#NEED TO TALK ABOUT THE DESIRE TO BE SOMEBODY AND THE RELIEF OF BEING NOBODY AND THE USELESSNESS OF BOOTHS HANDS

[lorephobic]

WHAT DO YOU MEAN NOBODY HAS WRITTEN PSEUDO RPF ABOUT JOHN WILKES BOOTH AND DAVID HEROLD?????? CAN SOMEBODY SHOOT ME WITH A GUN

[rusted-fairy-wings]

"So much has changed, yet some things remain the same" (Ninjago Oneshot)

I found myself really craving some angst and Lloyd coming to terms with growing up so fast, so I wrote a short piece taking place a couple days after "Child's Play". I hope whoever reads it enjoys :) (Heavy emphasis on the Kai/Lloyd brother dynamic and found family because it's peak)

So much has changed, yet some things remain the same:

Steam rose from the bowls filled to the brim with hot noodle soup. A lingering smell of herbs and chicken hung in the air. The fire crackled softly in the background. The light and warmth this fire offered bathed those who sat at the table in its comfort. Yet, a somber mood hung in the air. All were seated at the table that night—five people who had trained and fought together, five people who would do anything to keep each other safe, four ninja and one samurai. Despite the warm food and fire, the somber mood remained, for there was one missing from the table.

At first nobody spoke. It had been like this for a while now. “He needs time and space to get used to this” they had all agreed. But now that a couple days had passed, the silence was deafening. The sixth among them had only emerged from his room to grab food when he thought the others couldn’t see, food which he took to his room and ate alone. 

Finally, the samurai broke the silence when she stated firmly, “Somebody needs to say it. What are we going to do about Lloyd?”

Cole’s shoulders slumped in relief at not being the one to start the conversation when he quickly agreed, “Nya’s right. It’s not like him. He always used to help me or Zane in the kitchen when either of us cooked. I tried to offer, but he didn’t even answer when I asked outside his door.”

Zane nodded at this, saying, “He has found helping me or Cole in the kitchen enjoyable since his arrival. It is… strange to cook alone now.”

Stirring his soup and not looking at anyone in particular as he spoke, Jay added, “He hasn’t even played video games with me. He was so convinced that he’d beat my high scores some day—not like that would happen—but now he doesn’t try anymore.”

“Everything is strange now. We need to help him,” Nya sighed. “He hasn’t spent time with me either… not with any of us.  I just—we’re all that he has. Sensei has been away, and that means the people at this table are the only ones who can help him.” There was one ninja who hadn’t spoken at the table. Cole and Nya both gave him confused glances. Usually the fire ninja always spoke his mind. Usually, if he had an opinion, they all knew about it. Usually, he was the one of the fastest eaters at the table, but tonight his bowl looked as if it hadn’t been touched.

Kai finally glanced up, not having so much as looked at the others the whole meal. 

“What are your thoughts, Kai?” Zane asked. “We all know you and Lloyd have a stronger connection.”

And it was that stronger connection that had kept Kai quieter than ever before, quieter since Lloyd had retired to his room and not come out. His stomach churned with worry in a way it hadn’t since Nya had been kidnapped. He wasn’t sure when it had happened—when babysitting Lloyd had turned to spending time with Lloyd, when dealing with Lloyd had turned to helping Lloyd, when being stuck with Lloyd had turned to being there for Lloyd. But it had. Training him and watching over him had gone from a chore he dreaded to moments he cherished. 

Kai stood up, knowing he was too nauseous to eat the meal Cole had worked so hard on as he said, “I’ll go talk to him. We’ve given him time, but my sister is right. We should do something.”

“Do you desire us to accompany you?” Zane asked as Kai passed his bowl to Cole who immediately began to eat from it.

“No, I’ll go on my own.” Kai answered firmly. “Maybe I can help him.”

“If you’re sure, Buddy,” Jay said with a shrug. “But if you do change your mind, we got yours and Lloyd’s backs.”

Kai nodded and left the others, walking down the quiet hall. He walked to one door in particular, one he’d knocked upon many times to remind a reluctant Lloyd that yes it was time for training again because yes he had to do it every day. But there’d been none of that lately.

Kai knocked loudly, and of course the boy behind the door didn’t answer.

“Lloyd!” Kai shouted. “I know you’re in there. Open the door. I need to talk to you.”

There was silence. Kai stood there for a few moments, and just as he was about to knock more forcefully, he heard a voice he hadn’t in days.

“It’s unlocked.”

The door creaked open to a gloomy, dim room. A worried pang punched Kai in the gut when he saw Lloyd sitting there, his shoulders hunched, his back to him, on the edge of his bed. His hair was greasy and disheveled, not unlike how it had looked when they first took him in. Even without seeing his face, Kai could sense the gloom radiating off him.

And of course, it was jarring to see Lloyd at all. He was so much taller. His hair was longer and had developed a slight waviness. All his baby fat had melted away. 

Kai walked the short distance across the room and sat next to Lloyd who had no reaction to this at all. When Kai glimpsed his face, his green eyes were dim with pronounced dark circles beneath them. 

“You gonna talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” Lloyd replied, his voice deeper than Kai was accustomed to. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Kai rolled his eyes and said, “Now you’re just lying, Lloyd. Come on.”

Lloyd finally looked at Kai when he repeated, “There’s nothing to talk about. I’m just getting used to—” he gestured down at himself and said, “This.”

Kai opened his mouth to speak, but Lloyd cut him off when he continued, his voice strained, “It was my choice. I chose this. There’s nothing to talk about. I’m just older. It’s fine.”

“Listen to me, Kid,” Kai said, his words harsh but his touch gentle when he set his hand on Lloyd’s shoulder. “You may have chosen to use that tea. But that wasn’t a real choice, Lloyd. We were going to die if you didn’t. You were saving all of us. You were making the only choice you thought we’d survive. It’s not a choice you would’ve ever made if our lives weren’t in jeopardy.”

Lloyd’s hand gripped the blanket he sat upon as Kai looked at him, a boy now appearing only a couple years younger than him who had been a little kid mere days ago. 

“I just—it doesn’t matter. I’m the green ninja. I have to be strong if I’m going to face my dad one day. I’m grown up now… I need to train harder than ever. I need to face the facts and not think about it.”

“Because you’ve been doing just that right? Training like crazy? Eating enough to keep yourself strong? Not thinking about what happened?”

Lloyd’s eyes welled up with tears that he desperately tried to blink away.

“Let it out, Lloyd. I think most people would if they were in your situation.”

“No, I’m not a kid anymore. I can’t cry,” he answered, his voice tight, the words forced.

Kai looked him in the eyes and said, “Lloyd, you were nine two days ago. You sacrificed years of childhood and being a kid you won’t ever get back. It’s okay to cry.”

“I’m too old for that,” Lloyd whispered.

But then the tears began to fall, and his whole body shook with the force of his sobbing. Without hesitation, Kai hugged him as tight as he could, not caring for the tears soaking his uniform.

“No, you’re not, Lloyd. When my sister was kidnapped and I first became a ninja… that night I cried harder than I probably ever had. The others didn’t hear or see—I barely knew them then, so I hid it. But I was worried sick about Nya. All I wanted was for her to have never been taken, to be back in our father’s shop, for things to be normal. Even the strongest ninja cries.”

Neither of them spoke for several minutes as Lloyd let out all the emotions he’d been forcing down in the name of growing up. And even though Lloyd was now so much closer to his age, Kai still let him hug him as tightly as he had when he was a kid.

“See, tell me I’m right. Feels better, huh?”

Lloyd nodded slowly, wiping his eyes as he broke the hug.

“I’m just… in the moment I didn’t think about what would actually happen to me. That monster had us cornered, and… I could finally help you guys like you helped me. You gave me a home—I haven’t really had one before.”

“Kid, so long as the others and I have a roof over us to offer, we’ll give it to you. I promise.”

Lloyd didn’t speak, but his eyes were full of such genuine gratitude it tugged at Kai’s heartstrings. He couldn’t believe how much he’d hated this kid, how much his presence had annoyed him. 

After a long pause, Lloyd hesitantly asked, “Kai?”

“Yeah, Kid?”

“What do I even do now?”

“What do you mean?”

The green ninja glanced away from Kai as he stared at the wooden floor beneath him, not quite able to articulate his thoughts and feelings. Kai waited several moments for him to speak, setting his hand on his shoulder in reassurance. 

“I–I don’t understand what to do besides train. I’m not a kid, so I can’t do kid stuff like read my comics or have my favorite food be candy or–”

Kai interrupted harshly, “Of course you can! It’s not like your Sensei’s age, Lloyd.”

“But you and Nya and everyone seem so… mature and responsible. Now that I’m like you guys, I need to be like that too.”

Kai couldn’t help but chuckle. Lloyd glared at him.

“Look, Lloyd,” Kai said with a grin. “There’s a lot you haven’t seen or noticed because we were trying to set a good example for you, or sometimes you just weren’t paying attention. Like when you got close to beating Jay in his favorite game, you didn’t hear Jay ranting about it after or notice how overly competitive he got. And you think you’ve got a sweet tooth with candy? You should see how Cole acts around cake. Don’t tell her I told you, but Nya still has all her childhood stuffies under her bed. And you haven’t ever seen Zane’s funny switch, but even he has it in him.”

Lloyd laughed and asked, “Zane has a what?”

“We’ll show you sometime,” Kai answered, still grinning ear to ear. 

“It’s just that… you guys seemed so serious when we trained.”

“Because that’s what you needed, Lloyd. And we needed you to take us seriously as your mentors.”

But just as swiftly as it had come, Lloyd’s smile faded.

“What is it?”

Lloyd glanced at Kai uncertainly, fidgeting with the hem of his black shirt as he asked, “Promise you won’t laugh at me?”

Kai nodded.

“I–” Lloyd began hesitantly, then pausing for a second. “Now that things are different… I mean, I know I’m not a kid anymore, but… will you and everyone else still… I don’t know. Train me? Help me?”

Kai raised an eyebrow and answered, “That’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever asked me. Of course we will. Why wouldn’t we?”

“It’s just that now that I’m older, maybe I’m not supposed to need it. But I'm not ready, Kai. I’m not ready to face my father, and… I still need you. Not just to train me. Kai, you’ve been helping me so much… you’ve spent so much time with me and looked after me. Nobody’s done that for me before. And—” his eyes welled up with tears once more. “I’m not ready to let it go.”

Shocked that Lloyd would ever have such a thought, Kai nearly snapped out the words, “Lloyd, I will always be there for you. I swear it. Growing up doesn’t mean we stop needing the people around us… sometimes we need them even more. That’s how family is, Lloyd. You never stop needing each other in your lives. What that looks like may change, but those bonds remain. You’re my brother now, Lloyd. I will never leave you, and I will be here for you as long as you want me to be.”

“Do you really mean that?” the younger ninja whispered, a few stray tears streaming down his cheeks. 

“Of course I do,” Kai answered fiercely. 

Lloyd hugged him tightly again, tighter than ever before and said softly, “Thank you.”

“No need for that, Kid. I love ya.”

“I love you too.”

And after a few minutes had passed, and the younger brother had regained his composure, Kai said, “Now quit moping in your room. We’ve all missed you. Come eat dinner with us before you waste away completely.”

Lloyd managed a smile and nodded.

Victorious and a little smug, Kai led the young green ninja to the dining room. And everyone there grinned when they saw him finally emerge again.

Cole got up and spooned a large bowl full of the soup for Lloyd as he and Kai sat at the table. 

And as the green ninja sat there, hearing everyone sound so genuinely happy to see him, he couldn’t help but grin broadly. He mouthed a thank you to Kai who ruffled his hair affectionately. 

Although so much was different now, a new life and joy encompassed them that night. The green ninja spent time with his family late into the night. Lloyd helped Zane with the dishes and couldn’t help but laugh when he noticed Cole shoveling leftover cake into his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks. When he and Jay played games, he didn’t hesitate to pettily argue and banter with him as they both tried to best the other. Nya rolled her eyes at this, but her affectionate smile revealed it all. And after dinner and cleaning up and video games, Lloyd sat next to Kai on the couch as he and the others talked for hours. 

And that night, Lloyd went to bed perhaps the most content he’d ever been, the last thought before he fell asleep echoing in his mind:

I finally belong.

[6okuto]

IMPORTANT CLARIFICATION FOR FIXING RIME ASK;; fix was not the right word oopsies I think the better word was heal?? Like he said things were missing so mc asking him if he wanted to go back as in “if this is something you want I will help you” idk words are difficult

HELP ok yeah. yeah this changes things :heart_eyes: SORRYKBDFGK :sob:

he's still . very bad with being vulnerable and thinking about what he wants and how he wants to deal with being a 'good' person. nothing is different about that

especially with his whole building himself as a [murder, torture, theft] guy

but!! smh...mc and their speaking powers

i think their position is actually kind of helpful in this situation because rime realizes that they must be telling the truth about wanting to do do what he wants. they don't really know what he was like before he died. there's nothing to compare and their desire to help him is genuine

which probably agitates him in a different way LOL but it isn't as pissy it's just "why do you have to be such an annoyingly good person."

contrary to the fixing idea. this may actually speed up their relationship process . not a lot but heyyyy

like imagine that weird tension of temporary allies between the M3 and rime...and them bringing up how he's kind of an ass. and what he used to be and he just tells them to Stop. "i didn't come here to be patronized."

mc goes to find him later and he doesn't look up before saying "what do you want? if you're here to tell me that i should go apologize and be nice to them, i won't."

very shocked when mc says "i wasn't going to say that, actually."

because mc...can sort of understand? from an outsider's perspective without the same mourning, rime being told to change himself just to comfort everybody isn't exactly fun either. and nobody knows what he's gone through himself while he was gone

like yeah "i think you could be less of an asshole, but it doesn't mean i want you to stop being an asshole altogether. i think it's your charm." rime snorts, "you think my charm is being an asshole?"

mc is just. 😐 "i think your asshole-ness stems from your wit and personality. is that better?"

even if rime doesn't say anything, it's kind of refreshing. a relief to know that even if he doesn't like mc,, at least somebody isn't pushing him

"if you ever wanted to try being nice, though, that's alright too. i know you probably...don't hate the others. you brought back stella and you're here, so." "what are you trying to say, mc?" "i—i'm saying that even if we don't get along, i can see you trying. and if you ever want help, i can be a...backup plan. gods be damned if i'm ever your first option."

mc: 1 rime: 0

after a few beats of silence all he can really do is sigh and laugh a little at it all, "thanks for the generous offer."

because he can't believe that mc of all people is offering, yet at the same time he doesn't know why he expected anything different. very typical behavior from someone the astrolabe would choose, maybe

ACK...little moments building up of rime and mc interacting after they talk...i need it Now

rime asking for little details about them that may have changed or he's somehow forgotten >:( asking about what felix has been reading, what's up with sage drinking and fighting (kind of rhetorical just so he can laugh), then teasingly noting how anisa must always be tired without him around to keep them under control

mc saying that no, he cannot just leave his gift at their door and walk away if he wants to prove he's trying. rime grimacing

he'd kill me if i said it but it's like trying to teach an elementary kid how to be nice (again). oh i love him. oh please

[ladykissingfish]

so one of you requested this in my inbox, and you used your actual name. you put some personal stuff in your ask that I wasn’t sure you’d want to be made public, so I’m not going to put your name here. but here’s what you asked; I hope this is what you meant 😊

The Akatsuki’s Reaction to A Break-Up

Itachi

Unfortunately, Itachi’s self-esteem is already so low that a break-up for him is something that he prepared himself for more than the relationship itself. He’s the type to vocalize his desire to stay friends with his ex, even if that person doesn’t want the same thing. The first few days after the breakup will be the most difficult for him, but his behavior will be so subtle that the others will barely notice. The most striking and tell-tale sign that he’s going through it will be that this infamous insomniac will actually start sleeping more, even going so far as to take naps during the day. Itachi isn’t the type to seek out the comfort of friends when something like this is bothering him, instead choosing to keep his pain to himself and only briefly talking about it when asked. He’ll eventually pull himself out of his funk and go back to normal, although the scar on his heart prevents him from seeking out another relationship for a long, long time.

Zetsu

Doesn’t take relationships seriously to begin with; if anything, he’s with the other person simply to alleviate boredom/have a good time. When the other person breaks up with him, there aren’t any hard feelings involved on his part, and he bounces back almost as if nothing had happened at all. He’s always been the type to treat his lovers more like friends, and that dynamic will likely continue even after the romantic part has died.

Hidan

Is most likely to be the one to initiate a break-up rather than be broken up with himself. Hidan’s religion doesn’t offer much (if any) room for love and attachment to anything other than Lord Jashin, and being with someone will weigh heavily on Hidan’s mind until he decides to end things. Part of this is actually a sort kindness; he recognizes that to an outsider, his religion can be viewed as disturbing and macabre, and he doesn’t want to drag somebody else into his hectic (and violent) lifestyle. But despite the romantic relationship being over, Hidan isn’t above contacting the other person every now and then for a casual, no strings attached encounter.

Kakuzu

Another one who will be more likely to initiate the break-up then the alternative. There will never be a time in the old guy’s life where money isn’t the bottom line for him, and being with someone else is no exception to that rule. Dates, gifts, time spent with the other that takes away time that could be used to hunt bounties … all of that is costing him. He’ll be as kind as possible to the other person when breaking up with them, but the message is pretty clear. He’ll likely feel mild pangs of regret for several days after the end of the relationship, but in the end he’ll shake it off and carry on with business as usual.

Obito

Oh, God. Obito is someone who feels things very deeply, and being in love with someone is a head rush for him. Obito would never leave someone, no matter how they treated him. Others will recognize this in him and some will take advantage of his sweet and giving nature. When he’s broken up with, he’s absolutely devastated. He won’t leave the house/his room for days, he’ll stop bathing, he’ll barely eat and the things he does eat is mostly junk food or candy … it takes several members of the Akatsuki to rally around him to pull him out of his depression. Konan will be there to comfort and nurture him, Deidara will be there to offer a kind of “suck it up”/tough love approach, and Itachi will offer him empathy (the Uchiha clan is revered for many things, one of the highest among them being their capacity to feel and experience love, so Itachi will be the only one who knows EXACTLY how Obito feels). It’ll take a few weeks, but eventually Obito will go back to the way he always was, much to everyone’s relief.

Kisame

One will always know when Kisame has been broken up with, when he announces he’s going on a trip. He’ll pack a suitcase and take off for an indefinite amount of time. He does this because he needs to clear his head after his heartbreak, and he never wants to burden the others with his pain or his emotions. While he’s gone he won’t really keep in contact with anyone except Itachi, who will call him every day to check up on him. He uses his time alone to sleep, to cry, and, once the initial hurt fades, to wear himself out. Hiking, skiing, mountain climbing, jogging … anything that gets him sweating and his adrenaline pumping is something that he seeks out, in order to distract his mind. He’ll eventually return home renewed and ready to go on, and the others are always happy to see him back.

Nagato

Is a bit like Itachi in that he expects a breakup from the very start, and is so prepared for it that he doesn’t quite feel the impact as strongly as he could. Life is pain, as he likes to tell people, and losing a love is a part of that pain. Doesn’t change his habits any and nobody would even know he’s suffering in any way … except for Konan, who knows him better than anybody. She’ll sit with him and get him to open up about what and how he feels. Konan has always been the only living person in the world that Nagato had cried in front of, and there’s no exception to this rule now. He’ll cry, Konan will hold him, and after awhile the two will spend time watching movies or tv, and slowly easing Nagato into a better headspace.

Konan

Konan is an eraser. When she’s broken up with, or she ends a relationship herself, she wants to forget any sign that the person ever existed. That means throwing out love letters or drawings, that means deleting the person’s contact information from all of her devises. It means getting rid of pictures, it means no more watching shows that she watched with the other person, or going to places they once went to. Her only goal is to stave off hurt by pretending that the other person never existed … although this doesn’t last for very long. After she’s calmed down a bit, she can reach out to the other person and get whatever closure she needs, in order to move on. Konan is also a comfort eater when she’s sad, and will break her diet to indulge in any and every decadent treat imaginable. And she won’t be alone; every single other member of the house will be with her at some point, whether to comfort, or cry, or eat, or trash-talk her now-ex.

Deidara

Deidara is the guy who initially can’t accept a breakup. He assumes the other person is just mad at him for something he’s done, and that their break-up really isn’t an ending at all, but a “short break”. Will send the other person countless messages, flowers, teddy bears, and candy, to try and get back in their good graces. When it finally sinks in that it’s permanent, he’s quite upset about it. He goes over and over in his head all the things that he felt he did wrong, or ways that he just wasn’t good enough. Will call his ex and ask for reasons as to why their relationship didn’t work out, and keep those things in his head, to improve on for his next relationship. Is also the type to make drastic changes to his appearance after a breakup, like dying or cutting his hair, or making changes to his wardrobe. Has to be talked out of his more impetuous urges, like getting a tattoo, by Sasori or Konan.

Sasori

Sasori will be the one broken up with. Not because he treated his partner in anyway bad. In fact, it would be quite the opposite; Sasori would have been uncharacteristically kind, loving and attentive. Always asking his partner how they feel, inquiring about their day, etc. But after awhile, Sasori’s partner will have begun to notice certain … things. Like Sasori constantly touching their face and commenting on his smooth their skin is. Being really pushy when it comes to healthy eating because “it makes your body last longer”. And there will have been quite a few times when Sasori’s partner will wake up in the middle of the night and find Sasori sitting in a chair by the bed, staring intently at them in the dark. The person will eventually decide to leave Sasori, because they start to get the ((sadly correct)) suspicion that Sasori had been making plans to turn them into one of his puppets. Sasori will take the breakup with dignity, but silently lament the fact that more people don’t understand his way of thinking. After all, if you care for someone, why wouldn’t you want that person to last forever?

[maddieinwonder]

A Lesson In Romance #7: False Start

Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Just a lot of awkward vibes hahaha

Word Count: 1.7k

Plot: Reader keeps getting caught in rom-com situations with Spencer Reid. This time, they try to confess their feelings.

A/N: I didn’t actually manage to include the definition of a False Start in the chapter itself, so I’ll add it at the end. No spoilers for now!

Masterlist | All chapters here!

-----------

It took you 24 hours to decide that you were going to do something about your feelings for the good doctor. Pretty quick, considering you were a living, breathing rom-com cynic. But as ancient Greek philosopher, Heraclitus, once said: "The only constant in life is change".

Specifically, change happened after you woke up in your cute co-worker and dear friend's arms and you wanted nothing more than to get back into them as fast as possible.

But by the universal laws of working in the BAU, catching a break seemed to be the hardest when you actually wanted one.

Firstly, it was like every serial killer in the country decided to cancel their vacations simultaneously, swamping the team with urgent case after case. At this point, you were more familiar with the couch on the jet than your bed at home, and everyone was feeling the strain.

