#Or a tote full of my old stuff from when I was a kid. With a letter about why she saved it. But I don't. Not just one.

[ragnarokhound]

trick or treat 👻 long time no ramble in your ao3 comments but ily

Happy Halloween!! Always happy to hear from you! <333

Please enjoy my final contribution this year, a merry spookmas to all, and to all a boop night:

Halloween night in Gotham always brings out the crazies. The light is still on at this house, one of many in a nice, quiet neighborhood close to the park. The doorbell rings in expectation. As the tradition is answered, the owner of this particular house is nearly shocked out of their skin by the costumed figures on their front stoop. Or rather, by one in particular. "Trick or treat," sniffles a young, wobbling voice. "Trick or treat," her imposing guardian echoes, a beat off. The old rote phrase takes on new meaning, spat out of that expressionless red helmet, threatening and mechanical. Red Hood is on the porch. With a teary-eyed fairy princess, clutching a half-full sack of candy in her small hands. It looks suspiciously like burlap, and it's stained in places, like it's already been used for kidnapping purposes. Best not to ask, probably. "O-oh! What wonderful--" a darting glance from the princess to the Hood, "--costumes. So creative. Not staying out too much longer, I hope? It's getting late." "Making up for lost time," Red Hood says. It answers about as many questions as it raises, but mostly it says back off and give up the goods. Nervously, "Oh, of course. Take as much as you like, dear-- we thought we'd seen our last trick-or-treaters already." The princess's eyes get big, and she looks up at Red Hood, double checking. When he nods, shrugging, as much as you want, they said, she scrambles for the candy bowl. Crisp plastic packaging crinkles by the handful as she practically cleans them out. "What do we say?" Red Hood says gruffly. "Thank you!" she says, beaming. Hood leans in close. "Warheads? Gummy lips?" The gun-toting vigilante says disdainfully. "Are you kidding me with this sh-- stuff? This is bottom shelf candy. This is the dregs from last year. We both know the average property values on this street. You can do better." "Hood!" A third, irritated voice calls from the short driveway. "Wrap it up, we're behind schedule as it is!" "We'll make time," growls the man behind the mask, not even turning to acknowledge-- Red Robin is in the driveway. The severe twist of his mouth is impatient, but softens when the fairy princess comes running towards him, near-full bag held up triumphantly and spilling at least half a dozen boxes of Dots on the grass. "Red Robin, Red Robin, look! Look, I have enough now! I wanna show Greg and Mommy, they'll never believe it--" "Good job, Jenny," Red Robin says brightly, helping her up in front of him on the seat of his motorcycle. He's got a child-sized helmet ready to go. "See? I told you we'd get your candy back. Hood!" he snaps. Red Hood points fingers at his eyes and then at the cheapskate home owner's, I'm watching you, before snatching the last butterscotch out of the bowl. "Keep your shorts on, princess, I'm coming," he complains, climbing up onto the seat behind him. It's a tight fit. "Ready to go home?" he asks Jenny. "Bad guys and trick or treating and magic spells. You've had a big night, kiddo." "Uh-huh," she says absently, seriously studying her candy stash. "Then hold on tight--" "You got her?" "What kind of question is that? Of course I've got her--" The rev of the engine drowns out the rest of their bickering, and then they're off, screaming down the street. Gone, like they were never here at all. Halloween always brings out the crazies.

(For the trick or treat ask game! Send me a trick or treat ask and I'll share jaytim WIP snippets, or new 3-sentence -paragraph fics, etc :^) through the 31st!)

[captonite]

Father-Daughter Day: Chaos Edition Sequel to the Father’s Day letters. Soft chaos, messy love, big brother–dad energy overload. Set at Bobby’s, the morning after they all emotionally combusted.

Sachi didn’t expect to wake up to three separate breakfast trays.

Dean’s had eggs (slightly burnt), bacon (perfectly crispy), and a tiny card that read: Best girl deserves the best damn breakfast.

Sam’s had a yogurt parfait, gluten-free toast, and a “Morning Lore Riddle” scribbled on a sticky note with a smiley face.

Cas’s tray had a single pancake… in the shape of the Enochian sigil for “blessing.” And a glass of holy water.

“Uh,” Chubs blinked between all three. “Is there a reason I’m being triple-fed?”

Dean leaned in the doorway, smug. “It’s Father-Daughter Day, sweetheart.”

Sam walked in behind him, holding a tote bag. “I planned a whole itinerary. We’re hitting the farmer’s market, then the library, then that pottery place you mentioned last month.”

Dean scoffed. “Pottery? She’s getting behind the wheel. My wheel. Classic car cruise, burgers, record store run.”

Cas appeared, deadpan as always. “I am taking her to the clouds.”

“The clouds?” she asked.

“Yes. Literally.”

---

They nearly arm-wrestled over who got the first slot.

Eventually, Bobby intervened. “You all get two hours. Don’t break her. She’s still made of human parts.”

“Can I choose?” Sachi asked softly, but no one listens.

---

Dean’s Shift: “Muscle Car Therapy”

He handed her the keys like they were made of gold.

“You drive,” he said. “I’ll guide. That’s trust, Chubs.”

She nearly wept.

They drove with the windows down, Zeppelin blaring. Dean let her pick the lunch spot. At the record store, he pretended to not cry when she picked out a Johnny Cash vinyl “because it sounds like you.”

“You’re my best girl,” he muttered. “Don’t tell Sam.”

Sam’s Shift: “Brain Date”

The farmer’s market was full of sun and overpriced honey.

Sam held her hand when they crossed streets and let her pick all the flowers. At the library, he found a dusty old lore book she’d been looking for since last spring.

“I remembered,” he said softly. “I always do.”

They drank too-sweet smoothies and painted weird clay mugs after. Sam’s had a giant “#1 Dad-Bro” on it.

“I know I’m the nerd one,” he said, “but I really love doing life stuff with you.”

She hugged him in the parking lot.

Cas’s Shift: “Clouds, Actually”

He literally flew her into the clouds.

“Is this allowed?” she yelled over the wind.

“I am a divine being. I don’t require a permit.”

They perched on the top of an empty mountain peak. Just… them and the sky.

“You have great capacity for joy,” Cas told her.

“You make me feel seen,” she whispered back.

He handed her a tiny white feather. “From me to you. Always.”

Bobby’s Shift (Unofficial): “Kid-Spoilin’ 101”

“Let them fight,” he told her, watching the others bicker from the window. “I’m sneakin’ you a root beer float.”

They sat on the porch swing while the sun dipped low.

“You sure you’re not tired of me?” she asked.

“Not even close, kid.”

---

Later that night, all four of them hovered near her room.

Dean knocked. “So… who was the best?”

“Yeah,” Sam added, grinning. “Who won?”

Cas looked mildly concerned. “Was this a competition?”

“Everything is, feathers,” Dean muttered.

Sachi poked her head out in her pajamas, looking far too smug.

“Well… you all lose. Bobby gave me a root beer float.”

They groaned. Bobby cheered from downstairs.

“Goodnight, weirdos,” she beamed, blowing them each a kiss.

“Goodnight, my girl,” Dean called softly.

“Sleep well, Chubs,” Sam whispered.

“Rest safely, Sachi,” Cas added.

And behind the door, with her little feather by the lamp and the Johnny Cash record spinning low, she went to sleep feeling more loved than she’d ever thought possible.

[willameena]

4, 16, 41, 46, 49 and 69! :D

hiiii! thanks! :D

4. favorite chore? i'll be honest, I don't like any of the household chores. but if I have to pick, it's dishes. only washing them or loading up the dishwasher though. unloading and putting away is somehow way worse than cleaning the dirty ones. I have over 100 houseplants, and taking care of them is one of my favorite things ever, but I don't really consider it a chore, since I love it so much

16. where do I go when I need to get out of the house but it's raining? well, it doesn't rain much where I live, so I am a humongous baby about it. I don't like driving in the rain, I don't like running errands in the rain, I HATE dropping off and picking up the kids from school in the rain. I do like taking the kids to splash in puddles though, so if they're getting too boisterous inside, we do that on a rainy day :)

41. what's the oldest thing you own? I love this question!! I actually don't know. I have a few pieces of furniture that are quite old, but i'm not sure exactly how old. I also have some vintage art/post cards, one of them is dated back to the 30s but I cannot remember the exact date right now. I have quite a few vintage vases and planters that used to be my moms, but I don't have a date on them either. I have some books that are quite old. I love old stuff, funky and unique stuff. I would love to know the exact dates for everything but a lot of it was passed down from my mom who used to do antiquing many years ago

46. what stuff do you keep on the fridge door? my kids' art!! and a dry erase calendar, and a boatload of magnets. that door is a cluttered mess, but I kind of love it. it's full of cute kid drawings and they get so excited to put their stuff on there <3

49. do you bring a bag with you everywhere you go? you know it!! I have a silly amount of tote bags

69. what are you looking forward to next week? my kids are out of school, and i'm excited to hang out with them lots :)

[night-dark-woods]

ID. photo of a whiteboard with bullet points written on it, titled "Stocking Reminders."

Top stock goes in the same 4' section as the stock.

Each SKU's overstock should be all in one spot. (below this point there is a diagram of a shelf with colorcoded boxes, one mixed up and one with the colors together)

Don't overfill hooks/shelves. There should be one straight line of product! If it won't hang nicely that is too much.

End ID.

end of my fucking rope tuesday. this won't stop my coworkers because they can't read but the amount of topstock i found in fucking random aisles today was truly absurd. like we've graduated from putting it in the same aisle 16ft away on the opposite side (annoying but at least line of sight) to putting it in topstock in its unlabeled cardboard shipping box, three aisles away, in a different department.

other highlights of today:

i asked this kid to downstock One Aisle and he spent 3(?) hours standing over there doing, as far as i can tell, nothing. which dgmw i can respect. minimum wage => minimum effort but my man that wasn't even CLOSE to the minimum and you are actively making everyone else's lives more difficult!!!

hardware mgr tried to have someone else (the aforementioned kid who can't even put stock in the right spot!!!) do counts on stock, BEHIND MY BACK, AGAIN. so i started off the day with an argument with him. bc if im not shooting outs regularly enough for you fucking TALK TO ME. and i will tell you what i need, which is you to do your fucking JOB and MANAGE YOUR PEOPLE. and get on their asses to actually maintain their sections!!! i could do the whole fucking store in an hour if literally anyone else did their jobs!!!

got a new rope assortment in from a new vendor, hardware mgr packed up the old stuff for buyback but ALSO managed to pack up a bunch of the NEW stuff with it despite the packaging being a completely different color AND saying the new brand name, so i had to go digging in 15 different taped-shut boxes to find it back.

just some truly atrocious and annoying customers. girl if youre in a hurry that is YOUR problem for not planning. i cant read your mind and i cant give you an answer if you cant explain your problem to me.

got called "ladies" collectively about 8 times today by my coworker who a) does ABA as his other job b) asked me if ozzy was my "real name" and c) said he used to be a liberal but he thinks there are more important things than peoples' identities. we're mostly copacetic now though bc he sees how much work i do and also we've commiserated about the state of the educational system & when he was talking about how "boys and girls learn differently" i very lightly floated the "well, i don't think that's inherent necessarily, you know, like we're raised and taught certain ways to be from SUCH a young age, and kids pick up on stuff pretty fast," and he was like huh ive never thought about that. ill have to think about that. so not unsalvageable! just a particular Kind Of Guy.

they're doing work on the roof and they fucking broke the ancient drainpipe that runs through our upstairs backstock area, so theres like three totes worth of roof-water-soaked merchandise that i have to take out of inventory tomorrow. and everything else in that backstock area has a fine coating of rust flakes from the disintegrating ceiling. and i was paged up there to help sort thru the stock and like. there are THREE PEOPLE here today who actually have a manager title, which I DONT!!! so why cant the three of you take care of it!!! and i KNOW its bc im good at problem-solving and don't really say no and would do it faster than anyone else but god. come on. its putting wet stock in totes.

also in the last 30 min of my shift (in the hardware dept!!! doing inventory counts!!!) my coworker walkied Me, Specifically, even though i knowww they were fully staffed in cashiers and housewares today, to pick up a call from a specific problem customer ABOUT A HOUSEWARES PRODUCT. bro i know FULL WELL you are doing fucking nothing but online shopping on the work computer, you fucking handle it!!! im on a DIFFERENT FLOOR and im busy doing other shit!!!

and its only tuesday!!! yippee!!!

