#I've thought about this after not thinking for long time

[cupidbedsy]

୨୧ protective, not possessive ; pb5

➪ summary: another win for the huskies means another night out at a bar celebrating. but when your trip to the bathroom takes a little longer than your girlfriend thinks it should, she's balancing on the edge of protectiveness and possessiveness.

➪ warnings: a brief unwanted touch, too much use of look, gaze, stare, and any other synonym for those

➪ word count: 1.7k

➪ cupid's notes: i've had this in my drive for a month now and i'm finally able to post it ! i think i like it, idk guys it's past midnight rn. anyway, i wanted to say thank you again for 1k, i'm positively over the moon with the amount of love you've given me. i hope you guys enjoy the fic !

© cupidbedsy ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

After dating Paige for a few months now, you had grown accustomed to going out after wins and celebrating with her and the team. Even though going out and getting semi-dressed up was not your thing, you would do it for her every time she asked. 

Tonight was no different, your jacket was discarded due to the heat of the packed bar, the slightly revealing shirt you had picked out earlier in the day on display, and jeans hugging your thighs in just the right way that made everyone’s heads turn towards you.

You sat next to Paige, her arm wrapped loosely around your waist as she twisted her glass in her other hand, talking to KK and Azzie. The situation was familiar, something you had done millions of times, jokes you had heard before, but for whatever reason, tonight felt off. 

Maybe it was the test you took today, a new weight off your shoulders you hadn’t felt in so long, or maybe it was the fact that you knew your room was in a messy state and you knew that that was what you had to go back to after this. Whatever it was, it left an uneasy feeling, a growing pit in your stomach.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you looked over at your girlfriend, watching her laugh at something one of the others had said. You didn’t want to worry her, you just needed a moment to compose yourself. So you reached for her t-shirt, tugging slightly to get her attention, sucking in a breath as her gaze met yours.

Her smile was still present when she looked over at you but her eyebrows were furrowed in confusion at the sight of your distressed expression, something that only she was able to detect. She leaned closer, lowering her voice to a murmur, “You okay, ma?”

You nodded, letting your fake bubbly presence consume you, “Yep, totally fine. Just need to pee, I’ll be back.”

She nodded, watching you carefully as you slipped out of her hold, pushing your way through the crowd of bodies toward the back of the bar where the restrooms were. She let herself focus back on the conversation at hand, easily falling back into the rhythm of it. 

She was almost too far into it to notice that you had been gone for more than 10 minutes, but when she reached for your hand to play with the rings on your fingers she remembered where you had gone. She scanned the bar for any sign of you but was left with a frown when she couldn’t find you. 

She excused herself from the table, stuffing her hands in her pockets as she followed the path you had taken earlier to the bathroom. And if she hadn’t been staring down every single person in that building like they had done something to hurt you, she wouldn’t have found you against the wall, talking animatedly about something to a guy who stood in front of you. 

Her eyes narrowed, taking a step toward the two of you but was cut off by an eager woman who was holding a pen and a napkin in her hand. Paige tried her best to give her a kind smile, keeping the protectiveness pushed down as she talked, “Hi.”

“Hi, I’m so sorry to interrupt but my niece absolutely adores you, and I was just wondering if I could have your autograph so I could give it to her.”

She let her smile turn genuine as she heard her explanation, nodding and taking the items from the woman’s hand, scribbling her signature across the white napkin before passing it back to her. She sighed softly when she finally left her alone, redirecting her eyes to where you were standing and she swore you had upped the wattage of your smile even more than when she saw you before.

This time, she avoided any more interruptions as she made her way to the two of you, stopping just to the side of you, hands back in her pockets.

Neither of you noticed at first, your mouth still moving faster than your brain could comprehend. He had a small look of fondness in his eyes as he looked at you, nodding along to each word you said. 

You on the other hand, despite talking so happily, had thought you had made it clear that you were the furthest from interested in him. 

You bumped into him on your way out of the bathroom, in the small corridor that split between the men’s and women’s doors. You had caught wind of something he had been saying to his friend, something that you instantly recognized as one of your many hyperfixations and you wasted no time launching into a conversation with him, your tendency to ramble on and on overtook you in seconds. 

You barely registered his hand reaching out to place on your hip, but the soft brush of his fingers against your exposed skin caused you to jump, excitement washing off your expression.

Paige’s protective instincts kicked in, reaching to intercept his second attempt of grabbing you, wrapping her arm around your waist, and glaring at the guy.

She looked down at you, finally tearing her heated stare from him. She softened immediately, squeezing your hip and giving you a lazy smile to make you more comfortable, “Everything okay, ma?”

You were getting a wave of deja vu as she asked the question, the feeling you had earlier coming back. You gave her a hesitant nod, glancing over at the guy who stood there, slightly awe-struck at the sight of you two together.

He gulped nervously when the fire returned to Paige, “You two are dating?”

The blond nodded, pushing you slightly behind her, not wanting you to be in his direct line of sight anymore. However the guy didn’t want to push his luck, between the look on your girlfriend’s face and the weight of eyes from the table across the bar where the team sat, it was enough to have him muttering an apology and practically running off towards another group of girls. 

She waited until he was far enough away from the small corner you were in to turn and look at you, studying your face intently. Despite the scrutiny she had you under, you couldn’t help but smile and relax, peering up at her with what she could call your signature doe eyes, ones that made her want to drop everything and kiss you, bottom lip between her teeth. 

“Did he say something before that? Make you uncomfortable?”

You shook your head, still having yet to say a word to her since you left for the bathroom nearing 20 minutes ago at this point. It irked her in the slightest, usually, you were talking her ear off - just like you were doing earlier with that guy - about some new TV show you started watching or a new recipe you found on TikTok, but now she could barely get a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ out of you.

“Babe you sure he didn’t do anything, because you know I’ll-”

“Paige,” you interrupted, voice soft but firm enough that she shut her mouth as soon as she heard it. 

You rose on your tiptoes, kissing her cheek, “I’m fine. I promise, we were just talking and the touch caught me off guard, it was harmless.”

“Didn’t look harmless. Looked like you were gonna crap your pants.” She grumbled, dropping her hands to her side.

A laugh bubbled out of you and she finally cracked a smile, little but noticeable. She loved making you laugh, it was the easiest thing for her to do but every time she did she felt like she had won the championship, as cheesy as it was. 

“I did not look like that.” 

“Sure you didn’t. I’m positive you would’ve ruined this perfectly good pair of jeans if he said one more thing about- what were you even talking about?”

You turned sheepish as you mumbled out your hyper-fixation to her, causing her to roll her eyes in return.

“Alright, if that conversation continued, I probably would’ve punched him for making you have to get rid of my favorite pair of jeans on you.”

“Paige, stop. I didn’t look like that.” Your protest was whiney and your lips formed a pout as you continued to stare up at her. 

The tiny smile she had widened into a grin as she reached a hand towards your hair, moving it over your shoulder and letting her fingers rest against the back of your neck, thumb grazing your jawline steadily, “You’re right. You looked gorgeous just standing there, baby. You get that glow around you when you ramble.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks and you knew it had nothing to do with the growing crowd on the dance floor a few feet away from you. The new pink tint to your cheeks only caused Paige to smirk more. She didn’t say anything though, using her other hand to your hip and bringing you impossibly close, your foreheads resting against each other. 

If you were aware of any looks on you before, you weren’t now, every noise and blur of color fading into the background as your eyes bore into hers. 

And the two of you stayed like that for at most 30 seconds but to you two, it felt like hours. You closed your eyes as she let her thumb brush across your cheek, letting whatever stress and uneasiness that lingered go away, a distant memory of the past. 

“I’m always going to be there to protect you, you know that right?”

You hadn’t heard her voice that unsure in a long time, and maybe you were imagining it but when you opened your eyes again, you saw the unmistakable uncertainty on her face. You frowned, “‘course I know that. Would never doubt your possessive nature.”

She scoffed, “I wasn’t being possessive. Just cautious.”

“Oh is that what we’re calling it now?” 

The two of you started to make your way back to the table, her hand intertwining with yours, swinging your arms back and forth. 

“Next time,” she spoke after a beat, voice teasing. “I’m going to the bathroom with you.”

“Not possessive my ass.”  You muttered, but you should’ve known better than to think she wouldn’t hear it because soon her hand did meet your ass, another grin on her face.

꒰ UCONN HUSKIES TAGLIST ꒱

@fantillisgirl

PB5 MASTERLIST ; WBB MASTERLIST

TAGLIST ; NAVIGATION

[thewidowsledger]

Good Luck, Babe

Chapter 4: A Piece Of You | 4.0k

© thewidowsledger - DO NOT REPUBLISH AND PLAGIARISE

Summary: The once secret, a forbidden love hidden from the world. Those stolen moments together had been thrilling, but ultimately, drove the person you truly love away from you. But when she left, she didn't just leave you; she also left you a part of herself that would constantly remind you of her for the rest of your life. This fragment of her essence became an indelible mark on your soul, shaping the course of your life in ways you never could have imagined.

You know what they say, when someone leaves, someone else will come.

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

Tags | Warnings: +18 ANGST, cheating, smoking, smut but it was kind of cut off so it's just smu— pls laugh guys

Author's Note: This is about to get ANGSTIER. Nat's pain is valid but is her actions justifiable? Does r deserve all that? Pls pls pls I want to have y'all's thoughts, leave it in my inbox or in the comments or else I will not continue writing this jk i'm not joking. I removed some parts here that I think would be a better use on the next chapter that will be posted in 3 weeks (I know it's gonna be a long wait, but I've got to update the mob boss au and I've got to serve some angst fics for y'all)

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⧗

You're leaning over the counter, trying to read and sign the slip for Aliah's exams. You're terrible right now, you didn't realize how private schools can be so complicated that you have to sign a permission slip before they let your daughter take an exam. Suddenly, someone peers over your shoulder.

"You don't even know what you're signing, do you?"

This bitch.

You didn't look entirely at the woman but you saw her in your peripheral vision. You returned your focus on filling up whatever paper you are filling up.

But suddenly the woman leans in closer, her musky perfume overwhelming your senses. She effortlessly points out the correct line, her long fingers tapping the paper. "Is your child a transferee?" she asked and you nodded nervously.

"Check that one, then don't write anything down here." You gulped and nodded before shakingly dragging your hands to do whatever she just said.

When everything was signed, you double checked to make sure to get everything right this time. You push it towards the clerk, who scans it quickly. "All done, Mrs. Romanoff," she says with a smile.

"Romanoff." You heard the woman behind you whisper. You finally turn to face her, your heart racing as you meet her gaze.

The woman stands tall, her blonde hair cut short and stylish, framing her square-shaped face. She's dressed in a black leather jacket, paired with jeans and combat boots, giving her an edgy, intimidating look. She holds your gaze for a moment longer before her gaze flickers to the wedding ring still on your finger. Her expression shifts slightly, becoming more calculated. "So, you're the wife of one of the big sponsors of this school? Natasha Romanoff?" She asks the question almost casually, but there's an underlying intensity in her tone. "The transportation tycoon?"

The mention of her name and the title made you feel a pang of discomfort. The word wife and the title of being Mrs. Romanoff suddenly feels like ill-fitting suits. Your marriage, after all, had been little more than a convenient arrangement—for your daughter. So you are not sure whether to confirm or not, so you just let out a small awkward smile hoping that she won't budge further about her question. And the blonde seemed to read between the lines that theories started to formulate in her mind. She was about to formally introduce herself when she saw a kid running towards your direction.

"Mommy!" She watched you scoop up a little girl that clearly is yours, giggling as you attacked her face with kisses.

Behind her was another girl, it was the blonde's niece, catching up. "Auntie!" The little girl waves, her gap-toothed smile wide. "Up!"

Without missing a beat, the blonde reaches down and scoops up the kid, tossing her playfully into the air before catching her. The kid squeals with delight. "Hey, monkey face," she says, ruffling the girl's curly hair. Then her kid glances at Aliah who was in your arms.

She grins, her eyes bright. "Auntie, this is my new friend, Aliah!" she announces proudly. You turned around so you and your daughter could face them together, then Aliah looked at the woman who was carrying her friend, her little hands waving with a grin.

Now, it's your daughter's turn to introduce her newfound friend to you, "Mommy, this is Monica!"

"Hi, Monica."

The blonde watches as you speak to Monica. She's mesmerized by the way you interact with the children, so gentle and natural. Monica giggles at your greeting, "Hi!" she chirps back, climbing down to her aunties grasp.

Aliah wriggles out of your arms, wanting to join Monica on the floor. The two girls run off together, laughing and chattering excitedly. Now, you're left standing alone with the blonde again. She clears her throat nervously, a slight flush creeping up her neck, "I hope I didn't overwhelm you with my question a while back."

You shake your head with a warm smile, waving off her apology with a casual flick of your wrist. "O-oh, no worries." Your voice is sincere, as you pull the strawberry shortcake trolley bag of your daughter towards you.

Over the years, even when Aliah wasn't transferred at this school, you had always been present and active—you're always there, quietly observing, helping when needed, but never seeking the spotlight or engaging in small talk with other parents.

You glance around the hallway, taking in the other parents chatting and laughing in small groups. This is unfamiliar territory for you. Despite your active involvement in Aliah's school life, you've managed to maintain a certain level of privacy, keeping to yourself and avoiding unnecessary interactions with others as much as possible. Especially now, being in this marriage under the convenience of your daughter and being in this new school, it has only reinforced your desire for privacy. You don't want others knowing your personal business.

"So, how is…your daughter adjusting?" her question pulled you out of your trance.

"She's doing well and she seemed to be adjusting quickly." You respond briefly, keeping your answer vague but positive. You don't elaborate further, not wanting to delve deeper into Aliah's personal life or yours and invite more questions. She seems genuinely nice. She's not trying to pry in a malicious way—she's just being friendly. But your private nature won't allow you to relax and chat casually like the others.

"That's good."

After the painfully awkward silence, there was a sudden impact of the ball against the blonde's head that made your lips twitch despite your usual guarded expression. She stumbles slightly from the impact "Oh my..." she mutters, rubbing her head.

"S-sorry…" you bashfully stuttered as she saw you trying to hold your laughter back.

But what you didn't know is that she smiles victoriously, pleased to have finally seen a crack on you. Then, she traps the ball between her feet skillfully, making you raise an eyebrow. She looks your way, catching your surprised expression. She smirks slightly, then kicks the ball high up in the air, sending it back to the students with perfect aim and unexpected strength.

"Show off." You murmured to yourself.

She overhears your quiet comment, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. She adjusts the strap of her niece's bag, feigning ignorance but purposefully stepping closer to you. "Did you say something?" she asks teasingly, obviously enjoying your rare slip of emotion.

"N-no…" You giggled softly, you looked at her and she smiled.

"I should've introduced myself earlier but yeah, I'm Carol. Monica's aunt." She lends her hand over you.

"I-I'm Y/N…Aliah's mommy." Your small, hesitant hand disappears into her larger, calloused one.

She grins widely at your soft-spoken introduction. "Nice to meet you, Y/N." She smiled, gently releasing your hand. "So…I'll see you around?"

You didn't answer, your attention to her was long gone after you saw your daughter running towards your direction. You then fixed her trolley bag and prepared to leave.

Carol can only watch you and your daughter walk away, an unknowing smile playing on her lips. Then, all of a sudden a ball comes flying out of nowhere and hits her square in the back of the head again. She stumbles forward, letting out a loud "Ow!" and a string of curses under her breath.

"I'm not a fucking soccer goal net!"

"Auntie Carol, you said bad words!"

⧗

In the dining room, you and Aliah sit at the table, enjoying a quiet dinner together. Aliah chatters excitedly about her day, telling you all about the kids she played with and the games they played. You listen attentively, smiling at her enthusiasm, occasionally asking follow-up questions. You also made sure to ask her if someone or something is making her feel uncomfortable, it is a small routine you do with her to make sure she is comfortable and safe in school.

Aliah suddenly stops eating, her brow furrowing. She looks down at her plate, pushing her food around with her fork. You watch her carefully, knowing that look. She lifts her big, brown eyes to meet yours. "Where's Mama?"

As if on cue, her Aunt Yelena walked in the dining room. Aliah instantly perks up and slides out of her chair to run to her great-aunt's open arms.

"Yeye!"

"Hey, baby!" She scooped the small child onto her arms and put her back to her chair. "Finish your food, I have a surprise."

"Hi, Yelena. I cooked pasta, I'll get you some."

She couldn't decline as you were already walking to get her a plate, so she sat down beside your daughter kissing her forehead.

You placed the plate of pasta in front of her, "Thank you, Y/N." She smiles at you, her eyes meeting yours briefly before she focuses back on her food. "Mmm, this is really good," she says between bites.

All of a sudden, Aliah pipes up, her voice loud. "Mama!" She whines, looking around the room. Yelena sets her fork down, realizing the absence of her sister during dinner. "Yeah? Where's Natasha?" She asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

You immediately recognize the tone in Aliah's voice—that slightly higher pitch whine that signals a tantrum incoming. You kept your voice calm and soothing, "I'll get Natasha. Sounds like someone wants her. Rick told me she just got home an hour ago but he also said that she has an important meeting right now, but I'll check."

Walking out of the kitchen, you run your fingers through your dark hair, glancing sideways at the large picture frame hanging in the hallway. You catch your reflection—you lean in to see if your make up was still on.

As you near her office, you subtly adjust your blouse, smoothing out the wrinkles. Then, you push open the heavy door of Natasha's office carefully, you peeked inside, your eyes immediately drawn to her, seated in her high-back leather chair, facing away from the doorway. There was a head peeking through her desk. Clearly, a woman with wavy red hair was kneeling in front of her. You notice the absence of Natasha's wedding ring on her finger as she's tied the red-haired woman's hair with her tight grip. Natasha moans softly, tilting her head back, exposing her neck.

