filled the room and Yondu ushered Peter to get you ready. He wasn’t sure how long Kraglin could stall the client.

Peter was fitting you into one of your t-shirts and a pair of pants the best he could, figuring you would just grow into them as you changed back, when Yondu’s communicator went off. It was Kraglin saying he couldn’t stall the client any longer and he was heading your way.

“Ya heard him!” Yondu called to Gef. “Get a move on! The client will be here any minute!”

Peter quickly moved out of the way and Gef hastily plugged in the same combination of buttons as before.

Angry knocking could be heard at the door.

“Jus’ a minute! I’m comin’!” Yondu yelled back, motioning for Gef to hurry up and finish.

Gef pushed the last few buttons as the knocking began to intensify. The doorknob began to rattle and Peter quickly went to push his weight against the door.

Like before the room was filled with a blinding bright light as the beam flooded over you, and just as before it was over nearly as soon as it started.

You let your eyes adjust and patted yourself down as soon as you saw you no longer had the limbs or body of an infant. “It worked!” you said excitedly, standing up. “It-”

Just then the door to the room burst open, pushing Peter to the side as a very irritated Krylorian businessman walked in with Kraglin following nervously behind. When Kraglin’s eyes landed on you and he saw you were changed back a visible relief washed over him.

“Geeze, ya couldn’t wait for me to answer the door?” Yondu said, acting as if nothing strange had just occurred and feigning annoyance. “Ya must have been more excited for this thing than I thought.”

The businessman eyed him suspiciously, but seeing as he couldn’t find any faults to complain about he instead opted to just talk business instead. He paid Yondu the rest of the bounty and Yondu instructed Gef and Oblo to help Kraglin load the machine onto the man’s ship.

When the men had gone and it was just the three of you left Peter turned to you with a shit eating grin. “So-”

“Not a word.” You said coldly, a blush already creeping up your neck.

“That’s fine, because I don’t need any words to know this works on you now.” he said, wiggling his fingers into your stomach. It was this that he had realized earlier; a ticklish baby-you would very likely mean a ticklish adult-you, and he was right.

You smacked at his hands and told him to quit, biting back your giggles.

“I could’ve sworn I said something to ya about quittin’ yer fussin,’ girl.” Yondu interjected, a grin almost as wide as Peter’s as he joined him in the mischief, tweaking your ribs and laughing as you tried to wiggle away, laughter now bubbling from your lips. Really, he was just happy they were able to change you back in time, and glad to see a smile on your face.

“Aw, is our little hard-ass ticklish?” Peter cooed, knowing this would embarrass the hell out of you, “Is she? Is she?” he laughed, noting how you still squealed happily when he tickled your belly, despite your efforts to act like you hated them for it. You had that “hard-ass” image you needed to protect, after all. Even if you definitely didn’t look very tough at the moment.

Eventually they stopped, leaving you a mess of residual giggles. “You both suck.” you whined, grin still plastered on your face. You supposed you didn’t actually hate them for it, but they were definitely the only ones who could get away with that without you gutting them.

“Consider that payback for having to change your diapers.” Yondu chuckled, turning to leave and motioning for the two of you to follow.

“And for the constant fussing. You really were cranky baby.” Peter joked, laughing as you punched him in the arm.

The teasing from them continued throughout the day until it was time for bed. And then it picked up the next day at lunch when Peter asked if you needed him to feed you. And the day after that on a mission when Kraglin spotted an empty diaper pack on the street and joked about how he was glad they were able to change you back, because changing your diaper for three days was more than enough.Then there was all the times when you’d be alone with Peter and Yondu and they’d decide you looked “too mean” and decided to team up and “cheer you up” with tummy tickles.

You were right. You were really never going to live it down.

[sibilantly]

hi, sib. i just read your fic persistence, and it was so beautifully done that i wanted to drop you a note. your writing has seriously been such an influence on mine, but lately i've been having so much trouble because of my ocd. now i can't read anything without nitpicking the grammar, much less write. it's been this way for months now and i feel like i'm losing my mind. all i ever wanted was to write something good but... well, at least i still get to read something by you. i shall be content.