[salty-dracon]

I could hear the frog in Millie's throat. There was no doubt she was sleeping when I blew up her phone, begging for her help. I knew she'd scold me for waking her up when I got there, but knowing her, she would also prepare dinner and google legal advice for me. She'd probably start by asking me to write down everything I remembered, which I'd already started to do on my Notes app. My arms already hurt from dragging my suitcase all the way here on foot.

i wish it was over. i'm so tired. my neck hurts. i'm thirst. i'm hungry. millie i want to see you. millie i want to sleep

I stared at Millie's last text to me. "Take the 2:45 from Ronald Rapids towards New York City. Get to 42nd Street, take the Blue or Orange uptown to 72nd"

I read my reply. "I don't know anything about trains"

Millie hadn't replied.

millie please reply please reply please reply

I glanced warily at the station around me. There were numerous people lying on the floor of the station- taking shelter from the cold night air. Among them were police officers- one standing at each pillar. Apart from them, I was the only other person.

I sent another text to Millie. "Lots of police here, is that normal for Newark Station?"

Millie's reply was quick. "IDK". Followed by another text. "Just find a train going to New York City on the boards and go to the right platform. It's like an airport but quicker"

I glanced around until I found the "board" she was talking about. A train to New York City was coming... The board was garbled, and I couldn't read the times properly, but one was coming in sixteen minutes. That was 3pm, on Platform 1. I walked there.

A woman was sitting with a somber look in the ticket box. When she heard my footsteps, she nearly jumped out of her seat. In that moment, I felt more eyes on me. More, more, more. As though I wasn't afraid I had more eyes on me already. As though I didn't already fear the sound of his leather shoes on the tile here.

was he looking for me? who am i kidding he heard me pack my suitcase in the middle of the night, and he heard me leave as he was getting out of bed. of course he is.

"A ticket to New York City, please," I told her. Millie told me to take as much cash as I could, and only use it for anything that was strictly necessary. I slipped the money I could into the till. The woman was shocked at first, and stared at me with fear in her eyes, before she took my money, processed it with gloved hands, and gave me back the requisite change.

As I turned around, I saw an old woman behind me. She was greying, holding two tote bags full of stuff, wearing a black hat that hid her face.

"3pm to New York City," she said, as I walked away. A few seconds later. "Oh, I only have twelve dollars."

twelve dollars? i have twelve dollars. can i help? should i help? millie told me to save my money. she said quit the bleeding heart because i'm in trouble here. i needed that money more

"It's okay." The lady at the till did not look the old woman in the eye. "Here's your ticket. Keep your money." She slipped the woman a ticket with the same gloved hands. The woman took it and walked through the turnstile after me.

It wasn't just the two of us on the platform. There were three policemen- one at the far end, near end, and middle of the platform. One policeman was staring at me, and two at the old woman.

I gripped my chest. Millie told me that if I were afraid, to act the part- that I was currently escaping an abusive partner. To treat the police as though they were the only people keeping me safe right now, to play up their hero complex. It would increase the chance that they would take my side in a conflict.

I glanced at my phone. 2:55.

The old woman was staring at me.

"Excuse me, miss." She had a low voice. I still couldn't see her face.

"Yes?" I asked.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I said.

"You look nervous. Would you like to sit down?"

I shook my head. "The train will be here soon. Please, you should take a seat instead of me."

"Oh, yes." She nodded. "Are you taking a flight somewhere, miss?"

"No, I'm actually..." I paused. "visiting a friend."

"You shouldn't lie," she said. "Not to me."

why did her voice sound so cold

"Yeah, I'm running away," I gave my intentions away. "He almost strangled me and I didn't know where else to go."

"That's cruel of him."

why did her voice sound even colder

"Miss," she asked, "is there any kindness in the world?"

"Of course," I said. "You're talking to me, aren't you? And my friend's helping me get out."

"No, that's not what I meant." She smiled. "Is this world largely kind? Is it worth saving?"

I sighed. "I'm not sure what to think, honestly. I'm still in shock."

"I see." She smiled. "But you have suffered, right?"

"Sure, I guess." I sighed. "Honestly, I just want to get to my friend's place..."

We heard a loud whistle. The train slowly rolled into the station, and the two of us entered.

Except I did not hear another set of footsteps besides my own. And when I looked behind me, no one was there.

Even the policemen on the platform were not there.

no one. is. there.

why do i suddenly feel so alone

An old woman will arrive at the station at 2:47 AM, she will not have enough money to pay the fare, let her in anyway. She will then board an unscheduled train at 3:00 AM. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO TURN HER AWAY UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES.

[delcakoo]

pity party ₊˚ރ⊹゛p.sh

SUMMARY ! when everyone forgets sunghoon’s birthday, he ends up finding comfort from a warmhearted stranger on the bus ride home.

PAIRING ! stranger!sunghoon x gn!reader

WC ! 800

GENRE ! fluff, slight angst and comforting sad hoon :c

a/n: sorry it’s short, just a lil’ thing for our birthday boy <3

sunghoon’s eyes were getting watery, and he hated that. a lot.

his birthday isn’t a big deal, he isn’t twelve anymore; he should just be grateful for what he has, wipe away his cascading tears and man the hell up.

but as he slides onto the public bus and scans down the aisle full of exhausted college students, old drunkards, and middle aged mother’s gossiping on calls with their kids fidgeting frantically next to them, he can’t find himself caring when all their eyes lock onto his teary red face, pink bottom lip trembling as he sniffles every few seconds.

he makes his way down the column of busy seats, mindlessly plopping down onto the first free one he comes across. and at last, he reaches his hand up, wiping the salty droplets off his puffy cheeks sorrowfully.

god, he was being such a wimp.

before he could beat himself up any further, a hesitant soft voice abruptly interrupts him. “are.. are you okay?”

sunghoon whips his head to his left, brows rising at the sight of soft eyes glistening with worry and concern towards him, despite being a complete stranger.

you were attiring a puffy winter coat and a bright green scarf, one hand gripping onto the tote bag resting carefully by your chocolate shaded boots.

he gulps and wipes his face again, feeling even more humiliated with his current state. “y-yeah, thanks,” he barely voices out.

sunghoon watches in his peripheral vision as you continue to examine him, clearly having an inner debate on if you should leave the conversation at that. he almost began crying again at how cute you look in such deep thought.

you swallow, “what happened, if i may ask? ur— i mean, you don’t have to tell me obviously, but if you—“

“it’s okay,” he assures with a small smile. “it’s kinda stupid, anyway. just.. all- all my friends n’ stuff.. they forgot my birthday.” your eyes widen, heart breaking into pieces at his painful tone. “i mean, i don’t even care, seriously. i don’t know why i’m crying because it’s really not a big deal.”

it seems you could easily tell he was trying to convince himself more than you.

it’s silent for a beat, nothing but sunghoon’s faint sniffling surrounding the bus until you hesitantly reach over, placing your hand on top of his cold, shaky one. your fingers rub his knuckles, gently calming his distress with comforting glances.

sunghoon didn’t realise how touch starved he was; throat getting clogged as he bites his lip to prevent letting out another pitiful sob, watching the way your touches feather him as if he were a fragile vase.

suddenly, you speak up again rather confidently. “can i give you my number?”

he chokes, looking back up with widened eyes. “w-what?”

“so we can make a plan for tomorrow,” you explain. “for your birthday.”

you, a complete stranger that had just met him on probably one of the worst days of his life, wanted to celebrate his birthday with him? tomorrow?

before he can stop to think, he’s already pulled his phone out, dropping it into your grasp mindlessly as you begin making a new contact. sunghoon peers closely as you type in your name with a bus and crying emoji next to it, letting out a chuckle of disbelief.

at the sound of laughter you look up, grinning proudly once you finally see his fanged smile. “you’re going to have the best birthday ever tomorrow…?” you look at him in question.

“sunghoon.”

“well sunghoon, i’m a master at baking cakes, specifically birthday cakes with chocolate fudge,” you declare, wiggling your eyebrows playfully.

sunghoon doesn’t even like chocolate.

but at that moment he decides it’ll be his new favourite flavour in the world.

as he opens his mouth to reply and show his gratitude, the bus driver boisterously announces the next stop.

“shit,” you mutter, frantically standing up from your seat. “i’m so sorry, i wish i could’ve stayed with you longer, but this is my stop.” your face reflected genuine affliction; not wanting the poor boy to be alone just as he was for the rest of his special day.

sunghoon shakes his head, “no, no it’s fine. you- you already made me feel way better.”

your face brightens a bit, nodding as you achingly wave goodbye. “see you tomorrow.” you turn away, walking right to the front of the bus, tote bag hanging on your shoulder and wooly green scarf still tightly around your neck.

it felt like a last goodbye, like everything was in slow motion watching you leave him, even though he’d be seeing you tomorrow.

but right before you descend down the stairs, you gasp, turning around and making the other passengers frown in annoyance as you block their way.

“hey sunghoon!” you shout across the bus without a care in the world.

the boy in question gawks as you stare him down, eyes shimmering and a fond smile rushing to your chapped lips. “happy birthday!”

sunghoon’s eyes get watery again, but he hates it a bit less this time.

if you enjoyed, reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

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[sergeantsporks]

Vee getting into Cosmic Frontiers while everyone else is in the demon realm so she’ll have something to talk with her mom and brother about when they get back!!!

“Okay, okay, okay. Camila is officially on vacation, and Luz has been excused from school absences for the same, the car has been towed and returned, and no one is the wiser.” Vee chewed on the tip of her pen. “What else? I guess I could do something around the house? It would probably be a nice surprise for Camila to come home to a nice clean house.”

Vee gathered up stray Halloween bits and bobs, tucking them back into their box. Extra teeth, old trick or treat buckets—anything pumpkin shaped went into the bin. Vee tugged at her own sweater. Well. Maybe not everything pumpkin shaped.

She shoved the box to the basement steps, then thumped up the stairs to Luz’s room. She surveyed the cots and sleeping bags, and the miscellaneous clothes strewn about.

What if things go badly?

What if they come back still needing a place to stay?

No. She couldn’t think like that. They’d succeed. And maybe they’d come back for a sleepover, but for now… Vee rolled up the sleeping bags and collapsed the cots. Best case scenario planning. She scooped up the clothes, dumping them in a hamper and piling the sleeping bags on top. She grabbed the hamper under one arm, the cots under the other, and went right back down the stairs. First, to the laundry room, to separate the clothes she’d gathered. She’d have to check the basement before she put on a wash, though.

Vee rolled the sleeping bags down the basement steps, then carried the box of Halloween stuff, then another trip for the cots and the hamper. The blankets from the couch went into the hamper. So did the T-shirts that someone—okay, who was she kidding, that Hunter had neatly folded and stacked to the side of the couch.

Vee knelt down to roll up Hunter’s sleeping bag, but stopped just before she started to fold it.