You were too shocked, too frozen, too numb to feel the tear that slid down your cheek.

Slowly and quietly, you pull the door closed, careful not to make a sound. Your heart pounds in your chest as you stand in the hallway, that single tear now joined by others streaming down your face. The shock and pain of the scene you just witnessed hit you like a physical blow. Your stomach churns and you feel the sudden urge to throw up. The room spins and you grab onto the wall to steady yourself, trying not to pass out from the overwhelming dizziness that washes over you. You inhale deeply through your nose, counting to four in your head, then exhale slowly through your mouth, counting to four again, like how your therapist taught you. You repeat this pattern, trying to calm your racing heart and clear your mind, fighting the panic attack that threatens to consume you.

"You're okay, you're okay, Y/N. You're fine. You're okay." You chanted over and over as you wiped the tears off your face.

You manage to pull yourself together and walk back to the dining room, putting on a brave face. Yelena looks at you suspiciously, your puffy eyes didn't go unnoticed by her.

"Baby, m-mama is in a very important meeting. Okay?" The blonde also noticed how your voice almost cracked as you spoke. Your daughter who is oblivious to the turmoil within you, behaves angelically as she finishes her food. The threat to tantrum was long gone. "Yelena? C-can you put Aliah to bed tonight? I've got…some things to do." You asked her hesitantly.

Yelena's eyes soften with worry, obviously noticing how uncharacteristically gentle and strained your voice is. Without a word about your eyes or voice, she simply responds, "Sure," flashing a small smile.

She also made sure to pay a visit on her sister's meeting tonight.

⧗

You retreat to your room, walking towards your large cabinets, you abruptly open your one of the drawers, grabbing the pack of marlboro red. Your fingers hover over them as you wrestle with temptation. Your hand trembles slightly, knowing the instant relief those chemicals could provide right now. The tightness in your chest, the dull ache from holding everything in…

It's an unhealthy habit that you've been using as a coping mechanism at the same time, it is an unhealthy habit you're trying to get yourself out with.

"Fuck," you whisper, unconsciously unrolling the pack's wrapper.

The cigarette trembles slightly between your fingers as you light it. The smoke curls up around your face, mirroring the storm brewing in your eyes. You sit on your bed, staring at nothing, the self-loathing growing heavier with each puff.

You took your wedding ring off your finger, you tried not to let the dam of tears break from your eyes as you examined the ring.

Everything's becoming clear to you now.

A dark voice in your head begins to whisper, planting seeds of self-doubt and guilt. You hurt her, destroyed her. Therefore, you deserve this pain, you deserve every pain she gives you. You're not good enough, never were. Your mind continues to whisper poisonous thoughts. You took a deep drag of the cigarette, the smoke burning your lungs like the guilt burning your soul. "This is karma," you told yourself. "You deserve every bit of her hate…"

A flicker of memory flashes before your eyes—the early days with Natasha, the sneaking together, the way she would sing for you in the middle of the night whenever your heart is heavy after a loss, whatever tournament you had joined. Your heart aches at the bittersweet nostalgia, the knowledge that you threw all that away because you were a fucking coward.

You stood and walked out onto the terrace, the night air enveloping you like a cold blanket. You took a long drag before exhaling slowly, watching the smoke dissipate on the icy breeze. The nicotine buzz barely touches the edges of your pain, but it's something. "She always hated these fucking things," you murmur, half-smile tinged with bitter irony.

You were about to get another cigarette when you saw your daughter, huddled in the doorway, her face streaked with tears, sniffling.

You froze on the spot and cursed yourself, you immediately stubbed out the cigarette on the ground and stepped on it, trying to make the smell and the smoke go away, but it's too late—she started wailing loudly, her tiny fists balling up as she cried. You've taken to hiding in the bathroom or stepping outside when you need a cigarette, not letting your daughter see or even inhale the smell of smoke because she hates it and you would never have your daughter breathe it. You genuinely think you're being stealthy. But it seems like every time you would light up a cigarette, your daughter would immediately know.

Seeing how it affects your little one's purity and innocence makes you feel guilty.

"You pwomise you stop smoke!" Aliah cried out loud. You carefully walked towards her, without warning, she ran towards your bed grabbing your pillow and heaved it towards you with all her might, her small arms flailing.

Getting down on your knees so you're at her eye level, you watch her tiny form trembling with emotion as she throws every pillow she can reach in your direction. "Shh, Ali...mommy's sorry..." Your voice trembled, but she continued. You took every hit of the pillow from your daughter.

You hated making Aliah cry, you hated hurting Natasha. You hated yourself causing them this.

Everything's too much, it's too much. You feel every pain physically now.

Suddenly, you crumbled to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. "Mommy's…just hurt." Your voice breaks as tears pour down your face and fall on the pillows scattered in front of you. "I'm so sorry baby, please forgive mommy…"

As you break down in sobs, your daughter suddenly stops throwing pillows and stares at you with a frown.

"Hurt, mommy is hurt," you sobbed each word as you pointed to your heart, her little brow furrows even more. She's seen you do this before when you're sad or upset.

She walked towards you, throwing the pillows back on your bed. Then, she climbs onto your lap, wrapping her tiny arms around your neck. "Mommy hurt?" Through your sobs, you nod gently, holding her close. Her soft baby scent fills your nostrils, the smell of cigarettes long gone. And you realize how much you're hurting not just yourself, but this innocent soul who depends entirely on you. She placed her ear on your chest, a thing she grew up doing to ensure your heart is still beating whenever you tell her something hurt.

"Mommy's hurting...bad..."

And you deserve all of it.

⧗

"How many hours have you been sucking her?"

"Fucking hell, Yelena!" Natasha yelled, she pushed her office chair back and zipped her pants up.

"Out. Now." Yelena's voice brooks no argument, and the woman quickly scrambles to her feet, fleeing the room without another word. Natasha could only huff in embarrassment.

"That door is fucking closed for a reason."

"Well, it's unlocked, it seems like you wanted everyone to see the meeting you're doing here."

Natasha rolled her eyes as she moved to the nearby cabinet, pulling out a bottle of expensive red wine and a single glass. She pours herself a generous amount, her hand steady despite the tension in the room.

"Did you at least finish your meeting, sestra?" Yelena emphasizes the word 'finish' with heavy sarcasm. Natasha's jaw clenches visibly at Yelena's insinuation, her hands tightening around the wine glass. Without offering any to Yelena, she takes a long sip, still avoiding her sister's gaze.

"So this is your plan?" Yelena started again but her sister didn't bother to look. "Make her miserable?"

Now she got her sister's attention.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She murmured.

"I should've realized it." Yelena's laughter is sharp and devoid of any warmth, a bitter sound that fills the room.

"Can you…can you go?" Natasha irritatingly spat at Yelena without looking at her.

"Asking her to marry you, I thought you wanted a fresh start, sestra…"

"Watch your mouth." Natasha warned her sister, her pointed finger hanging in the air while the glass of wine was still in her hand.

But Yelena seemed unfazed by her sister's threat. "But I didn't realize…"

"Shut up!"

"That you just want to make her watch as you fuck some communal pussy with her wearing that wedding ring you put on her while you don't wear yours!"

"Fucking shut up!" Natasha hurls the wine glass across the room, missing Yelena by mere inches. The glass shatters against the wall, the sound echoing through the space. Yelena, however, remains eerily calm, not even flinching at the near miss.

She let out a deep sigh, shaking her head disappointingly. "Why are you doing this, Natasha? You've got so many options and money! You could've taken Aliah from her if that's the only thing you want! You can pay for better lawyers than her, you could've won custody!"

Natasha's jaw clenched as she tries to suppress her emotions once again. She takes a shuddering breath, attempting to regain her composure and stave off the spiral of anger and defensiveness threatening to consume her once again.

"But that's not what you really want don't you?" Her sister continues, Natasha finally meets her eye to eye. "Are you happy watching her go miserable? Kneel the ground you walk on just to earn that forgiveness from you?"

"She deserves it."

Yelena huffed about how unbelievably heartless her sister is right now. "I watched you fall apart over her. And now...now you're tearing her apart piece by piece." Yelena's voice breaks slightly. "I understand your pain, Natasha. I truly do, you're my sister. I held you through the darkest parts of it. But this...this is different. This is you actively choosing to hurt her, to break her."

"She deserves it." Natasha repeated coldly under her breath.

"Yeah, sure, Natasha. Whatever you say." Yelena was getting tired. "You're right, Y/N deserves all the pain you give her, sure. But does your daughter deserve that too? Because let's be real, you're not just hurting her, you're hurting your daughter too."

⧗

You tucked Aliah back to sleep. You made sure to change her clothes, making sure the fresh scent of soap and fabric softener replaces the lingering aroma of cigarette that clings to her skin. You smooth Aliah's hair, you wipe away the last of your tears. Her eyes flutter closed finally, her breath evening out into the rhythm of innocent sleep. You gently adjust her blankets, placing a soft kiss on her forehead before stepping back, your own eyes damp with residual emotion.

"I love you my Iyah."

You carefully extract yourself from Aliah's room, then go straight to your room. The first thing you did was take the hidden cigarettes from their usual hiding spots. Cracking open the window for fresh air, you aggressively grind each cigarette beneath your slippers, tossing the broken remnants into the trash.

You're not physically addicted, but cigarettes have become a crutch, a coping mechanism for the pain—when something hurts. The memory where you saw Natasha and a woman who was doing god knows what kneeling under her made your throat itch wanting some relief. But the memory of your daughter's face, her little sniffles seeing you take a long drag and inhale a smoke made your body physically flinch. That will be the last, you will not make your daughter cry again, you will not hurt her with a fucking nicotine stick. She deserves better than a damn smoker of a mom.

You straighten the rumpled bed sheets, placing the pillows Aliah had thrown at you back neatly against the headboard. Suddenly, there was a knock on your door, then, the doorknob aggressively rattled. You were about to get it when suddenly it creaked open and you saw Natasha in her disheveled state.

"N-Natasha…" your voice quivered, she is the last person you would expect to go to your room right now.

She towers over you, her tall frame blocking the light from your room. You step back instinctively, she breathes heavily in your face, the scent of alcohol, the scent of another woman in her skin are burning your nostrils. Her face is completely expressionless, almost scary in its neutrality. The lack of emotion makes her features somehow sharper, more intense.

You're frozen, shock rendering you unable to process the situation. Your mind is reeling, you are still trying to move on and forgive her from what you saw earlier—her and a red haired woman, their intimate pose burned into your retinas. And now, she's here, in your room, drunk and cold.

"Nat…what-what do you want?" She doesn't answer your question, her droopy eyes dropped down to your blouse. Your body trembled as she slowly, deliberately unbuttons each button.

You didn't resist, fear rooting you in place. Your mind is screaming at you to push her away, to run, but your body refuses to cooperate. Tears well up in your eyes as she slowly pushes your blouse off your shoulders, leaving you in just your lacy bra. Natasha leans in close, inhaling deeply at your neck as if trying to consume your scent. You smelled like marlboro red. Her lips brush your skin, sending involuntary shivers down your spine. She shoves you to your bed before crawling on top of you. Then she almost ripped your bra that is solely covering your upper body, exposing your breasts. She's not gentle, not sweet. She's cold, hungry—an animal. She sucks harshly on one nipple while pinching the other. You hissed, your body arching in pleasure.

It is twisted, you just saw her with another woman but now, you're letting her take you like this—no words, no tenderness. She's a force of nature, teeth grazing on your skin, fingers digging into your flesh. She's using you, taking what she needs, and you're letting her. At least it's you that she needs right now, right?

A tear rolls down your cheek, your hands reaching the back of her head as her mouth continues to attack your body.

It's better to have her like this, than none at all.

[sweetly-yours-and-mine]

The Band Played On

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Word Count: 8.5k

Summary: You'd never met someone who loved the way Joel Miller did.

Warnings: talk of death of a spouse and child, age gap (less than ten years), brief suicidal thoughts, mentions of depression, yEaRnInG, author is very sensitive pls be nice, i was listening to the song of the same name by Guy Lombardo,

A/N: She's back baby! This one has been in the works for over a year (eep), and is basically just a love letter to @mirrormauve and I'm so glad she's back now and I've finally finished it. Becs, I love you with all my heart <3.

I don't own photos, dividers, or characters.

You’d never met someone who loved the way Joel Miller did. 

His severe, violent dedication to it, bits of soul laid down on the ground as offerings to the gods. Cracking open his chest, tearing off each rib and handing it over, not to say here is my heart but to say, here is the thing that protects my heart, it reminds me of you.

You thought this love was only talked about, only dreamt up. 

But then you’d been on a walk, in the early spring with the Earth vibrating with promise and you’d seen Joel, the worn, well-loved brown of his leather jacket, greying, long strands of his hair brushing against its collar, and you’d seen Joel, beside a tree, wrapping rope around its broken limp, saying soft things under his breath. You’ll be alright, yeah. That’s okay, I’ll be back soon, his voice heavy and measured with his drawl, warm. His fingers drifting over new buds, still tightly curled like a clenched fist, and cooing out his pride like a lullaby. 

Joel loved fiercely, savage and primal. There was nothing beautiful about the way he did it, but it was simple, it was honest and true and gentle. It was his work-roughened hands catching against fabric, his prickly stubble against his niece’s soft skin, the smell of whiskey on his breath and leather on his skin. 

His love wasn’t that of the ocean to the shore, the sun to the moon, the moon to the ocean. A tiring push and pull, illusive and fickle. 

He loved the way the soil loved the roots, giving over chunks of himself for nourishment and food. 

He loved the way the roots loved the soil, wooden fingers clutching tight against dirt and turning it dewy and tender with love. Constant, reliable, never changing. A tried and true dance that would continue to the end of time. 

He drew you to him unknowingly. Unravelled your affection for him like a ball of yarn, stringing it around everywhere he went, lighting up street corners and houses the way lamplighters used to do each evening in a world before you, Joel, and the slow thing he was knitting inside of you, row after patient row. 

Your eyes followed him like a magnet to the North, unknowingly, intrinsically, like breathing, drinking water. You found grooves and corners in Joel Miller that you revelled in, that you painted up inside your mind and took home with you to hang on your empty walls. 

The way he holds his spoon, wipes his mouth. The gnarled knots of his fingers’ joints. The rose-like curling of the skin around his eyes and mouth when he laughs, the way he touches and does so deliberately with intent and purpose. 

You walk by his house in the evenings, catching the glint of his eyes from the yellow porch light as he strums his guitar, the one he pieced together the way he did that tree. Ellie running home at all hours of the day, the trust held between them branching out towards Jackson like coconut, the aroma subtle, blink and you’ll miss it. But it hangs in the air like humidity, like frost on window panes or the fog of your breath against glass during the harsh Wyoming winters. 

You crave more, you’re starving for it. You want Joel’s love, and you want it because you’re selfish, because you don’t like the empty half of your bed, and you think he’d look nice in it, his golden skin and grey hair against floral sheets. You long more than anything to be part of the souls he holds up to the light and plops into his pocket like a marble collection. 

Whenever you are where Joel is, you look at him, fleeting glances in his direction like a heartbeat, over and over, rhythmic and regular. You’re eager to see more of him, to see him when he doesn’t know you’re watching so you can trace the curve of his neck with your eyes and pretend it’s your hands instead, to feel the soft hairs that grow there like peach fuzz. 

Joel loves in spades, in heaping bucketfuls of it. It strains throughout Jackson like a liquid heavier than water, curling around each corner in a warm embrace. You can’t go anywhere without being faced by it, the door hinge he’d fixed, the chairs he’d stacked, the floors he’d swept. The love he’s spread around soaking into your shoes and through your socks, drifting up towards your ankles and making your bones ache. 

It’s hard to deal with it. Its constant, uncompromising presence. The true reality of the man that he was, is. 

It’s even harder to deal with your craving for it, the way your skin sings for it, the way your lungs chase each trace of it they find in the air. 

Maria finds you one day in the gardens, asks, gently hesitant, for you to come over for dinner. You wonder if it was out of concern or pity for the life you lead alone, the simple, yet tried and true routine you occupy your days with. 

Worse than that, you begin to fear that she’s picked up on the fascination you’ve grown for her brother-in-law and the way his worn belt sits on his hips. 

And so to not aggravate it anymore, you agree to spend an evening close to Joel. 

Not alone with him, Tommy and Maria are at the table as well, Ellie coming and going, breaking conversation into brittle pieces of Sohan, but still you’re close and he gives you a brief taste of what sharing love with him could look like. 

His voice is rumbly and deep, river-like as it streams and trips over smooth rocks. The whiskey has loosened him up a bit, the straight, hard edges of his body softening over with comfort, the weight of survival lifted off of him. 

He’s pretty. You want him to reach inside of you and grab your heart, start pumping it for you and press his mouth against yours so you can share air together. 

It’s hard to focus around him, your eyes not wanting to work in tandem whenever they look in his direction, as if protecting you from what might happen if you manage to see him clearly, his peppering of a beard and moustache, the engravings of smile lines on his face. 

To abate the beating inside your chest, you get up for some water, go to refill Maria’s glass while you’re at it. Out of fear of the emotions he’s drawing out of you and your chest. 

You want to calm down, be normal about him and this growing obsession inside of you for an older man. Yet your body and mind refuse to do so vehemently, almost to seek vengeance on you for wanting to quell it, pour water over the burning fire.

As you stand at the counter, waiting for the water to boil and tracing the top button of your jeans round and round with the pad of your finger, you hear Joel and his lopsided walk follow you, his left foot dragging more than his right. 

“Hey.” 