I’m sorry for the delay in replying, anon. Your message was so thoughtful, but also struck this… almost painfully bittersweet, personal note with me, and I had to take a couple days to reflect.

I’m so happy you enjoyed Persistence - it was a lil 500 word labour of love, but it’s somewhat different from my usual body of work, and I was a bit nervous putting it out there. So I’m delighted you enjoyed it. And it’s quite flattering to hear I’m an influence on your writing, since I feel I’m still learning the craft of writing, in many, many ways. Thank you!

Now, as for the latter half of your message…

Oh, anon.

Nonny non anon, I feel you. I’ve been… well, perhaps not right in your shoes, as I have never had OCD. But I’ve been in the same vicinity, most definitely.

Up until half a year ago, or thereabouts, my writing process was: write out a few paragraphs (if that - sometimes it was barely a paragraph) and then rework them. I would rework them over and over and over, until I felt they were just right. Only then did I feel I could move on. I felt like I was laying the foundations for a house, you know? If I didn’t get the first things laid down just right, then everything that came after would be on shaky ground, might even come tumbling down.

Thing is, writing is more like sculpting. You dig up some clay (your discovery draft or your outline, whatever), you mould it (your first draft), and then you carve and add little bits, over and over (editing. and more editing. and more. fucking editing >.>)

Anyway.

Eventually, I started slowing down, and the threshold of what I could stand before I needed to edit got smaller. It became ‘write a few lines. stop. edit those lines over and over’. And then it became ‘write one line. stop. edit that line over and over’. Rinse, repeat.

It got to the point where I stopped writing completely, for almost half a year, because everything I wrote down was so far from what I envisioned in my head, it was crushing. I had the exact same despairing thought you did: ‘All I want is to write something good’. And if I didn’t write it down, if I kept it in my head, it was good. It was perfect, in fact. Surely that was better (I thought to myself).

I feel you, I feel you, I do.

I wish there was some magic bullet that I could use to erase all those thoughts from you, to divide writing from editing in your mind, because they’re two very different processes. I would… well, I would use it on myself first, because I am human and selfish, but then I would turn it on you, and everyone else who is plagued by this period ;)

But the horrid thing (which I was very, very displeased to realise), is that if you want to write, the only thing you can do in this period is just… push… through it.

D:

It’s the worst fucking epiphany ever. If I got that in a fortune cookie, I’d be fucking pissed. But it’s seriously all there is.

There’s nothing wrong with not wanting to write, if you ultimately decide it’s not for you.

BUT.

If you do want to write, or if there comes a time when you’re not content with reading, and… y'know, you’re willing to indulge me, random fanfic lady on the internet, I want you to do this:

Pick up the pen (or put your fingers to the keyboard, but if you can, I recommend pen because you can’t backspace pen and paper) and eke out some words every day.

It doesn’t have to be a lot. It might just be a sentence.

Whiskyrunner, who we all generally acknowledge to be amazeballs, went through a period where her goal was 10 words a day because she knew she could achieve that.

That’s important. Pick a word count that you know you can achieve, not one you have to push yourself to achieve, because if you fail, you will self-flagellate. Trust me, I have been there. I hated every son of a bitch who recommended ‘write every day’, because for every day I failed to write a page, I’d hate myself a little more, and the joy I found in writing would shrink. (And they’d always recommend a page, or pages, and I’d be like, ‘What, motherfucker? There are some days when I can’t summon up the energy to get out of bed, and you want me to write a page? Pages?’ There should be some script that edits ‘write every day’ to ‘write an amount that’s achievable for you every day, even if it’s one sentence’, I think.)

Write until you hit your word goal or until you’re satisfied, whichever you have the mental energy and fortitude for that day. If there’s a day where you do the latter, don’t fall into the trap of thinking you have to match that the next day. Don’t move the goal posts. Your goal is still (X) words. Everything beyond that is like the stretch goal on a Kickstarter. Nice, but not the main aim.

Next (and this is the hard part - or, at least, it was for me: do nothing.

Don’t tweak them. Don’t delete them. Don’t touch them.

The second you hit your goal, close the doc, close your notebook - whatever you write in. You did it, you achieved the goal, which is ‘(X) number of words’.