Where was Hunter going to go? Maybe he’d stay with Gus, but he didn’t have a home anymore. Maybe he’d come back. In which case, maybe he should get a cot, instead of sleeping on the floor all of the time. That couldn’t be good for his back.

Vee snapped the cot out to its full size, lifting Hunter’s sleeping bag up. Something tumbled out of it, landing on her foot with a solid thump.

“OW!” Vee jumped up and down on one foot, holding the other. “What the—” she tossed the sleeping bag to the cot and picked up the thing that had fallen on her foot. A book. The same book Hunter had been toting around, Cosmic Frontier.

“Huh.”

Come to think of it, they had said they’d found it down here. And Camila had acted awfully cagey about it. Vee opened the door to the closet within the basement—what a weird concept—and a fake gun, tricked out with lights and whistled, tumbled out. Vee picked it up, turning it over.

Property of Star Captain Camila Noceda read the handle.

“Huh.”

Vee rummaged through the closet, digging through comic books, posters, and a photo album filled with pictures of Camila in full costume and posing with other cosplayers. Some of them were signed by names Camila didn’t recognize, and one, which had its own whole page and was framed with golden foil, was signed with the same name as the author of the book.

“Wow,” Vee mused out loud, “She was really into this. So were Hunter and Gus. Maybe it really is just that good?”

Vee retreated back to the couch, opening the book to the first page. “I supposed I could see what all the fuss is about.”

Star Date… I don’t know anymore. According to O’Bailey, the wormhole we were caught in may have moved us through time as well as space. It could be that we have lost everyone we loved, and that the universe as we know it has changed irreversibly. Our homes might not even exist anymore. Still, I have to believe there’s a way back.

My last weekly report was before the wormhole. I don’t know if these logs will be read by command anymore, or if our whole system is now obsolete, but still, as the captain, I must record what happened. So. One week ago…

Vee mouthed along to the words as she read. She already knew from Hunter that O’Bailey was a clone from an enemy planet—relatable—but she’d underestimated just how many character dynamics and plotlines this book had. Every character introduced had their own backstories and their own difficulties, all of them weaving together to form one complex web of narratives. Even things she thought were a one-off came back later, or were somehow important.

Vee thumped back up the stairs, grabbing sticky notes and a pen. She started writing notes; characters, things that came back, noting foreshadowing, and misleads. The book started to fill up with little yellow tabs.

“Yeah, okay,” she told Hunter’s empty cot, “I’ll give you this one. For a book written in the nineties, it’s surprisingly relevant. Maybe Luz and Amity were right, too, and I should read Azura.”

Vee rummaged around in Luz’s room until she found a blank sketchbook and a set of colored pencils.

We forever love and protect our crew, she wrote, carefully spacing out each letter and imitating the script on the cover of the book, Whoever and whatever we are, we will always be family. Through supernovas, and solar flares, this we always swear.

“Through anything,” Vee whispered. She folded up the paper and tucked it into the front cover of the photo album. She padded softly down the hallway, her footsteps turning to a slither halfway down. She pushed open Camila’s door with a creak, setting the album down on the nightstand. “Whoever and whatever we are.”

Vee tidied up Camila’s books, gathering them into one neat stack. “Stay safe,” she whispered to the air, “Come back home soon. All of you.”

[rabbiteclair]

Lobotomy Corp update:

it turns out I chose possibly the single funniest point to do my first day 1 rewind. about five minutes before shit starts getting weird.

'ha ha we are SUCH a normal company, don't worry about the blood coming out of that robot, that's probably supposed to happen.'

anyway, I like Tiphereth(s) and Chesed. Chesed is the ideal midpoint between Netzach and Yesod. does this mean he's still kinda an asshole? well yeah. but even more than Yesod, you can see how he got there.

look, nothing about this whole arrangement is healthy for anyone involved, I'm pretty sure. sometimes your coping mechanism is a nihilistic detachment from the fate of those around you.

mechanically I was rewarded for my sacrifice of the old employees with my new star pupil, Brown, the kid who wrangled my first Aleph gear and earned the matching EGO gift on the very last trip. it was a sign. forevermore will they be an unstoppable sword-toting badass wrapped in bandages. or until I reset again, whichever.

every bird is a friend, but most of them are pretty concerning kinda friends.

Laetitia is also a friend but I feel like I might think differently if I ever actually triggered those gifts. which I'm gonna do eventually just to see what is inside of them. the amount of work they put into horrible murder mechanics is inspiring, considering how diligent I am to never see most of them.

I say that as if I haven't fed like thirteen people to Singing Machine and then gone 'ohhhh wait shit they had Fortitude IV didn't they.'

although tbh I'm at the point where it no longer looks like a completely unreasonable choice to just chuck a level 3-4 agent in and let it mince them equipment and all, if that's what it takes to end a shift without disaster. One of my friends has assured me that the day will come when I consider it a bargain to feed a 5 to Backward Clock.

The Snow Queen's whole duel thing sounds cool but it's another entry on the list of 'things that sound cool and elaborate but that I'm just not gonna trigger if I can at all avoid it.' also wow the devs really like European fairy tales huh?

I already talked about it a bit before, but the deeper I get in the game, the funnier that Fragment of the Universe is to me. here is our facility full of weird monsters from the apocalyptic ruins, horrible creations from the most troubled minds on earth, fairy tale monsters, and... oh, this one? well this is an alien. like... an actual space alien. it came here to talk to us. a peaceful ambassador from the stars. yeah we locked it up in a power plant. we should probably see if SETI has like... a hotline or something to report this kinda thing.

Violet Noon can suck my entire asshole. that isn't even an Ordeal it's just a 'did you remember to move everyone? no? well say goodbye to the last twenty minutes, idiot' check

You Must Be Happy is so fucking good. like it's not really applicable to your top-tier agents, but it's fantastic for leveling a newbie far enough that they can safely work with He/Waw stuff and get piles of stat boosts.

under no circumstances will I actually keep Express Train To Hell in my facility, but I have to admit that it's incredibly funny.

Schadenfreude is straight up a sukima-onna. Like the whole 'saw somebody peering at them from a crack, starting being paranoid about it, was found in their room with every crack taped over' thing is the classic modern sukima-onna story.

[tracyinpolaroids]

So I realized that my usual response to needing something is “Can I make that?”

Can’t believe I’m realizing this just now. Or maybe I always knew it and just never really thought about it more.

This is coming from reaching into my tote bag and feeling around for my little coin purse that I crocheted, which was squished under my notebook carrier that I also...crocheted. And then I thought about how many other things I wondered if I could make before resorting to just looking for it in a store somewhere.

I distinctly remember thinking if I could make a shelf, create a new handle for a kettle that didn’t have one, a little bag to carry my essentials when a backpack is too much. I’ve made myself a box to carry my softbox bulb, diffuser screen, and remote, coasters for the cafe, an A3-sized semestral calendar that isn’t interrupted by breaks in between months so I can see everything week by week. My first instinct when I planned the 2018 ID exhibit was that I—not a committee or anyone else—could mount posters on foam board slats so we wouldn’t just be sticking tarp onto the walls. And I immediately went to National Bookstore and bought all their foam board.

After years of online classes and being able to teach Print & Pub again, I’m getting back into this old habit. I love making things myself, almost to a fault. It always isn’t necessary, I just...want to do things with my hands that doesn’t require looking at a screen all the time. Which kind of resulted in that sem calendar I did the other day.

I’m meeting Aze later to talk about Print & Pub since it’s going to be her first time teaching it. I feel bad that Ponci isn’t around anymore to teach it with me, because it was so fun being able to last year. We co-wrote content, and had the kids use our illustrations from the birding guide we did a few years ago for the Ateneo Wild. It was like a nice full circle moment for us.

I want to make more stuff.

[its-kall-the-clown]

Mk making valentines for everyone is something I'd like! The fluff aspect would be so cute qwq

Happy Valentine's day!! this was fun to write!

Valentine Traditions

Rating: G

Valentine's day was the best in MK’s opinion! Ever since he was adopted by Pigsy and Tang it became his favorite holiday. One of his cherished memories as a kid (really he was 16 but that's not the point) was all three of them sitting around the kitchen table making homemade Valentine cards for his class.

He remembers being covered in glitter, paste, and several shades of red paper shavings. Complaining that he was too old for this 'kiddy stuff'. And at the time he fully believed that. But Tang insisted it be fun and Pigsy went along with anything Tang wanted to do so that's what they were doing as a family.

And the more poorly cut-out hearts Pigsy made, and the more sappy puns tossed around, plus the music playing on the radio and the heart shape cookies Pigsy made...it eventually got MK into the spirit.

So now it was a tradition. Every Valentine's day they would sit around and make fun cards together with lace and hearts and glitter as a family.

Except for this year.

MK sighs and rests his head on his elbow at the kitchen table in Pigsy's and Tang's apartment. This apparently was a big anniversary for them and Pigsy's surprised Tang with an all inclusive resort vacation for the weekend. Leaving MK to glumly sulk and housesit while the lovebirds had a fantastic vacation together.

the delivery boy wishes he could say he was mad at them for leaving him all by his lonesome. But how could he be when he saw the love in their eyes as they packed? They deserved vacation to themselves at the very least. Especially after what MK put them through when he became the monkey kid.

He glances at the empty kitchen table in front of him. Tomorrow would be Valentine's day officially. And normally by now, the whole table would look like a battlefield from a dimension of paper and glitter acting as viscera.

He pushes away with a huff. There was no point in just sulking in the kitchen. Might as well sulk in bed where it was at least warm under the covers.

He kicks an imaginary can on his way out of the kitchen and passes the front door. Where his skeleton jumps out of his skin when the doorbell rings suddenly. Pigsy and Tang were gone….and MK wasn't expecting any guests….so who?

The doorbell rings again, this time insistently and he scrambled to answer it, only making sure to grab the staff leaned up against the wall first in case it was demons looking to pick a fight.

He takes a deep breath, his knuckles tightening around the staff. And then he flings the door open with a war cry on his lips.

Instead of the assassin like he's expecting. It's an ambush.

An ambush of rose petals and strawberries smelling cookies.

"Ah, thanks MK! I wasn't sure I could get my spare key out with my arms full!" Mei, states lifting what appears to be a basket full of paper roses in one hand and a sleeping bag in the other. Upon her back looks like her overnight bag too. She takes advantage of his stunned state and places everything into his arms.

Right behind her squeezes Sandy with his own box of craft supplies and what he assumes is a Tupperware of cookies. Sandy ducks his head through the doorframe with a cheerful 'pardon the intrusion~' before also making himself at home.

"What's going on?" MK asked, thoroughly baffled by his friend's presence at his doorstep.

"We're here to make Valentine cards!" Sandy boisterously yells from the kitchen he can hear the radio there also turned on suddenly and the muffled show tunes Sandy liked, starts to play.

"I don't understand. How-"

"Pigsy and Tang texted us, way before they left for their trip asking if we would take their place to keep the tradition alive.~" she totes proudly doing a little dance in place

"Oh-oh! And look who I brought!!" She momentarily dives out of view and there is the sound of a struggle before she returns with an arm thrown around a disgruntled fire demon.

"Ta-da! Red's parents are gone too so he wanted to hang too!"

"For the last time you putting a bag over my head and kidnapping me is not wanting to hang out" he huffs squirming out of her grip and straightening his coat down like the regal prince he was. MK knows Mei well enough to not be certain if he was joking about the bag on his head. Seems like a legit action she would commit.

"Well your already her sooOOO" she pushes the demon through the doorway, he trips over the threshold and lands against MK's waiting for chest and arms. She skips by with a wink leaving the sputtering demon to hiss while MK tries to let his brain catch up with the situation.