The word falls at the end of itself, stretches against the ground. You follow the trails it leaves in the air, like citrus oil that sparks out of a freshly-peeled orange, bursting out like dust motes in a vibrant sunbeam. 

“Hi,” you turn around, smile at him as best as you can through the tangling of your lungs and stomach. 

Joel looks over his shoulder, back at Tommy and Maria, at Ellie, nudged into her uncle’s side, then he turns to you, “Nice evening.” 

You agree with him, though to yourself you think it’s only because of him, because of the cloud that hangs humid about him, makes the edges of his body go soft and blurry, grainy like all photos are, incapable of catching the true essence of what made them photo-worthy. 

He comes and leans against the counter beside you, hands folded on top of each other. A lock of his hair falls into his forehead and you think if he’d let it, you’d brush it away and go straight to the graveyard so you could die happy, dragging your stone along with you like a blanket. 

It takes everything inside of you to not inch closer to him. 

Despite the community and support that surrounds you everyday, you���re still lonely, still aching for something else. Something to come home to. To be something for someone to come home to. 

You have faint visions of Joel in the doorway of your house, revel in the way he’d drape his jacket over the couch. You want to see him basked in the glow of an early morning, to see his sleep-rumpled shirt and press your face into it and take in greedy lungfuls of his smell.

Ellie’s laugh rings out around the room. You think of the future she was going to have and the one she will have now, and you’re glad that she’s in Jackson away from the dark holes that are the QZs. 

You gaze up at Joel, at the cords rising in his neck like bread dough. Some depraved sprout shoots up inside you and longs to trace your nose against them and their engravings on his skin. You force yourself to look away, down at the glass of water in your hand. 

You ache to move your feet forward and away from him, for the betterment of the both of you and the cage you keep around your chest, the key of which you want to press into Joel’s hands. 

“You should come by more often.” 

He talks to you the same way he talked to the sapling. You wonder if he would rope you up the same way if you broke your arm too, in the same way. It sows dreams inside of you and you rub them away a couple seconds later, thinking of Maria’s sudden invitation asking you over tonight. 

“Thanks,” you murmur it. You’re not going to give him a rebuttal about being a bother so you won’t fall into the push and pull dance with him. 

To your surprise, he straightens up, ducks his head until you look up at him. “M’serious, honey. Really,” you see his hand reach forward before it falls back to place. It flinches and fidgets before it returns to normal. Here all the hair on his skin is grey. “We’ll do this more.” The condition has dropped from his voice. 

Despite your suspicions and reluctance, a bruised, battered thing weeps out inside of you, stops you from turning down his offer again, after he’s pressed it with you. It sits smooth and heavy in the palm of your hand, you run your thumb over it, pretend to mull it over. 

“Well, how about it? Me ‘n Ellie do board games a night each week, you should come,” There’s a swing to his voice, a soft gravel in it. If you could bask in it you’d never leave. 

He chuckles at your lack of response, “Now don’t you be tellin’ me you don’t like to play at cards.”

Finally, you collect yourself enough to shake your head, laugh a little though it’s hard when your lungs are turning themselves inside out at the thought that Joel Miller has invited you to spend more time with him, that he’s deemed you worthy of it. 

Tonight, you play Dutch Blitz. They’re not real Dutch Blitz cards, but with the mixing of yours and his decks, the picture cards tossed aside, there’s enough to play with.

Joel brings you hot water with some whiskey slipped in, his hand resting deliberately on top of yours when he gives it to you. He sits opposite you, Ellie at the head, his owl mug beside him, close enough that you long to trace with your fingers, follow the curves and valleys of it, and wonder if you can get it to talk to you the same way Joel talks to trees, close enough that you can see the splattering of spots ceramics often have. 

When he takes a drink, you have to look away from him and the wave-like motion of his throat for fear of doing something stupid and falling in love. 

He’s terrible at the game. 

After the first couple of rounds, he’d said it was because he didn’t have his glasses and went into the living room to rummage around for them. You could hear his voice sometimes, filtering in back to his kitchen. Not there, some rustling, a drawer being closed, no, I’m sure I ain’t left’em here. His voice is grumbly with aggravation and it makes you and Ellie giggle. 

It had been a long time since you’d laughed like that. Light and childish. The boulder of your personhood lifted off. 

When he does find them, he places them on the edge of his nose, but they don’t help him at all. With the sudden addition of a third player, the flick and slam of cards on the table, quickly adding up to a cap, it’s hard for him to focus. Ellie says that though he never does win, he doesn’t lose so abysmally either when she plays him one-on-one.

He murmurs to himself when he’s playing, like the gentle hum of a honeybee and it distracts you as well, giving Ellie yet another set of wins under her belt. 

“Face it, Joel,” she’s grinning now, shuffling up her hand of cards. “You’re fucking horrible at this.” 

He huffs, “You’re not giving me a fair fightin’ chance, that’s what.” The slope of his neck is just the right angle. He gathers his cards up, does an expert riffle shuffle. “And what’s more I ain’t playin’ no more. Go grab somethin’ else.” 

You’re surprised at how easily Ellie gives into him now, teasing only slightly before she goes away, back to the closet where Joel stores the board games he’s managed to piece together over the years. Monopoly, The Game of Life, Scrabble. There are Jenga blocks as well, ones he’s made himself, and that he’s sanded away at patiently, night after night on his porch. 

It’s your favourite game to play with him, Jenga. It’s tense, but quiet and calm. It gives you time to study his face intently, shade in the scar on his nose and the subtle way he favours the right edge of his mouth to his left when he’s talking. You like it even more because it means you can touch things his hands have touched, the ones he’s worked at patiently, each one a labour of love. 

Even kids come over to his house now, particularly during the summer, and play in his backyard with his Jenga blocks, Joel’s place an extension of the worlds they play in, the juniper trees at the edge perfect for games of hide-and-seek and tag. 

“She’s right,” he sighs, takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. “I am horrible at this.” 

With his glasses in his hand he gestures to the cards. The action pulls at your liver, you may as well have drunk a whole bottle of whiskey. 

“Nonsense,” there’s a strange tendril of confidence wrapping around your throat, drawing out words before you knew what they were. “It’s a hard game. Fast-paced.” 

He laughs to himself, softly. It sounds like molasses, deep and rich and velvety. “That’s just a fancy way of calling me old, darlin’.” 

“I don’t mind,” the words surprise you, the emotion and conviction behind them and you drop them as soon as you can. 

“You don’t mind what?” 

Looking down at your hands, “That you’re old.” You don’t like how you’re bringing attention to it and meekly, you string behind it, “If it matters any.” 

Silence hangs around you, presses hard against your chest and breaks a rib. 

“Thanks, sweetheart. It matters much…more’n you could know.”

A being lies behind his words, unknown and ominous. You don’t want to touch it, break the beehive and let the honey pour onto the grass, the bees angry and furious ready to sting. 

You offer instead to wash the dishes to be able to touch his special mug, finally trace the curve of the owl’s body, embroidered into baked clay. You wonder where Joel found this mug. If it came with the house, how it morphed into his favourite one, if it was a certain thing, from first sight, or if it was a slow and steady climb. 

Ellie comes back a few moments later, the Jenga blocks in her hands. You feel his eyes against your back and you hold your hands under the hot water until they’re irritated and sensitive. 

Joel shows up at your door unannounced. In his hands is a bowl of strawberries, his fingers stained red from picking up, that soft gentle smile on his face. 

“Howdy,” He invites himself in, says the words for you and hands over the bowl. “For you.” 

You think about jam and honey, imagine the feel of granulated sugar clicking under your teeth. 

It’s the late afternoon, a lazy sun stretching into your open window, highlighting dust motes in the air in a stream of light. You place the strawberries on the table, Joel takes one and pops it in his mouth, the hinge of his jaw moving up and down as he chews. 

Laughing, he tells you quietly, “They’re supposed to be for you, I had a stomachful pickin’em.” 

Something twists and knots inside of you at the thought of Joel in the gardens, bending down beside the strawberry plants, choosing fruit for you and bringing it to your door. You wonder if he talked to them the way he seems to do anything, whether or not it can respond to him. 

“They’re good,” he pushes them towards you. “Have some.” 

The berries are a ruby red, vibrant with survival. They press against you as you roll their tiny bodies between your fingers, your nail catching on the seeds pressed into the skins. Biting down into one, you find it intimate to know that you and Joel are tasting the same flavour, tart and sweet, that he has a belly filled with this, that he’d filled his belly behind the soft of his waistline because he was picking you a gift. 

It’s hard to tear your eyes from him, from where he’s looking at you. The sun kisses his shoulder, curls up and around his ear. The strange need you have for him grows and reaches its peak, overwhelming you. You wonder what the soft behind his ear will feel like if you took his with your teeth and soothed the bite over with your tongue, what his hair will smell like. 

You want to ask him, demand him, to kiss you. To press you against the strawberries and not let you go until you’re covered in red juice. 

“Thank you for these,” you say instead, get up to put on some hot water.

“‘Course, honey.” 

You think that Joel may consider you a friend. His friend. 

You like the possession that lies inside the words. The heady things they imply, how they hold your heart in a clenched fist and promise to never let go. 

The other night, he’d invited you over for dinner. Just you. Had been clear about it as well. Ellie’s at Dina’s, Tommy and Maria have date night together. Like he could read your mind and knew the riptides you were apt to fall into if you weren’t careful. 

He’d talked to you, low and soft like he always does. Whiskey had been poured into your coffee and the sunset had lit up the sky in much the same manner as his voice, muted and tender, the air tinted golden like saffron. 

You think that that was the night you realised you couldn’t run from it anymore, had fallen, arms extended but helpless in catching you, towards him and how the sole of his left shoe is smoother than his right. 

The strawberries spark conversation in him about the upcoming harvest, and he analyses the weather with severity, concerned about the apples and squashes if it were to stay the way it was. You pour two cups of hot water, wishing you could give him something he likes more than that, whiskey or wine, and think of what you could trade to get a bottle for your kitchen. 

“...don’t know how we’ll make it through the winter at this rate.” 

Steam curls up from your cup, the heat of the summer day already fading with the sunlight. 

“We’ll make it, one way or the other,” you say. His worries are endearing, parts and pieces of him that you think he’ll never learn to let go of, not even if there was fresh fruit on the table, hot water in the pipes. 

Joel from before. 

He fascinates you, in every form you think of him. 

With your words, you see something in his eyes, something young and untamed. You think he’s going to press it with you, show you why the amount of rain and sun the settlement’s been getting will be its exact downfall. But it dies down, calms back into the soft burnt toffee you know them to be, and the ever-present smiling not-smile returns to his face. 

Finally, he nods his head towards the strawberries and winks at you. You start eating them again, trying to paint up images of him in the gardens, of the strawberries looking even smaller beside his hands. His voice, mellowed and soft, Yeah, yeah, you’re good, that’s alright now, okay? 

Joel’s hand brushes against yours as you reach in for another one, lighting a match against your skin, flames bursting up and down your body. He doesn’t seem to give it much mind, his unshakable calm draped against him like always. 

With a chuckle, he looks down at the one in his hand, “My mama used to make these inta jams.” He eats it, eyes fluttering shut at the taste. Your body pulls at itself and you take one for yourself as well, flavour oozing out into your mouth, tasting like love because you’re sharing it with him. 

“Loved’em with a fresh biscuit,” pausing, he breaks out of his memories to look at you. “You ever had jam ‘n biscuits?” 

“Sure, sometimes.” 

He tilts his head, “Homemade ones?” You shake your head and he waves you off in response, “Oh, then you hadn’t had jam ‘n biscuits. Lemme tell ya, my mama made’em mean. Nothin’ like a hot jar of strawberry jam.” 

Eyes going a little misty he keeps on, “Now, Tommy?” he laughs soft and low, mainly to himself, shakes his head some more. “Tommy he’d scarf’em down the moment they were outta the oven, boy’s got no patience. Couldn’t even wait to take out the jam and then he’d-” the words had been pouring out of his mouth like honey, soothing to your ears but he cuts them off abruptly, “-Ah, would you look at that. I’m borin’ yer head off.” 

It sounds like he is getting ready to leave, his eyes flicking around, on the table, back to you, to the strawberries. You rush forward without thinking about it to get him to stay, “No, no. I-I like talking with you…s’nice.” You finish with a helpless little shrug. 

You don’t know where this sudden confidence has come from and you’re scared you’ve gripped too tight on the bar of soap and Joel will slip out of your grasp and into the sink, that you have to scramble to take it back. To your surprise, you haven’t. 

The discomfort starts to fade away from Joel’s face and you fear what’s going to be put in its place and how similar it might be to what you hold in the farthest corner of your heart, closely guarded away from him. He melts down back into his seat, eats a strawberry. 

If you look closely, the greyer hairs in his moustache are stained red. 

“Well, there ya have it,” he chuckles, deep and warm. “The story of my mama’s biscuits.” 

“Lovely.” 

It stands in front of you, a bunny rabbit of a story, her nose twitching, ears flicking back and forth and incredibly small. You remember the first baby rabbit you ever saw, when you were sixteen over thirty years ago. You hadn’t thought something could be so tiny and also be able to move. It had scampered away the moment it caught sight of you, the bushes bristling into silence in its wake, but behind it one of your lungs and one of your kidneys followed dutifully, leaving you alive but just barely. 

Right now, you cup Joel’s story in your palm, tuck it away in some safe pocket and delight each time you brush against it, a knotted ball of heat and innocence. 

Gaze still fixed on the button-like eyes in front of you, you get surprised when he moves to sit in the chair at your side. His shoulders are broad and mighty still, and you have to look just slightly up to be able to see him fully. 

You see him struggle with his words. Maybe he always does, and you’ve never been this close enough to see it, thoughts breaking on the shore of his mouth, the twitch around his nose, the ever changing colour of his eyes not even quivering still for a moment. 

“You’re-” he clears his throat, it rumbles gently like an earthquake from your feet to your head, shaking your heart in the middle, reminding you of the ache inside it. “You’ve been lonely here…in Jackson.” 

There’s not much to say, and you shrug, “I’m alive.” 

“Not what I said.” 

It stings through you, sharp with truth and a keen observation. You’d thought you’d manage to hide it well, that people had bigger problems than to worry about you, and the emotions running in you that you’ve forgotten what they are and how they’re supposed to feel like. You don’t know what to say, looking down at your hands, starting digging into your cuticles for something to do with them. 

He hums softly, and on instinct you turn your gaze to him, watching his front profile bent forward. “These years…they’ve been hard,” he almost hears your thoughts. “On us all.” 

You think of your husband. The one who’d married you young, though you’d felt like you were anything but at the time, and cradled your heart gently and coaxed you out of moods as if it was the only thing he was made for and wanted to do. He doesn’t come to your mind often anymore, having lost him several years before the world blew up. Together, you’d lived a quiet life. Defined by soothing, soft sunlight and lazy afternoons. 

Truly, you’ve felt lonely your whole life. It didn’t really start twenty years ago, or two years ago when you arrived in Jackson. Had been a quiet and almost ignored child. There’s not much you remember from your childhood, but the knoll of a memory rings true every time. Standing in line for a whole afternoon, a worksheet grasped in your sweaty palms, feeling that soon, soon, you’d be rewarded for listening, for being quiet. 

How interminable that afternoon had seemed to you, long and drawn out, testing your patience at each turn, and how you’d risen up to each defiantly, child-like sense of justice still strong and unfailable. 

You learnt your lesson too late, when your soul and essence had already hardened into unchangeable patterns. So, you got used to getting hurt, tears springing at your eyes and burning through your lungs. 

“Believe it or not, I wasn’t always like this.” The corners of Joel’s eyes crinkle, fold up into themselves like fabric. He chuckles softly and you feel your face press into a smile. “I was real angry…and mean. People wouldn’t come within a square mile of me if they could help it.” 

His eyes glisten when he hears you laugh, and he holds up his hands, “I ain’t lyin’, I swear. Ask anyone you want, I was the town grump, yellin’ at kids to get off my lawn.” The words make you laugh even more, hiding it behind your hand and maybe the energy sparks in the air, because Joel starts to laugh too. A deep, gentle, belly laugh that seems to have come from another world. Of soft grey hair and tender eyes. It’s hard to imagine Joel as mean, a grump. 

The perpetuity of time weighs down on you heavily. How separated you feel from yourself at sixteen, twenty, thirty. The decades rolling past you like boulders. It scares you that you and Joel remember a world, a life, that doesn’t exist anymore and soon the two of you will be gone, the memories falling off into the air like they’ve done for generation upon generation. 

You wonder how so little time, in the grand scheme of things, can feel so long and tiresome. How you’re not even fifty yet and still, the thought of having to fall asleep and wake up the next day to do it all again exhausts you to the point of tears. The thought of having to do this for one more day even seems impossible, leave alone for years. 

When you were younger, and you’d first started feeling like this, you’d thought it would pass when you got married, when you got older. When the world fell apart you’d thought you would snap out of it, yet it never happened. The only time you’d felt happy waking up was from nightmares, panting and struggling to orient yourself. 

It had been better since you arrived at Jackson, found some semblance of routine and stability that you’d craved since you were a child. 

Joel sighs, drawing you out of your thoughts, and focusing you in again to see him rub at his beard, the movement tugging at the insides of you. “Don’t know why I’m telling you this really,” he lets out a quiet breath, and it washes over you, ocean-like. “I-I…” He swallows thickly, and you’re alarmed to see him gather himself as if to move to go. “Been botherin’ you really-” 

You cut him off by saying his name. It tolls inside you, flashes of hospitals and the dark green carpet of the funeral home coming to the forefront of your mind. 