Secondly, if you weren't sleeping, you were usually out in the field chasing unsubs with Derek or Rossi. You had stopped holding out hope for being paired with Spencer — on account of your areas of specialty overlapping too much, and Hotch not being the type of leader to waste his resources — and as a result:

Thirdly, getting even ten minutes alone with the genius became an impossible task, and not for lack of trying either. At the start of the month, the two of you had tried to adapt your breakfast ritual to the road, but it always got interrupted mid-coffee order or even at the ding of the lift. Not that you and Spencer stopped trying, no, but your patience was wearing thin.

So you did something you hadn't done since you submitted your application to join the BAU — you prayed for a chance.

Because every day that you didn't admit your feelings to the doctor was another day fighting the compulsion to tell somebody else about them, and god only knows what a room full of profilers (and one nosy tech analyst) would do with that kind of information.

Then, out of the blue, the door of opportunity opened.

After two weeks of straight travel, the team had earned a well-deserved one night’s rest in your own beds before dealing with a local case, bright and early tomorrow morning. And since your flight landed at 2am and all the trains had stopped by then, this gave you the perfect shot to execute your plan.

Unfortunately, you forgot to take into account the most important factor — your nerves.

It didn't help that Derek had wolf-whistled in the carpark as the two of you walked off in the same direction, nor that Spencer immediately put your favourite album into the CD player out of instinct; an overly domestic action that made your heart beat even faster.

But it was when you arrived in front of his apartment building that you felt the worst of it. As you tried to summon the right words to your lips, your heart hammered in your chest and your thoughts jumbled themselves into nonsense.

"Are you ok?" Spencer asked, snapping you out of your anxious spiral instantly. "You don't look so well."

"I-I'm fine." Your fingers twitched nervously.

"Doesn't seem like it." He looked down at your hands, and you cursed your subconscious brain for giving you away. Then, he placed a hand over yours and your heart stopped.

"You're not alright, that's for sure, but it seems like it's just sleep deprivation." He assessed, bending slightly to look at your face. "You can't drive in this state. Do you want to come in?”

Your head snapped up to meet his gaze, ready to protest, but Spencer beat you to it. "Let’s go. You wanted to talk about something, right?" He called out, already one foot out of the car.

Before you could realise what was happening, you found yourself sitting on Spencer's couch holding a warm cup of tea.

This was the first time you were in his apartment. Yet, it was exactly what you thought it'd be like. Every wall was lined with bookshelves, filled to max capacity with books of every topic imaginable from neuroscience to philosophy. Those that didn't make it to the shelves were found in random stacks around his apartment, standing out against his forest green walls.

"Did you know that chamomile tea is a natural remedy for insomnia? In fact, it is commonly regarded as a mild tranquilizer. It's calming effects may be attributed to the antioxidant apigenin, which binds to specific receptors in your brain that initiate sleep and reduce anxiety." He explained, walking over with his own mug.

"I actually did know that." You smiled. The tea seemed to work its magic because you did feel relaxed, and you must have looked it too, because the worried frown disappeared off Spencer's face.

"Didn't know you were a tea person." You commented lightly, blowing the steam from your mug.

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me." He replied mysteriously, and you raised your eyebrows.

Spencer's apartment was too quiet, no rumbling fridge or quiet radio playing in the background to make your awkward silence any less pronounced. It was then that you noticed he didn't have a TV. Somehow this fact didn't surprise you very much.

"You... you wanted to talk to me about something?" He broke the silence, looking down at the hot tea swirling in his mug.

Right. You were here to talk about your feelings. Your face flushed as you tried to summon your willpower, again.

"I wanted to tell you something—" You began shakily. "But before that, I just want to preface, we can ignore this entire thing if you don't agree. I mean, I really enjoy our friendship as it is, and I wouldn't want to do anything to affect tha—"

"Wait." Spencer interrupted urgently, before catching himself. "Sorry, um, before that, can I say something?"

"Um, ok, shoot." You replied meekly, trying to hide your relief behind a long sip of tea. There was a pause as he gathered his thoughts, and you might have been seeing things, but he looked almost... nervous? 

"The day we met, I calculated the probability of meeting somebody that shared my exact coffee order and the result was almost one in a million.” He finally spoke, lifting his head to meet your gaze. “That probability decreased when I factored in working together, sharing the same interests, and... and how I enjoyed spending time with you more than with anybody else."

Spencer cleared his throat, a blush coming onto his cheeks.

"Ever since then... my life just started making sense. I know I’m a scientist, not a poet, and I could tell you all the statistics about relationships in the world, but when it comes to you...”

His cheeks were crimson now, as he ran his fingers through his hair. You had a feeling yours looked the same.

"I guess, what I'm trying to say, is that I think you're beautiful and smart, and I have no idea what you see in me, but I'd really—"

Suddenly, both your phones buzzed violently against his coffee table, jolting you out of the moment. You leaned over in a trained motion, only to see exactly what you expected:

Garcia: No rest for the wicked, crime fighters. Conference room in 30.

Penny: No rest for the wicked, crime fighters. Conference room in 30.

You let out a sigh you didn't realise you were holding, and Spencer looked over at you, doe-eyed and nervous.

“The case?" He asked quietly.

There was a silence filled with words unsaid. "We should go." He said finally. "If we leave now, we can still make it on time."

You only nodded in response, more out of duty than desire, and gulped down the rest of your tea. The thought of what he was about to say burned down your throat.

Driving away from Spencer’s apartment was torturous. The doctor hadn’t said anything to you since he entered the car, only fiddling with his bag as he looked out the window. It was too dark to read his expression, but you wondered if he could still hear the way he called you “beautiful”, or whether the moment had already dissolved into the space between you.

Luckily, you didn’t need to wait long for an answer, as Spencer tugged on your sleeve before you exited the carpark, his face scrunched in worry.

"I really didn't mean for that to be so... weird. Can we talk about this again after the case?" He asked softly, and despite every semblance of logic left in your brain, you couldn’t stop the hope from blooming in your chest and you smiled.

That was when Spencer did something completely uncharacteristic. (You didn't know this at the time, but it was something that you would tease him about for a long time after.)

In one fluid movement, the doctor pulled you into a tight hug that elicited a squeak from you, but it only took a second for the initial shock to wear off before you relaxed completely into his warm touch. He took that as a sign to continue, burying his head into your shoulder and letting out a content sigh.

Unlike waking up to your bodies intertwined, nothing about this was a mistake. Not the way his fingers stroked your back peacefully, nor the way his curly hair tickled your cheek. You felt the stress of the past two weeks melt away in his embrace, and so did any coherent thought, except one: normal friends didn't hug each other like this.

Later when the two of you finally entered the conference room, miraculously still on time, nobody commented on the smiles plastered on your faces but everybody could tell. They were profilers after all.

But for the first time in awhile, you were just too happy to care.

-----------

Tag List:

@blue-space-porgs @nobutalsoyes @lady-loves-a-lot @queen-flower @oops-all-ajs @spottedzebrasinpartyhats @agentcarterisgay @totalmess191 @sapphic-prentiss @mellowalieneggsknight || @averyhotchner @amesandpineapples @willowrose99

Definition of a False Start here

[deancasheadcanons]

Something Only I Would Know

[ao3]

1.7k words

15x20 fix-it (kinda), warning for Dean being ableist, thanks to @saywhatjessie for letting me use her headcanon that Dean could’ve been paralyzed by the rusty nail

Just as Dean was hoisting his left leg onto his bed, one of the phones rang in the library. He sighed and moved his leg rest back into place, then wheeled out to the hallway, hoping he could get to the phone in time. Sam was on a hunt with Eileen out in Iowa, and Jody and Claire were taking out some werewolves up in Nowhere, Michigan, but other than that, nobody else should be calling. 

He didn’t make it in time. As he sifted through the phones to figure out where the missed call came from, something crashed in the kitchen.

“Who’s there?” he yelled forcefully, grabbing a shotgun from a table before pushing himself to the kitchen.

“Son of a bitch,” a familiar voice said just as Dean turned the corner.

He looked right at himself, all six-foot-one of himself standing in the middle of the kitchen, his legs working just fine.

“Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me,” other Dean said, progressively raising his voice until the end of the sentence was a shout. He glared up at the ceiling. “I’m gonna kill you, Chuck!”

“Which universe are you from?” Dean asked calmly.

Other Dean glared down at him, jaw clenched. “The real one. And you’re obviously from one where I’m bad enough at my job to land myself in a goddamn wheelchair. That’s real great.”

“No,” Dean said, sizing his other self up. “You’re too much like me.” A memory came back to him, something he said to himself in a situation similar to this one, years ago. “Tell me something only I would know.”

“Oh come on, don’t quote me to me.” Other Dean took a beer out of the fridge and tossed the cap in the direction of the trash can. “Although if you’re from a different universe, I guess you wouldn’t have a memory of that. I must just say the same shit in every version of myself.”

“I do have a memory of it.” 

They glared at each other.

Dean said, “Camp Chitaqua.”

Other Dean blinked. “Yeah, OK.” He took a long pull from his beer, staring pointedly at the wheelchair as he did. “What year is it?”

“It’s 2022.”

Other Dean dropped into a chair at the kitchen table. “Ah, fuck. How’d we end up crippled?”

“No. Tell me something only I would know.”

Other Dean stared at him, annoyed. He lost the staring contest after half a minute, shaking his head and scoffing and then taking another long drink of beer. He then looked down at the table and said loudly, “Cas.”

“Excuse me?”

Other Dean raised his eyes. “He told me he loved—he said he loved me. And that he realized he couldn’t have what he wanted. And then the Empty took him.”

Dean ran his tongue along his top teeth. “OK, you are me.” He pushed his wheelchair forward and moved the shotgun from his lap to the table. “And you must be from 2020.”

“Oh goddamn it, I’m gonna lose my legs that soon?” Other Dean stood and said, “Christ, I need a stronger drink.”

“We don’t have anything stronger.”

“What?”

“I don’t drink anymore. The beer is for everybody else that comes through here.”

Other Dean sat back down. “Is Sam—”

“On a hunt with Eileen. Everybody’s fine. Well, except.” Dean gestured to the room and shook his head. 

“Except your legs?”

He leveled himself with an impatient glare. “No. It’s a C7 spinal cord injury, and it’s really not that big of a fucking deal. I was talking about Cas.”

Other Dean looked at his beer bottle, picking at the label with his thumbs. “Chuck is trying to show us that we have no free will. He threw me here to prove that I can’t change anything about our lives.”

“Oh, like The Time Traveler’s Wife?”

Other Dean made a face at him, but then his eyebrows raised in realization. “Right, we read that a couple years ago. Man, I forgot about that. Yeah. Like, why would I try to bring Cas back if I’m sitting here with you now, and you’re telling me Cas never came back? So what’s the point of me trying to bring him back if I already know he’s not here in 2022?”

Dean’s eyebrows knit together as he thought for a minute. Eventually he said, “I know you’re me because I never told anybody that Cas is in love with me.”

“Whoa, whoa, he didn’t say—”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.” Dean swallowed. “Let me tell you something, alright? You’re gonna spend a couple months having no fucking idea what to do with yourself, no clue how to cope, so you and Sam are gonna try to do some run-of-the-mill hunts, and guess what? On the very first one you’re gonna break your fucking back after being impaled on some shitty nail in the wall. You’re gonna spend six months laid up in bed feeling sorry for yourself, drinking yourself stupid, wanting to die, praying yourself hoarse to Cas, and Cas is not gonna fucking show up!” 

He took a ragged breath and continued, “And Jack doesn’t either. And then Sam’s gonna tell you that he needs you to get your shit together, and it’s not because he needs your help saving the world or even just needs your help on a hunt, it’s because he wants to get married, wants to marry Eileen, so you’re gonna put your sorry life back together enough to be the best man at your brother’s wedding, and that’s when you’re gonna realize that there’s more to your shit life than the selfish things that you want—things like, I don’t know, being able to walk? And having Cas.” He closed his eyes. “You’re gonna realize that Cas meant that he was in love with you, that he wanted to be with you, and you’re gonna have to deal with the enormity of that. That this—that a being so ancient and so huge and literally so incomprehensible to you that your ears bled the first time you heard him speak—that he could learn love? From your sorry ass? Look at me, Dean. Listen to what I’m saying to you.” 

He waited until other Dean looked him in the eye. “Eventually you’re gonna accept the fact that Cas lived thousands of years without doing anything other than following the will of heaven, never changing course, only to meet you and learn love so completely that the only thing he wants is to be with you. The first selfish, human desire of his life. You. And you didn’t even get the time to process it, to tell him that you love him, too, before he was gone. So the best you can do is try to actually live your fucking life, because he died to save you.”

The silence between them was heavy. Eventually other Dean said, “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I never told anybody. Listen to me, Chuck said Cas didn’t do what he was supposed to do. He wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you—us. He changed things when he told you. So you can change things, too. Go back to your time and fucking tell somebody. Is Jack still around? For fuck’s sake, tell Jack.”

“I can’t—everything you just told me, I can’t—I haven’t…”

“Dean, listen. I know. I know how you feel. I know you, and I know you don’t trust yourself, but look at me. I’m different than you, alright? You can trust me. I just threw two years of emotional processing at you, of course you can’t deal with that. But you can do just one thing. Just one. Tell Jack.”

Other Dean studied his face. “You really are different.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean shrugged and looked at his legs. “Turns out being loved by a cosmic being changes you.”

“And being paralyzed.”

“No, trust me, that’s easier to deal with.”

Other Dean huffed a small laugh and nodded. “Uh, what are you gonna do? What happens now?”

“Don’t worry about me, you just—”

A loud crack cut Dean off, then his other self disappeared out of existence. He looked around the kitchen warily, as if something dramatic was about to happen. Instead, a phone once again began ringing in the library. 

As Dean wheeled through the hallway, he felt a splitting headache and had to stop and close his eyes. Images flashed through his brain, mostly of him and Cas, and then they abruptly stopped and he felt fine. The phone was still ringing.

He only made it a few more feet before the headache returned, worse than before. Images, so fast and loud in his head that it felt like his brain would explode. When they stopped, he blinked his eyes open and had a realization. 

“It’s not The Time Traveler’s Wife. It’s—” he did a 180 in his wheelchair and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Cas standing at the end of the hall. “ — Looper.”

“Ah, we’ve finally caught up, then?” Cas said shyly as he walked toward Dean. He squatted in front of him, not in a patronizing way, but as a gesture of trust, submission. “You said it would be soon. You made me watch Looper so I would understand . Does your head feel alright?”

Dean put his hand to Cas’ face, delicately, like he might disappear if he touched him too much. “Cas.”

Cas turned his head and kissed Dean’s palm, then held his hand against his face and smiled at him. “I’m right here.”

The memories kept coming back to Dean, the changed timeline, his past self defeating Chuck and immediately telling Jack that he had to bring Cas back because he never got the chance to tell him he loved him, too. Then—still getting hurt on a hunt, still needing time to process and adjust, to give up drinking, learn how to accept Cas’ love and to love Cas properly in return—but easier this time, because Cas was there. Cas gave him space and time, all while loving him and taking care of him.

Dean took a deep breath. “C’mere, Cas.”

He didn’t wait. He pulled Cas up into his arms and buried his face in his neck and said, “I love you, you can have me. You can have me forever.”

Cas laughed gently. “I know, Dean. I love you, too.”

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

NOTES:

The Time Traveler's Wife (book) - Henry has no agency and no free will because he time travels randomly to different parts of his life and therefore knows everything that happens before it happens, and can't change any of it.

Looper (movie) - When people time travel to the past and try to change their lives, their memories change in the present as the timeline of their lives change.

[razrbladekiss]

Tyrants | Chapter Four - Peril

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

WARNINGS: Mentions of death, drug use, Tig being Tig. The usual SOA shit. Sorry Donna..

She always saw the beauty in darkness. The lugubrious belle that came alongside the moon and stars and whatever else lurked amidst the murk of nighttime.

Isla was cliche in that sense.

She was cliche in the sense that she adored watching the sun set, swallowed by the mountains and high-rise buildings as the evening fell and Charming was painted black.

And maybe it was mostly melancholic because of the horrors that swathed that small town, but it was still beautiful nonetheless.

She still liked to bask in the scenery, to discern the marvel of her home, from the highest point she could access. And, sometimes, she liked to take somebody along with her so she wasn't completely alone.

"Why'd you still come up here?" Ope asked, pulling himself onto the roof as she sat with her back to the wall--puffing on a cigarette.

"Because it's quiet." She was content, comfortable with her response. "And whenever I'm looking for Jax, or Gem, or my dad--or they're looking for me--this is where we're almost always found. Just people watching, or reminiscing, or having a few minutes to ourselves away from the chaos downstairs."

It wasn't an unknown safe space--Gemma had told her that JT and Clay would climb up there during the earliest days of the club--but it was special.

Jax, Opie, and Isla spent time up there as kids, too. Because they were bastards and were always running from their fathers--and den mother--and the roof of the clubhouse was their go-to.

She never really got out of that habit. She'd spend hours up there if she could, just watching as Charming bustled beneath her. And she liked that it was separate to the garage, but everyone knew where to find her if they needed her.

"It clears your head, being up here." She added. "I have got so much shit going on right now--between work, and my personal life--but coming up here is like a refreshment, I guess."

Opie understood what she meant because he was also seeking comfort in the night. Riding through dusk, spending time alone on his bike as he cruised the streets of his quaint town, relishing in the darkness because it was strangely comforting to him.

He liked to be alone. His thoughts were brutal and they seared his brain left and fucking right, but he liked his own company.

"Wish I thought about comin' up here when I was released from holding." The man chuckled, balancing a cigarette between his lips. "Stahl grilled the fuck outta me."

"She did?"

"Yeah. She really fuckin' did." He added, grunting as smoke blew from his nostrils. "Did she get you? I know she got Gemma."

"Nope, she didn't. I don't know why, though. She interrogated everyone else. Starting to feel a little left out."

Opie chuckled, smiling a bit. "Be glad. It's obvious that she's used to getting what she wants."

"And did you give it to her?"

"Fuck no." Isla smiled. Proud. "She can cross-examine me all she fuckin' wants—I'll never sell the club out."

"They know that, Ope."

"I know." Half confidently, he nodded. "Just—Stahl made me second guess it all, y'know?"

Nobody in Charming--aside from the PD--knew where that despicable bitch came from, and nobody cared to ask.

What they did know, though, was that she had her heart set on making that town a living fucking hell as she strived to eradicate the Sons of Anarchy by getting to its members.

She'd grilled everyone she could've. She cornered Gemma when she was out running errands, leaving the grocery store with a sour taste in her mouth when Teller told her where to fucking shove it.

Same went for Jax, and Clay, and Chibs, and Tig, and...Well, all of them told her to get fucked, actually.

None of them caved. None of them wanted to sell the club out because there was no reason to.

Well, there was a reason to, but no desire to.

There'd been murders. Three, to be specific. And one of them just happened to be a police officer--which was quite unlucky, but it wasn't awful.

They hated cops.

What they hated more, however, was the idea of getting caught by them. And Clay was. Somehow, anyway.

Piney's old "friend"--Nate Meineke--needed quality, albeit illegal, guns with no traceability to attack the convoy that was transporting one of his friends from point A to point B. And it went as swimmingly as possible...

Until June Stahl was put on the case and found that idiot's phone at the scene after dropping it mid-ambush.

Clay just happened to be the last person he had called. Which then caused the investigation to point toward Charming.

They all knew the Sons were guilty of supplying those weapons. Who else would it have been? They were known for running illegal firearms without batch numbers from a quaint Californian town whose name didn't quite fit its image.

It was blatant, though nobody gave it up.

But Stahl tried her damndest to get answers. And when she didn't, she targeted the member that she saw to be the most vulnerable--after a hit went wrong and he failed to cover his tracks--and Opie just happened to be that guy.

She questioned him for hours. She practically held the man captive in that little cell until he caved. But he didn't--and he wasn't going to, either.

He was loyal. That's one of the reasons why Jax wanted to patch him back in.

"Yeah, I know." Isla got to her feet when she heard Tig yelling for her downstairs. "But you're the strongest guy I know, Ope. I don't think Stahl, of all people, is gonna get to you."

He shrugged her off, flicking the butt of his cigarette to the gravelly ground of the roof.

Opie had changed. Not much, and it wasn't very apparent, but he'd changed. Chino had changed him, she thought.

He was still dedicated to his club, still in love with the reaper and the responsibility that came with the patch--but Opie Winston lacked that flicker of enthusiasm now.

"How does your dad feel about you being back at the table?"

"Said he's proud of me."

He was a man of very, very few words. But the tone that he took--the sheer relief twined into contentment--spoke a greater volume.

Piney would always support his son, feel a sense of gratification from his involvement in the club. And, of course, Ope felt grateful to be back--but it was different now.

He'd served time for his club. Donna consistently argued that they sold him out and that he was fucking stupid for running back into the arms of SAMCRO.

But it was his brotherhood. The Sons of Anarchy were his family--his lifeline. He was nothing if not blessed to be patched back in.

"And I guess that wife of yours isn't too happy about it?"

"How'd you reach that conclusion?"

"Well," she ignored that Tig was waiting for her, standing directly in front of him. "If she was genuinely thrilled about you being back here, she'd have been coming to Gemma's dinners, and spending more time at the clubhouse with us. But she isn't, and I'm starting to realize that she probably hates me now."

His head shook. "She doesn't hate you. It's just...It's just raw. Weird being back, I think."

"She didn't even have to leave. She knows that."

Donna did know that. But there was always something about Gemma. About the way she let things slide so often, how she felt that she had Clay so pussy whipped that he'd be at her every beck and call--but, really, that was redundant. Because Gemma let him get away with fucking murder.

Literally.

"Is she gonna be there tonight?

"Of course. She wouldn't miss Jax's son coming home." He got up, reaching for her hands. "Sorry that she's been so distant with you, Isla. But she's just been stressed out--money worries and the kids and stuff, y'know?"

"Yeah, I know."

Donna wasn't traditionally a worrier. But five years worth of finances, being a single mom, and fretting over her husband potentially not making it out of prison alive, just did that to a woman.

"Anything I can do to help?"

"I don't think so." Grateful for her offering, though recognizing how damn stubborn his wife was, he conceded. "Thanks, though."

"Anytime. And if you change your mind, or need me, you know where I am--"

"Isla!"

"He is getting on my last fucking nerve today." She groaned, flipping Tig off as she looked over the ledge. "I'm coming! Give me a minute!"

"I've given you plenty of minutes! Just get your ass down here!"

"Just go," Ope chuckled, leaning down to peck her cheek. "We can have this talk another time."

Isla turned back to him, frowning. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. Go 'n talk to him--I'll see you tonight."

He was such a nice guy. So considerate, kind.

She loved him a lot.