He steadies Red Son in his arms and for a second he thinks he imagined a dusting of blush on his ears.

The fire demon clears his throat and takes a step back creating distance between them while MK also tried to hide his blush.

Curse Mei and her ability to hold alcohol better than him. He always spilled embarrassing secrets (like his crush on Red son) while drunk and she always remembered the next day.

"Do you have tea in this dump?" Red Son huffs with a nose to the air. MK chuckles and puts a hand on his shoulder leading him in.

"We got more than that~"

----------

An hour later the kitchen table is a battle zone. All manners of craft supplies, including Sandy's pastels and watercolors, were spread across the expanse of the table (and some on the floor.)

Tea was brewed, and MK got into the liquor cabinet to add it into his herbal drink. His chest felt light after the second drink and he's certain he's got flushed cheeks from the burning liquid. Red is sporting a similar flush across his face, his movements a little more dramatic and fluid. Even his fiery attitude seemed to mellow out and he even made some half-hearted Valentine cards.

Everyone was having a grand time and even at some point, Red leaned against MK's shoulder with a whine, complaining that MK's cards looked better than his. He also demanded that MK help him in a slurred state. Sandy and Mei had already finished and migrated to the living room to drink and eat more cookies together.

MK agreed to help, with a giggle leaning into his space to help hold lace down while the demon glued it down. Their fingers brushed a few times leaving MK a blushing mess.

He's glad he has the alcohol to blame at least for the added color in his cheeks

"Looks good!" MK declares when the red heart with flaming glitter that spelled out 'hot' was completed. They tried to put a 'your hot' but found Red was lacking the skills and coordination to spell that out in glue. So they just went with 'hot'. Honestly, MK found it hilarious.

Red Son raised it up over his head to examine it like it was a counterfeit bill. His tongue stuck out the side a bit as the cogs of his brain finally caught up. A wide smile spreads across his face and he nods proudly.

"It's perfect. Superb to all valentinessss!" He declares with a small hick. He then holds it out to MK with a swaying body. MK feels like maybe the alcohol on his own system was affecting him because it took him a full minute to realize Red was giving it to him.

"F-for me?" MK asked, blushing and shifting in his seat.

Red Son frowns and starts to retract his hand. "If you don't want it-"

"No!" MK snatches it out of Red's hand before he can change his mind.

"No, I want it." MK reiterates hiding his face behind the poorly made card.

Red son extends his open palm and waits. "Now give me mine." He demands with a frown on his face that reminded MK of a pouting toddler. MK honestly didn't make Red one. Thinking he had no feelings for him he tried to avoid the embarrassment of rejection.

But Red is still waiting with his drunk buzzed-out face.

MK thinks fast and places his hand into Red's, lacing their fingers together.

"This is mine…" he mutters with a blush. The demon examines where their hands are connected and then nods, seeming satisfied.

"A fair trade. I will treasure it." He brings the hand up to his mouth and places a drunken kiss on it. MK doesn't think he can get any redder. Even the cardstock paper and tissue roses can't compare to him.

"Hey! Tang and Pigsy are on the phone!!" Mei announced, skidding into the kitchen from the living room with her phone up. "Come say hi dorks!"

She exits just as quickly, either completely missing the fact Red Son and MK were holding hands, or she simply doesn't care to point it out.

With great regret, the demon removes his hand from MK's and he misses the burning heat instantly. With a wobble and MK's help, they make it back into the living room. Mei has her phone propped up against some books while everyone crowds into the video call.

Pigsy and Tang already have leis around their necks and wear those corny matching couple shirts.

One says "if lost, return to Pigsy" with a cartoon pig underneath. And funnily enough, Pigsy's says "no returns or exchanges".

"Dad! Dadsy!" How's your trip?" MK excitedly sits between Mei and Red, the demon leaning into his side.

"It's been fantastic! The island is so beautiful~" Tang croons leaning onto Pigsy's shoulder, a fruity cocktail in hand and coconut shrimp in the other. They seemed to be living their best life judging by how relaxed they both look.

"Sorry, you had to do our family tradition without us kid," Pigsy speaks and MK shakes his head quickly.

"Don't be. I've had a lot of fun today!" And he meant that too. Today was perfect. And even if his dads weren't here at least he had a good time.

"Don't have too much fun," Pigsy states with a click to his jaw, eyes growing suspicious at the demon that seemed attached to MK's side. MK chuckles and blushes a little, not helping his case.

His cheeks hurt from how hard he's smiling when he answers, his chest full of joy and love.

"No promises~"

[chromalogue]

They swore up and down that Germany has real cold and real snow, but it’s been raining since before I got back.  The river is high and brown and swollen. 

I don’t carry an umbrella, because most of the time toting around this weird instrument that interferes with everyone around me and takes up one of my hands and has to be carried in just such a way is several orders of magnitude  more annoying than just getting wet.  But last Thursday I walked to my German class in a steady downpour and even in a distressingly waterproof coat I got so absolutely soaked that four hours later, my bra was still soaked through. I turned on the heat in my office and tried to read Mark Noll with my chest pressed up against the radiator which was a) not comfortable but b) more comfortable than sitting there damp and shivering. 

Then I slogged down to the centre of campus for lunch and a library book, and discovered that the book I’d ordered wasn’t waiting on the main campus, but on another one a few streets south.  And at first I just thought I’d knock off an hour early and pick it up on my way home, but turns out that library closes at 4, so I left four hours early, because although it would have been a matter of a ten-minute walk back up the street to get back to my office, I wasn’t putting myself through that again.  I found this other campus, got into the library building, defeated the Minotaur, and picked up my book, which I had to put into my plastic portfolio for protection, because by this time the ink from everything was bleeding onto everything else.

This was my first time in months walking home during full daylight, and I saw the sidewalk covered in drowning earthworms.  Anytime I saw one still moving, I took a leaf and moved it as gently as I could onto the grass.  Because at this point it’s not like I was going to get wetter.  And then when I got home I stripped everything off, hung it up, crawled under my duvet, and went to sleep.  But this past vacation, if you’d told me that I would be rescuing earthworms in January, I wouldn’t have paid any attention.  Partly because it would have seemed so improbable and partly because I was trying to haul a bundle buggy through a foot of snow. 

My dad’s gonna be fine, it looks like.  He stopped eating at the hospital, but now he’s eating again and getting stronger.  But now my uncle is in with pneumonia and a disturbingly high heart rate.  I know it’s just the way things happen, but it feels like when I leave everything falls apart. 

But I’m paid now, and that makes here much nicer, rain notwithstanding.  I found out I can turn my own heat on, and the store has trout caviar for 4 euros, and it’s like tiny fishy pomegranate seeds.  I got myself Netflix and I’m puzzling my way through Mord mit Aussicht. 

Naomi Novik’s Scholomance series was thoroughly amazing.  Now I’m rereading the old Nancy Drew books, because I loved them as a kid and I want to understand what I was thinking.  And as a holdover from my pre-being-paid days, listening to John Galsworthy’s The Man of Property on audiobook.  Probably says loads about my upbringing, but there’s something deeply soothing for me about a posh accent minutely describing landscapes and rich people and their furniture.  I mean, I gather stuff happens in the book, but so far it’s the aforementioned rich people obliquely pondering enduring questions that are I’m sure important but nowhere near as pressing as “What if I never get paid?”  And it’s been marvellous to nod off to, so much so that after six weeks I’m at part 4 of 13. 

[surejess--arc]

@forwardintros​

( margot robbie, cis woman, she/her ) — Look who it is! If you take a look at our database, you’ll find that JESSICA “JESS” TURNER is a THIRTY-TWO year old STAND-UP COMEDIAN that’s been in Chicago for SIXTEEN YEARS. According to the file, they’re a mutant on LEVEL THREE with the power of CLOWN PHYSIOLOGY. That must be why they’re THEATRICAL and NONSENSICAL. If you ask me, they remind me of unearned laughter over a killing joke, a permanent stepford smile, mars opportunity’s last message. They are affiliated with BARNUM ODDITIES + HELLFIRE CLUB.

could i leave her behind ? ...too silly to leave behind !

QUICK FACTS

full name: jessica mary “jess” turner

name reasoning: ...jess tur.

date of birth: february 24th, 1990

zodiac big three: pisces sun, sagittarius moon, gemini rising

gender & pronouns: cis woman & she/her

sexual orientation: bisexual

ethnicity: white

nationality: american

languages spoken: english (5)

enneagram: 7w6

mbti: enfp

temperament: sanguine-melancholic moral alignment: chaotic neutral

ability: clown physiology

affiliation: barnum oddities & the hellfire club ( co-founder )

alias: n/a

BACKSTORY

triggers: being sold to carnies?, kidnapping, torture, a white guy complaining because he was fired from the cool torture factory 🙄

jessica was born in brooklyn to two non-mutant parents ( why are all of my muses’ parents non-mutants ). one eye had a pink iris, she was notably paler than other children ( but not to the point of ‘oh my god, is that krusty the clown?’ ) and her hair grew rather odd – naturally platinum blonde, bordering on white, with different colors and slightly redder lips. but her parents always just assumed that the babysitters were harmlessly fucking around with hair dye when they were out. come to think of it she probably just looked albino with a dash of makeup and hair dye ahfdouiladjns

her parents never expressed much of an opinion on the mutant situation, seeming to be impartial parties – very ‘well, as long as they aren’t hurting anyone, it’s fine.’ and that was true! they really didn’t care! they were totes chill! …so long as it applied to anyone but family.

that isn’t to say when jess first just… pulled a card out of thin air, they were like ‘oh my god, sin!’ – hell, they thought it was just a magic trick! but as things like that continued, and as she lost babysitters but kept that strange-ish look with the quite red lips… they were like ‘this is getting weird. she looks like an e-girl, only those don’t exist yet, so she looks like a clown™. i have an idea. let’s send her to boarding school so we don’t have to deal with maybe having a mutant daughter and having to help her with this weird stuff. ugh.’

but, lol, they just said it was a boarding school. they actually found a group of carnies that they… essentially sold her to. obviously she was quite taken aback and hurt at first, but the carnies proved to be very caring – more caring than her parents had ever found it in themselves to be. they taught her so many useful things! like conning, how to fake your death, acrobatics… really all over the board! who needs a typical schooling system when you can just have carnies?! they also took most of her ‘powers’ as talents, natural gifts. hell, they actually did have a few mutants traveling along with them! a wolf woman who just functioned as their bearded lady, a kid with lobster physiology under control enough to just make him look like he had lobster hands, an old man with unicorn physiology under control enough to just show the horn. and, because of the title of the attraction they sat in – ‘freak show’ – everyone just assumed all of the oddities were deformations. it was a safe place. and jess fit in well with her intuitive clown magic.

also i would be aghast to not mention the presence of cordelia yildiz, a genuine connection who she made the mistake of losing, but i wrote this intro over a year ago and i’m trying to make as few changes as possible bc i’m lazy afldskfs

but, as she grew, it became apparent that her differences stretched beyond physical and sleight of hand. yes, she was a natural at cards, juggling, balloon animals, and she was funny! even the things that were maybe .2% funny generated so much laughter and joy! which… they didn’t recognize as a problem…

until she was fourteen. something unexpected happened: one of her jokes – a bad one, a lame ‘chicken crossed the road’ spin – made patrons laugh so hard that they were breaking ribs, gasping for air, and being driven mad by the hilarity. three died, all the others were sent to the hospital. some never left the psych ward.

and something similar happened… and, for as much as the carnies dearly loved her, when she began showing signs that her simple power was actually quite dangerous, they decided that the best plan of action was to keep her at bay whilst they looked for someone or something who/that could teach her. but, before they had the chance to find someone, disgraced ex-ammo scientist william barnum had the chance to find her.

people came and went. with the circumstances, it was concerning... but trying to find someone who easily could’ve just run off wasn’t worth risking themselves for. a week later, the circus marched forth, none the wiser !

barnum & co. presented as respectable individuals. despite his method of kidnapping, it seemed almost pristine at first... then you get shoved inside and find that you’re essentially in a glorified warehouse, surrounded by scientists who did not meet kappa standards or were too impatient to so much as try. thus, think of it like this: kappa’s bear traps are new, shiny, sharp ; barnum’s bear traps are rusted, infested, blunt and in need of chopping.

then the experiments began. and how fascinating they found this ability! how innocent it seemed with its stupid card and balloon tricks, but how threatening it was with its bombs and killing jokes (reference intended). the last thing they expected was for little carnie clown girl to be a real threat! even with the nullifying extracted gene used between experiments, they absolutely gagged her up <3 just gave her a little notebook because they aren’t completely evil <3 over a decade of being able to talk for maybe 30mins a day (just to make sure she still can when need be) and people would WONDER why she has so much to say <3

that said, she likely seemed very quiet to her peers… which she was naturally rather not. it is In Her DNA™.