You think about your husband's eyes, the soft slope of them, so similar and yet so different to Joel’s. You wonder if Joel would have liked him, if in another world the two of them would drink beer together and play poker, while you complained about them to friends you’ve never truly, properly had. 

The image is domestic, tugs at you and you know soon you’re going to cry if you’re not careful. You start talking, how the two of you had met, the sudden and then slow fall. 

The ache in you grows and grows, till it’s fit to burst. Talking about him to Joel feels like emptying out an abscess, makes you feel both guilty and relieved. 

He talks in turn. Of a daughter. The pulsing, too-hot blood covering his forearms and screaming until he’d lost his voice and spat red for a week later. Hot, bright flashes of anger that never truly went away. 

You wonder if that’s what had drawn you to Joel in the first place, that gaping, weeping hole inside of him that reflected so tenderly back into your stomach. He laughs a couple of times, telling you about Ellie. Then he cries and despite everything, you envy him for how he does it so rightfully, well-timed. 

You can’t remember a time you’d talked so much. The sun sets over his back, beside his ear. 

There’s a fatigue in your bone marrow, a deep, strong ache that ripples through your back and muscles. Joel looks a different person to you know, the ghost of a girl standing behind him, her hand placed on his forearm, gentle features in her face ringing true to her father’s and that of a woman you don’t know. You’re seized with the urge to turn back time, to see if you would have found Joel in the old world just like you have this one. If you would have liked his daughter, found companionship in her the way you do with all women. 

Joel smiles at you, eyes glistening, murmuring something about the time. The day comes back to you at once, and you feel you’ve taken a breath after hours of holding it in. You wonder at the way Joel’s drawn all this out of you, patient and with no rush at all. How he’d deemed you worthy of time and attention. 

You walk with him to your front door, feeling as if it was years since he’d shown up at it, bowl in hand. 

“Hey, honey?” The back of Joel’s shirt is wrinkled from the way he was sitting at your table. He turns back to you, the sun fully set now. 

You have a strange need to offer to walk him home. Then you hope he’d offer to walk you home and you’d do the same and then you could spend the rest of your life walking with him home. 

“Yeah?” 

The pull he has terrifies you. There’s a subconscious ache in your muscles to be closer to him, to right what seems to have been wronged. 

He does it for you, takes a step away from the door and barely a few breaths of space between you. From here, you can see the sunspots in his beard, flecked onto tanned and weathered skin and you think about a time when Joel was so young he didn’t have a beard. 

“There’s a-uh…ah, ” he goes gravelly and clears his throat, running a hand up and down his beard comfortingly. Something inside him renews and the insecurity falls away, it’s fascinating and addicting to watch. You’re sure there isn’t a more interesting person on the Earth. “You wanna come with me? To the dance next week?” 

You swallow and it does nothing to help the feeling inside you that you’re being torn into two. “Oh, Joel I…” you fumble for an excuse out of all the well-used and well-rehearsed ones you have. “I-uh…I’m not much of a dancer.” 

“Hell,” he laughs, and his eyes go to the size of slivered almonds. “Neither am I. But they play some fancy records. I go for the music.” 

“What kind?” 

You’re not going to go, you’re certain of this, already feeling like you’ve imposed far too much on him, but this is another part of Joel, the music he listens to each week at the community dance. There’s no harm in taking it for yourself. 

“Real old stuff,” his eyes twinkle. “You think me old? Wait ‘til ya hear it, it’s stuff my grandparents listened to growin’ up.” A beat, something drops in his tone, “M’serious.” He sounds nervous even, “I want you to go with me.” 

You don’t know how to tell Joel this is the first time someone’s asked you out in a long, long, while. If ever. Your husband was the only man who ever loved you and he’d always been there. Had proposed to you in the low light of his kitchen, matter-of-fact sort of, I suppose we should get married. 

You don’t know how much of your story Joel’s gratuitously, much to the contradiction of your character, filled in. You want to have led the life he’s envisioned for you, so kindly and tenderly, eating strawberries at your kitchen table, rather than the cold, lonely one you’ve led instead. 

Through the sudden twisting and turning inside you, a cold pang stops it at your foolishness to assume that this is what you’d thought it was. That you’d taken the opaque words and read through them, leading yourself astray and susceptible to getting hurt. 

“Darlin’? Makes me real nervous when you take so long to answer questions like this,” he coos softly, you think again of the way he talks to everything, as if he can see through it to the marrow and essence, trace it with his finger. You see his hand twitch and this time he does touch you, holding onto your forearm, a soft fire burning on your skin. “What’s wrong, hm?” 

“I don’t know how to dance, Joel,” you say finally. You feel and see yourself leaning close to his touch, the warmth of his body spilling into your own, but you’re helpless to stop it. You want to feel his chest on your bare back, the prickle of his beard against your skin, roughened palms against your stomach. So much roughness pressing on you with love. 

He lets out a tender breath, as if to say, that’s all? “Well, I’ll teach ya if ya want. And if not, we’ll have a drink and listen to some Guy Lombardo, alright?” 

You know you should protest again, keep pushing it with him until he drops the act, keeps this where it ought to remain. But your yearning for him is overwhelming and tiring to fight against, “Alright.” 

“Alright?” His thumb brushes back and forth against your skin. You look up at him and you fear that now there’s no hiding from him anymore, behind quiet and excuses. You feel his eyes hit the back of your lungs. “Alright, honey,” he smiles at you, his skin folding up like intricate origami, stealing your breath away at seeing it up so close. 

“I’ll see you soon, then,” he murmurs. Then he’s leaning down towards you to kiss your cheek. A rough brush of slightly chapped lips before he’s straightened up and the door clicking shut behind him, a trail of blood following him from where your chest is, gaping empty, your heart trudging along unknowingly behind him and his broad shoulders like slug. 

For two years you fought against it, pushing it aside as it continued to grow like an untamed weed, growing a strong, unbreakable net of roots only for you to lose all of it in close to five minutes, to show you how fragile and fallible you were when it came to Joel Miller. 

The community centre in Jackson is one of the only buildings left nearly intact. The floors were still original wood, and creaked and groaned with each step. With the fall of summer, the harvest close to over, the nights were coming earlier, quicker, and colder. As you walk towards the building, the lights glow from the windows flickering some strange sense of nostalgia in you, twinging at a corner you’d thought was long gone inside your heart. 

Joel is standing at the entryway, hair brushed back in a way that, in the fickle light, almost makes him unrecognizable. You’ve never seen him like this, not just his hair, but his appearance. Your heart stutters when it sees itself reflected, nervous and trembling in Joel’s face. The thought of him making himself all pretty-like for you in the glow of his bathroom makes you feel faint, makes you feel young in a way you don’t ever remember feeling. That maybe, the thought of you has him nervous and stumbling and anxious, how you so often feel around him. 

“Hey, honey.” 

You stammer a little smile, say you hope you hadn’t kept him too long. A record scratch comes from inside and the soft drone of trumpets and crooning filters out to the two of you like fairy dust.

Putting his hand on the small of your back, Joel leads you inside. 

True to his word, he doesn’t do any dancing. You’re not sure if you can handle such close proximity to him, feeling the gentle wash of his breath, to breathe him in so deeply the push outwards strains your lungs without the promise of being able to do it again whenever you want to.  

He gets you two a drink and sways with you, arm around your shoulders, talking in soothing tones that rival the one he uses with his niece. When he pretends to not notice you looking, you gaze at him, his profile glowing in the lights of the hall, the wrinkles in his face like those of a tree trunk. 

You’d been nervous to be seen out like this with Joel, worried to hear rumours fly and nervous that your reaction to them would give away inner corners of your heart that you don’t even dare graze in the safety of the early morning darkness, alone, in your own bed and house. Even more, you didn’t want him hearing them, the malicious tongues of Jackson picking you apart any more than they already had had. 

Yet to your surprise, people only smile at you, ask you to join them at the Tipsy Bison, Joel agreeing readily for you as you struggle to find the words. 

You and Joel, it seems, are no great news. 

You wonder how much time has been wasted just because of your broken mind, thoughts from your childhood running through it constantly chiming truth-like when they were only supposed to light laughing matters now. 

The weight of Joel’s hand grows suddenly, and it drops onto your chest. The subtle, comforting smell of wood turns stifling, dust floating up and stinging your eyes. With a quiet word, you slip out from under Joel’s arm as he’s talking to Tommy, head back outside and start taking greedy gulps of air. 

The normalcy of it, the quiet indifference and accepting looks around you had taken you aghast. At how quickly you’d lost the rules you’d set in place for when you were around Joel. At how quickly you’d managed to fool yourself into thinking that you could do this, be normal and sound, at how you’d tricked Joel into thinking the same and now it felt that everything was suspended in the balance. 

The whole unworthiness of it. How you’d managed to outsmart the world time and time again into staying alive for whole decades after you’d thought you would, and how you couldn’t do the same for your husband, a man so worthy of life compared to you. How he’d worked at you patiently, tenderly. Made you believe, for brief, fleeting moments that maybe you were wrong, that you can think wrong thoughts and yet there was nothing wrong with that, and that nobody had been tricked and everyone was deserving. 

And how quickly that had all been torn away from you in a torturous six months. 

Some days, you feel you’ve gotten better, the tug of black tar lighter, only to drown even worse the next. 

He’d been the only person ever to convince you otherwise. And he’d been wrong. 

Until now. 

The back porch creaks softly under Joel’s shoes, and by now you’ve given up wondering why you can recognize the way the world around him reacts to his presence. You turn to face him, to see the angel-like glow around his silhouette for the half-instant it’s there. 

You look down quickly at your feet, hoping it hides the sudden heat rising to your face and calms it down. 

In so many ways, you feel older than you are, ready to lay down in the ground and surrender to the dirt and grass, and in others you still feel like a child, helpless and naive. Joel shouldn’t be finding you out here, staring into the night for answers you know won’t be there. 

“There ya are,” you’ve never heard his voice this way before, the many nuances and inflections that you’ve studied like a religion. 

Your shame is so great you can’t even bring yourself to apologize, an annoying habit your mother always lashed out at you for, your apparent insolence and indifference. 

There’s the same shuffling step of his, the left favoured over the right. There’s a loud round of laughter from inside and you flinch at it as Joel comes to stand beside you. 

“Needed some air?” 

If you could, you would crawl into his chest, burrow down there so he’d lull you to sleep with the rumble of his voice. Though he’s only inches from you, he feels much farther away. 

You nod quietly and you wonder how you can tell Joel that the outbreak hadn’t made you like this, that Jackson had brought it out of you again after years of a toughened, fraud outside you’d held to yourself protectively like a blanket. That there wasn’t anything more to peel away, and you couldn’t be fixed with rope or soft words like the plants he loves and the wood he whittles away into gifts. 

“Joel…” you lick your lips, bite down on the inside of your cheek until you bleed. His name feels right, shaped out of your voice, and you marvel at how well-trained your mind is, after almost fifty years of feeding you lies and your fighting right back against it, to find the cracks in your armour and press and press until it gives out. “I’m sorry.” 

Words so familiar to you they should be written on your gravestone. 

He tsks, waving at the air dismissively, “Now, stop with all that.” It’s the harshest he’s ever spoken to you yet it’s still quiet and kind. He comes to face you, the light inside falling on his face and into the deep groves of it. 

Despite yourself, you gaze into his eyes, to peer at the earnestness in them, dreadfully familiar. 

“I’m sorry.” A frozen clock, stuck on the same time, the seconds hand beating and beating and going nowhere, as the world around it covers itself in dust and death. 

Pulvis es et in pulverem reverteris. 

He smiles, eyes still feather-soft and honey-sweet. A strand of hair comes loose, falling into his face and you see the Joel you’ve come to love, despite any and all precautions. 

You say his name quietly, “He was the only one who…” It’s hard to describe what your husband had done for you, even if you hadn’t felt so stunted with words since you started learning them. His earnest and pure love that had flowed through him for you and the whole world while he was alive, how you’d thwarted it away, the black, rotten core inside of you screaming out, and how, wave after wave, he’d returned to you. 

“And you think there’s only one person for you in this world?” There’s nothing patronizing in his voice, which makes it all the worse for you. You wish it had been that simple, that you had seen yourself worthy of only your husband’s love, had seen something in his relentless pursuit of giving it over to you with no hope of return. How it had been only stronger on the days it had been hard to eat, and sleep, and wake up. 

Your voice breaks, “I wasn’t even supposed to get the one.” 

“Oh, honey,” he coos. The heel of his palm is rough as it brushes against your jaw. Coaxing, he tilts your head up to face his. The second time only you’ve been so close to him and it seems your body still hasn’t gotten used to it. 

The darkness of the night is enshrouding, humidity pressing against your lungs. Joel’s jacket is on top of your shoulders, his presence drowning out the darkness, leaving sunlight and trees instead. You feel his roots claw down into your chest, latch onto your liver and heart. 

“You know…” he swallows and you’re too close to the motion because you’re dangerously close to your knees giving out underneath you. “I’ve seen the way you look at me.” 

It’s not judgmental, Joel could never be that. But you shrink inside nonetheless, embarrassed and feeling smaller than ever. 

Ghosts swarm around the two of you, stirring the air and making a soft breeze and goosebumps rise against your skin. 

You go to look away but he wills it not and what is the turning of the Earth if not for the wants of Joel Miller? 

“Real flattered, if I could say so. Didn’t think-” he clears his throat and this time he looks away, shy and young, a bird hiding its beak in its wing. “Didn’t think you’d fancy an old man like me.” 

The truth behind his words amazes you, how it’s something he seems to have considered time and time again relentlessly, from all angles, and still decided it to be his reality. 

“How-how…could I not?” 

There’s the deep, soothing rumble of his laugh again. It rings clear with tradition and home, and baked clay and spotted ceramic owls. “You’re a bit hard to read sometimes, honey.” 

Inside of you, your veins seize up, heart quivering at his words. He smiles down at you in that gentle, Joel way of his, quieting your thoughts. The soft drone of music drifts out from the open window, the slow murmur of a content crowd of happy people. 

His arm wraps around your waist, testing, eyes flitting back and forth on you. With each pass of his gaze, you feel the soft patter-like feet of butterflies resting against your cheeks, wings flapping slowly, measured as if to show your heart how to beat again, properly. 

Daringly, you inch closer to him. His nose comes down to meet yours. 

“Hey, darlin’...honey?” 

He’s whispering and he’s never whispered with you before. 

His breath is warm against your face, if you could, you would tuck your head under his shirt and never come up again. 

“Can I kiss ya? Would ya let me?” 

It’s hard to think that this is where you’ve ended up with Joel, from the first time you saw him those handful of years ago, where he’d been standing off to the side talking with someone, standing over a pile of wood, until now. His weight leaned on one leg, hip popped out making you lose your breath at the sight of it. 

Like a blossoming tea he’s unfurled for you. Had stretched and arched in hot water, catching your eye for it never to be let go of again. 

He traces your hairline with his finger, murmurs your name. “Can I?” His eyes are only on your mouth now, sometimes coming up to blink and meet yours. 

Joel seems close to as nervous as you, seems as if he sees you to be precious the same way you do him. It’s equally surprising and comforting, gives you the final push forward, your foot slipping against a grainy edge and plummeting you towards the bottom, wind beating against your ears. 

“Yeah.” You sound strong, certain. The sturdy trunk of an oak tree. Even more daring, you press your palm against his tummy, a few fingers under the edge of his ribs, enjoying the give of his flesh as you lean up into him even more. 

His voice rumbles against your lips, the whispering lost to the wind now, “Ain’t you the sweetest thing.” 

Thanks so much for reading, hopefully I haven't lost my edge after a year off. If you liked this please consider leaving me some feedback, I obsess over it constantly!

[iguanodonwildman]

[Image ID: 3 screenshots of tumblr tags that read as follows:

First image: #megamind #you could say #that Metroman thought he was helping Megamind #by playing the game #and shielding Megamind from actual consequences #taking it just far enough to make Megamind feel included and make himself look good #but he steps away because he realizes that that's not truly helping either of them #they're stagnating #and they both need to grow #Metroman has always had the social awareness that Megamind lacked #and when they were kids it benefited him but eventually he realized that it hurt Megamind for him to take advantage of that #so he's heroic even in giving up being a hero by saving the villain from himself

Second image: #megamind #i think metroman realized this #yes he was burned out and needed to stop #but when they find him again he tells megamind he knows he can be "good" #something of this realization was probably part of that whole existential crisis he had mid fight

Third image: #and this is why he's an extremely powerful metaphor for neurodivergent kids and kids of colour #and anyone else that society labels a rebel at far too young an age #bc like! punishment unconnected to the crime from every adult in your life is exactly what i grew up with for being autistic #and it's something i'm still dealing with the ramifications of as an adult #because it's really really hard to properly evaluate your circumstances and act like a normal person #when there is a part of your brain you can't turn off that at some point people you love will start hating you #and you can't predict when or why it's just gonna happen #and the result of that is either you become a paranoid people pleaser #or you go fuck it if i make you hate me before you decide to hate me then i'm in control #megamind manages to be both actually he's a villain to the city and a people pleaser to roxanne #but the point is if you grew up like that the entire idea that you could have control over your life goes out the window #because you have NO control - both the villain and people pleaser responses are trying to gain a bit of control back #but it's a pitiful amount compared to how much most people have #and i've had this realisation of getting to adulthood and realising that your life has never been under your control at all #so of course you don't think of consequence - you can't change it. no matter what you do you've never been able to #you could try and predict the outcome #but you've learned a long time ago if you think about the consequences you'll be wrong and you'll get hurt #it's not just realising the consequences were there that changes him. it's realising he didn't lose roxanne (or metroman) #even though they should have given up on him like everyone else that's what always happens #and maybe he wasn't doomed to be wrong and get hurt every time after all.