The flouncy sundress rose to the middle of her thighs as she sauntered through the clubhouse, hearing Trager talking--rather conspicuously, though slightly muffled--to somebody on his cell.

"C'mon, Tiggy. Why'd you yell at me?"

He waved his hand to shut her up, gesturing for the blonde to follow him out of the clubhouse and toward his bike.

"Yeah, cool. K, brother--see 'ya later. Bye." He hung up and slid the phone into the pocket of his cut, swiveling to face Isla with a smile. "You ready?"

"For what?"

"The party?" Tig told her, watching confusion sweep over her face. "I'm taking you over 'cuz you want a drink and don't wanna drive home after? And that you're probably gonna end up heading home with Juice, or something--"

"Juice?"

"It always happens," he shrugged, pointing at the helmet he set out for her at the back of his bike. "We all head out, you get too drunk, you take a liking to Juicy, and you try to ride his dick."

"What?" Isla got herself situated behind him as he got on first, her arms wound around his waist. "That was one time. I've only slept with him once, and I told you it'd never happen again."

"And why is that?"

Her cheeks flushed red, the engine revving sending vibrations through her entire frame.

"Because he was too gentle." Tig's foot collided with the kickstand.

"And the little Catholic girl likes it rough."

She felt the solid gold crucifix burning a hole into her chest.

"Yes. I like it rough." He groaned, leaning into her. She swatted at his chest over his shoulder, laughing heartily. "Just take me to see the baby, dickhead."

The bike sped out of the lot and Isla was loving the thrill of being on two wheels. She'd always liked being stuck to the back of somebody's Harley--but she'd never own one herself.

Isla was like Gemma. She felt stable enough riding with somebody, but riding alone--being in control of the motorcycle--was fucking terrifying.

Jax and Opie had encouraged her to take a ride at one point, but it didn't end very well, and Chibs spent the best part of two hours trying to stitch his daughter back up whilst Gemma castigated the two imbeciles who thought it was even reminiscent of a good idea.

Weaving through traffic gracefully, freely, was appealing to her, however. But she wouldn't be caught dead--alone--on a fucking bike.

Plus, she quite enjoyed being taken places. Escorted by a member of the club. It was safe.

The wind whirred and whipped around them, and she wished she didn't make the effort with her hair tonight. It was ruined, tousled to within an inch of its life, and she dreaded the thought of having to brush the knots out in Jax's bathroom.

Still, commuting via Harley was a hell of a lot quicker and had a few more benefits than commuting via car.

But the looks that they got were piercing. Horrible. Mainly from Hale stationed beside his squad car, watching as Isla and Tig raced down the freeway.

"He likes you." He spoke over the roaring engine when he hit the first stop light all night. "He hates that you've never given him a chance--"

"He's a cop, and I'm the outlaw's daughter. I've been raised to hate his kind."

Tig nodded his approval, setting off once again when the light switched to green and all opposing traffic stood still.

At one strange point in time, David Hale had his sights set on Isla Telford. He was in love with her. Completely besotted.

And she never gave him a second glance because, for one, she wasn't interested. He hated that she was so close to Jax and Opie, but not him, and he wished that she'd push herself away from the bad guys to grow closer to the heroic law-enforcer.

But he was a control freak above everything else, and Isla was just a free-spirit. She was loyal to her friends and family but she didn't want to get tied down, and she didn't want to become friendly with a fucking cop.

The only cop she liked was crooked. And Unser was in a similar spot to her--a little too affiliated with SAMCRO, but not completely doted on. Though, they were both strangely essential fixtures, and Clay would've been lost without them.

"Juice is here." Tig taunted as he helped her off the bike, holding her hand when she stumbled over herself a little. "Try to keep those panties on."

"Can't make any promises, Tiger." Her growl was seductive, though he knew that she was fucking with him.

She'd given up rebuking his claims, instead feeding into them because, with Trager, she couldn't seem to win. He was sleazy, and she loved that back and forth.

What she loved more, though, was that he was comfortable. He was a strange man, and nobody really understood just where he came from, but Isla liked that she could make jokes of any kind around him. He was easy to get along with. Easy to love.

And, man, did she love Alex Trager.

"If you do fuck him, though, would you make a video?"

Isla stepped into Jax's front room, turning on her heels. "Who said that we haven't already got one?"

She chuckled and wandered into the party, leaving Tig with a few convoluted thoughts and even more raunchy questions.

"Fuck. Gemma taught her well." He grumbled under his breath, reaching for the beer in Half-Sack's hand.

He slumped on the couch, motioning for his usual lay to sit in his lap as he watched Juice fawn over his little blonde friend making conversation with some other random woman already.

"Yeah, totally..." she agreed with whatever the girl was saying, but her eyes were glued on Tara. Just floating around the party.

She felt bad that the doctor was alone. Despite all that she thought of her, being out of ones depth in such an intimidating setting wasn't very nice. And Isla was an empath.

"D'ya think anyone 'round here has any nail glue?"

"Gemma might." She smiled, pointing toward the kitchen.

Grateful that she managed to shake that one off, Isla weaved through the small conclave and sat beside Tara, offering a friendly face during a time of such discomfiture.

Her heart was aching, the sheer nervousness was palpable, and she knew that Tara felt the same way too.

But Isla just sucked it up. Because she wanted to talk to her, and had to be the one to initiate it.

"Thanks for coming." Her smile was wide, genuine.

She offered a beer to the brunette, hoping that she'd take it.

"Thanks for asking me here." Tara accepted it, glad that Isla remembered she wasn't particularly a wine girl like herself.

Christ. This is awkward.

"Trust me, you were the first person I asked to come tonight."

"How so?"

"Well," a little bit more comfortably, she faced her completely, "you've literally nursed Abel back to health. You've been there every step of the way. You've been the best surgeon. And, as much as I hate to say it, you helped Wendy so much, Tara. I'm really thankful for all that you've done for this family."

"It's my job." She tried to brush the comments off, but her heart definitely fluttered at the praise.

Isla never changed. She was still the sweetest soul, she thought.

"I know, but you've had it rough with this lot--with Gemma, I mean."

"She isn't anything I can't handle." Confidently, she asserted.

"I know, and I'm glad that you're able to stand your ground." Reluctant, a hand landed against Tara's palm.

She jolted a little bit, but softened into the embrace.

It was comfy, warm. Prosperous, perhaps, because it meant something. Tara not jerking away and leaving once Isla offered a friendly embrace, was promising.

They spoke about the baby for a little while, and shared a few laughs at Tig's expense. It was strange, really. To be talking to her ex-best friend was strange, but she'd missed it.

Donna joined the mix, too, and it was starting to feel like old times. Isla recognized that they'd never slip back into that routine, the dedication to one another that they'd known when they were kids--but it was nice.

The conversation stuttered and it wasn't able to flow as freely as what she might've liked, but it was a start.

To know that she had something resembling an acquaintanceship with two women she admired, was nice.

And Jax introducing his baby to his brand new home, to his extended family that were already so fucking dedicated to him, was just the most wonderful thing ever.

"What about a beer?" Clay joked, holding the bottle close to Abel. Jax laughed, though he shook his hand away. "What? Grandpa can't give him his first beer?"

"No, he can't."

"I'll take it, though. If you're offerin'." Chibs grabbed the Budweiser and twisted the cap with the leather grip of his glove.

He gestured to Isla, tipping it toward her. "Want some?"

"No, you're alright." She went back to her wine, smiling at that little bundle of happiness in Jax's arms, wondering how the hell he'd gotten to be in this position now.

But it was because of Tara. Her commitment, her talent, and sheer want to help that angel through the roughest patch that a baby could have possibly been thrust into.

How Gemma could still loathe that girl--after everything she did--was beyond her completely.

Tara was the unlikeliest hero in Abel's story.

"Why is it that every time I see you, your highlights get more chunky?" Gemma smiled at the comment, turning to see her favorite girl, flaunting the most beautiful smile.

She handed Isla the bottle of whatever wine Chibs could get this evening, unable to quit beaming at the thought of her grandson finally being at home. Where he belonged.

"I told you I'd do them for you, Gem."

"I know," she nodded, playing with a few strands of hair, "I was gonna ask you, but you've been a little distant this week--didn't wanna add to your workload, baby."

"That's super considerate of you. Are you alright?" Isla teased, holding a hand to Gemma's forehead.

She slapped it away with a laugh. "Fuck you. I'm always considerate."

"Sure you are. That's why Wendy is here, right?"

"No," her head shook, "she's here 'cuz this is her house. If I had it my way, she'd be out on her ass faster than what you could even say 'crank whore.'"

Isla wiped at her lips with the back of her hand, tipping her head toward the blonde in the living room.

"I thought you made sure she was gonna be here tonight?" Confused, she quizzed.

She was under the impression that Wendy was starting to grow on her. After she'd tried to kill her, of course.

"I did," Gem confirmed. "But only because I knew it'd be awkward between her and Tara."

Amazed, or maybe fucking horrified, Isla simply glared at her.

It should've been obvious to her--plain as day--that Gemma Teller doing a good thing was simply a bullshit facade, built in order to take away from the fact she wanted to do an inherently bad thing.

But Isla liked to see the good in people, so it wasn't. And that really was one of her mot fatal flaws.

"She thanked me for letting her stay, too."

"And what'd you say to her?" Almost as if she didn't want to know the answer, she asked.

Black nails danced along the rim of her wine glass as she leaned against the counter, watching everybody enjoy themselves as they bitched and moaned.

"That she's lucky to be alive."

"Jesus, Gem," her head shook disparagingly, disappointed perhaps.

But being surprised that the woman made a threatening comment toward Wendy, was just as stupid as being surprised at Tig for fucking another hooker during his free time.

"You've gotta keep her close, ma. She's the mother of your grandson, the woman your son did love at one point."

Ma. The word rolled off her tongue unintentionally most of the time, but she didn't hate it.

Gemma was the mother figure in her life--hell, she was the mother figure in a few of the Sons' lives--and it didn't feel weird using that around her. It was affectionate. She adored it.

"Jax never loved her," matter of fact, she retorted. "They got drunk together. They smoked dope together. They didn't love one another--"

"They got married." Isla reminded her. "They have a kid together. They have a lot of history."

"Just because they have history, doesn't mean they love one another. You've got history with him."

Her chuckle was throaty, almost a full-on splutter. "We have not got that same history--we're friends, Gem, you know that's different."

She supposed the blonde was right.

There was hell of a contrast between friends for life and friends with benefits--and Gemma knew that. She just didn't like that Jax gravitated toward Wendy when he'd always had Isla right there in front of him.

Though, she was more than aware that the pair didn't look at each other that way--she still lauded the thought of the two together.

"I still hate her."

"I know," Isla laughed at Gemma's irritability, sipping on her wine, enjoying the sight of everybody having a damn good time.

"She's checking into rehab, too."

"Really? Where?"

"Some place in Oakland, I think." Gemma added, smiling at Clay when he wandered over to the pair. "But you didn't hear that from me."

"You think she's gonna stick to it?"

"Couldn't tell 'ya." He answered for his wife, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to Isla's cheek. "She's determined though, I'll give her that."

"Yeah?" His nod was optimistic--strange for Clay Morrow. "Well, I'm glad she's working on herself, anyway. She's got potential."

"You hate her."

"I know." She didn't refute the assertion. "But I'm still happy for her."

At least somebody is.

She wasn't lying. Wendy was a good girl, a woman tortured for no good reason. And she felt for her, she really did.

It'd been a shock, finding out that she was pregnant. But it wasn't like they weren't expecting it--what with the rate she and Jax were going at it.

From the start, Isla and Gemma were worried. She was notorious for her crank habit and the girls thought she was going to kill herself before she had the chance to see her son into the world.

And that almost happened, didn't it?

The doctors at St. Thomas were fucking miracle workers--Isla was on pins and needles waiting for a call to say that Wendy and Abel were okay.

But she tried not to dwell on that, now. They were both as healthy and Abel was as happy as he could've been, so Isla was content. She wasn't pleased, but she was comfortable with the way that things were going.

Tara, however.

"No!" She yelled, backing out of the nursery. "No, fuck you, Jax."

Juice stumbled backward when she nudged him out of the way, pulling her purse from the kitchen counter.

Isla and Gemma couldn't not stare.

"Tara, c'mon!" Jax called after her, but it was too late.

The front door had been slammed shut and the party came to a complete standstill. A thickening tension was shrouding the group, and things were only just starting to simmer.

"What was that all about?" The blonde asked Juice, leaning against the island.

She didn't want to prove Tig to be right but, after a few glasses of wine, Juan Carlos Ortiz was starting to pique her interests.

He swallowed thickly, watching Clay leave the room. "He said something about Wendy--wanting to keep whatever it is that he and Tara have going on the down low so it doesn't set her off, or something."

Makes sense.

"He has a point. She's doing really well lately." He continued. "Jax would hate to stunt her progress by shoving his relationship with Tara in her face."

Isla was rattled.

Jax hadn't talked to her in days, and she wasn't aware that so much had changed. She wasn't aware that he had established a relationship with Tara Knowles.

Again.

You know what they're like--like two fucking magnets or something. They always find a way back to one another.

She was too irritated to reside in that same room as Gemma, now. Knowing the conversation she'd initiate the second that Juice left was too fucking much. So she left first, instead.

The living room was almost empty. Just Clay, Bobby, Tig, and Chibs sat around the couches as Donna, the kids, and Ope were preparing to set off.

Everything was annoying her, now. She hadn't made the effort with Donna all night, but she was pissed that she hadn't started to say goodbye to her yet.

Isla was so fucking irritated that she didn't even want to talk to Tig, or her father. So she didn't.

"Where're you going, petal?" Chibs asked, hindering her plan to keep her mouth shut for the rest of the night. He knew that she'd crack a smile at the nickname.

"I was just wandering. Not really sure what to do with myself."

"Come sit down," he gestured to the space between himself and Tig, and wound an arm around her when she met the leather. "I've missed 'ya."

"Tonight? Or just in general."

"In general. It's been a few days, love."

"I know, I'm sorry." Her head rested against his Sgt. At Arms patch, and she sighed. "Work has been so fucking busy and I feel like I haven't gotten a moment to myself this week."

Isla only worked a part-time gig at some shitty salon just on the outskirts of Charming--edging into Stockton--but she hated her job.

She hated driving into the city every morning and evening, wasting a fuck ton of her paycheck on gas when, really, there was no point.

She hated her cunt boss.

Hated her cunt clients.

She hated that nobody really spoke to her because of who her father was. And when they did speak to her, it was almost like they were scared. Of Isla.

Gemma had always promised her that there was a space at the auto shop for her had she needed it, but she couldn't think of anything worse than having to answer to Gemma and Clay every single day.

Well, more than what she already was, anyway.

"Who'd 'a thought that being a hairdresser was so demanding?"

"Me, apparently." She joked, watching Tig get up and leave the room.

It'd turned somber. A little too bleak for her liking, but she guessed that everyone felt a bit awkward after Tara stamped out and Jax sat on his porch. Alone. With a bottle of whiskey.

She hated the hold that woman had over him sometimes. The way he was so fucking devoted to Tara Knowles that she could literally slap him, scream in his face, and ruin his son's homecoming party--and he would still pine for her.

She'd never understand that.

And she didn't understand how such a lively bunch of individuals had mellowed out over the course of two hours, either.

The party had disappeared. Dissipated into nothing and the atmosphere she once lauded was completely dead in the water.

It was fucking grim, and she couldn't wait to head home.

"Can I come with you tonight?"

"Why'd you even ask? Y'know you're welcome to come home with your old man whenever you want." Chibs told her a little bit stern, though it was essentially full of love.

She just smiled up at him, a bit buzzed. But she was having a good-ish time and who was he to chastise her for drinking a little too much tonight?

"Wanna head off now?"

"Yeah--lemme just say 'bye' to Gemma."

"Alright, I'll be out front. Don't forget your purse." He reminded, knowing she was too ditsy for her own good.

Chibs helped her to her feet, letting go of her hand only to part ways for a few moments.

Her mood was perking up, now. The prospect of being able to spend a few hours with her dad after a long fucking day, was just the best.

And she'd really missed him. Missed the time they once had an abundance of. Missed the evenings that they'd spend talking, drinking, watching movies, doing the generic father daughter activities.

They hadn't had that for a while, and it was truly a blessing that it was within reach tonight.

Well. It was within reach for all of five minutes.

"Oh my God--" Gemma's cell slipped from between black nails and bounced across the table. Saturated hues were locked on Isla, and her head shook.

"What?"

"There's--there's been an accident." She managed to muster out. "Or, maybe a drive-by, I don't know, but Donna--"

"Donna?" Piney's attention was snatched at the mention of his daughter-in-law. He stood up. "What about her?"

Isla knew the answer. She knew what Gemma was going to say because it was just the usual now, wasn't it?

Being affiliated with SAMCRO just did that to somebody. Man, woman, child. They didn't fucking care.

"She's--Piney, she's dead."

[constantlyunlightening]

Glory

Day 8: Glory Hole w/ Enji Todoroki

Warnings/other kinks: anonymous sex (obvi), creampie, depression, a n g s t

Nobody asked for this. Nobody wanted me to write an angsty glory hole fic for a depressed, touch starved Endeavor but here it is anyway. Man, idk. Anyway, Endeavor is certainly having a redemption arch and is working on healing but I refuse to believe he ain’t depressed with the realization of his own actions. So. Have this.

Disclaimer: 18+ years or older to read. All characters are 20+ years. ALSO, sex work is sort of written as something shameful here but it’s not (just be safe ya’ll) but Enji is a very strict sort of guy and I was working in his voice a bit here. 

What the hell was he doing here? Some hero he was.

Even with the baggy clothes, the mask and the hood dropped over his head, he felt like he stood out like a sore thumb. He was out of place - out of line. He was probably fine. Number one hero or not, under all the extra fabric, he’d be hard to pinpoint without the famous shroud of flames he always coated himself in. But, still, being at a seedy hook up place like this? It was so beneath him. It was so underneath the standards he usually held his pride and himself too. He was the very definition of a hero.

At least he used to think he was. 

Nowadays he wasn’t so sure. He worked hard at his work - painfully and endlessly hard. And regardless if he had rightfully earned the spot or not, he was the top hero. But at what cost? A hero to the public but a villain to his own family.

Maybe a run down, shady place like this was exactly where he belongs.

Enji shifted his weight, feeling like he should back out now. This felt wrong. But his legs were heavy and refused to move. At least not until he heard the soft voice of a women who had slipped into the room, her face hidden by a white mask covering the bottom half of her face. “Your room is ready, sir. Remember, all of our girls are completely clean and anonymous, but if you have an issue with her, you’re more than welcome to ask to change,” she explained her voice a little too cotton candy sweet to be working in such hole in the wall place. Yet, here she was, leading Enji down the dimly lit hallway, the rooms filled with muffled moans and cries that made him question what he was really doing here.

Eventually the attendant brought him to a door at the end of the hallway and gestured for him to open the door as she gave an all too pleasant grin. “It’s all yours. Have fun.”

And with that, she was turning around and walking away as his eyes came to rest on the old silver knob of a door. What pathetic lengths he was stooping to. Maybe there wasn’t anything inherently bad about a place like this, a brothel didn’t necessarily scream heroic. 

Although, he had been questioning what a hero actually was. 

Sure, he saved lives day in and day out but what good was that when you couldn’t protect the ones you care about? When you realized you were the one who ruined the ones you care about?

With Allmight retiring and Enji’s long-consuming determination to best him ending with his hollowed victory, Enji was left with his thoughts more. No longer was he plagued by the desire to be number one, but instead he was haunted by the actions he had done to get there. And the fact that he had only became number one because Allmight had all but fallen was an even bigger kick in the gut. His rise was not one that felt like it was created by glory, but one that was shrouded with misdeeds and an empty win. He was trying to be better. He was trying to not just be the number one hero by title, but in his actions and ideology as well. He was trying to be a better person too. 

No longer consumed with the drive to be the best, he now had the time to think about other things - feel other things than sheer determination. He felt regret. He realized he cared about something more than his work. He realized he cared more than he was used to. He wasn’t used to feeling so much. He wasn’t prepared to deal with the emotions he carried for his family- his kids - now that he could see them for more than just their power. He wasn’t prepared for the emotional weight of his damage to come crashing down on him.

If none of his children ever talked to him again, he was prepared to let them live on without him. He would face up to the consequences. But now with all that time to think, the mental toll was too much to bare. Regret, anger, depression, loneliness. He was dragged into the depths of it all, even as he kept the poker face facade as he went about his hero work. 

He missed real human connection. He craved it.

But he had decided he didn’t actually deserve it. 

That’s where this place came in. It was a physical reprieve at least. Here he could at least gain that human contact without the risk of creating another emotional burden on anyone else. It would serve as a stress relief as well as a point of contact in an attempt to regain a bit of the humanity in him - he felt like it had faded all to much. 

He had steeled himself to work through it. But even the strongest man in the world had to bare with moments of weakness. 

He would wake up with a sense of regret, he was certain, but for a brief moment, he would find temporary solace between the legs of a women he never met and would never meet.

So he opened the door revealing you.

Well, half of you anyway. You were halfway up the wall - hips and below only. You were pushed partly through a glory hole in the wall, your legs suspended by your ankles straight against the wall. You were a mounted animal - captured by a hunt and put on display. He almost felt bad for you. Did your legs hurt being in that position? Did you even want to be here? He was assured that all the women here were here of their own volition but he had a nagging sense of guilt lingered within his gut. 

It was his chance to leave but… despite his guilt, a more selfish instinct overcame him. If it wasn’t him it would just be somebody else anyway.

So he walked in and shut the door behind him.

If you heard his heavy footsteps into the room, he couldn’t tell by the parts of you that were showing. He made his way up until he was right before your presentation and hesitantly, a large hand traced over the inside of a suspended leg. Maybe his brain was telling him this was wrong, but the second he felt how soft you were under his calloused hands, he knew he had lost the willpower to leave. 

When was the last time he had even touched something so soft? An emotion he couldn’t quite place bubbled up inside of him. His heart panged and he felt like he was about to cry. Utterly ridiculous. But it was true all the same.

“Pretty,” a whisper escaped him, one he didn’t think you’d be able to hear through the walls, but your leg seemed to twitch under his touch all the same. He would have wondered what you were thinking about but he was too preoccupied with the urge to let his lips follow the path of his hand, starting at your calf with gentle kisses, relishing in the warmth radiating from you. His kisses moved lower, lower, and he felt like he could get lost in the physical feel of it. It felt insanely intimate but he knew it was an illusion brought on through the loneliness that had pitted into his stomach. Attachment grown from desperation. He was paying you. He didn’t know your name or who you were. He couldn’t even see you face. This wasn’t the time to be feeling intimate, this wasn’t the time to be feeling anything other than base urges. 

He came to this exact place to keep himself separated - detached. Your plush skin may be sucking him in but he refused to forget himself. No matter what thoughts he had during the act.