I ALSO JUST REALLY WANT TO ADD THAT SOME OF THE EXPERIMENTS WERE LIKE. TERRIBLE. BUT THERE’S ON THAT’S JUST REALLY FUNNY IN CONCEPT. LIKE ESSEX HOUSE SETTING UP A WHOLE SLAPSTICK STAGE AT ONE POINT. TO TEST PAIN SUPPRESSION. LITERAL CLOWNERY.

(that said, they were most interested in her brain, limbs/digits, tongue/teeth, and skin……… so do with that information what you will)

other experiments were performed, each worse than the last, and her will was all but broken.. she was barely able to speak, barely able communicate – what was the point in trying? in hoping?

but after a new sub-ability made itself known - miming - and they decided to have fun hacking away at limbs?? SHE WAS READY TO MAKE SOME PLANS AND SPREAD THEM AROUND. (escape can be plotted out ofc! just keeping this sentence from the intro bc im too lazy to change anything i dont absolutely need to!)

getting that gag off, she wasted absolutely no time in letting some of those brilliant scientists finally hear her brilliant jokes! literally laugh themselves to death!

for some months after the escape, she was a classic sad clown, having no CLUE what she was supposed to do. believe it or not, for a whole month, she was even struggling with speech! (i have like… a whole thing about why she talks so much outside of the general ‘she’s a clown’ in my head it’s actually quite sad clown pls do ask if u wld like to hear)… then she saw an ad for an open mic night and a lightbulb appeared over her head! suddenly having the ability to talk for more than fifteen minutes, a day she could be a stand-up comedian… because even when she wasn’t funny, apparently she was really fucking funny! that said, she just uses the pseudonym ‘jester’ to draw less attention to her actual identity in the event that the barnum folks are walkin around.

a few months after the escape, jess was lucky enough to meet january st. james in all her generosity. she has since made her way to becoming january’s right-hand man and even aided in founding the hellfire club!

TIMELINE

BORN – in ‘90 with clear differences, but not enough to warrant scare. (bro replacing “’69″ with “’90″ felt so weird)

AGE 13 – jess is discovered to definitely be a mutant; more or less sold to carnies

AGE 15 – one of jess’s jokes killed various audience members, drove others insane, and maimed even more. happened more than once.

AGE ~15.5 – jess is caught by barnum & co, the poor man’s kappa (which was completely purposeful, as william barnum was an embittered ex-ammo scientist)

AGE ~15.5-30 – jess is tortured by barnum & co. allowed to speak for maybe half an hour each day, if that. depends on them to provide paper/pen, but they can revoke as they please.

AGE 30 – a plan is concocted to escape with four other mutants

AGE 30 – jess is free and on the streets. january st. james helps her get back on her feet. finds a career as a comedian.

AGE 30+ – jess is still hellbent on revenge <3 but also helping establish the hellfire club like it’s all very contradictory.

HEADCANONS

y’all know that i’ve come up with a lot so i’ll just include the two that i put in the original intro. maybe i’ll come back one day and add them all but today is not that day!

 her version of reality can now be showcased by lily allen’s ‘ldn’ mv… only violence is still an option <3

also a lil note for her physiology since margot’s played harley quinn in three different movies and, each time, she’s looked a little different: facial features like suicide squad (2016), always has those lil bedazzled eyebrows she wears in birds of prey, color scheme of the suicide squad (2021) ! ( that said, probs won’t be using many ss gifs because there was like… one pack still available ahdlsaifjsk so just <3 imagine <3 ) the one thing i would add that’s in none of the gifs is one iris being a shade of light pink and the other being the regular blue.

OH BUT ALSO A VERY IMPORTANT IMAGE: jess at barnum

CONNECTION IDEAS

barnum & co oddities ! the blurb will be submitted to the channel momentarily ( tl for kappa/hellfire didn’t add up, so original it is! ), but basically the four other folks she escaped the poor man’s kappa with.

kappa runaways ! okay i’m just interested in the idea of william barnum & co having been like ‘fuck kappa... fuck those bitches... they’re so stupid...’ so like. jess is aware of kappa’s existence -- would love for her to meet/have met some of the runaways and learned about how kappa was actually the chanel to barnum’s walmart

hellfire folks ! she does not even begin to look like she fits in in there and lbr she doesn’t ! could make it funny !

regulars at her performances ! yea

violence is the answer ! yea

peer pressure ! yea

see i just don’t feel like typing all of those out again ! but she has been established enough... for tha vibe !

brainstorming. obvs.

[voidsiblings]

7, 11, 20?

7. what animal do you look forward to seeing when you visit an aquarium?

ooh, sharks, or manta rays. or... it's been a long time since I've been to one with jellyfish, but I would love that too.

11. anything from your childhood you’ve held on to?

soooo much stuff. I've got totes full. (assuming we're talking about material possessions here.) my favorite outfits as a kid, all my Breyer models and horse books and magazines, toys, pressed flowers, basically anything I have a strong memory associated with. when I go through it it's like rewinding the tape and piecing my younger self back together from the old footage, you know?

20. favorite disney princess movie?

Emperor's New Groove because Kuzco is more of a princess than most Disney princesses

[kcowgill]

Went into the office for the first time in over a year yesterday.

I had gone in ... I forget exactly when, but we were notified that the office was going to take advantage of the fact that hardly anyone was there and do some renovations. I went in a few times to pack up some personal things - some to take home, some to keep in a box for my new desk, whenever that would be ready.

Earlier this year, the facilities department asked everyone to submit a form stating when they expected to start coming back into the office. Not knowing any better, I picked an arbitrarily far away date - August 2 - to return, so my stuff would be ready.

Then delta came up, and I wanted a booster shot before I’d feel comfortable coming in. Well, I ended up getting my booster a week and a half ago, so I decided I’d start going in.

Unfortunately my desk wasn’t actually ready :)

Whomever was moving workstations and such misplaced my cherished keyboard and laptop stand. I’m VERY picky about my keyboard - so much so that I bought the same model (with my own money!) when I decided to set up an actual desk at home in April 2020, expecting that I’d have a nice setup for home AND office without having to tote much back and forth - OR I could just keep it at home and “attach” (it’s wireless) it to my personal computer.

The help ticket that was submitted to order a replacement kind of rankled me - “Kent misplaced his keyboard in the move”. Uh, no - I didn’t. I expected it to be moved along with the computer I left in the office (which I can easily connect to remotely). The only thing I misplaced was my trust.

I also discovered that my new work laptop - a fancy Mac with the M1 chip - can only support a single external monitor, not the two I was accustomed to pre-pandemic. So my setup was all wrong.

I spent a fair amount of time trying to get my setup back to how I liked it, but I also had some impromptu chats with people I haven’t seen either ever or in over a year. It was nice to people again, but I’m glad I still have the freedom to work from home several days a week. I’m not ready to people full time again. Not yet.

I wanted to go in today. I tried to go in today. I could catch a commuter train at 7:55 to arrive downtown at 8:20 which would give me enough time to walk to the office, plug in, and be there for an 8:30 meeting. But the commuter train didn’t cooperate, it was late. I didn’t think it would arrive soon enough to get me downtown and not be late for my meeting (I hate being late) so I punted and came back home.

One thing for sure - I have fallen out of the habits required for me to get to work at my old time. There’s an earlier train I could take and not worry about missing early meetings, but I’d have to get up earlier to take care of kids + dogs. My mornings have really changed a lot - I hope I can get back into my old habits!

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Artistic Instinct Chapter Nine

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 6500

Warnings: Language as always, warning of racist language (Nush talking about her mother's experiences), yearning, fluff to second base (yes, my darlings- IT IS ON!), alcohol is mentioned, food, anxiety attacks.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

People often think artists

Create with their hands

But really they create

with their hearts

So please be gentle

For we wear our vulnerability

On our sleeves

And freely give all we have

Hoping someone will fall

In love with the parts we offer

R. Evelyn

Chapter Nine

The sharp buzz of the door startles you out of your daydream. Laden with roughly the entire contents of your spice cupboard, vegetables, meat and prawns, your hands are crisscrossed with creases from where the weight of the totes has gouged at your skin. A smart-looking kindly gentleman greets you, “You must be Ms Pierce. Mr Pike has asked for you to wait here for him.”

Wow! Marcus’ place has a concierge - who did he have to blow to get a place like this?!

Throwing the bags onto one of the hotel lounge-like chairs, you slump into another as you rub soreness from your hands. A small ping tells you that the lift has arrived - you look over in the direction of the noise, a tremor of excitement rippling through you. An adorably scruffy Marcus, wearing old jeans and a t-shirt, steps out - his face utterly beaming on seeing you. “Hey! How are you doing?” he leans in to kiss your cheek twice - hang on, when did this start being a thing?

“Why didn’t you let me pick you up? You’ve carried so much over- lemme see your hands,” his brow knits on seeing the rapidly reddening welts as he takes your hands in his, brushing his thumbs gently across your palms.

“You live four roads away from me - they’re not that bad! And anyway, you can help me now- which floor do you live on?” You outwardly roll your eyes at the sweetness Marcus shows you, secretly enjoying the stroke of his fingers and the ghostly press of his lips still burning a hole in your cheek.

Marcus takes all of the bags from the chair, refusing point blank to entertain you helping him to take them upstairs - you watch as his arms twitch under the weight, enjoying the mixture of confusion and shock at your strength across his face, “you carried all of this?”

Nodding at him, you try to take a bag again, but he dangles it just out of reach, “Watch it - you do realise that I have two other brothers apart from Ads? I will think nothing of rugby tackling you to the floor and pinning you down,” you warn, enjoying the flush brought to his cheeks.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Marcus flusters as he calls the lift, handing you the smallest, lightest bag.

✪✪✪✪✪

Exiting at the top floor, you’re taken aback by the amount of light and quiet that washes throughout the building. Feeling so removed from the shadows cast from the tower blocks and the hustle and bustle of the streets below, the broad daylight offers a sense of serenity, a peace that invites itself into the soul and makes itself at home. As Marcus unlocks the door to his flat, you kick off your shoes at the entrance, “You don’t have to do that,” he offers through the keys in his mouth, holding the door open with his elbow, still refusing any help from you.

“Oh believe me, if I didn’t, my mum’s radar would go off and I would be cruising for a bruising,” you giggle, taking in the glorious spaciousness of his apartment, “I promise my feet aren’t too stinky and that I put on clean socks.”