Do whatever you need to do to remind yourself of that.

Your goal is not '100 (or 50 or 25 or 10) good words a day’. Your goal is words.

Just words.

To paraphrase Bane: now is not the time for qualitative judgement, only quantitative. Right now, you’re at the 'digging up the clay’ stage of the writing process. You’re just trying to get enough clay to sculpt into some lumpy-looking motherfucker which you will eventually carve down into your nice sculpture.

(Don’t think about the sculpture right now. Think about (X) number of words, and digging up clay.)

There was a point where I did all sorts of objectively bizarre things to remind myself of this, and to outfox my anxiety-ridden brain and its need to edit, including, but not limited to:

- writing on a fresh page each day, even if it meant 90% of the preceding page was still blank

- opening new docs each day to write my daily goal (which I would then have to piece together later, haha)

- using that program - ilys? - that only lets you see the last letter of what you typed

- muttering to myself ‘the goal is (X) words. the goal is (X) words. the goal is (X) words. only the number of words matters. only the number.’

If you’re anything like me (and, hey, I felt your message on a deep level, so I think we’re at least a little alike), you will hate every word you write with this process. You will hate this process, period. You will want to go back and retool the words because holy fuck, what if someone, somehow, gets access to your notes and sees this mess you just eked out? What if you die, and all that’s left to show of yourself as a writer is this half-written piece of shit?

(Okay, maybe that last fear is just me.)

Still. This is normal.

But how you feel about your writing immediately after writing it is not an objective, accurate measure of how good it is. You’ll be tired, you’ll be stressed, you’ll be comparing it to the image you have in your head and thinking about how far apart they are and despairing.

Stop there.

Close the doc (or the notepad, or the notebook, or turn over the post-it note (I did that at one stage, too - writing on post-it notes, haha)). You did it, you wrote the words. You dug up some clay. No one will see them but you, and whoever you choose to show them to. You can edit them later. You can make them better, or throw out whole paragraphs or whole pages if you need to. But later. Only after you finish the draft, however many new pages or new docs (or post-it notes) it takes.

Try to be kind to yourself. It’s so damn hard, I know it is, but try to remind yourself that what you wrote for the day does not define you as a writer. Even the finished, edited work does not define you. It just shows what you were capable of writing in that moment, on that day, at that point in time.

I can’t guarantee this will work for you. But there is something to be said for habit, for retraining one’s brain (to a certain extent). If you do want to try writing again, and you try this, anon, know that I’ll be proud of you, and I’ll salute you for the very act of trying.

Much love,

Sib

(P.S.: Here, I recovered a partial copy of the very first draft I wrote of Persistence. I don’t know where the rest is (on paper, probably), but hopefully it’s enough for you to see the difference between draft and finished work, and to… idk, have a good chuckle, maybe, but hopefully feel reassured, too ;). We all write shitty first drafts. They’re the clay that you mould into something better.)

They’re two levels down, in a sunny, light-filled build meant to evoke the mark’s childhood home and favourite holiday spot, when the windows and the door and the fucking walls blow in, and a SWAT team swarms in like a tide of gun-toting ants.

(DUST, STUFF FLYING EVERYWHERE. YELLING. CHUNK OF PLASTER GOES FLYING TOWARDS EAMES.)

Eames ducks, which means the chunk of plaster misses him, but, unfortunately, takes out Cixin, their extractor, with a wet crunch. They’ll have to work on Cixin’s spatial awareness later, Eames thinks.

The SWAT team levels their guns at the remainder of Eames’ team. Even a few years ago, Eames might’ve considered running. Now, he just raises his hands, gets down on the ground when ordered to.

Everyone else runs.

There’s sporadic gunfire, the sound of running footsteps, truncated screams and cut off swearing as Eames’ team is violently kicked out, one by one.

Eames stays where he is until silence reigns.

(FOOTSTEPS, A GUN MUZZLE AGAINST EAMES’ BACK, BUT NO SHOT COMES.)

Eames peeks upward, just in time to see the leader of the SWAT team yanks his mask off, revealing Arthur’s exasperated, sweaty face.