He resteeled himself. Fuck, don’t feel. And with that, he was pulling his lips off and instead focused on drawing himself from his pants, wrapping his hand around the base of his erection. Apparently those simple touches and the sight of you splayed before him was enough to get his body craving more. And he acted on it.

The brothel you worked for already had you well lubed up for him - it was something about letting the customer get right down to buisness….. 

However, when Enji finished prepping himself, he still heard the shocked yelp of a sound you produced from behind the wall as he pushed himself into you. The number one hero had the accommodations to match his size in any case, and he could tell you were feeling it, even without seeing your face. Your body clamped down on the intrusion so tightly he could have came on the spot. He couldn’t remember how this felt either. It was mind-numbingly good. It was good he couldn’t see your face because in his desperation and newly found emotions, he may have fallen for you on the spot. 

Fuck, don’t feel. Fuck, don’t feel.

He wasn’t here to feed his emptiness. He was here to blow off steam. He needed to start acting like it or this whole endeavor would be pointless. It wasn’t mercy that kept him still inside you - he wasn’t letting you adjust. No, he was simply committing himself to a decision.

Fuck, don’t feel.

He felt you startle under the grip that wrapped around your calves, but he didn’t have time to give it much thought as he proceeded to wreck your insides. The feather soft kisses he had placed on your legs didn’t feel like they were from the same person who was now pounding into you like an animal, rattling the wall as your cries pierced through any sort of barriers between the two. He relished in each and every tremor you produced around his length as he sank himself into your velvety walls. So warm. He was the flame hero but you were the one burning him up as his hands bruised around your legs.

He ignored the way the voice screaming out made him want to see you even more. He could burn this wall down in a flash - finally have his moment of connection - but he forced himself to settle for pretending the cries you gave out were his name. No longer a scramble of whines and whimpers as he rutted into the wet body before him, but in his mind they were a chant of “Enji”.

The loneliness was going to drive him insane but for now he embraced the fantasy as his forehead pressed against the wall, taking in your echos as best as he could.

He was growling, straining his voice to not make a sound lest you recognize his voice. But he had to make some sort of noise. The way you wrapped around him was sinfully divine and his nerves were ignited with lust.

He was a more than a little twisted right now, but he was determined to leave a mark on you. He would never have to know what a monster he was, but he could still drive his imprint into you as if he were someone worth letting his impression linger. 

Maybe he could make you feel a fraction of the stars he was feeling with your warmth. He could forget about his sins and focus on you, and the way you trembled and the way your voice peaked from behind the wall with a muffled - “more!” He would oblige. You could have asked the world of him and in this very moment, he may just try to fulfill it. More, he could do. More is what you got. 

His hands danced lower, finally gripping at the center of open thighs as he hammered somehow faster still. The hero work, if anything, at least gave him a surpless of strength and stamina. The room appeared to be vibrating with the way the thin walls shook. And each time you seemed to tighten or squeeze around him, it just spurred him on, throwing his own senses into carnal lust. The sensation became to much for the woman in the wall to handle and Enji shuddered as he felt your orgasm strangle his cock and he couldn’t stop himself from forcing himself in deeper anyway until his balls were flush against your ass. He unloaded right into the heat he was holding tight against, letting you milk all he had to offer. Another point of connection, fluids mixing together and he felt a gross sense of satisfaction as he listened to the way you whimpered, felt your walls flutter against him in the afterwards.

He wasn’t here to make connections, but with the urge to hold close the woman he had shared his first contact with in how long- the urge to burn down this whole wall was even stronger now. He was going to have to leave to stop himself from making yet another mistake.

[repetitionsings]

Sorting Cabin Pressure

I return! Briefly, because tumblr still hates me, and yet triumphant, because I’ve spent the last week re-listening to Cabin Pressure, and I want to talk about sorting the MJN crew. So let’s do some Sorting Hat Chats!

As usual, my view on these characters may not be yours, and if you have different thoughts, I’d love to hear them. :D Discussion spans the entire 27 episodes, so let’s say spoilers just to be safe.

Martin

Despite probably having the biggest, best-defined character arc, I'm finding Martin the main character I'm least set on. 

Secondary-wise, I'd say he's definitely a built secondary; very little of Martin's improvisations seem to come comfortable to him. His insistence on doing things right and by-the-book feels fairly Badger, but his ability to be lured into shortcuts and moments of unprofessional behavior feels to me like a Bird who thinks that Badger hard word and toil is the best option. It also seems to fit with the way he becomes calm and confident once something works out for him, and then immediately loses it once things go wrong and he feels unprepared again. The few episodes where he really gets to be confident and succeed particularly feel Bird-y to me: relying on knowledge in Johannesburg especially stand out.

(That said, Badger also seems to ring consistently with the way he handles a lot of things -- his dedication to his job, his hard work, even the way half the time he does get confident, it's either because Douglas isn't there to bring him down, or he seems to be pretending to be him.)

Primary-wise, though, that's where I get tripped up. Not a Snake, I think; even his hesitancy to leave MJN is half about his own goals and issues, not fully founded in caring about others. Badger doesn't quite seem right either -- "being loyal and true to things or people that exist is more important than sticking to grander but more abstract ideals or concepts" does not sound like Martin at all. My first thought was Lion, just one that's still struggling to be as decisive as they usually are -- despite his hesitancy, and his instincts being 'follow the rules written by others', a lot of the Lion stuff seems to apply to him. "They are willing to sacrifice their safety, social harmony, and a certain amount of logic to do what they feel is right." "There is right and there is wrong. Things are black and white. Shades of gray are places where people go to play games, twist the truth, and to be cowards."

But... he does bend the rules, or sit back and let Douglas do so. If nobody who makes him feel like he has to put on the act is there -- see Newcastle and Qikiqtarjuaq -- he'll bend them pretty far. Trying to drop candy on a kids' birthday party (Johannesburg) and lying to a passenger about where they're flying (Timbuktu) levels of far.

So who's around seems to be a big part of it, which maybe could point back in a loyalist direction. I think in the end, though, I'm going to throw up my hands and say, maybe a Bird whose system is in progress from something fairly immature and black-and-white to something more complicated? Martin's devotion to his passion and his job above all else feels pretty Idealist to me, and this seems a little more fitting than him being an extremely malleable Lion.

Douglas

Douglas "at any given moment I never have fewer than seven ulterior motives" Richardson? Douglas "did something clever and now everything's fine" Richardson? Douglas "pretending very hard not to care about anything, actually cares very deeply, but only about specific things and specific people" Richardson? Is there even any point to considering an answer besides double Snake here? Douglas might as well be the model of it. Trickery is his first language. He schemes, charms, adapts, and lucks out in order to achieve anything in his sights, whether that's as small as a relief from boredom or as big as saving the day.

Motivation is trickier -- but it becomes clearer and clearer as time goes on how far Douglas is willing to go to save MJN, and outside his own desires to be the captain again, that seems like the biggest thing that ever drives him. Combine that with his hedonism, and the way he's happy to lie, cheat, and steal to accomplish most other things with no notable guilt or shame, I don't even see hints of a model or structure built over it; the things that matter to him are his own reputation and status (and even that in very specific, particular ways), and saving GERTI and her crew.

(That said, the more I think about it, I do think you could make a solid argument for Douglas as a rapid-fire Bird Secondary. Mostly built around Zurich -- his confession that his confidence started, not just as a mask, but wholesale imitating somebody else. There's also this excerpt from Finnemore's Farewell Bear Facts: "Douglas prefers to hang back, let other people make mistakes, work out the 'something clever' he's going to do in secret, and then present it with a flourish." While that could be Snake-y, I could see it as a Bird's planning working for someone whose very invested in his own reputation. That said, I still think Double Snake seems the most applicable overall.)

Carolyn

Carolyn's drives are a kind of mirror to Douglas', which is interesting to reflect back on. The two things she cares most about are how she's seen, and -- even if she sometimes shows it in her own strange way -- Arthur. Then Douglas and Martin start to rank in there over time, and eventually so does Herc. (Martin moreso than Douglas -- speculation, but I think it's probably because everyone knows Douglas will take care of himself first, so he doesn't need to be worried about so much.) Money matters to her of course, but several times it comes down to show that if money was the most important thing, she'd probably have given up GERTI a long time ago. We get it set out plainly as early as Douz: "Because I am the Chief Executive Officer of MJN Air. It’s a good thing to be. It’s better than... a little old lady."

I think it's possible to read Carolyn as an extremely burned Badger; there's something in how she reacts to her sister that makes me think I can see it. But in general, I'm more inclined to say Snake Primary. One that isn't fully burned -- Arthur's never really out of her circle, I think -- but does have a hell of a time opening up her circle to new people by the time of the series. Just look at the trial Herc goes through before he gets there.

Lion Secondary, I think. She's the immovable object to Douglas' unstoppable force, and Martin is the thing unfortunately trapped between them at times. She's stubborn and honest, hates playing at being nicer than she is and only does it when absolutely necessary, and cares about her rules being followed but not the rules in general so much. She's whip-smart, but she doesn't actually tend to be tricky or slippery in the same way as Douglas -- and in fact, the one time we really see her try to be actively tricky, in Timbuktu, she loses. She's more likely to ignore opposition or tell someone else to solve it, and even when she pulls something, it's usually pretty straight-forward. (For example, calling Hester's fans in Cremona -- it's an underhanded move against someone who's earned her ire, but not really a complicated scheme.)

Arthur 

I think Arthur shares his mother's Lion Secondary. He's a force in his own right as much as she is, even if he's more of a tornado to her steel barrier. He's honest to a fault and very much always himself, no matter what the situation, or how much better it might be to try and do something else.

As Primary goes, it's hard to tell if this is just Arthur's optimism shining against everyone else, but my first instinct is Badger. He wants to be helpful, oftentimes too much so, and he likes them so much it tends to be notable when he doesn't like somebody. His focus tends to be the people in front of him at the time, but that does extend to include other people when they're there -- it's not just the crew at all times. While I think it's possible to see him in other lights, Badger seems to make the most sense and work with what we see of his wants through the series.

Herc 

While most of the other minor or reoccurring characters don't show up enough for me to have even an idea, I think we do get enough of Herc to narrow it down some, if not make a completely secure conclusion.

My first instinct is that he's yet another Snake Primary in the mix. It works with his role as a foil for Douglas, and with his willingness to give up his position to be with Carolyn by the end of the series. (That said, I feel like his speech on why he's a vegetarian in Ottery St. Mary could point towards Bird Primary as well, and would make sense with everything we see of him.)

He seems straightforward in a way that doesn't line up with a Snake Secondary to me -- that could be a matter of the situations we see him in, but I still just don't see it in his conversations with Carolyn. I'd say maybe a Lion Secondary, in the way the two of them clash and he stands his ground. Bird Secondary also makes sense, but admittedly I'm having trouble pointing to anything specific that made me think so; there's just something in the way his manner bounces off the others, and in the way he seems to almost take on and off All-Knowing Air Captain mode.

In conclusion --

Martin: Double Bird with a Badger Secondary model Douglas: Double Snake Carolyn: Snake Primary/Lion Secondary Arthur: Badger Primary/Lion Secondary Herc: tentatively Snake Primary/Lion or Bird Secondary

or, as they say in Limerick... But for Arthur, they're all quite constructed With the Snakes bickering interrupted By a worrying Bird From the Captain's chair heard Til the newest of Snakes is inducted

Carolyn's Lion is strong and won't coddle Martin's Bird, leaning against his model Or the Lion she raised By the Snake she's unfazed And thank you all, for reading my twaddle

[fanficflaneuse]

Hardly A Date

Index 

A/N: Hello lovelies! I’m sorry this took me so long. This has been a very awkward week. I was sad and I tried to dump my feelings into writing, but sometimes it’s not that easy...ugh I’m sorry. I hope you like this one. It was requested a while ago. Sorry for any grammatical mistakes. Also, I gave reader the physical characteristics of Lily Potters for (insert some good reasons). So, I am sorry if it’s not as immersive as it could have been. 

Dearest anon requester, I’m sorry this took me so long. Let me know if you read it and like it (I really wish you do). 

Draco x Potter! Reader (she/her) Word count: 2735 Summary: Draco has a crush on Harry’s twin sister, who resembles Lily Potter.

Enjoy! 

Harry sulked all the way to potions class. It was the first day of fifth year and his twin sister, (Y/N), was getting too much attention for his liking. He had always thought his sister was beautiful, but now every boy in school seemed to have realized it as well. Over the summer, she had grown taller and curvier. Her red hair had darkened a bit more. She wore it long, which framed her face delightfully. The resemblances to their mother was such that not even aunt Petunia could deny it. It made her harsher towards (Y/N), but not even that dampened the girl’s spirits.

(Y/N) felt confident as she walked by her brother. Since they set foot on Hogwarts, she had been the more popular twin thanks to her kindness and vivaciousness. She paid no mind to the looks and laughed at her brother’s overprotectiveness. As the Fab Four sat at the very front, as per Hermione’s request, (Y/N) felt something hit her in the head. Her hands searched the back of her hair and grabbed the paper crane that landed on her head. She turned around to find the one and only Draco Malfoy staring at her wide-eyed. He had sent the bird as a taunt to her twin brother and in no way had intended for it to hit her. The thought of her seeing the cruel drawing inside the bird made his stomach churn.

Draco was transfixed. It was the first time he saw her since last year and her striking green eyes were doing wicked tricks to his heart. Since year one, he had a crush on her. He thought those who didn’t acknowledge her beauty should be burned at the stake. A year before, the blond had simmered in jealousy when he saw her at the Yule Ball with her brother, but that image paled in comparison to seeing her now. He cringed as she turned around, opening the paper crane.

Just as she did, Snape came in to the classroom. He was not in a good mood and it only got worse when he saw (Y/N) Potter sitting on the front row. She was scribbling something on a piece of parchment. She was the spitting image of Lily Evans during her schooldays, back when they were still friends and he clang to the sliver of hope that she’d love him like he did. It was almost painful to see his student. Her presence soured his mood even more, so he decided he was not putting up with it.

“Eva– I mean, Potter,” he said, motioning to (Y/N), “change places with Goyle.”

(Y/N)’s gaze went back, once again, to the back of the room, where the Slytherins sat. Gregory Goyle was sitting just besides Draco. She stood up silently and put her things in her bag. Harry groaned lowly.

“I’m definitely failing now,” he murmured.

(Y/N) gave him an encouraging smile. “It’s going to be alright, Harry. You’re good at this.”

“Never as good as you, sis,” he countered, “And if that prick does something to you I am going to kill him.”

She rolled her eyes in response and dramatically bid her brother goodbye. She walked all the way to the back of the room, where a very embarrassed Draco Malfoy waited for her. She greeted him cordially as she took her place. Draco and (Y/N) hadn’t crossed more than ten words at a time. She was not a hothead like Harry, so she hardly gave in to the taunting. At times, when he said something particularly nasty, she’d snap. Her comebacks were intelligent and sharp and often than not he’d be to flustered to answer. So, they were not on good terms, but not on a “I want to burn you alive and dance over your ashes” basis.

“I believe this is yours, Malfoy,” she said coolly after handing him the paper crane.

The Slytherin swallowed hard and took the bird from her hands without saying a word. He listened intently as Snape gave the instructions. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed her flipping through the pages in her book until she settled on the one with the recipe for the draught of peace.

They brewed the potion in silence. Draco was enamoured by (Y/N)’s gentleness and the way she’d handle everything with the utmost care. She was also unnaturally kind, as she didn’t seem bitter at him for the paper crane or anything, really. It was a relief.

“Are you sure we have to powder the unicorn horn?” He didn’t intend for it to come out as mean, but it sure sounded like that.

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow, as if challenging him, and theatrically put more pressure on her mortar. Her lips turned into a mischievous smirk and Draco had to stop what himself from putting too much powdered moonstone into the cauldron.

“I recall you saw me read the instructions,” she answered matter-of-factly.

Draco scratched the back of his neck. He took a deep breath and nodded at her sheepishly. “Just checking,” he murmured.

“You should check your hands before adding the ingredients,” she teased as she pointed at the moonstone.

He smiled and raised his hands in mock surrender. “Are you suggesting that I don’t know what I’m doing?”

“I suggest nothing, Malfoy. I affirm.”

Draco was about to answer, finding the playful banter amusing, when Snape scolded them from his desk. Assuming they had been bickering, Harry turned around, shooting daggers at the blond and giving her sister encouragement she didn’t need. (Y/N) shrugged and, after her twin turned around, smiled kindly at Draco. After that, they worked mechanically. As their potion turned into the desired turquoise blue colour, (Y/N) even concluded that they were a good team.

As Snape approached to their desk, (Y/N) noticed how he didn’t even spare her a glance. He talked to Draco and asked him questions about the process. And when he gave them their well-deserved O, it was Draco he congratulated. (Y/N) said nothing of it, but found it frustrating. When he walked away, she released the breath she always held when he graded her and started packing.

Before she left, she flashed her classmate yet another impish grin. “I exhort you to open that paper crane.”

Once she was gone, the Slytherin opened the folded bird to find her intervention to his work. He had drawn Harry being hit by a thunder and falling off his broom. She had altered it for it to be him, falling and hitting the ground wrapped in a cloud of dust. It was so well done, Draco couldn’t be offended.

…

For the next two months, (Y/N) and Draco worked together in potions. Every time, they’d engage in small talk and friendly banter. He marvelled at her wittiness and her sense of humour. He loved it when she got dramatic and made theatrical gestures or used aristocratic language just because. Draco was falling hard and fast for the redhaired Potter.

It actually made him wonder over the nature of his hatred for her twin brother. He found her funny and charming. He felt so at peace when they spent time together. And then there was Harry Potter, who he found utterly irritating, brash and self-righteous. He didn’t understand how they could possibly be related. She was amazing in absolutely every way he was faulty.

Maybe he didn’t particularly hate Harry? And why didn’t he ‘hate’ (Y/N) anyways? She was just as self-righteous as her brother. They were practically joined at the hip and she was always involved in the same shenanigans as Harry was. They had the same eyes. Why hate them in one and love them in the other? What was the real reason for him to go out of his way to torment (Y/N)’s twin and friends? 

Deep down he knew.

These thoughts consumed him as he did his rounds for the inquisitorial squad. At first, he had joined Umbridge’s team because he wanted the authority and for a while he enjoyed it. Then, (Y/N) and Harry got punished by their sadistic teacher and he no longer wore his badge with pride. He knew they were up to something, but seeing (Y/N)’s swollen hand during their next potion class was enough to feel ashamed of his position.

Draco was just about to go to his common room, when somebody collided with him. He was too deep in his thoughts to feel the rush of getting someone in trouble. And then noticed the deep red hair and the scared green eyes. His heart started beating hard on his chest.

(Y/N) was absolutely terrified. She hadn’t realized it was Draco at first; she was running as fast as she could from the room of requirement. Usually, she left D.A. meetings with Harry, but today he was playing Don Juan with Cho Chang and everyone else was gone. She was good at sneaking around. She was halfway there when she saw Peeves and decided to make a run for it before he saw her and woke the whole castle.

That’s how she had ended practically in Draco’s arms. She was sweaty and out of breath and now she had to deal with the Slytherin prince. He was nice to her in potions, but she wasn’t sure that was enough to get her off the hook. (Y/N) imagined herself getting another detention with Umbridge and it made her want to cry.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said as he grabbed her face tenderly.

For a second there, she thought she was hallucinating. She looked at him, eyes still teary, but also full of confusion. He smiled awkwardly, suddenly self-conscious of their position.  

“A-Are you alright?”

“Just a bit agitated.” She tried to be as casual as possible.

“Let me walk you to your common room. That way nobody else will get you in trouble,” he said, offering her arm to her.

Draco knew that she was up to something. If he wanted to, he could’ve gotten all the dirt on their little secret society. She would’ve been in a lot of trouble and he’d be the hero of the school. He said nothing, though, especially because she was holding onto his arm for dear life. They walked peacefully towards the Gryffindor common room and with every step he could only think about the idea that had been brewing in his mind for a while.  

(Y/N) thought she was in the most ridiculous situation. She was a member of Dumbledore’s Army and he was Umbridge’s minion. He could’ve gotten her, her brother and friends in trouble, which was what he had wanted to do since their first day in Hogwarts. And here they were, arms linked as he escorted her to safety.

Suddenly, they stood in front of the Fat Lady’s portrait. (Y/N) looked at Draco with gratitude. He nodded and offered her a smile. With trembling fingers, he tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Draco noticed (Y/N) blushing a little.

“(Y/N)…there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said, the sudden rush of confidence making him lightheaded.

“Yes?”

“Would you go to the next Hogsmeade trip with me? On a date?”

(Y/N) was speechless. She didn’t know Draco thought of her that way, but suddenly the fact that he didn’t rat her out made sense. Of course, he wouldn’t be as lenient had he found Harry or Hermione. She thought about it for a second and smiled when she noticed him getting uncomfortable.

“Let’s make a deal, Draco. The next Hogsmeade trip is a week from tomorrow. If you don’t bully anybody during the week, I’ll go out with you,” she proposed.

She noticed his eyebrows knitting in confusion. “What does that have to do with anything?” he groaned.

(Y/N) crossed her arms, amusedly. “Why would I want to go out with somebody that messes with my brother and my friends?”

He considered her for a while and then sighed in defeat.

…

“Is it true that you agreed to go out on a date with Malfoy?” Ron asked in alarm the next morning.

“I didn’t agree,” (Y/N) shot back as she put food on her plate.

Harry was looking at her disapprovingly and she was doing her best to avoid his gaze.

“You agreed to go out with him if he went a week without bullying us,” Hermione interjected with a reproving tone.

“That I did.”

“(Y/N)!” Harry roared.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to not be bullied for a change?” she asked him innocently.

“If the cost is that git snogging my sister then no, it wouldn’t be nice.”

(Y/N) gave him a stern look.

“What? That is what happens on dates, (Y/N).”

“Then you should hurry up and ask Cho Chang to one as well.”

She tried to be humorous, but it clearly didn’t work, so she tried to reason with him instead.

“Come on, Harry. It would hardly be a date,” she said while holding her twin’s hands, “besides, I know Draco can be a nice person if he tries. He has been to me in potions. Why not give him a second chance?”

Harry scoffed. “Why would I ever give that tosser a second chance? He has been messing with us since our first day here!”  

They looked at each other and for a moment they had one of their silent conversations. Hermione and Ron stared as Harry failed to be stern and (Y/N) conveyed compassion in her eyes. As always, Harry gave in.

“You’re too kind for your own good, you know that?” he sighed, “and I mean it this time, if that prick does something to you I am going to kill him.”

…

“Which one’s better, ‘Mione?” (Y/N) asked as she held one dress in each hand.