End ID]

So like, it's okay to be good and nobody is born evil and anyone can change the path they're on, yadda yadda yadda, but I actually think one of the biggest lessons Megamind learns over the course of the film is the shocking revelation that actions have consequences.

I'm not even kidding. When you put aside the whole 'evil' thing, one of Megamind's biggest flaws is his entirely screwed up notion of cause and effect.

Like, the whole reason the plot happens is because it apparently never occurred to Megamind that 'carrying out elaborate plots to kill Metroman' could ever result in 'dead Metroman'. Nor that creating a new hero with the specific motivation of defeating him, Megamind, could lead to negative consequences for him, Megamind. Or that riling said hero up into a murderous rage could have the unforeseen consequence of that hero raging around murderously.

Dude spent at least a few years kidnapping Roxanne, threatening her with alligators and lasers and various other villainous knick-knacks, only to disguise himself as somebody else and lie to her until she fell in love with this fake identity he'd created and is genuinely shocked when she is upset upon finding this out.

Not just that she did find out, but that post-her finding out he is unable to talk her into continuing the relationship.

“We don't judge a book by its cover or a person by their appearance… we judge them based on their actions.”

“Seems kinda petty, don't you think?”

Megamind may be a genius when it comes to inventions and evil plans, but he's a fucking idiot when it comes to predicting and anticipating the obvious results of his actions.

And thing is, it makes total sense why he would be like that.

He spent his childhood being consistently punished by the adults in his life, often for no reason that he could understand or even for no reason at all. As a result, he stops viewing punishment as a consequence of his behaviour and starts seeing it as a consequence of him being 'evil', which of course leads to him leaning into his evil persona and eventually becoming a supervillain.

And, as a supervillain, ironically enough, he's completely sheltered from consequence by his greatest enemy, Metroman.

Megamind doesn't need to worry about his evil plans hurting any citizens, because Metroman will use his powers to save them. Megamind doesn't have to worry about the damage he does to the city, because Metroman can fix it.

Megamind does in theory have to worry about social consequences for his behaviour, but the social consequences are being locked in prison and having everybody hate him which is like, the default status quo of his existence since he was a baby.

He literally calls the prison as 'home', a word he does not use to refer to his Evil Lair or indeed anywhere else in the film barring his home planet. Going there is an inconvenience, maybe, but it's not really a punishment. It's where he lives.

Metroman's 'death' changes all that.

Not only does one of Megamind's evil plans finally destroy something that (seemingly) can't be fixed, but he's then turned loose on the city with no superhero to run around after him cleaning up his mess.

Now, if he steals all the artwork in the gallery, then Metro City will no longer have artwork in it's gallery, and people (Roxanne) will miss it and be upset. If he doesn't take care to clean the streets then the streets… will be dirty, and people (Roxanne) will be negatively affected.

If he gives a random, unstable, person superpowers and then goes out of his way to piss that person off, then that person can't be guaranteed upon to “play the game” just because that's what Metroman did, and people (Megamind… then everybody else) will be negatively affected.

And the flipside of this is that, by the end of the film, he wins the battle because he realises "hey, I can change this". If his negative actions have negative consequences then he can choose to do the positive thing instead and save the city.

[astermagnolia]

DP x DC x Spiderman

THIS CAME TO ME IN A VISION WHILE I WAS MINDLESSLY WORKING AT MY JOB

Ok, recently I've been into the "Spiderman gets transported into Gotham" fics and suddenly I thought "Danny and Peter stuck in the same body while trying to survive Gotham"

(if you want to write this go ahead)

OK STICK WITH ME

Peter gets transported to Gotham after Dr. Strange does his spell but it (the spell not strange) takes things further and transports him to a new dimension with no Peter Parker. He ends up climbing out of a Lazarus pit, his body in absolute pain.

At the same time, Danny is fleeing his home dimension because *whatever you decide* and ends up flying into a portal and overshadowing a person that's, for some reason, in the portal (Lazarus pits are portals to the infinite realms). Because of the weird fuckery that is ectoplasm, Dannys ghost status, and the Lazarus pits, Danny and Peter end up sharing a body but neither realize it yet.

Peter passed out instantly while Danny is kinda out of it (and driving the body he thinks is his) and ends up wandering Gotham, finds some clothes, and finds an abandoned building to sleep in.

Peter wakes up thinking he did all this while on adrenaline and just shrugs it off. He wanders Gotham and then goes back to the building he woke up in, that's when Danny wakes thinking he overshadowed someone and freaks Peter out as well.

Both pass out in shock.

Danny was the one to wake up the next time they woke up and tries to go ghost but can't (something changes though). He tries his other abilities and those work. He goes to find his reflection and his face is different but has his familiar black hair and blue eyes. Peter wakes up and speaks to Danny on his head and now both freaking out again. They calm down and talk about what happened.

Peter says that's his face and body but with black hair and blue eyes. They try to switch which causes dizziness but Peter is in control now with brown hair and hazel-green eyes.

Basically: when Peter is in control of the body he looks like himself. When Danny is in control, the body has black hair and blue eyes. When Danny 'goes ghost' while in control then he gets his white hair and green eyes, but the body doesn't change.

I'd like to think they have to learn each other's abilities now. danny has to learn how to not stick to things (plus he gets to try how gravity actually affects him now) and how to deal with the spider sense.

Peter has to learn basically pages worth of abilities😭. He has to learn not to go through things, turn invisible, start floating, etc. Peter can't go ghost and when Danny passes out when he is in ghost mode, it just turns off but maybe during extremely stressful situations or life and death moments, Peter can go ghost, it doesn't last very long though.

Time for some silly shenanigans:

Danny runs into Jason for whatever, maybe he was robbing him (even funnier answer, Danny was stealing Jason's bike wheels) and Jason gets him food. Next time, Peter runs into Jason and Dick while Peter was dumpster diving for, idk, tech parts. Dick and Peter are talking while Jason is staring at Peter. Internally, Peter is freaking while Danny isn't helping.

Then Jason asks if he has a twin.

Danny is losing it, just laughing as Peter has to deal with this. But Peter-blurt out the first thing in your mind-Parker says "yes, we got separated and I'm looking for him while I'm staying at my uncle's apartment".

So now Peter has to come with a whole backstory and reason why they're separated and why he won't go to the police. ("Acab bitch" Danny says and Peter repeats without question. Jason this time loses it while dick pouts and peter is horrified by what he said)

Peter and Danny making up fake identities, families, and backstory.

i think it would really be funny if Danny is the ghost prince (waiting to be crowned after his death) so the Infinite realms are up in arms about their beloved prince being missing and his last known signature/location is the dc universe. so now JLD is scrambling to find him and all the while he is just chilling in someone's head.

some fun/interesting arguments: the way they view death. peter is a very "do not kill" guy, basically his ideals align with batman (maybe. I'm not extremely knowledgeable in spiderman lore) and Danny-being a ghost/the ghost king-has different views. i think he's still a "try to save everyone" type of guy but has exceptions.

maybe they share dreams which leads to horrifying nightmares.

another fun thing: they're both inventors so they can look at a microwave and just break it apart to build something new.

another point: Danny's weirdness as a ghost

Peter: did you just stick something in our body??? i cant feel it??

Danny: oh yeah. i do that sometimes. im pretty sure i stuck our phone in out chest.

Peter: Get it out?!??

anyways, this is all i got. yall can take this and run with it. add onto it or remove something. this is brought to you by- peter gets flung into Gotham and that one fic where Danny and young Jason kind of merge so Jason is Danny's ghost half

[wall-maria-around-ba-sing-se]

Things you learn by reading the Xenoblade X pre-story short stories that were never officially translated:

The gravity on Mira is 0.94 that of Earth

The Planet Mira was named after a woman from Earth named Mira Torrez. I think it's possible to learn this in-game but I've never seen it personally

The literal first thing you learn about Mira Torrez is that she was Protestant. Which I'm sure she could be but, statistically speaking, with that last name she probably wasn't lmao

Mira was considered the "emotional backbone" on the Earthlife Colonization Project and helped bridge the communication gap between regular citizens and the more military/governmental sides of the project. She was simultaneously a clergywoman, an educator, and a scientist. Without her, many normal people perceived the project as too concerned with preserving national interests rather than life on Earth. Mira was focused on steering the plan to be "free of racial, national or religious motives"

Mira chose to stay behind on Earth as it was attacked seemingly to help board people until the last second 🫡

Most of the people in current-NLA worked in heavily-fortified sectors of the ship like the Habitat Unit and the bridge. Meanwhile, the escape pods (like the one the player is found in) were for crew members who worked in less fortified sections of the ship

The Ghosts are called such not because we don't know anything about them, or because they disappeared suddenly, but because they phased through the hull of the ship when attacking

Tatsu got captured trying to get his shut-in friend to go outside and Touch Grass. He also got captured by the Prone RIGHT as the White Whale was crashing onto Mira.

While being dragged back to the Prone camp, Tatsu wished on the White Whale like a shooting star which, to me, felt very much like:

The Nopon did not know they lived on a planet until these weirdo aliens showed up and told them they live on a big ball in space

Nagi is the one who decided that Tyrants are called Tyrants

Nagi's the one who named it New Los Angeles/NLA

Nagi is the one who got rid of the ranks (recall in the beginning of the game, Irina is used to calling Elma "colonel" but Elma corrects her saying they're all the same rank now) mostly because he didn't actually want to be the chief defense minister lamo

Nagi ended up being defense minister anyways because Vandam called him a chicken about it

It was already obvious based on his in-game dialogue and battle lines, but the short stories really drive home that Nagi really really would rather be in the field commanding a small squad than be stuck at a desk doing paperwork

He tried to get Vandam to take the job but when that fails he ends up making it so Vandam has to be head of BLADE

Before the reorganization, Elma outranked Vandam

Nagi is the one who named it BLADE, seemingly based on something Elma had said a long time ago

Nagi is constantly going "man.... if only Elma was here" and I think it's so cute. They're besties your honor.

Maurice was the only "passenger" awake on the White Whale while it was in space. Everyone else was crew.

Maurice was supposed to be loaded into the lifehold alongside the president (unclear if Of The US or of some other organization) but the alien attack started and the president and the other aides fucking died(?). He woke up on the ship alone and he was depressed with survivors guilt for a few weeks until he resolved to start building connections with people, which ended up getting him a lot of ears up the chain of command

Maurice ended up running the government because everyone else thought it was a boring job

Nagi muted Maurice's comm device because he was sick of his nagging lmao. This made it harder to find him after the crash though, unfortunately

Maurice looks up to Mira Torrez and wants to "carry on her ideals"

Maurice was the one who suggested the planet be named after Mira

Lin saves Maurice's life by using herself as bait to lure a Tyrant away from him with flares

While all of the characters agree it is an unfortunate necessity that they have to fight the indigens, Lao seems to be the most against fighting native fauna, rolling his eyes and scoffing at retroactive justifications like "sorry, but it was me or you"

Nagi notes that Lao used to be more cheerful "before all this". I did not know that Nagi knew Lao before the destruction of Earth

Elma does not make an appearance until the end of the final short story. Unsurprisingly, Irina is the happiest about Elma resurfacing and is described as "clinging" onto Elma "with tears in her eyes" (👈 👀 🏳️‍🌈❓) while Elma explains where she's been this whole time (fixing her Skell after the crash so she could meet up with the others)

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

I really want you to get started on Jurassic Park now after reading your tags.

All right, you asked for it! This post is going to be long because I've been rereading Jurassic Park since I was about 10 years old. But. My thoughts:

Jurassic Park is the oldest story in the world: one about hubris, and the price men pay for their ignorance of nature. From the first moment the protagonists step foot on the island, they can see it. There are poisonous plants next to the pool because they "look pretty." The harbor has no retaining wall because tropical storms aren't considered important. And there's a steep price for that hubris. Wu doesn't bother to learn the dinosaurs' names before breeding them, Nedry ignores them as unprogrammable, Malcolm mansplains them to their own creators, Regis laughs at the idea of them escaping, Hammond relentlessly monetizes them, Arnold insists he can control them... And they all get eaten by dinosaurs. It's the characters with the good sense to be overawed and scared (Muldoon, Gennaro, the paleontologists, the kids) who make it out alive. Almost paradigm.

More specifically, it's a book about the most fundamental principle of engineering: be scared, be confused, and then do something anyway. Then do something else, then something else, until something works. Timmy isn't a master hacker in the book; he's just (unlike Grant) willing to push buttons on the computer until he finds the power grid. Gennaro's still a scaredy cat in the book, but he clenches his teeth and goes into the velociraptor nest anyway. The heroic characters are the ones who conclude someone has to do something, despite not knowing what that something is. The villainous ones are the ones who refuse responsibility.

Speaking of which, can we talk about Ian Malcolm? I'm a sucker for a good Cassandra character, especially one that manages to get even the genre-savvy reader rolling their eyes and going "will you shut up?" And Malcolm is one of the best, every off-putting academic habit rolled into one: He thinks he's better than other people for not liking sports. He brags about not caring about appearances and then comments on Sattler's legs. He assumes Hammond has read his monograph and — when Hammond reveals he hasn't — pulls out a copy that he keeps on his person at all times to have Hammond read on the plane. He smugly explains that other characters should've foreseen they'd be killed by dinosaurs, only to be killed by dinosaurs. He calls his theory the Malcolm Effect. I do love Jeff Goldblum's gentler, more charming take on the character ("See, here, now I'm sitting by myself, talking to myself, that's chaos theory" I say literally every time I ask a question of someone who just left the room). But I prefer the way original Malcolm gets away with being right about everything because we so so badly want him to be wrong.

Speaking of that comment about the legs: by the low low bar of 80s/90s thriller writers, Crichton is surprisingly progressive. Jurassic Park invites us to laugh with (and roll our eyes with) Sattler, every time someone expresses shock the world's top paleobotanist is a woman. The Lost World perfectly captures the "women in STEM have to be twice as competent to get half the respect" dynamic, and it's a story about the male characters over-estimating their own competence as the female ones go about saving the day. Race isn't handled perfectly, but it is discussed in both books. Malcolm's chauvinism is designed to make everything else he says a bitter pill, to poison us against him. Crichton's no feminist. But Sattler's hardiness — later Harding's and Kelly's as well — are shown as hard-won in a world that batters nerdy girls so hard that only the toughest survive.

And Malcolm is just one of the many ways Jurassic Park masterfully lampoons scientific bullshit. After little Tina is bitten by a "strange lizard" and nearly dies from the swelling, Dr. Cruz assures her parents that lizards bite zookeepers all the time, that some people are allergic to lizard venom, and that the lizard Tina drew resembles a basilisk — and then we cut to him talking to his fellow MD. Where we find out that lizards don't attack humans in the wild, no human they know of has ever been hospitalized for a lizard bite, basilisks aren't venomous, and Tina's condition doesn't resemble an allergic reaction. They have no idea what this "lizard" (a Procompsognathus) could be or how it poisoned this kid, but they've been taught to obfuscate rather than admit that. Scientists are arrogant, and ignorant of their ignorance.

But the book is every bit as positive about empiricism as it is negative about individual scientists. The seamless way Crichton blends science fiction with science fact gets me every time. His preface connects Watson & Crick to Swanson & Boyer to Malcolm & Levine, explaining each step of the research process as he goes. He goes on to explain how Genetech developed its ideas from IBM, and that IBM and Genetech both contributed to InGen, which in turn influenced Biosyn, funded by Hamaguri... and only two of those names are fictional, but don't worry about which. Crichton does his homework, and then he presents his homework in the most compelling way of any writer I've ever encountered.

You need no further proof than the technologies — satellite phones, electric cars, touchscreens, gene editing — that were sci fi in 1990, commonplace today. Crichton did the reading. And he rolls that science out ever-so-slowly: dribbling first the mystery of the worker with a 3-foot gash in his torso who claims a bird of prey did it, then the mystery of the resort that needs the world's most powerful data storage, then the mystery of the billionaire who calls in the middle of the night with "urgent" questions about what baby dinosaurs eat... Until even 10-year-old me could look at that picture of a fractal and go "ohhh, I see how the unstable phase shifts of chaos theory explain the fact that a thunderstorm caused that guy to get eaten by a T. rex." Almost paradigm.

And all Jurassic Park's banging on about chaos theory belies a deep understanding of how interconnected ecosystems are. Animals, like plants, like subatomic particles, must be understood holistically. Pretending that the best way to learn the truth of any system is through breaking it down "is like saying scrambled eggs and bacon for breakfast is human nature. It's nothing of the sort. It's uniquely Western training." Crichton clearly loves biology: "a single fertilized egg has a 100,000 genes, which act in a coordinated way, switching on and off at specific times, to transform that single cell... A house is simple in comparison. But even so, workmen build the stairs wrong, they put the sink in backward, the tile man doesn't show up when he's supposed to. All kinds of things go wrong. And yet the fly that lands on the workman's lunch is perfect." And he clearly hates what capitalism has done to biotechnology.

Hammond the venture capitalist is a perfectly despicable villain: No dinosaurs have escaped, because I said so. If there are problems, no there aren't. Put on a good show for investors, no matter how many contractors die in the process. Talk about all the "good" the park will do by making tons of money. The kids are stranded and the tech expert's dead? No they're not, because I said so, now pass the ice cream. It's truly a delight watching him get eaten by dinosaurs.

For that matter, Jurassic Park is bursting with details of style over substance. There are cutesy Apatosaurus cutouts in the hotel rooms and bars on the widows, a half-finished restaurant covered in Pterosaur poop, and a celebrity-narrated tour track that can't synchronize with the dinosaurs. It's trying to be Disney World, and it's actually a roadside zoo. The signage — "When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth," the hand-lettered "Welcome to Jurassic Park", the room (and department) called "Control" — isn't subtle in its irony. But it is fun.