“I can’t believe you’re working today, of all days,” Arthur says. “I should probably shoot you just for that.”

“But you won’t.” Eames rolls over onto his back, smiles his most charming smile as he gets to his feet. “And you have to admit it’s somewhat fitting, me working today.”

Arthur smiles fondly, diluting the exasperation. “Maybe.” He looks Eames up and down. “You look good.”

“You’re lying, but thank you,” Eames says. He nods at Arthur’s outfit. “That looks good on you.”

Arthur is inspecting his outfit. “You know, this wouldn’t be a bad disguise, if you were working on an opposing team. Make the other team think you’re the mark’s militarisation–”

“Stop right there.”

“What?” Arthur says. “Worried you’ll be tempted away from the side of the angels?”

“Worried I’ll be tempted away from my regular paycheck, anyway,” Eames says, sniffing.

Arthur chuckles, then nods upward. “Are they going to give you the kick soon?”

“Not just yet. They’re probably debating whether or not I’ve gotten to the safe or not.”

“You need to get on top of that,” Arthur says. “You can’t have your team hesitating over what to do next on live jobs.”

[anthrat]

The Akatsuki members as high-school students

Has this been done before? Probably! Do I care? No, because these are my terrible headcanons and nobody can take them from me.

A/N: This has been in my drafts for a long time, probably since early February. I’ve been lacking motivation to do anything at all for months and lo and behold, I find this basically finished piece bar one character. I really, really want to start writing again but I’m struggling to think of ideas, so if you have any requests for future headcanons/one shots/etc feel free to slide me a message or something :)

He's definitely the generic super intelligent kid who gets straight A's in pretty much every subject. All of his notes are really well organised, he keeps bullet journals and everything is colour coded - mans notes are literal art. His handwriting is definitely beautiful, we're talking professional calligrapher here.

All of his equipment is immaculate, he cries if one of his books gets a crease or something on it somehow. If you accidentally nudge him or ruin his notes he will silently hold a grudge against you forever - he probably won't act on his grudge though, he just wants to blend in and he dislikes conflict in general.

Despite being fully aware of his intelligence he hardly ever speaks up in classes. He only really speaks when spoken to and so is renown as the token quiet kid. I also envision him as being super pretentious, although he doesn't show it he definitely thinks he's better than everyone else.

His favourite subject would be English because he enjoys analysing anything and everything. If you're friends with him he will make comments on how random pieces of media etc. are a representation of -insert important world issue or theory.- He'd also like art despite it being the only subject he's not very good at. All his art is abstract, he will draw a pink square and claim it represents a patriarchal society.

Doesn't have many friends because he isn't very talkative, spends most of his time at school alone doing schoolwork. Sees school purely as an educational setting and so doesn't see the point in making an attempt to be social.

All of his school equipment looks like it's been mauled by 300 dogs because its all second/third/fourth+ hand. Man would never pay full price for a textbook. He definitely steals all the faculty equipment too. You could fill an entire room with the amount of stationary this man has but he will NEVER lend it to anyone else. If he does lend you something it's because its either A) broken B) barely functional (so like pens which can write 2 letters before running out) or C) you're giving him something better in return/paying for it (even then he'll probably take whatever he lent you back without you realising)

He also definitely runs mini-shops in school where he'll sell stolen equipment and things like sweets/chewing gum/trendy items (he made bank when fidget spinners were a thing) for like triple what they're actually worth.

His favourite subject is definitely history (He's a crusty dusty old man so of course) but he will never admit this. He takes business and economics but hates them, he's already done all of his own research into the subjects and is only doing them to get the qualification. Definitely complains about how he already knows it all already and it's a waste of time for him to learn it again. His only conversation topic is him talking about how he's going to set up his own business as soon as he leaves school.

Is very intelligent but only gets average grades in most subjects because he refuses to try if he dislikes the subject or sees it as a waste of time.

Watched DeathNote once and now thinks he's an actual real life version of Light Yagame. Carries around his own DeathNote and threatens to write people's name in it.

Convinced that he's been bestowed with supernatural powers, whenever he speaks he does lots of flashy hand gestures, - think generic cool-dude protagonist poses - these change depending on what piece of media he's currently obsessed with. His personality also changes alongside the poses.