“Whatever makes you comfortable,” Marcus’ eyes crinkle at you, “Can I get you something to drink or eat?”

“A coffee would be ace - strong and black please,” you reply, your gaze drinking in the details of his home. Books line the shelves along one wall - such a mixture of titles ranging from airport bestsellers to obscure art catalogues - the relief to see actual paper and hardbacks adorning the shelves rather than trinkets and plants when so many keep their books electronically in their pockets.

A couple of large canvases lie propped against another - long hours preventing them from being hung - their bright colours sure to bring joyful hues to quite a stark room. There are a few photo frames dotted around - mostly pictures of a moment in time rather than poses - of people you assume are friends and family from back in the States. Handing you a steaming mug, Marcus looks over your shoulder as you look at a photo of an older couple dancing and laughing at a wedding, “That’s my mamá and papá at my oldest sister’s wedding. It was such a magical day - just so much love in the air.”

“You can feel the joy radiating from them,” you offer, lowering your gaze from him to grab the frame next to the picture of his parents, “Are these your sisters or cousins? You all look very alike.”

“Yeah, my little sisters,” he grins proudly. “This one is Beth - she’s two years younger and is a paediatrician in Texas. Has two kids with her wife, Sophie. And this one is Cat - she’s doing her own thing out on the West Coast as a musician. They definitely inherited all the clever and cool genes.”

“Hah! You’re kinder to your sisters than I am to my brothers,” you grin, “They’re all total idiots but due to some weird genetic and biological insistence, I still love them.”

Taking a gulp of your coffee, you turn back towards him, “Come on you, we’d better get to work if you want a curry this evening.”

He pouts, looking more like a sulky little boy than a middle aged man. You can’t help but laugh at the sad puppy dog eyes he is conjuring at the thought of work, “Oh poppet, what’s wrong?” you teasingly mock.

“I kinda hoped you were a magician who could just magic a curry outta nowhere so we could watch films til the others arrive,” Marcus grumps shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Well, there is UberEats for that but you horrible lot put me up to this so you’re going to help,” you wag your finger at him, “But as you’re the only one here, you get the honour of being the chief taster,” you add, tapping him playfully on the nose.

With a soft huff and a furrow of the brow, Marcus guides you into the kitchen where, whilst he was making your coffee, he has helpfully already put all the fresh produce in his fridge as the sides are delightfully blank apart from the bags of spices.

“What are we making today, Chef?”

“Ok, meat dishes are a spiced yoghurt leg of lamb, a keema - don’t you give me that look, a cardamom butter chicken, and, a prawn and courgette curry,” you turn to Marcus’ fridge to find the lamb, “Needs to come to room temperature before we cook it.”

“My tummy is rumbling already,” Marcus adds, his eyes glinting excitedly as he licks along his lower lip, the skin glistening damply. You have never quite figured out whether your love of his lips is due to their fullness or the association with the kindness of his words.

“Hah- you’re not getting away without having some veggies, too, mister,” you cluck as you hand him a bag of onions and several bulbs of garlic to skin, chop and crush for the various dishes.

“Ok, Moooom,” Marcus dramatically rolls his eyes at your dictate, “I admit, I’d rather eat sugary or salty things over green stuff but I can make an exception for curried veg.”

The arch of your eyebrow virtually reaches your hairline at him teasingly calling you mom, so you reach for the towel, twist it and flick him hard on what you’d hoped would be his hip but catch him square on his arse instead.

A yelp of pain and wide eyes greet your action, “Did you just…? Oh, it is on.! You might think you’re tough from your brothers but my sisters taught me sneaky tactics.”

“Come at me, bro!” you taunt from the other side of the kitchen, putting up a boxing stance.

Brandishing the hand without the paring knife in your general direction, he answers, “Nope, gonna use the element of surprise and attack when you least expect it!”

Tutting your tongue at Marcus’ weak ass response, you grab the spices you need to prepare under the power of your pestle and mortar. With the waft of roasting cumin soaring through the air and your battle with your boss at a supposedly declared ceasefire, everything starts to feel comfortable and easy again. You could be six years old and standing on the chair next to your mum, watching like a hawk as she lovingly prepared meals for your family with an ever burgeoning belly. It was then, during those hours shared in the galley kitchen that became your time with her when normally it felt pretty split between her work as a GP and your brothers.

What the fuck… You jump out of your skin when a warm, solid wall presses you out of your nostalgic reverie, “Hah! Pinned ya! Sneaky tactics- told ya they worked,” a deep, soft voice whispers in your ear.

Your heart flutters like a bird trying to escape its rib cage with the closeness of Marcus, the heat rising through your body from your proximity to him - a visceral response to the glorious cocktail of masculine smell from his aftershave and body wash.

What do I do next?

Why can’t I bloody think straight?

Wiggling yourself around so that you face him, his face now so close that you can feel his warm breath upon your cheeks. Your eyes playfully catch the steady gaze of Marcus’ deep soulful pools. It would only take the smallest of movements to reach forwards and kiss him right on that stupidly gorgeous, plush Cupid’s bow and crease. But… what if he doesn’t want that? He’s my fucking boss - that would be a stellar move to make…

Instead of the tiny incline forwards to press your lips against his as every inch of you screams to do so, you drop to the floor and crawl out from between his legs, “Not pinned well enough it seems,” you tease haltingly as your tongue sticks in your dry throat.

As you check the browning of the cumin seeds, out of the corner of your eye you see Marcus’ head drop sadly, hearing a small sigh - his hands still upon the work surface and feet not having moved from the position he had pinned you in moments earlier.

Did he want to...? No, surely not.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, Nush,” Marcus humbly apologises, pushing himself off the side, “I hope that I haven’t made things awkward.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” you softly say, pouring the roasted cumin into the mortar, ready to be ground, “I was the one who flicked you on your arse - I am the one who should be apologising.”

You beckon gently to Marcus, who has now taken refuge in the furthest corner of the kitchen from you - wringing his hands instead of chopping the onions, “Come over here - I want you to experience one of my most favourite smells of childhood. These are roasted cumin seeds and when you grind them, they release the most heavenly scent.”

After a few grinds, you offer the bowl towards Marcus’ face as he closes the gap between you, “I… Wow! I wouldn’t have thought it would make such a difference but it’s almost like you’ve entirely transformed it. See,” the dimple deepens in that right cheek of his, “you are a magician.”

“I love how spices - a bit like paint - can take on completely different characters depending on how you treat them. Leave the spice whole and you have this mild and fragrant taste. If you crush them, then their attitude comes back tenfold with a vengeance. Toast them, and they may as well be Clark Kent in a phone booth.”

Looking up you see Marcus gazing at you with a sweet half smile on his face - could he like me… like that?

“Sorry, you don’t need to hear me blathering on,” you fluster, waving your hand in a dismissive gesture as the heat rises through your face.

Shaking his head gently without dropping your regard, “No. No, please don’t ever stop. Your passion for things is beautiful.”

“Growing up, I didn’t realise that other people didn’t have whole cupboards filled to the brim with herbs, spices and seasonings. I mean, for all the damage the British Empire reeked, you’d have hoped that the spices would have entered more of their culture, but no! Apparently, my family was the weird one for having food with a flavour,” you shrug your shoulders at some of the ridiculous things you’d heard as a child - accusations of differences you’d never thought to be of note.

Marcus chuckles at your indignance, “It’s funny you should say that. I didn’t realise that my mamá had an accent until it was pointed out to me when I was a kid.”

Noting your slightly confused expression, Marcus explains, “She’s Argentinian- came to the States as a political refugee as she was a journalist following the disappearances during the Dirty War. Met my dad, and I came along very soon after, and the rest is history..”

You can’t help but laugh at the flush on Marcus’ cheeks as he recounts his personal history to you, “Love can’t be held back when it hits and it’s obvious that they’re still crazy about each other now from that photo.”

“Exactly, no point in wasting time when you know what you want,” Marcus grins, looking at his feet.

“My parents have a similar story. My dad is as English as they come - I mean we’re on a freaking island so there’s no true thing as being completely English. My mum is from Pakistan - Karachi - it’s in the South.”

“She came over due to the fighting between East and West Pakistan - the two countries that are now Pakistan and Bangladesh. It kept interrupting her studies to become a doctor so she came to England and restarted her degree here.”

Marcus’ brow creases in thought, “Why did she restart her degree? Could the credits not just be transferred to the college she moved to in the UK?”

“Hah- yeah. It was the seventies, during a time where all Southern Asians were P*kis - no matter where they were from on the Indian subcontinent- and thought of as dirty, lesser beings. There were constant race riots for anyone who wasn’t ethnically white or English. She would never have been taken seriously with her mediocre medical training from some Adobe hut in the middle of a jungle,” you fume, pounding the seeds into fragments. The mortar being threatened with the same fate too.

Marcus’ fingers wrap around your wrist to try and prevent your rage at the ignorance of others from causing you an injury, “I am so sorry,” he pulls you into a warm, tender hug, tucking your head under his chin, “How long before food can take care of itself so we can put a film on? I think we both need a rest.”

“Hmmm, ten minutes and then most things can simmer or be switched off ready for a reheat or proper cook this evening,” you say, leaning reluctantly out of his comforting arms to go check on the bubbling saucepans of food.

“‘K. I’ll go get things set up so you can flop for a bit,” Marcus touches you gently on your shoulder as he goes to set up the front room. You go to squeeze his hand but it’s removed from your shoulder too quickly for your response.

✪✪✪✪✪

“You ready?” Marcus calls through the wall as you turn off the heat from the final pans.

“Mhm,” you mumble in response to his question - double, triple checking that everything is off. Too many fire alarms ruining perfectly lovely meals or moments.

“What did you pick?” You ask, curling up on the other end of the sofa to Marcus, “Do you have no cushions?”

“Shit, no -I’m a guy, what can I say? - lemme grab the pillows from the bed,” Marcus jumps up, calling through from his bedroom, “Bet you have loads on your couch.”

“A fuckload, but, mainly to hide the fact the springs have gone. It’s like a precarious balancing act of comfort on there,” you surreptitiously sniff the pillow, inhaling the smell of Marcus’ shampoo, “Did you give me your pillow?”

A confused look is shot at you from the other end of the sofa, “Whaddya mean?”

“Smells of your hair,” you say as you squish it into the perfect comfy shape, “Like a mixture of lemon and eucalyptus.”

“That’s a sharp nose you’ve got. I gave you the other side though,” Marcus huffs through a chuckles he shakes his head at your somewhat strange comment, “Guess I’ve been sleeping across both sides then.”

“Best thing about sleeping alone- getting to starfish across the bed. Unless of course…”

Marcus can’t help but laugh at your awkward dig to find out whether he’d brought home the goddess from Friday’s antics, “So you wanna know if I brought home Kemi?”

“She was very beautiful. You’d have been mad not to,” you try to school your expression as best you can, keeping your eyes glued to Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly singing about true love, desperate to hide the jealousy coursing through your veins.

“Must be mad then. Didn’t even kiss her,” Marcus honestly answers whilst copying your tactic of staring at the tv, “She could see that there was someone else I liked so it would have been cruel to have done anything.”

You mull this over in silence, trying not to speak, to ask a million questions.

“Nush.”

“Mhm?”

“Can I talk to y…”

You both jump as an alarm goes off on your phone to remind you to turn the lamb down in the oven.

“Oh shit. Hold that thought,” you jump up from the sofa, heading in the direction of the kitchen with zero thought of what the man at the end of the sofa is desperately trying to tell you. Fiddling with Marcus’ ridiculously swanky oven until it looks like it is doing what you want it to do, you walk back in with two ice cold beers from his fridge.