Hermione helped her best friend get ready for her date. As much as she disliked Draco, the week events had made her realize he truly wanted to go out with (Y/N). Throughout the week, Harry and Ron taunted the Slytherin in hopes that he snapped at them, thus ruining the date before it even took place. Hermione had frowned upon their Machiavellian plan, but had not intervened nor rat them out. As the days went by, though, she noticed how hard he was trying to be good. He looked the other way as the Gryffindor boys laughed and teased. He avoided making snarky remarks in class. Once, he even helped Hermione when she tripped and fell.

It had been a very hard week, but he had succeeded. Now he waited awkwardly by the portrait for (Y/N), who arrived a few minutes later. She looked as beautiful as ever with a pretty floral dress. They smiled at each other and walked out of the castle, this time with the regulatory distance according to Umbridge’s decree.

As they made their way to Hogsmeade, (Y/N) thought this could possibly be the most awkward date of her life. It didn’t help that it would probably her first real date ever. What could they have in common apart from their shared space in potions? What would they talk about? Then, she noticed how Draco was fidgeting with his fingers. She found that cute and it made her instantly relax.

As they sat at the Three Broomsticks, all of their collective fears of a bad date were soon proved wrong. They had a great time together. They talked about their favourite candies, their favourite pastimes, quidditch. Draco asked about her life as a muggle with genuine curiosity. She was actually very blunt about her situation at home, something that both marvelled and unsettled him. They laughed and made jokes and got theatrical together.

They walked back to the castle hand in hand. Once they reached the school, Draco dragged (Y/N) through some less frequented corridors. Engrossed in their conversation as they were, they failed to notice the Gryffindor trio following them. Harry and Ron were absolutely enraged as they saw the couple stop behind a column. Hermione had to restrain them when Draco put his hand on (Y/N)’s cheek. She squeezed their arms as the blond boy leaned in and gave (Y/N) a kiss she happily corresponded.

Harry was livid. His baby sister had her arms around that slimy git’s neck. He wanted to rip his head off.

“Hardly a date my arse,” he muttered under his breath.  

tags: @cleopatera @okaydraco @naomi02hook @the--queen-of-hell @honeymarvel @the-hufflefluffwriter 

[today-only-happens-once]

and miles to go before I sleep

Title: and miles to go before I sleep

Word Count: 6,650

Chapter 1

Summary: Virgil came here to stop a curse and save his kingdom. But another Prince has the same goal in mind... and only one kingdom is supposed to come out on top. Slowburn Romantic Prinxiety. A Two Princes Podcast AU. 

Chapter Warnings: stealing; lying; Patton is kind of working in a gray area but he means well and is only trying his best; Janus does some light treason I guess?; violence; giant hornet; plant monster; killing monsters/violence; blood mention/description; threats; if you are a die-hard fan of the podcast please be warned that I do take a few creative liberties with stuff from the podcast at times. 

A/N: this idea has been knocking around my head for a while, and I finally started to write it. I thought I’d write it all before posting, but I’ve found that I’m starting to lose steam. So here’s the first part! If you like The Two Princes, I hope you’ll enjoy this Prinxiety twist to it! If you’ve never listened to it, I hope you’ll consider giving this a shot and then maybe going to check it out! <3 Editing done by yours truly. All mistakes are mine. 

...

“Stop! Thief!” 

Virgil takes a hard left turn down the Western Corridor of the castle, nearly tripping over his own feet in his rush. He sprints down the stone hallway, racing past the familiar stained-glass windows. The book in his hand is heavy and leather-bound, and Virgil tucks it tighter under his arm as he runs. The hood of his dark cloak nearly slips off his head in the process, and he uses his free hand to keep it from falling. 

“Halt!”

Ahead of him, three members of the Royal Guard appear from around the corner. Virgil skids to a stop, whirling around only to find two more guards running up behind him. He’s surrounded and cornered. Nowhere to go. Virgil huffs a breath, holding his hands up and kneeling on the floor in surrender. He lets the book thud to the ground. He’s grateful that the hood of his cloak swallows his head, and he keeps his head downcast to let it shadow his face from view even though he knows his anonymity is really only a matter of seconds.

There’s the scuff of boots against the stone floor approaching him, the clanking of armor as the guards move aside, and Virgil grimaces to himself. He has the sinking feeling it’s his older brother. 

“Your Majesty,” one of the guards from behind him greets the newcomer, confirming Virgil’s suspicions. “We caught this person attempting to steal the Forbidden Book.” 

Virgil keeps his face hidden in the hood of his cloak, but he sees his brother’s boots step into his vision. “What’s your name?” his brother asks with that familiar soft friendliness. 

Virgil knows that he can’t hide much longer--someone is going to pull the hood off his head at any moment--but he really doesn’t want to deal with the look of disappointment in his older brother’s eyes that he knows awaits him. He’ll push it off as long as he can manage. So Virgil stays resolutely silent. 

He feels a slight tug on the hood of his cloak and the silky material causes it to fall to his shoulder blades effortlessly. 

“Virgil?” 

Virgil looks up sheepishly. “Hey, Patton.”

His brother was twelve years older than him but only a couple of inches taller. His hair wasn’t much lighter than Virgil’s, and their eyes were the same shade of brown that their mother’s had been. But Patton had seemed every bit older than him. Virgil couldn’t explain why--if maybe it was the weight in his eyes that would show only when he thought nobody was looking or if maybe it was the way he’d mastered the ‘I’m not angry I’m just disappointed’ stare years ago--but there were times when Patton seemed even older than twenty-nine. 

“What the heck were you doing?” Patton swoops down and snatches the book from where Virgil had placed it on the floor in front of him. Virgil tries not to grimace. His brother hands it off to one of the guards who immediately rushes to take it back to the vault. 

Virgil sighs and accepts the hand that Patton extends to him to pull him up to his feet. Patton waves a hand and the guards only hesitate for a moment before they turn abruptly to head back to their post. Virgil waits until they’re alone in the corridor before he answers.

“Patton, come on. You know exactly what I was doing.” 

Patton frowns, his brow pinching together. “Virgil,” he starts, and Virgil has to stop himself from rolling his eyes because he knows that tone, “I already told you that book is no good for anybody.” 

“No, I know you keep saying that. But our kingdom is under siege, and--”

“Siege?” Patton repeats. “I think that’s a bit of an overstatement there, kiddo. I should start calling you just ‘Anxiety’ with as much as you worry.”

“How else would you describe the forest that is overrunning our kingdom and has been for years? It’s nearly at our palace walls.” Virgil gestures out the stained glass window. “You can’t go anywhere in town without having to step over and around roots and vines. It’s been choking our food supply, it’s overrun our farming villages… That’s not normal. And nobody in this godforsaken castle will talk to me about it.”

Virgil sees that flicker of something he can’t identify pass through Patton’s eyes. It was the same look he got any time Virgil tried to mention the Forest or the Curse. But it was always too fast for Virgil to be able to identify it. 

“Have you ever thought that’s because there’s nothing to talk about?” Patton tries. 

“When was the last time you looked outside, Patton? That Forest is going to destroy our kingdom,” Virgil snaps. “I know it’s the Curse and I know that book has answers. I just don’t know why you don’t want me to know them!” 

Patton presses a hand to his temple. “Virgil, will you just drop it? Please?”

“All I’ve done is drop it. From what I’ve been able to piece together from books that you will let me read, two kings from rival kingdoms held a grudge against each other a thousand years ago, and that grudge started some kind of curse. But I need more if I’m going to do anything to fix this.”

“Nobody is asking you to fix it--”

“Somebody has to!” 

“Virgil…” Patton looks at him then. He looks tired, Virgil thinks. And… afraid. “Please. I… you’re my baby brother. I’m just trying to look out for you, okay?”

Virgil wants to argue. He’s seventeen. He doesn’t need his older brother protecting him like he did when they were little kids. He sometimes wonders if Patton still sees him as that six-year-old kid that would run to his room when he had a bad dream. He wasn’t. But he doesn’t know how to get Patton to understand that. Besides, a part of him falters at the tinge of desperation that colors Patton’s words. 

“Okay,” Virgil agrees with a sigh, holding his hands up in surrender. “Okay. Fine.”

There’s a grateful twitch to the corner of Patton’s mouth. Then, his expression brightens with a sudden idea and Virgil has the feeling he’s not going to like it.

“Hey,” Patton says. “Your birthday is almost here. What do you say we throw an early birthday party for tomorrow?”

Virgil arcs an eyebrow. “My birthday isn’t for another four days.”

“I know, but I think we all could use a little something to boost the kingdom spirit, y’know?” 

Virgil hesitates. “Patton, you can’t just use parties to distract yourself from problems.” It’s a conversation they’d had before, so he knows what Patton is going to say even before the words leave his brother’s mouth. 

“I’m not, Virgil,” Patton replies, right on cue. “But I think focusing on something good and happy is better than wallowing in the negative. Right?”

“Right,” Virgil says hollowly. 

…

Virgil hates parties. They’re crowded and loud and the repetition of forced, awkward small talk reminds Virgil of everything he doesn’t like about being a prince. Nobles and dignitaries mill around the ballroom, talking to one another without talking about anything that Virgil thinks ought to be discussed. He nods his appreciation and mutters a quick “thank you” as people wish him a happy birthday, and he tries to ignore the increasing desire to crawl into a hole and never come out.

Virgil snags a piece of bread off the snack table and clings to the edge of the growing crowd in the ballroom. 

“You look like you’re having a positively terrific time, Your Highness,” a familiar voice says to Virgil’s left. When he looks, Virgil feels a twinge of relief at the familiar face of Lord Janus: his brother’s closest political adviser. 

Virgil snorts. “Yeah, well. This was hardly my idea. You know how my brother is.” 

“Hm,” Janus hums, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Indeed.” Virgil stifles a yawn. Janus arcs an eyebrow at him. “Tired, Your Highness?”

“Sorry,” Virgil replies. “Just… didn’t sleep well.”

He thinks about the dream he’d had last night. He’d been cold, in the dark, surrounded by looming shadows that looked almost like trees. There’d been a deep, echoing, vaguely familiar voice calling his name. Virgil. Then a tugging sensation around his waist so strong it yanked his feet out from under him, and the falling sensation had jolted him from his sleep. He’d woken up in his room, trying to catch his breath, the echo of his name still reverberating in his head. 

“I see,” Janus replies, his gaze narrowing slightly.

Virgil avoids his eyes, instead letting his gaze flit over the crowd of people. Some of them he recognizes from various meetings and prior parties that Patton had thrown over the years. He watches as a tall man he recognizes as Sloane--a long time family friend--lean over to whisper something into the ear of Corbin, one of the royal scribes. Corbin suppresses a smile. 

“Are they… together?” Virgil wonders aloud. He couldn’t describe it, but there was something about the way they seemed to gravitate near each other, even while Sloane turns to talk to someone else, that makes him wonder.

Janus follows his gaze. “Yes,” he confirms. “To my knowledge, there’s an expected engagement to occur soon.”

There’s a part of Virgil that’s surprised. He wouldn’t describe himself as particularly close with either one of them, but they seemed like near opposites. His gaze lingers a bit longer on the two of them, catching the way Corbin deftly slips his hand into Sloane’s and squeezes. Virgil tears his gaze away, feeling oddly like he’s intruding on something intimate even though they’re in the middle of the ballroom. 

He finds Remy weaving through the crowd, seemingly at ease in the sea of people. Remy is another of his brother’s advisers, though he doesn’t work as closely with Patton as Janus does. Virgil knows that Remy’s area of expertise is primarily in trade and commerce. Most of that had stopped around a year ago, as the growing Forest cut off most trade routes into and out of the kingdom.

“How does he still have a job?” Virgil wonders aloud, watching as Remy laughs politely at a joke a dignitary that Virgil doesn’t recognize makes. 

Janus hums. “Your brother ensured that Remy’s original conception as an economic adviser would not be limited to inter-kingdom trade. Exchanges occurring within the kingdom and city walls fall under his domain of expertise as well.” 

“Won’t be long before he’s out of a job anyway,” Virgil mutters.

“There are few things that the king cares about more than the well-being of his kingdom.”

“And I’m one of those things.” Virgil looks at Janus, challenging him to disagree. Janus merely returns Virgil’s stare with a steady, silent one of his own. Virgil has known the adviser long enough to recognize it as silent agreement. 

Virgil releases a frustrated breath. “I’m not a child anymore, Janus. He doesn’t need to protect me.”

“I assure you that Your Majesty doesn’t view it that way.”

“I don’t even know what he’s trying to protect me from,” Virgil continues. Realization dawns suddenly, and Virgil narrows a glare on Janus. “But you do, don’t you?”

It makes sense to Virgil. There is little that Janus doesn’t know--he’s often said it’s his business to know things as the chief political adviser--and though Virgil may not understand how Janus gathers his information, he has no doubt that Janus knows exactly whatever it is that Patton has been hiding from him. The suspicion is only confirmed when he sees Janus’s lips press into a thin line. 

Virgil shakes his head. “Unbelievable. I don’t understand.”

Janus arcs an eyebrow. “I think Your Highness does.”

“No, no I don’t,” Virgil hisses back in a low, frustrated voice. “What is my brother hiding from me?”

Janus grimaces, his gaze flitting over to Patton across the ballroom. Patton doesn’t seem to notice, too engaged with a conversation with the Lady Valerie to pay them much mind. Janus sighs, then turns back to the prince.

“Your Highness--”

Janus cuts off as the floor beneath them rumbles. The dining ware on the table clatters loudly from the tremor, and the ballroom falls silent with uncertainty. Virgil braces a hand against the nearby wall to keep balance. 

“Uh, what is that?” he asks, too late.

With the sound of shattering stone, sections of the marble floor splinter open. Virgil watches, horrified, as green vines rise from the fissures almost like tendrils of an awakening monster. Cracking wood snaps sharply in the hall as what Virgil can only describe as tree roots thicker than his own body push their way up through the cracks in the floor. 

Screams and shouts of alarm fill the ballroom, ricocheting off the stone pillars. Virgil watches as a vine curls around the ankle of a dignitary, yanking her off her feet. One of the guards, sword already drawn, rushes forward. They slash at it, slicing through the vine and helping the young woman back to her feet.

“The Forest is invading!” the guard shouts. “Everyone take cover! Guards, attack!” 

The clamor of battle swells, and Virgil presses flatter against the wall. His gaze sweeps over the crowd, trying to locate his brother. Virgil sees a tree root snake around Corbin’s torso with a speed that isn’t natural for a plant. Sloane shouts for him, but a vine snaps around his wrist and he yanks a knife out of his boot to cut himself free. 

Virgil goes to move to help--he may not be athletic exactly, but he can’t just stand around and do nothing when people are in danger--but something yanks him back to the wall like he’s attached to it. He glances over his shoulder and sees the vine twisting in the jacket of his suit. Virgil desperately wrestles out of the garment, but another has already begun wrapping around his chest. 

“Hey!” Virgil yelps, trying to wrestle it off him. He sees a sudden flash of metal in the corner of his eye and the vine around his chest goes suddenly slack. Virgil shoves it off, looking over and realizing it was Janus, wielding the sword that had been at his hip, who cut him free.  

“Janus,” Virgil says. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Here, take this.” Janus pulls out a piece of paper from his breast pocket and shoves it into Virgil’s chest. 

Virgil stumbles back a step from the force, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What’s this?”

“A map,” Janus answers, quick and urgent. “It will take you straight to the Hollow. You have to leave immediately.”

“What? What Hollow?”

“Here.” Janus shoves the hilt of his sword into Virgil’s hand. “Take my sword.”

“Wh--No! I can’t leave you all in the middle of a battle!”

“You have to!” Janus snaps, and Virgil falters under the intensity in the adviser’s eyes. “The real battle--the one that will decide the fate of everyone in this kingdom--can only be fought in the Hollow, and only by you.” 

“What are you talking about?”

Janus grabs both of Virgil’s shoulders. “There’s a prophecy your brother has been hiding from you. You have to go to the Hollow. Once you get there--”

“Look out!” a voice barks.

Janus’s head snaps to the side before he gives Virgil a hard shove, sending the prince staggering back. A tree root slams into the wall, precisely where Virgil had just been standing.

“Janus!”

“Go!” Janus shouts sharply over the clamor of the raging battle around them. “Get to the Hollow!”

Virgil runs, not noticing the vegetation shrinking back into the cracks in the floor as he races towards the Forest. 

…

Hours later, Virgil is beginning to think that the Forest must hate him personally. If it’s true, the feeling is very much mutual. The Forest is dense with trees that leave long, lurking shadows on the damp floor. Virgil climbs over a particularly large tree root, hissing in pain as a thorn catches his shoulder.

“Great,” he snaps sarcastically. “You know, you go through all this trouble of getting me to come to you what with the weird dreams and then attacking during my birthday party--which, between you and me, I didn’t really mind the interruption, though I could have done without the violence--so you’d think maybe you could extend a little hospitality.” Virgil waits as if the Forest might actually respond to him. The chirp of insects and distant song of birds is the only answer the Forest offers. 

“Of course not,” Virgil mutters. “I don’t know what I expected. You’re a monster-infested forest.”

Or in the very least, that’s what the rumors had always said. Virgil wonders if that might have been an old wives’ tale, passed on through the thousand or so years since the Curse first started to convince children to steer clear. Just because Virgil had heard his whole life that monsters lurked in the Forest’s shadows didn’t mean it was actually true, right?

Right.

Virgil sighs and yanks the map Janus had shoved at him out of his pocket. If the skull on the map was referencing the tree ahead of him whose branches vaguely resembled a skull, then--

A twig snaps behind him. 

Virgil freezes, his head snapping up. “Hello?” he calls, shoving the map back into his pocket and yanking his sword out of the scabbard. 

Nothing answers him. Wind rustles the leaves in the canopy above him. Virgil studies the trees and shadows around him. He can’t shake the vague feeling that he is being watched…

A distant buzzing interrupts his thoughts, and Virgil sees a dark blur rush towards him. He yelps, ducking his head and slashing blindly with the sword. When he looks, Virgil chokes. In front of him, buzzing loudly as it hovers a couple of feet in the air, is a giant hornet--nearly Virgil’s size. 

“Look,” Virgil says to it. “My brother always says to avoid violence, but the last few hours has been the culminating impact of years of frustrations, so my patience really isn’t up for--”

The hornet dives for him, and Virgil slashes at it, clipping its side. He narrowly dodges its stinger, slashing again. Virgil’s arms are suddenly coated in a dark, viscous spray of black blood. The giant hornet falls to the ground at Virgil’s feet.

He releases a breath, grimacing against the acrid smell of monster blood that stings his nostrils. His heartbeat is still thudding in his ears, adrenaline pulsing through his veins. He just slayed his first monster. A relieved smile tugs at the corner of Virgil’s mouth. He wonders briefly if Patton would be proud of him or horrified. He tries not to think too long about it.

“Not too bad for a--whoa!” Virgil steps back and immediately finds himself falling through the forest floor. 

He lands hard and takes a moment to blink stars from his spinning vision. With a grunt of effort, Virgil pushes himself up into a sitting position. The air around him smells… sweet and oddly familiar. On the ground beneath him is loose dirt and a carpet of white and pink mushrooms. A few bright green vines helped to cushion Virgil’s fall. A quick glance around also tells Virgil that he didn’t just fall into a hole--he fell into some sort of underground tunnel that continued on to his left.

He takes in another breath and feels the tension bleed out of his shoulders. It smells like… like Patton’s fresh-baked cookies on a rainy day and… was that his mother’s perfume? Virgil had never really been able to remember his mother’s face, but he remembers the scent the instant he inhales. He suddenly has the near overwhelming desire to curl up and sleep as the syrupy feeling of warm comfort spreads through his chest.

Maybe Virgil could just live here instead of… of… how did he get here again?

“Oh darling!” calls a soft, honey voice and for the briefest moment, Virgil wonders if it’s his mother. He dismisses the idea almost immediately. That isn’t possible.

“Wh--” Virgil’s tongue feels slow, his thoughts shifting through a molasses-sweet haze. “Who said that?”

“I did,” the voice echoes back, melodic and sweet. “Are you my darling?”

“I mean, maybe,” Virgil slurs, blinking owlishly at his surroundings. “I could be someone’s darling.”

“Where are you, darling?”

Virgil squints up at the hole he’d fallen through. “I’m at the bottom of a pit. Where are you?”

“I’m here too, just a bit further in. Come find me, darling.”

Virgil glances over to his left and sees a prick of light down the dark tunnel. Something in his chest tugs, urging, towards it. Virgil pushes himself to his feet, sliding his sword into the scabbard at his hip (why did he have it out to begin with?) and rushes down the tunnel, tripping over stray roots and the increasingly thick network of green vines. As he grows closer to the light, the smell of cookies and his mother’s perfume grows thicker and heavier. He can feel the way it clings to his thoughts in his mind, sticky like melted candy.

The tunnel opens up into a small cavern overrun with moss and flowers. Vines wrap up dirt walls, sprouting flowers of different sizes and colors so bright Virgil squints against the sudden onslaught on his vision. At the center of the clearing is a feminine figure--green skin and green hair that look almost like vines themselves. She turns towards Virgil as he steps into the clearing, her face brightening so much that Virgil almost doesn’t notice that her eyes are bright red like the flowers that dot her arms. 

“There you are, my darling. I’ve been waiting so long for you.”

Virgil frowns, his brow creasing. “I’m sorry.”

She giggles, light and delighted. “Oh, that’s all right. What’s important is that you are here now. What’s your name?”

He… can’t remember. It starts with a V, doesn’t it? “V-V...Virgil. Yeah, that’s it. My name is Virgil. What’s your name?”

The woman floats closer. “My name is Flora. I’m the goddess of love.”

Her voice sounds like a music box, soft and lilting. Virgil wants to curl up and use her voice as a blanket. “Where… where am I?”

“This? Why this is the Garden of Delight. You needn’t worry about anything ever again.”

A soft, warm feeling squeezes around Virgil’s chest and it reminds him, distantly, of Patton’s hugs. “That… that sounds nice…” 

The woman hums, stepping closer. The dress she wears seems to shimmer, like it had been spun from spider silk and dripped with dew. It did feel rather humid in here, now that Virgil thinks about it. Virgil feels an unusual draw to her, but as he goes to take another step, he finds his feet don’t move. Confused, he glances down. Green vines have snaked around his ankles, locking him in place.

“What--”

“My darling,” the woman purrs, moving closer. “Virgil is a beautiful name. You’ll stay here with me, won’t you? Forever?”

Something about that sounds extremely tempting, and Virgil had the vague sense that it had something to do with the lingering sweetness in the air that reminded Virgil of when he was a child. When things felt easier. Simpler. But he… couldn’t stay, right? He… he was supposed to be going somewhere…

“I… I can’t,” Virgil says, beginning to wonder why it’s so hard to just think right now… “I’m supposed to… um… there’s something I’m… I gotta get to the, uh… I can’t remember. Why can’t I remember?” He can feel the vines snaking up his legs, wrapping around his waist and anchoring his wrists to his hips.