Which is yet another great sci fi trick. "Our funding is infinite but our peer review sucks" perfectly sets up the blend of the accurate with the plot-fueling (likely why Crichton reuses it several times). Why are there Pterosaurs in a dinosaur park? Our funding is infinite but our peer review sucks. Why are so many Cretaceous dinosaurs in Jurassic Park? Our funding is infinite but our peer review sucks. You didn't know Dilophosaurus is venomous? Our funding is infinite... It's perfect, because it's the opposite of how the scientific process usually works. Again: Crichton knows his shit, and he knows how to communicate it.

Like, even when I'm reading Sphere or Terminal Man — books where I'm perfectly aware I know more than Crichton on the subject, not in the least because their science inevitably became outdated — I still find myself believing, at least for the length of the story. You don't have to suspend disbelief when reading Crichton's work; he hoists it into the stratosphere for you. Half the time he won't give it back even after you're done. Almost paradigm.

But despite all that nerdery, Jurassic Park is still a rocking adventure story that builds momentum until it smashes to its conclusion at 70 miles an hour, ending the millisecond it can do so with not a word of denouement. You can practically hear that last deep piano note on the final words. It's cinematic as hell. This is Crichton post-Westworld, pre-Twister, the ultimate adventure writer. He reads, clearly, avoiding the errors of sci fi amateurs who watch too many movies (the T. rex has a distinctive smell, the island is relentlessly humid, so on) but he knows how to make a tight fast-moving story that you can consume in under three hours. His imagery is powerful, his pacing is on point, and his plot sucks you in and shoots you out like a water slide.

Jurassic Park is fun. It's informative. It makes you laugh, and gasp, and sigh, and think. It has its flaws (Harding Sr. fades out in the 3rd act, Grant's Maiasaura expertise never pays off) but those are minor in a book that stands up so well to rerereading. Almost paradigm.

[riorsonhouse]

thinking about being in the healers quadrant at Basgiath and meeting Xaden for the first time in when you're both first years because he got into a fight with some random cadet who was talking shit about the Marked Ones (he won, of course but the other cadet got him with his dagger).

when he walks into the quadrant he's almost expecting to be turned away but you usher him over to your station and try to make awkward small talk. your hands are nearly shaking as you try different tonics to help with pain and swelling. he takes it as fear for who he is, and he's getting more and more frustrated by it as the minutes tick by. really, you're nervous because you just passed your exam for this, you've never actually worked on a cadet, and and he's incredibly handsome.

he's about to speak up with some angry little quip about if you have an issue with Marked Ones or healing people in general, maybe you picked the wrong quadrant when you say something first,

"sorry i'm being so quiet i've never- this is sort of my first time healing-"

"one of us?" he cuts you off, his gaze hard. your eyebrows furrow in confusion, and you look up from your work to meet his gaze.

"what?"

it's then that you fully notice the relic spanning his left wrist all the way up to his neck. surprise glazes over your features.

"oh! no! that's not- i don't care about that. i just...i just meant your my first cadet i've worked on like...ever."

his eyes soften slightly, but he's still guarded.

"i follow the code of chricton, we are to aid anyone when they're in need. your relic doesn't change that."

you continue to work, forcing yourself to look away from his beautiful eyes (were those flecks of gold?). as you finish up you're quite proud of yourself because you nailed it. you bandage him up, and explain the after care to him, he listens intently.

it isn't until later that he's kicking himself because he never got your name and he has no real reason to back to the quadrant but he cannot stop thinking about you.

maybe because you're the first person he's encountered at Basgiath who doesn't look at him like he's beneath them, or maybe it's because you bit you bottom lip ever so slightly as you worked on him and it was the cutest thing he's ever seen. either way, he's 100% you're going to plague his thoughts for a very long time.

idek i think my brain has turned into nothing but fourth wing since i finished onyx storm like i cannot stop thinking about it!!!!! omg

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

Lucifer x Reader - It's Been A While... (NSFW)

Based on @the-other-soup's post from a little bit ago ;3

Lucifer's been alone from quiet some time now, ever since his wife left years ago

He's never found anyone else to share his life with after that

That is, of course, until you came along

You never intended to fall in love with the King of Hell, but his goofy charm and profound silliness enchanted you

Things were slow to start, it took him a few months to ask if he could hold your hand

You didn't mind though, you thought it was adorable; the most powerful being in the realm became a flustered mess around you

After things became more serious, however, it was you that brought up the possibility of being more intimate

Lucifer was somehow very eager and very hesitant at the same time; as though he wanted nothing more than to be with you physically but something was holding him back

You told him it didn't have to be today, or next week, hell, it didn't even have to be this year!

You only wanted to have a discussion and didn't want to pressure him at all; he was very appreciative

One night, a soft make out session on his bed developed into something deeper

Your eyes couldn't help but notice the bulge that was forming in Lucifer's pants

"Maybe we should stop," you suggested, gesturing below his belt

Lucifer looked down, his eyes wide. "O-Oh! Oh golly...sorry about that..."

"Lucifer, you don't have to apologize for being turned on!"

"I know," he sighed, "I just...I feel like I'm forcing you to wait for me. You've been so patient and I can't tell you how much that means to me, but..."

You smile and plant a kiss on his tinted cheek. "It's alright, I understand. You know I'd never force you into anything you weren't ready for. I'm perfectly fine waiting for-"

"I want you to touch me." Lucifer cut you off unexpectantly. "I-I mean, if you would like to! I don't want you to if you don't want to! I just...God, what's wrong with me?!"

You sat there stunned for a moment before taking a hold of Lucifer's hand. "Luci, please don't force yourself into this. If you're not comfortable with-"

"I promise I'm not forcing myself into wanting this, wanting you. God, I've wanted you for so long now...I'm tired of being afraid." He leaned in to kiss you tenderly before pulling away. "Please..."

You leaned your forehead against his. "Are you sure?"

"I am."

Slowly, your hands traveled south on his body, making quick work of his belt and shuffling his pants down to his ankles.

His bulge looked even more impressive pressing against his boxers; you had to hold back a smirk when you saw the spot of precum that already leaked through the material

You pushed his boxers down and freed his thick shaft, gasping at his size and trying to keep yourself from drooling

"I'll go slow, okay?" you reassured him. "If you want me to stop, please tell me. Promise?"

"I promise," he murmured.

The poor man could barely look you in the eyes, but it was adorable how nervous he seemed to be

Tentatively you gripped the base of his cock which you could barely wrap your hand fully around and began to stroke him gently

God, the sounds that left the angel’s mouth were immaculate; soft mewls and choked back moans

You wanted him so fucking bad

But you promised you would go slow, and that’s exactly what you planned to do

You kissed him softly, swallowing every noise he made

Only about a minutes passed before Lucifer started to tremble under your touch, his breathing beyond labored

He was a goner

“S-Shit…love, I…oh, God…oh no…no no no no, FFFFUUUUCK!”

Without so much as a warning, Lucifer came hard into your hand, unable to keep himself from bucking into you

His cum spilled passed your fingers and dripped onto the bedsheets below

“Oh…” you whispered to yourself

“Fuck…FUCK! I’m so so sorry! I didn’t think I would…oh my God…it’s been so long since someone else has…this is a disaster!”

You couldn’t hold back the giggle that left your throat

Lucifer blushed hard and hid his burning face in his hands

“No, no, Lucifer it’s alright!” you tried to comfort him. “I’m not laughing at you, I swear I’m not. I don’t care that you finished so quickly! If anything, I’m flattered! Please don’t be embarrassed.”

You brought your hand to your face, making sure he watched you lick up the mess he had made

That gesture alone made the man whimper

“Did it feel good?” you asked, wiping the remaining remnants of his cum from your lips

“Good? Sweetie, that felt incredible…I’m sorry again. Can I at least make it up to you?”

You blushed at the thought of his proposal. “Lucifer, that’s very thoughtful of you, b-but you don’t have to-”

You don’t know how you ended up laying flat on the bedsheets with Lucifer hovering over you, but you were

And you didn’t want to be anywhere else

“Do you think it’s fair that I get to cum and you don’t?” he asked. “No, no, that’s not going to work for me.”

He shifted himself down, his face planted firmly between your clothes sex

“With your permission, darling.~”

Lucifer spent the next hour bringing you endless pleasure with his fingers and tongue alone

You now knew it was possible for you to cum 7 times within the span on 60 minutes

[polarisjisung]

LOVE ON THE COURT | 44 KISS ON THE COURT

SYNOPSIS | every college student has their struggles, but raising her younger brother has Y/N top of the list, struggling her way through college whilst balancing her academics and basketball captaincy is difficult no doubt and with Jaemin, her ex best friend and captain of the guys basketball team, and his growing one sided hatred towards her, it doesn't seem to be getting any easier

WARNINGS | swearing, sexual innuendos, kys/kms jokes

NOTES | and that's a wrap on LOTC ! thank you guys for reading ily all so much! I had a lot of fun writing this smau and I loved all your comments/reblogs/asks about it 🫶 I love LOTC and she's lwk my baby, being the 1st smau i wrote (and finished because im still distraught over cherry flavoured...) but I also think I've learnt a lot in the writing process and I'm pretty sure I can do better (or I hope so at least 😅) so stay tuned for a jeno smau otw !

more cute jaemy/n moments should follow in bonus chapters (if i write them...)! but this is the official end to lotc because I'm impatient and want it to be over 😭 thanks for reading ❤️

"You think we can win?"

Up until now, the room had been quiet, and a lingering sense of uncertainty that no one had spoken of was present.

But Heeseung had never been scared to speak his mind, not directing the question at anyone in specific.

Still all eyes undoubtedly fell to the two captains. Jaemin and Y/n, who sat beside each other, hands clasped together, fingers interlaced. It was only natural that at a time like this, the team would turn to the two of them, and they had no intention to disappoint.

As she looked up, Y/n lifted her head off Jaemin's shoulder, sucking in a breath before rising to her feet.

She refused to back down, standing tall despite the heat on her face, even though every part of her wanted nothing more than to be alone, curled away and to have kept to herself.

She had a team, and she owed it to them to stay strong. They had come so far, there was no way she would let this stop them from making it to the finals.

"I know we can win."

She reached behind herself, for the clipboard she had been messily scribbling notes on for the better half of the morning, until Jaemin had forced her away from strategising. "We have higher points than team B who we played last time, and we're tied for points with team C, so all we have to do is play our best," She smiles, looking at everyone in the room, and though no one mirrors her expression, the feeling of hope begins to rise from the dejected players, slowly, "There's no way we're losing our last game, and we're especially not going to let it be our first loss of the season."

Jaemin smiled, noticing the slightly concerned glint in her eyes, but not speaking much of it, only standing to his feet beside her with another even brighter smile. He wouldn't say it, but for a moment, the thought crossed his mind, maybe she was the better captain after all. That being said, he didn't care all that much about being better than her anymore, as long as he was with her, it would be enough.

"You haven't lost until you think you have," he speaks, remembering what he was intedning to do, "We're in a bad situation but we can always make the most of it. Let's play our best, and we'll walk out exactly how we planned." Jaemin nods, voice full of strength.

Still, the room feels cold, like the wind rushes past them, and happiness with it, low spirits and sighs of disbelief filling the room

Y/n let's her eyes meet Jaemin's beside her.

"We don't say it much" she starts off, "have to keep ourselves humble somehow don't we, but" she scans her eyes across the room, "you guys are some of the best players in the country, that has to count for something."

Jaemin chuckles, "I'd say it counts for a lot"

He hears the way Y/n gulps beside him, her eyes watering as she realises their words aren't being received as well as they'd hoped, his hand finding hers beside him. Though it's loose, his grip is comforting, motivating in the best of ways.

There's a moment of silence.

"Winning is a mindset." Y/n finally states, with perhaps the most rigidity she's ever presented in her voice, confident, and somewhat assertive, "You walk onto the court like you've already won and you will. That's what we’re going to do" she speaks with such certainty. It's almost hard not to believe, "We will win, it's just what we do."

"You're right" Isa stands up, triumphant "Losing is for losers."

"No shit" Chenle hums, sitting up from his previously slumped position, a couple others following as the quiet room begins to grow warmer, laughter echoing off the walls. Conversations follow, like usual pre game protocol, some tactics, some motivation. It doesn't take the room much longer to return to normal. Whatever normal was.

Things would be okay, whether they won or whether they didn't. But losing wasn't exactly one of their options tonight.

Y/n turns to Jaemin again, smiling with more conviction than earlier.

"You know, we make a good team" she looks down for a moment, "even after all that mess"

Jaemin let's his hand rests over her cheek, not specifically worried about who was watching, "Especially after all that mess"

Y/N and Jaemin stood at the centre of the court, the sound of the final buzzer still echoing in their ears. It was over.

The team had fought hard, each possession, each pass, each moment fraught with tension and determination.

The last few minutes of the game had felt like an eternity, with their opponents pressing them to the limit, but it was all over now. Just above, the scoreboard flashing the final score confirmed what they’d worked so tirelessly for—victory.

Jaemin, his chest heaving with each breath, looked over at Y/N. Clear in his eyes, triumph, and an unmasked sense of adoration. Everything he had once been so bitter for, so hurt over, it seemed like a small hurdle to pass, to finally be here today, watching Y/n smile his way with pride. The warmth in her smile, the passion, it was all he wanted to see, now, and for the days to come. This wasn't just winning a game. It was more than just state championships. It was knowing this was exactly where he wanted to be, going through the ups and the downs in life with her. The past seemed so small, so distant now, like all the struggles had never really been. But Jaemin wouldn't forget it, the pain, the heartache, and perhaps he preferred it that way, knowing just how much it took to get to being here, how much it meant. Because to Jaemin, Y/n was worth every struggle in the world.

The sweat on his forehead mixed with the tears that were starting to blur his vision. His eyes, usually full of confidence, were now wide with a slight disbelief and brimmed with joy.

Y/N, equally breathless, met Jaemin’s gaze. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, everything else faded into the background. The court was alive with celebration, the crowd shouting in exhilaration, but in that instant, it was just the two of them. Alone, like nothing else mattered.

Y/N's heart raced, not just from the adrenaline of the game, but from the raw emotion they had fought through together—every late-night practice, every setback, every moment where doubt had tried to creep in.

As they approached each other, Jaemin couldn’t help but pull Y/N into his arms, his hands pressing against her back as he held her close. “We did it,” he whispered, the words soft but full of meaning. Y/N laughed, the sound light but genuine. “You didn’t doubt us for a second, did you?” Y/N teased, lifting her face to look up at him, her hand gently brushing his cheek.

Jaemin smiled, brushing his lips against Y/N’s forehead, a kiss that was tender, full of everything they had been through and more. “Not when you’re by my side.” The words came out low and steady, carrying a depth that couldn't quite be fully explained. It didn't need to be.

Truly, they were in their own world, up until Jaemin heard his name being called from somewhere behind him, reluctantly pulling his eyes away from her.

"Jaemin, don't be a wuss give her a real kiss."

It was jeno shouting from the courtside bench, laughing at the way both of their cheeks flushed bright at his words along with Renjun.

That didn't sound so bad, Jaemin thought.

For a moment, he let his gaze meet Y/n's once again, "That alright with you peach?"

"More than alright."

When Jaemin pressed his lips to hers, soft, tender, and promising, Y/n couldn't help but smile. She hadn't expected to be doing this here, for everyone to see, her lips locked against his,but she didn't mind all that much, not when she was right where she wanted to be.

The arena around them was electric—teammates running to congratulate them, the crowd still roaring with excitement—but in the middle of it all, they found their moment of peace, a quiet connection amid the chaos. They had fought for this victory together, and it was theirs. Their love, their effort, had carried them here—through every tough game, every tough moment, and now, they had this championship to prove it, more importantly they had each other.

“Let’s go celebrate,” Y/N said, her voice soft but dripping with excitement, grabbing Jaemin's wrist.

He shot her a teasing smile, in true Jaemin fashion. “After we have a few more moments to ourselves?”

Y/N felt her heart swell, her cheeks darkening.

"I love you, you know" she chuckles, "I think i could tell you i love you as many times as there are stars in the sky, and it still wouldn't be enough."

"I love you too peach, more than all the stars in the universe combined."

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[okaysonny]

about james lee ╏ taesoo ma + first gen kings

𓇼 summary: taesoo finally found james lee — he figures he should tell the other kings.

𓇼 details: no reader, takes place after the dg vs taesoo fight (one night arc)

𓇼 wc: 1.4k

𓇼 A/N: thanks to the anon who gave me the idea! there's not much source material for any of them, but...i tried my best to write them in character (-.-)

!!! we don't know how long jaegyeon + dg have been working together. if it's revealed he already knew dg's identity during one night arc...we can just say he's playing dumb 😝

Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗 created the group 'ABOUT JAMES LEE'

Jichang Kwak Taesoo? JaegyeoN❤️ Na 🚗 Oh ffs Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗 Hello everyone. You know I wouldn't be contacting you all for no reason. I'm recovering in Gangbuk right now and I'd rather not have a group face time. This is about James Lee SEOKDU WANG Yeah we can see that. Thanks for making us look like stalkers Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗 Shut up. You know as well as I do how much that prick terrorised us, which is why my people in Ansan made a plan to lure him out. I found James Lee Jichang Kwak You have? JaegyeoN❤️ Na 🚗 Seriously??? DAEHO TEMPLE 🧘☸️ Greetings 😊 This monk doesn't indulge in technology, but it must've been Buddha's will that this phone fell into my hands...What's this about James Lee? Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗 Hello Gongseob. Still putting up this sham I see DAEHO TEMPLE 🧘☸️ It must also be Buddha's will to choke you with my prayer beads 😊😊 Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗 I'll snap off that prosthetic leg while you're at it DAEHO TEMPLE 🧘☸️ You talk as if you don't have a glass eye 😊 Jichang Kwak Jesus Christ, how did you two children manage to rule your regions? Taesoo, you have us all here, so get to the point. Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗 Right, James isn't just in hiding like we all thought. He's taken on a completely new identity, one that's very visible to the public...essentially, he's hiding in plain sight. SEOKDU WANG A new identity that's public? Why would James risk that? Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗 No idea. But he fooled me for a good while when I first saw him Jichang Kwak But the bottom line is you saw him, right? So who is he? Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗 Yes...and I fought with him. Everyone...this is James Lee

Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗

taesoo stares at the screen in confusion. no one sent anything for a good while.

until finally:

DAEHO TEMPLE 🧘☸️ 😧😧😧 Jichang Kwak ...You sent the wrong picture JaegyeoN❤️ Na 🚗 I don't even wanna know why you have this saved. Aren't you a little too old to be listening to him? 😬 SEOKDU WANG Exposing yourself in such a way...I'd be embarrassed if I were those Ansan kids Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗 What the hell??? No you idiots. This is James Lee. He's been hiding as Diego Kang, better known as DG, a famous idol.

taesoo blinks as the chat goes silent again.

until...