“Raided your fridge,” you cheekily grin, holding one out to Marcus, the condensation running, down your fingers, “Hope you don’t mind!”

“Good thinking, Batman,” Marcus nods in appreciation, “Any more alarms set to scare us both?”

“Only due to go off when the film is done, so…” you yawn widely, “We’ve got a while yet.”

Marcus’ hand that was slung over the back of the sofa, lifts to stroke your shoulder, “You sleepy? C'mere, you.” With a soft tug of your t-shirt sleeve, he pulls you into his side - your willingness to sink into his broad chest very apparent. Your ear is pressed against him, his heartbeat singing a lullaby to you as his fingers stroke and caress the silken waves of your hair. You wonder at how this man - a total stranger a week ago - has seemingly knitted himself into becoming a cocoon of safety for you, his gentleness and calm offering a haven of tranquility in your otherwise cacophonous world, as the light in the room slowly fades to black.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Uh oh.”

“Hey, welcome back, sunshine!” a gentle pair of fingers stroke back the hair that had drifted into your face as you dozed.

“Sorry for falling asleep. Again,” trying to finesse your way through the heat flaming your cheeks, you offer an awkward grin towards your chuckling pillow, “Guess we’d better start getting things finished as we’ve only got a couple of hours until everyone arrives.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Marcus! I don’t want to move either but this curry won’t finish cooking itself.”

“Spit spot, there’s work to be done,” Marcus trills as he adopts his best attempt at a British accent.

“What the fuck was that? Did you just turn into Dick Van Dyke or something?” You tease mercilessly at the appalling sound coming from those lips, choking back laughter at his mock offended face.

“C’mon, you’re right. We’d better get moving,” Marcus stands with a stretch and a creak before reaching back to tug you to your feet.

Back under the glowing lights of Marcus’ kitchen, his presence is now constantly close to yours as you glide together around the space - stirring, chopping and checking. Every time he passes, above the general aroma of cumin and coriander, the onions and garlic, you can smell the cedar and amber upon his skin- a deliciously masculine scent that only seeks to entangle your senses further.

“Here, try this,” you hold out a heaped teaspoon of mince curry to Marcus, “This is the keema - I promise that I only put in the two chillies you chopped for me, this time.”

“Mmm, that’s so good,” he says thickly between chews, stealing the spoon from you as he dives in for a second, third, fourth spoonful.

“Hahaha! Leave some for the others- and you need to try it with some raita and fried onions too,” you check through your dog-eared, yellowed and slightly sticky recipe book that your mum had handed you the day you’d left home at eighteen - a memo of all the times you had cooked them together.

“Shit, I’d better start the chicken,” going through the spices in front of you, you search for the cardamoms that would make the butter chicken sing, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Marcus’ head snaps up from the green beans he was preparing towards you, “What’s up, sweetheart?”

“I can’t find the cardamoms for the butter chicken - gah I knew I’d fuck this up!” you cry, scraping your trembling hands through your hair, eyes flashing around the room wildly as your cortisol rises, making you want to run and scream at your failure to feed your friends.

“Whoa - where’s this coming from? C’mon, look at me. Look at me, Nush,” Marcus has his hands on either side of your shoulders, squeezing them gently, “There’s enough here to feed our whole office for the week with the daals you prepared yesterday, the vegetables we’re about to make and the meats that we’ve cooked up already here. Andy is bringing all the rice and naan, Kiri is bringing beers and Dian is on gin and tonic duty. You have done more than enough and I will not allow you to get this upset over one missing ingredient especially when there is a small store downstairs that I’m sure will have it, if we cannot find it after we look for it together.”

After seeing your numb nod as an agreement, Marcus moves his hands to the side of your head to focus your gaze on him rather than the panic seeping through you. As he strokes his thumbs across your cheeks, you allow your eyes to close and your breathing to regain a normal pattern.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?” Marcus searches your now open eyes.

“My reactions are ridiculous. Most people tell me to stop being so stupid and that just whips the storm inside my head even more,” you whisper, “But you. You know how to slow everything down and stop the spinning.”

The corner of Marcus’ mouth twitches, “D’ya wanna know a secret?” You nod at him, “As you know, I was married before. When it ended, I totally spiralled. The world kept spinning too fast and I experienced constant anxiety, very nearly burning out of my role.

“I was lucky. My boss was understanding but made me promise to get some support. He knew of someone mental health trained within the FBI who was there for mainly hostage negotiations - not part of the true psych team but someone who could help without it turning up on your record.

“Kwame worked with me for almost a year - pretty much to the point my decree absolute came through. Our sessions were done on a track - by running with me, he was teaching me the skills I needed to control my fears. By my feet hitting the tarmac, he was grounding me. By going over running techniques, he was teaching me how to control my breathing- taking longer and deeper breaths. And running is just repetition. A mindful repetition that allows your brain to have a bit of a break.

“So when I see you start to spiral, I try to give you the same steps he taught me. Get you grounded, opposite me so you copy my breathing and hope that gets you on the right track.”

“Thank you,” you drop your head forwards, relaxing onto his chest. He feels so - safe.

“You don’t need to thank me. Well, okay maybe you do as look what I’ve just spotted,” Marcus holds the offending spice aloft.

“Oh my god, I could fucking kiss you. You have just saved the curry,” you dramatically declare, clutching the cardamom jar to your heart before placing it next to the other ingredients on the counter.

“Go on then.”

What?

His comment makes you snap your head over to catch Marcus’ tremulous gaze, his eyes darting between the floor and your lips. He takes a small step, closing the small distance between the two of you, threading his fingers between yours. Each slow movement offers an unspoken opportunity for you to step away. To tease him and move on with the day.

But why on Earth would you?

With your heart racing faster and faster, you lure him ever closer with your eyes, soft but absolute in their conviction of what was about to pass between you. A small part of you understands that when you kiss him, something will change forever. That within his lips you may find the place to call home - the aching in your stomach may cease and life could start to make sense again. The anxieties of the week washing away, the pain of your collective pasts and the hint of a brighter, happier future before you.

When he doesn’t move again, you seize the moment. Pushing up onto your socked tiptoes, you tilt your chin, inclining your face until your lips come to rest upon his in the sweetest, chastest kiss. Drawing back slightly to check that Marcus is okay with a raise of your eyebrows and widened eyes, he holds your gaze steadily, similarly stunned - a mirror of each other with racing hearts and slightly parted lips. It’s like in that moment everything around you ceases to exist as anything other than extraneous nonsense - all the noise inside your head silenced by that one touch.

A small dumbstruck smile creeps across Marcus’ lips before he lowers his head to press another gentle kiss upon you. Then another. Then another. Each press of your lips a little longer. A little deeper. Your lips part to allow his tongue entry as every single thought is quietened by the taste of him. Dropping hands for his to cradle your face and yours to thread through his hair as your bodies press together tightly.

Oh the taste of him is utterly exquisite! From where you’ve been using him as chief curry taster, there’s an element of spices with the tiniest hint of mint. And how you have missed having that beautifully solid warmth of his body next to yours. Inhaling his breaths that fall upon you, your hearts match each other’s rhythms as your lips explore each other, every sensation drawing together to create a humming ball of energy, like you are standing at the point where lightning strikes the Earth.

✪✪✪✪✪

Hands fisted tightly in each other’s clothing - both stuck in the quandary of wanting to tear the fabric from your bodies but also frightened of pushing the other too far. Finally pulling apart, you gaze upon Marcus - all lust blown pupils and dopey smiles. Your foreheads come back to rest against each other, unable to quite let go just yet, not wanting to break the spell and return to reality.

“I have wanted to kiss you since perhaps the first time I met you,” Marcus murmurs as his lips gently ghost over your cheeks, “Maybe even from seeing the photo in your file when Andy drove me here from the airport.”

“Was the person, me?” You quietly ask, finally with the confidence to finish that conversation, “The reason you didn’t kiss or sleep with the goddess?”

He drops his eyes as he gives you a small nod, “Normally, I’d have just asked you out but I was scared of fucking up. It’s been a long time since I felt a spark with anyone.

“You’ve entered my life in this whirlwind of intelligence, beauty and tenderness - I didn’t want to frighten you or make you feel uncomfortable if you didn’t reciprocate.”

A thousand thoughts flood your mind as Marcus says those words. All at once, you want to tell him how safe he makes you feel. How much now that you’ve started kissing him, you never want to stop. How the cruel critics of slumber, silence themselves when you feel his heartbeat against your cheek.

Instead you stand there, silent.

Trying to stroke out the creases you’ve created in his t-shirt as you attempt to find words to put into a logical order, you notice his face twitching when the material under your fingers makes contact with his sides, “Oh Marcus, are you ticklish?”

“Um, no,” Marcus tries to deny breezily as he takes a small, hesitant step back from you, pretending to steady himself.

Making a small movement towards him, your hands at the same level as the point of the bunched fabric - you ask, “Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah,” Marcus is now eyeing you suspiciously - desperate to kiss you again but also a little worried as to what havoc your fingers might reek.

“Then, why are you moving away from me?”

“No reason…” his usually deep voice now a little tighter and higher, “Nush… What are you about to ARGH!”

His knees crumble beneath him as you attack his sensitive sides, “Gah! Quit it, woman,” he weakly commands between wheezes and hoots of laughter.

Taking full advantage of Marcus’ prone and vulnerable position, you take the opportunity to straddle him - effectively pinning him to the floor, “This is how you pin someone.”

“I let you pin me,” Marcus corrects you with a wink.

“Oh really?” you contest, entirely unconvinced by his bravado.

“Yeah,” he says with a small wiggle, bringing his hands to the back of your head, “Cos y’see, I can flip our positions quite easily.”

Suddenly, you find yourself flat on your back in Marcus’ kitchen with zero air in your lungs to form any sensible thought other than to kiss him hard. His large hands cradle your head as he props himself gently above you on his elbows. You feel his entire body covering yours. Deliciously pressing against every single inch of you and oh how it takes every bit of the minutismal amount of self control you have to not beg him to fuck you senseless into that floor.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Shit, is that your door?”

“Fuck,” Marcus pushes himself up to kneeling between your legs, “Can we pretend we’re not in?”

The harsh realisation of an evening with your colleagues, albeit lovely people, sinks in to you both.

“Nope,” you groan, popping the p with a deflated gusto, “Hang on, don’t buzz them up until I’ve tucked my boobs back into my bra.”

“I dunno, makes for easier access,” Marcus lopsidedly grins with a wink as he heads for the door.

“You certainly didn’t seem to make hard work of it earlier,” you mumble at him, before you affix a smile to your face, “Hey! How are you all doing?”

A sea of never ending hugs envelopes and separates you from Marcus as everyone piles into his apartment. The stupid grin still firmly in place on your face since you’d first kissed, you find that every time you look over at him, he’s gazing right back, mirroring that lovestruck smile.

“Oh my god, it all smells so amazing,” Dian waxes lyrical, squeezing you tightly as she inhales a lungful of exotically scented air, “What’ve we got?”

You take her by the hand into the kitchen to show all the different things you had bubbling away. Andy ducks into the kitchen behind you, laden with bags filled with pilau rice, naan and chapatis, and a beautiful small bunch of spring flowers in his other hand - tiny tête-à-tête daffodils with multiple heads along each stalk, brilliant yellow and red tulips standing like soldiers and the otherworldly looking stems of hyacinth, wickedly scenting the air under your nose as he thrusts them under there.