He feels like his brain is fighting through gelatin. 

“If you could uh, let me go?” he asks.

The woman smiles again, but Virgil swears it’s a row of sharp, pointed fangs that he hadn’t seemed to notice a moment ago. “But you only just got here.”

Virgil tries to wrestle his arms out of the net of vines but they only constrict tighter. He wheezes a cough as the vice-like grip forces some air from his lungs. “Yeah, I know, but--”

“Nobody leaves the Garden of Delight, darling.”

“I just really--”

“They stay here forever.”

“I really gotta--”

“You’re not going anywhere,” the woman growls, with something that definitely isn’t human edged sharply within the words. 

Virgil jerks away. “You’re not a goddess.”

“No,” she agrees, grinning wickedly. “And it’s been ages since I’ve had a meal as large and scrumptious as you.”

Virgil thrashes, but he’s held fast by the vines that are only getting tighter. “Let me go!” This is how he’s going to die, isn’t it? He’s such an idiot. “Don’t!” he shouts, though he knows it’s fruitless. There’s nobody around to hear him. Not for miles. How could he have been so stupid--

“That’s enough, fiend!” A new voice, a rich baritone, shouts from the cavern entrance. Virgil tries to crane his neck to look behind him but he only gets a flash of red, white, and gold before the monster in front of him hisses with a flash of pointed teeth.

Through his haze of muddied thoughts, it’s hard for Virgil to follow exactly what happens next. But there’s a glint of silver out of the corner of his eye and the creature before him shrieks in pain and anger. The constricting grip around him slackens suddenly and Virgil shrugs out of the plant cocoon that had been ensnaring him. 

He whirls around and sees a boy in a dirtied white prince suit jacket and a red sash across his chest. His dark brown hair falls across his forehead, and his dark eyes are intense with urgency. 

“Who are you?” Virgil asks.

“Go back the way you came,” he says instead of answering the question. “You’ll find a rope that you can climb to the surface. I’m going to take care of this overgrown fly-trap.” 

“Wait--”

The monster shrieks, her enraged scream echoing in the room. “I’m going to destroy you, you filthy, egotistical human!”

“Funny,” the boy shoots back, “because I was about to say the same thing about you.”

The monster lunges, and Virgil instinctively throws up an arm in front of his face to protect himself. The other boy snarls and slashes with the sword in his hands with expert precision. Virgil can’t help but be impressed. He’s certain that he never has looked that comfortable with a sword in his hands in his entire life. 

The scream from the monster cuts out abruptly as the other boy lodges the blade inside of her. She falls, disintegrating into a pile of dirt and vines. The boy wipes the back of his hand across his brow and arcs an eyebrow at Virgil. 

He motions to the cavern entrance. “After you.”

….

Virgil sighs as he pulls himself up over the ledge and back onto the forest floor. He never thought he’d be happy to see the Forest again, but he can’t deny the odd rush of relief. Anything was better than sharp fangs flashing in front of his face. 

“That… was intense,” he says as he hears the boy behind him pull himself up and start untying the rope from around the nearby tree he’d used as an anchor. “What was that thing?”

The boy pauses thoughtfully. Sunlight filters in through the leaves of the canopy above them and they make the boy’s dark eyes sparkle a bit. “I don’t know what they’re called, but the Forest is full of them.”

“Huh. Well, it’s a good thing you came along, I guess.” Virgil rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Thank you for rescuing me, and for being so beautiful.” Virgil freezes.

So does the other boy, his gaze flashing over and his brow furrowing. “What?”

“Brave!” Virgil blurts and has to stop himself from cringing at his own lack of a filter. He wasn’t usually this clumsy. “Thank you for being so brave. Not beautiful. Wow.” He laughs awkwardly. “I don’t know why I said that. I think some of the toxins must still be messing with my head, y’know? Making me say crazy things. It’s not like I think you’re beautiful.”

The boy’s frown deepens and Virgil holds up his hands. “Not that I think you’re ugly! I mean, obviously you’re not ugly. Like, if you put a sword to my head and said are you attractive or ugly, obviously I’d have to go with attractive because objectively that’s just a fact--” Oh my God, Virgil, stop talking--“but it’s not like you’re so attractive I can’t stop looking at you or anything. Am I talking a lot? I feel like I’m talking a lot.”

“You are,” the boy replies absently, his gaze narrowing at something off in the distance. Virgil is oddly relieved to get the sense that he stopped listening a while ago. 

“Right. So uh, I’m trying to say thank you.” Virgil takes a deep breath, trying to slow his still-racing thoughts and pounding heart. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’ve been following you.” It’s only then that Virgil realizes the boy hadn’t been untying the rope from the tree--he’d been securing it more firmly. 

“What? You’ve been following me?” He watches as the other boy loops the rope over the tree branch, then makes a lasso with the loose end in his hands. “Um, what’s the lasso for?”

“I have some questions,” he answers, his gaze narrowing. “And since I don’t know you nor do I trust you, I thought you might be more inclined to answer them if you’re dangling from a tree.” 

“Oh,” Virgil says before it sinks in. “Wait, what--Hey!” Before he can stop it, the boy lasso’s Virgil’s waist and pulls, and Virgil sees the world spin violently before he’s staring dizzily at the boy upside down. “Let me down!”

The boy crosses his arms over his chest. “Now then. Who are you and what are you doing in this Forest?”

Virgil’s fingers twitch for his sword, but he figures he’d be about as likely to poke his own eye out than cut himself down. And even then, what would happen? He’d seen the boy face off with the forest monster and he’d sliced her like it was nothing with barely a flick of his wrist. Virgil couldn’t very well fight this boy. And besides, he doesn’t really want to. 

“Me? Just--I’m nobody. I’m just walking through.”

The boy scoffs and shakes his head. He waves a hand at him. “Your clothes are filthy but clearly Western from the design and fabric choices. And your sword carries the insignia of the royal family.” His gaze darkens then, and he takes a step closer. Virgil watches the way his grip on the sword flexes in preparation. “Do you work for them?”

“No!” he says immediately. “No, I--I don’t. No royal family for me.” 

“You’re alone then? You aren’t traveling with any member of the royal family?”

“No, definitely not.”

The boy studies him for a moment before he seems satisfied with the answer. “My apologies. You can never be too careful. Especially in this Forest.”

Virgil finds himself nodding despite the wave of confusion the comment brings. He just wants to get out of this in one piece. “No, of course.” 

The boy slides his sword into the scabbard at his hip. “My name is Roman. Prince of the East. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”

“Uh, not really?”

“The younger brother of King Thomas? Heir to the Polished Throne. Defender of the Perished Realm.”

Virgil sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Sorry.”

“Vanquisher of the Dragon Witch. Protector of the Sacred Flame. Champion of the Hero’s Forge.”

This is ridiculous, Virgil thinks. He arcs an eyebrow. “What was that last one?”

Something sparks in Roman’s eyes, and he places his hands on his hips as if posing for a portrait. “Champion of the Hero’s Forge?”

Virgil does take a second to wrack his memory, wondering if maybe he had read something about any of the ridiculous titles Roman had just rattled off, but nothing rings a bell. “Champion of the--no, sorry.”

Roman seems to deflate, his hands falling from his hips. “Really?”

He knows he shouldn’t--the boy is dangling him from a tree for crying out loud--but Virgil does feel a little bad for him. His ridiculous batch of titles notwithstanding. “We just don’t hear much about you guys in the West. Honestly, we weren’t even sure there was anyone left in the East. We’d sort of assumed the Forest had finished you all off.”

Which, now that Virgil thought about it, he honestly wasn’t sure if that was simply a misguided belief or another intentional deception to further obscure the truth about this Forest and the Curse from Virgil. Then again, Virgil thinks, Patton may have made a lot of mistakes, but he didn’t think willful deception like that was really Patton’s preferred method. He tended to just avoid things.

The most Virgil had heard about the East Kingdom had been in history books, scribbled in the margins of notebooks. From what Virgil’s been able to gather, the two kingdoms had gone to war ages ago. Virgil couldn’t figure out why, exactly, or even a direct timeline. He assumed it must have been thousands of years ago; so long that the true reason for the feud had been lost to history.

“Hm,” Roman says, his brows pinching together.

“But,” Virgil adds, “it’s nice to meet you, I guess. I’ve never met anyone from the East before. Honestly, I don’t even really know why we were at war with you. So like, maybe you could cut me down now?”

Roman’s careful, scrutinizing gaze sweeps over Virgil. His hand rests on the hilt of his sword. “You still haven’t told me who you are or what you’re doing in this Forest.”

Virgil’s thoughts trip over each other. He can’t very well give his real name--not when the boy had looked almost murderous when he asked about the royal family. He wracks his head for some kind of alternative. “My name is, um, Anxiety.” 

Roman blinks at him. “Anxiety?”

Virgil could kick himself. Of course that was a stupid answer. “Uh, yeah. That’s--that’s what everyone calls me, anyway. Not that I know a lot of people. I, um, live here. In the Forest. Alone.”

“You live in the Forbidden Forest?” Roman arcs a skeptical eyebrow. 

Virgil silently curses to himself. He’s really not that well-practiced in lying. He didn’t like it, generally. In his experience, it tended to just make things worse. But he could almost hear Janus’s voice in his head, telling him that lying to preserve his safety was preferred to getting hurt. 

“Yeah. I’m uh, on the run. From the royal family in the West.” That was… at least somewhat true?

“Why?”

The memories from yesterday morning flash through his mind. “I’m a thief.” Also kind of true.

“A thief.”

“Yes,” Virgil confirms. “How else do you think I got this sword with the royal insignia on it?” Virgil hopes silently and fervently that Roman’s unexplained contempt for the royal family would work in his favor here.

Roman scoffs. “Great,” he mutters, mostly to himself though loud enough for Virgil to hear, “Just what I need. A vagabond with no sense of honor. Fine. The Forest can deal with you.” He turns his back and starts walking away.

“Wait!” Virgil calls out. “Where are you going? You can’t just leave me here.”

Roman turns back to him, crossing back the short distance. “What I can’t do is have a confessed criminal traipsing around the Forest.” He waves a hand to gesture around them. 

So apparently his contempt did not outweigh his morals. Virgil has the vague thought that Patton would approve of that, if nothing else. “You misunderstood,” Virgil stammers hurriedly. “When I said thief, I meant like a… a…” What was that story Patton used to read to him when they were kids? “Robin Hood kind of deal. You know, steal from the rich, feed the poor. That’s why the royal family hates me. I’m like a, um, hero.”

Roman’s brows shoot up in surprise. “A hero?”

“In a looser sense of the word--”

“How long have you been hiding in this forest?”

“Wh--oh. Years. Like… forever.” Virgil is starting to get a headache from the blood still rushing to his head. 

Roman looks unimpressed. “Yet you nearly got killed by a talking plant moments ago because you stumbled blindly into her lair.”

“Yes,” Virgil says, unable to disagree with that point when they both had been there and Roman had been following him, apparently. “But that’s the first time that’s ever happened.” True. “Which, if you think about it, is sort of a point in my favor, right?”

“Hm.” Roman purses his lips before yanking the sword out of his scabbard. Virgil flinches as it flashes in the sunlight, but there’s the sound of snapping rope and Virgil lands clumsily on the forest floor. The sudden headrush makes spots dance across his vision and Virgil blinks to clear them away.

“Warn a dude, next time?” Virgil grumbles.

“I’ll make you a deal, Robin Brood,” Roman announces, ignoring the comment. 

“You can call me Anxiety.”

“My first night in the Forest,” Roman presses on, “my horse got spooked and ran off with my map. Since then, I’ve been--”

“Completely lost?”

“In need of direction.” He points his sword towards Virgil with ease, like it’s an extension of his arm. “If you can take me where I need to go, I promise to spare your life and let you go at the end of our journey.”

That… seems fair to Virgil. He’d take this prince guy on a little side quest, and then he’d be able to rush to the Hollow shortly thereafter. A little detour should be fine, right? “Uh, sure. Yeah. I guess. Where do you need to go?”

“The Hollow of the Kings,” Roman answers as Virgil pushes himself to his feet. 

Virgil freezes, his brow furrowing. “Uh, sure. Yeah. But why do you need to go there?”

“That is none of your business. Do we have a deal or should I get my rope?”

Virgil holds his hands up in surrender. “No, sure. Yeah. I’ll take you to the Hollow.”

Roman crosses over to a heavy-looking bag and picks it up. “Now that you work for me, you’ll carry my things.” He shoves the bag into Virgil’s arms. Virgil staggers under the sudden weight, cursing under his breath.

“Yeah, no problem, buddy,” he quips sarcastically, adjusting his hold on the bag to more easily manage the weight. 

“Don’t call me buddy.”

“You got it, boss.” Virgil tries to hide a smirk. He couldn’t explain why, but there was something a little fun about teasing the other prince. 

“Your Royal Highness is fine,” Roman replies without a shred of irony.

Virgil snorts. “All right, Princey.”

Roman scowls. “Also, please only speak when spoken to. You talk a lot, and it’s beginning to give me a headache.”

Virgil arcs an eyebrow. His ears are still ringing from the headrush. “I’m giving you a headache?”

“Yes. Also--”

“Oh my God, how many rules do you have?”

Roman whirls around and Virgil finds the tip of his sword poised just below his chin. Roman’s expression darkens. “If I find out you’ve been lying to me about anything, I will feed you to the nearest plant. Got it?”

Virgil swallows. “Got it.”

“Great!” he says brightly, sheathing his sword once more. “Then onward we travel. Lead me to the Hollow, Robin Mood.”

“Same joke.”

“It was a variation.”

...

Tags: @creativenostalgiastuff, @helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @quoth-the-sparrow, @princelogical, @random-pianist, @ravenclawicecream, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes, @rileyfirstname, @sassy-in-glasses, @vigilantvirgil, @generalfandomfabulousness, @lacrimosathedark, @thepoolofthedead, @monikastec, @heir-of-the-founders, @yourworstnightmare999, @artistictaurean, @kanejandkruge, @cdragontogacotar, @unikornavenger, @bopthesnoz, @spiralofsilencetheory, @finger-gunsss, @crownswriter123, @narniasfinestavengingsociopath, @swlotakulady34, @gaylotusthatexists, @analogical-mess, @dolphidragon, @flix-net, @friedlieb-ferdinand-runge, @procrastinations-my-middle-name, @theburntesttoast, @monroig, @secretlyawyvern, @puddinglec4t, @give-me-a-minute-to-think, @whispers-stuff-in-your-ear

[river-bottom-nightmare]

headcanon that damian’s eyes change color.

and no, not like “his eyes darkened with anger” or “they were a fresh spring color in the sunlight” no i mean his eyes actually change color.

When he was a baby, he was born with brown eyes, inherited from talia. they’re normal. unassuming. there’s not much hidden depth to them, people look at them and assume they’re a normal person’s eyes. ra’s was angry, predictably, because his grandson, the one whose body he was going to occupy, had eyes as dull as a common civilian. but talia stepped up and said “you fool. can you not see how this will help us all?” and it does. because people never expect damian to be as dangerous as he is. from birth to the end of his toddler years, people see an average child, which makes them all the more easier for him to slaughter.

then, damian was tossed in the lazarus pit. it was part of his training, mandated by ra’s. talia put him in there without a second argument, though gentler than she usually would be. the pain wracks his tiny body, and when he comes out, he feels dizzy and jumbled and angry. he doesn’t even what happened to his eyes until a couple days later. they’re a bright, acid green. like, danny phantom green. they radiate the unnatural. one look at those eyes and people instantly know something is not right with that child. it makes his ruthless grin even more terrifying. ra’s is pleased. talia tries to be pleased, and succeeds, somewhat. somewhere deep inside her, though, she’s terrified of her son, because while her viciousness as a child had stemmed from the constant training and need for approval from her father, damian seems to be this absolutely brutal on his own, because he liked it. she never did figure out his savageness stemmed from love for her.

when damian meets, then loses his father, his eyes are the same eerie bright green, though dulled, somewhat. bruce could never look him in the eyes. when dick becomes batman and makes damian his robin, he takes one look at damian’s eyes and declares that’s plain creepy. tim agrees. they’re straight up unsettling. at first, damian wears this as a badge of pride, showcasing how different he is from his siblings, how superior. over time, though, his eyes become just another thing separating him from them, another reminder of his heritage. dick still flinched ever time he looked damian in the eyes, and that cut damian deeper than he ever expected. over time, though, dick stopped flinching, and damian assumed he’d just grown used to it. it wasn’t until damian took a good look in the mirror that he realized his eyes had changed color. they no longer were the acid green pools of miniature lazarus pits, two seconds away from actually glowing. they had faded into a duller, almost brownish green. the same color as alfred’s tea leaves. and damian was happy, happy because now his eyes held a warmth to them, the same warmth that alfred left in everybody else. tim came back, with proof that bruce was alive, saw damian’s eyes, and sagged in relief. later that night, making sure damian couldn’t overhear, he went to dick and said “you did it. i don’t know how, but you broke his connection to the league.” and dick shook his head. “i didn’t break his connection to the league. i just made sure his connection to us was stronger.” (and if bruce now looked damian in the eyes while holding a conversation almost constantly, well, that was something damian would never admit to loving.)

and then came jon kent. damian knew from the moment he met him that jon kent was going to be somebody important. people called him stubborn? clearly they’d never met this one particular ten year old. on the outside, he seemed a picture perfect happy-go-lucky kid. damian wondered how nobody else saw the sheer determination behind his eyes, the blue being taken over by violet with rage. you would have to be a fool not to see the desire to prove himself, and how jon would do almost anything to accomplish that. and after kid amazo, after jon had cleared it with his parents after the move to go patrol with damian, they would sit on a roof and eat fast food during stakeouts and jon would talk about everything and nothing at all and damian could almost feel his eyes changing color.

but it didn’t happen until he was 22. there was a battle, a big one, and it had passed in a blur of days. of fighting and stitching up wounds and being constantly on edge. on the last day, damian had gotten hurt. there was a kryptonite spear. jon was busy helping another wounded hero off the ground. the answer was pretty simple. though, jon’s anguished scream when the blade lodged itself in damian’s torso hit a little harder than home. luckily that day the league was able to take out the bad guys for good, and jon stayed by damian’s side until it was certain he could pull through. and angry punch on the arm and a don’t ever do that to me again turned into a quiet i can’t see you get hurt like that turned into i couldn’t let you get hurt turned into damian ducking in and pressing his lips, once, softly and firmly against jon’s. afterwards, pulling back from jon, damian’s voice was unsteady, saying “this, jon, this is why i can’t let you get hurt.” jon stared at him for a minute, impassive (and boy did that scare damian because jon was rarely ever impassive) before saying “i get it. i understand. so i bet you can understand why i can’t let you get hurt” and dragged damain in for a kiss that was deep and passionate and sucked the soul right out of damian’s body. the next day, when damian was cleaning some of the cuts on his face, he spotted his eyes in the mirror. they had changed color again. from an earthy green-brown to a deep emerald. just like his second eye color, they were unnatural, unearthly. but these, these had hidden depths that damian loved. they were dark and mysterious and shone with hidden emotion. they danced the edge between mortal and not, between ordinary and captivating. and, if damian squinted at the mirror hard enough, he could see love woven through those emerald stones, as sure as the love in dick’s eyes, in jon’s.

and damian smiled. because he was pretty sure these eyes were going to stay a while.

[lifeofroos]

Part 60. I hate Minos, me my homies all HATE Minos.

In short: Nico gets therapy from Dionysus. In this chapter, he has decided he wants to talk to King Minos. Dionysus quietly agrees, but only so long as someone comes along. The story is also on AO3 and FanFiction.net! And in Tumblr tags like Dionysus, Nico di Angelo, percy jackson fanfic etc.  This Might Be Crazy: Chapter 60: Pomegranate Iced tea 

‘Did you bless the Jacksons’ house when I was there last time?’

Dionysus looked up. ‘I did. Sally Jackson runs a sanctuary. We can’t have monsters coming in.’

‘Very good.’

‘Now tell me the real reason why you came here. You can’t be here just to ask something you already knew.’

‘I mean, no.’

‘Spill.’

‘Don’t you trust...’

‘Nico!’

‘I want to go talk to king Minos. I want to know why he chose me.’

Dionysus took a moment to think about that. ‘Isn’t it clear why Minos chose you?’

I shrugged. ‘It might be. Because, you know, I was going around raising the dead and opposing Percy, which was very convenient for him. Still, I…’ I shrugged. ‘I want to talk to him. I want to know how he thinks.’ 

Dionysus thought for a second. ‘Minos is dangerous.’

‘So I can’t go?’

He thought for a second. ‘I can’t control you. You’ll go anyway, no matter what I say. Yet, I have a requirement.’

‘Being?’

‘Someone must be there with you. I am not letting you talk to a psychopath like Minos on your own.’

I sighed. ‘Who must it be?’ 

‘I’ll ask Persephone and Hades first. You’ll hear the answer tomorrow.’

‘Alright.’

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

The next morning, early as all hell, I heard a knock on my door. ‘Nico. Come.’ 

I scrambeld out of bed. ‘Eh, I will.’ Whoever you are. ‘Can I put on some actual clothes instead of my pajamas first?’

‘Five minutes.’

‘Okay, okay!’

Within five minutes, I was done and I stepped out of my cabin. I raised my eyebrows. ‘Ariadne?’

‘The very one. Persephone will come too. She’s waiting for us near Elysium.’

‘I mean... cool.’ I tried to shrug, but half-way through we were already teleporting into the underworld. My shoulders hurt when I got there. 

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

I disliked standing in front of the gates of Elysium again. It was soul-crushing to see all of the spirits, some of them hopeful, some of them sure they wouldn’t get in. 

I noticed Persephone standing near the judges. She was looking up at them, with her hands on her hips. She looked around when Ariadne called her name. ‘Still okay?’ She asked to the other goddess. 

‘As okay as it can get.’

‘Good.’ Persephone straightened her back. ‘We’ll let him do the talking.’ She pointed at me. 

‘And we’ll keep an eye on everything.’ Ariadne confirmed. 

Persephone nodded. ‘Come,’ she told (mostly) me. I nodded. We walked past the lines, to the three judges. The spirits didn’t seem to mind. 

Ariadne held up her hand. ‘Minos.’ All three of kings turned around. Minos mouth fell open. ‘Go on,’ Persephone commanded the judges. ‘Except for Minos. He comes with us.’

Minos got up, with a suspicious look in his eyes. 

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

‘What is it, my queen?’ he asked Persephone as soon as we were away from the line. His eyes ran past Ariadne without adressing her. His eyebrows raised when he saw me. ‘You brought me your own stepson? Unbelievable! Now why would that be?’

‘He has questions for you. We would like to see you answer them.’

‘And that’s all?’

‘That’s all.’ She gently laid her hand on my shoulder for a second.