JaegyeoN❤️ Na 🚗 🤣🤣😭😭 Jichang Kwak Taesoo... SEOKDU WANG Go vegan and these hallucinations won't happen Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗 WHAT??? I've seen him with my own two eyes, this man is James Lee...you guys don't believe me? DAEHO TEMPLE 🧘☸️ Hoho don't you mean one eye? 😊 And...lying goes against the 4th precept... Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗 Fuck you firstly. Secondly, WHY would I lie about this? DG is James Lee and he came to Gangbuk once he saw his name was being used...that was the plan to lure him out.

DAEHO TEMPLE 🧘☸️

Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗 What would I gain from making this up? JaegyeoN❤️ Na 🚗 I dunno but I always knew you were weird. No sane man willingly shits in the mountains Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗 ??? You know I don't live there, right? And that's not the point. I'm telling the truth. Hudson was there too SEOKDU WANG All I'm saying is...you're the most vengeful towards James out of everyone here...so it's not impossible to think you got confused and beat up an innocent celebrity... Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗 WHAT??? THAT'S ABSOLUTELY NOT WHAT HAPPENED

DAEHO TEMPLE 🧘☸️

Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗 Send a Buddhist quote one more time I dare you Jichang Kwak Everyone...let's stop bickering for a moment. Taesoo, why don't you just tell us everything that happened? Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗 Right...so basically, Hudson made a plan to lure out James by having a crew in Gangbuk use his name. James was obviously hiding for a reason, so he'd want to take out the threats to his concealment. DAEHO TEMPLE 🧘☸️ Little Hudson! 😄 His night club in Ansan is fantastic...or so I've heard. Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗 😐 Anyway, it worked because James ended up coming. But before that, some 2nd generation kiddies were there...it's surprising but they were quite strong...I felt like I was back in my younger days. SEOKDU WANG Going toe to toe with the 2nd generation...this would never happen in Suwon Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗 Whatever. It got interrupted when this guy with pink hair smashed through the window and started fighting me...he did scarily remind me of James but I didn't think too much of it JaegyeoN❤️ Na 🚗 I'm surprised you didn't recognise someone as famous as DG...then again, it makes sense given where you live 🤔 Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗 I SAID I DON'T LIVE IN THE MOUNTAINS. And he was wearing some ski mask so I couldn't recognise him either way Jichang Kwak How did you know he was James? Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗 That fucker repeated the same lines during our fight back then...that's when I knew. And when he took off his mask, I saw James' face in him. He didn't deny it either, in fact, he confirmed it for me. DAEHO TEMPLE 🧘☸️ Hmmm... Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗 Listen...I know it's hard to believe, but ignore the pink hair and flashy accessories and just look at his face. Don't tell me he doesn't look like James.

taesoo sighs as the chat goes silent again, bracing himself for whatever mockery they throw at him.

but to his pleasant surprise:

SEOKDU WANG ...He does look like him JaegyeoN❤️ Na 🚗 And I always thought that kid had good looks...he could've definitely passed as an idol DAEHO TEMPLE 🧘☸️ They look alike, but how come no one else has noticed? Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗 This weirdo changed his entire personality too. He's way more calm and stoic, not the cocky guy we saw back then. SEOKDU WANG Hang on, how did the fight go? If you're recovering in Gangbuk, does that mean you lost? Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗 Well what do you think?

taesoo rolls his eyes as the radio silence returns. until eventually:

JaegyeoN❤️ Na 🚗 🤣🤣😭😭 Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗 What is it now? JaegyeoN❤️ Na 🚗 YOU GOT BEAT BY SOMEONE WHO TWERKS FOR TEENAGE GIRLS 🤣🤣😭😭 SEOKDU WANG I just watched one of his performances...Taesoo...this is a new low DAEHO TEMPLE 🧘☸️ Defeated by James even after forgoing his identity...this too, must be Buddha's will Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗 I hope you all choke. Unlike you, I can admit when I've lost fair and square, no matter my opponent. JaegyeoN❤️ Na 🚗 I bet you're crying behind the screen right now Jichang Kwak Stop it everyone. Let's not kick a man when he's already down. Taesoo has suffered enough humiliation Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗 ? I just said I wasn't feeling humiliated but thanks JaegyeoN❤️ Na 🚗 I don't get it though, why would James change his whole persona? It can't just be because of the first generation…and he must've gotten help from someone to become DG SEOKDU WANG Wait, didn't he say 'join our group' when trying to recruit Seongji to that 4 major crews thing? Could it be them? Or one of them? Jichang Kwak I think you're bang on the money Seokdu. I have a hunch about why James went into hiding…and who helped him become Diego Kang. JaegyeoN❤️ Na 🚗 Woah. I feel like we're in a detective movie 😆 We should rename this group to 'Incheon Investigations' Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗 I'm not changing it. And if anything, it should be called 'Ansan Investigations' because I'm the one who brought this up Jichang Kwak Stay on topic for 1 minute, I beg of you. Anyway, thanks for telling us Taesoo. I'm going to try discreetly look into this…you've been a big help for my investigations. P.S. - It should be called 'Chungcheong Investigations' because I'm in the police force. Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗 👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻 I had a feeling this was tied into the case you're investigating. James should be brought to justice. You've had to give up so much because of bastards like him. I hope you succeed. Jichang Kwak :) JaegyeoN❤️ Na 🚗 🤢 Get a room. Anyhow, is there a point in keeping this group? Unless you wanna make the right decision and rename it to 'Incheon Investigations' ;) Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗 I will not. But there's no harm in keeping it, just in case anything noteworthy comes up. SEOKDU WANG ...This better not be a regular thing Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗 Well I hated this conversation more than seeing that pink princess, so it won't! DAEHO TEMPLE 🧘☸️ Taesoo, can I ask you one thing? Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗 What is it? DAEHO TEMPLE 🧘☸️ Since you're friendly with DG, would you mind asking him for some concert tickets as a donation to our temple? 😊

Taesoo Ma 👊🏻🐗 has left the group

A/N: jichang x taesoo is my fav rare pair ❤️ taesoo even said he'd investigate jichang's death at his funeral + he was the first king there bruh 🥺😭 ohhh my shayla...

P.S. - if you liked this, check out the j high gc fic that anon was talking about!

divider credits (thin maroon line)

divider credits (white and red)

[ghouljams]

Who do you think embodies Do I Wanna Know - Arctic Monkeys compared to Hozier’s version of it.

I feel like Price has more Arctic Monkeys and Gaz is SO Hozier’s version. But also… I think Ghost also has Hozier’s version as well.

This is the hard-hitting journalism I'm made for as both an AM and Hozier fan.

"Do I Wanna Know" -Hozier has big Ghost vibes for me. The melancholy that lingers in the refrain of "Was sort of hoping that you'd stay" shines through so poignantly in Hozier's version. It's the begging of a man who would rather fall into alcoholism than admit he's lost someone he'll never get back. He's desperate in asking "you've never thought of calling when you've had a few?" you've never wanted him in your lowest moments? "Because I always do" but the feeling isn't "I want to call you when I'm drunk" rather "I want to call you all the time" echoing the sentiment of "dreamt about you nearly every night this week." The feeling of a man who's already fallen to the bottom of the well, who has no leg to stand on so he must crawl. "Too busy being yours to fall for somebody new" Ghost is a dog that's only ever been loyal to one master, and he'll keep crawling back to the same door he's always known even long after you've moved.

I do think Hozier's version has Gaz vibes as well, but more in the control and measure. The clear execution of the lyrics, and the meandering pace makes it feel like a message left on an answering machine. It feels like a manifesto, a declaration that he's not over you. You can break up with him, but that doesn't mean he'll leave you alone. "There's this song I found, that makes me think of you somehow, and I play it on repeat" is exactly the sort of rambling sentence that a man who's just come home from a boys night would drawl into a phone clutched between his ear and shoulder. Sitting up in bed and trying to find the right words to say that'll make you open the door when he knocks. There's this sadness, this "I wish I wasn't like this" that speaks to a man trying to find a way to make it right, that you don't get in the Arctic Monkeys version.

The AM version however, yeah Price. The hard boot step of the beat, that feels like a march towards an inevitability. A man who's used to people jumping to comply with his orders and can't fathom why you wouldn't as well. The heavy guitar and the accusatory "Have you got color in your cheeks?" give the idea of a man that knows not only who he's talking to, but exactly how to talk to you. A man who will say exactly what he needs to in order to get you to come crawling back to him. "Crawling back to you" is a misnomer that leads into the high energy question of "You ever thought of calling when you've had a few?" he isn't crawling back to you, he's just trying to find the words that'll make you think he's the mess he isn't. "You ever get the feeling that you're in deep?" Feels more sinister here, do you ever feel the pressure, do you ever find the flash of understanding that I've already won? "Simmer down and pucker up" (the whole second verse really, which is MISSING from Hozier's version) is so Price, shut up and comply, let me do what I need to do to get you back, don't remember why you're mad just kiss me and I'll have you until we start this process all over again... very Price.

ALSO We're missing a crucial version here: The EZ Band version. Which is Soap's version. It's playful, it's colorful, it's luring you into a false sense of security. But there's a frantic energy in the background that speaks to the desperation of our favorite Scot. He's not leaving a message, he's not waiting around, he's on your doorstep right now trying to pick your lock while he tells you about how badly he needs you. "We can be together, if you wanted to" is pleading in this version, a stress on "if you wanted to" that feels like he's asking a leading question. Not "If you wanted to," but "I'm asking to be together again." Then "Do you want me crawling back to you" is almost accusatory, "is this what it takes, is this what you want? because I'll do it."

[jaydenism]

been thinking about this bug a lot recently...

i want a big kanade arc pls pls pls 🙏 its her turn to go through the horrors ♡

long kanade ramble ahead!!

i think that savior complex of hers is gonna send her crashing down. hard.

we haven't gotten any huge kanade focus events yet, or anything that really progresses her story or builds her character in a significant way, but im really looking forward to see what they have in store for her character arc. im hoping kana5 will stir the pot a bit and get the plot moving.

i feel like overall shes been really mysterious and strangely without much going on, and at first i thought she was a little boring even... but i think that's by design. she doesn't open up about herself much, and generally appears to be pretty put together, maybe aside from her poor self-care. she doesn't talk about many of her own problems, because she doesn't want to have the others worry for her, when her problems are "insignificant" compared to the others, as she says. i think the lack of progression in her story also fools the audience into believing she has her shit together. ena has had her fair share of struggles. mafuyu had her big arc, but shes also been trying to find herself since the beginning. mizuki just went through hell and finally fell apart after the long-lasting growing tension in her story. but kanade? she's been stagnant. unchanging. it makes it easy for her to be overlooked. but that's exactly what she wants-- to not weigh the others down, and to be their support. but she can't keep that up forever. so yes, i admit i wasn't super interested in her character before, but I've now realized that's because they've hardly even started her story yet. as one of my oomfs said, she was always going to be the last wall to fall.

when reading the story at first, kanade has a lot of warning signs you might glance over. ive only recently started to see them more, like just in passing comments here and there that are REALLY concerning and unhealthy. i mean the most obvious sign is that she barely gives herself time to eat or sleep of course, but the more you pay attention to the subtle things, the more apparent it becomes that she's got some serious shit she needs to unpack, or she may just end up crumpling under the weight of it all. i think her undoing has the potential to be huge. catastrophic even. i really wonder what the writers are planning for her, but all this waiting leads me to believe they could have something big planned. like okay, looking back to the card i drew from, the bloomfes kanade card, shes got some wild shit going on... there is nothing normal about that !!!

i also posted abt this on bluesky, but reiterating it here, i felt like her newest card for her mixed focus event kinda seemed like foreshadowing... specifically because of the niigo colored star charms. mizuki and ena's charms are together, facing each other (yippeeeee), but mafuyu's charm faces kanade's, who's charm is not facing hers. mizuenas charms also seem to glow in the light, while kanamafus dont reflect as much light. could just be coincidence, but i know they love hinting and foreshadowing with card details like this. and overall, kanade's expression is unreadable, like a still, empty doll. the card has a bit of a melancholic feel, to me at least. im not sure how soon the next niigo event will be, but it's gotta be a kanade focus, unless they pull a saki. i dont think its the biggest leap to suggest this could be some foreshadowing for the next event.

but anyway, i think kana5 will start building up the tension at least, maybe entering a kanade arc even. i need to see her snap pls pls pls pls pls

if you read all that,,, wow thanks, u get a star ☆ :)) also lemme know ur thoughts and if im off base about anything

[whiteheartlight]

Toa Metru being influenced by their metru's Toa Mangai not just Lhikan, anyone?

Nokama lived through Naho's death and the grief that followed as well as Tuyet's killings and betrayal. It's obvious which one of those Toa she would emulate, but Tuyet served as a reminder that Toa of Water carry power and the capacity for hatred and violence. when she becomes a Hordika, she remembers Tuyet's rage, and it makes her afraid. she always wants her brothers to see her the way she feels Lhikan saw Naho: patient, warm, and endlessly reliable.

I've written about Onewa feeling fealty to Lhikan's stone brother, whom he had seen in battle and trusted whole-heartedly. when the Stone Toa died, Onewa's loyalty transferred to Lhikan instead. truthfully, as they started losing the Mangai, Onewa lost a sense of security in Po-Metru and missed the feeling that the Toa was nearby to watch over them. he never had a lot of friends but had always felt that the Toa accepted him and liked him as he was. the Toa wasn't some distant hero to Onewa, he was a companion and a feeling of safety

less tragically, Matau is one of the Matoran who burns effigies of Nidhiki and helps graffiti the place where he used to live, celebrating his downfall. a lot of Le-Matoran laugh about his defeat and how solidly Lhikan paid back his betrayal, but really, it smarts to know their city's Air Toa did that. not that Nidhiki had had much of an interest in Le-Metru for years. the Mangai weren't from Metru Nui and some of them took more interest in the metrus than others. that being said, Matau thinks a lot about Nidhiki when Vakama is with Roodaka. even though Vakama is the one who turned on them, Matau still can't but think it would be a betrayal not to try and save him. he doesn't want to be like Nidhiki, who put himself first and turned on his Fire Toa. Matau decides to put Vakama first no matter if it costs him his life. he redeems Nidhiki's betrayal

I just see the Toa Mangai of Earth as the first person to get that idea of "we preserve the past to learn from it" into the collective conscious of the Onu-Matoran in Metru Nui and Whenua just took that and ran with it. that Toa was very very old and respected, although Whenua did not know him well. Whenua also once heard the Earth Toa and the Plant Life Toa arguing like they hated each other and then laughing together five minutes later. so he thought, oh, it's okay to disagree with each other sometimes when you're Toa. and it made him realize that Toa are just people too and not always perfectly measured and mature or magically heroic. some of his siblings didn't learn that lesson til they were already Toa, so he's grateful for it.

Nuju has a lot of possible heroes to learn from as a Ko-Matoran, and for all that he's an academia-focused nerd who enjoyed the isolation of his study, he loved the Four Brothers Frost. all of Ko-Metru did. four Ice Toa who fought Kanohi Dragons together?? they were so cool. but Nuju never ever imagined himself as a Toa, so to him, it was more like these were professionals in another field, or even storybook characters. it wasn't until he was a Toa that he started wondering if he was like them at all or asked himself what they would do in his place. the Brothers Frost were very independent, so it could have taught Nuju that he didn't need a team, but actually what he saw was that no matter how much they preferred working alone, they always came when Lhikan called and recognized a need for a united team. Nuju reflects on that a lot - it just takes him a long time to decide Vakama is the one who should be the head of that unity. sometimes, now that Matoro has also passed, Nuju fears that Ice Toa will die out in the world. you could call it an irrational fear, although it's true there are few Ice Toa left, but it comes from the memory of watching all four of them die one after the another. still, he tries to be like them: taking absolutely no shit from anyone, ever, but loyal to his siblings and his Matoran

[flightfoot]

Top Ten Completed Miraculous Fics Of 2024

So here it is, my top ten list for the year. I'm gonna be adding this as a bookmark subcollection inside of the full collection. That way, people will still be able to see which fics I recommend most highly for the year, even if they can't find this particular tumblr post.

I've got a real range in popularity here. The most popular fic has over 2000 kudos, while the least popular hasn't even hit 20 yet, at the time of my writing this. Just goes to show that popularity doesn't necessarily track with quality, especially for fics that have more niche appeal to begin with.

All of these are over 40K this time. Longer fics just have more going on, so they dominate lists like this. Which is one reason I have the regular lists that are separated by wordcount, to let fics of every length have a chance to shine.