Basically what I'm trying to say is he's the over-saturated 'weird anime kid' with a touch of superiority complex. Although, he's super confident and has absolutely 0 shame in this fact.

Bless his little heart, he loves writing but is the definition of 'uses complicated words without knowing what they mean'. He's still decently smart though. His grades would probably be pretty average because he struggles to apply himself properly. His favourite subject would definitely be something like sociology where he can freely express his profound ideas, even if some of them are completely god awful. He'd also enjoy any subject which gives him creative freedom such as art or English.

Cannot see this lad as anything but a jock. He loves sports, lives and breathes them. He's probably a member of practically every single sports team and is surviving on the basis he has a sports scholarship of some kind.

Despite him being a jock he'd be the most approachable out of all the Akatsuki members. He's the kind of guy who no matter who you are he'd always be happy to crack jokes and talk with you. He definitely brings in way too much food, he's that dude who brings a whole mini banquet to school every day for no discernible reason. He's always happy to share though, he's definitely the kind of guy who if he saw someone sat by themselves at lunch he'd sit with them and offer them food.

His grades would be a little on the lower side because most of his free time is taken up with all his sports, however, he'd still work hard at his academics regardless. If anything this man is probably the most dedicated, he would hate the fact that he's falling behind all his classmates but at the same time would rather die than give up any of his extracurricular activities.

He'd be fairly popular because of his naturally easygoing and humorous nature, but people would rarely ever invite him to events as they'd just assume he was busy.

Konan is an absolute babe, the kindest and most caring person in the whole school. Forgotten your lunch? She'll buy you some or give you her own. Didn't do your homework? Bitch will give you hers to copy, if it's an essay or something she'll sit with you and help you write it. Looking a little upset? Konan's right there to try and cheer you up even if you aren't friends.

Despite how wonderful and 100/10 a person she is she probably won't have many close friends. She'll get used a lot by others who take advantage of her good nature. She's smart enough to know what they're doing but she doesn't care, she's happy to be of help to anyone even if they don't appreciate it.

She's a bit of a teachers pet though, she's on super good terms with every teacher in the school even if she doesn't take the subjects they teach. Most of her breaks/lunches would be taken up by her helping with display boards or whatever.

Her favourite subject would be geography, she'd really enjoy learning about different cultures and societies. I can see her just really enjoying learning about how rivers are formed and stuff like that as well. Her least favourite would be something like math which is only fact based, she enjoys being able to look at things from different perspectives.

Also bitch would bake all the time, literally every lesson she'd whip out a box of cakes/cookies/anything else she'd baked the night before to share with the whole class.

Carries knives around with him because he thinks they make him look cool. He can and will whip one out at any given opportunity so he can flex a knife trick on you. His knife tricks suck though, he always drops them or cuts himself, if you try and walk away he'll beg you to stay claiming that fortieth time's the charm or something.

He never shows up to lessons, he doesn't even know what one is. If you ever ask him what subjects he takes he'll look at you blankly and ask what you mean. If he ever is in a lesson it's because he was dragged there by a member of staff. Honestly, the few lessons he's actually present for are so chaotic teachers find themselves praying he doesn't show up. Being as he never willingly shows up he'll never know what subject it is, and he'll ask insanely bizarre questions un-ironically because he gives no fucks and has no idea what is happening. For example, you'll be learning about arteries in biology and he'll ask something like "What ingredients do we need?" because he'll have confused arteries with artichoke and think he's in a home economics lesson.

Despite being the weird knife kid he's pretty popular, he's so completely brain dead and unaware of his surroundings that its impossible not to get along with him. He doesn't have the critical thought to bully anyone and so even if he tries to be horrible it always comes off as though he's just trying to be funny.

Oh dear oh lord what can I say about Zetsu? Zetsu is an absolute shit show of a student. Black Zetsu I can see as being very academic focussed, with their favourite subjects being religion, politics and some form of economics. I imagine they’d be very active within school politics/religious scenes, probably the head of some sort of group for both.