‘Terrible to see you again,’ I began. 

‘You are the one bothering me.’

‘Still.’ I tilted my head. ‘I have my suspicions, but I wanted to know why you chose me. Why you had to haunt me instead of somebody else.’

‘You’re the son of Hades.’

‘I am.’

‘Doesn’t that seem like reason enough?’

‘Maybe. Yet, it would have been way easier for you to get a random scared kid to raise the dead for you. All the things you taught me are things you could have taught most other people. Raising the dead with Happy meals? You don’t need me for that. Don’t get at me with wanting to help Luke. You are way too selfish for that.’

Persephone and Ariadne gave each other a look when they heard me mention raising the dead with happy meals. Minos went on: ‘My goal might not have been to aid him, but perhaps what he had in mind spoke to me.’ Persephone crossed her arms. Minos smiled sinisterly. ‘My queen, don’t act like you didn’t know, even if I would never confess it.’

I pointed at him. ‘Didn’t you just…’

‘Let it go, Nico.’ I looked up at Ariadne, who nodded towards Minos. He still had not aknowledged she was there.  

‘I was easy to manipulate, but still on no-one’s side,’ I continued. ‘Any other demigod might have gotten dependent on you. They would have been your string puppet.’

‘But they would have had less power. Why have a string puppet when they aren’t useful for all sorts of things? Also, di Angelo, you can’t act like you weren’t dependent on me. You were so wrapped up in your silly hate and grief you didn’t see what was going on.’

‘Perhaps.’ Ariadne and Persephone tensed up. Maybe I had been more of a string puppet to Minos than I liked to think I was. Still… ‘Still, I did manage to break out. I listened to Percy after he showed me the truth. An agent of Luke wouldn’t have done that. They would have turned a blind eye and kept following you.’

‘The Jackson kid cared for you.’

‘He would have cared for any other demigod as well. You could have told them to play apologetic and then you would’ve had a spy. It would have been easier, it would have lead you to bigger things...’

‘What is it that you want? I picked you because you were powerful. That’s it. Every strategy has holes in it. It was a gamble to pick you over some nobody and…’ Minos bit his lip and did not say more.

‘And you gambled wrong,’ Persephone finished the sentence. 

Minos shrugged. ‘You win some, you lose some, my queen.’ 

Ariadne gave him a disgusted look. ‘Perhaps.’

‘You were a powermaniac,’ I concluded. ‘It would have been safer, be it a little harder, to use a minion from Luke’s army. Yet, I had power, and you fell for it.’

Minos shot me a disintegrating look. ‘Watch your words, demonspawn.’

‘Sounds like a weakness to me.’

‘Nico.’ Persephone slowly shook her head. 

‘I think I have what I wanted,’ I told Minos. 

‘Leave, then. I’ve got a job to do.’

‘Playing judge, jury and executioner even in death,’ Ariadne stated.

‘It comes naturally.’ It was the first time he acknowledged her existence. ‘I’d watch your mouth if I were you. Some of us might be power hungry, but we aren’t reckless traitors. Each their own.’ He grinned, before looking at Persephone. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll get back now, my queen.’

‘I wish you wouldn’t.’ 

He curtsied, before turning around and walking away. I had to bite my tongue to not yell after him that he was a terrible person, a terrible king, a terrible father, a terrible husband and a terrible judge.

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

‘He is terrible.’

‘He is manipulative,’ Ariadne stated. ‘The gamble analogy is apt. He gambled he could take control of the kingdom by banning his brothers. He gambled that he could contain the Minotaur and make Athens pay for it, and he won that bet twice, until…’ she sighed, ‘Until someone messed with his stack of cards. Every gambler misses now and then, and so did he. Terribly, a few times…’ 

Persephone clenched her fists. ‘And then he still didn’t, because my father had to give him the power he desired in death as well.’

I slowly nodded. Persephone sighed and pushed something into my hand. It was a can of Pomegranate sweet tea. I left it in the underworld a little while ago. 

‘Did you learn anything?’ Ariadne asked. It sounded as if she was somewhere else with her thoughts.  

‘What I thought about king Minos was proven. And I once again realised that maybe I should not always go through with my strange ideas.’

‘At least someone was here this time. I can’t tell what that man would have done we hadn’t been there,’ Persephone mused. A little smile appeared on her face. ‘I wanted to come too. Honestly, I wanted to see if it would be better to kick him out. And well, that is more than proven. As soon as I can get rid of him, I will.’

Ariadne looked just as surprised as I felt. ‘They needed to be sons of Zeus, right? The judges?’ I asked. 

‘Yes. But that friend of yours is here now, too.’

‘Jason.’

‘The very one. I think we might have a job for him.’

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

‘Coming with you was my own idea,’ Ariadne told me when we were back in Camp half-blood. 

‘Ah,’ I said, while I nodded. 

‘I mean Dio didn’t ask me to come. I wanted it. I wanted to see how Minos would react to you, to see if he was really still like that.’

I nodded. ‘Well, so did I. Thanks for coming anyway.’

She nodded, although she didn’t smile. ‘I think it will be lunch soon.’

‘Eh... yeah. I think Dionysus is in the big house.’

‘Then I’ll go there.’

It was clear we were both too busy with our own thoughts. I said goodbye and went to the dining pavilion. Will would want to hear my story. I assumed Dionysus would already have heard it next time I saw him, which was, if I can be honest, a relief. 

A/N: I was originally going to do this with just one of the ladies but then I thought of this and it was good. 

Finals are over today which is good now on to results haha help

[altarflame]

Verbal Consent Problems

I have a huge pet peeve around being asked whether someone can hug me. With most people who would ask, my optimal answer is no (people I want to hug me already know that). But the discomfort around saying no and making the person feel bad/dealing with ensuing awkwardness, is worse than the discomfort of dealing with a hug I don’t want. I HATE being put in this position, particularly in a big group setting with others watching, which makes me feel like in addition to hugging somebody I’ve gotta act like my semi-coerced yes is very genuine.

The more I move through life thinking about this, the more the asking feels coercive. I’m very good at dodging hugs with body language, speech timing, where I am in group placement, etc. People are generally only asking BECAUSE they’re picking up on my hesitance and it’s causing them to pause and ask. But I am pretty confident that in the vast majority of situations, it would be negative for me to answer honestly. When I take too long to answer, scrambling for the ever elusive warm and polite way to say “please don’t,” it causes nervous laughter and increased tension but not, like, an obvious interpretation of my silence as being unenthusiastic (at best). So then there’s relief and hugging, when I acquiesce. It often strikes me as selfish on the part of the hugger.

This is really complicated and kind of too dramatic, for someone such as myself who has a history of dissociating and freeze response related to childhood molestation, and pushy early boyfriends. I am very aware of how disempowering and shitty it feels to be trapped in those interim moments, and to have nobody to blame but myself when I’m not enjoying a hug or the lingering after energy of a hug, since I agreed to it. My personal history doesn’t actually have much to do with those people’s desire to hug and I get it, but I can’t make the correlative feeling go away with my knowing.

Surely relevant: I have sensory processing disorder, so like, I often get headaches from perfume, or nausea from secondhand smoke, I get goosebumps and stomach jumping easily from light touching on tons of spots. Etc.

Anyway the paragraph before last is making it crystal clear to me that I need to come up with a more genuine way to advocate for myself in these situations. It’s weirdly overwhelming to imagine attempting. It makes me feel like a huge dork, and a stick in the mud, in addition to highlighting some of my most pervasive and oldest insecurities.

I get angry sometimes, about how it’s often the most outwardly kind and thoughtful people who both want to hug everyone, and think to ask first. But I actually have WAY less stress around just side hugging real quick without either of us mentioning it, vs the asking bullshit. When the spontaneous hug even happens - because as I said, I also signal in lots of nonverbal ways that I’m not interested, which often works pretty well. It’s hard to not feel that the askers are intentionally ignoring my signals and forcing me to explicitly reject them, or deal with the hug I don’t want. And like, the question thing builds dread and makes all this crap flash through my mind, whereas a spontaneous hug, is too fast and simple for that.

My favorite new people are often the ones who I see notice my signaling and change course, without seeming to take it personally. Dudes who start to step toward me and lift their arms and then pause and step back, without breaking the rhythm of their own sentence or having their smile falter? HEROES. Treasures! Continued excited talking that I did not ruin by being fucking weird? HELL YES.

Sigh.

[gainaxvel3o]

A Miraculous Tale of Rubybug and Cat Blake Chapter 5

Previous / First / Next

Watts up, Doc?

“Two of my pawns have been taken out of the board.”

Monarch paced around the room. Her face was framed by the purple light coming from the little butterflies surrounding her. Nooro’s magic felt wondrous to be around, intoxicating in it’s warmth, even corrupted by dark desire. “Tyrian Callows nearly succeeded in killing the champions,” Monarch spoke. “His pride got to him, but if trained well he would have made a proud Huntsman for me. The downside of involving the police in affairs. They let a body go to waste.”

She felt a shiver down her body. Poor Nooro… he continued to fight against her even knowing he didn’t have a chance. Such a small, whiny, pathetic little thing. Behaviors more suited to children than an ancient powerful being that of creation. Many myths would be destroyed by simply observing the Kwamis.

“I will need someone smarter. Wiser. A person susceptible to my power, who will be able to calculate the most efficient path to success.”

She closed her eyes. Butterflies were everywhere in the city, dismissed by most as just little flying insects interrupting their path. They didn’t know the butterflies could hear the whispers underneath their breath, the thoughts they hold back every waking moment…

Her eyes flashed red, her sclera briefly turning black.

“Yes… he will bring me the Miraculous!”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The first thing Blake Belladonna did when she woke up was brush her teeth.

The second thing she did was inspect her eyes in the mirror. She noticed the small circles forming under them. It had been difficult for her to find sleep for any given week. It only got worse since the other day, when she fought alongside Ladybug, against Scorpio.

“YOU TOOK AWAY MY POWER! I WAS SCORPIO! I AM SCOR-“

A loud ringing noise.

There was no peace in his eyes. Only shock.

“If you move then you’re gonna end up like him. Get down!”

“NINJA VANISH!”

Blake had heard about incidents like these. The police firing when they didn’t need to, against someone they shouldn’t have. Tyrian Callows was a murderer. There should be no guilt in his death. Even so, being in the moment when it happened, the bullet firing… that caught her off guard.

She wondered about Ladybug, imagining if her lady was having nightmares like she did. She wondered how she was able to cope with the death of a man, even if it wasn’t her fault.

“What’s been buggin’ you, gloomy cat?” Blake sighed. “Plagg.” “You gonna tell me?” The little cat Kwami grinned wildly. “Do I gotta be a bad kitty?”

“Do what you want. It is irrelevant to me.”

Blake swiped some locks of her hair away from her face. She closed her eyes, breathing in. “I hope Ladybug is okay. The fight the other day was intense.” “No need to worry. Tikki picks her champions well. No doubt she’s bounced back and ready to go, good as new as can be.”

“That’s a relief.”

It was. Ladybug came across as naive and nervous every time Blake met her. Skilled yes, but nearly always in trouble every time Blake arrived. Blake admired the girl’s spirit, but knew that she would need plenty of help. So long as Ladybug needed her, Chat Noir would be happy to serve.

Blake drank the water from the sink and spat it out. She took out a small tube, bringing out the pills and swallowing them.

“Plagg?” “Hm?”

“Why are the Miraculouses so special?” “They have us, pretty sure that makes them special.” “Chadwick. Scorpio. Both of them wanted our Miraculous. What would he need ours for?” “Ah… Yeah I should tell you.” Blake’s eyes snapped open. “You didn’t think it was important before?!” 

“No you’re right, let me explain.” Plagg said. “Tikki and I, we’re the Kwamis of Creation and Destruction. When we’re together we can accomplish miracles beyond anything mortal can imagine.”

“Like… genies?”

“Yeah, but we’re not bound by rules the way those twerps are. Whoever’s the boss has Nooro and probably wants Tikki and I to fulfill a wish.” “Hmmm…”

Blake shook the little rube in her hand. Her eyes narrowed a little. “So you could grant any wish right?” “Probably. Why, you gonna swipe the earrings?” “I won’t.” “Then why the question?” Blake hesitated, before deciding to risk it. 

“I’m just wondering if they could…” She shook the tube. “You know, make it so I don’t have to take these?” She had only rarely seen Plagg get serious around her. His mischievous smile gave away to a frown, contemplating her question. “It could do that yeah. You’d probably feel more comfortable without ‘em. Thing is, the type of magic we are… the wishes we grant come at a cost. In order to get a thing, something has to be given back.”

“Equivalent exchange…” Blake sighed again. “Nothing is ever free is it?” “I wish it were so, gloomy cat.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The corridors made Blake feel uneasy.

There were just so many… people. Students, teachers, employees… Blake tried to ignore them. She tried to ignore the noises and small talk that could be heard down the hallway; she tried not to look for any mention of her name that came with disgust or insult; no matter what she did, the feeling of anxiety came with her. At last, Blake glanced around trying to catch someone. Anyone. 

Nothing came. Nobody did.

It was silly. Nobody knew her, she was practically invisible to the crowd. They were too wrapped up in the hum and drum of their own lives to think anything of her. Even so, Blake felt uncomfortable. Even if she knew, logically, that no one stared at her, that no one knew her, she felt as if any moment somebody would jump out and call her by name, revealing her to the world. 

To her relief, no one did. Blake shuddered. College was supposed to be a fresh start for her. In many ways, it was exactly what she needed. Even though she walked into the room late, no one batted an eye. She took a seat behind her (so far) best friend, with no one the wiser.

“Mornin’ Blakey,” Yang winked at her. “Had trouble rollin’ out of bed?” If Plagg and Yang ever met, they’d probably make a great team. Blake thanked the universe they haven’t. Yet.

“My sleep schedule isn’t your concern Yang.” Blake placed her bag underneath her seat. “What’s the lesson for today?”

“Oh it’s just the doc rambling off. You haven’t missed much.”

“You will be missing something, Miss Xiao-Long.” The teacher twirled his brown mustache. “Your grade, if you keep speaking out of turn.” Yang narrowed her eyes in contempt before yawning. Dr. Arthur Watts was the type of man to carry himself with great self importance. His lab assistant, a man with green hair and glasses larger than his own eyes, fidgeted behind him. A machine lied in the middle of the table, a metal skeleton, the body split as if it was reaching for it’s toes.

“As you can see, students,” Dr. Watts spat out, “We’re supposed to be studying history. What better demonstration of history can there be, than actively participating in it?” “D-doctor,” Bartholomew Oobleck, the doctor’s assistant, stuttered while he sipped his coffee. “I must insist this to be a terrible idea! The prototype isn’t even out of testing stage!” “Nonsense. Activate the machine!”

Oobleck, against his better knowledge and wisdom, pressed the button on the robot. The almost sinister sounds of beeps and smoke rising were heard across the room, the metal skeleton raising itself up. It stared at the students, freaking them out with it’s slow deliberate patterns. Arthur Watts grinned.

“My machine was rejected for being an inferior product,” He said to the room. “As you can see, it is clearly nonsense. Wave at them my robot!”

It did so, mimicking the human action of waving hi at people to the best of it’s ability. However, everyone could see smoke rising from the machine’s head. A minor explosion was heard, the skeleton head twisting, turning and churning before falling to the floor, sending nuts and bolts flying around the room.

“A… minor setback.” Dr. Watts said finally. “But if I can make it work then I’ll finally be able to ascend to the scientific community! No more classes for me with idiotic, inattentive students at least!”

There was a moment of silence among the students who weren’t quite sure what to make of this display. Blake raised a hand up.

“Yes Miss Belladonna? Who I may remind you all was late to this lecture? Would you care to voice your objections?”

Blake was keenly aware of the chuckles from behind and in front of her. She put them aside. “I was late, I’ll try to keep that in check.” Blake said. “However, while this… experiment looks rather interesting, aren’t we supposed to be learning about American history?” Indignant at the response, Dr. Watts turned to his assistant, who was whispering little curses to himself. He was on his own for this. “But you are!” Dr. Watts shouted. “You’re participating in our experiment!” “Would it not be better to do it in an actual lab?” Blake said. “With actual doctors checking on it? Not in a classroom where we’re supposed to be learning something else entirely? No wonder you haven’t been certified yet, you’ve been very unprofessional.”

Laughter came. Not at Blake, but at the incompetent doctor she had to remind herself. Dr. Watts blushed furiously.

“A once in a lifetime opportunity…” Dr. Watts pouteed. “-and you throw it away?!?” “I told you this would happen Arthur,” Oobleck tried to reason. “Maybe we can open up the textbooks and get back on track, there’s still an hour-“

But the doctor wasn’t hearing any of it. He grabbed his coat and marched out of the room, ignoring the laughter of, in his mind, infantile ignoramus adults. “BAH! If this how they act then they are not worthy of me.”

The door slammed shut. Watts would complain to the Headmaster later. The stupid woman gave him an inattentive classroom. He brought out a cigar. 

“Stupid children, stupid Oobleck. I’m supposed to be a genius scientist but… graaargh! I’ll get revenge at some point.”

Arthur twirled his mustache, feeling something on his shoulder. He turned to see that what landed was a small butterfly.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Oobleck looked around not sure what to say. The students erupted into conversation, completely ignoring the green haired man. Any chance of a normal class had died when Watts left the room.

“Whoah Blake.” Yang whistled to her friend. “That was awesome.” “Not really.” Blake waved it off. "An idiot is a hot air balloon that needs to be popped, less they fly off into space and have it’s occupants freeze to death.” “Isn’t space a vacuum though?” Blake rolled her eyes.

“You okay though?” Yang asked. “You seem a bit tense.” Perceptive. Blake cursed in her head coming up with an excuse.

“I didn’t sleep well, so I’m a bit on edge.” Blake supposed that would do. “How did this guy end up a teacher, let alone our teacher?” “Ah, you missed that part of the opening act.” Yang said. “Dude apparently got fired from his old job, so Salem brought him here as a favor. Since every other position was filled he had teach history since he had the degree for it.”

“Ah, that does explain it. Salem is a nice person.” “Yeah, too nice.” Yang slumped on the table, resting her head on her shoulders. “Not that I’m ungrateful, but she should be more careful with who she picks ya know?”

Blake nods. “I suppose so.”

‘Then again.’ She thought. ‘If it weren’t for her… why I be allowed here?’

“Anyway,” Yang continued. “Wanna skip class? Ruby’s got some designs she wanted to show me, and I’m getting the distinct impression the teacher won’t be coming back.” “Maybe…” She felt her ring vibrate. “Um, maybe not today.”

“Oh come on we haven’t even hung out yet!”

“I’m sorry it’s just that I remembered something and-“

The door was suddenly kicked down. Blake and Yang turned their heads bewildered ash the sight.

“Hello children!” A raspy voice spoke to the classroom. “Do you want to participate in an EXCITING EXPERIMENT?!”

Blake surmised him to be yet another freakish villain, the same as Chadwick and Scorpio. The man had credit for going for something a bit more stylish than the other two. The black long coat mixed with the red scarf around the neck, the man’s eyes by oversized goggles and a cigar on the mouth.  “My my my, how come you’re not all excited? As a Huntsman of the Great and Mighty Monarch, I’m going to have to ask ALL OF YOU to sit down until those pathetic hero brats show up.”

“What is this madness Arthur?!?” Oobleck placed a shoulder on Dr. Watts. “How did you even change your outfit so quickly, you weren’t even in this when you-”

BAM! Oobleck fell to the floor, spasming from electric shocks as Dr. Watts blew away the smoke from the gun.

“Arthur Watts is a disrespected genius, but…” He smirked in delight. “KillerWatts will be happy to avenge him, I have so many plans to execute, with so little time!”

He pulled out another gun with his pocket right, firing both at the ceiling, leaving the lights dimmed and broken. The students could only watch in horror as the Shockslinger chuckled.

“What’s the doc doing?!”

“Is he like a supervillain? Like the guys Ladybug and Chat Noir fight?” “Shit we gotta go run!”

They were piling out and fast. Blake knew she needed to find a spot so she could transform into Chat Noir and take care of this villain. Perhaps she could take advantage of the chaos to find a place to hide. “Blake we gotta stick together!” Yang grabbed her friend’s arm. “Now move!” Or she could get dragged by Yang, away from any place they could do so. 

“Yang maybe we need to find a place to hide,” Blake pointed in one direction. “I could look for help over there-“ “Are you crazy?!?” Yang pulled harder. “I’m not leaving you alone for a second, c’mon!”

As her friend took her away, Blake realized that transforming would be a difficult task. She knew she needed to find out, but how? Where was Ladybug?

As she thought of that, KillerWatts cursed himself for allowing the brats to get away. His master already told him the mission: find the miraculous, bring it to her, everyone else was secondary. As much as he wanted revenge, KillerWatts knew he needed to set his priorities straight.

“Those insufferable little brats will get what’s coming to them later. For now though…” He walked over to his failed machine. Gently, Watts fired a bullet from his gun into the robot, causing blue electric waves to spread over the robot’a.

“We should spread a bit of chaos… just enough for Ladybug to appear."

_____________________________________________________________________________________

“Hey Ren! Look at this!” Nora stuffed a pair of peas into her mouth, then brought a straw to her lips. She spat the peas through the straw into the air, where it hit Cardin Winchester. He turned around, flipping the middler finger to Nora, who just waved at him. Ren clapped.

“Fantastic as always Nora.”

“Thanks Ren.” Pyrrha and Jaune decided to shrug at that. Jaune glanced over to Ruby, seeing her focused on her notebook.

“What’s up Ruby?” Jaune scooched over to Ruby. “Working on a new design right now?” 

“Huh?” Ruby blinked. “Oh yeah! Weiss suggested some ideas for designs and I’ve been trying to figure out how to get them right. I’m going to meet with her later to see what she thinks.” “… You’re working with Weiss?” Jaune raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you and Weiss umm… Hate each other?” “I don’t… hate her I guess?” Ruby shrugged. “I don’t like her, but she’s seen my designs and wants to help me get better. If I want to get a career going, I feel like I should get advice from someone who’s already working in the industry right?” “Makes sense.” Ren said. “If one studies the art of the blade, they mustn’t be too picky about who they learn it from.” “… yeah I guess?” ‘Ren can be so strange sometimes,’ Ruby thought. ‘At least he’s supportive?’ “You’re a fashion designer, Ruby?” Pyrrha asked. “Have you made any designs yet?” “Ohhhh she is, Pyrrha!” Jaune pointed at the notebook. “Ruby showed me her notebook during inauguration, she’s not half bad!” “Oh stop it Jaune!” Ruby giggled. “I’m not great… yet…” “Ruby’s a fashion designer?!” Nora popped in front of Ruby, which startled the girl. "COME ON LET US SEE!”