“Hey pretty girl, here’s all the bits you asked for. You deserve a much bigger bunch for what I’ve roped you into but I know you love the early blooms,” he offers by way of apology, sticking a kiss to the side of your forehead, “Smells fucking good though as ever. Hope you don’t mind but I’ve brought a box to take some home for Greg - he was a jealous arse this evening so I suppose I should share.”

“You know the way I cook, enough for several small armies,” you wonkily grin at him, truly thankful for the part he’d had to play, “‘Fraid there’s no easy way to say this and you will have to be the one to break it to Greg, but there’s no butter chicken tonight.”

“You’d better have a damn good excuse for this slatternly behaviour, madam,” Andy gives you a serious side eye for this infraction.

“Well…”

“Initially Nush couldn’t find the cardamoms but then we ran out of time. Plenty of food here, though,” Marcus answers for you, his hand gently holding your hip as he reaches around you to grab a couple of beers from the fridge.

You see Andy catch Marcus’ hand lightly stroking your side as he walks back to Kiritopa, but are entirely grateful when his expression and mouth say nothing. The light chatter in the kitchen, whilst Dian dips a teaspoon into all the pots, is interrupted by a small knock at the door. Sticking your head around the kitchen door, you spot Marcus opening the door to a nervous-looking Harper. Andy sidles past you, to pull her into the main room, rather than her previous position of standing on the doorstep, utterly awkward and obviously feeling quite out of place.

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind me coming. I know I wasn’t there Friday but I don’t really do large crowds and drinking.”

You walk over to her amidst the chorus of “not to worry”s and “lovely to see you”s, “Fancy something to drink now? Got plenty of soft options and I think I’ll stick alongside you as I’ve got to make sure I don’t burn stuff.”

“Including yourself, this time,” Harper retorts quickly with a small smile and a raise of her eyebrows.

“Hah, chance’d be a fine thing,” Andy laughs, slapping your shoulder before turning back to clink bottles and talk with Kiri and Marcus.

✪✪✪✪✪

Through the full length doors of Marcus’ balcony, evening spring sunshine streams through, bathing the group of your co-workers in a gentle, diffused light that flows around the room coating you in a golden glow. You all eat your fill and then some, with full tummies and tired eyes - the kitchen still full of half eaten dishes.

“Can we make this a weekly thing?” Kiritopa asks through a mouthful of food, hopefully.

“Not unless we take it in turns or get a take away - I don’t have the physical or emotional energy to make this level of curry every weekend,” you pointedly remark, looking up from your coke to meet Marcus’ eyes.

You’ve spent the evening barely speaking to each other for fear of alerting the others but surreptitiously brushing past so that you can sneak touches. Tender hidden strokes that feel like the kindest stitches on hidden, gaping wounds.

Marcus stands up to help usher the evening to an end and get you to himself again, “I have some boxes for y’all to take food home as otherwise, I’ll be eating this for weeks - delicious as it is.”

Everyone thankfully takes their boss’ hint and head into the kitchen to grab platefuls to reheat after long days. Slowly saying their goodbyes, your friends drift off in the direction of their homes as you throw yourself in an exhausted heap of bones on his sofa. Two strong hands grip you under your arms, to drape your torso across his lap.

“Hey tired girl,” you slightly open your eyes to spy a smiling Marcus gazing down at you. His fingers draw lazy patterns over the sensitive skin of your neck.

“I’d like to take you on a proper date this week. Wanna do this properly. Make a bit of a fuss.”

“Yeah? Not just pin me down and ravish me on the kitchen floor?” you grin widely at him.

“Well, I’d hardly call that a ravishing…” your eyes widen, eyebrows raising at Marcus’ comment, excitement pooling in your tummy, “Yeah, I saw there’s an Argentinian restaurant in Blackheath so how about steak, Malbec and homemade ice cream before I bring you back to either yours, or mine, for another, even better ravishing?”

“That sounds amazing, although with the amount of food in my belly, I may never have to eat again,” you give your stomach a rub, “But the ravishing…”

Hauling you up to sitting across his lap, you protest loudly, “I am going to crush your legs.”

“Stop making ridiculous comments and c’mere,” Marcus demands as he gently turns your head towards him, stealing a delicate kiss from you.

“I...should… - argh! Stop kissing me for a second,” you beg halfheartedly, “I should go home.”

“Stay.”

“Please stay,” Marcus desperately entreats you, “I’m not expecting anything but I’d love it if you stayed. I know you’ve got nothing here but give me two minutes and I can have a spare toothbrush for you. I’ll drop you home early tomorrow morning so you can grab some clothes and then we can go into work together?”

It feels as though the wind is knocked out of your lungs with the depth of Marcus’ need to be around you.

How does he do it?

“There’s no games with you, are there?” you twist in Marcus’ lap so that you now straddle his thighs, placing your hands on either side of his ridiculously handsome face.

“No,” he shakes head slowly, all the while holding eye contact with you, “I’m too old and I know what I want.”

“What’s that?”

Stroking his hands up and down your sides as he nuzzles your neck, he clearly and confidently declares,

“You.”

Tag list of glory (as ever, please ask to be put on or dropped from the list): @astroboots @silverwolf319@sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @sugarontherims @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @pedropascalito-deactivated20210 @mouthymandalorian @mrsparknuts @zukoyonce @agirllovespancakes @yespolkadotkitty @lunaserenade @theravenreads @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

[bigskydreaming]

Sorry to bother you, but RE: the Jason Todd in Arkham thing, like, what was Dick supposed to do? Take him home to the same house where two of the KIDS that Jason had threatened/attacked were supposed to be living in what one hoped would be relative safety?

Like, full offence, Jason had at that point proven himself a danger to all the people around him. If he wound up at Arkham, oh well, maybe don’t kill a whole bunch of ppl and harm numerous others. If Arkham doesn’t work as a hospital, maybe he should have been at another one, but at that point in his character arc, a secure mental health facility was probably the best he could expect.

It’s like ppl forget he’s a multiple murderer with a history of targeting the ppl Dick loves. I don’t even read the comics and I know this much.

Oh for sure, I mean, I've posted meta about this before because the fandom accepted narrative gets it sooooooo wrong. Like, I'll always be right at the front of the line yelling IT WAS JASON'S CHARACTERIZATION THAT WAS CRAP THROUGH ALL THAT, THAT'S NOT JASON, GIMME NUANCE OR GIMME DEATH. Y'know, something like that.

But like, given that Jason was written as repeatedly trying to kill Dick's other two brothers its like, yeah?! What was Dick supposed to do? He'd tried asking Jason nicely hey could you stop doing that and Jason was like LOL no.

And also....people are like - Dick callously threw Jason into Arkham right next to the Joker and then just left him there and forgot about him and....SOURCE?

1) Dick didn't DO this to Jason, JASON went after Dick and Damian and in the process of fighting him in a very public space, Dick beat Jason and police were already like....right there? Dick didn't actually have the option of being uh no, you can't take this known and notorious criminal into custody, I'll stop you on the basis of - well I can't tell you actually but plz just trust me okay, he totes didn't mean it! (except like also, at that point he totes did, so.....)

2) What pull Dick DID have as Batman with the GCPD, he used to get Jason put into Arkham INSTEAD of Blackgate for his SAFETY. We know this to be true. Jason himself confirmed that absolutely nothing bad happened to him in Arkham, he just didn't want to be there but WHO THE HELL EVER WANTS TO BE IN A PRISON OF ANY SORT? And the first thing Dick said when Bruce said Jason had demanded to be transferred to Blackgate is that Jason wouldn't be safe there with all the enemies he had gunning for him. It was abundantly clear that Jason's safety had been a primary concern for Dick the whole time (and Jason wasn't safe at Blackgate, its just fine, he only wanted to be transferred in order to enact an escape plan that got like 80 people indiscriminately killed but whatevs. Its Gotham, what's a few dozen more dead criminals am I right? *rolls eyes at how often that little detail gets left out of the narrative).

3) Dick consistently put time, focus and Wayne Enterprises money into Arkham Asylum while he was Batman, since Arkham was being rebuilt from the ground up after it was blown up in Battle for the Cowl. Also, Dick had been one of the last 'patients' in the old Arkham, given that he went undercover to infiltrate the Black Glove while they were in control of Arkham and spent a week in there drugged to the gills, locked up and in a straitjacket before being almost lobotomized. He has every grievance with Arkham that fan writers like to PRETEND Jason has from his stay there, but Jason's only complaint was that he again, was bored, and he had to take psych evals every other week because it was after all, still a mental health institution. Dick did everything in his power at the time to make sure that even if Jason did have to be locked up to keep him from going after more people, like, it was going to be as humane as possible and the stuff that Dick himself had JUST experienced in the old Arkham WOULDN'T happen to Jason.

4) The Joker was literally nowhere near Arkham THE ENTIRE TIME. This is not a small detail, given that 'the Joker was just five cells down' is the entire basis of most writers' Jason-in-Arkham angst and the anti-Dick sentiments they tend to create. All the major Rogues escaped from the old Arkham in Battle for the Cowl BEFORE it blew up. That's why they're not DEAD. Dick's run as Batman was primarily about fighting the escapees. And Joker, very significantly, was clearly among those Rogues not present in Arkham during Dick's Batman run, given he was literally toying with Dick and Damian through most of it. Seriously, how much do people have to hate Dick and think the worst of him to think that he - the dude who btw, BEAT THE JOKER TO DEATH WITH HIS BARE HANDS FOR MAKING JOKES ABOUT KILLING JASON - would just....obliviously lock Jason up right next to the Joker and throw away the key?

Like...and it goes on and on, lol. I remember the first time I brought all this up in an argument with some Jason stans, they literally started laughing back and forth to each other in the replies about how someone was a bit too carried away with their own fanon, and its like...LMAO! Yes! Someone is! Its YOU! You are the people you guys are talking about, looooool, I can literally back all this up with sourced panels.

Buuuuuuut, c'est la vie.

I mean, this is nothing new for us, its literally Teen Wolf fandom alllll over again. Probably why I just said nope, not doing this again awhile back and was like umm actually I will NOT just be ignoring the blatant false narratives thrown around here just so that people happy with the fanon narratives that prioritize the characters they like and sling shit at the characters they don't can have their fandom just the way they want it at the expense of everyone else in it. You wanna push bad faith interpretations of specific characters at every literal opportunity, its like, that's cool! I got the drive! I can push back with actual facts, its all good!

But the most hilarious thing to me will always be how fucking INDIGNANT people get about that, like "How dare you point out the precedent we established in not caring about any fandom experience other than our own and thus being loud and everpresent with our preferred interpretations in an attempt to drown out any other possible interpretation just so that the most people possible would be influenced by us instead of anything else, and we'd get more of the content we like at the expense of any possible nuance whatsoever."

Like, the most common complaint I get is people griping about how damn often I'm saying "mmmm, no, this isn't what happened actually" and "okay but have you considered flipping the script BACK from the way you flipped it initially in order to get this weird ass interpretation of a superhero noted for his emphasis on emotional caretaking of his loved ones actually being this callous oblivious selfish jerk who tramples all over the feelings of everyone around them and makes them just the woobiest woobies that ever did woobie all throughout Woobieland?"

And I'm just like, okay see, I hear you, its just the thing is, the THING IS......

If you didn't want that to be the topic of conversation so damn often, then hey, just a suggesh, but maybe you shouldn't have devoted literal years to coming up with the most bad faith interpretations of this character possible at literally every available opportunity. Maybe there'd be like.....less reason for the topic to come up so often, if like....you by your own actions hadn't made it a necessary topic to tackle so often?

I DON'T KNOW, I'M JUST SPIT-BALLING HERE, DON'T MIND ME AND MY CRAZY-ASS IDEAS OF FAIR PLAY.