A lot of the lower entries here bounced around in placement. The top five remained pretty stable though, once entered.

Here's the subcollection I set up for them!

10.

Each Hum And Click by @echo-has-queries

Kagami thought her understandably high standards for a match in marriage would mean she could avoid being paired with a man by her mother. That she could keep perfecting her flying-machine skills and eventually take over her mother’s place in leading the Tsurugi steam engine manufacturing company without having to defer to a man. She would have thought that when her mother told her to test the Agreste boy as a marriage match she had been kidding - if her mother ever kid. But she was serious and there truly was no fault to be found with Gabriel Agreste's son - except for the small detail of course, that he was not human. So Kagami must turn to the only fine mechanic she knows in Paris to find a solution to this new dilemma. But perhaps the dilemma could turn out to be the solution itself. Written for the AU Roulette Challenge 2024 with the prompt: Steampunk AU

So this fic is entirely from Kagami's POV, and it is a treat! It's an Adrigaminette fic, which you slowly figure out from reading the fic, if you didn't check the tags - Kagami may have tried not to like Adrien, but he grew on her regardless, and then a few chapters in you find out about hers and Marinette's failed relationship. I loved slowly finding out why the two of them broke up, when there are clearly still strong feelings between them, and how it ties into Kagami's character arc and the overall themes of the story: standing up for yourself, breaking free from those who would control you, and forging your own path.

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9.

Do You Read Me? by @19thsentry-blog

The problem with being a Couffaine was the hereditary bits. The stubbornness. The weird need to pick a fight with authority for no reason besides the principle of it. The way being a Couffaine meant falling in love, fast as a car crash, and just as deadly. It ruined you forever.

So basically, this takes place a few years after Season 5, in the post-Wish world. Luka takes over as the Ladybug Holder, battling Chrysalis in Marinette's place. It's causing him some strain, since it's hard to hold down a job when you need to vanish randomly for long periods of time while on the clock, and it doesn't help that Chrysalis is a lot sneakier than Monarch was.

That's not the core of the story though. No, the real story starts up at chapter 3, when Luka suddenly wakes up in 19th century London, supposedly having always been there, and talking to a 19th century version of Max. From there, he soon gets escorted to Felix, who is a detective around those parts and agrees to host him for awhile.

This is a Sherlock Holmes inspired story, with the setting ripped straight out of those old stories, and I think it does a great job of that! Felix feels natural as Sherlock, with his deductive abilities, and the mystery really does read a lot like a Sherlock story. Though of course, the ultimate cause is more magical in nature.

I love Luka's perspective in this story and his and Felix's dynamic, it just feels very natural and well done!

I was satisfied with how the mystery wrapped up, 19thsentry did a good job of making things make sense at the end, and it felt satisfying. If you want a story with some great characterization for Luka or Felix, or just feel like a mystery, this is the story for you!

8.

A Breach In The Brooch by @piromina

Ladybug and Chat Noir are the heroes of Paris. Hawkmoth is Chat Noir's father. Chat Noir is aware of this. Hawkmoth is not.

So this is an interesting spin on the classic "Gabriel recruits Adrien early on to help him" plotline. Mostly because Adrien is still Chat Noir in this AND still helping Ladybug as a superhero - Gabriel has no clue about his secret identity.

Plagg, unsurprisingly, isn't thrilled about Adrien refusing to tell Ladybug what he knows about Hawkmoth's identity, and that Adrien keeps following Gabriel's orders, even when he knows they're wrong. Though he figures out before Adrien does that Adrien's compulsion to follow his father's orders isn't just a psychological thing...

I really love Plagg in this especially, he's the MVP. He knows what it's like to be compelled to do or not to do certain things, so he's good at comforting Adrien over it and at finding loopholes for him.

---

7.

Phantom Pains (and other hints of you) by @buggachat

She couldn't remember anything. Not where she was going, where she'd been, why she was in this stairwell, or even her own name. But as she watched the blood pool at the base of the steps, she at least knew one thing for certain: the corpse was hers. Getting used to being dead was going to have its growing pains. — “Well, unlucky lady,” Chat Noir greeted with a bow, “Can I get your name?” “Didn’t we just talk about this? I told you, I don’t remember it.” “And I told you,” he reminded, “that you can just pick whatever fits you best.” — Ladybug and Chat Noir may not remember who they once were, but at least the two lost souls can find comfort in each other's company. But as Ladybug starts uncovering more and more memories of her life, letting the past go doesn't seem as easy as Chat Noir claims it to be.

So this is a beautiful, sweet, tragic love story of two lost souls wandering around with each other, yet with Ladybug still desperately wanting to be found, to remember who she was - and wanting to know why Chat so adamantly wanted to stay amnesiac. It's got some neat worldbuilding, and some fantastic prose. It's just a really nice little story!

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6.

A Small but Stubborn Fire by @cardiac-agreste

What if you were the parent of a teenage superhero, but didn't know they were? All you know is the nightmares, the panic attacks, and the bruises. She's missing school, she's disappearing on you, and she's not telling you anything. So you assume the worst: Assault. Depression. A permanent rift in the family. And what do you do when you realize you weren't thinking dark enough? Because your fourteen-year old daughter is the hero who flirts with death on the nightly news. -- Come inside and read about one mother's struggles to raise her daughter in a dangerous world while avoiding the mistakes her own mother made with her.

This is a more serious take on the consequences of Hawk Moth's war on Paris, with actual bloody, painful deaths as a consequence of many akumas, and Parisians developing PTSD because of what they've gone through. Ladybug can fix all the physical scars, but not the mental ones, including her own.

I love the focus on Sabine here. She's not just presented as being a mom - though of course that IS an important role she has. But she's explored as a character in her own right, one with a lot of emotional baggage as a result of her abusive mother, and trying to not fall into her mistakes, but sometimes doing so anyway out of fear for Marinette's safety. She's a really fleshed out, humanly flawed character, sometimes admitting that she would do something selfish if it means protecting the people she cares most about, like her daughter, even if its at others expense. She grows and changes a lot throughout the course of the story, her perspective on many matters changing multiple times as a result of getting new information or seeing the consequences of her previous approaches, and adjusting as a result.

If you want a fic that more realistically explores the dark consequences of Miraculous's setting, that fleshes out Sabine, or just develops a character in a complex way, then I highly recommend you check "A Small but Stubborn Fire" out!

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5.

Finding A Way by @uptoolateart

Collège is nearly over! And what better way to celebrate than a class trip to Costa Rica? But with only a month left to tell Adrien she loves him, Marinette is feeling the pressure. Then – an accident at sea leaves them stranded together on a tropical island…alone. Or are they? Because those footprints in the sand don’t resemble any bird they’ve seen before. And what’s that roaring sound coming from the jungle? ‘Adrien…where ARE we??’ ***** A Jurassic Park / Camp Cretaceous AU that’s been kicking around in my head for over a year

I love the sense of danger permeating this fic, it really feels like Adrien and Marinette are stranded on Jurassic Park (well it's called something else in order to integrate it better into the ML universe, but it operates like Jurassic Park). They're making the best of it though, doing their best to survive - and along the way, getting closer together.

I like that it's not JUST them though, Gabriel and Nathalie find out where they ended up pretty early on and go to rescue them, with Alya and Nino stowing away. It was cool to see that side of things as well.

Oh yeah, this fic is rated M for violence and gore. It's because dinosaurs eat people alive and leave their body parts everywhere. If you can handle the Jurassic Park movie (or presumably the book the movie was based on, but I haven't read that), then you should be just fine.

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4.

Boulangerella by @aidanchaser

Once upon a time, magic was wild. The two princes of the kingdom have been tasked with choosing their brides by the end of their 21st birthday celebrations. Crown Prince Adrien Agreste will have to choose between a woman who can protect his kingdom, a woman offering the power to wake his sleeping mother, and the woman he has loved and admired for the past year. Then there's also the seamstress that he is suddenly falling for. By the time he realizes he doesn't have the power to choose at all, it may be too late.

I love a good fairy tale AU, and this is no exception. Aidanchaser started writing it before Season 5 came out, so it's wrong about some things. Most notably, Felix's posthumous father was a good and decent person here, and one of the twin rings is Felix's Amok while the other one is Adrien's Amok, instead of both of them being Adrien's Amok.

This was a well-crafted tale, with kwamis operating as Fae: they can give power, but only if the wielder gives something up to pay for it. For temporary usage of their power, it can be something small and innocuous, such as giving Plagg cheese in exchange for his help. More expansive uses of their power requires greater sacrifices however, even sacrificing more nebulous things such as memories or hope.

The kingdom's currently being terrorized by this unknown villain, Hawk Moth, as in the show. Ladybug and Chat Noir emerge to battle him, but for some reason (*cough, cough*), King Gabriel isn't fond of the superheroes and wants them captured.

Gabriel isn't the only threat out there, Lila's skulking around, hinting that she knows how to wake up Emilie from her mysterious illness, if only Adrien marries her. And she's not about to take no for an answer.

If you've been wanting a fairy tale/fantasy Miraculous AU, I recommend giving Boulangerella a shot!

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3.

He Couldn't Remember (Falling For Her) by @purpleautumnvision

"If I was given a choice in who Chat Noir would be, I would've chosen you." "And there's nobody else in the whole world I'd rather have as my little bug." Without secret identities in the way, Marinette and Adrien get to live out their love story and put their heads together to discover the identity of Hawk Moth... but an unforeseen twist puts the Miraculouses in Gabriel's hands. When he makes his wish for a world where his wife never became sick from using the broken Peacock Miraculous, the universe requires someone else to become sick in order to maintain balance. Who better than his greatest enemy, Ladybug herself? Adrien, with his memories rewritten by the wish, wakes up in a world without superheroes, without Hawk Moth, without Marinette, without friends, and without a clue as to why everything feels so wrong. Something's missing, but he's gonna find out what. Then he'll put his world back into place.

So this was a fascinating scenario, with Adrien waking up in a world where Marinette was dead while his mother was alive, a world that as far as he knew had always been the case... but having weird feelings he can't explain. And not just him, I love how much focus Alya gets here as well! Turns out that the memories are kind of hidden, but still present, and since Adrien and Alya never got to meet Marinette in this universe (she died just before the new school year began, at the same time that Emilie did in the normal universe) AND Adrien and Alya were her closest friends in the previous universe, their feelings towards her are closest to the surface and least impacted by the memories from this universe.

The other people in this universe... well, the class isn't taking Marinette's death well. It's fascinating to see just how much her death effects them, to see how it haunts them, and I loved seeing their reactions to Adrien's weird behavior about their dead classmate who he never got a chance to meet, it shows how strange some of this can look to the outside, and it doesn't help that these are grieving kids.

Just... this is a great fic, I highly recommend checking it out!

---

2.

Symbiotic Whiskers by B1ackout

Adrien Agreste aka Cat Noir was given the cat ring miraculous to help Ladybug in protecting Paris. But something had found him first, a silent companion that granted him strength and power he never knew existed. Bonded with a symbiote, Cat Noir faces Paris alongside Ladybug without even knowing that someone left a magical ring in his room. (Canon Divergence)

This is a phenomenal fic that deserves more attention. It's kind of funny how he just goes "hey I've got superpowers, she says that the thing we have that gives superpowers is called the Black Cat Miraculous and that the being that gives them is called a kwami, obviously that must be what I have!" though that gets stretched more and more as Adrien's experiences with the symbiote contradict what he's heard about how kwamis work, and Tikki gets increasingly worried about "Plagg's" weird behavior. It's a dark, somewhat brutal fic (people die permanently, and they're not always villains), and it's absolutely worth a read, this is an excellent crossover!

1.

Withered Wings by @11jj11

Nino wasn’t sure if anyone had ever willingly took the akuma butterfly before him, but with his mind completely open to this apparent son of Hawk Moth he knew that he couldn’t turn him away. Not someone that was so afraid, not someone who would be left at the mercy of Hawk Moth.

This fic is amazing! Just... some absolutely stellar Adrino, with some nice Alyanette on the side, AND it's one of the best Enemies AU (well, sort of. Adrien's on Hawkmoth's side, but Nino isn't, exactly), in the fandom! I love how much we get of Nino's perspective, his determination to save this boy who's been thrown into these battles, who clearly doesn't want to hurt people but is compelled to do so, while balancing it with trying to prevent damage to anyone else as well. He has to be the one to look after Adrien, because no one else will do so.

I also love the focus Alya gets here, as Marinette's partner. She does an amazing job in the role, with every Miraculous she gets, even though she isn't a perfect wielder.

That's something else, I like the bits of worldbuilding this adds in, with people who fully embody the aspect a kwami represents being able to transform more fully. That does not mean, however, that an imperfect match is a bad thing, the kwami and wielder can still be very strong together and get along well, even if they don't perfectly align.

I adore how Nino had to balance his roles in this, helping Adrien without hurting others, even fighting back against the heroes as needed, as much as he didn't want to. And how understanding people were when they found out the full story of what was going on. It's a truly fantastic story that anyone who likes Enemies AU, Adrino, or just want to read a good Miraculous fic should check out.

I do want to warn that Gabriel and Nathalie are significantly OOC in this. Gabriel's even more abusive and colder than he is in canon, and Nathalie is WAY worse. This fic started before season 5, so it wasn't known what Nathalie's red line would be. As a result, Adrien's more downtrodden than he is in canon, since the consequences of disobedience are worse than being cut off from friends, or even being made to sit in a blank white room indefinitely.

[siri-ike]

DP X DC: empty

Chapter 8

Chapter 1 chapter 7

"I think she's me." He said after a long silence.

"She can't be you. You're you." Johnny responded slowly.

He stalled a moment, "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. of course, you're right. That would be impossible. " There's no way. She can't be him, and he can't be her. But there's something about her. Something so familiar they can't possibly be separate. "I need to see her again."

Having a spirit around that can punch your father's lights out seemed like a sweet deal at first. But just like Scrooge, Johnny was quickly learning how persuasive ghosts can be. And by the time their lease was up, his bags had mysteriously been packed already.

Dani's house was pretty normal looking. She had cleared some hangers for his outdoor clothes, and there was a bedroom ready for him, too. Although it was decorated like an observatory. Does she think he's an alien or something? The ghost seems to like it.

Did he glow like that before?

"Johnny!" Dani shouted from the kitchen. "I got some takeaways from West End Burgers. Yours is on the table, I'll be in my office.

She is the weirdest woman John has ever met. For starters, she's a detective, so she carries a gun. She wears pants instead of a skirt. She doesn't even curl her hair. Or cook dinner, apparently. Then there was the whole violence thing.

When he got to the kitchen, he was surprised to see three hamburgers on a plate, still wrapped in foil. He checked the receipt to see if she actually bought 6 hamburgers for the two of them.

"You seem distraught."

"I'm perfectly traught." Johnny insisted. "I'm probably just supposed to take one, right?"

"They're on a plate together."

Johnny picked one up. "I can't eat 3 burgers." He paused for a moment, then offered it to the other boy.

He hesitated to reach forward. Concentrate, be tangible. He carefully held it with both hands. He watched as Johnny took a bite and followed suit.

"You're supposed to take the wrapper off."

"Huh?" He chewed through the third of a hamburger he had stuffed in his mouth. And without a thought, swallowed it, wrapper and all.

"Never mind, here." Johnny handed the third one over as the first disappeared into a snake like jaw while taking a normal sized bite out of his own food. The sight alone was enough to give him a stomach ache. But not enough to make him not eat.

Come to think of it. Johnny had never seen the, ghost? Eat before. Maybe that's why he's so spaced out all the time. Johnny sure wouldn't like to skip months' worth of meals. "Are you still hungry?"

"I don't understand." His voice was less of a whisper than it was, this clearer version sounded, lively. He sounded like someone. It was a voice Johnny had heard before.

Just then, the door behind them opened, and detective Dani walked in with three empty hamburger wrappers on her plate. She really eats like this!? She threw them in the trash under the sink and got three large glasses from an upper cabinet. "Compleatly forgot water." She smiled at him, filled her's with water, and went back to wence she came.

"You two freaks are cut from the same cloth." Johnny addressed the air beside him.

"Yes... we are, " a nearby whisper follows her.

The room was an office. She sat at a desk covered in Manila folders and paper. The moment he stepped through the wall, she looked up. Directly at him.

She can't see him. No one can see him! How can she see him?

She exhaled a small fog of white breath. "Are you here?" She asked, looking around the room. She can't see him. But she knows.

"I've been looking for you." She paused longingly. "That's OK. You don't have to say anything. Clockwork said you might forget some things." Her smile lacked any emotion. It was like she wanted to be happy but couldn't overcome the hollowness. "I met some of our friends. Walker's still alive... Sydney isn't. I've been working on a way back to the ghost zone, but it's proven difficult without hurting the timeline." She looked so worn out. She looked wrong. This wasn't the person he had recognized. It's someone else. "Danny, please. Just show yourself, let me know you're alright."

He stepped back out. Johnny had left, probably went back to his room. He started in the direction, pretending not to hear the quiet whimpers from the office.

~~~~~~~

"Is it true you're taking the Crane boy?" Asked Commissioner Reynolds.

"Yes, sir. Picking him up after work." Dani glanced at the clock on the wall. One more hour.

"It's a big commitment, Nightingale. Are you sure you're up for it." It was less a question and more of an accusation.

"That's the beauty of teenagers, commissioner, they don't need 24-hour surveillance, just food and guidelines. And, you know, attention obviously."

"That's not what I meant. Are you ready for this?"

The air went stale.

"I read your transfer reports. I know about Pointdexter."

"Sydney was a good boy" Dani defended.

Dani didn't answer. She couldn't.

"Doesn't mean he was good for you."

One more hour.