“Nora, that’s not how you ask friends for favors. You do it from an approximately two feet away so you’re at tackling distance.” “Oh right sorry Ren.” Nora pulled back. “May we pleaaaase see your cool stuff? Please?” Ruby felt eyes on her. She wanted to keep some ideas to herself but… well these were her friends… Ruby supposed it would’t be a problem this one time.  Laughing awkwardly, she laid out her notebook for her friends.

“It’s not much but… here they are!” They looked at her notes in awe at the skill. There were pictures and drawings of elaborate, elegant outfit designs, inked to the slightest detail, with notes on the side explaining how they were supposed to be stitched, what fabrics would work with this or that, each dress not just sticking to one style but dipping into other types. Goth, pastel, others, Ruby had a talent for not just doing one, but knowing how to mix them together.

“Wow Ren look at these! I gotta ask Ruby to make our wedding outfits!” “Agreed. She is quite adept.” “These aren’t bad.” Pyrrha looked at Ruby. “Have you thought about posting these online?” “Maybe?” Ruby said. “I only just started college… I want to keep a low profile now.”

“Low profile?!” Jaune pointed at a design in the book. “Ruby that kind of t talent should be out there for all to see!”

“I just don’t think I’m ready that’s all.” Pyrrha noticed how Ruby was nervous, so she laid a hand on Jaune’s shoulder to calm him down. “I can understand what you mean, Ruby.” Pyrrha smiled. “I came here so I could avoid too much publicity. Do consider my point though. If you want opportunities you’re going to have to take risks. Not just here, for all life.” “Huh…” Ruby frowned. “That’s what Weiss said.” “She’s right, Ruby.” Pyrrha placed a hand on Ruby’s shoulder. “I might be able to put in a good word for you.” “You could?!?” Ruby’s eyes lit up before she gently brought Pyrrha’s hand away. “Uh ahem, let me think about it. Maybe.”

She thought of the possibilities that could come from this. Maybe other designers will see them and give her a chance? With Pyrrha, a popular athlete, giving a good word maybe something could be done. But would it work? Of course her friends would praise her. Maybe she should need to speak to Weiss first. She’d probably tell her not to do it, being an expert and all. What if she did get people to notice her but they turn her down?

(What if she saw it?)

“HOLY CRAP, RUN!” Ruby heard it before her earrings vibrated. A panicked student ran down the mess hall just as a set of walls broke, revealing a robot with blue sparks surrounding it.

“Kill the brats.” The robot spoke. “Bring the miraculous to the Master!”

“Shit what was that?!?” Jaune got up from the chair. “We gotta move!”

Ruby knew she had to act quickly. She pushed the notebook into her bag and ran with the others. Nora fired peas from her straw at the robot. They disintegrated upon impact due to the electric current. Thankfully for her Ren grabbed her hand and moved with Jaune. “Why is it attacking us, here?” Pyrrha turned her head led and right. “Where’s Ruby?!”

Jaune turned around, having just noticed his friend’s absence. “Ruby, RUBY!!!”

The robot turned it’s attention towards Jaune, who was desperately looking around.

“RUBY!” “Jaune watch out!" A red spot appeared on Jaune’s chest. Before he could get fired on, a yoyo appeared over Jaune’s arm, pulling him away from laser fire. “You should be more careful.” Ladybug said. “This is the second time I saved you. Get going!” “But Ruby-!” “I’ll find her soon, but move!” Ruby felt guilty sending her friend away. She had ducked under a table during the chaos. She knew what she had to do.

“Okay you bucket of bolts!” Ladybug shouted to the robot. “Let’s see what you’re made of!” The robot fired concentrated electric blasts at Ladybug, but she was quick and nimble, leaping across the tables with ease. Her eyes narrowed, she used the yoyo to catch one of the robot’s legs, pulling on it to break it off. Once it did, the robot fell to the side, firing at Ladybug again. However, she jumped through the air, raising a leg to attack it’s head.

SMASH! The head went flying, falling just a few steps away. Ladybug let out a breath.

“Holy crap.” Ruby said to herself. “I should be careful with my own strength. She waited for the butterfly to come out, to de-grimmify the robot, fix the area, get some answers. Chat would appreciate a situation she didn’t have to be called for.

“I guess this isn’t it.” Ladybug said. “That means the real Huntsman must be in here somewhere.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

It was hard for Blake to concentrate when she could hear bullets flying in the air.

“Hahahahaha! Stupid kids are going to get what’s coming to them!”

She heard the doctor shout his grazed ramblings behind her. She cringed as Yang took her behind a wall.

“Which way do we go? That bastard’s gonna track us down sooner or later.” Yang looked around. “Where’s Ladybug and Chat Noir when you need ‘em?”

Blake wished she could laugh. She wasn’t sure about Ladybug, but Blake would certainly not be able to answer her about Chat Noir. Unless Plagg decided to take control right now, Blake wasn’t sure she wanted to risk her identity just yet to Yang.

“Maybe if we head down the mess hall.” Blake pointed. “Maybe we could get help.“

“Yeah, great idea.” Yang’s eyes widened. “Wait no. Ruby’s with her friends in the cafeteria. What if he gets there?”

Damn. Blake hadn’t considered that. “Maybe…” Blake tried to think. “Maybe we could head into a different classroom? Call someone?”

“Maybe. I don’t know I-” Yang breathed in and out. “God things have gotten weird so quickly.” “What do you mean?” “What, the superheroes, the donkey monsters, the scorpion guy, now our teacher’s a crappy cowboy? World’s gone insane since we showed up in town.”

Blake laughed. “Yeah they have. I wish I could say things’ll get better but…” “I wouldn’t believe it if it came from you. You’re too gloomy for nice thoughts.” “Harsh, though not unfair." “I’m good at reading people like that.”

Oh Plagg would love Yang if they met. Maybe…

“Yang I think…” Blake breathed. “I think I might have a way out of this.” Yang raised an eyebrow. “Well out with it, I don’t think I have any- GAAH!“ Blake watched in horror as Yang fell to the ground. She clutched her arm, bleeding from the side. Blake saw a hole where Yang’s arm originally was. “Ggh! What the hell?!?”

“Do you enjoy my handiwork?” KillerWatts grinned at the frightened teenagers. Better yet, these two were the slackers who made a fool of him in today’s class. “Foolish children. You mock and insult your betters…” He raised a gun at Yang. "Who’s laughing now?!!!?” It amused KillerWatts when Blake stood in between Yang and himself. She raised her hands in defiance.

“Don’t hurt my friend! Do whatever you want to me, just let her go!”

“B-Blake no-!” “Idiot.” Dr. Watts’s eye twitched. “You’re the one who humiliated me… You don’t deserve even one of my bullets.” He grabbed the offending student and threw Blake through the window.

“Say good bye!” “BLAKE!”

As she was tossed out of the window, Blake thought about the events that lead up to this moment. Her past, her present, her friendships with Yang, Ladybug… Ruby… she couldn’t let them die.

“Plagg, Claws-"

Blake felt arms surrounding her shoulders before she could even spout the words. She looked to see her savior, as they landed at the lawn. “You alright miss?” Ladybug said. “You’re not injured?”

Blake blushed, nodding her head.

“Good.” Ladybug cleared her throat. “You better hurry inside. My partner hasn’t shown up yet and I need to stop the villain quickly.” “Of course… I won’t get in your way.” Blake’s eyes widened. “Watch out for the doctor! He has guns! He shot my friend Yang in the arm.”

She was surprised at the way Ladybug glared. “He won’t get away with it, I promise.”

As Ladybug jumped up to face the evil scientist, Blake dashed away. She rubbed the ring.

“What’s up gloomy cat?” “Plagg, CLAWS OUT!” _____________________________________________________________________________________ “Well well well, if it isn’t Ladybug! You arrived at last.”

Ruby watched Yang bleed out next to the villain and saw red. How dare this pathetic, cruel little man do that to her sister?! He had to pay.

“Monarch demands your earrings.” KillerWatts pointed a gun at her. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint your highness, would you?” “She’ll have to pry them off herself, over my dead body.” “That can be arranged.” Without a moment’s hesitation, the fight began. KillerWatts fired at her, but Ladybug quickstepped past them as if they were slower than dirt. She threw her yoyo to tangle one of Watts’ arms.

“Do you think that will be enough?!” Watts fired his other gun to break the Yoyo’s string. “You really are a child-“ A sharp pain! The gun was knocked away from his right hand. Ladybug had another yoyo in her hand.

“Why you-!” She ducked below him, kicking him off balance. KillerWatts immediately fired from his left hand, which Ladybug jumped away to avoid them. Watts got up quickly, just in time to avoid two strikes from two yoyos. Somehow Ladybug’s broken yoyo repaired itself.

“You’re fast, Ladybug.” He said. "Not fast enough.” He fired again. Ladybug dodged again.

“You’re not particularly creative, sir.” Ladybug said. “Even Chadwick varied his monsters.” “It’s KillerWatts dear. Watch what you say brat-“ The bullets froze in mid air.

“-You might end up regretting it!” Ladybug was surprised by how fast the bullets moved. She had to keep herself moving less they hit her.

“What the heck are these?” “Fool! You think Monarch hands out powers without imagination! Your efforts so far-“

The bullets glowed.

“-WILL DETONATE BEFORE YOUR EYES!”

Miniature explosions shocked Ladybug still, the current making her drop to her knees. “GAAAAAAAH!” “Heh heh.” “No…” Yang tried to get up, but her arm hurt so badly. “Ladybug no!”

KillerWatts laughed, walking over to his defeated foe with nary a concern.

“A fitting end to a worthless brat. It is a wonder that the others had so much problem with her. The difference between peons and a genius.” He reached over to the earrings… before something slammed into his chest. KillerWatts jumped away, pointing guns at the intruder. “You won’t lay a hand on her.” Chat pointed her staff at him. “Surrender now.” “Oh great.” Dr. Watts sneered. “More naughty children to kill.” He fired several shots at Chat, who smashed them all at once with her staff. One by one they were each broken to KillerWatts’ amazement. “I have to study that staff… after I take it from your corpse!”

Chat moved quickly. She didn’t even flinch at the bullets moving towards her, smashing some as she ran towards her target. “Say your prayers!” “Wrong thing to say, kitty cat.” The bullets that Chat hadn’t destroyed detonated again. This time, they formed an electric trap around her. “You…” Chat said. “What did you do?!” “I dare you to move towards me, I dare you.”

Chat glared at her opponent. She took a step, but a laser shot near her foot, leaving a black spot on the floor. The laser fired again, which Chat had to move. Ladybug came to. She noticed KillerWatts laughing while her partner was dodging the lighting in the trap. She had to figure out a way to help out her friend.

“Here goes nothing…” She whispered. "Lucky charm!” Tikki had told her of this ability. When pushed into a dangerous situation, Ladybug wielders can summon an object that will help turn the tide of battle. Ruby didn’t have a choice but to use it. The yoyo glowed, releasing…

“A razor?” Ladybug picked up the electric razor with her hand. She looked it up and down.

“What the heck? This is supposed to help me against that psycho?!? What am I supposed to do, shave off his mustache?” She blinked. “Oh you gotta be kidding me.” Given who she was dealing with, it wouldn’t surprise her. Ruby sighed.

“Okay let’s get this going.”

“Hahahahahaha dance for me you stupid cat!” KillerWatts laughed. “Give praise to your superior mind!”

Chat cursed in her head as she moved from the laser. Why did the Butterfly miraculous grant it’s users these versatile, almost overpowered abilities while she and Ladybug were so limited?! It angered her over it’s unfairness.

“When I get out of here, I’m going to rant to Plagg. Maybe limit his cheese until I-“ “Chat grab on!” She blinked as the yoyo appeared in the trap. Chat grabbed it, and felt herself being pulled from the trap.

“What?” KillerWatts’ eye twitched. “No…” “Thank you my lady.” Chat collected herself. "What’s the plan?” Ladybug showed her the electric razor. “What are you-“ Chat’s eyes darted from the razor to KillerWatts. “Oh. That makes far too much sense.” They dashed one last time. The dup kept switching places, avoiding the bullets again.

“Damn you!” KillerWatts shouted. “Die!” Chat went in front of Ladybug, destroying a few bullets, while Ladybug used both of her yo-yos to move them closer to their opponent. “Die!”

He was about to fire again, but they were knocked away by a yoyo and a staff strike.

“YOU ALL SHOULD JUST DIE!!!!” He shouted even as Blake grabbed his arms behind him, Ladybug activating the razor.

“No stop-!”

SHZZZZ

His mustache was gone. Destroyed, in the blink of an eye, by the razor. Arthur couldn't even process this blasphemy happening as the butterfly appeared. Ladybug caught the glowing insect with her yoyo.

“MIRACULOUS LADYBUG!” As it happens in these situations, the ladybugs fixed everything. KillerWatts was no more, as Dr. Arthur Watts lied in the ground, probably knocked out from the shock of his mustache gone. Ladybug and Chat gazed at each other.

“That man is so fired.” Chat said. “Not bad Ladybug. You were great today.” “You’re not so bad yourself, Chat.” Ladybug said. “You ok?” “I am.” “Me too!” Yang swung her arm around freely. She was cheery “Damn my arm’s good! Would be a shame if I lost it.” Ladybug and Chat laughed awkwardly at that joke. Yang smiled before panicking. “Oh crap! I need to find Blake! And Ruby! Sorry guys gotta run!" Yang ran off to the hallway. Ladybug and Chat shrugged.

“See you around Chat.” “Likewise, Bugaboo.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

“Foiled again. This is getting so annoying.” Monarch slammed a fist at the table. KillerWatts did come closer to capturing the miraculous than the other two, but almost is not the same as total victory. She had to change her strategy somehow. How did they arrive to the school so quickly?

She stopped herself.

“How did they arrive so quickly to the school?”

Monarch turned on her computer. She typed into the mainframe, pulling up a list of students from this year. She smirked in realization. 

“It seems not all was lost today. I may have a clue.”

Author’s Notes:

I was originally gonna have Arthur be like this Frankenstein parody “FrankenWatts” but that fell through. I was also going to call hi “The ShockSlinger” but my friend came up with KillerWatts, which was a way better name. Thank you friend for having more sense than me!

I was going to have more moments between Blake and Ladybug to sort of set up a Ladrien situation, but the story didn’t feel right for such a thing. I hope you’re satisfied anyway!

[marshmarrowsans]

Attraction is supposed to be the easy part. Love is supposed to be the hard part.  But it's the other way around for Sans as he comes to terms with feelings for you he hadn't thought possible. Especially considering he's lacking certain parts.

Sans was in love with you before he was ever fully attracted to you. It was a little ass-backwards, wasn’t it? That’s what all the rom-com anime and movies out there would have him believe.  There was supposed to be some moment when you first met where he just stared at your face, saw an angelic glow around it as angels sang in the background, and experienced total tunnel vision to everything but you.  Seeing you in a swimsuit, or seeing your skirt hike up just a little too high on your thigh, was supposed to make him forget who, what, when, where, and why, and—he didn’t have a nose—but his nose was supposed to bleed, or something. None of that happened.  When he first met you, what he noticed about you was the sound of your laugh.  Not the way your hair framed your face and shined differently under different sources of light.  Not the softness, color, and curve of your lips.  Not the expressiveness and detail of your eyes.  And definitely not anything to do with your body.  Not yet. And when you wore that skirt on a day you hadn’t expected to be so windy, he just felt bad for you.  You were embarrassed. He didn’t want to sneak glances.  The urge just wasn’t there.  All he’d wanted to do was avert his gaze and guide you to the nearest clothing store to grab a pair of shorts for you to wear under that ill-advised choice of garment. And that’s exactly what he did. And when you brought him to that water park, he hadn’t given your socially-acceptable half-nudity a second thought.  His mind had been occupied with thoughts of two-person rides, overpriced junk food, and how nice it was to see you splashing around and having so much fun. And to be honest, he was more worried about what was going through your mind as you looked at him, a short, stocky skeleton in swim shorts, though he didn’t realize at the time why he cared so much—why the thought of you not liking what you saw made it feel like his soul crumpled up and died a little. That wasn’t to say he didn’t think (or, the more accurate term may have been, realize, because it was an objective fact) you were pretty.  He was asexual, not blind.  He saw your face, your skin, your eyes, your hair, your lips.  He saw your body, where it curved and where it straightened, the swell of every muscle and collection of fat, the outline of bones under your flesh here and there.  Oh, he knew you were gorgeous. But to be attracted to someone carries an underlying intent.  As he understood it, being attracted to someone meant, that at least under some hypothetical scenario, well…  you wouldn’t mind taking your clothes off with that person and doing the no-pants dance with them.  Or even if not that, it at least meant a certain fixation with looking at that person.  And he saw you and all, but he wouldn’t say he ever, italicized and bolded, looked at you.  Not for a pretty damn long time. Not that it was easy to tell whether or not he was looking at you in the way one does when one has certain intentions. Hell, he always got the feeling that love was supposed to be this big, confusing, indescribable thing—but only one of the cliches about it ever rang true to him, and it was that he knew it when he felt it.  As quiet as he was about it, he knew when he fell in love with you.  Even something that he could never hope to put into words was more clear-cut to him than the issue of sexual attraction. When did he cross that line into sexual attraction?  Was it when he caught himself acting like an absolute fool just to get you to smile, because he was kinda obsessed with it?  Was it when he lost track of what you were saying for the first time because he was too busy staring at your lips?  Was it when he rested his head on the side of your bed, watching over you like you’d asked him to do as you were out cold sick with one of those human illnesses, and felt an ache in his soul that kept him up all night when he thought about combing his fingers through your hair? Romantic love had been described and exemplified to him a million ways over the years.  Even when he hadn’t yet attained it for himself, he’d seen its ins and outs and heard it expressed in countless different words.  Of course he knew it when he felt it.  Something so visceral and all-encompassing and universal was easy to identify.  But sex and sexual attraction?  Not so much. Everyone got so coy about that kind of stuff.  There was an eternal undercurrent of shame to it.  Some tried to compensate by making it sound too flowery and spiritual and much the same as love itself…  which was nice, and he liked it, but he wasn’t naïve to the fact that they were separate things, closely tied as they could be for some people including himself.  Some just avoided the issue of it, which didn’t help at all.  Some spoke in euphemisms, either demure—to sleep together, to make love, to pleasure—or just downright hilarious—to choke the chicken, to gargle somebody’s marbles, to do the no-pants dance, as aforementioned.  He’d thought it was all something he simply wouldn’t and couldn’t ever understand, as someone who didn’t have genitals and wouldn’t really know what to do with them if he did. And yet, somehow, at some point, without even meaning to, he did understand it, and for the life of him, he couldn’t point to when.  Was it when you decided that you were good enough friends that you didn’t mind changing clothes with him in the room, and he couldn’t take his eyes off you?  Was it when you wore that suit to your first official date with him, and his patellae felt all wobbly as he, inexplicably, couldn’t get the thought out of his mind of you backing him up against a wall with a dark, simmering desire in your eyes?   Or was it only when he spent another sleepless night, the magic flowing through his bones so hot and excited and aching with a need he couldn’t fulfill, because his last memory of you that day before you went home was your lips pressing frantically and affectionately to his face, your hand creeping up his sternum, and your voice whispering that you loved him?  You loved him.  You loved him.  You wanted him, clear as day.  And whether it became true that night or in any one of countless gray-area moments before it…  he wanted you, too. But there was an issue to come back to here, and a major one—he still did not have genitals.  The excitement he felt flowed evenly through his body and overwhelmed all of him.  There was no identifiable point in which it concentrated, no part of his body that ached to be touched any more than any other part of him.  And it wasn’t like he didn’t try.  It was embarrassing, just how much he’d tried.  To put it lightly, he watched some videos, not because he was titillated by their content—he found them kind of weird and goofy, actually—but to try and figure out what he was supposed to do to himself to reach that sweet relief everyone seemed to be chasing when they felt the things he felt.  There was nothing between his legs to wrap his hand around, so anything involving that was a lost cause.  The idea of teasing his fingers along the slit narrowly separating the two pubic crests of his hips seemed promising, but ultimately proved fruitless, not to mention personally humiliating.  He knew this was completely private, and nobody else would ever know, but he felt a sense of crushing self-consciousness anyways.  He wasn’t getting any closer.  It was just bone.  Just touch. It wasn’t working, and he felt like shit for it, like maybe he was broken.  He tried sticking his fingers through the gaps in his ischia.  Wedged a pillow under his coccyx and sacrum and wriggled back against it like a bear scratching its back on a tree.  Turned over on his stomach, bent the pillow up into the curve of his body, and desperately, almost anguishedly mimicked that forward-and-back motion he knew worked for anyone, anyone else. For all the effort he put in, all the straining and rutting and soft, muffled pleading into his mattress…  all it did was make him ache more painfully, turn him into even more of a mess, his entire body and the soul at its center begging incessantly for the impossible.  Until at last, he admitted defeat, slipped his shorts back up, consumed with shame and mortification, and laid still on his side as the heat in his bones slowly ebbed away on its own, unspent. He didn’t sleep a wink that night. Because he knew what had to come next. It was no secret that you were—among a billion other wonderful things, of course—kind of a sexual person.  At least, you were open about your sexuality. You joked about hentai, talked casually about ‘turn-ons’ and such, and a couple of times, downright flippantly referred to the fact that you masturbated sometimes.  Even before he started feeling the way he did now, that all had never bothered him.  It was a strange sense of humor to him, but one that made him chuckle nonetheless, and if you were comfortable with all that stuff that most people got uncomfortable about, then more power to you.  He admired it about you, even. But it took on a whole new meaning now. You…  knew this stuff.  All the things that eluded him, his whole life and even now that these feelings had emerged in him.  The ins-and-outs (haha, in-and-out, another stellar euphemism for the scrapbook) of all of it.  You knew how to pleasure yourself, and how to pleasure others, and even though he was a special case, he felt certain that if there was anybody in the entire world who could figure him out, it’d be you. Not to mention the fact that he’d sooner personally bring a wrecking ball to his happy place, his favorite place in the world, Grillby’s, than ever speak a word of this to anyone but you.  He’d never understood the shame around this stuff, and yet now it was hitting him as hard as it hit anyone else, if not even harder. How could it feel so wrong just to want?  He didn’t know, but he couldn’t stop it.  That’s just the way it was.  He couldn’t look you in the eye for a whole day after he tried to give in to his urges. A few more days passed.  The feelings returned often, unexpectedly, and sometimes unwelcomingly.  When you joked that his voice was sexy.  When you slipped your hands under his jacket as you kissed him.  When one of his jokes made you laugh, in that wonderful way he’d always loved so much.  The very first thing he loved about you.  Suddenly, it had this effect on him that it never had before.  He felt so dirty for it he forgot to laugh along with you. You didn’t notice.  But he knew it was only a matter of time before you did. So, he knew what had to come next. He had to tell you about it.  All of it.  As best he could.  And he just had to hope that you could help him through it, like you helped him through everything else in his messy life.