Black Zetsu would also be interested in applying for positions such as Head of Year, Class Representative and anything similar. They’re a big control freak and as a result have basically 0 friends. People would find them overbearing and awful to be around. They’re the incredibly opinionated kid who dismisses anything which they don’t personally agree with.

White Zetsu on the over hand, hoo boy. Class clown obviously. The living bane of Black Zetsu. If Black Zetsu wants class representative then you know people will vote for white Zetsu instead because he’s infinitely more popular. He’s incredibly weird but in such an innocent and goofy way they’d have a large group of friends. They wouldn’t be popular per say, but they’d be friends with practically everyone.

Their favourite subject would probably be biology because sex jokes, but I also think they’d enjoy English because uhh… Sex jokes. I just can’t see White Zetsu taking school even slightly seriously.

He basically lives in the art department. If you walk near him he will tag along and start talking to you about art, it doesn’t matter who you are you will be forced to listen to his speech.

Incredibly confident and has no issue starting a conversation with anyone. He's definitely the type of person who every time you see him he'd be with a completely different group of people, whether they want him there or not.

Despite his weird constant art rants he'd be the life and soul of the party. He's always fun to be around purely because of how much energy he has. He'd be the kid who makes everyone laugh completely on accident, although people would probably be laughing more at him than with him.

He'd probably get invited to lots of places by other kids just so he could be the butt of every joke. He wouldn't mind though, he'd brush it off and probably enjoy the attention he gets from it.

Most of his friends would end up being people who know nothing about art though, all the students who participated in any artistic subjects would stay far away in fear of him starting another argument about art.

If the art class ever does clay his has to be put in the kiln separately because it always blows up. He also has a habit of 'accidentally' damaging other people's art if he dislikes it. Eventually he would mellow out and start appreciating other forms.

Nobody knows who he is, people will have sat next to him for years and won't even know his name. The amount of times his name is called in the register and people will pipe up with "who's that?" or "didn't he move to another school?" is genuinely concerning. He doesn't care though, he'd rather go through school completely unnoticed.

Excels at all subjects (besides sports, he's never showed up to a PE lesson because of 'health reasons') despite putting very little effort into academics. His favourite subjects would be biology and math. He'd absolutely hate art as a subject, preferring to do art in his free time rather than make it into a chore at school. He'd have been put in Deidara's class at least once and it would have completely ruined all enjoyment of art as a subject for him. He'd also hate any subjects which prompt discussion such as English or sociology, he doesn't have any opinions on them and he doesn't care to listen to anyone else's.

Honestly, dude is the definition of a background character at school. He just simply does not exist, and I have mad respect for him. On the off chance anyone even tried to speak to him he'd probably completely ignore them, the only communication he has at school is through emails with teachers. He has 0 interest in making friends when they have nothing in common with him.

Another character sort of hard to pinpoint. He’d probably be somewhat similar to White Zetsu, but not quite as popular. He’d be a right teachers pet, with few friends his own age. He’d probably spend spend all his breaks and lunches with teachers in their classrooms, offering to help them with display boards etc.

Despite being a teachers pet he wouldn’t be academic whatsoever. He’d always try his best but bless him, he’s terrible at every subject and ends up constantly making a fool of himself. He’s definitely the sort to raise his hand to make a really great point, but his really great point is basically repeating the lesson objective. When studying of mice of men he definitely asked “what’s the name of Curly’s wife’s husband?”

His favourite subject, regardless of his ineptitude would be drama. He’d always be the most melodramatic and over the top in every character he played, not really caring what other people thought of him. In fact, that’s probably his best feature. Despite his lack of popularity he’d always unapologetically be himself, his goofy and over the top self.

SPOILERS AHEAD:

If we’re thinking more about Obito, I’d like to imagine for the sake of this headcanon Tobi is what he’s like during lower school years and then suddenly one summer he comes back and he’s completely matured into this foreign character unrecognisable to nobody.

He’d become incredibly serious, forgoing the role of energetic teachers pet to a much more muted one. He’d still be just as terrible at all his lessons, and still spend most of his time around teachers rather than others his age but he’d no longer have that fun spark. He’d probably start caring greatly about what people thought of him so his latter years would be trying to stay under the radar completely.